made available by the kentuckiana digital library note: images of the original pages are available through the kentuckiana digital library. see http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts; xc= &idno=b - - &view=toc the texan scouts a story of the alamo and goliad by joseph a. altsheler author of _the texan star_, _the quest of the four_, _the scouts of the valley_, etc. appleton-century-crofts, inc. new york foreword "the texan scouts," while a complete story in itself, continues the fortunes of ned fulton and his friends, who were the central characters in "the texan star." contents chapter i. in the storm ii. the captives iii. the fight with urrea iv. the cabin in the woods v. santa anna's advance vi. for freedom's sake vii. the herald of attack viii. in the alamo ix. the flag of no quarter x. crockett and bowie xi. the desperate defence xii. before the dictator xiii. to the last man xiv. the news of the fall xv. in another trap xvi. fannin's camp xvii. the sad surrender xviii. the black tragedy xix. the race for the boat xx. the cry for vengeance chapter i in the storm the horseman rode slowly toward the west, stopping once or twice to examine the wide circle of the horizon with eyes that were trained to note every aspect of the wilderness. on his right the plains melted away in gentle swell after swell, until they met the horizon. their brown surface was broken only by the spiked and thorny cactus and stray bits of chaparral. on his left was the wide bed of a river which flowed through the sand, breaking here and there into several streams, and then reuniting, only to scatter its volume a hundred yards further into three or four channels. a bird of prey flew on strong wing over the water, dipped and then rose again, but there was no other sign of life. beyond, the country southward rolled away, gray and bare, sterile and desolate. the horseman looked most often into the south. his glances into the north were few and brief, but his eyes dwelled long on the lonely land that lay beyond the yellow current. his was an attractive face. he was young, only a boy, but the brow was broad and high, and the eyes, grave and steady, were those of one who thought much. he was clad completely in buckskin, and his hat was wide of brim. a rifle held in one hand lay across the pommel of his saddle and there were weapons in his belt. two light, but warm, blankets, folded closely, were tied behind him. the tanned face and the lithe, strong figure showed a wonderful degree of health and strength. several hours passed and the horseman rode on steadily though slowly. his main direction was toward the west, and always he kept the river two or three hundred yards on his left. he never failed to search the plains on either side, but chiefly in the south, with the eager, intent gaze that missed nothing. but the lonesome gray land, cut by the coiling yellow river, still rolled before him, and its desolation and chill struck to his heart. it was the depth of the texan winter, and, at times, icy gusts, born in far mountains, swept across the plains. the rider presently turned his horse toward the river and stopped on a low bluff overlooking it. his face showed a tinge of disappointment, as if his eyes failed to find objects for which they sought. again he gazed long and patiently into the south, but without reward. he resumed his ride parallel with the river, but soon stopped a second time, and held up an open hand, like one who tests the wind. the air was growing perceptibly colder. the strong gusts were now fusing into a steady wind. the day, which had not been bright at any time, was turning darker. the sun was gone and in the far north banks of mists and vapor were gathering. a dreary moaning came over the plain. ned fulton, tried and brave though he was, beheld the omens with alarm. he knew what they portended, and in all that vast wilderness he was alone. not a human being to share the danger with him! not a hand to help! he looked for chaparral, something that might serve as a sort of shelter, but he had left the last clump of it behind, and now he turned and rode directly north, hoping that he might find some deep depression between the swells where he and his horse, in a fashion, could hide. meanwhile the norther came down with astonishing speed. the temperature fell like a plummet. the moan of the wind rose to a shriek, and cold clouds of dust were swept against ned and his horse. then snow mingled with the dust and both beat upon them. ned felt his horse shivering under him, and he shivered, too, despite his will. it had turned so dark that he could no longer tell where he was going, and he used the wide brim of his hat to protect himself from the sand. soon it was black as night, and the snow was driving in a hurricane. the wind, unchecked by forest or hill, screamed with a sound almost human. ned dismounted and walked in the lee of his horse. the animal turned his head and nuzzled his master, as if he could give him warmth. ned hoped that the storm would blow itself out in an hour or two, but his hope was vain. the darkness did not abate. the wind rose instead of falling, and the snow thickened. it lay on the plain several inches deep, and the walking grew harder. at last the two, the boy and the horse, stopped. ned knew that they had come into some kind of a depression, and the full force of the hurricane passed partly over their heads. it was yet very dark, and the driving snow scarcely permitted him to open his eyes, but by feeling about a little he found that one side of the dip was covered with a growth of dwarf bushes. he led the horse into the lower edge of these, where some protection was secured, and, crouching once more in the lee of the animal, he unfolded the two blankets, which he wrapped closely about himself to the eyes. ned, for the first time since the norther rushed down upon him, felt secure. he would not freeze to death, he would escape the fate that sometimes overtook lone hunters or travelers upon those vast plains. warmth from the blankets began gradually to replace the chill in his bones, and the horse and the bushes together protected his face from the driven snow which had been cutting like hail. he even had, in some degree, the sense of comfort which one feels when safe inside four walls with a storm raging past the windows. the horse whinnied once and rubbed his nose against ned's hand. he, too, had ceased to shiver. all that afternoon the norther blew with undiminished violence. after a while the fall of snow thinned somewhat, but the wind did not decrease. ned was devoutly thankful for the dip and the bushes that grew within it. nor was he less thankful for the companionship of his horse. it was a good horse, a brave horse, a great bay mustang, built powerfully and with sinews and muscles of steel. he had secured him just after taking part in the capture of san antonio with his comrades, obed white and the ring tailed panther, and already the tie between horse and rider had become strong and enduring. ned stroked him again, and the horse, twisting his neck around, thrust his nose under his arm. "good old boy! good fellow!" said ned, pinching his ear. "we were lucky, you and i, to find this place." the horse neighed ever so gently, and rubbed his nose up and down. after a while the darkness began to increase. ned knew that it was not a new development of the storm, but the coming of night, and he grew anxious again. he and his horse, however secure at the present moment, could not stay always in that dip among the bushes. yet he did not dare to leave it. above on the plain they would receive the full sweep of the wind, which was still bitterly cold. he was worn by the continued buffetings of blast and snow, but he did not dare to lie down, even in the blankets, lest he never wake again, and while he considered he saw darker shadows in the darkness above him. he gazed, all attention, and counted ten shadows, following one another, a dusky file. he knew by the set of their figures, short and stocky, that they were mexicans, and his heart beat heavily. these were the first mexicans that any one had seen on texan soil since the departure of cos and his army on parole from captured san antonio. so the mexicans had come back, and no doubt they would return in great force! ned crouched lower, and he was very glad that the nose of the horse was still under his arm. he would not have a chance to whinny to his kind that bore the mexicans. but the horse made no attempt to move, and ned watched them pass on and out of sight. he had not heard the sound of footsteps or voices above the wind, and after they were gone it seemed to him that he had seen a line of phantoms. but he was sure that his own mortal eyes had beheld that for which he was looking. he and his comrades had been watching the rio grande to see whether the mexicans had crossed, and now he at least knew it. he waited patiently three or four hours longer, until the wind died and the fall of snow ceased, when he mounted his horse and rode out of the dip. the wind suddenly sprang up again in about fifteen minutes, but now it blew from the south and was warm. the darkness thinned away as the moon and stars came out in a perfect sky of southern blue. the temperature rose many degrees in an hour and ned knew that the snow would melt fast. all danger of freezing was past, but he was as hungry as a bear and tired to death. he unwrapped the blankets from his body, folded them again in a small package which he made fast to his saddle, and once more stroked the nose of his horse. "good old jack," he murmured--he had called him old jack after andrew jackson, then a mighty hero of the south and west, "you passed through the ordeal and never moved, like the silent gentleman that you are." old jack whinnied ever so softly, and rubbed his nose against the boy's coat sleeve. ned mounted him and rode out of the dip, pausing at the top of the swell for a long look in every direction. the night was now peaceful and there was no noise, save for the warm wind that blew out of the south with a gentle sighing sound almost like the note of music. trickles of water from the snow, already melting, ran down the crests. lighter and lighter grew the sky. the moon seemed to ned to be poised directly overhead, and close by. new stars were springing out as the last clouds floated away. ned sought shelter, warmth and a place in which to sleep, and to secure these three he felt that he must seek timber. the scouts whom he had seen were probably the only mexicans north of the rio grande, and, as he believed, there was not one chance in a thousand of meeting such enemies again. if he should be so lucky as to find shelter he would sleep there without fear. he rode almost due north for more than two hours, seeing patches of chaparral on both right and left. but, grown fastidious now and not thinking them sufficient for his purpose, he continued his northern course. old jack's feet made a deep sighing sound as they sank in the snow, and now there was water everywhere as that soft but conquering south wind blew steadily over the plain. when he saw a growth of timber rising high and dark upon a swell he believed that he had found his place, and he urged his horse to renewed speed. the trees proved to be pecans, aspens and oaks growing so densely that he was compelled to dismount and lead old jack before they could force an entrance. inside he found a clear space, somewhat like the openings of the north, in shape an irregular circle, but not more than fifteen feet across. great spreading boughs of oaks had protected it so well that but little snow had fallen there, and that little had melted. already the ground in the circle was drying. ned uttered an exclamation of relief and gratitude. this would be his camp, and to one used to living in the wilderness it furnished good shelter. at one edge of the opening was an outcropping of flat rock now quite dry, and there he would spread his bed. he unsaddled and unbridled his horse, merely tethering him with a lariat, and spread the horse blanket upon the flat rock. he would lie upon this and cover himself with his own blankets, using the saddle as a pillow. but the security of the covert tempted the boy, who was now as hungry as a bear just come from winter quarters. he felt weak and relaxed after his long hours in the snow and storm, and he resolved to have warm food and drink. there was much fallen wood among the trees, and with his strong hunting knife he whittled off the bark and thin dry shavings until he had a fine heap. working long with flint and steel, he managed to set fire to the shavings, and then he fed the flames with larger pieces of wood until he had a great bed of glowing coals. a cautious wilderness rover, learning always from his tried friends, ned never rode the plains without his traveling equipment, and now he drew from his pack a small tin coffee pot and tiny cup of the same material. then with quick and skillful hands he made coffee over the coals and warmed strips of deer and buffalo meat. he ate and drank hungrily, while the horse nibbled the grass that grew within the covert. glorious warmth came again and the worn feeling departed. life, youthful, fresh and abounding, swelled in every vein. he now put out all the coals carefully, throwing wet leaves upon them, in order that not a single spark might shine through the trees to be seen by an enemy upon the plain. he relied upon the horse to give warning of a possible approach by man, and to keep away wolves. then he made his bed upon the rock, doing everything as he had arranged it in his mind an hour before, and, wrapped in his blankets, fell into the soundest of sleeps. the south wind still blew steadily, playing a low musical song among the trees. the beads of water on the twigs and the few leaves that remained dried fast. the grass dried, too, and beyond the covert the snow, so quick to come, was equally quick to go. the horse ceased to nibble the grass, looked at the sleeping boy, touched his blankets lightly with his nose, and walked to the other side of the opening, where he lay down and went to his own horse heaven of sleep. it was not many hours until day and old jack was a light sleeper. when he opened his eyes again he saw a clear and beautiful winter day of the far south. the only clouds in the sky were little drifting bits of fine white wool, and the warm wind still blew. old jack, who was in reality young jack, as his years were not yet four, did not think so much of the covert now, as he had already eaten away all the grass within the little opening but his sense of duty was strong. he saw that his human master and comrade still slept, apparently with no intention of awakening at any very early date, and he set himself to gleaning stray blades of grass that might have escaped his notice the night before. ned awoke a little after the noon hour, and sprang to his feet in dismay. the sun was almost directly over his head, showing him how late it was. he looked at his horse as if to reproach his good comrade for not waking him sooner, but old jack's large mild eyes gave him such a gaze of benignant unconcern that the boy was ashamed of himself. "it certainly was not your fault," he said to his horse, "and, after all, it probably doesn't matter. we've had a long sound sleep and rest, and i've no doubt that both of us will profit by it. nothing seems to be left in here for you to eat, but i'll take a little breakfast myself." he did not relight the fire, but contented himself with cold food. then resaddling, he left the grove and rode northward again until he came to a hill, or, rather, a swell, that was higher than the rest. here he stopped his horse and took a glance at the sun, which was shining with uncommon brilliancy. then he produced a small mirror from the pocket of his hunting shirt and held it in such a position that it made a focus of the sun's rays, throwing them in a perfect blazing lance of light. he turned the flaming lance around the horizon, until it completed the circle and then he started around with it again. meantime he was keeping a close watch upon every high point. a hill rose in the north, and he looked at it longest, but nothing came from it. there was another, but lower, hill in the west, and before he had completed the second round with his glass a light flashed from it. it was a brilliant light, almost like a sheaf of white incandescent rays. he lowered his own mirror and the light played directly upon his hill. when it ceased he sent back answering rays, to which, when he stopped, a rejoinder came in like fashion. then he put the little mirror back in the safe pocket of his hunting shirt and rode with perfect confidence toward that western hill. the crest that ned sought was several miles away, although it looked much nearer in the thin clear air of the plains, but he rode now at increased speed, because there was much to draw him on. old jack seemed to share in his lightness of spirit, raising his head once and neighing, as if he were sending forth a welcome. the boy soon saw two figures upon the hill, the shapes of horse and man, outlined in black against the sun, which was now declining in the west. they were motionless and they were exaggerated into gigantic stature against the red background. ned knew them, although the distance was far too great to disclose any feature. but signal had spoken truly to signal, and that was enough. old jack made a fresh burst of speed and presently neighed once more. an answering neigh came back from the hill. ned rode up the slope and greeted obed white and the ring tailed panther with outstretched hands. "and it's you, my boy," said obed, his eyes glistening. "until we saw your signal we were afraid that you might have frozen to death in the norther, but it's a long lane that has no happy ending, and here we are, all three of us, alive, and as well as ever." "that's so," said the panther, "but even when the storm was at its worst i didn't give up, ned. somehow, when things are at the blackest i'm always hopin'. i don't take any credit fur it. i was just born with that kind of a streak in me." ned regarded him with admiration. the ring tailed panther was certainly a gorgeous object. he rode a great black horse with a flowing mane. he was clad completely in a suit of buckskin which was probably without a match on the border. it and his moccasins were adorned with thick rows of beads of many colors, that glittered and flashed as the sunlight played upon them. heavy silver spurs were fastened to his heels, and his hat of broad brim and high cone in the mexican fashion was heavy with silver braid. his saddle also was of the high, peaked style, studded with silver. the panther noticed ned's smile of appraisement and smiled back. "ain't it fine?" he said. "i guess this is about the beautifullest outfit to be found in either texas or mexico. i bought it all in honor of our victory just after we took san antonio, and it soothes my eyes and makes my heart strong every time i look at it." "and it helps out the prairies," said obed white, his eyes twinkling. "now that winter has made 'em brown, they need a dash of color and the panther gives it to 'em. fine feathers don't keep a man from being a man for a' that. what did you do in the storm, ned?" "i found shelter in a thick grove, managed to light a fire, and slept there in my blankets." "we did about the same." "but i saw something before i reached my shelter." "what was that?" exclaimed the two, noting the significance in ned's tone. "while i was waiting in a dip i saw ten mexican horsemen ride by. they were heavily armed, and i've no doubt they were scouts belonging to some strong force." "and so they are back on this side of the rio grande," said obed white thoughtfully. "i'm not surprised. our texans have rejoiced too early. the full storm has not burst yet." the panther began to bristle. a giant in size, he seemed to grow larger, and his gorgeous hunting suit strained at the seams. "let 'em come on," he said menacingly. "let santa anna himself lead 'em. we texans can take care of 'em all." but obed white shook his head sadly. "we could if we were united," he said, "but our leaders have taken to squabbling. you're a cheerful talker, panther, and you deserve both your names, but to tell you the honest truth i'm afraid of the mexican advance." "i think the mexicans probably belonged to urrea's band," said ned. "very likely," said obed. "he's about the most energetic of their partisan leaders, and it may be that we'll run against him pretty soon." they had heard in their scouting along the rio grande that young francisco urrea, after the discovery that he was a spy and his withdrawal from san antonio with the captured army of cos, had organized a strong force of horsemen and was foremost among those who were urging a new mexican advance into texas. "it's pretty far west for the mexicans," said the panther. "we're on the edge of the indian country here." but obed considered it all the more likely that urrea, if he meditated a raid, would come from the west, since his approach at that point would be suspected the least. the three held a brief discussion and soon came to an agreement. they would continue their own ride west and look for urrea. having decided so, they went into the task heart and soul, despite its dangers. the three rode side by side and three pairs of skilled eyes examined the plain. the snow was left only in sheltered places or among the trees. but the further they went the scarcer became the trees, and before night they disappeared entirely. "we are comin' upon the buffalo range," said the panther. "a hundred miles further west we'd be likely to strike big herds. when we're through fightin' the mexicans i'm goin' out there again. it's the life fur me." the night came, dark and cold, but fortunately without wind. they camped in a dip and did not light any fire, lying as ned had done the night before on their horse blankets and wrapping themselves in their own. the three horses seemed to be contented with one another and made no noise. they deemed it wise now to keep a watch, as they might be near urrea's band or lipans might pass, and the panther, who said he was not sleepy at all, became sentinel. ned, although he had not risen until noon, was sleepy again from the long ride, and his eyes closed soon. the last object that he saw was the panther standing on the crest of the swell just beyond them, rifle on shoulder, watching the moonlit plains. obed white was asleep already. the panther walked back and forth a few times and then looked down at his comrades in the dip. his trained eyes saw their chests rising and falling, and he knew that they were far away in the land of nowhere. then he extended his walk back and forth a little further, scanning carefully the dusky plain. a light wind sprang up after a while, and it brought a low but heavy and measured tread to his ears. the panther's first impulse was to awaken his friends, because this might be the band of urrea, but he hesitated a moment, and then lay down with his ear to the earth. when he rose his uneasiness had departed and he resumed his walk back and forth. he had heard that tread before many times and, now that it was coming nearer, he could not mistake it, but, as the measured beat indicated that it would pass to one side, it bore no threat for his comrades or himself. the panther did not stop his walk as from a distance of a few hundred yards he watched the great buffalo herd go by. the sound was so steady and regular that ned and obed were not awakened nor were the horses disturbed. the buffaloes showed a great black mass across the plain, extending for fully a mile, and they were moving north at an even gait. the panther watched until the last had passed, and he judged that there were fully a hundred thousand animals in the herd. he saw also the big timber wolves hanging on the rear and flanks, ready to cut out stray calves or those weak from old age. so busy were the wolves seeking a chance that they did not notice the gigantic figure of the man, rifle on shoulder, who stood on the crest of the swell looking at them as they passed. the panther's eyes followed the black line of the herd until it disappeared under the northern rim of darkness. he was wondering why the buffaloes were traveling so steadily after daylight and he came to the conclusion that the impelling motive was not a search for new pastures. he listened a long time until the last rumble of the hundred thousand died away in a faint echo, and then he awakened his comrades. "i'm thinkin'," he said, "that the presence of urrea's band made the buffaloes move. now i'm not a ring tailed panther an' a cheerful talker for nothin', an' we want to hunt that band. like as not they've been doin' some mischief, which we may be able partly to undo. i'm in favor of ridin' south, back on the herd track an' lookin' for 'em." "so am i," said obed white. "my watch says it's one o'clock in the morning, and my watch is always right, because i made it myself. we've had a pretty good rest, enough to go on, and what we find may be worth finding. a needle in a haystack may be well hid, but you'll find it if you look long enough." they rode almost due south in the great path made by the buffalo herd, not stopping for a full two hours when a halt was made at a signal from the panther. they were in a wide plain, where buffalo grass yet grew despite the winter, and the panther said with authority that the herd had been grazing here before it was started on its night journey into the north. "an' if we ride about this place long enough," he said, "we'll find the reason why the buffaloes left it." he turned his horse in a circuit of the plain and ned and obed followed the matchless tracker, who was able, even in the moonlight, to note any disturbance of the soil. presently he uttered a little cry and pointed ahead. both saw the skeleton of a buffalo which evidently had been killed not long and stripped of its meat. a little further on they saw another and then two more. "that tells it," said the panther succinctly. "these buffaloes were killed for food an' most likely by mexicans. it was the shots that set the herd to runnin'. the men who killed 'em are not far away, an' i'm not a ring tailed panther an' a cheerful talker if they don't belong to urrea's band." "isn't that a light?" said ned, pointing to the west, "or is it a firefly or something of the kind?" a glowing spark was just visible over the plain, but as it neither moved nor went out the three concluded that it was made by a distant fire. "i think it's in chaparral or among trees," said obed, "or we would see it more plainly. it's a poor camp fire that hides its light under a bushel." "i think you're right an' it must be chaparral," said the panther. "but we'll ride toward it an' soon answer our own questions." the light was more than a mile away and, as they advanced slowly, they saw it grow in size and intensity. it was surely a campfire, but no sound that they could yet hear came from it. they did not expect to hear any. if it was indeed urrea and his men they would probably be sleeping soundly, not expecting any foe to be near. the panther now dismounted, and the other two did likewise. "no need to show too high above the plain," he said, "an' if we have to run it won't take a second to jump back on our horses." ned did not take the bridle of his horse as the others did. he knew that old jack would follow as faithful as any dog to his master, and he was right. as they advanced slowly the velvet nose more than once pressed trustfully against his elbow. they saw now that an extensive growth of chaparral rose before them, from the center of which the light seemed to be shining. the panther lay down on the prairie, put his ear to the ground, and listened a long time. "i think i hear the feet of horses movin' now an' then," he said, "an' if so, one of us had better stay behin' with ours. a horse of theirs might neigh an' a horse of ours might answer. yon can't tell. obed, i guess it'll be for you to stay. you've got a most soothin' disposition with animals." "all right," said obed philosophically, "i'd rather go on, but, if it's better for me to stay, i'll stay. they also serve who stand and hold the reins. if you find you've got to leave in a hurry i'll be here waiting." he gathered up the reins of the three horses and remained quietly on the plain, while ned and the panther went forward, making straight for the light. when they came to the edge of the chaparral they knelt among the bushes and listened. now both distinctly heard the occasional movement of horses, and they saw the dusky outlines of several figures before the fire, which was about three hundred yards away. "they are bound to be mexicans," whispered the panther, "'cause there are no texans in this part of the country, an' you an' me, ned, must find out just who they are." "you lead the way, panther," said ned. "i'll follow wherever you go." "then be mighty careful. look out for the thorns an' don't knock your rifle against any bush." the panther lay almost flat. his huge figure seemed to blend with the earth, and he crept forward among the thorny bushes with amazing skill. he was like some large animal, trained for countless generations to slip through thickets. ned, just behind him, could hear only the faintest noise, and the bushes moved so little that one, not knowing, might have credited it to the wind. the boy had the advantage of following in the path made by the man's larger figure, and he, too, was successful in making no sound. but he could hear the stamp of horses' feet clearly now, and both to left and right he caught glimpses of them tethered in the thickets. his comrade stopped at last. they were not more than a hundred yards from the fire now, and the space in front of them was mostly open. the panther, crouching among the bushes, raised his finger slowly and pointed toward the fire. ned, who had moved to one side, followed the pointing finger and saw urrea. he was the dominant figure in a group of six or seven gathered about the flames. he was no longer in any disguise, but wore an officer's gorgeous uniform of white and silver. a splendid cocked hat was on his head, and a small gold hilted rapier swung by his side. it may have been partly the effect of the night and the red flame, but the face of urrea had upon ned an effect much like that of santa anna. it was dark and handsome, but full of evil. and evil ned knew urrea to be. no man with righteous blood in his veins would play the spy and traitor as he had done. "i could shoot him from here," whispered the panther, who evidently was influenced in a similar way, "then reach our horses an' get away. it might be a good deed, an' it might save our lives, ned, but i'm not able to force myself to do it." "nor i," said ned. "i can't shoot an enemy from ambush." urrea and the other men at the fire, all of whom were in the dress of officers, were in a deep talk. ned inferred that the subject must be of much importance, since they sat awake, discussing it between midnight and morning. "look beyond the fire at the figures leanin' against the trees," whispered the panther. ned looked and hot anger rose in his veins. chapter ii the captives ned had not noticed at first, but, since his eyes were growing used to the dim light, and since the panther had pointed the way, he saw a dozen men, arms bound tightly behind them, leaning against the trees. they were prisoners and he knew instinctively that they were texans. his blood, hot at first, now chilled in his veins. they had been captured by urrea in a raid, and as santa anna had decreed that all texans were rebels who should be executed when taken, they would surely die, unless rescue came. "what shall we do?" he whispered. "nothing now," replied the panther, in the same soft tone, "but if you an' obed are with me we'll follow this crowd, an' maybe we can get the texans away from 'em. it's likely that urrea will cross the rio grande an' go down into mexico to meet cos or santa anna. are you game enough to go, ned? i'm a ring tailed panther an' a roarin' grizzly bear, but i don't like to follow all by myself." "i'm with you," said ned, "if i have to go all the way back to the city of mexico, an' i know that i can speak for obed, too." "i jest asked as a matter of form," said the panther. "i knowed before askin' that you an' obed would stick to me." there was a sudden gust of wind at that moment and the light of the fire sprang higher. the flames threw a glow across the faces of the prisoners. most of them were asleep, but ned saw them very distinctly now. one was a boy but little older than himself, his face pale and worn. near him was an old man, with a face very uncommon on the border. his features were those of a scholar and ascetic. his cheeks were thin, and thick white hair crowned a broad white brow. ned felt instinctively that he was a man of importance. both the boy and the man slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. urrea rose presently and looked at his prisoners. the moonlight was shining on his face, and it seemed to ned to be that of some master demon. the boy was far from denying many good qualities to the mexicans, but the countenance of urrea certainly did not express any of them that night. it showed only savage exultation as he looked at the bound men, and ned knew that this was a formidable enemy of the texans, one who would bring infinite resources of cunning and enterprise to crush them. urrea said a few words to his officers and then withdrew into a small tent which ned had not noticed hitherto. the officers lay down in their blankets, but a dozen sentinels watched about the open space. ned and the panther crept slowly back toward the plain. "what is our best plan, panther?" whispered the hoy. "we can't do anything yet but haul off, watch an' then follow. the chaparral runs along for a mile or two an' we can hide in the north end of it until they march south an' are out of sight. then we'll hang on." they found obed standing exactly where they had left him, the reins of the three horses in his hands. "back at last," he said. "all things come to him who waits long enough, if he doesn't die first. did you see anything besides a lot of mexican vaqueros, fuddled with liquor and sound asleep?" "we did not see any vaqueros," replied the panther, "but we saw urrea an' his band, an' they had among them a dozen good texans bound fast, men who will be shot if we three don't stand in the way. you have to follow with us, obed, because ned has already promised for you." the maine man looked at them and smiled. "a terribly good mind reader, that boy, ned," he said. "he knew exactly what i wanted. there's a lot of things in the world that i'd like to do, but the one that i want to do most just now is to follow urrea and that crowd of his and take away those texans. you two couldn't keep me from going." the panther smiled back. "you are shorely the right stuff, obed white," he said. "we're only three in this bunch, but two of 'em besides me are ring-tailed panthers. now we'll just draw off, before it's day, an' hide in the chaparral up there." they rode a mile to the north and remained among dense bushes until daylight. at dawn they saw a column of smoke rise from urrea's camp. "they are cookin' breakfast now," said the panther. "it's my guess that in an hour they'll be ridin' south with their prisoners." the column of smoke sank after a while, and a couple of hours later the three left the chaparral. from one of the summits they dimly saw a mass of horsemen riding toward mexico. "there's our men," said the panther, "an' now we'll follow all day at this good, safe distance. at night we can draw up closer if we want to do it." the mexicans maintained a steady pace, and the three pursuers followed at a distance of perhaps two miles. now and then the swells completely shut urrea's band from sight, but ned, obed and the panther followed the broad trail without the slightest difficulty. "they'll reach the river before noon," said the panther. "there ain't any doubt now that they're bound for mexico. it's jest as well for what we want to do, 'cause they're likely to be less watchful there than they are in texas." the band of urrea, as nearly as they could judge, numbered about fifty, all mounted and armed well. the mexicans were fine horsemen, and with good training and leadership they were dangerous foes. the three knew them well, and they kept so far behind that they were not likely to be observed. it was only a half hour past noon when urrea's men reached the rio grande, and without stopping made the crossing. they avoided the quicksands with experienced eyes, and swam their horses through the deep water, the prisoners always kept in the center of the troop. ned, obed and the panther watched them until they passed out of sight. then they, too, rode forward, although slowly, toward the stream. "we can't lose 'em," said the panther, "so i think we'd better stay out of sight now that they're on real mexican soil. maybe our chance will come to-night, an' ag'in maybe it won't." "patience will have its perfect rescue, if we only do the right things," said obed. "an' if we think hard enough an' long enough we're bound to do 'em, or i'm a ring tailed panther an' a cheerful talker fur nothin'," said the panther. waiting until they were certain that the mexicans were five or six miles ahead, the three forded the rio grande, and stood once more on mexican soil. it gave ned a curious thrill. he had passed through so much in mexico that he had not believed he would ever again enter that country. the land on the mexican side was about the same as that on the texan, but it seemed different to him. he beheld again that aspect of infinite age, of the long weariness of time, and of physical decay. they rode more briskly through the afternoon and at darkness saw the camp fires of urrea glimmering ahead of them. but the night was not favorable to their plans. the sky was the usual cloudless blue of the mexican plateau, the moon was at the full and all the stars were out. what they wanted was bad weather, hoping meanwhile the execution of the prisoners would not be begun until the mexicans reached higher authority than urrea, perhaps santa anna himself. they made their own camp a full two miles from urrea's, and obed and the panther divided the watch. urrea started early the next morning, and so did the pursuing three. the dawn was gray, and the breeze was chill. as they rode on, the wind rose and its edge became so sharp that there was a prospect of another norther. the panther unrolled from his pack the most gorgeous serape that ned had ever seen. it was of the finest material, colored a deep scarlet and it had a gold fringe. "fine feathers are seen afar," said obed. "that's so," said the panther, "but we're not coming near enough to the mexicans for them to catch a glimpse of this, an' such bein' the case i'm goin' to put it between me an' the cold. i'm proud of it, an' when i wrap it aroun' me i feel bigger an' stronger. its red color helps me. i think i draw strength from red, just as i do from a fine, tender buffalo steak." he spoke with much earnestness, and the other two did not contradict him. meanwhile he gracefully folded the great serape about his shoulders, letting it fall to the saddle. no mexican could have worn it more rakishly. "that's my shield and protector," he said. "now blow wind, blow snow, i'll keep warm." it blew wind, but it did not blow snow. the day remained cold, but the air undoubtedly had a touch of damp. "it may rain, and i'm sure the night will be dark," said obed. "we may have our chance. fortune favors those who help themselves." the country became more broken, and the patches of scrub forest increased in number. often the three rode quite near to urrea's men and observed them closely. the mexicans were moving slowly, and, as the americans had foreseen, discipline was relaxed greatly. near night drops of rain began to fall in their faces, and the sun set among clouds. the three rejoiced. a night, dark and wet, had come sooner than they had hoped. obed and ned also took out serapes, and wrapped them around their shoulders. they served now not only to protect their bodies, but to keep their firearms dry as well. then they tethered their horses among thorn bushes about a mile from urrea's camp, and advanced on foot. they saw the camp fire glimmering feebly through the night, and they advanced boldly. it was so dark now that a human figure fifty feet away blended with the dusk, and the ground, softened by the rain, gave back no sound of footsteps. nevertheless they saw on their right a field which showed a few signs of cultivation, and they surmised that urrea had made his camp at the lone hut of some peon. they reckoned right. they came to clumps of trees, and in an opening inclosed by them was a low adobe hut, from the open door of which a light shone. they knew that urrea and his officers had taken refuge there from the rain and cold and, under the boughs of the trees or beside the fire, they saw the rest of the band sheltering themselves as best they could. the prisoners, their hands bound, were in a group in the open, where the slow, cold rain fell steadily upon them. ned's heart swelled with rage at the sight. order and discipline seemed to be lacking. men came and went as they pleased. fully twenty of them were making a shelter of canvas and thatch beside the hut. others began to build the fire higher in order to fend off the wet and cold. ned did not see that the chance of a rescue was improved, but the panther felt a sudden glow when his eyes alighted upon something dark at the edge of the woods. a tiny shed stood there and his keen eyes marked what was beneath it. "what do you think we'd better do, panther?" asked obed. "no roarin' jest now. we mustn't raise our voices above whispers, but we'll go back in the brush and wait. in an hour or two all these mexicans will be asleep. like as not the sentinels, if they post any, will be asleep first." they withdrew deeper into the thickets, where they remained close together. they saw the fire die in the mexican camp. after a while all sounds there ceased, and again they crept near. the panther was a genuine prophet, known and recognized by his comrades. urrea's men, having finished their shelters, were now asleep, including all the sentinels except two. there was some excuse for them. they were in their own country, far from any texan force of importance, and the night could scarcely have been worse. it was very dark, and the cold rain fell with a steadiness and insistence that sought and finally found every opening in one's clothing. even the stalking three drew their serapes closer, and shivered a little. the two sentinels who did not sleep were together on the south side of the glade. evidently they wished the company of each other. they were now some distance from the dark little shed toward which the panther was leading his comrades, and their whole energies were absorbed in an attempt to light two cigarritos, which would soothe and strengthen them as they kept their rainy and useless watch. the three completed the segment of the circle and reached the little shed which had become such an object of importance to the panther. "don't you see?" said the panther, his grim joy showing in his tone. they saw, and they shared his satisfaction. the mexicans had stacked their rifles and muskets under the shed, where they would be protected from the rain. "it's queer what foolish things men do in war," said obed. "whom the gods would destroy they first deprive of the sense of danger. they do not dream that richard, meaning the panther, is in the chaparral." "if we approach this shed from the rear the sentinels, even if they look, will not be able to see us," said the panther. "by the great horn spoon, what an opportunity! i can hardly keep from roarin' an' ravin' about it. now, boys, we'll take away their guns, swift an' quiet." a few trips apiece and all the rifles and muskets with their ammunition were carried deep into the chaparral, where obed, gladly sacrificing his own comfort, covered them against the rain with his serape. not a sign had come meanwhile from the two sentinels on the far side of the camp. ned once or twice saw the lighted ends of their cigarritos glowing like sparks in the darkness, but the outlines of the men's figures were very dusky. "an' now for the riskiest part of our job, the one that counts the most," said the panther, "the one that will make everything else a failure if it falls through. we've got to secure the prisoners." the captives were lying under the boughs of some trees about twenty yards from the spot where the fire had been built. the pitiless rain had beaten upon them, but as far as ned could judge they had gone to sleep, doubtless through sheer exhaustion. the panther's plan of action was swift and comprehensive. "boys," he said, "i'm the best shot of us three. i don't say it in any spirit of boastin', 'cause i've pulled trigger about every day for thirty years, an' more'n once a hundred times in one day. now you two give me your rifles and i'll set here in the edge of the bushes, then you go ahead as silent as you can an' cut the prisoners loose. if there's an alarm i'll open fire with the three rifles and cover the escape." handing the rifles to the panther, the two slipped forward. it was a grateful task to ned. again his heart swelled with wrath as he saw the dark figures of the bound men lying on the ground in the rain. he remembered the one who was youthful of face like himself and he sought him. as he approached he made out a figure lying in a strained position, and he was sure that it was the captive lad. a yard or two more and he knew absolutely. he touched the boy on the shoulder, whispered in his ear that it was a friend, and, with one sweep of his knife, released his arms. "crawl to the chaparral there," said ned, in swift sharp tones, pointing the way. "another friend is waiting at that point." the boy, without a word, began to creep forward in a stiff and awkward fashion. ned turned to the next prisoner. it was the elderly man whom he had seen from the chaparral, and he was wide awake, staring intently at ned. "is it rescue?" he whispered. "is it possible?" "it is rescue. it is possible," replied ned, in a similar whisper. "turn a little to one side and i will cut the cords that bind you." the man turned, but when ned freed him he whispered: "you will have to help me. i cannot yet walk alone. urrea has already given me a taste of what i was to expect." ned shuddered. there was a terrible significance in the prisoner's tone. he assisted him to rise partly, but the man staggered. it was evident that he could not walk. he must help this man, but the others were waiting to be released also. then the good thought came. "wait a moment," he said, and he cut the bonds of another man. "now you help your friend there," he said. he saw the two going away together, and he turned to the others. he and obed worked fast, and within five minutes the last man was released. but as they crept back toward the chaparral the slack sentinels caught sight of the dusky figures retreating. two musket shots were fired and there were rapid shouts in mexican jargon. ned and obed rose to their feet and, keeping the escaped prisoners before them, ran for the thickets. a terrific reply to the mexican alarm came from the forest. a volley of rifle and pistol shots was fired among the soldiers as they sprang to their feet and a tremendous voice roared: "at 'em, boys! at 'em! charge 'em! now is your time! rip an' t'ar an' roar an' chaw! don't let a single one escape! sweep the scum off the face of the earth!" the ring tailed panther had a mighty voice, issuing from a mighty throat. never had he used it in greater volume or to better purpose than on that night. the forest fairly thundered with the echoes of the battle cry, and as the dazed mexicans rushed for their guns only to find them gone, they thought that the whole texan army was upon them. in another instant a new terror struck at their hearts. their horses and mules, driven in a frightful stampede, suddenly rushed into the glade and they were now busy keeping themselves from being trampled to death. truly the panther had spent well the few minutes allotted to him. he fired new shots, some into the frightened herd. his tremendous voice never ceased for an instant to encourage his charging troops, and to roar out threats against the enemy. urrea, to his credit, made an attempt to organize his men, to stop the panic, and to see the nature of the enemy, but he was borne away in the frantic mob of men and horses which was now rushing for the open plain. ned and obed led the fugitives to the place where the rifles and muskets were stacked. here they rapidly distributed the weapons and then broke across the tree trunks all they could not use or carry. another minute and they reached their horses, where the panther, panting from his huge exertions, joined them. ned helped the lame man upon one of the horses, the weakest two who remained, including the boy, were put upon the others, and led by the panther they started northward, leaving the chaparral. it was a singular march, but for a long time nothing was said. the sound of the mexican stampede could yet be heard, moving to the south, but they, rescuers and rescued, walked in silence save for the sound of their feet in the mud of the wind-swept plain. ned looked curiously at the faces of those whom they had saved, but the night had not lightened, and he could discern nothing. they went thus a full quarter of an hour. the noise of the stampede sank away in the south, and then the panther laughed. it was a deep, hearty, unctuous laugh that came from the very depths of the man's chest. it was a laugh with no trace of merely superficial joy. he who uttered it laughed because his heart and soul were in it. it was a laugh of mirth, relief and triumph, all carried to the highest degree. it was a long laugh, rising and falling, but when it ceased and the panther had drawn a deep breath he opened his mouth again and spoke the words that were in his mind. "i shorely did some rippin' an' roarin' then," he said. "it was the best chance i ever had, an' i guess i used it. how things did work for us! them sleepy sentinels, an' then the stampede of the animals, carryin' urrea an' the rest right away with it." "fortune certainly worked for us," said ned. "and we can find no words in which to describe to you our gratitude," said the crippled man on the horse. "we were informed very clearly by urrea that we were rebels and, under the decree of santa anna, would be executed. even our young friend here, this boy, william allen, would not have been spared." "we ain't all the way out of the woods yet," said the panther, not wishing to have their hopes rise too high and then fall. "of course urrea an' his men have some arms left. they wouldn't stack 'em all under the shed, an' they can get more from other mexicans in these parts. when they learn from their trailers how few we are they'll follow." the rescued were silent, save one, evidently a veteran frontiersman, who said: "let 'em come. i was took by surprise, not thinkin' any mexicans was north of the rio grande. but now that i've got a rifle on one shoulder an' a musket on the other i think i could thrash an acre-lot full of 'em." "that's the talk," said obed white. "we'll say to 'em: 'come one, come all, this rock from its firm base may fly, but we're the boys who'll never say die.'" they relapsed once more into silence. the rain had lightened a little, but the night was as dark as ever. the boy whom the man had called william allen drew up by the side of ned. they were of about the same height, and each was as tall and strong as a man. "have you any friends here with you?" asked ned. "all of them are my friends, but i made them in captivity. i came to texas to find my fortune, and i found this." the boy laughed, half in pity of himself, and half with genuine humor. "but i ought not to complain," he added, "when we've been saved in the most wonderful way. how did you ever happen to do it?" "we've been following you all the way from the other side of the rio grande, waiting a good chance. it came to-night with the darkness, the rain, and the carelessness of the mexicans. i heard the man call you william allen. my name is fulton, edward fulton, ned to my friends." "and mine's will to my friends." "and you and i are going to be friends, that's sure." "nothing can be surer." the hands of the two boys met in a strong grasp, signifying a friendship that was destined to endure. the panther and obed now began to seek a place for a camp. they knew that too much haste would mean a breakdown, and they meant that the people whom they had rescued should have a rest. but it took a long time to find the trees which would furnish wood and partial shelter. it was obed who made the happy discovery some time after midnight. turning to their left, they entered a grove of dwarf oaks, covering a half acre or so, and with much labor and striving built a fire. they made it a big fire, too, and fed it until the flames roared and danced. ned noticed that all the rescued prisoners crouched close to it, as if it were a giver of strength and courage as well as warmth, and now the light revealed their faces. he looked first at the crippled man, and the surprise that he had felt at his first glimpse of him increased. the stranger was of a type uncommon on the border. his large features showed cultivation and the signs of habitual and deep thought. his thick white hair surmounted a broad brow. his clothing, although torn by thorns and briars, was of fine quality. ned knew instinctively that it was a powerful face, one that seldom showed the emotions behind it. the rest, except the boy, were of the border, lean, sun-browned men, dressed in tanned deerskin. the panther and obed also gazed at the crippled man with great curiosity. they knew the difference, and they were surprised to find such a man in such a situation. he did not seem to notice them at first, but from his seat on a log leaned over the fire warming his hands, which ned saw were large, white and smooth. his legs lay loosely against the log, as if he were suffering from a species of paralysis. the others, soaked by the rain, which, however, now ceased, were also hovering over the fire which was giving new life to the blood in their veins. the man with the white hands turned presently and, speaking to ned, obed and the panther, said: "my name is roylston, john roylston." ned started. "i see that you have heard of it," continued the stranger, but without vanity. "yes, i am the merchant of new orleans. i have lands and other property in this region for which i have paid fairly. i hold the deeds and they are also guaranteed to me by santa anna and the mexican congress. i was seized by this guerilla leader, urrea. he knew who i was, and he sought to extract from me an order for a large sum of money lying in a european bank in the city of mexico. there are various ways of procuring such orders, and he tried one of the most primitive methods. that is why i cannot walk without help. no, i will not tell what was done. it is not pleasant to hear. let it pass. i shall walk again as well as ever in a month." "did he get the order?" asked obed curiously. roylston laughed deep in his throat. "he did not," he said. "it was not because i valued it so much, but my pride would not permit me to give way to such crude methods. i must say, however, that you three came just in time, and you have done a most marvelous piece of work." ned shuddered and walked a little space out on the plain to steady his nerves. he had never deceived himself about the dangers that the texans were facing, but it seemed that they would have to fight every kind of ferocity. when he returned, obed and the panther were building the fire higher. "we must get everybody good and dry," said the panther. "pursuit will come, but not to-night, an' we needn't worry about the blaze. we've food enough for all of you for a day, but we haven't the horses, an' for that i'm sorry. if we had them we could git away without a doubt to the texan army." "but not having them," said obed, "we'll even do the best we can, if the mexicans, having run away, come back to fight another day." "so we will," said a stalwart texan named fields. "that urrea don't get me again, and if i ain't mistook your friend here is mr. palmer, better known in our parts as the ring tailed panther, ain't he?" ned saw the panther's huge form swell. he still wore the great serape, which shone in the firelight with a deep blood-red tinge. "i am the ring tailed panther," he said proudly. "then lemme shake your hand. you an' your pards have done a job to-night that ain't had its like often, and me bein' one of them that's profited by it makes it look all the bigger to me." the panther graciously extended an enormous palm, and the great palm of fields met it in a giant clasp. a smile lighted up the somber face of mr. roylston as he looked at them. "often we find powerful friends when we least expect them," he said. "as you are the worst hurt of the lot," said the panther, "we're going to make you a bed right here by the fire. no, it ain't any use sayin' you won't lay down on it. if you won't we'll jest have to put you down." they spread a blanket, upon which the exhausted merchant lay, and they covered him with a serape. soon he fell asleep, and then fields said to ned and his comrades: "you fellows have done all the work, an' you've piled up such a mountain of debt against us that we can never wipe it out. now you go to sleep and four of us will watch. and, knowin' what would happen to us if we were caught, we'll watch well. but nothing is to be expected to-night." "suits us," said obed. "some must watch while others sleep, so runs the world away. bet you a dollar, ned, that i'm off to slumberland before you are." "i don't take the bet," said ned, "but i'll run you an even race." in exactly five minutes the two, rolled in their own blankets, slept soundly. all the others soon followed, except four, who, unlike the mexicans, kept a watch that missed nothing. chapter iii the fight with urrea morning came. up rose the sun, pouring a brilliant light over the desolate plains. beads of water from the rain the night before sparkled a little while and then dried up. but the day was cold, nevertheless, and a sharp wind now began to search for the weakest point of every one. ned, obed and the panther were up betimes, but some of the rescued still slept. ned, at the suggestion of the panther, mounted one of the horses and rode out on the plain a half mile to the south. those keen eyes of his were becoming all the keener from life upon the vast rolling plains. but no matter how he searched the horizon he saw only a lonesome cactus or two shivering in the wind. when he returned with his report the redoubtable panther said: "then we'll just take our time. the pursuit's goin' to come, but since it ain't in sight we'll brace up these new friends of ours with hot coffee an' vittles. i guess we've got coffee enough left for all." they lighted the fire anew and soon pleasant odors arose. the rescued prisoners ate and drank hungrily, and mr. roylston was able to limp a little. now that ned saw him in the full daylight he understood more clearly than ever that this was indeed a most uncommon man. the brow and eyes belonged to one who thought, planned and organized. he spoke little and made no complaint, but when he looked at ned he said: "you are young, my boy, to live among such dangers. why do you not go north into the states where life is safe?" "there are others as young as i, or younger, who have fought or will fight for texas," said ned. "i belong here and i've got powerful friends. two of them have saved my life more than once and are likely to do so again." he nodded toward obed and the panther, who were too far away to hear. roylston smiled. the two men were in singular contrast, but each was striking in his way. obed, of great height and very thin, but exceedingly strong, was like a steel lath. the panther, huge in every aspect, reminded one, in his size and strength, of a buffalo bull. "they are uncommon men, no doubt," said roylston. "and you expect to remain with them?" "i'd never leave them while this war lasts! not under any circumstances!" ned spoke with great energy, and again roylston smiled, but he said no more. "it's time to start," said the panther. roylston again mounted one of the horses. ned saw that it hurt his pride to have to ride, but he saw also that he would not complain when complaints availed nothing. he felt an increasing interest in a man who seemed to have perfect command over himself. the boy, will allen, was fresh and strong again. his youthful frame had recovered completely from all hardships, and now that he was free, armed, and in the company of true friends his face glowed with pleasure and enthusiasm. he was tall and strong, and now he carried a good rifle with a pistol also in his belt. he and ned walked side by side, and each rejoiced in the companionship of one of his own age. "how long have you been with them?" asked will, looking at obed and the panther. "i was first with obed away down in mexico. we were prisoners together in the submarine dungeon of san juan de ulua. i'd never have escaped without him. and i'd never have escaped a lot more things without him, either. then we met the panther. he's the greatest frontiersman in all the southwest, and we three somehow have become hooked together." will looked at ned a little enviously. "what comrades you three must be!" he said. "i have nobody." "are you going to fight for texas?" "i count on doing so." "then why don't you join us, and we three will turn into four?" will looked at ned, and his eyes glistened. "do you mean that?" he asked. "do i mean it? i think i do. ho, there, panther! you and obed, just a minute or two!" the two turned back. ned and will were walking at the rear of the little company. "i've asked will to be one of us," said ned, "to join our band and to share our fortunes, good or bad." "can he make all the signs, an' has he rid the goat?" asked the panther solemnly. "does he hereby swear never to tell any secret of ours to mexican or indian?" asked obed. "does he swear to obey all our laws and by-laws wherever he may be, and whenever he is put to the test?" "he swears to everything," replied ned, "and i know that he is the kind to make a trusty comrade to the death." "then you are declared this minute a member of our company in good standin'," said the panther to will, "an' with this grip i give you welcome." he crushed the boy's hand in a mighty grasp that made him wince, and obed followed with one that was almost equally severe. but the boy did not mind the physical pain. instead, his soul was uplifted. he was now the chosen comrade of these three paladins, and he was no longer alone in the world. but he merely said: "i'll try to show myself worthy." they were compelled to stop at noon for rather a long rest, as walking was tiresome. fields, who was a good scout, went back and looked for pursuers, but announced that he saw none, and, after an hour, they started again. "i'm thinkin'," said the panther, "that urrea has already organized the pursuit. mebbe he has pow'ful glasses an' kin see us when we can't see him. he may mean to attack to-night. it's a lucky thing for us that we can find timber now an' then." "it's likely that you're right about to-night," said obed, "but there's no night so dark that it doesn't have its silver lining. i guess everybody in this little crowd is a good shot, unless maybe it's mr. roylston, and as we have about three guns apiece we can make it mighty hot for any force that urrea may bring against us." they began now to search for timber, looking especially for some clump of trees that also inclosed water. they did not anticipate any great difficulty in regard to the water, as the winter season and the heavy rains had filled the dry creek beds, and had sent torrents down the arroyos. before dark they found a stream about a foot deep running over sand between banks seven or eight feet high toward the rio grande. a mile further on a small grove of myrtle oaks and pecans grew on its left bank, and there they made their camp. feeling that they must rely upon their valor and watchfulness, and not upon secrecy, they built a fire, and ate a good supper. then they put out the fire and half of them remained on guard, the other half going to sleep, except roylston, who sat with his back to a tree, his injured legs resting upon a bed of leaves which the boys had raked up for him. he had been riding old jack and the horse had seemed to take to him, but after the stop ned himself had looked after his mount. the boy allowed old jack to graze a while, and then he tethered him in the thickest of the woods just behind the sleeping man. he wished the horse to be as safe as possible in case bullets should be flying, and he could find no better place for him. but before going he stroked his nose and whispered in his ear. "good old jack! brave fellow!" he said. "we are going to have troublous times, you and i, along with the others, but i think we are going to ride through them safely." the horse whinnied ever so softly, and nuzzled ned's arm. the understanding between them was complete. then ned left him, intending to take a position by the bank of the creek as he was on the early watch. on the way he passed roylston, who regarded him attentively. "i judge that your leader, mr. palmer, whom you generally call the panther, is expecting an attack," said the merchant. "he's the kind of man who tries to provide for everything," replied ned. "of course, then," said roylston, "he provides for the creek bed. the mexican skirmishers can come up it and yet be protected by its banks." "that is so," said the panther, who had approached as he was speaking. "it's the one place that we've got to watch most, an' ned an' me are goin' to sit there on the banks, always lookin'. i see that you've got the eye of a general, mr. roylston." the merchant smiled. "i'm afraid i don't count for much in battle," he said, "and least of all hampered as i am now. but if the worst comes to the worst i can sit here with my back to this tree and shoot. if you will kindly give me a rifle and ammunition i shall be ready for the emergency." "but it is your time to sleep, mr. roylston," said the panther. "i don't think i can sleep, and as i cannot i might as well be of use." the panther brought him the rifle, powder and bullets, and roylston, leaning against the tree, rifle across his knees, watched with bright eyes. sentinels were placed at the edge of the grove, but the panther and ned, as arranged, were on the high bank overlooking the bed of the creek. now and then they walked back and forth, meeting at intervals, but most of the time each kept to his own particular part of the ground. ned found an oak, blown down on the bank by some hurricane, and as there was a comfortable seat on a bough with the trunk as a rest for his back he remained there a long time. but his ease did not cause him to relax his vigilance. he was looking toward the north, and he could see two hundred yards or more up the creek bed to a point where it curved. the bed itself was about thirty feet wide, although the water did not have a width of more than ten feet. everything was now quite dry, as the wind had been blowing all day. but the breeze had died with the night, and the camp was so still that ned could hear the faint trickle of the water over the sand. it was a fair night, with a cold moon and cold stars looking down. the air was full of chill, and ned began to walk up and down again in order to keep warm. he noticed roylston still sitting with eyes wide open and the rifle across his lap. as ned came near in his walk the merchant turned his bright eyes upon him. "i hear," he said, "that you have seen santa anna." "more than once. several times when i was a prisoner in mexico, and again when i was recaptured." "what do you think of him?" the gaze of the bright eyes fixed upon ned became intense and concentrated. "a great man! a wickedly great man!" roylston turned his look away, and interlaced his fingers thoughtfully. "a good description, i think," he said. "you have chosen your words well. a singular compound is this mexican, a mixture of greatness, vanity and evil. i may talk to you more of him some day. but i tell you now that i am particularly desirous of not being carried a prisoner to him." he lifted the rifle, put its stock to his shoulder, and drew a bead. "i think i could hit at forty or fifty yards in this good moonlight," he said. he replaced the rifle across his knees and sighed. ned was curious, but he would not ask questions, and he walked back to his old position by the bank. here he made himself easy, and kept his eyes on the deep trench that had been cut by the stream. the shadows were dark against the bank, but it seemed to him that they were darker than they had been before. ned's blood turned a little colder, and his scalp tingled. he was startled but not afraid. he looked intently, and saw moving figures in the river bed, keeping close against the bank. he could not see faces, he could not even discern a clear outline of the figures, but he had no doubt that these were urrea's mexicans. he waited only a moment longer to assure himself that the dark moving line was fact and not fancy. then, aiming his rifle at the foremost shape, he fired. while the echo of the sharp crack was yet speeding across the plain he cried: "up, men! up! urrea is here!" a volley came from the creek bed, but in an instant the panther, obed, will and fields were by ned's side. "down on your faces," cried the panther, "an' pot 'em as they run! so they thought to go aroun' the grove, come down from the north an' surprise us this way! give it to 'em, boys!" the rifles flashed and the dark line in the bed of the creek now broke into a huddle of flying forms. three fell, but the rest ran, splashing through the sand and water, until they turned the curve and were protected from the deadly bullets. then the panther, calling to the others, rushed to the other side of the grove, where a second attack, led by urrea in person, had been begun. here men on horseback charged directly at the wood, but they were met by a fire which emptied more than one saddle. much of the charge was a blur to ned, a medley of fire and smoke, of beating hoofs and of cries. but one thing he saw clearly and never forgot. it was the lame man with the thick white hair sitting with his back against a tree calmly firing a rifle at the mexicans. roylston had time for only two shots, but when he reloaded the second time he placed the rifle across his knees as before and smiled. most mexican troops would have been content with a single charge, but these returned, encouraged by shouts and driven on by fierce commands. ned saw a figure waving a sword. he believed it to be urrea, and he fired, but he missed, and the next moment the horseman was lost in the shadows. the second charge was beaten back like the first, and several skirmishers who tried to come anew down the bed of the creek were also put to flight. two mexicans got into the thickets and tried to stampede the horses, but the quickness of obed and fields defeated their aim. one of the mexicans fell there, but the other escaped in the darkness. when the second charge was driven back and the horses were quieted the panther and obed threshed up the woods, lest some mexican musketeer should lie hidden there. nobody slept any more that night. ned, will and the panther kept a sharp watch upon the bed of the creek, the moon and stars fortunately aiding them. but the mexicans did not venture again by that perilous road, although toward morning they opened a scattering fire from the plain, many of their bullets whistling at random among the trees and thickets. some of the texans, crawling to the edge of the wood, replied, but they seemed to have little chance for a good shot, as the mexicans lay behind a swell. the besiegers grew tired after a while and silence came again. three of the texans had suffered slight wounds, but the panther and fields bound them up skillfully. it was still light enough for these tasks. fields was particularly jubilant over their success, as he had a right to be. the day before he could look forward only to his own execution. now he was free and victorious. exultantly he hummed: you've heard, i s'pose, of new orleans, it's famed for youth and beauty; there are girls of every hue, it seems, from snowy white to sooty. now packenham has made his brags, if he that day was lucky, he'd have the girls and cotton bags in spite of old kentucky. but jackson, he was wide awake, and was not scared at trifles, for well he knew kentucky's boys, with their death-dealing rifles. he led them down to cypress swamp, the ground was low and mucky; there stood john bull in martial pomp, and here stood old kentucky. "pretty good song, that of yours," said the panther approvingly. "where did you get it?" "from my father," replied fields. "he's a kentuckian, an' he fit at new orleans. he was always hummin' that song, an' it come back to me after we drove off the mexicans. struck me that it was right timely." ned and will, on their own initiative, had been drawing all the fallen logs that they could find and move to the edge of the wood, and having finished the task they came back to the bed of the creek. roylston, the rifle across his knees, was sitting with his eyes closed, but he opened them as they approached. they were uncommonly large and bright eyes, and they expressed pleasure. "it gratifies me to see that neither of you is hurt," he said. "this has been a strange night for two who are as young as you are. and it is a strange night for me, too. i never before thought that i should be firing at any one with intent to kill. but events are often too powerful for us." he closed his eyes again. "i am going to sleep a little, if i can," he said. but ned and will could not sleep. they went to ned's old position at the edge of the creek bed, and together watched the opening dawn. they saw the bright sun rise over the great plains, and the dew sparkle for a little while on the brown grass. the day was cold, but apparently it had come with peace. they saw nothing on the plain, although they had no doubt that the mexicans were waiting just beyond the first swell. but ned and will discerned three dark objects lying on the sand up the bed of the creek, and they knew that they were the men who had fallen in the first rush. ned was glad that he could not see their faces. at the suggestion of the panther they lighted fires and had warm food and coffee again, thus putting heart into all the defenders. then the panther chose ned for a little scouting work on horseback. ned found old jack seeking blades of grass within the limits allowed by his lariat. but when the horse saw his master he stretched out his head and neighed. "i think i understand you," said ned. "not enough food and no water. well, i'll see that you get both later, but just now we're going on a little excursion." the panther and ned rode boldly out of the trees, and advanced a short distance upon the plain. two or three shots were fired from a point behind the first swell, but the bullets fell far short. "i counted on that," said the panther. "if a mexican has a gun it's mighty hard for him to keep from firing it. all we wanted to do was to uncover their position an' we've done it. we'll go back now, an' wait fur them to make the first move." but they did not go just yet. a man on horseback waving a large white handkerchief appeared on the crest of the swell and rode toward them. it was urrea. "he knows that he can trust us, while we don't know that we can trust him," said the panther, "so we'll just wait here an' see what he has to say." urrea, looking fresh and spirited, came on with confidence and saluted in a light easy fashion. the two americans did not return the salute, but waited gravely. "we can be polite, even if we are enemies," said urrea, "so i say good morning to you both, former friends of mine." "i have no friendship with spies and traitors," growled the panther. "i serve my country in the way i think best," said urrea, "and you must remember that in our view you two are rebels and traitors." "we don't stab in the back," said the panther. urrea flushed through his swarthy skin. "we will not argue the point any further," he said, "but come at once to the business before us. first, i will admit several things. your rescue of the prisoners was very clever. also you beat us off last night, but i now have a hundred men with me and we have plenty of arms. we are bound to take you sooner or later." "then why talk to us about it?" said the panther. "because i wish to save bloodshed." "wa'al, then, what do you have to say?" "give us the man, roylston, and the rest of you can go free." "why are you so anxious to have roylston?" ned eagerly awaited the answer. it was obvious that roylston had rather minimized his own importance. urrea flicked the mane of his mustang with a small whip and replied: "our president and general, the illustrious santa anna, is extremely anxious to see him. secrets of state are not for me. i merely seek to do my work." "then you take this from me," said the panther, a blunt frontiersman, "my comrades an' me ain't buyin' our lives at the price of nobody else's." "you feel that way about it, do you?" "that's just the way we feel, and i want to say, too, that i wouldn't take the word of either you or your santa anna. if we was to give up mr. roylston--which we don't dream of doin'--you'd be after us as hot an' strong as ever." urrea's swarthy cheeks flushed again. "i shall not notice your insults," he said. "they are beneath me. i am a mexican officer and gentleman, and you are mere riders of the plains." "all the same," said the panther grimly, "if you are goin' to talk you have to talk with us." "that is true," said urrea lightly, having regained complete control of his temper. "in war one cannot choose his enemies. i make you the proposition once more. give us roylston and go. if you do not accept we shall nevertheless take him and all of you who do not fall first. remember that you are rebels and traitors and that you will surely be shot or hanged." "i don't remember any of them things," said the panther grimly. "what i do remember is that we are texans fightin' fur our rights. to hang a man you've first got to catch him, an' to shoot him you've first got to hit him. an' since things are to be remembered, remember that what you are tryin' to do to us we may first do to you. an' with that i reckon we'll bid you good day, mr. urrea." urrea bowed, but said nothing. he rode back toward his men, and ned and the panther returned to the grove. roylston was much better that morning and he was able to stand, leaning against a tree. "may i ask the result of your conference," he said. "there ain't no secret about it," replied the panther, "but them mexicans seem to be almighty fond of you, mr. roylston." "in what way did they show it?" "urrea said that all of us could go if we would give up you." "and your answer?" the panther leaned forward a little on his horse. "you know something about the texans, don't you, mr. roylston?" "i have had much opportunity to observe and study them." "well, they've got plenty of faults, but you haven't heard of them buyin' their lives at the price of a comrade's, have you?" "i have not, but i wish to say, mr. palmer, that i'm sorry you returned this answer. i should gladly take my chances if the rest of you could go." "we'd never think of it," said the panther. "besides, them mexicans wouldn't keep their word. they're goin' to besiege us here, hopin' maybe that starvation or thirst will make us give you up. now the first thing for us to do is to get water for the horses." this presented a problem, as the horses could not go down to the creek, owing to the steep high banks, but the texans soon solved it. the cliff was soft and they quickly cut a smooth sloping path with their knives and hatchets. old jack was the first to walk down it and ned led him. the horse hung back a little, but ned patted his head and talked to him as a friend and equal. under such persuasion old jack finally made the venture, and when he landed safely at the bottom he drank eagerly. then the other two horses followed. meanwhile two riflemen kept a keen watch up and down the creek bed for lurking mexican sharpshooters. but the watering of the horses was finished without incident, and they were tethered once more in the thicket. fields and another man kept a watch upon the plain, and the rest conferred under the trees. the panther announced that by a great reduction of rations the food could be made to last two days longer. it was not a cheerful statement, as the mexicans must know the scanty nature of their supplies, and would wait with all the patience of indians. "all things, including starvation, come to him who waits long enough," said obed white soberly. "we'll jest set the day through," said the panther, "an' see what turns up." but the day was quite peaceful. it was warmer than usual and bright with sunshine. the mexicans appeared on some of the knolls, seemingly near in the thin clear air, but far enough away to be out of rifle shot, and began to play cards or loll on their serapes. several went to sleep. "they mean to show us that they have all the time in the world," said ned to will, "and that they are willing to wait until we fall like ripe apples into their hands." "do you think they will get us again?" asked will anxiously. "i don't. we've got food for two days and i believe that something will happen in our favor within that time. do you notice, will, that it's beginning to cloud up again? in winter you can't depend upon bright sunshine to last always. i think we're going to have a dark night and it's given me an idea." "what is it?" "i won't tell you, because it may amount to nothing. it all depends upon what kind of night we have." the sun did not return. the clouds banked up more heavily, and in the afternoon ned went to the panther. they talked together earnestly, looking frequently at the skies, and the faces of both expressed satisfaction. then they entered the bed of the creek and examined it critically. will was watching them. when the two separated and ned came toward him, he said: "i can guess your idea now. we mean to escape to-night up the bed of the creek." ned nodded. "your first guess is good," he said. "if the promise of a dark night keeps up we're going to try." the promise was fulfilled. the mexicans made no hostile movement throughout the afternoon, but they maintained a rigid watch. when the sun had set and the thick night had come down the panther told of the daring enterprise they were about to undertake, and all approved. by nine o'clock the darkness was complete, and the little band gathered at the point where the path was cut down into the bed of the creek. it was likely that mexicans were on all sides of the grove, but the panther did not believe that any of them, owing to bitter experience, would enter the cut made by the stream. but, as leader, he insisted upon the least possible noise. the greatest difficulty would be with the horses. ned, at the head of old jack, led the way. old jack made the descent without slipping and in a few minutes the entire force stood upon the sand. they had made no sound that any one could have heard thirty yards away. "now mr. roylston," whispered the panther to the merchant, "you get on ned's horse an' we'll be off." roylston sighed. it hurt his pride that he should be a burden, but he was a man of few words, and he mounted in silence. then they moved slowly over the soft sand. they had loaded the extra rifles and muskets on the other two horses, but every man remained thoroughly armed and ready on the instant for any emergency. the panther and obed led. just behind them came ned and will. they went very slowly in order to keep the horses' feet from making any sound that listening mexican sentinels might hear. they were fortunate in the sand, which was fine and soundless like a carpet. ned thought that the mexicans would not make any attempt upon the grove until late at night, and then only with skirmishers and snipers. or they might not make any attempt at all, content with their cordon. but it was thrilling work as they crept along on the soft sand in the darkness and between the high banks. ned felt a prickling of the blood. an incautious footstep or a stumble by one of the horses might bring the whole mexican force down upon them at any moment. but there was no incautious footstep. nor did any horse stumble. the silent procession moved on, passed the curve in the bed of the creek and continued its course. urrea had surrounded the grove completely. his men were on both sides of the creek, but no sound came to them, and they had a healthy respect for the deadly texan rifles. their leader had certainly been wise in deciding to starve them out. meanwhile the little procession in the bed of the creek increased its speed slightly. the texans were now a full four hundred yards from the grove, and their confidence was rising. "if they don't discover our absence until morning," whispered ned to will, "we'll surely get away." "then i hope they won't discover it until then," said will fervently. "i don't want to die in battle just now, nor do i want to be executed in mexico for a rebel or for anything else." they were now a full mile from the grove and the banks of the creek were decreasing in height. they did not rise anywhere more than three or four feet. but the water increased in depth and the margin of sand was narrower. the panther called a halt and they listened. they heard no sound but the faint moaning of the wind among the dips and swells, and the long lone howl of a lonesome coyote. "we've slipped through 'em! by the great horn spoon, we've slipped through 'em!" said the panther exultantly. "now, boys, we'll take to the water here to throw 'em off our track, when they try to follow it in the mornin'." the creek was now about three feet in depth and flowing slowly like most streams in that region, but over a bed of hard sand, where the trace of a footstep would quickly vanish. "the water is likely to be cold," said the panther, "an' if any fellow is afraid of it he can stay behind and consort with the mexicans who don't care much for water." "lead on, macduff," said obed, "and there's nobody who will cry 'hold, enough.'" the panther waded directly into the middle of the stream, and all the others followed. the horses, splashing the water, made some noise, but they were not so careful in that particular now since they had put a mile between themselves and the grove. in fact, the panther urged them to greater speed, careless of the sounds, and they kept in the water for a full two miles further. then they quit the stream at a point where the soil seemed least likely to leave traces of their footsteps, and stood for a little while upon the prairie, resting and shivering. then they started at a rapid pace across the country, pushing for the rio grande until noon. then fields stalked and shot an antelope, with which they renewed their supply of food. in the afternoon it rained heavily, but by dark they reached the rio grande, across which they made a dangerous passage, as the waters had risen, and stood once more on the soil of texas. "thank god!" said will. "thank god!" repeated ned. then they looked for shelter, which all felt they must have. chapter iv the cabin in the woods it proved a difficult matter to find shelter. all the members of the little group were wet and cold, and a bitter wind with snow began to whistle once more across the plain. but every one strove to be cheerful and the relief that their escape had brought was still a tonic to their spirits. yet they were not without comment upon their condition. "i've seen hard winters in maine," said obed white, "but there you were ready for them. here it tricks you with warm sunshine and then with snow. you suffer from surprise." "we've got to find a cabin," said the panther. "why not make it a whole city with a fine big hotel right in the center of it?" said obed. "seems to me there's about as much chance of one as the other." "no, there ain't," said the panther. "there ain't no town, but there are huts. i've rid over this country for twenty year an' i know somethin' about it. there are four or five settlers' cabins in the valleys of the creeks runnin' down to the rio grande. i had a mighty good dinner at one of 'em once. they're more'n likely to be abandoned now owin' to the war an' their exposed situation, but if the roofs haven't fell in any of 'em is good enough for us." "then you lead on," said obed. "the quicker we get there the happier all of us will be." "i may not lead straight, but i'll get you there," replied the panther confidently. roylston, at his own urgent insistence, dismounted and walked a little while. when he betook himself again to the back of old jack he spoke with quiet confidence. "i'm regaining my strength rapidly," he said. "in a week or two i shall be as good as i ever was. meanwhile my debt to you, already great, is accumulating." the panther laughed. "you don't owe us nothin'," he said. "why, on this frontier it's one man's business to help another out of a scrape. if we didn't do that we couldn't live." "nevertheless, i shall try to pay it," said roylston, in significant tones. "for the moment we'll think of that hut we're lookin' for," said the panther. "it will be more than a hut," said will, who was of a singularly cheerful nature. "i can see it now. it will be a gorgeous palace. its name will be the inn of the panther. menials in gorgeous livery will show us to our chambers, one for every man, where we will sleep between white sheets of the finest linen." "i wonder if they will let us take our rifles to bed with us," said ned, "because in this country i don't feel that i can part with mine, even for a moment." "that is a mere detail which we will discuss with our host," said obed. "perhaps, after you have eaten of the chicken and drunk of the wine at this glorious inn of the panther, you will not be so particular about the company of your rifle, mr. fulton." the panther uttered a cry of joy. "i've got my b'arin's exactly now," he said. "it ain't more'n four miles to a cabin that i know of, an' if raiders haven't smashed it it'll give us all the shelter we want." "then lead us swiftly," said obed. "there's no sunset or anything to give me mystical lore, but the coming of that cabin casts its shadow before, or at least i want it to do it." the panther's announcement brought new courage to every one and they quickened their lagging footsteps. he led toward a dark line of timber which now began to show through the driving snow, and when they passed among the trees he announced once more and with exultation: "only a mile farther, boys, an' we'll be where the cabin stands, or stood. don't git your feelin's too high, 'cause it may have been wiped off the face of the earth." a little later he uttered another cry, and this was the most exultant of all. "there she is," he said, pointing ahead. "she ain't been wiped away by nobody or nothin'. don't you see her, that big, stout cabin ahead?" "i do," said young allen joyously, "and it's the inn of the panther as sure as you live." "but i don't see any smoke coming out of the chimney," said ned, "and there are no gorgeous menials standing on the doorstep waiting for us." "it's been abandoned a long time," said the panther. "i can tell that by its looks, but i'm thinkin' that it's good enough fur us an' mighty welcome. an' there's a shed behind the house that'll do for the horses. boys, we're travelin' in tall luck." the cabin, a large one, built of logs and adobe, was certainly a consoling sight. they had almost reached the limit of physical endurance, but they broke into a run to reach it. the panther and ned were the first to push open a heavy swinging door, and they entered side by side. it was dry within. the solid board roof did not seem to be damaged at all, and the floor of hard, packed earth was as dry as a bone also. at one end were a wide stone fireplace, cold long since, and a good chimney of mud and sticks. there were two windows, closed with heavy clapboard shutters. there was no furniture in the cabin except two rough wooden benches. evidently the original owners had prepared well for their flight, but it was likely that no one had come since. the lonely place among the trees had passed unobserved by raiders. the shed behind the cabin was also in good condition, and they tethered there the horses, which were glad enough to escape from the bitter wind and driving snow. the whole party gathered in the cabin, and as they no longer feared pursuit it was agreed unanimously that they must have luxury. in this case a fire meant the greatest of all luxuries. they gathered an abundance of fallen wood, knocked the snow from it and heaped it on either side of the fireplace. they cut with infinite difficulty dry shavings from the inside of the logs in the wall of the house, and after a full hour of hard work lighted a blaze with flint and steel. the rest was easy, and soon they had a roaring fire. they fastened the door with the wooden bar which stood in its place and let the windows remain shut. although there was a lack of air, they did not yet feel it, and gave themselves up to the luxury of the glowing heat. they took off their clothes and held them before the fire. when they were dry and warm they put them on again and felt like new beings. strips of the antelope were fried on the ends of ramrods, and they ate plentifully. all the chill was driven from their bodies, and in its place came a deep pervading sense of comfort. the bitter wind yet howled without and they heard the snow driven against the door and windows. the sound heightened their feeling of luxury. they were like a troop of boys now, all of them--except roylston. he sat on one of the piles of wood and his eyes gleamed as the others talked. "i vote that we enlarge the name of our inn," said allen. "since our leader has black hair and black eyes, let's call it the inn of the black panther. all in favor of that motion say 'aye.'" "aye!" they roared. "all against it say 'no.'" silence. "the inn of the black panther it is," said will, "an' it is the most welcome inn that ever housed me." the panther smiled benevolently. "i don't blame you boys for havin' a little fun," he said. "it does feel good to be here after all that we've been through." the joy of the texans was irrepressible. fields began to pat and three or four of them danced up and down the earthen floor of the cabin. will watched with dancing eyes. ned, more sober, sat by his side. however, the highest spirits must grow calm at last, and gradually the singing and dancing ceased. it had grown quite close in the cabin now, and one of the window shutters was thrown open, permitting a rush of cool, fresh air that was very welcome. ned looked out. the wind was still whistling and moaning, and the snow, like a white veil, hid the trees. the men one by one went to sleep on the floor. obed and fields kept watch at the window during the first half of the night, and the panther and ned relieved them for the second half. they heard nothing but the wind, and saw nothing but the snow. day came with a hidden sun, and the fine snow still driven by the wind, but the panther, a good judge of weather, predicted a cessation of the snow within an hour. the men awoke and rose slowly from the floor. they were somewhat stiff, but no one had been overcome, and after a little stretching of the muscles all the soreness disappeared. the horses were within the shed, unharmed and warm, but hungry. they relighted the fire and broiled more strips of the antelope, but they saw that little would be left. the panther turned to roylston, who inspired respect in them all. "now, mr. roylston," he said, "we've got to agree upon some course of action an' we've got to put it to ourselves squar'ly. i take it that all of us want to serve texas in one way or another, but we've got only three horses, we're about out of food, an' we're a long distance from the main texas settlements. it ain't any use fur us to start to rippin' an' t'arin' unless we've got somethin' to rip an' t'ar with." "good words," said obed white. "a speech in time saves errors nine." "i am glad you have put the question, mr. palmer," said roylston. "our affairs have come to a crisis, and we must consider. i, too, wish to help texas, but i can help it more by other ways than battle." it did not occur to any of them to doubt him. he had already established over them the mental ascendency that comes from a great mind used to dealing with great affairs. "but we are practically dismounted," he continued. "it is winter and we do not know what would happen to us if we undertook to roam over the prairies as we are. on the other hand, we have an abundance of arms and ammunition and a large and well-built cabin. i suggest that we supply ourselves with food, and stay here until we can acquire suitable mounts. we may also contrive to keep a watch upon any mexican armies that may be marching north. i perhaps have more reason than any of you for hastening away, but i can spend the time profitably in regaining the use of my limbs." "your little talk sounds mighty good to me," said the panther. "in fact, i don't see anything else to do. this cabin must have been built an' left here 'speshully fur us. we know, too, that the texans have all gone home, thinkin' that the war is over, while we know different an' mebbe we can do more good here than anywhere else. what do you say, boys? do we stay?" "we stay," replied all together. they went to work at once fitting up their house. more firewood was brought in. fortunately the men had been provided with hatchets, in the frontier style, which their rescuers had not neglected to bring away, and they fixed wooden hooks in the walls for their extra arms and clothing. a half dozen scraped away a large area of the thin snow and enabled the horses to find grass. a fine spring two hundred yards away furnished a supply of water. after the horses had eaten obed, the panther and ned rode away in search of game, leaving mr. roylston in command at the cabin. the snow was no longer falling, and that which lay on the ground was melting rapidly. "i know this country," said the panther, "an' we've got four chances for game. it may be buffalo, it may be deer, it may be antelope, and it may be wild turkeys. i think it most likely that we'll find buffalo. we're so fur west of the main settlements that they're apt to hang 'roun' here in the winter in the creek bottoms, an' if it snows they'll take to the timber fur shelter." "and it has snowed," said ned. "jest so, an' that bein' the case we'll search the timber. of course big herds couldn't crowd in thar, but in this part of the country we gen'rally find the buffalo scattered in little bands." they found patches of forest, generally dwarfed in character, and looked diligently for the great game. once a deer sprang out of a thicket, but sped away so fast they did not get a chance for a shot. at length obed saw large footprints in the thinning snow, and called the panther's attention to them. the big man examined the traces critically. "not many hours old," he said. "i'm thinkin' that we'll have buffalo steak fur supper. we'll scout all along this timber. what we want is a young cow. their meat is not tough." they rode through the timber for about two hours, when ned caught sight of moving figures on the far side of a thicket. he could just see the backs of large animals, and he knew that there were their buffalo. he pointed them out to the panther, who nodded. "we'll ride 'roun' the thicket as gently as possible," he said, "an' then open fire. remember, we want a tender young cow, two of 'em if we can get 'em, an' don't fool with the bulls." ned's heart throbbed as old jack bore him around the thicket. he had fought with men, but he was not yet a buffalo hunter. just as they turned the flank of the bushes a huge buffalo bull, catching their odor, raised his head and uttered a snort. the panther promptly fired at a young cow just beyond him. the big bull, either frightened or angry, leaped head down at old jack. the horse was without experience with buffaloes, but he knew that those sharp horns meant no good to him, and he sprang aside with so much agility that ned was almost unseated. the big bull rushed on, and ned, who had retained his hold upon his rifle, was tempted to take a shot at him for revenge, but, remembering the panther's injunction, he controlled the impulse and fired at a young cow. when the noise and confusion were over and the surviving buffaloes had lumbered away, they found that they had slain two of the young cows and that they had an ample supply of meat. "ned," said the panther, "you know how to go back to the cabin, don't you?" "i can go straight as an arrow." "then ride your own horse, lead the other two an' bring two men. we'll need 'em with the work here." the panther and obed were already at work skinning the cows. ned sprang upon old jack, and rode away at a trot, leading the other two horses by their lariats. the snow was gone now and the breeze was almost balmy. ned felt that great rebound of the spirits of which the young are so capable. they had outwitted urrea, they had taken his prisoners from him, and then had escaped across the rio grande. they had found shelter and now they had obtained a food supply. they were all good comrades together, and what more was to be asked? he whistled as he rode along, but when he was half way back to the cabin he noticed something in a large tree that caused him to stop. he saw the outlines of great bronze birds, and he knew that they were wild turkeys. wild turkeys would make a fine addition to their larder, and, halting old jack, he shot from his back, taking careful aim at the largest of the turkeys. the huge bird fell, and as the others flew away ned was lucky enough to bring down a second with a pistol shot. his trophies were indeed worth taking, and tying their legs together with a withe he hung them across his saddle bow. he calculated that the two together weighed nearly sixty pounds, and he rode triumphantly when he came in sight of the cabin. will saw him first and gave a shout that drew the other men. "what luck?" hailed young allen. "not much," replied ned, "but i did get these sparrows." he lifted the two great turkeys from his saddle and tossed them to will. the boy caught them, but he was borne to his knees by their weight. the men looked at them and uttered approving words. "what did you do with the panther and obed?" asked fields. "the last i saw of them they had been dismounted and were being chased over the plain by two big bull buffaloes. the horns of the buffaloes were then not more than a foot from the seats of their trousers. so i caught their horses, and i have brought them back to camp." "i take it," said fields, "that you've had good luck." "we have had the finest of luck," replied ned. "we ran into a group of fifteen or twenty buffaloes, and we brought down two fine, young cows. i came back for two more men to help with them, and on my way i shot these turkeys." fields and another man named carter returned with ned. young allen was extremely anxious to go, but the others were chosen on account of their experience with the work. they found that obed and the panther had already done the most of it, and when it was all finished fields and carter started back with the three horses, heavily laden. as the night promised to be mild, and the snow was gone, ned, obed and the panther remained in the grove with the rest of their food supply. they also wished to preserve the two buffalo robes, and they staked them out upon the ground, scraping them clean of flesh with their knives. then they lighted a fire and cooked as much of the tender meat as they wished. by this time it was dark and they were quite ready to rest. they put out the fire and raked up the beds of leaves on which they would spread their blankets. but first they enjoyed the relaxation of the nerves and the easy talk that come after a day's work well done. "it certainly has been a fine day for us," said obed. "sometimes i like to go through the bad days, because it makes the good days that follow all the better. yesterday we were wandering around in the snow, and we had nothing, to-day we have a magnificent city home, that is to say, the cabin, and a beautiful country place, that is to say, this grove. i can add, too, that our nights in our country place are spent to the accompaniment of music. listen to that beautiful song, won't you?" a long, whining howl rose, sank and died. after an interval they heard its exact duplicate and the panther remarked tersely: "wolves. mighty hungry, too. they've smelled our buffalo meat and they want it. guess from their big voices that they're timber wolves and not coyotes." ned knew that the timber wolf was a much larger and fiercer animal than his prairie brother, and he did not altogether like this whining sound which now rose and died for the third time. "must be a dozen or so," said the panther, noticing the increasing volume of sound. "we'll light the fire again. nothing is smarter than a wolf, an' i don't want one of those hulkin' brutes to slip up, seize a fine piece of buffalo and dash away with it. but fire will hold 'em. how a wolf does dread it! the little red flame is like a knife in his heart." they lighted four small fires, making a rude ring which inclosed their leafy beds and the buffalo skins and meat. before they finished the task they saw slim dusky figures among the trees and red eyes glaring at them. the panther picked up a stick blazing like a torch, and made a sudden rush for one of the figures. there was a howl of terror and a sound of something rushing madly through the bushes. the panther flung his torch as far as he could in the direction of the sounds and returned, laughing deep in his throat. "i think i came pretty near hittin' the master wolf with that," he said, "an' i guess he's good an' scared. but they'll come back after a while, an' don't you forget it. for that reason, i think we'd better keep a watch. we'll divide it into three hours apiece, an' we'll give you the first, ned." ned was glad to have the opening watch, as it would soon be over and done with, and then he could sleep free from care about any watch to come. the panther and obed rolled in their blankets, found sleep almost instantly, and the boy, resolved not to be a careless sentinel, walked in a circle just outside the fires. sure enough, and just as the panther had predicted, he saw the red eyes and dusky forms again. now and then he heard a faint pad among the bushes, and he knew that a wolf had made it. he merely changed from the outside to the inside of the fire ring, and continued his walk. with the fire about him and his friends so near he was not afraid of wolves, no matter how big and numerous they might be. yet their presence in the bushes, the light shuffle of their feet and their fiery eyes had an uncanny effect. it was unpleasant to know that such fierce beasts were so near, and he gave himself a reassuring glance at the sleeping forms of his partners. by and by the red eyes melted away, and he heard another soft tread, but heavier than that of the wolves. with his rifle lying in the hollow of his arm and his finger on the trigger he looked cautiously about the circle of the forest. ned's gaze at last met that of a pair of red eyes, a little further apart than those of the wolves. he knew then that they belonged to a larger animal, and presently he caught a glimpse of the figure. he was sure that it was a puma or cougar, and so far as he could judge it was a big brute. it, too, must be very hungry, or it would not dare the fire and the human odor. ned felt tentatively of his rifle, but changed his mind. he remembered the panther's exploit with the firebrand, and he decided to imitate it, but on a much larger scale. he laid down his rifle, but kept his left hand on the butt of the pistol in his belt. then selecting the largest torch from the fire he made a rush straight for the blazing eyes, thrusting the flaming stick before him. there was a frightened roar, and then the sound of a heavy body crashing away through the undergrowth. ned returned, satisfied that he had done as well as the panther and better. both the panther and obed were awake and sitting up. they looked curiously at ned, who still carried the flaming brand in his hand. "a noise like the sound of thunder away off wakened me up," said the panther. "now, what have you been up to, young 'un?" "me?" said ned lightly. "oh, nothing important. i wanted to make some investigations in natural history out there in the bushes, and as i needed a light for the purpose i took it." "an' if i'm not pressin' too much," said the panther, in mock humility, "may i make so bold as to ask our young solomon what is natural history?" "natural history is the study of animals. i saw a panther in the bushes and i went out there to examine him. i saw that he was a big fellow, but he ran away so fast i could tell no more about him." "you scared him away with the torch instead of shooting," said obed. "it was well done, but it took a stout heart. if he comes again tell him i won't wake up until it's time for my watch." he was asleep again inside of a minute, and the panther followed him quickly. both men trusted ned fully, treating him now as an experienced and skilled frontiersman. he knew it, and he felt proud and encouraged. the panther did not come back, but the wolves did, although ned now paid no attention to them. he was growing used to their company and the uncanny feeling departed. he merely replenished the fires and sat patiently until it was time for obed to succeed him. then he, too, wrapped himself in his blankets and slept a dreamless sleep until day. the remainder of the buffalo meat was taken away the next day, but anticipating a long stay at the cabin they continued to hunt, both on horseback and on foot. two more buffalo cows fell to their rifles. they also secured a deer, three antelope and a dozen wild turkeys. their hunting spread over two days, but when they were all assembled on the third night at the cabin general satisfaction prevailed. they had ranged over considerable country, and as game was plentiful and not afraid the panther drew the logical conclusion that man had been scarce in that region. "i take it," he said, "that the mexicans are a good distance east, and that the lipans and comanches are another good distance west. just the same, boys, we've got to keep a close watch, an' i think we've got more to fear from raidin' parties of the indians than from the mexicans. all the mexicans are likely to be ridin' to some point on the rio grande to meet the forces of santa anna." "i wish we had more horses," said obed. "we'd go that way ourselves and see what's up." "well, maybe we'll get 'em," said the panther. "thar's a lot of horses on these plains, some of which ought to belong to us an' we may find a way of claimin' our rights." they passed a number of pleasant days at the cabin and in hunting and foraging in the vicinity. they killed more big game and the dressed skins of buffalo, bear and deer were spread on the floor or were hung on the walls. wild turkeys were numerous, and they had them for food every day. but they discovered no signs of man, white or red, and they would have been content to wait there had they not been so anxious to investigate the reported advance of santa anna on the rio grande. roylston was the most patient of them all, or at least he said the least. "i think," he said about the fourth or fifth day, "that it does not hurt to linger here. the mexican power has not yet gathered in full. as for me, personally, it suits me admirably. i can walk a full two hundred yards now, and next week i shall be able to walk a mile." "when we are all ready to depart, which way do you intend to go mr. roylston?" asked ned. "i wish to go around the settlements and then to new orleans," replied roylston. "that city is my headquarters, but i also have establishments elsewhere, even as far north as new york. are you sure, ned, that you cannot go with me and bring your friend allen, too? i could make men of you both in a vast commercial world. there have been great opportunities, and greater are coming. the development of this mighty southwest will call for large and bold schemes of organization. it is not money alone that i offer, but the risk, the hopes and rewards of a great game, in fact, the opening of a new world to civilization, for such this southwest is. it appeals to some deeper feeling than that which can be aroused by the mere making of money." ned, deeply interested, watched him intently as he spoke. he saw roylston show emotion for the first time, and the mind of the boy responded to that of the man. he could understand this dream. the image of a great texan republic was already in the minds of men. it possessed that of ned. he did not believe that the texans and mexicans could ever get along together, and he was quite sure that texas could never return to its original position as part of a mexican state. "you can do much for texas there with me in new orleans," said roylston, as if he were making a final appeal to one whom he looked upon almost as a son. "perhaps you could do more than you can here in texas." ned shook his head a little sadly. he did not like to disappoint this man, but he could not leave the field. young allen also said that he would remain. "be it so," said roylston. "it is young blood. never was there a truer saying than 'young men for war, old men for counsel.' but the time may come when you will need me. when it does come send the word." ned judged from roylston's manner that dark days were ahead, but the merchant did not mention the subject again. at the end of a week, when they were amply supplied with everything except horses, the panther decided to take ned and obed and go on a scout toward the rio grande. they started early in the morning and the horses, which had obtained plenty of grass, were full of life and vigor. they soon left the narrow belt of forest far behind them, maintaining an almost direct course toward the southeast. the point on the river that they intended to reach was seventy or eighty miles away, and they did not expect to cover the distance in less than two days. they rode all that day and did not see a trace of a human being, but they did see both buffalo and antelope in the distance. "it shows what the war has done," said the panther. "i rode over these same prairies about a year ago an' game was scarce, but there were some men. now the men are all gone an' the game has come back. cur'us how quick buffalo an' deer an' antelope learn about these things." they slept the night through on the open prairie, keeping watch by turns. the weather was cold, but they had their good blankets with them and they took no discomfort. they rode forward again early in the morning, and about noon struck an old but broad trail. it was evident that many men and many wagons had passed here. there were deep ruts in the earth, cut by wheels, and the traces of footsteps showed over a belt a quarter of a mile wide. "well, ned, i s'pose you can make a purty good guess what this means?" said the panther. "this was made weeks and weeks ago," replied ned confidently, "and the men who made it were mexicans. they were soldiers, the army of cos, that we took at san antonio, and which we allowed to retire on parole into mexico." "there's no doubt you're right," said the panther. "there's no other force in this part of the world big enough to make such a wide an' lastin' trail. an' i think it's our business to follow these tracks. what do you say, obed?" "it's just the one thing in the world that we're here to do," said the maine man. "broad is the path and straight is the way that leads before us, and we follow on." "do we follow them down into mexico?" said ned. "i don't think it likely that we'll have to do it," replied the panther, glancing at obed. ned caught the look and he understood. "do you mean," he asked, "that cos, after taking his parole and pledging his word that he and his troops would not fight against us, would stop at the rio grande?" "i mean that an' nothin' else," replied the panther. "i ain't talkin' ag'in mexicans in general. i've knowed some good men among them, but i wouldn't take the word of any of that crowd of generals, santa anna, cos, sesma, urrea, gaona, castrillon, the italian filisola, or any of them." "there's one i'd trust," said ned, with grateful memory, "and that's almonte." "i've heard that he's of different stuff," said the panther, "but it's best to keep out of their hands." they were now riding swiftly almost due southward, having changed their course to follow the trail, and they kept a sharp watch ahead for mexican scouts or skirmishers. but the bare country in its winter brown was lone and desolate. the trail led straight ahead, and it would have been obvious now to the most inexperienced eye that an army had passed that way. they saw remains of camp fires, now and then the skeleton of a horse or mule picked clean by buzzards, fragments of worn-out clothing that had been thrown aside, and once a broken-down wagon. two or three times they saw little mounds of earth with rude wooden crosses stuck upon them, to mark where some of the wounded had died and had been buried. they came at last to a bit of woodland growing about a spring that seemed to gush straight up from the earth. it was really an open grove with no underbrush, a splendid place for a camp. it was evident that cos's force had put it to full use, as the earth nearly everywhere had been trodden by hundreds of feet, and the charred pieces of wood were innumerable. the panther made a long and critical examination of everything. "i'm thinkin'," he said, "that cos stayed here three or four days. all the signs p'int that way. he was bound by the terms we gave him at san antonio to go an' not fight ag'in, but he's shorely takin' his time about it. look at these bones, will you? now, ned, you promisin' scout an' skirmisher, tell me what they are." "buffalo bones," replied ned promptly. "right you are," replied the panther, "an' when cos left san antonio he wasn't taking any buffaloes along with him to kill fur meat. they staid here so long that the hunters had time to go out an' shoot game." "a long lane's the thief of time," said obed, "and having a big march before him, cos has concluded to walk instead of run." "'cause he was expectin' somethin' that would stop him," said the panther angrily. "i hate liars an' traitors. well, we'll soon see." their curiosity became so great that they rode at a swift trot on the great south trail, and not ten miles further they came upon the unmistakable evidences of another big camp that had lasted long. "slower an' slower," muttered the panther. "they must have met a messenger. wa'al, it's fur us to go slow now, too." but he said aloud: "boys, it ain't more'n twenty miles now to the rio grande, an' we can hit it by dark. but i'm thinkin' that we'd better be mighty keerful now as we go on." "i suppose it's because mexican scouts and skirmishers may be watching," said ned. "yes, an' 'specially that fellow urrea. his uncle bein' one of santa anna's leadin' gen'rals, he's likely to have freer rein, an', as we know, he's clever an' active. i'd hate to fall into his hands again." they rode more slowly, and three pairs of eyes continually searched the plain for an enemy. ned's sight was uncommonly acute, and obed and the panther frequently appealed to him as a last resort. it flattered his pride and he strove to justify it. their pace became slower and slower, and presently the early twilight of winter was coming. a cold wind moaned, but the desolate plain was broken here and there by clumps of trees. at the suggestion of the panther they rode to one of these and halted under cover of the timber. "the river can't be much more than a mile ahead," said the panther, "an' we might run into the mexicans any minute. we're sheltered here, an' we'd better wait a while. then i think we can do more stalkin'." obed and ned were not at all averse, and dismounting they stretched themselves, easing their muscles. old jack hunted grass and, finding none, rubbed ned's elbow with his nose suggestively. "never mind, old boy," said ned, patting the glossy muzzle of his faithful comrade. "this is no time for feasting and banqueting. we are hunting mexicans, you and i, and after that business is over we may consider our pleasures." they remained several hours among the trees. they saw the last red glow that the sun leaves in the west die away. they saw the full darkness descend over the earth, and then the stars come trooping out. after that they saw a scarlet flush under the horizon which was not a part of the night and its progress. the panther noted it, and his great face darkened. he turned to ned. "you see it, don't you? now tell me what it is." "that light, i should say, comes from the fires of an army. and it can be no other army than that of cos." "right again, ain't he, obed?" "he surely is. cos and his men are there. he who breaks his faith when he steals away will have to fight another day. how far off would you say that light is, panther?" "'bout two miles, an' in an hour or so we'll ride fur it. the night will darken up more then, an' it will give us a better chance for lookin' an listenin'. i'll be mightily fooled if we don't find out a lot that's worth knowin'." true to obed's prediction, the night deepened somewhat within the hour. many of the stars were hidden by floating wisps of cloud, and objects could not be seen far on the dusky surface of the plain. but the increased darkness only made the scarlet glow in the south deepen. it seemed, too, to spread far to right and left. "that's a big force," said the panther. "it'll take a lot of fires to make a blaze like that." "i'm agreeing with you," said obed. "i'm thinking that those are the camp fires of more men than cos took from san antonio with him." "which would mean," said ned, "that another mexican army had come north to join him." "anyhow, we'll soon see," said the panther. they mounted their horses and rode cautiously toward the light. chapter v santa anna's advance the three rode abreast, ned in the center. the boy was on terms of perfect equality with obed and the panther. they treated him as a man among men, and respected his character, rather grave for one so young, and always keen to learn. the land rolled away in swells as usual throughout a great part of texas, but they were not of much elevation and the red glow in the south was always in sight, deepening fast as they advanced. they stopped at last on a little elevation within the shadow of some myrtle oaks, and saw the fires spread before them only four or five hundred yards away, and along a line of at least two miles. they heard the confused murmur of many men. the dark outlines of cannon were seen against the firelight, and now and then the musical note of a mandolin or guitar came to them. "we was right in our guess," said the panther. "it's a lot bigger force than the one that cos led away from san antonio, an' it will take a heap of rippin' an' t'arin' an' roarin' to turn it back. our people don't know how much is comin' ag'in 'em." the panther spoke in a solemn tone. ned saw that he was deeply impressed and that he feared for the future. good cause had he. squabbles among the texan leaders had reduced their army to five or six hundred men. "don't you think," said ned, "that we ought to find out just exactly what is here, and what this army intends?" "not a doubt of it," said obed. "those who have eyes to see should not go away without seeing." the panther nodded violently in assent. "we must scout about the camp," he said. "mebbe we'd better divide an' then we can all gather before day-break at the clump of trees back there." he pointed to a little cluster of trees several hundred yards back of them, and ned and obed agreed. the panther turned away to the right, obed to the left and ned took the center. their plan of dividing their force had a great advantage. one man was much less likely than three to attract undue attention. ned went straight ahead a hundred yards or more, when he was stopped by an arroyo five or six feet wide and with very deep banks. he looked about, uncertain at first what to do. obed and the panther had already disappeared in the dusk. before him glowed the red light, and he heard the distant sound of many voices. ned quickly decided. he remembered how they had escaped up the bed of the creek when they were besieged by urrea, and if one could leave by an arroyo, one could also approach by it. he rode to the group of trees that had been designated as the place of meeting, and left his horse there. he noticed considerable grass within the ring of trunks, and he was quite confident that old jack would remain there until his return. but he addressed to him words of admonition: "be sure that you stay among these trees, old friend," he said, "because it's likely that when i want you i'll want you bad. remain and attend to this grass." old jack whinnied softly and, after his fashion, rubbed his nose gently against his master's arm. it was sufficient for ned. he was sure that the horse understood, and leaving him he went back to the arroyo, which he entered without hesitation. ned was well armed, as every one then had full need to be. he wore a sombrero in the mexican fashion, and flung over his shoulders was a great serape which he had found most useful in the winter. with his perfect knowledge of spanish and its mexican variants he believed that if surprised he could pass as a mexican, particularly in the night and among so many. the arroyo led straight down toward the plain upon which the mexicans were encamped, and when he emerged from it he saw that the fires which at a distance looked like one continuous blaze were scores in number. many of them were built of buffalo chips and others of light wood that burned fast. sentinels were posted here and there, but they kept little watch. why should they? here was a great mexican army, and there was certainly no foe amounting to more than a few men within a hundred miles. ned's heart sank as he beheld the evident extent of the mexican array. the little texan force left in the field could be no match for such an army as this. nevertheless, his resolution to go through the mexican camp hardened. if he came back with a true and detailed tale of their numbers the texans must believe and prepare. he drew the brim of his sombrero down a little further, and pulled his serape up to meet it. the habit the mexicans had of wrapping their serapes so high that they were covered to the nose was fortunate at this time. he was now completely disguised, without the appearance of having taken any unusual precaution. he walked forward boldly and sat down with a group beside a fire. he judged by the fact that they were awake so late that they had but little to do, and he saw at once also that they were mexicans from the far south. they were small, dark men, rather amiable in appearance. two began to play guitars and they sang a plaintive song to the music. the others, smoking cigarritos, listened attentively and luxuriously. ned imitated them perfectly. he, too, lying upon his elbow before the pleasant fire, felt the influence of the music, so sweet, so murmurous, speaking so little of war. one of the men handed him a cigarrito, and, lighting it, he made pretense of smoking--he would not have seemed a mexican had he not smoked the cigarrito. lying there, ned saw many tents, evidence of a camp that was not for the day only, and he beheld officers in bright uniforms passing among them. his heart gave a great jump when he noticed among them a heavy-set, dark man. it was cos, cos the breaker of oaths. with him was another officer whose uniform indicated the general. ned learned later that this was sesma, who had been dispatched with a brigade by santa anna to meet cos on the rio grande, where they were to remain until the dictator himself came with more troops. the music ceased presently and one of the men said to ned: "what company?" ned had prepared himself for such questions, and he moved his hand vaguely toward the left. "over there," he said. they were fully satisfied, and continued to puff their cigarritos, resting their heads with great content upon pillows made of their saddles and blankets. for a while they said nothing more, happily watching the rings of smoke from their cigarritos rise and melt into the air. although small and short, they looked hardy and strong. ned noticed the signs of bustle and expectancy about the camp. usually mexicans were asleep at this hour, and he wondered why they lingered. but he did not approach the subject directly. "a hard march," he said, knowing that these men about him had come a vast distance. "aye, it was," said the man next on his right. "santiago, but was it not, josé?" josé, the second man on the right, replied in the affirmative and with emphasis: "you speak the great truth, carlos. such another march i never wish to make. think of the hundreds and hundreds of miles we have tramped from our warm lands far in the south across mountains, across bare and windy deserts, with the ice and the snow beating in our faces. how i shivered, carlos, and how long i shivered! i thought i should continue shivering all my life even if i lived to be a hundred, no matter how warmly the sun might shine." the others laughed, and seemed to ned to snuggle a little closer to the fire, driven by the memory of the icy plains. "but it was the will of the great santa anna, surely the mightiest man of our age," said carlos. "they say that his wrath was terrible when he heard how the texan bandits had taken san antonio de bexar. truly, i am glad that i was not one of his officers, and that i was not in his presence at the time. after all, it is sometimes better to be a common soldier than to have command." "aye, truly," said ned, and the others nodded in affirmation. "but the great santa anna will finish it," continued carlos, who seemed to have the sin of garrulity. "he has defeated all his enemies in mexico, he has consolidated his power and now he advances with a mighty force to crush these insolent and miserable texans. as i have said, he will finish it. the rope and the bullet will be busy. in six months there will be no texans." ned shivered, and when he looked at the camp fires of the great army he saw that this peon was not talking foolishness. nevertheless his mind returned to its original point of interest. why did the mexican army remain awake so late? "have you seen the president?" he asked of carlos. "often," replied carlos, with pride. "i fought under him in the great battle on the plain of guadalupe less than two years ago, when we defeated don francisco garcia, the governor of zacatecas. ah, it was a terrible battle, my friends! thousands and thousands were killed and all mexicans. mexicans killing mexicans. but who can prevail against the great santa anna? he routed the forces of garcia, and the city of zacatecas was given up to us to pillage. many fine things i took that day from the houses of those who presumed to help the enemy of our leader. but now we care not to kill mexicans, our own people. it is only the miserable texans who are really gringos." carlos, who had been the most amiable of men, basking in the firelight, now rose up a little and his eyes flashed. he had excited himself by his own tale of the battle and loot of zacatecas and the coming slaughter of the texans. that strain of cruelty, which in ned's opinion always lay embedded in the spanish character, was coming to the surface. ned made no comment. his serape, drawn up to his nose, almost met the brim of his sombrero and nobody suspected that the comrade who sat and chatted with them was a gringo, but he shivered again, nevertheless. "we shall have a great force when it is all gathered," he said at length. "seven thousand men or more," said josé proudly, "and nearly all of them are veterans of the wars. we shall have ten times the numbers of the texans, who are only hunters and rancheros." "have you heard when we march?" asked ned, in a careless tone. "as soon as the great santa anna arrives it will be decided, i doubt not," said josé. "the general and his escort should be here by midnight." ned's heart gave a leap. so it was that for which they were waiting. santa anna himself would come in an hour or two. he was very glad that he had entered the mexican camp. bidding a courteous good night to the men about the fire, he rose and sauntered on. it was easy enough for him to do so without attracting attention, as many others were doing the same thing. discipline seldom amounted to much in a mexican army, and so confident were both officers and soldiers of an overwhelming victory that they preserved scarcely any at all. yet the expectant feeling pervaded the whole camp, and now that he knew that santa anna was coming he understood. santa anna was the greatest man in the world to these soldiers. he had triumphed over everything in their own country. he had exhibited qualities of daring and energy that seemed to them supreme, and his impression upon them was overwhelming. ned felt once more that little shiver. they might be right in their view of the texan war. he strolled on from fire to fire, until his attention was arrested suddenly by one at which only officers sat. it was not so much the group as it was one among them who drew his notice so strongly. urrea was sitting on the far side of the fire, every feature thrown into clear relief by the bright flames. the other officers were young men of about his own age and they were playing dice. they were evidently in high good humor, as they laughed frequently. ned lay down just within the shadow of a tent wall, drew his serape higher about his face, and rested his head upon his arm. he would have seemed sound asleep to an ordinary observer, but he was never more wide awake in his life. he was near enough to hear what urrea and his friends were saying, and he intended to hear it. it was for such that he had come. "you lose, francisco," said one of the men as he made a throw of the dice and looked eagerly at the result. "what was it that you were saying about the general?" "that i expect an early advance, ramon," replied urrea, "a brief campaign, and a complete victory. i hate these texans. i shall be glad to see them annihilated." the young officer whom he called ramon laughed. "if what i hear be true, francisco," he said, "you have cause to hate them. there was a boy, fulton, that wild buffalo of a man, whom they call the panther, and another who defeated some of your finest plans." urrea flushed, but controlled his temper. "it is true, ramon," he replied. "the third man i can tell you is called obed white, and they are a clever three. i hate them, but it hurts my pride less to be defeated by them than by any others whom i know." "well spoken, urrea," said a third man, "but since these three are fighters and will stay to meet us, it is a certainty that our general will scoop them into his net. then you can have all the revenge you wish." "i count upon it, ambrosio," said urrea, smiling. "i also hope that we shall recapture the man roylston. he has great sums of money in the foreign banks in our country, and we need them, but our illustrious president cannot get them without an order from roylston. the general would rather have roylston than a thousand texan prisoners." all of them laughed, and the laugh made ned, lying in the shadow, shiver once more. urrea glanced his way presently, but the recumbent figure did not claim his notice. the attention of his comrades and himself became absorbed in the dice again. they were throwing the little ivory cubes upon a blanket, and ned could hear them click as they struck together. the sharp little sound began to flick his nerves. not one to cherish resentment, he nevertheless began to hate urrea, and he included in that hatred the young men with him. the texans were so few and poor. the mexicans were so many, and they had the resources of a nation more than two centuries old. ned rose by and by and walked on. he could imitate the mexican gait perfectly, and no one paid any attention to him. they were absorbed, moreover, in something else, because now the light of torches could be seen dimly in the south. officers threw down cards and dice. men straightened their uniforms and cos and sesma began to form companies in line. more fuel was thrown on the fires, which sprang up, suffusing all the night with color and brightness. ned with his rifle at salute fell into place at the end of one of the companies, and no one knew that he did not belong there. in the excitement of the moment he forgot all about the panther and obed. a thrill seemed to run through the whole mexican force. it was the most impressive scene that ned had ever beheld. a leader, omnipotent in their eyes, was coming to these men, and he came at midnight out of the dark into the light. the torches grew brighter. a trumpet pealed and a trumpet in the camp replied. the mexican lines became silent save for a deep murmur. in the south they heard the rapid beat of hoofs, and then santa anna came, galloping at the head of fifty horsemen. many of the younger officers ran forward, holding up torches, and the dictator rode in a blaze of light. ned looked once more upon that dark and singular face, a face daring and cruel, that might have belonged to one of the old conquistadores. in the saddle his lack of height was concealed, but on the great white horse that he rode ned felt that he was an imposing, even a terrible, figure. his eyes were blazing with triumph as his army united with torches to do him honor. it was like napoleon on the night before austerlitz, and what was he but the napoleon of the new world? his figure swelled and the gold braid on his cocked hat and gorgeous uniform reflected the beams of the firelight. a mighty cheer from thousands of throats ran along the mexican line, and the torches were waved until they looked like vast circles of fire. santa anna lifted his hat and bowed three times in salute. again the mexican cheer rolled to right and to left. santa anna, still sitting on his horse, spread out his hands. there was instant silence save for the deep breathing of the men. "my children," he said, "i have come to sweep away these miserable texans who have dared to raise the rebel flag against us. we will punish them all. houston, austin, bowie and the rest of their leaders shall feel our justice. when we finish our march over their prairies it shall be as if a great fire had passed. i have said it. i am santa anna." the thunderous cheer broke forth again. ned had never before heard words so full of conceit and vainglory, yet the strength and menace were there. he felt it instinctively. santa anna believed himself to be the greatest man in the world, and he was certainly the greatest in mexico. his belief in himself was based upon a deep well of energy and daring. once more ned felt a great and terrible fear for texas, and the thin line of skin-clad hunters and ranchmen who were its sole defence. but the feeling passed as he watched santa anna. a young officer rushed forward and held his stirrup as the dictator dismounted. then the generals, including those who had come with him, crowded around him. it was a brilliant company, including sesma, cos, duque, castrillon, tolsa, gaona and others, among whom ned noted a man of decidedly italian appearance. this was general vincente filisola, an italian officer who had received a huge grant of land in texas, and who was now second in command to santa anna. ned watched them as they talked together and occasionally the crowd parted enough for him to see santa anna, who spoke and gesticulated with great energy. the soldiers had been drawn away by the minor officers, and were now dispersing to their places by the fires where they would seek sleep. ned noticed a trim, slender figure on the outer edge of the group around santa anna. it seemed familiar, and when the man turned he recognized the face of almonte, the gallant young mexican colonel who had been kind to him. he was sorry to see him there. he was sorry that he should have to fight against him. santa anna went presently to a great marquée that had been prepared for him, and the other generals retired also to the tents that had been set about it. the dictator was tired from his long ride and must not be disturbed. strict orders were given that there should be no noise in the camp, and it quickly sank into silence. ned lay down before one of the fires at the western end of the camp wrapped as before in his serape. he counterfeited sleep, but nothing was further from his mind. it seemed to him that he had done all he could do in the mexican camp. he had seen the arrival of santa anna, but there was no way to learn when the general would order an advance. but he could infer from santa anna's well-known energy and ability that it would come quickly. between the slit left by the brim of his sombrero and his serape he watched the great fires die slowly. most of the mexicans were asleep now, and their figures were growing indistinct in the shadows. but ned, rising, slouched forward, imitating the gait of the laziest of the mexicans. yet his eyes were always watching shrewdly through the slit. very little escaped his notice. he went along the entire mexican line and then back again. he had a good mathematical mind, and he saw that the estimate of , for the mexican army was not too few. he also saw many cannon and the horses for a great cavalry force. he knew, too, that santa anna had with him the best regiments in the mexican service. on his last trip along the line ned began to look for the panther and obed, but he saw no figures resembling theirs, although he was quite sure that he would know the panther in any disguise owing to his great size. this circumstance would make it more dangerous for the panther than for either obed or himself, as urrea, if he should see so large a man, would suspect that it was none other than the redoubtable frontiersman. ned was thinking of this danger to the panther when he came face to face with urrea himself. the young mexican captain was not lacking in vigilance and energy, and even at that late hour he was seeing that all was well in the camp of santa anna. ned was truly thankful now that mexican custom and the coldness of the night permitted him to cover his face with his serape and the brim of his sombrero. "why are you walking here?" demanded urrea. "i've just taken a message to general castrillon," replied ned. he had learned already that castrillon commanded the artillery, and as he was at least a mile away he thought this the safest reply. "from whom?" asked urrea shortly. "pardon, sir," replied ned, in his best spanish, disguising his voice as much as possible, "but i am not allowed to tell." ned's tone was courteous and apologetic, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred urrea would have contented himself with an impatient word or two. but he was in a most vicious temper. perhaps he had been rebuked by santa anna for allowing the rescue of roylston. "why don't you speak up?" he exclaimed. "why do you mumble your words, and why do you stand in such a slouching manner. remember that a soldier should stand up straight." "yes, my captain," said ned, but he did not change his attitude. the tone and manner of urrea angered him. he forgot where he was and his danger. urrea's swarthy face flushed. he carried in his hand a small riding whip, which he switched occasionally across the tops of his tall, military boots. "lout!" he cried. "you hear me! why do you not obey!" ned stood impassive. certainly urrea had had a bad half hour somewhere. his temper leaped beyond control. "idiot!" he exclaimed. then he suddenly lashed ned across the face with the little riding whip. the blow fell on serape and sombrero and the flesh was not touched, but for a few moments ned went mad. he dropped his rifle, leaped upon the astonished officer, wrenched the whip from his hands, slashed him across the cheeks with it until the blood ran in streams, then broke it in two and threw the pieces in his face. ned's serape fell away. urrea had clasped his hands to his cheeks that stung like fire, but now he recognized the boy. "fulton!" he cried. the sharp exclamation brought ned to a realization of his danger. he seized his rifle, pulled up the serape and sprang back. already mexican soldiers were gathering. it was truly fortunate for ned that he was quick of thought, and that his thoughts came quickest when the danger was greatest. he knew that the cry of "fulton!" was unintelligible to them, and he exclaimed: "save me, comrades! he tried to beat me without cause, and now he would kill me, as you see!" urrea had drawn a pistol and was shouting fiery mexican oaths. the soldiers, some of them just awakened from sleep, and all of them dazed, had gathered in a huddle, but they opened to let ned pass. excessive and cruel punishment was common among them. a man might be flogged half to death at the whim of an officer, and instinctively they protected their comrade. as the mexican group closed up behind him, and between him and urrea, ned ran at top speed toward the west where the arroyo cut across the plain. more mexicans were gathering, and there was great confusion. everybody was asking what was the matter. the boy's quick wit did not desert him. there was safety in ignorance and the multitude. he quickly dropped to a walk and he, too, began to ask of others what had caused the trouble. all the while he worked steadily toward the arroyo, and soon he left behind him the lights and the shouting. he now came into the dark, passed beyond the mexican lines, and entered the cut in the earth down which he had come. he was compelled to sit down on the sand and relax. he was exhausted by the great effort of both mind and body which had carried him through so much danger. his heart was beating heavily and he felt dizzy. but his eyes cleared presently and his strength came back. he considered himself safe. in the darkness it was not likely that any of the mexicans would stumble upon him. he thought of the panther and obed, but he could do nothing for them. he must trust to meeting them again at the place appointed. he looked at the mexican camp. the fires had burned up again there for a minute or two, but as he looked they sank once more. the noise also decreased. evidently they were giving up the pursuit. ned rose and walked slowly up the arroyo. he became aware that the night was very cold and it told on his relaxed frame. he pulled up the serape again, and now it was for warmth and not for disguise. he stopped at intervals to search the darkness with his eyes and to listen for noises. he might meet with an enemy or he might meet with one of his friends. he was prepared for either. he had regained control of himself both body and mind, and his ready rifle rested in the hollow of his arm. he met neither. he heard nothing but the usual sighing of the prairie wind that ceased rarely, and he saw nothing but the faint glow on the southern horizon that marked the mexican camp where he had met his enemy. he left the arroyo, and saw a dark shadow on the plain, the figure of a man, rifle in hand, ned instantly sprang back into the arroyo and the stranger did the same. a curve in the line of this cut in the earth now hid them from each other, and ned, his body pressed against the bank, waited with beating heart. he had no doubt that it was a mexican sentinel or scout more vigilant than the others, and he felt his danger. ned in this crisis used the utmost caution. he did not believe that any other would come, and it must be a test of patience between him and his enemy. whoever showed his head first would be likely to lose in the duel for life. he pressed himself closer and closer against the bank, and sought to detect some movement of the stranger. he saw nothing and he did not hear a sound. it seemed that the man had absolutely vanished into space. it occurred to ned that it might have been a mere figment of the dusk and his excited brain, but he quickly dismissed the idea. he had seen the man and he had seen him leap into the arroyo. there could be no doubt of it. there was another long wait, and the suspense became acute. the man was surely on the other side of that curve waiting for him. he was held fast. he was almost as much a prisoner as if he lay bound in the mexican camp. it seemed to him, too, that the darkness was thinning a little. it would soon be day and then he could not escape the notice of horsemen from santa anna's army. he decided that he must risk an advance and he began creeping forward cautiously. he remembered now what he had forgotten in the first moments of the meeting. he might yet, even before this sentinel or scout, pass as a mexican. he stopped suddenly when he heard a low whistle in front of him. while it could be heard but a short distance, it was singularly sweet. it formed the first bars of an old tune, "the world turned upside down," and ned promptly recognized it. the whistle stopped in a moment or two, but ned took up the air and continued it for a few bars more. then, all apprehension gone, he sprang out of the arroyo and stood upon the bank. another figure was projected from the arroyo and stood upon the bank facing him, not more than twenty feet away. simultaneously obed white and edward fulton advanced, shook hands and laughed. "you kept me here waiting in this gully at least half an hour," said obed. "time and i waited long on you." "but no longer than i waited on you," said ned. "why didn't you think of whistling the tune sooner?" "why didn't you?" they laughed and shook hands again. "at any rate, we're here together again, safe and unharmed," said ned. "and now to see what has become of the panther." "you'd better be lookin' out for yourselves instead of the panther," growled a voice, as a gigantic figure upheaved itself from the arroyo eight or ten yards behind them. "i could have picked you both off while you were standin' there shakin' hands, an' neither of you would never have knowed what struck him." "the panther!" they exclaimed joyously, and they shook hands with him also. "an' now," said the panther, "it will soon be day. we'd better make fur our horses an' then clear out. we kin tell 'bout what we've seen an' done when we're two or three miles away." they found the horses safe in the brushwood, old jack welcoming ned with a soft whinny. they were in the saddle at once, rode swiftly northward, and none of them spoke for a half hour. when a faint tinge of gray appeared on the eastern rim of the world the panther said: "my tale's short. i couldn't get into the camp, 'cause i'm too big. the very first fellow i saw looked at me with s'picion painted all over him. so i had to keep back in the darkness. but i saw it was a mighty big army. it can do a lot of rippin', an' t'arin', an' chawin'." "i got into the camp," said obed, after a minute of silence, "but as i'm not built much like a mexican, being eight or ten inches too tall, men were looking at me as if i were a strange specimen. one touch of difference and all the world's staring at you. so i concluded that i'd better stay on the outside of the lines. i hung around, and i saw just what panther saw, no more and no less. then i started back and i struck the arroyo, which seemed to me a good way for leaving. but before i had gone far i concluded i was followed. so i watched the fellow who was following, and the fellow who was following watched me for about a year. the watch was just over when you came up, panther. it was long, but it's a long watch that has no ending." "and i," said ned, after another wait of a minute, "being neither so tall as obed nor so big around as the panther, was able to go about in the mexican camp without any notice being taken of me. i saw santa anna arrive to take the chief command." "santa anna himself?" exclaimed the panther. "yes, santa anna himself. they gave him a great reception. after a while i started to come away. i met urrea. he took me for a peon, gave me an order, and when i didn't obey it tried to strike me across the face with a whip." "and what did you do?" exclaimed the two men together. "i took the whip away from him and lashed his cheeks with it. i was recognized, but in the turmoil and confusion i escaped. then i had the encounter with obed white, of which he has told already." "since santa anna has come," said the panther, "they're likely to move at any moment. we'll ride straight for the cabin an' the boys." chapter vi for freedom's sake evidently the horses had found considerable grass through the night, as they were fresh and strong, and the miles fell fast behind them. at the gait at which they were going they would reach the cabin that night. meanwhile they made plans. the little force would divide and messengers would go to san antonio, harrisburg and other points, with the news that santa anna was advancing with an immense force. and every one of the three knew that the need was great. they knew how divided counsels had scattered the little texan army. at san antonio, the most important point of all, the town that they had triumphantly taken from a much greater force of mexicans, there were practically no men, and that undoubtedly was santa anna's destination. unconsciously they began to urge their horses to great and yet greater speed, until the panther recalled them to prudence. "slower, boys! slower!" he said. "we mustn't run our horses out at the start." "and there's a second reason for pulling down," said ned, "since there's somebody else on the plain." his uncommon eyesight had already detected before the others the strange presence. he pointed toward the east. "do you see that black speck there, where the sky touches the ground?" he said. "if you'll watch it you'll see that it's moving. and look! there's another! and another! and another!" the panther and obed now saw the black specks also. the three stopped on the crest of a swell and watched them attentively. "one! two! three! four! five! six! seven! eight! nine! ten! eleven! twelve! thirteen!" counted the far-sighted boy. "an' them thirteen specks are thirteen men on horseback," continued the panther, "an' now i wonder who in the name of the great horn spoon they are!" "suppose we see," said obed. "all things are revealed to him who looks--at least most of the time. it is true that they are more than four to our one, but our horses are swift, and we can get away." "that's right," said the panther. "still, we oughtn't to take the risk unless everybody is willin'. what do you say, ned?" "i reply 'yes,' of course," said the boy, "especially as i've an idea that those are not mexicans. they look too big and tall, and they sit too straight up in their saddles for mexicans." "them ideas of yours are ketchin'," said the panther. "them fellers may be mexicans, but they don't look like mexicans, they don't act like mexicans, an' they ain't mexicans." "take out what isn't, and you have left what is," said obed. "we'll soon see," said ned. a few minutes more and there could be no further doubt that the thirteen were texans or americans. one rode a little ahead of the others, who came on in an even line. they were mounted on large horses, but the man in front held ned's attention. the leader was tall and thin, but evidently muscular and powerful. his hair was straight and black like an indian's. his features were angular and tanned by the winds of many years. his body was clothed completely in buckskin, and a raccoon skin cap was on his head. across his shoulder lay a rifle with a barrel of unusual length. "never saw any of them before," said the panther. "by the great horn spoon, who can that feller in front be? he looks like somebody." the little band rode closer, and its leader held up his hand as a sign of amity. "good friends," he said, in a deep clear voice, "we don't have very close neighbors out here, and that makes a meeting all the pleasanter. you are texans, i guess." "you guess right," said the panther, in the same friendly tone. "an' are you texans, too?" "that point might be debated," replied the man, in a whimsical tone, "and after a long dispute neither i nor my partners here could say which was right and which was wrong. but while we may not be texans, yet we will be right away." his eyes twinkled as he spoke, and ned suddenly felt a strong liking for him. he was not young and, despite his buckskin dress and careless grammar, there was something of the man of the world about him. but he seemed to have a certain boyishness of spirit that appealed strongly to ned. "i s'pose," he continued, "that a baptism will make us genuine texans, an' it 'pears likely to me that we'll get that most lastin' of all baptisms, a baptism of fire. but me an' betsy here stand ready for it." he patted lovingly the stock of his long rifle as he spoke the word "betsy." it was the same word "betsy" that gave ned his sudden knowledge. "i'm thinking that you are davy crockett," he said. the man's face was illumined with an inimitable smile. "correct," he said. "no more and no less. andy jackson kept me from going back to washington, an' so me an' these twelve good friends of mine, tennesseans like myself, have come here to help free texas." he reached out his hand and ned grasped it. the boy felt a thrill. the name of davy crockett was a great one in the southwest, and here he was, face to face, hands gripped with the great borderer. "this is mr. palmer, known all over texas as the panther, and mr. obed white, once of maine, but now a texan," said ned, introducing his friends. crockett and the panther shook hands, and looked each other squarely in the eye. "seems to me," said crockett, "that you're a man." "i was jest thinkin' the same of you," said the panther. "an' you," said crockett to obed white, "are a man, too. but they certainly do grow tall where you come from." "i'm not as wide as a barn door, but i may be long enough to reach the bottom of a well," said obed modestly. "anyway, i thank you for the compliment. praise from sir davy is sweet music in my ear, indeed. and since we texans have to stand together, and since to stand together we must know about one another, may i ask you, mr. crockett, which way you are going?" "we had an idea that we would go to san antonio," said crockett, "but i'm never above changin' my opinion. if you think it better to go somewhere else, an' can prove it, why me an' betsy an' the whole crowd are ready to go there instead." "what would you say?" asked the panther, "if we told you that santa anna an' , men were on the rio grande ready to march on san antonio?" "if you said it, i'd say it was true. i'd also say that it was a thing the texans had better consider. if i was usin' adjectives i'd call it alarmin'." "an' what would you say if i told you there wasn't a hundred texan soldiers in san antonio to meet them seven thousand mexicans comin' under santa anna?" "if you told me that i'd say it was true. i'd say also, if i was usin' adjectives, that it was powerful alarmin'. for heaven's sake, mr. panther, the state of affairs ain't so bad as that, is it?" "it certainly is," replied the panther. "ned fulton here was all through their camp last night. he can talk mexican an' spanish like lightnin' an' he makes up wonderful--an' he saw their whole army. he saw old santa anna, too, an' fifty or a hundred generals, all covered with gold lace. if we don't get a lot of fightin' men together an' get 'em quick, texas will be swept clean by that mexican army same as if a field had been crossed by millions of locusts." it was obvious that crockett was impressed deeply by these blunt statements. "what do you wish us to do?" he asked the panther. "you an' your friends come with us. we've got some good men at a cabin in the woods that we can reach to-night. we'll join with them, raise as many more as we can, spread the alarm everywhere, an' do everything possible for the defence of san antonio." "a good plan, mr. panther," said crocket. "you lead the way to this cabin of yours, an' remember that we're servin' under you for the time bein'." the panther rode on without another word and the party, now raised from three to sixteen, followed. crockett fell in by the side of ned, and soon showed that he was not averse to talking. "a good country," he said, nodding at the landscape, "but it ain't like tennessee. it would take me a long time to git used to the lack of hills an' runnin' water an' trees which just cover the state of tennessee." "we have them here, too," replied ned, "though i'll admit they're scattered. but it's a grand country to fight for." "an' as i see it we'll have a grand lot of fightin' to do," said davy crockett. they continued at good speed until twilight, when they rested their horses and ate of the food that they carried. the night promised to be cold but clear, and the crisp air quickened their blood. "how much further is it?" asked crockett of ned. "fifteen or eighteen miles, but at the rate we're going we should be there in three hours. we've got a roof. it isn't a big one, and we don't know who built it, but it will shelter us all." "i ain't complainin' of that," rejoined davy crockett. "i'm a lover of fresh air an' outdoors, but i don't object to a roof in cold weather. always take your comfort, boy, when it's offered to you. it saves wear an' tear." a friendship like that between him and bowie was established already between ned and crockett. ned's grave and serious manner, the result of the sufferings through which he had gone, invariably attracted the attention and liking of those far older than himself. "i'll remember your advice, mr. crockett," he said. a rest of a half hour for the horses and they started riding rapidly. after a while they struck the belt of forest and soon the cabin was not more than a mile away. but the panther, who was still in the lead, pulled up his horse suddenly. "boys," he exclaimed, "did you hear that?" every man stopped his horse also and with involuntary motion bent forward a little to listen. then the sound that the panther had heard came again. it was the faint ping of a rifle shot, muffled by the distance. in a moment they heard another and then two more. the sounds came from the direction of their cabin. "the boys are attacked," said the panther calmly, "an' it's just as well that we've come fast. but i can't think who is after 'em. there was certainly no mexicans in these parts yesterday, an' urrea could not possibly have got ahead of us with a raidin' band. but at any rate we'll ride on an' soon see." they proceeded with the utmost caution, and they heard the faint ping of the rifles a half dozen times as they advanced. the nostrils of the panther began to distend, and streaks of red appeared on his eyeballs. he was smelling the battle afar, and his soul rejoiced. he had spent his whole life amid scenes of danger, and this was nature to him. crockett rode up by his side, and he, too, listened eagerly. he no longer carried betsy over his shoulder but held the long rifle across the pommel of his saddle, his hand upon hammer and trigger. "what do you think it is, panther?" he asked. already he had fallen into the easy familiarity of the frontier. "i can't make it out yet," replied the panther, "but them shots shorely came from the cabin an' places about it. our fellows are besieged, but i've got to guess at the besiegers, an' then i'm likely to guess wrong." they were riding very slowly, and presently they heard a dozen shots, coming very clearly now. "i think we'd better stop here," said the panther, "an' do a little scoutin'. if you like it, mr. crockett, you an' me an' ned, here, will dismount, slip forward an' see what's the trouble. obed will take command of the others, an' wait in the bushes till we come back with the news, whatever it is." "i'll go with you gladly," said davy crockett. "i'm not lookin' for trouble with a microscope, but if trouble gets right in my path i'm not dodgin' it. so i say once more, lead on, noble mr. panther, an' if betsy here must talk she'll talk." the panther grinned in the dusk. he and davy crockett had instantly recognized congenial souls, each in the other. "i can't promise you that thar'll be rippin' an' t'arin' an' roarin' an' chawin' all the time," he said, "but between you an' me, davy crockett, i've an' idee that we're not goin' to any sort of prayer meetin' this time of night." "no, i'm thinkin' not," said crockett, "but if there is a scene of turbulence before us lead on. i'm prepared for my share in it. the debate may be lively, but i've no doubt that i'll get my chance to speak. there are many ways to attract the attention of the speaker. pardon me, mr. panther, but i fall naturally into the phrases of legislative halls." "i remember that you served two terms in congress at washington," said the panther. "an' i'd be there yet if it wasn't for andy jackson. i wanted my way in tennessee politics an' he wanted his. he was so stubborn an' headstrong that here i am ready to become a statesman in this new texas which is fightin' for its independence. an' what a change! from marble halls in washington to a night in the brush on the frontier, an' with an unknown enemy before you." they stopped talking now and, kneeling down in a thicket, began to creep forward. the cabin was not more than four or five hundred yards away, but a long silence had succeeded the latest shots, and after an advance of thirty or forty yards they lay still for a while. then they heard two shots ahead of them, and saw little pink dots of flame from the exploding gunpowder. "it cannot be mexicans who are besieging the cabin," said ned. "they would shout or make some kind of a noise. we have not heard a thing but the rifle shots." "your argyment is good," whispered the panther. "look! did you see that figure passin' between us an' the cabin?" "i saw it," said davy crockett, "an' although it was but a glimpse an' this is night it did not seem to me to be clad in full christian raiment. i am quite sure it is not the kind of costume that would be admitted to the galleries of congress." "you're right, doubly right," said the panther. "that was an injun you saw, but whether a comanche or a lipan i couldn't tell. the boys are besieged not by mexicans, but by injuns. hark to that!" there was a flash from the cabin, a dusky figure in the woods leaped into the air, uttered a death cry, fell and lay still. "an', as you see," continued the panther, in his whisper, "the boys in the house are not asleep, dreamin' beautiful dreams. looks to me as if they was watchin' mighty sharp for them fellers who have broke up their rest." crack! went a second shot from the house, but there was no answering cry, and they could not tell whether it hit anything. but they soon saw more dark figures flitting through the bushes, and their own position grew very precarious. if a band of the indians stumbled upon them they might be annihilated before they gave their besieged comrades any help. "i make the motion, mr. panther," said crockett, "that you form a speedy plan of action for us, an' i trust that our young friend ned here will second it." "i second the motion," said ned. "it is carried unanimously. now, mr. panther, we await your will." "it's my will that we git back to the rest of the men as soon as we can. i reckon, mr. crockett, that them tennesseans of yours wouldn't head in the other direction if a fight grew hot." "i reckon that wild horses couldn't drag 'em away," said crockett dryly. "then we'll go back an' j'in 'em." "to hold a caucus, so to speak." "i don't know what a cow-cuss is." "it's congressional for a conference. don't mind these parliamentary expressions of mine, mr. panther. they give me pleasure an' they hurt nobody." they reached the tennesseans without interruption, and the panther quickly laid his plan before them. they would advance within a quarter of a mile of the cabin, tie their horses in the thickest of the brush, leave four men to guard them, then the rest would go forward to help the besieged. crockett's eyes twinkled when the panther announced the campaign in a few words. "very good; very good," he said. "a steering committee could not have done better. that also is parliamentary, but i think you understand it." they heard detached shots again and then a long yell. "they're comanches," said the panther. "i know their cry, an' i guess there's a lot of them." ned hoped that the shout did not mean the achieving of some triumph. they reached presently a dense growth of brush, and there the horses were tied. four reluctant tennesseans remained with them and the rest crept forward. they did not hear any shot after they left the horses until they were within three hundred yards of the house. then an apparition caused all to stop simultaneously. a streak of flame shot above the trees, curved and fell. it was followed by another and another. ned was puzzled, but the panther laughed low. "this can't be fireworks on election night," said davy crockett. "it seems hardly the place for such a display." "they're fireworks, all right," said the panther, "but it's not election night. you're correct about that part of it. look, there goes the fourth an' the fifth." two more streaks of flame curved and fell, and ned and crockett were still puzzled. "them's burnin' arrers," said the panther. "it's an old trick of the injuns. if they had time enough they'd be sure to set the cabin on fire, and then from ambush they'd shoot the people as they ran out. but what we're here for is to stop that little game of theirs. the flight of the arrers enables us to locate the spot from which they come an' there we'll find the comanches." they crept toward the point from which the lighted arrows were flying, and peering; from the thicket saw a score or more of comanches gathered in the bushes and under the trees. one of the tennesseans, seeking a better position, caused a loud rustling, and the alert comanches, instantly taking alarm, turned their attention to the point from which the sound had come. "fire, boys! fire at once!" cried the panther. a deadly volley was poured into the comanche band. the indians replied, but were soon compelled to give way. the panther, raising his voice, shouted in tremendous tones: "rescue! rescue! we're here, boys!" the defenders of the cabin, hearing the volleys and the shouts of their friends, opened the door and rushed out of the cabin, rifle in hand. caught between two forces, the comanches gave up and rushed to the plain, where they had left their ponies. jumping upon the backs of these, they fled like the wind. the two victorious parties met and shook hands. "we're mighty glad to see you, panther," said fields, grinning. "you don't look like an angel, but you act like one, an' i see you've brought a lot of new angels with you." "yes," replied the panther, with some pride in his voice, "an' the first of the angels is davy crockett. mr. crockett, mr. fields." the men crowded around to shake hands with the renowned davy. meanwhile a small party brought the four tennesseans and the horses. fortunately the comanches had fled in the other direction. but it was not all joy in the texan camp. two silent figures covered with serapes were stretched on the floor in the cabin, and several others had wounds, although they had borne their part in the fighting. "tell us how it happened," said the panther, after they had set sentinels in the forest. "they attacked us about an hour after dark," replied fields. "we knew that no mexicans were near, but we never thought of indians raiding this far to the eastward. some of the men were outside looking after jerked meat when they suddenly opened fire from the brush. two of the boys, campbell and hudson, were hurt so badly that they died after they were helped into the house by the others. the comanches tried to rush in with our own men, but we drove them off and we could have held the cabin against 'em forever, if they hadn't begun to shoot the burning arrows. then you came." campbell and hudson were buried. ned had been welcomed warmly by allen, and the two boys compared notes. will's face glowed when he heard of ned's adventures within the mexican lines. "i could never have done it," he said. "i couldn't have kept steady enough when one crisis after another came along. i suppose this means, of course, that we must try to meet santa anna in some way. what do you think we can do, ned?" "i don't know, but just at present i'm going to sleep. the panther, davy crockett and obed will debate the plans." ned, who was becoming inured to war and danger, was soon asleep, but will could not close his eyes. he had borne a gallant part in the defense, and the sounds of rifle shots and indian yells still resounded in his excited ear. he remained awake long after he heard the heavy breathing of the men about him, but exhausted nerves gave way at last and he, too, slept. the next morning their news was debated gravely by all. there was not one among them who did not understand its significance, but it was hard to agree upon a policy. davy crockett, who had just come, and who was practically a stranger to texas, gave his opinions with hesitation. "it's better for you, mr. panther, an' you, mr. white, to make the motions," he said, "an' i an' my tennesseans will endorse them. but it seems, boys, that if we came for a fight it is offered to us the moment we get here." "yes," said the twelve tennesseans all together. "i shall be compelled to leave you," said roylston. "pray, don't think it's because i'm afraid to fight the mexicans. but, as i told you before, i can do far greater good for the texan cause elsewhere. as i am now as well as ever, and i am able to take care of myself, i think i shall leave at once." "i've known you only a few hours, mr. roylston," said crockett, "but i've knocked around a hard world long enough to know a man when i see him. if you say you ought, you ought to go." "that's so," said the panther. "we've seen mr. roylston tried more than once, and nobody doubts his courage." a good horse, saddled and bridled, and arms and ammunition, were given to roylston. then he bade them farewell. when he was about twenty yards away he beckoned to ned. when the boy stood at his saddle bow he said very earnestly: "if you fall again into the hands of santa anna, and are in danger of your life, use my name with him. it is perhaps a more potent weapon than you think. do not forget." "i will not," said ned, "and i thank you very much, mr. roylston. but i hope that no such occasion will arise." "so do i," said roylston with emphasis. then he rode away, a square, strong figure, and never looked back. "what was he saying, ned?" asked will, when the boy returned. "merely promising help if we should need it, hereafter." "he looks like a man who would give it." after some further talk it was decided that ned, will, obed and the panther should ride south to watch the advance of santa anna, while crockett, fields and the remainder should go to san antonio and raise such troops as they could. "an' if you don't mind my sayin' it to you, mr. crockett," said the panther, "keep tellin' 'em over an' over again that they have need to beware. tell 'em that santa anna, with all the power of mexico at his back, is comin'." "fear not, my good friend," said davy crockett. "i shall tell them every hour of the day. i shall never cease to bring the information before the full quorum of the house. again i am parliamentary, but i think you understand, mr. panther." "we all understan'," said the panther, and then crockett rode away at the head of the little troop which tacitly made him commander. ned's eyes followed his figure as long as he was in sight. little did he dream of what was to pass when they should meet again, scenes that one could never forget, though he lived a thousand years. "a staunch man and true," said obed. "he will be a great help to texas." then they turned back to the cabin, the four of them, because they did not intend to go forth until night. they missed their comrades, but the cabin was a pleasant place, well stored now with meat of buffalo, deer and wild turkey. floor and walls alike were covered with dressed skins. "why not fasten it up just as tightly as we can before we go away," said allen. "the comanches are not likely to come back, the war is swinging another way, and maybe we'll find it here handy for us again some day." "you're talkin' sense, will allen," said the panther. "it's been a shelter to us once, and it might be a shelter to us twice. the smell of the meat will, of course, draw wolves an' panthers, but we can fix it so they can't get in." taking sufficient provisions for themselves, they put the rest high up on the rafters. then they secured the windows, and heaped logs before the door in such a manner that the smartest wolves and panthers in the world could not force an entrance. as they sat on their horses in the twilight preparatory to riding away, they regarded their work with great content. "there it is, waiting for us when we come again," said obed white. "it's a pleasant thing to have a castle for refuge when your enemies are making it too hot for you out in the open." "so it is," said the panther, "and a man finds that out more than once in his life." then they turned their horses and rode southward in the dusk. but before long they made an angle and turned almost due west. it was their intention to intersect the settlements that lay between the rio grande and san antonio and give warning of the approach of santa anna. they went on steadily over a rolling country, mostly bare, but with occasional clumps of trees. chapter vii the herald of attack about midnight they rode into the thickest part of the woods that they could find, and slept there until day. then they continued their course toward the west, and before night they saw afar small bands of horsemen. "what do you say they are?" asked the panther of ned when they beheld the first group. "seems to me they are mexican." ned looked long before returning an answer. then he replied with confidence: "yes, they are mexicans. the two men in the rear have lances, and no texan ever carried such a weapon." "then," said obed white, "it behooves us to have a care. we're scouts now and we're not looking for a battle. he who dodges the fight and runs away may live to scout another day." the mexican horsemen were on their right, and the four continued their steady course to the west. they were reassured by the fact that the mexicans were likely to take them in the distance for other mexicans. it became evident now that santa anna was taking every precaution. he was sending forward scouts and skirmishers in force, and the task of the four was likely to become one of great danger. toward night an uncommonly raw and cold wind began to blow. that winter was one of great severity in northern mexico and southern texas, noted also for its frequent northers. although the time for the texan spring was near at hand, there was little sign of it. not knowing what else to do they sought the shelter of timber again and remained there a while. by and by they saw for the second time a red glow in the south, and they knew that it came from the camp fires of santa anna. but it was now many miles north of the rio grande. santa anna was advancing. "he's pressin' forward fast," said the panther, "an' his skirmishers are scourin' the plain ahead of him. we've got to keep a sharp lookout, because we may run into 'em at any time. i think we'd better agree that if by any luck we get separated an' can't reunite, every fellow should ride hard for san antonio with the news." the plan seemed good to all, and, after a long wait, they rode to another clump of trees four or five hundred yards further south. here they saw the red glow more plainly. it could not be more than two miles away, and they believed that to approach any nearer was to imperil their task. before the first light appeared the next day they would turn back on san antonio as the heralds of santa anna's advance. the four sat on their horses among the trees, darker shadows in the shadow. beyond the little grove they saw the plain rolling away on every side bare to the horizon, except in the south, where the red glow always threatened. ned rode to the western edge of the grove in order to get a better view. he searched the plain carefully with his keen vision, but he could find no sign of life there in the west. he turned old jack in order to rejoin his comrades, when he suddenly heard a low sound from the east. he listened a moment, and then, hearing it distinctly, he knew it. it was the thud of hoofs, and the horsemen were coming straight toward the grove, which was two or three hundred yards in width. owing to the darkness and the foliage ned could not see his comrades, but he started toward them at once. then came a sudden cry, the rapid beat of hoofs, the crack of shots, and a mexican body of cavalry dashed into the wood directly between the boy and his comrades. he heard once the tremendous shout of the panther and the wild mexican yells. two horsemen fired at him and a third rode at him with extended lance. it was old jack that saved ned's life. the boy was so startled that his brain was in a paralysis for a moment. but the horse shied suddenly away from the head of the lance, which was flashing in the moonlight. ned retained both his seat and his rifle. he fired at the nearest of the mexicans, who fell from his saddle, and then, seeing that but one alternative was left him he gave old jack the rein and galloped from the grove into the west. amid all the rush and terrific excitement of the moment, ned thought of his comrades. it was not possible for him to join them now, but they were three together and they might escape. the panther was a wonderful borderer, and obed white was not far behind him. he turned his attention to his own escape. two more shots were fired at him, but in both cases the bullets went wide. then he heard only the thud of hoofs, but the pursuing horsemen were very near. something whizzed through the air and instinctively he bent forward almost flat on the neck of old jack. a coiling shape struck him on the head, slipped along his back, then along the quarters of his horse and fell to the ground. he felt as if a deadly snake had struck at him, and then had drawn its cold body across him. but he knew that it was a lasso. the mexicans would wish to take him alive, as they might secure valuable information from him. now he heard them shouting to one another, every one boasting that his would be the successful throw. as ned's rifle was empty, and he could not reload it at such speed, they seemed to fear nothing for themselves. he looked back. they numbered seven or eight, and they were certainly very near. they had spread out a little and whenever old jack veered a yard or two from the pursuers some one gained. he saw a coil of rope fly through the air and he bent forward again. it struck old jack on the saddle and fell to the ground. ned wondered why they did not fire now, but he remembered that their rifles or muskets, too, might be empty, and suddenly he felt a strange exultation. he was still lying forward on his horse's neck, and now he began to talk to him. "on! on! old jack," he said, "show 'em the cleanest heels that were ever seen in texas! on! on! my beauty of a horse, my jewel of a horse! would you let miserable mexican ponies overtake you? you who were never beaten! ah, now we gain! but faster! faster!" it seemed that old jack understood. he stretched out his long neck and became a streak in the darkness. a third mexican threw his lasso, but the noose only touched his flying tail. a fourth threw, and the noose did not reach him at all. they were far out on the plain now, where the moonlight revealed everything, and the horse's sure instinct would guide. ned felt old jack beneath him, running strong and true without a jar like the most perfect piece of machinery. he stole a glance over his shoulder. all the mexicans were there, too far away now for a throw of the lasso, but several of them were trying to reload their weapons. ned knew that if they succeeded he would be in great danger. no matter how badly they shot a chance bullet might hit him or his horse. and he could afford for neither himself nor old jack to be wounded. once more the boy leaned far over on his horse's neck and cried in his ear: "on, old jack, on! look, we gain now, but we must gain more. show to them what a horse you are!" and again the great horse responded. fast as he was going it seemed to ned that he now lengthened his stride. his long head was thrust out almost straight, and his great body fairly skimmed the earth. but the mexicans hung on with grim tenacity. their ponies were tough and enduring, and, spread out like the arc of a bow, they continually profited by some divergence that old jack made from the straight line. aware of this danger ned himself, nevertheless, was unable to tell whether the horse was going in a direct course, and he let him have his head. "crack!" went a musket, and a bullet sang past ned's face. it grazed old jack's ear, drawing blood. the horse uttered an angry snort and fairly leaped forward. ned looked back again. another man had succeeded in loading his musket and was about to fire. then the boy remembered the pistol at his belt. snatching it out he fired at the fellow with the loaded musket. the mexican reeled forward on his horse's neck and his weapon dropped to the ground. whether the man himself fell also ned never knew, because he quickly thrust the pistol back in his belt and once more was looking straight ahead. now confidence swelled again in his heart. he had escaped all their bullets so far, and he was still gaining. he would escape all the others and he would continue to gain. he saw just ahead of him one of the clumps of trees that dotted the plain, but, although it might give momentary protection from the bullets he was afraid to gallop into it, lest he be swept from his horse's back by the boughs or bushes. but his direct course would run close to the left side of it, and once more he sought to urge old jack to greater speed. the horse was still running without a jar. ned could not feel a single rough movement in the perfect machinery beneath him. unless wounded old jack would not fail him. he stole another of those fleeting glances backward. several of the mexicans, their ponies spent, were dropping out of the race, but enough were left to make the odds far too great. ned now skimmed along the edge of the grove, and when he passed it he turned his horse a little, so the trees were between him and his nearest pursuers. then he urged old jack to his last ounce of speed. the plain raced behind him, and fortunate clouds, too, now came, veiling the moon and turning the dusk into deeper darkness. ned heard one disappointed cry behind him, and then no sound but the flying beat of his own horse's hoofs. when he pulled rein and brought old jack to a walk he could see or hear nothing of the mexicans. the great horse was a lather of foam, his sides heaving and panting, and ned sprang to the ground. he reloaded his rifle and pistol and then walked toward the west, leading old jack by the bridle. he reckoned that the mexicans would go toward the north, thinking that he would naturally ride for san antonio, and hence he chose the opposite direction. he walked a long time and presently he felt the horse rubbing his nose gently against his arm. ned stroked the soft muzzle. "you've saved my life. old jack," he said, "and not for the first time. you responded to every call." the horse whinnied ever so softly, and ned felt that he was not alone. now he threw the bridle reins back over the horse's head, and then the two walked on, side by side, man and beast. they stopped at times, and it may be that the horse as well as the boy then looked and listened for a foe. but the mexicans had melted away completely in the night. it was likely now that they were going in the opposite direction, and assured that he was safe from them for the time ned collapsed, both physically and mentally. such tremendous exertions and such terrible excitement were bound to bring reaction. he began to tremble violently, and he became so weak that he could scarcely stand. the horse seemed to be affected in much the same way and walked slowly and painfully. ned saw another little grove, and he and the horse walked straight toward it. it was fairly dense, and when he was in the center of it he wrapped his rifle and himself in his serape and lay down. the horse sank on his side near him. he did not care for anything now except to secure rest. mexicans or comanches or lipans might be on the plain only a few hundred yards away. it did not matter to him. he responded to no emotion save the desire for rest, and in five minutes he was in a deep sleep. ned slept until long after daylight. he was so much exhausted that he scarcely moved during all that time. nor did the horse. old jack had run his good race and won the victory, and he, too, cared for nothing but to rest. before morning some lipan buffalo hunters passed, but they took no notice of the grove and soon disappeared in the west. after the dawn a detachment of mexican lancers riding to the east to join the force of santa anna also passed the clump of trees, but the horse and man lay in the densest part of it, and no pair of mexican eyes was keen enough to see them there. they were answering the call of santa anna, and they rode on at a trot, the grove soon sinking out of sight behind them. ned was awakened at last by the sun shining in his face. he stirred, recalled in a vague sort of way where he was and why he was there, and then rose slowly to his feet. his joints were stiff like those of an old man, and he rubbed them to acquire ease. a great bay horse, saddle on his back, was searching here and there for the young stems of grass. ned rubbed his eyes. it seemed to him that he knew that horse. and a fine big horse he was, too, worth knowing and owning. yes, it was old jack, the horse that had carried him to safety. his little store of provisions was still tied to the saddle and he ate hungrily. at the end of the grove was a small pool formed by the winter's rains, and though the water was far from clear he drank his fill. he flexed and tensed his muscles again until all the stiffness and soreness were gone. then he made ready for his departure. he could direct his course by the sun, and he intended to go straight to san antonio. he only hoped that he might get there before the arrival of santa anna and his army. he could not spare the time to seek his comrades, and he felt much apprehension for them, but he yet had the utmost confidence in the skill of the panther and obed white. it was about two hours before noon when ned set out across the plain. usually in this region antelope were to be seen on the horizon, but they were all gone now. the boy considered it a sure sign that mexican detachments had passed that way. it was altogether likely, too, so he calculated, that the mexican army was now nearer than he to san antonio. his flight had taken him to the west while santa anna was moving straight toward the texan outworks. but he believed that by steady riding he could reach san antonio within twenty-four hours. the afternoon passed without event. ned saw neither human beings nor game on the vast prairie. he had hoped that by some chance he might meet with his comrades, but there was no sign of them, and he fell back on his belief that their skill and great courage had saved them. seeking to dismiss them from his thoughts for the time in order that he might concentrate all his energies on san antonio, he rode on. the horse had recovered completely from his great efforts of the preceding night, and once more that magnificent piece of machinery worked without a jar. old jack moved over the prairie with long, easy strides. it seemed to ned that he could never grow weary. he patted the sinewy and powerful neck. "gallant comrade," he said, "you have done your duty and more. you, at least, will never fail." twilight came down, but ned kept on. by and by he saw in the east, and for the third time, that fatal red glow extending far along the dusky horizon. all that he had feared of santa anna was true. the dictator was marching fast, whipping his army forward with the fierce energy that was a part of his nature. it was likely, too, that squadrons of his cavalry were much further on. a daring leader like urrea would certainly be miles ahead of the main army, and it was more than probable that bands of mexican horsemen were now directly between him and san antonio. ned knew that he would need all his strength and courage to finish his task. so he gave old jack a little rest, although he did not seem to need it, and drew once more upon his rations. when he remounted he was conscious that the air had grown much colder. a chill wind began to cut him across the cheek. snow, rain and wind have played a great part in the fate of armies, and they had much to do with the struggle between texas and mexico in that fateful february. ned's experience told him that another norther was about to begin, and he was glad of it. one horseman could make much greater progress through it than an army. the wind rose fast and then came hail and snow on its edge. the red glow in the east disappeared. but ned knew that it was still there. the norther had merely drawn an icy veil between. he shivered, and the horse under him shivered, too. once more he wrapped around his body the grateful folds of the serape and he drew on a pair of buckskin gloves, a part of his winter equipment. then he rode on straight toward san antonio as nearly as he could calculate. the norther increased in ferocity. it brought rain, hail and snow, and the night darkened greatly. ned began to fear that he would get lost. it was almost impossible to keep the true direction in such a driving storm. he had no moon and stars to guide him, and he was compelled to rely wholly upon instinct. sometimes he was in woods, sometimes upon the plain, and once or twice he crossed creeks, the waters of which were swollen and muddy. the norther was not such a blessing after all. he might be going directly away from san antonio, while santa anna, with innumerable guides, would easily reach there the next day. he longed for those faithful comrades of his. the four of them together could surely find a way out of this. he prayed now that the norther would cease, but his prayer was of no avail. it whistled and moaned about him, and snow and hail were continually driven in his face. fortunately the brim of the sombrero protected his eyes. he floundered on until midnight. the norther was blowing as fiercely as ever, and he and old jack were brought up by a thicket too dense for them to penetrate. ned understood now that he was lost. instinct had failed absolutely. brave and resourceful as he was he uttered a groan of despair. it was torture to be so near the end of his task and then to fail. but the despair lasted only a moment. the courage of a nature containing genuine greatness brought back hope. he dismounted and led his horse around the thicket. then they came to a part of the woods which seemed thinner, and not knowing anything else to do he went straight ahead. but he stopped abruptly when his feet sank in soft mud. he saw directly before him a stream yellow, swollen and flowing faster than usual. ned knew that it was the san antonio river, and now he had a clue. by following its banks he would reach the town. the way might be long, but it must inevitably lead him to san antonio, and he would take it. he remounted and rode forward as fast as he could. the river curved and twisted, but he was far more cheerful now. the san antonio was like a great coiling rope, but if he followed it long enough he would certainly come to the end that he wished. the norther continued to blow. he and his horse were a huge moving shape of white. now and then the snow, coating too thickly upon his serape, fell in lumps to the ground, but it was soon coated anew and as thick as ever. but whatever happened he never let the san antonio get out of his sight. he was compelled to stop at last under a thick cluster of oaks, where he was somewhat sheltered from the wind and snow. here he dismounted again, stamped his feet vigorously for warmth and also brushed the snow from his faithful horse. old jack, as usual, rubbed his nose against the boy's arm. the horse was a source of great comfort and strength to ned. he always believed that he would have collapsed without him. as nearly as he could guess the time it was about halfway between midnight and morning, and in order to preserve his strength he forced himself to eat a little more. a half hour's rest, and remounting he resumed his slow progress by the river. the rest had been good for both his horse and himself, and the blood felt warmer in his veins. he moved for some time among trees and thickets that lined the banks, and after a while he recognized familiar ground. he had been in some of these places in the course of the siege of san antonio, and the town could not be far away. it was probably two hours before daylight when he heard a sound which was not that of the norther, a sound which he knew instantly. it was the dull clank of bronze against bronze. it could be made only by one cannon striking against another. then santa anna, or one of his generals, despite the storm and the night, was advancing with his army, or a part of it. ned shivered, and now not from the cold. the texans did not understand the fiery energy of this man. they would learn of it too late, unless he told them, and it might be too late even then. he pressed on with as much increase of speed as the nature of the ground would allow. in another hour the snow and hail ceased, but the wind still blew fiercely, and it remained very cold. the dawn began to show dimly through drifting clouds. ned did not recall until long afterward that it was the birthday of the great washington. by a singular coincidence santa anna appeared before taylor with a vastly superior force on the same birthday eleven years later. it was a hidden sun, and the day was bleak with clouds and driving winds. nevertheless the snow that had fallen began to disappear. ned and old jack still made their way forward, somewhat slowly now, as they were stiff and sore from the long night's fight with darkness and cold. on his right, only a few feet away, was the swollen current of the san antonio. the stream looked deep to ned, and it bore fragments of timber upon its muddy bosom. it seemed to him that the waters rippled angrily against the bank. his excited imagination--and full cause there was--gave a sinister meaning to everything. a heavy fog began to rise from the river and wet earth. he could not see far in front of him, but he believed that the town was now only a mile or two away. soon a low, heavy sound, a measured stroke, came out of the fog. it was the tolling of the church bell in san antonio, and for some reason its impact upon ned's ear was like the stroke of death. a strange chilly sensation ran down his spine. he rode to the very edge of the stream and began to examine it for a possible ford. san antonio was on the other side, and he must cross. but everywhere the dark, swollen waters threatened, and he continued his course along the bank. a thick growth of bushes and a high portion of the bank caused him presently to turn away from the river until he could make a curve about the obstacles. the tolling of the bell had now ceased, and the fog was lifting a little. out of it came only the low, angry murmur of the river's current. as ned turned the curve the wind grew much stronger. the bank of fog was split asunder and then floated swiftly away in patches and streamers. on his left beyond the river ned saw the roofs of the town, now glistening in the clear morning air, and on his right, only four or five hundred yards away, he saw a numerous troop of mexican cavalry. in the figure at the head of the horsemen he was sure that he recognized urrea. ned's first emotion was a terrible sinking of the heart. after all that he had done, after all his great journeys, hardships and dangers, he was to fail with the towers and roofs of san antonio in sight. it was the triumphant cry of the mexicans that startled him into life again. they had seen the lone horseman by the river and they galloped at once toward him. ned had made no mistake. it was urrea, pressing forward ahead of the army, who led the troop, and it may be that he recognized the boy also. with the cry of the mexicans ringing in his ears, the boy shouted to old jack. the good horse, as always, made instant response, and began to race along the side of the river. but even his mighty frame had been weakened by so much strain. ned noticed at once that the machinery jarred. the great horse was laboring hard and the mexican cavalry, comparatively fresh, was coming on fast. it was evident that he would soon be overtaken, and so sure were the mexicans of it that they did not fire. there were deep reserves of courage and fortitude in this boy, deeper than even he himself suspected. when he saw that he could not escape by speed, the way out flashed upon him. to think was to do. he turned his horse without hesitation and urged him forward with a mighty cry. never had old jack made a more magnificent response. ned felt the mighty mass of bone and muscle gather in a bunch beneath him. then, ready to expand again with violent energy, it was released as if by the touch of a spring. the horse sprang from the high bank far out into the deep river. ned felt his serape fly from him and his rifle dropped from his hand. then the yellow waters closed over both him and old jack. they came up again, ned still on the horse's back, but with an icy chill through all his veins. he could not see for a moment or two, as the water was in his eyes, but he heard dimly the shouts of the mexicans and several shots. two or three bullets splashed the water around him and another struck his sombrero, which was floating away on the surface of the stream. the horse, turning somewhat, swam powerfully in a diagonal course across the stream. ned, dazed for the moment by the shock of the plunge from a height into the water, clung tightly to his back. he sat erect at first, and then remembering that he must evade the bullets leaned forward with the horse's neck between him and the mexicans. more shots were fired, but again he was untouched, and then the horse was feeling with his forefeet in the muddy bank for a hold. the next instant, with a powerful effort, he pulled himself upon the shore. the violent shock nearly threw ned from his back, but the boy seized his mane and hung on. the mexicans shouted and fired anew, but ned, now sitting erect, raced for san antonio, only a mile away. chapter viii in the alamo most of the people in san antonio were asleep when the dripping figure of a half unconscious boy on a great horse galloped toward them in that momentous dawn. he was without hat or serape. he was bareheaded and his rifle was gone. he was shouting "up! up! santa anna and the mexican army are at hand!" but his voice was so choked and hoarse that he could not be heard a hundred feet away. davy crockett, james bowie and a third man were standing in the main plaza. the third man, like the other two, was of commanding proportions. he was a full six feet in height, very erect and muscular, and with full face and red hair. he was younger than the others, not more than twenty-eight, but he was colonel william barrett travis, a north carolina lawyer, who was now in command of the few texans in san antonio. the three men were talking very anxiously. crockett had brought word that the army of santa anna was on the texan side of the rio grande, but it had seemed impossible to rouse the texans to a full sense of the impending danger. many remained at their homes following their usu vocations. mr. austin was away in the states trying to raise money. dissensions were numerous in the councils of the new government, and the leaders could agree upon nothing. travis, bowie and crockett were aware of the great danger, but even they did not believe it was so near. nevertheless they were full of anxiety. crockett, just come to texas, took no command and sought to keep in the background, but he was too famous and experienced a man not to be taken at once by travis and bowie into their councils. they were discussing now the possibility of getting help. "we might send messengers to the towns further east," said travis, "and at least get a few men here in time." "we need a good many," said bowie. "according to mr. crockett the mexican army is large, and the population here is unfriendly." "that is so," said travis, "and we have women and children of our own to protect." it was when he spoke the last words that they heard the clatter of hoofs and saw ned dashing down the narrow street toward the main plaza. they heard him trying to shout, but his voice was now so hoarse that he could not be understood. but ned, though growing weaker fast, knew two of the men. he could never forget the fair-haired bowie nor the swarthy crockett, and he galloped straight toward them. then he pulled up his horse and half fell, half leaped to the ground. holding by old jack's mane he pulled himself into an erect position. he was a singular sight the water still fell from his wet hair and dripped from his clothing. his face was plastered with mud. "santa anna's army, five thousand strong, is not two miles away!" he said. "i tell you because i have seen it!" "good god!" cried bowie. "it's the boy, ned fulton. i know him well. what he says must be truth." "it is every word truth!" croaked ned. "i was pursued by their vanguard! my horse swam the river with me! up! up! for texas!" then he fainted dead away. bowie seized him in his powerful arms and carried him into one of the houses occupied by the texans, where men stripped him of his wet clothing and gave him restoratives. but bowie himself hurried out into the main plaza. he had the most unlimited confidence in ned's word and so had crockett. they and travis at once began to arrange the little garrison for defence. many of the texans even yet would not believe. so great had been their confidence that they had sent out no scouting parties. only a day or two before they had been enjoying themselves at a great dance. the boy who had come with the news that santa anna was at hand must be distraught. certainly he had looked like a maniac. a loud cry suddenly came from the roof of the church of san fernando. two sentinels posted there had seen the edge of a great army appear upon the plain and then spread rapidly over it. santa anna's army had come. the mad boy was right. two horsemen sent out to reconnoiter had to race back for their lives. the flooded stream was now subsiding and only the depth of the water in the night had kept the mexicans from taking cannon across and attacking. ned's faint was short. he remembered putting on clothing, securing a rifle and ammunition, and then he ran out into the square. from many windows he saw the triumphant faces of mexicans looking out, but he paid no attention to them. he thought alone of the texans, who were now displaying the greatest energy. in the face of the imminent and deadly peril travis, crockett, bowie and the others were cool and were acting with rapidity. the order was swiftly given to cross to the alamo, the old mission built like a fortress, and the texans were gathering in a body. ned saw a young lieutenant named dickinson catch up his wife and child on a horse, and join the group of men. all the texans had their long rifles, and there were also cannon. as ned took his place with the others a kindly hand fell upon his shoulder and a voice spoke in his ear. "i was going to send for you, ned," said bowie, "but you've come. perhaps it would have been better for you, though, if you had been left in san antonio." "oh, no, mr. bowie!" cried ned. "don't say that. we can beat off any number of mexicans!" bowie said nothing more. much of ned's courage and spirit returned, but he saw how pitifully small their numbers were. the little band that defiled across the plain toward the alamo numbered less than one hundred and fifty men, and many of them were without experience. they were not far upon the plain when ned saw a great figure coming toward him. it was old jack, who had been forgotten in the haste and excitement. the saddle was still on his back and his bridle trailed on the ground. ned met him and patted his faithful head. already he had taken his resolution. there would be no place for old jack in the alamo, but this good friend of his should not fall into the hands of the mexicans. he slipped off saddle and bridle, struck him smartly on the shoulder and exclaimed: "good-by, old jack, good-by! keep away from our enemies and wait for me." the horse looked a moment at his master, and, to ned's excited eyes, it seemed for a moment that he wished to speak. old jack had never before been dismissed in this manner. ned struck him again and yet more sharply. "go, old friend!" he cried. the good horse trotted away across the plain. once he looked back as if in reproach, but as ned did not call him he kept on and disappeared over a swell. it was to ned like the passing of a friend, but he knew that old jack would not allow the mexicans to take him. he would fight with both teeth and hoofs against any such ignominious capture. then ned turned his attention to the retreat. it was a little band that went toward the alamo, and there were three women and three children in it, but since they knew definitely that santa anna and his great army had come there was not a texan who shrank from his duty. they had been lax in their watch and careless of the future, faults frequent in irregular troops, but in the presence of overwhelming danger they showed not the least fear of death. they reached the alamo side of the river. before them they saw the hewn stone walls of the mission rising up in the form of a cross and facing the river and the town. it certainly seemed welcome to a little band of desperate men who were going to fight against overwhelming odds. ned also saw not far away the mexican cavalry advancing in masses. the foremost groups were lancers, and the sun glittered on the blades of their long weapons. ned believed that urrea was somewhere in one of these leading groups. urrea he knew was full of skill and enterprise, but his heart filled with bitterness against him. he had tasted the texan salt, he had broken bread with those faithful friends of his, the panther and obed white, and now he was at santa anna's right hand, seeking to destroy the texans utterly. "looks as if i'd have a lot of use for old betsy," said a whimsical voice beside him. "somebody said when i started away from tennessee that i'd have nothing to do with it, might as well leave my rifle at home. but i 'low that old betsy is the most useful friend i could have just now." it was, of course, davy crockett who spoke. he was as cool as a cake of ice. old betsy rested in the hollow of his arm, the long barrel projecting several feet. his raccoon skin cap was on the back of his head. his whole manner was that of one who was in the first stage of a most interesting event. but as ned was looking at him a light suddenly leaped in the calm eye. "look there! look there!" said davy crockett, pointing a long finger. "we'll need food in that alamo place, an' behold it on the hoof!" about forty cattle had been grazing on the plain. they had suddenly gathered in a bunch, startled by the appearance of so many people, and of galloping horsemen. "we'll take 'em with us! we'll need 'em! say we can do it, colonel!" shouted crockett to travis. travis nodded. "come on, ned," cried crockett, "an' come on the rest of you fleet-footed fellows! every mother's son of you has driv' the cows home before in his time, an' now you kin do it again!" a dozen swift texans ran forward with shouts, ned and davy crockett at their head. crockett was right. this was work that every one of them knew how to do. in a flash they were driving the whole frightened herd in a run toward the gate that led into the great plaza of the alamo. the swift motion, the sense of success in a sudden maneuver, thrilled ned. he shouted at the cattle as he would have done when he was a small boy. they were near the gate when he heard an ominous sound by his side. it was the cocking of davy crockett's rifle, and when he looked around he saw that old betsy was leveled, and that the sure eye of the tennessean was looking down the sights. some of the mexican skirmishers seeing the capture of the herd by the daring texans were galloping forward to check it. crockett's finger pressed the trigger. old betsy flashed and the foremost rider fell to the ground. "i told that mexican to come down off his horse, and he came down," chuckled crockett. the mexicans drew back, because other texan rifles, weapons that they had learned to dread, were raised. a second body of horsemen charged from a different angle, and ned distinctly saw urrea at their head. he fired, but the bullet missed the partisan leader and brought down another man behind him. "there are good pickings here," said davy crockett, "but they'll soon be too many for us. come on, ned, boy! our place is behind them walls!" "yes," repeated bowie, who was near. "it's the alamo or nothing. no matter how fast we fired our rifles we'd soon be trod under foot by the mexicans." they passed in, bowie, crockett and ned forming the rear guard. the great gates of the alamo were closed behind them and barred. for the moment they were safe, because these doors were made of very heavy oak, and it would require immense force to batter them in. it was evident that the mexican horsemen on the plain did not intend to make any such attempt, as they drew off hastily, knowing that the deadly texan rifles would man the walls at once. "well, here we are, ned," said the cheerful voice of davy crockett, "an' if we want to win glory in fightin' it seems that we've got the biggest chance that was ever offered to anybody. i guess when old santa anna comes up he'll say: 'by nations right wheel; forward march the world.' still these walls will help a little to make up the difference between fifty to one." as he spoke he tapped the outer wall. "no mexican on earth," he said, "has got a tough enough head to butt through that. at least i think so. now what do you think, ned?" his tone was so whimsical that ned was compelled to laugh despite their terrible situation. "it's a pity, though," continued crockett, "that we've got such a big place here to defend. sometimes you're the stronger the less ground you spread over." ned glanced around. he had paid the alamo one hasty visit just after the capture of san antonio by the texans, but he took only a vague look then. now it was to make upon his brain a photograph which nothing could remove as long as he lived. he saw in a few minutes all the details of the alamo. he knew already its history. this mission of deathless fame was even then more than a century old. its name, the alamo, signified "the cottonwood tree," but that has long since been lost in another of imperishable grandeur. the buildings of the mission were numerous, the whole arranged, according to custom, in the form of a cross. the church, which was now without a roof, faced town and river, but it contained arched rooms, and the sacristy had a solid roof of masonry. the windows, cut for the needs of an earlier time, were high and narrow, in order that attacking indians might not pour in flights of arrows upon those who should be worshipping there. over the heavy oaken doors were images and carvings in stone worn by time. to the left of the church, beside the wing of the cross, was the plaza of the convent, about thirty yards square, with its separate walls more than fifteen feet high and nearly four feet thick. ned noted all these things rapidly and ineffaceably, as he and crockett took a swift but complete survey of their fortress. he saw that the convent and hospital, each two stories in height, were made of adobe bricks, and he also noticed a sallyport, protected by a little redoubt, at the southeastern corner of the yard. they saw beyond the convent yard the great plaza into which they had driven the cattle, a parallelogram covering nearly three acres, inclosed by a wall eight feet in height and three feet thick. prisons, barracks and other buildings were scattered about. beyond the walls was a small group of wretched jacals or huts in which some mexicans lived. water from the san antonio flowed in ditches through the mission. it was almost a town that they were called upon to defend, and ned and crockett, after their hasty look, came back to the church, the strongest of all the buildings, with walls of hewn stone five feet thick and nearly twenty-five feet high. they opened the heavy oaken doors, entered the building and looked up through the open roof at the sky. then crockett's eyes came back to the arched rooms and the covered sacristy. "this is the real fort," he said, "an' we'll put our gunpowder in that sacristy. it looks like sacrilege to use a church for such a purpose, but, ned, times are goin' to be very hot here, the hottest we ever saw, an' we must protect our powder." he carried his suggestion to travis, who adopted it at once, and the powder was quickly taken into the rooms. they also had fourteen pieces of cannon which they mounted on the walls of the church, at the stockade at the entrance to the plaza and at the redoubt. but the texans, frontiersmen and not regular soldiers, did not place much reliance upon the cannon. their favorite weapon was the rifle, with which they rarely missed even at long range. it took the texans but little time to arrange the defence, and then came a pause. ned did not have any particular duty assigned to him, and went back to the church, which now bore so little resemblance to a house of worship. he gazed curiously at the battered carvings and images over the door. they looked almost grotesque to him now, and some of them threatened. he went inside the church and looked around once more. it was old, very old. the grayness of age showed everywhere, and the silence of the defenders on the walls deepened its ancient aspect. but the norther had ceased to blow, and the sun came down, bright and unclouded, through the open roof. ned climbed upon the wall. bowie, who was behind one of the cannon, beckoned to him. ned joined him and leaned upon the gun as bowie pointed toward san antonio. "see the mexican masses," he said. "ned, you were a most timely herald. if it had not been for you our surprise would have been total. look how they defile upon the plain." the army of santa anna was entering san antonio and it was spread out far and wide. the sun glittered on lances and rifles, and brightened the bronze barrels of cannon. the triumphant notes of a bugle came across the intervening space, and when the bugle ceased a mexican band began to play. it was fine music. the mexicans had the latin ear, the gift for melody, and the air they played was martial and inspiring. one could march readily to its beat. bowie frowned. "they think it nothing more than a parade," he said. "but when santa anna has taken us he will need a new census of his army." he looked around at the strong stone walls, and then at the resolute faces of the men near him. but the garrison was small, pitifully small. ned left the walls and ate a little food that was cooked over a fire lighted in the convent plaza. then he wandered about the place looking at the buildings and inclosures. the alamo was so extensive that he knew travis would be compelled to concentrate his defense about the church, but he wanted to examine all these places anyhow. he wandered into one building that looked like a storehouse. the interior was dry and dusty. cobwebs hung from the walls, and it was empty save for many old barrels that stood in the corner. ned looked casually into the barrels and then he uttered a shout of joy. a score of so of them were full of shelled indian corn in perfect condition, a hundred bushels at least. this was truly treasure trove, more valuable than if the barrels had been filled with coined gold. he ran out of the house and the first man he met was davy crockett. "now what has disturbed you?" asked crockett, in his drawling tone. "haven't you seen mexicans enough for one day? this ain't the time to see double." "i wish i could see double in this case, mr. crockett," replied ned, "because then the twenty barrels of corn that i've found would be forty." he took crockett triumphantly into the building and showed him the treasure, which was soon transferred to one of the arched rooms beside the entrance of the church. it was in truth one of the luckiest finds ever made. the cattle in the plaza would furnish meat for a long time, but they would need bread also. again ned felt that pleasant glow of triumph. it seemed that fortune was aiding them. he went outside and stood by the ditch which led a shallow stream of water along the eastern side of the church. it was greenish in tint, but it was water, water which would keep the life in their bodies while they fought off the hosts of santa anna. the sun was now past the zenith, and since the norther had ceased to blow there was a spring warmth in the air. ned, conscious now that he was stained with the dirt and dust of flight and haste, bathed his face and hands in the water of the ditch and combed his thick brown hair as well as he could with his fingers. "good work, my lad," said a hearty voice beside him. "it shows that you have a cool brain and an orderly mind." davy crockett, who was always neat, also bathed his own face and hands in the ditch. "now i feel a lot better," he said, "and i want to tell you, ned, that it's lucky the spanish built so massively. look at this church. it's got walls of hewn stone, five feet through, an' back in tennessee we build 'em of planks a quarter of an inch thick. why, these walls would turn the biggest cannon balls." "it surely is mighty lucky," said ned. "what are you going to do next, mr. crockett?" "i don't know. i guess we'll wait on the mexicans to open the battle. thar, do you hear that trumpet blowin' ag'in? i reckon it means that they're up to somethin'." "i think so, too," said ned. "let's go back upon the church walls, mr. crockett, and see for ourselves just what it means." the two climbed upon the great stone wall, which was in reality a parapet. travis and bowie, who was second in command, were there already. ned looked toward san antonio, and he saw mexicans everywhere. mexican flags hoisted by the people were floating from the flat roofs of the houses, signs of their exultation at the coming of santa anna and the expulsion of the texans. the trumpet sounded again and they saw three officers detach themselves from the mexican lines and ride forward under a white flag. ned knew that one of them was the young urrea. "now what in thunder can they want?" growled davy crockett. "there can be no talk or truce between us an' santa anna. if all that i've heard of him is true i'd never believe a word he says." travis called two of his officers, major morris and captain martin, and directed them to go out and see what the mexicans wanted. then, meeting ned's eye, he recalled something. "ah, you speak spanish and mexican spanish perfectly," he said. "will you go along, too?" "gladly," said ned. "an', ned," said davy crockett, in his whimsical tone, "if you don't tell me every word they said when you come back i'll keep you on bread an' water for a week. there are to be no secrets here from me." "i promise, mr. crockett," said ned. the heavy oaken doors were thrown open and the three went out on foot to meet the mexican officers who were riding slowly forward. the afternoon air was now soft and pleasant, and a light, soothing wind was blowing from the south. the sky was a vast dome of brilliant blue and gold. it was a picture that remained indelibly on ned's mind like many others that were to come. they were etched in so deeply that neither the colors nor the order of their occurrence ever changed. an odor, a touch, or anything suggestive would make them return to his mind, unfaded and in proper sequence like the passing of moving pictures. the mexicans halted in the middle of the plain and the three texans met them. the mexicans did not dismount. urrea was slightly in advance of the other two, who were older men in brilliant uniforms, generals at least. ned saw at once that they meant to be haughty and arrogant to the last degree. they showed it in the first instance by not dismounting. it was evident that urrea would be the chief spokesman, and his manner indicated that it was a part he liked. he, too, was in a fine uniform, irreproachably neat, and his handsome olive face was flushed. "and so," he said, in an undertone and in spanish to ned, "we are here face to face again. you have chosen your own trap, the alamo, and it is not in human power for you to escape it now." his taunt stung, but ned merely replied: "we shall see." then urrea said aloud, speaking in english, and addressing himself to the two officers: "we have come by order of general santa anna, president of mexico and commander-in-chief of her officers, to make a demand of you." "a conference must proceed on the assumption that the two parties to it are on equal terms," said major morris, in civil tones. "under ordinary circumstances, yes," said urrea, without abating his haughty manner one whit, "but this is a demand by a paramount authority upon rebels and traitors." he paused that his words might sink home. all three of the texans felt anger leap in their hearts, but they put restraint upon their words. "what is it that you wish to say to us?" continued major morris. "if it is anything we should hear we are listening." urrea could not subdue his love of the grandiose and theatrical. "as you may see for yourselves," he said, "general santa anna has returned to texas with an overpowering force of brave mexican troops. san antonio has fallen into his hands without a struggle. he can take the alamo in a day. in a month not a man will be left in texas able to dispute his authority." "these are statements most of which can be disputed," said major morris. "what does general santa anna demand of us?" his quiet manner had its effect upon urrea. "he demands your unconditional surrender," he said. "and does he say nothing about our lives and good treatment?" continued the major, in the same quiet tones. "he does not," replied urrea emphatically. "if you receive mercy it will be due solely to the clemency of general santa anna toward rebels." hot anger again made ned's heart leap. the tone of urrea was almost insufferable, but major morris, not he, was spokesman. "i am not empowered to accept or reject anything," continued major morris. "colonel travis is the commander of our force, but i am quite positive in my belief that he will not surrender." "we must carry back our answer in either the affirmative or the negative," said urrea. "you can do neither," said major morris, "but i promise you that if the answer is a refusal to surrender--and i know it will be such--a single cannon shot will be fired from the wall of the church." "very well," said urrea, "and since that is your arrangement i see nothing more to be said." "nor do i," said major morris. the mexicans saluted in a perfunctory manner and rode toward san antonio. the three texans went slowly back to the alamo. ned walked behind the two men. he hoped that the confidence of major morris was justified. he knew santa anna too well. he believed that the texans had more to fear from surrender than from defence. they entered the alamo and once more the great door was shut and barred heavily. they climbed upon the wall, and major morris and captain martin went toward travis, bowie and crockett, who stood together waiting. ned paused a little distance away. he saw them talking together earnestly, but he could not hear what they said. far away he saw the three mexicans riding slowly toward san antonio. ned's eyes came back to the wall. he saw bowie detach himself from the other two and advance toward the cannon. a moment later a flash came from its muzzle, a heavy report rolled over the plain, and then came back in faint echoes. the alamo had sent its answer. a deep cheer came from the texans. ned's heart thrilled. he had his wish. the boy looked back toward san antonio and his eyes were caught by something red on the tower of the church of san fernando. it rose, expanded swiftly, and then burst out in great folds. it was a blood-red flag, flying now in the wind, the flag of no quarter. no texan would be spared, and ned knew it. nevertheless his heart thrilled again. chapter ix the flag of no quarter ned gazed long at the great red flag as its folds waved in the wind. a chill ran down his spine, a strange, throbbing sensation, but not of fear. they were a tiny islet there amid a mexican sea which threatened to roll over them. but the signal of the flag, he realized, merely told him that which he had expected all the time. he knew santa anna. he would show no quarter to those who had humbled cos and his forces at san antonio. the boy was not assigned to the watch that night, but he could not sleep for a long time. among these borderers there was discipline, but it was discipline of their own kind, not that of the military martinet. ned was free to go about as he chose, and he went to the great plaza into which they had driven the cattle. some supplies of hay had been gathered for them, and having eaten they were now all at rest in a herd, packed close against the western side of the wall. ned passed near them, but they paid no attention to him, and going on he climbed upon the portion of the wall which ran close to the river. some distance to his right and an equal distance to his left were sentinels. but there was nothing to keep him from leaping down from the wall or the outside and disappearing. the mexican investment was not yet complete. yet no such thought ever entered ned's head. his best friends, will allen, the panther and obed white, were out there somewhere, if they were still alive, but his heart was now here in the alamo with the texans. he listened intently, but he heard no sound of any mexican advance. it occurred to him that a formidable attack might be made here, particularly under the cover of darkness. a dashing leader like the younger urrea might attempt a surprise. he dropped back inside and went to one of the sentinels who was standing on an abutment with his head just showing above the wall. he was a young man, not more than two or three years older than ned, and he was glad to have company. "have you heard or seen anything?" asked ned. "no," replied the sentinel, "but i've been looking for 'em down this way." they waited a little longer and then ned was quite sure that he saw a dim form in the darkness. he pointed toward it, but the sentinel could not see it at all, as ned's eyes were much the keener: but the shape grew clearer and ned's heart throbbed. the figure was that of a great horse, and ned recognized old jack. nothing could have persuaded him that the faithful beast was not seeking his master, and he emitted a low soft whistle. the horse raised his head, listened and then trotted forward. "he is mine," said ned, "and he knows me." "he won't be yours much longer," said the sentinel. "look, there's a mexican creeping along the ground after him." ned followed the pointing finger, and he now noticed the mexican, a vaquero, who had been crouching so low that his figure blurred with the earth. ned saw the coiled lariat hanging over his arm, and he knew that the man intended to capture old jack, a prize worth any effort. "do you think i ought to shoot him?" asked the sentinel. "not yet, at least," replied ned. "i brought my horse into this danger, but i think that he'll take himself out of it." old jack had paused, as if uncertain which way to go. but ned felt sure that he was watching the mexican out of the tail of his eye. the vaquero, emboldened by the prospect of such a splendid prize, crept closer and closer, and then suddenly threw the lasso. the horse's head ducked down swiftly, the coil of rope slipped back over his head, and he dashed at the mexican. the vaquero was barely in time to escape those terrible hoofs. but howling with terror he sprang clear and raced away in the darkness. the horse whinnied once or twice gently, waited, and, when no answer came to his calls, trotted off in the dusk. "no mexican will take your horse," said the sentinel. "you're right when you say that," said ned. "i don't think another will ever get so near him, but if he should you see that my horse knows how to take care of himself." ned wandered back toward the convent yard. it was now late, but a clear moon was shining. he saw the figures of the sentinels clearly on the walls, but he was confident that no attack would be made by the mexicans that night. his great tension and excitement began to relax and he felt that he could sleep. he decided that the old hospital would be a good place, and, taking his blankets, he entered the long room of that building. only the moonlight shone there, but a friendly voice hailed him at once. "it's time you were hunting rest, ned," said davy crockett. "i saw you wanderin' 'roun' as if you was carryin' the world on your shoulders, but i didn't say anything. i knew that you would come to if left to yourself. there's a place over there by the wall where the floor seems to be a little softer than it is most everywhere else. take it an' enjoy it." ned laughed and took the place to which crockett was pointing. the hardness of a floor was nothing to him, and with one blanket under him and another over him he went to sleep quickly, sleeping the night through without a dream. he awoke early, took a breakfast of fresh beef with the men in the convent yard, and then, rifle in hand, he mounted the church wall. all his intensity of feeling returned with the morning. he was eager to see what was passing beyond the alamo, and the first object that caught his eye was the blood-red flag of no quarter hanging from the tower of the church of san fernando. no wind was blowing and it drooped in heavy scarlet folds like a pall. looking from the flag to the earth, he saw great activity in the mexican lines. three or four batteries were being placed in position, and mexican officers, evidently messengers, were galloping about. the flat roofs of the houses in san antonio were covered with people. ned knew that they were there to see santa anna win a quick victory and take immediate vengeance upon the texans. he recognized santa anna himself riding in his crouched attitude upon a great white horse, passing from battery to battery and hurrying the work. there was proof that his presence was effective, as the men always worked faster when he came. ned saw all the texan leaders, travis, bowie, crockett and bonham, watching the batteries. the whole texan force was now manning the walls and the heavy cedar palisade at many points, but ned saw that for the present all their dealings would be with the cannon. earthworks had been thrown up to protect the mexican batteries, and the texan cannon were posted for reply, but ned noticed that his comrades seemed to think little of the artillery. in this desperate crisis they fondled their rifles lovingly. he was still watching the batteries, when a gush of smoke and flame came from one of the cannon. there was a great shout in the mexican lines, but the round shot spent itself against the massive stone walls of the mission. "they'll have to send out a stronger call than that," said davy crockett contemptuously, "before this 'coon comes down." travis went along the walls, saw that the texans were sheltering themselves, and waited. there was another heavy report and a second round shot struck harmlessly upon the stone. then the full bombardment began. a half dozen batteries rained shot and shell upon the alamo. the roar was continuous like the steady roll of thunder, and it beat upon the drums of ned's ears until he thought he would become deaf. he was crouched behind the stone parapet, but he looked up often enough to see what was going on. he saw a vast cloud of smoke gathering over river and town, rent continually by flashes of fire from the muzzles of the cannon. the air was full of hissing metal, shot and shell poured in a storm upon the alamo. now and then the texan cannon replied, but not often. the cannon fire was so great that for a time it shook ned's nerves. it seemed as if nothing could live under such a rain of missiles, but when he looked along the parapet and saw all the texans unharmed his courage came back. many of the balls were falling inside the church, in the convent yard and in the plazas, but the texans there were protected also, and as far as ned could see not a single man had been wounded. the cannonade continued for a full hour and then ceased abruptly. the great cloud of smoke began to lift, and the alamo, river and town came again into the brilliant sunlight. the word passed swiftly among the defenders that their fortress was uninjured and not a man hurt. as the smoke rose higher ned saw mexican officers with glasses examining the alamo to see what damage their cannon had done. he hoped they would feel mortification when they found it was so little. davy crockett knelt near him on the parapet, and ran his hand lovingly along the barrel of betsy, as one strokes the head of a child. "do you want some more rifles, davy?" asked bowie. "jest about a half dozen," replied crockett. "i think i can use that many before they clear out." six of the long-barreled texan rifles were laid at crockett's feet. ned watched with absorbed interest. crockett's eye was on the nearest battery and he was slowly raising betsy. "which is to be first, davy?" asked bowie. "the one with the rammer in his hand." crockett took a single brief look down the sights and pulled the trigger. the man with the rammer dropped to the earth and the rammer fell beside him. he lay quite still. crockett seized a second rifle and fired. a loader fell and he also lay still. a third rifle shot, almost as quick as a flash, and a gunner went down, a fourth and a man at a wheel fell, a fifth and the unerring bullet claimed a sponger, a sixth and a mexican just springing to cover was wounded in the shoulder. then crockett remained with the seventh rifle still loaded in his hands, as there was nothing to shoot at, all the mexicans now being hidden. but crockett, kneeling on the parapet, the rifle cocked and his finger on the trigger, watched in case any of the mexicans should expose himself again. he presented to ned the simile of some powerful animal about to spring. the lean, muscular figure was poised for instant action, and all the whimsicality and humor were gone from the eyes of the sharpshooter. a mighty shout of triumph burst from the texans. many a good marksman was there, but never before had they seen such shooting. the great reputation of davy crockett, universal in the southwest, was justified fully. the crew of the gun had been annihilated in less than a minute. for a while there was silence. then the mexicans, protected by the earthwork that they had thrown up, drew the battery back a hundred yards. even in the farther batteries the men were very careful about exposing themselves. the texans, seeing no sure target, held their fire. the mexicans opened a new cannonade and for another half hour the roar of the great guns drowned all other sounds. but when it ceased and the smoke drifted away the texans were still unharmed. ned was now by the side of bowie, who showed great satisfaction. "what will they do next?" asked ned. "i don't know, but you see now that it's not the biggest noise that hurts the most. they'll never get us with cannon fire. the only way they can do it is to attack the lowest part of our wall and make a bridge of their own bodies." "they are doing something now," said ned, whose far-sighted vision always served him well. "they are pulling down houses in the town next to the river." "that's so," said bowie, "but we won't have to wait long to see what they're about." hundreds of mexicans with wrecking hooks had assailed three or four of the houses, which they quickly pulled to pieces. others ran forward with the materials and began to build a bridge across the narrow san antonio. "they want to cross over on that bridge and get into a position at once closer and more sheltered," said bowie, "but unless i make a big mistake those men at work there are already within range of our rifles. shall we open fire, colonel?" he asked the question of travis, who nodded. a picked band of mexicans under general castrillon were gathered in a mass and were rapidly fitting together the timbers of the houses to make the narrow bridge. but the reach of the texan rifles was great, and davy crockett was merely the king among so many sharpshooters. the rifles began to flash and crack. no man fired until he was sure of his aim, and no two picked the same target. the mexicans fell fast. in five minutes thirty or forty were killed, some of them falling into the river, and the rest, dropping the timbers, fled with shouts of horror from the fatal spot. general castrillon, a brave man, sought to drive them back, but neither blows nor oaths availed. santa anna himself came and made many threats, but the men would not stir. they preferred punishment to the sure death that awaited them from the muzzles of the texan rifles. the light puffs of rifle smoke were quickly gone, and once more the town with the people watching on the flat roofs came into full view. a wind burst out the folds of the red flag of no quarter on the tower of the church of san fernando, but ned paid no attention to it now. he was watching for santa anna's next move. "that's a bridge that will never be built," said davy crockett. "'live an' learn' is a good sayin', i suppose, but a lot of them mexicans neither lived nor learned. it's been a great day for 'betsy' here." travis, the commander, showed elation. "i think santa anna will realize now," he said, "that he has neither a promenade nor a picnic before him. oh, if we only had six or seven hundred men, instead of less than a hundred and fifty!" "we must send for help," said bowie. "the numbers of santa anna continually increase, but we are not yet entirely surrounded. if the texans know that we are beleaguered here they will come to our help." "i will send messengers to-morrow night," said travis. "the texans are much scattered, but it is likely that some will come." it was strange, but it was characteristic of them, nevertheless, that no one made any mention of escape. many could have stolen away in the night over the lower walls. perhaps all could have done so, but not a single texan ever spoke of such a thing, and not one ever attempted it. santa anna moved some of his batteries and also erected two new ones. when the work on the latter was finished all opened in another tremendous cannonade, lasting for fully an hour. the bank of smoke was heavier than ever, and the roaring in ned's ears was incessant, but he felt no awe now. he was growing used to the cannon fire, and as it did so little harm he felt no apprehension. while the fire was at its height he went down in the church and cleaned his rifle, although he took the precaution to remain in one of the covered rooms by the doorway. davy crockett was also there busy with the same task. before they finished a cannon ball dropped on the floor, bounded against the wall and rebounded several times until it finally lay at rest. "somethin' laid a big egg then," said crockett. "it's jest as well to keep a stone roof over your head when you're under fire of a few dozen cannon. never take foolish risks, ned, for the sake of showin' off. that's the advice of an old man." crockett spoke very earnestly, and ned remembered his words. bonham called to them a few minutes later that the mexicans seemed to be meditating some movement on the lower wall around the grand plaza. "like as not you're right," said crockett. "it would be the time to try it while our attention was attracted by the big cannonade." crockett himself was detailed to meet the new movement, and he led fifty sharpshooters. ned was with him, his brain throbbing with the certainty that he was going into action once more. great quantities of smoke hung over the alamo and had penetrated every part of it. it crept into ned's throat, and it also stung his eyes. it inflamed his brain and increased his desire for combat. they reached the low wall on a run, and found that bonham was right. a large force of mexicans was approaching from that side, evidently expecting to make an opening under cover of the smoke. the assailants were already within range, and the deadly texan rifles began to crack at once from the wall. the whole front line of the mexican column was quickly burned away. the return fire of the mexicans was hasty and irregular and they soon broke and ran. "an' that's over," said crockett, as he sent a parting shot. "it was easy, an' bein' sheltered not a man of ours was hurt. but, ned, don't let the idea that we have a picnic here run away with you. we've got to watch an' watch an' fight an' fight all the time, an' every day more mexicans will come." "i understand, mr. crockett," said ned. "you know that we may never get out of here alive, and i know it, too." "you speak truth, lad," said crockett, very soberly. "but remember that it's a chance we take every day here in the southwest. an' it's pleasant to know that they're all brave men here together. you haven't seen any flinchin' on the part of anybody an' i don't think you ever will." "what are you going to do now?" asked ned. "i'm goin' to eat dinner, an' after that i'll take a nap. my advice to you is to do the same, 'cause you'll be on watch to-night." "i know i can eat," said ned, "and i'll try to sleep." he found that his appetite was all right, and after dinner he lay down in the long room of the hospital. here he heard the cannon of santa anna still thundering, but the walls softened the sound somewhat and made it seem much more distant. in a way it was soothing and ned, although sure that he could not sleep, slept. all that afternoon he was rocked into deeper slumber by the continuous roar of the mexican guns. smoke floated over the convent yard and through all the buildings, but it did not disturb him. now and then a flash of rifle fire came from the texans on the walls, but that did not disturb him, either. nature was paying its debt. the boy lying on his blankets breathed deeply and regularly as he slept. the hours of the afternoon passed one by one, and it was dark when he awoke. the fire of the cannon had now ceased and two or three lights were burning in the hospital. crockett was already up, and with some of the other men was eating beefsteak at a table. "you said you'd try to sleep, ned," he exclaimed, "an' you must have made a big try, 'cause you snored so loud we couldn't hear santa anna's cannon." "why, i'm sure i don't snore, mr. crockett," said ned, red in the face. "no, you don't snore, i'll take that back," said davy crockett, when the laugh subsided, "but i never saw a young man sleep more beautifully an' skillfully. why, the risin' an' fallin' of your chest was as reg'lar as the tickin' of a clock." ned joined them at the table. he did not mind the jests of those men, as they did not mind the jests of one another. they were now like close blood-kin. they were a band of brethren, bound together by the unbreakable tie of mortal danger. ned spent two-thirds of the night on the church wall. the mexicans let the cannon rest in the darkness, and only a few rifle shots were fired. but there were many lights in san antonio, and on the outskirts two great bonfires burned. santa anna and his generals, feeling that their prey could not escape from the trap, and caring little for the peons who had been slain, were making a festival. it is even said that santa anna on this campaign, although he left a wife in the city of mexico, exercised the privileges of an oriental ruler and married another amid great rejoicings. ned slept soundly when his watch was finished, and he awoke again the next day to the thunder of the cannonade, which continued almost without cessation throughout the day, but in the afternoon travis wrote a letter, a noble appeal to the people of texas for help. he stated that they had been under a continual bombardment for more than twenty-four hours, but not a man had yet been hurt. "i shall never surrender or retreat," he said. "then i call on you in the name of liberty, of patriotism, and of everything dear to the american character, to come to our aid with all dispatch." he closed with the three words, "victory or death," not written in any vainglory or with any melodramatic appeal, but with the full consciousness of the desperate crisis, and a quiet resolution to do as he said. the heroic letter is now in the possession of the state of texas. most of the men in the alamo knew its contents, and they approved of it. when it was fully dark travis gave it to albert martin. then he looked around for another messenger. "two should go together in case of mishap," he said. his eye fell upon ned. "if you wish to go i will send you," he said, "but i leave it to your choice. if you prefer to stay, you stay." ned's first impulse was to go. he might find obed white, will allen and the panther out there and bring them back with him, but his second impulse told him that it was only a chance, and he would abide with crockett and bowie. "i thank you for the offer, but i think, sir, that i'll stay," he said. he saw crockett give him a swift approving glance. another was quickly chosen in his stead, and ned was in the grand plaza when they dropped over the low wall and disappeared in the darkness. his comrades and he listened attentively a long time, but as they heard no sound of shots they were sure that they were now safe beyond the mexican lines. "i don't want to discourage anybody," said bowie, "but i'm not hoping much from the messengers. the texans are scattered too widely." "no, they can't bring many," said crockett, "but every man counts. sometimes it takes mighty little to turn the tale, and they may turn it." "i hope so," said bowie. the mexican cannon were silent that night and ned slept deeply, awaking only when the dawn of a clear day came. he was astonished at the quickness with which he grew used to a state of siege and imminent danger. all the habits of life now went on as usual. he ate breakfast with as good an appetite as if he had been out on the prairie with his friends, and he talked with his new comrades as if santa anna and his army were a thousand miles away. but when he did go upon the church wall he saw that santa anna had begun work again and at a new place. the mexican general, having seen that his artillery was doing no damage, was making a great effort to get within much closer range where the balls would count. men protected by heavy planking or advancing along trenches were seeking to erect a battery within less than three hundred yards of the entrance to the main plaza. they had already thrown up a part of a breastwork. meanwhile the texan sharpshooters were waiting for a chance. ned took no part in it except that of a spectator. but crockett, bowie and a dozen others were crouched on the wall with their rifles. presently an incautious mexican showed above the earthwork. it was crockett who slew him, but bowie took the next. then the other rifles flashed fast, eight or ten mexicans were slain, and the rest fled. once more the deadly texan rifles had triumphed. ned wondered why santa anna had endeavored to place the battery there in the daytime. it could be done at night, when it was impossible for the texans to aim their rifles so well. he did not know that the pride of santa anna, unable to brook delay in the face of so small a force, had pushed him forward. knowing now what might be done at night, ned passed the day in anxiety, and with the coming of the twilight his anxiety increased. chapter x crockett and bowie unluckily for the texans, the night was the darkest of the month. no bonfires burned in san antonio, and there were no sounds of music. it seemed to ned that the silence and darkness were sure indications of action on the part of the foe. he felt more lonely and depressed than at any other time hitherto in the siege, and he was glad when crockett and a young tennesseean whom he called the bee-hunter joined him. crockett had not lost any of his whimsical good humor, and when ned suggested that santa anna was likely to profit by the dark he replied: "if he is the general i take him to be he will, or at least try, but meanwhile we'll just wait, an' look, an' listen. that's the way to find out if things are goin' to happen. don't turn little troubles into big ones. you don't need a cowskin for a calf. we'll jest rest easy. i'm mighty nigh old enough to be your grandfather, ned, an' i've learned to take things as they come. i guess men of my age were talkin' this same way five thousand years ago." "you've seen a lot in your life, mr. crockett," said ned, to whom the tennesseean was a great hero. crockett laughed low, but deep in his throat, and with much pleasure. "so i have! so i have!" he replied, "an', by the blue blazes, i can say it without braggin'. i've seen a lot of water go by since i was runnin' 'roun' a bare-footed boy in tennessee. i've ranged pretty far from east to west, an' all the way from boston in the north to this old mission, an' that must be some thousands of miles. an' i've had some big times in new york, too." "you've been in new york," said ned, with quick interest. "it must be a great town." "it is. it's certainly a bulger of a place. there are thousands an' thousands of houses, an' you can't count the sails in the bay. i saw the city hall an' it's a mighty fine buildin', too. it's all marble on the side looking south, an' plain stone on the side lookin' north. i asked why, an' they said all the poor people lived to the north of it. that's the way things often happen, ned. an' i saw the great, big hotel john jacob astor was beginnin' to build on broadway just below the city hall. they said it would cost seven hundred thousand dollars, which is an all-fired lot of money, that it would cover mighty nigh a whole block, an' that there would be nothin' else in america comin' up to it." "i'd like to see that town," said ned. "maybe you will some day," said crockett, "'cause you're young. you don't know how young you look to me. i heard a lot there, ned, about that rich man, mr. astor. he got his start as a fur trader. i guess he was about the biggest fur trader that ever was. he was so active that all them animals that wore furs on their backs concluded they might as well give up. i heard one story there about an otter an' a beaver talkin'. says the otter to the beaver, when he was tellin' the beaver good-by after a visit: 'farewell, i never expect to see you again, my dear old friend.' 'don't be too much distressed,' replies the beaver, 'you an' i, old comrade, will soon meet at the hat store.'" ned and the bee-hunter laughed, and crockett delved again into his past life and his experiences in the great city, relatively as great then to the whole country as it is now. "i saw a heap of new york," he continued, "an' one of the things i liked best in it was the theaters. lad, i saw the great fanny kemble play there, an' she shorely was one of the finest women that ever walked this troubled earth. i saw her first as portia in that play of shakespeare's called, called, called----" "'the merchant of venice,'" suggested ned. "yes, that's it, 'the merchant of venice,' where she was the woman lawyer. she was fine to see, an' the way she could change her voice an' looks was clean mirac'lous. if ever i need a lawyer i want her to act for me. she had me mad, an' then she had me laughin', an' then she had the water startin' in my eyes. whatever she wanted me to see i saw, an' whatever she wanted me to think i thought. an' then, too, she was many kinds of a woman, different in turn. in fact, ned, she was just like a handsome piece of changeable silk--first one color an' then another, but always clean." he paused and the others did not interrupt him. "i don't like cities," he resumed presently. "they crowd me up too much, but i do like the theater. it makes you see so many things an' so many kinds of people that you wouldn't have time to see if you had to travel for 'em. we don't have much chance to travel right now, do we, bee-hunter?" "a few hundred yards only for our bodies," replied the young tennesseean, "but our spirits soar far; "'up with your banner, freedom, thy champions cling to thee, they'll follow where'er you lead them to death or victory. up with your banner, freedom.'" he merely hummed the words, but ned caught his spirit and he repeated to himself: "up with your banner, freedom." "i guess you've heard enough tales from an old fellow like me," said crockett. "at least you won't have time to hear any more 'cause the mexicans must be moving out there. do you hear anything, ned?" "nothing but a little wind." "then my ears must be deceivin' me. i've used 'em such a long time that i guess they feel they've got a right to trick me once in a while." but ned was thinking just then of the great city which he wanted to see some day as crockett had seen it. but it seemed to him at that moment as far away as the moon. would his comrades and he ever escape from those walls? his mind came back with a jerk. he did hear something on the plain. crockett was right. he heard the tread of horses and the sound of wheels moving. he called the attention of crockett to the noises. "i think i know what causes them," said crockett. "santa anna is planting his battery under the cover of the night an' i don't see, boys, how we're goin' to keep him from doin' it." the best of the texan sharpshooters lined the walls, and they fired occasionally at indistinct and flitting figures, but they were quite certain that they did no execution. the darkness was too great. travis, bowie and crockett considered the possibility of a sortie, but they decided that it had no chance of success. the few score texans would be overwhelmed in the open plain by the thousands of mexicans. but all the leaders were uneasy. if the mexican batteries were brought much closer, and were protected by earthworks and other fortifications, the alamo would be much less defensible. it was decided to send another messenger for help, and ned saw bonham drop over the rear wall and slip away in the darkness. he was to go to goliad, where fannin had men and four guns, and bring them in haste. when bonham was gone ned returned to his place on the wall. for hours he heard the noises without, the distant sound of voices, the heavy clank of metal against metal, and he knew full well that santa anna was planting his batteries. at last he went to his place in the long room of the hospital and slept. when dawn came he sprang up and rushed to the wall. there was the battery of santa anna only three hundred yards from the entrance to the main plaza and to the southeast, but little further away, was another. the mexicans had worked well during the night. "they're creepin' closer, ned. they're creepin' closer," said crockett, who had come to the wall before him, "but even at that range i don't think their cannon will do us much harm. duck, boy, duck! they're goin' to fire!" the two batteries opened at the same time, and the mexican masses in the rear, out of range, began a tremendous cheering. many of the balls and shells now fell inside the mission, but the texans stayed well under cover and they still escaped without harm. the mexican gunners, in their turn, kept so well protected that the texan riflemen had little chance. the great bombardment lasted an hour, but when it ceased, and the smoke lifted, ned saw a heavy mass of mexican cavalry on the eastern road. both ned and crockett took a long look at the cavalry, a fine body of men, some carrying lances and others muskets. ned believed that he recognized urrea in the figure of their leader, but the distance was too great for certainty. but when he spoke of it to crockett the tenesseean borrowed travis' field glasses. "take these," he said, "an' if it's that beloved enemy of yours you can soon tell." the boy, with the aid of the glasses, recognized urrea at once. the young leader in the uniform of a mexican captain and with a cocked and plumed hat upon his head sat his horse haughtily. ned knew that he was swelling with pride and that he, like santa anna, expected the trap to shut down on the little band of texans in a day or two. he felt some bitterness that fate should have done so much for urrea. "i judge by your face," said crockett whimsically, "that it is urrea. but remember, ned, that you can still be hated and live long." "it is indeed urrea," said ned. "now what are they gathering cavalry out there for? they can't expect to gallop over our walls." "guess they've an idea that we're goin' to try to slip out an' they're shuttin' up that road of escape. seems to me, ned, they're comin' so close that it's an insult to us." "they're almost within rifle shot." "then these bad little mexican boys must have their faces scorched as a lesson. just you wait here, ned, till i have a talk with travis an' bowie." it was obvious to ned that crockett's talk with the commander and his second was satisfactory, because when he returned his face was in a broad grin. bowie, moreover, came with him, and his blue eyes were lighted up with the fire of battle. "we're goin' to teach 'em the lesson, ned, beginnin' with a b c," said crockett, "an' jim here, who has had a lot of experience in texas, will lead us. come along, i'll watch over you." a force of seventy or eighty was formed quickly, and hidden from the view of the mexicans, they rushed down the plaza, climbed the low walls and dropped down upon the plain. the mexican cavalry outnumbered them four or five to one, but the texans cared little for such odds. "now, boys, up with your rifles!" cried bowie. "pump it into 'em!" bowie was a product of the border, hard and desperate, a man of many fierce encounters, but throughout the siege he had been singularly gentle and considerate in his dealings with his brother texans. now he was all warrior again, his eyes blazing with blue fire while he shouted vehement words of command to his men. the sudden appearance of the texan riflemen outside the alamo look urrea by surprise, but he was quick of perception and action, and his cavalrymen were the best in the mexican army. he wheeled them into line with a few words of command and shouted to them to charge. bowie's men instantly stopped, forming a rough line, and up went their rifles. urrea's soldiers who carried rifles or muskets opened a hasty and excited fire at some distance. ned heard the bullets singing over his head or saw them kicking up dust in front of the texans, but only one of the texans fell and but few were wounded. the mexican rifles or muskets were now empty, but the mexican lancers came on in good order and in an almost solid group, the yellow sunlight flashing across the long blades of their lances. it takes a great will to face sharp steel in the hands of horsemen thundering down upon you, and ned was quite willing to own afterward that every nerve in him was jumping, but he stood. all stood, and at the command of bowie their rifles flashed together in one tremendous explosion. the rifles discharged, the texans instantly snatched out their pistols, ready for anything that might come galloping through the smoke. but nothing came. when the smoke lifted they saw that the entire front of the mexican column was gone. fallen men and horses were thick on the plain and long lances lay across them. other horses, riderless, were galloping away to right and left, and unhorsed men were running to the rear. but urrea had escaped unharmed. ned saw him trying to reform his shattered force. "reload your rifles, men!" shouted bowie. "you can be ready for them before they come again!" these were skilled sharpshooters, and they rammed the loads home with startling rapidity. every rifle was loaded and a finger was on every trigger when the second charge of urrea swept down upon them. no need of a command from bowie now. the texans picked their targets and fired straight into the dense group. once more the front of the mexican column was shot away, and the lances fell clattering on the plain. "at 'em, boys, with your pistols!" shouted bowie. "don't give 'em a second chance!" the texans rushed forward, firing their pistols. ned in the smoke became separated from his comrades, and when he could see more clearly he beheld but a single horseman. the man was urrea. the two recognized each other instantly. the mexican had the advantage. he was on horseback and the smoke was in ned's eyes, not his own. with a shout of triumph, he rode straight at the boy and made a fierce sweep with his cavalry saber. it was fortunate for ned that he was agile of both body and mind. he ducked and leaped to one side. he felt the swish of the heavy steel over his head, but as he came up again he fired. urrea was protected largely by his horse's neck, and ned fired at the horse instead, although he would have greatly preferred urrea as a target. the bullet struck true and the horse fell, but the rider leaped clear and, still holding the saber, sprang at his adversary. ned snatched up his rifle, which lay on the ground at his feet, and received the slash of the sword upon its barrel. the blade broke in two, and then, clubbing his rifle, ned struck. it was fortunate for urrea, too, that he was agile of mind and body. he sprang back quickly, but the butt of the rifle grazed his head and drew blood. the next moment other combatants came between, and urrea dashed away in search of a fresh horse. ned, his blood on fire, was rushing after him, when bowie seized his arm and pulled him back. "no further, ned!" he cried. "we've scattered their cavalry and we must get back into the alamo or the whole mexican army will be upon us!" ned heard far away the beat of flying hoofs. it was made by the horses of the mexican cavalry fleeing for their lives. bowie quickly gathered together his men, and carrying with them two who had been slain in the fight they retreated rapidly to the alamo, the texan cannon firing over their heads at the advancing mexican infantry. in three or four minutes they were inside the walls again and with their comrades. the mexican cavalry did not reappear upon the eastern road, and the texans were exultant, yet they had lost two good men and their joy soon gave way to more solemn feelings. it was decided to bury the slain at once in the plaza, and a common grave was made for them. they were the first of the texans to fall in the defence, and their fate made a deep impression upon everybody. it took only a few minutes to dig the grave, and the men, laid side by side, were covered with their cloaks. while the spades were yet at work the mexican cannon opened anew upon the alamo. a ball and a bomb fell in the plaza. the shell burst, but fortunately too far away to hurt anybody. neither the bursting of the shell nor any other part of the cannonade interrupted the burial. crockett, a public man and an orator, said a few words. they were sympathetic and well chosen. he spoke of the two men as dying for texas. others, too, would fall in the defence of the alamo, but their blood would water the tree of freedom. then they threw in the dirt. while crockett was speaking the cannon still thundered without, but every word could be heard distinctly. when ned walked away he felt to the full the deep solemnity of the moment. hitherto they had fought without loss to themselves. the death of the two men now cast an ominous light over the situation. the mexican lines were being drawn closer and closer about the alamo, and he was compelled to realize the slenderness of their chances. the boy resumed his place on the wall, remaining throughout the afternoon, and watched the coming of the night. crockett joined him, and together they saw troops of mexicans marching away from the main body, some to right and some to left. "stretchin' their lines," said crockett. "santa anna means to close us in entirely after a while. now, by the blue blazes, that was a close shave!" a bullet sang by his head and flattened against the wall. he and ned dropped down just in time. other bullets thudded against the stone. nevertheless, ned lifted his head above the edge of the parapet and took a look. his eyes swept a circle and he saw little puffs of smoke coming from the roofs and windows of the jacals or mexican huts on their side of the river. he knew at once that the best of the mexican sharpshooters had hidden themselves there, and had opened fire not with muskets, but with improved rifles. he called crockett's attention to this point of danger and the frontiersman grew very serious. "we've got to get 'em out some way or other," he said. "as i said before, the cannon balls make a big fuss, but they don't come so often an' they come at random. it's the little bullets that have the sting of the wasp, an' when a man looks down the sights, draws a bead on you, an' sends one of them lead pellets at you, he gen'rally gets you. ned, we've got to drive them fellers out of there some way or other." the bullets from the jacals now swept the walls and the truth of crockett's words became painfully evident. the texan cannon fired upon the huts, but the balls went through the soft adobe and seemed to do no harm. it was like firing into a great sponge. triumphant shouts came from the mexicans. their own batteries resumed the cannonade, while their sheltered riflemen sent in the bullets faster and faster. crockett tapped the barrel of betsy significantly. "the work has got to be done with this old lady an' others like her," he said. "we must get rid of them jacals." "how?" asked ned. "you come along with me an' i'll show you," said crockett. "i'm goin' to have a talk with travis, an' if he agrees with me we'll soon wipe out that wasps' nest." crockett briefly announced his plan, which was bold in the extreme. sixty picked riflemen, twenty of whom bore torches also, would rush out at one of the side gates, storm the jacals, set fire to them, and then rush back to the alamo. travis hesitated. the plan seemed impossible of execution in face of the great mexican force. but bowie warmly seconded crockett, and at last the commander gave his consent. ned at once asked to go with the daring troop, and secured permission. the band gathered in a close body by one of the gates. the torches were long sticks lighted at the end and burning strongly. the men had already cocked their rifles, but knowing the immense risk they were about to take they were very quiet. ned was pale, and his heart beat painfully, but his hand did not shake. the texan cannon, to cover the movement, opened fire from the walls, and the riflemen, posted at various points, helped also. the mexican cannonade increased. when the thunder and crash were at their height the gate was suddenly thrown open and the sixty dashed out. fortunately the drifting smoke hid them partially, and they were almost upon the jacals before they were discovered. a great shout came from the mexicans when they saw the daring texans outside, and bullets from the jacals began to knock up grass and dust about them. but crockett himself, waving a torch, led them on, shouting: "it's only a step, boys! it's only a step! now, let 'em have it!" the texans fired as they rushed, but they took care to secure good aim. the mexicans were driven from the roofs and the windows and then the texans carrying the torches dashed inside. every house contained something inflammable, which was quickly set on fire, and two or three huts made of wood were lighted in a dozen places. the dry materials blazed up fast. a light wind fanned the flames, which joined together and leaped up, a roaring pyramid. the mexicans, who had lately occupied them, were scuttling like rabbits toward their main force, and the texan bullets made them jump higher and faster. crockett, with a shout of triumph, flung down his torch. "now, boys," he cried. "here's the end of them jacals. nothin' on earth can put out that fire, but if we don't make a foot race back to the alamo the end of us will be here, too, in a minute." the little band wheeled for its homeward rush. ned heard a great shout of rage from the mexicans, and then the hissing and singing of shells and cannon balls over his head. he saw mexicans running across the plain to cut them off, but his comrades and he had reloaded their rifles, and as they ran they sent a shower of bullets that drove back their foe. ned's heart was pumping frightfully, and myriads of black specks danced before his eyes, but he remembered afterward that he calculated how far they were from the alamo, and how far the mexicans were from them. a number of his comrades had been wounded, but nobody had fallen and they still raced in a close group for the gate, which seemed to recede as they rushed on. "a few more steps, ned," cried crockett, "an' we're in! ah, there go our friends!" the texan cannon over their heads now fired into the pursuing mexican masses, and the sharpshooters on the walls also poured in a deadly hail. the mexicans recoiled once more and then crockett's party made good the gate. "all here!" cried crockett, as those inside held up torches. he ran over the list rapidly himself and counted them all, but his face fell when he saw his young friend the bee-hunter stagger. crockett caught him in his arms and bore him into the hospital. he and ned watched by his side until he died, which was very soon. before he became unconscious he murmured some lines from an old scotch poem: "but hame came the saddle, all bluidy to see. and hame came the steed, but never hame came he." they buried him that night beside the other two, and ned was more solemn than ever when he sought his usual place in the hospital by the wall. it had been a day of victory for the texans, but the omens, nevertheless, seemed to him to be bad. the next day he saw the mexicans spreading further and further about the alamo, and they were in such strong force that the texans could not now afford to go out and attack any of these bands. a light cold rain fell, and as he was not on duty he went back to the hospital, where he sat in silence. he was deeply depressed and the thunder of the mexican cannon beat upon his ears like the voice of doom. he felt a strange annoyance at the reports of the guns. his nerves jumped, and he became angry with himself at what he considered a childish weakness. now, and for the first time, he felt despair. he borrowed a pencil and a sheet of paper torn from an old memorandum book and made his will. his possessions were singularly few, and the most valuable at hand was his fine long-barreled rifle, which he left to his faithful friend, obed white. he bequeathed his pistol and knife to the panther, and his clothes to will allen. he was compelled to smile at himself when he had finished his page of writing. was it likely that his friends would ever find this paper, or, if finding it, was it likely that any one of them could ever obtain his inheritance? but it was a relief to his feelings and, folding the paper, he put it in the inside pocket of his hunting shirt. the bombardment was renewed in the afternoon, but ned stayed in his place in the hospital. after a while davy crockett and several others joined him there. crockett as usual was jocular, and told more stories of his trips to the large eastern cities. he had just finished an anecdote of philadelphia, when he turned suddenly to ned. "boy," he said, "you and i have fought together more than once now, an' i like you. you are brave an' you've a head full of sense. when you grow older you'll be worth a lot to texas. they'll need you in the council. no, don't protest. this is the time when we can say what is in us. the mexican circle around the alamo is almost complete. isn't that so, boys?" "it is." "then i'll say what we all know. three or four days from now the chances will be a hundred to one against any of us ever gettin' out of here. an' you're the youngest of the defence, ned, so i want you to slip out to-night while there's yet time. mebbe you can get up a big lot of men to come to our help." ned looked straight at crockett, and the veteran's eyes wavered. "it's a little scheme you have," said ned, "to get me out of the way. you think because i'm the youngest i ought to go off alone at night and save my own life. well, i'm not going. i intend to stay here and fight it out with the rest of you." "i meant for the best, boy, i meant for the best," said crockett. "i'm an old fellow an' i've had a terrible lot of fun in my time. about as much, i guess, as one man is entitled to, but you've got all your life before you." "couldn't think of it," said ned lightly; "besides, i've got a password in case i'm taken by santa anna." "what's that?" asked crockett curiously. "it's the single word 'roylston.' mr. roylston told me if i were taken by santa anna to mention his name to him." "that's queer, an' then maybe it ain't," said crockett musingly. "i've heard a lot of john roylston. he's about the biggest trader in the southwest. i guess he must have some sort of a financial hold on santa anna, who is always wantin' money. ned, if the time should ever come, don't you forget to use that password." the next night was dark and chilly with gusts of rain. in the afternoon the mexican cannonade waned, and at night it ceased entirely. the alamo itself, except for a few small lights within the buildings, was kept entirely dark in order that skulking sharpshooters without might not find a target. ned was on watch near one of the lower walls about the plaza. he wrapped his useful serape closely about his body and the lower part of his face in order to protect himself from the cold and wet, and the broad brim of his sombrero was drawn down to meet it. the other texans on guard were protected in similar fashion, and in the flitting glimpses that ned caught of them they looked to him like men in disguise. the time went on very slowly. in the look backward every hour in the alamo seemed to him as ten. he walked back and forth a long time, occasionally meeting other sentinels, and exchanging a few words with them. once he glanced at their cattle, which were packed closely under a rough shed, where they lay, groaning with content. then he went back to the wall and noticed the dim figure of one of the sentinels going toward the convent yard and the church. ned took only a single glance at the man, but he rather envied him. the man was going off duty early, and he would soon be asleep in a warm place under a roof. he did not think of him again until a full hour later, when he, too, going off duty, saw a figure hidden in serape and sombrero passing along the inner edge of the plaza. the walk and figure reminded him of the man whom he had seen an hour before, and he wondered why any one who could have been asleep under shelter should have returned to the cold and rain. he decided to follow, but the figure flitted away before him down the plaza and toward the lowest part of the wall. this was doubly curious. moreover, it was ground for great suspicion. ned followed swiftly. he saw the figure mounting the wall, as if to take position there as a sentinel, and then the truth came to him in a flash. it was urrea playing the congenial role of spy. ned rushed forward, shouting. urrea turned, snatched a pistol and fired. the bullet whistled past ned's head. the next moment urrea dropped over the wall and fled away in the darkness. the other sentinels were not able to obtain a shot at him. chapter xi the desperate defence ned's report created some alarm among the defenders of the alamo, but it passed quickly. "i don't see just how it can help 'em," said crockett. "he's found out that we're few in number. they already knew that. he's learned that the alamo is made up of a church an' other buildings with walls 'roun' them. they already knew that, too, an' so here we all are, texans an' mexicans, just where we stood before." nevertheless, the bombardment rose to a fiercer pitch of intensity the next day. the mexicans seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammunition, and they rained balls and shells on the alamo. many of the shells did not burst, and the damage done was small. the texans did not reply from the shelter of their walls for a long time. at last the mexicans came closer, emboldened perhaps by the thought that resistance was crushed, and then the texan sharpshooters opened fire with their long-barreled rifles. the texans had two or three rifles apiece, and they poured in a fast and deadly fire. so many of the mexicans fell that the remainder retreated with speed, leaving the fallen behind them. but when the smoke lifted others came forward under a white flag, and the texans allowed them to take away their dead. the cannonade now became spasmodic. all the mexican cannon would fire continuously for a half hour or so, and then would ensue a silence of perhaps an hour. in the afternoon bowie was taken very ill, owing to his great exertions, and a bed was made for him in the hospital. ned sat there with him a while. the gentle mood that had distinguished the georgian throughout the siege was even more marked now. "ned," he said, "you ought to have gone out the other night when we wanted you to go. fannin may come to our help or he may not, but even if he should come i don't think his force is sufficient. it would merely increase the number of texans in the trap." "i've quite made up my mind that i won't go," said ned. "i'm sorry," said bowie. "as for me, it's different. i'm a man of violence, ned. i don't deny it. there's human blood on my hands, and some of it is that of my own countrymen. i've done things that i'd like to call back, and so i'm glad to be here, one of a forlorn hope, fighting for texas. it's a sort of atonement, and if i fall i think it will be remembered in my favor." ned was singularly impressed. crockett had talked in much the same way. could these men, heroes of a thousand dangers, have really given up? not to give up in the sense of surrender, but to expect death fighting? but for himself he could not believe such a thing possible. youth was too strong in him. he was on the watch again for part of the next night, and he and crockett were together. they heard sounds made by the besiegers on every side of them. mexicans were calling to mexicans. bridle bits rattled, and metal clanked against metal. "i suppose the circle is complete," said ned. "looks like it," said crockett, "but we've got our cattle to eat an' water to drink an' only a direct attack in force can take us. they can bang away with their cannon till next christmas an' they won't shake our grip on the alamo." the night was fairly dark, and an hour later ned heard a whistle. crockett heard it, too, and stiffened instantly into attention. "did that sound to you like a mexican whistling?" he asked. "no, i'd say it came from american lips, and i'd take it also for a signal." "an' so it is. it's just such a whistle as hunters use when they want to talk to one another without words. i've whistled to my pardners that way in the woods hundreds of times. i think, ned, that some texans are at hand waitin' a chance to slip in." crockett emitted a whistle, low but clear and penetrating, almost like the song of a night bird, and in a half minute came the rejoinder. he replied to it briefly, and then they waited. others had gathered at the low plaza wall with them. hidden to the eyes, they peered over the parapet. they heard soft footsteps in the darkness, and then dim forms emerged. despite the darkness they knew them to be texans, and crockett spoke low: "here we are, boys, waitin' for you! this way an' in a half minute you're in the alamo!" the men ran forward, scaled the wall and were quickly inside. they were only thirty-two. ned had thought that the panther, obed, and will allen might be among them, but they were not there. the new men were shaking hands with the others and were explaining that they had come from gonzales with captain smith at their head. they were all well armed, carried much ammunition, and were sure that other parties would arrive from different points. the thirty-two were full of rejoicings over their successful entry, but they were worn, nevertheless, and they were taken into one of the buildings, where food and water were set before them. ned stood by, an eager auditor, as they told of their adventures. "we had a hard time to get in here to you," said captain smith, "and from the looks of things i reckon we'll have as hard a time to get out. there must be a million mexicans around the alamo. we tried to get up a bigger force, but we couldn't gather any more without waiting, and we thought if you needed us at all you needed us in a hurry." "reckon you're right about the need of bein' in a hurry," said crockett. "when you want help you want it right then an' there." "so you do," said smith, as he took a fresh piece or steak, "and we had it in mind all the time. the wind was blowing our way, and in the afternoon we heard the roaring of cannon a long distance off. then as we came closer we heard mexicans buzzing all around the main swarm, scouts and skirmishers everywhere. "we hid in an arroyo and waited until dark. then we rode closer and found that there would never be any chance to get into the alamo on horseback. we took the saddles and bridles off our horses, and turned them loose on the prairie. then we undertook to get in here, but it was touch and go. i tell you it was touch and go. we wheeled and twisted and curved and doubled, until our heads got dizzy. wherever we went we found mexicans, thousands of 'em." "we've noticed a few ourselves," said crockett. "it was pretty late when we struck an opening, and then not being sure we whistled. when we heard you whistle back we made straight for the wall, and here we are." "we're mighty glad to see you," said crockett, "but we ain't welcomin' you to no picnic, i reckon you understand that, don't you, jim smith?" "we understand it, every one of us," replied smith gravely. "we heard before we started, and now we've seen. we know that santa anna himself is out there, and that the mexicans have got a big army. that's the reason we came, davy crockett, because the odds are so heavy against you." "you're a true man," said crockett, "and so is every one of these with you." the new force was small--merely a few more for the trap--but they brought with them encouragement. ned shared in the general mental uplift. these new faces were very welcome, indeed. they gave fresh vigor to the little garrison, and they brought news of that outside world from which he seemed to have been shut off so long. they told of numerous parties sure to come to their relief, but he soon noticed that they did not particularize. he felt with certainty that the alamo now had all the defenders that it would ever have. repeated examinations from the walls of the church confirmed ned in his belief. the mexican circle was complete, and their sheltered batteries were so near that they dropped balls and shells whenever they pleased inside the alamo. duels between the cannon and the texan sharpshooters were frequent. the gunners as they worked their guns were forced to show themselves at times, and every exposure was instantly the signal for a texan bullet which rarely missed. but the mexicans kept on. it seemed that they intended to wear out the defenders by the sheer persistency of their cannon fire. ned became so hardened to the bombardment that he paid little attention to it. even when a ball fell inside the alamo the chances were several hundred to one that it would not hit him. he had amused himself with a mathematical calculation of the amount of space he occupied compared with the amount of space in the alamo. thus he arrived at the result, which indicated comparatively little risk for himself. the shrewdest calculations are often wrong. as he passed through the convent yard he met crockett, and the two walked on together. but before they had gone half a dozen steps a bomb hissed through the air, fell and rolled to their feet. it was still hissing and smoking, but ned, driven by some unknown impulse, seized it and with a mighty effort hurled it over the wall, where it burst. then he stood licking his burned fingers and looking rather confusedly at crockett. he felt a certain shyness over what he had done. the veteran frontiersman had already formed a great affection for the boy. he knew that ned's impulse had come from a brave heart and a quick mind, and that he had probably saved both their lives. he took a great resolution that this boy, the youngest of all the defenders, should be saved. "that was done well, ned," he said quietly. "i'm glad, boy, that i've known you. i'd be proud if you were a son of mine. we can talk plainly here with death all around us. you've got a lot in that head of yours. you ought to make a great man, a great man for texas. won't you do what i say and slip out of the alamo while there's still a chance?" ned was much moved, but he kept his resolution as he had kept it before. he shook his head. "you are all very good to me here," he said. "mr. bowie, too, has asked me to go, but if i should do so and the rest of you were to fall i'd be ashamed of myself all the rest of my life. i'm a texan now, and i'm going to see it through with the rest of you." "all right," said crockett lightly. "i've heard that you can lead a horse to the water, but you can't make him drink, an' if a boy don't want to go you can't make him go. so we'll just go into this little improvised armory of ours, an' you an' i will put in our time moldin' bullets." they entered one of the adobe buildings. a fire had been built on the hearth, and a half dozen texans were already busy there. but they quickly made room for crockett and ned. crockett did not tell ned that their supplies of powder and lead were running low, and that they must reduce their fire from the walls in order that they might have sufficient to meet an attack in force. but it was a cheerful little party that occupied itself with molding bullets. ned put a bar of lead into a ladle, and held it over the fire until the bar became molten. then he poured it into the mold until it was full, closed it, and when he opened it again a shining bullet dropped out. he worked hour after hour. his face became flushed with the heat, but with pride he watched his heap of bullets grow. crockett at last said they had done enough for one day, and ned was glad when they went outside and breathed the fresh air again. there was no firing at that time, and they climbed once more upon the church wall. ned looked out upon the scene, every detail of which was so familiar to him now. but conspicuous, and seeming to dominate all, was the blood-red flag of no quarter floating from the tower of the church of san fernando. wind and rain had not dimmed its bright color. the menace in its most vivid hue was always there. travis, who was further along the wall with a pair of strong field glasses, came back and joined ned and crockett. "if you would like to see santa anna you can," he said to ned. "he is on the church of san fernando now with his generals looking at us. take these glasses and your gaze may meet his." ned took the glasses, and there was santa anna standing directly under the folds of the banner with his own glasses to his eyes, studying the alamo and its defenders. about him stood a half dozen generals. ned's heart swelled with anger. the charm and genius of santa anna made him all the more repellent now. ned knew that he would break any promise if it suited him, and that cunning and treachery were his most potent tools. santa anna, at that very moment, was discussing with sesma, cos, gaona and others the question of an immediate assault with his whole army upon the alamo. they had heard rumors of an advance by fannin with help for the texans, but, while some of the younger spirits wished prompt attack, santa anna decided on delay. the dictator doubted whether fannin would come up, and if he did he would merely put so many more rats in the trap. santa anna felt secure in his vast preponderance of numbers. he would take the texans in his own good time, that is, whenever he felt like it. he did not care to hurry, because he was enjoying himself greatly in san antonio. capable of tremendous energy at times, he gave himself up at other times to babylonian revels. ned handed the glasses to crockett, who also took a long look. "i've heard a lot of santa anna," he said, "an' maybe i'll yet meet him eye to eye." "it's possible," said travis, "but, davy, we've got to wait on the mexicans. it's always for them to make the move, and then we'll meet it if we can. i wish we could hear from bonham. i'm afraid he's been taken." "not likely," said crockett. "one man, all alone, an' as quick of eye an' foot as bonham, would be pretty sure to make his way safely." "i certainly hope so," said travis. "at any rate, i intend to send out another letter soon. if the texans are made to realize our situation they will surely come, no matter how far away they may be." "i hope they will," said crockett. but ned noticed that he did not seem to speak with any great amount of confidence. balancing everything as well as he could, he did not see how much help could be expected. the texan towns were tiny. the whole fringe of texan settlements was small. the texans were but fifty or sixty thousands against the seven or eight millions of mexico, and now that they knew a great mexican army was in texas the scattered borderers would be hard put to it to defend themselves. he did not believe that in any event they could gather a force great enough to cut its way through the coil of santa anna's multitude. but travis' faith in bonham, at least, was justified. the next night, about halfway between midnight and morning, in the darkest hour, a man scaled the wall and dropped inside the plaza. it proved to be bonham himself, pale, worn, covered with mud and dust, but bringing glad tidings. ned was present when he came into the church and was met by travis. bowie, crockett and smith. only a single torch lighted up the grim little group. "fannin has left goliad with men and four cannon to join us," bonham said. "he started five days ago, and he should be here soon. with his rifles and big guns he'll be able to cut his way through the mexicans and enter the alamo." "i think so, too," said travis, with enthusiasm. but ned steadily watched bowie and crockett. they were the men of experience, and in matters such as these they had minds of uncommon penetration. he noticed that neither of them said anything, and that they showed no elation. everybody in the alamo knew the next day that bonham had come from fannin, and the whole place was filled with new hope. as ned reckoned, it was about one hundred and fifty miles from san antonio de bexar to goliad; but, according to bonham, fannin had already been five days on the way, and they should hear soon the welcome thunder of his guns. he eagerly scanned the southeast, in which direction lay goliad, but the only human beings he saw were mexicans. no sound came to his ears but the note of a mexican trumpet or the crack of a vaquero's whip. he was not the only one who looked and listened. they watched that day and the next through all the bombardment and the more dangerous rifle fire. but they never saw on the horizon the welcome flash from any of fannin's guns. no sound that was made by a friend reached their ears. the only flashes of fire they saw outside were those that came from the mouths of mexican cannon, and the only sounds they heard beyond the alamo were made by the foe. the sun, huge, red and vivid, sank in the prairie and, as the shadows thickened over the alamo, ned was sure in his heart that fannin would never come. * * * * * a few days before the defenders of the alamo had begun to scan the southeast for help a body of men were marching toward san antonio de bexar. they were clad in buckskin and they were on horseback. their faces were tanned and bore all the signs of hardship. near the middle of the column four cannon drawn by oxen rumbled along, and behind them came a heavy wagon loaded with ammunition. it was raining, and the rain was the raw cold rain of early spring in the southwest. the men, protecting themselves as well as they could with cloaks and serapes, rarely spoke. the wheels of the cannon cut great ruts in the prairie, and the feet of the horses sank deep in the mud. two men and a boy rode near the head of the column. one of these would have attracted attention anywhere by his gigantic size. he was dressed completely in buckskin, save for the raccoon skin cap that crowned his thick black hair. the rider on his right hand was long and thin with the calm countenance of a philosopher, and the one on his left was an eager and impatient boy. "i wish this rain would stop," said the panther, his ensanguined eye expressing impatience and anger. "i don't mind gettin' cold an' i don't mind gettin' wet, but there is nothin' stickier or harder to plough through than the texas mud. an' every minute counts. them boys in that alamo can't fight off thousands of mexicans forever. look at them steers! did you ever see anything go as slow as they do?" "i'd like to see ned again," said will allen. "i'd be willing to take my chance with him there." "that boy of ours is surely with crockett and bowie and travis and the others, helping to fight off santa anna and his horde," said obed white. "bonham couldn't have made any mistake about him. if we had seen bonham himself we could have gone with him to the alamo." "but he gave ned's name to colonel fannin," said will, "and so it's sure to be he." "our comrade is certainly there," said obed white, "and we've got to help rescue him as well as help rescue the others. it's hard not to hurry on by ourselves, but we can be of most help by trying to push on this force, although it seems as if everything had conspired against us." "it shorely looks as if things was tryin' to keep us back," exclaimed the panther angrily. "we've had such a hard time gettin' these men together, an' look at this rain an' this mud! we ought to be at bexar right now, a-roarin', an' a-t'arin', an' a-rippin', an' a-chawin' among them mexicans!" "patience! patience!" said obed white soothingly. "sometimes the more haste the oftener you trip." "patience on our part ain't much good to men sixty or eighty miles away, who need us yelling' an' shootin' for them this very minute." "i'm bound to own that what you say is so," said obed white. they relapsed into silence. the pace of the column grew slower. the men were compelled to adapt themselves to the cannon and ammunition wagon, which were now almost mired. the face of the panther grew black as thunder with impatience and anger, but he forced himself into silence. they stopped a little while at noon and scanty rations were doled out. they had started in such haste that they had only a little rice and dried beef, and there was no time to hunt game. they started again in a half hour, creeping along through the mud, and the panther was not the only man who uttered hot words of impatience under his breath. they were nearing the san antonio river now, and fannin began to show anxiety about the fort. but the panther was watching the ammunition wagon, which was sinking deeper and deeper into the mire. it seemed to him that it was groaning and creaking too much even for the deep mud through which it was passing. the driver of the ammunition wagon cracked his long whip over the oxen and they tugged at the yoke. the wheels were now down to the hub, and the wagon ceased to move. the driver cracked his whip again and again, and the oxen threw their full weight into the effort. the wheels slowly rose from their sticky bed, but then something cracked with a report like a pistol shot. the panther groaned aloud, because he knew what had happened. the axle of the wagon had broken, and it was useless. they distributed the ammunition, including the cannon balls, which they put in sacks, as well as they could, among the horsemen, and went on. they did not complain, but every one knew that it was a heavy blow. in two more hours they came to the banks of the muddy san antonio, and stared in dismay at the swollen current. it was evident at once to everybody that the passage would be most difficult for the cannon, which, like the ammunition wagon, were drawn by oxen. the river was running deep, with muddy banks, and a muddy bottom, and, taking the lightest of the guns, they tried first to get it across. many of the men waded neck deep into the water and strove at the wheels. but the stream went completely over the cannon, which also sank deeper and deeper in the oozy bottom. it then became an effort to save the gun. the panther put all his strength at the wheel, and, a dozen others helping, they at last got it back to the bank from which they had started. fannin, not a man of great decision, looked deeply discouraged, but the panther and others urged him on to new attempts. the panther, himself, as he talked, bore the aspect of a huge river god. yellow water streamed from his hair, beard, and clothing, and formed a little pool about him. but he noticed it not at all, urging the men on with all the fiery energy which a dauntless mind had stored in a frame so great and capable. "if it can be done the panther will get the guns across," said will to obed. "that's so," said obed, "but who'd have thought of this? when we started out we expected to have our big fight with an army and not with a river." they took the cannon into the water a second time, but the result was the same. they could not get it across, and with infinite exertion they dragged it back to the bank. then they looked at one another in despair. they could ford the river, but it seemed madness to go on without the cannon. while they debated there, a messenger came with news that the investment of the alamo by santa anna was now complete. he gave what rumor said, and rumor told that the mexican army numbered ten or twelve thousand men with fifty or sixty guns. santa anna's force was so great that already he was sending off large bodies to the eastward to attack texan detachments wherever they could be found. fannin held an anxious council with his officers. it was an open talk on the open prairie, and anybody who chose could listen. will allen and obed white said nothing, but the panther was vehement. "we've got to get there!" he exclaimed. "we can't leave our people to die in the alamo! we've got to cut our way through, an', if the worst comes to the worst, die with them!" "that would benefit nobody," said fannin. "we've made every human effort to get our cannon across the river, and we have failed. it would not profit texas for us to ride on with our rifles merely to be slaughtered. there will be other battles and other sieges, and we shall be needed." "does that mean we're not goin' on?" asked the panther. "we can't go on." fannin waved his hand at the yellow and swollen river. "we must return to goliad," he said, "i have decided. besides, there is nothing else for us to do. about face, men, and take up the march." the men turned slowly and reluctantly, and the cannon began to plough the mud on the road to goliad, from which they had come. the panther had remounted, and he drew to one side with will and obed, who were also on their horses. his face was glowing with anger. never had he looked more tremendous as he sat on his horse, with the water still flowing from him. "colonel fannin," he called out, "you can go back to goliad, but as for me an' my pardners, obed white an' will allen, we're goin' to bexar, an' the alamo." "i have no control over you," said fannin, "but it would be much better for you three to keep with us." "no," said the panther firmly. "we hear the alamo callin'. into the river, boys, but keep your weapons an' ammunition dry." their horses, urged into the water, swam to the other bank, and, without looking back the three rode for san antonio de bexar. * * * * * while the panther, obed white and will allen were riding over the prairie, ned fulton sat once more with his friend. davy crockett, in one of the adobe buildings. night had come, and they heard outside the fitful crackle of rifle fire, but they paid no attention to it. travis, at a table with a small tallow candle at his elbow, was writing his last message. ned was watching the commander as he wrote. but he saw no expression of despair or even discouragement on travis' fine face. the letter, which a messenger succeeded in carrying through the lines that night, breathed a noble and lofty courage. he was telling again how few were his men, and how the balls and bombs had rained almost continuously for days upon the alamo. even as his pen was poised they heard the heavy thud of a cannon, but the pen descended steadily and he wrote: "i shall continue to hold it until i get relief from my countrymen, or perish in its defence." he wrote on a little longer and once more came the heavy thud of a great gun. then the pen wrote: "again i feel confident that the determined spirit and desperate courage heretofore exhibited by my men will not fail them in the last struggle, and, although they may be sacrificed to the vengeance of a gothic enemy, the victory will cost that enemy so dear that it will be worse than a defeat." "worse than a defeat!" travis never knew how significant were the words that he penned then. a minute or two later the sharp crack of a half dozen rifles came to them, and travis wrote: "a blood-red flag waves from the church of bexar and in the camp above us, in token that the war is one of vengeance against rebels." they heard the third heavy thud of a cannon, and a shell, falling in the court outside, burst with a great crash. ned went out and returned with a report of no damage. travis had continued his letter, and now he wrote: "these threats have no influence upon my men, but to make all fight with desperation, and with that high-souled courage which characterizes the patriot who is willing to die in defence of his country, liberty and his own honor, god and texas. "victory or death." he closed the letter and addressed it. an hour later the messenger was beyond the mexican lines with it, but travis sat for a long time at the table, unmoving and silent. perhaps he was blaming himself for not having been more watchful, for not having discovered the advance of santa anna. but he was neither a soldier nor a frontiersman, and since the retreat into the alamo he had done all that man could do. he rose at last and went out. then crockett said to ned, knowing that it was now time to speak the full truth: "he has given up all hope of help." "so have i," said ned. "but we can still fight," said crockett. the day that followed was always like a dream to ned, vivid in some ways, and vague in others. he felt that the coil around the alamo had tightened. neither he nor any one else expected aid now, and they spoke of it freely one to another. several who could obtain paper wrote, as ned had done, brief wills, which they put in the inside pockets of their coats. always they spoke very gently to one another, these wild spirits of the border. the strange and softening shadow which ned had noticed before was deepening over them all. bowie was again in the hospital, having been bruised severely in a fall from one of the walls, but his spirit was as dauntless as ever. "the assault by the mexicans in full force cannot be delayed much longer," he said to ned. "santa anna is impatient and energetic, and he surely has brought up all his forces by this time." "do you think we can beat them off?" asked ned. bowie hesitated a little, and then he replied frankly: "i do not. we have only one hundred and seventy or eighty men to guard the great space that we have here. but in falling we will light such a flame that it will never go out until texas is free." ned talked with him a little longer, and always bowie spoke as if the time were at hand when he should die for texas. the man of wild and desperate life seemed at this moment to be clothed about with the mantle of the seer. the mexican batteries fired very little that day, and santa anna's soldiers kept well out of range. they had learned a deep and lasting respect for the texan rifles. hundreds had fallen already before them, and now they kept under cover. the silence seemed ominous and brooding to ned. the day was bright, and the flag of no quarter burned a spot of blood-red against the blue sky. ned saw mexican officers occasionally on the roofs of the higher buildings, but he took little notice of them. he felt instinctively that the supreme crisis had not yet come. they were all waiting, waiting. the afternoon drew its slow length away in almost dead silence, and the night came on rather blacker than usual. then the word was passed for all to assemble in the courtyard. they gathered there, bowie dragging his sick body with the rest. every defender of the alamo was present. the cannon and the walls were for a moment deserted, but the mexicans without did not know it. there are ineffaceable scenes in the life of every one, scenes which, after the lapse of many years, are as vivid as of yesterday. such, the last meeting of the texans, always remained in the mind of ned. they stood in a group, strong, wiry men, but worn now by the eternal vigilance and danger of the siege. one man held a small torch, which cast but a dim light over the brown faces. travis stood before them and spoke to them. "men," he said, "all of you know what i know, that we stand alone. no help is coming for us. the texans cannot send it or it would have come. for ten days we have beaten off every attack of a large army. but another assault in much greater force is at hand. it is not likely that we can repel it. you have seen the red flag of no quarter flying day after day over the church, and you know what it means. santa anna never gives mercy. it is likely that we shall all fall, but, if any man wishes to go, i, your leader, do not order him to stay. you have all done your duty ten times over. there is just a chance to escape over the walls and in the darkness. now go and save your lives if you can." "we stay," came the deep rumble of many voices together. one man slipped quietly away a little later, but he was the only one. save for him, there was no thought of flight in the minds of that heroic band. ned's heart thrilled and the blood pounded in his ears. life was precious, doubly so, because he was so young, but he felt a strange exaltation in the face of death, an exaltation that left no room for fear. the eyes of travis glistened when he heard the reply. "it is what i expected," he said. "i knew that every one of you was willing to die for texas. now, lads, we will go back to the walls and wait for santa anna." chapter xii before the dictator ned's feeling of exaltation lasted. the long siege, the incessant danger and excitement, and the wonderful way in which the little band of texans had kept a whole army at bay had keyed him up to a pitch in which he was not himself, in which he was something a little more than human. such extraordinary moments come to few people, and his vivid, imaginative mind was thrilled to the utmost. he was on the early watch, and he mounted the wall of the church. the deep silence which marked the beginning of the night still prevailed. they had not heard any shots, and for that reason they all felt that the messenger had got through with travis' last letter. it was very dark that night and ned could not see the red flag on the tower of the church of san fernando. but he knew it was there, waving a little in the soft wind which blew out of the southwest, herald of spring. nothing broke the silence. after so much noise, it was ominous, oppressive, surcharged with threats. fewer lights than usual burned in the town and in the mexican camp. all this stillness portended to ned the coming storm, and he was right. his was a short watch, and at o'clock he went off duty. it was silent and dark in the convent yard, and he sought his usual place for sleep in the hospital, where many of the texans had been compelled to go, not merely to sleep, but because they were really ill, worn out by so many alarms, so much fighting and so much watching. but they were all now asleep, overpowered by exhaustion. ned crept into his own dark little corner, and he, too, was soon asleep. but he was awakened about four hours later by some one pulling hard at his shoulder. he opened his eyes, and stared sleepily. it was crockett bending over him, and, bowie lying on his sick bed ten feet away, had raised himself on his elbow. the light was so faint that ned could scarcely see crockett's face, but it looked very tense and eager. "get up, ned! get up!" said crockett, shaking him again. "there's great work for you to do!" "why, what is it?" exclaimed the boy, springing to his feet. "it's your friends, roylston, an' that man, the panther, you've been tellin' me about," replied crockett in quick tones. "while you were asleep a mexican, friendly to us, sneaked a message over the wall, sayin' that roylston, the panther, an' others were layin' to the east with a big force not more'n twenty miles away--not fannin's crowd, but another one that's come down from the north. they don't know whether we're holdin' out yet or not, an' o' course they don't want to risk destruction by tryin' to cut through the mexican army to reach us when we ain't here. the mexican dassent go out of san antonio. he won't try it, 'cause, as he says, it's sure death for him, an' so somebody must go to roylston with the news that we're still alive, fightin' an' kickin'. colonel travis has chose you, an' you've got to go. no, there's no letter. you're just to tell roylston by word of mouth to come on with his men." the words came forth popping like pistol shots. ned was swept off his feet. he did not have time to argue or ask questions. bowie also added a fresh impetus. "go, ned, go at once!" he said. "you are chosen for a great service. it's an honor to anybody!" "a service of great danger, requirin' great skill," said crockett, "but you can do it, ned, you can do it." ned flushed. this was, in truth, a great trust. he might, indeed, bring the help they needed so sorely. "here's your rifle an' other weapons an' ammunition," said crockett. "the night's at its darkest an' you ain't got any time to waste. come on!" so swift was crockett that ned was ready almost before he knew it. the tennesseean never ceased hurrying him. but as he started, bowie called to him: "good-by, ned!" the boy turned back and offered his hand. the georgian shook it with unusual warmth, and then lay back calmly on his blankets. "good-by, ned," he repeated, "and if we don't meet again i hope you'll forget the dark things in my life, and remember me as one who was doing his best for texas." "but we will meet again," said ned. "the relieving force will be here in two or three days and i'll come with it." "out with you!" said crockett. "that's talk enough. what you want to do now is to put on your invisible cap an' your seven league boots an' go like lightnin' through the mexican camp. remember that you can talk their lingo like a native, an' don't forget, neither, to keep always about you a great big piece of presence of mind that you can use on a moment's notice." ned wore his serape and he carried a pair of small, light but very warm blankets, strapped in a pack on his back. his haversack contained bread and dried beef, and, with his smaller weapons in his belt, and his rifle over his shoulder, he was equipped fully for a long and dangerous journey. crockett and the boy passed into the convent yard. the soft wind from the southwest blew upon their faces, and from the high wall of the church a sentinel called: "all's well!" ned felt an extraordinary shiver, a premonition, but it passed, unexplained. he and crockett went into the main plaza and reached the lowest part of the wall. "ought i to see colonel travis?" asked ned, as they were on the way. "no, he asked me to see to it, 'cause there ain't no time to waste. it's about three o'clock in the mornin' now, an' you've got to slip through in two or three hours, 'cause the light will be showin' then. now, ned, up with you an' over." ned climbed to the summit of the wall. beyond lay heavy darkness, and he neither saw nor heard any human being. he looked back, and extended his hand to crockett as he had to bowie. "good-by, mr. crockett," he said, "you've been very good to me." the great brown hand of the frontiersman clasped his almost convulsively. "aye, ned," he said, "we've cottoned to each other from the first. i haven't knowed you long, but you've been like a son to me. now go, an' god speed you!" ned recalled afterward that he did not say anything about roylston's relieving force. what he thought of then was the deep feeling in crockett's words. "i'm coming back," he said, "and i hope to hunt buffalo with you over the plains of a free texas." "go! go! hurry, ned!" said crockett. "good-by," said ned, and he dropped lightly to the ground. he was outside the alamo after eleven days inside, that seemed in the retrospect almost as many months. he flattened himself against the wall, and stood there for a minute or two, looking and listening. he thought he might hear crockett again inside, but evidently the tennesseean had gone back at once. in front of him was only the darkness, pierced by a single light off toward the west. ned hesitated. it was hard for him to leave the alamo and the friends who had been knitted to him by so many common dangers, yet his errand was one of high importance--it might save them all--and he must do it. strengthening his resolution he started across an open space, walking lightly. as crockett had truly said, with his perfect knowledge of the language he might pass for a mexican. he had done so before, and he did not doubt his ability to do so again. he resolved to assume the character of a mexican scout, looking into the secrets of the alamo, and going back to report to santa anna. as he advanced he heard voices and saw earthworks from which the muzzles of four cannon protruded. behind the earthwork was a small fire, and he knew that men would be sitting about it. he turned aside, not wishing to come too much into the light, but a soldier near the earthwork hailed him, and ned, according to his plan, replied briefly that he was on his way to general santa anna in san antonio. but the man was talkative. "what is your name?" he asked. "pedro miguel alvarado," replied ned on the spur of the moment. "well, friend, it is a noble name, that of alvarado." "but it is not a noble who bears it. though a descendant of the great alvarado, who fought by the side of the glorious and mighty conquistador, hernando cortez, i am but a poor peasant offering my life daily for bread in the army of general santa anna." the man laughed. "you are as well off as i am," he said. "but what of the wicked texans? are they yet ready to surrender their throats to our knives? the dogs hold us over long. it is said that they number scarce two hundred within the mission. truly they fight hard, and well they may, knowing that death only is at the end." ned shuddered. the man seemed to take it all so lightly. but he replied in a firm voice: "i learned little of them save that they still fight. i took care not to put myself before the muzzle of any of their rifles." the mexican laughed again. "a lad of wisdom, you," he said. "they are demons with their rifles. when the great assault is made, many a good man will speed to his long home before the alamo is taken." so, they had already decided upon the assault. the premonition within the alamo was not wrong. it occurred to ned that he might learn more, and he paused. "has it been finally settled?" he asked. "we attack about three days from now, do we not?" "earlier than that," replied the mexican. "i know that the time has been chosen, and i think it is to-morrow morning." ned's heart beat heavily. to-morrow morning! even if he got through, how could he ever bring roylston and the relief force in time? "i thank you," he said, "but i must hurry with my report." "adios, señor," said the man politely, and ned repeated his "adios" in the same tone. then he hurried forward, continually turning in toward the east, hoping to find a passage where the mexican line was thinnest. but the circle of the invaders was complete, and he saw that he must rely upon his impersonation of a mexican to take him through. he was in a fever of haste, knowing now that the great assault was to come so soon, and he made for a point between two smoldering camp fires fifty or sixty yards apart. boldness only would now avail, and with the brim of his sombrero pulled well down over his face he walked confidently forward, coming fully within the light of the fire on his left. a number of mexican soldiers were asleep around the fire, but at least a half dozen men were awake. they called to ned as he passed and he responded readily, but fortune, which had been so kind to him for a long time, all at once turned her back upon him. when he spoke, a man in officer's uniform who had been sitting by the fire rose quickly. "your name?" he cried. "pedro miguel alvarado," replied ned instantly. at the same moment he recognized urrea. "it is not so!" cried urrea. "you are one of the texans, young fulton. i know your voice. upon him, men! seize him!" his action and the leap of the mexicans were so sudden that ned did not have time to aim his rifle. but he struck one a short-arm blow with the butt of it that sent him down with a broken head, and he snatched at his pistol as three or four others threw themselves upon him. ned was uncommonly strong and agile, and he threw off two of the men, but the others pressed him to the ground, until, at urrea's command, his arms were bound and he was allowed to rise. ned was in despair, not so much for himself but because there was no longer a chance that he could get through to roylston. it was a deep mortification, moreover, to be taken by urrea. but he faced the mexican with an appearance of calmness. "well," he said, "i am your prisoner." "you are," said urrea, "and you might have passed, if i had not known your voice. but i remind you that you come from the alamo. you see our flag, and you know its meaning." the black eyes of the mexican regarded ned malignantly. the boy knew that the soul of urrea was full of wicked triumph. the officer could shoot him down at that moment, and be entirely within orders. but ned recalled the words of roylston. the merchant had told him to use his name if he should ever fall again into the hands of santa anna. "i am your prisoner," he repeated, "and i demand to be taken before general santa anna. whatever your red flag may mean, there are reasons why he will spare me. go with me and you will see." he spoke with such boldness and directness that urrea was impressed. "i shall take you to the general," he said, "not because you demand it, but because i think it well to do so. it is likely that he will want to examine you, and i believe that in his presence you will tell all you know. but it is not yet o'clock in the morning, and i cannot awaken him now. you will stay here until after daylight." "very well," said ned, trying to be calm as possible. "as you have bound me i cannot walk, but if you'll put me on a blanket there by the fire i'll sleep until you want me." "we won't deny you that comfort," replied urrea grimly. when ned was stretched on his blanket he was fairly easy so far as the body was concerned. they had bound him securely, but not painfully. his agony of mind, though, was great. nevertheless he fell asleep, and slept in a restless way for three or four hours, until urrea awoke him, and told him they were going to santa anna. it was a clear, crisp dawn and ned saw the town, the river, and the alamo. there, only a short distance away, stood the dark fortress, from which he had slipped but a few hours before with such high hopes. he even saw the figures of the sentinels, moving slowly on the church walls, and his heart grew heavy within him. he wished now that he was back with the defenders. even if he should escape it would be too late. at urrea's orders he was unbound. "there is no danger of your escaping now," said the young mexican. "several of my men are excellent marksmen, and they will fire at the first step you take in flight. and even should they miss, what chance do you think you have here?" he swept his right hand in a circle, and, in the clear morning air, ned saw batteries and troops everywhere. he knew that the circle of steel about the alamo was complete. perhaps he would have failed in his errand even had he got by. it would require an unusually strong force to cut through an army as large as that of santa anna, and he did not know where roylston could have found it. he started, as a sudden suspicion smote him. he remembered crockett's hurried manner, and his lack of explanation. but he put it aside. it could not be true. "i see that you look at the alamo," said urrea ironically. "well, the rebel flag is still there, but it will not remain much longer. the trap is about ready to shut down." ned's color rose. "it may be so," he said, "but for every texan who falls the price will be five mexicans." "but they will fall, nevertheless," said urrea. "here is food for you. eat, and i will take you to the general." they offered him mexican food, but he had no appetite, and he ate little. he stretched and tensed his limbs in order to restore the full flood of circulation, and announced that he was ready. urrea led the way, and ned followed with a guard of four men about him. the boy had eyes and ears for everything around him, but he looked most toward the alamo. he could not, at the distance, recognize the figures on the wall, but all those men were his friends, and his eyes filled with tears at their desperate case. out here with the mexicans, where he could see all their overwhelming force and their extensive preparations, the chances of the texans looked worse than they did inside the alamo. they entered the town and passed through the same streets, along which ned had advanced with the conquering army of the texans a few months before. many evidences of the siege remained. there were tunnels, wrecked houses and masses of stone and adobe. the appearance of the young prisoner aroused the greatest curiosity among both soldiers and people. he heard often the word "texano." women frequently looked down at him from the flat roofs, and some spoke in pity. ned was silent. he was resolved not to ask urrea any questions or to give him a chance to show triumph. he noticed that they were advancing toward the plaza, and then they turned into the veramendi house, which he had cause to remember so well. "this was the home of the vice-governor," said urrea, "and general santa anna is here." "i know the place," said ned. "i am proud to have been one of the texans who took it on a former occasion." "we lost it then, but we have it now and we'll keep it," said urrea. "my men will wait with you here in the courtyard, and i'll see if our illustrious general is ready to receive you." ned waited patiently. urrea was gone a full half hour, and, when he returned, he said: "the general was at breakfast with his staff. he had not quite finished, but he is ready to receive you now." then urrea led the way into the veramendi house. luxurious fittings had been put in, but many of the rents and scars from the old combat were yet visible. they entered the great dining room, and, once more, ned stood face to face with the most glorious general, the most illustrious dictator, don antonio lopez de santa anna. but ned alone stood. the dictator sat at the head of the table, about which were castrillon, sesma, cos, gaona, the italian, filisola and others. it seemed to ned that he had come not only upon a breakfast but upon a conference as well. the soldiers who had guarded ned stepped back, urrea stood by the wall, and the boy was left to meet the fixed gaze of santa anna. the dictator wore a splendid uniform, as usual. his face seemed to ned fuller and more flushed than when they had last met in mexico. the marks of dissipation were there. ned saw him slip a little silver box from the pocket of his waistcoat and take from it a pinch of a dark drug, which he ate. it was opium, but the mexican generals seemed to take no note of it. santa anna's gaze was fixed and piercing, as if he would shoot terror into the soul of his enemy--a favorite device of his--but ned withstood it. then santa anna, removing his stare from his face, looked him slowly up and down. the generals said nothing, waiting upon their leader, who could give life or death as he chose. ned was sure that santa anna remembered him, and, in a moment, he knew that he was right. "it is young fulton, who made the daring and ingenious escape from our hospitality in the capital," he said, "and who also departed in an unexpected manner from one of the submarine dungeons of our castle of san juan de ulua. fate does not seem to reward your courage and enterprise as they deserve, since you are in our hands again." the dictator laughed and his generals laughed obediently also. ned said nothing. "i am informed by that most meritorious young officer, captain urrea," continued santa anna, "that you were captured about three o'clock this morning trying to escape from the alamo." "that is correct," said ned. "why were you running away in the dark?" ned flushed, but, knowing that it was an unworthy and untruthful taunt, he remained silent. "you do not choose to answer," said santa anna, "but i tell you that you are the rat fleeing from the sinking ship. our cannon have wrecked the interior of the alamo. half of your men are dead, and the rest would gladly surrender if i should give them the promise of life." "it is not true!" exclaimed ned with heat. "despite all your fire the defenders of the alamo have lost but a few men. you offer no quarter and they ask none. they are ready to fight to the last." there was a murmur among the generals, but santa anna raised his hand and they were silent again. "i cannot believe all that you say," he continued. "it is a boast. the texans are braggarts. to-morrow they die, every one of them. but tell us the exact condition of everything inside the alamo, and perhaps i may spare your life." ned shut his teeth so hard that they hurt. a deep flush surged into the dark face of santa anna. "you are stubborn. all the texans are stubborn. but i do not need any information from you. i shall crush the alamo, as my fingers would smash an eggshell." "but your fingers will be pierced deep," ned could not keep from replying. "they will run blood." "be that as it may," said santa anna, who, great in some things, was little enough to taunt an enemy in his power, "you will not live to see it. i am about to give orders to have you shot within an hour." his lips wrinkled away from his white teeth like those of a great cat about to spring, and his cruel eyes contracted. holding all the power of mexico in his hands he was indeed something to be dreaded. the generals about the table never spoke. but ned remembered the words of roylston. "a great merchant named john roylston has been a good friend to me," he said. "he told me that if i should ever fall into your hands i was to mention his name to you, and to say that he considered my life of value." the expression of the dictator changed. he frowned, and then regarded ned intently, as if he would read some secret that the boy was trying to hide. "and so you know john roylston," he said at length, "and he wishes you to say to me that your life is of value." ned saw the truth at once. he had a talisman and that talisman was the name of roylston. he did not know why it was so, but it was a wonderful talisman nevertheless, because it was going to save his life for the time being, at least. he glanced at the generals, and he saw a look of curiosity on the face of every one of them. "i know roylston," said santa anna slowly, "and there are some matters between us. it may be to my advantage to spare you for a while." ned's heart sprang up. life was sweet. since he was to be spared for a while it must mean ultimately exchange or escape. santa anna, a reader of the human face, saw what was in his mind. "be not too sanguine," he said, "because i have changed my mind once it does not mean that you are to be free now or ever. i shall keep you here, and you shall see your comrades fall." a sudden smile, offspring of a quick thought and satanic in its nature, passed over his face. "i will make you a spectator of the defeat of the texans," he said. "a great event needs a witness, and since you cannot be a combatant you can serve in that capacity. we attack at dawn to-morrow, and you shall miss nothing of it." the wicked smile passed over his face again. it had occurred to ned, a student of history, that the gladiatorial cruelty of the ancient romans had descended to the spaniards instead of the italians. now he was convinced that it was so. "you shall be kept a prisoner in one of our strongest houses," said santa anna, "and captain urrea, whose vigilance prevented your escape, will keep guard over you. i fancy it is a task that he does not hate." santa anna had also read the mind of the young mexican. urrea smiled. he liked this duty. he hated ned and he, too, was not above taunting a prisoner. he advanced, and put a hand upon ned's shoulder, but the boy shook it off. "don't touch me," said ned. "i'll follow without resistance." santa anna laughed. "let him have his way for the present, captain urrea," he said. "but remember that it is due to your gentleness and mercy. adios, señor fulton, we meet again to-morrow morning, and if you survive i shall report to mr. roylston the manner in which you may bear yourself." "good-day," said ned, resolved not to be outdone, even in ironical courtesy. "and now, captain urrea, if you will lead the way, i'll follow." urrea and his soldiers took ned from the veramendi house and across the street to a large and strong stone building. "you are fortunate," said urrea, "to have escaped immediate death. i do not know why the name of roylston was so powerful with our general, but i saw that it was." "it seemed to have its effect," said ned. urrea led the way to the flat roof of the house, a space reached by a single narrow stairway. "i shall leave you here with two guards," he said. "i shall give them instructions to fire upon you at the slightest attempt on your part to escape, but i fancy that you will have sense enough not to make any such attempt." urrea departed, but the two sentinels sat by the entrance to the stairway, musket in hand. he had not the faintest chance to get by them, and knowing it he sat down on the low stone coping of the roof. he wondered why urrea had brought him there instead of locking him up in a room. perhaps it was to mock him with the sight of freedom so near and yet unattainable. his gaze turned instinctively to the alamo like the magnet to the pole. there was the fortress, gray and grim in the sunshine, with the dim figures of the watchers on the walls. what were they doing inside now? how were crockett and bowie? his heart filled with grief that he had failed them. but had he failed them? neither urrea nor any other mexican had spoken of the approach of a relieving force under roylston. there was no sign that the mexicans were sending any part of their army to meet it. the heavy thud of a great gun drew his attention, and he saw the black smoke from the discharge rising over the plain. a second, a third and a fourth cannon shot were fired, but no answer came from the walls of the alamo. at length he saw one of the men in the nearest battery to the alamo expose himself above the earthwork. there was a flash from the wall of the church, a little puff of smoke, and ned saw the man fall as only dead men fall. perhaps it was davy crockett, the great marksman, who had fired that shot. he liked to think that it was so, and he rejoiced also at this certain evidence that the little garrison was as dauntless as ever. he watched the alamo for nearly an hour, and he saw that the firing was desultory. not more than a dozen cannon shots were fired during that time, and only three or four rifles replied from the alamo. toward noon the firing ceased entirely, and ned knew that this was in very fact and truth the lull before the storm. his attention wandered to his guards. they were mere peons, but, although watchful, they were taking their ease. evidently they liked their task. they were resting with the complete relaxation of the body that only the southern races know. both had lighted cigarritos, and were puffing at them contentedly. it had been a long time since ned had seen such a picture of lazy ease. "you like it here?" he said to the nearest. the man took the cigarrito from his mouth, emitted smoke from his nose and replied politely: "it is better to be here lying in the sun than out there on the grass with a texan bullet through one's body. is it not so, fernando?" "aye, it is so," replied his comrade. "i like not the texan bullets. i am glad to be here where they cannot reach me. it is said that satan sights their rifles for them, because they do not miss. they will die hard to-morrow. they will die like the bear in its den, fighting the hunters, when our army is poured upon them. that will be an end to all the texans, and we will go back to the warm south." "but are you sure," asked ned, "that it will be an end of the texans? not all the texans are shut up in the alamo." "what matters it?" replied fernando, lightly. "it may be delayed, but the end will be the same. nothing can resist the great, the powerful, the most illustrious santa anna. he is always able to dig graves for his enemies." the men talked further. ned gathered from them that the whole force of santa anna was now present. some of his officers wanted him to wait for siege artillery of the heaviest caliber that would batter down the walls of the alamo, but the dictator himself was impatient for the assault. it would certainly take place the next morning. "and why is the young señor here?" asked fernando. "the order has been issued that no texan shall be spared, and do you not see the red flag waving there close by us?" ned looked up. the red flag now flaunted its folds very near to him. he could not repress a shiver. "i am here," he replied, "because some one who has power has told general santa anna that i am not to be put to death." "it is well for you, then," said fernando, "that you have a friend of such weight. it is a pity to die when one is so young and so straight and strong as you. ah, my young señor, the world is beautiful. look how green is the grass there by the river, and how the sun lies like gold across it!" ned had noticed before the love of beauty that the humblest peon sometimes had, and there was a certain touch of brotherly feeling between him and this man, his jailer. "the world is beautiful," said the boy, "and i am willing to tell you that i have no wish to leave it." "nor i," said fernando. "why are the texans so foolish as to oppose the great santa anna, the most illustrious and powerful of all generals and rulers? did they not know that he would come and crush them, every one?" ned did not reply. the peon, in repose at least, had a gentle heart, and the boy knew that santa anna was to him omnipotent and omniscient. he turned his attention anew to the alamo, that magnet of his thoughts. it was standing quiet in the sun now. the defiant flag of the defenders, upon which they had embroidered the word "texas," hung lazily from the staff. the guards in the afternoon gave him some food and a jug of water, and they also ate and drank upon the roof. they were yet amply content with their task and their position there. no bullets could reach them. the sunshine was golden and pleasant. they had established friendly relations with the prisoner. he had not given them the slightest trouble, and, before and about them, was spread the theater upon which a mighty drama was passing, all for them to see. what more could be asked by two simple peasants of small wants? ned was glad that they let him remain upon the roof. the alamo drew his gaze with a power that he could not break if he would. since he was no longer among the defenders he was eager to see every detail in the vast drama that was now unfolding. but the afternoon passed in inaction. the sun was brilliant and toward evening turned to a deep, glowing red. it lighted up for the last time the dim figures that stood on the walls of the alamo. ned choked as he saw them there. he felt the premonition. urrea came upon the roof shortly before twilight. he was not sneering or ironical, and ned, who had no wish to quarrel at such a time, was glad of it. "as general santa anna told you," said urrea, "the assault is to be made in overwhelming force early in the morning. it will succeed, of course. nothing can prevent it. through the man roylston, you have some claim upon the general, but it may not be strong enough to save you long. a service now might make his pardon permanent." "what do you mean by a service now?" "a few words as to the weaker points of the alamo, the best places for our troops to attack. you cannot do anything for the defenders. you cannot alter their fate in any particular, but you might do something for yourself." ned did not wish to appear dramatic. he merely turned his back upon the young mexican. "very well," said urrea, "i made you the offer. it was for you to accept it or not as you wish." he left him upon the roof, and ned saw the last rim of the red sun sink in the plain. he saw the twilight come, and the alamo fade into a dim black bulk in the darkness. he thought once that he heard a cry of a sentinel from its walls, "all's well," but he knew that it was only fancy. the distance was far too great. besides, all was not well. when the darkness had fully come, he descended with his two benevolent jailers to a lower part of the house, where he was assigned to a small room, with a single barred window and without the possibility of escape. his guards, after bringing him food and water, gave him a polite good night and went outside. he knew that they would remain on watch in the hall. ned could eat and drink but little. nor could he yet sleep. the night was far too heavy upon him for slumber. besides, it had brought many noises, significant noises that he knew. he heard the rumble of cannon wheels over the rough pavements, and the shouts of men to the horses or mules. he heard troops passing, now infantry, and then cavalry, the hoofs of their horses grinding upon the stones. he pressed his face against the barred window. he was eager to hear and yet more eager to see. he caught glimpses only of horse and foot as they passed, but he knew what all those sights and sounds portended. in the night the steel coil of the mexicans was being drawn closer and closer about the alamo. brave and resolute, he was only a boy after all. he felt deserted of all men. he wanted to be back there with crockett and bowie and travis and the others. the water came into his eyes, and unconsciously he pulled hard at the iron bars. he remained there a long time, listening to the sounds. once he heard a trumpet, and its note in the night was singularly piercing. he knew that it was a signal, probably for the moving of a regiment still closer to the alamo. but there were no shots from either the mexicans or the mission. the night was clear with many stars. after two or three hours at the window ned tried to sleep. there was a narrow bed against the wall, and he lay upon it, full length, but he did not even close his eyes. he became so restless that at last he rose and went to the window again. it must have been then past midnight. the noises had ceased. evidently the mexicans had everything ready. the wind blew cold upon his face, but it brought him no news of what was passing without. he went back to the bed, and by and by he sank into a heavy slumber. chapter xiii to the last man ned awoke after a feverish night, when there was yet but a strip of gray in the east. it was sunday morning, but he had lost count of time, and did not know it. he had not undressed at all when he lay down, and now he stood by the window, seeking to see and hear. but the light was yet dim and the sounds were few. nevertheless the great pulse in his throat began to leap. the attack was at hand. the door of the room was unlocked and the two peons who had guarded him upon the roof came for him. ned saw in the half gloom that they were very grave of countenance. "we are to take you to the noble captain urrea, who is waiting for you," said fernando. "very well," said ned. "i am ready. you have been kind to me, and i hope that we shall meet again after to-day." both men shook their heads. "we fear that is not to be," said fernando. they found urrea and another young officer waiting at the door of the house. urrea was in his best uniform and his eyes were very bright. he was no coward, and ned knew that the gleam was in anticipation of the coming attack. "the time is at hand," he said, "and it will be your wonderful fortune to see how mexico strikes down her foe." his voice, pitched high, showed excitement, and a sense of the dramatic. ned said nothing, and his own pulses began to leap again. the strip of gray in the east was broadening, and he now saw that the whole town was awake, although it was not yet full daylight. santa anna had been at work in the night, while he lay in that feverish sleep. he heard everywhere now the sound of voices, the clank of arms and the beat of horses' hoofs. the flat roofs were crowded with the mexican people. ned saw mexican women there in their dresses of bright colors, like roman women in the colosseum, awaiting the battle of the gladiators. the atmosphere was surcharged with excitement, and the sense of coming triumph. ned's breath seemed to choke in his throat and his heart beat painfully. once more he wished with all his soul that he was with his friends, that he was in the alamo. he belonged with them there, and he would rather face death with those familiar faces around him than be here, safe perhaps, but only a looker-on. it was with him now a matter of the emotions, and not of reasoned intellect. once more he looked toward the old mission, and saw the dim outline of the buildings, with the dominating walls of the church. he could not see whether anyone watched on the walls, but he knew that the sentinels were there. perhaps crockett, himself, stood among them now, looking at the great mexican coil of steel that was wrapping itself tighter and tighter around the alamo. despite himself, ned uttered a sigh. "what is the matter with you?" asked urrea, sharply. "are you already weeping for the conquered?" "you know that i am not," replied ned. "you need not believe me, but i regret that i am not in the alamo with my friends." "it's an idle wish," said urrea, "but i am taking you now to general santa anna. then i leave, and i go there! look, the horsemen!" he extended his hand, and ned saw his eyes kindling. the mexican cavalry were filing out in the dim dawn, troop after troop, the early light falling across the blades of the lances, spurs and bridles jingling. all rode well, and they made a thrilling picture, as they rode steadily on, curving about the old fortress. "i shall soon be with them," said urrea in a tone of pride. "we shall see that not a single one of your texans escapes from the alamo." ned felt that choking in his throat again, but he deemed it wiser to keep silent. they were going toward the main plaza now, and he saw masses of troops gathered in the streets. these men were generally silent, and he noticed that their faces expressed no elation. he divined at once that they were intended for the assault, and they had no cause for joy. they knew that they must face the deadly texan rifles. urrea led the way to a fortified battery standing in front of the main plaza. a brilliant group stood behind an earthen wall, and ned saw santa anna among them. "i have brought the prisoner," said urrea, saluting. "very good," replied the dictator, "and now, captain urrea, you can join your command. you have served me well, and you shall have your share in the glory of this day." urrea flushed with pride at the compliment, and bowed low. then he hurried away to join the horse. santa anna turned his attention. "i have brought you here at this moment," he said, "to give you a last chance. it is not due to any mercy for you, a rebel, but it is because you have been so long in the alamo that you must know it well. point out to us its weakest places, and you shall be free. you shall go north in safety. i promise it here, in the presence of my generals." "i have nothing to tell," replied ned. "are you sure?" "absolutely sure." "then it merely means a little more effusion of blood. you may stay with us and see the result." all the ancient, inherited cruelty now shone in santa anna's eyes. it was the strange satanic streak in him that made him keep his captive there in order that he might see the fall of his own comrades. a half dozen guards stood near the person of the dictator, and he said to them: "if the prisoner seeks to leave us, shoot him at once." the manner of santa anna was arrogant to the last degree, but ned was glad to stay. he was eager to see the great panorama which was about to be unrolled before him. he was completely absorbed in the alamo, and he utterly forgot himself. black specks were dancing before his eyes, and the blood was pounding in his ears, but he took no notice of such things. the gray bar in the east broadened. a thin streak of shining silver cut through it, and touched for a moment the town, the river, the army and the alamo. ned leaned against an edge of the earthwork, and breathed heavily and painfully. he had not known that his heart could beat so hard. the same portentous silence prevailed everywhere. the men and women on the roofs of the houses were absolutely still. the cavalry, their line now drawn completely about the mission, were motionless. ned, straining his eyes toward the alamo, could see nothing there. suddenly he put up his hand and wiped his forehead. his fingers came away wet. his blood prickled in his veins like salt. he became impatient, angry. if the mine was ready, why did they not set the match? such waiting was the pitch of cruelty. "cos, my brother," said santa anna to the swart general, "take your command. it was here that the texan rebels humiliated you, and it is here that you shall have full vengeance." cos saluted, and strode away. he was to lead one of the attacking columns. "colonel duque," said santa anna to another officer, "you are one of the bravest of the brave. you are to direct the attack on the northern wall, and may quick success go with you." duque glowed at the compliment, and he, too, strode away to the head of his column. "colonel romero," said santa anna, "the third column is yours, and the fourth is yours, colonel morales. take your places and, at the signal agreed, the four columns will charge with all their strength. let us see which will be the first in the alamo." the two colonels saluted as the others had done, and joined their columns. the bar of gray in the east was still broadening, but the sun itself did not yet show. the walls of the alamo were still dim, and ned could not see whether any figures were there. santa anna had put a pair of powerful glasses to his eyes, but when he took them down he said nothing of what he had seen. "are all the columns provided?" he said to general sesma, who stood beside him. "they have everything," replied sesma, "crowbars, axes, scaling ladders. sir, they cannot fail!" "no, they cannot," said santa anna exultantly. "these texan rebels fight like demons, but we have now a net through which they cannot break. general gaona, see that the bands are ready and direct them to play the deguelo when the signal for the charge is given." ned shivered again. the "deguelo" meant the "cutting-of-throats," and it, too, was to be the signal of no quarter. he remembered the red flag, and he looked up. it hung, as ever, on the tower of the church of san fernando, and its scarlet folds moved slowly in the light morning breeze. general gaona returned. "the bands are ready, general," he said, "and when the signal is given they will play the air that you have chosen." a mexican, trumpet in hand, was standing near. santa anna turned and said to him the single word: "blow!" the man lifted the trumpet to his lips, and blew a long note that swelled to its fullest pitch, then died away in a soft echo. it was the signal. a tremendous cry burst from the vast ring of the thousands, and it was taken up by the shrill voices of the women on the flat roofs of the houses. the great circle of cavalrymen shook their lances and sabers until they glittered. when the last echo of the trumpet's dying note was gone the bands began to play with their utmost vigor the murderous tune that santa anna had chosen. then four columns of picked mexican troops, three thousand strong, rushed toward the alamo. santa anna and the generals around him were tremendously excited. their manner made no impression upon ned then, but he recalled the fact afterward. the boy became quickly unconscious of everything except the charge of the mexicans and the alamo. he no longer remembered that he was a prisoner. he no longer remembered anything about himself. the cruel throb of that murderous tune, the deguelo, beat upon the drums of his ears, and mingled with it came the sound of the charging mexicans, the beat of their feet, the clank of their arms, and the shouts of their officers. whatever may be said of the herded masses of the mexican troops, the mexican officers were full of courage. they were always in advance, waving their swords and shouting to their men to come on. another silver gleam flashed through the gray light of the early morning, ran along the edges of swords and lances, and lingered for a moment over the dark walls of the alamo. no sound came from the mission, not a shot, not a cry. were they asleep? was it possible that every man, overpowered by fatigue, had fallen into slumber at such a moment? could such as crockett and bowie and travis be blind to their danger? such painful questions raced through ned's mind. he felt a chill run down his spine. yet his breath was like fire to his lips. "nothing will stop them!" cried santa anna. "the texans cower before such a splendid force! they will lay down their arms!" ned felt his body growing colder and colder, and there was a strange tingling at the roots of the hair. now the people upon the roofs were shouting their utmost, and the voices of many women united in one shrill, piercing cry. but he never turned to look at them. his eyes were always on the charging host which converged so fast upon the alamo. the trumpet blew another signal, and there was a crash so loud that it made ned jump. all the mexican batteries had fired at once over the heads of their own troops at the alamo. while the gunners reloaded the smoke of the discharge drifted away and the alamo still stood silent. but over it yet hung a banner on which was written in great letters the word, "texas." the mexican troops were coming close now. the bands playing the deguelo swelled to greater volume and the ground shook again as the mexican artillery fired its second volley. when the smoke drifted away again the alamo itself suddenly burst into flame. the texan cannon at close range poured their shot and shell into the dense ranks of the mexicans. but piercing through the heavy thud of the cannon came the shriller and more deadly crackle of the rifles. the texans were there, every one of them, on the walls. he might have known it. nothing on earth could catch them asleep, nor could anything on earth or under it frighten them into laying down their arms. ned began to shout, but only hoarse cries came from a dry throat through dry lips. the great pulses in his throat were leaping again, and he was saying: "the texans! the texans! oh, the brave texans!" but nobody heard him. santa anna, filisola, castrillon, tolsa, gaona and the other generals were leaning against the earthwork, absorbed in the tremendous spectacle that was passing before them. the soldiers who were to guard the prisoner forgot him and they, too, were engrossed in the terrible and thrilling panorama of war. ned might have walked away, no one noticing, but he, too, had but one thought, and that was the alamo. he saw the mexican columns shiver when the first volley was poured upon them from the walls. in a single glance aside he beheld the exultant look on the faces of santa anna and his generals die away, and he suddenly became conscious that the shrill shouting on the flat roofs of the houses had ceased. but the mexican cannon still poured a cloud of shot and shell over the heads of their men at the alamo, and the troops went on. ned, keen of ear and so intent that he missed nothing, could now separate the two fires. the crackle of the rifles which came from the alamo dominated. rapid, steady, incessant, it beat heavily upon the hearing and nerves. pyramids and spires of smoke arose, drifted and arose again. in the intervals he saw the walls of the church a sheet of flame, and he saw the mexicans falling by dozens and scores upon the plain. he knew that at the short range the texan rifles never missed, and that the hail of their bullets was cutting through the mexican ranks like a fire through dry grass. "god, how they fight!" he heard one of the generals--he never knew which--exclaim. then he saw the officers rushing about, shouting to the men, striking them with the flats of their swords and urging them on. the mexican army responded to the appeal, lifted itself up and continued its rush. the fire from the alamo seemed to ned to increase. the fortress was a living flame. he had not thought that men could fire so fast, but they had three or four rifles apiece. the silence which had replaced the shrill shouting in the town continued. all the crash was now in front of them, and where they stood the sound of the human voice would carry. in a dim far-away manner ned heard the guards talking to one another. their words showed uneasiness. it was not the swift triumphal rush into the alamo that they had expected. great swaths had been cut through the mexican army. santa anna paled more than once when he saw his men falling so fast. "they cannot recoil! they cannot!" he cried. but they did. the column led by colonel duque, a brave man, was now at the northern wall, and the men were rushing forward with the crowbars, axes and scaling ladders. the texan rifles, never more deadly, sent down a storm of bullets upon them. a score of men fell all at once. among them was duque, wounded terribly. the whole column broke and reeled away, carrying duque with them. ned saw the face of santa anna turn purple with rage. he struck the earthwork furiously with the flat of his sword. "go! go!" he cried to gaona and tolsa. "rally them! see that they do not run!" the two generals sprang from the battery and rushed to their task. the mexican cannon had ceased firing, for fear of shooting down their own men, and the smoke was drifting away from the field. the morning was also growing much lighter. the gray dawn had turned to silver, and the sun's red rim was just showing above the eastern horizon. the texan cannon were silent, too. the rifles were now doing all the work. the volume of their fire never diminished. ned saw the field covered with slain, and many wounded were drifting back to the shelter of the earthworks and the town. duque's column was rallied, but the column on the east and the column on the west were also driven back, and santa anna rushed messenger after messenger, hurrying up fresh men, still driving the whole mexican army against the alamo. he shouted orders incessantly, although he remained safe within the shelter of the battery. ned felt an immense joy. he had seen the attack beaten off at three points. a force of twenty to one had been compelled to recoil. his heart swelled with pride in those friends of his. but they were so few in number! even now the mexican masses were reforming. the officers were among them, driving them forward with threats and blows. the great ring of mexican cavalry, intended to keep any of the texans from escaping, also closed in, driving their own infantry forward to the assault. ned's heart sank as the whole mexican army, gathering now at the northern or lower wall, rushed straight at the barrier. but the deadly fire of the rifles flashed from it, and their front line went down. again they recoiled, and again the cavalry closed in, holding them to the task. there was a pause of a few moments. the town had been silent for a long time, and the mexican soldiers themselves ceased to shout. clouds of smoke eddied and drifted about the buildings. the light of the morning, first gray, then silver, turned to gold. the sun, now high above the earth's rim, poured down a flood of rays. everything stood out sharp and clear. ned saw the buildings of the alamo dark against the sun, and he saw men on the walls. he saw the mexican columns pressed together in one great force, and he even saw the still faces of many who lay silent on the plain. he knew that the mexicans were about to charge again, and his feeling of exultation passed. he no longer had hope that the defenders of the alamo could beat back so many. he thought again how few, how very few, were the texans. the silence endured but a moment or two. then the mexicans rushed forward in a mighty mass at the low northern wall, the front lines firing as they went. flame burst from the wall, and ned heard once more the deadly crackle of the texan rifles. the ground was littered by the trail of the mexican fallen, but, driven by their officers, they went on. ned saw them reach the wall and plant the scaling ladders, many of them. scores of men swarmed up the ladders and over the wall. a heavy division forced its way into the redoubt through the sallyport, and as ned saw he uttered a deep gasp. he knew that the alamo was doomed. and the mexicans knew it, too. the shrill screaming of the women began again from the flat roofs of the houses, and shouts burst from the army also. "we have them! we have them!" cried santa anna, exultant and excited. sheets of flame still burst from the alamo, and the rifles still poured bullets on the swarming mexican forces, but the breach had been made. the mexicans went over the low wall in an unbroken stream, and they crowded through the sallyport by hundreds. they were inside now, rushing with the overwhelming weight of twenty to one upon the little garrison. they seized the texan guns, cutting down the gunners with lances and sabers, and they turned the captured cannon upon the defenders. some of the buildings inside the walls were of adobe, and they were soon shattered by the cannon balls. the texans, covered with smoke and dust and the sweat of battle, were forced back by the press of numbers into the convent yard, and then into the church and hospital. here the cannon and rifles in hundreds were turned upon them, but they still fought. often, with no time to reload their rifles, they clubbed them, and drove back the mexican rush. the alamo was a huge volcano of fire and smoke, of shouting and death. those who looked on became silent again, appalled at the sights and sounds. the smoke rose far above the mission, and caught by a light wind drifted away to the east. the mexican generals brought up fresh forces and drove them at the fortress. a heavy column, attacking on the south side, where no defenders were now left, poured over a stockade and crowded into the mission. the circle of cavalry about the alamo again drew closer, lest any texan should escape. but it was a useless precaution. none sought flight. in very truth, the last hope of the alamo was gone, and perhaps there was none among the defenders who did not know it. there were a few wild and desperate characters of the border, whom nothing in life became so much as their manner of leaving it. in the culminating moment of the great tragedy they bore themselves as well as the best. travis, the commander, and bonham stood in the long room of the hospital with a little group around them, most of them wounded, the faces of all black with powder smoke. but they fought on. whenever a mexican appeared at the door an unerring rifle bullet struck him down. fifty fell at that single spot before the rifles, yet they succeeded in dragging up a cannon, thrust its muzzle in at the door and fired it twice loaded with grape shot into the room. the texans were cut down by the shower of missiles, and the whole place was filled with smoke. then the mexicans rushed in and the few texans who had survived the grape shot fell fighting to the last with their clubbed rifles. here lay travis of the white soul and beside him fell the brave bonham, who had gone out for help, and who had returned to die with his comrades. the texans who had defended the room against so many were only fifteen in number, and they were all silent now. now the whole attack converged on the church, the strongest part of the alamo, where the texans were making their last stand. the place was seething with fire and smoke, but above it still floated the banner upon which was written in great letters the word, "texas." the mexicans, pressing forward in dense masses, poured in cannon balls and musket balls at every opening. half the texans were gone, but the others never ceased to fire with their rifles. within that raging inferno they could hardly see one another for the smoke, but they were all animated by the same purpose, to fight to the death and to carry as many of their foes with them as they could. evans, who had commanded the cannon, rushed for the magazine to blow up the building. they had agreed that if all hope were lost he should do so, but he was killed on his way by a bullet, and the others went on with the combat. near the entrance to the church stood a great figure swinging a clubbed rifle. his raccoon skin cap was lost, and his eyes burned like coals of fire in his swarthy face. it was crockett, gone mad with battle, and the mexicans who pressed in recoiled before the deadly sweep of the clubbed rifle. some were awed by the terrific figure, dripping blood, and wholly unconscious of danger. "forward!" cried a mexican officer, and one of his men went down with a shattered skull. the others shrank back again, but a new figure pressed into the ring. it was that of the younger urrea. at the last moment he had left the cavalry and joined in the assault. "don't come within reach of his blows!" he cried. "shoot him! shoot him!" he snatched a double-barreled pistol from his own belt and fired twice straight at crockett's breast. the great tennesseean staggered, dropped his rifle and the flame died from his eyes. with a howl of triumph his foes rushed upon him, plunged their swords and bayonets into his body, and he fell dead with a heap of the mexican slain about him. a bullet whistled past urrea's face and killed a man beyond him. he sprang back. bowie, still suffering severe injuries from a fall from a platform, was lying on a cot in the arched room to the left of the entrance. unable to walk, he had received at his request two pistols, and now he was firing them as fast as he could pull the triggers and reload. "shoot him! shoot him at once!" cried urrea. his own pistol was empty now, but a dozen musket balls were fired into the room. bowie, hit twice, nevertheless raised himself upon his elbow, aimed a pistol with a clear eye and a steady hand, and pulled the trigger. a mexican fell, shot through the heart, but another volley of musket balls was discharged at the georgian. struck in both head and heart he suddenly straightened out and lay still upon the cot. thus died the famous bowie. mrs. dickinson and her baby had been hidden in the arched room on the other side for protection. the mexicans killed a texan named walters at the entrance, and, wild with ferocity, raised his body upon a half dozen bayonets while the blood ran down in a dreadful stream upon those who held it aloft. urrea rushed into the room and found the cowering woman and her baby. the mexicans followed, and were about to slay them, too, when a gallant figure rushed between. it was the brave and humane almonte. sword in hand, he faced the savage horde. he uttered words that made urrea turn dark with shame and leave the room. the soldiers were glad to follow. at the far end of the church a few texans were left, still fighting with clubbed rifles. the mexicans drew back a little, raised their muskets and fired an immense shattering volley. when the smoke cleared away not a single texan was standing, and then the troops rushed in with sword and bayonet. it was nine o'clock in the morning, and the alamo had fallen. the defenders were less than nine score, and they had died to the last man. a messenger rushed away at once to santa anna with the news of the triumph, and he came from the shelter, glorying, exulting and crying that he had destroyed the texans. ned followed the dictator. he never knew exactly why, because many of those moments were dim, like the scenes of a dream, and there was so much noise, excitement and confusion that no one paid any attention to him. but an overwhelming power drew him on to the alamo, and he rushed in with the mexican spectators. ned passed through the sallyport and he reeled back aghast for a moment. the mexican dead, not yet picked up, were strewn everywhere. they had fallen in scores. the lighter buildings were smashed by cannon balls and shells. the earth was gulleyed and torn. the smoke from so much firing drifted about in banks and clouds, and it gave forth the pungent odor of burned gunpowder. the boy knew not only that the alamo had fallen, but that all of its defenders had fallen with it. the knowledge was instinctive. he had been with those men almost to the last day of the siege, and he had understood their spirit. he was not noticed in the crush. santa anna and the generals were running into the church, and he followed them. here he saw the texan dead, and he saw also a curious crowd standing around a fallen form. he pressed into the ring and his heart gave a great throb of grief. it was crockett, lying upon his back, his body pierced by many wounds. ned had known that he would find him thus, but the shock, nevertheless, was terrible. yet crockett's countenance was calm. he bore no wounds in the face, and he lay almost as if he had died in his bed. it seemed to ned even in his grief that no more fitting death could have come to the old hero. then, following another crowd, he saw bowie, also lying peacefully in death upon his cot. he felt the same grief for him that he had felt for crockett, but it soon passed in both cases. a strange mood of exaltation took its place. they had died as one might wish to die, since death must come to all. it was glorious that these defenders of the alamo, comrades of his, should have fallen to the last man. the full splendor of their achievement suddenly burst in a dazzling vision before him. texans who furnished such valor could not be conquered. santa anna might have twenty to one or fifty to one or a hundred to one, in the end it would not matter. the mood endured. he looked upon the dead faces of travis and bonham also, and he was not shaken. he saw others, dozens and dozens whom he knew, and the faces of all of them seemed peaceful to him. the shouting and cheering and vast chatter of the mexicans did not disturb him. his mood was so high that all these things passed as nothing. ned made no attempt to escape. he knew that while he might go about almost as he chose in this crowd of soldiers, now disorganized, the ring of cavalry beyond would hold him. the thought of escape, however, was but little in his mind just then. he was absorbed in the great tomb of the alamo. here, despite the recent work of the cannon, all things looked familiar. he could mark the very spots where he had stood and talked with crockett or bowie. he knew how the story of the immortal defence would spread like fire throughout texas and beyond. when he should tell how he had seen the faces of the heroes, every heart must leap. he wandered back to the church, where the curious still crowded. many people from the town, influential mexicans, wished to see the terrible texans, who yet lay as they had fallen. some spoke scornful words, but most regarded them with awe. ned looked at crockett for the second time, and a hand touched him on the shoulder. it was urrea. "where are your texans now?" he asked. "they are gone," replied ned, "but they will never be forgotten." and then he added in a flash of anger. "five or six times as many mexicans have gone with them." "it is true," said the young mexican thoughtfully. "they fought like cornered mountain wolves. we admit it. and this one, crockett you call him, was perhaps the most terrible of them all. he swung his clubbed rifle so fiercely that none dared come within its reach. i slew him." "you?" exclaimed ned. "yes, i! why should i not? i fired two pistol bullets into him and he fell." he spoke with a certain pride. ned said nothing, but he pressed his teeth together savagely and his heart swelled with hate of the sleek and triumphant urrea. "general santa anna, engrossed in much more important matters, has doubtless forgotten you," continued the mexican, "but i will see that you do not escape. why he spares you i know not, but it is his wish." he called to two soldiers, whom he detailed to follow ned and see that he made no attempt to escape. the boy was yet so deeply absorbed in the alamo that no room was left in his mind for anything else. nor did he care to talk further with urrea, who he knew was not above aiming a shaft or two at an enemy in his power. he remained in the crowd until santa anna ordered that all but the troops be cleared from the alamo. then, at the order of the dictator, the bodies of the texans were taken without. a number of them were spread upon the ground, and were covered with a thick layer of dry wood and brush. then more bodies of men and heaps of dry wood were spread in alternate layers until the funeral pile was complete. young urrea set the torch, while the mexican army and population looked on. the dry wood flamed up rapidly and the whole was soon a pyramid of fire and smoke. ned was not shocked at this end, even of the bodies of brave men. he recalled the stories of ancient heroes, the bodies of whom had been consumed on just such pyres as this, and he was willing that his comrades should go to join hercules, hector, achilles and the rest. the flames roared and devoured the great pyramid, which sank lower, and at last ned turned away. his mood of exaltation was passing. no one could remain keyed to that pitch many hours. overwhelming grief and despair came in its place. his mind raged against everything, against the cruelty of santa anna, who had hoisted the red flag of no quarter, against fate, that had allowed so many brave men to perish, and against the overwhelming numbers that the mexicans could always bring against the texans. he walked gloomily toward the town, the two soldiers who had been detailed as guards following close behind him. he looked back, saw the sinking blaze of the funeral pyre, shuddered and walked on. san antonio de bexar was rejoicing. most of its people, mexican to the core, shared in the triumph of santa anna. the terrible texans were gone, annihilated, and santa anna was irresistible. the conquest of texas was easy now. no, it was achieved already. they had the dictator's own word for it that the rest was a mere matter of gathering up the fragments. some of the graver and more kindly mexican officers thought of their own losses. the brave and humane almonte walked through the courts and buildings of the alamo, and his face blanched when he reckoned their losses. a thousand men killed or wounded was a great price to pay for the nine score texans who were sped. but no such thoughts troubled santa anna. all the vainglory of his nature was aflame. they were decorating the town with all the flags and banners and streamers they could find, and he knew that it was for him. at night they would illuminate in his honor. he stretched out his arm toward the north and west, and murmured that it was all his. he would be the ruler of an empire half the size of europe. the scattered and miserable texans could set no bounds to his ambition. he had proved it. he would waste no more time in that empty land of prairies and plains. he sent glowing dispatches about his victory to the city of mexico and announced that he would soon come. his subordinates would destroy the wandering bands of texans. then he did another thing that appealed to his vanity. he wrote a proclamation to the texans announcing the fall of the alamo, and directing them to submit at once, on pain of death, to his authority. he called for mrs. dickinson, the young wife, now widow, whom the gallantry of almonte had saved from massacre in the alamo. he directed her to take his threat to the texans at gonzales, and she willingly accepted. mounting a horse and alone save for the baby in her arms, she rode away from san antonio, shuddering at the sight of the mexicans, and passed out upon the desolate and dangerous prairies. the dictator was so absorbed in his triumph and his plans for his greater glory that for the time he forgot all about ned fulton, his youthful prisoner, who had crossed the stream and who was now in the town, attended by the two peons whom urrea had detailed as his guards. but ned had come out of his daze, and his mind was as keen and alert as ever. the effects of the great shock of horror remained. his was not a bitter nature, but he could not help feeling an intense hatred of the mexicans. he was on the battle line, and he saw what they were doing. he resolved that now was his time to escape, and in the great turmoil caused by the excitement and rejoicing in san antonio he did not believe that it would be difficult. he carefully cultivated the good graces of the two soldiers who were guarding him. he bought for them mescal and other fiery drinks which were now being sold in view of the coming festival. their good nature increased and also their desire to get rid of a task that had been imposed upon them. why should they guard a boy when everybody else was getting ready to be merry? they went toward the main plaza, and came to the zambrano row, where the texans had fought their way when they took san antonio months before. ned looked up at the buildings. they were still dismantled. great holes were in the walls and the empty windows were like blind eyes. he saw at once that their former inhabitants had not yet returned to them, and here he believed was his chance. when they stood beside the first house he called the attention of his guards to some mexican women who were decorating a doorway across the street. when they looked he darted into the first of the houses in the zambrano row. he entered a large room and at the corner saw a stairway. he knew this place. he had been here in the siege of san antonio by the texans, and now he had the advantage over his guards, who were probably strangers. he rushed for the staircase and, just as he reached the top, one of the guards, who had followed as soon as they noticed the flight of the prisoner, fired his musket. the discharge roared in the room, but the bullet struck the wall fully a foot away from the target. ned was on the second floor, and out of range the next moment. he knew that the soldiers would follow him, and he passed through the great hole, broken by the texans, into the next house. here he paused to listen, and he heard the two soldiers muttering and breathing heavily. the distaste which they already felt for their task had become a deep disgust. why should they be deprived of their part in the festival to follow up a prisoner? what did a single captive amount to, anyhow? even if he escaped now the great, the illustrious santa anna, whose eyes saw all things, would capture him later on when he swept all the scattered texans into his basket. ned went from house to house through the holes broken in the party walls, and occasionally he heard his pursuers slouching along and grumbling. at the fourth house he slipped out upon the roof, and lay flat near the stone coping. he knew that if the soldiers came upon the roof they would find him, but he relied upon the mescal and their lack of zeal. he heard them once tramping about in the room below him, and then he heard them no more. ned remained all the rest of the afternoon upon the roof, not daring to leave his cramped position against the coping. he felt absolutely safe there from observation, mexicans would not be prowling through dismantled and abandoned houses at such a time. now and then gay shouts came from the streets below. the mexicans of bexar were disturbed little by the great numbers of their people who had fallen at the alamo. the dead were from the far valleys of mexico, and were strangers. ned afterward thought that he must have slept a little toward twilight, but he was never sure of it. he saw the sun set, and the gray and silent alamo sink away into the darkness. then he slipped from the roof, anxious to be away before the town was illuminated. he had no difficulty at all in passing unnoticed through the streets, and he made his way straight for the alamo. he was reckoning very shrewdly now. he knew that the superstitious mexicans would avoid the mission at night as a place thronged with ghosts, and that santa anna would not need to post any guard within those walls. he would pass through the inclosures, then over the lower barriers by which the mexicans had entered, and thence into the darkness beyond. it seemed to him the best road to escape, and he had another object also in entering the alamo. the defenders had had three or four rifles apiece, and he was convinced that somewhere in the rooms he would find a good one, with sufficient ammunition. it was with shudders that he entered the alamo, and the shudders came again when he looked about the bloodstained courts and rooms, lately the scene of such terrible strife, but now so silent. in a recess of the church which had been used as a little storage place by himself and crockett he found an excellent rifle of the long-barreled western pattern, a large horn of powder and a pouch full of bullets. there was also a supply of dried beef, which he took, too. now he felt himself a man again. he would find the texans and then they would seek vengeance for the alamo. he crossed the main plaza, dropped over the low wall and quickly disappeared in the dusk. chapter xiv the news of the fall five days before the fall of the alamo a little group of men began to gather at the village of washington, on the brazos river in texas. the name of the little town indicated well whence its people had come. all the houses were new, mostly of unpainted wood, and they contained some of the furniture of necessity, none of luxury. the first and most important article was the rifle which the texans never needed more than they did now. but this new and little washington was seething with excitement and suspense, and its population was now more than triple the normal. news had come that the alamo was beleaguered by a force many times as numerous as its defenders, and that crockett, bowie, travis and other famous men were inside. they had heard also that santa anna had hoisted the red flag of no quarter, and that texans everywhere, if taken, would be slaughtered as traitors. the people of washington had full cause for their excitement and suspense. the little town also had the unique distinction of being a capital for a day or two. the texans felt, with the news that santa anna had enveloped the alamo, that they must take decisive action. they believed that the mexicans had broken every promise to the texans. they knew that not only their liberty and property, but their lives, also, were in peril. despite the great disparity of numbers it must be a fight to the death between texas and mexico. the texans were now gathering at washington. one man who inspired courage wherever he went had come already. sam houston had ridden into town, calm, confident and talking only of victory. he was dressed with a neatness and care unusual on the border, wearing a fine black suit, while his face was shaded by the wide brim of a white sombrero. the famous scouts, "deaf" smith and henry karnes, and young zavala, whom ned had known in mexico, were there also. fifty-eight delegates representing texas gathered in the largest room of a frame building. "deaf" smith and henry karnes came in and sat with their rifles across their knees. while some of the delegates were talking houston signaled to the two, and they went outside. "what do you hear from the alamo, smith?" asked houston. "travis has fought off all the attacks of the mexicans," replied the great borderer, "but when santa anna brings up his whole force an' makes a resolute assault it's bound to go under. the mission is too big an' scattered to be held by travis an' his men against forty or fifty times their number." "i fear so. i fear so," said houston sadly, "and we can't get together enough men for its relief. all this quarreling and temporizing are our ruin. heavens, what a time for disagreements!" "there couldn't be a worse time, general," said henry karnes. "me an' 'deaf' would like mighty well to march to the alamo. a lot of our friends are in there an' i reckon we've seen them for the last time." the fine face of houston grew dark with melancholy. "have you been anywhere near san antonio?" he asked smith. "not nearer than thirty miles," replied smith, "but over at goliad i saw a force under colonel fannin that was gettin' ready to start to the relief of travis. with it were some friends of mine. there was palmer, him they call the panther, the biggest and strongest man in texas; obed white, a new englander, an' a boy, will allen. i've knowed 'em well for some time, and there was another that belonged to their little band. but he's in the alamo now, an' they was wild to rescue him." "do you think fannin will get through?" asked houston. "i don't," replied smith decidedly, "an' if he did it would just mean the loss of more good men for us. what do you think about it, hank?" "the same that you do," replied karnes. houston pondered over their words a long time. he knew that they were thoroughly acquainted with texas and the temper of its people, and he relied greatly on their judgment. when he went back in the room which was used as a convention hall smith and karnes remained outside. smith sat down on the grass, lighted a pipe and began to smoke deliberately. karnes also sat down on the grass, lighted his own pipe and smoked with equal deliberation. each man rested his rifle across his knees. "looks bad," said smith. "powerful bad." "almighty bad." "talkin's no good when the enemy's shootin'." "reckon there's nothin' left for us but this," tapping the barrel of his rifle significantly. "only tool that's left for us to use." "reckon we'll soon have as many chances as we want to use it, an' more." "reckon you're almighty right." "an' we'll be there every time." the two men reached over and shook hands deliberately. houston by and by came out again, and saw them sitting there smoking, two images of patience and quiet. "boys," he said, "you're not taking much part in the proceedings." "not much, just yet, colonel sam," replied smith, "but we're waitin'. i reckon that to-morrow you'll declare texas free an' independent, a great an' good republic. an' as there ain't sixty of you to declare it, mebbe you'll need the help of some fellows like hank an' me to make them resolutions come true." "we will," said houston, "and we know that we can rely upon you." he was about to pass on, but he changed his mind and sat down with the men. houston was a singular character. he had been governor of an important state, and he had lived as a savage among savages. he could adapt himself to any company. "boys," he said, "you know a merchant, john roylston, who has headquarters in new orleans, and also offices in st. louis and cincinnati?" "we do," said smith, "an' we've seen him, too, more than once. he's been in these parts not so long ago." "he's in new orleans now," said houston. "he's the biggest trader along the coast. has dealings with santa anna himself, but he's a friend of texas, a powerful one. boys, i've in my pocket now an order from him good for a hundred thousand dollars. it's to be spent buying arms and ammunition for us. and when the time comes there's more coming from the same place. we've got friends, but keep this to yourselves." he walked on and the two took a long and meditative pull at their pipes. "i reckon roylston may not shoot as straight as we can," said smith, "but mebbe at as long range as new orleans he can do more harm to the mexicans than we can." "looks like it. i ain't much of a hand at money, but i like the looks of that man roylston, an' i reckon the more rifles and the more ammunition we have the fewer mexicans will be left." the two scouts, having smoked as long as they wished, went to their quarters and slept soundly through the night. but houston and the leading texans with him hardly slept at all. there was but one course to choose, and they were fully aware of its gravity, houston perhaps more so than the rest, as he had seen more of the world. they worked nearly all night in the bare room, and when houston sought his room he was exhausted. houston's room was a bare little place, lighted by a tallow candle, and although it was not long until day he sat there a while before lying down. a man of wide experience, he alone, with the exception of roylston, knew how desperate was the situation of the texans. in truth, it was the money of roylston sent from new orleans that had caused him to hazard the chance. he knew, too, that, in time, more help would arrive from the same source, and he believed there would be a chance against the mexicans, a fighting chance, it is true, but men who were willing to die for a cause seldom failed to win. he blew out the candle, got in bed and slept soundly. "deaf" smith and henry karnes were up early--they seldom slept late--and saw the sun rise out of the prairie. they were in a house which had a small porch, looking toward the brazos. after breakfast they lighted their cob pipes again, smoked and meditated. "reckon somethin' was done by our leadin' statesmen last night," said smith. "reckon there was," said karnes. "reckon i can guess what it was." "reckon i can, too." "reckon i'll wait to hear it offish-ul-ly before i speak." "reckon i will, too. lots of time wasted talkin'." "reckon you're right." they sat in silence for a full two hours. they smoked the first hour, and they passed the second in their chairs without moving. they had mastered the borderer's art of doing nothing thoroughly, when nothing was to be done. then a man came upon the porch and spoke to them. his name was burnet, david g. burnet. "good mornin'. how is the new republic?" said "deaf" smith. "so you know," said burnet. "we don't know, but we've guessed, hank an' me. we saw things as they was comin'." "i reckon, too," said karnes, "that we ain't a part of mexico any more." "no, we're a free an' independent republic. it was so decided last night, and we've got nothing more to do now but to whip a nation of eight millions, the fifty thousand of us." "well," said smith philosophically, "it's a tough job, but it might be did. i've heard tell that them old greeks whipped the persians when the odds were powerful high against them." "that is true," said burnet, "and we can at least try. we give the reason for declaring our independence. we assert to the world that the mexican republic has become a military despotism, that our agents carrying petitions have been thrown in dungeons in the city of mexico, that we have been ordered to give up the arms necessary for our defence against the savages, and that we have been deprived of every right guaranteed to us when we settled here." "we're glad it's done, although we knew it would be done," said smith. "we ain't much on talkin', mr. president, hank an' me, but we can shoot pretty straight, an' we're at your call." "i know that, god bless you both," said burnet. "the talking is over. it's rifles that we need and plenty of them. now i've to see houston. we're to talk over ways and means." he hurried away, and the two, settling back into their chairs on the porch, relighted their pipes and smoked calmly. "reckon there'll be nothin' doin' for a day or two, hank," said smith. "reckon not, but we'll have to be doin' a powerful lot later, or be hoofin' it for the tall timber a thousand miles north." "you always was full of sense, hank. now there goes sam houston. queer stories about his leavin' tennessee and his life in the indian territory." "that's so, but he's an honest man, looks far ahead, an' 'tween you an' me, 'deaf,' it's a thousand to one that he's to lead us in the war." "reckon you're guessin' good." houston, who had just awakened and dressed, was walking across the grass and weeds to meet burnet. not even he, when he looked at the tiny village and the wilderness spreading about it, foresaw how mighty a state was to rise from beginnings so humble and so small. he and burnet went back into the convention hall, and he wrote a fiery appeal to the people. he said that the alamo was beleaguered and "the citizens of texas must rally to the aid of our army or it will perish." smith and karnes remained while the convention continued its work. they did little ostensibly but smoke their cob pipes, but they observed everything and thought deeply. on sunday morning, five days after the men had gathered at washington, as they stood at the edge of the little town they saw a man galloping over the prairie. neither spoke, but watched him for a while, as the unknown came on, lashing a tired horse. "'pears to be in a hurry," said smith. "an' to be in a hurry generally means somethin' in these parts," said karnes. "i'm makin' 'a guess." "so am i, an' yours is the same as mine. he comes from the alamo." others now saw the man, and there was a rush toward him. his horse fell at the edge of the town, but the rider sprang to his feet and came toward the group, which included both houston and burnet. he was a wild figure, face and clothing covered with dust. but he recognized houston and turned to him at once. "you're general houston, and i'm from the alamo," he said. "i bring a message from colonel travis." there was a sudden and heavy intake of breath in the whole group. "then the alamo has not fallen?" said houston. "not when i left, but that was three days ago. here is the letter." it was the last letter of travis, concluding with the words: "god and texas; victory or death." but when the messenger put the letter into the hands of houston the alamo had fallen two hours before. the letter was laid before the convention, and the excitement was great and irrepressible. the feelings of these stern men were moved deeply. many wished to adjourn at once and march to the relief of the alamo, but the eloquence of houston, who had been reelected commander-in-chief, prevailed against the suggestion. then, with two or three men, he departed for gonzales to raise a force, while the others elected burnet president of the new texas, and departed for harrisburg on buffalo bayou. "deaf" smith and henry karnes did not go just then with houston. they were scouts, hunters and rough riders, and they could do as they pleased. they notified general sam houston, commander-in-chief of the texan armies, that they would come on later, and he was content. when the texan government and the texan army, numbering combined about a hundred men, followed by most of the population, numbering fifty or sixty more, filed off for gonzales, the two sat once more on the same porch, smoking their cob pipes. they were not ordinary men. they were not ordinary scouts and borderers. one from the north and one from the south, they were much alike in their mental processes, their faculties of keen observation and deep reasoning. both were now stirred to the core, but neither showed a trace of it on his face. they watched the little file pass away over the prairie until it was lost to sight behind the swells, and then smith spoke: "i reckon you an' me, hank, will ride toward the alamo." "i reckon we will, deaf, and that right away." inside of five minutes they were on the road, armed and provisioned, the best two borderers, with the single exception of the panther, in all the southwest. they were mounted on powerful mustangs, which, with proper handling and judicious rests, could go on forever. but they pushed them a little that afternoon, stopped for two hours after sundown, and then went on again. they crossed the colorado river in the night, swimming their horses, and about a mile further on stopped in dense chaparral. they tethered the mustangs near them, and spread out their blankets. "if anything comes the horses will wake us," said smith. "i reckon they will," said karnes. both were fast asleep in a few minutes, but they awoke shortly after sunrise. they made a frugal breakfast, while the mustangs had cropped short grass in the night. both horses and men, as tough and wiry as they ever become, were again as fresh as the dawn, and, with not more than a dozen words spoken, the two mounted and rode anew on their quest. always chary of speech, they became almost silence itself as they drew nearer to san antonio de bexar. in the heart of each was a knowledge of the great tragedy, not surmise, but the certainty that acute intelligence deduces from facts. they rode on until, by a simultaneous impulse, the two reined their horses back into a cypress thicket and waited. they had seen three horsemen on the sky line, coming, in the main, in their direction. their trained eyes noticed at once that the strangers were of varying figure. the foremost, even at the distance, seemed to be gigantic, the second was very long and thin, and the third was normal. smith and karnes watched them a little while, and then karnes spoke in words of true conviction. "it would be hard, deaf, for even a bad eye to mistake the foremost." "right you are, hank. you might comb texas with a fine-tooth comb an' you'd never rake out such another." "if that ain't mart palmer, the ring tailed panther, i'll go straight to santa anna an' ask him to shoot me as a fool." "you won't have to go to santa anna." smith rode from the covert, put his curved hand to his mouth, and uttered a long piercing cry. the three horsemen stopped at once, and the giant in the lead gave back the signal in the same fashion. then the two little parties rode rapidly toward each other. while they were yet fifty yards apart they uttered words of hail and good fellowship, and when they met they shook hands with the friendship that has been sealed by common hardships and dangers. "you're goin' toward the alamo?" said smith. "yes," replied the panther. "we started that way several days ago, but we've been delayed. we had a brush with one little party of mexicans, and we had to dodge another that was too big for us. i take it that you ride for the same place." "we do. were you with fannin?" the dark face of the panther grew darker. "we were," he replied. "he started to the relief of the alamo, but the ammunition wagon broke down, an' they couldn't get the cannon across the san antonio river. so me an' obed white an' will allen here have come on alone." "news for news," said smith dryly. "texas has just been made a free an' independent republic, an' sam houston has been made commander-in-chief of all its mighty armies, horse, foot an' cannon. we saw all them things done back there at washington settlement, an' we, bein' a part of the army, are ridin' to the relief of the alamo." "we j'in you, then," said the panther, "an' texas raises two armies of the strength of three an' two to one of five. oh, if only all the texans had come what a roarin' an' rippin' an' t'arin' and chawin' there would have been when we struck santa anna's army, no matter how big it might be." "but they didn't come," said smith grimly, "an' as far as i know we five are all the texans that are ridin' toward san antonio de bexar an' the alamo." "but bein' only five won't keep us from ridin' on," said the panther. "and things are not always as bad as they look," said obed white, after he had heard of the messenger who had come to houston and unmet. "it's never too late to hope." the five rode fast the remainder of the day. they passed through a silent and desolate land. they saw a few cabins, but every one was abandoned. the deep sense of tragedy was over them all, even over young will allen. they rarely spoke, and they rode along in silence, save for the beat of their horses' hoofs. shortly before night they met a lone buffalo hunter whom the panther knew. "have you been close to san antonio, simpson?" asked the panther, after the greeting. "i've been three or four days hangin' 'roun' the neighborhood," replied the hunter. "i came down from the northwest when i heard that santa anna was advancing an' once i thought i'd make a break an' try to get into the alamo, but the mexican lines was drawed too thick an' close." "have you heard anything about the men inside?" asked the panther eagerly. "not a thing. but i've noticed this. a mornin' an' evenin' gun was fired from the fortress every day until yesterday, sunday, an' since then--nothin'." the silence in the little band was as ominous as the silence of the morning and evening gun. simpson shook his head sadly. "boys," he said, "i'm goin' to ride for gonzales an' join houston. i don't think it's any use for me to be hangin' aroun' san antonio de bexar any longer. i wish you luck in whatever you're tryin' to do." he rode away, but the five friends continued their course toward the alamo, without hope now, but resolved to see for themselves. deep in the night, which fortunately for their purpose was dark, heavy clouds shutting out the moon and stars, they approached san antonio from the east. they saw lights, which they knew were those of the town, but there was darkness only where they knew the alamo stood. they tethered their horses in some bushes and crept closer, until they could see the dim bulk of the alamo. no light shone there. they listened long and intently, but not a single sound came from the great hecatomb. again they crept nearer. there were no mexican guards anywhere. a little further and they stood by the low northern wall. "boys," said the panther, "i can't stand it any longer. queer feelin's are runnin' all over me. no, i'm goin' to take the risk, if there is any, all alone. you wait for me here, an' if i don't come back in an hour then you can hunt for me." the panther climbed over the wall and disappeared. the others remained in the deepest shadow waiting and silent. they were oppressed by the heavy gloom that hung over the alamo. it was terrifying to young will allen, not the terror that is caused by the fear of men, but the terror that comes from some tragic mystery that is more than half guessed. nearly an hour passed, when a great figure leaped lightly from the wall and joined them. the swarthy face of the panther was as white as chalk, and he was shivering. "boys," he whispered, "i've seen what i never want to see ag'in. i've seen red, red everywhere. i've been through the rooms of the alamo, an' they're red, splashed with the red blood of men. the water in the ditch was stained with red, an' the earth all about was soaked with it. somethin' awful must have happened in the alamo. there must have been a terrible fight, an' i'm thinkin' that most of our fellows must have died before it was took. but it's give me the creeps, boys, an' i think we'd better get away." "we can't leave any too quick to please me," said will alien. "i'm seeing ghosts all the time." "now that we know for sure the alamo has fallen," said smith, "nothin' is to be gained by stayin' here. it's for sam houston to lead us to revenge, and the more men he has the better. i vote we ride for gonzales." "seein' what we can see as we go," said karnes. "the more information we can pick up on the way about the march of the mexicans the better it will be for houston." "no doubt of that," said the panther. "when we go to roarin' an' rippin' an' t'arin' we must know what we're about. but come on, boys, all that red in the alamo gives me conniption fits." they rode toward the east for a long time until they thought they were beyond the reach of mexican skirmishing parties, and then they slept in a cypress thicket, smith and karnes standing guard by turns. as everybody needed rest they did not resume their journey the next day until nearly noon, and they spent most of the afternoon watching for mexican scouts, although they saw none. they had a full rest that night and the next day they rode slowly toward gonzales. about the middle of the afternoon, as they reached the crest of a swell, will allen uttered an exclamation, and pointed toward the eastern horizon. there they saw a single figure on horseback, and another walking beside it. the afternoon sun was very bright, casting a glow over the distant figures, and, shading their eyes with their hands, they gazed at them a long time. "it's a woman that's ridin'," said smith at last, "an' she's carryin' some sort of a bundle before her." "you're shorely right, deaf," said karnes, "an' i think the one walkin' is a black fellow. looks like it from here." "i'm your way of thinkin'," said the panther, "an' the woman on the horse is american, or i'm mightily fooled in my guess. s'pose we ride ahead faster an' see for shore." they increased the speed of their mustangs to a gallop and rapidly overhauled the little party. they saw the woman trying to urge her horse to greater speed. but the poor beast, evidently exhausted, made no response. the woman, turning in the saddle, looked back at her pursuers. "by all that's wonderful!" exclaimed obed white, "the bundle that she's carrying is a baby!" "it's so," said smith, "an' you can see well enough now that she's one of our own people. we must show her that she's got nothin' to fear from us." he shouted through his arched hands in tremendous tones that they were texans and friends. the woman stopped, and as they galloped up she would have fallen from her horse had not obed white promptly seized her and, dismounting, lifted her and the baby tenderly to the ground. the colored boy who had been walking stood by and did not say anything aloud, but muttered rapidly: "thank the lord! thank the lord!" three of the five were veteran hunters, but they had never before found such a singular party on the prairie. the woman sat down on the ground, still holding the baby tightly in her arms, and shivered all over. the texans regarded her in pitying silence for a few minutes, and then obed white said in gentle tones: "we are friends, ready to take you to safety. tell us who you are." "i am mrs. dickinson," she replied. "deaf" smith looked startled. "there was a lieutenant dickinson in the alamo," he said. "i am his wife," she replied, "and this is our child." "and where is----" smith stopped suddenly, knowing what the answer must be. "he is dead," she replied. "he fell in the defence of the alamo." "might he not be among the prisoners?" suggested obed white gently. "prisoners!" she replied. "there were no prisoners. they fought to the last. every man who was in the alamo died in its defence." the five stared at her in amazement, and for a little while none spoke. "do you mean to say," asked obed white, "that none of the texans survived the fall of the alamo?" "none," she replied. "how do you know?" her pale face filled with color. it seemed that she, too, at that moment felt some of the glow that the fall of the alamo was to suffuse through texas. "because i saw," she replied. "i was in one of the arched rooms of the church, where they made the last stand. i saw crockett fall and i saw the death of bowie, too. i saw santa anna exult, but many, many mexicans fell also. it was a terrible struggle. i shall see it again every day of my life, even if i live to be a hundred." she covered her face with her hands, as if she would cut out the sight of that last inferno in the church. the others were silent, stunned for the time. "all gone," said obed white, at last. "when the news is spread that every man stood firm to the last i think it will light such a fire in texas that santa anna and all his armies cannot put it out." "did you see a boy called ned fulton in the alamo, a tall, handsome fellow with brown hair and gray eyes?" asked obed white. "often," replied mrs. dickinson. "he was with crockett and bowie a great deal." "and none escaped?" said will allen. "not one," she repeated, "i did not see him in the church in the final assault. he doubtless fell in the hospital or in the convent yard. ah, he was a friend of yours! i am sorry." "yes, he was a friend of ours," said the panther. "he was more than that to me. i loved that boy like a son, an' me an' my comrades here mean to see that the mexicans pay a high price for his death. an' may i ask, ma'am, how you come to be here?" she told him how santa anna had provided her with the horse, and had sent her alone with the proclamation to the texans. at the salado creek she had come upon the negro servant of travis, who had escaped from san antonio, and he was helping her on the way. "an' now, ma'am," said "deaf" smith, "we'll guard you the rest of the way to gonzales." the two little groups, now fused into one, resumed their journey over the prairie. chapter xv in another trap when ned fulton scaled the lowest wall of the alamo and dropped into the darkness he ran for a long time. he scarcely knew in what direction he was going, but he was anxious to get away from that terrible town of san antonio de bexar. he was filled with grief for his friends and anger against santa anna and his people. he had passed through an event so tremendous in its nature, so intense and fiery in its results, that his whole character underwent a sudden change. but a boy in years, the man nevertheless replaced the boy in his mind. he had looked upon the face of awful things, so awful that few men could bear to behold them. there was a certain hardening of his nature now. as he ran, and while the feeling of horror was still upon him, the thought of vengeance swelled into a passion. the texans must strike back for what had been done in the alamo. surely all would come when they heard the news that he was bringing. he believed that the texans, and they must be assembled in force somewhere, would be toward the east or the southeast, at harrisburg or goliad or some other place. he would join them as soon as he could, and he slackened his pace to a walk. he was too good a borderer now to exhaust himself in the beginning. he was overpowered after a while by an immense lethargy. a great collapse, both physical and mental, came after so much exhaustion. he felt that he must rest or die. the night was mild, as the spring was now well advanced in texas, and he sought a dense thicket in which he might lie for a while. but there was no scrub or chaparral within easy reach, and his feeling of lassitude became so great that he stopped when he came to a huge oak and lay down under the branches, which spread far and low. he judged that he was about six miles from san antonio, a reasonably safe distance for the night, and, relaxing completely, he fell asleep. then nature began her great work. the pulses which were beating so fast and hard in the hoy's body grew slower and more regular, and at last became normal. the blood flowed in a fresh and strong current through his veins. the great physician, minute by minute, was building up his system again. ned's collapse had been so complete that he did not stir for hours. the day came and the sun rose brilliant in red and gold. the boy did not stir, but not far away a large animal moved. ned's tree was at the edge of a little grassy plain, and upon this the animal stood, with a head held high and upturned nose sniffing the breeze that came from the direction of the sleeper. it was in truth a great animal, one with tremendous teeth, and after hesitating a while it walked toward the tree under which the boy lay. here it paused and again sniffed the air, which was now strong with the human odor. it remained there a while, staring with great eyes at the sleeping form, and then went back to the grassy little meadow. it revisited the boy at intervals, but never disturbed him, and ned slept peacefully on. it was nearly noon when ned awoke, and he might not have awakened then had not the sun from its new position sent a shaft of light directly into his eyes. he saw that his precious rifle was still lying by his side, and then he sprang to his feet, startled to find by the sun that it was so late. he heard a loud joyous neigh, and a great bay horse trotted toward him. it was old jack, the faithful dumb brute, of which he had thought so rarely during all those tense days in the alamo. the mexicans had not taken him. he was here, and happy chance had brought him and his master together again. it was so keen a joy to see a friend again, even an animal, that ned put his arm around old jack's neck, and for the first time tears came to his eyes. "good old jack!" he said, patting his horse's nose. "you must have been waiting here all the time for me. and you must have fared well, too. i never before saw you looking so fat and saucy." the finding of the horse simplified ned's problem somewhat. he had neither saddle nor bridle, but old jack always obeyed him beautifully. he believed that if it came to the pinch, and it became necessary for him to ride for his life, he could guide him in the indian fashion with the pressure of the knees. he made a sort of halter of withes which he fastened on old jack's head, and then he sprang upon his bare back, feeling equal to almost anything. he rode west by south now, his course taking him toward goliad, and he went on at a good gait until twilight. a little later he made out the shapes of wild turkeys, then very numerous in texas among the boughs of the trees, and he brought a fine fat one down at the first shot. after some difficulty he lighted a fire with the flint and steel, which the mexicans fortunately had not taken from him, toasted great strips over the coals, and ate hungrily of juicy and tender wild turkey. he was all the time aware that his fire might bring danger down upon him, but he was willing to chance it. after he had eaten enough he took the remainder of his turkey and rode on. it was a clear, starry night and, as he had been awake only since noon, he continued until about ten o'clock, when he again took the turf under a tree for a couch. he slipped the rude halter from old jack, patted him on the head and said: "old jack, after the lofty way in which you have behaved i wouldn't disgrace you by tying you up for the night. moreover, i know that you're the best guard i could possibly have, and so, trusting you implicitly, i shall go to sleep." his confidence was justified, and the next morning they were away again over the prairie. ned was sure that he would meet roving texans or mexicans before noon, but he saw neither. he surmised that the news of santa anna's great force had sent all the texans eastward, but the loneliness and desolation nevertheless weighed upon him. he crossed several streams, all of them swollen and deep from spring rains, and every time he came to one he returned thanks again because he had found old jack. the great horse always took the flood without hesitation, and would come promptly to the other bank. he saw many deer, and started up several flights of wild turkeys, but he did not disturb them. he was a soldier now, not a hunter, and he sought men, not animals. another night came and found him still alone on the prairie. as before, he slept undisturbed under the boughs of a tree, and he awoke the next morning thoroughly sound in body and much refreshed in mind. but the feeling of hardness, the desire for revenge, remained. he was continually seeing the merciless face of santa anna and the sanguinary interior of the alamo. the imaginative quality of his mind and his sensitiveness to cruelty had heightened the effect produced upon him. he continued to ride through desolate country for several days, living on the game that his rifle brought. he slept one night in an abandoned cabin, with old jack resting in the grass that was now growing rankly at the door. he came the next day to a great trail, so great in truth that he believed it to have been made by mexicans. he did not believe that there was anywhere a texan force sufficient to tread out so broad a road. he noticed, too, that the hoofs of the horses were turned in the general direction of goliad or victoria, nearer the sea, and he concluded that this was another strong mexican army intended to complete the ruin of infant texas. he decided to follow, and near nightfall he saw the camp fires of a numerous force. he rode as near as he dared and reckoned that there were twelve or fifteen hundred men in the camp. he was sure that it was no part of the army with which santa anna had taken the alamo. ned rode a wide circuit around the camp and continued his ride in the night. he was forced to rest and sleep a while toward morning, but shortly after daylight he went forward again to warn he knew not whom. two or three hours later he saw two horsemen on the horizon, and he rode toward them. he knew that if they should prove to be mexicans old jack was swift enough to carry him out of reach. but he soon saw that they were texans, and he hailed them. the two men stopped and watched him as he approached. the fact that he rode a horse without saddle or bridle was sufficient to attract their attention, and they saw, too, that he was wild in appearance, with long, uncombed hair and torn clothing. they were hunters who had come out from the little town of refugio. ned hailed them again when he came closer. "you are texans and friends?" he said. "yes, we are texans and friends," replied the older of the two men. "who are you?" "my name is fulton, edward fulton, and i come from the alamo." "the alamo? how could that be? how could you get out?" "i was sent out on an errand by colonel crockett, a fictitious errand for the purpose of saving me, i now believe. but i fell at once into the hands of santa anna. the next morning the alamo was taken by storm, but every texan in it died in its defence. i saw it done." then he told to them the same tale that mrs. dickinson had told to the panther and his little party, adding also that a large mexican force was undoubtedly very near. "then you've come just in time," said the older man. "we've heard that a big force under general urrea was heading for the settlements near the coast, and captain king and twenty-five or thirty men are now at refugio to take the people away. we'll hurry there with your news and we'll try to get you a saddle and bridle, too." "for which i'll be thankful," said ned. but he was really more thankful for human companionship than anything else. he tingled with joy to be with the texans again, and during the hours that they were riding to refugio he willingly answered the ceaseless questions of the two men, oldham and jackson, who wanted to know everything that had happened at the alamo. when they reached refugio they found there captain king with less than thirty men who had been sent by fannin, as jackson had said, to bring away the people. ned was taken at once to king, who had gathered his men in the little plaza. he saw that the soldiers were not texans, that is, men who had long lived in texas, but fresh recruits from the united states, wholly unfamiliar with border ways and border methods of fighting. the town itself was an old mexican settlement with an ancient stone church or mission, after the fashion of the alamo, only smaller. "you say that you were in the alamo, and that all the defenders have fallen except you?" said the captain, looking curiously at ned. "yes," replied the boy. "and that the mexican force dispatched against the eastern settlements is much nearer than was supposed?" "yes," replied ned, "and as proof of my words there it is now." he had suddenly caught the gleam of lances in a wood a little distance to the west of the town, and he knew that the mexican cavalry, riding ahead of the main army, was at hand. it was a large force, too, one with which the little band of recruits could not possibly cope in the open. captain king seemed dazed, but ned, glancing at the church, remembered the alamo. every spanish church or mission was more or less of a fortress, and he exclaimed: "the church, captain, the church! we can hold it against the cavalry!" "good!" cried the captain. "an excellent idea!" they rushed for the church and ned followed. old jack did not get the saddle and bridle that had been promised to him. when the boy leaped from his back he snatched off the halter of withes and shouted loudly to him: "go!" it pained him to abandon his horse a second time under compulsion, but there was no choice. old jack galloped away as if he knew what he ought to do, and then ned, running into the church with the others, helped them to bar the doors. the church was a solid building of stone with a flat roof, and with many loopholes made long ago as a defence against the indians. ned heard the cavalry thundering into the village as they barred the doors, and then he and half a dozen men ran to the roof. lying down there, they took aim at the charging horsemen. these were raw recruits, but they knew how to shoot. their rifles flashed and four or five saddles were emptied. the men below were also firing from the loopholes, and the front rank of the mexican cavalry was cut down by the bullets. the whole force turned at a shout from an officer, and galloped to the shelter of some buildings. ned estimated that they were two hundred in number, and he surmised that young urrea led them. he descended from the roof and talked with king. the men understood their situation, but they were exultant. they had beaten off the enemy's cavalry, and they felt that the final victory must be theirs. but ned had been in the alamo, and he knew that the horsemen had merely hoped to surprise and overtake them with a dash. stone fortresses are not taken by cavalry. he was sure that the present force would remain under cover until the main army came up with cannon. he suggested to captain king that he send a messenger to fannin for help. king thought wisely of the suggestion and chose jackson, who slipped out of the church, escaped through an oak forest and disappeared. ned then made a careful examination of the church, which was quite a strong building with a supply of water inside and some dried corn. the men had brought rations also with them, and they were amply supplied for a siege of several days. but ned, already become an expert in this kind of war, judged that it would not last so long. he believed that the mexicans, flushed by the taking of the alamo, would push matters. king, lacking experience, leaned greatly on young fulton. the men, who believed implicitly every word that he had said, regarded him almost with superstition. he alone of the defenders had come alive out of that terrible charnel house, the alamo. "i suspect," said king, "that the division you saw is under general urrea." "very probably," said ned. "of course, santa anna, no longer having any use for his army in san antonio, can send large numbers of troops eastward." "which means that we'll have a hard time defending this place," said king gloomily. "unless fannin sends a big force to our help." "i'm not so sure that he'll send enough," said king. "his men are nearly all fresh from the states, and they know nothing of the country. it's hard for him to tell what to do. we started once to the relief of the alamo, but our ammunition wagon broke down and we could not get our cannon across the san antonio river. things don't seem to be going right with us." ned was silent. his thoughts turned back to the alamo. and so fannin and his men had started but had never come! truly "things were going wrong!" but perhaps it was just as well. the victims would have only been more numerous, and fannin's men were saved to fight elsewhere for texas. he heard a rattle of musketry, and through one of the loopholes he saw that the mexican cavalry in the wood had opened a distant fire. only a few of the bullets reached the church, and they fell spent against the stones. ned saw that very little harm was likely to come from such a fire, but he believed it would be wise to show the mexicans that the defenders were fully awake. "have you any specially good riflemen?" he asked king. "several." "suppose you put them at the loopholes and see if they can't pick off some of those mexican horsemen. it would have a most healthy effect." six young men came forward, took aim with their long barreled rifles, and at king's command fired. three of the saddles were emptied, and there was a rapid movement of the mexicans, who withdrew further into the wood. the defenders reloaded and waited. ned knew better than captain king or any of his men the extremely dangerous nature of their position. since the vanguard was already here the mexican army must be coming on rapidly, and this was no alamo. nor were these raw recruits defenders of an alamo. he saw presently a man, holding a white handkerchief on the end of a lance, ride out from the wood. ned recognized him at once. it was young urrea. as ned had suspected, he was the leader of the cavalry for his uncle, the general. "what do you think he wants?" asked king. "he will demand our surrender, but even if we were to yield it is likely that we should be put to death afterward." "i have no idea of surrendering under any circumstances. do you speak spanish?" "oh, yes," said ned, seizing the opportunity. "then, as i can't, you do the talking for us, and tell it to him straight and hard that we're going to fight." ned climbed upon the roof, and sat with only his head showing above the parapet, while urrea rode slowly forward, carrying the lance and the white flag jauntily. ned could not keep from admiring his courage, as the white flag, even, in such a war as this might prove no protection. he stopped at a distance of about thirty yards and called loudly in spanish: "within the church there! i wish to speak to you!" ned stood up, his entire figure now being revealed, and replied: "i have been appointed spokesman for our company. what do you want?" urrea started slightly in his saddle, and then regarded ned with a look of mingled irony and hatred. "and so," he said, "our paths cross again. you escaped us at the alamo. why general santa anna spared you then i do not know, but he is not here to give new orders concerning you!" "what do you want?" repeated ned. "we want the church, yourself and all the other bandits who are within it." ned's face flushed at urrea's contemptuous words and manner, and his heart hardened into a yet deeper hatred of the mexicans. but he controlled his voice and replied evenly. "and if we should surrender, what then?" "the mercy of the illustrious general santa anna, whatever it may be." "i saw his mercy at the alamo," replied ned, "and we want none of it. nor would we surrender, even if we could trust your most illustrious general santa anna." "then take your fate," said urrea. "since you were at the alamo you know what befell the defenders there, and this place, mostly in ruins, is not nearly so strong. adios!" "adios!" said ned, speaking in a firm tone. but he felt that there was truth in urrea's words. little was left of the mission but its strong walls. nevertheless, they might hold them. "what did he say?" asked king. "he demanded our surrender." "on what terms?" "whatever santa anna might decree, and if you had seen the red flag of no quarter waving in sight of the alamo you would know his decree." "and your reply?" "i told him that we meant to hold the place." "good enough," said king. "now we will go back to business. i wish that we had more ammunition." "fannin's men may bring plenty," said ned. "and now, if you don't mind, captain king, i'm going to sleep down there at the foot of the wall, and to-night i'll join the guard." "do as you wish," said king, "you know more about texas and these mexicans than any of us." "i'd suggest a very thorough watch when night comes. wake me up about midnight, won't you?" ned lay down in the place that he had chosen. it was only the middle of the afternoon, but he had become so inured to hardship that he slept quickly. several shots were fired before twilight came, but they did not awaken him. at midnight king, according to his request, took him by the shoulder and he stood up. "nothing of importance has happened," said king. "you can see the camp fires of the mexicans in the wood, but as far as we can tell they are not making any movement." "probably they are content to wait for the main force," said ned. "looks like it," said king. "if you have no objection, captain," said ned, "i think i'll go outside and scout about a little." "good idea, i think," said king. they opened the door a moment and ned slipped forth. the night was quite dark and, with the experience of border work that he was rapidly acquiring, he had little fear of being caught by the mexicans. he kept his eye on the light burning in the wood and curved in a half circle to the right. the few houses that made up the village were all dark, but his business was with none of them. he intended to see, if he could, whether the main mexican force was approaching. if it should prove to be at hand with the heavy cannon there would be no possible chance of holding the mission, and they must get away. he continued in his wide curve, knowing that in this case the longest way around was the best and safest, and he gradually passed into a stretch of chaparral beyond the town. crossing it, he came into a meadow, and then he suddenly heard the soft pad of feet. he sought to spring back into the chaparral, but a huge dim figure bore down upon him, and then his heart recovered its normal beat when he saw that it was only old jack. ned stroked the great muzzle affectionately, but he was compelled to put away his friend. "no, faithful comrade," he said. "i can't take you with me. i'd like to do it, but there's no room in a church for a horse as big as you are. go now! go at once, or the mexicans will get you!" he struck the horse smartly on the jaw. old jack looked at him reproachfully, but turned and trotted away from the town. ned continued his scout. this proof of affection from a dumb brute cheered him. an hour's cautious work brought him to the far side of the wood. as well as he could judge, nearly all the mexican troopers were asleep around two fires, but they had posted sentinels who walked back and forth, calling at intervals "sentinela alerte" to one another. obviously there had been no increase in their force. they were sufficient to maintain a blockade of the church, but too few to surround it completely. he went two or three miles to the west and, seeing no evidence that the main force was approaching, he decided to return to the church. his original curve had taken him by the south side of the wood, and he would return by the north side in order that his examination might be complete. he walked rapidly, as the night was far advanced, and the sky was very clear, with bright stars twinkling in myriads. he did not wish day to catch him outside the mission. it was a prairie country, with patches of forest here and there, and as he crossed from one wood to another he was wholly without cover. he was within a mile of the mission when he heard the faint tread of horses' hoofs, and he concluded that old jack, contrary to orders, was coming forward to meet him again. he paused, but the faint tread suddenly became rapid and heavy. a half dozen horsemen who had ridden into the prairie had caught sight of him and now they were galloping toward him. the brightness of the night showed ned at once that they were mexican cavalrymen, and as he was on foot he was at a great disadvantage. he ran at full speed for the nearest grove. the mexicans fired several musket shots at him, but the bullets all went wild. he did not undertake a reply, as he was straining every effort to reach the trees. several pistols also were emptied at him, but he yet remained unhurt. nevertheless, the horsemen were coming alarmingly near. he heard the thunder of hoofs in his ears, and he heard also a quick hiss like that of a snake. ned knew that the hissing sound was made by a lasso, and as he dodged he felt the coil, thrown in vain, slipping from his shoulders. he whirled about and fired at the man who had thrown the lasso. the rider uttered a cry, fell backward on his horse, and then to the ground. as ned turned for the shot he saw that urrea was the leader of the horsemen. whether urrea had recognized him or not he did not know, but the fact that he was there increased his apprehension. he made a mighty effort and leaped the next instant into the protection of the trees and thickets. fortune favored him now. a wood alone would not have protected him, but here were vines and bushes also. he turned off at a sharp angle and ran as swiftly and with as little noise as he could. he heard the horses floundering in the forest, and the curses of their riders. he ran a hundred yards further and, coming to a little gully, lay down in it and reloaded his rifle. then he stayed there until he could regain his breath and strength. while he lay he heard the mexicans beating up the thickets, and urrea giving sharp orders. ned knew that his hiding place must soon be discovered, and he began to consider what would be the best movement to make next. his heart had now returned to its normal beat, and he felt that he was good for another fine burst of speed. he heard the trampling of the horses approaching, and then the voice of urrea telling the others that he was going straight ahead and to follow him. evidently they had beaten up the rest of the forest, and now they were bound to come upon him. ned sprang from the gully, ran from the wood and darted across the prairie toward the next little grove. he was halfway toward the coveted shelter when urrea caught sight of him, gave a shout, and fired his pistol. ned, filled with hatred of urrea, fired in return. but the bullet, instead of striking the horseman, struck the horse squarely in the head. the horse fell instantly, and urrea, hurled violently over his head, lay still. ned caught it all in a fleeting glance, and in a few more steps he gained the second wood. he did not know how much urrea was hurt, nor did he care. he had paid back a little, too. he was sure, also, that the pursuit would be less vigorous, now that its leader was disabled. the second grove did not contain so many vines and bushes, but, hiding behind a tree there, ned saw the horsemen hold off. without urrea to urge them on they were afraid of the rifle that the fugitive used so well. two, also, had stopped to tend urrea, and ned decided that the others would not now enter the grove. he was right in his surmise. the horsemen rode about at a safe distance from the trees. ned, taking his time, reloaded his rifle again and departed for the mission. there was now fairly good cover all the way, but he heard other troops of mexicans riding about, and blowing trumpets as signals. no doubt the shots had been heard at the main camp, and many men were seeking their cause. but ned, fortunately for himself, was now like the needle in the haystack. while the trumpets signaled and the groups of mexican horsemen rode into one another he stole back to the old mission and knocked upon the door with the butt of his rifle. answering king's questions through the loophole, he was admitted quickly. "the main army hasn't come up yet," he said, in reply to the eager inquiries of the defenders. "fannin's men may get here in time, and if they are in sufficient force to beat off the cavalry detachment i suggest that we abandon the mission before we are caught in a trap, and retreat toward fannin. if we linger the whole mexican army will be around us." "sounds right," said king, "but we've got to hear from fannin first. now you look pretty tired, fulton. suppose you roll up in some blankets there by the wall and take a nap." "i don't want to sleep now," said ned. "you remember that i slept until nearly midnight. but i would like to stretch out a while. it's not very restful to be hunted through woods by mexicans, even if you do get away." ned lay by the wall upon the blankets and watched the sun go slowly up the arch of the heavens. it seemed a hard fate to him that he should again be trapped thus in an old mission. nor did he have here the strength and support of the great borderers like bowie and crockett. he missed them most of all now. the day passed slowly and with an occasional exchange of shots that did little harm. toward the twilight one of the sentinels on the wall uttered a great and joyous shout. "the reinforcements!" he cried. "see, our friends are coming!" ned climbed upon the wall and saw a force of more than a hundred men, obviously texans, approaching. they answered the hail of the sentinel and came on more swiftly. his eyes turned to the wood, in which the mexican camp yet lay. their cavalry would still outnumber the texan force two or three to one, but the mexicans invariably demanded greater odds than that before they would attack the texans. ned saw no stir in the wood. not a shot was fired as the new men came forward and were joyously admitted to the church. the men were one hundred and twenty in number, led by colonel ward, who by virtue of his rank now commanded all the defenders. as soon as they had eaten and rested a council, at which ned was present, was held. king had already told the story of young fulton to ward, and that officer looked very curiously at ned as he came forward. he asked him briefly about the alamo, and ned gave him the usual replies. then he told of what he had seen before he joined king. "how large do you think this force was?" asked ward. "about fifteen hundred men." "and we've a hundred and fifty here. you were not much more than a hundred and fifty in the alamo, and you held it two weeks against thousands. why should we retreat?" "but the alamo fell at last," said ned, "and this refugio mission is not so defensible as the alamo was." "you think, then, we should retreat?" "i do. i'm sure the place cannot be held against a large army." there was much discussion. ned saw that all the men of the new force were raw recruits from the states like king's. many of them were mere boys, drawn to texas by the love of adventure. they showed more curiosity than alarm, and it was evident to ned that they felt able to defeat any number of mexicans. ned, called upon again for his opinion, urged that they withdraw from the church and the town at once, but neither ward nor king was willing to make a retreat in the night. they did not seem especially anxious to withdraw at all, but finally agreed to do so in the morning. ned left the council, depressed and uneasy. he felt that his countrymen held the mexicans too lightly. were other tragedies to be added to that of the alamo? he was no egotist, but he was conscious of his superiority to all those present in the grave affairs with which they were now dealing. he took his rifle and went upon the wall, where he resolved to watch all through the night. he saw the lights in the wood where the mexicans were camped, but darkness and silence prevailed everywhere else. he had no doubt that young urrea had sent messengers back to hurry up the main force. he smiled to himself at the thought of urrea. he was sure that the young mexican had sustained no fatal injury, but he must have painful wounds. and ned, with the alamo as vivid as ever in his mind, was glad that he had inflicted them. midnight came, and ward told ned that he need not watch any longer when the second relay of sentinels appeared. but the boy desired to remain and ward had no objection. "but you'll be sleepy," he said, in a good-humored tone, "when we start at the break of day, and you won't have much chance to rest on a long march." "i'll have to take the risk," said ned. "i feel that i ought to be watching." toward morning the men in the mission were awakened and began to prepare for the march. they made considerable noise as they talked and adjusted their packs, but ned paid no attention to them. he was listening instead to a faint sound approaching the town from the south. no one in the church or on the walls heard it but himself, but he knew that it was steadily growing louder. ned, moreover, could tell the nature of that sound, and as it swelled his heart sank within him. the first spear of light, herald of dawn, appeared in the east and ward called out cheerfully: "well, we are all ready to go now." "it is too late," said ned. "the whole mexican army is here." chapter xvi fannin's camp when ned made his startling announcement he leaped down lightly from the wall. "if you will look through the loophole there," he said to colonel ward, "you will see a great force only a few hundred yards away. the man on the large horse in front is general urrea, who commands them. he is one of santa anna's most trusted generals. his nephew, captain urrea, led the cavalry who besieged us yesterday and last night." captain ward looked, but the mexicans turned into the wood and were hidden from sight. then the belief became strong among the recruits that ned was mistaken. this was only a little force that had come, and ward and king shared their faith. ward, against ned's protest, sent king and thirteen men out to scout. ned sadly watched them go. he was one of the youngest present, but he was first in experience, and he knew that he had seen aright. general urrea and the main army were certainly at hand. but he deemed it wiser to say nothing more. instead, he resumed his place on the wall, and kept sharp watch on the point where he thought the mexican force lay. king and his scouts were already out of sight. ned suddenly heard the sound of shots, and he saw puffs of smoke from the wood. then a great shout arose and mexican cavalry dashed from the edge of the forest. some of the other watchers thought the mission was about to be attacked, but the horsemen bore down upon another point to the northward. ned divined instantly that they had discovered king and his men and were surrounding them. he leaped once more from the wall and shouted the alarm to ward. "the men out there are surrounded," he cried. "they will have no chance without help!" ward was brave enough, and his men, though lacking skill, were brave enough, too. at his command they threw open the gate of the mission and rushed out to the relief of their comrades. ned was by the side of ward, near the front. as they appeared in the opening they heard a great shouting, and a powerful detachment of cavalry galloped toward their right, while an equally strong force of infantry moved on their left. the recruits were outnumbered at least five to one, but in such a desperate situation they did not blench. "take good aim with your rifles," shouted ward. and they did. a shower of bullets cut gaps in the mexican line, both horse and foot. many riderless horses galloped through the ranks of the foe, adding to the confusion. but the mexican numbers were so great that they continued to press the texans. young urrea, his head in thick bandages, was again with the cavalry, and animated by more than one furious impulse he drove them on. it became evident now even to the rawest that the whole mexican army was present. it spread out to a great distance, and enfolded the texans on three sides, firing hundreds of muskets and keeping up a great shouting, ned's keen ear also detected other firing off to the right, and he knew that it was king and his men making a hopeless defence against overpowering numbers. "we cannot reach king," groaned ward. "we have no earthly chance of doing so," said ned, "and i think, colonel, that your own force will have a hard fight to get back inside the mission." the truth of ned's words was soon evident to everyone. it was only the deadly texan rifles that kept the mexican cavalry from galloping over them and crushing them at once. the mexican fire itself, coming from muskets of shorter range, did little damage. yet the texans were compelled to load and pull trigger very fast, as they retreated slowly upon the mission. at last they reached the great door and began to pass rapidly inside. now the mexicans pressed closer, firing heavy volleys. a score of the best texan marksmen whirled and sent their bullets at the pursuing mexicans with such good aim that a dozen saddles were emptied, and the whole force reeled back. then all the texans darted inside, and the great door was closed and barricaded. many of the men sank down, breathless from their exertions, regardless of the mexican bullets that were pattering upon the church. ward leaned against the wall, and wiped the perspiration from his face. "my god!" he exclaimed. "what has become of king?" there was no answer. the mexicans ceased to fire and shout, and retreated toward the wood. ward was destined never to know what had become of king and his men, but ned soon learned the terrible facts, and they only hardened him still further. the thirteen had been compelled to surrender to overwhelming numbers. then they were immediately tied to trees and killed, where their skeletons remained upright until the texans found them. "you were right, fulton," said ward, after a long silence. "the mexican army was there, as we have plenty of evidence to show." he smiled sadly, as he wiped the smoke and perspiration from his face. ned did not reply, but watched through a loophole. he had seen a glint of bronze in the wood, and presently he saw the mexicans pushing a cannon from cover. "they have artillery," he said to ward. "see the gun. but i don't think it can damage our walls greatly. they never did much with the cannon at the alamo. when they came too close there, we shot down all their cannoneers, and we can do the same here." ward chose the best sharpshooters, posting them at the loopholes and on the walls. they quickly slew the mexicans who tried to man the gun, and general urrea was forced to withdraw it to such a distance that its balls and shells had no effect whatever upon the strong walls of the church. there was another period of silence, but the watchers in the old mission saw that much movement was going on in the wood and presently they beheld the result. the mexican army charged directly upon the church, carrying in its center men with heavy bars of wood to be used in smashing in the door. but they yielded once more to the rapid fire of the texan rifles, and did not succeed in reaching the building. those who bore the logs and bars dropped them, and fled out of range. a great cheer burst from the young recruits. they thought victory complete already, but ned knew that the mexicans would not abandon the enterprise. general urrea, after another futile charge, repulsed in the same deadly manner, withdrew some distance, but posted a strong line of sentinels about the church. having much food and water the recruits rejoiced again and thought themselves secure, but ned noticed a look of consternation on the face of ward, and he divined the cause. "it must be the ammunition, colonel," he said in a whisper. "it is," replied ward. "we have only three or four rounds left. we could not possibly repel another attack." "then," said young fulton, "there is nothing to do but for us to slip out at night, and try to cut our way through." "that is so," said ward. "the mexican general doubtless will not expect any such move on our part, and we may get away." he said nothing of his plan to the recruits until the darkness came, and then the state of the powder horns and the bullet pouches was announced. most of the men had supposed that they alone were suffering from the shortage, and something like despair came over them when they found that they were practically without weapons. they were more than willing to leave the church, as soon as the night deepened, and seek refuge over the prairie. "you think that we can break through?" said ward to ned. "i have no doubt of it," replied ned, "but in any event it seems to me, colonel, that we ought to try it. all the valor and devotion of the men in the alamo did not suffice to save them. we cannot hold the place against a determined assault." "that is undoubtedly true," said ward, "and flushed by the success that they have had elsewhere it seems likely to me that the mexicans will make such an attack very soon." "in any event," said ned, "we are isolated here, cut off from fannin, and exposed to imminent destruction." "we start at midnight," said ward. ned climbed upon the walls, and examined all the surrounding country. he saw lights in the wood, and now and then he discerned the figures of mexican horsemen, riding in a circle about the church, members of the patrol that had been left by general urrea. he did not think it a difficult thing to cut through this patrol, but the texans, in their flight, must become disorganized to a certain extent. nevertheless it was the only alternative. the men were drawn up at the appointed time, and ward told them briefly what they were to do. they must keep as well together as possible, and the plan was to make their way to victoria, where they expected to rejoin fannin. they gave calabashes of water and provisions to several men too badly wounded to move, and left them to the mercy of the mexicans, a mercy that did not exist, as urrea's troops massacred them the moment they entered the church. luckily it was a dark night, and ned believed that they had more than half a chance of getting away. the great door was thrown silently open, and, with a moving farewell to their wounded and disabled comrades, they filed silently out, leaving the door open behind them. then the column of nearly one hundred and fifty men slipped away, every man treading softly. they had chosen a course that lay directly away from the mexican army, but they did not expect to escape without an alarm, and it came in five minutes. a mexican horseman, one of the patrol, saw the dark file, fired a shot and gave an alarm. in an instant all the sentinels were firing and shouting, and urrea's army in the wood was awakening. but the texans now pressed forward rapidly. their rifles cracked, quickly cutting a path through the patrol, and before urrea could get up his main force they were gone through the forest and over the prairie. knowing that the whole country was swarming with the mexican forces, they chose a circuitous course through forests and swamps and pressed on until daylight. some of the mexicans on horseback followed them for a while, but a dozen of the best texan shots were told off to halt them. when three or four saddles were emptied the remainder of the mexicans disappeared and they pursued their flight in peace. morning found them in woods and thickets by the banks of a little creek of clear water. they drank from the stream, ate of their cold food, and rested. ned and some others left the wood and scouted upon the prairie. they saw no human being and returned to their own people, feeling sure that they were safe from pursuit for the present. yet the texans felt no exultation. they had been compelled to retreat before the mexicans, and they could not forget king and his men, and those whom they had left behind in the church. ned, in his heart, knowing the mexicans so well, did not believe that a single one of them had been saved. they walked the whole day, making for the town of victoria, where they expected to meet fannin, and shortly before night they stopped in a wood, footsore and exhausted. again their camp was pitched on the banks of a little creek and some of the hunters shot two fine fat deer further up the stream. seeking as much cheer as they could they built fires, and roasted the deer. the spirits of the young recruits rose. they would meet fannin to-morrow or the next day and they would avenge the insult that the mexicans had put upon them. they were eager for a new action in which the odds should not be so great against them, and they felt sure of victory. then, posting their sentinels, they slept soundly. but ned did not feel so confident. toward morning he rose from his blankets. yet he saw nothing. the prairie was bare. there was not a single sign of pursuit. he was surprised. he believed that at least the younger urrea with the cavalry would follow. ned now surmised the plan that the enemy had carried out. instead of following the texans through the forests and swamps they had gone straight to victoria, knowing that the fugitives would make for that point. where fannin was he could not even guess, but it was certain that ward and his men were left practically without ammunition to defend themselves as best they could against a horde of foes. the hunted texans sought the swamps of the guadalupe, where mexican cavalry could not follow them, but where they were soon overtaken by skirmishers. hope was now oozing from the raw recruits. there seemed to be no place in the world for them. hunted here and there they never found rest. but the most terrible fact of all was the lack of ammunition. only a single round for every man was left, and they replied sparingly to the mexican skirmishers. they lay now in miry woods, and on the other side of them flowed the wide and yellow river. the men sought, often in vain, for firm spots on which they might rest. the food, like the ammunition, was all gone, and they were famished and weak. the scouts reported that the mexicans were increasing every hour. it was obvious to ned that ward must surrender. what could men without ammunition do against many times their number, well armed? he resolved that he would not be taken with them, and shortly before day he pulled through the mud to the edge of the guadalupe. he undressed and made his clothes and rifle into a bundle. he had been very careful of his own ammunition, and he had a half dozen rounds left, which he also tied into the bundle. then shoving a fallen log into the water he bestrode it, holding his precious pack high and dry. paddling with one hand he was able to direct the log in a diagonal course across the stream. he toiled through another swamp on that shore, and, coming out upon a little prairie, dressed again. he looked back toward the swamp in which the texans lay, but he saw no lights and he heard no sounds there. he knew that within a short time they would be prisoners of the mexicans. everything seemed to be working for the benefit of santa anna. the indecision of the texans and the scattering of their forces enabled the mexicans to present overwhelming forces at all points. it seemed to ned that fortune, which had worked in their favor until the capture of san antonio, was now working against them steadily and with overwhelming power. he gathered himself together as best he could, and began his journey southward. he believed that fannin would be at goliad or near it. once more that feeling of vengeance hardened within him. the tremendous impression of the alamo had not faded a particle, and now the incident of ward, refugio and the swamps of the guadalupe was cumulative. remembering what he had seen he did not believe that a single one of ward's men would be spared when they were taken as they surely would be. there were humane men among the mexicans, like almonte, but the ruthless policy of santa anna was to spare no one, and santa anna held all the power. he held on toward goliad, passing through alternate regions of forest and prairie, and he maintained a fair pace until night. he had not eaten since morning, and all his venison was gone, but strangely enough he was not hungry. when the darkness was coming he sat down in one of the little groves so frequent in that region, and he was conscious of a great weariness. his bones ached. but it was not the ache that comes from exertion. it seemed to go to the very marrow. it became a pain rather than exhaustion. he noticed that everything about him appeared unreal. the trees and the earth itself wavered. his head began to ache and his stomach was weak. had the finest of food been presented to him he could not have eaten it. he had an extraordinary feeling of depression and despair. ned knew what was the matter with him. he was suffering either from overwhelming nervous and physical exhaustion, or he had contracted malaria in the swamps of the guadalupe. despite every effort of the will, he began to shake with cold, and he knew that a chill was coming. he had retained his blankets, his frontiersman's foresight not deserting him, and now, knowing that he could not continue his flight for the present, he sought the deepest part of the thicket. he crept into a place so dense that it would have been suited for an animal's den, and lying down there he wrapped the blankets tightly about himself, his rifle and his ammunition. in spite of his clothing and the warm blankets he grew colder and colder. his teeth chattered and he shivered all over. he would not have minded that so much, but his head ached with great violence, and the least light hurt his eyes. it seemed to him the culmination. never had he been more miserable, more lost of both body and soul. the pain in his head was so violent that life was scarcely worth the price. he sank by and by into a stupor. he was remotely conscious that he was lying in a thicket, somewhere in boundless texas, but it did not really matter. cougars or bears might come there to find him, but he was too sick to raise a hand against them. besides, he did not care. a million mexicans might be beating up those thickets for him, and they would be sure to find him. well, what of it? they would shoot him, and he would merely go at once to some other planet, where he would be better off than he was now. it seems that fate reserves her severest ordeals for the strong and the daring, as if she would respond to the challenges they give. it seems also that often she brings them through the test, as if she likes the courage and enterprise that dare her, the all-powerful, to combat. ned's intense chill abated. he ceased to shake so violently, and after a while he did not shake at all. then fever came. intolerable heat flowed through every vein, and his head was ready to burst. after a while violent perspiration broke out all over him, and then he became unconscious. ned lay all night in the thicket, wrapped in the blankets, and breathing heavily. once or twice he half awoke, and remembered things dimly, but these periods were very brief and he sank back into stupor. when he awoke to stay awake the day was far advanced, and he felt an overwhelming lassitude. he slowly unwound himself from his blankets and looked at his hand. it was uncommonly white, and it seemed to him to be as weak as that of a child. he crept out of the thicket and rose to his feet. he was attacked by dizziness and clutched a bush for support. his head still ached, though not with the violence of the night before, but he was conscious that he had become a very weak and poor specimen of the human being. everything seemed very far away, impossible to be reached. he gathered strength enough to roll up his blankets and shoulder his rifle. then he looked about a little. there was the same alternation of woods and prairie, devoid of any human being. he did not expect to see any texans, unless, by chance, fannin came marching that way, but a detachment of mexican lancers might stumble upon him at any moment. the thought, however, caused him no alarm. he felt so much weakness and depression that the possibility of capture or death could not add to it. young fulton was not hungry,--the chill and following fever had taken his appetite away so thoroughly,--but he felt that he must eat. he found some early berries in the thickets and they restored his strength a little, but the fare was so thin and unsubstantial that he decided to look for game. he could never reach fannin or anybody else in his present reduced condition. he saw a line of oaks, which he knew indicated the presence of a water-course, probably one of the shallow creeks, so numerous in eastern texas, and he walked toward it, still dizzy and his footsteps dragging. his head was yet aching, and the sun, which was now out in full brightness, made it worse, but he persisted, and, after an interminable time, he reached the shade of the oaks, which, as he surmised, lined both sides of a creek. he drank of the water, rested a while, and then began a search of the oaks. he was looking for squirrels, which he knew abounded in these trees, and, after much slow and painful walking, he shot a fine fat one among the boughs. then followed the yet more mighty task of kindling a fire with sticks and tinder, but just when he was completely exhausted, and felt that he must fail, the spark leaped up, set fire to the white ash that he had scraped with his knife, and in a minute later a good fire was blazing. he cooked the tenderest parts of the squirrel and ate, still forcing his appetite. then he carefully put out the fire and went a mile further up the creek. he felt stronger, but he knew that he was not yet in any condition for a long journey. he was most intent now upon guarding against a return of the chill. it was not the right time for one to be ill. again he sought a place in a thicket, like an animal going to its den, and, wrapping himself tightly in the blankets, lay down. he watched with anxiety for the first shiver of the dreaded chill. once or twice imagination made him feel sure that it had come, but it always passed quickly. his body remained warm, and, while he was still watching for the chill, he fell asleep, and slept soundly all through the night. the break of day aroused him. he felt strong and well, and he was in a pleasant glow, because he knew now that the chill would not come. it had been due to overtaxed nerves, and there was no malaria in his system. he hunted again among the big trees until he found a squirrel on one of the high boughs. he fired at it and missed. he found another soon and killed it at the first shot. but the miss had been a grave matter. he had only four bullets left. he took them out and looked at them, little shining pellets of lead. his life depended upon these four, and he must not miss again. it took him an hour to start his fire, and he ate only half of the squirrel, putting the remainder into his bullet pouch for future needs. then, much invigorated, he resumed his vague journey. but he was compelled very soon to go slowly and with the utmost caution. there were even times when he had to stop and hide. mexican cavalry appeared upon the prairies, first in small groups and then in a detachment of about three hundred. their course and ned's was the same, and he knew then that he was going in the right direction. fannin was surely somewhere ahead. but it was most troublesome traveling for ned. if they saw him they could easily ride him down, and what chance would he have with only four bullets in his pouch? or rather, what chance would he have if the pouch contained a hundred? the only thing that favored him was the creek which ran in the way that he wanted to go. he kept in the timber that lined its banks, and, so long as he had this refuge, he felt comparatively safe, since the mexicans, obviously, were not looking for him. yet they often came perilously near. once, a large band rode down to the creek to water their horses, when ned was not fifty feet distant. he instantly lay flat among some bushes, and did not move. he could hear the horses blowing the water back with their noses, as they drank. when the horses were satisfied, the cavalrymen turned and rode away, passing so near that it seemed to him they had only to look down and see him lying among the bushes. but they went on, and, when they were out of sight, he rose and continued his flight through the timber. but this alternate fleeing and dodging was most exhausting work, and before the day was very old he decided that he would lie down in a thicket, and postpone further flight until night. just when he had found such a place he heard the faint sound of distant firing. he put his ear to the earth, and then the crackle of rifles came more distinctly. his ear, experienced now, told him that many men must be engaged, and he was sure that fannin and the mexican army had come into contact. young fulton's heart began to throb. the dark vision of the alamo came before him again. all the hate that he felt for the mexicans flamed up. he must be there with fannin, fighting against the hordes of santa anna. he rose and ran toward the firing. he saw from the crest of a hillock a wide plain with timber on one side and a creek on the other. the center of the plain was a shallow valley, and there the firing was heavy. ned saw many flashes and puffs of smoke, and presently he heard the thud of cannon. then he saw near him mexican cavalry galloping through the timber. he could not doubt any longer that a battle was in progress. his excitement increased, and he ran at full speed through the bushes and grass into the plain, which he now saw took the shape of a shallow saucer. the firing indicated that the defensive force stood in the center of the saucer, that is, in the lowest and worst place. a terrible fear assailed young fulton, as he ran. could it be possible that fannin also was caught in a trap, here on the open prairie, with the mexicans in vastly superior numbers on the high ground around him? he remembered, too, that fannin's men were raw recruits like those with ward, and his fear, which was not for himself, increased as he ran. he noticed that there was no firing from one segment of the ring in the saucer, and he directed his course toward it. as soon as he saw horses and men moving he threw up his hands and cried loudly over and over again: "i'm a friend! do not shoot!" he saw a rifle raised and aimed at him, but a hand struck it down. a few minutes later he sprang breathless into the camp, and friendly hands held him up as he was about to pitch forward with exhaustion. his breath and poise came back in a few moments, and he looked about him. he had made no mistake. he was with fannin's force, and it was already pressed hard by urrea's army. even as he drew fresh, deep breaths he saw a heavy mass of mexican cavalry gallop from the wood, wheel and form a line between fannin and the creek, the only place where the besieged force could obtain water. "who are you?" asked an officer, advancing toward ned. young fulton instantly recognized fannin. "my name is edward fulton, you will recall me, colonel," he replied. "i was in the alamo, but went out the day before it fell. i was taken by the mexicans, but escaped, fled across the prairie, and was in the mission at refugio when some of your men under colonel ward came to the help of king." "i have heard that the church was abandoned, but where is ward, and where are his men?" ned hesitated and fannin read the answer in his eyes. "you cannot tell me so!" he exclaimed. "i'm afraid that they will all be taken," said ned. "they had no ammunition when i slipped away, and the mexicans were following them. there was no possibility of escape." fannin paled. but he pressed his lips firmly together for a moment and then said to ned: "keep this to yourself, will you? our troops are young and without experience. it would discourage them too much." "of course," said ned. "but meanwhile i wish to fight with you." "there will be plenty of chance," said fannin. "hark to it!" the sound of firing swelled on all sides of them, and above it rose the triumphant shouts of the mexicans. chapter xvii the sad surrender ned took another look at the beleaguered force, and what he saw did not encourage him. the men, crowded together, were standing in a depression seven or eight feet below the surface of the surrounding prairie. near by was an ammunition wagon with a broken axle. the men themselves, three ranks deep, were in a hollow square, with the cannon at the angles and the supply wagons in the center. every face looked worn and anxious, but they did not seem to have lost heart. yet, as ned had foreseen, this was quite a different force from that which had held the alamo so long, and against so many. most of the young faces were not yet browned by the burning sun of texas. drawn by the reports of great adventure they had come from far places, and each little company had its own name. there were the "grays" from new orleans, the "mustangs" from kentucky, the "red rovers" from alabama and others with fancy names, but altogether they numbered, with the small reinforcements that had been received, only three hundred and fifty men. ned could have shed tears, when he looked upon the force. he felt himself a veteran beside them. yet there was no lack of courage among them. they did not flinch, as the fire grew heavier, and the cannon balls whistled over their heads. ned was sure now that general urrea was around them with his whole army. the presence of the cannon indicated it, and he saw enough to know that the mexican force outnumbered the texan four or five to one. he heard the mexican trumpets pealing presently, and then he saw their infantry advancing in dark masses with heavy squadrons of cavalry on either flank. but as soon as they came within range, they were swept by the deadly fire of the texan rifles and were driven back in confusion. ned noticed that this always happened. the mexicans could never carry a texan position by a frontal attack. the texans, or those who were called the texans, shot straight and together so fast that no mexican column could withstand their hail of bullets. a second time the mexicans charged, and a second time they were driven back in the same manner. exultation spread among the recruits standing in the hollow, but they were still surrounded. the mexicans merely drew out of range and waited. then they attacked a third time, and, from all sides, charging very close, infantry and cavalry. the men in the hollow were well supplied with rifles, and their square fairly blazed. yet the mexicans pressed home the charge with a courage and tenacity that ned had never seen among them before. these were mexico's best troops, and, even when the men faltered, the officers drove them on again with the point of the sword. general urrea himself led the cavalry, and the mexicans pressed so close that the recruits saw both lance and bayonet points shining in their faces. the hollow in which the texans stood was a huge cloud of flame and smoke. ned was loading and firing so fast that the barrel of his rifle grew hot to the touch. he stood with two youths but little older than himself, and the comradeship of battle had already made them friends. but they scarcely saw the faces of one another. the little valley was filled with the smoke of their firing. they breathed it and tasted it, and it inflamed their brains. ned's experience had made him a veteran, and when he heard the thunder of the horse's hoofs and saw the lance points so near he knew that the crisis had come. "one more volley. one for your lives!" he cried to those around him. the volley was forthcoming. the rifles were discharged at the range of only a few yards into the mass of mexican cavalry. horses and men fell headlong, some pitching to the very feet of the texans and then one of the cannon poured a shower of grape shot into the midst of the wavering square. it broke and ran, bearing its general away with it, and leaving the ground cumbered with fallen men and horses. the mexican infantry was also driven back at every point, and retreated rapidly until they were out of range. under the cloud of smoke wounded men crept away. but when the cloud was wholly gone, it disclosed those who would move no more, lying on every side. the defenders had suffered also. fannin lay upon the ground, while two of his men bound up a severe wound in the thigh that he had sustained from a mexican bullet. many others had been wounded and some had been killed. most alarming of all was the announcement that the cannon could be fired only a few times more, as there was no water for the sponges when they became heated and clogged. but this discouraged only the leaders, not the recruits themselves, who had ultimate faith in their rifles. ned felt an extreme dizziness. all his old strength had not yet returned, and after such furious action and so much excitement there was a temporary collapse. he lay back on the grass, closed his eyes, and waited for the weakness to pass. he heard around him the talk and murmur of the men, and the sounds of new preparations. he heard the recruits telling one another that they had repulsed four mexican attacks, and that they could repulse four more. yet the amount of talking was not great. the fighting had been too severe and continuous to encourage volubility. most of them reloaded in silence and waited. ned felt that his weakness had passed, opened his eyes, and sat up again. he saw that the mexicans had drawn a circle of horsemen about them, but well beyond range. behind the horsemen their army waited. fannin's men were rimmed in by steel, and ned believed that urrea, after his great losses in the charges, would now wait. ned stretched himself and felt his muscles. he was strong once more and his head was clear. he did not believe that the weakness and dizziness would come again. but his tongue and throat were dry, and one of the youths who had stood with him gave him a drink from his canteen. ned would gladly have made the drink a deep one, but he denied himself, and, when he returned the canteen, its supply was diminished but little. he knew better than the giver how precious the water would become. ned was standing at the edge of the hollow, and his head was just about on a level with the surrounding prairie. after his look at the mexican circle, something whistled by his ear. it was an unpleasant sound that he knew well, one marking the passage of a bullet, and he dropped down instantly. then he cautiously raised himself up again, and, a half dozen others who had heard the shot did the same. one rose a little higher than the rest and he fell back with a cry, a bullet in his shoulder. ned was surprised and puzzled. whence had come these shots? there was the line of mexican cavalry, well out of range, and, beyond the horsemen, were the infantry. he could see nothing, but the wounded shoulder was positive proof that some enemy was near. there was a third crack, and a man fell to the bottom of the hollow, where he lay still. the bullet had gone through his head. ned saw a wreath of smoke rising from a tiny hillock, a hundred yards away, and then he saw lifted for only a moment a coppery face with high cheek bones and coarse black hair. an indian! no one could ever mistake that face for a white man's. many more shots were fired and he caught glimpses of other faces, indian in type like the first. every hillock or other inequality of the earth seemed to spout bullets, which were now striking among the texans, cooped up in the hollow, killing and wounding. but the circle of mexican horsemen did not stir. "what are they?" called fannin, who was lying upon a pallet, suffering greatly from his wound. "indians," replied ned. "indians!" exclaimed fannin in surprise. "i did not know that there were any in this part of the country." "nor did i," replied ned, "but they are surely here, colonel, and if i may make a suggestion, suppose we pick sharp-shooters to meet them." "it is the only thing to do," said fannin, and immediately the best men with the rifle were placed along the edge of the hollow. it was full time, as the fire of the red sharpshooters was creeping closer, and was doing much harm. they were campeachy indians, whom the mexicans had brought with them from their far country and, splendid stalkers and skirmishers, they were now proving their worth. better marksmen than the mexicans, naked to the waist, their dark faces inflamed with the rage to kill, they wormed themselves forward like snakes, flattened against the ground, taking advantage of every hillock or ridge, and finding many a victim in the hollow. far back, the mexican officers sitting on their horses watched their work with delighted approval. ned was not a sharpshooter like the panther or davy crockett, but he was a sharpshooter nevertheless, and, driven by the sternest of all needs, he was growing better all the time. he saw another black head raised for a moment above a hillock, and a muzzle thrust forward, but he fired first. the head dropped back, but the rifle fell from the arms and lay across the hillock. ned knew that his bullet had sped true, and he felt a savage joy. the other sharpshooters around him were also finding targets. the indian bullets still crashed into the crowded ranks in the hollow, but the white marksmen picked off one after another in the grass. the moment a red face showed itself a bullet that rarely missed was sent toward it. here was no indiscriminate shooting. no man pulled the trigger until he saw his target. ned had now fired four times, and he knew that he had not missed once. the consuming rage still possessed him, but it was for the mexicans rather than the indians against whom he was sending his bullets. surely they were numerous enough to fight the texans. they ought to be satisfied with ten to one in their favor, without bringing indians also against the tiny settlements! the fire mounted to his brain, and he looked eagerly for a fifth head. it was a singular duel between invisible antagonists. never was an entire body seen, but the crackling fire and the spurts of flame and smoke were incessant. after a while the line of fire and smoke on the prairie began to retreat slowly. the fire of the white sharpshooters had grown too hot and the indians were creeping away, leaving their dead in the grass. presently their fire ceased entirely and then that of the white marksmen ceased also. no sounds came from the mexicans, who were all out of range. in the hollow the wounded, who now numbered one-fifth of the whole, suppressed their groans, and their comrades, who bound up their hurts or gave them water, said but little. ned's own throat had become parched again, but he would not ask for another drop of water. the texans had used oxen to drag their cannon and wagons, and most of them now lay dead about the rim of the shallow crater, slain by the mexican and indian bullets. the others had been tied to the wagons to keep them, when maddened by the firing, from trampling down the texans themselves. now they still shivered with fear, and pulled at their ropes. ned felt sorry for the poor brutes. full cause had they for fright. the afternoon was waning, and he ate a little supper, followed by a single drink of water. every man received a similar drink and no more from the canteens. the coming twilight brought a coolness that was refreshing, but the indians, taking advantage of the dusk, crept forward, and began to fire again at the texans cooped up in the crater. these red sharpshooters had the advantage of always knowing the position of their enemy, while they could shift their own as they saw fit. the texan marksmen, worn and weary though they were, returned to their task. they could not see the indians, but they used an old device, often successful in border warfare. whenever an indian fired a spurt of smoke shot up from his rifle's muzzle. a texan instantly pulled trigger at the base of the smoke, and oftener than not the bullet hit his dusky foe. this new duel in the dark went on for two hours. the indians could fire at the mass in the hollow, while the texans steadily picked out their more difficult targets. the frightened oxen uttered terrified lowings and the indians, now and then aiming at the sounds, killed or wounded more of the animals. the texans themselves slew those that were wounded, unwilling to see them suffer so much. the skill of the texans with the rifle was so great that gradually they prevailed over the indians a second time in the trial of sharpshooting. the warriors were driven back on the mexican cavalry, and abandoned the combat. the night was much darker than usual, and a heavy fog, rising from the plain, added to its density and dampness. the skies were invisible, hidden by heavy masses of floating clouds and fog. ned saw a circle of lights spring up around them. they were the camp fires of the mexican army, and he knew that the troops were comfortable there before the blaze. his heart filled with bitterness. he had expected so much of fannin's men, and crockett and bowie before him had expected so much! yet here they were, beleaguered as the texans had been beleaguered in the alamo, and there were no walls behind which they could fight. it seemed to ned that the hand of fate itself had resolved to strike down the texans. he knew that urrea, one of santa anna's ablest and most tenacious generals, would never relax the watch for an instant. in the darkness he could hear the mexican sentinels calling to one another: "sentinela alerte!" the cold damp allayed the thirst of the young recruits, but the crater was the scene of gloom. they did not dare to light a fire, knowing it would draw the indian bullets at once, or perhaps cannon shots. the wounded in their blankets lay on the ground. a few of the unhurt slept, but most of them sat in silence looking somberly at one another. fannin lay against the breech of one of the cannon, blankets having been folded between to make his position easy. his wound was severe and he was suffering greatly, but he uttered no complaint. he had not shown great skill or judgment as a leader, but he was cool and undaunted in action. now he was calling a council to see what they could do to release themselves from their desperate case. officers and men alike attended it freely. "boys," said fannin, speaking in a firm voice despite his weakness and pain, "we are trapped here in this hole in the prairie, but if you are trapped it does not follow that you have to stay trapped. i don't seek to conceal anything from you. our position could not well be worse. we have cannon, but we cannot use them any longer because they are choked and clogged from former firing, and we have no water to wash them out. shortly we will not have a drop to drink. but you are brave, and you can still shoot. i know that we can break through the mexican lines to-night and reach the coleto, the water and the timber. shall we do it?" many replied yes, but then a voice spoke out of the darkness: "what of the wounded, colonel? we have sixty men who can't move." there was an instant's silence, and then a hundred voices said in the darkness: "we'll never leave them. we'll stay here and fight again!" ned was standing with those nearest fannin, and although the darkness was great his eyes had become so used to it that he could see the pale face of the leader. fannin's eyes lighted up at the words of his men, and a little color came into his cheeks. "you speak like brave men rather than wise men," he said, "but i cannot blame you. it is a hard thing to leave wounded comrades to a foe such as the one who faces us. if you wish to stay here, then i say stay. do you wish it?" "we do!" thundered scores of voices, and fannin, moving a little to make himself easier, said simply: "then fortify as best you can." they brought spades and shovels from the wagons, and began to throw up an earthwork, toiling in the almost pitchy darkness. they reinforced it with the bodies of the slain oxen, and, while they toiled, they saw the fires where the mexican officers rested, sure that their prey could not break from the trap. the texans worked on. at midnight they were still working, and when they rested a while there was neither food nor drink for them. every drop of water was gone long since, and they had eaten their last food at supper. they could have neither food nor drink nor sleep. ned had escaped from many dangers, but it is truth that this time he felt despair. his feeling about the hand of fate striking them down became an obsession. what chance had men without an ounce of food or a drop of water to withstand a siege? but he communicated his fears to no one. two or three hours before day, he became so sore and weary from work with the spade that he crawled into one of the half-wrecked wagons, and tried to go to sleep. but his nerves were drawn to too high a pitch. after a quarter of an hour's vain effort he got out of the wagon and stood by the wheel. the sky was still black, and the heavy clouds of fog and vapor rolled steadily past him. it seemed to him that everything was closing on them, even the skies, and the air was so heavy that he found it hard to breathe. he would have returned to work, but he knew that he would overtask his worn frame, and he wanted to be in condition for the battle that he believed was coming with the morrow. they had not tried to cut out at night, then they must do it by day, or die where they stood of thirst. he sat down at last on the ground, and leaned against a wagon wheel, drawing a blanket over his shoulders for warmth. he found that he could rest better here than inside the wagon, and, in an hour or two, he dozed a little, but when he awoke the night was still very dark. the men finished their toil at the breastwork just before day and then, laying aside their shovels and picks and taking up their rifles, they watched for the first shoot of dawn in the east. it came presently, disclosing the long lines of mexican sentinels and behind them the army. the enemy was on watch and soon a terrible rumor, that was true, spread among the texans. they were caught like the men of refugio. only three or four rounds of ammunition were left. it was bad enough to be without food and water, but without powder and bullets either they were no army. now ned knew that his presages were true. they were doomed. the sun rose higher, pouring a golden light upon the plain. the distance to the mexican lines was in appearance reduced half by the vivid light. then ned of the keen eye saw a dark line far off to their right on the prairie. he watched them a little, and saw that they were mexican cavalry, coming to swell still further urrea's swollen force. he also saw two cannon drawn by mules. ned pointed out the column to wallace, a major among the texans, and then wallace used a pair of glasses. "you are right," he said. "they are mexicans and they have two pieces of artillery. oh, if we could only use our own guns!" but the texan cannon stood as worthless as if they had been spiked, and the texans were compelled to remain silent and helpless, while the mexicans put their new guns in position, and took aim with deliberation, as if all the time in the world was theirs. ned tried to console himself with the reflection that mexican gunners were not often accurate, but the first thud and puff of smoke showed that these were better than usual. a shower of grape shot coming from a superior height swept their camp, killing two or three of the remaining oxen, smashing the wagons to pieces, and wounding more men. another shower from the second gun struck among them with like result, and the case of the texans grew more desperate. they tried to reach the gunners with their rifles, but the range was too great, and, after having thrown away nearly all the ammunition that was left, they were forced to stand idly and receive the mexican fire. the mexicans must have divined the texan situation, as a great cheer rose from their lines. it became evident to ned that the shallow crater would soon be raked through and through by the mexican artillery. fannin, lying upon his pallet, was already calling a council of his officers, to which anyone who chose might listen. the wounded leader was still resolute for battle, saying that they might yet cut their way through the mexicans. but the others had no hope. they pointed to the increased numbers of the foe, and the exhausted condition of their own men, who had not now tasted food or water for many hours. if urrea offered them good terms they must surrender. ned stood on one side, saying nothing, although his experience was perhaps greater than that of anybody else present. but he had seen the inevitable. either they must yield to the mexicans or rush boldly on the foe and die to the last man, as the defenders of the alamo had done. yet fannin still opposed. "we whipped them off yesterday, and we can do it again to-day," he said. but he was willing to leave it to the others, and, as they agreed that there was no chance to hold out any longer, they decided to parley with the mexicans. a white cloth was hoisted on the muzzle of a rifle. the mexican fire ceased, and they saw officers coming forward. the sight was almost more than ned could stand. here was a new defeat, a new tragedy. "i shall meet them myself," said fannin, as he rose painfully. "you come with me. major wallace, but we do not speak spanish, either of us." his eye roved over the recruits, and caught ned's glance. "i have been much in mexico," said ned. "i speak spanish and also several mexican variations of it." "good," said fannin, "then you come with us, and you, too, durangue. we may need you both." the two officers and the two interpreters walked out of the hollow, passing the barricade of earth and dead oxen that had been of no avail, and saw four mexican officers coming toward them. a silk handkerchief about the head of one was hidden partly by a cocked hat, and ned at once saw that it was urrea, the younger. his heart swelled with rage and mortification. it was another grievous pang that urrea should be there to exult. they met about midway between the camps, and urrea stepped forward. he gave ned only a single glance, but it made the boy writhe inwardly. the young mexican was now all smoothness and courtesy, although ned was sure that the cruel spanish strain was there, hidden under his smiling air, but ready to flame up at provocation. "i salute you as gallant foes," said urrea in good english, taking off his hat. "my comrades and associates here are colonel salas, lieutenant colonel holzinger and lieutenant gonzales, who are sent with myself by my uncle, general urrea, to inquire into the meaning of the white flag that you have hoisted." each of the mexican officers, as his name was called, took off his hat and bowed. "i am colonel fannin," began the texan leader. all four mexicans instantly bowed again. "and you are wounded," said urrea. "it shows the valor of the texans, when their commander himself shares their utmost dangers." fannin smiled rather grimly. "there was no way to escape the dangers," he said. "your fire was heavy." urrea smiled in a gratified way, and then waited politely for fannin to continue. the leader at once began to treat with the mexican officers. ned, durangue and urrea translated, and the boy did not miss a word that was said. it was agreed that the texans should surrender, and that they should be treated as prisoners of war in the manner of civilized nations. prompt and special attention would be given to the wounded. then the mexican officers saluted courteously and went back toward their own ranks. it had all seemed very easy, very simple, but ned did not like this velvet smoothness, this willingness of the mexicans to agree to the most generous terms. fannin, however, was elated. he had won no victories, but he had saved the lives of his men. their own return was slow, as fannin's wound oppressed him, but when they reached their camp, and told what had been done, the recruits began silently to stack their arms, half in gladness and half in sorrow. more mexican officers came presently and still treated them with that same smooth and silky courtesy. colonel holzinger received the surrendered arms, and, as he did so, he said to ned, who stood by: "well, it's liberty and home in ten days for all you gentlemen." "i hope so," said ned gravely, although he had no home. the mexican courtesy went so far that the arms of the officers were nailed up in a box, with the statement that they would be given back to them as soon as they were released. "i am sorry that we cannot consider you an officer, señor fulton," said young urrea to ned, "then you would get back your rifle and pistols." "you need not bother about it," said ned. "i am willing to let them go. i dare say that when i need them i can get others." "then you still mean to fight against us?" said urrea. "if i can get an exchange, and i suppose i can." "you are not content even yet! you saw what happened at the alamo. you survived that by a miracle, but where are all your companions in that siege? dead. you escaped and joined the texans at refugio. where are the defenders of refugio? in the swamps of the guadalupe, and we have only to put forth our hands and take them. you escaped from refugio to find fannin and his men. where are fannin and his men now? prisoners in our hands. how many of the texans are left? there is no place in all texas so far that the arm of the great santa anna cannot reach it." ned was stung by his taunts and replied: "you forget houston." urrea laughed. "houston! houston!" he said. "he does nothing. and your so-called government does nothing, but talk. they, too, will soon feel the might and wrath of santa anna. nothing can save them but a swift flight to the states." "we shall see," said ned, although at that moment he was far from confident. "remember how our men died at the alamo. the texans cannot be conquered." urrea said nothing further, as if he would not exult over a fallen enemy, although ned knew that he was swelling with triumph, and went back to his uncle's camp. the texan arms were taken ahead on some wagons, and then the dreary procession of the texans themselves marched out of the hollow. they were all on foot and without arms. those hurt worst were sustained by their comrades, and, thus, they marched into the mexican camp, where they expected food and water, but general urrea directed them to walk on to goliad. fainting from hunger and thirst, they took up their march again. the mexican cavalry rode on either side of them, and many of the horsemen were not above uttering taunts which, fortunately, few of the prisoners could understand. young urrea was in command of this guard and he rode near the head of the column where ned could see him. now and then a mexican vaquero cracked his long whip, and every report made ned start and redden with anger. some of the recruits were cheerful, talked of being exchanged and of fighting again in the war, but the great majority marched in silence and gloom. they felt that they had wasted themselves. they had marched into a trap, which the mexicans were able to close upon them before they could strike a single blow for texas. now they were herded like cattle being driven to a stable. they reached the town of goliad, and the mexican women and children, rejoicing in the triumph of their men, came out to meet them, uttering many shrill cries as they chattered to one another. ned understood them, but he was glad that the others did not. young urrea rode up by the side of him and said: "well, you and your comrades have now arrived at our good town of goliad. you should be glad that your lives have been spared, because you are rebels and you deserve death. but great is the magnanimity of our most illustrious president and general, antonio lopez de santa anna." ned looked up quickly. he thought he had caught a note of cruelty in that soft, measured voice. he never trusted urrea, nor did he ever trust santa anna. "i believe it is customary in civilized warfare to spare the lives of prisoners," he said. "but rebels are rebels, and freebooters are freebooters," said urrea. it seemed to ned that the young mexican wanted to draw him into some sort of controversy, and he refused to continue. he felt that there was something sinister about urrea, or that he represented something sinister, and he resolved to watch rather than talk. so, gazing straight ahead, he walked on in silence. urrea, waiting for an answer, and seeing that he would get none, smiled ironically, and, turning his horse, galloped away. the prisoners were marched through the town, and to the church. all the old spanish or mexican towns of texas contained great stone churches, which were also fortresses, and goliad was no exception. this was of limestone, vaulted and somber, and it was choked to overflowing with the prisoners, who could not get half enough air through the narrow windows. the surgeons, for lack of bandages and medicines, could not attend the wounded, who lay upon the floor. where were the fair mexican promises, in accordance with which they had yielded? many of the unwounded became so weak from hunger and thirst that they, too, were forced to lie upon the floor. ned had reserves of strength that came to his aid. he leaned against the wall and breathed the foul air of the old church, which was breathed over and over again by nearly four hundred men. the heavy doors were unbarred an hour later, and food and water were brought to them, but how little! there was a single drink and a quarter of a pound of meat for each man. it was but a taste after their long fast, and soon they were as hungry and thirsty as ever. it was a hideous night. there was not room for them all to sleep on the floor, and ned dozed for a while leaning against the wall. food and water were brought to them in the same small quantities in the morning, but there was no word from the mexicans concerning the promises of good treatment and parole that had been made when they surrendered. ned was surprised at nothing. he knew that santa anna dominated all mexico, and he knew santa anna. promises were nothing to him, if it served him better to break them. fannin demanded writing materials and wrote a note to general urrea protesting strongly against the violation of faith. but general urrea was gone after ward's men, who were surrounded in the marshes of the guadalupe, leaving colonel portilla in command. portilla, meanwhile, was dominated by the younger urrea, a man of force and audacity, whom he knew to be high in the favor of santa anna. captain urrea did not believe in showing any kindness to the men imprisoned in the church. they were rebels or filibusters. they had killed many good mexicans, and they should be made to suffer for it. no answer was returned to fannin's letter, and the men in the somber old limestone building became depressed and gloomy. ned, who was surprised at nothing, also hoped for nothing, but he sought to preserve his strength, believing that he would soon have full need of it. he stretched and tensed his muscles in order to keep the stiffness from coming into them, and he slept whenever he could. two or three days passed and the mexican officer, holzinger, came for fannin, who was now recovered largely from his wound. the two went away to copano on the coast to look for a vessel that would carry the prisoners to new orleans. they returned soon, and fannin and all his men were in high hopes. meanwhile a new group of prisoners were thrust into the church. they were the survivors of ward's men, whom general urrea had taken in the swamps of the guadalupe. then came another squad, eighty-two young tennesseeans, who, reaching texas by water, had been surrounded and captured by an overwhelming force the moment they landed. a piece of white cloth had been tied around the arms of every one of these men to distinguish them from the others. but they were very cheerful over the news that fannin had brought. there was much bustle among the mexicans, and it seemed to be the bustle of preparation. the prisoners expected confidently that within another day they would be on the march to the coast and to freedom. there was a singular scene in the old church. a boy from kentucky had brought a flute with him which the mexicans had permitted him to retain. now sitting in turkish fashion in the center of the floor he was playing: "home, sweet home." either he played well or their situation deepened to an extraordinary pitch the haunting quality of the air. despite every effort tears rose to ned's eyes. others made no attempt to hide theirs. why should they? they were but inexperienced boys in prison, many hundreds of miles from the places where they were born. they sang to the air of the flute, and all through the evening they sang that and other songs. they were happier than they had been in many days. ned alone was gloomy and silent. knowing that santa anna was now the fountain head of all things mexican he could not yet trust. chapter xviii the black tragedy while the raw recruits crowded one another for breath in the dark vaulted church of goliad, a little swarthy man in a gorgeous uniform sat dining luxuriously in the best house in san antonio, far to the northwest. some of his favorite generals were around him, castrillon, gaona, almonte, and the italian filisola. the "napoleon of the west" was happy. his stay in san antonio, after the fall of the alamo, had been a continuous triumph, with much feasting and drinking and music. he had received messages from the city of mexico, his capital, and all things there went well. everybody obeyed his orders, although they were sent from the distant and barbarous land of texas. while they dined, a herald, a mexican cavalrymen who had ridden far, stopped at the door and handed a letter to the officer on guard: "for the most illustrious president, general santa anna," he said. the officer went within and, waiting an opportune moment, handed the letter to santa anna. "the messenger came from general urrea," he said. santa anna, with a word of apology, because he loved the surface forms of politeness, opened and read the letter. then he uttered a cry of joy. "we have all the texans now!" he exclaimed. "general urrea has taken fannin and his men. there is nothing left in texas to oppose us." the generals uttered joyful shouts and drank again to their illustrious leader. the banquet lasted long, but after it was over santa anna withdrew to his own room and dictated a letter to his secretary. it was sealed carefully and given to a chosen messenger, a heavy-browed and powerful mexican. "ride fast to goliad with that letter," said santa anna. the messenger departed at once. he rode a strong horse, and he would find fresh mounts on the way. he obeyed the orders of the general literally. he soon left san antonio far behind, and went on hour after hour, straight toward goliad. now and then he felt the inside of his tunic where the letter lay, but it was always safe. three or four times he met parties of mexicans, and he replied briefly to their questions that he rode on the business of the most illustrious president, general antonio lopez de santa anna. once, on the second day, he saw two horsemen, whom his trained eyes told him to be texan hunters. the messenger sheered off into a patch of timber, and waited until the hunters passed out of sight. had they seen him much might have changed, a terrible story might have been different, but, at that period, the stars in their courses were working against the texans. every accident, every chance, turned to the advantage of their enemies. the messenger emerged from the timber, and went on at the same steady gait toward goliad. he was riding his fourth horse now, having changed every time he met a mexican detachment, and the animal was fresh and strong. the rider himself, powerful by nature and trained to a life in the saddle, felt no weariness. the scattered houses of goliad came into view, by and by, and the messenger, giving the magic name of santa anna, rode through the lines. he inquired for general urrea, the commander, but the general having gone to victoria he was directed to colonel portilla, who commanded in his absence. he found portilla sitting in a patio with colonel garay, the younger urrea and several other mexican officers. the messenger saluted, drew the letter from his pocket and presented it to colonel portilla. "from the most illustrious president and commander-in-chief, general santa anna," he said. portilla broke the seal and read. as his eyes went down the lines, a deep flush crept through the tan of his face, and the paper trembled in his hands. "i cannot do it! i cannot do it! read, gentlemen, read!" he cried. urrea took the extended letter from his hand and read it aloud. neither his voice nor his hand quivered as he read, and when he finished he said in a firm voice: "the orders of the president must be obeyed, and you, colonel portilla, must carry them out at once. all of us know that general santa anna does not wish to repeat his commands, and that his wrath is terrible." "it is so! it is so!" said portilla hopelessly, and garay also spoke words of grief. but urrea, although younger and lower in rank, was firm, even exultant. his aggressive will dominated the others, and his assertion that the wrath of santa anna was terrible was no vain warning. the others began to look upon him as santa anna's messenger, the guardian of his thunderbolts, and they did not dare to meet his eye. "we will go outside and talk about it," said portilla, still much agitated. when they left the patio their steps inevitably took them toward the church. the high note of a flute playing a wailing air came to them through the narrow windows. it was "home, sweet home," played by a boy in prison. the mexicans did not know the song, but its solemn note was not without an appeal to portilla and garay. portilla wiped the perspiration from his face. "come away," he said. "we can talk better elsewhere." they turned in the opposite direction, but urrea did not remain with them long. making some excuse for leaving them he went rapidly to the church. he knew that his rank and authority would secure him prompt admission from the guards, but he stopped, a moment, at the door. the prisoners were now singing. three or four hundred voices were joined in some hymn of the north that he did not know, some song of the english-speaking people. the great volume of sound floated out, and was heard everywhere in the little town. urrea was not moved at all. "rebels and filibusters!" he said in spanish, under his breath, but fiercely. then he ordered the door unbarred, and went in. two soldiers went with him and held torches aloft. the singing ceased when urrea entered. ned was standing against the wall, and the young mexican instinctively turned toward him, because he knew ned best. there was much of the tiger cat in urrea. he had the same feline grace and power, the same smoothness and quiet before going into action. "you sing, you are happy," he said to ned, although he meant them all. "it is well. you of the north bear misfortune well." "we do the best we can wherever we are," replied young fulton, dryly. "the saints themselves could do no more," said the mexican. urrea was speaking in english, and his manner was so friendly and gentle that the recruits crowded around him. "when are we to be released? when do we get our parole?" they asked. urrea smiled and held up his hands. he was all sympathy and generosity. "all your troubles will be over to-morrow," he said, "and it is fitting that they should end on such a day, because it is palm sunday." the recruits gave a cheer. "do we go down to the coast?" one of them asked. urrea smiled with his whole face, and with the gesture of his hands, too. but he shook his head. "i can say no more," he replied. "i am not the general, and perhaps i have said too much already, but be assured, brave foes, that to-morrow will end your troubles. you fought us gallantly. you fought against great odds, and you have my sympathy." ned had said no more. he was looking at urrea intently. he was trying, with all the power of his own mind and soul, to read this man's mind and soul. he was trying to pierce through that spanish armor of smiles and gestures and silky tones and see what lay beneath. he sought to read the real meaning of all these polite phrases. his long and powerful gaze finally drew urrea's own. a little look of fear crept into urrea's eyes, as the two antagonists stared at each other. but it was only for a few minutes. then he looked away with a shrug and a laugh. "now i leave you," he said to the men, "and may the saints bring you much happiness. do not forget that to-morrow is palm sunday, and that it is a good omen." he went out, taking the torchbearers with him, and although it was dark again in the vaulted church, the recruits sang a long time. ned sat down with his back against the wall, and he did not share in the general joy. he remembered the look that had come into urrea's eyes, when they met the accusing gaze of his own. after a while the singing ceased, and one by one the recruits fell asleep in the close, stifling air of the place. ned dozed an hour or two, but awoke before dawn. he was oppressed by a deep and unaccountable gloom, and it was not lifted when, in the dusk, he looked at the rows of sleeping figures, crowded so close together that no part of the floor was visible. he saw the first light appear in the east, and then spread like the slow opening of a fan. the recruits began to awaken by and by, and their good spirits had carried over from the night before. soon the old church was filled with talk and laughter. the day came fully, and then the guards brought food and water, not enough to satisfy hunger and thirst, but enough to keep them alive. they did not complain, as they would soon be free men, able to obtain all that they wanted. presently the doors of the church were thrown open, and the officers and many soldiers appeared. young urrea was foremost among the officers, and, in a loud voice, he ordered all the prisoners to come out, an order that they obeyed with alacrity and pleasure. ned marched forth with the rest, although he did not speak to any of those about him. he looked first at urrea, whose manner was polite and smiling, as it had been the night before, and then his glance shifted to the other officers, older men, and evidently higher in rank. he saw that two, colonels by their uniforms, were quite pale, and that one of them was biting savagely at his mustache. it all seemed sinister to ned. why was urrea doing everything, and why were his superiors standing by, evidently a prey to some great nervous strain? the recruits, under urrea's orders, were formed into three columns. one was to take the road toward san antonio, the second would march toward san patricio, and the third to copano. the three columns shouted good-by, but the recruits assured one another that they would soon meet again. urrea told one column that it was going to be sent home immediately, another that it was going outside the town, where it was to help in killing cattle for beef which they would eat, and the third that it was leaving the church in a hurry to make room for santa anna's own troops, who would reach the town in an hour. ned was in the largest column, near the head of it, and he watched everything with a wary eye. he noticed that the mexican colonels still left all the arrangements to urrea, and that they remained extremely nervous. their hands were never quiet for a moment. the column filed down through the town, and ned saw the mexican women looking at them. he heard two or three of them say "pobrecitos" (poor fellows), and their use of the word struck upon his ear with an ominous sound. he glanced back. close behind the mass of prisoners rode a strong squadron of cavalry with young urrea at their head. ned could not see urrea's face, which was hidden partly by a cocked and plumed hat, but he noticed that the young mexican sat very upright, as if he felt the pride of authority. one hand held the reins, and the other rested on the silver hilt of a small sword at his side. a column of mexican infantry marched on either side of the prisoners, and only a few yards away. it seemed to ned that they were holding the texans very close for men whom they were to release in a few hours. trusting the mexicans in nothing, he was suspicious of everything, and he watched with a gaze that missed no detail. but he seemed to be alone in such thoughts. the recruits, enjoying the fresh air and the prospect of speedy freedom, were talking much, and exchanging many jests. they passed out of the little town, and the last ned saw of it was the mexican women standing in the doorways and watching. they continued along the road in double file, with the mexican infantry still on either side, and the mexican cavalry in the rear. a half mile from the town, and urrea gave an order. the whole procession stopped, and the column of mexican infantry on the left passed around, joining their comrades on the right. the recruits paid no attention to the movement, but ned looked instantly at urrea. he saw the man rise now in his saddle, his whole face aflame. in a flash he divined everything. his heart leaped and he shouted: "boys, they are going to kill us!" the startled recruits did not have time to think, because the next instant urrea, rising to his full height in his stirrups, cried: "fire!" the double line of mexicans, at a range of a few yards, fired in an instant into the column of unarmed prisoners. there was a great blaze, a spurt of smoke and a tremendous crash. it seemed to ned that he could fairly hear the thudding of bullets upon bodies, and the breaking of bones beneath the sudden fierce impact of the leaden hail. an awful strangled cry broke from the poor recruits, half of whom were already down. the mexicans, reloading swiftly, poured in another volley, and the prisoners fell in heaps. then urrea and the cavalry, with swords and lances, charged directly upon them, the hoofs of their horses treading upon wounded and unwounded alike. ned could never remember clearly the next few moments in that red and awful scene. it seemed to him afterward that he went mad for the time. he was conscious of groans and cries, of the fierce shouting of the mexicans, wild with the taste of blood, of the incessant crackling of the rifles and muskets, and of falling bodies. he saw gathering over himself and his slaughtered comrades a great column of smoke, pierced by innumerable jets of fire, and he caught glimpses of the swart faces of the mexicans as they pulled triggers. from right and left came the crash of heavy but distant volleys, showing that the other two columns were being massacred in the same way. he felt the thunder of hoofs and a horse was almost upon him, while the rider, leaning from the saddle, cut at him with a saber. ned, driven by instinct rather than reason, sprang to one side the next instant, and then the horseman was lost in the smoke. he dashed against a figure, and was about to strike with his fist, the only weapon that he now had, when he saw that he had collided with a texan, unwounded like himself. then he, too, was lost in the smoke. a consuming rage and horror seized ned. why he was not killed he never knew. the cloud over the place where the slaughtered recruits lay thickened, but the mexicans never ceased to fire into it with their rifles and muskets. the crackling of the weapons beat incessantly upon the drums of his ears. mingled with it were the cries and groans of the victims, now fast growing fewer. but it was all a blurred and red vision to ned. while he was in that deadly volcano he moved by instinct and impulse and not by reason. a few of the unwounded had already dashed from the smoke and had undertaken flight across the plain, away from the mexican infantry, where they were slain by the lances or muskets of the cavalry under urrea. ned followed them. a lancer thrust so savagely at him that when the boy sprang aside the lance was hurled from his hand. ned's foot struck against the weapon, and instantly he picked it up. a horseman on his right was aiming a musket at him, and, using the lance as a long club, he struck furiously at the mexican. the heavy butt landed squarely upon the man's head, and shattered it like an eggshell. youthful and humane, ned nevertheless felt a savage joy when the man's skull crashed beneath his blow. it is true that he was quite mad for the moment. his rage and horror caused every nerve and muscle within him to swell. his brain was a mass of fire. his strength was superhuman. whirling the great lance in club fashion about his head he struck another mexican across the shoulders, and sent him with a howl of pain from the saddle. he next struck a horse across the forehead, and so great was the impact that the animal went down. a cavalryman at a range of ten yards fired at him and missed. he never fired again, as the heavy butt of the lance caught him the next instant on the side of the head, and he went to join his comrade. all the while ned was running for the timber. a certain reason was appearing in his actions, and he was beginning to think clearly. he curved about as he ran, knowing that it would disturb the aim of the mexicans, who were not good shots, and instinctively he held on to the lance, whirling it about his head, and from time to time uttering fierce shouts like an indian warrior wild with battle. more than one mexican horseman sheered away from the formidable figure with the formidable weapon. ned saw other figures, unarmed, running for the wood. a few reached it, but most were cut down before they had gone half way. behind him the firing and shouting of the mexicans did not seem to decrease, but no more groans or cries reached him from the bank of smoke that hung over the place where the murdered recruits lay. but the crash of the fire, directed on the other columns to right and left, still came to him. ned saw the wood not far away now. twenty or thirty shots had been fired at him, but all missed except two, which merely grazed him. he was not hurt and the superhuman strength, born of events so extraordinary, still bore him up. the trees looked very green. they seemed to hold out sheltering arms, and there was dense underbrush through which the cavalry could not dash. he came yet nearer, and then a horseman, rifle raised to his shoulder, dashed in between. sparks danced before ned's eyes. throat and mouth, lips and his whole face burned with smoke and fever, but all the heat seemed to drive him into fiercer action. he struck at horse and horseman so savagely that the two went down together, and the lance broke in his hands. then with a cry of triumph that his parched throat could scarcely utter, he leaped into the timber. having reached the shelter of the trees, ned ran on for a long time, and finally came into the belt of forest along the san antonio river. twenty-six others escaped in the same way on that day, which witnessed the most dreadful deed ever done on the soil of north america, but nearly four hundred were murdered in obedience to the letter sent by antonio lopez de santa anna. fannin and ward, themselves, were shot through the head, and their bodies were thrown into the common heap of the slain. ned did not see any of the other fugitives among the trees. he may have passed them, but his brain was still on fire, and he beheld nothing but that terrible scene behind him, the falling recruits, the fire and the smoke and the charging horsemen. he could scarcely believe that it was real. the supreme power would not permit such things. already the alamo had lighted a fire in his soul, and goliad now turned it into a roaring flame. he hated urrea, who had rejoiced in it, and he hated santa anna who, he dimly felt, had been responsible for this massacre. every element in his being was turned for the time into passion and hatred. as he wandered on, he murmured unintelligible but angry words through his burning lips. he knew nothing about the passage of time, but after many hours he realized that it was night, and that he had come to the banks of a river. it was the san antonio, and he swam it, wishing to put the stream between himself and the mexicans. then he sat down in the thick timber, and the collapse from such intense emotions and such great exertions came quickly. he seemed to go to pieces all in a breath. his head fell forward and he became unconscious. chapter xix the race for the boat five men, or rather four men and a boy, rode down the banks of the san antonio, always taking care to keep well in the shelter of the timber. all the men were remarkable in figure, and at least three of them were of a fame that had spread to every corner of texas. the one who rode slightly in advance was of gigantic build, enormously thick through the shoulders and chest. he was dressed in brightly dyed deerskin, and there were many fanciful touches about his border costume. the others also wore deerskin, but theirs was of soberer hue. the man was martin palmer, far better known as the panther, or, as he loved to call himself, the ring tailed panther. his comrades were "deaf" smith, henry karnes, obed white and will allen. they were not a very cheerful five. riding as free lances, because there was now practically no organized authority among the texans, they had been scouting the day before toward goliad. they had learned that fannin and his men had been taken, and they had sought also to discover what the mexican generals meant to do with the troops. but the mexican patrols had been so numerous and strong that they could not get close enough to goliad. early in the morning while in the timber by the river they had heard the sound of heavy firing near goliad, which continued for some time, but they had not been able to fathom its meaning. they concluded finally that a portion of fannin's men must have been still holding out in some old building of goliad, and that this was the last stand. they made another effort to get closer to the town, but they were soon compelled to turn back, and, again they sought the thickest timber along the river. now they were riding back, in the hope of finding some texan detachment with which they could coöperate. "if we keep huntin' we ought to find somebody who can tell us somethin'," said the panther. "it's a long lane that has no news at the end," said obed white, with an attempt at buoyancy. "that's so," said "deaf" smith. "we're bound to hit a trail somehow an' somewhere. we heard that fannin's men had surrendered an' then we heard that firin'. but i guess that they wouldn't give up, without makin' good terms for themselves, else they would have held out as the boys did in the alamo." "ah, the alamo!" said obed white. his face clouded at the words. he was thinking then of the gallant youth who had escaped with him from the dungeon under the sea in the castle of san juan de ulua, and who had been his comrade in the long and perilous flight through mexico into texas. the heart of the maine man, alone in the world, had turned strongly to ned fulton, and mourning him as one dead he also mourned him as a son. but as he rarely talked of the things that affected him most, he seldom mentioned ned. the panther was less restrained. "we've got a big score to settle for the alamo," he said. "some good friends of mine went down forever in that old mission an' there was that boy, ned fulton. i s'pose it ain't so bad to be cut off when you're old, an' you've had most of your life, but it does look bad for a strong, fine boy just turnin' into a man to come straight up ag'inst the dead wall." will allen said nothing, but unbidden water forced itself to his eyes. he and ned had become the strongest of friends and comrades. "after all that's been done to our people," said the panther, "i feel like rippin' an' r'arin' an' chawin' the rest of my life." "we'll have the chance to do all of it we want, judgin' from the way things are goin'," said "deaf" smith. then they relapsed into silence, and rode on through the timber, going slowly as they were compelled to pick their way in the underbrush. it was now nearly noon, and a brilliant sun shone overhead, but the foliage of young spring was heavy on trees and bushes, and it gave them at the same time shade and shelter. as they rode they watched everywhere for a trail. if either texans or mexicans had passed they wanted to know why, and when. they came at last to hoofprints in the soft bank of the river, indicating that horses--undoubtedly with men on their backs--had crossed here. the skilled trailers calculated the number at more than fifteen, perhaps more than twenty, and they followed their path across the timber and out upon the prairie. when the hoofprints were more clearly discernible in the grass they saw that they had been made by unshod feet, and they were mystified, but they followed cautiously or, for two or three miles, when "deaf" smith saw something gleaming by the track. he alighted and picked up a painted feather. "it's simple now," he said. "we've been followin' the trail of indians. they wouldn't be in this part of the country, 'less they were helpin' the mexicans, an' i guess they were at goliad, leavin' after the business there was finished." "you're right, deaf," said karnes. "that 'counts for the unshod hoofs. it ain't worth while for us to follow them any longer, so i guess we'd better turn back to the timber." safety obviously demanded this course, and soon they were again in the forest, riding near the san antonio and down its stream. they struck the trail of a bear, then they roused up a deer in the thickets, but big game had no attraction for them now, and they went on, leaving bear and deer in peace. then the sharp eyes of the panther saw the print of a human foot on the river bank. he soon saw three or four more such traces leading into the forest, where the trail was lost. the five gathered around the imprints in the earth, and debated their meaning. it was evident even to will allen that some one without a horse had swum the river at that point and had climbed up the bank. they could see the traces lower down, where he had emerged from the water. "i figger it this way," said the panther. "people don't go travelin' through this country except on horses, an' this fellow, whoever he is, didn't have any horse, as we all can see as plain as day." "an' in such times as these," said "deaf" smith, "fellers don't go swimmin' rivers just for fun. the one that made these tracks was in a hurry. ain't that so, hank?" "'course he was," replied karnes. "he was gettin' away from somewhere an' from somebody. that's why he swam the river; he wanted the san antonio to separate him from them somebodies." "and putting two and two and then two more together," said obed white, "we draw the conclusion that it is a fugitive, probably one of our own texans, who has escaped in some manner from his prison at goliad." "it's what we all think," said the panther, "an' now we'll beat up these thickets till we find him. he's sure to keep movin' away from goliad, an' he's got sense to stay in the cover of the timber." the forest here ran back from the river three or four hundred yards, and the five, separating and moving up the stream, searched thoroughly. the hunt presently brought the panther and obed white together again, and they expressed their disappointment at finding nothing. then they heard a cry from will allen, who came galloping through the thickets, his face white and his eyes starting. "i've found ned fulton!" he cried. "he's lying here dead in the bushes!" the panther and obed stared in amazement. "will," exclaimed the panther, "have you gone plum' crazy? ned was killed at the alamo!" "i tell you he is here!" cried the boy, who was shaking with excitement. "i have just seen him! he was lying on his back in the bushes, and he did not move!" "lead on! let's see what you have seen!" said obed, who began to share in the boy's excitement. the panther whistled, and smith and karnes joined them. then, led by will allen, they rode swiftly through the bushes, coming, forty or fifty yards away, into a tiny grassy glade. it was either ned fulton or his ghost, and the panther, remembering the alamo, took it for the latter. he uttered a cry of astonishment and reined in his horse. but obed white leaped to the ground, and ran to the prostrate figure. "a miracle!" he exclaimed. "it's ned fulton! and he's alive!" the others also sprang from their horses, and crowded around their youthful comrade, whom they had considered among the fallen of the alamo. ned was unconscious, his face was hot with fever, and his breathing was hard and irregular. "how he escaped from the alamo and how he came here we don't know," said obed white solemnly, "but there are lots of strange things in heaven and earth, as old shakespeare said, and this is one of the strangest of them all." "however, it's happened we're glad to get him back," said the panther. "and now we must go to work. you can tell by lookin' at him that he's been through all kinds of trouble, an' a powerful lot of it." these skilled borderers knew that ned was suffering from exhaustion. they forced open his mouth, poured a drink down his throat from a flask that karnes carried, and rubbed his hands vigorously. ned, after a while, opened his eyes and looked at them dimly. he knew in a vague way that these were familiar faces, but he remembered nothing, and he felt no surprise. "ned! ned! don't; you know us?" said will allen. "we're your friends, and we found you lying here in the bush!" the clouds slowly cleared away from ned's mind and it all came back, the terrible and treacherous slaughter of his unarmed comrades, his own flight through the timber his swimming of the river, and then the blank. but these were his best friends. it was no fantasy. how and when they had come he did not know, but here they were in the flesh, the panther, obed white, will allen, "deaf" smith and henry karnes. "boys," he asked weakly, "how did you find me?" "now don't you try to talk yet a while, ned," said obed white, veiling his feeling under a whimsical tone. "when people come back from the dead they don't always stay, and we want to keep you, as you're an enrolled member of this party. the news of your trip into the beyond and back again will keep, until we fix up something for you that will make you feel a lot stronger." these frontiersmen never rode without an outfit, and smith produced a small skillet from his kit. the panther lighted a fire, karnes chipped off some dried beef, and in a few minutes they had a fine soup, which ned ate with relish. he sat with his back against a tree and his strength returned rapidly. "i guess you can talk now, ned," said obed white. "you can tell us how you got away from the alamo, and where you've been all the time." young fulton's face clouded and obed white saw his hands tremble. "it isn't the alamo," he said. "they died fighting there. it was goliad." "goliad?" exclaimed "deaf" smith. "what do you mean?" "i mean the slaughter, the massacre. all our men were led out. they were told that they were to go on parole. then the whole mexican army opened fire upon us at a range of only a few yards and the cavalry trod us down. we had no arms. we could not fight back. it was awful. i did not dream that such things could be. none of you will ever see what i've seen, and none of you will ever go through what i've gone through." "ned, you've had fever. it's a dream," said obed white, incredulous. "it is no dream. i broke through somehow, and got to the timber. maybe a few others escaped in the same way, but all the rest were murdered in cold blood. i know that santa anna ordered it." they knew perfectly well that ned was telling the full truth, and the faces of all of them darkened. the same thought was in the heart of every one, vengeance for the deed, but however intense was the thought it did not approach the feeling of ned, who had seen it all, and who had been through it all. "i guess that was the firing we heard," said smith, "when we thought it was the boys making a last stand at goliad. i tell you, comrades, this means the freedom of texas. no matter how the quarrel came about no people can stand such things." "it's so," said the others together. they did not declaim. they were of a tribe that was not given much to words, but they felt sure that their own resolve to fight until no mexicans were left in texas would now be shared by every texan. after ned rested a while longer and ate more of the good soup, he told the full story of the great and tragic scenes through which he had passed since he became separated from them. seasoned as they were, these men hung with breathless interest on every detail. he told them everything that had passed in the alamo during the long days of the siege. he told of crockett and bowie and travis and of the final assault. the panther drew a deep breath, when he finished that part of the story. "they were certainly great men in the alamo, them fellers," he said, "and when my time comes to die i believe i'd rather die that way than any other." ned did not linger long over the tale of goliad. he could not yet bear the detailed repetition. "i think we'd better make for the coast," said "deaf" smith, when he had finished. "our forces in the field are about wiped out, an' we've got to raise a new army of some kind. we can look for our government, too. it's wanderin' aroun', tryin' to keep out of the hands of santa anna. we haven't any horse for you now, ned, but you can ride behind will allen. maybe we can get you a mount before long." they remained in the timber the rest of the day, in order that ned might recover sufficiently for the journey. about the middle of the afternoon they saw a dozen mexican cavalrymen on the plain, and they hoped that they would invade the timber. they were keyed to such a pitch of anger and hate that they would have welcomed a fight, and they were more than confident of victory, but the mexicans disappeared beyond the swells, and every one of the men was disappointed. at night they began their march toward the north, and continued almost until morning. ned, riding behind will allen, scarcely spoke. obed white, then and afterward, observed a great change in him. he seemed to have matured suddenly far beyond his years, and obed always felt that he had some unchanging purpose that had little to do with gentleness or mercy. they slept in the timber until about o'clock, and then resumed their ride northward, still holding to the opinion that the peripatetic texan government would be found at harrisburg, or somewhere in its vicinity. in the afternoon they encountered a mexican force of eight mounted men, and attacked with such vigor that ned and will, riding double, were never able to get into the fight. two of the mexicans fell, and the rest got away. the texans were unharmed. the panther, after a chase, captured one of the horses, and brought him back for ned. they also secured the arms of the fallen mexicans, one of these weapons being an american rifle, which ned was quite sure had belonged to a slaughtered recruit at goliad. they also found a letter in one of the mexican haversacks. it was from general urrea to general santa anna, and the panther and his comrades inferred from the direction in which its bearer had been riding that the dictator himself had left san antonio, and was marching eastward with the main mexican army. "i have to inform you," ran a part of the letter, "that your orders in regard to the rebels at goliad were carried out, in my absence, by the brave and most excellent colonel portilla. they were all executed, except a few who escaped under cover of the smoke to the timber, but our cavalrymen are sure to find in time every one of these, and inflict upon them the justice that you have ordered. "i shall march north, expecting to meet your excellency, and i trust that i shall have further good news to report to you. there are now no rebel forces worthy of the name. we shall sweep the country clean. i shall send detachments to take any americans who may land at the ports, and, coöperating with you, i feel assured, also, that we shall capture every member of the rebel government. in another month there will not be a single texan in arms against us." ned read the letter aloud, translating into english as he went, and when he finished the panther burst into a scornful laugh. "so, the rebels are all killed, or about to be killed!" he said. "an' there won't be one texan in arms a month from now! i'm willin' to give my word that here are six of us who will be in arms then, roarin' an' rippin' an' t'arin'! they'll sweep the country clean, will they? they'll need a bigger broom for that job than any that was ever made in mexico!" the others made comment in like fashion, but young fulton was silent. his resolution was immutable, and it required no words to assert it. "i guess we'd better take this letter with us an' give it to sam houston," said "deaf" smith. "houston has been criticized a lot for not gatherin' his forces together an' attackin' the mexicans, but he ain't had any forces to gather, an' talk has never been much good against cannon balls an' bullets. still, he's the only man we've got to fall back on." "you keep the letter, 'deaf'," said the panther, "an' now that we've got a horse for ned i guess we can go a little faster. how you feelin' now, ned?" "fine," replied ned. "don't you bother about me any more. i started on the upgrade the moment you fellows found me." "a good horse and a good rifle ought to be enough to bring back the strength to any texan," said obed white. they resumed their journey at a faster pace, but before nightfall they met another texan who informed them that large forces of mexicans were now between them and harrisburg. hence they concluded that it was wiser to turn toward the coast, and make a great circuit around the forces of santa anna. but they told the texan scout of what had been done at goliad, and bade him wave the torch of fire wherever he went. he rode away with a face aghast at the news, and they knew that he would soon spread it through the north. as for themselves they rode rapidly toward the east. they spent the night in a cluster of timber, and the panther was fortunate enough to shoot a wild turkey. they made ned eat the tenderest parts, and then seek sleep between blankets. his fever was now gone, but he was relaxed and weak. it was a pleasant weakness, however, and, secure in the comradeship of his friends, he soon fell into a deep slumber which lasted all the night. the others had planned an early start, but, as ned was sleeping with such calm and peace, they decided not to disturb him, knowing how much he needed the rest. it was three hours after sunrise when he awoke, and he made many apologies, but the rest only laughed. "what's the use of our hurryin'?" said "deaf" smith. "it'll take some time for sam houston to get any army together, an' we might keep in good shape until he gets it. here's more beef soup for you, ned. you'll find it mighty fine for buildin' up." two or three hours after they started that day they came to a large trail, and, when they followed it a little while, they found that it was made by mexicans marching south, but whether they belonged to the main force under santa anna or that under urrea they could not tell. it was evident that the northern road was full of dangers and they rode for the coast. several small texan vessels were flitting around the gulf, now and then entering obscure bays and landing arms, ammunition and recruits for he cause. both smith and karnes were of the opinion that they might find a schooner or sloop, and they resolved to try for it. they reached, the next day, country that had not been ravaged by the troops of santa anna, and passed one or two tiny settlements, where they told the news of goliad. the panther, smith and karnes were well known to all the texans, and they learned in the last of these villages that a schooner was expected in a cove about forty miles up the coast. it would undoubtedly put in at night, and it would certainly arrive in two or three days. they thought it was coming from new orleans. the little party decided to ride for the cove, and meet the schooner if possible. they could reach it in another day and night, and they would await the landing. "we've got good friends in new orleans," said smith, as they rode over the prairie. "you'll remember the merchant, john roylston. he's for us heart and soul, an' i've no doubt that he's sendin' us help." "all the texans owe him a debt," said ned, "and i owe him most of all. his name saved my life, when i was taken at san antonio. it had weight with santa anna, and it might have had weight with him, too, at goliad, had he been there." they rode steadily all the next day. their horses were tough mustangs of the best quality, and showed no signs of weariness. they passed through a beautiful country of light rolling prairie, interspersed with fine forest. the soil was deep and rich, and the foliage was already in its tenderest spring green. soft, warm airs swept up from the gulf. five of the riders felt elation, and talked cheerfully. but ned maintained a somber silence. the scenes of goliad were still too vivid for him to rejoice over anything. the others understood, and respected his silence. they camped that night as usual in the thickest forest they could find, and, feeling that they were now too far east to be in any serious danger from the mexicans, they lighted a fire, warmed their food, and made coffee, having replenished their supplies at the last settlement. obed white was the coffee maker, heating it in a tin pot with a metal bottom. they had only one cup, which they used in turn, but the warm food and drink were very grateful to them after their hard riding. "keeping in good condition is about three-fourths of war," said obed in an oracular tone. "he who eats and runs away will live to eat another day. besides, napoleon said that an army marched better on a full stomach, or something like it." "that applied to infantry," said will allen. "we march on our horses." "some day," said ned, "when we've beaten santa anna and driven all the mexicans out of texas, i'm going back and hunt for old jack. he and i are too good friends to part forever. i found him, after abandoning him the first time, and i believe i can do it again, after leaving him the second time." "of course you can," said the panther cheerily. "old jack is a horse that will never stay lost. now, i think we'd better put out our fire and go to sleep. the horses will let us know if any enemy comes." all were soon slumbering peacefully in their blankets, but ned, who had slept so much the night before, awakened in two or three hours. he believed, at first, that a distant sound had broken his sleep, but when he sat up he heard nothing. five dusky figures lay in a row near him. they were those of his comrades, and he heard their steady breathing. certainly they slept well. he lay down again, but he remained wide awake, and, when his ear touched the ground, he seemed to hear the faint and distant sound again. he rose and looked at the horses. they had not moved, and it was quite evident that they had detected no hostile presence. but ned was not satisfied. putting his rifle on his shoulder he slipped through the forest to the edge of the prairie. long before he was there he knew that he had not been deceived by fancy. he saw, two or three hundred yards in front of him, a long file of cavalry marching over the prairie, going swiftly and straight ahead, as if bent upon some purpose well defined. a good moon and abundant stars furnished plenty of light, and ned saw that the force was mexican. there were no lancers, all the men carrying rifles or muskets, and ned believed that he recognized the younger urrea in the figure at their head. he had seen the young mexican so often and in such vivid moments that there was no phase of pose or gesture that he could forget. ned watched the column until it was hidden by the swells. it had never veered to either right or left, and its course was the same as that of his comrades and himself. he wondered a little while, and then he felt a suspicion which quickly grew into a certainty. urrea, a daring partisan leader, who rode over great distances, had heard of the schooner and its arms, and was on his way to the cove to seize them. it was for ned and his friends to prevent it. he returned, and, awakening the others, stated what he had seen. then he added his surmise. "it's likely that you're guessin' right," said "deaf" smith. "the mexicans have spies, of course, an' they get word, too, from europeans in these parts, who are not friendly to us. what do you say, boys, all of you?" "that urrea is bound for the same place we are," said obed white. "that we've got to ride hard, an' fast," said the panther. "it's our business to get there first," said karnes. "let's take to the saddle now," said will allen. ned said nothing. he had given his opinion already. they saddled their horses, and were on the plain in five minutes, riding directly in the trail of the mexican cavalry. they meant to follow until nearly dawn, and then, passing around, hurry to the cove, where the schooner, without their warning, might be unloading supplies before nightfall into the very arms of the mexicans. before dawn they faintly saw the troop ahead, and then, turning to the left, they put their mustangs into the long easy lope of the frontier, not slowing down, until they were sure that they were at least three or four miles beyond the mexicans. but they continued at a fast walk, and ate their breakfasts in the saddle. they rode through the same beautiful country, but without people, and they knew that if nothing unusual occurred they would see the sea by noon. ned went over their directions once more. the cove ran back from the sea about a mile, and its entrance was a strait not more than thirty yards wide, but deep. in fact, the entire cove was deep, being surrounded by high forested banks except at the west, into which a narrow but deep creek emptied. the only convenient landing was the creek's mouth, and they believed that they would find the schooner there. ned, in common with the others, felt the great importance of the mission on which they rode. most of the texan cannon and a great part of their rifles had been taken at the alamo and goliad. but greater even than the need of arms was that of ammunition. if urrea were able to seize the schooner, or to take the supplies, the moment after they landed, he would strike the texans a heavy blow. hence the six now pushed their horses. at ten o'clock, they caught a glimpse of the sea upon their right. five minutes later they saw a cloud of dust on their left, less than a mile away. it was moving rapidly, and it was evident at once that it was made by a large body of horse. when the dust lifted a little, they saw that it was urrea and his men. "it's likely that they have more information than we have," said the panther, "an' they are ridin' hard to make a surprise. boys, we've got to beat 'em, an', to do it, we've got to keep ahead of our dust all the time!" "the greater the haste, the greater the speed just now," said obed white. they urged their horses into a gallop. they kept close to the sea, while urrea was more than half a mile inland. luckily, a thin skirt of timber soon intervened between mexicans and texans, and the six believed that urrea and his men were unaware of their presence. their own cloud of dust was much smaller than that of the mexicans, and also it might readily be mistaken for sea sand whipped up by the wind. ned and the panther rode in front, side by side, smith and karnes followed, side by side, too, and behind came obed white and will allen, riding knee to knee. they ascended a rise and ned, whose eyes were the keenest of them all, uttered a little cry. "the schooner is there!" he exclaimed. "see, isn't that the top of a mast sticking up above those scrub trees?" "it's nothing else," said obed white, who was familiar with the sea and ships. "and it's bound, too, to be the schooner for which we are looking. forward, boys! the swift will win the race, and the battle will go to the strong!" they pressed their horses now to their greatest speed. the cove and the ship were not more than a half mile away. a quarter of a mile, and the skirt of timber failed. the mexicans on their left saw them, and increased their speed. "the schooner's anchored!" exclaimed obed, "and they are unloading! look, part of the cargo is on the bank already!" with foot and rein they took the last ounce of speed from their horses, and galloped up to a group of astonished men, who were transferring arms and ammunition by small boats from a schooner to the land already more than a hundred rifles, and a dozen barrels of powder lay upon the shore. "back to the ship! back to the ship!" cried ned, who involuntarily took the lead. "we are texans, and a powerful force of mexicans will be here inside of fifteen minutes!" the men looked at him astonished and unbelieving. ned saw among them a figure, clad in sober brown, a man with a large head and a broad, intellectual face, with deep lines of thought. he knew him at once, and cried: "mr. roylston, it is i! edward fulton! you know me! and here are captain palmer, 'deaf' smith, henry karnes, obed white and will allen! i tell you that you have no time to lose! put the supplies back on the schooner, and be as quick as you can! captain urrea and two hundred men are galloping fast to capture them!" roylston started in astonishment at the appearance of ned, whom he, too, had believed to be dead, but he wasted no time in questions. he gave quick orders to have the arms and ammunition reloaded, and directed the task himself. the panther sprang from his horse and walked back to the edge of the wood. "here they come at a gallop," he said, "and we need time. boys, hand me your rifles, as i call for them, an' i'll show you how to shoot." the panther did not mean to boast, nor did the others take it as such. he merely knew his own skill, and he meant to use it. "do as he says," said "deaf" smith to the others. "i reckon that, as davy crockett is dead, the panther is the best shot in all texas." the mexican cavalry were coming at a gallop, several hundred yards away. the panther raised his long, slender-barreled rifle, pulled the trigger, and the first horseman fell from the saddle. without turning, he held out his hands and smith thrust the second rifle into them. up went the weapon, and a second mexican saddle was empty. a third rifle and a third mexican went down, a fourth, and the result was the same. the whole mexican troop, appalled at such deadly shooting, stopped suddenly. "keep it up, panther! keep it up!" cried smith. "we need every minute of time that we can get." while the mexicans hesitated the panther sent another fatal bullet among them. then they spread out swiftly in a thin half circle, and advanced again. all the six texans now opened fire, and they were also helped by some of the men from the boat. but a part of the attacking force had gained cover and the fire was not now so effective. nevertheless the rush of the mexicans was checked, and under the directions of roylston the reloading of the schooner was proceeding rapidly. they hoisted the last of the powder and rifles over the side, and two of the boats were putting back for the defenders. the schooner, meanwhile, had taken in her anchor and was unfurling her sails. roylston was in one of the boats and, springing upon the bank, he shouted to the defenders: "come, lads! the supplies are all back on board! it's for your lives now!" all the men instantly abandoned the defence and rushed for the bank, the panther uttering a groan of anger. "i hate to leave six good horses to urrea, an' that gang," he said, "but i s'pose it has to be done." "don't grieve, panther," cried smith. "we'll take three for one later on!" "hurry up! hurry up!" said roylston. "there is no time to waste. into the boats, all of you!" they scrambled into the boats, reached the schooner, and pulled the boats to the deck after them. there was not a minute to lose. the schooner, her sails full of wind, was beginning to move, and the mexicans were already firing at her, although their bullets missed. ned and will allen threw themselves flat on the deck, and heard the mexican bullets humming over their heads. ned knew that they were still in great danger, as it was a mile to the open sea, and the mexicans galloping along by the side of the cove had begun a heavy fire upon the schooner. but the panther uttered a tremendous and joyous shout of defiance. "they can't hurt the ship as long as they ain't got cannon," he said, "an' since it's rifles, only, we'll give it back to 'em!" he and the other sharpshooters, sheltering themselves, began to rake the woods with rifle fire. the mexicans replied, and the bullets peppered the wooden sides of the schooner or cut holes through her sails. but the texans now had the superiority. they could shelter themselves on the ship, and they were also so much better marksmen that they did much damage, while suffering but little themselves. the schooner presently passed between the headlands, and then into the open sea. she did not change her course until she was eight or ten miles from land, when she turned northward. chapter xx the cry for vengeance as soon as the schooner was out of range ned and his comrades stood up on the deck, and looked back at the long low coastline, which had offered to them so much danger. at first they saw mexican horsemen on the beach, but as they went further and further out to sea they disappeared. a strong wind hummed through the sails and the schooner, heeling over a little, went swiftly northward, leaving a long white wake. ned and his comrades sat on the benches that ran around the sides of the deck. some of the rich brown color faded from the panther's face, and his eyes looked a little bit uneasy. "i'm glad to be here," he said, "glad to be out of reach of the mexicans, but i wish i was on somethin' a lot steadier than this." obed white, familiar with the waters of the maine coast, laughed. "this is just a spanking good breeze," he said. "look how the waves dance!" "let 'em dance," said the panther, "an' they can do my share of dancin', too. i never felt less like roarin' an' t'arin' an' rippin' in my life." "any way, we're getting a fine rest," said will allen. "it's pleasant to be out here, where nobody can drop suddenly on you from ambush." the schooner made another curve to the eastward, the water became smoother and the panther's qualms disappeared. food and water were brought to them on deck, and they ate and drank with good appetites. then john roylston, who had gone below, as soon as they were out of range, reappeared. he went directly to ned, shook hands with him with great energy, and said in a tone of deep gratitude: "i had given you up for lost. but you reappeared with your friends, just in time to save the most valuable of all cargoes for the texans. i should like to hear now how you rose from the dead, because i had direct information that you were in the alamo, and i know that everybody there perished." "i come, nevertheless, as the bearer of bad news," said ned, with goliad fresh in his mind. "how is that?" then ned told for the second time the dreadful deed done by order of santa anna, and it seemed to him as he told it that all the details were as vivid and terrible as ever. his desire for revenge upon the dictator and the mexicans had not diminished a particle. roylston's face, usually a mask, showed horror. "it was an awful thing to do," he said, "but it means now that santa anna will never conquer texas. no man can do such a deed and yet triumph. now, tell me how it is that you are not among the slain in the alamo." ned related the story anew, and he dwelt upon the fact that santa anna had spared him at the mention of roylston's name. but when the story was finished, the merchant was silent for quite a while. ned knew by the contraction of the lines upon the great brow that he was thinking. at last, he broke the silence. "no doubt you have wondered that my name had so much influence with santa anna," he said. "i have hinted at it before, but i will explain more fully now. i am, as you know, a merchant. i trade throughout the whole southwest, and i have ships in the gulf and the caribbean. one of them, the 'star of the south,' on which we now are, can show her heels to anything in these seas. "earlier in my life i came in contact with antonio lopez de santa anna. like many others i fell for a while under his spell. i believed that he was a great and liberal man, that he would even be able to pull mexico out of her slough of misrule and ignorance. i helped him in some of his young efforts. the splendid hacienda that he has near vera cruz was bought partly with money that i furnished. "but our friendship could not last. vain, ruthless, cruel, but with genius, santa anna can have no friends except those whom he may use. unless you submit, unless you do everything that he wishes, you are, in his opinion, a traitor to him, a malefactor and an enemy, to be crushed by trickery or force, by fair means or foul. how could i have continued dealings with such a man? "i soon saw that instead of being mexico's best friend he was her worst enemy. i drew away in time, but barely. i was in mexico when the break came, and he would have seized and imprisoned me or had me shot, but i escaped in disguise. "i retained, too, a hold upon santa anna that he has sought in vain to break. such a man as he always needs money, not a few thousands, but great sums. he has been thrifty. the treasury of mexico has been practically at his mercy, but he does not trust the banks of his own land. he has money not only in the foreign banks of mexico, but also large amounts of it in two of the great banks of london. the english deposits stand as security for the heavy sums that he owes me. his arm is long, but it does not reach to london. "he cannot pay at present without putting himself in great difficulties, and, for the time being, i wish the debt to stand. it gives me a certain power over him, although we are on opposite sides in a fierce war. when you gave him my name in san antonio, he did not put you to death because he feared that i would seize his english money when i heard of it. "the younger urrea has heard something of these debts. he is devoted to santa anna, and he knew that he would have rendered his chief an immense service if he could have secured his release from them. that was what he tried to force from me when i was in his hands, but you and your friends saved me. you little thought, edward fulton, that you were then saving your own life also. otherwise, santa anna would have had you slain instantly when you were brought before him at san antonio. ah, how thoroughly i know that man! that he can be a terrible and cruel enemy he has already proved to texas!" the others listened with deep interest to every word spoken by roylston. when he was through, the panther rose, stretched his arms, and expanded his mighty chest. all the natural brown had returned to his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with the fire of confidence. "mr. roylston," he said, "the hosts of our foe have come an' they have devoured our people as the locusts ate up egypt in the bible, but i think our worst days have passed. we'll come back, an' we'll win." "yes," said ned. "i know as truly as if a prophet had told me that we'll square accounts with santa anna." he spoke with such sudden emphasis that the others were startled. his face seemed cut in stone. at that moment he saw only the alamo and goliad. the "star of the south" sped northward, and edward fulton sat long on her deck, dreaming of the day when the texans, himself in the first rank, should come once more face to face with antonio lopez de santa anna. made available by the kentuckiana digital library (http://kdl.kyvl.org/) note: images of the original pages are available through the kentuckiana digital library. see http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc= ;sid=caa c b e cd a d ;q =texan% star;cite = texan% star;cite restrict=title;view=toc;idno=b - - the texan star the story of a great fight for liberty by joseph a. altsheler author of _the quest of the four_, _the border watch_, _the scouts of the valley_, etc. appleton-century-crofts, inc. new york preface "the texan star," while a complete story in itself, is the first of three, projected by the author, and based upon the texan struggle for liberty against the power of mexico. this revolution, epic in its nature, and crowded with heroism and great events, divides itself naturally into three parts. the first phase begins in mexico with the treacherous imprisonment of austin, the texan leader, the rise of santa anna and his attempt, through bad faith, to disarm the texans and leave them powerless before the indians. it culminates in the rebellion of the texans, and their capture, in the face of great odds, of san antonio, the seat of the mexican power in the north. the second phase is the coming of santa anna with an overwhelming force, the fall of the alamo, the massacre of goliad and the dark days of texas. yet the period of gloom is relieved by the last stand of crockett, bowie, and their famous comrades. the third phase is the coming of light in the darkness, houston's crowning victory at san jacinto, and the complete victory of the texans. the story of the texan fight for freedom has always appealed to the author, as one of the most remarkable of modern times. contents chapter i the prisoners ii a hair-cut iii sanctuary iv the palm v in the pyramid vi the march with cos vii the dungeon under the sea viii the black jaguar ix the ruined temples x cactus and mexicans xi the long chase xii the trial of patience xiii the texans xiv the ring tailed panther xv the first gun xvi the coming of urrea xvii the old convent xviii in san antonio xix the battle by the river xx the wheel of fire xxi the texan star xxii the taking of the town the texan star chapter i the prisoners a boy and a man sat in a room of a stone house in the ancient city of mexico, capital in turn of aztec, spaniard and mexican. they could see through the narrow windows masses of low buildings and tile roofs, and beyond, the swelling shape of great mountains, standing clear against the blue sky. but they had looked upon them so often that the mind took no note of the luminous spectacle. the cry of a water-seller or the occasional jingle of a spur came from the street below, but these, too, were familiar sounds, and they were no longer regarded. the room contained but little furniture and the door was of heavy oak. its whole aspect indicated that it was a prison. the man was of middle years, and his face showed a singular blend of kindness and firmness. the pallor of imprisonment had replaced his usual color. the boy was tall and strong and his cheeks were yet ruddy. his features bore some resemblance to those of his older comrade. "ned," said the man at last, "it has been good of you to stay with me here, but a prison is no place for a boy. you must secure a release and go back to our people." the boy smiled, and his face, in repose rather stern for one so young, was illumined in a wonderful manner. "i don't want to leave you, uncle steve," he said, "and if i did it's not likely that i could. this house is strong, and it's a long way from here to texas." "perhaps i can induce them to let you go," said the man. "why should they wish to hold one so young?" edward fulton did not reply because he saw that stephen austin was speaking to himself rather than his companion. instead, he looked once more through the window and over the city at the vast white peaks of popocatepetl and ixtaccihuatl silent and immutable, forever guarding the sky-line. yet they seemed to call to him at this moment and tell him of freedom. the words of the man had touched a spring within him and he wanted to go. he could not conceal from himself the fact that he longed for liberty with every pulse and fiber. but he resolved, nevertheless, to stay. he would not desert the one whom he had come to serve. stephen austin, the real founder of texas, had now been in prison in mexico more than a year. coming to saltillo to secure for the texans better treatment from the mexicans, their rulers, he had been seized and held as a criminal. the boy, edward fulton, was not really his nephew, but an orphan, the son of a cousin. he owed much to austin and coming to the capital to help him he was sharing his imprisonment. "they say that santa anna now has the power," said ned, breaking the somber silence. "it is true," said stephen austin, "and it is a new and strong reason why i fear for our people. of all the cunning and ambitious men in mexico, antonio lopez de santa anna is the most cunning and ambitious. i know, too, that he is the most able, and i believe that he is the most dangerous to those of us who have settled in texas. what a country is this mexico! revolution after revolution! you make a treaty with one president to-day and to-morrow another disclaims it! more than one of them has a touch of genius, and yet it is obscured by childishness and cruelty!" he sighed heavily. ned, full of sympathy, glanced at him but said nothing. then his gaze turned back to the mighty peaks which stood so sharp and clear against the blue. truth and honesty were the most marked qualities of stephen austin and he could not understand the vast web of intrigue in which the mexican capital was continually involved. and to the young mind of the boy, cast in the same mold, it was yet more baffling and repellent. ned still stared at the guardian peaks, but his thoughts floated away from them. his head had been full of old romance when he entered the vale of tenochtitlan. he had almost seen cortez and the conquistadores in their visible forms with their armor clanking about them as they stalked before him. he had gazed eagerly upon the lakes, the mighty mountains, the low houses and the strange people. here, deeds of which the world still talked had been done centuries ago and his thrill was strong and long. but the feeling was gone now. he had liked many of the mexicans and many of the mexican traits, but he had felt with increasing force that he could never reach out his hand and touch anything solid. he thought of volcanic beings on a volcanic soil. the throb of a drum came from the street below, and presently the shrill sound of fifes was mingled with the steady beat. ned stood up and pressed his head as far forward as the bars of the window would let him. "soldiers, a regiment, i think," he said. "ah, i can see them now! what brilliant uniforms their officers wear!" austin also looked out. "yes," he said. "they know how to dress for effect. and their music is good, too. listen how they play." it was a martial air, given with a splendid lilt and swing. the tune crept into ned's blood and his hand beat time on the stone sill. but the music increased his longing for liberty. his thoughts passed away from the narrow street and the marching regiment to the north, to the wild free plains beyond the rio grande. it was there that his heart was, and it was there that his body would be. "it is general cos who leads them," said austin. "i can see him now, riding upon a white horse. it's the man in the white and silver uniform, ned." "he's the brother-in-law of santa anna, is he not?" "yes, and i fear him. i know well, ned, that he hates the texans--all of us." "perhaps the regiment that we see now is going north against our people." austin's brows contracted. "it may be so," he said. "they give soft words all the time, and yet they hold me a prisoner here. it would be like them to strike while pretending to clear away all the troubles between us." he sighed again. ned watched the soldiers until the last of them had passed the window, and then he listened to the music, the sound of drum and fife, until it died away, and they heard only the usual murmur of the city. then the homesickness, the longing for the great free country to the north grew upon him and became almost overpowering. "someone comes," said austin. they heard the sound of the heavy bar that closed the door being moved from its place. "our dinner, doubtless," said austin, "but it is early." the door swung wide and a young mexican officer entered. he was taller and fairer than most of his race, evidently of pure northern spanish blood, and his countenance was frank and fine. "welcome, lieutenant," said stephen austin, speaking in spanish, which he, as well as ned, understood perfectly. "you know that we are always glad to see you here." lieutenant alfonso de zavala smiled in a quick, responsive way, but in a moment his face became grave. "i announce a visitor, a most distinguished visitor, mr. austin," he said. "general antonio lopez de santa anna, president of the mexican republic and commander-in-chief of its armies and navies." both mr. austin and the boy arose and bowed as a small man of middle years, slender and nervous, strode into the room, standing for a few moments near its center, and looking about him like a questing hawk. his was, in truth, an extraordinary presence. he seemed to radiate an influence that at once attracted and repelled. his dark features were cut sharply and clearly. his eyes, set closely together, were of the most intense black that ned had ever seen in a human head. nor were those eyes ever at rest. they roamed over everything, and they seemed to burn every object for the single instant they fell there. they never met the gaze of either american squarely, although they continually came back to both. this man was clothed in a white uniform, heavy with gold stripes and gold epaulets. a small sword at his side had a gold hilt set with a diamond. he wore a three-cornered hat shaped like that of napoleon, but instead of the corsican's simple gray his was bright in color and splendid with plumage. he was at once a powerful and sinister figure. ned felt that he was in the presence of genius, but it belonged to one of those sinuous creatures, shining and terrible, that are bred under the vivid sun of the tropics. there was a singular sensation at the roots of his hair, but, resolved to show neither fear nor apprehension, he stood and gazed directly at santa anna. "be seated, mr. austin," said the general, "and close the door, de zavala, but remain with us. your young relative can remain, also. i have things of importance to say, but it is not forbidden to him, also, to hear them." ned sat down and so did mr. austin and young de zavala, but santa anna remained standing. it seemed to ned that he did so because he wished to look down upon them from a height. and all the time the black eyes, like two burning coals, played restlessly about the room. ned was unable to take his own eyes away. the figure in its gorgeous uniform was so full of nervous energy that it attracted like a magnet, while at the same time it bade all who opposed to beware. the boy felt as if he were before a splendid leopard with no bars of a cage between. santa anna took three or four rapid steps back and forth. he kept his hat upon his head, a right, it seemed, due to his superiority to other people. he looked like a man who had a great thought which he was shaping into quick words. presently he stopped before austin, and shot him one of those piercing glances. "my friend and guest," he said in the sonorous spanish. austin bowed. whether the subtle mexican meant the words in satire or in earnest he did not know, nor did he care greatly. "when i call you my friend and guest i speak truth," said santa anna. "it is true that we had you brought here from saltillo, and we insist that you accept our continued hospitality, but it is because we know how devoted you are to our common mexico, and we would have you here at our right hand for advice and help." ned saw mr. austin smile a little sadly. it all seemed very strange to the boy. how could one talk of friendship and hospitality to those whom he held as prisoners? why could not these people say what they meant? again he longed for the free winds of the plains. "you and i together should be able to quiet these troublesome texans," continued santa anna--and his voice had a hard metallic quality that rasped the boy's nerves. "you know, stephen austin, that i and mexico have endured much from the people whom you have brought within our borders. they shed good mexican blood at the fort, velasco, and they have attacked us elsewhere. they do not pay their taxes or obey our decrees, and when i send my officers to make them obey they take down their long rifles." austin smiled again, and now the watching boy thought the smile was not sad at all. if santa anna took notice he gave no sign. "but you are reasonable," continued the mexican, and now his manner was winning to an extraordinary degree. "it was my predecessor, farias, who brought you here, but i would not see you go, because i love you like a brother, and now i have come to you, that between us we may calm your turbulent texans." "but you must bear in mind," said austin, "that our rights have been taken from us. all the clauses of our charter have been broken, and now your congress has decreed that we shall have only one soldier to every five hundred inhabitants and that all the rest of us shall be disarmed. how are we, in a wild country, to protect ourselves from the comanches, lipans and other indians who roam everywhere, robbing and murdering?" austin's face, usually so benevolent, flushed and his eyes were very bright. ned looked intently at santa anna to see how he would take the daring and truthful indictment. but the mexican showed no confusion, only astonishment. he threw up his hands in a vivid southern gesture and looked at austin in surprised reproof. "my friend," he said in injured but not angry tones, "how can you ask me such a question? am i not here to protect the texans? am i not president of mexico? am i not head of the mexican army? my gallant soldiers, my horsemen with their lances and sabers, will draw a ring around the texans through which no comanche or lipan, however daring, will be able to break." he spoke with such fire, such appearance of earnestness, that ned, despite a mind uncommonly keen and analytical in one so young, was forced to believe for a moment. texas, however, was far and immense, and there were not enough soldiers in all america to put a ring around the wild comanches. but the impression remained longer with austin, who was ever hoping for the best, and ever seeing the best in others. ned was a silent boy who had suffered many hardships, and he had acquired the habit of thought which in its turn brought observation and judgment. yet if santa anna was acting he was doing it with consummate skill, and the boy who never said a word watched him all the time. santa anna began to talk now of the great future that awaited the texans under the banner of mexico. he poured forth the words with so much latin fervor that it was almost like listening to a song. ned felt the influence of the musical roll coming over him again, but, with an effort of the will that was almost physical, he shook it off. santa anna painted the picture of a dream, a gorgeous dream of many colors. mexico was to become a mighty country and the texans with their cool courage and martial energy would be no mean factor in it. austin would be one of his lieutenants, a sharer in his greatness and reward. his eloquence was wonderful, and ned felt once more the fascination of the serpent. this was a man to whom only the grand and magnificent appealed, and already he had achieved a part of his dream. ned moved a little closer to the window. he wished the fresh air to blow upon his face. he saw that mr. austin was fully under the spell. santa anna was making the most beautiful and convincing promises. he himself was going to texas. he was the father of his people. he would right every wrong. he loved the texans, these children of the north who had come to his country for a home. no one could ever say that he appealed in vain to santa anna for protection. texans would be proud that they were a part of mexico, they would be glad to belong to a nation which already had a glorious history, and to come to a capital which had more splendor and romance than any other in america. ned literally withdrew his soul within itself. he sought to shut out the influence that was radiating from this singular and brilliant figure, but he saw that mr. austin was falling more deeply under it. "look!" said santa anna, taking the man by the arm in the familiar manner that one old friend has with another and drawing him to the window. "is not this a prospect to enchant? is not this a capital of which you and i can well be proud?" he lifted a forefinger and swept the half curve that could be seen from the window. it was truly a panorama that would kindle the heart of the dullest. forty miles away the white crests of popocatepetl and ixtaccihuatl still showed against the background of burning blue, like pillars supporting the dome of heaven. along the whole line of the half curve were mountains in fold on fold. below the green of the valley showed the waters of the lake both fresh and salt gleaming with gold where the sunlight shot down upon them. nearer rose the spires of the cathedral, and then the sea of tile roofs burnished by the vivid beams. santa anna stood in a dramatic position, his finger still pointing. there was scarcely a day that ned did not feel the majesty of this valley of tenochtitlan, but santa anna deepened the spell. could the world hold another place its equal? might not the texans indeed have a glorious future in the land of which this city was the capital? poetry and romance appealed powerfully to the boy's thoughtful mind, and he felt that here in mexico he was at their very heart. nothing else had ever moved him so much. "you are pleased! it impresses you!" said santa anna to austin. "i can see it on your face. you are with us. you are one of us. ah, my friend, how noble it is to have a great heart." "do i go with your message to the texans?" asked austin. "i must leave now, but i shall come again soon, and i will tell you all. you shall carry words that will satisfy every one of them." he threw his arms about austin's shoulders, gave ned a quick salute, and then left the room, taking young de zavala with him, ned heard the heavy bar fall in place on the outside of the door, and he knew that they were shut in as tightly as ever. but mr. austin was in a glow. "what a wonderful, flexible mind!" he said, more to himself than to the boy. "i could have preferred a sort of independence for texas, but since we're to be ruled from the city of mexico, santa anna will do the best he can for us. as soon as he sweeps away the revolutionary troubles he will repair all our injuries." ned was silent. he knew that the generous austin was still under santa anna's magnetic spell, but after his departure the whole room was changed to the boy. he saw clearly again. there were no mists and clouds about his mind. moreover, the wonderful half curve before the window was changing. vapors were rolling up from the south and the two great peaks faded from view. trees and water in the valley changed to gray. the skies which had been so bright now became somber and menacing. the boy felt a deep fear at his heart, but mr. austin seemed to be yet under the influence of santa anna, and talked cheerfully of their speedy return to texas. ned listened in silence and unbelief, while the gloom outside deepened, and night presently came over anahuac. but he had formed his resolution. he owed much to mr. austin. he had come a vast distance to be at his side, and to serve him in prison, but he felt now that he could be of more use elsewhere. moreover, he must carry a message, a warning to those who needed it sorely. one of the windows opened upon the north, and he looked intently through it trying to pierce, with the mind's eye at least, the thousand miles that lay between him and those whom he would reach with the word. mr. austin had lighted a candle. noticing the boy's gloomy face, he patted him on the head with a benignant hand and said: "don't be down of heart, edward, my lad. we'll soon be on our way to texas." "but this is mexico, and it is santa anna who holds us." "that is true, and it is santa anna who is our best friend." ned did not dispute the sanguine saying. he saw that mr. austin had his opinion, and he had his. the door was opened again in a half hour and a soldier brought them their supper. young de zavala, who was their immediate guardian, also entered and stood by while they ate. they had never received poor food, and to-night mexican hospitality exerted itself--at the insistence of santa anna, ned surmised. in addition to the regular supper there was an ice and a bottle of spanish wine. "the president has just given an order that the greatest courtesy be shown to you at all times," said de zavala, "and i am very glad. i, too, have people in that territory of ours from which you come--texas." he spoke with undeniable sympathy, and ned felt his heart warm toward him, but he decided to say nothing. he feared that he might betray by some chance word the plan that he had in mind. but mr. austin, believing in others because he was so truthful and honest himself, talked freely. "all our troubles will soon be over," he said to de zavala. "i hope so, señor," said the young man earnestly. by and by, when de zavala and the soldier were gone, ned went again to the window, stood there a few moments to harden his resolution, and then came back to the man. "mr. austin," he said, "i am going to ask your consent to something." the texan looked up in surprise. "why, edward, my lad," he said kindly, "you don't have to ask my consent to anything, after the way in which you have already sacrificed yourself for me." "but i am not going to stay with you any longer, mr. austin--that is, if i can help it. i am going back to texas." mr. austin laughed. it was a mellow and satisfied laugh. "so you are, edward," he said, "and i am going with you. you will help me to bear a message of peace and safety to the texans." ned paused a moment, irresolute. there was no change in his determination. he was merely uncertain about the words to use. "there may be delays," he said at last, "and--mr. austin, i have decided to go alone--and within the next day or two if i can." the texan's face clouded. "i cannot understand you," he said. "why this hurry? it would in reality be a breach of faith to our great friend, santa anna--that is, if you could go. i don't believe you can." ned was troubled. he was tempted to tell what was in his mind, but he knew that he would not be believed, so he fell back again upon his infinite capacity for silence. mr. austin read resolution in the closed lips and rigid figure. "do you really mean that you will attempt to steal away?" he asked. "as soon as i can." the man shook his head. "it would be better not to do so," he said, "but you are your own master, and i see i cannot dissuade you from the attempt. but, boy, you will promise me not to take any unnecessary or foolish risks?" "i promise gladly, and, mr. austin, i hate to leave you here." their quarters were commodious and ned slept alone in a small room to the left of the main apartment. it was a bare place with only a bed and a chair, but it was lighted by a fairly large window. ned examined this window critically. it had a horizontal iron bar across the middle, and it was about thirty feet from the ground. he pulled at the iron bar with both hands but, although rusty with time, it would not move in its socket. then he measured the two spaces between the bar and the wall. hope sprang up in the boy's heart. then he did a strange thing. he removed nearly all his clothing and tried to press his head and shoulders between the bar and the wall. his head, which was of the long narrow type, so common in the scholar, would have gone through the aperture, had it not been for his hair which was long, and which grew uncommonly thick. his shoulders were very thick and broad and they, too, halted him. he drew back and felt a keen thrill of disappointment. but he was a boy who usually clung tenaciously to an idea, and, sitting down, he concentrated his mind upon the plan that he had formed. by and by a possible way out came to him. then he lay down upon the bed, drew a blanket over him because the night was chill in the city of mexico, and calmly sought sleep. chapter ii a hair-cut the optimism of mr. austin endured the next morning, but ned was gloomy. since it was his habit to be silent, the man did not notice it at first. the breakfast was good, with tortillas, frijoles, other mexican dishes and coffee, but the boy had no appetite. he merely picked at his food, made a faint effort or two to drink his coffee and finally put the cup back almost full in the saucer. then mr. austin began to observe. "are you ill, ned?" he asked. "is this imprisonment beginning to tell upon you? i had thought that you were standing it well. can't you eat?" "i don't believe i'm hungry," replied the boy, "but there is nothing else the matter with me. i'll be all right, uncle steve. don't you bother about me." he ate a little breakfast, about one half of the usual amount, and then, asking to be excused, went to the window, where he again stared out at the tiled roofs, the green foliage in the valley of mexico and the ranges and peaks beyond. he was taking his resolution, and he was carrying it out, but it was hard, very hard. he foresaw that he would have to strengthen his will many, many times. mr. austin took no further worry on ned's account, thinking that he would be all right again in a day or two. but at the dinner which was brought to them in the middle of the day ned showed a marked failure of appetite, and mr. austin felt real concern. the boy, however, was sure that he would be all right before the day was over. "it must be the lack of fresh air and exercise," said mr. austin. "you can really take exercise in here, ned. besides, you said that you were going to escape. if you fall ill you will have no chance at all." he spoke half in jest, but ned took him seriously. "i am not ill, uncle steve," he said. "i really feel very well, but i have lost my appetite. maybe i am getting tired of these mexican dishes." "take exercise! take exercise!" said mr. austin with emphasis. "i think i will," said ned. physical exercise, after all, fitted in with his ideas, and that afternoon he worked hard at all the gymnastic feats possible within the three rooms to which they were confined. de zavala came in and expressed his astonishment at the athletic feats, which ned continued with unabated zeal despite his presence. "why do you do these things?" he asked in wonder. "to keep myself strong and healthy. i ought to have begun them sooner. the mexican air is depressing, and i find that i am losing my appetite." de zavala's eyes opened wide while ned deftly turned a handspring. then the young american sat down panting, his face flushed with as healthy a color as one could find anywhere. "you'll have an appetite to-night," said mr. austin. but to his great amazement ned again played with his food, eating only half the usual amount. "you're surely ill," said mr. austin. "i've no doubt de zavala would allow us to have a physician, and i shall ask him for one." "don't do it, uncle steve," begged ned. "there's nothing at all the matter with me, and anyhow i wouldn't want a mexican doctor fussing over me. i've probably been eating too much." mr. austin was forced to accede. the boy certainly did not look ill, and his appetite was bound to become normal again in a few days. but it did not. as far as mr. austin could measure it, ned was eating less and less. it was obvious that he was thinner. he was also growing much paler, except for a red flush on the cheek bones. mr. austin became alarmed, but ned obstinately refused any help, always asserting with emphasis that he had no ailment of any kind. but the man could see that he had become much lighter, and he wondered at the boy's physical failure. de zavala, also, expressed his sorrow in sonorous spanish, but ned, while thanking them, steadily disclaimed any need of sympathy. the boy found the days hard, but the nights were harder. for the first time in his life he could not sleep well. he would lie for hours so wide awake that his eyes grew used to the dark, and he could see everything in his room. he was troubled, too, by bad dreams and in many of these dreams he was a living skeleton, wandering about and condemned to live forever without food. more than once he bitterly regretted the resolution he had taken, but having taken it, he would never alter it. his silent, concentrated nature would not let him. yet he endured undoubted torture day by day. torture was the only name for it. "i shall send an application to president santa anna to have you allowed a measure of liberty," said mr. austin finally. "you are simply pining away here, edward, my lad. you cannot eat, that is, you eat only a little. i have passed the most tempting and delicate things to you and you always refuse. no boy of your age would do so unless something were very much wrong with his physical system. you have lost many pounds, and if this keeps on i do not know what will happen to you. i shall not ask for more liberty for you, but you must have a doctor at once." "i do not want any doctor, uncle steve," said the boy. "he cannot do me any good, but there is somebody else whom i want." "who is he?" "a barber." "a barber! now what good can a barber do you?" "a great deal. what i crave most in the world is a hair-cut, and only a barber can do that for me. my hair has been growing for more than three months, uncle steve, and you've seen how extremely thick it is. now it is so long, too, that it's falling all about my eyes. its weight is oppressing my brain. i feel a little touch of fever now and then, and i believe it's this awful hair." he ran his fingers through the heavy locks until his head seemed to be surrounded with a defense like the quills of a porcupine. beneath the great bush of hair his gray eyes glowed in a pale, thin face. "there is a lot of it," said mr. austin, surveying him critically, "but it is not usual for anybody in our situation to be worrying about the length and abundance of his hair." "i'm sure i'd be a lot better if i could get it cut close." "well, well, if you are taking it so much to heart we'll see what can be done. you are ill and wasted, edward, and when one is in that condition a little thing can affect his spirits. de zavala is a friendly sort of young fellow and through him we will send a request to colonel sandoval, the commander of the prisons, that you be allowed to have your hair cut." "if you please, uncle steve," said ned gratefully. mr. austin was not wrong in his forecast about lieutenant de zavala. he showed a full measure of sympathy. hence a petition to colonel martin sandoval y dominguez, commander of prisons in the city of mexico, was drawn up in due form. it stated that one edward fulton, a texan of tender years, now in detention at the capital, was suffering from the excessive growth of hair upon his head. the weight and thickness of said hair had heated his brain and destroyed his appetite. in ordinary cases of physical decline a physician was needed most, but so far as young edward fulton was concerned, a barber could render the greatest service. the petition, duly endorsed and stamped, was forwarded to colonel martin sandoval y dominguez, and, after being gravely considered by him in the manner befitting a mexican officer of high rank and pure spanish descent, received approval. then he chose among the barbers one joaquin menendez, a dark fellow who was not of pure spanish descent, and sent him to the prison with de zavala to accomplish the needed task. "i hope you will be happy now, edward," said mr. austin, when the two mexicans came. "you are a good boy, but it seems to me that you have been making an undue fuss about your hair." "i'm quite sure i shall recover fast," said ned. it was hard for him to hide his happiness from the others. he felt a thrill of joy every time the steel of the scissors clicked together and a lock of hair fell to the floor. but joaquin menendez, the barber, had a southern temperament and the soul of an artist. it pained him to shear away--"shear away" alone described it--such magnificent hair. it was so thick, so long and so glossy. "ah," he said, laying some of the clipped locks across his hand and surveying them sorrowfully, "so great is the pity! what señorita could resist the young señor if these were still growing upon his head!" "you cut that hair," said ned with a vicious snap of his teeth, "and cut it close, so close that it will look like the shaven face of a man. i think you will find it so stated in the conditions if you will look at the permit approved in his own handwriting by colonel sandoval y dominguez." joaquin menendez, still the artist, but obedient to the law, heaved a deep sigh, and proceeded with his sad task. lock by lock the abundant hair fell, until ned's head stood forth in the shaven likeness of a man's face that he had wished. "i must tell you," said mr. austin, "that it does not become you, but i hope you are satisfied." "i am satisfied," replied ned. "i have every cause to be. i know i shall have a stronger appetite to-morrow." "you are certainly a sensitive boy," said mr. austin, looking at him in some wonder. "i did not know that such a thing could influence your feelings and your physical condition so much." ned made no reply, but that night he ate supper with a much better appetite than he had shown in many days, bringing words of warm approval and encouragement from mr. austin. an hour or two later, when cheerful good-nights had been exchanged, ned withdrew to his own little room. he lay down upon his bed, but he was fully clothed and he had no intention of sleep. instead the boy was transformed. for days he had been walking with a weak and lagging gait. fever was in his veins. sometimes he became dizzy, and the walls and floors of the prison swam before him. but now the spirit had taken command of the thin body. weakness and dizziness were gone. every vein was infused with strength. hope was in command, and he no longer doubted that he would succeed. he rose from the bed and went to the window. the city was silent and the night was dark. floating clouds hid the moon and stars. the ranges and the city roofs themselves had sunk into the dusk. it seemed to him that all things favored the bold and persevering. and he had been persevering. no one would ever know how he had suffered, what terrific pangs had assailed him. he could not see now how he had done it, and he was quite sure that he could never go through such an ordeal again. the rack would be almost as welcome. ned did not know it, but a deep red flush had come into each pale cheek. he removed most of his clothes, and put his head forward between the iron bar and the window sill. the head went through and the shoulders followed. he drew back, breathing a deep and mighty breath of triumph. yet he had known that it would be so. when he first tried the space he had been only a shade too large for it. now his head and shoulders would go between, but with nothing to spare. a sheet of paper could not have been slipped in on either side. yet it was enough. the triumph of self-denial was complete. he had thought several times of telling mr. austin, but he finally decided not to do so. he might seek to interfere. he would put a thousand difficulties in the way, some real and some imaginary. it would save the feelings of both for him to go quietly, and, when mr. austin missed him, he would know why and how he had gone. ned stood at the window a little while longer, listening. he heard far away the faint rattle of a saber, probably some officer of santa anna who was going to a place outside a lattice, the sharp cry of a mexican upbraiding his lazy mule, and the distant note of a woman singing an old spanish song. it was as dark as ever, with the clouds rolling over the great valley of tenochtitlan, which had seen so much of human passion and woe. ned, brave and resolute as he was, shivered. he was oppressed by the night and the place. it seemed to him, for the moment, that the ghosts of stern cortez, and of the aztecs themselves were walking out there. then he did a characteristic thing. folding his arms in front of him he grasped his own elbows and shook himself fiercely. the effort of will and body banished the shapes and illusions, and he went to work with firm hands. he tore the coverings from his bed into strips, and knotted them together stoutly, trying each knot by tying the strip to the bar, and pulling on it with all his strength. he made his rope at least thirty feet long and then gave it a final test, knot by knot. he judged that it was now near midnight and the skies were still very dark. inside of a half hour he would be gone--to what? he was seized with an intense yearning to wake up mr. austin and tell him good-by. the texan leader had been so good to him, he would worry so much about him that it was almost heartless to slip away in this manner. but he checked the impulse again, and went swiftly ahead with his work. he kept on nothing but his underclothing and trousers. the rest he made up into a small package which he tied upon his back. he was sorry that he did not have any weapon. he had been deprived of even his pocket-knife, but he did have a few dollars of spanish coinage, which he stowed carefully in his trousers pocket. all the while his energy endured despite his wasted form. hope made a bridge for his weakness. he let the line out of the window, and his delicate sense told him when it struck against the ground. six or eight feet were left in his hand, and he tied the end firmly to the bar, knotting it again and again. then he slipped through the opening and the passage was so close that his ears scraped as they went by. he hung for a few moments on the outside, his feet on the stone sill and his hands clasping the iron bar. he felt sheer and absolute terror. the spires of the cathedral were invisible and only a few far lights showed dimly. it seemed to him that he was suspended over a bottomless pit, and he shivered from head to foot. but he recalled his courage. such a black night was best suited to his task. the shivering ceased. hope ruled once more. he knelt on the stone sill, and, grasping his crude rope with both hands, let himself down from the window. it required almost superhuman exertion to keep himself from dropping sheer away, and the rope burned his palms. but he held on, knowing that he must hold, and the stone wall felt cold to him, as he lay against it, and slid slowly down. perhaps his strength, which was more of the mind than of the body, partly gave way under such a severe strain, but he felt pains shooting through his arms, shoulders and chest. his most vivid recollections of the descent were the coldness of the wall against which he lay and the far tinkle of a mandolin which came to him with annoying distinctness. the frequent knots where he had tied the strips together were a help, and whenever he came to one he let his hands rest upon it a moment or two lest he slide down too rapidly. he had been descending, it seemed to him, fully an hour, and he must have come down a mile, when he heard the rattle of a saber. it was so distinct and so near that it could not be imagination. he looked in the direction of the sound and saw two dark figures in the street. as he stared the two figures shaped themselves into two mexican officers. truth, not fancy, told him also that they were not moving. they had seen him escaping and they would come for him! he pressed his body hard against the stone wall, and with his hands resting upon one of the knots clung desperately to the rope. he was hanging in an alley, and the men were on the street at the mouth of it six or seven yards away. they were talking and it must be about him! he saw them create a light in some manner, and his hands almost slipped from the rope. then joy flooded back. they were merely lighting cigarettes, and, with a few more words to each other, they walked on. ned slid slowly down, but when he came to the last knot his strength gave way and he fell. it seemed to him that he was plunging an immeasurable distance through depths of space. then he struck and with the force of the blow consciousness left him. when he revived he found himself lying upon a rough stone pavement and it was still dark. he saw above a narrow cleft of somber sky, and something cold and trailing lay across his face. he shivered with repulsion, snatched at it to throw it off, and found that it was his rope. then he felt of himself cautiously and fearfully, but found that no bones were broken. nor was he bruised to any degree and now he knew that he could not have fallen more than two or three feet. perhaps he had struck first upon the little pack which he had fastened upon his back. it reminded him that he was shoeless and coatless and undoing the pack he reclothed himself fully. he was quite sure that he had not lain there more than a quarter of an hour. nothing had happened while he was unconscious. it was a dark little alley in the rear of the prison, and the buildings on the other side that abutted upon it were windowless. he walked cautiously to the mouth of the alley, and looked up and down the street. he saw no one, and, pulling his cap down over his eyes, he started instinctively toward the north, because it was to the far north that he wished to go. he was fully aware that he faced great dangers, almost impossibilities. practically nothing was in his favor, save that he spoke excellent spanish and also mexican versions of it. he went for several hundred yards along the rough and narrow street, and he began to shiver again. now it was from cold, which often grows intense at night in the great valley of mexico. nor was his wasted frame fitted to withstand it. he was assailed also by a fierce hunger. he had carried self-denial to the utmost limit, and nature was crying out against him in a voice that must be heard. he resolved to risk all and obtain food. another hundred yards and he saw crouched in an angle of the street an old woman who offered tortillas and frijoles for sale. he went a little nearer, but apprehension almost overcame him. it might be difficult for him to pass for a mexican and she would give the alarm. but he went yet nearer and stood where he could see her face. it was broad, fat and dark, more aztec than spaniard, and then he approached boldly, his speed increased by the appetizing aroma arising from some flat cakes that lay over burning charcoal. "i will take these, my mother," he said in mexican, and leaning over he snatched up half a dozen gloriously hot tortillas and frijoles. a cry of indignation and anger was checked at the old woman's lips as two small silver coins slipped from the boy's hands, and tinkled pleasantly together in her own. holding his spoils in his hands ned walked swiftly up the street. he glanced back once, and saw that the old aztec woman had sunk back into her original position. he had nothing to fear from any alarm by her, and he looked ahead for some especially dark nook in which he could devour the precious food. he saw none, but he caught a glimpse beyond of foliage, and he recalled enough of the city of mexico to know what it was. it was the zocalo or garden of the cathedral, the holy metropolitan church of mexico. above the foliage he could see the dark walls, and above them he saw the dome, as he had seen it from the window of his prison. over the dome itself rose a beautiful lantern, in which a light was now burning. ned entered the garden which contained many trees, and sat down in the thickest group of them. then he began to eat. he was as ravenous as any wolf, but he had been cultivating the power of will, and he ate like a gentleman, knowing that to do otherwise would not be good for him. but, tempered by discretion, it was a glorious pursuit. it was almost worth the long period of fasting and suffering, for common mexican food, bought on the street from an old aztec woman, to taste so well. strength flowed back into every vein and muscle. he would not now give way to fears and tremblings which were of the body rather than the mind. he stopped when half of the food was gone, put the remainder in his pocket, and stood up. fine drops of water struck him in the face. it had begun to rain. and a raw wind was moaning in the valley. despite the warm food and his returning strength ned felt the desperate need of shelter. it was growing colder, too. even as he stood there the fine rain turned to fine snow. it melted as it fell, but when it struck him about the neck and face it had an uncommonly penetrating power and the chill seemed to go into the bone. he must have shelter. he looked at the dark walls of the cathedral and then at the light in the slender lantern far up above the dome. what more truly a shelter than a church! it had been a sanctuary in the dark ages, and he might use it now as such. he left the trees and stood for a little while by a stone, one of the which formerly enclosed an atrium. still seeing nothing and hearing nothing but the whistle of the wind which drove the cold drops of snow under his collar he advanced boldly again, sprang over the iron railing, and came to the walls of the old church, where he stood a moment. ned knew that in great catholic cathedrals, like the one of mexico, there were always side doors or little wickets used by priests or other high officials of the church, and he was hoping to find one that he could open. he passed half way around the building, feeling cautiously along the cold stone. once he saw a watchman with sombrero, heavy cloak and lantern. he pressed into a niche, and the watchman went on his automatic way, little thinking that anyone was near. the boy continued his circuit and presently he found a wooden door, which he could not force. a little further and he came to a second which opened to his pressure. it was so small an entrance that he stooped as he passed in. he shut it carefully behind him, and stood in what was almost total darkness, until his eyes grew used to the gloom. then he saw that he was in a vast interior, doric in architecture, severe and simple. it was in the form of a latin cross, with fluted columns dividing the aisles from the nave. above him rose a noble dome. he could make out nothing more for the present. it was very still, very imposing, and at another time he would have been awed, but now he had found sanctuary. the cold and the snow were shut out and a grateful warmth took their place. he walked down one of the aisles, careful that his footsteps should make no sound. he saw that there were rows of chapels, seven on either side of the church. it occurred to him that he would be safer in one of these rooms and he chose that which seemed to be used the least. while on this search he passed the main altar in the center of the building. he noticed above the stalls a picture of the virgin. he was a protestant, but when he saw it he crossed himself devoutly. was not her church giving him shelter and refuge from his enemies? he also passed the altar of the kings, beneath which now lie the heads of great mexicans who secured the independence of their country from spain. he looked a little at these before he entered the chapel of his choice. it was a small room, lighted scarcely at all by a narrow window, and it contained a few straight wooden pews one of which had been turned about facing the wall. he lay down in his pew, and, even in daylight, he would have been hidden from anyone a yard away. the hard wood was soft to him. he put his cap under his head and stretched himself out. then, without will, he relaxed completely. nature could stand no more. his eyes closed and he floated off into the far and happy region of sleep. chapter iii sanctuary ned fulton's sleep was that of exhaustion, and it lasted long. although fine snow yet fell outside, and the raw wind blew it about, a pleasant warmth pervaded the snug alcove, made by the back of the pew in which he lay. he had been fortunate indeed to find such a place, because the body of the church was gloomy and cold. but he did not hear the winds, and no thought of the snow troubled him, as he slept on hour after hour. the night passed, the light snow had ceased, no trace of it was left on the earth, and the brilliant sunshine flooded the ancient capital with warmth. people went about their usual pursuits. old men and old women sold sweets, hot coffee, and tortillas and frijoles, also hot, in the streets. little plaster images of the saints and the virgin were exposed on trays. donkeys loaded with vegetables, that had been brought across the lakes, bumped one another in the narrow ways. many officers in fine uniforms and many soldiers in uniforms not so fine could be seen. whatever else mexico might be it was martial. the great santa anna whom men called another napoleon now ruled, and there was talk of war and glory. much of it was vague, but of one thing they were certain. santa anna would soon crush the mutinous texans in the wild north. gringos they were, always pushing where they were not wanted, and, however hard their fate, they would deserve it. the vein of cruelty which, despite great virtues, has made spain a by-word among nations, showed in her descendants. but the boy, edward fulton, sleeping in the chapel of the great cathedral, knew nothing of it all. nature, too long defrauded, was claiming payment of her debt, and he slept peacefully on, although the hours passed and noon came. the church had long been open. priests came and went in the aisles, and entered some of the chapels. worshipers, most of them women, knelt before the shrines. service was held at the high altar, and the odor of incense filled the great nave. yet the boy was still in sanctuary, and a kindly angel was watching over him. no one entered the chapel in which he slept. it was almost the middle of the afternoon when he awoke. he heard a faint murmur of voices and a pleasant odor came to his nostrils. he quickly remembered everything, and, stirring a little on his wooden couch he found a certain stiffness in the joints. he realized however that all his strength had come back. but ned fulton understood, although he had escaped from prison and had found shelter and sanctuary in the cathedral, that he was yet in an extremely precarious position. the murmur of voices told him that people were in the church, and he had no doubt that the odor came from burning incense. a little light from the narrow window fell upon him. it came through colored glass, and made red and blue splotches on his hands, at which he looked curiously. he knew that it was a brilliant day outside, and he longed for air and exercise, but he dared not move except to stretch his arms and legs, until the stiffness and soreness disappeared from his joints. contact with spaniard and mexican had taught him the full need of caution. he was very hungry again, and now he was thankful for his restraint of the night before. he ate the rest of the food in his pockets and waited patiently. ned knew that he had slept a long time, and that it must be late in the day. he was confirmed in his opinion by the angle at which the light entered the window, and he decided that he would lie in the pew until night came again. it was a trying test. school his will as he would he felt at times that he must come from his covert and walk about the chapel. the narrow wooden pew became a casket in which he was held, and now and then he was short of breath. yet he persisted. he was learning very young the value of will, and he forced himself every day to use it and increase its strength. in such a position and with so much threatening him his faculties became uncommonly keen. he heard the voices more distinctly, and also the footsteps of the priests in their felt slippers. they passed the door of the chapel in which he lay, and once or twice he thought they were going to enter, but they seemed merely to pause at the door. then he would hold his breath until they were gone. at last and with infinite joy he saw the colored lights fade. the window itself grew dark, and the murmur in the church ceased. but he did not come forth from his secure refuge until it was quite dark. he staggered from stiffness at first, but the circulation was soon restored. then he looked from the door of the chapel into the great nave. an old priest in a brown robe was extinguishing the candles. ned watched him until he had put out the last one, and disappeared in the rear of the church. then he came forth and standing in the great, gloomy nave tried to decide what to do next. he had found a night's shelter and no more. he had escaped from prison, but not from the city of mexico, and his texas was yet a thousand miles away. ned found the little door by which he had entered, and passed outside, hiding again among the trees of the zocalo. the night was very cold and he shivered once more, as he stood there waiting. the night was so dark that the cathedral was almost a formless bulk. but above it, the light in the slender lantern shone like a friendly star. while he looked the great bell of santa maria de guadalupe in the western tower began to chime, and presently the smaller bell of dona maria in the eastern tower joined. it was a mellow song they sung and they sang fresh courage into the young fugitive's veins. he knew that he could never again see this cathedral built upon the site of the great aztec teocalli, destroyed by the spaniards more than three hundred years before, without a throb of gratitude. ned's first resolve was to take measures for protection from the cold, and he placed his silver dollars in his most convenient pocket. then he left the trees and moved toward the east, passing in front of the handsome church sagrario metropolitano, and entering a very narrow street that led among a maze of small buildings. the district was lighted faintly by a few hanging lanterns, but as ned had hoped, some of the shops were yet open. the people who sat here and there in the low doorways were mostly short of stature and dark and broad of face. the indian in them predominated over the spaniard, and some were pure aztec. ned judged that they would not take any deep interest in the fortunes of their rulers, spanish or mexican, royalist or republican. he pulled his cap over his eyes and a little to one side, and strolled on, humming an old mexican air. his walk was the swagger of a young mexican gallant, and in the dimness they would not notice his northern fairness. several pairs of eyes observed him, but not with disapproval. they considered him a trim mexican lad. some of the men in the doorways took up the air that he was whistling and continued it. he saw soon the place for which he was looking, a tiny shop in which an old indian sold serapes. he stopped in the doorway, which he filled, took down one of the best and heaviest and held out the number of dollars which he considered an adequate price. the indian shook his head and asked for nearly twice as much. ned knew how long they bargained and chaffered in mexico and what a delight they took in it. after an hour's talk he could secure the serape, at the price he offered, but he dared not linger in one place. already the old indian was looking at him inquiringly. doubtless he had seen that this was no mexican, but ned judged shrewdly that he would not let the fact interfere with a promising bargain. the boy acted promptly. he added two more silver dollars to the amount that he had proffered, put the whole in the old indian's palm, took down the serape, folded it over his arm, and with a "gracias, señor," backed swiftly out of the shop. the old indian was too much astonished to move for at least a half minute. then tightly clutching the silver in his hand he ran into the street. but the tall young señor, with the serape already wrapped around his shoulders, was disappearing in the darkness. the indian opened his palm and looked at the silver. a smile passed over his face. after all, it was two good spanish dollars more than he had expected, and he returned contentedly to his shop. if such generous young gentlemen came along every night his fortune would soon be made. ned soon left the shop far behind. it was a fine serape, very large, thick and warm, and he draped himself in it in true mexican fashion. it kept him warm, and, wrapped in its folds, he looked much more like a genuine mexican. he had but little money left, but among the more primitive people beyond the capital one might work his way. if suspected he could claim to be english, and mexico was not at war with england. he bought a sombrero at another shop with almost the last of his money, and then started toward la viga, the canal that leads from the lower part of the city toward the fresh water lakes, chalco and xochimilco. he hoped to find at the canal one of the bergantins, or flat-bottomed boats, in which vegetables, fruit and flowers were brought to the city for sale. they were good-natured people, those of the bergantins, and they would not scorn the offer of a stout lad to help with sail and oar. hidden in his serape and sombrero, and, secure in his knowledge of spanish and mexican, he now advanced boldly through the more populous and better lighted parts of the city. he even lingered a little while in front of a café, where men were playing guitar and mandolin, and girls were dancing with castanets. the sight of light and life pleased the boy who had been so long in prison. these people were diverting themselves and they smiled and laughed. they seemed to have kindly feelings for everybody, but he remembered that cruel spanish strain, often dormant, but always there, and he hastened on. three officers, their swords swinging at their thighs, came down the narrow street abreast. at another time ned would not have given way, and even now it hurt him to do so, but prudence made him step from the sidewalk. one of them laughed and applied an insulting epithet to the "peon," but ned bore it and continued, his sombrero pulled well down over his eyes. his course now led him by the great palace of yturbide, where he saw many windows blazing with light. several officers were entering and chief among them he recognized general martin perfecto de cos, the brother-in-law of santa anna, whom ned believed to be a treacherous and cruel man. he hastened away from such an unhealthy proximity, and came to la viga. he saw a rude wharf along the canal and several boats, all with the sails furled, except two. these two might be returning to the fresh water lakes, and it was possible that he could secure passage. the people of the bergantins were always humble peons and they cared little for the intrigues of the capital. it was now about eleven o'clock and the night had lightened somewhat, a fair moon showing. ned could see distinctly the boats or bergantins as the mexicans called them. they were large, flat of bottom, shallow of draft, and were propelled with both sail and oar. he was repulsed at the first, where a surly mexican of middle age told him with a curse that he wanted no help, but at the next which had as a crew a man, a woman, evidently his wife, and two half-grown boys, he was more fortunate. could he use an oar? he could. then he might come, because there was little promise of wind, and the sails would be of no use. a strong arm would help, as it was sixteen miles down la viga to the lake of xochimilco, on the shores of which they lived. the boys were tired and sleepy, and he would serve very well in their stead. ned took his place in the boat, truly thankful that in this crisis of his life he knew how to row. he saw that his hosts, or rather those for whom he worked, were an ordinary peon family, at least half indian, sluggish of mind and kind of heart. they had brought vegetables and flowers to the city, and now they were thriftily returning in the night to their home on the lake that benito igarritos and his sons might not miss the next day from their work. igarritos and ned took the oars. the two boys stretched themselves on the bottom of the boat and were asleep in an instant. juana, the wife, spread a serape over them, and then sat down in turkish fashion in the center of the bergantin, a great red and yellow reboso about her head and shoulders. sometimes she looked at her husband, and sometimes at the strange boy. he had spoken to them in good mexican, he dressed like a mexican and he walked like a mexican, but she had not been deceived. she knew that the mexican part of him ended with the serape and sombrero. she wondered why he had come, and why he was anxious to go to the lake of xochimilco. but she reflected with the patience and resignation of an oppressed race that it was no business of hers. he was a good youth. he had spoken to her with compliments as one speaks to a lady of high degree, and he bent manfully on the oar. he was welcome. but he must have a name and she would know it. "what do you call yourself?" she asked. "william," he replied. "i come from a far country, england, and it is my pleasure to travel in new lands and see new peoples." "weel-le-am," she said gravely, "you are far from your friends." ned bent his head in assent. her simple words made him feel that he was indeed far from his own land and surrounded by a thousand perils. the woman did not speak again and they moved on with an even stroke down the canal which had an uniform width of about thirty feet. they were still passing houses of stone and others of adobe, but before they had gone a mile they were halted by a sharp command from the shore. an officer and three soldiers, one of whom held a lantern, stood on the bank. ned had expected that they would be stopped. these were revolutionary times and people could not go in or out of the city unnoticed. particularly was la viga guarded. he knew that his fate now rested with benito igarritos and his wife juana, but he trusted them. the officer was peremptory, but the bergantin was most innocent in appearance. merely a humble vegetable boat returning down la viga after a successful day in the city. "your family?" ned heard the officer say to benito, as he flashed the lantern in turn upon every one. taciturn, like most men of the oppressed races, benito nodded, while his wife sat silent in her great red and yellow reboso. ned leaned carelessly upon the oar, but his face was well hid by the sombrero, and his heart was throbbing. when the light of the lantern passed over him he felt as if he were seared by a flame, but the officer had no suspicion, and with a gruff "pass on" he withdrew from the bank with his men. benito nodded to ned and they pulled again into the center of la viga. neither spoke. nor did the woman. ned bent on the oar with renewed strength. he felt that the greatest of his dangers was now passed, and the relief of the spirit brought fresh strength. the night lightened yet more. he saw on the low banks of the canal green shrubs and many plants with spikes and thorns. it seemed to him characteristic of mexico that nearly everything should have its spikes and thorns. through the gray night showed the background of the distant mountains. they overtook and passed two other bergantins returning from the city and they met a third on its way thither with vegetables for the morning market. benito knew the owners and exchanged a brief word with everyone as he passed. ned pulled silently at his oar. when it was far past midnight ned felt a cool breeze rising. benito began to unfurl the sail. "you have pulled well, young señor," he said to ned, "but the oar is needed no more. now the wind will work for us. you will sleep and carlos will help me." he awoke the elder of the two boys. ned was so tired that his arms ached, and he was glad to rest. he wrapped his heavy serape about himself, lay down on the bottom of the boat, pillowed his head on his arm, and went to sleep. when he awoke, it was day and they were floating on a broad sheet of shallow water, which he knew instinctively was xochimilco. the wind was still blowing, and one of the boys steered the bergantin. benito, juana and the other boy sat up, with their faces turned toward the rosy morning light, as if they were sun-worshipers. ned also felt the inspiration. the world was purer and clearer here than in the city. in the early morning the grayish, lonely tint which is the prevailing note of mexico, did not show. the vegetation was green, or it was tinted with the glow of the sun. near the lower shores he saw the chiampas or floating gardens. benito turned the bergantin into a cove, and they went ashore. his house, flat roofed and built of adobe, was near, standing in a field, filled with spiky and thorny plants. they gave ned a breakfast, the ordinary peasant fare of the country, but in abundance, and then the woman, who seemed to be in a sense the spokesman of the family, said very gravely: "you are a good boy, weel-le-am, and you rowed well. what more do you wish of us?" benito also bent his dark eyes upon him in serious inquiry. ned was not prepared for any reply. he did not know just what to do and on impulse he answered: "i would stay with you a while and work. you will not find me lazy." he waved his hand toward the spiky and thorny field. benito consulted briefly with his wife and they agreed. for three or four days ned toiled in the hot field with benito and the boys and at night he slept on the floor of earth. the work was hard and it made his body sore. the food was of the roughest, but these things were trifles compared with the gift of freedom which he had received. how glorious it was to breathe the fresh air and to have only the sky for a roof and the horizon for walls! benito and the older boy again took the bergantin loaded with vegetables up la viga to the city. they did not suggest that ned go with them. he remained working in the field, and trying to think of some way in which he could obtain money for a journey. the wind was good, the bergantin traveled fast, and benito and his boy returned speedily. benito greeted ned with a grave salute, but said nothing until an hour later, when they sat by a fire outside the hut, eating the tortillas and frijoles which juana had cooked for them. "what is the news in the capital?" asked ned. benito pondered his reply. "the president, the protector of us all, the great general santa anna, grows more angry at the texans, the wild americans who have come into the wilderness of the far north," he replied. "they talk of an army going soon against them, and they talk, too, of a daring escape." he paused and contemplatively lit a cigarrito. "what was the escape?" asked ned, the pulse in his wrist beginning to beat hard. "one of the texans, whom the great santa anna holds, but a boy they say he was, though fierce, slipped between the bars of his window and is gone. they wish to get him back; they are anxious to take him again for reasons that are too much for benito." "do you think they will find him?" "how do i know? but they say he is yet in the capital, and there is a reward of one hundred good spanish dollars for the one who will bring him in, or who will tell where he is to be found." benito quietly puffed at his cigarrito and juana, the cooking being over, threw ashes on the coals. "if he is still hiding within reach of santa anna's arm," said ned, "somebody is sure to betray him for the reward." "i do not know," said benito, tossing away the stub of his cigarrito. then he rose and began work in the field. ned went out with the elder boy, carlos, and caught fish. they did not return until twilight, and the others were already waiting placidly while juana prepared their food. none of them could read; they had little; their life was of the most primitive, but ned noticed that they never spoke cross words to one another. they seemed to him to be entirely content. after supper they sat on the ground in front of the adobe hut. the evening was clear and already many stars were coming into a blue sky. the surface of the lake was silver, rippling lightly. benito smoked luxuriously. "i saw this afternoon a friend of mine, miguel lampridi," he said after a while. "he had just come down la viga from the city." "what news did he bring?" asked edward. "they are still searching everywhere for the young texan who went through the window--eduardo fulton is his name. truly general santa anna must have his reasons. the reward has been doubled." "poor lad," spoke juana, who spoke seldom. "it may be that the young texan is not as bad as they say. but it is much money that they offer. someone will find him." "it may be," said benito. then they sat a long time in silence. juana was the first to go into the house and to bed. after a while the two boys followed. another half hour passed, and ned rose. "i go, benito," he said. "you and your wife have been good to me, and i cannot bring misfortune upon you. why is it that you did not betray me? the reward is large. you would have been a rich man here." benito laughed low. "yes, it would have been much money," he replied, "but what use have i for it? i have the wife i wish, and my sons are good sons. we do not go hungry and we sleep well. so it will be all the days of our life. two hundred silver dollars would bring two hundred evil spirits among us. thy face, young texan, is a good face. i think so and my wife, juana, who knows, says so. yet it is best that you go. others will soon learn, and it is hard to live between close stone walls, when the free world is so beautiful. i will call juana, and she, too, will tell you farewell. we would not drive you away, but since you choose to go, you shall not leave without a kind word, which may go with you as a blessing on your way." he called at the door of the adobe hut. juana came forth. she was stout, and she had never been beautiful, but her face seemed very pleasant to ned, as she asked the holy virgin to watch over him in his wanderings. "i have five silver dollars," said benito. "they are yours. they will make the way shorter." but ned refused absolutely to accept them. he would not take the store of people who had been so kind to him. instead he offered the single dollar that he had left for a heavy knife like a machete. benito brought it to him and reluctantly took the dollar. "do not try the northern way, texan," he said, "it is too far. go over the mountains to vera cruz, where you will find passage on a ship." it seemed good advice to ned, and, although the change of plan was abrupt, he promised to take it. juana gave him a bag of food which he fastened to his belt under his serape, and at midnight, with the blessing of the holy virgin invoked for him again, he started. fifty yards away he turned and saw the man and woman standing before their door and gazing at him. he waved his hand and they returned the salute. he walked on again a little mist before his eyes. they had been very kind to him, these poor people of another race. he walked along the shore of the lake for a long time, and then bore in toward the east, intending to go parallel with the great road to vera cruz. his step was brisk and his heart high. he felt more courage and hope than at any other time since he had dropped from the prison. he had food for several days, and the possession of the heavy knife was a great comfort. he could slash with it, as with a hatchet. he walked steadily for hours. the road was rough, but he was young and strong. once he crossed the pedregal, a region where an old lava flow had cooled, and which presented to his feet numerous sharp edges like those of a knife. he had good shoes with heavy soles and he knew their value. on the long march before him they were worth as much as bread and weapons, and he picked his way as carefully as a walker on a tight rope. he was glad when he had crossed the dangerous pedregal and entered a cypress forest, clustering on a low hill. grass grew here also, and he rested a while, wrapped in his serape against the coldness of the night. he saw behind and now below him the city, the towers of the churches outlined against the sky. it was from some such place as this that cortez and his men, embarked upon the world's most marvelous adventure, had looked down for the first time upon the ancient city of tenochtitlan. but it did not beckon to ned. it seemed to him that a mighty menace to his beloved texas emanated from it. and he must warn the texans. he sprang to his feet and resumed his journey. at the eastern edge of the hill he came upon a beautiful little spring, leaping from the rock. he drank from it and went on. lower down he saw some adobe huts among the cypresses and cactus. no doubt their occupants were sound asleep, but for safety's sake he curved away from them. dogs barked, and when they barked again the sound showed they were coming nearer. he ran, rather from caution than fear, because if the dogs attacked he wished to be so far away from the huts that their owners would not be awakened. now he gave thanks that he had the machete. he thrust his hands under the serape and clasped its strong handle. it was a truly formidable weapon. he came to another little hill, also clothed in cypress, and began to ascend it with decreased speed. the baying of the dogs was growing much louder. they were coming fast. near the summit he saw a heap of rock, probably an aztec tumulus, six or seven feet high. ned smiled with satisfaction. pressed by danger his mind was quick. he was where he would make his defense, and he did not think it would need to be a long one. he settled himself well upon the top of the tumulus and drew his machete. the dogs, six in number, coursed among the cypresses, and the leader, foam upon his mouth, leaped straight at ned. the boy involuntarily drew up his feet a little, but he was not shaken from the crouching position that was best suited to a blow. as the hound was in mid-air he swung the machete with all his might and struck straight at the ugly head. the heavy blade crashed through the skull and the dog fell dead without a sound. another which leaped also, but not so far, received a deep cut across the shoulder. it fell back and retreated with the others among the cypresses, where the unwounded dogs watched with red eyes the formidable figure on the rocks. but ned did not remain on the tumulus more than a few minutes longer. when he sprang down the dogs growled, but he shook the machete until it glittered in the moonlight. with howls of terror they fled, while he resumed his journey in the other direction. near morning he came into country which seemed to him very wild. the soil was hard and dry, but there was a dense growth of giant cactus, with patches here and there of thorny bushes. guarding well against the spikes and thorns he crept into one of the thickets and lay down. he must rest and sleep and already the touch of rose in the east was heralding the dawn. sleep by day and flight by night. he was satisfied with himself. he had really succeeded better so far than he had hoped, and, guarded by the spikes and thorns, slumber took him before dawn had spread from east to west. chapter iv the palm ned awoke about noon. the morning had been cold, but having been wrapped very thoroughly in the great serape, he had remained snug and warm all through his long sleep. he rose very cautiously, lest the spikes and thorns should get him, and then went to a comparatively open place among the giant cactus stems whence he could see over the hills and valleys. he saw in the valley nearest him the flat roofs of a small village. columns of smoke rose from two or three of the adobe houses, and he heard the faint, mellow voices of men singing in a field. women by the side of a small but swift stream were pounding and washing clothes after the primitive fashion. looking eastward he saw hills and a small mountain, but all the country in that direction seemed to be extremely arid and repellent. the bare basalt of volcanic origin showed everywhere, and, even at the distance, he could see many deep quarries in the stone, where races older, doubtless, than aztecs and toltecs, had obtained material for building. it was always ned's feeling when in mexico that he was in an old, old land, not ancient like england or france, but ancient as egypt and babylon are ancient. he had calculated his course very carefully, and he knew that it would lead through this desert, volcanic region, but on the whole he was not sorry. mexicans would be scarce in such a place. he remained a lad of stout heart, confident that he would succeed. he ate sparingly and reckoned that with self-denial he had food enough to last three days. he might obtain more on the road by some happy chance or other. then becoming impatient he started again, keeping well among cypress and cactus, and laying his course toward the small mountain that he saw ahead. he pressed forward the remainder of the afternoon, coming once or twice near to the great road that led to vera cruz. on one occasion he saw a small body of soldiers, deep in dust, marching toward the port. all except the officers were peons and they did not seem to ned to show much martial ardor. but the officers on horseback sternly bade them hasten. ned, as usual, had much sympathy for the poor peasants, but none for the officers who drove them on. about sunset he came to a little river, the teotihuacan he learned afterward, and he still saw before him the low mountain, the name of which was cerro gordo. but his attention was drawn from the mountain by two elevations rising almost at the bank of the river. they were pyramidal in shape and truncated, and the larger, which ned surmised to be anywhere from to feet square, seemed to rise to a height of two or three hundred feet. the other was about two-thirds the size of the larger, both in area and height. although there was much vegetation clinging about them ned knew that these were pyramids erected by the hand of man. the feeling that this was a land old like egypt came back to him most powerfully in the presence of these ancient monuments, which were in fact the pyramid of the sun and the pyramid of the moon. there they stood, desolate and of untold age. the setting sun poured an intense red light upon them, until they stood out vivid and enlarged. so far as ned knew, no other human being was anywhere near. the loneliness in the presence of those tremendous ruins was overpowering. he longed for human companionship. a peon, despite the danger otherwise, would have been welcome. the whole land took on fantastic aspects. it was not normal and healthy like the regions from which he came north of the rio grande. every nerve quivered. then he did the bravest thing that one could do in such a position, forcing his will to win a victory over weirdness and superstition. he crossed the shallow river and advanced boldly toward the pyramid of the sun. his reason told him that there were no such things as ghosts, but it told him also that mexican peons were likely to believe in them. hence it was probable that he would be safer about the pyramid than far from it. the country bade fair to become too rough for night traveling and he would stop there a while, refreshing his strength. although the sun was setting, the color of the skies promised a bright night, and ned approached boldly. as usual his superstitious fears became weaker as he approached the objects that had called them into existence. but before he reached the pyramids he found that he was among many ruins. they stood all about him, stone fragments of ancient walls, black basalt or lava, and, unless the twilight deceived him, there were also traces of ancient streets. he saw, too, south of the larger pyramids a great earthwork or citadel thirty or forty feet high enclosing a square in which stood a small pyramid. the walls of the earthwork were enormously thick, three hundred feet ned reckoned, and upon it at regular intervals stood other small pyramids fourteen in number. scattered all about, alone or in groups, were tumuli, and leading away from the largest group of tumuli ned saw a street or causeway, which, passing by the pyramid of the sun, ended in front of the pyramid of the moon, where it widened out into a great circle, with a tumulus standing in the center. despite all the courage that he had shown ned felt a superstitious thrill as he looked at these ancient and solemn ruins. he and they were absolutely alone. antiquity looked down upon him. the sun was gone now and the moon was coming out, touching pyramids and tumuli, earthworks and causeway with ghostly silver, deepening the effect of loneliness and far-off time. while ned was looking at these majestic remains he heard the sound of voices, and then the rattle of weapons. he saw through the twilight the glitter of uniforms and of swords and sabers. a company of mexican soldiers, at least a hundred in number, had come into the ancient city and, no doubt, intended to camp there. being so absorbed in the strange ruins he had not noticed them sooner. as the men were already scattering in search of firewood or other needs of the camp ned saw that he was in great danger. he hid behind a tumulus, half covered by the vegetation that had grown from its crevices. he was glad that his serape was of a modest brown, instead of the bright colors that most of the mexicans loved. a soldier passed within ten feet of him, but in the twilight did not notice him. it was enough to make one quiver. another passed a little later, and he, too, failed to see the fugitive. but a third, if he came, would probably see, and leaving the tumulus ned ran to another where he hid again for a few minutes. it was the boy's object to make off through the neighboring forest after passing from tumulus to tumulus, but he found soon that another body of soldiers was camping upon the far side of the ruined city. he might or might not run the gauntlet in the darkness. the probabilities were that he would not, and hiding behind a tumulus almost midway between the two forces he took thought of his next step. the pyramid of the moon rose almost directly before him, its truncated mass spotted with foliage. ned could see that its top was flat and instantly he took a bold resolution. he made his way to the base of the pyramid and began to climb slowly and with great care, always keeping hidden in the vegetation. he was certain that no mexican would follow where he was going. they were on other business, and their incurious minds bothered little about a city that was dead and gone for them. up he went steadily over uneven terraces, and from below he heard the chatter of the soldiers. a third fire had been lighted much nearer the pyramid, and pausing a moment he looked down. twenty or thirty soldiers were scattered about this fire. their muskets were stacked and they were taking their ease. discipline was relaxed. one man was strumming a mandolin already, and two or three began to sing. but ned saw sentinels walking among the tumuli and along the calle de los muertos which led from the citadel to the southern front of the pyramid of the moon. he was very glad now that he had sought this lofty refuge, and he renewed his climb. as he drew himself upon another terrace he saw before him a dark opening into the very mass of the pyramid, which was built either of brick or of stone, he could not tell which. he thought once of creeping in and of hiding there, but after taking a couple of steps into the dark he drew back. he was afraid of plunging into some well and he continued the ascent. he was now about sixty or seventy feet up, but he was not yet half way to the top of the pyramid. he was so slow and cautious that it took more than a half hour to reach the crest, where he found himself upon a platform about twenty feet square. it was an irregular surface with much vegetation growing from the crevices, and here ned felt quite safe. near him and sixty feet above him rose the crest of the pyramid of the sun. beyond were ranges of mountains silvery in the moonlight. he walked to the edge of the pyramid and looked down. four or five fires were burning now, and the single mandolin had grown to four. several guitars were being plucked vigorously also, and the sound of the instruments joined with that of the singing voices was very musical and pleasant. these mexicans seemed to be full of good nature, and so they were, with fire, food and music in plenty, but now that he had been their prisoner ned never forgot how that dormant and spanish strain of cruelty in their natures could flame high under the influence of passion. the dungeons of spanish mexico and of the new mexico hid many dark stories, and he believed that he had read what lay behind the smiling mask of santa anna's face. he would suffer everything to keep out of mexican hands. he crept away from the edge of the pyramid, and chose a place near its center for his lofty camp. there was much vegetation growing out of the ancient masonry, and he had a fear of scorpions and of more dangerous reptiles, perhaps, but he thrashed up the grass and weeds well with his machete. then he sat down and ate his supper. fortunately he had drunk copiously at a brook before reaching the ruined city and he did not suffer from thirst. then, relying upon the isolation of his perch for safety, he wrapped himself in the invaluable serape and lay down. the night was cold as usual, and a sharp wind blew down from northern peaks and ranges, but ned, protected by vegetation and the heavy serape, had an extraordinary feeling of warmth and snugness as he lay on the old pyramid. held so long within close walls the wild freedom and the fresh air that came across seas and continents were very grateful to him. even the presence of an enemy, so near, and yet, as it seemed, so little dangerous, added a certain piquancy to his position. the pleasant tinkle of the mandolins was wafted upward to him, and it was wonderfully soothing, telling of peace and rest. he inhaled the aromatic odors of strange and flowering southern plants, and his senses were steeped in a sort of luxurious calm. he fell asleep to the music of the mandolin, and when he awoke such a bright sun was shining in his eyes that he was glad to close and open them again several times before they would tolerate the brilliant mexican sky that bent above him. he lay still about five minutes, listening, and then, to his disappointment, he heard sounds below. he judged by the position of the sun that it must be at least o'clock in the morning, and the mexicans should be gone. yet they were undoubtedly still there. he crept to the edge of the pyramid and looked over. there was the mexican force, scattered about the ruined city, but camped in greatest numbers along the calle de los muertos. their numbers had been increased by two hundred or three hundred, and, as ned saw no signs of breaking camp, he judged that this was a rendezvous, and that there were more troops yet to come. he saw at once that his problem was increased greatly. he could not dream of leaving the summit of the pyramid before the next night came. food he had in plenty but no water, and already as the hot sun's rays approached the vertical he felt a great thirst. imagination and the knowledge that he could not allay it for the present at least, increased the burning sensation in his throat and the dryness of his lips. he caught a view of the current of the teotihuacan, the little river by the side of which the pyramids stand, and the sight increased his torments. he had never seen before such fresh and pure water. it sparkled and raced in the sun before him and it looked divine. and yet it was as far out of his reach as if it were all the way across mexico. ned went back to the place where he had slept and sat down. the sight of the river had tortured him, and he felt better when it was shut from view. now he resolved to see what could be accomplished by will. he undertook to forget the water, and at times he succeeded, but, despite his greatest efforts, the teotihuacan would come back now and then with the most astonishing vividness. although he was lying on the serape with bushes and shrubs all around, there was the river visible to the eye of imagination, brighter, fresher and more sparkling than ever. he could not control his fancy, but will ruled the body and he did not stir from his place for hours. the sun beat fiercely upon him and the thin bushes and shrubs afforded little protection. toward the northern edge of the pyramid a small palm was growing out of a large crevice in the masonry, and it might have given some shade, but it was in such an exposed position that ned did not dare to use it for fear of discovery. how he hated that sun! it seemed to be drying him up, through and through, causing the very blood in his veins to evaporate. why should such hot days follow such cold nights? when his tongue touched the roof of his mouth it felt rough and hot like a coal. perhaps the mexicans had gone away. it seemed to him that he had not heard any sounds from them for some time. he went to the edge of the pyramid and looked over. no, the mexicans were yet there, and the sight of them filled him with a fierce anger. they were enjoying themselves. tents were scattered about and shelters of boughs had been erected. many soldiers were taking their siestas. nobody was working and there was not the slightest sign that they intended to depart that day. ned's hot tongue clove to the roof of his hot mouth, but he obstinately refused to look at the river. he did not think that he could stand another sight of it. he went back to his little lair among the shrubs and prayed for night, blessed night with its cooling touch. he had a horrible apprehension which amounted to conviction that the troops would stay there for several days, awaiting some maneuver or perhaps making it a rallying point, and that in his hiding place on the pyramid he was in as bad case as a sailor cast on a desert island without water. nothing seemed left for him but to steal down and try to escape in darkness. thus night would be doubly welcome and he prayed for it again and with renewed fervor. some hours are ten times as long as others, but the longest of all come to an end at last. the sun began to droop in the west. the vertical glare was gone, yet the masonry where it was bare was yet hot to the touch. it, too, cooled soon. the sun dropped wholly down and darkness came over all the earth. then the fever in ned's throat died down somewhat, and the blood began to flow again in his veins. it seemed as if a dew touched his face, delicious, soothing like drops of rain in the burning desert. he rose and stretched his stiffened limbs. overhead spread the dark, cool sky, and the bright stars were coming out, one by one. after the first few moments of relief he heard the cry for water again. despite the night and the coming chill he knew that it would make itself heard often and often, and he began to study the possibilities of a descent. but he saw the fires spread out again on all sides of the pyramid of the sun and the pyramid of the moon and flame thickly along the calle de los muertos. it did not seem that he could pass even on the blackest night. he moved over toward the northern edge of the pyramid, and stood under the palm which he had noticed in the day. one of its broad green leaves, swayed by the wind, touched him softly on the face. he looked up. it was a friendly palm. its very touch was kindly. he stroked the blades and then he examined the stem or body minutely. he was a studious boy who had read much. he had heard of the water palm of the hawaiian and other south sea islands. might not the water palm be found in mexico also? in any event, he had never heard of a palm that was poisonous. they were always givers of life. he raised the machete and slashed the stem of the palm at a point about five feet from the ground. the wound gaped open and a stream of water gushed forth. ned applied his mouth at once and drank long and deeply. it was not poison, nor was it any bitter juice. this was the genuine water palm, yielding up the living fluid of its arteries for him. he drank as long as the gash gave forth water and then sat down under the blades of the palm, content and thankful, realizing that there was always hope in the very heart of despair. ned sat a long time, feeling the new life rushing into his veins. he ate from the food of which he had a plentiful supply and once more gave thanks to benito and juana. then he stood up and the broad leaves of the palm waving gently in the wind touched his face again. he reached up his hand and stroked them. the palm was to him almost a thing of life. he went to the edge of the pyramid and strove for a sight of the teotihuacan. he caught at last a flash of its waters in the moonlight and he shook his fist in defiance. "i can do without you now," was his thought. "the sight of you does not torture me." he returned to his usual place of sleep. as long as he had a water supply it was foolish of him to attempt an escape through the mexican lines. he was familiar now with every square inch of the twenty feet square of the crowning platform of the pyramid. it seemed that he had been there for weeks and he began to have the feeling that it was home. once more, hunger and thirst satisfied, he sought sleep and slept with the deep peace of youth. ned awoke from his second night on the pyramid before dawn was complete. there was silvery light in the east over the desolate ranges, but the west was yet a dark blur. he looked down and saw that nearly all the soldiers were still asleep, while those who did not sleep were as motionless as if they were. in the half light the lost city, the tumuli and the ruins of the old buildings took on strange and fantastic shapes. the feeling that he was among the dead, the dead for many centuries, returned to ned with overpowering effect. he thought of aztec and toltec and people back of all these who had built this city. the mexicans below were intruders like himself. he shook himself as if by physical effort he could get rid of the feeling and then went to the water palm in which he cut another gash. again the fountain gushed forth and he drank. but the palm was a small one. there was too little soil among the crevices of the ancient masonry to support a larger growth, and he saw that it could not satisfy his thirst more than a day or two. but anything might happen in that time, and his courage suffered no decrease. he retreated toward the center of the platform as the day was now coming fast after the southern fashion. the whole circle of the heavens seemed to burst into a blaze of light, and, in a few hours, the sun was hotter than it had been before. many sounds now came from the camp below, but ned, although he often looked eagerly, saw no signs of coming departure. shortly after noon there was a great blare of trumpets, and a detachment of lancers rode up. they were large men, mounted finely, and the heads of their long lances glittered as they brandished them in the sun. ned's attention was drawn to the leader of this new detachment, an officer in most brilliant uniform, and he started. he knew him at once. it was the brother-in-law of santa anna, general martin perfecto de cos, a man in whom that old, cruel strain was very strong, and whom ned believed to be charged with the crushing of the texans. then he was right in his surmise that mexican forces for the campaign were gathering here on the banks of the teotihuacan! more troops came in the afternoon, and the boy no longer had the slightest doubt. the camp spread out further and further, and assumed military form. not so many men were lounging about and the tinkling of the guitars ceased. ned could see general de cos plainly, a heavy man of dark face, autocratic and domineering in manner. night came and the boy went once more to the palm. when he struck with his machete the water came forth, but in a much weaker stream. in reality he was yet thirsty after he drank the full flow, but he would not cut into the stem again. he knew that he must practice the severest economy with his water supply. the third night came and as soon as he was safe from observation ned slashed the palm once more. the day had been very hot and his thirst was great. the water come forth but with only half the vigor of the morning, which itself had shown a decrease. the poor palm, too, trembled and shook when he cut into it with the machete and the blades drooped. ned drank what it supplied and then turned away regretfully. it was a kindly palm, a gift to man, and yet he must slay it to save his own life. he lay down again, but he did not sleep as well as usual. his nerves were upset by the long delay, and the decline of the palm, and he was not refreshed when he awoke in the morning. his head felt hot and his limbs were heavy. as it was not yet bright daylight he went to the palm and cut into it. the flow of water was only a few mouthfuls. cautious and doubly economical now he pursed his lips that not a single drop might escape. then, after eating a little food he lay down, protected as much as possible by the scanty bushes, and also sheltering himself at times from the sun with the serape which he drew over his head. he felt instinctively and with the power of conviction that the mexicans would not depart. the coming of cos had taken the hope from him. cos! he hated the short, brusque name. it was another day of dazzling brightness and intense heat. certainly this was a vertical sun. it shot rays like burning arrows straight down. the blood in his veins seemed to dry up again. his head grew hotter. black specks in myriads danced before his eyes. he looked longingly at his palm. when he first saw it, it stood up, vital and strong. now it seemed to droop and waver like himself. but it would have enough life to fill its veins and arteries through the day and at night he would have another good drink. he scarcely stirred throughout the day but spent most of the time looking at the palm. he paid no attention to the sounds below, sure that the mexicans would not go away. he fell at times into a sort of fevered stupor, and he aroused himself from the last one to find that night had come. he took his machete, went to the tree, and cut quickly, because his thirst was very great. the gash opened, but not a drop came forth. chapter v in the pyramid ned stared, half in amazement, half in despair. yet he had known all the while that this would happen. the palm had emptied every drop from its veins and arteries for him, giving life for life. he had cut so deeply and so often that it would wither now and die. he turned away in sadness, and suddenly a bitter, burning thirst assailed him. it seemed to have leaped into new life with the knowledge that there was nothing now to assuage it. the boy sat down on a small projection of brickwork, and considered his case. he had been more than twelve hours without water under a fierce sun. his thirst would not increase so fast at night, but it would increase, nevertheless, and the mexican force might linger below a week. certainly its camp was of such a character that it would remain at least two or three days, and any risk was preferable to a death of thirst. he could wait no longer. now chance which had been so cruel flung a straw his way. the night was darker than usual. the moon and stars did not come out, and troops of clouds stalked up from the southwest. ned knew that it was a land of little rain, and for a few moments he had a wild hope that in some manner he might catch enough water for his use on the crest of the pyramid. but reason soon drove the hope away. there was no depression which would hold water, and he resolved instead to make the descent under cover of the darkness. when he had come to this resolution the thirst was not so fierce. indecision being over, both his physical and mental courage rose. he ate and had left enough food to last for two days, which he fastened securely in a pack to his body. then, machete in hand, he looked over the edge of the pyramid. there was some noise in the camp, but most of the soldiers seemed to be at rest. lights flickered here and there, and the ruined city, showing only in fragments through the darkness, looked more ghostly and mournful than ever. ned waited a long time. drops of rain began to fall, and the wind moaned with an almost human note around the pyramids and old walls. the rain increased a little, but it never fell in abundance. it and the wind were very cold, and ned drew the serape very closely about his body. he was anxious now for time to pass fast, because he was beginning to feel afraid, not of the mexicans, but of the dead city, and the ghosts of those vanished long ago, although he knew there were no such things. but the human note in the wind grew until it was like a shriek, and this shriek was to him a warning that he must go. the pyramid had been his salvation, but his time there was at an end. he drew the sombrero far down over his eyes, and once more calculated the chances. he spoke spanish well, and he spoke its mexican variations equally well. if they saw him he might be able to pass for a mexican. he must succeed. he lowered himself from the crowning platform of the pyramid and began the descent. the cold rain pattered upon him and his body was weak from privation, but his spirit was strong, and with steady hand and foot he went down. he paused several times to look at the camp. five or six fires still burned there, but they flickered wildly in the wind and rain. he judged that the sentinels would not watch well. for what must they watch, there in the heart of their own country? but as he approached the bottom he saw two of these sentinels walking back and forth, their bayonets reflecting a flicker now and then from the flames. he saw also five or six large white tents, and he was quite sure that the largest sheltered at that instant martin perfecto de cos, whom he wished very much to avoid. he intended, when he reached the bottom, to keep as close as he could in the shadow of the pyramid, and then seek the other side of the teotihuacan. the rain was still blown about by the wind, and it was very cold. but the influence of both wind and rain were inspiring to the boy. they were a tonic to body and mind, and he grew bolder as he came nearer to the ground. at last he stepped upon the level earth, and stood for a little while black and motionless against the pyramid. he was aware that the cordon of cos' army completely enclosed the pyramid of the moon, the pyramid of the sun, the calle de los muertos and the other principal ruins, and he now heard the sentinels much more distinctly as they walked back and forth. straining his eyes he could see two of them, short, sallow men, musket on shoulder. the beat of one lay directly across the path that he had chosen, reaching from the far edge of the pyramid of the moon to a point about twenty yards away. he believed that when this sentinel marched to the other end of his beat he could slip by. at any rate, if he were seen he might make a successful flight, and he slipped his hand to the handle of the machete in his belt in order that he might be ready for resistance. he saw presently two or three dark heaps near him, and as his eyes grew used to the darkness he made out camp equipage and supplies. the smallest heap which was also nearest to him, consisted of large metal canteens for water, such as soldiers of that day carried. his thirst suddenly made itself manifest again. doubtless those canteens contained water, and his body which wanted water so badly cried aloud for it. it was not recklessness but a burning thirst which caused him to creep toward the little heap of canteens at the imminent risk of being discovered. when he reached them he lay flat on the ground and took one from the top. he knew by its lack of weight that it was empty, and he laid it aside. then he paused for a glance at the sentinel who was still walking steadily on his beat, and whom he now saw very clearly. he was disappointed to find the first canteen empty, but he was convinced that some in that heap must contain water, and he would persevere. the second and third failed him in like manner, but he would yet persevere. the fourth was heavy, and when he shook it gently he heard the water plash. that thirst at once became burning and uncontrollable. the cry of his body to be assuaged overpowered his will, and while deadly danger menaced he unscrewed the little mouthpiece and drank deep and long. it was not cold and perhaps a little mud lurked at the bottom of the canteen, but like the gift of the water palm it brought fresh life and strength. he put down the canteen half empty and took another from the heap. it, too, proved to be filled, and he hung it around neck and shoulder by the strap provided for that purpose. he could have found no more precious object for the dry regions through which he intended to make his journey. ned went back toward the pyramid, but his joy over finding the water made him a little careless. great fragments of stone lay about everywhere, and his foot slipped on a piece of black basalt. he fell and the metal of his canteen rang against the stone. he sprang to his feet instantly, but the sentinel had taken the alarm and as ned's sombrero had slipped back he saw the fair face. he knew that it was the face of no mexican, and shouting "gringo!" he fired straight at him. luckily, haste and the darkness prevented good aim, although he was at short range. but ned felt the swish of the bullet so close to him that every nerve jumped, and he jumped with them. the first jump took him half way to the pyramid and the next landed him at its base. there the second nearest sentinel fired at him and he heard the bullet flatten itself against the stone. fortunately for ned, the silent, thoughtful lad, he had often tried to imagine what he would do in critical junctures, and now, despite the terrible crisis, he was able to take control of his nerves. he remembered to pull the sombrero down over his face and to keep close to the pyramid. the shots had caused an uproar in the camp. men were running about, lights were springing up, and officers were shouting orders. a single fugitive among so many confused pursuers might yet pass for one of them. chance which had been against him was now for him. the wind suddenly took a wilder sweep and the rain lashed harder. he left the pyramid and darted behind a tumulus. he stood there quietly and heard the uproar of the hunt at other points. presently he slouched away in the manner of a careless peon, with his serape drawn about chin as well as body, for which the wind and the rain were a fitting excuse. he also shouted and chattered occasionally with others, and none knew that he was the gringo at whom the two sentinels had fired. ned thought to make a way through the lines, but so many lights now flared up on all the outskirts that he saw it was impossible. he turned back again to the side of the pyramid, where he was almost hidden by débris and foliage. two or three false alarms had been sounded on the other side of the great structure, and practically the whole mob of searchers was drawn away in that direction. he formed a quick decision. he would reascend the pyramid. and he would take with him a water supply in the canteen that he still carried over his shoulder. he began to climb, and he noticed as he went up that it was almost the exact point at which he had ascended before. he heard the tumult below, caught glimpses of lights flashing here and there, and he ascended eagerly. he was almost half way up when he came face to face with a mexican soldier who carried in his hand a small lantern. the soldier, the only one perhaps who had suspected the pyramid as a place of refuge, had come at another angle, and there on a terrace the two had met. they were not more than three feet apart. ned had put his machete back in his belt that he might climb with more ease, but he hit out at once with his clenched right hand. the blow took the mexican full between the eyes and toppling over backward he dropped the lantern. then he slid on the narrow terrace and with an instinctive cry of terror fell. ned was seized with horror and took a hasty glance downward. he was relieved when he saw that the man, grasping at projections and outgrowing vegetation, was sliding rather than falling, and would not be hurt seriously. he turned to his own case. there lay the lantern on the stone, still glowing. below rose the tumult, men coming to his side of the pyramid, drawn by his cry. he could no longer reach the top of the pyramid without being seen, but he knew another way. he snatched up the lantern, tucked it under his serape and made for the opening which he had noticed in the side of the pyramid at his first ascent. it was scarcely ten feet away, and he boldly stepped in, a thing that he would never have dared to do had it not been for the happy chance of the lantern. his foot rested on solid stone, and he stood wholly in the dark. yet the uproar came clearly to his ears. it was a certainty now that more soldiers would ascend the pyramid looking for him, but he believed that ignorance and superstition would keep them from entering it. the air that came to his nostrils out of the unknown dark was cold and clean, but he did not yet dare to take out his lantern. he felt cautiously in front of him with one foot and touched a stone step below. he also touched narrow walls with his outstretched hand. he descended to the step, and then, feeling sure that the light of his lantern could not be seen from without, he took it from under his serape and held it as far in front of him as he could. a narrow flight of stone steps led onward and downward further than he could see, and, driven by imminent necessity, he walked boldly down them. the way was rough with the decay of time from which stone itself cannot escape, but he always steadied himself with one hand against the wall. the stone was very cold and ned had the feeling that he was in a tomb. once more he had that overwhelming sense of old, old things, of things as old as egypt. at another time, despite every effort of reason, he would have thrilled with superstitious terror, but now it was for his life, and down he went, step by step. the air remained pure like that of great caves in the states, and ned did not stop until a black void seemed to open almost before him when he drew back in affright. calming himself he held up the lantern and looked at the void. it was a deep and square well, its walls faced as far as he could see with squared stones. his lantern revealed no water in the depths and he fancied that it had something to do with ceremonials, perhaps with sacrifice. there was a way around the well, but it was narrow and he chose to go no further. instead he crouched on the steps where he was safe from a fall, and put the lantern beside him. it was an oil lamp. had he possessed any means of relighting it he would have blown it out, and sought sleep in the dark, but once out, out always, and he moved it into a little niche of the wall, where no sudden draught could get at it, and where its hidden light would be no beacon to any daring mexican who might descend the stairway. the sense of vast antiquity was still with the boy, but it did not oppress him now as it might have done at another time. his feeling of relief, caused by his escape from the mexicans, was so great that it created, for the time at least, a certain buoyancy of the mind. the unknown depths of the ancient pyramid were at once a shelter and a protection. he folded the serape, in order to make as soft a couch as possible, and soon fell asleep. when ned awoke he was lying in exactly the same position on the steps, and the lantern was still burning in the niche. he had no idea how long he had slept, or whether it was day or night, but he did not care. he took the full canteen and drank. it was an unusually large canteen and it contained enough, if he used economy, to last him two days. the cool recesses of the pyramid's interior did not engender thirst like its blazing summit. then he ate, but whether breakfast, dinner or supper he did not know, nor did he care. he was tempted to go up to the entrance of the stairway and see what was going forward in the camp, but he resisted the impulse. for the sake of caution he triumphed over curiosity, and remained a long time on the steps, beside the niche in which his lamp sat. then he began to calculate how much longer the oil would last, and he placed the time at about thirty hours. surely some decisive event would happen in his favor before the last drop was burned. after an interminable time the air on the stairway seemed to him to be growing colder, and he inferred that night had come. taking the lantern he climbed the steps and peered out at the ancient doorway. he saw lights below, and he could discern dimly the shapes of tents. disappointed, he returned to his place on the steps, and, after another long wait, fell asleep again. when he awoke he calculated by the amount of oil left in the lamp that at least twelve hours had passed since his previous awakening. once more he made a great effort of the will in order to achieve a conquest over curiosity and impatience. he would not return to the entrance until the oil had only an hour more to burn. necessity had proved so stern a master that he was able to keep his resolution. many long, long hours passed and sometimes he dozed or slept, but he did not go to the entrance. the oil at last marked the final hour, and, taking up the lamp, he went back to the entrance. ned looked out and then gave a cry of joy. it was broad daylight, but the army was gone, soldiers, horses, tents, everything. the calle de los muertos was once more what its name meant. silence and desolation had regained the ruined city. he blew out the lantern and set it down at the opening. it had served him well. then he went out and climbed again to the summit of the pyramid, from which he examined the valley long and well. he saw no signs of human life anywhere. traces of the camp remained in abundance, but the army itself had vanished. there were no lurking camp followers to make him trouble. he descended to the ground, and stood a while, drawing in deep draughts of the fresh daylight air. it had not been oppressive in the pyramid, but there is nothing like the open sky above. he went down to the teotihuacan, and, choosing a safe place, bathed in its waters. then he resumed the flight across the hills which had been delayed so long. he knew by the sun that it was morning not far advanced, and he wished to travel many miles before night. he saw abundant evidences on the great highway that the army was marching toward vera cruz, and as before he traveled on a line parallel with it, but at least a mile away. he passed two sheep herders, but he displayed the machete, and whistling carelessly went on. they did not follow, and he was sure that they took him for a bandit whom it would be wise to let alone. ned wandered on for two or three days. in one of his turnings among the mountains he lost the vera cruz highway, and came out again upon a wide, sandy plain, dotted with scattered cactus. as he was crossing it a norther came up, and blew with great fierceness. sand was driven into his face with such force that it stung like shot. the cold became intense, and if it had not been for the serape he might have perished. the storm was still blowing when he reached the far edge of the plain, and came into extremely rough country, with patches of low, thorny forest. here he found a dilapidated bark hut, evidently used at times by mexican herdsmen, and, thankful for such shelter, he crept into it and fell asleep. when he awoke he felt very weak. he had eaten the last of his food seven or eight hours before. driven by desperate need, ned ate wild fruits, and, for a while, was refreshed, but that night he fell ill, suffering greatly from internal pains. he was afraid at first that he had poisoned himself, and he knew that he had eaten something not used for food, but by morning the pains were gone, although he was much weaker than before. now he felt for the first time the pangs of despair. it was a full two hundred miles yet to vera cruz, and he was in the heart of a hostile country. he did not have the strength of a child left, and the chance that he could deliver his message of warning to the texans seemed to have gone. he rambled about all that day, light-headed at times, and, toward evening, he fell into a stupor. unable to go any further, he sank down beside a rock, and lapsed wholly into unconsciousness. chapter vi the march with cos when ned came to himself he was surrounded by men, and at first he thought he was back among his texans. he was in a vague and dreamy state that was not unpleasant, although he was conscious of a great weakness. he knew that he was lying on the ground upon his own serape, and that another serape was spread over him. in a little while mind and vision grew more definite and he saw that the soldiers were mexicans. after his long endurance and ingenuity on the pyramid he had practically walked into their hands. but such was his apathy of mind and body that it roused no great emotion in him. he closed his eyes for a little while, and then fresh strength poured into his veins. when he opened his eyes again his interest in life and his situation was of normal keenness. they were in a little valley and the soldiers, lancers, seemed to number about two hundred. their horses were tethered near them, and their lances were stacked in glittering pyramids. it was early morning. several men were cooking breakfast for the whole troop at large fires. the far edge of the little valley was very rocky and ned inferred that he had fallen there by a big outcropping of stone, and that the soldiers, looking around for firewood, had found him. but they had not treated him badly, as the serape spread over his body indicated. feeling so much better he sat up. the odor of the cooking made him realize again that he was fiercely hungry. a mexican brought him a large tin plate filled with beans and meat chopped small. he ate slowly although only an effort of the will kept him from devouring the food like a famished wild animal. the mexican who had brought him the plate stood by and watched him, not without a certain sympathy on his face. several more mexicans approached and looked at him with keen curiosity, but they did not say or do anything that would offend the young gringo. knowing that it was now useless, ned no longer made any attempt to conceal his nationality which was evident to all. he finished the plate and handed it back to the mexican. "many thanks," he said in the native tongue. "more?" said the soldier, looking at him with understanding. "i could, without hurting myself," replied ned with a smile. a second plate and a cup of water were brought to him. he ate and drank in leisurely fashion, and began to feel a certain relief. he imagined that he would be returned to imprisonment in the city of mexico with mr. austin. at any rate, he had made a good attempt and another chance might come. an officer dressed in a very neat and handsome uniform approached and the other mexicans fell back respectfully. this man was young, not more than thirty-two or three, rather tall, fairer than most of his race, and with a singularly open and attractive face. his dress was that of a colonel, and the boy knew at once that he was commander of the troop. he smiled down at ned, and ned, despite himself, smiled back. "i know you," said he, speaking perfect english. "you are edward fulton, the lad who was held in the prison with stephen austin, the texan, the lad who starved himself that he might slip between the bars of his window. there was much talk at the capital about it, and you were not without admirers. you showed so much courage and resource that you deserved to escape, but we could not let you go." "i got lost and i was without food." "rather serious obstacles. they have held many a boy and man. but since i know so much about you and you know nothing about me i will tell you who i am. my name is juan nepomuceno almonte, and i am a colonel in the service of mexico and of our great santa anna. i was educated in that united states of yours, texan, though you call yourself. that is why i speak the english that you hear. i have friends, too, among your people." "well, colonel almonte," said ned, "since i had to be recaptured, i'm glad i fell into your hands." "i wish i could keep you in them," he said, "but i am under the command of general cos, and i have to rejoin the main force which he leads." ned understood. cos was a man of another type. but he resolved not to anticipate trouble. almonte again looked at him curiously, and then leaning forward said confidentially: "tell me, was it you who knocked our soldier down on the side of the pyramid and took his lantern? if it is true, it can't do you any harm to acknowledge it now." "yes," replied ned with some pride, "it was i. i came upon him suddenly and i was as much surprised as he. i hit out on the impulse of the moment, and the blow landed in exactly the right place. i hope he was not much hurt." "he wasn't," replied almonte, laughing with deep unction. "he was pretty well covered with bruises and scratches, but he forgot them in the awful fright you gave him. he took you to be some demon, some mysterious aztec god out of a far and dim past, who had smitten him with lightning, because he presumed to climb upon a sacred pyramid. but some of us who were not so credulous, perhaps because we did not have his bruises and scratches, searched all the sides and the top of the pyramid. we failed to find you and we knew that you could not get through our lines. now, will you tell me where you were?" his tone was so intent and eager that ned could not keep from laughing. besides, the boy had a certain pride in the skill, daring and resource with which he had eluded the men of cos. "did you look inside the pyramid?" he asked. "inside it?" "yes, inside. there's an opening sixty or seventy feet above the ground. i took your man's lantern when he dropped it and entered. there's a stairway, leading down to a deep, square well, and there's something beyond the well, although i don't know what. i stayed in there until your army went away. before that i had been for two or three days on top of the pyramid, where a little water palm gave up its life to save me." almonte regarded him with wonder. "i am not superstitious myself--that is, not unnecessarily so," he said, "but yours must be a lucky star. after all that, you should have escaped, and your present capture must be a mere delay. you will slip from us again." "i shall certainly try," said ned hopefully. "it is bound to come true," said almonte. "all the omens point that way." ned smiled. almonte, young, brilliant and generous, had made him almost feel as if he were a guest and not a prisoner. he did not discern in him that underlying strain of spanish cruelty, which passion might bring to the surface at any moment. it might be due to his youth, or it might be due to his american education. "we march in an hour," said almonte. "we are to rejoin general cos on the vera cruz road, but that will not occur for two or three days. meanwhile, as the way is rough and you are pretty weak, you can ride on a burro. sorry i can't get you a horse, but our lancers have none to spare. still, you'll find a burro surer of foot and more comfortable over the basalt and lava." ned thanked him for his courtesy. he liked this cheerful mexican better than ever. in another hour they started, turning into the vera cruz road, and following often the path by which great cortez had come. ned's burro, little but made of steel, picked the way with unerring foot and never stumbled once. he rode in the midst of the lancers, who were full that day of the latin joy that came with the sun and the great panorama of the mexican uplands. now and then they sang songs of the south, sometimes spanish and sometimes indian, aztec, or perhaps even toltec. ned felt the influence. once or twice he joined in the air without knowing the words, and he would have been happy had it not been for his thoughts of the texans. the courtesy and kindliness of almonte must not blind him to the fact that he was the bearer of a message to his own people. that message could not be more important because its outcome was life and death, and he watched all the time for a chance to escape. none occurred. the lancers were always about him, and even if there were an opening his burro, sure of foot though he might be, could not escape their strong horses. so he bided his time, for the present, and shared in the gayety of the men who rode through the crisp and brilliant southern air. all the time they ascended, and ned saw far below him valley after valley, much the same, at the distance, as they were when cortez and his men first gazed upon them more than three hundred years before. yet the look of the land was always different from that to which he was used north of the rio grande. here as in the great valley of tenochtitlan it seemed ancient, old, old beyond all computation. here and there, were ruins of which the mexican peons knew nothing. sometimes these ruins stood out on a bare slope, and again they were almost hidden by vegetation. in the valleys ned saw peons at work with a crooked stick as a plow, and once or twice they passed swarthy aztec women cooking tortillas and frijoles in the open air. the troop could not advance very rapidly owing to the roughness of the way, and ned learned from the talk about him that they would not overtake cos until the evening of the following day. about twilight they encamped in a slight depression in the mountain side. no tents were set, but a large fire was built, partly of dry stems of the giant cactus. the cactus burned rapidly with a light, sparkling blaze, and left a white ash, but the heavier wood, mixed with it, made a bed of coals that glowed long in the darkness. ned sat beside the fire on his serape with another thrown over his shoulders, as the night was growing very chill with a sharp wind whistling down from the mountains. the kindness of his captors did not decrease, and he found a genuine pleasure in the human companionship and physical comfort. almonte found a comfortable place, took a guitar out of a silken case, and hummed and played a love song. no american officer would have done it at such a time and place, but it seemed natural in him. ned could not keep from being attracted by the picture that he presented, the handsome young officer bending over his guitar, his heart in the song that he played, but ready at any instant to be the brave and wary soldier. circumstance and place seemed to the boy so full of wild romance that he forgot, for the time, his own fate and the message that he wished to bear to those far texans. it was very cold that night on the heights, and, now and then, a little snow was blown about by the wind, but ned kept warm by the fire and between the two serapes. he fell asleep to the tinkling of almonte's guitar. they started again at earliest dawn, descended the slopes into a highway to vera cruz, and pushed on in the trail of cos. ned still rode his burro, which trotted along faithfully with the best, and he kept an eager eye for the road and all that lay along it. the silent youth had learned the value of keen observation, and he never neglected it. before noon ned saw a dim, white cone rising on the eastern horizon. it was far away and misty, a thing of beauty which seemed to hang in the air above the clouds. "orizaba, the great mountain!" said almonte. ned had seen popocatepetl and ixtaccihuatl, but this was a shade loftier and more beautiful than either, shooting up nearly four miles, and visible to sailors far out at sea. it grew in splendor as they approached. great masses of oak and pine hung on its lofty sides, up the height of three miles, and above the forest rose the sharp cone, gleaming white with snow. the face of juan nepomuceno almonte flushed as he gazed at it. "it is ours, the great mountain!" he exclaimed. "and the many other magnificent mountains and the valleys and rivers of mexico. can you wonder, then, edward fulton, that we mexicans do not wish to lose any part of our country? texas is ours, it has always been ours, and we will not let the texans sever it from us!" "the texans have not wished to do so," said ned. "you have been kind to me, colonel almonte, and i do not wish to tell you anything but the truth. the texans will fight oppression and bad faith. you do not know, the mexicans do not know, how hard they will fight. our charter has been violated and president santa anna would strip our people of arms and leave them at the mercy of savage indians." almonte was about to make a passionate reply, but he checked himself suddenly and said in mild tones: "it is not fair for me to attack you, a prisoner, even in words. look how orizaba grows! it is like a pillar holding up the heavens!" ned gazed in admiration. he did not wonder that almonte loved this country of his, so full of the strange and picturesque. the great mountain grew and grew, until its mighty cone, dark below, and white above, seemed to fill the horizon. but much of the gayety of almonte departed. "before night," he said, "we will be with general cos, who is my commander. as you know, he is the brother-in-law of general santa anna, and--he is much inflamed against the texans. i fear that he will be hard with you, but i shall do what i can to assuage his severity." "i thank you, colonel almonte," said ned with a gravity beyond his years. "you are a generous enemy, and chance may help me some day to return your kindness, but whatever treatment general cos may accord me, i hope i shall be able to stand it." in another hour they saw a column of dust ahead of them. the column grew and soon ned saw lances and bayonets shining through it. he knew that this was the army of cos, and, just as the eastern light began to fade, they joined it. cos was going into camp by the side of a small stream, and, after a little delay, almonte took the prisoner to him. a large tent had been erected for general cos, but he was sitting before it, eating his supper. a cook was serving him with delicate dishes and another servant filled his glass with red wine. his dark face darkened still further, as he looked at ned, but he saluted almonte courteously. it was evident to ned that through family or merit, probably both, almonte stood very high in the mexican service. "i have the honor to report to you, general cos," said almonte, "that we have retaken the young texan who escaped through the bars of his prison at the capital. we found him in the mountains overcome by exhaustion." general cos' lips opened in a slow, cold smile,--an evil smile that struck a chill to ned's heart. here was a man far different from the gallant and gay young almonte. that cruel strain which he believed was in the depths of the spanish character, dormant though it might usually be, was patent now in general cos. moreover, this man was very powerful, and, as brother-in-law of santa anna, he was second only to the great dictator. he did not ask ned to sit down and he was brusque in speech. the air about them grew distinctly colder. almonte had talked with ned in english, but cos spoke spanish: "why did you run away from the capital?" he asked, shortly. "you were treated well there." "no man can be held in prison and be treated well." general martin perfecto de cos frowned. the bearing of the young gringo did not please him. nor did his answer. "i repeat my question," he said, his voice rising. "why did you run like a criminal from the capital? you were with the man austin. you, like he, were the guest of our great and illustrious santa anna who does no wrong. answer me, why did you slip away like a thief?" "i slipped away, but it was not like a thief nor any other kind of criminal. and if you must know, general cos, i went because i did not believe the words of the great and illustrious santa anna. he promises the texans redress for their wrongs, and, at the same time, he orders them to give up their weapons. do you think, and does general santa anna think, that the texans are fools?" despite all his study and thought, ned fulton was only a boy and he did not have the wisdom of the old. the manner and words of general cos had angered him, and, on impulse, he gave a direct reply. but he knew at once that it was impolitic. cos' eyes lowered, and his lips drew back like those of an angry jaguar, showing his strong white teeth. there was no possible doubt now about that spanish strain of cruelty. "i presume," he said, and he seemed to ned to bite each word, "that you meant to go to the texans with the lying message that the word of the most illustrious general santa anna was not to be believed?" "i meant to go with such a message," said ned proudly, "but it would not be a lying one." knowing that he was already condemned he resolved to seek no subterfuge. "the president cannot be insulted in my presence," said cos ominously. "he is only a boy, general," said almonte appealingly. "boys can do mischief," said cos, "and this seems to be an unusually cunning and wicked one. you are zealous, colonel almonte, i will give you that much credit, but you do not hate the gringos enough." almonte flushed, but he bowed and said nothing. cos turned again to ned. "you will bear no message to the texans," he said. "i think that instead you will stay a long time in this hospitable mexico of ours." ned paled a little. the words were full of menace, and he knew that they came straight from the cruel heart of cos. but his pride would not permit him to reply. "you will be kept under close guard," said the general. "i will give that duty to the men of tlascala. they are infantry and to-morrow you march on foot with them. colonel almonte, you did well to take the prisoner, but you need trouble yourself no longer about him." two men of the tlascalan company were summoned and they took ned with them. the name "tlascala" had appealed to ned at first. it was the brave tlascalan mountaineers who had helped cortez and who had made possible his conquest of the great mexican empire. but these were not the tlascalans of that day. they were a mongrel breed, short, dirty and barefooted. he ate of the food they gave him, said nothing, and lay down on his serape to seek sleep. almonte came to him there. "i feared this," he said. "i would have saved you from general cos had i been able." "i know it," said ned warmly, "and i want to thank you, colonel almonte." almonte held out his hand and ned grasped it. then the mexican strode away. ned lay back again and watched the darkness thin as the moon and stars came out. far off the silver cone of orizaba appeared like a spear point against the sky. it towered there in awful solemnity above the strife and passion of the world. ned looked at it long, and gradually it became a beacon of light to him, his "pillar of flame" by night. it was the last thing he saw as he fell asleep, and there was no thought then in his mind of the swart and menacing cos. they resumed the march early in the morning. ned no longer had his patient burro, but walked on foot among the tlascalans. often he saw general cos riding ahead on a magnificent white horse. sometimes the peons stood on the slopes and looked at them but generally they kept far from the marching army. ned surmised that they had no love of military service. the way was not easy for one on foot. clouds of dust arose, and stung nose and throat. the sharp lava or basalt cut through the soles of shoes, and at midday the sun's rays burned fiercely. weakened already by the hardships of his flight ned was barely able to keep up. once when he staggered a horseman prodded him with the butt of his lance. ned was not revengeful, but he noted the man's face. had he been armed then he would have struck back at any cost. but he took care not to stagger again, although it required a supreme effort. they halted about an hour at noon, and ned ate some rough food and drank water with the tlascalans. he was deeply grateful for the short rest, and, as he sat trying to keep himself from collapse, almonte came up and held out a flask. "it is wine," he said. "it will strengthen you. drink." ned drank. he was not used to wine, but he had been so near exhaustion that he took it as a medicine. when he handed the flask back the color returned to his face and the blood flowed more vigorously in his veins. "general cos does not wish me to see you at all," said almonte. "he thinks you should be treated with the greatest harshness, but i am not without influence and i may be able to ease your march a little." "i know that you will do it if you can," said ned gratefully. yet almonte was able to do little more for him. the march was resumed under equally trying conditions, after the short rest. when night came and the detachment stopped, ned ached in every bone, and his feet were sore and bleeding. almonte was sent away in the morning on another service, and there was no one to interfere for him. he struggled on all of the next day. most of his strength was gone, but pride still kept him going. orizaba was growing larger and larger, dominating the landscape, and ned again drew courage from the lofty white cone that looked down upon them. late in the afternoon he heard a trumpet blow, and there was a great stir in the force of cos. men held themselves straighter, lines were re-formed, and the whole detachment became more trim and smart. general cos on his white horse rode to its head, and he was in his finest uniform. somebody of importance was coming! ned was keen with curiosity but he was too proud to ask. the tlascalans had proved a churlish lot, and he would waste no words on them. the road now led down into a beautiful savanna, thick in grass, and with oaks and pines on all sides. cos' companies turned into the grass, and ned saw that another force entering at the far side was doing the same. all the men in the second force were mounted, the officer who was at their head riding a horse even finer than that of cos. his uniform, too, was more splendid, and his head was surmounted by a great three-cornered hat, heavy with gold lace. he was compact of figure, sat his saddle well, and rode as if the earth belonged to him. ned recognized him at once. it was the general, the president, the dictator, the father of his country, the illustrious santa anna himself. the mellow trumpet pealed forth again, and santa anna advanced to meet his brother, cos, who likewise advanced to meet him. they met in full view of both forces, and embraced and kissed each other. then a shout came forth from hundreds of throats at the noble spectacle of fraternal amity. the two forces coalesced with much latin joy and chatter, and camp was pitched in the savanna. ned stayed with the tlascalans, because he had no choice but to do so. they flung him a tortilla or two, and he had plenty of water, but what he wanted most was rest. he threw himself on the grass, and, as the tlascalans did not disturb him, he lay there until long after nightfall. he would have remained there until morning had not two soldiers come with a message that he was wanted by santa anna himself. ned rose, smoothed out his hair, draped his serape as gracefully as he could about his shoulders, and, assuming all the dignity that was possible, went with the men. he had made up his mind that boldness of manner and speech was his best course and it suited his spirit. he was led into a large tent or rather a great marquee, and he stood there for a few moments dazzled. the floor of the marquee was spread with a thick velvet carpet. a table loaded with silver dishes was between the generals, and a dozen lamps on the walls shed a bright light over velvet carpet, silver dishes and the faces of the two men who held the fortunes of mexico in the hollows of their hands. general cos smiled the same cold and evil smile that ned had noticed at their first meeting, but santa anna spoke in a tone half of surprise and half of pity. "ah, it is the young fulton! and he is in evil plight! you would not accept my continued hospitality at the capital, and behold what you have suffered!" ned looked steadily at him. he could not fathom the thought that lay behind the words of santa anna. the man was always appearing to him in changing colors. so he merely waited. "it was a pleasure to me," said santa anna, "to learn from general cos that you had been retaken. great harm might have come to you wandering through the mountains and deserts of the north. you could never have reached the texans alive, and since you could not do so it was better to have come back to us, was it not?" "i have not come willingly." general cos frowned, but santa anna laughed. "that was frank," he said, "and we will be equally frank with you. you would go north to the texans, telling them that i mean to come with an army and crush them. is it not so?" "it is," replied ned boldly. santa anna smiled. he did not seem to be offended at all. his manner, swift, subtle and changing, was wholly attractive, and ned felt its fascination. "be your surmise true or not," said the dictator, "it is best for you not to reach texas. i have discussed the matter with my brother, general cos, in whom i have great confidence, and we have agreed that since you undertook to reach vera cruz you can go there. general cos will be your escort on the way, and, as i go to the capital in the morning, i wish you a pleasant journey and a happy stay in our chief seaport." it seemed to ned that there was the faintest touch of irony in his last word or two, but he was not sure. he was never sure of santa anna, that complex man of great abilities and vast ambition. and so after his fashion when he had nothing to say he said nothing. "you are silent," said santa anna, "but you are thinking. you of the north are silent to hide your thoughts, and we of the south talk to hide ours!" ned still said nothing, and santa anna examined him searchingly. he sent his piercing gaze full into the eyes of the boy. ned, proud of his race and blood, endured it, and returned it with a firm and steady look. then the face of santa anna changed. he became all at once smiling and friendly, like a man who receives a welcome guest. he put a hand on ned's shoulder, and apparently he did not notice that the shoulder became rigid under his touch. "i like you," he said, "i like your courage, your truth, and your bluntness. you texans, or rather you americans,--because the texans are americans,--have some of the ruder virtues which we who are of the spanish and latin blood now and then lack. you are only a boy, but you have in you the qualities that can make a career. the texans belong to mexico. your loyalty is due to mexico and to me. i have said that you would go to vera cruz and take the hospitality that my brother, cos, will offer you, but there is an alternative." he stopped as if awaiting a natural question, but still ned did not speak. a spark appeared in the eye of santa anna, but it passed so quickly that it was like a momentary gleam. "i would make of you," continued the dictator in his mellow, coaxing tone, "a promising young member of my staff, and i would assign to you an immediate and important duty. i would send you to the texans with a message entirely different from the one you wish to bear. i would have you to tell them that santa anna means only their greatest good; that he loves them as his children; that he is glad to have these strong, tall, fair men in the north to fight for him and mexico; that he is a man who never breaks a promise; that he is the father of his people, and that he loves them all with a heart full of tenderness. to show you how much i trust and value you i would take your word that you would bear such a message, and i would send you with an escort that would make your way safe and easy." again he sent his piercing gaze into the eyes of the boy, but ned was still silent. "you would tell them," said santa anna in the softest and most persuasive tones, "that you have been much with me, that you know me, and that no man has a softer heart or a more just mind." "i cannot do it," said ned. "why?" "because it is not so." the change on the face of santa anna was sudden and startling. his eyes became black with wrath, and his whole aspect was menacing. the hand of cos flew to the hilt of his sword, and he half rose from his chair. but santa anna pushed him back, and then the face of the dictator quickly underwent another transformation. it became that of the ruler, grave but not threatening. "softly, cos, my brother," he said. "bear in mind that he is only a boy. i offered too much, and he does not understand. he has put away a brilliant career, but, my good brother cos, he has left to him your hospitality, and you will not be neglectful." cos sank back in his chair and laughed. santa anna laughed. the two laughs were unlike, one heavy and angry, and the other light and gay, but their effect upon ned was precisely the same. he felt a cold shiver at the roots of his hair, but he was yet silent, and stood before them waiting. "you can go," said santa anna. "you have missed your opportunity and it will not come again." ned turned away without a word. the tlascalans were waiting at the door of the marquee, and he went with them. once more he slept under the stars. chapter vii the dungeon under the sea ned, early the next morning, saw santa anna with his brilliant escort ride away toward the capital, while general cos resumed his march to vera cruz. almonte did not reappear at all, and the boy surmised that he was under orders to join the dictator. ned continued on foot among the tlascalans. cos offered him no kindness whatever, and his pride would not let him ask for it. but when he looked at his sore and bleeding feet he always thought of the patient burro that he had lost. they marched several more days, and the road dropped down into the lowlands, into the tierra caliente. the air grew thick and hot and ned, already worn, felt an almost overpowering languor. the vegetation became that of the tropics. then, passing through marshes and sand dunes, they reached vera cruz, the chief port of mexico, a small, unhealthy city, forming a semicircle about a mile in length about the bay. ned saw little of vera cruz, as they reached it at nightfall, but the approach through alternations of stagnant marsh and shifting sand affected him most unpleasantly. offensive odors assailed him and he remembered that this was a stronghold of cholera and yellow fever. he ate rough food with the tlascalans again, and then cos sent for him. "you have reached your home," said the general. "you will occupy the largest and most expensive house in the place, and my men will take you there at once. do you not thank me?" "i do not," replied ned defiantly. yet he knew that he had much to dread. "you are an ungrateful young dog of a texan," said cos, laughing maliciously, "but i will confer my hospitality upon you, nevertheless. you will go with these men and so i bid you farewell." four barefooted soldiers took ned down through the dirty and evil-smelling streets of the city. he wondered where they were going, but he would not ask. they came presently to the sea and ned saw before him, about a half mile away, a somber and massive pile rising upon a rocky islet. he knew that it was the great and ancient castle of san juan de ulua. in the night, with only the moon's rays falling upon its walls, it looked massive and forbidding beyond all description. that cold shiver again appeared at the roots of the boy's hair. he knew now the meaning of all this talk of santa anna and cos about their hospitality. he was to be buried in the gloomiest fortress of the new world. it was a fate that might well make one so young shudder many times. but he said not a word in protest. he got silently into a boat with the soldiers, and they were rowed to the rocky islet on which stood the huge castle. not much time was wasted on ned. he was taken before the governor, his name and age were registered, and then two of the prison guards, one going before and the other behind, led him down a narrow and steep stairway. it reminded him of his descent into the pyramid, but here the air seemed damper. they went down many steps and came into a narrow corridor upon which a number of iron doors opened. the guards unlocked one of the doors, pushed ned in, relocked the door on him, and went away. ned staggered from the rude thrust, but, recovering himself stood erect, and tried to accustom his eyes to the half darkness. he stood in a small, square room with walls of hard cement or plaster. the roof of the same material was high, and in the center of it was a round hole, through which came all the air that entered the cell. in a corner was a rude pallet of blankets spread upon grass. there was no window. the place was hideous and lonely beyond the telling. he had not felt this way in the pyramid. ned now had suffered more than any boy could stand. he threw himself upon the blanket, and only pride kept him from shedding tears. but he was nevertheless relaxed completely, and his body shook as if in a chill. he lay there a long time. now and then, he looked up at the walls of his prison, but always their sodden gray looked more hideous than ever. he listened but heard nothing. the stillness was absolute and deadly. it oppressed him. he longed to hear anything that would break it; anything that would bring him into touch with human life and that would drive away the awful feeling of being shut up forever. the air in the dungeon felt damp to ned. he was glad of it, because damp meant a touch of freshness, but by and by it became chilly, too. the bed was of two blankets, and, lying on one and drawing the other over him, he sought sleep. he fell after a while into a troubled slumber which was half stupor, and from which he awakened at intervals. at the third awakening he heard a noise. although his other faculties were deadened partially by mental and physical exhaustion, his hearing was uncommonly acute, concentrating in itself the strength lost by the rest. the sound was peculiar, half a swish and half a roll, and although not loud it remained steady. ned listened a long time, and then, all at once, he recognized its cause. he was under the sea, and it was the rolling of the waves over his head that he heard. he was in one of the famous submarine dungeons of the castle of san juan de ulua. this was the hospitality of cos and santa anna, and it was a hospitality that would hold him fast. never would he take any word of warning to the texans. buried under the sea! he shivered all over and a cold sweat broke out upon him. he lay a long time until some of the terror passed. then he sat up, and looked at the round hole in the cement ceiling. it was about eight inches in diameter and a considerable stream of fresh air entered there. but the pipe or other channel through which it came must turn to one side, as the sea was directly over his head. he could not reach the hole, and even could he have reached it, he was too large to pass through it. he had merely looked at it in a kind of vague curiosity. feeling that every attempt to solve anything would be hopeless, he fell asleep again, and when he awoke a man with a lantern was standing beside him. it was a soldier with his food, the ordinary mexican fare, and water. another soldier with a musket stood at the door. there was no possible chance of a dash for liberty. ned ate and drank hungrily, and asked the soldier questions, but the man replied only in monosyllables or not at all. the boy desisted and finished in silence the meal which might be either breakfast, dinner or supper for all he knew. then the soldier took the tin dishes, withdrew with his comrade, and the door was locked again. ned was left to silence and solitude. but he felt that he must now move about, have action of some kind. he threw himself against the door in an effort to shake it, but it did not move a jot. then he remembered that he had seen cell doors in a row, and that other prisoners might be on either side of him. he kicked the heavy cement walls, but they were not conductors of sound and no answer came. he grew tired after a while, but the physical exertion had done him good. the languid blood flowed in a better tide in his veins and his mind became more keen. there must be some way out of this. youth could not give up hope. it was incredible, impossible that he should remain always here, shut off from that wonderful free world outside. the roll of the sea over his head made reply. after a while he began to walk around his cell, around and around and around, until his head grew dizzy, and he staggered. then he would reverse and go around and around and around the other way. he kept this up until he could scarcely stand. he lay down and tried to sleep again. but he must have slept a long time before, and sleep would not come. he lay there on the blankets, staring at the walls and not seeing them, until the soldiers came again with his food. ned ate and drank in silence. he was resolved not to ask a question, and, when the soldiers departed, not a single word had been spoken. the next day ned had fever, the day after that he was worse, and on the third day he became unconscious. then he passed through a time, the length of which he could not guess, but it was a most singular period. it was crowded with all sorts of strange and shifting scenes, some colored brilliantly, and vivid, others vague and fleeting as moonlight through a cloud. it was wonderful, too, that he should live again through things that he had lived already. he was back with mr. austin. he saw the kind and generous face quite plainly and recognized his voice. he saw benito and juana, popocatepetl and ixtaccihuatl; he was on the pyramid and in it, and he saw the silver cone of orizaba. then he shifted suddenly back to texas and the wild border, the comanche and the buffalo. his life now appeared to have no order. time turned backward. scenes occurred out of their sequence. often they would appear for a second or third time. it was the most marvelous jumble that ever ran through any kaleidoscope. his brain by and by grew dizzy with the swift interplay of action and color. then everything floated away and blackness and silence came. nor could he guess how long this period endured, but when he came out of it he felt an extraordinary weakness and a lassitude that was of both mind and body. his eyes were only half open and he did not care to open them more. he took no interest in anything. but he became slowly conscious that he had emerged from somewhere out of a vast darkness, and that he had returned to his life in the dungeon under the sea. his eyes opened fully by automatic process rather than by will, and the heavy dark of the dungeon was grateful then, because they, too, like all the rest of him, were very weak. yet a little light came in as usual with the fresh air from above, and by and by he lifted one hand and looked at it. it was a strange hand, very white, very thin, with the blue veins standing out from the back. it was almost the hand of a skeleton. he did not know it. certainly it did not belong to him. he looked at it wondering, and then he did a strange thing. it was his left hand that he was holding before him. he put his right hand upon it, drew that hand slowly over the fingers, then the palm and along the wrist until he reached his shoulder. it was his hand after all. his languid curiosity satisfied he let the hand drop back by his body. it fell like a stone. after a while he touched his head, and found that his hair was cut closely. it seemed thin, too. he realized that he had been ill, and very ill indeed he must have been to be so weak. he wondered a little how long it had been since he first lapsed into unconsciousness, and then the wonder ceased. whether the time had been long or short it did not matter. but he shut his eyes and listened for the last thing that he remembered. he heard it presently, that low roll of the sea. he was quite sure of one thing. he was in the same submarine dungeon of the famous castle of san juan de ulua. his door was opened, and a man, not a soldier, came in with soup in a tin basin. he uttered a low exclamation, when he saw that ned was conscious, but he made no explanations. nor did ned ask him anything. but he ate the soup with a good appetite, and felt very much stronger. his mind, too, began to wake up. he knew that he was going to get well, but it occurred to him that it might be better for him to conceal his returning strength. with a relaxed watch he would have more chance to escape. the soup had a soothing effect, and his mind shared with his body in the improvement. it was obvious that they had not intended for him to die or they would not have taken care of him in his illness. the shaven head was proof. but he saw nothing that he could do. he must wait upon the action of his jailers. having come to this conclusion he lay upon his pallet, and let vague thoughts float through his head as they would. about three hours after they had brought him his soup he heard a scratching at the keyhole of his door. he was not too languid to be surprised. he did not think it likely that any of his jailers would come back so soon, and heretofore the key had always turned in the lock without noise. ned sat up. the scratching continued for a few moments, and the door swung open. a tall, thin figure of a man entered, the door closed behind him, and with some further scratching he locked it. then the man turned and stared at ned. ned stared with equal intentness at him. the figure that he saw was thin and six feet four; the face that he saw was thin and long. the face was also bleached to an indescribable dead white, the effect of which was heightened by the thick and fiery red hair that crowned a head, broad and shaped finely. his hair even in the dark seemed to be vital, the most vital part of him. ned fancied that his eyes were blue, although in the dimness he could not tell. but he knew that this was no mexican. a member of his own race stood before him. "well," said ned. "well?" replied the man in a singularly soft and pleasant voice. "who are you and what do you want?" "to the first i am obed white; to the second i want to talk to you, and i would append as a general observation that i am harmless. evil to him that would evil do." "the quotation is wrong," said ned, smiling faintly. "it is 'evil to him who evil thinks.'" "perhaps, but i have improved upon it. i add, for your further information, that i am your nearest neighbor. i occupy the magnificent concrete parlor next door to you, where i live a life of undisturbed ease, but i have concluded at last to visit you, and here i am. how i came i will explain later. but i am glad i am with you. one crowded hour of glorious company is worth a hundred years in a solitary cell. i may have got that a little wrong, too, but it sounds well." he sat down in turkish fashion on the floor, folding a pair of extremely long legs beneath him, and regarded ned with a slow, quizzical smile. for the life of him the boy could not keep from smiling back. with the nearer view he could see now that the eyes were blue and honest. "you may think i'm a mexican," continued the man in his mellow, pleasant voice, "but i'm not. i'm a texan--by the way of maine. as i told you, i live in the next tomb, the one on the right. i'm a watch, clock and tool maker by trade and a bookworm by taste. because of the former i've come into your cell, and because of the latter i use the ornate language that you hear. but of both those subjects more further on. meanwhile, i suppose it's you who have been yelling in here at the top of your voice and disturbing a row of dungeons accustomed to peace and quiet." "it was probably i, but i don't remember anything about it." "it's not likely that you would, as i see you've had some one of the seven hundred fevers that are customary along this coast. yours must have been of the shouting kind, as i heard you clean through the wall, and, once when i was listening at the keyhole, you made a noise like the yell of a charging army." "you don't mean to say that you've been listening at the keyhole of my cell." "it's exactly what i mean. you wouldn't come to see your neighbor so he decided to come to see you. good communications correct evil manners. see this?" he held up a steel pronged instrument about six inches long. "this was once a fork, a fork for eating, large and crude, i grant you, but a fork. it took me more than a month to steal it, that is i had to wait for a time when i was sure that the soldier who brought my food was so lazy or so stupid that he would not miss it. i waited another week as an additional precaution, and after that my task was easy. if the best watch, clock and instrument maker in the state of maine couldn't pick any lock with a fork it was time for him to lie on his back and die. i picked the lock of my own door in a minute the first time by dead reckoning, but it took me a full two minutes to open yours, although i'll relock it in half that time when i go out. where there's a will there will soon be an open door." he flourished the fork, the two prongs of which now curved at the end, and grinned broadly. he had a look of health despite the dead whiteness of his face, which ned now knew was caused by prison pallor. ned liked him. he liked him for many reasons. he liked him because his eyes were kindly. he liked him because he was one of his own race. he liked him because he was a fellow prisoner, and he liked him above all because this was the first human companionship that he had had in a time that seemed ages. obed meanwhile was examining him with scrutinizing eyes. he had heard the voice of fever, but he did not expect to find in the "tomb" next to his own a mere boy. "how does it happen," he asked, "that one as young as you is a prisoner here in a dungeon with the castle of san juan de ulua and the sea on top of him?" obed white had the mellowest and most soothing voice that ned had ever heard. now it was like that of a father speaking to the sick son whom he loved, and the boy trusted him absolutely. "i was sent here," he replied, "by santa anna and his brother-in-law, cos, because i knew too much, or rather suspected too much. i was held at the capital with mr. austin. we were not treated badly. santa anna himself would come to see us and talk of the great good that he was going to do for texas, but i could not believe him. i was sure instead that he was gathering his forces to crush the texans. so, i escaped, meaning to go to texas with a message of warning." "a wise boy and a brave one," said obed white with admiration. "you suspected but you kept your counsel. still waters run slowly, but they run." ned told all his story, neglecting scarcely a detail. the feeling that came of human companionship was so strong and his trust was so great that he did not wish to conceal anything. "you've endured about as much as ought to come to one boy," said obed white, "and you've gone through all this alone. what you need is a partner. two heads can do what one can't. well, i'm your partner. as i'm the older, i suppose i ought to be the senior partner. do you hereby subscribe to the articles of agreement forming the firm of white & fulton, submarine engineers, tunnel diggers, jail breakers, or whatever form of occupation will enable us to escape from the castle of san juan de ulua?" "gladly," said ned, and he held out a thin, white hand. obed white seized it, but he remembered not to grasp it too firmly. this boy had been ill a long time, and he was white and very weak. the heart of the man overflowed with pity. "good-night, ned," he said. "i mustn't stay too long, but i'll come again lots of times, and you and i will talk business then. the firm of white & fulton will soon begin work of the most important kind. now you watch me unlock that door. they say that pride goeth before a fall, but in this case it is going right through an open door." obviously he was proud of his skill as he had a full right to be. he inserted the hooked prongs of the fork in the great keyhole, twisted them about a little, and then the lock turned in its groove. "good-by, ned," said obed again. "it's time i was back in my own tomb which is just like yours. i hate to lock in a good friend like you, but it must be done." he disappeared in the hall, the door swung shut and ned heard the lock slide in the groove again. he was alone once more. the light that had seemed to illuminate his dungeon went with the man, but he left hope behind. ned would not be alone in the spirit as long as he knew that obed white was in the cell next to his. he lay a while, thinking on the chances of fate. they had served him ill, for a long time. had the turn now come? he did not know it, but it was the human companionship, the friendly voice that had raised such a great hope in his breast. he glided from thought into a peaceful sleep and slept a long time, without dreams or even vague, floating visions. his breath came long and full at regular intervals, and with every beat of his pulse new strength flowed into his body. while he slept nature was hard at work, rebuilding the strong young frame which had yielded only to overpowering circumstances. ned ate his breakfast voraciously the next day and wanted more. dinner also left him hungry, but, carrying out his original plan, he counterfeited weakness, and, before the soldier left, lay down upon the pallet as if he were too languid to care for anything. he disposed of supper in similar fashion, and then waited with a throbbing pulse for the second call from the senior member of the firm of white & fulton. after an incredible period of waiting he heard the slight rasping of the fork in the keyhole. then the door was opened and the older partner entered. before speaking he carefully relocked the door. "i believe you're glad to see me," he said to ned. "you're sitting up. i don't think i ever before saw a boy improve so much in twenty-four hours. i'll just feel your pulse. it will be one of my duties as senior partner to practice medicine for a little while. yes, it's a strong pulse, a good pulse. you're quite clear of fever. you need nothing now but your strength back again, and we'll wait for that. all things come to him who waits, if he doesn't die of old age first." his talk was so rapid and cheerful that he seemed fairly to radiate vigor. it was a powerful tonic to ned who felt so strong that he was prepared to attempt escape at once. but obed shook his head when he suggested it. "that strength comes from your feelings," he said. "all that glitters isn't gold or silver or any other precious metal. that false strength would break down under a long and severe test. we'll just wait and plan. for what we're going to undertake you're bound to have every ounce of vigor that you can accumulate." "you've been able to go out in the hall when you chose, then why haven't you gone away already?" asked ned. "i didn't get my key perfected until a few days ago, and then as i heard you yelling in here i decided to find out about you. two are company; one is none, and so we formed a partnership. now when the firm acts both partners must act." ned did not reply directly. he did not know how to thank him for his generosity. "have you explored the hall?" he asked. "it leads up a narrow stairway, down which i came some time ago when my mexican brethren decided that i was too much of a texan patriot. doubtless you trod the same dark and narrow path. at the head of that is another door which i have not tried, but which i know i can open with this master key of mine. beyond that i'm ignorant of the territory, but there must be a way out since there was one in. now, ned, we must make no mistake. we must not conceal from ourselves that the firm of white & fulton is confronted by a great task. we must select our time, and have ready for the crisis every particle of strength, courage and quickness that we possess." ned knew that he was right, and yet, despite his youth and natural strength, his convalescence was slow. he had passed through too terrible an ordeal to recover entirely in a day or even a week. he would test his strength often and at night obed white would test it, too, but always he was lacking in some particular. then obed would shake his head wisely and say: "wait." one night they heard the sea more loudly than ever before. it rolled heavily, just over their heads. "there must be a great storm on the gulf," said obed white. "i've lost count of time, but perhaps the period of gales is at hand. if so, i'm not sorry, it'll hide our flight across the water. you'll remember, ned, that we're a half mile from the mainland." fully two weeks passed before they decided that ned was restored to his old self. meanwhile they had matured their plan. "we came in as texans," said obed, "but we must go out as mexicans. there is no other way. it's all simple in the saying, but we've got to be mighty quick in the doing. we must make the change right here in this cell of yours, because, you having been an invalid so long, they're likely to be careless about you." ned agreed with him fully, and they began to train their bodies and minds for a supreme effort. they were now able to tell the difference between night and day by the temperature. the air that came through the holes in the ceiling was a little cooler by night, enough for senses trained to preternatural acuteness by long imprisonment to tell it. the guard always came about eight o'clock with ned's supper and they chose that time for the attempt. obed white entered ned's cell about six o'clock. the boy could scarcely restrain himself and the man's blue eyes were snapping with excitement. but obed patted ned on the shoulder. "we must both keep cool," he said. "the more haste the less likely the deed. the first man comes in with the tray carrying your food. i stand here by the door and he passes by without seeing me. i seize the second, drag him in and slam the door. then the victory is to the firm of white & fulton, if it prove to be the stronger. but we'll have surprise in our favor." they waited patiently. ned lay upon his pallet. obed flattened himself against the wall beside the door. their plan fully arranged, neither now spoke. overhead they heard the slow roll of the sea, lashed by the waves sweeping in from the gulf. but inside the cell the silence was absolute. ned lay in an attitude apparently relaxed. his face was still white. it could not acquire color in that close cell, but he had never felt stronger. a powerful heart pumped vigorous blood through every artery and vein. his muscles had regained their toughness and flexibility, and above all, the intense desire for freedom had keyed him to supreme effort. usually he did not hear the soldier's key turn in the lock, but soon he heard it and his heart pumped. he glanced at white, but the gray figure, flattened against the wall, never moved. the door swung open and the soldier, merely a shambling peon, bearing the tray, entered. behind him according to custom came the second man who stood in the doorway, leaning upon his musket. but he stood there only an instant. a pair of long, powerful arms which must have seemed to him at that moment like the antennae of a devil-fish, reached out, seized him in a fierce grip by either shoulder, and jerked him gun and all into the cell. the door was kicked shut and the grasp of the hands shifted from his shoulders to his throat. he could not cry out although the terrible face that bent over him made his soul start with fear. the man with the tray heard the noise behind him and turned. ned sprang like a panther. all the force and energy that he had been concentrating so long were in the leap. the soldier went down as if he had been struck by a cannon ball and his tray and dishes rattled upon him. but he was a wiry fellow and grasping his assailant he struggled fiercely. "now stop, my good fellow. just lie still! that's the way!" it was obed white who spoke, and he held the muzzle of a pistol at the man's head. the other soldier lay stunned in the corner. it was from his belt that obed had snatched the pistol. "get up, ned," said white. "the first step in our escape from the castle of san juan de ulua has been taken. meanwhile, you lie still, my good fellow; we're not going to hurt you. no, you needn't look at your comrade. i merely compressed his windpipe rather tightly. he'll come to presently. ned, take that gay red handkerchief out of his pocket and tie his arms. if i were going to be bound i should like for the deed to be done with just such a beautiful piece of cloth. meanwhile, if you cry out, my friend, i shall have to blow the top of your head off with this pistol. it's not likely that they would hear your cry, but they might hear my pistol shot." ned bound the man rapidly and deftly. there was no danger that he would utter a sound, while obed white held the pistol. under the circumstances he was satisfied with the status quo. the second man was bound in a similar fashion just as he was reviving, and he, too, was content to yield to like threats. obed drew a loaded pistol from the first man's belt and handed it, too, to ned. he also looked rather contemptuously at the musket that the guard by the door had dropped. "a cheap weapon," he said. "a poor substitute for our american rifle, but we'll take it along, ned. we may need it. you gather their ammunition while i stand handy with this pistol in case they should burst their bonds." ned searched the men, taking all their ammunition, their knives and also the key to the door. then he and obed divested the two of their outer clothing and put it upon themselves. fortunately both soldiers had worn their hats and they pulled them down over their own faces. "if we don't come into too bright a light, ned," said white, "you'll pass easily for a mexican. mexican plumage makes a mexican bird. now how do i look?" "i could take you for santa anna himself," said ned, elated at their success. "that promises well. there's another advantage. you speak spanish and so do i." "it's lucky that we do." "and now," said obed white to the two mexicans, "we will leave you to the hospitality of cos and santa anna, which my young friend and i have enjoyed so long. we feel that it is time for you to share in it. we're going to lock you in this cell, where you can hear the sea rolling over your head, but you will not stay here forever. it's a long lane that does not come somewhere to a happy ending, and your comrades will find you by to-morrow. farewell." he went into the hall and they locked the door. they listened beside it a little while but no sound came from within. "they dare not cry out," said obed. "they're afraid we'll come back. now for the second step in our escape. it's pretty dark here. those fellows must have known the way mighty well to have come down as they did without a lantern." "there are other prisoners in these cells," said ned. "shouldn't we release them? you can probably open any of the doors with your key." white shook his head. "i'm sure that we're the only texans or americans in san juan de ulua, and we couldn't afford to be wasting time on mexicans whether revolutionaries or criminals. there would merely be a tumult with every one of us sure to be recaptured." the two now advanced down the passage, which was low and narrow, walled in with massive stone. it was so dark here that they held each other's hands and felt the way before every footstep. "i think we're going in the right direction," whispered white, "as i remember it this is the way i came in." "i'm sure of it," ned whispered back. "ah, here are more steps." they had reached the stairway which led down to the hall of the submarine cells, and still feeling their way they ascended it cautiously. as they rose the air seemed to grow fresher, as if they were nearing the openings by which it entered. "those fellows who took our places must have left a lamp or a lantern standing somewhere here at the top of these steps," whispered white. "the man who carried the tray could not have gone down them without a light." "it's probably here," said ned, "burned out or blown out by a draught of wind." he smelled a slight smoke and in a niche carved in the stone he found the lamp. the wick was still smoking a little. "we'll leave it as it is," said obed white. "somebody may relight it for those men when they come back again, but that won't be for several hours yet." three more steps and they reached the crest of the flight, where they were confronted by a heavy door of oak, ribbed with iron. obed gently tried the key that they had seized, but it did not fit. "they must have banged on the door for it to be opened whenever they came back," said obed. "now i shall use my fork which is sure to turn the lock if i take long enough. i wasn't the best watch and key maker in maine for nothing. if first you don't succeed, then keep on trying till you do." ned sat down on the steps while white inserted the fork. he could hear it scratching lightly for a minute and then the bolt slid. the boy rose and the man stepped back by his side. "draw your pistol and have it ready," he said, "and i'll do as much with the old musket. we don't know what's on the other side of the door but whatever it is we've got to meet it. thrice armed is he who hath his weapon leveled." ned needed no urging. he drew the pistol and held it ready for instant use. what, in truth, was on the other side of the door? his whole fate and that of his comrade might depend upon the revelation. obed pushed gently and the door opened without noise three or four inches. a shaft of light from the room fell upon them but they could not yet see into the room. they listened, and, hearing nothing, obed pushed more boldly. then they saw before them a large apartment, containing little furniture, but with some faded old uniforms hanging about the walls. evidently it was used as a barracks for soldiers. at the far end was a door and on the side to the right were two windows. ned went to the window and looked out. he saw across a small court a high and blank stone wall, but when he looked upward he saw also a patch of sky. it was a black sky, across which clouds were driving before a whistling wind, but it was the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen. the sky, the free, open sky curving over the beautiful earth, was revealed again to him who had been buried for ages in a dungeon under the sea. he would not go back. in the tremendous uplift of feeling he would willingly choose death first. he beckoned to white who joined him and who looked up without being bid. "it's out there that we're going," he said. "we'll have to cross a stormy sea before we reach freedom, but ned, you and i are keyed up just high enough to cross. we'll put it to the touch and win it all. now for the next door." the second door was not locked and when they pushed it open they entered a small room, furnished handsomely in the spanish fashion. a lamp burned on a table, at which an officer sat looking over some papers. he heard the two enter and it was too late for them to retreat, as he turned at once and looked at them, inquiry in his face. "who are you?" he asked. "we are the soldiers who have charge of the two texans in the cells," replied obed white boldly. "we have just taken them their food and now we are going back to our quarters." "i have no doubt that you tell the truth," replied the officer, "but your voice has changed greatly since yesterday. you remember that i gave you an order then about the man white." "quite true," replied obed quickly, raising his musket and taking aim, "and now i'm giving the order back to you. it's a poor rule that won't work first one way and then the other. just you move or cry out and i shoot. i'd hate to do it, because you're not bad looking, but necessity knows the law of self-preservation." "you need not worry," said the officer, smiling faintly. "i will not move, nor will i cry out. you have too great an advantage, because i see that your aim is good and your hand steady. i surmise that you are the man white himself." "none other, and this is my young friend, edward fulton, who likes san juan de ulua as a castle but not as a hotel. hence he has decided to go away and so have i. ned, look at those papers on his desk. you might find among them a pass or two which would be mighty useful to us." "do you mind if i light a cigarette?" asked the officer. "you can see that my hands and the cigarettes alike are on the table." "go ahead," said obed hospitably, "but don't waste time." the officer lighted the cigarette and took a satisfied whiff. ned searched among the papers, turning them over rapidly. "yes, here is a pass!" exclaimed he joyfully, "and here is another and here are two more!" "two will be enough," said obed. "i'll take this one made out to joaquin de la barra for you and one to diego fernandez for me. ah, what are these?" he held up four papers, looking at them in succession. "what are they?" asked obed white. "death warrants. they are all for men with mexican names, and they are signed with the name of antonio lopez de santa anna, general-in-chief and president of the mexican republic." the officer took the cigarette from his mouth and sent out a little smoke through his nostrils. "yes, they are death warrants," he said. "i was looking over them when you came in, and i was troubled. the men were to have been executed to-morrow." "were to have been?" said ned. then a look passed between him and the officer. the boy held the death warrants one by one in the flame of the lamp and burned them to ashes. "i cannot execute a man without a warrant duly signed," said the officer. "which being the case, we'd better go or we might have to help at our own executions," said obed white. "now you just sit where you are and have a peaceful and happy mind, while we go out and fight with the storm." the officer said nothing and the two passed swiftly through the far door, stepping into a paved court, and reaching a few yards further a gate of the castle. it was quite dark when they stepped once more into the open world, and both wind and rain lashed them. but wind and rain themselves were a delight to the two who had come from under the sea. besides, the darker the better. two sentinels were at the gate and ned thrust the passes before their eyes. they merely glanced at the signatures, opened the gate, and in an instant the two were outside the castle of san juan de ulua. chapter viii the black jaguar it was so dark that the two could see but a narrow stretch of masonry on which they stood and a tossing sea beyond. behind them heaved up the mass of the castle, mighty and somber. a fierce wind was blowing in from the gulf, and it whistled and screamed about the great walls. the rain, bitter and cold, lashed against them like hail. shut off so long from the outer air they shivered now, but the shiver was merely of the air. their spirit was as high as ever and they faced their crisis with undaunted souls. yet they were far from escape. the wind was of uncommon strength, seeming to increase steadily in power, and a half mile of wild waters raced between them and the town. weaker wills would have yielded and turned back to prison, but not they. they ran eagerly along the edge of the masonry, pelted by rain and wind. "there must be a boat tied up somewhere along here," exclaimed ned. "the castle, of course, keeps communication with the town!" "yes, here it is!" said obed. "fortune favors the persistent. it's only a small boat, and it's a big sea before us, but, ned, my lad, we've got to try it. we can't look any further. listen! that's the alarm in the castle." they heard shouts and clash of arms above the roaring of the wind. they picked in furious haste at the rope that held the boat, cast it loose, and sprang in, securing the oars. the waves at once lifted them up and tossed them wildly. it was perhaps fortunate that they lost control of their boat for a minute or two. two musket shots were fired at them, but good aim in the darkness at such a bobbing object was impossible. ned heard one of the bullets whistle near, and it gave him a queer, creepy feeling to realize that for the first time in his life someone was firing at him to kill. "can you row, ned?" asked white. "yes." "then pull with all your strength. bend as low as you can at the same time. they'll be firing at us as long as we are in range." they strove for the cover of the darkness, but they were compelled to devote most of their efforts to keeping themselves afloat. the little boat was tossed here and there like a bit of plank. spray from the sea was dashed over them, and, in almost a moment, they were wet through and through. the captured musket lay in the bottom and rolled against their feet. the wind shrieked continually like some wild animal in pain. many torches appeared on the wharf that led up to the castle, and there was a noise of men shouting to one another. the torches disclosed the little boat rising and falling with the swell of the sea, and numerous shots were now fired, but all fell short or went wild. "i don't think we're in much danger from the muskets," said obed, "so we won't pay any more attention to them. but in another minute they'll have big boats out in pursuit we must make for the land below the town, and get away somehow or other in the brush. if we were to land in the town itself we'd be as badly off as ever. hark, there goes the alarm!" a heavy booming report rose above the mutter of the waters and the screaming of the wind. one of the great guns on the castle of san juan de ulua had been fired. after a brief interval it was followed by a second shot and then a third. the reports could be heard easily in vera cruz, and they said that either a fresh revolution had begun, or that prisoners were escaping. the people would be on the watch. white turned the head of the boat more toward the south. "ned," he said, "we must choose the longer way. we cannot run any risk of landing right under the rifles of santa anna's troops. good god!" some gunner on the walls of san juan de ulua, of better sight and aim than the others, had sent a cannon ball so close that it struck the sea within ten feet of them. they were deluged by a water spout and again their little vessel rocked fearfully. obed white called out cheerfully: "still right side up! they may shoot more cannon balls at us, ned, but they won't hit as near as that again!" "no, it's not likely," said ned, "but there come the boats!" large boats rowed by eight men apiece had now put out, but they, too, were troubled by the wind and the high waves, and the boat they pursued was so small that it was lost to sight most of the time. the wind and darkness while a danger on the one hand were a protection on the other. fortunately both current and wind were bearing them in the direction they wished, and they struggled with the energy that the love of life can bring. all the large boats save one now disappeared from view, but the exception, having marked them well, came on, gaining. an officer seated in the prow, and wrapped in a long cloak, hailed them in a loud voice, ordering them to surrender. "ned," said obed white, "you keep the boat going straight ahead and i'll answer that man. but i wish this was a rifle in place of a musket." he picked up the musket and took aim. when he fired the leading rower on the right hand side of the pursuing boat dropped back, and the boat was instantly in confusion. white laid down the musket and seized the oar again. "now, ned," he exclaimed, "if we pull as hard as we can and a little harder, we'll lose them!" the boat, driven by the oars and the wind, sprang forward. fortune, as if resolved now to favor fugitives who had made so brave a fight against overwhelming odds, piled the clouds thicker and heavier than ever over the bay. the little boat was completely concealed from its pursuers. another gun boomed from san juan de ulua, and both ned and obed saw its flash on the parapet, but, hidden under the kindly veil of the night, they pulled straight ahead with strong arms. the sea seemed to be growing smoother, and soon they saw an outline which they knew to be that of the land. "we're below the town now," said obed. "i don't know any particular landing place, but it's low and sandy along here. so i propose that we ride right in on the the highest wave, jump out of the boat when she strikes and leave her." "good enough," said ned. "yes, that's the land. i can see it plainly now, and here comes our wave." the crest of the great wave lifted them up, and bore them swiftly inland, the two increasing the speed with their oars. they went far up on a sandy beach, where the boat struck. they sprang out, obed taking with him the unloaded musket, and ran. the retreating water caught them about the ankles and pulled hard, but could not drag them back. they passed beyond the highest mark of the waves, and then dropped, exhausted, on the ground. "we've got all mexico now to escape in," said obed white, "instead of that pent-up castle." the alarm gun boomed once more from san juan de ulua, and reminded them that they could not linger long there. the rain was still falling, the night was cold, and, after their tremendous strain, they would need shelter as well as refuge. "they'll be searching the beach soon," said obed, "and we'd best be off. it's against my inclination just now to stay long in one place. a rolling stone keeps slick and well polished, and that's what i'm after." "i think our safest course is to travel inland just as fast and as far as we can," said ned. "correct. good advice needs no bush." they started in the darkness across the sand dunes, and walked for a long time. they knew that a careful search along the beach would be made for them, but the mexicans were likely to feel sure when they found nothing that they had been wrecked and drowned. "i hope they'll think the sea got us," said ned, "because then they won't be searching about the country for us." "we weren't destined to be drowned that time," said obed with great satisfaction. "it just couldn't happen after our running such a gauntlet before reaching the sea. but the further we get away from salt water the safer we are." "it was my plan at first," said ned, "to go by way of the sea from vera cruz to a texan port." "circumstances alter journeys. it can't be done now. we've got to cut across country. it's something like a thousand miles to texas, but i think that you and i together, ned, can make it." ned agreed. certainly they had no chance now to slip through by the way of vera cruz, and the sea was not his element anyhow. the rain ceased, and a few stars came out. they passed from the sand dunes into a region of marshes. constant walking kept their blood warm, and their clothes were drying upon them. but they were growing very tired and they felt that they must rest and sleep even at the risk of recapture. "there's a lot of grass growing on the dry ground lying between the marshes," said ned, "and i suppose that the mexicans cut it for the vera cruz market. maybe we can find something like a haystack or a windrow. dry grass makes a good bed." they hunted over an hour and persistence was rewarded by a small heap of dry grass in a little opening surrounded by thorn bushes. they spread one covering of it on the ground, covered themselves to the mouth with another layer, and then went sound asleep, the old, unloaded musket lying by obed white's side. the two slept the sleep of deep exhaustion, the complete relaxation of both body and mind. boy and man they had passed through ordeals that few can endure, but, healthy and strong, they suffered merely from weariness and not from shattered nerves. so they slept peacefully and their breathing was long and deep. they were warm as they lay with the grass above and below them like two blankets. it had not rained much here, and the grass had dried before their coming, so they were free from danger of cold. the night passed and the brilliant mexican day came, touching with red and gold the town that curved about the bay, and softening the tints of the great fortress that rose on the rocky isle. all was quiet again within san juan de ulua and vera cruz. it had become known in both castle and town that two texans, boy and man, had escaped from the dungeons under the sea only to find a grave in the sea above. their boat had been found far out in the bay where the returning waves carried it, but the fishes would feed on their bodies, and it was well, because the texans were wicked people, robbers and brigands who dared to defy the great and good santa anna, the father of his people. meanwhile, the two slept on, never stirring under the grass. it is true that the boy had dreams of a mighty castle from which he had fled and of a roaring ocean over which he had passed, but he landed happily and the dream sank away into oblivion. peons worked in a field not a hundred yards away, but they sought no fugitives, and they had no cruel thoughts about anything. that spanish strain in them was wholly dormant now. they had heard in the night the signal guns from san juan de ulua and the tenderest hearted of them said a prayer under his breath for the boy whom the storm had given to the sea. then they sang together as they worked, some soft, crooning air of love and sacrifice that had been sung among the hills of spain before the moor came. perhaps if they had known that the boy and man were asleep only a hundred yards away, the tenderest hearted among them at least would have gone on with their work just the same. ned was the first to awake and it was past noon. he threw off the grass and stood up refreshed but a little stiff. he awoke obed, who rose, yawning tremendously and plucking wisps of grass from his hair. the droning note of a song came faintly, and the two listened. "peons at work in a field," said the boy, looking through the trees. "they don't appear to be very warlike, but we'd better go in the other direction." "you're right," said obed. "it's best for us to get away. if we tempt our fate too much it may overtake us, but before we go let's take a last view of our late home, san juan de ulua. see it over there, cut out in black against the blue sky. it's a great fortress, but i'm glad to bid it farewell." "shall we take the musket?" asked ned. "it's unloaded, and we have nothing with which to load it." "i think we'll stick to it," replied obed, "we may find a use for it, but the first thing we want, ned, is something to eat, and we've got to get it. curious, isn't it, how the fear of recapture, the fear of everything, melts away before the demands of hunger." "which means that we'll have to go to some mexican hut and ask for food," said ned. "now, i suggest, since we have no money, that we offer the musket for as much provisions as we can carry." "it's not a bad idea. but our pistols are loaded and we'll keep them in sight. it won't hurt if the humble peon takes us for brigands. he'll trade a little faster, and, as this is a time of war so far as we are concerned, we have the right to inspire necessary fear." they started toward the north and west, anxious to leave the tierra caliente as soon as they could and reach the mountains. ned saw once more the silver cone of orizaba now on his left. it had not led him on a happy quest before, but he believed that it was a true beacon now. they walked rapidly, staying their hunger as best they could, not willing to approach any hut, until they were a considerable distance from vera cruz. it was nearly nightfall when they dared a little adobe hut on a hillside. "we'll claim to be spaniards out of money and walking to the city of mexico," said obed. "they probably won't believe our statements, but, owing to the sight of these loaded pistols, they will accept them." it was a poor hut with an adobe floor and its owner, a surly mexican, was at home, but it contained plenty of food of the coarsest mexican type, and obed white stated their requests very plainly. "food we must have," he said, "sufficient for two or three days. besides, we want the two serapes hanging there on the wall. i think they are clean enough for our use. in return we offer you this most excellent musket, a beautiful weapon made at seville. look at it. it is worth twice what we demand for it. behold the beautifully carved stock and the fine steel barrel." the mexican, a dark, heavy-jawed fellow, regarded them maliciously, while his wife and seven half-naked children sat by in silence, but watching the strangers with the wary, shifting eyes of wild animals. "yes, it is a good musket," he said, "but may i inquire if it is your own?" "for the purposes of barter and sale it is my own," replied obed politely. "in this land as well as some others possession is ten points of the law." "the words you speak are spanish but your tone is gringo." "gringo or spanish, it does not change the beauty and value of the musket." "i was in vera cruz this morning. last night there was a storm and the great guns at the mighty castle of san juan de ulua were firing." "did they fire the guns to celebrate the storm?" "no. they gave a signal that two prisoners, vile texans, were escaping from the dungeons under the sea. but the storm took them, and buried them in the waters of the bay. i heard the description of them. one was a very tall man, thin and with very thick, red hair. the other was a boy, but tall and strong for his age. he had gray eyes and brown hair. wretched infidel texans they were, but they are gone and may the holy virgin intercede for their souls." he lifted his heavy lashes, and he and obed white looked gravely into the eyes of each other. they and ned, too, understood perfectly. "you were informed wrongly," said obed. "the man who escaped was short and fat, and he had yellow hair. the boy was very dark with black hair and black eyes. but the statement that they were drowned in the bay is correct." "one might get five hundred good silver pesos for bringing in their bodies." "one might, but one won't, and you, amigo, are just concluding an excellent bargain. you get this fine, unloaded musket, and we get the food and the serapes for which we have so courteously asked. the entire bargain will be completed inside of two minutes." the blue eyes and the black eyes met again and the owner of each pair understood. "it is so," said the mexican, evenly, and he brought what they wished. "good-day, amigo," said obed politely. "i will repeat that the musket is unloaded, and you cannot find ammunition for it any nearer than vera cruz, which will not trouble you as you are here at home in your castle. but our pistols are loaded, and it is a necessary fact for my young friend and myself. we purpose to travel in the hills, where there is great danger of brigands. fortunately for us we are both able and willing to shoot well. once more, farewell." "farewell," said the mexican, waving his hand in dignified salute. "that fellow is no fool," said obed, as they strode away. "i like a man who can take a hint. a word to the wise is like a stitch in time." "will he follow us?" "not he. he has that musket which he craved, and at half its value. he does not desire wounds and perhaps death. the chances are ninety-nine out of a hundred that he will never say a word for fear his government will seize his musket." "and now for the wildest country that we can find," said ned. "i'm glad it doesn't rain much down here. we can sleep almost anywhere, wrapped in our serapes." they ate as they walked and they kept on a long time after sunset, picking their way by the moonlight. two or three times they passed peons in the path, but their bold bearing and the pistols in their belts always gave them the road. brigands flourished amid the frequent revolutions, and the humbler mexicans found it wise to attend strictly to their own business. they slept again in the open, but this time on a hill in a dense thicket. they had previously drunk at a spring at its base, and lacking now for neither food nor water they felt hope rising continually. ned had no dreams the second night, and both awoke at dawn. on the far side of the hill, they found a pool in which they bathed, and with breakfast following they felt that they had never been stronger. their food was made up in two packs, one for each, and they calculated that with economy it would last two days. they could also reckon upon further supplies from wild fruits, and perhaps more frijoles and tortillas from the people themselves. when they had summed up all their circumstances, they concluded that they were not in such bad condition. armed, strong and bold, they might yet traverse the thousand miles to texas. light of heart and foot they started. off to the left the great silver head of orizaba looked down at them benignantly, and before them they saw the vast flowering robe of the tierra caliente into which they pushed boldly, even as cortez and his men had entered it. ned was almost overpowered by a vegetation so grand and magnificent. except on the paths which they followed, it was an immense and tangled mass of gigantic trees and huge lianas. many of the lianas had wound themselves like huge serpents about the trees and had gradually pulled them, no matter how strong, into strange and distorted shapes. overhead parrots and paroquets chattered amid the vast and gorgeous bloom of red and pink, yellow and white. ned and obed were forced to keep to the narrow peon paths, because elsewhere one often could not pass save behind an army of axes. the trees were almost innumerable in variety. they saw mahogany, rosewood, spanish cedar and many others that they did not know. they also saw the cactus and the palm, turned by the struggle for existence in this tremendous forest, into climbing plants. obed noted these facts with his sharp eye. "it's funny that the cactus and the palm have to climb to live," he said, "but they've done it. it isn't any funnier, however, than the fact that the whale lived on land millions of years ago, and had to take to the water to escape being eaten up by bigger and fiercer animals than himself. i'm a maine man and so i know about whales." they came now and then to little clearings, in which the peons raised many kinds of tropical and semitropical plants, bananas, pineapples, plantains, oranges, cocoa-nuts, mangoes, olives and numerous others. in some places the fruit grew wild, and they helped themselves to it. twice they asked at huts for the customary food made of indian corn, and on both occasions it was given to them. the peons were stolid, but they seemed kind and ned was quite sure they did not care whether the two were gringos or not. two or three times, heavy tropical rains gushed down in swift showers, and they were soaked through and through, despite their serapes, but the hot sun, coming quickly afterward, soon dried them out again. they were very much afraid of chills and fever, but their constitutions, naturally so strong, held them safe. deeper and deeper they went into the great tropical wilderness of the tierra caliente. often the heat under the vast canopy of interlacing vines and boughs was heavy and intense. then they would lie down and rest, first threshing up grass and bushes to drive away snakes, scorpions and lizards. sometimes they would sleep, and sometimes they would watch the monkeys and parrots darting about and chattering overhead. twice they saw fierce ocelots stealing among the tree trunks, stalking prey hidden from the man and boy. the first ocelot was a tawny yellow and the second was a reddish gray. both were marked with black spots in streaks and in lengthened rings. the second was rather the larger of the two. he seemed to be slightly over four feet in length, of which the body was three feet and the tail about a foot. ned and obed were lying flat upon the ground, when the second ocelot appeared, and, as the wind was blowing from him toward them, he did not detect their presence. at the distance the figure of the great cat was enlarged. he looked to them almost like a tiger and certainly he was a ferocious creature, as he stalked his prey. neither would have cared to meet him even with weapons in hand. suddenly he darted forward, ran up the trunk of a great tree and disappeared in the dense foliage. as he did not come down again they inferred that he had caught what he was pursuing and was now devouring it. ned shivered a little and put his hand on the butt of his loaded pistol. "obed," he said, "i don't like the jungle, and i shall be glad when i get out of it. it's too vast, too bewildering, and its very beauty fills me with fear. i always feel that fangs and poison are lurking behind the beauty and the bloom." "you're not so far wrong, ned. i believe i'd rather be on the dusty deserts of the north. we'll go through the tierra caliente just as quickly as we can." the next day they became lost among the paths, and did not regain their true direction until late in the afternoon. sunset found them by the banks of a considerable creek, the waters of which were cold, as if its source were in the high mountains. being very tired they bathed and arranged couches of grass on the banks. after the heat and perplexity of the jungle they were very glad to see cold, running water. the sight and the pleasant trickle of the flowing stream filled ned with desires for the north, for the open land beyond the rio grande, where cool winds blew, and you could see to the horizon's rim. he was sicker than ever of the jungle, the beauty of which could not hide from him its steam and poison. "how much longer do you think it will be before we leave the tierra caliente?" he asked. "we ought to reach the intermediate zone between the tierra caliente and the higher sierras in three or four days," replied obed. "it's mighty slow traveling in the jungle, but to get out of it we've only to keep going long enough. meanwhile, we'll have a good snooze by the side of this nice, clean little river." as usual after hard traveling, they fell asleep almost at once, but ned was awakened in the night by some strange sound, the nature of which he could not determine at first. the jungle surrounded them in a vast, high circle, wholly black in the night, but overhead was a blue rim of sky lighted by stars. he raised himself on his elbow. obed, four or five feet away, was still sleeping soundly on his couch of grass. the little river, silver in the moonlight, flowed with a pleasant trickle, but the trickle was not the sound that had awakened him. the forest was absolutely silent. not a breath of wind stirred, but the boy, although awed by the night and the great jungle, still listened intently. the sound rose again, a low, hoarse rumble. it was distant thunder. a storm was coming. he heard it a third time. it was not thunder. it was the deep growl of some fierce, wild animal. for a moment the boy was afraid. then he remembered the heavy pistol that never left his belt. it still carried the original load, a large bullet with plenty of gunpowder behind it. the sounds were repeated and they were nearer. they were like a long drawn p-u, p-u, p-u. the tone was of indescribable ferocity. ned was brave, but he shivered all over and there was a prickly sensation at the roots of his hair. he felt like some primeval youth who with club alone must face the rush of the saber-toothed tiger. but he drew upon his reserves of pride which were large. he would not awaken obed, but, drawing the pistol and holding his fingers on trigger and hammer, he walked a little distance down the bank of the stream. that terrible p-u, p-u, p-u, suddenly sounded much closer at hand, and ned shrank back, stiffening with horror. a great black beast, by far the largest wild animal that he had ever seen, came silently out of the jungle and stood before the boy. he was a good seven feet in length, black as a coal, low but of singularly thick and heavy build. his shoulders and paws were more powerful than those of a tiger. as he stood there before ned, black and sinister as satan, he opened his mouth, and emitted again that fearful, rumbling p-u, p-u, p-u. ned could not move. all his power seemed to have gone into his eyes and he only looked. he saw the red eyes, the black lips wrinkling back from the long, cruel fangs, and the glossy skin rippling over the tremendous muscles. ned suddenly wrenched himself free from this paralysis of the body, leveled the pistol and fired at a mark midway between the red eyes. there was a tremendous roar and the animal leaped. ned sprang to one side. the huge beast with blood pouring from his head turned and would have been upon him at the second leap, but a long barrel and then an arm was projected over ned's shoulder. a pistol was fired almost in his ear. the monster's spring was checked in mid-flight, and he fell to the earth, dead. ned too, fell, but in a faint. chapter ix the ruined temples ned revived and sat up. cold water which obed had brought in his hat from the river was dripping from his face. at his feet lay a huge black animal, terrible even in death. there was one wound in his head, where ned's bullet had gone in, and another through the right eye, where obed's had entered, reaching the brain. ned's strength now returned fully and the color came back to his face. he stood up, but he shuddered nevertheless. "obed," he said gratefully, "you came just in time." "i surely did," said that cheerful artisan. "a bullet in time saved a life like thine. but you had already given him a bad wound." "what is he, obed?" "about the biggest and finest specimen of a black jaguar that ever ravaged a mexican jungle. i always thought the black kind was found only in paraguay and the regions down there, but i'm quite sure now that at least one of them has been roaming up here, and he is bound to have kin, too. ned, isn't he a terror? if he'd got at you he'd have ripped you in pieces in half a minute." ned shuddered again. even in death the great black jaguar was capable of inspiring terror. he had never before seen such a picture of magnificent and sinister strength. he was heavier and more powerful than a tiger, and he knew that the jaguar often became a man-eater. "i'd like to have that skin to lay upon the parlor of my palatial home, if i ever have one," said obed, "and i reckon that you and i had better stick pretty close together while we are in this jungle. our pistols are not loaded now, and we have no more ammunition." they did not dare to sleep again in the same place, fearing that the jaguar might have a mate which would seek revenge upon them, but, a couple of hundred yards further down, they found in the river a little island, twelve or fifteen feet square. here they felt that the water would somehow give them security, and they lay down once more. ned was awakened a second time by that terrifying pu-pu-pu. it approached through the forest but it stopped at the point where the dead body of the black giant lay. he knew that it was the voice of the mate. he listened a long time, but he did not hear it again, and he concluded that the second jaguar, after the brief mourning of animals, had gone away. he fell asleep again, and did not awaken until day. they were now practically unarmed, but they kept the pistols, for the sake of show in case any peons of the jungle should offer trouble, and pressed forward, with all the speed possible in so dense a tangle of forest. in the deep shade of trees and bushes ned continually saw the shadows of immense black jaguars. he knew that it was only nerves and imagination, but he did not like to be in a condition that enabled fancy to play him such tricks. he longed more than ever for the open plains, even with dust and thirst. already they saw the mountains rising before them, terrace after terrace, and, three days after the encounter with the jaguar, they began to ascend the middle slopes between the tierra caliente and the lofty sierras. the whole character of the country changed. the tropical jungle ceased. they now entered magnificent forests of oak, pine, plane tree, mimosas, chestnut and many other varieties. they also saw the bamboo, the palm and the cactus. the water was fresher and colder, and they felt as if they had come into a new world. but the question of food supply returned. they had used the wild fruits in abundance, always economizing strictly with their tortillas and frijoles. now they had eaten the last of these and a diet of fruit alone would not do. "we'll have to sell a pistol in the way that we sold the musket," said ned. "i hate to do it," said obed, "but i don't see anything else that we can do. we might seize our food at the first hut we find, but whatever may be the quarrels between the mexicans and texans, i'm not willing to rob any of these poor peons." "nor i," said ned with emphasis. "my pistol goes first." they found the usual adobe hut in a pleasant valley, and the noble señor, the proprietor, was at home playing a mandolin. he did not suspect them to be gringos, but he was quite sure that they were brigands and he made the exchange swiftly and gladly. two days later the other pistol went in the same way, and they began to think how they could acquire new weapons and plenty of ammunition for them. they sat in the shade of a great oak while they discussed the question. it was certainly a vital one. dangerous enough at any time, the long journey through mexico would become impossible without arms. "if we could loot them from the soldiers i wouldn't mind at all," said obed. "the soldiers are to act against texas, according to the tale you tell, and the tale is true. all's fair in flight and war, and if such a chance comes our way i'm going to take it." "so am i," said ned. but such a chance was in no hurry to present itself. they went on for a number of days and came now to the region, bordering the high sierras, passing through vast forests of oak and pine, and seeing scarcely any habitation. here, as they walked toward twilight along one of the narrow paths, a voice from the bushes cried: "halt!" ned saw several gun barrels protruding from the foliage, and was obedient to the command. he also threw up his hands and obed white was no slower than he. ned judged from the nature of the ambush that they had fallen among brigands, then so prevalent in mexico, and the thought gave him relief. soldiers would carry him back to santa anna, but surely brigands would not trouble long those who had nothing to lose. "it is well, friends, that you obey so quickly," said a man in gaudy costume as he stepped from the bushes followed by a half dozen others, evil looking fellows, all carrying guns and pistols. ned noticed that two of the guns were rifles of long and slender barrel, undoubtedly of american make. "good-evening, captain," said obed white in his smoothest tones. "we were expecting to meet you, as we learned that we are in the territory which you rule so well." the man frowned and then smiled. "i see that you are a man of humor, amigo," he said, "and it is well. your information is correct. i rule this territory. i am captain juan carossa and these are my men. we collect tribute from all who pass this way." "a worthy task and, i have no doubt, a profitable one." "always worthy but not always profitable. however, i trust that you can make it worth our while." a look of sadness passed over the expressive features of obed white. "you look like a brave and generous man, señor juan carossa," he said sorrowfully, "and it grieves both my young friend and myself to the very center of our hearts to disappoint you. we have nothing. there is not a cent of either gold or silver upon us. jewels we admire, but we have them not. you may search." he held wide his arms and ned did likewise. carossa gave an order to one of his men, a tall fellow, swathed in a red serape, to make the search, and he did so in such a rapid and skillful manner that ned marveled. he felt hands touching him here and there, as light as the fall of a leaf. obed was treated in the same fashion, and then the man in the red serape turned two empty and expressive palms to his chief. carossa swore fluently, and bent a look of deep reproach upon ned and obed. "señors," he said, "this is an injustice, nay more, it is a crime. you come upon the territory over which we range. you put us to the trouble of stopping you, and you have nothing. all our risk and work are wasted." obed shook his head in apology. "it is not our fault," he said. "we had a little money, but we spent it for food. we had some arms also, but they went for food too, so you see, good kind captain carossa, we had nothing left for you." "but you have two good serapes," said the captain. "had you money we would not take them from you, but it must not be said of captain carossa and his men that they went away with nothing. i trust, señor, that you do not think me unreasonable." obed white considered. captain carossa was a polite man. so was he. "we can ill afford to part with these cloaks or serapes," he said, "but since it must be we cannot prevent it. meanwhile, we ask you to offer us your hospitality. we are on the mountains now, and the nights are cold. we would be chilled without our cloaks. take us with you, and, in the morning, when the warm sunshine comes we will proceed." carossa laughed and pulled his long black mustaches. "santiago, but you have a spirit," he said, "and i like it. you shall have your request and you may come with us but to-morrow you go forth stripped and shorn. my men cannot work for nothing. spanish or mexican, english or gringo you must pay. gringo you are, but for that i do not care. it is in truth the reason why i yield to your little request, because you can never bring the soldiers of santa anna down upon us." obed while smiled. the look upon his face obviously paid tribute to the craft and courage of juan carossa, the great, and carossa therefore was pleased. the brigand captain did not abate one whit from his resolution to have their serapes and their coats too, but he would show them first that he was a gentleman. he spoke to his men, and the fellow with the red serape led the way along a narrow path through a forest of myrtle oaks. they went in single file, the captain about the middle, and just behind him obed, with ned following. ned as usual was silent, but obed talked nearly all the time and carossa seemed to like it. ned saw that the brigand leader was vain, eager to show his power and resource, but he was sure that, at bottom, he was cruel, and that he would turn them forth stripped and helpless in the forest. night came down suddenly, but the man in front lighted a small lantern that he took from under his serape, and they continued the march with unabated speed. the forest thinned, and about nine o'clock they came into an open space. the moon was now out and ned saw a group of four rectangular buildings, elevated on mounds. the buildings, besides being rectangles themselves, were so placed that the group made a rectangle. the structures of stone were partly ruined, and of great age. they followed the uniform plan of those vast and mysterious ruins found so often in southern and central mexico. the same race that erected the pyramids on the teotihuacan might have raised these buildings. "my home! the quarters of myself and my men," said carossa, dramatically, pointing to the largest of the buildings. "we do not know who built it. it goes far beyond the time of cortez, but it serves us now. the peon will not approach it, because carossa is there and maybe ghosts too." "i'm not afraid of ghosts," said obed white. "lead on, most noble captain. we appreciate your hospitality. we did not know that you were taking us to a palace." captain carossa deigned to be pleased again with himself, and, taking the lantern from the man in the red serape, he led the way. he entered the large building by means of a narrow passageway in one of the angles, passed through an unroofed room, and then came to a door at which both ned and obed gazed with the most intense curiosity. the doorway was made of only three stones, two huge monolithic door jambs, each seven feet high, nearly as wide and more than two feet thick. upon them rested a lintel also monolithic, but at least twenty feet in length, with a width of five feet and a thickness of three feet. it was evident to ned that mighty workmen had once toiled here. "is not that an entrance fit for a king?" said the brigand captain, again making a dramatic gesture. "it is fit for captain juan carossa, which is more," said obed white with suave courtesy. captain carossa bowed. once more he deigned to be pleased with himself. then he led through the doorway and ned uttered a little cry of admiration. they stood in a great room with a magnificent row of monolithic pillars running down the center. a stone roof had once covered the room, but it had long since fallen in. the interior of the walls was plain, made of stones and mortar, once covered with cement, deep blood red in color, of which a few fragments remained. but the walls on the outside were covered with splendid panels of mosaic work varied now and then by sculptured stones. the stone used on the outside was of a light cream color. but the boy did not see the mosaic panels until later. silent and studious, these vast ruins of a mysterious race made a great appeal to ned. he forgot the rough brigands for a moment, and stood there looking at the walls and great columns, upon which the moon was pouring a flood of beams. what were these outlaws to those mighty builders whom the past had swallowed up so completely? the brigands were already lighting a fire beside one of the huge monoliths, and carossa lay down on a serape. the fire blazed up, but it did not detract from the weird effect of the hall of pillars. one of the men warmed food which he brought from another of the ruined houses, and carossa told his prisoners to eat. "what i give you to-night, and what i shall give you to-morrow morning may be the last food that you will have for some time," he said, "so enjoy it as best you may." he smiled, his lips drawing back from his white teeth, and in some singular way he made ned think of the black jaguar and his black lips writhing back from his great fangs. why had obed spoken of coming with them? better to have been stripped in the path, and to have gone on alone. but he ate the food, as the long marching had made him hungry, and lay down within the rim of the firelight. the men also ate, and ned saw that they were surly. doubtless they had endured much hardship recently and had secured little spoil. he heard muttered sounds which he knew were curses. he became more uneasy than ever. certainly little human kindness lurked in the hearts of such as these, and he believed that carossa was playing with them for his own amusement, just as a trainer with a steel bar makes the animals in a cage do their tricks. the mutterings among the men increased. carossa spoke to one of them, who brought forth a stone jar from a recess in the wall. tin cups were produced and all, including carossa, drank pulque made from the maguey plant. they offered it also to ned and obed, but both declined. the pulque did not make the men more quarrelsome, but seemed to plunge them into a lethargy. two or three of them hummed doleful songs, as if they were thinking of homes to which they could not go. one began to weep, but finally spread out his serape, lay down on it and went to sleep. three or four others soon did the same. two sat near the great monolithic doorway, with muskets across their knees. undoubtedly they were intended to be sentinels, but ned noted that their heads drooped. "i shall sleep now, my gringo guests," said carossa, "and i advise you to do the same. you cannot alter anything, and you will need the strength that sleep brings." "your advice is good," said obed, "and we thank you, captain carossa, for your advice and courtesy. manners are the fine finish of a man." his serape had not yet been taken from him, and he rolled himself in it. ned was already in his, lying with his feet to the smoldering fire. the boy did not wish to sleep, nor could he have slept had he wished. but he saw that carossa soon slumbered, and the sentinels by the doorway seemed, at least, to doze. he turned slightly on his side, and looked at obed who lay about eight feet away. he could not see the man's face, but his body did not stir. perhaps obed also slept. a wind was now rising and it made strange sounds among the vast ruins. it was a moan, a shriek and a hoarse sigh. perhaps the peons were not so far wrong! the ghosts did come back to their old abodes. ned was glad that he was not alone. even without obed the company of brigands would have been a help. he lay still a long time. the coals of the fire went out, one by one, and where they had glowed only black ashes lay. the wind among the ruins played all kinds of strange variations, and ned was never more awake in his life. he took a last look at the sentinels, and he was sure that they slept, sitting, with their muskets across their laps. then he rose to his knees and with difficulty checked a cry of astonishment when he saw obed rising at the same time. they remained on their knees a moment or two looking at each other and then, simultaneously they rose to their feet. their comprehension was complete. ned looked down at carossa. the brigand chief slept soundly and his face in repose was wholly evil. the gayety and courtesy that they had seen upon it awake were only a mask. obed stepped lightly to one of the pillars and ned followed him. he knew what obed was seeking. here was the great chance. the brigands, careless from long immunity, had stacked their guns against the pillar, and ned and obed promptly selected the two american rifles that ned had noticed. hung by each was a large supply of powder and bullets to fit which they also took. two of the best machetes were chosen too, and then they were ready to go. with the rifle in his hand, the great weapon with which the pioneer made his way from ocean to ocean, ned had strength and courage. he believed that obed and he could defeat the entire force of brigands, but he awaited the signal of his older comrade. standing close together behind the massive pillar they could not now see the sentinels at the doorway. ned was quite sure that they were sleeping and that he and his comrade could steal past them. but obed turned in another direction and ned followed without a word. the man had caught a glimpse of a second entrance at the opposite side of this hall of pillars, and the two darted into it. they found themselves in a passage less than the height of a man, and only about three feet wide, but obed led on boldly, and ned, with equal boldness, followed. the wall was about five feet thick, and they came out into a court or patio surrounded by four ruined buildings. the floor of the patio was cement, upon which their footsteps made no noise, and, going through the great apertures in one of the ruined buildings, they stood entirely on the outside of the mass of ancient temples, or whatever it may have been. "ned," whispered obed, "we ought to go right down on our knees and give thanks. we've not only escaped from carossa and his cutthroats, but we've brought with us two american rifles; good enough for anybody and two or three hundred rounds of ammunition, the things that we needed most of all." "it must have been more than chance," said ned with emotion. "it must have been a hand leading us." "when i proposed to go with them i thought we might have a chance of some kind or other. well, captain carossa, you meant us evil, but you did us good. come, ned, the faster we get away from these ghosts the better. besides, we've got more to carry now." they had also brought away with them their packs of food, but they did not mind the additional weight of the weapons, which were worth more to them than gold or jewels. they listened a minute or two to see if any alarm had been raised, but no sound came from the hall of pillars, and with light steps and strong hearts they began another march on their northward journey. they traveled by the moon and stars, and, as they were not hindered now by any great tangle of undergrowth, they made many miles before dawn, although they were ascending steadily. they had come upon the edge of the great central plateau of mexico, which runs far into the north and which includes much of texas. before them lay another and great change in the country. they were now to enter a land of little rain, where they would find the ragged yucca tree, the agave and the cactus, the scrubby mesquite bush and clumps of coarse grass. but they had passed through so much that they did not fear it. they hunted for an hour after sunrise, before they found a small brook, at which they drank, and, in spirit, returned the thanks which obed had said so emphatically were due. then, wrapped in the useful serapes, they went to sleep once more in a thicket. they had been sure that the mexicans could not trail them, and their confidence was justified. when they awoke in the afternoon no human being was in sight, and their loaded rifles lay undisturbed beside them. then they entered upon the plain, plodding steadily on over a dusty gray landscape, but feeling that their rifles would be ample protection against anything that they might meet. the sun became very hot, and they longed at times for the shade of the forest that they had left behind, but they did not cease their march. off to their left they saw towering mountains with a green film along their slopes that they knew to be forests of oak and pine; and such was the nature of man that they looked at them regretfully. obed white, glancing at ned, caught ned glancing at him, and both laughed. "that's it," said obed. "how precious is the thing that slips away. when we were in the forest we wanted the open country, but now in the open country we want the forest. but we're making progress, ned. don't forget that." "i don't," said ned. "but when we get further north into the vast stretches of the arid plateau, we must have something more to carry--water bottles." "that's so. we can't do without them. maybe, too, ned, we can pick up a couple of good horses. they'd be a wonderful help." "we'll hope for everything we need," said ned cheerfully. "now i wonder, obed, if the attack has been made on texas. do you think we can yet get there in time?" "i hope so," replied obed thoughtfully. "you were a long time in san juan de ulua, but armies move slowly, and they have plenty of troubles of their own here in mexico. i would wager almost anything that no mexican force in great numbers has yet crossed the rio grande." "then we may be in time. obed, we'll push for the north with every ounce of strength we have." "that's just what we'll do. courage defeats a multitude of sins." they traveled now for nearly a week in a direction north slightly by west, suffering at times from heat, and once from a tropical rain storm that deluged them. while the rain poured upon them, they kept their serapes wrapped around their powder, and let their bodies take the worst. the rain, for a while, was very cold, but the powder was precious, and after a while the sun came out, drying and warming them again. they were compelled to swim two narrow but deep rivers, a most difficult task, as they had arms, ammunition and food to carry with them. they noticed stretches of forest again, and passed both scattered houses and villages. their knowledge of spanish and their rifles were their protection. but in some places the people seemed to care nothing either about santa anna or those who might oppose him. they were content to lead lives in a region which furnished food almost of its own accord. just before approaching one of these villages ned shot another jaguar. it was not black like the first, nor so large. it was about five feet in length, and yellowish in color, with a splendid skin, which, at obed's suggestion, they removed for purposes of barter. it was a wise idea, as they traded it in the village for two large water bottles. the people there were so indifferent to their identity that they sat in the plaza in the evening, and watched the young people dance the fandango. it was only a crude little village in the mexican wilderness. the people were more indian than mexican. there was not much melody in their music, and not much rhythm in their dance, but they were human beings, enjoying themselves after labor and without fear. both ned and obed, sitting outside the circle of light with their rifles across their knees, felt it. the sense of human companionship, even of strangers, was very pleasant. the music and the glowing faces appealed very strongly to the boy. silent, thoughtful, and compelled by circumstances to live a hard life, he was nevertheless young with all the freshness of youth. obed saw, and he felt a deep sympathy for this lad who had wrapped himself like a younger brother around his heart. "just you wait, ned," he said, "until we reach our own people across the rio grande. then we'll have lots of friends and they'll be friends all the stronger, because you will be the first to bring them news of the treacherous attack that is to be made upon them." "if we get there in time," said ned, "and, obed, i am beginning to believe that we will get there in time." they passed for hunters, and that night they slept in the village, where they received kindness, and departed again the next morning on the long, long journey that always led to the north. chapter x cactus and mexicans they now came upon bare, wind-swept plains, which alternated with blazing heat and bitter cold. once they nearly perished in a norther, which drove down upon them with sheets of hail. fortunately their serapes were very thick and large, and they found additional shelter among some ragged and mournful yucca trees. but they were much shaken by the experience, and they rested an entire day by the banks of a shallow little brook. "oh, for a horse, two horses!" said obed. "i'd give all our castles in spain for two noble barbary steeds to take us swiftly o'er the plain." "i think we'll keep on walking," said ned. "at any rate, we're good walkers. we must be the very best walkers in the world judging from the way we've footed it since we left the castle of san juan de ulua." they refilled their water bottles, despite the muddiness of the stream, and went on for three or four days over the plain, having nothing for scenery save the sandy ridges, the ragged yuccas, dwarfed and ugly mesquite bushes, and the deformed cactus. it was an ugly enough country by day, but, by night, it had a sort of weird charm. the moonlight gave soft tints to the earth. now and then the wind would pick up the sand and carry it away in whirling gusts. the wind itself had a voice that was almost human and it played many notes. lean and hungry wolves now appeared and howled mournfully, but were afraid to attack that terrible creature, man. they saw sheep herders several times, but the herders invariably disappeared over the horizon with great speed. neither ned nor obed meant them any harm, and they would have liked to exchange a few words with human beings. "they think of course that we're brigands," said obed. "it's what anybody would take us for. evil looks corrupt good intentions." the next day obed was lucky enough to shoot an antelope, and they had fresh food. it was a fine fat buck, and they jerked and dried the remainder of the body in the sun, taking a long rest at the same time. obed was continually restraining ned's eagerness to hurry on. "the race is to the swift if he doesn't break down," he said, "but you've got to guard mighty well against breaking down. i think we're going to enter a terrible long stretch of dry country, and we want our muscles to be tough and our wind to be good." obed was partially right in his prediction as they passed for three days through an absolutely sterile region. it was not sandy, however, but the soil was hard and baked like a stone. then they saw on their left high but bare and desolate mountains, and soon they came to a little river of clear water, apparently flowing down from the range. the stream was not over twenty feet wide and two feet deep, but its appearance was inexpressibly grateful to both. they sat down on its banks and looked at each other. "ned," said obed, "how much dust of the desert do you think i am carrying upon me? let your answer be without prejudice. friendship in this case must not stand in the way of truth." "do you mean by weight or by area?" "both." "answering by guess i should say about three square yards, or about three pounds. wouldn't you say about the same for me?" "just about the same. i should say, too, that we carry at least twelve or fifteen kinds of dirt. it is well soaked in our hair and also in our clothes, and, as we may not get another good chance for a bath in a month, we'd better use our opportunity." they reveled in the cool waters. they also washed out all their clothing, including their serapes, and let the garments dry in the sun. it was the most luxurious stop that they had made and they enjoyed it to the full. ned, scouting a little distance up the stream, shot a fine fat deer among the bushes, and that night they had a feast of tender steaks. obed had obtained flint and steel at the indian village, at which they had seen the fandango, and he could light a fire with them, a most difficult thing to do. their fire was of dried cactus, burning rapidly, but it lasted long enough for their cooking. after the heartiest meal that they had eaten in a long time, they stretched out by the river, listening to its pleasant flow. the remainder of the deer they had hung high in the branches of a myrtle oak about forty yards away. "we haven't got our horses," said obed, "but we're making progress. time and tide will carry man with them if he's ready with his boat." "perhaps we've been lucky, too," said ned, "in passing through what is mostly a wilderness." "that's so. the desert is a hard road, but in our case it keeps enemies away." they were lying on their serapes, the waters sang softly, the night was dark but very cool and pleasant, and they were happy. but ned suddenly saw something that made him reach out and touch his companion. "look!" he whispered, pointing a finger. they saw a dark figure creep on noiseless feet toward the tree, from a bough of which hung their deer. it was only a shadow in the night, but they knew that it was a cougar, drawn by the savor of the deer. "don't shoot," whispered obed. "he can't get our meat, but we'll watch him try." they lay quite still and enjoyed the joke. the cougar sprang again and again, making mighty exertions, but always the rich food swung just out of his reach. once or twice his nose nearly touched it, but the two or three inches of gulf which he could never surmount were as much as two or three miles. he invariably fell back snarling, and he became so absorbed in the hopeless quest that there was no chance of his noticing the man and boy who lay not far away. the humor of it appealed strongly to ned and obed. the cougar, after so many vain leaps, lay on the ground for a while panting. then he ran up the tree, and as far out on the bough as he dared. he reached delicately with a forefoot, but he could not touch the strips of bark with which the body was tied. then he lay flat upon the bough and snarled again and again. "that's a good punishment for a rascally thief," whispered obed. "i don't blame him for trying to get something to eat, but it's our deer. let him go away and do his own hunting." the cougar came back down the tree, but his descent was made with less spirit than his ascent. nevertheless he made another try at the jumping. ned saw, however, that he did not do as well as before. he never came within six inches of the deer now. at last he lay flat again on the ground and panted, staying there a full five minutes. when he got up he made one final and futile jump, and then sneaked away, exhausted and ashamed. "now, ned," said obed, "since the comedy is over i think we can safely go to sleep." "especially as we know our deer is safe," said ned. both slept soundly throughout the remainder of the night. toward morning the cougar came back and looked longingly at the body of the deer hanging from the bough of the tree. he thought once or twice of leaping for it again, but there was a shift of the wind and he caught the human odor from the two beings who lay forty yards away. he was a large and strong beast of prey, but this odor frightened him, and he slunk off among the trees, not to return. ned and obed stayed two days beside the little river, taking a complete rest, bathing frequently in the fresh waters, and curing as much of the deer as possible for their journey. then, rather heavily loaded, they started anew, always going northward through a sad and rough land. now they entered another bare and sterile region of vast extent, walking for five days, without seeing a single trace of surface water. had it not been for their capacious water bottles they would have perished, and, even with their aid, it was only by the strictest economy that they lived. the evaporation from the heat was so great that after a mouthful or two of water they were invariably as thirsty as ever, inside of five minutes. they passed from this desert into a wide, dry valley between bare mountains, and entered a great cactus forest, one of the most wonderful things that either of them had ever seen. the ground was almost level, but it was hard and baked. apparently no more rain fell here than in the genuine desert of shifting sand, and there was not a drop of surface water. ned, when he first saw the mass of green, took it for a forest of trees, such as one sees in the north, but so great was his interest that he was not disappointed, when he saw that it was the giant cactus. the strange forest extended many miles. the stems of the cactus rose to a height of sixty feet or more, with a diameter often reaching two feet. sometimes the stems had no branches, but, in case they did, the branches grew out at right angles from the main stem, and then curving abruptly upward continued their growth parallel to the parent stock. the stems of these huge plants were divided into eighteen or twenty ribs, within which at intervals of an inch or so were buds, with cushions, yellow and thick, from which grew six or seven large, and many smaller spines. most of the cactus trees were gorgeous with flowers, ranging from a deep rich crimson through rose and pink to a creamy white. the green of the plants and the delicate colors of the flowers were wonderfully soothing to the two who had come from the bare and burning desert. there their eyes had ached with the heat and glare. they had longed for shade as men had longed of old for the shadow of a rock in a weary land. in truth they found little shade in the cactus forest, but the green produced the illusion of it. they expected to find flowing or standing water, but they went on for many miles and the soil remained hard and baked, as it can bake only in the rainless regions of high plateaus. they found the forest to be fully thirty miles in length and several miles in width. everywhere the giant cactus predominated, and on its eastern border they found two indian men and several women and children gathering the fruit, from which they made an excellent preserve. the indians were short in stature and very dark. all started to run when they saw the white man and boy, both armed with rifles, approaching, but ned and obed held up their hands as a sign of amity and, after some hesitation, they stopped. they spoke a dialect which neither ned nor obed could understand, but by signs they made a treaty of peace. they slept that night by the fire of their new friends and the next day they were fortunate enough to shoot a deer, the greater part of which they gave to the indians. the older of the men then guided them out of the forest at the northern end, and indicated as nearly as he could, by the same sign language, the course they should pursue in order to reach texas. they had gone too far to the west, and by coming back toward the east they would save distance, as well as pass through a better country. then he gravely bade them farewell and went back to his people. ned and obed now crossed a low but rugged range of mountains, and came into good country where they were compelled to spend a large part of their time, escaping observation. it was only the troubled state of the people and the extreme division of sentiment among them that saved the two from capture. but they obtained news that filled both with joy. fighting had occurred in texas, but no great mexican army had yet gone into the north. becoming bold now from long immunity and trusting to their mexican address and knowledge of spanish and its mexican variants, they turned into the main road and pursued their journey at a good pace. they were untroubled the first day but on the second day they saw a cloud of dust behind them. "sheep being driven to market," said obed. "i don't know," replied ned, looking back. "that cloud of dust is at least a mile away, but it seems to me i saw it give out a flash or two." "what kind of a flash do you mean?" "bright, like silver or steel. there, see it!" "yes, i see it now, and i think you know what makes it, ned." "i should say that it is the sun striking on the steel heads of long lances." "so should i, and i say also that those lances are carried by mexican cavalrymen bound for texas. it may not be a bad guess either that this is the vanguard of the army of cos. i infer from the volume of dust that it is a considerable force." "therefore it is wise for us to leave the road and hide as best we can." "correctly spoken. the truth needs no bush. it walks without talking." they turned aside at once, and entered a field of indian corn, where they hoped to pass quietly out of sight, but some of the lancers came on very fast and noticed the dusty figures at the far edge of the field. many of the mexicans were skilled and suspicious borderers, and the haste with which the two were departing seemed suspicious to them. ned and obed heard loud and repeated shouts to halt, but pretending not to hear passed out of the field and entered a stretch of thin forest beyond. "we must not stop," said obed. "being regular soldiers they will surely discover, if they overtake us, that we are not mexicans, and two or three lance thrusts would probably be the end of us. now that we are among these trees we'll run for it." a shout came from the lancers in the corn field as soon as they saw the two break into a run. ned heard it, and he felt as the fox must feel when the hounds give tongue. tremors shook him, but his long and silent mental training came to his aid. his will strengthened his body and he and obed ran rapidly. nor did they run without purpose. both instinctively looked for the roughest part of the land and the thickest stretches of forest. only there could they hope to escape the lancers who were thundering after them. ned more than once wished to use his rifle, but he always restrained the impulse, and obed glanced at him approvingly. he seemed to know what was passing in the boy's mind. "our bullets would be wasted now, even if we brought down a lancer or two," he said, "so we'll just save 'em until we're cornered--if we are. then they will tell. look, here are thorn bushes! come this way." they ran among the bushes which reached out and took little bits of their clothing as they passed. but they rejoiced in the fact. horses could never be driven into that dense, thorny growth, and they might evade pursuers on foot. the thorn thicket did not last very long, however. they passed out of it and came into rough ground with a general trend upward. both were panting now and their faces were wet with perspiration. the breath was dry and hot and the heart constricted painfully. they heard behind them the noise of the pursuit, spread now over a wide area. "if only these hills continue to rise and to rise fast," gasped obed white, "we may get away among the rocks and bushes." there was a rapid tread of hoofs, and two lancers, with their long weapons leveled, galloped straight at them. obed leaped to one side, but ned, so startled that he lost command of himself, stopped and stood still. he saw one of the men bearing down upon him, the steel of the lance head glittering in the sunlight, and instinctively he closed his eyes. he heard a sharp crack, something seemed to whistle before his face, and then came a cry which he knew was the death cry of a man. he had shut his eyes only for a moment, and when he opened them he saw the mexican falling to the ground, where he lay motionless across his lance. obed white stood near, and his rifle yet smoked. ned instantly recovered himself, and fired at the second lancer who, turning about, galloped away with a wound in his shoulder. "come ned," cried obed white. "there is a time for all things, and it is time for us to get away from here as fast as we can." he could not be too quick for ned, who ran swiftly, avoiding another look at the silent and motionless figure on the ground. the riderless horse was crashing about among the trees. from a point three or four hundred yards behind there came the sound of much shouting. ned thought it to be an outburst of anger caused by the return of the wounded lancer. "we stung 'em a little," he panted. "we did," said obed white. "remember that when you go out to slay you may be slain. but, ned, we must reload." they curved about, and darting into a thick clump of bushes put fresh charges in their rifles. ned was trembling from excitement and exertion, but his anger was beginning to rise. there must always come a time when the hunted beast will turn and rend if it can. ned had been the hunted, now he wanted to become the hunter. obed and he had beaten off the first attack. there were plenty more bullets where the other two had come from, and he was eager to use them. he peered out of the bushes, his face red, his eyes alight, his rifle ready for instant use. but obed placed one hand on his shoulder: "gently, ned, gently!" he said. "we can't fight an entire mexican army, but if we slip away to some good position we can beat off any little band that may find us." it was evident that the mexicans had lost the trail, for the time being. they were still seeking the quarry but with much noise and confusion. a trumpet was blown as if more help were needed. officers shouted orders to men, and men shouted to one another. several shots were fired, apparently at imaginary objects in the bushes. "while they're running about and bumping into one another we'll regain a little of our lost breath which we'll need badly later," said obed. "we can watch from here, and when they begin to approach then it's up and away again." those were precious minutes. the ground was not good for the lancers who usually advanced in mass, and, after the fall of one man and the wounding of another, the soldiers on foot were not very zealous in searching the thickets. the breathing of the two fugitives became easy and regular once more. the roofs of their mouths were no longer hot and dry, and their limbs did not tremble from excessive exertion. ned had turned his eyes from the mexicans and was examining the country in the other direction. "obed," he said, "there's a low mountain about a mile back of us, and it's covered with forest. if we ever reach it we can get away." "yes--if we reach it," said obed, "and, ned, we'll surely try for it. ah, there they come in this direction now!" a squad of about twenty men was approaching the thicket rapidly. ned and obed sprang up and made at top speed for the mountain. the soldiers uttered a shout and began to fire. but they had only muskets and the bullets did not reach. ned and obed, having rested a full ten minutes, ran fast. they were now descending the far side of the hill and meant to cross a slight valley that lay between it and the mountain. when they were near the center of this valley they heard the hoofs of horsemen, and again saw lancers galloping toward them. these horsemen had gone around the hill, and now the hunt was in full cry again. ned and obed would have been lost had not the valley been intersected a little further on by an arroyo seven or eight feet deep and at least fifteen feet wide. they scrambled down it, then up it and continued their flight among the bushes, while the horsemen, compelled to stop on the bank, uttered angry and baffled cries. "the good luck is coming with the bad," said obed. "the foot soldiers will still follow. they know that we're texans and they want us. do you see anybody following us now, ned?" "i can see the heads of about a dozen men above the bushes." "perhaps they are delegated to finish the work. the whole army of cos can't stop to hunt down two texans, and when we get on that mountain, ned, we may be able to settle with these fellows on something like fair terms." "let's spurt a little," said ned. they put on extra steam, but the mexicans seemed to have done the same, as presently, appearing a little nearer, they began to shout or fire. ned heard the bullets pattering on the bushes behind him. "a hint to the wise is a stitch in time," said obed white. "those fellows are getting too noisy. i object to raucous voices making loud outcries, nor does the sound of bullets dropping near please me. i shall give them a hint." wheeling about he fired at the nearest mexican. his rifle was a long range weapon and the man fell with a cry. the others hesitated and the fugitives increased their speed. now they were at the base of the mountain. now they were up the slope which was densely clothed with trees and bushes. then they came to a great hollow in the stone side of the ridge, an indentation eight or ten feet deep and as many across, while above them the stone arched over their heads at a height of seventy or eighty feet. "we'll just stay here," said obed white. "you can run and you can run, but the time comes when you can run no more. they can't get at us from overhead, and they can't get at us from the sides. as for the front, i think that you and i, ned, can hold it against as many mexicans as may come." "at least we'll make a mighty big try," said ned, whose courage rose high at the sight of their natural fort. they had their backs to the wall, but this wall was of solid stone, and it also curved around on either side of them. moreover, he had a chance to regain his breath which was once more coming in hot and painful gasps from his chest. "let's lie down, ned," said obed, "and pull up that log in front of this." near them lay the stem of an oak that had fallen years before. all the boughs had decayed and were gone, so it was not a very difficult task to drag the log in front of them, forming a kind of bar across the alcove. as it was fully a foot in diameter it formed an excellent fortification behind which they lay with their rifles ready. it was indeed a miniature fort, the best that a wilderness could furnish at a moment's notice, and the fighting spirit of the two rose fast. if the enemy came on they were ready to give him a welcome. but the two heard nothing in the dense forest in front of them. the pursuers evidently were aware of the place, in which they had taken refuge, and knew the need of cautious approach. mexicans do not lack bravery, but both obed and ned were sure there would be a long delay. "i think that all we've got to do for the present," said obed, "is to watch the woods in front of us, and see that none of them sneaks up near enough for a good shot." nearly an hour passed, and they neither saw nor heard anything in the forest. then there was a rushing sound, a tremendous impact in front of them and something huge bounded and bounded again among the bushes. it was a great rock that had been rolled over the cliff above, in the hope that it would fall upon them, but the arch of stone over their heads was too deep. it struck fully five feet in front of them. both were startled, although they knew that they were safe, and involuntarily they drew back. "more will come," said obed. "just as one swallow does not make a summer, one stone does not make a flight. ah, there it is now!" they heard that same rushing sound through the air, and a bowlder weighing at least half a ton struck in front of their log. it did not bound away like the first, but being so much heavier buried half its weight in the earth and lay there. obed chuckled and regarded the big stone with an approving look. "it's an ill stone that doesn't fall to somebody's good," he said. "that big fellow is squarely in the path of anybody who advances to attack us, and adds materially to our breastwork. if they'll only drop a few more they'll make an impregnable fortification for us." the third came as he spoke, but being a light one rolled away. the fourth was also light, and alighting on the big one bounded back into the alcove, striking just between ned and obed. it made both jump and shiver, but they knew that it was a chance not likely to happen again in a hundred times. the bombardment continued for a quarter of an hour without any harm to either of the two, and then the silence came again. ned and obed pushed the rock out of the alcove, leaving it in front of them and now their niche had a formidable stone reinforcement. "they'll be slipping up soon to look at our dead bodies," whispered obed, "and between you and me, ned, i think there will be a great surprise in mexico to-day." they lay almost flat and put the muzzles of their rifles across the log. both, used to life on the border, where the rifle was a necessity, were fine shots and they were also keen of eye and ear. they waited for a while which seemed interminably long to ned, but which was not more than a quarter of an hour, and then he heard a slight movement among the trees somewhat to their left. he called obed's attention to it and the man nodded: "i hear it, too," he whispered. "those investigators are cautious, but they'll have to come up in front before they can get at us, and then we can get at them, too. we'll just be patient." ned was at least quiet and contained, although it was impossible to be patient. they heard the rustling at intervals on their right, then it changed to their front, and he saw a black head, covered with a sombrero, peep from behind a tree. the head came a little farther, disclosing a shoulder, and obed white fired. they heard a yell of pain, and a thrashing among the bushes, but the sound rapidly moved farther and farther away. "that fellow was stung badly," said obed white with satisfaction, "and he won't come back. i'm glad to see, ned, that you held your fire, keeping ready for any other who might come." ned glowed at the compliment. he had cocked his rifle, and was ready but he remained cool, wasting no shot. "i fancy that they now know we are here," said obed, who loved to talk, "and that we have not been demolished by the several tons of rock that they have sent down from above. a shot to the wise is sufficient. keep down, ned! keep down!" from a point sixty or seventy yards away mexicans, lying among the trees or in the undergrowth, suddenly opened a heavy fire upon the rocky fort. the mexicans were invisible but jets of smoke arose in the brush. bullets thudded on the log or stones, or upon the stone wall above the two, but both ned and obed were sheltered well and they were not touched. nevertheless it was uncomfortable. the impact of the bullets made an unpleasant sound, and there was always a chance that one of them might angle off from the stone and strike a human target. obed however was cheerful. "they're wasting good ammunition," he said. "they'll need that later on when they attack the texans. after all, ned, we're serving a good purpose when we induce the mexicans to shoot good powder and lead here, and not against our people." encouraged by the failure of the besieged to reply to their fire the mexicans came closer and grew somewhat incautious. ned saw one of them sheltered but partially by a bush and he fired. the man uttered a cry and fell. ned saw the bush moving and he hoped the man was not slain, but he never knew. the volleys from the mexicans ceased, and silence came again in the woods. wisps of smoke floated here and there among the trees, but a light wind soon caught them and carried them away. ned and obed, rolling into easier positions, talked cheerfully. "i don't think they'll try to rush us," said obed. "the mexicans are not afraid to charge breastworks, but they'll hardly think we two are worth the price they would have to pay. perhaps they'll try to starve us out." "and that they can't do because we have provisions for several days." "but they don't know it. nor do we want to stay here for several days, ned. texas is calling to us, and we should be traveling northward instead of lying under a rock besieged by mexicans." but they were compelled anew to make heavy drafts upon their patience. the mexicans kept quiet a long time. finally a shot fired from some high point grazed ned's cap, and flattened against the rock behind him. the boy involuntarily ducked against the earth. obed also lay lower. "some mexican must have climbed a tree," said the maine man. "he's where he can look over our fortifications and that gives him an advantage. it also gives him a disadvantage because it will be harder for him to come down out of that tree unaided than it was for him to go up in it. we'll stick as close as we can under the log, until he sends in the second shot." they waited about ten minutes until the mexican fired again. he was in the boughs of a great oak about fifty yards away, and following the flash of his weapon they saw his chest and shoulders as he leaned forward to take aim and pull the trigger. obed fired and the soldier dropped to the ground. there was a noise in the underbrush, as if his comrades were dragging him away and then the great silence came again. as obed reloaded he said grimly: "i think we're done with the tree-climbers. evil to him who evil does. they're cured of that habit." it was now mid-afternoon and the sun was blazing down over the cliffs and forest. it grew very hot in the alcove. no breath of wind reached them there, and they began to pant for air. "i hope night will come soon," said ned. "it will be here before long," said obed, "but something else will arrive first." "what is that?" "look, there to the right over the trees. see the dark spot in the sky. ned, my boy, a storm is coming and it is for you and me to say 'let it come.'" "what will it do for us?" "break up the siege, or at least i think so. unless it drives directly in our faces we will be sheltered out here, but the mexicans will have no such protection. and, ned, if you will listen to one who knows, you will understand that storms down here can be terrific." "then the more terrific it is the better for us." "just so. see, ned, how that black spot grows! it is a cloud of quite respectable size. before long it will cover all the skies, and you notice too that there is absolutely no wind." "it is so. the stillness is so great that i feel it. it oppresses me. it is hard for me to draw my breath." "exactly. i feel just the same way. the storm is coming fast and it is going to be a big one. the sun is entirely hidden already, and the air is growing dark. we'll crouch against the wall, ned, and keep our rifles, powder and ourselves as dry as possible. there goes the thunder, growling away, and here's the lightning! whew, but that made me jump!" an intense flash of lightning burned across the sky, and showed the forest and hills for one blazing moment. then the darkness closed in, thick and black. the two, wrapped closely in their serapes, crouched against the stone wall and watched the storm gather in its full majesty and terror. chapter xi the long chase ned, despite his brave heart and strong will, felt a deep awe. storms on the great uplands of north america often present aspects which are sublime and menacing to the last degree. the thunder which had been growling before now crashed continually like batteries of great guns, and the lightning flashed so fast that there was a rapid alternation of dazzling glare and impervious blackness. once, the lightning struck in the forest near them with a terrible, rending crash, and trees went down. far down in the gorges they heard the fierce howl of the wind. ned shrank closer and closer against the rocky wall, and, now and then, he veiled his eyes with one hand. if one were to judge by eye and ear alone it would seem that the world was coming to an end. cast away in the wilderness, he was truly thankful for the human companionship of the man, obed white, and it is likely that the man, obed white, was just as thankful for the companionship of the boy, edward fulton. all thought of another attack by the mexicans passed for the present. they knew that the besiegers themselves would be awed, and would flee for refuge, particularly from the trees falling before the strokes of lightning. it was at least two miles to any such point of safety, and ned and obed saw a coming opportunity. both lightning and thunder ceased so abruptly that it was uncanny. the sudden stillness was heavy and oppressive, and after the continued flare of the lightning, the darkness was so nearly impenetrable that they could not see ten yards in front of them. then the rain came in a tremendous cataract, but it came from the south, while they faced the north. hence it drove over and past their alcove and they remained dry. but it poured so hard and with such a sweep and roar that obed was forced to shout when he said to ned: "i've never been to niagara and of course i've never been behind the falls there but this must be like it. the luck has certainly turned in our favor, ned. the mexicans could never stand it out there without shelter." "i don't see how it can last long," shouted ned in reply. "it can't. it's too violent. but it's the way down here, rushing from one extreme to another. as soon as it begins to ease up, we'll move." the darkness presently began to thin rapidly, and the heavy drumming of the rain on the rocks and forest turned to a patter. "i think it's a good time to go, ned," said obed. "in fifteen minutes it will stop raining entirely and the mexicans, if they are not drowned, may come back for us. we can't keep ourselves dry, but we'll protect our rifles and ammunition. we've got a good chance to escape now, especially since night will soon be here." they left the overhanging cliff which had guarded them so well in more ways than one, and entered the forest, veering off to the left, and picking their way carefully through the underbrush. ned suddenly sprang aside, shuddering. a mexican, slain in the battle, lay upon his side. but obed was practical. "i know it's unpleasant to touch him," he said, "but he may have what we need. ah, here is a pistol and bullets for it, and a flask of powder which his own body has helped to keep dry. it's likely that we'll have use for these before we get through, and so i'll take 'em." he quickly secured the pistol and ammunition, and they went on, traveling rapidly westward. the rain ceased entirely in twenty minutes, and all the clouds passed away, but night came in their place, covering their flight with its friendly mantle. they were wet to the waist and the water dripped from the trees upon them, but these things did not trouble them. they felt all the joy of escape. ned knew that neither of them, if taken, could expect much mercy from the brutal cos. they came after a while to a gorge, through which a torrent rushed, cutting off their way. it was midnight now. they saw that the stream was very muddy and that it bore on its current much débris. "we'll just sit down here and rest," said obed. "this is nothing more than a brook raised to a river by the storm, and, in another hour or two, it will be a brook again. rise fast, fall fast holds true." they sat on a log near the stream and watched it go down. as their muscles relaxed they began to feel cold, and had it not been for the serapes they would have been chilled. in two hours the muddy little river was a muddy little brook and they walked across. all the while now, a warm, drying wind was blowing, but they kept on for some time longer in order that the vigorous circulation of the blood might warm their bodies. then, seeking the best place they could find, they lay down among the bushes, despite the damp, and slept. ned was the first to awake the next day, and he saw, by a high sun, that they were on a slope, leading to a pretty valley well grown in grass. he took a few steps and also stretched both arms. he found that his muscles were neither stiff nor sore and his delight was great. obed still slumbered peacefully, his head upon his arm. ned walked a little further down the slope. then he jumped back and hid behind a bush. he had caught a glimpse of a horse saddled and bridled in the mexican manner, and it was his first thought that a detachment from the army of cos was riding straight toward them. but as he stood behind the bush, heart beating, eyes gazing through the leaves, he saw that it was only a single horse. nor was it coming toward him. it seemed to be moving about slowly in a circle of very limited area. then, leaving the bush, he saw that the horse was riderless. he watched a long time to see if the owner would appear, and as none came he went back and awakened obed white. "what! what!" said obed, opening his eyes slowly and yawning mightily. "has the day come? verily, it is a long night that has no ending. and so you have seen a horse, ned, a horse saddled and bridled and with no owner! it can't be the one that king richard offered his kingdom for, and since it isn't we'll just see why this caparisoned animal is there grazing in our valley." the two went down the slope. the horse was still there, grazing in his grassy circle, and as the two approached he drew away a little but did not seem to be frightened. then ned understood, or at least his belief was so strong that it amounted to conviction. "it's the horse of the soldier whom you shot yesterday," he said. "you remember that he galloped away among the bushes. no doubt, too, he was driven a long distance by the storm. he can't be accounted for in any other manner." "there are some guesses so good that you know at once they're right," said obed, "and yours is one of them, ned. now that is a valuable horse. one of the most valuable that ever grazed in a valley of mexico or any other valley. he's so precious because we want him, and we want him so bad that he's worth a million dollars to us." "that one of us may ride him to texas." "yes, and we may be able to secure another. you stay here, ned, and let me catch him. horses like me better than some men do." ned sat down and obed advanced warily, holding out his hand and whistling gently. it was a most persuasive whistle, soft and thrilling and the horse raised his head, looked contemplatively out of large lustrous eyes at the whistler. obed advanced, still whistling, in the most wonderful, enticing manner. ned felt that if he were a horse he could not resist it, that he would go to the whistler, expecting to receive oats, corn, and everything else that a healthy horse loves. it seemed to have some such effect upon the quarry that obed coveted, because the horse, after withdrawing a step, advanced toward the man. obed stopped, but continued to whistle, pouring forth the most beautiful and winning trills and quavers. the horse came and obed, reaching out, seized the bridle which hung loose. he stroked the horse's head and the animal rubbed his nose against his shoulder. the conquest was complete. bridle in hand, obed led the way and ned met him. "i think our good horse here was lonesome," said obed, "horses that are used to human beings miss 'em for a while when they lose 'em, and we're not enslaving our friend by taking him. here's a lariat coiled at the saddle bow; we'll just tether him by that, and let him go on with his grazing, while we get our breakfast. you will notice, too, ned, that we've taken more than a horse. see this pair of holster pistols swung across the saddle and ammunition to fit. the enemy is still supplying us with our needs, ned." as they ate breakfast they resolved to secure another horse. obed was of the opinion that the army of cos was not far away, and he believed that he could steal one. at least, he was willing to try on the following night, and, if he succeeded, their problem would be simplified greatly. they remained nearly all the morning in the little valley and devoted a large part of the time to developing their acquaintance with the horse, which was a fine animal, amenable to good treatment, and ready to follow his new masters. "he looks like an american horse," said obed, with satisfaction, "and maybe he is one, stolen from the texans. he'll carry one of us over many miles of sand and cactus, and he'll be none the worse for it. but he needs a friend. horse was not made to live alone. it's my sympathy for him as much as the desire for another mount that drives me to the theft we contemplate." ned laughed and lolled on the grass which was now dry. "yon stay here with bucephalus or rosinante or whatever you choose to call him," continued obed, "and i think i'll cross the hills, and see if cos is near. if we're going to capture a horse, we must first know where the horse is to be found." "suppose i go along, too." "no, it would be easier for the mexicans to see two than one, and we shouldn't take unnecessary risks. be sure you stay in the valley, ned, because i want to know where to find you when i come back. i've an idea that the mexican army isn't far, as we wound around a good deal during the storm and darkness, and covered no great distance, if it were counted in a straight line. at least i think so." "you'll find me here." obed went toward the east, and ned continued to make himself comfortable on the grass, which was so long and thick that it almost hid his body. but it was truly luxurious. it seemed that after so much hardship and danger he could not get enough rest. he felt quite safe, too. it would take a careful observer to see him lying there in the deep grass. it was warm and dry where he lay, and the little valley was well hemmed in by forest in which crotons, mimosas, myrtle oaks, okote pine and many other trees grew. some had large rich blossoms and he admired their beauty. his eyes wandered back from the forest to their new friend, the horse. besides being an animal of utility the horse added to their comradeship. ned felt that he still had a friend with him, although obed was away. obed had spoken truly. it was a fine horse, a bay, tall, strong and young, grazing with dignified content, at the end of a lariat about forty feet in length. ned watched the horse idly, and soon he saw him raise his head, stand perfectly still for a moment or two, and then sniff the wind. the next instant an extraordinary manifestation came from him. he whirled about and galloped so fast to the end of his tether that he was thrown down by the sharp jerk. he regained his feet and stood there, trembling all over. his great eyes were distended. ned had never before seen such a picture of terror. the boy raised himself a little in the grass, but not so high that he would be seen by an enemy. it was his first idea that mexicans had come, but the horse would not show such fright at the presence of human beings. he looked in the direction opposite to the spot on which the horse was standing. at first he saw nothing, but with intent looking he detected a great body crouched in the grass and stealing forward slowly. it was their old enemy, the jaguar, not a black one but tawny in color. ned's rage rose. first a jaguar had attacked him, and now another was stalking their horse. he felt pity for the poor animal which was tied, and which could not escape. now man who had tied him must save him. ned knew that if he cut the lariat the horse in its terror might run away and never be retaken. a shot might be heard by the mexicans, but he believed that the probabilities were against it, and he decided to use the rifle. he raised himself just a little more, careful to make no noise, and watched the jaguar stealing through the tall grass, so intent on the horse that it failed to notice the most dangerous of all enemies who lay near. but ned waited until the flank of the animal was well presented, and, taking a sure aim, fired. the jaguar shot up into the air, as if an electric spring had been released, then came down with a thump and was dead. the horse neighed in terror at sight of his leaping foe and trembled more violently than ever. ned went to him first, and tried to soothe him which was a long and difficult task. at last, he untethered the horse and led him to the far end of the valley, where he tethered him again at least two hundred yards from the dead body of the jaguar. returning he looked at the fallen animal, and marked with pleasure the correctness of his aim. he had shot the jaguar squarely through the heart. then he went back to his place in the grass, but he did not doze or dream. the mexicans might come, drawn by his shot, and even if they did not, a member of the unpleasant jaguar tribe might take a notion to stalk the only available human being in that grassy little valley. but no mexicans appeared, nor did he observe any other jaguar. when the sun set, he began to feel a little uneasy about obed. his uneasiness increased with the darkness, but he was finally reassured by a whistle from the head of the valley. then he saw obed's tall figure striding down the slope in the dusk, and he went forward to meet him. "i suppose you've spent the afternoon sleeping," said obed. "i might have done so, but we had a visitor." "a visitor? what kind of a visitor?" "a jaguar. he wanted to eat our horse and as the horse could not get away, being tethered strongly, i had to shoot his jaguarship." he showed obed the body, and his comrade approved highly of the shot. "and now for the history of my own life and adventures during the afternoon," said obed. "the country to the eastward is not rough, and i made good time through it. sure enough the army of cos is there, about five miles away, camped in a plain. it was beaten about a good deal by the storm, and it keeps poor guard, because it is in its own country far from any expected foe, and because the mexicans are mexicans. i think, ned, that we can lift a horse without great trouble or excessive danger. we'll go over there about midnight." "and we'd better take our present horse with us," said ned, "or other jaguars may come." they remained in their own valley until the appointed time, and then set out on a fairly dark night, each taking his turn at riding the horse. they halted at the crest of a low hill, from which they saw the flash of camp fires. "that's cos and his army," said obed. "they're down there, sprawled all about the valley, and i imagine that by this time they're all asleep, including a majority of the sentinels, and that's our opportunity." they tethered their own horse and crept down the slope. soon they came to the edge of the woods and saw the camp fires more plainly. all had burned low, but they made out the shapes of tents, and, nearer by, a dark mass which they concluded to be the horses belonging to the lancers and other cavalry. they approached within a hundred yards, and saw no sentinels by the horses, although they were able to discern several moving figures farther on. "now, ned," said obed, "you stay here and i'll try to cut out a horse, the very best that i can find. sit down on the ground, and have your rifle ready. if i'm discovered and have to run for it you shoot the first of my pursuers." ned obeyed and obed stole down toward the horses. ned knew his comrade's skill, and he believed he would employ the soft whistle that had been so effective with the first horse. he watched the dark figure stealing forward, and he admired obed's skill. it would be almost impossible for anyone to notice so faint a shadow in the darkness. nevertheless, his heart beat heavily. despite all that obed had said it was a dangerous task, requiring both skill and luck. the faint shadow reached the black blur of the horses and disappeared. ned waited five minutes, ten, fifteen minutes, while the little pulses beat hard in his temples. then he saw a shadow detach itself from the black blur. it was the figure of a man and he was on horseback. obed had succeeded. ned remained kneeling, rifle in hand, to guard against any mistake. the man on horseback rode toward him, while the sprawling army of cos still slept. then ned saw clearly that it was obed, and that he rode a magnificent black horse, sixteen hands high, as fiery as any that could be found in all mexico. in another moment obed was by his side, looking down from the height of his horse. in the moonlight ned saw that his face was glowing. "isn't he a beauty?" he said. "and i think, too, that he likes me. there were three or four sentinels down there by the horses, but all of them were fast asleep, and i had time to pick. i've also brought away a roll of blankets, two for each of us, and i never woke a man. now, ned, we're furnished complete, and we're off to texas with your message." "the first thing, i suppose, is to introduce our horses to each other." "correct. you and i are friends, ned, and so must our horses be." they took a last look at the sleeping camp and went away through the woods. obed dismounted, and led his horse to the place where the second was tied. the two horses whinnied and rubbed noses. "it's all right," said obed. "when horse and man agree who can stop us?" ned mounted the first, the bay, while obed retained the black. then they rode all through the night, coming about dawn to a plain which turned to sand and cactus, as they advanced further into the north. there was no water here, but they had rilled their water bottles at the last brook and they had no fear of perishing by thirst. although they had passed the army of cos they did not fail to keep a vigilant watch. they knew that patrols of mexicans would be in the north, and the red men were also to be feared. they were coming into regions across which mounted indians often passed, doing destruction with rifle and lance, spear and arrow. both had more apprehension now about indians than mexicans. at noon of that day they saw four horsemen on their left who shaped their course toward theirs in such a manner that if they moved at an equal pace they would meet at the point of a triangle. but the horses that ned and obed rode were powerful animals, far superior to the ordinary mexican mounts, and they rode steadily ahead, apparently taking no notice of the four on their flank. "they're mexican scouts," said obed, "i'm sure of it, but i don't believe that they'll come too close. they see that we have rifles, and they know the deadly nature of the texan rifle. if we are friends it's all right, if we are texans it will be wise to keep at a good distance." obed was a good prophet. the mexicans, at a distance of almost a quarter of a mile, raised a great shout. the two took no notice of it, but rode on, their faces toward the north. "i can talk good spanish or mexican," said obed, "and so can you, but i'm out riding now and i don't feel like stopping for conversation. ah, there they are shouting again, and as i live, ned, they're increasing their speed. we'll give 'em a sign." obed and ned wheeled about and raised their rifles. the four mexicans, who were galloping their ponies, stopped abruptly. obed and ned turned and rode on. "we gave 'em a sign," said obed, "and they saw it. we're in no danger, ned. we could beat 'em either in a fight or a run. the battle is sometimes to the strong and the race to the swift." it was obvious that the mexicans, who were probably only scouts, did not want a fight with formidable texans who carried such long rifles. they dropped back until ned, taking a final look, could not tell their distant figures from the stem of the lonesome cactus. "horses and rifles are mighty useful in their place," said obed. "add to them wood and water and what little more a man needs he should be able to find." "it's wood and water that we ought to hunt now." "we may strike both before night, but if not we'll ride on a while anyhow, and maybe we'll find 'em." they went deeper into the great upland which was half a desert and half a plain. occasionally they saw besides the cactus, mesquite and yucca and some clumps of coarse grass. "bunch grass," said obed, "like that which you find further north, and mighty good it is, too, for cattle and horses. we'll have plenty of food for these two noble steeds of ours, and i shouldn't be surprised, too, if we ran across big game. it's always where the bunch grass grows." they did not reach wood and water by nightfall, but, riding two hours longer in a clear twilight, they found both. the plain rose and fell in deep swells, and in the deepest of the swells to which they had yet to come they found a trickling stream of clear water, free from alkali, fringed on either shore with trees of moderate size. "here we are," said obed, "and here we stay till morning. you never know how fine water looks until you've been a long time without it." they let their horses drink first, and then, going further up the stream, drank freely of the water themselves. they found it cold and good, and they were refreshed greatly. there was also a belt of excellent grass, extending a hundred yards back on either side of the stream, and, unsaddling and tethering their horses, they let them graze. both ned and obed would have liked a fire, but they deemed it dangerous, and they ate their food cold. after supper, obed walked up the stream a little distance, examining the ground on either side of the water. when he came back he said to ned: "i saw animal tracks two or three hundred yards up the creek, and they were made by big animals. buffalo range about here somewhere, and we may see 'em before we get through." "i wouldn't mind having a shot at a fine buffalo," said ned. but he was not very eager about it. he was thinking more then of sleep. obed, while thinking of sleep also, was thinking of other things, too, and he was somewhat troubled in his mind. but he bore himself as a man of cheerful countenance. "now, ned," he said, "you and i cannot go forever without sleep. we've been through a good deal and we haven't closed our eyes for thirty-six hours. i feel as if i had pound weights tied to my eyelids." "two-pound weights are tied to mine." "then we'll prove the value of my foresight in obtaining the two sets of blankets by using them at once." each lay down between his blankets, and ned was soon asleep, but obed, by a violent effort, kept his eyes open. he could never remember a time when it seemed sweeter to sleep, but he struggled continually against it. when he saw that ned's slumber was deep he rose and walked up and down the stream again, going a half mile in either direction. at one point where there was a break in the fringe of trees the imprints of the mighty hoofs were numerous, and, mingled with them, were tracks made by horses' hoofs. it was these that worried obed so much. they were made by unshod hoofs, but evidently they were two or three days old, and, after all, the riders might have passed on, not to return. smothering his anxiety as much as possible he went back to their little camp, crept between his two blankets which felt very warm, and began to watch with his eyes and ears, vowing to himself that he would not sleep. yet within two hours he slept. exhausted nature triumphed over will and claimed her own. he was not conscious of any struggle. he was awake and then he was not. the two tethered horses, having eaten all they wanted, also settled themselves comfortably and slept. but while the two, or rather the four slept, something was moving far out on the plain. it was an immense black mass with a front of more than a mile, and it was coming toward ned and obed. this mass had been disturbed by a great danger and it advanced with mighty heavings and tramplings. ned and obed slept calmly for a long time, but as the black front of the moving mass drew closer to the creek and its thin lines of trees, the boy stirred in his blankets. a vague dream came and then a state that was half an awakening. he was conscious in a dim way of a low, thundering sound that approached and he sprang to his feet. the next instant a neigh of terror came from one of the horses and obed, too, awoke. "listen!" exclaimed ned. "hear that roar! and it's drawing near, too!" "yes, it's a buffalo herd!" said obed. "we're far enough north now to be within the buffalo ranges, and they're coming down on us fast. but they must be scared or be drawn on by something, because it's not yet dawn." "all of which means that it's time for us to go." "or be trodden to death." naturally, they had slept in their clothes and they quickly gathered up their arms and baggage. then they released their frightened horses, sprang upon their backs and galloped toward the north. they felt secure now, so far as the herd was concerned. their horses could easily take them out of its reach. "maybe they'll stop at the creek," said ned. "i should think that the water would hold anything in this thirsty land." obed shook his head, but offered no further answer. the thunder of the hoofs now filled their ears, and, as the sound advanced steadily, it was evident that the creek had not stopped the buffalo herd. the dawn suddenly came up sharp and clear after the manner of southern lands. the heavens turned blue, and a rosy light suffused the prairie. then ned saw the front of the buffalo herd extending two or three miles to right and to left. and he saw more. he saw the cause of the terror that had smitten the herd. brown men, almost naked and on horseback, darted in and out among the buffaloes, shooting and stabbing. they were muscular men, fierce of countenance, and their long black hair streamed out behind them. some carried rifles and muskets, and others carried lances and bows and arrows. "lipans," said obed, "one of the fiercest of all the southwestern tribes. they belong mostly across the rio grande, but i suppose they've come for the buffalo. ned, we're not wanted here." after the single look they were away toward the north, moving at a smooth and easy gallop. they were truly thankful now that the horses they rode were so large and powerful, evidently of american breed. it was not difficult to increase the distance between them and the herd, and they hoped to slip away before they were seen by any of the lipans. but a sudden shout behind them, a long, piercing whoop showed that they had reckoned wrong. the two looked back. a group of warriors had gathered in advance of the band, and it was obvious, as they galloped on, that they had seen the two fugitives. two or three shook their long lances, and pointed them straight at ned and obed. then uttering that long, menacing whoop again, the group, about twenty in number, rode straight for the two, while the rest continued their work with the herd. "it's a chase," said obed. "those fellows want scalps and they don't care whether we're texans or mexicans. besides, they may have better horses than the mexican ponies. but it's a long chase that has no turning, and if our horses don't stumble we'll beat them. look out for potholes and such places." they rode knee to knee, not yet putting the horses to their full speed, but covering the ground, nevertheless, at a great rate. it seemed play for their fine horses, which arched their necks and sped on, not a drop of perspiration yet staining their glossy skins. ned felt the thrill, as the ground spun back under his horse's feet, and the air rushed past his face. it did not occur to him that the lipans could overtake them, and their pursuit merely added a fresh spice to a magnificent ride. he took another look back. the lipans, although they had lost ground, were still following. they came in a close group, carrying, besides their arms, shields, made of layers of buffalo hide. several wore magnificent war bonnets. otherwise all were naked save for the breech-cloth, and their brown bodies were glistening with war paint. behind them, yet came the black front of the buffalo herd, but it was a full mile away. obed looked also, and his heart smote him. older and more experienced than ned, he knew that with the fierce lipans the most powerful of all lures was the lure of scalps. just as the wolf can trail down the moose at last, they could follow for days on their tough mustangs. but as he shifted his good rifle a bit he felt better. both he and ned were splendid marksmen, and if the chase were a success for the lipans there would also be a bitter fight at the end of it. now he and ned ceased to talk, the sun blazed down on the plain, and on sped the chase, hour after hour. chapter xii the trial of patience the hours of the afternoon trailed slowly away, one by one. perspiration appeared at last upon the glossy skins of the horses, but their stride did not abate. the powerful muscles still worked with their full strength and ease. ned never felt a tremor in the splendid horse beneath him. but when he looked back again there were the lipans, a little further away, but hanging on as grimly as before, still riding in a close group. ned began to understand now the deadly nature of the pursuit. these lipans would follow not merely for hours, but into the night, and if he and obed were lost to sight in the darkness they would pick up the trail the next day by the hoof prints on the plain. he felt with absolute certainty that chance had brought upon them one of the deadliest dangers they had yet encountered. "it's growing a little cooler, obed," he said. "so it is. the evening wanes. but, ned, do you see any sign of forest or high hills ahead?" "i do not, obed. there is nothing but the plain which waves like the ripples on a lake, the bunches of buffalo grass here and there, and now and then an ugly yucca." "you see just what i see, ned, and as there is no promise of shelter we'd better ease our horses a little. our lives depend upon them, and even if the lipans do regain some of their lost ground now it will not matter in the end." they let the horses drop into a walk, and finally, to put elasticity back into their own stiffened limbs, they dismounted and walked awhile. "if the lipans don't rest their horses now they will have to do it later," said obed, "but as they're mighty crafty they'll probably slow down when we do. do you see them now, ned?" "yes, there they are on the crest of a swell. they don't seem to gain on us much. i should say they are a full mile away." "a mile and a half at least. the air of these great uplands is very deceptive, and things look much nearer than they really are." "look how gigantic they have grown! they stand squarely in the center of the sun now." the sun was low and the lipans coming out of the southwest were silhouetted so perfectly against it that they seemed black and monstrous, like some product of the primitive world. the fugitives felt a chill of awe, but in a moment or two they threw it off, only to have its place taken a little later by the real chill of the coming night. a wind began to moan over the desolate plain, and their faces were stung now and then by the fine grains of sand blown against them. but as the lipans were gaining but little, ned and obed still walked their horses. they went on thus nearly an hour. the night came, but it was not dark, and they could yet see the lipans following as certain as death. before them the plain still rolled away, bare and brown. there was not a sign of cover. ned's spirits began to sink. the silent and tenacious pursuit weighed upon him. it was time to rest and sleep. the lipans had been pursuing for seven or eight hours now, and if they could not catch fugitives in that time they ought to turn back. nevertheless, there they were, still visible in the moonlight and still coming. ned and obed remounted and rode at a running walk, which was easy but which nevertheless took them on rapidly. but it became evident that the lipans had increased their pace in the same ratio, as the distance of a mile and a half named by obed did not decrease. ned looked up longingly at the sky. there was not a cloud. the moon, round and full, never shone more brightly, and it seemed that countless new stars had arrived that very night. he sighed. they might as well have been riding in broad daylight. toward midnight the swells and dips of the plain became accentuated, and they lost sight of the pursuing lipans. but there was yet no forest to hide them, only the miserable mesquite and the ragged yucca. save for them the plain stretched away as bare and brown as ever. two hours more with the lipans still lost to view, obed called a halt. "the lipans will pick up our trail in the morning," he said. "though lost to sight we are to their memory dear, and they will hang on. but our horses are faster than theirs, and as they cannot come near us on this bare plain, without being seen we can get away. whereas, i say, and hence and therefore we might as well rest and let our good steeds rest, too." "what time would you say it is?" "about two o' the morning by the watch that i haven't got, and it will be four or five hours until day. ned, if i were you i'd lie down between blankets. you can relax more comfortably and rest better that way." ned did not wish to do it, but obed insisted so strongly, and was so persuasive that he acceded at last. they had chosen a place on a swell where they could see anything that approached a quarter of a mile away, and obed stood near the recumbent boy, holding the bridles of the two horses in one hand and his rifle in the other. the man's eyes continually traveled around the circle of the horizon, but now and then he glanced at the boy. ned, brave, enduring and complaining so little, had taken a great hold upon his affection. they were comrades, tried by many dangers, and no danger yet to come could induce him to desert the boy. the moon and stars were still very bright, and obed, as his eyes traveled the circle of the horizon, saw no sign of the indian approach. but that the lipans would come with the dawn, or some time afterward, he did not have the slightest doubt. he glanced once more at ned and then he smiled. the boy, while never meaning it, was sleeping soundly, and obed was very glad. this was what he intended, relying upon ned's utter exhaustion of body and mind. all through the remaining hours of the night the man, with the bridles of the two horses in one hand and the rifle in the other, kept watch. now and then he walked in a circle around and around the sleeping boy, and once or twice he smiled to himself. he knew that ned when he awoke would be indignant because obed let him sleep, but the man felt quite able to stand such reproaches. obed, staunch as he was, felt the weirdness and appalling loneliness of time and place. a wolf howled far out on the plain, and the answering howl of a wolf came back from another point. he shivered a little, but he continued his steady tread around and around the circle. dawn shot up, gilding the bare brown plain with silver splendor for a little while. obed awoke ned, and laughed at the boy's protests. "you feel stronger and fresher, ned," he said, "and nothing has been lost." "what of you?" "i? oh, i'll get my chance later. all things come to him who works while he waits. meanwhile, i think we'd better take a drink out of our water bottles, eat a quick breakfast and be off before we have visitors." once more in the saddle, they rode on over a plain unchanged in character, still the same swells and dips, still the same lonesome yuccas and mesquite, with the occasional clumps of bunch grass. "don't you think we have shaken them off?" asked ned. "no," replied obed. "they would scatter toward dawn and the one who picked up the trail would call the others with a whoop or a rifle shot." "well, they've been called," said ned, who was looking back. "see, there, on the highest ridge." a faint, dark blur had appeared on a crest three or four miles behind them, one that would have been wholly invisible had not the air been so clear and translucent. it was impossible at the distance to distinguish shapes or detach anything from the general mass, but they knew very well that it was the lipans. each felt a little chill at this pursuit so tenacious and so menacing. "i wish that we had some sort of a place like that in which we faced the mexicans, where we could put our backs to the wall and fight!" exclaimed ned. "i know how you feel," said obed, "because i feel the same way myself, but there isn't any such place, ned, and this plain doesn't ever give any sign of producing one, so we'll just ride on. we'll trust to time and chance. something may happen in our favor." they strengthened their hearts, whistled to their horses and rode ahead. as on the day before the interminable pursuit went on hour after hour. it was another hot day, and their water bottles were almost emptied. the horses had had nothing to drink since the day before and the two fugitives began to feel for them, but about noon they came to a little pool, lying in a dip or hollow between the swells. it was perhaps fifty feet either way, less than a foot deep and the water was yellowish in color, but it contained no alkali nor any other bitter infusion. moreover, grass grew around its edges and some wild ducks swam on its surface. it would have been a good place for a camp and they would have stayed there gladly had it not been for that threat which always hung on the southern horizon. the water was warm, but the horses drank deeply, and ned and obed refilled their bottles. the stop enabled the pursuing lipans to come within a mile of them, but, moving away at an increased pace, they began to lengthen the gap. "the lipans will stop and water their ponies and themselves just as we have done," said obed. "everything that we have to endure they have to endure, too. it's a poor rule that doesn't work for one side as well as the other." "it would all look like play," said ned, "if we didn't know that it was so much in earnest. just as you said, obed, they're stopping to drink at the pond." a shadow seemed to pass between himself and the blazing glare of the sun. he looked up. it was a shadow thrown by a great bird, with black wings, flying low. others of the same kind circled higher. ned saw with a shiver that they were vultures. obed saw them, too, and he also saw ned's face pale a little. "you take it as an omen," he said, "and maybe it is, but it's a poor omen that won't work both ways. they're flying back now towards the indians, so i guess the lipans had better look out." nevertheless, both were depressed by the appearance of the vultures and the heat that afternoon grew more intense than ever. the horses, at last, began to show signs of weariness, but ned reflected that for every mile they traveled the lipans must travel one also, and he recalled the words of obed that chance might come to their aid. another night followed, clear and bright, with the great stars dancing in the southern skies, and ned and obed rode long after nightfall. again the lipans sank from sight, and, as before, the two stopped on one of the swells. "now, obed," said ned, "it is your time to sleep and mine to watch. i submitted last night and you must submit to-night. you know that you can't go on forever without sleep." "your argument is good," said obed, "and i yield. it isn't worth while for me to tell you to watch well, because i know you'll do it." he stretched himself out, folded between his blankets, and was soon asleep. the horses tethered to a lonesome yucca found a few blades of grass on the swell, which they cropped luxuriously. then they lay down. ned walked about for a long time rifle on shoulder. it turned colder and he wrapped his serape around his shoulders and chest. finally he grew tired of walking, and sat down on the ground, holding his rifle across his lap. he sat on the highest point of the swell, and, despite the night, he could see a considerable distance. his sight and hearing alike were acute, but neither brought him any alarm. he tried to reconstruct in his mind the lipan mode of procedure. with the coming of the night and the disappearance of the fugitives from their sight they would spread out in a long line, in order that they might not pass the two without knowing it, and advance until midnight, perhaps. then they, too, would rest, and pick up the trail again in the morning. ned did not know that time could be so long. he had not been watching more than three or four hours, and yet it seemed like as many days. but it was not long until dawn, and then it would be time for them to be up and away again. the horses reposed by the yucca, and, down the far side of the swell, close to the bottom of the dip, was another yucca. ned's glance wandered toward the second yucca, and suddenly his heart thumped. there was a shadow within the shadow of the yucca. then he believed that it must be imagination, but nevertheless he rose to his feet and cocked his rifle. the shadow blended with the shadow of the yucca just behind its stern, but ned, watching closely, saw in the next instant the two shadows detach and separate. the one that moved was that of a lipan warrior, naked save for the breech-cloth and horrible with war paint. ned instantly raised his rifle and fired. the lipan uttered a cry and fell, then sprang to his feet, and ran away down the dip. in answer to the shot came the fierce note of the war whoop. "up, obed, up!" cried ned. "the lipans are coming down upon us. i just shot at one of them in the bush!" but obed was up already, running toward the alarmed horses, his blankets under one arm and his rifle under the other. ned followed, and, in an instant, they were on their horses with their arms and stores. from the next swell behind them came a patter of shots, and, for the second time, the war cry. but the two were now galloping northward at full speed. "good work, ned, my lad," cried obed. "i didn't have time to see what you shot, but i heard the yell and i knew it must have been a lipan." "he was stalking us, a scout, i suppose, and i just got a glimpse of him behind a yucca. i hit him." "good eyes and good hand. you saved us. they must have struck our trail in some manner during the night and then they thought they had us. ah, they still think they have us!" the last remark was drawn by a shout and another spatter of shots. two or three bullets struck alarmingly close, and they increased the speed of their horses, while the lipans urged their ponies to their best. "they're too eager," said obed. "it's time to give them a hint that their company is not wanted." he wheeled and executed with success that most difficult of feats, a running shot. a lipan fell from his horse, and the others drew back a little for fear of ned, the second marksman. "they've taken the hint," said obed grimly, as he accomplished a second difficult feat, that of reloading his rifle while they were at full gallop. the lipans did not utter another war cry, but settled down into a steady pursuit. "i think i'll try a shot, obed," said ned. "all right," said obed, "but be sure that you hit something. never waste a good bullet on empty air." ned fired. he missed the lipan at whom he aimed, but he killed the pony the warrior was riding. the indian leaped on the pony that had been ridden by the warrior slain by obed and continued in the group of pursuers. ned looked somewhat chagrined, and obed noticed it. "you did very well, ned," he said. "of course, no one likes to kill a horse, but it's the horses that bring on the lipans, and the fewer horses they have the better for us." ned also reloaded as they galloped and then said: "don't you think they're dropping back a little?" "yes, they want to keep out of range. they know that our rifles carry farther than theirs, and they will not take any more risk until they finally corner us, of which they feel sure." "but of which we are not so sure." "no, and we are going to be hidden from them, for a while, by something. you haven't noticed, ned, that the country is rapidly growing much worse, and that we are now in what is practically a sandy desert. you don't see even a yucca, but you do see something whirling there in the southwest. that's a 'dust devil,' and there's a half dozen more whirling in our direction. we're going to have a sand storm." ned looked with interest. the "dust devils," rising up like water spouts, danced over the surface of the sand. they were a half dozen, then a dozen, then twenty. a sharp wind struck the faces of the two fugitives, and it had an edge of fine sand that stung. all the "dust devils" were merged and the air darkened rapidly. the cloud of dust about them thickened. they drew their sombreros far down over their eyes, and rode very close together. they could not see twenty yards away, and if they became separated in the dust storm it was not likely that they would ever see each other again. but they urged their horses on at a good rate, trusting to the instinct of the animals to take them over a safe course. ned had not only pulled the brim of his sombrero down over his eyes, but he reinforced it with one hand to keep from being blinded, for the time, by the sand, but it was hard work. as a final resort he let the lids remain open only enough for him to see his comrade who was but three feet away. meanwhile, he felt the sand going down his collar, and entering every opening of his clothing, scratching and stinging his skin. the wind all the time was roaring in his ears, and now and then the horses neighed in alarm. but they kept onward. ned knew that they were passing dips and swells, but he knew nothing else. the storm blew itself out in about three hours. ned and obed emerged from an obscurity as great as that of night. the wind ceased shrieking and was succeeded by a stillness that was almost deathly in comparison. the sun came out suddenly, and shone brightly over the dips and swells. but ned and obed looked at each other and laughed. both were so thickly plastered with sand and dust that they had little human semblance. ned shook himself, and a cloud of dust flew from him, but so much remained that he could not tell the difference. "i think we'd better take a drink out of our water bottles," said obed. "i'd like mighty well to have a bath, too, but i don't see a bath tub convenient. is there any sign of our friends, the enemy, ned?" "none," replied ned, examining the horizon line. "there is absolutely nothing within view on the plains." "don't you fret about 'em. they'll come. they'll spread out and pick up our trail just as they do every morning." obed spoke dispassionately, as if he and ned were not concerned in it. his predictions were justified. before night they saw the lipans coming as usual in a close group, now at a distance of about three miles. ned could not keep from shuddering. they were as implacable as fate. night, the storm and bullets did not stop them. they could not shake them off in the immense spaces of plain and desert. a kind of horror seized him. such tenacity must triumph. was it possible that obed and he would fall victims after all? at least it seemed sure that in the end they would be overtaken, and ned began to count the odds in a fight. anything seemed better than this interminable flight. they were cheered a little by the aspect of the country, which began to change considerably for the better. the cactus reappeared and then a few trees, lonesome and ragged, but trees, nevertheless. it is wonderful how much humanity a tree has in a sad and sandy land. the soil grew much firmer and soon they saw clumps of buffalo grass. several small groups of buffalo were also visible. "there's better country ahead, as you see," said obed. "besides, i've been along this way before. we'll strike water by dark." they reached a tiny brook just as the twilight came, at which both they and their horses drank. they also took the time to wash their hands and faces, but they dared not delay any longer for fear of being overtaken by the lipans. the night and the following day passed in the same manner as the others, and the horses of ned and obed, splendid animals though they were, began to show signs of fatigue. one limped a little. the dreaded was happening. the indian ponies made only of bone and muscle were riding them down. on the other hand, the character of the country now encouraged the fugitives. the yucca and the mesquite turned into oak. they passed through large groves and they hoped that they might soon enter a great forest in which they could hide their trail wholly from the lipans. they crossed two considerable streams, knee deep on the horses, and then they entered the forest for which they had hoped so much. it was of oaks without much undergrowth and the ground was hilly. they rode through it until past midnight. then they stopped by the edge of a blue pool, and while the other watched with the rifle each took the bath that he had coveted so long. "i feel that i can fight battles and also run better now that i've got rid of ten pounds of sand and dust," said obed, "and i guess you feel the same way, ned. i suppose you've noticed that the other horse has gone lame, too?" "yes, i noticed it. i don't believe either could make much speed to-morrow." "they certainly couldn't unless they had a long rest, and here we stay. there need be no secrets between you and me, ned, about this pursuit. i think it's likely that we'll have a fight in the morning, and we might as well choose our fort." the horses were panting and both now limped badly. it was quite evident that they were spent. beyond the pool was a tiny valley or glade with a good growth of grass, and, after tying the reins to the pommels of the saddles, they released the two faithful beasts there. obed thought once of tethering them but he reflected that to do so would make them sure targets of the indian bullets or arrows. they, too, deserved a chance to escape. then he and ned looked around for the fort, of which they had spoken, and they found it beyond the pool in an opening which would have been called a little prairie in the far north. in the center of this opening grew a rather thick cluster of trees, and there was some fallen wood. a rifle bullet would not reach from any point of the forest to the cluster. they drew up all the fallen wood they could find, helping to turn the ring of trees into a kind of fortification, refilled their water bottles from the pool, and sat down to wait, with their rifles and pistols ready. ned felt a kind of relief, the relief that comes to one who, having faced the worst so long, now knows that it has been realized. the terrible chase had gone on for nights and days. always the lipans were behind them. well, if they were so fond of pursuing, now let them come. by the aid of the dead wood they were fairly well protected from a fire in any direction, and the light was sufficient for them to see an enemy who attempted to cross the open. there was a certain grim pleasure in the situation. "they've run us down at last," said obed, "but they haven't got us yet. before you scalp your man just catch him is a proverb that i would recommend to the lipans. now, ned, suppose we eat a little, and brace ourselves for the arrival of the pursuit." they ate with a good appetite and then lay propped on their elbows, where they could look just over the logs at the circling forest. it was very quiet. nothing stirred among the trees. their eyes, used now to the half dusk, could see almost as well as if it were daylight. ned finally noticed some dark objects on the boughs of the trees and called obed's attention to them. "wild turkeys," said obed, after a long look. "the first we've seen and we can't take a shot at them. they must know it or they wouldn't sit there so quiet and easy." a half hour later, ned saw something move among the trees at the nearest point of the forest. it looked like a shadow and was gone in an instant. but his heart leaped. he felt sure that it was a lipan, and told obed of his suspicion. "of course you're right," said the maine man. "they may have been there in the woods for an hour spying us out. they've dismounted and have left their horses further back among the trees. suppose you watch to the right while i face to the left. i think the two of us together can cover a whole circle." ned felt a singular composure. it seemed to him that he had passed through so many emotions that he had none left now but calm and expectancy. as the night was somewhat cold he even remembered to throw one of the blankets over his body, as he lay behind the log. obed noticed it and his sharp eyes brightened with approval. it was obvious that the lipans were now in the woods about them, and that the long chase was at an end, but the boy was as steady as a rock. ned looked continually for the second appearance of the shadows. nothing within the range of his half circle escaped him. he saw the wild turkeys unfold their wings, and fly heavily away, which was absolute proof of the presence of the lipans. he finally saw the shadow for the second time, and, at almost the same moment, a pink dot appeared in the woods. the crack of a rifle followed, and a bullet knocked up a little dust at least fifty yards short of them. obed sniffed contemptuously. "one good bullet wasted," he said, "and one good bullet, i suppose, deserves another, but they won't fire again--yet. it shows that they know we're on guard. they won't rush us. they'll wait for time, thirst and starvation." obed was right. not another shot was fired, nor did any of the lipans show themselves. day came, and the forest was as quiet and peaceful as if it were a park. some little birds of brilliant plumage sang as heralds of dawn, and sunlight flooded the trees and the opening. ned and obed moved themselves into more comfortable positions and waited. they were to have another terrible trial of indian patience. no attack was made. the two lay behind the logs and watched the circle of the forest, until their eyes grew weary. the silence and peace that had marked the dawn continued through all the hours of the morning. although the wild turkeys had flown away, the birds that lived in this forest seemed to take no alarm. they hopped peacefully from bough to bough, and sang their little songs as if there were no alien presence. but ned and obed had been through too many dangers to be entrapped into a belief that the lipans had gone. they matched patience with patience. the sun went slowly up toward the zenith, and the earth grew hot, but they were protected from the fiery rays by the foliage of the trees. yet ned grew restless. he was continually poking the muzzle of his rifle over the log and seeking a target, although the forest revealed no human being. finally obed put his hand upon his arm. "easy, now, easy, ned," he said. "don't waste your strength and nerves. they can't charge us, at least in the daylight, without our seeing them, and, when they come, we want to be as strong of body and brain as possible. we won't take the fight to them. they must bring it to us." ned blushed. meanwhile the afternoon dragged on, slow and silent, as the morning had been. chapter xiii the texans late in the afternoon ned's nerves began to affect him again. once more, the old longing for action took such strong hold upon him that he could not cast it off for a long time. but he hid his face from obed. he did not want his older comrade to see that he was white and trembling. finally, he took some food from his pack and bit fiercely upon it, as he ate. it was not for the food that he cared, but it was a relief to bring his teeth together so hard. obed looked at him approvingly. "you're setting a good example, ned," he said, "and i'll follow it." he too ate, and then took a satisfactory drink from his water bottle. meanwhile the sun was setting in a cloudless sky, and both noticed with satisfaction that it would be a clear night. eyes, trained like theirs, could see even in the dusk an enemy trying to creep upon them. "do you think you could sleep a while, ned?" said obed, persuasively. "of course, i'll awake you at the first alarm, if the alarm itself doesn't do it. sleep knits us up for the fray, and a man always wants to be at his best when he goes into battle." "how could a fellow sleep now?" "only the brave and resolute can do it," replied obed, cunningly. "napoleon slept before austerlitz, and while no austerlitz is likely to happen down here in the wilderness of northern mexico there is nothing to keep those who are able from copying a great man." the appeal to ned's pride was not lost. "i think i'll try it," he said. he lay down behind the log with his rifle by his side, and closed his eyes. he had no idea that he could go to sleep, but he wished to show obed his calmness in face of danger. yet he did sleep, and he did not awaken until obed's hand fell upon his shoulder. he would have sprung up, all his faculties not yet regained, but obed's hand pressed him down. "don't forget where you are, ned," said the maine man, "and that we are still besieged." yet the night was absolutely still and ned, from his recumbent position, looked up at a clear sky and many glittering stars. "has anything happened?" he asked. "not a thing. no lipan has shown himself even among the trees." "about what time do you think it is?" "two or three hours after midnight, and now i'm going to take a nap while you watch. ned, do you know, i've an idea those fellows are going to sit in the woods indefinitely, safe, beyond range, and wait for us to come out. doesn't it make you angry?" "it does, and it makes me angry also to think that they have our horses. those were good horses." obed slept until day, and ned watched with a vigilance that no creeping enemy could pass. the lipans made no movement, but the siege, silent and invisible, went on. ned had another attack of the nerves, but, as his comrade was sleeping soundly, he took no trouble to hide it, and let the spell shake itself out. the day was bright, burning and hot, and it threatened to pass like its predecessor, in silence and inaction. ned and obed had been lying down or sitting down so long that they had grown stiff, and now, knowing that they were out of range they stood up and walked boldly about, tensing and flexing their muscles, and relieving the bodily strain. ned thought that their appearance might tempt the lipans to a shot or some other demonstration, but no sound came from the woods, and they could not see any human presence there. "maybe they have gone away after all," said ned hopefully. "if you went over there to the woods you'd soon find out that they hadn't." "suppose they really went away. we'd have no way of knowing it and then we'd have to sit here forever all the same." obed laughed, despite the grimness of their situation. "that is a problem," he said, "but if you can't work a problem it will work itself if you only give it enough time." the morning was without result, but in the afternoon they saw figures stirring in the wood and concluded that some movement was at hand. "ned," said obed, "i think we've either won in the contest of patience, or that something else has occurred to disturb the lipans. don't you see horses as well as indians there among the trees?" "i can count at least five horses, and i've no doubt there are others." "all of which to my mind indicates a rush on horseback. perhaps they think they can gallop over us. we'd better lay our pistols on the logs, where we can get at 'em quick, and be ready." ned's sharp eye caught sight of more horses at another point. "they're coming from all sides," he said. "you face to the right and i'll face to the left," said obed, "and be sure your bullet counts. if we bring down a couple of them they will stop. indians are not fond of charging in the open, and, besides, it will be hard for them to force their horses in among these logs and trees of ours." ned did not answer, but he had listened attentively. the muzzle of his rifle rested upon the log beside his pistol, and, with his eye looking down the sights, he was watching for whatever might come. a sharp whistle sounded from the wood. at the same instant, three bands of lipans galloped from the trees at different points, and converged upon the little fortress. they were all naked to the waist, and the sun blazed down upon their painted bodies, lighting up their lean faces and fierce eyes. they uttered shout after shout, as they advanced, and as they came closer, bent down behind the shoulders of their ponies or clung to their sides. the tremor of the nerves seized ned again, but it was gone in a moment. then a fierce passion turned the blood in his veins to fire. why were these savages seeking his life? why had they hung upon his trail for days and days? and why had they kept up that silent and invincible siege so long? yet he did not forget his earlier resolution to watch for a good shot, knowing that his life hung upon it. but it was hard to hold one's fire when the thud of those charging hoofs was coming closer. the horsemen in front of him were four in number, and the leader who wore a brilliant feathered headdress, seemed to be a chief. ned chose him for his target, but for a few moments the lipan made his pony bound from side to side in such a manner that he could not secure a good aim. but his chance came. the lipan raised his head and opened his mouth to utter a great shout of encouragement to his followers. the shout did not pass his lips, because ned's bullet struck him squarely in the forehead, and he fell backward from his horse, dead before he touched the ground. ned heard obed's rifle crack with his own, but he could not turn his head to see the result. he snatched up his pistol and fired a second shot which severely wounded a lipan rider, and then all three parties of the lipans, fearing the formidable hedge, turned and galloped back, leaving two of their number lifeless upon the ground. obed had not fired his pistol, but he stood holding it in his hand, his eyes flashing with grim triumph. ned was rapidly reloading his rifle. "if we didn't burn their noble lipan faces then i'm mightily mistaken," said obed, as he too began to reload his rifle. "a charge that is not pressed home is no charge at all. hark, what is that?" there was a sudden crash of rifle shots in the forest, the long whining whoop of the lipans and then hard upon it a deep hoarse cheer. "white men!" exclaimed ned. "and texans!" said obed. "such a roar as that never came from mexican throats. it's friends! do you hear, ned, it's friends! there go the indians!" across the far edge of the open went the lipans in wild flight, and, as they pressed their mustangs for more speed, bullets urged them to efforts yet greater. fifteen or twenty men galloped from the trees, and ned and obed, breaking cover, greeted them with joyous shouts, which the men returned in kind. "you don't come to much," exclaimed ned, "but we can say to you that never were men more welcome." "which i beg to repeat and emphasize," said obed white. "speak a little louder," said the foremost of the men, leaning from his horse and couching one hand behind his ear. ned repeated his words in a much stronger tone, and the man nodded and smiled. ned looked at him with the greatest interest. he was of middle age and medium size. hair and eyes were intensely black, and his complexion was like dark leather. dressed in indian costume he could readily have passed for a warrior. yet this man had come from the far northern state of new york, and it was only the burning suns of the texas and north mexican plains that had turned him to his present darkness. "glad to meet you, my boy," he said, leaning from his horse and holding out a powerful hand, burnt as dark as his face. "my name's smith, erastus smith." ned grasped his hand eagerly. this was the famous "deaf" smith--destined to become yet more famous--although they generally pronounced it d-e-e-f in texas. "guess we didn't come out of season," said smith with a smile. "you certainly didn't," broke in obed. "there's a time for all things, and this was your time!" "i believe they're real glad to see us. don't you think so, jim?" said smith with a smile. the man whom he called jim had been sitting on his horse, silent, and he remained silent yet, but he nodded in reply. ned's gaze traveled to him and he was certainly a striking figure. he was over six feet in height, with large blue eyes and fair hair. his expression was singularly gentle and mild, but his appearance nevertheless, both face and figure, indicated unusual strength. obed had not noticed him before, but now he exclaimed joyfully: "why, it's colonel jim bowie! jim, it's me, obed white! shake hands!" "so it is you, obed," said the redoubtable bowie, "and here we shake." the hands of the two met in a powerful clasp. then they all dismounted and another man, short and thick, shook obed by the hand and called him by his first name. he was henry karnes, the tennesseean, great scout and famous borderer of the texas plains. ned looked with admiration at these men, whose names were great to him. on the wild border where life depended almost continually upon skill and quickness with weapons, "deaf" smith, jim bowie and henry karnes were already heroes to youth. ned thrilled. he was here with his own people, and with the greatest of them. he had finished his long journey and he was with the texans. the words shaped themselves again and again in his brain, the texans! the texans! the texans! "you two seem to have given the lipans a lot of trouble," said bowie, looking at the two fallen warriors. "we were putting all the obstacles we could in the way of what they wanted," said obed modestly, "but we don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come. those fellows had been following us for days, and they must have had some idea that you were near, or they would have waited still longer." "they must not have known that we were as near as we were," said bowie, "or they would not have invited our attack. we heard the firing and galloped to it at once. but you two need something better than talk." he broke off suddenly, because ned had sat down on one of the logs, looking white and ill. the collapse had come after so many terrible trials and privations, and not even his will could hold him. "here, you take a drink of this water, it's good and cold," said "deaf" smith kindly as he held out a canteen. "i reckon that no boy has ever passed through more than you have, and if there's any hero you are one." "good words," said bowie. ned smiled. these words were healing balm to his pride. to be praised thus by these famous texans was ample reward. besides, he had great and vital news to all, and he knew that obed would wait for him to tell it. "i think," said bowie, "that we'd better camp for the night in the clump of trees that served you two so well, and, before it's dark, we'll look around and see what spoil is to be had." they found three rifles that had been dropped by slain or wounded lipans, and they were well pleased to get them, as rifles were about to become the most valuable of all articles in texas. they also recovered ned and obed's horses, which the indians had left in the valley, evidently expecting to take them away, when they secured the scalps of the two fugitives. ned, after the cold water and a little rest, fully recovered his strength and poise, but the men would not let him do any work, telling him that he had already done his share. so he sat on his log and watched them as they prepared camp and supper. besides being the texans and his own people, to whom he had come after the long journey of perils, they made a wonderful appeal. these were the bold riders, the dauntless, the fearless. he would not find here the pliancy, the cunning, the craft and the dark genius of santa anna, but he would find men who talked straight, who shot straight, and who feared nobody. they were sixteen in number, and all were clad wholly in buckskin, with fur caps upon their heads. they were heavily armed, every man carrying at least a rifle, a pistol, and a formidable knife, invented by bowie. all were powerful physically, and every face had been darkened by the sun. ned felt that such a group as this was a match for a hundred mexicans or lipans. they worked dextrously and rapidly, unsaddling their horses and tethering them where they could graze in the open, drawing up the dead wood until it made a heap which was quickly lighted, and then cooking strips of venison over the coals. there was so much life, so much cheerfulness, and so much assurance of strength and invincibility that ned began to feel as if he did not have a care left. all the men already called him ned, and he felt that every one of them was his friend. karnes put a strip of venison on the sharp end of a stick, and broiled it over the blaze. it gave out a singularly appetizing odor, and when it was done he extended it to the boy. "here, ned," he said, "take this on the end of your knife and eat it. i'll wager that you haven't had any good warm victuals for a week, and it will taste mighty well." ned ate it and asked for more. he would have done his own cooking, but they would not let him. they seemed to take a pleasure in helping him, and, used as they were to hardships and danger, they admired all the more the tenacity and courage that had brought a boy so far. "we can promise you one thing, ned," said "deaf" smith. "we'll see that you and obed have a full night's good sleep and i guess you'll like that about as much as a big supper." "we certainly will," said obed. "sleep has got a lot of knitting to do in my case." "the same is true of me," said ned, who had now eaten about all he wanted, "but before i roll up in the blankets i want to say something to you men." his voice had suddenly become one of great gravity, and, despite his youth, it impressed them. the darkness had now come, but the fire made a center of light. they had put themselves in easy attitudes about it, while the horses grazed just beyond them. "i come from texas myself," said ned, "although i was born in missouri. my parents are dead, and i thought i could make my way in texas. i met mr. austin who is related to me, and he was good to me more than once. when he went to mexico to talk with the rulers there about our troubles i went with him. i was a prisoner with him in the city of mexico, and i often saw the dictator, santa anna, and his brother-in-law, general cos." ned paused and a deep "ah!" came from the men. they felt from his face and manner that he was telling no idle tale. "they said many fine words to mr. austin," said ned, "and always they promised that they were going to do great things for texas. but much time passed and they did nothing. also they kept mr. austin a prisoner. then i escaped. i believed that they were preparing to attack texas. i was right. i was recaptured and both president santa anna and general cos told me so. they told me because they did not believe i could escape again, as they sent me to one of the submarine dungeons under the castle of san juan de ulua. but even under the sea i found a friend, obed here, and we escaped together. we have since seen the army of general cos, and it is marching straight upon texas. santa anna means to crush us and to execute all our leaders." again came that deep murmurous "ah!" and now it was full of anger and defiance. "you say you saw the army of cos?" asked bowie. "yes," replied ned, "i saw it before i was taken to the castle of san juan de ulua and afterward in northern mexico, marching straight toward texas. it is a large force, cannon and lancers, horse and foot." "and so santa anna has been lulling us with promises, while sending an army to destroy us." bowie's tone, so gentle and mild before, grew hard and bitter. the firelight flickered across his face and to ned the blue eyes looked as cold and relentless as death. he had heard strange stories of this man, tales of desperate combats in mississippi and louisiana, and he believed now that they were true. he could see the daring and determined soul behind the blue eyes. while ned was talking "deaf" smith was leaning forward with his hand behind his ear. when the story was finished the dark face grew still darker, but he said nothing. the others, too, were silent but ned knew their minds. it was a singular little company drawn from different american states, some from the far north, but all alike in their devotion to the vague region then known as texas. "i think, ned," said bowie, "that you have served texas well. we have been divided among ourselves. many have believed in propitiating santa anna and mexico, but how can you propitiate a tiger that is about to devour you? we cannot trust mexico, and we cannot trust santa anna. your message settles all doubt and gives us time to arm. thank god we refused to give up our rifles, because we are going to need them more than anything else on earth. it was surely more than luck that brought us this way. we came down here, ned, on an expedition, half for hunting and half for scouting, and we've found more than we expected. we must start for texas in the morning. is it not so, boys?" "yes," they answered all together. "then, ned," said bowie, "you can tell your story to sam houston and all our leaders, and i think i know what they will say. we are few, but santa anna and all mexico cannot ride over texas. and now it's time for you and obed to go to sleep. i should think that after being chased nearly a week you'd be glad to rest." "we are," said obed, answering for them both, "and once more we want to thank you. if you hadn't come the lipans would certainly have got us." the night, as usual, was chilly, and ned spread his blankets in front of the fire. his saddle formed a pillow for his head, and with one blanket beneath him, another above him, and the stalwart texans all about him, he felt a deep peace, nay more, a great surge of triumph. he had made his way through everything. santa anna and cos could not attack the texans, unwarned. neither mexicans nor lipans, neither prisons nor storms nor deserts had been able to stop him. after the triumphant leap of his blood the great peace possessed him entirely. his mind and body relaxed completely. his eyelids drooped and the flames danced before him. the figures of the men became dusky. sometimes he saw them and sometimes he did not. then everything vanished, and he fell into a long and sound sleep. while ned and obed slept, the texans conferred earnestly. they knew that every word ned had told was true, and they felt that the trouble between texas and mexico had now come to a head. it must be war. they were fully aware of the fearful odds, but they did not believe the texans would flinch. three or four rode a long distance around the camp and scouted carefully. but, as they had expected, they saw no sign of the lipans, who undoubtedly were still fleeing southward, carrying in their hearts a healthy fear of the long rifles of the texans. after the scouts came back most of the men went to sleep, but bowie and "deaf" smith watched all through the night. ned moved a little toward the morning and displaced the blanket that lay over him. bowie gently put it back. "he's a good boy as well as a brave one," he said to smith, "and we owe him a lot." "never a doubt of that," said smith, "and he'll be with us in the coming struggle." when ned awoke the dawn was barely showing, but all the horses, including his own, were saddled and ready. they ate a brief breakfast, and then they galloped northward over a good country. they did not trouble to look for the army of cos, as they knew that it was coming and it was their object to spread the alarm as soon as possible through all the texas settlements. ned, refreshed and strong, was in the center of the troop and he rode with a light heart. obed was on one side of him, and "deaf" smith on the other. "to-night," said smith, "we water our horses in the rio grande." "and then ho for texas!" said obed. on they sped, their even pace unbroken until noon, when they made a short rest for food and water. then they sped north once more, bowie, smith and karnes leading the way. they said very little now, but every one in the group was thinking of the scattered texans, of the women and children in the little cabins beyond the rio grande, harried already by comanches and lipans and now threatened by a great mexican force. they had come from different states and often they were of differing counsels, but a common danger would draw them together. it was significant that smith, the new yorker, and bowie, the georgian, rode side by side. all through the hot sun of the afternoon they rode on. twilight found them still riding. far in the night they waded and swam the rio grande, and the next morning they stood on the soil that now is texas. chapter xiv the ring tailed panther texas was then a vague and undetermined name in the minds of many. it might extend to the rio grande or it might extend only to the nueces, but to most the rio grande was the boundary between them and mexico. so felt ned and all his comrades. they were now on the soil which might own the overlordship of mexico, but for which they, the texans, were spending their blood. it was strange what an attachment they had for it, although not one of them was born there. beyond, in the outer world, there was much arguing about the right or wrong of their case, but they knew that they would have to fight for their lives, and for the homes they had built in the wilderness on the faith of promises that had been broken. that to them was the final answer and to people in such a position there could be no other. the sight of texas, green and fertile, with much forest along the streams was very pleasant to ned, and those rough frontiersmen in buckskin who rode with him were the very men whom he had chosen. he had been in a great city, and he had talked with men in brilliant uniforms, but there everything seemed old, so far away in thought and manner from the texans, and he could never believe the words of the men in brilliant uniforms. there, the land itself looked ancient and worn, but here it was fresh and green, and men spoke the truth. they rode until nearly noon, when they stopped in a fine grove of oaks and pecans by the side of a clear creek. the grass was also rich and deep here, and they did not take the trouble to tether their horses. ned was exceedingly glad to dismount as he was stiff and sore from the long ride, and he was also as hungry as a wolf. "lay down on the grass, ned, an' stretch yourself," said karnes. "when you're tired the best way to rest is to be just as lazy as you can be. the ground will hold you up an' let your lungs do their own breathin'. don't you go to workin' 'em yourself." ned thought it good advice and took it. it was certainly a great luxury to make no physical exertion and just to let the ground hold him up, as karnes had said. obed imitated his example, stretching himself out to his great thin length on the soft turf. "two are company and twenty are more so," he said, "especially if you're in a wild country. my burden of care isn't a quarter as heavy since we met jim bowie, and all the rest of these sure friends and sure shots. this isn't much like san juan de ulua is it, ned? you wouldn't like to be back there." the boy looked up at the vast blue dome of the heavens, then he listened a moment to the sigh of the free wind which came unchecked a thousand miles and he replied with so much emphasis that his words snapped: "not for worlds, obed!" obed white laughed and rolled over in the grass. "i do believe you mean that, ned," he said, "and the sentiments that you speak so well are also mine own." smith and karnes went a little distance up the creek, and found some buffalo feeding. they shot a young cow, and in an incredibly short space tender steaks were broiling over a fire. after dinner all but two went to sleep. they understood well the old maxim that the more haste the less speed, and that the sleep and rest through the hours of the afternoon would make them fit for the long riding that was yet before them. at five o'clock they were in the saddle again, and rode until midnight. the next morning the party separated. the men were to carry the blazing torch throughout the settlements, telling all the texans that the mexicans were coming and that they were bringing war with them. but bowie, "deaf" smith and karnes kept on with ned and obed. "we're taking you to sam houston," said bowie to ned. "he's to be the general of all the texan forces, we think, and we want you to tell him what you've told us." they began now to see signs of settlements in the river bottoms where the forests grew. there were stray little log cabins, almost hidden among the oaks and pecans. women and children came forth to see the riders go by. the women were tanned like the men, and often they, too, were clothed in buckskin. the children, bare of foot and head, seemed half wild, but all, despite the sun, had the features of the northern races. ned could not keep from waving his hand to them. these were his people, and he was thankful that he should have so large a part in the attempt to save them. but he only had fleeting glimpses because they rode very fast now. he was going to sam houston, famous throughout all the southwest, and houston was at one of the little new settlements some distance away. he would tell his story again, but he knew that the texans were already gathering. the messengers detached from the group had now carried the alarm to many a cabin. several times at night they saw points of fire on the horizon and they would pause to look at them. "that's the texans signaling to one another," said "deaf" smith. "they're passing the word westward. they're calling in the buffalo hunters and those who went out to fight the comanches and lipans." ned had alternations of hope and despondency. he saw anew how few the texans were. their numbers could be counted only in thousands, while the mexicans had millions. moreover, the tiny settlements were scattered widely. could such a thin force make a successful defense against the armies of cos and santa anna? but after every moment of despair, the rebound came, and he saw that the spirit of the people was indomitable. at last, they rode into a straggling little village by the side of a wide and shallow river. all the houses were built of logs or rough boards, and ned and his companions dismounted before the largest. they had already learned that sam houston was inside. ned felt intense curiosity as they approached. he knew the history of houston, his singular and picturesque career, and the great esteem in which he was held by the texans. a man with a rifle on his shoulder stood by the door as guard, but he recognized smith and karnes, and held the door open for the four, who went inside without a word. several men, talking earnestly were sitting in cane-bottomed chairs, and ned, although he had never seen him before, knew at once which was houston. the famous leader sat in the center of the little group. he was over six feet high, very powerful of build, with thick, longish hair, and he was dressed carefully in a suit of fine dark blue cloth. he rose and saluted the four with great courtesy. despite his long period of wild life among the indians his manners were distinguished. "we welcome you, smith and karnes, our faithful scouts," he said, "and we also welcome those with you who, i presume, are the two escaped from the city of mexico." it was evident that the story of ned and obed had preceded them, but karnes spoke for them. "yes, general," he said. "they are the men, or rather the man and the boy. these are obed white and ned fulton, general houston." houston's glance ran swiftly over them. evidently he liked both, as he smiled and gave each a hearty hand. "and now for your story," he said. obed nodded toward ned. "he's the one who saw it all," he said, "and he's the one who brings the warning." ned was a little abashed by the presence of houston and the other important texans, but he told the tale once more rapidly and succinctly. every one listened closely. they were the chief members of the temporary texan government, but the room in which they met was all of the frontier. its floor was of rough boards. its walls and ceilings were unplastered. there was not a single luxury and not all of the necessities. when ned finished, houston turned to the others and said quietly: "gentlemen, we all know that this is war. i think there need be no discussion of the point. it seems necessary to send out more messengers gathering up every texan who will fight. do you agree with me?" all said yes. "i think, too," said houston, "that santa anna may now send mr. austin back to us. he does not know how well informed we are, and doubtless he will believe that such an act will keep us in a state of blindness." "and you, my brave and resourceful young friend, what do you want to do?" "fight under you." houston laughed and put his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "i see that there is something of the courtier in you, too," he said. "it is not a bad quality sometimes, and you shall have the chance that you ask, later on. but meanwhile, you and mr. white would better rest here, a while. you may have some scouting and skirmishing to do first. we must feel our way." ned and obed now withdrew, and received the hospitality of the little town which was great, at least so far as food was concerned. they longed for action, but the rest was really necessary. both body and spirit were preparing for greater deeds. meanwhile, houston, the scouts and the texan government went away, but ned and obed stayed, awaiting the call. they knew that the signals had now passed through all texas and they did not think that they would have to remain there long. they heard soon that houston's prediction in regard to austin had come true. santa anna had released him, and he had arrived in texas. but he had not been cajoled. his eyes had been opened at last to the designs of the dictator and immediately upon his return to texas he had warned his countrymen in a great speech. meanwhile, the army of cos was approaching san antonio, preceded by the heralds of coming texan ruin. ned and obed sat under the shade of some live oaks, when a horseman came to the little village. he was a strange man, great in size, dressed in buckskin, very brown of countenance and with long hair, tied as the western indians would wear it. he was something of a genial boaster, was this man, and he was known up and down the texas border as the ring tailed panther although his right name was martin palmer. but he had lived long among the osage, kiowa and pawnee indians, and he was renowned throughout all the southwestern country for his bravery, skill and eccentricity. an indian had killed a white man and eaten his heart. he captured the indian and compelled him to eat until he died. when his favorite bear dog died he rode sixty miles and brought a minister to preach a sermon over his body. a little boy was captured on the outskirts of a settlement by some comanche indians. he followed them alone for three hundred miles, stole the boy away from them in the night, and carried him back safely to his father and mother. such was the ring tailed panther, a name that he had originally given to himself and which the people had adopted, one who boasted that he feared no man, the boast being true. he was heavily armed and he rode a black and powerful horse, which he directed straight toward the place where ned and obed were sitting. "you are ned fulton an' obed white, if report tells no lie?" he said in a deep growling voice. "we are," said ned, who did not know the identity of their formidable visitor. "so i knew. i just wanted to see if you'd deny it. glad to meet you, gentlemen. as for me, i'm the ring tailed panther." "the ring tailed panther?" "exactly. didn't you hear me say so? i'm the ring tailed panther, an' i can whip anything livin', man or beast, lion or grizzly bear. that's why i'm the ring tailed panther." "happy to know you, mr. ring tailed panther," said ned, "and having no quarrel with you we don't wish to fight you." the man laughed, his broad face radiating good humor. "and i don't want to fight you, either," he said, "'cause all of us have got to fight somebody else. see here, your name's obed an' yours is ned, and that's what i'm goin' to call you. no mistering for me. it don't look well for a ring tailed panther to be givin' handles to people's names." "ned and obed it is," said ned with warmth. "then, ned an' obed, it's mexicans. i've been fightin' indians a long time. besides bein' a ring tailed panther, i'm three parts grizzly bear an' one part tiger, an' i want you both to come with guns." "is it fighting?" asked ned, starting up. "it's ridin' first an' then fightin'. our people down at gonzales have a cannon. the mexicans are comin' to take it away from them, an' i think there's goin' to be trouble over the bargain. the texans got the gun as a defense against the indians an' they need it. some of us are goin' down there to take a hand in the matter of that gun, an' you are goin' with us." "of course we are!" said ned and obed together. in five minutes they were riding, fully armed, with the ring tailed panther over the prairie. he gave them more details as they rode along. "some of our people had been gatherin' at san felipe to stop the march of cos if they could," he said, "but they've been drawn off now to help gonzales. they're comin' from bastrop, too, an' other places, an' if there ain't a fight then i'm the ring tailed panther for nothing. if we keep a good pace we can join a lot of the boys by nightfall." "we'll keep it," said ned. the boy's heart was pounding. somehow he felt that an event of great importance was at hand, and he was glad to have a share in it. but the three spoke little. the panther led the way. ned saw that despite his boasting words he was a man of action. certainly he was acting swiftly now, and it was quite evident that he knew what he was doing. at last he turned to ned and said: "you're only a boy. you know what you're goin' into, of course?" "a fight, i think." "and you may get killed?" "i know it. one can't go into a fight without that risk." "you're a brave boy. i've heard of what you did, an' you don't talk much. i'm glad of that. i can do all the talkin' that's needed by the three of us. the lord created me with a love of gab." the man spoke in a whimsical tone and ned laughed. "you can have all my share of the talking, mr. palmer," he said. "the ring tailed panther," corrected the man. "i told you not to be misterin' me. i like that name, the ring tailed panther. it suits me, because i fit an' i fight till they get me down, then i curl my tail an' i take another round. once in new orleans i met a fellow who said he was half horse, half alligator, that he could either claw to death the best man living, stamp him to pieces or eat him alive. i invited him to do any one of these things or all three of them to me." "what happened?" asked ned. a broad smile passed over the man's brown face. "after they picked up the pieces an' put him back together," he said, "i told him he might try again whenever he felt like it, but he said his challenge was directed to human beings, not to ring tailed panthers. him an' me got to be great friends an' he's somewhere in texas now. i may run acrost him before our business with the mexicans is over, which i take it is goin' to last a good while." it was now late in the afternoon, and dismounting at a clump of trees the panther lighted the end of a dead stick and waved the torch around his head many times. "watch there in the west for another light like this," he said. ned, who sat on his horse, was the first to see the faint circling light far down under the horizon. it was so distant that he could not have seen it had he not been looking for it, but when he pointed it out the panther ceased to whirl his own torch. "it's some friends," he said, "an' they're answerin'. they're sayin' that they've seen us an' that they're waitin'. when they get through we'll say that we understan' an' are comin'." the whirling torch on the horizon stopped presently. the panther whirled his own for half a minute, then he sprang back upon his horse and the three rode rapidly forward. the sight of the lights sparkling in the twilight so far across the prairie thrilled ned. he felt that he was in very truth riding to a fight as the panther had said. perhaps it was a part of the force of cos that was coming to gonzales. cos himself had turned from the land route with a part of his force and, coming by sea, had landed at copano about two weeks before. ned, having full cause, hated this brutal man, and he hoped that the texans would come to grips with him. the night was at hand when they reached four men sitting on horseback and waiting for them. they greeted the ring tailed panther with few words but with warmth. they gave to ned and obed, too, the strong handclasp which men in danger give to friends who come. ned thrilled once more with pride that he should be associated with heroes in great deeds. such they undoubtedly were to him. "the mexicans will be at gonzales to-morrow," said one of the men. "the place, as you know, has refused to give up its cannon and has defied them, but it's almost bare of men. i don't think they have a dozen there." "the battle is generally to the strong if they get there in time," said obed, "and here are seven of us on good horses." "not countin' the fact that one of us is a ring tailed panther with claws a foot long an' two sets of teeth in his mouth," said palmer. "ride on, boys, an' ride hard." they urged their horses into a gallop and sped over the prairie. at midnight they clattered into the tiny village of gonzales on the guadalupe river, where everybody except the little children was awake and watching. lights flared from the cabins, and the alarm at first, lest they were mexicans, changed to joy when they were disclosed as texans. but the armed force of the place, though stout of heart, was pitifully small. they found only eleven men in gonzales capable of bearing arms, and no more help could be expected before the mexicans came the next day. but eleven and seven make eighteen, and now that they were joined, and communicating spirit and hope to one another, the eighteen were more than twice as strong as the eleven had been. the ring tailed panther poured forth a stream of cheer and encouragement. he grew more voluble at the approach of danger. never had his teeth and claws been longer or sharper. "i'm afraid of nothin' except that they won't come," he said. "if they don't, my health will give way. i'll be a-droopin' an' a-pinin' an' i'll have to go off an' fight the comanches an' lipans to get back my strength." but he was assured that his health would not suffer. mexican cavalry, a hundred strong, were coming under a captain, castenada, sent by ugartchea, the mexican commander at san antonio de bexar. scouts had brought that definite news. they were riding from the west and they would have to cross the guadalupe before they could enter gonzales. there were fords, but it would be a dangerous task to attempt their passage in face of the texan rifles. the ferryboat was tied safely on the gonzales side, and then the eighteen, every one a fine marksman, distributed themselves at the fords. ned, obed and the ring tailed panther stayed together. they did not anticipate the arrival of the mexican forces before dawn, but castenada might send spies ahead, and the mexican scouts were full of wiles and stratagems. "at any rate," said the panther, "if we catch any mexican prowling around here we'll throw him into the river." "all things, including mexicans, come to him who waits," said obed, "and speaking for myself i'd rather they wouldn't come until day. it's more comfortable to sit quiet in the dark." these three and six others had taken a position under a great oak tree, where they were well shaded but could easily see anyone who approached the ford on the opposite side. back of them a few lights burned in the little town, where the anxious women watched, but no noise came from it or the second ford, where the other half of the eighteen were on guard. their horses were tethered some distance in the rear and they, too, rested in quiet. the tree sent up a great gnarled root and ned sat on the ground, leaning against it. it just fitted into the curve of his back and he was very comfortable. but he did not allow his comfort to lull him into lethargy. always he watched the river and the farther shore. he had now become no mean scout and sentinel. the faculties develop fast amid the continuous fight for life against all kinds of dangers. above all, that additional sense which may be defined as prescience, and, which was a development of the other five, was alive within him, ready to warn him of a hostile presence. but ned neither saw nor heard anything, nor did his sixth sense warn him that an enemy was near. the guadalupe, wide, yellow and comparatively shallow like most of the texas rivers, flowed slowly and without sound. now and then obed and the panther walked down to the other ford, where all, too, was quiet, but ned kept his place against the root. toward morning the panther sat down beside him there. "waitin's hard," he said. "i like to jump on the enemy with claws an' nails an' have it out right there an' then. i like to roar an' bite. that's why i'm a ring tailed panther." ned laughed. "if castenada is coming, and they say he surely is," he said, "we'll soon have use for all our claws and teeth." "patience will bring our mexicans," said obed white. at daylight women from the cabins brought them all coffee and warm food, for which they were very grateful. then the sun rose, and the morning was fresh and crisp, it now being autumn. the men remained by the river, still watching intently and ned caught a sudden sharp glint which was not that of the sun, far out on the prairie. he knew that it was a brilliant ray reflected from the polished head of a lance, and he said as he pointed a finger: "the mexicans are coming." "so they are," said the ring tailed panther. "i see a horseman, an' another, an' another, an' now a lot of 'em. they must be a hundred at least. it's the troop of castenada, an' they're after that cannon. well, i'm glad." the man seemed to swell and his eyes darkened. he was like some formidable beast about to spring. the boaster was ready to make good his boast. "run down to the other ford, ned," said palmer, "an' tell the men there that the mexicans are at hand." ned did his errand, but returned very quickly. he was anxious to see the advance of castenada's troop. the mexicans, about half of whom were lancers and the rest armed with muskets, came on very steadily. an officer in fine uniform, whom ned took to be castenada himself, rode at their head. when they came within rifle shot a white flag was hoisted on a lance. "a white flag! this is no time for white flags," growled the ring tailed panther. "never have any faith in a mexican comin' under a white flag. what we've got to do now is to roar an' rip an' claw." "still," said obed, "it's evil to him who evil does, and we've got to wait till these mexicans do it. first we've got to hear what they say, and if the saying isn't to our liking, as i'm thinking it won't be, then it's ripping and roaring and clawing and all the other 'ings' to our taste as long as we can stand it." "go ahead," growled the ring tailed panther, "i'm not much on talkin'. fightin's more in my line an' when it's that i come with a hop, a skip an' a jump, teeth an' claws all ready." "ned," said obed, "you speak the best spanish, so go down there to the bank of the river, and hear what they have to say. just remember that we're not giving up the cannon, and clothe the answers in what fine words you please. there isn't any rock here, but sooner this rock shall fly from its firm base than the texans will yield their cannon when they are sure to be attacked by indians and maybe mexicans too." ned walked down to the edge of the river and the officer, whom he rightly supposed to be castenada, dismounting, came to the shore at an opposite point. "what do you want?" cried ned in pure spanish across the water. "are you empowered to speak for the people of gonzales?" "you hear me speaking and you see the other texans listening." "then i have to say that on the order of general cos i demand your cannon in the name of general santa anna and mexico." "we've made up our minds to keep it. we're sure to need it later on." "this is insolent. if you do not give it we shall come and take it." "tell him, ned," growled the ring tailed panther, "that we just hope he'll come an' try to take it, that i'm here roarin' all the time, that i've filed my teeth an' nails 'till they're like the edge of a razor, an' that i'm just hungerin' to rip an' claw." "the men of gonzales mean to defend their cannon and themselves," called ned across the river. "if you come to take the gun it means war. it means more, too. it means that you will lose many of your soldiers. the texans, as you know, are both able and willing to shoot." "this is rebellion and treason!" cried castenada. "the great santa anna will come with a mighty force, and when he is through not a texan will trouble the surface of the earth." a roar of approval came from the men behind the mexican captain, but ned replied: "until the earth is rid of us we may make certain spots of it dangerous for you. so, i warn you to draw back. our bullets carry easily across this river." captain castenada, white with rage, retired with his troop beyond the range of the texan rifles. chapter xv the first gun "well, ned, it's sometimes ask and ye shall not receive, isn't it?" said obed white, looking at the retreating mexicans. but the ring tailed panther growled between his shut teeth. then he opened his mouth and gave utterance to his dissatisfaction. "it's a cheat, a low mexican trick," he said, "to come here an' promise a fight an' then go away. i'm willin' to bet my claws that them mexicans will hang around here two or three days, without tryin' to do a thing." "an' won't that be all the better for us?" asked ned. "we're only eighteen and we surely need time for more." "that's so," admitted the ring tailed panther, "but when you've got all your teeth and claws sharpened for a fight you want it right then an' not next week." the mexicans tethered their horses and began to form camp about a half mile from the river. they went about it deliberately, spreading tents for their officers and lighting fires for cooking. the texans could see them plainly and the mexicans showed the carelessness and love of pleasure natural to children of the sun. some lay down on the grass and three or four began to strum mandolins and guitars. there was a sterner manner on the texan side of the guadalupe. the watch at the fords was not relaxed, but ned went back into the little town to carry the word to the women and children. most of the women, like the men, were dressed in deerskin and they, too, volunteered to fight if they were needed. ned told them what castenada had asked, and he also told them the reply which was received with grim satisfaction. the women were even more bitter than the men against the mexicans. ned passed a long day by the guadalupe, keeping his place most of the time at the ford with the ring tailed panther, who was far less patient than he. "my teeth an' claws will shorely get dull with me a-settin' here an' doin' nothin'," said palmer. "i can roar an' i can keep on roarin' but what's the good of roarin' when you can't do any bitin' an' tearin'?" "patience will have its perfect fight," said obed, giving one of his misquotations. "i've always heard that every kind of panther would lie very quiet until the chance came for him to spring." the ring tailed panther growled between his shut teeth. the sight of the mexican force in the afternoon became absolutely tantalizing. although it was early autumn the days were still very hot at times and castenada's men were certainly taking their ease. ned could see many of them enjoying the siesta, and through a pair of glasses he saw others lolling luxuriously and smoking cigarettes. it was especially irritating to the ring tailed panther, who grew very red in the face but who now only emitted growls between his shut teeth. it was evident that the mexicans were going to make no demonstration just yet and the night came, rather dark and cloudy. now the anxiety in gonzales increased since the night can be cover for anything, and, besides guarding the fords, several of the defenders were placed at intermediate points. ned took a station with obed in a clump of oaks that grew to the very edge of the guadalupe. there they sat a long time and watched the surface of the river grow darker and darker. the mexican camp had been shut from sight long since, and no sounds now came from it. ned appreciated fully the need of a close watch. the mexicans might swim the river on their horses in the darkness, and gallop down on the town. so he never ceased to watch, and he also listened with ears which were rapidly acquiring the delicacy and sensitiveness peculiar to those of expert frontiersmen. ned was not warlike in temper. he knew, from his reading, all the waste and terrible passions of war, but he was heart and soul with the texans. he was one of them, and to him the coming struggle was a fight for home and liberty by an oppressed people. with the ardor of youth flaming in him he was willing for that struggle to begin at once. night on the guadalupe! he felt that the darkness was full of omens and presages for texas and for him, too, a boy among its defenders. his pulses quivered, and a light moisture broke out on his face. his prescience, the gift of foresight, was at work. it was telling him that the time, in very truth, had come. yet he could not see or hear a single thing that bore the remotest resemblance to an enemy. the boy stepped from a clump of trees in order that he might get a better look down the river. there was a crack on the farther shore, a flash of fire, and a bullet sang past his ear. he caught a hasty glimpse of a mexican with a smoking rifle leaping to cover, and he, too, sprang back into the shelter of the trees. it was the first shot of the great texan struggle for independence! ned felt all of its significance even then, and so did obed. "you saw him?" asked the maine man. "i did, and i felt the breath of his bullet on my face, but he gained cover too quick for me to return his fire." "the first shot was theirs and it was at you. it seems odd, ned, that you should have been used as a target for the opening of the war." "i'm proud of the honor." "so would i be in your place." others came, drawn by the shot. "was it a mexican?" asked the ring tailed panther eagerly. "tell me it was a mexican and make me happy." "you can be happy," said obed. "it was a mexican and he was shooting with what the law would define as an intent to kill. he sent a rifle bullet across the guadalupe, aimed at our young friend, edward fulton. ned did not see the bullet, but his sensitiveness to touch showed that it passed within an inch of his face." now the ring tailed panther roared, but it was not between his shut teeth. "by the great horn spoon, i'm glad!" he said, "all the waitin' an' backin' an' fillin' are over. we do our talkin' now with cannon an' rifles." but not another shot was fired that night. it was merely some scout or skirmisher who had sent the fugitive bullet across the river, but it was enough. the mexican intentions were now evident. ned went off duty toward morning and slept a few hours in one of the cabins. when he awoke he ate a hearty breakfast and went back to the river. about half of the eighteen had taken naps, but they were all gathered once more along the guadalupe. ned observed the mexican camp and saw some movement there. presently all the soldiers rode out, with castenada at their head. "they're comin' to our ford! by the great horn spoon, they are comin'!" roared the ring tailed panther. it seemed that he was right as the mexicans were approaching at a gallop, making a gallant show, their lances glittering in the sun. "lay down, all!" said the ring tailed panther. "the moment they strike the water turn loose with your rifles an' roar an' scratch an' claw!" but when they were within one hundred yards of the guadalupe the mexicans suddenly sheered off. evidently they did not like the looks of the texan rifles which they could plainly see. the defenders of the fords uttered a derisive shout, and some of the mexicans fired. but their bullets fell short, only a single one of them coming as far as the edge of the guadalupe. the texans did not reply. they would not waste ammunition in any such foolish fashion. the mexicans stopped, when four or five hundred yards away, and began to wave their lances and utter taunting shouts. the texans only laughed, all except the ring tailed panther, who growled. "you see, ned," said obed, "that one charge does not make a passage. it appears to me that our friend castenada does not want his uniform or himself spoiled by our good texas lead. now, i take it, we can rest easy awhile longer." he lay down in the grass under the trees and ned did likewise, but the ring tailed panther would not be consoled. an opportunity had been lost, and he hurled strange and miscellaneous epithets at the distant mexicans. standing upon a little hillock he called them more bad names than ned had ever before heard. he aspersed the character of their ancestors even to the eighth generation and of their possible descendants also to the eighth generation. he issued every kind of challenge to any kind of combat, and at last, red and panting, descended the hillock. "do you feel better?" asked obed. "i've whispered a few of my thoughts. yes, i can re'lly say that the state of my health is improvin'." "then sit down and rest. it's never too late to try, try again. remember that the day is long and the mexicans may certainly have a chance." the ring tailed panther growled, but sat down. in the afternoon the mexicans again formed in line and trotted down toward the other ford, but as before they did not like the look of the texan rifles and turned away, after shouting many challenges, brandishing lances and firing random shots. but the texans contented themselves again with a grim silence, and the mexicans rode back to their camp. the disgust of the ring tailed panther was so deep that he could not utter a word. but obed was glad. "more men will come to-night," he said to ned. "you know that requests for help were sent in all directions by the people of gonzales, and if i know our texans, and i think i do, they'll ride hard to be here. castenada, in a way, is besieging us now, but--well, the tables may be turned and he'll turn with 'em." just at twilight a great shout arose from the women in the village. there was a snorting of horses, a jingling of spurs and embroidered bridle reins, and twenty lean, brown men, very tall and broad of shoulder, rode up. they were the vanguard of the texan help, and they rejoiced when they found that the mexican force was still on the west side of the guadalupe. their welcome was not noisy but deep. the eighteen were now the thirty-eight, and to-morrow they would be a hundred or more. the twenty had ridden more than a hundred miles, but they were fresh and zealous for the combat. they went down to the river, and, in the darkness, looked at the mexican camp fires, while the ring tailed panther roared out his opinion. "the mexicans won't bring the fight to us," he said, "so we must carry it to them. they've galloped down here twice an' they've looked at the river an' they've looked at us, an' they've galloped back again. we can't let 'em set over there besiegin' us, we must cross an' besiege them an' get to roarin' an' rippin' an' clawin'." "to-morrow," said obed, "more of our friends will be here and when we all get together we will discuss it and make a decision." "of course we'll discuss it!" roared the ring tailed panther, "an' then we'll come to a decision, an' there's only one decision that we can come to. we'll cross the river an' mighty quick we'll make them mexicans wish they'd chose a camp a hundred miles from gonzales." the others laughed, but after all, the ring tailed panther had stated their position truly. every man agreed with him. the watch at the river that night was as vigilant as ever, and the next morning parties of texans arrived from different points, swelling their numbers to more than one hundred and fifty men, fully equaling the company of castenada, after allowing for reinforcements received by the mexican captain. with one of the texan troops came a quiet man of confident bearing, dressed like the others in buckskin, but with more authority in his manner. the ring tailed panther greeted him with great warmth, shaking his hand and saying: "john! john! we're awful glad you've come 'cause there's to be a lot of roarin' an' tearin' an' clawin' to be done." the man smiled and replied in his quiet tones: "we know it and that's why we've come. now, i suggest that while we leave ten men at each ford, we hold a meeting in the village. everything we have is at stake and as one texan is as good as another we ought to talk it over." "who is he?" asked ned of obed. "that's john moore. he's been a great indian fighter and one of the defenders of the frontier. i think it likely that he'll be our leader in whatever we undertake. he's certainly the man for the place." "oyez! oyez!" roared the ring tailed panther with mouth wide open. "come all ye upon the common, an' hear the case of texas against mexico which is now about to be debated. the gentlemen representin' the other side are on the west shore of the river about a mile from here, an' after decidin' upon our argyment an' the manner of it we'll communicate it to 'em later whether they like our decision or not." they poured upon the common in a tumultuous throng, the women and children forming a continuous fringe about them. "i move that john moore be made the chairman of this here meetin' an' the leader in whatever it decides to do, 'specially as we know already what it's goin' to decide," roared the ring tailed panther, "an' wherever he leads we will follow." ned said nothing, but his pulses were leaping. perhaps the silent boy appreciated more than any other present that this was the beginning of a great epic in the american story. the young student, his head filled with completed dramas of the past, could look further into the future than the veteran men of action around him. the debate was short. in truth it was no debate at all, because all were of one mind. since the mexicans had already fired upon them and would not go away they would cross the river and attack castenada. as obed had predicted, moore was unanimously chosen leader, the title of colonel being bestowed upon him, and they set to work at once for the attack. ned and obed walked together to the cluster of oaks in which the two had spent so much time. both were grave, appreciating fully the fact that they were about to go into battle. "ned," said obed, "you and i have been through a lot of dangers together and we're not afraid to talk about dangers to come. in case anything should happen to you is there any word you want sent anybody?" "to nobody except mr. austin. he's been very good to me here and in mexico. i suppose i've got some relatives in missouri, but they are so distant i've forgotten who they are, and probably they never knew anything about me. if it's the other way about, obed, what word shall i send?" "nothing to nobody. i had a stepfather in maine, who didn't like me, and my mother died five years after her second marriage. i'm a texan, ned, same as if i were born on this soil, and my best friends are around me. i'll live and die with 'em." the two, the man and the boy, shook hands, but made no further display of feeling. the force was organized in the village, beyond the sight of the mexicans, who were lounging in the grass, although they had posted sentinels. every texan was well armed, carrying a rifle, pistol and knife. some had in addition the indian tomahawk. it was the first day of october and the coolness of late afternoon had come. a fresh breeze was blowing from the southwest. the little command, silent save for the hoof beats of their horses, rode down to the river. the women and children looked after them and they, too, were silent. a strange indian stoicism possessed them all. ned and obed were side by side. the breeze cooled the forehead and cheeks of the boy, but his pulses beat hard and fast. he looked back at gonzales and he knew that he would never forget that little village of little log cabins. then he looked straight before him at the yellow river, and the shore beyond, where the mexican camp lay. it was now seven o'clock and the twilight was coming. "isn't it late to make an attack?" he said to obed. "it depends on what happens. circumstances alter battles. if we surprise them there'll be time for a fine fight. if they discover our advance it may be better to wait until morning." they rode into the water twenty abreast, and made for the farther shore. so many horses made much splashing, and ned expected bullets, but none came. dripping, they reached the farther shore and went straight toward the mexican camp. then came sudden shouts, the flash of rifles and the singing of bullets. the mexican sentinels had discovered the texan advance. moore ordered his men to halt, and then he held a short conference with the leaders. it was very late, and they would postpone the attack until morning. hence, they tethered their horses in sight of the mexican camp, set many sentinels and deliberately began to cook their suppers. it was all very strange and unreal to ned. having started for a battle it was battle he wanted at once and the wait of a night rested heavily upon his nerves. "take it easy, ned," said obed, who observed him. "willful haste makes woeful fight. eat your supper and then you'd better lie down and sleep if you can. i'd rather go on watch toward morning if i were you, because if anything happens in the night it will happen late." ned considered it good advice and he lay down in his blankets, having been notified that he would be called at one o'clock in the morning to take his turn. once more he exerted will to the utmost in the effort to control nerves and body. he told himself that he was now surrounded by friends, who would watch while he slept, and that he could not be surprised. slumber came sooner than he had hoped, but at the appointed hour he was awakened and took his place among the sentinels. ned found the night cold and dark, but he shook off the chill by vigorous walking to and fro. he discovered, however, that he could not see any better by use, as the darkness was caused by mists rather than clouds. vapors were rising from the prairie, and objects, seen through them, assumed thin and distorted shapes. he saw west of him and immediately facing him flickering lights which he knew were those of the mexican camp. the heavy air seemed to act as a conductor of sound, and he heard faintly voices and the tread of horses' hoofs. they were on watch there, also. he walked back and forth a long time, and the air continued to thicken. a heavy fog was rising from the prairie, and it became so dense that he could no longer see the fires in the mexican camp. everything there was shut out from the eye, but he yet heard the faint noises. it seemed to him toward four o'clock in the morning that the noises were increasing, and curiosity took hold of him. but the sentinel on the left and the sentinel on the right were now hidden by the fog, and, since he could not confer with them at once, he resolved to see what this increase of noise meant. he cocked his rifle and stole forward over the prairie. he could not see more than ten or fifteen yards ahead, but he went very near to the mexican camp, and then lay down in the grass. now he saw the cause of the swelling sounds. the mexican force, gathering up its arms and horses, was retreating. ned stole back to the camp with his news. "you have done well, ned, lad," said moore. "i think it likely, however, that they are merely withdrawing to a stronger position, but they can't escape us. we'll follow 'em, and since they wanted that cannon so badly we'll give 'em a taste of it." the cannon, a six-pounder, had been brought over on the ferryboat in the night and was now in the texan camp. "ned," said moore, "do you, obed and the panther ride after those fellows and see what they do. then come back and report." it was a dangerous duty, but the three responded gladly. they advanced cautiously through the fog and the ring tailed panther roared softly. "runnin' away?" he said. "i'd be ashamed to come for a cannon an' then to slink off with tail droopin' like a cowardly coyote. by the great horn spoon, i hope they are merely seekin' a better position an' will give us a fight. it would be a mean mexican trick to run clean away." "the mexicans are not cowards," said ned. "depends on how the notion strikes 'em," said the panther. "sometimes they fight like all creation an' sometimes they hit it for the high grass an' the tall timber. there's never any tellin' what they'll do." "hark!" said obed, "don't you hear their tramp there to our left?" the three stopped and listened, and they detected sounds which they knew were made by the retreating force. but they could see nothing through the heavy white fog which covered everything like a blanket of snow. "suppose we ride parallel with them," whispered ned. "we can go by the sounds and by the same means we can tell exactly what they do." "a good idea," said obed. "we are going over prairie which affords easy riding. we've got nothing to fear unless some lamb strays from the mexican flock, and blunders upon us. even then he's more likely to be shorn than to shear." they advanced for some time, guided by the hoofbeats from the mexican column. but before the sun could rise and dispel the fog the sound of the hoofbeats ceased. "they've stopped," whispered the ring tailed panther, joyously. "after all they're not goin' to run away an' they will give us a fight. they are expectin' reinforcements of course, or they wouldn't make a stand." "but we must see what kind of a position they have taken up," said obed. "seeing is telling and you know that when we get back to colonel moore we've got to tell everything, or we might as well have stayed behind." "you're the real article, all wool an' a yard wide, obed white," said the ring tailed panther. "now i think we'd better hitch our horses here to these bushes an' creep as close as we can without gettin' our heads knocked off. they might hear the horses when they wouldn't hear us." "good idea," said obed white. "nothing risk, nothing see." they tethered the horses to the low bushes, marking well the place, as the heavy, white fog was exceedingly deceptive, distorting and exaggerating when it did not hide. then the three went forward, side by side. ned looked back when he had gone a half dozen yards, and already the horses were looming pale and gigantic in the fog. three or four steps more and they were gone entirely. but they heard the sounds again in front of them, although they were now of a different character. they were confined in one place, which showed that the mexicans had not resumed their march, and the tread of horses' hoofs was replaced by a metallic rattle. it occurred to ned that the mexicans might be intrenching and he wondered what place of strength they had found. the boy had the keenest eyes of the three and presently he saw a dark, lofty shape, showing faintly through the fog. it looked to him like an iceberg clothed in mist, and he called the attention of his comrades to it. they went a little nearer, and the ring tailed panther laughed low between his shut teeth. "we'll have our fight," he said, "an' these mexicans won't go back to cos as fine as they were when they started. the tall an' broad thing that you see is a big mound on the prairie an' they're goin' to make a stand on it. it ain't a bad place. a hundred texans up there could beat off a thousand mexicans." they went a little nearer and saw that a fringe of bushes surrounded the base of the mound. further up the mexicans were digging in the soft earth with their lances as best they could and throwing up a breastwork. the horses had been tethered in the bushes. evidently they felt sure that they would be attacked by the texans. they knew the nature of these riders of the plains. "i think we've seen enough," said obed. "we'll go back now to colonel moore and the men." they found their horses undisturbed and were about to gallop back to the main body with the news that the mexicans were on the mound, when some mexican sentinels saw them and uttered a shout. the three exchanged shots with them but knowing that a strong force would be upon them in an instant returned to their original intention and went at full speed toward the camp. it was lucky that the fog still held, as the pursuing bullets went wide, but ned heard more than one sing. the mexicans showed courage and followed the three until they reached the texan camp. as ned and his comrades dismounted they shouted that the mexicans were on a hill not far away and were fortifying. moore promptly had his men run forward that bone of contention, the cannon, and a solid shot was sent humming toward those who had pursued the three. the heavy report came back in sullen echoes from the prairie, and the stream of fire split the fog asunder. but in a moment the mists and vapors closed in again, and the mexicans were gone. then the little army stood for a few moments, motionless, but breathing heavily. the cannon shot had made the hearts of everyone leap. they were inured to indian battle and every kind of danger, but this was a great war. "boys," said moore, "we are here and the enemy is before us." a deep shout from broad chests and powerful lungs came forth. then by a single impulse the little army rushed forward, led by ned, obed and the ring tailed panther, who took them straight toward the mound. as they ran, the great texan sun proved triumphant. it seemed to cleave the fog like a sword blade, and then the mists and vapors rolled away on either side, to right and to left of the texans. the whole plain, dewy and fresh, sprang up in the light of the morning. they saw the steep mound crowned by the mexicans, and men still at work on the hasty trench. again that full-throated cheer came from the texans and they quickened their pace, but captain castenada came down from the mound and a soldier came with him bearing a white flag. "now, what in thunder can he want?" growled the ring tailed panther to ned and obed. "shorely he ain't goin' to surrender. he's jest goin' to waste our time in talk." deep disgust showed on his face. "by waiting we will see," quoth obed oracularly. "now, panther, don't you be too impatient. remember that the tortoise beat the hare in the great greek horse race." moore waved his hand and the texans halted. castenada on foot came on. moore also dismounted, and, calling to ned and obed to accompany him, went forward to meet him. ned and obed, delighted, sprang from their horses, and walked by his side. the ring tailed panther growled between his teeth that he was glad to stay, that he would have no truck with mexicans. castenada, with the soldier beside him, came forward. he was rather a handsome young man of the dark type. as the two little parties met midway between the lines, the forces on the hill and on the plain were alike silent. every trace of the fog was now gone, and the sun shone with full splendor upon brown faces, upon rifles and lances. castenada saluted in mexican fashion. "what do you want?" he asked in spanish, which all understood. "your surrender," replied moore coolly, "either that or the sworn adherence of you and your men to texas." castenada uttered an angry exclamation. "this is presumption carried to the last degree," he said. "my own honor and the honor of mexico will not allow me to do either." "it is that or fight." "i bid you beware. general cos is coming with a force that all texas cannot resist, and after him comes our great santa anna with another yet greater. if the texans make war they will be destroyed. the buffalo will feed where their houses now stand." "you have already made war. accept our terms or fight. we deal with you now. we deal with cos and santa anna later on." "there is nothing more to be said," replied castenada with haughtiness. "we are here in a strong position and you cannot take us." he withdrew and moore turned back with ned and obed. "i don't think he ever meant this parley for anything except to gain time," said moore. "he's expecting a fresh mexican force, but we'll see that it comes too late." then raising his voice, he shouted to his command: "boys, they've chosen to fight, and they are there on the hill. a man cannot rush that hill with his horse, but he can rush it with his two legs." the face of the ring tailed panther became a perfect full moon of delight. then he paled a little. "do you think there can yet be any new trick to hold us back?" he asked obed anxiously. "no," replied obed cheerfully. "time and tide wait for no mexicans, and the tide's at the flood. we charge within a minute." even as he spoke, moore shouted: "now, boys, rush 'em!" for the third time the texans uttered that deep, rolling cheer. the cannon sent a volley of grape shot into the cluster on the mound and then the texans rushed forward at full speed, straight at the enemy. the mexicans opened a rapid fire with rifles and muskets and the whole mound was soon clothed in smoke. but the rush of the texans was so great that in an instant they were at the first slope. they stopped to send in a volley and then began the rush up the hill, but there was no enemy. the mexicans gave way in a panic at the very first onset, ran down the slope to their horses, leaped upon them and galloped away over the prairie. many threw away their rifles and lances, and, bending low on the necks of their horses, urged them to greater speed. ned had been in the very front of the rush, obed on one side and the ring tailed panther on the other. his heart was beating hard and there was a fiery mist before his eyes. he heard the bullets whiz past, but once more providence was good to him. none touched him, and when the first tremors were over he was as eager as any of them to reach the crest of the mound, and come to grips with the enemy. suddenly he heard a tremendous roar of disgust. the ring tailed panther was the author of it. "escaped after all!" he cried. "they wouldn't stay an' fight, when they promised they would!" "at least, the mexicans ride well," said obed. ned gazed from the crest of the mound at the flying men, rapidly becoming smaller and smaller as they sped over the prairie. chapter xvi the coming of urrea many of the texans were hot for pursuit, but moore recalled them. his reasons were brief and grim. "you will not overtake them," he said, "and you will need all your energies later on. this is only the beginning." a number of the mexicans had been slain, but none of the texans had fallen, the aim of their opponents being so wild. the triumph had certainly been an easy one, but ned perhaps rejoiced less than any other one present. the full mind again projected itself into the future, and foresaw great and terrible days. the texans were but few, scattered thinly over a long frontier, and the rage of cos and santa anna would be unbounded, when they heard of the fight and flight of their troops at gonzales. "obed," he said to his friend, "we are victorious to-day without loss, but i feel that dark days are coming." the maine man looked curiously at the boy. he already considered ned, despite his youth, superior in some ways to himself. "you've been a reader and you're a thinker, ned," he said, "and i like to hear what you say. the dark days may come as you predict, because santa anna is a great man in the mexican way, but night can't come until the day is ended and it's day just now. we won't be gloomy yet." after the fallen mexicans had been buried, the little force of voluntary soldiers began to disperse, just as they had gathered, of their own accord. the work there was done, and they were riding for their own little villages or lone cabins, where they would find more work to do. the mexicans would soon fall on texas like a cloud, and every one of them knew it. ned, obed and the ring tailed panther rode back to gonzales, where the women and children welcomed the victors with joyous acclaim. the three sat down with others to a great feast, spread on tables under the shade of oaks, and consisting chiefly of game, buffalo, deer, squirrels, rabbits and other animals which had helped the early texans to live. but throughout the dinner ned and obed were rather quiet, although the ring tailed panther roared to his heart's content. it was ned who spoke first the thought that was in the minds of both obed and himself. slowly and by an unconscious process he was becoming the leader. "obed," he said, "everybody can do as he pleases, and i propose that you and i and the ring tailed panther scout toward san antonio. cos and his army are marching toward that town, and while the texan campaign of defense is being arranged and the leaders are being chosen we might give a lot of help." "just what i was thinking," said obed. "jest what i ought to have thought," said the ring tailed panther. san antonio was a long journey to the westward, and they started at twilight fully equipped. they carried their usual arms, two blankets apiece, light but warm, food for several days, and double supplies of ammunition, the thing that they would now need most. gonzales gave them a farewell full of good wishes. some of the women exclaimed upon ned's youth, but obed explained that the boy had lived through hardships and dangers that would have overcome many a veteran pioneer of texas. they forded the guadalupe for the second time on the same day. then they rode by the mound on which the mexicans had made their brief stand. the three said little. even the ring tailed panther had thoughts that were not voiced. the hill, the site of the first battle in their great struggle, stood out, clear and sharp, in the moonlight. but it was very still now. "we'll date a good many things from that hill," said ned as they rode on. they followed in the path of the flying mexicans who, they were quite sure, would make for cos and san antonio. the ring tailed panther knew the most direct course and as the moon was good they could also see the trail left by the mexicans. it was marked further by grim objects, two wounded horses that had died in the flight, and then by a man succumbing, who had been buried in a grave so shallow that no one could help noticing it. a little after midnight they saw a light ahead, and they judged by the motions that a man was waving a torch. "it can't be a trap," said obed, "because the mexicans would not stop running until they were long past here." "an' there ain't no cover where that torch is," added the ring tailed panther. "then suppose we ride forward and see what it means," said ned. they cocked their rifles, ready for combat if need be, and rode forward slowly. soon they made out the figure of a man standing on a swell of the prairie, and vigorously waving a torch made of a dead stick lighted at one end. he had a rifle, but it leaned against a bush beside him. his belt held a pistol and knife, but his free hand made no movement toward them, as the three rode up. the man himself was young, slender, and of olive complexion with black hair and eyes. he was a mexican, but he was dressed in the simple texan style. moreover, there were mexicans born in texas some of whom, belonging to the liberal party, inclined to the texan side. this man was distinctly handsome and the look with which he returned the gaze of the three was frank, free and open. "i saw you from afar," he said in excellent english. "i climbed the cottonwood there in order to see what might be passing on the prairie, and as my eyes happen to be very good i detected three black dots in the moonlight, coming out of the east. as i saw the men of santa anna going west as fast as hoofs would carry them i knew that only texans could be riding out of the east." he laughed, threw his torch on the ground and stamped out the light. "i felt that sooner or later someone would come upon castenada's track," he said, "and you see that i was not wrong." he smiled again. ned's impression was distinctly favorable, and when he glanced at obed and the ring tailed panther he saw that they, too, were attracted. "who are you, stranger?" asked palmer. "people who meet by night in texas in these times had best know the names and business of one another." "not a doubt of it," replied the young mexican. "my name is francisco urrea, and i was born on the guadalupe. so, you see, i am a texan, perhaps more truly a texan than any of you, because i know by looking at you that all three of you were born in the states. as for my business?" he grew very serious and looked at the three one after another. "my business," he said, "is to fight for texas." "well spoke, by the great horn spoon," roared the ring tailed panther. "yes, to fight for texas," resumed young urrea. "i was on my way to gonzales to join you. i was too late for the fight, but i saw the men of castenada, with castenada himself at their head, flying across the prairie. i assure you there was no delay on their part. first they were here and then they were gone. the prairie rumbled with their hasty tread, their lances glittered for only a single instant, and then they were lost over the horizon." he laughed again, and his laugh was so infectious that the three laughed with him. "i know most people in texas," rumbled the ring tailed panther, "though there are some mexican families i don't know. but i've heard of the urreas, an' if you want to go with us an' join in tearin' an' chawin' we'll be glad to have you." "so we will," said ned and obed together, and obed added: "three are company, four are better." "very well, then," said urrea, "i shall be happy to become one of your band, and we will ride on together. i've no doubt that i can be of help if you mean to keep a watch on cos. my horse is tied here in a clump of chaparral. wait a moment and i will rejoin you." he came back, riding a fine horse, and he was as well equipped as the texans. then the four rode on toward san antonio de bexar. they found that urrea knew much. cos himself would probably be in san antonio within a week, and heavy reinforcements would arrive later. the three in return gave him a description of the fight at the mound, and they told how the texans afterward had scattered for different points on the border. they were not the only riders that night. men were carrying along the whole frontier the news that the war had begun, that the death struggle was now on between mexico and texas, the giant on one side and the pigmy on the other. but the ride of the four in the trail of castenada's flying troop was peaceful enough. about three hours after midnight they stopped under the shelter of some cottonwoods. the ring tailed panther took the watch while the other three slept. ned lay awake for a little while between his blankets, but he saw that urrea, who was not ten feet away, had gone sound asleep almost instantly. his olive face lighted dimly by the moon's rays was smooth and peaceful, and ned was quite sure that he would be a good comrade. then he, too, entered the land of slumber. the ring tailed panther stalked up and down, his broad powerful figure becoming gigantic in the moonlight. belligerent by nature and the born frontiersman, he was very serious now. he knew that they were riding toward great danger and he glanced at the face of the sleeping boy. the ring tailed panther had a heart within him, and the temptation to make ned go back, if he could, was very strong. but he quickly dismissed it as useless. the boy would not go. besides, he was skillful, strong and daring. the ring tailed panther tramped on. coyotes howled on the prairie, and the deeper note of a timber wolf came from the right, where there was a thick fringe of trees along a creek. but he paid no attention to them. all the while he watched the circle of the horizon, narrow by night, for horsemen. if they came he believed that his warning must be quick, because they were likely to be either mexicans or indians. he saw no riders but toward daylight he saw horses in the west. they were without riders and he walked to the nearest swell to look at them. he looked down upon a herd of wild horses, many of them clean and fine of build. at their head was a great black stallion and when the ring tailed panther saw him he sighed. at another time, he would have made a try for the stallion's capture, but now there was other business afoot. the wind shifted. the stallion gave a neigh of alarm and galloped off toward the south, the whole herd with streaming manes and tails following close behind. the ring tailed panther walked back to the cottonwoods and awoke his companions, because it was now full day. "i saw some wild horses grazing close by," he said, "an' that means that nobody else is near. mebbe we can ride clean to san antonio without anybody to stop us." "and gain great information for the texans," said urrea quickly. "houston is to command the forces of eastern texas, and he will be glad enough to know just what cos is doing." "and glad will we be to take such news to him," said ned. "i've seen him and talked with him, don francisco. he is a great man. and i've ridden, too, with jim bowie and 'deaf' smith and karnes." urrea smiled pleasantly at ned's boyish enthusiasm. "and they are great men, too," he said, "bowie, smith and karnes. i should not want any one of them to send his bullet at me." "jim bowie is best with the knife," said the ring tailed panther, "but i guess no better shots than 'deaf' smith and hank karnes were ever born." "a horseman is coming," said ned who was in advance. the boy had shaded his eyes from the sun, and his uncommonly keen sight had detected the black moving speck before any of the others could see it. "it's sure to be a texan," said obed. "you won't find any mexican riding alone on these plains just now." they rode forward to meet him and the horseman, who evidently had keen eyes, too, came forward with equal confidence. it soon became obvious that he was a texan as obed had predicted. his length of limb and body showed despite the fact that he was on horseback, and the long rifle that he carried across the saddle bow was of the frontier type. "my name is jim potter," he said as he came within hailing distance. "you're welcome, jim potter," said the ring tailed panther. "the long, red-headed man here on my right is obed white, the boy is ned fulton; our young mexican friend, who is a good texan patriot, is don francisco urrea, an' as for me, i'm martin palmer, better an' more properly known as the ring tailed panther." "i've heard of you, panther," said potter, "and you and your friends are just the people i want." he spoke with great eagerness, and the soul of the ring tailed panther, foreseeing an impending crisis of some kind, responded. "what is it?" he asked. "a crowd is gathering to march on goliad," replied potter. "the mexican commander there is treating the people with great cruelty and he is sending out parties to harass lone texan homes. we mean to smite him." potter spoke with a certain solemnity of manner and he had the lean, ascetic face of the puritan. ned judged that he was from one of the northern states of new england, but obed, a maine man, was sure of it. "friend," said obed, "from which state do you come, new hampshire or vermont? i take it that it is vermont." "it is vermont as you rightly surmise," replied potter, "and the accent with which you speak, if i mistake not is found only in maine." "a good guess, also," said obed, "but we are both now texans, heart and soul; is it not so?" "it is even so," replied potter gravely. then he and obed reached across from their horses and gave each other a powerful clasp. "you will go with us to goliad and help smite the heathen?" said potter. obed glanced at his comrades, and all of them nodded. "we were riding to san antonio," said the maine man, "to find out what was going on there, but i see no reason why we should not turn aside to help you, since we seem to be needed." "our need of you is great," said potter in his solemn, unchanging tones, "as we are but few, and the enemy may be wary. yet we must smite him and smite him hard." "then lead the way," said obed. "it's better to be too soon than too late." without another word potter turned his horse toward the south. he was tall and rawboned, his face burned well by the sun, but he had an angularity and he bore himself with a certain stiffness that did not belong to the "texans" of southern birth. ned did not doubt that he would be most formidable in combat. after riding at least two hours without anyone speaking a word, potter said: "we will meet the remainder of our friends and comrades about nightfall. we will not exceed fifty, and more probably we shall be scarcely so many as that, but with the strength of a just cause in our arms it is likely that we shall be enough." "when we charged at gonzales they stayed for but one look at our faces," said the ring tailed panther. "then they ran so fast that they were rippin' an' tearin' up the prairie for the next twenty-four hours." "i have heard of that," said potter with a grave smile. "the grass so far from growing scarcely bent under their feet. still, the mexicans at times will fight with the greatest courage." here urrea spoke. "my friends," he said, "i must now leave you. i have an uncle and cousins on the san antonio river, not far above goliad. like myself they are devoted adherents of the texan cause, and it is more than likely that they will suffer terribly at the hands of some raiding party from goliad, if they are not warned in time. i have tried to steel my heart and go straight with you to goliad, but i cannot forget those who are so dear to me. however, it is highly probable that i can give them the warning to flee, and yet rejoin you in time for the attack." "we hate to lose a good man, when there's rippin' an' tearin' ahead of us," said the ring tailed panther. "but if people of his blood are in such great danger he must even go," said potter. urrea's face was drawn with lines of mental pain. his expressive eyes showed great doubt and anguish. ned felt very sorry for him. "it is a most cruel quandary," said urrea. "i would go with you, and yet i would stay. texas and her cause have my love, but to us of mexican blood the family also is very, very dear." his voice faltered and latin tears stood in his eyes. "go," said obed. "you must save your kin, and perhaps, as you hope, you can rejoin us in time." "farewell," said urrea, "but you will see me again soon." he spurred his horse, a powerful animal, and went ahead at a gallop. soon he disappeared over the swells of the prairie. "i hate to see him go," growled the ring tailed panther. "mexicans are uncertain even when they are on your side. but he's a big strong fellow, an' he'd be handy in the fight for which we're lookin'." but he kept ned's sympathy. "he must save his people," said the boy. obed and potter said nothing. at twilight they found the other men waiting for them in a thicket of mesquite, and the total, including the four, was only forty. but with texan daring and courage they made straight for goliad, and ned did not doubt that they would have a fight. life was now moving fast for him, and it was crowded with incident. the troop in loose formation rode swiftly, but the hoofs of their horses made little sound on the prairie. the southern moon rode low, and the night was clear. they crossed two or three creeks, and also went through narrow belts of forest, but they never halted or hesitated. potter and several others knew the way well, and night was the same as day to them. at midnight ned saw a wide but shallow stream, much like the guadalupe. trees and reeds lined its banks. potter informed him that this was the san antonio river, and that they were now below the town of goliad, where they meant to attack the mexican force. "and if providence favors us," said potter, "we shall smite them quick and hard." "providence favors those who hit first and hard," said obed, mixing various quotations. the men forded the river, and, after a brief stop began to move cautiously through thickets of mesquite and chaparral toward the town, the lights of which they could not yet see. at one point the mesquite became so thick that ned, obed and the ring tailed panther dismounted, in order to pick their way and led their horses. ned, who was in advance, heard a noise, as of something moving in the thicket. at first he thought it was a deer, but the sounds ceased suddenly, as if whatever made them were trying to seek safety in concealment rather than flight. ned's experience had already made him skillful and daring. the warrior's instinct, born in him, was developing rapidly, and flinging his bridle to obed he asked him to hold it for a moment. before the surprised man could ask why, ned left him with the reins in his hand, cocked his rifle and crept through the mesquite toward the point whence the sounds had come. he saw a stooping shadow, and then a man sprang up. quick as a flash ned covered him with his rifle. "surrender!" he cried. "gladly," cried the man, throwing up his hands and laughing in a hysterical way. "i yield because you must be a texan. that cannot be the voice of any mexican." obed and the others came forward and the man strode toward them. he was tall, but gaunt and worn, until he was not much more than a skeleton. his clothing, mere rags, hung loosely on a figure that was now much too narrow for them. two bloodshot eyes burned in dark caverns. "thank god," he cried, "you are texans, all of you!" "why, it's ben milam," said potter. "we thought you were a prisoner at monterey in mexico." "i was," replied milam, one of the texan leaders, "but i escaped and obtained a horse. i have ridden nearly seven hundred miles day and night. my horse dropped dead down there in the chaparral and i've been here, trying to take a look at goliad, uncertain about going in, because i do not know whether it is held by texans or mexicans." "it is held by mexicans at present," replied potter, solemnly. "but i think that within an hour or two it will be held by texans." "if it ain't there'll be some mighty roarin' an' rippin' an' tearin'," said the ring tailed panther. "give me a bite to eat and something to drink," said milam; "and i'll help you turn goliad from a mexican into a texan town." exhausted and nearly starved, he showed, nevertheless, the dauntless spirit of the texans. food and drink were given to him and the little party moved toward the town. presently they saw one or two lights. far off a dog howled, but it was only at the moon. he had not scented them. by and by the ground grew so rough and the bushes so thick that all dismounted and tethered their horses. then they crept into the very edge of the town, still unseen and unheard. potter pointed to a large building. "that," he said, "is the headquarters of colonel sandoval, the commandant, and if you look closely you will see a sentinel walking up and down before the door." "we will make a rush for that house," said the leader of the texans, "and call upon the sentinel to yield." they slipped from the cover and ran toward the house, shouting to the mexican on guard to surrender. but he fired at them point blank, although his bullet missed, and a shot from one of the texans slew him. the next moment they were thundering at the door of the house, in which were sandoval and the larger part of his garrison. the door held fast, and shots were fired at them from the windows. some of the texans ran to the neighboring houses, obtained axes and smashed in the door. then they poured in, every man striving to be first, and most of the mexicans fled through the back doors or the windows, escaping in the darkness into the mesquite and chaparral. sandoval himself, half dressed, was taken by the ring tailed panther and obed. he made many threats, but obed replied: "you have chosen war and the texans are giving it to you as best they can. our bullets fall on all mexicans, whether just or unjust." sandoval said no more, but finished his interrupted toilet. it was clear to ned, watching his face, that the mexican colonel considered all the texans doomed, despite their success of the moment. sandoval was still in his quarters. his arms had been taken away but he suffered no ill treatment. despite the rapid flight of the mexican soldiers twenty-five or thirty had been taken and they were held outside. the texans not knowing what to do with them decided to release them later on parole. ned was about to leave sandoval's room when he met at the door a young man, perspiring, wild of eye and bearing all the other signs of haste and excitement. it was francisco urrea. "i am too late!" he cried. "alas! alas! i would have had a share in this glorious combat! i should like to have taken sandoval with my own hand! i have cause to hate that man!" sandoval was sitting on the edge of his bed, and the eyes of the two mexicans flashed anger at each other, urrea went up, and shook his hand in the face of sandoval. sandoval shook his in the face of urrea. wrath was equal between them. fierce words were exchanged with such swiftness that ned could not understand them. he judged that the young mexican must have some deep cause for hatred of sandoval. but the ring tailed panther interfered. he did not like this trait of abusing a fallen foe which he considered typically mexican. "come away, don francisco," he said. "the rippin' an' tearin' are over an' we can do our roarin' outside!" he took urrea by the arm and led him away. ned preceded them. outside he met obed who was in the highest spirits. "we've done more than capture mexicans," he said. "it never rains but it turns into a storm. we've gone through the mexican barracks and we've made a big haul here. let's take a look." ned went with him, and, when he saw, he too exulted. goliad had been made a place of supply by the mexicans, and, stored there, the texans had taken a vast quantity of ammunition, rounds of powder and lead to the scores of thousands, five hundred rifles and three fine cannon. some of the texans joined hands in a wild indian dance, when they saw their spoils, and the eyes of ned and obed glistened. "unto the righteous shall be given," said obed. "we've done far better to-night than we hoped. we'll need these in the advance on cos and san antonio." "they will be of the greatest service," said urrea who joined them at that moment. "how i envy you your glory!" "what happened to you, don francisco?" asked obed. "i carried the warning to my uncle and his family," replied urrea. "i was just in time. guerrillas of cos came an hour later, and burned the house to the ground. they destroyed everything, the stables and barns, and they even killed the horses and the cattle. ah, what a ruin! i rode back by there on my way to goliad." the young mexican pressed his hands over his eyes and ned thrilled with sympathy. "what became of your uncle and his family?" asked the boy. "they rode north for san felipe de austin. they will be safe but they lose all." "never mind," said obed, "we'll make the mexicans pay it back, when we drive 'em out of texas. i don't believe that any good patriot will suffer." "nevertheless," said urrea, "my uncle is willing to lose and endure for the cause." ned slept half through the morning in one of the little adobe houses, and at noon he, obed, the ring tailed panther and others rode toward san antonio. they slept that night in a pecan grove, and the next day continued their journey, meeting in the morning a texan who informed them that cos with a formidable force was in san antonio. he also confirmed the information that the texans were gathering from all points for the attack upon this, the greatest mexican fortress in all texas. mr. austin was commander-in-chief of the forces, but he wished to yield the place to houston who would not take it. late in the afternoon they saw horsemen and rode toward them boldly. the group was sixty or eighty in number and they stopped for the smaller body to approach. ned's keen eyes recognized them first, and he uttered a cry of joy. "there's mr. bowie," he said, "and there are smith and karnes, too! they are all on their way to san antonio." he took off his hat and waved it joyously. smith and karnes did the same and bowie smiled gravely as the boy rode up. "well, ned," he said, "we meet again and i judge that we ride on the same errand." "we do. to san antonio." "an' there'll be the biggest fight that was ever seen in texas," said the ring tailed panther, who knew bowie well. "if mexicans an' texans want to get to roarin' an' rippin' they'll have the chance." "they will, panther," said bowie, still smiling gravely. then he looked inquiringly at urrea. "this is don francisco urrea," said obed. "he was born in texas, and he is with us heart and soul. by a hard ride he saved his uncle and family from slaughter by the guerrillas of cos, and he reached goliad just a few minutes too late to take part in the capture of the mexican force." "some of the mexicans born in texas are with us," said bowie, "and before we are through at san antonio, don francisco, you will have a good chance to prove your loyalty to texas." "i shall prove it," said urrea vehemently. "the place for the gathering of our troops is on salado creek near san antonio," said bowie, "and i think that we shall find both mr. austin and general houston there." bowie was extremely anxious to be at a conference with the leaders, and taking ned, obed, the ring tailed panther and a few others he rode ahead. ned suggested that urrea go too, but bowie did not seem anxious about him, and he was left behind. "maybe he would not be extremely eager to fire upon people of his own blood if we should happen to meet the mexican lancers," said bowie. "i don't like to put a man to such a test before i have to do it." urrea showed disappointment, but, after some remonstrance, he submitted with a fair grace. "i'll see you again before san antonio," he said to ned. ned shook his hand, and galloped away with the little troop, which all told numbered only sixteen. bowie kept them at a rapid pace until sundown and far after. ned saw that the man was full of care, and he too appreciated the importance of the situation. events were coming to a crisis and very soon the texans and the army of cos would stand face to face. they slept on the open prairie, and were in the saddle again before dawn. bowie now curved a little to the north. they were coming into country over which mexicans rode, and he did not wish a clash. but the ring tailed panther was not sanguine about a free passage, nor did he seem to care. "it's likely that the mexican bands are out ridin'," he said. "cos ain't no fool, an' he'll be on the lookout for us. there's more timber as you come toward san antonio, an' there'll be a lot of chances for ambushes." "i believe you are hoping for one," said ned. the ring tailed panther did not answer, but he looked upon this young friend of his of whom he thought so much, and his dark face parted in one of the broadest smiles that ned had ever seen. "i ain't runnin' away from the chance of it," he replied. they saw a little later a belt of timber to their right. ned's experience told him that it masked the bed of a creek, probably flowing to the san antonio river, and he noticed, although they were at some distance, that the trees seemed to be of unusually fine growth. this fact first attracted his attention, but he lost sight of it when he saw a glint of unusually bright light among the trunks. he looked more closely. here again experience was of value. it was the peculiar kind of light that he had seen before, when a ray from the sun struck squarely on the steel head of a lance. "look!" he said to obed and bowie. they looked, and bowie instantly halted his men. the face of the ring tailed panther suddenly lighted up. he too had good eyes, and he said in tones of satisfaction: "figures are movin' among the trees, an' they are those of mounted men with lances. texans don't carry lances an' i think we shall be attacked by a mexican force within a few minutes, colonel bowie." "it is altogether probable," replied bowie. "see, they are coming from the wood, and they number at least sixty." "nearer seventy, i think," said obed. "whether sixty or seventy, they are not too many for us to handle," said bowie. the mexicans had seen the little group of texans and they were coming fast. the wind brought their shouts and they brandished their long lances. ned observed with admiration how cool bowie and all the men remained. "ride up in a line," said bowie. "here, ned, bring your horse by me and all of you face the mexicans. loosen your pistols, and when i give the word to fire let 'em have it with your rifles." they were on the crest of one of the swells and the sixteen horses stood in a row so straight that a line stretched across their front would have touched the head of every one. they were trained horses, too, and the riders dropped the reins on their necks, while they held their rifles ready. it was hard for ned to keep his nerves steady, but obed was on one side of him and bowie on the other, while the ring tailed panther was just beyond obed. pride as well as necessity kept him motionless and taut like the others. doubtless the mexicans would have turned, had it not been for the smallness of the force opposed to them, but they came on rapidly in a long line, still shouting and brandishing their weapons. ned saw the flaming eyes of the horses, and he marked the foam upon their jaws. for what was bowie waiting! nearer they came, and the beat of the hoofs thundered in his ears. it seemed that the flashing steel of the lances was at his throat. he had already raised his rifle and was taking aim at the man in front of him, all his nerves now taut for the conflict. "fire!" cried bowie, and sixteen rifles were discharged as one. not a bullet went astray. the mexican line was split asunder, and horses and men went down in a mass. a few, horses and men, rose, and ran across the plain. but the wings of the mexican force closed in, and continued the charge, expecting victory, now that the rifles were empty. but they forgot the pistols. ned snatched his from the holster, and fired directly into the evil face of a lancer who was about to crash into him. the mexican fell to the ground and his horse, swerving to one side, galloped on. the pistols cracked all around ned, and then, the mexicans, sheering off, fled as rapidly as they had charged. but they left several behind who would never charge again. "all right, ned?" said the cheery voice of obed. "not hurt at all," replied the boy. but as he spoke he gazed down at the face of the man who had tried to crash into him, and he shuddered. he knew that face. at the first glance it had seemed familiar, and at the second he had remembered perfectly. it was the face of the man who had struck him with the butt of a lance on that march in mexico, when he was the prisoner of cos. it seemed a vengeance dealt out by the hand of fate. he who had received the blow had given it in return, although not knowing at the time. ned recognized the justice of fate, but he did not rejoice. nor did he speak of the coincidence to anyone. it was not a thing of which he wished to talk. "they're gone," said the ring tailed panther, speaking now in satisfied tones. "they came, they stayed half a minute, an' then they went, but there was some rippin' an tearin' an' chawin'." "yes, they've gone, and they've gone to stay," said bowie. "it was a foolish thing to do to charge texans armed with rifles on the open prairie." ned was looking at the last mexican as he disappeared over the plain. chapter xvii the old convent the texans gathered up the arms of the fallen mexicans, except the lances for which they had no use, finding several good rifles and a number of pistols of improved make which were likely to prove of great value, and then they rode on as briskly as if nothing had happened. the next day they drew near to san antonio and entered the beautiful valley made by the san antonio river and the creek to which the mexicans gave the name san pedro. ned found it all very luxuriant and very refreshing to eyes tired of the prairies and the plains. despite the fact that it was the middle of october the green yet endured in that southern latitude. splendid forests still in foliage bounded both creek and river. they rode through noble groves of oak and tall pecans. they saw many fine springs spouting from the earth, and emptying into river and creek. it was a noble land, but, although it had been settled long by spaniard and mexican, the wilderness still endured in many of its aspects. now and then a deer sprang up from the thickets, and the wild turkeys still roosted in the trees. churches and other buildings, many of massive stone adorned with carved and costly marbles, extended ten or twelve miles down the river, but most of them were abandoned and in decay. the comanche and his savage brother, the apache, had raided to the very gates of san antonio. the deep irrigation ditches, dug by the spanish priests and their indian converts, were abandoned, and mud and refuse were fast filling them up. already an old civilization, sunk in decay, was ready to give place to another, rude and raw, but full of youth and vigor. it was likely that ned alone felt these truths, as they reached the lowest outskirts of the missions, and stopped at an abandoned stone convent, built at the very edge of the san antonio, where the waters of the river, green and clear, flowed between banks clothed in a deep and luxuriant foliage. half of the troop entered the convent, while the others watched on the horses outside. it impressed ned with a sense of desolation fully equal to that of the ancient pyramid or the lost city. everything of value that the nuns had not taken away had been stripped from the place by comanche, apache or lipan. it was nearly night when they arrived at the convent. the texan camp still lay some miles away, their horses were very tired, and bowie decided to remain in the ruined building until morning. the main portion of the structure was of stone, two stories high, but there were some extensions of wood, from one of which the floor had been taken away by plunderers. it was ned who discovered this floorless room and he suggested that they lead the horses into it, especially as the night was turning quite cold, and there were signs of rain. "a good thought," said bowie. "we'll do it." the horses made some trouble at the door, but when they were finally driven in, and unsaddled and unbridled they seemed content. two windows, from which the glass was long since gone, admitted an abundance of air, and ned and several others, taking their big bowie knives, went out to cut grass for them. on foot, ned was impressed more than ever by the desolation and loneliness of the place. the grounds had been surrounded by an adobe wall, now broken through in many places. on one side had been a little flower garden, and on the other a larger kitchen garden. one or two late roses bloomed in the flower garden, but most of it had been destroyed by weather. ned and the others cut armfuls of grass in a little meadow, just beyond the adobe wall, and they hastened the work. they did not like the looks of the night. the skies were darkening very fast, and they saw occasional flashes of lightning in the far southwest. ned looked back at the convent. it was now an almost formless bulk against the somber sky, its most prominent feature being the cupola in which a bronze bell still hung. the wind rose and cold drops of rain struck him. he shivered. it promised to be one of those raw, cold nights frequent in the southwest, and he knew that the rain would be chill and penetrating. he was glad that they had found the convent. they gave the grass to the horses, and then they went into the main portion of the convent, where bowie and the rest were already at work. here the ruin was not so great, as the spaniards had built in a solid manner, according to their custom. they found a large room, with an open fireplace, in which ned would have been glad to see wood blazing, but bowie did not consider it worth while to gather materials for a fire. adjoining this room was a chapel, in which a pulpit, a desecrated image of the virgin, and some frames without the pictures, yet remained. anger filled ned's heart that anyone should plunder and spoil such a place, and he turned sorrowfully away. back of the large rooms were workrooms, kitchen and laundry, all stripped of nearly everything. the narrow stairway that led to the upper floor was in good condition, and, when ned mounted it, he saw rows of narrow little cell-like rooms in which the nuns had slept. all were bleak and bare, but, from a broken window at the end of the corridor, he looked out upon the san antonio and the forests of oak and pecan. he could barely see the river, the night had grown so dark. the cold rain increased and was lashed against the building by a moaning wind. once more ned shivered, and once more he was glad that they had found the old convent. he was glad to return to the main room, where bowie and the others were gathered. the room had been lighted by two windows, facing the san antonio and two on the side. they had been closed originally by shutters, which were now gone, but as the windows were narrow the driving rain did not enter far. one or two of the men, sharing ned's earlier feeling, spoke up in favor of a fire. they wanted the cheerfulness that light and warmth give. but bowie refused again. "not necessary," he said. "we are here in the enemy's country, and we do not want to give him warning of our presence. we met the lancers to-day, and we have no desire to meet them again to-night." "right," the ring tailed panther roared gently to ned. "when you're makin' war you must fight first an' take your pleasure afterward." it was warm enough in the room and the open windows gave them all the air they needed. every man, except those detailed for the guard, spread his blankets and went to sleep. ned was on the early watch. he, too, would have liked sleep. he could have felt wonderfully fine rolled in the blankets with the cold rain pattering on the walls outside. but he was chosen for the first watch, and his time would come later. ned was posted at a broken door that led to the extension in which the horses were sheltered. the remaining sentinels, three in number, including the ring tailed panther, were stationed in different parts of the building. the boy from his position in the broken doorway could see into the room where his comrades slept, and, when he looked in the other direction, he could also see the horses, some of which were now lying down. it was all very still in the old convent. so deep was this silence that ned began to fancy that he heard the breathing of his sleeping comrades. it was only fancy. the horses had ceased to stir. perhaps they were as glad as the men that they had found shelter. but outside ned heard distinctly the moaning of the wind, and the lashing of the cold rain against roof and walls. on the right where the extension had been connected with the main building of stone there was a great opening, and through this ned looked down toward the adobe wall and the san antonio. he saw dimly across the river a dark waving mass which he knew to be the pecan trees, bending in the wind, but on his own side of the stream he could distinguish nothing. but he watched there unceasingly, save for occasional glances at the horses or his sleeping comrades. he could now see objects very well within the room. he was able to count his comrades sleeping on the floor. he saw two empty picture frames on the wall, and, near by, a rope, which he surmised led to the bell in the cupola, and which some chance had allowed to remain there. now and then ned and one of his comrades of the watch met and exchanged a few words, but they always spoke in whispers, lest they awaken the sleeping men. after these brief meetings ned would return to his watch at the opening. the character of the night did not change as time trailed its slow length away. one solid black cloud covered the sky from horizon to horizon. the wind out of the southwest never ceased to moan, and the cold rain blew steadily upon the walls and roof of the ruined convent. it was not a night when either texans or mexicans would wish to be abroad, and, as the chill grew sharper and more penetrating, ned wrapped one of his blankets about his shoulders. as the night advanced, ned's sense of oppression deepened. he felt once more as he had felt at the pyramid, that he was among old dead things. ghosts could walk here as truly as they could walk on the banks of the teotihuacan. sometimes as the great cloud lightened the least bit he caught glimpses of the grass and weeds that grew between him and the broken adobe wall which was about fifteen yards away. only an hour more, and the second watch would come on. ned began to think of his place on the floor, and of the deep and dreamless sleep that he knew would be his. then he was attracted by a glimpse of the adobe wall. it seemed to him that he had seen a projection, where there was none before. he looked a second time, and he did not see it. fancy played strange tricks at midnight in the enemy's country, and in the desolate silence. ned shook himself. although a vivid imagination might be excusable at such a time even in a man, a veteran of many campaigns, he was essentially an uncompromising realist, and he wished to see facts exactly as they were. the work upon which he was engaged allowed no time for the breeding of fancy. he looked again and there were two projections where he had seen only one before. they resembled knobs on the adobe wall, rising perhaps half a foot above it, and the sight troubled ned. was fancy to prove too strong, when he had drilled himself so long to see the real? was he to be played with by the imagination, as if he had no will of his own? he thought once of speaking to the sentinels at the other doors, but he could not compel himself to do it. they would laugh at him, and it is a bitter thing to be laughed at. so he kept his watch, and while he looked the projections appeared, disappeared and appeared once more. he could stand it no longer. putting his rifle under his blanket in order to keep the weapon dry he stepped out of doors, but flattened himself against the wall of the convent. the rain and wind whipped him unmercifully, and the cold ran through him, but he was resolved to see what was happening by the adobe wall. the projections were there and they had increased to four. they did not go away. ned was now convinced that it was not fancy. his mind had obeyed his will, and he was the true realist, no victim of the imagination. he was about to kneel down in the grass, and crawl toward the wall, when something caused him to change his mind. one of the projections suddenly extended a full yard above the wall, and resolved itself into the shape of a man. but what a man! the body from the waist up was naked, and above it rose a head crested with long hair, black and coarse. other heads and bodies also savage and naked rose up beside it on the wall. ned knew in an instant and springing back within the convent he cried: "comanches! comanches! up men, up!" at the same moment, acting on impulse, he seized the rope that hung by the wall and pulled it hard, fast and often. above in the cupola the great bronze bell boomed forth a tremendous solemn note that rose far over the moaning of the wind. from the adobe wall came a fierce yell, a sinister cry that swelled until it became a high and piercing volume of sound, and then died away in a menacing note like the howl of wolves. but ned, impulse still his master, never ceased to pull the bell. all the texans were on their feet at once, wide awake, rifles in their hands. "lie down, men, by the doors!" cried bowie, "and shoot anything that tries to come in. ned, let go the rope, you are in range there, and lie down with us! but you have done well, boy! you have done well! you have saved us all from being scalped, and perhaps the booming of the big bell will bring us help that we may need badly!" ned threw himself on the floor just in time to avoid a bullet that sang in at the open doorway. but no other shot was fired then. the comanches in silence sank back into the darkness and the rain. the defenders lay on the floor, guarding the doorways with open rifles. they could not see much, but they could hear well, and since ned had given the warning in time every one of the little party felt that they held a fortress. ned's pulses were still leaping, but great pride was in his heart. it was he, not one of the veterans, who had saved them, and bowie had instantly spoken words of high approval. he was now lying flat on the floor, but he looked out once more at the same opening. there were certainly no projections on the wall now, but he could not tell whether the comanches were inside it or outside. if they crept to the sides of the convent's stone walls the riflemen could not reach them there. he wondered how many they were and how they had happened to raid so near to san antonio at this time. then ensued a long and trying period of silence. less experienced men than the texans might have thought that the comanches had gone away after the failure of their attempt at surprise, but these veterans knew better. bowie and all of them were trying to divine their point of attack and how to meet it. for the present, they could do nothing but watch the doorways, and guard themselves against a sudden rush of their dangerous foe. "panther," said obed white, "it seems to me that you're getting all the ripping and tearing and chawing that you want on this trip." "it ain't what you might call monotonous," said the ring tailed panther. "i agree to that much." it had been fully an hour now since ned had rung the great bell, and they had heard no noises save the usual ones of that night, the wind and the rain. he surmised at last that the comanches had taken advantage of the war between the texans and mexicans to make a raid on the san antonio valley, expecting to gallop in, do their terrible work, and then be away. doubtless it had not occurred to them that they would meet such a group as that led by bowie and the ring tailed panther. "ned," said bowie, "creep across the floor there to that rope and ring the bell again. ring it a long time. either it will hurry the comanches into action, or friends of ours will hear it. it's likely that all the mexicans have now withdrawn into san antonio, and that only texans, besides this band of comanches, are abroad in the valley." ned wormed himself across the floor, and then, pressing himself against the wall, reached up for the rope. a strange thought darted into his brain. he had a deep feeling for music, and he could play both the violin and piano. he could also ring chimes. he was keyed to the utmost, every pulse and vein surcharged with the emotion that comes from a desperate situation and a great impulse to save it. the great bell suddenly began to peal forth the air of the star spangled banner. some of the notes may have gone wrong, there may have been errors of time and emphasis, but the old tune, then young, was there. every man lying on the floor, every one of whom was born in the states, knew it, and every heart leaped. elsewhere it might have been a commonplace thing to do, but there in the night and the storm, surrounded by enemies, on a vast and lonely frontier it was an inspiration. every texan in the valley who heard it would know that it was the call of a friend asking for help, and he would come. not a texan moved, but they breathed heavily. overhead the great bell boomed solemnly on, and ned, his hand on the rope, put all his heart and strength into the task. a rifle cracked and a bullet entered the doorway, but it passed over the heads of the texans, and flattened against the stone wall beyond. a rifle inside cracked in response, and a comanche in the grass and weeds uttered a death yell. "i was watchin' for just such a chance," said the ring tailed panther in satisfied tones. "i saw him when he rose to fire. just as you thought, mr. bowie, the bell is makin' their nerves raw, an' they feel that they must do somethin' right away." "what a queer note that was in ned's tune!" suddenly exclaimed obed. bowie laughed. "an angry comanche shot at the bell and hit it. that's what happened," he said. "they can waste as many bullets as they please that way." but the comanches wasted no more just then. a noise came from the horses. the shots evidently had alarmed them, and they were beginning to stamp and rear. four men, at the order of bowie, slipped into the improvised stable and sought to quiet them. they also remained there to keep a guard at the broken windows. ned, unconscious how much time had passed, was still ringing the bell. "you can rest now, ned," said bowie. "that was a good idea of yours and you can repeat it later on. i'm thinking that the comanches will soon act, if they are going to act at all." but nothing occurred for nearly an hour, when the horses began to rear and stamp again. two or three of them also uttered shrill neighs. bowie, with ned, obed and the ring tailed panther joined the four already in the improvised stable. the horses would not be quieted. it was quite evident that instinct was warning them of something that human beings could not yet detect. ned wondered. he put his hand on the neck of his own horse which knew him well, yet the beast trembled all over, and uttered a sudden shrill neigh. it was quite dark in the place, only a little light coming through the broken windows, yet ned was quite sure that no comanches had managed to get inside, and lie in hiding there. a few moments later the ring tailed panther uttered a fierce cry. "i smell smoke!" he cried. "that's why the horses are so scared. the demons have managed to set fire to this place which is wood. that's why they've been so quiet!" ned, too, now smelt the strong odor of smoke, and a spurt of fire appeared at a crack between two of the planks at the far end of the place. the struggles of the horses increased. they were wild with fright. ned instantly recognized the danger. the burning wooden building would fill the stone convent itself with flame and smoke, and make it untenable. the sparks already had become many, and the odor of smoke was increasing. their situation, suddenly become desperate, was growing more so every instant. but they were texans, inured to every kind of danger. bowie shouted for more men to come from the convent, leaving only five or six on guard there. then the texans began to bring method and procedure out of the turmoil. some held the horses, others, led by bowie, kicked loose the light planks where the fire had been started, and hurled them outward. they were nearly choked by the smoke but they worked on. the comanches, many of whom were hugging the wall, shouted their war cry, and began to fire into the opening that bowie and his men had made. they could not take much aim, because of the smoke, but their bullets wounded two texans. despite the danger bowie and most of his men were still compelled to work at the fire. the room was full of smoke, and behind them the horses were yet struggling with those who held them. the ring tailed panther lay down and resting himself on one elbow took aim with his rifle. he was almost clear of the smoke which hung in a bank above him. ned noticed him and imitated him. he saw a dusky figure outside and when he fired it fell. the ring tailed panther did as well, and obed joined them. while bowie and the others were dashing out the fire, three great marksmen were driving back the comanches who sought to take advantage of the diversion. "good! good!" cried bowie, as they knocked out the last burning plank. "that ends the fire," said obed, "and now we've got a hole here which is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a barn door, but i do not think it will suffice for our friends, the comanches." all the men turned their attention to the enemy, and, lying on the ground, they took as good aim as the darkness would permit. the texan rifles cracked fast and, despite the darkness, the bullets often found the chosen targets. the comanches had been shouting the war whoop continuously, but now their cries began to die, and their fire died with it. never a very good marksman, the indian was no match for the texans, every one of whom was a sharpshooter, armed with a fine rifle of long range. the texans also fired from the shelter of the building, and, as the great cloud was now parting, letting through shafts from the moon, the comanches were unable to find good hiding in the weeds and grass. the bullets pursued them there. no matter how low they lay the keen eye of some texan searched them out, and sent in the fatal or wounding bullet. soon they were driven to the shelter of the adobe wall, where they lay, and for a little while returned a scattering fire which did no harm. after it ceased no comanche uttered a war whoop and there was silence again, save for the rain which now trickled down softly. bowie distributed sentinels at the openings, including the new one made by the fire, and then the texans took count of themselves. they had not escaped unscathed. one lying on the floor had received a bullet in his head and had died in silence, unnoticed in the battle. two men had suffered wounds, but they were not severe, and would not keep them from taking part in a renewal of the combat, should it come. all this reckoning was made in the dusk of the old convent, and with the weariness of both body and soul that comes after a period of great and prolonged exertion. within the two rooms that they had defended, the odor of burned gunpowder was strong, stinging throat and nostrils. eddies of smoke hung between floor and ceiling. many of the men coughed, and it was long before they could reduce the horses to entire quiet. they wrapped the dead man in his blankets and laid him in the corner. they bound up the hurts of the others, as best they could and then, save for the watching, they relaxed completely. ned, his back against the wall, sat with his friends obed and the ring tailed panther. he was utterly exhausted, and even in the dusk the men noticed it. "here, ned," said obed, "take a chew of this. you may not feel that you need it, but it will be a good thing for you." he extended a strip of dried venison. ned thanked him and ate, although he had not felt hungry. by and by he grew stronger, and then bowie called to him. "ned," he said, "crawl across the floor again. be sure you do not raise your head until you reach the wall. then ring the bell, until i tell you to stop. i've a notion that somebody will come by morning. boys, the rest of you be ready with your rifles. it was the bell before that brought on the attack." ned slid across the floor, and once more pulled the rope with the old fervor, sending the notes of the tune that he could play best far out over the valley of the san antonio. but no reply came from the comanches. they did not dare to rush the place again in the face of those deadly texan rifles. they made no sound while the bell played on, but the texans knew that they still lay behind the adobe wall, ready for a shot at any incautious head. ned rang for a full half hour, before bowie told him to quit. then he crept back to his place. he put his head on his folded blanket and, although not intending it, fell asleep, despite the close air of the place. but he awoke before it was dawn, and hastily sat up, ashamed. when he saw in the dark that half the men were asleep he was ashamed no longer. bowie, who was standing by one of the doors, but sheltered from a shot, smiled at him. "the sun will rise in a half hour, ned," he said, "and you've waked up in time to hear the answer to your ringing of the bell. listen!" ned strained his ears, and he heard a faint far sound, musical like his own call. it seemed to him to be the note of a trumpet. "horsemen are coming," said bowie, "and unless i am far wrong they are texans. ring again, ned." the bell boomed forth once more, and for the last time. clear and sharp, came the peal of the trumpet in answer. one by one the men awoke. the light was now appearing in the east, the gray trembling into silver. from the valley came the rapid beat of hoofs, a rifle shot and then three or four more. bowie ran out at the door, and ned followed him. across the meadows the comanches scurried on their ponies, and a group of white men sent a volley after them. then the white men galloped toward the convent. bowie walked forward to meet them. "you were never more welcome, fannin," he said to the leader of the group. the man sprang from his horse, and grasped bowie's hand. "we rode as fast as we could, but i didn't know it was you, jim," he said. "some of our scouts heard a bell somewhere playing the star spangled banner in the night. we thought they were dreaming, but they swore to it. so we concluded it must be a call for help and i came with the troop that you see here. we lost the direction once or twice, but the bell called us back." "for that," said bowie, "you have to thank this boy here, a boy in years only, a man in action, and two men in mind and courage. this is ned fulton, colonel fannin." ned blushed and expostulated, but bowie took nothing back. fannin looked about him curiously. "you seem to have had something of a fight here," he said. "down in the grass and weeds we saw several comanches who will trouble no more." "we had all we wanted," said bowie, "and we shall be glad to ride at once with you to camp. i bring some good men for the cause, and there are more behind." they buried the fallen man in the old flower garden, and then rode swiftly for the texan camp on the salado. chapter xviii in san antonio it was a crisp october morning, and as he galloped through the fresh air, all of ned's spirits came back to him. he would soon be with the full array of the texans, marching forward boldly to meet cos himself and all his forces. the great strain of the fight the night before passed away as he inhaled the sparkling air. the red came back to his cheeks, and he felt that he was ready to go wherever the boldest of the texans led. the ring tailed panther shared his emotions. "fine, isn't it?" said he. "great valley, too, but it oughtn't to belong to the mexicans. it's been going down under them for a long time. they haven't been able to protect it from comanches, apaches and lipans. the old convent that we held last night had been abandoned for fear of the indians, an' lots of other work that the spaniards an' mexicans did has gone the same way." the beauty of the country increased, as they rode. fine springs of cold water gushed from the hills and flowed down into the clear green stream of the san antonio. the groves of oaks and pecans were superb, but they passed more desolate and abandoned buildings and crossed more irrigation ditches choked up with refuse. bowie called ned up to his side, and had him to relate again all that he had seen and heard in mexico. "mr. austin is at the camp," said fannin, "and he has been asking about you." ned's heart thrilled. there was a strong bond between him and the gentle, kindly man who strove so hard to serve both texas and mexico, and whom santa anna had long kept a prisoner for his pains. "when will we reach the camp?" he asked bowie. "in less than a half hour. see, the scouts have already sighted us." the scouts came up in a few moments, and then they drew near the camp. ned, eager of eye, observed everything. the heart of the camp was in the center of a pecan grove, where a few tents for the leading men stood, but the texans were spread all about in both groves and meadows, where they slept under the open sky. they wore no uniforms. all were in hunting suits of dressed deerskin or homespun, but they were well armed with the long rifles which they knew how to use with such wonderful skill. they had no military tactics, but they invariably pressed in where the foe was thickest and the danger greatest. they were gathered now in hundreds from all the texas settlements to defend the homes that they had built in the wilderness, and cos with his mexican army did not dare to come out of san antonio. the texans welcomed bowie and his men with loud acclaim. ned and his comrades unsaddled, tethered their horses and lay down luxuriously in the grass. mr. austin was busy in his tent at a conference of the leaders and ned would wait until the afternoon to see him. obed suggested that they take a nap. "in war eat when you can and sleep when you can," he said. "sleep lost once is lost forever." "obed has got some sense if he don't look like it," chuckled the ring tailed panther. "here's to followin' his advice." ned took it, too, and slept until the afternoon, when a messenger asked him to come to mr. austin's tent, a large one, with the sides now open. obed was invited to come with him, and, as ned stood in the door of the tent the mild, grave man advanced eagerly, a glow of pleasure and affection on his face. "my boy! my boy!" he said, putting both hands on ned's shoulders. "i was sure that i should never see you again, after you made your wonderful escape from our prison in mexico. but you are here in texas none the worse, and they tell me you have passed through a very odyssey of hardship and danger." water stood in ned's eyes. he rejoiced in the affection and esteem of this man, and yet mr. austin was very unlike the rest of the texans. they were rough riders; men of the plains always ready to fight, but he, cultivated and scholarly, was for peace and soft words. he had used his methods, and they had failed, inuring only to the advantage of santa anna and mexico. he had failed most honorably, but he looked very much worn and depressed. he was now heart and soul for the war, knowing that there was no other resort, but for battle he did not feel himself fitted. ned introduced obed as the companion of most of his wanderings, and obed received a warm greeting. then other men in the great tent came forward, and ned, surprised, saw that one of them was urrea, dressed neatly, handsome and smiling. but the boy was glad to see him. "ah, señor ned," he said, "you did not expect that i would get here before you. i came by another way, and i have brought information for our leader." ned met the other men in the tent, all destined to become famous in the great war, and then he gave in detail once more all that he knew of the mexicans and their plans. mr. austin sat on a little camp stool, as he listened, and ned noticed how pale and weak he looked. the boy's heart sank, and then flamed up again as he thought of santa anna. it was he who had done this. away from santa anna and free from his magnetism he had a heart full of hatred for him. yet it depressed him to see mr. austin who, good man, was obviously unfit for the leadership of an army, about to enter upon a desperate war against great odds. when ned was excused, and left the tent he found that smith, karnes and the rest of their force had come up. the camp which was more like that of hunters than of an army, was in joyous mood. several buffaloes had been killed on the plains and the men had brought them in, quartered. now they were cooking the meat over great fires, scattered about the groves. the younger spirits were in boisterous mood. several groups were singing, and others were dancing the breakdowns of the border. ned and obed were joined by the ring tailed panther and then by urrea. ned felt the high spirits of the young texans, but he did not join in the singing and dancing. he learned from urrea that houston would arrive in a day or two with more volunteers from eastern texas, and the young mexican also told him something about san antonio. "cos has a large force of regular troops," he said, "but he is alarmed. he did not think that the texans were in such earnest, and that they would dare so much. now, he is barricading the streets and building breastworks." the texans were so resolute and confident that the next day they sent a demand to cos for his surrender. he would not receive it, and threatened that if another white flag appeared he would fire upon it. a day or two later, houston and the eastern texans arrived, and ned, obed, the ring tailed panther and urrea planned a daring adventure for the following night. they had heard how cos was fortifying san antonio, and as they expected the texan army to make an assault they intended to see just what he was doing. they made their way very cautiously toward the town, left on foot when the full dark had come. it was only four miles to san antonio, and they could reach the line of mexican sentinels within an hour. the ring tailed panther was growling pleasantly between his teeth. he had tired of inaction. his was a character such as only the rough world of the border could produce. if he did not live by the sword he lived by the rifle, and since childhood he had been in the midst of alarms. long habit had made anything else tiresome to him beyond endurance, but he was by nature generous and kindly. like obed he had formed a strong attachment for ned who appealed to him as a high-souled and generous youth. they made their way very cautiously toward the town, passing by abandoned houses and crossing fields, overgrown with weeds. both the ring tailed panther and urrea knew san antonio well, and obed had been there once. they were of the opinion that the town with its narrow streets, stone and adobe houses was adapted particularly to defense, but it was of the greatest importance to know just where the new outworks were placed. the four came within sight of mexican lights about nine o'clock. the town was in the midst of gently rolling prairies and as nearly as they could judge these lights--evidently those of camp fires--were about a quarter of a mile from san antonio. they were three in number and appeared to be two or three hundred yards apart. they watched a little while but they did not see any human outlines passing in front of the fires. "they are learnin' caution," said the ring tailed panther. "they are afraid of the texan rifles, an' while those fires light up a lot of ground they keep their own bodies back in the shadow." "wise men," said obed. the ring tailed panther looked his companions in the eye, one by one. "we come out here for business," he said. "what we want to acquire is learnin', learnin' about the new defenses of san antonio, an' we'd feel cheap if we went back without it. now, i don't care to feel cheap myself. good, careful, quiet fellows could slip between them sentinels, an' get into san antonio. i mean to do it. are you game to go with me?" "i am," said urrea, speaking very quickly and eagerly. "and i," said ned. "to turn back is to confess one's weakness," said obed. the ring tailed panther roared gently, and with satisfaction. "that's the talk i like to hear an' expected to hear," he said. "you boys ain't afraid of rippin' an' tearin', when it's in a good cause. there's pretty good grass here. we'll just kneel down in it, an' crawl." the panther marked a point about midway between the nearest two lights and they advanced straight for it on hands and knees, stopping at intervals of a hundred yards or so to rest, as that method of locomotion was neither convenient nor comfortable. as they drew near to the fires they saw the sentinels some distance back of them, and entirely in the shadow, pacing up and down, musket on shoulder. the four were now near enough to have been seen had they been standing erect, but they lay very close to the earth, while they conferred a moment or two. "there's a patch of bushes between those two sentinels," whispered the ring tailed panther, "an' i think we'd better creep by in its shelter. if either of the sentinels should look suspicious every one of us must lay flat an' hold his breath. we could handle the sentinels, but what we want to do is to get into san antonio." they continued their slow and tiresome creeping. only once did they stop, and then it was because one of the sentinels paused in his walk and took his musket from his shoulder. but it was only to light a cigarette and, relieved, they crept on until they were well beyond the fires, and within the ring of sentinels. then at the signal of the ring tailed panther they rose to their feet, and stretched their cramped limbs. "it is certainly good," whispered obed, "to stand up on two legs again and walk like a man." they were now very near to the town and they saw the dark shapes of houses, in some of which lights burned. it was the poorer portion of san antonio, where the mexican homes were mostly huts or jacals, made of adobe, and sometimes of mere mud and wattles. as all the four spoke spanish, they advanced, confident in themselves, and the protecting shadows of the night. a dog barked at them, but obed cursed him in good, strong mexican, and he slunk away. two peons wrapped to the eyes in serapes passed them but obed boldly gave them the salutations of the night and they walked on, not dreaming that the dreaded texans were by. fifty yards further they saw a long earthwork, with the spades and shovels lying beside it, as if the mexicans expected to resume work there in the morning. toward the north they saw another such defense but they did not go very near, as mexican soldiers were camped beside it. but ned retained a very clear idea of the location of the two earthworks. then they curved in toward the more important portion of the town, the center of which was two large squares, commonly called main plaza and military plaza, separated only by the church of san fernando. here were many houses built heavily of stone in the spanish style. they had thick walls and deep embrasured windows. often they looked like and were fortresses. ned and his comrades were extremely anxious to approach those squares, but the danger was now much greater. they saw barricades on several important streets and many soldiers were passing. they learned from a peon that both the squares and many other open places also were filled with the tents of the soldiers. ned, obed and the ring tailed panther having seen so much were eager to see more, but urrea hung back. he thought they should return with the information they had obtained already, and not risk the loss of everything by capture, but the ring tailed panther was determined. "i know san antonio by heart," he said, "an' there's somethin' i want to see. down this street is the house of the vice-governor, veramendi, and i want to see what is going on there. if the rest of you feel that the risk ain't justified you can turn back, but i'm goin' on." "if you go i'm going with you," said ned. "me, too," said obed. urrea shrugged his shoulders. "very well," he said. "it's against my judgment, but i follow." they had pulled their slouch hats down over their faces, in the mexican style, and they handled their rifles awkwardly, after the fashion of mexican recruits. the ring tailed panther led boldly down the street, until they came to the stone house of veramendi. lights shone from the deep embrasured windows of both the first and second floors. the ring tailed panther saw a small door in the stone wall, and he pushed it open. "come in! come quick!" he said to his comrades. his tone was so sharp and commanding that they obeyed him by impulse, and he quickly closed the door behind the little party. they stood in a small, dark alley that ran beside the house and they heard the sound of music. crouching against the wall they listened, and heard also the sounds of laughter and feminine voices. the ring tailed panther grinned in the darkness. "some kind of a fandango is goin' on," he said. "it's just like the mexicans to dance and sing at such a time. i wouldn't be s'prised if cos himself was here, an' i mean to see." he led the way down the little alley, which was roughly paved with stone, and, as they advanced, the sounds of music and laughter increased. unquestionably governor veramendi was giving a ball, and ned did not doubt that the panther's surmise about the presence of cos would prove correct. they found a little gate opening from the alley into a large patio or enclosed court. this gate, like the first, was not locked and the ring tailed panther pushed it open also. the patio was filled with palms, flowering plants and a dense shrubbery. the ring tailed panther again led boldly on, and entered the patio, hiding instantly among the palms and flowers. the others followed and did likewise. ned quivered with excitement. he knew that the danger was great. he knew also that if they lay close and waited they were likely to hear what was worth hearing. the boy was in a dense mat of shrubbery. to his right was obed and to his left were the ring tailed panther and urrea. he saw that the patio was faced on three sides by piazzas or porticos, from which wide doors opened into the house. he heard the music now as clearly as if it were at his side. it was the music of a full band, and it was played with a mellow, gliding rhythm. he saw, also, officers in brilliant uniform and handsome women, as in the dance they passed and repassed the open doors. it was spanish, mexican to the core, full of the south, full of warmth and color. the lean, brown texans crouching in the shrubbery furnished a striking contrast. while they waited, several officers and ladies came out on the piazzas, ate ices and drank sweet drinks. they were so near that the four easily heard all they said. it was mostly idle chatter, high-pitched compliments, allusions to people in the distant city of mexico, and now and then a jest at the expense of the texans. ned realized that many of the younger mexicans did not take the siege of san antonio seriously. they could not understand how a strong city, held by an army of mexican regulars, could have anything to fear from a few hundred texan horsemen, mostly hunters in buckskin. the music began again and the officers and women went in, but presently several older men, also in uniform, came out. ned instantly recognized in the first the square figure and the dark, lowering face of cos. "de la garcia, ugartchea, veramendi," whispered the ring tailed panther, indicating the others. "now we may hear something." cos stood at the edge of the piazza and his face was troubled. he held in his hand a small cane, with which he cut angrily at the flowers. the others regarded him uneasily, but for a while he said nothing. ned hardly breathed, so intense was his interest and curiosity, but when cos at last spoke his disappointment was great. the general complimented veramendi on his house and hospitality, and the vice-governor thanked him in ornate sentences. some more courtesies were exchanged, but cos continued to cut off the heads of the flowers with his cane, and ned knew now that they had come from the ballroom to talk of more important things. meanwhile, the music flowed on. it was the swaying strains of the dance, and it would have been soothing to anyone, whose mind was not forced elsewhere. the flowers and the palms rippled gently under a light breeze, but ned did not hear them. he was waiting to hear cos speak of what was in the mind of himself and the other men on the piazza, the same things that were in the minds of the texans in the shrubbery. "have you any further word from the texan desperadoes, general?" asked veramendi, at last. swish went the general's cane, and a flower fell from its stem. "nothing direct," he replied, his voice rising in anger. "they have not sent again demanding my surrender knowing that a messenger would be shot. the impudence of these border horsemen passes all belief. how dare a few hundred such men undertake to besiege us here in san antonio? what an insult to mexico!" "but they can fight," said ugartchea. "they ride and shoot like demons. they will give us trouble." "i know it," said cos, "but the more trouble they make us the more they shall suffer. it was an evil day when the first american was allowed to come into texas." "yet they will attack us here," persisted ugartchea, "they have driven our men off the prairies. our lances are not a match for their rifles. your pardon, general, but it will be wise for us to fortify still further." cos frowned and made another wicked sweep with the cane. but he said: "what you say is truth, colonel ugartchea, but with qualifications. our men are not a match for them on the open prairie, but should they attack us here in the city they will be destroyed." then he asked further questions about the fortifications, and ugartchea, who seemed to be in immediate charge, began to repeat the details. it was for this that the texans had come into the patio, and ned leaned forward eagerly. he saw obed on one side of him and the ring tailed panther on the other do the same. suddenly there was a noise as of something falling in the shrubbery, and then a sharp whistle. the men on the piazza instantly looked in the direction of the hidden texans. cos and ugartchea drew pistols. the ring tailed panther acted with the greatest promptness and decision. "we must run for it, boys," he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "something, i don't know what, has happened to warn them that we are here. keep your heads low." still partly hidden by the palms and flowers they ran for the gate. cos and veramendi fired at the flitting forms and shouted for soldiers. ned felt one of the bullets scorch the back of his hand, but in a few moments he was out of the gate and in the little dark alley. the ring tailed panther was just before him, and obed was just behind. the panther, instead of running toward the street continued up the alley which led to a large building of adobe, in the rear of the governor's house. "it's a stable and storehouse," said the ring tailed panther, "an' we'll hide in it while the hunt roars on through the city." he jerked open a door, and they rushed in. ned in the dusk saw some horses eating in their stalls, and he also saw a steep ladder leading to lofts above. the ring tailed panther never hesitated, but ran up the ladder and ned followed sharply after him. he heard obed panting at his heels. the lofts contained dried maize and some vegetables, but they were mostly filled with hay. the fugitives plunged into the hay and pulled it around them, until only their heads and the muzzles of their rifles protruded. they lay for a few moments in silence, save for the sound of their own hard breathing, and then ned suddenly noticed something. they were only three! "why, where is urrea?" he exclaimed. "yes, where in thunder is don francisco?" said the ring tailed panther in startled tones. urrea was certainly missing, and no one could tell when they had lost him. their flight had been too hurried to take any count of numbers. there could be only one conclusion. urrea had been taken in the patio. the ring tailed panther roared between his teeth, low but savagely. "i don't like many mexicans," he said, "but i got to like don francisco. the mexicans have shorely got him, an' it will go 'specially hard with him, he bein' of their own race." ned sighed. he did not like to think of don francisco at the mercy of cos. but they could do nothing, absolutely nothing. to leave the hay meant certain capture within a few minutes. already they heard the sounds of the hunt, the shouts of soldiers and the mob, of men calling to one another. through the chinks in the wall they saw the light of torches in the alley. they lay still for a few minutes and then the noise of the search drifted down toward the plazas. the torches passed out of the alley. "did you hear that whistle just before cos and ugartchea fired?" asked ned. "i did," replied obed. "i don't understand it, and what i don't understand bothers me." the ring tailed panther growled, and his growl was the most savage that ned had ever heard from him. the growl did not turn into words for at least a minute. then he said: "i'm like you, obed; i hate riddles, an' this is the worst one that i was ever mixed up with. somethin' fell in the shrubbery; then came the whistle, the mexicans shot, away we went, lickety split, an' now we're here. that's all i know, an' it ain't much." "i wonder if we'll ever find out," said ned. "doubtful," replied the ring tailed panther. "i'm afeard, boys, they won't waste much time on urrea, he bein' a spy an' of their own blood, too. it's war an' we've got to make the best of it." but ned could not make very well of it. a fugitive hidden there in the hay and the dark, the fate of urrea seemed very terrible to him. the three sank into silence. occasionally they heard cries from distant parts of the town, but the hunt did not seem to come back toward them. ned was thankful that the ring tailed panther had been so ready of wit. the mexicans would not dream that the texans were hiding in the vice-governor's own barn, just behind the vice-governor's own house. he made himself cozy in the hay and waited. after about an hour, the town turned quiet, and ned inferred that the hunt was over. the mexicans, no doubt, would assume that the three had escaped from san antonio, and they would not dare to hunt far out on the prairies. but what of urrea! poor urrea! ned could not keep from thinking of him, but think as hard as he could he saw no way to find out about his fate. perhaps the ring tailed panther was right. they would never know. the three did not stir for a long time. ned felt very comfortable in the hay. the night was cold without, but here he was snug and warm. he waited for those older and more experienced than himself to decide upon their course and he knew that obed or the ring tailed panther would speak in time. he was almost in a doze when obed said that it must be about one o'clock in the morning. "you ain't far wrong," said the ring tailed panther, "but i'd wait at least another hour. that ball will be over then, if we didn't break it up when we were in the garden." they waited the full hour, and then they stole from the hay. veramendi's house was silent and dark, and they passed safely into the street. ned had a faint hope that urrea would yet appear from some dark hiding place, but there was no sign of the young mexican. they chose the boldest possible course, thinking that it would be safest, claiming to one soldier whom they passed that they were sentinels going to their duty at the farthest outposts. luck, as it usually does, came to the aid of courage and skill, and they reached the outskirts of san antonio, without any attempt at interference. once more, after long and painful creeping, they stole between the sentinels, took mental note of the earthworks again, and also a last look at the dark bulk that was the town. "poor urrea!" said ned. "poor urrea," said obed. "i wonder what in the name of the moon and the stars gave the alarm!" "poor urrea!" said the ring tailed panther. "this is the worst riddle i ever run up ag'inst an' the more i think about it the more riddlin' it gets." the three sighed together and then sped over the prairie toward the camp on the salado. chapter xix the battle by the river it was not yet daylight when they approached the texan camp. despite the fact that the texan force was merely a band of volunteer soldiers there was an abundance of sentinels and they were halted when they were within a half mile of the salado. but they were recognized quickly, and they passed within the lines, where, in the first rosy shoot of the dawn, they saw bowie going the rounds of the outposts. "what!" he exclaimed. "back already! then you did not get into the town!" "we went right into it. we split it wide open," said the ring tailed panther. bowie's blue eyes glittered. "but you are only three," he said. "where is urrea?" "we lost him an' we don't know how it happened. we know that he's gone, an' that's all." bowie took them to mr. austin's tent, where they told to him, houston, fannin and the others all that they had seen in san antonio. in view of the fact, now clearly proved, that cos was fortifying night and day, bowie and all the more ardent spirits urged a prompt attack, but mr. austin, essentially a man of peace, hung back. he thought their force too small. he was confirmed, too, in the belief of his own unfitness to be a leader in war. "general," he said, turning to houston, "you must take the command here. it would be impossible to find one better suited to the place." but houston shook his head. he would not agree to it. able and ambitious, he refused, nevertheless. perhaps he did not yet understand the full fighting power of the texans, and he feared to be identified with failure, in case they made the assault upon san antonio. when ned and his comrades withdrew from the tent they went to one of the breakfast fires, where they ate broiled strips of buffalo and deer, and drank coffee. then ned rolled in his blankets, and slept under an oak tree. when he awoke about noon he sprang to his feet with a cry of joy and surprise. urrea was standing beside him, somewhat pale, and with his left hand in a sling, but the young mexican himself, nevertheless. ned seized his right hand and gave it a powerful grip. "we thought you as good as dead, don francisco," he said. "we were sure that you had been taken by cos." "i thought both things myself for a few wild moments," said urrea, smiling. "when we rushed from the patio one of the bullets grazed me, but in my excitement as we passed the gate i ran down the alley toward the street, instead of turning in toward the barn, as i have since learned from mr. white that you did. my wrist was grazed by one of the bullets, fired from the piazza, but fortunately i had the presence of mind to wrap it in the serape that i wore. "when i reached the street there was much excitement and many soldiers running about, but being a mexican it was easy for me to pass unsuspected in the crowd. i reached the home of a relative, at heart a sympathizer with texas and liberty, where my wound was bound up, and where i lay hidden until morning, when i was smuggled out of the town. then i made my way among the oaks and pecans, until i came here to our camp on the salado. i had inquired for you during the night, and, not hearing any news of your capture, i was sure that you were in hiding as i was, and when i came here my best hopes were confirmed by the news of your complete escape. mr. white has already given me all the details. we have been very lucky indeed, and we should be thankful." "we are! we truly are!" exclaimed ned, grasping his hand again. the news brought by ned and his comrades was so important that the texans could not be restrained. a few mornings later bowie called upon the boy, obed and the ring tailed panther for a new service. "mr. austin has told me to take a strong party," he said, "and scout up to the very suburbs of san antonio, because we are going to choose a new and closer position. there are to be ninety of us, including you three, 'deaf' smith and henry karnes, and we are to retire if the mexicans undertake an attack upon us, that is, if we have time--you understand, if we have time." ned saw bowie's big eyes glitter, and he understood. the party, the envy of all the others, rode out of the camp in the absence of urrea. bowie had not asked him, as he did not seem to fancy the young mexican, but ned put it down to racial prejudice. urrea had not been visible when they started, but ned thought chagrin at being ignored was the cause of it. fannin also went along, associated with bowie in the leadership, but bowie was the animating spirit. they rode directly toward san antonio, and, as the distance was very short, they soon saw mexican sentinels on horseback, some carrying lances and some with rifles or muskets. they would withdraw gradually at the appearance of the texans, keeping just out of gunshot, but always watching these dangerous horsemen whom they had learned to fear. the texans were near enough to see from some points the buildings of the town, and the veins of the ring tailed panther swelled with ambition. "ned," he said to the boy who rode by his side, "if bowie would only give the word we would gallop right into town, smashing through the mexicans." "we might gallop into it," said ned, laughing, "but we couldn't gallop out again. no, no, panther, we mustn't forget that the mexicans can fight. besides, bowie isn't going to give the word." "no, he ain't," said the ring tailed panther with a sigh, "an' we won't get the chance to make one of the finest dashes ever heard of in war." "he who doesn't dash but rides away will live to dash another day," said obed white oracularly. they rode on in a half circle about the town, keeping a fairly close array, every man sitting his saddle erect and defiant. it seemed to ned that they were issuing a challenge to the whole army of cos, and he enjoyed it. it appealed to his youthful spirit of daring. they practically said to the mexican army in the town: "come out and fight us if you dare!" but the mexicans did not accept the challenge. save for the little scouting parties that always kept a watch at a safe distance they remained within their intrenchments. but bowie and fannin were able to take a look at the fortifications, confirming in every respect all that ned and his comrades had told them. they ate in the saddle at noon, having provided themselves with rations when they started, and then rode back on their slow half circle about the town, mexican scouts riding parallel with them on the inner side of the circle, five hundred yards away. the texans said little, but they watched all the time. it made a powerful appeal to ned, who had been a great reader, and whose mind was surcharged with the old romances. it seemed to him that his comrades and he were like knights, riding around a hostile city and issuing a formal challenge to all who dared to meet them. he was proud to be there in such company. the afternoon waned. banks of vapor, rose and gold, began to pile up in the southwest, their glow tinting the earth with the same colors. but beauty did not appeal just then to the ring tailed panther, who began to roar. "a-ridin', an' a-ridin'," he said, "an' nothin' done. up to san antonio an' back to camp, an' things are just as they were before." "a texas colonel rode out on the prairie with ninety men, and then rode back again," said obed. "but we are not going back again!" cried ned joyfully. bowie, who was in the lead, suddenly turned his horse away from the camp and rode toward the river. the others followed him without a word, but nearly every man in the company drew a long breath of satisfaction. ned knew and all knew that they were not going back to camp that night. ned eagerly watched the leader. they rode by the mission concepcion, passed through a belt of timber and came abruptly to the river, where bowie called a halt, and sprang from his horse. ned leaped down also, and he saw at once the merits of the position into which bowie had led them. they were in a horseshoe or sharp bend of the river, here a hundred yards in width. the belt of thick timber curved on one side while the river coiled in a half-circle about them and in front of the little tongue of land on which they stood, the bank rose to a height of eighteen feet, almost perpendicular. it was a secluded place, and, as no mexicans had been following them in the course of the last hour, ned believed that they might pass a peaceful night there. but the ring tailed panther had other thoughts, although, for the present, he kept them to himself. they tethered the horses at the edge of the wood, but where they could reach the grass, and then bowie placed numerous pickets in the wood through which an enemy must come, if he came. ned was in the first watch and obed and the ring tailed panther were with him. ned stood among the trees at a point where he could also see the river, here a beautiful, clear stream with a greenish tint. he ate venison from his knapsack as he walked back and forth, and he watched the last rays of the sun, burning like red fire in the west, until they went out and the heavy twilight came, trailing after it the dark. ned's impression of mediævalism that he had received in the day when they were riding about san antonio continued in the night. they had gone back centuries. hidden here in this horseshoe, water on one side and wood on the other, they seemed to be in an absolutely wild and primitive world. centuries had rolled back. his vivid imagination made the forest about them what it had been before the white man came. the surface of the river was now dark. the stream flowed gently, and without noise. it, too, struck upon the boy's imagination. it would be fitting for an indian canoe to come stealing down in the darkness, and he almost fancied he could see it there. but no canoe came, and ned walked back and forth in a little space, always watching the wood or the river. the night was very quiet. the horses, having grazed for an hour or two, now rested content. the men not on guard, used to taking their sleep where they could find it, were already in slumber. there was no wind. the dark hours as usual were full of chill, but ned's vigorous walk back and forth kept him warm. he was joined after a while by the famous scout, henry karnes, who, like "deaf" smith, seemed to watch all the time, although he came and went as he pleased. "well, boy," said karnes, "do you find it hard work, this watching and watching and watching for hours and hours?" "not at all," replied ned, responding to his tone of humorous kindness. "i might have found it so once, but i don't now. i'm always anxious to see what will happen." "that's a good spirit to have," said karnes, smiling, "and you need it down here, where a man must always be watching for something. in texas boys have to be men now." he walked back and forth with ned, and the lad felt flattered that so famous a scout should show an interest in him. the two were at the edge of the wood and they could see duskily before them a stretch of bare prairie. karnes was watching this open space intently, and ned was watching it also. the boy saw nothing, but suddenly he heard, or thought he heard, a low sound. it was faint, but, unconsciously bending forward a little, he heard it again. it was a metallic rattle and instantly he called the attention of karnes to it. the scout stopped his walk and listened. then ned saw his form grow rigid and tense. "let's put our ears to the ground, ned," said he. the two stretched out ear to earth, and then ned not only heard the noise much more distinctly, but he knew at once what it was. he had heard it more than once in the marching army of cos. it was the sound made by the approaching wheel of a cannon. "artillery," he said in a whisper. "beyond a doubt," said karnes. "it means that the mexicans have crossed the river--there's a ford two or three hundred yards above--and mean to attack us. it was your good ear, ned, that gave us the first warning." ned flushed with pleasure at the compliment, but, a moment or two later, they saw dark figures rising out of the prairie and advancing toward them. "mexicans!" cried karnes, and instantly fired at a dusky outline. the figures flitted away in the dusk, but the camp of bowie was aroused at once. inside of a minute every man was on his feet, rifle in hand, facing the open place in the horseshoe. they knew that they could not be attacked from the river. bowie came to the side of ned and karnes. "what is it?" he asked. "ned heard a sound," karnes replied, "and when we put our ears to the earth we knew that it was made by artillery. then i saw their scouts and skirmishers and fired upon them. they must have crossed the river in strong force, colonel." "very likely," said bowie. "well, we shall be ready for them. henry, you and smith and the ring tailed panther scout across the prairie there, and see what has become of them." "can't i go, too?" asked ned. bowie patted him on the shoulder. "you young fire eater!" he replied. "haven't you done enough for one night? you gave us the first warning that the mexicans were at hand. i think you'd better rest now, and let these old boys do this job." the three chosen men disappeared in the darkness, and ned sat down among the trees with obed. they, like everybody else, waited as patiently as they could for the reports of the scouts. "obed," said ned, "do you think we're going to have a battle?" "the signs point that way." bowie set everybody to work cutting out undergrowth, in order that they might have a clear field for the work that they expected. by the time this task was completed the scouts returned and their report was alarming. the mexicans had crossed the river in heavy force, outnumbering the troop of texans at least five to one. they had artillery, infantry and cavalry, and they were just out of range, expecting to attack at dawn. the avenue of escape was cut off already. "very good," said bowie. "we'll wait for them." it was too dark to see, but ned knew that his blue eyes were glittering. he advanced to the point where the bluff rose nearly ten feet to the edge of the prairie, and took a long look. "i can see nothing," he said, "but i know you men are right. now we'll cut steps all along the edge of this bluff, in order that our men can stand in them, and fire at the enemy as he comes. then we'll have as fine a fort here as anybody could ask." the men fell to work with hatchets and big knives, cutting steps in the soft earth, at least a hundred of them in order that everybody might have a chance. meanwhile the hour of dawn was at hand, but a heavy mist had thickened over prairie and river. beyond the mists and vapors, the sun showed only a yellow blur, and it did not yet cast any glow over the earth. but ned could clearly hear the mexicans; officers shouting to men; men shouting to horses; horses neighing and mules squealing, and he knew from these noises that the report of their great force by the scouts was correct. he also heard the clank of the artillery wheels again, and he feared that the cannon would prove a very dangerous foe to them. all the pulses in his body began to beat fast and hard. "will the sun ever get through the fog and let us see?" he exclaimed impatiently. it was hard to wait at such a time. "it's comin' through now," said the ring tailed panther. the pale yellow light turned suddenly to full red gold. the banks of mist and vapor dissolved under the shining beams, and floated away in shreds and patches. the river, the forest and the prairie rose up into the light, everything standing out, sharp and clear. ned drew a deep breath. there was the mexican array, massed along the entire open space of the horseshoe, at least five to the texan one, as the scouts had said, and now not more than two hundred yards from them. five companies of cavalry were gathered ready to charge; infantry stood just behind them and back of the infantry ned caught the gleam of the cannon he had heard in the night. evidently the mexicans had not yet brought it to the front, because its fire would interfere with the charge of the cavalry which they expected would end the battle in five minutes. there was no chance for the texans to retreat, but it was not of retreat that they were thinking. "how's your pulse, ned?" asked the ring tailed panther. "it's beating fast and hard, i won't deny that," replied ned, "but i believe my finger will be steady when it presses the trigger." "fine feathers make fine mexicans," said obed white. "how they do love color! that's a gorgeous array out there, and it seems a pity to break it up." the mexican force certainly looked well. the cavalry, in brilliant uniforms, presented a long front, their lances gleaming. the texans, standing in the steps that they had cut in the earth, were in sober attire, but resolute eyes looked out from under their caps or the wide brims of their hats. "they'll charge in a moment," said obed, "and they'll try to break their way through the wood. they cannot ride down this bluff." the ring tailed panther raised his rifle, and looked down the sights. his eyes were glittering. he drew the trigger and the sharp lashing report ended the silence. a mexican officer fell from his horse, and then, with a great shout, the mexican horsemen charged, presenting a gallant array as they bent forward, their rifles and lances ready. the beat of their horses' hoofs came over the prairie like roiling thunder. they wheeled suddenly toward the wood, and then the infantry, advancing, opened heavy and repeated volleys upon the texans. the horsemen also fired from their saddles. it was the heaviest fire under which ned had ever come, and, for a few moments, he quivered all over. he saw a great blaze in front, above it a cloud of lifting smoke, and he heard over his head the hum of many bullets, like the whistling of hail, driven by a heavy wind. but he was experienced enough now to note that the mexican fire was wasted. that bank was a wonderful protection. "it's almost a shame to shoot 'em," roared the ring tailed panther who had reloaded. but up went his rifle, his finger pressed the trigger and another mexican officer fell from his horse. all along the texan front ran the rifle fire, a rapid crackling sound like the ripping apart of some great cloth. but the texans were taking aim. there was no confusion among the hardy veterans of the plains. lying against the face of the bluff they were sending in their bullets with deadly precision. horse after horse in the charging host galloped away riderless over the prairie, and the front rank of the infantry was shot down. ned, like the others, was loading and firing swiftly, but with care. the imminent danger kept down any feeling that he would have had otherwise. the mexicans sought their lives, and he must seek theirs. the smoke and the odor of burned gunpowder inflamed him. there was still a blaze in front of him, but he also saw the brown faces of the mexicans yet pressing forward, and he yet heard the continued thunder of the charging hoofs. "another bullet, ned," roared the ring tailed panther and he and the others around him sent a fresh volley at the horsemen. the mexican cavalry could stand no more. five companies strong, they broke and galloped away, seeking only to escape from the deadly fire of the texan rifles. the infantry also gave back and for a few minutes there was a lull. "that's the end of chapter one," said obed white. "our mexican friends came in haste and they will repent at a distance." the smoke lifted and ned saw many fallen, both men and horses, on the plain in front of them, and there was confusion in the mexican force, which was now out of gunshot. never had the texan rifles done more deadly service. the texan loss was small. ned dropped down from the steps and sat on the grass. his face was wet with perspiration, and he wiped it on his sleeve. he was compelled to cough once or twice to clear his throat of the smoke. the ring tailed panther also was warm, but satisfied. "a texan does best in a fight against odds," he said, "an' we have the odds to-day. but don't you think, ned, that it's over already?" "i don't," said ned. "i know that they will be up to some new trick soon. they will realize that they underrated us at first." he sprang back into the steps that he had cut in the bluff, and took a good look at the mexicans. "they are nearly ready with chapter second, obed," he said. "they are bringing up that cannon." "should have used it in the first place," said the ring tailed panther. "they didn't show much sense." the mexicans were running the gun forward to a little mound, whence they could drop shells and shot over the edge of the bluff, directly among the texans. it was a far more formidable danger than the impulsive charge, and bowie at once took measures to meet it. he called the best rifle shots. among them were ned, obed and the ring tailed panther. "there are fifteen of you," said the dauntless leader, "and your rifles will reach that gun. shoot down every man who tries to handle it. the rest of us will attend to the new charge that is coming." the second attack was to be more formidable than the first. the mexican cavalry had massed anew. ned saw the officers, driving the men into place with the flats of swords, and he heard the note of a trumpet, singing loud and clear over the prairie. then his eyes turned back to the gun, because there his duty lay. ned heard the trumpet peal again, and then the thud of hoofs. he saw the rammers and spongers gather about the gun. the rifle of the ring tailed panther cracked, and the man with the rammer fell. another picked it up, but he went down before the bullet of obed. then a sponger fell, and then the gunner himself was slain by the bullet. the texans were doing wonderful sharpshooting. the gun could not be fired, because nobody could live near it long enough to fire it. its entire complement was cleared away by the swift little bullets. off to right and left, ned heard again the rising crackle of the rifle fire, and he also heard the steady monotonous beat of the hoofs. he knew that the charge was still coming on, but bowie would attend to that. he and his immediate comrades never took their eyes from the gun. new cannoneers, an entire complement, were rushing forward to take the place of their fallen comrades. the mexicans showed plenty of courage that day but the deadly sharpshooters were slaying them as fast as they came. they were yet unable to fire the gun. nor could they draw it back from its dangerous position. a second time all about it were slain, but a third body came forward for the trial. "greasers or no greasers," cried obed, "those are men of courage!" but he continued to shoot straight at them nevertheless, and the third group of cannoneers was fast melting away. "some of you aim at the mules hitched to the caisson," cried the ring tailed panther. "i hate to kill a mule, but it will be a help now." one of the mules was slain and two others, wounded, dashed wildly through the mexican infantry, adding to the confusion and turmoil. the last of the third group of cannoneers fell and the gun stood alone and untouched, the shell still in place. no one now dared to approach it. the dead now lay in a group all about it. meanwhile, the second charge broke like the first and the cavalry galloped wildly away. ned could turn his eyes now. he saw more riderless horses than before, while the fallen, lying still on the prairie, had doubled in number. then his eyes turned back to the gun, standing somber and silent among those who had died for it. the battle-fire gone, for the present, ned felt pity for the mexicans who lay so thick about the cannon. nor did he fail to admire the courage that had been spent so freely, but in vain. "they won't come again," said the ring tailed panther, dropping to the grass. "they have had enough." "i don't blame 'em," said obed, lying down by his side. "they must have lost a third of their number, and they'd have lost another third if they had charged once more." "they're not going away," said ned, who had remained on his perch. "they're coming again." a third time the mexicans charged and a third time they were driven back by the rifles. then they formed on the prairie beyond gunshot, and marched away to san antonio, leaving behind the mournful and silent cannon as proof alike of their courage and defeat. chapter xx the wheel of fire ned watched the mexicans marching away until the last lance had disappeared behind a swell of the prairie. then he joined in the cheer that the texans gave, after which he and his comrades went out upon the field, and gazed upon their work. the killed among the mexicans nearly equaled in numbers the whole texan force, sixteen lying dead around the cannon alone, and many of them also had been wounded, while the texans had escaped with only a single man slain, and but few hurt. but ned quickly left the field. the sight of it was not pleasant to him, although he was still heart and soul with the texans, in what he regarded as a defensive war. bowie drew his forces out of the horseshoe and they rode for the texan camp, carrying with them the trophies of arms that they had taken. on their way they met mr. austin and a strong force who had heard of their plight and who were now coming to their relief. they, too, rejoiced greatly at the victory, and all went back in triumph to the salado. "now that they have seen how we can fight i reckon that mr. austin and houston will order an attack right away on san antonio," said the ring tailed panther. "i don't believe they will," said obed white. "seeing is sometimes doubting. i believe that they still fear our failure." ned inclined to obed's belief but he said nothing. at twilight urrea came back, rejoicing and also full of regrets. he rejoiced over the victory and he regretted that he had not been there. "seems to me, don francisco," said the ring tailed panther, "that you're missin' a lot of things." "there's many a slip 'twixt francisco and the fight-o," said obed. ned was hurt by the irony of his friends, but urrea only laughed as he spread his blanket in a good place, and lay down on it. "i will admit, gentlemen," he said in his precise english, "that i seem always to be absent when anything important happens, but it is owing to the nature of the service that i can best render the texans. being of the mexican race and knowing the country so thoroughly, i am of most value as a seeker after information. i had gone off on a long scout about san antonio, and i have news which i have given to mr. austin." "spyin' is a dangerous business, but it's got to be done," said the ring tailed panther. ned saw that he again looked with disfavor upon urrea, but he ascribed it as before to racial aversion. obed was right. despite the brilliant victory of bowie, houston and austin still held back, and the ring tailed panther roared long and loud. but his roaring was cut short by an order for him, obed, ned and urrea to ride eastward to some of the little texan towns in search of help. the leaders were anxious that their utmost strength be gathered when they should at last make the attack upon san antonio. since he could not have just what he wished, the panther was glad to get the new task, and the others were content. they rode away the next morning, armed and provisioned well. their horses, having rested long and fed abundantly, were strong and fresh, and they went at a good pace, until they came to the last swell from which they could see san antonio. the town was distant, but it was magnified in the clear texas sunlight. it looked to ned, sitting there on his horse, like a large city. it had come to occupy a great place in his mind and just now it was to him the most important town in the world. he wondered if they would ever take it. urrea, who was watching him, smiled. "i know what you are thinking," he said, "and i will wager that it was just the same that i was thinking." "i was trying to read the future and tell whether we would take san antonio," said ned. "exactly. those were my thoughts, too." "i reckon you two wasn't far away from my trail either," said the ring tailed panther, "'cause i was figgerin' that we'd take it inside of a month." "count me in, too," said obed. "great minds go in bunches. i was calculating that we would capture it some day, but i left out the limit of time." they turned their horses, and when they reached the crest of the next swell san antonio was out of sight. before them stretched the prairies, now almost as desolate as they had been when the indians alone roamed over them. they passed two or three small cabins, each built in a cluster of trees near a spring, but the occupants had gone, fled to a town for shelter. one seemed to have been abandoned only an hour or two ago, as the ashes were scarcely cold on the hearth, and a bucket of water, with its gourd in it, still stood on the shelf. the sight moved the ring tailed panther to sentiment. "think of the women an' children havin' to sleep out on the prairie," he said. "it ain't right an' fittin'." "we'll bring them all back before we are through," said obed. they left the little cabin, exactly as they had found it, and then rode at an increased pace toward the north and the east, making for the settlements on the brazos. a little while before nightfall, they met a buffalo hunter who told them there were reports of a mexican cavalry force far north of san antonio, although he could not confirm the truth of the rumors. urrea shook his head vigorously. "impossible! impossible!" he said. "the mexicans would not dare to come away so far from their base at san antonio." the hunter, an old man, looked at him with curiosity and disapproval. "that's more than you an' me can say," he said, "although you be a mexican yourself and know more about your people than i do. i jest tell what i've heard." "mr. urrea is one of the most ardent of the texan patriots," said ned. "i jest tell what i've heard," said the old man, whistling to his pony and riding away. "obstinate!" said urrea, laughing in his usual light, easy manner. "these old hunters are very narrow. you cannot make them believe that a mexican, although born on texas soil, which can be said of very few texans, is a lover of liberty and willing to fight against aggression from the capital." at night they rode into a splendid belt of forest, and made their camp by a cool spring that gushed from a rock and flowed away among the trees. ned and obed scouted a little, and found the country so wild that the deer sprang up from the bushes. it was difficult to resist the temptation of a shot, but they were compelled to let them go, and returning to camp they reported to urrea and the ring tailed panther that they seemed to have the forest to themselves, so far as human beings were concerned. "do you think it is safe to light a fire?" asked urrea. "i see no danger in it," replied obed, "that is, none in a little one. there are so many bushes about us that it couldn't be seen fifty yards away." it was now november and as the night had become quite cold urrea's suggestion of a fire seemed good to ned. he showed much zeal in gathering the dry wood, and then they deftly built a fire, one that would throw out little flame, but which would yet furnish much heat. the ring tailed panther, who had the most skill in wilderness life, kindled it with flint and steel, and while the flames, held down by brush, made hot coals beneath, the smoke was lost among the trees and the darkness. the horses were tethered near, and they warmed their food by the coals before eating it. the place was snug, a little cup set all around by bushes and high trees, and the heat of the fire was very grateful. while ned sat before it, eating his food, he noticed great numbers of last year's fallen leaves lying about, and he picked the very place where he would make his bed. he would draw great quantities of the leaves there under the big beech, and spread his blankets upon them. they were tired after the long day's journey, and they did not talk much. the foliage about them was so thick, making it so dark within the little shade that the need of a watch seemed small, but they decided to keep it, nevertheless. the ring tailed panther would take the first half of the night and urrea the second half. the next night would be divided between obed and ned. ned raked up the leaves at the place that he had selected, folded himself between his blankets, and was asleep in five minutes. the last thing that he remembered seeing was the broad figure of the ring tailed panther, sitting with his back against a tree, and his rifle across his knees. but ned awoke hours later--after midnight in fact--although it was not a real awakening, instead a sort of half way station from slumberland. he did not move, but opened his eyes partly, and saw that urrea was now on guard. the young mexican was not sitting as the ring tailed panther had been, but was standing some yards away, with his rifle across his shoulder. ned thought in a vague way that he looked trim and strong, and then his heavy lids dropped down again. but he did not fall back into the deep sleep from which he had come. the extra sense, his remarkable power of intuition or divination was at work. without any effort of his will the mechanism of his brain was moving and gave him a signal. he heard a slight noise and he lifted the heavy lids. urrea had walked to the other side of the little glade, his feet brushing some of the dry leaves as he went. there was nothing unusual in such action on the part of a sentinel, but something in urrea's attitude seemed to ned to denote expectancy. his whole figure was drawn close together like that of one about to spring, and he leaned forward a little. yet this meant nothing. any good man on guard would be attentive to every sound of the forest, whether the light noise made by a squirrel, as he scampered along the bark of a tree, or a stray puff of wind rustling the leaves. ned made another effort of the will, and closed his eyes for the second time, but the warning sense, the intuitive note out of the infinite, would not be denied. he was compelled to open his eyes once more and now his faculties were clear. urrea had moved again and now he was facing the sleepers. he regarded them attentively, one by one, and in the dusk he could not see that ned's eyelids were not closed. the boy did not stir, but a cold shiver ran down his spine. he felt with all the power of second sight that something extraordinary was going to happen. urrea walked to the smoldering fire, and now ned dropped his eyelids, until he looked only through a space as narrow as the edge of a knife blade. urrea stooped and took from the dying heap a long stick, still burning at the end. then he took another look at the three and suddenly disappeared among the bushes, carrying with him the burning stick. he was so light upon his feet that he made no sound as he went. ned was startled beyond measure, but he was like a spring released by a key. he felt that the need of instant action was great, and, as light of foot as urrea himself, he sprang up, rifle in hand, and followed the young mexican. he was thankful for the wilderness training that he had been compelled to acquire. he caught sight of urrea about twenty yards ahead, still moving swiftly on soundless feet. he moved thus a hundred yards or more, with ned, as his shadow, as dark and silent as he, and then he stopped by the side of a great tree. ned felt instinctively, when urrea halted that he would look back to see if by chance he were followed, and he sank down in the bushes before the mexican turned. urrea gave only a glance or two in that direction and, satisfied, began to examine the tree which was certainly worthy of attention, as it rose to an uncommon height, much above its fellows. ned's amazement grew. why should urrea be so particular about the size or height of a tree? it grew still further, when he saw urrea lay his rifle down at the foot of the tree, spring up, grasp the lowest branch with one hand, and then deftly draw himself up, taking with him the burning stick. he paused a moment on the bough, looked again toward the little camp and then climbed upward with a speed and dexterity worthy of a great monkey. ned saw the mexican's figure going up and up, a dark blur against the stem of the tree, and it was hard to persuade himself that it was reality. he saw also the bright spark on the end of the stick that he carried with him. the tree rose to a height of nearly feet, and when urrea passed above the others that surrounded it, the moon's rays, unobstructed, fell upon him. then, although he became smaller and smaller, ned saw him more clearly. the boy was so much absorbed now in the story that was unfolding before him that he did not have time to wonder. urrea went up as high as the stem would sustain him. then he rested his feet on a bough, wrapped his left arm around the tree, and, with his right arm, began to whirl the burning stick rapidly. the spark leaped up, grew into a blaze, and ned saw a wheel of fire. he had seen many strange things, but this, influenced by circumstances of time and place, was the most uncanny of them all. far above his head, and above the body of the forest revolved the wheel of fire. urrea's own body had melted away in the darkness, until it was fused with the tree. ned now saw only the fiery signal, for such it must be, and his heart rose in fierce anger against urrea. once he lifted his rifle a little, and studied the possibilities of a shot at such range, but he put the rifle down again. he would watch and wait. the wheel ceased presently to revolve, and ned saw urrea again, torch in hand, but motionless. he, too, was waiting. he did not stir for a full quarter of an hour, but all the while the torch burned steadily. then he suddenly began to whirl it again, but in a direction opposite to that made by the first wheel of fire. around and around went the burning brand for some minutes. when he stopped, he waited at least ten minutes longer. then, as if he had received the answer that he wished, making the claim of communication complete, he dropped the torch. ned saw it falling, a trail of light, until it struck among the bushes, where it went out. then urrea began to descend the tree, but he came down more slowly than he had gone up. ned slipped forward, seized urrea's rifle, and then slipped back among the bushes. he put the mexican's weapon at his feet, cocked his own and waited. urrea, coming slowly down the tree, stopped and stood there for a few moments as if in contemplation. a shaft of moonlight piercing through the foliage fell upon his face illumining the olive complexion and the well-cut features. it was hard for ned to believe what he had seen. what could it be but a signal? and that signal to the enemies of the texans! and yet urrea did not look like a villain and traitor. there was certainly no malevolence in his face, which on the other hand had rather a melancholy cast, as he stood there on the bough before swinging to the ground. ned strengthened his will. he had seen what he had seen. such things could not be passed over in times when lives were the forfeit of weakness. urrea let himself lightly to the earth, and stooped down for his rifle. it was not there, and when he straightened up again ned saw that his face was ghastly pale in the moonlight. urrea, with his quick perceptions, was bound to know from the absence of the rifle that he had been followed and was caught. his hand went down toward his belt where a pistol hung, but ned instantly called from the bush: "hands up, don francisco, or i shoot!" his tone was stern and menacing, and urrea's hands went up by the side of his head. but the paleness left his face, and his manner became careless and easy. "is that you, ned?" he called in the most friendly tones. "is it a joke that you play upon me? ah, you anglo-saxons, you seem rough in your play to us latins." "it is no joke, don francisco. i was never more earnest in my life," said ned, stepping from the bush, but still keeping urrea covered with his rifle. "your merits as a climber of trees are great, but you interested me more with your wheel of fire. i think i can account now for your absences, when any fighting with the mexicans was to be done. you are a spy and you were signaling with that torch to our enemies." urrea laughed lightly, musically, and he regarded ned with a look of amusement. it seemed to say to him that he was only a boy, that one so young was bound to make mistakes, but that the mexican was not offended because he was making one now at his cost. the laugh was irritating to the last degree, and yet it implanted in the boy's mind a doubt, a fear that he might have been mistaken. "signaling to friends, not enemies, you mean," said urrea. "this forest ends but a few hundred yards beyond, and i learned when i was scouting about san antonio that some allies of ours in this region were waiting night and day for the news from us to come. i took this method to communicate with them, a successful method, too, i am happy to say, as they answered. in a wild region one must do strange things." his tone was so light, so easy, and it rang so true that ned hesitated. but it was only for a moment. manner could not change substance. he cleared away the mists and vapors made by urrea's light tone and easy assurance, and came back to the core of the matter. "don francisco," he said, "i have liked you, and i believed that you were a true texan patriot, but i cannot believe the story that you tell me. it seems too improbable. if you wished to make these signals to friends, why did you not tell us that you were going to do so?" "i did not know of the possibility of such a signal until i saw this tree and its great height. then, as all of you were asleep, i concluded to make my signal, achieve the result and give you a pleasant surprise. come now, señor edward, hand me my rifle, and let us end this unpleasant joke." ned shook his head. it was hard to resist urrea's assurance, but manner was not all. his logical mind rejected the story. "i'm sorry, don francisco," he said, "but i must refer this to my comrades, mr. palmer and mr. white. meanwhile, i am compelled to hold you a prisoner. you will walk before me to the camp, keeping your hands up." urrea shrugged his shoulders and gave ned a glance, which seemed to be a mixture of disgust and contempt. "very well, if you will have it so," he said. "there is nothing like the stubbornness of a boy." "march!" said ned, who felt his temper rising. urrea, hands up, walked toward the camp, and ned came behind him, carrying the two rifles, one of them cocked and ready for instant use. the mexican never looked back, but walked with unhesitating step straight to the camp. the ring tailed panther and obed were still sound asleep, but, when ned called sharply to them, they sprang to their feet, gazing in astonishment at the spectacle of urrea with his hands up, and the boy standing behind him with the two rifles. "things seem to have happened while i slept," said obed. "looks as if there might have been some rippin' an' tearin'," said the ring tailed panther. "what have you been up to, urrea?" urrea gave the ring tailed panther a malignant glance. "i have not been up to anything, to use your own common language," he replied. "if you want any explanation, you can ask it of your suspicious young friend there. as for me, i am tired of holding my hands as high as my head, and i intend to light a cigarette. three of you, i suppose, are sufficient to watch me." there were still a few embers and touching his cigarette to one of them he sat down, leaned against the trunk of a tree and began to puff, as if the future of the case had no interest for him. "just hand me that pistol at your belt, will you?" said obed. "there seems to be some kind of a difference of opinion between you and ned, and, without knowing anything about it, i'm for ned." urrea took the pistol and tossed it toward obed. the maine man caught it deftly and thrust it in his own belt. he did not seem to be at all offended by the young mexican's contemptuous manner. "besides being one of the best watch makers the state of maine ever produced," he said, "i'm pretty good at sleight-of-hand. i could catch loaded pistols all day, urrea, if you were to pitch them at me." urrea did not deign a reply and obed and the ring tailed panther looked at ned, who told them all he had seen. urrea did not deny a thing or say a word throughout the narrative. when ned finished the ring tailed panther roared in his accustomed fashion. "signalin' to the enemy from a tree top while we was asleep an' he was supposed to be on guard!" he exclaimed. "what have you got to say to this, urrea?" "our young paragon of knowledge and wilderness lore has given you my statement," replied urrea. "you can believe it or not as you choose. i shall not waste another word on thickheads." the teeth of the ring tailed panther came together with a click, and he looked ominously at urrea. "you may not say anything," he growled, "but i will. i didn't trust you at first, don francisco, an' there have been times all along since then when i didn't trust you. you're a smooth talker, but your habit of disappearin' has been too much for me. i believe just as ned does that you were signalin' to the enemy an' that you meant texas harm, lots of harm. it was a lucky thing that the boy awoke. now, what do you think, obed?" "appearances are deceitful sometimes but not always. don francisco seems to have spun a likely yarn to ned, but i've heard better and they were not so mighty much." "you see the jury is clean ag'inst you, don francisco," said the ring tailed panther, "an' it's goin' to hold you to a higher court. did you hear what i said?" urrea nodded. "yes, i heard you," he replied, "but i heard only foolishness." the ring tailed panther growled, but he had the spirit of a gentleman. he would not upbraid a prisoner. "the verdict of the jury bein' given," he said soberly, "we've got to hold the prisoner till we reach the higher court. we ain't takin' no chances, urrea, an' for that reason we've got to tie you. ned, cut off a piece of that lariat." urrea leaped to his feet. he was stung at last. "i will not be bound," he cried. "yes, you will," said the ring tailed panther. "i ain't goin' to hurt you, 'cause i'm pretty handy at that sort of thing, but i'll tie you so you won't get loose in a hurry. better set down an' take it easy." urrea, after the single flash of anger, sat down, and resuming his careless air, held out his hands. "since you intend to act like barbarians as well as fools," he said, "i will not seek to impede you." none of the three replied. the ring tailed panther handily tied his wrists together, and then his ankles, but in such fashion that he could still sit in comfort, leaning against the tree, although the pleasure of the cigarette was no longer for him. "if you don't mind," he said, "i think i shall go to sleep." "no objections a-tall, a-tall," said the ring tailed panther. "have nice dreams." urrea closed his eyes, and his chest soon rose and fell in the regular manner of one who sleeps. ned could not tell whether he really slept. a feeling of compassion for urrea rose again in his heart. what if he should be telling the truth after all? wild and improbable tales sometimes came true. he was about to speak of his thoughts to the men, but he checked himself. disbelief was returning. it was best to take every precaution. "you go to sleep, ned," said obed. "you've done a good job and you are entitled to a rest. the panther and i will watch till day." ned lay down between his blankets and everything was so still that contrary to his expectations, he fell asleep, and did not awaken again until after dawn, when obed told him that they would resume the march, eating their breakfast as they went. urrea was unbound, although he was first searched carefully for concealed weapons. "i wouldn't have a man to ride with his arms tied," said the ring tailed panther, "but we'll keep on both sides of you an' you needn't try to make a bolt of it, urrea." "i shall not try to make any bolt of it," said urrea scornfully, "but you will pay dearly to austin and houston for the indignity that you have put upon me." the ring tailed panther, true to his principle of never taunting a prisoner, did not reply, and they mounted. the panther rode ahead and obed and ned, with urrea between them, followed. urrea was silent, his face melancholy and reproachful. the belt of timber extended only a few hundred yards farther, when they came upon the open prairie extending to the horizon. far to the left some antelope were feeding, but there was no other sign of life of any kind. "i don't see anything of them friends of ours to whom you were signalin'," said the ring tailed panther. urrea would not reply. the panther said nothing further, and they rode on over the prairie. but both the ring tailed panther and obed were watching the ground, and, when they had gone about two miles, they reined in their horses. "see!" they exclaimed simultaneously. they had come to a broad trail cutting directly across their path. it was made by at least a hundred horses, and the veriest novice could not have missed it. the trail was that of shod hoofs, indicating the presence of white men. "what is this, don francisco?" asked the ring tailed panther. "i do not have to reply to you unless i wish," said urrea, "but i am willing to tell you that it is undoubtedly the trail of the texan reinforcements to which i was signaling last night." ned looked quickly at him. again the young mexican's voice had the ring of truth. was the wild and improbable tale now coming true? if so, he could never forgive himself for the manner in which he had treated urrea. still, it was for the older men to act now, and he continued his silence. "maybe texans made this trail, and maybe they didn't," said obed, "but i think we'd better follow it for a while and see. about how old would you say this trail is, panther?" "not more'n two hours." they turned their course, and followed the broad path left by the horsemen across the prairie. thus they rode at a good pace, until nearly noon, and the trail was now so fresh that they could not be far away. the change of direction had brought them toward forest, heavy with undergrowth. it was evident that the horsemen had gone into this forest as the trail continued to lead straight to it, and the ring tailed panther approached with the greatest caution. "can you see anything, ned, in there among them trees an' bushes?" he asked. "you've got the sharpest eyes of all." "not a thing," replied ned, "nor do i see a bough or bush moving." "it would be hard for such a big party to hide themselves," said obed, "so i think we'd better ride straight in." they entered the forest, still following the trail among the trampled bushes, riding slowly over rough ground, and watching wanly to right and left. urrea had not said a word, but when they were about a mile within the wood, he suddenly leaned from his horse, snatched the knife from the belt of the ring tailed panther and slashed at him. fortunately, the range was somewhat long for such work, and, as the panther threw up his arm, the blade merely cut his buckskin sleeve from wrist to elbow, only grazing his skin. urrea, quick as lightning, turned his horse, threw him against that of obed which was staggered, and then started at a gallop among the trees. the ring tailed panther raised his rifle, but urrea threw himself behind his horse, riding with all the dexterity of a comanche in the fashion of an indian who wishes to protect himself; that is, hanging on the far side of the horse by only hands and toes. the panther shifted his aim and shot the horse through the head. but urrea leaped clear of the falling body, avoided obed's bullet, and darted into the thickest of the bushes. as he disappeared a sharp, piercing whistle rose. ned did not have time to think, but when he heard the whistle, instinct warned him that it was a signal. he had heard that whistle once before in exciting moments, and by a nervous action as it were, he pulled hard upon the reins of his horse. in this emergency it was the boy whose action was the wisest. "come back, obed, you and panther!" he shouted. "he may have led us into an ambush!" obed and the ring tailed panther were still galloping after urrea, and, even as ned shouted to them, a flash of flame burst from the undergrowth. he saw obed's horse fall, but obed himself sprang clear. the panther did not seem to be hurt, but, in an instant, both were surrounded by mexicans. obed was seized on the ground and the panther was quickly dragged from his horse. but the maine man, even in such a critical moment, did not forget the boy for whom he had such a strong affection. he shouted at the top of his voice: "ride, ned! ride for your life!" ned, still guided by impulse, wheeled his horse and galloped away. it was evident that his comrades had been taken, and he alone was left to carry out their mission. shots were fired at him and bullets whistled past, but none touched him, and he only urged his horse to greater speed. the boy felt a second impulse. it was to turn back and fall, or be taken with the two comrades whom he liked so well. but then reason came. he could do more for them free than a captive, and now he began to take full thought for himself. he bent far over on his horse's neck, in order to make as small a target as possible, holding the reins with one hand and his rifle with the other. a minute had taken him clear of the undergrowth, and once more he was on the prairie. ned did not look back for some time. he heard several shots, but he judged by the reports that he was practically out of range. now he began to feel sanguine. his horse was good and true, and he rode well. as long as the bullets could not reach and weaken, he felt that the chances were greatly in his favor. he was riding almost due north and the prairie stretched away without limit, although the forest extended for a long distance on his right. he now straightened up somewhat in the saddle, but he did not yet look back, fearing that he might check his speed by doing so, and knowing that every moment was of the utmost value. but he listened attentively to the pursuing hoofs and he was sure that the beat was steadily growing fainter. the gap must be widening. he glanced back for the first time and saw about twenty mexicans spread out in the segment of a circle. they rode ponies and two or three were recoiling lariats which they had evidently got ready in the hope of a throw. ned smiled to himself when he saw the lariats. unless something happened to his horse they could never come near enough for a cast. he measured the gap and he believed that his rifle of long range would carry it. one of the mexicans rode a little in front of the others and ned judged him to be the leader. twisting in his saddle he took aim at him. it is difficult to shoot backward from a flying horse, but ned had undergone the wilderness training and he felt that he could make the hit. he pulled the trigger. the jet of smoke leaped forth and the man, swaying, fell from his saddle, but sprang to his feet and clapped his hands to his shoulder, where the boy's bullet had struck. there was confusion among the mexicans, as it was really their leader whom ned had wounded, and, before the pursuit was resumed with energy, the fugitive had gained another hundred yards. after that, the gap widened steadily, and, when he looked back a second time, the mexicans were a full quarter of a mile in the rear. he maintained his speed and in another hour they were lost behind the swells. sure that he had now made good his escape, ned pulled his horse down to a walk. the good animal was dripping with foam and perspiration and he did not allow him to cool too fast. without his horse he would be lost. but when they had gone on another hour at a walk, he stopped and let him have a complete rest. ned was not able to see anything of the mexicans. the prairie, as far as he could tell, was bare of human life save himself. to his right was the dark line of the forest, but everywhere else the open extended to the horizon. he had escaped! they had started as four and now but one was left. urrea had proved to be a traitor and his good friends, obed and the ring tailed panther were captured or--he refused to consider the alternative. they were alive. two men, so strong and vital as they, could not have fallen. now that his horse had rested, ned mounted again, and rode at a trot for the forest. he knew the direction in which the settlements lay, and he could go on with his mission. men would say that he had shown great skill and presence of mind in escaping from the ambush, when those older and more experienced had been trapped. but when the alternatives were presented to ned's mind he had not hesitated. they were lingering before san antonio and the call for volunteers was not so urgent. he was going back to rescue his comrades or be taken or fall in the attempt. one of the great qualities in ned's mind was gratitude. had it not been for obed he might yet be under the sea in a dungeon of the castle of san juan de ulua. the ring tailed panther had done him a hundred services, and would certainly risk his life, if need be, to save ned's. he would never desert them. the forest was not so near as it looked on the prairie, but two hours' riding brought him to it. he knew that it was the same forest in which obed and the panther had been taken, here extending for many miles. he believed that the mexicans, being far north of their usual range, would remain in the forest, and he was glad of it. he could work much better under cover than on the prairie. this was undoubtedly the mexican band of which the old hunter had spoken, and urrea had given his signal to it from the tree. ned did not believe that it would remain long in this region, but would go swiftly south, probably to reinforce cos in san antonio. he must act with speed. it was several hours until night, and he rode southward through the forest which consisted chiefly of oak, ash, maple and sweet gum. there was not much undergrowth here, and he did not have any great fear of ambush. turning in, yet farther to the right, he saw a fine creek, and he followed its course until the undergrowth began to grow thick again. then he dismounted and fastened his horse at the end of his lariat. the boy had already come to his conclusion. the presence of the creek had decided him. he believed that the mexicans, for the sake of water, had encamped somewhere along its course, and all he had to do was to follow its stream. he marked well the spot at which he was leaving his horse, and began what he believed to be the last stage of his journey. ned was glad now that the undergrowth was dense. it concealed him well, and he had acquired skill enough to go through it swiftly and without noise. he advanced two or three miles, when he saw a faint light ahead, and he was quite sure that it came from the mexican camp. as he went nearer, he heard the sound of many voices, and, when he came to the edge of a thicket, belief became certainty. the entire mexican force was encamped in a semi-circular glade next to the creek. the horses were tethered at the far side, and the men, eighty or a hundred in number, were lying or standing about several fires that burned brightly. it was a cold night, and the mexicans were making themselves comfortable. they were justified in doing so, as they knew that there was no texan force anywhere within a day's ride. they had put out no sentinels, quite sure that wandering texans who might see them would quickly go the other way. ned crept up as close as he dared, and, lying on his side in a dense thicket, watched them. their fires were large, and a bright moon was shining. the whole glade was filled with light. the mexicans talked much, after their fashion, and there was much moving about from fire to fire. presently the eyes of the boy watching in the bush lighted up with a gleam which was not exactly that of benevolence. urrea was passing before one of the fires. ned saw him clearly now, the trim, well-knit figure, and the handsome, melancholy face. but he was no prisoner. many of the mexicans made way for him and all showed him deference. ned had liked urrea, but he could not understand how a man could play the spy and traitor in such a manner, and his heart flamed with bitterness against him. the mexicans continued to shift about, and when two more men came into view ned's heart leaped. they were alive! prisoners they were, but yet alive. he had believed that two so vivid and vital as they could not perish, and he was right. obed and the ring tailed panther sat with their backs against the same tree. they were unbound but the armed mexicans were all about them, and they did not have a chance. they were thirty yards away, and ned could see them very plainly, yet there was a wall between him and these trusty comrades of his. obed and the panther remained motionless against the tree. apparently they took no interest in the doings of the mexicans. ned, yet seeing no way in which he could help them, watched them a long time. he saw urrea, after a while, come up and stand before them. the light was good enough for him to see that urrea's expression was sneering and triumphant. again ned's heart swelled with rage. the traitor was exulting over the captives. urrea began to speak. ned could not hear his words, but he knew by the movement of the man's lips that he was talking fast. undoubtedly he was taunting the prisoners with words as well as looks. but neither obed nor the ring tailed panther made any sign that he heard. they continued to lean carelessly against the tree, and urrea, his desire to give pain foiled for the time, went away. now ned bestirred his mind. here were the mexicans, and here were his friends. how should he separate them? he could think of nothing at present and he drew back deeper into the forest. there, lying very close among the bushes, he pondered a long time. he might try to stampede the horses, but the attempt would be more than doubtful, and he gave up the idea. it was now growing late and the fires in the mexican camp were sinking. the wind began to blow, and the leaves rustled dryly over ned's head. best thoughts sometimes spring from little things, and it was the dry rustle of the leaves that gave ned his idea. it was a desperate chance, but he must take it. the increasing strength of the wind increased his hope. it was blowing from him directly toward the camp. he retreated about a quarter of a mile. then he hunted until he found where the fallen leaves lay thickest, and he raked them into a great heap. drawing both the flint and steel which he, like other borderers, always carried, he worked hard until the spark leaped forth and set the leaves on fire. then he stood back. the forest was dry like tinder. ned had nothing to do but to set the torch. in an instant the leaves leaped into a roaring flame. the blaze ran higher, took hold of the trees and ran from bough to bough. it sprang to other trees, and, in an incredibly brief space, a forest fire, driven by the wind, sending forth sparks in myriads, and roaring and crackling, was racing down upon the mexican camp. ned kept behind the fire and to one side. sparks fell upon him, and the smoke was in his eyes and ears, but he thought little just then of such things. the fire, like many others of its kind, took but a narrow path. it was as if a flaming sword blade were slashed down across the woods. ned saw it through the veil of smoke rush upon the mexican camp. he saw the startled mexicans running about, and he heard the shrill neigh of frightened horses. never was a camp abandoned more quickly. the men sprang upon their horses and scattered in every direction through the woods. two on horseback crowded by ned. they did not see him, nor did he pay any attention to them, but when a third man on foot came, running at the utmost speed, the boy seized him by the shoulder, and was dragged from his feet. "it is i, obed!" he cried. "it is i, ned fulton!" obed white stopped abruptly and the ring tailed panther, unable to check himself, crashed into him. the three, men and boy, went to the ground, where they lay for a few moments among the bushes, half stunned. it was a fortunate chance, as urrea, who had retained his presence of mind, was on horseback looking for the prisoners, and he passed so near that he would have seen them had they been standing. the three rose slowly to their feet and the two men gazed in admiration at ned. "you did it!" they exclaimed together. "i did," replied ned with pride, "and it has worked beautifully." "i was never so much in love with a forest fire before," said the ring tailed panther. "how it roars an' tears an' bites! an' just let it roar an' tear an' bite!" "we'd better go on the back track," said obed. "the mexicans are all running in other directions." "my horse is back that way, too," said ned. "come on." they started back, running along the edge of the burned area. before they had gone far the ring tailed panther caught a saddled and bridled horse which was galloping through the woods, and, they were so much emboldened, that they checked their flight, and hunted about until they found a second. "there must be at least thirty or forty of 'em dashin' about through the woods, mad with fright," said obed. "three are all we can use, includin' ned's," said the ring tailed panther, "but i wish we had more weapons." they had found across the saddle of one of the horses a couple of pistols in holsters, but they had no other weapons except those that ned carried. but they were free and they had horses. the ring tailed panther's customary growl between his teeth became a chant of triumph. "did the mexicans capture obed an' me?" he said. "they did. did they keep us? they didn't. why didn't they? there was a boy named ned who escaped. he was a smart boy, a terribly smart boy. did he run away an' leave us? he didn't. there was only one trick in the world that he could work to save us, an' he worked it. oh, it was funny to see the mexicans run with the fire scorchin' the backs of their ears. but that boy, ned, ain't he smart? he whipped a hundred mexicans all by himself." ned blushed. "stop that, you panther," he said, "or i'll call for urrea to come and take you back." "having horses," said obed, "there is no reason why we shouldn't ride. here, jump up behind me, ned." they were very soon back at the point where ned had left his own horse, and found him lying contentedly on his side. then, well mounted each on his own horses they resumed their broken journey. chapter xxi the texan star just after the three started, they looked back and saw a faint light over the trees, which they knew was caused by the forest fire still traveling northward. "it seemed almost a sin to set the torch to the woods," said the boy, "but i couldn't think of any other way to get you two loose from the mexicans." "it's a narrow fire," said the ring tailed panther, "an' i guess it will burn itself out ag'inst some curve of the creek a few miles further on." this, in truth, was what happened, as they learned later, but for the present they could bestow the thought of only a few moments upon the subject. despite the mexican interruption they intended to go on with their mission. with good horses beneath them they expected to reach the brazos settlements the next day unless some new danger intervened. they turned from the forest into the prairie and rode northward at a good gait. "that was a fine scheme of yours, ned," repeated the ring tailed panther, "an' nobody could have done it better. you set the fire an' here we are, together ag'in." "i was greatly helped by luck," said ned modestly. "luck helps them that think hard an' try hard. didn't that fellow, urrea, give you the creeps? i had my doubts about him before, but i never believed he was quite as bad as he is." but ned felt melancholy. it seemed to him that somebody whom he liked had died. "i saw him talking to you and obed," he said. "what was he saying?" the ring tailed panther frowned and ned heard his teeth grit upon one another. "he was sayin' a lot of things," he replied. "he was talkin' low down, hittin' at men who couldn't hit back, abusin' prisoners, which the same was obed an' me. he was doin' what i guess you would call tauntin', tellin' of all the things we would have to suffer. he said that they'd get you, too, before mornin' an' that we'd all be hanged as rebels an' traitors to mexico. he laughed at the way he fooled us. he said that spat he had with sandoval was only make-believe. he said that we'd never get san antonio; that he'd kept cos informed about all our movements an' that santa anna was comin' with a great army. he said that most of us would be chawed right up, an' that them that wasn't chawed up would wish they had been before santa anna got through with 'em." "many a threatened man who runs away lives to fight another day," said obed cheerfully. "that's so," said the ring tailed panther, "an' i say it among us three that if we don't take san antonio we'll have a mighty good try at it, an' if it comes to hangin' an' all that sort of business there's texan as well as mexican ropes." they reached another belt of forest about o'clock in the morning, and they concluded to rest there and get some sleep. they felt no fear of the mexicans who, they were sure, were now riding southward. they slept here four or five hours, and late the next afternoon reached the first settlement on the brazos. ned and his companions spent a week on the river and when they rode south again they took with them nearly a hundred volunteers for the attack on san antonio, the last draft that the little settlements could furnish. very few, save the women and children, were left behind. on their return journey they passed through the very forest in which ned had made his singular rescue of obed and the ring tailed panther. they saw the camp and they saw the swath made by the fire, a narrow belt, five or six miles in length, ending as the ring tailed panther had predicted at a curve of the creek. the mexicans, as they now knew definitely, were gone days ago from that region. "perhaps we'll meet urrea when we attack san antonio," said ned. "maybe," said obed. they rode to the camp on the salado without interruption, and found that indecision still reigned there. the blockade of san antonio was going on, and the men were eager for the assault, but the leaders were convinced that the force was too small and weak. they would not consent to what they considered sure disaster. the recruits that the three brought were welcomed, but ned noticed a state of depression in the camp. he found yet there his old friends, bowie, smith, karnes, and the others. his news that urrea was a spy and traitor created a sensation. ned was asked by "deaf" smith the morning after his arrival to go with him on a scout, and he promptly accepted. a rest of a single day was enough for him and he was pining for new action. the two rode toward the town, and then curved away to one side, keeping to the open prairie where they might see the approach of a superior enemy, in time. they observed the mexican sentinels at a distance, but the two forces had grown so used to each other that no hostile demonstration was made, unless one or the other came too close. smith and ned rode some distance, and then turned on another course, which brought them presently to a hill covered with ash and oak. they rode among the trees and from that point of vantage searched the whole horizon. ned caught the glint of something in the south, and called smith's attention to it. "what do you think it is?" he asked after smith had looked a long time. "it's the sun shining on metal, either a lance head or a rifle barrel. ah, now i see horsemen riding this way." "and they are mexicans, too," said ned. "what does it mean?" a considerable force of mounted mexicans was coming into view, and smith's opinion was formed at once. "it's reinforcements for cos," he cried. "we heard that ugartchea was going to bring fresh troops from laredo, and that he would also have with him mule loads of silver to pay off cos' men. we'll just cut off this force and take their silver. we'll ride to bowie!" they galloped at full speed to the camp and found the redoubtable georgian, who instantly gathered together a hundred men including the ring tailed panther and obed and raced back. the mexican horsemen were still in the valley, seeming to move slowly, and bowie at once formed up the texans for a charge. but before he could give the word a trumpet pealed, and the mexicans rode at full speed toward a great gully at the end of the valley into which they disappeared. the last that the texans saw were some heavily-loaded mules following their master into the ravine. the ring tailed panther burst into a laugh. "them's not reinforcements," he cried, "an' them's not mules loaded with silver. they're carryin' nothin' but grass. these men have been out there cuttin' feed in the meadow for cos' horses." "you're right, panther," said "deaf" smith, somewhat crestfallen. "but we'll attack, just the same," said bowie. "our men need action. we'll follow 'em into that gully. on, men, on!" a joyous shout was his reply and the men galloped into the plain. they were about to charge for the gully when bowie cried to them to halt. a new enemy had appeared. a heavy force of cavalry with two guns was coming from san antonio to rescue the grass cutters. they rode forward with triumphant cheers, but the texans did not flinch. they would face odds of at least three to one with calmness and confidence. "rifles ready, men!" cried bowie. "they're about to charge." the trumpets pealed out the signal again, and the mexicans charged at a gallop. up went the texans' rifles. a hundred fingers pressed a hundred triggers, and a hundred bullets crashed into the front of the mexican line. down went horses and men, and the mexican column stopped. but it opened in a few moments, and, through the breach, the two cannon began to fire, the heavy reports echoing over the plain. the texans instinctively lengthened their line, making it as thin as possible, and continued their deadly rifle fire. ned, obed and the ring tailed panther as usual kept close together, and "deaf" smith also was now with them. all of them were aiming as well as they could through the smoke which was gathering fast, but the mexicans, in greatly superior force, supported by the cannon, held their ground. the grass cutters in the gully also opened fire on the texan flank, and for many minutes the battle swayed back and forth on the plain, while the clouds of smoke grew thicker, at times almost hiding the combatants from one another. the texans now began to press harder, and the mexicans, despite their numbers and their cannon, yielded a little, but the fire from the men in the gully was stinging their flank. if they pushed forward much farther they would be caught between the two forces and might be destroyed. it was an alarming puzzle, but at that moment a great shout rose behind them. the sound of the firing had been heard in the main texan camp and more texans were coming by scores. "it's all over now," said obed. the texans divided into two forces. one drove the main column of the mexicans in confusion back upon the town, and the other, containing ned and his friends, charged into the gully and put to flight or captured all who were hidden there. they also took the mules with their loads of grass which they carried back to their own camp. ned, the ring tailed panther, obed and "deaf" smith rode back together to the salado. it had been a fine victory, won as usual against odds, but they were not exultant. in the breast of every one of them had been a hope that the whole texan army would seize the opportunity and charge at once upon cos and san antonio. instead, they had been ordered back. they made their discontent vocal that and the following evenings. there was no particular order among the texans. they usually acted in groups, according to the localities from which they came, and some, believing that nothing would be done, had gone home disgusted. mr. austin himself had left, and houston had persisted in his refusal to command. burleson, a veteran indian fighter, had finally been chosen for the leadership. houston soon left, and bowie, believing that nothing would be done, followed him. it was only a few days after the grass fight, and despite that victory, ned felt the current of depression. it seemed that their fortune was melting away without their ever putting it to the touch. although new men had come their force was diminishing in numbers and san antonio was farther from their hands than ever. "if we don't do something before long," said henry karnes, "we'll just dissolve like a snow before a warm wind." "an' all our rippin' an' tearin' will go for nothin'," growled the ring tailed panther. "we've won every fight we've been in, an' yet they won't let us go into that town an' have it out with cos." "we'll get it yet," said obed cheerfully. "in war it's a long lane that has no battle at the end. just you be patient, panther. patience will have her good fight. i've tested it more than once myself." ned did not say anything. he had made himself a comfortable place, and, as the cold night wind was whistling among the oaks and pecans, the fire certainly looked very good to him. he watched the flames leap and sink, and the great beds of coals form, and once more he was very glad that he was not alone again on the mexican mountains. he resolutely put off the feeling of depression. they might linger and hesitate now, but he did not doubt that the cause of texas would triumph in the end. ned was restless that night, so restless that he could not sleep, and, after a futile effort, he rose, folded up his blankets and wandered about the camp. it was a body of volunteers drawn together by patriotism and necessity for a common purpose, and one could do almost as one pleased. there was a ring of sentinels, but everybody knew everybody else and scouts, skirmishers and foragers passed at will. ned was fully armed, of course, and, leaving the camp, he entered an oak grove that lay between it and the city. as there was no underbrush here and little chance for ambush he felt quite safe. behind him he saw the camp and the lights of the scattered fires now dying, but before him he saw only the trunks of the trees and the dusky horizon beyond. ned had no definite object in view, but he thought vaguely of scouting along the river. one could never know too much about the opposing force, and experience added to natural gifts had given him great capabilities. he advanced deeper into the pecan grove, and reached the point where the trees grew thickest. there, where the moonlight fell he saw a shadow lying along the ground, the shadow of a man. ned sprang behind a tree and lay almost flat. the shadow had moved, but he could still see a head. he felt sure that its owner was behind another tree not yet ten feet distant. perhaps some mexican scout like himself. on the other hand, it might be smith or karnes, and he called softly. no answer came to his call. some freak of the moonlight still kept the shadowy head in view, while its owner remained completely hidden, unconscious, perhaps, that any part of his reflection was showing. ned did not know what to do. after waiting a long time, and, seeing that the shadow did not move, he edged his way partly around the trunk, and stopped where he was still protected by the ground and the tree. he saw the shadowy head shift to the same extent that he had moved, but he heard no sound. he called again and more loudly. he said: "i am a texan; if you are a friend, say so!" no one would mistake his voice for that of a mexican. no reply came from behind the tree. ned was annoyed. this was most puzzling and he did not like puzzles. moreover, his situation was dangerous. if he left his tree, the man behind the other one--and he did not doubt now that he was an enemy--could probably take a shot at him. he tried every maneuver that he knew to draw the shot, while he yet lay in ambush, but none succeeded. his wary enemy knew every ruse. had it not been for the shadowy head, yet visible in the moonlight, ned might have concluded that he had gone. he had now been behind the tree a full half hour, and during all that time he had not heard a single sound from his foe. the singular situation, so unusual in its aspect, and so real in its danger, began to get upon his nerves. he thought at last of something which he believed would draw the fire of the ambushed mexican. he carried a pistol as well as a rifle, and, carefully laying the cocked rifle by his side, he drew the smaller weapon. then he crept about the tree, purposely making a little noise. he saw the shadowy head move, and he knew that his enemy was seeking a shot. he heard for the first time a slight sound, and he could tell from it exactly where the man lay. raising his pistol he fired, and the bark flew from the right side of the tree. a man instantly sprang out, rifle in hand, and rushed toward him expecting to take him, unarmed. like a flash ned seized his own cocked rifle and covered the man. when he looked down the sights he saw that it was urrea. urrea halted, taken by surprise. his own rifle was not leveled, and ned held his life at his gun muzzle. "stop, don francisco, or i fire," said the boy. "i did not dream that it was you, and i am sorry that i was wrong." urrea recovered very quickly from his surprise. he did not seek to raise his rifle, knowing that it was too late. "well," he said, "why don't you fire?" "i don't know," replied ned. "i would do it in your place." "i know it, but there is a difference between us and i am glad of that difference, egotistical as it may sound." "there is another difference which perhaps you do not have in mind. you are a texan, an american, and i am a mexican. that is why i came among you and claimed to be one of you. you were fools to think that i, francisco urrea, could ever fight for texas against mexico." "it seems that we were," said ned. urrea laughed somewhat scornfully. "there are some mexicans born here in texas who are so foolish," he said, "but they do not know mexico. they do not know the greatness of our nation, or the greatness of santa anna. what are your paltry numbers against us? you will fail here against san antonio, and, even if you should take the town, santa anna will come with a great army and destroy you. and then, remember that there is a price to be paid. much rope will be used to good purpose in texas." "you have eaten our bread, you have received kindness from us, and yet you talk of executions." "i ate your bread, because it was my business to do so. i am not ashamed of anything that i have done. i do not exaggerate, when i say that i have rendered my nation great service against the texan rebels. it was i who brought them against you more than once." "i should not boast of it. i should never pretend to belong to one side in war and work for another." "again there is a difference between us. now, what do you purpose to do? i am, as it were, your prisoner, and it is for you to make a beginning." ned was embarrassed. he was young and he could not enforce all the rigors of war. he knew that if he took urrea to the camp the man would be executed as a spy and traitor. the mexicans had already committed many outrages, and the texans were in no forgiving mood. ned could not forget that this man had broken bread with his comrades and himself, and once he had liked him. even now his manner, which contained no fear nor cringing, appealed to him. "go," he said at last, "i cannot take your life, nor can i carry you to those who would take it. doubtless i am doing wrong, but i do not know what else to do." "do you mean that you let me go free?" "i do. you cannot be a spy among us again, and as an open enemy you are only as one among thousands. of course you came here to-night to spy upon us, and it was an odd chance that brought us together. take the direction of san antonio, but don't look back. i warn you that i shall keep you covered with my rifle." urrea turned without another word and walked away. ned watched him for a full hundred yards. he noticed that the man's figure was as trim and erect as ever. apparently, he was as wanting in remorse as he was in fear. when urrea had gone a hundred yards ned turned and went swiftly back to the camp. he said nothing about the incident either to obed or the ring tailed panther. the next day urrea was crowded from his mind by exciting news. a sentinel had hailed at dawn three worn and unkempt texans who had escaped from san antonio, where they had long been held prisoners by cos. they brought word that the mexican army was disheartened. the heavy reinforcements, promised by santa anna, had not come. a great clamor for an immediate attack arose. the citizen army gathered in hundreds around the tent of burleson, the leader, and demanded that they be led against san antonio. fannin and milam were there, and they seconded the demands of the men. ned stood on the outskirts of the crowd. the ring tailed panther on one side of him uttering a succession of growls, but obed on the other was silent. "it looks like a go this time," said ned. "i think it is," said obed, "and if it isn't a go now it won't be one at all. waiting wears out the best of men." the ring tailed panther continued to growl. a great shout suddenly arose. the panther ceased to growl and his face beamed. burleson had consented to the demand of the men. it was quickly arranged that they should attack san antonio in the morning, and risk everything on the cast. the short day--it was winter now--was spent in preparations. ned and his comrades cleaned their rifles and pistols and provided themselves with double stores of ammunition. ned did not seek to conceal from himself, nor did the men seek to hide from him the greatness and danger of their attempt. "they outnumber us and they hold a fortified town," said obed. "whatever we do we three must stick together. in union there is often safety." "we stick as long as we stand," said the ring tailed panther. "if one falls the other two must go on, an', if two fall, the last must go on as long as he can." "agreed," said ned and obed. they were ready long before night, but after dark an alarming story spread through the little army. part of it at least proved to be true. one of the scouts, sent out after the decision to attack had been taken, had failed to come in. it was believed that he had deserted to the mexicans with news of the intended texan advance. the leaders had counted upon surprise, as a necessary factor in their success, and without it they would not advance. gloom settled over the army, but it was not a silent gloom. these men spoke their disappointment in words many and loud. never had the ring tailed panther roared longer, without taking breath. the texans were still talking angrily about the fires, when another shout arose. the missing scout came in and he brought with him a mexican deserter, who confirmed all the reports about the discouragement of the garrison. once more, the texans crowded about burleson's tent, and demanded that the attack be made upon san antonio. at last burleson exclaimed: "well, if you can get volunteers to attack, go and attack!" milam turned, faced the crowd and raised his hand. there was a sudden hush save for the deep breathing of many men. then in a loud, clear voice milam spoke only ten words. they were: "who will go with old ben milam into san antonio?" and a hundred voices roared a single word in reply. it was: "i!" "that settles it," said the ring tailed panther with deep satisfaction. "old satan himself couldn't stop the attack now." the word was given that the volunteers for the direct attack, three hundred in number, would gather at an old mill half way between the camp and the town. thence they would march on foot for the assault. ned and his comrades were among the first to gather at the mill and he waited as calmly as he could, while the whole force was assembled, three hundred lean, brown men, large of bone and long of limb. no light was allowed, and the night was cold. the figures of the men looked like phantoms in the dusk. ned stood with his friends, while milam gave the directions. they were to be divided into two forces. one under milam was to enter the town by the street called acequia, and the other under colonel johnson was to penetrate by soledad street. they relied upon the neglect of the mexicans to get so far, before the battle began. burleson, with the remainder of his men would attack the ancient mission, then turned into a fort, called the alamo. "deaf" smith, who knew the town thoroughly, led johnson's column, and ned, obed and the ring tailed panther were just behind him. ned was quivering in every nerve with excitement and suspense, but he let no one see it. he moved forward with steady step and he heard behind him the soft tread of the men who intended to get into san antonio without being seen. he looked back at them. they came in the dusk like so many shadows and no one spoke. it was like a procession of ghosts, moving into a sleeping town. the chill wind cut across their faces, but no one at that moment took notice of cold. high over ned's head a great star danced and twinkled, and it seemed to him that it was the texan star springing out. the houses of the town rose out of the darkness. ned saw off to right and left fresh earthworks and rifle pits, but either no men were stationed there or they slept. the figure of smith led steadily on and behind came the long and silent file. how much farther would they go without being seen or heard? it seemed amazing to ned that they had come so far already. they were actually at the edge of the town. now they were in it, going up the narrow soledad street between the low houses directly toward the main plaza, which was fortified by barricades and artillery. a faint glimmer of dawn was just beginning to appear in the east. a dusky figure suddenly appeared in the street in front of them and gave a shout of alarm. "deaf" smith fired and the man fell. a bugle pealed from the plaza and a cannon was fired down the street, the ball whistling over the heads of the texans. in an instant the garrison of cos was awake, and the alarm sounded from every point of san antonio. lights flashed, arms rattled and men called to one another. "into this house" cried "deaf" smith. "we cannot charge up the narrow street in face of the cannon!" they were now within a hundred yards of the plaza, but they saw that the guide was right. they dashed into the large, solid house that he had indicated, and ned did not notice until he was inside that it was the very house of the vice-governor, veramendi, into which he had come once before. just as the last of the texans sprang through the doors another cannon ball whistled down the street, this time low enough. milam's division, meanwhile, had rushed into the house of de la garcia, near by. as ned and the others sprang to cover he trampled upon the flowers in a patio, and he saw a little fountain playing. then he knew. it was the house of veramendi, and he thought it a singular chance that had brought him to the same place. but he had little time for reflection. the column of texans, a hundred and fifty in number, were taking possession of every part of the building, the occupants of which had fled through the rear doors. "to the roof!" cried "deaf" smith. "we can best meet the attack from there." the doors and windows were already manned, but smith and many of the best men rushed to the flat roof, and looked over the low stone coping. it was not yet day and they could not see well. despite the lack of light, the mexicans opened a great fire of cannon and small arms. the whole town resounded with the roar and the crash and also with the shouting. but most of the cannon balls and bullets flew wide, and the rest spent themselves in vain on the two houses. the texans, meanwhile, held their fire, and waited for day. ned, smith and the others on the roof lay down behind the low coping. they had achieved their long wish. they were in san antonio, but what would happen to them there? ned peeped over the coping. he saw many flashes down the street toward the plaza and he heard the singing of bullets. his finger was on the trigger and the temptation to reply was great, but like the others he waited. the faint light in the east deepened and the sun flashed out. the full dawn was at hand and the two forces, texans and mexicans, faced each other. chapter xxii the taking of the town the december sun, clear and cold, bathed the whole town in light. houses, whether of stone, adobe or wood, were tinted a while with gold, but everywhere in the streets and over the roofs floated white puffs of smoke from the firing, which had never ceased on the part of the mexicans. the crash of rifles and muskets was incessant, and every minute or two came the heavy boom of the cannon with which cos swept the streets. the texans themselves now pulled the trigger but little, calmly waiting their opportunity. ned and his comrades still lay on the roof of the veramendi house. the boy's heart beat fast but the scene was wild and thrilling to the last degree. he felt a great surge of pride that he should have a share in so great an event. from the other side of the river came the rattle of rifle fire, and he knew that it was the detachment from burleson attacking the alamo. but presently the sounds there died. "they are drawing off," said obed, "and it is right. it is their duty to help us here, but i don't see how they can ever get into san antonio. i wish the mexicans didn't have those cannon which are so much heavier than ours." the texans had brought with them a twelve pounder and a six pounder, but the twelve pounder had already been dismounted by the overpowering mexican fire, and, without protection they were unable to use the six pounder which they had drawn into the patio, where it stood silent. ned from his corner could see the mouths of the guns in the heavy mexican battery at the far end of the plaza, and he watched the flashes of flame as they were fired one by one. in the intervals he saw a lithe, strong figure appear on the breastwork, and he was quite sure that it was urrea. an hour of daylight passed. from the house of de la garcia the other division of texans began to fire, the sharp lashing of their rifles sounding clearly amid the duller crash of musketry and cannon from the mexicans. the texans in the lower part of the veramendi house were also at work with their rifles. every man was a sharpshooter, and, whenever a mexican came from behind a barricade, he was picked off. but the mexicans had also taken possession of houses and they were firing with muskets from windows and loopholes. "we must shoot down the cannoneers," shouted the ring tailed panther to "deaf" smith. smith nodded. the men on the roof were fifteen in number and now they devoted their whole attention to the battery. despite the drifting smoke they hit gunner after gunner. the fever in ned's blood grew. everything was red before him. his temples throbbed like fire. the spirit of battle had taken full hold of him, and he fired whenever he caught a glimpse of a mexican. "deaf" smith was on ned's right, and he picked off a gunner. but to do so he had lifted his head and shoulders above the coping. a figure rose up behind the mexican barricade and fired in return. "deaf" smith uttered a little cry, and clapped his hand to his shoulder. "never mind," he said in reply to anxious looks. "it's in the fleshy part only, and i'm not badly hurt." the bullet had gone nearly through the shoulder and was just under the skin on the other side. the ring tailed panther cut it out with his bowie knife and bound up the wound tightly with strips from his hunting shirt. but ned, although it was only a fleeting glimpse, had recognized the marksman. it was urrea who had sent the bullet through "deaf" smith's shoulder. he was proving himself a formidable foe. but the men on the roof continued their deadly sharpshooting, and now, the battery, probably at urrea's suggestion, began to turn its attention to them. ned was seized suddenly by obed and pulled flat. there was a roaring and hissing sound over his head as a twelve pound cannon ball passed, and ned said to obed: "i thank you." the cannon shot was followed by a storm of bullets and then by more cannon shots. the mexican guns were served well that day. the coping was shot away and the texans were in imminent danger from the flying pieces. they were glad when the last of it was gone. but they did not yet dare to raise themselves high enough for a shot. balls, shell, and bullets swept the roof without ceasing. ned lay on his side, almost flat. he listened to the ugly hissing and screaming over his head until it became unbearable. he turned over on his other side and looked at smith, their leader. smith was pale and weak from his wound, but he smiled wanly. "you don't speak, but your face asks your question, ned," he said. "i hate to say it, but we can't hold this roof. i never knew the mexicans to shoot so well before, and their numbers and cannon give them a great advantage. below, lads, as soon as you can!" they crept down the stairway, and found that the house itself was suffering from the mexican cannon. holes had been smashed in the walls, but here the texans were always replying with their rifles. they also heard the steady fire in the house of de la garcia and they knew that their comrades were standing fast. ned, exhausted by the great tension, sat down on a willow sofa. his hands were trembling and his face was wet with perspiration. the ring tailed panther sat down beside him. "good plan to rest a little, ned," he said. "we've come right into a hornets' nest an' the hornets are stingin' us hard. listen to that, will you!" a cannon ball smashed through the wall, passed through the room in which they were sitting, and dropped spent in another room beyond. obed joined them on the sofa. "a cannon ball never strikes in the same place twice," misquoted obed. "so it's safer here than it is anywhere else in this veramendi house. i'd help with the rifles but there's no room for me at the windows and loopholes just now." "our men are giving it back to them," said ned. "listen how the rifles crackle!" the battle was increasing in heat. the mexicans, despite their artillery, and their heavy barricades, were losing heavily at the hands of the sharpshooters. the texans, sheltered in the buildings, were suffering little, but their position was growing more dangerous every minute. they were inside the town, but the force of burleson outside was unable to come to their aid. meanwhile, they must fight five to one, but they addressed themselves with unflinching hearts to the task. even in the moment of imminent peril they did not think of retreat, but clung to their original purpose of taking san antonio. ned, tense and restless, was unable to remain more than a few minutes on the sofa. he wandered into another room and saw a large table spread with food. bread and meat were in the dishes, and there were pots of coffee. all was now cold. evidently they had been making ready for early breakfast in the veramendi house when the texans came. ned called to his friends. "why shouldn't we use it!" he said, "even if it is cold?" "why shouldn't we?" said obed. "even though we fight we must live." they took the food and coffee, cold as it was, to the men, and they ate and drank eagerly. then they searched everywhere and found large supplies of provisions in the house, so much, in fact, that the ring tailed panther growled very pleasantly between his teeth. "there's enough here," he said, "to last two or three days, an' it's well when you're in a fort, ready to stand a siege, to have something to eat." some of the men now left the windows and loopholes to get a rest and ned found a place at one of them. peeping out he saw the bare street, torn by shot and shell. he saw the flash of the texan rifles from the de la garcia house and he saw the blaze of the mexican cannon in the plaza. mexican men, women and children on the flat roofs, out of range, were eagerly watching the battle. clouds of smoke drifted over the city. while ned was at the window, a second cannon ball smashed through the wall of the veramendi house, and caused the débris to fall in masses. the colonel grew uneasy. the cannon gave the mexicans an immense advantage, and they were now using it to the utmost. the house would be battered down over the heads of the texans, and they could not live in the streets, which the mexicans, from their dominating position, could sweep with cannon and a thousand rifles and muskets. a third ball crashed through the wall and demolished the willow sofa on which the three had been sitting. plaster rained down upon the texans. they looked at one another. they could not stay in the house nor could they go out. a boy suddenly solved the difficulty. "let's dig a trench across the street to the de la garcia house!" cried ned, "and join our comrades there!" "that's the thing!" they shouted. they had not neglected to bring intrenching tools with them, and they found spades and shovels about the house. but in order to secure the greatest protection for their work they decided to wait until night, confident that they could hold their present position throughout the day. it was many hours until the darkness, and the fire rose and fell at intervals. more shattered plaster fell upon them, but they were still holding the wreck of a house, when the welcome twilight deepened and darkened into the night. then they began work just inside the doorway, cutting fast through plaster and adobe, and soon reaching the street. they made the trench fairly wide, intending to get their six pounder across also. just behind those who worked with spade and shovel came the riflemen. a third of the way across, and the mexicans discovered what was going on. once more a storm of cannon, rifle and musket balls swept the street, but the texans, bent down in their trench, toiled on, throwing the dirt above their heads and out on either side. the riflemen behind them, sheltered by the earth, replied to the mexican fire, and, despite the darkness, picked off many men. ned was just behind obed, and the ring tailed panther was following him. all three were acting as riflemen. obed was seeking a glimpse of urrea, but he did not get it. ned was watching for a shot at the gunners. once the mexicans under the cover of their artillery undertook to charge down the street, but the sharpshooters in the trench quickly drove them back. thus they burrowed like a great mole all the way across soledad street, and joined their comrades in the strong house of de la garcia. they also succeeded in getting both of their cannon into the house, and, now united, the texans were encouraged greatly. ned found all the rooms filled with men. a party broke through the joint wall and entered the next house, thus taking them nearer to the plaza and the mexican fortifications. all through the night intermittent firing went on. the mexicans increased their fortifications, preparing for a desperate combat on the morrow. they threw up new earthworks, and they loopholed many of the houses that they held. cos, his dark face darker with rage and fury, went among them, urging them to renewed efforts, telling them that they were bound to take prisoners all the texans whom they did not slay in battle, and that they should hang every prisoner. great numbers of the women and children had hidden in the alamo on the other side of the river. san antonio itself was stripped for battle, and the hatred between texan and mexican, so unlike in temperament, flamed into new heat. ned was worn to the bone. his lips were burnt with his feverish breath. the smoke stung his eyes and nostrils, and his limbs ached. he felt that he must rest or die, and, seeing two men sound asleep on the floor of one of the rooms, he flung himself down beside them. he slept in a few minutes and obed and the ring tailed panther seeing him there did not disturb him. "if any boy has been through more than he has," said obed, "i haven't heard of him." "an' i guess that he an' all of us have got a lot more comin'," said the ring tailed panther grimly. "cos ain't goin' to give up here without the terriblest struggle of his life. he can't afford to do it." "reckon you're right," said obed. ned awoke the next morning with the taste of gunpowder in his mouth, but the texans, besides finding food in the houses, had brought some with them, and he ate an ample breakfast. then ensued a day that he found long and monotonous. neither side made any decided movement. there was occasional firing, but they rested chiefly on their arms. in the course of the second night the mexicans opened another trench, from which they began to fire at dawn, but the texan rifles quickly put them to flight. the texans now began to grow restless. cooped up in two houses they were in the way of one another and they demanded freedom and action. henry karnes suggested that they break into another house closer to the plaza. milam consented and karnes, followed closely by ned, obed, the ring tailed panther and thirty others, dashed out, smashed in the door of the house, and were inside before the astonished mexicans could open an accurate fire upon them. here they at once secured themselves and their bullets began to rake the plaza. the mexicans were forced to throw up more and higher intrenchments. again the combat became intermittent. there were bursts of rifle fire, and occasional shots from the cannon, and, now and then, short periods of almost complete silence. night came on and ned, watching from the window, saw colonel milam, their leader, pass down the trench and enter the courtyard of the veramendi house. he stood there a moment, looking at the mexican position. a musket cracked and the texan, throwing up his arms, fell. he was dead by the time he touched the ground. the ball had struck him in the center of the forehead. ned uttered a cry of grief, and it was taken up by all the texans who had seen their leader fall. a half dozen men rushed forward and dragged away his body, but that night they buried it in the patio. his death only incited them to new efforts. as soon as his burial was finished they rushed another house in their slow advance, one belonging to antonio navarro, a solid structure only one block from the great plaza. they also stormed and carried a redoubt which the mexicans had erected in the street beside the house. it now being midnight they concluded to rest until the morrow. meanwhile, they had elected johnson their leader. ned was in the new attack and with obed and the ring tailed panther he was in the navarro house. it was the fourth that he had occupied since the attack on san antonio. he felt less excitement than on the night before. it seemed to him that he was becoming hardened to everything. he looked at his comrades and laughed. they were no longer in the semblance of white men. their faces were so blackened with smoke, dirt and burned gunpowder that they might have passed for negroes. "you needn't laugh, ned," said obed. "you're just as black as we are. this thing of changing your boarding house every night by violence and the use of firearms doesn't lead to neatness. if fine feathers make fine birds then we three are about the poorest flock that ever flew." "but when we go for a house we always get it," said the ring tailed panther. "you notice that. this place belongs to antonio navarro. i've met him in san antonio, an' i don't like him, but i'm willin' to take his roof an' bed." ned took the roof but not the bed. he could not sleep that night, and it was found a little later that none would have a chance to sleep. the mexicans, advancing over the other houses, the walls of all of which joined, cut loopholes in the roof of the navarro house and opened fire upon the texans below. the texans, with surer aim, cleared the mexicans away from the loopholes, then climbed to the roof and drove them off entirely. but no one dared to sleep after this attack, and ned watched all through the dark hours. certainly they were having action enough now, and he was wondering what the fourth day would bring forth. from an upper window he watched the chilly sun creep over the horizon once more, and the dawn brought with it the usual stray rifle and musket shots. both texan and mexican sharpshooters were watching at every loophole, and whenever they saw a head they fired at it. but this was only the beginning, the crackling prelude to the event that was to come. "come down, ned," said obed, "and get your breakfast. we've got coffee and warm corn cakes and we'll need 'em, as we're already tired of this boarding house and we intend to find another." "can't stay more than one night in a place while we're in san antonio," said the ring tailed panther, growling pleasantly. "a restless lot we are an' it's time to move on again." ned ate and drank in silence. his nerves were quite steady, and he had become so used to battle that he awaited whatever they were going to attempt, almost without curiosity. "ain't you wantin' to know what we're goin' to do, ned?" asked the ring tailed panther. "i'm thinking that i'll find out pretty quick," replied ned. "now this boy is shorely makin' a fine soldier," said the panther to obed. "he don't ask nothin' about what he's goin' to do, but just eats an' waits orders." ned smiled and ate another corn cake. "maybe," said obed, "we'll meet our friend urrea in the attack we're going to make. if so, i'll take a shot at him, and i won't have any remorse about it, either, if i hit him." they did not wait long. a strong body of the texans gathered on the lower floor, many carrying, in addition to their weapons, heavy iron crowbars. the doors were suddenly thrown open and they rushed out into the cool morning air, making for a series of stone houses called the zambrano row, the farthest of which opened upon the main plaza, where the mexicans were fortified so strongly. scattering shots from muskets and rifles greeted them, but as usual, when any sudden movement occurred, the mexicans fired wildly, and the texans broke into the first of the houses, before they could take good aim. ned was one of the last inside. he had lingered with the others to repel any rush that the mexicans might make. he was watching the mexican barricade, and he saw heads rise above it. one rose higher than the rest and he recognized urrea. the mexican saw ned also, and the eyes of the two met. urrea's were full of anger and malice, and raising his rifle he fired straight at the boy. ned felt the bullet graze his cheek, and instantly he fired in reply. but urrea had quickly dropped down behind the barricade and the bullet missed. then ned rushed into the house. the boy was blazing with indignation. he had spared urrea's life, and yet the mexican had sought at the first opportunity to kill him. he could not understand a soul of such caliber. but the incident passed from his mind, for the time being, in the strenuous work that they began now to do. they broke through partition wall after wall with their powerful picks and crowbars. stones fell about them. plaster and dust rained down, but the men relieving one another, the work with the heavy tools was never stopped until they penetrated the interior of the last house in the row. then the texans uttered a grim cry of exultation. they looked from the narrow windows directly over the main plaza and their rifles covered the mexican barricades. the mexicans tried to drive them out of the houses with the guns, but the solid stone walls resisted balls and shells, and the texan rifles shot down the gunners. then ensued another silence, broken by distant firing, caused by another attack upon the texan camp outside the town. it was driven off quickly and the texans in the houses lay quiet until evening. then they heard a great shouting, the occasion of which they did not know until later. ugartchea with six hundred men had arrived from the rio grande to help cos. but it would not have made any difference with the texans had they known. they were determined to take san antonio, and all the time they were pressing harder on cos. that night, the texans, ned with them, seized another large building called the priests' house, which looked directly over the plaza, and now their command of the mexican situation was complete. nothing could live in the square under their fire, and in the night ned saw the mexicans withdrawing, leaving their cannon behind. exhaustion compelled the boy to sleep from midnight until day, when he was roused by obed. "the mexicans have all gone across the river to the alamo," said the maine man. "san antonio is ours." ned went forth with his comrades. obed had told the truth. the great seat of the mexican power in the north was theirs. three hundred daring men, not strongly supported by those whom they had left behind, had penetrated to the very heart of the city through house after house, and had driven out the defenders who were five to their one. the plaza and soledad street presented a somber aspect. the mexican dead, abandoned by their comrades, lay everywhere. the texan rifles had done deadly work. the city itself was silent and deserted. "most of the population has gone with the mexican army to the alamo," said obed. "i suppose we'll have to attack that, too." but cos, the haughty and vindictive general, did not have the heart for a new battle with the texans. he sent a white flag to burleson and surrendered. ned was present when the flag came, and the leader of the little party that brought it was urrea. the young mexican had lost none of his assurance. "you have won now," he said to ned, "but bear in mind that we will come again. you have yet to hear from mexico and santa anna." "when santa anna comes he will find us here ready to meet him," replied ned. the texans in the hour of their great and marvelous victory behaved with humanity and moderation. cos and his army, which still doubled in numbers both the texans who had been inside and outside san antonio, were permitted to retire on parole beyond the rio grande. they left in the hands of the texans twenty-one cannon and great quantities of ammunition. rarely has such a victory been won by so small a force and in reality with the rifle alone. all the texans felt that it was a splendid culmination to a perilous campaign. ned, obed and the ring tailed panther, seated on their horses, watched the captured army of cos march away. "well, texas is free," said the ring tailed panther. "and san antonio is ours," said obed. "but santa anna will come," said ned, remembering the words of urrea. [illustration: one of the "boys." (portrait. see p. .) frontispiece.] ranching, sport and travel by thomas carson, f.r.g.s. with sixteen illustrations t. fisher unwin london leipsic adelphi terrace inselstrasse [_all rights reserved_] introductory note this book is somewhat in the nature of an autobiography, covering as it does almost the whole of the author's life. the main portion of the volume is devoted to cattle ranching in arizona, new mexico and texas. the author has also included a record of his travels abroad, which he hopes will prove to be not uninteresting; and a chapter devoted to a description of tea planting in india. contents chap. page i. tea planting in cachar--apprenticeship--tea planting described--polo --in sylhet--pilgrims at sacred pool--wild game--amusements--rainfall--return to cachar--scottpore --snakes--a haunted tree--hill tribes--selecting a location--return to england. ii. cattle ranching in arizona leave for united states of america--iowa--new mexico--real estate speculation--gambling--billy the kid--start ranching in arizona--description of country--apache and other indians--fauna--branding cattle--ranch notes--mexicans--politics--summer camp--winter camp--fishing and shooting--indian troubles. iii. cattle ranching in arizona (_continued_) the cowboy--accoutrements and weapons--desert plants--politics and perjury--mavericks--mormons--bog riding. iv. odds and ends scent and instinct--mules--roping contests--antelopes --the skunk--garnets--leave arizona. v. ranching in new mexico the scottish company--my difficulties and dangers--mustang hunting--round-up described--shipping cattle--railroad accidents--close out scotch company's interests. vi. odds and ends summer round-up notes--night guarding--stampedes--bronco busting--cattle branding, etc. vii. on my own ranch locating--plans--prairie fires and guards--bulls--trading --successful methods--loco-weed--sale of ranch. viii. odds and ends the "staked plains"--high winds--lobo wolves--branding --cows--black jack--lightning and hail--classing cattle--conventions--"cutting" versus polo--bull-fight--prize-fights--river and sea fishing--sharks. ix. in amarillo purchase of lots--building--boosting a town. x. first tour abroad mexico--guatemala--salvador--panama--colombia--venezuela --jamaica--cuba--fire in amarillo--rebuilding. xi. second tour abroad bermudas--switzerland--italy--monte carlo--algiers --morocco--spain--biarritz and pau. xii. third tour abroad salt lake city--canada--vancouver--hawaii--fiji --australia--new zealand--tasmania--summer at home. xiii. fourth tour abroad yucatan--honduras--costa rica--panama--equador--peru --chile--argentina--brazil--teneriffe. xiv. fifth tour abroad california--honolulu--japan--china--singapore--burmah --india--ceylon--the end. appendix list of illustrations one of the "boys" (_see_ page ) _frontispiece_ plucking tea leaf nagas roping a grizzly a shooting scrape one of our men, to show hang of six-shooter in arizona, author and party wound up, horse tangled in rope watering a herd herd on trail, showing lead steer changing horses a real bad one breaking the prairie first crop--milo maize llamas as pack animals drifting sand dune, one of thousands peruvian ruins. note dimensions of stones and locking system palace of maharana of udaipur ranching, sport and travel chapter i tea planting in cachar--apprenticeship--tea planting described--polo--in sylhet--pilgrims at sacred pool--wild game--amusements--rainfall--return to cachar--scottpore--snakes--a haunted tree--hill tribes--selecting a location--return to england. having no inclination for the seclusion and drudgery of office work, determined to lead a country life of some kind or other, and even then having a longing desire to roam the world and see foreign countries, i had arranged to accompany a friend to the comoro islands, north of madagascar; but changing my mind and accepting the better advice of friends, my start was made, not to the comoro islands, but to india and the tea district of cachar. accordingly the age of twenty-two and the year saw me on board a steamer bound for calcutta. steamers were slow sailers in those days, and it was a long trip via gibraltar, suez, malta, the canal and point de galle; but it was all very interesting to me. near point de galle we witnessed from the steamer a remarkable sight, a desperate fight, it seemed to be a fight and not play, between a sea-serpent, which seemed to be about fifteen feet long, and a huge ray. the battle was fought on the surface of the water and even out of it, as the ray several times threw himself into the air. how it ended we could not see. anyway we had seen the sea-serpent, though not the fabulous monster so often written about, and yet whose existence cannot be disproved. the sea-serpent's tail is flattened. at calcutta i visited a tea firm, who sent me up to cachar to help at one of the gardens till a vacancy should occur. calcutta, by the way, is or was overrun by jackals at night. they are the scavengers of the town and hunt in packs through the streets, their wolfish yelling being a little disconcerting to a stranger. it was a long twelve days, but again a very interesting journey, in a native river boat, four rowers (or towers), to my destination. i had a servant with me, who proved a good, efficient cook and attendant. it was rather trying to the "griffin" to notice, floating in the river, corpses of natives, frequently perched upon by hungry vultures. the tea-garden selected for me was narainpore, successfully managed by a fellow-countryman, who proved to be a capital chap and who made my stay with him very pleasant. narainpore was one of the oldest gardens, on teelah (hilly) land and quite healthy. there i gave what little help i could, picked up some of the lingo, and learned a good deal about the planting, growth and manufacture of tea. neighbours were plentiful and life quite sociable. twice a week in the cold weather we played polo, sometimes with munipoories, a hill tribe whose national game it is, and who were then the undoubted champions. the regent senaputti was a keen player, and very picturesque in his costume of green velvet zouave jacket, salmon-pink silk dhotee and pink silk turban. in munipoor even the children have their weekly polo matches. they breed ponies specially for the game, and use them for nothing else, nor would they sell their best. still, we rode munipoor "tats" costing us from rupees to . they were exceedingly small, averaging not eleven hands high, but wiry, active, speedy, full of grit, and seemed to love the game. as the game was there played, seven formed a side, the field was twice as large as now and there were no goals. the ball had to be simply driven over the end line to count a score. it may be remarked here that the great akbar was so fond of polo, but otherwise so busy, that he played the game at night with luminous balls. these munipoories were a very fine race of people, much lighter of colour than their neighbouring tribes, very stately and dignified in their bearing, and thorough sportsmen. many of their women were really handsome, and the girls, with red hibiscus blossoms stuck in their jet-black hair, and their merry, laughing faces and graceful figures, were altogether quite attractive to the sahib log. but to return to tea. our bungalow was of the usual type, consisting of cement floor, roof of crossed bamboos and two feet of sun-grass thatch, supported by immense teak posts, hard as iron and bidding defiance to the white ants. the walls were of mats. tea-gardens usually had a surface of to acres; some were on comparatively level ground, some on hilly (teelah) land. these teelahs were always carefully terraced to prevent the wash of soil and permit cultivation. the plants were spaced about three to six feet apart, according to whether they were of the chinese, the hybrid, or the pure indigenous breed, the last being the largest, in its native state developing to the dimensions of a small tree. i may as well here at once give a short sketch of the principal features of tea planting and manufacture, which will show what the duties of a planter are, and how various are the occupations and operations embraced. one must necessarily first have labour (coolies). these are recruited in certain districts of india, usually by sending good reliable men, already in your employ, to their home country, under a contract to pay them so much a head for every coolie they can persuade (by lies or otherwise) to come to your garden. the coolies must then bind themselves to work for you for, say, three to four years. they are paid for their work, not much it is true, but enough to support them with comfort; the men about three annas (or fourpence) a day, the women two annas (or threepence). as they get to know their work and become expert, the good men will earn as much as six annas a day, and some of the women, when plucking leaf, about the same. this is more than abundant for these people. they not only have every comfort, but they become rich, so that in a few years they are able to rest on their earnings, and work only at their convenience and when they feel like it. they are supplied with nothing, neither food nor clothing; medicine alone is free to them. the native staff of a garden consists of, say, two baboos, or book-keepers and clerks, a doctor baboo, sirdars or overseers, and chowkidars or line watchmen. a sirdar accompanies and has charge of each gang of coolies on whatever branch of work. one is also in charge of the factory or tea-house. plant growth ceases about the end of october. then cold-weather work begins, including the great and important operation of pruning, which requires a large force and will occupy most of the winter. also charcoal-burning for next season's supply; road-making, building and repairing, jungle-cutting, bridge-building, and nursery-making: that is, preparing with great care beds in which the seed will be planted early in spring. cultivation is also, of course, carried on; it can never be overdone. in the factory, some men are busy putting together or manufacturing new tea-boxes, lining them carefully with lead, which needs close attention, as the smallest hole in the lining of a tea-chest will cause serious injury to the contents. when spring opens and the first glorious "flush" is on the bushes, there is a readjustment of labour. pluckers begin to gather the leaf, and as the season advances more pluckers are needed, till possibly every man, woman and child may be called on for this operation alone, it being so important that the leaf flush does not get ahead and out of control, so that the leaf would get tough and hard and less fit for manufacture; but cultivation is almost equally important, and every available labourer is kept hard at it. what a pleasure it is to watch a good expert workman, be he carpenter, bricklayer, ploughman, blacksmith, or only an irish navvy. in even the humblest of these callings the evidence of much training, practice or long apprenticeship is noticeable. to an amateur who has tried such work himself it will soon be apparent how crude his efforts are, how little he knows of the apparently simple operation. the navvy seems to work slowly; but he knows well, because his task is a day-long one, that his forces must be economised, that over-exertion must be avoided. this lesson was brought home to me when exasperated by the seeming laziness of the coolie cultivators, i would seize a man's hoe and fly at the work, hoe vigorously for perhaps five minutes, swear at the man for his lack of strenuousness, then retire and find myself puffing and blowing and almost in a state of collapse. if an addition or extension is being made to the garden, the already cut jungle has to be burnt and the ground cleared in early spring, the soil broken up and staked: that is, small sticks put in regular rows and intervals to show where the young plants are to be put. then when the rains have properly set in the actual planting begins. this is a work that requires a lot of labour and close and careful superintendence. imagine what it means to plant out acres of ground, the plants set only three or four feet apart! the right plucking of the leaf calls for equally careful looking after. the women are paid by the amount or weight they pluck, so they are very liable to pluck carelessly and so damage the succeeding flush, or they may gather a lot of old leaf unsuited for manufacturing purposes. in short, every detail of work, even cultivation, demands close supervision and the whole attention of the planter. when the new-plucked leaf is brought home it is spread out to wither in suitably-built sheds. (here begins the tea-maker's responsibility.) then it must be rolled, by hand or by machinery; fermented, and fired or dried over charcoal ovens; separated in its different classes, the younger the leaf bud the more valuable the tea. it is then packed in boxes for market, and sampled by the planter. he does this by weighing a tiny quantity of each class or grade of tea into separate cups, pouring boiling water on them, and then tasting the liquor by sipping a little into the mouth, not to be swallowed, but ejected again. [illustration: plucking tea leaf.] all this will give an idea of the variety of duties of a tea-planter. he has no time for shooting, polo, or visiting during the busy season. but at mid-winter the great annual mela takes place at the station, the local seat of government. the mela lasts a couple of weeks, and it is a season of fun and jollity with both planters and natives. there were two or three social clubs in silchar; horse and pony racing, polo, cricket and football filled the day, dinner and sociability the night; and what nights! the amount of liquor consumed at these meetings was almost incredible. nothing can look more beautiful or more gratifying to the eye of the owner than a tract of tea, pruned level as a table and topped with new fresh young leaf-shoots, four to eight inches high, in full flush, ready for the pluckers' nimble fingers. at the end of one year i was offered and accepted the position of assistant at a sylhet garden, called kessoregool, the property consisting of three distinct gardens, the principal one being directly overseered by the manager, an american. he, of course, was my superior. my charge was the lucky cherra gardens, some few miles away. there i spent two years, learning what i could of the business, but without the advantage of european society; in fact, the burra sahib and myself were almost the only whites in the district, and as he was drunk quite half the time, and we did not pull very well together, i was left to my own resources. i found amusement in various ways. there was no polo, but some of the native zemindars (landed proprietors) were always ready to get up a beat for leopards, tigers, deer and pig. their method was simply to drive the game into a net corral and spear them to death. the government keddas, under colonel nuttal, were also not far away in hill tipperah, and it was intensely interesting to watch operations. close to my garden also was a sacred pool and a very beautiful waterfall. this was visited twice a year by immense numbers of natives, some from great distances, for it was a famous and renowned place of pilgrimage. it could only be approached through my garden; and as there was no wagon road, the pilgrims were always open to inspection, so to speak; and they were well worth inspection, as among them were many races, all ages, both sexes, every caste or jat; robes, turbans and cupras of every shape and colour; fakirs and wonder-workers, and beggars galore. here, and on such an occasion only, could the sahib see face to face the harems of the wealthy natives, consisting of women who at no other time showed themselves out of doors. being the only sahib present i had all the "fun of the fair" to myself, but always regretted the want of a companion to share it with me. as to wild game, there were lots of jungle fowl (original stock of our familiar barn-door cocks and hens), a few pigeons, argus pheasants, small barking deer, pigs, sambur, barrasingha, metnas, crocodiles, leopards, tigers, bears and elephants; but i had little time for shooting and it was expensive work, the jungle being so thick that riding elephants were quite necessary. if keen enough, one could sit all night on a machan in a tree near a recent "kill," on the chance of stripes showing himself; but it never appealed to me much, that kind of sport. if a tiger was raiding the cattle i would poison the "kill" with strychnine. in this way i secured several very fine animals, getting two at one time, so successfully poisoned that their bodies actually lay on the dead bullock. one time i shot an enormous python, some eighteen feet in length, which took several men to carry home. monkeys were plentiful and of several kinds. i was very fond of wandering amongst the high-tree jungle and quietly watching their antics. in the dense forest there is little undergrowth, so that one can move about freely and study the extraordinary forms of vegetation displayed. ticks and leeches are to be dreaded--a perfect nuisance. if you sit down or pause for a few moments where no leeches are in sight, suddenly and quickly they will appear marching on you, or at you, at a gallop. the popular idea of a wealth of flowers in tropical jungles is a misconception. in tree jungle no flowers are to be found, or at any rate they are not visible. but if one can by some means attain an elevation and so be able to overlook the tree-tops, he will probably be rewarded with a wonderful display, as many jungle trees are glorified with crowns of gorgeous colours. there will he also discover the honey-suckers, moths, butterflies, the beetles, and all the other insect brood which he had also vainly looked for before. the fruits are likewise borne aloft, and therefore at the proper time these tree-tops will be the haunt of the monkeys, the parrots, the bats, the toucans, and all frugivorous creation. of all fruits the durian is the most delicious. such is the universal opinion of men, including a. r. wallace, who have had the opportunity of becoming familiar with it. it is purely tropical, grows on a lofty tree, is round and nearly as large as a cocoanut. a thick and tough rind protects the delicacy contained within. when opened five cells are revealed, satiny white, containing masses of cream-coloured pulp. this pulp is the edible portion and has an indescribable flavour and consistence. you can safely eat all you want of it, and the more you eat the more you will want. to eat durian, as mr wallace says, is alone worth a voyage to the east. but it has one strange quality--it smells so badly as to be at first almost nauseating; some people even can never bring themselves to touch it. once this repulsion is mastered the fruit will probably be preferred to all other foods. the natives give it honourable titles, exalt it, and even wax poetical over it. of course we all know the multitudinous uses of the bamboo. this grass is one of the most wonderful, beautiful and useful of nature's gifts to uncivilized man. and yet one more use has been found for it. in the east a new industry has sprung up, viz., the making of "panama" hats of bamboo strips or threads. in texture and pliability these hats are said to even surpass the genuine "panamas," are absolutely impervious to rain, and can be produced at a much lower cost. the looshais killed pigs, and even tigers, by ingeniously setting poisoned arrows in the woods, which were released by the animals pressing on a string. one of my coolies was unfortunate enough to be shot and killed in this way. growing on decayed tree stumps i frequently found a saprophyte (_hymenophallus_), much larger than its english representative, indeed a monster in comparison, and possessing a vile and most odious smell, yet attractive to certain depraved insects. i made a very fine collection of butterflies, moths and beetles, which, however, was entirely destroyed by worms or ants during its passage to england. the magnificent atlas moth was common in sylhet and cachar. what an extraordinarily beautiful creature it is, sometimes so large as to cover a dinner-plate. i never was privileged to see it fly. it seemed to be always in a languid or torpid condition. thunderstorms occur almost daily during the wet season. by lightning i lost several people. in one case, whilst standing watching a man remove seedlings from a nursery bed, standing indeed immediately behind and close to him, there came a thrilling flash of lightning. it shook myself as well as several women who stood by. the man in front of me, who had been sitting on his haunches with a steel-ribbed umbrella over him, remained silent and still. at last i called on him to continue his work and pulled back the umbrella to see his face. he was stone dead. examination showed a small blackish spot where the steel rib had rested and conveyed the fatal shock. the approach of the daily rainstorm, usually about noon, was a remarkable sight. immense fan-shaped, thunderous-looking clouds would come rolling up, billow upon billow, travelling at great speed and accompanied by terrific wind. a flash of lightning and a crashing peal of thunder and the deluge began, literally a deluge. the rainfall averaged about inches in seven months. at cherrapunji, in the kassia hills, within sight of my place and only about twenty miles distant, the rainfall was and is the greatest in the world, no other district approaching it in this respect, viz., averaging per annum inches; greatest recorded over inches; and there is a record of _one_ month, july, of a fall of nearly inches; yet all this precipitation takes place during the six or seven wet months, the rest of the year being absolutely dry and rainless. these measurements are recorded at the government observatory station and need not be disputed. it may readily be supposed that the wet season, summer, with its high temperature and damp atmosphere, was very trying to the european, and even to the imported coolies. imagine living for six continuous months in the hottest palm-house in kew gardens; yet the planter is out and about all day long; nearly always on pony back, however, an enormously thick solah toppee hat or a heavy white umbrella protecting his head. the dry, or cold season, however, was delightful. close to lucky cherra garden was a tract of bustee land on which some bengali cultivators grew rice and other crops. our company's boundary line in some way conflicted with theirs, and a dispute arose which soon developed into a series of, first, most comical mix-ups, and afterwards into desperate "lathi" fights. the land in dispute was being hurriedly ploughed by buffalo teams belonging to the bengalis; to uphold our claim i also secured teams and put them to ploughing on the same piece of ground. this could only lead to one thing--as said before, terrific lathi fights between the teamsters. for several days i went down to see the fun, taking with me a number of the stoutest coolies on the garden. the men seemed to rather enjoy the sport, though a lick from a lathi (a formidable tough, hard and heavy cane) was far from a joke. finally the bustee-wallahs agreed to stop operations and await legal judgment. after eighteen months i was suddenly left in sole charge of all the company's gardens, the burra sahib having finally succumbed to drink; but i was not long left in charge, being soon relieved by a more experienced man. shortly after i was ordered to scottpore garden in cachar, the manager of which, a particularly fine man and a great friend of mine, had suffered the awful death of being pierced by the very sharp end of a heavy, newly-cut bamboo, which he seems to have ridden against in the dark. he always rode at great speed, and he too, in this way, was a victim of drink. the tremendously high death-rate amongst planters was directly due to this fatal habit. scottpore was a new (young) garden, not teelah, but level land, having extremely rich soil. the bushes showed strong growth and there were no "vacancies"; indeed it was a model plantation. unfortunately, it had the character of extreme unhealthiness. of my three predecessors two had died of fever and one as before mentioned. the coolie death-rate was shocking; so bad that, during my management, a government commission was sent to look into the situation, and the absolute closing of the garden was anticipated. the result was that i was debarred from recruiting and importing certain coolies from certain districts in india, they being peculiarly susceptible to fever and dysentery. almost every day at morning muster the doctor reported so and so, or so many, dead, wiped off the roll. naturally the place suffered from lack of labour, a further draining of the force being the absconding of coolies, running off, poor devils, to healthier places, and the stealing of my people by unscrupulous planters. on several occasions, when riding home on dark nights, have i detected white objects on the side of the road. not a movement would be seen, not a sound or a breath heard, only an ominous, suspicious silence reigned; it meant that these were some of my people absconding, being perhaps led off by a pimp from another garden--and woe betide the pimp if caught. i would call out to them, and if they did not respond would go after them; but generally they were too scared to resist or to attempt further to escape; so i would drive them in front of me back to the garden, inspect them and take their names, try to find out who had put them up to it, etc., and dismiss them to the lines in charge of the night-watchman. you could not well punish them, though a good caning was administered sometimes to the men. thus the plantation, instead of presenting a clean, well-cultivated appearance, had often that of an enormous hayfield; nevertheless the output and manufacture of tea was large and the quality good. all that i myself could and did take credit for was this "quality," as the prices obtained in calcutta were the best of all the company's gardens. at scottpore there was no lack of neighbours. my bungalow was on two cross-roads, a half-way house so to speak; consequently someone was continually dropping in. frequently three or four visitors would arrive unannounced for dinner; the house was always "wide open." whisky, brandy and beer were always on the sideboard, and in my absence the bearer or khansamah was expected, as a matter of course, to offer refreshments to all comers. the planter's code of hospitality demanded this, but it was the financial ruin of the chota sahib, depending solely on his modest salary. at scottpore i went in strong for vegetable, fruit and flower gardening, and not without success. visitors came from a distance to view the flower-beds and eat my green peas, and i really think that i grew as fine pineapples and bananas as were produced anywhere. the pineapple of good stock and ripened on the plant is, i think, the most exquisite of all fruits. a really ripe pine contains no fibre. you cut the top off and sup the delicious mushy contents with a spoon. in such a hot, steamy climate as we had in these tea districts, the rapidity of growth of vegetation is, of course, remarkable. bamboos illustrate this better than other plants, their growth being so much more noticeable, that of a young shoot amounting to as much as four inches in one night. it sometimes appeared to my imagination that the weeds and grass grew one foot in a like period, especially when short of labour. the planter usually takes a pride in the well-cultivated appearance of the garden in his charge; but how can one be proud if the weeds overtop the bushes? it may be appropriate here to note that eighty-five per cent. of the twenty-four hours' growth of plants occurs between p.m. and a.m.; during the noon hours the apparent growth almost entirely ceases. garden coolies are generally hindoos and are imported from far-off districts. the local peasantry of bengal are mostly mohammedans and do not work on tea-gardens, except on such jobs as cutting jungle, building, etc. they speak a somewhat different tongue, so that we had to understand bengali as well as hindustani. i may mention here that as hindoos regard an egg as defiling, and mohammedans despise an eater of pork, our love for ham and eggs alienates us from both these classes; what beasts we must be! the hindoos and the bengal mussulmans are characterized by cringing servility, open insolence, or rude indifference. contrast with this the burmese agreeableness and affability, or the bearing of the rajput and the sikh. in those days the natives cringed before the sahib log much more than they do now. then all had to put their umbrellas down on passing a sahib, and all had to leave the side-walk on the white man's approach; not that the law compelled them to do so, it was simply a custom enforced by their masters, in the large cities as well as in the mofussil. we thought it advisable at all costs to keep the coolies in a proper state of subjection. thus, when on a certain occasion a coolie of mine raised his kodalie (hoe) to strike me i had to give him a very severe thrashing. another time a man appeared somewhat insolent in his talk to me and i unfortunately hit him a blow on the body, from the effects of which he died next day. some of these people suffer from enlarged spleens and even a slight jar on that part of their anatomy may prove fatal. a few more notes. among the sontals in bengal the snake stone, found within the head of the adjutant-bird, is applied to a snake bite exactly in the same way and with the same supposed results as the texas madstone, an accretion found, it is said, in the system of a white stag. many natives of india die from purely imaginary snake bites. in oude there have been many instances verified, or at least impossible of contradiction, of so-called wolf-children, infants stolen by wolves and suckled by them, that go on all fours, eat only raw meat, and, of course, speak no language. the nagas, a hill tribe and not very desirable neighbours, practise the refined custom of starving a dog, then supplying it with an enormous feed of rice; and when the stomach is properly distended, killing it, the half-digested mess forming the _bonne-bouche_ of the tribal feast. snake stories are always effective. i have none to tell. my bungalow roof, the thatch, was at all times infested by snakes, some quite large. at night one frequently heard them gliding between the bamboos and grass, chasing mice, beetles, or perhaps lizards, and sometimes falling on the top of the mosquito bar, or even on the dinner-table; but these were probably harmless creatures, as most snakes are. the cobra was not common in cachar. it may be said here that a snake's mouth opens crossways as well as vertically, and each side has the power of working independently, the teeth being re-curved backwards. prey once in the jaws cannot escape, and the snake itself can only dispose of it in one way--downwards. at scottpore i employed an elephant for certain work, such as hauling heavy posts out of the jungle. sometimes his "little mary" would trouble him, when a dose of castor oil would be effectively administered. unfortunately, he misbehaved, ran amok, and tried to kill his mahout, and so that hatthi (elephant) had to be disposed of. when clearing jungle for a tea-garden the workmen sometimes come on a certain species of tree, of which they are in great dread. they cannot be induced to cut it down and so the tree remains. such a one stood opposite my bungalow, a stately, handsome monarch of the forest. it was a sacred, or rather a haunted tree, but as its shade was injurious to tea-plant growth i was determined to have it destroyed. none of my people would touch it; so i sent over to a neighbour and explained the facts to him, requesting him to send over a gang of his men to do the deed. i was to see that they had no communication with my own people. well, his men came and were put to work with axes. the result? two of them died that day and the rest bolted. yet this is not more extraordinary than people dying of imaginary snake bites. shortly afterwards an incident occurred to still further strengthen the native belief that the tree was haunted. i had a very fine bull terrier which slept in the porch at night, the night-watchman also sleeping there. one time i was aroused by terrific yells from the dog, and called to the watchman to know the trouble. after apparently recovering from his fright he told me the devil had come from the tree and carried off the dog. the morning showed traces of a tiger's or leopard's pugs, and my poor terrier was of course never seen again. the hill tribes surrounding the valley of cachar were the kassias, nagas, kookies, munipoories and looshais, all of very similar type, except that the munipoories were of somewhat lighter skin, were more civilized and handsomer. the kassias were noted for their wonderful muscular development, no doubt accounted for by their being mountaineers, their poonjes (villages) being situated on the sides of high and steep mountains. all their market products, supplies, etc., were packed up and down these hills in thoppas, a sort of baskets or chairs slung on the back by a band over the forehead. in this way even a heavy man would be carried up the steep mountain-side, and generally by a woman. once, in later years, whilst in mexico, near crizaba, i was intensely surprised to meet in the forest a string of indios going to market and using this identical thoppa; the similar cut of the hair across the forehead, the blanket and dress, the physical features, even the peculiar grunt emitted when carrying a weight, settled for me the long-disputed question of the origin of the aztecs. in venezuela i saw exactly the same type in castro's indian troops, as also in the indian natives of peru. [illustration: nagas] the kassias were fond of games, such as tossing the caber, putting the weight and throwing the hammer, apparently a tribal institution. the kookies and nagas were restless, warlike and troublesome, and addicted to head hunting. they periodically raided some tea-gardens to secure lead for bullets, and incidentally heads as trophies. several planters had been thus massacred, and at outlying gardens there was always this dread and danger. on one occasion an urgent message was brought to me from such a garden, whose manager happened to be in calcutta. his head baboo begged me to come over and take charge, if only to reassure the coolies, who had been running off into the jungle on the report of a threatened naga raid. on going over i found the people tremendously excited, and most of them scared nearly to death. my presence seemed to allay their fright, though if the savages had come we could have done nothing, having only a few rifles in the place and the coolies totally demoralized. luckily mr naga did not appear. the looshais were a particularly warlike race, and gardens situated near their territory were supplied by government with stands of arms and had stockades for defence in case of attack. the tea-planter's life was to me a very enjoyable one. there was lots of interesting work to be done, lots of sport and amusement, and lots of good fellows. the life promised to be an ideal one. for its enjoyment, however, indeed for its possibility, there is one essential--good health. unfortunately that, during the whole period at scottpore, was not mine; for the whole eighteen months fever had its grip on me; appetite was quite gone, and i subsisted on nothing but eggs, milk and whisky. six months more would have done me up; but just at this time came the announcement of my father's death. for this reason and on account of my health i resigned the position and prepared to visit home, meaning to return, however, to india. i determined before going to look out a piece of land suitable for a small plantation; and, after much consideration, decided to hunt for it in eastern sylhet. so bidding adieu to friends i hied me down to the selected district, secured a good man as guide (a man of intelligence and intimate knowledge of the country was essential), and hired an elephant to carry us and break a way through the jungle. in the course of our search we came to a piece of seemingly swampy ground; the high reeds which had once covered it had been eaten down and the surface of the bog trodden on till it became caked, firm and almost solid. our path was across it, but on coming to the edge the elephant refused to proceed. on the mahout urging him he roared and protested in every way, so much so that i was somewhat alarmed and suggested to the mahout that the elephant knew better than he the danger of proceeding. finally, however, the elephant decided to try the ground, and carefully and slowly he made his way across, his great feet at every step depressing the surface, which perceptibly waved like thin ice all around him. i was prepared and ready to jump clear at the first sign of danger, for had we broken through we should have probably all disappeared in the bog. hatthi was as much relieved as myself on reaching terra firma. my guide told me that this land had no bottom, that under the packed surface there was twenty feet of soft, black, loamy mud. this set me thinking. i was after something of this nature. in the course of the next day we came upon a somewhat similar piece of ground, some acres in extent, still covered with the original reeds and other vegetation. the soil was in places exposed and was of a rich, dark brown loamy character. taking a long ten-foot bamboo and pressing it firmly on the ground it could be forced nearly out of sight. that was enough for me. the object sought for was found. further tests with a spade and bamboo were made at different points; deep drainage seemed practicable, and, what was quite important, a small navigable river bounded the property. then i hunted up a native surveyor, traced the proposed boundaries, got numbers and data, etc., to enable me to send my application to the proper quarter, which i soon afterwards did, making a money deposit in part payment to the government. my task was completed, and i at once started for calcutta and home. as things turned out i never returned to the country and so had to abandon my rights, etc.; but in support of my judgment i was very much gratified to learn years afterwards that someone else had secured and developed this particular piece of land as a tea-garden, and that it had turned out to be the most valuable, much the most valuable, piece of tea land, acre for acre, in the whole country. often and bitterly since then have i regretted not being able to return and develop and operate this ideal location. more than that, i had learned the tea-growing business, had devoted over three years to its careful study, felt myself in every way competent, and had found a life in many ways suited to my tastes. all this had to be abandoned. in india the white man lives in great luxury. he has a great staff of servants, his every whim and wish is anticipated and satisfied, his comfort watched over. to leave _this_, to go straight out to the west, the wild and woolly west, where servants were not! the very suggestion of such a thing to me on leaving india would have received no consideration whatever. it would have seemed utterly impossible, but "el hombre propone y el deos depone" as the mexicans say. during the whole four years' stay in india i was practically barred from ladies' society, nearly all the planters being unmarried men. alas! for twenty years longer of my life this very unfortunate and demoralizing condition was to continue. there were no railroads then to cachar and no steamers, so i again performed the journey to calcutta in a native boat, and there, by-the-bye, i witnessed the sight for the first time of an apparent lunatic playing a game called golf; a game which later was to be more familiar to me, and myself to become one of the greatest lunatics of all. the run home was in no way remarkable, except for the intense anticipated pleasure of again seeing the old country. chapter ii cattle ranching in arizona leave for united states of america--iowa--new mexico--real estate speculation--gambling--billy the kid--start ranching in arizona--description of country--apache and other indians--fauna--branding cattle--ranch notes--mexicans--politics--summer camp--winter camp--fishing and shooting--indian troubles. my health seemed to have reached a more serious condition than imagined; and so on the advice of my friends, but with much regret, i decided to henceforth cast my lot in a more bracing climate. having no profession, and hating trade in any form, the choice was limited and confined to live stock or crop farming of one kind or another. accordingly, after six months at home and on complete recovery of health, i took my way to the united states of america, first to lemars in iowa, where was a well-known colony of britishers, said britishers consisting almost entirely of the gentlemen class, some with much money, some with little, none of them with much knowledge of practical business life or affairs, all of them with the idea of social superiority over the natives, which they very foolishly showed. sport, not work, occupied their whole time and attention. altogether it seemed that this was no place for one who had to push his fortunes. the climate, too, seemed to be far from agreeable, in summer being very hot, in winter very cold; so, with another man, i decided to go further west and south, to the sheep and cattle country of new mexico; not that i had any knowledge of sheep or cattle, hardly knowing the one from the other; but the nature of ranch life (ranch with a big r) and the romance attaching to it had much to do with my determination. arrived in new mexico i went to live with a sheepman--a practical sheepman from australia--to study the industry and see how i liked it. in the neighbourhood was a cattle ranch and a lot of cowboys. i saw much of _their_ life, and was so attracted by it that the sheep proposition was finally abandoned as unsuitable. still, i was very undecided, knew little of the ways of the country and still less of the cattle business. i moved to the small town of las vegas, then about the western end of the santa fé railroad. here i stayed six months, making acquaintances and listening to others' experiences. las vegas was then a true frontier town. it was "booming," full of life and all kinds of people, money plentiful, saloons, gambling-dens and dance-halls "wide open." real estate was moving freely, prices advancing, speculation rife, and--i caught the infection! a few successful deals gave me courage and tempted me further. i became a real gambler. on some deals i made tremendous profits. i even owned a saloon and gambling-hall, which paid me a huge rental and gave me my drinks free! the world looked "easy." not content with las vegas, i followed the road to albuquerque and socorro, had some deals there and spent my evenings playing poker, faro and monte with the best and "toughest" of them. santa fé, the capital, was then as much a "hell" as las vegas. let me try to describe one of these gambling resorts. a long, low room, probably a saloon, with the pretentious bar in front; tables on either side of the room, and an eager group round each one, the game being roulette, faro, highball, poker, crapps or monte. the dealers, or professional gamblers, are easily distinguished. their dress consists invariably of a well-laundered "biled" (white) shirt, huge diamond stud in front, no collar or tie, perhaps a silk handkerchief tied loosely round the neck, and an open unbuttoned waistcoat. they are necessarily cool, wide-awake, self-possessed men. all in this room are chewing tobacco and distributing the results freely on the floor. now and then the dealers call for drinks all round, perhaps to keep the company together and encourage play. but poker, the royal game, the best of all gambling games, is generally played in a retired room, where quietness and some privacy are secured. mere idlers and "bums" are not wanted around; perhaps the room is a little cleaner, but the floor is littered, if the game has lasted long, with dozens of already used and abandoned packs of cards. at las vegas the majority of the players were cowboys and cattlemen; at socorro miners and prospectors; at albuquerque all kinds; at santa fé politicians and officials and mexicans, but chinamen, always a few chinamen, everywhere; and what varied types of men one rubs shoulders with! the cowpunchers, probably pretty well "loaded" (tipsy), the "prominent" lawyer, the horny-handed miner, the inscrutable "john"; the scout, or frontier man, with hair long as a woman's; the half-breed mexican or greaser elbowing a don of pure castilian blood; the men all "packing" guns (six-shooters), some in the pocket, some displayed openly. the dealer, of course, has his lying handy under the table; but shooting scrapes are rare. if there is any trouble it will be settled somewhere else afterwards. but things took a turn; slackness, then actual depression in real estate values set in, and oh! how quickly. like many others, i got scared and hastened to "get out." it was almost too late, not quite. on cleaning up, my financial position was just about the same as at the beginning of the campaign. it was a lesson, a valuable experience; but i admit that real estate speculation threw a glamour over me that still remains. it is the way to wealth for the man who knows how to go about it. about this time two englishmen arrived in las vegas, and we soon got acquainted. one could easily see that they were not tenderfeet. on the contrary, they appeared to be shrewd, practical men of affairs. they had been cattle ranching up north for some years, had a good knowledge of the business, and were "good fellows." they had come south to look out a cattle ranch and continue in the business. they wanted a little more capital, which seemed my opportunity, and the upshot was that we formed a partnership, for good or for ill, which lasted for many years (over twelve), but which was never financially successful. considering my entire ignorance of cattle affairs, and having abounding confidence in my two partners, i agreed to leave the entire control and management in their hands. it was about this time ( ) that i was fortunate enough to meet at fort sumner the then great western celebrity, "billy the kid." billy was a young cowboy who started wrong by using his gun on some trivial occasion. like all, or at least many, young fellows of his age he wanted to appear a "bad man." one shooting scrape led to another; he became an outlaw; cattle troubles, and finally the lincoln county war, in which he took a leading part, gave him every opportunity for his now murdering propensities, so that soon the tally of his victims amounted to some twenty-five lives. the lincoln county new mexico "war," in which it is believed that first to last over men were killed, was purely a cattleman's war, but the most terrible and bloody that ever took place in the west. new mexico was at that time probably the most lawless country in the world. only a month after my meeting billy in fort sumner he was killed there, not in his "boots," but in his stockings, by sheriff pat garret. he was shot practically in his bed and given no "show." his age when killed was only twenty-three years. there were afterwards many other "kids" emulous of billy's renown, because of which, and their youthfulness, they were always the most dangerous of men. our senior partner, not satisfied with new mexico, went out to arizona for a look round, liked the prospect, and decided to locate there, so we moved out accordingly. arizona (arida zona) was at this time a practically new and unoccupied territory; that is, though there were a few mexicans, a few mormons and a great many indians, a few sheep and fewer cattle, it could not be called a settled country, and most of the grazing land was in a virgin state. my partner had bought out a mexican's rights, his cattle, water-claims, ranches, etc., located at the cienega in apache county, near the head-waters of the little colorado river. to close the deal part payment in advance had to be made; and to ensure promptness the paper was given to my care to be delivered to the seller as quickly as possible. accordingly i travelled by train to the nearest railroad point, holbrook, found an army ambulance about to convey the commanding officer to camp apache, and he was good enough to allow me to accompany him part of the way. it was a great advantage to me, as otherwise there was no conveyance, nor had i a horse or any means of getting to the ranch, about eighty miles. judging from the colonel's armed guard and the fact of travelling at night, it occurred to me that something was wrong, and on questioning him he told me that he would not take any "chances," that the apaches were "out" on the war-path, but that they never attacked in the dark. this lent more interest to the trip, though it was interesting enough to me simply to see the nature of the country where we had decided to make our home. we got through all right. next morning i hired a horse and reached the ranch the same day. as this was to be our country for many years to come, it will be well to describe its physical features, etc. arizona, of course, is a huge territory, some by miles. it embraces pure unadulterated desert regions in the west; a large forest tract in the centre; the rest has a semi-arid character, short, scattering grass all over it; to the eye of a stranger a dreary and desolate region! the east central part, where we were, has a general elevation of to feet above sea-level, so that the fierce summer heat is tempered to some extent, especially after sundown. in winter there were snowstorms and severe cold, but the snow did not lie long, except in the mountains, where it reached a depth of several feet. the little colorado river (colorado chiquito), an affluent of the greater river, had its headquarters in the mountains, south of our ranch. it was a small stream, bright and clear, and full of speckled trout in its upper part; lower down most of the time dry; at other times a flood of red muddy water, or a succession of small, shallow pools of a boggy, quicksandy nature, that ultimately cost us many thousands of cattle. the western boundary of arizona is the big colorado river. where the santa fé railroad crosses it at the needles is one of the hottest places in north america. in summer the temperature runs up to as high as degrees fahr., and i have even heard it asserted to go to degrees in the shade; and i cannot doubt it, as even on our own ranch the thermometer often recorded degrees; that at an elevation of feet, whereas the needles' elevation above sea-level is only a few hundreds. at jacobabad, india, the greatest heat recorded is degrees, and at kashan, in persia, a month--august--averaged degrees, supposed to be the hottest place on earth. above the needles begins or ends the very wonderful grand cañon, extending north for miles, its depth in places being as much as feet, and that at certain points almost precipitously. the wonderful colouring of the rocks, combined with the overpowering grandeur of it, make it one of the most impressive and unique sights of the world. now, stop and think what that is-- yards! say a mile; and imagine the effect on a stranger when he first approaches it, which he will generally do without warning--nothing, absolutely nothing, to indicate the presence of this wonderful gorge till he arrives at its very brink. its aspect is always changing according to the hour of day, the period of the year, the atmospheric conditions. the air is dry and bracing at all times; and as pure, clear and free from dust or germs as probably can be found anywhere on earth. the panorama may be described as "_wunderschön_." anyone of sensibility will sit on the rock-rim for hours, possibly days, in dumb contemplation of the beauty and immensity. no one has yet, not even the most eloquent writer, been quite able to express his feelings and sentiments, though many have attempted to do so in the hotel register; some of the greatest poets and thinkers admitting in a few lines their utter inability. our colorado chiquito in its lower parts has an equally romantic aspect. close to our ranch was another of nature's wonders, a petrified forest, quite unique in that the exposed tree trunks are solid masses of agate, chalcedony, jasper, opal and other silicate crystals, the variety of whose colouring, with their natural brilliancy, makes a wonderfully beautiful combination. these trees are supposed to have been the norfolk island pine, a tree now extinct, are of large dimensions, all prostrate, lying in no particular order, and all broken up into large or smaller sections. many carloads have been removed and shipped to eastern factories, where the sections are sawn through and polished, and the most lovely table tops, etc., imaginable produced. one must beware of rattlesnakes when prowling about these "ruins." to complete the physical description of arizona territory something must be said of the pine-clad mountain range to the south of us. the bulk of this area constituted the apache indian reservation. it was reserved for these indians as a hunting-ground as well as a home. no one else was allowed to settle within its boundaries, or graze their sheep or cattle there. it was truly a hunter's paradise, being largely covered with forest trees, broken here and there by open parks and glades and meadow lands, drained by streams of clear cool water, which combining, produced a few considerable-sized rivers, "hotching" with trout, unsophisticated and so simple in their natures that it seemed a positive shame to take advantage of them. these mountains were the haunt of the elk, the big-horned sheep, black-and white-tailed deer, grizzly, cinnamon, silver tip, and brown and black bears; the porcupine, racoon and beaver; also the prong-horned antelope, though it is more of a plains country animal. but more of this some other time. the apache indians (apache is not their proper name, but tinneh; the former was given to them by the mexicans and signifies "enemy") were and are the most dreaded of all the redskin tribes. they always have been warlike and perhaps naturally cruel, and at the time of our arrival in the country they had about attained their most bloodthirsty and murderous character. shocking ill-treatment by white skalawags and united states officials had changed their nature; but more about them also by-and-by. north of us were the numerous and powerful navajo indians. they were not so much dreaded by us, their reservation being further away, and they then being of a peaceful disposition, devoted to horse and sheep breeding and the manufacture of blankets. these are the famous navajo blankets so often seen in english homes, valued for the oddness of their patterns and colours, but used in arizona mainly as saddle blankets. the majority of them are coarsely made and of little intrinsic value; but others, made for the chiefs or other special purposes, are finely woven, very artistic, and sell for large sums of money. rain will not penetrate them and they make excellent bed coverings. these navajoes used to declare that they would never quit the war-path till a certain "dancing man" appeared, and that they would never be conquered till then. an american officer, named backus, at fort defiance, constructed a dummy man, who danced by the pulling of wires, and showed him to the indians. they at once accepted him as their promised visitor, and have since then never gone on the war-path. this may seem an incredible tale, but is a fact. also near us were the zuni indians, who, like the pueblo indians, lived in stone-built communal houses, had entirely different customs to those of the apaches and navajoes, and are perhaps the debased descendants of a once powerful and advanced nation. whilst speaking of indians, it may be said that the plains tribes, such as the comanches, believe in the immortality of the soul and the future life. all will attain it, all will reach the happy hunting-ground, unless prevented by such accidents as being scalped, which results in annihilation of the soul. is it not strange that though these barbarians believe in the immortality of the soul yet our materialistic old testament never even suggests a future life; and it seems that no jew believes or ever was taught to believe in it. indian self-torture is to prove one's endurance of pain. a broad knife is passed through the pectoral muscles, and a horse-hair rope inserted, by which they must swing from a post till the flesh is torn through. indians will never scalp a negro; it is "bad medicine." by the way, is not scalping spoken of in the book of maccabees as a custom of the jews and syrians? the tit-bits of a butchered carcass are, to the indians, the intestines, a speciality being the liver with the contents of the gall bladder sprinkled over it! horses, dogs, wolves and skunks are greatly valued for food. amongst certain tribes hiawatha was a messiah of divine origin, but born on earth. he appeared long ago as a teacher and prophet, taught them picture-writing, healing, etc.; gave them the corn plant and pipe; he was an ascetic; told them of the isles of the blessed and promised to come again. in mexico quetzalcohuatl was a similar divine visitor, prophet and teacher. but to return to our own immediate affairs. at a reasonable price we bought out another cattleman, his ranches, cattle and saddle horses. as required by law, we also adopted and recorded a cattle brand. our first business was to brand our now considerable herd, which entailed an immense amount of very hard work. this in later years would have been no very great undertaking, but at that time "squeezers" and branding "chutes" were not known. our corrals were primitive and not suited for the work, and our cattle extraordinarily wild and not accustomed to control of any kind. indeed, the men we had bought out had sold to us for the simple reason that they could not properly handle them. the four-legged beasties had got beyond their control, and many of them had almost become wild animals. these cattle, too, had very little of the "improved" character in them. well-bred bulls had never been introduced. some of the bulls we found had almost reached their allotted span--crusty old fellows indeed and scarred in many a battle; "moss-heads" we called them, and the term was well applied, for their hoary old heads gave the idea of their being covered with moss. most of the cattle had never been in a corral in their lives, and some of the older steers were absolute "outlaws," magnificent creatures, ten to twelve years of age, with immense spreading horns, sleek and glossy sides, and quite unmanageable. they could not be got into a herd, or if got in, would very soon walk out again. eventually some had to be shot on the range like any wild animal, simply to get rid of them; but they at least afforded us many a long and wild gallop. there was one great steer in particular, reckoned to be ten or twelve years old, quite a celebrity in fact on account of his unmanageableness, his independence and boldness, which we had frequently seen and tried to secure, but hitherto without success. he had a chum, another outlaw, and they grazed in a particular part of the range far from the haunts of their kin and of man. three of us undertook to make one more effort to secure him. at the headquarters ranch we had gathered a herd of cattle and we proposed to try and run the steer in that direction, where the other boys would be on the lookout and would head him into the round-up. two of us were to go out and find the steer and start him homewards; i myself undertook to wait about half-way, and when they came in sight to take up the running and relieve them. they found him all right about twenty miles out, turned him and started him. no difficulty so far. he ran with the ease of a horse, and he was still going as he willed, without having the idea of being coerced. meantime i had been taking it easy, lolling on the ground, my horse beside me with bridle down. suddenly the sound of hoof-beats and a succession of yells warned me to "prepare to receive cavalry." through a cleft in a hill i could see the quarry coming at a mad gallop directly for me, the two men pounding along behind. i had just time and no more to tighten girth and get into the saddle when he was on me, and my horse being a bit drowsy it needed sharp digging of the spurs to get out of the way. i forget how many miles the boys said they had already run him, but it was a prodigious distance and we were still eight miles from the ranch. the steer was getting hot, it began to suspect something, and to feel the pressure. as he came down on me he looked like a mountain, his eyes were bright, he was blowing a bit, and looked particularly nasty. when in such a condition it does not do to overpress, as, if you do, the chances are the steer will wheel round, challenge you and get on the fight. much circumspection is needed. he will certainly charge you if you get too near, and on a tired horse he would have the advantage. so you must e'en halt and wait--not get down, that would be fatal--wait five minutes it may be, ten minutes, or a quarter of an hour, till the gentleman cools off a bit. then you start him off again, not so much driving him now, he won't be driven, but guiding his course towards the herd. in this case we succeeded beautifully, though at the end he had to be raced once more. and so he was finally headed into the round-up; but dear me, he only entered it from curiosity. no round-up for him indeed! no corral and no going to market! he entered the herd, took a look round, a sniff and a smell, and was off again out at the other side as if the devil was after him, and indeed he wasn't far wrong. the chase was abandoned and his majesty doomed later on to a rifle bullet wherever found. our principal and indeed only corral at that time was of solid stone walls, a "blind" corral, and most difficult to get any kind of cattle into. while pushing them in, each man had his "rope" down ready to at once drop it over the horns of any animal attempting to break back. thus half our force would sometimes be seen tying down these truants, which were left lying on the ground to cool their tempers till we had time to attend to them; and it is a fact that some of these individuals, especially females, died where they lay, apparently of broken hearts or shame at their subjection. they showed no sign of injury by rough usage, only their damnable tempers, rage and chagrin were responsible for their deaths. inside the corral everything, of course, had to be roped and thrown to be branded. it was rough and even dangerous work, and individual animals, again generally cows, would sometimes make desperate charges, and even assist an unfortunate "puncher" in scaling the walls. in after years we built proper corrals, and in the course of time, by frequent and regular handling, the cattle became more docile and better-mannered. for one thing, they were certainly easily gathered. when we wanted to round them up we had only to ride out ten or twenty miles, swing round and "holler," when all the cattle within sight or hearing would at once start on the run for the ranch. these were not yet domesticated cattle in that they always wanted to run and never to walk. indeed, once started it was difficult to hold them back. this was not very conducive to the accumulation of tallow on their generally very bare bones. i well remember the first bunch of steers sold off the ranch, which were driven to fort wingate, to make beef for the soldiers. about two hundred head of steers, from six to twelve years of age, all black, brown, brindle or yellow, ne'er a red one amongst them; magnificently horned, in fair flesh, perfect health and spirits; such steers you could not "give away" to-day; but we got sixty dollars apiece for them and were well rid of them; and how they walked! the ponies could hardly keep up with them; and what cowman does not know the pleasure of driving fast walking beef cattle? ne'er a "drag" amongst them! you had only to "point" them and let them "hit the trail"; but a stampede at night was all the more a terrific affair, though even in such a case if they got away they would keep together, and when you found one you found them all. such a bunch of magnificent, wild, proud-looking steer creatures will never be seen again, in america at least, because you cannot get them now of such an age, nor of such primitive colours; colours that, i believe, the best-bred cattle would in course of long years and many generations' neglect revert to. the method adopted when an obstreperous steer made repeated attempts to leave the herd was to send a bullet through his horn, which gave him something to think about and shake his head over. no doubt it hurt him terribly, but it generally was an effective check to his waywardness. and when some old hoary-headed bull wanted to "gang his ain gait" a piece of cactus tossed on to his back, whence it was difficult to shake off, would give him also something to think about. another small herd we some time later disposed of were equally good travellers, and indeed were driven from the ranch in one day to camp apache, another military post, a distance of over miles. in this case the trail was through forest country where there was no "holding" ground, so they had to be pushed through. our herd increased and throve fairly well for a number of years till other "outfits" began to throw cattle into the country, and sheepmen began to dispute our right to certain grazing lands. we did not quite realize it at the time, but it was the beginning of the end. we had gone into a practically virgin country, controlled an immense area, and the stock throve accordingly. but others were jealous of our success, threw in their cattle as already said, and their sheep, and ultimately we swamped one another. the grass was eaten down, over-grazed, droughts came, prices broke, and so the end. from our annual calf brand mounted to ; halted there, and gradually dropped back to the original tally. our cattle, from poverty, bogged in the river, or perished from hunger. this was all due to the barbarous grazing system under which we worked, the united states refusing to sell or lease land for grazing purposes; consequently, except at the end of a gun, one had no control over his range. cattle versus sheep wars resulted, stealing became rampant and success impossible. among other sales made was that of some steers, of all ages, which we drove right up to the heart of colorado and disposed of at good prices. this drive was marked by a serious stampede, on a dark night in rough country, by which two of the boys got injured, though happily not seriously. then another time we made an experimental shipment of old steers to california, to be grazed and fattened on alfalfa. they were got through all right and put in an alfalfa field, and i remained in charge of them. our cattle were not accustomed to wire fences, or being penned up in a small enclosure, and of course had never seen alfalfa; so for a week or more they did nothing but walk round the fence, trampling the belly-high lucerne to the ground. gradually, however, they got to eating it, and in six weeks began to pick up. briefly stated, this adventure was a financial failure. like the cattle i had been myself an entire stranger to the wonderful alfalfa plant, and i never tired marvelling at its exuberance of growth and its capacity for supporting animal life. the heat in san joachin valley in high summer is almost overpowering, and vegetable growth under irrigation quite phenomenal. alfalfa was cut some six or seven times in the season; each time a heavy crop. after taking cattle out of one pasture, then grazed bare, it was only three weeks till the plant was in full growth again, in full flower, two feet high and ready for the reception of more live stock. the variety of animal life subsisting on alfalfa was extraordinary. all kinds of domestic stock throve on it and liked it. in our field, besides cattle, were geese, ducks, turkeys, rabbits and hares in thousands, doves and quails in flocks, and gophers innumerable; frogs, toads, rats and mice; while bees, wasps, butterflies and moths, and myriads of other insects were simply pushing one another out of the way. it was a wonderful study. in utah much difficulty was found in growing clover. this was accounted for by the fact that there were no old maids in that polygamous country. old maids naturally were not allowed! and there being none, there were of course no cats to kill the mice that eat the bumble-bees' nests; thus, no bumble-bees to fertilize it, therefore no clover. old maids have found their function. figs could not be grown successfully in california till the smyrna wasp had been imported to fertilize the flower. and while talking of bees: on the mississippi river bee-keepers are in the habit of drifting their broods on rafts up the river, following the advance of spring and thus securing fresh fields and pastures new of the young spring blossoms; which is somewhat similar to the chinaman's habit of carrying his ducks (he does love ducks), thousands of them, on rafts and boats up and down the broad yangtse to wherever the richest grazing and grub-infested beds may be found. i should not forget to say that care must be used in putting cattle on alfalfa. at some seasons it is more dangerous than at others. a number of these steers "bloated," and i had to stick them with a knife promptly to save their lives. a new experience to me, but i soon "caught on." but something must be said about our little county town, san juan, county seat of apache county in which we were located. st johns consisted of one general store, three or four saloons, a drug store, a newspaper office, court-house, jail, etc. a small settlement of mormons, who confined themselves to farming on the narrow river bottom, and an equal number of mexicans, an idle and mischievous riffraff, though one or two of them had considerable herds of sheep, and others were county officials. county affairs were dreadfully mismanaged and county funds misused. for our own protection we had to take part in politics, form an opposition, and after a long struggle, in which my partners did noble service, we carried an election, put in our own officials, secured control of the county newspaper, and had things as we wanted them. but it was a bitter fight, and the old robber gang, who had run the county for years, were desperate in their resentment. unfortunately, this resentment was basely and maliciously shown by an attempt, successful but happily not fatal, to poison one of my partners. he had a long and grim fight with death, but his indomitable will pulled him through. i myself, though i had little to do with politics, had a narrow escape from a somewhat similar fate. living at that time, in winter, at what was called the meadows camp, i usually had a quarter of beef hung in the porch. frost kept it sweet and sound for a long period, and every day it was my practice to cut off a steak for consumption. there were two cats, fortunately, and a slice was often thrown to them. one morning i first gave them their portion, then cut my own. in a few minutes the unfortunate animals were in the throes of strychnine poisoning and died in short order. it was a shock to me and a warning. the mexicans continued for some time to be mean and threatening. bush-whacking at night was attempted, and they even threatened an attack on our headquarters ranch; but we were a pretty strong outfit, had our own sheriff, and by-and-by a number of good friends. in our district rough country and timber prevented the cattle drifting very much. in winter they naturally sought the lower range; in summer they went to the mountains. headquarters was about half-way between. it was finally arranged that i should take charge of the lower winter camp during winter and the mountain camp during summer. my partners mostly remained at headquarters. in summer time, from april to the end of october, this arrangement suited me very well indeed; in fact, it was made at my own suggestion; and the life, though a solitary one for long periods, suited me to the ground and i enjoyed it immensely. practically i lived alone, which was also my own wish, as it was disagreeable to have anyone coming into my one-roomed cottage, turning things over and making a mess. i did my own cooking, becoming almost an expert, and have ever since continued to enjoy doing so. of course i could have had one of the boys to live with me; but no matter what good fellows cowboys generally are, their being in very close companionship is not agreeable, some of their habits being beastly. thus it came about that my life was a very solitary one, as it had been in india, and as it afterwards continued to be in new mexico and texas. few visitors came to my camp in summer or winter. now and then i was gladdened by a visit of one or other of my partners, one of whom, however, cared nothing for fishing or shooting, and the other was much of the time entirely absent from the country. during our short periodical round-ups of course i attended the "work" with the rest; but to spend one whole month, as i did once, without not only not conversing with, but absolutely not seeing a human being, is an experience that has probably come to very few men indeed. however, as said before, life in the white mountains of arizona was very enjoyable. peaks ran up to , feet; and the elevation of my camp was about feet. round about were extensive open parks and meadows, delightfully clear creeks and streams; grass a foot high, vast stretches of pine timber, deep and rocky cañons, etc., etc. when we first shoved our cattle up there the whole country was a virgin one, no settlements or houses, no roads of any kind, except one or two indian hunting trails, no cattle, sheep or horses. there were, as already stated, elk, mountain sheep, antelope, deer, bears, panthers, porcupines, coons, any amount of wild turkey, spruce grouse, green pigeons, quail, etc., etc. there were virgin rivers of considerable size, swarming with trout, many of which it was my luck to first explore and cast a fly into. most of this lovely country, as said before, was part of the apache indian reservation, on which no one was allowed to trespass; but the boundary line was ill-defined and it was difficult to keep our cattle out of the forbidden territory. indeed, we did not try to do so. the indian settlement was at fort apache, some thirty miles from my camp. these people, having such an evil reputation, are worthy of a few more notes. such tales of cruelty and savagery were told of them as to be almost incredible. they were the terror of arizona and new mexico, yet they were not entirely to blame. government ill-treatment of cochise, the great chief of the chiricaua apaches, had set the whole tribe on the war-path for ten years. a military company, called the tombstone toughs, was organized in southern arizona to wipe them out, but accomplished nothing. finally, america's greatest indian fighter, general crook, was sent to campaign in arizona in . the celebrated chiefs, geronimo and natchez, broke out again and killed some twenty-nine white people in new mexico and thirty-six in arizona before crook pushed them into the sierra madre mountains in sonora, where at last geronimo surrendered. victorio was an equally celebrated apache war-chief and was out about the same time. fortunately these last raids were always made on the south side of the reservation. we were happily on the north side, and though we had frequent scares they never gave us serious trouble. so here were my duties and my pleasures. the saddle horses when not in use were in my care. the cattle also, of course, needed looking after. i was in the saddle all day. frequently it would be my delight to take a pack-horse and go off for a week or two into the wildest parts of the reservation, camp, and fish and shoot everything that came along, but the shooting was chiefly for the pot. young wild turkeys are a delicacy unrivalled, and i became so expert in knowing their haunts that i could at any time go out and get a supply. one of my ponies was trained to turkey hunting. he seemed to take a delight in it. as soon as we sighted a flock, off he would go and take me up to shooting range, then stop and let me get two barrels in, and off again after them if more were needed. turkeys run at a great rate and will not rise unless you press them. big game shooting never appealed to me much. my last bear, through lack of cartridges to finish him, went off with a broken back, dragging himself some miles to where i found him again next morning. it so disgusted me as to put me off wishing to kill for killing's sake ever afterwards. a wounded deer or antelope, or a young motherless fawn, is a most pitiable sight. there was, and perhaps still is, no better bear country in america than the blue river district on the border of arizona and new mexico. on these shooting and fishing trips i was nearly always alone, and many times experienced ridiculous scares. camping perhaps in a deep cañon, a rapid stream rushing by, the wind blowing through the tall pines, the horses tethered to tree stumps, a menagerie-like smell of bears frequently quite apparent, your bed on mother earth without tent or covering, if your sleep be not very sound you will conjure up all sorts of amazing things. perhaps the horses take fright and run on their ropes. [illustration: roping a grizzly. (by c. m. russell.)] you get up to soothe them and find them in a lather of sweat and scared to a tremble. what they saw, or, like men, imagined they saw or heard in the black darkness, you cannot tell. still you are in an indian country and perhaps thirty miles from anywhere. many a night i swore i should pack up and go home at daylight, but when daylight came and all again seemed serene and beautiful--how beautiful!--all fear would be forgotten; i would cook my trout or fry the breast of a young turkey, and with hot fresh bread and bacon grease, and strong coffee.--why, packing up was unthought of! one of my nearest neighbours was an old frontiers-man and government scout. he had married an apache squaw, been adopted into the tribe (white mountain apaches) and possessed some influence. he liked trout-fishing, so once or twice i accompanied him with his party, said party consisting of his wife and all her relatives--indeed most of the tribe. the young bucks scouted and cut "sign" for us (another branch of the apaches being then on the war-path), the women washed clothes, did the cooking, cleaned and smoked the fish, etc. these indians were rationed with beef by the government, while they killed no doubt quite a number of our cattle, and even devoured eagerly any decomposed carcass found on the range; but they preferred the flesh of horses, mules and donkeys, detesting pork and fish. in these mountains in summer a serious pest was a green-headed fly, which worried the cattle so much that about noon hour they would all congregate in a very close herd out in the open places for self-protection. no difficulty then in rounding up; even antelope and deer would mix with them. when off on a fishing and hunting trip it was my custom to set fire to a dead tree trunk, in the smoke of which my horses would stand for hours at a time, even scorching their fetlocks. in these mountains, too, was a place generally called the "boneyard," its history being that some cattleman, stranger to the country, turned his herd loose there and tried to hold them during the winter. a heavy snowfall of several feet snowed the cattle in so that they could not be got out or anything be done with them. the whole herd was lost and next spring nothing but a field of bones was visible. at another time and place a lot of antelope were caught in deep snow and frozen to death. a more remarkable case was that of a bunch of horses which became snowed in, the snow being so deep they could not break a way out. the owner with great difficulty managed to rescue them, when it was found they had actually chawed each other's tails and manes off. indian dogs have a great antipathy to white men, likewise our own dogs towards indians, which our horses also share in. horses also have a dread of bears. once when riding a fine and high-strung horse a bear suddenly appeared in front. knowing that my mount, as soon as he smelt the bear, would become uncontrollable, i quickly shot the bear from the saddle, and immediately the scared horse bolted. to preserve trout i sometimes kippered them and hung them up to dry. quickly the wasps would attack them, and, if not prevented, would in a short space of time leave absolutely nothing but a skeleton hanging to the string. it was later demonstrated that cattle, too, thought them a delicacy, no doubt for the salt or sugar ingredients. snakes also have a weakness for fish, and i have seen them approach my trout when thrown on the river bank and drag them off for their own consumption. while fishing or shooting one must always be on the careful lookout for rattlesnakes. in the rough cañons and river banks the biggest rattlers are found, and you may jump, tumble or scramble on the back of one and run great chance of being bitten. on the open prairie, where smaller rattlers are very plentiful, they always give you warning with their unique, unmistakable rattle. once, on stooping down to tear up by the roots a dangerous poison weed, in grasping the plant my hand also grasped a rattlesnake. i dropped it quick enough to escape injury, but the cold sweat fairly broke out all over me. the bite is always painful, but not always necessarily fatal. "rustlers" is the common name given to cattle or horse thieves. arizona had her full share of them. that territory was the last resort of outlaws from other and more civilized states. many of our own "hands" were such men. few of them dare use their own proper names; having committed desperate crimes in other states, such as texas, they could not return there. strange to say, the worst of these "bad" men often made the best of ranch hands. cowboys as a class, that is, the genuine cowboys of days gone by, were a splendid lot of fellows, smart, intelligent, self-reliant and resourceful, also hard and willing workers. if they liked you, they would stay with you in any kind of trouble and be thoroughly loyal. no such merry place on earth as the cow camp, where humour, wit and repartee abounded. the fact of every man being armed, and in these far-off days probably a deadly shot, tended to keep down rowdyism and quarrelling. if serious trouble did come up, it was settled then and there quickly and decisively, wrongly or rightly. let me instance a case. in round-up camp one day a few hot words were suddenly heard, guns began to play, result--one man killed outright and two wounded. the case of one of the wounded boys was rather peculiar. his wound was in the thigh and amputation was necessary. being a general favourite, we, myself and partners, took turns nursing him, dressing his wounds and cheering him up as well as we could. he rapidly recovered, put on flesh and was in high spirits, and, as the doctor said, quite out of danger; but one day this big strong young fellow took it into his foolish head that he was going to die. nothing would persuade him to the contrary, and so die he did, and that without any waste of time. in preparing a body for burial it is the custom, a burial rite indeed, not to wrap the corpse in a shroud, but to dress it in a complete ordinary costume, a brand-new suit of black clothes, white shirt, socks, etc., etc.--whether boots or not i forget, but rather think so--dress him probably better than the poor fellow was ever dressed before, and in this manner he was laid in the ground. the man who started the shooting was named "windy m'gee," already an outlaw, but then cook for our mess wagon. shortly afterwards he killed a prominent lawyer in our little town, or at least we suspected him strongly, though another man suffered for the crime; but such incidents as these were too common to attract world-wide attention. on another occasion one of our men got shot in the thigh, by whom or how i do not now remember, but he was a different sort of man from the boy just mentioned. we knew him to be quite a brave, nervy man in action, having been in one of our fighting scrapes with rustlers; but as a patient he showed a most cowardly disposition, developing a ferocious temper, rejecting medical advice, cursing everybody who came around, so that he lay for months at our charge, until we really got to wish that he would carry out his threat of self-destruction. he did not, but he was crippled for life and did not leave a friend behind. [illustration: a shooting scrape. (by c. m. russell.)] then, too, the cowboy, in matter of accoutrements, was a very splendid fellow indeed. his saddle was gaily decorated with masses of silver, in the shape of buttons, buckles and trimmings, etc. likewise his bridle and bit; his spurs were works of loving art from the hands of the village metal-worker, and likewise heavily plated with silver. the rowels were huge but blunt-pointed, and had little metal bells attached. his boots cost him near a month's pay, always made to careful order, with enormously high and narrow heels, as high as any fashionable woman's; his feet were generally extremely small, because of his having lived in the saddle from early boyhood up. he wore a heavy woollen shirt, with a gorgeous and costly silk handkerchief tied loosely round his neck. his head-covering was a very large grey felt hat, a "genuine stetson," which cost him from five to twenty dollars, never less. to keep the big hat in place a thong or cord is tied around and below the back of the head instead of under the chin, experience having proved it to be much more effective in that position. his six-shooter had plates of silver on the handle, and his scabbard was covered with silver buttons. it should be said that a saddle, such as we all used, cost from forty to sixty dollars, and weighed generally about forty pounds, not counting saddle blankets. sometimes the saddle had only one "cinch" or girth, generally two, one of which reached well back under the flank. such heavy saddles were necessary for heavy work, roping big cattle, etc. the stirrups were then generally made of wood, very big and broad in sole and very heavy, sometimes covered with tapaderos, huge leather caps to save the feet from thorns in heavy brush, and protect them from cold in severe weather. to protect our legs we wore over the trousers heavy leather chaparejos, sometimes of bear or buffalo hide. let it be noted that a genuine cowpuncher never rolls his shirt sleeves up, as depicted in romancing novels. indeed he either protects his wrists with leather wristlets, or wears long gauntlet gloves. mounted on his favourite horse, his was a gay cavalier figure, and at the "baillie" he felt himself to be irresistible to the shy and often very pretty mexican señoritas. there you have a pretty faithful picture of the cowboy of twenty-five years ago. it remains to say something of the "shooting irons." in the days of which i write there was no restriction to the bearing of arms. every man carried a six-shooter. we, and most of our outfit, habitually carried a carbine or rifle as well as the smaller weapon. the carbine was carried in a scabbard, slung from the horn, under the stirrup flap, and so under the leg. this method kept the weapon steady and left both arms free. by raising the leg it was easily got at, and it interfered in no way with the use of the lariat (la riata). the hang of the six-shooter required more particular consideration; when needed it would be needed _badly_, and therefore must be easily drawn, with no possible chance of a hitch. the butt of a revolver must point forwards and not backwards, as shown in the accompanying illustration, a portrait of one of our men as he habitually appeared at work. we ourselves did not go the length of wearing three belts of cartridges and two six-shooters; but two belts were needed, one for the rifle and the other for the smaller weapon. some of the boys were always getting into scrapes and seemed to enjoy protracted fights with the mexicans. there must be no flap to the scabbard, and the point must be tied by a leather thong around the thigh to keep it in correct position; and of course it was hung on the right side and low down on the hip, so as to be easily got at. only when riding fast was a small loop and silver button passed through the trigger guard to prevent the gun from jolting out and being lost. the chambers were always kept full and the weapons themselves in perfect working order. very "bad" men tied back or removed the trigger altogether, cocking and releasing the hammer with the thumb, or "fanning" it with the left hand. this permitted of very rapid firing, so that the "aar would be plumb full of lead." [illustration: one of our men. (to show the hand of six-shooter.)] as an instance of quick shooting, two of our neighbours had threatened to kill each other at sight: and we were all naturally interested in the results. when the meeting did take place, quite unpremeditated, no doubt, each man saw the other about the same instant, but one of them was just a little the quicker, and put a bullet through his enemy's heart. it was a mortal wound of course; but before the unlucky man fell he was also able to "get his work in," and both fell dead at the same instant. this was no duel. the first to fire had the advantage, but the "dead" man was too quick for him, and he did not escape. if i remember right, a good riddance. there was one other way of "packing a gun." it was called the arizona way. legal gentlemen, some gamblers, and others who for various reasons wished to appear unarmed, simply put the pistol in the coat side pocket, and in use fired from that position through the pocket. it was not often so used, but i have known cases of it. in this way it was difficult to know whether a man was "heeled" (armed) or not. of course our usual weapon, the long colt ° six-shooter could not be so used, being too cumbrous. [illustration: in arizona. author and party.] chapter iii cactus ranching in arizona--_continued_ the cowboy--accoutrements and weapons--desert plants--politics and perjury--mavericks--mormons--bog riding. the "rustling" of cattle was very common in arizona in these days. by "rustling" is not meant the petty burning out of a brand, or stealing of calves or odd beef cattle. it was carried on on the grand scale. bands of rustlers operated together in large bodies. between our range and the old mexican border extended the apache reservation, a very large tract of exceedingly rough country, without roads of any description, the only signs of human presence being an occasional indian trail and abandoned wickyups. beyond the reservation lay certain mining towns and camps, such as clifton, camp thomas, tombstone, and others; and then the mexican frontier. the rustlers' business was to steal cattle, butcher them in the mountains, and sell the beef to the mining towns; or drive them over into old mexico for disposal, and then again drive mexican cattle or horses back into arizona. some of these gangs were very powerful and terrorized the whole country, so much so that decent citizens were afraid "to give them away." our cattle ranged well into the mountains, and up to a certain period we had no occasion to think that any "dirty" work was going on; but at last we "tumbled" to the fact that a gang was operating on our range. word was brought us that a bunch of some cattle had been "pulled" (scotch, lifted). i was off the ranch at the time, but one of my partners at once started on the trail with three of the men. after some days very hard riding they caught up on the thieves at early dawn, in fact when still too dark to see very well. shooting began at once. none of our men were hurt. two of the enemy were badly wounded, but managed in the darkness to scramble off into the rocks, or were carried off by their companions. our party captured their saddle horses and camp outfit, but did not feel themselves strong enough to continue the chase in such a country. the cattle were found close to the camp, but so footsore that it was impossible to move them homewards. they then returned to the ranch, and we at once organized a strong force of some seventeen men, well mounted and abundantly supplied with ammunition, etc. again taking the trail we met the cattle on their way home, and gave them a push for a mile or so; and thinking them safe enough we prepared to continue south. on arriving at the scene of last week's fight we noticed that the big pine trees under which the rustlers camped had gun-rests notched in the sides of them, not newly made, but showing that they had been cut a long while ago, probably in anticipation of just what had happened. that day in camp, a horseman, the most innocent-looking of individuals, appeared, took dinner with us, and gave some plausible reason for his presence in that out-of-the-way place. it is strictly against cowboy etiquette to question a guest as to his personality, his movements or his occupation. we, however, felt very suspicious, especially as after he had gone we stumbled on to a coffee-pot and frying-pan, still warm, which had evidently been thrown into the bushes in great haste. in fact, this confirmed our suspicions that our visitor was one of the gang, and we thereafter stood careful guard round our horses every night. the cattle we decided to leave alone to take their chances of getting home, thinking the rustlers would not have the "gall", in face of our near presence, to again try to get off with them; but they did! these cattle never reached the ranch. had they been left alone their wonderful homing instinct would certainly have got them there just as quick as they could travel. however, we did not realize the fact of the second raid till on our return no sign of these cattle could be found. so we continued south, passing through the roughest country i ever set eyes on, the vegetation in some places being of the most extraordinary nature, cacti of all kinds forming so thick a jungle that one could hardly dismount. such enormous and freakish-looking growths of this class of plant few can have ever looked on before. the prickly pear "nopal" was the most common, and bore delicious, juicy and refreshing fruit. indeed, being out of water and short of "chuck," we were glad to accept nature's offering, but at a dreadful cost, for in a little while our mouths and tongues were a mass of tiny, almost invisible spines, which the most careful manipulation of the fruit could not prevent. but the most astonishing of these growths was the pitahaya (correct name saguarro), or gigantic columnar cactus, growing to a height of thirty to fifty feet, bearing the fruit on their crowns; a favourite fruit of the pima indians, though by what means they pluck it it would be interesting to know. besides an infinite variety of others of the cactus family, there were yuccas, agaves and larreas; the fouquiera and koberlinia, long and thorny leafless rods; artemisias and the algarrobbas or mesquite bean-trees, another principal food of the indians and valuable for cattle and horses. the yucca when in full bloom, its gigantic panicles bearing a profusion of large white bells, is one of nature's most enchanting sights. besides all these were massive biznagas, cholas, bear-grass or palmilla, and the mescal, supplying the principal vegetable food of the apaches. never in texas, arizona, or even old mexico, have i seen such a combination of varieties of such plants growing in such profusion and perfection; but being no botanist, and quite incompetent to give a proper appreciation of these wonders, we will return to the trail. at one place, hidden in a cañon, we ran on to a stone-built and fortified butchering establishment, but without sign of life around. continuing, we finally came to clifton, the copper-mining town, then perhaps the "hardest" town in arizona. the townspeople appeared pleased to see us. martial law was prevailing, and they seemed to think we were a posse deputized to assist in restoring order. anyway, the sheriff informed us that nearly thirty men had left the town that day for their camp, a fortified position some ten or fifteen miles away. they were all rustlers, and somehow or other had heard of our coming. mr sheriff was also kind enough to advise us that we were not nearly strong enough to tackle them; so adopting his advice, after securing supplies, we rode off, and by travelling all night and working round avoided the enemy's "position." next day we unexpectedly ran on to a large bunch of our own cattle quietly grazing on the hillside. we rounded them up, but our brands were so completely burned out and effaced that, when we put them in the corral at camp thomas and claimed ownership, the sheriff refused to acknowledge it, and we had to draw his attention to a small jaw brand lately adopted by us but unnoticed by the thieves, and therefore not "monkeyed" with. this was proof enough, and so our long and tedious trip was to some extent compensated for. the particular rustlers we were after we could hear nothing of, except one man, who was lying wounded at a certain establishment, but who was carefully removed before we got to the place. on returning home there were only two possible passes through the mountains. it was lucky we took the one, as the other, we afterwards learned, had been put into a state of defence and manned by the outlaws, who in such a place could have shot us all down without danger to themselves. this short narrative will give some sort of idea of the state of the country at that period. thereafter it became necessary that the cattle in the mountains should be more carefully guarded and looked after, and the duty fell to me to "cut sign." by "cutting sign" is meant, in this instance, the riding round and outside of all our cattle, pushing back any that had strayed too far, and carefully looking out for fresh sign (footprints) of cattle or horses leading beyond our range limits. such sign was always suspicious, and the trail must be followed till the stock was found and accounted for. if horse tracks accompanied the cattle it would be a dead sure proof that something was wrong. i continued this work for a long time, but nothing suspicious occurred. at last, one day when searching the open country with my field-glasses, i was gratified and at the same time alarmed to see three or four men driving a considerable herd of cattle in the direction, and on exactly the same trail as before taken by the rustlers. convinced that all was not right, and quite realizing that there was the prospect of serious trouble for myself, i lit out for them, keeping as well under cover as possible, till, on mounting a small tree-covered knoll, i found myself directly overlooking their camp. there were the cattle, from four to five hundred, and there the men, preparing their mid-day meal, four of them in all, and all strangers to me. it was necessary at all costs to know who they were, so i was obliged to disclose myself by going into their camp. the number of saddle horses they had with them led me to think that they were not real professional cattle thieves. had they been indeed rustlers it would have been a risky thing to do, as they would have had to dispose of me in some way or other. by my horse brand they at once knew what "outfit" i belonged to. their brands, however, were strange to me. they asked me to eat, of course; and i soon found out that their party was headed by one pete----, whose reputation i had often heard of as being of the worst. he said he had been grazing these cattle in some outlying park, and was now taking them home to his ranches somewhere in new mexico. that was all right; but since he had passed through part of our range it was necessary to inspect the herd. this he resisted by every means he could think of, asserting that they were a "clean" bunch, with no "strays," and that he was in a great hurry to push on. i insisted, however, on riding through them, when, not much to my surprise, i found about twenty large unbranded calves, apparently without their "mammies." on asking pete for an explanation: "oh," he said, "the mammies were shore in the herd" and he "warn't no cow thief," but on my persisting he finally exclaimed, "well, take your damned _caves_ and let's get on," or some such words; so i started in and cut out nearly twenty big unbranded calves, which certainly did not have their mothers with them; which, therefore, were clearly not his property; were probably ours, but whether they were or not did not matter to me. pete and his men pulled out home, but i caught and branded over half of these calves before turning them loose, and it is probable we got the rest of them at the next round-up. when a man is single-handed and has to make his fire up as well as catch and tie down the calves he has his hands pretty full. in this case i used only one fire and so had to drag the calves up close to it; every bit of tie rope in my pocket, thongs cut off the saddle, even my pocket-handkerchief, were all brought into service; as at one time there were as many as four calves tied down at once. i had only the one little branding-iron, a thin bent iron rod, generally carried tied to the saddle alongside the carbine. the branding-iron must be, if not quite red-hot, very nearly so. then the calf has to be ear-marked and altered. when the mothers are near by the bellowing of the young ones as the hot iron burns into the hide makes them wild with fear and anxiety, and the motherly instinct to charge is strained to the utmost, though they seldom dare to do it. the calves themselves, if big and stout enough, will often charge you on being released, and perhaps knock you over with a painfully hard punch. this was merely an adventure which lent some excitement and interest to the regular work. happily no more serious raid on our cattle occurred in that direction, but one never knew when a little "pulling" might take place and so had to be constantly on the alert. about this time certain ill-disposed individuals tried "to get their work in on us" by asserting land frauds on our part. they tried every possible way to give us "dirt," that is, to put us to trouble and expense, and even send us to the pen if they could. they succeeded in having me indicted for perjury by the grand jury at prescott, the then capital of arizona. it cost us some money, but no incriminating evidence was forthcoming and the trial was a farce. the trial jury consisted of miners, cattlemen, saloon-keepers and others, and by mixing freely with them, standing drinks, etc., we managed to "correct" any bad feeling there might have been against us. certainly these jurymen might have made trouble for me, but they did not. this notwithstanding that my friend, a special land agent sent out from washington and principal witness against me, swore that i had assaulted him at a lonely place (and i well remember the occasion), and that he felt his life in such danger that he had to travel with a guard, etc. this came from politics. having described summer life and occupations, and before going to winter camp, something must be said about our headquarters ranch, situated some twenty miles off. here were the grain-house, the hay stacks, wagon sheds, corrals, the kitchen, general messroom, the bunk house and private rooms for ourselves. there was a constant succession of visitors. nearly every day some stranger or neighbour "happened" in for a meal. everyone was welcome, or at least got free board and lodging and horse feed. there being a paid cook made things different. but it was hot down here in summer-time, hot and dry and hardly attractive. the lower part of the range was much of it sandy country. with the temperature at ° in the shade the sand would get so hot as to be almost painful to walk on, certainly disagreeable to sit on. and when one wanted to rest the only shade you could find would be in the shadow of your horse, which at noon meant your sitting right under him; and your saddle, on remounting, would be so hot as to be really very uncomfortable. between round-ups there was not much work to do. before round-up a general shoeing of the horses had to be gone through. i shod my own, except in cases of young ones undergoing the operation for the first time, when assistance was needed. except poker every night we had few amusements. it was almost a daily programme, however, to get our carbines and six-shooters out and practise at targets, firing away box after box of ammunition. no wonder we were pretty expert shots, but indeed it needs much practice to become so. it should be said that amongst our visitors there were, no doubt, many angels whom we entertained unawares; but also, and no doubt of this, many blackguards and desperadoes, "toughs" and horse-thieves. an old english sailor, who had farmed a little in the mountains, was on one occasion left alone at our headquarters to take charge of it during our absence on the work. two men came along and demanded something which the old man would not give and they deliberately shot him dead. we caught the miscreants, but could not convict them, their plea being self-defence. they really should have been hung without trial. lynchings of cattle and horse thieves and other criminals were not then uncommon. i have twice come on corpses swinging in the wind, hung from trees or telegraph posts. but the most distressing sight witnessed was in denver's fair city when a man, still alive, was dragged to death all through the streets by a rope round his neck, followed by a howling mob! by the way, a strange couple once surprised me at my mountain camp, viz., two individuals dressed much alike, both wearing the hair in a long pigtail, both dressed in leather "chaps," high-heeled boots, woollen shirts, big felt hats, rifles and six-shooters, and both as "hard"-looking as they ever make them. one was a man, the other a woman! they volunteered to me nothing of their business, but i watched the horses a little closer. and i may as well here give another little incident that occurred in my summer camp. a united states cavalry officer appeared one day at my door and demanded that i at once move the cattle off the reservation. this was a sudden and rather big order. i told him that i was alone and could not possibly do it at once, or for several days. "oh," he said, he "would help me," he having some forty nigger troopers with him. "all right," i said, and took the men along with me, got back behind the cattle, spread these novel cowboys out and began to drive, when such a shouting and shooting of guns took place as never was heard before in these parts. we drove the cattle, really only a thousand head or so, back to the supposed reservation border, quite unmarked and vague, and so left them, only to wander back again at their leisure to where they had been. the officer made all kinds of threats that he would turn the indians loose on them, but nothing more was then done. at my winter camp, some thirty-five miles below headquarters, there was a good three-roomed frame house, a corral, etc., and the little colorado river flowed past near by. it was to these lower parts of the range that most of our cattle drifted in winter time. two or three other large cattle-ranches marched with us there. a small mormon settlement was not far off. these mormons were a most venturesome people and daring settlers. certainly they are the most successful colonists and a very happy people. living in close community, having little or no money and very little live stock to tempt providence (rustlers), theirs is a peaceable, though possibly dull, existence. they had frequent dances, but we gentiles were not admitted to them.[ ] [footnote : _see_ appendix, note .] in winter one lives better than in the hot weather, table supplies being more varied. in summer, excepting during the round-ups, we never had butcher meat, and in my camp butter, eggs and milk were not known; but in winter i always had lots of good beef, potatoes, butter and some eggs from the mormons, but still no milk. this was varied, too, by wild duck, teal and snipe shot along the river bottom. talking of snipe, it is very wonderful how a wounded bird will carefully dress and apply down and feathers to the injury, and even apply splints and ligatures to a broken limb. my principal duties at this season consisted in riding the range on the lookout for unbranded calves, many calves always being missed on the round-up. this was really rather good sport. such calves are generally big, strong, fat, and run like jack-rabbits, and it takes a fast and keen pony to catch them. occasionally you would be lucky enough to find a maverick, a calf or a yearling so old as to have left its mother and be still running loose without a brand and therefore without an owner. it was particular satisfaction to get one's rope, and therefore one's brand, on to such a rover, though it might really not be the progeny of your own cattle at all. it was no easy job either for one man alone to catch and brand such a big and wild creature, especially if among the brush and cedar trees. a certain stimulant to your work was the fact that you were not the only one out on a maverick hunt. there were others, such as your neighbours, or even independent gentlemen, expert with the rope and branding-iron, who never bought a cow critter in their lives, but started their herds by thus stealing all the calves they could lay hands on. a small crooked iron rod, an iron ring, or even an old horseshoe, did duty as branding-iron on these occasions. the ring was favoured by the latter class of men, as it could be carried in the pocket and not excite suspicion. of course we branded, marked and altered these calves wherever we found them. "hair branding" was a method resorted to by dishonest cowboys; by burning the hair alone, and not the hide, they would apparently brand the calf with its rightful owner's brand; but later, when the calf had grown bigger and left its mother, they would slap on their own brand with comparative safety. one had to be constantly on the lookout for such tricks. the mexicans, too, were fond of butchering a beef now and then, so they too required watching; but my busiest time came with early spring, when the cattle were in a poor and weak condition. the river-bed, too, was then in its boggiest state. cattle went in to drink, stuck, and could not get out again, and thus some seasons we lost enormous numbers of them. therefore i "rode bog" every day up and down the river. when i found an animal in the mud i had to rope it by the horns or feet and drag it by main force to solid ground. a stout, well-trained horse was needed. it was hard, dirty work and exasperating, as many of those you pulled out never got up again, and if they did would invariably charge you. no special tackle was used; you remain in the saddle, wrap the rope round the horn and dig the spurs in. of course, on your own beat, you dragged out all you could, no matter of what brand; but when, as often happened, you failed to get them out, and they belonged to someone else, you were not allowed to shoot them; so that there the poor creatures lay for days, and perhaps even weeks, dying a lingering, but i am glad to think and believe not a painful, death. what an awful death for a reasoning, conscious man. dumb animals, like cattle, happily seem to anticipate and hope for nothing one way or another. once i found a mare in the river in such a position under a steep bank that nothing could be done for her. her young colt was on the bank waiting and wondering. very regretfully i had to leave them and carefully avoided passing that way for some days to come till the tragedy had terminated. the little colorado river, and afterwards the pecos river in new mexico, i have often seen so thick with dead and dying cattle that a man might walk up and down the river on the bodies of these unfortunate creatures. the stench would become horrible, till the spring flood came to sweep the carcasses to the sea or covered them up with deposit. quicksand is much more holding than mere river mud. if only the tip of the tail or one single foot of the animal is covered by the stuff, then even two stout horses will not pull it out. the pecos river is particularly dangerous on account of its quicksandy nature, and it was my custom, when having to cross the mess wagon, to send across the ramuda of two or three hundred saddle horses to tramp the river-bed solid beforehand. on one occasion when crossing quite a small stream my two driving ponies went down to their hocks, so that i had to cut the traces and belabour them hard to get them out. had they not got out at once they never would have done so. my ambulance remained in the river-bed all night and till a mexican with a bull-team luckily came along next day. at the meadows, my winter camp, i had to fill a contract of two or three fat steers for the town butcher every week. with a man to help me we had to go far afield and scour the range to get suitable animals, the best and fattest beeves being always the furthest out. after corralling, which might mean a tremendous amount of hard galloping and repeated failures, the most difficult part of the job was the actual killing, which i accomplished by shooting them with a six-shooter, not a carbine. only when a big steer has its head down to charge can you plant a bullet in exactly the right spot, a very small one, too, on the forehead, when he will drop like a stone. it was very pretty practice, but risky, as to get them to charge you must be afoot and inside the corral. the butcher was rather astonished when i first accomplished this trick, but it saved time and a lot of trouble. such were my winter duties. sometimes neighbours would look in, and the weekly mail and home papers helped to pass the time. i read a great deal, and so the solitariness of the position was not so trying as one might suppose. indeed, books were more to me than the neighbours' society. "incidents" occurred, of course, but i will only mention one. in winter i only kept up two saddle horses, picked ponies, favourites and almost friends. they were fed with grain night and morning, and, to save hay, were allowed to graze out at night. they regularly returned at early morning for their feed, so i never had to go after them. one morning, however, they did not appear. it was quite unaccountable to me and very awkward, as it left me afoot and unable to do anything. not till about a.m. did they come galloping in, greatly excited, their tails in the air, puffing and snorting. it did not look quite right. someone had been chasing them. at noon, while preparing early dinner, a man, a stranger, rode up to the house, and of course was invited to eat. he was very reticent, in fact would hardly speak at all, and gave no hint as to who he was or anything about himself. while eating there was suddenly a rapid succession of rifle-shots heard outside. we both rushed to the door and saw a man riding for life straight to the house, with half a dozen others shooting at him from horseback. he was not touched, only his horse being killed at the door. the new-comer and my strange guest at once showed that they were very intimate indeed, so that i quickly and easily put two and two together. the following party in the meantime had stopped and spread out, taking positions behind the low hills and completely commanding the house. only their big hats showed and i could not make out whether they were mexicans or white men. my two guests would tell me nothing, except to assert that they knew nothing of their followers, or why they began shooting. realizing that these two had me at their mercy, that they could make me do chores for them, fetch water, cook, feed and attend to the horses till nightfall, when with my own two fresh mounts they might possibly make a bolt for it, i got a bit anxious, and determined to find out who the larger party were. so walking out and waving my hat i caught their attention and, on advancing further, one of the party came out and met me. they were neighbouring cattlemen, and explained that the two men in my house were rustlers, and they were determined to take them dead or alive. they asked me to join their party as they were going to "shoot up" the house if necessary. to this i would not consent and went back. after a deal of talk and persuasion the two men finally agreed to give me their guns, preliminary to meeting two of the other party, who were also asked to approach unarmed. they met, much to my relief, and when, somehow or other, the two men allowed themselves to be surrounded by the rest they saw the game was up and surrendered. then the funny thing happened and the one reason for the telling of this story. they all came down to the house, had dinner together, chatted and cracked jokes, and not a word was said about the immediate trouble. they were all "punchers," had worked together, knew each other's affairs, etc., etc. the one party was about to send the other to the penitentiary, or perhaps the gallows; but you would have thought it was only a pleasant gathering of long-separated friends. the two rustlers were lodged in the county jail, quickly broke out, and soon afterwards died in their "boots," one at the hands of the sheriff. for tracking jail-breakers indians, navajoes or apaches were sometimes employed, and the marvellous skill they showed was simply astonishing and inexplicable; all done by reading the "sign" left by the escaping party, but "sign" often quite unnoticeable to the white man. indeed, an indian would follow a trail by sign much as a hound will do by scent. talking of scent, the homing instinct of horses and cattle is very wonderful and mysterious; but it is not generally known that a horse has also great power of scent. a horse will follow its mate (nearly all horses have their chums) many miles merely by sense of smell, as my long experience of them has amply proved to me. on one occasion i for some reason displaced the near horse of my driving team and hitched up another. after driving a distance of fifteen miles and returning homewards on the same road, soon in the distance could be seen said near horse busy with nose on the ground picking up the trail, and so absorbed in it that even when we got up quite close he did not notice us. when he did recognize his chum and companion his evident satisfaction was affecting. chapter iv odds and ends scent and instinct--mules--roping contests--antelopes--the skunk--garnets--leave arizona. this shall be a sketchy chapter of odds and ends, but more or less interesting according to the individual reader. the horse's intelligence is nothing compared to that of the mule, and as riding animal in rough country a mule should always be used. in mexico, central american states and the andes mules are alone used; and what splendid, even handsome, reliable creatures they are on roads, or rather trails, such as it would be hazardous to take horses over. i once saw the unusual sight of two big strong mules (our ammunition pack animals) roll together down a very steep hillside. happily neither mules nor loads were at all damaged, but it was a steepish hill, as on our returning and trying to climb it we had to dismount and hang on to the horses' tails. another good point about mules is that they will not founder themselves. put an open sack of grain before a hungry mule and he will eat what he wants, but never in excess, whereas a horse would gorge and founder himself at once. as said before, the homing instinct of horses and cattle is very remarkable. i have known horses "shipped" by a railway train in closed cars to a distance of over miles, some of which on being turned loose found their way back to their old range. cattle, too, may be driven a hundred or two hundred miles through the roughest country, without roads or trails of any kind, and even after being held there for several weeks will at once start home and take exactly the same route as that they were driven over, even though there be no "sign" of any kind to guide them and certainly no scent. on my shooting and fishing trips i rode one horse and packed another. the packed horse, on going out, had to be led, of course, unless indeed he was my saddle-horse's chum. but on going home, after even a couple of weeks' absence, i simply turned the pack-horse loose, hit him a lick with the rope, and off he would go with the utmost confidence as to the route, and follow the trail we had come out on, each time a different trail be it remembered, with ridiculous exactitude; yet there was no visible track or sign of any kind. indeed, i would often find myself puzzled as to our whereabouts and feel quite confident we were at fault, when suddenly some familiar tree or landmark, noticed on going out, would be recognized. parts of our arizona range were covered with great beds of broken malpais rock, really black lava, hard as iron, with edges sharp and jagged. over such ground we would gallop at full speed and with little hesitation, trusting absolutely to our locally-bred ponies to see us through. english horses could never have done it, and probably no old-country horseman would have taken the chances. we got bad falls now and then, but very seldom indeed considering conditions. the bits used then were murderous contrivances, being of the kind called spade or ring bits. by means of them a horse could be thrown on his haunches with slight effort, even his jaw may be broken. luckily the bit is little used by the cowboy. his horse knows its painful character, and so obeys the slightest raising of the rider's hand. it should also be remarked that the cow-pony is guided, not by pulling either the right or left rein, but by the rider carrying his bridle hand over to the _left_ if he wants to go to the left, and vice versa. there is no pulling on the mouth. the pony does not understand that; it is the slight pressure of the right rein on the _right_ side of the neck that turns him to the _left_. the reata in those days was nearly always made of plaited raw hide, and often made by the boys themselves, though a good reata required a long time to complete and peculiar skill in the making of it. quirts (quadras) and horse hobbles were also made of raw hide. as everyone knows, the horn of the saddle is used in america to hold roped cattle with. in south america a ring fixed to the surcingle is used; while in guatemala and costa rica the reata is tied to the end of the horse's tail! it is a very pretty sight to see a skilled roper (the best are often mexicans) at work in a corral or in a herd; or better still, when after a wild steer on the prairie. but roping is hardly ever used nowadays, one reason of the "passing" of the old-time cowboy. we used to have great annual roping competitions in new mexico and texas, when handsome prizes were given to the men who would rope and tie down a big steer in quickest time. i once or twice went in myself to these competitions and was lucky enough to do fairly well, being mounted on a thoroughly trained roping horse; but it is a chancy affair, as often the best man may unluckily get a lazy sort of steer to operate on, and it is much more difficult to throw down such an animal than a wild, active, fast-galloping one; for this reason, that on getting the rope over his horns you must roll him over, or rather _flop_ him over, on to his back by a sudden and skilful action of your horse on the rope. if properly thrown, or flopped hard enough, the steer will lie dazed or stunned for about half a minute. during that short period, and only during that short period, you must slip off your horse, run up to the steer and quickly tie his front and hind feet together, so tightly and in such a way that he cannot get up. then you throw up your hands or your hat, and your time is taken. while you are out of your saddle your horse will, if well trained, himself hold the steer down by carefully adjusting the strain on the rope which still connects the animal's horns with the horn on the saddle. [illustration: wound up. (horse tangled in rope.) (by c. m. russell.)] i may here tell a wonderful story of a "buck" nigger who sometimes attended these gatherings. he was himself a cowboy, and indeed worked in my neighbourhood and so i knew him well. he was a big, strong, husky negro, with a neck and shoulders like a bull's. you cannot hurt a nigger any way. well, this man's unique performance was to ride after a steer, the bigger and wilder the better, and on getting up to him to jump off his horse, seize the steer by a horn and the muzzle, then stoop down and grip the animal's upper lip with his teeth, turn his hands loose, and so by means of his powerful jaws and neck alone throw down and topple the steer over. the negro took many chances, and often the huge steer would fall on him in such a way as would have broken the neck or ribs of any ordinary white man. in this case also the steer must be an active one and going at a good pace, otherwise he could not be thrown properly. stock-whips were never allowed. useful as they may be at times, still the men are liable to ill-treat the cattle, and we got on quite well without them. dogs, too, of course, were never used and never allowed on the range. they so nearly resemble the wolf that their presence always disturbs the cattle. this deprivation of canine society, as it may be imagined, was keenly felt by us all, perhaps more especially by myself. had i only then had the companionship of certain former doggy friends life would have been much better worth living. as a protection at night too, when out on long journeys across the country, during the hunting and fishing trips, or even at the permanent camps, the presence of a faithful watch-dog would probably have saved me from many a restless night. the navajo indian's method of hunting antelope was to strew cedar branches or other brush in the form of a very long wing to a corral, lying loose and flat on the ground. the antelope on being driven against it will never cross an obstruction of such a nature, though it only be a foot high, but will continue to run along it and so be finally driven into the corral. and antelope are such inquisitive animals! on the staked plains of new mexico the mexicans approach them by dressing themselves up in any ridiculous sort of fashion, so as least to resemble a human being. in this way they would not approach the antelope, but the antelope would approach them, curious to find out the nature of such an unusual monstrosity. antelope, there, were still very plentiful, and even in my own little pasture there was a band of some head. only at certain times of the year did they bunch up together; at other times they, though still present, were hardly noticeable. i would like to make note of the curious misnaming of wild animals in north america. thus, the antelope or pronghorn is not a true antelope, the buffalo is not a buffalo, the rocky mountain goat is not a goat, and the elk is not an elk. by the same token the well-known "american aloe," or century plant, is not an aloe, but an agave. while in arizona i used to carry in a saddle pocket a small sketch-book and pencil, and on finding one of the beautiful wild flowers the rocky mountains are so famous for, that is, a new kind, i would at once get down and take a sketch of it, with notes as to colour, etc. the boys were at first a bit surprised, and no doubt wondered how easily an apparent idiot could amuse himself. i was considerably surprised myself once when busy sketching on the banks of a brawling stream in the mountains. a sudden grunt as of a bear at my elbow nearly scared me into the river. on turning round, there was an armed apache brave standing close behind me; but he was only one of a hunting party. what sentiment that grunt expressed i never learnt. it is remarkable how a range or tract of country that has been overstocked or over-grazed will rapidly produce an entirely new flora, of a class repugnant to the palate of cattle and horses. in this way our mountain range in particular, when in course of a very few years it became eaten out, quickly decked itself in a gorgeous robe of brilliant blossoms; weeds we called them, and weeds no doubt they were, as our cattle refused to touch them. certain nutritious plants, natives of the soil, such as the mescal, quite common when we first entered the country, were so completely killed out by the cattle that later not a single plant of the kind could be found. amongst the fauna of arizona was, of course, the ubiquitous prairie dog; and as a corollary, so to speak, the little prairie owl (_athene cunicularis_), which inhabits deserted dog burrows and is the same bird as occupies the biscacha burrows in argentina. rattlesnakes, so common around dog-towns, enter the burrows to secure the young marmots. another animal frequently seen was the chaparral-cock or road-runner, really the earth cuckoo (_geococcyx mexicanus_), called paisano or pheasant, or correcamino, by the mexicans. it is a curious creature, with a very long tail, and runs at a tremendous rate, seldom taking to flight. report says that it will build round a sleeping rattlesnake an impervious ring of cactus spines. its feathers are greatly valued by indians as being "good medicine," and being as efficacious as the horseshoe is with us. a still more curious animal, not often seen, was the well-named gila monster or escorpion (_heloderma suspectum_), the only existing animal that fills the description of the basilisk or cockatrice of mediæval times; not the _basilicus americanus_, which is an innocent herbivorous lizard. this gila monster is a comparatively small, but very hideous creature, in appearance like a lizard, very sluggish in its movements, and rightly owning the worst of reputations. horned toads, also hideous in appearance, and tarantulas (_mygales_), very large centipedes and scorpions, were common, and lived on, or rather were killed because of their reputation, but they seldom did anyone harm. but the most highly appreciated, that is the most feared and detested, of wild creatures was the common skunk, found everywhere, mostly a night wanderer and a hibernator. he is a most fearless animal, having such abundant and well-reasoned confidence in his mounted battery, charged with such noxious gases as might well receive the attention of our projectile experts. the first time i ever saw one he came into my mountain hut. knowing only that he was "varmint" i endeavoured to kill him quickly with a spade. alas! the spade fell just a moment too late and henceforth that hut was uninhabitable for a month. the only way to get one out of the house is to pour buckets of cold water on it. that keeps the tail down (unlike a horse, which cannot kick when his tail is up); but when his tail goes up, then look out! the skunk is also more dreaded by the cowboy and the frontiers-man than the rattlesnake. it is their belief that a bite from this creature will always convey hydrophobia. being a night prowler it frequents cow camps, and often crawls over the beds spread on the ground, and it certainly has a habit of biting any exposed part of the human body. when it does so, the bitten man at once starts off to texas, where at certain places one can hire the use of a madstone. the madstone is popularly supposed to be an accretion found somewhere in the system of a white stag. it is of a porous nature, and if applied to a fresh wound will extract and absorb the poison serum. texans swear that it "sticks" only if there be poison present--does not stick otherwise. a fanciful suggestion! and yet, no doubt, the skunk does sometimes convey hydrophobia through its bite. i have myself often had the pleasant experience of feeling and knowing that a skunk was crawling over my carefully-covered-up body. but enough of this very objectionable creature. in texas some of the boys used to carry in their pockets a piece of "rattlesnake root," which when scraped and swallowed after a bite was held to be an antidote, though otherwise a virulent poison. in this placid land of ours, so free of pests, mosquitoes, fleas and leeches, we are also free of the true skunk; but we do have, as perhaps you are aware, a small creature armed and protected in much the same way. this is the bombardier-beetle, common in certain other countries, but also found in england, which if chased will discharge from its stern a puff of bluish-white smoke, accompanied by a slight detonation. it can fire many shots from its stern chasers. it is said that a highly volatile liquid is secreted by glands, which when it meets the air passes into vapour so suddenly as to produce the explosion. the mexicans of the united states deserve more than a passing notice. many of them have indian blood and are called greasers, but the majority are of fairly pure spanish descent. contact with the americans has made them vicious and treacherous. they have been robbed of their lands, their cattle and their horses, bullied and ill-treated in every possible way. but even now many of them retain their character, almost universal amongst their compatriots in old mexico, for hospitality, unaffected kindness, good breeding and politeness. a mexican village in autumn is picturesque with crimson "rastras" of chile pepper hung on the walls of the adobe houses. to the mexicans we owe, or rather through them to the aztecs, the delightfully tasty and delicious enchiladas and tamales. among native animals should not be forgotten the common jacket-rabbit (hare). she affords capital coursing, and someone has said runs faster than an ice boat, or a note maturing at a bank, so she must indeed be speedy. it is interesting to recall that puss in shakespeare's time was _he_ and not _she_. among our feathered friends the humming-bird was not uncommon. these lovely but so tiny little morsels are migrants. indeed one of the family, and one of the tiniest and most beautiful, is known to summer in alaska and winter in central america; thus accomplishing a flight twice a year of over two thousand miles. an interesting little note too may be made of the fact that the garnets of arizona are principally found on ant-heaps, being brought to the surface by the ants and thrown aside as obstructions only fit for the waste-basket. but they are very beautiful gems and are regularly collected by the indians. there was little or no gold mining in our part of the territory; but there were current many tales of fabulously rich lost claims, lost because of the miners having been massacred by the indians or other causes. in likely places i have myself used the pan with the usual enthusiasm, but luckily never with much success. the practice of that very curious custom, the "couvade," seems to be still in force among some of the arizona indian tribes, among whom so many other mysterious rites and customs prevail. the loco-weed (yerba-loco) was common in our country and ruined many of our horses, but more about it hereafter. after ten years, a long period of this life in arizona, an offer came to me which, my partners consenting, was gladly accepted, viz., to take charge of and operate certain cattle-ranches in new mexico in the interests of a scottish land and mortgage company. things had not been going well with us and the future held out no prospects of improvement. also i had been loyal to my agreement not to take or seek any share in the management of affairs, and the natural desire came to me to assume the responsibility and position of a boss. but dear me! had i foreseen the nature of the work before me, and the troubles in store, my enthusiasm would not have been quite so great. [illustration: watering a herd.] chapter v ranching in new mexico the scottish company--my difficulties and dangers--mustang hunting--round-up described--shipping cattle--railroad accidents--close out scotch company's interests. bidding good-bye to arizona i travelled to las vegas, new mexico, now quite an important place. calling on mr l----, the manager of the mortgage company, and the company's lawyers, the position of affairs was thus stated to me. the company had loaned a large sum of money to a cattleman named m----, who owned a large ranch with valuable water-claims and a very fine though small herd of cattle. m---- had paid no interest for several years and attempted to repudiate the loan, so the company decided to foreclose and take possession. well, that seemed all right; so after getting power of attorney papers, etc., from the company, i started down to the ranch, some eighty miles and near fort sumner, and introduced myself to m----, who at once refused to turn over the property to me or to anyone else, and sent me back to las vegas in a somewhat puzzled state of mind. recounting my experience to mr l---- and the lawyers, after a long confab they decided that i should go down again and _take_ possession. they refused me the services of a sheriff or a deputy to serve the papers and represent the law. no, i was to take possession in any way my wits might suggest; they merely proposing that everything i did i should put on paper and make affidavit to and send up to them. by this time i had learned that m---- was very much stirred up about it, was quite determined to give nothing up, and that really he was a dangerous man who, if pushed to extremities, might do something desperate. the lawyers told me there was another, a right, usual and legal way of taking possession, but for private reasons they did not wish to proceed in that way; and so i finally agreed to go down again and do what i could. buying some horses and hiring a mexican vaquero to show me the country, and especially to be a witness to whatever took place, we pulled out for fort sumner. the spring round-up was about to begin, and near by i found m----'s "outfit" wagon, "cavayad" of horses, his full force of "hands" and the foreman h----. after dining with them i pulled out my papers to show h---- who i was and told him i had come there to take possession of m----- 's saddle horses, the whole "ramuda" in fact of nearly a hundred head. oh, no! he had no instructions to give them up; he did not know anything of the matter and he certainly would not let me touch them! i said i had come to carry out my orders and meant to do so; and mounting, rode out to gather up the grazing ponies. at once they came after me, not believing that anyone would dare do such a thing in their presence, and began to jostle me, with more evil intentions in their eyes. desisting at once, and before they had gone too far, i told them that that was all i wanted, said good-bye in as friendly a way as possible, and went before a justice of the peace and made affidavit of having attempted to take possession of the horses till resisted by force, in fact, that physical violence had been used against me. this was sent to las vegas, and in due course the lawyers advised me that it was satisfactory and recommended me to adopt similar methods when attempting to get possession of the ranches, cattle, stock horses, etc. this was a funny position to be in! m----was a popular man; the other cattlemen would certainly side with him and resent such novel and apparently high-handed proceedings. myself was an entire stranger in the whole of that huge country, devoted solely to cattle interests, and of course did not have a friend nor did expect to have any. in fact m---- 's appellation of me as that "damned scotsman" became disagreeably familiar. the round-up was then a long way off down the river, some miles, working up towards fort sumner; so i decided to visit the ranches. we rode out to one where was a house (unoccupied) and a spring, there stayed one night, and on departing left an old coffee-pot, some flour, etc., as proof of habitation and so gave myself the right to claim having taken possession. from there to the headquarters ranch was some thirty-five miles. on our route we came across a number of m----'s stock horses (he claimed about four to five hundred) and, taking the opportunity, we got together some head, inspected them, and in this way, the only way open to me, claimed having taken possession. but now with fear and trembling we approached the ranch where m---- and his family, as i knew, were residing. a hundred yards from the house was the main spring of water, to which and at which we went and camped for dinner. somehow or other m---- heard of our presence and out he came, a shot-gun in his hand, fury in his eyes, and his wife clinging to his coat-tails. no doubt he meant to shoot, but i was quite ready for him and put a bold face on it. things looked nasty indeed and i was determined to fire should he once raise his gun. perhaps this boldness made him think a bit, and i was very much relieved indeed when he resorted to expressive language instead of any more formidable demonstration. though it was necessary to tell him that i was come to take possession of the ranch, he was not on to the affidavit game, and the result was that on returning to fort sumner i swore to having attempted to take possession but had been resisted by force. as explained before, such an affidavit was, in the eye of the law, a strong point in our contention of having taken possession. at least, so our legal advisers affirmed. from fort sumner i then started for the round-up, taking with me a white man, the mexican having got scared and quit. having bought more horses, enough to fully mount two men, we joined the work. fortunately m----'s outfit had gone up the river with a large herd of cattle, and was during their absence represented by the foreman of another ranch. what i did was to get all the foremen together (there were some ten wagons on the work) and explain to them who i was, that i was there to work and handle the m---- cattle, that if they would help me i should be obliged, but they were to understand that they would be regarded as doing it for my company. they only said they were going to help in the usual way to gather the cattle and brand the calves; that i could work or not as i liked; that, in fact, it was none of their business as to whose the cattle were. so after working on a bit an affidavit was sent in that i had "worked" the cattle and had _met no resistance_. but mine was an extremely disagreeable position. during this round-up i noticed that m----was carefully gathering all the steers and bulls of any age he could find. i notified my people and asked them to send the sheriff down to help me. things were coming to a point as it were; it was evidently m----'s intention to drive the steers out of the territory, knowing that once over the texas line we could no longer enjoin him. his whole force of men depended on this to get their wages out of these steers, as every one of them was at least three months in arrears, some of them six, twelve, and even eighteen months. thus i knew they would make every effort to succeed in the drive and would be desperate men to interfere with. the last day of the round-up was over, and in the evening i was careful to note the direction taken by the herd. in the meantime l---- had sent me a restraining paper to serve and i was of course determined to do it; but late that night my relief was great to see the sheriff, a mexican, drive into camp. here was a proper representative of the law at last, though i do not think he himself liked the job overmuch, officers of his breed being habitually treated with contempt by the white men. we agreed to take up the trail early next morning, knowing that the distance to the line was forty miles straight across the staked plains, no fences, no roads or trails, and no water for thirty miles at least. so up and off before daybreak, he driving a smart pair of horses, i with only my saddle pony, at as quick a gait as a wheeled vehicle could move; drove till his team began to play out, when luckily we came upon a mustang-hunter's camp and were supplied with two fresh mounts. pushing on we at last spied in the far distance what was unmistakably a herd of cattle. experience told me that the cattle had been watered, a fact which was thankfully noted. watered cattle cannot be driven except at a very slow walk, and the herd was still seven or eight miles from the texas line. m----'s foreman had made a fatal mistake! had he not watered them they might have escaped us. they must have thought they had hoodwinked me and were probably then rejoicing at their success. they had certainly made a noble effort, having travelled all night and on till noon next day at a speed i had not thought possible. (there were even bulls in the herd.) one can imagine the feelings of the party when they at last saw us two riding at top speed directly on their trail. cuss words must have flown freely, and no doubt the more desperate ones talked resistance. i was really anxious myself as to what course they would decide on, m---- not being with them, and they thinking of nothing but the settlement of their wages. on coming up to them they looked about as "mad" as any men could be. but they decided rightly; and seeing the game was up, merely tried to get me to promise to pay their back wages. this i would not do, but said there was time enough to talk that over afterwards; that meantime the herd must be driven back to its proper range, and to this they finally agreed. word was brought in that m---- was lying out on the prairie, prostrated by the sun, helped no doubt by his realizing that his little scheme had been defeated. we had him brought into camp, but i declined to see him and returned to fort sumner. soon afterwards m---- threw up the sponge, so to speak, and agreed to turn the property over to us. these m---- cattle, numbering only , did not justify the running of a mess wagon and full outfit, so i made arrangements with a very strong neighbouring ranch company to run the cattle for us, only myself attending the round-ups to see that our interests were properly protected. meantime the stock horses must be looked after. fraudulently m---- had started new brands on the last two crops of colts, the pick of them going into his wife's brand; and her mares ranged with m----'s, now ours. the band ran apparently anywhere. they had the whole staked plains of new mexico to wander over, there being then absolutely no fences for a distance of miles. some head of the gentler stock ranged near home; the balance, claimed to number some more, were mixed up with the mustangs and were practically wild creatures, some of them having never been rounded up for over two years. by this time some of m----'s old hands had come over to my side. they knew the country, knew how best to handle these horses, and by favourable promise i got them to undertake to help in discriminating as to which colts were the company's property and which mrs m----'s. so i put up an "outfit," wagon, cook, mounts for seven or eight men, etc., and set out on a very big undertaking indeed, and one that m----himself had not successfully accomplished for several years--a clean round-up of all the stock horses in the country. these staked plains (llanos estacados) were so called because the first road or trail across them had to be staked out with poles at more or less long intervals to show direction, there being no visible landmarks in that immense level country. they are one continuous sweep of slightly undulating, almost level land, well grassed, almost without living water anywhere, but dotted all over with depressions in the ground, generally circular, some of great size, some deeper than others, which we called "dry lakes," from the fact that for most of the year they were nearly all dry, only here and there, and at long distances apart, a few would hold sufficient muddy water to carry wild horses and antelope through the dry season. but which lakes held water and which not was only known to these wild mustang bands and our mares that ran with them. we took out with us some hundred of the gentler mares, the idea being to graze these round camp, and on getting round a bunch of the outlaws to drive them into this herd and so hold them. nearly every bunch we found had mustangs amongst them. the mustang stallions we shot whenever possible. they were the cause of all our trouble. these stallions did not lead the bands, but fell behind, driving the mares in front and compelling them to gallop. when pressed, the stud would wheel round as if to challenge his pursuers. he presented a fine spectacle, his eyes blazing and his front feet pawing the ground. what a picture subject for an artist! the noble stallion, for he does look noble, no matter how physically poor a creature he may chance to be, wheeling round to challenge and threaten his pursuer, his mane and tail sweeping the ground, fury breathing from his nostrils and his eyes flashing fire! is he not gaining time for his mares and progeny to get out of danger? a noble object and a gallant deed! then was the time to shoot. but, yourself being all in a sweat and your horse excited, straight shooting was difficult to accomplish. we worked on a system; on finding a band, one man would do the running for six or eight miles, then another would relieve him, and so on, the idea being to get outside of them and so gradually round them in to the grazing herd. we had special horses kept and used for this purpose, fast and long-winded, as the pace had to be great and one must be utterly regardless of dog and badger holes, etc. this kind of work we kept up for a couple of weeks, some days being successful, some days getting a run but securing nothing. we made a satisfactory gathering of all the gentler and more tractable mares, but some of the wilder ones we could not hold. at night we stood guard over the band, and it was amusing, and even alarming, how the stallions would charge out and threaten any rider who approached too near his ladies. a good deal of fighting went on too between these very jealous gentlemen. as illustrating what the wild stallions are capable of, i may relate here how, one night when we had a small bunch of quite gentle mares and colts in a corral, a mustang stallion approached it, tore down the gate poles, took the mares out and forced them to his own range, some thirty miles away; and he must have driven them at a great pace, as when we followed next morning it was quite that distance before we saw any sign of them. the story is told of m---- himself who one dark night saw what he supposed was one of these depredators, shot it with his rifle, and found he had killed the only highly-bred stud he possessed. at last we started homewards, meaning to separate the properties of the two claimants; but m---- owned the only proper horse-separating corral in the whole country, and from obstinacy and cussedness would not let us use it. here was a pretty go! to drive to any other corral would mean taking m----'s horses off their proper range and the law forbade us doing so, and he knew it. so we were compelled to do what i reckon had never been done or attempted before--separate the horses on the open prairie! first we cut out and pushed some half a mile away all mares and young unbranded colts to which the company's title could not be disputed; also the stallions and geldings of like nature; then came the critical and difficult part of the operation--to cut out and separate mothers from their unbranded colts, and branded colts, some even one or two years old, from their mothers. and not only cut them out, but hold them separate for a full couple of hours! no one can know what this means but one who has tried it. i had done a fair amount of yearling steer-cutting; but hard as that work is, it is nothing compared with the separating of colts from their dams. the only way was to suddenly scare the colt out and race him as hard as you could go to the other bunch. but if by bad luck its mother gave a whinny, back the colt would come like a shot bullet, and nothing on earth could stop him. fortunately i had kept a fresh horse in reserve, a very fine fast and active cutting pony. i rode him myself, and but for him we would never have accomplished what we did. when we got through our best horses were all played out. but it was absolutely necessary to move our own mare band to the nearest corral at fort sumner, a distance of thirty miles, which we did that evening. to night-herd them would have been impossible. the title to many of these colts, branded and unbranded, was very much mixed up, and indeed still in the courts. nevertheless i prepared next morning to brand them for the company. the fire was ready, the irons nearly hot, when up drove m----in a furious rage. i do not think i ever saw a man look so angry and mean. he held a shot-gun in his hand and, presenting it at me, swore he would kill me if i dared to proceed any further. my foreman, who knew him well, warned me to be careful; there seemed no doubt that he meant what he said; he was too mad to dispute with, and so! well, his bluff, if it were a bluff, carried the day and i ordered the mares to be turned loose. as it turned out afterwards it was well i did so, as further legal complications would have resulted. but as i began to think of and remember the time that had been spent and the amount of hard work in collecting these horses, i felt rather ashamed of my action. and yet, can one be expected to practically throw his life away, not for a principle, but for a few head of young colts not even his own property? but, as said before, the disputed title influenced me to some extent; that, and the muzzle of the shot-gun together certainly did. a word about mustangs. they were very wary, cunning animals, keen of scent and sharp of eye. invariably, when one first sighted them, they would be one or two miles away, going like the wind, their tails and manes flying behind them; and be it noted that when walking or standing these manes as well as tails swept the ground. few of them were of any value when captured; many of them were so vicious and full of the devil generally that you could do nothing with them, and they never seemed to lose that character. like the guanaco of south america, the wild stallion always dungs in one particular spot, near the watering-place, so that when hunting them we always looked out for and inspected these little hillocks. it may also be mentioned here that guanacos, like wild elephants and wild goats, have their dying ground, so to speak, where immense quantities of their bones are always found. cattle when about to die select if possible a bush, tree or rocky place, perhaps for privacy, quietness, or some other reason unknown to us. the next and last time we rounded up the stock horses i left the wilder ones alone, and gave a contract to some professional mustangers to gather them at so much per head. these men never attempt to run them down. they "walk" them down. a light wagon, two mules to pull it, lots of grain, some water and supplies, are what you need. on sighting a band you simply walk your team after them, walk all day and day after day, never giving them a rest. keep their attention occupied and they will neglect to feed or drink. gradually they become accustomed to your nearer presence, and finally you can get up quite close and even drive them into your camp, where your companions are ready with snare ropes to secure them, or at least the particular ones you want to catch. prince, a horse i used to ride when mustang hunting, once accidentally gave me a severe tumble. he was running at full speed when suddenly a foreleg found a deep badger hole; over he went of course, head over heels, and it is a miracle it did not break his leg off. these badger holes, especially abandoned ones, go right down to a great depth, and the grass grows over them so that they are hardly visible. dog holes always have a surrounding pile of earth carefully patted firm and trod on, no doubt to prevent entrance of rain flood-water; thus they are nearly always noticeable. dog towns are sometimes of great extent, one in my pasture being two miles long and about a mile wide. they are generally far from water, many miles indeed, often on the highest and driest parts of the plain and where the depth to water may be feet or more. they must therefore depend entirely on the juices of the green grass, though in dry seasons they cannot even have that refreshment; and they never scrape for roots. but even the small bunnies (called cotton-tails) are found in like places and must subsist absolutely without water, as they do not, or dare not, on account of wolves, etc., get far away from their holes. no sooner was the m---- trouble well over than my company saw fit to foreclose on two other cattle outfits, one of which bowed to the law at once. the other gave us, or rather me, a lot of unnecessary trouble, and i had again "to take chances" of personal injury. all these cattle were thrown on to the m---- range, and this increased the herd so much as to justify the running of our own wagon and outfit. eastern new mexico, the country over which our cattle ranged, was a huge strip of territory some miles by miles, no fences, no settlers, occupied only by big cattle outfits owning from to , cattle each. the range was, however, much too heavily stocked, the rains irregular, severe droughts frequent, and the annual losses yearly becoming heavier; so heavy in fact that owners only waited a slight improvement in prices to sell out or drive their cattle out of the country. the way the cattle were worked was thus. the spring round-up began in march, far down the river, and slowly worked north to our range. our wagon, one of many more, would join the work some miles south of our range, but i sent individual men to much greater distances. the work continued slowly through the range, branding the spring calves, and each outfit separating its own cattle and driving its own herd. twelve or more wagons meant some riders and about saddle horses. so the operation was done on a grand scale; thousands of cattle were handled every day, and altogether such a big round-up was a very busy and interesting scene. intricate and complicated work it was, too, though not perhaps apparent to an outsider; but under a good round-up boss, who was placed over the bosses of all the wagons, it was wonderful how smoothly the work went on. a general round-up took a long time and was no sooner over than another was begun at the far south border (the mexico line) and the thing repeated. our own cattle had got into the habit of drifting south whenever winter set in. it took us all summer to get them back again, and no sooner back than a cold sleet or rain would start them south. in fact, in winter few of our own cattle were at home, the cattle on our range being then mostly those drifted from the northern part of the territory. such were the conditions in a "free range" country, and these conditions broke nearly all these big outfits, or at least compelled them to market their stuff for whatever it would bring. partly on account of long-drawnout lawsuits we held on for seven or eight years, when on a recovery of prices our company also closed out its live-stock interests. during the turning-over of these, the company's cattle, to the purchasers, of course they had to be all branded, not with a recorded brand, but simply with a tally brand, thus /**, on the hip. had there been a convenient separate pasture to put the tallied cattle into as they were tallied, much work would have been saved and no opportunity offered for fraud, such as will now be suggested and explained. the method adopted was to begin gathering at one end of the range, tally the herd collected, and then necessarily turn them loose. but we had bad stormy weather and these tallied cattle drifted and scattered all over the country and mixed up with those still not rounded up. this at once gave the opportunity for an evilly-inclined man to do just as was soon rumoured and reported to me. it was even positively asserted to me by certain cowmen (this was while i was confined in bed from an accident) that the buyer had a gang of men out operating on the far end of the range, catching and tally-branding for him the still untallied cattle. a simple operation enough, in such an immense district, where four men with their ropes could, in a few undisturbed days' work, cheat the company out of enough cattle at $ a head to be well worth some risk. several men were positive in their assertions to me. but i knew these gentlemen pretty well--cattle-thieves themselves and utterly unprincipled; perhaps having a grudge against the said buyer, perhaps wanting merely to annoy me, and also possibly hating to see such a fine opportunity not taken advantage of. in the end, when brought to the scratch, not one of these informers would testify under oath. whether afraid to, as they would undoubtedly have run strong chances of being killed, or whether they were just mischief-makers, as i myself have always believed, it is impossible to know accurately. the buyer, being a man of means and having many other interests in the district, would certainly hesitate long before he took such a very dangerous risk of discovery. all that can be said about it is that though i employed detectives for some time to try to get evidence bearing on the subject, no such evidence was ever obtained. the shortage in the turnover was due simply to the usual miscalculation of the herd; the herd which never before had been counted and could not, under range conditions, be counted. these were still "trailing" days, which means that steers sold or for sale were driven out of the country, not shipped by rail cars. one great trail passed right through our ranch (a great nuisance too), and by it herd after herd, each counting, maybe, cattle, was continually being trailed northwards, some going to kansas or the panhandle, most of them going as far north as nebraska, wyoming and montana. these latter herds would be on the trail continuously for two or three months. our own steers were always driven to the panhandle of texas, where, if not already contracted to buyers, they were held till sold. [illustration: herd on trail. showing lead steer.] a herd of breeding-stock when on the trail must be accompanied by one or more calf wagons, wagons with beds well boxed up, in which the youngest or new-born calves are carried, they being lifted out and turned over to their mother's care at night or during stoppages. in the old days, when such calves had no value, they were knocked on the head or carelessly and cruelly abandoned. it is a strange fact to note that when a herd is on the trail there is always a particular steer which, day after day and week after week, occupies a self-assigned position at the head of the herd, and is therefore called the "lead steer." i have often wondered what his thoughts might be, if any; why he so regularly placed himself at the head of affairs and was apparently so jealous of his commanding position. yes, the lead steer is a mysterious creature, yet if displaced by death or some such cause, another long-legged, keen traveller will at once take his place. it should be explained that a herd on the trail travels naturally best in an extended form, two deep, seldom more than three or six, except towards the tail end, called the "drag": so that a herd of steers will form a much-attenuated line a mile in length from one end to the other. which reminds me of an incident in this connection. i was moving a small lot of steers, some head in all, to pasture in the panhandle of texas. the force consisted only of the wagon driver, one cowboy and myself. but the cowboy turned out to be quite ignorant of the art of driving cattle, did more harm than good, and so annoyed me that i dismissed him to the rear to ride in the wagon if he so chose, and myself alone undertook to drive, or rather not so much to drive, that being hardly necessary, as to guide the herd on its course. i got them strung out beautifully half a mile long, and they were making good time, when suddenly a confounded sheep herder and his dog met the lead steers and the procession was at once a scene of the most utter confusion. it should be explained here that, in the case of a small herd thus strung out, its guidance, if left to only one man, may be done from the rear by simply riding out sharply to one side or the other and calling to the lead cattle. how i did curse that wretch and his dog. a man on foot was bad enough; but a man on foot with a dog! horrors! yet, perhaps, barring the delay in getting the cattle started again, the incident had its uses, as it had just previously occurred to me that the line was getting a bit too long and might soon be out of control. such are the uses of adversity. it can be understood that even a small herd of lusty young steers can keep a man, or even two or three men, busy enough, especially if there are any cattle on the range you are passing through. in this case there were fortunately few. amarillo, being the southern end of the kansas railroad, was a great cattle market. buyers and sellers met there; and there, immediately around the town, were congregated at any time in spring as many as , cattle, all under herd. amarillo was then the greatest cattle town in the world. she was the successor of such towns as wichita and fort dodge, simply because she was at the western terminus of the railway. though a pretty rowdy town her manners were an improvement on such places as dodge, where in the height of her wickedness a gambling dispute, rivalry for the smile of a woman, or the slightest discourtesy, was sufficient ground for the shedding of blood. my life during these eight years had its pleasures and its troubles; certainly much discomfort and a lot of disagreeable work. during the working season, april to november, my time was mostly spent with the round-up or on the trail, with occasional visits to our head office in las vegas, and also to amarillo on business matters. to cover these immense distances, near miles (there were few or no desirable stopping-places), i used a light spring wagon or ambulance, holding my bedding, mess-box, grain for the team, some water, stake ropes, and a hundred other things. i nearly always camped out on the prairie, of course cooked my own meals, was out in all kinds of weather--sun, rain, heat and drought, blizzards and frightful lightning storms. my favourite team was a couple of grey ponies. from being so much together we got to understand each other pretty thoroughly, and we had our adventures as well. once on going up a very steep hill the ponies lost their footing. the wagon backed and turned over, and ponies and wagon rolled over and over down the hill among the rocks till hung up on a cedar stump. i was not much hurt, but found the ponies half covered with stones and rocks that had rolled on to them, the wagon upside down and camping material scattered everywhere. cutting the tugs and rolling the stones away the ponies jumped up miraculously little injured, and even the wagon still serviceable, but i had to walk a long way to get assistance. then we have fallen through rotten bridges, stuck in rivers and quicksands, and all sorts of things. one pony of this team, "punch," was really the hardiest, best-built, best-natured and most intelligent of any i have ever known. many a time, on long trips, has the other pony played completely out and actually dropped on the road. but punch seemed to be never tired. he was a great pet too, and could be fondled to your heart's content. he had no vice, yet was as full of mischief as he could possibly pack. his mischief, or rather playfulness, finally cost him his life, as he once got to teasing a bull, the bull charged, and that was his end. it was with this team too that when driving in new mexico through a district where white men were seldom seen, but on a road which i had often selected as a shorter route to my destination, i came on a mexican ill-treating his donkey. his actions were so deliberate as to rouse my ire, and i got down, took the club from him and threatened castigation. on proceeding on the road i passed another mexican mounted on a horse and carrying a rifle. happening by-and-by to look back much was my surprise, or perhaps not very much, to see the gun and horse handed over to the first man, and himself mounted and galloping after me. knowing at once what it meant, that his game was to bushwhack me in the rough cañon immediately in front, i put the whip to my team to such good purpose that we galloped through that cañon as it had never been galloped through before. i would have had no show whatever in such a place, and so was extremely glad to find myself again in the open country. another time i hitched up another team, one of which, a favourite mustang-chaser, had never been driven. we made some ten miles all right till we came to the "jumping-off" place of the plains, a very steep, long and winding descent. just as we started down, prince, the horse mentioned, got his tail over the lines, and the ball began. we went down that hill at racing speed, i having absolutely no control over the terrified animals, which did not stop for many miles. again, with the same team i once started to amarillo, being half a day ahead of the steer herd. first evening i camped out at a water-hole and staked out prince with a long heavy rope and strong iron stake pin. the other horse was hobbled with a rope hobble. some wolves came in to water, and i was lying on my bed looking at them when the horses suddenly stampeded, the strong stake rope and pin not even checking prince. they were gone and i was afoot! prince ran for forty miles to the ranch. the hobbled horse we never saw again for more than twelve months, but when found was fat and none the worse. next day the trail outfit came along and so i hitched up another team. but the worst trouble i used to have was with a high-strung and almost intractable pair of horses, pintos, or painted, which means piebald, a very handsome team indeed, whose former owner simply could not manage them. every time we came to a gate through which we had to pass i, being alone, had to get down and throw the gate open. then after taking the team through i had of course to go back to shut the gate again. then was the opportunity apparently always watched for by these devils, and had i not tied a long rope to the lines and trailed it behind the wagon they would many times have succeeded in getting away. yet it is only such a team that one can really care to drive for pleasure; a team that you "feel" all the time, one that will keep you "interested" every minute, as these pintos did. how often nowadays does one ever see a carriage pair, or fours in the park or elsewhere that really needs "driving"? "shipping" cattle means loading them into railroad cars and despatching them to their destination. the cattle are first penned in a corral and then run through chutes into the cars. one year i sold the company's steers, a train-load, to a jew dealer in kansas. they were loaded in the panhandle and i went through with them, having a man to help me to look after them, our duty being to prod them up when any were found lying down so they would not be trodden to death. at a certain point our engine "played out" and was obliged to leave us to get coal and water. while gone the snow (a furious blizzard was blowing) blew over the track and blocked it so effectively that the engine could not get back. the temperature was about zero and the cattle suffered terribly; but there we remained stuck for nearly two days. when we finally got through, of course the buyer refused to receive them, and i turned them over to the railway company and brought suit for their value. the case was thrice tried and we won each time; and oh, how some of these railroad men did damn themselves by perjury! but it is bad business to "buck" against a powerful railway corporation. this will serve to give an idea as to what shipping cattle means. many hundreds of thousands, or even millions, are now shipped every year. trail work is abandoned, being no longer possible on account of fences, etc. such great towns as chicago and kansas city will each receive and dispose of in one day as many as ten to twenty thousand cattle, not counting sheep or hogs. it was when returning to amarillo after this trip that i was fortunate enough to save the lives of a whole train-load of people. one night our passenger train came to a certain station, and the conductor went to get his orders. nearly all the passengers were asleep. when he returned i happened to hear him read his orders over to the brakeman. these orders were to go on to a certain switch and "side track" till _three_ cattle trains had passed. at that point there was a very heavy grade and cattle trains came down it at sixty miles an hour. two trains swung past us, and to my surprise the conductor then gave the signal to go ahead. we did start, when i at once ventured to remark to him that only two trains had so far gone by. he pooh-poohed my assertion; but after a few minutes began to think that he himself might just possibly be wrong. meantime i got out on the platform and was ready to jump. the conductor most fortunately reversed the order, and the train was backed on to the siding again, none too soon, for just then the head-light of the third cattle train appeared round a curve and came tearing past us. it was a desperately narrow escape and i did not sleep again that night. writing afterwards to the general manager of the railway company about it my letter was not even acknowledged, and of course no thanks were received. while on the subject of railroad accidents it has been my misfortune to have been in many of them, caused by collisions, spreading of rails, open switches, etc., etc., but i will only detail one or two. once when travelling to amarillo from a convention at fort worth the train was very crowded and i occupied an upper berth in the pullman. as american trains are always doing, trying to make up lost time, we were going at a pretty good lick when i felt the coach begin to sway. it swayed twice and then turned completely over and rolled down a high embankment. outside was pitch dark and raining. there was a babel of yells and screams and callings for help. i had practically no clothes on, no shoes, and of course could find nothing. everything inside, mattresses, bedding, curtains, baggage, clothing, babies, women and men were mixed up in an extraordinary way. above me i noticed a broken window, through which i managed to scramble, and on finding out how things were returned to the coach to help other passengers. underneath me seemed to be a dying man. he was in a dreadful condition and at his last gasp, etc., and he made more row than the rest put together. reaching down and removing mattresses, he grasped my hand, jumped up and thanked me profusely for _saving_ his life. he was not hurt a bit, indeed was the only man in the lot who escaped serious injury. the men behaved much worse than the women. however we soon had everybody out and the injured laid on blankets. meantime a relief train had arrived with the doctor, etc. he examined us all, asked me if i was all right, to which i replied that i was, as i really felt so at the time. but in half an hour i was myself lying on a stretcher and unable to move, with a sprained back and bruised side, etc., and a claim for damages against the railway company. another time, when riding in the caboose (the rear car) of a long freight train, with the conductor and brakeman, the train in going down a grade broke in three. the engine and a few cars went right on and left us; the centre part rushed down the hill, our section followed and crashed into it, and some seven or eight cars were completely telescoped. i had been seated beside the stove, my arm stretched round it, when, noticing our great speed, i drew the conductor's attention to it. he opened the side door to look out. just then the shock came and he got a frightful lick on the side of the head, and myself was thrown on top of the hot stove; but none of us were seriously hurt. again, once when making a trip to kansas city and back, the whole pullman train went off the track and down the embankment; and on the return journey we ran into an open switch and were derailed and one man killed. both might have been very serious affairs. with the closing out of the mortgage company's interests of course my salaried employment came to an end. but before closing this chapter it should be mentioned that i had in the meantime suffered a nasty accident by a pony falling back on me and fracturing one leg. it occurred at the round-up, and i was driven some thirty miles, the leg not even splinted or put in a box, to my ranch. i sent off a mounted man to las vegas, miles, for a surgeon, but it was a week before he got down to me and the leg was then in a pretty bad shape. he hinted at removing it, but finally decided to set it and put it in plaster, which he did. he then left me. the leg gave me little trouble, but unfortunately peritonitis set in. the agony then suffered will not soon be forgotten. there was a particularly ignorant woman, my foreman's wife, in the house; but i had practically no nursing, no medicine of any kind, and the diet was hardly suited for a patient. the pain became so great that i was not able to open my mouth, dared not move a muscle, and was reduced to a mere skeleton. then it occurred to my "guardians" to send once more for the doctor. another week went by, and when he came i had just succeeded in passing the critical stage and was on the mend. in after years this attack led to serious complications and a most interesting operation, which left me, in my doctor's words, "practically without a stomach"; and without a stomach i have jogged on comfortably for nearly ten years. how a little thing may lead to serious consequences! i had previously, and have since, had more or less serious physical troubles, but a good sound constitution has always pulled me through safely. among minor injuries may be mentioned a broken rib, a knee-cap damaged at polo, and another slightly-fractured leg, caused again by a pony just purchased, and being tried, falling back on me; not to mention the _sigillum diavoli_ (don't be alarmed or shocked) which occasionally develops, and always at the same spot. while the round-up and turnover of the company's cattle was proceeding, i thought it well to keep lots of whisky on hand to show hospitality (the only way) to whomsoever it was due. on receiving a large keg of it i put it in my buggy and drove out of camp seven or eight miles to some rough ground, and having, in baden-powell way, made myself sure no one was in view and no one spying on my movements i placed it amongst some rocks and brush in such a way that no ordinary wanderer could possibly see it. from this store it was my intention to fill a bottle every other day and so always have a stock on hand. but kronje or de wett was too "slim" for me; a few days afterwards on my going there, like a thief in the night--and indeed it was at night--i found the keg gone. someone must have loaded up on it, someone who had deliberately watched me, and his joy can be easily pictured. so someone was greatly comforted, but not a hint ever came to me as to who the culprit was. my intercourse with m---- provided some of the closest "calls" i ever had (a call means a position of danger); still not so close as on a certain occasion, at my summer camp in arizona, when one of the men and myself were playing cards together. we were alone. the man was our best "hand," and a capital fellow, though a fugitive from justice, like some of the others. it became apparent to me that he was cheating, and i was rash enough to let him understand that i knew it, without however absolutely accusing him of it. at once he pulled out his gun, leant over, and pointed it at me. what can one do in such a case? he had the "drop" on me; and demanded that i should take back what i had said. well, i wriggled out of it somehow, told him he was very foolish to make such a "break" as that, and talked to him till he cooled down. it was an anxious few minutes, and i am very proud to think he did not "phase" me very much, as he afterwards admitted. peace was secured with honour. i was lucky to be able to leave the west and the cattle business with a hide free from perforations and punctures of any kind. chapter vi odds and ends summer round-up notes--night guarding--stampedes--bronco busting--cattle branding, etc. round-up and trail work had many agreeable aspects, and though it was at times very hard work, still i look back to it all with fond memories. the hours were long--breakfast was already cooked and "chuck" called long before sunrise; horses were changed, the night horses turned loose and a fresh mount for the morning's work caught out of the ramuda. by the time breakfast was over it was generally just light enough to see dimly the features of the country. the boss then gave his orders to the riders as to where to go and what country to round-up, also the round-up place at noon. he started the day-herd off grazing towards the same place, and finally saw the wagon with its four mules loaded up and despatched. there was generally a "circus" every morning on the men starting out to their work. on a cold morning a cow-horse does not like to be very tightly cinched or girthed up. he resents it by at once beginning to buck furiously as soon as his rider gets into his saddle. [illustration: changing horses.] even staid old horses will do it on a very cold morning. but the "young uns," the broncos, are then perfect fiends. thus there is nearly always some sport to begin the day with. by noon the round-up has been completed and a large herd of cattle collected. separating begins at once, first cows and calves, then steers and "dry" cattle, the property of the different owners represented. dinner is ready by twelve, horses changed again and the day-herd is watered, and then the branding of the calves begins. but wait. _such_ a dinner! with few appliances it is really wonderful how a mess-wagon cook feeds the crowd so well. his fuel is "chips" (_bois des vaches_); with a spade he excavates a sunken fireplace, and over this erects an iron rod on which to hang pots, etc. he will make the loveliest fresh bread and rolls at least once a day, often twice; make most excellent coffee (and what a huge coffee-pot is needed for twenty or thirty thirsty cowpunchers), serve potatoes, stewed or fried meat, baked beans and stewed dried fruit, etc. everything was good, so cleanly served and served so quickly. true, any kind of a mess tastes well to the hungry man, but i think that even a dyspeptic's appetite would become keen when he approached the cattleman's chuck wagon. dinner over the wagon is again loaded up, the twenty or more beds thrown in, the team hitched and started for the night camping-ground, some place where there is lots of good grass for the cattle and saddle horses, and at the same time far enough away from all the other herds. the saddle horses in charge of the horse "wrangler" accompany the wagon. the men are either grazing and drifting the day-herd towards the camp, or branding morning calves, not in a corral but on the open prairie. the calves, and probably some grown cattle to be branded, must be caught with the rope, and here is where the roper's skill is shown to most advantage. at sundown all the men have got together again, night horses are selected, supper disposed of, beds prepared and a quiet smoke enjoyed. if a horse-hair rope be laid on the ground around one's bed no snake will ever cross it. but during work the beds are seldom made down till after sunset, by which time rattlesnakes have all retired into holes or amongst brush, and so there is little danger from them. first "guard" goes out to take charge of the herd. the herd has already been "bedded" down carefully at convenient distance from the wagon. bedding down means bunching them together very closely, just leaving them enough room to lie down comfortably. they, if they have been well grazed and watered, will soon all be lying resting, chewing their cuds and at peace with the world. each night-guard consists of two to four men according to the size of the herd, and "stands" two to four hours. the horse herd is also guarded by "reliefs." in fine weather it is no great hardship to be called out at any hour of the night, but if it should be late in autumn and snow falling, or, what is worse still, if there be a cold rain and a bitter wind it is very trying to be compelled to leave your warm bed at twelve or three in the morning, get on to your poor shivering horse and stand guard for three hours. it should be explained that "standing" means not absolute inaction but slowly riding round and round the herd. yes, it is trying, especially in bad weather and after working hard all day long from before sun-up. how well one gets to know the stars and their positions! the poor night-herders know that a certain star will set or be in such and such a position at the time for the next relief. often when dead tired, sleepy and cold, how eagerly have i watched my own star's apparently very slow movement. the standard watch is at the wagon, and must not be "monkeyed" with, a trick sometimes played on tenderfeet. immediately time for relief is up the next is called, and woe betide them if they delay complying with the summons. of course the owner or manager does not have to take part in night-herding, but the boys think more of him if he does, and certainly the man he relieves appreciates it. in continued wet and cold weather such as we were liable to have late in october or november, when it might rain and drizzle for a week or two at a time, our beds would get very wet and there would be no sun to dry them. consequently we practically slept in wet, not damp, blankets for days at a time; and to return from your guard about two in the morning and get into such an uninviting couch was trying to one's temper, of course. even one's "goose haar piller," as the boys called their feather pillow, might be sodden. to make your bed in snow or be snowed over is not nearly so bad. no tents were ever seen on the round-up. everyone slept on the open bare ground. but for use during my long drives across country i got to using a small sibley tent, nine feet by nine feet, which had a canvas floor attached to the walls, and could be closed up at night so as to effectually prevent the entrance of skunks and other vermin. this tent had no centre pole whatever. you simply drove in the four corner stake-pins, raised the two light rods over it triangularwise, and by a pulley and rope hoist up the peak. the two rods were very thin, light and jointed; and in taking the tent down you simply loosed the rope, knocked out the stake-pins, and that was all. during these long guarding spells you practically just sit in your saddle for four hours at a stretch. you cannot take exercise and you dare not get down to walk or you will stampede the cattle. but, yes, you may gallop to camp if you know the direction, and drink a cup of hot strong coffee, which in bad weather is kept on the fire all night, re-light your pipe and return to "sing" to the cattle. then the quiet of these huge animals is impressive. about midnight they will get a bit restless, many will get on their feet, have a stretch and a yawn, puff, cough and blow and in other ways relieve themselves, and if allowed will start out grazing; but they are easily driven back and will soon be once more resting quietly. the stampeding of the herd on such a night is almost a relief. it at once effectually wakes you up, gets you warm, and keeps you interested for the rest of your spell, even if it does not keep you out for the rest of the night. i should explain that "singing" to the cattle refers to the habit cowboys have, while on night-guard, of singing (generally a sing-song refrain) as they slowly ride round the herd. it relieves the monotony, keeps the cattle quiet and seems to give them confidence, for they certainly appear to rest quieter while they know that men are guarding them, and are not so liable to stampede. stampeding is indeed a very remarkable bovine characteristic. suppose a herd of cattle, say steers, to be quietly and peacefully lying down under night-guard. the air is calm and clear. it may be bright moonlight, or it may be quite dark; nothing else is moving. apparently there is nothing whatever to frighten them or even disturb them; most of them are probably sound asleep, when suddenly like a shot they, the whole herd, are on their feet and gone--gone off at a more or less furious gallop. all go together. the guard are of course at once all action; the men asleep in camp are waked by the loud drumming of the thousands of hoofs on the hard ground and at once rush for their horses to assist. the stampede must be stopped and there is only one way to do it--to get up to the lead animals and try to swing them round with the object of getting them to move in a circle, to "mill" as we called it. but the poor beasts meantime are frantic with fear and excitement and you must ride hard at your level best, and look out you don't get knocked over and perhaps fatally trampled on. you must know your business and work on one plan with your fellow-herders. on a pitch dark night in a rough country it is very dangerous indeed. the cattle may run only a short distance or they may run ten miles, and after being quieted again may once more stampede. indeed, i took a herd once to amarillo and they stampeded the first night on the trail and kept it up pretty near every night during the drive. but, as said before, the remarkable part of the performance is the instantaneous nature of the shock or whatever it is that goes through the slumbering herd, and the quickness of their getting off the bed-ground. cow and calf herds are not so liable to stampede, but horses are distinctly bad and will run for miles at terrific speed. then you must just try and stay with them and bring them back when they stop, as you can hardly expect to outrun them. still, i do not think that stampeded horses are quite so crazy as cattle, and they get over their fright quicker. let me try to illustrate a little better an actual stampede. the night was calm, clear, but very dark--no moon, and the stars dimmed by fleecy cloud strata. the herd of some steers was bedded down, and had so far given no trouble. supper was over and the first guard on duty, the rest of the men lying on their beds chatting and smoking. each man while not on duty has his saddled horse staked close by. soon everyone has turned in for the night. a couple of hours later the first guard come in, their spell being over, and the second relief takes their place. the cattle are quiet; not a sound breaks the silence except the low crooning of some of the boys on duty. but suddenly, what is that noise?--like the distant rumbling of guns on the march, or of a heavy train crossing a wooden bridge! to one with his head on the ground the earth seems almost to tremble. oh, we know it well! it is the beating of hoofs on the hard ground. the cowboy recognizes the dreaded sound instantly: it wakens him quicker than anything else. the boss is already in his saddle, has summoned the other men, and is off at full gallop. the cook gets up, re-trims his lamp, and hangs it as high on the wagon top as he can, to be visible as far as possible. it is good two miles before we catch up on the stampeded herd, still going at a mad gallop. the men are on flank trying to swing them round. but someone seems to be in front, as we soon can hear pistol-shots fired in a desperate endeavour to stop the lead steers. but even that is no avail, and indeed is liable to split the herd in two and so double the work. so the thundering race continues, and it is only after many miles have been covered that the cattle have run themselves out and we finally get them quietened down and turned homewards. someone is sent out scouting round to try to get a view of the cook's lantern and so know our whereabouts. but have we got all the cattle? the men are questioned. where's pete? and where's red? there must be cattle gone and these two men are staying with them. well, we'll take the herd on anyway, bed them down again, get fresh horses, and then hunt up the missing bunch. so, the cattle once more "bedded," and every spare hand left with them, as they are liable to run again, two of us start out to find if possible the missing men. we first take a careful note of the position of any stars that may be visible, then start out at an easy lope or canter. it is so dark that it seems a hopeless task to find them. good luck alone may guide us right; and good luck serves us well, for after having come some eight or nine miles we hear a man "hollering" to us. he had heard our horses' tread, and was no doubt mightily relieved at our coming, as of course he was completely lost in the darkness and had wisely not made any attempt to find his way. but there he was, good fellow, red! with his little bunch of steers. yes, the herd had split, that's how it was. but where is pete? oh! he doesn't know; last saw him heading the stampede; never saw him since. can he be lost and still wandering round? that is not likely, and we begin to suspect trouble. the small herd is directed campwards, and some of us again scout round, halloing and shouting, but keeping our eyes well "skinned" for anything on the ground. at last, by the merest chance, we come on something; no doubt what it is--the body of a man. "hallo, pete! what's the matter?" he stirs. "are you badly hurt?" "dog-gone it, fellows, glad to see you! my horse fell and some cattle ran over me. no! i ain't badly hurt; but i guess you'll have to carry me home." the poor fellow had several ribs broken, was dreadfully bruised, and his left cheek was nearly sliced off. there we had to leave him till morning, one of us staying by. happily pete got all right again. breaking young colts was a somewhat crude process. not being of the same value as better bred stock they were rather roughly treated. if you have a number to break you will hire a professional "bronco-buster"; for some five dollars a head he will turn them back to you in a remarkably short time, bridle-wise, accustomed to the saddle and fairly gentle. but he does not guarantee against pitching. some colts never pitch at all during the process, do not seem to know how; but the majority do know, and know well! the colt is roped in a corral by the forefeet, jerked down, and his head held till bridled; or he is roped round the neck, snubbed to a post and so held till he chokes himself by straining on the running loop. as soon as he falls a man jumps on to his head and holds it firmly in such a way that he cannot get up, and someone slips on the hackamore bridle. thus you will see that a horse lying on its side requires his muzzle as a lever to get him on his feet. then he is allowed to rise and to find, though he may not then realize it, that his wild freedom is gone from him for ever. he is trembling with fright and excitement, and sweating from every pore. to get the saddle on him he is next blindfolded. a strong man grasps the left ear and another man slowly approaches and, after quietly and kindly rubbing and patting him, gently puts the saddle blanket in place; then the huge and heavy saddle with all its loose strings and straps is carefully hoisted and adjusted, and the cinch drawn up. in placing the blanket and the saddle there will likely be several failures. he will be a poor-spirited horse that does not resent it. now take off the blinders and let him pitch till he is tired. then comes the mounting. he is blinded again, again seized by the ear, the cinch pulled very tight, and the rider mounts into the saddle. it may be best first to lead him outside the corral, so that he can run right off with his man if he wants to. but he won't run far, as he soon exhausts himself in his rage and with his tremendous efforts to dismount his rider. a real bad one will squeal like a pig, fall back, roll over, kick and apparently tie himself into knots. if mastered the first time it is a great advantage gained. but should he throw his rider once, twice or several times he never forgets that the thing is at least possible, and so he may repeat his capers for a long time to come. all cow-horses have ever afterwards a holy dread of the rope, never forgetting its power and effect experienced during the breaking process. thus, in roping a broken horse on the open or in a corral, if your rope simply lies _over_ his neck, and yet not be round it, he will probably stop running and resign himself to capture. even the commonly-used single rope corral, held up by men at the corners, they will not try to break through. bronco-busters only last a few years, the hard jarring affects their lungs and other organs so disastrously. one of our men, with the kindest consideration, much appreciated, confidentially showed me a simple method of tying up a bronco's head with a piece of thin rope, adjusted in a particular way, which made pitching or bucking almost, but not always, an impossibility. he was perhaps a little shamefaced in doing so, but such sensibility was not for me; anything to save one from the horrible shaking up and jarring of a pitching horse! and yet there was always the inclination to fix the string surreptitiously. much better that the boys should _not_ see it. [illustration: a real bad one.] it may be said here that a horse has a lightning knowledge as to whether his rider be afraid of him or not, and acts accordingly. in branding my method was to simply tie up one forefoot and blindfold the colt, when a small and properly-hot stamp-iron can be quickly and effectively applied before he quite knows what is hurting him. in early days we used only spanish mexican broncos for cow-ponies. they were broken bridle-wise, and perhaps had been ridden a few times. bands of them were driven north to our country, and for about fifteen dollars apiece you might make a selection of the number wanted, say twenty to fifty head. some of these ponies would turn out very well, some of little use. you took your chances, and in distributing them amongst the men very critical eyes were cast over them, you may be sure, as the boys had to ride them no matter what their natures might turn out to be. such ponies were hardy, intelligent, active, and stood a tremendous amount of work. later a larger stamp of cow-horse came into use, even horses with perhaps a distant and minute drop of diomede's blood in them--diomede, who won the first derby stakes, run for in the isle of man by the way, and who was sold to america to become the father of united states thoroughbreds and progenitor of the great lexington. but such "improved" horses could never do the cow work so well as the old original spanish cayuse. in a properly-organized cattle country all cattle brands must be recorded at the county seat. because of the prodigious number and variety of brands of almost every conceivable pattern and device it is difficult to adopt a quite new and safe one that does not conflict in some way with others. this for the honest man; the crooked man, the thief, the brand-burner is not so troubled. _he_ will select a brand such as others already in use may be easily changed into. to give a very few instances. if his own brand be and another's the conversion is easy. if it be [**#] and another's [**-ii-] it is equally easy; or if it be [** --e], as was one of our own brands, the conversion of it into [**d--b] is too temptingly simple. it was only after much consideration that i adopted for my own personal brand [**u]--a mule shoe on the left hip and jaw. it was small and did not damage the hide too much, was easily stamped on, looked well and was pretty safe. among brands i have seen was hell in large letters covering the animal's whole side. with a band of horses a bell-mare (madrina) is sometimes used. the mare is gentle, helps to keep the lot together, and the bell lets you know on a dark night where they are. with a lot of mules a madrina is always used, as her charges will never leave her. all the grooming cow-ponies get is self-administered. after a long ride, on pulling the saddle off, the pony is turned loose, when he at once proceeds to roll himself from one side to another, finishing up with a "shake" before he goes off grazing. if he has been overridden he may not succeed in rolling completely over. this is regarded as a sure sign that he has been overridden, and you know that he will take some days, or even maybe weeks, to recover from it. i have seen horses brought in absolutely staggering and trembling and so turned loose. a favourite mount is seldom so mistreated; and if the boss is present the rider knows he will take a note of it. one can imagine how delightful and refreshing this roll and shake must be, quite as refreshing as a cold bath (would be) to the tired and perspiring rider. alas! cold or hot baths are not obtainable by the cattleman for possibly months at a time. the face and hands alone can receive attention. the new and modern idea of bodily self-cleansing is here effectually put in force and apparently with good health results. the rivers when in flood are extremely muddy; when not they are very shallow, and the water is usually alkaline and undrinkable, as well as quite useless for bathing purposes. cow-ponies generally have sound feet and durable hoofs, but in very sandy countries the hoofs will spread out in a most astonishing way and need constant trimming. in droughty countries like arizona and new mexico we were frequently reduced to serious straits to find decent drinking-water. on many occasions i have drunk, and drunk with relief and satisfaction, such filthy, slimy, greenish-looking stuff as would disgust a frog and give the _lancet_ a fit, though that discriminating journal would probably call it soup. sometimes even water, and i well remember the places, that was absolutely a struggling mass of small red creatures that yet really tasted not at all badly. anyway it was better than the green slime. thirst is a sensation that must be satisfied at any cost. once when travelling in the south arizona country, we being all strung out in indian file, over a dozen of us, the lead man came on a most enticing-looking pool of pure water. of course he at once jumped off, took a hearty draught, spat it out and probably made a face, but saying nothing rode quietly on. the next man did the same, and so it went on till our predecessors had each and all the satisfaction of knowing that he was not the only man fooled. the water was so hot, though showing no sign of it, that it was quite undrinkable--a very hot spring. in the alkali district on the pecos river the dust raised at a round-up is so dense that the herd cannot even be seen at yards distance. this dust is most irritating to the eyes; and many of the men, including myself, were sometimes so badly affected that they had to stop work for weeks at a time. in circuses and wild-west shows one frequently sees cowgirls on the bill. of course, on actual work on the range there is no such thing as a cowgirl. at least i never saw one. chapter vii on my own ranch locating--plans--prairie fires and guards--bulls--trading--successful methods--loco-weed--sale of ranch. a year before selling out the company's cattle i had started a small ranch for myself. seeing that it was quite hopeless to run cattle profitably on the open-range system, and having longing eyes on a certain part of the plains which was covered with very fine grass and already fenced on one side by the texas line--knowing also quite well that fencing of public land in new mexico was strictly against the law (land in the territories is the property of the federal government, which will neither lease it nor sell it, but holds it for home-steading)--i yet went to work, bought a lot of wire and posts, gave a contract to a fence-builder and boldly ran a line over thirty miles long enclosing something like , acres. the location was part of the country where our stock horses used to run with the mustangs, and so i knew every foot of it pretty well. there was practically no limit to the acreage i might have enclosed; and i had then the choice of all sorts of country--country with lots of natural shelter for cattle, and even country where water in abundance could be got close to the surface. in my selected territory i knew quite well that it was very deep to water and that it would cost a lot of money in the shape of deep wells and powerful windmills to get it out; yet it was for this very reason that i so selected it. would not the country in a few years swarm with settlers ("nesters" as we called small farmers), and would they not of course first select the land where water was shallow? they could not afford to put in expensive wells and windmills. thus i argued, and thus it turned out exactly as anticipated. the rest of the country became settled up by these nesters, but i was left alone for some eight years absolutely undisturbed and in complete control of this considerable block of land. more than that the county assessor and collector actually missed me for two years, not even knowing of my existence; and for the whole period of eight years i never paid one cent for rent. on my windmill locations i put "scrip" in blocks of forty acres. otherwise i owned or rented not a foot. just a line or two here. i happen to have known the man who invented barbed wire and who had his abundant reward. blessings on him! though one is sometimes inclined to add cursings too. it is dangerous stuff to handle. heavy gloves should always be worn. the flesh is so torn by the ragged barb that the wound is most irritating and hard to heal. when my fence was first erected it was a common thing to find antelope hung up in it, tangled in it, and cut to pieces. once we found a mustang horse with its head practically cut completely off. the poor brutes had a hard experience in learning the nature of this strange, almost invisible, death-trap stretched across what was before their own free, open and boundless territory. and what frightful wounds some of the ponies would occasionally suffer by perhaps trying to jump over such a fence or even force their way through it; ponies from the far south, equally ignorant with the antelope of the dangers of the innocent-looking slender wire. in another way these fences were sometimes the cause of loss of beast life, as for instance when some of my cattle drifted against the fence during a thunder and rain storm and a dozen of them were killed by one stroke of lightning. into this preserve my cattle-breeding stock were put: very few in number to begin with, yet as many as my means afforded. my company job and salary would soon be a thing of the past and my future must depend entirely on the success of this undertaking. once before i had boldly, perhaps rashly, taken a lease of a celebrated steer pasture in carson county, texas, and gone to europe to try and float a company, the proposition being to use the pasture, then, and still, the very best in texas, for wintering yearling steers. no sounder proposition or more promising one could have been put forward. but all my efforts to get the capital needed failed and it was fortunate for me that at the end of one year i succeeded in getting a cancellation of the lease. on first securing the lease the season was well advanced and it became an anxiety to me as to where i should get cattle to put in the pasture, if only enough to pay the year's rent--some dollars. one man, a canny scotsman, had been holding and grazing a large herd of two-year-old steers, all in one straight brand, on the free range just outside. he knew i wanted cattle and i knew he wanted grass, as he could not find a buyer and the season was late. we both played "coon," but i must say i began to feel a bit uncomfortable. at last greatly to my relief and joy, he approached me, and after a few minutes' dickering i had the satisfaction of counting into pasture this immense herd of cattle. meantime, i had also been corresponding with another party and very soon afterwards closed a deal with him for some more two-year-old steers. thus with head the pasture was nearly fully stocked, the rent for the first year was assured, and i prepared to go to the old country to form the company before mentioned. but before going i found it necessary to throw in a hundred or so old cows to keep the steers quiet. the steers had persisted in walking the fences, travelling in great strings round and round the pasture. they had lots of grass, water and salt, but something else was evidently lacking. immediately the cows were turned loose all the uneasiness and dissatisfaction ceased. no more fence walking and no more danger (for me) of them breaking out. the family life seemed complete. the suddenness of the effect was very remarkable. this pasture has ever since been used solely for my proposed purpose and every year has been a tremendous success. first of all a word about my house and home. built on what may be called the spanish plan, of adobes (sun-dried bricks), the walls were - / feet thick, and there was a courtyard in the centre. particular attention was paid to the roof, which was first boarded over, then on the boards three inches of mud, and over that sheets of corrugated iron. the whole idea of the adobes and the mud being to secure a cool temperature in summer and warmth in winter. no other materials are so effective. as explained before, there were no trees or shrubs of any kind within a radius of many miles. so to adorn this country seat i cut and threw into my buggy one day a young shoot of cotton-wood tree, hauled it fifty miles to the ranch, and stuck it in the centre of the court. water was never too plentiful; so why not make use of the soap-suddy washings which the boys and all of us habitually threw out there? when the tree did grow up, and it thrived amazingly, its shade became the recognized lounging-place. with a few flowering shrubs added the patio assumed quite a pretty aspect. another feature of the house was that the foundations were laid so deep, and of rock, that skunks could not burrow underneath, which is quite a consideration. under my winter cottage at the meadows ranch in arizona skunks always denned and lay up during the cold weather, selecting a point immediately under the warm hearthstone. there, as one sat reading over the fire, these delightful animals, within a foot of you, would carry on their family wrangles and in their excitement give evidence of their own nature; but happily the offence was generally a very mild one and evidently not maliciously intended. around the house was planted a small orchard and attempts were made at vegetable-growing. but water was too scarce to do the plants justice. everything must be sacrificed to the cattle. one lesson it taught me, however, and that is that no matter how much water you irrigate with, one good downpour from nature's fertilizing watering-can is worth more than weeks of irrigation. rain water has a quality of its own which well or tank water cannot supply. plants respond to it at once by adopting a cheery, healthy aspect. it had another equally valuable character in that it destroyed the overwhelming bugs. how it destroyed them i don't know: perhaps it drowned them; anyway they disappeared at once. in my own pasture in new mexico i for various reasons decided to "breed," instead of simply handle steers. steers were certainly safer and surer, and the life was an easy one. but there appeared to me greater possibilities in breeding if the cows were handled right and taken proper care of. it will be seen by-and-by that my anticipations were more than justified, so that the success of this little ranch has been a source of pride to me. the ranch was called "running water," because situated on running water draw, a creek that never to my knowledge "ran" except after a very heavy rain. prairie fires were the greatest danger in this level range country, there being no rivers, cañons, or even roads to check their advance. lightning might set the grass afire; a match carelessly dropped by the cigarette-smoker; a camp fire not properly put out; or any mischievously-inclined individual might set the whole country ablaze. indeed, the greatest prairie fire i have record of was maliciously started to windward of my ranch by an ill-disposed neighbour (one of the men whose cattle the scotch company had closed out and who ever after had a grudge against me) purposely to burn me out. he did not quite succeed, as by hard fighting all night we managed to save half the grass; but the fire extended miles into texas, burning out a strip from thirty to sixty miles wide. on account of a very high wind blowing that fire jumped my "guard," a term which needs explanation. all round my pasture, on the outside of the fence, for a distance of over forty miles was ploughed a fire-guard thus: two or three ploughed furrows and, feet apart, other two or three ploughed furrows, there being thus a strip of land forty miles long and feet wide. between these furrows we burnt the grass, an operation that required great care and yet must be done as expeditiously as possible to save time, labour and expense. a certain amount of wind must be blowing so as to insure a clean and rapid burn; but a high gusty wind is most dangerous, as the flames are pretty sure to jump the furrows, enter the pasture, and get away from you. the excitement at such a critical time is of course very great. in such cases it was at first our practice to catch and kill a yearling, split it open and hitch ropes to the hind feet, when two of us mounted men would drag the entire carcass over the line of fire. it was effective but an expensive and cumbrous method. later i adopted a device called a "drag," composed of iron chains, in the nature of a harrow, covered by a raw hide for smothering purposes. this could be dragged quite rapidly and sometimes had to be used over miles and miles of encroaching fire. the horses might get badly burnt, and in very rank grass where the fierce flames were six to eight feet high it was useless. sometimes we worked all night, and no doubt it formed a picturesque spectacle and a scene worthy of an artist's brush. across the centre of the pasture for further safety, as also around the bull and horse pasture, was a similar fire-guard, so that i had in all some fifty-five miles of guard to plough and burn. it is such critical and dangerous, yet necessary, work that i always took care to be present myself and personally boss the operation. without such a fire-guard one is never free from anxiety. many other ranchers who were careless in this matter paid dearly for it. these fires were dangerous in other ways. a dear old friend of mine was caught by and burnt to death in one. another man, a near neighbour, when driving a team of mules, got caught likewise, and very nearly lost his life. he was badly burnt and lost his team. hitherto it had been the universal custom of cattlemen to use "grade" bulls, many of them, alas! mere "scrubs" of no breeding at all. no one used pure-bred registered bulls except to raise "grade" bulls with. i determined to use "registered" pure-bred bulls alone, and no others, to raise _steers_ with, and was the first man to my knowledge to do so. neighbours ridiculed the idea, saying that they would not get many calves, that they could not or would not "rustle"--that is, they would not get about with the cows--that they would need nursing and feeding and would not stand the climate. well, i went east, selected and bought at very reasonable figures the number needed, all very high bred, indeed some of them fashionably so, and took them to the ranch. by the way, bulls were not called bulls in "polite" society: you must call them "males." very shortly afterwards there was a rise in value of cattle, a strong demand for such bulls, and prices went "out of sight." thus the bulls that cost me some dollars apiece in a little while were worth or even dollars. the young bulls "rustled" splendidly, and as next spring came along there was much interest felt as to results. to my great delight almost every cow had a calf, and nearly every calf was alike red body and white face, etc. (hereford). i kept and used these same bulls six or seven seasons; every year got the highest calf-brand or crop amongst all my neighbours; and soon, with prudent culling of the cows, my small herd (some ) was the best in the country; and my young steers topped the market, beating even the crack herds that had been established for twenty years and had great reputations. to give an instance: my principle was to work with little or no borrowed money. thus my position was such that i did not always _have_ to market my steers to pay running expenses; and as i hate trading and dickering, as it is called, my independence gave me a strong position. well, once when travelling to the ranch i met on the train two "feeders" from the north, who told me they wanted to buy two or three hundred choice two-year-old, high-bred, even, well-coloured and well-shaped steers. having by chance some photos in my pocket of my steers (as yearlings taken the year before) i produced them. they seemed pleased with them and asked the price, which i told them; but they said no ranch cattle were worth that money and ridiculed the idea of my asking it. "oh," i said, "it is nothing to me; that is the price of the cattle," but i carefully also told them how to get to my place and invited them to come and see me. oh, no! they said it was too ridiculous! we travelled on to amarillo and i at once went out to running water. only two days afterwards, on coming in to dinner, i found my two gentlemen seated on the porch waiting for me. after dinner we saddled up and went out to see the steers. the dealers were evidently surprised and made a long and careful inspection. evidently they were well pleased, and on returning to the house it was also evident that they were going to adopt the usual tactics of whittling a small piece of wood (a seemingly necessary accompaniment to a trade) and "dickering"; so i again told them my terms, same as before, and hinted that they might take or leave them as they liked. the deal was closed without further ado, some money put up, and next day i started for england, leaving to the foreman the duty and responsibility of delivering the steers at the date specified. these men, like most other operators, were dealing with borrowed money got from commission houses in kansas city. i learnt afterwards that their kansas city friends, on hearing of the trade, refused to supply the funds till they had sent a man out specially to see the two-year-old steers that could possibly be worth so much money. he came out, saw them, and reported them to be well worth the price; and they were acknowledged to be the finest small bunch of steers ever shipped out of the south-west country. this was very gratifying indeed. another revolution in ranch practice was the keeping up of my bulls in winter-time and not putting them out with the cows till the middle of july. this also met with the ridicule of all the "old-timers"; but it was entirely successful! the calf crop was not only a very large one but the calves were dropped all about the same time, were thus of an even age (an important matter for dealers), and they "came" when their mothers were strong and had lots of milk. young cows and heifers having their first calves had to be watched very closely, and we had often to help them in delivery. it may also be mentioned here that the sight of a green, freshly-skinned hide, or a freshly-skinned carcass, will frequently cause cows to "slink" their calves. the smell of blood too creates a tremendous commotion amongst the cattle generally; why, is not quite known. i also made a practice in early spring of taking up weak or poor cows that looked like needing it, putting them in a separate pasture and feeding them on just two pounds of cotton-seed meal once a day; no hay, only the dry, wild grass in the small pasture. the good effect of even such a pittance of meal was simply astounding. thereafter i do not think i ever lost a single cow from poverty or weakness. this use of meal on a range ranch was in its way also a novelty. afterwards it became general and prices of cotton-seed and cotton-seed meal doubled and more. when a very large number of range cattle, say or so, required feeding on account of poverty, hay in our country not being obtainable, cotton-seed (whole) would be fed to them by the simple and effective method of loading a large wagon with it, driving it over the pasture, and scattering thinly, not dumping, the seed on to the grass sod. the cattle would soon get so fond of it that they would come running as soon as the wagon appeared and follow it up in a long string, the strongest and greediest closest to the wagon, the poor emaciated, poverty-stricken ones tailing off in the rear. but not one single seed was wasted, everyone being gleaned and picked up in a very short time. it is the best, easiest and most effective way: indeed, the only possible way with such a large number of claimants. and as said before, the recuperating effect of this cotton-seed is simply astonishing. it may be noted, however, that if fed in bulk and to excess the animals will sometimes go blind, which must be guarded against. in the matter of salt it had become the common practice to use sacked stuff (pulverized) for cattle. there was a strong prejudice against rock salt; so much so that when i decided to buy a carload or two it had to be specially ordered. another laugh was raised at my proposed use of it. the cattle would get sore tongues, or they would spend so long a time licking it they would have no time to graze, etc., etc. meantime i had lost some cows by their too quick lapping of the pulverized stuff. thereafter i never lost one from such a cause and the cattle throve splendidly. besides, the rock salt was much easier handled and considerably more economical. my wells were deep, none less than feet, the iron casing -inch diameter, the pipe -inch or -inch, and the mill-wheels feet in diameter; this huge wind power being necessary to pump up from such a depth a sufficiency of water. the water was pumped directly into very large shallow drinking wooden tubs, thence into big reserve earthen tanks (fenced in), and thence again led by pipe to other large drinking-tubs outside and below the tanks, supplied with floating stop-valves. this arrangement, arrived at after much deliberation, worked very well indeed; no water was wasted, and it was always clean; and in very cold weather the cattle always got warm, freshly-pumped well water in the upper tub, an important matter and one reason why my cattle always did so well. but oh, dear! the trouble and work we often had with these wells! perhaps in zero temperature something would go wrong with the pump valve or the piston leather would wear out, or in a new well the quicksand would work in. neither myself, foreman nor boy was an expert or had any mechanical knowledge; though continued troubles, much hard work, accompanied by, alas! harder language, was a capital apprenticeship. in bitter cold freezing weather i well remember we once had to pull out the rods and the piping three times in succession before we got the damned thing into shape, and then we did not know what had been the matter. to pull up first feet of heavy rod, disjoint it, and lay it carefully aside; then pull up feet of -inch or -inch iron piping, in -feet lengths, clamp and disjoint it, and put it carefully aside; then to use the sand-bucket to get the sand out of the well if necessary; repair and put into proper shape the valve and cylinder, etc.; then (and these are all parts of one operation), re-lower and connect the feet of heavy piping, the equally long rods, and attach to the mill itself--oh, what anxiety to know if it was going to work or not! on this particular occasion, as stated, we--self, foreman and one boy--actually had to go through this tedious and dangerous performance three times in succession! to pull out the piping great power is needed, and we at first used a capstan made on the ranch and worked by hand. but it was slow work, very slow, and very hard work too; afterwards we used a stout, steady team of horses, with double tackle, and found it to work much more expeditiously. but there was always a great and ever-present danger of the pipe slipping, or a clamp, a bolt, or a hook, or even the rope breaking with disastrous results. these wells and mills afforded any disgruntled cowhand or "friendly" neighbour a simple and convenient opportunity of "getting even," as a single small nail dropped down a pipe at once clogged the valve and rendered the tedious operation necessary. i had altogether five of such wells. a little more "brag," if it may be called so, and i shall have done. but it will need some telling, and perhaps credulity on the reader's part. a certain wild plant called "loco" grows profusely in many parts of the western states; but nowhere more profusely than it did in my pasture. indeed it looked like this particular spot must have been its place of origin and its stronghold in time of adversity. certainly, although it was common all over the plains, i never saw in any place such a dense and vigorous growth of it, covering like an alfalfa field solid blocks of hundreds of acres. this is no exaggeration. it had killed a few of our cattle in arizona and ruined some of our best horses. the scotch company lost many hundreds of cattle by it, and also some horses. the plant seems to flourish in cycles of about seven years; that is, though some of it may be present every year it only comes in abundance, overwhelming abundance, once in the period stated. the peculiarity about it, too, is that it grows in the winter months and has flowered and seeded and died down by midsummer. thus it is the only green and succulent-looking plant to be seen in winter-time on the brown plains. it is very conspicuous and in appearance much resembles clover or alfalfa. cattle as a rule will avoid it, but for some unknown reason the time comes when you hear the expression the "cattle are eating loco." if so they will continue to eat it, to eat nothing else, till it is all gone; and those eating it will set the example to others, and all that have eaten it will go stark staring mad and the majority of them die. horses are even more liable to take to it, and are affected exactly in the same way; they go quite crazy, refuse to drink water, cannot be led, and have a dazed, stupid appearance and a tottering gait, till finally they decline and die for want of nourishment. i have seen locoed horses taken up and fed on grain, when some of them recovered and quite got over the habit even of eating the weed; but these were exceptions. most locoed horses remained too stupid to do anything with and were never of much value. there is one strange fact, however, about them; saddle horses, slightly locoed, just so bad that they cannot be led, and therefore useless as saddlers, do, when hitched up to a wagon or buggy, though never driven before, make splendid work horses. they go like automatons; will trot if allowed till they fall down, and never balk. the worst outlaw horse we ever had, one that had thrown all the great riders of the country and had never been mastered, this absolute devilish beast got a pretty bad dose of the weed; and, to experiment, we hitched him up in a wagon, when lo! he went off like any old steady team horse. this is all very interesting; but that is enough as to its effect on live stock. at the request of the department of agriculture i sent to washington some specimens of a grub which, when the plant reaches its greatest exuberance and abundance, infests it, eating out its heart and so killing it. it destroys the plant, but alas! generally too late to prevent the seed maturing and falling to earth. the plant itself has been several times carefully examined, its juices tested and experimentally administered to various animals. but no absolutely satisfactory explanation of its effects has been given out; and certainly no antidote or cure of its effects suggested. well, in a certain year the seven years' cycle came round; faithfully the loco plant cropped up all over the plains, the seed that had lain dormant for many years germinated and developed everywhere. as winter approached (in october) my fall round-up was due. calves had to be branded, some old cows sold, and some steers delivered. i had sold nothing that year. on rounding-up the horses many of them showed signs of the weed. the neighbours flocked in and the work began. only one round-up was made, when the idea seized me that if these cattle were "worked" in the usual way--that is, jammed round, chased about and "milled" for several hours--they would get tired and hungry, and on being turned loose would be inclined to eat whatever was nearest to them--probably the loco plant. it seemed so reasonable a fear, and i was so anxious about the cattle, that i ordered the foreman there and then to turn the herd quietly loose, explained to the neighbours my reasons for doing so, but allowed them to cut out what few cattle they had in the herd: and the year's work was thus at once abandoned. all that winter was a very anxious time. reports came in from neighbouring ranches that their cattle were dying in hundreds. on driving through their pastures the loco appeared eaten to the ground; all the cattle were after it, and poor, staggering, crazy animals were met on the road without sense enough to get out of your way. by the end of next spring some of my neighbours had few cattle left to round-up. one neighbour, the largest cattle-ranch in the world, owning some , head, was estimated to have lost at least , . and meantime how were affairs going in my little place? it will seem incredible, but what is here written is absolute truth. the loco was belly high; the self-weaned calves could be seen wading through it; but ne'er a nibbled or eaten plant could be found. i often searched carefully for such dreaded signs but happily always failed: and i did not lose a single cow, calf or steer, nor were any found showing the slightest signs of being affected. many reasons were advanced for the miraculous escape of these cattle; people from a hundred miles away came to see and learn the reason. no satisfactory explanation was suggested, and finally they were compelled to accept my own one, and agree that leaving the cattle undisturbed by abandoning the fall round-up was the real solution of the problem. the only work my men did that winter was to keep the fences up and in good shape, and whenever they saw stray cattle in my pasture to turn them out at once, fearing the danger of bad example. next winter, the loco being still very bad, the same tactics were adopted and only one solitary yearling of mine was affected. so ended the worst loco visitation probably ever experienced in the west; not perhaps that the plant was more abundant than at some other periods, though i think it was, but for some unknown reason the cattle ate it more freely. the temperature on these plains sometimes went so low as ° below zero, with wind blowing. there was no natural shelter, literally nothing as big as your hat in the pasture, and several men advised the building of sheds, wind-breaks, etc. but experience told me just the opposite. i had seen cattle (well fed and carefully tended) freeze to death inside sheds and barns. also i had seen whole bunches of cattle standing shivering behind open sheds and wind-breaks till they practically froze to death or became so emaciated as to eventually die of poverty. if you give cattle shelter they will be always hanging around it. so i built no sheds or anything else. when a blizzard came my cattle had to travel, and the continued travelling backwards and forwards kept the blood in circulation. there were a few cases of horns, feet, ears and mammæ frozen off, but i never had a cow frozen to death and never lost any directly from the severity of the weather. more than that, i never fed a pound of hay. our name for calves that had lost their mothers, and therefore the nourishment obtained from milk, was "dogies." these dogies were ever afterwards unmistakable in appearance, and remained stunted, "runty" little animals of no value. yet, if taken up early enough and fed on nourishing diet, they would develop into as large and well-grown cattle as their more fortunate fellows.[ ] [footnote : appendix, note iii.] my foreman was an ordinary cowboy, but he was a thorough cattleman, had already been in my employ for seven years, and his "little peculiarities" were pretty well known to me. he became desperately jealous of his position (as foreman), resenting interference. it is a good characteristic, this desire for independence, if also accompanied by no fear of responsibility; and on these lines my ranch was run. i allowed him great independence, never interfered so long as he carried out general orders and "ran straight"; but i also put on him full responsibility. more than that, i allowed him to run his own small bunch of cattle, some hundred head, in my pasture, and gave him the use of my bulls; his grass, salt and water cost him nothing. this was a very unusual policy to adopt. but the idea was that it would thus be as much his interest as mine to see the fences kept up and in good repair, to see that the windmills and wells were kept in order, that the cattle had salt, were not stolen, etc., and prairie fires guarded against. well, it all turned out right. my presence at the ranch during a year would not perhaps amount to a month of days; i could live in denver, san francisco or mexico, and only come to the place at round-ups and branding-times. i do not think that a calf was ever stolen from me. the fact was i knew cattle in general and my own cattle in particular so well (and he knew it) that he had no opportunity, and perhaps was afraid to take advantage of me. it must be here mentioned that on selling out, and in tallying my cattle over to the buyer, the count was disappointingly short; not nearly so short as the scotch company's cattle, it is true, but still, considering that my cattle were inside a good fence, were well looked after, the huge calf crop and apparently small death loss, there was a shortage. then there is no wonder at the greater shortage of the company's cattle, where almost no care could be taken of them, where the calf tallies were in the hands of, and returned by, the foremen of other outfits, where the range was overstocked, the boggy rivers a death-trap, where wolves and thieves had free range, and where blackleg, mismothering of calves and loco made a big hole in the number of yearlings. in my pasture were also wolves and blackleg; and the loss in calves by these, difficult to detect, is invariably greater than suspected. only one case of cattle-thieving occurred at my own ranch and i lost nothing by it. two men stopped in for supper one day; they were strangers, but of course received every attention. they rode on afterwards, coolly picked up some thirty head of my cattle, drove them all night into texas and sold them to a farmer there. of course they were not missed out of so many cattle; but someone in texas had seen them at their new home, noticed my brand and sent word to me. on going after them i found they had been sold to an innocent man who had paid cash for them and taken no bill of sale. it was not a pleasant duty to demand the cattle back from such a man, but he ought to have known better. some rustlers in arizona once detached from a train at a small station a couple of carloads of beef cattle, ran them back down the track to the corral, there unloaded the cattle and drove them off. this very smart trick of course was done during the night and while the crew were at supper. for all these reasons it will be seen why my small ranch was such a success and such a profitable and money-making institution. but alas! it was to be short-lived! as explained before, i was paying no rent and my fences were illegal. "kind" friends, and i had lots of them, reported the fences to washington; a special agent was sent out to inspect, ordered the fence down and went away again. i disregarded the order. to take the fence down meant my getting out of the business or the ruin of the herd. next year another agent came out, said my fence was an enclosure and must come down. seeing still some daylight i took down some few miles of it, so that it could not be defined as an enclosure, but only a drift-fence. during the winter, however, i could not resist closing the gap again. next season once more appeared a government agent, who in a rage ordered the fence down under pains and penalties which could not well be longer disregarded. cattle were up in price; a neighbour had long been anxious to buy me out; he was somewhat of a "smart alick" and thought _he_ could keep the fence up; he knew all the circumstances; so i went over and saw him, made a proposition, and in a few minutes the ranch, cattle, fences and mills were his. poor man! in six months his fence was down and the cattle scattered all over the country. he eventually lost heavily by the deal; but being a man of substance i got my money all right. so closed my cattle-ranching experiences some eight years ago ( ). it may be noted that experience showed that polled black bulls were no good for ranch purposes. they get few calves, are lazy, and have not the "rustling" spirit. durhams or shorthorns also compared poorly in these respects with herefords, and besides are not nearly so hardy. the white face is therefore king of the range. and bulls with red rings round the eyes by preference, as they can stand the bright glare of these hot, dry countries better. it used to be my keen delight to attend the annual cattle shows and auction sales of pure-bred bulls, and i would feel their hides and criticize their points till i almost began to imagine myself as competent as the ring judges. the ranch was in the heart of the great buffalo range. (indeed the comanche indians, and even some white men, used to believe firmly that the buffaloes each spring came up out of the ground like ants somewhere on these staked plains, and from thence made their annual pilgrimage north.) it seems these animals were not loco eaters. on my first coming to new mexico there were still some buffaloes on the plain, the last remnant of the uncountable, inconceivable numbers that not long before had swarmed over the country. even when the first railroads were built trains were sometimes held up for hours to let the herds pass. as late as colonel dodge relates that he rode for twenty-five miles directly through an immense herd, the whole country around him and in view being like a solid mass of buffaloes, all moving north. in fact, during these years the migrating herd was declared to have a front of thirty to forty miles wide, while the length or depth was unknown. an old buffalo hunter loves nothing better than to talk of the wonderful old times. one of the oldest living ranchmen still has a private herd near amarillo and has made many experiments in breeding the bulls to domestic galloway cows. the progeny, which he calls cattalo, make excellent beef, and he gets a very big price for the hides as robes. chapter viii odds and ends the "staked plains"--high winds--lobo wolves--branding--cows--black jack--lightning and hail--classing cattle--conventions--"cutting" versus polo--bull-fight--prize-fights--river and sea fishing--sharks. more odds and ends! and more apologies for the disconnected character of this chapter. it must be remembered that these notes are only jotted down as they have occurred to me. of their irrelativeness one to another i am quite conscious, but the art of bringing them together in more proper order is beyond my capacity. possibly it might not be advisable anyway. in my pasture of some , acres there was not a tree, a bush, or a shrub, or object of any nature bigger than a jack-rabbit; yet no sight was so gladsome to the eyes, no scenery (save the mark!) so beautiful as the range when clothed in green, the grass heading out, the lakes filled with water and the cattle fat, sleek and contented. yet in after years, when passing through this same country by the newly-built railway in winter-time, it came as a wonder to me how one could have possibly passed so many years of his life in such a dreary, desolate, uninteresting-looking region. to-day the whole district, even my own old and familiar ranch, is desecrated (in the cattleman's eyes) by little nesters' (settlers) cottages, and fences so thick and close together as to resemble a boer entanglement. i had done a bit of farming and some years raised good crops of milo maize, kafir corn, sorghum, rye, and even indian corn. but severe droughts come on, when, as a nester once told me, for two years nothing was raised, not even umbrellas! these plains are, it may be safely said, the windiest place on earth, especially in early spring, when the measured velocity sometimes shows eighty miles per hour. when the big circular tumble weeds are bounding over the plains then is the time to look out for prairie fires; and woe betide the man caught in a blizzard in these lonely regions. once when driving from a certain ranch to another, a distance of fifty miles, my directions were to "follow the main road." fifty miles was no great distance and my team was a good one. i knew there were no houses between the two points. after driving what long experience told me was more than fifty miles, and still no ranch, i became a bit anxious; but there was nothing for it but to keep going. black clouds in the north warned me of danger. i pushed the team along till they were wet with sweat; some snow fell; it grew dark as night; and a regular blizzard set in and i was in despair. i had a good bed in the buggy, so would myself probably have got through the night all right, but my horses were bound to freeze to death if staked out or tied up. as a last resource i threw the reins down and left it to the team to go wherever they pleased. for some time they kept on the road, but soon the jolting told me that they had left it and we began to go down a hill; in a little while great was my joy to see a light and to find ourselves soon in the hospitable shelter of a mexican sheep-herder's hut. the mexican unhitched the team and put them in a warm shed. for myself, he soon had hot coffee and tortillas on the table. i never felt so thankful in my life for such accommodation and such humble fare. the horses had never been in that part of the country before, that i knew; it was pitch dark, and yet they must have known in some mysterious way that in that direction was shelter and safety, as when i threw the lines down they even then continued to face the storm. it may be noted here that buffaloes always face the storm and travel against it; cattle and horses never. before entirely leaving the cattle business a few more notes may be of interest. plagues of grasshoppers and locusts sometimes did awful damage to the range. when visiting at a neighbour's one must not dismount till invited to do so; also in saluting anyone the gloves must be removed before shaking hands. this is cowboy etiquette and must be duly regarded. at public or semi-private dances there is always a master of ceremonies, who is also prompter and calls out all the movements. he will announce a "quardreele," or maybe a "shorteesche," and keeps the company going with his "get your partners!" "balance all!" "swing your partners!" "hands across!" "how do you do?" and "how are you?" "swing somewhere," and "don't forget the bronco-buster," etc. etc., as someone has described it. the mexicans are always most graceful dancers; cowboys, with their enormously high heels, and probably spurs, are a bit clumsy. at purely mexican dances (bailies) the two sexes do not speak, each retiring at the end of a dance to its own side of the room. most cowboys have the peculiar faculty of "humming," produced by shaping the mouth and tongue in a certain way. the "hum" can be made to exactly represent the bagpipes; no one else did i ever hear do it but cowpunchers. i have tried for hours but never quite succeeded in the art. besides coyotes, which are everywhere common, the plains were infested by lobo wolves, a very large and powerful species; they denned in the breaks of the plains and it was then easiest to destroy them. they did such enormous damage amongst cattle that a reward of as high as thirty dollars per scalp was frequently offered for them, something less for the pups. the finding of a nest with a litter of perhaps six to eight young ones meant considerable money to the scalp-hunter. the wolves were plentiful and hunted in packs; and i have seen the interesting sight of a small bunch of mixed cattle rounded up and surrounded by a dozen of them, sitting coolly on their haunches till some unwary yearling left the protecting horns of its elders. every time, when riding the range, that we spotted a lobo ropes were down at once and a more or less long chase ensued, the result depending much whether mr wolf had dined lately or not. but they were more addicted to horse and donkey flesh if obtainable. for purposes of poisoning them i used to buy donkeys at a dollar apiece and cut them up for bait. with hounds they gave good sport in a suitable country. but it is expensive work, as many dogs get killed, and no dog of any breed, unless maybe the greyhound, can or will singly and twice tackle a lobo wolf. in the springtime, when the calves are dropping pretty thick, it is exceedingly interesting to note the protective habits of the mother cows. for instance, when riding you will frequently come on a two or three days' old baby snugly hidden in a bunch of long grass while the mother has gone to water. when calves get a little older you may find at mid-day, out on the prairie, some mile or two from water, a bunch of maybe forty calves. their mammies have gone to drink; but not all of them! no, never all of them at the same time. one cow is always left to guard the helpless calves, and carries out her trust faithfully until relieved. this was and is still a complete mystery to me. does this individual cow select and appoint herself to the office; or is she balloted for, or how otherwise is the selection made? this might be another picture subject--the gallant cow on the defensive, even threatening and aggressive, and the many small helpless calves gathering hastily around her for protection. her! the self-appointed mother of the brood. when branding calves, suppose you have cows and calves in the corral. first all calves are separated into a smaller pen. then the branding begins. but what an uproar of bellows and "baas" takes place! my calves were all so very like one another in colour and markings that one was hardly distinguishable from another. the mothers can only recognize their hopeful offspring by their scent and by their "baa," although amongst it must be rather a nice art to do so-- different and distinct scents and differently-pitched baas. among these notes i should not forget to mention a brush plant that grows on the southern plains. it is well named the "wait-a-bit" thorn. its hooks or claws are sharper than a cat's, very strong and recurve on the stems: so that a man afoot cannot possibly advance through it, and even on a horse it will tear the trousers off you in a very few minutes. is the name not appropriate? nothing so far has been said on the subject of "hold-ups." railway train hold-ups were a frequent occurrence, and were only undertaken by the most desperate of men. one celebrated gang, headed by the famous outlaw, black jack, operated mostly on a railway to the north of us and another railway to the south, the distance between being about miles. their line of travel between these two points was through fort sumner; and in our immediate neighbourhood they sometimes rested for a week or two, hiding out as it were, resting horses and laying plans. no doubt they cost us some calves for beef, though they were not the worst offenders. what annoyed me most was that black jack himself, when evading pursuit, raided my horse pasture one night, caught up the very best horse i ever owned, rode him fifty miles, and cut his throat. in new mexico, where at first it seemed everybody's hand was against me, i was gratified to find that i had got a reputation as a fist-fighter, and as i never practised boxing in my life, never had the gloves on, never had a very serious fist fight with anyone, the idea of having such a reputation was too funny; but why should one voluntarily repudiate it? it was useful. the men had also somehow heard that i could hold a six-shooter pretty straight. such a reputation was even more useful. i was not surprised therefore that a plan should be hatched to test my powers in that line. it came at the round-up dinner-hour on the company's range (new mexico). a small piece of board was nailed to a fence post and the boys began shooting at it. in a casual way someone asked me to try my hand. knowing how much depended on it i got out my faithful old ° six-shooter that i had carried for fifteen years, and taking quick aim, as much to my own surprise as to others', actually hit the centre of the mark! it was an extraordinarily good shot (could not do it again perhaps in twenty trials) but it saved my reputation. of course no pressure could have persuaded me to fire again. that reminds me of another such occasion. once when camped alone on the reservation in arizona, a party of officers from camp apache turned up. they had a bite to eat with me and the subject of shooting came up. someone stuck an empty can in a tree at a considerable distance from us and they began shooting at it with carbines. when my turn came i pulled out the old ° pistol and by lucky chance knocked the bottom out at the first shot. my visitors were amazed that a six-shooter had such power and could be used with such accuracy at that distance. in this case it was also a lucky shot; but constant practice at rabbits, prairie dogs and targets had made me fairly proficient. in new mexico i had a cowboy working for me who was a perfect marvel, a "born" marksman such as now and then appears in the west. with a carbine he could keep a tin can rolling along the ground by hitting, never the can, but just immediately behind and under it with the greatest accuracy. if one tossed nickel pieces (size of a shilling) in succession in front of him he would hit almost without fail every one of them with his carbine--a bullet not shot! he left me to give exhibition shooting at the chicago exposition. on my ranch, at running water draw, was unearthed during damming operations, a vast quantity of bones of prehistoric age; which calls for the remark that not only the horse but also the camel was at one time indigenous to north america. nothing has been said yet about hail or lightning storms. some of the latter were indescribably grand, when at night the whole firmament would be absolutely ablaze with flashes, sheets and waves so continuous as to be without interval. once when lying on my bed on the open prairie such a storm came on. it opened with loud thunder and some brilliant flashes, then the rain came down and deluged us, the water running two inches deep over the grass; and when the rain ceased the wonderful electric storm as described continued for an hour longer. the danger was over; but the sight was awe-inspiring in the extreme. night-herding too during such a storm was a strange experience. no difficulty to see the cattle; the whole herd stood with tails to the wind; the men lined out in front, each well covered by his oilskin slicker, and his horse's tail likewise turned to the storm; the whole outfit in review order so to speak, the sole object of the riders being to prevent the cattle from "drifting." this book contains no fiction or exaggeration; yet it will be hardly believed when i state that hail actually riddled the corrugated iron roof of my ranch house--new iron, not old or rusty stuff. the roof was afterwards absolutely useless as a protection against rain. mirages in the hot dry weather were a daily occurrence. we did not see imaginary castles and cities turned upside down and all that sort of thing, but apparent lakes of water were often seen, so deceptive as to puzzle even the oldest plainsman. cattle appeared as big as houses and mounted men as tall as church steeples. in all the vicious little cow-towns scattered about the country, whose attractions were gambling and "tarantula juice," there was always to be found a jew trader running the chief and probably only store in the place. i have known such a man arrive in the country with a pack on his back who in comparatively few years would own half the county. what a remarkable people the jews are! we find them all over the world (barring scotland) successful in almost everything they undertake, a prolific race, and good citizens, yet carrying with them in very many cases the characteristics of selfishness, greed and ostentation. something should be said about "classing" cattle. "classing" means separating or counting the steers or she cattle of a herd into their ages as yearlings, "twos," "threes," etc. it used to be done in old days by simply stringing the herd out on the open plain and calling out and counting each animal as it passed a certain point. but later it became the custom to corral the herd and run them through a chute, where each individual could be carefully inspected and its age agreed on by both parties. even that might not prove quite satisfactory, as will be shown in the following instance. i had sold to a certain gentleman (a scotchman again), manager for two large cattle companies, a string of some steers, one, two and three years old. i drove them to his ranch, some miles, and we began classing them on the prairie, cutting each class separately. it is difficult in many cases to judge a range steer's age. generally it is or should be a case of give-and-take. but my gentleman was not satisfied and expressed his dissatisfaction in not very polite language. so to satisfy him i agreed to put them through the chute and "tooth" them, the teeth being an infallible test (or at least the accepted test) of an animal's age. to my surprise this man, the confident, trusted manager of long years' experience, could not tell a yearling from a "two" or a "two" from a "three," but sat on the fence and cussed, and allowed his foreman to do the classing for him. the texas cattlemen's annual convention was a most important event in our lives. it was held sometimes in el paso, sometimes in san antonio, but oftenest in fort worth, and was attended by ranchmen from all over the state, as well as by many from new mexico, and by buyers from wyoming, montana, nebraska, kansas and elsewhere. being held early in spring the sales then made generally set the prices for the year. much dickering was gone through and many deals made, some of enormous extent. individual sales of , or even , steers were effected, and individual purchases of numbers up to , head; even whole herds of , to , cattle were sometimes disposed of. it was a meeting where old friends and comrades, cattle kings and cowboys, their wives, children and sweethearts, met and had a glorious old time. it brought an immense amount of money into the place, and hence the strenuous efforts made by different towns (the saloons) "to get the convention." among the celebrities to be met there might be buffalo jones, a typical plainsman of the type of buffalo bill (cody). jones some years ago went far north to secure some young musk oxen. none had ever before been captured. he and his men endured great hardships and privations, but finally, by roping, secured about a dozen yearlings. the indians swore that he should not take them out of their territory. on returning he had got as far as the very edge of the indian country and was a very proud and well-pleased man. but that last fatal morning he woke up to find all the animals with their throats cut. only last year jones, with two new mexican cowboys and a skilled photographer, formed the daring and apparently mad plan of going to africa and roping and so capturing any wild animal they might come across, barring, of course, the elephant. his object was to secure for show purposes cinematograph pictures. he took some new mexican cow-ponies out with him, and he and his men succeeded in all they undertook to do, capturing not only the less dangerous animals, such as antelope, buck and giraffe, but also a lioness and a rhinoceros, surely a very notable feat. amarillo in the panhandle was then purely a cattleman's town. it was a great shipping point--at one time the greatest in the world--and was becoming a railroad centre. i was there a good deal, and for amusement during the slack season went to work to fix up a polo ground. no one in the town had ever even seen the game played, so the work and expense all fell on myself. i was lucky to find a capital piece of ground close to the town, absolutely level and well grassed. after measuring and laying off, with a plough i ran furrows for boundary lines, stuck in the goalposts, filled up the dog-holes, etc., and there we were. at first only three or four men came forward, out of mere curiosity perhaps. after expounding the game and the rules, etc., as well as possible we started in to play. the game soon "caught on," and in a little while a number more joined, nearly all cattlemen and cowpunchers. they became keen and enthusiastic, too keen sometimes, for in their excitement they disregarded the rules. the horses, being cow-ponies, were of course as keen and as green as the players, and the game became a most dangerous one to take part in. still we kept on, no one was very badly hurt, and we had lots of glorious gallops--fast games in fact. the word "polo" is derived from tibetan pulu, meaning a knot of willow wood. in cachar, and also at amarillo, we used bamboo-root balls. the game originated in persia, passed to tibet, and thence to the munipoories, and from the munipoories the english learnt it. the first polo club ever organized was the cachar kangjai club, founded in . it may be remarked here that, hard as the riding is in polo, in my opinion it does not demand nearly such good riding as does the "cutting" of young steers. in polo your own eye is on the ball, and when another player or yourself hits it you know where to look for it, and rule your horse accordingly. in "cutting," on the other hand, your horse, if a good one, does nearly all the work; just show it the animal you want to take out and he will keep his eye on it and get it out of the herd without much guidance. but there is this great difference: you never can tell what a steer is going to do! you may be racing or "jumping" him out of the herd when he will suddenly flash round before you have time to think and break back again. herein your horse is quicker than yourself, knowing apparently instinctively the intention of the rollicky youngster, so that both steer and your mount have wheeled before you are prepared for it. you must therefore try to be always prepared, sit very tight, and profit by past experiences. it is very hard work and, as said before, needs better horsemanship than polo. to watch, or better still to ride, a first-class cutting horse is a treat indeed. during these last few years of ranch life my leisure gave me time to make odd excursions here and there. good shooting was to be had near amarillo--any amount of bobwhite quail, quantities of prairie-chickens, plovers, etc. and, by-the-bye, at fort sumner i had all to myself the finest kind of sport. there was a broad avenue of large cotton-wood trees some miles in length. in the evening the doves, excellent eating, and, perhaps for that reason, tremendously fast fliers, would flash by in twos or threes up or down this avenue, going at railroad speed. but my pleasure was marred by having no companion to share the sport. then i made many trips to the rocky mountains to fish for rainbow trout in such noble streams as the rio grande del norte, the gunnison, the platte and others. in the early days these rivers were almost virgin streams, hotching with trout of all sizes up to twelve and even fifteen pounds. the monsters could seldom be tempted except with spoon or live bait, but trout up to six or seven pounds were common prizes. out of a small, a ridiculously small, tributary of the gunnison river i one day took more fish than i could carry home, each two to three pounds in weight. but that was murdering--mere massacre and not sport. during a cattle convention held at el paso i first attended a bull-fight in juarez and i have since seen others in the city of mexico and elsewhere. the killing of the poor blindfolded horses is a loathsome, disgusting sight, and so affected me that i almost prayed that the gallant, handsome matadors would be killed. indeed, at mexico city, i afterwards saw bombita, a celebrated spanish matador, tossed and gored to death. the true ring-bull of fighting breed is a splendid animal; when enraged he does not seem to suffer much from the insertion of banderillas, etc., and his death stab is generally instantaneously fatal. certainly the enthusiasm of the ring, the presence of mexican belles and their cavalleros, the picturesqueness and novelty of the whole show are worth experiencing. it should be remembered that the red cloth waved in front of him is the main cause of toro's irritation. why it should so irritate him we don't know. when a picador and his horse are down they are absolutely at the mercy of the bull; and the onlooker naturally thinks that he will proceed to gore man and horse till they are absolutely destroyed. but the cloth being at once flaunted near him he immediately attacks it instead and is thus decoyed to another part of the ring. thus, too, the apparent danger to the swordsman who delivers the _coup de grâce_ is not really very great if he show the necessary agility and watchfulness. when a bull charges he charges not his real enemy, but that exasperating red cloth; and the man has only to step a little to the side, but _still hold the cloth in front_ of the bull, to escape all danger. without this protecting cloth no matador would dare to enter the ring. the banderilleros, too, thus escape danger because they do their work while the bull's whole attention is on the red cloth operated by another man in front. the man i saw gored, tossed and killed must have made some little miscalculation, or been careless, and stood not quite out of the bull's way, so that the terrible sharp horns caught him, as one may say, _by mistake_. the mexicans, too, like my coolies in india, were great cock-fighters. it is a national sport and also a cruel one. matadors are paid princely sums. the most efficient, the great stars, come from spain. many of them are extremely handsome men and their costume a handsome and picturesque one. as a mark of their profession they wear a small pigtail, not artificial but of their own growing hair. i travelled with one once but did not know it till he removed his hat. denver and san francisco were great centres of prize-fighting. in both places i saw many of the great ring men of the day, in fact never missed an opportunity of attending such meetings. it was mostly, however, "goes" between the "coming" men, such as jim corbett and other aspirants. a real champion fight between heavyweights i was never lucky enough to witness. base-ball games always appealed to me, and to witness a first-class match only a very great distance would prevent my attendance. to appreciate the game one must thoroughly understand its thousand fine points. it absorbs the onlooker's interest as no other game can do. every player must be constantly on the alert and must act on his own judgment. the winning or losing of the match may at any moment lie with him. the game only lasts some two hours; but for the onlookers every moment of these two hours is pregnant with interest and probably intense excitement. here is no sleeping and dozing on the stands for hours at a time as witnessed at popular cricket matches. time is too valuable in america for that, and men's brains are too restless. at a ball-game the sight of a man slumbering on the benches is inconceivable. sea-fishing also attracted me very much. on the california coast, around catalina and other islands, great sport is to be had among the yellow-tails, running up to lbs. weight. they are a truly game fish and put up a capital fight. jew-fish up to lbs. are frequently caught with rod and line, but are distinctly not a game fish. albacores can be taken in boat-loads; they are game enough but really too common. the tuna is _par excellence_ the game fish of the coast. at one time you might reasonably expect to get a fish (nothing under lbs. counted), but lately, and while i was there, a capture was so rare as to make the game not worth the candle. a steam or motor launch is needed and that costs money. i hired such a boat once or twice; but the experience of some friends who had fished every day for two months and not got one single blessed tuna damped my ambition. tunas there run up to lbs., big enough, and yet tiny compared with the monsters of the mediterranean, the morocco coast and the japanese seas; there they run up to lbs. the tuna is called the "leaping" tuna because he plays and hunts his prey on the surface of the water; but he never "leaps" as does the tarpon. once hooked he goes off to sea and will tow your boat maybe fifteen miles; that is to say, he partly tows the boat, but the heavy motor launch must also use its power to keep up or the line will at once be snapped. the tuna belongs to the mackerel family, is built like a white-head torpedo, and for gameness, speed and endurance is hard to beat. only the pala of the south pacific seas, also a mackerel, may, according to louis becke, be his rival. becke indeed claims it to be the gamest of all fish. but its manoeuvres are different from a tuna's and similar to those of the tarpon. what is finer sport, i think, and perhaps not quite so killing to the angler, is tarpon-fishing. most of our ambitious tarpon fishers go to florida, where each fish captured will probably cost you some fifty dollars. my tarpon ground was at aransas pass, on the gulf coast of texas. there in september the fish seem to congregate preparatory to their migration south. i have seen them there in bunches of fifty to seventy, swimming about in shallow, clear water, their great dorsal fins sticking out, for all the world like a lot of sharks. my first experience on approaching in a small row boat such an accumulation of fish muscle, grit and power will never be forgotten. it was one of _the_ events of my chequered life. the boatman assured me i should get a "strike" of a certainty as soon as the bait was towed within sight of them. my state of excitement was so great that really all nerve force was gone. my muscles, instead of being tense and strong, seemed to be relaxed and feeble; my whole body was in a tremble. to see these monster fish of to lbs. swimming near by, and to know that next moment a tremendous rush and fight would begin, was to the novice almost a painful sensation. not quite understanding the mechanism of the powerful reel and breaks, and being warned that thumbs or fingers had sometimes been almost torn off the hand, i grasped the rod very gingerly. but i need not say what my first fish or any particular fish did or what happened. i will only say that i got all i wanted--enough to wear me out physically till quite ready to be gaffed myself. it is tremendously hard work. to rest myself and vary the sport i would leave the tarpon and tackle the red-fish, an equally game and fighting fish, but much smaller, scaling about to lbs. there was a shoal of them visible, or at least a bunch of about , swimming right on the edge of the big breaking surf. like the tarpon they thus keep close company on account of the sharks (supposition). it was dangerous and difficult to get the boat near enough to them; but when you did succeed there was invariably a rush for your bait and a game fight to follow. they are splendid chaps. then i would return to the tarpon and have another battle royal; and so it went on. but sometimes you would hook a jack fish (game, and up to lbs.), and sometimes get into a shark of very big proportions. indeed, the sharks are a nuisance, and will sometimes cut your tarpon in two close to your boat, and they eagerly await the time when you land your fish and unhook him to turn him loose. another noble fish, of which i was lucky enough to get several, was the king-fish, long, pike-shaped and silvery, a most beautiful creature, and probably the fastest fish that swims. i had not realized just how quick any fish could swim till i hooked one of these. he acts much as the tarpon does. but i have not yet told how the latter, the king of the herring race, does act. on being hooked he makes a powerful rush for a hundred yards or so; then he springs straight up high out of the water, as much as six to ten feet, shakes his head exactly as a terrier does with a rat, falls back to make another rush and another noble spring. he will make many springs before you dare take liberties and approach the landing shore. but the peculiarity of this fish is that his runs are not all in one direction. his second run may take quite a different line; and at any time he may run and spring into or over your boat. when two anglers have fish on at the same time, and in close neighbourhood, the excitement and fun are great. the tarpon's whole mouth, palate and jaws have not a suspicion of muscle or cartilage about them; all is solid bone, with only a few angles and corners where it is possible for the hook to take good hold. unless the hook finds such a fold in the bones you are pretty sure to lose your fish--three out of four times. probably by letting him gorge the bait you will get him all right, but it would entail killing him to get the hook out. in winter the tarpons go south, and perhaps the best place to fish them is at tempico in mexico. but let me strongly recommend aransas pass in september. there is good quail-shooting, rabbits, and thousands of water-fowl of every description; also a very fair little hotel where i happened to be almost the only visitor. at catalina islands, by the way, whose climate is absolutely delightful, where there are good hotels, and where the visitors pass the whole day in the water or on land in their bathing-suits, one can hire glass-bottom boats, whereby to view the wonderful and exquisitely beautiful flora of the sea, and watch the movements of the many brilliantly-coloured fish and other creatures that inhabit it. the extraordinary clearness of the water there is particularly favourable for the inspection of these fairy bowers. one day i determined to try for a jew-fish, just to see how such a huge, ungainly monster would act. anchoring, we threw the bait over, and in a short time i pulled in a rock cod of nearly lbs. weight. my boatman coolly threw the still hooked fish overboard again, telling me it would be excellent bait for the big ones we were after. well, i did not get the larger fish; but the sight on looking overboard into the depths was so astonishing as to be an ample reward for any other disappointment. on the surface was a dense shoal of small mullet or other fish; below them, six or eight feet, another shoal of an entirely different kind; below these another shoal of another kind, and so on as far down as the eye could penetrate. it was a most marvellous sight indeed, and showed what a teeming life these waters maintain. it seemed that a large fish had only to lie still with its huge mouth open, and close it every now and then when he felt hungry, to get a dinner or a luncheon fit for any fishy alderman. it must be a fine field for the naturalist, the ichthyologist, probably as fine as that round bermudas' coral shores, as illustrated by the new aquarium at hamilton. but i can hardly think that the fish of any other climate can compare for brilliancy of colouring and fantastic variety of shape with those captured on the hawaiian coast and well displayed in the aquarium at honolulu. i must not forget to mention that at aransas pass one may sometimes see very large whip or sting-rays. they may easily be harpooned, but the wonderful stories told me of their huge size (i really dare not give the dimensions), their power and ferocity, quite scared me off trying conclusions with them. there one may also capture blue-fish, white-fish, sheepheads and pompanos; all delicious, the pompanos being the most highly-prized and esteemed, and most expensive, of america's many fine table fishes. order a pompano the first opportunity. having already mentioned sharks, it may be stated here that one captured in a net on the california coast four years ago was authoritatively claimed to be the largest ever taken, yet his length was only some feet; although it is true that the _challenger_ expedition dredged up shark teeth so large that it was judged that the owner must have been to feet long. the greynurse shark of the south seas is the most dreaded of all its tribe; it fears nothing but the killer, a savage little whale which will attack and whip any shark living, and will not hesitate to tackle even a sperm whale. shark stories are common and every traveller has many horrible ones to recount. yet the greatest and best authorities assert that sharks are mere scavengers (as they are, and most useful ones) and will never attack an active man, or any man, unless he be in extremities--that is, dead, wounded or disabled; though, as among tigers, there probably are some man-eaters. a large still-standing reward has been offered for a fully-certified case of a shark voluntarily attacking a man, other than exceptions as above noted, and that reward has not yet been claimed. whenever i hear a thrilling shark story i ask if the teller is prepared to swear to having himself witnessed the event; invariably the experience is passed on to someone else and the responsibility for the tale is laid on other shoulders. on a quite recent voyage a talkative passenger confidently stated having seen a shark feet long. i ventured to measure out that distance on the ship's deck, and asked him and his credulous listeners to regard and consider it. it gained me an enemy for life. one of the most famous and historical sharks was san josé joe, who haunted the harbour of corinto, a small coast town in salvador. every ship that entered the harbour was sure to have some bloodthirsty fiend on board to empty his cartridges into this unfortunate creature. his carcass was reckoned to be as full of lead as a careful housewife's pin-cushion of pins. but all this battering had no effect on him. finally, and after my own visit to that chief of all yellow-fever-stricken dens, a british gun-boat put a shell into joe and blew him into smithereens. in many shark-infested waters, such as around ocean island, the natives swim fearlessly among them. this ocean island, by the way, is probably the most intrinsically valuable spot of land on earth, consisting of a solid mass of coral and phosphate. "pelorus jack," who gave so much interest to the cook channel in new zealand, was not a shark. chapter ix in amarillo purchase of lots--building--boosting a town. enough of odds and ends. to return to purely personal affairs. after selling the cattle and ranch the question at once came up--what now? i had enough to live on, but not enough to allow me to live quite as i wished, though never ambitious of great wealth. what had been looked forward to for many years was to have means enough to permit me to travel over the world; and at the same time to have my small capital invested in such a way as would secure not only as big a per cent. interest as possible, with due security, but also a large probability of unearned increment, so to speak; and above all to require little personal attention. dozens of schemes presented themselves, many with most rosy outlooks. i was several times on the very verge of decision, and how easily and differently one's whole future may be affected! perhaps by now a millionaire!--perhaps a pauper! at one time i was on the point of buying a cotton plantation in the south. the only obstacle was the shortage of convict labour! a convict negro _must_ work; the free negro won't. finally i bought some city lots in the town of amarillo--the most valuable lots i could find, right at the city's pulse, the centre of business; in my judgment they would in all probability always be at the centre, and that as the city grew so would their value grow, and thus the unearned increment would be secured. i bought these lots by sheer pressure; the owner did not want to sell, but i made him name his own price, and closed the deal, to his astonishment. it was a record price and secured me some ridicule. but the funniest part has to come. in a little while i became dissatisfied with my deal, and actually approached the seller and asked him if he would cancel it. he too had regretted parting with the property, and to my relief assented. once more i spent nearly a year ranging about the whole western country, looking into different propositions, and again i came back to amarillo, again was impressed with the desirability of the same lots, and actually demanded of the still more astonished owner if he would sell them to me. no! no! he did not want to part with them; and i knew he spoke the truth. again i forced him, and so hard that at last he put on what he considered a prohibitory price, a much higher one than before asked, but i snapped him up at once. the news soon got all over town, it could not be kept quiet. once more the supposed knowing ones and "cute" business men eyed me askance, and no doubt thought me a fool, or worse. only one man approved of my action, but i valued his opinion more than that of all the rest. this deal again made a stir amongst the real estate offices, and lot values went soaring; and when i had erected a handsome business block on the property a regular "boom" set in. it gave the little town a lift and the people confidence. one man was good enough to tell me that i had more "nerve" than anyone he had ever met. did he mean rashness? well, my nerve simply came from realizing what a fine outlook lay before the town. it seemed to me to be bound to be a great distributing centre, also a railroad centre; that the illimitable acreage of plains-lands was bound in time to be settled on, and that thus the population would rapidly increase; which anticipations have happily come true. my whole capital, and more, was now sunk and disposed of. my mind at least in that respect was at rest; and it certainly looked as if the long-nursed scheme was about to be realized. in a few years the unearned increment was at least per cent.; rents also went up surprisingly, and also, alas! the taxes. unfortunately, within a year after completion of the building, and while i was in caracas, venezuela, an incendiary, a drunken gambler who had been running a "game" illicitly in one of the rooms, and who had been therefore turned out, deliberately used kerosene oil and set fire to the building. result, a three-quarters' loss! luckily i was well insured; even in the rentals, to the surprise of many people who had never heard of rental insurance before. the insurance settlement and payment was effected between myself and the agent in less than half an hour, and just as soon as i could get at it an architect was working on plans for a new structure. with the three months' loss on account of my absence, it was more than a year before the new building was ready for occupancy. it was, and is, a better-arranged and handsomer one than the old block, and its total rental is much greater. the town has grown very much and seems to be permanently established. the building, and my affairs, are entirely in the hands of a responsible agent; and i am free to go where inclination calls. nothing shall be said about the worries, the delays, the wage disputes, the lawsuits, etc., seemingly always in attendance on the erection of any building. well, it is over now, and too sickening to think about! nor shall much be said about the frequent calls on the property-owner to subscribe, to "put up," for any bonus the city may have decided to offer to secure the placing in "oor toon" of a state methodist college, a state hospital, a state federal building; or to induce a new railroad to build in; not to mention the securing for your own particular district of the town the site of a new court-house, a new post-office, etc. etc. the enmity caused by this latter contest is always bitter. but always anything to boost the town! this little town actually last year paid a large sum to the champion motor-car racer of america to give an exhibition in amarillo. even a flying-machine meeting was consummated, one of the first in the whole west. in this plains country, such as surrounds amarillo, during the land boom, immense tracts were bought by speculators, who then proceeded to dispose of it to farmers and small settlers. they do this on a methodical and grand scale. one such man chartered special trains to bring out from the middle states his proposed clients or victims. to meet the trains he owned as many as twenty-five motor-cars, in which at once on arrival these people were driven all over the property to make their selection. the first breaking of this prairie country is done with huge steam ploughs, having each twelve shares, so that the breaking is done very rapidly, the depth cultivated being only some two inches or three inches. the thick close sod folds over most beautifully and exactly, and it was always a fascinating sight, if a sad one, to watch this operation--the first opening up of this soil that had lain uncultivated for so many æons of time. the seed may be simply scattered on the sod before the breaking, and often a splendid crop is thus obtained. simplicity of culture, truly! [illustration: breaking the prairie.] [illustration: first crop--milo maize.] before leaving the united states of america a few notes about that country. though as a rule physically unpicturesque, it has some great wonder-places and beauty spots, such as the yosemite valley, the grand cañon of the colorado, the yellowstone park, the falls of niagara, and the big trees of california, which trees it may be now remarked are conifers (sequoia gigantea and sequoia sempervirens), which attain a height of feet. sempervirens is so called because young trees develop from the roots of a destroyed parent. if the reader has never seen these enormous trees he cannot well appreciate their immense altitude and dimensions. remember that our own tallest and noblest trees in england do not attain more than feet or so in height; then try to imagine those having four times that height and stems or trunks proportionately huge. it is like comparing our five-storey buildings with the forty-storey buildings of new york, eight times their altitude. yet these big trees are not so big as the gums of australia; the yellowstone geysers are, or were, inferior to the like in new zealand; and niagara is surpassed by the zambesi falls, still more so by the waterfall in paraguay, and infinitely so by the recently-discovered falls in british guiana. the guayra falls, on the paraná river, in paraguay, though not so high in one leap as niagara, have twice as great a bulk of water, which rushes through a gorge only feet wide. its cities, such as san francisco, chicago, st louis, new orleans and others, are not as a rule beautiful; even washington, the capital, was a tremendous disappointment to my expectant gaze; though my judgment might possibly be affected by the following incident. while standing at the entrance of the extremely beautiful new union railway station a cab drove up, out of which a woman stepped, followed by a man. he hurried after her, and right in front of me drew a pistol and shot her dead, and even again fired twice into her body as she lay on the ground. then he quickly but coolly put the gun to his own head and killed himself. this city seems badly planned and some of its great federal buildings are monstrous. the pennsylvania avenue is an eyesore and a disgrace to the nation. boston, i believe, is all that it should be. denver is a delightful town. new york, incomparable for its fabulous wealth, its unequalled shops, its magnificently and boldly-conceived office buildings and apartment blocks, its palatial and perfectly-appointed hotels, its dirty and ill-paved streets, is the marvel of the age and is every year becoming more so. its growth continues phenomenal. if not now it will soon be the pulse of the world. there is never occasion in american hotels, as there is in english, in my own experience, to order your table waiter to go and change his greasy, filthy coat or to clean his finger-nails! no, in the smallest country hotel in the united states the proprietor knows that his guests actually prefer a table servant to have clean hands, a clean coat, etc., and waiters in restaurants are obliged to wear thin, light and noiseless boots or shoes, not clodhoppers. that phenomenon and much-criticized individual, the american child, is blessed with such bright intelligence that at the age of ten he or she is as companionable to the "grown-up" as the youth of twenty of other countries, and much more interesting. english people are inclined to think americans brusque and even not very polite. let me assure them that they are the politest of people, though happily not effusive. they are also the most sympathetic and, strange as it may appear, the most sentimental. their sympathy i have tested and experienced. their brusqueness may arise from the fact that they have no time to give to formalities. but a civil question will always be civilly answered, and answered intelligently. nor are americans toadies or snobs; they are independent, self-reliant and self-respecting people. chapter x first tour abroad mexico--guatemala--salvador--panama--colombia--venezuela--jamaica --cuba--fire in amarillo--rebuilding. among the many long trips leisure has permitted, the first was a tour through mexico, guatemala and salvador to panama; thence through colombia and venezuela; jamaica and cuba; needless to say a most interesting tour. mexico has a most delightful climate at any time of the year, except on the gulf coast, the tierra caliente, where the heat in summer is tropical and oppressive. she has many interesting and beautiful towns. the city itself is rapidly becoming a handsome one, indeed an imperial one. accommodation for visitors, however, leaves much to be desired. the country's history is of course absorbingly interesting, and the many remains of aztec and older origin appeal much to one's curiosity. there is a capital golf-course, a great bull-ring, and a pelota court. there is much wealth, and every evening a fine display of carriages and horses. the little dogs called perros chinos of mexico, also "pelon" or hairless, have absolutely no hair on the body. they are handsome, well-built little creatures, about the size of a small terrier. they are said to be identical with one of the chinese edible dogs. cortez found them in mexico and pizarro in peru. how did they get there? popocatepetl, a magnificent conical volcano, overlooks the city and plain. i tried to ascend it but a damaged ankle failed me. a trip to oaxaca to see wonderful mitla should not be missed. there also is the tree of tuli, a cypress, said to measure feet round its trunk. also a trip to orizaba city is equally interesting, if only for the view of the magnificent pico de orizaba, a gigantic and most beautiful cone , feet high; but also for the beautiful scenery displayed in the descent from the high plateau of mexico, a very sudden descent of several thousand feet in fifteen miles, with a railroad grade of one in fourteen, from a temperate climate at once into a tropical one. more than that, it leads you to the justly-celebrated little hotel de france in orizaba, the only good hotel in all mexico. the imposing grandeur of a mountain peak depends of course greatly on its elevation above its base; for instance, pike's peak, to the top of which i have been, is some , feet above sea-level, but only above its base. the great peaks of the andes likewise suffer, such as volcan misti at arequipa, nearly , feet above the sea, but from its base only , feet. then imagine orizaba peak at once soaring , feet above the city, not one of a chain or range, but proudly standing alone in her radiant beauty. from orizaba i went on to cordova, where it is the custom of the citizens of all ranks and ages to assemble in the evenings in the plaza to engage in the game of keeno or lotto. many tables are laid out for the purpose. the prizes are small, but apparently enough to amuse the people. of course i joined in the game, happened to be very successful, and as my winnings were turned over to some small boys, beautiful little black-eyed rascals, my seat was soon surrounded by a merry crowd and great was the fun. how beautiful and captivating are these spanish and even mestizo children, the boys even more so than their sisters. from this point i took train, over the worst-built and coggliest railroad track i ever travelled on, to the isthmus of tehuantepec, to see the famous eads route, over which he proposed to transport bodily, without breaking cargo, ocean-going sailing ships and steamers from the gulf to the pacific ocean. also to visit the tehuana tribe of indians, whose women have the reputation of being the finest-looking of native races in the western world. they wear a most extraordinary and unique combined headdress and shawl. in the markets could certainly be seen wonderfully beautiful faces, quite beautiful enough to justify the claim mentioned. at rincon is the starting-point of the projected and begun pan-american railroad, which will eventually reach to buenos ayres. at salina cruz, the pacific end of the isthmus, and i should think one of the windiest places on earth, perhaps beating even amarillo, i met a young american millionaire, a charming man who had large interests in guatemala. we sailed together from salina cruz on a small coasting steamer bound for panama. except only at salina cruz, where a terrific wind blows most of the year, the weather was calm, but the heat very great. not even bed-sheets were provided, nor were they needed. sailing by night we made some port and stopping-place every day. the view of the coast is most interesting. you are practically never out of sight of volcanoes, some of them of great height and many of them active. one particularly, santa maria, attracted our attention because of its erupting regularly at intervals of half an hour; regularly as your watch marked the stated period a great explosion occurred and a cloud of smoke, steam and dust was vomited out and floated away slowly landwards. in the clear calm air it was a magnificent spectacle and i never tired watching it. another volcanic peak had recently been absolutely shattered, one whole side as it were blown off it. on arriving at san josé, the port of guatemala city, we had a great reception, my friend being the owner of the railroad--the only railroad in this state. a special train took us up to the capital, splendidly-horsed carriages were put at our disposal, and we were banqueted and entertained at the opera, my friend insisting that i should share in all this hospitality. the american minister joined our party and made himself agreeable and useful. guatemala city was once the paris of america, was rich, gay and prosperous; to-day it is--different, but still very interesting. you are there in a bygone world, an age of the past. revolutions and inter-state wars have driven capital from the country; progress is at a standstill; confidence in anybody does not exist. as in the central american states, "ote toi de la que m'y mette" is on the standard of every ambitious general, colonel or politician. it is the direct cause of all the revolutions. at corinto a lady, whom we became intimate with, landed for the professed purpose of "revoluting." yet the country is a naturally rich one, having on the highlands a splendid temperate climate, and everywhere great mineral and agricultural resources. we were fortunate to see a parade of some of the state troops; and such a comical picture of military imbecility and inefficiency could surely not be found elsewhere. the officers swaggered in the gayest of uniforms; the men were shoeless, dirty and slovenly. on approaching the city one passes near by the famous volcanoes fuego, aqua and picaya ( , feet), and mysterious lake anatitlan. a shooting-trip had been arranged for us: a steam launch on the lake, indians as carriers, mules, etc. etc., but my friend declined for want of time. among the fauna of the country are common and black jaguars, tapirs, manatees, peccaries, boas, cougars or pumas, and alligators. also the quetzal, the imperial bird of the great indian quiche race, and the trogan resplendens. poinciana regia and p. pulcherrima are common garden shrubs or trees, but the finest poinciana i ever saw was in honolulu. vampire bats are more common in nicaragua, but also exist in guatemala. they have very sharp incisors and bite cattle and horses on the back or withers, men on the toes if exposed, and roosters on the comb. they live in caves, and not as the large fruit bats of india, which repose head downwards, hanging from trees in great colonies. vampires live on blood, having no teeth suitable for mastication. it is a strange fact that germans, who now have the great bulk of the trade throughout central america, are very unpopular. nor are the americans popular. "los americanos son bestias," "esos hombres son demonios" express the feeling. i was told that in guatemala there exists a tribe of indians which does not permit the use of alcoholic drink and actually pays the state compensation instead. among other places we called at were esquintla, acajutla, and la libertad, from which point we got a magnificent view of the atatlan volcano in full activity; also at san juan del sur. from leon, in nicaragua, some fourteen active volcanoes can be seen. in salvador only two of the eleven great volcanoes of the state are now "_vivo_," viz., san miguel and izalco. the latter is called the lighthouse of salvador, because it explodes regularly every twenty minutes. the lesser living vents are called infernillos--little hells. altogether it looks like central america, as a whole, with its revolutions and its physical and political instability, must be a very big hell. salvador, though the smallest of the central american states, is the most prosperous, enterprising and densely-populated. she was the first to become independent and the first to defy the church of rome. it had been my intention to sail through lake nicaragua and down the river san juan to san juan del norte. but accommodation at that port and steamer communication with colon was so bad and irregular that the trip was regretfully abandoned, and i went on to panama with my friend. this gentleman possessed a personal letter from president roosevelt addressed to the canal officials, ordering (not begging) them to permit a full inspection of the works, and to tell the "truth and the whole truth." consequently we saw the works under unusual and most favourable conditions. the americans have made remarkable progress, assisted by their wonderful labour-saving appliances, chief among which are the -ton shovels, the lidgerwood car-unloaders, and the track-shifters. but chiefly, of course, by their sanitary methods, the protection afforded the employees against mosquitoes, and the abolition of mosquito conditions. the natives and negroes are immune to yellow fever, but not to malaria. as most of us know, major ross of the i.m.s., in , proved the connection of malaria with the anopheles mosquito; and in mr reed of the u.s. health commission tracked the yellow fever to the stegomyia mosquito. yellow fever requires six days to develop. it should be noted that the stegomyia insect is common in india, but luckily has not yet been infected with the germ of yellow fever. and it may also be here mentioned that the connection between bubonic plague and rats, and the fleas that infest them, was discovered by the japanese scientist, kitasato. the history of the canal may be touched on, if only to show the american method of securing a desired object, certainly a quick, effective and, after all, the only practical method. the panama railway was built by americans in to meet the rush to california gold-fields. the de lesseps company bought the road for an enormous figure, and started the canal works, to be abandoned later on, but again taken up by a new french company. in uncle sam got his "fine work" in when he bluffed the new french panama company into selling it to him for , , dollars, simply by threatening to adopt the nicaragua route. yet the company's property was well worth the , , dollars asked for it. to carry out the bluff, the isthmian canal commission (u.s.) actually reported to congress that the nicaragua route was the most "practical and feasible" one, when it was well known to the commission that the route was so impracticable as not to be worthy of consideration. at least common report had it so. in colombia refused the united states offer to purchase the enlarged canal zone. at once panama province seceded from the state, and sold the desired zone to the united states for , , dollars, conditionally on the united states recognizing and guaranteeing the young republic. the deal was cleverly arranged, and was again perhaps the only effective method to obtain possession. the tide at panama measures feet, at colon only feet. in the international board of consulting engineers, summoned by president roosevelt, recommended, by eight to five, a sea-level canal (two locks). but congress adopted the minority's -feet-level plan ( locks), with an immense dam at gatun, which dam will not be founded on rock, but have a central puddled core extending feet below the bottom of the lake, and sheet piling some feet still deeper. at least that is as i then understood it. de lesseps was not an engineer and knew little of science. his company's failure was directly due to his ignorance and disregard of the advice of competent men. manual labour on the canal has been done mostly by jamaica negroes. as said before, they are immune to yellow fever; and, speaking of the negro, it may be said here that his susceptibility to pain, compared to that of the white man, is as one to three, but the effect of a fair education is to increase it by one-third. what then is that of the monkey, the bird, the reptile or the fish? may i dare the statement, though most of us perhaps know it, that the sensitiveness of woman to that of man is as fifty-three to sixty-four. even the woman's sense of touch, as in the finger-tips, being twice as obtuse as man's. the bouquet d'afrique, of course, is perceptible to us and offensive, but it is said that to the indians of south america both black and white men are in this respect offensive. the "foetor judaiicus" must be noticeable also to have deserved the term. but this is sad wandering from the subject in hand and not exactly "reminiscences." i only hope that this and other departures, necessary for stuffing purposes, may be excused, especially as they are probably the most entertaining part of the book. to return to the town of panama. in the bay and amongst the islands were quite a number of whales and flocks of pelicans. more curious to observe was an enormous number of small reddish-brown-coloured snakes, swimming freely on the surface of the sea, yet not seemingly heading in any particular direction. i could get no information regarding them. the famous pearl islands lie forty miles off panama. the pearls are large and lustrous. on reaching harbour the health officials came on board, and to my surprise selected me alone among the passengers for quarantine. the explanation was that i had gone ashore at corinto. so i was ordered to take up my abode during the period of incubation in the detention house, a building in an isolated position; there i was instructed, much to my relief, that i might go to town or anywhere else during daylight, but must, under severe penalty, be back and inside the protecting screens before the mosquitoes got to work. the object was that no mosquito after biting me should be able to bite anyone else. we had been some two and a half days out of corinto, so my period of detention was not of long duration. i also got infinitely better messing than any hotel in panama afforded. the seas on either side of darien isthmus were at one time the scene of the many brave but often cruel deeds of the great adventurers and explorers like drake, buccaneers like morgan, pirates like kidd and wallace. morgan, a welshman, sacked and destroyed old panama, a rich and palatial city, in . he also captured the strong fortress town, porto bello. drake captured the rich and important cartagena. captain kidd, native of greenock, was commissioned by george iii. to stamp out piracy, but turned pirate himself and became the greatest of them all. it had been my intention to sail from panama to guayaquil, cross the andes, and take canoe and steamer down the amazon to para. but the reports of yellow fever at guayaquil, the unfinished state of the quito railroad, and the disturbed state of the trans-andean indians, through whose country there would be a week's mule ride, decided me to alter my plans once more. so, bidding good-bye to my very kind new york friend, who went home direct, i myself took steamer for a colombian port and thence trained to baranquillo, a considerable town on the magdalena river. it was a novel experience to there find oneself a real live millionaire! the colombian paper dollar (no coin used) was worth just the hundredth part of a gold dollar; so that a penny street car ride cost the alarming sum of five dollars, and dinner a perfectly fabulous amount. by royal mail steamer the next move was to la guayra, the seaport of caracas, a most romantic-looking place, where the mountains, some feet high, descend almost precipitously to the sea. there we saw the castle where kingsley's rose of devon was imprisoned. at that time president castro was so defying france that war and a french fleet were expected every day. consequently his orders were that no one whomsoever should be allowed to enter the country. all the passengers of course, and for that very reason perhaps, were hoping to be allowed to land, if only to make the short run up to the capital and back. at colon, assisted by my american friend and the united states consul, we "worked" the venezuela consul into giving me a passport (how it was done does not matter), which at la guayra i, of course, produced. of no avail! no one must land. but just when the steamer was about to sail a boat full of officials appeared at the steamer's side, called out my name, and lo! to the wonder of the other passengers, i was allowed to go ashore. this was satisfactory, and i at once took train to the capital, climbing or soaring as in a flying-machine the steep graded but excellent road (most picturesque) to caracas. there i found that the mardi gras carnival was just beginning. in my hotel was the war correspondent of the _new york herald_, just convalescing from an attack of yellow fever and still incapable of active work. he was good enough to ask me to fill his place should hostilities ensue. no other correspondent was in the country and he himself had to put up a , dollar bond. i willingly agreed, and so stayed nearly two weeks in caracas awaiting eventualities. during this time, owing to the carnival, the town was "wide open"; every night some twenty thousand people danced in the plaza bolivar, a huge square beautifully paved with tiling. the dancers were so crowded together that waltzing simply meant revolving top-wise. a really splendid band provided the music. what a gay, merry people they are! and how beautiful these venezuela women, and how handsome the men! in the streets presents of great value were tossed from the carriages to the signoras on the balconies. at a ball the men, the fashionables, wore blue velvet coats, not because of the season, but because it is the customary male festive attire. caracas was delightful and extraordinarily interesting. what splendid saddle mules one here sees! castro every day appeared with his staff all mounted on mules. all the traffic of the country is done with them, there being no feasible wagon roads. castro had a most evil reputation. the people hated but feared him. his whole army consisted of andean indians, and he himself had indian blood in his veins. the climate at caracas is delightful. after two weeks and nothing developing, and not feeling quite well, i returned to la guayra and took steamer back to colon. feeling worse on the steamer i called in the doctor, and was greatly alarmed when he pronounced yellow fever. on arriving at colon, of course, i was not permitted to land so had to continue on the ship to jamaica. the attack must have been a very mild one, as when we reached jamaica i was nearly all right again. jamaica is a beautiful island with a delightful winter climate. also very good roads. among other places visited was constant spring hotel, once the plantation residence and property of one of my uncles. at port antonio, on the north side of the island, is a very fine up-to-date american hotel, which of course was greatly appreciated after the vile caravanserais of central america. thence on to cuba, the steamer passing through the famous narrows leading to santiago. a pleasant daylight railroad run through the whole island brought me to the great city of havana, not, as it appeared to me, a handsome or attractive city, but possessing a good climate and a polite and agreeable population. the principal shopping street in havana is so narrow that awnings can be, and are, stretched completely across it. in the centre of the harbour was visible the wreck of the united states battleship _maine_. here in havana, on calling at the consulate for letters, or rather for cablegrams, as i had instructed my amarillo agent not to write but to cable, and only in the case of urgent consequence, i found a message awaiting me. no need to open it therefore to know the contents! yes, my building had been burnt to the ground two months ago. a cable to caracas had not been delivered to me. so, back to amarillo to view the ruins. in the united states of america one cannot insure for the full value of a building; or at least only three-quarters can be recovered. so my loss amounted to or , dollars. but no need of repining, and time is money, especially in such a case. so a new building was at once started, rushed and completed, in almost record time. chapter xi second tour abroad bermudas--switzerland--italy--monte carlo--algiers--morocco--spain--biarritz and pau. in november i again left amarillo bound for panama and the andes. but the only steamer offering from new orleans was so small, and the messing arrangements so primitive, that i abandoned the idea, railed to new york, saw a steamer starting for the bermudas and joined her. for honeymoon and other trips the bermudas are a favourite resort of new yorkers. fourteen honeymoon couples were reckoned to be on board. the climate of these islands is very delightful. the hotels are quite good; english society pretty much confined to the army and navy; two golf-courses; the best of bathing, boating and sea-fishing. the marine aquarium is most interesting. the roads are good and not a motor-car in the land! the islands are composed solely of coralline limestone. it can be quarried almost anywhere. blasting is not necessary, the stone being so soft that it can be sawn out in blocks of any size to meet the architect's needs. it is beautifully white and hardens after exposure. after staying two weeks i returned to new york and took passage to cherbourg, crossed france to lausanne, saw some friends and then went on to st moritz, which we all know is so famous for its wonderful winter climate, intensely cold but clear skies and bright sunshine. curling, hockey, skiing, tobogganing and bobbing were in full swing; the splendid hotels crowded; dinners and dances every day. a very jolly place indeed. after ten days' stay a sledge took me over the mountains to chiavenna, thence steamer over the lake to como, and train to milan. it was very cold and foggy there, but the city is a handsome one; i saw the cathedral, the arcade, etc., and visited the famous scala opera house and its wonderful ballet. thence to genoa--very cold--and on to monte carlo, at once entering a balmy, delicious climate. the season was just beginning, but the play-rooms were pretty full. with its splendid shops, fine hotels, gardens, casino, pigeon-shooting, etc. etc., monte carlo is unrivalled. it is distinctly a place to wear "clothes," and the women's costumes in the play-rooms and casino are enough to make the marrying man think twice. after visiting monaco, nice and cannes, at marseilles i took steamer to algiers. barring its agreeable winter climate there is not much attraction there. here i was told that the marriageable jewess is kept in a dark room, fed on rich foods and allowed no exercise; treated, in fact, as a goose for a fat liver. so i went on to blida, where is a french army remount depot. a large number of beautiful arab horses were being inspected and shown by their picturesque owners. they were not the type for cow-ponies and seemed a bit light for cavalry purposes. from blida i went by train to oran, a considerable port in algiers. there was nothing particular to see or do except visit a certain morocco chief who had started the late troubles at fez and was here in durance vile (chains). among the few tourists i met a hungarian and his english wife and we became fairly intimate. his wife told me he was the dread of her life, being scorching mad on motor-cars. it happened there was one and only one car in the town for hire, and the baron must needs hire it and invite me, with his wife, to a trip up a certain hill or mountain overlooking the city. a holy man, or marabout, denned on the top and we must pay our respects. the road proved to be exceedingly steep, and zigzagged in a remarkable way, with very sharp, angular turns. no car had ever been up it, and few carriages. we reached the top in due time, saluted the old man and started back. my friend was at the wheel and did a few turns all right, till we came to a straight shoot, very narrow, a ditch on one side, trees on the other, and just here the brake refused to work. reaching over i touched his shoulder and suggested that he should go slower. no reply; he was speechless, and we knew at once that he had lost control, and realized our horrible position. on we rushed, he guiding it straight all right, till we approached the bend, the worst on the road, and quite impossible to manipulate at great speed. right in front was an unguarded cliff, with a drop of feet over practically a precipice. but--well, there was no "terrible accident" to be reported. most fortunately a pile of rocks had been accumulated for the purpose of building a parapet wall, and on to the top of this pile the car jumped and lodged, without even turning over. the jar and shock were bad enough, but no one was much hurt. it reminded me of another occasion when i got a jar of a different kind. once, after playing golf with a man in america, he offered to drive me to town in his motor-car. knowing him to be a scorcher i excused myself by saying that i was not ready to go. he started; very soon afterwards word came back that he had run into a telegraph post and killed himself and his driver. such things tend to cool one's motor ambition. at oran i boarded a small french steamer for mellilla, in spanish morocco, a spanish convict station and a considerable military post. this was just before spain's recent riff campaign. the table fare on the steamer was not british! cuttle-fish soup or stew was prominent on the bill; a huge dish of snails was always much in demand, and the other delicacies were not tempting, to me at least. eggs, always eggs! how often in one's travels does one have to resort to them. in mellilla itself there was no hotel. we messed at the strangest restaurant it was ever my ill-luck to enter. the troops reminded me somewhat of those of guatemala, slovenly, slouching, and poorly dressed. their officers were splendid in gold braid, feathers and gaudy uniforms. around the town were circular block-houses, beyond which even then no one was allowed to go. indeed, mounted tribesmen could be seen sometimes riding up to the line and flourishing their guns in apparent defiance. curiosity made me venture forward till warned back by the guard. these riffians were certainly picturesque-looking rascals. mellilla was then not on the tourist's track, so was all the more interesting and novel. from there by steamer to gibraltar, stopping at ceuta on the way. at gibraltar a friend, capt. b----, took me all over the rock, the galleries, and certain fortifications. a meeting of hounds near algeciras was attended. thence by train to granada to visit the marvellously lovely alhambra, and of course to meet the king of the gipsies; ronda, romantic and picturesque; cordova and its immense mosque and old roman bridge; and so on to madrid by a most comfortable and fast train; but the temperature all through central spain is extremely cold in winter. the country is inhospitable-looking, and the natives seem to have abandoned their picturesque national dress. one must now go to mexico to see the cavalier in his gay and handsome costume. in madrid i of course visited the splendid armoury; also the national art gallery with its velasquezs and murillos. from madrid to san sebastian, the season not yet begun, and biarritz. here i spent a most enjoyable month: dry, bracing climate, good golf-course, good hotels, etc. it was the english season; the spanish season being in summer. on king edward's arrival with his entourage and fashionable followers golf became impossible, so i went on to pau and played there. from pau a short run took me to lourdes, with its grotto, chapel, etc. from pau to bordeaux, a handsome, busy town. then paris and home. chapter xii third tour abroad salt lake city--canada--vancouver--hawaii--fiji--australia--new zealand--tasmania--summer at home. the fall of saw me off on a tour which finally took me round the world. space will only permit of its itinerary and a few of my impressions and experiences. from amarillo i trained north to salt lake city, passing through the wonderful gorge of the arkansas river and the cañon of the grand; scenery extremely wild and impressive. at salt lake found a large, busy, up-to-date city. visited the tabernacle, and heard the great organ, the largest in the world; and a very fine choir. the acoustics of this immense and peculiarly-shaped building are most perfect. the temple gentiles are not allowed to enter. outside the irrigation limits the country has a most desolate, desert, hopeless aspect. what nerve the mormons had to penetrate to such a spot.[ ] [footnote : _see_ appendix.] it may be noted here that one sidney rigdon was the compiling genius of mormonism; and it was he who concocted the mormon bible, not joe smith. and what a concoction! no greater fraud was ever perpetrated. hence by butte, montana, the great copper-mining city, to great falls, where we crossed the missouri river, there miles from the sea, yet twice as large as the thames at windsor. on entering canadian territory a remarkable change in the character of the people, the towns and the press was at once noticeable. from calgary by the c.p.r. the trip through the selkirk range to vancouver was one of continuous wonder and delight--noble peaks, dense pine forests, rushing rivers and peaceful lakes. arrived at vancouver city, a city of illimitable ambition and bright prospects. i there met in the lobby of the hotel two very old friends whom i had not seen for many years. they dined with me, or rather wined and dined, and we afterwards spent a probably uproarious evening. i say probably, because the end was never evident to me till i woke up in my bed, whither someone had carried me, with my stockinged foot burning in a candle; another such illuminant had been lighted and placed at my head. my waking (and i was "waked" in two senses) endangered, and at the same time prevented, the probable burning down of the building. next morning i was taken suddenly ill, but not due to the evening's carousal, so went across the bay to victoria and hunted up a doctor, who immediately ordered me into hospital (the victoria jubilee) and operated on me the very same day. the operation was the most painful that i have ever undergone but was entirely successful, though it detained me in the hospital for over a month. from victoria i trained to san francisco, passing through lovely washington and oregon states, and northern california; and from san francisco took steamer to honolulu. san francisco was rising from its ashes, but still presented a terrible aspect, and gave a good idea of how appalling the catastrophe must have been. at honolulu i spent a most enjoyable two weeks, golfing a little, surf riding, etc. the climate is ideal, hotels are good, parts of the islands lovely. they are all volcanic, and indeed some are nothing but an agglomeration of defunct craters. on one of the islands, maui, is the largest crater on earth (unless perhaps a certain one in japan), its dimensions being feet in depth, eight miles wide, and situated on the top of a mountain, haleakala, , feet high. its surface, seen from the rock-rim, exactly resembles that of the moon. i of course also visited the largest island of the group--hawaii--passing _en route_ molokai, the leper settlement. hawaii has two very high volcanic mountains, mauna kea and mauna loa, some , feet. the land is very prolific, the soil consisting of pulverized lava and volcanic dust, whose extreme fertility is due to a triple proportion of phosphates and nitrogen. on the slope of mauna loa is the crater of kilauea, and in its centre the "pit," called haleamaumau, the most awe-inspiring and in other ways the most remarkable volcano in the world. landing at hilo, by train and stage we went to see it. my visit was made at night when the illumination is greatest. traversing the huge crater, four miles in diameter, the surface devoid of all vegetation, seamed and cracked, and in places steam issuing from great fissures, we suddenly arrived at the brink of the famous pit, and what an astonishing sight met our gaze! the sheer walls of the circular pit were some feet deep: the diameter of the pit one quarter of a mile: the contents a mass of (not boiling, for what could the temperature be!) restless, seething, molten, red-hot lava, rising from the centre and spreading to the sides, where its waves broke against the walls like ocean billows, being a most brilliant red in colour! flames and yet not flames. now and then geysers of fire would burst through the surface, shoot into the air and fall back again. the sight was to some people too awful for prolonged contemplation, myself feeling relieved as from a threat when returning to the hotel, but still with a desire to go back and again gaze into that awful maelstrom. the surface of the pit is not stationary, at one time being, as then, sunk feet; another time flush with the brim and threatening destruction; and again almost disappearing out of sight. at any time and in whatever condition it is an appalling spectacle and one never to be forgotten. sugar and pineapples are the main products of the islands; but one should not miss visiting the aquarium at honolulu to see the collection of beautiful and even comical-looking native fishes; some of extravagant colouring, brilliant as humming-birds, gay as butterflies; of shapes unsuspected, and in some cases indescribable, having neither length nor breadth, depth nor thickness; hard to distinguish head from tail, upside from underside; speed being apparently the least desirable of characteristics. do they depend for protection and safety on their grotesque appearance? or do their gaudy robes disarm and enchant their ferocious and cannibalistic brethren? one of the funniest sights i ever saw was a base-ball game played here between chinese and japanese youngsters. what a commanding position these islands occupy in ocean navigation, as a coaling or naval station, or as a distributing point. america was quick to realize this; and now splendid harbours and docks are being constructed, and the place strongly fortified so as to rival gibraltar. in january i joined the new and delightful new zealand steamship company's steamer _makura_ bound for sydney. on board was, amongst a very agreeable company, a gentleman bound for new zealand on a fishing-trip, who told me such marvellous tales of his fishing prowess in scotland that i put him down for one of the biggest liars on earth. more of him afterwards. also on board was a young english peer, earl s----, a very agreeable man, whose company i continued to enjoy for the greater part of this tour. we had a delightful passage, marred for me, however, by a severe attack of neuritis, which continued for three solid months, the best doctors in sydney and melbourne failing to give relief. our ship first called at fanning island, a cable station (delivering four months' mail), a mere coral atoll with its central lagoon, fringe of cocoanut trees and reef. the heavy swell breaking on the reef, and the wonderful blue of the water, the peaceful lagoon, the bright, clear sky, and the cocoanut trees, formed a picture never to be forgotten. a picture typical of all the many thousands of such pacific islets. after passing the union and wallace groups we crossed the ° meridian, and so lost a day, sunday being no sunday but monday. then arrived at suva, fiji islands. the rainy season having just begun it was very hot and disagreeable. the fijians are papuans, but tall and not bad-looking. maoris, hawaiians and samoans are polynesians, a much handsomer race. the fijians were remarkable for their quick conversion to devout christianity. so late as cannibalism was general. prisoners were deliberately fattened to kill. the dead were even dug up when in such a condition that only puddings could be made of them. limbs were cut off living victims and cooked in their presence; and even more horrible acts were committed. the islands are volcanic, mountainous, and covered by forests. our visit was about the time of the balolo worm season. the balolo worm appears on the coast punctually twice a year, once in october (the little balolo) and once about the th november (the great balolo). they rise to the sea surface in writhing masses, only stay twelve hours and are gone. the natives make a great feast of them. the worm measures ins. to ft. long, is thin as vermicelli and has many legs. never is a single worm seen at any other time. leaving fiji, we passed the isle of pines, called at brisbane, and arrived at sydney on the th november. of the beauties and advantages of sydney harbour we have all heard, and i can only endorse the glowing descriptions of other writers. hotels in australia and new zealand are very poor, barring perhaps one in sydney and a small one in melbourne. a great cricket match was "on"--victoria versus new south wales--so i must needs go to see, not so much the game itself as the very famous club ground, said to be the finest in the world. in the botanical gardens, near a certain tree, the familiar, and i thought the unmistakable, odour of a skunk was most perceptible. hailing a gardener and drawing his attention to it, he replied that the smell came from the tree ("malotus" he called it), but the crushed leaves, the bark and the blossom certainly gave no sign of it and i remained mystified. fruit of many kinds is cheap, abundant and good. sydney is not a prohibition town! far from it. drink conditions are as bad as in scotland. many of the people, especially from the country, have a pure cockney accent and drop their h's freely; indeed i met boys and girls born in the colony, and never out of it, whose cockney pronunciation was quite comical. it struck me that australians and new zealanders are certainly not noted for strenuousness. of course the tourist must see the blue mountains, and my trip there was enjoyable enough, i being greatly impressed with the leura and other waterfalls (not as falls) and the wonderful and beautiful caves of janolan. wild wallabies were plentiful round about, and the "laughing jackass" first made himself known to me. february nd.--s---- and myself took passage to new zealand, the fish-story man being again a fellow-traveller. during the crossing numerous albatrosses were seen. in new zealand we visited all the great towns, wellington, auckland, christchurch, dunedin and others, all of them pleasant, agreeable places, christchurch being especially attractive. what a grand, healthy, well-fed and physically fit-looking people the new zealanders are. scotch blood predominates, and really there is a great similarity between the two peoples. at rotorua we met the premier and other celebrities, s---- being very interested in colonial politics. rotorua is a very charming place; i did some fishing in the lake, where trout were so numerous that it was not much sport catching them. illness unfortunately prevented my going further afield and fishing for larger trout in the rivers. a colonel m---- and sister who were in new zealand at that time claimed to have beaten the record, their catch averaging over lbs. per fish (rainbows), as they told me on again meeting them in the hebrides. we did the wanganui river of course; and the geysers at whakarewarewa, under the charge of maggie, the maori guide. as you no doubt are aware, the maori fashion of salutation is to rub noses together. as long as they are pretty noses there cannot be much objection; but some of the maori girls are themselves so pretty that mere rubbing is apt to degenerate and one's nose is liable to slip out of place. maggie, the maori guide, a very pretty woman and now at shepherd's bush, can tell all about it and even give a demonstration. here in whakarewarewa one is impressed with the fact that this little settlement is built on what is a mere shallow crust, under which, at the depth of only a few feet, is a vast region of boiling mud and water. everywhere around are bubbling and spluttering mud-wells, some in the form of miniature geysers; steam is issuing everywhere from clefts and crannies in the ground; and one almost expects a general upheaval or sinking of the whole surface. the principal geyser was not and had not been for some weeks in action. it can be forced into action, however, by the singular method of dropping a bar of soap down the orifice, when a tremendous rush of steam and water is vomited out with terrific force. sir joseph ward, the premier, is the only person authorized to permit this operation: but though he was at our hotel, and we were personally intimate with him, he declined to favour us with the permission, it being explained that the too-frequent dosing of the geyser had seemed to have a relaxing effect on the activity. at dunedin s---- left me to visit milford sound. too unwell to accompany him, i continued on to the bluff and then took steamer to hobart, tasmania. new zealand has a great whale-fishery and it was my hope to see something of it by a short trip on one of the ships employed; but the opportunity did not present itself. may i here offer a few notes picked up on the subject of whales, etc. the sperm or cachalot whale is a dangerous and bold fighter and is perhaps the most interesting of all cetaceans. his skin, like that of the porpoise, is as thin as gold-beaters' leaf. underneath it is a coating of fine hair or fur, not attached to the skin, and then the blubber. he has enormous teeth or tushes in the lower jaw, but has no baleen. he devours very large fish, even sharks, but his principal food seems to be cuttle-fish and squids, some of them of as great bulk as himself. these cuttle-fish's tentacle discs are as big as soup-plates, and surrounded by hooks as large and sharp as tiger claws; while their mouths are armed with a parrot-like beak capable of rending anything held to them by the tentacles. these disc hooks are often found in ambergris, an excretion of the sperm whale. the sperm whale spouts diagonally, other whales upwards. so-called porpoise leather is made of the skin of the white whale. the porpoise is the true dolphin, the sailor's dolphin being a fish with vertical tail, scales and gills. bonitoes are a species of mackerel, but warm-blooded and having beef-like flesh. near hobart i saw the famous fruit and hop lands on the derwent river. it was midsummer here and extremely hot, hotter than in melbourne or anywhere else on this trip. from hobart i railed to launceston and thence steamer to melbourne. melbourne is a very handsome city as we all know. it was my hope to continue on with s---- north by the barrier reef, or rather between the reef and the mainland, and so on to china, japan, corea, and home by siberia; but my doctor advised me not to attempt it, so i booked passage for colombo instead, and s---- and myself necessarily parted. but it was with much regret that i missed this wonderful coasting trip, long looked forward to and now probably never to be accomplished. on my way home i visited beautiful adelaide, and the younger city, perth, which reminded me much of the west american mining towns. colombo needs no call for notice. at messina we saw the ruined city, the devastation seeming to have been very terrible; but it presented no such awful spectacle of absolutely overwhelming destruction as did san francisco. etna was smoking; stromboli also. then marseilles, paris, and home. during that summer at home i was fortunate enough to see the polo test matches between hurlingham and meadowbrook teams, otherwise england versus america. it was a disheartening spectacle. the english could neither drive a ball with accuracy nor distance; they "dwelt" at the most critical time, were slow in getting off, overran the ball, and in fact were beaten with ease, as they deserved to be. an even more interesting experience was a visit to the aviation meeting at rheims, the first ever held in the world, and a most successful one. yet the british empire was hardly represented even by visitors. such great filers as curtis, lefevre, latham, paulhan, bleriot and farman were all present. in the autumn i had a week's salmon-fishing at garynahine in the lews. the weather was not favourable and the sport poor considering the place. close by is the grimersta river and lodge, perhaps the finest rod salmon fishery in scotland. a young east indian whom i happened to know had a rod there, and was then at the lodge. on asking him about fishing, etc., he told me, and showed me by the lodge books, that the record for this river was fifty-four salmon in one day to one rod, all caught by the fly! the fortunate fisherman's name? mr naylor! the very man i had travelled with to new zealand! i have vainly tried for three seasons now to get a rod on this river, if only for a week, and at £ a week that would be long enough for me. i also this autumn had a rod on the dee, but only fished twice; no fish and no water. during this summer i golfed very determinedly, buoyed up by the vain hope of becoming a first-class player--a "scratch" man. alas! alas! but it is all vanity anyway! what does the angler care for catching a large basket of trout if there be no one by to show them to? and what does the golfer care about his game if he have not an opponent or a crowd to witness his prowess? at muirfield i enjoyed the amateur championship--r. maxwell's year. chapter xiii fourth tour abroad yucatan--honduras--costa rica--panama--equador--peru--chile--argentina--brazil--teneriffe. october saw me on board the steamer _lusitania_, bound for new york and another long trip somewhere. what a leviathan! what luxury! think of the spanish dons who crossed the same ocean in mere cobble boats of fifty tons, and our equally intrepid discoverers and explorers. what methods did they adopt to counteract the discomfort of _mal de mer_? which reminds me that on this same _lusitania_ was the viscomte d----, portuguese ambassador or minister to the united states of america, who confidentially told me that he at one time was the worst of sailors, but since adopting a certain belt which supports the diaphragm the idea of sea-sickness never even suggests itself to him. for the public benefit it may be said that this belt is manufactured by the anti mal de mer belt co., national drug and chemical co., st gabriel street, montreal, canada. bad sailors take note! on this steamer were also, as honoured guests, jim jeffries, the redoubtable, going to his doom; "tay pay" o'connor; and kessler, the "freak" savoy hotel dinner-giver; also, by the way, a certain london jew financier, who gave me a commission to go to and report on the quito railroad. when travelling west from new york in the fall one is filled with admiration for the wonderful colour of the maple and other trees. europe has nothing at all comparable. this wonderful display is alone worth crossing the atlantic to see. i found that the past summer had been a record hot one for texas. the thermometer went to ° in the shade. eggs were cooked (fried, it is to be supposed) on the side-walk, and popcorn popped in the stalks. in november i sailed from new orleans for yucatan to visit at merida a mexican friend, who turned out to be the king of yucatan, as he was popularly called, he being an immense landed proprietor and practically monopolist of the henequin industry. henequin, or sisal hemp, is the fibre of _agave sisalensis_, a plant very like the _agave americana_, from which pulque is extracted. thence round the corner, so to speak, to british honduras, where we called in at belize, whose trade is in mahogany and chicklee gum, combined with a deal of quiet smuggling done with the central american states. quite near belize, among the innumerable islands and reefs, was the stronghold of the celebrated pirate wallace (scotchman). many man-o'-war birds and pelicans were in the harbour. from belize to porto barrios, the eastern terminus of the guatemala railway. here we are close to the scene of that wonderful and mysterious central american prehistoric civilization, which has left for our antiquarians and learned men a life-work to decipher the still dumb symbols carved on its stupendous ruins. in guatemala, and near this railway, are copan and quiriguá, and probably other still undiscovered dead cities. some of these guatemala structures show a quite extraordinary resemblance to those at angkor in cambodia. mitla and palenque are in mexico and are equally remarkable. the latter is still difficult to get to. here again (palenque) the temple shows a strange similarity to that at boro budoer in java. was it stamford raffles who said that, as far as the expenditure of human labour and skill goes, the pyramids of egypt sink into insignificance when compared with this sculptured temple of boro budoer. chichen-itza, labna, sayil and uxmal are all in yucatan and approached from merida. how many more of such very wonderful ruins are still hidden in the dense jungle of these countries it will be many years yet before we may know. some i have seen myself, and it is still my hope very soon to visit others. among the wild animals of yucatan and honduras are the jaguar (_felis onça_) with spots, ocellated or eyed; and the panther (_felis concolor_) called puma in arizona; the vaca de aqua or manatee, shaped like a small whale but with two paddles; the howling monkey, largest in america, and the spider monkey; the iguana, largest land lizard known to history, and alligators. alligators are confined to the western hemisphere; crocodiles were supposed to be peculiar to the east, but lately a true crocodile (_crocodilus americanus_) has been identified in florida. the alligator covers its eggs with a heap of rubbish for warmth and so leaves them; the african crocodile, on the contrary, buries them in the sand and then sits over them. the cardinal bird and the ocellated turkey must not be forgotten. here may be found the leaf-cutting ants, which store the leaf particles in order to grow a fungus on, and which they are very particular shall be neither too damp nor too dry. also another ant, the _polyergus rufescens_, a pure slave-hunter, absolutely dependent on its slaves for all the comforts of life and being even fed by them. in honduras there are many caribs, still a strong race of indians, having a strict and severe criminal law of their own. they are employed mostly as mahogany cutters, and are energetic, intelligent and thoroughly reliable workmen. puerto cortez in honduras has the finest harbour on the whole atlantic coast of central america. note.--st thomas is supposed to have visited and civilized the central american indians, as quetzalcohuatl did in mexico. on leaving new orleans it had been my intention to enter nicaragua and report to a certain new orleans newspaper on the conditions in that most distressful country; said paper having commissioned me to do so. entrance to the state could only be made from guatemala, but that country's consul in new orleans refused to issue the necessary passport. had i gone as an englishman, and not as an american, there might have been no difficulty. as said before, central american states have a dread and suspicion of yankees. this was at the time that two yankee revolutionists had been shot by the president of nicaragua. the next place of call was limon, the port of costa rica. every foot of land on these coasts, suitable for the growth of bananas, has been bought up by the great american fruit co., a company of enormous resources and great enterprise. limon is a delightful little town from whence the railway runs to san josé, the capital, which stands some feet above sea-level. costa rica is a peace-loving little state, prosperous, and enjoying a delightful climate. much coffee and cocoa is grown, shaded by the bois immortel or madre de cacao. the live-stock industry is also a large one, and the animals seen on the high grassy plains are well grown and apparently well bred enough. i visited cartago, a city which soon afterwards was destroyed by an earthquake. on the railroad trip up to and back from the capital we passed through lovely and romantic scenery, high hills, deep ravines and virgin tropical forest. the rainy season was at its height, and how it rained! the river was a raging torrent, and from the railway "cut" alongside continuous land-slides of loose gravelly soil were threatening the track with demolition. indeed, at some points this had actually occurred, and the train several times had to be stopped to allow the gangs of workmen to clear the way. a bad slide, had it hit the train, would have pushed the whole thing into the deep and turbulent river. all the passengers were much alarmed, and i stood on the car platform ready to jump, though the jump would necessarily have been into the seething water. november th.--colon once more! went on to panama. the chagres river was in the highest state of flood known in twenty years. november th.--sailed on steamship _chile_ with about thirty passengers, all spanish americans, bound for equador, peru or chile. december rd.--reached the equator, and i donned warmer clothes. we saw whales, sharks, porpoises, rays and thrashers. entered the guayaquil river. here was where pizarro first landed and obtained a footing. the steamer anchored in quarantine a mile below the city. yellow fever was raging as usual, and the quito railroad was blocked by the revolutionists, so my projected visit again for the second time fell through. guayaquil has the highest permanent death-rate of all cities. the state produces much cocoa and mangrove wood. the town is the centre of the panama hat trade, which hats are made of the sheaths of the unexpanded leaves of the jaraca palm, or of the long sheaths protecting the flower-cone of the hat palm (_taquilla_); and they can only be made in a favourable damp atmosphere. here on the mangrove roots and submerged branches enormous quantities of oysters may be found. oysters on trees at last! belonging to equador state are the galapagos islands, miles westward. of course we did not visit them, but they are remarkable for their giant tortoises and their wild cattle, donkeys and dogs. it is said that these dogs do not bark, having forgotten how to; but they develop the power after contact with domestic ones. the guayaquil river swarms with alligators, but luckily the alligator never attacks man. we sailed south down the coast, calling at many ports. from guayaquil south to valparaiso, a distance of miles, we enjoyed bright, clear weather, a pleasant, sometimes an even too low temperature, and peaceful seas, a condition which the captain assured me was constant, the low temperature being due to the south polar or humboldt current. the absolute barren condition of this whole coast is also indirectly due to this current, the temperature of the sea being so much below that of the land that evaporation and condensation do not take place. after passing some guano islands on december th we landed at callao, the port of lima. went on to lima, a city founded by pizarro, and once a very gay, luxurious and licentious capital. it is celebrated for its handsome churches. its streets are narrow and the whole population seemingly devoted to peddling lottery tickets. there are many chinamen amongst its , inhabitants. the roman catholics control the country, which is absolutely priest-ridden, reformed or other churches not being permitted in peru. a revolution was attempted only a few days ago, the president having been seized and dragged out of his office to be shot. the military, however, rescued him and the revolution was over in twenty-four hours. peru's resources, outside of the very rich mining districts, will eventually be found in the montaña country, on the lower eastern slopes of the andes. her people are backward, and, at least in cuzco and arequipa, i should say the dirtiest in the world. there is as yet little or no tourist traffic on this coast; and there will not be much till better steamers are put on and hotels improved. in lima, however, the hotel maury is quite good, though purely spanish. it never rains on this coast, yet lima is foggy and cold. i took a trip up to oroya over the wonderful meiggs railway. m. meiggs was an american, who had to leave his country on account of certain irregularities. we reached a height of , feet, the country being absolutely barren and devoid of vegetation, but very grand and imposing. december th.--sailed from callao for mollendo, calling at pisco. here, close to the harbour, are wonderful guano islands, on two of which were dense solid masses of birds covering what seemed to be hundreds of acres of ground. how many millions or billions must there have been! and yet, it being the evening, millions more were flighting home to the islands. with glasses they could be seen in continuous files coming from all directions. these birds are principally cormorants and pelicans. there are also very many seals, and we saw some whales. these islands presented one of the most marvellous sights i ever saw. and what enormous, still undeveloped, fisheries there must be here to support this bird-life. to-day we also passed a field of "red sea," confervæ or infusoria. we were favoured for once with a grand view of the andean peaks, which are seldom well seen from the coast, being wrapped in haze and clouds. [illustration: llamas as pack animals.] [illustration: drifting sand dune. (one of thousands.)] arrived at mollendo, port of arequipa and bolivia, i at once took train and rose rapidly to an elevation of feet, arriving in the evening at arequipa. the whole country is desolate in the extreme. on the high plains we passed through an immense field of moving sand-hills, all of crescent shape, the sand being white and of a very fine grain. on approaching arequipa the sunset effect on the bright and vari-hued rock strata and scoriæ, backed by the grand volcan misti, , feet high, made a marvellously beautiful picture, the most beautiful of its kind ever seen by me, and showing how wonderfully coloured landscapes may be without the presence of vegetation of any kind. hotels in arequipa are very primitive, and after a glance at the market and its filthy people you will confine your table fare to eggs and english biscuits as i did. arequipa has been thrice destroyed by earthquakes and is indeed considered the quakiest spot on earth. priests, monks, ragged soldiers and churches almost compose the town; yet it has a very beautiful plaza de armas, where in the evenings arequipa fashion promenades to the music of a quite good band. i seemed to be the only tourist here. on the th i took train to juliaca, rising to , feet; thence two days to cuzco, the celebrated southern capital of the incas, whose history i will not here touch on. not only are there abandoned inca remains, but also in high peru and bolivia remains of structures erected, as it is now supposed, years ago. the pottery recently found would suggest this, it being as gracefully moulded and decorated as that of egypt of the same period; authority even declaring it to be undistinguishable from the latter, and they also testify to evidence of an extremely high and cultivated civilization, not barbaric in any sense, in these remote periods. indeed, the civilization of the country at that far-off time must have been quite as advanced as in the nile valley. cyclopean walls and other remains show a marvellous skill in construction; individual blocks of granite-stone, measuring as much as fifteen to twenty feet in diameter, being placed in these walls with such skill that even to-day a pen-knife blade cannot be inserted between them. no mortar was used, but the blocks are keyed together in a peculiar way. how this stone was so skilfully cut and transported we cannot imagine; even with iron and all our modern appliances it is doubtful if we could produce such exactitude. [illustration: peruvian ruins. (note dimensions of stones and locking system)] at puna one gets a good view of lake titicaca, still a large lake, but once of much greater dimensions. sailing over and among the high peaks it was here my good fortune to view for the first time that majestic bird, the condor, which, it is declared, has never been seen to flap its wings. thus in the south seas i had been privileged to see the albatross, and here the condor. lucky, indeed, to have viewed these monarchs of the air, free in their proper element, in all their pride, grace and beauty. how often, as a boy, or even as a man, has one anticipated "some day" seeing these noble birds in their native haunts! also many llamas and alpacas, the former very handsome animals. the vicuñas and guanacos are the wild representatives of this family, and are also very abundant. in arequipa i suffered somewhat from "nevada," due to electric conditions, and distinct from "saroche." saroche never affected me. december th.--sailed for valparaiso, calling at iquique, antofagasta and coquimbo. the coast country is so desolate and arid that at some of these purely nitrate towns school-children's knowledge of trees and other plants is derived solely from painted representations on boardings erected for the purpose. this may seem libellous, but is not so. we arrived at valparaiso on new year's day. the city showed few signs of its late disaster. the harbour is poor, and the place has few attractions. society was attending a race meeting at viño del mar. went on to santiago, the capital, feet elevation, population claimed , ; our route lying through rich, well-cultivated valleys. the climate and general appearance of the country are much like those of california, the temperature being quite hot at mid-day but cool always in the shade, the nights being chilly. this was midsummer. santiago has some handsome buildings and a very attractive plaza mayor; the hotels are poor. the chilians are an active, intelligent, wide-awake people; are great fighters and free from the religious trammels of peru. from here i took train to los andes; then by narrow gauge line, the grade being per cent. on the cog track, through barren rough gorges to the cumbre, or summit, , feet high. the most commanding peak that we saw was aconcagua, over , feet high, and the highest mountain in the western hemisphere. at lago del inca, at the entrance to the incompleted tunnel, we left the train and took mules or carts to the summit, where is an immense, surprising and commanding figure of the christ. on the argentina side we again took train to mendoza, an important town and centre of the fruit and wine country. thence a straight run over the immense level pampas, now pastures grazed by innumerable cattle, sheep and horses, to buenos ayres. many rheas (ostriches) were seen from the train. these birds, the hens, lay in each other's nests, and the male incubates--perhaps to save the time of the hens; which reminds one of the cuckoo, who mates often, and whose stay is so limited that she has no time to incubate. yet she does not lay in nests, but on the ground, and the eggs are deposited by the male in the nests of birds whose eggs they most resemble, and only one in each. by-the-by, whilst in santiago a quite severe quake occurred, but there were few casualties, only two people being killed. it was at night, and my bedroom being on the third floor of the only three-storey building in town, i continued to lie in bed, not indeed knowing what to do, and resigning myself to fate. i distinctly do not want to live in quaking countries! the sensation produced on one by an earthquake is peculiar and different from all others. one is not so much alarmed as overawed; one feels so helpless, so insignificant; you know you can do nothing. what may happen next at any moment is beyond your ken; only when you realize that the disturbance has actually shaken these immense mountain masses and these boundless plains do you appreciate the forces that have caused it. the krakatoa outbreak raised the water in our thames four inches. a great peruvian earthquake sent a tidal wave into the red sea. buenos ayres is a city of some , , people, half italians (the working and go-ahead half) and half spanish americans. but there is also a very mixed population. there are many fine buildings and palatial residences, but the business streets are ridiculously narrow, save and except the avenida de mayo, which is one of the handsomest streets in the world. the new boulevards, the parks and race-tracks all deserve admiration. the hotels are not quite good enough--not even the palatial "plaza." prices, and indeed the cost of living, are quite as great as in new york. it was too hot to remain long, so i crossed to montevideo, went all over the town; but beyond seeing (not meeting, alas!) one of the most beautiful girls i ever saw in my life, there was not much to interest. so, on the white star liner _athenic_, i hastened to england. it may be remarked here that though buenos ayres and santiago claim, and offer, wonderful displays of horsed carriages in their parks, if one watches them critically he will seldom see a really smart turn-out. the coachman's badly-made boots, or a strap out of place, or a buckle wanting, or blacking needed, all detract from the desirable london standard. january th.--we entered beautiful rio harbour. in the town the temperature was unbearable. the city is in the same transformation condition as buenos ayres; the streets are narrow, except the very handsome new avenida central. the esplanade on the bay is quite unequalled anywhere else. surely a great future awaits rio! a trip up corcovada, a needle-like peak, some feet high, overlooking the bay, should not be missed. we sailed again for teneriffe to coal, which gave us an opportunity to admire the grand peak and get some idea of the nature of the country. thence home. perhaps a short note on the great historical personages of central and south america may be of interest. among these the greatest was simon bolivar, who with miranda, the apostle of liberty, freed the northern states of south america from spanish dominion. it was bolivar who in summoned the first international peace congress at panama. san martin, an equally great man, born in argentina, freed the southern half of the continent. lopez, president in of paraguay, has secured notoriety for having had the worst character in all american history. petion, almost a pure negro, deserves also a prominent place. he was born in , was a great, good and able man, and freed haiti; he also assisted and advised bolivar. may i also remind you here that peru is the home of the peruvian bark tree (cinchona) and the equally valuable coca plant, which gives us cocaine. paraguay is the country of the yerba-mate, universally drunk there, supplanting tea, coffee, cocoa and coca. like coca it has very stimulating qualities. el dorado, the much-sought-for and fabulous, was vouched for by juan martinez, the chief of liars, who located it somewhere up the orinoco river. the spaniards, and also the portuguese, were wonderful colonizers and administrators. just think what enormous territories their civilization influenced, and influenced for good. certainly the torch of the inquisition accompanied them; but even under that dreadful blight their colonies prospered and the conquered races became iberianized, such was their masters' power of impressing their language, religion and manners on even barbarous tribes. chapter xiv fifth tour abroad california--honolulu--japan--china--singapore--burmah --india--ceylon--the end. i hope these hasty notes, so hurriedly and scantily given, may have interested my readers enough to secure their company for one more globe-trot, which shall be rushed through in order to bring these reminiscences to a close. a momentous event of was the death of king edward vii., which threw everybody into deep mourning; and it seemed to me englishwomen never looked so well as when dressed in black. in the autumn i started for new york and amarillo. never before was i so impressed with the growth and improvement and possibilities of new york city, soon to be the most populous, wealthiest and greatest city the world has ever seen. the incomparable beauty of the american woods and forests in the fall again attracted me and afforded much pleasure. from amarillo i went on to san francisco, stopping off to have yet one more sight of the grand cañon of the colorado river. san francisco was now almost completely restored, and much on the old plan. her knob-hill palaces are gone, but her hotels are better and more palatial than ever. november nd.--sailed on a japanese steamer for yokohama, via honolulu. these japanese steamers are first-class, and noted for cleanliness and the politeness of the entire ship's company. we coaled at honolulu and then proceeded. on approaching yokohama we got a fine view of fuji-san, the great national volcano, as it may be called, its perfect cone rising sheer from the low plain to a height of , feet. fuji is at present quiescent; but japan has some active volcanoes, and earthquakes are very frequent. my visit was at the least favourable time of the year, viz., in winter. the country should be seen in spring, during the cherry-blossom season, or in the autumn, when the tree foliage is almost more beautiful. from yokohama i went on to tokio, formerly jeddo, and now the capital. it is a large and busy city with some fine government modern buildings. the palace, parks and temples form the sights. in the city proper as in all japanese towns, the streets are very narrow and crowded with rickshaws, the only means of passenger conveyance. at the anglo-japanese dinner, given at my hotel, i had an opportunity of seeing japanese men and women in full-dress attire, and to notice the extreme formalities of their greetings. a japanese gentleman bows once, then again, and, as if he had forgotten something, after a short interval a third time. from tokio i went to kioto, formerly the residence of the mikado, now purely a native city, with no modern buildings and still narrower streets; but it is the centre of the cloisonné, damascening and embroidery industries. hotels in japan are everywhere quite good. here i visited the fencing and jiu-jitsu schools, which are attended by a large number of pupils, women as well as men. also the geisha school, and saw girls taught dancing, music and tea ceremony. what perfectly delightful and charming little ladies japanese girls of apparently all classes are. the smile of the geisha girl may be professional, but is very seductive and penetrating; so that the mere european man is soon a willing worshipper. the plump little waitresses in hotels and tea-houses, charmingly costumed, smiling as only they can smile, are incomparable. the japanese, too, are the cleanest of all nations; the chinese and koreans among the dirtiest. they are extremely courteous as well as polite. a drunken man is hardly ever seen in japan, a woman never. an angry word is hardly ever heard; indeed, the language has no "swear" words. all the people are artistic, even æsthetic. arthur diosy in his book declares that the japanese are the most cheerful, peaceable, law-abiding and kindliest of all peoples. up till the "great change," , trade was considered unsuitable for, and degrading to, a gentleman. women here, by-the-by, shave or have shaven the whole face, including the nose and ears, though not the eyebrows. how these japs worship the beauties of nature! few of us might see much beauty in a purple cabbage; yet in my hotel purple cabbages were put in prominent places to decorate the dining-hall, and were really quite effective. from kioto i went to nara, once the capital of the empire, a pretty place with large park and interesting museum. a great religious festival was on, including a procession of men in ancient armour and costumes. there was also some horse-racing, which was quite comical. apparently no european but myself was present. on travelling to nara i passed through the tea district of oji. the gardens are very beautiful and carefully tended. it was a great treat to me this first opportunity to see something of japanese peasant life, and to admire the intensive and thorough cultivation. not a foot of productive soil is wasted. the landscape of rice-fields, succeeded by tea-gardens, bamboo groves, up to the forest or brush-clad hills, and the very picturesque villages and farmhouses and rustic temples, form many a delightful picture. in the growing season the whole country must be very beautiful. excellent trout and salmon fishing may then be had. the adopted national game for youths seems to be base-ball, and not cricket as in china. next i went to kobe, via osaka, the great manufacturing centre of the empire. at kobe took another japanese steamer for shanghai, calling at moji, shimonoseki and nagasaki, and traversing the wonderfully beautiful inland sea of japan, a magnified, and quite as beautiful, loch lomond. this sea was dotted with innumerable fishing-boats. indeed, japan's sea-fisheries must be one of her most valuable assets. moji harbour is a beautiful one, has an inlet and an outlet, but appears land-locked. on the mainland side is shimonoseki, where li hung chang signed the peace treaty with japan, and where he was later wounded by an assassin. nagasaki has also a fine harbour. from here i took a rickshaw ride over the hills to a lovely little summer coast-resort, passing through a most picturesque country. japan has, among many others, one particular curiosity in the shape of a domestic cock, possessing a tail as much as fifteen feet in length, and which tail receives its owner's, or rather its owner's owner's, most careful consideration. the unfortunate bird is kept in a very small wicker cage, so small that he can't turn round, the long tail feathers escaping through an aperture and drooping to the ground. once a day the bird is taken out and allowed to exercise for a short time on a spotlessly clean floor-mat. while in japan i was told that her modern cultured men are satisfied with a simple work-a-day system of ethics, priestly guidance being unnecessary, and they regard religion as being for the ignorant, superstitious or thoughtless. thus they "emancipate their consciences from the conventional bonds of traditional religions." it has been remarked that the japanese will probably never again be such heroes, or at least will never be such reckless, fanatical fighters as they were in the late war, as civilization and property rights will make life more worth living and therefore preserving. the same might apply to the fuzzy wuzzies, to cromwell's ironsides, and to some extent our own highlanders and others of a like fanatical tendency. it had been my intention and hope to visit korea, port arthur, mukden and peking; but was advised very strongly, on account of the extreme cold and almost arctic conditions said to be prevailing in north china, not to go there. but at shanghai i had better information, contradicting these reports and describing the weather as delightful at the capital. shanghai has an immense river and ocean trade, and in the waterway are swung river gun-boats of all nations, as well as queer-looking chinese armed junks, used in putting down piracy. i visited the city club, the country club, and the racecourse, and took a stroll at night through soochow road, among the native tea-houses, theatres, etc. someone advised me to visit a town up the river on a certain day to witness the execution of some dozen river pirates and other criminals, a common occurrence; but such an attraction did not appeal to me. in china, as in japan and other countries, the german, often gross, selfish and vulgar, is ever present. but he is resourceful and determined, and threatens to push the placid englishman to the wall. though the practice is not now permitted, chinese women's bound and deformed feet are still to the stranger a constant source of wonder. it is said the custom arose in the desire of court ladies to emulate the very tiny feet of a certain royal princess; but it is also suggested that the custom was instituted to stop the female gadding-about propensity! here in shanghai i first observed edible swallow-nests in the market for sale. they did not look nice, but why should they not be so, knowing as we do that the young of swallows, unlike those of other birds, vent their ordure over the sides, so that the nests are not in any way defiled. here i also learned that pidgin, as in the expression "pidgin" english, is john's attempt to pronounce "business." from shanghai to soochow city, a typical chinese walled town, still quite unmodernized, and no doubt the same as it was years ago. tourists seldom enter it, and no european dwells within its walls, inside of which are crowded and jammed , souls. the main street was not more than six to eight _feet_ wide, and so filled with such a jostling, busy crowd of people as surely could not be seen anywhere else on earth. even rickshaws are not allowed to enter, there being no room for them. progress can only be made on a donkey, and then with much shouting and discomfort. what a busy people the chinese are! some day they may people the earth. they seem to be even more intelligent than the japanese, more honest and more industrious; and have an almost lovable disposition. and what giants they are compared to their neighbours!--the men from the north being especially so. i also went by narrow and vile-smelling streets to visit a celebrated leaning pagoda near soochow, and on returning took the opportunity offered of inspecting with much interest a mandarin's rock-garden, purely chinese and entirely different from japanese similar retreats. in shanghai i visited the original tea-house depicted on the well-known willow-pattern china ware. january st.--arrived at hong-kong and admired its splendid harbour and surroundings. this is one of the greatest seaports in the world, with an enormous trade. the whole island belongs to great britain; unlike shanghai, where different nationalities merely have concessions. in the famous happy valley i had several days' golfing with a naval friend, and we played very badly. a trip up the river to canton, the southern capital of china, an immense city with , , population, was full of interest. half the population seemingly live in boats. what indefatigable workers the chinese are. they seem to work all night and they seem to work all day. they are busy as ants. if one cannot find employment otherwise he will make it! barring the beggars, there are no unemployed and no unemployables. what a mighty force they must become in the world's economy. we estimate china's population by millions, but forget to properly scale their energy and industry. what is the future of such a people to be! yet they seem to be incapable of any general national movement: each is absorbed in his immediate work and contented to be so; so unlike the japanese, with equal energy and industry, plus boundless ambition and patriotism.[ ] [footnote : appendix, note i.] the chinaman's pigtail calls for explanation. the manchus, on conquering china in , decreed that all chinese should shave the rest of the head but wear the pigtail. the chinese would not submit to this; so the politic manchu emperor further decreed that only loyal subjects might adopt the custom, criminals to be debarred. this ruse was so successful that now the chinaman is even proud of his adornment, and little advantage is being taken of a recent relaxation of the decree. sailing for singapore i was blessed with a cabin all to myself, and what a blessing it is! in all my travels i have been singularly fortunate in securing privacy in this way. there is not much to interest in singapore. it is one of the hottest places on earth, the same in winter and summer, purely tropical. it has, however, fine parks, streets and open places. the principal hotel is the "raffles," which i should imagine is also the worst. the most notable feature of singapore is the variety of "natives" domiciled there--ceylonese, burmese, chinese, japanese, siamese, hindoos and malays. after leaving singapore we looked in at penang, where we had time to inspect a famous chinese temple. an american army general, d----, and his wife were among the passengers, and i found much pleasure in their company; indeed, we travelled thereafter much together in burmah and india. rangoon, where we arrived next, is a large, well-laid-out city, as cosmopolitan as singapore. the bazaars are well worth visiting, and the working of elephants in the great teak yards is one of the tourist's principal sights. but the great shwe dagon pagoda is of course the centre of interest, and indeed it is one of the most astonishing places of worship it has been my fortune to visit. the pagoda itself is of the typical bell shape, solidly built of brick, gilded from base to summit, and crowned with a golden ti. the shrines, too, which surround and jostle it, hold the attention and wonder of the visitor. there are very many of these, mostly of graceful design, with delicate and intricate wood carvings and other decorations. the pagoda is the most venerated of all buddhist places of worship, containing as it does not only the eight sacred hairs of gautama, but also relics of the three buddhas who preceded him. it is also from its great height, feet (higher than st paul's cathedral), and graceful shape, extremely imposing and sublime. from rangoon i trained to mandalay, on the irawadi river, not a large town, but rich in historical associations, and famous for its buddhist pagodas, such as the incomparable and the arakan; also the queen's golden monastery. king theebaw's palace remains much as it was, and well worth examination. the population here is almost purely burmese; in fact you see the burmese at their best, and the impression is always favourable. what brilliant but beautiful colours they affect in their head-clothes, jackets and silken gowns. they are a cheerful, light-hearted and good-natured people, lazy perhaps, but all apparently well enough to do. the boys and the young men play the national game of football, the ball, made simply of lightly-plaited bamboo strips, being kicked and tossed into the air with wonderful skill and activity, never being allowed to touch the ground. the way they can "take" the ball from behind, and with the heel or side of the foot toss it upwards and forwards, would be a revelation even to the newcastle united. the women and girls have utmost freedom and are to be seen everywhere, often smoking enormous cigarettes: merry and careless, but always well, and often charmingly, dressed. a fine view, and good idea, of the great irawadi river may be obtained from mandalay; but time was pressing, so i railed back to rangoon instead of making the river trip, which my friends, the d----s, did. the steamer to calcutta was unusually crowded, but i was again fortunate enough to secure the use of the pilot's cabin all to myself. the hugli river was familiar even after thirty-four years' absence, and in calcutta i noticed little change. the hotels, including the grand and continental, are quite unworthy of the city, only the very old and well-known great eastern approaching the first-class character. calcutta was getting hot, so i at once went on to darjeeling, hoping to get a view of what my eyes had ever longed to see--the glorious high peaks of the himalayas, and the roof of the world. after a few hours' run through the celebrated terai jungle, the haunt, and probably final sanctuary, of the big game of india, the track ascends rapidly and picturesquely through the tea district of kangra, and arrives at darjeeling, elevation feet, the summer home of the bengal government and the merchant princes of calcutta and elsewhere. i had been forewarned that the chances of seeing the high peaks at this time of the year were extremely slim; but my experience and disappointment in connection with korea and peking taught me to disregard such warnings; and, as it turned out, i was rewarded with a perfect day and magnificent views of mounts kinchinjunga and everest, and all the other majestic heights; seen, too, in all their phases of cloud and mist, of perfectly clear blue sky, and of sunrise and sunset effects. it was indeed a most satisfying and absorbing twenty-four hours' visit, as i had also time, under the guidance of an official friend, to visit the picturesque weekly market or bazaar, where natives from sikkim, nepal, butan and tibet may be seen in all their dirt and strangeness. also the quite beautiful botanic gardens, the club house, the prayer-wheels, etc. more than that, i was privileged to pay my respects to the dalai lama, who had but recently left his kingdom and taken refuge here. the acknowledged spiritual head of the buddhists of mongolia and china is a young man with a dreamy, absorbed expression of countenance, perhaps not of much intellectuality, but who is approachable even to the merely curious. my friend and kind cicerone was commissioner of the bengal police, and was extremely busy laying guards along the railroad and taking all other necessary precautions for the safety of the german imperial crown prince during his projected visit to darjeeling, a visit ultimately abandoned. i can imagine his chagrin at the waste of all his labours, expense to the indian government, etc. etc., due to the caprice of this apparently frivolous and not quite courteous young hopeful. indeed, the crown prince, though a popular young fellow enough, was the source of trouble and tribulation to his hosts, breaking conventions and scandalizing society by his disregard of its usages. returning to calcutta i thence took train to agra via allahabad, purposely, on account of the great discomfort and poor hotel accommodation due to the large tourist traffic, avoiding lucknow, benares and cawnpore. at allahabad the aga khan, temporal head of the mohammedans of india, and a man of great authority and influence, joined our train, and part of the way i was lucky enough to be in his company and had an opportunity of speaking with him. in appearance he is a turk, quite european in dress, and seems capable, energetic, sociable and agreeable. at every stopping-place he received an ovation, crowds of his mussulman supporters and friends, among them apparently being chiefs and rajahs and other men of high degree, greeting him with much enthusiasm, which enthusiasm i learned was aroused by his highness' endeavour towards the raising of the status of the mohammedan college of aligarh to that of a university. i should say here that, on indian railways, the first-class carriages are divided into compartments, containing each four beds, but in which it is customary to put only two passengers, at least during sleeping hours, and unless an unusual crowd requires otherwise. it was also on this train i made the acquaintance of a gentleman on his way to visit the maharaja of gwalior, and who was kind enough to ask me to accompany him. i told him that if he would secure me an invitation from the maharaja i would be only too pleased to do so. gwalior was a place on my itinerary anyway; to go there as a guest would secure me many advantages not attainable by the ordinary tourist. my friend said he would see the maharaja at once and have my visit arranged for. a few days afterwards i received advice that it had been done, so on arrival at gwalior i was met by one of the state carriages and conveyed to the guest house, formerly the zenana, close to the palace, a very beautiful and handsome building, where an excellent staff of servants, capital meals, choice liquors and cigars, were at our free disposal. his highness does not eat with his guests, but they are all put up in this building; and during big shoots, durbars, or festive occasions, the house is always full. at the time of my visit the few guests included two scotch manufacturers, who had just effected large sales of machinery to the maharaja, the one securing from him an order worth £ , for steam-breaking ploughs, the other an order of some £ , for pumping appliances. the maharaja is a thoroughly progressive man, has an enormous revenue, and devotes a large part of it to the bringing into cultivation tracts of hitherto unbroken and unoccupied land, which no doubt will eventually increase his revenue and provide homesteads for his people. sindia, as his name is, is a keen soldier, a keen sportsman, and most loyal to the british raj. he moves about freely, wearing a rough tweed suit, is busy and occupied all day long, and though he has ministers and officials of all degrees, and keeps great state on occasion, his army numbering some men, he finds time to superintend the various departments of his government, and to administer his state with a thoroughness uncommon among indian potentates. the new palace is very beautiful and furnished in european manner, apparently quite regardless of expense. the crystal chandeliers in the reception-rooms are magnificent, and must alone represent fabulous sums. near by the palace are a number of lions, now kept in proper cages, but i must say from the smell and filth not under very sanitary conditions. these lions he had imported from abroad and turned loose to furnish sport to his shooting friends; but they killed so many of the peasantry that they had to be recaptured and confined. the town of lashkar, the state capital city, being reported full of plague, i was naturally careful in passing through. nothing in it calls for comment, however. gwalior fort, on a high rocky plateau, has much historic interest. in it are the ancient palaces, still in fair condition but long ago abandoned, certain jain temples covered with bas-relief carvings, tanks and many old ruins. the entrance is handsome and impressive. my friend and myself were supplied with an elephant, so we rode all over the immense fort, now almost silent, having only a small guard and a few other occupants. altogether i enjoyed the visit very much, and after three or four days' stay returned to agra. everyone knows agra, with its heavenly taj-mahal, its great fortress, its pearl mosque, its beautiful halls of audience and its palaces. it is truly sad to know that one of our former governor-generals actually proposed to tear down the taj-mahal so that he could use the marble for other purposes! among these delights of architecture one could wander for days, ever with an unquenched greed for the charm of their beauties. one sees marbled trellis-work of exquisite design and execution, and inlaid flower wreaths and scrolls of red cornelian and precious stone, as beautiful in colour as graceful in form. agra's cantonment avenues and parks are kept in excellent order. the temperature at the time of my visit was delightfully cool, and the hotel the best i had yet found in india. fatepur sikri, a royal city built by akbar, only to be abandoned by him again, is near agra, and possesses enough deserted palaces, mosques and other beautiful buildings to make it well worth a visit. there is, for instance, the great mosque, rival to the taj-mahal, the inside of which is entirely overlaid with mother-of-pearl. from agra i went to delhi, india's imperial city. in and around it are innumerable palaces, mosques, tombs and forts, each and all worthy of careful inspection; but i will only mention the jama musjid; inside the fort the diwan-i-am, wherein formerly stood the famous peacock throne; and the diwan-i-kas, at either end of which, over the outer arches, is the famous persian inscription, "if heaven can be on the face of the earth it is this! oh, it is this! oh, it is this!" in the city itself is the famous street called chandni chauk. north of the city is a district where the principal incidents of the siege took place, and there also is the plain devoted to imperial durbars and assemblages. south of the city are many celebrated tombs, such as those of emperor humayun, and of tughlak; and the majestic kutab minar. mutiny recollections of course enormously add to one's interest in delhi, and many days may be agreeably passed in company with her other historic, tragic and romantic associations. at the time of my visit preparations were already beginning for the great coronation durbar to be held next winter. most hotels and private houses have already been leased. what the general public will do for accommodation i do not know. one will almost necessarily, like the king, have to go under canvas. the circuit house will only be used by his majesty should bad weather prevail. the native rulers of every grade are going to make such a display of oriental magnificence as was never seen before. to many it will be their ruin, or at least a serious crippling of their resources; but it is a chance for display that does not often occur and they seem determined to make the most of it. here at delhi the general and myself again joined forces, he and his wife having visited lucknow and cawnpore. we took train direct to peshawar, via rawal pindi and lahore. i never knew anyone who enjoyed foreign travel so much as my american friend. he was in a constant state of delight, finding interest and pleasure in small matters that never even attracted my attention, though as a rule my faculty for observation is by no means obtuse. in burmah the bright-hued cupras of the natives filled him with intense joy, and the presence of some closely-screened native ladies on a ferryboat so held his gaze that his wife (and i suspect they were not long married) must have felt pangs of jealousy. but he was a keen soldier, and had frequently represented his country at the german and other manoeuvres, and had been adjutant-general at the inauguration of president roosevelt, a very honourable position indeed. so he was intensely interested in old forts and battlefields, and his enthusiasm while in peshawar and the khaiber pass was boundless. more than that he was a strong anglo-phile, and amused me by his disparaging criticism on how his own government did things in the philippines and elsewhere, compared with what he saw in india and other british possessions. peshawar is a very delightful place, or so at least it appeared to me. we lodged in a capital though small hotel. the climate was then very agreeable; the cantonment gardens and avenues are a paradise of beauty, at least compared with the surrounding dry and semi-barren country. in the native city one mixed with new races of people, afghans and asians, and picturesque and fierce-looking tribesmen from the hills. also an immense number of camels, the only means of traffic communication with western and northern native states. but before arriving at peshawar one must not forget to mention the magnificent view obtained from the car windows of the glorious range of cashmere snowy mountains, showing peaks of , to , feet elevation; nor the crossing by a fortified railway bridge of the historic indus river, near attock, at the very spot where the greek alexander entered india on his campaign of conquest a mile above this point the kabul river joins the indus. here too is a romantic-looking town and fortress built by the emperor akbar, still unimpaired and in occupation by british troops. the approaches to the bridge and fort are strongly guarded, emplacements for guns being noticeable at every vantage point on the surrounding hills, while ancient round towers and other fortifications tell of the troublous times and martial deeds this important position has been witness to. for our visit to the khaiber pass general nixon, commandant at peshawar, put a carriage at our disposal, in which we drove as far as jamrud, the isolated fort so often pictured in our illustrated papers, where we exchanged into tongas, in which to complete the journey through the pass as far as ali musjid. the pass is now patrolled by the afridi rifles, a corps composed of afridi tribesmen commanded by british officers. at frequent intervals along the route these afridi sentinels can be seen standing on silent guard on all commanding points of the hills. one sees numerous afridi hamlets, though what the occupants find to support themselves with it is difficult to understand. a good carriage road continues all the way, in places steep enough and tortuous, as the rough broken nature of the country necessitates. by another road or trail, paralleling our own, a continuous string of camel caravans proceeds in single file at a leisurely gait, the animals loaded with merchandise for the kabul market and others in central asia. it is a rough, desolate and uninteresting country, yet grand and beautiful in its way, and one is at once struck with the difficulties to be encountered by troops endeavouring to force their way through, commanded as the pass is at every turn by positions so admirably suited for guerrilla warfare and delightful possibilities for an enemy with sniping propensities. at ali musjid the camel and carriage tracks come together. here at this little mosque was the point beyond which we were not allowed to proceed; so after a most interesting visit we returned to peshawar. we were most fortunate in the weather, as the strong wind which always blows down the pass is in winter time generally excessively cold. at peshawar i bade good-bye to my most agreeable american friends, the general being keen on visiting quetta; whither, had it not been so much out of my own proposed line of travel, i would gladly have accompanied him. so my next move was back to delhi, and thence by train via jeypore to udaipur, one of the most delightfully picturesque and interesting of all indian native capitals. there is a tiny little hotel at udaipur, outside the walls, showing that visiting tourists are few and far between. the maharana holds by his old and established customs, and has none of the modern spirit shown by such princes as sindia, the nizam, and certain other native chiefs. he has, however, gone so far as to furnish his new palace in a most gorgeous manner, the chairs, tables, mirror frames, bedsteads seen in the state apartments being composed of crystal glass. the show attraction of the palace, in the eyes of the attendants, who were ever at one's beck and call, was a teddy dog with wagging head, which miracle of miracles one seemed to be expected to properly marvel at. the old palace, adjoining the new, is a much finer building, being mostly of marble, and is purely oriental in its stairways, doorways, closets, balconies and delightful roof-gardens, as one's preconceived notions expect an eastern potentate's palace to be. the new palace showed no sign of occupancy, and i imagined the maharana, then absent, really favours the older building, and small blame to him! around in various places the state elephants are stabled, or rather chained, in the open air, and looked after by their numerous attendants. in the grand court in front were several of these animals, and a myriad of pigeons, protected by their sanctity, flew about in clouds, or perched on the projections of the palace walls. from a boat on the large and lovely lake, on whose very edge the commanding palace stands, a beautiful view is obtained. on islands in the lake two delightful little summer palaces are built, of white marble and luxuriously furnished within. elephants were bathing themselves at the water's edge, and the roar of caged lions was heard from the neighbouring royal garden. pea-fowl perched on the marble colonnade, and pigeons were circling and sailing in the glorious sunshine. what a sight! especially when evening drew in, and the setting sun lighted up the graceful cupolas and domes, and threw shadows round the towers and battlements, the whole reflected in the glassy surface of the water. at one place near by the wild pigs approached to be fed and some grand old fellows may be seen amongst them. [illustration: palace of majarana of udaipur.] it is still the custom of nearly all men here above the rank of coolie to carry swords or other weapons. for are these rajputs not of a proud and warlike race, as may be seen by their bearing; and is not their maharana of the longest lineage in india, and the highest in rank of all the rajput princes? a few miles from the capital is chitorgarh. here i saw the wonderful old fortress, with its noble entrance gate, and the ancient town of chitor, once the capital of mewar. also the two imposing towers of fame and victory. throughout the state one is struck by the great number of wild pea-fowl picking their way through the stubble just as pheasants do. the flesh of pea-fowl, which i have tasted, is excellent eating, surpassing that of the pheasant. one also sees numbers of a large grey, long-tailed monkey, which seem to preferably attach themselves to old and ruined temples or tombs. from here, chitorgarh, i next took train to bombay, passing through rutlam, a great poppy-producing centre. at baroda i received into my compartment the brother of the late gaikwar (uncle of the present?). it had often occurred to me before to wonder how the high-class natives travel on the railways. never had i yet seen a native enter a first-class compartment where there happened to be any europeans. in this instance, at baroda, i had noticed a man, apparently of consequence, judging by his attendants, evidently wanting to travel by this train. soon one of the party approached, and almost humbly, it seemed more than politely, asked if i would have no objection to the company of the brother of the gaikwar. of course i said i could have no objection, and so we travelled together to bombay. but what is the feeling between the two races that keeps them thus apart? bombay surprised me more by the delightfully cold breeze then blowing than by anything else. i took a drive over malabar hill and saw the parsee towers of silence, as they are popularly called. the immense taj hotel, where i stayed one night, by no means justifies its pretensions. indeed, it is one of the poorest or worst in all india. next day i started out for hyderabad, and had a long, hot, slow twenty-four hours' journey; the principal crop noticed being to me the familiar kafir corn. yes, it was very hot and dusty. as usual, the train was packed with natives, but myself seemed to be the only european on board. arrived at hyderabad, i at once drove over to secunderabad, a very large british cantonment and station. from here, missing the friends i had come to see, and there being nothing to specially interest otherwise, i again took train to madras. a letter of introduction in my pocket to the nizam's prime minister might have been useful in seeing the city had i presented it, but pressure of time induced me to push on; nor did i stop in madras longer than to allow of a drive round the city, the heat being very great. indeed, i was getting very tired of such hurried travel and sight-seeing, and was longing for a week's rest and quietude in the cool and pleasant highlands of ceylon. my health also was now giving me some concern; so on again to madura, _en route_ to tuticorin, from whence a steamer would take me across to the land of spicy breezes. madura has a wonderful old temple of immense size, surrounded by gopuras of pyramidal form, in whose construction huge stones of enormous dimensions were utilized; the temple also has much fine carving, etc. the old palace is of great beauty and interest. colombo was, as usual, uncomfortably warm; only on the seashore at galle face could one get relief, and galle face with its excellent hotel is certainly a very delightful place. i did not stay in colombo, but at once took train to visit anauradapura and the dead cities of ceylon. here was the heart of a district ten miles in diameter, practically covered by the site and remains of the ancient city, which in its prime, about the beginning of the christian era, ranked with babylon and nineveh in its dimensions, population and magnificence. its walls included an area of square miles. among its ruins the most notable are the dagobas (pagodas), some of such enormous size that the number of bricks used in their construction baffles conception. one of the dagobas has a diameter of feet and a height of . it is solidly built of bricks, and contains material enough to build a complete modern town of , people. these buddhist dagobas of ceylon have the bell-shape form, and serve the same purpose as the shwe dagon in rangoon, viz., to shelter relics of the buddhas. close by, within the walls of a buddhist temple, or monastery, still grows the famous bo or pipal tree, the oldest living historical tree in the world, brought here b.c. from buddh gaya in india. only a fragment of the original main trunk now exists, the various offshoots growing vigorously in the surrounding compound, all still guarded and attended by the priests as lovingly as when done years ago. at anauradapura is a quite charming little rest house, shaded and surrounded by beautiful tropical trees of great variety. from here i went to kandy, the former capital of the native kings of that name. in the fourteenth century a temple was erected here to contain a tooth of buddha and other relics. later, the temple was sacked and the sacred tooth destroyed, but another to which was given similar attributes was put in its place. kandy is a pretty spot, with a good hotel and agreeable climate, its elevation being feet above sea-level. near by is paradenia and the beautiful botanical gardens, in which it is a perfect delight to wander. we had already passed through a most lovely and picturesque country; but the grandest and most impressive scenery of ceylon lies between kandy and newara elia. tea-gardens extend everywhere, and the cosy, neat-looking bungalows of the planters have a most attractive appearance. newara elia stands very high, some feet. its vegetation is that of a temperate climate, and in the winter months the climate itself is ideal. the bracing atmosphere suggests golf and all other kinds of sport, and golfing there is of the very best kind. there is an excellent hotel, though i myself put up at the hill club. all ceylon is beautiful, the roads are good, and many delightful excursions can be made. i do not think i ever saw a more beautiful country. but the sailing date draws near, so i must hurry down again to colombo, and thus practically complete my second tour round the world. a p. & o. steamer brought us to aden, the canal, messina and marseilles. we enjoyed lovely cool and calm weather all the way till near the end, when off the "balmy" coast of the riviera we encountered bitter cold winds and stormy seas. and so through france to england, to the best country of them all, even though it be the land of coined currency bearing no testimony to its value; where registered letters may be receipted for by others than the addressee; and where butcher meat is freely exposed in the shops, and even outside, to all the filth that flies--my last fling at the dear old country. someone has asked me which was the most beautiful place i had ever seen? it was impossible to answer. the whole world is beautiful! the barren desert, the boundless ocean, the mountain region and the flat country, even these monotonous staked plains of new mexico, under storm or sunshine, all equally compel us to admiration and wonderment. in closing this somewhat higgledy-piggledy narrative, let me once more express my hope that readers will have found in it some entertainment, perhaps instruction, and possibly amusement. appendix _note i._--an outcry against mormonism has been raised lately in this country. it is its polygamous character that has been attacked. but does polygamy deserve all that is said about it? it is not immoral and should not be criminal. compare it with the very vicious modern custom of restricted families, which is immoral and should be criminal. where is our population going to come from? the chinese, japanese, indians and negroes are swarming all over the earth; while our race is almost stagnant, yet owning and claiming continents and islands practically unpeopled. some day, possibly, polygamy will have to be permitted, even by the most civilized of nations. _note ii._--in this present year there is much writing and much talking about arbitration treaties and preferential tariffs. a general arbitration on _all_ matters between the united states and great britain is probably quite impracticable. preferential tariff within the empire would be highly advantageous to the mother country. if so, let us go for it while the opportunity offers. but it does seem to me there is a much-mistaken idea prevalent at home as to the loyalty of the colonies and dominions. one travels for information and should be allowed to give his conclusions. what holds these offshoots to the mother stem? loyalty? i think not. simply the realization that they are not (not yet) strong enough to stand alone: and it is the opinion of many that, as soon as they are, loyalty will be thrown to the winds; and naturally! (since the above was written has it not been abundantly verified?) there is also even a belief (the wish being father to the thought) that the united states of america have a sentimental feeling for the old country; and one frequently hears the platform or banquet stock phrase, "blood is thicker than water." it would be well if our people were enlightened with the truth. after twenty-five years' residence in the united states i will dare to say that the two nations are entirely foreign and antagonistic one to another. and it is a fortunate thing that between them few "questions" remain to be arbitrated either by pen or sword. the two peoples do not understand one another, and do not try to. the ordinary english traveller does not meet or mix with the real american people, who are rapidly developing a civilization entirely their own, in social customs, in civil government, and even in fashions of dress. _note iii._--might a just comparison not be drawn between these "dogies" and the type of men we now recruit for our standing army? are they not dogies? is it not a fact that many of them never had a square meal in their lives! at least they look like it. but when taken up, if not while yet babies at least when they are still at a critical age of development, say eighteen years, and fed substantially and satisfyingly, as is now done in the army, what an almost miraculous physical change takes place! and not only physical, but mental and moral, due to the influence of discipline and athletic exercises. if such be the effect on our few annual recruits, why not submit the whole young manhood of the nation to such beneficial conditions by the introduction of compulsory national military service? and not only that! is not the private soldier of this country, alone of all others, refused admission to certain places of entertainment open to the public? why? because he is a hireling. because no man of character or independence will adopt such a calling. he would degrade himself by doing so. but make the service compulsory to all men, and at once the calling becomes an honourable one. can it be imagined for a moment that any of our raw recruits enter the service from a love for king and country? no; they sell their birthright for a red coat and a pittance, renounce their independence and stultify the natural ambition that should stimulate every man worthy of the name. though our men do not have the initiative and self-resource of the americans, still they are the smartest and best-set-up troops in the world. many of them are of splendid physique and look like they could go anywhere and do anything. the whole world _was_ open to them; yet here they still are in the ranks, dummies and automatons, devoid of ambition and self-assertiveness. only national service will rid us of the army of unemployables. it will develop them physically and mentally, and make men of them such as our colonies will be glad and proud to admit to citizenship. edinburgh colstons limited printers the death shot, a story retold, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ this was quite a difficult book to transcribe. there were the usual difficulties with this author--his frequent use of words in spanish, or the mexican variety of spanish, of words in french. in addition it must have been something of an experimental writing, for it is generally in the present tense, and there was frequent use made of new words that have not survived in the language. much, indeed almost all, of the speech is uttered by uneducated persons, so that it needs perseverance, sometimes, to make out what is being said. probably most of the speakers would not have been able to read, and would not have known how to pronounce the words they uttered. added to all that the proof-reading, particularly towards the end of the book, left much to be desired, quite common words having letters missing or all jumbled up. finally, the copy used was in a bad way, not from over-use, but from bad binding. it fell apart completely, and we had to continue the work on a scanner that can only read books that have been reduced to single pages. we do not need to mention the problem usual with cheaply made books of that period, that punctuation marks, especially commas and full-stops, and especially at the corners of the pages, tend to disappear, and some degree of cunning has to be brought to bear to recover them. to illustrate the poor proof-reading, one of the chapters was completely repeated, without any change in the flow of page numbers. this is something i have never before seen, though i have seen chapters completely omitted, without affecting the page-numbers! all that having been said, i would like to think that the author would have been pleased with our version, for certain it is that it is better than the published book, although it is certain there are still some errors in our text. it does make a very nice audiobook, taking almost fifteen hours to read. at the time of writing this i have heard it twice, and enjoyed it thoroughly. after some thought i decided to replace his coy victorian "g--d", "h--l", "d--n" and "d--d" with their intended words. doubtless there are some who will not be happy with this, but this book was written years ago, and times have changed. it has been suggested that this book was entirely re-written by the author, this being his final version. although it is an unusual piece of writing it flows very well, and the author could well have been unhappy about the poor printing. let us hope that he is looking down upon us with a gleam of pleasure in his eye. as regards the subject matter, it is really very strange. there are murders with no body, murderers on the run with no evidence against them, murdered persons who are perfectly alive and well, red indians who are no such thing, a body which is buried and comes to life again, being dug up by a dog, and all the time against a truly beautiful description of the terrain, and a considerable tenderness towards the somewhat strange persons who form the cast of this unusual book. ________________________________________________________________________ the death shot, a story retold, by captain mayne reid. preface. long time since this hand hath penned a preface. now only to say, that this romance, as originally published, was written when the author was suffering severe affliction, both physically and mentally--the result of a gun-wound that brought him as near to death as darke's bullet did clancy. it may be asked, why under such strain was the tale written at all? a good reason could be given; but this, private and personal, need not, and should not be intruded on the public. suffice it to say, that, dissatisfied with the execution of the work, the author has remodelled-- almost rewritten it. it is the same story; but, as he hopes and believes, better told. great malvern, september, . prologue. plain, treeless, shrubless, smooth as a sleeping sea. grass upon it; this so short, that the smallest quadruped could not cross over without being seen. even the crawling reptile would not be concealed among its tufts. objects are upon it--sufficiently visible to be distinguished at some distance. they are of a character scarce deserving a glance from the passing traveller. he would deem it little worth while to turn his eyes towards a pack of prairie wolves, much less go in chase of them. with vultures soaring above, he might be more disposed to hesitate, and reflect. the foul birds and filthy beasts seen consorting together, would be proof of prey--that some quarry had fallen upon the plain. perhaps, a stricken stag, a prong-horn antelope, or a wild horse crippled by some mischance due to his headlong nature? believing it any of these, the traveller would reloosen his rein, and ride onward,--leaving the beasts and birds to their banquet. there is no traveller passing over the prairie in question--no human being upon it. nothing like life, save the coyotes grouped over the ground, and the buzzards swooping above. they are not unseen by human eye. there is one sees--one who has reason to fear them. their eager excited movements tell them to be anticipating a repast; at the same time, that they have not yet commenced it. something appears in their midst. at intervals they approach it: the birds swoopingly from heaven, the beasts crouchingly along the earth. both go close, almost to touching it; then suddenly withdraw, starting back as in affright! soon again to return; but only to be frayed as before. and so on, in a series of approaches, and recessions. what can be the thing thus attracting, at the same time repelling them? surely no common quarry, as the carcase of elk, antelope, or mustang? it seems not a thing that is dead. nor yet looks it like anything alive. seen from a distance it resembles a human head. nearer, the resemblance is stronger. close up, it becomes complete. certainly, it _is_ a human head--_the head of a man_! not much in this to cause surprise--a man's head lying upon a texan prairie! nothing, whatever, if scalpless. it would only prove that some ill-starred individual--traveller, trapper, or hunter of wild horses--has been struck down by comanches; afterwards beheaded, and scalped. but this head--if head it be--is _not_ scalped. it still carries its hair--a fine chevelure, waving and profuse. nor is it lying upon the ground, as it naturally should, after being severed from the body, and abandoned. on the contrary, it stands erect, and square, as if still on the shoulders from which it has been separated; the neck underneath, the chin just touching the surface. with cheeks pallid, or blood spotted, and eyes closed or glassy, the attitude could not fail to cause surprise. and yet more to note, that there is neither pallor, nor stain on the cheeks; and the eyes are neither shut, nor glassed. on the contrary, they are glancing--glaring--rolling. _by heavens the head is alive_! no wonder the wolves start back in affright; no wonder the vultures, after stooping low, ply their wings in quick nervous stroke, and soar up again! the odd thing seems to puzzle both beasts and birds; baffles their instinct, and keeps them at bay. still know they, or seem to believe, 'tis flesh and blood. sight and scent tell them so. by both they cannot be deceived. and living flesh it must be? a death's head could neither flash its eyes, nor cause them to revolve in their sockets. besides, the predatory creatures have other evidence of its being alive. at intervals they see opened a mouth, disclosing two rows of white teeth; from which come cries that, startling, send them afar. these are only put forth, when they approach too threateningly near-- evidently intended to drive them to a distance. they have done so for the greater part of a day. strange spectacle! the head of a man, without any body; with eyes in it that scintillate and see; a mouth that opens, and shows teeth; a throat from which issue sounds of human intonation; around this object of weird supernatural aspect, a group of wolves, and over it a flock of vultures! twilight approaching, spreads a purple tint over the prairie. but it brings no change in the attitude of assailed, or assailants. there is still light enough for the latter to perceive the flash of those fiery eyes, whose glances of menace master their voracious instincts, warning them back. on a texan prairie twilight is short. there are no mountains, or high hills intervening, no obliquity in the sun's diurnal course, to lengthen out the day. when the golden orb sinks below the horizon, a brief crepusculous light succeeds; then darkness, sudden as though a curtain of crape were dropped over the earth. night descending causes some change in the tableau described. the buzzards, obedient to their customary habit--not nocturnal--take departure from the spot, and wing their way to their usual roosting place. different do the coyotes. these stay. night is the time best suited to their ravening instincts. the darkness may give them a better opportunity to assail that thing of spherical shape, which by shouts, and scowling glances, has so long kept them aloof. to their discomfiture, the twilight is succeeded by a magnificent moon, whose silvery effulgence falling over the plain almost equals the light of day. they see the head still erect, the eyes angrily glancing; while in the nocturnal stillness that cry, proceeding from the parted lips, affrights them as ever. and now, that night is on, more than ever does the tableau appear strange--more than ever unlike reality, and more nearly allied to the spectral. for, under the moonlight, shimmering through a film that has spread over the plain, the head seems magnified to the dimensions of the sphinx; while the coyotes--mere jackals of terrier size--look large as canadian stags! in truth, a perplexing spectacle--full of wild, weird mystery. who can explain it? chapter one. two sorts of slave-owners. in the old slave-owning times of the united states--happily now no more--there was much grievance to humanity; proud oppression upon the one side, with sad suffering on the other. it may be true, that the majority of the slave proprietors were humane men; that some of them were even philanthropic in their way, and inclined towards giving to the unholy institution a colour of _patriarchism_. this idea--delusive, as intended to delude--is old as slavery itself; at the same time, modern as mormonism, where it has had its latest, and coarsest illustration. though it cannot be denied, that slavery in the states was, comparatively, of a mild type, neither can it be questioned, that among american masters occurred cases of lamentable harshness--even to inhumanity. there were slave-owners who were kind, and slave-owners who were cruel. not far from the town of natchez, in the state of mississippi, lived two planters, whose lives illustrated the extremes of these distinct moral types. though their estates lay contiguous, their characters were as opposite, as could well be conceived in the scale of manhood and morality. colonel archibald armstrong--a true southerner of the old virginian aristocracy, who had entered the mississippi valley before the choctaw indians evacuated it--was a model of the kind slave-master; while ephraim darke--a massachusetts man, who had moved thither at a much later period--was as fair a specimen of the cruel. coming from new england, of the purest stock of the puritans--a people whose descendants have made much sacrifice in the cause of negro emancipation--this about darke may seem strange. it is, notwithstanding, a common tale; one which no traveller through the southern states can help hearing. for the southerner will not fail to tell him, that the hardest task-master to the slave is either one, who has been himself a slave, or descended from the pilgrim fathers, whose feet first touched american soil by the side of plymouth rock! having a respect for many traits in the character of these same pilgrim fathers, i would fain think the accusation exaggerated--if not altogether untrue--and that ephraim darke was an exceptional individual. to accuse _him_ of inhumanity was no exaggeration whatever. throughout the mississippi valley there could be nothing more heartless than his treatment of the sable helots, whose luckless lot it was to have him for a master. around his courts, and in his cotton-fields, the crack of the whip was heard habitually--its thong sharply felt by the victims of his caprice, or malice. the "cowhide" was constantly carried by himself, and his overseer. he had a son, too, who could wield it wickedly as either. none of the three ever went abroad without that pliant, painted, switch--a very emblem of devilish cruelty--in their hands; never returned home, without having used it in the castigation of some unfortunate "darkey," whose evil star had caused him to stray across their track, while riding the rounds of the plantation. a far different discipline was that of colonel armstrong; whose slaves seldom went to bed without a prayer poured forth, concluding with: "god bress de good massr;" while the poor whipped bondsmen of his neighbour, their backs oft smarting from the lash, nightly lay down, not always to sleep, but nearly always with curses on their lips--the name of the devil coupled with that of ephraim darke. the old story, of like cause followed by like result, must, alas! be chronicled in this case. the man of the devil prospered, while he of god came to grief. armstrong, open-hearted, free-handed, indulging in a too profuse hospitality, lived widely outside the income accruing from the culture of his cotton-fields, and in time became the debtor of darke, who lived as widely within his. notwithstanding the proximity of their estates, there was but little intimacy, and less friendship, between the two. the virginian--scion of an old scotch family, who had been gentry in the colonial times--felt something akin to contempt for his new england neighbour, whose ancestors had been steerage passengers in the famed "mayflower." false pride, perhaps, but natural to a citizen of the old dominion--of late years brought low enough. still, not much of this influenced the conduct of armstrong. for his dislike to darke he had a better, and more honourable, reason--the bad behaviour of the latter. this, notorious throughout the community, made for the massachusetts man many enemies; while in the noble mind of the mississippian it produced positive aversion. under these circumstances, it may seem strange there should be any intercourse, or relationship, between the two men. but there was--that of debtor and creditor--a lien not always conferring friendship. notwithstanding his dislike, the proud southerner had not been above accepting a loan from the despised northern, which the latter was but too eager to extend. the massachusetts man had long coveted the mississippian's fine estate; not alone from its tempting contiguity, but also because it looked like a ripe pear that must soon fall from the tree. with secret satisfaction he had observed the wasteful extravagance of its owner; a satisfaction increased on discovering the latter's impecuniosity. it became joy, almost openly exhibited, on the day when colonel armstrong came to him requesting a loan of twenty thousand dollars; which he consented to give, with an alacrity that would have appeared suspicious to any but a borrower. if he gave the money in great _glee_, still greater was that with which he contemplated the mortgage deed taken in exchange. for he knew it to be the first entering of a wedge, that in due time would ensure him possession of the _fee-simple_. all the surer, from a condition in that particular deed: _foreclosure, without time_. pressure from other quarters had forced planter armstrong to accept these terrible terms. as, darke, before locking it up in his drawer, glanced the document over, his eyes scintillating with the glare of greed triumphant, he said to himself, "this day's work has doubled the area of my acres, and the number of my niggers. armstrong's land, his slaves, his houses,-- everything he has, will soon be mine!" chapter two. a flat refusal. two years have elapsed since ephraim darke became the creditor of archibald armstrong. apparently, no great change has taken place in the relationship between the two men, though in reality much. the twenty thousand dollars' loan has been long ago dissipated, and the borrower is once more in need. it would be useless, idle, for him to seek a second mortgage in the same quarter; or in any other, since he can show no collateral. his property has been nearly all hypothecated in the deed to darke; who perceives his long-cherished dream on the eve of becoming a reality. at any hour he may cause foreclosure, turn colonel armstrong out of his estate, and enter upon possession. why does he not take advantage of the power, with which the legal code of the united states, as that existing all over the world, provides him? there is a reason for his not doing so, wide apart from any motive of mercy, or humanity. or of friendship either, though something erroneously considered akin to it. love hinders him from pouncing on the plantation of archibald armstrong, and appropriating it! not love in his own breast, long ago steeled against such a trifling affection. there only avarice has a home; cupidity keeping house, and looking carefully after the expenses. but there is a spendthrift who has also a shelter in ephraim darke's heart--one who does much to thwart his designs, oft-times defeating them. as already said, he has a son, by name richard; better known throughout the settlement as "dick"--abbreviations of nomenclature being almost universal in the south-western states. an only son--only child as well--motherless too--she who bore him having been buried long before the massachusetts man planted his roof-tree in the soil of mississippi. a hopeful scion he, showing no improvement on the paternal stock. rather the reverse; for the grasping avarice, supposed to be characteristic of the yankee, is not improved by admixture with the reckless looseness alleged to be habitual in the southerner. both these bad qualities have been developed in dick darke, each to its extreme. never was new englander more secretive and crafty; never mississippian more loose, or licentious. mean in the matter of personal expenditure, he is at the same time of dissipated and disorderly habits; the associate of the poker-playing, and cock-fighting, fraternity of the neighbourhood; one of its wildest spirits, without any of those generous traits oft coupled with such a character. as only son, he is heir-presumptive to all the father's property--slaves and plantation lands; and, being thoroughly in his father's confidence, he is aware of the probability of a proximate reversion to the slaves and plantation lands belonging to colonel armstrong. but much as dick darke may like money, there is that he likes more, even to covetousness--colonel armstrong's daughter. there are two of them-- helen and jessie--both grown girls,--motherless too--for the colonel is himself a widower. jessie, the younger, is bright-haired, of blooming complexion, merry to madness; in spirit, the personification of a romping elf; in physique, a sort of hebe. helen, on the other hand, is dark as gipsy, or jewess; stately as a queen, with the proud grandeur of juno. her features of regular classic type, form tall and magnificently moulded, amidst others she appears as a palm rising above the commoner trees of the forest. ever since her coming out in society, she has been universally esteemed the beauty of the neighbourhood--as belle in the balls of natchez. it is to her richard darke has extended his homage, and surrendered his heart. he is in love with her, as much as his selfish nature will allow-- perhaps the only unselfish passion ever felt by him. his father sanctions, or at all events does not oppose it. for the wicked son holds a wonderful ascendancy over a parent, who has trained him to wickedness equalling his own. with the power of creditor over debtor--a debt of which payment can be demanded at any moment, and not the slightest hope of the latter being able to pay it--the darkes seem to have the vantage ground, and may dictate their own terms. helen armstrong knows nought of the mortgage; no more, of herself being the cause which keeps it from foreclosure. little does she dream, that her beauty is the sole shield imposed between her father and impending ruin. possibly if she did, richard darke's attentions to her would be received with less slighting indifference. for months he has been paying them, whenever, and wherever, an opportunity has offered--at balls, _barbecues_, and the like. of late also at her father's house; where the power spoken of gives him not only admission, but polite reception, and hospitable entertainment, at the hands of its owner; while the consciousness of possessing it hinders him from observing, how coldly his assiduities are met by her to whom they are so warmly addressed. he wonders why, too. he knows that helen armstrong has many admirers. it could not be otherwise with one so splendidly beautiful, so gracefully gifted. but among them there is none for whom she has shown partiality. he has, himself, conceived a suspicion, that a young man, by name charles clancy--son of a decayed irish gentleman, living near--has found favour in her eyes. still, it is only a suspicion; and clancy has gone to texas the year before--sent, so said, by his father, to look out for a new home. the latter has since died, leaving his widow sole occupant of an humble tenement, with a small holding of land--a roadside tract, on the edge of the armstrong estate. rumour runs, that young clancy is about coming back--indeed, every day expected. that can't matter. the proud planter, armstrong, is not the man to permit of his daughter marrying a "poor white"--as richard darke scornfully styles his supposed rival--much less consent to the so bestowing of her hand. therefore no danger need be dreaded from that quarter. whether there need, or not, the suitor of helen armstrong at length resolves on bringing the affair to an issue. his love for her has become a strong passion, the stronger for being checked--restrained by her cold, almost scornful behaviour. this may be but coquetry. he hopes, and has a fancy it is. not without reason. for he is far from being ill-favoured; only in a sense moral, not physical. but this has not prevented him from making many conquests among backwood's belles; even some city celebrities living in natchez. all know he is rich; or will be, when his father fulfils the last conditions of his will--by dying. so fortified, so flattered, dick darke cannot comprehend why miss armstrong has not at once surrendered to him. is it because her haughty disposition hinders her from being too demonstrative? does she really love him, without giving sign? for months he has been cogitating in this uncertain way; and now determines upon knowing the truth. one morning he mounts his horse; rides across the boundary line between the two plantations, and on to colonel armstrong's house. entering, he requests an interview with the colonel's eldest daughter; obtains it; makes declaration of his love; asks her if she will have him for a husband; and in response receives a chilling negative. as he rides back through the woods, the birds are trilling among the trees. it is their merry morning lay, but it gives him no gladness. there is still ringing in his ears that harsh monosyllable, "_no_." the wild-wood songsters appear to echo it, as if mockingly; the blue jay, and red cardinal, seem scolding him for intrusion on their domain! having recrossed the boundary between the two plantations, he reins up and looks back. his brow is black with chagrin; his lips white with rancorous rage. it is suppressed no longer. curses come hissing through his teeth, along with them the words,-- "in less than six weeks these woods will be mine, and hang me, if i don't shoot every bird that has roost in them! then, miss helen armstrong, you'll not feel in such conceit with yourself. it will be different when you haven't a roof over your head". so good-bye, sweetheart! good-bye to you. "now, dad!" he continues, in fancy apostrophising his father, "you can take your own way, as you've been long wanting. yes, my respected parent; you shall be free to foreclose your mortgage; put in execution; sheriff's officers--anything you like." angrily grinding his teeth, he plunges the spur into his horse's ribs, and rides on--the short, but bitter, speech still echoing in his ears. chapter three. a forest post-office. from the harsh treatment of slaves sprang a result, little thought of by the inhuman master; though greatly detrimental to his interests. it caused them occasionally to abscond; so making it necessary to insert an advertisement in the county newspaper, offering a reward for the runaway. thus cruelty proved expensive. in planter darke's case, however, the cost was partially recouped by the cleverness of his son; who was a noted "nigger-catcher," and kept dogs for the especial purpose. he had a natural _penchant_ for this kind of chase; and, having little else to do, passed a good deal of his time scouring the country in pursuit of his father's advertised runaways. having caught them, he would claim the "bounty," just as if they belonged to a stranger. darke, _pere_, paid it without grudge or grumbling--perhaps the only disbursement he ever made in such mood. it was like taking out of one pocket to put into the other. besides, he was rather proud of his son's acquitting himself so shrewdly. skirting the two plantations, with others in the same line of settlements, was a cypress swamp. it extended along the edge of the great river, covering an area of many square miles. besides being a swamp, it was a network of creeksy bayous, and lagoons--often inundated, and only passable by means of skiff or canoe. in most places it was a slough of soft mud, where man might not tread, nor any kind of water-craft make way. over it, at all times, hung the obscurity of twilight. the solar rays, however bright above, could not penetrate its close canopy of cypress tops, loaded with that strangest of parasitical plants--the _tillandsia usneoides_. this tract of forest offered a safe place of concealment for runaway slaves; and, as such, was it noted throughout the neighbourhood. a "darkey" absconding from any of the contiguous plantations, was as sure to make for the marshy expanse, as would a chased rabbit to its warren. sombre and gloomy though it was, around its edge lay the favourite scouting-ground of richard darke. to him the cypress swamp was a precious preserve--as a coppice to the pheasant shooter, or a scrub-wood to the hunter of foxes. with the difference, that his game was human, and therefore the pursuit more exciting. there were places in its interior to which he had never penetrated-- large tracts unexplored, and where exploration could not be made without great difficulty. but for him to reach them was not necessary. the runaways who sought asylum in the swamp, could not always remain within its gloomy recesses. food must be obtained beyond its border, or starvation be their fate. for this reason the fugitive required some mode of communicating with the outside world. and usually obtained it, by means of a confederate--some old friend, and fellow-slave, on one of the adjacent plantations--privy to the secret of his hiding-place. on this necessity the negro-catcher most depended; often finding the stalk--or "still-hunt," in backwoods phraseology--more profitable than a pursuit with trained hounds. about a month after his rejection by miss armstrong, richard darke is out upon a chase; as usual along the edge of the cypress swamp, rather should it be called a search: since he has found no traces of the human game that has tempted him forth. this is a fugitive negro--one of the best field-hands belonging to his father's plantation--who has absented himself, and cannot be recalled. for several weeks "jupiter"--as the runaway is named--has been missing; and his description, with the reward attached, has appeared in the county newspaper. the planter's son, having a suspicion that he is secreted somewhere in the swamp, has made several excursions thither, in the hope of lighting upon his tracks. but "jupe" is an astute fellow, and has hitherto contrived to leave no sign, which can in any way contribute to his capture. dick darke is returning home, after an unsuccessful day's search, in anything but a cheerful mood. though not so much from having failed in finding traces of the missing slave. that is only a matter of money; and, as he has plenty, the disappointment can be borne. the thought embittering his spirit relates to another matter. he thinks of his scorned suit, and blighted love prospects. the chagrin caused him by helen armstrong's refusal has terribly distressed, and driven him to more reckless courses. he drinks deeper than ever; while in his cups he has been silly enough to let his boon companions become acquainted with his reason for thus running riot, making not much secret, either, of the mean revenge he designs for her who has rejected him. she is to be punished through her father. colonel armstrong's indebtedness to ephraim darke has become known throughout the settlement--all about the mortgage. taking into consideration the respective characters of the mortgagor and mortgagee, men shake their heads, and say that darke will soon own the armstrong plantation. all the sooner, since the chief obstacle to the fulfilment of his long-cherished design has been his son, and this is now removed. notwithstanding the near prospect of having his spite gratified, richard darke keenly feels his humiliation. he has done so ever since the day of his receiving it; and as determinedly has he been nursing his wrath. he has been still further exasperated by a circumstance which has lately occurred--the return of charles clancy from texas. someone has told him of clancy having been seen in company with helen armstrong--the two walking the woods _alone_! such an interview could not have been with her father's consent, but _clandestine_. so much the more aggravating to him--darke. the thought of it is tearing his heart, as he returns from his fruitless search after the fugitive. he has left the swamp behind, and is continuing on through a tract of woodland, which separates his father's plantation from that of colonel armstrong, when he sees something that promises relief to his perturbed spirit. it is a woman, making her way through the woods, coming towards him, from the direction of armstrong's house. she is not the colonel's daughter--neither one. nor does dick darke suppose it either. though seen indistinctly under the shadow of the trees, he identifies the approaching form as that of julia--a mulatto maiden, whose special duty it is to attend upon the young ladies of the armstrong family, "thank god for the devil's luck!" he mutters, on making her out. "it's jupiter's sweetheart; his juno or leda, yellow-hided as himself. _no_ doubt she's on her way to keep an appointment with him? no more, that i shall be present at the interview. two hundred dollars reward for old jupe, and the fun of giving the damned nigger a good `lamming,' once i lay hand on him. keep on, jule, girl! you'll track him up for me, better than the sharpest scented hound in my kennel." while making this soliloquy, the speaker withdraws himself behind a bush; and, concealed by its dense foliage, keeps his eye on the mulatto wench, still wending her way through the thick standing tree trunks. as there is no path, and the girl is evidently going by stealth, he has reason to believe she is on the errand conjectured. indeed he can have no doubt about her being on the way to an interview with jupiter; and he is now good as certain of soon discovering, and securing, the runaway who has so long contrived to elude him. after the girl has passed the place of his concealment--which she very soon does--he slips out from behind the bush, and follows her with stealthy tread, still taking care to keep cover between them. not long before she comes to a stop; under a grand magnolia, whose spreading branches, with their large laurel like leaves, shadow a vast circumference of ground. darke, who has again taken stand behind a fallen tree, where he has a full view of her movements, watches them with eager eyes. two hundred dollars at stake--two hundred on his own account--fifteen hundred for his father--jupe's market value--no wonder at his being all eyes, all ears, on the alert! what is his astonishment, at seeing the girl take a letter from her pocket, and, standing on tiptoe, drop it into a knot-hole in the magnolia! this done, she turns shoulder towards the tree; and, without staying longer under its shadow, glides back along the path by which she has come--evidently going home again! the negro-catcher is not only surprised, but greatly chagrined. he has experienced a double disappointment--the anticipation of earning two hundred dollars, and giving his old slave the lash: both pleasant if realised, but painful the thought in both to be foiled. still keeping in concealment, he permits julia to depart, not only unmolested, but unchallenged. there may be some secret in the letter to concern, though it may not console him. in any case, it will soon be his. and it soon is, without imparting consolation. rather the reverse. whatever the contents of that epistle, so curiously deposited, richard darke, on becoming acquainted with them, reels like a drunken man; and to save himself from falling, seeks support against the trunk of the tree! after a time, recovering, he re-reads the letter, and gazes at a picture--a photograph--also found within the envelope. then from his lips come words, low-muttered--words of menace, made emphatic by an oath. a man's name is heard among his mutterings, more than once repeated. as dick darke, after thrusting letter and picture into his pocket, strides away from the spot, his clenched teeth, with the lurid light scintillating in his eyes, to this man foretell danger--maybe death. chapter four. two good girls. the dark cloud, long lowering over colonel armstrong and his fortunes, is about to fall. a dialogue with his eldest daughter occurring on the same day--indeed in the same hour--when she refused richard darke, shows him to have been but too well aware of the prospect of impending ruin. the disappointed suitor had not long left the presence of the lady, who so laconically denied him, when another appears by her side. a man, too; but no rival of richard darke--no lover of helen armstrong. the venerable white-haired gentleman, who has taken darke's place, is her father, the old colonel himself. his air, on entering the room, betrays uneasiness about the errand of the planter's son--a suspicion there is something amiss. he is soon made certain of it, by his daughter unreservedly communicating the object of the interview. he says in rejoinder:-- "i supposed that to be his purpose; though, from his coming at this early hour, i feared something worse." these words bring a shadow over the countenance of her to whom they are addressed, simultaneous with a glance of inquiry from her grand, glistening eyes. first exclaiming, then interrogating, she says:-- "worse! feared! father, what should you be afraid of?" "never mind, my child; nothing that concerns you. tell me: in what way did you give him answer?" "in one little word. i simply said _no_." "that little word will, no doubt, be enough. o heaven! what is to become of us?" "dear father!" demands the beautiful girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder, with a searching look into his eyes; "why do you speak thus? are you angry with me for refusing him? surely you would not wish to see me the wife of richard darke?" "you do not love him, helen?" "love him! can you ask? love that man!" "you would not marry him?" "would not--could not. i'd prefer death." "enough; i must submit to my fate." "fate, father! what may be the meaning of this? there is some secret-- a danger? trust to me. let me know all." "i may well do that, since it cannot remain much longer a secret. there _is_ danger, helen--_the danger of debt_! my estate is mortgaged to the father of this fellow--so much as to put me completely in his power. everything i possess, land, houses, slaves, may become his at any hour; this day, if he so will it. he is sure to will it now. your little word `no,' will bring about a big change--the crisis i've been long apprehending. never mind! let it come! i must meet it like a man. it is for you, daughter--you and your sister--i grieve. my poor dear girls; what a change there will be in your lives, as your prospects! poverty, coarse fare, coarse garments to wear, and a log-cabin to live in! henceforth, this must be your lot. i can hold out hope of no other." "what of all that, father? i, for one, care not; and i'm sure sister will feel the same. but is there no way to--" "save me from bankruptcy, you'd say? you need not ask that. i have spent many a sleepless night thinking it there was. but no; there is only one--that one. it i have never contemplated, even for an instant, knowing it would not do. i was sure you did not love richard darke, and would not consent to marry him. you could not, my child?" helen armstrong does not make immediate answer, though there is one ready to leap to her lips. she hesitates giving it, from a thought, that it may add to the weight of unhappiness pressing upon her father's spirit. mistaking her silence, and perhaps with the spectre of poverty staring him in the face--oft inciting to meanness, even the noblest natures--he repeats the test interrogatory:-- "tell me, daughter! could you marry him?" "speak candidly," he continues, "and take time to reflect before answering. if you think you could not be contented--happy--with richard darke for your husband, better it should never be. consult your own heart, and do not be swayed by me, or my necessities. say, is the thing impossible?" "i have said. _it is impossible_!" for a moment both remain silent; the father drooping, spiritless, as if struck by a galvanic shock; the daughter looking sorrowful, as though she had given it. she soonest recovering, makes an effort to restore him. "dear father!" she exclaims, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and gazing tenderly into his eyes; "you speak of a change in our circumstances--of bankruptcy and other ills. let them come! for myself i care not. even if the alternative were death, i've told you--i tell you again--i would rather that, than be the wife of richard darke." "then his wife you'll never be! now, let the subject drop, and the ruin fall! we must prepare for poverty, and texas!" "texas, if you will, but not poverty. nothing of the kind. the wealth of affection will make you feel rich; and in a lowly log-hut, as in this grand house, you'll still have mine." so speaking, the fair girl flings herself upon her father's breast, her hand laid across his forehead, the white fingers soothingly caressing it. the door opens. another enters the room--another girl, almost fair as she, but brighter, and younger. 'tis jessie. "not only my affection," helen adds, at sight of the newcomer, "but hers as well. won't he, sister?" sister, wondering what it is all about, nevertheless sees something is wanted of her. she has caught the word "affection," at the same time observing an afflicted cast upon her father's countenance. this decides her; and, gliding forward, in another instant she is by his side, clinging to the opposite shoulder, with an arm around his neck. thus grouped, the three figures compose a family picture expressive of purest love. a pleasing tableau to one who knew nothing of what has thus drawn them together; or knowing it, could truly appreciate. for in the faces of all beams affection, which bespeaks a happy, if not prosperous, future-- without any doubting fear of either poverty, or texas. chapter five. a photograph in the forest. on the third day, after that on which richard darke abstracted the letter from the magnolia, a man is seen strolling along the edge of the cypress swamp. the hour is nearly the same, but the individual altogether different. only in age does he bear any similarity to the planter's son; for he is also a youth of some three or four and twenty. in all else he is unlike dick darke, as one man could well be to another. he is of medium size and height, with a figure pleasingly proportioned. his shoulders squarely set, and chest rounded out, tell of great strength; while limbs tersely knit, and a firm elastic tread betoken toughness and activity. features of smooth, regular outline--the jaws broad, and well balanced; the chin prominent; the nose nearly grecian-- while eminently handsome, proclaim a noble nature, with courage equal to any demand that may be made upon it. not less the glance of a blue-grey eye, unquailing as an eagle's. a grand shock of hair, slightly curled, and dark brown in colour, gives the finishing touch to his fine countenance, as the feather to a tyrolese hat. dressed in a sort of shooting costume, with jack-boots, and gaiters buttoned above them, he carries a gun; which, as can be seen, is a single-barrelled rifle; while at his heels trots a dog of large size, apparently a cross between stag-hound and mastiff, with a spice of terrier in its composition. such mongrels are not necessarily curs, but often the best breed for backwoods' sport; where the keenness of scent required to track a deer, needs supplementing by strength and staunchness, when the game chances, as it often does, to be a bear, a wolf, or a panther. the master of this trebly crossed canine is the man whose name rose upon the lips of richard darke, after reading the purloined epistle--charles clancy. to him was it addressed, and for him intended, as also the photograph found inside. several days have elapsed since his return from texas, having come back, as already known, to find himself fatherless. during the interval he has remained much at home--a dutiful son, doing all he can to console a sorrowing mother. only now and then has he sought relaxation in the chase, of which he is devotedly fond. on this occasion he has come down to the cypress swamp; but, having encountered no game, is going back with an empty bag. he is not in low spirits at his ill success; for he has something to console him--that which gives gladness to his heart--joy almost reaching delirium. she, who has won it, loves him. this she is helen armstrong. she has not signified as much, in words; but by ways equally expressive, and quite as convincing. they have met clandestinely, and so corresponded; the knot-hole in the magnolia serving them as a post-box. at first, only phrases of friendship in their conversation; the same in the letters thus surreptitiously exchanged. for despite clancy's courage among men, he is a coward in the presence of women--in hers more than any. for all this, at their latest interview, he had thrown aside his shyness, and spoken words of love--fervent love, in its last appeal. he had avowed himself wholly hers, and asked her to be wholly his. she declined giving him an answer _viva voce_, but promised it in writing. he will receive it in a letter, to be deposited in the place convened. he feels no offence at her having thus put him off. he believes it to have been but a whim of his sweetheart--the caprice of a woman, who has been so much nattered and admired. he knows, that, like the anne hathaway of shakespeare, helen armstrong "hath a way" of her own. for she is a girl of no ordinary character, but one of spirit, free and independent, consonant with the scenes and people that surrounded her youth. so far from being offended at her not giving him an immediate answer, he but admires her the more. like the proud eagle's mate, she does not condescend to be wooed as the soft cooing dove, nor yield a too easy acquiescence. still daily, hourly, does he expect the promised response. and twice, sometimes thrice, a day pays visit to the forest post-office. several days have elapsed since their last interview; and yet he has found no letter lying. little dreams he, that one has been sent, with a _carte de visite_ enclosed; and less of both being in the possession of his greatest enemy on earth. he is beginning to grow uneasy at the delay, and shape conjectures as to the cause. all the more from knowing, that a great change is soon to take place in the affairs of the armstrong family. a knowledge which emboldened him to make the proposal he has made. and now, his day's hunting done, he is on his way for the tract of woodland in which stands the sweet trysting tree. he has no thought of stopping, or turning aside; nor would he do so for any small game. but at this moment a deer--a grand antlered stag--comes "loping" along. before he can bring his gun to bear upon it, the animal is out of sight; having passed behind the thick standing trunks of the cypresses. he restrains his hound, about to spring off on the slot. the stag has not seen him; and, apparently, going unscared, he hopes to stalk, and again get sight of it. he has not proceeded over twenty paces, when a sound fills his ears, as well as the woods around. it is the report of a gun, fired by one who cannot be far off. and not at the retreating stag, but himself! he feels that the bullet has hit him. this, from a stinging sensation in his arm, like the touch of red-hot iron, or a drop of scalding water. he might not know it to be a bullet, but for the crack heard simultaneously--this coming from behind. the wound, fortunately but a slight one, does not disable him; and, like a tiger stung by javelins, he is round in an instant, ready to return the fire. there is no one in sight! as there has been no warning--not a word--he can have no doubt of the intent: some one meaning to murder him! he is sure about its being an attempt to assassinate him, as of the man who has made it. richard darke--certain, as if the crack of the gun had been a voice pronouncing the name. clancy's eyes, flashing angrily, interrogate the forest. the trees stand close, the spaces between shadowy and sombre. for, as said, they are cypresses, and the hour twilight. he can see nothing save the huge trunks, and their lower limbs, garlanded with ghostly _tillandsia_ here and there draping down to the earth. this baffles him, both by its colour and form. the grey gauze-like festoonery, having a resemblance to ascending smoke, hinders him from perceiving that of the discharged gun. he can see none. it must have whiffed up suddenly, and become commingled with the moss? it does not matter much. neither the twilight obscurity, nor that caused by the overshadowing trees, can prevent his canine companion from discovering the whereabouts of the would-be assassin. on hearing the shot the hound has harked back; and, at some twenty paces off, brought up beside a huge trunk, where it stands fiercely baying, as if at a bear. the tree is buttressed, with "knees" several feet in height rising around. in the dim light, these might easily be mistaken for men. clancy is soon among them; and sees crouching between two pilasters, the man who meant to murder him--richard darke as conjectured. darke makes no attempt at explanation. clancy calls for none. his rifle is already cocked; and, soon as seeing his adversary, he raises it to his shoulder, exclaiming:-- "scoundrel! you've had the first shot. it's my turn now." darke does not remain inactive, but leaps--forth from his lurking-place, to obtain more freedom for his arms. the buttresses hinder him from having elbow room. he also elevates his gun; but, perceiving it will be too late, instead of taking aim, he lowers the piece again, and dodges behind the tree. the movement, quick and subtle, as a squirrel's bound, saves him. clancy fires without effect. his ball but pierces through the skirt of darke's coat, without touching his body. with a wild shout of triumph, the latter advances upon his adversary, whose gun is now empty. his own, a double-barrel, has a bullet still undischarged. deliberately bringing the piece to his shoulder, and covering the victim he is now sure of, he says derisively,-- "what a devilish poor shot you've made, mister charlie clancy! a sorry marksman--to miss a man scarce six feet from the muzzle of your gun! i shan't miss you. turn about's fair play. i've had the first, and i'll have the last. dog! take your _death shot_!" while delivering the dread speech, his finger presses the trigger; the crack comes, with the flash and fiery jet. for some seconds clancy is invisible, the sulphurous smoke forming a nimbus around him. when it ascends, he is seen prostrate upon the earth; the blood gushing from a wound in his breast, and spurting over his waistcoat. he appears writhing in his death agony. and evidently thinks so himself, from his words spoken in slow, choking utterance,-- "richard darke--you have killed--murdered me!" "i meant to do it," is the unpitying response. "o heavens! you horrid wretch! why--why--" "bah! what are you blubbering about? you know why. if not, i shall tell you--_helen armstrong_, after all, it isn't jealousy that's made me kill you; only your impudence, to suppose you had a chance with her. you hadn't; she never cared a straw for you. perhaps, before dying, it may be some consolation for you to know she didn't. i've got the proof. since it isn't likely you'll ever see herself again, it may give you a pleasure to look at her portrait. here it is! the sweet girl sent it me this very morning, with her autograph attached, as you see. a capital likeness, isn't it?" the inhuman wretch stooping down, holds the photograph before the eyes of the dying man, gradually growing dim. but only death could hinder them from turning towards that sun-painted picture--the portrait of her who has his heart. he gazes on it lovingly, but not long. for the script underneath claims his attention. in this he recognises her handwriting, well-known to him. terrible the despair that sweeps through his soul, as he deciphers it:-- "_helen armstrong_.--_for him she loves_." the picture is in the possession of richard darke. to him have the sweet words been vouchsafed! "a charming creature!" darke tauntingly continues, kissing the carte, and pouring the venomous speech into his victim's ear. "it's the very counterpart of her sweet self. as i said, she sent it me this morning. come, clancy! before giving up the ghost, tell me what you think of it. isn't it an excellent likeness?" to the inhuman interrogatory clancy makes no response--either by word, look, or gesture. his lips are mute, his eyes without light of life, his limbs and body motionless as the mud on which they lie. a short, but profane, speech terminates the terrible episode; four words of most heartless signification:-- "damn him; he's dead!" chapter six. a coon-chase interrupted. notwithstanding the solitude of the place where the strife, apparently fatal, has occurred, and the slight chances of its being seen, its sounds have been heard. the shots, the excited speeches, and angry exclamations, have reached the ears of one who can well interpret them. this is a coon-hunter. there is no district in the southern states without its coon-hunter. in most, many of them; but in each, one who is noted. and, notedly, he is a negro. the pastime is too tame, or too humble, to tempt the white man. sometimes the sons of "poor white trash" take part in it; but it is usually delivered over to the "darkey." in the old times of slavery every plantation could boast of one, or more, of these sable nimrods; and they are not yet extinct. to them coon-catching is a profit, as well as sport; the skins keeping them in tobacco--and whisky, when addicted to drinking it. the flesh, too, though little esteemed by white palates, is a _bonne-bouche_ to the negro, with whom animal food is a scarce commodity. it often furnishes him with the substance for a savoury roast. the plantation of ephraim darke is no exception to the general rule. it, too, has its coon-hunter--a negro named, or nicknamed, "blue bill;" the qualifying term bestowed, from a cerulean tinge, that in certain lights appears upon the surface of his sable epidermis. otherwise he is black as ebony. blue bill is a mighty hunter of his kind, passionately fond of the coon-chase--too much, indeed, for his own personal safety. it carries him abroad, when the discipline of the plantation requires him to be at home; and more than once, for so absenting himself, have his shoulders been scored by the "cowskin." still the punishment has not cured him of his proclivity. unluckily for richard darke, it has not. for on the evening of clancy's being shot down, as described, blue bill chances to be abroad; and, with a small cur, which he has trained to his favourite chase, is scouring the timber near the edge of the cypress swamp. he has "treed" an old he-coon, and is just preparing to ascend to the creature's nest--a cavity in a sycamore high up--when a deer comes dashing by. soon after a shot startles him. he is more disturbed at the peculiar crack, than by the mere fact of its being the report of a gun. his ear, accustomed to such sounds, tells him the report has proceeded from a fowling-piece, belonging to his young master--just then the last man he would wish to meet. he is away from the "quarter" without "pass," or permission of any kind. his first impulse is, to continue the ascent of the sycamore, and conceal himself among its branches. but his dog, remaining below--that will betray him? while hurriedly reflecting on what he had best do, he hears a second shot. then a third, coming quickly after; while preceding, and mingling with the reports are men's voices, apparently in mad expostulation. he hears, too, the angry growling of a hound, at intervals barking and baying. "gorramity!" mutters blue bill; "dar's a skrimmage goin' on dar--a _fight_, i reck'n, an' seemin' to be def! clar enuf who dat fight's between. de fuss shot wa' mass' dick's double-barrel; de oder am charl clancy rifle. by golly! 'taint safe dis child be seen hya, no how. whar kin a hide maseff?" again he glances upward, scanning the sycamore: then down at his dog; and once more to the trunk of the tree. this is embraced by a creeper-- a gigantic grape-vine--up which an ascent may easily be made; so easily, there need be no difficulty in carrying the cur along. it was the ladder he intended using to get at the treed coon. with the fear of his young master coming past--and if so, surely "cow-hiding" him--he feels there is no time to be wasted in vacillation. nor does he waste any. without further stay, he flings his arm around the coon-dog: raises the unresisting animal from the earth; and "swarms" up the creeper, like a she-bear carrying her cub. in ten seconds after, he is snugly ensconced in a crotch of the sycamore; screened from observation of any one who may pass underneath, by the profuse foliage of the parasite. feeling fairly secure, he once more sets himself to listen. and, listening attentively, he hears the same voices as before. but not any longer in angry ejaculation. the tones are tranquil, as though the two men were now quietly conversing. one says but a word or two; the other all. then the last alone appears to speak, as if in soliloquy, or from the first failing to make response. the sudden transition of tone has in it something strange--a contrast inexplicable. the coon-hunter can tell, that he continuing to talk is his young master, richard darke; though he cannot catch, the words, much less make out their meaning. the distance is too great, and the current of sound interrupted by the thick standing trunks of the cypresses. at length, also, the monologue ends; soon after, succeeded by a short exclamatory phrase, in voice louder and more earnest. then there is silence; so profound, that blue bill hears but his own heart, beating in loud sonorous thumps--louder from his ribs being contiguous to the hollow trunk of the tree. chapter seven. murder without remorse. the breathless silence, succeeding darke's profane speech, is awe-inspiring; death-like, as though every living creature in the forest had been suddenly struck dumb, or dead, too. unspeakably, incredibly atrocious is the behaviour of the man who has remained master of the ground. during the contest, dick darke has shown the cunning of the fox, combined with the fiercer treachery of the tiger; victorious, his conduct seems a combination of the jackal and vulture. stooping over his fallen foe, to assure himself that the latter no longer lives, he says,-- "dead, i take it." these are his cool words; after which, as though still in doubt, he bends lower, and listens. at the same time he clutches the handle of his hunting knife, as with the intent to plunge its blade into the body. he sees there is no need. it is breathless, almost bloodless--clearly a corpse! believing it so, he resumes his erect attitude, exclaiming in louder tone, and with like profanity as before,-- "yes, dead, damn him!" as the assassin bends over the body of his fallen foe, he shows no sign of contrition, for the cruel deed he has done. no feeling save that of satisfied vengeance; no emotion that resembles remorse. on the contrary, his cold animal eyes continue to sparkle with jealous hate; while his hand has moved mechanically to the hilt of his knife, as though he meant to mutilate the form he has laid lifeless. its beauty, even in death, seems to embitter his spirit! but soon, a sense of danger comes creeping over him, and fear takes shape in his soul. for, beyond doubt, he has done murder. "no!" he says, in an effort at self-justification. "nothing of the sort. i've killed him; that's true; but he's had the chance to kill me. they'll see that his gun's discharged; and here's his bullet gone through the skirt of my coat. by thunder, 'twas a close shave!" for a time he stands reflecting--his glance now turned towards the body, now sent searchingly through the trees, as though in dread of some one coming that way. not much likelihood of this. the spot is one of perfect solitude, as is always a cypress forest. there is no path near, accustomed to be trodden by the traveller. the planter has no business among those great buttressed trunks. the woodman will never assail them with his axe. only a stalking hunter, or perhaps some runaway slave, is at all likely to stray thither. again soliloquising, he says,-- "shall i put a bold face upon it, and confess to having killed him? i can say we met while out hunting; quarrelled, and fought--a fair fight; shot for shot; my luck to have the last. will that story stand?" a pause in the soliloquy; a glance at the prostrate form; another, which interrogates the scene around, taking in the huge unshapely trunks, their long outstretched limbs, with the pall-like festoonery of spanish moss; a thought about the loneliness of the place, and its fitness for concealing a dead body. like the lightning's flashes, all this flits through the mind of the murderer. the result, to divert him from his half-formed resolution-- perceiving its futility. "it won't do," he mutters, his speech indicating the change. "no, that it won't! better say nothing about what's happened. they're not likely to look for him here..." again he glances inquiringly around, with a view to secreting the corpse. he has made up his mind to this. a sluggish creak meanders among the trees, some two hundred yards from the spot. at about a like distance below, it discharges itself into the stagnant reservoir of the swamp. its waters are dark, from the overshadowing of the cypresses, and deep enough for the purpose he is planning. but to carry the body thither will require an effort of strength; and to drag it would be sure to leave traces. in view of this difficulty, he says to himself,-- "i'll let it lie where it is. no one ever comes along hero--not likely. at the same time, i take it, there can be no harm in hiding him a little. so, charley clancy, if i have sent you to kingdom come, i shan't leave your bones unburied. your ghost might haunt me, if i did. to hinder that you shall have interment." in the midst of this horrid mockery, he rests his gun against a tree, and commences dragging the spanish moss from the branches above. the beard-like parasite comes off in flakes--in armfuls. half a dozen he flings over the still palpitating corpse; then pitches on top some pieces of dead wood, to prevent any stray breeze from sweeping off the hoary shroud. after strewing other tufts around, to conceal the blood and boot tracks, he rests from his labour, and for a time stands surveying what he has done. at length seeming satisfied, he again grasps hold of his gun; and is about taking departure from the place, when a sound, striking his ear, causes him to start. no wonder, since it seems the voice of one wailing for the dead! at first he is affrighted, fearfully so; but recovers himself on learning the cause. "only the dog!" he mutters, perceiving clancy's hound at a distance, among the trees. on its master being shot down, the animal had scampered off--perhaps fearing a similar fate. it had not gone far, and is now returning--by little and little, drawing nearer to the dangerous spot. the creature seems struggling between two instincts--affection for its fallen master, and fear for itself. as darke's gun is empty, he endeavours to entice the dog within reach of his knife. despite his coaxing, it will not come! hastily ramming a cartridge into the right-hand barrel, he aims, and fires. the shot takes effect; the ball passing through the fleshy part of the dog's neck. only to crease the skin, and draw forth a spurt of blood. the hound hit, and further frightened, gives out a wild howl, and goes off, without sign of return. equally wild are the words that leap from the lips of richard darke, as he stands gazing after. "great god!" he cries; "i've done an infernal foolish thing. the cur will go home to clancy's house. that'll tell a tale, sure to set people searching. ay, and it may run back here, guiding them to the spot. holy hell!" while speaking, the murderer turns pale. it is the first time for him to experience real fear. in such an out-of-the-way place he has felt confident of concealing the body, and along with it the bloody deed. then, he had not taken the dog into account, and the odds were in his favour. now, with the latter adrift, they are heavily against him. it needs no calculation of chances to make this clear. nor is it any doubt which causes him to stand hesitating. his irresolution springs from uncertainty as to what course he shall pursue. one thing certain--he must not remain there. the hound has gone off howling. it is two miles to the widow clancy's house; but there is an odd squatter's cabin and clearing between. a dog going in that guise, blood-bedraggled, in full cry of distress, will be sure of being seen-- equally sure to raise an alarm. on the probable, or possible, contingencies dick darke does not stand long reflecting. despite its solitude, the cypress forest is not the place for tranquil thought--at least, not now for him. far off through the trees he can hear the wail of the wounded molossian. is it fancy, or does he also hear human voices? he stays not to be sure. beside that gory corpse, shrouded though it be, he dares not remain a moment longer. hastily shouldering his gun, he strikes off through the trees; at first in quick step; then in double; this increasing to a rapid run. he retreats in a direction contrary to that taken by the dog. it is also different from the way leading to his father's house. it forces him still further into the swamp--across sloughs, and through soft mud, where he makes footmarks. though he has carefully concealed clancy's corpse, and obliterated all other traces of the strife, in his "scare," he does not think of those he is now making. the murderer is only--cunning before the crime. after it, if he have conscience, or be deficient in coolness, he loses self-possession, and is pretty sure to leave behind something which will furnish a clue for the detective. so is it with richard darke. as he retreats from the scene of his diabolical deed, his only thought is to put space between himself and the spot where he has shed innocent blood; to get beyond earshot of those canine cries, that seem commingled with the shouts of men--the voices of avengers! chapter eight. the coon-hunter cautious. during the time that darke is engaged in covering up clancy's body, and afterwards occupied in the attempt to kill his dog, the coon-hunter, squatted in the sycamore fork, sticks to his seat like "death to a dead nigger." and all the time trembling. not without reason. for the silence succeeding the short exclamatory speech has not re-assured him. he believes it to be but a lull, denoting some pause in the action, and that one, or both, of the actors is still upon the ground. if only one, it will be his master, whose monologue was last heard. during the stillness, somewhat prolonged, he continues to shape conjectures and put questions to himself, as to what can have been the _fracas_, and its cause. undoubtedly a "shooting scrape" between dick darke and charles clancy. but how has it terminated, or is the end yet come? has one of the combatants been killed, or gone away? or have both forsaken the spot where they have been trying to spill each other's blood? while thus interrogating himself, a new sound disturbs the tranquillity of the forest--the same, which the assassin at first fancied was the voice of one wailing for his victim. the coon-hunter has no such delusion. soon as hearing, he recognises the tongue of a stag-hound, knowing it to be clancy's. he is only astray about its peculiar tone, now quite changed. the animal is neither barking nor baying; nor yet does it yelp as if suffering chastisement. the soft tremulous whine, that comes pealing in prolonged reverberation through the trunks of the cypresses, proclaims distress of a different kind--as of a dog asleep and dreaming! and now, once more a man's voice, his master's. it too changed in tone. no longer in angry exclaim, or quiet conversation, but as if earnestly entreating; the speech evidently not addressed to clancy, but the hound. strange all this; and so thinks the coon-hunter. he has but little time to dwell on it, before another sound waking the echoes of the forest, interrupts the current of his reflections. another shot! this time, as twice before, the broad round boom of a smooth-bore, so different from the short sharp "spang" of a rifle. thoroughly versed in the distinction--indeed an adept--blue bill knows from whose gun the shot has been discharged. it is the double-barrel belonging to richard darke. all the more reason for him to hug close to his concealment. and not the less to be careful about the behaviour of his own dog, which he is holding in hard embrace. for hearing the bound, the cur is disposed to give response; would do so but for the muscular fingers of its master closed chokingly around its throat, at intervals detached to give it a cautionary cuff. after the shot the stag-hound continues its lugubrious cries; but again with altered intonation, and less distinctly heard; as though the animal had gone farther off, and were still making away. but now a new noise strikes upon the coon-hunter's ears; one at first slight, but rapidly growing louder. it is the tread of footsteps, accompanied by a swishing among the palmettoes, that form an underwood along the edge of the swamp. some one is passing through them, advancing towards the tree where he is concealed. more than ever does he tremble on his perch; tighter than ever clutching the throat of his canine companion. for he is sure, that the man whose footsteps speak approach, is his master, or rather his master's son. the sounds seem to indicate great haste--a retreat rapid, headlong, confused. on which the peccant slave bases a hope of escaping observation, and too probable chastisement. correct in his conjecture, as in the prognostication, in a few seconds after he sees richard darke coming between the trees; running as for very life--the more like it that he goes crouchingly; at intervals stopping to look back and listen, with chin almost touching his shoulder! when opposite the sycamore--indeed under it--he makes pause longer than usual. the perspiration stands in beads upon his forehead, pours down his cheeks, over his eyebrows, almost blinding him. he whips a kerchief out of his coat pocket, and wipes it off. while so occupied, he does not perceive that he has let something drop--something white that came out along with the kerchief. replacing the piece of cambric he hurries on again, leaving it behind; on, on, till the dull thud of his footfall, and the crisp rustling of the stiff fan-like leaves, become both blended with the ordinary noises of the forest. then, but not before, does blue bill think of forsaking the fork. descending from his irksome seat, he approaches the white thing left lying on the ground--a letter enveloped in the ordinary way. he takes it up, and sees it has been already opened. he thinks not of drawing out the sheet folded inside. it would be no use; since the coon-hunter cannot read. still, an instinct tells him, the little bit of treasure-trove may some time, and in some way, prove useful. so forecasting, he slips it into his pocket. this done he stands reflecting. no noise to disturb him now. darke's footsteps have died away in the distance, leaving swamp and cypress forest restored to their habitual stillness. the only sound, blue bill hears, is the beating of his own heart, yet loud enough. no longer thinks he of the coon he has succeeded in treeing. the animal, late devoted to certain death, will owe its escape to an accident, and may now repose securely within its cave. its pursuer has other thoughts--emotions, strong enough to drive coon-hunting clean out of his head. among these are apprehensions about his own safety. though unseen by richard darke--his presence there unsuspected--he knows that an unlucky chance has placed him in a position of danger. that a sinister deed has been done he is sure. under the circumstances, how is he to act? proceed to the place whence the shots came, and ascertain what has actually occurred? at first he thinks of doing this; but surrenders the intention. affrighted by what is already known to him, he dares not know more. his young master may be a murderer? the way in which he was retreating almost said as much. is he, blue bill, to make himself acquainted with the crime, and bear witness against him who has committed it? as a slave, he knows his testimony will count for little in a court of justice. and as the slave of ephraim darke, as little would his life be worth after giving it. the last reflection decides him; and, still carrying the coon-dog under his arm, he parts from the spot, in timid skulking gait, never stopping, not feeling safe, till he finds himself inside the limits of the "negro quarter." chapter nine. an assassin in retreat. athwart the thick timber, going as one pursued--in a track straight as the underwood will allow--breaking through it like a chased bear--now stumbling over a fallen log, now caught in a trailing grape-vine-- richard darke flees from the place where he has laid his rival low. he makes neither stop, nor stay. if so, only for a few instants, just long enough to listen, and if possible learn whether he is being followed. whether or not, he fancies it; again starting off, with terror in his looks, and trembling in his limbs. the _sangfroid_ he exhibited while bending over the dead body of his victim, and afterwards concealing it, has quite forsaken him now. then he was confident, there could be no witness of the deed--nothing to connect him with it as the doer. since, there is a change--the unthought-of presence of the dog having produced it. or, rather, the thought of the animal having escaped. this, and his own imagination. for more than a mile he keeps on, in headlong reckless rushing. until fatigue overtaking him, his terror becomes less impulsive, his fancies freer from exaggeration; and, believing himself far enough from the scene of danger, he at length desists from flight, and comes to a dead stop. sitting down upon a log, he draws forth his pocket-handkerchief, and wipes the sweat from his face. for he is perspiring at every pore, panting, palpitating. he now finds time to reflect; his first reflection being the absurdity of his making such precipitate retreat; his next, its imprudence. "i've been a fool for it," he mutters. "suppose that some one has seen me? 'twill only have made things worse. and what have i been running away from? a dead body, and a living dog! why should i care for either? even though the adage be true--about a live dog better than a dead lion. let me hope the hound won't tell a tale upon me. for certain the shot hit him. that's nothing. who could say what sort of ball, or the kind of gun it came from? no danger in that. i'd be stupid to think there could be. well, it's all over now, and the question is: what next?" for some minutes he remains upon the log, with the gun resting across his knees, and his head bent over the barrels. he appears engaged in some abstruse calculation. a new thought has sprang up in his mind--a scheme requiring all his intellectual power to elaborate. "i shall keep that tryst," he says, in soliloquy, seeming at length to have settled it. "yes; i'll meet her under the magnolia. who can tell what changes may occur in the heart of a woman? in history i had a royal namesake--an english king, with an ugly hump on his shoulders--as he's said himself, `deformed, unfinished, sent into the world scarce half made up,' so that the `dogs barked at _him_,' just as this brute of clancy's has been doing at me. and this royal richard, shaped `so lamely and unfashionable,' made court to a woman, whose husband he had just assassinated--more than a woman, a proud queen--and more than wooed, he subdued her. this ought to encourage me; the better that i, richard darke, am neither halt, nor hunchbacked. no, nor yet unfashionable, as many a mississippian girl says, and more than one is ready to swear. "proud helen armstrong may be, and is; proud as england's queen herself. for all that, i've got something to subdue her--a scheme, cunning as that of my royal namesake. may god, or the devil, grant me like success!" at the moment of giving utterance to the profane prayer, he rises to his feet. then, taking out his watch, consults it. it is too dark for him to see the dial; but springing open the glass, he gropes against it, feeling for the hands. "half-past nine," he mutters, after making out the time. "ten is the hour of her assignation. no chance for me to get home before, and then over to armstrong's wood-ground. it's more than two miles from here. what matters my going home? nor any need changing this dress. she won't notice the hole in the skirt. if she do, she wouldn't think of what caused it--above all it's being a bullet. well, i must be off! it will never do to keep the young lady waiting. if she don't feel disappointed at seeing me, bless her! if she do, i shall curse her! what's passed prepares me for either event. in any case, i shall have satisfaction for the slight she's put upon me. by god i'll get that!" he is moving away, when a thought occurs staying him. he is not quite certain about the exact hour of helen armstrong's tryst, conveyed in her letter to clancy. in the madness of his mind ever since perusing that epistle, no wonder he should confuse circumstances, and forget dates. to make sure, he plunges his hand into the pocket, where he deposited both letter and photograph--after holding the latter before the eyes of his dying foeman, and witnessing the fatal effect. with all his diabolical hardihood, he had been awed by this--so as to thrust the papers into his pocket, hastily, carelessly. they are no longer there! he searches in his other pockets--in all of them, with like result. he examines his bullet-pouch and gamebag. but finds no letter, no photograph, not a scrap of paper, in any! the stolen epistle, its envelope, the enclosed _carte de visite_--all are absent. after ransacking his pockets, turning them inside out, he comes to the conclusion that the precious papers are lost. it startles, and for a moment dismays him. where are they? he must have let them fall in his hasty retreat through the trees; or left them by the dead body. shall he go back in search of them? no--no--no! he does not dare to return upon that track. the forest path is too sombre, too solitary, now. by the margin of the dank lagoon, under the ghostly shadow of the cypresses, he might meet the ghost of the man murdered! and why should he go back? after all, there is no need; nothing in the letter which can in any way compromise him. why should he care to recover it? "it may go to the devil, her picture along! let both rot where i suppose i must have dropped them--in the mud, or among the palmettoes. no matter where. but it does matter, my being under the magnolia at the right time, to meet her. then shall i learn my fate--know it, for better, for worse. if the former, i'll continue to believe in the story of richard plantagenet; if the latter, richard darke won't much care what becomes of him." so ending his strange soliloquy, with a corresponding cast upon his countenance, the assassin rebuttons his coat--thrown open in search for the missing papers. then, flinging the double-barrelled fowling-piece-- the murder-gun--over his sinister shoulder, he strides off to keep an appointment not made for him, but for the man he has murdered! chapter ten. the eve of departure. the evil day has arrived; the ruin, foreseen, has fallen. the mortgage deed, so long held in menace over the head of archibald armstrong--suspended, as it were, by a thread, like the sword of damocles--is to be put into execution. darke has demanded immediate payment of the debt, coupled with threat of foreclosure. the demand is a month old, the threat has been carried out, and the foreclosure effected. the thread having been cut, the keen blade of adversity has come down, severing the tie which attached colonel armstrong to his property, as it to him. yesterday, he was owner, reputedly, of one of the finest plantations along the line of the mississippi river, an hundred able-bodied negroes hoeing cotton in his fields, with fifty more picking it from the pod, and "ginning" the staple clear of seed; to-day, he is but their owner in seeming, ephraim darke being this in reality. and in another day the apparent ownership will end: for darke has given his debtor notice to yield up houses, lands, slaves, plantation-stock--in short, everything he possesses. in vain has armstrong striven against this adverse fate; in vain made endeavours to avert it. when men are falling, false friends grow falser; even true ones becoming cold. sinister chance also against him; a time of panic--a crisis in the money-market--as it always is on such occasions, when interest runs high, and _second_ mortgages are sneered at by those who grant loans. as no one--neither friend nor financial speculator--comes to armstrong's rescue, he has no alternative but submit. too proud, to make appeal to his inexorable creditor--indeed deeming it idle--he vouchsafes no answer to the notice of foreclosure, beyond saying: "let it be done." at a later period he gives ear to a proposal, coming from the mortgagee: to put a valuation upon the property, and save the expenses of a public sale, by disposing of it privately to darke himself. to this he consents; less with a view to the convenience of the last, than because his sensitive nature recoils from the vulgarism of the first. tell me a more trying test to the delicate sensibilities of a gentleman, or his equanimity, than to see his gate piers pasted over with the black and white show bills of the auctioneer; a strip of stair carpet dangling down from one of his bedroom windows, and a crowd of hungry harpies clustered around his door-stoop; some entering with eyes that express keen concupiscence; others coming out with countenances more beatified, bearing away his penates--jeering and swearing over them--insulting the household gods he has so long held in adoration. ugh! a hideous, horrid sight--a spectacle of pandemonium! with a vision of such domestic iconoclasm flitting before his mind--not a dream, but a reality, that will surely arise by letting his estate go to the hammer--colonel armstrong accepts darke's offer to deliver everything over in a lump, and for a lamp sum. the conditions have been some time settled; and armstrong now knows the worst. some half-score slaves he reserves; the better terms secured to his creditor by private bargain enabling him to obtain this concession. several days have elapsed since the settlement came to a conclusion--the interval spent in preparation for the change. a grand one, too; which contemplates, not alone leaving the old home, but the state in which it stands. the fallen man shrinks from further association with those who have witnessed his fall. not but that he will leave behind many friends, faithful and true. still to begin life again in their midst-- to be seen humbly struggling at the bottom of the ladder on whose top he once proudly reposed--that would indeed be unendurable. he prefers to carry out the design, he once thought only a dreamy prediction--migrating to texas. there, he may recommence life with more hopeful energy, and lesser sense of humiliation. the moving day has arrived, or rather the eve preceding it. on the morrow, colonel archibald armstrong is called upon by the exigency of human laws,--oft more cruel, if not more inexorable, than those of nature--to vacate the home long his. 'tis night. darkness has spread its sable pall over forest and field, and broods upon the brighter surface of the stream gliding between--the mighty mississippi. all are equally obscured--from a thick veil of lead-coloured cloud, at the sun's setting, drawn over the canopy of the sky. any light seen is that of the fire-flies, engaged in their nocturnal cotillon; while the sounds heard are nightly noises in a southern states forest, semi-tropical, as the wild creatures who have their home in it. the green _cicada_ chirps continuously, "katy did-- katy did;" the _hyladae_, though reptiles, send forth an insect note; while the sonorous "gluck-gluck" of the huge _rana pipiens_ mingles with the melancholy "whoo-whooa" of the great horned owl; which, unseen, sweeps on silent wing through the shadowy aisles of the forest, leading the lone traveller to fancy them peopled by departed spirits in torment from the pains of purgatory. not more cheerful are the sounds aloft: for there are such, far above the tops of the tallest trees. there, the nightjar plies its calling, not so blind but that it can see in deepest darkness the smallest moth or midge, that, tired of perching on the heated leaves essays to soar higher. two sorts of these goatsuckers, utter cries quite distinct; though both expressing aversion to "william." one speaks of him as still alive, mingling pity with its hostile demand: "whippoor-will!" the other appears to regard him as dead, and goes against his marital relict, at intervals calling out: "chuck will's widow!" other noises interrupt the stillness of a mississippian night. high up in heaven the "honk" of a wild gander leading his flock in the shape of an inverted v; at times the more melodious note of a trumpeter swan; or from the top of a tall cottonwood, or cypress, the sharp saw-filing shriek of the white-headed eagle, angered by some stray creature coming too close, and startling it from its slumbers. below, out of the swamp sedge, rises the mournful cry of the quabird--the american bittern--and from the same, the deep sonorous bellow of that ugliest animal on earth--the alligator. where fields adjoin the forest--plantation clearings--oft few and far between--there are sounds more cheerful. the song of the slave, his day's work done, sure to be preceded, or followed, by peals of loud jocund laughter; the barking of the house-dog, indicative of a well-watched home; with the lowing of cattle, and other domestic calls that proclaim it worth watching. a galaxy of little lights, in rows like street lamps, indicate the "negro quarter;" while in the foreground a half-dozen windows of larger size, and brighter sheen, show where stands the "big house"--the planter's own dwelling. to that of colonel armstrong has come a night of exceptional character, when its lights are seen burning later than usual. the plantation clock has tolled nine, nearly an hour ago. still light shines through the little windows of the negro cabins, while the larger ones of the "big house" are all aflame. and there are candles being carried to and fro, lighting up a scene of bustling activity: while the clack of voices-- none of them in laughter--is heard commingled with the rattling of chains, and the occasional stroke of a hammer. the forms of men and women, are seen to flit athwart the shining windows, all busy about something. there is no mystery in the matter. it is simply the planter, with his people, occupied in preparation for the morrow's moving. openly, and without restraint: for, although so near the mid hour of night, it is no midnight flitting. the only individual, who appears to act surreptitiously, is a young girl; who, coming out by the back door of the dwelling, makes away from its walls in gliding gait--at intervals glancing back over her shoulder, as if in fear of being followed, or observed. her style of dress also indicates a desire to shun observation; for she is cloaked and close hooded. not enough to ensure disguise, though she may think so. the most stolid slave on all colonel armstrong's plantation, could tell at a glance whose figure is enfolded in the shapeless garment, giving it shape. he would at once identify it as that of his master's daughter. for no wrap however loosely flung over it, could hide the queenly form of helen armstrong, or conceal the splendid symmetry of her person. arrayed in the garb of a laundress, she would still look the lady. perhaps, for the first time in her life she is walking with stealthy step, crouched form, and countenance showing fear. daughter of a large slave-owner--mistress over many slaves--she is accustomed to an upright attitude, and aristocratic bearing. but she is now on an errand that calls for more than ordinary caution, and would dread being recognised by the humblest slave on her father's estate. fortunately for her, none see; therefore no one takes note of her movements, or the mode of her apparel. if one did, the last might cause remark. a woman cloaked, with head hooded in a warm summer night, the thermometer at ninety! notwithstanding the numerous lights, she is not observed as she glides through their crossing coruscations. and beyond, there is but little danger--while passing through the peach orchard, that stretches rearward from the dwelling. still less, after getting out through a wicket-gate, which communicates with a tract of woodland. for then she is among trees whose trunks stand close, the spaces between buried in deep obscurity--deeper from the night being a dark one. it is not likely so to continue: for, before entering into the timber, she glances up to the sky, and sees that the cloud canopy has broken; here and there stars scintillating in the blue spaces between. while, on the farther edge of the plantation clearing, a brighter belt along the horizon foretells the uprising of the moon. she does not wait for this; but plunges into the shadowy forest, daring its darkness, regardless of its dangers. chapter eleven. under the trysting tree. still stooping in her gait, casting furtive glances to right, to left, before and behind--at intervals stopping to listen--helen armstrong continues her nocturnal excursion. notwithstanding the obscurity, she keeps in a direct course, as if to reach some particular point, and for a particular reason. what this is needs not be told. only love could lure a young lady out at that late hour, and carry her along a forest path, dark, and not without dangers. and love unsanctioned, unallowed--perhaps forbidden, by some one who has ascendancy over her. just the first it is which has tempted her forth; while the last, not the cold, has caused her to cloak herself, and go close hooded. if her father but knew of the errand she is on, it could not be executed. and well is she aware of this. for the proud planter is still proud, despite his reverses, still clings to the phantom of social superiority; and if he saw her now, wandering through the woods at an hour near midnight, alone; if he could divine her purpose: to meet a man, who in time past has been rather coldly received at his house--because scarce ranking with his own select circle--had colonel armstrong but the gift of clairvoyance, in all probability he would at once suspend the preparations for departure, rush to his rifle, then off through the woods on the track of his erring daughter, with the intent to do a deed sanguinary as that recorded, if not so repulsive. the girl has not far to go--only half a mile or so, from the house, and less than a quarter beyond the zigzag rail fence, which forms a boundary line between the maize fields and primeval forest. her journey, when completed, will bring her under a tree--a grand magnolia, monarch of the forest surrounding. well does she know it, as the way thither. arriving at the tree, she pauses beneath its far-stretching boughs. at the same time tossing back her hood, she shows her face unveiled. she has no fear now. the place is beyond the range of night-strolling negroes. only one in pursuit of 'possum, or 'coon, would be likely to come that way; a contingency too rare to give her uneasiness. with features set in expectation, she stands. the fire-flies illuminate her countenance--deserving a better light. but seen, even under their pale fitful coruscation, its beauty is beyond question. her features of gipsy cast--to which the cloak's hood adds characteristic expression-- produce a picture appropriate to its framing--the forest. only for a few short moments does she remain motionless. just long enough to get back her breath, spent by some exertion in making her way through the wood--more difficult in the darkness. strong emotions, too, contribute to the pulsations of her heart. she does not wait for them to be stilled. facing towards the tree, and standing on tiptoe, she raises her hand aloft, and commences groping against the trunk. the fire-flies flicker over her snow-white fingers, as these stray along the bark, at length resting upon the edge of a dark disc--the knot-hole in the tree. into this her hand is plunged; then drawn out--empty! at first there is no appearance of disappointment. on the contrary, the phosphoric gleam dimly disclosing her features, rather shows satisfaction--still further evinced by the phrase falling from her lips, with the tone of its utterance. she says, contentedly:--"_he has got it_!" but by the same fitful light, soon after is perceived a change--the slightest expression of chagrin, as she adds, in murmured interrogatory, "why hasn't he left an answer?" is she sure he has not? no. but she soon will be. with this determination, she again faces towards the tree; once more inserts her slender fingers; plunges in her white hand up to the wrist-- to the elbow; gropes the cavity all round; then draws out again, this time with an exclamation which tells of something more than disappointment. it is discontent--almost anger. so too a speech succeeding, thus:-- "he might at least have let me know, whether he was coming or not--a word to say, i might expect him. he should have been here before me. it's the hour--past it!" she is not certain--only guessing. she may be mistaken about the time-- perhaps wronging the man. she draws the watch from her waistbelt, and holds the dial up. by the moon, just risen, she can read it. reflecting the rays, the watch crystal, the gold rings on her fingers, and the jewels gleam joyfully. but there is no joy on her countenance. on the contrary, a mixed expression of sadness and chagrin. for the hands indicate ten minutes after the hour of appointment. there can be no mistake about the time--she herself fixed it. and none in the timepiece. her watch is not a cheap one. no fabric of germany, or geneva; no pedlar's thing from yankeeland, which as a southron she would despise; but an article of solid english manufacture, _sun-sure_, like the machine-made watches of "streeter." in confidence she consults it; saying vexatiously: "ten minutes after, and he not here! no answer to my note! he must have received it: surely jule put it into the tree? who but he could have taken it out? oh, this is cruel! he comes not--i shall go home." the cloak is once more closed, the hood drawn over her head. still she lingers--lingers, and listens. no footstep--no sound to break the solemn stillness--only the chirrup of tree-crickets, and the shrieking of owls. she takes a last look at the dial, sadly, despairingly. the hands indicate full fifteen minutes after the hour she had named--going on to twenty. she restores the watch to its place, beneath her belt, her demeanour assuming a sudden change. some chagrin still, but no sign of sadness. this is replaced by an air of determination, fixed and stern. the moon's light, with that of the fire-flies, have both a response in flashes brighter than either--sparks from the eyes of an angry woman. for helen armstrong is this, now. drawing her cloak closer around, she commences moving off from the tree. she is not got beyond the canopy of its branches, ere her steps are stayed. a rustling among the dead leaves--a swishing against those that live--a footstep with tread solid and heavy--the footfall of a man! a figure is seen approaching; as yet only indistinctly, but surely that of a man. as surely the man expected? "he's been detained--no doubt by some good cause," she reflects, her spite and sadness departing as he draws near. they are gone, before he can get to her side. but woman-like, she resolves to make a grace of forgiveness, and begins by upbraiding him. "so you're here at last. a wonder you condescended coming at all! there's an old adage `better late than never.' perhaps, you think it befits present time and company? and, perhaps, you may be mistaken. indeed you are, so far as i'm concerned. i've been here long enough, and won't be any longer. good-night, sir! good-night!" her speech is taunting in tone, and bitter in sense. she intends it to be both--only in seeming. but to still further impress a lesson on the lover who has slighted her, she draws closer the mantle, and makes as if moving away. mistaking her pretence for earnest, the man flings himself across her path--intercepting her. despite the darkness she can see that his arms are in the air, and stretched towards her, as if appealingly. the attitude speaks apology, regret, contrition--everything to make her relent. she relents; is ready to fling herself upon his breast, and there lie lovingly, forgivingly. but again woman-like, not without a last word of reproach, to make more esteemed her concession, she says:-- "'tis cruel thus to have tried me. charles! charles! why have you done it?" as she utters the interrogatory a cloud comes over her countenance, quicker than ever shadow over sun. its cause--the countenance of him standing _vis-a-vis_. a change in their relative positions has brought his face full under the moonlight. he is _not_ the man she intended meeting! who he really is can be gathered from his rejoinder:-- "you are mistaken, miss armstrong. my name is not charles, but richard. i am _richard darke_." chapter twelve. the wrong man. richard darke instead of charles clancy! disappointment were far too weak a word to express the pang that shoots through the heart of helen armstrong, on discovering the mistake she has made. it is bitter vexation, commingled with a sense of shame. i or her speeches, in feigned reproach, have terribly compromised her. she does not drop to the earth, nor show any sign of it. she is not a woman of the weak fainting sort. no cry comes from her lips--nothing to betray surprise, or even the most ordinary emotion. as darke stands before her with arms upraised, she simply says,-- "well, sir; if you _are_ richard darke, what then? your being so matters not to me; and certainly gives you no right thus to intrude upon me. i wish to be alone, and must beg of you to leave me so." the cool firm tone causes him to quail. he had hoped that the surprise of his unexpected appearance--coupled with his knowledge of her clandestine appointment--would do something to subdue, perhaps make her submissive. on the contrary, the thought of the last but stings her to resentment, as he soon perceives. his raised arms drop down, and he is about to step aside, leaving her free to pass. though not before making an attempt to justify himself; instinct supplying a reason, with hope appended. he does so, saying,-- "if i've intruded, miss armstrong, permit me to apologise for it. i assure you it's been altogether an accident. having heard you are about to leave the neighbourhood--indeed, that you start to-morrow morning--i was on the way to your father's house to say farewell. i'm sorry my coming along here, and chancing to meet you, should lay me open to the charge of intrusion. i shall still more regret, if my presence has spoiled any plans, or interfered with an appointment. some one else expected, i presume?" for a time she is silent--abashed, while angered, by the impudent interrogatory. recovering herself, she rejoins,-- "even were it as you say, sir, by what authority do you question me? i've said i wish to be alone." "oh, if that's your wish, i must obey, and relieve you of my presence, apparently so disagreeable." saying this he steps to one side. then continues,-- "as i've told you, i was on the way to your father's house to take leave of the family. if you're not going immediately home, perhaps i may be the bearer of a message for you?" the irony is evident; but helen armstrong is not sensible of it. she does not even think of it. her only thought is how to get disembarrassed of this man who has appeared at a moment so _mal apropos_. charles clancy--for he was the expected one--may have been detained by some cause unknown, a delay still possible of justification. she has a lingering thought he may yet come; and, so thinking, her eye turns towards the forest with a quick, subtle glance. notwithstanding its subtlety, and the obscurity surrounding them, darke observes, comprehends it. without waiting for her rejoinder, he proceeds to say,-- "from the mistake you've just made, miss armstrong, i presume you took me for some one bearing the baptismal name of charles. in these parts i know only one person who carries that cognomen--one charles clancy. if it be he you are expecting, i think i can save you the necessity of stopping out in the night air any longer. if you're staying for him you'll be disappointed; he will certainly not come." "what mean you, mr darke? why do you say that?" his words carry weighty significance, and throw the proud girl off her guard. she speaks confusedly, and without reflection. his rejoinder, cunningly conceived, designed with the subtlety of the devil, still further affects her, and painfully. he answers, with assumed nonchalance,-- "because i know it." "how?" comes the quick, unguarded interrogatory. "well; i chanced to meet charley clancy this morning, and he told me he was going off on a journey. he was just starting when i saw him. some affair of the heart, i believe; a little love-scrape he's got into with a pretty creole girl, who lives t'other side of natchez. by the way, he showed me a photograph of yourself, which he said you had sent him. a very excellent likeness, indeed. excuse me for telling you, that he and i came near quarrelling about it. he had another photograph--that of his creole _chere amie_--and would insist that she is more beautiful than you. i may own, miss armstrong, you've given me no great reason for standing forth as your champion. still, i couldn't stand that; and, after questioning clancy's taste, i plainly told him he was mistaken. i'm ready to repeat the same to him, or any one, who says you are not the most beautiful woman in the state of mississippi." at the conclusion of his fulsome speech helen armstrong cares but little for the proffered championship, and not much for aught else. her heart is nigh to breaking. she has given her affections to clancy-- in that last letter written, lavished them. and they have been trifled with--scorned! she, daughter of the erst proudest planter in all mississippi state, has been slighted for a creole girl; possibly, one of the "poor white trash" living along the bayous' edge. full proof she has of his perfidy, or how should darke know of it? more maddening still, the man so slighting her, has been making boast of it, proclaiming her suppliance and shame, showing her photograph, exulting in the triumph obtained! "o god!" not in prayer, but angry ejaculation, does the name of the almighty proceed from her lips. along with it a scarce-suppressed scream, as, despairingly, she turns her face towards home. darke sees his opportunity, or thinks so; and again flings himself before her--this time on his knees. "helen armstrong!" he exclaims, in an earnestness of passion--if not pure, at least heartfelt and strong--"why should you care for a man who thus mocks you? here am i, who love you, truly--madly--more than my own life! 'tis not too late to withdraw the answer you have given me. gainsay it, and there need be no change--no going to texas. your father's home may still be his, and yours. say you'll be my wife, and everything shall be restored to him--all will yet be well." she is patient to the conclusion of his appeal. its apparent sincerity stays her; though she cannot tell, or does not think, why. it is a moment of mechanical irresolution. but, soon as ended, again returns the bitterness that has just swept through her soul--torturing her afresh. there is no balm in the words spoken by dick darke; on the contrary, they but cause increased rankling. to his appeal she makes answer, as once before she has answered him-- with a single word. but now repeated three times, and in a tone not to be mistaken. on speaking it, she parts from the spot with proud haughty step, and a denying disdainful gesture, which tells him, she is not to be further stayed. spited, chagrined, angry, in his craven heart he feels also cowed, subdued, crestfallen. so much, he dares not follow her, but remains under the magnolia; from whose hollow trunk seems to reverberate the echo of her last word, in its treble repetition: "_never_--_never_--_never_!" chapter thirteen. the coon-hunter at home. over the fields of ephraim darke's plantation a lingering ray of daylight still flickers, as blue bill, returning from his abandoned coon-hunt, gets back to the negro quarter. he enters it, with stealthy tread, and looking cautiously around. for he knows that some of his fellow-slaves are aware of his having gone out "a-cooning," and will wonder at his soon return--too soon to pass without observation. if seen by them he may be asked for an explanation, which he is not prepared to give. to avoid being called upon for it, he skulks in among the cabins; still carrying the dog under his arm, lest the latter may take a fancy to go smelling among the utensils of some other darkey's kitchen, and betray his presence in the "quarter." fortunately for the coon-hunter, the little "shanty" that claims him as its tenant stands at the outward extremity of the row of cabins--nearest the path leading to the plantation woodland. he is therefore enabled to reach, and re-enter it, without any great danger of attracting observation. and as it chances, he is not observed; but gets back into the bosom of his family, no one being a bit the wiser. blue bill's domestic circle consists of his wife, phoebe, and several half-naked little "niggers," who, at his return, tackle on to his legs, and, soon as he sits down, clamber confusedly over his knees. so circumstanced, one would think he should now feel safe, and relieved from further anxiety. far from it: he has yet a gauntlet to run. his re-appearance so early, unexpected; his empty gamebag; the coon-dog carried under his arm; all have their effect upon phoebe. she cannot help feeling surprise, accompanied by a keen curiosity. she is not the woman to submit to it in silence. confronting her dark-skinned lord and master, with arms set akimbo, she says,-- "bress de lor', bill! wha' for you so soon home? neider coon nor possum! an' de dog toated arter dat trange fashun! you ain't been gone more'n a hour! who'd speck see you come back dat a way, empty-handed; nuffin, 'cep your own ole dog! 'splain it, sah?" thus confronted, the coon-hunter lets fall his canine companion; which drops with a dump upon the floor. then seats himself on a stool, but without entering upon the demanded explanation. he only says:-- "nebba mind, phoebe, gal; nebba you mind why i'se got home so soon. dat's nuffin 'trange. i seed de night warn't a gwine to be fav'ble fo' trackin' de coon; so dis nigga konklood he'd leab ole cooney 'lone." "lookee hya, bill!" rejoins the sable spouse, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and gazing earnestly into his eyes. "dat ere ain't de correck explicashun. you's not tellin' me de troof!" the coon-hunter quails under the searching glance, as if in reality a criminal; but still holds back the demanded explanation. he is at a loss what to say. "da's somethin' mysteerus 'bout dis," continues his better half. "you'se got a seecrit, nigga; i kin tell it by de glint ob yer eye. i nebba see dat look on ye, but i know you ain't yaseff; jess as ye use deseeve me, when you war in sich a way 'bout brown bet." "wha you talkin 'bout, phoebe? dar's no brown bet in de case. i swar dar ain't." "who sayed dar war? no, bill, dat's all pass. i only spoked ob her 'kase ya look jess now like ye did when bet used bamboozle ye. what i say now am dat you ain't yaseff. dar's a cat in de bag, somewha; you better let her out, and confess de whole troof." as phoebe makes this appeal, her glance rests inquiringly on her husband's countenance, and keenly scrutinises the play of his features. there is not much play to be observed. the coon-hunter is a pure-blooded african, with features immobile as those of the sphinx. and from his colour nought can be deduced. as already said, it is the depth of its ebon blackness, producing a purplish iridescence over the epidermis, that has gained for him the sobriquet "blue bill." unflinchingly he stands the inquisitorial glance, and for the time phoebe is foiled. only until after supper, when the frugality of the meal--made so by the barren chase--has perhaps something to do in melting his heart, and relaxing his tongue. whether this, or whatever the cause, certain it is, that before going to bed, he unburdens himself to the partner of his joys, by making full confession of what he has heard and seen by the side of the cypress swamp. he tells her, also, of the letter picked up; which, cautiously pulling out of his pocket, he submits to her inspection. phoebe has once been a family servant--an indoor domestic, and handmaiden to a white mistress. this in the days of youth--the halcyon days of her girlhood, in "ole varginny"--before she was transported west, sold to ephraim darke, and by him degraded to the lot of an ordinary outdoor slave. but her original owner taught her to read, and her memory still retains a trace of this early education--sufficient for her to decipher the script put into her hands. she first looks at the photograph; as it is the first to come out of the envelope. there can be no mistaking whose likeness it is. a lady too conspicuously beautiful to have escaped notice from the humblest slave in the settlement. the negress spends some seconds gazing upon the portrait, as she does so remarking,-- "how bewful dat young lady!" "you am right 'bout dat, phoebe. she bewful as any white gal dis nigga ebber sot eyes on. and she good as bewful. i'se sorry she gwine leab dis hya place. dar's many a darkie 'll miss de dear young lady. an' won't mass charl clancy miss her too! lor! i most forgot; maybe he no trouble 'bout her now; maybe he's gone dead! ef dat so, she miss _him_, a no mistake. she cry her eyes out." "you tink dar war something 'tween dem two?" "tink! i'se shoo ob it, phoebe. didn't i see dem boaf down dar in de woodland, when i war out a-coonin. more'n once i seed em togedder. a young white lady an' genl'm don't meet dat way unless dar's a feelin' atween em, any more dan we brack folks. besides, dis nigga know dey lub one noder--he know fo sartin. jule, she tell jupe; and jupe hab trussed dat same seecret to me. dey been in lub long time; afore mass charl went 'way to texas. but de great kurnel armstrong, he don't know nuffin' 'bout it. golly! ef he did, he shoo kill charl clancy; dat is, if de poor young man ain't dead arready. le's hope 'tain't so. but, phoebe, gal, open dat letter, an' see what de lady say. satin it's been wrote by her. maybe it trow some light on dis dark subjeck." phoebe, thus solicited, takes the letter from the envelope. then spreading it out, and holding it close to the flare of the tallow dip, reads it from beginning to end. it is a task that occupies her some considerable time; for her scholastic acquirements, not very bright at the best, have become dimmed by long disuse. for all, she succeeds in deciphering its contents and interpreting them to bill; who listens with ears wide open and eyes in staring wonderment. when the reading is at length finished, the two remain for some time silent,--pondering upon the strange circumstances thus revealed to them. blue bill is the first to resume speech. he says:-- "dar's a good deal in dat letter i know'd afore, and dar's odder points as 'pear new to me; but whether de old or de new, 'twon't do for us folk declar a single word o' what de young lady hab wrote in dat ere 'pistle. no, phoebe, neery word must 'scape de lips ob eider o' us. we muss hide de letter, an' nebba let nob'dy know dar's sich a dockyment in our posseshun. and dar must be nuffin' know'd 'bout dis nigga findin' it. ef dat sakumstance war to leak out, i needn't warn you what 'ud happen to me. blue bill 'ud catch de cowhide,--maybe de punishment ob de pump. so, phoebe, gal, gi'e me yar word to keep dark, for de case am a dangersome, an a desprit one." the wife can well comprehend the husband's caution, with the necessity of compliance; and the two retire to rest, in the midst of their black olive branches, with a mutual promise to be "mum." chapter fourteen. why comes he not? helen armstrong goes to bed, with spiteful thoughts about charles clancy. so rancorous she cannot sleep, but turns distractedly on her couch, from time to time changing cheek upon the pillow. at little more than a mile's distance from this chamber of unrest, another woman is also awake, thinking of the same man--not spitefully, but anxiously. it is his mother. as already said, the road running north from natchez leads past colonel armstrong's gate. a traveller, going in the opposite direction--that is towards the city--on clearing the skirts of the plantation, would see, near the road side, a dwelling of very different kind; of humble unpretentious aspect, compared with the grand mansion of the planter. it would be called a cottage, were this name known in the state of mississippi--which it is not. still it is not a log-cabin; but a "frame-house," its walls of "weather-boarding," planed and painted, its roof cedar-shingled; a style of architecture occasionally seen in the southern states, though not so frequently as in the northern--inhabited by men in moderate circumstances, poorer than planters, but richer, or more gentle, than the "white trash," who live in log-cabins. planters they are in social rank, though poor; perhaps owning a half-dozen slaves, and cultivating a small tract of cleared ground, from twenty to fifty acres. the frame-house vouches for their respectability; while two or three log structures at back--representing barn, stable, and other outbuildings--tell of land attached. of this class is the habitation referred to--the home of the widow clancy. as already known, her widowhood is of recent date. she still wears its emblems upon her person, and carries its sorrow in her heart. her husband, of good irish lineage, had found his way to nashville, the capital city of tennessee; where, in times long past, many irish families made settlements. there he had married her, she herself being a native tennesseean--sprung from the old carolina pioneer stock, that colonised the state near the end of the eighteenth century--the robertsons, hyneses, hardings, and bradfords--leaving to their descendants a patent of nobility, or at least a family name deserving respect, and generally obtaining it. in america, as elsewhere, it is not the rule for irishmen to grow rich; and still more exceptional in the case of irish gentlemen. when these have wealth their hospitality is too apt to take the place of a spendthrift profuseness, ending in pecuniary embarrassment. so was it with captain jack clancy; who got wealth with his wife, but soon squandered it entertaining his own and his wife's friends. the result, a move to mississippi, where land was cheaper, and his attenuated fortune would enable him to hold out a little longer. still, the property he had purchased in mississippi state was but a poor one; leading him to contemplate a further flit into the rich red lands of north-eastern texas, just becoming famous as a field for colonisation. his son charles sent thither, as said, on a trip of exploration, had spent some months in the lone star state, prospecting for the new home; and brought back a report in every way favourable. but the ear, to which it was to have been spoken, could no more hear. on his return, he found himself fatherless; and to the only son there remains only a mother; whose grief, pressing heavily, has almost brought her to the grave. it is one of a long series of reverses which have sorely taxed her fortitude. another of like heaviness, and the tomb may close over her. some such presentiment is in the mother's mind, on this very day, as the sun goes down, and she sits in her chamber beside a dim candle, with ear keenly bent to catch the returning footsteps of her son. he has been absent since noon, having gone deer-stalking, as frequently before. she can spare him for this, and pardon his prolonged absence. she knows how fond he is of the chase; has been so from a boy. but, on the present occasion, he is staying beyond his usual time. it is now night; the deer have sought their coverts; and he is not "torch-hunting." only one thing can she think of to explain the tardiness of his return. the eyes of the widowed mother have been of late more watchful than wont. she has noticed her son's abstracted air, and heard sighs that seemed to come from his inner heart. who can mistake the signs of love, either in man or woman? mrs clancy does not. she sees that charles has lapsed into this condition. rumours that seem wafted on the air--signs slight, but significant-- perhaps the whisper of a confidential servant--these have given her assurance of the fact: telling her, at the same time, who has won his affections. mrs clancy is neither dissatisfied nor displeased. in all the neighbourhood there is no one she would more wish to have for a daughter-in-law than helen armstrong. not from any thought of the girl's great beauty, or high social standing. caroline clancy is herself too well descended to make much of the latter circumstance. it is the reputed noble character of the lady that influences her approval of her son's choice. thinking of this--remembering her own youth, and the stolen interviews with charles clancy's father--oft under the shadow of night--she could not, does not, reflect harshly on the absence of that father's son from home, however long, or late the hour. it is only as the clock strikes twelve, she begins to think seriously about it. then creeps over her a feeling of uneasiness, soon changing to apprehension. why should he be staying out so late--after midnight? the same little bird, that brought her tidings of his love-affair, has also told her it is clandestine. mrs clancy may not like this. it has the semblance of a slight to her son, as herself--more keenly felt by her in their reduced circumstances. but then, as compensation, arises the retrospect of her own days of courtship carried on in the same way. still, at that hour the young lady cannot--dares not--be abroad. all the more unlikely, that the armstrongs are moving off--as all the neighbourhood knows--and intend starting next day, at an early hour. the plantation people will long since have retired to rest; therefore an interview with his sweetheart can scarce be the cause of her son's detention. something else must be keeping him. what? so run the reflections of the fond mother. at intervals she starts up from her seat, as some sound reaches her; each time gliding to the door, and gazing out--again to go back disappointed. for long periods she remains in the porch, her eye interrogating the road that runs past the cottage-gate; her ear acutely listening for footsteps. early in the night it has been dark; now there is a brilliant moonlight. but no man, no form moving underneath it. no sound of coming feet; nothing that resembles a footfall. one o'clock, and still silence; to the mother of charles clancy become oppressive, as with increased anxiety she watches and waits. at intervals she glances at the little "connecticut" clock that ticks over the mantel. a pedlar's thing, it may be false, as the men who come south selling "sech." it is the reflection of a southern woman, hoping her conjecture may be true. but, as she lingers in the porch, and looks at the moving moon, she knows the hour must be late. certain sounds coming from the forest, and the farther swamp, tell her so. as a backwoods woman she can interpret them. she hears the call of the turkey "gobbler." she knows it means morning. the clock strikes two; still she hears no fall of footstep--sees no son returning! "where is my charles? what can be detaining him?" phrases almost identical with those that fell from the lips of helen armstrong, but a few hours before, in a different place, and prompted by a different sentiment--a passion equally strong, equally pure! both doomed to disappointment, alike bitter and hard to bear. the same in cause, but dissimilar in the impression produced. the sweetheart believing herself slighted, forsaken, left without a lover; the mother tortured with the presentiment, she no longer has a son! when, at a yet later hour--or rather earlier, since it is nigh daybreak--a dog, his coat disordered, comes gliding through the gate, and mrs clancy recognises her son's favourite hunting hound, she has still only a presentiment of the terrible truth. but one which to the maternal heart, already filled with foreboding, feels too like certainty. and too much for her strength. wearied with watching, prostrated by the intensity of her vigil, when the hound crawls up the steps, and under the dim light she sees his bedraggled body--blood as well as mud upon it--the sight produces a climax--a shock apparently fatal. she swoons upon the spot, and is carried inside the house by a female slave--the last left to her. chapter fifteen. a moonlight moving. while the widowed mother, now doubly bereft--stricken down by the blow-- is still in a state of syncope, the faithful negress doing what she can to restore her, there are sounds outside unheard by either. a dull rumble of wheels, as of some heavy vehicle coming along the main road, with the occasional crack of a whip, and the sonorous "wo-ha" of a teamster. presently, a large "conestoga" wagon passes the cottage-gate, full freighted with what looks like house furniture, screened under canvas. the vehicle is drawn by a team of four strong mules, driven by a negro; while at the wagon's tail, three or four other darkeys follow afoot. the cortege, of purely southern character, has scarce passed out of sight, and not yet beyond hearing, when another vehicle comes rolling along the road. this, of lighter build, and proceeding at a more rapid rate, is a barouche, drawn by a pair of large kentucky horses. as the night is warm, and there is no need to spring up the leathern hood--its occupants can all be seen, and their individuality made out. on the box-seat is a black coachman; and by his side a young girl whose tawny complexion, visible in the whiter moonbeams, tells her to be a mulatto. her face has been seen before, under a certain forest tree--a magnolia-- its owner depositing a letter in the cavity of the trunk. she who sits alongside the driver is "jule." in the barouche, behind, is a second face that has been seen under the same tree, but with an expression upon it sadder and more disturbed. for of the three who occupy the inside seats one is helen armstrong; the others her father, and sister. they are _en route_ for the city of natchez, the port of departure for their journey south-westward into texas; just starting away from their old long-loved dwelling, whose gates they have left ajar, its walls desolate behind thorn. the wagon, before, carries the remnant of the planter's property,--all his inexorable creditor allows him to take along. no wonder he sits in the barouche, with bowed head, and chin between his knees, not caring to look back. for the first time in his life he feels truly, terribly humiliated. this, and no flight from creditors, no writ, nor pursuing sheriff, will account for his commencing the journey at so early an hour. to be seen going off in the open daylight would attract spectators around; it may be many sympathisers. but in the hour of adversity his sensitive nature shrinks from the glance of sympathy, as he would dread the stare of exultation, were any disposed to indulge in it. but besides the sentiment, there is another cause for their night moving--an inexorable necessity as to time. the steamboat, which is to take them up red river, leaves natchez at sunrise. he must be aboard by daybreak. if the bankrupt planter be thus broken-spirited, his eldest daughter is as much cast down as he, and far more unhappily reflecting. throughout all that night helen armstrong has had no sleep; and now, in the pale moonlight of the morning, her cheeks show white and wan, while a dark shadow broods upon her brow, and her eyes glisten with wild unnatural light, as one in a raging fever. absorbed in thought, she takes no heed of anything along the road; and scarce makes answer to an occasional observation addressed to her by her sifter, evidently with the intention to cheer her. it has less chance of success, because of jessie herself being somewhat out of sorts. even she, habitually merry, is for the time sobered; indeed saddened at the thought of that they are leaving behind, and what may be before them. possibly, as she looks back at the gate of their grand old home, through which they will never again go, she may be reflecting on the change from their late luxurious life, to the log-cabin and coarse fare, of which her father had forewarned them. if so, the reflection is hers--not helen's. different with the latter, and far more bitter the emotion that stirs within her person, scalding her heart. little cares she what sort of house she is hitherto to dwell in, what she will have to wear, or eat. the scantiest raiment, or coarsest food, can give no discomfort now. she could bear the thought of sheltering under the humblest roof in texas--ay, think of it with cheerfulness--had charles clancy been but true, to share its shelter along with her. he has not, and that is an end of it. is it? no; not for her, though it may be for him. in the company of his creole girl he will soon cease to think of her--forget the solemn vows made, and the sweet words spoken, beneath the magnolia--tree, in her retrospect seeming sadder than yew, or cypress. will she ever forget him? can she? no; unless in that land, whither her face is set, she find the fabled lethean stream. oh! it is bitter-- keenly bitter! it reaches the climax of its bitterness, when the barouche rolling along opens out a vista between the trees, disclosing a cottage--clancy's. inside it sleeps the man, who has made her life a misery! can he sleep, after what he has done? while making this reflection she herself feels, as if never caring to close her eyelids more--except in death! her emotions are terribly intense, her anguish so overpowering, she can scarce conceal it--indeed does not try, so long as the house is in sight. perhaps fortunate that her father is absorbed in his own particular sadness. but her sister observes all, guessing--nay, knowing the cause. she says nothing. such sorrow is too sacred to be intruded on. there are times, when even a sister may not attempt consolation. jessie is glad when the carriage, gliding on, again enters among trees, and the little cottage of the clancys, like their own great house, is forever lost to view. could the eyes of helen armstrong, in passing, have penetrated through the walls of that white painted dwelling--could she have rested them upon a bed with a woman laid astretch upon it, apparently dead, or dying--could she have looked on another bed, unoccupied, untouched, and been told how he, its usual occupant, was at that moment lying in the middle of a chill marsh, under the sombre canopy of cypresses--it would have caused a revulsion in her feelings, sudden, painful, and powerful as the shock already received. there would still be sadness in her breast, but no bitterness. the former far easier to endure; she would sooner believe clancy dead, than think of his traitorous defection. but she is ignorant of all that has occurred; of the sanguinary scene enacted--played out complete--on the edge of the cypress swamp, and the sad one inside the house--still continuing. aware of the one, or witness of the other, while passing that lone cottage, as with wet eyes she takes a last look at its walls, she would still be shedding tears-- not of spite, but sorrow. chapter sixteen. what has become of clancy? the sun is up--the hour ten o'clock, morning. around the residence of the widow clancy a crowd of people has collected. they are her nearest neighbours; while those who dwell at a distance are still in the act of assembling. every few minutes two or three horsemen ride up, carrying long rifles over their shoulders, with powder-horns and bullet-pouches strapped across their breasts. those already on the ground are similarly armed, and accoutred. the cause of this warlike muster is understood by all. some hours before, a report has spread throughout the plantations that charles clancy is missing from his home, under circumstances to justify suspicion of foul play having befallen him. his mother has sent messengers to and fro; hence the gathering around her house. in the south-western states, on occasions of this kind, it does not do for any one to show indifference, whatever his station in life. the wealthiest, as well as the poorest, is expected to take part in the administration of backwoods' justice--at times not strictly _en regle_ with the laws of the land. for this reason mrs clancy's neighbours, far and near, summoned or not summoned, come to her cottage. among them ephraim darke, and his son richard. archibald armstrong is not there, nor looked for. most know of his having moved away that same morning. the track of his waggon wheels has been seen upon the road; and, if the boat he is to take passage by, start at the advertised hour, he should now be nigh fifty miles from the spot, and still further departing. no one is thinking of him, or his; since no one dreams of the deposed planter, or his family, having ought to do with the business that brings them together. this is to search for charles clancy, still absent from his home. the mother's story has been already told, and only the late comers have to hear it again. in detail she narrates what occurred on the preceding night; how the hound came home wet, and wounded. confirmatory of her speech, the animal is before their eyes, still in the condition spoken of. they can all see it has been shot--the tear of the bullet being visible on its back, having just cut through the skin. coupled with its master's absence, this circumstance strengthens the suspicion of something amiss. another, of less serious suggestion, is a piece of cord knotted around the dog's neck--the loose end looking as though gnawed by teeth, and then broken off with a pluck; as if the animal had been tied up, and succeeded in setting itself free. but why tied? and why has it been shot? these are questions that not anybody can answer. strange, too, in the hound having reached home at the hour it did. as clancy went out about the middle of the day, he could not have gone to such a distance for his dog to have been nearly all night getting back. could he himself have fired the bullet, whose effect is before their eyes? a question almost instantly answered in the negative; by old backwoodsmen among the mustered crowd--hunters who know how to interpret "sign" as surely as champollion an egyptian hieroglyph. these having examined the mark on the hound's skin, pronounce the ball that made it to have come from a _smooth-bore, and not a rifle_. it is notorious, that charles clancy never carried a smooth-bore, but always a rifled gun. his own dog has not been shot by him. after some time spent in discussing the probabilities and possibilities of the case, it is at length resolved to drop conjecturing, and commence search for the missing man. in the presence of his mother no one speaks of searching for his _dead body_; though there is a general apprehension, that this will be the thing found. she, the mother, most interested of all, has a too true foreboding of it. when the searchers, starting off, in kindly sympathy tell her to be of good cheer, her heart more truly says, she will never see her son again. on leaving the house, the horsemen separate into two distinct parties, and proceed in different directions. with one and the larger, goes clancy's hound; an old hunter, named woodley, taking the animal along. he has an idea it may prove serviceable, when thrown on its master's track--supposing this can be discovered. just as conjectured, the hound does prove of service. once inside the woods, without even setting nose to the ground, it starts off in a straight run--going so swiftly, the horsemen find it difficult to keep pace with it. it sets them all into a gallop; this continued for quite a couple of miles through timber thick and thin, at length ending upon the edge of the swamp. only a few have followed the hound thus far, keeping close. the others, straggling behind, come up by twos and threes. the hunter, woodley, is among the foremost to be in at the death; for _death_ all expect it to prove. they are sure of it, on seeing the stag-hound stop beside something, as it does so loudly baying. spurring on towards the spot, they expect to behold the dead body of charles clancy. they are disappointed. there is no body there--dead or alive. only a pile of spanish moss, which appears recently dragged from the trees; then thrown into a heap, and afterwards scattered. the hound has taken stand beside it; and there stays, giving tongue. as the horsemen dismount, and get their eyes closer to the ground, they see something red; which proves to be blood. it is dark crimson, almost black, and coagulated. still is it blood. from under the edge of the moss-heap protrudes the barrel of a gun. on kicking the loose cover aside, they see it is a rifle--not of the kind common among backwoodsmen. but they have no need to waste conjecture on the gun. many present identify it as the yager usually carried by clancy. more of the moss being removed, a hat is uncovered--also clancy's. several know it as his--can swear to it. a gun upon the ground, abandoned, discharged as they see; a hat alongside it; blood beside both--there must have been shooting on the spot--some one wounded, if not actually killed? and who but charles clancy? the gun is his, the hat too, and his must be the blood. they have no doubt of its being his, no more of his being dead; the only question asked is "where's his body?" while those first up are mutually exchanging this interrogatory, others, later arriving, also put it in turn. all equally unable to give a satisfactory answer--alike surprised by what they see, and puzzled to explain it. there is one man present who could enlighten them in part, though not altogether--one who comes lagging up with the last. it is richard darke. strange he should be among the stragglers. at starting out he appeared the most zealous of all! then he was not thinking of the dog; had no idea how direct, and soon, the instinct of the animal would lead them to the spot where he had given clancy his death shot. the foremost of the searchers have dismounted and are standing grouped around it. he sees them, and would gladly go back, but dares not. defection now would be damning evidence against him. after all, what has he to fear? they will find a dead body--clancy's--a corpse with a bullet-hole in the breast. they can't tell who fired the fatal shot-- how could they? there were no witnesses save the trunks of the cypresses, and the dumb brute of a dog--not so dumb but that it now makes the woods resound with its long-drawn continuous whining. if it could but shape this into articulate speech, then he might have to fear. as it is, he need not. fortified with these reflections, he approaches the spot, by himself made bloody. trembling, nevertheless, and with cheeks pale. _not_ strange. he is about being brought face to face with the man he has murdered--with his corpse! nothing of the kind. there is no murdered man there, no corpse! only a gun, a hat, and some blotches of crimson! does darke rejoice at seeing only this? judging by his looks, the reverse. before, he only trembled slightly, with a hue of pallor on his cheeks. now his lips show white, his eyes sunken in their sockets, while his teeth chatter and his whole frame shivers as if under an ague chill! luckily for the assassin this tale-telling exhibition occurs under the shadow of the great cypress, whose gloomy obscurity guards against its being observed. but to counteract this little bit of good luck there chances to be present a detective that trusts less to sight, than scent. this is clancy's dog. as darke presents himself in the circle of searchers collected around it, the animal perceiving, suddenly springs towards him with the shrill cry of an enraged cat, and the elastic leap of a tiger! but for simeon woodley seizing the hound, and holding it back, the throat of richard darke would be in danger. it is so, notwithstanding. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ around the blood-stained spot there is a pause; the searchers forming a tableau strikingly significant. they have come up, to the very last lagger; and stand in attitudes expressing astonishment, with glances that speak inquiry. these, not directed to the ground, nor straying through the trees, but fixed upon dick darke. strange the antipathy of the dog, which all observe! for the animal, soon as let loose, repeats its hostile demonstrations, and has to be held off again. surely it signifies something, and this bearing upon the object of their search? the inference is unavoidable. darke is well aware their eyes are upon him, as also their thoughts. fortunate for him, that night-like shadow surrounding. but for it, his blanched lips, and craven cast of countenance, would tell a tale to condemn him at once--perhaps to punishment on the spot. as it if, his scared condition is not unnoticed. it is heard, if not clearly seen. two or three, standing close to him, can hear his teeth clacking like castanets! his terror is trebly intensified--from a threefold cause. seeing no body first gave him a shock of surprise; soon followed by superstitious awe; this succeeded by apprehension of another kind. but he had no time to dwell upon it before being set upon by the dog, which drove the more distant danger out of his head. delivered also from this, his present fear is about those glances regarding him. in the obscurity he cannot read them, but for all that can tell they are sternly inquisitorial. _en revanche_, neither can they read his; and, from this drawing confidence, he recovers his habitual coolness--knowing how much he now needs it. the behaviour of the hound must not pass unspoken of. with a forced laugh, and in a tone of assumed nonchalance, he says: "i can't tell how many scores of times that dog of clancy's has made at me in the same way. it's never forgiven me since the day i chastised it, when it came after one of our sluts. i'd have killed the cur long ago, but spared it through friendship for its master." an explanation plausible, and cunningly conceived; though not satisfactory to some. only the unsuspicious are beguiled by it. however, it holds good for the time; and, so regarded, the searchers resume their quest. it is no use for them to remain longer by the moss-heap. there they but see blood; they are looking for a body. to find this they must go farther. one taking up the hat, another the abandoned gun, they scatter off, proceeding in diverse directions. for several hours they go tramping among the trees, peering under the broad fan-like fronds of the saw-palmettoes, groping around the buttressed trunks of the cypresses, sending glances into the shadowed spaces between--in short, searching everywhere. for more than a mile around they quarter the forest, giving it thorough examination. the swamp also, far as the treacherous ooze will allow them to penetrate within its _gloomy_ portals--fit abode of death--place appropriate for the concealment of darkest crime. notwithstanding their zeal, prompted by sympathising hearts, as by a sense of outraged justice, the day's search proves fruitless--bootless. no body can be found, dead or living; no trace of the missing man. nothing beyond what they have already obtained--his hat and gun. dispirited, tired out, hungry, hankering after dinners delayed, as eve approaches they again congregate around the gory spot; and, with a mutual understanding to resume search on the morrow, separate, and set off--each to his own home. chapter seventeen. a bullet extracted. not all of the searching party leave the place. two remain, staying as by stealth. some time before the departure of the others, these had slipped aside, and sauntered off several hundred yards, taking their horses along with them. halting in an out-of-the-way spot, under deepest shadow, and then dismounting, they wait till the crowd shall disperse. to all appearance impatiently, as if they wanted to have the range of the forest to themselves, and for some particular reason. just this do they, or at least one of them does; making his design known to the other, soon as he believes himself beyond earshot of those from whom they separated. it is the elder that instructs; who, in addition to the horse he is holding, has another animal by his side--a dog. for it is the hunter, woodley, still in charge of clancy's hound. the man remaining with him is one of his own kind and calling; younger in years, but, like himself, a professional follower of the chase--by name, heywood. giving his reason for the step he is taking, woodley says, "we kin do nothin' till them greenhorns air gone. old dan boone hisself kedn't take up trail, wi' sich a noisy clanjamfry aroun him. for myself i hain't hardly tried, seein' 'twar no use till they'd clar off out o' the way. and now the darned fools hev' made the thing more diffeequilt, trampin about, an' blottin' out every shadder o' sign, an everything as looks like a futmark. for all, i've tuk notice to somethin' none o' them seed. soon's the coast is clar we kin go thar, an' gie it a more pertikler examinashun." the younger hunter nods assent, adding a word, signifying readiness to follow his older confrere. for some minutes they remain; until silence restored throughout the forest tells them it is forsaken. then, leaving their horses behind, with bridles looped around branches--the hound also attached to one of the stirrups--they go back to the place, where the hat and gun were found. they do not stay there; but continue a little farther on, woodley leading. at some twenty paces distance, the old hunter comes to a halt, stopping by the side of a cypress "knee"; one of those vegetable monstrosities that perplex the botanist--to this hour scientifically unexplained. in shape resembling a ham, with the shank end upwards; indeed so like to this, that the yankee bacon-curers have been accused, by their southern customers, of covering them with canvas, and selling them for the real article! it may be that the mississippian backwoodsman, woodley, could give a better account of these singular excrescences than all the closet scientists in the world. he is not thinking of either science, or his own superior knowledge, while conducting his companion to the side of that "cypress knee." his only thought is to show heywood something he had espied while passing it in the search; but of which he did not then appear to take notice, and said nothing, so long as surrounded by the other searchers. the time has come to scrutinise it more closely, and ascertain if it be what he suspects it. the "knee" in question is one which could not be palmed off for a porker's ham. its superior dimensions forbid the counterfeit. as the two hunters halt beside it, its bulk shows bigger than either of their own bodies, while its top is at the height of their heads. standing in front of it, woodley points to a break in the bark--a round hole, with edge slightly ragged. the fibre appears freshly cut, and more than cut--encrimsoned! twenty-four hours may have elapsed, but not many more, since that hole was made. so believe the backwoodsmen, soon as setting their eyes on it. speaking first, woodley asks,-- "what d'ye think o' it, ned?" heywood, of taciturn habit, does not make immediate answer, but stands silently regarding the perforated spot. his comrade continues:-- "thar's a blue pill goed in thar', which jedgin' by the size and shape o' the hole must a kum out a biggish gun barrel. an', lookin' at the red stain 'roun' its edge, that pill must a been blood-coated." "looks like blood, certainly." "_it air blood_--the real red thing itself; the blood o' charley clancy. the ball inside thar' has first goed through his body. it's been deadened by something and don't appear to hev penetrated a great way into the timmer, for all o' that bein' soft as sapwood." drawing out his knife, the old hunter inserts the point of its blade into the hole, probing it. "jest as i sayed. hain't entered the hul o' an inch. i kin feel the lead ludged thar'." "suppose you cut it out, sime?" "precisely what i intend doin'. but not in a careless way. i want the surroundin' wood along wi' it. the two thegither will best answer our purpiss. so hyar goes to git 'em thegither." saying this, he inserts his knife-blade into the bark, and first makes a circular incision around the bullet-hole. then deepens it, taking care not to touch the ensanguined edge of the orifice, or come near it. the soft vegetable substance yields to his keen steel, almost as easily as if he were slicing a swedish turnip; and soon he detaches a pear-shaped piece, but bigger than the largest prize "jargonelle." holding it in his hand, and apparently testing its ponderosity, he says: "ned; this chunk o' timmer encloses a bit o' lead as niver kim out o' a rifle. thar's big eends o' an ounce weight o' metal inside. only a smooth-bore barrel ked a tuk it; an' from sech it's been dischurged." "you're right about that," responds heywood, taking hold of the piece of wood, and also trying its weight. "it's a smooth-bore ball--no doubt of it." "well, then, who carries a smooth-bore through these hyar woods? who, ned heywood?" "i know only one man that does." "name him! name the damned rascal!" "dick darke." "ye kin drink afore me, ned. that's the skunk i war a-thinkin' 'bout, an' hev been all the day. i've seed other sign beside this--the which escaped the eyes o' the others. an' i'm gled it did: for i didn't want dick darke to be about when i war follerin' it up. for that reezun i drawed the rest aside--so as none o' 'em shed notice it. by good luck they didn't." "you saw other sign! what, sime?" "tracks in the mud, clost in by the edge o' the swamp. they're a good bit from the place whar the poor young fellur's blood's been spilt, an' makin' away from it. i got only a glimp at 'em, but ked see they'd been made by a man runnin'. you bet yur life on't they war made by a pair o' boots i've seen on dick darke's feet. it's too gloomsome now to make any thin' out o' them. so let's you an' me come back here by ourselves, at the earliest o' daybreak, afore the people git about. then we kin gie them tracks a thorrer scrutination. if they don't prove to be dick darke's, ye may call sime woodley a thick-headed woodchuck." "if we only had one of his boots, so that we might compare it with the tracks." "_if_! thar's no if. we _shall_ hev one o' his boots--ay, both--i'm boun' to hev 'em." "but how?" "leave that to me. i've thought o' a plan to git purssession o' the scoundrel's futwear, an' everythin' else belongin' to him that kin throw a ray o' daylight unto this darksome bizness. come, ned! le's go to the widder's house, an' see if we kin say a word to comfort the poor lady--for a lady she air. belike enough this thing'll be the death o' her. she warn't strong at best, an' she's been a deal weaker since the husban' died. now the son's goed too--ah! come along, an' le's show her, she ain't forsook by everybody." with the alacrity of a loyal heart, alike leaning to pity, the young hunter promptly responds to the appeal, saying:-- "i'm with you, woodley!" the death shot--by captain mayne reid chapter eighteen. "to the sheriff!" a day of dread, pitiless suspense to the mother of charles clancy, while they are abroad searching for her son. still more terrible the night after their return--not without tidings of the missing man. such tidings! the too certain assurance of his death--of his murder--with the added mystery of their not having been able to find his body. only his hat, his gun, his blood! her grief, hitherto held in check by a still lingering hope, now escapes all trammels, and becomes truly agonising. her heart seems broken, or breaking. although without wealth, and therefore with but few friends, in her hour of lamentation she is not left alone. it is never so in the backwoods of the far west; where, under rough home-wove coats, throb hearts gentle and sympathetic, as ever beat under the finest broadcloth. among mrs clancy's neighbours are many of this kind; chiefly "poor whites,"--as scornfully styled by the prouder planters. some half-score of them determine to stay by her throughout the night; with a belief their presence may do something to solace her, and a presentiment that ere morning they may be needed for a service yet more solemn. she has retired to her chamber--taken to her bed; she may never leave either alive. as the night chances to be a warm one--indeed stifling hot, the men stay outside, smoking their pipes in the porch, or reclining upon the little grass plot in front of the dwelling, while within, by the bedside of the bereaved widow, are their wives, sisters, and daughters. needless to say, that the conversation of those without relates exclusively to the occurrences of the day, and the mystery of the murder. for this, they all believe it to have been; though utterly unable to make out, or conjecture a motive. they are equally perplexed about the disappearance of the body; though this adds not much to the mystery. they deem it simply a corollary, and consequence, of the other. he, who did the foul deed, has taken steps to conceal it, and so far succeeded. it remains to be seen whether his astuteness will serve against the search to be resumed on the morrow. two questions in chief, correlative, occupy them: "who killed clancy?" and "what has been the motive for killing him?" to the former, none of them would have thought of answering "dick darke,"--that is when starting out on the search near noon. now that night is on, and they have returned from it, his name is on every lip. at first only in whispers, and guarded insinuations; but gradually pronounced in louder tone, and bolder speech--this approaching accusation. still the second question remains unanswered:-- "why should dick darke have killed charley clancy?" even put in this familiar form it receives no reply. it is an enigma to which no one present holds the key. for none know aught of a rivalry having existed between the two men--much less a love-jealousy, than which no motive more inciting to murder ever beat in human breast. darke's partiality for colonel armstrong's eldest daughter has been no secret throughout the settlement. he himself, childishly, in his cups, long since made all scandal-mongers acquainted with that. but clancy, of higher tone, if not more secretive habit, has kept his love-affair to himself; influenced by the additional reason of its being clandestine. therefore, those, sitting up as company to his afflicted parent, have no knowledge of the tender relations that existed between him and helen armstrong, any more than of their being the cause of that disaster for which the widow now weeps. she herself alone knows of them; but, in the first moment of her misfortune, completely prostrated by it, she has not yet communicated aught of this to the sympathetic ears around her. it is a family secret, too sacred for their sympathy; and, with some last lingering pride of superior birth, she keeps it to herself. the time has not come for disclosing it. but it soon will--she knows that. all must needs be told. for, after the first throes of the overwhelming calamity, in which her thoughts alone dwelt on the slain son, they turned towards him suspected as the slayer. in her case with something stronger than suspicion--indeed almost belief, based on her foreknowledge of the circumstances; these not only accounting for the crime, but pointing to the man who must have committed it. as she lies upon her couch, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and sighs heaved from the very bottom of her breast--as she listens to the kind voices vainly essaying to console her--she herself says not a word. her sorrow is too deep, too absorbing, to find expression in speech. but in her thoughts are two men--before, her distracted fancy two faces--one of a murdered man, the other his murderer--the first her own son, the second that of ephraim darke. notwithstanding ignorance of all these circumstances, the thoughts of her sympathising neighbours--those in council outside--dwell upon dick darke; while his name is continuously upon their tongues. his unaccountable conduct during the day--as also the strange behaviour of the hound--is now called up, and commented upon. why should the dog have made such demonstration? why bark at him above all the others--selecting him out of the crowd--so resolutely and angrily assailing him? his own explanation, given at the time, appeared lame and unsatisfactory. it looks lamer now, as they sit smoking their pipes, more coolly and closely considering it. while they are thus occupied, the wicket-gate, in front of the cottage, is heard turning upon its hinges, and two men are seen entering the enclosure. as these draw near to the porch, where a tallow dip dimly burns, its light is reflected from the features of simeon woodley and edward heywood. the hunters are both well-known to all upon the ground; and welcomed, as men likely to make a little less irksome that melancholy midnight watch. if the new-comers cannot contribute cheerfulness, they may something else, as predicted by the expression observed upon their faces, at stepping into the porch. their demeanour shows them possessed of some knowledge pertinent to the subject under discussion, as also important. going close to the candle, and summoning the rest around, woodley draws from the ample pocket of his large, loose coat a bit of wood, bearing resemblance to a pine-apple, or turnip roughly peeled. holding it to the light, he says: "come hyar, fellurs! fix yar eyes on this." all do as desired. "kin any o' ye tell what it air?" the hunter asks. "a bit of tree timber, i take it," answers one. "looks like a chunk carved out of a cypress knee," adds a second. "it ought," assents sime, "since that's jest what it air; an' this child air he who curved it out. ye kin see thar's a hole in the skin-front; which any greenhorn may tell's been made by a bullet: an' he'd be still greener in the horn as kedn't obsarve a tinge o' red roun' thet hole, the which air nothin' more nor less than blood. now, boys! the bullet's yit inside the wud, for me an' heywood here tuk care not to extract it till the proper time shed come." "it's come now; let's hev it out!" exclaims heywood; the others endorsing the demand. "thet ye shall. now, fellurs; take partikler notice o' what sort o' _egg_ hez been hatchin' in this nest o' cypress knee." while speaking, sime draws his large-bladed knife from its sheath; and, resting the piece of wood on the porch bench, splits it open. when cleft, it discloses a thing of rounded form and metallic lustre, dull leaden--a gun-bullet, as all expected. there is not any blood upon it, this having been brushed off in its passage through the fibrous texture of the wood. but it still preserves its spherical shape, perfect as when it issued from the barrel of the gun that discharged, or the mould that made it. soon as seeing it they all cry out, "a bullet!" several adding, "the ball of a smooth-bore." then one asks, suggestingly: "who is there in this neighbourhood that's got a shooting-iron of such sort?" the question is instantly answered by another, though not satisfactorily. "plenty of smooth-bores about, though nobody as i knows of hunts with them." a third speaks more to the point, saying:-- "yes; there's one does." "name him!" is the demand of many voices. "_dick darke_!" the statement is confirmed by several others, in succession repeating it. after this succeeds silence--a pause in the proceedings--a lull ominous, not of further speech but, action. daring its continuance, woodley replaces the piece of lead in the wood, just as it was before; then laying the two cleft pieces together, and tying them with a string, he returns the chunk to his pocket. this done, he makes a sign to the chiefs of the conclave to follow him as if for further communication. which they do, drawing off out of the porch, and taking stand upon grass plot below at some paces distant from the dwelling. with heads close together, they converse for a while, _sotto voce_. not so low, but that a title, the terror of all malefactors, can be heard repeatedly pronounced. and also a name; the same, which, throughout all the evening has been upon their lips, bandied about, spoken of with gritting teeth and brows contracted. not all of those, who watch with the widow are admitted to this muttering council. simon woodley, who presides over it, has his reasons for excluding some. only men take part in it who can be relied on for an emergency, such as that the hunter has before him. their conference closed, four of them, as if by agreement with the others, separate from the group, glide out through the wicket-gate, and on to their horses left tied to the roadside rail fence. "unhitching" these, they climb silently into their saddles, and as silently slip away; only some muttered words passing between them, as they ride along the road. among these may be heard the name of a man, conjoined to a speech, under the circumstances significant:-- "_let's straight to the sheriff_!" chapter nineteen. the "belle of natchez." while search is still being made for the body of the murdered man, and he suspected of the crime is threatened with a prison cell, she, the innocent cause of it, is being borne far away from the scene of its committal. the steamboat, carrying colonel armstrong and his belongings, having left port punctually at the hour advertised, has forsaken the "father of waters," entered the red river of louisiana, and now, on the second day after, is cleaving the current of this ochre-tinted stream, some fifty miles from its mouth. the boat is the "belle of natchez." singular coincidence of name; since one aboard bears also the distinctive sobriquet. oft have the young "bloods" of the "city of the bluffs," while quaffing their sherry cobblers, or champagne, toasted helen armstrong, with this appellation added. taking quality into account, she has a better right to it than the boat. for this, notwithstanding the proud title bestowed upon it, is but a sorry craft; a little "stern-wheel" steamer, such as, in those early days, were oft seen ploughing the bosom of the mighty mississippi, more often threading the intricate and shallower channels of its tributaries. a single set of paddles, placed where the rudder acts in other vessels, and looking very much like an old-fashioned mill-wheel, supplies the impulsive power--at best giving but poor speed. nevertheless, a sort of craft with correct excuse, and fair _raison d'etre_; as all know, who navigate narrow rivers, and their still narrower reaches, with trees from each side outstretching, as is the case with many of the streams of louisiana. not that the noble red river can be thus classified; nor in any sense spoken of as a narrow stream. broad, and deep enough, for the biggest boats to navigate to natchitoches--the butt of colonel armstrong's journey by water. why the broken planter has taken passage on the little "stern-wheeler" is due to two distinct causes. it suited him as to time, and also expense. on the mississippi, and its tributaries, a passage in "crack" boats is costly, in proportion to their character for "crackness." the "belle of natchez," being without reputation of this kind, carries her passengers at a reasonable rate. but, indeed, something beyond ideas of opportune time, or economy, influenced colonel armstrong in selecting her. the same thought which hurried him away from his old home under the shadows of night, has taken him aboard a third-rate river steamboat. travelling thus obscurely, he hopes to shun encounter with men of his own class; to escape not only observation, but the sympathy he shrinks from. in this hope he is disappointed, and on both horns of his fancied, not to say ridiculous, dilemma. for it so chances, that the "bully" boat, which was to leave natchez for natchitoches on the same day with the "belle," has burst one of her boilers. as a consequence, the smaller steamer has started on her trip, loaded down to the water-line with freight, her state-rooms and cabins crowded with passengers--many of these the best, bluest blood of mississippi and louisiana. whatever of chagrin this _contretemps_ has caused colonel armstrong-- and, it may be, the older of his daughters--to the younger it gives gladness. for among the supernumeraries forced to take passage in the stern-wheel steamer, is a man she has met before. not only met, but danced with; and not only danced but been delighted with; so much, that souvenirs of that night, with its saltative enjoyment, have since oft occupied her thoughts, thrilling her with sweetest reminiscence. he, who has produced this pleasant impression, is a young planter, by name luis dupre. a louisianian by birth, therefore a "creole." and without any taint of the african; else he would not be a creole _pur sang_. the english reader seems to need undeceiving about this, constantly, repeatedly. in the creole, simply so-called, there is no admixture of negro blood. not a drop of it in the veins of luis dupre; else jessie armstrong could not have danced with him at a natchez ball; nor would her father, fallen as he is, permit her to keep company with him on a red river steamboat. in this case, there is no condescension on the part of the ex-mississippian planter. he of louisiana is his equal in social rank, and now his superior in point of wealth, by hundreds, thousands. for luis dupre is one of the largest landowners along the line of red river plantations, while his slaves number several hundred field-hands, and house domestics: the able-bodied of both, without enumerating the aged, the imbecile, and piccaninnies, more costly than profitable. if, in the presence of such a prosperous man, colonel armstrong reflects painfully upon his own reduced state, it is different with his daughter jessie. into her ear luis dupre has whispered sweet words--a speech telling her, that not only are his lands, houses, and slaves at her disposal, but along with them his heart and hand. it is but repeating what he said on the night of the natchez ball; his impulsive creole nature having then influenced him to speak as he felt. now, on the gliding steamboat, he reiterates the proposal, more earnestly pressing for an answer. and he gets it in the affirmative. before the "belle of natchez" has reached fifty miles from the red river's mouth, luis dupre and jessie armstrong have mutually confessed affection, clasped hands, let lips meet, and tongues swear, never more to live asunder. that journey commenced upon the mississippi is to continue throughout life. in their case, there is no fear of aught arising to hinder the consummation of their hopes; no stern parent to stand in the way of their life's happiness. by the death of both father and mother, luis dupre has long since been emancipated from parental authority, and is as much his own master as he is of his many slaves. on the other side, jessie armstrong is left free to her choice; because she has chosen well. her father has given ready consent; or at all events said enough to ensure his doing so. the huge "high-pressure" steam craft which ply upon the western rivers of america bear but a very slight resemblance to the black, long, low-- hulled leviathans that plough the briny waste of ocean. the steamboat of the mississippi more resembles a house, two stories in height, and, not unfrequently, something of a third--abode of mates and pilots. rounded off at stern, the structure, of oblong oval shape, is universally painted chalk-white; the second, or cabin story, having on each face a row of casement windows, with venetian shutters, of emerald green. these also serve as outside doors to the state-rooms--each having its own. inside ones, opposite them, give admission to the main cabin, or "saloon;" which extends longitudinally nearly the whole length of the vessel. figured glass folding-doors cut it into three compartments; the ladies' cabin aft, the dining saloon amidships, with a third division forward, containing clerk's office and "bar," the last devoted to male passengers for smoking, drinking, and, too often, gambling. a gangway, some three feet in width, runs along the outside facade, forming a balcony to the windows of the state-rooms. it is furnished with a balustrade, called "guard-rail," to prevent careless passengers from stepping overboard. a projection of the roof, yclept "hurricane-deck," serves as an awning to this continuous terrace, shading it from the sun. two immense twin chimneys--"funnels" as called--tower above all, pouring forth a continuous volume of whitish wood-smoke; while a smaller cylinder--the "scape-pipe"--intermittently vomits a vapour yet whiter, the steam; at each emission with a hoarse belching bark, that can be heard reverberating for leagues along the river. seen from the bank, as it passes, the mississippi steamboat looks like a large hotel, or mansion of many windows, set adrift and moving majestically--"walking the water like a thing of life," as it has been poetically described. some of the larger ones, taking into account their splendid interior decoration, and, along with it their sumptuous table fare, may well merit the name oft bestowed upon them, of "floating palaces." only in point of size, some inferiority in splendour, and having a stern-wheel instead of side-paddles, does the "belle of natchez" differ from other boats seen upon the same waters. as them, she has her large central saloon, with ladies' cabin astern; the flanking rows of state-rooms; the casements with green jalousies; the gangway and guard-rail; the twin funnels, pouring forth their fleecy cloud, and the scape-pipe, coughing in regular repetition. in the evening hour, after the day has cooled down, the balcony outside the state-room windows is a pleasant place to stand, saunter, or sit in. more especially that portion of it contiguous to the stern, and exclusively devoted to lady passengers--with only such of the male sex admitted as can claim relationship, or liens of a like intimate order. on this evening--the first after leaving port--the poop deck of the little steamer is so occupied by several individuals; who stand gazing at the scene that passes like a panorama before their eyes. the hot southern sun has disappeared behind the dark belt of cypress forest, which forms, far and near, the horizon line of louisiana; while the soft evening breeze, laden with the mixed perfumes of the _liquid ambar_, and _magnolia grandiflora_, is wafted around them, like incense scattered from a censer. notwithstanding its delights, and loveliness, nature does not long detain the saunterers outside. within is a spell more powerful, and to many of them more attractive. it is after dinner hour; the cabin tables have been cleared, and its lamps lit. under the sheen of brilliant chandeliers the passengers are drawing together in groups, and coteries; some to converse, others to play _ecarte_ or _vingt-un_; here and there a solitary individual burying himself in a book; or a pair, almost as unsocial, engaging in the selfish duality of chess. three alone linger outside; and of these only two appear to do so with enjoyment. they are some paces apart from the third, who is now left to herself: for it is a woman. not that they are unacquainted with her, or in any way wishing to be churlish. but, simply, because neither can spare word or thought for any one, save their two sweet selves. it scarce needs telling who is the couple thus mutually engrossed. an easy guess gives jessie armstrong and luis dupre. the young creole's handsome features, black eyes, brunette complexion, and dark curly hair have made havoc with the heart of armstrong's youngest daughter; while, _en revanche_, her contrasting colours of red, blue, and gold have held their own in the amorous encounter. they are in love with one another to their finger tips. as they stand conversing in soft whispers, the eyes of the third individual are turned towards them. this only at intervals, and with nought of jealousy in the glance. for it is jessie's own sister who gives it. whatever of that burn in helen's breast, not these, nor by them, has its torch been kindled. the love that late occupied her heart has been plucked therefrom, leaving it lacerated, and lorn. it was the one love of her life, and now crushed out, can never be rekindled. if she have a thought about her sister's new-sprung happiness, it is only to measure it against her own misery--to contrast its light of joy, with the shadow surrounding herself. but for a short moment, and with transient glance, does she regard them. aside from any sentiment of envy, their happy communion calls up a reminiscence too painful to be dwelt upon. she remembers how she herself stood talking in that same way, with one she cannot, must not, know more. to escape recalling the painful souvenir, she turns her eyes from the love episode, and lowers them to look upon the river. chapter twenty. saved by a sister. the boat is slowly forging its course up-stream, its wheel in constant revolution, churning the ochre-coloured water into foam. this, floating behind, dances and simmers upon the surface, forming a wake-way of white tinted with red. in helen armstrong's eyes it has the appearance of blood-froth--such being the hue of her thoughts. contemplating it for a time, not pleasantly, and then, turning round, she perceives that she is alone. the lovers have stepped inside a state-room, or the ladies' cabin, or perhaps gone on to the general saloon, to take part in the sports of the evening. she sees the lights shimmering through the latticed windows, and can hear the hum of voices, all merry. she has no desire to join in that merriment, though many may be wishing her. inside she would assuredly become the centre of an admiring circle; be addressed in courtly speeches, with phrases of soft flattery. she is aware of this, and keeps away from it. strange woman! in her present mood the speeches would but weary, the flattery fash her. she prefers solitude; likes better the noise made by the ever-turning wheel. in the tumult of the water there is consonance with that agitating her own bosom. night is now down; darkness has descended upon forest and river, holding both in its black embrace. along with it a kindred feeling creeps over her--a thought darker than night, more sombre than forest shadows. it is that which oft prompts to annihilation; a memory of the past, which, making the future unendurable, calls for life to come to an end. the man to whom she has given her heart--its firstlings, as its fulness--a heart from which there can be no second gleanings, and she knows it--he has made light of the offering. a sacrifice grand, as complete; glowing with all the interests of her life. the life, too, of one rarely endowed; a woman of proud spirit, queenly and commanding, beyond air beautiful. she does not think thus of herself, as, leaning over the guard-rail, with eyes mechanically bent upon the wheel, she watches it whipping the water into spray. her thoughts are not of lofty pride, but low humiliation. spurned by him at whose feet she has flung herself, so fondly, so rashly--ay, recklessly--surrendering even that which woman deems most dear, and holds back to the ultimate moment of rendition--the word which speaks it! to charles clancy she has spoken it. true, only in writing; but still in terms unmistakeable, and with nothing reserved. and how has he treated them? no response--not even denial! only contemptuous silence, worse than outspoken scorn! no wonder her breast is filled with chagrin, and her brow burning with shame! both may be ended in an instant. a step over the low rail--a plunge into the red rolling river--a momentary struggle amidst its seething waters--not to preserve life, but destroy it--this, and all will be over! sadness, jealousy, the pangs of disappointed love--these baleful passions, and all others alike, can be soothed, and set at rest, by one little effort--a leap into oblivion! her nerves are fast becoming strung to the taking it. the past seems all dark, the future yet darker. for her, life has lost its fascinations, while death is divested of its terrors. suicide in one so young, so fair, so incomparably lovely; one capable of charming others, no longer to be charmed herself! a thing fearful to reflect upon. and yet is she contemplating it! she stands close to the rail, wavering, irresolute. it is no lingering love of life which causes her to hesitate. nor yet fear of death, even in the horrid form, she cannot fail to see before her, spring she but over that slight railing. the moon has arisen, and now courses across the blue canopy of sky, in full effulgence, her beams falling bright upon the bosom of the river. at intervals the boat, keeping the deeper channel, is forced close to either bank. then, as the surging eddies set the floating but stationary logs in motion, the huge saurian asleep on them can be heard giving a grunt of anger for the rude arousing, and pitching over into the current with dull sullen plash. she sees, and hears all this. it should shake her nerves, and cause shivering throughout her frame. it does neither. the despair of life has deadened the dread of death-- even of being devoured by an alligator! fortunately, at this moment, a gentle hand is laid on her shoulder, and a soft voice sounds in her ear. they are the hand and voice of her sister. jessie, coming out of her state-room, has glided silently up. she sees helen prepossessed, sad, and can somewhat divine the cause. but she little suspects, how near things have been to a fatal climax, and dreams not of the diversion her coming has caused. "sister!" she says, in soothing tone, her arms extended caressingly, "why do you stay out here? the night is chilly; and they say the atmosphere of this red river country is full of miasma, with fevers and ague to shake the comb out of one's hair! come with me inside! there's pleasant people in the saloon, and we're going to have a round game at cards--_vingt-un_, or something of the sort. come!" helen turns round trembling at the touch, as if she felt herself a criminal, and it was the sheriff's hand laid upon her shoulder! jessie notices the strange, strong emotion. she could not fail to do so. attributing it to its remotest cause, long since confided to her, she says:-- "be a woman, helen! be true to yourself, as i know you will; and don't think of him any more. there's a new world, a new life, opening to both of us. forget the sorrows of the old, as i shall. pluck charles clancy from your heart, and fling every memory, every thought of him, to the winds! i say again, be a woman--be yourself! bury the past, and think only of the future--_of our father_!" the last words act like a galvanic shock, at the same time soothing as balm. for in the heart of helen armstrong they touch a tender chord-- that of filial affection. and it vibrates true to the touch. flinging her arms around jessie's neck, she cries:-- "sister; you have saved me!" chapter twenty one. seized by spectral arms. "sister, you have saved me!" on giving utterance to the ill-understood speech, helen armstrong imprints a kiss upon her sister's cheek, at the same time bedewing it with her tears. for she is now weeping--convulsively sobbing. returning the kiss, jessie looks not a little perplexed. she can neither comprehend the meaning of the words, nor the strange tone of their utterance. equally is she at a loss to account for the trembling throughout her sister's frame, continued while their bosoms stay in contact. helen gives her no time to ask questions. "go in!" she says, spinning the other round, and pushing her towards the door of the state-room. then, attuning her voice to cheerfulness, she adds:-- "in, and set the game of _vingt-un_ going. i'll join you by the time you've got the cards shuffled." jessie, glad to see her sister in spirits unusually gleeful, makes no protest, but glides towards the cabin door. soon as her back is turned, helen once more faces round to the river, again taking stand by the guard-rail. the wheel still goes round, its paddles beating the water into bubbles, and casting the crimson-white spray afar over the surface of the stream. but now, she has no thought of flinging herself into the seething swirl, though she means to do so with something else. "before the game of _vingt-un_ begins," she says in soliloquy, "i've got a pack of cards to be dealt out here--among them a knave." while speaking, she draws forth a bundle of letters--evidently old ones--tied in a bit of blue ribbon. one after another, she drags them free of the fastening--just as if dealing out cards. each, as it comes clear, is rent right across the middle, and tossed disdainfully into the stream. at the bottom of the packet, after the letters have been all disposed of, is something seeming different. a piece of cardboard--a portrait-- in short, a _carte de visite_. it is the likeness of charles clancy, given her on one of those days when he flung himself affectionately at her feet. she does not tear it in twain, as she has the letters; though at first this is nearest her intent. some thought restraining her, she holds it up in the moon's light, her eyes for a time resting on, and closely scanning it. painful memories, winters of them, pass through her soul, shown upon her countenance, while she makes scrutiny of the features so indelibly graven upon her heart. she is looking her last upon them--not with a wish to remember, but the hope to forget--of being able to erase that image of him long-loved, wildly worshipped, from the tablets of her memory, at once and for ever. who can tell what passed through her mind at that impending moment? who could describe her heart's desolation? certainly, no writer of romance. whatever resolve she has arrived at, for a while she appears to hesitate about executing it.-- then, like an echo heard amidst the rippling waves, return to her ear the words late spoken by her sister-- "let us think only of the future--_of our father_." the thought decides her; and, stepping out to the extremest limit the guard-rail allows, she flings the photograph upon the paddles of the revolving wheel, as she does so, saying-- "away, image of one once loved--picture of a man who has proved false! be crushed, and broken, as he has broken my heart!" the sigh that escapes her, on letting drop the bit of cardboard, more resembles a subdued scream--a stifled cry of anguish, such as could only come from what she has just spoken of--a broken heart. as she turns to re-enter the cabin, she appears ill-prepared for taking part, or pleasure, in a game of cards. and she takes not either. that round of _vingt-un_ is never to be played--at least not with her as one of the players. still half distraught with the agony through which her soul has passed-- the traces of which she fancies must be observable on her face--before making appearance in the brilliantly-lighted saloon, she passes around the corner of the ladies' cabin, intending to enter her own state-room by the outside door. it is but to spend a moment before her mirror, there to arrange her dress, the plaiting of her hair--perhaps the expression of her face--all things that to men may appear trivial, but to women important--even in the hour of sadness and despair. no blame to them for this. it is but an instinct--the primary care of their lives--the secret spring of their power. in repairing to her toilette, helen armstrong is but following the example of her sex. she does not follow it far--not even so far as to get to her looking-glass, or even inside her state-room. before entering it, she makes stop by the door, and tarries with face turned towards the river's bank. the boat, tacking across stream, has sheered close in shore; so close that the tall forest trees shadow her track--the tips of their branches almost touching the hurricane-deck. they are cypresses, festooned with grey-beard moss, that hangs down like the drapery of a death-bed. she sees one blighted, stretching forth bare limbs, blanched white by the weather, desiccated and jointed like the arms of a skeleton. 'tis a ghostly sight, and causes her weird thoughts, as under the clear moonbeams the steamer sweeps past the place. it is a relief to her, when the boat, gliding on, gets back into darkness. only momentary; for there under the shadow of the cypresses, lit up by the flash of the fire-flies, she sees, or fancies it, a face! it is that of a man--him latest in her thoughts--charles clancy! it is among the trees high up, on a level with the hurricane-deck. of course it can be but a fancy? clancy could not be there, either in the trees, or on the earth. she knows it is but a deception of her senses--an illusive vision--such as occur to clairvoyantes, at times deceiving themselves. illusion or not, helen armstrong has no time to reflect upon it. ere the face of her false lover fades from view; a pair of arms, black, sinewy, and stiff, seem reaching towards her! more than seem; it is a reality. before she can stir from the spot, or make effort to avoid them, she feels herself roughly grasped around the waist, and lifted aloft into the air. chapter twenty two. up and down. whatever has lifted helen armstrong aloft, for time holds her suspended. only for a few seconds, during which she sees the boat pass on beneath, and her sister rush out to the stern rail, sending forth a scream responsive to her own. before she can repeat the piercing cry, the thing grasping her relaxes its hold, letting her go altogether, and she feels herself falling, as from a great height. the sensation of giddiness is succeeded by a shock, which almost deprives her of consciousness. it is but the fall, broken by a plunge into water. then there is a drumming in her ears, a choking in the throat; in short, the sensation that precedes drowning. notwithstanding her late suicidal thoughts, the instinctive aversion to death is stronger than her weariness of life, and instinctively does she strive to avert it. no longer crying out; she cannot; her throat is filled with the water of the turbid stream. it stifles, as if a noose were being drawn around her neck, tighter and tighter. she can neither speak nor shout, only plunge and struggle. fortunately, while falling, the skirt of her dress, spreading as a parachute, lessened the velocity of the descent. this still extended, hinders her from sinking. as she knows not how to swim, it will not sustain her long; itself becoming weighted with the water. her wild shriek, with that of her sister responding--the latter still continued in terrified repetition--has summoned the passengers from the saloon, a crowd collecting on the stern-guards. "some one overboard!" is the cry sent all over the vessel. it reaches the ear of the pilot; who instantly rings the stop-bell, causing the paddles to suspend revolution, and bringing the boat to an almost instantaneous stop. the strong current, against which they are contending, makes the movement easy of execution. the shout of, "some one overboard!" is quickly followed by another of more particular significance. "it's a lady!" this announcement intensifies the feeling of regret and alarm. nowhere in the world more likely to do so, than among the chivalric spirits sure to be passengers on a mississippian steamboat. half a dozen voices are heard simultaneously asking, not "who is the lady?" but "where?" while several are seen pulling off their coats, as if preparing to take to the water. foremost among them is the young creole, dupre. he knows who the lady is. another lady has met him frantically, exclaiming-- "'tis helen! she has fallen, or _leaped_ overboard." the ambiguity of expression appears strange; indeed incomprehensible, to dupre, as to others who overhear it. they attributed it to incoherence, arising from the shock of the unexpected catastrophe. this is its cause, only partially: there is something besides. confused, half-frenzied, jessie continues to cry out: "my sister! save her! save her!" "we'll try; show us where she is," respond several. "yonder--there--under that tree. she was in its branches above, then dropped down upon the water. i heard the plunge, but did not see her after. she has gone to the bottom. merciful heavens! o helen! where are you?" the people are puzzled by these incoherent speeches--both the passengers above, and the boatmen on the under-deck. they stand as if spell-bound. fortunately, one of the former has retained presence of mind, and along with it coolness. it is the young planter, dupre. he stays not for the end of her speech, but springing over the guards, swims towards the spot pointed out. "brave fellow!" is the thought of jessie armstrong, admiration for her lover almost making her forget her sister's peril. she stands, as every one else upon the steamer, watching with earnest eyes. hers are more; they are flashing with feverish excitement, with glances of anxiety--at times the fixed gaze of fear. no wonder at its being so. the moon has sunk to the level of the tree-tops, and the bosom of the river is in dark shadow; darker by the bank where the boat is now drifting. but little chance to distinguish an object in the water--less for one swimming upon its surface. and the river is deep, its current rapid, the "reach" they are in, full of dangerous eddies. in addition, it is a spot infested, as all know--the favourite haunt of that hideous reptile the alligator, with the equally-dreaded gar-fish--the shark of the south-western rivers. all these things are in jessie armstrong's thoughts. amidst these dangers are the two dearest to her on earth; her sister, her lover. not strange that her apprehension is almost an agony! meanwhile the steamer's boat has been manned, and set loose as quickly as could be done. it is rowed towards the spot, where the swimmer was last seen; and all eyes are strained upon it--all ears listening to catch any word of cheer. not long have they to listen. from the shadowed surface comes the shout, "_saved_!" then, a rough boatman's voice, saying: "all right! we've got 'em both. throw us a rope." it is thrown by ready hands, after which is heard the command, "haul in!" a light, held high upon the steamer, flashes its beams down into, the boat. lying along its thwarts can be perceived a female form, in a dress once white, now discoloured and dripping. her head is held up by a man, whose scant garments show similarly stained. it is helen armstrong, supported by dupre. she appears lifeless, and the first sight of her draws anxious exclamations from those standing on the steamer. her sister gives out an agonised cry; while her father trembles on taking her into his arms, and totters as he carries her to her state-room--believing he bears but a corpse! but no! she breathes; her pulse beats; her lips move in low murmur; her bosom's swell shows sign of returning animation. by good fortune there chances to be a medical man among the passengers; who, after administering restoratives, pronounces her out of danger. the announcement causes universal joy on board the boat--crew and passengers alike sharing it. with one alone remains a thought to sadden. it is jessie: her heart is sore with the suspicion, that _her sister has attempted suicide_! chapter twenty three. the sleep of the assassin. on the night after killing clancy, richard darke does not sleep soundly--indeed scarce at all. his wakefulness is not due to remorse; there is no such sentiment in his soul. it comes from two other causes, in themselves totally, diametrically distinct; for the one is fear, the other love. while dwelling on the crime he has committed, he only dreads its consequences to himself; but, reflecting on what led him to commit it, his dread gives place to dire jealousy; and, instead of repentance, spite holds possession of his heart. not the less bitter, that the man and woman who made him jealous can never meet more. for, at that hour, he knows charles clancy to be lying dead in the dank swamp; while, ere dawn of the following day, helen armstrong will be starting upon a journey which must take her away from the place, far, and for ever. the only consolation he draws from her departure is, that she, too, will be reflecting spitefully and bitterly as himself. because of clancy not having kept his appointment with her; deeming the failure due to the falsehood by himself fabricated--the story of the creole girl. withal, it affords him but scant solace. she will be alike gone from him, and he may never behold her again. her beauty will never belong to his rival; but neither can it be his, even though chance might take him to texas, or by design he should proceed thither. to what end should he? no more now can he build castles in the air, basing them on the power of creditor over debtor. that bubble has burst, leaving him only the reflection, how illusory it has been. although, for his nefarious purpose, it has proved weak as a spider's web, it is not likely colonel armstrong will ever again submit himself to be so ensnared. broken men become cautious, and shun taking credit a second time. and yet richard darke does not comprehend this. blinded by passion, he cannot see any impossibility, and already thoughts of future proceedings begin to flit vaguely through his mind. they are too distant to be dwelt upon now. for this night he has enough to occupy heart and brain--keeping both on the rack and stretch, so tensely as to render prolonged sleep impossible. only for a few seconds at a time does he know the sweet unconsciousness of slumber; then, suddenly starting awake, to be again the prey of galling reflections. turn to which side he will, rest his head on the pillow as he may, two sounds seem ever ringing in his ears--one, a woman's voice, that speaks the denying word, "never!"--the other, a dog's bark, which seems persistently to say, "i demand vengeance for my murdered master!" if, in the first night after his nefarious deed, fears and jealous fancies chase one another through the assassin's soul, on the second it is different. jealousy has no longer a share in his thoughts, fear having full possession of them. and no trifling fear of some far off danger, depending on chances and contingencies, but one real and near, seeming almost certain. the day's doings have gone all against him. the behaviour of clancy's hound has not only directed suspicion towards him, but given evidence, almost conclusive, of his guilt; as though the barking of the dumb brute were words of truthful testimony, spoken in a witness-box! the affair cannot, will not, be allowed to rest thus. the suspicions of the searchers will take a more definite shape, ending in accusation, if not in the actual deed of his arrest. he feels convinced of this. therefore, on this second night, it is no common apprehension which keeps him awake, but one of the intensest kind, akin to stark terror. for, added to the fear of his fellow man, there is something besides--a fear of god; or, rather of the devil. his soul is now disturbed by a dread of the supernatural. he saw charles clancy stretched dead, under the cypress--was sure of it, before parting from the spot. returning to it, what beheld he? to him, more than any other, is the missing body a mystery. it has been perplexing, troubling him, throughout all the afternoon, even when his blood was up, and nerves strung with excitement. now, at night, in the dark, silent hours, as he dwells ponderingly upon it, it more than perplexes, more than troubles--it awes, horrifies him. in vain he tries to compose himself, by shaping conjectures based on natural causes. even these could not much benefit him; for, whether clancy be dead or still living--whether he has walked away from the ground, or been carried from it a corpse--to him, darke, the danger will be almost equal. not quite. better, of course, if clancy be dead, for then there will be but circumstantial evidence against, and, surely, not sufficient to convict him? little suspects he, that in the same hour, while he is thus distractedly cogitating, men are weighing evidence he knows not of; or that, in another hour, they will be on the march to make him their prisoner. for all his ignorance of it, he has a presentiment of danger, sprung from the consciousness of his crime. this, and no sentiment of remorse, or repentance, wrings from him the self-interrogation, several times repeated:-- "why the devil did i do it?" he regrets the deed, not because grieving at its guilt, but the position it has placed him in--one of dread danger, with no advantage derived, nothing to compensate him for the crime. no wonder at his asking, in the name of the devil, why he has done it! he is being punished for it now; if not through remorse of conscience, by coward craven fear. he feels what other criminals have felt before-- what, be it hoped, they will ever feel--how hard it is to sleep the sleep of the assassin, or lie awake on a murderer's bed. on the last richard darke lies; since this night he sleeps not at all. from the hour of retiring to his chamber, till morning's dawn comes creeping through the window, he has never closed eye; or, if so, not in the sweet oblivion of slumber. he is still turning upon his couch, chafing in fretful apprehension, when daylight breaks into his bedroom, and shows its shine upon the floor. it is the soft blue light of a southern morn, which usually enters accompanied by bird music--the songs of the wild forest warblers mingling with domestic voices not so melodious. among these the harsh "screek" of the guinea-fowl; the more sonorous call of the turkey "gobbler;" the scream of the goose, always as in agony; the merrier cackle of the laying hen, with the still more cheerful note of her lord--chanticleer. all these sounds hears dick darke, the agreeable as the disagreeable. both are alike to him on this morning, the second after the murder. far more unpleasant than the last are some other sounds which salute his ear, as he lies listening. noises which, breaking out abruptly, at once put an end to the singing of the forest birds, and the calling of the farm-yard fowls. they are of two kinds; one, the clattering of horses' hoofs, the other, the clack and clangour of men's voices. evidently there are several, speaking at the same time, and all in like tone--this of anger, of vengeance! at first they seem at some distance off, but evidently drawing nigh. soon they are close up to the dwelling, their voices loudly reverberating from its walls. the assassin cannot any longer keep to his couch. too well knows he what the noise is, his guilty heart guessing it. springing to his feet, he glides across the room, and approaches the window--cautiously, because in fear. his limbs tremble, as he draws the curtain and looks out. then almost refusing to support him: for, in the courtyard he sees a half-score of armed horsemen, and hears them angrily discoursing. one at their head he knows to be the sheriff of the county; beside him his deputy, and behind a brace of constables. in rear of these, two men he has reason to believe will be his most resolute accusers. he has no time to discriminate; for, soon as entering the enclosure, the horsemen dismount, and make towards the door of the dwelling. in less than sixty seconds after, they knock against that of his sleeping chamber, demanding admission. no use denying them, as its occupant is well aware--not even to ask-- "who's there?" instead, he says, in accent tremulous-- "come in." instantly after, he sees the door thrown open, and a form filling up its outlines--the stalwart figure of a mississippi sheriff; who, as he stands upon the threshold, says, in firm voice, with tone of legal authority: "richard darke, i arrest you!" "for what?" mechanically demands the culprit, shivering in his shirt. "_for the murder of charles clancy_!" chapter twenty four. the coon-hunter conscience-stricken. on the night preceding richard darke's arrest, another man, not many rods distant, lies awake, or, at least, loses more than half his customary measure of sleep. this is the coon-hunter. in his case the disturbing cause _is_ conscience; though his crime is comparatively a light one, and should scarce rob him of his rest. it would not, were he a hardened sinner; but blue bill is the very reverse; and though, at times, cruel to "coony," he is, in the main, merciful, his breast overflowing with the milk of human kindness. on the night succeeding his spoilt coon-chase, he has slept sound enough, his mind being unburdened by the confession to phoebe. besides, he had then no certain knowledge that a murder had been committed, or of any one being even killed. he only knew there were shots, and angry words, resembling a fight between two men; one his young master; the other, as he supposed, charles clancy. true, the former, rushing past in such headlong pace, seemed to prove that the affair had a tragical termination. but of this, he, blue bill, could only have conjecture; and, hoping the _denouement_ might not be so bad as at first deemed, neither was he so alarmed as to let it interfere with his night's slumbers. in the morning, when, as usual, hoe in hand, he goes abroad to his day's work, no one would suspect him of being the depository of a secret so momentous. he was always noted as the gayest of the working gang--his laugh, the loudest, longest, and merriest, carried across the plantation fields; and on this particular day, it rings with its wonted cheerfulness. only during the earlier hours. when, at mid-day, a report reaches the place where the slaves are at work, that a man has been murdered--this, charles clancy--the coon-hunter, in common with the rest of the gang, throws down his hoe; all uniting in a cry of sympathetic sorrow. for all of them know young "massr clancy;" respecting, many of them loving him. he has been accustomed to meet them with pleasant looks, and accost them in kindly words. the tidings produce a painful impression upon them; and from that moment, though their task has to be continued, there is no more cheerfulness in the cotton field. even their conversation is hushed, or carried on in a subdued tone; the hoes being alone heard, as their steel blades clink against an occasional "donick." but while his fellow-labourers are silent through sorrow, blue bill is speechless from another and different cause. they only hear that young massr clancy has been killed--murdered, as the report says--while he knows how, when, where, and _by whom_. the knowledge gives him double uneasiness; for while sorrowing as much, perhaps more than any, for charles clancy's death, he has fears for his own life, with good reasons for having them. if by any sinister chance massr dick should get acquainted with the fact of his having been witness to that rapid retreat among the trees, he, blue bill, would be speedily put where his tongue could never give testimony. in full consciousness of his danger, he determines not to commit himself by any voluntary avowal of what he has seen and heard; but to bury the secret in his own breast, as also insist on its being so interred within the bosom of his better half. this day, phoebe is not in the field along with the working gang; which causes him some anxiety. the coon-hunter can trust his wife's affections, but is not so confident as to her prudence. she may say something in the "quarter" to compromise him. a word--the slightest hint of what has happened--may lead to his being questioned, and confessed; with torture, if the truth be suspected. no wonder that during the rest of the day blue bill wears an air of abstraction, and hoes the tobacco plants with a careless hand, often chopping off the leaves. fortunately for him, his fellow-workers are not in a mood to observe these vagaries, or make inquiry as to the cause. he is rejoiced, when the boom of the evening bell summons them back to the "big house." once more in the midst of his piccaninnies, with phoebe by his side, he imparts to her a renewed caution, to "keep dark on dat ere seerous subjeck." at supper, the two talk over the events of the day--phoebe being the narrator. she tells him of all that has happened--of the search, and such incidents connected with it as have reached the plantation of the darkes; how both the old and young master took part in it, since having returned home. she adds, of her own observation, that massr dick looked "berry scared-like, an' white in de cheeks as a ole she-possum." "dats jess de way he oughter look," is the husband's response. after which they finish their frugal meal, and once more retire to rest. but on this second night, the terrible secret shared by them, keeps both from sleeping. neither gets so much as a wink. as morning dawns, they are startled by strange noises in the negro quarter. these are not the usual sounds consequent on the uprising of their fellow-slaves--a chorus of voices, in jest and jocund laughter. on the contrary, it is a din of serious tone, with cries that tell of calamity. when the coon-hunter draws--back his door, and looks forth, he sees there is commotion outside; and is soon told its cause. one of his fellow-bondsmen, coming forward, says:-- "massr dick am arrested by de sheriff. dey've tuk 'im for de murder ob massr charl clancy." the coon-hunter rushes out, and up to the big house. he reaches it in time to see richard darke set upon a horse, and conducted away from the place, with a man on each side, guarding him. all know that he goes a prisoner. with a sense of relief, blue bill hastens back to his own domicile, where lie communicates what has happened to the wife anxiously waiting. "phoebe, gal," he adds, in a congratulatory whisper, "dar ain't no longer so much reezun for us to hab fear. i see sime woodley mong de men; and dis nigger know dat he'll gub me his purtecshun, whatsomever i do. so i'se jess made up my mind to make a clean bress ob de hul ting, and tell what i heern an' see, besides deliverin' up boaf dat letter an' picter. what's yar view ob de matter? peak plain, and doan be noways mealy-moufed 'bout it." "my views is den, for de tellin' ob de troof. ole eph darke may flog us till dar ain't a bit o' skin left upon our bare backs. i'll take my share ob de 'sponsibility, an a full half ob de noggin'. yes, bill, i'se willin' to do dat. but let de troof be tole--de whole troof, an' nuffin but de troof." "den it shall be did. phoebe, you's a darlin'. kiss me, ole gal. if need be, we'll boaf die togedder." and their two black faces come in contact, as also their bosoms; both beating with a humanity that might shame whiter skins. chapter twenty five. an unceremonious search. arrested, richard darke is taken to jail. this not in natchez, but a place of less note; the court-house town of the county, within the limits of which lie the darke and armstrong plantations. he is there consigned to the custody of joe harkness, jailer. but few, who assisted at the arrest, accompany him to the place of imprisonment; only the deputy, and the brace of constables. the sheriff himself, with the others, does not leave ephraim darke's premises, till after having given them a thorough examination, in quest of evidence against the accused. this duty done, without regard to the sensibilities of the owner, who follows them from room to room, now childishly crying--now frantically cursing. alike disregarded are his tears and oaths. the searchers have no sympathy for him in his hour of affliction. some even secretly rejoice at it. ephraim darke is not a southerner, _pur sang_; and, though without the slightest taint of abolitionism--indeed the very opposite--he has always been unpopular in the neighbourhood; alike detested by planter and "poor white." many of both have been his debtors, and felt his iron hand over them, just as archibald armstrong. besides, some of these now around his house were present two days before upon armstrong's plantation; saw his establishment broken up, his goods and chattels confiscated, his home made desolate. knowing by whom all this was done, with ill-concealed satisfaction, they now behold the _arcana_ of ephraim darke's dwelling exposed to public gaze; himself humiliated, far more than the man he made homeless. with no more ceremony than was shown in making the arrest, do the sheriff and party explore the paternal mansion of him arrested, rudely ransacking it from cellar to garret; the outbuildings as well, even to the grounds and garden. their search is but poorly rewarded. all they get, likely to throw light on the matter of inquiry, is richard darke's double-barrelled gun, with the clothes he wore on the day fatal to clancy. on these there is no blood; but while they are looking for it, something comes under their eyes, almost equally significant of strife. through the coat-skirt is a hole, ragged, and recently made. several pronounce it a bullet-hole; further declaring the ball to have been discharged from a rifle. for certain, a singular discovery! but like all the others that have been made, only serving to perplex them. it is rather in favour of the accused; giving colour to the idea, that between him and clancy there has been a fight, with shots fired from both sides. the question is, "has it been a fair one?" to negative this, a bit of adjunct evidence is adduced, which goes against the accused. the coat, with the perforated skirt, is _not_ the one worn by him on the day before, when out assisting in the search; while it is that he had on, the day preceding, when clancy came not home. ephraim darke's domestics, on being sternly interrogated, and aside, disclose this fact; unaware how greatly their master may desire them to keep it concealed. still, it is not much. a man might have many reasons for changing his coat, especially for the dress of two different days. it would be nothing, but for the conjoint circumstance of the shot through the skirt. this makes it significant. another item of intelligence, of still more suspicious nature, is got out of the domestics, whose stern questioners give them no chance to prevaricate. indeed, terrified, they do not try. their young "massr dick" had on a different pair of boots the day he went out hunting, from those worn by him, when, yesterday, he went searching. the latter are in the hands of the sheriff, but the former are missing-- cannot be found anywhere, in or about the house! all search for them proves idle. and not strange it should; since one is in the side-pocket of sime woodley's surtout, the other having a like lodgment in that of ned heywood. the two hunters, "prospecting" apart, found the boots thickly coated with mud, concealed under a brush pile, at the bottom of the peach orchard. even the sheriff does not know what bulges out the coat-skirts of the two backwoodsmen. nor is he told there or then. sime has an object in keeping that secret to himself and his companion; he will only reveal it, when the time comes to make it more available. the affair of the arrest and subsequent action over, the sheriff and his party retire from the plantation of ephraim darke, leaving its owner in a state of frenzied bewilderment. they go direct to mrs clancy's cottage; not to stay there, but as a starting point, to resume the search for the body of her son, adjourned since yester-eve. they do not tell her of dick darke's arrest. she is inside her chamber--on her couch--so prostrated by the calamity already known to her, they fear referring to it. the doctor in attendance tells them, that any further revelation concerning the sad event may prove fatal to her. again her neighbours, now in greater number, go off to the woods, some afoot, others on horseback. as on the day preceding, they divide into different parties, and scatter in diverse directions. though not till after all have revisited the ensanguined spot under the cypress, and renewed their scrutiny of the stains. darker than on the day before, they now look more like ink than blood! the cypress knee, out of which woodley and heywood "gouged" the smooth-bore bullet, is also examined, its position noted. attempts are made to draw inferences therefrom, though with but indifferent success. true, it tells a tale; and, judging by the blood around the bullet-hole, which all of them have seen, a tragic one, though it cannot of itself give the interpretation. a few linger around the place, now tracked and trodden hard by their going and coming feet. the larger number proceeds upon the search, in scattered parties of six or eight each, carrying it for as many miles around. they pole and drag the creek near by, as others at a greater distance; penetrate the swamp as far as possible, or likely that a dead body might be carried for concealment. in its dim recesses they discover no body, living or dead, no trace of human being, nought save the solitude-loving heron, the snake-bird, and scaly alligator. on this second day's quest they observe nothing new, either to throw additional light on the commission of the crime, or assist them in recovering the corpse. it is but an unsatisfactory report to take back to the mother of the missing man. perhaps better for her she should never receive it? and she never does. before it can reach her ear, this is beyond hearing sound. the thunder of heaven could not awake mrs clancy from the sleep into which she has fallen. for it is no momentary unconsciousness, but the cold insensible slumber of death. the long-endured agony of ill fortune, the more recent one of widowhood, and, now, this new bereavement of a lost, only son--these accumulated trials have proved too much for her woman's strength, of late fast failing. when, at evening hour, the searchers, on their return, approach the desolated dwelling, they hear sounds within that speak of some terrible disaster. on the night before their ears were saluted by the same, though in tones somewhat different. then the widow's voice was lifted in lamentation; now it is not heard at all. whatever of mystery there may be is soon removed. a woman, stepping out upon the porch, and, raising her hand in token of attention, says, in sad solemn voice,-- "_mrs clancy is dead_!" chapter twenty six. tell-tale tracks. "mrs clancy is dead!" the simple, but solemn speech, makes an impression on the assembled backwoodsmen difficult to be described. all deem it a double-murder; her death caused by that of her son. the same blow has killed both. it makes them all the more eager to discover the author of this crime, by its consequence twofold; and now, more than ever, do their thoughts turn towards dick darke, and become fixed upon him. as the announcement of mrs clancy's death makes complete the events of the day, one might suppose, that after this climax, her neighbours, satisfied nothing more could be done, would return to their own homes. this is not the custom in the backwoods of america, or with any people whose hearts beat true to the better instincts of humanity. it is only in old world countries, under tyrannical rule, where these have been crushed out, that such selfishness can prevail. nothing of this around natchez--not a spark of it in the breasts of those collected about that cottage, in which lies the corpse of a woman. the widow will be waked by men ready to avenge her wrongs. if friendless and forlorn while living, it is different now she is dead. there is not a man among them but would give his horse, his gun, ay, a slice of his land, to restore her to life, or bring back that of her son. neither being now possible, they can only show their sympathy by the punishment of him who has caused the double desolation. it still needs to know who. after all, it may not be the man arrested and arraigned, though most think it is. but, to be fully convinced, further evidence is wanted; as also a more careful sifting of that already obtained. as on the night before, a council is convened, the place being the bit of green sward, that, lawn-like, extends from the cottage front to the rail fence of the road. but now the number taking part in it is different. instead of a half-score, there is nearer a half hundred. the news of the second death has been spreading meanwhile, and the added sympathy causes the crowd to increase. in its centre soon forms a ring, an open space, surrounded by men, acknowledged as chief on such occasions. they discuss the points of the case; state such incidents and events as are known; recall all circumstances that can be remembered; and inquire into their connection with motives. it is, in short, a jury, _standing_, not _sitting_, on the trial of a criminal case; and, with still greater difference between them and the ordinary "twelve good men and true," in that, unlike these, they are not mere dummies, with a strong inclination to accept the blandishments of the barrister, or give way to the rulings of the judge, too often wrong. on the contrary, men who, in themselves, combine the functions of all three--judge, jury, and counsel--with this triple power, inspired by a corresponding determination to arrive at the truth. in short it is the court of "justice lynch" in session. every circumstance which has a possible bearing on the case, or can throw light into its dark ambiguity, is called up and considered. the behaviour of the accused himself, coupled with that of the hound, are the strongest points yet appearing against him. though not the only ones. the bullet extracted from the cypress knee, has been tried in the barrel of his gun, and found to fit exactly. about the other ball, which made the hole through the skirt of his coat, no one can say more than that it came out of a rifle. every backwoodsman among them can testify to this. a minor point against the accused man is, his having changed his clothes on the two succeeding days; though one stronger and more significant, is the fact that the boots, known to have been worn by him on the former, are still missing and cannot anywhere be found. "can't they, indeed?" asks sime woodley, in response to one, who has just expressed surprise at this. the old hunter has been hitherto holding back; not from any want of will to assist the lynch jury in their investigation, but because, only lately arrived, he has scarce yet entered into the spirit of their proceedings. his grief, on getting the news of mrs clancy's death, for a time holds him in restraint. it is a fresh sorrow; since, not only had her son been long his friend, but in like manner her husband and herself. in loyal memory of this friendship, he has been making every effort to bring the murderer to justice; and one just ended accounts for his late arrival at the cottage. as on the day before, he and heywood have remained behind the other searchers; staying in the woods till all these returned home. yesterday they were detained by an affair of _bullets_-- to-day it is _boots_. the same that are missing, and about which questions have just been asked, the last by sime woodley himself. in answer to it he continues:-- "they not only kin be foun', but hev been. hyar they air!" saying this, the hunter pulls a boot out of his pocket, and holds it up before their eyes; heywood simultaneously exposing another--its fellow! "that's the fut wear ye're in sarch o', i reck'n," pursues woodley. "'t all eevents it's a pair o' boots belongin' to dick darke, an' war worn by him the day afore yesterday. what's more, they left thar marks down on the swamp mud, not a hunderd mile from the spot whar poor charley clancy hez got his death shot; an' them tracks war made not a hundred minnits from the time he got it. now boys! what d'ye think o' the thing?" "where did you get the boots?" ask several, speaking at the same time. "no matter whar. ye kin all see we've got 'em. time enuf to tell o' the whar an' the wharf or when it kums to a trial. tho lookin' in yur faces, fellurs, i shed say it's kim to somethin' o' that sort now." "_it has_!" responds one of the jury, in a tone of emphatic affirmation. "in that case," pursues the hunter, "me an' ned heywood are ready to _gie_ sech evidince as we've got. both o' us has spent good part o' this arternoon collectin' it; an' now it's at the sarvice o' the court o' judge lynch, or any other." "well then, woodley!" says a planter of respectability, who by tacit consent is representing the stern terrible judge spoken of. "suppose the court to be in session. tell us all you know." with alacrity woodley responds to the appeal; giving his experience, along with it his suspicions and conjectures; not simply as a witness, but more like a counsel in the case. it needs not to say, he is against the accused, in his statement of facts, as the deductions he draws from them. for the hunter has long since decided within himself, as to who killed clancy. heywood follows him in like manner, though with no new matter. his testimony but corroborates that of his elder confrere. taken together, or separately, it makes profound impression on the jurors of judge lynch; almost influencing them to pronounce an instant verdict, condemnatory of the accused. if so, it will soon be followed by the sentence; this by execution, short and quick, but sternly terrible! chapter twenty seven. additional evidence. while the lynchers are still in deliberation, the little clock on the mantel strikes twelve, midnight; of late, not oft a merry hour in the cottage of the clancys; but this night more than ever sad. its striking seems the announcement of a crisis. for a time it silences the voices of those conversing. scarce has the last stroke ceased to vibrate on the still night air, when a voice is heard; one that has not hitherto taken part in the deliberations. it sounds as though coming up from the road gate. "mass woodley in da?" are the words spoken interrogatively; the question addressed generally to the group gathered in front of the house. "yes: he's here," simultaneously answer several. "kin i peak a wud wif you, mass woodley?" again asks the inquirer at the wicket. "sartinly," says the hunter, separating from the others, and striding off towards the entrance. "i reck'n i know that voice," he adds, on drawing near the gate. "it's blue bill, ain't it?" "hush, mass' woodley! for goramity's sake doan peak out ma name. not fo' all de worl let dem people hear it. ef dey do, dis nigger am a dead man, shoo." "darn it, bill; what's the matter? why d'ye talk so mysteerous? is thar anythin' wrong? oh! now i think o't, you're out arter time. never mind 'bout that; i'll not betray you. say; what hev ye kim for?" "foller me, mass woodley; i tell yer all. i dasent tay hya, less some ob dem folk see me. les' go little way from de house, into de wood groun' ober yonner; den i tell you wha fotch me out. dis nigger hab someting say to you, someting berry patickler. yes, mass woodley, berry patickler. 'tarn a matter ob life an' def." sime does not stay to hear more; but, lifting the latch, quietly pushes open the gate, and passes out into the road. then following the negro, who flits like a shadow before him, the two are soon standing among some bushes that form a strip of thicket running along the roadside. "now, what air it?" asks woodley of the coon-hunter, with whom he is well acquainted--having often met him in his midnight rambles. "mass woodley, you want know who kill mass charl clancy?" "why, bill, that's the very thing we're all talkin' 'bout, an' tryin' to find out. in coorse we want to know. but who's to tell us?" "dis nigger do dat." "air ye in airnest, bill?" "so much in earness i ha'n't got no chance get sleep, till i make clean bress ob de seecret. de ole ooman neider. no, mass woodley, phoebe she no let me ress till i do dat same. she say it am de duty ob a christyun man, an', as ye know, we boaf b'long to de methodies. darfore, i now tell ye, de man who kill charl clancy was my own massr--de young un-- dick." "bill! are you sure o' what ye say?" "so shoo i kin swa it as de troof, de whole troof, an' nuffin but de troof." "but what proof have ye?" "proof! i moas seed it wif ma own eyes. if i didn't see, i heerd it wif ma ears." "by the 'tarnal! this looks like clar evydince at last. tell me, bill, o' all that you seed an' what you heern?" "ya, mass woodley, i tell you ebberyting; all de sarkunistances c'nected wif de case." in ten minutes after, simeon woodley is made acquainted with everything the coon-hunter knows; the latter having given him full details of all that occurred on that occasion when his coon-chase was brought to such an unsatisfactory termination. to the backwoodsman it brings no surprise. he has already arrived at a fixed conclusion, and bill's revelation is in correspondence with it. on hearing it, he but says:-- "while runnin' off, yur master let fall a letter, did he? you picked it up, bill? ye've gob it?" "hya's dat eyedentikil dockyment." the negro hands over the epistle, the photograph inside. "all right, bill! i reck'n this oughter make things tol'ably clur. now, what d'ye want me to do for yurself?" "lor, mass woodley, you knows bess. i'se needn't tell ye, dat ef ole eph'm darke hear wha dis nigger's been, an' gone, an' dud, de life ob blue bill wuldn't be wuth a ole coon-skin--no; not so much as a corn-shuck. i'se get de cowhide ebbery hour ob de day, and de night too. i'se get flog to def, sa'tin shoo." "yur right thar, i reck'n," rejoins the hunter; then continues, reflectingly, "yes; you'd be sarved putty saveer, if they war to know on't. wal, that mustn't be, and won't. so much i kin promise ye, bill. yur evydince wouldn't count for nuthin' in a law court, nohow. tharfor, we won't bring ye forrad; so don't you be skeeart. i guess we shan't wan't no more testymony, as thar ain't like to be any crosskwestenin' lawyers in this case. now; d'you slip back to yur quarters, and gi'e yurself no furrer consarn. i'll see you don't git into any trouble. may i be damned ef ye do!" with this emphatic promise, the old bear-hunter separates from the less pretentious votary of the chase; as he does so giving the latter a squeeze of the hand, which tells him he may go back in confidence to the negro quarter, and sit, or sleep, by the side of his phoebe, without fear. chapter twenty eight. "to the jail!" with impatience judge lynch and his jurors await the hunter's return. before his leaving them, they had well-nigh made up their minds to the verdict. all know it will be "guilty," given unanimously. woodley's temporary absence will not affect it. neither the longer time allowed them for deliberation. if this cause change, it will not be to modify, but make more fixed their determination. still others keep coming up. like wildfire the news has spread that the mother of the murdered man is herself stricken down. this, acting as a fresh stimulus to sympathy, brings back such of the searchers as had gone home; many starting from beds to which they had betaken themselves after the day's fatigue. it is past midnight, and the crowd collected around the cottage is greater than ever. as one after another arrives upon the ground they step across the threshold, enter the chamber of death, and look upon the corpse, whose pale face seems to make mute appeal to them for justice. after gazing on it for an instant, their anger with difficulty subdued in the solemn presence of death, each comes out muttering a resolve there shall be both justice and vengeance, many loudly vociferating it with the added emphasis of an oath. it does not need what simeon woodley has in store to incite them to action. already are they sufficiently inflamed. the furor of the mob, with its mutually maddening effect, gradually growing upon them, permeating their spirits, has reached the culminating point. still do they preserve sufficient calmness to wait a little longer, and hear what the hunter may have to say. they take it, he has been called from them on some matter connected with the subject under consideration. at such a time who would dare interrupt their deliberations for any trivial purpose? although none of them has recognised blue bill's voice, they know it to have been that of a negro. this, however, is no reason why he should not have made some communication likely to throw new light on the affair. so, on woodley's return, once more gathering around him, they demand to hear what it is. he tells all that has been imparted to him; but without making known the name of his informant, or in any way compromising the brave fellow with a black skin, who has risked life itself by making disclosure of the truth. to him the old hunter refers in a slight but significant manner. comprehending, no one presses for more minute explanation. "he as says all that," woodley continues, after stating the circumstances communicated by the coon-hunter, "has guv me the letter dropped by dick darke; which, as i've tolt, ye, he picked up. here air the thing itself. preehaps it may let some new light into the matter; though i guess you'll all agree wi' me, it's clar enough a'ready." they all do agree. a dozen voices have declared, are still declaring that. one now cries out-- "what need to talk any more? charley clancy's been killed--he's been murdered. an' dick darke's the man that did it!" it is not from any lack of convincing evidence, but rather a feeling of curiosity, that prompts them to call for the reading of the letter, which the hunter now holds conspicuously in his hand. its contents may have no bearing upon the case. still it can be no harm to know what they are. "you read it, henry spence! you're a scholart, an' i ain't," says woodley, handing the letter over to a young fellow of learned look--the schoolmaster of the settlement. spence, stepping close up to the porch--into which some one has carried a candle--and holding the letter before the light, first reads the superscription, which, as he informs them, is in a lady's handwriting. "_to charley clancy_" it is. "charles clancy!" half a score voices pronounce the name, all in a similar tone--that of surprise. one interrogates,-- "was that letter dropped by dick darke?" "it was," responds woodley, to whom the question is addressed. "have patience, boys!" puts in the planter, who represents justice lynch; "don't interrupt till we hear what's in it." they take the hint, and remain silent. but when the envelope is laid open, and a photograph drawn out, showing the portrait of a young lady, recognised by all as a likeness of helen armstrong, there is a fresh outburst of exclamations which betoken increased surprise; this stronger still, after spence reads out the inscript upon the picture: "helen armstrong--for him she loves." the letter is addressed to charles clancy; to him the photograph must have been sent. a love-affair between miss armstrong and the man who has been murdered! a new revelation to all--startling, as pertinent to the case.-- "go on, spence! give us the contents of the letter!" demands an impatient voice. "yes, give them!" adds another. "i reckon we're on the right track now." the epistle is taken out of the envelope. the schoolmaster, unfolding it, reads aloud:-- "dear charles,-- "when we last met under the magnolia, you asked me a question. i told you i would answer it in writing. i now keep my promise, and you will find the answer underneath my own very imperfect image, which i herewith send in closed. papa has finally fixed the day of our departure from the old home. on tuesday next we are to set out in search of a new one. will it ever be as dear as that we are leaving behind? the answer will depend upon--need i say whom? after reading what i have written upon the _carte_, surely you can guess. there, i have confessed all--all woman can, could, or should. in six little words i have made over to you my heart. accept them as its surrender! "and now, charles, to speak of things prosaic, as in this hard world we are too oft constrained to do. on tuesday morning--at a very early hour, i believe--a boat will leave natchez, bound up the red river. upon it we travel, as far as natchitoches. there to remain for some time, while papa is completing preparations for our farther transport into texas, i am not certain what part of the `lone star' state he will select for our future home. he speaks of a place upon some branch of the colorado river, said to be a beautiful country; which, you, having been out there, will know all about. in any case, we are to remain for a time, a month or more, in nachitoches; and there, _carlos mio_, i need not tell you, there is a post-office for receiving letters, as also for delivering them. mind, i say for _delivering_ them! before we leave for the far frontier, where there may be neither post-office nor post, i shall write you full particulars about our intended `location'--with directions how to reach it. need i be very minute? or can i promise myself, that your wonderful skill as a `tracker,' of which we've heard, will enable you to discover it? they say love is blind. i hope, yours will not be so: else you may fail in finding the way to your sweetheart in the wilderness. "how i go on talking, or rather writing, things i intended to say to you at our next meeting tinder the magnolia--our magnolia! sad thought this, tagged to a pleasant expectation: for it must be our last interview under the dear old tree. our last anywhere, until we come together again in texas--perhaps on some prairie where there are no trees. well; we shall then meet, i hope, never more to part; and in the open daylight, with no need either of night, or tree-shadows to conceal us. i'm sure father, humbled as he now is, will no longer object. dear charles, i don't think he would have done so at any time, but for his reverses. they made him think of--never mind what. i shall tell you all under the magnolia. "and now, master mine--this makes you so--be punctual! monday night, and ten o'clock--the old hour. remember that the morning after? i shall be gone--long before the wild-wood songsters are singing their `_reveille_' to awake you. jule will drop this into our tree post-office this evening--saturday. as you've told me you go there every day, you'll be sure of getting it in time; and once more i may listen to your flattery, as when you quoted the words of the old song, making me promise to come, saying you would `show the night flowers their queen.' "ah! charles, how easy to keep that promise! how sweet the flattery was, is, and ever will be, to yours,-- "helen armstrong." "and that letter was found on dick darke?" questions a voice, as soon as the reading has come to an end. "it war dropped by him," answers woodley; "and tharfor ye may say it war found on him." "you're sure of that, simeon woodley?" "wal, a man can't be sure o' a thing unless he sees it. i didn't see it myself wi' my own eyes. for all that, i've had proof clar enough to convince me; an' i'm reddy to stan' at the back o' it." "damn the letter!" exclaims one of the impatient ones, who has already spoken in similar strain; "the picture, too! don't mistake me, boys. i ain't referrin' eyther to the young lady as wrote it, nor him she wrote to. i only mean that neither letter nor picture are needed to prove what we're all wantin' to know, an' do know. they arn't nor warn't reequired. to my mind, from the fust go off, nothin' ked be clarer than that charley clancy has been killed, cepting as to who killed him-- murdered him, if ye will; for that's what's been done. is there a man on the ground who can't call out the murderer?" the interrogatory is answered by a unanimous negative, followed by the name, "dick darke." and along with the answer commences a movement throughout the crowd. a scattering with threats heard--some muttered, some spoken aloud--while men are observed looking to their guns, and striding towards their horses; as they do so, saying sternly,-- "to the jail!" in ten minutes after both men and horses are in motion moving along the road between clancy's cottage and the county town. they form a phalanx, if not regular in line of march, terribly imposing in aspect. could richard darke, from inside the cell where he is confined, but see that approaching cavalcade, hear the conversation of those who compose it, and witness their angry gesticulations, he would shake in his shoes, with trembling worse than any ague that ever followed fever. chapter twenty nine. a scheme of colonisation. about two hundred miles from the mouth of red river--the red of louisiana--stands the town of natchitoches. the name is indian, and pronounced as if written "nak-e-tosh." though never a populous place, it is one of peculiar interest, historically and ethnologically. dating from the earliest days of french and spanish colonisation, on the lower mississippi, it has at different periods been in possession of both these nations; finally falling to the united states, at the transfer of the louisiana territory by napoleon bonaparte. hence, around its history is woven much of romantic interest; while from the same cause its population, composed of many various nationalities, with their distinctive physical types and idiosyncracies of custom, offers to the eye of the stranger a picturesqueness unknown to northern towns. placed on a projecting bluff of the river's bank, its painted wooden houses, of french creole fashion, with "piazzas" and high-pitched roofs, its trottoirs brick-paved, and shaded by trees of sub-tropical foliage-- among them the odoriferous magnolia, and _melia azedarach_, or "pride of china,"--these, in places, completely arcading the street--natchitoches has the orthodox aspect of a _rus in urbe_, or _urbs in rure_, whichever way you wish it. its porticoes, entwined with parasites, here and there show stretches of trellis, along which meander the cord-like tendrils of bignonias, aristolochias, and orchids, the flowers of which, drooping over windows and doorways, shut out the too garish sunlight, while filling the air with fragrance. among these whirr tiny humming birds, buzz humble bees almost as big, while butterflies bigger than either lazily flout and flap about on soft, silent wing. such sights greet you at every turning as you make promenade through the streets of natchitoches. and there are others equally gratifying. within these same trellised verandahs, you may observe young girls of graceful mien, elegantly apparelled, lounging on cane rocking-chairs, or perhaps peering coyly through the half-closed jalousies, their eyes invariably dark brown or coal black, the marble forehead above surmounted with a chevelure in hue resembling the plumage of the raven. for most of these demoiselles are descended from the old colonists of the two latinic races; not a few with some admixture of african, or indian. the flaxen hair, blue eyes, and blonde complexion of the northland are only exceptional appearances in the town of natchitoches. meet these same young ladies in the street, it is the custom, and _comme il faut_, to take off your hat, and make a bow. every man who claims to be a gentleman does this deference; while every woman, with a white skin, expects it. on whichever side the privilege may be supposed to lie, it is certainly denied to none. the humblest shop clerk or artisan--even the dray-driver--may thus make obeisance to the proudest and daintiest damsel who treads the trottoirs of natchitoches. it gives no right of converse, nor the slightest claim to acquaintanceship. a mere formality of politeness; and to presume carrying it further would not only be deemed a rudeness, but instantly, perhaps very seriously, resented. such is the polished town to which the belle of natchez has brought colonel armstrong, with his belongings, and from which he intends taking final departure for texas. the "lone star state" lies a little beyond-- the sabine river forming the boundary line. but from earliest time of texan settlement on the north-eastern side, natchitoches has been the place of ultimate outfit and departure. here the ex-mississippian planter has made halt, and purposes to remain for a much longer time than originally intended. for a far grander scheme of migration, than that he started out with, is now in his mind. born upon the belle of natchez, it has been gradually developing itself during the remainder of the voyage, and is now complete--at least as to general design. it has not originated with archibald armstrong himself, but one, whom he is soon to call son-in-law. the young creole, dupre, entranced with love, has nevertheless not permitted its delirium to destroy all ideas of other kind. rather has it re-inspired him with one already conceived, but which, for some time, has been in abeyance. he, too, has been casting thoughts towards texas, with a view to migrating thither. of late travelling in europe--more particularly in france--with some of whose noblest families he holds relationship, he has there been smitten with a grand idea, dictated by a spirit of ambition. in louisiana he is only a planter among planters and though a rich one, is still not satisfied, either with the number of his negroes, or the area of his acres. in texas, where land is comparatively low priced, he has conceived a project of colonisation, on an extended scale--in short, the founding a sort of transatlantic _seigneurie_. for some months has this ambitious dream been brooding in his brain; and now, meeting the mississippian planter aboard the boat and learning the latter's intentions, this, and the more tender _liens_ late established between, them, have determined louis dupre to make his dream a reality, and become one of the migrating party. he will sell his louisiana houses and lands, but not his slaves. these can be taken to texas. scarce necessary to say, that, on thus declaring himself, he becomes the real chief of the proposed settlement. whether showing conspicuously in front, or remaining obscurely in the rear, the capitalist controls all; and dupre is this. still, though virtually the controlling spirit, apparently the power remains in the hands of colonel armstrong. the young creole wishes it to appear so. he has no jealousy of him, who is soon to be his second father. besides, there is another and substantial reason why colonel armstrong should assume the chieftainship of the purposed expedition. though reduced in circumstances, the ex-mississippian planter is held in high respect. his character commands it; while his name, known throughout all the south-west, will be sure to draw around, and rally under his standard, some of those strong stalwart men of the backwoods, equally apt with axe and rifle, without whom no settlement on the far frontier of texas would stand a chance of either security, or success. for it is to the far frontier they purpose going, where land can be got at government prices, and where they intend to purchase it not by the acre, but in square miles--in leagues. such is dupre's design, easy of execution with the capital he can command after disposing of his red river plantation. and within a week after his arrival in natchitoches, he has disposed of it; signed the deed of delivery, and received the money. an immense sum, notwithstanding the sacrifice of a sale requiring quick despatch. on the transfer being completed, the creole holds in hand a cash capital of $ , ; in those days sufficient not only for the purchase of a large tract of territory, but enough to make the dream of a seignorial estate appear a possible reality. not much of the future is he reflecting upon now. if, at times, he cast a chance thought towards it, it may be to picture to himself how his blonde beauty will look as lady _suzeraine_--_chatelaine_ of the castle to be erected in texas. in his fancy, no doubt, he figures her as the handsomest creature that ever carried keys at her belt. if these fancies of the future are sweet, the facts of the present are even more so. daring their sojourn in natchitoches the life of louis dupre and jessie armstrong is almost a continuous chapter of amorous converse and dalliance; left hands mutually clasped, right ones around waists, or playing with curls and tresses; lips at intervals meeting in a touch that intoxicates the soul--the delicious drunkenness of love, from which no one need ever wish to get sober. chapter thirty. news from natchez. while thus pleasantly pass the days with colonel armstrong's younger daughter, to the elder they are drear and dark. no love lights up the path of _her_ life, no sun shines upon it; nothing save shadow and clouds. more than a week has elapsed since their arrival in natchitoches, and for much of this time has she been left alone. love, reputed a generous passion, is of all the most selfish. kind to its own chosen, to others it can be cruel; often is, when the open exhibition of its fervid zeal recalls the cold neglect, it may be, making their misery. not that jessie armstrong is insensible to the sufferings of her sister. on the contrary, she feels for--all that sister can--on occasions tries to comfort her, by words such as she has already spoken, beseeching her to forget--to pluck the poison from out her heart. easy to counsel thus, for one in whose heart there is no poison; instead a honeyed sweetness, almost seraphic. she, who this enjoys can ill understand the opposite; and, jessie, benighted with her own bliss, gives less thought to the unhappiness of helen. even less than she might, were it more known to her. for the proud elder sister keeps her sorrow to herself, eschewing sympathy, and scarce ever recurring to the past. on her side the younger rarely refers to it. she knows it would cause pain. though once a reference to it has given pleasure to herself; when helen explained to her the mystery of that midnight plunge into the river. this, shortly after its occurrence; soon as she herself came to a clear comprehension of it. it was no mystery after all. the face seen among the cypress tops was but the fancy of an overwrought brain; while the spectral arms were the forking tines of a branch, which, catching upon the boat, in rebound had caught helen armstrong, first raising her aloft, then letting her drop out of their innocent, but withal dangerous, embrace. an explanation more pleasing to jessie than she cared to let helen know; since it gave the assurance that her sister had no thought of self-destruction. she is further comforted by the reflection, that helen has no need to repine, and the hope it may not be for long. some other and truer lover will replace the lost false one, and she will soon forget his falsehood. so reasons the happy heart. indeed, judging by what she sees, jessie armstrong may well come to this conclusion. already around her sister circle new suitors; a host seeking her hand. among them the best blood of which the neighbourhood can boast. there are planters, lawyers, members of the state assembly--one of the general congress--and military men, young officers stationed at fort jessup, higher up the river; who, forsaking the lonely post, occasionally come down on a day's furlough to enjoy the delights of town life, and dip a little into its dissipations. before helen armstrong has been two weeks in natchitoches she becomes, what for over two years she has been in natchez--its _belle_. the "bloods" toast her at the drinking bar, and talk of her over the billiard table. some of them too much for their safety, since already two or three duels have occurred on her account--fortunately without fatal termination. not that she has given any of them cause to stand forth as her champion; for not one can boast of having been favoured even with a smile. on the contrary, she has met their approaches if not frowningly, at least with denying indifference. all suspect there is _un ver_--_rongeur_--a worm eating at her heart; that she suffers from a passion of the past. this does not dismay her natchitoches adorers, nor hinder them from continuing their adoration. on the contrary it deepens it; her indifference only attracting them, her very coldness setting their hot southern hearts aflame, maddening them all the more. she is not unconscious of the admiration thus excited. if she were, she would not be woman. but also, because being a true woman, she has no care for, and does not accept it. instead of oft showing herself in society to receive homage and hear flattering speeches, she stays almost constantly within her chamber--a little sitting-room in the hotel, appropriated to herself and sister. for reasons already known, she is often deprived of her sister's company; having to content herself with that of her mulatto maid. a companion who can well sympathise; for jule, like herself, has a canker at the heart. the "yellow girl" on leaving mississippi state has also left a lover behind. true, not one who has proved false--far from it. but one who every day, every hour of his life, is in danger of losing it. jupe she supposes to be still safe, within the recesses of the cypress swamp, but cannot tell how long his security may continue. if taken, she may never see him more, and can only think of his receiving some terrible chastisement. but she is sustained by the reflection, that her jupiter is a brave fellow, and crafty as courageous; by the hope he will yet get away from that horrid hiding-place, and rejoin her, in a land where the dogs of dick darke can no more scent or assail him. whatever may be the fate of the fugitive, she is sure of his devotion to herself; and this hinders her from despairing. she is almost as much alarmed about her young mistress whom she sees grieving, day by day evidently sinking under some secret sorrow. to her it is not much of a secret. she more than guesses at the cause; in truth, knows it, as it is known to that mistress herself. for the wench can read; and made the messenger of that correspondence carried on clandestinely, strange, if, herself a woman, she should not surmise many things beyond what could be gleaned from the superscription on the exchanged epistles. she has surmised; but, like her mistress, something wide away from the reality. no wonder at her being surprised at what she sees in a natchez newspaper--brought to the hotel from a boat just arrived at natchitoches--something concerning charles clancy, very different from that suspected of him. she stays not to consider what impression it may produce on the mind of the young lady. unpleasant no doubt; but a woman's instinct whispers the maid, it will not be worse than the agony her mistress is now enduring. entering the chamber, where the latter is alone, she places the paper in her hands, saying: "missy helen, here's a newspaper from natchez, brought by a boat just arrived. there's something in it, i think, will be news to you--sad too." helen armstrong stretches forth her hand, and takes hold of the sheet. her fingers tremble, closing upon it; her whole frame, as she searches through its columns. at the same time her eyes glow, burn, almost blaze, with a wild unnatural light--an expression telling of jealousy roused, rekindled, in a last spurt of desperation. among the marriage notices she expects to see that of charles clancy with a creole girl, whose name is unknown to her. it will be the latest chapter, climax and culminating point, of his perfidy! who could describe the sudden revulsion of thought; what pen depict the horror that sweeps through her soul; or pencil portray the expression of her countenance, as, with eyes glaring aghast, she rests them on a large type heading, in which is the name "charles clancy?" for, the paragraph underneath tells not of his _marriage_, but his _murder_! not the climax of his perfidy, as expected, but of her suffering. her bosom late burning with indignant jealousy, is now the prey of a very different passion. letting the paper fall to the floor, she sinks back into her chair, her heart audibly beating--threatening to beat no more. chapter thirty one. spectres in the street. colonel armstrong is staying at the "planters' house," the chief hotel in the town of natchitoches. not a very grand establishment, nevertheless. compared with such a princely hostelry as the "langham" of london, it would be as a peasant's hut to a palace. withal, in every way comfortable; and what it may lack in architectural style is made up in natural adornment; a fine effect, produced by trees surrounding and o'ershading it. a hotel of the true southern states type: weather-board walls, painted chalk-white, with green venetian shutters to the windows; a raised verandah--the "piazza"--running all around it; a portion of this usually occupied by gentlemen in white linen coats, sky-blue "cottonade" pants, and panama hats, who drink mint-juleps all day long; while another portion, furnished with cane rocking-chairs, presents a certain air of exclusiveness, which tells of its being tabooed to the sterner sex, or more particularly meant for ladies. a pleasant snuggery this, giving a good view of the street, while its privacy is secured by a trellis, which extends between the supporting pillars, clustered with virginia creepers and other plants trained to such service. a row of grand magnolias stands along the brick banquette in front, their broad glabrous leaves effectually fending off the sun; while at the ladies' end two large persian lilacs, rivalling the indigenous tree both in the beauty of their leaves and the fragrance of their flowers, waft delicious odours into the windows of the chambers adjacent, ever open. orange-trees grow contiguous, and so close to the verandah rail, that one leaning over may pluck either their ripe golden globes, or white wax-like blossoms in all stages of expansion; these beautiful evergreens bearing fruit and flower at the same time. a pleasant place at all hours this open air boudoir; and none more enjoyable than at night, just after sunset. for then the hot atmosphere has cooled down, and the soft southern breeze coming up from the bosom of the river, stirs the leaves of the lilacs into gentle rustling, and shakes their flower-spikes, scattering sweet incense around. then the light from street lamps and house windows, gleaming through the foliage, mingles with that of the fire-flies crossing and scintillating like sparks in a pyrotechnic display. then the tree-crickets have commenced their continuous trill, a sound by no means disagreeable; if it were, there is compensation in the song of the mock-bird, that, perched upon the top of some tall tree, makes the night cheerful with its ever-changing notes. sometimes there are other sounds in this shady retreat, still more congenial to the ears of those who hear them. oft is it tenanted by dark-eyed demoiselles, and their creole cavaliers, who converse in the low whisperings of love, to them far sweeter than song of thrush, or note of nightingale--words speaking the surrender of a heart, with others signifying its acceptance. to-night there is nothing of this within the vine-trellised verandah; for only two individuals occupy it, both ladies. by the light from street lamps and open casements, from moonbeams shining through the lilac leaves, from fire-flies hovering and shooting about, it can be seen that both are young, and both beautiful. of two different types, dark and fair: for they are the two daughters of archibald armstrong. as said, they are alone, nor man nor woman near. there have been others of both sexes, but all have gone inside; most to retire for the night, now getting late. colonel armstrong is not in the hotel, nor dupre. both are abroad on the business of their colonising scheme. about this everything has been arranged, even to selection of the place. a texan land speculator, who holds a large "grant" upon the san saba river, opportunely chances to be in natchitoches at the time. it is a tract of territory surrounding, and formerly belonging to, an old mission by the monks, long ago abandoned. dupre has purchased it; and all now remaining to be done is to complete the make-up of the migrating party, and start off to take possession. busied with these preparations, the young creole, and his future father-in-law, are out to a later hour than usual, which accounts for the ladies being left alone. otherwise, one, at least, would not be long left to herself. if within the hotel, dupre would certainly be by the side of his jessie. the girls are together, standing by the baluster rail, with eyes bent upon the street. they have been conversing, but have ceased. as usual, the younger has been trying to cheer the elder, still sad, though now from a far different cause. the pain at her heart is no longer that of jealousy, but pure grief, with an admixture of remorse. the natchez newspaper has caused this change; what she read there, clearing clancy of all treason, leaving herself guilty for having suspected him. but, oh! such an _eclaircissement_! obtained at the expense of a life dear to her as her own--dearer now she knows he is dead! the newspaper has furnished but a meagre account of the murder. it bears date but two days subsequent, and must have been issued subsequent to mrs clancy's death, as it speaks of this event having occurred. it would be out at an early hour that same morning. in epitome its account is: that a man is missing, supposed to be murdered; by name, charles clancy. that search is being made for his body, not yet found. that the son of a well-known planter, ephraim darke, himself called richard, has been arrested on suspicion, and lodged in the county jail; and, just as the paper is going to press, it has received the additional intelligence, that the mother of the murdered man has succumbed to the shock, and followed her unfortunate son to the "bourne from which no traveller returns." the report is in the flowery phraseology usually indulged, in by the south-western journals. it is accompanied by comments and conjectures as to the motive of the crime. among these helen armstrong has read her own name, with the contents of that letter addressed to clancy, but proved to have been in the possession of darke. though given only in epitome--for the editor confesses not to have seen the epistle, but only had account of it from him who furnished the report--still to helen armstrong is the thing painfully compromising. all the world will now know the relations that existed between her and charles clancy. what would she care were he alive? and what need she, now he is dead? she does not care--no. it is not this that afflicts her. could she but bring him to life again, she would laugh the world to scorn, brave the frowns of her father, to prove herself a true woman by becoming the wife of him her heart had chosen for a husband. "it cannot be; he is dead--gone--lost for ever!" so run her reflections, as she stands in silence by her sister's side, their conversation for the time suspended. oppressed by their painfulness, she retires a seep, and sinks down into one of the chairs; not to escape the bitter thoughts--for she cannot--but to brood on them alone. jessie remains with hands rested on the rail, gazing down into the street. she is looking for her luis, who should now soon be returning to the hotel. people are passing, some in leisurely promenade, others in hurried step, telling of early habits and a desire to get home. one catching her eye, causes her to tremble; one for whom she has a feeling of fear, or rather repulsion. a man of large stature is seen loitering under the shadow of a tree, and looking at her as though he would devour her. even in his figure there is an expression of sinister and slouching brutality. still more on his face, visible by the light of a lamp which beams over the entrance door of the hotel. the young girl does not stay to scrutinise it; but shrinking back, cowers by the side of her sister. "what's the matter, jess?" asks helen, observing her frayed aspect, and in turn becoming the supporter. "you've seen something to vex you? something of--luis?" "no--no, helen. not him." "who then?" "oh, sister! a man fearful to look at. a great rough fellow, ugly enough to frighten any one. i've met him several times when out walking, and every time it's made me shudder." "has he been rude to you?" "not exactly rude, though something like it. he stares at me in a strange way. and such horrid eyes! they're hollow, gowlish like an alligator's. i'd half a mind to tell father, or luis, about it; but i know luis would go wild, and want to kill the big brute. i saw him just now, standing on the side-walk close by. no doubt he's there still." "let me have a look at those alligator eyes." the fearless elder sister, defiant from very despair, steps out to the rail, and leaning over, looks along the street. she sees men passing; but no one who answers to the description given. there is one standing under a tree, but not in the place of which jessie has spoken; he is on the opposite side of the street. neither is he a man of large size, but rather short and slight. he is in shadow, however, and she cannot be sure of this. at the moment he moves off, and his gait attracts her attention; then his figure, and, finally, his face, as the last comes under the lamp-light. they attract and fix it, sending a cold shiver through her frame. it was a fancy her thinking she saw charles clancy among the tree-tops. is it a like delusion, that now shows her his assassin in the streets of natchitoches? no; it cannot be! it is a reality; assuredly the man moving off is _richard darke_! she has it on her tongue to cry "murderer!" and raise a "hue and cry;" but cannot. she feels paralysed, fascinated; and stands speechless, not stirring, scarce breathing. thus, till the assassin is out of sight. then she totters back to the side of her sister, to tell in trembling accents, how she, too, had been frayed by a _spectre in the street_! chapter thirty two. the "choctaw chief." "you'll excuse me, stranger, for interruptin' you in the readin' o' your newspaper. i like to see men in the way o' acquirin' knowledge. but we're all of us here goin' to licker up. won't you join?" the invitation, brusquely, if not uncourteously, extended, comes from a man of middle age, in height at least six feet three, without reckoning the thick soles of his bull-skin boots--the tops of which rise several inches above the knee. a personage, rawboned, and of rough exterior, wearing a red blanket-coat; his trousers tucked into the aforesaid boots; with a leather belt buckled around his waist, under the coat, but over the haft of a bowie-knife, alongside which peeps out the butt of a colt's revolving pistol. in correspondence with his clothing and equipment, he shows a cut-throat countenance, typical of the state penitentiary; cheeks bloated as from excessive indulgence in drink; eyes watery and somewhat bloodshot; lips thick and sensual; with a nose set obliquely, looking as if it had received hard treatment in some pugilistic encounter. his hair is of a yellowish clay colour, lighter in tint upon the eyebrows. there is none either on his lips or jaws, nor yet upon his thick hog-like throat; which looks as if some day it may need something stiffer than a beard to protect it from the hemp of the hangman. he, to whom the invitation has been extended, is of quite a different appearance. in age a little over half that of the individual who has addressed him; complexion dark and cadaverous; the cheeks hollow and haggard, as from sleepless anxiety; the upper lip showing two elongated bluish blotches--the stub of moustaches recently removed; the eyes coal black, with sinister glances sent in suspicious furtiveness from under a broad hat-brim pulled low down over the brow; the figure fairly shaped, but with garments coarse and clumsily fitting, too ample both for body and limbs, as if intended to conceal rather than show them to advantage. a practised detective, after scanning this individual, taking note of his habiliments, with the hat and his manner of wearing it, would pronounce him a person dressed in disguise--this, for some good reason, adopted. a suspicion of the kind appears to be in the mind of the rough hercules, who has invited him to "licker up;" though _he_ is no detective. "thank you," rejoins the young fellow, lowering the newspaper to his knee, and raising the rim of his hat, as little as possible; "i've just had a drain. i hope you'll excuse me." "damned if we do! not this time, stranger. the rule o' this tavern is, that all in its bar takes a smile thegither--leastwise on first meeting. so, say what's the name o' yer tipple." "oh! in that case i'm agreeable," assents the newspaper reader, laying aside his reluctance, and along with it the paper--at the same time rising to his feet. then, stepping up to the bar, he adds, in a tone of apparent frankness: "phil quantrell ain't the man to back out where there's glasses going. but, gentlemen, as i'm the stranger in this crowd, i hope you'll let me pay for the drinks." the men thus addressed as "gentlemen" are seven or eight in number; not one of whom, from outward seeming, could lay claim to the epithet. so far as this goes, they are all of a sort with the brutal-looking bully in the blanket-coat who commenced the conversation. did phil quantrell address them as "blackguards," he would be much nearer the mark. villainous scoundrels they appear, every one of them, though of different degrees, judging by their countenances, and with like variety in their costumes. "no--no!" respond several, determined to show themselves gentlemen in generosity. "no stranger can stand treat here. you must drink with us, mr quantrell." "this score's mine!" proclaims the first spokesman, in an authoritative voice. "after that anybody as likes may stand treat. come, johnny! trot out the stuff. brandy smash for me." the bar-keeper thus appealed to--as repulsive-looking as any of the party upon whom he is called to wait--with that dexterity peculiar to his craft, soon furnishes the counter with bottles and decanters containing several sorts of liquors. after which he arranges a row of tumblers alongside, corresponding to the number of those designing to drink. and soon they are all drinking; each the mixture most agreeable to his palate. it is a scene of every-day occurrence, every hour, almost every minute, in a hotel bar-room of the southern united states; the only peculiarity in this case being, that the natchitoches tavern in which it takes place is very different from the ordinary village inn, or roadside hotel. it stands upon the outskirts of the town, in a suburb known as the "indian quarter;" sometimes also called "spanish town"--both name having reference to the fact, that some queer little shanties around are inhabited by pure-blooded indians and half-breeds, with poor whites of spanish extraction--these last the degenerate descendants of heroic soldiers who originally established the settlement. the tavern itself, bearing an old weather-washed swing-sign, on which is depicted an indian in full war-paint, is known as the "choctaw chief," and is kept by a man supposed to be a mexican, but who may be anything else; having for his bar-keeper the afore-mentioned "johnny," a personage supposed to be an irishman, though of like dubious nationality as his employer. the choctaw chief takes in travellers; giving them bed, board, and lodging, without asking them any questions, beyond a demand of payment before they have either eaten or slept under its roof. it usually has a goodly number, and of a peculiar kind--strange both in aspect and manners--no one knowing whence they come, or whither bent when taking their departure. as the house stands out of the ordinary path of town promenaders, in an outskirt scarce ever visited by respectable people, no one cares to inquire into the character of its guests, or aught else relating to it. to those who chance to stray in its direction, it is known as a sort of cheap hostelry, that gives shelter to all sorts of odd customers-- hunters, trappers, small indian traders, returned from an expedition on the prairies; along with these, such travellers as are without the means to stop at the more pretentious inns of the village; or, having the means, prefer, for reasons of their own, to put up at the choctaw chief. such is the reputation of the hostelry, before whose drinking bar stands phil quantrell--so calling himself--with the men to whose boon companionship he has been so unceremoniously introduced; as declared by his introducer, according to the custom of the establishment. the first drinks swallowed, quantrell calls for another round; and then a third is ordered, by some one else, who pays, or promises to pay for it. a fourth "smile" is insisted upon by another some one who announces himself ready to stand treat; all the liquor, up to this time consumed, being either cheap brandy or "rot-gut" whisky. quantrell, now pleasantly convivial, and acting under the generous impulse the drink has produced, sings out "champagne!" a wine which the poorest tavern in the southern states, even the choctaw chief, can plentifully supply. after this the choice vintage of france, or its gooseberry counterfeit, flows feebly; johnny with gleeful alacrity stripping off the leaden capsules, twisting the wires, and letting pop the corks. for the stranger guest has taken a wallet from his pocket, which all can perceive to be "chock full" of gold "eagles," some reflecting upon, but saying nothing about, the singular contrast between this plethoric purse, and the coarse coat out of whose pocket it is pulled. after all, not much in this. within the wooden walls of the choctaw chief there have been seen many contrasts quite as curious. neither its hybrid landlord, nor his bar-keeper, nor its guests are addicted to take note--or, at all events make remarks upon--circumstances which elsewhere would seem singular. still, is there one among the roystering crowd who does note this; as also other acts done, and sayings spoken, by phil quantrell in his cups. it is the colossus who has introduced him to the jovial company, and who still sticks to him as chaperon. some of this man's associates, who appear on familiar footing, called him "jim borlasse;" others, less free, address him as "mister borlasse;" while still others, at intervals, and as if by a slip of the tongue, give him the title "captain." jim, mister, or captain borlasse-- whichever designation he deserve--throughout the whole debauch, keeps his bloodshot eyes bent upon their new acquaintance, noting his every movement. his ears, too, are strained to catch every word quantrell utters, weighing its import. for all he neither says nor does aught to tell of his being thus attentive to the stranger--at first his guest, but now a spendthrift host to himself and his party. while the champagne is being freely quaffed, of course there is much conversation, and on many subjects. but one is special; seeming more than all others to engross the attention of the roysterers under the roof of the choctaw chief. it is a murder that has been committed in the state of mississippi, near the town of natchez; an account of which has just appeared in the local journal of natchitoches. the paper is lying on the bar-room table; and all of them, who can read, have already made themselves acquainted with the particulars of the crime. those, whose scholarship does not extend so far, have learnt them at secondhand from their better-educated associates. the murdered man is called clancy--charles clancy--while the murderer, or he under suspicion of being so, is named richard darke, the son of ephraim darke, a rich mississippi planter. the paper gives further details: that the body of the murdered man has not been found, before the time of its going to press; though the evidence collected leaves no doubt of a foul deed having been done; adding, that darke, the man accused of it, after being arrested and lodged in the county jail, has managed to make his escape--this through connivance with his jailer, who has also disappeared from the place. just in time, pursues the report, to save the culprit's neck from a rope, made ready for him by the executioners of justice lynch, a party of whom had burst open the doors of the prison, only to find it untenanted. the paper likewise mentions the motive for the committal of the crime--at least as conjectured; giving the name of a young lady, miss helen armstrong, and speaking of a letter, with her picture, found upon the suspected assassin. it winds up by saying, that no doubt both prisoner and jailer have g.t.t.--"gone to texas"--a phrase of frequent use in the southern states, applied to fugitives from justice. then follows the copy of a proclamation from the state authorities, offering a reward of two thousand dollars for the apprehension of richard darke, and five hundred for joe harkness--this being the name of the conniving prison-keeper. while the murder is being canvassed and discussed by the _bon-vivants_ in the bar-room of the choctaw chief--a subject that seems to have a strange fascination for them--borlasse, who has become elevated with the alcohol, though usually a man of taciturn habit, breaks out with an asseveration, which causes surprise to all, even his intimate associates. "damn the luck!" he vociferates, bringing his fist down upon the counter till the decanters dance at the concussion; "i'd 'a given a hundred dollars to 'a been in the place o' that fellow darke, whoever he is!" "why?" interrogate several of his confreres, in tones that express the different degrees of their familiarity with him questioned, "why, jim?" "why, mr borlasse?" "why, captain?" "why?" echoes the man of many titles, again striking the counter, and causing decanters and glasses to jingle. "why? because that clancy-- that same clancy--is the skunk that, before a packed jury, half o' them yellar-bellied mexikins, in the town of nacogdoches, swore i stealed a horse from him. not only swore it, but war believed; an' got me--me, jim borlasse--tied for twenty-four hours to a post, and whipped into the bargain. yes, boys, whipped! an' by a damned mexikin nigger, under the orders o' one o' their constables, they call algazeels. i've got the mark o' them lashes on me now, and can show them, if any o' ye hev a doubt about it. i ain't 'shamed to show 'em to _you_ fellows; as ye've all got something o' the same, i guess. but i'm burnin' mad to think that charley clancy's escaped clear o' the vengeance i'd sworn again him. i know'd he was comin' back to texas, him and his. that's what took him out thar, when i met him at nacogdoches. i've been waitin' and watchin' till he shed stray this way. now, it appears, somebody has spoilt my plans--somebody o' the name richard darke. an', while i envy this dick darke, i say damn him for doin' it!" "damn dick darke! damn him for doin' it!" they shout, till the walls re-echo their ribald blasphemy. the drinking debauch is continued till a late hour, quantrell paying shot for the whole party. maudlin as most of them have become, they still wonder that a man so shabbily dressed can command so much cash and coin. some of them are not a little perplexed by it. borlasse is less so than any of his fellow-tipplers. he has noted certain circumstances that give him a clue to the explanation; one, especially, which seems to make everything clear. as the stranger, calling himself phil quantrell, stands holding his glass in hand, his handkerchief employed to wipe the wine from his lips, and carelessly returned to his pocket, slips out, and fails upon the floor. borlasse stooping, picks it up, but without restoring it to its owner. instead, he retires to one side; and, unobserved, makes himself acquainted with a name embroidered on its corner. when, at a later hour, the two sit together, drinking a last good-night draught, borlasse places his lips close to the stranger's ear, whispering as if it were satan himself who spoke, "_your name is not philip quantrell: 'tis richard darke_!" chapter thirty three. the murderer unmasked. a rattlesnake sounding its harsh "skirr" under the chair on which the stranger is sitting could not cause him to start up more abruptly than he does, when borlasse says:-- "_your name is not philip quantrell: 'tis richard darke_!" he first half rises to his feet, then sits down again; all the while trembling in such fashion, that the wine goes over the edge of his glass, sprinkling the sanded floor. fortunately for him, all the others have retired to their beds, it being now a very late hour of the night--near midnight. the drinking "saloon" of the choctaw chief is quite emptied of its guests. even johnny, the bar-keeper, has gone kitchen-wards to look after his supper. only borlasse witnesses the effect of his own speech; which, though but whispered, has proved so impressive. the speaker, on his side, shows no surprise. throughout all the evening he has been taking the measure of his man, and has arrived at a clear comprehension of the case. he now knows he is in the company of charles clancy's assassin. the disguise which darke has adopted--the mere shaving off moustaches and donning a dress of home-wove "cottonade"--the common wear of the louisiana creole--with slouch hat to correspond, is too flimsy to deceive captain jim borlasse, himself accustomed to metamorphoses more ingenious, it is nothing new for him to meet a murderer fleeing from the scene of his crime--stealthily, disguisedly making way towards that boundary line, between the united states and texas--the limit of executive justice. "come, quantrell!" he says, raising his arm in a gesture of reassurance, "don't waste the wine in that ridikelous fashion. you and me are alone, and i reckin we understand one another. if not, we soon will--the sooner by your puttin' on no nonsensical airs, but confessin' the clar and candid truth. first, then, answer me this questyun: air you, or air you not, richard darke? if ye air, don't be afeerd to say so. no humbuggery! thar's no need for't. an' it won't do for jim borlasse." the stranger, trembling, hesitates to make reply. only for a moment. he sees it will be of no use denying his identity. the man who has questioned him--of giant size and formidable aspect-- notwithstanding the copious draughts he has swallowed, appears cool as a tombstone, and stern as an inquisitor. the bloodshot eyes look upon him with a leer that seems to say: "tell me a lie, and i'm your enemy." at the same time those eyes speak of friendship; such as may exist between two scoundrels equally steeped in crime. the murderer of charles clancy--now for many days and nights wandering the earth, a fugitive from foiled justice, taking untrodden paths, hiding in holes and corners, at length seeking shelter under the roof of the choctaw chief, because of its repute, sees he has reached a haven of safety. the volunteered confessions of borlasse--the tale of his hostility to clancy, and its cause--inspire him with confidence about any revelations he may make in return. beyond all doubt his new acquaintance stands in mud, deep as himself. without further hesitation, he says--"i _am_ richard darke." "all right!" is the rejoinder. "and now, mr darke, let me tell you, i like your manly way of answerin' the question i've put ye. same time, i may as well remark, 'twould 'a been all one if ye'd sayed _no_! this child hain't been hidin' half o' his life, 'count o' some little mistakes made at the beginnin' of it, not to know when a man's got into a sim'lar fix. first day you showed your face inside the choctaw chief i seed thar war something amiss; tho', in course, i couldn't gie the thing a name, much less know 'thar that ugly word which begins with a m. this evenin', i acknowledge, i war a bit put out--seein' you round thar by the planter's, spyin' after one of them armstrong girls; which of them i needn't say." darke starts, saying mechanically, "you saw me?" "in coorse i did--bein' there myself, on a like lay." "well?" interrogates the other, feigning coolness. "well; that, as i've said, some leetle bamboozled me. from your looks and ways since you first came hyar, i guessed that the something wrong must be different from a love-scrape. sartint, a man stayin' at the choctaw chief, and sporting the cheap rig as you've got on, wan't likely to be aspirin' to sech dainty damsels as them. you'll give in, yourself, it looked a leetle queer; didn't it?" "i don't know that it did," is the reply, pronounced doggedly, and in an assumed tone of devil-may-care-ishness. "you don't! well, i thought so, up to the time o' gettin' back to the tavern hyar--not many minutes afore my meetin' and askin' you to jine us in drinks. if you've any curiosity to know what changed my mind, i'll tell ye." "what?" asks darke, scarcely reflecting on his words. "that ere newspaper you war readin' when i gave you the invite. i read it _afore_ you did, and had ciphered out the whole thing. puttin' six and six thegither, i could easy make the dozen. the same bein', that one of the young ladies stayin' at the hotel is the miss helen armstrong spoke of in the paper; and the man i observed watchin' her is richard darke, who killed charles clancy--_yourself_!" "i--i am--i won't--i don't deny it to you, mr borlasse. i am richard darke. i did kill charles clancy; though i protest against its being said i _murdered_ him." "never mind that. between friends, as i suppose we can now call ourselves, there need be no nice distinguishin' of tarms. murder or manslaughter, it's all the same, when a man has a motive sech as yourn. an' when he's druv out o' the pale of what they call society, an' hunted from the settlements, he's not like to lose the respect of them who's been sarved the same way. your bein' richard darke an' havin' killed charles clancy, in no ways makes you an enemy o' jim borlasse--except in your havin' robbed me of a revenge i'd sworn to take myself. let that go now. i ain't angry, but only envious o' you, for havin' the satisfaction of sendin' the skunk to kingdom come, without givin' me the chance. an' now, mister darke, what do you intend doin'?" the question comes upon the assassin with a sobering effect. his copious potations have hitherto kept him from reflecting. despite the thieve's confidence with which borlasse has inspired him, this reference to his future brings up its darkness, with its dangers; and he pauses before making response. without waiting for it, his questioner continues: "if you've got no fixed plan of action, and will listen to the advice of a friend, i'd advise you to become _one o' us_." "one of you! what does that mean, mr borlasse?" "well, i can't tell you here," answers borlasse, in a subdued tone. "desarted as this bar-room appear to be, it's got ears for all that. i see that curse, johnny, sneakin' about, pretendin' to be lookin' after his supper. if he knew as much about you as i do, you'd be in limbo afore you ked get into your bed. i needn't tell you thar's a reward offered; for you seed that yourself in the newspaper. two thousand dollars for you, an' five hundred dollars for the fellow as i've seed about along wi' you, and who i'd already figured up as bein' jailer joe harkness. johnny, an' a good many more, would be glad to go halves with me, for tellin' them only half of what i now know. _i_ ain't goin' to betray you. i've my reasons for not. after what's been said i reckon you can trust me?" "i can," rejoins the assassin, heaving a sigh of relief. "all right, then," resumes borlasse; "we understand one another. but it won't do to stay palaverin hyar any longer. let's go up to my bedroom. we'll be safe there; and i've got a bottle of whisky, the best stuff for a nightcap. over that we can talk things straight, without any one havin' the chance to set them crooked. come along!" darke, without protest, accepts the invitation. he dares not do otherwise. it sounds more like a command. the man extending it has now full control over him; can deliver him to justice--have him dragged to a jail. chapter thirty four. "will you be one of us?" once inside his sleeping apartment, borlasse shuts the door, points out a chair to his invited guest, and plants himself upon another. with the promised bottle of whisky between them, he resumes speech. "i've asked you, quantrell, to be one o' us. i've done it for your own good, as you ought to know without my tellin' ye. well; you asked me in return what that means?" "yes, i did," rejoins darke, speaking without purpose. "it means, then," continues borlasse, taking a gulp out of his glass, "that me, an' the others you've been drinking with, air as good a set of fellows as ever lived. that we're a cheerful party, you've seen for yourself. what's passed this night ain't nowheres to the merry times we spend upon the prairies out in texas--for it's in texas we live." "may i ask, mr borlasse, what business you follow?" "well; when we're engaged in regular business, it's mostly horse-catchin'. we rope wild horses, _mustangs_, as they're called; an' sometimes them that ain't jest so wild. we bring 'em into the settlements for sale. for which reason we pass by the name of _mustangers_. between whiles, when business isn't very brisk, we spend our time in some of the texas towns--them what's well in to'rds the rio grande, whar there's a good sprinklin' of mexikins in the population. we've some rare times among the mexikin girls, i kin assure you. you'll take jim borlasse's word for that, won't you?" "i have no cause to doubt it." "well, i needn't say more, need i? i know, quantrell, you're fond of a pretty face yourself, with sloe-black eyes in it. you'll see them among the mexikin saynoritas, to your heart's content. enough o' 'em, maybe, to make you forget the pair as war late glancin' at you out of the hotel gallery." "glancing at me?" exclaims darke, showing surprise, not unmixed with alarm. "glancing at ye; strait custrut; them same eyes as inspired ye to do that little bit of shootin', wi' charley clancy for a target." "you think she _saw_ me?" asks the assassin, with increasing uneasiness. "think! i'm sure of it. more than saw--she recognised ye. i could tell that from the way she shot back into the shadow. did ye not notice it yourself?" "no," rejoins darke, the monosyllable issuing mechanically from his lips, while a shiver runs through his frame. his questioner, observing these signs, continues,-- "t'ike my advice, and come with us fellows to texas. before you're long there, the mexikin girls will make you stop moping about miss armstrong. after the first _fandango_ you've been at, you won't care a straw for her. believe me, you'll soon forget her." "never!" exclaims darke, in the fervour of his passion--thwarted though it has been--forgetting the danger he is in. "if that's your detarmination," returns borlasse, "an' you've made up your mind to keep that sweetheart in sight, you won't be likely to live long. as sure as you're sittin' thar, afore breakfast time to-morrow mornin' the town of naketosh 'll be too hot to hold ye." darke starts from his chair, as if _it_ had become too hot. "keep cool, quantrell!" counsels the texan. "no need for ye to be scared at what i'm sayin'. thar's no great danger jest yet. there might be, if you were in that chair, or this room, eight hours later. i won't be myself, not one. for i may as well tell ye, that jim borlasse, same's yourself, has reasons for shiftin' quarters from the choctaw chief. and so, too, some o' the fellows we've been drinkin' with. we'll all be out o' this a good hour afore sun-up. take a friend's advice, and make tracks along wi' us. will you?" darke still hesitates to give an affirmative answer. his love for helen armstrong--wild, wanton passion though it be--is the controlling influence of his life. it has influenced him to follow her thus far, almost as much as the hope of escaping punishment for his crime. and though knowing, that the officers of justice are after him, he clings to the spot where she is staying, with that fascination which keeps the fox by the kennel holding the hounds. the thought of leaving her behind-- perhaps never to see her again--is more repugnant than the spectre of a scaffold! the texan guesses the reason of his irresolution. more than this, he knows he has the means to put an end to it. a word will be sufficient; or, at most, a single speech. he puts it thus-- "if you're detarmined to stick by the apron-strings o' miss armstrong, you'll not do that by staying here in naketosh. your best place, to be _near her_, will be along _with me_." "how so, mr borlasse?" questions darke, his eyes opening to a new light. "why do you say that?" "you ought to know, without my tellin' you--a man of your 'cuteness, quantrell! you say you can never forget the older of that pair o' girls. i believe you; and will be candid, too, in sayin', no more is jim borlasse like to forget the younger. i thought nothin' could 'a fetched that soft feelin' over me. 'twant likely, after what i've gone through in my time. but she's done it--them blue eyes of hers; hanged if they hain't! then, do you suppose that i'm going to run away from, and lose sight o' her and them? _no_; not till i've had her within these arms, and tears out o' them same peepers droppin' on my cheeks. that is, if she take it in the weepin' way." "i don't understand," stammers darke. "you will in time," rejoins the ruffian; "that is, if you become one o' us, and go where we're a-goin'. enough now for you to be told that, _there you will find your sweetheart_!" without waiting to watch the effect of his last words, the tempter continues-- "now, phil quantrell, or dick darke, as in confidence i may call ye, are you willin' to be one o' us?" "i am." "good! that's settled. an' your comrade, harkness; i take it, he'll go, too, when told o' the danger of staying behind; not that he appears o' much account, anyway. still, among us _mustangers_, the more the merrier; and, sometimes we need numbers to help in the surroundin' o' the horses. he'll go along, won't he?" "anywhere, with me." "well, then, you'd better step into his bedroom, and roust him up. both of ye must be ready at once. slip out to the stable, an' see to the saddles of your horses. you needn't trouble about settlin' the tavern bill. that's all scored to me; we kin fix the proportions of it afterward. now, quantrell, look sharp; in twenty minutes, time, i expect to find you an' harkness in the saddle, where you'll see ten o' us others the same." saying this, the texan strides out into the corridor, darke preceding him. in the dimly-lighted passage they part company, borlasse opening door after door of several bedrooms, ranged on both sides of it; into each, speaking a word, which, though only in whisper, seems to awake a sleeper as if a cannon were discharged close to his ears. then succeeds a general shuffling, as of men hastily putting on coats and boots, with an occasional grunt of discontent at slumber disturbed; but neither talking nor angry protest. soon, one after another, is seen issuing forth from his sleeping apartment, skulking along the corridor, out through the entrance door at back, and on towards the stable. presently, they fetch their horses forth, saddled and bridled. then, leaping upon their backs, ride silently off under the shadow of the trees; borlasse at their head, quantrell by his side, harkness among those behind. almost instantly they are in the thick forest which comes close up to the suburbs of natchitoches; the choctaw chief standing among trees never planted by the hand of man. the wholesale departure appearing surreptitious, is not unobserved. both the tavern boniface and his bar-keeper witness it, standing in the door as their guests go off; the landlord chuckling at the large pile of glittering coins left behind; johnny scratching his carroty poll, and saying,-- "be japers! they intind clearin' that fellow quantrell out. he won't long be throubled wid that shinin' stuff as seems burnin' the bottom out av his pocket. i wudn't be surrprized if they putt both him an' 'tother fool past tillin' tales afore ayther sees sun. will, boss, it's no bizness av ours." with this self-consolatory remark, to which the "boss" assents, johnny proceeds to shut and lock the tavern door. soon after the windows of the choctaw chief show lightless, its interior silent, the moonbeams shining upon its shingled roof peacefully and innocently, as though it had never sheltered robber, and drunken talk or ribald blasphemy been heard under it. so, till morning's dawn; till daylight; till the sun is o'ertopping the trees. then is it surrounded by angry men; its wooden walls re-echoing their demand for admittance. they are the local authorities of the district; the sheriff of natchitoches with his _posse_ of constables, and a crowd of people accompanying. among them are colonel armstrong and the creole, dupre; these instigating the movement; indeed, directing it. ah knew, from yesterday's newspaper, of the murder committed near natchez, as also of the murderer having broken jail. only this morning have they learnt that the escaped criminal has been seen in the streets of their town. from an early hour they have been scouring these in search of him; and, at length, reached the choctaw chief--the place where he should be found, if found at all. on its doors being opened, they discover traces of him. no man named darke has been there, but one calling himself quantrell, with another, who went by the name of walsh. as, in this case, neither the landlord nor bar-keeper have any interest in screening that particular pair of their late guests, they make no attempt to do so; but, on the contrary, tell all they know about them; adding, how both went away with a number of other gentlemen, who paid their tavern bills, and took departure at an early hour of the morning. the description of the other "gentlemen" is not so particularly given, because not so specially called for. in that of quantrell and walsh, colonel armstrong, without difficulty, identifies richard darke and the jailer, joe harkness. he, sheriff, constables, crowd, stand with countenances expressing defeat--disappointment. they have reached the choctaw chief a little too late. they know nothing of borlasse, or how he has baffled them. they but believe, that, for the second time, the assassin of charles clancy has eluded the grasp of justice. chapter thirty five. a ghost going its rounds. it is nearly a month since the day of clancy's death; still the excitement caused by it, though to some extent subsided, has not died out. curiosity and speculation are kept alive by the fact of the body not having been found. for it has not. search has been made everywhere for miles around. field and forest, creeks, ponds, swamp, and river, have all been traversed and interrogated, in vain. all have refused to surrender up the dead. that clancy is dead no one has a doubt. to say nothing of the blood spilt beside his abandoned hat and gun, with the other circumstances attendant, there is testimony of a moral nature, to many quite as convincing. alive he would long since have returned home, at thought of what his mother must be suffering. he was just the man to do that, as all who knew him are aware. even wounded and crippled, if able to crawl, it would be to the side of the only woman at such a crisis he should care for. though it is now known that he cared for another, no one entertains a thought of his having gone off after _her_. it would not be in keeping with his character, any more than with the incidents and events that have conspired to make the mystery. days pass, and it still remains one. the sun rises and sets, without throwing any light upon it. conjecture can do nothing to clear it up; and search, over and over unsuccessful, is at length abandoned. if people still speculate upon how the body of the murdered man has been disposed of, there is no speculation as to who was his murderer, or how the latter made escape. the treason of the jail-keeper explains this--itself accounted for by ephraim darke having on the previous day paid a visit to his son in the cell, and left with him a key that ere now has opened many a prison door. joe harkness, a weak-witted fellow, long suspected of faithlessness, was not the man to resist the temptation with which his palm had been touched. since that day some changes have taken place in the settlement. the plantation late armstrong's has passed into the hands of a new proprietor--darke having disposed of it--while the cottage of the clancys, now ownerless, stays untenanted. unfurnished too: for the bailiff has been there, and a bill of sale, which covered its scant plenishing, farm-stock, implements and utensils, has swept all away. for a single day there was a stir about the place, with noise corresponding, when the chattels were being disposed of by public auction. then the household gods of the decayed irish gentleman were knocked down to the highest bidder, and scattered throughout the district. rare books, pictures, and other articles, telling of refined taste, with some slight remnants of _bijouterie_, were carried off to log-cabins, there to be esteemed in proportion to the prices paid for them. in fine, the clancy cottage, stripped of everything, has been left untenanted. lone as to the situation in which it stands, it is yet lonelier in its desolation. even the dog, that did such service in pointing out the criminality of him who caused all the ruin, no longer guards its enclosures, or cheers them with his familiar bark. the faithful animal, adopted by simeon woodley, has found a home in the cabin of the hunter. it is midnight; an hour still and voiceless in northern climes, but not so in the southern. far from it in the state of mississippi. there the sun's excessive heat keeps nature alert and alive, even at night, and in days of december. though night, it is not december, but a date nearer spring. february is written on the heading of letters, and this, a spring month on the lower mississippi, has commenced making its imprint on the forest trees. their buds have already burst, some showing leaves fully expanded, others of still earlier habit bedecked with blossoms. birds, too, awaking from a short winter's silence, pour forth their amorous lays, filling glade and grove with music, that does not end with the day; for the mock-bird, taking up the strain, carries it on through the hours of night; so well counterfeiting the notes of his fellow-songsters, one might fancy them awake--still singing. not so melodious are other voices disturbing the stillness of the southern night. quite the opposite are the croaking of frogs, the screeching of owls, the jerking call of tree-crickets, and the bellowing of the alligator. still, the ear accustomed to such sounds is not jarred by them. they are but the bass notes, needed to complete the symphony of nature's concert. in the midst of this melange,--the hour, as already stated, midnight--a man, or something bearing man's semblance, is seen gliding along the edge of the cypress swamp, not far from the place where charles clancy fell. after skirting the mud-flat for a time, the figure--whether ghost or human--turns face toward the tract of lighter woodland, extending between the thick timber and cleared ground of the plantations. having traversed this, the nocturnal wayfarer comes within sight of the deserted cottage, late occupied by the clancys. the moonlight, falling upon his face, shows it to be white. also, that his cheeks are pallid, with eyes hollow and sunken, as from sickness-- some malady long-endured, and not yet cured. as he strides over fallen logs, or climbs fences stretching athwart his course, his tottering step tells of a frame enfeebled. when at length clear of the woods, and within sight of the untenanted dwelling, he stops, and for a time remains contemplating it. that he is aware of its being unoccupied is evident, from the glance with which he regards it. his familiarity with the place is equally evident. on entering the cottage grounds, which he soon after does, through, some shrubbery at the back, he takes the path leading up to the house, without appearing to have any doubt about its being the right one. for all this he makes approach with caution, looking suspiciously around--either actually afraid, or not desiring to be observed. there is little likelihood of his being so. at that hour all in the settlement should be asleep. the house stands remote, more than a mile from its nearest neighbour. it is empty; has been stripped of its furniture, of everything. what should any one be doing there? what is _he_ doing there? a question which would suggest itself to one seeing him; with interest added on making note of his movements. there is no one to do either; and he continues on to the house, making for its back door, where there is a porch, as also a covered way, leading to a log-cabin--the kitchen. even as within the porch, he tries the handle of the door which at a touch goes open. there is no lock, or if there was, it has not been thought worth while to turn the key in it. there are no burglars in the backwoods. if there were, nothing in that house need tempt them. its nocturnal visitor enters under its roof. the ring of his footsteps, though he still treads cautiously, gives out a sad, solemn sound. it is in unison with the sighs that come, deep-drawn, from his breast; at times so sonorous as to be audible all over the house. he passes from room to room. there are not many--only five of them. in each he remains a few moments, gazing dismally around. but in one--that which was the widow's sleeping chamber--he tarries a longer time; regarding a particular spot--the place formerly occupied by a bed. then a sigh, louder than any that has preceded it, succeeded by the words, low-muttered:-- "there she must have breathed her last!" after this speech, more sighing, accompanied by still surer signs of sorrow--sobs and weeping. as the moonbeams, pouring in through the open window, fall upon his face, their pale silvery light sparkles upon tears, streaming from hollow eyes, chasing one another down emaciated cheeks. after surrendering himself some minutes to what appears a very agony of grief, he turns out of the sleeping chamber; passes through the narrow hall-way; and on into the porch. not now the back one, but that facing front to the road. on the other side of this is an open tract of ground, half cleared, half woodland; the former sterile, the latter scraggy. it seems to belong to no one, as if not worth claiming, or cultivating. it has been, in fact, an appanage of colonel armstrong's estate, who had granted it to the public as the site for a schoolhouse, and a common burying-ground--free to all desiring to be instructed, or needing to be interred. the schoolhouse has disappeared, but the cemetery is still there--only distinguishable from the surrounding _terrain_ by some oblong elevations, having the well-known configuration of graves. there are in all about a score of them; some having a plain head-board--a piece of painted plank, with letters rudely limned, recording the name and age of him or her resting underneath. time and the weather have turned most of them greyish, with dates decayed, and names scarcely legible. but there is one upon which the paint shows fresh and white; in the clear moonlight gleaming like a meteor. he who has explored the deserted dwelling, stands for a while with eyes directed on this recently erected memorial. then, stepping down from the porch, he passes through the wicket-gate; crosses the road; and goes straight towards it, as though a hand beckoned him thither. when close up, he sees it to be by a grave upon which the herbage has not yet grown. the night is a cold one--chill for that southern clime. the dew upon the withered grass of the grave turf is almost congealed into hoar frost, adding to its ghostly aspect. the lettering upon the head-board is in shadow, the moon being on the opposite side. but stooping forward, so as to bring his eyes close to the slab, he is enabled to decipher the inscription. it is the simplest form of memento--only a name, with the date of death-- "caroline clancy, died january --" after reading it, a fresh sob bursts from his bosom, new tears start from his eyes, and he flings himself down upon the grave. disregarding the dew, thinking nought of the night's dullness, he stretches his arms over the cold turf, embracing it as though it were the warm body of one beloved! for several minutes he remains in this attitude. then, suddenly rising erect, as if impelled by some strong purpose, there comes from his lips, poured forth in wild passionate accent, the speeches:-- "mother! dear mother! i am still living! i am here! and you, dead! no more to know--no more hear me! o god!" they are the words of one frantic with grief, scarce knowing what he says. presently, sober reason seems to assert itself, and he again resumes speech; but now with voice, expression of features, attitude, everything so changed, that no one, seeing him the moment before, would believe it the same man. upon his countenance sternness has replaced sorrow; the soft lines have become rigid; the melancholy glance is gone, replaced by one that tells of determination--of vengeance. once more he glances down at the grave; then up to the sky, till the moon, coursing across high heaven, falls full upon his face. with his body slightly leaning backward, the arms along his sides, stiffly extended, the hands closed in convulsive clutch, he cries out:-- "by the heavens above--by the shade of my murdered mother, who lies beneath--i swear not to know rest, never more seek contentment, till i've punished her murderer! night and day--through summer and winter-- shall i search for him. yes; search till i've found and chastised this man, this monster, who has brought blight on me, death to my mother, and desolation to our house! ah! think not you can escape me! texas, whither i know you have gone, will not be large enough to hold, nor its wilderness wide enough to screen you from my vengeance. if not found there, i shall follow you to the end of the earth--to the end of the earth, richard darke!" "charley clancy!" he turns as if a shot had struck him. he sees a man standing within six paces of the spot. "sime woodsy!" chapter thirty six. "she is true--still true!" the men who thus mutually pronounce each other's names are they who bear them. for it is, in truth, charles clancy who stands by the grave, and simeon woodley who has saluted him. the surprise is all upon the side of sime, and something more. he beholds a man all supposed to be dead, apparently returned from the tomb! sees him in a place appropriate to resurrection, in the centre of a burying-ground, by the side of a recently made grave! the backwoodsman is not above believing in spiritual existences, and for an instant he is under a spell of the supernatural. it passes off on his perceiving that real flesh and blood is before him--charles clancy himself, and not his wraith. he reaches this conclusion the sooner from having all along entertained a doubt about clancy being dead. despite the many circumstances pointing to, almost proving, his death, woodley was never quite convinced of it. no one has taken so much trouble, or made so many efforts, to clear up the mystery. he has been foremost in the attempt to get punishment for the guilty man, as in the search for the body of his victim; both of which failed, to his great humiliation; his grief too, for he sincerely lamented his lost friend. friends they were of no common kind. not only had they oft hunted in company, but been together in texas during clancy's visit to the lone star state; together at nacogdoches, where borlasse received chastisement for stealing the horse; together saw the thief tied to the stake, woodley being one of the stern jury who sentenced him to be whipped, and saw to the sentence being carried into execution. the hunter had been to natchez for the disposal of some pelts and deer-meat, a week's produce of his gun. returning at a late hour, he must needs pass the cottage of the clancys, his own humble domicile lying beyond. at sight of the deserted dwelling a painful throb passed through his heart, as he recalled the sad fate of those who once occupied it. making an effort to forget the gloomy record, he was riding on, when a figure flitting across the road arrested his attention. the clear moonlight showed the figure to be that of a man, and one whose movements betrayed absence of mind, if not actual aberration. with the instinct habitual to the hunter woodley at once tightened rein, coming to a stop under the shadow of the roadside trees. sitting in his saddle he watched the midnight wanderer, whose eccentric movements continued to cause him surprise. he saw the latter walk on to the little woodland cemetery, take stand by the side of a grave, bending forward as if to read the epitaph on its painted slab. soon after kneeling down as in prayer, then throwing himself prostrate along the earth. woodley well knew the grave thus venerated. for he had himself assisted in digging and smoothing down the turf that covered it. he had also been instrumental in erecting the frail tablet that stood over. who was this man, in the chill, silent hour of midnight, flinging himself upon it in sorrow or adoration? with a feeling far different from curiosity, the hunter slipped out of his saddle, and leaving his horse behind, cautiously approached the spot. as the man upon the grave was too much absorbed with his own thoughts, he got close up without being observed; so close as to hear that strange adjuration, and see a face he never expected to look upon again. despite the features, pale and marked with emaciation, the hollow cheeks, and sunken but glaring eyeballs, he recognised the countenance of charles clancy; soon as he did so, mechanically calling out his name. hearing his own pronounced, in response, sime again exclaims, "charley clancy!" adding the interrogatory, "is it yurself or yur shader?" then, becoming assured, he throws open his arms, and closes them around his old hunting associate. joy, at seeing the latter still alive, expels every trace of supernatural thought, and he gives way--to exuberant congratulation. on clancy's side the only return is a faint smile, with a few confused words, that seem to speak more of sadness than satisfaction. the expression upon his face is rather or chagrin, as if sorry at the encounter having occurred. his words are proof of it. "simeon woodley," he says, "i should have been happy to meet you at any other time, but not now." "why, clancy!" returns the hunter, supremely astonished at the coldness with which his warm advances have been received. "surely you know i'm yur friend?" "right well i know it." "wal, then, believin' you to be dead--tho' i for one never felt sure o't--still thinking it might be--didn't i do all my possible to git justice done for ye?" "you did. i've heard all--everything that has happened. too much i've heard. o god! look there! her grave--my murdered mother!" "that's true. it killed the poor lady, sure enough." "yes; _he_ killed her." "i needn't axe who you refar to. i heerd you mention the name as i got up. we all know that dick darke has done whatever hez been done. we hed him put in prison, but the skunk got away from us, by the bribin' o' another skunk like hisself. the two went off thegither, an' no word's ever been since heerd 'bout eyther. i guess they've put for texas, whar every scoundrel goes nowadays. wal, lordy! i'm so glad to see ye still alive. won't ye tell me how it's all kim about?" "in time i shall--not now." "but why are ye displeezed at meetin' me--me that mayent be the grandest, but saitinly one o' the truest an' fastest o' yur friends?" "i believe you are, woodley--am sure of it. and, now that i think more of the matter, i'm not sorry at having met you. rather am i glad of it; for i feel that i can depend upon you. sime, will you go with me to texas?" "to texas, or anywhars. in coorse i will. an' i reck'n we'll hev a good chance o' meetin' dick darke thar, an' then--" "meet him!" exclaimed clancy, without waiting for the backwoodsman to finish his speech, "i'm sure of meeting him. i know the spot where. ah, simeon woodley! 'tis a wicked world! murderer as that man is, or supposed to be, there's a woman gone to texas who will welcome him-- receive him with open arms; lovingly entwine them around his neck. o god!" "what woman air ye talkin' o', clancy?" "her who has been the cause of all--helen armstrong." "wal; ye speak the truth partwise--but only partwise. thar' can be no doubt o' miss armstrong's being the innercent cause of most o' what's been did. but as to her hevin' a likin' for dick darke, or puttin' them soft white arms o' hern willingly or lovingly aroun' his neck, thar you're clar off the trail--a million miles off o' it. that ere gurl hates the very sight o' the man, as sime woodley hev' good reason to know. an' i know, too, that she's nuts on another man--leastwise has been afore all this happened, and i reck'n still continue to be. weemen--that air, weemen o' her kidney--ain't so changeable as people supposes. 'bout miss helen armstrong hevin' once been inclined to'ardst this other man, an' ready to freeze to him, i hev' the proof in my pocket." "the proof! what are you speaking of?" "a dookyment, charley clancy, that shed hev reached you long ago, seein' that it's got your name on it. thar's both a letter and a pictur'. to examine 'em, we must have a clarer light than what's unner this tree, or kin be got out o' that 'ere moon. s'pose we adjern to my shanty. thar we kin set the logs a-bleezin'. when they throw thar glint on the bit o' paper i've spoke about, i'll take long odds you won't be so down in the mouth. come along, charley clancy! ye've had a durned dodrotted deal both o' sufferin' an' sorrow. be cheered! sime woodley's got somethin' thet's likely to put ye straight upright on your pins. it's only a bit o' pasteboard an' a sheet o' paper--both inside what in natcheez they calls a enwelope. come wi' me to the ole cabin, an' thar you kin take a squint at 'em." clancy's heart is too full to make rejoinder. the words of woodley have inspired him with new hope. health, long doubtful, seems suddenly restored to him. the colour comes back to his cheeks; and, as he follows the hunter to his hut, his stride exhibits all its old vigour and elasticity. when the burning logs are kicked into a blaze; when by its light he reads helen armstrong's letter, and looks upon her photograph--on that sweet inscript intended for himself--he cries out in ecstasy,-- "thank heaven! she is true--still true!" no longer looks he the sad despairing invalid, but the lover--strong, proud, triumphant. chapter thirty seven. the home of the hunted slave. throughout all these days where has clancy been? dead, and come to life again? or, but half killed and recovered? where the while hidden? and why? questions that in quick succession occur to simeon woodley meeting him by his mother's grave. not all put then or there; but afterwards on the hunter's own hearth, as the two sit before the blazing logs, by whose light clancy has read the letter so cheering him. then woodley asks them, and impatiently awaits the answers. the reader may be asking the same questions, and in like manner expecting reply. he shall have it, as woodley, not in a word or at once, but in a series of incidents, for the narration of which it is necessary to return upon time; as also to introduce a personage hitherto known but by repute--the fugitive slave, jupiter. "jupe" is of the colour called "light mulatto," closely approximating to that of newly tanned leather. his features are naturally of a pleasing expression; only now and then showing fierce, when he reflects on a terrible flogging, and general ill treatment experienced, at the hands of the cruel master from whom he has absconded. he is still but a young fellow, with face beardless; only two darkish streaks of down along the upper lip. but the absence of virile sign upon his cheeks has full compensation in a thick shock covering his crown, where the hair of shem struggles for supremacy with the wool of ham, and so successfully, as to result in a profusion of curls of which apollo might be proud. the god of beauty need not want a better form or face; nor he of strength a set of sinews tougher, or limbs more tersely knit. young though he may be, jupe has performed feats of herculean strength, requiring courage as well. no wonder at his having won jule! a free fearless spirit he: somewhat wild, though not heart-wicked; a good deal given to nocturnal excursions to neighbouring plantations; hence the infliction of the lash, which has finally caused his absconding from that of ephraim darke. a merry jovial fellow he has been--would be still--but for the cloud of danger that hangs over him; dark as the den in which he has found a hiding-place. this is in the very heart and centre of the cypress swamp, as also in the heart and hollow of a cypress tree. no dead log, but a living growing trunk, which stands on a little eyot, not immediately surrounded by water, but marsh and mud. there is water beyond, on every side, extending more than a mile, with trees standing in and shadowing its stagnant surface. on the little islet nature has provided a home for the hunted fugitive-- an asylum where he is safe from pursuit--beyond the scent of savage hounds, and the trailing of men almost as savage as they; for the place cannot be approached by water-craft, and is equally unapproachable by land. even a dog could not make way through the quagmire of mud, stretching immediately around it to a distance of several hundred yards. if one tried, it would soon be snapped up by the great saurian, master of this darksome domain. still is there a way to traverse the treacherous ground, for one knowing it, as does darke's runaway slave. here, again, has nature intervened, lending her beneficent aid to the oppressed fleeing from oppression. the elements in their anger, spoken by tempest and tornado, have laid prostrate several trees, whose trunks, lying along the ooze, lap one another, and form a continuous causeway. where there chances to be a break, human ingenuity has supplied the connecting link, making it as much as possible to look like nature's own handiwork; though it is that of jupiter himself. the hollow tree has given him a house ready built, with walls strong as any constructed by human hands, and a roof to shelter him from the rain. if no better than the lair of a wild beast, still is it snug and safe. the winds may blow above, the thunder rattle, and the lightning flash; but below, under the close canopy of leaves and thickly-woven parasites, he but hears the first in soft sighings, the second in distant reverberation, and sees the last only in faint phosphoric gleams. far brighter the sparkle of insects that nightly play around the door of his dwelling. a month has elapsed since the day when, incensed at the flogging received--this cruel as causeless--he ran away, resolved to risk everything, life itself, rather than longer endure the tyrannous treatment of the darkes. though suspected of having taken refuge in the swamp, and there repeatedly sought for, throughout all this time he has contrived to baffle search. nor has he either starved or suffered, except from solitude. naturally of a social disposition, this has been irksome to him. otherwise, he has comforts enough. though rude his domicile, and remote from a market, it is sufficiently furnished and provided. the spanish moss makes a soft couch, on which he can peacefully repose. and for food he need not be hard up, nor has he been for a single day. if it come to that, he can easily entrap an alligator, and make a meal off the tenderest part of its tail; this yielding a steak which, if not equal to best beef, is at all events eatable. but jupe has never been driven to diet on alligator meat too much of musky flavour. his usual fare is roast pork, with now and then broiled ham and chicken; failing which, a _fricassee_ of 'coon or a _barbecue_ of 'possum. no lack of bread besides--maize bread--in its various bakings of "pone", "hoe cake," and "dodger." sometimes, too, he indulges in "virginia biscuit," of sweetest and whitest flour. the question is called up, whence gets he such good things? the 'coon and 'possum may be accounted for, these being wild game of the woods, which he can procure by capture; but the other viands are domestic, and could only be obtained from a plantation. and from one they are obtained--that of ephraim darke! how? does jupiter himself steal them? not likely. the theft would be attended with too much danger. to attempt it would be to risk not only his liberty, but his life. he does not speculate on such rashness, feeling sure his larder will be plentifully supplied, as it has hitherto been-- by a friend. who is he? a question scarce requiring answer. it almost responds to itself, saying, "blue bill." yes; the man who has kept the fugitive in provisions--the faithful friend and confederate--is no other than the coon-hunter. something more than bread and meat has blue bill brought to the swamp's edge, there storing them in a safe place of deposit, mutually agreed upon. oft, as he starts forth "a-cooning," may he be observed with something swelling out his coat-pockets, seemingly carried with circumspection. were they at such times searched, they would be found to contain a gourd of corn whisky, and beside it a plug of tobacco. but no one searches them; no one can guess at their contents--except phoebe. to her the little matter of commissariat has necessarily been made known, by repeated drafts on her meat-safe, and calls upon her culinary skill. she has no jealous suspicion as to why her scanty store is thus almost daily depleted--no thought of its being for brown bet. she knows it is for "poor jupe," and approves, instead of making protest. chapter thirty eight. an excursion by canoe. on that day when dick darke way-laid charles clancy, almost the same hour in which the strife is taking place between them, the fugitive slave is standing by the side of his hollow tree, on the bit of dry land around its roots. his air and bearing indicate intention not to stay there long. ever and anon he casts a glance upward, as if endeavouring to make out the time of day. a thing not easily done in that sombre spot. for he can see no sun, and only knows there is such by a faint reflection of its light scarce penetrating through the close canopy of foliage overhead. still, this gradually growing fainter, tells him that evening is at hand. twilight is the hour he is waiting for, or rather some twenty minutes preceding it. for, to a minute he knows how long it will take him to reach the edge of the swamp, at a certain point to which he contemplates proceeding. it is the place of deposit for the stores he receives from the coon-hunter. on this particular evening he expects something besides provender, and is more than usually anxious about it. mental, not bodily food, is what he is craving. he hopes to get tidings of her, whose image is engraven upon his heart--his yellow girl, jule. for under his coarse cotton shirt, and saddle-coloured skin, jupe's breast burns with a love pure and passionate, as it could, be were the skin white, and the shirt finest linen. he knows of all that is taking place in the plantations; is aware of what has been done by ephraim darke in the matter of the mortgage, and what is about to be done by colonel armstrong. the coon-hunter has kept him posted up in everything--facts and fancies, rumours and realities. one of the last, and latest, is the intention of the armstrongs to remove from the neighbourhood. he has already heard of this, as also their destination. it might not so much concern him, but for the implied supposition that his sweetheart will be going along with them. in fact, he feels sure of it; an assurance that, so far from causing regret, rather gives him gladness. it promises a happier future for all. jupe, too, has had thoughts about texas. not that the lone star state is at all a safe asylum for such as he; but upon its wild borderland there may be a chance for him to escape the bondage of civilisation, by alliance with the savage! even this idea of a freedom far off, difficult of realisation, and if realised not so delectable, has nevertheless been flitting before the mind of the mulatto. any life but that of a slave! his purpose, modified by late events and occurrences, is likely to be altogether changed by them. his jule will be going to texas, along with her master and young mistresses. in the hope of rejoining her, he will go there too--as soon as he can escape to the swamp. on this evening he expects later news, with a more particular account of what is about to be done. blue bill is to bring them, and direct from jule, whom the coon-hunter has promised to see. moreover, jupe has a hope of being able to see her himself, previous to departure; and to arrange an interview, through the intervention of his friend, is the matter now most on his mind. no wonder, then, his scanning the sky, or its faint reflection, with glances that speak impatience. at length, becoming satisfied it must be near night, he starts off from the eyot, and makes way along the causeway furnished by the trunks of the fallen trees. this serves him only for some two hundred yards, ending on the edge of deep water, beyond which the logs lie submerged. the last of them showing above, is the wreck of a grand forest giant, with branches undecayed, and still carrying the parasite of spanish moss in profusion. this hanging down in streamers, scatters over the surface and dips underneath, like the tails of white horses wading knee-deep. in its midst appears something, which would escape the eye of one passing carelessly by. on close scrutiny it is seen to be a craft of rude construction--a log with the heart wood removed--in short, a canoe of the kind called "dug-out." no surprise to the runaway slave seeing it there; no more at its seeming to have been placed in concealment. it is his own property, by himself secreted. gliding down through the moss-bedecked branches, he steps into it; and, after balancing himself aboard, dips his paddle into the water, and sets the dug-out adrift. a way for a while through thick standing trunks that require many tortuous turnings to avoid them. at length a creek is reached, a _bayou_ with scarce any current; along which the canoe-man continues his course, propelling the craft up-stream. he has made way for something more than a mile, when a noise reaches his ear, causing him to suspend stroke, with a suddenness that shows alarm. it is only the barking of a dog; but to him no sound could be more significant--more indicative of danger. on its repetition, which almost instantly occurs, he plucks his paddle out of the water, leaving the dug-out to drift. on his head is a wool hat of the cheap fabric supplied by the penitentiaries of the southern states, chiefly for negro wear. tilting it to one side, he bends low, and listens. certainly a dog giving tongue--but in tone strange, unintelligible. it is a hound's bay, but not as on slot, or chase. it is a howl, or plaintive whine, as if the animal were tied up, or being chastised! after listening to it for some time--for it is nearly continuous--the mulatto makes remark to himself. "there's no danger in the growl of that dog. i know it nearly as well as my own voice. it's the deer-hound that belong to young masser clancy. he's no slave-catcher." re-assured he again dips his blade, and pushes on as before. but now on the alert, he rows with increased caution, and more noiselessly than ever. so slight is the plash of his paddle, it does not hinder him from noting every sound--the slightest that stirs among the cypresses. the only one heard is the hound's voice, still in whining, wailing note. "lor!" he exclaims once more, staying his stroke, and giving way to conjectures, "what can be the matter with the poor brute? there must be something amiss to make it cry; out in that strain. hope 'taint no mischance happened its young masser, the best man about all these parts. come what will, i'll go to the ground, an' see." a few more strokes carries the canoe on to the place, where its owner has been accustomed to moor it, for meeting blue bill; and where on this evening, as on others, he has arranged his interview with the coon-hunter. a huge sycamore, standing half on land, half in the water, with long outstretching roots laid bare by the wash of the current, affords him a safe point of debarkation. for on these his footsteps will leave no trace, and his craft can be stowed in concealment. it chances to be near the spot where the dog is still giving tongue-- apparently not more than two hundred yards off. drawing the dug-out in between the roots of the sycamore, and there roping it fast, the mulatto mounts upon the bank. then after standing some seconds to listen, he goes gliding off through the trees. if cautious while making approach by water, he is even more so on the land; so long being away from it, he there feels less at home. guided by the yelps of the animal, that reach him in quick repetition, he has no difficulty about the direction--no need for aught save caution. the knowledge that he may be endangering his liberty--his life--stimulates him to observe this. treading as if on eggs, he glides from trunk to trunk; for a time sheltering behind each, till assured he can reach another without being seen. he at length arrives at one, in rear of which he remains for a more prolonged period. for he now sees the dog--as conjectured, clancy's deer-hound. the animal is standing, or rather crouching, beside a heap of moss, ever and anon raising its head and howling, till the forest is filled with the plaintive refrain. for what is it lamenting? what can the creature mean? interrogatives which the mulatto puts to himself; for there is none else to whom he may address them. no man near--at least none in sight. no living thing, save the hound itself. is there anything dead? question of a different kind which now occurs, causing him to stick closer than ever to his cover behind the tree. still there is nought to give him a clue to the strange behaviour of the hound. had he been there half-an-hour sooner, he need not now be racking his brain with conjectures. for he would have witnessed the strife, with all the incidents succeeding, and already known to the reader--with others not yet related, in which the hound was itself sole actor. for the animal, after being struck by darke's bullet, did not go directly home. there could be no home where its master was not; and it knew he would not be there. in the heart of the faithful creature, while retreating, affection got the better of its fears; and once more turning, it trotted back to the scene of the tragedy. this time not hindered from approaching the spot; the assassin--as he supposed himself--having wound up his cruel work, and hurriedly made away. despite the shroud thrown over its master's body, the dog soon discovered it--dead, no doubt the animal believed, while tearing aside the moss with claws and teeth, and afterwards with warm tongue licking the cold face. believing it still, as crouched beside the seeming corpse it continues its plaintive lamentation, which yet perplexes the runaway, while alarming him. not for long does he listen to it. there is no one in sight, therefore no one to be feared. certainly not charles clancy, nor his dog. with confidence thus restored, he forsakes his place of concealment, and strides on to the spot where the hound has couched itself. at his approach the animal starts up with an angry growl, and advances to meet him. then, as if in the mulatto recognising a friend of its master, it suddenly changes tone, bounding towards and fawning upon him. after answering its caresses, jupe continues on till up to the side of the moss pile. protruding from it he sees a human head, with face turned towards him--the lips apart, livid, and bloodless; the teeth clenched; the eyes fixed and filmy. and beneath the half-scattered heap he knows there is a body; believes it to be dead. he has no other thought, than that he is standing beside a corpse. chapter thirty nine. is it a corpse? "surely charl clancy!" exclaims the mulatto as soon as setting eyes on the face. "dead--shot--murdered!" for a time he stands aghast, with arms upraised, and eyes staring wildly. then, as if struck by something in the appearance of the corpse, he mutteringly interrogates: "is he sure gone dead?" to convince himself he kneels down beside the body, having cleared away the loose coverlet still partially shrouding it. he sees the blood, and the wound from which it is yet welling. he places his hand over the heart with a hope it may still be beating. surely it is! or is he mistaken? the pulse should be a better test; and he proceeds to feel it, taking the smooth white wrist between his rough brown fingers. "it beats! i do believe it does!" are his words, spoken hopefully. for some time he retains his grasp of the wrist. to make more sure, he tries the artery at different points, with a touch as tender, as if holding in his hand the life of an infant. he becomes certain that the heart throbs; that there is yet breath in the body. what next? what is he to do? hasten to the settlement, and summon a doctor? he dares not do this; nor seek assistance of any kind. to show himself to a white man would be to go back into hated bondage--to the slavery from which he has so lately, and at risk of life, escaped. it would be an act of grand generosity--a self-sacrifice--more than man, more than human being is capable of. could a poor runaway slave be expected to make it? some sacrifice he intends making, as may be gathered from his muttered words: "breath in his body, or no breath, it won't do to leave it lyin' here. poor young gen'leman! the best of them all about these parts. what would miss helen say if she see him now? what will she say when she hear o' it? i wonder who's done it? no, i don't--not a bit. there's only one likely. from what jule told me, i thought 't would come to this, some day. wish i could a been about to warn him. well, it's too late now. the devil has got the upper hand, as seem always the way. ah! what 'll become o' miss armstrong? she loved him, sure as i love jule, or jule me." for a time he stands considering what he ought to do. the dread spectacle has driven out of his mind all thoughts of his appointment with blue bell; just as what preceded hindered the coon-hunter from keeping it with him. for the latter, terrified, has taken departure from the dangerous place, and is now hastening homeward. only for a short while does the mulatto remain hesitating. his eyes are upon the form at his feet. he sees warm blood still oozing from the wound, and knows, or hopes, clancy is not dead. something must be done immediately. "dead or alive," he mutters. "i mustn't, shan't leave him here. the wolves would soon make bare bones of him, and the carrion crows peck that handsome face of his. they shan't either get at him. no. he's did me a kindness more'n once, it's my turn now. slave, mulatto, nigger, as they call me, i'll show them that under a coloured skin there can be gratitude, as much as under a white one--may be more. show them! what am i talkin' 'bout? there's nobody to see. good thing for me there isn't. but there might be, if i stand shilly-shallying here. i mustn't a minute longer." bracing himself for an effort, he opens his arms, and stoops as to take up the body. just then the hound, for some time silent, again gives out its mournful monotone--continuing the dirge the runaway had interrupted. suddenly he rises erect, and glances around, a new fear showing upon his face. for he perceives a new danger in the presence of the dog. "what's to be done with it?" he asks himself. "i daren't take it along. 'twould be sure some day make a noise, and guide the nigger-hunters to my nest--i mustn't risk that. to leave the dog here may be worse still. it'll sure follow me toatin away its master, an' if it didn't take to the water an' swim after 'twould know where the dug-out lay, an' might show them the place. i shan't make any tracks; for all that they'd suspect somethin', down the creek, an' come that way sarchin'. 'twont do take the dog--'twont do to leave it--what _will_ do?" the series of reflections, and questions, runs rapidly as thought itself. and to the last, quick as thought, comes an answer--a plan which promises a solution of the difficulty. he thinks of killing the dog--cutting its throat with his knife. only for an instant is the murderous intent in his mind. in the next he changes it, saying: "i can't do that--no; the poor brute so 'fectionate an' faithful! 'twould be downright cruel. a'most the same as murderin' a man. i wont do it." another pause spent in considering; another plan soon suggesting itself. "ah!" he exclaims, with air showing satisfied, "i have it now. that'll be just the thing." the "thing" thus approved of, is to tie the hound to a tree, and so leave it. first to get hold of it. for this he turns towards the animal, and commences coaxing it nearer. "come up, ole fella. you aint afeerd o' me. i'm jupe, your master's friend, ye know. there's a good dog! come now; come!" the deer-hound, not afraid, does not flee him; and soon he has his hands upon it. pulling a piece of cord out of his pocket, he continues to apostrophise it, saying: "stand still, good dog! steady, and let me slip this round your neck. don't be skeeart. i'm not goin' to hang you--only to keep you quiet a bit." the animal makes no resistance; but yields to the manipulation, believing it to be by a friendly hand, and for its good. in a trice the cord is knotted around its neck; and the mulatto looks out for a tree to which he may attach it. a thought now strikes him, another step calling for caution. it will not do to let the dog see him go off, or know the direction he takes; for some one will be sure to come in search of clancy, and set the hound loose. still, time will likely elapse; the scent will be cold, as far as the creek's edge, and cannot be lifted. with the water beyond there will be no danger. the runaway, glancing around, espies a palmetto brake; these forming a sort of underwood in the cypress forest, their fan-shaped leaves growing on stalks that rise directly out of the earth to a height of three or four feet, covering the ground with a _chevaux de frise_ of deepest green, but hirsute and spinous as hedgehogs. the very place for his purpose. so mutters he to himself, as he conducts the dog towards it. still thinking the same, after he has tied the animal to a palmetto shank near the middle of the brake, and there left it. he goes off, regardless of its convulsive struggles to set itself free, with accompanying yelps, by which the betrayed quadruped seems to protest against such unexpected as ill-deserved, captivity. not five minutes time has all this action occupied. in less than five more a second chapter is complete, by the carrying of clancy's body--it may be his corpse--to the creek, and laying it along the bottom of the canoe. notwithstanding the weight of his burden, the mulatto, a man of uncommon strength, takes care to make no footmarks along the forest path, or at the point of embarkation. the ground, thickly strewn with the leaves of the deciduous _taxodium_, does not betray a trace, any more than if he were treading on thrashed straw. undoing the slip-knot of his painter, he shoves the canoe clear of its entanglement among the roots of the tree. then plying his paddle, directs its course down stream, silently as he ascended, but with look more troubled, and air intensely solemnal. this continuing, while he again shoulders the insensible form, and carries it along the causeway of logs, until he has laid it upon soft moss within the cavity of the cypress--his own couch. then, once more taking clancy's wrist between his fingers, and placing his ear opposite the heart, he feels the pulse of the first, and listens for the beatings of the last. a ray of joy illuminates his countenance, as both respond to his examination. it grows brighter, on perceiving a muscular movement of the limbs, late rigid and seemingly inanimate, a light in the eyes looking like life; above all, words from the lips so long mute. words low-murmured, but still distinguishable; telling him a tale, at the same time giving its interpretation. that in this hour of his unconsciousness clancy should in his speech couple the names of richard darke and helen armstrong is a fact strangely significant, he does the same for many days, in his delirious ravings; amid which the mulatto, tenderly nursing him, gets the clue to most of what has happened. clearer when his patient, at length restored to consciousness, confides everything to the faithful fellow who has so befriended him. every circumstance he ought to know, at the same time imparting secrecy. this, so closely kept, that even blue bill, while himself disclosing many an item, of news exciting the settlement, is not entrusted with one the most interesting, and which would have answered the questions on every tongue:--"what has become of charles clancy?" and "where is his body?" clancy still in it, living and breathing, has his reasons for keeping the fact concealed. he has succeeded in doing so till this night; till encountering simeon woodley by the side of his mother's tomb. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ and now on woodley's own hearth, after all has been explained, clancy once more returns to speak of the purpose he has but half communicated to the hunter. "you say, sime, i can depend upon you to stand by me?" "ye may stake yur life on that. had you iver reezun to misdoubt me?" "no--never." "but, charley, ye hain't tolt me why ye appeared a bit displeezed at meetin' me the night. that war a mystery to me." "there was nothing in it, sime. only that i didn't care to meet, or be seen by, any one till i should be strong enough to carry out my purpose. it would, in all probability, be defeated were the world to know i am still alive. that secret i shall expect you to keep." "you kin trust to me for that; an' yur plans too. don't be afeerd to confide them to sime woodley. maybe he may help ye to gettin' 'em ship-shape." clancy is gratified at this offer of aid. for he knows that in the backwoodsman he will find his best ally; that besides his friendship tested and proved, he is the very man to be with him in the work he has cut out for himself--a purpose which has engrossed his thoughts ever since consciousness came back after his long dream of delirium. it is that so solemnly proclaimed, as he stood in the cemetery, with no thought of any one overhearing him. he had then three distinct passions impelling him to the stern threat-- three reasons, any of them sufficient to ensure his keeping it. first, his own wrongs. true the attempt at assassinating him had failed; still the criminality remained the same. but the second had succeeded. his mother's corpse was under the cold sod at his feet, her blood calling to him for vengeance. and still another passion prompted him to seek it-- perhaps the darkest of all, jealousy in its direst shape, the sting from a love promised but unbestowed. for the coon-hunter had never told jupe of helen armstrong's letter. perhaps, engrossed with other cares, he had forgotten it; or, supposing the circumstance known to all, had not thought it worth communicating. clancy, therefore, up to that hour, believed his sweetheart not only false to himself, but having favoured his rival. the bitter delusion, now removed, does not in any way alter his determination. that is fixed beyond change, as he tells simeon woodley while declaring it. he will proceed to texas in quest of the assassin-- there kill him. "the poor old place!" he says, pointing to the cottage as he passes it on return to the swamp. "no more mine! empty--every stick sold out of it, i've heard. well, let them go! i go to texas." "an' i with ye. to texas, or anywhars, in a cause like your'n, clancy. sime woodley wouldn't desarve the name o' man, to hang back on a trail like that. but, say! don't ye think we'd be more likely o' findin' the game by stayin' hyar? ef ye make it known that you're still alive, then thar ain't been no murder done, an' dick darke 'll be sure to kum home agin." "if he came what could i do? shoot him down like a dog, as he thought he had me? that would make _me_ a murderer, with good chance of being hanged for it. in texas it is different. there, if i can meet him--. but we only lose time in talking. you say, woodley, you'll go with me?" "in course i've said it, and i'll do as i've sayed. there's no backin' out in this child. besides, i war jest thinkin' o' a return to texas, afore i seed you. an' thar's another 'll go along wi' us; that's young ned heywood, a friend o' your'n most as much as myself. ned's wantin' bad to steer torst the lone star state. so, thar'll be three o' us on the trail o' dick darke." "there will be _four_ of us." "four! who's the t'other, may i axe?" "a man i've sworn to take to texas along with me. a brave, noble man, though his skin be--. but never mind now. i'll tell you all about it by-and-by. meanwhile we must get ready. there's not a moment to lose. a single day wasted, and i may be too late to settle scores with richard darke. there's some one else in danger from him--" here clancy's utterance becomes indistinct, as if his voice were stifled by strong emotion. "some one else!" echoes sime, interrupting; "who mout ye mean, clancy?" "her." "that air's helen armstrong. i don't see how she kin be in any danger from dick darke. thet ere gurl hev courage enuf to take care o' herself, an' the spirit too. besides, she'll hev about her purtectors a plenty." "there can be no safety against an assassin. who should know that better than i? woodley, that man's wicked enough for anything." "then, let's straight to texas!" chapter forty. "across the sabine." at the time when texas was an independent republic, and not, as now, a state of the federal union, the phrase, "across the sabine" was one of noted signification. its significance lay in the fact, that fugitives from states' justice, once over the sabine, felt themselves safe; extradition laws being somewhat loose in the letter, and more so in the spirit, at any attempt made to carry them into execution. as a consequence, the fleeing malefactor could breathe freely--even the murderer imagine the weight of guilt lifted from off his soul--the moment his foot touched texan soil. on a morning of early spring--the season when settlers most affect migration to the lone star state--a party of horsemen is seen crossing the boundary river, with faces turned toward texas. the place where they are making passage is not the usual emigrants' crossing--on the old spanish military road between natchitoches and nacogdoches,--but several miles above, at a point where the stream is, at certain seasons, fordable. from the louisiana side this ford is approached through a tract of heavy timber, mostly pine forest, along a trail little used by travellers, still less by those who enter texas with honest intent, or leave louisiana with unblemished reputations. that these horsemen belong not to either category can be told at a glance. they have no waggons, nor other wheeled vehicles, to give them the semblance of emigrants; no baggage to embarrass them on their march. without it, they might be explorers, land speculators, surveyors, or hunters. but no. they have not the look of persons who pursue any of these callings; no semblance of aught honest or honourable. in all there are twelve of them; among them not a face but speaks of the penitentiary--not one which does not brighten up, and show more cheerful, as the hooves of their horses strike the texan bank of the sabine. while on the _terrain_ of louisiana, they have been riding fast and hard--silent, and with pent-up thoughts, as though pursuers were after. once on the texan side all seem relieved, as if conscious of having at length reached a haven of safety. then he who appears leader of the party, reining up his horse, breaks silence, saying-- "boys! i reckon we may take a spell o' rest here. we're now in texas, whar freemen needn't feel afeard. if thar's been any fools followin' us, i guess they'll take care to keep on t'other side o' the river. tharfor, let's dismount and have a bit o' breakfast under the shadder o' these trees. after we've done that, we can talk about what shed be our next move. for my part, i feel sleepy as a 'possum. that ar licker o' naketosh allers knocks me up for a day or two. this time, our young friend quantrell here, has given us a double dose, the which i for one won't get over in a week." it is scarcely necessary to say the speaker is jim borlasse, and those spoken to his drinking companions in the choctaw chief. to a man, they all make affirmative response. like himself, they too are fatigued--dead done up by being all night in the saddle,--to say nought about the debilitating effects of their debauch, and riding rapidly with beard upon the shoulder, under the apprehension that a sheriff and posse may be coming on behind. for, during the period of their sojourn in natchitoches, nearly every one of them has committed some crime that renders him amenable to the laws. it may be wondered how such roughs could carry on and escape observation, much more, punishment. but at the time natchitoches was a true frontier town, and almost every day witnessed the arrival and departure of characters "queer" as to dress and discipline--the trappers and prairie traders. like the sailor in port, when paid off and with full pockets--making every effort to deplete them--so is the trapper during his stay at a fort, or settlement. he does things that seem odd, are odd, to the extreme of eccentricity. among such the late guests of the choctaw chief would not, and did not, attract particular attention. not much was said or thought of them, till after they were gone; and then but by those who had been victimised, resignedly abandoning claims and losses with the laconic remark, "the scoundrels have g.t.t." it was supposed the assassin of charles clancy had gone with them; but this, affecting the authorities more than the general public, was left to the former to deal with; and in a land of many like affairs, soon ceased to be spoken of. borlasse's visit to natchitoches had not been for mere pleasure. it was business that took him thither--to concoct a scheme of villainy such as might be supposed unknown among anglo-saxon people, and practised only by those of latinic descent, on the southern side of the rio grande. but robbery is not confined to any race; and on the borderland of texas may be encountered brigandage as rife and ruthless as among the mountains of the sierra morena, or the defiles of the appenines. that the texan bandit has succeeded in arranging everything to his satisfaction may be learnt from his hilarious demeanour, with the speech now addressed to his associates:-- "boys!" he says, calling them around after they have finished eating, and are ready to ride on, "we've got a big thing before us--one that'll beat horse-ropin' all to shucks. most o' ye, i reckin, know what i mean; 'ceptin', perhaps, our friends here, who've just joined us." the speaker looks towards phil quantrell _alias_ dick darke, and another, named walsh, whom he knows to be joe harkness, ex-jailer. after glancing from one to the other, he continues-- "i'll take charge o' tellin' _them_ in good time; an', i think, can answer for their standin' by us in the bizness. thar's fifty thousand dollars, clar cash, at the bottom of it; besides sundries in the trinket line. the question then is, whether we'd best wait till this nice assortment of property gets conveyed to the place intended for its destination, or make a try to pick it up on the way. what say ye, fellers? let every man speak his opinion; then i'll give mine." "you're sure o' whar they're goin', capting?" asks one of his following. "you know the place?" "better'n i know the spot we're now camped on. ye needn't let that trouble ye. an' most all o' ye know it yourselves. as good luck has it, 'taint over twenty mile from our old stampin' groun' o' last year. thar, if we let em' alone, everythin' air sure to be lodged 'ithin less'n a month from now. thar, we'll find the specie, trinkets, an' other fixins not forgetting the petticoats--sure as eggs is eggs. to some o' ye it may appear only a question o' time and patience. i'm sorry to tell ye it may turn out somethin' more." "why d'ye say that, capting? what's the use o' waitin' till they get there?" chapter forty one. a repentant sinner. nearly three weeks after borlasse and his brigands crossed the sabine, a second party is seen travelling towards the same river through the forests of louisiana, with faces set for the same fording-place. in number they are but a third of that composing the band of borlasse; as there are only four of them. three are on horseback, the fourth bestriding a mule. the three horsemen are white; the mule-rider a mulatto. the last is a little behind; the distance, as also a certain air of deference--to say nothing of his coloured skin--proclaiming him a servant, or slave. still further rearward, and seemingly careful to keep beyond reach of the hybrid's heels, is a large dog--a deer-hound. the individuals of this second cavalcade will be easily identified, as also the dog that accompanies it. the three whites are charles clancy, simeon woodley, and ned heywood; he with the tawny complexion jupiter; while the hound is clancy's--the same he had with him when shot down by richard darke. strange they too should be travelling, as if under an apprehension of being pursued! yet seems it so, judging from the rapid pace at which they ride, and there anxious glances occasionally cast behind. it is so; though for very different reasons from those that affected the freebooters. none of the white men has reason to fear for himself--only for the fugitive slave whom they are assisting to escape from slavery. partly on this account are they taking the route, described as rarely travelled by honest men. but not altogether. another reason has influenced their selection of it while in natchitoches they too have put up at the choctaw chief; their plans requiring that privacy which an obscure hostelry affords. to have been seen with jupiter at the planter's house might have been for some mississippian planter to remember, and identify, him as the absconded slave of ephraim darke. a _contretemps_ less likely to occur at the choctaw chief, and there stayed they. it would have been woodley's choice anyhow; the hunter having frequently before made this house his home; there meeting many others of his kind and calling. on this occasion his sojourn in it has been short; only long enough for him and his travelling companions to procure a mount for their journey into texas. and while thus occupied they have learnt something, which determined them as to the route they should take. not the direct road for nacogdoches by which colonel armstrong and his emigrants have gone, some ten days before; but a trail taken by another party that had been staying at the choctaw chief, and left natchitoches at an earlier period--that they are now on. of this party woodley has received information, sufficiently minute for him to identify more than one of the personages composing it. johnny has given him the clue. for the hibernian innkeeper, with his national habit of wagging a free tongue, has besides a sort of liking for sime, as an antipathy towards sime's old enemy, jim borlasse. the consequence of which has been a tale told in confidence to the hunter, about the twelve men late sojourning at the choctaw chief, that was kept back from the sheriff on the morning after their departure. the result being, that in choice of a route to texas, woodley has chosen that by which they are now travelling. for he knows--has told clancy--that by it has gone jim borlasse, and along with him richard darke. the last is enough for clancy. he is making towards texas with two distinct aims, the motives diametrically opposite. one is to comfort the woman he loves, the other to kill the man he hates. for both he is eagerly impatient; but he has vowed that the last shall be first--sworn it upon the grave of his mother. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ having reached the river, and crossed it, clancy and his travelling companions, just as borlasse and his, seek relaxation under the shade of the trees. perhaps, not quite so easy in their minds. for the murderer, on entering texas, may feel less anxiety than he who has with him a runaway slave! still in that solitary place--on a path rarely trodden--there is no great danger; and knowing this, they dismount and make their bivouac _sans souci_. the spot chosen is the same as was occupied by borlasse and his band. near the bank of the river is a spreading tree, underneath which a log affords sitting accommodation for at least a score of men. seated on this, smoking his pipe, after a refection of corn-bread and bacon, sime woodley unburdens himself of some secrets he obtained in the choctaw chief, which up to this time he has kept back from the others. "boys!" he begins, addressing himself to clancy and heywood, the mulatto still keeping respectfully apart. "we're now on a spot, whar less'n two weeks agone, sot or stud, two o' the darndest scoundrels as iver made futmark on texan soil. _you_ know one o' 'em, ned heywood, but not the tother. charley clancy hev akwaintance wi' both, an' a ugly reccoleckshun o' them inter the bargain." the hunter pauses in his speech, takes a whiff or two from his pipe, then resumes:-- "they've been hyar sure. from what thet fox, johnny, tolt me, they must a tuk this trail. an' as they hed to make quick tracks arter leavin' naketosh, they'd be tired on gettin' this fur, an' good as sartin to lay up a bit. look! thar's the ashes o' thar fire, whar i 'spose they cooked somethin'. thar hain't been a critter crossed the river since the big rain, else we'd a seed tracks along the way. for they started jest the day afore the rain; and that ere fire hez been put out by it. ye kin tell by them chunks showin' only half consoomed. yis, by the eturnal! roun' the bleeze o' them sticks has sot seven, eight, nine, or may be a dozen, o' the darndest cut-throats as ever crossed the sabine; an' that's sayin' a goodish deal. two o' them i kin swar to bein' so; an' the rest may be counted the same from their kumpny--that kumpny bein' jim borlasse an' dick darke." after thus delivering himself, the hunter remains apparently reflecting, not on what he has said, but what they ought to do. clancy has been all the while silent, brooding with clouded brow--only now and then showing a faint smile as the hound comes up, and licks his outstretched hand. heywood has nothing to say; while jupiter is not expected to take any part in the conversation. for a time they all seem under a spell of lethargy--the lassitude of fatigue. they have ridden a long way, and need rest. they might go to sleep alongside the log, but none of them thinks of doing so, least of all clancy. there is that in his breast forbidding sleep, and he is but too glad when woodley's next words arouse him from the torpid repose to which he has been yielding. these are:-- "now we've struck thar trail, what, boys, d'ye think we'd best do?" neither of the two replying, the hunter continues:-- "to the best of my opeenyun, our plan will be to put straight on to whar planter armstrong intends settin' up his sticks. i know the place 'most as well as the public squar o' natchez. this chile intends jeinin' the ole kurnel, anyhow. as for you, charley clancy, we know whar ye want to go, an' the game ye intend trackin' up. wal; ef you'll put trust in what sime woodley say, he sez this: ye'll find that game in the neighbourhood o' helen armstrong;--nigh to her as it dar' ventur'." the final words have an inflammatory effect upon clancy. he springs up from the log, and strides over the ground, with a wild look and strangely excited air. he seems impatient to be back in his saddle. "in coorse," resumes woodley, "we'll foller the trail o' borlasse an' his lot. it air sure to lead to the same place. what they're arter 'tain't eezy to tell. some deviltry, for sartin. they purtend to make thar livin' by ropin' wild horses? i guess he gits more by takin' them as air tame;--as you, clancy, hev reezun to know. i hain't a doubt he'd do wuss than that, ef opportunity offered. thar's been more'n one case o' highway robbery out thar in west texas, on emigrant people goin' that way; an' i don't know a likelier than borlasse to a had a hand in't. ef kurnel armstrong's party wan't so strong as 'tis, an' the kurnel hisself a old campayner, i mout hev my fears for 'em. i reckin they're safe enuf. borlasse an' his fellurs won't dar tech them. johnny sez thar war but ten or twelve in all. still, tho' they moutn't openly attack the waggon train, thar's jest a chance o' their hangin' on its skirts, an' stealin' somethin' from it. ye heerd in naketosh o' a young creole planter, by name dupray, who's goed wi' armstrong, an's tuk a big count o' dollars along. jest the bait to temp jim borlasse; an' as for dick darke, thar's somethin' else to temp him. so--" "woodley!" exclaims clancy, without waiting for the hunter to conclude; "we must be off from here. for god's sake let us go!" his comrades, divining the cause of clancy's impatience, make no attempt to restrain him. they have rested and sufficiently refreshed themselves. there is no reason for their remaining any longer on the ground. rising simultaneously, each unhitches his horse, and stands by the stirrup, taking in the slack of his reins. before they can spring into their saddles, the deer-hound darts off from their midst--as he does so giving out a growl. the stroke of a hoof tells them of some one approaching, and the next moment a horseman is seen through the trees. apparently undaunted, he comes on towards their camp ground; but when near enough to have fair view of their faces, he suddenly reins up, and shows signs of a desire to retreat. if this be his intention, it is too late. before he can wrench round his horse a rifle is levelled, its barrel bearing upon his body; while a voice sounds threateningly in his ears, in clear tone, pronouncing the words,-- "keep yur ground, joe harkness! don't attempt retreetin'. if ye do, i'll send a bullet through ye sure as my name's sime woodley." the threat is sufficient. harkness--for it is he--ceases tugging upon his rein, and permits his horse to stand still. then, at a second command from woodley, accompanied by; a similar menace, he urges the animal into action, and moves on towards their bivouac. in less than sixty seconds after, he is in their midst, dismounted and down upon his knees, piteously appealing to them to spare his life. the ex-jailor's story is soon told, and that without any reservation. the man who has connived at richard darke's escape, and made money by the connivance, is now more than repentant for his dereliction of duty. for he has not only been bullied by borlasse's band, but stripped of his ill-gotten gains. still more, beaten, and otherwise so roughly handled that he has been long trying to get quit of their company. having stolen away from their camp--while the robbers were asleep--he is now returning along the trail they had taken into texas, on his way back to the states, with not much left him, except a very sorry horse and a sorrowing heart. his captors soon discover that, with his sorrow, there is an admixture of spite against his late associates. against darke in particular, who has proved ungrateful for the great service done him. all this does harkness communicate to them, and something besides. something that sets clancy well-nigh crazed, and makes almost as much impression upon his fellow-travellers. after hearing it they bound instantly to their saddles, and spur away from the spot; harkness, as commanded, following at their horses' heels. this he does without daring to disobey; trotting after, in company with the dog, seemingly less cur than himself. they have no fear of his falling back. woodley's rifle, whose barrel has been already borne upon him, can be again brought to the level in an instant of time. the thought holds him secure, as if a trail-rope attached him to the tail of the hunter's horse. chapter forty two. the prairie caravan. picture in imagination meadows, on which scythe of mower has never cut sward, nor haymaker set foot; meadows loaded with such luxuriance of vegetation--lush, tall grass--that tons of hay might be garnered off a single acre; meadows of such extent, that in speaking of them you may not use the word acres, but miles, even this but faintly conveying the idea of their immensity; in fancy summon up such a scene, and you will have before you what is a reality in texas. in seeming these plains have no boundary save the sky--no limit nearer than the horizon. and since to the eye of the traveller this keeps continually changing, he may well believe them without limit at all, and fancy himself moving in the midst of a green sea, boundless as ocean itself, his horse the boat on which he has embarked. in places this extended surface presents a somewhat monotonous aspect, though it is not so everywhere. here and there it is pleasantly interspersed with trees, some standing solitary, but mostly in groves, copses, or belts; these looking, for all the world, like islands in the ocean. so perfect is the resemblance, that this very name has been given them, by men of norman and saxon race; whose ancestors, after crossing the atlantic, carried into the colonies many ideas of the mariner, with much of his nomenclature. to them the isolated groves are "islands;" larger tracts of timber, seen afar, "land;" narrow spaces between, "straits;" and indentations along their edges "bays." to carry the analogy further, the herds of buffalo, with bodies half buried in the tall grass, may be likened to "schools" of whales; the wild horses to porpoises at play; the deer to dolphins; and the fleet antelopes to flying-fish. completing the figure, we have the vultures that soar above, performing the part of predatory sea-gulls; the eagle representing the rarer frigate-bird, or albatross. in the midst of this verdant expanse, less than a quarter of a century ago, man was rarely met; still more rarely civilised man; and rarer yet his dwelling-place. if at times a human being appeared among the prairie groves, he was not there as a sojourner--only a traveller, passing from place to place. the herds of cattle, with shaggy frontlets and humped shoulders--the droves of horses, long-tailed and with full flowing manes--the proud antlered stags, and prong-horned antelopes, were not his. he had no control over them. the turf he trod was free to them for pasture, as to him for passage; and, as he made way through their midst, his presence scarce affrighted them. he and his might boast of being "war's arbiter's," and lords of the great ocean. they were not lords of that emerald sea stretching between the sabine river and the rio grande. civilised man had as yet but shown himself upon its shores. since then he has entered upon, and scratched a portion of its surface; though not much, compared with its immensity. there are still grand expanses of the texan prairie unfurrowed by the ploughshare of the colonist--almost untrodden by the foot of the explorer. even at this hour, the traveller may journey for days on grass-grown plains, amidst groves of timber, without seeing tower, steeple, or so much as a chimney rising above the tree-tops. if he perceive a solitary smoke, curling skyward, he knows that it is over the camp-fire of some one like himself--a wayfarer. and it may be above the bivouac of those he would do well to shun. for upon the green surface of the prairie, as upon the blue expanse of the ocean, all men met with are not honest. there be land-sharks as well as water-sharks--prairie pirates as corsairs of the sea. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ no spectacle more picturesque, nor yet more pleasing, than that of an emigrant caravan _en route_ over the plains. the huge waggons--"prairie ships," as oft, and not inaptly, named--with their white canvass tilts, typifying spread sails, aligned and moving along one after the other, like a _corps d'armee_ on march by columns; a group of horsemen ahead, representing its vanguard; others on the flanks, and still another party riding behind, to look after strays and stragglers, the rear-guard. usually a herd of cattle along--steers for the plough, young bullocks to supply beef for consumption on the journey, milch kine to give comfort to the children and colour to the tea and coffee--among them an old bull or two, to propagate the species on reaching the projected settlement. not unfrequently a drove of pigs, or flock of sheep, with coops containing ducks, geese, turkeys, guinea-fowl--perhaps a screaming peacock, but certainly chanticleer and his harem. a train of texan settlers has its peculiarities, though now not so marked as in the times of which we write. then a noted feature was the negro--his _status_ a slave. he would be seen afoot, toiling on at the tails of the waggons, not in silence or despondingly, as if the march were a forced one. footsore he might be, in his cheap "brogans" of penitentiary fabric, and sore aweary of the way, but never sad. on the contrary, ever hilarious, exchanging jests with his fellow-pedestrians, or a word with dinah in the wagon, jibing the teamsters, mocking the mule-drivers, sending his cachinations in sonorous ring along the moving line; himself far more mirthful than his master--more enjoying the march. strange it is, but true, that a lifetime of bondage does not stifle merriment in the heart of the ethiopian. grace of god to the sons of ham--merciful compensation for mercies endured by them from the day canaan was cursed, as it were a doom from the dawning of creation! just such a train as described is that commanded by colonel armstrong, _en route_ towards western texas. starting from natchitoches some twenty days ago, it has reached the colorado river, crossed it, and is now wending its way towards the san saba, a tributary of the former stream. it is one of the largest caravans that has yet passed over the prairies of texas, counting between twenty and thirty "conestoga" wagons, with several "carrioles" and vehicles of varied kind. full fifty horsemen ride in its front, on its flank, and rear; while five times the number of pedestrians, men with black or yellow skins, keep pace with it. a proportionate number of women and children are carried in the wagons, their dusky faces peeping out from under the tilts, in contrast with the colour of the rain-bleached canvass; while other women and children of white complexion ride in the vehicles with springs. in one of the latter--a barouche of the american build--travel two young ladies, distinguished by particular attentions. half a dozen horsemen hover around their carriage, acting as its escort, each apparently anxious to exchange words with them. with one they can talk, jest, laugh, chatter as much as they like; but the other repels them. for the soul of the former is full of joy; that of the latter steeped in sadness. superfluous to say, they are jessie and helen armstrong. and needless to tell why the one is gay, the other grave. since we last saw them in the hotel of natchitoches, no change has taken place in their hearts or their hopes. the younger of the two, jessie, is still an expectant bride, certain soon to be a wife; and with this certainty rejoices in the future. helen, with no such expectation, no wish for it, feeling as one widowed, grieves over the past. the former sees her lover by her side living and loving, constantly, caressingly; the latter can but think of hers as something afar off--a dream--a dread vision--a cold corpse--herself the cause of it! colonel armstrong's eldest daughter is indeed sad--a prey to repining. her heart, after receiving so many shocks, has almost succumbed to that the supremest, most painful suffering that can afflict humanity--the malady of _melancholia_. the word conveys but a faint idea of the suffering itself. only they who have known it--fortunately but few--can comprehend the terror, the wan, wasting misery, endured by those whose nerves have given way under some terrible stroke of misfortune. 'tis the story of a broken heart. byron has told us "the heart may break and brokenly live on." in this her hour of unhappiness, helen armstrong would not and could not believe him. it may seem strange that jessie is still only a bride to be. but no. she remembers the promise made to her father--to share with him a home in texas, however humble it might be. all the same, now that she knows it will be splendid; knowing, too, it is to be shared by another-- her louis. he is still but her _fiancee_; but his troth is plighted, his truthfulness beyond suspicion. they are all but man and wife; which they will be soon as the new home is reached. the goal of their journey is to be the culminating point of jessie's joy--the climax of her life's happiness. chapter forty three. the hand of god. scarce any stream of south-western texas but runs between bluffs. there is a valley or "bottom-land," only a little elevated above the water's surface, and often submerged during inundations,--beyond this the bluffs. the valley may be a mile or more in width, in some places ten, at others contracted, till the opposing cliffs are scarce a pistol-shot apart. and of these there are frequently two or three tiers, or terraces, receding backward from the river, the crest of the last and outmost being but the edge of an upland plain, which is often sterile and treeless. any timber upon it is stunted, and of those species to which a dry soil is congenial. mezquite, juniper, and "black-jack" oaks grow in groves or spinneys; while standing apart may be observed the arborescent jucca--the "dragon-tree" of the western world, towering above an underwood unlike any other, composed of _cactaceae_ in all the varieties of cereus, cactus, and echinocactus. altogether unlike is the bottom-land bordering upon the river. there the vegetation is lush and luxuriant, showing a growth of large forest timber--the trees set thickly, and matted with many parasites, that look like cables coiling around and keeping them together. these timbered tracts are not continuous, but show stretches of open between,--here little glades filled with flowers, there grand meadows overgrown with grass--so tall that the horseman riding through it has his shoulders swept by the spikes, which shed their pollen upon his coat. just such a bottom-land is that of the san saba, near the river's mouth; where, after meandering many a score of miles from its source in the llano estacado, it espouses the colorado--gliding softly, like a shy bride, into the embrace of the larger and stronger-flowing stream. for a moment departing from the field of romance, and treading upon the domain of history--or it may be but legend--a word about this colorado river may interest the reader. possibly, probably, almost lor certain, there is no province in all spanish america without its "rio colorado." the geographer could count some scores of rivers so named--point them out on any map. they are seen in every latitude, trending in all directions, from the great colorado of _canon_ celebrity in the north to another far south, which cuts a deep groove through the plains of patagonia. all these streams have been so designated from the hue of their waters--muddy, with a pronounced tinge of red: this from the ochreous earth through which they have coursed, holding it in suspension. in the texan colorado there is nothing of this; on the contrary, it is a clear water stream. a circumstance that may seem strange, till the explanation be given--which is, that the name is a _misnomer_. in other words, the texan river now bearing the designation colorado is not that so-called by the spaniards, but their rio brazos; while the present brazos is their rio colorado--a true red-tinted stream. the exchange of names is due to an error of the american map-makers, unacquainted with the spanish tongue. giving the colorado its true name of brazos, or more correctly "brazos de dios" ("the arms of god"), the origin of this singular title for a stream presents us with a history, or legend, alike singular. as all know, texas was first colonised by spaniards, or spanish mexicans, on what might be termed the "militant missionary system." monks were sent into the province, cross in hand, with soldiers at their back, bearing the sword. establishments were formed in different parts of the country; san antonio de bejar being the ecclesiastical centre, as also the political capital. around these the aborigines were collected, and after a fashion converted to christianity. with the christianising process, however, there were other motives mixed up, having very little to do either with morality or religion. comfortable subsistence, with the accumulation of wealth by the missionaries themselves, was in most instances the lure which attracted them to texas, tempting them to risk their lives in the so-called conversion of the heathen. the mission-houses were in the monasterial style, many of them on a grand scale--mansions in fact, with roomy refectories, and kitchens to correspond; snug sitting and sleeping-chambers; well-paved courts and spacious gardens attached. outside the main building, sometimes forming part of it, was a church, or _capilla_; near by the _presidio_, or barrack for their military protectors; and beyond, the _rancheria_, or village of huts, the homes of the new-made neophytes. no great difficulty had the fathers in thus handsomely housing themselves. the converts did all the work, willingly, for the sake and in the name of the "holy faith," into which they had been recently inducted. nor did their toil end with the erection of the mission-buildings. it was only transferred to a more layical kind; to the herding of cattle, and tillage of the surrounding land; this continued throughout their whole lives--not for their own benefit, but to enrich those idle and lazy friars, in many cases men of the most profligate character. it was, in fact, a system of slavery, based upon and sustained by religious fanaticism. the result as might be expected--failure and far worse. instead of civilising the aborigines of america, it has but brutalised them the more--by eradicating from their hearts whatever of savage virtue they had, and implanting in its place a debasing bigotry and superstition. most american writers, who speak of these missionary establishments, have formed an erroneous estimate of them. and, what is worse, have given it to the world. many of these writers are, or were, officers in the united states army, deputed to explore the wild territories in which the missions existed. having received their education in roman catholic seminaries, they have been inducted into taking a too lenient view of the doings of the "old spanish padres;" hence their testimony so favourable to the system. the facts are all against them; these showing it a scheme of _villeinage_, more oppressive than the european serfdom of the middle ages. the issue is sufficient proof of this. for it was falling to pieces, long before the anglo-saxon race entered into possession of the territory where it once flourished. the missions are now in a state of decadence, their buildings fast falling into decay; while the red man, disgusted at the attempt to enslave, under the clock of christianising him, has returned to his idolatry, as to his savage life. several of these _misiones_ were established on the san saba river; one of which for a considerable period enjoyed a prosperous existence, and numbered among its neophytes many indians of the lipan and comanche tribes. but the tyranny of their monkish teachers by exactions of tenths and almost continuous toil--themselves living in luxurious ease, and without much regard to that continence they inculcated--at length provoked the suffering serfs to revolt. in which they were aided by those indians who had remained unconverted, and still heretically roamed around the environs. the consequence was that, on a certain day when the hunters of the _mision_ were abroad, and the soldiers of the _presidio_ alike absent on some expedition, a band of the outside idolaters, in league with the discontented converts, entered the mission-building, with arms concealed under their ample cloaks of buffalo skin. after prowling about for a while in an insolent manner, they at length, at a given signal from their chief, attacked the proselytising _padres_, with those who adhered to them; tomahawked and scalped all who came in their way. only one monk escaped--a man of great repute in those early times of texas. stealing off at the commencement of the massacre, he succeeded in making his way down the valley of the san saba, to its confluence with the colorado. but to reach an asylum of safety it was necessary for him to cross the latter stream; in which unfortunately there was a freshet, its current so swollen that neither man nor horse could ford it. the _padre_ stood upon its bank, looking covetously across, and listening in terror to the sounds behind; these being the war-cries of the pursuing comanches. for a moment the monk believed himself lost. but just then the arm of god was stretched forth to save him. this done in a fashion somewhat difficult to give credence to, though easy enough for believers in holy faith. it was a mere miracle; not stranger, or more apocryphal, than we hear of at this day in france, spain, or italy. the only singularity about the texan tale is the fact of its not being original; for it is a pure piracy from sacred writ--that passage of it which relates to the crossing of the red sea by moses and his israelites. the spanish monk stood on the river's bank, his eyes fixed despairingly on its deep rapid-running current, which he knew he could not cross without danger of being drowned. just at this crisis he saw the waters separate; the current suddenly stayed, and the pebbly bed showing dry as a shingle! tucking his gown under his girdle, he struck into the channel; and, no doubt, making good time--though the legend does not speak of this--he succeeded in planting his sandalled feet, dry shod, on the opposite shore! so far the texan story closely corresponds with the mosaic. beyond, the incidents as related, are slightly different. pharaoh's following host was overwhelmed by the closing waters. the pursuing comanches did not so much as enter the charmed stream; which, with channel filled up, as before, was running rapidly on. they were found next morning upon the bank where they had arrived in pursuit, all dead, all lying at full stretch along the sward, their heads turned in the same direction, like trees struck down by a tornado! only the omnipotent could have done this. no mortal hand could make such a _coup_. hence the name which the spaniards bestowed upon the present colorado, _brazos de dios_--the "hand of god." hence also the history, or rather fable, intended to awe the minds of the rebellious redskins, and restore them to christanity, or serfdom. which it did not; since from that day the _misiones_ of san saba remained abandoned, running into ruin. it is to one of these forsaken establishments colonel armstrong is conducting his colony; his future son-in-law having purchased the large tract of territory attached to it. to that spot, where more than a century ago the monks made halt, with cross borne conspicuously in one hand, and sword carried surreptitiously in the other, there is now approaching a new invasion--that of axe and rifle--neither ostentatiously paraded, but neither insidiously concealed. chapter forty four. a cloud on the cliffs. after a long toilsome journey through eastern texas, the emigrant train has reached the san saba, and is working its way up-stream. slowly, for the bottom-land is in some places heavily timbered, and the road requires clearing for the waggons. the caravan has entered the valley on the left, or northern, bank of the river, while its point of destination is the southern; but a few miles above its confluence with the colorado is a ford, by which the right side may be reached at low water. luckily it is now at its lowest, and the waggons are got across without accident, or any great difficulty. once on the southern side, there is nothing to obstruct or further delay them. some ten miles above is the abandoned mission-house, which they expect to reach that day, before going down of the sun. with perhaps one exception, the emigrants are all happy, most of them in exuberant spirits. they are nearing a new home, having long ago left the old one behind; left also a thousand cankering cares,--many of them more than half a life spent in struggles and disappointments. in the untried field before them there is hope; it may be success and splendour; a prospect like the renewing of life's lease, the younger to find fresh joys, the older to grow young again. for weeks has the san saba mission-house been the theme of their thoughts, and topic of discourse. they will re-people the deserted dwelling, restore it to its pristine splendour; bring its long neglected fields under tillage--out of them make fortunes by the cultivation of cotton. there is no cloud to darken the horizon of their hopes. the toilsome journey is nearly at an end, and rejoicingly they hail its termination. whether their train of white tilted wagons winds its way under shadowing trees, or across sunlit glades, there is heard along its line only joyous speech and loud hilarious laughter. so go they on, regardless about the future, or only thinking of it as full of bright promise. little do they dream how it may be affected by something seen upon the cliffs above, though not seen by them. at the point they have now reached, the bottom-land is several miles wide, with its bordering of grim bluffs rising on either flank, and running far as eye can see. on the left side, that they have just forsaken, not upon the river's bank, but the cliff far back, is a cloud. no darkness of the sky, or concentration of unsubstantial vapour. but a gathering on the earth, and of men; who, but for their being on horseback, might be mistaken for devils. in satan's history the horse has no part; though, strange to say, satan's sons are those who most affect friendship for the noble animal. of the horsemen seen hovering above the san saba there are in all twenty; most of them mounted upon mustangs, the native steed of texas, though two or three bestride larger and better stock, the breed of the states. all appear indians, or if there be white man among them, he must have been sun-tanned beyond anything commonly seen. in addition to their tint of burnt umber, they are all garishly painted; their faces escutcheoned with chalk-white, charcoal-black, and vermillion-red. of their bodies not much can be seen. blankets of blue and scarlet, or buffalo robes, shroud their shoulders; while buckskin breeches and leggings wrap their lower limbs; mocassins encasing their feet. in addition to its dress, they wear the usual indian adornments. stained eagle-plumes stand tuft-like out of their raven-black hair, which, in trailing tresses, sweeps back over the hips of their horses; while strings of peccaries' teeth and claws of the grizzly bear fall over their breasts in bountiful profusion. it is true, they are not in correct fighting costume. nor would their toilet betoken them on the "war-trail." but the texan indian does not always dress warrior-fashion, when he goes forth upon a predatory excursion. more rarely when on a mere pilfering maraud, directed against some frontier settlement, or travelling party of whites. on such occasions he does not intend fighting, but rather shuns it. and, as thieving is more congenial to him, he can steal as cleverly and adroitly in a buckskin hunting-shirt, as with bare arms. the indians in question number too few for a war party. at the same time, their being without women is evidence they are on no errand of peace. but for the arms carried, they might be mistaken for hunters. they have spears and guns, some of them "bowie" knives and pistols; while the indian hunter still believes in the efficacy of the silent arrow. in their armour, and equipment there are other peculiarities the ordinary traveller might not comprehend, but which to the eye of an old prairie man would be regarded as suspicious. such an one would at once pronounce them a band of _prairie pirates_, and of the most dangerous kind to be encountered in all the territory of texas. whoever they may be, and whatever their design, their behaviour is certainly singular. both by their looks and gestures it can be told they are watching the waggon train, and interested in its every movement; as also taking care not to be themselves observed by those belonging to it. to avoid this they keep back from the crest of the escarpment; so far, it would not be possible to see them from any part of the bottom-land below. one of their number, afoot, goes closer to the cliff's edge, evidently sent there by the others as a sort of moving vidette. screened by the cedars that form its _criniere_, he commands a view of the river valley below, without danger of being himself seen from it. at short intervals he passes back a pace or two, and gesticulates to the others. then returning to the cliff's edge, he continues on as before. these movements, apparently eccentric, are nevertheless of grave import. the man who makes them, with those to whom they are made, must be watching the travellers with the intention of waylaying them. afar off are the waggons, just distinguishable as such by their white canvas tilts--the latter in contrast with the surface of vivid green over which they are progressing. slowly crawling along, they bear similitude to a string of gigantic _termites_ bent on some industrial excursion. still the forms of mounted men--at least forty in number, can be distinguished. some riding in front of the train, some in its rear, and others alongside of it. no wonder the twenty savage men, who pursue the parallel line along the cliff, are taking care not to approach it too nearly. one would suppose that from such a strong travelling party their chance of obtaining plunder would seem to them but slight. and yet they do not appear to think so. for as the caravan train tardily toils on up the bottom-land, they too move along the upper plain at a like rate of speed, their scout keeping the waggons in sight, at intervals, as before, admonishing them of every movement. and they still continue watching the emigrant train until the sun sinks low--almost to the horizon. then they halt upon a spot thickly beset with cedar trees--a sort of promontory projecting over the river valley. on its opposite side they can see the waggons still slowly creeping along, though now not all in motion. those in the lead have stopped; the others doing likewise, as, successively, they arrive at the same place. this in front of a large building, just discernible in the distance, its outlines with difficulty traceable under the fast gathering gloom of the twilight. but the savages who survey it from the bluff have seen that building before, and know all about it; know it to be one of the abandoned _misiones_ of san saba; as, also, why those vehicles are now coming to a stop before its walls. while watching these, but few words are exchanged between them, and only in an under tone. much or loud talk would not be in keeping with their indian character. still enough passes in their muttered speeches-- observable also in the expression of their features--for any one hearing the first, or seeing the last, to predict danger to the colony of colonel armstrong. if looks count for aught, or words can be relied on the chances seem as if the old san saba mission-house, long in ruins, may remain so yet longer. chapter forty five. a suspicious surveillance. the ancient monastery, erst the abode of spanish monks, now become the dwelling-place of the ci-devant mississippi planter, calls for a word of description. it stands on the right side of the river, several hundred yards from the bank, on a platform slightly elevated above the general level of the surrounding _terrain_. the site has been chosen with an eye to the pleasant and picturesque-- that keen look-out towards temporal enjoyment, which at all times, and in all countries, has characterised these spiritual teachers of the heathen. its elevated position gives it command of a fine prospect, at the same time securing it against the danger of inundation, when the river is in flood. in architectural style the mission-building itself does not much differ from that of most mexican country houses--called _haciendas_. usually a grand quadrangular structure, with an uncovered court in the centre, the _patio_; around which runs a gallery or corridor, communicating with the doors of the different apartments. but few windows face outside; such as there are being casements, unglazed, but protected by a _grille_ of iron bars set vertically--the _reja_. in the centre of its front _facade_ is a double door, of gaol-like aspect, giving admittance to the passage-way, called _saguan_; this of sufficient capacity to admit a waggon with its load, intended for those grand old coaches that lumbered along our own highways in the days of dick turpin, and in which sir charles grandison used luxuriously to ride. vehicles of the exact size, and pattern, may be seen to this day crawling along the country roads of modern mexico--relics of a grandeur long since gone. the _patio_ is paved with stone flags, or tesselated tiles; and, where a head of water can be had, a fountain plays in the centre, surrounded by orange-trees, or other evergreens, with flowering-plants in pots. to rearward of this inner court, a second passage-way gives entrance to another, and larger, if not so sumptuously arrayed; this devoted to stables, store-rooms, and other domestic offices. still farther back is the _huerta_, or garden. that attached to the ancient monastery is an enclosure of several acres in extent, surrounded by a high wall of _adobes_; made to look still higher from being crested with a palisade of the organ cactus. filled with fruit trees and flowering shrubs, these once carefully cultivated, but for long neglected, now cover the walks in wild luxuriance. under their shade, silently treading with sandalled feet, or reclining on rustic benches, the texan friars used to spend their idle hours, quite as pleasantly as their british brethren of tintern and tewkesbury. oft have the walls of the san saba mission-house echoed their "ha, ha!" as they quaffed the choicest vintage of xeres, and laughed at jests ribald as any ever perpetrated in a pot-house. not heard, however, by the converted heathen under their care; nor intended to be. for them there were dwellings apart; a collection of rude hovels, styled the _rancheria_. these were screened from view by a thick grove of evergreen trees; the _padres_ not relishing a too close contact with their half-naked neophytes, who were but their _peons_--in short their slaves. in point of fact, it was the feudal system of the old world transported to the new; with the exception that the manorial lords were monks, and the _villeins_ savage men. and the pretence at proselytising, with its mongrel mixture of christianity and superstition, did not make this transatlantic _villeinage_ a whit less irksome to endure. proof, that the red-skinned serfs required the iron hand of control is found in the _presidio_, or soldier's barrack-- standing close by--its ruin overlooking those of the _rancheria_. they who had been conquered by the cross, still needed the sword to keep them in subjection, which, as we have seen, it finally failed to do. several of the huts still standing, and in a tolerable state of repair, have supplied shelter to the new settlers; most of whom have taken up their abode in them. they are only to serve as temporary residences, until better homes can be built. there is no time for this now. the spring is on, and the cotton-seed must be got into the ground, to the neglect of everything else. colonel armstrong himself, with his daughters and domestics, occupies the old mission-building, which also gives lodgment to luis dupre and his belongings. for the young planter is now looked upon as a member of the armstrong family, and it wants but a word from one in holy orders to make him really so. and such an one has come out with the colonists. the marriage ceremony is but deferred until the cotton-seed be safe under the soil. then there will be a day of jubilee, such as has never been seen upon the san saba; a _fiesta_, which in splendour will eclipse anything the spanish monks, celebrated for such exhibitions, have ever got up, or attempted. but "business before pleasure" is the adage of the hour; and, after a day or two given to rest, with the arrangement of household affairs, the real work of colonising commences. the little painted ploughs, transported from the states, are set to soiling their paint, by turning up the fertile clod of the san saba valley, which has so long lain fallow; while the seed of the cotton-plant is scattered far and wide over hundreds--ay, thousands of acres. around the ancient mission is inaugurated a new life, with scenes of industry, stirring as those presided over by the _padres_. is it sure of being as prosperous, or more likely to be permanent? one confining his view to the valley--regarding only the vigorous activity there displayed--would answer this question in the affirmative. but he who looks farther off--raising his eyes to the bluff on the opposite side of the river, fixing them on that spot where the indians made halt--would hesitate before thus prognosticating. in the dusky cohort he might suspect some danger threatening the new settlement. true, the savages are no longer there. after seeing the waggons one after another becoming stationary, like vultures deprived of a carrion repast, they moved away. but not far. only about five miles, to a grove of timber standing back upon the plain, where they have made a more permanent camp. two alone are left upon the cliff's edge; evidently to act as videttes. they keep watch night and day, one always remaining awake. especially during the night hours do they appear on the alert--with eyes bent on the far off mission-buildings--watching the window-lights that steadily shine, and the torches that flit to and fro. watching for something not yet seen. what can it be? and what is the design of these painted savages, who look more like demons than men? is it to attack the new colony, plunder, and destroy it? regarding their numbers, this would seem absurd. they are in all only twenty; while the colonists count at least fifty fighting men. no common men either; but most of them accustomed to the use of arms; many backwoodsmen, born borderers, staunch as steel. against such, twenty indians--though the picked warriors of the warlike comanche tribe--would stand no chance in fair open fight. but they may not mean this; and their intent be only stealing? or they may be but a pioneer party--the vanguard of a greater force? in any case, their behaviour is singularly suspicious. such manoeuvring can mean no good, but may be fraught with evil to colonel armstrong and his colonists. for several successive days is this surveillance maintained, and still nothing seems to come of it. the party of savages remains encamped in the timber at back; while the two sentinels keep their place upon the promontory; though now and then going and coming, as before. but on a certain night they forsake their post altogether, as if their object has been attained, and there is no need to keep watch any more. on this same night, a man might be seen issuing out of the mission-building, and making away from its walls. he is not seen, nevertheless. for it is the hour of midnight, and all have retired to rest--the whole household seemingly wrapt in profoundest slumber. moreover, the man slips out stealthily, through the backdoor; thence across the second courtyard, and along a narrow passage leading into the garden. having reached this, he keeps on down the centre walk, and over the wall at bottom, through which there chances to be a breach. all these mysterious movements are in keeping with the appearance of the man. for his countenance shows cunning of no ordinary kind. at first glance, and under the moonlight, he might be mistaken for a mulatto. but, though coloured, he is not of this kind. his tawny skin shows a tinge of red, which tells of indian, rather than african blood. he is, in truth, a _mestizo_--half spaniard or mexican, the other half being the aboriginal race of america. it is a breed not always evil-disposed, still less frequently ill-featured; and, so far as looks go, the individual in question might claim to be called handsome. he has a plenteous profusion of dark curly hair, framing a countenance by no means common. a face of oval form, regular features, the nose and chin markedly prominent, a pair of coal black eyes, with a well-defined crescent over each. between his lips are teeth, sound and of ivory whiteness, seeming whiter in contrast with a pair of jet black moustaches. taking his features singly, any of them might be pronounced comely. and yet the _tout ensemble_ is not pleasing. despite physical beauty, there is something in the man's face that appears repulsive, and causes shrinking in the heart of the beholder. chiefly is it his eyes that seem to produce this effect; their glance inspiring fear, such as one feels while being gazed at by an adder. not always can this sinister look be observed. for the _mestizo_, when face to face with his superiors, has the habit of holding his eyes averted--cast down, as if conscious of having committed crime, or an intention to commit it. most with whom he comes in contact are impressed with the idea, that he either has sinned, or intends sinning; so all are chary of giving him confidence. no--not all. there is one exception: one man who has trusted, and still continues to trust him--the young planter, dupre. so far, that he has made him his man of confidence--head-servant over all the household. for it need scarce be told, that the real master of the house is he who rendered it habitable, by filling it with furniture and giving it a staff of servants. colonel armstrong is but its head through courtesy due to age, and the respect shown to a future father-in-law. why the creole puts such trust in fernand--the _mestizo's_ name--no one can clearly comprehend. for he is not one of those domestics, whose integrity has been tested by long years of service. on the contrary, dupre has never set eyes on him, till just before leaving nachitoches. while organising the expedition, the half-blood had presented himself, and offered to act as its guide--professing acquaintance with that section of texas whither the colony was to be conducted. but long before reaching their destination, dupre had promoted him to a higher and more lucrative post--in short, made him his "major-domo." colonel armstrong does not object. he has not the right. still less, anybody else. outsiders only wonder and shake their heads; saying, in whispers, that the thing is strange, and adding, "no good can come of it." could any of them observe the _mestizo_ at this midnight hour, skulking away from the house; could they follow and watch his further movements, they might indulge in something more than a surmise about his fidelity; indeed, be convinced he is a traitor. after getting about half-a-mile from the mission walls, he makes stop on the edge of attract of timber lying between--its outer edge, open towards the river's bank, and the bluffs beyond. there, crouching down by the side of a flat stone, he pours some gunpowder upon it, from a horn taken out of his pocket. this done, he draws forth a box of lucifer matches; scrapes one across the stone, and sets the powder ablaze. it flashes up in bright glare, illumining the darkness around. a second, time he repeats this manoeuvre; a third, and a fourth; and on, till, for the tenth time, powder has been burnt. then turning away from the spot, he makes back towards the dwelling-house, entering it by the way he went out, and stealthily as before. no one within its walls has been witness to the pyrotechnic display. for all, it has not been unobserved. the indian videttes, stationed on the far-off bluff, see it. see, and furthermore, seem to accept it as a signal--a cue for action. what but this could have caused them to spring upon the backs of their horses, forsake their post of observation, and gallop off to the bivouac of their comrades; which they do, soon as noting that the tenth flash is not followed by another? surely must it be a signal, and preconcerted? in the life of the prairie savage fire plays a conspicuous part. it is his telegraph, by which he can communicate with far off friends, telling them where an enemy is, and how or when he should be "struck." a single spark, or smoke, has in it much of meaning. a flash may mean more; but ten following in succession were alphabet enough to tell a tale of no common kind--one, it may be, predicting death. chapter forty six. a suspected servant. now fairly inaugurated, the new colony gives promise of a great success; and the colonists are congratulating themselves. none more than their chief, colonel armstrong. his leaving mississippi has been a lucky move; so far all has gone well; and if the future but respond to its promise, his star, long waning, will be once more in the ascendant. there is but one thought to darken this bright dream: the condition of his eldest daughter. where all others are rejoicing, there is no gladness for her. sombre melancholy seems to have taken possession of her spirit, its shadow almost continuously seated on her brow. her eyes tell of mental anguish, which, affecting her heart, is also making inroad on her health. already the roses have gone out of her cheeks, leaving only lilies; the pale flowers foretelling an early tomb. the distressing symptoms do not escape the fond father's observation. indeed he knows all about them, now knowing their cause. only through the natchez newspapers was he first made aware of that secret correspondence between his daughter and clancy. but since she has confessed all--how her heart went with her words; is still true to what she then said. the last an avowal not needed: her pallid cheeks proclaiming it. the frank confession, instead of enraging her father, but gives him regret, and along with it self-reproach. but for his aristocratic pride, with some admixture of cupidity, he would have permitted clancy's addresses to his daughter. with an open honourable courtship, the end might have been different--perhaps less disastrous. it could not have been more. he can now only hope, that time, the great soother of suffering hearts, may bring balm to hers. new scenes in texas, with thoughts arising therefrom, may throw oblivion over the past. and perchance a new lover may cause the lost one to be less painfully remembered. several aspirants have already presented themselves; more than one of the younger members of the colony having accompanied it, with no view of making fortunes by the cultivation of cotton, but solely to be beside helen armstrong. her suitors one and all will be disappointed. she to whom they sue is not an ordinary woman; nor her affections of the fickle kind. like the eagle's mate, deprived of her proud lord, she will live all her after life in lone solitude--or die. she has lost her lover, or thinks so, believing clancy dead; but the love still burns within her bosom, and will, so long as her life may last. colonel armstrong soon begins to see this, and despairs of the roses ever again returning to the cheeks of his elder daughter. it would, no doubt, be different were the blighted heart that of his younger. with her the spanish proverb, "_un clavo saca otro clavo_," might have meaning. by good fortune, jessie needs no nail to drive out another. her natural exuberance of spirits grown to greater joy from the hopes that now halo her young life, is flung over the future of all. some compensation for her sister's sadness--something to cheer their common father. there is also the excitement attendant on the industries of the hour--the cares of the cotton-planting, with speculations about the success of the crop--these, with a hundred like thoughts and things, hinder him from so frequently recurring to, or so long dwelling on, that which can but cruelly distress. it is the night succeeding that in which the mestizo made his private pyrotechnic display; and colonel armstrong with his future son-in-law is seated in the former refectory of the mission, which they have converted into a decent dining-room. they are not alone, or, as in french phraseology better expressed, _chez eux memes_. six or seven of their fellow-colonists of the better class share the saloon with them--these being guests whom they have invited to dinner. the meal is over, the hour touching ten, the ladies have retired from the table, only the gentlemen remain, drinking choice claret, which dupre, a sort of transatlantic lucullus, has brought with him from his louisiana wine bins. armstrong himself, being of scotch ancestry, has the national preference for whisky punch; and a tumbler of this beverage--the best in the world--stands on the table before him. his glass has been filled three times, and is as often emptied. it need not be said, at this moment he is not sad. after three tumblers of whisky toddy no man can help being hilarious; and so is it with colonel armstrong. seated at the head of his dining-table, the steaming punch before him, he converses with his guests, gay as the gayest. for a time their conversation is on general topics; but at length changes to one more particular. something said has directed their attention to a man, who waited upon them at table, now no longer in the room. the individual thus honoured is dupre's confidential servant fernand; who, as already said, is house-steward, butler, _factotum_ of affairs generally. as is usual with such grand dignitaries, he has withdrawn simultaneously with the removal of the tablecloth, leaving a deputy to look to the decanting of the wine. therefore, there is nothing remarkable in his disappearance; nor would aught be observed about it, but for a remark made by one of the guests during the course of conversation. a young surgeon, who has cast in his lot with the new colony, is he who starts the topic, thus introducing it:-- "friend dupre, where did you get that fellow fernand? i don't remember having seen him on your louisiana plantation." "i picked him up in natchitoches while we were organising. you know i lost my old major-domo last fall by the yellow fever. it took him off while we were down in new orleans. fernand, however, is his superior in every sense; can keep plantation accounts, wait at table, drive a carriage, or help in a hunt. he's a fellow of wonderful versatility; in short, a genius. and what is rare in such a combination of talents, he is devoted to his duties--a very slave to them." "what breed may your admirable crichton be?" asks another of the guests, adding: "he looks a cross between spaniard and indian." "just what he is," answers the young planter; "at least says so. by his own account his father was a spaniard, or rather a mexican, and his mother an indian of the seminole tribe. his real name is fernandez; but for convenience i've dropped the final syllable." "it's a bad sort of mixture, that between spaniard and seminole, and not improved by the spaniard being a mexican," remarks he who made the inquiry. "i don't like his looks," observes a third speaker. then all around the table wait to hear what wharton, the young surgeon, has to say. for it is evident, from his way of introducing the subject, he either knows or suspects something prejudicial to the character of the major-domo. instead of going on to explain, he puts a second interrogatory-- "may i ask, m. dupre, whether you had any character with him?" "no, indeed," admits the master. "he came to me just before we left natchitoches asking for an engagement. he professed to know all about texas, and offered to act as a guide. as i had engaged guides, i didn't want him for that when he said any other place would do. seeing him to be a smart sort of fellow, which he certainly has proved, i engaged him to look after my baggage. since, i've found him useful in other ways, and have given him full charge of everything--even to entrusting him with the care of my modest money chest." "in doing that," rejoins the surgeon, "i should say you've acted somewhat imprudently. excuse me, m. dupre, for making the observation." "oh, certainly," is the planter's frank reply. "but why do you say so, mr wharton? have you any reason to suspect his honesty?" "i have; more than one." "indeed! let us hear them all." "well; in the first place i don't like the look of the man, nor ever did since the day of our starting. since i never set eyes on him before, i could have had no impression to prejudice me against him. i admit that, judging by physiognomy, any one may be mistaken; and i shouldn't have allowed myself to be led by that. in this case, however, a circumstance has contributed to shaping my judgment; in fact, deciding me in the opinion, that your fellow fernand is not only dishonest, but something worse than a thief." "worse than a thief!" is the simultaneous echo from all sides of the table, succeeded by a universal demand for explanation. "your words have a weighty sound, doctor," is colonel armstrong's way of putting it. "we are anxious to hear what they mean." "well," responds wharton, "you shall know why i've spoken them, and what's led me to suspect this fellow fernand. you can draw your own conclusions, from the premises i put before you. last night at a late hour--near midnight--i took a fancy into my head to have a stroll towards the river. lighting a weed, i started out. i can't say exactly how far i may have gone; but i know that the cigar--a long `henry clay'--was burnt to the end before i thought of turning back. as i was about doing so, i heard a sound, easily made out to be the footsteps of a man, treading the firm prairie turf. as it chanced just then, i was under a pecan-tree that screened me with its shadow; and i kept my ground without making any noise. "shortly after, i saw the man whose footfall i had heard, and recognised him as m. dupre's head-servant. he was coming up the valley, toward the house here, as if returning from some excursion. i mightn't have thought much of that, but for noticing, as he passed me, that he didn't walk erect or on the path, but crouchingly, among the trees skirting it. "throwing away the stump of my cigar, i set out after him, treading stealthily as he. instead of entering by the front, he went round the garden, all the way to its rear; where suddenly i lost sight of him. on arriving at the spot where he had disappeared, i saw there was a break in the wall. through that, of course, he must have passed, and entered the mission-building at the back. now, what are we to make of all this?" "what do you make of it, doctor?" asks dupre. "give us your own deductions!" "to say the truth, i don't know what deductions to draw, i confess myself at fault; and cannot account for the fellow's movements; though i take you'll all acknowledge they were odd. as i've said, m. dupre, i didn't from the first like your man of versatile talents; and i'm now more than ever distrustful of him. still i profess myself unable to guess what he was after last night. can any of you, gentlemen?" no one can. the singular behaviour of dupre's servant is a puzzle to all present. at the same time, under the circumstances, it has a serious aspect. were there any neighbouring settlement, the man might be supposed returning from a visit to it; entering stealthily, from being out late, and under fear of rebuke from his master. as there are no such neighbours, this theory cannot be entertained. on the other hand, there has been no report of indians having been seen in proximity to the place. if there had, the mestizo's conduct might be accounted for, upon an hypothesis that would certainly cause apprehension to those discussing it. but no savages have been seen, or heard of; and it is known that the southern comanches--the only indians likely to be there encountered--are in treaty of peace with the texan government. therefore, the nocturnal excursion of the half-blood could not be connected with anything of this kind. his singular, and seemingly eccentric, behaviour, remains an unsolved problem to the guests around the table; and the subject is eventually dropped their conversation changing to other and pleasanter themes. chapter forty seven. opposite emblems. pleasure has not been the sole purpose for which colonel armstrong is giving his little dinner party, else there would have been ladies invited along with the gentlemen. it is rather a re-union to talk over the affairs of the colony; hence the only ladies present were the daughters of the host. and, for the same reason, these have retired from the table at an early hour, betaking themselves to the _sala_ of the old monastery, their sitting and drawing-room. this, though an ample apartment, is anything but a pleasant one; never much affected by the monks, who in their post-prandial hours, preferred sticking to the refectory. a hasty attempt has been made to modernise it; but the light furniture of french creole fabric, brought along from louisiana, ill accords with its heavy style of architecture, while its decayed walls and ceilings _lezardee_, give it a gloomy dismal look, all the more from the large room being but dimly lit up. as it is not a drawing-room party, the ladies expect that for a long while, if not all evening, they will be left alone in it. for a time they scarce know how to employ themselves. with helen, amusement is out of the question. she has flung herself into a _fauteuil_, and sits in pensive attitude; of late, alas! become habitual to her. jessie, taking up her guitar, commences a song, the first that occurs to her, which chances to be "lucy neal," a negro melody, at the time much in vogue on the plantations of the south. she has chosen the pathetic strain without thought of the effect it may produce upon her sister. observing it to be painful she abruptly breaks off, and with a sweep of her fingers across the guitar strings, changes to the merrier refrain of "old dan tucker." helen, touched by the delicate consideration, rewards it with a faint smile. then, jessie rattles on through a _melange_ of negro ministrelsy, all of the light comical kind, her only thought being to chase away her sister's despondency. still is she unsuccessful. her merry voice, her laughter, and the cheerful tinkle of the guitar strings, are all exerted in vain. the sounds so little in consonance with helen's thoughts seem sorely out of place in that gloomy apartment; whose walls, though they once echoed the laughter of roystering friars, have, no doubt, also heard the sighs of many a poor _peon_ suffering chastisement for disobedience, or apostacy. at length perceiving how idle are her efforts, the younger sister lays aside her guitar, at the same time starting to her feet, and saying:--"come, helen! suppose we go outside for a stroll? that will be more agreeable than moping in this gloomsome cavern. there's a beautiful moonlight, and we ought to enjoy it." "if you wish, i have no objections. where do you intend strolling to?" "say the garden. we can take a turn along its walks, though they are a little weedy. a queer weird place it is--looks as if it might be haunted. i shouldn't wonder if we met a ghost in it--some of the old monks; or it might be one of their victims. 'tis said they were very cruel, and killed people--ay, tortured them. only think of the savage monsters! true, the ones that were here, as i've heard, got killed themselves in the end--that's some satisfaction. but it's all the more reason for their ghosts being about. if we should meet one, what would you do?" "that would depend on how he behaved himself." "you're not afraid of ghosts, helen! i know you're not." "i was when a child. now i fear neither the living nor the dead. i can dare both, having nought to make me care for life--" "come on!" cries jessie, interrupting the melancholy train of reflection, "let us to the garden. if we meet a monk in hood and cowl, i shall certainly--" "do what?" "run back into the house fast as feet can carry me. come along!" keeping up the jocular bravado, the younger sister leads the way out. arm-in-arm the two cross the _patio_, then the outer courtyard, and on through a narrow passage communicating with the walled enclosure at back; once a grand garden under careful cultivation, still grand in its neglect. after entering it, the sisters make stop, and for a while stand surveying the scene. the moon at full, coursing through a cloudless sky, flings her soft light upon gorgeous flowers with corollas but half-closed, in the sultry southern night giving out their fragrance as by day. the senses of sight and smell are not the only ones gratified; that of hearing is also charmed with the song of the _czentzontle_, the mexican nightingale. one of these birds perched upon a branch, and pouring forth its love-lay in loud passionate strain, breaks off at sight of them. only for a short interval is it silent; then resuming its lay, as if convinced it has nought to fear from such fair intruders. its song is not strange to their ears, though there are some notes they have not hitherto heard. it is their own mocking-bird of the states, introducing into its mimic minstrelsy certain variations, the imitations of sounds peculiar to texas. after having listened to it for a short while, the girls move on down the centre walk, now under the shadow of trees, anon emerging into the moonlight; which shimmering on their white evening robes, and reflecting the sparkle of their jewellery, produces a pretty effect. the garden ground slopes gently backward; and about half-way between the house and the bottom wall is, or has been, a fountain. the basin is still there, and with water in it, trickling over its edge. but the jet no longer plays, and the mason-work shows greatly dilapidated. so also the seats and statues around, some of the latter yet standing, others broken off, and lying alongside their pedestals. arriving at this spot, the sisters again stop, and for a time stand contemplating the ruins; the younger making a remark, suggested by a thought of their grandeur gone. "fountains, statues, seats under shade trees, every luxury to be got out of a garden! what sybarites the holy fathers must have been!" "truly so," assents helen. "they seem to have made themselves quite comfortable; and whatever their morals, it must be admitted they displayed good taste in landscape gardening, with an eye on good living as well. they must have been very fond of fruit, and a variety of it-- judging by the many sorts of trees they've planted." "so much the better for us," gleefully replies jessie. "we shall have the benefit of their industry, when the fruit season comes round. won't it be a grand thing when we get the walks gravelled, these statues restored, and that fountain once more in full play. luis has promised me it shall be done, soon as the cotton crop is in. oh! it will be a paradise of a place!" "i like it better as it is." "you do. why?" "ah! that _you_ cannot understand. you do not know--i hope never will-- what it is to live only in the past. this place has had a past, like myself, once smiling; and now like me all desolation." "o sister! do not speak so. it pains me--indeed it does. besides your words only go half-way. as you say, it's had a smiling past, and's going to have a smiling future. and so will you sis. i'm determined to have it all laid out anew, in as good style as it ever was--better. luis shall do it--must, _when he marries, me_--if not before." to the pretty bit of bantering helen's only answer is a sigh, with a sadder expression, as from some fresh pang shooting through her heart. it is even this; for, once again, she cannot help contrasting her own poor position with the proud one attained by her sister. she knows that dupre is in reality master of all around, as jessie will be mistress, she herself little better than their dependant. no wonder the thought should cause her humiliation, or that, with a spirit imperious as her's, she should feel it acutely. still, in her crushed heart there is no envy at her sister's good fortune. could charles clancy come to life again, now she knows him true--were he but there to share with her the humblest hut in texas, all the splendours, all the grandeurs of earth, could not add to that happiness, nor give one emotion more. after her enthusiastic outburst, to which there has been no rejoinder, jessie continues on toward the bottom of the garden, giving way to pleasant fancies, dreams of future designs, with her fan playfully striking at the flowers as she passes them. in silence helen follows; and no word is exchanged between them till they reach the lower end; when jessie, turning round, the two are face to face. the place, where they have stopped is another opening with seats and statues, admitting the moonlight. by its bright beam the younger sister sees anguish depicted on the countenance of the older. with a thought that her last words have caused or contributed to this, she is about to add others that may remove it. but before she can speak, helen makes a gesture that holds her silent. near the spot where they are standing two trees overshadow the walk, their boughs meeting across it. both are emblematic--one symbolising the most joyous hour of existence, the other its saddest. they are an orange, and a cypress. the former is in bloom, as it always is; the latter only in leaf, without a blossom on its branches. helen, stepping between them, and extending an arm to each, plucks from the one a sprig, from the other a flower. raising the orange blossom between her white fingers, more attenuated than of yore, she plants it amid jessie's golden tresses. at the same time she sets the cypress sprig behind the plaits of her own raven hair; as she does so, saying:-- "that for you, sister--this for me. we are now decked as befits us--as we shall both soon be--_you for the bridal, i for the tomb_!" the words, seeming but too prophetic, pierce jessie's heart as arrow with poisoned barb. in an instant, her joy is gone, sunk into the sorrow of her sister. herself sinking upon that sister's bosom, with arms around her neck, and tears falling thick and fast over her swan-white shoulders. never more than now has her heart overflowed with compassion, for never as now has helen appeared to suffer so acutely. as she stood, holding in one hand the symbol of bright happy life, in the other the dark emblem of death, she looked the very personification of sorrow. with her magnificent outline of form, and splendid features, all the more marked in their melancholy, she might have passed for its divinity. the ancient sculptors would have given much for such a model, to mould the statue of despair. chapter forty eight. a blank day. on the frontier every settlement has its professional hunter. often several, seldom less than two or three; their _metier_ being to supply the settlers with meat and game--venison, the standing dish--now and then bear hams, much relished--and, when the place is upon prairie-land, the flesh of the antelope and buffalo. the wild turkey, too--grandest of all game birds--is on the professional hunter's list for the larder; the lynx and panther he will kill for their pelts; but squirrels, racoons, rabbits, and other such "varmints," he disdains to meddle with, leaving them to the amateur sportsman, and the darkey. usually the professional votary of saint hubert is of solitary habit, and prefers stalking alone. there are some, however, of more social inclining, who hunt in couples; one of the pair being almost universal a veteran, the other a young man--as in the case of sime woodley and ned heywood. by the inequality of age the danger of professional jealousy is avoided; the younger looking up to his senior, and treating him with the deference due to greater knowledge and experience. just such a brace of professionals has come out with the armstrong colony--their names, alec hawkins and cris tucker--the former an old bear-hunter, who has slain his hundreds; the latter, though an excellent marksman, in the art of _venerie_ but a tyro compared with his partner. since their arrival on the san saba, they have kept the settlement plentifully supplied in meat; chiefly venison of the black-tailed deer, with which the bottom-land abounds. turkeys, too, in any quantity; these noble birds thriving in the congenial climate of texas, with its nuts and berry-bearing trees. but there is a yet nobler game, to the hunting of which hawkins and his younger associate aspire; both being eager to add it to the list of their trophies. it is that which has tempted many an english nimrod to take three thousand miles of sea voyage across the atlantic, and by land nearly as many more--the buffalo. hawkins and tucker, though having quartered the river bottom, for ten miles above and below the mission-building, have as yet come across none of these grand quadrupeds, nor seen "sign" of them. this day, when armstrong has his dinner party, the hunters bethink themselves of ascending to the upper plain, in the hope of there finding the game so much desired. the place promising best is on the opposite side of the valley, to reach which the river must be crossed. there are two fords at nearly equal distances from the old mission-house, one about ten miles above, the other as many below. by the latter the waggons came over, and it is the one chosen by the hunters. crossing it, they continue on to the bluffs rising beyond, and ascend these through a lateral ravine, the channel of a watercourse--which affords a practicable pass to the plain. on reaching its summit they behold a steppe to all appearance; illimitable, almost as sterile as saara itself. treeless save a skirting of dwarf cedars along the cliff's edge, with here and there a _motte_ of black-jack oaks, a cluster of cactus plants, or a solitary yucca of the arborescent species--the _palmilla_ of the mexicans. withal, not an unlikely place to encounter the cattle with; hunched backs, and shaggy shoulders. none are in sight; but hoping they soon will be the hunters launch out upon the plain. till near night they scout around, but without seeing any buffalo. the descending sun warns them it is time to return home; and, facing for the bluff, they ride back towards it. some three or four hundred yards from the summit of the pass is a _motte_ of black-jacks, the trees standing close, in full leaf, and looking shady. as it is more than fifteen miles to the mission, and they have not eaten since morning, they resolve to make halt, and have a sneck. the black-jack grove is right in their way, its shade invites them, for the sun is still sultry. soon they are in it, their horses tied to trees, and their haversacks summoned to disgorge. some corn-bread and bacon is all these contain; but, no better refection needs a prairie hunter, nor cares for, so long he has a little distilled corn-juice to wash it down, with a pipe of tobacco to follow. they have eaten, drunk, and are making ready to smoke, when an object upon the plain attracts their attention. only a cloud of dust, and far off--on the edge of the horizon. for all that a sign significant. it may be a "gang" of buffaloes, the thing they have been all day vainly searching for. thrusting the pipes back into their pouches, they grasp their guns, with eyes eagerly scanning the dust-cloud. at first dim, it gradually becomes darker. for a whiff of wind has blown the "stoor" aside, disclosing not a drove of buffaloes, but instead a troop of horses, at the same time showing them to have riders on their backs, as the hunters can perceive indians. also that the troop is coming towards them, and advancing at such rapid pace, that in less than twenty minutes after being descried, it is close to the clump of black-jacks. fortunately for alec hawkins and oris tucker, the indian horsemen have no intention to halt there, or rest themselves under the shadow of the copse. to all appearance they are riding in hot haste, and with a purpose which carries them straight towards the pass. they do not even stop on arrival at its--summit; but dash down the ravine, disappearing suddenly as though they had dropped into a trap! it is some time before the two hunters have recovered from their surprise, and can compare notes about what they have seen, with conjectures as to its bearing. they have witnessed a spectacle sufficiently alarming,--a band of fierce-looking savages, armed with spear and tomahawk--some carrying guns--all plumed and painted, all alike terrible in aspect. quick the apparition has passed before their eyes, as suddenly disappearing. the haste in which the indians rode down the ravine tells of their being bent on some fore-arranged purpose that calls for early execution. it may be murder, or only plunder; and the men may be comanches--as in every likelihood they are. "they're a ugly-looking lot," says hawkins, after seeing them file past. "if there were a hundred, instead o' twenty, i'd predict some danger to our new settlement. they appear to be going that way--at all events they are bound for the river bottom, and the lower crossing. we must follow them, oris, an' see if we can make out what's their game. the red devils mayn't mean downright robbery, but like enough they intend stealin'. hitch up, and let's after em'." in a trice the two hunters are in their saddles; and proceeding to the summit of the pass, look down at the valley below. not carelessly, but cautiously. hawkins is an old campaigner, has fought indians before, and knows how to deal with them. keeping himself and horse under cover of the cedars, after instructing his comrade to do the same, he reconnoitres the bottom-land, before attempting to descend to it. as expected, he sees the indians making for the ford. at the point between the san saba, and either of its bluffs is a breadth of some four miles, part open meadow land, the other part, contiguous to the river overgrown with heavy timber. into this the red horsemen are riding, as the two hunters reach the summit of the pass, the latter arriving just in time to see their last files disappear among the trees. it is their cue to descend also, which they do, without further delay. hastening down the ravine and on to the river ford, they discover that the indians have crossed it. the tracks of their horses are on both banks. beyond, the hunters cannot tell which way they have taken. for though still only twilight it is dark as night under the thick standing trees; and he keenest eye could not discover a trail. thus thrown off, they have no choice but continue on to the settlement. beaching this at a rather late hour, they do not enter the mission-building nor yet any of the huts of the _rancheria_. their own residence is a tent, standing in the grove between; and to it they betake themselves. once under canvass their first thought is supper, and they set about cooking it. though they have brought back no buffalo meat a twenty pound turkey "gobbler" has been all day dangling at the horn of hawkins' saddle--enough for a plentiful repast. oris, who acts as cook, sets to plucking the bird, while hawkins commences kindling a fire outside the tent. but before the fagots are ablaze, the old hunter, all along abstracted, becomes fidgetty, as if troubled with the reflection of having neglected some duty he ought to have done. abruptly breaking off, and pitching aside the sticks, he says:--"this wont do, cris, nohow. i've got a notion in my head there's something not right about them indyens. i must up to the house an' tell the colonel. you go on, and get the gobbler roasted. i'll be back by the time its ready." "all right," rejoins tucker, continuing to make the feathers fly. "don't stay if you expect any share of this bird. i'm hungry enough to eat the whole of it myself." "you needn't fear for my stayin'. i'm just as sharp set as yourself." so saying, hawkins strides out of the tent, leaving his comrade to continue the preparations for their repast. from the hunter's tent, the house is approached by a narrow path, nearly all the way running through timber. while gliding silently along it, hawkins comes suddenly to a stop. "seems to me i heard a cry," he mutters to himself; "seems, too, as 'twar a woman's voice." after listening awhile, without hearing it repeated, he adds: "i reckon, 'twar only the skirl o' them tree-crickets. the warm night makes 'em chirp their loudest." listening a little longer, he becomes convinced it was but the crickets he heard, and keeps on to the house. chapter forty nine. waiting the word. to all appearance fernand's fireworks are about to bear fruit, this likely to be bitter. as the sky, darker after the lightning's flash, a cloud is collecting over the new settlement, which threatens to sweep down upon it in a rain storm of ruin. what but they could have caused this cloud; or, at all events, given a cue for the time of its bursting. it appears in the shape of a cohort of dusky horsemen, painted and plumed. no need to say, they are the same that were seen by hawkins and tucker. having crossed the river at its lower ford, where so far the hunters saw their tracks, there losing them, the savages continued on. not by the main road leading to the mission, but along a path which deflects from it soon after leaving the river's bank. a narrower trace, indeed the continuation of that they had been following all along--the transverse route across the bottom-land from bluff to bluff, on both sides ascending to the steppe. but though they came down on one side, they went not up on the other. instead, having reached the nether bluff, they turned sharp along its base, by another and still narrower trace, which they knew would take them up to the mission-building. a route tortuous, the path beset with many obstacles; hence their having spent several hours in passing from the ford to the mission-house, though the distance between is barely ten miles. no doubt they have good reason for submitting to the irksome delay caused by the difficult track, as also for the cautious manner in which they have been coming along it. otherwise, they would certainly have chosen the direct road running nearer the river's bank. while colonel armstrong, and his friends, are enjoying themselves in the refectory of the ancient mission-house, in the midst of their laughing hilarity, the painted cavaliers have been making approach, and are now halted, within less than half-a-mile from its walls. in such fashion as shows, they do not intend a long stay in their stopping place. not a saddle is removed, or girth untightened; while the bridles, remaining on their horses' heads, are but used as halters to attach them to the trees. the men have dismounted, but not to form camp, or make bivouac. they kindle no fires, nor seem caring to cook, or eat. they drink, however; several of them taking flasks from their saddle pouches, and holding them to their heads bottom upward. nothing strange in this. the texan indian, whether comanche, kiowa, or lipan, likes his fire-water as much as a white man, and as constantly carries it along with him. the only peculiarity about these is that, while quaffing, they do not talk in the indian tongue, but english of the texan idiom, with all its wild swearing! the place where they have halted is a bit of glade-ground, nearly circular in shape, only half-encompassed by timber, the other half being an embayment of the bluffs, twin to those on the opposite side of the river bottom. it is shaded three-quarters across by the cliff, the moon being behind this. the other quarter, on the side of the trees, is brilliantly lit up by her beams, showing the timber thick and close along its edge, to all appearance impassable as the _facade_ of rugged rock frowning from the opposite concave of the enclosed circle. communicating with this are but two paths possible for man or horse, and for either only in single file. one enters the glade coming up the river bottom along the base of the bluff; the other debouches at the opposite end, still following the cliff's foot. by the former the indians have entered; but by the latter it is evident they intend going out, as their eyes are from time to time turned towards it, and their gestures directed that way. still they make no movement for resuming their march, but stand in gathered groups, one central and larger than the rest. in its midst is a man by nearly the head taller than those around him: their chief to a certainty. his authority seems acknowledged by all who address him, if not with deference, in tone and speech telling they but wait for his commands, and are willing to obey them. he, himself, appears waiting for something, or somebody else, before he can issue them, his glance continually turning towards the point where the path leads out upwards. impatiently, too, as ever and anon he pulls out a watch and consults it as, to the time. odd to see a savage so engaged; above all possessed of a repeater! still the indians of to-day are different from those of days past, and have learnt many of the white man's ways--even to wearing watches. the man in question seems to know all about it; and has his reasons for being particular as to the hour. he is evidently acting upon a preconcerted plan, with the time fixed and fore-arranged. and evident also that ten is the hour awaited; for, while in the act of examining his dial, the old mission clock, restored to striking, tolls just so many times; and, before the boom of its cracked bell has ceased rolling in broken reverberation through the trees, he thrusts the watch hurriedly into his fob. then stands in expectant attitude, with eyes upon the embouchure of the upper path, scanning it more eagerly than ever. there is a strange coincidence between the strokes of the clock and the flashes of fernanda powder--both numbering the same. though not strange to the leader of the savage troop. he knows what it is-- comprehends the significance of the signal--for signal it has been. a dread one, too, foreboding danger to innocent people. one who could behold this savage band, scrutinise the faces of those composing it, witness the fierce wicked flashes from their eyes, just as the clock is striking, would send up a prayer for the safety of colonel armstrong and his colonists. if further informed as to who the savages are, the prayer would sure be succeeded by the reflection--"heaven help his daughters! if god guard not, a fearful fate will be theirs--a destiny worse than death!" chapter fifty. an uncanny skulker. still within the garden are the young girls--still standing under the shadow of the two trees that furnished the contrasting symbols,-- unconscious of danger near. helen's speech, suggesting such painful sequence, has touched her sister to the quick, soon as spoken, afflicting also herself; and for a time they remain with entwined arms and cheeks touching--their tears flowing together. but jessie's sobs are the louder, her grief greater than that she has been endeavouring to assuage. helen perceiving it, rises to the occasion; and, as oft before, in turn becomes the comforter; their happiness and misery like scales vibrating on the beam. "don't cry so, jess. be a good girl, now. you're a little simpleton, and i a big one. 'twas very wrong of me to say what i did. be it forgotten, and let's hope we may yet both be happy." "oh, if i could but think that!" "think it, then. you _are_ happy, and i--shall try to be. who knows what time may do--that and texas? now, my little niobe, dry up your tears. mine are all gone, and i feel in first rate spirits. i do indeed." she is not sincere in what she says, and but counterfeits cheerfulness to restore that of her sister. she has well-nigh succeeded, when a third personage appears upon the scene, causing a sudden change in their thoughts, turning these into a new and very different channel. he whose appearance produces such effect--for it is a man--seems wholly unconscious of the influence he has exerted; indeed, is so. when first observed, he is coming down the central walk; which, though wide, is partially shadowed by trees. and in their shadow he keeps, clinging to it, as if desirous to shun observation. his step declares it; not bold this, nor regardless, but skulking, with tread catlike; while every now and then he casts a backward glance, as if in fear of some one being behind. just that which hinders him from seeing those who are in front. the girls are still standing together, with hands joined--luckily on one of the side-walks, and like himself in shadow--though very near to having separated, and one, at least, rushing out into the light at first sound of his footstep. for to jessie it gave joy, supposing it that of her luis. naturally expecting him to join her, she was almost sure of its being he. only for an instant. the tread was too light for a man marching with honest intent, and the step too shuffling to be that of the young planter. so whispered helen. soon they see it is not he, but his major-domo. both are annoyed, some little irritated, at being thus intruded upon. at such a time, in the midst of sacred emotions, all the more by a man they both instinctively dislike. for fernand is not a favourite with either. then the idea occurs, he may be coming to seek them, sent with some message from the house, and if so, they can excuse him. concluding his errand to be this, they await it, in silence. they are quite mistaken, and soon perceive it. an honest messenger would not be moving as he. while passing the open ground by the ruined waterworks, the moon falls full upon his face, which wears an expression anything but innocent, as they can both see. besides, his gestures also betray guilt; for he is skulking, and casting glances back. "what can it mean?" whispers jessie into helen's ear; who replies by placing a finger on her lips, and drawing her sister into deeper shadow. silent both stand, not stirring, scarce breathing. one seeing, might easily mistake them for statues--a juno and a venus. fortunately fernand does not see, else he might scrutinise them more closely. he is too much absorbed about his own affair, whatever it be, to think of any one loitering there at that time of the night. where the main garden-walk meets the one going along the bottom, is another open space, smaller than that around the fountain, still sufficient to let in the light of the moon. here also have been seats and statues; the latter lying shattered, as if hashed to the earth by the hand of some ruthless iconoclast. just opposite, is a breach in the wall; the mud bricks, crumbled into clods forming a _talus_ on each face of it. arriving at this, the _mestizo_ makes stop. only for an instant, long enough to give a last glance up the garden. apparently satisfied, that he is not followed nor observed, he scrambles up the slope and down on the opposite side, where he is lost to the view of the sisters; who both stand wondering--the younger sensibly trembling. "what on earth is the fellow after?" asks helen, whose speech comes first. "what, indeed?" echoes jessie. "a question, sister, you should be better able to answer than i. he is the trusted servant of m. dupre; and he, i take it, has told you all about him." "not a word has he. he knows that i don't like the man, and never did from the first. i've intimated as much to him more than once." "that ought to have got master fernand his discharge. your luis will surely not keep him, if he knows it's disagreeable to you?" "well, perhaps he wouldn't if i were to put it in that way. i haven't done so yet. i only hinted that the man wasn't altogether to my liking; especially made so much of as luis makes of him. you must know, dear helen, my future lord and master is of a very trusting nature; far too much, i fear, for some of the people now around him. he has been brought up like all creoles, without thought for the morrow. a sprinkling of yankee cuteness wouldn't do him any harm. as for this fellow, he has insinuated himself into luis's confidence in some way that appears quite mysterious. it even puzzles our father; though he's said nothing much about it. so far he appears satisfied, because the man has proved capable, and, i believe, very useful to them in their affairs. for my part i've been mystified by him all along, and not less now. i wonder what he can be after. can you not give a guess?" "not the slightest; unless it be theft. do you think it's that?" "i declare i don't know." "is there anything he could be carrying off from the house, with the intention of secreting it outside? some of your luis's gold for instance, or the pretty jewels he has given you?" "my jewels! no; they are safe in their case; locked up in my room, of which i've the key with me. as for luis's gold, he hasn't much of that. all the money he possesses--quite fifty thousand dollars, i believe--is in silver. i wondered at his bringing it out here in that heavy shape, for it made a whole waggon-load of itself. he's told me the reason, however; which is, that among indians and others out here on the frontier, gold is not thought so much of as silver." "it can't be silver fernand is stealing--if theft it be. he would look more loaded, and couldn't have gone so lightly over that wall." "indeed, as you say, he went skipping over it like a grasshopper." "rather say gliding like a snake. i never saw a man whose movements more resembled the devil in serpent shape--except one." the thought of this one, who is richard darke, causes helen armstrong to suspend speech; at the same time evoking a sigh to the memory of another one--charles clancy. "shall we return into the house?" asks jessie, after a pause. "for what purpose?" "to tell luis of what we've seen; to warn him about fernand." "if we did the warning would be unheeded. i fear monsieur dupre will remain unconvinced of any intended treachery in his trusted servant, until something unpleasant occur; it may be something disastrous. after all, you and i, jess, have only our suspicions, and may be wronging the fellow. suppose we stay a little longer, and see what comes of it. no doubt, he'll soon return from his mysterious promenade, and by remaining, we may find out what he's been after. shall we wait for him? you're not afraid, are you?" "a little, i confess. do you know, helen, this fernand gives me the same sort of feeling i had at meeting that big fellow in the streets of natchitoches. at times he glares at me just in the same way. and yet the two are so different." "well, since no harm came of your nachitoches bogie, it's to be hoped there won't any from this one. if you have any fear to stay, let us go in. only my curiosity is greatly excited by what we've seen, and i'd like to know the end of it. if we don't discover anything, it can do no harm. and if we do--say; shall we go, or try?" "i'm not afraid now. you make me brave, sister. besides, we may find out something luis ought to know." "then let us stay." having resolved to await the coming back of the half-blood, and watch his further movements, the sisters bethink them of seeking a safer place for observation; one where there will be less danger of being themselves seen. it is to helen the idea occurs. "on his return," she says, "he might stray along this way, and not go up the centre walk. therefore we had better conceal ourselves more effectually. i wonder he didn't see us while passing out. no doubt he would have done so, but for looking so anxiously behind, and going at such a rapid rate. coming back he may not be so hurried; and should he sight us, then an end to our chance of finding out what he's up to. where's the best place to play spy on him?" the two look in different directions, in search of an appropriate spot. there can be no difficulty in finding such. the shrubbery, long unpruned, grows luxuriantly everywhere, screening the _facade_ of the wall along its whole length. near by is an arbour of evergreens, thickly overgrown with a trellis of trailing plants. they know of this shady retreat; have been in it before that night. now, although the moon is shining brightly, its interior, arcaded over by dense foliage, is in dark shadow--dark as a cavern. once inside it, eye cannot see them from without. "the very place," whispers helen; and they commence moving towards it. to reach the arbour it is necessary for them to return to the main walk, and pass the place where the bottom wall is broken down; a ruin evidently caused by rude intruders, doubtless the same savages who made the mission desolate. the talus extending to the path, with its fringe of further scattered clods, requires them to step carefully so as to avoid stumbling. they go hand in hand, mutually supporting one another. their white gossamer dresses, floating lightly around them as they glide silently along, give them a resemblance to sylphs, or wood-nymphs, all the more as they emerge into the moonlight. to complete the sylvan picture, it seems necessary there should be satyrs, or wood-demons, as well. and such in reality there are, not a great way off. these, or something closely resembling them. no satyrs could show in more grotesque guise than the forms at that moment moving up to the wall, on its opposite side. gliding on, the sisters have arrived before the gap. some instinct, perhaps curiosity, tempts them to take a look through it, into the shadowy forest beyond; and for some time, as under a spell of fascination, they stand gazing into its dark, mysterious depths. they see nought save the sparkle of fire-flies; and hear nothing but the usual noises of the southern night, to which they have been from infancy accustomed. but as they are about moving on again, a sound salutes their ear-- distinguishable as a footstep. irregular and scrambling, as of one stepping among the broken bricks. simultaneously a man is seen making his way over the wall. "fernand!" no use for them now to attempt concealment; no good can come of it. he has seen them. nor does he any longer seem desirous of shunning observation. on the contrary, leaping down from the rampart, he comes straight towards them; in an instant presenting himself face to face, not with the nimble air of a servant, but the demeanour of one who feels himself master, and intend to play tyrant. with the moon shining full upon his tawny face, they can distinguish the play of its features. no look of humility, nor sign of subservience there. instead, a bold, bullying expression, eyes emitting a lurid light, lips set in a satanic smile, between them teeth gleaming like a tiger's! he does not speak a word. indeed, he has not time; for helen armstrong anticipates him. the proud girl, indignant at what she sees, too fearless to be frightened, at once commences chiding him. in words bold and brave, so much that, if alone, the scoundrel might quail under their castigation. but he is not alone, nor does he allow her to continue. instead, he cries out, interrupting, his speech not addressed to her, but some one behind:-- "bring hither the serapes! quick, or--" he himself is not permitted to finish what he intended saying; or, if so, his last words are unheard; drowned by a confused noise of rushing and rumbling, while the gap in the garden wall is suddenly closed, as if by enchantment. it is at first filled by a dark mass, seemingly compact, but soon separating into distinct forms. the sisters, startled, terrified, have but time to give out one wild cry--a shriek. before either can utter a second, brawny arms embrace them; blinds are thrown over their faces; and, half stifled, they feel themselves lifted from their feet, and borne rudely and rapidly away! chapter fifty one. locked in. at that same moment, when the red sabines are carrying off his daughters, colonel armstrong is engaged, with his fellow-colonists, in discussing a question of great interest to all. the topic is sugar--the point, whether it will be profitable to cultivate it in their new colony. that the cane can be grown there all know. both soil and climate are suitable. the only question is, will the produce pay, sugar being a bulky article in proportion to its price, and costly in transport through a territory without railroads, or steam communication. while the discussion is at its height a new guest enters the room; who, soon as inside, makes a speech, which not only terminates the talk about sugar, but drives all thought of it out of their minds. a speech of only four words, but these of startling significance: "_there are indians about_!" 'tis hawkins who speaks, having entered without invitation, confident the nature of his news will hold him clear of being deemed an intruder. and it does. at the word "indians," all around the table spring up from their seats, and stand breathlessly expectant of what the hunter has further to communicate. for, by his serious air, they are certain there must be something more. colonel armstrong alone asks, the old soldier showing the presence of mind that befits an occasion of surprise. "indians about? why do you say that, hawkins? what reason have you to think so?" "the best o' reasons, colonel. i've seed them myself, and so's cris tucker along with me." "where?" "well, there's a longish story to tell. if you'll have patience, i'll make it short as possible." "go on!--tell it!" the hunter responds to the demand; and without wasting words in detail, gives an epitome of his day's doings, in company with cris tucker. after describing the savage troop, as first seen on the upper plain, how he and his comrade followed them across the river bottom, then over the ford, and there lost their trail, he concludes his account, saying: "where they went afterward, or air now, 'taint possible for me to tell. all i can say is, what i've sayed already: _there are indians about_." of itself enough to cause anxiety in the minds of the assembled planters; which it does, to a man making them keenly apprehensive of danger. all the more from its being their first alarm of the kind. for, while travelling through eastern texas, where the settlements are thick, and of old standing, the savages had not evens been thought of. there was no chance of seeing any there. only, on drawing nigh to the colorado, were indians likely to be encountered; though it did not necessarily follow that the encounter should be hostile. on the contrary, it ought to be friendly; since a treaty of peace had for some time been existing between the comanches and texans. for all this, colonel armstrong, well acquainted with the character of the red men, in war as in peace, had not relied altogether on their pacific promises. he knew that such contracts only bind the savage so long as convenient to him, to be broken whenever they become irksome. moreover, a rumour had reached the emigrants that, although the great comanche nation was itself keeping the treaty, there were several smaller independent tribes accustomed to make "maraud" upon the frontier settlements, chiefly to steal horses, or whatever chanced in their way. for this reason, after entering the territory where such pillagers might be expected, the old soldier had conducted his expedition as if passing through an enemy's country. the waggons had been regularly _corralled_, and night guards kept--both camp sentinels and outlying pickets. these rules had been observed up to the hour of arrival at their destination. then, as the people got settled down in their respective domiciles, and nothing was heard of any indians in that district, the discipline had been relaxed--in fact, abandoned. the colonists, numbering over fifty white men--to say nothing of several hundred negro slaves--deemed themselves strong enough to repel any ordinary assault from savages. they now considered themselves at home; and, with the confidence thus inspired, had ceased to speculate, on being molested by indian enemies, or any others. for this reason the suspicious movements of dupre's half-breed servant, as reported by the young surgeon, had failed to make more than a passing impression on those around the dining-table; many of them treating it as an eccentricity. now, after hearing hawkins, they think differently. it presents a serious aspect, is, in truth, alarmingly suggestive of treason. the half-blood inside the house may be in correspondence with full-blooded indians outside, for some scheme of thieving or burglary. the thought of either is sufficient to excite colonel armstrong's guests, and all are on foot ready to take action. "dupre, call in your half-breed!" says the colonel, directing it. "let us hear what the fellow has to say for himself." "tell fernand to come hither," commands the creole, addressing himself to one of the negro lads waiting at table. "tell him to come instantly!" the boy hastens off to execute the order; and is several minutes before making re-appearance. during the interval, they continue to discuss the circumstances that have so suddenly turned up; questioning hawkins, and receiving from him minuter details of what he and his comrade have seen. the additional matter made known but excites them the more, further intensifying their apprehensions. they're at their keenest, as the darkey re-enters the room with the announcement that fernand is not to be found! "what do you mean, boy?" thunders dupre, in a voice that well-nigh takes away the young negro's wits. "is he not in the house?" "dat's jess what he aint, mass looey. de spanish indyin's no whar inside dis buildin'. we hab sarch all oba de place; call out his name in de store-rooms, an' de coatyard, an' de cattle closure--ebbery wha we tink of. we shout loud nuf for him to hyeer, ef he war anywha 'bout. he haint gib no answer. sartin shoo he no inside o' dis 'tablishment." the young planter shows dismay. so also the others, in greater or less degree, according to the light in which each views the matter. for now on the minds of all is an impression, a presentiment, that there is danger at the bottom of fernand's doings--how near they know not. at any other time his absence would be a circumstance not worth noting. he might be supposed on a visit to some of the huts appropriated to the humbler families of the colonist fraternity. or engaged outside with a mulatto "wench," of whom there are several, belonging to dupre's extensive slave-gang, far from ill-favoured. fernand is rather a handsome fellow, and given to gaiety; which, under ordinary circumstances, would account for his absenting himself from the house, and neglecting his duties as its head-servant. but after what the young surgeon has seen--above all the report just brought in by hawkins--his conduct will not convey this trivial interpretation. all in the room regard it in a more serious light--think the _mestizo_ is a traitor. having come to this general conclusion, they turn towards the table, to take a last drink, before initiating action. just as they get their glasses in hand, the refectory door is once more opened; this time with a hurried violence that causes them to start, as though a bombshell had rolled into the room. facing towards it, they see it is only the negro boy, who had gone out again, re-entering. but now with fear depicted on his face, and wild terror gleaming from his eyes; the latter awry in their sockets, with little beside the whites seen! their own alarm is not much less than his, on hearing what he has to say. his words are,-- "oh, mass kurnel! mass looey! gemmen all! de place am full ob indyin sabbages! dar outside in de coatyard, more'n a thousan' ob um; an' murderin' ebbery body!" at the dread tidings, glasses drop from the hands holding them, flung down in fear, or fury. then all, as one man, make for the door, still standing open as in his scare the negro lad left it. before they can reach it, his words are too fully confirmed. outside they see painted faces, heads covered with black hanging hair, and plumes bristling above. only a glimpse they get of these, indistinct through the obscurity. but if transitory, not the less terrible--not less like a tableau in some horrid dream--a glance into hell itself. the sight brings them to a stand; though, but for an instant. then, they rush on towards the doorway, regardless of what may await them outside. outside they are not permitted to pass. before they can reach the door, it is shut to with a loud clash; while another but slighter sound tells of a key turning in the wards, shooting a bolt into its keeper. "locked in, by god!" exclaims hawkins, the rest involuntarily echoing his wild words; which are succeeded by a cry of rage as from one throat, though all have voice in it. then silence, as if they were suddenly struck dumb. for several moments they remain paralysed, gazing in one another's faces in mute despairing astonishment. no one thinks of asking explanation, or giving it. as by instinct, all realise the situation--a surprise, an indian attack. no longer the future danger they have been deeming probable, but its dread present reality! short while do they stand irresolute. hawkins, a man of herculean strength, dashes himself against the door, in hopes of heaving it from its hinges. others add their efforts. all idle. the door is of stout timber--oaken--massive as that of a jail; and, opening inward, can only be forced along with its posts and lintels.--these are set in the thick wall, embedded, firm as the masonry itself. they rush to the windows, in hope of getting egress there. equally to be disappointed, baffled. the strong, iron bar resist every effort to break or dislodge them. though weakened with decaying rust, they are yet strong enough to sustain the shock of shoulders, and the tug of arms. "trapped, by the eternal!" despairingly exclaims the hunter. "yes, gentlemen, we're caged to a certainty." they need not telling. all are now aware of it--too well. they see themselves shut in--helplessly, hopelessly imprisoned. impossible to describe their thoughts, or depict their looks, in that anguished hour. no pen, or pencil, could do justice to either. outside are their dear ones; near, but far away from any hope of help, as if twenty miles lay between. and what is being done to them? no one asks--none likes to tempt the answer; all guessing what it would be, dreading to hear it spoken. never did men suffer emotions more painfully intense, passions more heartfelt and harrowing; not even the prisoners of cawnpore, or the black hole of calcutta. they are in darkness now--have been from the moment of the door being closed. for, expecting to be fired at from the outside, they had suddenly extinguished the lights. they wonder there has been no shooting, aware that the comanches carry fire-arms. but as yet there has been no report, either of pistol, or gun! they hear only voices--which they can distinguish as those of the house-servants--male and female--all negroes or mulattoes. there are shrieks, intermingled with speeches, the last in accent of piteous appealing; there is moaning and groaning. but where are the shouts of the assailants? where the indian yell--the dread slogan of the savage? not a stave of it is heard--nought that resembles a warwhoop of comanches! and soon is nothing heard. for the shrieks of the domestics have ceased, their cries coming suddenly, abruptly to an end, as if stifled by blows bringing death. inside the room is a death-like stillness; outside the same. chapter fifty two. massacre without mercy. pass to the scene outside, than which none more tragical in the history of texan colonisation. _no_ need to tell who the indians are that have shown their faces at the dining-room door, shutting and locking it. they are those seen by hawkins and tucker--the same dupre's traitorous servant has conducted through the gap in the garden wall; whence, after making seizure of the girls, they continued on to the house, the half-blood at their head. under his guidance they passed through the cattle corral, and into the inner court. till entering this they were not observed. then the negro lad, sent in search of fernand, seeing them, rushed back for the refectory. with all his haste, as already known, too late in giving the alarm. half-a-dozen of the foremost, following, were at the dining-room door almost soon as he, while others proceeding to the front entrance, closed the great gate, to prevent any one escaping that way. in the courtyard ensues a scene, horrible to behold. the domestics frightened, screaming, rushing to and fro, are struck down with tomahawks, impaled upon spears, or hacked and stabbed with long-bladed knives. at least a half-score of these unhappy creatures fall in the fearful slaughter. indiscriminate as to age or sex: for men, women, and children are among its victims. their shrieks, and piteous appeals, are alike disregarded. one after another they are struck, or hewn down, like saplings by the _machete_. a scene of red carnage, resembling a _saturnalia_ of demons, doing murder! short as terrible; in less than ten minutes after its commencement it is all over. the victims have succumbed, their bleeding bodies lie along the pavement. only those domestics have escaped, who preserved enough presence of mind to get inside rooms, and barricade the doors behind them. they are not followed; for despite the red murder already done, the action ensuing, tells of only robbery intended. this evident from the way the savages now go to work. instead of attempting to reach those they have imprisoned within the dining-room, they place two of their number to stand guard by its door; another pair going on to the gate entrance. these steps taken, the rest, with fernand still conducting, hurry along the corridor, towards a room which opens at one of its angles. it is the chamber dupre has chosen for his sleeping apartment, and where he has deposited his treasure. inside it his cash, at least fifty thousand dollars, most of it in silver, packed in stout boxes. fernand carries the key, which he inserts into its lock. the door flies open, and the half-blood enters, closely followed by those who appear all indians. they go in with the eagerness of tigers springing upon prey, or more like the stealthiness of cats. soon they come out again, each bearing a box, of diminutive size, but weight sufficient to test his strength. laying these down, they re-enter the room, and return from it similarly loaded. and so they go and come, carrying out the little boxes, until nearly a score are deposited upon the pavement of the courtyard. the abstraction of the specie completed, the sentries set by the dining-room door, as also those sent to guard the entrance-gate, are called off; and the band becomes reunited by the treasure, as vultures around a carcass. some words are exchanged in undertone. then each, laying hold of a box--there is one each for nearly all of them--and poising it upon his shoulders, strides off out of the courtyard. silently, and in single file, they pass across the cattle corral, on into the garden, down the central walk, and out through the gap by which they came in. then on to the glade where they have left their horses. these they remount, after balancing the boxes upon their saddle-bows, and there securing them with trail-ropes. soon as in the saddle they move silently, but quickly away; the half-blood going along with them. he, too, has a horse, the best in the troop--taken from the stable of the master he has so basely betrayed, so pitilessly plundered. and that master at the moment nearly mad! raging frantically around the room where they are left confined, nearly all the others frantic as he. for scarce any of them who has not like reason. in the darkness groping, confusedly straying over the floor, stunned and stupified, they reel like drunken men; as they come in contact tremblingly interrogating one another as to what can have occurred. by the silence outside it would seem as if everybody were murdered, massacred--coloured servants within the house, colonists without--all! and what of colonel armstrong's own daughters? to their father it is a period of dread suspense--an agony indescribable. much longer continued it would drive him mad. perhaps he is saved from insanity by anger--by thoughts of vengeance, and the hope of living to accomplish it. while mutually interrogating, one starts the suggestion that the whole affair may be a _travestie_--a freak of the younger, and more frolicksome members of the colonist fraternity. notwithstanding its improbability, the idea takes, and is entertained, as drowning men catch at straws. only for an instant. the thing is too serious, affecting personages of too much importance, to be so trifled with. there are none in the settlement who would dare attempt such practical joking with its chief-- the stern old soldier, armstrong. besides, the sounds heard outside were not those of mirth, mocking its opposite. the shouts and shrieks had the true ring of terror, and the accents of despair. no. it could not be anything of a merrymaking, but what they at first supposed it--a tragedy. their rage returns, and they think only of revenge. as before, but to feel their impotence. the door, again tried, with all their united strength, refuses to stir from its hinges. as easily might they move the walls. the window railings alike resist their efforts; and they at length leave off, despairingly scattering through the room. one alone remains, clinging to the window bars. it is hawkins. he stays not with any hope of being able to wrench them off. he has already tested the strength of his arms, and found it insufficient. it is that of his lungs he now is determined to exert, and does so, shouting at the highest pitch of his voice. not that he thinks there is any chance of its being heard at the _rancheria_, nearly a half-mile off, with a grove of thick timber intervening. besides, at that late hour the settlers will be asleep. but in the grove between, and nearer, he knows there is a tent; and inside it a man who will be awake, if not dead--his comrade, cris tucker. in the hope cris may still be in the land of the living, hawkins leans against the window bars and, projecting his face outward, as far as the jawbones will allow, he gives utterance to a series of shouts, interlarded with exclamations, that in the ears of a sober puritan would have sounded terribly profane. chapter fifty three. a horrid spectacle. on a log outside the tent sits cris tucker, with the fire before him, kindled for cooking the turkey. the bird is upon a spit suspended above the blaze. a fat young "gobbler," it runs grease at every pore, causing the fire to flare up. literally is it being broiled by its own grease, and is now well-nigh done brown. perceiving this, tucker runs his eyes inquiringly along the path leading towards the mission, at the same time setting his ears to listen. what can be keeping his comrade, who promised so soon to be back? "promises are like pie-crust," says cris in soliloquy; "old hawk aint keeping his, and i guess aint goin' to. i heard they war to have a big dine up there the night. so i suppose the colonel's axed him in for a glass o' his whiskey punch. hawk's jest the one to take it--a dozen, if they insist. well, there's no reason i should wait supper any longer. i'm 'most famished as it is. besides, that bird's gettin' burnt." rising up from the log, he takes the turkey off the spit, and carries it inside the tent. then dishing, he sets it upon the table; the dish a large platter of split wood rudely whittled into oblong oval shape, the table a stump with top horizontally hewn, over which the tent has been erected. placing a "pone" of corn-bread, and some salt alongside, he sits down; though not yet to commence eating. as certainly his comrade should now soon be back, he will give him ten minutes' grace. the position is agreeable, at the same time having its drawbacks. the odour pervading the tent is delicious; still there is the sense of taste to be satisfied, and that of smell but provokes it. the savoury aroma of the roast turkey is keenly appetising, and cris can't hold out much longer. time passes, and no sign of hawkins returning. tucker's position becomes intolerable; the bird is getting cold, its juices drying up, the repast will be spoilt. besides, his comrade has not kept faith with him. in all probability he has eaten supper at the house, and at that moment is enjoying a jorum of whisky punch, quite forgetful of him. tucker. cris can stand it no longer; and, drawing out his knife, he takes the turkey by the leg, and cuts a large slice from its breast. this eaten, another slice of breast is severed and swallowed. then a wing is carved off, and lastly a leg, which he polishes to the smoothness of a drumstick.-- the young hunter, now no longer ravenous, proceeds more leisurely, and completes his repast by tranquilly chewing up the gizzard, and after it the liver--the last a tit-bit upon the prairies, as in a strasburg _pate_. washing all down with a gourd of whisky and water, he lights his pipe; and, seated by the mangled remains of the gobbler, commences smoking. for a time the inhaled nicotine holds him tranquil; though not without wondering why his comrade is so long in patting in an appearance. when over two hours have elapsed, his wonder becomes changed to anxiety. not strange it should, recalling the reason why he has been left alone. this increasing to keen apprehension, he can no longer stay within the tent. he will go up to the house, and find out what is detaining hawkins. donning his skin cap, and stepping out into the open air, he starts off towards the mission-building. less than ten minutes' walking brings him to its walls, by their main front entrance. there he pauses, surprised at the stillness surrounding the place. it is profound, unnatural. for some moments he remains in front of the massive pile, looking at it, and listening. still no sound, within or without. true, it is time for the inmates to be a-bed. but if so, where is hawkins? he may be drinking, but surely not sleeping within! in any case, cris deems it his duty to look him up; and with this intent determines to enter. he is not on terms of social equality with those who occupy the mission; still, under the circumstances, he cannot be considered intruding. he sees that the great door is closed, but the wicket is ajar; presumptive proof of hawkins being inside. there are no lights in the front windows, but, as cris knows, those of the dining-room open backward. hesitating no longer, he steps under the arched portal, passes on through the _saguan_, and once more emerges into moonlight within the _patio_. there, suddenly stopping, he stands aghast. for he beholds a sight that almost causes his hair to crisp up, and raise the cap from his head. down into the hollow quadrangle--enclosed on every side, except that towards heaven--the moonbeams are falling in full effulgence. by their light he sees forms lying along the pavement in every possible position. they are human bodies--men and boys, among them some whose drapery declares them to be women. they are black, brown, or yellow; but all spotted and spattered with red--with blood! fresh, but fast freezing in the chill night air, it is already darkened, almost to the hue of ink. the hunter turns faint, sick, as he contemplates this hecatomb of corpses. a spectacle far more fearful than any ever witnessed upon battle-field. there men lie in death from wounds given, as received under the grand, if delusive, idea of glory. those cris tucker sees must have been struck down by the hand of the assassin! for a time he stands gazing upon them, scarce knowing what to do. his first impulse is to turn back, rush out of the courtyard, and away altogether from the place. but a thought--a loyal thought or instinct, stays him. where is hawkins? his body may be among the rest--cris is almost sure it will be found there--and affection for his friend prompts him to seek for it. there may still be breath in it--a spark of departing life, capable of being called back. with this hope, however faint, he commences searching among the corpses. the spectacle, that has sickened, makes his step feeble. he staggers as he passes among the prostrate forms, at times compelled to stride over them. he examines one after another, bending low down to each--lower where they lie in shadow, and it is more difficult to distinguish their features. going the round of the courtyard, he completes the scrutiny of all. living or dead, hawkins is not among them. nor is there the body of any white man, or woman. the stricken victims are of every age, and both sexes. but all, male as female, are negroes or mulattoes--the slaves of the establishment. many of them he recognises; knows them to be the house-servants. where are their masters? where everybody? what terrible tragedy has occurred to leave such traces behind? the traces of murder--of wholesale slaughter! who have been the murderers, and where are they now? where is hawkins? to the young hunter these self-asked interrogatories occur in quick succession; along with the last a sound reaching his ears which causes him to start, and stand listening acutely for its repetition. it seemed a human voice, as of a man in mortal agony shouting for succour. faint, as if far off, away at the back of the building. continuing to listen, tucker hears it again, this time recognising the voice of hawkins. he does not stay to conjecture why his comrade should be calling in accents of appeal. that they are so is enough for him to hasten to his aid. clearly the cry comes from outside; and, soon as assured of this, tucker turns that way, leaps lightly over the dead bodies, glides on along the saguan, and through the open wicket. outside he stops, and again listens, waiting for the voice to direct him, which it does. as before he hears it, shouting for help, now sure it is hawkins who calls. and sure, also, that the cries come from the eastern side of the building. towards this tucker rushes, around the angle of the wall, breaking through the bushes like a chased bear. nor does he again stop till he is under a window, from which the shouts appear to proceed. looking up he sees a face, with cheeks pressing distractedly against the bars; at the same time hearing himself hailed in a familiar voice. "is't you, cris tucker? thank the almighty it is!" "sartin it's me," hawkins. "what does it all mean?" "mean? that's more'n i can tell; or any o' us inside here; though there's big ends o' a dozen. we're shut up, locked in, as ye see. who's done it you ought to know, bein' outside. han't you seen the indians?" "i've seen no indians; but their work i take it. there's a ugly sight round t'other side." "what sight, oris? never mind--don't stay to talk. go back, and get something to break open the door of this room. quick, comrade, quick!" without stayin' for further exchange of speech, the young hunter hurries back into the _patio_ as rapidly as he had quitted it; and laying hold of a heavy beam, brings it like a battering-ram, against the dining-room door. massive as this is, and strongly hung upon its hinges, it yields to his strength. when at length laid open, and those inside released, they look upon a spectacle that sends a thrill of horror through their hearts. in the courtyard lie ten corpses, all told. true they are but the dead bodies of slaves--to some beholding them scarce accounted as human beings. though pitied, they are passed over without delay; the thoughts, as the glances, of their masters going beyond, in keen apprehension for the fate of those nearer and dearer. escaped from their imprisonment, they rush to and fro, like maniacs let out of a madhouse. giving to the dead bodies only a passing glance, then going on in fear of finding others by which they will surely stay; all the time talking, interrogating, wildly gesticulating, now questioning oris tucker, now one another; in the confusion of voices, some heard inquiring for their wives, some their sisters or sweethearts, all with like eagerness; hopefully believing their dear ones still alive, or despairingly thinking them dead; fearing they may find them with gashed throats and bleeding breasts, like those lying along the flagstones at their feet. the spectacle before their eyes, appalling though it be, is nought to that conjured up in their apprehensions. what they see may be but a forecast, a faint symbol, of what ere long they may be compelled to look upon. and amid the many voices shouting for wife, sister, or sweetheart, none so loud, or sad, as that of colonel armstrong calling for his daughters. chapter fifty four. riding double. with colonel armstrong's voice in tone of heartrending anguish, goes up that of dupre calling the names "helen! jessie!" neither gets response. they on whom they call cannot hear. they are too far off; though nearer, it would be all the same; for both are at the moment hooded like hawks. the serapes thrown over their heads are still on them, corded around their necks, so closely as to hinder hearing, almost stifle their breathing. since their seizure nearly an hour has elapsed, and they are scarce yet recovered from the first shock of surprise, so terrible as to have stupified them. no wonder! what they saw before being blinded, with the rough treatment received, were enough to deprive them of their senses. from the chaos of thought, as from a dread dream, both are now gradually recovering. but, alas! only to reflect on new fears--on the dark future before them. captive to such captors--red ruthless savages, whose naked arms, already around, have held them in brawny embrace--carried away from home, from all they hold dear, into a captivity seeming hopeless as horrid--to the western woman especially repulsive, by songs sung over her cradle, and tales told throughout her years of childhood--tales of indian atrocity. the memory of these now recurring, with the reality itself, not strange that for a time their thoughts, as their senses, are almost paralysed. slowly they awake to a consciousness of their situation. they remember what occurred at the moment of their being made captive; how in the clear moonlight they stood face to face with fernand, listened to his impertinent speeches, saw the savages surrounding them; then, suddenly blinded and seeing no more, felt themselves seized, lifted from their feet, carried off, hoisted a little higher, set upon the backs of horses, and there tied, each to a man already mounted. all these incidents they remember, as one recalls the fleeting phantasmagoria of a dream. but that they were real, and not fanciful, they now too surely know; for the hoods are over their heads, the horses underneath; and the savages to whom they were strapped still there, their bodies in repulsive contact with their own! that there are only two men, and as many horses, can be told by the hoof-strokes rebounding from the turf; the same sounds proclaiming it a forest path through thick timber, at intervals emerging into open ground, and again entering among trees. for over an hour this continues; during all the while not a word being exchanged between the two horsemen, or if so, not heard by their captives. possibly they may communicate with one another by signs or whispers; as for most part the horses have been abreast, going in single file only where the path is narrow. at length a halt; of such continuance, as to make the captives suppose they have arrived at some place where they are to pass the remainder of the night. or it may be but an obstruction; this probable from their hearing a sound, easily understood--the ripple of running water. they have arrived upon the bank of a river. the san saba, of course; it cannot be any other. whether or not, 'tis the same to them. on the banks of the san saba they are now no safer, than if it were the remotest stream in all the territory of texas. whatever be the river whose waters they can hear coursing past, their guards, now halted upon its bank, have drawn their horses' heads together, and carry on a conversation. it seems in a strange tongue; but of this the captives cannot be sure, for it is in low tone--almost a whisper--the words indistinguishable amid the rush of the river's current. if heard, it is not likely they would understand. the two men are indians, and will talk in the indian tongue. for this same reason they need have no fear of freely conversing with one another, since the savages will be equally unable to comprehend what they say. to helen this thought first presents itself; soon as it does, leading her to call, though timidly and in subdued tone, "jess!" she is answered in the same way, jessie saying, "helen, i hear you." "i only wanted to say a word to cheer you. have courage. keep up your heart. it looks dark now; but something may may arise up to save us." chapter fifty five. tired travellers. the lower crossing of the san saba, so frequently referred to, calls for topographical description. at this point the stream, several hundred yards wide, courses in smooth, tranquil current, between banks wooded to the water's edge. the trees are chiefly cottonwoods, with oak, elm, tulip, wild china, and pecan interspersed; also the _magnolia grandiflora_; in short, such a forest as may be seen in many parts of the southern states. on both sides of the river, and for some distance up and down, this timbered tract is close and continuous, extending nearly a mile back from the banks; where its selvedge of thinner growth becomes broken into glades, some of them resembling flower gardens, others dense thickets of the _arundo gigantea_, in the language of the country, "cane-brakes." beyond this, the bottom-land is open meadow, a sea of green waving grass--the _gramma_ of the mexicans--which, without tree or bush, sweeps in to the base of the bluffs. on each side of the crossing the river is approached by a path, or rather an avenue-like opening in the timber, which shows signs of having been felled; doubtless, done by the former proprietors of the mission, or more like, the soldiers who served its garrison; a road made for military purposes, running between the _presidio_ itself and the town of san antonio de bejar. though again partially overgrown, it is sufficiently clear to permit the passage of wheeled vehicles, having been kept open by roving wild horses, with occasionally some that are tamed and ridden--by indians on raid. on its northern side the river is approached by two distinct trails, which unite before entering the wooded tract--their point of union being just at its edge. one is the main road coming from the colorado; the other only an indian trace, leading direct to the bluffs and the high land above them. it was by the former that colonel armstrong's train came up the valley, while the latter was the route taken by hawkins and tucker in their bootless excursion after buffalo. on the same evening, when the hunters, returning from their unsuccessful search, repassed the ford, only at a later hour, a party of horsemen is seen approaching it--not by the transverse trace, but the main up-river road. in all there are five of them; four upon horseback, the fifth riding a mule. it is the same party we have seen crossing the sabine-- clancy and his comrades--the dog still attached to it, the ex-jailer added. they are travelling in haste--have been ever since entering the territory of texas. evidence of this in their steeds showing jaded, themselves fatigued. further proof of it in the fact of their being now close to the san saba ford, within less than a week after armstrong's party passing over, while more than two behind it at starting from the sabine. there has been nothing to delay them along the route--no difficulty in finding it. the wheels of the loaded waggons, denting deep in the turf, have left a trail, which woodley for one could take up on the darkest hour of the darkest night that ever shadowed a texan prairie. it is night now, about two hours after sundown, as coming up the river road they enter the timber, and approach the crossing place. when within about fifty yards of the ford at a spot where the path widens, they pull up, woodley and clancy riding a little apart from the others, as if to hold consultation whether they shall proceed across the stream, or stay where they are for the night. clancy wishes to go forward, but woodley objects, urging fatigue, and saying:-- "it can't make much diff'rence now, whether we git up thar the night, or take it leezyurly in the cool o' the mornin'. since you say ye don't intend showin' yourself 'bout the mission buildin', it'll be all the better makin' halt hyar. we kin steal nearer; an' seelect a campin' place at the skreek o' day jest afore sun-up. arter thet me an' ned 'll enter the settlement, an' see how things stand." "perhaps you're right," responds clancy, "if you think it better for us to halt here, i shan't object; though i've an idea we ought to go on. it may appear very absurd to you, sime, but there's something on my mind--a sort of foreboding." "forebodin' o' what?" "in truth i can't tell what or why. yet i can't get it out of my head that there's some danger hanging over--" he interrupts himself, holding back the name--helen armstrong. for it is over her he fancies danger may be impending. no new fancy either; but one that has been afflicting him all along, and urging him so impatiently onward. not that he has learnt anything new since leaving the sabine. on its banks the ex-jailer discharged his conscience in full, by confessing all he could. at most not much; since his late associates, seeing the foolish fellow he was, had never made him sharer in their greatest secret. still he had heard and reported enough to give clancy good reason for uneasiness. "i kin guess who you're alludin' to," rejoins woodley, without waiting for the other to finish, "an' ef so, yur forebodin', as ye call it, air only a foolish notion, an' nothin' more. take sime woodley's word for it, ye'll find things up the river all right." "i hope so." "ye may be sure o't. kalklate, ye don't know planter armstrong 's well's i do, tho' i admit ye may hev a better knowledge o' one that bears the name. as for the ole kurnel hisself, this chile's kampayned wi' him in the cherokee wars, an' kin say for sartin he aint a-goin' to sleep 'ithout keepin' one o' his peepers skinned. beside, his party air too strong, an' the men composin' it too exparienced, to be tuk by surprise, or attacked by any enemy out on these purayras, whether red injuns or white pirates. ef thar air danger it'll come arter they've settled down, an' growed unsurspishus. then thar mout be a chance o' circumventin' them. but then we'll be thar to purvent it. no fear o' our arrivin' too late. we'll get up to the ole mission long afore noon the morrow, whar ye'll find, what ye've been so long trackin' arter, soun' an' safe. trust sime woodley for that." the comforting words tranquillise clancy's fears, at the same time checking his impatience. still is he reluctant to stay, and shows it by his answer. "sime, i'd rather we went on." "wal, ef ye so weesh it, on let's go. your the chief of this party an' kin command. for myself i'm only thinkin' or them poor, tired critters." the hunter points to the horses, that for the last hour have been dragging their limbs along like bees honey-laden. "to say nothin' o' ourselves," he adds, "though for my part i'm riddy to keep on to the rio grand, if you insist on goin' thar." notwithstanding his professed willingness, there is something in the tone of sime's speech which contradicts it--just a _soupcon_ of vexation. perceiving it, clancy makes rejoinder with the delicacy becoming a gentleman. though against his will and better judgment, his habitual belief in, and reliance on woodley's wisdom, puts an end to his opposition; and in fine yielding, he says:-- "very well; we shall stay. after all, it can't make much difference. a truce to my presentiments. i've often had such before, that came to nothing. hoping it may be the same now, we'll spend our night this side the river." "all right," responds the backwoodsman. "an' since it's decided we're to stay, i see no reezun why we shedn't make ourselves as comfortable as may be unner the circumstances. as it so chances, i know this hyar san saba bottom 'most as well as that o' our ole massissip. an' ef my mem'ry don't mistake, thar's a spot not far from hyar that'll jest suit for us to camp in. foller me; i'll find it." saying this, he kicks his heels against the ribs of his horse, and compels the tired steed once more into reluctant motion, the rest riding after in silence. chapter fifty six. spectral equestrians. but a short distance from where the travellers made stop, a side trace leads to the left, parallel to the direction of the river. into this woodley strikes, conducting the others. it is so narrow they cannot go abreast, but in single file. after proceeding thus for some fifty yards, they reach a spot where the path widens, debouching upon an open space--a sort of terrace that overhangs the channel of the stream, separated from it by a fringe of low trees and bushes. pointing to it, sime says:-- "this chile hev slep on that spread o' grass, some'at like six yeern ago, wi' nothin' to disturb his rest 'ceptin the skeeters. them same seems nasty bad now. let's hope we'll git through the night 'ithout bein' clar eat up by 'em. an', talkin' o' eatin', i reckin we'll all be the better o' a bit supper. arter thet we kin squat down an' surrender to morpheus." the meal suggested is speedily prepared, and, soon as despatched, the "squatting" follows. in less than twenty minutes after forsaking the saddle, all are astretch along the ground, their horses "hitched" to trees, themselves seemingly buried in slumber--bound in its oblivious embrace. there is one, however, still awake--clancy. he has slept but little any night since entering the territory of! texas. on this he sleeps not at all--never closes eye--cannot. on the contrary, he turns restlessly on his grassy couch, fairly writhing with the presentiment he has spoken of, still upon him, and not to be cast off. there are those who believe in dreams, in the reality of visions that appear to the slumbering senses. to clancy's, awake, on this night, there seems a horrid realism, almost a certainty, of some dread danger. and too certain it is. if endowed with the faculty of clairvoyance, he would know it to be so--would witness a series of incidents at that moment occurring up the river--scarce ten miles from the spot where he is lying--scenes that would cause him to start suddenly to his feet, rush for his horse, and ride off, calling upon his companions to follow. then, plunging into the river without fear of the ford, he would gallop on towards the san saba mission, as if the house were in names, and he only had the power to extinguish them. not gifted with second-sight, he does not perceive the tragedy there being enacted. he is only impressed with a prescience of some evil, which keeps him wide awake, while the others around are asleep; soundly, as he can tell by their snoring. woodley alone sleeps lightly; the hunter habituated, as he himself phrases it, "allers to do the possum bizness, wi' one eye open." he has heard clancy's repeated shiftings and turnings, coupled with involuntary exclamations, as of a man murmuring in his dreams. one of these, louder than the rest, at length startling, causes woodley to enquire what his comrade wants; and what is the matter with him. "oh, nothing," replies clancy; "only that i can't sleep--that's all." "can't sleep! wharfore can't ye? sure ye oughter be able by this time. ye've had furteeg enuf to put you in the way o' slumberin' soun' as a hummin' top." "i can't to-night, sime." "preehaps ye've swallered somethin', as don't sit well on your stummuk! or, it may be, the klimat o' this hyar destrict. sartin it do feel a leetle dampish, 'count o' the river fog; tho', as a general thing, the san sabre bottom air 'counted one o' the healthiest spots in texas. s'pose ye take a pull out o' this ole gourd o' myen. it's the best monongaheely, an' for a seedimentary o' the narves thar ain't it's eequal to be foun' in any drug-shop. i'll bet my bottom dollar on thet. take a suck, charley, and see what it'll do for ye." "it would have no effect. i know it wouldn't. it isn't nervousness that keeps me awake--something quite different." "oh!" grunts the old hunter, in a tone that tells of comprehension. "something quite diff'rent? i reck'n i kin guess what thet somethin' air--the same as keeps other young fellurs awake--thinkin' o' thar sweethearts. once't in the arms o' morpheous, ye'll forgit all about your gurl. foller my deevice; put some o' this physic inside yur skin, an' you'll be asleep in the shakin' o' a goat's tail." the dialogue comes to a close by clancy taking the prescribed physic. after which he wraps his blanket around him, and once more essays to sleep. as before, he is unsuccessful. although for a while tranquil and courting slumber, it will not come. he again tosses about; and at length rises to his feet, his hound starting up at the same time. woodley, once more awakened, perceives that the potion has failed of effect, and counsels his trying it again. "no," objects clancy; "'tis no use. the strongest soporific in the world wouldn't give me sleep this night. i tell you, sime, i have a fear upon me." "fear o' what?" "_that we'll be too late_." the last words, spoken solemnly, tell of apprehension keenly felt-- whether false, or prophetic. "that air's all nonsense," rejoins woodley, wishing to reason his comrade out of what he deems an idle fancy. "the height o' nonsense. wheesh!" the final exclamation, uttered in an altered tone, is accompanied by a start--the hunter suddenly raising his head from the saddle on which it rests. nor has the act any relation to his previous speeches. it comes from his hearing a sound, or fancying he hears one. at the same instant, the hound pricks up its ears, giving utterance to a low growl. "what is't, i wonder?" interrogates woodley, in a whisper, placing himself in a kneeling posture, his eyes sharply set upon the dog. again the animal jerks its ears, growling as before. "take clutch on the critter, charley! don't let it gie tongue." clancy lays hold of the hound, and draws it against his knees, by speech and gesture admonishing it to remain silent. the well-trained animal sees what is wanted; and, crouching down by its master's feet, ceases making demonstration. meanwhile woodley has laid himself flat along the earth, with ear close to the turf. there is a sound, sure enough; though not what he supposed he had heard just before. that was like a human voice--some one laughing a long way off. it might be the "too-who-ha" of the owl, or the bark of a prairie wolf. the noise now reaching his ears is less ambiguous, and he has no difficulty in determining its character. it is that of water violently agitated--churned, as by the hooves of horses. clancy, standing erect, hears it, too. the backwoodsman does not remain much longer prostrate; only a second to assure himself whence the sound proceeds. it is from the ford. the dog looked that way, on first starting up; and still keeps sniffing in the same direction. woodley is now on his feet, and the two men standing close together, intently listen. they have no need to listen long; for their eyes are above the tops of the bushes that border the river's bank, and they see what is disturbing the water. two horses are crossing the stream. they have just got clear of the timber's shadow on the opposite side, and are making towards mid-water. clancy and woodley, viewing them from higher ground, can perceive their forms, in _silhouette_, against the shining surface. nor have they any difficulty in making out that they are mounted. what puzzles them is the manner. their riders do not appear to be anything human! the horses have the true equine outline; but they upon their backs seem monsters, not men; their bodies of unnatural breadth, each with two heads rising above it! there is a haze overhanging the river, as gauze thrown over a piece of silver plate. it is that white filmy mist which enlarges objects beyond their natural size, producing the mystery of _mirage_. by its magnifying effect the horses, as their riders, appear of gigantic dimensions; the former seeming mastodons, the latter titans bestriding them! both appear beings not of earth, but creatures of some weird wonder-world--existences not known to our planet, or only in ages past! chapter fifty seven. planning a capture. speechless with surprise, the two men stand gazing at the odd apparition; with something more than surprise, a supernatural feeling, not unmingled with fear. such strange unearthly sight were enough to beget this in the stoutest hearts; and, though none stouter than theirs, for a time both are awed by it. only so long as the spectral equestrians were within the shadow of the trees on the opposite side. but soon as arriving at mid-stream the mystery is at an end; like most others, simple when understood. their forms, outlined against the moonlit surface of the water, show a very natural phenomenon--two horses carrying double. woodley is the first to announce it, though clancy has made the discovery at the same instant of time. "injuns!" says the backwoodsman, speaking in a whisper. "two astride o' each critter. injuns, for sure. see the feathers stickin' up out o' their skulls! them on the krupper look like squaws; though that's kewrous too. out on these texas parayras the injun weemen hez generally a hoss to theirselves, an' kin ride 'most as well as the men. what seem queerier still is thar bein' only two kupple; but maybe there's more comin' on ahint. an' yet thar don't appear to be. i don't see stime o' anythin' on tother side the river. kin you?" "no. i think there's but the two. they'd be looking back if there were others behind. what ought we to do with them?" "what every white man oughter do meetin' injuns out hyar--gie 'em a wide berth: that's the best way." "it may not in this case; i don't think it is." "why?" "on my word, i scarce know. and yet i have an idea we ought to have a word with them. likely they've been up to the settlement and will be able to tell us something of things there. as you know, sime, i'm anxious to hear about--" "i know all that. wal, ef you're so inclined, let it be as ye say. we kin eezy stop 'em, an' hear what they've got to say for theirselves. by good luck, we've the devantage o' 'em. they're bound to kum 'long the big trail. tharfor, ef we throw ourselves on it, we'll intercep' an' take 'em as in a trap. jess afore we turned in hyar, i noticed a spot whar we kin ambuskade." "let us do so; but what about these?" clancy points to the other three, still seemingly asleep. "hadn't we better awake them? at all events, heywood: we may need him." "for that matter, no. thar's but two buck injuns. the does wont count for much in a skrimmage. ef they show thar teeth i reckin we two air good for uglier odds than that. howsomever, it'll be no harm to hev ned. we kin roust him up, lettin' harkness an' the mulattar lie. ye'es; on second thinkin' it'll be as well to hev him along. ned! ned!" the summons is not spoken aloud, but in a whisper, woodley stooping down till his lips touch heywood's ear. the young hunter hearing him, starts, then sits up, and finally gets upon his feet, rubbing his eyes while erecting himself. he sees at once why he has been awakened. a glance cast upon the river shows him the strangely ridden horses; still visible though just entering the tree-shadow on its nether bank. in a few hurried words woodley makes known their intention; and for some seconds the three stand in consultation, all having hold of their rifles. they do not deem it necessary to rouse either the ex-jailer or jupiter. it is not advisable, in view of the time that would be wasted. besides, any noise, now, might reach the ears of the indians, who, if alarmed, could still retreat to the opposite side, and so escape. woodley, at first indifferent about their capture, has now entered into the spirit of it. it is just possible some information may be thus obtained, of service to their future designs. at all events, there can be no harm in knowing why the redskins are travelling at such an untimely hour. "as a gen'ral rule," he says, "tair best let injuns go thar own way when thar's a big crowd thegitter. when thar aint, as it chances hyar, it may be wisest to hev a leetle palaver wi' them. they're putty sure to a been arter some diviltry anyhow. 's like 's not this lot's been a pilferin' somethin' from the new settlement, and air in the act o' toatin' off thar plunder. ef arter gruppin' 'em, we find it aint so, we kin let go again, an' no dammidge done. but first, let's examine 'em, an' see." "our horses?" suggests heywood, "oughtn't we to take them along?" "no need," answers woodley. "contrarywise, they'd only hamper us. if the redskins make to rush past, we kin eezy shoot down thar animals, an' so stop 'em. wi' thar squaws along, they ain't like to make any resistance. besides, arter all, they may be some sort that's friendly to the whites. ef so, 'twould be a pity to kill the critters. we kin capter 'em without sheddin' thar blood." "not a drop of it," enjoins clancy, in a tone of authority. "no, comrades. i've entered texas to spill blood, but not that of the innocent--not that of indians. when it comes to killing i shall see before me--. no matter; you know whom i mean." "i guess we do," answers woodley. "we both o' us understand your feelins, charley clancy; ay, an' respect 'em. but let's look sharp. whilst we stan' palaverin the injuns may slip past. they've arready reech'd the bank, an'--quick, kum along!" the three are about starting off, when a fourth figure appears standing erect. it is jupiter. a life of long suffering has made the mulatto a light sleeper, and he has been awake all the time they were talking. though they spoke only in whispers, he has heard enough to suspect something about to be done, in which there may be danger to clancy. the slave, now free, would lay down his life for the man who has manumitted him. coming up, he requests to be taken along, and permitted to share their exploit, however perilous. as there can be no great objection, his request is granted, and he is joined to the party. but this necessitates a pause, for something to be considered. what is to be done with the ex-jailer? though not strictly treated as a prisoner, still all along they have been keeping him under surveillance. certainly, there was something strange in his making back for the states, in view of what he might there expect to meet for his misdemeanour; and, considering this, they have never been sure whether he may not still be in league with the outlaws, and prove twice traitor. now that they are approaching the spot where events may be expected, more than ever is it thought necessary to keep an eye on him. it will not do to leave him alone, with their horses. what then? while thus hesitating, woodley cuts the gordian knot by stepping straight to where harkness lies, grasping the collar of his coat, and rudely arousing him out of his slumber, by a jerk that brings him erect upon his feet. then, without waiting word of remonstrance from the astonished man, sime hisses into his ear:-- "kum along, joe harkness! keep close arter us, an' don't ask any questyuns. thar, jupe; you take charge o' him!" at this, he gives harkness a shove which sends him staggering into the arms of the mulatto. the latter, drawing a long stiletto-like knife, brandishes it before the ex-jailer's eyes, as he does so, saying: "mass harkness; keep on afore me; i foller. if you try leave the track look-out. this blade sure go 'tween your back ribs." the shining steel, with the sheen of jupiter's teeth set in stern determination, is enough to hold harkness honest, whatever his intent. he makes no resistance, but, trembling, turns along the path. once out of the glade, they fall into single file, the narrow trace making this necessary; woodley in the lead; clancy second, holding his hound in leash; heywood third; harkness fourth; jupiter with bared knife-blade bringing up the rear. never marched troop having behind it a more inexorable file-closer, or one more determined on doing his duty. chapter fifty eight. across the ford. no need to tell who are the strange equestrians seen coming across the river; nor to say, that those on the croup are not indian women, but white ones--captives. the reader already knows they are helen and jessie armstrong. had charles clancy or sime woodley but suspected this at the time, they would not have waited for heywood, or stood dallying about the duplicity of harkness. instead, they would have rushed right on to the river, caring little what chances might be against them. having no suspicion of its being ought save two travelling redskins, accompanied by their squaws, they acted otherwise. the captives themselves know they are not in charge of indians. after hearing that horrid laughter they are no longer in doubt. it came from the throats of white men: for only such could have understood the speeches that called it forth. this discovery affords them no gratification, but the opposite. instead of feeling safer in the custody of civilised men, the thought of it but intensifies their fears. from the red savage, _pur sang_, they might look for some compassion; from the white one they need not expect a spark of it. and neither does; both have alike lost heart and sunk into deepest dejection. never crossed acheron two spirits more despairing--less hopeful of happiness beyond. they are silent now. to exchange speech would only be to tempt a fresh peal of that diabolical laughter yet ringing in their ears. therefore, they do not speak a word--have not since, nor have their captors. they, too, remain mute, for to converse, and be heard, would necessitate shouting. the horses are now wading knee-deep, and the water, in continuous agitation, makes a tumultuous noise; its cold drops dashed back, clouting against the blankets in which the forms of the captives are enfolded. though silent, these are busy with conjectures. each has her own about the man who is beside her. jessie thinks she is sharing the saddle with the traitor, fernand. she trembles at recalling his glances from time to time cast upon her--ill-understood then, too well now. and now in his power, soon to be in his arms! oh, heavens--it is horror.-- something like this she exclaims, the wild words wrung from her in her anguish. they are drowned by the surging noise. almost at the same instant, helen gives out an ejaculation. she, too, is tortured with a terrible suspicion about him whose body touches her own. she suspects him to be one worse than traitor; is almost sure he is an assassin! if so, what will be her fate? reflecting on it, no wonder she cries out in agony, appealing to heaven--to god! suddenly there is silence, the commotion in the water having ceased. the hoofs strike upon soft sand, and soon after with firmer rebound from the bank. for a length or two the horses strain upward; and again on level ground are halted, side by side and close together. the man who has charge of helen, speaking to the other, says:-- "you'd better go ahead, bill. i aint sure about the bye-path to the big tree. i've forgotten where it strikes off. you know, don't you?" "yes, lootenant; i guess i kin find where it forks." no thought of indians now--nor with jessie any longer a fear of fernand. by his speech, the man addressed as bill cannot be the half-blood. it is something almost to reassure her. but for helen--the other voice! though speaking in undertone, and as if with some attempt at disguise, she is sure of having heard it before; then with distrust, as now with loathing. she hears it again, commanding:--"lead on!" bill does not instantly obey, but says in rejoinder:-- "skuse me, lootenant, but it seems a useless thing our goin' up to the oak. i know the cap' sayed we were to wait for them under it. why cant we just as well stay heer? 'taint like they'll be long now. they wont dally a minute, i know, after they've clutched the shiners, an' i guess they got 'em most as soon as we'd secured these pair o' petticoats. besides they'll come quicker than we've done, seeing as they're more like to be pursooed. it's a ugly bit o' track 'tween here an' the big tree, both sides thorny bramble that'll tear the duds off our backs, to say nothin' o' the skin from our faces. in my opinion we oughter stay where we air till the rest jeins us." "no," responds the lieutenant, in tone more authoritative, "we mustn't remain here. besides, we cant tell what may have happened to them. suppose they have to fight for it, and get forced to take the upper crossing. in that case--" the speaker makes pause, as if perceiving a dilemma. "in that case," interpolates the unwilling bill, "we'd best not stop heer at all, but put straight for head-quarters on the creek. how d'ye incline to that way of it?" "something in what you say," answers the lieutenant. then adding, after a pause, "it isn't likely they'll meet any obstruction. the half-breed indian said he had arranged everything clear as clock-work. they're safe sure to come this way, and 'twont do for us to go on without them. besides, there's a reason you appear not to think of. neither you nor i know the trail across the upper plain. we might get strayed there, and if so, we'd better be in hell?" after the profane utterance succeeds a short interval of silence, both men apparently cogitating. the lieutenant is the first to resume. "bosley," he says, speaking in a sage tone, and for the first time addressing the subordinate by his family name. "on the prairies, as elsewhere, one should always be true to a trust, and keep it when one can. if there were time, i could tell you a curious story of one who tried but couldn't. it's generally the wisest way, and i think it's that for us now. we might make a mess of it by changing from the programme understood--which was for us to wait under the oak. besides i've got a reason of my own for being there a bit--something you can't understand, and don't need telling about. and time's precious too; so spin ahead, and find the path." "all right," rejoins the other, in a tone of assumed resignation. "stayin' or goin's jest the same to me. for that matter i might like the first way best. i kin tell ye i'm precious tired toatin this burden at my back, beauty though she be; an' by remainin' heer i'll get the sooner relieved. when cap' comes he'll be wantin' to take her off my hands; to the which i'll make him welcome as the flowers o' may." with his poetical wind-up, the reluctant robber sets his horse in motion, and leads on. not far along the main road. when a few yards from the ford, he faces towards a trail on his left, which under the shadow is with difficulty discernible. for all this, he strikes into it with the confidence of one well acquainted with the way. along it they advance between thick standing trees, the path arcaded over by leafy branches appearing as dark as a tunnel. as the horses move on, the boughs, bent forward by their breasts, swish back in rebound, striking against the legs of their riders; while higher up the hanging _llianas_, many of them beset with spines, threaten to tear the skin from their faces. fortunately for the captives, theirs are protected by the close-woven serapes. though little care they now: thorns lacerating their cheeks were but trivial pain, compared to the torture in their souls. they utter no complaint, neither speaking a word. despair has stricken them dumb; for, moving along that darksome path, they feel as martyrs being conducted to stake or scaffold. chapter fifty nine. a foiled ambuscade. almost at the same instant the double-mounted steeds are turning off the main road, woodley and those with him enter upon it; only at a point further away from the ford. delayed, first in considering what should be done with harkness, and afterwards by the necessity of going slowly, as well as noiselessly along the narrow trace, they have arrived upon the road's edge just in time to be too late. as yet they are not aware of this, though woodley has his apprehensions; these becoming convictions, after he has stood for a time listening, and hears no sound, save that of the water, which comes in hoarse hiss between the trees, almost deafening the ear. for at this point the stream, shallowing, runs in rapid current over a pebbly bed, here and there breaking into crests. woodley's fear has been, that before he and his companions reach the road, the indians might get past. if so, the chances of taking them will be diminished perhaps gone altogether. for, on horseback, they would have an advantage over those following afoot; and their capture could only be effected by the most skilful stalking, as such travellers have the habit of looking behind. the question is--have they passed the place, where it was intended to waylay them? "i don't think they hev," says woodley, answering it. "they have hardly hed time. besides 'tain't nat'ral they'd ride strait on, jest arter kimmin' acrosst the river. it's a longish wade, wi' a good deal o' work for the horses. more like they've pulled up on reachin' the bank, an' air thar breathin' the critters a bit." none of the others offering an opinion, he adds-- "thur's a eezy way to make sure, an' the safest, too. ef they've good by hyar, they can't yet be very far off. ridin' as they air they won't think o' proceedin' at a fast pace. therefore, let's take a scout 'long the road outwards. ef they're on it, we'll soon sight 'em, or we may konklude they're behind on the bank o' the river. they're bound to pass this way, ef they hain't arready. so we'll eyther overtake, or meet 'em when returnin', or what mout be better'n both, ketch 'em a campin' by the water's edge. in any case our surest way air first to follow up the road. ef that prove a failure, we kin 'bout face, an' back to the river." "why need we all go?" asks heywood. "supposing the rest of you stay here, while i scout up the road, and see whether they've gone along it." "what ud be the use o' that?" demands sime. "s'posin' ye did, an' sighted 'em, ye ain't goin' to make thar capture all o' yourself. look at the time lost whiles ye air trottin' back hyar to tell us. by then, they'd get out into the clear moonlight, whar ther'd be no chance o' our comin' up to them without thar spyin' us. no, ned: your idee won't do. what do you think, charley?" "that your plan seems best. you're sure there's no other way for them to pass out from the river?" "this chile don't know o' any, ceptin' this trace we've ourselves kum off o'." "then, clearly, our best plan is first to try along the road--all together." "let's on, then!" urges woodley. "thar's no time to waste. while we stan' talkin' hyar, them redskins may ride to the jumpin'-off place o' creashun." so saying, the hunter turns face to the right, and goes off at a run, the others moving in like manner behind him. after proceeding some two or three hundred yards, they arrive at a place where the trees, standing apart, leave an open space between. there a saddle-like hollow intersects the road, traversing it from side to side. it is the channel of a rivulet when raining; but now nearly dry, its bed a mortar of soft mud. they had crossed it coming in towards the river, but without taking any notice of it, further than the necessity of guiding their tired steeds to guard against their stumbling. it was then in darkness, the twilight just past, and the moon not risen. now that she is up in mid heaven, it is flooded by her light, so that the slightest mark in the mud can be clearly distinguished. running their eyes over its surface, they observe tracks they have not been looking for, and more than they have reason to expect. signs to cause them surprise, if not actual alarm. conspicuous are two deep parallel ruts, which they know have been made by the wheels of the emigrant wagons. a shower of rain, since fallen, has not obliterated them; only washed off their sharp angles, having done the same with the tracks of the mule teams between, and those of the half hundred horses ridden alongside, as also the hoof-marks of the horned cattle driven after. it is not any of these that gives them concern. but other tracks more recent, made since the ram--in fact, since the sun lose that same morning--made by horses going towards the river, and with riders on their backs. over twenty in all, without counting their own; some of them shod, but most without iron on the hoof. to the eyes of sime woodley--to clancy's as well--these facts declare themselves at a single glance; and they only dwell upon further deductions. but not yet. for while scanning the slough they see two sets of horse tracks going in the opposite direction--outward from the river. shod horses, too; their hoof-prints stamped deep in the mud, as if both had been heavily mounted. this is a matter more immediate. the redskins, riding double, have gone past. if they are to be overtaken, nor a moment must be spent thinking of aught else. clancy has risen erect, ready to rush on after them. so heywood and the rest. but not woodley, who, still stooping over the slough, seems unsatisfied. and soon he makes a remark, which not only restrains the others, but causes an entire change in their intention. "they aint fresh," he says, speaking of the tracks last looked at. "thet is, they hain't been made 'ithin the hour. tharfor, it can't be them as hev jest crossed the stream. take a squint at 'em, charley." clancy, thus called upon, lowering his eyes, again looks at the tracks. not for long. a glance gives him evidence that woodley is right. the horses which made these outgoing tracks cannot be the same seen coming across. and now, the others being more carefully scrutinised, these same two are discovered among them, with the convexity of the hoof turned towards the river! in all this there is strangeness, though it is not the time to inquire into it. that must be left till later. their only thought now is, where are the indians; for they have certainly not come on along the road. "boys!" says woodley, "we've been makin' a big roundabout 'ithout gainin' a great deal by it. sartin them redskins hev stopped at the river, an' thar mean squatting for the remainder o' this night. that'll suit our purpiss to a teetotum. we kin capter 'em in thar camp eezier than on the backs o' thar critters. so, let's go right on an' grup 'em!" with this he turns, and runs back along the road, the others keeping close after. in ten minutes more they are on the river's bank, where it declined to the crossing. they see no indians there--no human creatures of any kind--nor yet any horses! chapter sixty. "the live-oak." at a pace necessarily slow, from the narrowness of the path and its numerous obstructions, the painted robbers, with their captives, have continued on; reaching their destination about the time clancy and his comrades turned back along the ford road. from this they are now not more than three hundred yards distant, halted in the place spoken of as a rendezvous. a singular spot it is--one of those wild forest scenes by which nature oft surprises and delights her straying worshipper. it is a glade of circular shape, with a colossal tree standing in its centre,--a live-oak with trunk full forty feet in girth, and branches spreading like a banyan. though an evergreen, but little of its own foliage can be seen, only here and there a parcel of leaves at the extremity of a protruding twig; all the rest, great limbs and lesser branches, shrouded under spanish moss, this in the moonlight showing white as flax. its depending garlands, stirred by the night breeze, sway to and fro, like ghosts moving in a minuet; when still, appearing as the water of a cataract suddenly frozen in its fall, its spray converted into hoar frost, the jets to gigantic icicles. in their midst towers the supporting stem, thick and black, its bark gnarled and corrugated as the skin of an alligator. this grim titan of the forest, o'ertopping the other trees like a giant among men, stands alone, as though it had commanded them to keep their distance. and they seem to obey. nearer than thirty yards to it none grow, nor so much as an underwood. it were easy to fancy it their monarch, and them not daring to intrude upon the domain it has set apart for itself. with the moon now in the zenith, its shadow extends equally on all sides of its huge trunk, darkening half the surface of the glade--the other half in light, forming an illuminated ring around it. there could be no mistaking it for other than the "big tree," referred to in the dialogue between the two robbers; and that they recognise it as such is evident by their action. soon as sighting it, they head straight towards its stem, and halting, slip down out of their saddles, having undone the cords by which the captives were attached to them. when dismounted, the lieutenant, drawing bosley a step or two apart, says:-- "you stay here, bill, and keep your prisoner company. i want a word with mine before our fellows come up, and as it's of a private nature, i'm going to take her to the other side of the tree." the direction is given in tone so low the captives cannot hear it; at the same time authoritatively, to secure bill's obedience. he has no intention of refusing it. on the contrary, he responds with alacrity:--"all right. i understand." this spoken as if implying consent to some sinister purpose on the part of his superior. without further words, the lieutenant lays hold of his horse's rein, and leads the animal round to the other side of the live-oak, his captive still in the saddle. thus separated, the two men are not only out of each other's sight, but beyond the chance of exchanging speech. between them is the buttressed trunk many yards in breadth, dark and frowning as the battlements of a fortress. besides, the air is filled with noises, the skirling of tree-crickets, and other sounds of animated nature that disturb the tranquillity of the southern night. they could only communicate with one another by shouting at the highest pitch of their voices. just now they have no need, and each proceeds to act for himself. bosley, soon as left alone with his captive, bethinks him what he had best do with her. he knows he must treat her tenderly, even respectfully. he has had commands to this effect from one he dare not disobey. before starting, his chief gave him instructions, to be carried out or disregarded at peril of his life. he has no intention to disobey them--indeed, no inclination. a stern old sinner, his weakness is not woman--perhaps for this very reason selected for the delicate duty now intrusted to him. instead of paying court to his fair captive, or presuming to hold speech with her, he only thinks how he can best discharge it to the satisfaction of his superior. no need to keep her any longer on the horse. she must be fatigued; the attitude is irksome, and he may get blamed; for not releasing her from it. thus reflecting, he flings his arms around her, draws her down, and lays her gently along the earth. having so disposed of her, he pulls out his pipe, lights it, and commences smoking, apparently without, further thought of the form at his feet. that spoil is not for him. but there is another, upon which he has set his mind. one altogether different from woman. it is dupre's treasure, of which he is to have his share; and he speculates how much it will come to on partition. he longs to feast his eyes with a sight of the shining silver of which there has been so much talk among the robbers; and grand expectations excited; its value as i usual exaggerated. pondering upon it, he neither looks at his captive, nor thinks of her. his glances are toward the river ford, which he sees not, but i hears; listening amid the water's monotone for the plunging of horses hoofs. impatiently, too, as between the puffs from his pipe, he ever and anon utters a grunt of discontent at the special duty imposed upon him, which may hinder him from getting his full share of the spoils. unlike is the behaviour of him on the other side of the oak. he, too, has dismounted his captive, and laid her along the ground. but not to stand idly over. instead, he leaves her, and walks away from the spot, having attached his horse to the trunk of the tree, by hooking the bridle-rein over a piece of projecting bark. he has no fear that she will make her escape, or attempt it. before parting he has taken precautions against that, by lashing her limbs together. all this without saying a word--not even giving utterance to an exclamation! in like silence he leaves her, turning his face toward the river, and striking along a trace that conducts to it. though several hundred yards from the ford, the bank is close by; for the path by which they approached the glade has been parallel to the trend of the stream. the live-oak overlooks it, with only a bordering of bushes between. through this runs a narrow trace made by wild animals, the forest denizens that frequent the adjacent timber, going down to their drinking place. parting the branches, that would sweep the plumed tiara from his head, the lieutenant glides along it, not stealthily, but with confidence, and as if familiar with the way. once through the thicket, he sees the river broad and bright before him: its clear tranquil current in contrast with the dark and stormy passions agitating his own heart. he is not thinking of this, nor is there any sentiment in his soul, as he pauses by the side of the stream. he has sought it for a most prosaic purpose--to wash his face. for this he has brought with him a piece of soap and a rag of cotton cloth, taken out of a haversack carried on the pommel of his saddle. stepping down the slope, he stoops to perform his ablutions. in that water-mirror many a fierce ugly face has been reflected but never one fiercer or uglier than his, under its garish panoply of paint. nor is it improved, when this, sponged off shows the skin to be white; on the contrary, the sinister passions that play upon his features would better become the complexion of the savage. having completed his lavatory task, he throws soap and rag into the river; then, turning, strides back up the bank. at its summit he stops to readjust his plumed head-dress, as he does so, saying in soliloquy:-- "i'll give her a surprise, such as she hasn't had since leaving the states. i'd bet odds she'll be more frightened at my face now, than when she saw it in the old garden. she didn't recognise it then; she will now. and now for her torture, and my triumph: for the revenge i've determined to take. won't it be sweet!" at the close of his exultant speech, he dives into the dark path, and gliding along it, soon re-enters the glade. he perceives no change, for there has been none. going on to her from whom he had separated, he again places himself by her recumbent form, and stands gazing upon, gloating over it, like a panther whose prey lies disabled at its feet, to be devoured at leisure. only an instant stays he in this attitude; then stooping till his head almost touches hers, he hisses into her ear:-- "so, helen, at length and at last, i have you in my power, at my mercy, sure, safe, as ever cat had mouse! oh! it is sweet--sweet--sweet!" she has no uncertainty now. the man exclaiming sweet, is he who has caused all her life's bitterness. the voice, no longer disguised, is that of richard darke! chapter sixty one. a ruffian triumphant. wild thoughts has helen armstrong, thus apostrophised, with not a word to say in return. she knows it would be idle; but without this, her very indignation holds her dumb--that and despair. for a time he, too, is silent, as if surrendering his soul to delightful exultation. soon he resumes speech in changed tone, and interrogatively:--"do you know who's talking to you? or must i tell you, nell? you'll excuse familiarity in an old friend, won't you?" receiving no response, he continues, in the same sneering style: "yes, an old friend, i say it; one you should well remember, though it's some time since we met, and a good way from here. to assist your recollection, let me recall an incident occurring at our last interview. perhaps 'twill be enough to name the place and time? wall, it was under a magnolia, in the state of mississippi; time ten o'clock of night, moonlight, if i rightly remember, as now. it matters not the day of the month being different, or any other trivial circumstance, so long as the serious ones are so. and they are, thank god for it! beneath the magnolia i knelt at your feet, under this tree, which is a live-oak, you lie at mine." he pauses, but not expecting reply. the woman, so tortured speaks not; neither stirs she. the only _motion_ visible throughout her frame is the swell and fall of her bosom--tumultuously beating. he who stands, over well knows it is throbbing in pain. but no compassion has he for that; on the contrary, it gives gratification; again drawing from him the exultant exclamation--"sweet--sweet!" after another interval of silence, he continues, banteringly as before: "so, fair helen, you perceive how circumstances have changed between us, and i hope you'll have the sense to suit yourself to the change. beneath the mississippian tree you denied me: here under the texan, you'll not be so inexorable--will you?" still no response. "well; if you won't vouchsafe an answer, i must be content to go without it; remembering the old saw--`silence consents.' perhaps, ere long your tongue will untie itself; when you've got over grieving for him who's gone--your great favourite, charley clancy. i take it, you've heard of his death; and possibly a report, that some one killed him. both stories are true; and, telling you so, i may add, no one knows better than myself; since 'twas i sent the gentleman to kingdom come--richard darke." on making the fearful confession, and in boastful emphasis, he bends lower to observe its effect. not in her face, still covered with the serape, but her form, in which he can perceive a tremor from head to foot. she shudders, and not strange, as she thinks:-- "he murdered _him_. he may intend the same with _me_. i care not now." again the voice of the self-accused assassin: "you know me now?" she is silent as ever, and once more motionless; the convulsive spasm having passed. even the beating of her heart seems stilled. is she dead? has his fell speech slain her? in reality it would appear so. "ah, well;" he says, "you won't recognise me? perhaps you will after seeing my face. sight is the sharpest of the senses, and the most reliable. you shall no longer be deprived of it. let me take you to the light." lifting, he carries her out to where the moonbeams meet the tree's shadow, and there lays her along. then dropping to his knees, he draws out something that glistens. two months before he stooped over the prostrate form of her lover, holding a photograph before his eyes--her own portrait. in her's he is about to brandish a knife! one seeing him in this attitude would suppose he intended burying its blade in her breast. instead, he slits open the serape in front of her face, tossing the severed edges back beyond her cheeks. her features exposed to the light, show wan and woeful; withal, lovely as ever; piquant in their pale beauty, like those of some rebellious nun hating the hood, discontented with cloister and convent. as she sees him stooping beside, with blade uplifted, she feels sure he designs killing her. but she neither shrinks, nor shudders now. she even wishes him to end her agony with a blow. were the knife in her own hand, she would herself give it. it is not his intention to harm her that way. words are the weapons by which he intends torturing her. with these he will lacerate her heart to its core. for he is thinking of the time when he threw himself at her feet, and poured forth his soul in passionate entreaty, only to have his passion spurned, and his pride humiliated. it is her turn to suffer humiliation, and he has determined she shall. recalling his own, every spark of pity, every pulsation of manhood, is extinguished within him. the cup of his scorned love has become a chalice filled with the passion of vengeance. sheathing the knife, he says: "i've been longing for a good look at you. now that i've got it, i should say you're pretty as ever, only paler. that will come right, and the roses return to your cheeks, in this recuperative climate of texas; especially in the place where i intend taking you. but you hav'nt yet looked at my face. it's just had a washing for your sake. come give it a glance! i want you to admire it, though it may not be quite so handsome as that of charley clancy." she averts her eyes, instinctively closing them. "oh, well, you won't? never mind, now. there's a time coming when you'll not be so coy, and when i shan't any longer kneel supplicating you. for know, nell, you're completely in my power, and i can command, do with you what i will. i don't intend any harm, nor mean to be at all unkind. it'll be your own fault if you force me to harshness. and knowing that, why shouldn't there be truce between us? what's the use of fretting about clancy? he's dead as a door nail, and your lamenting won't bring him to life again. better take things as they are, and cheer up. if you've lost one sweetheart, there's another left, who loves you more than ever did he. i do, helen armstrong; by god, i do!" the ruffian gives emphasis to his profane assertion, by bending before her, and laying his hand upon his heart. neither his speech nor attitude moves her. she lies as ever, still, silent. wrapped in the mexican blanket--whose pattern of aztec design bears striking resemblance to the hieroglyphs of egypt--this closed and corded round her figure, she might easily be mistaken for a mummy, one of pharaoh's daughters taken out of the sarcophagus in which for centuries she has slept. alone, the face with its soft white skin, negatives the comparison: though it appears bloodless, too. the eyes tell nought; their lids are closed, the long dark lashes alone showing in crescent curves. with difficulty could one tell whether she be asleep, or dead. richard darke does not suppose she is either; and, incensed at receiving no reply, again apostrophises her in tone more spiteful than ever. he has lost control of his temper, and now talks unfeelingly, brutally, profanely. "damn you!" he cries. "keep your tongue in your teeth, if you like. ere long i'll find a way to make it wag; when we're man and wife, as we shall soon be--after a fashion. a good one, too, practised here upon the prairies of texas. just the place for a bridal, such as ours is to be. the nuptial knot tied, according to canons of our own choice, needing no sanction of church, or palaver of priests, to make it binding." the ruffian pauses in his ribald speech. not that he has yet sated his vengeance, for he intends continuing the torture of his victim unable to resist. he has driven the arrow deep into her heart, and leaves it to rankle there. for a time he is silent, as if enjoying his triumph--the expression on his countenance truly satanic. it is seen suddenly to change, apprehension taking its place, succeeded by fear. the cause: sounds coming from the other side of the tree; human voices! not those of bosley, or his captive; but of strange men speaking excitedly! quick parting from his captive, and gliding up to the trunk, he looks cautiously around it. in the shadow he sees several figures clustering around bosley and his horse; then hears names pronounced, one which chills the blood within his veins--almost freezing it. he stands transfixed; cowering as one detected in an act of crime, and by a strong hand held in the attitude in which caught! only for a short while thus; then, starting up, he rushes to regain his horse, jerks the bridle from the back, and drags the animal in the direction of his captive. tossing her upon the pommel of the saddle, he springs into it. but she too has heard names, and now makes herself heard, shouting, "help--help!" chapter sixty two. "help! help!" baulked in their attempt to ambuscade the supposed indians, clancy and his companions thought not of abandoning the search for them. on the contrary, they continued it with renewed eagerness, their interest excited by the unexplained disappearance of the party. and they have succeeded in finding it, for it is they who surround bosley, having surprised him unsuspectingly puffing away at his pipe. how they made approach, remains to be told. on reaching the river's bank, and there seeing nought of the strange equestrians, their first feeling was profound astonishment. on woodley's part, also, some relapse to a belief in the supernatural; heywood, to a certain degree, sharing it. "odd it air!" mutters sime, with an ominous shake of the head. "tarnashun odd! whar kin they hev been, an' whar hev they goed?" "maybe back, across the river?" suggests heywood. "unpossible. thar ain't time. they'd be wadin' now, an' we'd see 'em. no. they're on this side yit, if anywhar on airth; the last bein' the doubtful." "supposin' they've taken the trace we came by? they might while we were up the road." "by the jumpin' jeehosofat!" exclaims woodley, startled by this second suggestion, "i never thought o' that. if they hev, thar's our horses, an' things. let's back to camp quick as legs kin take us." "stay!" interposes clancy, whose senses are not confused by any unearthly fancies. "i don't think they could have gone that way. there may be a trail up the bank, and they've taken it. there must be, sime. i never knew a stream without one." "ef there be, it's beyont this child's knowledge. i hain't noticed neery one. still, as you say, sech is usooal, ef only a way for the wild beasts. we kin try for it." "let us first make sure whether they came out here at all. we didn't watch them quite in to the shore." saying this, clancy steps down to the water's edge, the others with him. they have no occasion to stoop. standing erect they can see hoof-marks, conspicuous, freshly made, filled with water that has fallen from the fetlocks. turning, they easily trace them up the shelving bank; but not so easily along the road, though certain they continue that way. it is black as pitch beneath the shadowing trees. withal, woodley is not to be thus baffled. his skill as a tracker is proverbial among men of his calling; moreover, he is chagrined at their ill success so far; and, but for there being no time, the ex-jailer, its cause, would catch it. he does in an occasional curse, which might be accompanied by a cuff, did he not keep well out of the backwoodsman's way. dropping on all fours, sime feels for hoof-prints of the horses that have just crossed, groping in darkness. he can distinguish them from all others by their being wet. and so does, gaining ground, bit by bit, surely if slowly. but clancy has conceived a more expeditious plan, which he makes known, saying: "no need taking all that trouble, sime. you may be the best trailer in texas; and no doubt you are, for a biped: still here's one can beat you." "who?" asks the backwoodsman, rising erect, "show me the man." "no man," interrupts the other with a smile. "for our purpose something better. there stands your competitor." "you're right; i didn't think o' the dog. he'll do it like a breeze. put him on, charley!" "come, brasfort!" says clancy, apostrophising the hound, while lengthening the leash, and setting the animal on the slot. "you tell us where the redskin riders have gone." the intelligent creature well understands what is wanted, and with nose to the ground goes instantly off. but for the check string it would soon outstrip them for its eager action tells it has caught scent of a trail. at first lifting it along the ford road, but only for a few yards. then abruptly turning left, the dog is about to strike into the timber, when the hand of the master restrains it. the instinct of the animal is no longer needed. they perceive the embouchure of a path, that looks like the entrance to a cave, dark and forbidding as the back door of a jail. but surely a trace leading in among the trees, which the plumed horsemen have taken. after a second or two spent in arranging the order of march, they also take it, clancy now assuming command. they proceed with caution greater than ever; more slowly too, because along a path, dark, narrow, unknown, shaggy with thorns. they have to grope every inch of their way; all the while in surprise at the indians having chosen it. there must be a reason, though none of them can think what it is. they are not long left to conjectures. a light before their eyes throws light upon the enigma that has been baffling their brains. there is a break in the timber, where the moonbeams fall free to the earth. gliding on, silently, with undiminished caution, they arrive on the edge of an opening, and there make stop, but inside the underwood that skirts it. clancy and woodley stand side by side, crouchingly; and in this attitude interrogate the ground before them. they see the great tree, with its white shroud above, and deep obscurity beneath--the moonlit ring around it. but at first nothing more, save the fire-flies scintillating in its shadow. after a time, their eyes becoming accustomed to the cross light, they see something besides; a group of figures close in to the tree's trunk, apparently composed of horses and men. they can make out but one of each, but they take it there are two, with two women as well. while scanning the group, they observe a light larger and redder than that emitted by the winged insects. steadier too; for it moves not from its place. they might not know it to be the coal upon a tobacco pipe, but for the smell of the burning "weed" wafted their way. sniffing it, sime says: "that's the lot, sure; tho' thar appears but the half o't. i kin only make out one hoss, an' one man, wi' suthin' astreetch long the groun-- one o' the squaws in coorse. the skunk on his feet air smokin'. strange they hain't lit a fire! true 'tain't needed 'ceptin' for the cookin' o' thar supper. maybe they've hed it, an' only kim hyar to get a spell o' sleep. but ef thet's thar idee why shed yon 'un be stannin' up. wal; i guess, he's doin' sentry bizness, the which air allers needcessary out hyar. how shell we act, charley? rush right up an' tackle 'em? that's your way, i take it." "it is--why not?" "because thar's a better--leastwise a surer to prevent spillin' thar blood. ye say, you don't want that?" "on no account. if i thought there was a likelihood of it, i'd go straight back to our camp, and leave them alone. they may be harmless creatures, on some innocent errand. if it prove so, we musn't molest them." "wal; i'm willin', for thet," rejoins woodley, adding a reservation, "ef they resist, how are we to help it? we must eyther kill, or be kilt." there is reason in this, and clancy perceives it. while he is cogitating what course to take, woodley, resuming speech, points it out. "'thar's no use for us to harm a hair on thar beads, supposin' them to be innercent. for all thet, we shed make sure, an' take preecaushin in case o' them cuttin' up ugly. it air allers the best way wi redskins." "how do you propose, sime?" "to surround 'em. injuns, whether it be bucks or squaws, air slickery as eels. it's good sixty yurds to whar they're squatted yonner. ef we push strait torst 'em, they'll see us crossin' that bit o' moonshine, an' be inter the timmer like greased lightnin' through the branches o' a gooseberry bush. tho' out o' thar seddles now, an' some o' 'em streetched 'long the airth, apparently sleepin', they'd be up an' off in the shakin' o' a goat's tail. tharefor, say i, let's surround 'em." "if you think that the better way," rejoins clancy, "let us. but it will take time, and call for the greatest caution. to get around the glade, without their seeing us, we must keep well within the timber. through that underwood it won't be easy. on second thoughts, sime, i'm inclined to chance it the other way. they can't possibly escape us. if they do take to their horses, they couldn't gallop off beyond reach of our rifles. we can easily shoot their animals down. besides, remember there's two to get mounted on each. we may as well run right up, and determine the thing at once. i see no difficulty." "wheesht!" exclaims woodley, just as clancy ceases speaking. "what is it? do you hear anything, sime?" "don't you, charley?" clancy sets himself to listen, but at first hears nothing, save the usual sounds of the forest, of which it is now full. a spring night, a sultry one, the tree-crickets are in shrillest cry, the owls and goatsuckers joining in the chorus. but in the midst of its continuous strain there is surely a sound, not animal, but human? surely the voice of a man? after a time, clancy can distinguish it. one is talking, in tone not loud, but with an accent which appears to be that of boasting or triumph. and the voice is not like an indian's, while exclamations, at intervals uttered, are certainly such as could only proceed from the lips of a white man. all this is strange, and causes astonishment to the travellers--to clancy something more. but before he has time to reflect upon, or form conjectures about it, he hears that which compels him to cast aside every restraint of prudence; and springing forward, he signals the others to follow him. they do, without a word; and in less than twenty seconds' time, they have entered the shadowed circle, and surrounded the group at which they have been so long gazing. only three figures after all! a man, a horse, with what may be woman, but looks less like one living than dead! the man, indian to all appearance, thus taken by surprise, plucks the pipe from between his teeth. it is struck out of his hand, the sparks flying from it, as woodley on one side and heywood the other, clutching, drag him toward the light. when the moon shines on it, they behold a face which both have seen before. under its coating of charcoal and chalk they might not recognise it, but for the man making himself known by speech, which secures his identification. for he, too, sees a familiar face, that of simeon woodley; and under the impression he is himself recognised, mechanically pronounces the backwoodsman's name. "bill bosley!" shouts the astonished sime, "good lord! painted injun! what's this for? some devil's doings ye're arter as ye allers war. explain it, bill! tell the truth 'ithout preevaricashun. ef ye lie, i'll split your thrapple like i wud a water-millyun." "sime woodley! ned heywood! joe harkness!" gaspingly ejaculates the man, as in turn the three faces appear before him. "god almighty! what's it mean?" "we'll answer that when we've heern _your_ story. quick, tell it." "i can't; your chokin' me. for god's sake, heywood, take your hand off my throat. o sime! sure you don't intend killin' me?--ye won't, ye won't." "that depends--" "but i aint to blame. afore heaven, i swear i aint. you know that, harkness? you heard me protest against their ugly doin's more than once. in this business, now, i'm only actin' under the captin's order. he sent me 'long with the lootenant to take care of--" "the lieutenant!" interrupts clancy. "what name?" "phil quantrell, we call him; though i guess he's got another--" "where is he?" inquires clancy, tortured with a terrible suspicion. "he went t'other side the tree, takin' the young lady along." at that moment comes a cry from behind the oak--a woman's voice calling "help! help!" clancy stays not to hear more, but rushes off with the air of a man struck with sudden phrenzy! on turning the trunk, he sees other forms, a horse with man mounted, a woman before him he endeavours to restrain, who, struggling, thirsts for succour. it is nigh, though near being too late. but for a fortunate circumstance, it would be. the horse, headed towards the forest, is urged in that direction. but, frayed by the conflict on his back, he refuses to advance; instead, jibbing and rearing, he returns under the tree. clancy, with rifle raised, is about to shoot the animal down. but at thought of danger to her calling "help!" he lowers his piece; and rushing in, lays hold of the bridle-rein. this instantly let go, to receive in his arms the woman, released from the ruffian's grasp, who would otherwise fall heavily to the earth. the horse, disembarrassed, now obeying the rein, shoots out from under the oak, and headed across the moonlit belt makes straight for the timber beyond. in the struggle clancy has let go his gun, and now vainly gropes for it in the darkness. but two others are behind, with barrels that bear upon the retreating horseman. in an instant all would be over with him, but for clancy himself; who, rushing between, strikes up the muzzles, crying:-- "don't shoot, sime! hold your fire, heywood! his life belongs to me!" strange forbearance; to the backwoodsmen, incomprehensible! but they obey; and again richard darke escapes chastisement for two great crimes he intended, but by good fortune failed to accomplish. chapter sixty three. an oath to be kept. no pen could portray the feelings of helen armstrong, on recognising her rescuer. charles clancy alive! is she dreaming? or is it indeed he whose arms are around, folding her in firm but tender embrace? under the moonbeams, that seem to have suddenly become brighter, she beholds the manly form and noble features of him she believed dead, his cheeks showing the hue of health, his eyes late glaring in angry excitement, now glowing with the softer light of love. yes: it is indeed her lover long mourned, living, breathing, beautiful as ever! she asks not if he be still true, that doubt has been long since dissipated. it needs not his presence there, nor what he has just done, to reassure her. for a time she asks no questions; neither he. both are too absorbed with sweet thoughts to care for words. speech could not heighten their happiness, in the midst of caresses and kisses. on his side there is no backwardness now; on hers no coyness, no mock modesty. they come together not as at their last interview, timid sweethearts, but lovers emboldened by betrothal. for she knows, that he proposed to her; as he, that her acceptance was sent, and miscarried. it has reached him nevertheless; he has it upon his person now--both the letter and portrait. about the last are his first words. drawing it out, and holding it up to the light, he asks playfully: "helen; was it meant fo' me?" "no," she evasively answers, "it was meant for me." "oh! the likeness, yes; but the inscript--these pleasant words written underneath?" "put it back into; our pocket, charles. and now tell me all. am i dreaming? or is it indeed reality?" no wonder she should so exclaim. never was transformation quicker, or more complete. but a few seconds before she was, as it were, in the clutches of the devil; now an angel is by her side, a seraph with soft wings to shelter, and strong arms to protect her. she feels as one, who, long lingering at the door of death, has health suddenly and miraculously restored, with the prospect of a prolonged and happy life. clancy replies, by again flinging his arms around, and rapturously kissing her: perhaps thinking it the best answer he can give. if that be not reality, what is? jessie has now joined them, and after exchanged congratulations, there succeed mutual inquiries and explanations. clancy has commenced giving a brief account of what has occurred to himself, when he is interrupted by a rough, but kindly voice; that of sime, saying:-- "ye kin tell them all that at some other time, charley; thar aint a minnit to be throwed away now." then drawing clancy aside, speaking so as not to be heard by the others. "thar's danger in dallyin' hyar. i've jest been puttin' thet jail bird, bosley, through a bit o' catechism; an' from what he's told me the sooner we git out o' hyar the better. who d'ye spose is at the bottom o' all this? i needn't ask ye; ye're boun to guess. i kin see the ugly brute's name bulgin' out yur cheeks." "borlasse!" "in course it's he. bosley's confessed all. ked'nt well help it, wi' my bowie threetenin' to make a red stream run out o' him. the gang-- thar's twenty o' 'em all counted--goed up to the mission to plunder it-- a sort o' burglarious expedishun; borlasse hevin' a understandin' wi' a treetur that's inside--a sort o' sarvint to the creole, dupray, who only late engaged him. wal; it seems they grupped the gurls, as they war makin' for the house--chanced on 'em outside in the garden. bosley an' the other hev toated 'em this far, an' war wait in for the rest to come on wi' the stolen goods. they may be hyar at any minnit; an', wi' jim borlasse at thar head, i needn't tell ye what that means. four o' us agin twenty--for we can't count on harkness--it's ugly odds. we'd hev no show, howsomever. it 'ud end in their again grabbin' these pretty critters, an' 's like 's not end our own lives." clancy needs no further speech to convince him of the danger. after what has occurred, an encounter with the robbers would, indeed, be disastrous. richard darke, leagued with jim borlasse, a noted pirate of the prairies; their diabolical plans disclosed, and only defeated by the merest accident of circumstances. "you're right, sime. we mustn't be caught by the scoundrels. as you say, that would be the end of everything. how are we to avoid them?" "by streakin' out o' hyar quick as possible." "do you propose our taking to the timber, and lying hid till they go past?" "no. our better plan 'll be to go on to the mission, an' get thar soon's we kin." "but we may meet them in the teeth?" "we must, ef we take the main road up tother side--pretty sure to meet 'em. we shan't be sech fools. i've thought o' all that, an' a way to get clear of the scrape." "what way?" "that road we kim in by, ye see, leads on'ard up the bank this side. i reckin' it goes to the upper crossin', the which air several miles above the buildin's. we kin take it, an' foller it without any fear o' encounterin' them beauties. i've sent jupe and harkness to bring up the hosses. ned's tother side the tree in charge o' bosley." "you've arranged it right. nothing could be better. take the trail up this side. i can trust you for seeing them safe into their father's arms--if he still live." woodley wonders at this speech. he is about to ask explanation, when clancy adds, pointing to the elder sister-- "i want a word with her before parting. while you are getting ready the horses--" "before partin'!" interrupts sime with increased surprise, "surely you mean goin' along wi' us?" "no, i don't." "but why, charley?" "well, i've something to detain me here." "what somethin'?" "you ought to know without my telling you." "dog-goned ef i do." "richard darke, then." "but he's goed off; ye don't intend follerin' him?" "i do--to the death. if ever i had a fixed determination in my life, 'tis that." "wal, but you won't go all by yerself! ye'll want some o' us wi' ye?" "no." "not me, nor ned?" "neither. you'll both be needed to take care of them." clancy nods towards the sisters, adding:-- "you'll have your hands full enough with bosley and harkness. both will need looking after--and carefully. jupe i'll take with me." woodley remonstrates, pointing out the danger of the course his comrade intends pursuing. he only yields as clancy rejoins, in a tone of determination, almost command:-- "you must do as i tell you, sime; go on to the mission, and take them with you. as for me, i've a strong reason for remaining behind by myself; a silly sentiment some might call it, though i don't think you would." "what is't? let's hear it, an' i'll gie ye my opeenyun strait an' square." "simply, that in this whole matter from first to last, i've een making mistakes. so many, it's just possible my courage may be called in question; or; if not that, my ability. now, do you understand me?" "darned ef i do." "well; a man must do something to prove himself worthy of the name; at least one deed during his lifetime. there's one i've got to do--must do it, before i can think of anything else." "that is?" "_kill richard darke_, as you know, i've sworn it, and nothing shall come between me and my oath. no, sime, not even she who stands yonder; though i can't tell how it pains me to separate from her, now." "good lord! that will be a painful partin'! poor gurl! i reckin her heart's been nigh broke arready. she hasn't the peach colour she used to hev. it's clean faded out o' her cheeks, an' what your goin' to do now aint the way to bring it back agin." "i cannot help it, sime. i hear my mother calling me. go, now! i wish it; i insist upon it!" saying this, he turns towards helen armstrong to speak a word, which he knows will be sad as was ever breathed into the ear of woman. chapter sixty four. a wild farewell. on clancy and the hunter becoming engaged in their serious deliberation, the sisters also exchange thoughts that are troubled. the first bright flash of joy at their release from captivity, with helen's added gratification, is once more clouded over, as they think of what may have befallen their father. now, knowing who the miscreants are, their hearts are heavy with apprehension. jessie may, perhaps, feel it the more, having most cause--for her dread is of a double nature. there is her affianced, as well as her father! but for helen there is also another agony in store, soon to be suffered. little thinks she, as clancy coming up takes her hand, that the light of gladness, which so suddenly shone into her heart, is to be with like suddenness extinguished; and that he who gave is about to take it away. gently leading her apart, and leaving jessie to be comforted by sime, he says-- "dearest! we've arranged everything for your being taken back to the mission. the brave backwoodsmen, woodley and heywood, will be your escort. under their protection you'll have nothing to fear. either would lay down his life for you or your sister. nor need you be uneasy about your father. from what this fellow, bosley, says, the ruffians only meant robbery, and if they have not been resisted it will end in that only. have courage, and be cheered; you'll find your father as you left him." "and you?" she asks in surprise. "do you not go with us?" he hesitates to make answer, fearing the effect. but it must be made; and he at length rejoins, appealingly: "helen! i hope you won't be aggrieved, or blame me for hat i am going to do." "what?" "leave you." "leave me!" she exclaims, her eyes interrogating his in wild bewilderment. "only for a time, love; a very short while." "but why any time? charles; you are surely jesting with me?" "no, indeed. i am in earnest. never more in my life, and never more wishing i were not. alas! it is inevitable!" "inevitable! i do not understand. what do you mean?" with her eyes fixed oh his, in earnest gaze, she anxiously awaits his answer. "helen armstrong!" he says, speaking in a tone of solemnity that sounds strange, almost harsh despite its gentleness; "you are to me the dearest thing on earth. i need not tell you that, for surely you know it. without you i should not value life, nor care to live one hour longer. to say i love you, with all my heart and soul, were but to repeat the assurance i've already given you. ah! now more than ever, if that were possible; now that i know how true you've been, and what you've suffered for my sake. but there's another--one far away from here, who claims a share of my affections--" she makes a movement interrupting him, her eyes kindling up with an indescribable light, her bosom rising and falling as though stirred by some terrible emotion. perceiving her agitation, though without suspecting its cause, he continues: "if this night more than ever i love you, this night greater than ever is my affection for her. the sight of that man, with the thought i've again permitted him to escape, is fresh cause of reproach--a new cry from the ground, commanding me to avenge my murdered mother." helen armstrong, relieved, again breathes freely. strange, but natural; in consonance with human passions. for it was jealousy that for the moment held sway in her thoughts. ashamed of the suspicion, now known to be unworthy, she makes an effort to conceal it, saying in calm tone-- "we have heard of your mother's death." "of her murder," says clancy, sternly, and through set teeth. "yes; my poor mother was murdered by the man who has just gone off. he won't go far, before i overtake him. i've sworn over her grave, she shall be avenged; his blood will atone for her's. i've tracked him here, shall track him on; never stop, till i stand over him, as he once stood over me, thinking--. but i won't tell you more. enough, for you to know why i'm now leaving you. i must--i must!" half distracted, she rejoins:-- "you love your mother's memory more than you love me!" without thought the reproach escapes--wrung from her in her agony. soon as made, she regrets, and would recall it. for she sees the painful effect it has produced. he anticipates her, saying:-- "you wrong me, helen, in word, as in thought. such could not be. the two are different. you should know that. as i tell you, i've sworn to avenge my mother's death--sworn it over her grave. is that not an oath to be kept? i ask--i appeal to you!" her hand, that has still been keeping hold of his, closes upon it with firmer grasp, while her eyes become fixed upon him in look more relying than ever. the selfishness of her own passion shrinks before the sacredness of that inspiring him, and quick passes away. with her love is now mingled admiration. yielding to it, she exclaims: "go--go! get the retribution you seek. perhaps 'tis right. god shielding you, you'll succeed, and come back to me, true as you've been to your mother. if not, i shall soon be dead." "if not, you may know i am. only death can hinder my return. and now, for a while, farewell!" farewell! and so soon. oh! it is afflicting! so far she has borne herself with the firmness derived from a strong, self-sustaining nature. but hearing this word--wildest of all--she can hold out no longer. her strength gives way, and flinging herself on his breast, she pours forth a torrent of tears. "come, helen!" he says, kissing them from her cheeks, "be brave, and don't fear for me. i know my man, and the work cut out for me. by sheer carelessness i've twice let him have his triumph over me. but he won't the third time. when we next meet 'twill be the last hour of his life. something whispers this--perhaps the spirit of my mother? keep up your courage, sweet! go back with sime, who'll see you safe into your father's arms. when there, you can offer up a prayer for my safety, and if you like, one for the salvation of dick darke's soul. for sure as i stand here, ere another sun has set it will go to its god." with these solemn words the scene ends, only one other exchanged between them--the wild "farewell!" this in haste, for at the moment woodley comes forward, exclaiming:-- "be quick, charley! we must git away from hyar instanter. a minuit more in this gleed, an' some o' us may niver leave it alive." jupiter and harkness have brought up the horses, and are holding them in readiness. soon they are mounted, heywood taking jessie on his croup, helen having a horse to herself--that late belonging to bosley--while the latter is compelled to share the saddle with harkness. heywood leads off; the suspected men ordered to keep close after; while woodley reserves the rear-guard to himself and his rifle. before parting, he spurs alongside clancy, and holds out his hand, saying:-- "gi'e me a squeeze o' yur claws, charley. may the almighty stan' your frien' and keep you out o' ole nick's clutches. don't hev' any dubiousness 'bout us. tho' we shed kum across satan hisself wi' all his hellniferous host, sime woodley 'll take care o' them sweet gurls, or go to grass trying." with this characteristic wind-up, he puts the spur to his horse, and closes upon the rest already parted from the spot. alone remain under the live-oak, clancy and the mulatto, with horse, hound, and mule. varied the emotions in clancy's mind, as he stands looking after; but all dark as clouds coursing across a winter's sky. for they are all doubts and fears; that most felt finding expression in the desponding soliloquy. "i may never see her again!" as the departing cavalcade is about to enter among the trees, and the floating drapery of her dress is soon to pass out of sight, he half repents his determination, and is almost inclined to forego it. but the white skirt disappears, and the dark thought returning, becomes fixed as before. then, facing towards jupiter, he directs:-- "mount your mule, jupe. we've only one more journey to make; i hope a short one. at its end we'll meet your old master, and you'll see him get what he deserves--his _death shot_!" chapter sixty five. for the rendezvous. stillness is again restored around the crossing of the san saba, so far as it has been disturbed by the sound of human voices. nature has resumed her reign, and only the wild creatures of her kingdom can be heard calling, in tones that tell not of strife. but for a short while does this tranquillity continue. soon once more upon the river's bank resound rough voices, and rude boisterous laughter, as a band of mounted men coming from the mission side, spur their horses down into its channel, and head to go straight across. while under the shadow of the fringing timber, no one could tell who these merry riders are; and, even after they have advanced into the open moonlight, it would be difficult to identify them. seeing their plumed heads with their parti-coloured complexions, a stranger would set them down as indians; while a texan might particularise their tribe, calling them comanches. but one who is no stranger to them--the reader--knows they are not indians of any kind, but savages who would show skins of a tripe colour, were the pigment sponged off. for it is the band of borlasse. they have brought their booty thus far, _en route_ for their rendezvous. gleeful they are, one and all. before them on their saddle-bows, or behind on the croups, are the boxes of silver coin; enough, as they know, to give them a grand spree in the town of san antonio, whither they intend proceeding in due time. but first for their lair, where the spoil is to be partitioned, and a change made in their toilet; there to cast off the costume of the savage, and resume the garb of civilisation. riding in twos across the river, on reaching its bank they make halt. there is barely room for all on the bit of open ground by the embouchure of the ford road; and they get clumped into a dense crowd--in its midst their chief, borlasse, conspicuous from his great bulk of body. "boys!" he says, soon as all have gained the summit of the slope, and gathered around him, "it ain't no use for all o' us going to where i told quantrell an' bosley to wait. the approach to the oak air a bit awkward; therefore, me an' luke chisholm 'll slip up thar, whiles the rest o' ye stay hyar till we come back. you needn't get out of your saddles. we won't be many minutes, for we mustn't. they'll be a stirrin' at the mission, though not like to come after us so quick, seeing the traces we've left behind. that'll be a caution to them, i take it. and from what our friend here says," borlasse nods to the half-blood, fernand, who is seen seated on horseback beside him, "the settlers can't muster over forty fightin' men. calculatin' there's a whole tribe o' us comanches, they'll be too scared to start out all of a suddint. besides, they'll not find that back trail by the bluff so easy. i don't think they can before mornin'. still 'twont do to hang about hyar long. once we get across the upper plain we're safe. they'll never set eyes on these indyins after. come, luke! let you an' me go on to the oak, and pick up the stragglers. an' boys! see ye behave yourselves till we come back. don't start nail, or raise lid, from any o' them boxes. if there's a dollar missin', i'll know it; an' by the eternal--well, i guess, you understan' jim borlasse's way wi' treeturs." leaving this to be surmised, the robber chief spurs out from their midst, with the man he has selected to accompany him; the rest, as enjoined, remaining. soon he turns into the up-river trace, which none of those who have already travelled it, knew as well as he. despite his greater size, neither its thorns, nor narrowness, hinders him from riding rapidly along it. he is familiar with its every turn and obstruction, as is also chisholm. both have been to the big oak before, time after time; have bivouacked, slept under it, and beside booty. approaching it now for a different purpose, they are doomed to disappointment. there is no sign of creature beneath its shade--horse, man, or woman! where is quantrell? where bosley? what has become of them, and their captives? they are not under the oak, or anywhere around it. they are nowhere! the surprise of the robber chief instantly changes to anger. for a suspicion flashes across his mind, that his late appointed lieutenant has played false to him. he knows that richard darke has only been one of his band by the exigency of sinister circumstances; knows, also, of the other, and stronger lien that has kept clancy's assassin attached to their confederacy--his love for helen armstrong. now that he has her--the sister too--why may he not have taken both off, intending henceforth to cut all connection with the prairie pirates? bosley would be no bar. the subordinate might remain faithful, and to the death; still quantrell could kill him. it is all possible, probable; and borlasse, now better acquainted with the character of richard darke, can believe it so. convinced of his lieutenant's treachery, he rages around the tree like a tiger deprived of its prey. little cares he what has become of darke himself, or helen armstrong. it is jessie he misses; madly loving her in his course carnal fashion. he had hoped to have her in his arms, to carry her on to the rendezvous, to make her his wife in the same way as darke threatened to do with her sister. fortunately for both, the sky has become clouded, and the moon is invisible; otherwise he might see that the ground has been trodden by a half-dozen horses, and discover the direction these have taken. though simeon woodley, with his party, is now a good distance off, it would still be possible to overtake them, the robbers being well mounted and better knowing the way. woe to helen and jessie armstrong were the moon shining, as when they parted from that spot! neither borlasse nor his confederate have a thought that any one has been under the oak, save quantrell, bosley, and the captives. how could they? and now they think not that these have been there; for, calling their names aloud, they get no response. little do the two freebooters dream of the series of exciting incidents that in quick succession, and so recently, have occurred in that now silent spot. they have no suspicion of aught, save that bosley has betrayed his trust, phil quantrell instigating him, and that both have forsaken the band, taking the captives along. at thought of their treachery borlasse's fury goes beyond bounds, and he stamps and storms. to restrain him, chisholm says, suggestingly, "like as not, cap', they're gone on to head-quarters. i guess, when we get there we'll find the whole four." "you think so?" "i'm good as sure of it. what else could they do, or would they? quantrell darn't go back to the states, with that thing you spoke of hangin' over him. nor is he like to show himself in any o' the settlements of texas. and what could the two do by themselves out on the wild prairie?" "true; i reckon you're about right, luke. in any case we musn't waste more time here. it's getting well on to morning and by the earliest glint of day the settlers 'll take trail after us. we must on to the upper plain." at this he heads his horse back into the narrow trail; and, hurrying along it, rejoins his followers by the ford. soon as reaching them, he gives the command for immediate march; promptly obeyed, since every robber in the ruck has pleasant anticipation of what is before, with ugly recollection of what is, and fears of what may be, behind him. chapter sixty six. a scouting party. throughout all this time, the scene of wild terror, and frenzied excitement, continues to rage around the mission. its walls, while echoing voices of lamentation, reverberate also the shouts of revenge. it is some time ere the colonists can realise the full extent of the catastrophe, or be sure it is at an end. the gentlemen, who dined with colonel armstrong, rushing back to their own homes in fearful anticipation, there find everything, as they left it; except that their families and fellow settlers are asleep. for all this, the fear does not leave their hearts. if their houses are not aflame, as they expected to see them--if their wives and children are not butchered in cold blood--they know not how soon this may be. the indians--for indians they still believe them--would not have attacked so strong a settlement, unless in force sufficient to destroy it. the ruin, incomplete, may still be impending. true, the interlude of inaction is difficult to understand; only intelligible, on the supposition that the savages are awaiting an accession to their strength, before they assault the _rancheria_. they may at the moment be surrounding it? under this apprehension, the settlers are hastily, and by loud shouts, summoned from their beds. responding to the rude arousal, they are soon out of them, and abroad; the women and children frantically screaming; the men more calm; some of them accustomed to such surprises, issuing forth armed, and ready for action. soon all are similarly prepared, each with gun, pistol, and knife borne upon his person. after hearing the tale of horror brought from the mission-building, they hold hasty council as to what they should do. fear for their own firesides restrains them from starting off; and some time elapse before they feel assured that the _rancheria_ will not be attacked, and need defending. meanwhile, they despatch messengers to the mission; who, approaching it cautiously, find no change there. colonel armstrong is still roaming distractedly around, searching for his daughters, dupre by his side, hawkins and tucker assisting in the search. the girls not found, and the frantic father settling down to the conviction that they are gone--lost to him forever! oh! the cruel torture of the truth thus forced upon him! his children carried off captive, that were enough. but to such captivity! to be the associates of savages, their slaves, their worse than slaves--ah! a destiny compared with which death were desirable. so reasons the paternal heart in this supreme moment of its affliction. alike, distressed is he, bereaved of his all but bride. the young creole is well-nigh beside himself. never has he known such bitter thoughts; the bitterest of all--a remembrance of something said to him by his betrothed that very day. a word slight but significant, relating to the half-blood, fernand; a hint of some familiarity in the man's behaviour towards her, not absolute boldness, but presumption: for jessie did not tell all. still enough to be now vividly recalled to dupre's memory, with all that exaggeration the circumstances are calculated to suggest to his fancy and fears. yes; his trusted servant has betrayed him, and never did master more repent a trust, or suffer greater pain by its betrayal. the serpent he warmed has turned and stung him, with sting so venomous as to leave little of life. within and around the mission-building are other wailing voices, besides those of its owners. many of the domestics have like cause for lamentation, some even more. among the massacred, still stretched in their gore, one stoops over a sister; another sees his child; a wife weeps by the side of her husband, her hot tears mingling with his yet warm blood; while brother bends down to gaze into the eyes of brother, which, glassy and sightless, cannot reciprocate the sorrowing glance! it is not the time to give way to wild grief. the occasion calls for action, quick, immediate. colonel armstrong commands it; dupre urges it. soon as their first throes of surprise and terror have subsided, despair is replaced by anger, and their thoughts turn upon retaliation. all is clear now. those living at the _rancheria_ have not been molested. the savages have carried off dupre's silver. despoiled of his far more precious treasure, what recks he of that? only as telling that the object of the attacking party was robbery more than murder; though they have done both. still it is certain, that, having achieved their end, they are gone off with no intention to renew the carnage of which all can see such sanguinary traces. thus reasoning, the next thought is pursuit. as yet the other settlers are at the _rancheria_, clinging to their own hearths, in fear of a fresh attack, only a few having come up to the mission, to be shocked at what they see there. but enough for dupre's purpose; which receives the sanction of colonel armstrong, as also that of the hunters, hawkins and tucker. it is decided not to wait till all can be ready; but for a select party to start off at once, in the capacity of scouts; these to take up the trail of the savages, and send back their report to those coming after. to this colonel armstrong not only gives consent, but deems it the most prudent course, and likeliest to secure success. despite his anxious impatience, the strategy of the old soldier tells him, that careless haste may defeat its chances. in fine, a scouting party is dispatched, hawkins at its head as guide, the creole commanding. armstrong himself remains behind, to organise the main body of settlers getting ready for pursuit. chapter sixty seven. a straying traveller. a man on horseback making his way through a wood. not on road, or trodden path, or trace of any kind. for it is a tract of virgin forest, in which settler's axe has never sounded, rarely traversed by ridden horse; still more rarely by pedestrian. he, now passing through it, rides as fast as the thick standing trunks, and tangle of undergrowth will allow. the darkness also obstructs him; for it is night. withal he advances rapidly, though cautiously; at intervals glancing back, at longer ones, delaying to listen, with chin upon his shoulder. his behaviour shows fear; so, too, his face. here and there the moonbeams shining through breaks in the foliage, reveal upon his features bewilderment, as well as terror. by their light he is guiding his course, though he does not seem sure of it. the only thing appearing certain is, that he fears something behind, and is fleeing from it. once he pauses, longer than usual; and, holding his horse in check, sits listening attentively. while thus halted, he hears a noise, which he knows to be the ripple of a river. it seems oddly to affect him, calling forth an exclamation, which shows he is dissatisfied with the sound. "am i never to get away from it? i've been over an hour straying about here, and there's the thing still--not a quarter of a mile off, and timber thick as ever. i thought that last shoot would have taken me out of it. i must have turned somewhere. no help for it, but try again." making a half-face round, he heads his horse in a direction opposite to that from which comes the sound of the water. he has done so repeatedly, as oft straying back towards the stream. it is evident he has no wish to go any nearer; but a strong desire to get away from it. this time he is successful. the new direction followed a half-mile further shows him clear sky ahead, and in a few minutes more he is at the forest's outmost edge. before him stretches an expanse of plain altogether treeless, but clothed with tall grass, whose culms stirred by the night breeze, and silvered by the moonbeams, sway to and fro, like the soft tremulous wavelets of a tropic sea; myriads of fire-flies prinkling among the spikes, and emitting a gleam, as phosphorescent _medusae_, make the resemblance complete. the retreating horseman has no such comparison in his thoughts, nor any time to contemplate nature. the troubled expression in his eyes, tells he is in no mood for it. his glance is not given to the grass, nor the brilliant "lightning bugs," but to a dark belt discernible beyond, apparently a tract of timber, similar to that he has just traversed. more carefully scrutinised, it is seen to be rocks, not trees; in short a continuous line of cliff, forming the boundary of the bottom-land. he viewing it, well knows what it is, and intends proceeding on to it. he only stays to take bearings for a particular place, at which he evidently aims. his muttered words specify the point. "the gulch must be to the right. i've gone up-river all the while. confound the crooked luck! it may throw me behind them going back; and how am i to find my way over the big plain! if i get strayed there--ha! i see the pass now; yon sharp shoulder of rock--its there." once more setting his horse in motion, he makes for the point thus identified. not now in zig-zags, or slowly--as when working his way through the timber--but in a straight tail-on-end gallop, fast as the animal can go. and now under the bright moonbeams it may be time to take a closer survey of the hastening horseman. in garb he is indian, from the mocassins on his feet to the fillet of stained feathers surmounting his head. but the colour of his skin contradicts the idea of his being an aboriginal. his face shows white, but with some smut upon it, like that of a chimney-sweep negligently cleansed. and his features are caucasian, not ill-favoured, except in their sinister expression; for they are the features of richard darke. knowing it is he, it will be equally understood that the san saba is the stream whose sough is so dissonant in his ears, as also, why he is so anxious to put a wide space between himself and its waters. on its bank he has heard a name, and caught sight of him bearing it--the man of all others he has most fear. the backwoodsman who tracked him in the forests of mississippi, now trailing him upon the prairies of texas, simeon woodley ever pursuing him! if in terror he has been retreating through the trees, not less does he glide over the open ground. though going in a gallop, every now and then, as before, he keeps slewing round in the saddle and gazing back with apprehensiveness, in fear he may see forms issuing from the timber's edge, and coming on after. none appear, however; and, at length, arriving by the bluffs base, he draws up under its shadow, darker now, for clouds are beginning to dapple the sky, making the moon's light intermittent. again, he appears uncertain about the direction he should take; and seated in his saddle, looks inquiringly along the facade of the cliff, scrutinising its outline. not long before his scrutiny is rewarded. a dark disc of triangular shape, the apex inverted, proclaims a break in the escarpment. it is the embouchure of a ravine, in short the pass he has been searching for, the same already known to the reader. straight towards it he rides, with the confidence of one who has climbed it before. in like manner he enters between its grim jaws, and spurs his horse up the slope under the shadow of rocks overhanging right and left. he is some twenty minutes in reaching its summit, on the edge of the upland plain. there he emerges into moonlight; for luna has again looked out. seated in his saddle he takes a survey of the bottom-land below. afar off, he can distinguish the dark belt of timber, fringing the river on both sides, with here and there a reach of water between, glistening in the moon's soft light like molten silver. his eyes rest not on this, but stray over the open meadow, land in quest of something there. there is nothing to fix his glance, and he now feels safe, for the first time since starting on that prolonged retreat. drawing a free breath he says, soliloquising:-- "no good my going farther now. besides i don't know the trail, not a foot farther. no help for it but stay here till borlasse and the boys come up. they can't be much longer, unless they've had a fight to detain them; which i don't think at all likely, after what the half-blood told us. in any case some of them will be this way. great god! to think of sime woodley being here! and after me, sure, for the killing of clancy! heywood, too, and harkness along with them! how is that, i wonder? can they have met my old jailer on the way, and brought him back to help in tracing me? what the devil does it all mean? it looks as if the very fates were conspiring for my destruction. "and who the fellow that laid hold of my horse? so like clancy! i could swear 'twas he, if i wasn't sure of having settled him. if ever gun-bullet gave a man his quietus, mine did him. the breath was out of his body before i left him. "sime woodley's after me, sure! damn the ugly brute of a backwoodsman! he seems to have been created for the special purpose of pursuing me? "and she in my power, to let her so slackly go again! i may never have another such chance. she'll get safe back to the settlements, there to make mock of me! what a simpleton i've been to let her go alive! i should have driven my knife into her. why didn't i do it? ach!" as he utters the harsh exclamation there is blackness on his brow, and chagrin in his glance; a look, such as satan may have cast back at paradise on being expelled from it. with assumed resignation, he continues:-- "no good my grieving over it now. regrets won't get her back. there may be another opportunity yet. if i live there shall be, though it cost me all my life to bring it about." another pause spent reflecting what he ought to do next. he has still some fear of being followed by sime woodley. endeavouring to dismiss it, he mutters:-- "'tisn't at all likely they'd find the way up here. they appeared to be afoot. i saw no horses. they might have them for all that. but they can't tell which way i took through the timber, and anyhow couldn't track me till after daylight. before then borlasse will certainly be along. just possible he may come across woodley and his lot. they'll be sure to make for the mission, and take the road up t'other side. a good chance of our fellows encountering them, unless that begging fool, bosley, has let all out. maybe they killed him on the spot? i didn't hear the end of it, and hope they have." with this barbarous reflection he discontinues his soliloquy, bethinking himself, how he may best pass the time till his comrades come on. at first he designs alighting, and lying down: for he has been many hours in the saddle, and feels fatigued. but just as he is about to dismount, it occurs to him the place is not a proper one. around the summit of the pass, the plain is without a stick of timber, not even a bush to give shade or concealment, and of this last he now begins to recognise the need. for, all at once, he recalls a conversation with borlasse, in which mention was made of sime woodley; the robber telling of his having been in texas before, and out upon the san saba--the very place where now seen! therefore, the backwoodsman will be acquainted with the locality, and may strike for the trail he has himself taken. he remembers sime's reputation as a tracker; he no longer feels safe. in the confusion of his senses, his fancy exaggerates his fears, and he almost dreads to look back across the bottom-land. thus apprehensive, he turns his eyes towards the plain, in search of a better place for his temporary bivouac, or at all events a safer one. he sees it. to the right, and some two or three hundred yards off is a _motte_ of timber, standing solitary on the otherwise treeless expanse. it is the grove of black-jacks, where hawkins and tucker halted that same afternoon. "the very place!" says richard darke to himself, after scrutinising it. "there i'll be safe every way; can see without being seen. it commands a view of the pass, and, if the moon keep clear, i'll be able to tell who comes up, whether friends or foes." saying this, he makes for the _motte_. reaching it, he dismounts, and, drawing the rein over his horse's head, leads the animal in among the trees. at a short distance from the grove's edge is a glade. in this he makes stop, and secures the horse, by looping the bridle around a branch. he has a tin canteen hanging over the horn of his saddle, which he lifts off. it is a large one,--capable of holding a half-gallon. it is three parts full, not of water, but of whisky. the fourth part he has drunk during the day, and earlier hours of the night, to give him courage for the part he had to play. he now drinks to drown his chagrin at having played it so badly. cursing his crooked luck, as he calls it, he takes a swig of the whisky, and then steps back to the place where he entered among the black-jacks. there taking stand, he awaits the coming of his confederates. he keeps his eyes upon the summit of the pass. they cannot come up without his seeing them, much less go on over the plain. they must arrive soon, else he will not be able to see them. for he has brought the canteen along, and, raising it repeatedly to his lips, his sight is becoming obscured, the equilibrium of his body endangered. as the vessel grows lighter, so does his head; while his limbs refuse to support the weight of his body, which oscillates from side to side. at length, with an indistinct perception of inability to sustain himself erect, and a belief he would feel better in a recumbent attitude, he gropes his way back to the glade, where, staggering about for a while, he at length settles down, dead drunk. in ten seconds he is asleep, in slumber so profound, that a cannon shot--even the voice of simeon woodley--would scarce awake him. chapter sixty eight. "brasfort." "brasfort has caught scent!" the speech comes from one of two men making their way through a wood, the same across which richard darke has just retreated. but they are not retreating as he; on the contrary pursuing, himself the object of their pursuit. for they two men are charles clancy, and jupiter. they are mounted, clancy on his horse--a splendid animal--the mulatto astride the mule. the hound is with them, not now trotting idly after, but in front, with nose to the earth. they are on darke's trail. the animal has just struck, and is following it, though not fast. for a strap around its neck, with a cord attached, and held in clancy's hand, keeps it in check, while another buckled about its jaws hinders it from giving tongue. both precautions show clancy's determination to take pains with the game he is pursuing, and not again give it a chance to get away. twice has his mother's murderer escaped him. it will not be so a third time. they are trailing in darkness, else he would not need assistance from the dog. for it is only a short while since his separation from the party that went on to the mission. soon as getting into their saddles, clancy and his faithful follower struck into the timber, at the point where darke was seen to enter, and they are now fairly on his tracks. in the obscurity they cannot see them; but the behaviour of the hound tells they are there. "yes; brasfort's on it now," says clancy, calling the animal by a name long ago bestowed upon it. "he's on it strong, jupe. i can tell by the way he tugs upon the string." "all right, masser charle. give him plenty head. let him well out. guess we can keep up with him. an' the sooner we overtake the nigger whipper, the better it be for us, an' the worser for him. pity you let him go. if you'd 'lowed mass woodley to shoot down his hoss--" "never mind about that. you'll see himself shot down ere long, or--" "or what, masser?" "me!" "lor forbid! if i ever see that, there's another goes down long side you; either the slave-catcher or the slave." "thanks, my brave fellow! i know you mean it. but now to our work; and let us be silent. he may not have gone far, and's still skulking in this tract of timber. if so, he stands a chance to hear us. speak only in a whisper." thus instructed, jupe makes a gesture to signify compliance; clancy turning his attention to the hound. by this, brasfort is all eagerness, as can be told by the quick vibration of his tail, and spasmodic action of the body. a sound also proceeds from his lips, an attempt at baying; which, but for the confining muzzle would make the forest echoes ring around. stopped by this his note can be heard only a short distance off, not far enough for them to have any fear. if they but get so near the man they are in chase of, they will surely overtake him. in confidence the trackers keep on; but obstructed by the close standing trunks, with thick underwood between, they make but slow progress. they are more than an hour in getting across the timbered tract; a distance that should not have taken quarter the time. at length, arriving on its edge, they make stop; clancy drawing back the dog. looking across the plain he sees that, which tells him the instinct of the animal will be no longer needed--at least for a time. the moon, shining upon the meadow grass, shows a list differently shaded; where the tall culms have been bent down and crushed by the hoof of some heavy quadruped, that has made its way amidst them. and recently too, as clancy, skilled in tracking, can tell; knowing, also, it is the track of dick darke's horse. "you see it?" he says, pointing to the lighter shaded line. "that's the assassin's trail. he's gone out here, and straight across the bottom. he's made for the bluff yonder. from this he's been putting his animal to speed; gone in a gallop, as the stretch between the tracks show. he may go that way, or any other, 'twill make no difference in the end. he fancies himself clever, but for all his cleverness he'll not escape me now." "i hope not, masser charle; an' don't think he will; don't see how he can." "he can't." for some time clancy is silent, apparently absorbed in serious reflection. at length, he says to his follower:-- "jupe, my boy, in your time you have suffered much yourself, and should know something of what it is to feel vengeful. but not a vengeance like mine. that you can't understand, and perhaps may think me cruel." "you, masser charle!" "i don't remember ever having done a harsh thing in my life, or hurt to anyone not deserving it." "i am sure you never did, masser." "my dealing with this man may seem an exception. for sure as i live, i'll kill him, or he shall kill me." "there'd be no cruelty in that. he deserve die, if ever man did." "he shall. i've sworn it--you know when and where. my poor mother sent to an untimely grave! her spirit seems now speaking to me--urging me to keep my oath. let us on!" they spur out into the moonlight, and off over the open plain, the hound no longer in the lead. his nose is not needed now. the slot of darke's galloping horse is so conspicuous they can clearly see it, though going fast as did he. half an hour at this rapid pace, and they are again under shadow. it is that of the bluff, so dark they can no longer make out the hoof-marks of the retreating horseman. for a time they are stayed, while once more leashing the hound, and setting it upon the scent. brasfort lifts it with renewed spirit; and, keeping in advance, conducts them to an opening in the wall of rock. it is the entrance to a gorge going upward. they can perceive a trodden path, upon which are the hoof-prints of many horses, apparently an hundred of them. clancy dismounts to examine them. he takes note, that they are of horses unshod; though there are some with the iron on. most of them are fresh, among others of older date. those recently made have the convexity of the hoof turned towards the river. whoever rode these horses came down the gorge, and kept on for the crossing. he has no doubt, but that they are the same, whose tracks were observed in the slough, and at the ford--now known to have been made by the freebooters. as these have come down the glen, in all likelihood they will go up it in return. the thought should deter him from proceeding farther in that direction. but it does not. he is urged on by his oath--by a determination to keep it at all cost. he fancies darke cannot be far ahead, and trusts to overtaking, and settling the affair, before his confederates come up. reflecting thus, he enters the ravine, and commences ascending its slope, jupiter and brasfort following. on reaching the upland plain, they have a different light around, from that below on the bottom-land. the moon is clouded over, but her silvery sheen is replaced by a gloaming of grey. there are streaks of bluish colour, rose tinted, along the horizon's edge. it is the dawn, for day is just breaking. at first clancy is gratified by a sight, so oft gladdening hearts. daylight will assist him in his search. soon, he thinks otherwise. sweeping his eyes over the upland plain, he sees it is sterile and treeless. a thin skirting of timber runs along the bluff edge; but elsewhere all is open, except a solitary grove at no great distance off. the rendezvous of the robbers would not be there, but more likely on the other side of the arid expanse. noting a trail which leads outwards, he suspects the pursued man to have taken it. but to follow in full daylight may not only defeat all chance of overtaking him, but expose them to the danger of capture by the freebooters coming in behind. clancy casts his eye across the plain, then back towards the bottom-land. he begins to repent his imprudence in having ventured up the pass. but now to descend might be more dangerous than to stay. there is danger either way, and in every direction. so thinking, he says: "i fear, jupe, we've been going too fast, and it may be too far. if we encounter these desperadoes, i needn't tell you we'll be in trouble. what ought we to do, think you?" "well masser charle, i don't jest know. i'se a stranger on these texas prairies. if 'twar in a massissip swamp, i might be better able to advise. hyar i'se all in a quandairy." "if we go back we may meet them in the teeth. besides, i shan't--can't now. i must keep on, till i've set eyes on dick darke." "well, masser charle, s'pose we lie hid durin' the day, an' track him after night? the ole dog sure take up the scent for good twenty-four hours to come. there's a bunch of trees out yonner, that'll give us a hidin' place; an' if the thieves go past this way, we sure see 'em. they no see us there." "but if they go past, it will be all over. i could have little hope of finding him alone. along with them he would--" clancy speaks as if in soliloquy. abruptly changing tone, he continues:-- "no, jupe; we must go on, now. i'll take the risk, if you're not afraid to follow me." "masser charle, i ain't afraid. i'se told you i follow you anywhere--to death if you need me die. i'se tell you that over again." "and again thanks, my faithful friend! we won't talk of death, till we've come up with dick darke. then you shall see it one way or other. he, or i, hasn't many hours to live. come, brasfort! you're wanted once more." saying this, he lets the hound ahead, still keeping hold of the cord. before long, brasfort shows signs that he has again caught scent. his ears crisp up, while his whole body quivers along the spinal column from neck to tail. there is a streak of the bloodhound in the animal; and never did dog of this kind make after a man, who more deserved hunting by a hound. chapter sixty nine. shadows behind. when once more upon the trail of the man he intends killing, clancy keeps on after his hound, with eager eyes watching every movement of the animal. that brasfort is dead upon the scent can be told by his excited action, and earnest whimpering. all at once he is checked up, his master drawing him back with sudden abruptness. the dog appears surprised at first, so does jupiter. the latter, looking round, discovers the cause: something which moves upon the plain, already observed by clancy. not clearly seen, for it is still dark. "what goes yonder?" he asks, eagerly scanning it, with hands over his eyes. "it don't go, masser charle, whatever it is. dat thing 'pears comin'." "you're right. it is moving in this direction. a dust-cloud; something made it. ah! horses! are there men on their backs? no. bah! it's but a drove of mustangs. i came near taking them for comanches; not that we need care. just now the red gentry chance to be tied by a treaty, and are not likely to harm us. we've more to fear from fellows with white skins. yes, the wild horses are heading our way; scouring along as if all the indians in texas were after them. what does that signify? something, i take it." jupiter cannot say. he is, as he has confessed, inexperienced upon the prairies, ill understanding their "sign." however well acquainted with the craft of the forest, up in everything pertaining to timber, upon the treeless plains of texas, an old prairie man would sneeringly pronounce him a "greenhorn." clancy, knowing this, scarce expects reply; or, if so, with little hope of explanation. he does not wait for it, having himself discovered why the wild horses are going at such a rate. besides the dust stirred up by their hooves, is another cloud rising in the sky beyond. the black belt just looming along the horizon proclaims the approach of a "norther." the scared horses are heading southward, in the hope to escape it. they come in full career towards the spot where the two have pulled up-- along a line parallel to the trend of the cliff, at some distance from its edge. neighing, snorting, with tossed manes, and streaming tails, they tear past, and are soon wide away on the other side. clancy keeping horse and hound in check, waits till they are out of sight. then sets brasfort back upon the scent, from which he so unceremoniously jerked him. though without dent of hoof on the dry parched grass, the hound easily retakes it, straining on as before. but he is soon at fault, losing it. they have come upon the tracks of the mustangs, these having spoiled the scent--killed it. clancy, halting, sits dissatisfied in the saddle; jupiter sharing his dissatisfaction. what are they to do now? the mulatto suggests crossing the ground trodden by the mustangs, and trying on the other side. to this clancy consents. it is the only course that seems rational. again moving forward, they pass over the beaten turf; and, letting brasfort alone, look to him. the hound strikes ahead, quartering. not long till the vibration of his tail tells he is once more on the scent. now stiffer than ever, and leading in a straight line. he goes direct for the copse of timber, which is now only a very short distance off. again clancy draws the dog in, at the same time reining up his horse. jupe has done the same with his mule; and both bend their eyes upon the copse--the grove of black-jack oaks--scanning it with glances of inquiry. if clancy but knew what is within, how in a glade near its centre, is the man they are seeking, he would no longer tarry for brasfort's trailing, but letting go the leash altogether, and leaping from his horse, rush in among the trees, and bring to a speedy reckoning him, to whom he owes so much misery. richard darke dreams not of the danger so near him. he is in a deep sleep--the dreamless, helpless slumber of intoxication. but a like near danger threatens clancy himself, of which he is unconscious. with face towards the copse, and eyes eagerly scrutinising it, he thinks not of looking behind. by the way his hound still behaves, there must be something within the grove. what can it be? he does not ask the question. he suspects--is, indeed, almost certain--his enemy is that something. muttering to the mulatto, who has come close alongside, he says:-- "i shouldn't wonder, jupe, if we've reached our journey's end. look at brasfort! see how he strains! there's man or beast among those black-jacks--both i take it." "looks like, masser." "yes; i think we'll there find what we're searching for. strange, too, his making no show. i can't see sign of a movement." "no more i." "asleep, perhaps? it won't do for us to go any nearer, till sure. he's had the advantage of me too often before. i can't afford giving it again. ha! what's that?" the dog has suddenly slewed round, and sniffs in the opposite direction. clancy and jupe, turning at the same time, see that which draws their thoughts from richard darke, driving him altogether out of their minds. their faces are turned towards the east, where the aurora reddens the sky, and against its bright background several horsemen are seen _en silhouette_, their number each instant increasing. some are already visible from crown to hoof; others show only to the shoulders; while the heads of others can just be distinguished surmounting the crest of the cliff. in the spectacle there is no mystery, nor anything that needs explanation. too well does charles clancy comprehend. a troop of mounted men approaching up the pass, to all appearance indians, returning spoil-laden from a raid on some frontier settlement. but in reality white men, outlawed desperadoes, the band of jim borlasse, long notorious throughout south-western texas. one by one, they ascend _en echelon_, as fiends through a stage-trap in some theatric scene, showing faces quite as satanic. each, on arriving at the summit, rides into line alongside their leader, already up and halted. and on they come, till nineteen can be counted upon the plain. clancy does not care to count them. there could be nothing gained by that. he sees there are enough to make resistance idle. to attempt it were madness. and must he submit? there seems no alternative. there is for all that; one he is aware of--flight. his horse is strong and swift. for both these qualities originally chosen, and later designed to be used for a special purpose--pursuit. is the noble animal now to be tried in a way never intended--retreat? although that dark frowning phalanx, at the summit of the pass, would seem to answer "yes," clancy determines "no." of himself he could still escape--and easily. in a stretch over that smooth plain, not a horse in their troop would stand the slightest chance to come up with him, and he could soon leave all out of sight. but then, he must needs also leave behind the faithful retainer, from whose lips has just issued a declaration of readiness to follow him to the death. he cannot, will not; and if he thinks of flight, it is instinctively, and but for an instant; the thought abandoned as he turns towards the mulatto, and gives a glance at the mule. on his horse he could yet ride away from the robbers, but the slow-footed hybrid bars all hope for jupiter. the absconding slave were certain to be caught, now; and slave or free, the colour of his skin would ensure him cruel treatment from the lawless crew. but what better himself taken? how can he protect poor jupe, his own freedom--his life--equally imperilled? for he has no doubt but that borlasse will remember, and recognise, him. it is barely twelve months since he stood beside that whipping-post in the town of nacogdoches, and saw the ruffian receive chastisement for the stealing of his horse--the same he is now sitting upon. no fear of the horse-thief having forgotten that episode of his life. he can have no doubt but that borlasse will retaliate; that this will be his first thought, soon as seeing him. it needs not for the robber chief to know what has occurred by the big oak; that bosley is a prisoner, quantrell a fugitive, their prisoners released, and on their way back to the mission. it is not likely he does know, as yet. but too likely he will soon learn. for darke will be turning up ere long, and everything will be made clear. then to the old anger of borlasse for the affair of the scourging, will be added new rage, while that of darke himself will be desperate. in truth, the prospect is appalling; and charles clancy, almost as much as ever in his life, feels that life in peril. could he look into the courtyard of the san saba mission, and see what is there, he might think it even more so. without that, there is sufficient to shake his resolution about standing his ground; enough to make him spur away from the spot, and leave jupiter to his fate. "no--never!" he mentally exclaims, closing all reflection. "as a coward i could not live. if i must die, it shall be bravely. fear not, jupe! we stand or fall together!" chapter seventy. surrounded and disarmed. borlasse, riding at the head of his band, has been the first to arrive at the upper end of the gorge. perceiving some figures upon the plain, he supposes them to be quantrell and bosley with the captives. for his face is toward the west, where the sky is still night-shadowed, and he can but indistinctly trace the outlines of horses and men. as their number corresponds to that of his missing comrades, he has no thought of its being other than they. how could he, as none other are likely to be encountered there? congratulating himself on his suspicions of the lieutenant's defection proving unfounded, and that he will now clutch the prize long coveted, he gives his horse the spur, and rides gaily out of the gorge. not till then does he perceive that the men before him are in civilised costume, and that but one is on horseback, the other bestriding a mule. and they have no captives, the only other thing seen beside them being a dog! they are not quantrell and bosley! "who can they be?" he asks of chisholm, who has closed up behind him. "hanged if i know, cap. judgin' by their toggery, they must be whites; though 'gainst that dark sky one can't make sure about the colour of their hides. a big dog with them. a couple of trappers i take it; or, more likely, mexican mustangers." "not at all likely, luke. there's none o' them 'bout here--at least i've not heard of any since we came this side the colorado. cannot be that. i wonder who--" "no use wonderin', cap. we can soon settle the point by questioning them. as there's but the two, they'll have to tell who they are, or take the consequences." by this, the other robbers have come up out of the ravine. halted in a row, abreast, they also scan the two figures in front, interrogating one another as to who and what they are. all are alike surprised at men there, mounted or afoot; more especially white men, as by their garb they must be. but they have no apprehension at the encounter, seeing there are so few. the chief, acting on chisholm's suggestion, moves confidently forward, the others, in like confidence, following. in less than sixty seconds they are up to the spot occupied by clancy and jupiter. borlasse can scarce believe his eyes; and rubs them to make sure they are not deceiving him. if not they, something else has been--a newspaper report, and a tale told by one confessing himself a murderer, boastfully proclaiming it. and now, before him is the murdered man, on horseback, firmly seated in the saddle, apparently in perfect health! the desperado is speechless with astonishment--only muttering to himself:--"what the devil's this?" were the question addressed to his, comrades, they could not answer it; though none of them share his astonishment, or can tell what is causing it. all they know is that two men are in their midst, one white, the other a mulatto, but who either is they have not the slightest idea. they see that the white man is a handsome young fellow--evidently a gentleman--bestriding a steed which some of them already regard with covetous glances; while he on the mule has the bearing of a body-servant. none of them has ever met or seen clancy before, nor yet the fugitive slave. their leader alone knows the first, too much of him, though nothing of the last. but no matter about the man of yellow skin. he with the white one is his chief concern. recovering from his first surprise, he turns his thoughts towards solving the enigma. he is not long before reaching its solution. he remembers that the newspaper report said: "the body of the murdered man has not been found." ergo, charles clancy hasn't been killed after all; for there he is, alive, and life-like as any man among them; mounted upon a steed which jim borlasse remembers well--as well as he does his master. to forget the animal would be a lapse of memory altogether unnatural. there are weals on the robber's back,--a souvenir of chastisement received for stealing that horse,--scars cicatrised, but never to be effaced. deeper still than the brand on his body has sunk the record into his soul. he was more than disappointed--enraged--on hearing that richard darke had robbed him of a premeditated vengeance. for he knew clancy was again returning to texas, and intended taking it on his return. now, discovering he has not been forestalled, seeing his prosecutor there, unexpectedly in his power, the glance he gives to him is less like that of man than demon. his followers take note that there is a strangeness in his manner, but refrain from questioning him about it. he seems in one of his moods, when they know it is not safe to intrude upon, or trifle with him. in his belt he carries a "colt," which more than once has silenced a too free-speaking subordinate. having surrounded the two strangers, in obedience to his gesture, they await further instructions how to deal with them. his first impulse is to make himself known to clancy; then indulge in an ebullition of triumph over his prisoner. put a thought restraining him, he resolves to preserve his incognito a little longer. under his indian travestie he fancies clancy cannot, and has not, recognised him. nor is it likely he would have done so, but for the foreknowledge obtained through bosley. even now only by his greater bulk is the robber chief distinguishable among his subordinates, all their faces being alike fantastically disfigured. drawing back behind his followers, he whispers some words to chisholm, instructing him what is to be done, as also to take direction of it. "give up yer guns!" commands the latter, addressing himself to the strangers. "why should we?" asks clancy. "we want no cross-questionin', mister. 'tain't the place for sech, nor the time, as you'll soon larn. give up yer guns! right quick, or you'll have them taken from ye, in a way you won't like." clancy still hesitates, glancing hastily around the ring of mounted men. he is mad at having permitted himself to be taken prisoner, for he knows he is this. he regrets not having galloped off while there was yet time. it is too late now. there is not a break in the enfilading circle through which he might make a dash. even if there were, what chance ultimately to escape? none whatever. a score of guns and pistols are around him, ready to be discharged should he attempt to stir from the spot. some of them are levelled, their barrels bearing upon him. it would be instant death, and madness in him to seek it so. he but says:-- "what have we done, that you should disarm us? you appear to be indians, yet talk the white man's tongue. in any case, and whoever you are, we have no quarrel with you. why should you wish to make us prisoners?" "we don't do anything of the sort. that would be wastin' wishes. you're our pris'ners already." it is chisholm who thus facetiously speaks, adding in sterner tone:-- "let go yer guns, or, by god! we'll shoot you out of your saddles. boys! in upon 'em, and take their weepuns away!" at the command several of the robbers spring their horses forward, and, closing upon clancy, seize him from all sides; others serving jupiter the same. both see that resistance were worse than folly--sheer insanity--and that there is no alternative but submit. their arms are wrested from them, though they are allowed to retain possession of their animals. that is, they are left in their saddles-- compelled to stay in them by ropes rove around their ankles, attaching them to the stirrup-leathers. whatever punishment awaits them, that is not the place where they are to suffer it. for, soon as getting their prisoners secured, the band is again formed into files, its leader ordering it to continue the march, so unexpectedly, and to him satisfactorily, interrupted. chapter seventy one. a pathless plain. the plain across which the freebooters are now journeying, on return to what they call their "rendyvoo," is one of a kind common in south-western texas. an arid steppe, or table-land, by the mexicans termed _mesa_; for the most part treeless, or only with such arborescence as characterises the american desert. "mezquite," a name bestowed on several trees of the acacia kind, "black-jack," a dwarfed species of oak, with _prosopis_, _fouquiera_, and other spinous shrubs, are here and there found in thickets called "chapparals," interspersed with the more succulent vegetation of _cactus_ and _agave_, as also the _yucca_, or dragon-tree of the western hemisphere. in this particular section of it almost every tree and plant carries thorns. even certain grasses are armed with prickly spurs, and sting the hand that touches them; while the reptiles crawling among them are of the most venomous species; scorpions and centipedes, with snakes having ossified tails, and a frog furnished with horns! the last, however, though vulgarly believed to be a batrachian, is in reality a lizard--the _agama cornuta_. this plain, extending over thirty miles from east to west, and twice the distance in a longitudinal direction, has on one side the valley of the san saba, on the other certain creeks tributary to the colorado. on one of these the prairie pirates have a home, or haunt, to which they retire only on particular occasions, and for special purposes. under circumstances of this kind they are now _en route_ for it. its locality has been selected with an eye to safety, which it serves to perfection. a marauding party pursued from the lower settlements of the colorado, by turning up the valley of the san saba, and then taking across the intermediate plain, would be sure to throw the pursuers off their tracks, since on the table-land none are left throughout long stretches where even the iron heel of a horse makes no dent in the dry turf, nor leaves the slightest imprint. at one place in particular, just after striking this plain from the san saba side, there is a broad belt, altogether without vegetation or soil upon its surface, the ground being covered with what the trappers call "cut-rock," presenting the appearance of a freshly macadamised road. extending for more than a mile in width, and ten times as much lengthways, it is a tract no traveller would care to enter on who has any solicitude about the hooves of his horse. but just for this reason is it in every respect suitable to the prairie pirates. they may cross it empty-handed, and recross laden with spoil, without the pursuers being able to discover whence they came, or whither they have gone. several times has this happened; settlers having come up the colorado in pursuit of a marauding party--supposed to be comanche indians--tracked them into the san saba bottom-land, and on over the bluff--there to lose their trail, and retire disheartened from the pursuit. across this stony stretch proceed the freebooters, leaving no more trace behind, than one would walking on a shingled sea-beach. on its opposite edge they make stop to take bearings. for although they have more than once passed that way before, it is a route which always requires to be traversed with caution. to get strayed on the inhospitable steppe would be attended with danger, and might result in death. in clear weather, to those acquainted with the trail, there is little chance of losing it. for midway between the water courses runs a ridge, bisecting the steppe in a longitudinal direction; and on the crest of this is a tree, which can be seen from afar off on either side. the ridge is of no great elevation, and would scarce be observable but for the general level from which it rises, a mere comb upon the plain, such as is known northward by the term _coteau de prairie_--a title bestowed by trappers of french descent. the tree stands solitary, beside a tiny spring, which bubbles out between its roots. this, trickling off, soon sinks into the desert sand, disappearing within a few yards of the spot where it has burst forth. in such situation both tree and fountain are strange; though the one will account for the other, the former being due to the latter. but still another agency is needed to explain the existence of the tree. for it is a "cottonwood"--a species not found elsewhere upon the same plain; its seed no doubt transported thither by some straying bird. dropped by the side of the spring in soil congenial, it has sprouted up, nourished, and become a tall tree. conspicuous for long leagues around, it serves the prairie pirates as a finger-post to direct them across the steppe; for by chance it stands right on their route. it is visible from the edge of the pebble-strewn tract, but only when there is a cloudless sky and shining sun. now, the one is clouded, the other unseen, and the tree cannot be distinguished. for some minutes the robbers remain halted, but without dismounting. seated in the saddle, they strain their eyes along the horizon to the west. the fates favour them; as in this world is too often the case with wicked men, notwithstanding many saws to the contrary. the sun shoots from behind a cloud, scattering his golden gleams broad and bright over the surface of the plain. only for an instant, but enough to show the cottonwood standing solitary on the crest of the ridge. "thank the lord for that glimp o' light!" exclaims borlasse, catching sight of the tree, "now, boys; we see our beacon, an' let's straight to it. when we've got thar i'll show ye a bit of sport as 'll make ye laugh till there wont be a whole rib left in your bodies, nor a button on your coats--if ye had coats on." with this absurd premonition he presses on--his scattered troop reforming, and following. chapter seventy two. the prairie stocks. silent is clancy, sullen as a tiger just captured and encaged. as the moments pass, and he listens to the lawless speech of his captors, more than ever is he vexed with himself for having so tamely submitted to be taken. though as yet no special inhumanity has been shown him, he knows there will ere long. coarse jests bandied between the robbers, whispered innuendoes, forewarn him of some fearful punishment about to be put upon him. only its nature remains unknown. he does not think they intend killing him outright. he has overheard one of his guards muttering to the other, that such is not the chiefs intention, adding some words which make the assurance little consolatory. "worse than death" is the fragment of a sentence borne ominously to his ears. worse than death! is it to be torture? during all this time borlasse has not declared himself, or given token of having recognised his prisoner. but clancy can tell he has done so. he saw it in the satanic glance of his eye as they first came face to face. since, the robber has studiously kept away from him, riding at the head of the line, the prisoners having place in its centre. on arrival at the underwood, all dismount; but only to slake their thirst, as that of their horses. the spring is unapproachable by the animals; and leathern buckets are called into requisition. with these, and other marching apparatus, the freebooters are provided. while one by one the horses are being watered, borlasse draws off to some distance, beckoning chisholm to follow him; and for a time the two seem engaged in earnest dialogue, as if in discussion. the chief promised his followers a spectacle,--a "bit of sport," as he facetiously termed it. clancy has been forecasting torture, but in his worst fear of it could not conceive any so terrible as that in store for him. it is in truth a cruelty inconceivable, worthy a savage, or satan himself. made known to chisholm, though hardened this outlaw's heart, he at first shrinks from assisting in its execution--even venturing to remonstrate. but borlasse is inexorable. he has no feelings of compassion for the man who was once the cause of his being made to wince under the whip. his vengeance is implacable; and will only be satisfied by seeing clancy suffer all that flesh can. by devilish ingenuity he has contrived a scheme to this intent, and will carry it out regardless of consequences. so says he, in answer to the somewhat mild remonstrance of his subordinate. "well, cap," rejoins the latter, yielding, "if you're determined to have it that way, why, have it. but let it be a leetle privater than you've spoke o'. by makin' it a public spectacle, an' lettin' all our fellars into your feelins, some o' 'em mightn't be so much amused. an some might get to blabbin' about it afterwards, in such a way as to breed trouble. the originality an' curiousness o' the thing would be sure to 'tract attention, an' the report o't would run through all texas, like a prairie on fire. 'twould never sleep as long's there's a soger left in the land; and sure as shootin' we'd have the rangers and regulators hot after us. tharfore, if you insist on the bit o' interment, take my advice, and let the ceremony be confined to a few friends as can be trusted wi' a secret." for some seconds borlasse is silent, pondering upon what chisholm has said. then responds:-- "guess you're about right, luke. i'll do as you suggest. best way will be to send the boys on ahead. there's three can stay with us we can trust--watts, stocker, and driscoll. they'll be enough to do the grave-digging. the rest can go on to the rendezvous. comrades!" he adds, moving back towards his men, who have just finished watering their horses, "i spoke o' some sport i intended givin' you here. on second thinkin' it'll be better defarred till we get to head-quarters. so into your saddles and ride on thar--takin' the yeller fellow along wi' ye. the other i'll look after myself. you, luke chisholm, stay; with watts, stocker, and driscoll. i've got a reason for remaining here a little longer. we'll soon be after, like enough overtake ye 'fore you can reach the creek. if not, keep on to camp without us. an', boys; once more i warn ye about openin' them boxes. i know what's in them to a dollar. fernand! you'll see to that." the half-blood, of taciturn habit, nods assent, borlasse adding:-- "now, you damned rascals! jump into your saddles and be off. take the nigger along. leave the white gentleman in better company, as befits him." with a yell of laughter at the coarse sally, the freebooters spring upon their horses. then, separating clancy from jupe, they ride off, taking the latter. on the ground are left only the chief, chisholm, and the trio chosen to assist at some ceremony, mysteriously spoken of as an "interment." after all it is not to be there. on reflection, borlasse deems the place not befitting. the grave he is about to dig must not be disturbed, nor the body he intends burying disinterred. though white traveller never passes that solitary tree, red ones sometimes seek relaxation under its shade. just possible a party of comanches may come along; and though savages, their hearts might still be humane enough to frustrate the nefarious scheme of a white man more savage than they. to guard against such contingency borlasse has bethought him of some change in his programme, which he makes known to chisholm, saying:-- "i won't bury him here, luke. some strayin' redskin might come along, and help him to resurrection. by god! he shan't have that, till he hears gabriel's trumpet. to make sure we must plant him in a safer place." "can we find safer, cap?" "certainly we can." "but whar?" "anywhare out o' sight of here. we shall take him to some distance off, so's they can't see him from the spring. up yonder'll do." he points to a part of the plain northward, adding:-- "it's all alike which way, so long's we go far enough." "all right!" rejoins chisholm, who has surrendered his scruples about the cruelty of what they intend doing, and only thinks of its being done without danger. "boys!" shouts borlasse to the men in charge of clancy, "bring on your prisoner! we're going to make a leetle deflection from the course--a bit o' a pleasure trip--only a short un." so saying, he starts off in a northerly direction, nearly at right angles to that they have been hitherto travelling. after proceeding about a mile, the brigand chief, still riding with chisholm in the advance, comes to a halt, calling back to the others to do the same--also directing them to dismount their prisoner. clancy is unceremoniously jerked out of his saddle; and, after having his arms pinioned, and limbs lashed together, laid prostrate along the earth. this leaves them free for the infernal task, they are now instructed to perform. one only, watts, stays with the prisoner; the other two, at the chiefs command, coming on to where he and chisholm have halted. then all four cluster around a spot he points out, giving directions what they are to do. with the point of his spear borlasse traces a circle upon the turf, some twenty inches in diameter; then tells them to dig inside it. stocker and driscoll draw their tomahawks, and commence hacking at the ground; which, though hard, yields to the harder steel of hatchets manufactured for the cutting of skulls. as they make mould, it is removed by chisholm with the broad blade of his comanche spear. as all prairie men are accustomed to making _caches_, they are expert at this; and soon sink a shaft that would do credit to the "crowing" of a south african bosjesman. it is a cylinder full five feet in depth, with a diameter of less than two. up to this time its purpose has not been declared to either stocker, or driscoll, though both have their conjectures. they guess it to be the grave of him who is lying along the earth--his living tomb! at length, deeming it deep enough, borlasse commands them to leave off work, adding, as he points to the prisoner: "now, plant your saplin'! if it don't grow there it ought to." the cold-blooded jest extorts a smile from the others, as they proceed to execute the diabolical order. and they do it without show of hesitation--rather with alacrity. not one of the five has a spark of compassion in his breast--not one whose soul is unstained with blood. clancy is dragged forward, and plunged feet foremost into the cavity. standing upright, his chin is only an inch or two above the surface of the ground. a portion of the loose earth is pushed in, and packed around him, the ruffians trampling it firm. what remains they kick and scatter aside; the monster, with horrible mockery, telling them to make a "neat job of it." during all this time brasfort has been making wild demonstrations, struggling to free himself, as if to rescue his master. for he is also bound, tied to the stirrup of one of the robber's horses. but the behaviour of the faithful animal, instead of stirring them to compassion, only adds to their fiendish mirth. the interment complete, borlasse makes a sign to the rest to retire; then, placing himself in front, with arms akimbo, stands looking clancy straight in the face. no pen could paint that glance. it can only be likened to that of lucifer. for a while he speaks not, but in silence exults over his victim. then, bending down and tossing back his plumed bonnet, he asks, "d'ye know me, charley clancy?" receiving no reply, he continues, "i'll lay a hundred dollars to one, ye will, after i've told ye a bit o' a story, the which relates to a circumstance as happened jest twelve months ago. the scene o' that affair was in the public square o' nacodosh, whar a man was tied to a post an--" "whipped at it, as he deserved." "ha!" exclaims borlasse, surprised, partly at being recognised, but as much by the daring avowal. "you do remember that little matter? and me too?" "perfectly; so you may spare yourself the narration. you are jim borlasse, the biggest brute and most thorough scoundrel in texas." "curse you!" cries the ruffian enraged, poising his spear till its point almost touches clancy's head, "i feel like driving this through your skull." "do so!" is the defiant and desperate rejoinder. it is what clancy desires. he has no hope of life now. he wishes death to come at once, and relieve him from the long agony he will otherwise have to endure. quick catching this to be his reason, borlasse restrains himself, and tosses up the spear, saying:-- "no, mister; ye don't die that eesy way--not if i know it. you and yours kept me two days tied like a martyr to the stake, to say nothin' of what came after. so to make up for't i'll give you a spell o' confinement that'll last a leetle longer. you shall stay as ye are, till the buzzarts peck out your eyes, an' the wolves peel the skin from your skull--ay, till the worms go crawlin' through your flesh. how'll ye like that, charley clancy?" "there's no wolf or vulture on the prairies of texas ugly as yourself. dastardly dog!" "ah! you'd like to get me angry? but you can't. i'm cool as a cowkumber--aint i? your dander's up, i can see. keep it down. no good your gettin' excited. i s'pose you'd like me to spit in your face. well, here goes to obleege ye." at this he stoops down, and does as said. after perpetrating the outrage, he adds:-- "why don't ye take out your handkercher an' wipe it off. it's a pity to see such a handsome fellow wi' his face in that fashion. ha! ha! ha!" his four confederates, standing apart, spectators of the scene, echo his fiendish laughter. "well, well, my proud gentleman;" he resumes, "to let a man spit in your face without resentin' it! i never expected to see you sunk so low. humiliated up to the neck--to the chin! ha! ha! ha!" again rings out the brutal cachinnation, chorused by his four followers. in like manner the monster continues to taunt his helpless victim; so long, one might fancy his spite would be spent, his vengeance sated. but no--not yet. there is still another arrow in his quiver--a last shaft to be shot--which he knows will carry a sting keener than any yet sent. when his men have remounted, and are ready to ride off, he returns to clancy, and, stooping, hisses into his ear:-- "like enough you'll be a goodish while alone here, an' tharfore left to your reflections. afore partin' company, let me say somethin' that may comfort you. _dick darke's got your girl; 'bout this time has her in his arms_!" chapter seventy three. helpless and hopeless. "o god!" charles clancy thus calls upon his maker. hitherto sustained by indignation, now that the tormentor has left him, the horror of his situation, striking into his soul in all its dread reality, wrings from him the prayerful apostrophe. a groan follows, as his glance goes searching over the plain. for there is nothing to gladden it. his view commands the half of a circle--a great circle such as surrounds you upon the sea; though not as seen from the deck of a ship, but by one lying along the thwarts of a boat, or afloat upon a raft. the robbers have ridden out of sight, and he knows they will not return. they have left him to die a lingering death, almost as if entombed alive. perhaps better he were enclosed in a coffin; for then his sufferings would sooner end. he has not the slightest hope of being succoured. there is no likelihood of human creature coming that way. it is a sterile waste, without game to tempt the hunter, and though a trail runs across it, borlasse, with fiendish forethought, has placed him so far from this, that no one travelling along it could possibly see him. he can just descry the lone cottonwood afar off, outlined against the horizon like a ship at sea. it is the only tree in sight; elsewhere not even a bush to break the drear monotony of the desert. he thinks of simeon woodley, ned heywood, and those who may pursue the plunderers of the settlement. but with hopes too faint to be worth entertaining. for he has been witness to the precautions taken by the robbers to blind their trail, and knows that the most skilled tracker cannot discover it. chance alone could guide the pursuit in that direction, if pursuit there is to be. but even this is doubtful. for colonel armstrong having recovered his daughters, and only some silver stolen, the settlers may be loath to take after the thieves, or postpone following them to some future time. clancy has no knowledge of the sanguinary drama that has been enacted at the mission, else he would not reason thus. ignorant of it, he can only be sure, that sime woodley and ned heywood will come in quest of, but without much likelihood of their finding them. no doubt they will search for days, weeks, months, if need be; and in time, but too late, discover--what? his head-- "ha!" his painful reflections are interrupted by that which but intensifies their painfulness: a shadow he sees flitting across the plain. his eyes do not follow it, but, directed upward, go in search of the thing which is causing it. "a vulture!" the foul bird is soaring aloft, its black body and broad expanded wings outlined against the azure sky. for this is again clear, the clouds and threatening storm having drifted off without bursting. and now, while with woe in his look he watches the swooping bird, well knowing the sinister significance of its flight, he sees another, and another, and yet another, till the firmament seems filled with them. again he groans out, "o god!" a new agony threatens, a new horror is upon him. vain the attempt to depict his feelings, as he regards the movements of the vultures. they are as those of one swimming in the sea amidst sharks. for, although the birds do not yet fly towards him, he knows they will soon be there. he sees them sailing in spiral curves, descending at each gyration, slowly but surely stooping lower, and coming nearer. he can hear the swish of their wings, like the sough of an approaching storm, with now and then a raucous utterance from their throats--the signal of some leader directing the preliminaries of the attack, soon to take place. at length they are so close, he can see the ruff around their naked necks, bristled up; the skin reddened as with rage, and their beaks, stained with bloody flesh of some other banquet, getting ready to feast upon his. soon he will feel them striking against his skull, pecking out his eyes. o, heavens! can horror be felt further? not by him. it adds not to his, when he perceives that the birds threatening to assail him will be assisted by beasts. for he now sees this. mingling with the shadows flitting over the earth, are things more substantial--the bodies of wolves. as with the vultures, at first only one; then two or three; their number at each instant increasing, till a whole pack of the predatory brutes have gathered upon the ground. less silent than their winged allies--their competitors, if it come to a repast. for the coyote is a noisy creature, and those now assembling around clancy's head--a sight strange to them--give out their triple bark, with its prolonged whine, in sound so lugubrious, that, instead of preparing for attack, one might fancy them wailing a defeat. clancy has often heard that cry, and well comprehends its meaning. it seems his death-dirge. while listening to it no wonder he again calls upon god--invokes heaven to help him! chapter seventy four. coyote creek. a stream coursing through a canoned channel whose banks rise three hundred feet above its bed. they are twin cliffs that front one another, their _facades_ not half so far apart. rough with projecting points of rock, and scarred by water erosion, they look like angry giants with grim visages frowning mutual defiance. in places they approach, almost to touching; then, diverging, sweep round the opposite sides of an ellipse; again closing like the curved handles of callipers. through the spaces thus opened the water makes its way, now rushing in hoarse torrent, anon gently meandering through meadows, whose vivid verdure, contrasting with the sombre colour of the enclosing cliffs, gives the semblance of landscape pictures set in rustic frame. the traveller who attempts to follow the course of the stream in question will have to keep upon the cliffs above: for no nearer can he approach its deeply-indented channel. and here he will see only the sterile treeless plain; or, if trees meet his eye, they will be such as but strengthen the impression of sterility--some scrambling mezquite bushes, clumps of cactaceae, perhaps the spheroidal form of a melocactus, or yucca, with its tufts of rigid leaves--the latter resembling bunches of bayonets rising above the musket "stacks" on a military parade ground. he will have no view of the lush vegetation that enlivens the valley a hundred yards below the hoofs of his horse. he will not even get a glimpse of the stream itself; unless by going close to the edge of the precipice, and craning his neck over. and to do this, he must needs diverge from his route to avoid the transverse rivulets, each trickling down the bed of its own deep-cut channel. there are many such streams in south-western texas; but the one here described is that called _arroyo de coyote_--anglice, "coyote creek"--a tributary of the colorado. in part it forms the western boundary of the table-land, already known to the reader, in part intersecting it. approaching it from the san saba side, there is a stretch of twenty miles, where its channel cannot be reached, except by a single lateral ravine leading down to it at right angles, the entrance to which is concealed by a thick chapparal of thorny mezquite trees. elsewhere, the traveller may arrive on the bluff's brow, but cannot go down to the stream's edge. he may see it far below, coursing among trees of every shade of green, from clearest emerald to darkest olive, here in straight reaches, there sinuous as a gliding snake. birds of brilliant plumage flit about through the foliage upon its banks, some disporting themselves in its pellucid wave; some making the valley vocal with their melodious warblings, and others filling it with harsh, stridulous cries. burning with thirst, and faint from fatigue, he will fix his gaze on the glistening water, to be tortured as tantalus, and descry the cool shade, without being able to rest his weary limbs beneath it. but rare the traveller, who ever strays to the bluffs bounding coyote creek: rarer still, those who have occasion to descend to the bottom-land through which it meanders. some have, nevertheless, as evinced by human sign observable upon the stream's bank, just below where the lateral ravine leads down. there the cliffs diverging, and again coming near, enclose a valley of ovoidal shape, for the most part overgrown with pecan-trees. on one side of it is a thick umbrageous grove, within which several tents are seen standing. they are of rude description, partly covered by the skins of animals, partly scraps of old canvas, here and there eked out with a bit of blanket, or a cast coat. no one would mistake them for the tents of ordinary travellers, while they are equally unlike the wigwams of the nomadic aboriginal. to whom, then, do they appertain? were their owners present, there need be no difficulty in answering the question. but they are not. neither outside, nor within, is soul to be seen. nor anywhere near. no human form appears about the place; no voice of man, woman, or child, reverberates through the valley. yet is there every evidence of recent occupation. in an open central space, are the ashes of a huge fire still hot, with fagots half-burnt, and scarce ceased smoking; while within the tents are implements, utensils, and provisions--bottles and jars of liquor left uncorked, with stores of tobacco unconsumed. what better proof that they are only temporarily deserted, and not abandoned? certainly their owners, whether white men or indians, intend returning to them. it need scarce be told who these are. enough to say, that coyote creek is the head-quarters of the prairie pirates, who assaulted the san saba settlement. just as the sun is beginning to decline towards the western horizon, those of them sent on ahead arrive at their rendezvous; the chief, with chisholm and the other three, not yet having come up. on entering the encampment, they relieve their horses of the precious loads. then unsaddling, turn them into a "corral" rudely constructed among the trees. a set of bars, serving as a gate, secures the animals against straying. this simple stable duty done, the men betake themselves to the tents, re-kindle the fire, and commence culinary operations. by this, all are hungry enough, and they have the wherewithal to satisfy their appetites. there are skilful hunters among them, and the proceeds of a chase, that came off before starting out on their less innocent errand, are seen hanging from the trees, in the shape of bear's hams and haunches of venison. these taken down, are spitted, and soon frizzling in the fire's blaze; while the robbers gather around, knives in hand, each intending to carve for himself. as they are about to commence their homeric repast, borlasse and the others ride up. dismounting and striding in among the tents, the chief glances inquiringly around, his glance soon changing to disappointment. what he looks for is not there! "quantrell and bosley," he asks, "ain't they got here?" "no, capting," answers one. "they hain't showed yet." "and you've seen nothin' of them?" "nary thing." his eyes light up with angry suspicion. again doubts he the fidelity of darke, or rather is he now certain that the lieutenant is a traitor. uttering a fearful oath, he steps inside his tent, taking chisholm along with him. "what can it mean, luke?" he asks, pouring out a glass of brandy, and gulping it down. "hanged if i can tell, cap. it looks like you was right in supposin' they're gin us the slip. still it's queery too, whar they could a goed, and wharf ore they should." "there's nothing so strange about the wherefore; that's clear enough to me. i suspected richard darke, _alias_ phil quantrell, would play me false some day, though i didn't expect it so soon. he don't want his beauty brought here, lest some of the boys might be takin' a fancy to her. that's one reason, but not all. there's another--to a man like him 'most as strong. he's rich, leastaways his dad is, an' he can get as much out o' the old 'un as he wants,--will have it all in time. he guesses i intended squeezin' him; an' thar he was about right, for i did. i'd lay odds that's the main thing has moved him to cut clear o' us." "a darned mean trick if it is. you gied him protection when he was chased by the sheriffs, an' now--" "now, he won't need it; though he don't know that; can't, i think. if he but knew he ain't after all a murderer! see here, luke; he may turn up yet. an' if so, for the life o' ye, ye mustn't tell him who it was we dibbled into the ground up thar. i took care not to let any of them hear his name. you're the only one as knows it." "ye can trust me, cap. the word clancy won't pass through my teeth, till you gie me leave to speak it." "ha!" exclaims borlasse, suddenly struck with an apprehension. "i never thought of the mulatto. he may have let it out?" "he mayn't, however!" "if not, he shan't now. i'll take care he don't have the chance." "how are ye to help it? you don't intend killin' him?" "not yet; thar's a golden _egg_ in that goose. his silence can be secured without resortin' to that. he must be kep' separate from the others." "but some o' them 'll have to look after him, or he may cut away from us." "fernandez will do that. i can trust him with clancy's name,--with anything. slip out, luke, and see if they've got it among them. if they have, it's all up, so far as that game goes. if not, i'll fix things safe, so that when we've spent monsheer dupre's silver, we may still draw cheques on the bank of san antonio, signed ephraim darke." chisholm obeying, brings back a satisfactory report. "the boys know nothin' o' clancy's name, nor how we disposed o' him. in coorse, watts, stocker, an' driscoll, haint sayed anything 'bout that. they've told the rest we let him go, not carin' to keep him; and that you only wanted the yellow fellow to wait on ye." "good! go again, and fetch fernandez here." chisholm once more turns out of the tent, soon after re-entering it, the half-blood behind him. "nandy," says borlasse; calling the latter by a name mutually understood. "i want you to take charge of that mulatto, and keep him under your eye. you musn't let any of the boys come nigh enough to hold speech wi' him. you go, luke, and give them orders they're not to." chisholm retires. "and, nandy, if the nigger mentions any name--it may be that of his master--mind you it's not to be repeated to any one. you understand me?" "i do, _capitan_." "all serene. i know i can depend on ye. now, to your duty." without another word, the taciturn mestizo glides out of the tent, leaving borlasse alone. speaking to himself, he says:-- "if quantrell's turned traitor, thar's not a corner in texas whar he'll be safe from my vengeance. i'll sarve the whelp as i've done 'tother,-- a hound nobler than he. an' for sweet jessie armstrong, he'll have strong arms that can keep her out o' mine. by heavens! i'll hug her yet. if not, hell may take me!" thus blasphemously delivering himself, he clutches at the bottle of brandy, pours out a fresh glass, and drinking it at a gulp, sits down to reflect on the next step to be taken. chapter seventy five. a transformation. night has spread its sable pall over the desert plain, darker in the deep chasm through which runs coyote creek. there is light enough in the encampment of the prairie pirates; for the great fire kindled for cooking their dinners still burns, a constant supply of resinous pine-knots keeping up the blaze, which illuminates a large circle around. by its side nearly a score of men are seated in groups, some playing cards, others idly carousing. no one would suppose them the same seen there but a few hours before; since there is not the semblance of indian among them. instead, they are all white men, and wearing the garb of civilisation; though scarce two are costumed alike. there are coats of kentucky jeans, of home-wove copperas stripe, of blanket-cloth in the three colours, red, blue, and green; there are blouses of brown linen, and buckskin dyed with dogwood ooze; there are creole jackets of attakapas "cottonade," and mexican ones of cotton velveteen. alike varied is the head, leg, and foot-wear. there are hats of every shape and pattern; pantaloons of many a cut and material, most of them tucked into boots with legs of different lengths, from ankle to mid-thigh. only in the under garment is there anything like uniformity; nine out of ten wearing shirts of scarlet flannel--the fashion of the frontier. a stranger entering the camp now, would suppose its occupants to be a party of hunters; one acquainted with the customs of south-western texas, might pronounce them _mustangers_--men who make their living by the taking and taming of wild horses. and if those around the fire were questioned about their calling, such would be the answer.--in their tents are all the paraphernalia used in this pursuit; lassoes for catching the horses; halters and hobbles for confining them; bits for breaking, and the like; while close by is a "corral" in which to keep the animals when caught. all counterfeit! there is not a real mustanger among these men, nor one who is not a robber; scarce one who could lay his hand upon his heart, and say he has not, some time or other in his life, committed murder! for though changed in appearance, since last seen, they are the same who entered the camp laden with luis dupre's money--fresh from the massacre of his slaves. the transformation took place soon as they snatched a hasty meal. then all hurried down to the creek, provided with pieces of soap; and plunging in, washed the paint from their hands, arms, and faces. the indian costume has not only been cast aside, but secreted, with all its equipments. if the encampment were searched now, no stained feathers would be found; no beads or belts of wampum; no breech-clouts, bows, or quivers; no tomahawks or spears. all have been "cached" in a cave among the rocks; there to remain till needed for some future maraud, or massacre. around their camp-fire the freebooters are in full tide of enjoyment. the dollars have been divided, and each has his thousands. those at the cards are not contented, but are craving more. they will be richer, or poorer. and soon; playing "poker" at fifty dollars an "ante." gamesters and lookers on alike smoke, drink, and make merry. they have no fear now, not the slightest apprehension. if pursued, the pursuers cannot find the way to coyote creek. if they did, what would they see there? certainly not the red-skinned savages, who plundered the san saba mission, but a party of innocent horse hunters, all texans. the only one resembling an indian among them is the half-breed--fernand. but he is also so metamorphosed, that his late master could not recognise him. the others have changed from red men to white; in reverse, he has become to all appearance a pure-blooded aboriginal. confident in their security, because ignorant of what has taken place under the live-oak, they little dream that one of their confederates is in a situation, where he will be forced to tell a tale sure to thwart their well-constructed scheme, casting it down as a house of cards. equally are they unaware of the revelation which their own prisoner, the mulatto, could make. they suppose him and his master to be but two travellers encountered by accident, having no connection with the san saba settlers. borlasse is better informed about this, though not knowing all. he believes clancy to have been _en route_ for the new settlement, but without having reached it. he will never reach it now. in hope of getting a clearer insight into many things still clouded, while his followers are engaged at their games, he seeks the tent to which jupiter has been consigned, and where he is now under the surveillance of the half-blood, fernand. ordering the mestizo to retire, he puts the prisoner through a course of cross-questioning. the mulatto is a man of no ordinary intelligence. he had the misfortune to be born a slave, with the blood of a freeman in his veins; which, stirring him to discontent with his ignoble lot, at length forced him to become a fugitive. with a subtlety partly instinctive, but strengthened by many an act of injustice, he divines the object of the robber captain's visit. not much does the latter make of him, question as he may. jupe knows nothing of any phil quantrell, or any richard darke. he is the slave of the young gentleman who has been separated from him. he makes no attempt to conceal his master's name, knowing that borlasse is already acquainted with clancy, and must have recognised him. they were on their way to join the colony of colonel armstrong, with a party from the states. they came up from the colorado the night before, camping in the san saba bottom, where he believes them to be still. early in the morning, his master left the camp for a hunt, and the hound had tracked a bear up the gully. that was why they were on the upper plain; they were trying for the track of the bear, when taken. the mulatto has no great liking for his master, from whom he has had many a severe flogging. in proof he tells the robber chief to turn up his shirt, and see how his back has been scored by the cowhide. borlasse--does so; and sure enough there are the scars, somewhat similar to those he carries himself. if not pity, the sight begets a sort of coarse sympathy, such as the convict feels for his fellow; an emotion due to the freemasonry of crime. jupiter takes care to strengthen it, by harping on the cruelty of his master--more than hinting that he would like to leave him, if any other would but buy him. indeed he'd be willing to run away, if he saw the chance. "don't trouble yerself 'bout that," says the bandit, 'as the interview comes near its end, "maybe, i'll buy ye myself. at all events, mister clancy ain't likely to flog you any more. how'd ye like _me_ for yer master?" "i'd be right glad, boss." "are ye up to takin' care of horses?" "that's just what masser clancy kept me for." "well; he's gone on to the settlement without you. as he's left you behind that careless way, ye can stay with us, an' look after my horse. it's the same ye've been accustomed to. i swopped with your master 'fore we parted company." jupe is aware that clancy's splendid steed is in the camp. through a chink in the tent he saw the horse ridden in, borlasse on his back; wondering why his master was not along, and what they had done with him. he has no faith in the tale told him, but a fear it is far otherwise. it will not do to show this, and concealing his anxiety, he rejoins:-- "all right, masser. i try do my best. only hope you not a gwine where we come cross masser clancy. if he see me, he sure have me back, and then i'se get the cowhide right smart. he flog me dreadful." "you're in no danger. i'll take care he never sets eye on you again. "here, nandy!" he says to the mestizo, summoned back. "you can remove them ropes from your prisoner. give him somethin' to eat and drink. treat him as ye would one o' ourselves. he's to be that from this time forrard. spread a buffler skin, an' get him a bit o' blanket for his bed. same time, for safety's sake, keep an eye on him." the caution is spoken _sotto voce_, so that the prisoner may not hear it. after which, borlasse leaves the two together, congratulating himself on the good speculation he will make, not by keeping jupe to groom his horse, but selling him as a slave to the first man met willing to purchase him. in the fine able-bodied mulatto, he sees a thousand dollars cash--soon as he can come across a cotton-planter. chapter seventy six. mestizo and mulatto. while their chief has been interrogating his prisoner, the robbers around the fire have gone on with their poker-playing, and whisky drinking. borlasse joining in the debauch, orders brandy to be brought out of his tent, and distributed freely around. he drinks deeply himself; in part to celebrate the occasion of such a grand stroke of business done, but as much to drown his disappointment at the captives not yet having come in.--the alcohol has its effect; and ere long rekindles a hope, which chisholm strengthens, saying, all will yet be well, and the missing ones turn up, if not that night, on the morrow. somewhat relieved by this expectation, borlasse enters into the spirit of the hour, and becomes jovial and boisterous as any of his subordinates. the cards are tossed aside, the play abandoned; instead, coarse stories are told, and songs sung, fit only for the ears of such a god-forsaken crew. the saturnalia is brought to a close, when all become so intoxicated they can neither tell story nor sing song. then some stagger to their tents, others dropping over where they sit, and falling fast asleep. by midnight there is not a man of them awake, and the camp is silent, save here and there a drunken snore disturbing its stillness. the great central fire, around which some remain lying astretch, burns on, but no longer blazes. there is no one to tend it with the pitchy pine-knots. inside the tents also, the lights are extinguished--all except one. this, the rude skin sheiling which shelters the mestizo and mulatto. the two half-bloods, of different strain, are yet awake, and sitting up. they are also drinking, hobnobbing with one another. fernand has supplied the liquor freely and without stint. pretending to fraternise with the new confederate, he has filled the latter's glass at least a half-score of times, doing the same with his own. both have emptied them with like rapidity, and yet neither seems at all overcome. each thinks the other the hardest case at a drinking bout he has ever come across; wondering he is not dead drunk, though knowing why he is himself sober. the spanish moss plucked from the adjacent trees, and littering the tent floor, could tell--if it had the power of speech. jupiter has had many a whiskey spree in the woods of mississippi, but never has he encountered a _convive_ who could stand so much of it, and still keep his tongue and seat. what can it mean? is the mestizo's stomach made of steel? while perplexed, and despairing of being able to get fernand intoxicated, an explanation suggests itself. his fellow tippler may be shamming, as himself? pretending to look out of the tent, he twists his eyes away so far, that, from the front, little else than their whites can be seen. but enough of the retina is uncovered to receive an impression from behind; this showing the mestizo tilting his cup, and spilling its contents among the moss! he now knows he is being watched, as well as guarded. and of his vigilant sentinel there seems but one way to disembarrass himself. as the thought of it flits across his brain, his eyes flash with a feverish light, such as when one intends attacking by stealth, and with the determination to kill. for he must either kill the man by his side, or give up what is to himself worth more than such a life--his own liberty. it may be his beloved master yet lives, and there is a chance to succour him. if dead, he will find his body, and give it burial. he remembers the promise that morning mutually declared between them--to stand and fall together--he will keep his part of it. if clancy has fallen, others will go down too; in the end, if need be, himself. but not till he has taken, or tried to take, a terrible and bloody vengeance. to this he has bound himself, by an oath sworn in the secret recesses of his heart. its prelude is nigh, and the death of the indian half-breed is to initiate it. for the fugitive slave knows the part this vile caitiff has played, and will not scruple to kill him; the less that it is now an inexorable necessity. he but waits for the opportunity--has been seeking it for some time. it offers at length. turning suddenly, and detecting the mestizo in his act of deception, he asks laughingly why he should practice such a trick. then stooping forward, as if to verify it, his right arm is seen to lunge out with something that glitters in his hand. it is the blade of a bowie-knife. in an instant the arm is drawn back, the glittering gone off the blade, obliterated by blood! for it has been between the ribs, and through the heart of the mestizo; who, slipping from his seat, falls to the floor, without even a groan! grasping clancy's gun, which chances to be in the tent, and then blowing out the light, the mulatto moves off, leaving but a dead body behind him. once outside, he looks cautiously around the encampment, scanning the tents and the ground adjacent to them. he sees the big fire still red, but not flaming. he can make out the forms of men lying around it--all of them, for him fortunately, asleep. stepping, as if on eggs, and keeping as much as possible in shadow, he threads his way through the tents until he is quite clear of the encampment. but he does not go directly off. instead, he makes a circuit to the other side, where brasfort is tied to a tree. a cut of his red blade releases the hound, that follows him in silence, as if knowing it necessary. then on to the corral where the horses are penned up. arriving at the fence he finds the bars, and there stopping, speaks some words in undertone, but loud enough to be heard by the animals inside. as if it were a cabalistic speech, one separates from the rest, and comes towards him. it is the steed of clancy. protruding its soft muzzle over the rail, it is stroked by the mulatto's hand, which soon after has hold of the forelock. fortunately the saddles are close by, astride the fence, with the bridles hanging to the branches of a tree. jupiter easily recognises those he is in search of, and soon has the horse caparisoned. at length he leads the animal not mounting till he is well away from the camp. then, climbing cautiously into the saddle, he continues on, brasfort after; man, horse, and hound, making no more noise, than if all three were but shadows. chapter seventy seven. a strayed traveller. pale, trembling, with teeth chattering, richard darke awakes from his drunken slumber. he sees his horse tied to the tree, as he left him, but making violent efforts to get loose. for coyotes have come skulking around the copse, and their cry agitates the animal. it is this that has awakened the sleeper. he starts to his feet in fear, though not of the wolves. their proximity has nought to do with the shudder which passes through his frame. it comes from an apprehension he has overslept himself, and that, meanwhile, his confederates have passed the place. it is broad daylight, with a bright sun in the sky; though this he cannot see through the thick foliage intervening. but his watch will tell him the time. he takes it out and glances at the dial. the hands appear not to move! he holds it to his ear, but hears no ticking. now, he remembers having neglected to wind it up the night before. it has run down! hastily returning it to his pocket, he makes for open ground, where he may get a view of the sun. by its height above the horizon, as far as he can judge it should be about nine of the morning. this point, as he supposes, settled, does not remove his apprehension, on the contrary but increases it. the returning marauders would not likely be delayed so late? in all probability they have passed. how is he to be assured? a thought strikes him: he will step out upon the plain, and see if he can discern their tracks. he does so, keeping on to the summit of the pass. there he finds evidence to confirm his fears. the loose turf around the head of the gorge is torn and trampled by the hoofs of many horses, all going off over the plain. the robbers have returned to their rendezvous! hastening back to his horse, he prepares to start after. leading the animal to the edge of the copse, he is confronted by what sends a fresh thrill of fear through his heart. the sun is before his face, but not as when he last looked at it. instead of having risen higher, it is now nearer the horizon! "great god!" he exclaims, as the truth breaks upon him. "it's setting, not rising; evening 'stead of morning!" shading his eye with spread palm, he gazes at the golden orb, in look bewildered. not long, till assured, the sun is sinking, and night nigh. the deduction drawn is full of sinister sequence. more than one starts up in his mind to dismay him. he is little acquainted with the trail to coyote creek, and may be unable to find it. moreover, the robbers are certain of being pursued, and sime woodley will be one of the pursuers; bosley forced to conduct them, far as he can. the outraged settlers may at any moment appear coming up the pass! he glances apprehensively towards it, then across the plain. his face is now towards the sun, whose lower limb just touches the horizon, the red round orb appearing across the smooth surface, as over that of a tranquil sea. he regards it, to direct his course. he knows that the camping place on coyote creek is due west from where he is. and at length, having resolved, he sets his foot in the stirrup, vaults into the saddle, and spurs off, leaving the black-jack grove behind him. he does not proceed far, before becoming uncertain as to his course. the sun goes down, leaving heaven's firmament in darkness, with only some last lingering rays along its western edge. these grow fainter and fainter, till scarce any difference can be noted around the horizon's ring. he now rides in doubt, guessing the direction. scanning the stars he searches for the polar constellation. but a mist has meanwhile sprung up over the plain, and, creeping across the northern sky, concealed it. in the midst of his perplexity, the moon appears; and taking bearings by this, he once more makes westward. but there are cumulus clouds in the sky; and these, ever and anon drifting over the moon's disc, compel him to pull up till they pass. at length he is favoured with a prolonged interval of light, during which he puts his animal to its best speed, and advances many miles in what he supposes to be the right direction. as yet he has encountered no living creature, nor object of any kind. he is in hopes to get sight of the solitary tree; for beyond it the trail to coyote creek is easily taken. while scanning the moonlit expanse he descries a group of figures; apparently quadrupeds, though of what species he cannot tell. they appear too large for wolves, and yet are not like wild horses, deer, or buffaloes. on drawing nearer, he discovers them to be but coyotes; the film, refracting the moon's light, having deceived him as to their size. what can they be doing out there? perhaps collected around some animal they have hunted down, and killed--possibly a prong-horn antelope? it is not with any purpose he approaches them. he only does so because they are in the line of his route. but before reaching the spot where they are assembled, he sees something to excite his curiosity, at the same time, baffling all conjecture what it can be. on his coming closer, the jackals scatter apart, exposing it to view; then, loping off, leave it behind them. whatever it be, it is evidently the lure that has brought the predatory beasts together. it is not the dead body of deer, antelope, or animal of any kind; but a thing of rounded shape, set upon a short shank, or stem. "what the devil is it?" he asks himself, first pausing, and then spurring on towards it. "looks lor all the world like a man's head!" at that moment, the moon emitting one of her brightest beams, shows the object still clearer, causing him to add in exclamation, "by heavens, it is a head!" another instant and he sees a face, which sends the blood back to his heart, almost freezing it in his veins. horror stricken he reins up, dragging his horse upon the haunches; and in this attitude remains, his eyes rolling as though they would start from their sockets. then, shouting the words, "great god, clancy!" followed by a wild shriek, he wrenches the horse around, and mechanically spurs into desperate speed. in his headlong flight he hears a cry, which comes as from out the earth--his own name pronounced, and after it, the word "murderer!" chapter seventy eight. hours of agony. out of the earth literally arose that cry, so affrighting richard darke; since it came from charles clancy. throughout the live-long day, on to the mid hours of night, has he been enduring agony unspeakable. alone with but the companionship of hostile creatures--wolves that threaten to gnaw the skin from his skull, and vultures ready to tear his eyes out of their sockets. why has he not gone mad? there are moments when it comes too near this, when his reason is well-nigh unseated. but manfully he struggles against it; thoughtfully, with reliance on him, whose name he has repeated and prayerfully invoked. and god, in his mercy, sends something to sustain him--a remembrance. in his most despairing hour he recalls one circumstance seeming favourable, and which in the confusion of thought, consequent on such a succession of scenes, had escaped him. he now remembers the other man found along with darke under the live-oak. bosley will be able to guide a pursuing party, and with woodley controlling, will be forced to do it. he can lead them direct to the rendezvous of the robbers; where clancy can have no fear but that they will settle things satisfactorily. there learning what has been done to himself, they would lose no time in coming after him. this train of conjecture, rational enough, restores his hopes, and again he believes there is a chance of his receiving succour. about time is he chiefly apprehensive. they may come too late? he will do all he can to keep up; hold out as long as life itself may last. so resolved, he makes renewed efforts to fight off the wolves, and frighten the vultures. fortunately for him the former are but coyotes, the latter turkey buzzards both cowardly creatures, timid as hares, except when the quarry is helpless. they must not know he is this; and to deceive them he shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and shouts at the highest pitch of his voice. but only at intervals, when they appear too threateningly near. he knows the necessity of economising his cries and gestures. by too frequent repetition they might cease to avail him. throughout the day he has the double enemy to deal with. but night disembarrasses him of the birds, leaving only the beasts. he derives little benefit from the change; for the coyotes, but jackals in daylight, at night become wolves, emboldened by the darkness. besides, they have been too long gazing at the strange thing, and listening to the shouts which have proceeded from it, without receiving hurt or harm, to fear it as before. the time has come for attack. blending their unearthly notes into one grand chorus they close around, finally resolved to assault it. and, again, clancy calls upon god--upon heaven, to help him. his prayer is heard; for what he sees seems an answer to it. the moon is low down, her disc directly before his face, and upon the plain between a shadow is projected, reaching to his chin. at the same time, he sees what is making it--a man upon horseback! simultaneously, he hears a sound--the trampling of hoofs upon the hard turf. the coyotes catching it, too, are scared, changing from their attitude of attack, and dropping tails to the ground. as the shadow darkening over them tells that the horseman is drawing nigh, they scatter off in retreat. clancy utters an ejaculation of joy. he is about to hail the approaching norseman, when a doubt restrains him. "who can it be?" he asks himself with mingled hope and apprehension. "woodley would not be coming in that way, alone? if not some of the settlers, at least heywood would be along with him? besides, there is scarce time for them to have reached the mission and returned. it cannot be either. jupiter? has he escaped from the custody of the outlawed crew?" clancy is accustomed to seeing the mulatto upon a mule. this man rides a horse, and otherwise looks not like jupiter. it is not he. who, then? during all this time the horseman is drawing nearer, though slowly. when first heard, the tramp told him to be going at a gallop; but he has slackened speed, and now makes approach, apparently with caution, as if reconnoitring. he has descried the jackals, and comes to see what they are gathered about. these having retreated, clancy can perceive that the eyes of the stranger are fixed upon his own head, and that he is evidently puzzled to make out what it is. for a moment the man makes stop, then moves on, coming closer and closer. with the moon behind his back, his face is in shadow, and cannot be seen by clancy. but it is not needed for his identification. the dress and figure are sufficient. cut sharply against the sky is the figure of a plumed savage; a sham one clancy knows, with a thrill of fresh despair, recognising richard darke. it will soon be all over with him now; in another instant his hopes, doubts, fears, will be alike ended, with his life. he has no thought but that darke, since last seen, has been in communication with borlasse; and from him learning all, has, returned for the life he failed to take before. meanwhile the plumed horseman continues to approach, till within less than a length of his horse. then drawing bridle with a jerk, suddenly comes to a stop. clancy can see, that he is struck with astonishment-- his features, now near enough to be distinguished, wearing a bewildered look. then hears his own name called out, a shriek succeeding; the horse wheeled round, and away, as if satan had hold of his tail! for a long time is heard the tramp of the retreating horse going in full fast gallop--gradually less distinct--at length dying away in the distance. chapter seventy nine. an unexpected visitor. to clancy there is nothing strange in darke's sudden and terrified departure. with the quickness of thought itself, he comprehends its cause. in their encounter under the live-oak, in shadow and silence, his old rival has not recognised him. nor can he since have seen borlasse, or any of the band. why he is behind them, clancy cannot surmise; though he has a suspicion of the truth. certainly darke came not there by any design, but only chance-conducted. had it been otherwise, he would not have gone off in such wild affright. all this clancy intuitively perceives, on the instant of his turning to retreat. and partly to make this more sure, though also stirred by indignation he cannot restrain, he eends forth that shout, causing the scared wretch to flee faster and farther. now that he is gone, clancy is again left to his reflections, but little less gloomy than before. from only one does he derive satisfaction. the robber chief must have lied. helen armstrong has not been in the arms of richard darke.--he may hope she has reached her home in safety. all else is as ever, and soon likely to be worse. for he feels as one who has only had a respite, believing it will be but short. darke will soon recover from his scare. for he will now go to the rendezvous, and there, getting an explanation of what has caused it, come back to glut his delayed vengeance, more terrible from long accumulation. will the wolves wait for him? "ha! there they are again!" so exclaims the wretched man, as he sees them once more making approach. and now they draw nigh with increased audacity, their ravenous instincts but strengthened by the check. the enemy late dreaded has not molested them, but gone off, leaving their prey unprotected. they are again free to assail, and this time will surely devour it. once more their melancholy whine breaks the stillness of the night, as they come loping up one after another. soon all are re-assembled round the strange thing, which through their fears has long defied them. more familiar, they fear it less now. renewing their hostile demonstration, they circle about it, gliding from side to side in _chassez-croissez_, as through the mazes of a cotillon. with forms magnified under the moonlight, they look like werewolves dancing around a "death's head,"--their long-drawn lugubrious wails making appropriate music to the measure! horror for him who hears, hearing it without hope. of this not a ray left now, its last lingering spark extinguished, and before him but the darkness of death in all its dread certainty--a death horrible, appalling! putting forth all his moral strength, exerting it to the utmost, he tries to resign himself to the inevitable. in vain. life is too sweet to be so surrendered. he cannot calmly resign it, and again instinctively makes an effort to fright off his hideous assailants. his eyes rolling, scintillating in their sockets-- his lips moving--his cries sent from between them--are all to no purpose now. the coyotes come nearer and nearer. they are within three feet of his face. he can see their wolfish eyes, the white serrature of their teeth, the red panting tongues; can feel their fetid breath blown against his brow. their jaws are agape. each instant he expects them to close around his skull! why did he shout, sending darke away? he regrets having done it. better his head to have been crushed or cleft by a tomahawk, killing him at once, than torn while still alive, gnawed, mumbled over, by those frightful fangs threatening so near! the thought stifles reflection. it is of itself excruciating torture. he cannot bear it much longer. no man could, however strong, however firm his faith in the almighty. even yet he has not lost this. the teachings of early life, the precepts inculcated by a pious mother, stand him in stead now. and though sure he must die, and wants death to come quickly, he nevertheless tries to meet it resignedly, mentally exclaiming:-- "mother! father! i come. soon shall i join you. helen, my love! oh, how i have wronged you in thus throwing my life away! god forgive--" his regrets are interrupted, as if by god himself. he has been heard by the all-merciful, the omnipotent; for seemingly no other hand could now succour him. while the prayerful thoughts are still passing through his mind, the wolves suddenly cease their attack, and he sees them retiring with closed jaws and fallen tails! not hastily, but slow and skulkingly; ceding the ground inch by inch, as though reluctant to leave it. what can it mean? casting his eyes outward, he sees nothing to explain the behaviour of the brutes, nor account for their changed demeanour. he listens, all ears, expecting to hear the hoof-stroke of a horse--the same he late saw reined up in front of him, with richard darke upon his back. the ruffian is returning sooner than anticipated. there is no such sound. instead, one softer, which, but for the hollow cretaceous rock underlying the plain and acting as a conductor, would not be conveyed to his ears. it is a pattering as of some animal's paws, going in rapid gait. he cannot imagine what sort of creature it may be; in truth he has no time to think, before hearing the sound close behind his head, the animal approaching from that direction. soon after he feels a hot breath strike against his brow, with something still warmer touching his cheek. it is the tongue of a dog! "brasfort!" brasfort it is, cowering before his face, filling his ears with a soft whimpering, sweet as any speech ever heard. for he has seen the jackals retreat, and knows they will not return. his strong stag-hound is more than a match for the whole pack of cowardly creatures. as easily as it has scattered, can it destroy them. clancy's first feeling is one of mingled pleasure and surprise. for he fancies himself succoured, released from his earth-bound prison, so near to have been his grave. the glad emotion is alas! short-lived; departing as he perceives it to be only a fancy, and his perilous situation, but little changed or improved. for what can the dog do for him? true he may keep off the coyotes, but that will not save his life. death must come all the same. a little later, and in less horrid shape, but it must come. hunger, thirst, one or both will bring it, surely if slowly. "my brave brasfort! faithful fellow!" he says apostrophising the hound; "you cannot protect me from them. but how have you got here?" the question is succeeded by a train of conjecture, as follows:-- "they took the dog with them. i saw one lead him away. they've let him loose, and he has scented back on the trail? that's it. oh! if jupiter were but with him! no fear of their letting him off--no." during all this time brasfort has continued his caresses, fondling his master's head, affectionately as a mother her child. again clancy speaks, apostrophising the animal. "dear old dog! you're but come to see me die. well; it's something to have you here--like a friend beside the death-bed. and you'll stay with me long as life holds out, and protect me from those skulking creatures? i know you will. ah! you won't need to stand sentry long. i feel growing fainter. when all's over you can go. i shall never see her more; but some one may find, and take you there. she'll care for, and reward you for this fidelity." the soliloquy is brought to a close, by the hound suddenly changing attitude. all at once it has ceased its fond demonstrations, and stands as if about to make an attack upon its master's head! very different the intent. yielding to a simple canine instinct, from the strain of terrier in its blood, it commences scratching up the earth around his neck! for clancy a fresh surprise, as before mingled with pleasure. for the hound's instinctive action shows him a chance of getting relieved, by means he had never himself thought of. he continues talking to the animal, encouraging it by speeches it can comprehend. on it scrapes, tearing up the clods, and casting them in showers behind. despite the firmness with which the earth is packed, the hound soon makes a hollow around its master's neck, exposing his shoulder--the right one--above the surface. a little more mould removed, and his arm will be free. with that his whole body can be extricated by himself. stirred by the pleasant anticipation, he continues speaking encouragement to the dog. but brasfort needs it not, working away in silence and with determined earnestness, as if knowing that time was an element of success. clancy begins to congratulate himself on escape, is almost sure of it, when a sound breaks upon his ear, bringing back all his apprehensions. again the hoof-stroke of a horse! richard darke is returning! "too late, brasfort!" says his master, apostrophising him in speech almost mechanical, "too late your help. soon you'll see me die." chapter eighty. a resurrectionist. "surely the end has come!" so reflects clancy, as with keen apprehension he listens to the tread of the approaching horseman. for to a certainty he approaches, the dull distant thud of hooves gradually growing more distinct. nor has he any doubt of its being the same steed late reined up in front of him, the fresh score of whose calkers are there within a few feet of his face. the direction whence comes the sound, is of itself significant; that in which darke went off. it is he returning--can be no other. yes; surely his end has come--the last hour of his life. and so near being saved! ten minutes more, and brasfort would have disinterred him. turning his eyes downward, he can see the cavity enlarged, and getting larger. for the dog continues to drag out the earth, as if not hearing, or disregarding the hoof-stroke. already its paws are within a few inches of his elbow. is it possible for him to wrench out his arm! with it free he might do something to defend himself. and the great stag-hound will help him. with hope half resuscitated, he makes an effort to extricate the arm, heaving his shoulder upward. in vain.--it is held as in a vice, or the clasp of a giant. there is _no_ alternative--he must submit to his fate. and such a fate! once more he will see the sole enemy of his life, his mother's murderer, standing triumphant over him; will hear his taunting speeches--almost a repetition of the scene under the cypress! and to think that in all his encounters with this man, he has been unsuccessful; too late--ever too late! the thought is of itself a torture. strange the slowness with which darke draws nigh! can he still be in dread of the unearthly? no, or he would not be there. it may be that sure of his victim, he but delays the last blow, scheming some new horror before he strike it? the tramp of the horse tells him to be going at a walk; unsteady too, as if his rider were not certain about the way, but seeking it. can this be so? has he not yet seen the head and hound? the moon must be on his back, since it is behind clancy's own. it may be that brasfort--a new figure in the oft changing tableau--stays his advance. possibly the unexplained presence of the animal has given him a surprise, and hence he approaches with caution? all at once, the hoof-stroke ceases to be heard, and stillness reigns around. _no_ sound save that made by the claws of the dog, that continues its task with unabated assiduity--not yet having taken any notice of the footsteps it can scarce fail to hear. its master cannot help thinking this strange. brasfort is not wont to be thus unwatchful. and of all men richard darke should be the last to approach him unawares. what may it mean? while thus interrogating himself, clancy again hears the "tramp-tramp," the horse no longer in a walk, but with pace quickened to a trot. and still brasfort keeps on scraping! only when a shadow darkens over, does he desist; the horseman being now close behind clancy's head, with his image reflected in front. but instead of rushing at him with savage growl, as he certainly would were it richard darke brasfort but raises his snout, and wags his tail, giving utterance to a note of friendly salutation! clancy's astonishment is extreme, changing to joy, when the horseman after making the circuit of his head, comes to a halt before his face. in the broad bright moonlight he beholds, not his direst foe, but his faithful servitor. there upon his own horse, with his own gun in hand, sits one who causes him mechanically to exclaim-- "jupiter!" adding, "heaven has heard my prayer!" "an' myen," says jupiter, soon as somewhat recovered from his astonishment at what he sees; "yes, masser charle; i'se been prayin' for you ever since they part us, though never 'spected see you 'live 'gain. but lor' o' mercy, masser! what dis mean? i'se see nothin' but you head! wharever is you body? what have dem rascally ruffins been an' done to ye?" "as you see--buried me alive." "better that than bury you dead. you sure, masser," he asks, slipping down from the saddle, and placing himself _vis-a-vis_ with the face so strangely situated. "you sure you ain't wounded, nor otherways hurt?" "not that i know of. i only feel a little bruised and faint-like; but i think i've received no serious injury. i'm now suffering from thirst, more than aught else." "that won't be for long. lucky i'se foun' you ole canteen on the saddle, an' filled it 'fore i left the creek. i'se got somethin' besides 'll take the faintness 'way from you; a drop o' corn-juice, i had from that spanish indyin they call the half-blood. not much blood in him now. here 'tis, masser charle." while speaking, he has produced a gourd, in which something gurgles. its smell, when the stopper is taken out, tells it to be whiskey. inserting the neck between his master's lips, he pours some of the spirit down his throat; and then, turning to the horse near by, he lifts from off the saddle-horn a larger gourd--the canteen, containing water. in a few seconds, not only is clancy's thirst satisfied, but he feels his strength restored, and all faintness passed away. "up to de chin i declar'!" says jupiter, now more particularly taking note of his situation, "sure enough, all but buried 'live. an' brasfort been a tryin' to dig ye out! geehorum! aint that cunnin' o' the ole dog? he have prove himself a faithful critter." "like yourself, jupe. but say! how have you escaped from the robbers? brought my horse and gun too! tell me all!" "not so fass, masser charle. it's something o' a longish story, an' a bit strangeish too. you'll be better out o' that fix afore hearin' it. though your ears aint stopped, yez not in a position to lissen patient or comfortable. first let me finish what brasfort's begun, and get out the balance o' your body." saying this, the mulatto sets himself to the task proposed. upon his knees with knife in hand, he loosens the earth around clancy's breast and shoulders, cutting it carefully, then clawing it out. the hound helps him, dashing in whenever it sees a chance, with its paws scattering the clods to rear. the animal seems jealous of jupiter's interference, half angry at not having all the credit to itself. between them the work progresses, and the body of their common master will soon be disinterred. all the while, clancy and the mulatto continue to talk, mutually communicating their experiences since parting. those of the former, though fearful, are neither many nor varied, and require but few words. what jupiter now sees gives him a clue to nearly all. his own narrative covers a greater variety of events, and needs more time for telling than can now be conveniently spared. instead of details, therefore, he but recounts the leading incidents in brief epitome--to be more particularly dwelt upon afterwards, as opportunity will allow. he relates, how, after leaving the lone cottonwood, he was taken on across the plain to a creek called coyote, where the robbers have a camping place. this slightly touched upon, he tells of his own treatment; of his being carried into a tent at first, but little looked after, because thought secure, from their having him tightly tied. through a slit in the skin cover he saw them kindle a fire and commence cooking. soon after came the chief, riding clancy's horse, with chisholm and the other three. seeing the horse, he supposed it all over with his master. then the feast, _al fresco_, succeeded by the transformation scene--the red robbers becoming white ones--to all of which he was witness. after that the card-playing by the camp fire, during which the chief came to his tent, and did what he could to draw him. in this part of his narration, the mulatto with modest naivete, hints of his own adroitness; how he threw his inquisitor off the scent, and became at length disembarrassed of him. he is even more reticent about an incident, soon after succeeding, but referred to it at an early part of his explanation. on the blade of his knife, before beginning to dig, clancy observing some blotches of crimson, asks what it is. "only a little blood, masser charle," is the answer. "whose?" "you'll hear afore i get to the end. nuf now to say it's the blood of a bad man." clancy does not press him further, knowing he will be told all in due time. still, is he impatient, wondering whether it be the blood of jim borlasse, or richard darke; for he supposes it either one or the other. he hopes it may be the former, and fears its being the latter. even yet, in his hour of uncertainty, late helpless, and still with only a half hope of being able to keep his oath, he would not for all the world dick darke's blood should be shed by other hand than his own! he is mentally relieved, long before jupiter reaches the end of his narration. the blood upon the blade, now clean scoured off, was not that of richard darke. for the mulatto tells him of that tragical scene within the tent, speaking of it without the slightest remorse. the incidents succeeding he leaves for a future occasion; how he stole out the horse, and with brasfort's help, was enabled to return upon the trail as far as the cottonwood; thence on, the hound hurriedly leading, at length leaving him behind. but before coming to this, he has completed his task, and laying hold of his master's shoulders, he draws him out of the ground, as a gardener would a gigantic carrot. once more on the earth's surface stands clancy, free of body, unfettered in limb, strong in his sworn resolve, determined as ever to keep it. chapter eighty one. the voice of vengeance. never did man believe himself nigher death, or experience greater satisfaction at being saved from it, than charles clancy. for upon his life so near lost, and as if miraculously preserved, depend issues dear to him as that life itself. and these, too, may reach a successful termination; some thing whispers him they will. but though grateful to god for the timely succour just received, and on him still reliant, he does not ask god for guidance in what he intends now. rather, shuns he the thought, as though fearing the all-merciful might not be with him. for he is still determined on vengeance, which alone belongs to the lord. of himself, he is strong enough to take it; and feels so, after being refreshed by another drink of the whiskey. the spirit of the alcohol, acting on his own, reinvigorates, and makes him ready for immediate action. he but stays to think what may be his safest course, as the surest and swiftest. his repeated repulses, while making more cautious, have done nought to daunt, or drive him from his original purpose. recalling his latest interview with helen armstrong, and what he then said, he dares not swerve from it. to go back leaving it undone, were a humiliation no lover would like to confess to his sweetheart. but he has no thought of going back, and only hesitates, reflecting on the steps necessary to ensure success. he now knows why darke retreated in such wild affright. some speeches passing between the robbers, overheard by jupiter, and by him reported, enable clancy to grasp the situation. as he had conjectured, darke was straying, and by chance came that way. no wonder at the way he went. it is not an hour since he fled from the spot, and in all likelihood he is still straying. if so, he cannot be a great way off; but, far or near, brasfort can find him. it is but a question of whether he can be overtaken before reaching the rendezvous. for the only danger of which clancy has dread, or allows himself to dwell upon, is from the other robbers. even of these he feels not much fear. but for the mulatto and his mule, he would never have allowed them to lay hand on him. and now with his splendid horse once more by his side, the saddle awaiting him, he knows he will be safe from any pursuit by mounted men, as a bird upon the wing. for the safety of his faithful follower he has already conceived measures. jupiter is to make his way back to the san saba, and wait for him at their old camp, near the crossing. failing to come, he is to proceed on to the settlement, and there take his chances of a reception. though the fugitive slave may be recognised, under sime woodley's protection he will be safe, and with helen armstrong's patronage, sure of hospitable entertainment. with all this mentally arranged, though not yet communicated to jupe, clancy gives a look to his gun to assure himself it is in good order; another to the caparison of his horse; and, satisfied with both, he at length leaps into the saddle. the mulatto has been regarding his movements with uneasiness. there is that in them which forewarns him of still another separation. he is soon made aware of it, by the instructions given him, in accordance with the plan sketched cat. on clancy telling him, he is to return to the san saba alone, with the reasons why he should do so, he listens in pained surprise. "sure you don't intend leavin' me, masser charle?" "i do--i must." "but whar you goin' youself?" "where god guides--it may be his avenging angel. yes, jupe; i'm off again, on that scoundrel's track. this shall be my last trial. if it turn out as hitherto, you may never see me more--you, nor any one else. failing, i shan't care to face human kind, much less her i love. ah! i'll more dread meeting my mother--her death unavenged. bah! there's no fear, one way or the other. so don't you have any uneasiness about the result; but do as i've directed. make back to the river, and wait there at the crossing. brasfort goes with me; and when you see us again, i'll have a spare horse to carry you on to our journey's end; that whose shoes made those scratches--just now, i take it, between the legs of dick darke." "dear masser," rejoins jupiter, in earnest protest. "why need ye go worryin' after that man now? you'll have plenty opportunities any day. he aint likely to leave texas, long's that young lady stays in it. besides, them cut-throats at the creek, sure come after me. they'll be this way soon's they find me gone, an' set their eyes on that streak o' red colour i left ahind me in the tent. take my advice, masser charle, an' let's both slip out o' thar way, by pushin' straight for the settlement." "no settlement, till i've settled with him! he can't have got far away yet. good, brasfort! you'll do your best to help me find him?" the hound gives a low growl, and rollicks around the legs of the horse, seeming to say:-- "set me on the scent; i'll show you." something more than instinct appears to inspire the molossian. though weeks have elapsed since in the cypress swamp it made savage demonstrations against darke, when taking up his trail through the san saba bottom it behaved as if actuated by the old malice, remembering the smell of the man! and now conducted beyond the place trodden by borlasse and the others, soon as outside the confusion of scents, and catching his fresher one, it sends forth a cry strangely intoned, altogether unlike its ordinary bay while trailing a stag. it is the deep sonorous note of the sleuth-hound on slot of human game; such as oft, in the times of spanish american colonisation, struck terror to the heart of the hunted aboriginal. as already said, brasfort has a strain of the bloodhound in him; enough to make danger for richard darke. under the live-oak the hound would have pulled him from his saddle, torn him to pieces on the spot, but for jupiter, to whom it was consigned, holding it hard back. clancy neither intends, nor desires, it to do so now. all he wants with it, is to bring him face to face with his hated foeman. that done, the rest he will do himself. everything decided and settled, he hastily takes leave of jupiter, and starts off along the trail, brasfort leading. both are soon far away. on the wide waste the mulatto stands alone, looking after--half reproachfully for being left behind--regretting his master's rashness-- painfully apprehensive he may never see him more. chapter eighty two. a man nearly mad. "am i still drunk? am i dreaming?" so richard darke interrogates himself, retreating from the strangest apparition human eyes ever saw. a head without any body, not lying as after careless decapitation, but as though still upon shoulders, the eyes glancing and rolling, the lips moving, speaking--the whole thing alive! the head, too, of one he supposes himself to have assassinated, and for which he is a felon and fugitive. no wonder he doubts the evidence of his senses, and at first deems it fancy--an illusion from dream or drink. but a suspicion also sweeps through his soul, which, more painfully impressing, causes him to add still another interrogatory: "am i mad?" he shakes his head and rubs his eyes, to assure himself he is awake, sober, and sane. he is all three; though he might well wish himself drunk or dreaming--for, so scared is he, there is in reality a danger of his senses forsaking him. he tries to account for the queer thing, but cannot. who could, circumstanced as he? from that day when he stooped over clancy, holding helen armstrong's photograph before his face, and saw his eyes film over in sightless gaze, the sure forerunner of death, he has ever believed him dead. no rumour has reached him to the contrary--no newspaper paragraph, from which he might draw his deductions, as borlasse has done. true, he observed some resemblance to clancy in the man who surprised him under the live-oak; but, recalling that scene under the cypress, how could he have a thought of its being he? he could not, cannot, does not yet. but what about the head? how is he to account for that? and the cries sent after him--still ringing in his ears--his own name, with the added accusation he himself believes true, the brand, "murderer!" "am i indeed mad?" he again asks himself, riding on recklessly, without giving guidance to his horse. his trembling hand can scarce retain hold of the rein; and the animal, uncontrolled, is left to take its course-- only, it must not stop or stay. every time it shows sign of lagging, he kicks mechanically against its ribs, urging it on, on, anywhere away from that dread damnable apparition. it is some time before he recovers sufficient coolness to reflect--then only with vague comprehensiveness; nothing clear save the fact that he has completely lost himself, and his way. to go on were mere guesswork. true, the moon tells him the west, the direction of coyote creek. but westward he will not go, dreading to again encounter that ghostly thing; for he thinks it was there he saw it. better pull up, and await the surer guidance of the sun, with its light, less mystical. so deciding, he slips out of the saddle; and letting his horse out on the trail-rope, lays himself down. regardless of the animal's needs, he leaves all its caparison on, even to the bitt between its teeth. what cares he for its comforts, or for aught else, thinking of that horrible head? he makes no endeavour to snatch a wink of sleep, of which he has had enough; but lies cogitating on the series of strange incidents and sights which have late occurred to him, but chiefly the last, so painfully perplexing. he can think of nothing to account for a phenomenon so abnormal, so outside all laws of nature. while vainly endeavouring to solve the dread enigma, a sound strikes upon his ear, abruptly bringing his conjectures to a close. it is a dull thumping, still faint and far off; but distinguishable as the tramp of a horse. starting to his feet, he looks in the direction whence it proceeds. as expected, he sees a horse; and something more, a man upon its back, both coming towards him. could it, perchance, be bosley? impossible! he was their prisoner under the live-oak. they would never let him go. far more like it is woodley--the terrible backwoodsman, as ever after him? whoever it be, his guilty soul tells him the person approaching can be no friend of his, but an enemy, a pursuer. and it may be another phantom! earthly fears, with unearthly fancies, alike urging him to flight, he stays not to make sure whether it be ghost or human; but, hastily taking up his trail-rope, springs to the back of his horse, and again goes off in wild terrified retreat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it scarce needs telling, that the horseman who has disturbed richard darke's uncomfortable reflections is charles clancy. less than an hour has elapsed since his starting on the trail, which he has followed fast; the fresh scent enabling brasfort to take it up in a run. from the way it zigzagged, and circled about, clancy could tell the tracked steed had been going without guidance, as also guess the reason. the rider, fleeing in affright, has given no heed to direction. all this the pursuer knows to be in his favour; showing that the pursued man has not gone to coyote creek, but will still be on the steppe, possibly astray, and perhaps not far off. though himself making quick time, he is not carelessly pursuing; on the contrary taking every precaution to ensure success. he knows that on the hard turf his horse's tread can be heard to a great distance; and to hinder this he has put the animal to a "pace"--a gait peculiar to texas and the south-western states. this, combining speed with silence, has carried him on quickly as in a canter. the hound he has once more muzzled, though not holding it in leash; and the two have gone gliding along silent as spectres. at each turn of the trail, he directs looks of inquiry ahead. one is at length rewarded. he is facing the moon, whose disc almost touches the horizon, when alongside it he perceives something dark upon the plain, distinguishable as the figure of a horse. it is stationary with head to the ground, as if grazing, though by the uneven outline of its back it bears something like a saddle. continuing to scrutinise, he sees it is this; and, moreover, makes out the form of a man, or what resembles one, lying along the earth near by. these observations take only an instant of time; and, while making them he has halted, and by a word, spoken low, called his hound off the trail. the well-trained animal obeying, turns back, and stands by his side waiting. the riderless horse, with the dismounted rider, are still a good way off, more than half a mile. at that distance he could not distinguish them, but for the position of the moon, favouring his view. around her rim the luminous sky makes more conspicuous the dark forms interposed between. he can have no doubt as to what they are. if he had, it is soon solved. for while yet gazing upon them--not in conjecture, but as to how he may best make approach--he perceives the tableau suddenly change. the horse tosses up its head, while the man starts upon his feet. in an instant they are together, and the rider in his saddle. and now clancy is quite sure: for the figure of the horseman, outlined against the background of moonlit sky, clear-edged as a medallion, shows the feathered circlet surmounting his head. to all appearance a red savage, in reality a white one--richard darke. clancy stays not to think further. if he did he would lose distance. for soon as in the saddle, darke goes off in full headlong gallop. in like gait follows the avenger, forsaking the cautious pace, and no longer caring for silence. still there is no noise, save that of the hammering hooves, now and then a clink, as their iron shoeing strikes a stone. otherwise silent, pursuer and pursued. but with very different reflections; the former terrified, half-frenzied, seeking to escape from whom he knows not; the latter, cool, courageous, trying to overtake one he knows too well. clancy pursues but with one thought, to punish the murderer of his mother. and sure he will succeed now. already is the space shortened between them, growing less with every leap of his horse. a few strides more and richard darke will be within range of his rifle. letting drop the reins, he takes firmer grasp on his gun. his horse needs no guidance, but goes on as before, still gaining. he is now within a hundred lengths of the retreating foe, but still too far off for a sure shot. besides, the moon is in front, her light dazzling his eyes, the man he intends to take aim at going direct for her disc, as if with the design to ride into it. while he delays, calculating the distance, suddenly the moon becomes obscured, the chased horseman simultaneously disappearing from his sight! chapter eighty three. at length the "death shot." scarce for an instant is clancy puzzled by the sudden disappearance of him pursued. that is accounted for by the simplest of causes; a large rock rising above the level of the plain, a loose boulder, whose breadth interposing, covers the disc of the moon. a slight change of direction has brought it between; darke having deflected from his course, and struck towards it. never did hunted fox, close pressed by hounds, make more eagerly for cover, or seek it so despairingly as he. he has long ago been aware that the pursuer is gaining upon him. at each anxious glance cast over his shoulder, he sees the distance decreased, while the tramp of the horse behind sounds clearer and closer. he is in doubt what to do. every moment he may hear the report of a gun, and have a bullet into his back. he knows not the instant he may be shot out of his saddle. shall he turn upon the pursuer, make stand, and meet him face to face? he dares not. the dread of the unearthly is still upon him. it may be the devil! the silence, too, awes him. the pursuing horseman has not yet hailed-- has not spoken word, or uttered exclamation. were it not for the heavy tread of the hoof he might well believe him a spectre. if darke only knew who it is, he would fear him as much, or more. knowing not, he continues his flight, doubting, distracted. he has but one clear thought, the instinct common to all chased creatures--to make for some shelter. a copse, a tree, even were it but a bush, anything to conceal him from the pursuer's sight--from the shot he expects soon to be sent after him. ha! what is that upon the plain? a rock! and large enough to screen both him and his horse. the very thing! instinctively he perceives his advantage. behind the rock he can make stand, and without hesitation he heads his horse for it. it is a slight change from his former direction, and he loses a little ground; but recovers it by increased speed. for encouraged by the hope of getting under shelter, he makes a last spurt, urging his animal to the utmost. he is soon within the shadow of the rock, still riding towards it. it is just then that clancy loses sight of him, as of the moon. but he is now also near enough to distinguish the huge stone; and, while scanning its outlines, he sees the chased horseman turn around it, so rapidly, and at such distance, he withholds his shot, fearing it may fail. between pursued and pursuer the chances have changed; and as the latter reins up to consider what he should do, he sees something glisten above the boulder, clearly distinguishable as the barrel of a gun. at the same instant a voice salutes him, saying:-- "i don't know who, or what you are. but i warn you to come no nearer. if you do, i'll send a bullet--great god!" with the profane exclamation, the speaker suddenly interrupts himself, his voice having changed from its tone of menace to trembling. for the moonlight is full upon the face of him threatened; he can trace every feature distinctly. it is the same he late saw on the sun ice of the plain! it can be no dream, nor freak of fancy. clancy is still alive; or if dead he, darke, is looking upon his wraith! to his unfinished speech he receives instant rejoinder:-- "you don't know who i am? learn then! i'm the man you tried to assassinate in a mississippian forest--charles clancy--who means to kill you, fairer fashion, here on this texan plain. dick darke! if you have a prayer to say, say it soon; for sure as you stand behind that rock, i intend taking your life." the threat is spoken in a calm, determined tone, as if surely to be kept. all the more terrible to richard darke, who cannot yet realise the fact of clancy's being alive. but that stern summons must have come from mortal lips, and the form before him is no spirit, but living flesh and blood. terror-stricken, appalled, shaking as with an ague, the gun almost drops from his grasp. but with a last desperate resolve, and effort mechanical, scarce knowing what he does, he raises the piece to his shoulder, and fires. clancy sees the flash, the jet, the white smoke puffing skyward; then hears the crack. he has no fear, knowing himself at a safe distance. for at this has he halted. he does not attempt to return the fire, nor rashly rush on. darke carries a double-barrelled gun, and has still a bullet left. besides, he has the advantage of position, the protecting rampart, the moon behind his back, and in the eyes of his assailant, everything in favour of the assailed. though chafing in angry impatience, with the thirst of vengeance unappeased, clancy restrains himself, measuring the ground with his eyes, and planning how he may dislodge his skulking antagonist. must he lay siege to him, and stay there till-- a low yelp interrupts his cogitations. looking down he sees brasfort by his side. in the long trial of speed between the two horses, the hound had dropped behind. the halt has enabled it to get up, just in time to be of service to its master, who has suddenly conceived a plan for employing it. leaping from his saddle, he lays holds of the muzzle strap, quickly unbuckling it. as though divining the reason, the dog dashes on for the rock; soon as its jaws are released, giving out a fierce angry growl. darke sees it approaching in the clear moonlight, can distinguish its markings, remembers them. clancy's stag-hound! surely nemesis, with all hell's hosts, are let loose on him! he recalls how the animal once set upon him. its hostility then is nought to that now. for it has reached the rock, turned it, and open-mouthed, springs at him like a panther. in vain he endeavours to avoid it, and still keep under cover. while shunning its teeth, he has also to think of clancy's gun. he cannot guard against both, if either. for the dog has caught hold of his right leg, and fixed its fangs in the flesh. he tries to beat it off, striking with the butt of his gun. to no purpose now. for his horse, excited by the attack, and madly prancing, has parted from the rock, exposing him to the aim of the pursuer, who has, meanwhile, rushed up within rifle range. clancy sees his advantage, and raises his gun, quick as for the shooting of a snipe. the crack comes; and, simultaneous with it, richard darke is seen to drop out of his saddle, and fall face foremost on the plain-- his horse, with a wild neigh, bolting away from him. the fallen man makes no attempt to rise, nor movement of any kind, save a convulsive tremor through his frame; the last throe of parting life, which precedes the settled stillness of death. for surely is he dead. clancy, dismounting, advances towards the spot; hastily, to hinder the dog from tearing him, which the enraged animal seems determined to do. chiding it off, he bends over the prostrate body, which he perceives has ceased to breathe. a sort of curiosity, some impulse irresistible, prompts him to look for the place where his bullet struck. in the heart, as he can see by the red stream still flowing forth! "just where he hit me! after all, not strange--no coincidence; i aimed at him there." for a time he stands gazing down at the dead man's face. silently, without taunt or recrimination. on his own there is no sign of savage triumph, no fiendish exultation. far from his thoughts to insult, or outrage the dead. justice has had requital, and vengeance been appeased. it is neither his rival in love, nor his mortal enemy, who now lies at his feet; but a breathless body, a lump of senseless clay, all the passions late inspiring it, good and bad, gone to be balanced elsewhere. as he stands regarding darke's features, in their death pallor showing livid by the moon's mystic light, a cast of sadness comes over his own, and he says in subdued soliloquy:-- "painful to think i have taken a man's life--even his! i wish it could have been otherwise. it could not--i was compelled to it. and surely god will forgive me, for ridding the world of such a wretch?" then raising himself to an erect attitude, with eyes upturned to heaven--as when in the cemetery over his mother's grave, he made that solemn vow--remembering it, he now adds in like solemnal tone-- "_i've kept my oath. mother; thou art avenged_!" chapter eighty four. the scout's report. while these tragic incidents are occurring on coyote creek and the plain between, others almost as exciting but of less sanguinary character, take place in the valley of the san saba. as the morning sun lights up the ancient mission-house, its walls still reverberate wailing cries, mingled with notes of preparation for the pursuit. then follows a forenoon of painful suspense, _no_ word yet from the scouters sent out. colonel armstrong, and the principal men of the settlement, have ascended to the _azotea_ to obtain a better view; and there remain gazing down the valley in feverish impatience. just as the sun reaches meridian their wistful glances are rewarded; but by a sight which little relieves their anxiety; on the contrary, increasing it. a horseman emerging from the timber, which skirts the river's bank, comes on towards the mission-building. he is alone, and riding at top speed--both circumstances having sinister significance. has the scouting party been cut off, and he only escaped to tell the tale? is it dupre, hawkins, or who? he is yet too far off to be identified. as he draws nearer, colonel armstrong through a telescope makes him out to be cris tucker. why should the young hunter be coming back alone? after a mutual interchange of questions and conjectures, they leave off talking, and silently stand, breathlessly, awaiting his arrival. soon as he is within hailing distance, several unable to restrain themselves, call out, inquiring the news. "not bad, gentlemen! rayther good than otherways," shouts back oris. his response lifts a load from their hearts, and in calmer mood they await further information. in a short time the scout presents himself before colonel armstrong, around whom the others cluster, all alike eager to hear the report. for they are still under anxiety about the character of the despoilers, having as yet no reason to think them other than indians. nor does tucker's account contradict this idea; though one thing he has to tell begets a suspicion to the contrary. rapidly and briefly as possible the young hunter gives details of what has happened to dupre's party, up to the time of his separating from it; first making their minds easy by assuring them it was then safe. they were delayed a long time in getting upon the trail of the robbers, from these having taken a bye-path leading along the base of the bluff. at length having found the route of their retreat, they followed it over the lower ford, and there saw sign to convince them that the indians-- still supposing them such--had gone on across the bottom, and in all probability up the bluff beyond--thus identifying them with the band which the hunters had seen and tracked down. indeed no one doubted this, nor could. but, while the scouters were examining the return tracks, they came upon others less intelligible--in short, perplexing. there were the hoof-marks of four horses and a mule--all shod; first seen upon a side trace leading from the main ford road. striking into and following it for a few hundred yards, they came upon a place where men had encamped and stayed for some time--perhaps slept. the grass bent down showed where their bodies had been astretch. and these men must have been white. fragments of biscuit, with other debris of eatables, not known to indians, were evidence of this. returning from the abandoned bivouac, with the intention to ride straight back to the mission, the scouters came upon another side trace leading out on the opposite side of the ford road, and up the river. on this they again saw the tracks of the shod horses and mule; among them the foot-prints of a large dog. taking this second trace it conducted them to a glade, with a grand tree, a live-oak, standing in its centre. the sign told of the party having stopped there also. while occupied in examining their traces, and much mystified by them, they picked up an article, which, instead of making matters clearer, tended to mystify them more--a wig! of all things in the world this in such a place! still, not so strange either, seeing it was the counterfeit of an indian _chevelure_--the hair long and black, taken from the tail of a horse. for all, it had never belonged to, or covered, a red man's skull--since it was that worn by bosley, and torn from his head when woodley and heywood were stripping him for examination. the scouters, of course, could not know of this; and, while inspecting the queer waif, wondering what it could mean, two others were taken up: one a sprig of cypress, the other an orange blossom; both showing as if but lately plucked, and alike out of place there. dupre, with some slight botanic knowledge, knew that no orange-tree grew near, nor yet any cypress. but he remembered having observed both in the mission-garden, into which the girls had been last seen going. without being able to guess why they should have brought sprig or flower along, he was sure they had themselves been under the live-oak. where were they now? in answer, hawkins had cried: "gone this way! here's the tracks of the shod horses leading up-stream, this side. let's follow them!" so they had done, after despatching tucker with the report. it is so far satisfactory, better than any one expected; and inspires colonel armstrong with a feeling akin to hope. something seems to whisper him his lost children will be recovered. long ere the sun has set over the valley of the san saba his heart is filled, and thrilled, with joy indescribable. for his daughters are by his side, their arms around his neck, tenderly, lovingly entwining it, as on that day when told they must forsake their stately mississippian home for a hovel in texas. all have reached the mission; for the scouting party having overtaken that of woodley, came in along with it. no, not all, two are still missing--clancy and jupiter. about the latter woodley has made no one the wiser; though he tells clancy's strange experience, which, while astounding his auditory, fills them with keen apprehension for the young man's fate. keenest is that in the breast of helen armstrong. herself saved, she is now all the more solicitous about the safety of her lover. her looks bespeak more than anxiety--anguish. but there is that being done to hinder her from despairing. the pursuers are rapidly getting ready to start out, and with zeal unabated. for, although circumstances have changed by the recovery of the captives, there is sufficient motive for pursuit--the lost treasure to be re-taken--the outlaws chastised--clancy's life to be saved, or his death avenged. woodley's words have fired them afresh, and they are impatient to set forth. their impatience reaches its climax, when colonel armstrong, with head uncovered, his white hair blown up by the evening breeze, addresses them, saying:-- "fellow citizens! we have to thank the almighty that our dear ones have escaped a great danger. but while grateful to god, let us remember there is a man also deserving gratitude. a brave young man, we all believed dead--murdered. he is still alive, let us hope so. simeon woodley has told us of the danger he is now in--death if he fall into the hands of these desperate outlaws. friends, and fellow citizens! i need not appeal to you on behalf of this noble youth. i know you are all of one mind with myself, that come what will, cost what it may, charles clancy must be saved." the enthusiastic shout, sent up in response to the old soldier's speech, tells that the pursuit will be at least energetic and earnest. helen armstrong, standing retired, looks more hopeful now. and with her hope is mingled pride, at the popularity of him to whom she has given heart, and promised hand. something more to make her happy; she now knows that, in the bestowing of both, she will have the approval of her father. chapter eighty five. a change of programme. on the far frontier of texas, still unsettled by civilised man, no chanticleer gives note of the dawn. instead, the _meleagris_ salutes the sunrise with a cry equally high-toned, and quite as home-like. for the gobbling of the wild turkey-cock is scarcely distinguishable from that of his domesticated brother of the farm-yard. a gang of these great birds has roosted in the pecan grove, close to where the prairie pirates are encamped. at daylight's approach, they fly up to the tops of the trees; the males, as is their wont in the spring months of the year, mutually sounding their sonorous challenge. it awakes the robbers from the slumber succeeding their drunken debauch; their chief first of any. coming forth from his tent, he calls upon the others to get up--ordering several horses to be saddled. he designs despatching a party to the upper plain, in search of quantrell and bosley, not yet come to camp. he wants another word with the mulatto; and steps towards the tent, where he supposes the man to be. at its entrance he sees blood--inside a dead body! his cry, less of sorrow than anger, brings his followers around. one after another peering into the tent, they see what is there. there is no question about how the thing occurred. it is clear to all. their prisoner has killed his guard; as they say, assassinated him. has the assassin escaped? they scatter in search of him, by twos and threes, rushing from tent to tent. some proceed to the corral, there to see that the bars are down, and the horses out. these are discovered in a strip of meadow near by, one only missing. it is that the chief had seized from their white prisoner, and appropriated. the yellow one has replevined it! the ghastly spectacle in the tent gives them no horror. they are too hardened for that. but it makes them feel, notwithstanding; first anger, soon succeeded by apprehension. the dullest brute in the band has some perception of danger as its consequence. hitherto their security has depended on keeping up their incognito by disguises, and the secrecy of their camping place. here is a prisoner escaped, who knows all; can tell about their travesties; guide a pursuing party to the spot! they must remain no longer there. borlasse recognising the necessity for a change of programme, summons his following around him. "boys!" he says, "i needn't point out to ye that this ugly business puts us in a bit o' a fix. we've got to clear out o' hyar right quick. i reckon our best way 'll be to make tracks for san antone, an' thar scatter. even then, we won't be too safe, if yellow skin turns up to tell his story about us. lucky a nigger's testymony don't count for much in a texan court; an' thar's still a chance to make it count for nothin' by our knocking him on the head." all look surprised, their glances interrogating "how?" "i see you don't understan' me," pursues borlasse in explanation. "it's easy enough; but we must mount at once, an' make after him. he won't so readily find his way acrosst the cut-rock plain. an' i tell yez, boys, it's our only chance." there are dissenting voices. some urge the danger of going back that way. they may meet the outraged settlers. "no fear of them yet," argues the chief, "but there will be if the nigger meets them. we needn't go on to the san saba. if we don't overtake him 'fore reachin' the cottonwood, we'll hev' to let him slide. then we can hurry back hyar, an' go down the creek to the colorado." the course counselled, seeming best, is decided on. hastily saddling their horses, and stowing the plunder in a place where it will be safe till their return, they mount, and start off for the upper plain. silence again reigns around the deserted camp; no human voice there--no sound, save the calling of the wild turkeys, that cannot awake that ghastly sleeper. at the same hour, almost the very moment, when borlasse and his freebooters, ascending from coyote creek, set foot on the table plain, a party of mounted men, coming up from the san saba bottom, strikes it on the opposite edge. it is scarce necessary to say that these are the pursuing settlers. dupre at their head. hardly have they struck out into the sterile waste, before getting bewildered, with neither trace nor track to give them a clue to the direction. but they have with them a surer guide than the foot-prints of men, or the hoof-marks of horses-- their prisoner bill bosley. to save his life, the wretch told all about his late associates and is now conducting the pursuers to coyote creek. withal, he is not sure of the way; and halts hesitatingly. woodley mistaking his uncertainty for reluctance, puts a pistol to his head, saying:-- "bill bosley! altho' i don't make estimate o' yur life as more account than that o' a cat, it may be, i spose, precious to yurself. an' ye kin only save it by takin' us strait to whar ye say jim borlasse an' his beauties air. show sign o' preevarication, or go a yurd's length out o' the right track, an'--wal, i won't shoot ye, as i'm threetenin'. that 'ud be a death too good for sech as you. but i promise ye'll get yer neck streetched on the nearest tree; an' if no tree turn up, i'll tie ye to the tail o' my horse, an' hang ye that way. so, take yur choice. if ye want to chaw any more corn, don't 'tempt playin' possum." "i hain't no thought of it," protests bosley, "indeed i hain't, sime. i'm only puzzled 'bout the trail from here. tho' i've been accrost this plain several times, i never took much notice, bein' with the others, i only know there's a tree stands by itself. if we can reach that, the road's easier beyont. i think it's out yonnerways." he points in particular direction. "wal, we'll try that way," says sime, adding: "ef yer story don't prove strait, there'll come a crik in yur neck, soon's it's diskivered to be crooked. so waste no more words, but strike for the timmer ye speak o'." the alacrity with which bosley obeys tells he is sincere. proof of his sincerity is soon after obtained in the tree itself being observed. far off they descry it outlined against the clear sky, solitary as a ship at sea. "yonner it air, sure enuf!" says woodley first sighting it. "i reck'n the skunk's tellin' us the truth, 'bout that stick o' timber being a finger-post. tharfor, no more dilly-dallying but on to't quick as our critters can take us. thar's a man's life in danger; one that's dear to me, as i reckon he'd be to all o' ye, ef ye knowed him, same's i do. ye heerd what the old kurnel sayed, as we war startin' out: _cost what it mout, charley clancy air to be saved_. so put the prod to your critters, an' let's on!" saying this, the hunter spurs his horse to its best speed; and soon all are going at full gallop in straight course for the cottonwood. chapter eighty six. alone with the dead. beside the body of his fallen foe stands charles clancy, but with no intention there to tarry long. the companionship of the dead is ever painful, whether it be friend or enemy. with the latter, alone, it may appal. something of this creeps over his spirit while standing there; for he has now no strong passion to sustain him, not even anger. after a few moments, he turns his back on the corpse, calling brasfort away from it. the dog yet shows hostility; and, if permitted, would mutilate the lifeless remains. its fierce canine instinct has no generous impulse, and is only restrained by scolding and threats. the sun is beginning to show above the horizon, and clancy perceives darke's horse tearing about over the plain. he is reminded of his promise made to jupiter. the animal does not go clear off, but keeps circling round, as if it desired to come back again; the presence of the other horse attracting, and giving it confidence. clancy calls to it, gesticulating in a friendly manner, and uttering exclamations of encouragement. by little and little, it draws nearer, till at length its muzzle is in contact with that of his own steed; and, seizing the bridle, he secures it. casting a last look at the corpse, he turns to the horses, intending to take departure from the spot. so little time has been spent in the pursuit, and the short conflict succeeding, it occurs to him he may overtake jupiter, before the latter has reached the san saba. scanning around to get bearings, his eye is attracted to an object, now familiar--the lone cottonwood. it is not much over two miles off. on darke's trail he must have ridden at least leagues. its crooked course, however, explains the tree's proximity. the circles and zig-zags have brought both pursued and pursuer nigh back to the starting point. since the cottonwood is there, he cannot be so far from the other place, he has such reason to remember; and, again running his eye around, he looks for it. he sees it not, as there is nothing now to be seen, except some scattered mould undistinguishable at a distance. instead, the rising sun lights up the figure of a man, afoot, and more than a mile off. not standing still, but in motion; as he can see, moving towards himself. it is jupiter! thus concluding, he is about to mount and meet him, when stayed by a strange reflection. "i'll let jupe have a look at his old master," he mutters to himself. "he too had old scores to settle with him--many a one recorded upon his skin. it may give him satisfaction to know how the thing has ended." meanwhile the mulatto--for it is he--comes on; at first slowly, and with evident caution in his approach. soon he is seen to quicken his step, changing it to a run; at length arriving at the rock, breathless as one who reaches the end of a race. the sight which meets him there gives him but slight surprise. he has been prepared for it. in answer to clancy's inquiry, he briefly explains his presence upon the spot. disobedient to the instructions given him, instead of proceeding towards the san saba bottom, he had remained upon the steppe. not stationary, but following his master as fast as he could, and keeping him in view so long as the distance allowed. two things were in his favour--the clear moonlight and darke's trail doubling back upon itself. for all, he had at length lost sight of the tracking horseman, but not till he had caught a glimpse of him tracked, fleeing before. it was the straight tail-on-end chase that took both beyond reach of his vision. noting the direction, he still went hastening after, soon to hear a sound which told him the chase had come to a termination, and strife commenced. this was the report of a gun, its full, round boom proclaiming it a smooth-bore fowling-piece. remembering that his old master always carried this--his new one never--it must be the former who fired the shot. and, as for a long while no other answered it, he was in despair, believing the latter killed. then reached his ear the angry bay of the bloodhound, with mens' voices intermingled; ending all the dear, sharp crack of a rifle; which, from the stillness that succeeded continuing, he knew to be the last shot. "an' it war the last, as i can see," he says, winding up his account, and turning towards the corpse. "ah! you've gi'n him what he thought he'd guv you--his _death shot_!" "yes, jupe. he's got it at last; and strange enough in the very place where he hit me. you see where my bullet has struck him?" the mulatto, stooping down over darke's body, examines the wound, still dripping blood. "you're right, masser charle; it's in de adzack spot. well, that is curious. seems like your gun war guided by de hand of that avengin' angel you spoke o'." having thus delivered himself, the fugitive slave becomes silent and thoughtful, for a time, bending over the body of his once cruel master, now no more caring for his cruelty, or in fear of being chastised by him. with what strange reflections must that spectacle inspire him! the outstretched arms lying helpless along the earth--the claw-like fingers now stiff and nerveless--he may be thinking how they once clutched a cowhide, vigorously laying it on his own back, leaving those terrible scars. "come, jupe!" says clancy, rousing him from his reverie; "we must mount, and be off." soon they are in their saddles, ready to start; but stay yet a little longer. for something has to be considered. it is necessary for them to make sure about their route. they must take precautions against getting strayed, as also another and still greater danger. jupiter's escape from the robbers' den, with the deed that facilitated it, will by this have been discovered. it is more than probable he will be pursued; indeed almost certain. and the pursuers will come that way; at any moment they may appear. this is the dark side of the picture presented to clancy's imagination, as he turns his eyes towards the west. facing in the opposite direction his fancy summons up one brighter. for there lies the san saba mission-house, within whose walls he will find helen armstrong. he has now no doubt that she has reached home in safety; knows, too, that her father still lives. for the mulatto has learnt as much from the outlaws. while _en route_ to coyote creek, and during his sojourn there, he overheard them speak about the massacre of the slaves, as also the immunity extended to their masters, with the reason for it. it is glad tidings to clancy, his betrothed, restored to her father's arms, will not the less affectionately open her own to receive him. the long night of their sorrowing has passed; the morn of their joy comes; its daylight is already dawning. he will have a welcome, sweet as ever met man. "what's that out yonner?" exclaims jupiter, pointing west. clancy's rapture is interrupted--his bright dream dissipated--suddenly, as when a cloud drifts over the disc of the sun. and it is the sun which causes the change, or rather the reflection of its rays from something seen afar off, over the plain. several points sparkle, appearing and disappearing through a semi-opaque mass, whose dun colour shows it to be dust. experienced in prairie-sign he can interpret this; and does easily, but with a heaviness at his heart. the things that sparkle are guns, pistols, knives, belt-buckles, bitts, and stirrups; while that through which they intermittingly shine is the stoor tossed up by the hooves of horses. it is a body of mounted men in march across the steppe. continuing to scan the dust-cloud, he perceives inside it a darker nucleus, evidently horses and men, though he is unable to trace the individual forms, or make out their number. no mattes for that; there is enough to identify them without. they are coming from the side of the colorado--from coyote creek. beyond doubt the desperadoes! chapter eighty seven. hostile cohorts. perfectly sure that the band is that of borlasse, which he almost instantly is, clancy draws his horse behind the rock, directing jupiter to do likewise. thus screened, they can command a view of the horsemen, without danger of being themselves seen. for greater security both dismount; the mulatto holding the horses, while his master sets himself to observe the movements of the approaching troop. is it approaching? yes; but not direct for the rock. its head is towards the tree, and the robbers are evidently making to reach this. as already said, the topography of the place is peculiar; the lone cottonwood standing on the crest of a _couteau de prairie_, whose sides slope east and west. it resembles the roof of a house, but with gentler declination. similarly situated on the summit of the ridge, is the boulder, but with nearly a league's length between it and the tree. soon as assured that the horsemen are heading for the latter, clancy breathes freer breath. but without being satisfied he is safe. he knows they will not stay there; and where next? he reflects what might have been his fate were he still in the _prairie stocks_. borlasse will be sure to pay that place a visit. not finding the victim of his cruelty, he will seek elsewhere. will it occur to him to come on to the rock? clancy so interrogates, with more coolness, and less fear, than may be imagined. his horse is beside him, and jupiter has another. the mulatto is no longer encumbered by a mule. darke's steed is known to be a swift one, and not likely to be outrun by any of the robber troop. if chased, some of them might overtake it, but not all, or not at the same time. there will be less danger from their following in detail, and thus clancy less fears them. for he knows that his yellow-skinned comrade is strong as courageous; a match for any three ordinary men. and both are now well armed--darke's double-barrel, as his horse, having reverted to jupiter. besides, as good luck has it, there are pistols found in the holsters, to say nothing of that long-bladed, and late blood-stained, knife. in a chase they will have a fair chance to escape; and, if it come to a fight, can make a good one. while he is thus speculating upon the probabilities of the outlaws coming on to the rock, and what may be the upshot afterwards, clancy's ear is again saluted by a cry from his companion. but this time in tone very different: for it is jubilant, joyous. turning, he sees jupiter standing with face to the east, and pointing in that direction. to what? another cloud of dust, that prinkles with sparkling points; another mounted troop moving across the plain! and also making for the tree, which, equi-distant between the two, seems to be the beacon of both. quick as he reached the conclusion about the first band being that of borlasse, does he decide as to that of the second. it is surely the pursuing colonists, and as sure with sime woodley at their head. both cohorts are advancing at a like rate of speed, neither riding rapidly. they have been so, but now, climbing the acclivity, they have quieted their horses to a walk. the pace though slow, continued, will in time bring them together. a collision seems inevitable. his glance gladdens as he measures the strength of the two parties. the former not only in greater number, but with god on their side; while the latter will be doing battle under the banner of the devil. about the issue of such encounter he has no anxiety. he is only apprehensive it may not come off. something may arise to warn the outlaws, and give them a chance to shun it. as yet neither party has a thought of the other's proximity or approach. they cannot, with the ridge between. still is there that, which should make them suspicious of something. above each band are buzzards--a large flock. they flout the air in sportive flight, their instinct admonishing them that the two parties are hostile, and likely to spill each other's blood. about the two sets of birds what will both sides be saying? for, high in heaven, both must long since have observed them. from their presence what conjectures will they draw? so clancy questions, answering himself: "borlasse will suppose the flock afar to be hovering over my head; while woodley may believe the other one above my dead body!" strange as it may appear, just thus, and at the same instant, are the two leaders interpreting the sign! and well for the result clancy desires; since it causes neither to command halt or make delay. on the contrary impels them forward more impetuously. perceiving this, he mechanically mutters: thank the lord! they must meet now! curbing his impatience, as he best can, he continues to watch the mutually approaching parties. at the head of the colonists he now sees sime woodley, recognises him by his horse--a brindled "clay-bank," with stripes like a zebra. would that he could communicate with his old comrade, and give him word, or sign of warning. he dares not do either. to stir an inch from behind the rock, would expose him to the view of the robbers, who might still turn and retreat. with heart beating audibly, blood, coursing quick through his veins, he watches and waits, timing the crisis. it must come soon. the two flocks of vultures have met in mid-air, and mingle their sweeping gyrations. they croak in mutual congratulation, anticipating a splendid repast. clancy counts the moments. they cannot be many. the heads of the horsemen already align with the tufts of grass growing topmost on the ridge. their brows are above it; their eyes. they have sighted each other! a halt on both sides; horses hurriedly reined in; no shouts; only a word of caution from the respective leaders of the troops, each calling back to his own. then an interval of silence, disturbed by the shrill screams of the horses, challenging from troop to troop, seemingly hostile as their riders. in another instant both have broken halt, and are going in gallop over the plain; not towards each other, but one pursuing, the other pursued. the robbers are in retreat! clancy had not waited for this; his cue came before, soon as they caught sight of one another. then, vaulting into his saddle, and calling jupiter to follow, he was off. riding at top speed, cleaving the air, till it whistles past his ears, with eyes strained forward, he sees the changed attitude of the troops. he reflects not on it; all his thoughts becoming engrossed, all his energies bent, upon taking part in the pursuit, and still more in the fight he hopes will follow. he presses on in a diagonal line between pursued and pursuers. his splendid steed now shows its good qualities, and gladly he sees he is gaining upon both. with like gladness that they are nearing one another, the short-striding mustangs being no match for the long legged american horses. as yet not a shot has been fired. the distance is still too great for the range of rifles, and backwoodsmen do not idly waste ammunition. the only sounds heard are the trampling of the hooves, and the occasional neigh of a horse. the riders are all silent, in both troops alike--one in the mute eagerness of flight, the other with the stern earnestness of pursuit. and now puffs of smoke arise over each, with jets of flame projected outward. shots, at first dropping and single, then in thick rattling fusillade. along with them cries of encouragement, mingled with shouts of defiance. then a wild "hurrah," the charging cheers the colonists close upon the outlaws. clancy rides straight for the fray. in front he sees the plain shrouded in dense sulphureous mist, at intervals illumined by yellow flashes. another spurt, and, passing through the thin outer strata of smoke, he is in the thick of the conflict--among men on horseback grappling other mounted men, endeavouring to drag them out of the saddle--some afoot, fighting in pairs, firing pistols, or with naked knives, hewing away at one another! he sees that the fight is nigh finished, and the robbers routed. some are dismounted, on their knees crying "quarter," and piteously appealing for mercy. where is sime woodley? has his old comrade been killed? half frantic with this fear, he rashes distractedly over the ground, calling out the backwoodsman's name. he is answered by another--by ned heywood, who staggers to his side, bleeding, his face blackened with powder. "you are wounded, heywood?" "yes; or i wouldn't be here." "why?" "because sime--" "where is he?" "went that way in chase o' a big brute of a fellow. i've jest spied them passin' through the smoke. for god's sake, after! sime may stand in need o' ye." clancy stays not to hear more, but again urges his horse to speed, with head in the direction indicated. darting on, he is soon out into the clear atmosphere; there to see two horsemen going off over the plain, pursued and pursuer. in the former he recognises borlasse, while the latter is woodley. both are upon strong, swift, horses; but better mounted than either, he soon gains upon them. the backwoodsman is nearing the brigand. clancy sees this with satisfaction, though not without anxiety. he knows jim borlasse is an antagonist not to be despised. driven to desperation, he will fight like a grizzly bear. woodley will need all his strength, courage, and strategy. eager to assist his old comrade, he presses onward; but, before he can come up, they have closed, and are at it. not in combat, paces apart, with rifles or pistols. not a shot is being exchanged between them. instead, they are close together, have clutched one another, and are fighting, hand to hand, with _bowies_! it commenced on horseback, but at the first grip both came to the ground, dragging each other down. now the fight continues on foot, each with his bared blade hacking and hewing at the other. a dread spectacle these two gigantic gladiators engaged in mortal strife! all the more in its silence. neither utters shout, or speaks word. they are too intent upon killing. the only sound heard is their hoarse breathing as they pant to recover it--each holding the other's arm to hinder the fatal stroke. clancy's heart beats apprehensively for the issue; and with rifle cocked, he rides on to send a bullet through borlasse. it is not needed. no gun is to give the _coup de grace_ to the chief of the prairie pirates. for, the blade of a bowie-knife has passed between his ribs, laying him lifeless along the earth. "you, charley clancy!" says sime, in joyful surprise at seeing his friend still safe. "thank the lord for it! but who'd a thought o' meeting ye in the middle of the skrimmage! and in time to stan' by me hed that been needful. but whar hev ye come from? dropt out o' the clouds? an' what o' dick darke? i'd most forgot that leetle matter. have ye seed him?" "i have." "wal; what's happened? hev ye did anythin' to him?" "the same as you have done to _him_," answers clancy, pointing to the body of borlasse. "good for you! i know'd it 'ud end that way. i say'd so to that sweet critter, when i war leevin' her at the mission." "you left her there--safe?" "wal, i left her in her father's arums, whar i reckon she'll be safe enough. but whar's jupe?" "he's here--somewhere behind." "all right! that accounts for the hul party. now let's back, and see what's chanced to the rest o' this ruffin crew. so, jim borlasse, good bye!" with this odd leave taking, he turns away, wipes the blood from his bowie, returns it to its sheath, and once more climbing into his saddle, rides off to rejoin the victorious colonists. on the ground where the engagement took place, a sad spectacle is presented. the smoke has drifted away, disclosing the corpses of the slain--horses as well as men. all the freebooters have fallen, and now lie astretch as they fell to stab or shot; some on their backs, others with face downward, or doubled sideways, but all dead, gashed, and gory--not a wounded man among them! for the colonists, recalling that parallel spectacle in the mission courtyard, have given loose rein to the _lex talionis_, and exacted a terrible retribution. nor have they themselves got off unscathed. the desperadoes being refused quarter, fought it out to the bitter end; killing several of the settlers, and wounding many more; among the latter two known to us-- heywood and dupre. by good fortune, neither badly, and both to recover from their wounds; the young creole also recovering his stolen treasure, found secreted at the camp on coyote creek. our tale might here close; for it is scarce necessary to record what came afterwards. the reader will guess, and correctly, that dupre became the husband of jessie, and helen the wife of clancy; both marriages being celebrated at the same time, and both with full consent and approval of the only living parent--colonel armstrong. and on the same day, though at a different hour, a third couple was made man and wife; jupe getting spliced to his jule, from whom he had been so long cruelly kept apart. it is some years since then, and changes have taken place in the colony. as yet none to be regretted, but the reverse. a court-house town has sprung up on the site of the ancient mission, the centre of a district of plantations--the largest of them belonging to luis dupre; while one almost as extensive, and equally as flourishing, has charles clancy for owner. on the latter live jupe and jule; jupe overseer, jule at the head of the domestic department; while on the former reside two other personages presented in this tale, it is hoped with interest attached to them. they are blue bill, and his phoebe; not living alone, but in the midst of a numerous progeny of piccaninnies. how the coon-hunter comes to be there requires explanation. a word will be sufficient. ephraim darke stricken down by the disgrace brought upon him, has gone to his grave; and at the breaking up of his slave establishment, blue bill, with all his belongings, was purchased by dupre, and transported to his present home. this not by any accident, but designedly; as a reward for his truthfulness, with the courage he displayed in declaring it. between the two plantations, lying contiguous, colonel armstrong comes and goes, scarce knowing which is his proper place of residence. in both he has a bedroom, and a table profusely spread, with the warmest of welcomes. in the town itself is a market, plentifully supplied with provisions, especially big game--bear-meat, and venison. not strange, considering that it is catered for by four of the most skilful hunters in texas; their names, woodley, heywood, hawkins, and tucker. when off duty these worthies may be seen sauntering through the streets, and relating the experiences of their latest hunting expedition. but there is one tale, which sime, the oldest of the quartette, has told over and over--yet never tires telling. need i say, it is the "death shot?" the end. material generously made available by internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/roverboysinlando winfiala the rover boys in the land of luck or stirring adventures in the oil fields by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer) author of "the rover boys at school," "the rover boys on the ocean," "the rover boys on a hunt." "the putnam hall series," etc. illustrated new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america [illustration: "they've struck oil!" yelled andy excitedly.] introduction my dear boys: this book is a complete story in itself, but forms the fifth volume in a line issued under the general title, "the second rover boys series for young americans." as mentioned in some volumes of the first series, this line was started years ago with the publication of "the rover boys at school," "on the ocean," and "in the jungle," in which i introduced my readers to dick, tom, and sam rover and their relatives. the volumes of the first series related the doings of these three rover boys while at putnam hall military academy, brill college, and while on numerous outings. having acquired a good education, the three young men established themselves in business in new york and became married. dick rover was blessed with a son and a daughter, as was likewise his brother sam, while tom rover became the proud father of twin boys. as the four lads were all of a decidedly lively disposition, it was thought best to send them to a boarding school, and in the first volume of the second series, entitled "the rover boys at colby hall," i related what happened to them while attending this institution. from colby hall the scene was shifted to "snowshoe island," where the lads went for a mid-winter outing. then they came back to colby hall, and what happened to them at the annual encampment of the young cadets is related in the third volume, entitled "the rover boys under canvas." when winter was once more at hand the younger rovers thought they would like to go on another outing with their chums, and in a volume entitled "the rover boys on a hunt" i related how they came upon a mysterious house in the forest and uncovered a most unusual mystery. in the present volume the scene is shifted from stirring doings at colby hall to still more stirring doings in the famous oil fields in the southern part of our country. once more i feel called upon to thank my numerous readers for the many nice things they have said about these "rover boys" books. i earnestly hope that the reading of the volumes will do them all good. affectionately and sincerely yours, edward stratemeyer. contents i out in the storm ii who the rover boys were iii to the rescue iv in the gymnasium v the rival school vi playing hixley high vii news from abroad viii the joke on the sneak ix the game with longley x a glorious victory xi bonfire night xii on bluebell island xiii werner's attack xiv bound for home xv back from france xvi dick rover's heroism xvii the great victory parade xviii bound for texas xix in the land of luck xx plotting against dick rover xxi words and blows xxii among the oil wells xxiii a queer summons xxiv dick rover's revelation xxv davenport's accusation xxvi news of ruth xxvii caught by the enemy xxviii at the franklin place xxix days of anxiety xxx the new well--conclusion the rover boys in the land of luck chapter i out in the storm "jack, it looks as if we were in for another storm." "yes, and it's starting right now," declared captain jack rover, as he glanced through the trees to the overcast sky. "don't you hear it on the leaves?" "it does beat everything!" declared andy rover, his usually bright face clouding a bit. "it has rained enough in the past two weeks to last a year." "do you know, i like these constant rains less than i liked being snowbound up at cedar lodge," put in lieutenant fred rover. "oh, there was some fun in being snowbound," declared randy rover. "a fellow could go out in it and have the best time ever. but what can a chap do when the rain is coming down to beat the band?" "well, you can go out and get a shower-bath free of charge," commented his twin gaily. "i'll take my showers in the gym," was the quick reply. "gee! listen to that, will you?" there was no need for any of the four rover boys to listen, or to look, either. a blinding flash of lightning had swept the sky, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder in the woods behind them. then followed another crash, as of falling timber. "it struck a tree, i'll bet a new cap!" exclaimed jack. "yes, and it was a little bit too close for comfort, too," answered his cousin fred. the thunder and lightning were followed by a sudden rush of wind which caused the trees of the forest to sway violently. then the downfall of rain increased until it was little short of a deluge. "we've got to get to some sort of shelter!" cried jack. "and the sooner we get there the better. if we stay under the trees we'll be soaked to the skin." "it's all right enough to talk about shelter," returned randy quickly; "but where are you going to find it? i don't know of even a log shack in this vicinity." "we might leg it down to the river," suggested his brother. "we can't be very far from rocky bend." "that's the talk!" burst out fred rover. "there is a cliff at the bend, and i remember there is a hollow under it which the river washed out years ago." "the trouble is you may find that hollow filled with water now, fred," answered jack. "remember the heavy rains of the last few weeks have caused something of a freshet. even down at our boathouse the water is unusually high." another streak of lightning followed by more thunder interrupted the conversation. then the wind seemed to veer around, and the rain came swishing in under the tree where the four lads had been resting. the rover boys had left colby hall immediately after the day's lessons for a tramp through the woods that bordered the rick rack river. they had been kept indoors more or less for over two weeks, it raining nearly every day. but that morning the sun had come through the clouds, and they had thought to enjoy a much-desired outing. all were clad in their cadet uniforms, and in addition wore their shoulder capes and also their rubbers. they had found the roads and paths running through the woods very wet, but did not mind this, being glad to breathe some "real air," as randy had expressed it. "i just hate to be boxed in all the time," had been his words. "give me an outdoor life every time." and then in the exuberance of his spirits he had turned what is commonly termed among athletes a cart-wheel. but when his feet came down again he found the ground so slippery he promptly landed flat on his back, much to the amusement of the others. the four rovers had asked some of their chums to accompany them, but two of the other cadets had errands to do in town and the others wished to write letters to their folks at home, so the four had gone off by themselves. all were good walkers, and they had covered a distance of several miles before the sky became again overcast. "if we weren't so far from the school we might make a dash for it," suggested jack. "we can't run that far!" returned fred, who was the smallest of the boys. "we'd be all out of wind and simply get wet through and through. let's try for the river. we're sure to find some sort of shelter under the rocks and bushes at the bend." "all right; here we go!" was jack's quick reply. as the oldest of the boys and as a captain of the colby hall cadets, he was naturally looked upon as the leader. he and fred started side by side and andy and randy followed closely. their course was along a winding path leading over some rough rocks and through some small overhanging bushes. "wow! what are you trying to do? give me a shower-bath?" grumbled randy presently. jack had pushed some long and well-saturated brushwood to one side in passing. now the bushes swung back into place, catching poor randy over the face and breast and showering him with water. "excuse me, but i couldn't hold the bushes back," said jack. "you had better not stick so close." "oh, well, a little more water doesn't count, jack. we are getting pretty well soaked anyway." the wind was blowing so furiously the cadets had all they could do to hold their capes tight around their shoulders as they progressed. more lightning lit up the sky, and then they heard the fall of another tree some distance away. "it's going to be a humdinger of a storm," remarked andy. "yes, and i'd give as much as two nickels to be safe back at the hall," came from fred. the constant thunder and lightning was beginning to get on the smallest youth's nerves. presently the four rovers caught sight of the river through the trees. the stream, which at this point was nothing more than a mountain torrent, boiled and foamed as it dashed over the rocks. "it certainly is getting high," said jack, as all paused for a moment to catch their breath. "i can't remember having seen it like this before." "just look at the stuff coming down, will you?" remarked fred. "there is a whole lot of good firewood going to waste." "i guess some one will pick it up by the time it reaches the lake, fred," said randy. "there are a lot of poor people down at haven point who get all their winter firewood from this river." "yes, but it's not all driftwood," broke in jack. "a good deal of the timber is cut up in the woods and then floated down. that is quite an industry among some of the old settlers up there." the four cadets did not pause very long to survey the scene. their one idea was to find some sort of shelter from the storm; and with this in view they hurried on parallel to the watercourse until they came to the point of rocks commonly known as the bend. here the side of the river on which they were located arose to a height of from twenty to thirty feet. in one place there was a sheer rocky wall, but at other places the rocks were much broken up, and consequently, irregular. "there is the shelter i had in mind," said fred, pointing with his hand. "come on; i think it will be just the place to get out of this storm." "any kind of a shelter will be better than standing out here," answered randy, and he and fred set off on a wild scramble over the slippery rocks with the others following. "be careful that you don't sprain an ankle or break a leg," warned jack. "gee! a fellow would have to be a regular grasshopper to jump over these rocks," grumbled randy, and he had scarcely uttered the words when he slipped down, landing with a thump on his chest. "hurt?" queried jack quickly. "n-no," spluttered his cousin. "b-but i kn-kn-knocked the wind out of m-me." in a minute more the boys had reached the shelter of the rocks where they overhung the rick rack river. here they found a shelter several feet above the madly rushing torrent. the place was twelve or fifteen feet in length, and several feet in depth. above them was a shelving rock which, while it did not shelter them completely, did much to ward off the heavy downpour of rain. "not as comfortable as a morris chair in the library at school," remarked andy, as he swished the water from his cap, "but it's a good deal better than being in the open." "provided we do not have to stay here too long," returned his twin. "what time is it, jack? i didn't bring my watch with me." "quarter to five," announced the young captain, after consulting his wrist-watch. "we ought to be on our way to the hall," said fred. "i don't know what captain dale will say if we are late." "oh, he'll excuse us when he learns the truth," answered jack. "just the same, i'd give a good deal if we were back safe and sound at the school. we certainly can't stay here all night, and it looks as if this storm was going to be a lasting one." "maybe we are in for another couple of weeks of rain," growled andy. "gee! i wish the weather bureau would go out of existence. they have been predicting clearing weather for over a week, and it never came at all." crouching down in the shelter of the overhanging rocks, the four cadets made themselves as comfortable as possible. over them and out on the river swished the wind and the rain. just below them the mountain torrent boiled and foamed with increasing violence, showing that the heavy downpour was making matters steadily worse. "i shouldn't want to have a cabin on the edge of this stream," remarked fred presently. "not much!" exclaimed andy. "you'd be in danger every minute of having it floated away." "look there, will you?" cried randy a moment later, as he pointed out in the stream. "if that isn't a chicken-coop then i miss my guess!" "you're right! and it's got one or two chickens in it!" burst out jack. "that shows that some of the farm lands up the river must be under water," remarked andy. "maybe we'll see a house or a barn coming down next," cried fred. "gee, this certainly is some storm!" he added, as another flash of lightning lit up the sky. then came the thunder, rolling and rumbling along the river and the mountains beyond. a quarter of an hour passed, and while the wind blew as violently as ever, it seemed to the impatient cadets that the rain was slackening a little. "maybe it will let up in the next half-hour or so," remarked jack hopefully. "then, if we strike out for the turnpike, we'll be able to get down to the hall in no time." "oh, sure! only three miles through the mud; and of course that's nothing," remarked andy airily. all of the boys were sitting in silence, wondering what their next move would be, when jack suddenly raised his hand as if to listen. "what was it?" queried randy quickly. "i thought i heard a yell for help," was the reply. "listen!" all did so, and presently above the rushing of the wind heard a man's voice. then came a shrill scream as if from a younger person. "somebody is in trouble!" cried fred. "listen! he is calling again!" all strained their ears, and once more heard the yells of the man borne along by the rushing wind. then came that other shrill cry, as if for assistance. "they are in trouble, all right!" "where are they?" "that cry came from up the river. whoever they are, they must be right around the bend." "come on! let's see what it means." with these and other exclamations the four rover boys left the shelter of the overhanging rocks and crawled along a stony pathway leading up the watercourse. soon they passed around the bend, and then came within sight of a scene which almost appalled them. a mass of wreckage consisting of a small tree and a quantity of newly cut timber had come down the stream and become caught among the jagged rocks above the bend, and in the midst of this wreckage, with the water rushing and foaming all around them, were a man and a boy, struggling wildly to save themselves from drowning! chapter ii who the rover boys were "look there, will you!" "that man and boy will surely be drowned!" "why don't they swim ashore?" "most likely the stream is running too swiftly for them." "help! help!" came hoarsely from the man. evidently his exertions were beginning to exhaust him. "save me! save me!" screamed the boy, who seemed to be about jack's age. "save me! don't let me drown!" the two unfortunate victims had caught sight of the cadets, who had by this time come as close to them as the rocks on the bank permitted. the man waved his arm frantically toward them. "can't you swim?" yelled jack, to make himself heard above the wind and the rushing of the water. "i'm caught fast!" the man gasped out. "and my son is caught fast too." "both of my feet are fast!" screamed the boy. "oh, please help us! don't leave us here to be drowned!" "it's a couple of logs of wood that are holding us," went on the man in a hoarser tone than ever. "they are jammed in between us and some rocks and a floating tree. if you can only start the tree, maybe we can get out of here." both the man and the boy were in the rushing water up to their armpits, and occasionally the dashing element would fly over them in a spray that hid them completely from view. "oh, boys, this is awful!" groaned fred. "can't we do something for them?" "we've got to do something," answered jack. "we can't leave them there to drown." "but what are we going to do?" demanded andy soberly. "he said something about loosening the tree that has drifted up alongside them," came from randy. "do you think we can do it, jack?" "i don't know. but we can have a try at it, anyway. and if we can't push the tree, maybe we can get at the logs that are holding them down." jack was looking up the river as he spoke, and at a distance saw a series of rocks jutting out for a considerable distance into the stream. "i am going out on those rocks and then trust to luck to get over to the other side," he said. "we can't get at that fallen tree from this side." "all right, i'm with you, jack," said randy. and together they made their way out on the rocks mentioned and the others slowly and cautiously followed. i know it will not be necessary to introduce the rover boys to my old readers. but for the benefit of those who are now meeting them for the first time a few words of introduction will not come amiss. in my first volume, entitled "the rover boys at school," i related how three brothers, dick, tom and sam rover, were sent to putnam hall military academy, where they made a great number of friends, including a cadet named lawrence colby. after passing through putnam hall, the boys attended brill college, and then joined their father in business in new york city, with offices on wall street. they organized the rover company, of which dick was now president, tom secretary and general manager, and sam treasurer. the three youths were married and lived in three connecting houses on riverside drive, overlooking the hudson river. about a year after their marriage dick and his wife became the parents of a son, who was named john, after mrs. rover's uncle, mr. john laning. this son was followed by a daughter, named martha, after her great-aunt martha of valley brook farm. the boy jack, as he was commonly called, was a sturdy youth with many of the qualities which had made his father so successful. it was around this time that tom rover and his wife nellie came to the front with a great surprise. this was in the nature of a pair of lively twins, one of whom was named anderson, after his grandfather, and the other randolph, after his great-uncle randolph of valley brook farm. andy and randy, as they were always called, were exceedingly active lads, in that particular being a second edition of their father, tom. about the time tom's twins were born sam rover and his wife grace became the parents of a little girl, whom they called mary, after mrs. laning. then, a year later, the girl was followed by a boy, who was christened fred after sam rover's old school chum, fred garrison. residing so close together, the younger generation of rover boys, as well as the sisters, were brought up very much as one family. when they were old enough all were at first sent to private schools in the metropolis. but soon the boys, led by andy and randy, showed such a propensity for "cutting loose" that their parents were compelled to hold a consultation. "we'll have to send them to some strict boarding school--some military academy," said dick rover. at that time lawrence colby, the putnam hall chum of the older rovers, was at the head of a military academy called colby hall. to this institution jack, fred and the twins were sent, as related in detail in the first volume of my second series, entitled "the rover boys at colby hall." this military school was located about half a mile from the town of haven point, on clearwater lake. at the head of the lake was the rick rack river, running down from the mountains and woods beyond. the school consisted of a large stone building facing the river at a point not far from where the stream emptied into the lake. close by was a smaller building occupied by colonel colby and his family and some of the professors, and at a short distance were a gymnasium and a boathouse, and likewise bathing pavilions. on arriving at colby hall the younger rovers found several of their friends awaiting them, including dick powell and gifford garrison. they also ran into nappy martell, who had been far from friendly with them while in new york, and likewise had trouble with an overgrown bully named slugger brown, who was nappy's crony. as mentioned, colby hall was located about half a mile beyond haven point. on the opposite side of the town was clearwater hall, a boarding school for girls. during a panic at a fire in a motion picture house the rover boys became acquainted with several girls from clearwater hall, including ruth stevenson, may powell, alice strobell and annie larkins. they discovered that may was dick powell's cousin, and the whole crowd of young people soon became friends. later on mary and martha rover became pupils at the girls' school. ruth stevenson had an old uncle barney. the rover boys, while out hunting one day, did the old man a great service, and for this he was so grateful that he invited them to spend their winter holidays with him; which they did, as related in "the rover boys on snowshoe island." on this island the lads met their former enemies, nappy martell and slugger brown, as well as asa lemm, a discharged teacher of colby hall. the boys exposed a plot against old uncle barney, and in the end caused the old hunter's enemies to leave snowshoe island in disgust. "i guess we haven't seen the last of nappy and slugger," said jack; and he was right. those two unworthies turned up once again, as related in the volume entitled "the rover boys under canvas." in that book i told how the cadets went into their annual encampment and how after a spring election for officers jack was made captain of company c and fred made first lieutenant of the same command. among the cadets who wished to become a captain was one named gabe werner, a great chum at that time of a lad named bill glutts. having failed of election, werner did all he could to make things uncomfortable for the rovers, and in his actions he was aided by glutts. but these two young rascals were discovered in some of their nefarious doings, and, becoming alarmed, gabe werner left the school camp and did not return. glutts was brought before captain dale, the teacher in charge of the camp, and received a stern lecture and was deprived of many liberties. while the rover boys were at colby hall the great war in europe opened and our country was overrun with german spies and sympathizers. during their time under canvas the boys made several surprising discoveries, and in the end helped the secret service men to capture a hidden german submarine. they likewise helped to round up the fathers of nappy martell and slugger brown. mr. martell and mr. brown were sent to prison on the charge of aiding the enemy, while nappy and slugger were marched off to a detention camp in the south. when being taken away nappy and slugger were very bitter against the rovers, and vowed they would square accounts the first chance they got. "and they will do it, too. you'll see," was fred's comment. "they are as mad as hornets, and they will do everything they can think of to make trouble for us." when the call for army volunteers came dick rover and his brother sam had lost no time in enlisting. at first tom rover had been unable to get away. but soon the business in new york city had been left in reliable hands, and the three fathers of the boys had gone to the trenches in europe to do their bit for uncle sam. they had been in several engagements, and tom and sam had received shell wounds, while dick rover had suffered somewhat from a gas attack. "well, we can be thankful that it is no worse," had been jack's comment on receiving this news from abroad. "just the same, i wish this awful war was at an end." during the winter gif garrison had received a letter from his uncle stating that he and his chums might use a bungalow up in the woods known as cedar lodge. gif at once invited dick powell, often called "spouter" because of his fondness for long speeches, and the rover boys to become his guests on an outing to the lodge. and how all of the lads went to that place has been related in detail in the volume previous to this, entitled "the rover boys on a hunt." in that book they came upon a house in the forest, and there uncovered a most unusual mystery. they found that some germans were getting ready to establish a wireless telegraph station, and aided in the round-up of these men by the united states authorities. mixed up with the german sympathizers were gabe werner and bill glutts, and these badly scared youths had all they could do to convince the authorities that they were really patriotic. glutts and werner considered that they had been brought into ill repute by the connivance of the rovers and their chums, and they were exceedingly bitter against the cadets. "we are certainly making some real enemies," was the way jack expressed himself. "first nappy and slugger, and now glutts and werner. every one of those fellows will do all he can to injure us." "well, all we can do is to keep our eyes open for them," was randy's reply. "personally, i'm not afraid of any of them." "they are all sneaks, and sneaks are always cowards," added fred. having finished their outing at cedar lodge, the four rovers and their two chums had returned to colby hall, there to plunge once more into their studies and their other duties as cadets. it was now early spring, and talk of baseball filled the air, but with so much rain outdoor practice was practically impossible. then had come a ray of sunshine, and the four rovers had ventured forth that afternoon thinking to have a pleasant little outing. but the sunshine had quickly passed, and now they found themselves out in a furious storm and face to face with a situation that was as appalling as it was dangerous. chapter iii to the rescue "don't leave us! don't leave us!" shouted the man in the middle of the river, as he saw jack and the others crawling over the rocky shore up the stream. "we're not going to leave you," answered the young captain of the colby hall cadets. "we are going to try to get to that tree and move it. keep up your courage." "oh, please hurry!" screamed the boy in the stream. "the water is getting higher every minute, and it's flying right into our faces!" "we'll do what we can," shouted back randy, and the others added similar words of encouragement. it was no easy task for the rovers to make their way over the wet rocks, covered here and there with slippery grass and weeds. more than once one or another went down, and fred gave his left elbow a bump, while his cousin andy received a scraping of the shins. fortunately, the downpour of rain was abating, so that they had a chance to dash the water from their caps and faces and see better what they were trying to do. they soon reached the last of the rocks jutting out from the shore, and here the four came again to a halt to view the situation. "there is no help for it--we've got to jump right in and trust to luck to reach the other side," said jack. "let us take hold of hands. maybe we can brace ourselves better," suggested randy. this plan was carried out, and a moment later found the four cadets in water up to their knees. so swift was the current they had all they could do to keep their feet, and andy would have gone down had not his brother and fred held him up. it was lucky for the lads that they had chosen a spot where the stream was rather broad and shallow, widening out on the side opposite to the rocky bluff. nevertheless, at one point they found themselves in water up to their waists, and here they had to struggle with might and main to keep from being swept down to where the man and the boy were held prisoners. "say, this is awful!" gasped fred, when he at last found himself on a safer footing. "this river is running like a mill-race," was randy's comment. when they had reached a spot where the water was less than a foot deep they stopped once more to regain their breath, and then, led by jack, moved cautiously down the river to the point where was located the drifting tree the man had mentioned. "just see if you can't pull it toward the shore," directed the man. "but be careful that you don't get hit when it swings around." it was now that the young cadets' lessons in bridge building while in camp came into good play. jack gave orders as to just how the swinging around of the tree might be managed. then all took hold and pulled with might and main. "i don't see that it has budged any," gasped fred, after half a minute of the hardest kind of effort. "try it again, boys!" shouted jack encouragingly. "now then--all together! one--two--three!" again the four sturdy boys exerted all their strength on the tree, and this time they felt the lower end, which had been wedged in between some logs and rocks, give way. then, as they hauled the tree still farther from the center of the river, it suddenly swung around and, caught by the current, went dashing along on its course. "hurrah! there she goes!" shouted randy, as the tree disappeared in a veil of foam and spray. "how about it?" shouted jack to the man and boy. "can you get loose now?" both of the prisoners were exerting their utmost to release themselves and did not answer. but their efforts were in vain, and soon they ceased to struggle. "it's no use! one of the logs is holding our feet right against the rocks!" gasped out the man. "we don't seem to be able to budge it." "i'm afraid it is going to break my leg!" screamed the boy. "i can't stand the pressure much longer." "i'm going out there and see what i can do," said jack. "if you go, so will i," returned randy promptly. "you can count me in, too," announced andy and fred simultaneously. "look out that you don't get drowned," went on jack quickly. "we'll be as safe as you'll be," returned fred. all went up the river a short distance so that they might not be carried past the spot where the man and the boy were located. then they struck out bravely for the place where the logs were jammed in a heap. some of the sticks seemed to have been cut for railroad ties, while others looked like fence rails, and there were not less than two dozen of them in a jumble among the jagged rocks. in a few seconds the cadets found themselves in this jam with the furious current of the river trying to sweep them to one side or the other. but they held fast, and as rapidly as possible loosened one log or rail after another. "look out there!" yelled andy presently, and all heeded his warning. then several of the logs bobbed up and went flying down the river. this released the log holding the man and the boy, and the pair came up spluttering. "do you think you can swim ashore?" questioned jack. "i guess i can make it," answered the man somewhat weakly. "look after my kid, will you?" "we sure will!" answered jack. with fred and andy beside him, the man struck out for the shore, and all were soon carried down the stream and under the rocky bluff. in the meanwhile, jack and randy did what they could to aid the boy, and then followed the others. the swiftly flowing current of the rick rack carried the entire party well past the overhanging rocks and then onward to a point where the river widened considerably. here they managed to get a footing. "thank fortune we are out of that!" exclaimed fred, as he and the others made their way over the sand and rocks and through the bushes to where there was a grassy slope backed up by a number of trees. "it was a mighty close shave for me and my kid," returned the man. "i thought sure at one time we would be drowned." "and we would have been if it hadn't been for these fellows coming to save us," added the boy gratefully, and he shot an admiring glance at the four dripping cadets. "are you soldier boys?" questioned the man, as the whole party gathered under the shelter of a tree. by this time the rain was nothing more than a fine drizzle. "not exactly," answered jack. "we are cadets attending colby hall military academy." "oh, yes, i've heard about that school," said the man. "they tell me it's a very fine place. well, all i've got to say is, if all the boys there are as brave as you lads you certainly must have a bang-up crowd," and he smiled broadly. then he clapped jack on his shoulder. "i thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you did for us. it was a nervy thing to do--to risk your lives in that river. i shall never forget it. if i were a rich man i'd want to reward you, but i must admit i'm just about as poor as they make 'em." "we don't want any reward," answered jack. "i'm glad to be of service to you." "i guess we're all glad," added randy, and the others nodded. then the young cadets introduced themselves and the man and the boy did the same. the man said his name was john franklin. "this is my son phil," he added. "we don't belong around here--that is, not exactly. you see, i used to own a farm which was mostly in texas and partly in oklahoma, a pretty big farm, though it wasn't very productive. some oil sharpers came along and made a sort of three-cornered deal, the particulars of which i need not give you, but as a consequence almost before i knew it i was done out of my farm and had next to no money in my pocket. then i came up here expecting to see some friends who might help me in fighting those rascals, but the friends had moved away, and nobody knew where to, so i was almost stranded. then phil and i got work up in the woods, cutting timber and doing other odd jobs, and we had steady employment until this rainy season set in." "so you came all the way from texas, did you?" said randy to phil franklin, with a smile. "it's a pretty long distance." "oh, we got sick of it down there after dad was done out of his farm by those oil sharpers," answered phil franklin. "did they find oil on your farm?" questioned fred. "no. that is, they hadn't up to the time we left. you know it takes a lot of time and money to sink an oil well. but they did us out of our farm, and that's bad enough." "some day, if i ever get on my feet again, i'm going back to texas and have it out with those rascals," announced john franklin. "they claimed that their dealings with me were perfectly legal, but i don't look at it that way. however, boys, that affair has nothing to do with you. as i said before, i wish i could reward you, but all i can do is to give you my very best thanks." "and you can bet i'm thankful, too!" added phil franklin earnestly. "isn't it rather strange that you should be up here in such a storm as this?" questioned the man from texas. "we got tired of staying indoors on account of the rain," answered jack; "so when it seemed to break away we thought we saw a chance to take a hike just for the fun of it." "and now we're glad we did take a hike," put in randy. "we were trying to cross the stream by the aid of a rope," explained john franklin. "the rope broke, and phil was swept down the stream and i went after him to make sure that he didn't get drowned. then we got mixed up in the logs and the tree, and you know the rest." "you say you belong up the river?" questioned andy. "yes. we've been stopping at bossard's camp. i suppose we ought to be getting back there now, or he'll be wondering what has become of us. besides that, we'll want some dry clothing. and you fellows will want some dry clothing, too. otherwise you might catch cold." "yes, we'll hike back to the school as fast as possible," answered jack. he held out his hand. "good-bye to you, and good luck." "you won't mind if i come down to see you some time, will you?" questioned the man. "i want your teachers to know how brave you have been." "come down, by all means," answered jack. "but don't pile on the bravery stuff, please. we did only what any healthy young fellows would do." "i don't know about that. i guess i know real heroes when i see 'em," answered john franklin, with a grin. "i'd like to see you fellows drill. it must be great," put in his son phil. "come down any time and ask for us," answered fred. he was rather taken by phil franklin's open manner. a few words more passed, and then the franklins hurried up the river in the direction of the lumber camp from which they had come. then the rovers turned in the direction of colby hall. "i'm glad we went to the rescue," remarked andy, when on the way. "they seem a pretty decent sort." "all the way from texas," mused his twin. "that's certainly some distance." as the rovers hurried to the hall they talked the matter of the rescue over in all of its details. "it was certainly a queer meeting," was fred's comment. but little did he or his cousins dream of the still queerer meeting with the franklins that was to come in the future. chapter iv in the gymnasium "company attention! carry arms! present arms! shoulder arms! forward march!" captain jack rover, assisted by lieutenant fred rover and his other officers, was drilling company c in a corner of the gymnasium of colby hall. it was two days after the adventure on the rick rack river, and it was still raining, so that drilling in the open was almost out of the question. the four cadets who had taken part in the rescue of john franklin and his son phil had explained the situation to captain dale on their return to the school and had been warmly praised by that old west point military man for their bravery. it may be mentioned here that captain dale had been in charge of the school since colonel colby had volunteered for the war and gone to france to fight. many of the cadets hated the rain and hoped it would soon clear. they loved drilling in the open far more than when held indoors, and they also wished to get at baseball and other spring sports. "it's a shame it doesn't let up," remarked gif garrison, after the drilling had come to an end and the rifles had been put away in their cases along the wall. gif was a big youth, and the recognized head of many of the athletic sports. "well, we have to take such matters as they come," returned spouter powell, running his hand through his heavy brush of hair. "were it not for the gentle rains, and the dews later on, the fields and slopes of the hills would not be clothed in the verdant green which all true lovers of nature so much admire. instead we might have a bleak barrenness, a dissolution which would appall----" "gee, spouter is at it again!" broke in will hendry, usually called fatty by his chums because of his rotundity. fatty was extremely good-natured, and as a consequence nearly every one admired him. "nothing gentle about this rain!" exclaimed dan soppinger, another cadet. "it's coming down in bucketfuls. say, that puts me in mind--i've got an essay to write on moisture. can any of you tell me why condensation takes place when----" "hurrah! the human question-box is once more with us," broke in andy rover. "dan, i think you'd die if you couldn't ask questions." "humph! how is a fellow going to learn anything if he doesn't ask questions?" retorted dan. "you might walk around with a set of encyclopedias in your pocket," proposed randy. "that's it, dan. get a regular thirty-volume set while you are at it. you've got about thirty pockets in your suit, haven't you? you could put one in each pocket." "i wish it would clear off to-morrow, at least enough to go to haven point," said fred. "they have a dandy moving picture at mr. falstein's place." "oh, i know the piece you mean, fred," cried andy slyly. "it's entitled 'meeting the girls; or, the great conspiracy.'" "did the girls say they were going to see the pictures, fred?" questioned jack quickly. "mary telephoned that they might go," answered fred. "that is, she said she and martha might, and if they go probably some of the others will go too." "then we must get down to see the pictures by all means," answered jack. "that is, if the storm lets up. if it keeps on raining i don't think any of them will show up." "let's go in for a little gymnastic work," cried randy, and had soon shed his cap and his coat. he leaped up to one of the turning-bars, and was soon busily going through various gymnastic evolutions. his twin joined him, and then they did a little team work, much to the admiration of some of the others present. "how about a swing from one bar to the next?" called out ned lowe. ned was known as the chief singer of the school and was very handy with a mandolin. "all right, ned; i'll swing against you," called andy quickly. "not much!" was ned's ready reply. "i know you can beat me. see what you can do against walt baxter." walt baxter was a clean-cut athletic youth who had made good in various contests in the gymnasium and on the baseball and football field. he was the son of dan baxter, who at one time had been a bitter enemy of the older rovers. but the senior baxter had reformed, and his son was well liked by the younger rovers. "all right, walt," called out andy. "do you want to swing against me or against my brother randy?" "i'll swing against both of you," answered walt pleasantly. the details of the little contest were quickly arranged, and it was decided that randy should make the first swing, walt the second, and andy should come last. the swing was to consist of a flying leap from one bar to the next, and then to a large pad spread beyond the second bar. "one try only now, remember!" cried dan soppinger. "do your best, everybody." it did not take randy long to get into position, and then he made a swing and a leap which were gracefulness itself. he landed on the pad lightly, but quite close to the second bar. "i'm sure i can do better than that!" cried walt baxter; and in less than a minute he too had made the swing, landing half a foot beyond the mark set by randy. andy eyed the distance carefully, and then prepared to make the swing. "here's where i do the flying-fish act!" he cried merrily. "what's going on here? a contest? let me see it!" came a voice from behind the crowd that had assembled to see the performance. then henry stowell, a small cadet who was a good deal of a sneak, pushed his way to the front of the gathering. "hi, codfish, what are you trying to do?" exclaimed ned lowe, who had been elbowed rather rudely by the small cadet. "i want to see what's going on," cried stowell. "all right, codfish, take it in for all you're worth," called out fatty hendry, and then put out his foot and pushed the sneak of the school forward. it was a vigorous shove, and in order to keep himself from pitching headlong henry stowell took half a dozen quick steps forward. andy was just in the act of launching himself from one bar to the next when stowell's forward movement carried him to a point directly between the two bars. as a consequence andy's feet struck the smaller cadet in the shoulder, and both went down in a heap on the floor. "stop! stop! what are you trying to do--kill me?" yelled stowell, as andy came down on top of him in anything but a gentle fashion. "i'd like to know what you are trying to do, codfish?" demanded andy, using a nickname for stowell which the latter abhorred. "i didn't do a thing! fatty hendry tried to trip me up." "and you shoved your way in where you had no business to be," retorted fatty. "just the same, i'm sorry he got in your way, andy," he added. "are either of you hurt?" questioned jack quickly. "he spoiled my jump," answered his cousin. "and he kicked me in the shoulder and knocked me down," whined stowell. "i've a good mind to report him." "what! after all we did for you in the woods last winter?" demanded fred. they had found stowell with werner and glutts and had rescued the little cadet from the bullies and seen him safe on his way home. "i don't care! my shoulder hurts terribly," whined stowell. "never mind, codfish, we'll give you a mustard plaster to put on it," cried ned lowe. and then in some confusion the sneak of colby hall withdrew from the crowd. "i don't suppose you feel like trying the swing now," remarked walt baxter to andy. "if you want to call it off, all right." "not much!" was the quick reply. "i got pretty well shaken up by hitting codfish, but just the same, i'm going to make the swing." and a moment later andy did so. "and he wins!" declared dan soppinger, after measurements were made. "he's a good six inches ahead of anybody!" "well, some time we'll try it again, and then maybe i'll be able to do better," remarked walt baxter good-naturedly. "i'm afraid you've made codfish sore on us once again," remarked jack to andy, after the little contest had come to an end and the cadets were breaking up into various groups. "if he is going to get sore over that he can do it," retorted andy. "i supposed he would be real friendly after all we did for him up in the woods last winter," remarked fred. "well, that shows what's in a fellow is bound to come out sooner or later," answered randy. "codfish always was a poor stick, and i suppose he always will be. just the same, i did hope he would turn over a new leaf." when the cadets awoke on saturday morning a pleasurable surprise awaited them. the storms of the weeks previous had completely passed, and the sun was shining over the hills most gloriously. "oh, but isn't this the best ever!" cried randy, after glancing out of the window. "it's simply scrumptious," retorted his twin; and then to show how good he felt, andy turned a flip-flap over his bed. then he caught up a pillow and threw it through an open doorway at fred, who had just started to dress. "hi, you! what's this--a bombardment by the huns?" yelled fred, and promptly returning by sending a sneaker at his cousin. but the footwear struck randy, who promptly returned the missile and followed it up with a book and a wadded-up towel. "hi, you fellows! stop the rough-housing!" shouted jack. "do you want to be reported?" "who's going to report us--you?" questioned andy. "no. but some monitor will, or some teacher. and then a fat chance you'll have of going to haven point this afternoon." "oh, that's so. we don't want to have our off-time cut off," put in randy quickly. "the war's over, the armistice is signed, and everybody can go home and get washed up," he added, with a grin. but while he was speaking andy had advanced upon fred, and now the two started to wrestle. jack tried to stop them and in the confusion the three upset a small stand, sending a dozen or more books to the floor with a thump. almost immediately came another thump on one of the doors leading to the corridor. "now we've done it," whispered fred, in sudden alarm. "pick up those books! quick!" answered andy, and got down on his knees to do so while jack righted the stand which had held the volumes. at the same time randy leaped to pick up the pillows and otherwise straighten the connecting rooms which the rovers occupied. "ho, you fellows! aren't you up yet?" came from the corridor in the voice of gif garrison. "let me in. i've got some important news to tell you." "oh, it's only gif!" murmured the twins in relief. "he said he had important news," put in jack. "i wonder what it can be." chapter v the rival school one of the doors to the rooms occupied by the rovers was quickly swung open and gif garrison strode in, followed by dick powell. gif held a morning newspaper in his hand, one which had been delivered to the school only a short while before. "you said you had important news, gif," said jack. "what is it?" "there is an item here in the newspaper gif wants to show you," put in spouter. "i am sure it will interest every one of us." "it's not much of an item so far as size goes," said gif. "but it certainly is important--or at least it may be, especially to you rovers--seeing that none of us has ever been particularly friendly with nappy martell and slugger brown." "what! have you news of those two rascals?" demanded randy. "did they run away from that detention camp in the south?" broke in fred. "they'd be fools to do that," returned andy. "the military authorities would round them up in no time. it's no easy matter to keep out of the clutches of uncle sam if he wants you." "no, they haven't run away. they have simply been given their freedom," answered gif. "here--you can read the news for yourselves." the item he referred to was only twelve lines long and located at the bottom of a column on one of the inside pages of the newspaper. it was dated from a well-known detention camp in the south, and gave a list of six prisoners who had had another hearing and been given their freedom. two of the names were napoleon martell and slogwell brown, jr. "well, they're loose, all right enough," was andy's comment, after they had perused the item. "i wonder what they'll do?" "one thing is certain, being detained that way by the government will certainly prove quite a stigma," said jack. "i shouldn't like to have anything of that sort against me." "i suppose they'll have it in for us," said randy. "they always loved us a lot--i don't think!" "do you imagine they would dare show themselves around here?" questioned fred quickly. "why not?" queried spouter. "i don't think they'll come here," answered jack. "it's too slow for them around haven point. you know how sick they got of it the last time they were here. they'll probably head for some big city, where they can have a good time on whatever money they can get hold of." gif and spouter passed on, to carry the news to other cadets who might be interested in it, and the rovers hurried to get ready for roll-call and breakfast. while they were finishing their dressing they continued to discuss the news. "i was hoping that we had seen and heard the last of nappy and slugger," said fred; "just as i was hoping that we had seen the last of werner and glutts." "they are like bad pennies--ready to turn up when you least expect it," said andy. "just the same, they had better keep out of my way if they don't want to get into trouble," he continued, his eyes flashing. during the morning the boys had to attend a drill and then prepare a number of their lessons for the following week. but directly after lunch they had the time to themselves, and the four rovers hurried off to town, and gif and spouter went with them. as has been mentioned before, haven point possessed a first-class motion picture theater, run by a man named felix falstein, who on more than one occasion had shown his friendship for the cadets. jack and fred had communicated with their sisters, and martha and mary had agreed to meet them at a certain hour at the theater entrance. "not here yet," said jack, when the crowd arrived. "you can't expect girls to be on hand always," said andy gaily. "you've got to give 'em a chance to get the hair-buns over their ears." "and fourteen hooks hooked up on the shoulder where you can't reach 'em," added his twin, grinning. "here they come now!" interrupted fred. "do you want me to tell them about the hooks and the hair-buns?" he added slyly. "you say a word, fred, and you'll be killed in cold blood!" retorted andy, while randy shook a playful fist at his cousin. in the crowd of girls coming around the corner of the street were not only the two rovers and may powell, the cousin of spouter, but also ruth stevenson, annie larkins, and alice strobell. "have we been keeping you long?" questioned martha rover, as she came up to her brother. "only a couple of minutes, martha," answered jack. "we haven't even had a chance to read the billboards," put in andy. "i was so glad to see it clear off," remarked ruth stevenson, as she quite naturally paired off with jack, while may powell turned to talk to fred. and then she added, as she gazed admiringly at the young captain in his neat-fitting uniform: "i understand you and your cousins have been doing the hero act again." "who told you that?" questioned jack quickly. "never mind who told me. we've heard all about how you rescued a man and his son from the rick rack river. oh, jack! it was a grand thing to do." "but who told you, ruth?" "it was mr. franklin himself, if you want to know it." "where in the world did you meet mr. franklin?" "why, he works up at bossard's lumber camp, and bossard supplies our school with cordwood. mr. franklin and his son brought down a load of wood, and he told someone how the rovers had come to their rescue. then those folks pointed martha and mary out to them, and as we happened to be with your sister and your cousin at the time we heard the whole story. mr. franklin said it was a very brave thing to do, and he was awfully sorry that he couldn't offer you some reward--not but what i am sure, jack, you wouldn't accept it," the girl continued quickly. by this time all the boys and girls had paired off and soon the cadets had purchased tickets and all entered the showhouse. they found seats together, and sat down to enjoy themselves. a comic picture was being thrown on the screen, and at this the young folks laughed so heartily that it put all of them in the best of humor. then came a slight intermission, and they had a chance to talk over their personal matters. "i heard something a few days ago that interested me quite a good deal, jack," said ruth. "it was from that new school at darryville, the longley academy." the girl referred to a school which had been opened the fall previous. it was supposed to be something of a physical culture academy where as much attention was paid to athletics as to mental studies. the school had been inaugurated too late to do anything in football, but had given out that they would be in the baseball field the following spring. "what did you hear about longley, ruth?" "why, there is a boy there i used to know quite well, tommy flanders. he says they have organized a first-class baseball club, and that they are going to put it all over colby hall--those are his exact words." "humph! that remains to be seen, ruth." "have you received a challenge from them?" "not yet. but gif garrison is expecting one every day. we heard something of the talk. do you know if this tommy flanders is much of a player?" "he used to be considered quite a pitcher. in fact, he was so good as a boy pitcher that some of the local fans wanted him to sign up in one of the minor leagues. but of course they wouldn't let him do that because he was too young to leave school." "that certainly sounds interesting, especially if this flanders pitches for longley." "tommy told me that they had not less than a dozen first-class baseball players at their academy. he boasted that they would wipe up the diamond with your school--i am now quoting his words." "evidently tommy knows how to blow." "oh, but, jack, he really is a first-class player. and you must remember that they have advertised longley academy as given over especially to athletics and gymnastics. probably they'll pay more attention to baseball and football than they will to their studies." "well, if we get beaten we'll get beaten, ruth, that's all. we'll do our best." "and i certainly hope you win, jack," said the girl, giving him a warm glance. "i would like to see you take some of the conceit out of tommy flanders." after the performance was over the young folks adjourned to a nearby ice-cream parlor where they indulged in that dainty to their hearts' content. while eating their cream and munching the cake they had ordered with it, jack mentioned what ruth had told him regarding the boys at the new rival school. "yes, they said they were going to send a challenge soon," said gif. "and i've been warned by others that they intend to put a first-class nine on the diamond to beat us." "then it will be up to you, gif, to show them what colby hall can do," said spouter. he himself was not much of a ball player, although he had been on the nine occasionally. the young people had almost finished their ice cream and cake when they saw two girls and two boys come in. as they entered ruth clutched jack by the arm. "there is tommy flanders now!" she whispered, pointing to the larger of the two youths. tommy flanders showed that he was a good deal of a sport. he was dressed in a loud-looking suit, had pointed shoes, and he wore a cap set well back on his head. his face was rather red, and his forehead was overshadowed by a heavy mop of reddish-brown hair. "hello, ruth! how are you?" he called out pleasantly, when still at a distance. "glad to see you," and he smiled at all of the girls and bowed. after this there was nothing to do but to introduce the newcomer, and he promptly introduced the two girls, who proved to be residents of haven point, and then introduced his friend, pete stevens. "pete is going to be my backstop on our nine," explained tommy flanders. "you know, i suppose, that i am the pitcher," he added in an off-hand manner. "and he's one wonder pitcher, believe me!" piped in pete stevens. he was a stocky youth with small ferret-like eyes. "i understand you're going to have quite a nine," remarked jack politely. "say, it will be the finest baseball aggregation this part of the country has ever seen--that is, for a school nine," boasted tommy flanders. "you know, our school is long on athletics. we intend to put it over everything within traveling distance." "that is, provided the other schools are not too scared to accept our challenges," added pete stevens. "you won't find colby hall afraid to accept any reasonable challenge," retorted gif, somewhat disgusted with the boasting manner of the newcomers. "we've waxed a few schools around here, and maybe we can take a round out of longley academy," fred could not help but add. "you'll never take a round out of longley, believe me," sneered pete stevens. "we'll put it all over you fellows just as sure as you're born." "well, we'll see," remarked jack, and his face showed that he did not admire having this discussion before the girls. "say, i'll tell you what i'll do, rover," said tommy flanders, advancing close to the young captain. "i'll bet you ten dollars that we win the first game of ball we play with you." "you'll have to excuse me, flanders, but i'm not betting," answered jack. "afraid, are you?" "i said i was not betting. and now if you'll excuse us, we'll finish our ice cream and cake," added the young captain coldly. "oh, well, if you're afraid to bet, we'll let it go at that," responded tommy flanders carelessly. then he and his companion and the girls with them moved off to a table in the rear of the ice-cream parlor. "of all the conceited fools----" began andy, when jack caught him by the arm. "drop it, andy," and jack looked at his cousin and then at the girls, all of whom had been much disturbed over the possibility of a quarrel. "oh, sure, let's drop it," was andy's quick answer. and then to change the subject he began a funny story and soon he had the girls shrieking with laughter. then they finished their ice cream and cake and left the place. "oh, jack, if you do play them i hope you beat them good," said ruth, when the girls and the cadets were ready to separate. "we'll do our best," was his reply. "i hope when that match comes off we'll be able to see it," said martha. "of course you'll all have to be on hand," answered her brother quickly. "we'll want you girls to encourage us." "i want to see you beat longley academy," declared mary. "so say we all of us!" came in a chorus from the others. chapter vi playing hixley high "now for some real baseball practice, boys!" "right you are, jack! i'm mighty glad it has cleared off at last." "if we are going to have our annual game with hixley high two weeks from to-day we had better get busy," put in gif garrison. "i had no idea they would ask for a match so early in the season." "it's on account of the game they expect to have this year with longley academy," remarked walt baxter. "you see, they are to play the new school too." "yes, and i heard that those longley fellows were boasting they were going to do up hixley, just the same as they were going to do us up." "gee, but that tommy flanders makes me sick!" broke in fred. "i really think he's the most conceited fellow i ever met." "just the same, i've heard he's a pretty good player," remarked gif. "he is not only a good pitcher, but quite a good batsman. and they say that his crony is also quite a good all-around player." the regular nine, minus two players who had left the school the term previous, were out on the diamond practicing. a little later, with two substitutes, they were to play a match of five innings against a scrub team picked from the most available of the ball players left. jack rover was in the box and was putting some swift ones over the plate. as yet he did not have perfect control of the horsehide, and as a consequence it occasionally went over the catcher's head. three games of baseball had been arranged for colby hall, one with hixley high, another with columbus academy, and a third with longley. they were to take place in the order named and at intervals of one week. the practice soon came to an end, and then the five-innings game with the scrubs started. this proved to be quite a contest, and fred rover distinguished himself by knocking a three-bagger, while jack struck out six batsmen, much to his satisfaction. when the contest came to a close the regular nine had won by a score of to . "well, that shows the old nine is still in the running," remarked dan soppinger, when the boys were rushing to the gymnasium to get under the showers. "right you are, dan," answered jack. "just the same, that scrub team isn't hixley high, or columbus or longley, either, please don't forget that." "oh, i know that just as well as you do, jack. we've got to play much better than we did to-day if we expect any victories in the regular games." "don't forget that we'll be up against dink wilsey again," said gif. "i don't believe that any of us are likely to forget it," grinned dan. all remembered dink wilsey very well. he was the pitcher for hixley high and a fellow who was destined to become talked about in baseball circles. he had a puzzling delivery, and sometimes struck out even the best of the batsmen with ease. from that day forth jack and the other members of the ball team put in every spare moment at practice. gradually the young pitcher obtained better control of the sphere, and then he did what he could to increase his speed and make his curves more puzzling. the contest with hixley high was to take place on the latter's grounds, and almost all the pupils at colby hall made the journey to see the game. many girls were also present from clearwater hall and from the town. "oh, jack, i hope you win!" said ruth stevenson, as he strode forward to greet her and the others who had arrived from the girls' school. "we're going to do our best, ruth," answered the young pitcher. and then, as he noticed something of a cloud on her face, he added jokingly: "you don't have to look so glum about it." "i'm not glum over the game, jack. i was thinking of something else," she answered soberly. "why, what's the matter, ruth--has anything gone wrong?" "yes, jack. but--but maybe i'd better not tell you anything about it," she faltered. "has anybody been annoying you?" "i can't tell you now--i'll tell you after the game if i get a chance," whispered ruth, as several of the other boys and girls came closer. at that moment came a blare of tin horns and the noise of many rattles, and then the hixley high boys let out a wild yelling: "hixley high! hixley high! hixley high forever!" and this was repeated over and over again. "wake up, fellows!" came suddenly in a bellow from ned lowe. "everybody wake up for colby hall!" and then there boomed out this refrain: "who are we? can't you see? colby hall! dum! dum! dum, dum, dum! here we come with fife and drum! colby! colby! colby hall!" "that's the stuff! give it to 'em again!" yelled fatty hendry, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and once more the school refrain boomed forth. "oh, isn't that grand!" remarked mary rover. "the best ever!" answered her cousin martha. "it makes me feel just as if i was being raised off my feet," remarked may powell. the game began with hixley high at the bat. there was a wild cheering for rigby, the center-fielder, when he came up, stick in hand, and also yells of encouragement for jack. "put him out in one-two-three order, jack!" "don't let him get a smell at first!" "knock the cover off it, rigby! make a homer!" after two strikes, one of them a foul, rigby managed to get a safe hit to first. but then jack tightened up and presently the side was retired without a run. "that's the stuff! hold 'em to goose eggs all the way through!" "now, then, colby, go to it and make a couple!" but alas for this hope! one player got as far as third, but there the inning ended. goose eggs also went up for both sides in the second, third and fourth innings. then two players of hixley high managed to make singles, and on a fumble by one of the new men playing for colby one of these hits was turned into a run. "hurrah! hurrah! that's the stuff! score one for hixley!" "hold 'em down! hold 'em down! don't let 'em score again!" came from the colby hall supporters. and the players from the military school did "hold 'em down" to the single tally which had been made. with the score to , the game ran along to the eighth inning. then dan soppinger managed to knock out a two-bagger, and he was followed at the plate by randy. two men were already out, so it was a crucial moment in more ways than one. dink wilsey was still in good form, although the strain was evidently telling upon him. he sent in two swift balls, which were called strikes, one being a foul. then came two wide ones, which were put down as balls by the umpire. "hit it, randy!" sang out gif. "paste it for all you know how!" randy was on the alert, and although the next ball pitched was a bit low, he swung for it, sending it down toward right field. "run, dan! run!" "leg it, randy!" and both players did run for all they were worth. dan had started as randy swung for the sphere, and consequently touched third a few seconds later. then, as he saw the ball was still down in right field with the fielder chasing madly after it, he came in to the home plate. randy had meanwhile reached first and was halfway to second, which he reached safely by sliding. "hurrah! one run for colby hall!" "and randy rover made it a two-bagger!" "some playing, i'll say!" the excitement was now intense as colby hall saw a chance to win. but this chance went glimmering a few seconds later when a pop-fly was gathered in with ease by the hixley pitcher. "never mind, we've tied the score, and that's something," said gif. "now all we need do is to hold them down and make one more run." in the ninth inning hixley high fought desperately to score, and colby hall did the same. but neither side got further than first. "a tie game! a tie game!" was the cry. "now, then, it takes only one run to win!" the excitement was now at a fever heat, and this continued through the tenth and eleventh innings. by this time it was growing dark, so that the fielders had difficulty in seeing the ball. "i think we had better call it a tie and let it go at that," said the hixley captain to gif. "what do you think about it?" there was a brief consultation, and several of the regular school coaches were called in. in the meanwhile it grew darker rapidly, and presently the contest was called off. "it's too bad we couldn't finish it," remarked jack, as he shook hands with dink wilsey. "we'll have to finish it next year," said the rival pitcher, with a grin. there was a good deal of talk about the contest, but gradually the crowd dispersed, and many of the colby boys started for the hall. the rovers and some of their chums rejoined the girls, and walked with them to the automobiles which were to take martha and mary and the others back to clearwater hall. "i'm so sorry you fellows didn't win that game," pouted may powell, on the way. "well, we did our best," answered fred. "and believe me, it's something to hold down a school like hixley with such a pitcher as dink wilsey." "you don't mean to say he can pitch any better than jack!" put in ruth quickly. "oh, i'm not saying anything against jack," answered fred. "just the same, dink's a great pitcher, and jack will say so himself." "he certainly is," was the reply from the oldest rover boy. "he'll be on one of the professional teams one of these days. if longley academy has any such pitcher in tommy flanders, we've got our work cut out for us." most of the boys and girls went on to where the automobiles were in waiting, but jack kept to the rear until the whole crowd were out of hearing. "now, then, ruth, tell me what is troubling you," he said in a low voice. "oh, jack, i don't believe i ought to tell you! i should have torn it up and forgotten all about it," returned the girl. "torn it up? what do you mean? was it a letter?" "yes, a letter that came yesterday. it is nothing but a scrawl, and it's unsigned. it was sent from new york." "what did the letter say? did somebody threaten you, ruth?" "no, jack. somebody threatened you. if it hadn't been for that, i wouldn't think of bothering you about it." "humph! this is interesting. have you got the letter with you?" "yes. here it is," and the girl brought forth the letter from her handbag. as she had said, it was postmarked new york city, and was addressed to her at the school. the envelope was a plain one, and inside was a single sheet of plain white paper. on this, evidently in a disguised hand, had been scrawled the following: "ruth stevenson: if you know when you are well off you won't have much to do with jack rover or his cousins. they are a bum lot and some day you will be ashamed of every one of them. jack rover never treated anybody square, and some day you can take it from me that i intend to pound his handsome face into a jelly. better listen to my warning, or you will be very sorry you had anything to do with that crowd. "a friend." chapter vii news from abroad "that's a fine letter, i must say!" remarked jack, after perusing the scrawl a second time. "evidently the writer loves me a whole lot." "of course it must have come from one of those fellows who used to go to school with you," said ruth. "perhaps that martell boy or that brown boy." "i don't think nappy martell would dare send such a letter," answered the young captain of the cadets. "it would be more like slugger brown to do it. but you must remember that those fellows have just been released from that detention camp." jack mused for a moment. "this looks more like the work of gabe werner to me." "oh, jack! suppose he should attack you some time when you weren't aware?" "that's a risk a fellow has to run. of course, i expect to keep on my guard, not only against gabe werner but also against martell, brown and glutts. the whole four don't like any of our crowd." "but just read the dreadful thing he says," continued the girl, as she caught jack tightly by the arm. "he says he'll pound your face into a jelly! oh, jack! don't you ever give him a chance to do that," and ruth's face showed her solicitude. "there is one thing you have to remember, ruth, and that is the writer of an anonymous letter is generally a coward," jack answered as lightly as he could, more to ease her feelings than anything else. "so don't you worry about this letter. have you mentioned it to any of the others?" "no; i didn't want to worry them." "i'm glad you didn't say anything to martha and mary. i know it would upset them a good deal, and maybe they would think they'd have to write to their mothers about it. just keep it to yourself. and please don't destroy that letter; it might come in useful some time. maybe we can trace the handwriting." "but you'll tell your cousins at the hall, won't you?" "yes; i think i had better, so that they can be on their guard, too. we don't want to run any unnecessary chances when it comes to those rascals." and there the talk on this subject came to an end. it was not until late that evening, when the four rovers were retiring, that jack got a chance to mention the anonymous letter to his cousins. all were tremendously interested, and speculated on who the writer could be. "my opinion is it was either gabe werner or slugger brown," said randy. "neither nappy martell nor bill glutts would have the nerve to do it." "i'll side with jack and say it was werner," said fred. "and i'll side with my brother and say it was either slugger or werner," added andy. two days later came word which filled the rover boys with joy. it was announced that, as the war in europe was at an end, colonel colby might be expected home any day. "hurrah! that means that our folks will be coming home too before long!" cried fred, throwing up his cap. "isn't this the best ever!" "maybe we'll get word from our fathers in a day or two," returned andy. "anyway, i hope so." "my! what a grand old time we ought to have when they do get home," said randy, his eyes glistening. "we'll tear the woodpile down!" announced his twin, and then turned a handspring just to ease his feelings. the talk among the cadets at the hall was now divided between the return of colonel colby and the baseball game with columbus academy. in the meantime hixley high played a game with longley academy and lost by a score of to . "gee! that doesn't look good to me," announced gif soberly, when the news came in. "all we could do this year was to hold them to that tie." "that score would seem to prove that the longley nine is just about twice as good as the hixley nine," remarked dan. "i see by the score that tommy flanders struck out nine men. he certainly must have been going some," came from fred, who was studying the score sheet with interest. "yes, and the longley fellows made two home-runs and three two-baggers," put in spouter. "i must say they didn't do a thing to hixley high but punch holes into them." "we've certainly got our work cut out for us," announced jack, and then went to practicing harder than ever. but if the score between longley and hixley had been a disappointment to the colby hall team, there was quite a little comfort for them in the game with columbus academy. the columbus boys did their level best to win, and yet when the game came to an end colby hall was the victor by a score of to . "well, that shows we are still in the running!" cried gif that evening. "those columbus fellows certainly put up a stiff game." "they certainly did!" answered randy. "their pitcher wasn't such a wonder, but their fielding was certainly great and they have some very good batsmen." "yes, and their shortstop is as good as you can find them," added spouter. "i've got one complaint to make about that game," said ralph mason, who was the major of the school battalion. "i don't know whether i ought to speak to you fellows about it or to captain dale." "what is that, major?" questioned gif quickly. "it has to do with little henry stowell," answered the young major seriously. "oh, i think i know what you mean!" cried ned lowe. "isn't it the way in which he was talking to some of those columbus players?" "it is," was ralph mason's reply. "then you heard it too, did you?" "i heard a little. i hoped to hear more, but just then somebody came up and took me away." "if it was about the ball game, major, i think i ought to know of it," said gif. "the trouble is, gif, i don't really know whether stowell meant anything by it or not--or rather if he understood what he was doing. he is so very innocent in some things i hate to accuse him of actual wrong-doing. but one thing is certain: those columbus academy fellows pumped him as much as they could about our players, and especially about jack rover's style of pitching. and they also asked a great number of questions about the two new players on the nine." "codfish is a sneak, and always was!" burst out dan soppinger. "oh, i know you fellows feel inclined to stick up for him," he added, looking at the rovers; "and once in a while i feel sorry for him myself. but, just the same, he isn't to be trusted." "if you'll excuse me for saying something, major, i don't think i'd take the matter to captain dale--at least not just yet," put in jack. this conversation took place during the cadets' off time, and the young captain felt he could talk freely to his superior officer. "if we find that stowell really tried to injure us, i guess we can take care of him," and he smiled suggestively. "all right, we'll let it go at that," answered ralph mason; and then walked away, satisfied in his own mind that he had said quite enough to the other boys. by careful inquiry it was ascertained that several other cadets had noticed stowell talking to some of the columbus students and had overheard some of the remarks. all were of the opinion that the little cadet had told altogether too much, although it was possible that he was innocent in the matter. "we certainly ought to teach him some kind of a lesson," remarked andy. "i wonder where codfish is now?" questioned his twin quickly. "i don't know, but i think we can soon find out. come on--let us look him up." "hi! what are you up to?" demanded jack, feeling that something was in the air. "oh, let them go, jack!" cried fred. and then he added to the twins: "if it's anything worth seeing, let us know about it." "we will!" called back andy gaily. the twins hunted around the school, and at last found henry stowell in the gymnasium, where he was sitting on a bench watching some other cadets going through their athletic exercises. "if we can only manage to keep him here a while we might be able to fix up something in his room for him," suggested randy. "i guess that would be easy," answered his twin. "there is walt baxter. we'll get him to engage codfish's attention for a while." walt was called to one side and the situation explained to him. he readily consented to see to it that stowell was kept from going up to his room for some time. then the twins hurried off in the direction of the hall. "we must teach him a lesson that he won't forget in a hurry," remarked randy. "right you are!" was his brother's reply. half an hour later the other rovers, along with gif, spouter and dan, were coming up to their rooms when they were met at the head of the stairs by the twins. "we're all ready for codfish," announced randy, somewhat excitedly. "just wait until i go down to the gym and tip walt baxter off." "walt and codfish are in the school library. they just came over," announced dan. "ned lowe is with them. they were asking codfish a lot of fool questions in history, as to when hannibal discovered the south pole and things like that." randy ran down and in a minute more was in the school library. he caught walt baxter's eye and nodded to let the other cadet know that everything was all right. then walt did the same to ned. "well, i'm getting sleepy, stowell," said walt, stretching himself. "i think i'll go and hit the hay." "ditto here," came from ned. "i'm real tired myself, and i'd have gone to bed some time ago if you hadn't asked me so many questions," answered henry stowell, with a yawn. "then you don't really know much about who discovered the south pole?" said ned seriously. "you see, i want to put it in a composition i'm writing about cats." "i don't see what cats have to do with the south pole," said stowell innocently. "oh, that's easy, codfish," said walt. "cats like to climb poles, and the south pole is the south pole, isn't it?" and then he and ned walked off and joined randy, and all hurried upstairs to the rovers' rooms. as luck would have it henry stowell this term was occupying a room by himself. it was a fairly large apartment and furnished with a single bed, a chiffonier, a table, and several chairs. in one corner was a closet in which he kept most of his clothing and also a handbag. "well, what have you done?" questioned fred, as the twins appeared. "we fixed it up so codfish is going to spend a real pleasant night," answered andy, with a grin. "but what did you do?" came from jack. "just you fellows wait and see. walt, will you go out and let us know when codfish comes up?" "i will," answered walt baxter, and hurried to a corner of the corridor where he might see without being seen. in less than five minutes he came back hurriedly with the information that stowell had just entered his room. "all right, then, fellows, come with me and maybe you will see or hear something worth while," announced randy gleefully. "how are we going to see anything when he shuts his door on us?" questioned dan. "his window is right next to the platform of the new fire-escape," answered andy. "we'll go out on that, and then maybe we'll see everything that goes on. he always keeps a bright light in his room and always pulls down the shade. but we fixed it so the shade will come down only so far, leaving a crack that we can look through with ease." "i hope you haven't done anything to get us in bad with captain dale," remarked jack. "oh, this isn't as bad as all that, jack," answered andy. "it's just something to wake codfish up." led by the twins, the other rovers and their chums hurried down the side corridor to where there was a red light and a sign, "fire escape." then they threw open a window, and in a moment more stood on the escape mentioned. it was of steel, fairly wide, and ran along past several windows, the second of which belonged to the room occupied by stowell. as they stepped out on the fire escape they saw a light flash up in the sneak's room and a few seconds later the window shade was pulled down. "just as i told you!" andy exclaimed. "i knew the shade would come down. and see! there is the crack we mentioned. now, then, line up under the window and we'll see what happens next." chapter viii the joke on the sneak the window of stowell's room had been left open so the boys outside could hear, as well as see, what went on within. they saw the sneak of the school yawn and stretch as if he was tired, and then he lost no time in preparing to retire. in one of his pockets he carried a piece of cake, and this he ate with satisfaction while undressing. then, when clad only in his pajamas, he turned off the light and moved in the semi-darkness toward the bed. "now watch," murmured andy, somewhat excitedly. all outside did so, ranging their heads close together at the open slit of the window. they heard stowell throw back the covers of the bed and then sit down. an instant later came a cry of surprise. "what's this? oh, dear me! something is in the bed!" the sneak of the school bounced to his feet so hurriedly that he tipped over a chair standing alongside of the bed and pitched forward headlong to the floor. "hi! leave me alone! get away from me! scat!" they heard him ejaculate and then give a little squeal of terror as he scrambled once more to his feet. then they heard him rush to the side of the room and once more make a light. as the rays filled the apartment those outside saw something of what had taken place. not less than half a dozen mice were doing their best to hide themselves here and there under the bed and the chiffonier and in the corners of the room. one or two scampered directly past stowell, who set up another squeal of alarm and then leaped up on the nearest chair. "he's enjoying it, all right," murmured randy. "shut up!" came promptly from fred. "if he sees us we'll have to dust for it." but the eyes of the sneak were not turned toward the window. he was looking only at the mice, two of which were still scampering across the floor trying to find some hole of escape. "somebody's been playing a trick on me," murmured stowell to himself. "just wait till i find out who did it, i'll fix him!" he remained standing on the chair, not caring to venture on the floor in his bare feet and with the mice still at liberty. he had placed his shoes under the head of the bed. "i've got to clear them out somehow," he muttered to himself. "but i guess i'd better put my shoes on first. then i'll get that baseball bat in the closet and do it." with extreme caution codfish descended from the chair and walked hurriedly across the floor to the head of his bed. he drew forth the shoes and started quickly to put them on. his toes were just going down into one of the shoes when he let out a yell which would have done credit to a wild indian. one of the mice had found refuge in the footwear, and now it gave a bound and scrambled up inside the leg of stowell's pajamas. "hi! get out of there! help! murder! take that beast away! oh, my! he'll bite me sure! ouch! he's bit me already!" and then the sneak of the school began to dance around wildly, in the meantime clutching savagely in the region of the knee where the mouse had found lodgement. caught, the little animal had nipped codfish in the finger. "gee, this is the richest yet!" chuckled walt baxter. "better than a moving picture," was gif's comment. "he'll wake the whole school if he makes much more noise," remarked jack. "be prepared to skip out when the time comes." "i'll have somebody arrested for this," howled codfish, as he still struggled with the mouse that was up his leg. "this is beastly! oh, dear! what in the world shall i do?" he gave a savage tug at his pajamas, and the next instant there was a tearing sound and the cloth parted at the knee. out leaped the mouse, to disappear quickly under the bed. panting from his excitement, and muttering to himself, the sneak of the school, making sure that the shoes were now both empty, slipped his feet into them and then hurried toward the clothing closet located in a corner. he intended to get a baseball bat with which to either kill the mice or chase them out into the hallway. "now watch," whispered randy. "here is where he gets another surprise." stowell flung open the door of the closet in a hurry. as he did this he found himself confronted by the figure of a colby hall cadet. the intruder had a handkerchief tied over his face. "hi! what are you doing here?" cried stowell in sudden surprise. "you're the fellow who's playing the trick on me, eh? i'll fix you, you see if i don't!" and then struck by a sudden idea, stowell slammed shut the door of the closet and locked it. "now i've got you, and you'll suffer for this nonsense--you see if you don't!" he shouted. "gee! this is the best yet!" burst out andy in a low voice. "i didn't think he'd lock that dummy in." "we only put it there to scare him," explained randy. "it's one of his old suits stuffed out. we thought it might fall out on him when he opened the door. but i guess it's better the way it is," he chuckled. "where did you get those mice?" gif questioned. "oh, that was easy," answered andy. "i met pud hicks, the janitor's assistant, this noon and he was telling me of a whole lot of mice he had caught down in the barn during the past week. he had the bunch in a box, and he said he was going to take them down to the river and drown them. i knew where the box was, and getting them was easy." by this time codfish had slipped into his trousers, and now he put on his coat. "he's going downstairs to tell captain dale or one of the professors!" exclaimed jack in a low voice. "we had better get out of here." the young captain's advice was followed, and all lost no time in leaving the fire escape and entering the school building. they were just in time to see the door to stowell's room flung open and the sneak hurry downstairs. "i must see what he does!" cried randy, who could never let any portion of a joke get away from him, and he hurried down the stairs after stowell. captain mapes dale was in the office of the school writing a letter when stowell burst in upon him with scant ceremony. "oh, captain dale, won't you please come quick?" cried the little sneak, all out of breath with excitement. "somebody put about a million mice in my room, and i've got the fellow locked up in my clothes-closet." "a million mice in your room, stowell!" exclaimed the captain, leaping to his feet. "surely you must be mistaken. you don't mean quite that many," and a faint smile crossed his features. "well, there are a whole lot of them, anyway," returned codfish. "when i opened my bed they leaped right out at me and they ran all over the floor, and then one of them went up the leg of my pajamas and bit me. see how i had to tear my pajamas to get him out?" and he showed the spot. "and you say you have the culprit locked up in your closet?" demanded captain dale. "yes, sir. won't you please come up and see who it is before he has a chance to break out? of course he'll try to get away if he can. he won't want to be caught." "yes, i'll go up immediately. are the mice up there still?" "yes, sir. i shut the door on them so they couldn't get away." "then i had better call the janitor and his assistant first, so that we can round up the million mice, more or less." fortunately pud hicks was not around the building, so could not be summoned. but job plunger, the school janitor, was at hand, and so was bob nixon, the school chauffeur. "i guess i know where those mice came from," said nixon, with a grin. "hicks caught a lot of them down at the barn. he was going to drown 'em down at the river to-morrow. somebody must have got hold of 'em and put 'em in stowell's room." nixon and plunger followed captain dale and stowell to the cadet's room. in the meanwhile randy had rejoined the other rovers and their chums, and likewise rapped on half a dozen doors as he passed, and as a consequence fully a score of cadets were made aware that something unusual was happening. "what's the row?" "is it a fire?" "are they going to celebrate the victory over columbus academy?" "if anything good to eat is being passed around count me in." "codfish is holding a celebration!" cried andy from around a corner and in a disguised voice. "everybody watch for something good from codfish's room." the appearance of captain dale with stowell only whetted the curiosity of the assembled students, and from half-closed doors they watched the head of the school and the little sneak approach the room. the door was left open, and a moment later out popped one mouse, quickly followed by another. "hello, there's a mouse!" "hi, catch those fellows!" yelled bob nixon, who was on hand with a trap, followed by job plunger with a box. the school janitor was quite deaf, and so could hear nothing of what was going on. the escape of the two mice was a signal for the assembling students to begin a chase after the rodents. then another mouse came out into the hallway, and various things were thrown at the scurrying animal. "here, here! stop that noise out there!" commanded captain dale. "there is no sense in making such a racket over a few little mice." as he spoke the head of the school strode to the closet door and unlocked it. "now come out here and give an account of yourself," he said, as he threw the door open. "now you are going to catch it for playing such a trick on me," exulted codfish. the figure in the closet, of course, did not move, and captain dale reached forth to pull the offending cadet into the room. but then he stopped short, and something of a smile crossed his face. "what is the matter with you, stowell--are you blind?" he demanded. "blind?" queried the sneak of the school, bewildered. "what do you mean?" "can't you see that this is only a stuffed figure? and it hasn't any head on, either; only a handkerchief tied around some underwear with a cap stuck on top." "oh, captain dale, you don't mean it!" cried codfish, and fell back against the wall, too upset to say more. "but i do mean it," went on the military man, and reached for the dummy, which immediately toppled over on the floor, the head and cap rolling in one direction and the legs and shoes in another. "it's nothing but an old uniform stuffed out." "where's them mice?" cried job plunger in a shrill voice. "where's them mice, i say?" "you'll have to find them, plunger," answered captain dale. "behind 'em?" remarked the deaf janitor. "behind where?" "i did not say behind anything," shouted the captain. "i said you'd have to find them." "oh. well, i'll find 'em if they're in the room," said plunger. by this time the noise and excitement had increased so that nearly half of the school was out in the corridor in front of stowell's room. they saw the remains of the stuffed figure on the floor, and many quickly surmised that a joke had been played. "what is codfish doing with that dummy?" "has he been using it for an imitation hun to shoot at?" "maybe he's going to join the football team next fall and wants to practice up." "has he been taming mice on the sly?" "gee! i don't want to stay in a place where a fellow keeps mice in his room." in the midst of this talk the janitor and the chauffeur did what they could to round up the escaped mice. they managed to capture two of the rodents and kill two others, and that was all that could be found. "if there were any more, the rest must have gotten away," remarked bob nixon. "this is simply a practical joke," announced captain dale, after a few more words with stowell. "have you any idea who played it?" "i don't know exactly, sir, but i think maybe i can find out," answered the sneak. he felt much subdued, especially as he saw the eyes of many of the other cadets on him. "well, you go to bed now, and i'll take this matter up to-morrow morning," said captain dale. "boys, i want you all to retire, and at once," he went on with a wave of his hand to those outside. and then the cadets dispersed to their rooms. chapter ix the game with longley "i guess that will hold codfish for a while," remarked randy, when the rovers were once more by themselves in their rooms and the excitement had died away. "i'll have to make it a point to see pud hicks the first thing in the morning," returned his twin. "pud might tell somebody that he showed those mice to me." "yes, you'd better do that, by all means," put in jack. "and another thing you ought to do, is to let codfish know why this trick was played on him," came from fred. "otherwise it will be a good effort thrown away," and he grinned. "i'll leave a note under his door," said randy, and a little later scribbled out the following on a card: "this is what you get, codfish, for giving information to our baseball rivals. be careful in the future to keep your mouth shut. "the avengers." "i reckon that will hold him for a while," said randy, and before going to bed he slipped out into the corridor and placed the card under stowell's door. early in the morning andy saw the assistant janitor and easily arranged for pud hicks to say nothing about the mice. "why, over a dozen of the cadets saw those mice," said hicks; "so they can't blame any of this on you." and it may be mentioned here that the investigation which followed came to nought. two days later andy burst in on the others like a whirlwind, his face glowing with excitement. "come on downstairs, everybody!" he called out. "colonel colby has just arrived! come on, and ask him what he can tell us about our fathers." at this announcement there was a general stampede. all of the others dropped the textbooks they had been studying and made a simultaneous rush for the corridor and the stairs. down, pell-mell, went the whole crowd, to join a group of cadets in the lower hall, everyone of whom was doing his best to shake colonel colby's hand first. the owner of the school was dressed in his uniform as a united states officer, and looked taller and more bronzed than ever. his face wore a broad smile and he gave each of his pupils a hearty handshake. "oh, colonel, we are so glad to see you back!" cried jack, with genuine pleasure as he wrung the officer's hand. "and i hope you have good news of my father and my uncles?" "i am as glad to see you as you are to see me, captain rover," returned colonel colby. "and it is a genuine pleasure to get back to this school after having endured such arduous days in france." "and what about our folks?" added fred, as he too came in for a handshake. "when our troopship left france your folks were expecting to follow in about ten days or two weeks. most likely they are already on the way." "and they were well?" asked randy anxiously. "quite well. of course, you know that your father and your uncle sam were wounded by some flying shells, and that your uncle dick suffered from a gas attack. but they are all recovering rapidly, and i don't doubt but what they will soon be as well as ever." "somebody said that dad had won a medal of honor," said jack, his eyes lighting up with expectancy. "it is true. he did win such a medal. and he deserved it. probably he will give you all the particulars when he arrives." that was all colonel colby could say at the time, because many others wanted to shake his hand, from captain dale down through all the teachers and the cadets to the school janitor, and even the women working in the kitchen and the men in the stables. he had been on good terms with all his hired help, and now they showed a real affection for him which touched his heart deeply. "just think of it! our fathers may be back in ten days!" exclaimed andy. "isn't it the best ever!" and he commenced to dance a jig just to let off steam. the boys lost no time in telephoning to the girls, and it may be imagined that martha and mary were indeed glad to hear the news. the next day, just as the session was closing, the rovers were informed that a man and a boy were out on the campus waiting to see them. they hurried out and found themselves confronted by john franklin and his son phil. "i've been promising myself right along that i'd come and see you fellows," said john franklin. "but somehow i couldn't get around to it. but now that my son and i are going back to texas i felt i'd have at least to say good-bye and thank you once again for what you fellows did for us." "and as my father wasn't able to reward you, i thought maybe you wouldn't mind if i made each of you something out of wood with my jackknife," put in phil franklin, somewhat awkwardly. "you know, handling a jackknife is one of my specialties," he added, with a grin. "so please accept these with our compliments. you can divide them up to suit yourselves." he handed over a package done up in a newspaper, and, unfolding this, the rovers found four articles carved out of hard wood. one was an inkstand, another a miniature canoe, a third an elaborate napkin ring, and the fourth a tray for holding pins and collar buttons. "why, those are real fine, phil," said jack, as he looked the articles over. "you don't mean to say you did all of this work with a knife?" questioned andy admiringly. "every bit of it," was the reply. "they are beautiful," was randy's comment, after an inspection. "better than you could buy in the stores," added fred. "i'm pleased to know that you like my son's handiwork," said john franklin. "they are real good," said jack. "but we don't feel like taking these things without giving you something in return," he added hastily. "oh, that's all right!" cried phil franklin. "you've done enough for us already. you keep the things and don't say anything more about it." "and so you're really going back to texas?" questioned fred, after the presents had been inspected again. "yes, we're going to start to-morrow noon," answered john franklin. "i've got a little money together now, and i'm going back to see if i can't put a crimp in those oil-well sharpers who did me out of my farm." "well, i certainly hope you get the best of those fellows if they swindled you," said randy heartily. the conversation lasted half an hour longer, and during that time randy and jack excused themselves and slipped off to their rooms. when they came back they had a small package containing two of their best story books. "here are a couple of books which perhaps you'll like to read on the trains," said jack. "we want you to accept them with the compliments of all of us." "oh, story books!" and phil franklin's eyes lit up with pleasure. "i love to read. are you sure you can spare them?" and when they said they could he continued: "that suits me immensely." a little later father and son took their departure. "pretty nice people," was jack's comment. "i certainly hope they get their rights." this meeting took place on the day when longley academy played columbus academy. the cadets, remembering the score between hixley high and longley, were very anxious to know how the columbus team would fare against the new school. "well, longley wins again!" exclaimed ned lowe, who came in with the news. "what was the score?" questioned gif with much interest. "eleven to two." "you don't mean it!" cried spouter. "why, that's worse than the game they took from hixley high!" "one thing is certain: the longley team knows how to play," said jack decidedly. "we may not like tommy flanders and his bunch, but, just the same, you've got to hand it to 'em for knowing how to put it across." "it looks to me as if we might be in for a defeat," remarked another cadet. "defeat! don't talk that way, leeds," stormed gif. "colby hall is going to win!" "well, i hope so, but i'm afraid you'll be disappointed," answered leeds. he was a new pupil, and was of a decidedly pessimistic turn of mind. the victories of longley over hixley and columbus served one good purpose. it caused gif to call his team together and read them a stern lecture. "we are evidently up against a bunch of real ball players," said the captain. "we've got to buckle down in this contest and do our very best, and then some. i want every man to practice all he can from now on. and when the time comes i want every man to play the game with all the brains and all the nerve that are in him." longley academy being devoted, as mentioned before, very largely to physical culture and athletics, had an extra fine baseball grounds with a beautiful new grandstand and bleachers. the new school was anxious to show off these grounds, and so had insisted that the game be played there, and this had been agreed to after it was announced that one half of the stands should be set aside for the cadets of colby hall and their friends. it had been noised about that this game was to be "for blood," so that when the time came for the contest the grounds were overflowing with people. everybody from colby hall and longley was there, and in addition quite a respectable crowd from hixley, columbus, and from clearwater hall. there was also a scattering of people from the town and the surrounding districts. "oh, jack, aren't you nervous?" questioned martha, when he met the girls from clearwater. "if i am i'm not going to show it," he replied to his sister. "jack, i'm going to root harder than i ever did in my life," said ruth, as she held up a banner marked colby hall and another marked clearwater hall. "we're all going to root," declared may powell. the stands were speedily filled to overflowing, and there was a large crowd assembled behind the foul line on either side of the diamond. there was a loud cheering when the colby hall nine appeared, and a like cheer when the longley players put in an appearance. "hurrah for colby hall!" "three cheers for longley academy!" "here is where the cadets walk off with another one!" "not much! here is where longley snows you under!" and so the gibes and comments ran on, while every once in a while wild cheering rang out, mingled with the noise of horns and rattles. the toss-up sent longley to the bat first, and with a cheer from his friends jack took the ball and walked down to the box. "now then, fellows, swat it good and plenty!" cried tommy flanders. "we want about half a dozen runs the first inning." "he doesn't want much," murmured fred. the first man up was a heavy hitter named durrick. he had one strike and two balls called, and then sent a low one to left field which gave him first base with ease. "hurrah, boys! keep it a-going!" cried tommy flanders, dancing around joyously. the second man up knocked two fouls and then a short fly to third. but then came another safe hit to right field which took the batter to first while the other runner gained third. "take it easy, old man," cautioned gif, as he came up to speak to jack. "don't let them rattle you." "they are not going to rattle me," answered jack sturdily. he gritted his teeth, and then sent in three swift balls so quickly that the next batsman was taken completely by surprise and was declared out almost before he knew it. "that's the stuff, colby! two out! hold 'em down!" "knock it out! bring durrick in!" the next player up was a tall, lanky chap named wilks. he swung savagely at the sphere as if intending to knock it over the back fence. "if he ever connects with it it will be a homer with three runs in," thought gif. two strikes were called, and then three balls. then jack took a sudden brace and sent in a swift high one. wilks leaped for it, and the crack of the bat could be heard all over the grounds. it looked like a safe hit to center field, but as the crack of the bat sounded on the air jack rover was seen to leap high up with hand out-stretched. the next instant he came down with the sphere safe within his grasp. [illustration: jack rover leaped high up and caught the ball.] "fly ball! batter out!" longley academy had played its first inning without scoring. chapter x a glorious victory "good for jack rover!" "that was some stop, all right!" "maybe it didn't sting his hand!" so the cries ran on, and when the colby hall nine came in from the field the young pitcher was wildly applauded. in the meantime, however, gif ran to him anxiously. "it was the best ever, jack, but did it hurt your hand--i mean enough to stop your pitching?" "it's not going to stop my pitching, gif," answered the young pitcher. his hand stung as if burnt by fire, but he was not going to admit it. "oh, wasn't that a glorious play!" burst out ruth stevenson, and her glowing face showed her pleasure. "i hope jack wasn't hurt," answered the young captain's sister solicitously. there was another cheering when dan soppinger stepped to the plate with his bat in hand. dan had two strikes called on him, and then sent a fly to left field which was gathered in with ease. "one out! keep it up, longley!" "don't let 'em see first!" gif was the next player up, and by hard work he managed to rap out a single between short and second, which carried him to first in safety. but the next two players failed to connect with the sphere, and the goose egg went up on the board for the cadets. after that there was a good deal of seesawing for four innings, and without any results so far as scoring was concerned. longley made four hits, and so did the colby boys. but no runner got further than second base. of course the catching of the red-hot liner had done jack's pitching hand no good. it was a little swollen in the palm, and this prevented the fingers from working quite as freely as would otherwise have been the case. "now listen, jack," said gif, taking him to one side after jack had pitched through the fifth inning. "if your hand hurts you, say so, and i'll put another fellow in the box." "never mind my hand, gif, as long as i can treat them to goose eggs," answered the young pitcher. "but i don't want you to ruin your hand." "that's all right. when i feel i can't do any more pitching i'll let you know." in the sixth inning there came a break. but this could not be called jack's fault. the first longley player up, a chap named mason, managed to dribble the ball toward third, and before either the baseman or the shortstop could send it over he had reached first. then, on a wild throw to second, the runner not only covered that bag, but went on and slid in to third. "now we've got 'em a-going, fellows!" was the longley yell. "right you are!" "nobody out, and a man on third! this is the time we wipe up the diamond with them! everybody on the job!" the next player went out on a pop fly. then came tommy flanders, who did his best to line out a single. this was stopped by the second baseman, who, however, threw the ball to the home plate, thus cutting off the possibility of a run. "hurrah! two men on base, and only one out!" "here is where longley does some big scoring!" "jack, are you sure you can hold 'em?" gif questioned anxiously, as he came up to the pitcher. "i'll do it or die in the attempt," was the answer, and jack gritted his teeth. it was certainly a trying situation, but the young pitcher refused to allow his nerves to get the better of him. he gave a signal to the backstop, and then sent in an outcurve, which the batter swung at in vain. then he sent in a straight ball, following this by another outcurve, and almost before he knew it the batter was struck out. "hurrah!" came from spouter powell. "that's the way to do it! two men out! now for the third man!" the longley player to come up was one of their best batsmen, and jack realized that to give him anything like a good ball to hit would be fatal, so he fed the man nothing but those which were high and wide. as a consequence the fellow had two strikes called on him and four balls, and took his base, moving flanders to second. "hurrah! three men on base!" was the longley yell. "now, then, simmons, bring 'em all in!" simmons came forward with a do-or-die expression on his face. he had one strike called on him, and then knocked a low one toward centerfield. at once he started for first, while the fellow on third dashed forward for the home plate. the ball was gathered in as quickly as possible, and the runner from first to second was put out. but the runner from third had come in just before. "hurrah! that's one run, anyhow!" shouted the longley supporters. "i told you we could do it," said tommy flanders. he was glad of the run, yet tremendously chagrined to think that he had not been permitted to score. "now we've got to tie that score or better," said gif, when the colby hall boys came to the bat. all of those who came up, including fred and jack, did their best, but were unable to get further than first or second. "hurrah! that's the stuff!" cried pete stevens. "let us hold 'em down to a whitewash!" "sure i'll hold 'em down!" boasted tommy flanders. "not a one of 'em are going to see the home plate off of me to-day." "he'll certainly win the game if conceit can do it," murmured ned lowe in disgust. it must be admitted that so far tommy flanders had done wonderfully well. but there were signs that he was overdoing it by pitching too hard. "i think he'll break before the game is over," said dan. "just my opinion," returned walt baxter. "no young pitcher can stand up under such a strain as that." the break they had looked for came in the eighth inning. by a supreme effort longley managed, on a fumble by one of the new players for colby hall, to bring in another run, at which the cheering on their side was tremendous. "that's the stuff! two to nothing! wallop 'em good and plenty, longley!" "we'll wallop 'em all right enough," exulted tommy flanders. "they are going to get the worst whitewashing they ever had--you mark my words." alas for the conceited young pitcher! his overconfidence made him a trifle wild, and almost before he realized it the first colby hall batter had got a safe hit to first and the second man up went to first on balls, advancing the other to second. "tighten up there, tommy! tighten up!" called out one of the longley sympathizers. "i'll tighten up, all right enough," answered flanders, with a scowl. the next player up got another single, the ball being fumbled by the fielder, and as a consequence the bases were filled. "be careful, tommy!" cautioned the longley captain, as he came up to the pitcher. "be careful! we don't want to spoil the score." "they won't get in. you just watch me and see," answered flanders, and scowled more than ever. he did tighten up a little, and as a consequence the next batter up went out on strikes and the following player on a foul fly. "hurrah! two out! hold 'em down! don't let 'em score!" the next batter up was fred. so far the youngest rover had been unable to get further than first. "oh, fred, line it out! please line it out!" cried may powell, and then she blushed furiously as a number sitting near her began to laugh. "don't you care, may," consoled mary, and then she called out loudly: "do your best, fred! do your best!" "go in and win!" cried martha. there had been a tremendous racket, but now, as fred gripped his ashen stick and tommy flanders prepared to deliver the ball, a deathlike silence came over the field. every one of the men on the bases was prepared to leg it at the slightest chance of being able to score. the first ball to come in was too high, and the second too low, so fred let them go by. then, however, came a straight ball just where he wanted it, and fred swung at it with every ounce of muscle in his body. crack! the report could be heard all over the grounds, and then the sphere could be seen sailing far off into left field. "run, boys, run! everybody run!" "leg it for all you are worth!" "it's a three-bagger, sure!" "no, it isn't! it's a homer! run, boys! run! run! run!" the crowd was now on its feet yelling and cheering at the top of its lungs and throwing caps and banners into the air, and while the left fielder was chasing madly after the bounding ball, the three men on bases came in one after another, followed swiftly by the panting and blowing rover boy. "hi! hi! hi! what do you know about that! four runs!" "that's the way to do it, colby! keep it up!" "you've got the longley pitcher going!" cried spouter at the top of his lungs. "give us a few more home runs! they'll be easy!" "take flanders out!" said one of the academy boys in disgust. "he's beginning to weaken." while the din and excitement continued the academy captain went up to talk to the pitcher. "don't you think we had better make a change, tommy?" he questioned anxiously. "no, i don't!" roared flanders angrily. "that home run was a fluke, that's all. i'll hold 'em down, you wait and see." there were wild cries to change the pitcher on the part of the longley students, while the military academy cadets yelled themselves hoarse telling their nine to "bat flanders out of the box." walt baxter was now up, and managed to get to second. then came jack with a single that took him safely to first and advanced walt to third. "say, tommy, you'd better give it up," whispered the longley captain, as he came to the box. "i'll hold 'em! just give me one chance more," answered flanders desperately. and then came the real break. the next player up got what would have been a two-base hit, but the ball was fumbled, and as a consequence the man got home, chasing the other two runners in ahead of him. "hurrah! what do you know about that! seven runs!" "that's the way to do it! hurrah for colby hall!" "you've got 'em a-going, boys, give it to 'em good and plenty!" the excitement was now greater than ever, and all, including the girls from clearwater hall, were shouting themselves hoarse, tooting tin horns, shaking rattles, and throwing caps and other things into the air. "take him out! take flanders out!" "out with flanders! out with him!" "he should have been taken out before!" "all right--finish the game without me!" roared tommy flanders in disgust, and, throwing down the ball, he strode from the field and into one of the dressing-rooms. "gee, but he's sore!" was randy's comment. "that ought to take some of the conceit out of him," added andy. the new pitcher was a left-hander who had rather a puzzling delivery, and he managed to retire the side without any more runs, so that at the end of the eighth inning the score stood to in favor of colby hall. "now then, pull yourselves together," ordered the longley captain, when his side came up to the bat for the last time. all of those who came to the plate did their best, but jack was on his mettle, and though his swollen hand hurt him not a little, he played with all the coolness, strength and ingenuity which he possessed. as a consequence, although he allowed two single hits, none of the longley boys got further than third. "hurrah! colby hall wins!" and then what a celebration ensued among the cadets who had won the game and their many supporters! chapter xi bonfire night such a glorious baseball victory as this could not be passed off lightly by the cadets of colby hall. they arranged for a grand celebration that night, with bonfires along the river front and a generous collation served in the gymnasium. they were allowed to invite a few of their boy friends, and all made the most of it. "it's a pity we can't have you girls," said jack, when they were parting with ruth and the others. "never mind, jack; i'm happy to think that you won the game," answered the girl. "yes, and we're extra happy to think that you got the best of that awfully conceited tommy flanders," added may. late in the evening the boys cut loose to their hearts' content, neither colonel colby nor captain dale having a mind to stop them. there were only two boys in the school who did not appreciate the celebration. one was stowell, who was caught by some of his tormentors and dusted from head to foot with flour, and leeds, who had been so pessimistic regarding the school winning. leeds had said altogether too much, and as a consequence a big fool's cap was placed on his head and he was marched around the campus riding on a rail and then dumped unceremoniously into the river. "and don't you dare swim out until you promise after this to believe in colby hall and root for her first, last, and all the time!" shouted one of the cadets on the shore. "all right, i'll promise! i'll promise anything!" spluttered leeds. "only let me get out of this." and then he climbed up the river bank and, dripping with water, made a wild rush for the back entrance to the school. of course there was a good deal more of horseplay, and it can be surmised that andy and randy went in for their full share of it. even job plunger was caught by the crowd and hoisted on the top of a barrel which was waiting to be placed on one of the bonfires. "speech, shout! speech!" cried andy gaily. "tell us what you know about ball playing in the olden times," suggested ned lowe. "you let me down off of this barrel!" cried plunger, in alarm. "you let me down before this barrel caves in!" and poor shout, as he was so often called, looked anything but comfortable as he balanced himself on the top of the barrel. "we've got to have a speech, shout. come on, you know you are a first-class talker when you get at it." "what is it you boys want?" demanded the janitor, with his hand over his ear. "give us a speech, a _speech_!" "teach! i never did teach! what are you talking about?" "we didn't say _teach_!" screamed andy. "we said speech--talk--words--sentences--_speech_!" "oh, you want me to make a speech," and plunger looked rather vacantly at the crowd. "i can't do it. i ain't got nothing to say. i want you to let me go. i've got a lot of work to do, with cleaning up that mess in the gym, not to say anything about the mess you fellers made down to the barn getting that stuff out for them fires." "if he won't give us a speech, let us give him a ride," cried dan soppinger. "what shall we ride him in?" questioned walt baxter. "i've got it!" burst out andy quickly. "just keep him here a few minutes longer, fellows. come on, randy, quick!" sure that something was in the wind, randy followed his brother out of the crowd and both made their way toward the back end of the gymnasium. here there was a room in which si crews, the gymnastic instructor, kept a number of his personal belongings. si had been the instructor since colby hall had been opened, and his wife was the matron for the smaller boys. "mrs. crews has a baby carriage belonging to her sister stored away in that room," explained andy, as he and his brother hurried on. "i saw them put it there only a few days ago. it's a rather old affair, but i think it is strong enough to give shout a ride in." the lads found the door to the storeroom unlocked, and by lighting a match saw the baby carriage standing there just as left by mrs. crews. it contained a pillow, and also a baby shawl and a cap. "hurrah! now we'll be able to dress shout up for the ride," said randy gaily. it took but a few minutes to haul the baby carriage out and start it on its way down to where the crowd surrounded the school janitor. a shout of satisfaction went up when the other cadets saw the little vehicle, and another shout arose when andy picked up the shawl and randy followed with the baby cap. "here you are, shout!" came from walt baxter. "now we'll be able to dress you up fine for your ride," and before the astonished and bewildered janitor could resist, he was hoisted from the barrel and placed in the baby carriage, where the lads proceeded not only to strap him in but also to tie him down with a bit of clothesline which was handy. then they tied the baby cap on his head and pinned the shawl around his shoulders. "music! music for the procession!" called out fatty hendry. "somebody got a drum and fife!" and immediately several of the cadets ran off to do as bidden. in a few minutes more the procession started, headed by two boys carrying torches and followed by a youth with a bass drum and another with a fife. back of them came the baby carriage drawn by a full dozen of cadets and steered in the rear by andy and randy. on each side of the carriage marched a cadet with a torch, so that the curious turnout might be properly illuminated. in the rear was a motley collection, laughing and joking and cutting up generally. "hi, you! you let me go! i don't want no ride!" cried plunger wildly. "this ain't no way to treat me at all!" "oh, you need the air, shout," answered randy. "besides, see the shoeleather you are going to save by getting a ride instead of walking." the poor janitor struggled to free himself, but all in vain, and to the noise of the drum and the fife and with many shouts of laughter the whole outfit moved around the school twice and then around the gymnasium. "and now for a final celebration!" exclaimed randy, when the crowd came to a halt near the river front. "everybody attention! one--two--three! listen to the stillness!" wondering what was going to happen next, all came to a standstill and listened. _bang!_ a large firecracker set off directly under the baby carriage flew in all directions. as it went off poor plunger gave a shriek of terror and then tried so hard to free himself that the carriage was overturned and he found himself snarled up in a bunch on the grass. then the boys, not wishing to see the man hurt, rushed forward and released him, and he lost no time in disappearing inside the gymnasium. "hurrah! that was a grand finale," cried fred. "where did you get the firecracker, andy?" "it was out of a bunch i bought for the fourth of july," was the reply. after this celebration matters moved along swiftly toward the close of the term. during that time the rover boys heard from their mothers in new york that their fathers were expected home in about ten days. they immediately called up the girls at clearwater hall, and learned that mary and martha had received the same news. "and won't i be glad to go home and see dad!" said martha to her brother. "no more glad than i'll be," he returned quickly. it was now early summer, and many of the cadets were in the habit of spending a part of their off time either bathing or rowing. before going to war colonel colby had promised to get two motor-boats for the use of the cadets, but as yet these had not been purchased. but rowboats were numerous. "i'll have the motor-boats here by fall, however," said colonel colby, in speaking of this. "and then you can have a lot of fun with them." there was one more saturday to be spent at school before breaking up for the term, and the rovers and their chums had decided to spend that afternoon with the girls in an outing on the lake. "mary and some of the others want to go over to bluebell island," said fred. "they say there are some very fine ferns to be had there, and they thought maybe they would have a chance to take some of the ferns home." "all right, we'll take them wherever they want to go," answered jack; and so it was arranged. bluebell island was located a distance down the lake, not far from foxtail island, where the young folks had previously had an outing, as related in the volume entitled, "the rover boys at colby hall." at that time a squall on the lake and an encounter with a log raft had placed all of the young people in great peril, from which slugger brown and nappy martell had refused to rescue them. it had been decided that the boys should row from colby hall down the lake to the dock at clearwater hall and there take the girls on board. they had three boats, one containing jack and fred, another the twins, and a third gif and spouter. "it's certainly one grand day for this outing," remarked fred, as they set off. all were good oarsmen, so the rowboats made rapid progress in the direction of the girls' school. "i had the day made to order," sang out andy. and then he added, with a grin: "it never rains when i go out unless the water happens to be coming down." the cadets had informed martha and the others when they would arrive, and when they reached the dock they found six girls waiting for them, each with a carefully-tied-up shoebox under her arm. "yum, yum! i smell something good to eat!" exclaimed andy, on catching sight of the boxes. "got any mustard pie?" added randy. "excuse me, i mean custard pie." "no, we've got straw pie for you, mr. smarty," called out alice strobell. jack noticed that martha and mary looked rather thoughtful when they got into the rowboat manned by spouter and gif. "anything wrong?" he asked anxiously. "not much, jack," answered his sister. "i'll tell you just as soon as we get to the island and we have a chance." "didn't you boys bring anything?" questioned mary of the other rovers. "sure we did! but that's a surprise," answered fred. they had brought fruit and candy. "we brought two yeast cakes and a fried-onion sandwich," broke in andy gaily, and at this all the girls giggled. ruth and may were made comfortable in the boat rowed by jack and fred, and they at once set off in the direction of bluebell island. the others shortly followed, and all made good time across the placid bosom of clearwater lake. "i hope we don't encounter such a squall as we did before," remarked ruth presently. "oh, i'm sure it will stay clear," jack hastened to reassure her. in less than half an hour the young folks found themselves safe on the island, which was about thirty acres in extent, with a grassy slope on one side and rocks, trees and brushwood on the other. they tied their boats securely, and then proceeded to walk across the island to where they might take it easy under the trees or hunt for the ferns the girls desired to get. "now then, what is it that is troubling you?" asked jack of his sister as soon as he could speak to martha without the others noticing. "oh, jack, i don't know whether it ought to trouble me or not," answered martha. "it was such a surprise. i didn't dream that those two fellows would show themselves around clearwater hall." "who are you talking about, martha?" "bill glutts and gabe werner." "when did you see them?" "i saw them yesterday, and mary saw them early this morning." chapter xii on bluebell island jack rover was much surprised over the statement made by his sister martha. bill glutts had not returned to colby hall after his unfortunate experiences in the woods the winter previous, nor had gabe werner shown himself in the vicinity of the military academy. "have you any idea what they were doing around clearwater hall?" he questioned. "i have not, jack. but i feel sure they were not up to anything good." "did they say anything to either of you?" "oh, no. as soon as i saw them they sprang out of sight behind some trees, and this morning, when they caught sight of mary, they hurried off in the direction of haven point." "i think i had better tell the others about this, then we can all be on our guard. those fellows do not belong anywhere near haven point, and in my opinion they cannot be here for any good purpose." jack was thinking of the anonymous letter which had been received and which he now felt certain had been penned by werner. "if you tell the others now it will spoil the whole outing," pouted martha. "why don't you wait until to-night?" "all right, i'll do that. and when you girls are by yourselves you and mary must tell the others." and so it was agreed. those ahead had already reached the vicinity of the rocks and trees, and now began a diligent hunt by all for the rare ferns said to be growing there. "our idea was to empty the lunch from the shoeboxes and then fill the boxes with ferns," said ruth. the girls had brought a tablecloth with them to spread on the ground, and the entire lunch was placed in this and then wrapped in a newspaper and placed on a flat rock. "i wonder if the squirrels will bother the lunch?" questioned fred. they had noted several of the frisky little animals flitting from tree to tree as they walked along. "the squirrels want nuts. i don't think they care for mustard sandwiches and onion cake," cried andy. "gee! but it feels good to be out here," he went on, and, leaping up, he grasped the limb of a low-growing tree and went through the performance generally known as "skinning the cat." "oh, andy, do be careful!" called out his cousin mary. "first thing you know you'll twist your arms off." "oh, i do this every morning before i wake up," answered the fun-loving rover cheerfully. "i'll get him down!" cried randy, and, taking up a handful of dead leaves, he threw them at his twin. andy promptly gave a swing, let go of the tree, and landed on his brother's shoulders, and both went down to the ground, there to roll over and over, kicking the dead leaves in all directions. "hi, you!" cried jack sternly. "what sort of a ladies' exhibition is this! get up there before i yank you up!" "you'll have those beautiful suits ruined," came from annie larkins. the search for the rare ferns then began in earnest, and this led them through the woods and around a great number of sharp rocks and a considerable distance away from where the things to eat had been left. "here is one," called ruth presently, and pointed it out. the girls had brought trowels with them, and now jack lost no time in digging up the fern and placing it in the corner of one of the boxes. several other plants were located nearby, and all the boys and girls were soon busy. some of the ferns were quite small, but others were of good size, and all showed up well when grouped together. "we have a little fernery at home," explained ruth. "last winter the plants did not do so well, and these will therefore come in very nicely. i'm sure my folks will be pleased to see them." "i suppose uncle barney is now living with you, ruth," said jack. "oh, yes. and he is very thankful for all you rovers did for him that winter," answered the girl, referring to the happenings which have been related in detail in "the rover boys on snowshoe island." "here is a different kind of fern," announced martha, a minute later. "let me get it for you!" cried gif, pressing forward to assist her. "it's right down there between those big rocks, gif. be careful that you don't push one of the stones over on your fingers." "don't ruin the whole island getting up one fern, gif!" exclaimed andy, as the athletic student pushed away a couple of rocks which prevented his getting at the fern. there was another rock in the way--one that rested partly over the roots of the fern, which looked like an unusually healthy plant. gif tugged at this rock and fred bent forward to assist him. then, all of a sudden, the rock came out from the split in which it lay, and both cadets slipped and fell on their backs. "oh, do be careful! you'll have one of those rocks on your toes, sure!" cried ruth. she had scarcely spoken when there came a scream from may powell and alice strobell. "a snake! a snake!" "he's coming for us!" "run! run, everybody, before the snake bites you!" such were some of the cries that rent the air as all of the young people fell back. a black snake at least three feet long had suddenly appeared from a hollow under the last rock to be dislodged, and this was quickly followed by a second snake equally large. "hit 'em, boys! hit 'em!" exclaimed jack, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise, and as he spoke he caught up a stone and flung it at the nearest snake. the action of the oldest rover boy was quickly seconded by the other cadets, and a dozen or more stones were hurled at the two snakes. one of the reptiles was quickly killed, but the second received only a bruise on its tail, and it switched around angrily and then made a dash toward the fleeing and screaming girls. "gee! if we only had a pistol or a gun!" exclaimed randy. the snake still left alive was but a few feet from martha and ruth when jack and spouter hurled two more stones. each of these reached its mark, and with its back crushed the reptile whipped around on the rocks for a moment more and then lay still. "oh, dear! is it dead?" questioned martha, and her voice trembled a little as she spoke. "dead as a doormat," announced her brother, after a hasty examination. then he took a stick and, placing it under the reptile, threw the remains from the rocks into the lake. fred and andy speedily disposed of the other reptile in the same way. "maybe there are more snakes around here!" cried alice strobell nervously. "if there are, i'm sure i don't want to stay here any longer," added annie larkins. "who would dream of digging up snakes on this island?" murmured martha. "oh, it takes away all the fun of gathering ferns." "nevertheless, i am going to get that fern for you," announced gif. "but, gif, there may be more snakes around that hole." "well, i'll take a chance. i don't think they are very dangerous, anyhow," answered the athletic cadet. "be on your guard, gif," warned jack, and then armed himself with several stones, and the other cadets did the same. gif approached the spot with caution and began to dig up the fern martha had wanted. the other boys came quite close, but the girls kept their distance. no other snakes appeared, and soon gif had the fern, which he took pleasure in presenting to jack's sister. "thank you, gif," she said politely. "it certainly is a beautiful fern, and i'll do my best to preserve it. but i think every time i look at it i'll remember those snakes." "oh, you mustn't mind anything like that, martha. why, we've met dozens of little snakes on our tours. i don't believe they'd hurt you." "maybe not, gif; but they're such awful crawly things!" "i'm afraid i'd die if a snake touched me," added alice strobell, with a shudder. for a while the snake episode put a damper on the outing. but the boys did their best to make the girls forget it, and after a while all were hunting as diligently as before for ferns. they found a varied collection, and took delight in filling the shoeboxes with the plants, filling in the tops of the boxes with moss. "oh, my! half-past three already!" declared ruth presently, as she consulted her pretty little wrist-watch. "as late as that?" returned martha. "perhaps we had better go back and have our lunch," suggested mary. all were willing, for climbing around the rocks had made the young folks hungry. mary and spouter led the way back, with the others straggling behind. "what are you going to do this summer, jack?" questioned ruth on the way. "we haven't made any plans yet, ruth. i want to see my father first of all." "i don't blame you for that. you must be glad to think he is coming back safe and sound. and just to think that he won a medal! isn't it perfectly wonderful!" and her eyes beamed with pleasure. "it sure is! oh, my dad's a wonderful man--the best in the world!" answered the young captain enthusiastically. and then he added: "have your folks decided to go down on the jersey shore?" "it's about settled. i'll know for sure when i get home next week." "you mustn't forget to write, ruth." "and how about yourself?" "oh, you'll hear from me, don't worry about that," answered jack quickly. "if you go up to valley brook farm this summer----" began ruth, when a sudden cry ahead made her pause. "what was that, jack?" she asked quickly. "i don't know, but i guess something has gone wrong." "maybe the squirrels or a fox or some other wild animal got at the lunch." "phew! that would be too bad! come on and see what is wrong." the pair had fallen behind the others, and now they ran forward through the woods and around the rocks as rapidly as they could. as they did this there came a call from andy: "hi, there, jack! where are you? look out for gabe werner and bill glutts! don't let them get away!" "werner and glutts!" repeated the young captain. "what brought them to this island?" "catch them! catch them!" came in a scream from martha. "they are making off with all our lunch!" "drop that stuff, werner!" jack heard randy call out. "come on after them, everybody!" yelled gif. "they sha'n't get away with those good things--not if i know it!" there was a rush through the trees, and the calls and cries increased. the girls did not take part in the chase, feeling that the two former bullies of colby hall might do them harm. "oh, dear, jack! do you really think that they made off with all that lunch?" sighed ruth. "sounds like it," he answered. "i wonder where they are?" he ran around some high rocks which cut off a view of what was beyond, and then leaped over some low bushes. not to be left alone in the woods, ruth followed close at his heels. the next instant jack saw bill glutts running in one direction and gabe werner legging it in another. bill glutts carried the tablecloth with a good portion of the things to eat still in it, while gabe werner held the newspaper with the remaining things. "stop!" ordered jack, and then, as he saw gif and randy chase glutts, he made a wild dash after gabe werner. chapter xiii werner's attack "hold on, bill glutts!" cried randy, as he ran after the youth whom he had not seen since the winter before. "you leave me alone!" returned glutts, and then, in order to run faster, he dropped the bundle he was carrying. "don't let him get away!" burst out fred, and made a wild dash over some low bushes in glutts's direction. in a moment more he had caught glutts by the arm. "let go of me!" screamed the former cadet, and in alarm he tried to push fred away. but the youngest rover boy clung fast, and then glutts aimed a blow with his fist at fred's face. had the blow landed as intended, it would have hurt severely; but the youngest rover ducked, and then hit glutts a stinging blow on the chin. by this time randy and gif were coming up, and almost before he knew it bill glutts was surrounded. gif caught the former bully of the hall by the shoulder. "this is a nice way to act, glutts," he said sternly. "what business had you to touch our lunch?" "how did i know it belonged to you?" whined glutts, much crestfallen over the sudden turn affairs had taken. "we found the stuff on the rocks." "you can't play the innocent that way," broke in randy. "you and gabe werner must have followed us to this island. gee!" he added quickly, "where is werner?" "jack went after him," answered fred; "and so did andy and spouter." "we didn't follow you at all," answered bill glutts. "we have as much right on this island as anybody. we ran across that lunch by accident. we didn't know that anybody was coming back to get it," he added lamely. in the meanwhile jack was hurrying after gabe werner, and, strange as it may seem, ruth followed close behind him, at the same time calling to the others for help. she remembered the anonymous note which had been delivered, and she was afraid that gabe werner might try to do the young captain serious injury. gabe werner was legging it among the trees. he was trying to reach the shore of bluebell island, but became confused among the rocks and bushes and presently had to swing around in something of a semicircle, and this soon brought him face to face with ruth. "oh!" cried the girl, in increased alarm. "don't you dare touch me, gabe werner! don't you dare!" "get out of my way!" roared the bully, and then, as he heard jack crashing through the brushwood directly behind him, he brushed ruth rudely to one side. "jack! jack! here he is!" the girl screamed. the young captain did not need to be told this, for he saw gabe werner just ahead of him. he made a flying leap forward, and was barely able to catch werner by the tail of his coat. "you can't get away! you might as well give it up," he said, and as the bully kicked out savagely, he caught werner by the foot and sent him headlong. "oh, jack! jack! do be careful!" cried ruth in increasing alarm, and then she set up a call for assistance. "i'm not afraid of gabe werner, and he knows it," answered the young captain. "i'll fix you for this!" roared werner. "i owe you a lot for the way you've been treating me." and with these words he scrambled to his feet and aimed a blow at jack's face. the young captain moved to one side so that the blow struck him on the shoulder. he came back quickly with one on werner's right ear, and followed this up with another on the bully's nose, which made that organ bleed profusely. by this time there was more noise in the under-brush, and andy and spouter could be heard calling. "this way! this way!" answered ruth. while she was calling, and while andy and spouter were doing their best to brush aside some thorny bushes which held them back, the struggle between jack and werner continued. the bully landed on jack's shoulder again and then on his chest, and in return received a crack on the chin which all but keeled him over. "i said i'd get you, jack rover, and i will!" spluttered werner, after this last attack. and then, as jack made a move as if to strike him again, the bully stepped around to one side, bringing himself once more close to ruth. his right hand had gone down into his coat pocket, and now he brought out something in a small paper bag. "i said i'd fix you, and this is how i'm going to do it! look there, if you dare!" called out werner, and pointed to a tree limb just over their heads. fearing some trick, jack gave only the faintest of glances upward, but ruth, more innocent, gazed wide-eyed at the limb pointed out. as he spoke, werner broke open the paper bag and hurled its contents forward. "there! take that, jack rover!" he shouted triumphantly. "take that, and see how you like it!" it was a package of pepper which gabe werner had carried. as it was thrown forward a small portion of it went in jack's face, but the most of it was sent in a spray over the young captain's shoulder and hit poor ruth. "oh! oh!" screamed the girl. "oh, i am blinded! he threw pepper in my eyes!" "you hound, you!" exclaimed jack, and even though his eyes smarted not a little from the few grains of pepper that had entered, he managed to leap upon the bully and give him a swinging crack in the jaw. but then werner threw the young captain backward over a rock, and just as andy and spouter put in an appearance he dodged in among some heavy brushwood and quickly disappeared. "what did he do?" demanded spouter. "he threw something in our eyes. ruth got the worst of it," answered jack. "go on after him; we'll have to attend to our eyes." jack's eyes were bad enough, but ruth's were much worse. the girl could hardly keep from screaming with pain, and jack was just then in no condition to assist her. seeing this, andy and spouter set up a yell for some of the others to go after werner, and then did what they could to relieve the sufferers. "come on down to the lake," advised spouter. "i guess water will be about the best thing you can use. anyhow, you can wash out the pepper if there is any left." both cadets assisted ruth to the water's edge, and jack stumbled after them. here the eyes, which had already begun to inflame, were washed out carefully, and then, as ruth continued to complain of the pain, they bound up her eyes with their handkerchiefs. "i think mine will be all right after a while," said jack. "they smart a little, but that's all." "don't you think ruth had better see a doctor?" suggested spouter. "by all means. we'll get back to town just as soon as we possibly can. he can probably give her some sort of ointment that will relieve the pain and take away the inflammation." by this time the others were coming up. the news that ruth had received a dose of pepper in her eyes excited everybody. "gabe werner ought to be put in jail for this," said martha. "isn't it the most dreadful thing you ever heard of!" came from may. the excitement was so intense that for the time being the boys forgot all about bill glutts. as a consequence when they turned to where they had left that unworthy, glutts had disappeared. "well, he got a good beating, anyhow," said randy. "i think that will teach him to leave our stuff alone after this." at first some of the boys were inclined to make another hunt for werner and glutts. they knew the bullies must have come to the island in some kind of a boat. "if we can find their boat we can take it with us," said spouter. "then they can either stay on the island or try to swim ashore." "we can't waste any more time," declared jack. "we must get ruth to a doctor. and i'd like to see a doctor myself. my eyes feel terribly scratchy." "yes, yes! i want to see a doctor at once," said ruth. "my eyes hurt dreadfully." some of the boys gathered up what was left of the lunch, and all made their way to the water's edge, where the rowboats had been left. as they did this they heard the sudden put-put of a motor-boat, and a few seconds later they saw the craft shoot out of a tiny cove at the upper end of the island and head for the eastern shore of clearwater lake. "there they go! there are glutts and werner!" exclaimed gif. "and in a motor-boat, too!" added randy. "too bad! if they were in a rowboat we might be able to catch them." "oh, let them go," said mary hastily. "i am more worried about ruth's eyes than anything else." "we're all worried about that," answered her brother. "come on, we'll get over to haven point just as fast as we can. i only hope we find one of the doctors at home." they tumbled into the boats, the girls leading ruth, who still had her eyes bandaged. "do you think you can row, jack?" questioned fred. "of course i can," replied the young captain. he was not going to admit that the injury to his eyes was making him feel sick all over. may sat beside ruth and did what she could for the sufferer. all of the boys bent to their oars and a straight course was taken for the town. "wouldn't it be dreadful if ruth was blinded for life?" remarked alice strobell on the way. "oh, alice! don't suggest such a thing as that," came from annie larkins in horror. "well, people have been blinded in that way more than once," remarked randy. "it all depends on how bad a dose she got." "jack said the pepper must have been intended for him," came from andy. "i can't imagine that werner would be wicked enough to try to injure ruth that way." "maybe he didn't intend to do it when he started," returned his brother. "but when werner gets mad he's liable to do almost anything. you know that as well as i do." "that's true. when he gets into a rage he goes almost insane." "what an ending to our outing!" sighed alice. "and we didn't eat a mouthful of the lunch!" added annie. she had spent over an hour in fixing some fancy sandwiches. "was that pepper from some you brought along?" questioned randy quickly. "as far as i know we didn't bring any pepper along. we had a saltcellar, and that's all," answered alice. "then it must have been a deliberate attempt on werner's part to blind jack!" cried andy. "oh, what a pity we didn't catch him! then we could have handed him over to the authorities." when the boys and girls reached one of the docks at haven point andy and randy ran on ahead and speedily procured a taxicab. into this ruth and jack were hustled, and then randy, sitting beside the driver, directed him to take the sufferers to the nearest doctor. at the first physician's house they learned that the doctor was away for the afternoon. then they hurried to another part of the town, and there found doctor borden, an older man who had occasionally come to both the girls' school and the military academy. "pepper in your eyes! is it possible!" said the old physician. "come into my office at once. sometimes that sort of thing is very serious." "you wait on the lady first, doctor," said jack. "she is by far the worse off." "very well," said the doctor. "come this way," and he led ruth into his private office. chapter xiv bound for home while the doctor was attending ruth the others of the party arrived at the physician's residence. they found jack walking up and down in the anteroom while randy sat in a chair doing what he could to comfort his cousin. "what does the doctor say about ruth?" questioned may quickly. "he hasn't come out yet. they are in there," and randy pointed with his hand to the inner office. "oh, jack, how do your eyes feel?" questioned martha, coming up and gazing earnestly at her brother. "to tell the truth, they don't feel very good, martha," he answered. "but i won't mind that so much if only ruth gets out of it." the boys and girls sat down, some in the outer office and some on the piazza of the doctor's residence. they had to wait nearly a quarter of an hour before the door of the inner office opened. "i think the young lady will feel much better by to-morrow," said doctor borden, as he led ruth forth. he had placed a new and heavier bandage over her eyes. "i'll call at the school to see her the first thing to-morrow morning. you need do nothing to the eyes until that time." he looked at the other girls. "i presume you young ladies are with miss stevenson?" "we are," several of them answered. "then there ought not to be any trouble about getting her back to the school in safety," and the physician smiled faintly. "i'll get a taxicab," said randy, and lost no time in doing so. "i don't want to go back to the school until jack has been taken care of," declared ruth. "i want to know just how bad off he is. the doctor tells me he doesn't think my eyes will be permanently injured." she was trying to bear up bravely, even though her eyes hurt her a good deal. but what the doctor had put on them was gradually allaying the pain. jack entered the inner office, and the doctor made a thorough examination of each eye. "you were lucky to get off so well, rover," he announced at the conclusion of the examination. "i'll give you a lotion to put on to-night before retiring, and i'll give you a treatment of it now. then bathe the eyes again in the morning, and i think in a day or two you will be as well as ever." "and what about miss stevenson's eyes?" questioned the young captain anxiously. "i can't say very much about them as yet. of course, i didn't want to worry her, so i did not tell her how bad it might be. still, i'll know more about it to-morrow morning." this was as much as doctor borden would say. jack received the treatment and was given a small bottle filled with the lotion, and then, after settling with the physician, he was ready to leave. "do you want any of us to go to the school with you?" he asked of ruth and the other girls. "no, jack; it won't do any good," answered the blindfolded girl. and as he took her hand and pressed it warmly, she added: "please don't worry about me." "but i'm going to, ruth," he answered in a low tone. "somehow, i feel that your injury is my fault." "nonsense! it was gabe werner's fault entirely! that boy ought really to be in jail! but, jack, you are quite sure that your eyes are all right?" she went on anxiously. "yes, ruth. the doctor says that i'll be as well as ever in a day or two. you are the only one to be worried over. i'll tell martha to telephone to me to-morrow just as soon as the doctor has seen you." and so it was arranged. randy had obtained a large taxicab and into this all the girls crowded, taking care, however, to make ruth as comfortable as possible on the rear seat. then the girls of clearwater hall started for the school. "i'll bet miss garwood will be surprised when she sees ruth," was andy's comment, as he watched the girls riding away. miss garwood was the head of the girls' school. "poor ruth," murmured fred. "what a miserable outing this has been!" fortunately for the cadets, they found the colby hall stage in town, and all piled in and were speedily taken to the school. here jack and randy went up to their rooms, while the others reported to colonel colby. "threw pepper into jack's eyes, did he!" said the colonel wrathfully. "what a dastardly thing to do! i am glad that werner is no longer a pupil at the school. if he were i should feel it my duty to hand him over to the authorities. you say he did not come back to haven point?" "no, sir," answered gif. "they motored over to the other side--over to where the hasley ammunition factory used to be located." "i see. then probably both he and glutts will take good care not to show themselves in the vicinity of haven point," said colonel colby. and in this surmise the head of the school was correct. long afterwards it was learned that werner had put the motor-boat into the hands of a man to bring it back to the party of whom it had been hired, and then he and glutts had tramped three miles across the country to a railroad station where they took a train for parts unknown. the colonel came up to see jack and have a look at his injured eyes, and then sent mrs. crews up to the young captain to bathe his eyes with the lotion the doctor had given him and bind them up. "it's too bad! too bad entirely!" said mrs. crews, who was quite a motherly woman. "i hope your eyes are as well as ever in a day or two." and then she added with a twinkle in her own optics: "i suppose that is what you get for running off with that baby carriage." "if it is, it's a terrible price to pay, mrs. crews," answered jack, and then told her about ruth. "now that's too bad entirely," said the matron of the school. "oh, who would want to harm a dear young lady like miss stevenson? it's awful how wicked some young men are," and she shook her head dolefully. jack took it easy for the rest of the day, and one after another his chums came in to sympathize with him. "i can't understand a fellow like werner," remarked ned lowe. "if he isn't careful he'll land in prison." "what gets me is that a fellow like glutts keeps on tagging after him," put in dan soppinger. "sooner or later werner is bound to lead glutts into something pretty bad." jack passed a restless night, not only because his eyes hurt him, but because he could not get ruth out of his mind. what if the girl's eyes should be permanently injured? the mere thought of such a catastrophe horrified him. in the morning he bathed his eyes again, as doctor borden had directed. he had been excused from his classroom, and so sat around where he could readily be called to the telephone if any message came in for him. it was not until about eleven o'clock that his sister rang him up. "the doctor left a few minutes ago," said martha over the wire. "he was with ruth about half an hour, and gave her quite a treatment. he was very much encouraged, and said he thought she would come around again all right in a few days, but that she must be careful for several weeks about how she strained her eyes or went out in the wind." "but he really thinks she will come around all right?" questioned jack anxiously. "yes, jack, he was almost sure of it. and, oh! i am so glad, and so are all the other girls." "well, it's a great relief to me, martha," he returned, and his voice showed what a weight had been lifted from his mind. after that the days to the end of the term passed quickly. there were the usual examinations, and all of the rovers were glad to learn that they had passed successfully. in the meanwhile jack's eyes continued to mend, so that on the final day at the hall they felt practically as good as ever. the young captain and fred had gone over to clearwater hall, ostensibly to call on their sisters, but in reality to find out about ruth. she came down to greet them, and they were surprised and delighted to find that she no longer wore the bandage over her eyes. "i can't go out in the strong sunlight yet, nor in the wind," said the girl. "nor can i do much reading or studying. but the eyes no longer pain me, and for that i am very thankful." "doctor borden says it will take a week or two before her eyes are normal again," explained martha. "but that isn't so bad when you consider what might have occurred," and she gave a little shiver. colby hall was to close several days before the girls' school, but the two rover girls had received permission to go home with their brothers. this was the last chance jack had of seeing ruth, and the last chance that fred would have to see may, and both made the most of it. "i'll write to you, sure, ruth," said the young captain. "and i hope your eyes will allow you to reply." "oh, i'll send you something, jack, even if it's only a postal," was the quick answer. "please don't worry about me. i am sure my eyes will come around all right sooner or later." "if they don't i'll never forgive myself for taking you on that outing," said the young captain feelingly. with the examinations at an end, the colby hall cadets were allowed to do very much as they pleased, and on the last night at school there was the usual horseplay and cutting up generally. some boys tried to catch stowell, but the sneak of the school outwitted them by receiving permission to leave the hall twelve hours early. "well, good riddance to bad rubbish!" announced fatty hendry, when he heard of this. "i think colby hall could get along very well if stowell stayed away for good." "i'm sure i wouldn't worry if he did stay away," returned walt baxter. "and now hurrah for little old new york!" cried andy, on the following morning. "little old new york and our dads!" added his twin. "i wonder if they have arrived yet?" put in fred quickly. "i don't think so, or they would have sent us a telegram." "either that, or they want to surprise us when we get there," said jack. their trunks had been sent on ahead, and directly after breakfast they set to work to finish packing their suitcases. then they went around saying good-bye to the professors and colonel colby, and did not forget "shout" plunger and bob nixon, giving the latter some tips to remember them by. "off at last!" cried fred, as the auto-stage rumbled up to take the first crowd of boys to the railroad station. in they piled, and were soon whirled away in the direction of haven point. at the railroad station they were met by martha and mary. the other girls could not come, as all had examinations that morning. soon the train rolled in, and the rovers and a number of the other cadets piled in, jack and fred being accompanied by their sisters. "i'll be glad to get home again and see mother and aunt grace and aunt nellie," remarked martha, as she settled herself in a seat beside her brother. "and how about dad, martha?" questioned jack. "you don't have to ask that question," she returned quickly. "you know i am just as crazy to see him as you are. and i'm crazy to see uncle tom and uncle sam, too." "i'll bet they'll have some stories to tell about their doings in france." "yes, indeed, jack. oh, how they all must have suffered! and how thankful i am that they are coming back to us whole and hearty. just think if they had come back minus an arm or a leg, or frightfully injured in some other way!" "i have thought of that, martha, more than once. i can tell you, when i think of the thousands of good, strong, healthy young fellows who went over there and gave up their lives or came back crippled, i feel that our folks have much to be thankful for." chapter xv back from france the journey to new york city was uneventful. they had to change cars at the junction, and here a number of the other cadets left the rovers. these included gif and spouter. "sorry you're not going down to the city with us," said jack; "but i suppose you are as anxious to see your folks as we are to see ours." "right you are," answered spouter. and gif nodded his head to show that he agreed with his chum. when the train rolled into the grand central terminal at forty-second street the rovers found two automobiles awaiting them, and in the turn-outs were the three mothers of the boys and girls. "what's the news about dad, ma?" burst out jack, as he kissed his parent. "have the soldiers come back yet?" was fred's question. "they haven't got in yet, but we are expecting them almost any time now," answered mrs. dick rover. "we are just as anxious as you are to see them," came from mrs. tom rover, as both of her sons gave her a warm hug. "there, there! don't smother me!" she added affectionately. "oh, it's so good to be home again!" exclaimed mary. "boarding school is all well enough, but i'd rather be with you folks any time." mary had always been a good deal of a home girl. the young folks piled into the cars, which were run by the rovers' chauffeurs, and in a moment more they were picking their way through the crowded traffic in the direction of fifth avenue. they speeded up this noted thoroughfare and then across town to riverside drive. "what is the matter with your eyes, jack?" questioned his mother presently. "they look rather inflamed." "oh, i had a little run-in with one of our old enemies," returned the young captain. "i'll tell you about it later." "it's poor ruth stevenson that got the worst of it," broke in martha. "we may as well tell mother," she added. "she ought to know it." "i wish you boys would stop making enemies," sighed mrs. rover. "sooner or later they may cause you a lot of trouble." "well, i don't consider that it is our fault," returned jack. "it is no more our fault than it was dad's fault to make an enemy of dan baxter and his father, arnold baxter." "well, if only your enemies reform, as dan baxter reformed, that will be something worth while," said his mother. all of the mothers had made great preparations for the return of the young people. their rooms had been placed in order, and there were a number of pretty and useful gifts for all of them. then came a grand reunion in the tom rover home, where an elaborate dinner was served that evening. "gee! if only our dads were here to enjoy this with us," murmured andy, as he gazed upon the many good things spread before him. "i'll bet they won't find any fault with home cooking after they get back from the trenches in france," commented randy, with a grin. "i'll bet they've had to put up with all kinds of cooking." "yes, and sometimes they had to put up with cooking that wasn't," added andy. "cooking that wasn't?" repeated mary, puzzled. "oh! i know what you mean--when they couldn't get anything." a number of their friends came in during the evening to see them, and the young folks had an enjoyable time dancing and in singing in a group around the piano, which the girls took turns in playing. "we'll have to have another and a larger gathering when our fathers get home," declared mary. "oh, won't we have the bully good time then!" cried her brother. "maybe they won't have some stories to tell!" piped in andy. "i want to hear all about how uncle dick won that medal," came from randy. it was not until after eleven o'clock that the little gathering broke up, and then mrs. dick rover called her children to her. "now you must tell me about your eyes, jack, and you, martha, must tell me about ruth stevenson's," she said. thereupon the young captain and his sister related the particulars of what had occurred during the outing on bluebell island and what had been done by doctor borden to relieve the sufferers. "it was a vile thing to do!" exclaimed mrs. rover, her eyes showing her displeasure. "why, that gabe werner is nothing but a criminal! you can be thankful, jack, that you escaped as you did. but are you sure poor ruth's eyes are not permanently injured?" "her eyes looked a great deal better when we came away than they had," answered martha. "just the same, i'm greatly worried, and i know jack is too." "ruth is to write to us and let us know how she is getting along," went on the oldest rover boy. "ruth is such a splendid girl, and so fine looking, it would be a shame if her eyes were hurt," continued mrs. rover. and this remark about ruth caused jack to think more of his mother than ever. two days passed quickly, the boys and girls spending their time in getting settled and renewing old acquaintances. the girls went shopping with their mothers, while the lads visited the offices of the rover company in wall street to see with their own eyes how matters were going. "everything seems to be moving along swimmingly," remarked jack, when he and his cousins came away. "i'll bet it will seem strange to our dads to settle down to the grind once more after seeing so much fighting," remarked fred. "it will be hard for all of the soldiers and sailors to settle down, i'm thinking," added randy. "a fellow can't knock around here, there, and everywhere for months and then come down to a regular routine all in a minute." that night the young folks retired rather early. andy and randy were indulging in some horseplay in their bedroom when they heard the door-bell ring. "i'll bet it's a telegram from dad!" burst out andy. "maybe it's dad himself!" answered his twin. "come on down and see." as they hurried down the stairs they heard their mother's room door open and heard one of the servants going to the front door. the next instant there was a cry from below. "mr. rover! is it really you!" "it's dad! it's dad!" yelled the twins simultaneously, and fairly leaped to the bottom of the stairs and ran to greet their father. "hello, boys! so you got home ahead of me, did you?" came from tom rover, as he hugged and kissed each in turn. "my, how big you are getting!" "tom! tom!" cried his wife nellie. and then she rushed down the stairs as he rushed up to meet her. he caught her up in his strong arms as he had been wont to do so many times in the past and fairly swung her above him. then he kissed her on each cheek and on the mouth and set her down with his hands on her shoulders. "this is what i've been waiting for, nellie," he declared. "just waiting to see you again!" "and i've been waiting too, tom--waiting every day," she murmured, with tears in her beautiful eyes. in the meantime similar scenes were taking place in the adjoining houses. dick rover, having a key, had let himself in unobserved, and gave his wife quite a shock when he met her at the door to her room. but she was overjoyed to see him, as were also jack and martha, and all clustered around to listen to what he might have to say. "why, dad, you are as brown as a berry!" declared the young captain. "and look how tall and strong he seems to be!" put in martha. it was mrs. sam rover herself who answered her husband's ring, and her shout of joy quickly brought fred downstairs. mary had already retired, but, leaping up, she threw a kimona around her and came flying down in bare feet. and then what a reunion there was among the members of all three families! the doors which connected the three residences were thrown wide open, and all gathered in the middle house. all seemed to be talking at once, and boys, fathers and uncles shook hands over and over again, while the girls and their mothers came in for innumerable hugs and kisses. "we are not yet mustered out," said dick rover. "but we expect to be before a great while." "you ought to be very proud of having done your bit for uncle sam," said mary to her father and her uncles. "well, i think our boys did their bit, too, if i am any judge," was sam rover's fond comment. "first they helped to catch those chaps who blew up the hasley ammunition factory, then they aided in rounding up the crowd who had the hidden german submarine, and lastly they prevented those huns from establishing that wireless station in the woods. i certainly think they did remarkably well." "but they've made some terrible enemies," broke in mrs. dick rover. "just look at jack's eyes. one fellow tried to throw pepper into them." "oh, let's not talk about that now, ma!" cried the young captain. "i want to hear all about what dad and uncle tom and uncle sam have been doing in france." "if we started to give you all the details we wouldn't get to bed to-night," said his uncle tom, with a grin. they had already been talking for quite a while, and the clock hands pointed to nearly one in the morning. "oh, well, this is a red-letter night, dad," broke out randy. "such a coming together may not happen again in a lifetime," added his twin. then the older rovers told of many of their adventures, both while in camp in france and during the time they had been on the firing line. "we were in some pretty hot fights," admitted tom rover. "one in particular--when we forced the huns out of a stretch of woods they were holding--none of us is liable to forget. that's the fight in which sam and i were wounded." "yes, and the day after they were wounded i was caught in a gas attack," said dick rover. "my! but that was something pretty nasty! i felt as if somebody had me by the throat and at the same time was trying to twist my stomach inside out. i never felt such a sensation in my life," and he shook his head and sighed deeply over the recollection of what he had passed through. "was that where you won your medal, dad?" questioned jack eagerly. "no, my boy. the medal was won some time later, while your two uncles were in the hospital trying to recover from their wounds. we made two advances, and then were told to hold our new line. there was a fierce bombardment early in the morning, and then, because of a mix-up of orders, part of our command fell back while another tried to go forward. one of our men, a fellow named lorimer spell, a queer sort of chap who hailed from texas, was hit by a piece of shell and knocked partly unconscious. he was unable to save himself, and as i didn't want to see him killed i ran out from behind our shelter and brought him in." chapter xvi dick rover's heroism it can readily be believed that the rovers did not sleep much that night. the boys and girls were downstairs by seven o'clock and waited anxiously for the appearance of their parents in the dining-room of dick rover's residence, where the fathers were to have breakfast before returning to the troopship which was docked across the river, at hoboken. "we've got to get back by noon," announced tom rover, "and sam and i want to pay a visit to wall street before we go, so we won't be able to spend much more time here." "you were going to tell us how you won that medal, dad," said jack, after breakfast was over and his two uncles had said good-bye to everybody and left. "what about it?" "well, if you must have the story, sit down and i'll give it to you," answered dick rover, with a smile. "as it happens, the death of lorimer spell may make quite a difference in my plans for this summer." "oh, then the poor man died in spite of your efforts to rescue him!" said martha in crestfallen tones. "he didn't die from that shell wound," answered her father. "but i had better tell the story from the beginning, since you seem to be so anxious to hear it." "you must remember, dick, that jack is something of a soldier himself. he is a captain of the cadets, you know," remarked the mother of the lad. "oh, but that isn't like being a real soldier and fighting for uncle sam!" protested the youth. "this lorimer spell, the fellow i saved, was a tall, lanky texan who joined our command after we arrived in france. just how he got in i can't say. he was rather a quiet sort of man, and some of the soldiers thought he was decidedly queer. he took a great interest in botany and geology, and i take it he was something of a student in those lines, although he was by no means well educated. "the day that he was knocked out by a fragment of a shell was a misty one--the kind of a mist that makes it very uncertain to see any great distance. we did not know how close some of the huns might be, and as a matter of fact they were closer than we expected, and some time later two of our men were shot down while moving from one trench to another close by. "when spell went down i was over a hundred feet away from him. before he became unconscious he tried to crawl back to the trench from which he had come. but evidently he was confused and went down in plain sight of the huns. "i didn't care very much for the man, as i told you before, but i could not see him remain there exposed to the fire of the enemy, and so without thinking twice i jumped up out of the trench and ran across the ground to where he was lying. the shells had torn the soil dreadfully, so that i had considerable difficulty in reaching him. "i placed him on my shoulder, and just then several huns began firing at us. one bullet grazed my side, giving me a deep scratch, and another went through the cloth of spell's coat. i stumbled down into a shell crater with the man and had all i could do to drag him and myself out. then i plunged forward again, and just as the huns let out several more shots, both of us stumbled down into the trench, and the rescue, if you might call it such, was over." "well, i think that was a grand thing to do, dad!" burst out jack, his face beaming. "simply grand!" "you couldn't beat it for pluck!" said fred. "and that's how you won the medal?" broke in andy. "fine!" "you certainly deserved it," added his twin. "gee! but suppose those huns had plugged you when you were carrying the fellow!" "and that's how i got him back to the trenches," went on dick rover. "he was taken to the field hospital, and there his injuries were found to be slight, and in a few days he was back on the firing line again." "he ought to have been mighty thankful," declared martha, who sat close by, holding her father's hand. "he was thankful; and for that reason he did something which may have an important bearing on my future business dealings," answered dick rover. "he said he had no relatives of any kind, and he then and there made a will whereby if anything happened to him all that he possessed in this world should go to me." "and then he was killed?" questioned mrs. rover. "yes. just two days after his return to duty we were making another advance. spell was in one part of the field while i was in another. suddenly i saw him running off to a place just in front of where our squad was located. then he made a turn as if to come toward us, and just at that instant he threw up his hands and fell forward on his face." here dick rover paused and dropped his eyes. no one cared to speak, and for an instant there was utter silence. "when the skirmish was over we had gained our position, and a few hours later the body of lorimer spell was picked up and carried to the rear," went on jack's father. "a bullet had struck him in the back of the head, and death must have been instantaneous. "i confess that i felt pretty bad. a number of the company knew of the will spell had made, and two of them were witnesses to the crude document he had drawn up. as a consequence, spell's personal effects were turned over to me. they included a small amount of money, a ring, a wrist watch, and a number of papers, including an order for a box in a safe deposit vault in a bank in wichita falls, texas." "poor fellow, it's too bad he couldn't have lived to enjoy himself now the war is at an end," remarked mrs. sam rover. "were any of his papers of value?" questioned jack curiously. "that remains to be found out, jack. his papers spoke of a valuable tract of oil land in texas close to the boundary line between that state and oklahoma." "oil lands!" exclaimed randy. "why, they may be worth a fortune, uncle dick! they are making immense strikes in oil down in that territory." "i know that, randy. some of the wells are worth a fortune. but, on the other hand, you must remember that many of the tracts that are supposed to have oil on them have so far proved to be utterly dry. men spend ten to forty thousand dollars in sinking a well only to find in the end that they have had their labor for their pains." "did lorimer spell say that his land had oil on it?" questioned fred. "from the way his papers and letters read one would think so, fred. but, as i said before, spell was a very queer kind of man. in fact, some of the fellows in our company thought he was a little bit out of his mind at times. it is just possible that he only imagined that he possessed valuable oil land." "but you are going to investigate, aren't you, and make sure?" questioned jack. "certainly, son. i intend to go to texas and make an investigation just as soon as i am mustered out of the service." "oh, dad! do you mean that you might go to texas this summer?" "i will if they muster me out." "if you go, won't you take me along?" "i'll think about it," and dick rover smiled at his son, whose face showed his eagerness. "gee! i'd like to go to texas myself," burst out fred. "such a trip would suit me down to the ground," announced andy. "i've always wanted to see a big oil well in operation," added his twin. "i'd like to see them shoot an oil well," went on jack. "they say it is a wonderful sight, especially if the well happens to be a real gusher." "the queerest part of it is this," went on dick rover. "before the war came on i was more or less interested in the oil fields in texas and oklahoma, as well as in kansas. a good oil well, or series of wells, is a splendid paying proposition in these days, and i'd like first rate to get possession of such a holding and then start a first-class oil company." "oh, there are millions in oil! i know that!" burst out martha. "why, i was reading in a magazine only the other day of some folks in texas who were quite poor. they had a farm of less than a hundred acres, and could make barely a living on it. then the oil prospectors came along and located a well or two, and now those poor farm people have so much money they don't know what to do with it." "wouldn't it be great if we could go down there and locate a few of those first-class wells?" said fred, with a sigh. "i'd just like to know how it feels to be a real millionaire." "can i go, dad, if you go?" questioned jack again. "i'll see about that later. i don't wish to make any promises now." "if jack goes i want to go with him," put in fred sturdily. "of course we'll want to go with him!" added andy and randy in a breath. "what's the matter with us girls going along?" demanded martha. "what would girls be doing in the oil fields?" asked fred. "a well might go off and shoot all your beautiful dresses full of oil." "huh! what about it if some oil got on that flaming red necktie you are wearing, fred?" questioned his sister quickly. in his haste to get dressed that morning her brother had donned a necktie which she detested. "never mind my necktie, mary. if jack goes to texas i'm going to see if i can't go along." the matter was talked over a few minutes longer, and then dick rover went off with his wife to arrange some private affairs before he should take his departure for hoboken. then he said good-bye all around and was off. "the next time you see us i think we'll be in a big parade," said jack's father on leaving. "a parade?" queried several of the others. "yes. they are talking of having a big parade of the soldiers on fifth avenue. if they do, of course we'll be in it." "hurrah! that's the stuff," cried andy. "i've been aching to see one of those big parades ever since war was declared." "if you do parade, dad, we'll all be there to see you," declared martha. "we'll want front seats in the grandstand," added mary. "i don't think you'll get any front seats, mary," answered her mother. "more than likely those seats will be reserved for the gold-star mothers--those who have lost their sons in battle." "well, those mothers deserve the front seats every time," said jack. "indeed they do!" came from the girls. "how soon will this parade come off?" questioned randy. "i don't know that the date has been settled exactly," answered dick rover. "but it will undoubtedly be in the near future. you will probably see all the details in the newspapers. i presume the whole of new york will have a holiday." "yes, and fifth avenue will be decorated in great shape from end to end," declared mary. "just see how they have been working on that arch of victory, and the tower of jewels, and all the other things." "it will certainly be a parade well worth seeing," said dick's wife. "yes, and i'll wager folks will come miles and miles to see it," added fred. and then he continued quickly: "what's the matter with having grandfather rover down here from valley brook farm?" "yes, and great-aunt martha and uncle randolph, too!" broke in mary. "oh, we must have all of them, by all means!" cried jack. chapter xvii the great victory parade "my, what a jam of people!" "did you ever see such a crowd before in all your life!" "and look at the flags and other decorations! aren't they beautiful?" "this time new york has outdone herself." it was the day for the great parade of the returned soldiers, and new york city, especially in the vicinity of fifth avenue, was packed with dense crowds that filled miles of grandstands, windows, and other points of vantage, and also jammed the sidewalks and the side streets. it was a holiday for all, and everybody was going to make the most of it. the rovers had left their homes early to make their way to the seats they had obtained on one of the stands. with those who resided in the city were grandfather rover and also aunt martha and uncle randolph, who had come down the day previous from valley brook farm. "this is the greatest day of my life," said grandfather rover, his eyes glistening with pleasure. "to think that my boys have all fought for our country and come back from the war safely." "yes, and to think one of them has won a medal--not but what the others have been equally brave," responded old uncle randolph. "i hope they never have to go to another war--they or their sons either," murmured old aunt martha. the girls had invited may and ruth to come to new york to witness the parade. may had accepted the invitation, but ruth had sent word the doctor did not think a trip advisable at this time, her eyes being still in bad condition. "it's too bad ruth couldn't come," sighed jack. "well, she had better take care of her eyes," answered his sister. "oh, dear, why did that horrid werner have to do such a mean thing!" the rovers had all they could do to get to the seats reserved for them. each carried a small flag, to be waved as the soldiers passed. there was quite a wait, and the crowd seemed to grow denser every minute. then from a distance came the fanfare of trumpets and the booming of many drums. "here they come! here they come!" was the glad shout, and soon a platoon of police on horse-back swept by. then followed a brass band of a hundred pieces or more, and the great parade was fairly started. to go into the particulars of this tremendous spectacle would be impossible in the limits of these pages. regiment after regiment swept by, representing every state in the union. there were brass bands galore, with old glory everywhere in evidence. the crowd clapped and cheered, and sometimes shouted itself hoarse as some favorite command swept by with soldierly precision. here and there a hero was recognized, and then the din would increase. "some parade, i say!" exclaimed fred enthusiastically. "isn't it wonderful how many soldiers there are?" marveled may, who sat next to him. "when are our boys coming?" questioned grandfather rover anxiously. "they'll be coming along pretty soon now," answered jack, who had been studying the program closely. "they are in the second regiment after the one now passing." the new york state troops were now approaching, and the din became terrific, the more so as one company after another was recognized. "here they come! here they come!" exclaimed martha, who was gazing down the line. "i see them! they are just at the corner!" added mary. "there's dad! i see dad!" screamed andy, to make himself heard above the noise. "there he is, in the front row on this side!" "yes, and there is my father!" yelled fred. "see him? two men away from uncle tom!" "i see dad," announced jack. "he's in the middle. see him with that medal on his breast?" "hurrah, boys! hurrah for you!" yelled grandfather rover, and arose excitedly, shaking his cane in one hand and a small flag in the other. [illustration: "hurrah for you, boys!" yelled grandfather rover.] by this time all were on their feet, cheering and waving their flags wildly. dick, tom and sam rover saw them, and although they did not dare to turn their heads, they smiled broadly in recognition. for them the moment was just as thrilling as it was for those on the stand. "hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" shouted the boys and girls, and their parents and other relatives joined in as strenuously as any one. old aunt martha was crying openly, and the other women had also to wipe the tears from their eyes. "somehow it chokes me all up," declared old uncle randolph, and blew his nose vigorously. the company containing the rovers passed on and the great parade continued hour after hour until it seemed as if there would be no end to that grand procession. "gracious! i didn't know there were so many soldiers in the whole world," declared aunt martha at length. "if you are getting tired, aunt martha, i'll have somebody take you back to the house," remarked mrs. dick rover, after they had been watching the parade for four hours. "no, no. i am going to see it to the end," declared the old lady. "it will be something to talk about as long as i live." "just think of a lot of soldiers like these fighting all over our farm at valley brook," was uncle randolph's comment. "that's what they did over in france. it must have been terrible, the way things were cut up." "my dad says you wouldn't believe it if you didn't see it," answered randy. "he said some of the shell craters were big enough to dump a small barn in. think of holes like that in your pasture lot." but even the greatest of parades must come to an end, and at last the final body of soldiers marched by, and then came more police, followed by a great crowd of people that surged into fifth avenue like great flocks of sheep, hurrying, bustling, and jostling in an effort to get every way at once. "wasn't it perfectly grand?" cried mary. "it couldn't have been more wonderful," answered may. "now we'll get you back to the house and give you something to eat," said mrs. dick rover to the old folks. "you certainly must be hungry as well as tired." "well, a little bit of something to eat wouldn't go bad, dora," answered grandfather rover, placing an affectionate hand on her shoulder. and then he added softly: "we're mighty proud of our dick, aren't we?" "proud! i should say we are!" answered mrs. rover, her whole face glowing with keen satisfaction. it was decided that all of the older folks, as well as the three girls, should return to riverside drive. the boys, however, wanted to remain out and see what might take place further. "we can pick up a little lunch somewhere--some sandwiches and pie and maybe a glass of milk," said randy. "anything will do for me," announced fred. "i'm almost too excited to eat." "if you boys stay out you take good care of yourselves in this awful jam," warned mrs. tom rover. "and don't you get into any mischief," she added to her twins. the four lads saw the others safely to the automobiles, which were standing down one of the side streets, and then came back to fifth avenue. "let's walk down and look at the decorations and at the arch of victory," suggested jack, and so it was decided. in many places the sidewalks were littered with boxes which had been used to sit or stand upon. as a consequence, the best place to walk was in the street, and down this the boys pushed their way through the crowds which were gradually beginning to thin out. "i never imagined buildings could be so handsomely decorated," declared jack. "those flags and banners and all that mass of bunting must have cost a fortune." "yes, and think of the money spent in decorating some of these windows," put in fred. they were gazing at a large show-window filled with a representation of american soldiers and sailors from colonial times to the present day. there were at least twenty-five figures in full uniform, and the display was as valuable to study from an historical standpoint as it was interesting to view as a picture. "some work to get all those uniforms together and to have everything exactly right," remarked randy. "i like the plain khaki of to-day as well as any of them," announced jack. "the others are more gaudy, but when it comes to actual service--ouch!" jack's remark broke off abruptly as a small but heavy box thrown from the gutter landed directly on his head. then another box came flying through the air, to strike between the three other rovers. it was followed by a ball of soaking-wet and muddy newspapers which struck the show-window with a thud, sending some dirty drops of water into the rover boys' faces. fred was the first to whirl around in an endeavor to see where the two boxes and the wadded-up newspapers had come from. he was just in time to see two young fellows try to lose themselves in the rapidly moving crowd. "gabe werner!" he ejaculated. "there he goes!" "yes, and there is bill glutts with him!" added andy. "what's that?" questioned jack. he had received a small cut on one ear from the flying box and his cap had been knocked over his eyes. "werner and glutts did it," answered fred. "there they go down the street." "if that's the case we've got to catch them," returned the oldest rover boy. "come on, quick!" all started in pursuit of the two former bullies of colby hall. but to follow them through the rapidly moving crowd was not easy, and several times they were afraid the rascals would get away from them. "here, here! take your time," said a policeman to fred, as the latter brushed by him. "take your time." "i'm after a fellow who ought to be arrested," answered fred quickly. "where is he?" demanded the bluecoat with interest. "there he goes--down around the corner!" and then, as the policeman showed no disposition to leave his post, the youngest rover boy hurried away after the others. werner and glutts had looked back, and seeing that the rovers were in pursuit, they had tried to throw them off the trail by passing around the nearest corner. now they headed in the direction of the east side. "i told you not to bother with them," panted glutts, who was somewhat out of breath. "now, for all you know, they'll have us arrested." "oh, shut up your whining, bill!" growled werner in disgust. "i wish i had knocked that jack rover's head off with the box." "you came very near busting the window." "i wouldn't care if i did bust it," answered the other recklessly. "it don't look as if that dose of pepper hurt jack rover much." "never mind. i'll fix him some day, you see if i don't." the two glanced back once more and to their chagrin saw that the rovers had come around the corner and were chasing after them faster than ever. this caused bill glutts to become more frightened than before. "oh, what shall we do? they'll catch us sure!" he wailed. "no, they won't! come on!" yelled werner, and caught his crony by the arm. he was too excited to notice carefully where he was running, and the next instant he, followed by glutts, brought up against a stand on the sidewalk in front of a small shop. this stand was filled with various articles of bric-a-brac, and it went down with a crash, carrying dozens of small articles with it. chapter xviii bound for texas "hi! hi! phat--phat you mean py knocking mine stand ofer?" cried out a voice from the doorway of the building, and a small, stockily built foreigner came running forward. "get off of me!" spluttered bill glutts, who was under gabe werner. "you're pressing some of this broken stuff into my face!" werner could not answer, being too surprised by the sudden turn affairs had taken. but then, as he realized that the four rovers were close at hand, he rolled over on the sidewalk, upsetting a small boy as he did so, and then managed to scramble to his feet. "come on, bill!" he panted, and set off down the street at the best gait he could command. what bill glutts had said about being pushed into the broken bric-a-brac was true. his face had come down into the midst of several broken vases, and one hand rested on a broken bit of glassware. when he arose to his feet he found himself held fast by the storekeeper. "you don't vas git avay from me already!" bawled the owner of the place. "you vas pay for de damages you make." "you let me go! it wasn't my fault!" stormed glutts. by this time the rovers had come up. bill glutts looked the picture of despair, with blood flowing from several cuts on his face and on one hand. "where is werner?" questioned jack quickly. "there he goes!" exclaimed randy. "come on after him before he gets away." "some one had better stay here and see that glutts doesn't get away," suggested fred. "all right, fred, you and andy stay here until we get back," answered randy, and then he sped off after jack, who was already running at his best rate of speed in the direction gabe werner had taken. by this time werner was thoroughly scared. he knew that he was liable to arrest for smashing the bric-a-brac stand, and he had no desire to fall into the clutches of the rovers, feeling instinctively that they might pummel him thoroughly before handing him over to the authorities. besides that, he remembered that they might hold him to account for the pepper incident. he had turned down a side street where there were a number of tenements. he dove through an open doorway and ran the length of the hall, coming out of the building at the rear. here there was a small yard surrounded by a board fence. he leaped the fence with ease, and then dove into the back end of another tenement and out at the front, and soon lost himself in a crowd on the other street. jack and randy hunted around for fully a quarter of an hour, and were then compelled to give up the chase. "it's too bad," declared the oldest rover boy, "but it can't be helped. let us go back and see what they have done with glutts." they soon found their way back to where the bric-a-brac stand had been smashed. a woman was now in charge, and she was just finishing the cleaning away of the wreckage. fred and andy stood nearby watching her. both wore a broad grin. "what's the matter? couldn't you catch werner?" questioned fred. "no, he slipped us," answered jack, and gave the particulars. "the police just carted bill glutts off in a patrol wagon," announced andy. "the keeper of the store, a bohemian with an unpronounceable name, went along. he declared glutts would have to pay the bill in full, and even then he wanted him put in prison for life or beheaded, or something like that." "phew! in that case glutts will get all that is coming to him!" exclaimed randy. "he sure will if that bohemian has anything to do with it." the four boys took another look around for werner, and then walked back to fifth avenue and a little later went home. here a fine dinner awaited them. "it's certainly been a banner day," remarked fred. "i'll never forget it as long as i live." after that two weeks passed rapidly. the boys went on a visit to valley brook farm, and also met spouter, gif and several of their other school chums. they had a glorious fourth of july, and then came back to new york city. during that time jack wrote two letters to ruth, and received one in return. the girl stated that she felt quite well, but that her eyes were still bothering her a good deal. "it's too bad, jack," said martha, when her brother spoke about this. "ruth is not the one to complain. her eyes are probably in worse shape than she is willing to admit." "i'm worried greatly, martha," he answered. "i wish i could do something for her." in a roundabout way the rovers heard of what had happened to bill glutts. he had been locked up over night, and in the morning some relatives had come to his assistance and through paying a fine had had him released. then glutts and his relatives had paid for the damage done to the bric-a-brac stand, a damage amounting to nearly a hundred dollars. in the meanwhile, so far as they could ascertain, nothing further had been heard of gabe werner. "werner is evidently going to keep shady," remarked fred. "perhaps we'll never see him again." but in this surmise the youngest rover boy was mistaken, as later events proved. at last came another red-letter day when the command to which the older rovers belonged was mustered out of the united states service. tom and sam came in one day, and dick the next evening. "now for civilian clothes once more!" announced tom rover. "and then i guess it will be high time for me to get back to the offices in wall street." "and i'm with you, tom," said sam. "i'd rather be at my desk than on a battlefield, any day." when dick rover came back he was more filled than ever with a desire to get down to texas to look over the land which had been left to him by lorimer spell. "i've found out that it is right in a territory where a number of well-paying oil wells have been located," said he. "but i'm not altogether certain that his claim is a sure one, and it might be just possible that some prospectors might try to jump it, now that word has gone forth that he was killed in battle. they may think he died without leaving any heir." "well, dad, you know what i said," cried jack quickly. "if you went to texas i'd like first rate to go along. maybe i could help you with your claim." "oh, uncle dick! won't you take us all with you?" pleaded fred. "it would be a grand outing for this summer. we've been working very hard at school, you know." "a trip to texas would put us in a, number one condition for colby hall this fall," added andy, with a grin. "we wouldn't interfere with your business in the least," commented his twin. at first dick rover was rather doubtful about taking four lively boys with him on the trip. but then he felt that they deserved something for applying themselves so diligently to their studies during the winter, and also for helping matters to run smoothly while he and his brothers had been in france. "you can go," he announced the next day, after a consultation with his brothers and their wives. "but i am going very quickly--by to-morrow night at the latest. can you boys get ready so soon?" "can we get ready!" exclaimed andy. "say, uncle dick, just let me run upstairs and get an extra pair of socks and a toothbrush and i'll be ready to go to the north pole if you say so!" and at this sally there was a general laugh. after that matters moved with incredible swiftness. it was decided that the boys should take no baggage but what would go in their suitcases for the trip, and these were speedily packed. in the meanwhile, dick rover obtained the necessary railroad tickets and sleeping-car accommodations. "hurrah! we're off for texas and the oil fields!" cried fred. "off for the land of luck!" exclaimed dick rover, with a smile. "the land of luck?" questioned jack. "is that what they call it, dad?" "yes, son. and it's truly the land of luck for some. for others it is the land of bitter disappointment." "then i would call it the land of luck--good or bad," announced andy. they were to leave from the pennsylvania terminal late in the evening. the whole family had dinner together, and those to be left behind did not hesitate to give the boys a great deal of advice. "i hope you don't fall in with any rough characters down there," said mrs. dick rover. "they tell me there are some men in the oil fields who are anything but nice." "you may find you will have to rough it," said tom rover. "i understand some of the oil fields are ten or fifteen miles away from the nearest town." "well, we've roughed it before," answered jack. the mothers of the boys might have been more upset, but they felt relieved to think that dick would be with the lads. soon the time came for parting, and all drove quickly to the railroad terminal. then finally good-byes were said, and those bound for texas hurried downstairs to the big underground train station. porters with their bags took them to the proper car, and they soon found themselves settled. a few minutes later they were off. the trip during the night was uneventful, and, strange as it may seem, all of the boys slept soundly. but they were up early and ready for their breakfast just as soon as that meal was announced from the diner. "i'm afraid we're going to have a rainy day of it," said dick rover, as the four boys sat down to a large table while he took his place at a smaller one opposite. "but as we'll be on board all day, it won't matter." during the meal jack noticed that his father was reading a letter very attentively, and when the party walked back to their pullman he mentioned this fact. "this is a letter from an oil well promoter," said dick rover. "i don't exactly know what to make of it. he makes a proposition which on the face of it looks rather good, but somehow or other i have got it in my head that he is a crook." "in that case, dad, i'm sure you won't want to have anything to do with him." "is he a new york man or one from down in texas?" questioned fred, who overheard this conversation. "he operates mostly in texas, although he has some connection in new york. he is very anxious to form a new company, and, of course, sell the stock. well, i am willing to go into a new thing and take stock for myself and try to dispose of some to others, provided the company is really a good one. but i don't want to get mixed up in any shady transaction." "i should say not!" cried jack. "the rover name has always been a clean one." "what is the name of this promoter?" questioned fred. "carson davenport." "what's that?" exclaimed jack, somewhat startled. "carson davenport. did you ever hear that name before?" "i certainly did, dad. this carson davenport has a son perry, and this perry davenport and nappy martell were great chums, and unless i am mistaken, mr. martell and carson davenport were once partners in some mining scheme. i heard perry and nappy talking about it several times." "humph! if this carson davenport was a partner of nelson martell, i don't know as i want anything to do with him. that whole bunch is tarred with the same stick. not one of them is honest," declared dick rover bluntly. chapter xix in the land of luck "well, here we are in texas at last." "and what immense stretches of country there seem to be, jack. miles and miles without a house or any other building." "you must remember, boys, that texas is the largest state in the union," came from dick rover. "some of the farms, or ranches, down here cover thousands of acres." "how much farther have we to ride?" questioned randy. "ten miles, that's all," replied his uncle. they had made two changes since leaving new york city, but each stop had been less than an hour in duration; so to these boys so used to outdoor activities it felt as if the whole journey had been continuous. they were bound for a small town which in years gone by had been known as steerville, but the name of which since the oil boom had been changed to columbina. this, so far as dick rover could ascertain, was the nearest point to where the lorimer spell tract was located. "we'll take a look around columbina first," jack's father had said. "i want to see how that claim looks. then i'll take a run over to wichita falls and get those documents belonging to spell from the safe deposit box in the bank." "i see an oil well!" shouted fred presently, and he pointed out of the car window to where the huge derrick could be seen over a distant rise of ground. "there is another! and another!" added andy, a few minutes later. "now we must be coming into the oil fields," announced dick rover, and his face showed that he was just as eager as the boys. "just think of how some of these wells have made a great many comparatively poor people almost millionaires over night!" "it sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it, dad?" exclaimed jack. "no wonder they call this the land of luck." "but don't forget the disappointments, son. many a man has put his all into sinking a well only to find it absolutely dry." "and wells cost so much to sink, too!" put in fred. "ten to forty thousand dollars each! it's an awful amount to gamble away." "not all of the wells cost that much, fred. in some places they strike oil at a distance of a few hundred feet. but here they have to go down much deeper. many good wells are down three thousand feet or more." the train had stopped at one or two towns, and now the porter announced that the next stop would be columbina, and he took their suitcases to the platform for them. presently they rolled up to a small wooden station, and the travelers alighted. then the heavy train rolled westward. "welcome to columbina!" cried andy jestingly. "some big city, i must declare. i wonder where the waldorf-vanderbilt hotel is located?" "what's the matter with going to the ritz-copley square?" added his twin, with a grin. "perhaps we'll be thankful to get any kind of a shake-down, boys," announced dick rover. "this certainly is worse than i anticipated, although i knew that we couldn't expect much in one of these boom towns." to a newcomer columbina certainly offered no special attractions. only a few years before it had been nothing but a point where the ranchmen had shipped their steers on the railroad, with a tiny stockyard and a small ranchmen's hotel and saloon combined. now the boom city, if such it might be called, consisted of a long straggling main street with a much dilapidated boardwalk on one side only. in the middle of the street the mud was all of a foot deep, and through this wagons and automobiles plowed along as best they could. all of the buildings were of wood, and none of them more than three stories in height. there were half a dozen general stores, the same number of eating and drinking places, and two buildings which were designated as hotels, o'brian's being one and smedley's the other. there was also a long, shed-like moving picture theater advertised to be open twice a week, in the evening. "i was advised by a man on the train to try the smedley hotel first," said dick rover. "he thought i'd find a better class of people there than at the o'brian place. wait till i ask the station master where the hotel is located." "you can't miss it," said the station man, when applied to. "it's down at the end of that boardwalk. if you go any further you'll sink into mud up to your knees," and he smiled feebly. "any chance of our getting in there?" "just as good a chance as getting in anywhere. they tell me o'brian's place is so full they're falling out of the windows," and the station master chuckled over his little joke. "anything in the way of a taxicab around here to take us and our baggage up there?" "taxicab? the last man to run a taxicab was jim lumpkins, and now jim's struck oil and he's so rich he won't do nothing. if you want to get up to smedley's i reckon you'll have to hoof it." "come on, dad, let's walk up there," said jack. "but your suitcases are pretty heavy," answered his father, with a smile. "oh, we won't mind those," declared fred. "we've hiked around with just as much to carry many times." "i sha'n't mind it myself," declared his uncle. "campaigning in france was a splendid thing to harden one's muscles." they set off down the one business street of which columbina boasted. they had to pick their way carefully along the dilapidated boardwalk. at one point they came opposite o'brian's hotel. downstairs was a saloon, and in this a noisy bunch were talking and singing. "i don't know as i would care to stop there," remarked randy. "it looks like rather a tough hole to me." "you are right," responded jack. "i'd rather go to some private house, if i could find one, or else buy a tent and hire a place where we could pitch it." "gee, that's an idea!" cried andy. "i'd much rather go camping out and do my own cooking than put up with just any old thing." at length they came to smedley's hotel. it was a new building, three stories in height, with a restaurant occupying one-half of the lower floor. half a dozen men were occupying chairs on the front piazza, and they eyed the newcomers curiously. "looks fairly clean, anyway," whispered fred to his cousins. "i wouldn't want to get into some old ranch that was full of bugs." the office of the hotel was about twelve feet square, with a sanded floor. on one side was a plain wooden settee, and on the other an equally plain counter on which rested a register and a bell. behind the counter was a tall, freckle-faced man with a shock of red hair. "good afternoon, gentlemen," he said hospitably. "what can i do for you?" "we want to know if we can be accommodated here," answered dick rover. "there are five of us." "how long do you want to stay?" "i don't know exactly. several days at least, and maybe a week or two." "i see." the hotel proprietor scratched his head thoughtfully. "i've got one big room left and one small room directly opposite. the small room has only a single bed in it, but the other room has a double bed and i could easily put two cots in there besides that." "would you mind showing us the quarters?" questioned jack's father. experience had taught him when in out-of-the-way places not to accept hotel accommodations until he had inspected them. "sure thing, brother. just follow me." the boys waited below while dick rover and the hotel man went upstairs. a minute later they came down, and then jack's father registered for the entire crowd. "you pay for your meals in the restaurant when you get 'em," announced the hotel man. "the rooms are separate. three dollars each per day." the rooms to which they had been assigned were on the third floor of the hotel. one was amply large for all of the boys, and the other, while much smaller, had good ventilation and dick rover said it would suit him very well. "the whole outfit is better than i was afraid it might be," he announced. "some of these boom towns have wretched quarters for newcomers. in fact, i've read in the newspapers that in many places the newcomers had to roll themselves in blankets and sleep out in the fields." "i was reading about one place where they set up cots on the floor of a general store at night and sold the right to sleep on a cot until seven o'clock in the morning for one dollar," said randy. there was no running water, but each room was supplied with a bowl and pitcher, and after the extra cots were placed in the larger apartment an extra bucket of water was also brought up by a maid. although they did not know it, the rovers had no sooner disappeared upstairs than two of the men sitting on the veranda of the hotel came into the office and looked over the register. "five rovers, and all from new york city," muttered one of the men, and gazed knowingly at his companion. "four of them were nothing but kids," returned the other. "it's only the man who counts, and his name seems to be richard rover." "do you think he is the same rover?" "i shouldn't wonder, tate. that name isn't a common one. however, we had better make sure before we make another move." andy and fred were the first to get through washing up, and then they came downstairs to take a look around before going into the dining-room with the others for supper. they came out on the hotel porch, and were surveying the scene before them when the two men who had inspected the hotel register lounged up to them. "well, what do you think of our town?" questioned one of them pleasantly. "i haven't seen enough of it to form an opinion," answered fred. "it will take us a week or two, i suppose, to take in all the sights," came from andy, with a grin. "it might take you a week or two if you went on foot through the mud," answered the second man. and then he continued: "i suppose you came from a distance, eh?" "we came from new york." "going to invest in some oil wells, i suppose?" remarked the first man who had spoken, and he smiled broadly. "that depends on how we find things here," answered fred. "you see, my uncle is interested in a tract of land they say has oil on it. of course he'll want to make an investigation before he goes ahead." "is that man who is with you your uncle?" "yes." "is the tract of land he is interested in near here?" questioned the second man. "i don't know how close it is to this town." "what's the tract called? if you don't know exactly where it is, perhaps we can help you locate it." "it's the lorimer spell tract," answered fred innocently. he thought the men were just asking out of idle curiosity. "oh, i see." the man frowned and looked at his companion. "do you know anything about that tract?" "oh, i've heard of it. it's up on the north side of the town. i understand spell was shot during the war," the man continued, looking at the boys. "he was," answered andy. "and he left all his property to my uncle dick, who once saved his life." "oh, that's it, is it!" cried one of the men. "seems to me i heard something about that. your uncle played the regular hero act." "as i said before, he saved lorimer spell's life, and did it at the risk of his own. it was in the midst of one of the fiercest fights." at this moment jack and randy came rushing down the stairs and out on the porch of the hotel in great excitement. "we just saw somebody up the street!" exclaimed jack. "and who do you think it was? gabe werner!" chapter xx plotting against dick rover "gabe werner!" "where is he?" "up the street," answered randy. "come on after him." "who's the man you are after?" questioned one of the men who had been interviewing andy and fred. "he's a young fellow who once went to a military academy with us. he's a regular bully and did something for which he ought to be locked up," was fred's reply, and then he rushed down into the street, following his three cousins. "how can gabe werner be down here?" questioned andy. "why, we left him in new york city!" "i can't help that, andy. it was werner just as sure as i am standing here. i just happened to glance out of the window and saw him crossing the roadway. he turned his face straight toward me, and i couldn't help but recognize him." "where did he go?" "i'll point out the place when we get there." by this time the four rovers had left the boardwalk and were plowing along on the side of the road through mud that varied from an inch to six inches in depth. they had started to run, but were soon compelled to slow up. "gee, this is something fierce!" panted andy. "oh, you cinder path!" chanted his twin. "wouldn't you like to do a hundred-yard dash on this road?" "it's not much farther," announced jack. "i saw him heading for that shack yonder." the place he mentioned was a small building erected of rough boards, with a galvanized roof. they neared the shack to find two men sitting before it on a log smoking their pipes. they appeared somewhat startled. "did a young fellow just pass this way?" questioned jack quickly. the two men looked at the rovers curiously, and then one shook his head. "don't think he did, stranger. i didn't see anybody, did you, tom?" "no," was the positive answer. by the look on their faces jack felt that the men were not telling the truth. yet what he was to do he did not know. "maybe he went back to that garage," he suggested, pointing to a smaller building in the rear. "look around if you think anybody is there," said the first man who had spoken, and the boys hurried down to the garage, which stood open. as they did this one of the men sauntered into the shack. "say, what's the meaning of this?" he demanded of gabe werner, who stood hiding behind a door. "i'll tell you as soon as they go away," was the answer of the former bully of colby hall. "don't let them come in here and see me." "all right, they sha'n't come in," was the man's laconic reply; and then he went outside again, to resume his smoking. having walked around the garage and peered inside, the four rovers walked again to the shack. the man who had just come out of the building leered at them. "didn't find the fellow you were after, did you?" he queried. "no," answered jack shortly. he did not like the appearance of the man in the least. "want to see him particularly?" "i want to give him a good thrashing--that's what i want to do!" exclaimed jack. "and after that i might turn him over to the police, if there is any such thing in this town." "we haven't any police here. we run things to suit ourselves." "what do you want to lick him for?" questioned the other man. "he threw pepper in my eyes once, and he's done a lot of other things he oughtn't to have done," returned jack, and then turned back to the hotel, and his cousins followed. "those two men were on the hotel veranda when we first went there," said randy. "i noticed them, and i did not like their looks at all." "do you know what i think?" returned jack. "i believe gabe werner was in that shack all the time. i think he must have seen us coming and given those fellows the tip. they both tried to appear cool, but they were both flustered." "but what can gabe werner be doing in this out-of-the-way place?" demanded fred. "he probably came here, fred, just for the excitement. hundreds of young fellows have drifted to the oil fields just as years ago they drifted to the gold fields. they gamble in oil stocks and do what they can, trying to strike it rich. it's a great temptation to any fellow who hasn't a well-paying job at home." "but gabe werner ought to be going to school," put in andy. "true, andy. but gabe himself thinks he is old enough to do as he pleases. evidently from the way he acts his folks can no longer control him." when the boys got back to the hotel they found dick rover looking for them. he listened in surprise to what they had to say. "it certainly is odd if that gabe werner is here," he said. "and more than likely you are right--otherwise that fellow wouldn't have taken such pains to hide himself. well, if he is here, you must watch that he doesn't play any more tricks on you." a fair supper was had at the hotel. during the meal both fred and andy noticed that the two men who had questioned them in the hotel office concerning the lorimer spell claim were watching their uncle dick closely. "they seem to want to know all about our business," said fred, when mentioning this to his uncle. "oh, that's the case in every oil town or mining camp," answered dick rover. "men are always anxious to get a lead, as they call it, on what is going to happen next. if they think a fellow may strike it rich in some particular location they rush after him like a flock of sheep and try to get claims as close to him as possible." after the meal was finished the boys took a walk around the town to see how the place looked at night and thinking they might possibly run across gabe werner. the narrow street with the single boardwalk was crowded with people, some well dressed and others in the roughest of costumes. there was loud talking and jesting, and most of the pedestrians seemed to be in good humor, although occasionally they would pass a group evidently out of luck and willing to let everybody know it. "no more oil fields for me!" they heard one man exclaim, as he lunged past, evidently partly under the influence of liquor. "i've sunk forty-five thousand dollars in wells already, and not a sniff of gas to show for it. i'm through!" "that's the other side of the picture," remarked randy. "evidently he's got rid of every cent he had, and now he's so downhearted he is taking to drink." "i don't see where he can get it in these days," said fred. "oh, they manage to get it somehow." the moving picture theater was open, and a crowd was swarming inside. the pictures were old and of a wild western nature, and none of the lads had any desire to see them. they passed on and looked into the windows of a couple of the general stores, where everything from matches to bedding seemed to be for sale. then they came to a corner where there was a side street which was little more than an alleyway. along this were a dozen or more shanties set in anything but a regular row. on the corner was a flaring banner announcing that here was located the famous california chop suey restaurant. behind the small dirty windows ten or fifteen men were eating at half a dozen tables covered with oilcloth. "look!" exclaimed fred, pointing in through the open door of the restaurant. "there are those same men who were at our hotel. evidently they can't be stopping there--or at least they don't eat there." "isn't it queer that they should hang around our hotel and then come down here for a meal?" remarked randy. "they're talking to another man--somebody who wasn't at our hotel," said fred. "just see how excited they seem to be!" he added quickly, after one of the men drew a paper from his pocket and all of them bent over it with interest. then the stranger of the crowd began to talk to the others very earnestly. "let us walk down the alleyway, and perhaps we can find out something about those men," suggested jack. "you say they asked about lorimer spell and his claim? they may know something that my dad would like to find out." "all right," said fred. the four rovers turned the corner of the restaurant and walked slowly down the alleyway along a narrow cinder path. this path ran close to the side of the building, and here were located several small windows, one of them close to where stood the table at which the men inside were seated. "it's a mighty good thing that we ran across those rovers the very day they came in," one of the men was saying. "if it hadn't been for that they might have gone up to the lorimer spell claim and done something that would queer the whole thing." "oh, i don't think they could do that, tate," returned the man whom the lads had not seen before. "you know at the best spell's claim on the land was not perfectly clear." "well, that's how you look at it, davenport," said another of the men. "you must remember, lorimer spell had a good many friends in this neighborhood. of course he was a queer dick and all that sort of thing, but in spite of that folks here would want to have spell's wishes in this matter upheld." "oh, i know we run some risk," returned the man called davenport. "but i think the stake is worth it." "to be sure it is!" came from one of the others. "the question is," came from the man named tate, "how are we going to get at it? do you think you'll be able to see the documents this man rover must carry?" "of course i'll see them. i'll get at them some way," returned carson davenport firmly. he was a large-built man, with coal-black eyes and black hair and his face had a rather cruel expression. "somebody said that lorimer spell placed his valuables in some safe deposit vault," went on one of the men. "in that case, this richard rover wouldn't have them." "i don't see why not," said another. "if he became spell's heir he would have a right to do anything, and the bank would have to give the documents up." more talk of a like nature followed, and the rover boys listened with keen interest to every word that was said. they recognized in carson davenport the man who had written to jack's father hoping to get the latter interested in some fake oil companies, trusting that the rover company in new york city would be able to dispose of the worthless stocks to their customers--people who trusted them implicitly in all their financial transactions. while these negotiations were going on jake tate, davenport's right-hand man, had learned that lorimer spell was dead and that he had made dick rover his sole heir. this was at a time when tate and davenport, as well as the other men, were trying to get possession of the spell land, feeling sure that there was oil on it. they had been on the point of communicating with dick rover, thinking they might get the claim away from him, when he had surprised the whole crowd by his unexpected appearance in columbina. "we've got to have quick action in this," declared jake tate. "the longer we delay the worse off we'll be." "yes, but you've got to find out about those papers first," said one of the other men, lighting a cigar. "you leave me to do that," said carson davenport. "i'm sure i know exactly how to handle this man rover." "he must be a pretty shrewd fellow, davenport. otherwise he wouldn't be holding such an important position in that wall street company," remarked tate. "i've handled men like that before. you leave it to me." "but you don't want him to suspect anything is off color," said one of the other men. "i'm not so green, jackson. i wasn't born yesterday." "didn't you say you thought this rover had a lot of money?" "yes, the whole family has money. but, at the same time, that has nothing to do with it. i'll tell you what i propose to do," continued carson davenport earnestly. "i'll wait until i am sure that he----" this was as much as the rover boys heard for the time being. around the corner of the building from the main street had come three figures. they had been abreast, but now they approached on the cinder path in single file. as they came closer the lights from the restaurant fell on their faces, and to their intense surprise the four rovers recognized gabe werner, nappy martell, and slugger brown. chapter xxi words and blows the surprise on both sides was equal, and for a moment neither the rovers nor those in the other crowd uttered a word. "what are you doing here, jack rover?" demanded nappy martell at length, as he scowled at the youth and his cousins. "i might ask the same question of you, nappy," was jack's return. "did you come here from that detention camp?" questioned fred. "that's none of your business," retorted slugger brown. "you got away from us this afternoon, gabe werner, but you're not going to do it this time," continued jack, and caught the rascal by the arm. "hi! you let go of me," howled the bully roughly, and shoved jack back against the building. at this randy leaped forward and also caught hold of werner. nappy martell and slugger brown were about to jump in to the assistance of their friend when fred and andy interfered. "you leave them alone," ordered fred, with flashing eyes. "he's one of the meanest fellows in the world. he threw pepper in jack's eyes and in the eyes of ruth stevenson." the loud talking so close to a window of the restaurant attracted the attention of the men inside, and the fellow named jake tate thrust his head out to see what was going on. "say, what do you know about this?" he exclaimed, turning to his companions. "those four young rovers are out here right by the window!" "you don't say so!" burst out carson davenport. "if they are by this window maybe they were spying on us," put in the man named jackson. in the meanwhile there was something of a fight going on outside. gabe werner had tried to break away, and then launched a blow at jack, who returned by hitting him a crack in the jaw. "see here, you leave werner alone!" blustered slugger brown. "you keep out of this, slugger!" cried jack, and then, as werner hit out a second time, jack dodged and the bully's fist struck the side of the building, skinning several of his knuckles. then jack landed a blow with all the force he could command on werner's left ear, and the rascal went down on the cinder path and rolled over into the roadway. by this time the men in the restaurant had run outside and were coming up. "what's the rumpus here?" demanded jake tate, pushing his way through the crowd of boys. he was a burly individual, and could at times put on a most aggressive manner. "we caught these four fellows right by this window," declared nappy martell, with a sharp look first at tate and then at davenport. "it looked to us as though they might be spying on you," added slugger brown, and he too gave davenport a peculiar look. "spying on us, eh?" muttered the oil company promoter in anything but a pleasant manner. "fine piece of business to be in!" by this time gabe werner had rolled over and gotten to his feet. but instead of coming at jack again, he kept at a safe distance, in the meanwhile sucking his bruised knuckles and nursing his left ear. "we have a right to walk on this street if we want to," remarked randy. "they were standing right by this window, and appeared to be listening to something," declared slugger brown. "then they must have been listening to what we were saying," grumbled jackson. "how long were you at this window, young fellow?" demanded jake tate. "i guess that's our own business," and randy's eyes flashed defiance. "you want to keep your eyes on those rovers," cautioned nappy martell. "they're as sly as foxes. i know 'em!" "and they'll do you harm if they can," added slugger brown. "he is saying that because we wouldn't stand for any of his underhanded work," explained fred. "we never did stand for anything that wasn't on the level," added andy, and looked at carson davenport suggestively. "see here, young fellow, don't you get fresh!" cried the oil company promoter. and then he added with a sneer: "i reckon you've been listening to more than was good for you." "well, if you want to know it, we heard a few things that surprised us," answered jack boldly. "what did you hear?" questioned jake tate quickly. "we heard what you had to say about the lorimer spell claim, if you must know it," retorted fred. "yes, and we are going to report it to my uncle dick at once," said andy. at this the men were evidently much disturbed, and tate pulled davenport back and whispered something into his ear. then both conferred with jackson. in the meantime nappy and slugger came forward again with werner close behind them. "you tried to run things to suit yourselves up at colby hall," sneered slugger. "but you'll find it a different story down here." "don't you dare to tell any stories about us," warned nappy. "if you do you'll get in bad, mark my words. i've stood all i'm going to stand from your crowd." "if you are behaving yourself and trying to earn an honest living, we'll have nothing to say to anybody about your past," answered jack. "the war is over, and the question of how you aided those german sympathizers is a thing of the past." "don't you trust 'em," growled werner. "they'll do their level best to get you in bad. i know 'em!" "you just let me get at you, werner, and i'll show you what i'll do," retorted jack, and made a move in the direction of the fellow. and at this the bully lost no time in retreating. he was evidently afraid that the rovers would hand him over to the authorities. by this time the men were coming forward again. "see here, boys, we don't want any trouble," said carson davenport oilily. "we were only talking about that lorimer spell claim in a general way. i'll explain everything to mr. rover's satisfaction in the morning. i only want to work with him in this matter. we could get along so much better than if we worked separately." "all right, then," answered jack. "you know where my father can be found." "you may have got a wrong impression from our talk," added jake tate. "we handle things in a rougher way down in this oil country than you do up in new york. davenport will straighten out everything with your father." after this the men continued to talk to the boys for several minutes, doing their best to allay the rovers' suspicions. nappy and slugger listened with interest, as did also werner, who, however, kept out of reach of jack and his cousins. "we might as well be going, nappy," said slugger presently, and turned and hurried up the narrow street, and gabe werner went after them. then, a moment later, the men returned to the restaurant to finish the meal they had begun. "i suppose we might as well return to the hotel," said jack. "right you are!" declared randy. "the best thing we can do is to let uncle dick know about this." they found dick rover sitting in a corner of the hotel porch talking to an old oil man to whom he had brought a letter of introduction. "this is mr. nick ogilvie," said jack's father after introducing the boys. "he will take charge of any operations we may commence in this territory. he is an old oil man, and knows this district thoroughly." the boys sat down to listen to what the old oil man might have to say. mr. ogilvie remained the best part of an hour, and then went off, stating that he would be around again the next day. as soon as he had departed the boys, making sure that no one else was within hearing, told jack's father of all they had learned concerning carson davenport and the men associated with him. dick rover listened with intense interest, his face clouding as they proceeded. "this is certainly news, and i'll have to investigate it thoroughly," he declared, when they had finished. "evidently this carson davenport is a worse sharper than i thought." "he says he can explain everything to your satisfaction," said jack. "but i don't see how it can be done." "nor i, either," declared randy. "my opinion is that they are a bunch of crooks and nothing else." "evidently they think they have some sort of claim on the spell land," answered dick rover. "and it is possible that such is a fact, because, as i said before, the title to spell's land seemed to be clouded. of course, i don't know what is in the documents in the safe-deposit vault at wichita falls. those documents may clear the matter up." "then i should think the best thing would be to get those papers," said jack. "that's what i intend to do." "will you see davenport in the morning?" questioned fred curiously. "certainly, fred. i am not afraid of that crowd, and the more they talk the better i'll like it, for then i can get some sort of line on what they are aiming at." it was some time after breakfast the next morning when carson davenport put in an appearance. dick rover was busy writing some letters when he came in, and the boys were addressing post-cards to their folks and friends. davenport was alone. "i want to clear up any misunderstanding that may have arisen," said the oil well promoter smoothly, as he dropped into a chair beside jack's father. there followed a conversation lasting over an hour. at first davenport did his best to smooth matters over, but gradually, as dick rover managed to draw out one fact after another, the oil well promoter showed more or less irritation. dick's shrewdness bothered him, and finally he hardly knew how to proceed. "you take it from me, rover, the only way for us to do is to work this thing together," he remarked. "one claim is just as good as the other, and what is the use of our getting into a dispute over it when we are not real certain that there is oil on the land?" "then you mean to say that you think your claim on the land is just as good as mine?" asked jack's father. "my claim is just as good, and maybe better. but i don't want to have any trouble. i figure that it will cost about thirty thousand dollars to sink a well on that land. now why not go in together? we've got ten thousand dollars, and if you'll put up the other twenty thousand we can try our luck and see what comes of it." "i'm not admitting that your claim is a good one," answered dick rover. "i'll know more about it in a few days." "why, what are you going to do?" "when lorimer spell died he left me everything he possessed, and that included some things left in a safe deposit box at a bank in wichita falls. i am going to get that box and see if there are any documents in it relating to this claim. then i'll know exactly how i stand in this matter. until that time i sha'n't make any sort of a deal." this was dick rover's final decision so far as it concerned davenport, and the latter went off looking anything but pleased. "he'll get the best of you if he can, dad," remarked jack, after the interview was over. "i don't doubt it in the least, son." "what's the next move, if i may ask?" questioned fred. the oil well proposition was beginning to interest him tremendously. "i am going to take the first train for wichita falls to-day," answered his uncle. "i guess you boys can get along here until i get back." "how far is that lorimer spell tract of land from here?" asked randy. "about three miles or so." "then what's the matter with our walking out there and taking a look around?" suggested fred. "we've got the whole day before us." "you can do that and welcome," said jack's father. "but take my advice and take a good lunch along, because you may not be able to get anything up there. i don't know whether there are any farmhouses around or not." an hour later dick rover was off for wichita falls by train. then the lads asked the restaurant man to put up a substantial lunch for them, and a little later they set off in the direction where the lorimer spell tract was located. around columbina the walking was anything but good. but presently they found themselves on a country road which had not been cut up by a steady stream of wagons and automobiles, and here they found going better. they had covered about two miles when they came to a bend in the road, and there andy called a halt. "i've got something in my shoe. wait till i take it off," he said, and sat down on a rock. they were all resting when they saw an automobile truck rumble past them. there were three men on the front seat, and the lads were very much surprised to see that two of them were jake tate and the man called jackson. chapter xxii among the oil wells "did you see those fellows?" exclaimed randy, after the automobile truck had rumbled out of sight. "i did," answered jack. "they were tate and jackson." "can they be going up to the lorimer spell claim?" exclaimed fred. "it's possible." "i don't think they saw us," put in andy, lacing up his shoe again. "no, they didn't seem to look this way at all. and, anyhow, they were too busy talking to notice," answered jack. the four rovers continued on their way, following the automobile. occasionally they met other automobiles, as well as wagons, some piled high with oil-drilling machinery. then they came to a place where a pipe line was being constructed. "we are certainly in the oil fields," announced jack. "see all the derricks in the distance?" being-good walkers, it did not take the boys long to reach the spell tract of land. to make sure that they had found the right spot, they asked an old teamster who was at the roadside mending a harness. "yes, that's lorimer spell's ground--or at least it was his ground before he was killed. there is the old shack just as he left it." the boys walked over to the house, which stood among some low bushes. it was a dilapidated structure, and had evidently been out of repair for several years. most of the windows were gone, and the front door stood wide open. as was to be expected, the four rooms the house contained were empty save for some straw on the floor and a pile of half-burnt sticks on the open hearth. "some thieves must have come along and taken whatever there was of furniture," observed jack. "yes, and somebody has been using it for a place to bunk in," added fred. "but i don't believe they have been here within the last few days," he added, with a look at the ashes on the hearth. from the house the boys proceeded to look around the farm, or ranch, if such it might be called. it was irregular in shape, one corner running over a hill and down towards a small brook. here, to their surprise, they saw a pile of oil-drilling machinery, and a number of posts had been set up. on one of the posts was a placard reading: _the carson davenport claim. keep off._ "what do you know about this!" cried jack, his eyes blazing. "let's knock the sign down," suggested fred quickly. "no, we won't do that--at least not yet, fred. we'll wait until my father comes with those papers from wichita falls." in the soft soil they could see numerous tracks of automobiles and wagons which had passed that way. one of these tracks was fresh. "i'll bet that auto with tate and jackson was here just before we came!" cried randy. "those fellows are certainly on the job. they probably believe that 'possession is nine points of the law.'" "and it may be down here," said jack, his face clouding. "the authorities haven't things under their control in a wild country like this as they have in and around the big cities." there were no oil wells near the spell tract, and to get to the nearest the lads had to tramp over another hill, a distance of more than a quarter of a mile. here they found several wells in operation, the combined flow of which, they were told, amounted to about four hundred barrels per day. "not so bad, when you consider this oil is worth about two dollars and a half a barrel," remarked jack. "that makes a thousand dollars a day," returned fred. "gee, just think of taking in that much every twenty-four hours!" the boys were told that another well was to be shot off that afternoon. this was located about half a mile away, and they resolved to visit the place, first, however, stopping by the roadside for lunch. they were told where they could get a drink of water. "phew! how it smells of oil," remarked randy, turning up his nose at the dose. "i guess we'll get our fill of oil before we get through, randy," laughed jack. "some of these neighborhoods are saturated with oil from end to end. the houses and barns are full of it, and so are the roads, and they tell me even the things in the dining-rooms and bedrooms smell of oil." "and just see how black the stuff is," declared fred. "it doesn't look one bit like the oil we are used to using. it certainly needs a lot of refining." "and just think of the hundred and one things that come from it," said jack. "kerosene and gasoline, and benzine and naphtha and paraffin, and i don't know what all." the middle of the afternoon found them at the place where the new well was to be brought in--that is, provided everything went well, the the head workman told them, with a grin. he was a good-natured irishman with body and clothing saturated with oil from head to foot. "'tis not a noice way av makin' a livin'," he announced. "but 'tis clane money one gits in his pocket." "yes, and you haven't got to stay here forever," answered jack, with a smile. "after you've made your pile you can go to some place more agreeable." "sure, an' that's true, son, so 'tis," said the foreman. he explained to them how the well had been drilled and how the charges had been lowered. they had tested out the well at eighteen hundred feet, but without success. now they were down twenty-six hundred feet, and the indications for oil were decidedly good. at length came the moment for shooting off the well. some of the woodwork surrounding the derrick had been removed, and all the electric connections were pronounced in good working order. then the boys and the others who had assembled were ordered back to a safe distance. it was a thrilling moment, and no one felt it more than the four rovers. they waited a few minutes, and then came a dull rumble, shaking the ground as if by an earthquake. then they saw something shoot skyward, and then came a sudden rain of black oil, flying and spattering in all directions. "they've struck it! they've struck it!" yelled andy excitedly. "they've struck oil!" "gee, but i'll bet that makes them feel good," announced fred. "that well must have cost a lot of money." "forty thousand dollars, the foreman said," came from jack. "come on, let us get back unless we want our clothing ruined." for the wind was shifting and sending a fine spray of oil in their direction. it was hard work to control the flow of oil, and the men around the new well had to work like trojans. the black mass was flowing off in a depression of the ground which had been dammed around to receive it. "it certainly is a great proceeding," was fred's comment, when they finally turned away and started on their return to columbina. "i don't wonder that those men get interested. it certainly is the greatest gamble of the age. one minute you have nothing, and the next, if you are lucky, the oil is pouring thousands of dollars into your pocket every week." "it's the land of luck, all right enough," answered fred. "and you mustn't forget one thing," added jack. "there are just as many failures as there are successes. there have been millions and millions of dollars sunk in texas, oklahoma and kansas, and some promoters haven't got even a smell of oil for their money." when the lads returned to the hotel they found that several letters had come in for them. one was from jack's sister, and this he read with interest, and then passed it around to his cousins to peruse. in her letter martha wrote that she had heard from ruth stevenson's mother, who stated that ruth's eyes were not in as good shape as the local doctor had hoped for and he had advised that a specialist be consulted. "gee, that's the worst yet!" said jack, and his face showed his concern. "poor ruth! i do hope she comes out of it all right, and that very soon." both jack and the others would have been more concerned had they known the truth, which was that ruth had already been placed in the care of an eye specialist and been removed to that physician's private sanitarium. pressed to tell the exact truth by mr. stevenson, the specialist had admitted that ruth's eyes had suffered exceedingly, and that she was in danger of losing the sight of one of them and that that might possibly affect the other. as mrs. stevenson was very nervous already, the doctor had advised her husband to keep the truth to himself for the present and hope for the best. among the other letters received was one forwarded by mary to her brother fred. this was from gif garrison, and in the communication gif told how he had heard in a roundabout way of nappy and slugger. * * * * * "it seems that there was once a man named davenport in business with mr. martell," wrote gif. "this davenport is now down in the oil fields of texas, and he has agreed, so i understand, to give nappy and slugger a chance to work for a company he has formed. so they are likely down there, and maybe you will meet them. they also say that glutts and werner used to correspond with nappy and slugger, so that it is just possible they will go down there too." "well, glutts isn't here," said fred, with a grin. "i guess that mix-up in new york was too much for him." "if those fellows want to work for carson davenport they can do so," said jack. "but they've got to keep their distance--werner especially." late that evening there came a telegram for jack. it was from his father, announcing the fact that he would have to remain in wichita falls for a day or two. "perhaps he's got to fix up some legal matters in connection with this spell claim," suggested fred. there was not much to interest the boys around columbina, and the next day hung rather heavily on their hands. they visited the general stores and also walked over to the depot and watched two of the trains come in. they saw carson davenport alight from one and hurry away as rapidly as possible, carrying a gladstone bag with him. "hello! i wonder if he has been to wichita falls too," cried jack. "he certainly came from that direction," answered fred. "but you must remember there are lots of other towns along the line." the following afternoon found the four boys on a highway leading from columbina to derrickville. they had fallen in with an old oil prospector who knew nick ogilvie well, and this prospector had offered to take them over to derrickville in his five-passenger touring-car. "it's a great sight around derrickville," said the man. "there are hundreds of oil wells in that vicinity. it's about the busiest place for miles around." warned by their previous experience, the boys had purchased some overalls and plain caps, and these they donned to protect their other clothing. they found the road to derrickville deep in mud, and more than once it looked as if the car in which they were riding would get stuck. but mr. bradley was a good driver, and always managed somehow to get through. "it ain't like driving on broadway," he grinned, "but we've got to make the best of it." two hours later found the rovers in derrickville. they were left to shift for themselves, mr. bradley stating he would take them back to columbina at five o'clock. they visited a dozen wells or more, and also the pumping station connected with a large pipe line, and then walked over to where the drilling of some new wells was in progress. "look!" shouted fred suddenly. "look! am i mistaken, or is that phil franklin over there?" he pointed to a distance, and then he and the others hurried to the spot. there, looking at the work which was going on around a new well, were the man and the boy they had once rescued from the freshet on the rick rack river. chapter xxiii a queer summons "am i seeing straight, and is it really the rovers?" exclaimed john franklin, when confronted by the boys. "you are seeing straight enough, mr. franklin," answered fred, as he shook hands first with the father and then the son. "is your claim around here?" "no, our claim is some miles from here," answered john franklin. "it's at a place called pottown." "i've heard of that place," said jack, as he too shook hands, as did the others. "they say there are quite a few oil wells in that neighborhood." "what have you done about your claim, if i may ask?" questioned randy. "oh, i've got myself all straightened out," said mr. franklin, with a broad smile. "you see, when i got down here i played in luck right from the start. those swindlers had got tired of trying to do something on my farm, and then i ran into an old friend of mine who was a lawyer. he took the matter up for me, and the swindlers got scared and all of them quit the claim over night; so i am now in sole possession." "and have you struck oil?" asked jack. "no, i haven't got that far yet, but i have great hopes of going ahead. you see, i'm handicapped for money. i could get some capitalists interested, but they generally want the lion's share of the proceeds, and that i don't want to give them." "i don't blame you," said fred. "you ought to get the most of the money if the oil is found on your land." "i'm telling dad to take his time," put in phil franklin. "the land won't run away, and the more oil wells that are producing around us, the more valuable our place will become." "but what brought you young fellows down here?" questioned the man. "are you on a sightseeing tour?" "not altogether," answered jack. "my father is interested in a claim down here, and he allowed us to come along with him." and thereupon he gave some of the particulars. john franklin listened attentively to the story, and his eyes flashed angrily when the names of tate and jackson were mentioned. "those are the swindlers who were trying to do me out of my property!" he ejaculated. "and i'm of the opinion this carson davenport was in with them. they are a bunch of crooks, and nothing else. they ought all to be in prison." "well, they'll land there sooner or later if they don't look out," returned fred. "if i was your father i would have nothing to do with this davenport or the men acting with him," went on mr. franklin to jack. "do you know anything at all about the lorimer spell claim?" "i don't know anything about what has happened lately so far as that claim is concerned," was john franklin's reply. "but i do know when oil was first discovered in this region some of the experts went over the whole territory carefully and they did not consider the spell claim as being of any value. that's the reason no wells were located there. they claimed that the geological formation was not good for oil." "oh! then you mean to say there is no oil on that claim?" questioned fred disappointedly. "i don't know anything about it, lad. i am only telling you what the experts said. those fellows miss it once in a while, just the same as other people. at the same time, if an expert doesn't think ground is worth drilling for oil, you can make up your mind that the chances of striking it rich there are very slim." "but are you sure the experts went over it very carefully?" questioned andy. "i am." "and who were they?" "they were from wichita falls--a firm by the name of fitch and lunberry." "then probably if my father wanted it he could get a report from fitch and lunberry," said jack. "i think he could--provided, of course, he was willing to pay for it. these experts don't work for nothing!" and john franklin grinned. "if you stay down here any length of time i wish you'd come over to our place and see us," said phil franklin. "we'll be sure to do that," answered randy. "maybe i can get your uncle interested in my land," suggested mr. franklin. "i wish he'd look it over. it wouldn't cost him anything." "i'll speak to dad about it," answered jack quickly. there was something about the franklins which had pleased him ever since he had first known them. they appeared to be perfectly honest and reliable. accompanied by the franklins, the rovers tramped around the various oil wells located in and near derrickville. mr. franklin understood a great deal about the wells and the machinery, and explained these things in an interesting way, so the afternoon passed quickly. almost before they knew it the rovers had to say good-bye and start on the return trip with mr. bradley. "gee, i wonder if what mr. franklin said about the spell claim can be true!" remarked jack, on the way to columbina. "he ought to know what he is talking about, jack," answered fred. "and certainly he had no axe to grind in the matter. he doesn't want to see uncle dick throw his money away." two more days passed, and still dick rover did not return from wichita falls. the boys went out sightseeing and amused themselves as best they could, but this was not saying much. the most fun they had was in a shooting-gallery where they astonished the proprietor by the bull's-eyes they made. "you young fellows are some shots," said he. "you must be used to guns." "we are," answered fred. the four rovers had gone into the target gallery directly after supper and while it was still light. now, when they came out, jack suggested that they return to the hotel. "we might send out a letter or two," he suggested, "and i'd like to look over a newspaper if i can find one." the rovers were heading in the direction of the hotel when, glancing across the street, they saw nappy martell and slugger brown. "they seem to be watching us," declared jack. "probably they'd like to know what we intend to do," answered randy. "i think we might as well ignore them," he went on, as he saw nappy and slugger crossing the muddy roadway. "hello!" called slugger coolly. "we've been looking for you fellows." "looking for us!" exclaimed fred. "yes, we found out you were not at the hotel, and so we thought you must be somewhere around town." "what do you want of us?" demanded jack suspiciously. "we came to see you on gabe werner's account," answered nappy. as he spoke he showed that he was nervous. "on gabe werner's account! what do you mean?" "i guess you had better ask gabe about that," answered slugger. "he's very anxious to see all of you--wants to see you this evening, too." "where is he?" "we left him at a house up on the derrickville road. it's about half a mile or so out of town," answered slugger. "is he sick?" questioned fred. "he's worse than that--he's down and out," answered nappy. "but he said to tell all of you that he wanted to see you this evening sure--that to-morrow morning wouldn't do." "see here, nappy, is this some sort of trick?" demanded jack bluntly. "if it is, i want to tell you right now it won't work." "it's no trick. how could it be? we are all alone, and we're not armed. we are doing this solely because gabe werner asked us to do it. he couldn't come himself, not with a broken leg." "oh, then he has broken his leg, has he?" said andy, with something of sympathy in his voice. "that, of course, is another matter." he turned to the others. "i'm willing to go and see him if you are." "all right, let's go," put in fred. "we'll go," said jack, after a few whispered words to randy. "but you remember what i said, both of you. if this is a trick we'll see to it that you get the worst of it." "you'll find out that it's no trick as soon as you get to the house," declared slugger brown. he and nappy martell led the way, and soon the whole crowd had left columbina behind and were trudging along the muddy road leading to derrickville. the way was dark and anything but inviting, and all of them made slow progress. "the house is over there in the field," said slugger presently, as he came to a halt. "you needn't be afraid, because there are only a very old man and a woman living there. gabe werner has been boarding with them since he came down here." "are you fellows working for carson davenport?" questioned randy. "we expect to work for him, yes. but nothing has been settled as yet," answered nappy. "he has offered us thirty dollars a week, but we think we can get more than that elsewhere," he added loftily. "and what of werner? is he going to work with you?" "that was the idea," answered slugger. "but i don't know what he'll do now. he's certainly in bad shape." "how did he get his leg broken?" "he didn't tell us a word about it," answered nappy. "there is something queer about the whole transaction. but he said he must see all of you rovers and do it to-night. what he's got on his mind, i don't know." the rovers hardly knew what to do. they were unarmed, and the place certainly looked like a lonely one. they wondered if it would be possible for carson davenport and his crowd to be at the house waiting for them. "you and slugger go ahead," jack said. "we'll follow behind. and mark you, no tricks!" "there is nothing to be afraid of," slugger assured him. and then he and nappy stalked off in the fast-gathering darkness. they walked up to the lonely house, and disappeared around a corner of the building. "say, jack, this doesn't look right to me at all," announced fred. "i wish i had a pistol." "i'm going to arm myself with a club," said randy, and looked around for such a weapon. the others did the same, two of them picking up sticks and the others arming themselves with stones. then they advanced with caution, keeping their eyes wide open for the appearance of anything that might look dangerous. "i don't see any light around the place," announced jack, as they drew closer. "i wonder what became of nappy and slugger?" broke in fred. "i don't see them anywhere." "suppose we call them," suggested andy. "let us walk around the house first," returned his twin. "they may have gone in by the back way. most of the folks living around here use the back door for everything." with added caution the rover boys walked slowly around one side of the building. in the rear they found everything as dark and deserted as in the front. "this is certainly strange," announced jack. he advanced and knocked sharply on the closed door. there was no reply, and he knocked a second time. then randy beat upon the door with his stick. "it looks to me as if there wasn't a soul in the place," announced andy. "i wonder what has become of nappy and slugger?" "see here, will you?" cried fred suddenly. "it looks to me as if nobody lived here. every one of the windows is boarded up on the inside. i believe this house is being used for nothing but a storehouse. i don't believe a soul lives here." "hello, nappy! hello, slugger!" called out jack loudly. "where are you?" to this call there was no reply. chapter xxiv dick rover's revelation "we've been tricked!" exclaimed randy. "just what i think!" burst out fred. "they didn't bring us here to see gabe werner at all!" "there isn't a soul around the building, that's certain," remarked andy. "what do you suppose has become of nappy and slugger?" the rovers looked around in the fast-gathering darkness, but could see no one. then they walked around the building several times, peering in all directions for a sight of the fellows who had brought them on this strange mission. "it's a storehouse, right enough," announced jack. "and my opinion is that everything is nailed up except the front door, and that, as you can see, has a padlock on it." it was certainly a mystery, and for the time being the rover boys were unable to solve it. looking down on the ground, they saw a number of footprints, but it was now too dark to follow any of these. "wish we had brought a pocket flashlight along," remarked fred. "it's getting as dark as a stack of black cats," said andy. "yes, and we had better be getting back to town before it gets so dark we lose our way," returned jack. as it was, they had some difficulty in finding the path down to the road. then they stumbled along in the darkness, occasionally heading into some mud hole up to their ankles. "nappy and slugger certainly have the laugh on us for this," said fred, as they plowed along. "maybe they thought we would lose our way completely in this darkness." it was a good half-hour before the rovers reached the outskirts of columbina. at a great distance they could see many twinkling electric lights, one of which hung on the top of every oil derrick. but these were so far off they did nothing towards illuminating the way. "almost ten o'clock," announced jack, consulting his watch. "about all we can do is to clean the mud from our shoes and go to bed." there was a sleepy young clerk behind the counter of the hotel, and he showed them where they could clean up. "no bootblacks in columbina," said randy, with a grin. and then all set to work with a whisk broom and brushes to clean up. "i wonder if uncle dick will get in to-night," remarked fred. the last train to stop at columbina was due in fifteen minutes. "i think i'll stay up and find out," said jack. "you waiting for mr. rover?" demanded the boy behind the counter, as he yawned and stretched himself. "if you are, he came in a couple of hours ago." "is that so!" cried jack, in surprise. "where is he now?" "i think he's up in his room, although i'm not sure. you see, i was out to a dance last night, and i'm pretty tired, and i fell asleep a couple of times sitting here doing nothing. somehow or other, it seems to be an off night around this hotel. nothing doing at all," and the sleepy clerk yawned again. "maybe he's up in his room looking over those papers he brought," suggested randy. "come on up and see." all mounted the stairs to the third floor of the hotel. when they reached the room occupied by dick rover they found the door locked, and a rap upon it brought no response. "he isn't here, that's sure," said jack. "maybe he went out on an errand." "unless he's in our room," said fred. in the larger apartment which the four boys occupied there was a small table, and jack's father had several times come in to use this for writing purposes. jack had one of the keys to the room, and, stepping across the hallway, he attempted to insert this in the lock. much to his surprise, the key would not go into the keyhole. "that is strange----" he began, and then tried the door, to find it unlocked. another key was on the inside. the room was pitch dark, only a dim lamp being lighted in the rear of the long hallway. jack stepped forward to get a match from a bureau, and as he did so he stumbled over something on the floor and pitched headlong. "oh!" he gasped, and then gave a sudden shudder, for he had felt the body of someone beside him. "be careful," he went on. "make a light, quick! here is someone on the floor! i'm afraid it's dad!" the others piled into the room, and randy, who happened to have some matches in his pocket, struck a light and lit the lamp. there, on the floor of the bedroom, lay dick rover. there was a small cut on his left temple from which the blood was flowing. he was breathing heavily, and evidently trying to speak. "dad! dad! what happened to you?" cried jack hoarsely, as he bent over and raised his parent up. "he's been hurt!" exclaimed fred. "see the cut on his forehead. wait--i'll get some water." he made a dash for the pitcher and also for a towel, and while jack supported his father on his arm the others bathed dick rover's face and washed away the trickling blood. "he's been hit," declared randy. "see the lump on the back of his head," and he pointed it out. presently dick rover opened his eyes and stared vacantly at the anxious lads. "what--what--what happened to me?" he stammered and gave a gasp. "who--who knocked me down?" "that we don't know, dad," answered jack, and he was glad to realize that his parent was coming to his senses. "gee! i was afraid you had been killed." the four boys raised dick rover up and laid him on one of the cots. they had a little first-aid kit with them, and from this they got some plaster with which they bound up the small cut. it was some time before dick rover felt able to tell his story. in the meanwhile fred dashed downstairs for some hot water, which was applied to the lump on the sufferer's head. "i guess i'll get over it," said jack's father, with a wan smile. "but they certainly did give it to me." then he gave a sudden start. "what about my papers? are they safe?" the boys looked around, but saw no papers of any kind in the room. "i had them in my bag. i brought them in here to look them over, and to do some writing at the table." "well, there's no bag here now, or papers either," announced randy. "then those rascals must have taken them! that was probably why they knocked me down. they wanted to rob me." "but who attacked you, dad?" questioned jack. "that i don't know, son. i was seated at the table with the open bag beside me, and was looking over some of the documents i had brought from the safe deposit vault in wichita falls when i heard a noise behind me near the door. i was just about to get up to see what it meant, when all of a sudden i received a terrible crack on the back of the head. i turned around, and then somebody aimed another blow at me that caught me on the left temple. then everything seemed to dance before my eyes, and i guess i must have gone down in a heap on the floor. and that's all i knew until i found you supporting me and bathing my forehead." "it must have been those oil-well fellows!" ejaculated fred. "i think i see a light!" almost shouted jack. "nappy and slugger were in this plot. they made us go away out of town just so we wouldn't be here with my dad when the other fellows attacked him!" "i guess you're right," answered randy. "what's this you are saying?" questioned dick rover, rather feebly. in a few words the boys explained the trick nappy martell and slugger brown had played on them. "yes, i guess you are right. it must have been a part of the game," said jack's father. "and are you sure my bag and everything that was in it are gone?" "yes, there isn't a single paper in this room," answered jack. "and when we came up we found the door to your room locked, so it isn't likely they are there." "they must have dug out the minute they knocked me over and got the papers," answered dick rover. "probably they were afraid you or somebody else might come up and catch them at their dastardly work. as it is, it is queer somebody didn't see them." "there happens to be no one down in the office but the young clerk, and he's half asleep," answered randy. "besides that, those fellows may have come in by the back way. did you catch sight of them at all?" "i can't say that i did, randy. the first blow dazed me, and while i remember something of two or three forms, it is all so vague that it amounts to nothing. i rather think, however, that there were at least three men." "and if there were, i'll bet a new hat those men were davenport, tate, and jackson," returned jack firmly. "you may be right, son. but you know what they say in court: it is one thing to know the truth, and quite another to be able to prove it." "but who would want to steal those papers if not davenport and his crowd?" questioned randy. and then he added hurriedly: "did they rob you of anything else, uncle dick?" "i don't think so." dick rover felt in his pockets. "no, my money and watch and my diamond ring are all safe. if they had been ordinary thieves they would certainly have taken everything of value." "our baggage doesn't seem to be disturbed," said andy, who was looking around. "i guess you are right--they were after those documents and nothing else." there was a pause, and suddenly the boys saw a queer smile pass over dick rover's face, and then he uttered a peculiar whistle. "what is it, dad?" said jack wonderingly. he knew that his father had a habit of whistling in that fashion when something struck him as funny. "i was just thinking that perhaps those fellows who robbed me had taken a white elephant off my hands," returned dick rover. "why, what do you mean by white elephant?" questioned andy. "i mean that maybe they are fighting tooth and nail to get possession of something which i might be only too glad to give them for nothing." "oh, dad, are you talking about the lorimer spell claim?" questioned jack. "yes." "but i don't understand." "of course you don't. but maybe you will after i've told my story. as you know, i went to wichita falls mainly to get the documents which lorimer spell had stored away in the safe deposit vault of a bank there. well, i got the documents, and in looking them over found that while lorimer spell's claim to the land seemed to be fairly well established, still there was something of a cloud to the title--the cloud of which carson davenport and his crowd are taking advantage. but more than that, i found that a firm of oil experts named fitch and lunberry had gone over the property both for spell and for an oil promoter who had thought to put some money into operations there. so then i called on the firm and had a long talk with mr. fitch." "and what did mr. fitch have to say about the land?" asked jack quickly. "he was very frank to say that in his opinion there was no oil of any kind on the claim. he told me that he knew lorimer spell very well, and that while spell was all right in the main, he had been daffy on the subject of oil, so much so that it had just about turned the poor fellow's brain until he imagined that there was fabulous wealth in oil on every acre he possessed. mr. fitch got down to facts and figures, and showed me all of his deductions, and he said that it was his honest opinion that any money spent on the lorimer spell claim would be utterly wasted." chapter xxv davenport's accusation "then the lorimer spell claim is positively no good!" exclaimed jack. "i wouldn't say that exactly, jack. no claim down here can be said to be worthless until it has actually been bored for oil. it is just possible that those oil experts may be mistaken. at the same time, from what mr. fitch said, i would be very slow about putting money in that land." "it's too bad, uncle dick, if that claim's no good when we all supposed it would be so wonderful," came from fred, and his face showed his disappointment. "well, i haven't lost anything," answered his uncle dick. "i feel a great deal better than if i had sunk thirty or forty thousand dollars in a dry hole." andy began to snicker. "gee! it's rich, uncle dick, to pass davenport and that crowd the white elephant," he chuckled. "i only hope they get bit bad, especially if they were the rascals who came here and knocked you out." "they must have been the crowd, because no one else would be interested in those documents. they knew i was going to wichita falls to get them, and they probably hung around waiting for my return. and they probably got martell and brown to get you boys out of the way. the story about gabe werner having a broken leg was probably faked up." "nappy admitted that he and slugger expected to work for the davenport crowd," said jack. "they are all tarred with the same stick, and i hope they get stuck bad." "uncle dick, why don't you pretend to be terribly put out over the fact that you have lost your interest in the claim?" cried andy. "that will throw them completely off the track. let them imagine that you think there is a lot of oil to be found there." "i'll think it over and at the same time i'll think over what other investments i might make while i'm down here. but just at present i think i'll try to get a good night's sleep and reduce this swelling on my head," added jack's father, as he felt of the bump tenderly. "i know one person who would like you to interest yourself in his claim!" exclaimed jack. "that is mr. john franklin, the man we saved from drowning in the rick rack river freshet." thereupon the boys told of their meeting with mr. franklin and phil, and also related what particulars they knew concerning the man's land and how he had gotten it out of the clutches of the oil sharpers. "that might be worth looking into," said dick rover. "i'll take it up a little later, after i feel better, and after i have had it out with davenport and his crowd." the boys assisted jack's father to his room and jack aided him in retiring. meanwhile randy went down to interview the sleepy hotel clerk. "that fellow doesn't know a thing about what happened," announced randy on his return. "those men must have come in and gone out while he was taking a snooze. and as luck would have it for those rascals, no one else seems to have been around." with nothing of special importance to do, the whole crowd slept late on the following morning, which was sunday. dick rover was glad to take it easy, but declined to have a physician when that was suggested. "it was only an ordinary blow, and did nothing more than knock me out for a little while," said he. "the swelling on my head is gradually going down, and that little cut on the temple doesn't amount to much." "those men ought all to be put in prison!" burst out fred. "possibly you are right, fred. but you must remember that you are now in a section of the country where living is rather rough. a new oil town and a new mining camp are pretty much on the same level. you often have to take the law into your own hands and fight your way through the best you can. later there will be regular law and order, and then matters will run more smoothly." dick rover did not mention the matter to the boys, but from that day on he went armed, resolved to take no more chances should any of the oil land swindlers attack him again. two more days passed, and during that time the boys visited a number of localities in that vicinity, trying to catch sight of nappy and slugger, and also werner. but those three unworthies did not show themselves. "they know we've got it in for them," declared jack. "they'll keep in hiding until they think this affair has blown over." on the third day dick rover felt quite like himself, and he hired an automobile to take him and the boys, as well as nick ogilvie, to the lorimer spell claim. somewhat to his surprise, he found carson davenport on the land, along with tate and jackson and half a dozen other men. more oil-well machinery had been brought up and dumped in a spot near the brook. "what's the meaning of this, davenport?" questioned jack's father shortly. "it means that i'm going to work on my own hook, rover," answered davenport, and there was a sneer in his voice. "i've got tired of trying to make a deal with you, and i've come to the conclusion that your claim is no good." "i think i understand you perfectly," answered dick rover, and looked at the man so sharply that davenport had to drop his eyes. "you think you have everything your own way, eh?" "never mind what i think. if you've got any real claim on this property you show the evidences. that little paper that lorimer spell wrote out on the battlefield of france doesn't hold water with me. you've got to show me the deeds, and all that sort of thing." "a man can't show papers when he has been robbed of them," went on jack's father pointedly. "humph! so that's your latest story, is it, rover? first when i asked you for the papers you said they were in a safe deposit vault in wichita falls." "so they were. but now i have been robbed of them, and you know it." "i know it? say, rover, are you going crazy? i don't know any such thing," and now davenport put on an assumption of anger. "i say you do know it--you and your whole crowd!" retorted dick rover. "this land is a tract said to be full of oil, and you want to do me out of my rights." and now jack's father appeared to warm up. "rover, i've had enough of your bluffing, and i won't stand for any more of it!" cried carson davenport. "you may be able to put up a big front with some folks, but it won't go with me. i claim that this land is mine, and i won't pay any more attention to what you say until you produce those precious papers that you have said so much about. and even then i may not listen to you. my private opinion is that the army authorities ought to take up your case and make an example of you," went on the oil promoter, with more of a sneer than before. "the army authorities?" questioned dick rover, puzzled. "that's what i said. i've heard a thing or two about you. it was all well enough for you to pull spell in and get a medal for doing it. but when that poor fool wrote out a so-called will leaving you everything he possessed, i reckon he rather put his foot into it," finished davenport significantly. jack's father and the boys were, of course, astonished, and even davenport's companions showed that this was something they had not been expecting. the men crowded around to find out what was coming next. "davenport, i'll have to ask you to explain yourself!" exclaimed dick rover, and strode forward, his eyes flashing. "want me to explain myself, do you?" cried the oil promoter savagely. "all right, then, i will. according to reports lorimer spell ran out ahead of you in that fight, and then he was shot in the back. do you understand that--shot in the back! well, who did it? certainly not the germans. they were in front of him." "do you mean to insinuate that i or one of our other men shot spell?" demanded dick rover, and now his face was almost white. "he had made a will in your favor--you were the only one to profit by his death." "you cur, you!" cried dick rover. and beside himself with righteous anger, he sprang forward and planted a blow on carson davenport's chin that made the oil well promoter stagger back and fall flat. "hi! hi! none of that around here!" bellowed jake tate, and caught dick rover by the arm. "you get back there," was the quick reply. "this is none of your affair. this man has accused me of something, and he is going to take it back." "you let my father alone!" broke in jack, and rushed toward tate, followed by randy and nick ogilvie. then the fellow fell back. jackson viewed the contest in silence. by this time carson davenport was struggling to his feet. he was in a terrible rage and came at dick rover blusteringly. "what do you mean by hitting me that way, rover?" he howled. "you take back what you said, davenport. if you don't i'll give you another one!" exclaimed jack's father. "i'll take back nothing." "all right, then--here goes!" and once more dick rover's fist shot out, and again the oil well promoter measured his length on the ground. this time as he arose he put his hand behind him in his hip pocket. but before he could draw any weapon, if such was his intention, dick rover was on him and had his arms pinioned. "there'll be no shooting here, davenport. you try it, and you'll get the worst of it. now, then, you take back what you said!" and dick rover shoved his clenched fist under the other's nose. carson davenport could bluster, but at heart he was more or less of a coward. he tried to retreat, and as jack's father followed him up he mumbled some words about there being a mistake and that he had not meant to say just what jack's father had imagined. "poor lorimer spell was shot by the huns," said dick rover, for the benefit of the other men standing around. "he had gone on ahead of our party, and then, finding out his mistake, he was in the act of turning around to get back in line when the shot struck him that killed him. to say that he was shot down by any of his own crowd is a wicked falsehood. half a dozen men of our command can prove every word of what i have said." "you'll rue the day you pitched into me, rover," grumbled davenport, but took good care to keep out of reach. "you brought it on yourself," retorted jack's father. "and now, as for this claim," he added, after a slight pause. "as all of my papers have been stolen i presume i can do nothing, even though this land may be the most valuable in oil in this vicinity. but i will watch the turn of affairs, and if i get a chance to prove anything i'll do it." "you show me your papers, and if they are all right, i'll see that you get what is coming to you," mumbled davenport. "but just the same, let me repeat--i don't believe there are any papers. the whole thing was a faked-up story to get me to give up my claim." davenport was nursing his bruised chin. "and don't forget that you knocked me down when you had no right to do it," he added uglily. "are you going to sink a well here?" "that's our business." "what's the use of trying to hide it, anyhow?" put in jake tate. "yes, we're going to sink a well here just as soon as we can get our machinery in working order." "and we're going to do it with our own money. we're not asking any assistance from you," added jackson. "all right, then, go ahead," said dick rover. "i have no more to say--at least for the present." and then, motioning to the four boys and nick ogilvie to follow him, he withdrew. chapter xxvi news of ruth "i guess they are pretty sure there is oil on that land," chuckled andy, as the whole party got aboard the automobile and started back for town. "i hope they sink about a hundred thousand dollars in that ground and get nothing for their trouble," added his twin. "gee, dad, you certainly did soak davenport a couple!" cried jack admiringly. "i did it on the spur of the moment, son. i couldn't help it," declared dick rover. "it was too great an insult to pass unnoticed." "and to think he didn't have the nerve to fight back!" added fred. "i didn't imagine he was such a coward." "well, i was surprised at that myself," answered his uncle, with something of a smile. "but now listen to me, boys," he added seriously. "don't think because i flew into davenport that that is the right thing to do under all circumstances. he simply got me going before i knew it. ordinarily fighting doesn't pay, and i want you to know it." "but, uncle dick, that wasn't a fight--that was only a good spanking," said andy, and at this all the others had to snicker. "i reckon davenport knew he was in the wrong when he made that dirty remark," came from nick ogilvie. "why, in these parts many a man would have shot him down for those words. i don't wonder your father flew into him. he should have been licked until he was a fit subject for the hospital." "do you think i am doing right to let them work the claim?" questioned jack's father. "i certainly do, mr. rover. i want to get busy and earn the salary you have promised me, but i wouldn't want to start operations anywhere on that spell claim. i know it has been thoroughly gone over by both fitch and lunberry, and both of those men are as good experts as you can find anywhere." "well, that forces me out of business for the time being, ogilvie. i'll have to look around a little and see if it is worth while for me to take hold elsewhere. i presume all the really good claims around here have been covered." "i don't know as to that, mr. rover. you see, lots of the ranches haven't been investigated very thoroughly. a fellow hits oil in one place and the whole gang follow him like a lot of sheep, and in doing that they may be passing by something a good deal better." "dad, why not look into this claim the franklins own?" came from jack. "are you talking of john franklin?" questioned nick ogilvie. "yes." "i thought that claim was in the hands of some other fellows--tate, jackson, and that crowd." "they did make a claim on it, so mr. franklin says, but he managed in some way or other to get them out of it. i guess they left it mostly because they thought they could do better on the spell place." "well, i don't know anything about john franklin's place, but i do know he's a decent sort of fellow and i'd like to see him do well." "if you are satisfied that mr. fitch is all right, dad, why not have him make a survey of the franklin place?" suggested jack. "perhaps i'll do that--after i've had a talk with franklin," answered his father. dick rover was not a person to waste time, and he sought out john franklin and his son phil the very next day and had a long talk with the pair. then, on the monday following, he visited the franklin farm, taking nick ogilvie and two other oil men with him. the boys wished to go along, but to this jack's father demurred. "i don't want too much of a crowd along," he said. "if anything comes of it you can visit the place later. at present you had better try to amuse yourselves around the town. and do try to keep out of trouble," he added, with a smile. left to themselves, the four young rovers visited the railroad station and then drifted into the shooting gallery. here they got up a little contest among themselves, shooting at the longest range target the gallery afforded. in this contest, which lasted the best part of an hour, jack came out ahead, making seventeen bull's-eyes out of a possible twenty-five. next to him came randy with a score of fifteen. "say, what kind of a prize do i get?" questioned andy, who had hit the bull's-eye but nine times, two less than fred. "you get a decorated cabbage head, andy," replied his twin. "a cabbage head and two lemons." "i don't care, i saved the target for the man, anyway," grinned the fun-loving rover. "the one jack shot at is all mussed up." and at this sally the others had to laugh. after lunch the boys sat down to write some letters and to read some newspapers which had just come in. in the news was word of some big oil well strikes at a place about forty miles distant. "gosh! look at this, will you?" cried fred, pointing to the article. "two wells just came in, and each of them good for twelve hundred barrels of oil a day! now that's what i call something like!" "wouldn't it be glorious if my dad could strike something like that?" "i wish we could hit half a dozen wells, then our dads could start the rover oil company. we'd make money hand over fist. wouldn't that be grand!" "you keep on and you'll be dreaming of oil," laughed jack. "it certainly is the land of luck," returned randy. "it doesn't look like the land of luck for this fellow," remarked fred, pointing to a ragged and unkempt individual who had just entered the reading room of the hotel. the man was about middle age, and had a most decidedly dejected appearance. "i was wondering if you young gents couldn't aid me a little?" he whined, coming up to jack and randy. "i've been playing in mighty hard luck lately. i haven't had a square meal in two days." "what's the matter--can't you get a job?" asked jack. "job! what do you mean?" questioned the unkempt individual in wonder. "if you're out of luck, why don't you go to work?" "say, maybe you don't know who i am!" exclaimed the man indignantly. "you're right there. who are you?" "i am wellington jonkers, the man who opened the little kitty and the fat herring. you must have heard about those properties. we sold eighty thousand shares of one and sixty thousand shares of the other." "what at?" questioned randy. "two cents a share?" "no, sir! those shares went for twenty and twenty-five cents," said the man. and then, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, he continued: "if you young gents can stake me to a hundred or two i can put you wise to the biggest proposition in oil down here--a proposition that is bound to bring in hundreds of thousands of dollars three months after it's started. i've got everything fixed to go right ahead. you just put up the two hundred, and i'll show you some facts and figures that will open your eyes. i've got the real dope, and----" "you poor fish, you!" exclaimed jack. "what do you take us for, anyhow?" he and the others had seen this type of oil well community parasite before. in the restaurant attached to the hotel and also at the railroad station and at the shooting gallery they had met more than one slick individual who had wanted to "put them wise to the biggest oil proposition" imaginable, all for the small sum of from two cents to fifty cents per share in oil wells with such fanciful names as sure winner, daylight luck, and sunshine sally. "then you don't want to go into a real good thing?" said the man, his face falling. "not with you." the man turned away, but then turned back: "say, you couldn't lend me five dollars until to-night, could you? i'm a little short. my pard will be back on the seven-fifteen train, and then i'll be all fixed again." "i haven't anything for you," answered jack shortly. "and neither have i," added randy. and then, lighting a cigarette, the man shuffled away to see if he could not find some victims elsewhere. "there's your land of luck from another angle," remarked jack. "what pests those fellows are." "well, i suppose they start in with all sorts of hopes, jack. and then they sink lower and lower as nothing proves lucky," answered his cousin. the boys were waiting for the mail, and presently it came in. there were letters for all of them, some from home and others from their chums who were now enjoying themselves in various places. dan soppinger had gone to atlantic city, while ned lowe and walt baxter were on an island in casco bay on the maine coast. gif was visiting spouter and his folks in a camp at lake george. "i'll bet they're having a lot of fun at lake george," remarked fred, "swimming and motor-boating, and all that." "fred is thinking of may," returned andy, with a grin. "aw, you cut that out, andy!" retorted his cousin, growing slightly red in the face. "you know you'd like to be up there yourself." one of jack's letters was from gif, and in that his chum mentioned the fact that ruth was still in the care of the eye specialist and that her case was a very serious one. he told jack much more than martha had let out, and this news made the oldest rover boy worry greatly. "it's a terrible thing," he confided to randy. "just suppose poor ruth should go blind!" and he shuddered. "oh, jack! i don't believe it's as bad as all that," cried his cousin. "why, ruth was almost over it when we came away from school." "no, she wasn't. that's just the trouble. the doctor up there evidently didn't give her enough care--or, at least, just the right kind of care. of course, he did the best he knew how, but he wasn't an expert in that line. after ruth got home her eyes must have developed some new trouble, all, of course, on account of that pepper werner threw." "it was a rotten thing for werner to do!" declared randy, his eyes flashing. "really, do you know, jack, i think we should have had him arrested for it." "he'll certainly have to account to the stevensons if ruth goes blind--he and his father. i believe the stevensons could sue mr. werner for big damages." "of course they could." "that certainly is a terrible affair," remarked fred, who had been perusing gif's letter. "i think we ought to round werner up and give it to him good and plenty. he deserves the licking of his life." "the question is--where is werner?" put in andy. "if he is still around columbina he must be with nappy and slugger," said randy. "but it's just possible that he has cleared out, thinking that we might hand him over to the authorities." "i can't understand what would possess a fellow to do such a dirty thing as that," was fred's comment. "why, he might have blinded jack, as well as ruth. and, by the way, jack, how do your eyes feel?" "they feel just about as usual. at first they felt rather scratchy and watery, but now i haven't noticed anything unusual for some time--in fact, never since we came down to texas. but, you see, i got very little of the pepper. the most of it went over my shoulder and right into poor ruth's eyes." the boys discussed the matter for some time, and then turned to finish the letters they had started to write. soon the twins and fred were deep in their writing, but jack could not settle himself to put down a word. his mind was with ruth. what if the girl he thought so much of should go blind? it was a thought that chilled him to the heart. chapter xxvii caught by the enemy dick rover did not return to the hotel until late that evening. the boys were waiting for him, and jack noted that his father's face wore a smile of satisfaction. "i think i have struck something worth while," said he. "i have been over the franklin claim very carefully with nick ogilvie and the two men he recommended, and as a result i have already telegraphed for mr. fitch to come here." "then ogilvie and the others think there is oil on that claim?" questioned randy quickly. "they say the indications are very good. in fact, one of the men was very enthusiastic and he was willing to put up five thousand dollars toward boring a well in one spot that he picked out." "that certainly shows he must have faith in it," remarked fred. "when do you expect mr. fitch?" asked andy. "i asked him to come over as soon as possible--to-morrow if he could." "do you think you can make some kind of a reasonable arrangement with mr. franklin, in case the oil expert's report is good?" asked jack. "yes, i found mr. franklin a very fair man. of course, he would like to get as much as possible out of any deal that is made. but he is reasonable, and has agreed to give me entire charge of the matter and take his pay at the rate of one-eighth of all the oil that may be produced." after that dick rover went into many of the details concerning the land and what the different oil men had said regarding it. of course the boys were tremendously interested, not only on their own account, but also because of phil franklin. "i liked that fellow first rate," said fred, "and i do hope his father is able to get some money out of this." on the following day mr. fitch came in, and he and jack's father went over the matter very carefully. then the oil expert said he would begin an inspection of the property as soon as he could send for his outfit. after that there was little for the boys to do but wait. dick rover took another trip to wichita falls, and then to several other places in the oil fields, including two towns in oklahoma. he was getting figures of oil-well machinery, and also trying to become better acquainted with the whole oil proposition. "you see, it's a new thing to me," he explained to jack. "it's altogether different from those mining interests your uncles and i hold in the west and in alaska. i've never had anything to do with oil before, and so i am going a bit slow, so as to avoid mistakes if possible." as mentioned before, the franklin farm was located near a place called pottown. the rovers visited this community and found there a small but well-kept hotel at which they took dinner one day. "i think i like this just as well as the hotel in columbina," remarked fred. "in some respects i think i like it better," answered randy. "what would you say to transferring to pottown?" questioned their uncle. "then you could be quite close to the franklins while you stay here." this suited the boys, and as a result the transfer was made early the next week. the rovers had a suite of three rooms, jack's father occupying one, the twins another, and fred and jack the third. in the meantime mr. fitch had gone to work on the franklin farm. he had with him two of his best men, and all of them went over the entire place with care. they also visited all of the wells in that vicinity, as well as the unfinished borings. "when do you think you can make a report, mr. fitch?" questioned dick rover one day. "i'm almost ready now, mr. rover. you shall have the report by next monday." the weather had been rather dry, and now the roads throughout that section were much better than they had been. in pottown the boys had little trouble in hiring an automobile, and they often took trips to various places where the oil wells were in operation. they saw another well set off, and managed to get themselves covered with not a little of the black fluid. "suppose we take a run over to the spell farm?" suggested jack one day. "i've been wondering whether they really went ahead or whether it was only a bluff." "i don't think it was any bluff," returned randy. "they were getting in their machinery just as fast as they could." if dick rover had been present he might have advised against visiting the lorimer spell claim. in a roundabout way he had heard from carson davenport. the oil well promoter had not forgotten how he had been knocked down, and he had told a number of people that he intended sooner or later to square accounts with "that fellow from new york." but jack's father was not on hand to see them ride away, and so without giving the matter much more consideration the boys had the driver of the automobile head towards the place where the encounter between davenport and dick rover had taken place. "my gracious! just see how the oil wells are coming in, will you?" cried fred, while they were riding along. he pointed to a hillside where two new wells were at work. "those weren't here when we went through before." "it looks to me as if some of these folks were fairly crazy about oil," remarked randy. "well, it's a terrible temptation to get busy when you think that under your very feet there may be thousands and thousands of dollars' worth of that stuff," returned jack. "what a different place this is from around colby hall," commented fred. "yes. and quite different from valley brook farm, too," added randy. "what's the matter with comparing it with riverside drive?" questioned andy, with a grin. "don't you see the hudson river over there with the stately warships?" and as he spoke he pointed to a pond of water, the surface of which was black with oil and on which floated several logs. "in one way i think the old fellow i was talking with last night was right," declared jack. "he said that the oil had spoiled the whole country. just look around, will you? everything is black and greasy with oil." "well, they say 'dirty work makes clean money,'" cried randy. "and i guess a lot of these men don't care how much they muss up the scenery and muss up themselves so long as they get good fat bank accounts out of it." at length they came in sight of the lorimer spell tract, and they were both surprised and interested at the activity being displayed there. a gang of at least thirty men were at work, some around a well which was being sunk and others in erecting several buildings. "they certainly mean business," remarked jack, as they came to a halt near the bank of the little brook which flowed through one of the corners of the property. "you've got to give them credit--they didn't let the grass grow under their feet." "i wonder if they are using their own money or whether they got some outsiders to invest," mused fred. not wishing to get into any altercation with the workers, the rovers kept at a distance. they saw tate and jackson among the men. each was giving orders, and both seemed to be in charge of the operations. carson davenport was not visible. one small building was already complete, and this was being used as an office. the door stood open, and presently a young fellow came out, lighting a cigarette as he did so. "hello, there is nappy martell!" exclaimed andy. martell stood leaning against the corner of the building, smoking his cigarette and gazing idly at the workmen. then he chanced to glance around and caught sight of the rovers. he at once poked his head back into the building and said something to someone inside. "he's coming this way," announced fred. "yes, and there is slugger brown behind him," added randy. "they've got their nerve with them, after the way they treated us!" growled jack. "what do you fellows want around here?" demanded nappy coolly, as he came closer. "i'll bet they want to see how we are getting along," put in slugger brown. he was puffing away at a briar-root pipe, trying his best to look mannish. "see here, you fellows, what did you mean by your actions the night you got us to walk out to that storehouse?" demanded jack. "that wasn't our fault," broke out nappy hastily. "we weren't responsible for what gabe werner did." "i don't believe gabe was in it at all!" cried fred. "he was too. he got us to go after you, exactly as i told you," protested nappy. "but he wasn't there," said fred. "and it wasn't a boarding house either." "i don't care. he was there when we left him to find you. and he wanted to see all of you the worst way." nappy turned to slugger. "isn't that right, slug?" "it certainly is. he said he would wait there until we got back. in fact, he said his leg hurt him so he couldn't go a step further, and he said he knew the old folks who lived there very well. we didn't know anything more than what he told us." "i don't believe a word of your story, nappy. i believe it's made up from end to end," answered jack. "you simply had your orders to keep us from going into the hotel, and you carried those orders out to the best of your ability. my opinion is you were in league with those men who robbed my father of his papers." "i was not. i don't know what you're talking about!" roared nappy, but his face grew pale as he spoke. "i didn't even know your father had been robbed. gabe werner had been hurt. we thought his leg had been broken, although we found out afterwards it was only hurt. he wanted to see all of you--why, i don't know. we simply tried to do him a favor, and this is what we get for it." "nappy is telling things just as they were," declared slugger. "it's a fairy tale," declared andy. "if it was true, why did you and nappy hide when we came up?" "because we knew you would be mad when you got there and found that gabe was missing," answered slugger. "where is werner now?" "i don't know. i think he has gone home--anyway, he said something about going," was the glib reply. "what are you fellows doing here?" "we own an interest in this claim," answered nappy loftily, and as he spoke he lit a fresh cigarette. "own an interest here?" demanded jack in pardonable astonishment. "that's it. i got my folks to buy an eighth interest in the whole outfit, and slugger's folks bought an equal amount." "must have cost you something," said fred. "it cost our folks ten thousand dollars each," answered slugger, in a bragging tone. "but we'll get that back, and a good deal more, too," he added. "did gabe werner's folks put up anything?" questioned randy. "yes, they have an eighth interest, too," answered nappy. "oh, this is going to be some big concern, believe me." "what about it if my father gets back those papers of which he was robbed?" questioned jack pointedly. "oh, say, jack rover, you needn't come to me with that old yarn," growled slugger. "we know there isn't a word of truth in it. your father never had any such papers." "he certainly did have them, and some day he may be able to prove it," answered jack warmly. "on the very night that you fellows got us to go out to that storehouse he was knocked down in one of our rooms by two or three men and the papers were taken from him. and what is more, i am pretty sure in my mind that the fellows who took them were davenport and his partners." "then you mean to say that mr. davenport is a thief?" cried slugger, looking jack full in the face. "that's what i firmly believe." jack had scarcely uttered the words when he felt a heavy hand placed upon his shoulder. he was whirled around, to find himself face to face with the oil promoter. [illustration: jack was whirled around and faced the oil promoter.] "so that is the way you are talking about me, is it?" cried carson davenport, in a rage. "calling me a thief, and all that sort of thing! i reckon i have an account to settle with you, and i'll settle it right now. you come with me." and thus speaking he grasped jack by the arm and dragged him across the field to where his gang of men were at work. chapter xxviii at the franklin place carson davenport's action came so unexpectedly that for the instant jack did not know what to do. then, however, he tried to wrench himself free from the oil well promoter's grasp. "you let go of me!" he cried. "let go, i say!" and then, as davenport continued to hold him, he struck the man on the chest. "ha! you're the same kind of a spitfire as your father, are you?" bellowed davenport. and in a greater rage than ever he let go of jack and hit him a stinging blow on the side of the face. "hi! stop that! how dare you?" yelled randy, and sprang forward to jack's assistance. but before he could reach his cousin jack had hauled off and hit davenport a blow in the cheek. by this time all of the rovers were advancing upon davenport, and the oil well promoter thought it the best policy to fall back. "come on, nappy! let's get into this!" cried slugger, and, rushing forward, he caught randy by the shoulder. "you let them have it out alone!" he ordered. "this isn't your fight, slugger, and you had better keep out of it," retorted randy. and then, as slugger still tried to hold him back, randy put out his foot, gave the bully a shove, and slugger measured his length on his back. in the meanwhile nappy had also sprung forward. he tried to get at jack, but andy and fred got in the way, and though nappy struck out several times, hitting both of the rovers on the arm, they retaliated with a stinging crack in the ear and another on the nose which caused the blood to flow freely and made nappy retire to a safe distance. by this time the all-around fight had attracted the attention of a number of the workmen, and they came rushing up to find out what it was all about. the driver of the automobile, who had remained in the car, also came forward. "i'll fix you, you young whelp!" roared davenport, as he came again toward jack. "you leave me alone," returned jack. "don't you dare put your hands on me again!" "here, what's the rumpus?" demanded the driver of the automobile, a fellow named george rogers. the boys started to explain, not only for the benefit of rogers, but also for the benefit of the workmen who were coming up. "that whole bunch ought to be arrested!" blustered slugger. "that's what i say!" added nappy, with his handkerchief to his bleeding nose. "that man started it," declared jack, pointing to davenport. "he caught hold of me, and i told him to let me go. he had no right to put his hands on me." after this there was a war of words in which tate and jackson, who had come up, joined. the oil well promoters were all anxious to do something to the rover boys, and in this they were seconded by nappy and slugger. but, strange as it may seem, hardly any of the workmen took kindly to this. "oh, they're only a bunch of kids," said one of the men. "what's the use of bothering with them?" "that man is mad at me because my father knocked him down twice the other day," declared jack, turning to the workmen. "and he knows why he was knocked down," he added significantly. "was it your dad who did that?" questioned one of the men in the rear of the crowd. "it was. this farm was left to my father by lorimer spell because my father saved spell's life on a battlefield in france. my father had a lot of papers to prove his claim, but the papers were stolen from him." "i heard something about that," said another of the workmen. "see here! if you fellows are going to believe such a story as these kids are giving you, you can't work for me!" roared carson davenport, with a scowl. "i don't have to work for you if i don't want to," answered one of the workmen quickly and with a scowl. "see here, carson davenport, you let me have a word or two to say!" broke in george rogers. "i know you just about as well as anybody here. you are the fellow who sold stock in the yellow pansy extension, something that i and a whole lot of others got bit on badly. maybe you'd like me to rake up that little deal in the courts for you." "rats! you don't have to dig up ancient history, rogers!" growled davenport; but it was easy to see that the other's words disturbed him not a little. "i'll dig it up good and plenty if you don't leave these boys alone! i don't know much about 'em, but they seem to be perfectly straightforward, and their father is as nice a man as i ever met." more words followed, davenport, as well as tate and jackson, doing a lot of grumbling. once or twice slugger and nappy tried to take part, but some of the workmen cut them short, and in the end one crowd moved toward the automobile while the other headed in the opposite direction. "well, that's the time matters got pretty hot," was andy's comment. "gee! one time i thought we'd all be at it tooth and nail," declared fred. "in my opinion that fellow davenport is nothing but a skunk," declared george rogers. "i've known him for years. he has been in half a dozen oil-well propositions, selling stocks and leases. one time he caught three young fellows from chicago and sold them a lease for several thousand dollars that wasn't worth a pinch of snuff. then he started what he called the yellow pansy extension. the regular yellow pansy was doing very well--hitting it up for about eight hundred barrels a day--and of course lots of people, including myself, thought that the extension belonged to the same crowd. but it didn't, and the lease was absolutely worthless; so that all of the buyers of stock got stung. i myself was hung up for fifteen hundred dollars, almost all the cash i had at that time." "why didn't they put davenport and his partners in prison?" asked fred. "because he is one of those slick fellows who can worm out of almost anything. one or two fellows did make some sort of charges against him, but they all fell through. there are hundreds of swindlers in the oil business, and not one out of a dozen is ever caught." "if uncle dick makes up his mind to go ahead on the franklin farm i think i know a way of helping him," said andy, with a grin. "what are you going to do, andy? take off your coat, roll up your sleeves, and grab a pick and shovel?" questioned his twin. "not exactly, although i might want to do that later on. but i was thinking that a good many of those workmen didn't seem to be satisfied with their job. maybe they would be only too glad to shift." although they hated to do so, the boys felt it was their duty to tell the particulars of what had occurred to jack's father as soon as they saw him. "it's too bad you got into another mix-up with that rascal, as well as with martell and brown," said dick rover. "after this i think you had better stay away from that locality. we'll let them go ahead and sink all the money they care to." jack's father had been making some inquiries, and he learned that it was true that the martells, the browns, and mr. werner had contributed thirty thousand dollars towards driving two wells on the spell claim. to this amount of money davenport, tate and jackson had contributed another twenty thousand dollars. "fifty thousand dollars!" exclaimed jack, when he heard of this. "that certainly is quite a sum of money." "it costs money to bore for oil in these parts," answered his father. as he had promised, mr. fitch came to dick rover on the following monday with his report concerning the franklin farm. "i think you have found something well worth trying, mr. rover," said he. "there are indications of oil in half a dozen places, and two of the spots to me look particularly inviting." then he went into many details and brought in one of his assistants to verify some of the statements. dick rover listened carefully to all that was said, and then leaned back in his chair and looked at the oil expert sharply. "then on the strength of this report, mr. fitch, you would advise my sinking at least two wells?" "i certainly would, mr. rover. that is, of course, if you can afford to take the gamble. i'm almost certain that the oil is there, but you must remember that even the best of us are sometimes deceived. however, i will say this--i am not a particularly rich man, but if you sink these two wells in the spots that i have picked out and you form a company at, say, one hundred thousand dollars, for that purpose, i am willing to put up five thousand dollars in cash for some of the stock." "that certainly sounds as if you had faith in it," answered dick rover, with a smile. "are you willing to put that in writing?" "i am, sir," and mr. fitch's face showed that he meant what he said. "very well, then, you do so, and i'll start operations to-morrow." as soon as it was definitely settled that mr. rover would go ahead and sink the two wells, the boys hurried over to see phil franklin. they found the lad all smiles. "it's the best news i ever heard," said phil, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "now, dad and i will have a chance of making some real money." for it had now been settled that john franklin was to have an eighth interest in the new company to be formed. "i'm awfully glad my dad is going ahead on your farm," answered jack. "and i hope for your sake as well as our own that the wells prove regular gushers." "that mr. fitch was very hopeful," answered phil. "and my father says he's one of the best oil experts to be found anywhere. he's an old hand at the game." that week and the week following proved to be tremendously busy ones for dick rover. in conference with nick ogilvie and several others, all the work preliminary to the sinking of the two wells was gotten under way, and deals were closed for nearly all the necessary machinery, and also for a quantity of lumber to be used in the construction of several buildings. "we're going to stay right in our house," said phil to the other boys. "we sha'n't get out until the flow of oil compels us to." "well, i hope the oil comes so fast it floats the old shack away," grinned andy. it soon became noised around that the rover oil company had been formed to exploit the franklin farm. in the meanwhile nick ogilvie and his assistants were hustling as much as possible to obtain the needed workmen. they managed to get together a gang of fifteen, but then there came a halt. "they are hitting it up for oil over the line in oklahoma," declared ogilvie, "and that has taken away a good many of our workmen." "better go to wichita falls and see what you can do," suggested dick rover. the next day jack and andy, while riding in george rogers' automobile, ran across three of the men employed by davenport. these men had had a quarrel with tate, and were on the point of leaving their job. they listened with interest to what the boys had to say about the franklin place. "if they want men i think i'll go over and see about it," said one of the workmen. "so will i," came from another; and the third nodded to show that he agreed. as a result of this interview the three men called on nick ogilvie and were speedily engaged. they told some of their friends; and before the week was up six of carson davenport's best workers had left the spell claim and had signed up to work on the franklin farm. chapter xxix days of anxiety "i wonder what davenport will say when he finds those men are working here?" remarked fred. "i don't care what he says," answered jack. "do you think he'll dare come over here and have it out with uncle dick?" questioned andy. "i don't think so," answered his brother. "i believe behind it all he is afraid we'll have him arrested for the theft of those documents." "if he really took them, what do you think he did with them?" came from fred. "more than likely he destroyed them," answered jack. "he wouldn't want evidence like that lying around loose, you know." when carson davenport learned that six of his men had deserted and gone over to the rovers he was more angry than ever. "they're going to do their best to undermine us," he said to tate. "i wish i knew just how to get square with them." "we'll get square enough if we strike oil here," said tate. "those rovers will feel sick enough if they learn we are making a barrel of money." "it's easy enough to talk about making a barrel of money," came from jackson, who was present. "but i don't see the money flowing in very fast." he had been talking to a number of his friends, and many of them had said they thought the chances of getting oil from the spell claim were very slim. "oh, you just hold your horses, jackson," said carson davenport smoothly. "take my word for it, this well we are putting down is going to be one of the biggest in this territory." but though he spoke thus, davenport did not believe what he said. he, too, was becoming suspicious that they might be drilling a well which would prove dry. however, he had the traits of a gambler, and was willing to go ahead so long as there was the least possibility of success. as the days slipped by the work on both claims progressed rapidly. nick ogilvie managed to hire a few men in and around wichita falls, and davenport also picked up some workers to take the places of those who had deserted him. in those days the rover boys became almost as enthusiastic as jack's father, and their enthusiasm increased when tom rover and sam rover took a run down from new york to see how matters were progressing. "it certainly is a gamble--this boring for oil," remarked sam rover. "but it looks like a good gamble to me," answered his brother tom. "and i like the way that man fitch talks." he had had an interview with the oil expert which had pleased him greatly. on one occasion the rover boys rode over from pottown to columbina. there, at the shooting-gallery they had visited before, they ran most unexpectedly, not only into nappy and slugger, but also gabe werner. at the sight of them werner tried to get out of the gallery by the back way, but was stopped by the proprietor. "you haven't settled with me yet," said the shooting-gallery man. "oh, that's all right. take it out of this," growled werner, and threw down a dollar bill. then he tried to pass out again, but before he could do so randy and fred caught and held the rascal. cornered, gabe werner tried to put up a fight, and in this he got by far the worst of it. he managed to get in one or two blows, but then randy knocked him down, and when he arose to his feet fred landed on his ear so that the bully spun around and lurched heavily against the counter on which rested a number of guns. "you let me alone!" roared werner. and then he suddenly caught up one of the guns and made a move as though to aim it at the rovers. but the keeper of the shooting gallery was too quick for him, and wrested the weapon from the big youth's grasp. and then gabe werner did catch it. not only did randy and fred pounce upon him, but also jack and andy, and as a consequence, bruised and bleeding, the big bully staggered from the shooting gallery and set off down the muddy street at the best speed he could command. "there! i guess we've settled him for a while," panted randy, when the encounter was over. "hello! where are nappy and slugger?" "they slid out while we were taking care of gabe," answered andy. "i guess they thought things were getting too warm." and in that surmise the fun-loving rover was correct. dismayed by the beating werner was receiving, nappy and slugger had lost no time in departing for parts unknown. it was a long time before the rovers saw them again. a few days later came word from the spell claim that filled the rovers with astonishment mingled somewhat with dismay. oil had been reported, and every one connected with the davenport outfit was of the opinion that the well when shot off would open up big. "gee! suppose they do strike it rich?" cried fred. "i don't think they will--not after what the experts said," answered jack. "but even mr. fitch said they sometimes made mistakes," put in randy. a few days later the well on the spell claim was shot off, and this was followed by a flow of oil amounting to forty or fifty barrels a day. then it was announced that the davenport crowd was going to sink the well several hundred feet deeper and they were also going to put down another well farther up the brook. "i reckon that flow of oil has got 'em a-going," remarked nick ogilvie, and there was just a trace of envy in his tones. "well, that's the luck of it. you can't tell anything about it," and he shook his head wonderingly as he went about his duties. so far, there had been no indications of oil at the first well which the rovers were boring. but mr. fitch had told jack's father not to expect too much until a depth of at least twenty-five hundred feet was reached. it made the boys feel a little blue to think that the davenport crowd had been the first to strike oil. "won't nappy and slugger crow over this--especially as their folks have an interest in the well?" remarked jack. but the next day something happened which made jack forget all his troubles for the time being. a telegram came in from his sister martha, reading as follows: "ruth's eyes operated on yesterday. very successful. expert says she will see perfectly." "isn't this grand!" cried jack, his whole face beaming with pleasure. "i declare, this is the best news yet!" "i don't blame you for being pleased, jack," answered randy. "i'll wager the stevensons feel relieved." the telegram was followed by a letter which gave many details. but the main feature was that the operation had been entirely successful and that the surgeon in charge had said positively that ruth's eyes would soon be as well and as strong as they had ever been. "i am going to send her a telegram of congratulation," declared jack. "even if she can't read it herself, they can read it to her," and he hurried off to the telegraph station for that purpose. after that the boys waited anxiously for some sort of development at the franklin farm. tom rover and his brother sam had returned to new york, and they had wanted the boys to go with them, but all had pleaded that they be allowed to remain in texas. "we want to see the wells shot off and want to see the oil flow--that is, provided it does flow," said randy. "we might as well put in our vacation here as anywhere," put in fred. and so the four lads were allowed to remain. of course, the franklins were as anxious as any one to see how matters would turn out. father and son were working for the company and doing their best to hurry matters along. dick rover was also on hand daily, consulting with ogilvie and his assistants to make sure that everything was going right. "these two wells are going to cost us about seventy thousand dollars," jack's father confided to him. "it's a mint of money, isn't it?" and he smiled slightly. "it certainly is, dad. especially if the wells don't pan out." "well, we've got to take what comes. you must remember this is the land of luck--good or bad." at last ogilvie announced that they were getting to the point where the first well would soon be shot off. there were some indications of oil, although not as strong as mr. fitch had hoped. the oil expert had put up his five thousand dollars in the company which had been formed, so he was almost as anxious as those who had larger sums invested. "here's news for you!" shouted andy, bursting in on the others the next noon. "what do you know about this? say, i guess those fellows are going to catch it all right enough!" and he began to dance around the floor. "what are you talking about, andy?" demanded his brother. "they say the well on the lorimer spell claim has run dry!" "run dry!" came from the others. "yes, run dry--or next door to it! they got only fifteen barrels the day before yesterday, and yesterday they got not more than three." "you don't mean it!" exclaimed jack. "who told you this?" "one of the men who worked there. carson davenport was so mad that when the man said something to him about it he fired him. the man said he was coming over here to look for a job--that he was sure the whole thing was petering out." the news soon circulated, and dick rover was so interested that he went off the next day to columbina to ascertain the truth. "it's so, all right enough," he said, on returning. "they didn't get more than a barrel or so to-day. it has certainly gone back on them. of course, they can bore the well deeper. but i guess mr. fitch was right. he said that there was more or less surface oil--that they hadn't tapped any real vein or pocket." the day before the first of the wells on the franklin farm was to be shot off the rover boys went to columbina on an errand to one of the stores. just as they were coming out of this establishment they saw an automobile dash through the mud on the way to the railroad station. behind it came another automobile filled with a number of men, all yelling wildly for those in the first automobile to stop. "hello, something is going on!" exclaimed jack. "let's go after them and see what's doing," suggested fred. the others were willing, and all set off on a run down the main thoroughfare of the town. as they ran they heard the distant whistle of a locomotive. "i guess the crowd in the first auto want to catch that three-o'clock express," remarked fred. "yes, and evidently the second crowd want to stop them," returned andy. the excitement had attracted the attention of a number of people, and a crowd of a dozen or more followed the boys to the railroad station, all wondering what was the matter. as soon as the first automobile reached the railroad platform a man sprang from the car, holding a gladstone bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other. he looked back, and then made a wild dash for the train, which was just rolling into the station. "look! it's carson davenport!" exclaimed jack. "and see who are after him--tate, jackson and three or four other men!" "stop, davenport!" yelled one of the men. "stop or i'll shoot!" and he flourished a revolver, and another man in the crowd did the same. then the bunch jumped from the second automobile and dashed pell-mell toward the train. chapter xxx the new well--conclusion carson davenport was halfway up the steps of the car when jake tate and another man hauled him backward to the station platform. "they've got him!" exclaimed jack, as he and his cousins, along with the rest of the gathering crowd, came closer. "hi! hi! let me alone!" yelled davenport. "don't shoot! what is the meaning of this, anyway?" "you know well enough what it means!" bellowed tate, still clutching him by the arm. "you come back here. you are not going to take that train or any other just yet." "and you're not going to carry off that bag, either," put in jackson, as he wrenched the gladstone away. by this time the crowd completely surrounded carson davenport, and the pistols which had been drawn were speedily thrust out of sight. the oil well promoter was pushed in the direction of the little railroad station, and in the midst of this excitement the train pulled out. "what's the rumpus about, anyway?" exclaimed one man in the crowd. "never mind what it's about," broke in tate hastily. "this is our affair." "that's right--maybe we had better keep it to ourselves," muttered jackson. "i don't believe in shielding him," cried one man who had chased davenport and who wore several soldier's medals on his vest. "he's a swindler, and it's best everybody knew it. he was on the point of lighting out for parts unknown with all the money that was put into his oil wells up on the spell ranch." "is that right?" burst out another man. "it is. and tate and jackson know it as well as i do. i guess davenport came to the conclusion that those wells he was putting down were no good, and rather than sink any more money into them he was going to run off with it." "i wasn't running off with anything," declared carson davenport. "i was going to put the money into the bank at wichita falls. i had a perfect right to do that," and as he spoke he glared at tate and jackson. "say, if you're going to talk that way, i won't stand in with you any longer!" cried jackson, in a rage. "that money is going to stay right here, where i and all the rest of us can keep our eyes on it!" "that's right--don't let him get away with a dollar of it!" burst out another man in the crowd. "we'd better examine this bag first and make sure that we've got what we came after," declared the man who wore the medals on his vest. davenport tried to demur, but none of the crowd would listen to him. although the gladstone bag was locked, the oil well promoter was compelled to give up the key, and then the others looked over the contents of the bag. "twenty-six thousand dollars here," announced tate, as he counted the money in the presence of the others. "what's this package?" demanded the man who wore the medals. "hello! look here!" he exclaimed an instant later, after he had glanced at one of several documents held together by a rubber band. "what have you got?" questioned tate curiously. "you let those alone!" bellowed davenport, his face turning pale. "give them to me! they are my private property!" and he endeavored to snatch the documents from the other man's hand. "not much!" answered the man with the medals, corporal john dunning, who had served over a year in france. "these papers belong to mr. richard rover, and he is the one who is going to get them." "richard rover!" burst out jack, who was close enough to catch the words. "why, that's my father!" "i tell you i want those papers! they are mine!" screamed carson davenport, and now he made another struggle to get them. in the mêlée which followed corporal dunning was hit by the oil well promoter, who in return received a blow full in the mouth which loosened several of his teeth. "if those are my father's papers they must be the same that were stolen from him while we were stopping at a hotel here," said jack. "several men entered one of our rooms and my father was knocked down from behind, and while he was unconscious the men took the papers and ran away. they were papers relating to the lorimer spell claim." "then tell your father that corporal john dunning, who is stopping at o'brian's hotel, has them and will give them up to him just as soon as he can prove his property," said the ex-soldier, as he placed the documents in an inside pocket. by this time two under-sheriffs had arrived on the scene, and they were wanting to know if their services were required. tate, jackson, and one or two others, for purely personal reasons, were in favor of hushing the matter up, but not so corporal dunning or the rover boys. "if he is the man who knocked my father down and robbed him, i want him arrested," declared jack. "he ought to be arrested if he did anything like that," acquiesced dunning. "i'm through with him! no more work for me at his place!" "if you want another job i guess my father's foreman, nick ogilvie, will be glad to take you on," answered jack quickly. "you know, my dad is an ex-service man, too. and so are my cousins' fathers," he added, motioning to the other boys. carson davenport blustered and tried to protest, and so did tate and jackson. but it was all of no avail, and in the end the oil well promoter was marched off by the under-sheriffs to the local lockup. then tate and jackson hurried away, looking anything but pleased. "if he's exposed, he'll expose us too," said tate sourly. "right you are, jake," answered jackson. "maybe we'd better clear out." and they did, the next day. they tried to get hold of some of the funds of the oil company, but dunning and others were on guard, so this little plan was frustrated. of course dick rover was astonished when the boys burst in on him with their story. he quickly sought out dunning and proved to the satisfaction of that individual that the documents taken from davenport were his property. then davenport was put through the "third degree," as it is called by the authorities, and finally broke down and admitted that he, tate, and jackson had committed the assault and theft, and that he had likewise tried to abscond with the remaining funds of his new oil company. as a result of all this he was later sentenced to a term of years in prison. about three months later still tate and jackson were caught, and also made to do time at hard labor. with davenport, tate and jackson out of it, the management of the new oil company fell upon gabe werner's father. mr. werner went ahead with the two wells as planned by the others, and in them sunk not only a large amount of his own funds, but also funds belonging to the martells and browns. but in the end these wells proved to be little better than dry holes, so all of the money was lost. "it's a terrible blow for all three families," said dick rover, when this occurred. "it will make mr. werner quite a poor man." "well, i don't particularly wish them any hard luck," remarked andy. "just the same, i guess nappy, slugger and gabe got what was coming to them." on the day following the arrest of davenport the first of the wells on the franklin farm was shot off. it proved to be an immense success, the flood of oil carrying away almost everything before it. "jumping toothpicks!" exclaimed randy, when the excitement was over. "nick ogilvie says she will go six thousand barrels a day!" "just to think of it!" cried jack, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "six thousand barrels! isn't it wonderful? six thousand barrels at two dollars and a half a barrel amounts to fifteen thousand dollars! why, it's a fortune and more!" "we'll all be rich! we'll all be rich!" sang out andy, and, grabbing his brother, both set up a wild dance, knocking over the chairs as they did so. it was certainly a gala event, and the rovers lost no time in telegraphing the news to the folks in new york and also to a number of their friends. then preparations were made to bring in the second well, and this proved almost as good as the first, running between four and five thousand barrels per day at first, and then settling down to fifteen hundred, while the first well for a long while never ran below twenty-five hundred. "they sure are a pair of peaches!" declared dunning, who had come to work for the rover oil company. "a pair of peaches, as good as any in this district." "do you know, i can scarcely believe it's true," said phil franklin to the rover boys. "why, my father will have more money than he ever dreamed of." "we're as glad as you are, phil," declared jack. "glad on your account as well as our own. now maybe you can go to colby hall with us." "say, that would be immense!" exclaimed phil with pleasure. and how phil franklin went that fall with the rovers to colby hall will be related in a new volume, to be entitled, "the rover boys at big horn ranch; or, the cowboys' double round-up." in that book we shall learn more concerning the doings of jack and his cousins, and also learn the particulars of a most remarkable trip to the far west. two weeks after the coming in of the first well the four rover boys returned to their homes in new york city. there an agreeable surprise awaited them. gif and spouter had come down from lake george to pay them a visit. "say, this is just all right!" cried jack, as the lads shook hands all around. "there is another surprise coming this evening," said mary. "but we're not going to tell you what it is." that surprise proved to be the coming of ruth and may. as yet ruth had to wear dark glasses, but she said that the eye specialist had told her that these could be discarded in a week or two. "you don't know how thankful i am that your eyes are coming around all right," said jack, as he caught both her hands. "it's the best news in the world, ruth--far better than that big oil well coming in on our place in texas." "i am thankful, too, jack," she answered. "and doubly thankful that you haven't had to go through what i did with your eyes." "i guess gabe werner has got his deserts," put in randy. "his father is sinking all his money in those good-for-nothing wells on the spell claim." that night the young folks had something of a party, and it is perhaps needless to say that every one of them enjoyed it thoroughly. ruth, of course, had to be careful of herself, and could not dance, but jack gave her a good deal of his company, and with this she seemed quite content. then followed a week or more in which the young folks went out on numerous outings, both in the city and elsewhere. then all motored up to valley brook farm, there to spend some time with grandfather rover and aunt martha and uncle randolph before returning to school. "well, it's certainly been a great summer, after all!" remarked fred. "it sure has!" returned andy. "and we got quite a lot of fun out of it," added his twin. "fun, and a good deal of information," said jack. "it certainly paid us to visit the land of luck." the end books by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer) the first rover boys series the rover boys at school the rover boys on the ocean the rover boys in the jungle the rover boys out west the rover boys on the great lakes the rover boys in the mountains the rover boys in camp the rover boys on land and sea the rover boys on the river the rover boys on the plains the rover boys in southern waters the rover boys on the farm the rover boys on treasure isle the rover boys at college the rover boys down east the rover boys in the air the rover boys in new york the rover boys in alaska the rover boys in business the rover boys on a tour * * * * * the second rover boys series the rover boys at colby hall the rover boys on snowshoe island the rover boys under canvas the rover boys on a hunt the rover boys in the land of luck * * * * * the putnam hall series the putnam hall cadets the putnam hall rivals the putnam hall champions the putnam hall rebellion the putnam hall encampment the putnam hall mystery by james cody ferris western stories for boys each volume complete in itself. thrilling tales of the great west, told primarily for boys but which will be read by all who love mystery, rapid action, and adventures in the great open spaces. the manly boys, roy and teddy, are the sons of an old ranchman, the owner of many thousands of heads of cattle. the lads know how to ride, how to shoot, and how to take care of themselves under any and all circumstances. the cowboys of the x bar x ranch are real cowboys, on the job when required, but full of fun and daring--a bunch any reader will be delighted to know. the x bar x boys on the ranch the x bar x boys in thunder canyon the x bar x boys on whirlpool river the x bar x boys on big bison trail the x bar x boys at the round-up the x bar x boys at nugget camp the x bar x boys at rustler's gap the x bar x boys at grizzly pass the x bar x boys lost in the rockies the x bar x boys riding for life the x bar x boys in smoky valley the x bar x boys at copperhead gulch the x bar x boys branding the wild herd by franklin w. dixon the hardy boys series illustrated. every volume complete in itself the hardy boys are sons of a celebrated american detective, and during vacations and their off time from school they help their father by hunting down clues themselves. the tower treasure--a dying criminal confessed that his loot had been secreted "in the tower." it remained for the hardy boys to clear up the mystery. the house on the cliff--mr. hardy started to investigate--and disappeared! an odd tale, with plenty of excitement. the secret of the old mill--counterfeit money was in circulation, and the limit was reached when mrs. hardy took some from a stranger. a tale full of thrills. the missing chums--two of the hardy boys' chums disappear and are almost rescued by their friends when all are captured. a thrilling story of adventure. hunting for hidden gold--in tracing some stolen gold the trail leads the boys to an abandoned mine, and there things start to happen. the shore road mystery--automobiles were disappearing most mysteriously from the shore road. it remained for the hardy boys to solve the mystery. the secret of the caves--when the boys reached the caves they came unexpectedly upon a queer old hermit. the mystery of cabin island--a story of queer adventures on a rockbound island. the great airport mystery--the hardy boys solve the mystery of the disappearance of some valuable mail. what happened at midnight--the boys follow a trail that ends in a strange and exciting situation. while the clock ticked--the hardy boys aid in vindicating a man who has been wrongly accused of a crime. footprints under the window--the smuggling of chinese into this country is the basis of this story in which the boys find thrills and excitement aplenty. zane grey books for boys packed with all the thrill and color and action that have made this author famous! the "ken ward" stories the young forester kenneth ward, a young eastern lad just out of preparatory school, goes west on his summer vacation to join a friend, dick leslie, a government forest ranger in arizona. ken, honest, loyal but hot-headed runs into plenty of excitement and trouble when he finds that a big lumber steal is going on. the young lion hunter ken ward and his kid brother, hal, spend a summer on a forest preserve in utah with ken's pal dick leslie. the government rangers are out after the mountain lions and the boys from the east are glad to share in the thrilling work. the young pitcher when ken ward entered wayne college to pursue his study of forestry he discovered that as a freshman he was on the bottom rung and had to fight to win his way to recognition. his first claim to fame comes when he pummels a prominent sophomore in self-defense. ken ward in the jungle ken ward and his younger brother hal take a trip into the wilds of mexico--ken to try his hand at field work in the jungle and hal, who is ambitious to become a naturalist, to collect specimens. the boys set out to solve the mysteries of the santa rosa river, an unknown course of about a hundred and seventy-five miles through uncharted jungle. * * * * * stories of baseball _zane grey's baseball is as real, as dramatic and as thrilling as the western stories that made him famous._ the redheaded outfield the redheaded outfield--three fiery-pated players who introduce a little boxing and plenty of comedy into the game will delight you. the rube--who is all that a rube should be--appears in a whole series of these stories and is a character you won't forget. the short-stop chase alloway developed a mean curve that had the small town players buffaloed. they called him "chaseaway", the "hoodoo" and "crooked eye" and one small town team was all for having him tarred and feathered! a story crowded with hard and fast baseball--and a dash of romance! * * * * * stories of the great west the last of the plainsmen "he'd rope the devil and tie him down--if the lasso didn't burn," it was said of "buffalo jones," one of the last of the famous plainsmen who trod the trails of the old west. killing was repulsive to him and the passion of his life was to capture wild beasts alive. a real hunting trip--with constant danger threatening from wild beasts, indians and the hazards of wild country untouched by civilization. roping lions in the grand canyon a true story of zane grey's experiences capturing lions alive, which makes ordinary hunting with guns seem, in contrast about as exciting as a sunday-school picnic. the account of how they captured six of the tawny, fiery-eyed demons which infest the bottom of the grand canyon, and got them into camp alive and growling, will enthrall the great host of zane grey's boy readers. the last of the great scouts _the life story of "buffalo bill" by_ helen cody wetmore _with foreword and conclusion by zane grey_. "buffalo bill"--scout, pathfinder, hunter and indian fighter is the most famous of all that great company of frontiersmen who opened up the west for civilization. indeed no character in history makes a stronger appeal to the imagination than this daring hero of the old west. by frank a. warner bob chase big game series in these thrilling stories of outdoor life the hero is a young lumberjack who is a crack rifle shot. while tracking game in the maine woods he does some rich hunters a great service. they become interested in him and take him on various hunting expeditions in this country and abroad. bob learns what it is to face not only wildcats, foxes and deer but also bull moose, rocky mountain grizzly bears and many other species of big game. bob chase with the big moose hunters bob chase after grizzly bears bob chase in the tiger's lair bob chase with the lion hunters note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the pony rider boys in texas or the veiled riddle of the plains by frank gee patchin author of the pony rider boys in the rockies, etc. philadelphia henry altemus company copyright, by howard e. altemus [illustration: drop that gun!] contents i. in the land of the cowboy ii. the pony riders join the outfit iii. putting the cows to bed iv. the first night in camp v. cutting out the herd vi. tad takes a desperate chance vii. the herd fords the river viii. the approach of the storm ix. chased by a stampeding herd x. a miraculous escape xi. the vigil on the plains xii. under a strange influence xiii. chunky ropes a cowboy xiv. on a wild night ride xv. fording a swollen river xvi. a brave rescue xvii. making new friends xviii. breaking in the bronchos xix. grit wins the battle xx. dinner at the ox bow xxi. a call for help xxii. lost in the adobe church xxiii. solving the mystery xxiv. conclusion list of illustrations drop that gun! good for you, kid! as the wagon lurched pong plunged overboard. tad gave the rope a quick, rolling motion. the pony rider boys in texas chapter i in the land of the cowboy "what's that?" "guns, i reckon." "sounds to me as if the town were being attacked. just like war time, isn't it?" "never having been to war, i can't say. but it's a noise all right." the freckle-faced boy, sitting on his pony with easy confidence, answered his companion's questions absently. after a careless glance up the street, he turned to resume his study of the noisy crowds that were surging back and forth along the main street of san diego, texas. "yes, it's a noise. but what is it all about?" "fourth of july, ned. don't you hear?" "hear it, tad? i should say i do hear it. yet i must confess that it is a different sort of racket from any i've ever heard up north on the fourth. is this the way they celebrate it down here?" "i'm sure i don't know." "why, a fellow might imagine that a band of wild indians were tearing down on him. here they come! look out! me for a side street!" the little texas town was dressed in its finest, in honor of the great national holiday, and the inhabitants for many miles around had ridden in at the first streak of dawn, that they might miss none of the frolic. a rapid explosion of firearms accompanied by a chorus of wild yells and thrilling whoops, had caused ned rector to utter the exclamation of alarm. as he did so, he whirled his pony about, urging the little animal into a side street so that he might be out of the way of the body of men whom he saw rushing down upon them on galloping ponies. "hurry, tad!" he called from the protection of the side street. that others in the street had heard, and seen as well, was evident from the frantic haste with which they scrambled for the sidewalk, crowding those already there over yard fences, into stores and stairways in an effort to get clear of the roadway. a sudden panic had seized them, for well did they know the meaning of the shooting and the shouting. a band of wild, uncontrollable cowboys, free for the time from the exacting work of the range, were sweeping down on the town, determined to do their part in the observance of the day. yet, tad butler, the freckle-faced boy, remained where he was undisturbed by the uproar, finding great interest in the excited throngs that were hurrying to cover. nor did he appear to be alarmed when, a moment later, he found himself almost the sole occupant of the street at that point, with his pony backed up against the curbing, tossing its head and champing its bit restlessly. as for the freckle-faced boy and his companion, the reader no doubt has recognized in them our old friends, tad butler and ned rector, the pony rider boys. after their exciting experiences in the rockies, and their discovery of the lost claim, which gave each of the boys a little fortune of his own, as narrated in the preceding volume, "the pony rider boys in the rockies," the pony riders had turned toward texas as the scene of their next journeying. with walter perkins and stacy brown, the boys, under the guidance of professor zepplin, were to join a cattle outfit at san diego, whence they were to travel northward with it. this was to be one of the biggest cattle drives of recent years. a cattle dealer, mr. thomas b. miller, had purchased a large herd of mexican cattle, which he decided to drive across the state on the old trail, instead of shipping them by rail, to his ranch in oklahoma. it had been arranged that the pony riders were to become members of the working force of the outfit during what was called the "drive" across the state of texas. the boys were awaiting the arrival of the herd at san diego on this fourth of july morning. though they did not suspect it, the pony rider boys were destined, on this trip, to pass through adventures more thrilling, and hardships more severe, than anything they had even dreamed of before. the cattle had arrived late the previous evening, though the boys had not yet been informed of the fact. the animals were to be allowed to graze and rest for the day, while the cowmen, or such of them as could be spared, were given leave to ride into town in small parties. it was the advance guard of the cowboys whose shots and yells had stirred the people in the street to such sudden activity. on they came, a shouting, yelling mob. tad turned to look at them now. the sight was one calculated to stir the heart and quicken the pulses of any boy. but the face of tad butler reflected only mild curiosity as he gazed inquiringly at the dashing horsemen, each one of whom was riding standing in his stirrups waving sombrero and gun on high. what interested the freckle-faced boy most was their masterful horsemanship. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" exploded the foremost of the riders. bang! bang! bang! bang! as many puffs of white smoke leaped into the air from the revolvers of the skylarking cowmen. "w-h-o-o-o-p-e!" they chorused in a mighty yell, letting go at the same time a rattling fire. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" as they swept down toward the spot where tad was sitting on his pony, the cowboys swung into line six abreast, thus filling the street from curb to curb. this time, however, instead of shooting into the air, they lowered the muzzles of their revolvers, sending volley after volley into the street ahead of them, the leaden missiles viciously kicking up the dirt into miniature clouds, like those from heavy drops of rain in advance of a thunder squall. tad's pony began to show signs of nervousness. "whoa!" commanded the boy sharply, tightening his rein and pressing his knees firmly against the animal's sides. the prancing pony was quickly mastered by its rider, though it continued to shake its head in emphatic protest. "out of the way, you tenderfoot!" yelled a cowman, espying the boy and pony directly in his path. tad butler did not move. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" shrieked the band in a series of shrill cries. when they saw that the boy was holding his ground so calmly, their revolvers began to bark spitefully, flicking up a semicircle of dust about the pony's feet, causing the little animal to prance and rear into the air. at this tad's jaws set stubbornly, his lips pressing themselves firmly together. the boy brought his quirt down sharply on the pony's flank, at the same time pressing the pointless rowels of his spurs against the sides of the frightened animal. though tad determinedly held his mount in its place, he was no longer able to check its rearing and plunging, for the wiry little animal was wholly unused to such treatment. besides, a volley of revolver bullets about its feet would disturb the steadiest horse. two cowboys on his side of the street had driven their mounts toward the lad with a yell. tad did not wholly divine their purpose, though he knew that their intent was to frighten him into giving them the street. he felt instinctively that if he should refuse to do so, some sort of violence would be visited upon him. it followed a moment later. observing that the boy had no intention of giving way to them, the two cowboys held their course, their eyes fixed on the offending tenderfoot until finally only a few rods separated them. suddenly, both men pulled their mounts sharply to the right, and, digging in the spurs, plunged straight for tad. "so that's their game, is it?" thought the boy. they were going to run him down. tad's eyes flashed indignantly, yet still he made no move to pull his pony out of the street. "keep off!" he shouted. "don't you run me down!" "w-h-o-o-o-p!" howled the pair, at the same time letting go a volley right under the hoofs of his pony. it seemed to the lad that the powder from their weapons had burned his face, so close had the guns been when they pulled the triggers. tad had braced himself for the shock that he knew was coming, gathering the reins tightly in his right hand and leaning slightly forward in his saddle. they were fairly upon him now. two revolvers exploded into the air, accompanied by the long shrill yell of the plainsmen. but just when it seemed that the lad must go down under the rush of beating hoofs, tad all but lifted his pony from the ground, turned the little animal and headed him in the direction in which the wild horsemen were going. the boy's clever horsemanship had saved him. yet one of the racing cow ponies struck the boy and his horse a glancing blow. for the moment, tad felt sure his left leg must have been broken. he imagined that he had heard it snap. as he swept past the boy the cowboy had uttered a jeering yell. tad brought down his quirt with all his force on the rump of the kicking cow pony, whose hoofs threatened to wound his own animal. then a most unexpected thing happened--that is, unexpected to the cowboy. looking back at the boy he had attempted to unhorse, the cowman was leaning over far to the left in his saddle when tad struck his horse. the pony, under the sting of the unexpected blow, leaped into the air with arching back and a squeal of rage. the cowboy's weight on the side of the startled animal overbalanced it and the animal plunged sideways to the street. the cowpuncher managed to free his left leg from the stirrup; but, quick as he was, he was not quick enough to save himself wholly from the force of the fall. the fellow ploughed the dirt of the street on his face, while the pony, springing to its feet, was off with a bound. the other cowpunchers set up a great jeering yell as they saw the unhorsing of their companion by a mere boy, while the villagers and country folks laughed as loudly as they dared. yet there was not one of them but feared that the angry cowpuncher would visit his wrath upon the lad who had been the cause of his downfall. with a roar of rage he scrambled to his feet. in his fall the fellow's gun had been wrenched from his hand, and lay in the street. he picked it up as he started for tad butler. tad, who had sat in his saddle calmly, now realized that he must act quickly if he expected to save himself. his plan was formed in a flash. digging in the spurs, and at the same time slapping the little animal smartly on its side, the lad caused his little pony to leap violently forward. "drop that gun!" as he uttered the stern command, the boy brought his quirt down across the cowman's knuckles with a resounding whack. the cowman with a yell of rage sprang at him, but the blow aimed at tad butler's head never reached him. chapter ii the pony riders join the outfit at that instant a man, clad in the dress of a cowboy, leaped from the sidewalk. he caught the angry cowman by the collar. from the way in which the newcomer swung the fellow around it was evident that he was possessed of great strength. "stop it!" he thundered. tad's assailant turned on the newcomer with an angry snarl, his rage now beyond all control. "let me alone! let me get at the cub!" he cried, making a vicious pass at the man. the cowboy's blow was neatly parried and a mighty fist was planted squarely between his eyes, sending him to earth in a heap. "get up!" commanded the man who had felled him. the cowboy struggled to his feet, standing sullenly before his conqueror. "look at me, lumpy! didn't i tell you that i'd 'fire' you if you got into any trouble in town to-day?" the cowboy nodded. "is this the way you obey orders? what sort of recommend do you suppose boss miller will give you when i tell him i found you trying to shoot up a kid?" "i don't care. i ain't askin' any recommends. besides, he--he got in----" "never mind what he did. i saw it all. get your pony and back to the camp for yours. let bert come in your place. you get no more lay-offs till i see fit to let you. now, git!" thoroughly subdued, but with angry muttered protests, the cowboy, walked down the street, jerking his pony's head about and swinging himself into the saddle. "don't be rough on the fellow. let him stay." the newcomer turned to tad, glancing up at the boy inquiringly. "young fellow, you've got nerve--more nerve than sense." "thank you. but i asked you to let the man stay. he won't do it again," urged tad. "i'm the best judge of that. and as for you, young fellow, i would advise you to ride your pony away from here. first thing i know you will be mixing it up with some of the rest of the bunch. i may not be around to straighten things out then, and you'll get hurt." "thank you, sir. i think i have as much right here as anyone else. if those are your men i should think you might be able to teach them to respect other people's rights." "what, teach a cowboy?" laughed the other. "you don't know the breed. take my advice and skip." tad's rescuer strode away. the lad's introduction to cowboy life had not been of an encouraging nature, though it was difficult for him to believe that all cowboys were like the one he had just encountered. "well, you made a nice mess of it, didn't you?" chuckled ned rector, riding up beside his companion a few minutes later. "i didn't see it, but i heard all about it from bob stallings." "stallings? who's he?" "the foreman of the cowboys with whom we are going." "and were those the fellows that tried to crowd me off the street?" "i reckon those were the boys," said ned rector quietly. "then, i can see a nice time when we join them. they will have no love for me after what has happened this morning. where is the camp?" "i don't know. professor zepplin says it's about four miles to the west of here." "when do we join them?" "some time to-night. the foreman says they are going to start at daylight. he's over at the hotel talking with the professor now. he was telling the professor about your mix-up with lumpy bates. that's the name of the cowboy who ran into you. and how he did laugh when i told him you belonged to our crowd," chuckled ned. "what did he say?" "said he thought you'd do. he says we can't use our ponies on the drive." "why not?" asked tad, looking up quickly. "because they are not trained on cattle work." "pshaw! i'm sorry. have we got to leave them here?" "no. he says we may turn them in with their herd, and use them for anything we care to, except around the cattle. we shall have to ride some of the bronchos when we are on duty." "i think i see somebody falling off," laughed tad. "ever ride one of them, ned?" "no." "well, you'll know more about them after you have." "i think i should like to go over and see mr. stallings," declared tad. "all right, come along, then." they found the foreman of the outfit discussing the plans for their journey with professor zepplin, while stacy brown and walter perkins were listening with eager attention. "this is master tad butler, mr. stallings," announced the professor. "i think i have met the young man before," answered the foreman, with a peculiar smile. "tad, i am surprised that you should involve yourself in trouble so soon after getting out of my sight. i----" "the boy was not to blame, mr. professor. my cowpunchers were wholly in the wrong. but you need have no fears of any future trouble. the bunch will be given to understand that the young gentlemen are to be well treated. you will find no luxuries, but lots of hard work on a cattle drive, young men----" "do--do we get plenty to eat?" interrupted stacy brown apprehensively. all joined in the laugh at the lad's expense. "chunky's appetite is a wonderful thing, mr. stallings," said tad. "i think we shall be able to satisfy it," laughed the foreman. "our cook is a chinaman. his name is pong, but he knows how to get up a meal. i believe, if he had nothing but sage grass and sand, he could make a palatable dish of them, provided he had the seasoning. have you boys brought your slickers with, you?" "what's a slicker?" demanded chunky. "a rubber blanket that----" "oh yes. we bought an outfit of those at austin," answered tad. "anything else that you wish us to get?" "the boys don't carry guns, do they?" professor zepplin shook his head emphatically. "most certainly not. they can get into enough trouble without them. we have rifles in our kit, but i imagine there will be little use for such weapons on this trip." "you can't always tell about that," smiled the foreman. "i remember in the old days, when we used to have to fight the rustlers, that a rifle was a pretty good thing to have." "who were the rustlers?" asked walter. "fellows who rustled cattle that didn't belong to them. but the old days have passed. such a drive as we are making now hasn't been done on so large a scale in nearly twenty years." "why not?" asked ned. "the iron trails have put the old cow trails out of business." "iron trails?" wondered tad. "railroads. we men of the plains refer to them as the iron trails. that's what they are in reality. professor, do you wish the boys to take their turns on the herd to-night?" "as you wish, mr. stallings. i presume they will be anxious to begin their life as cowboys. i understand that's an ambition possessed by most of your american boys." "all right," laughed the foreman. "i'll send them out as i find i can, with some of the other cowpunchers, until they learn the ropes. there is too great a responsibility on a night man to trust the boys alone with that work now. but they can begin if they wish. i'll see first how the bunch get back from their celebration of the glorious fourth. you'll come out and have supper with us?" "no, i think not. we shall ride out just after supper, if you will have some one to show us the way," answered the professor. "sure, i'll send in big-foot sanders to pilot you out. you boys need not be afraid of big-foot. he's not half so savage as he looks, but he's a great hand with cows." big-foot sanders rode up to the hotel shortly after six o'clock. leading his pony across the sidewalk, he poked his shaggy head just inside the door of the hotel. "ki-yi!" he bellowed, causing everybody within hearing of his voice to start up in alarm. "where's that bunch of tenderfeet?" "are you mr. sanders, from the miller outfit?" asked the professor, stepping toward him. "donno about the mister. i'm big-foot sanders. i'm lookin' for a bunch of yearlings that's going on with the outfit." "the young gentlemen will join you in a moment, mr. sanders. they will ride their ponies around from the stable and meet you in front of the house." "you one of the bunch?" "i am professor zepplin, a sort of companion, you know, for the young men." "huh!" grunted big-foot. "i reckon you'd better forget the hard boiled hat you're wearin' or the boys'll be for shooting it full of holes. take my advice--drop it, pardner." "oh, you mean this," laughed the professor, removing his derby hat. "thank you. i shall profit by your advice, and leave it here when i start." "all the bunch got hard boiled ones?" "oh, no. the boys have their sombreros," answered the professor. big-foot grunted, but whether in disapproval or approval, professor zepplin did not know. the cowpuncher threw himself into his saddle, on which he sat, stolidly awaiting the arrival of the pony riders. in a short time they came galloping from the stable at the rear of the hotel, and pulled up, facing the cowman. "this, mr. sanders, is tad butler," announced the professor. "huh!" grunted big-foot again. "hello, pinto!" he said after a sharp glance into the freckled face. "who's the gopher over there?" "that's stacy brown, otherwise known as 'chunky,'" laughed tad. "this is ned rector, and the young gentleman at your left is walter perkins, all members of the pony rider boys' party. we are ready to start whenever you are." for answer, big-foot touched his pony with a spur, the little animal springing into a gallop without further command. the pony riders followed immediately, tad riding up beside the big, muscular looking cowboy, which position he held for half an hour without having been able to draw a word from him. leaving the town due east of them, the party galloped off across the country in a straight line until finally the cowman pointed off across the plain to indicate where their destination lay. a slow moving mass of red and brown and white met the inquiring gaze of the boys. at first they were unable to make out what it was. "cows," growled the guide, observing that they did not understand. "what are they doing, mr. sanders?" asked tad. "don't 'mister' me. i'm big-foot. never had a handle to my name. never expect to. they're grazing. be rounding them up for bed pretty soon. ever been on a trail before?" tad shook his head. "we have been up in the rockies on a hunting trip. this is my first experience on the plains." "huh! got good and plenty coming to you, then." "and i am ready for it," answered the lad promptly. "the rougher the better." "there's the bunch waiting for us. all of them got back from town. the foreman don't allow the fellows to hang out nights when they're on a drive like this." now, the rest of the pony rider boys, understanding that they were nearing the camp of the cowboys, urged their ponies into a brisk gallop and drew up well into line with tad and big-foot. that is, all did save stacy brown, who, as was his habit lagged behind a few rods. the cowboys were standing about watching the approach of the new arrivals curiously, but not with any great enthusiasm, for they did not approve of having a lot of tenderfeet with the outfit on a journey such as they were taking now. they were bent on grim and serious business--man's work--the sort of labor that brings out all that is in him. it was no place for weaklings, and none realized this better than the cowmen themselves. yet, they did not know the mettle that was in these four young american boys, though they were to realize it fully before the boundaries of the lone star state, had been left behind them. the pony riders dashed up to the waiting cowpunchers with a brave showing of horsemanship, and sprang from their saddles their eyes glowing with excitement and anticipation. bob stallings, the foreman, was the first to greet them. "fellows, this is the bunch i've been telling you about," was bob's introduction. "where's lumpy?" he demanded, glancing about him with a scowl. "lumpy's over behind the chuck wagon," answered the cowboy of whom the question had been asked. "lumpy!" bellowed the foreman. the fellow with whom tad butler had had such an unpleasant meeting, earlier in the day, came forward reluctantly, a sudden scowl on his face. "lumpy, this is tad butler. stick out your fist and shake hands with him!" lumpy did so. "howd'y," he growled, but scarcely loud enough for any save tad to hear. the lad smiled up at him good-naturedly. "you and i bumped ponies this morning, i guess," said tad. "maybe i was to blame after all. i'll apologize, anyway, and i hope there will be no hard feelings." "lumpy!" warned stallings when he noticed that the cowpuncher had made no reply to tad's apology. "no hard feelings," grunted lumpy bates. he was about to turn away and again seek the seclusion of the chuck wagon, as the cook wagon was called by the cow boys, when chunky came rolling along. in the excitement of the meeting the boys had forgotten all about him. the pony riders swung their sombreros and gave three cheers for chunky brown as he dashed up. chunky took off his sombrero and waved it at them. just then chunky met with one of those unfortunate accidents that were always occurring to him. his galloping pony put a forefoot into a gopher hole, going down in a heap. chunky, however, kept on. when the accident happened he was almost upon the waiting cowboys, his intention having been to pull his pony up sharply to show off his horsemanship, then drop off and make them a sweeping bow. stacy brown was possessed of the true dramatic instinct, yet few things ever came off exactly as he had planned them. as he shot over the falling pony's head, his body described a half curve in the air, his own head landing fairly in the pit of lumpy bates's stomach. cowboy and pony rider went over in a struggling heap, with the pony rider uppermost. stacy had introduced himself to the cowboys in a most unusual manner, and to the utter undoing of one of them, for the boy's head had for the moment, knocked all the breath out of the surly lumpy bates. chapter iii putting the cows to bed the cowpunchers roared at the funny sight of the fat boy bowling over their companion. stallings, however, fearing for the anger of lumpy, sprang forward and hauled the lad back by the collar, while lumpy was allowed to get up when he got ready. he did so a few seconds later, sputtering and growling, scarcely able to contain his rage. "that's a bad way to get off a pony, young man," laughed the foreman. "i hope you won't dismount in that fashion around the cattle at night. if you do, you sure will stampede the herd." chunky grinned sheepishly. "it doesn't take much to start a bunch of cows on the run after dark," continued the foreman, "i've known of such a thing as a herd being stampeded because they were frightened at the rising moon. haven't you, big-foot?" sanders nodded. "the gopher'll do it, too; he's a clumsy lout," he answered, referring to stacy in a withering tone. "and now, boys, i will tell you how our watches are divided, after which you can go out with the cowboys and see them bed down the cows." "bed them down?" spoke up chunky, his curiosity aroused. "that's funny. i didn't know you had to put cattle to bed." "you'll see that we do. boys, the night of the cowman on the march is divided into four tricks. the first guard goes on at half past eight, coming off at half past ten. the second guard is on duty from that time till one o'clock in the morning; the third, from that hour till half past three, while the fourth remains out until relieved in the morning. he usually wakes up the cook, too. and, by the way, you boys haven't made the acquaintance of pong, have you? i'll call him. unless you get on the right side of pong, you will suffer." "pong? that's funny. sounds like ping-pong. i used to play that," interrupted stacy. "pong is as funny as his name, even if he is a chinaman," laughed stallings. "pong, come here." the chinaman, having heard his name spoken, was peering inquiringly from the tail of the chuck wagon. hopping down, he trotted over to the group, his weazened, yellow face wreathed in smiles. "shake hands with these young gentlemen, pong. they will be with us for the next two weeks," said the foreman. "allee same likee this," chuckled pong, clasping his palms together and gleefully shaking hands with himself. "that's the chinaman's idea of shaking hands," laughed stallings. "he always shakes hands with himself instead of the other fellow." stacy brown suddenly broke into a loud laugh, attracting all eyes to him. "funniest thing i ever heard of," he muttered, abashed by the inquiring looks directed at him. "now watch the heathen while i ask him what he is going to have for breakfast," said the foreman. "pong, what are you going to give us out of the chuck wagon in the morning?" "allee same likee this," chattered the chinaman, quickly turning to his questioner, at the same time rapidly running through a series of pantomime gestures. the pony riders looked at each other blankly. "he says we are going to have fried bacon with hot biscuit and coffee," stallings informed them with a hearty laugh. "pong is not much of a talker. that's about as much as you ever will hear him say. he's weak on talk and strong on motions." the foreman glanced up at the sky. "it's time to put the cows to bed. you young gentlemen may ride along on your own ponies, but keep well back from the cattle. those of you who go out to-night will have to ride our ponies. all ready, now." the entire outfit mounted and set off over the plain to where the cattle were moving slowly about, but not grazing much. they had had their fill of grass and water and were now ready for the night. "where's their beds?" asked chunky, gazing about him curiously. "right ahead of you," answered stallings. the foreman's quick eye already had picked out a nice elevation on which the old dry grass of the previous summer's growth lay matted like a carpet for the cattle to bed down on. "how many of them are there in the herd?" asked tad. "about two thousand. that was the first count. since then we have picked up a few stray cows. we will be cutting those out in a day or so, when you will see some real cow work. perhaps you will be able to help by that time." now the cowmen galloped out on the plain, separating widely until they had practically surrounded the herd. they began circling slowly about the herd, at the same time gradually closing in on them. the animals appeared to understand fully what was expected of them, for they had been on the road several nights already. besides, having had their fill they were anxious to turn in for the night. as they found spots to their liking, the animals began to throw themselves down. tad uttered an exclamation of delight as he watched the steers going to their knees in hundreds, then dropping on their sides, contentedly chewing their cuds. it was such a sight as he never before had seen. "what are those steers on the outside there--those fellows without any horns?" asked stacy. "those are the muleys. having no horns, they keep well out of the bunch and wait until the others have gone to bed as you see," the foreman informed him. "you will notice after a while that they will lie down outside the circle. if any of the cows get ugly during the night the muleys will spring up and get out of the way." in half an hour the last one of the great herd had "bedded down," and those of the cowboys who were not on guard, rode leisurely back toward camp. it had been decided that tad butler should go out on the first guard; walter perkins on the second; ned rector third and stacy brown fourth. tad was all eagerness to begin. one of the cowmen exchanged ponies with him, riding tad's horse back to camp. "you see, our ponies understand what is wanted of them," explained stallings, who had remained out for a while to give tad some instruction in the work before him. "give the ordinary cow pony his head and he will almost tend a herd by himself." three men ordinarily constituted the guard. in this case tad butler made a fourth. taking their stations some four rods from the edge of the herd, they began lazily circling it, part going in one direction and part in another. in this position it would have been well-nigh impossible for any animal to escape without being noticed by the riders. "now, i guess you will be all right," smiled the foreman. "make no sudden moves to frighten the cattle." "do they ever run?" asked tad. "run? well, rather! and i tell you, it takes a long-legged mexican steer to set the pace. those fellows can run faster than a horse--at least some of them can. a stampede is a thing most dreaded by the cowmen." "our ponies stampeded in the rockies. i know something about that," spoke up tad. "well, compare the stampeding of your four or five ponies with two thousand head of wild steers and you'll get something like the idea of what it means. in that case, unless you know your business you had better get out of the way as fast as hoss-flesh will carry you. now, master tad, i'll bid you good night and leave you to your first night on the plains." "how shall i know when to come in?" "when the second guard comes out. you will hear them. if you should not they will let you know as they pass you." with that the foreman walked his pony away from the herd. after some little time tad heard him galloping toward camp. at first tad took the keenest enjoyment in his surroundings; then the loneliness of the plains came over him. he began to feel a longing for human companionship. a dense mantle of darkness settled down over the scene. remembering the advice of the foreman, the lad gave his pony the rein. the hardy little animal, with nose almost touching the ground, began its monotonous crawling pace about the herd. it seemed more asleep than awake. in a short time a sheet of bright light appeared on the eastern horizon. tad looked at it inquiringly, then smiled. "it's the moon," he decided. the boy felt a great sense of relief in his lonely vigil. just ahead of him he saw a pony and rider leisurely approaching. it proved to be red davis, one of the first guard. red waved his hand to the boy in passing, but no word was spoken on either side. after having circled the herd twice, tad suddenly discovered a small bunch of cattle that had just scrambled to their feet and had begun grazing a little way outside the circle. the rest of the herd were contentedly chewing their cuds in the moonlight, grunting and blowing over contented stomachs. the lad was not sure just what he ought to do. his first inclination was to call to some of the other guards. then, remembering the injunction placed upon him by the foreman, he resisted the impulse. "i am sure those cattle have no business off there," he decided after watching them for a few moments in silent uncertainty. "i believe i will try to get them back." tightening the grip on his reins and clucking to the pony, tad headed for the steers, that were slowly moving off, taking a step with every mouthful or so. he steered his pony well outside and headed in toward them. the pony, with keen intelligence, forced its way up to the leading steer and sought to nose it around. the animal resisted and swung its sharp horns perilously near to the side of the horse, which quickly leaped to one side, almost upsetting its rider. "guess i'd better let the pony do it himself. he knows how and i don't," muttered tad, slackening on the reins. the straying animal was quickly turned and headed toward the herd, after which the pony whirled and went after one of the others, turning this one, as it did the others. in a short time the truants were all back in the herd. "that's the way to do it, young fellow. i told the gang back there that the pinto had the stuff in him." tad turned sharply to meet the smiling face of big-foot sanders, who, sitting on his pony, had been watching the boy's efforts and nodding an emphatic approval. "you'll make a cowman all right," said big-foot. chapter iv the first night in camp the camp-fire was burning brightly when the first guard, having completed its tour of duty, came galloping in. in a few moments the sound of singing was borne to the ears of the campers. "what's the noise?" demanded stacy brown, sitting up with a half scared look on his face. "it's the 'cowboy's lament,'" laughed bob stallings. "listen." off on the plain they heard a rich tenor voice raised in the song of the cowman. "little black bull came down the hillside, down the hillside, down the hillside, little black bull came down the hillside, long time ago." "i don't call that much of a song," sniffed chunky contemptuously after a moment of silence on the part of the group. "even if i can't sing, i can beat that." "better not try it out on the range," smiled the foreman. "not on the range? why not?" demanded the boy. "bob thinks it might stampede the herd," spoke up big-foot sanders. a loud laugh followed at chunky's expense. "when you get to be half as good a man on cows as your friend the pinto, here, you'll be a full grown man," added big-foot. "the pinto rounded up a bunch of stray cows to-night as well as i could do it myself, and he didn't go about it with a brass band either." the foreman nodded, with an approving glance at tad. tad's eyes were sparkling from the experiences of the evening, as well as from the praise bestowed upon him by the big cowpuncher. "the pony did most of it," admitted the lad. "i just gave him his head, and that's all there was to it." "more than most tenderfeet would have done," growled big-foot. walter had gone out with the second guard, and the others had gathered around the camp-fire for their nightly story-telling. "now, i don't want you fellows sitting up all night," objected the foreman. "none of you will be fit for duty to-morrow. we've got a hard drive before us, and every man must be fit as a fiddle. you can enjoy yourselves sleeping just as well as sitting up." "humph!" grunted curley adams. "i'll give it as a horseback opinion that the only way to enjoy such a night as this, is to sit up until you fall asleep with your boots on. that's the way i'm going to do it, to-night." the cowboy did this very thing, but within an hour he found himself alone, the others having turned in one by one. "where are your beds?" asked stacy after the foreman had urged the boys to get to sleep. "beds?" grunted big-foot. "anywhere--everywhere. our beds, on the plains, are wherever we happen to pull our boots off." "you will find your stuff rolled up under the chuck wagon, boys," said stallings. "i had pong get out the blankets for you, seeing that you have only your slickers with you." the lads found that a pair of blankets had been assigned to each of them, with an ordinary wagon sheet doubled for a tarpaulin. these they spread out on the ground, using boots wrapped in coats for pillows. stacy brown proved the only grumbler in the lot, declaring that he could not sleep a wink on such a bed as that. in floundering about, making up his bunk, the lad had fallen over two cowboys and stepped full on the face of a third. instantly there was a chorus of yells and snarls from the disturbed cowpunchers, accompanied by dire threats as to what they would do to the gopher did he ever disturb their rest in that way again. this effectually quieted the boy for the night, and the camp settled down to silence and to sleep. the horses of the outfit, save those that were on night duty and two or three others that had developed a habit of straying, had been turned loose early in the evening, for animals on the trail are seldom staked down. for these, a rope had been strung from a rear wheel of the wagon and another from the end of the tongue, back to a stake driven in the ground, thus forming a triangular corral. besides holding the untrustworthy horses, it afforded a temporary corral for catching a change of mounts. in spite of their hard couches the pony riders slept soundly, even professor zepplin himself never waking the whole night through. ned rector had come up smiling when awakened for his trick on the third guard. with stacy brown, however, severe measures were necessary when one of the returning guard routed him out at half-past three in the morning. stacy grumbled, turned over and went to sleep again. the guard chanced to be lumpy bates, and he administered, what to him, was a gentle kick, to hurry the boy along. "ouch!" yelled chunky, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "keep still, you baby!" growled the cowman. "do you want to wake up the whole outfit? there'll be a lively muss about the time you do, i reckon, and you'll wish you hadn't. if you can't keep shut, the boss'll be for making you sleep under the chuck wagon. if you make a racket there, pong will dump a pot of boiling water over you. you won't be so fast to wake up hard working cowboys after that, i reckon." "what do you want?" demanded the boy. "what'd you wake me up for?" "it's your trick. get a move on you and keep still. there's the pony ready for you. i wouldn't have saddled it but the boss said i must. i don't take no stock in tenderfoot kids," growled the cowpuncher. "is breakfast ready?" asked the boy, tightening his belt and jamming his sombrero down over his head. "breakfast?" jeered lumpy. "you're lucky to be alive in this outfit, let alone filling yourself with grub. get out!" stacy ruefully, and still half asleep, made a wide circle around the sleeping cowmen that he might not make the mistake of again stepping on any of them. lumpy watched him with disapproving eyes. the lad caught the pony that stood moping in the corral, not appearing to be aware that his rider was preparing him for the range, chunky all the time muttering to himself. leading the pony out, the boy gathered up the reins on the right side of the animal and prepared to mount. lumpy bates came running toward him, not daring to call out for fear of waking the camp. the cowman was swinging his arms and seeking to attract the lad's attention. chunky, however, was too sleepy to see anything so small as a cowman swinging his arms a rod away. placing his right foot in the stirrup, the boy prepared to swing up into the saddle. "hi, there!" hissed lumpy, filled with indignation that anyone should attempt to mount a pony from the right side. his warning came too late. stacy brown's left leg swung over the saddle. no sooner had the pony felt the leather over him than he raised his back straight up, his head going down almost to the ground. stacy shot up into the air as if he had been propelled from a bow gun. he struck the soft sand several feet in advance of the pony, his face and head ploughing a little furrow as he drove along on his nose. he had no more than struck, however, before the irate cowboy had him by the collar and had jerked the lad to his feet. "you _tenderfoot_!" he snarled, accenting the words so that they carried a world of meaning with them. "don't you know any more than to try to get onto a broncho from the off side? say, don't you?" he shook the lad violently. "n-n-n-o," gasped stacy. "d-d-does it m-m-make any difference w-w-h-i-ch side you get on?" "does it make any difference?" the cowboy jerked his own head up and down as if the words he would utter had wedged fast in his throat. "git out of here before i say something. the boss said the first man he heard using language while you tenderfeet were with us, would get fired on the spot." without taking the chance of waiting until stacy had mounted the pony, lumpy grabbed the boy and tossed him into the saddle, giving the little animal a sharp slap on the flank as he did so. at first the pony began to buck; then, evidently thinking the effort was not worth while, settled down to a rough trot which soon shook the boy up and thoroughly awakened him. the rest of the fourth guard had already gone out, chunky meeting the returning members of the third coming in. "better hurry up, kid," they chuckled. "the cows'll sleep themselves out of sight before you get there, if you don't get a move on." "where are they?" asked the boy. "keep a-going and if you're lucky you'll run plumb into them," was the jeering answer as the sleepy cowmen spurred their ponies on toward camp, muttering their disapproval of taking along a bunch of boys on a cattle drive. in a few moments they, too, had turned their ponies adrift and had thrown themselves down beside their companions, pulling their blankets well about them, for the night had grown chill. out on the plains the fourth guard were drowsily crooning the lullaby about the bull that "came down the hillside, long time ago." it seemed as if scarcely a minute had passed since the boys turned in before they were awakened by the strident tones of the foreman. "roll out! roll out!" he roared, bringing the sleepy cowpunchers grumbling to their feet. almost before the echoes of his voice had died away, a shrill voice piped up from the tail end of the chuck wagon. "grub pi-i-i-le! grub pi-i-i-le!" it was the chinaman, pong, sounding his call for breakfast, in accordance with the usage of the plains. "grub pi-i-i-le!" he finished in a lower tone, after which his head quickly disappeared under the cover of the wagon. by the time the cowmen and pony riders had refreshed themselves at the spring near which the outfit had camped, a steaming hot breakfast had been spread on the ground, with a slicker for a table cloth. three cowboys fell to with a will, gulping down their breakfast in a hurry that they might ride out and relieve the fourth guard on the herd. "you boys don't have to swallow your food whole," smiled the foreman, observing that the pony riders seemed to think they were expected to hurry through their meal as well. "those fellows have to go out. take your time. the fourth guard has to eat yet, so there is plenty of time. how did you all sleep?" "fine," chorused the boys. "and you, mr. professor?" "surprisingly well. it is astonishing with how little a man can get along when he has to." "who is the wrangler this morning?" asked the foreman, glancing about at his men. "i am," spoke up shorty savage promptly. "wrangler? what's a wrangler?" demanded stacy, delaying the progress of a large slice of bacon, which hung suspended from the fork half-way between plate and mouth. "a wrangler's a wrangler," answered big-foot stolidly. "he's a fellow who's all the time making trouble, isn't he?" asked stacy innocently. "oh, no, this kind of a wrangler isn't," laughed the foreman. "the trouble is usually made _for_ him, and it's served up hot off the spider. the horse wrangler is the fellow who goes out and rounds up the ponies. sometimes he does it in the middle of the night when the thunder and lightning are smashing about him like all possessed, and the cattle are on the rampage. he's a trouble-curer, not a troublemaker, except for himself." "i guess there are some words that aren't in the dictionary," laughed tad. "i think you will find them all there, master tad, if you will consult the big book," said the professor. the meal was soon finished, pong having stood rubbing his palms, a happy smile on his face, during the time they were eating. "a very fine breakfast, sir," announced the professor, looking up at the chinaman. "he knows what would happen to him if he didn't serve good meals," smiled stallings. "what do you mean?" asked ned rector. "pong, tell the young gentlemen what would become of you if you were to serve bad meals to this outfit of cowpunchers." the chinaman showed two rows of white teeth in his expansive grin. "allee same likee this," he explained. "how?" asked tad. pong, going through the motions of drawing a gun from his belt, and puffing out his cheeks, uttered an explosive "pouf!" "oh, you mean they would shoot you?" asked walter. "i hardly think they would do that, pong." "allee same," grinned the chinaman. "i guess we are pretty sure of having real food to eat, then," laughed tad, as the boys rose from the table ready for the active work of the day. "we will now get to work on the herd," announced the foreman. "we had better start the drive this morning. when we make camp at noon we will cut out the strays. i trust none of you will be imprudent and get into trouble, for we shall have other things to look after to-day." however, the pony riders were destined not to pass the day without one or more exciting adventures. chapter v cutting out the herd "getting ready for rain," announced the foreman, glancing up at the gathering clouds. "that will mean water for the stock, anyway." already the great herd was up and grazing when the cowboys reached them. but there was no time now for the animals to satisfy their appetites. they were supposed to have eaten amply since daylight. the trail was to be taken up again and by the time the steers were bedded down at night, they should be all of fifteen miles nearer the diamond d. ranch for which they were headed. the start was a matter of keen interest to the pony riders. to set the herd in motion, cowboys galloped along the sides of the line giving vent to their shrill, wolf-keyed yell, while others pressed forward directly in the rear. as soon as the cattle had gotten under way six men were detailed on each side, and in a short time the herd was strung out over more than a mile of the trail. two riders known as "point men" rode well back from the leaders, and by riding forward and closing in occasionally, were able to direct the course of the drive. others, known as "swing men," rode well out from the herd, their duty being to see that none of the cattle dropped out or strayed away. once started, the animals required no driving. this was a matter of considerable interest to the pony riders. "don't they ever stop to eat?" asked tad of the foreman. "occasionally. when they do, we have to start them along without their knowing we are doing so. it's a good rule to go by that you never should let your herd know they are under restraint. yet always keep them going in the proper direction." the trail wagon, carrying the cooking outfit and supplies, was not forgotten. drawn by a team of four mules, the party seldom allowed it to get far away from them, and never, under ordinary circumstances, out of their sight. the driver walked beside the mules, while the grinning face of pong was always to be seen in the front end of the wagon. he was the only member of the outfit who never seemed to mind the broiling mid-day heat. he was riding there on this hot forenoon, never leaving his seat until the foreman, by a gesture, indicated that the herd was soon to be halted for its noonday meal. while the cattle were grazing, the cowboys would fall to and satisfy their own appetites. after the cattle had finally been halted, three men were left on guard while the others rode back to the rear of the line. in the meantime pong had been preparing the dinner, which was ready almost as soon as the men had cast aside their hats. "when it comes to cooking for an outfit like this, a chinaman beats anything in the world," laughed stallings. "at least, this chinaman does." pong was too busy to do more than grin at the compliment, even if he fully grasped the meaning of it. the meal was nearly half-finished when the cowpunchers were startled by a volley of revolver shots accompanied by a chorus of shrill yells. "what's up now?" demanded ned rector and tad in one breath. every member of the outfit had sprung to his feet. "sounds like a stampede," flung back the foreman, making a flying leap for his pony. the other cowboys were up like a flash and into their saddles, uttering sharp "ki-yis" and driving in the spurs while they laid their quirts mercilessly over the rumps of the ponies. tad butler, ned rector and walter perkins were not far behind the cowmen in reaching their own ponies and leaping into their saddles. not so with chunky. he only paused in his eating long enough to look his surprise and to direct an inquiring look at the chinaman, while the others went dashing across the plain toward the herd. "allee same likee this," announced pong, making a succession of violent gestures that stacy did not understand. but the boy nodded his head wisely and went on with his eating. out where the grazing herd had been peacefully eating its noonday meal all was now excitement and action. revolvers were popping, cowboys were yelling and the herd was surging back and forth, bellowing and dashing in and out, a shifting, confused mass of color and noise. the boys did not know what to make of it. "yes; they are stampeding," decided ned, riding alongside of tad butler. "i don't believe it," answered tad. "it looks to me as if something else were the trouble." "what?" "i don't know. it's an awful mix-up, whatever they may call it." "yes; see! they are fighting." surely enough, large numbers of the cattle seemed to be arrayed against each other, sending up great clouds of dust as they ran toward each other, locked horns and engaged in desperate conflict. it was noticed, however, that the muleys kept well out of harm's way, standing aloof from the herd and looking on ready to run at the shake of a horn in their direction. "now, look there! what are they doing?" asked walter. "they seem to be cutting out a bunch of steers," answered tad. "that's funny. i can't imagine what it is all about." neither could professor zepplin, who had ridden up at a more leisurely pace, explain to the boys the meaning of the scene they were viewing. "if we knew, we might turn in and help," suggested walter. "that's right," replied tad. "suppose we ride up there where the men are at work. we may find something to do. anyway, we'll find out what the trouble is." starting up their ponies, the boys galloped up the line, keeping a safe distance from the herd as they did so, and halting only when they had reached the trail leaders, as the cattle at the head of the line are called. "what's the trouble?" shouted ned as they came within hailing distance of the perspiring foreman. "mixed herd," he called back, curtly, driving his pony into the thick of the fight and yelling out his orders to the men. "i know almost as much about it as i did before," announced ned, disgustedly. "got any idea, tad?" "yes; i have." "for goodness sake, let's have it, then. if i don't find out what's going on here, pretty soon, i shall jump into the fight in sheer desperation." "mr. stagings said it was a mixed herd. don't you think that must mean that a lot of cattle who don't belong there have mixed up with ours?" asked the freckle-faced boy. "i guess that's the answer, tad. but, if so, how can they tell one from the other?" wondered walter. "from the brands. i have learned that much about the business. every one of our herd is branded with a capital d in the center of a diamond. that is the brand of mr. miller's ranch--the diamond d ranch. evidently they are cutting out all that haven't that brand on." "hello! there's chunky. now, what do you suppose he is up to!" exclaimed ned. stacy brown had finished his meal, mounted his pony and was now riding toward the herd at what was for him a reckless speed. all at once they saw him pull his mount sharply to the left and drive straight at a bunch of cattle that the cowboys had separated from the herd a few moments before. the boy was too far away, the racket too loud, for their voices to reach him in a warning shout. stacy, having observed the cattle straying away, and having in mind tad butler's achievement in driving back a bunch of stray steers, thought he would do something on his own account. "i'll show them i can drive steers as well as anybody," he told himself, bringing down the quirt about the pony's legs. the strong-limbed little beast sprang to his work with a will. he understood perfectly what was wanted of him. a few moments more, and he had headed off the rapidly moving bunch, effectually turning the leaders, sending them on a gallop back toward the vast herd fighting and bellowing in the cloud of dust they had stirred up. the cowboys were so fully occupied with their task that they had failed to observe stacy brown's action, nor would they have known anything about it had not tad, yelling himself hoarse, managed to attract the attention of the foreman. tad pointed off to where chunky was jumping his pony at the fleeing cattle, forcing them on with horse and quirt. they had almost reached the main herd before tad succeeded in informing the foreman. one look was enough for stallings. before he could act, however, the stray herd had once more mingled and merged with his own. the work of the cowboys had gone for naught. stallings fired three shots into the air as a signal to his men to stop their cutting out. "will you young men do me a favor?" he asked. "certainly, mr. stallings," answered tad. "then ride around the herd and tell the boys not to try any more cutting out until the herd has quieted down. the dust is so thick that we can't do anything with the cows, anyway. you have some sense, but that's more than i can say for your friend, brown. of all the idiotic--oh, what's the use? tell him to mind his own business and keep half a mile away from this herd for the rest of the afternoon." "all right, sir. where did those cattle come from?" "i don't know, tad. they have broken away from some nearby ranch. probably somebody has cut a wire fence and let them out. that's the worst of the wire fence in the modern cow business. they can get through wire without being seen. but they can't get by a cowpuncher without his seeing them." "how many cattle do you think have got mixed with ours?" "i should imagine there were all of five hundred of them," answered the foreman. tad uttered a long-drawn whistle of astonishment. "will--will you ever be able to separate them?" asked ned. "we sure will. but it means a hot afternoon's work." "may we help you, mr. stallings?" spoke up walter. "yes; i shall be able to use you boys, some, i guess. it's a wonder to me that those cows didn't stampede our whole herd. had it been night, our stock would have been spread over a dozen miles of territory by this time. being day, however, our herd preferred to stay and fight the newcomers. i hope they clean up the bunch for keeps." pleased that they had been given a task to perform, the boys rode away, tad and walter going in one direction, while ned rector galloped off in another, that they might reach the cowmen in the shortest possible time. the men they found sitting on their horses awaiting orders, though they understood what was in the mind of the foreman almost as well as if he had told them by word of mouth. they found big-foot and lumpy bates expressing their opinion of the mix-up in voices loud with anger. but, upon discovering the boys, the cowmen quickly checked their flow of language. "did you see what that--that----" bellowed lumpy as tad rode up to him. "yes; i saw it," laughed tad. "you think this is some kind of a joke, eh?" roared lumpy, starting his pony toward tad. the boy's smile left his face and clucking to his pony he rode slowly forward toward the angry cowpuncher, meeting the fellow's menacing eyes unflinchingly. "is there anything you wish to say to me, mr. bates?" asked the lad calmly. lumpy's emotions were almost too great for speech. he controlled himself with an effort. "no--only this. i--i'll forget myself some day, and clean up one of you idiotic tenderfeet." "perhaps you would like to begin on me, sir," said tad steadily. "if you feel that way i should prefer to have you do that rather than to try it on any of my companions. stacy brown may be indiscreet, but i'd have you understand he is no idiot." "what--what----" "you have determined to get square with us ever since we joined out with you last night, and i knew that you and i would have to have an understanding before long. we might as well have it now, though there's nothing of enough consequence to have a quarrel about----" "you threaten me?" "nothing of the kind, mr. bates. i only wish to tell you that my companions are the guests of this outfit, and we propose to act like gentlemen. every other member of the outfit, not excepting the chinaman, has given us fine treatment. you have hung back, hoping you would have a chance to get us run off the trail." the cowpuncher's fingers were opening and closing convulsively. "you--you run into me. the whole bunch had the laugh on me and----" "if i remember correctly, it was you who ran me down. but we'll drop that. will you shake hands and forget your bad temper?" asked the lad, reaching over and offering a hand to the cowboy. for an instant the fellow glared at him, then with a snarl he jerked his pony about and drove in the rowels of the spurs. "lumpy's got on the grouch that won't come off," grinned big-foot. "better keep a weather eye on the cayuse. if he gets obstreperous, just you let me know." "thank you," smiled tad. "i thought i had better say something to him before it went too far. i knew he meant mischief to us ever since he ran into me yesterday at san diego." tad then delivered his message and rode on to the next cowpuncher. for fully an hour the cattle surged and fought, some being killed and trampled under foot, while others were so seriously wounded that they had to be shot later in the day. after a time the battle dwindled down to individual skirmishes, with two or three animals engaged at a time, until finally the entire herd moved off to the fresher ground that had not been trodden upon, and began grazing together as contentedly as if nothing had occurred to disturb them. all immediate danger of a stampede having passed, stallings fired a shot as a signal for the cowmen to join him. this they did on the gallop. after a conference, during which each man gave his opinion as to whom the stray herd belonged to, none recognizing the brand, stallings made up his mind what to do. "you will begin at the lower end and cut out as you go through the herd. cut the newcomers to the west, which will be starting them back toward where they came from, wherever that may be. at the same time while we cut, we will be moving our cows north, which is the direction in which we want them to go." in the meantime stacy brown had ridden up. he was sitting disconsolately on his pony near where the conference was being held, having been roundly scored by every cowboy in the outfit. the foreman motioned him to ride over to him. "young man, can you carry a message back to camp and get it straight!" stacy thought he could. "then go back and tell the heathen to pack up his belongings and come on. there will be no more eating done in this outfit till we have cut out that new bunch. tell the driver to be ready to move when he sees us start. we'll get in a few miles before dark, yet, if we have good luck." stacy rode away full of importance to deliver the foreman's order. then the cutting out began. cowboy after cowboy dashed into the herd coming out usually with his pony pressing against the side of an unwilling steer and pushing him along in the right direction by main force. and here was where the pony riders made themselves useful. as an animal was cut out, the boys would ride in behind it and worry the steer along until they had gotten it a safe distance to the west of the main herd. "there's a diamond d steer in that bunch," tad informed one of the cowpunchers as he rushed a big, white steer out. "never mind; we'll trim the mixed outfit after we get more of the bunch out," answered the cowboy, riding back into the herd. while doing the cutting out the men also drove out the few cattle that had strayed into the herd earlier in the journey. for three hours this grilling work had kept up, the perspiring cowboys yelling, their ponies squealing under the terrific punishment they were getting from both riders and steers. but in the excitement of their own work, the pony riders had had little time in which to observe what the cowmen were doing. tad thought of a plan by which he might assist them further. so he galloped his pony over to the edge of the main herd and waited until the foreman dashed out with two red, fighting steers, which he gave a lively start on their way to join the mixed herd. "mr. stallings, may i cut back some of the diamond d animals in the mixed herd?" he asked. "think you can do it, kid?" "i can try." "all right. go ahead. be careful that you don't turn back any of the other brands, though. above all, look out for yourself." tad galloped back to his companions, his face flushed, the dust standing out on his blue shirt, turning it almost gray. "keep this herd up, fellows," he shouted. "i'm going to try my hand at cutting out." fortunately, the pony understood what was wanted of it, and, the moment it had located an animal which it was desired to cut out, the pony went at the work with a will. tad, triumphant and warm, rode out driving a diamond d steer ahead of him, applying his quirt vigorously to the animal's rump until he had landed it safely in the ranks of the main herd. again and again had the boy ridden in among the cattle, seemingly taking no account of the narrow escapes both rider and pony were having from the sharp horns of the long-legged mexican cattle. one big, white fellow gave the lad more trouble than all the rest that he had cut out, and when once tad had run him out into the open the perspiration was dripping from his face. but his battle was not yet won. the steer, for some reason best known to itself, did not wish to return to its own herd. it fought every inch of the way, wearing down pony and rider until they were almost exhausted. tad butler's blood was up, however. he set his jaw stubbornly and plunged into the work before him. bob stallings, shooting a glance in the boy's direction understood what he had in hand, for the foreman had made the acquaintance of this same steer himself, earlier on the drive. the lad had worried the animal nearly to its own herd, after half an hour's struggle, when, despite all his efforts, it broke away and dashed back toward the mixed bunch. "i'll get him if it's the last thing i ever do," vowed the boy. a rawhide lariat hung from his saddle bow, and though he had practised with the rope on other occasions, he did not consider himself an expert with it. he had watched the cowboys in their use of it and knew how they threw a cow with the rope. on the spur of the moment tad decided to use the lariat. lifting it in his right hand and swinging the great loop high above his head, he dashed up to the running steer, and when near enough to take a cast, let go of the loop. it fell over the horns of the white animal as neatly as a cowboy could have placed it there. the coil ran out in a flash; yet quick as the boy was, he found himself unable to take a hitch around the pommel of his saddle with the free end. the running steer straightened the rope and tad shot from his saddle still clinging desperately to the line. chapter vi tad takes a desperate chance when the freckle-faced boy took his unexpected plunge, it chanced that neither cowboys nor pony riders were looking his way. no one knew of his plight. as he felt the line running through his hand, tad butler had given it a quick hitch around his right wrist, so that when the rope drew taut, and the pony braced itself to meet the shock, the lad fairly flew through the air. the white steer had been headed for the mixed bunch which the pony riders were guarding. with the stubbornness of its kind, it wheeled about the instant it felt the tug on the rope and dashed for the main herd, tad's body ploughing up the dust as he trailed along at a fearful pace behind the wild animal, whirling over and over in his rapid flight. the lad's eyes were so full of sand dust that he was unable to see where he was going. he had slight realization of the peril that confronted him. "look! look!" cried walter perkins. "what is it?" cried ned rector. "what's that the steer is dragging?" "i don't know." "and there's tad's pony standing out there alone," added walter. "you--you don't think tad----" "as i'm alive, it is tad! he is being dragged by the steer. he'll be killed! watch this herd, i am going after him!" shouted ned, putting spurs to his pony and dashing toward the main herd. at that moment the white steer, trailing its human burden, rushed in among the other cattle and was soon lost among them. ned did not dare to set up a loud shout of warning for fear of frightening the cattle. however, he was waving his hat and excitedly trying to attract the attention of some of the cowmen. they were too busy to give any heed to him. ned drove his pony in among the struggling cattle with no thought of his own danger. the cowmen were roping and rushing the stock that did not belong to them. as it chanced, however, most of them were working at the upper end, or head of the herd. the foreman, for some reason, had galloped down the line, casting his eyes keenly over the herd. instantly he noticed that something was wrong, though just what it was, he was unable to decide. then his eyes caught the figure of ned rector, the center of a sea of moving backs and tossing horns. the boy was standing in his stirrups still swinging his sombrero above his head. it took the foreman but an instant to decide what to do. wheeling his pony, he fairly dived into the mass of cattle, lashing to the right and left of him with his ready quirt, the cattle resentfully shaking threatening heads at pony and rider and making efforts to reach them with their sharp-pointed horns. "what is it?" shouted stallings after he had ridden in far enough to make his voice reach ned rector. "it's tad!" "what about him?" "he's in there," answered ned, pointing. "where? what do you mean?" "i don't know. it's the white steer. he dragged him." stallings thought he understood. he had seen the lad working with the unruly animal only a few moments before. "what's the trouble--did the boy rope him?" shouted the foreman. ned nodded. "he'll be trampled to death!" snapped the foreman, rising high in his stirrups and looking over the herd. there were several white steers in the bunch, but the one in question was so much larger than the others that stallings thought he would have no difficulty in picking out the animal. not finding him at once, the foreman fired two shots in the air to attract the attention of the cowboys. three of them soon were seen working their way in. "open up the herd!" he shouted. "whereabouts?" asked reddy davis. "anywhere. look out for the big, white cow. the boy's roped to him!" they understood at once. big-foot sanders had heard, and began working like an automatic machine. the way the cattle, big and little, fell away before his plunging pony and ready quirt was an object lesson for those of the pony riders who were near enough to see his effort. in the thick of it was ned rector, driving his pony here and there, anxiously watching for the white steer. "there he is!" shouted ned, suddenly espying the animal still dashing about. "where?" "there, to the right of you!" forcing his mount through the crowded ranks, stallings in a moment found himself within reach of the white beast. however, there were three or four cattle between himself and the one he wanted. the foreman's rope circled in the air above his head, then the great loop squirmed out over the backs of the cattle, dropping lightly over the horns of the white one. the steer felt the touch of the rope and knew the meaning of it. as the animal sprang forward, stallings took a quick turn about the pommel of his saddle and the pony braced its fore feet. when the shock came, the cattle over whose backs the rope lay felt it even more than did the pony itself. three of them were forced to their knees bawling with sudden fright and pain. the head of the white steer was jerked to one side. a swing of the rope and the steer was thrown heavily. "get in there!" roared stallings. ned at the moment, chanced to be nearer than were any of the others to the animal, and to him fell the perilous work of holding down the kicking beast. he knew exactly what was expected of him, having seen a cowboy hold a steer down for a quick branding that morning. ned spurred in and leaped to the ground. without an instant's hesitation he threw himself on the neck of the struggling animal, whose flying hoofs made the attempt doubly dangerous. this act of ned enabled stallings to jump from his pony and run to the lad's assistance, leaving the pony braced to hold the line taut. the foreman sprang to the rear, where he observed the form of tad butler doubled up, lying half under the body of a big, red steer. stallings picked him up, quickly cutting the lariat. "slip the loops off his horns!" he commanded. "look out that you don't get pinked by them." "is tad hurt?" called ned anxiously. "lucky if he ain't dead," answered the foreman, hurrying to his pony, which he mounted taking the boy in his arms. by this time ned had the ropes and had sprung away from the steer's dangerous horns. tad's form hung limp and lifeless over the saddle. his face, with the sand and dust ground into it, was scarcely recognizable. ned followed the foreman as soon as he could get his pony. by the time ned reached them, stallings had laid tad down and was making a quick examination. "get water! hurry!" he commanded sharply. "where?" asked ned, glancing about him, undecided which way to turn. "the chuck wagon. ride, kid! ride!" ned bounced into his saddle without so much as touching his stirrup. with a sharp yell to the animal he sped away over the plain, urging on the little pony with quirt and spur. the way ned rector rode that day made those of the cowmen who saw him open their eyes. ned began shouting for water as soon as he came in sight of the wagon, which, by this time, was packed for the start. pong, understanding from the boy's tone that the need was urgent, was filling a jug from the tap barrel by the time ned rode up beside the wagon. he had less than a minute to wait. grabbing the jug from the hands of the grinning chinaman, and unheeding pong's chuckled "allee same," ned whirled about and raced for the herd. the lad struggled to keep back the tears as he realized that, even with all his haste, it might be too late. that tad should come out of that melée of flying hoofs and prodding horns without being at least seriously injured was more than he could hope. faster and faster ran the pony, behind him a rising cloud of yellow dust. ned's fingers were stiff and numb from carrying the heavy jug, and the lump in his throat was growing larger, it seemed to him, with every leap of the animal under him. now ned could see the cowmen galloping in and gazing from their ponies. he knew they were looking at tad. stallings was bent over him, pouring something down the boy's throat. ned's heart gave a great bound. tad butler must be alive or there would be no need for the liquid that the foreman was forcing down his throat. chapter vii the herd fords the river "is he--is he----" asked ned, weakly, after they had taken the jug of water from his hand. "he's alive, if that's what you mean," answered stallings. "i'm afraid he's got a slight concussion of the brain. he doesn't come around the way i should like to see him." "sure it isn't a fracture!" asked the professor, who had just arrived on the scene. "no, i hardly think so." the foreman washed the unconscious boy's face, soaking tad's head and neck and searching for the seat of the trouble. "huh! steer kicked him," grunted stallings. "it was a glancing blow, luckily for the kid." they worked over the lad for fully half an hour before he began to show signs of returning consciousness. at last his trembling eyelids struggled apart and he smiled up at them weakly. "ah! he's all right now, i guess," laughed the foreman, with a world of relief in his tone. "boys, get busy now and cut out the rest of those cows. if the young man is not able to ride we'll put him in the chuck wagon when it comes up. feel bad anywhere, now?" he asked. "my--my head weighs a ton." "i should think it would. did the white steer kick you?" "i--i don't know. hello, professor. i roped him all right, didn't i, mr. stallings?" "you did. but you got roped yourself, too, i reckon. think you'll be able to ride in the trail wagon? if not we'll have to send you back to town." "that'll be the best place for the tenderfoot," growled lumpy bates. stallings turned a stern eye upon him. "lumpy, when i want your opinion i'll let you know. what are you doing here, anyway? get into that cut out and be mighty quick about it!" lumpy rode away growling. "i'll ride in no trail wagon," announced tad butler, with emphasis. "i guess you will have to, my boy." "i'll ride my pony if i have to be tied on," he declared resolutely. the foreman laughed heartily. "well, we'll see about that. you boys all have good stuff in you. i see that master walter and the gopher are still out there looking after that bunch of cattle." "i told them to do so," spoke up tad. "and they are obeying orders. that's the first thing to learn in this business." "may i sit up now?" "you may try." tad's head spun round when he raised himself up. the lad fought his dizziness pluckily, and mastered it. after a little while they helped him to his feet. finally feeling himself able to walk he started unsteadily away from them. "where are you going?" demanded the professor. "pony," answered tad. "i protest, tad. you will come back here at once." tad turned obediently. "please, professor. i'm all right." "let the boy go. he will be all right in a few moments after he has gotten into the saddle," urged the foreman. "besides, he's too much of a man to be treated like a weakling. he'll get more bumps than that before he leaves this outfit, if i'm any judge." the professor motioned to tad to go on, which the lad did, petting his pony as he reached him, and then pulling himself into the saddle with considerable effort. "i'm ready for business now," he smiled, waving a hand to the foreman. "better look on and let the rest do the work," advised stallings, mounting his own tough pony and riding into the thick of the cutting out process. but tad butler could no more sit idly by while the exciting work was going on than could the foreman himself. the first steer that was cut out from the main herd, after stallings went back, found tad butler alongside of it, crowding it toward his own herd farther out. and this work he kept up until all the strangers had been separated from the diamond d stock. "there, i'm glad that job is done," exclaimed stallings, whipping off his hat and drawing a sleeve across his perspiring brow. "too bad i had to go and upset things so," said tad. "never mind. it's all in a day's work. on a cattle drive if it isn't one thing it's sure to be another. we have been lucky enough not to have a stampede thus far. that isn't saying we won't, however. if you feel like working you can ride up and join the point men. we'll make five or six miles before it is time to bed down the herd." to tad's companions was left the task of driving the strange cattle a couple of miles to the west and leaving them there. the boys could not well lose the main herd; for, no sooner had they started on the trail than a great cloud of dust slowly floated up into the air. tad, in his position near the head of the line, and well out to one side of it, was free from this annoyance. the longer the lad was in the saddle, the stronger he seemed to feel, and the only trace that was now left of his recent experience among the hoofs of the mexican steers was a bump on one side of his head almost as large as a hen's egg. it was near sundown when the foreman, who had ridden on ahead some time before, came back with the information that a broad stream that was not down on his map lay just ahead of them. "there's not more than thirty feet of swimming water there, and i believe i'll make a crossing before we go into camp," he announced briefly. "how deep is the water?" asked big-foot sanders. "in the middle, deep enough to drown, but on the edges it's fordable. the cows will be glad of a drink and a swim after the heat of to-day." with this in mind the cowmen were instructed to urge the cattle along at a little stronger pace, that they might all get well over before the night came on. the animals seemed to feel the presence of water ahead of them, for they ceased their grazing by the wayside and swung into a rapid pace, such a pace as always gladdens the heart of the cowboy. the steers held it until the rays of the setting sun were reflected on the surface of the broad sluggish stream. the pony riders dashed forward intent upon reaching the stream first. tad followed them upon receiving permission from the foreman to do so. the banks on each side were high and steep, making it far from an ideal fording place. stallings, however, thought it better to cross there than to take the time to work the herd further down. joining the boys, he cast his glance up and down the stream to decide whether his judgment had been correct. "i thought we were going to cross the river," said stacy brown. "that's exactly what we are going to do," replied the foreman. "but where's the bridge? i don't see any?" objected the lad. "right there in front of you." "where?" "chunky, there is no bridge," tad informed him. "we have to wade, just as the cattle will." "and swim, too, part of the way," added stallings. "but we'll get wet," wailed chunky. "no doubt about that," roared the foreman. "swim the river with our horses?" exclaimed ned. "hurrah! that will be great!" "i shall be glad to get some of this dust washed off me," laughed tad. "besides, the bump on my head will feel better for it, i think." "spread out, boys. the cattle are coming up on the run. they will push you into the river before you are ready if you happen to be in their way," warned stallings. the riders clucked to their ponies and all galloped up stream some distance that they might be well out of the way of the oncoming herd. the thirsty animals plunged into the water with a mighty splash. some forded until their feet could no longer touch the ground, after which they swam to the other side, while others paused to drink until those behind them forced them out into the stream also. in a few moments the stream was alive with swimming cattle, the herd being spread out for a full quarter of a mile up and down the stream. to the rear, yelling cowboys were urging on the stragglers and forcing the herd into the cool waters. it was an inspiring sight for the boys. here and there a cowman would ride his pony into the water and turn the leaders, who were straying too far up or down the river. after half an hour of watering, the men began to force the cattle to the opposite bank. there was a great scramble when the steers started to climb the steep bluff. the first ones to try it went half way up on a run. losing their footing they came tumbling to the foot of the bluff, knocking a number of the other cattle back into the water. there was much bellowing and floundering about, but the relentless forcing from the other side swept the unfortunate ones to the crest of the tide and up the steep bank. now that the loose dirt had slipped down the footing grew more secure, and the animals soon fell into trails of their own making, up which they crept three and four abreast. once on the other side they started to graze as contentedly as if they had not just passed through a most trying experience. two of the cowmen who had forded the stream further down, now appeared opposite the main fording place, to take charge of the cattle. "get across, boys," shouted the foreman. with an answering shout tad and ned slid their ponies down the sharp bluff, plunging into the water and heading straight across. "slip out of your saddles and hang on!" called the foreman. without an instant's hesitation the two boys slid into the water with a splash, but keeping tight hold on the pommels of their saddles. "let go the reins," directed stallings. "the ponies know where to go." now the lads were being drawn rapidly through the water, and almost before they knew it their feet rested on the bottom of the shallow stream a short distance from the opposite bank. "hooray!" shouted tad, waving his water-soaked sombrero. "come in. the water's great!" "come on, chunky," called ned. "i'll wait and go over in the wagon," decided chunky. "you'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the foreman. "you will swim, if you get over at all." professor zepplin, not to be outdone by his young charges, bravely rode his animal into the stream. the boys set up a shout of glee when he, too, finally dropped into the river with a great splash. instead, however, of allowing the pony to tow him, the professor propelled himself along with long powerful strokes of his left hand, while with the right he clung to the saddle pommel. "three cheers for professor zepplin!" cried tad as the german, dripping but smiling, emerged from the water and scrambled up the bank, leaving his pony to follow along after him. the cheers were given with a will. stacy brown, however, was still on the other side with the straggling cattle which were coming along in small bunches. "young man, if you expect to get in for supper, you'd better be fording the stream," suggested big-foot sanders. the mention of supper was all that stacy needed to start him. "gid-ap!" the pony slid down the bank on its haunches, stacy leaning far back in the saddle that he might not pitch over the animal's head. "chunky would make a good side hill rider, wouldn't he?" jeered ned. "depends upon whether he were going up or down," decided tad. "look out! there he goes!" exclaimed walter. the boy's mount had mired one foot in a quicksand pocket and had gone down on its knees. but chunky kept right on going. he hit the water flat on his stomach, arms and legs outspread, clawing and kicking desperately. the fat boy opened his mouth to cry out for help. as a result stacy swallowed all the water that came his way. floundering about like a drowning steer, choking and coughing, he disappeared from sight. chapter viii the approach of the storm "he's gone down!" cried a voice from the other side of the stream. tad sprang down the bank and leaped in, striking out for the spot where stacy had last been seen. cattle were scattered here and there and the boy had to keep his eyes open to prevent being run down. he had almost reached the place where he had made up his mind to dive, should stacy not rise to the surface, when a great shout from the bluff caused tad to turn. "wha--what is it?" he called. "look! look!" cried ned rector. "i don't see anything. is it chunky? is he all right?" "yes. he's driving oxen just now," answered ned. by this time the cowpunchers had joined in the shouting. tad could see, however, that they were shouting with merriment, though for the life of him he could not understand what there was to laugh about. several steers were between him and the spot on which the glances of the others were fixed. "come on in," called ned. the lad swam shoreward with slow, easy strokes. then he discovered what they were laughing at. stacy, grasping desperately as he went down, had caught the tail of a swimming steer. he had been quickly drawn to the surface, and out through an opening between the treading animals, appeared the fat boy's head. chunky was not swimming. he was allowing the steer to do that for him, clinging to its tail with all his strength. the lad's eyes were blinded for the moment by the water that was in them. he did not release his hold of the tail when they had reached the shore, but hung on desperately while the steer, dragging him along through the mire, scrambled up the bank. there was no telling how long stacy might have hung to the animal's tail, had not stallings grabbed him by the collar as he rose over the crest of the bank. stallings shook him until the water-soaked clothes sent out a miniature rain storm and the boy had coughed himself back to his normal condition. "well, you are a nice sort of cowboy," laughed the foreman. "when you are unable to do anything else to interest your friends, you try to drown yourself. go, shake yourself!" stacy rubbed the water from his eyes. "i--i fell in, didn't i?" he grinned. after having ferried the trail wagon over, everybody was ready for supper. no one seemed to mind the wetting he had gotten. professor zepplin made a joke of his own bedraggled condition, and the boys gave slight heed to theirs. the cattle were quickly bedded down and guards placed around them almost immediately, for the clouds were threatening. stallings' watchful eyes told him that a bad night was before them. how bad, perhaps he did not even dream. supper was ready a short time after the arrival of the wagon, and, laughing and joking, the boys gathered about the spread with a keen zest for the good things that had been placed before them. "do you boys feel like going out on guard to-night?" asked the foreman while they were eating. "i do for one," answered tad. "and i," chorused the rest of the lads. "i see your recent wetting has not dampened your spirits any," laughed stallings. "conditions make a lot of difference in the lives of all of us," announced the professor. "now, were these boys at home they'd all catch cold after what they have been through this afternoon. their clothes, as it is, will not be dry much before sunrise." "and perhaps not even then," added the foreman, with an apprehensive glance at the sky. "what did you say, mr. stallings?" "i am thinking that it looks like rain." "what do we do when it rains?" asked stacy brown. "same as any other time, kid," growled big-foot sanders. "i know; but what do you do?" persisted chunky. "young feller, we usually git wet," snapped curley adams, his mouth so full of potatoes that they could scarcely understand him. "he means where do we sleep?" spoke up tad. "oh, in the usual place," answered the foreman. "the only difference is that the bed is not quite so hard as at other times." "how's that, mr. stallings?" inquired walter. "because there's usually a puddle of water under you. i've woke up many a morning on the plains with only my head out of water. i'd a' been drowned if i hadn't had the saddle under my head for a pillow. however, it doesn't matter a great sight. after it has been raining a little while a fellow can't get any wetter, so what's the odds?" "that's what i say," added ned rector. stacy brown shook his head, disapproval plainly written on his face. "i don't agree with you. i have never been so wet that i couldn't be wetter." "how about when you came out of the river at the end of a cow's tail this afternoon? think you could have been any more wet?" jeered ned. "sure thing. i might have drowned; then i'd been wet on the inside as well as the outside," answered the fat boy, wisely, his reply causing a ripple of merriment all around the party. "i guess the gopher scored that time, eh?" grinned big-foot. that night stacy was sent out on the second guard from ten-thirty to one o'clock. they had found him asleep under the chuck wagon, whence he was hauled out, feet first, by one of the returning guards. tad had turned in early, as he was to be called shortly before one to go out with the third guard and to remain on duty till half-past three. for reasons of his own the foreman had given orders that all the ponies not on actual duty, that night, were to be staked down instead of being hobbled and turned out to graze. tad heard the order given, and noting the foreman's questioning glances at the heavens, imagined that it had something to do with weather conditions. "do you think mr. stallings is worried about the weather?" asked the lad of big-foot sanders, as he rode along beside the big cowman on the way to the bedding place of the herd. "i reckon he is," was the brief answer. "then you think we are going to have a storm?" "ever been through a texas storm?" asked big-foot by way of answering the boy's question. "no." "well, you won't call it a storm after you have. there ain't no name in the dictionary that exactly fits that kind of a critter. a stampede is a sunday in a country village as compared with one of them texas howlers. you'll be wishing you had a place to hide, in about a minute after that kind of a ruction starts." "are they so bad as that?" "well, almost," answered the cowman. "i've heard tell," he continued, "that they've been known to blow the horns off a mexican cow. why, you couldn't check one of them things with a three inch rope and a snubbing post." tad laughed at the quaintness of his companion's words. the sky near the horizon was a dull, leaden hue, though above their heads the stars twinkled reassuringly. "it doesn't look very threatening to me," decided tad butler, gazing intently toward the heavens. "well, here's where we split," announced the cowboy, riding off to the left of the herd, tad taking the right. shortly after the lad heard the big cowman break out in song: "two little niggers upstairs in bed, one turned ober to de oder an' said, how 'bout dat short'nin' bread, how 'bout dat short'nin' bread?" tad pulled up his pony and listened until the song had been finished. it was the cowpuncher's way of telling the herd that he had arrived and was on hand to guard them against trouble. "big-foot seems to have a new song to-night," mused tad. now the lad noticed that there was an oppressiveness about the air that had not been present before. a deep orange glow showed on the southern horizon for an instant, then settled back into the prairie, leaving the gloom about the young cowboy even more dense than it had been before. "feels spooky," was tad's comment. not being able to sing to his own satisfaction, tad shoved his hands deep into his trousers pockets and began whistling "old black joe." it was the most appropriate tune he could think of. "kind of fits the night," he explained to the pony, which was picking its way slowly about the great herd. then he resumed his whistling. the guards passed each other without a word, some being too sleepy; others too fully occupied with their own thoughts. the night, by this time, had grown intensely still, even the insects and night birds having hushed their weird songs. a flash more brilliant than the first attracted the lad's attention. "lightning," he muttered, glancing off to the south. "i guess mr. stallings was right about the storm." yet, directly overhead the stars still sparkled. in the distance tad saw the comforting flicker of the camp-fire, about which the cowmen were sleeping undisturbed by the oppressiveness of the night. "i guess the foreman knew what he was talking about when he said we were going to have a storm," repeated tad. "i wonder how the cattle will behave if things get lively." as if in answer to his question there came a stir among the animals on the side nearest him. tad began whistling at once and the cows quieted down. "they must like my whistling. it's the first time anything ever did," thought the lad. far over on the other side of the herd big-foot crooned to his charges the song of the "two little niggers upstairs in bed." "sanders' stock must be walking in their sleep, too. i wonder----" a brilliant flash lighted the entire heaven, causing tad butler to cut short the remark he was about to make. a deep rumble of thunder, that seemed to roll across the plain like some great wave, followed a few seconds later. the lad shivered slightly. he was not afraid. yet he realized that he was lonely, and wished that some of the other guards might come along to keep him company. glancing up, tad made the discovery that the small spot of clear sky had disappeared. by now he was unable to see anything. he made no effort to direct the pony, leaving it to the animal's instinct to keep a proper distance from the herd and follow its formation. the thunder gradually became louder and the flashes of lightning more frequent. the herd was disturbed. he could hear the cattle scrambling to their feet. now and then the sound of locking horns reached him as the beasts crowded their neighbors too closely in their efforts to move about. tad tried to sing, but gave it up and resumed his whistling. "i'm glad chunky is not out on this trick," thought the boy aloud. "i am afraid he would be riding back to camp as fast as his pony could carry him." no sooner had the words left his mouth than a flash, so brilliant that it blinded tad for the moment, lighted up the prairie. a crash which, as it seemed to him, must have split the earth wide open, followed almost instantly. another roar, different from that caused by the thunder, rose on the night air, accompanied by the suggestive rattle of meeting horns and the bellowing of frightened cattle. by this time tad had circled around to the west side of the herd. the instant this strange, startling noise reached him he halted his pony and listened. off to the north of him he saw the flash of a six-shooter. another answered it from his rear. then a succession of shots followed quickly one after the other. the lad began slowly to understand. he could hear the rush and thunder of thousands of hoofs. "the cattle are stampeding!" cried tad. chapter ix chased by a stampeding herd "whoa-oo-ope! whoa-oo-ope!" the long soothing cry echoed from guard to guard. it was the call of the cowman, in an effort to calm the frightened animals. here and there a gun would flash as the guards shot in front of the stampeding herd, hoping thereby to turn the rush and set the animals going about more in a circle in order to keep them together until they could finally be quieted. it was all a mad chaos of noise and excitement to the lad who sat in his saddle hesitatingly, not knowing exactly what was expected of him under the circumstances. off toward the camp a succession of flashes like fireflies told the cowpunchers on guard that their companions were racing to their assistance as fast as horseflesh could carry them. the storm had disturbed the herd from the instant of the first flash of lightning, and, as other flashes followed, the excitement of the animals increased until, at last, throwing off all restraint, they dashed blindly for the open prairie. desperately as the guards struggled to turn the herd, their efforts had no more effect than if they had been seeking to beat back the waves of the sea. tad was recalled to a realization of his position when, in a dazzling flash of lightning, he caught a momentary glimpse of big-foot sanders bearing down on him at a tremendous speed. tad saw something else, too--a surging mass of panic-stricken cattle, heads hanging low, horns glistening and eyes protruding, sweeping toward him. "ride! ride!" shouted big-foot. "wh--where?" asked tad in as strong a voice as he could command. "keep out of their way. work up to the point as soon as you can and try to point in the leaders. we've got to keep the herd from scattering. i'll stay in the center and lead them till the others get here. bob will send along some of the fellows to help you as soon as possible." while delivering his orders big-foot had turned his pony, and, with tad, was riding swiftly in advance of the cattle, in the same direction that they were traveling. to have paused where they were would have meant being crushed and trampled beneath the hoofs of the now maddened animals. "now, git!" tad pulled his pony slightly to the right. "use your gun!" shouted big-foot. "burn plenty of powder in front of their noses if they press you too closely!" he had forgotten that the lad did not carry a gun, nor did he realize that he was sending the boy into a situation of the direst peril. tad, by this time, had a pretty fair idea of the danger of the task that had been assigned to him. but he was not the boy to flinch in an emergency. pressing the rowels of his spurs against the flanks of the reaching pony and urging the little animal on with his voice, tad swept obliquely along in front of the herd. now and then a flash of lightning would show him a solid mass of cattle hurling themselves upon him. at such times the lad would swerve his mount to the left a little and shoot ahead for a few moments, in an attempt to get sufficient lead of them to enable him to reach the right or upper end of the line. in this way tad butler soon gained the outside of the leaders. by dropping back and working up the line, he pointed them in to the best of his ability. the lightning got into his eyes as he strained them wide open to take account of his surroundings. he would pass a hand over his face instinctively, as if to brush the flash away, groping for an instant for his bearings after he had done so. he remembered what bob stallings had said in speaking of a stampede. "keep them straight and hold them together. that's all you can do. you can't stop them," the foreman had said. the lad was doing this now as best he could, yet he wondered that none of the cowmen had come to his assistance. again and again did tad butler throw his pony against the great unreasoning wave on the right of the line, and again and again was he buffeted back, only to return to the battle with desperate courage. all at once the lad found himself almost surrounded by the beasts. a lightning flash had shown him this at the right time. had it been a few seconds later tad must have gone down under their irresistible rush. the pony, seeming to realize the danger fully as much as did its rider, bent every muscle in its little body to bear itself and rider to safety. yet try as they would, they were unable to get back to the right point to take up the turning work again. the cattle had closed in about the lad in almost a crescent formation, tad's position being about the center of it. "whoa-oo-ope! whoa-oo-ope!" shouted tad, taking up the cry that he had heard the cowboys utter earlier in the stampede. his voice was lost in the roar of the storm and the thunder of the rushing herd. tad realized that there was only one thing left for him to do. that was to keep straight ahead and ride. he would have to ride fast, too, if he were to keep clear of the long-legged mexican cattle. they were descending a gradual slope that led down into a broad, sandy arroyo where still stood the rotting stumps of oak and cottonwood trees that once lined the ancient water course. by this time the main herd lay to the rear nearly two miles, the cattle having separated into several bands. however, the lad was unaware of this. suddenly, in the darkness, rider and pony crashed into a dense mesquite thicket. there was not a second to hesitate, for they were already in. the leading cattle tore in after tad with a crashing of brush and a rattle of horns--sounds that sent a chill up and down his spine in spite of all the lad's sturdy courage. the herd was closing in on him, leaving the boy no alternative but to go through the thicket himself, and to go fast at that. tad formed his plan instantly. he made up his mind to ride it out and let his pony have its own way. yet the boy never expected to come through the mesquite thicket without being swept from his pony and trampled under the feet of the savage steers. he gave the pony a free rein, clutched both cantle and pommel of the saddle and braced himself for the shock that he was sure would come. the cow pony tore through the growth at a fearful pace, while the boy's clothes hung in shreds where they had been raked by the mesquite thorns. all at once tad felt himself going through the air with a different motion. he realized that he was falling. the pony had stumbled and with its rider was plunging headlong to the ground. the cattle were thundering down upon them. chapter x a miraculous escape "that settles me!" said the lad bitterly. the next instant he hit the ground with a force that partially stunned him. his pony, whose nose had ploughed the ground, was up like a flash. realizing its danger, the little animal gave a snort and plunged into the mesquite, leaving its rider lying on the ground with a fair prospect of being crushed to death beneath, the hoofs of the stampeding steers. tad recovered himself almost instantly. his first instinct was to run, in the hope of overtaking the fleeing pony. "that'll be sure death," he told himself. the cattle were almost upon him. if he were to do anything to save himself he would have to act quickly. it came to him suddenly that what the pony had fallen over might be made to act as a shield for himself. the boy sprang forward, groping in the dark amid the roaring of the storm and the thunder of the maddened herd. his hands touched a log. he found that it had so rotted away on one side as to make a partial shell. it was not enough to admit a human body, but it served as a sort of screen for him. tad burrowed into it as far as he could get. "i hope there are no snakes in here," he thought, snuggling close. yet between the two he preferred to take his chances with snakes, at that moment, rather than with the crazy steers. the leaders of the steers cleared the log, just grazing it with their hind feet as they went over, sending a shower of dust and decayed wood over tad. the cattle immediately following the leaders did not fare so well. a number of them, leaping over the log at the same instant, fell headlong as the pony had done before them. however, the steers were less fortunate. before they were able to scramble to their feet, others following had tumbled over on top of them, and tad butler found himself wedged in behind a barricade of bellowing cattle, whose flying hoofs made him hastily burrow deeper into the decayed log. this obstruction soon caused the main body to swerve. their solid front had been broken at last, yet they continued on as wildly as before, bellowing and horning one another in their mad flight. the rain, which had held back during the brilliant electrical display, now came down in drenching torrents, packing down the sand of the plain which the wind, before, had picked up and tossed into the air in dense clouds. tad was soaked to the skin almost instantly. but he did not mind this. his thought, now, was to get out of his perilous position and follow the herd. the cattle that had fallen so near him, were now one by one extricating themselves from their predicament, each one giving vent to a bellow as it did so and dashing after its companions. the lad was not slow to crawl from his hiding place the moment he considered it safe to do so. as it was, he got away before the snarl of steers had entirely unraveled itself. what to do tad did not know. his pony gone, and, with no sense of direction left, he was in sore straits. "i'll follow the cattle," he decided. "besides, it's my business to stay with them if i can. i'll do it as long as i've got a leg to stand on," he declared, cautiously working around those of the cattle that were leaping from the heap and running away. the mesquite was still full of stragglers dashing wildly here and there. in the darkness, the boy was really in great danger. there were no large trees behind which he could dodge to get out of the way of the animals as they rushed toward him, nor was he able to see them when they did get near him. he was obliged to judge of their direction by sound alone. this was made doubly difficult since the rain had begun to fall, for now, young butler could scarcely distinguish one sound from another. once a plunging steer hit the lad a glancing blow with its great side, hurling him into a thicket of bristling mesquite. the thorns gashed his face and body, almost stripping the remnants of his tattered clothes from him. still, with indomitable pluck, the lad sprang to his feet, stubbornly working his way through the thicket. he came out finally on the other side and floundering about for a time, found himself once more on a plain, which he had observed in the light from a flash of lightning extended away indefinitely. off to the west, he plainly made out a large body of cattle. apparently they were now headed to the northwest. it was almost a hopeless task for one to expect to be able to overhaul them on foot, and even were he to do so he could accomplish nothing after reaching them. but tad kept on just the same, with the rain beating him until he was gasping for breath, the lightning playing about him in lingering sheets of yellow flame. he had run on in this way for fully half an hour when a flash disclosed an object to the right of him. it was moving, but tad was sure it was not a steer. the boy changed his course somewhat and trotted along with more caution, shading his eyes with a hand that he might make out what it was when the next flash came. "it's a pony!" he shouted. "it's my pony!" the animal was standing with lowered head, gazing straight at the boy. tad whistled and called with a long drawn "whoa-oo-ope!" the pony made no move to approach, nor did it attempt to run away. but tad had had experience enough with the cow ponies by this time to know that the animal was not likely to stand still and permit him to come up with it. at any moment it was likely to kick its heels in the air and dash away. "i've got to make a run for him," decided the lad, stepping cautiously forward, making a slight detour that he might come up from the animal's left instead of approaching him directly from the front. after having done this, tad waited, crouching low. he chuckled to himself as he observed that the pony was looking straight ahead, not having discovered his master's new position. the boy was not more than two rods from him. measuring the distance with his eyes, he waited until the lightning flash died out, then ran on his toes straight for where he believed the horse was standing. it was tad's purpose to grab the animal about the neck. instead he ran straight against the pony's side with a resounding bump. the pony uttered a grunt of fear, springing straight up into the air. "whoa, barney!" coaxed the lad. but barney had no idea of obeying the command at that moment. it is doubtful if, in the fright of the sudden collision, he even understood what was wanted of him. tad's hands had missed the neck. instead they had grasped the pommel and cantle of the saddle, so that when the pony leaped, tad's feet were jerked clear of the ground. as the animal came down on all fours, tad threw himself into the saddle. instantly the pony's back arched, and, with a cough, it went off into a series of bucks, twisting, whirling and making desperate efforts to unseat its rider. for the first few minutes the lad could do no more than hold on. at the first opportunity, however, he let go of the pommel long enough to reach forward and pick up the reins, which hung well down on the pony's neck. "now, buck, barney, you rascal!" shouted tad gleefully, giving a gentle pressure with the spurs. barney at once decided to stop bucking. tad clucked to him and shook out the reins. away they went on the trail of the cattle, heading to the northwest, where the lad could plainly see them running. at the pace the pony was going they were able to overhaul the herd in a short time. tad had clung to his quirt when he was thrown. reaching the head of the line of charging beasts, he rode straight at the leaders, bringing the quirt again and again across the noses of those nearest to him. this treatment served to deflect the line a little; yet, try as he would, tad seemed unable to turn the bunch toward home. yet he kept steadily at his work, "milling" the steers, as the turning process is called, until pony and rider were well-nigh exhausted. tad knew he was a long way from camp and alone with the herd. after a time the animals seemed to him to be slackening their speed. discovering this, he untied the slicker or rubber blanket from the saddle cantle, and, riding against the leaders again, flaunted the slicker in their faces, shouting and urging at the same time. "if i had a gun i believe i could stop them right away," he said. "but i'm going to turn them if it's the last thing i ever do." the fury of the storm was abating and the lightning flashes were becoming less frequent. now that he had succeeded in turning the point of the herd, it proved much easier to keep them under control. besides, it gave both boy and pony a breathing spell. the hard riding was not now necessary. round and round young butler kept the herd circling for nearly an hour. the steers, moving more and more slowly, tad concluded wisely that they were growing tired of this and that they would quiet down. his judgment proved correct. the storm passed. he could hear it roaring off to the northwest where the lightning flamed up in intermittent flashes. "wonder what time it is," queried tad aloud, searching about in his clothes for his watch. "pshaw, i've lost it," he exclaimed. "well, it is not so much of a loss after all. i paid only a dollar for it and i've had more than a dollar's worth of fun to-night. i wonder what i look like. i must be a sight." it now lacked only an hour of dawn, but, of course, the boy did not know this. in the darkness preceding the dawn he had no idea of the size of the bunch of cattle that he had led out over the plain. he knew it must be large, however. at last daybreak was at hand, the landscape and the herd being faintly outlined in the thin morning light. tad was surprised to find that he had milled the cattle into a compact bunch. now the boy began galloping around the herd, speaking words of encouragement to the animals as he went, whistling and trying to sing, until finally he was rewarded by seeing some of them begin to graze. "i've done it," shouted tad gleefully. "i've bagged the whole bunch. i wonder what mr. stallings will say to that. i don't believe big-foot sanders could beat that. the next question is, where am i? i don't know. i guess i'm lost for sure. but i've got lots of company." to add to his perplexity, a light fog was drifting over the plain from the southeast, shutting out what little view there was in the early morning light. the cattle were now grazing as contentedly as if they never had known such an experience as a stampede. it was useless, however, to attempt to drive them, for he might be leading them away from camp instead of toward it. tad was wet and hungry, and now that he was able to get a look at himself, he discovered that his belt was about the only whole thing left of his equipment. scarcely a vestige of his trousers remained; his shirt hung in ribbons, his hat was lost and his leggins had been stripped off clean. tad laughed heartily as he surveyed himself. "well, i am a sight! i guess i shall need a whole new harness before i drive cattle much more." all he could do now was to wait for the sun to rise. then, he might be able to determine something about his position. but the sun was a long time in making its appearance that day. chapter xi the vigil on the plains "i wish i had a drink of water," said tad after some hours had passed. instead of drifting away, the fog had become more dense. he could see only part of the herd now. however, as they showed no disposition to run, tad felt no concern in that direction. he was obliged to ride around the herd more frequently than would otherwise have been the case, in order to keep the straying ones well rounded in. the hours passed slowly, and with their passing tad's appetite grew. he sat on his pony, enviously watching the cattle filling their stomachs with the wet grass. "i almost wish i were a steer," declared tad. "i could at least satisfy my hunger." then the lad once more took up his weary round. off to the eastward, all was still excitement. the herd had broken up into many parts during the stampede and the cowmen were having a hard time in rounding up the scattered bunches. a few of them had succeeded in working some of the animals back to the bedding ground of the previous night, where the animals were left in charge of one man. with the coming of the morning and the fog, which blanketed everything, their work became doubly difficult. the storm had wiped out almost all traces of the trail made by the different herds in their escape, until even an indian would have been perplexed in an effort to follow them. "who is missing?" asked stallings, riding into camp after a fruitless search for his cattle. "tad butler, for one," answered walter perkins. "let's see. he was on guard with big-foot sanders," mused the foreman. "big-foot has not shown up, so the young man probably is with him. no need to worry about them. big-foot knows this country like a book. you can't lose him. then there's curley adams and lumpy bates to come in yet. i can see us eating our thanksgiving dinner on the trail if this thing keeps up much longer." yet, despite these discouragements, the foreman kept his temper and his head. "is there nothing we can do toward finding the boy?" asked professor zepplin anxiously. "does it look like it?" answered stallings, motioning toward the fog that lay over them like a dull, gray, cheerless blanket. late in the afternoon curley and lumpy came straggling into camp with the remnants of the herd, with which they had raced out hours before. an hour afterwards, big-foot sanders drove in with a bunch of two hundred more. "where's the pinto?" asked stallings as big-foot rode up to the trail wagon and reported. "the pinto? why, i haven't seen the kid since the bunch started on the rampage last night. i thought he was with me on the other end of the herd. hasn't he come in yet?" "no." "then the kid's lost. all the cows back?" "i don't know. i'll look over the herd and make an estimate. you come along with me." together the foreman and the big cowman rode out to the grazing ground, where they circled the great herd, glancing critically over them as they rode. "what do you think?" asked big-foot as they completed the circuit of the herd. "i should say we were close to five hundred head short," decided the foreman. "how does it look to you?" "i reckon you're about right. suffering cats, but that was a run! never saw a bunch scatter so in my life." "couldn't be helped. the night was so dark you couldn't tell whether you had a hundred or a thousand with you. did you strike any cross trails while you were coming in!" "nary a one--not in the direction i came from. if i'd kept on last night, at the rate i was going, i'd have rounded up in wyoming some time to-day i reckon. sorry the pinto's strayed away. he'll have a time of it finding his way back. reckon we won't see the kid again this trip," decided big-foot. "we've got to," answered the foreman sharply. "we don't move from this bed till he's been picked up, even if it takes all summer." "you--you don't reckon he's with that other bunch, do you?" "i shouldn't be surprised. the boy has pluck and i have an idea that if he got in with a lot of cows he'd stick to them till the pony went down under him." "more'n likely that's what happened. i'll tell you what we had better do----" "get all the boys together who are not needed on guard," interrupted stallings. "let them circle out to the west and southwest and shoot. have each man fire a shot every five minutes by the watch as they move out. that will keep them in touch with each other, and will act as a guide to the kid if he happens to be within hearing." "how far shall we go?" "half an hour out. it's not safe to leave the herd any longer unless the fog clears away. as soon as that goes we'll organize a regular search. i want those cows, and i want to find the boy." the men quickly mounted their ponies and disappeared in the fog, following the orders given by the foreman. after a time those in camp could faintly hear the distant cracks of the cowpunchers' pistols as they fired their signals into the air. in the meantime tad butler was keeping his lonely vigil on the fogbound plains many miles away. the fog was still hovering over the herd as the afternoon waned, and the lad's body was dripping wet from it. occasionally he brushed a hand across his face, wiping away the moisture. darkness settled down earlier than usual that night. yet, to the boy's great relief, the fog lifted shortly afterwards and the stars came out brightly. with the skill of an old cowman tad had bedded down the herd and began to ride slowly about them, whistling vigorously. his face ached from the constant puckering of his lips, and his wounds gave him considerable pain. yet he lost none of his cheerfulness. at times tad found himself drooping in his saddle as his sleepiness overcame him. but he fought the temptation to doze by talking to himself and bringing the quirt sharply against his legs. "tad butler, don't you dare to go to sleep!" he warned himself. "it's the first real duty you have had to perform, so you're not going to make a mess of it. my, but i'm hungry!" from that on the boy never allowed his eyelids to drop, though at times they felt as if weighted down with lead. after what seemed an eternity, the gray dawn appeared on the eastern horizon. immediately tad began routing out the cows that they might have an opportunity to graze before the rising of the sun. it was his intention to point them toward where he believed the camp to be the moment they had grazed to their satisfaction. until then it would not be wise to start the animals on their course. about six o'clock, deciding that they had eaten enough, tad began galloping up and down, shouting and applying his quirt here and there to the backs of the cows. it was slow work for one lone horseman to start five hundred cattle on the trail. yet, after half an hour of effort, he had the satisfaction of seeing them begin to move. "whoop!" shouted the boy. "i'm a real cowboy this time!" yet his task was more difficult than he had imagined it could be. while he was urging on one part of the herd, the others would lag by the wayside and begin to graze. constant effort and continual moving about at high speed on his part, were necessary to keep up any sort of movement among the cattle. the lad headed as nearly as possible for the southeast, believing that he had come from that direction. at the same time a party had set out from the camp in search of young butler. they had laid their course more toward the southwest. holding these directions the two parties would not come within some miles of each other. tad's eyes were continually sweeping the plains in hope of discovering a horseman or some signs of the main herd, which he was sure must have been rounded up long before. not a trace of them could he discover. once the boy straightened up in his saddle believing he had heard the report of a gun. after listening for some time he came to the conclusion that he had been in error. "i guess it's my stomach imagining things," grinned tad butler. he had now been out for two nights, and was now well along on the second day. during all that time he had not had a mouthful to eat. his lips were dry and parched; his throat burned fearfully. still, he kept resolutely on. about two o'clock in the afternoon the herd came upon a clump of trees. tad at sight of it, spurred his pony on, attracted by the greenness of the grass about the place, hoping that he might find a spring. but he was doomed to disappointment. there was no sign of water to be found. with almost a sob in his throat the boy swung himself into his saddle again. "barney, you and i ought to be camels. then we could carry all the water we need," he told the pony. "if we don't find some pretty soon i reckon we'll dry up and blow away. gid-ap, barney!" once more the lad began his monotonous pounding back and forth along the side of the herd which was now spread out over a full half mile of territory, urging with all his strength in order to get the animals to quicken their pace. in the camp, stallings and the others had begun to show their worriment. not a trace had been found of boy or herd. the main hope of the foreman was that tad might come upon a ranch or a town somewhere, in his course, and in that way get help to direct him back to camp. as for the cattle, he feared that they had become so split up that it would be well-nigh impossible to get them together again. during the whole afternoon, bob stallings had been riding about his own herd, sweeping the plain with a pair of field glasses. a speck of dust far to the northwest suddenly attracted his attention. stallings halted his pony, and, sitting in his saddle almost motionless, gazed intently at the tiny point that had come within range of his vision. "i wonder what that is," mused the foreman. "it can't be any of our party, for they would not be likely to be away off there--that is, unless they have rounded up the bunch." stallings, after a while, wheeled his pony and dashed back to camp. "if any of the men come in, tell them to head northwest and come on as fast as they can." "do you see anything?" asked the professor anxiously. "i don't know. i hope i do," answered the foreman, leaping into his saddle and putting spurs to his mount. "it may be some other herd crossing the state," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the speck that was slowly developing into a miniature cloud. the foreman urged his pony to its best pace, and, in the course of half an hour he was able to make out a herd of cattle. that was all he could tell about it. however, it was not long before he discovered a lone horseman working up and down the herd. stallings was in too great a hurry to use his glasses now. he was driving his pony straight at the yellow mark off there on the plain, without swerving or appearing to exert any pressure at all on the bridle rein. "it's the pinto, as i'm alive!" he breathed. the horseman with the herd saw him now, and rising in his saddle, waved a hand at the foreman. in a few moments stallings came rushing up with a shout of joy. [illustration: good for you, kid!] "good for you, kid! how are you?" "baked to a turn," answered tad hoarsely, but with face lighting up joyously. "i never was so thirsty in my life." "what? haven't you had anything to drink?" "not a drop in two days." "great heavens, boy! you head that pony for camp mighty quick. ride for it! you will have no difficulty in following my trail back. don't drink much at a time. take it in little sips," commanded the foreman in short, jerky sentences. "yes, but what about the herd?" asked tad butler. "never you mind the herd. i'll see to them. you move!" stallings noticed that the boy sat in his saddle very straight, and he knew well enough the effort it cost him to do so. "i think i'll stay," answered the lad after a moment of indecision. "you'll go!" tad shook his head. "i've pulled them through, even if i have had quite a time of it. now i'm going to stay with them. i guess i can stand it as well as any of your men could under similar circumstances. they wouldn't desert the herd, would they?" stallings glanced at him sharply. "all right," he said. "if you insist upon it. by good rights i ought to order you in. but i understand just how you feel, kid. here, take a drink of this brandy. it will brace you up," said the foreman, producing a flask from his pocket. "i keep it for emergencies, as the men are not allowed to use it while on duty." "thank you," answered the boy, with an emphatic shake of the head. "i don't drink." "i understand. but this is medicine," urged the foreman. "it will set you right up." "i haven't the least doubt of it," grinned the boy. "but i don't want to be set up that way. you'll excuse me, mr. stallings. don't urge me, please." the foreman replaced the flask in his pocket, a queer smile flickering about the corners of his mouth. "you are the right stuff, kid," he muttered. "if you stayed in this business you'd be a foreman before you knew it. you are a heap sight better than a lot of them now. fall in. i'll ride around on the other side of the herd, and urge them along from the rear. you ride up to the right of the line and keep them pointed. follow our trail. you will make out the main herd very soon." with renewed strength, tad went at his work, though it was with an effort that he kept his saddle. he was afraid he must collapse before reaching the camp, and his straining eyes kept searching for the herd and the white-topped wagon that he knew held what he needed most of all at that moment--drink and food! soon tad and the foreman made out a rising cloud of dust approaching them at a rapid rate. stallings waved his hand toward the cloud and nodded to tad, being too far away to call. the lad shook his head in reply. he understood what the foreman meant. men were coming to their assistance and the boy was to push on for camp alone. the cowpunchers began to laugh as they rode up and observed the boy's tattered condition. "so the pinto got a dose this time, eh?" jeered lumpy bates. "you shut up!" snarled big-foot sanders, turning on him menacingly. "he's brought them cows back, and i'll bet a new saddle it's more'n you could have done. don't you see the kid's near all in? here you, pinto, you hike for camp!" he shouted. "i'm staying with the cattle," announced tad, firmly. "cattle nothing. it's the camp for yours and mighty quick!" without waiting for argument big-foot grasped the reins of tad's bridle and whirling his own mount about, galloped away, fairly dragging tad butler and his tired pony after him. with no reins in his hands the boy was powerless to interfere. all he could do was to sit in his saddle and be towed into camp. "please don't take me in this way. let me ride in," he begged as they neared the camp. "all right," laughed big-foot, slacking up and tossing the reins back over the pony's neck. "it's a terrible thing to be proud, when a fellow's down and out. but i want to say one thing, kid." "yes?" "there ain't a gamer critter standing on two hoofs than you--bar none. and that goes." tad laughed happily. "i haven't done anything. i----" "haven't done anything?" growled big-foot, riding close and peering down into the boy's scarred and grimy face. "say, don't pass that out to the bunch. lumpy'll say you're fishin' for compliments. i don't want to thump him, but, if he passes out any talk as reflects on what you've done for this outfit, i'll thrash him proper." they were now so near to the camp that the professor and the boys were able to recognize the horsemen. they set up a great shout. "meet me with a pail of water," yelled tad. "i'm hot." pong heard him and almost immediately emerged from the chuck wagon with a tin pail full of water. "throw it on me, quick," commanded the lad, leaping from his pony. pong tipped the pail and was about to dash it over the lad when big-foot suddenly freed a foot from the stirrup. he gave the pail a powerful kick sending it several feet from him, its contents spilling over the ground. "you idiot! you fool heathen!" roared big-foot. "the pinto didn't say he wanted boiling hot water thrown on him. he said he was hot. if you wasn't the cook of this outfit, and we'd all starve to death without you, i'd shoot you plumb full of holes, you blooming idiot of a heathen chinee!" "allee same," chuckled pong, showing his gleaming teeth. "what! you climb into that wagon before i forget you're the cook!" fumed big-foot, jumping his pony threateningly toward the chinaman. pong leaped into the protection of his wagon. "boys," said the big cowman, "the pinto has come back with the crazy steers. he's rounded up the whole bunch and never lost a critter. look at him, if you don't believe me. ain't he a sight?" tad smiled proudly as he sipped the water which one of the boys had brought to him. "any man as says he ain't a sight has got a fight on with big-foot sanders. and that goes, too!" announced the cowman, glaring about him. "three cheers for tad butler, champion cowpuncher!" cried ned rector. "hooray!" bellowed big-foot. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" "hip-hip, hooray!" chorused the boys, hurling their sombreros into the air. their wild yells and cat calls made the cattle off on the grazing grounds raise their heads in wonder. "allee same likee this," chuckled the grinning chinaman from the front end of the chuck wagon, at the same time making motions as if he, too, were cheering. the boys roared with laughter. big-foot sanders grunted and turned his back on the grinning face of pong. "one of these days i sure will forget that heathen's the cook," he growled. chapter xii under a strange influence "we will move to-morrow shortly after daybreak," announced the foreman at supper that night. "will you put me on the fourth guard this evening, mr. stallings?" asked tad butler. "you take the fourth guard? a cowpuncher who hasn't had a wink in more than two days? why, i wouldn't ask a steer to do that! no kid, you roll up in your blankets and sleep until the cook routs you out for breakfast." "i'll take my trick just the same. i can sleep at home when i get back. i don't want to miss a minute of this fun," returned tad. "fun--he calls it fun!" grunted lumpy. "it's just the beginning of the fun," answered big-foot. "i knew things would begin to happen when we got near the nueces." "why?" asked ned rector. "i don't know. there seems to be some queer influence at work round these parts. last time i was over this part of the trail we had a stampede almost every night for a week. two months ago i heard of an outfit that lost more'n half its stock." "how about it, mr. stallings?" laughed tad. "are you superstitious, too?" the boys noted that the foreman frowned and would not answer at once. "not exactly. big-foot means the adobe church of san miguel." "what's that?" interrupted chunky. "an old mexican church on the plains. probably hasn't been used for a hundred years or more. you boys will have a chance to explore the place. it's not far from the ox bow ranch, where we take in another herd. we shall be there a couple of days or so until the cattle get acquainted. besides, we shall have to buy some fresh ponies. four of ours broke their legs in the stampede and had to be shot." "oh, that's too bad," answered tad. "i'm sorry. i don't like to see a horse get hurt." "no more do i, master tad. but in this business it is bound to happen. i think we shall be able to get some green bronchos. they usually have a bunch of them at the ox bow ranch. you will see some fun when we break them in," laughed the foreman. "i think i should like to take a hand in that myself. but i am anxious to hear more about the haunted church." "who said anything about a haunted church?" demanded stacy brown. "the gopher is right. the church isn't haunted. it just happens that cowmen fall into a run of hard luck in that neighborhood now and then." "do you believe in spooks, mr. stallings!" asked walter. "never having seen one, i don't know whether i do or not. were i to see one i might believe in them," laughed the foreman. "i saw a ghost once," began stacy brown. "never mind explaining about it," objected ned. "we'll take your word for it and let it go at that." tad butler had gotten into a fresh change of clothes after having taken a bath in a wash tub behind the trail wagon. his wounds pained him, and he was sleepy, so the lad turned in shortly after his supper, and was soon sound asleep. nothing occurred to disturb the camp that night, and when finally tad was awakened to take his watch, it seemed as if he had been asleep only a few minutes. however, he sprang up wide awake and ready for the work ahead of him. as usual, he went out with big-foot. a warm friendship had sprung up between the big cowboy and tad butler. they were together much of the time when their duties permitted. "is there any truth in that spook story?" asked tad, as the two rode slowly out to where the herd was bedded down. big-foot hesitated. "you can call it whatever you want to. i only know that things happen to most every outfit that gets within a hundred miles of the place. why, out at the ox bow ranch, they have the worst luck of any cattle place in the state. if it wasn't for the fact that they keep their cows fenced in with wire fences, they wouldn't have a critter on the place." "but, i don't understand," protested tad. "i don't seem to get it through my head what it is that causes all the trouble you tell me about." "no more does anybody else. they just know that hard luck is lying around waiting for them when they get near and that's all they know about it." "when shall we be near there?" asked tad butler. "we are near enough now. our troubles have begun already. herd stampeded. ponies broke their legs and had to be shot. nobody knows what else will break loose before we get a hundred miles further on." "i am anxious to see the place," commented tad. "you won't be after you've been there. i worked on a cow herd near the place two years ago." "yes?" "well, i got out after i'd been pitched off my pony and got a broken leg. that was only one of the things that happened to me, but it was enough. i got out. and here i am running my head right into trouble again. say, kid!" "yes." "you'd better ask the herr professor to let you carry a gun. you'll need it." "what for--to lay ghosts with?" laughed the boy. "well, mebby something of that sort." "don't need it. i guess my fists will lay out any kind of a ghost that i run against. if they won't, no gun will do any good. i don't believe in a boy's carrying a pistol in his pocket. it will get him into more trouble than it will get him out of." "well, that's some horseback sense," grunted big-foot. "i never built up against that idee before, but i reckon it's right. we don't need 'em much either, except to frighten the cows with when they start on a stampede, and----" "it doesn't seem to stop them," retorted tad, with a little malicious smile. "it strikes me that a boy without a gun can stop a runaway herd about as quickly as can a cowboy with one." "right again, my little pardner. scored a bull's-eye that time. i guess big-foot sanders hasn't any call to be arguing with you." "we were talking about spooks," the boy reminded him. "i am anxious to see that church. i've wanted to see one all my life----" "what? a church?" "no; a spook." "oh! can't promise to show you nothing of the sort. but i'll agree to stack you up against a run of hard luck that will make you wobbly on your legs." "that will be nothing new, big-foot. i've had that already." "sure thing. that's the beginning of the trouble. as i was saying before, we don't need the guns for any other reason unless it's against cattle rustlers. sometimes they steal cattle these days, but not so much as they did in the early days of the cattle business." "think we will meet any rustlers?" asked tad, with sudden interest. "nary a rustler will tackle this herd. first place, we are not yet in the country where they can work profitably----" "where's that?" "oh, anywhere where there's mountains for them to hide in. i'll show you where the rustlers used to work, when we get further along on the trail. but, as i was saying, there are no rustlers hereabouts." "oh," answered tad butler, somewhat regretfully. "you never mind about hunting trouble. trouble is coming to this outfit good and plenty, and i reckon a kid like you will be in the middle of it, too. you ain't the kind that goes sneaking for cover when things are lively. i saw that the other night. stallings is going to write to boss miller about the way you stuck to the herd when it ran away." "what for?" "i dunno. guess 'cause he knows it'll make the old man smile. we boys will come in for an extra fiver at the end of the trip, for saving the herd, i reckon." "that's where you have the best of me," laughed tad. "no fives for me. i get my pay out of the fun i am having. i think i am overpaid at that. well, so long, big-foot," announced the lad as they finally reached the herd. "so long," answered the cowman, turning his pony off to take the opposite side of the sleeping cattle. in a few moments tad heard his strident voice singing to the herd again. the hours passed more quickly than had been the case the last time tad was on guard, for he had much to think of and to wonder over. daybreak had arrived almost before he knew it and the call for breakfast sounded across the plain. as soon as he had been relieved, tad butler galloped back to camp, bright-eyed and full of anticipation, both for the meal and for the ride that was before them that day. corn cakes were on the bill of fare that morning and the pony riders shouted with glee when they discovered what pong had prepared for them. "bring on the black strap," called stallings. stacy brown glanced at the foreman suspiciously. "why do you want a black strap for breakfast?" he demanded. "to put on the corn cakes of course, boy," laughed stallings. "i've heard of using a black strap to hitch horses with----" "and to correct unruly boys," added professor zepplin. "but i never did hear of eating it on corn cakes." everybody laughed at chunky's objection. "you will eat this strap when you see it," answered stallings, taking a jug from the hands of the chinaman and pouring some of its contents over the cakes on his plate. "what is it!" asked ned rector. "molasses. it's what we call black strap. help yourselves. never mind the gopher there. he never eats black straps for breakfast," the foreman jeered. "here, i want some of that," demanded stacy, half-rising and reaching for the jug. "my, but it's good!" he decided with his mouth full. "that's all right," answered walter. "but please do not forget that there are some others in this outfit who like cakes and molasses. please pass that jug this way." "yes, the pony won't be able to carry him to-day if he keeps on for ten minutes more, at the rate he's been going," laughed ned rector. "i never did have any sort of use for a glutton." "neither did i," added chunky solemnly, at which both pony riders and cowboys roared with laughter. "going to be another scorcher," decided the foreman, rising and surveying the skies critically. "we shall not be able to make very good time, i fear." "when do you expect to reach the nueces river?" asked the professor. "i had hoped to get there by to-morrow. however, it doesn't look as if we should be able to do so if it comes off so hot." "is the nueces a large river?" asked walter. "sometimes. and it is a lively stream when there happens to be a freshet and both forks are pouring a flood down into it. we will try to bed down near the river and you boys can have some sport swimming. do all of you swim?" "yes," they chorused. "that's good. the cowpunchers will have a time of it, too." "i can float," stacy brown informed him eagerly. "so could i if i were as fat as you. i could float all day," retorted ned rector. "you couldn't sink if you were to fill your pockets with stones. there is some advantage in being fat, anyway." "he didn't seem to float the day he fell in among the steers," said one of the cowboys. "that isn't fair," interrupted stallings. "the steers put the gopher under, that day. any of you would have gone down with a mob of cows piling on top of you." "the river is near the church you were telling me about, isn't it?" inquired tad of big-foot in a low tone. sanders nodded solemnly. tad's eyes sparkled eagerly. he finished his breakfast rather hurriedly and rose from the table. as he walked away he met the horse wrangler bringing the day ponies. the lad quickly saddled his own mount after a lively little struggle and much squealing and bucking from the pony. tad was eager to reach the river and get sight of the mysterious church beyond. yet, he did not dream of the thrilling experiences that were awaiting them all at the very doors of the church of san miguel. chapter xiii chunky ropes a cowboy "wow! help! help!" the herd had been moving on for several hours, grazing comfortably along the trail, when the sudden yell startled the entire outfit. the cowboys reined in their ponies and grasped their quirts firmly, fully expecting that another stampede was before them. instead, they saw stacy brown riding away from the herd, urging his pony to its best speed. right behind him, with lowered head and elevated tail was a white muley, evidently chasing the lad. what the boy had done to thus enrage the animal no one seemed to know. however, it was as pretty a race as they had seen thus far on the drive. "point him back! he can't hurt you!" shouted the foreman. instead of obeying the command, stacy brought down his quirt on the pony, causing the little animal to leap away across the plain in a straight line. the cowboys were shouting with laughter at the funny spectacle. "somebody get after that steer!" roared the foreman. "the boy never will stop as long as the critter keeps following him, and we'll have the herd following them before we know it." "i'll go, if you wish," said tad butler. "then go ahead. got your rope?" "yes." "it'll be good practice for you." tad was off like a shot, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. "that boy's got the making of a great cowpuncher in him," said the foreman, nodding his head approvingly. tad's pony was the swifter of the two, and besides, he was riding on an oblique line toward the runaway outfit. it was the first opportunity the lad had had to show off his skill as a cowman, for none had seen his pointing of the herd on the night of the stampede. he was burning with impatience to get within roping distance of the steer before they got so far away that the cowmen would be unable to see the performance. "pull up and turn him, chunky," called tad. "i can't." "why not? turn in a half circle, then i shall be able to catch up with you sooner." "can't. the muley won't stop long enough for me to turn around." tad laughed aloud. he now saw that it was to be a race between the steer and his own pony. the odds, however, were in favor of the steer, for stacy brown was pacing him at a lively gait, and tad was still some distance behind. the latter's pony was straining every muscle to overhaul the muley. tad finally slipped the lariat from the saddle bow. swinging the great loop above his head, he sent it squirming through the air. at that instant the muley changed its course a little and the rope missed its mark by several feet. now it was dragging behind the running pony. by this time tad had fallen considerably behind. he took up the race again with stubborn determination. coiling the rope as he rode on, he made another throw. the noose fell fairly over the head of the muley steer, this time. profiting by a previous experience, the lad took a quick turn about the pommel of the saddle. the pony braced itself, ploughing up the ground with its little hoofs as it did so. a jolt followed that nearly threw tad from his saddle. the muley steer's head was suddenly jerked to one side and the next instant the animal lay flat on its back, its heels wildly beating the air. "whoop!" shouted tad in high glee, waving his hat triumphantly to the watching cowpunchers. the steer was up in a moment, with tad butler watching him narrowly. "cast your rope over his head, chunky." chunky made a throw and missed. the angry steer rose to its feet and charged him. stacy brown held the muleys in wholesome awe, though, having no horns, they were the least dangerous of the herd. "yeow!" shrieked chunky, putting spurs to his pony and getting quickly out of harm's way. the steer was after him at a lively gallop, with tad butler and his pony in tow. tad had prudently shaken out the reins when he saw the animal preparing to take up the chase again. waiting until the steer had gotten under full headway, the lad watched his chance, then pulled his pony up sharply. this time the muley's head was jerked down with such violence that it turned a partial somersault, landing on its back with a force that must have knocked the breath out of it. again and again did tad repeat these tactics, the pony seemingly enjoying the sport fully as much as did the boy himself. after a time he succeeded in getting the unruly beast headed toward the herd. once he had done that he let the animal have its head and they sailed back over the trail at a speed that made the cowboys laugh. tad seemed to be driving the steer, with stacy brown riding well up to the animal's flanks, laying on his quirt to hasten its speed, every time he got a chance. as they neared the herd, tad in attempting to release the rope from the pommel let it slip through his hands. the lad was chagrined beyond words. "rope him quick, chunky!" he cried. lumpy bates, observing the mishap, had spurred toward the running steer, intending to cast a lariat over one of the animal's feet and throw it so they could remove the lariat from its neck. just as the cowboy wheeled his mount in order to reach one of the steer's hind feet, chunky clumsily cast his own rope. instead of reaching the muley steer, the loop caught the left hind foot of the cowpuncher's galloping pony. "cinch it!" called tad as the loop followed an undulating course through the air. chunky did cinch it gleefully about his saddle pommel. at the same time he cinched something else. the cowpuncher's mount went down, its nose burrowing into the turf. lumpy was so taken by surprise that he had no time to save himself. he shot over the pony's neck, landing flat on his back several feet in advance of the pony's nose. the watching cowboys set up a jeering yell. lumpy scrambled to his feet, his face purple with rage. "you tenderfoot!" shrieked curley adams. "to let the gopher rope you like a yearling steer!" chunky sat on his mount with blanched face, now realizing the enormity of his act. "i--i didn't mean to do it," he stammered. at first lumpy did not know what had caused his pony to fall. but no sooner had he gotten to his feet than he comprehended. with a savage roar he sprang for the fat boy with quirt raised above his head, prepared to bring it down on stacy brown the instant he reached him. the blow would have been bad enough had it been delivered in the ordinary way. the cowboy, however, had gasped the quirt by the small end and was preparing to use the loaded butt on the head of the boy who had been the cause of his fall. tad had halted upon observing the accident, laughing uproariously at the spectacle of lumpy bates being roped by stacy brown. when he saw the quirt in the hands of the cowpuncher, however, and realized what his purpose was, the laughter died on the lips of tad butler. "drop that quirt, lumpy!" he commanded sternly. lumpy gave no heed to the command, but broke into a run for stacy. tad, who was a few rods away, put spurs to his pony, at the same time slipping off the lariat from the other side of his saddle. "the pinto's going to rope him," gasped the cowboys. all were too far away to be of any assistance. stallings was with another part of the herd, else he would have jumped in and interfered before tad's action had become necessary. tad's pony leaped forward under the pressure of the spurs. the boy began spinning the noose of the lariat above his head. the cowboys were watching in breathless suspense. tad sent the loop squirming through the air, turning his pony so as to run parallel with the one on which stacy was sitting, half paralyzed with fear, as he gazed into the rage-contorted face of lumpy bates. as the quirt was descending, tad's rope slipped over the cowboy's head and under one arm. this time, however, the lad did not cinch the rope over his saddle pommel. he held it firmly in his hand, with a view to letting go after it had served its purpose, having no desire to injure his victim. lumpy bates went over as if he had been bowled over with a club, and before he had realized the meaning of it he had been dragged several feet. tad jerked his pony up sharply and slowly rode back to where his victim was desperately struggling to free himself. "y-e-e-e-o-ow!" screamed the cowboys, circling about the scene, their ponies on a dead run, discharging their six-shooters into the air, giving cat calls and wild war-whoops in the excess of their joy. big-foot sanders, however, had not joined in their merriment. instead, he had ridden up within a couple of rods of where lumpy bates was lying. big-foot sat quietly on his pony, awaiting the outcome. at last lumpy tore off the lariat's grip and scrambled to his feet. he glared about him to see whence had come this last indignity. "i did it, lumpy," announced tad butler quietly. "you----" "wait a minute before you tell me what you are going to do," commanded tad. "chunky did not mean to throw you. he was trying to rope the steer. he'll tell you he is sorry. but you were going to hit him because you were mad. if you'd struck him with the butt of that quirt you might have killed him. i had to rope you to prevent that. is there anything you want to say to me now?" "i'll show you what i've got to say," snarled the cowboy, starting for tad. "stop! lumpy bates, if you come another foot nearer to me i'll ride you down!" warned tad, directing a level gaze at the eyes of his adversary. the cowboy gazed defiantly at the slender lad for a full moment. "i'll fix you for that!" he growled, turning away. at that moment big-foot sanders rode in front of him and pulled up his pony. "what's that ye say?" "nothing--i said i'd be even with that cub." "i reckon ye'd better not try it, lumpy. the kid's all right. big-foot sanders is his friend. and that's the truth. don't let it get away from you!" chapter xiv on a wild night ride "your fat friend, over there, is making queer noises, master tad. must be having a bad dream." big-foot had reached a ponderous hand from his blankets and shaken tad roughly. "mebby the gopher's having a fit. better find out what ails him." the rain was falling in torrents. the men were soaked to the skin, but it did not seem to disturb them in the least, judging by the quality of their snores. tad listened. stacy brown surely was having trouble of some sort. the lad threw off his blankets and ran over to where his companion was lying. "chunky's drowning," he exclaimed in a voice full of suppressed excitement. big-foot leaped to his feet, hurrying to the spot. stacy was lying in a little depression in the ground, a sort of puddle having formed about him, and when tad reached him the lad had turned over on his face, only the back part of his head showing above the water. he appeared to be struggling, but unable to free himself from his unpleasant position. they jerked him up choking and coughing, shaking him vigorously to get the water out of him. "wha--what's the matter!" stammered the boy. "matter enough. trying to drown yourself?" growled the cowboy. "di--did i fall in?" "did you fall in? where do you think you are?" "i--i thought i fell in the river and i was trying to swim out," answered the boy, with a sheepish grin that caused his rescuers to shake with merriment. "guess we'll have to get a life preserver for you," chuckled big-foot. "you ain't safe to leave around when the dew is falling." "dew? call this dew? this is a flood." "go find a high piece of ground, and go to bed. we haven't got time to lie awake watching you. be careful that you don't step on any of the bunch. they ain't likely to wake up in very good humor a night like this, and besides, lumpy bates is sleeping not more'n a rope's length from you. you can imagine what would happen if you stepped on his face to-night." chunky shivered slightly. he had had one experience with the ill-natured cowpuncher that day and did not care for another. "i'll go to bed," he chattered. "you'd better. what's that?" exclaimed the cowpuncher sharply, pausing in a listening attitude. "some one coming," answered tad. "they seem to be in a hurry." "yes, i should say they were. i reckon the trouble is coming, kid." a horseman dashed up to the camp that lay enshrouded in darkness, save for the lantern that hung at the tail board of the chuck wagon. "roll out! roll out!" it was the voice of curley adams. the cowpunchers scrambled to their feet with growls of disapproval, demanding to know what the row was about. "what is it, a stampede?" called big-foot, hastily rolling his blankets and dumping them in the wagon. "no; but it may be. the boss wants the whole gang to turn out and help the guard." "for what?" "the cows are restless. they're knocking about ready to make a break at any minute." "what? haven't they bedded down yet?" asked big-foot. "no, nary one of them. and they ain't going to to-night." "i knew it," announced the cowman, with emphasis. "knew what?" asked tad. "that we were in for trouble. and it's coming a-running." by this time the horse wrangler had rounded up the ponies, and the cowboys, grumbling and surly, were hurriedly cinching on saddles. a few moments later the whole party was riding at full gallop toward the herd. "where's the gopher?" inquired big-foot, after they had ridden some distance. "did we leave him behind?" "i guess chunky is asleep," laughed tad. "best place for him. he'd have the herd on the run in no time if he was to come out to-night. never knew a human being who could stir up so much trouble out of nothing as he can. we're coming up with the herd now. be careful where you are riding, too." all was excitement. the cattle were moving restlessly about, prodding each other with their horns, while guards were galloping here and there, talking to them soothingly and whipping into line those that had strayed from the main herd. bunches of fifteen or twenty were continually breaking through the lines and starting to run. quirts and ropes were brought into use to check these individual rushes, the cowmen fearing to use their weapons lest they alarm the herd and bring on a stampede. "what's the trouble!" demanded big-foot as they came up with the foreman. "i don't know. bad weather, i guess. the evil one seems to have gotten into the critters to-night. lead your men up to the north end of the line. we will take care of these fellows down here as best we can." the men galloped quickly to their stations. then in the driving rain that soaked and chilled them the cowmen began their monotonous songs, interrupted now and then by a shout of command from some one in charge of a squad. there was no thunder or lightning this time. the men were thankful for that; it needed only some sudden disturbance to start the animals going. the disturbance came after an hour's work. the cowmen had brought some sort of order out of the chaos and were beginning to breathe easier. stallings rode up to the head of the herd giving orders that the cattle be pointed in and kept in a circle if possible. to do this he called away all the men at the right save tad butler and big-foot sanders. as it chanced, they were at the danger spot when the trouble came. chunky had been awakened by the disturbance in camp, not having fully aroused himself until after the departure of the men, however. he sat up, rubbing his eyes, grumbling about the weather and expressing his opinion of a cowpuncher's life in no uncertain terms. finding that all had left him, the lad decided to get his pony and follow. "what's the matter, pong?" he called, observing the chinaman up and fixing the curtains about his wagon. "allee same likee this," answered pong hopping about in imitation of an animal running away. "he's crazy," muttered chunky, going to his pony and swinging himself into the saddle. chunky urged the animal along faster and faster. he could hear the cowboys on beyond him though he was able to see only a few yards ahead of him. however, the boy was becoming used to riding in the dark and did not feel the same uncertainty that he had earlier. "i'll bet they are getting ready to run away," he decided. in that, stacy was right. before he realized where he was he had driven his pony full into the rear ranks of the restless cattle. chunky uttered a yell as he found himself bumping against the sides of the cows and sought to turn his pony about. the startled steers nearest to him fought desperately to get away from the object that had so suddenly hurled itself against them. instantly there was a mix-up, with bellowing, plunging steers all about him. "help! help!" shouted the boy. now his pony was biting and kicking in an effort to free itself from the animals that were prodding it with horns and buffeting it from side to side. only a moment or so of this was necessary to fill the cattle with blind, unreasoning fear. with one common impulse they lunged forward. those ahead of them felt the impetus of the thrust just as do the cars of a freight train under the sudden jolt of a starting engine. "what's up?" roared the foreman. "they're off!" yelled a cowman. "head them!" "can't. they're started in the center of the herd." with heads down, the entire herd was now charging straight ahead. big-foot sanders and tad butler, nearly half a mile ahead, felt the impetus, too. "keep your head, boy," warned the cowpuncher. "we are in for a run for our money, now." it came even as he spoke. with a bellow the cattle started forward at a lively gallop. "whoa-oo-ope!" cried big-foot, riding in front of the plunging leaders. he might as well have sought to stay the progress of the wind. the leaders swept man and boy aside and dashed on. "better keep them straight and not try to stop them, hadn't we?" shouted tad, with rare generalship. "that's the trick! can you hold your side?" roared big-foot in reply. "i'll try," answered the boy, riding so close to the leaders that they rubbed sides with his pony. the latter, understanding what was wanted of him, pushed sturdily on holding the cattle with his side, leaning toward them to give the effort the benefit of his entire weight. one end of tad's neckerchief had come loose and was streaming straight out behind him, while the broad brim of his sombrero was tipped up by the rushing breeze. it was a wild and perilous ride. yet the lad thought nothing of this. his whole thought was centered on the work in hand, that of keeping the cattle headed northward. tad was unable to tell whether they were going in a straight line or not, but this time he had the big cowman to rely upon. "give way a little!" warned big-foot. "right!" answered the lad, pulling his pony to one side, then straightening him again. "we'll hit the injun territory by daylight if we keep on at this gait! you all right?" "yes. but i think the herd is spreading out behind me," answered tad. "never mind that. they'll likely follow the leaders." off to the rear they could hear the sharp reports of the cowboys' revolvers as they sought to stay the mad rush. big-foot, however, had thought it best not to resort to shooting tactics. they were making altogether too good headway. if only they were able to keep the cattle headed the way they were going the herd would be none the worse off for the rush and the outfit would be that much further along on the journey. the thundering hoof-beats behind them as the living tide swept down upon them, was not a pleasant sound to hear. yet big-foot and tad were altogether too busy to be greatly disturbed by it. they had gone on for fully half an hour, after that, with no apparent decrease in the speed of the stampede. the ponies were beginning to show their fatigue. tad slowed down a little, patting his faithful little animal to encourage it and quiet its nerves. as he did so, the boy's attention was again called to the fact that a solid wall of cattle had apparently closed in behind him. "big-foot!" he shouted. "yes?" answered the cowboy, in a far away voice, for some distance now separated the two. "it looks to me as if they were closing in on us. what do you think?" "wait! i'll see." the cowboy pulled up a little and listened. "right you are. they have spread out in a solid wall." "what shall we do?" "ride! ride for your life!" came the excited reply. "where?" "to your right. don't let them catch you or you'll be trampled under their feet. they'll never stop, now, till they get to the river." "is it near here?" "only a few miles ahead. i can hear it roar now. a flood is coming down it. hurry!" tad had barely heard the last word. already he had swung his pony about and was galloping with all speed to the right in an effort to get free of the herd before they crowded him and his pony into the turbulent, swollen river. chapter xv fording a swollen river the first light of the morning revealed to tad butler the narrow escape he had had. he had barely passed the outer point of the stampeding herd when the cattle rushed by him. on beyond, less than half a mile away, he made out the river in the faint light. his companion was nowhere to be seen. however, that was not surprising, as the cattle now covered a large area; so large that tad was unable to see to the other side of the herd. as the day dawned the cattle began to slacken their speed, and, by the time the leaders reached the river bank, the rush was at an end. some of the stock plunged into the edge of the stream where they began drinking, while others set to grazing contentedly. as the light became stronger, the lad made out the figure of big-foot sanders approaching him at an easy gallop. "we did it, didn't we, big-foot?" exulted tad butler. "that we did, pinto. and there comes the rest of the bunch now," big-foot added, pointing to the rear, where others of the cowboys were to be seen riding up. stallings was the first to reach them. "good job," he grinned. "we are at the river several hours ahead of schedule time. doesn't look very promising, does it?" "river's pretty high. are you thinking of fording it this morning?" asked big-foot, looking over the swollen stream. "we might as well. the water will be higher later in the day. we may not be able to get across in several days if we wait too long." "what do you think started the cattle this time?" asked tad. "i don't think. i know what did it." "yes?" "it was that clumsy friend of yours." "the gopher?" asked big-foot. "allee same, as pong would say. that boy is the limit. is he always falling into trouble that way?" "yes, or falling off a pony," laughed tad. "there he comes, now." stacy rode up to them, his face serious and thoughtful. "well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?" asked the foreman. "i was going to ask you, sir, where we are going to get our breakfast?" stallings glanced at tad and big-foot, with a hopeless expression in his eyes. "go ask the chinaman," he answered rather brusquely. "i can't. he isn't here." "well, that's the answer," laughed the foreman, riding to the river bank and surveying the stream critically. tad and big-foot sanders joined him almost immediately. "think we can make it, chief?" "i think so, sanders. one of us had better ride over and back to test the current." "i'll try it for you," said tad. "go ahead. sanders, you ride back and tell lumpy to return to camp and bring on the outfit. they can't reach us until late in the afternoon, as it is. i presume that slant-eyed cook is sitting in his wagon waiting for us to come back. hurry them along, for we shall be hungry by the time we have finished this job." tad promptly spurred his pony into the stream. after wading out a little way he slipped off into the water, hanging by the pommel, swimming with one hand to relieve the pony as much as possible. the boy made the crossing without mishap, stallings observing the performance to note how far down the stream the pony would drift. tad landed some five rods lower down. on the return, the drift was not quite so noticeable. "we'll make it," announced the foreman. "if you want to dry out, ride back and tell the bunch to crowd the cattle in as rapidly as possible. the faster we can force them in the less they will drift down stream." "very well, sir," replied the boy, galloping off to deliver his message. with a great shouting and much yelling the cowboys began their task of urging the cattle into the river. not being over-thirsty, it was no easy task to induce the animals to enter the water, but when the leaders finally plunged in the rest followed, fairly piling on top of one another in their efforts to follow the pilots of the herd. above and below, the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged were swimming the river endeavoring to keep the animals from straying one way or another. tad butler and his companions were aiding in this work, shouting from the pure joy of their experience, and, in an hour's time, the last steer had swum the stream and clambered up the sloping bank on the other side. "there!" announced the foreman. "that's a bad job well done. i wish the trail wagon were here. a cup of hot coffee wouldn't go bad after an hour in the water." "after several of them, you mean," added tad. "you know we have been out in the rain all night." "yes, and you did a bang-up piece of work, you and big-foot. how did you happen to lead the cattle straight ahead, instead of turning the leaders?" "it was the kid's suggestion," answered big-foot sanders. "he's got a man's head on his shoulders that more'n makes up for what the gopher hasn't got." "it does, indeed," agreed stallings. "how are we going to get that trail wagon over when it comes up!" asked one of the men. "that's what's bothering me," answered the foreman. "perhaps our young friend here can give us a suggestion. his head is pretty full of ideas," added the foreman, more with an intent to compliment tad than in the expectation of getting valuable suggestions from him. "what is your usual method?" asked the boy. "well, to tell the truth, i've never had quite such a proposition as this on my hands." "i guess you will have to float it over." "it won't float. it'll sink." "you can protect it from that." "how?" asked the foreman, now keenly interested. "first take all the stuff out of it. that will save your equipment if anything happens to the wagon. ferry the equipment over on the backs of the ponies. if it's too heavy, take over what you can." "well, what next?" asked stallings. "get some timbers and construct a float under the wagon." "where you going to get timber around these parts?" demanded big-foot. "i see plenty of trees near the river. cut down a few and make a raft of them." "by george, the kid's hit it!" exclaimed stallings, clapping his thigh vigorously. "that's exactly what we'll do. but we'll have to wait till the wagon gets here. the axes are all in the wagon." "mebby i'm particularly thick to-day, but i'd like to inquire how you expect to get the outfit over, after you have the raft under it?" demanded shorty savage. "answer that, if you can?" "i think that is up to the foreman," smiled tad. "were i doing it i think i should hitch ropes to the tongue and have the ponies on the other side draw the wagon across. of course, you are liable to have an accident. the ropes may break or the current may tip your wagon over. that's your lookout." "now will you be good?" grinned the foreman. "you know all about it, and it would be a good idea to let the thought simmer in your thick head for a while. it may come in handy, some day, when you want to get across a river." shorty walked away, none too well pleased. about three o'clock in the afternoon the wagon hove in sight, and the boys rode out to meet it. it was decided to camp on the river bank until after they had eaten their evening meal, after which there would still be time to ferry over. while the meal was being cooked stallings sent some of the men out to cut down four small trees and haul them in. they grumbled considerably at this, but obeyed orders. tad went along, at the suggestion of the foreman, to pick out such trees as he thought would best serve their purpose. the trail wagon's teams were used to haul the logs in and by the time the work was finished a steaming hot supper had been spread by the smiling chinaman. professor zepplin had come along with the wagon. he said he was a little stiff from the wetting he had received, but otherwise was all right. "now, young man, i'll let you boss the job," announced stallings as tad rose from the table. "i give you a free hand." with a pleased smile, tad set about constructing his raft. ned rector swam the river with the ropes, and fastened them to trees so they would not be carried away by the current. the wagon was then run down into the water by hand, the ropes made fast, and all was ready for the start. "what are you going to do about the drift?" asked the foreman, who had been interestedly watching the preparations. "we are going to tie ropes to the two wheels on the upper side. one is to be held on this side of the river, the other from the opposite side. i think the kitchen will ford the river as straight as you could draw a chalk line," announced tad. "i guess it will," answered the foreman, with a suggestive glance at professor zepplin. "all right when you get ready over there," called tad to the waiting cowboys on the other side. they had taken firm hold of the ropes with their right hands, their left hands holding to the pommels of their saddles. "ready!" came the warning cry from the other side. "haul away!" shouted tad. the ropes secured to the tongue of the trail wagon straightened, and the wagon began to move out into the stream. "be careful. don't pay out that rope too fast," directed tad to the man on his side of the stream. the trail wagon floated out easily on the swiftly moving current. it was greeted by a cheer from the pony rider boys. those of the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged joined with a will. "there's that fool chinaman," growled stallings, observing the grinning face of pong peering from the tail of the wagon. "look out, the dragon will get you, sure, if you fall out!" he warned. "i don't care anything about you, but we can't afford to be without a cook." "there goes the fool!" cried big-foot. "now we sure will starve to death." [illustration: as the wagon lurched pong plunged overboard.] as the wagon lurched in the current, the chinaman had plunged overboard and disappeared beneath the surface. chapter xvi a brave rescue "save him, somebody! the fool's fallen overboard!" roared the foreman. "i can't let go this rope!" tad had not seen the cook take his plunge, so, for the moment, he did not realize what had occurred. "who's overboard," young butler demanded sharply. "the cook," answered stallings excitedly. "can't any of you slow pokes get busy and fish him out?" "pong!" cried tad as the head of the chinaman appeared on the surface. without an instant's hesitation the lad leaped into his saddle. "yip!" he shouted to the pony, accentuating his command by a sharp blow with the quirt. the pony leaped forward. "here, he's not up there; he's in the river i tell you!" shouted the foreman. tad had driven his mount straight up the bank behind them. he paid no attention to the warning of the foreman, having already mapped out his own plan of action. reaching the top of the sloping bank, tad pulled his pony to the right and dashed along the bluff, headed down the river. "watch your lines or you'll have the wagon overboard, too," he called back. "i'll get pong out." big-foot sanders scratched his head reflectively. "ain't the pinto the original whirlwind, though?" he grinned. "i never did see the like of him, now. he'll get that heathen out while we are standing here trying to make up our minds what to do." "yes, but i'm afraid the chinaman will drown before tad gets to him," said the foreman, with a shake of his head. "here, don't let go of this rope while you are staring at the kid. i can't hold it alone." tad drove his pony to its utmost speed until he had reached a point some little distance below where the head of the chinaman had last been seen. all at once the lad turned sharply, the supple-limbed pony taking the bank in a cat-like leap, landing in the water with a splash. tad kept his saddle until the pony's feet no longer touched the bottom. then he dropped off, clinging to the mane with one hand. the cook was nowhere to be seen, but tad was sure he had headed him off and was watching the water above him with keen eyes. "there he is below you!" shouted a voice on shore. "look out, you'll lose him." tad turned at the same instant, giving the pony's neck a sharp slap to indicate that he wanted the animal to turn with him. the lad saw the chinaman's head above the water. evidently the latter was now making a desperate effort to keep it there, for his hands were beating the water frantically. "keep your hands and feet going, and hold your breath!" roared tad. "i'll be----" before he could add "there," the lad suddenly discovered that there was something wrong with his pony. it was the latter which was now beating the water and squealing with fear. one of the animal's hind hoofs raked tad's leg, pounding it painfully. tad released his hold of the mane and grasped the rein. throwing up its head, uttering a snort, the pony sank out of sight, carrying its master under. tad quickly let go the reins and kicked himself to the surface. the pony was gone. what had caused its sudden sinking the lad could not imagine. there was no time to speculate--not an instant to lose if he were to rescue the drowning cook. throwing himself forward, headed downstream, tad struck out with long, overhand strokes for the chinaman. going so much faster than the current, the boy rapidly gained on the victim. yet, just as he was almost within reach of pong, the latter threw up his hands and went down. tad dived instantly. the swollen stream was so muddy that he could see nothing below the surface. his groping hands grasped nothing except the muddy water. the lad propelled himself to the surface, shaking the water from his eyes. there before him he saw the long, yellow arms of the chinaman protruding above the surface of the river. this time, tad was determined that the cook should not escape him. tad made a long, curving dive not unlike that of a porpoise. this time the lad's hands reached the drowning man. the long, yellow arms twined themselves about the boy, and tad felt himself going down. with rare presence of mind the boy held his breath, making no effort to wrench himself free from the chinaman's grip. he knew it would be effort wasted, and, besides, he preferred to save his strength until they reached the surface once more. half a dozen cowpunchers had plunged their ponies into the river, and were swimming toward the spot where tad had been seen to go down, while the foreman was shouting frantic orders at them. the wagon had been ferried to the other side, and stallings had run to his pony, on which he was now dashing madly along the river bank. "look out that you don't run them down!" he roared. "keep your wits about you!" "they're both down, already!" shouted a cowboy in reply. "we'll lose the whole outfit at this rate," growled another. yet, not a man was there, unless perhaps it may have been lumpy bates, who would not have risked his own life freely to save that of the plucky lad. after going down a few feet, tad began treading water with all his might. this checked their downward course and in a second or so he had the satisfaction of realizing that they were slowly rising. the current, however, was forcing them up at an angle. this, to a certain extent, worked to the boy's advantage, for the chinaman was underneath him, thus giving tad more freedom than had their positions been reversed. "there they are!" cried big-foot sanders as the chinaman and his would-be rescuer popped into sight. "go after them!" commanded stallings. urging their ponies forward by beating them with their quirts, the cowboys made desperate efforts to reach the two. tad managed to free one arm which he held above his head. "the rope! he wants the rope! rope him, you idiots!" bellowed the foreman. big-foot made a cast. however, from his position in the water, he could not make an accurate throw and the rope fell short. tad saw it. he was struggling furiously now, ducking and parrying the sweep of that long, yellow arm, with which pong sought to grasp him. a quick eddy caught the pair and swept them out into the center of the stream, around a bend where they were caught by the full force of the current. this left their pursuers yards and yards to the rear. tad saw that they would both drown, if he did not resort to desperate measures. drawing back his arm, the lad drove a blow straight at pong's head, but a swirl of the current destroyed the boy's aim and his fist barely grazed the cheek of the chinaman. quick as a flash, tad butler launched another blow. this time the chinaman's head was jolted backwards, tad's fist having landed squarely on the point of the fellow's jaw. but pong was still struggling, and the lad completed his work by delivering another blow in the same place. "i hope i haven't hurt him," gasped the boy. tad threw himself over on his back, breathing heavily and well-nigh exhausted. he kept a firm grip on the cook, however, supporting and keeping the latter's head above water by resting the chinaman's neck on his arm as they floated with the current. in the meantime, stallings was dashing along the bank roaring out his orders to the cowboys, calling them ashore and driving them in further down. yet, each time it seemed as though the floating pair drifted farther and farther away. but tad butler was still cool. now that he was getting his strength back, he began slowly to kick himself in toward shore, aiding in the process by long windmill strokes of his free arm. he did not make the mistake of heading directly for the shore, but sought to make it by a long tack, moving half with the current and half against it. the lad had made up his mind that the cowboys would never reach them and that what was to be done must be done by himself. "can you make it?" called stallings. "yes. but have some one--on the other side--toss me a rope--as soon as possible. i don't know--whether pong--is done for--or not," answered the boy in short breaths. stallings plunged his pony into the current and swam for the other side. reaching there, he galloped at full speed toward the point for which tad seemed to be aiming. the foreman rode into the water until it was up to his saddle and where the pony was obliged to hold its head high to avoid drowning. there the foreman waited until the lad had gotten within roping distance. "turn in a little," directed stallings. "you'll hit that eddy and land out in the middle, if you don't." a moment more and the foreman's lariat slipped away from the circle it had formed above his head. tad held an arm aloft, and the loop dropped neatly over it. stallings pulled it and tad grasped the rope after the loop had tightened about his arm. "haul away," he directed. the foreman turned his pony about and slowly towed cook and boy ashore. the cowboys, observing that tad was being hauled in, headed for the shore. reaching it, they put spurs to their ponies and came down to the scene at a smashing gait. leaping off, they sprang into the water, picking up tad and the chinaman and staggering ashore with them. the lad was pale and shivering. they laid him down on the bank. but tad quickly pulled himself to his feet. "i must look after pong," he said. "you let the heathen alone," growled big-foot sanders. "us tenderfeet'll look after him. that's what we are, a bunch of rank tenderfeet. you're the only seasoned, all around, dyed-in-the-wool, genuwine cowpuncher in the whole outfit. that's the truth." tad smiled as he hurried to where the foreman was working over the unconscious cook. "is he dead?" asked the lad, apprehensively. "dead? huh!" grunted curley adams. "heathen chinese don't die as easy as that." after a few minutes the cook went off into a paroxysm of choking and coughing. then he opened his eyes. chunky brown was standing near, blinking down wisely into the yellow face of pong. "you fell in, didn't you?" he asked solemnly. "allee samee," grinned the yellow man, weakly. chapter xvii making new friends professor zepplin, fully as wet as the others, met the returning outfit. everybody was wet. it seemed to have become their normal condition. "did you get the wagon over?" asked tad. "you bet," replied the foreman. "as soon as we get all the water shook out of that heathen we'll set him to making coffee for the outfit. it's too near dark now to do any more work; and, besides, i guess the cattle are bedded down for the night. i think they're ready for a night's rest along with ourselves. what happened to that pony?" "i'm sure i don't know," answered tad. "that was too bad, wasn't it?" "cramps i guess," suggested big-foot. "they have been known to have 'em in the water. that water must have had an iceberg in it somewhere up the state. never saw such all-fired cold water in my life. whew!" "that's one pony more we've got to buy, that's all. but i don't care. i'd rather lose the whole bunch of them than have anything happen to the pinto," announced the foreman. "or the cook," added tad, with a smile. "yes; it's a very serious matter for an outfit of this kind to lose its cook. we could get along without a foreman very well, but not without a cook." "especially when you have a bunch of hungry boys with you. what about the new ponies?" "i'll ride over to colonel mcclure's ranch in the morning and see what we can do. you may go with me if you wish." "i should like to very much. is that where you expect to get the other herd of cattle as well?" "yes. better take an earlier trick on guard to-night, for we shall start right after breakfast in the morning." "very well," replied tad. "guess i'll get my coffee now." big-foot sanders was already helping himself to the steaming beverage, when tad reached the chuck wagon. "well, kid, what about it?" greeted the big cowman. "what about what?" "trouble." tad smiled broadly. "there does seem to be plenty of it." "and plenty more coming. you'll see more fun before we are clear of this part of the country." "i don't very well see how we can have much more of it. i should imagine we have had our share." "wait. we'll be here three or four days yet and mebby more," warned the cowboy. tad went out with the second guard that night. contrary to the expectations of big-foot sanders and some others, the night passed without incident, the next morning dawning bright and beautiful. for some reason the foreman decided, at the last moment, that he would not go to the ox bow ranch. instead, he instructed big-foot sanders to take three of the men with him and pick out what ponies they needed from colonel mcclure's stock. they were to bring the animals out to camp where the boys would break them in. tad set out with them, after a hurried breakfast, leaving his young companions to amuse themselves as best they could. "how far do we have to ride, big-foot?" asked the lad after they were in their saddles. "mile or two, i guess. it's been a long time since i was through these parts. there's that church i've been telling you about." "where?" "there, near the bedding-down ground. seems as though the boss might have put the cows further away from the place." tad surveyed the structure with keen interest. the white walls of the old adobe church reflected back the morning light in a whitish glare. about the place he observed a rank growth of weeds and evil cacti, the only touch of life to be seen being the birds that were perched on its crumbling ridges, gayly piping their morning songs. "it looks deserted." "i reckon it is," answered big-foot. "anyway, it ought to be. ain't fit for human beings to roost in." "humph! i don't believe there is anything spooky about that building. i'm going to investigate, the first time i get the chance. have we time to stop this morning?" "no; we'll have to be getting along. the ponies we are after will have to be hobbled and got back to camp somehow. i expect we'll have a merry circus with them. if we get back in time for supper we'll be lucky." "that will be fun," exulted tad. "mr. stallings promised me i might break one of them. my pony having been drowned, i should like to break a fresh one for myself." "and break your neck at the same time. i know you've got the sand, but you let that job out, kid. you don't know them bronchos." "i thought you said i was no longer a tenderfoot," laughed tad. "sure thing, but this is different." "i'll chance it. you show me the pony i cannot ride, and i will confess that i am a tenderfoot." their arrival at the ox bow ranch was the signal for all the dogs on the place to try out their lungs, whereat a dozen cowboys appeared to learn the cause of the uproar. the mcclure house stood a little back, nestling under a bluff covered with scant verdure, but well screened from the biting northers of the texas winter. further to the south were the ranch buildings, corrals, the cook house and a log cabin, outside of which hung any number of bridles and saddles, some of which the ranchers were mending and polishing when stalling's men arrived on the scene. big-foot introduced himself and was received with many a shout and handshake. bill blake, the foreman of the ranch after greeting the new arrival, turned inquiringly to tad butler, who had dismounted. "i didn't know you used kids in your business, big-foot," he grinned. big-foot flushed under the imputation. "mebby you call him a kid, but if you'd see the lad work you'd change your mind mighty quick," answered the big cowman, with a trace of irritation in his voice. he explained to blake what the boy was doing with the outfit, at the same time relating some of the things that the slender, freckle-faced boy from the east had accomplished. "shake, pinto," exclaimed bill blake cordially. "i reckon mr. mcclure would like to talk with you. big-foot and i have got some business over in the ranch house, you see," smiled the foreman. "i see," replied tad, though not wholly sure whether he did or not. "he's over there talking with his boss wrangler now. come along and i'll give you a first-class knock-down to him." tad found the ranch owner to be a man of refinement and kindly nature, yet whose keen, quizzical eyes seemed to take the lad in from head to foot in one comprehensive glance. "so you are learning the business, eh? that's right, my lad. that's the way to go about it, and there's no place like a drive to learn it, for that's where a man meets about every experience that comes in the life of a cowman." tad explained about the pony riders, and that their trip was in the nature of a pleasure jaunt, they being accompanied by walter perkins's instructor and that they were with the outfit for a brief trip only. mr. mcclure became interested at once. "i should like to hear more about your experiences," he said. "won't you come up to the house with me, while your man talks horse with my foreman?" tad flushed slightly as he glanced down over his own rough, dust-covered clothes. "i--i am afraid i am not fit, sir." "tut, tut. we ranchers learn to take a man for what he is worth, not for what he has on. you have been riding. naturally you would not be expected to appear in broadcloth. no more do we expect you to. had i a son, i should feel far better satisfied to see him as you stand before me now, than in the finest of clothes. come, i want you to meet my family." tad, somewhat reluctantly, followed the rancher to his house. much to the lad's discomfiture, he was ushered into the drawing-room of the first southern home he had ever entered. "be seated, sir. i will call my daughters. we have so few guests here that the girls seldom see anyone during the time they are home from school." mr. mcclure left the room, and tad, after choosing a chair that he considered least liable to be soiled by his dusty clothes, sat down, gazing about him curiously. he found himself in a room that was by far the handsomest he had ever seen, while from the walls a long line of family ancestors looked down at him from their gilt frames. tad had found time for only a brief glance about him, when the sound of voices attracted his attention. at first he was unable to decide whence the voices came. they seemed to be in the room with him, yet there was no one there save himself. turning about he discovered that a curtained doorway led directly into another room, and that it was from the adjoining room that the sound had come. "you say ruth is bad again to-day, margaret?" "no, mother, i would not say that exactly. yet she does not seem to be quite herself, and i thought it best to tell you. i feared that perhaps she was going to have one of her old attacks." "say nothing to her of your suspicions. the last one passed over, i think largely because we appeared to treat her mood lightly. poor child, she has never ceased to grieve for the man whom her parents refused to permit her to marry. i think your aunt jane made a grievous mistake. i told her so plainly when she brought ruth here to us, hoping she might forget her youthful love affair." tad butler's cheeks burned. that he had unwittingly played eavesdropper troubled him not a little. the boy rose and walking to a window on the further side of the room, stood with hat crumpled in both hands behind him, gazing out. the voices ceased. yet a moment later tad started and turned sharply. "well, young man, what are you doing here?" before him he saw a woman just short of middle age. he inferred at once that she was the elder of the two women whom he had heard speaking behind the curtain. "i am waiting for mr. mcclure," answered tad, bowing politely, his face flushing under its tan. "does he know that you are here?" she asked in a milder tone. "oh, yes. he asked me to wait here until he returned." "pardon me, i----" "ah, here you are, my dear. i have been looking for you. i wish you to meet master thaddeus butler, who, with three companions and a tutor, is crossing the state with the miller herd. it is the most unique vacation in these days. master butler, this is mrs. mcclure. my daughters will join us in a moment." mrs. mcclure shook hands cordially with their young guest. "welcome to ox bow," she smiled. "at first, as your back was turned to me, i took you for one of the men. instantly you faced me i saw the mistake i had made. won't you be seated?" under her cordial manner tad butler was soon at his ease. almost before he was aware of the fact mrs. mcclure had drawn from him the main facts relating to the journeyings of the pony riders. mrs. mcclure's two daughters, sadie and margaret, entered the room soon afterwards, tad being presented to them. margaret, the elder of the two, was a fair-haired girl of perhaps nineteen years, while her sister sadie, who was darker, tad judged to be about his own age. both girls shook hands smilingly with their guest. "i hope you will pardon me for appearing in such a disreputable condition," begged the lad. "i really am not fit to be seen." his quaint way of putting it brought forth a general laugh. "you need make no apology. we are all ranchers here. even my daughters and my niece ride, and sometimes accompany the foreman on drives from one part of the ranch to another. as for my niece, though brought up in the east, she is a born cattle woman. there is hardly a cowman on the place who can ride better than she." "your man tells us that you are the best horseman in your outfit," said mr. mcclure. "i don't think i quite deserve that compliment, sir," answered tad. "but i am very fond of horses. i find, by kind treatment, one can do almost anything with them." "my idea exactly," nodded mr. mcclure approvingly. "the cowpuncher doesn't look at it that way, however. he wouldn't feel at home on a horse that didn't break the monotony by bucking now and then. did you ever ride a bucker?" "once. i expect to break one of the animals i understand we are to get from you." his host whistled softly. "you have a large contract on hand, young man. the ponies i am turning off are the worst specimens we ever had on the ranch. some of them never had a bridle on, for the very good reason that no one ever has been able to get close enough to them to put bridles on. i hope you will not be foolish enough to try to break any of that stock." "oh, we'll rope them and get a headstall on, anyway. the rest will come along all right, i think," smiled tad. "ah, my niece, miss brayton!" exclaimed the rancher, introducing a young woman who had just entered the room. "with the miller outfit?" she asked. "yes," answered tad. "who is your foreman?" "stallings--bob stallings." tad thought miss brayton one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. yet there was something about her that affected him strangely. perhaps it was her abrupt manner of speaking. at any rate the lad experienced a sense of uneasiness the moment she entered the room. he did not stop to ask himself why. tad merely knew that this was true. miss brayton had little to say, but her quietness was more than atoned for by the vivacity of sadie and margaret. as tad was taking his leave the entire family accompanied him out into the yard. "if your duties will permit we should like to have you and your companions dine with us to-morrow evening," said colonel mcclure. "yes; by all means," added mrs. mcclure. "yes, mr. butler, we should love to have you," added sadie. "besides, we want to meet your friends," said margaret. "and i am sure we should enjoy coming. it seems almost an imposition for four of us boys to camp out in your dining room at the same time," laughed tad. "i assure you it will be doing us a favor," protested the rancher. "you will bring your professor, also. we'll have a real family party." tad somewhat reluctantly agreed to bring his companions, though he disliked the idea of going to so fine a place for dinner in their rough, weather-beaten clothing. the boy bade them all good-bye and strode off toward the corral, where the ponies were being roped preparatory to being taken over to the miller herd. "oh, mr. butler!" tad wheeled sharply. ruth brayton was hurrying toward him. the lad lifted his hat courteously and awaited the young woman's approach. "yes, miss brayton." "tell me again who your foreman is." "bob stallings." "stallings--stallings. where have i heard that name before?" mused the girl, staring at tad with vacant eyes. "are you sure it isn't hamilton--robert hamilton?" "quite sure," smiled the lad. "do you know a cowboy or foreman by that name?" "no, i never heard the name before." miss brayton turned abruptly and hurried away. tad heard her repeating the name of his foreman as she walked swiftly toward the ranch house. chapter xviii breaking in the bronchos "my, but that was a job," laughed tad, after they had reached camp again, with three wild bronchos in tow. they had staked the new ponies down on the plain to think matters over while the cowboys sat down to their noon meal. "they sure are a bad lot," agreed big-foot sanders. "never seen worse ones. see that fellow, over there, don't even mind the pinch of that hackmore bridle. he's the ugliest brute in the bunch." "that's the one i'm going to break," decided tad butler, his eyes glowing as he observed the wild pitching and snorting of the staked animal. the pony was running the length of his rope at full speed, coming to a sudden halt when he reached its end, with heels high in the air and head doubled up under him on the ground. it seemed to the lad like unnecessarily harsh treatment, yet he knew full well the quality of the temper of these animals of the plains. "i'm afraid he'll break his neck," objected tad. "let him," snapped the foreman. "there's more where he came from." "by the way," said tad, speaking to the pony riders. "i have an invitation for you fellows. i had forgotten it in the excitement of getting the new ponies to camp." "where to!" asked ned rector indifferently. "to take dinner at the home of colonel mcclure." "that will be fine," glowed walter. "but the question is, what are we going to wear?" laughed tad. "we don't look very beautiful for a drawing room." "drawing room?" inquired ned rector, with interest. "did i hear you say drawing room?" "yes." "huh! there isn't one within a thousand miles of us." "you will think differently when you see the one at the ranch house." "did--did the colonel say what we were going to have to eat?" asked stacy brown, in all seriousness. his question provoked a loud laugh from cowboys and pony riders. "no. naturally, i didn't ask him. there are some very nice girls at the ranch, too." "you don't say!" exclaimed ned. "will wonders never cease? i'll believe i am not dreaming when i see all this with my own two eyes." "yes, colonel mcclure has two daughters, and besides these, there is a niece from the east visiting them. she is considerably older than the daughters, but a very beautiful woman." tad paused thoughtfully for a moment. "professor, i presume you will have no objection to our accepting colonel mcclure's invitation? you are invited to join us." "not at all, young gentlemen. but perhaps i had better not intrude----" "please go," urged tad. "sure. he'll go. you will, won't you, professor?" demanded ned. "of course, if you really wish me to----" smiled professor zepplin good-naturedly. "of course we do," chorused the boys. "very well, i will think it over. i'm afraid, however, that i do not look altogether presentable." "no more do we," answered walter perkins. "tad probably told them we did not." tad nodded. "they refused to accept that excuse. so i told them we would come." the boys were full of anticipation for this promised break in the monotony of their living; and, besides, they looked forward keenly to meeting the young women about whom their companion had told them. after the meal had been finished tad asked when they were to begin breaking the new stock. stallings looked over the ponies critically. "i guess we'll let them stay where they are, for an hour or so yet. it will help to break their spirit. still think you can break one of them in?" "i am sure of it," answered tad butler confidently. "you shall have the chance. however, i shall not permit you to saddle him. some of the cowpunchers, who are used to that, had better do it for you the first time. unless one knows these little brutes he is liable to be kicked to death." "i am not afraid." "no, that is the danger of it. neither is the pony afraid--that is, not until he is blindfolded." about the middle of the afternoon the foreman announced that they would begin the breaking. the cowmen uttered a shout, for the process promised them much boisterous fun. "is the gopher going to break one of the bronchos?" asked lumpy bates. "no, but the pinto is," replied curley adams. "he'll want to go home right away if he tries it, i reckon," jeered lumpy. "don't you be too sure about that," retorted curley. "that kid's got the stuff in him. i've been watching him right along. none of them lads is tenderfeet, unless it's the gopher, and he isn't half as bad as he looks." by this time the foreman had taken hold of the rope that held the most violent of the ponies, and was slowly shortening upon it. as he neared the pony's head a cowboy began whipping a blanket over its back. while the animal was plunging and kicking, stallings gripped him by the bridle, after which there was a lively struggle, and in a moment more a broad handkerchief had been tied over the pony's eyes. "what's that for! is he going to play blind man's buff?" demanded chunky. "huh! get out!" growled big-foot. "if he does, you'll be it," jeered ned rector. at last the animal crouched down trembling. he had never passed through an experience like that before and could not understand it. tad butler standing near, was observing the operation with keenly inquiring eyes. all at once the little animal leaped clear of the foreman's grip, its blinder came off and it launched into a series of wild bucks and grunts. the air seemed full of flying hoofs, and for the moment there was a lively scattering of cowpunchers and pony riders. once more, and with great patience, the foreman went all over the proceeding again. this time the foreman got one hand on the animal's nose and the other in his mane. all at once something happened. a forty-pound saddle was thrown, not dropped, on the back of the unsuspecting pony. the broncho's back arched like a bow, and the saddle went skyward. stacy brown happened to be in the way of it as it descended, so that boy and saddle went down together in a yelling heap. the cowpunchers howled with delight as chunky, covered with dust, wiping the sand from his eyes, staggered angrily to his feet. "did he kick me?" he demanded. "with his back, yes," chuckled shorty savage. again and again the saddle was shot into the air the instant it touched the pony's back. it was back in place in no time, however. after a time the broncho paused, as if to devise some new method of getting rid of the hated thing. as he did so, big-foot sanders cautiously poked a stick under the animal, pulling the girth toward him. a moment more and he had slipped it through a large buckle, and, with a jerk, made the girth fast. again the bucking began, but more violently than before. the saddle held, though it slipped to one side a little. "i've got him now," cried stallings. "the instant he lets up, catch that flank girth and make fast." "right," answered big-foot. it was accomplished almost before the boys realized it. walter and his companions set up a shout. the pony stood panting, head down, legs braced apart. the blinder had been torn from his eyes. he was waiting for the next move. "are you ready for me now?" asked tad butler quietly. the foreman turned his head, glancing at tad questioningly. "think you can stand it?" "i can't any more than fall off." stallings nodded. tad slipped to the pony's side. cautiously placing his left foot in the stirrups, he suddenly flung himself into the saddle. the next instant tad butler was flying through the air over the pony's head. chapter xix grit wins the battle the lad appeared to strike the ground head-on. fortunately, the spot where he landed was covered with soft sand. "are you hurt?" asked big-foot, running to the boy and reaching out to assist him. "i guess not," answered tad, rubbing the sand from his eyes and blinking vigorously. the skin had been scraped from his face in spots where the coarse sand had ground its way through. his hair was filled with the dirt of the plain, and his clothes were torn. but tad butler, nothing daunted, smiled as he pulled himself to his feet. "you better let that job out. you can't ride that critter!" "i'll ride him--if he kills me!" answered the boy, his jaws setting stubbornly. tad hitched his belt tighter before making any move to approach the pony, which stallings was now holding by main force. while doing so, the lad watched the animal's buckings observantly. "what--what happened?" demanded stallings. "foot slipped out of the stirrup." "think you can make it?" "i'll try it, if you have the time to spare." "it takes time to break a bronch. don't you worry about that. i don't want you to be breaking your neck, however." "my advice is that you keep off that animal," declared professor zepplin. "you cannot manage him; that is plain." "please do not say that, professor. i must ride him now. you wouldn't have me be a coward, would you?" stallings, realizing the boy's position, nodded slightly to the professor. "very well, if mr. stallings thinks it is safe," agreed professor zepplin reluctantly. tad's face lighted up with a satisfied smile. "whoa, boy," he soothed, patting the animal gently on the neck. the pony's back arched and its heels shot up into the air again. once more tad petted him. "no use," said the foreman. "the iron hand is the only thing that will break this cayuse. don't know enough to know when he's well off. got your spurs on?" "yes." "then drive them in when you get well seated." tad shook his head. "i do not think that will be necessary. guess he'll go fast enough without urging him with the rowels," answered the boy, backing away to wait until the pony had bounced itself into a position where another effort to mount him would be possible. "will you please coil up the stake rope and fasten it to the horn, mr. stallings?" asked tad. "i don't want to get tangled up with that thing." "yes, if you are sure you can stick on him." "leave that to me. i know his tricks now." cautiously the rope was coiled and made fast to the saddle horn. "i'm coming," said tad in a quiet, tense voice. "ready," answered the foreman, with equal quietness. the lad darted forward, running on his toes, his eyes fixed on the saddle. tad gave no heed to the pony. it was that heavy bobbing saddle that he must safely make before the pony itself would enter into his considerations. lightly touching the saddle, he bounded into it, at the same time shoving both feet forward. fortunately his shoes slipped into the big, boxed stirrups, and the rein which lay over the pommel ready for him was quickly gathered up. stallings leaped from the animal's head and the cowpunchers made a quick sprint to remove themselves from the danger zone. they were none too soon. the broncho at last realized that his head was free. his sides, however, were being gripped by a muscular pair of legs, and his head was suddenly jerked up by a sharp tug at the rein. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" greeted the cowboys in their long-drawn, piercing cry. "yip!" answered tad, though more to the pony than in answer to them. down went the pony's head between his forward legs, his hind hoofs beating a tattoo in the air. the feet came down as suddenly as they had gone up. instantly the little animal began a series of stiff-legged leaps into the air, his curving back making it a very uncomfortable place to sit on. tad's head was jerked back and forth until it seemed as though his neck would be broken. "look out for the side jump!" warned the foreman. it came almost instantly, and with a quickness that nearly unhorsed the plucky lad. as it was, the swift leap to the right threw tad half way over on the beast's left side. fortunately, the lad gripped the pommel with his right hand as he felt himself going, and little by little he pulled himself once more to an upright posture. all at once the animal took a leap into the air, coming down headed in the opposite direction. tad's head swam. he no longer heard the shouts of encouragement from the cowpunchers. he was clinging desperately to his insecure seat, with legs pressed tightly against the pony's sides. as yet he had not seen fit to use the rowels. there came a pause which was almost as disconcerting as had been the previous rapid movements. "he's going to throw himself! don't get caught under him!" bellowed big-foot. tad was thankful for the suggestion, for he was not looking for that move at the moment. the pony struck the ground on its left side with a bump that made the animal grunt. tad, however, forewarned, had freed his left foot from the stirrup and was standing easily over his fallen mount, eyes fixed on the beast's ears, ready to resume his position at the first sign of a quiver of those ears. like a flash the animal was on its feet again, but with tad riding in the saddle, a satisfied smile on his face. once more the awful, nerve-racking bucking began. it did not seem as if a human being could survive that series of violent antics, and least of all a mere boy. all at once the animal came up on its hind legs. tad knew instinctively what it meant. he did not need the warning cry of the cowpunchers to tell him what the pony was about to do. over went the broncho on its back, rolling to its side quickly. tad was on the ground beside it, standing in a half-crouching position, with one foot on the saddle horn. he had jerked the broncho's head clear of the ground with a strong tug on the reins, making the animal helpless to rise until the lad was ready for him to do so. the cowboys uttered a yell of triumph. "great! great!" approved bob stallings. "tenderfoot, eh?" jeered big-foot sanders. "hooray for the pinto!" tad's companions gave a shrill cheer. "wait. he ain't out of the woods yet," growled lumpy bates. "think you could do it better, hey?" snapped curley adams. "why, that cayuse would shake the blooming neck off you if you were in that saddle. i never did see such a whirlwind." "got springs in his feet, i reckon," grinned big-foot. "don't let his head down till you're ready for the get-away," cautioned the foreman. tad suddenly allowed the head to touch the ground, after the pony had lain pinned at his feet, breathing hard for a full minute. boy and mount were in the air in a twinkling. as they went up, ted brought down his quirt with all his strength. it was time the ugly animal was taught that its enemy could strike a blow for himself. with a quick pause, as if in surprise, the beast shot its head back to fasten its teeth in the leg of the rider. tad had jerked his leg away as he saw the movement, with the result that only part of his leggin came away between the teeth of the savage animal. crack! down came the quirt again. the broncho's head straightened out before him with amazing quickness. he was beginning to fear as well as hate the human being who so persistently sat his back and tortured him. the pony sprang into the air. "they're off!" shouted the cowboys. with amazing quickness the animal lunged ahead, paused suddenly, then shot across the plain in a series of leaps and twists. tad shook out the rein, at the same time giving a gentle pressure to the rowels of his spurs. maddened almost beyond endurance, the pony started at a furious pace, not pausing until more than a mile had been covered. when he did bring up it was with disconcerting suddenness. "whoa, boy!" soothed tad, patting the little animal on the neck. again the wide-open mouth reached for the lad's left leg. but this time tad pressed in the spurs on the right side. the pony tried to bite that way, whereat its rider spurred it on the left side. this was continued until, at least, in sheer desperation, the animal started again to run. he found that he was not interfered with in this effort. however, when he sought to unseat his rider by brushing against the trunk of a large tree, he again felt the sting of the quirt on his flank. gradually tad now began to work the animal around. after a time he succeeded in doing this, and was soon headed for camp. they bore down, at great speed, to where the cowboys were swinging their hats and setting up a shout that carried far over the plain. tad's face was flushed with pride. yet he did not allow himself for an instant to forget his work. the lad's whole attention was centered on the pony under him. he was determined to make a grand finish that, while exhibiting his horsemanship, would at the same time give the pony a lesson not soon to be forgotten. "you've got him!" cried ned rector as tad approached, now at a gallop, the animal's ears lying back angrily. "don't be too sure," answered big-foot. "see them ears? that means more trouble." it came almost before the words were out of the cowpuncher's mouth. the broncho stiffened, its hoofs ploughing little trails in the soft dirt of the plain as it skidded to a stop. the jolt might have unhorsed tad butler had he not been expecting it from some indications that he read in the animal's actions. suddenly settling back on its haunches, the broncho rolled over on its side. tad, with a grin, stepped off a few paces, taking with him, however, the coil of rope, one end of which was still fastened around the beast's neck. with a snort and a bound, realizing that it was free at last, the little animal leaped to its feet and darted away. tad moved swiftly to the right, so as not to get a tug on the rope over the back of the pony. the coil was running out over his hands like a thing of life. grasping the end firmly, the lad shook out the rest of the rope, leaning back until it was almost taut. by this time the animal was running almost at right angles to him. tad gave the rope a quick rolling motion just as it was being drawn taut. the result was as surprising as it was sudden. the animal's four feet were snipped from under it neatly, sending the broncho to earth with a disheartening bump. [illustration: tad gave the rope a quick, rolling motion.] without giving it a chance to rise, tad sprang upon it, and, when the pony rose, tad butler was sitting proudly in the saddle. the little beast's head went down. its proud spirit had been broken by a boy who knew the ways of the stubborn animal. a great shout of approval went up from cowpunchers and pony riders. they had never seen a breaking done more skillfully. tad's gloved hand patted the neck of the subdued animal affectionately. "i'm sorry i had to be rough with you, old boy, but you shall have a lump of sugar. we're going to be great friends, now, i know." chapter xx dinner at the ox bow "welcome to the ox bow, young gentlemen," greeted colonel mcclure. the rancher and his wife were waiting at the lower end of the lawn as the pony rider boys, accompanied by professor zepplin, rode up on the following afternoon. the lads wore their regulation plainsman's clothes, but for this occasion coats had been put on and hair combed, each desiring to look his best, as they were to meet the young ladies of the ranch. "we owe you an apology, sir, for appearing in this condition," announced the professor. "master butler and myself have already settled that question," answered the rancher. "as henry ward beecher once said, 'clothes don't make the man, but when he is made he looks very well dressed up.' i must say, however, that these young men are about as likely a lot of lads as i have ever seen." clear-eyed, their faces tanned almost to a copper color, figures erect and shoulders well back, the pony rider boys were indeed wholesome to look upon. perhaps sadie and margaret mcclure were not blind to this, for they blushed very prettily, the boys thought, upon being presented to their guests. ruth brayton was in a sunny mood, laughing gayly as she chatted with the boys. tad glanced at her inquiringly. she was not the same girl that he had met the day before. there was a difference in the eyes, too. tad could not understand the change. it perplexed him. colonel mcclure took the professor off to his study, the boys being left with mrs. mcclure and the young ladies to wander through the grounds and chat. each of the young women was an accomplished horsewoman, and therefore evinced a keen interest in the experiences of the boys since they had been in saddle. "i had so often wanted to take a trip through the rockies on horseback," announced miss margaret. "i am afraid you would find it rather rough going," said ned rector. "no worse than the plains," replied walter. "we have had more hardships in texas during the short time we have been here than we ever experienced in the mountains." "yes; but you were driving cattle," objected mrs. mcclure. "there probably is no harder work in the world. we, down here, know something about that." "i--i killed a bobcat up in the mountains," stacy brown informed them, with enthusiasm. "indeed," smiled mrs. mcclure indulgently. "he did. and i fell off a mountain," laughed walter perkins. "you see we have had quite a series of experiences." "indeed you have. how long do you expect to remain with the herd? are you going through with them?" "i believe not," answered tad butler. "i think we shall be leaving very soon now. we have a lot of traveling to do yet, as it has been planned that we shall see a good deal of the country before it is time to return to school this fall." "and you are to remain out in the open--in the saddle all summer?" asked miss brayton, her eyes sparkling almost enviously. "yes; i believe so." "i should love it." "we are getting to love it ourselves. it will be hard to have to sleep indoors again." shortly afterwards all were summoned in to supper. stacy brown's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he surveyed the table resplendent with silver and cut glass--loaded, too, with good things to eat. ned rector observed the look in his companion's eyes. "now, don't forget that we are not eating off the tail board of the chuck wagon, chunky," he whispered in passing. "be as near human as you can and satisfy your appetite." chunky's face flushed. "take your advice to yourself," he muttered. colonel mcclure proved an entertaining host, and the boys were led on to talk about themselves during most of the meal. especially were their hosts interested in the story of the discovery of the lost claim, which the boys had found on their trip in the rockies. "i have wanted to ask you about the old church between here and camp, mr. mcclure," said tad at the first opportunity. "very interesting old ruin, sir," answered the host. "built by the mexicans more than a hundred years ago." "yes, so i understand." "is it true that there's spooks in that place?" interrupted stacy. everybody laughed. tad glanced sharply at ruth brayton. he noticed a curious flush on her face, and the strained look that he had observed in her eyes on the previous day was again there. almost the instant he caught it it was gone. "i'm afraid you have been misinformed, master stacy," answered colonel mcclure. "how about the trouble that the cattle men experience when near the place?" spoke up ned rector. "the cowmen are sure there is something in the story." "nothing at all--nothing at all. just a mere coincidence. we live here and we have no more than the usual run of ill luck with our stock." "stampedes?" asked tad. "seldom anything of that sort. you see our stock is held by wire fences. if they want to stampede we let them--let them run until they are tired of it." "i should like to explore the old church," said tad, again referring to the subject uppermost in his mind. "nothing to hinder. ruth, why can't you and the girls take the young men over there to-morrow if the day is fine? you know the place and its history. i am sure they would enjoy having you do so." "we should be delighted," answered ned rector promptly. "we might make it a picnic," suggested margaret mcclure. "and have things to eat?" asked stacy, evincing a keen interest in the proposal. "of course," smiled mrs. mcclure. "a picnic would not be a picnic without a spread on the ground. i will send some of the servants over to serve the picnic lunch." "thank you," smiled tad gratefully. "it will be a happy afternoon for all of us if miss brayton can find the time to take us." "of course ruth will go," nodded mrs. mcclure. "yes," answered the young woman. "what time shall we arrange to start, auntie?" "say eleven o'clock, if that will suit the young men." "perfectly," answered tad. "you might first take a gallop to the springs. that will give you all an appetite." "where are the springs?" asked ned. "about seven miles to the eastward of the ranch. a most picturesque place," answered colonel mcclure. "professor, while the young people are enjoying themselves, suppose you ride over here and spend the afternoon with me? we can ride about the ranch if it would please you." "i should be delighted." "i was going to suggest, too, that it might be a pleasant relief for all of you to accept the hospitality of the ox bow ranch and remain here while you are in the vicinity. we have room to spare and would be glad to have you." "i am afraid the young men would prefer to remain in camp, thank you. they will get enough of sleeping in beds upon their return home, discourteous as the statement may seem," answered professor zepplin. "not at all--not at all. i understand you perfectly. i shall not press the point. but spend all the time you can with us. the place is yours. make yourselves at home." "no; mr. stallings would not like it if we were to remain away over night. you see, he expects us to do our share of night guard duty," explained tad. "we are earning our keep as it were." the boys laughed. "that is, some of us are," corrected ned, with a sly glance at stacy, who was eating industriously. "others are eating for their keep." the pony rider boys caught the hidden meaning in his words, but they tried not to let their hosts observe that it was a joke at the expense of one of them. "stallings," murmured miss brayton, her eyes staring vacantly at tad butler. tad flushed at the memory of what he had heard on his first visit to the ranch. miss brayton excused herself rather abruptly and left the room. they did not see her again that evening. "my niece has been ailing of late," explained mrs. mcclure. "perhaps she had better not try to accompany us to-morrow, then," suggested tad. "oh, yes, i wish her to. it will do her good--it will take her mind from herself." tad butler noted the last half of the sentence particularly. for him it held a deeper meaning than it did for his companions. "i wonder if she knows mr. stallings," mused tad. "i'm going to find out. no, i won't. it's none of my business. still, it will do no harm to ask him, or to mention the name to him. that surely would not be wrong." under the charm of the evening his mind soon drifted into other channels. after supper games were brought out and a happy evening followed. ten o'clock came, and professor zepplin, glancing at his watch, was about to propose a return to camp, when one of colonel mcclure's cowboys appeared in the doorway, hat in hand. "beg pardon; may i speak with you a moment?" asked the man. "certainly," replied the colonel, with the same gracious manner, tad observed, that he used toward his guests. "excuse me a moment." after a little their host returned, but rather hurriedly, it seemed, and tad's keen eyes noticed that he seemed disturbed. mr. mcclure caught the lad's inquiring gaze fixed upon him. he nodded. "is anything wrong?" asked the rancher's wife. "yes; i am afraid there is," he answered quietly. "what is it?" "i am not sure. perhaps i should not alarm you young gentlemen, but i think you should know." "at the camp, you mean?" asked tad. "yes." "what's that?" demanded professor zepplin sharply. "something wrong at the camp?" "my men think so. they say they hear shooting off in that direction, and want to know if they shall ride out." "you think it is a--a----" began tad. "a stampede? yes; i should not be surprised." "we must go," announced the lad, rising promptly. "why go?" asked margaret. "we may be needed." "but my men have started already," replied the rancher. "they surely will be help enough." "mr. stallings will expect us. we may be able to be of some assistance." "well, if you must. yes; you are right. business is business, even when one is out on a pleasure trip. it's a good sign in a young man. tell your foreman that he may call upon us to any extent." "thank you, i will," replied tad. bidding their hosts a hasty good night, and promising to be on hand at the appointed hour on the following day if the condition of the herd permitted, the pony rider boys ran for their ponies. in a few moments they were racing toward camp. they, too, were now able to hear the short, spiteful bark of the six-shooters. it was a significant sound. they had heard it too many times before not to understand it. in their minds they could see the hardy cowboys riding in front of the unreasoning animals, shooting into the ground in front of them, seeking to check the rush. "what do you think about this business?" asked tad butler, drawing up beside ned rector. "i think there is more in this spook story than colonel mcclure knows of, or, at least, will admit." "so do i," answered tad. "we'll know when we hear how it happened." tad remembered, at that moment, the hasty departure of ruth brayton. "i wonder--i wonder," muttered the boy to himself. chapter xxi a call for help "i told you so." "you have told me so many things, big-foot, that i can't remember them all," laughed tad. "what is it this time?" "trouble." "oh, you mean the stampede last night?" "yes." "tell me about it. you know i was not here when it started." after a hard night's work, in which the pony rider boys had toiled heroically, the cattle once more had been rounded up and big-foot and tad butler were riding into camp for breakfast. it was the first opportunity they had found to talk over the incident. "not much to tell. it happened so quick----" "what time?" interrupted tad. "'bout half-past nine, i reckon." "half-past nine," muttered the lad thoughtfully. "yes; go on." "we were sitting by the camp fire, and curley adams was telling about the time he was mixed up with the rustlers on the colorado." "yes." "well, them ponies came down on us a-whooping." "the ponies? did they get away, too?" asked the lad in surprise. "did they? you ought to have seen the varmints. nearly run over us when they smashed through the camp. one jumped clean over the fire." "yes, i understand; but did you have any idea why the cattle stampeded?" "sure. the ponies put them on the run." "the ponies started it?" "yes. no telling how it happened. the cows come a-running after the ponies had broke through them, and the whole outfit piled over the camp." "do any damage?" "i reckon. knocked over the chuck wagon, and near killed the heathen chinee. the men on guard roped the runaway ponies, and, by the time you got on the job, we had just about got straightened around ready to go after the cows." "i suppose you lay it to----" "adobe church," answered the cowman conclusively. "i am going over there to-day, big-foot. i am going to try to find out if there is anything in all this. candidly, i don't believe it. even colonel mcclure says it's all foolishness. that is, i do not believe it is anything that cannot be explained." the foreman was looking worried that morning. it had been a succession of disasters ever since they had neared the locality. this time it had been the ponies which were hobbled some little distance from the herd, but which had become so frightened at what they saw that they bolted, hobbles and all. "i want those cows from the mcclure ranch brought over to-day," stallings directed. "at least, bring over half of them. get them over right after breakfast. if we are going to have any more disturbances let's try to have them in the daytime." "do you need us?" asked tad. "no. go on and enjoy yourselves. you all have earned a holiday." the lads were in their saddles early. professor zepplin went with them, intending to spend the day at the ranch as arranged on the previous evening. the young ladies of the household were waiting, dressed in short skirts and wearing broad-brimmed straw hats. to the boys they were most attractive. their fresh young faces lighted with anticipation of the day's pleasure as, assisted by the pony riders, they swung into their saddles. it fell to tad butler to ride beside miss brayton. "we had a stampede at the camp last night," he told her after they had headed off to the east for the springs, which was to be their first objective point. "yes; so uncle told me. i'm sorry. did you lose any stock?" "i believe not, unless it was some of the new ponies. i did not think to ask." "at what time did the trouble occur?" she asked absently. "i think it was shortly after you left us at dinner, last night," answered tad, in a matter-of-fact tone. "it was, perhaps, half an hour after that when your uncle told us." miss brayton flushed painfully, and quickly changed the subject. tad noticed her confusion and marveled at it. arriving at the springs, which proved to be a group of rocks rising out of the plain, and from which several springs of pure sparkling water bubbled, all dismounted and drank of the refreshing fluid. after a few moments spent in chatting, they remounted their ponies and set off for the adobe church, the real object of the day's journey. reaching the historic place, they tethered their ponies among the mesquite bushes in the rear of it, after which all entered through a crumbling doorway. the interior, they found, was in an excellent state of preservation. many surprising little alcoves and odd, cell-like rooms were distributed all through the church. it was dark and cool in there. chunky shivered, and said he didn't wonder people said there were spooks there. "is there any cellar beneath the church?" asked tad. "it has been said that there were once underground passages," answered miss brayton. "no one in our time has ever discovered them." "that sounds interesting. i think i should like to find the way into them." "so should i," added stacy brown. "look out that you don't fall in," cautioned ned. "remember that's your failing." "not much chance of that," laughed margaret. "these stone floors are too thick for anyone to fall through." "does anyone ever come here?" asked tad. "not that i know of," answered miss brayton. "but i saw a path when i came in. somebody has been hitching a pony out there in the bushes, too," said the boy. "perhaps some of the cowmen may come in here out of the heat, now and then," replied the young woman carelessly. "why ruth, you could not induce one of papa's men to enter the door of the old place. you know they are half scared to death of it," said margaret. chunky's eyes were growing large. "wow!" he said. "let's go out doors and eat." "the lunch has not yet arrived. it will be here soon," miss brayton informed him. "we will spread it in the main room here, if you have no objections. it will be cool and pleasant; and, besides, there are no flies in here." "for goodness' sake, forget your appetite," growled ned in stacy's ear. "can't a fellow talk about his appetite without being found fault with?" chunky sulkily retorted. "not the kind of an appetite you have. it's a positive disgrace to the outfit." "huh!" grunted chunky, walking away. the lad wandered off by himself, and the rest forgot all about him in their investigation of the old church. miss brayton told them as much of its history as she knew. "some of the former priests are said to have been buried somewhere in the edifice," she said. "i don't see any signs of it," said tad. "no. no one ever has in our time. and it has even been hinted that treasure has been buried here, too, or secreted in some of the mysterious recesses of the church." "where are they" asked walter. "i am beginning to get curious." "i am sure i do not know," laughed the young woman. "there is a sort of garret, if you can get to it, above the gallery there. maybe you might find something there. i have an idea that it is inhabited by bats." "i guess we will leave them undisturbed," decided tad. "i don't like bats." "there come the servants," announced miss brayton. "now your friend will be able to satisfy his appetite." at her direction the servants brought in the baskets of food. a cloth was spread over a stone table that they found at the far end of the church in the balcony. what its use had been, in those other days, they did not know, but it served their purpose very well now. "i am afraid we shall have to eat standing," said miss sadie. "we have no chairs." "that will suit chunky," replied ned rector. "he always likes to eat standing." "why?" asked margaret, glancing up at him inquiringly. "for some reasons of his own," answered ned mischievously. as the good things were spread before them the eyes of the lads lighted appreciatively, and all helped themselves gratefully. it was a jolly party, untouched by the air of mystery that was supposed to surround the place. "why, where is master stacy?" asked ruth brayton in surprise, after they had been eating a few moments. "chunky? that's so, where is he?" demanded walter, glancing over the railing into the auditorium below. no one seemed to know. "he's prowling around the place somewhere," said ned. "but what surprises me is that he doesn't scent the food and come running. it's not like him to hang back when there is anything good to eat." "call him," suggested margaret. "i will. o-h-h chunky!" there was no reply. "i will go after him," said walter, running lightly to the other end of the balcony and down the stone steps. the lad returned in a few moments, a perplexed frown on his face. "find him?" asked ned. "no." "maybe he's gone back to camp. he's a queer chap." "i think not. i saw his pony there with the others." "oh, well, never mind. he'll get so hungry that he will have to come out, wherever he is," decided tad. "i imagine he is hiding somewhere to make us think he has gone away. hark! what was that?" a far away call for help echoed faintly through the church. they looked at each other with growing uneasiness on their faces. "it's chunky," breathed walter. "wh--where is he?" stammered margaret. "i don't know. excuse me; i must go," exclaimed tad. "the boy is in trouble again. i knew it--i knew he couldn't keep out of it," he added, hurrying away from them. ned sprang down the steps after tad and together they disappeared through a rear door in the auditorium. chapter xxii lost in the adobe church those up in the gallery could hear the two boys calling to their companion. there was no answer to their hails, and one by one the little party left the gallery. "i tell you he is playing tricks on us," said ned, after they had searched all over the place without finding any trace of stacy. "no; i don't agree with you," answered tad. "something has happened to him." "what shall we do?" asked walter. "keep on looking. that is all we can do just now." once more they began their search, but with no better results than before. "have you looked outside?" asked miss brayton. "yes; we looked out. no use in hunting there, for we can see all around the place from the side door here," answered tad. "he has gotten into some place that we know nothing about. we've got to find it, that's all." "i would suggest that one of us ride to camp and get some of the men to come out and help us," advised walter. "i'll ride home, and have father send some of his own men," suggested margaret. "yes; that would be best," agreed miss brayton. "i wish you wouldn't," replied tad. "it would alarm them, and professor zepplin would be frightened. ned, suppose you hustle for camp and tell mr. stallings the fix we are in. we shall need some help, that's sure." "all right. i'm off." big-foot sanders and curley adams responded to the call on the run, the foreman being out with the herd at the time. "i knew it," was big-foot's first words as he rode up and threw himself from his pony where tad was standing. "now tell me all about it." tad did so, the cowman nodding his head vigorously as tad told him all he knew about chunky's mysterious disappearance. "which way did he go?" asked curley. "that we do not know," answered miss brayton. "his cry seemed to come from the back of the church somewhere," spoke up ned. "we'll go in and look around, then," decided big-foot, striding into the church. "whew! smells pretty musty in here. what's that up there?" "that's where we were eating our lunch when we heard chunky call," walter informed him. "how long since you had seen him--was he up there with you?" "no; he had left us twenty minutes before we began eating lunch," answered ned. "humph!" grunted the cowman, gazing about him in perplexity. "sure it isn't a trick?" tad shook his head. "no. he was in trouble. i knew that from his tone." "then he must have fallen in some place," announced big-foot. "he couldn't fall up, so there's no use looking anywhere but on the ground floor here," he decided, wisely. "anybody know of any holes that he might drop into?" "not that i have seen," answered ned. "the floor is as solid as stone." "well, that beats all. you boys scout around outside, while curley and i are looking things over in here. besides, i want to be alone and think this thing over." "what do you make of it, big-foot?" asked curley adams, after the others had gone outside. "i ain't making. when it comes to putting my wits against a spook place, i'm beyond roping distance. we'll look into these holes in the wall around here, first," he said, referring to the niches and cell-like rooms that they saw leading off from the auditorium. "you make it your business to sound the floor. we may find some kind of trap door." curley went about bringing down the heels of his heavy boots on the hard floor, but it all sounded solid enough. there was no belief in the mind of either that the lad could have disappeared in any of the places they had examined--that is, that he could have done so through any ordinary accident. like most cowboys, both curley and big-foot possessed a strong vein of superstition in their natures. to them there was something uncanny in stacy brown's mysterious and sudden disappearance. "here's a door, but it's closed," called curley. "that's so," agreed big-foot, hurrying over to him. "the thing is sealed up with mortar. hasn't been used in fifty cats' lives. wonder what's behind it." "not the boy; that's certain." "nope. he didn't fall through there." "find any other doors open or closed?" "nary a one." "well, that seems to settle this part of the ranch; we've got to look somewhere else. what bothers me is that we don't hear him call. if he was anywhere near, and had his voice, he'd be yelling for help," decided the big cowboy. "don't think he's dead, do you?" "i don't think at all. i don't know," answered big-foot. "it's my idea that the gopher isn't in here at all," announced curley, with emphasis. his companion eyed him thoughtfully. "you're almost human at times, curley. i reckon you've said the only true words that's been spoke by us this afternoon. we look for the gopher and don't find him. you say he ain't here, and he isn't. great head! but that don't find him. the question is, where is he?" "we'll have to look outside," answered curley. "right you are. come on." but their search outside was as fruitless as had been their quest within the old adobe church. not a trace of stacy brown did they find. "ned, i think you had better take the young ladies home," said tad finally. "want me to tell professor zepplin?" "not right away. you can tell him on the way out here. he will not have quite so long to worry, but i think he should know about it. the matter is serious. where did you say mr. stallings was, big-foot?" "out with the new herd. the cattle are pretty restless." "walt, you go in and tell the foreman the difficulty we are in. i'll wait here and go on with the search. if he can get away i wish he would come." "i'll tell him," answered walter, hurrying away. "i am sorry we have spoiled your afternoon, miss brayton," said tad. "it's too bad. but i'm afraid something serious has happened to our friend." "shall we see you again, mr. butler?" "of course. i don't know when the herd will start on. we certainly shall not do so until we have found stacy. anyway, we will ride over some time to-morrow and bid you all good-bye." assisting the young women into their saddles, tad bade their friends good afternoon and turned sadly back to the church, while ned rector rode back to the ox bow ranch with the young women. "well, what do you think?" demanded the lad, as he faced the big cowboy. "i don't think. my thinker's all twisted out of shape," answered big-foot. "i can't tell you what to do. wait till the boss gets here." "i guess that will be best," replied tad. "we have done all we know how to do." the two men and the boy wandered about the church aimlessly, saying little, but thinking a great deal, impatiently awaiting the arrival of bob stallings, to whom they now looked to show them the way out of their difficulty. the foreman arrived, in the course of half an hour, with his pony on a sharp run. they had heard him approach, and were outside waiting for him. "well, this is a nice kettle of fish!" exclaimed stallings, leaping to the ground, tossing his reins to curley adams. "tell me about it." once more tad butler related all the facts in his possession regarding stacy brown's mysterious disappearance. "big-foot thinks it's spooks," added tad. "that's all bosh," exploded the foreman. "it's getting late in the afternoon, and i've no time to waste. i'll find him for you. what ails you, big-foot? getting weak in the knees?" "not as i knows of. this funny business is kinder getting on my nerves, though." "humph!" grunted the foreman, starting for the church in long strides. "nerves in a cowboy! humph!" they watched the tall figure of stallings charging through the adobe house, peering here and there, asking questions in short, snappy sentences, going down on his knees in search of footprints. finally he rose from his task with a puzzled look in his eyes. "tell me that story again," he demanded. tad did so. the foreman went outside and surveyed the building from all sides. "there's some secret room or passage in there somewhere. the gopher has stumbled into it. we are going to discover the mystery of the church of san miguel before we have done here--that is, we are if we're lucky," he added. bob stallings' words were prophetic, though he did not know it. the discovery was to be one that would give the big foreman the surprise of his life, and that would affect all his after life as well. chapter xxiii solving the mystery "we can't do much of anything more until daylight," announced the foreman finally. "you see, it's getting dark now." "you--you are going to leave him here?" asked tad hesitatingly. "that's all we can do, so far as i see. but we'll put one of the men on guard to watch the place. to-morrow morning we'll take it upon ourselves to tear down that door that's sealed up. it may lead into the place where the boy fell in. yes; we'll bring down the whole miserable shack if necessary." "you--you think he is here, then?" "of course. where else could he be? he walked away and disappeared right before your eyes. he could not get away if he had gone outside. so where is he? in the church, of course." "then i will remain here and watch the place," decided tad firmly. stallings glanced at him hesitatingly. "all right. i guess you have got the nerve to do it. i can't say as much for the rest of the bunch. you come along with me, now, and get your supper. after that you may return if you want to. big-foot, you and curley stay here until the pinto gets back. better keep busy. you may stumble upon something before you know it." the two cowboys did not appear to be any too well pleased with the task assigned to them, but they obeyed orders without protest. the evening had grown quite dark by the time the cowmen had finished their supper. all had been discussing the strange disappearance of stacy brown. it did not seem to surprise them. they had expected trouble when they reached the vicinity of the adobe church. they had had little else during the time they had been in the camp. "send curley and big-foot in," directed the foreman after tad had announced his readiness to return to the church. "we'll all go," spoke up ned rector. "it's not at all necessary," answered tad. "no; i have decided to let big-foot go back after he has eaten. he can remain with you until ten-thirty, when he takes his trick on guard. then the rest of you may go out if you wish. it isn't fair to leave the pinto there alone all night. if i change my plans i'll send out master ned or walter. run along now, tad." the lad mounted his pony and galloped slowly out for his long vigil. he was greatly disturbed over the loss of chunky. yet he could not bring himself to believe that great harm had come to the boy. "anything new?" he called as he rode up. "nary a thing. plenty of funny noises inside the shack. kinder gives a fellow the creeps; that's all." "you are to come back and remain with me until your watch, i believe, big-foot." "nice job you've cut out for me," answered the cowman. "i had nothing to do with it. it's the foreman's order," answered tad. "better bring a lantern with you. we may need it before the night is over." "all right," answered big-foot, swinging into his saddle. after the cowmen had left, tad walked out a little way from the church and sat down in the sand. he was within easy hearing of the place in case anyone should call out. it was a lonely spot. tad had not sat there long before the noises that the cowmen had spoken of began again. the lad listened intently for a moment. "bats," he said. "i can hear them flying about me. i hope none of them hit me in the face. i've heard they do that sometimes." the pony, which had been staked down well out on the plain, was now moving about restlessly. "i wonder if the noises are getting on the broncho's nerves, too? there's nothing here to be afraid of. i'm not afraid," declared tad firmly, rising and pacing back and forth. he was relieved, just the same, when the big cowman rode back, an hour later, and took up the vigil with him. the two talked in subdued tones as they walked back and forth, the lad expressing the opinion that they would find stacy unharmed when they once discovered the mysterious place into which he had unwittingly stumbled. "you see, those walls are so thick that we couldn't hear him even if he did call out. he may even have gotten in where they buried those monks we've heard about. i hope not, though." "he wouldn't know it," said big-foot. "no, probably not in the darkness. did you bring that lantern?" "pshaw! i forgot it. mebby i'd better go back and get it." "no; never mind, big-foot. the moon will be up after a time. then we shall not need it. you are going in for the ten-thirty trick, are you not?" "that's what the boss said," replied big-foot. the right section of the herd was now bedded within a short distance of the church. they could hear the singing of the cowboys as they circled slowly around the sleeping cattle. "guess we are not going to have any more trouble with them," said tad, nodding toward the herd. "don't be too sure. i feel it coming. i have a feeling that trouble ain't more'n a million miles away at this very minute." "i wish you wouldn't talk that way. you'll get me feeling creepy, first thing you know. i've got to stay here all night," said tad. big-foot laughed. they passed the time as best they could until the hour for the departure of the cowboy arrived. then tad was left alone once more. he circled about the church, listening. once he thought he heard the hoof-beats of a pony. but the sound died away instantly, and he believed he must have been wrong. after half an hour big-foot returned. the foreman had decided, so long as the cattle were quiet, to have him remain with tad. if the cowboy should be needed in a hurry the foreman was to fire a shot in the air as a signal. tad was intensely pleased at this arrangement. after chatting a while they lay down on the ground, speaking only occasionally, and then in low tones. the mystery of the night seemed to have awed them into silent thought. they had lain there for some time, when tad suddenly rose on one elbow. "did you hear that?" he whispered. "yes," breathed the cowman. "what--what do you think it was?" "sounded as if some one had jumped to the ground. we'd better crawl up there. it was by the church. i told you it was coming." "do you suppose it was chunky?" "no. he'd be afraid of the dark. you'd hear him yelling for help." tad had his doubts of that; but, just the same, he, too, felt that the noise they had heard had not been made by stacy brown. a silence of several minutes followed. the two had crawled only a few feet toward the church, when, with one common impulse, they flattened themselves on the ground and listened. now they could distinctly hear some one cautiously moving about in front of the church. it seemed to tad as if the mysterious intruder were standing on the broad stone flagging at the top of the steps leading into the adobe church. tad slowly rose to his feet. "who's there?" he cried in a voice that trembled a little. a sudden commotion followed the question, and the listeners distinctly caught the sound of footsteps on the flagging. a flash lighted the scene momentarily. big-foot had fired a shot toward the church. a slight scream followed almost instantly. "i winged it!" shouted the cowman, lifting his weapon for another shot. tad struck the gun up. the lad was excited now. "stop!" he commanded. "don't do that again. do you want to kill somebody?" with that tad ran, his feet fairly flying over the ground, in the direction of the church steps. in the flash of the gun he had caught a glimpse of a figure standing there. the sight thrilled him through and through. as the plucky lad reached the steps some one started to run down them. tripping, the unknown plunged headlong to the ground. the boy was beside the figure in an instant. "big-foot!" he shouted. the cowman came tearing up to him. "what is it?" he bellowed in his excitement. "it's a woman, big-foot! it's a woman! oh, i hope you did not hit her!" "it's no woman; it's a spook. i know it's a spook!" fairly shouted the cowboy. "i tell you it's a woman!" cried tad. he was down on his knees by her side now, raising her head. "get help--_quick_!" sanders took the shortest way of doing this. he, too, was alarmed now. raising his gun above his head, he pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. as many sharp flashes leaped into the air, and as many quick reports followed. "sure she ain't a spirit?" demanded the cowman, peering down suspiciously, fearfully. he could make out the form on the ground but dimly. "don't be foolish. run out there and meet them. i hear the ponies coming. don't let any of them use their guns, in the excitement, or some one may get hurt," warned tad butler, with rare judgment. big-foot hurried out into the open. in the meantime tad stroked the face and head of the woman. she was unconscious, but her flesh seemed warm to his touch. "i wonder what it means," the perplexed boy asked himself. tad could feel his own pulses beating against his temples. it seemed to him as if all the blood in his body were hurling itself against them. cowboys on their ponies came thundering up from different directions. in the lead was bob stallings, the foreman of the outfit. "you idiots!" he shouted. "do you want to stampede the herd again? what do you mean?" "i've winged a spook!" yelled big-foot sanders. "she's over there by the steps now. the kid's got her." "spook--nonsense!" snapped the foreman, leaping from his pony and rushing to the spot indicated by big-foot. "what----" chorused the cowboys. "is it the boy--have they found him?" "if you all don't insist on talking at once, mebby we can find out what the row's about," snarled curley adams. the foreman stopped suddenly as he observed tad sitting at the foot of the church steps. he saw, too, another form there, but it was so dimly outlined in the deep shadows that he was unable to make it out. "what does this mean?" he demanded sternly. "i don't know. it's a woman. i'm afraid big-foot's bullet hit her. we must have a light." "bring matches!" roared the foreman. no one had any. "rustle for the camp, and fetch a lantern--and be quick about it! i've had enough of this fooling. what was she doing--how did it happen?" tad explained as clearly as he could how they had been disturbed by the strange noises, resulting finally in a shot from big-foot's gun. "the idiot! it'll be a sorry day for him if he's done any damage," growled the foreman. he stooped over and ran his hand over the unconscious woman's face. then he applied his ear to the region of the heart. "huh!" he snapped, rising. "find anything!" asked tad in a half whisper. "she's alive. heart weak, but i don't think she's seriously hurt. i don't understand it at all." "no more do i. i'm getting dizzy over all this rapid-fire business," added the lad. "there they come with a light." stallings strode to the cowman who had brought the lantern. jerking it from the man's hand the foreman ran back. "we'll straighten her up against the steps, and try to find out how badly she is hurt," he said, placing the lantern on the ground. tad had partially raised her, when he let the girl drop with a sudden, startled exclamation. "what is it?" demanded stallings incisively. "it's miss ruth!" "who?" "miss ruth----" by the dim lantern light the foreman saw her face outlined against the dark background of green. his eyes were fixed upon her, and bob stallings seemed scarcely to breathe. "ruth brayton!" he gasped. "yes," answered tad in a low voice, not fully comprehending the meaning of the scene that was being enacted before him. "ruth brayton," repeated stallings, slowly passing a hand across his forehead. "ruth!" he cried, throwing himself to his knees beside her. "i tell ye i winged a spook," insisted big-foot sanders to a companion as they came up. tad raised a warning hand for silence. chapter xxiv conclusion "get back to that herd!" commanded the foreman sharply. "all of you! tad, you stay with me. the girl has fallen and struck her head on the flagging. i don't think she is seriously hurt." not understanding the meaning of it all, the cowmen drew back and slouched to their ponies. most of them were off duty at the time, so they took their way back to camp to be ready for whatever emergency might arise. not a man of them spoke until they had staked their ponies and seated themselves around the camp-fire. such a silence was unusual among the cowboys. ned and walter, who had followed them in, were standing aside, equally silent and thoughtful. shorty savage was the first to speak. "what's it all about? that's what i'd like to know," he asked. "you won't find out from me," answered curley. "big-foot thinks he winged a spook," said a voice. "allee samee," chuckled pong, who had been taking in the scene with mouth and eyes agape. big-foot fixed him with a baneful eye. "i said i'd forget you were the cook some day," said he. "i'm forgetting it, now, faster'n a broncho can run!" pong's pigtail bobbed up and down like the streaming neckkerchief of a cowboy in saddle as he dived for the protection of the trail wagon. "i reckon he can understand king's english when he wants to," laughed shorty. "now how about that spook, big-foot?" sanders stood up, hitched his trousers and tightened his belt a notch. "reckon we've all gone plumb daffy, fellows. i'm the champeen dummy of the bunch." the cowpunchers laughed heartily. "but was she a spook?" persisted shorty. "she were not. she were a woman--a friend of the boss." shorty whistled. "lucky for me i missed her. i was rattled, or i'd never taken that shot." "who is she?" asked curley. "one of the young women from the ox bow. it gets me what she was doing in that spook place alone at night. i----" "w-o-w!" the exclamation was uttered by a familiar voice, at the sound of which the cowmen sprang to their feet. "it's the gopher!" they cried. "chunky!" shouted ned and walter, running forward with a yell. "i fell in," wailed the fat boy. at sight of him the cowboys yelled with merriment. chunky's clothes were torn. he was covered with dirt from head to foot, and his face was so grimy as to be scarcely recognizable. big-foot was staring at him in amazement. striding forward, he grasped the lad roughly by the shoulder, jerking him into the full light of the camp-fire. "where you been, gopher?" he demanded sternly. "i fell in," stammered the boy. "where?" "some kind of a well. it was in the bushes just outside the back door. i went there to hide. i fell down to the bottom and went to sleep." "just like him. have anything to eat down there?" jeered ned rector. "when i woke up it was dark. then i found another hole--a passage. it went both ways. guess one end went under the church. i followed it the other way, and came out near where the steers are bedded down." "hold on a minute. let's get this straight," interrupted curley. "you mean you found an underground passage at the bottom of the old well? is that it?" chunky nodded. "and the opening was near the spring at the point of rocks just above the herd?" "yes. but i had to dig out through a brush heap." "huh! not such a terrible mystery, after all," sniffed curley contemptuously. "how came that underground passage there? what's it for?" asked big-foot. "probably dug out in indian times. i'll bet it has saved the scalp of more than one old fellow. there's an opening into it from the church somewhere, you can depend upon that. i'm thinking, too, that the well was a bluff--that it wasn't intended for water at all. we'll smash the mystery of the adobe church before we pull out of here to-morrow, see if we don't." "i come mighty near doing for one of them," added big-foot sanders ruefully. "got anything to eat?" interrupted stacy brown. "for goodness' sake, boys, take your fat friend over to the chuck wagon and fill him up. he's like a mexican steer--he'll bed down safer when he's full of supper." * * * * * in the meantime, another scene was being enacted off at the ox bow ranch--a scene that was to add still another chapter to the romance of the trail. tad butler was sitting alone in the darkness on the steps of the mcclure mansion. the boy, chin in hands, was lost in thought. stallings had carried ruth brayton in his arms all the way to the ranch where she had soon revived. after leaving her, the foreman and colonel mcclure had locked themselves in the library, where they remained in consultation for more than an hour. "how is miss ruth?" asked the boy eagerly, when stallings finally came out. "better than in many months," answered the foreman. there was a new note in his voice. "i'm so glad," breathed tad. "old man," began stallings, slapping tad on the shoulder, "come along with me. we'll lead our ponies back to camp and talk. i presume you are aching to know what all this mystery means?" laughed the foreman. "naturally, i am a bit curious," admitted tad. "it means, pinto, that not only have you rendered a great service to mr. miller and his herd, but you have done other things as well." "i've mixed things up pretty well, i guess." "no. you have solved a riddle, and made me the happiest man in the lone star state. miss brayton and i have known each other almost since childhood. when i was in yale----" "you a college man!" exclaimed tad in surprise. "yes. we were engaged. my people were quite wealthy; but, in a panic, some years ago, father lost everything, dying soon after. miss brayton's family then refused their consent to our marriage. i determined to seek my fortune in the growing west. my full name is robert stallings hamilton, though i never had used the middle name until i adopted it when i became a cowboy. but to return to miss brayton. ruth was taken to europe, and then sent to her uncle here. her trouble preyed on her mind to such an extent that she grew 'queer.' she had heard that i was a cattle man, somewhere in the west. strangely enough, when in her moods, she developed a strong antipathy to herds of cattle. whenever a herd was near, ruth would slip from the house and steal away to them in the night, a stampede usually followed. it's a wonder she wasn't shot. whether or not she caused these intentionally, ruth does not know----" "and that is the mystery?" asked tad. "yes." "it is the strangest story i ever heard," said the boy quietly. "what i was about to say, is that the herd will go on without me. colonel mcclure is sending his own foreman through with it instead. ruth and i are to be married at once, and we shall go to my little ranch in montana." in view of the fact that stallings was severing his connection with the herd, professor zepplin decided to do likewise. next morning, at sunrise, bob stallings, with miss ruth, by his side, both radiantly happy, rode out to the camp. the pony rider boys had packed their kits and loaded their belongings on their ponies. regretfully they bade good-bye to the cowmen. tad's parting with big-foot was most trying. in the short time they had been together, a strong affection had grown up between the two. the plainsman had been quick to perceive tad's manly qualities, and the boy, in his turn, had been won by the big, generous nature of the man. they parted, each vowing that they must see each other again. as the great herd moved slowly northward, three cheers were proposed for bob stallings and miss brayton. this the cowboys gave with a will, adding a tiger for the pony rider boys. the trail wagon, pulling out at the same time, held a grinning chinaman, huddled in the rear. "good-bye, pong!" shouted the lads. "allee samee," chuckled the cook, shaking hands with himself enthusiastically. and here for a time we will take leave of the pony rider boys, whose further exciting experiences will be chronicled in the next volume, entitled: "the pony rider boys in montana; or, the mystery of the old custer trail." this will be a story of adventure, full of absorbing interest and thrilling incidents. the reader will then go over the same trails that general custer rode in the wilder days. the end. * * * * * henry altemus company's catalogue of the best and least expensive books for real boys and girls these fascinating volumes will interest boys and girls of every age under sixty sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price henry altemus company - cherry street philadelphia the motor boat club series by h. irving hancock the keynote of these books is manliness. the stories are wonderfully entertaining, and they are at the same time sound and wholesome. the plots are ingenious, the action swift, and the moral tone wholly healthful. no boy will willingly lay down an unfinished book in this series, at the same time he will form a taste for good literature and the glory of right living. the motor boat club of the kennebec; or, the secret of smugglers' island. the motor boat club at nantucket; or, the mystery of the dunstan heir. the motor boat club off long island; or, a daring marine game at racing speed. the motor boat club and the wireless; or, the dot, dash and dare cruise. the motor boat club in florida; or, laying the ghost of alligator swamp. the motor boat club at the golden gate; or, a thrilling capture in the great fog. submarine boys series by victor g. durham these splendid books for boys and girls deal with life aboard submarine torpedo boats, and with the adventures of the young crew, who, by degrees, become most expert in this most wonderful and awe-inspiring field of modern naval practice. the books are written by an expert and possess, in addition to the author's surpassing knack of story-telling, a great educational value for all young readers. the submarine boys on duty; or, life on a diving torpedo boat. the submarine boys' trial trip; or, "making good" as young experts. the submarine boys and the middies; or, the prize detail at annapolis. the submarine boys and the spies; or, dodging the sharks of the deep. the submarine boys' lightning cruise; or, the young kings of the deep. the submarine boys for the flag; or, deeding their lives to uncle sam. pony rider boys series by frank gee patchin these tales may be aptly described as those of a new cooper. as the earlier novelist depicted the first days of the advancing frontier, so does mr. patchin deal charmingly and realistically with what is left of the strenuous outdoor west of the twentieth century. in every sense they belong to the best class of books for boys. the pony rider boys in the rockies; or, the secret of the lost claim. the pony rider boys in texas; or, the veiled riddle of the plains. the pony rider boys in montana; or, the mystery of the old custer trail. the pony rider boys in the ozarks; or, the secret of ruby mountain. the pony rider boys on the alkali; or, finding a key to the desert maze. the pony rider boys in new mexico; or, the end of the silver trail. high school boys series by h. irving hancock in this series of bright, crisp books a new note has been struck. boys of every age under sixty will be interested in these fascinating volumes. the high school freshmen; or, dick & co's first year pranks and sports. the high school pitcher; or, dick & co. on the gridley diamond. the high school left end; or, dick & co. grilling on the football gridiron. the high school captain of the team; or, dick & co. leading the athletic vanguard. grammar school boys series by h. irving hancock this series of stories, based on the actual doings of grammar school boys comes near to the heart of the average american boy. the grammar school boys of gridley; or, dick & co. start things moving. the grammar school boys snowbound; or, dick & co. at winter sports. the grammar school boys in the woods; or, dick & co. trail fun and knowledge. the grammar school boys in summer athletics; or, dick & co. make their fame secure. west point series by h. irving hancock the principal characters in these narratives are two sound, wholesome, manly young americans who go strenuously through their four years of cadetship. their doings will prove an inspiration to all american boys. dick prescott's first year at west point; or, two chums in the cadet gray. dick prescott's second year at west point; or, finding the glory of the soldier's life. dick prescott's third year at west point; or, standing firm for flag and honor. dick prescott's fourth year at west point; or, ready to drop the gray for shoulder straps. annapolis series by h. irving hancock the spirit of the new navy is delightfully and truthfully depicted in these volumes. dave darrin's first year at annapolis; or, two plebe midshipmen at the u. s. naval academy. dave darrin's second year at annapolis; or, two midshipmen as naval academy "youngsters." dave darrin's third year at annapolis; or, leaders of the second class midshipmen. dave darrin's fourth year at annapolis; or headed for graduation and the big cruise. boys of the army series by h. irving hancock these books breathe the life and spirit of the united states army of to-day, and the life, just as it is, is described by a master-pen. uncle sam's boys in the ranks; or, two recruits in the united states army. uncle sam's boys on field duty; or, winning corporal's chevrons. uncle sam's boys as sergeants; or, handling their first real commands. battleship boys series by frank gee patchin these stories throb with the life of young americans on today's huge drab dreadnaughts. the battleship boys at sea; or, two apprentices in uncle sam's navy. the battleship boys' first step upward; or, winning their grades as petty officers. the battleship boys in foreign service; or, earning new ratings in european seas. the circus boys series by edgar b. p. darlington mr. darlington is known to all real circus people along every route that big and little shows travel. his books breathe forth every phase of an intensely interesting and exciting life. the circus boys on the flying rings; or, making the start in the sawdust life. the circus boys across the continent; or, winning new laurels on the tanbark. the circus boys in dixie land; or, winning the plaudits of the sunny south. the high school girls series by jessie graham flower, a.m. these breezy stories of the american high school girl take the reader fairly by storm. grace harlowe's plebe year at high school; or the merry doings of the oakdale freshmen girls. grace harlowe's sophomore year at high school; or, the record of the girl chums in work and athletics. grace harlowe's junior year at high school; or, fast friends in the sororities. grace harlowe's senior year at high school; or, the parting of the ways. the automobile girls series by laura dent crane no girl's library--no family book-case can be considered at all complete unless it contains these sparkling twentieth-century books, written for present-day girls. the automobile girls at newport; or, watching the summer parade. the automobile girls in the berkshires; or, the ghost of lost man's trail. the automobile girls along the hudson; or, fighting fire in sleepy hollow. file was produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note: | | | | i. inconsistent punctuation and capitalisation has been | | silently corrected throughout the book. | | | | ii. clear spelling mistakes have been corrected however, | | inconsistent language usage (such as 'day' and 'dey') has | | been maintained. inconsistent spelling of place names and | | personal names has also been retained. a list of corrections | | is included at the end of the book. | | | | iii. handwritten corrections have been incorporated within | | the text. exceptions are notes which were just question | | marks or were followed by question marks: these have been | | explicitly included as 'handwritten notes'. | | | | iv. the numbers at the start of each interview were stamped | | into the original work and refer to the number of the | | published interview in the context of the entire slave | | narratives project. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume xvi texas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of texas informants easter, willis edwards, anderson and minerva edwards, ann j. edwards, mary kincheon elder, lucinda ellis, john ezell, lorenza farrow, betty finnely, john ford, sarah forward, millie fowler, louis franklin, chris franks, orelia alexie frazier, rosanna gibson, priscilla gilbert, gabriel gilmore, mattie goodman, andrew grant, austin green, james green, o.w. green, rosa green, william (rev. bill) grice, pauline hadnot, mandy hamilton, william harper, pierce harrell, molly hawthorne, ann hayes, james haywood, felix henderson, phoebe hill, albert hoard, rosina holland, tom holman, eliza holt, larnce homer, bill hooper, scott houston, alice howard, josephine hughes, lizzie hursey, moses hurt, charley ingram, wash jackson, carter j. jackson, james jackson, maggie jackson, martin jackson, nancy jackson, richard james, john johns, thomas johns, mrs. thomas johnson, gus johnson, harry johnson, james d. johnson, mary johnson, mary ellen johnson, pauline, and boudreaux, felice johnson, spence jones, harriet jones, lewis jones, liza jones, lizzie jones, toby kelly, pinkie kilgore, sam kinchlow, ben kindred, mary king, nancy king, silvia illustrations facing page anderson and minerva edwards ann j. edwards mary kincheon edwards john ellis lorenza ezell betty farrow sarah ford louis fowler orelia alexie franks priscilla gibson andrew goodman austin grant james green o.w. green and granddaughter william green, (rev. bill) pauline grice mandy hadnot william hamilton felix haywood phoebe henderson albert hill eliza holman bill homer scott hooper alice houston moses hursey charley hurt wash ingram carter j. jackson james jackson martin jackson richard jackson john james gus johnson james d. johnson mary ellen johnson pauline johnson and felice boudreaux spence johnson harriet jones harriet jones with daughter and granddaughter lewis jones lizzie jones sam kilgore ben kinchlow mary kindred ex-slave stories (texas) willis easter, , was born near nacogdoches, texas. he does not know the name of his first master. frank sparks brought willis to bosqueville, texas, when he was two years old. willis believes firmly in "conjuremen" and ghosts, and wears several charms for protection against the former. he lives in waco, texas. "i's birthed below nacogdoches, and dey tells me it am on march th, in . my mammy had some kind of paper what say dat. but i don't know my master, 'cause when i's two he done give me to marse frank sparks and he brung me to bosqueville. dat sizeable place dem days. my mammy come 'bout a month after, 'cause marse frank, he say i's too much trouble without my mammy. "mammy de bes' cook in de county and a master hand at spinnin' and weavin'. she made her own dye. walnut and elm makes red dye and walnut brown color, and shumake makes black color. when you wants yallow color, git cedar moss out de brake. "all de lint was picked by hand on our place. it a slow job to git dat lint out de cotton and i's gone to sleep many a night, settin' by de fire, pickin' lint. in bad weather us sot by de fire and pick lint and patch harness and shoes, or whittle out something, dishes and bowls and troughs and traps and spoons. "all us chillen weared lowel white duckin', homemake, jes' one garment. it was de long shirt. you couldn't tell gals from boys on de yard. "i's twelve when us am freed and for awhile us lived on marse bob wortham's place, on chalk bluff, on horseshoe bend. after de freedom war, dat old brazos river done change its course up 'bove de bend, and move to de west. "i marries nancy clark in , but no chilluns. dere plenty deer and bears and wild turkeys and antelopes here den. dey's sho' fine eatin' and wish i could stick a tooth in one now. i's seed fifty antelope at a waterin' hole. "dere plenty indians, too. de rangers had de time keepin' dem back. dey come in bright of de moon and steals and kills de stock. dere a ferry 'cross de brazos and capt. ross run it. he sho' fit dem indians. "dem days everybody went hossback and de roads was jes' trails and bridges was poles 'cross de creeks. one day us went to a weddin'. dey sot de dinner table out in de yard under a big tree and de table was a big slab of a tree on legs. dey had pewter plates and spoons and chiny bowls and wooden dishes. some de knives and forks was make out of bone. dey had beef and pork and turkey and some antelope. "i knows 'bout ghostes. first, i tells you a funny story. a old man named josh, he purty old and notionate. every evenin' he squat down under a oak tree. marse smith, he slip up and hear josh prayin, 'oh, gawd, please take pore old josh home with you.' next day, marse smith wrop heself in a sheet and git in de oak tree. old josh come 'long and pray, 'oh, gawd, please come take pore old josh home with you.' marse say from top de tree, 'poor josh, i's come to take you home with me.' old josh, he riz up and seed dat white shape in de tree, and he yell, 'oh, lawd, not right now, i hasn't git forgive for all my sins.' old josh, he jes' shakin' and he dusts out dere faster den a wink. dat broke up he prayin' under dat tree. "i never studied cunjurin', but i knows dat scorripins and things dey cunjures with am powerful medicine. dey uses hair and fingernails and tacks and dry insects and worms and bat wings and sech. mammy allus tie a leather string round de babies' necks when dey teethin', to make dem have easy time. she used a dry frog or piece nutmeg, too. "mammy allus tell me to keep from bein' cunjure, i sing: "'keep 'way from me, hoodoo and witch, lend my path from de porehouse gate; i pines for golden harps and sich, lawd, i'll jes' set down and wait. old satan am a liar and cunjurer, too-- if you don't watch out, he'll cunjure you.' "dem cunjuremen sho' bad. dey make you have pneumony and boils and bad luck. i carries me a jack all de time. it em de charm wrop in red flannel. don't know what am in it. a bossman, he fix it for me. "i sho' can find water for de well. i got a li'l tree limb what am like a v. i driv de nail in de end of each branch and in de crotch. i takes hold of each branch and iffen i walks over water in de ground, dat limb gwine turn over in my hand till it points to de ground. iffen money am buried, you can find it de same way. "iffen you fills a shoe with salt and burns it, dat call luck to you. i wears a dime on a string round de neck and one round de ankle. dat to keep any conjureman from sottin' de trick on ma. dat dime be bright iffen my friends am true. it sho' gwine git dark iffen dey does me wrong. "for to make a jack dat am sho' good, git snakeroot and sassafras and a li'l lodestone and brimstone and asafoetida and resin and bluestone and gum arabic and a pod or two red pepper. put dis in de red flannel bag, at midnight on de dark of de moon, and it sho' do de work. "i knowed a ghost house, i sho' did. everybody knowed it, a red brick house in waco, on thirteenth and washington st. dey calls it de bell house. it sho' a fine, big house, but folks couldn't use it. de white folks what owns it, dey gits one nigger and 'nother to stay round and look after things. de white folks wants me to stay dere. i goes. every friday night dere am a rustlin' sound, like murmur of treetops, all through dat house. de shutters rattles--only dere ain't no shutters on dem windows. jes' plain as anything, i hears a chair, rockin', rockin'. footsteps, soft as de breath, you could hear dem plain. but i stays and hunts and can't find nobody nor nothin' none of dem friday nights. "den come de friday night on de las' quarter de moon. long 'bout midnight, something lift me out de cot. i heared a li'l child sobbin', and dat rocker git started, and de shutters dey rattle softlike, and dat rustlin', mournin' sound all through dat house. i takes de lantern and out in de hall i goes. right by de foot de stairs i seed a woman, big as life, but she was thin and i seed right through her. she jes' walk on down dat hall and pay me no mind. she make de sound like de beatin' of wings. i jes' froze. i couldn't move. "dat woman jes' melted out de window at de end of de hall, and i left dat place! [illustration: anderson and minerva edwards] anderson and minerva edwards, a negro baptist preacher and his wife, were slaves on adjoining plantations in rusk county, texas. anderson was born march , , a slave of major matt gaud, and minerva was born february , , a slave of major flannigan. as a boy andrew would get a pass to visit his father, who belonged to major flannigan, and there he met minerva. they worked for their masters until three years after the war, then moved to harrison county, married and reared sixteen children. andrew and minerva live in a small but comfortable farmhouse two miles north of marshall. minerva's memory is poor, and she added little to anderson's story. "my father was sandy flannigan and he had run off from his first master in maryland, on the east shore, and come to texas, and here a slave buyer picked him up and sold chances on him. if they could find his maryland master he'd have to go back to him and if they couldn't the chances was good. wash edwards in panola county bought the chance on him, but he run off from him, too, and come to major flannigan's in rusk county. fin'ly major flannigan had to pay a good lot to get clear title to him. "my mammy was named minerva and her master was major gaud, and i was born there on his plantation in . you can ask that tax man at marshall 'bout my age, 'cause he's fix my 'xemption papers since i'm sixty. i had seven brothers and two sisters. there was frank, joe, sandy and gene, preston and william and sarah and delilah, and they all lived to be old folks and the younges' jus' died last year. folks was more healthy when i growed up and i'm now and ain't dead; fact is, i feels right pert mos' the time. "my missy named mary and she and massa matt lived in a hewed log house what am still standin' out there near henderson. our quarters was 'cross the road and set all in a row. massa own three fam'lies of slaves and lots of hosses and sheep and cows and my father herded for him till he was freed. the government run a big tan yard there on major gaud's place and one my uncles was shoemaker. jus' 'bout time of war, i was piddlin' 'round the tannery and a government man say to me, 'boy, i'll give you $ , for a drink of water,' and he did, but it was 'federate money that got kilt, so it done me no good. "mammy was a weaver and made all the clothes and massa give us plenty to eat; fact, he treated us kind-a like he own boys. course he whipped us when we had to have it, but not like i seed darkies whipped on other place. the other niggers called us major gaud's free niggers and we could hear 'em moanin' and cryin' round 'bout, when they was puttin' it on 'em. "i worked in the field from one year end to t'other and when we come in at dusk we had to eat and be in bed by nine. massa give us mos' anything he had to eat, 'cept biscuits. that ash cake wasn't sich bad eatin' and it was cooked by puttin' cornmeal batter in shucks and bakin' in the ashes. "we didn't work in the field sunday but they have so much stock to tend it kep' us busy. missy was 'ligious and allus took us to church when she could. when we prayed by ourse'ves we daren't let the white folks know it and we turned a wash pot down to the ground to cotch the voice. we prayed a lot to be free and the lord done heered us. we didn't have no song books and the lord done give us our songs and when we sing them at night it jus' whispering to nobody hear us. one went like this: "'my knee bones am aching, my body's rackin' with pain, i 'lieve i'm a chile of god, and this ain't my home, 'cause heaven's my aim.' "massa gaud give big corn shuckin's and cotton pickin's and the women cook up big dinners and massa give us some whiskey, and lots of times we shucked all night. on saturday nights we'd sing and dance and we made our own instruments, which was gourd fiddles and quill flutes. gen'rally christmas was like any other day, but i got santa claus twict in slavery, 'cause massa give me a sack of molasses candy once and some biscuits once and that was a whole lot to me then. "the vinsons and frys what lived next to massa sold slaves and i seed 'em sold and chained together and druv off in herds by a white man on a hoss. they'd sell babies 'way from the mammy and the lord never did 'tend sich as that. "i 'lieve in that hant business yet. i seed one when i was a boy, right after mammy die. i woke up and seed it come in the door, and it had a body and legs and tail and a face like a man and it walked to the fireplace and lifted the lid off a skillet of 'taters what sot there and came to my bed and raised up the cover and crawled in and i hollers so loud it wakes everybody. i tell 'em i seed a ghost and they say i crazy, but i guess i knows a hant when i sees one. minerva there can tell you 'bout that haunted house we lived in near marshall jus' after we's married." (minerva says, 'deed, i can,' and here is her story:) "the nex' year after anderson and me marries we moves to a place that had 'longed to white folks and the man was real mean and choked his wife to death and he lef' the country and we moved in. we heered peculiar noises by night and the niggers 'round there done told us it was hanted but i didn't 'lieve 'em, but i do now. one night we seed the woman what died come all 'round with a light in the hand and the neighbors said that candle light the house all over and it look like it on fire. she come ev'ry night and we left our crop and moved 'way from there and ain't gone back yit to gather that crop. 'fore we moved in that place been empty since the woman die, 'cause nobody live there. one night charlie williams, what lives in marshall, and runs a store out by the t. & p. hospital git drunk and goes out there to sleep and while he sleepin' that same woman come in and nigh choked him to death. ain't nobody ever live in that house since we is there." anderson then resumed his story: "i 'member when war starts and massa's boy, george it was, saddles up ole bob, his pony, and lef'. he stays six months and when he rid up massa say, 'how's the war, george?' and massa george say, 'it's hell. me and bob has been runnin' yankees ever since us lef'.' 'fore war massa didn't never say much 'bout slavery but when he heered us free he cusses and say, 'gawd never did 'tend to free niggers,' and he cussed till he died. but he didn't tell us we's free till a whole year after we was, but one day a bunch of yankee soldiers come ridin' up and massa and missy hid out. the soldiers walked into the kitchen and mammy was churnin' and one of them kicks the churn over and say, 'git out, you's jus' as free as i is.' then they ramsacked the place and breaks out all the window lights and when they leaves it look like a storm done hit that house. massa come back from hidin' and that when he starts on a cussin' spree what lasts as long as he lives. "'bout four year after that war pappy took me to harrison county and i've lived here ever, since and minerva's pappy moves from the flannigan place to a jinin' farm 'bout that time and sev'ral years later we was married. it was at her house and she had a blue serge suit and i wore a cutaway prince albert suit and they was 'bout folks at our weddin'. the nex' day they give us an infair and a big dinner. we raises sixteen chillen to be growed and six of the boys is still livin' and workin' in marshall. "i been preachin' the gospel and farmin' since slavery time. i jined the church mos' year ago when i was major gaud's slave and they baptises me in the spring branch clost to where i finds the lord. when i starts preachin' i couldn't read or write and had to preach what massa told me and he say tell them niggers iffen they obeys the massa they goes to heaven but i knowed there's something better for them, but daren't tell them 'cept on the sly. that i done lots. i tells 'em iffen they keeps prayin' the lord will set 'em free. but since them days i's done studied some and i preached all over panola and harrison county and i started the edward's chapel over there in marshall and pastored it till a few year ago. it's named for me. "i don't preach much now, 'cause i can't hold out to walk far and i got no other way to go. we has a $ . pension and lives on that and what we can raise on the farm. [illustration: ann j. edwards] ann j. edwards, , was born a slave of john cook, of arlington county, virginia. he manumitted his slaves in . four years later ann was adopted by richard h. cain, a colored preacher. he was elected to the th congress in , and remained in washington, d.c., until his death, in . ann married jas. e. edwards, graduate of howard college, a preacher. she now lives with her granddaughter, mary foster, at e. th st., fort worth, texas. "i shall gladly relate the story of my life. i was born a slave on january th, , and my master's name was john j. cook, who was a resident of arlington county, virginia. he moved to washington, d.c., when i was nearly two years old and immediately gave my parents their freedom. they separated within a year after that, and my mother earned our living, working as a hairdresser until her death in . i was then adopted by richard h. cain, a minister of the gospel in the african methodist church. "i remember the beginning of the war well. the conditions made a deep impression on my mind, and the atmosphere of washington was charged with excitement and expectations. there existed considerable need for assistance to the negroes who had escaped after the war began, and rev. cain took a leading part in rendering aid to them. they came into the city without clothes or money and no idea of how to secure employment. a large number were placed on farms, some given employment as domestics and still others mustered into the federal army. "the city was one procession of men in blue and the air was full of martial music. the fife and drum could be heard almost all the time, so you may imagine what emotions a colored person of my age would experience, especially as father's church was a center for congregating the negroes and advising them. that was a difficult task, because a large majority were illiterate and ignorant. "the year father was called to charleston, south carolina, to take charge of a church, we became the center of considerable trouble. it was right after the close of the war. in addition to his ministerial duties, father managed a newspaper and became interested in politics. he was elected a delegate to the constitutional convention of south carolina in . he was also elected a republican member of the state senate and served from to . then he became the republican candidate for the united states representative of the charleston district, was elected and served in the th congress from march , to march , . "you can imagine the bitter conflict his candidacy brought on. a negro running for public office against a white person in a southern state that was strong for slavery does not seem the sensible thing for a man to do, but he did and was, of course, successful. from the moment he became delegate to the constitutional convention a guard was necessary night and day to watch our home. he was compelled to have a bodyguard wherever he went. we, his family, lived in constant fear at all times. many times mother pleaded with him to cease his activities, but her pleadings were of no avail. "in the beginning the resentment was not so pronounced. the white people were shocked and dejected over the outcome of the war, but gradually recovered. as they did, determination to establish order and prosperity developed, and they resented the negro taking part in public affairs. on the other side of the cause was the excess and obstinate actions of some ignorant negroes, acting under ill advice. father was trying to prevent excesses being done by either side. he realized that the slaves were unfit, at that time, to take their place as dependable citizens, for the want of experience and wisdom, and that there would have to be mental development and wisdom learned by his race, and that such would only come by a gradual process. "he entered the contest in the interest of his own race, primarily, but as a whole, to do justice to all. no one could change his course. he often stated, 'it is by the divine will that i am in this battle.' "the climax of the resentment against him took place when he was chosen republican candidate to the house of representatives. he had to maintain an armed guard at all times. several times, despite these guards, attempts were made to either burn the house or injure some member of the family. if it had not been for the fact that the officials of the city and county were afraid of the federal government, which gave aid in protecting him, the mob would have succeeded in harming him. "a day or two before election a mob gathered suddenly in front of the house, and we all thought the end had come. father sent us all upstairs, and said he would, if necessary, give himself up to the mob and let them satisfy their vengeance on him, to save the rest of us. "while he was talking, mother noticed another body of men in the alley. they were certainly sinister looking. father told us to prepare for the worst, saying, 'what they plan to do is for those in front to engage the attention of ourselves and the guard, then those in the rear will fire the place and force us out.' he was calm throughout it all, but mother was greatly agitated and i was crying. "the chief of the guard called father for a parley. the mob leader demanded that father come out for a talk. then the sheriff and deputies appeared and he addressed the crowd of men, and told them if harm came to us the city would be placed under martial law. the men then dispersed, after some discussion among themselves. "father moved to washington, took the oath of office and served until march th, . he then received the appointment of bishop of the african methodist church and served until his death in washington, on jan. th, . "i began my schooling in charleston and continued in washington, where i entered howard college, but did not continue until graduation. i met james e. edwards, another student, who graduated in , and my heart overruled my desire for an education. we married and he entered the ministry and was called to dallas, texas. he remained two years, then we were called to los angeles. the negroes there were privileged to enter public eating establishments, but a cafe owner we patronized told us the following: "'after a time, i was compelled to refuse service to negroes because they abused the privilege. they came in in a boisterous manner and crowded and shoved other patrons. it was due to a lack of wisdom and education.' "that was true. the white people tried to give the negro his rights and he abused the privilege because he was ignorant, a condition he could not then help. "my husband and i were called to kansas city in and from there to many other towns. finally we came to waco, and he had charge of a church there when he died, in . we had a pleasant married life and i tried to do my duty as a pastor's wife and help elevate my race. we were blessed with three children, and the only one now living is in boston, massachusetts. "i now reside with my granddaughter, mary foster, and this shack is the best her husband can afford. in fact, we are living in destitute circumstances. it is depressing to me, after having lived a life in a comfortable home. it is the lord's will and i must accept what is provided. there is a purpose for all things. i shall soon go to meet my maker, with the satisfaction of having done my duty--first, to my race, second, to mankind. * * * * * note: the biography of richard h. cain is published in the biographical directory of the american congress. [illustration: mary kincheon edwards] mary kincheon edwards says she was born on july , , but she has nothing to substantiate this claim. however, she is evidently very old. her memory is poor, but she knows she was reared by the kincheons, in baton rouge, louisiana, and that she spoke french when a child. the kincheons gave her to felix vaughn, who brought her to texas before the civil war. mary lives with beatrice watters, near austin, texas. "when i's a li'l gal my name mary anne kincheon and i's born on the eighth of july, in . i lives with de kincheon family over in louisiana. baton rouge am de name of dat place. dem kincheons have plenty chillen. o, dey have so many chillen! "i don't 'member much 'bout dem days. i's done forgot so many things, but i 'members how de stars fell and how scared us was. dem stars got to fallin' and was out 'fore dey hits de ground. i don't knew when dat was, but i's good size den. "i get give to massa felix vaughn and he brung me to texas. dat long 'fore de war for freedom, but i don't know de year. de most work i done for de vaughns was wet nuss de baby son, what name elijah. his mammy jes' didn't have 'nough milk for him. "den i knit de socks and wash de clothes and sometimes i work in de fields. i he'ped make de baskets for de cotton. de man git white-oak wood and we lets it stay in de water for de night and de nex' mornin' and it soft and us split it in strips for makin' of de baskets. everybody try see who could make de bes' basket. "us pick 'bout pound cotton in one basket. i didn't mind pickin' cotton, 'cause i never did have de backache. i pick two and three hunnert pounds a day and one day i picked . sometime de prize give by massa to de slave what pick de most. de prize am a big cake or some clothes. pickin' cotton not so bad, 'cause us used to it and have de fine time of it. i gits a dress one day and a pair shoes 'nother day for pickin' most. i so fast i take two rows at de time. "de women brung oil cloths to de fields, so dey make shady place for de chillen to sleep, but dem what big 'nough has to pick. sometime dey sing "'o--ho, i's gwine home, and cuss de old overseer.' "us have ash-hopper and uses drip-lye for make barrels soap and hominy. de way us test de lye am drap de egg in it and if de egg float de lye ready to put in de grease for makin' de soap. us throwed greasy bones in de lye and dat make de bes' soap. de lye eat de bones. "us boil wild sage and make tea and it smell good. it good for de fever and chills. us git slippery elm out de bottom and chew it. some chew it for bad feelin's and some jes' to be chewin'. "sometimes us go to dances and missy let me wear some her jewl'ry. i out dances dem all and folks didn't know dat not my jewl'ry. after freedom i stays with de vaughns and marries, but i forgit he name. dat 'fore freedom. after freedom i marries osburn edwards and has five chillen. dey all dead now. i can still git 'round with dis old gnarly cane. jes' you git me good and scared and see how fast i can git 'round!" lucinda elder, , was born a slave of the cardwell family, near concord deport, virginia. she came to texas with will jones and his wife, miss susie, in , and was their nurse-girl until she married will elder, in . lucinda lives at edwards st., houston, texas. "you chilluns all go 'way now, while i talks to dis gen'man. i 'clares to goodness, chilluns nowadays ain't got no manners 'tall. 'tain't like when i was li'l, dey larnt you manners and you larnt to mind, too. nowadays you tell 'em to do somethin' and you is jes' wastin' you breath, 'less you has a stick right handy. dey is my great grandchilluns, and dey sho' is spoilt. maybe i ain't got no patience no more, like i use to have, 'cause dey ain't so bad. "well, suh, you all wants me to tell you 'bout slave times, and i'll tell you first dat i had mighty good white folks, and i hope dey is gone up to heaven. my mama 'long to marse john cardwell, what i hear was de riches' man and had de bigges' plantation round concord depot. dat am in campbell county, in virginny. i don't 'member old missy's name, but she mighty good to de slaves, jes' like marse john was. "mama's name was isabella and she was de cook and born right on de plantation. papa's name was gibson, his first name was jim, and he 'long to marse gibson what had a plantation next to marse john, and i knows papa come to see mama on wednesday and sat'day nights. "lemme see, now, dere was six of us chilluns. my mem'ry ain't so good no more, but charley was oldes', den come dolly and jennie and susie and me and laura. law me, i guess old dr. bass, what was doctor for marse john, use to be right busy with us 'bout once a year for quite a spell. "dem times dey don't marry by no license. dey takes a slave man and woman from de same plantation and puts 'em together, or sometime a man from 'nother plantation, like my papa and mama. mamma say marse john give 'em a big supper in de big house and read out de bible 'bout obeyin' and workin' and den dey am married. course, de nigger jes' a slave and have to do what de white folks say, so dat way of marryin' 'bout good as any. "but marse john sho' was de good marse and we had plenty to eat and wear and no one ever got whipped. marse john say iffen he have a nigger what oughta be whipped, he'd git rid of him quick, 'cause a bad nigger jes' like a rotten 'tater in a sack of good ones--it spoil de others. "back dere in virginny it sho' git cold in winter, but come september de wood gang git busy cuttin' wood and haulin' it to de yard. dey makes two piles, one for de big house and de bigges' pile for de slaves. when dey git it all hauled it look like a big woodyard. while dey is haulin', de women make quilts and dey is wool quilts. course, dey ain't made out of shearin' wool, but jes' as good. marse john have lots of sheep and when dey go through de briar patch de wool cotch on dem briars and in de fall de women folks goes out and picks de wool off de briars jes' like you picks cotton. law me, i don't know nothin' 'bout makin' quilts out of cotton till i comes to texas. "course i never done no work, 'cause marse john won't work no one till dey is fifteen years old. den dey works three hours a day and dat all. dey don't work full time till dey's eighteen. we was jes' same as free niggers on our place. he gives each slave a piece of ground to make de crop on and buys de stuff hisself. we growed snap beans and corn and plant on a light moon, or turnips and onions we plant on de dark moon. "when i gits old 'nough marse john lets me take he daughter, nancy lee, to school. it am twelve miles and de yard man hitches up old bess to de buggy and we gits in and no one in dat county no prouder dan what i was. "marse john lets us go visit other plantations and no pass, neither. iffen de patterroller stop us, we jes' say we 'long to marse john and dey don't bother us none. iffen dey comes to our cabin from other plantations, dey has to show de patterroller de pass, and iffen dey slipped off and ain't got none, de patterroller sho' give a whippin' den. but dey waits till dey off our place, 'cause marse john won't 'low no whippin' on our place by no one. "well, things was jes' 'bout de same all de time till jes' 'fore freedom. course, i hears some talk 'bout bluebellies, what dey call de yanks, fightin' our folks, but dey wasn't fightin' round us. den one dey mamma took sick and she had hear talk and call me to de bed and say, 'lucinda, we all gwine be free soon and not work 'less we git paid for it.' she sho' was right, 'cause marse john calls all us to de cookhouse and reads de freedom papers to us and tells us we is all free, but iffen we wants to stay he'll give us land to make a crop and he'll feed us. now i tells you de truth, dey wasn't no one leaves, 'cause we all loves marse john. "den, jus' three weeks after freedom mama dies and dat how come me to leave marse john. you see, marse gibson what owns papa 'fore freedom, was a good marse and when papa was sot free marse gibson gives him some land to farm. 'course, papa was gwine have us all with him, but when mamma dies, marse gibson tell him mr. will jones and miss susie, he wife, want a nurse girl for de chilluns, so papa hires me out to 'em and i want to say right now, dey jes' as good white folks as marse john and old missy, and sho' treated me good. "law me, i never won't forgit one day. mr. will say, 'lucinda, we is gwine drive you over to appomatox and take de chilluns and you can come, too.' course, i was tickled mos' to pieces but he didn't tell what he gwine for. you know what? to see a nigger hung. i gettin' long mighty old now, but i won't never forgit dat. he had kilt a man, and i never saw so many people 'fore, what dere to see him hang. i jes' shut my eyes. "den mr. will he take me to de big tree what have all de bark strip off it and de branches strip off, and say, 'lucinda, dis de tree where gen. lee surrendered.' i has put dese two hands right on dat tree, yes, suh, i sho' has. "miss susie say one day, 'lucinda, how you like to go with us to texas?' law me, i didn't know where texas was at, or nothin', but i loved mr. will and miss susie and de chilluns was all wrop up in me, so i say i'll go. and dat how come i'm here, and i ain't never been back, and i ain't see my own sisters and brother and papa since. "we come to new orleans on de train and takes de boat on de gulf to galveston and den de train to hempstead. mr. will farm at first and den he and miss susie run de hotel, and i stays with dem till i gets married to will elder in ' , and i lives with him till de good lawd takes him home. "i has five chilluns but all dead now, 'ceptin' two. i done served de lawd now for years and soon he's gwine call old lucinda, but i'm ready and i know i'll be better off when i die and go to heaven, 'cause i'm old and no 'count now. [illustration: john ellis] john ellis, was born june , , a slave of the ellis family in johnson county near cleburne, texas. he remained with his white folks and was paid by the month for his labor for one year after freedom, when his master died and his mistress returned to mississippi. he worked as a laborer for many years around cleburne, coming to san angelo, texas in . he now lives alone and is very active for his age. john relates: "my father and mother, john and fannie ellis, were sold in springfield, missouri, to my marster, parson ellis, and taken away from all their people and brought to johnson county, texas. "my marster, he was a preacher and a good man. none of de slaves ever have better white folks den we did. "we had good beds and good food and dey teaches us to read and write too. de buffalo and de antelope and de deer was mos' as thick as de cattle now, and we was sent out after dem, so we would always have plenty of fresh meat. we had hogs and cattle too. any of dem what was not marked was just as much ours as iffen we had raised dem, 'cause de range was all free. "some of de fish we would catch out of dat brazos river would be so big dey would pull us in but finally we would manage to gits dem out. de rabbits and de 'possum was plentiful too and wid de big garden what our marster had for us all, we sho' had good to eat. "i's done all kinds of work what it takes to run a fa'm. my boss he had only fourteen slaves and what was called a small fa'm, compared wid de big plantations. after our days work was done we would set up at night and pick de seed out of de cotton so dey could spin it into thread. den we goes out and gits different kinds of bark and boils it to git dye for de thread 'fore it was spinned into cloth. de chillun jes' have long shirts and slips made out of dis home spun and we makes our shoes out of rawhide, and lawdy! dey was so hard we would have to warm dem by de fire and grease dem wid tallow to ever wear dem 'tall. "we had good log huts and our boss had a bigger log house. we never did work long into de night and long 'fore day like i hear tell some did. we didn' have none of dem drivers and when we done anything very bad old marster he whoop us a little but we never got hurt. "i didn' see no slaves sold. dat was done, i hear, but not so much in texas. i never did see no jails nor chains nor nothin' like dat either, but i hears 'bout dem. "we never worked sat'days and de colored went to church wid de whites and jine de church too, but dey never baptized dem so far as i knows. "we had lots to eat and big times on christmas, mos' as big as when de white folks gits married. umph, um! one of de gi'ls got married once and she had such a long train on dat weddin' gown 'til me and my sister, we have to walks along behind her and carry dat thing, all of us a-walkin' on a strip of nice cloth from de carriage to de church. we sho' have de cakes and all dem good eats at dem weddin' suppers. "i nev'r hear tell of many colored weddin's. we jes' jumps over de broom an' de bride she has to jump over it backwards and iffen she couldn' jump it backwards she couldn't git married. dat was sho' funny, seein' dem colored gi'ls a tryin' to jump dat broom. "our boss, he tells us 'bout bein' free and he say he hire us by de month and we stays dere a year and he dies, den ole miss she go back to mississippi and we jes' scatter 'round, some a workin' here and some a workin' yonder, mos' times for our victuals and clothes. i couldn' tell much difference myself 'cause i had good people to live wid and when it was dat way de whites and de colored was better off de way i sees it den dey is now, some of dem. "i seem jes' punyin' away, de doctors don' know jes' what's wrong wid me but i never was use to doctors anyway, jes' some red root tea or sage weed and sheep waste tea for de measles am all de doctoring we gits when we was slaves and dat done jes' as well. "my wife she been dead all dese years an' i jes' lives here alone. "chillun? no mam, i never had no chillun 'fore i was married an' i only had twelve after i was married; yes mam, jes' nine boys and three girls, but i prefers to live here by myself, 'cause i gits along alright." [illustration: lorenza ezell] lorenza ezell, beaumont, texas, negro, was born in on the plantation of ned lipscomb, in spartanburg county, south carolina. lorenza is above the average in intelligence and remembers many incidents of slavery and reconstruction days. he came to brenham, texas, in , and several years later moved to beaumont, where he lives in a little shack almost hidden by vines and trees. "us plantation was jes' east from pacolet station on thicketty creek, in spartanburg county, in south carolina. dat near little and big pacolet rivers on de route to limestone springs, and it jes' a ordinary plantation with de main crops cotton and wheat. "i 'long to de lipscombs and my mama, maria ezell, she 'long to 'em, too. old ned lipscomb was 'mongst de oldest citizens of dat county. i's born dere on july th, in and i be year old dis year. levi ezell, he my daddy, and he 'long to landrum ezell, a baptist preacher. dat young massa and de old massa, john ezell, was de first baptist preacher i ever heered of. he have three sons, landrum and judson and bryson. bryson have gif' for business and was right smart of a orator. "dey's fourteen niggers on de lipscomb place. dey's seven of us chillen, my mamma, three uncle and three aunt and one man what wasn't no kin to us. i was oldest of de chillen, and dey called sallie and carrie and alice and jabus and coy and lafate and rufus and nelson. "old ned lipscomb was one de best massa in de whole county. you know dem old patterrollers, dey call us 'old ned's free niggers,' and sho' hate us. dey cruel to us, 'cause dey think us have too good a massa. one time dey cotch my uncle and beat him most to death. "us go to work at daylight, but us wasn't 'bused. other massas used to blow de horn or ring de bell, but massa, he never use de horn or de whip. all de man folks was 'lowed raise a garden patch with tobaccy or cotton for to sell in de market. wasn't many massas what 'lowed dere niggers have patches and some didn't even feed 'em enough. dat's why dey have to git out and hustle at night to git food for dem to eat. "de old massa, he 'sisted us go to church. de baptist church have a shed built behind de pulpit for cullud folks, with de dirt floor and split log seat for de women folks, but most de men folks stands or kneels on de floor. dey used to call dat de coop. de white preacher back to us, but iffen he want to he turn 'round and talk to us awhile. us mess up songs, 'cause us couldn't read or write. i 'member dis one: 'de rough, rocky road what moses done travel, i's bound to carry my soul to de lawd; it's a mighty rocky road but i mos' done travel, and i's bound to carry my soul to de lawd.' "us sing 'sweet chariot,' but us didn't sing it like dese days. us sing: 'swing low, sweet chariot, freely let me into rest, i don't want to stay here no longer; swing low, sweet chariot, when gabriel make he las' alarm i wants to be rollin' in jesus arm, 'cause i don't want to stay here no longer.' us sing 'nother song what de yankees take dat tune and make a hymm out of it. sherman army sung it, too. we have it like dis: 'our bodies bound to morter and decay, our bodies bound to morter and decay, our bodies bound to morter and decay, but us souls go marchin' home.' "befo' de war i jes' big 'nough to drap corn and tote water. when de little white chillen go to school 'bout half mile, i wait till noon and run all de way up to de school to run base when dey play at noon. dey sev'ral young lipscombs, dere smith and bill and john and nathan, and de oldest son, elias. "in dem days cullud people jes' like mules and hosses. dey didn't have no last name. my mamma call me after my daddy's massa, ezell. mamma was de good woman and i 'member her more dan once rockin' de little cradle and singin' to de baby. dis what she sing: "milk in de dairy nine days old, sing-song kitty, can't you ki-me-o? frogs and skeeters gittin' mighty bol! sing-song, kitty, can't you ki-me-o? (chorus) keemo, kimo, darro, wharro, with me hi, me ho; in come sally singin' sometime penny winkle, lingtum nip cat, sing-song, kitty, can't you ki-me-o? dere a frog live in a pool, sing-song, kitty, can't you ki-me-o? sure he was de bigges' fool, sing-song kitty, can't you ki-me-o? for he could dance and he could sing sing-song, kitty, can't you ki-me-o? and make de woods aroun' him ring sing-song, kitty, can't you ki-me-o?' "old massa didn't hold with de way some mean massas treat dey niggers. dere a place on our plantation what us call 'de old meadow.' it was common for runaway niggers to have place 'long de way to hide and res' when dey run off from mean massa. massa used to give 'em somethin' to eat when dey hide dere. i saw dat place operated, though it wasn't knowed by dat den, but long time after i finds out dey call it part of de 'underground railroad.' dey was stops like dat all de way up to de north. "we have went down to columbia when i 'bout year old and dat where de first gun fired. us rush back home, but i could say i heered de first guns of de war shot, at fort sumter. "when gen'ral sherman come 'cross de savannah river in south carolina, some of he sojers come right 'cross us plantation. all de neighbors have brung dey cotton and stack it in de thicket on de lipscomb place. sherman men find it and sot it on fire. dat cotton stack was big as a little courthouse and it took two months' burnin'. "my old massa run off and stay in de woods a whole week when sherman men come through. he didn't need to worry, 'cause us took care of everythin'. dey a funny song us make up 'bout him runnin' off in de woods. i know it was make up, 'cause my uncle have a hand in it. it went like dis: 'white folks, have you seed old massa up de road, with he mustache on? he pick up he hat and he leave real sudden and i 'lieve he's up and gone. (chorus) 'old massa run away and us darkies stay at home. it mus' be now dat kingdom's comin' and de year of jubilee. 'he look up de river and he seed dat smoke where de lincoln gunboats lay. he big 'nuff and he old 'nuff and he orter know better, but he gone and run away. 'now dat overseer want to give trouble and trot us 'round a spell, but we lock him up in de smokehouse cellar, with de key done throwed in de well.' "right after dat i start to be boy what run mail from camp to camp for de sojers. one time i capture by a bunch of deserters what was hidin' in de woods 'long pacolet river. dey didn't hurt me, though, but dey mos' scare me to death. dey parole me and turn me loose. "all four my young massas go to de war, all but elias. he too old. smith, he kilt at manassas junction. nathan he git he finger shot at de first round at fort sumter. but when billy was wounded at howard gap in north carolina and dey brung him home with he jaw split open, i so mad i could have kilt all de yankees. i say i be happy iffen i could kill me jes' one yankee. i hated dem 'cause dey hurt my white people. billy was disfigure awful when he jaw split and he teeth all shine through he cheek. "after war was over, old massa call us up and told us we free but he 'vise not leave de place till de crop was through. us all stay. den us select us homes and move to it. us folks move to sam littlejohn's, north of thickettty creek, where us stay two year. den us move back to billy lipscomb, de young massa, and stay dere two more year. i's right smart good banjo picker in dem day. i kin 'member one dem songs jes' as good today as when i pick it. dat was: 'early in de mornin' don't you hear de dogs a-barkin'? bow, wow, wow! (chorus) 'hush, hush, boys don't make a noise, massa's fast a-sleepin'. run to de barnyard wake up de boys let's have banjo pickin.'. 'early in de mornin' don't you hear dem roosters crowin'? cock-a-doodle-do. "i come in contac' with de klu klux. us lef' de plantation in ' or ' and by ' us was havin' sich a awful time with de klu klux. first time dey come to my mamma's house at midnight and claim dey sojers done come back from de dead. dey all dress up in sheets and make up like spirit. dey groan 'round and say dey been kilt wrongly and come back for justice. one man, he look jus' like ordinary man, but he spring up 'bout eighteen feet high all of a sudden. another say he so thirsty he ain't have no water since he been kilt at manassas junction. he ask for water and he jes' kept pourin' it in. us think he sho' must be a spirit to drink dat much water. course he not drinkin' it, he pourin' it in a bag under he sheet. my mama never did take up no truck with spirits so she knowed it jes' a man. dey tell us what dey gwine do iffen we don't all go back to us massas and us all 'grees and den dey all dis'pear. "den us move to new prospect on de pacolet river, on de perry clemmons' place. dat in de upper edge of de county and dat where de second swarm of de klu klux come out. dey claim dey gwine kill everybody what am repub'can. my daddy charge with bein' a leader 'mongst de niggers. he make speech and 'struct de niggers how to vote for grant's first 'lection. de klu klux want to whip him and he have to sleep in a holler log every night. "dey's a old man name uncle bart what live 'bout half mile from us. de klu klux come to us house one night, but my daddy done hid. den i hear dem say dey gwine go kill old man bart. i jump out de window and cut short cut through dem wood and warn him. he git out de house in time and i save he life. de funny thing, i knowed all dem klu klux. spite dey sheets and things, i knowed dey voices and dey saddle hosses. "dey one white man name irving ramsey. us play fiddle together lots of time. when de white boys dance dey allus wants me to go to play for dey party. one day i say to dat boy, 'i done knowed you last night.' he say, 'what you mean?' i say, 'you one dem klu klux.' he want to know how i know. i say, 'member when you go under de chestnut tree and say, "whoa, sont, whoa, sont, to your hoss?" he say, 'yes,' and i laugh and say, 'well, i's right up in dat tree.' dey all knowed i knowed dem den, but i never told on dem. when dey seed i ain't gwineter tell, dey never try whip my daddy or kill uncle bart no more. "i ain't never been to school but i jes' picked up readin'. with some my first money i ever earn i buy me a old blue-back webster. i carry dat book wherever i goes. when i plows down a row i stop at de end to rest and den i overlook de lesson. i 'member one de very first lessons was, 'evil communications 'rupts good morals.' i knowed de words 'evil' and 'good' and a white man 'splain de others. i been done use dat lesson all my life. "after us left de pacolet river us stay in atlanta a little while and den i go on to louisiana. i done lef' spartanburg completely in ' but i didn't git into texas till . i fin'lly git to brenham, texas and marry rachel pinchbeck two year after. us was marry in church and have seven chillen. den us sep'rate. i been batching 'bout year and i done los' track mos' dem chillen. my gal, lula, live in beaumont, and will, he in chicago. "every time i tells dese niggers i's from south carolina dey all say, 'o, he bound to make a heap.' i could be a conjure doctor and make plenty money, but dat ain't good. in slavery time dey's men like dat 'garded as bein' dangerous. dey make charms and put bad mouth on you. de old folks wears de rabbit foot or coon foot and sometime a silver dime on a fishin' string to keep off de witches. some dem old conjure people make lots of money for charm 'gainst ruin or cripplin' or dry up de blood. but i don't take up no truck with things like dat. [illustration: betty farrow] betty farrow, , now living with a son on a farm in moser valley, a negro settlement ten miles northeast of fort worth on texas highway no. , was born a slave to mr. alex clark, plantation owner in patrick co., virginia. "i's glad to tell what i knows, but yous have to 'scuse me, 'cause my 'collection am bad. i jus' don' 'member much, but i's bo'n on masta alex clark's plantation in patrick county, virginny, on june th, . dat's what my mammy tol' me. you see, we cullud folks have no schoolin' dem days and i can't read or write. i has to depen' on what folks tells me. "masta clark has right smart plantation in ole virginny and he owns 'bout twenty other slaves dat wo'ked de big place. he had three girls and four boys and when i's a chile we'uns played togedder and we'uns 'tached to each other all our lives. "in mammy's family dere was five boys and four girls. i don' 'member my pappy. when i's 'bout ten, i's set to work, peddalin' 'round de house. "'bout three years 'fore de war marster sol' his plantation for to go to texas. i 'members de day we'uns started in three covered wagons, all loaded. 'twas celebration day for us chillun. we travels from daylight to dark, 'cept to feed and res' de mules at noon. i don' rec'lec' how long we was on de way, but 'twas long time and 'twarn't no celebration towards de las'. after while we comes to sherman, in texas, to our new farm. "when we was dere 'bout a year, dere am heaps of trouble. dere was a neighbor, shields, he's drivin' wood to town and goes n'cross masta's yard and dey have arg'ments. one day we chillen playin' and masta settin' on de front porch and shields come up de road. masta stops him when he starts to cross de yard and de fust thing we knows, we hears 'bang' and dat shields shoot de masta and we sees him fall. dey sen's young alex for de doctor and he makes dat mule run like he never run 'fore. de doctor comes in de house and looks at de masta, and listens to his heart and says, 'he am dead.' dere was powerful sorrow in dat home. "after dat, masta alex takes charge, and in 'bout one year, he says, 'we'uns goin' to fort worth.' so we goes, and if i rec'lec's right, dat year de war started. after dat, dere was times dere wasn' enough to make de clothes, but we'uns allus had plenty to eat, and we gives lots of feed to de army mans. "i don' 'member bein' tol' i's free. we'uns stayed right dere on de farm 'cause it was de only home we knew and no reason to go. i stays dere till i's twenty-seven years ole, den i marries and my husban' rents land. we'uns has ten chillun and sometimes we has to skimp, but we gets on. when my husban' dies fifteen years ago, i comes here. i's allus been too busy tendin' to my 'sponsibilities for to git in de debilmen' and now i's happy, tendin' to my great gran'chile. john finnely, , was born a slave to martin finnely, in jackson co., alabama. during the civil war ten slaves escaped from the finnely plantation. their success led john to escape. he joined the federal army. john farmed from until , then moved to fort worth, tex., and worked in packing plants until . he now lives at cliff st., fort worth, his sole support a $ . monthly pension. "alabama am de state where i's born and dat year ago, in jackson county, on massa martin finnely's plantation, and him owns 'bout other slaves 'sides mammy and me. my pappy am on dat plantation but i don't know him, 'cause mammy never talks 'bout him 'cept to say, 'he am here.' "massa run de cotton plantation but raises stock and feed and corn and cane and rations for de humans sich as us. it am diff'rent when i's a young'un dan now. den, it am needful for to raise everything yous need, 'cause dey couldn't 'pend on factory made goods. dey could buy shoes and clothes and sich, but we'uns could make dem so much cheaper. "what we'uns make? 'low me to 'collect a li'l. let's see, we'uns make shoes, and leather and clothes and cloth and grinds de meal. and we'uns cures de meat, preserves de fruit and make 'lassas and brown sugar. all de harness for de mules and de hosses is make and de carts for haulin'. am dat all? oh, yes, massa make peach brandy and him have he own still. "de work am 'vided 'twixt de cullud folks and us allus have certain duties to do. i's am de field hand and befo' i's old 'nough for to do dat, dey has me help with de chores and errands. "us have de cabins of logs with one room and one door and one window hole and bunks for sleepin'. but no cookin' am done dere. it am done in de cookhouse by de cooks for all us niggers and we'uns eats in de eatin' shed. de rations am good, plain victuals and dere plenty of it and 'bout twict a week dere somethin' for treat. massa sho' am 'ticular 'bout feedin', 'specially for de young'uns in de nursery. you see, dere am de nursery for sich what needs care while dere mammies am a-workin'. "massa feed plenty and him 'mand plenty work. dat cause heap of trouble on dat plantation, 'cause whippin's am given and hard ones, too. lots of times at de end of de day i's so tired i's couldn't speak for to stop de mule, i jus' have to lean back on de lines. "dis nigger never gits whupped 'cept for dis, befo' i's a field hand. massa use me for huntin' and use me for de gun rest. when him have de long shot i bends over and puts de hands on de knees and massa puts his gun on my back for to git de good aim. what him kills i runs and fotches and carries de game for him. i turns de squirrels for him and dat disaway: de squirrel allus go to udder side from de hunter and i walks 'round de tree and de squirrel see me and go to massa's side de tree and he gits de shot. "all dat not so bad, but when he shoots de duck in de water and i has to fotch it out, dat give me de worryment. de fust time he tells me to go in de pond i's skeert, powe'ful skeert. i takes off de shirt and pants but there i stands. i steps in de water, den back 'gain, and 'gain. massa am gittin' mad. he say, 'swim in dere and git dat duck.' 'yes, sar, massa,' i says, but i won't go in dat water till massa hit me some licks. i couldn't never git use to bein' de water dog for de ducks. "de worst whuppin' i seed was give to clarinda. she hits massa with de hoe 'cause he try 'fere with her and she try stop him. she am put on de log and give lashes. she am over dat log all day and when dey takes her off, she am limp and act deadlike. for a week she am in de bunk. dat whuppin' cause plenty trouble and dere lots of arg'ments 'mong de white folks 'round dere. "we has some joyments on de plantation, no parties or dancin' but we has de corn huskin' and de nigger fights. for de corn huskin' everybody come to one place and dey gives de prize for findin' de red ear. on massa's place de prize am brandy or you am 'lowed to kiss de gal you calls for. while us huskin' us sing lots. no, no, i's not gwine sing any dem songs, 'cause i's forgit and my voice sound like de bray of de mule. "de nigger fights am more for de white folks' joyment but de slaves am 'lowed to see it. de massas of plantations match dere niggers 'cording to size and bet on dem. massa finnely have one nigger what weighs 'bout pounds and him powerful good fighter and he like to fight. none lasts long with him. den a new niggers comes to fight him. "dat fight am held at night by de pine torch light. a ring am made by de folks standin' 'round in de circle. deys 'lowed to do anything with dey hands and head and teeth. nothin' barred 'cept de knife and de club. dem two niggers gits in de ring and tom he starts quick, and dat new nigger he starts jus' as quick. dat 'sprise tom and when dey comes togedder it like two bulls--kersmash--it sounds like dat. den it am hit and kick and bite and butt anywhere and any place for to best de udder. de one on de bottom bites knees or anything him can do. dat's de way it go for half de hour. "fin'ly dat new nigger gits tom in de stomach with he knee and a lick side de jaw at de same time and down go tom and de udder nigger jumps on him with both feets, den straddle him and hits with right, left, right, left, right, side tom's head. dere tom lay, makin' no 'sistance. everybody am saysin', 'tom have met he match, him am done.' both am bleedin' and am awful sight. well, dat new nigger 'laxes for to git he wind and den tom, quick like de flash, flips him off and jump to he feet and befo' dat new nigger could git to he feet, tom kicks him in de stomach, 'gain and 'gain. dat nigger's body start to quaver and he massa say, 'dat 'nough.' dat de clostest tom ever come to gittin' whupped what i's know of. "i becomes a runaway nigger short time after dat fight. de war am started den for 'bout a year, or somethin' like dat, and de fed'rals am north of us. i hears de niggers talk 'bout it, and 'bout runnin' 'way to freedom. i thinks and thinks 'bout gittin' freedom, and i's gwine run off. den i thinks of de patter rollers and what happen if dey cotches me off de place without de pass. den i thinks of some joyment sich as de corn huskin' and de fights and de singin' and i don't know what to do. i tells you one singin' but i can't sing it: "'de moonlight, a shinin' star, de big owl hootin' in de tree; o, bye, my baby, ain't you gwineter sleep, a-rockin' on my knee? "'bye, my honey baby, a-rockin' on my knee, baby done gone to sleep, owl hush hootin' in de tree. "'she gone to sleep, honey baby sleep, a-rockin' on my, a-rockin' on my knee.' "now, back to de freedom. one night 'bout ten niggers run away. de next day we'uns hears nothin', so i says to myself, 'de patters don't cotch dem.' den i makes up my mind to go and i leaves with de chunk of meat and cornbread and am on my way, half skeert to death. i sho' has de eyes open and de ears forward, watchin' for de patters. i steps off de road in de night, at sight of anything, and in de day i takes to de woods. it takes me two days to make dat trip and jus' once de patters pass me by. i am in de thicket watchin' dem and i's sho' dey gwine search dat thicket, 'cause dey stops and am a-talkin' and lookin' my way. dey stands dere for a li'l bit and den one comes my way. lawd a-mighty! dat sho' look like de end, but dat man stop and den look and look. den he pick up somethin' and goes back. it am a bottle and dey all takes de drink and rides on. i's sho' in de sweat and i don't tarry dere long. "de yanks am camped nere bellfound and dere's where i gits to. 'magine my 'sprise when i finds all de ten runaway niggers am dere, too. dat am on a sunday and on de monday, de yanks puts us on de freight train and we goes to stevenson, in alabama. dere, us put to work buildin' breastworks. but after de few days, i gits sent to de headquarters at nashville, in tennessee. "i's water toter dere for de army and dere am no fightin' at first but 'fore long dey starts de battle. dat battle am a 'sperience for me. de noise am awful, jus' one steady roar of de guns and de cannons. de window glass in nashville am all shoke out from de shakement of de cannons. dere am dead mens all over de ground and lots of wounded and some cussin' and some prayin'. some am moanin' and dis and dat one cry for de water and, god a-mighty, i don't want any sich 'gain. dere am men carryin' de dead off da field, but dey can't keep up with de cannons. i helps bury de dead and den i gits sent to murphysboro and dere it am jus' de same. "you knows when abe lincoln am shot? well, i's in nashville den and it am near de end of de war and i am standin' on broadway street talkin' with de sergeant when up walk a man and him shakes hands with me and says, 'i's proud to meet a brave, young fellow like you.' dat man am andrew johnson and him come to be president after abe's dead. "i stays in nashville when de war am over and i marries tennessee house in and she died july th, . dat make year dat we'uns am togedder. her old missy am now livin' in arlington heights, right here in fort worth and her name am mallard and she come from tennessee, too. "i comes here from tennessee year ago and at fust i farms and den i works for de packin' plants till dey lets me out, 'cause i's too old for to do 'nough work for dem. "i has eight boys and three girls, dat make eleven chillen, and dey makin' scatterment all over de country so i's alone in my old age. i has dat $ . de month pension what i gits from de state. "dat am de end of de road. [illustration: sarah ford] sarah ford, whose age is problematical, but who says, "i's been here for a long time," lives in a small cottage at clay st., houston, texas. born on the kit patton plantation near west columbia, texas, aunt sarah was probably about fifteen years old when emancipated. she had eleven children, the first born during the storm of , at east columbia, in which sarah's mother and father both perished. "law me, you wants me to talk 'bout slave times, and you is cotched me 'fore i's had my coffee dis mornin', but when you gits old as i is, talk is 'bout all you can do, so 'scuse me whilst i puts de coffee pot on de fire and tell you what i can. "now, what i tells you is de truth, 'cause i only told one little lie in my whole life and i got cotched in it and got whipped both ways. oh, lawd, i sho' never won't forget dat, mama sho' was mad. mama sends me over to sally ann, the cow woman, to get some milk and onions. i never did like to borrow, so i comes back with the milk and tell mama sally ann say she ain't got no onions for no africans. dat make mamma mad and she goes tell dat sally ann somethin'. she brung back de onions and say, 'you, sarah, i'll larn you not to tell no lie.' she sho' give me a hidin'. "now, i tells you 'bout de plantation what i's born on. you all knows where west columbia is at? well, dat's right where i's born, on massa kit patton's plantation, dey calls it de hogg place now." (owned by children of gov. will hogg.) "mamma and papa belongs to massa kit and mama born there, too. folks called her 'little jane,' 'cause she's no bigger'n nothing. "papa's name was mike and he's a tanner and he come from tennessee and sold to massa kit by a nigger trader. he wasn't all black, he was part indian. i heared him say what tribe, but i can't 'lect now. when i's growed mama tells me lots of things. she say de white folks don't let de slaves what works in de field marry none, dey jus' puts a man and breedin' woman together like mules. iffen the women don't like the man it don't make no diff'rence, she better go or dey gives her a hidin'. "massa kit has two brothers, massa charles and massa matt, what lives at west columbia. massa kit on one side varney's creek and massa charles on de other side. massa kit have a african woman from kentucky for he wife, and dat's de truth. i ain't sayin' iffen she a real wife or not, but all de slaves has to call her 'miss rachel.' but iffen a bird fly up in de sky it mus' come down sometime, and rachel jus' like dat bird, 'cause massa kit go crazy and die and massa charles take over de plantation and he takes rachel and puts her to work in de field. but she don't stay in de field long, 'cause massa charles puts her in a house by herself and she don't work no more. "if us gits sick us call mammy judy. she de cook and iffen you puts a sugar barrel 'long side her and puts a face on dat barrel, you sho' can't tell it from her, she so round and fat. iffen us git real sick dey calls de doctor, but iffen it a misery in de stomach or jus' de flux, mammy judy fix up some burr vine tea or horsemint tea. dey de male burr vine and de female burr vine and does a woman or gal git de misery, dey gives 'em de female tea, and does a man, or boy chile git it, dey gives him de male vine tea. "scuse me while i pours me some coffee. it sho' do fortify me. you know what us drink for coffee in slave times? parched meal, and it purty good iffen you know's how. "us don't have much singin' on our place, 'cepting at church on sunday. law me, de folks what works in de fields feels more like cryin' at night. us chillen used to sing dis: "'where you goin', buzzard, where you gwine to go? i's goin' down to new ground, for to hunt jim crow.' "i guess massa charles, what taken us when massa kit die, was 'bout de same as all white folks what owned slaves, some good and some bad. we has plenty to eat--more'n i has now--and plenty clothes and shoes. but de overseer was uncle big jake, what's black like de rest of us, but he so mean i 'spect de devil done make him overseer down below long time ago. dat de bad part of massa charles, 'cause he lets uncle jake whip de slaves so much dat some like my papa what had spirit was all de time runnin' 'way. and even does your stomach be full, and does you have plenty clothes, dat bullwhip on your bare hide make you forgit de good part, and dat's de truth. "uncle big jake sho' work de slaves from early mornin' till night. when you is in de field you better not lag none. when its fallin' weather de hands is put to work fixin' dis and dat. de woman what has li'l chillen don't have to work so hard. dey works 'round de sugar house and come o'clock dey quits and cares for de babies till o'clock, and den works till o'clock and quits. "massa charles have a arbor and dat's where we has preachin'. one day old uncle law preachin' and he say, 'de lawd make everyone to come in unity and on de level, both white and black.' when massa charles hears 'bout it, he don't like it none, and de next mornin' old uncle jake git uncle law and put him out in de field with de rest. "massa charles run dat plantation jus' like a factory. uncle cip was sugar man, my papa tanner and uncle john austin, what have a wooden leg, am shoemaker and make de shoes with de brass toes. law me, dey heaps of things go on in slave time what won't go on no more, 'cause de bright light come and it ain't dark no more for us black folks. iffen a nigger run away and dey cotch him, or does he come back 'cause he hongry, i seed uncle jake stretch him out on de ground and tie he hands and feet to posts so he can't move none. den he git de piece of iron what he call de 'slut' and what is like a block of wood with little holes in it, and fill de holes up with tallow and put dat iron in de fire till de grease sizzlin' hot and hold it over de pore nigger's back and let dat hot grease drap on he hide. den he take de bullwhip and whip up and down, and after all dat throw de pore nigger in de stockhouse and chain him up a couple days with nothin' to eat. my papa carry de grease scars on he back till he die. "massa charles and uncle jake don't like papa, 'cause he ain't so black, and he had spirit, 'cause he part indian. do somethin' go wrong and uncle big jake say he gwine to give papa de whippin', he runs off. one time he gone a whole year and he sho' look like a monkey when he gits back, with de hair standin' straight on he head and he face. papa was mighty good to mama and me and dat de only reason he ever come back from runnin' 'way, to see us. he knowed he'd git a whippin' but he come anyway. dey never could cotch papa when he run 'way, 'cause he part indian. massa charles even gits old nigger kelly what lives over to sandy point to track papa with he dogs, but papa wade in water and dey can't track him. "dey knows papa is de best tanner 'round dat part de country, so dey doesn't sell him off de place. i 'lect papa sayin' dere one place special where he hide, some german folks, de name ebbling, i think. while he hides dere, he tans hides on de sly like and dey feeds him, and lots of mornin's when us open de cabin door on a shelf jus' 'bove is food for mama and me, and sometime store clothes. no one ain't see papa, but dere it is. one time he brung us dresses, and uncle big jake heered 'bout it and he sho' mad 'cause he can't cotch papa, and he say to mama he gwine to whip her 'less she tell him where papa is. mama say, 'fore god, uncle jake, i don't know, 'cause i ain't seed him since he run 'way,' and jus' den papa come 'round de corner of de house. he save mama from de whippin' but papa got de hot grease drapped on him like i told you uncle big jake did, and got put in de stockhouse with shackles on him, and kep' dere three days, and while he in dere mama has de goin' down pains and my sister, rachel, is born. "when freedom come, i didn't know what dat was. i 'lect uncle charley burns what drive de buggy for massa charles, come runnin' out in de yard and holler, 'everybody free, everybody free,' and purty soon sojers comes and de captain reads a 'mation. and, law me, dat one time massa charley can't open he mouth, 'cause de captain tell him to shut up, dat he'd do de talkin'. den de captain say, 'i come to tell you de slaves is free and you don't have to call nobody master no more.' well, us jus' mill 'round like cattle do. massa charley say iffen us wants to stay he'll pay us, all 'cepting my papa. he say, 'you can't stay here, 'cause you is a bad 'fluence.' "papa left but come back with a wagon and mules what he borrows and loads mama and my sister and me in and us go to east columbia on de brazos river and settles down. dey hires me out and us have our own patch, too, and dat de fust time i ever seed any money. papa builds a cabin and a corn crib and us sho' happy, 'cause de bright light done come and dey no more whippin's. "one night us jus' finish eatin supper and someone holler 'hello.' you know who it was holler? old uncle big jake. de black folks all hated him so dey wouldn't have no truck with him and he ask my papa could he stay. papa didn't like him none, 'cause he done treat papa so bad, but de old devil jus' beg so hard papa takes him out to de corn crib and fix a place for him and he stay most a month till he taken sick and died. "i stays with papa and mama till i marries wes ford and i shows you how de lawd done give and take away. wes and i has a cabin by ourselves near papa's and i is jus' 'bout to have my first baby. de wind start blowin' and it git harder and harder and right when its de worst de baby comes. dat in ' and whilst i havin' my baby, de wind tear de cabin where mama and papa is to pieces and kilt 'em. my sister rachel was with me so she wasn't kilt. "well, i can't complain, 'cause de lawd sho' been good to me. wes and all 'cept four my chillen is dead now. i has six boys and five gals. but de ones what is alive is pore like dey mammy. but i praises de lawd 'cause de bright light am turned on. millie forward, about years old, was born a slave of jason forward, in jasper, texas. she has spent her entire life in that vicinity, and now lives in jasper with her son, joe mcray. millie has been totally blind for fifteen years and is very deaf. "us used to live 'bout four mile east of jasper, on de newton highway. i reckon i's 'bout year old and i thank de lawd i's been spared dis long. some my old friends say i's , and maybe i is. i feels like it. "i's born in alabama and mammy have jus' got up when de white folks brung us out west. pappy's name jim forward and mammy name mary. dey lef' pappy in alabama, 'cause he 'long to 'nother massa. "my massa name jason forward and he own a lot of slaves. i work as housegirl and wait on de white women. missus name am sarah ann forward. massa jason he own de fust drugstore in jasper. i have de sister, susan, and de brudder, tom. massa and missus, dey treats us jes' like dey us pappy and mammy. "us have more to eat den dan us do now. us never was knowed to be without meat, 'cause massa raise plenty pigs. us have fish and possum and coon and deer and everything. us have biscuits and cake, too, but us drink bran meal coffee. massa and missus has no chillen and dey give us feast and have biscuits and cake. befo' christmas massa go to town and buy all kinds candy and toys and say, 'millie, you go out on de gallery and holler and tell santy not forgit fill your stockin' tonight.' i holler loud as i can and nex' mornin' my stockin' chock full. "after freedom come, us stays right on with massa and missus. massa teach school for us at night. us learn a b c and how spell cat and dog and nigger. den one day he git cross and scold us and us didn't go back to school no more. us didn't have sense 'nough to know he tryin' do us good. "den missus git sick, but she dat good, dat when one cullud man git drown in de 'river she sit up in bed and make he shroud and massa feed de whole crowd de two days dey findin' de body. after him bury, missus git worse and say, 'jason, pull down de blind, de light am so bright it hurt my eyes.' den a big, white crane come light on de chimney and us chillen throw rocks at him, but he jes' shake he head and ruffle he feathers and still sit dere. i tells you dat de light of heaven shinin' on missus and iffen ever a woman went dere, she did. she de bes' white woman i ever see. de day she die, i cry all day. "when de sojers go to de war, every man take a slave to wait on him and take care he camp and cook. after de end of war, when de sojers gwine home, don't know how many yankees pass through jasper, but it sound like de roar of a storm comin'. every officer have he wife ridin' right by he side. dey wives come to go home with dem. dey thousands bluecoats, ridin' two abreas'. "when i young lady, dey have tourn'ments at adrian ryall place west of jasper and de one what cotch de hoss bridle de most times, git crown queen. i gits to be queen every time. i looks like a queen now, doesn't i? "after us git free a long time, me and susan and tom us work hard and buy us de black land farm. but de deed git' burnt up and us didn't know how to git 'nother deed, and a young nigger call mcray, he come foolin' 'round me and makin' love to me. he find out us don't have no deed no more and he claim dat farm and take it 'way from us and leave me with li'l baby boy what i names joe millie mcray. but never 'gain. i never marries. "us done work in de cotton field and wash many a long day to pay for dat farm. but dat boy growed to be a good man and i live with him and he wife now. and he boy, bob, am better still. he jes' work so hard and he buy fine li'l home in jasper and marry de bes' gal, mos' white. dey have nice fur'ture and gas and lights and everything. "dey treat us purty good in slavery days but i'd rather be free, but it purty hard to be blind so long and most deaf, too, but i thank de lawd i's not sufferin'. i gits de pension of 'leven dollars a month. i's so old i can't 'member much, only sometime, things comes to me i thought i forgot long time ago. i's had it purty hard to pay for de farm and den have it stoled from me when i's old and blind, but de good lawd, he know all 'bout it and we all got to stand 'fore de jedgment some day soon. [illustration: louis fowler] louis fowler, , was born a slave to robert beaver, in macon co., georgia. fowler did not take his father's name, but that of his stepfather, j. fowler. after he was freed, louis farmed for several years, then worked in packing plants in fort worth, tex. he lives at holland st., fort worth. "dis cullud person am years old and i's born on de plantation of massa robert beaver, in old georgia. he owned my mammy and 'bout slaves. now, 'bout my pappy, i lets you judge. look at my hair. de color am red, ain't it? my beard am red and my eyes is brown and my skin am light yellow. now, who does you think my pappy was? you don't know, of course, but i knows, 'cause on dat plantation am a man dat am over six feet tall and his hair as red as a brick. "my mammy am married to a man named fowler and he am owned by massa jack fowler, on de place next to ours. our place am middlin' big and fixed first class. he has first-class quarter for us cullud folks. de cabins am two and some three rooms and dey all built of logs and chinked with a piece of wood and daubed with dirt to fill de cracks. de way we'uns fix dat dirt am take de clay or gumbo which am sticky when it am wet. dat dirt am soaked with water till it stick together and den hay or straw am mixed with it. when sich mud am daubed in de cracks it stay and dem cabins am sho' windproof and warm. "de treatment am good and massa beaver have de choice name 'mong he neighbors for bein' good to he niggers. no work on sunday, no work on saturday evenin's. dem times was for de cullud folks to do for demselves. massa beaver have it fixed disaway, he 'low each family a piece of groun' and dey can raise what dey likes. "de rations am measure out and de massa allus 'low plenty of meat and we has wheat flour. mos' de niggers don't have wheat flour, but massa raises de wheat and we gits it. we kin have 'lasses and brown sugar but one thing we'uns has to watch am de waste, 'cause massa won't stand for dat. "de meat am cured with de hick'ry wood smoke and if you could git jus' one taste dat ham and bacon you'd never eat none of this nowadays meat. it sho' have a dif'rent taste. "we makes de cloth and de wool and i could card and spin and weave 'fore i's big 'nough to work in de field. my mammy larned me to help her. we makes dye from de bark of walnut and de cherry and red oak trees, and some from berries but what dey is i forgit. iffen we'uns wants clay red, we buries de cloth in red clay for a week and it takes on de color. den we soaks de cloth in cold salt water and it stays colored. "massa builded a log church house for we'uns cullud folks for to go to god. dat nigger named allen beaver am de preacherman and de leader in all de parties, 'cause him can play de fiddle. no, allen am not educated, but can he preach a pow'ful sermon. o, lawd! he am inspire from de lawd and he preached from his heartfelt. "dere am only one time dat a nigger gits whupped on dat plantation and dat am not given by massa but by dem patterrollers. massa don't gin'rally 'low dem patterrollers whup on his place, and all de niggers from round dere allus run from de patterrollers onto massa's land and den dey safe. but in dis 'ticlar case, massa make de 'ception. "'twas nigger jack what dey chases home and he gits under de cabin and 'fused to come out. massa say, 'in dis case i gwine make 'ception, 'cause dat jack he am too unreas'able. he allus chasin' after some nigger wench and not satisfied with de pass i give. give him lashes but don't draw de blood or leave de marks.' "well, sar, it am de great sight to see jack git dat whuppin'. him am skeert, but dey ain't hurtin' him bad. massa make him come out and dey tie him to a post and he starts to bawl and beller befo' a lick am struck. say! him beg like a good fellow. it am, 'oh, massa, massa, oh, massa, have mercy, don't let 'em whup me. massa, i won't go off any more.' de patterrollers gives him a lick and jack lets out a yell dat sounds like a mule bray and twice as loud. "dere used to be a patterroller song what sent like dis: "up 'de hill and down de holler white man cotch nigger by de collar dat nigger run and dat nigger flew, dat nigger tore he shirt in two.' "well, while dey's whuppin' dat nigger, jack, he couldn't run and he couldn't tear he shirt in two, but he holler till he tear he mouth in two. jack say he never go off without de pass 'gain and he kept he word, too. "de big doin's am on christmas day and de massa have present for each cullud person. dey am little things and i laughs when i thinks of them, but de cullud folks sho' 'joy dem and it show massa's heart am right. for de chillen it am candy and for de women, a pin or sich, and for de men, a knife or sich. on dat day, preacherman allen sho' have de full heart, and he preach and preach. "but de war starts and it not so happy on massa's place and 'fore long he two sons goes to dat war. de massa show worryment 'cause dey fightin' here and dere and den come de day when dey fight right nex' to de massa's place. it am in de field next to we'uns and de two boys, young charley and he brother, bob, am in de fight. it am for sev'ral days de army am a-marchin' to de field and gittin' ready for de battle. durin' dat time, de two boys comes home for a spell every day. early one mornin' de shootin' starts and it am not much at first but it ain't long till it am a steady thunder and it keep up all day. "de missy am walkin' in de yard and den go in de house and out 'gain. she am a-twistin' her hands and cryin'. she keeps sayin', 'dey sho' gits kilt, my poor babies.' de massa talk to her to quiet her. dat help me, too, 'cause i sho' skeert. nobody do much work dat day, but stand round with quiverments and when dey talk, dey voice quiver. why, even de buildin's quivered. every once in de while, dere am an extry roar. dat de cannon and every time i heered it, i jumps. i's sent to git de eggs and have 'bout five dozen in de basket, holdin' it in front of me with my two hands. all a sudden, one of dem extry shoots comes and down dis nigger kid go and my head hits into de basket. dere i is, eggs oozin' all round me and i so skeert and fussed up i jus' lays and kicks. i wants to scream but i can't for de eggs in my mouth. to dis day i thinks of dat battle every time i eats eggs. "de nex' day after de battle am over, mos' us cullud folks goes to de field. some of 'em buries de dead, and i hears 'em tell how in de low places de blood stand like water and de bodies all shoot to pieces. "massa's sons not kilt and am de missy glad! she have allus colored folks come to de house and make us kneel down and she thank de lawd for savin' her sons. dey even go to other places and fights, but dey comes home after de war am over. "surrender come and massa tells us we can stay or go and if we stay he pay us wages or we works on shares. some go and some stay. mammy and me goes to de fowler place with my stepfather and we share crops for three year. "i stays with dem till i's and den i gits married. dat in and my wife died in and we'uns have four chillen. all dat time i's farmed till 'bout year ago when i works in de packin' plant here in fort worth. i works dere years and den dey say i's too old and since den i works at de odd jobs till 'bout five years ago. "since i's quit work at de packin' plant it am hard for dis cullud person. i soon uses up my savin's and den i's gone hongry plenty times. my chillen am old and dey havin' de hard time, too. my friends helps me a little and i gits de pension, but it am only $ . a month and, course, dat ain't 'nough. "after all dese years i's worked and 'haved, i never thinks i comes to where i couldn't git 'nough to eat. i's am wishful for de lawd to call me to jedgment. chris franklin, , was born a slave of judge robert j. looney, in bossier parish, louisiana. chris now lives in beaumont, texas, and supports himself by gardening and yard work. he is thrifty and owns his own home. "yes, suh, dis is chris franklin. i signs my name c.c. franklin, dat for christopher columbus franklin. i's born in bossier parish, up in louisiana, jes' twenty-five miles de other side of shreveport. i's born dere in , on christmas day, but i's raise up in caddo parish. old massa move over dere when i 'bout a year old. "old massa name robert j. looney and he a jedge and lawyer. he have a boy name r.j., jr., but i's talkin' 'bout de old head, de old 'riginal. de missy, her name lettie looney. he weren't no farmer, jes' truck farm to raise de livin' for he household and slaves. he didn't have over a half dozen growed up slaves. course, dey rears a lot of young'uns. "my pappy's name solomon lawson. he 'long to jedge lawson, what live near us. when freedom come, he done take de name sol franklin, what he say am he pappy's name. "jedge looney have de ord'nary frame house. dey 'bout six, seven rooms in it, all under one roof. de dinin' room and cook room wasn't built off to deyself, like mos' big houses. it was a raise house, raise up on high pillars and dey could drive a hoss and buggy under it. he live on de fairview road. "us slaves all live in one big slave cabin, built out of plank. it built sort-a like de 'partment house. dey four rooms and each fam'ly have one room. dey have a lamp and a candle for our comfort. it jes' a li'l, ord'nary brass lamp. dey used to make 'em out of wax and tallow. dey raise dere own bees and when dey rob de bee gums dey strain de honey and melt de wax with tallow to make it firmer. dey tie one end de wick on de stick 'cross de mold and put in de melted wax and tallow. "dey have a table and benches, too. but a chair de rare thing in a cabin. dey make some with de split hick'ry or rawhide bottom. dey have hay mattress. de tickin' am rice sacks. us have mud chimney. dey fix sticks like de ladder and mix mud and moss and grass in what dey calls 'cats'. dey have rock backs, and, man, us have a sho' 'nough fire in 'em. put a stick long as me and big as a porch post in dat fireplace. in cold weather dat last all day and all night. "when de parents workin' in de field, somebody look after de chillen. de nannies come in and nuss dem when time come. de white folks never put on 'strictions on de chillen till dey twelve, fourteen years old. dey all wear de straight-cut slip. dey give de li'l gals de slip dress and li'l panties. in wintertime dey give de boy's de li'l coat and pants and shoes, but no drawers or unnerwear. dey give dem hard russet shoes in wintertime. dey have brass toes. dey plenty dur'ble. in summertime us didn't see no shoe. "massa looney jes' as fine de man as ever make tracks. christmas time come, he give 'em a few dollars and say go to the store and buy what us want. he give all de li'l nigger chillen gif's, jes' like he own. he git de jug of whiskey and plenty eggs and make de big eggnog for everybody. he treat us cullud folks jes' like he treat he own fam'ly. he never take no liquor 'cept at christmas. he give us lots to eat at christmas, too. "sometime old missy come out and call all de li'l niggers in de house to play with her chillen. when us eat us have de tin plate and cup. dey give us plenty milk and butter and 'taters and sich. us all set on de floor and make 'way with dem rations. "dey had a li'l church house for de niggers and preachin' in de afternoon, and on into de night lots of times. dey have de cullud preacher. he couldn't read. he jes' preach from nat'ral wit and what he larn from white folks. de whole outfit profess to be baptis'. "de marryin' business go through by what massa say. de fellow git de massa's consen'. massa mos'ly say yes without waitin', 'cause marryin' mean more niggers for him comin' on. he git de jedge or preacher to marry dem. iffen de man live on one plantation and de gal on 'nother, he have to git de pass to go see her. dat so de patterrollers not git him. "de slaves used to have balls and frolics in dey cabins. but iffen dey go to de frolic on 'nother plantation dey git de pass. dat so dey can cotch runaway niggers. i never heared of stealin' niggers, 'cept dis-a-way. sometime de runaway nigger git fifty or hundred miles away and show up dere as de stray slave. dat massa where he show up take care of him so long, den lay claim to him. dat call harborin' de nigger. "dey lots of places where de young massas has heirs by nigger gals. dey sell dem jes' like other slaves. dat purty common. it seem like de white women don't mind. dey didn't 'ject, 'cause dat mean more slaves. "sometimes de white folks has de big deer drive. dem and de niggers go down in de bottoms to drive deers up. dey rid big, fine hosses and start de deers runnin'. dey raise dere own dogs. massa sho' careful 'bout he hounds. he train dem good and treat dem good, too. he have somethin' cook reg'lar for dem. dey hunts foxes and wolves and plenty dem kinds varmints. "i seen sojers' by de thousands. when 'mancipation come out massa come to de back door with de paper and say, 'yous free.' he furnish dem with all dey needs and give dem part de crop. he 'vide up de pig litters and such 'mongst dem. he give dem de start. den after two, three year he commence takin' out for dere food and boots and clothes and sich. "de night de pusson die dey has de wake and sing and pray all night long. dey all very 'ligious in dere profession. dey knock off all work so de slaves can go to de buryin'. "de white folks 'low dem to have de frolic with de fiddle or banjo or windjammer. dey dances out on de grass, forty or fifty niggers, and dem big gals nineteen year old git out dere barefoot as de goose. it jes' de habit of de times, 'cause dey all have shoes. sometimes dey call de jig dance and some of dem sho' dance it, too. de prompter call, 'all git ready.' den he holler, 'all balance,' and den he sing out, 'swing you pardner,' and dey does it. den he say, 'first man head off to de right,' and dere dey goes. or he say, 'all promenade,' and dey goes in de circle. one thing dey calls, 'bird in de cage.' three joins hands round de gal in de middle, and dance round her, and den she git out and her pardner git in de center and dey dance dat way awhile. "after freedom dey have de log cabin schoolhouse. de first teacher was de cullud women name mary chapman. i near wore out dat old blueblack speller tryin' to larn a b c's. "i leaves caddo parish in for galveston, and leaves dere on de four mast schooner for leesburg and up de calcasieu river. den i goes to de cameron parish and in i comes to beaumont. i marries mandy watson in and she died in . us never have no chillen but 'dopts two. us marry in de hotel dinin'-room, 'cause i's workin' for de hotel man, j.b. goodhue. de rev. elder venable, what am da old cullud preacher, marries us. i didn't git marry like in slavery time, i's got a great big marriage certif'cate hangin' on de wall of my house. "i 'longs to several lodges, de knights of labor and de knights of honor and de pilgrims. i never hold no office. i's jes' de bench member. i's a member of de live lake missionary baptist church. "i's got de big house of my own, on de corner of roberts avenue and san antonio street. after my wife die, i gits de man to come and live dere with me. dat's all i knows. [illustration: orelia alexie franks] orelia alexie franks was born on the plantation of valerian martin, near opelousas, louisiana. she does not know her age, but thinks she is near ninety. her voice has the musical accent of the french negro. she has lived in beaumont, texas, many years. "i's born on mr. george washington's birthday', the twenty-second of february but i don't know what year. my old massa was valerian martin and he come from foreign country. he come from canada and he canada french. he wife name malite guidry. old massa a good catholic and he taken all the li'l slave chillen to be christen. oh, he's a christian massa and i used to be a catholic but now i's a apostolic, but i's christen in st. johns catholic church, what am close to lafayette, where i's born. "my pa name alexis franks and he was american and creole. my ma name fanire martin and i's raise where everybody talk french. i talks american but i talks french goodest. "old massa he big cane and cotton farmer and have big plantation and raise everything, and us all well treat. dey feed us right, too. raise big hawg in de pen and raise lots of beef. all jes' for to feed he cullud folks. "us quarters out behind de big house and old massa come round through de quarters every mornin' and see how us niggers is. if us sick he call nuss. she old slavery woman. she come look at 'em. if dey bad sick dey send for de doctor. us house all log house. dey all dab with dirt 'tween de logs. dey have dirt chimney make out of sticks and dab with mud. dey [transcriber's note: unfinished sentence at end of page] "lots of time we eat coosh-coosh. dat make out of meal and water. you bile de water and salt it, den put in de cornmeal and stir it and bile it. den you puts milk or clabber or syrup on it and eat it. "old massa have de graveyard a purpose to bury de cullud folks in. dey have cullud preacher. dey have funeral in de graveyard. dat nigger preacher he a mef'dist. "old massa son-in-law, he overseer. he 'low nobody to beat de slaves. us li'l ones git spank when we bad. dey put us 'cross de knee and spank us where dey allus spank chillen. "christmas time dey give big dinner. dey give all de old men whiskey. everybody have big time. "dey make lots of sugar. after dey finish cookin' de sugar dey draw off what left from de pots and give it to us chillen. us have candy pullin'. "dey weave dey own cloth. us have good clothes. dey weave de cloth for make mattress and stuff 'em with moss. massa sho' believe to serve he niggers good. i see old massa when he die. us see old folks cry and us cry, too. dey have de priest and burn de candles. us sho' miss old massa. "i see lots of sojers. dey so many like hair on your head. dey yankees. dey call 'em bluejackets. dey a fight up near massa's house. us climb in tree for to see. us hear bullets go 'zoom' through de air 'round dat tree but us didn't know it was bullets. a man rid up on a hoss and tell massa to git us pickaninnies out dat tree or dey git kilt. de yankees have dat battle and den sot us niggers free. "old massa, he de kind man what let de niggers have dey prayer-meetin'. he give 'em a big cabin for dat. shout? yes, lawd! sing like dis: "'mourner, fare you well, gawd 'mighty bless you, till we meets again.' "us sings 'nother song: "'sinner blind, johnnie, can't you ride no more? sinner blind. your feets may be slippin' your soul git lost. johnnie, can't you ride no more? yes, lawd, day by day you can't see, johnnie, can't you ride no more? yes, lawd.'" rosanna frazier was born a slave on the frazier plantation in mississippi. she does not remember her masters given name, nor does she know her age, although from her memories of various events during the civil war, she believes she is close to ninety, at least. rosanna is blind and bedridden, and is cared for by friends in a little house in pear orchard negro settlement, in beaumont, texas. "my mammy was a freeborn woman named viny frazier and she come from a free country. she was on her way to school when dey stoled her, when she de young gal. de spec'lator gang stoled her and brung her and sold her in red river, in mississippi. missy mary, she buy her. missy mary married den to one man named pool and she have two boys call josh and bill. after dat man die, she marry marse frazier. "my daddy name jerry durden and after i's born they brings us all to texas, but my daddy belong to de neylands, so we loses him. my white folks moves to a big plantation close to woodville, in tyler county, and marse frazier have de store and plenty of stock. he come first from georgia. "all us little chillen, black and white, play togedder and marse frazier, he raise us. his chillen call sis and texana and robert and john. marse frazier he treat us nice and de other white folks calls us 'free niggers', and wouldn't 'low us on dere places. dey 'fraid dere niggers git dissatisfy with dey own treatment. sho's you born, iffen one of us git round dem plantations, dey jus' cut us to pieces with de whip. some of dem white folks sho' was mean, and dey work de niggers all day in de sun and cut dem with de whip, and sho' done 'em up bad. dat on other places, not on ours. "marse frazier, he didn't work us too hard and give saturday and sunday off. he's all right and give good food. people sho' would rare off from him, 'cause he too good. he was de methodist preacher and furnish us church. sometimes he has camp meeting and dey cook out doors with de skillicks. sometimes he has corn shucking time and we has hawg meat and meal bread and whiskey and eggnog and chicken. "de books he brung us didn't do us no good, 'cause us wouldn't larn nothin'. us too busy playin' and huntin' good berries in de wood, de huckleberry and grape and muscadine and chinquapins. all dis time de war was fixin' and i seed two, three soldiers round spyin'. when peace 'clared missy's two boys come back from de war. we stays with marse frazier two year and den i goes and gits married to de man call baker. "i done been blind like dis over year. one sunday i stay all night with a man and he wife and i was workin' as woodchopper on de santa fe route up beaumont to tyler county. after us git up and i starts 'way, i ain't gone but , yard when i hear somethin' say, 'rose, you done somethin' you ain't ought.' i say, 'no, lawd, no.' den de voice say, 'somethin' gwine happen to you,' and de next mornin' i's blind as de bat and i ain't never seed since. "some try tell me snow or sweat or smoke de reason. dat ain't de reason. dey a old, old, slowfooted somethin' from louisiana and dey say he de conjure man, one dem old hoodoo niggers. he git mad at me de last plum-ripenin' time and he make up powdered rattlesnake dust and pass dat through my hair and i sho' ain't seed no more. "dat not de onliest thing dem old conjure men do. dey powder up de rattle offen de snake and tie it up in de little old rag bag and dey do devilment with it. day git old scorpion and make bad medicine. dey git dirt out de graveyard and dat dirt, after dey speak on it, would make you go crazy. "when dey wants conjure you, dey sneak round and git de hair combin' or de finger or toenail, or anything natural 'bout your body, and works de hoodoo on it. "dey make de straw man or de clay man and dey puts de pin in he leg and you leg gwineter git hurt or sore jus' where dey puts de pin. iffen dey puts de pin through de heart you gwineter die and ain't nothin' kin save you. "dey make de charm to wear round de neck or de ankle and dey make de love powder, too, out de love vine, what grow in de woods. dey biles de leaves and powders 'em. dey sho' works, i done try 'em. [illustration: priscilla gibson] priscilla gibson is not sure of her age, but thinks she was born about , in smith county, mississippi, to mary puckett and her indian husband. they belonged to jesse puckett, who owned a plantation on the strong river. priscilla now lives in jasper, texas. "priscilla gibson is my name, and i's bo'n in smith county, way over in mis'ippi, sometime befo' de war. i figger it was 'bout , 'cause i's old enough to climb de fence and watch dem musterin' in de troops when de war began. dey tol' me i's nine year ole when de war close, but dey ain' sure of dat, even. my neighbor, uncle bud adams, he , and i's clippin' close at he heels. "mammy's name was mary puckett, but i never seed my father as i knows of. don' know if he was a whole injun or part white man. never seed but one brother and his name was jake. dey took him to de war with de white boys, to cook and min' de camp and he took pneumony and die. "massa's name was jesse puckett, and missus' name mis' katie. dey hab big fam'ly and dey live in a big wooden-beam house with a big up-stair'. de house was right on de highway from raleigh to brandon, with de strong river jis' below us. dey took in and 'commadated travelers 'cause dey warn' hotels den. "massa have hunner's of acres. you could walk all day and you never git offen his lan'. an' he have gran' furniture and other things in de house. i kin remember dem, 'cause i use' to he'p 'round de house, run errands and fan mis' katie and sich. i 'members chairs with silk coverin's on 'em and dere was de gran' lights, big lamps with de roses on de shades. and eve'ywhere de floors with rugs and de rugs was pretty, dey wasn' like dese thin rugs you sees nowadays. no, ma'am, dey has big flowers on 'em and de feets sinks in 'em. i useter lie down on one of dem rugs in mis' katie's room when she's asleep and i kin stop fannin.' "massa puckett was tol'able good to de slaves. we has clothes made of homespun what de nigger women weaved, and de little boys wo' long-tail shirts, with no pants till they's grown. massa raised sheep and dey make us wool clothes for winter, but we has no shoes. "de white folks didn' larn us read and write but dey was good to us 'cep' when some niggers try to run away and den dey whips 'em hard. we has plenty to eat and has prayer meetin's with singin' and shoutin', and we chilluns played marbles and jump de rope. "after freedom come all lef' but me 'cause missus say she have me boun' to her till i git my age. but i's res'less one night and my sister, georgy ann, come see me, and i run off with her, but dey never comes after me. i was scart dey would, 'cause i 'membered 'bout our neighbor, ole means, and his slave, sylvia, and she run away and was in de woods, and he'd git on de hoss, take de dogs and set 'em on her, and let dem bite her and tear her clothes. gabriel gilbert was born in slavery on the plantation of belizare brassard, in new iberia parish, louisiana. he does not know his age, but appears to be about eighty. he has lived in beaumont, texas, for sixteen years. "my old massa was belizare broussard. he was my mom's massa. he had a big log house what he live in. de places 'tween de logs was fill with dirt. de quarters de slaves live in was make out of dirt. dey put up posties in de ground and bore holes in de posts and put in pickets 'cross from one post to the other. den dey build up de sides with mud. de floor and everything was dirt. dey had a schoolhouse built for de white chillen de same way. de cullud chillen didn't have no school. "dem was warm healthy houses us grew up in. dey used to raise better men den in dem houses dan now. my pa name was joseph gilbert. he old massa was belleau prince. "i didn't know what a store was when i was growin' up. us didn't have store things like now. us had wooden pan and spoon dem times. i never see no iron plow dem days. nothin' was iron on de plow 'cept de share. i tell dese youngsters, 'you in hebben now from de time i come up.' when a man die dem days, dey use de ox cart to carry de corpse. "massa have 'bout four hundred acres and lots of slaves. he raise sugar cane. he have a mill and make brown sugar. he raise cotton and corn, too. he have plenty stock on de place. he give us plenty to eat. he was a nice man. he wasn't brutish. he treat he slaves like hisself. i never 'member see him whip nobody. he didn't 'low no ill treatment. all de folks round he place say he niggers ruint and spoiled. "de li'l white folks and nigger folks jus' play round like brudder and sister and us all eat at de white table. i slep' in de white folks house, too. my godfather and godmother was rich white folks. i still cath'lic. "i seed sojers but i too li'l to know nothin' 'bout dem. dey didn't worry me a-tall. i didn't git close to de battle. "my mammy weave cloth out cotton and wool. i 'member de loom. it go 'boom-boom-boom.' dat de shuttle goin' cross. my daddy, he de smart man. i'll never be like him long as i live in dis world. he make shoes. he build house. he do anything. he and my mammy neither one ever been brutalize'. "de first work i done was raisin' cotton and sugar cane and sweet and irish 'taters. i used to cook sugar. "i marry on twenty-second of february. my wife was medora labor. she been dead thirty-five year now. i never marry no second woman. i love my wife so much i never want nobody else. us had six chillen. two am livin'. "goin' back when i a slave, massa have a store. when de priest come dey hold church in dat store. old massa have sev'ral boys. dey went after some de slave gals. dey have chillen by dem. dem gals have dere cabins and dere chillen, what am half white. "after while dem boys marry. but dey allus treat dey chillen by de slave womens good. dey white wife treat dem good, too, most like dey dere own chillen. "old massa have plenty money. land am only two bits de acre. some places it cost nothing. dey did haulin' in ox-carts. a man what had mules had something extra. "us have plenty wild game, wild geese and ducks. fishin' am mighty good. dey was 'gaters, too. i seed dem bite a man's arm off. "if a slave feelin' bad dey wouldn't make him work. my uncle and my mammy dey never work nothing to speak of. dey allus have some kind complaint. ain't no tellin' what it gwine be, but you could 'low something ailin' dem! "i 'member dey a white man. he had a gif'. i don't care what kind of animal, a dog or a hoss, dat man he work on it and it never leave you or you house. if anybody have toothache or earache he take a brand new nail what ain't never work befo' and work dat round you tooth or ear. dat break up de toothache or earache right away. he have li'l prayer he say. i don't know what it was. "i's seed ghosties. i talk with dem, too. sometimes dey like people. sometimes dey like animal, maybe white dog. i allus feel chilly when dey come round me. i talk with my wife after she dead. she tell me, 'don't you forgit to pray.' she say dis world corrupt and you got to fight it out." mattie gilmore lives in a little cabin on e. fifth avenue, in corsicana, texas. a smile came to her lips, as she recalled days when she was a slave in mobile, alabama. she has no idea how old she is. her master, thomas barrow, brought his slaves to athens, texas, during the civil war, and mattie had two children at that time, so she is probably about ninety. "i's born in mobile, alabama, and i don't have no idea when. my white folks never did tell me how old i was. my own dear mammy died 'fore i can remember and my stepma didn't take no time to tell me nothin'. her name was mary barrow and papa's name was allison barrow, and i had sisters, rachel and lou and charity, and a brother, allison. "my master sold rachel when she was jus' a girl. i sho' did cry. they put her on a block and sold her off. i heared they got a thousand dollars for her, but i never seed her no more till after freedom. a man named dick burdon, from kaufman county, bought her. after freedom i heared she's sick and brung her home, but she was too far gone. "we lived in a log house with dirt floors, warm in winter but sho' hot in summer, no screens or nothin', jus' homemade doors. we had homemade beds out of planks they picked up around. mattresses nothin', we had shuck beds. but, anyway, you takes it, we was better off den dan now. "i worked in the fields till rachel was sold, den tooken her place, doin' kitchen work and fannin' flies off de table with a great, long limb. i liked dat. i got plenty to eat and not so hot. we had jus' food to make you stand up and work. it wasn't none the good foolish things we has now. we had cornbread and blackeyed peas and beans and sorghum 'lasses. old master give us our rations and iffen dat didn't fill us up, we jus' went lank. sometimes we had possum and rabbits and fish, iffen we cotched dem on sunday. i seed old missy parch coffee in a skittle, and it good coffee, too. we couldn't go to the store and buy things, 'cause they warn't no stores hardly. "when dey's hoein' cotton or corn, everybody has to keep up with de driver, not hurry so fast, but workin' steady. some de women what had suckin' babies left dem in de shade while dey worked, and one time a big, bald eagle flew down by one dem babies and picked it up and flew away with it. de mama couldn't git it and we never heared of dat baby 'gain. "i 'member when we come from mobile to texas. by time we heared de yankees was comin' dey got all dere gold together and miss jane called me and give me a whole sack of pure gold and silver, and say bury it in de orchard. i sho' was scart, but i done what she said. dey was more gold in a big desk, and de yanks pulled de top of dat desk and got de gold. miss jane had a purty gold ring on her finger and de captain yanked it off. i said, 'miss jane, is dey gwine give you ring back?' all she said was, 'shet you mouth,' and dat's what i did. "dat night dey digs up de buried gold and we left out. we jus' traveled at night and rested in daytime. we was scart to make a fire. dat was awful times. all on de way to de mississip', we seed dead men layin' everywhere, black and white. "while we's waitin' to go cross de mississip' a white man come up and asks marse barrow how many niggers he has, and counts us all. while we's waitin' de guns 'gins to go boom, boom, and you could hear all dat noise, it so close. when we gits on de boat it flops dis way and dat scart me. i sho' don't want to see no more days like dat one, with war and boats. "we fixes up a purty good house and quarters and gits settled up round athens. and it ain't so long 'fore a paper come make us free. some de slaves laughin' and some cryin' and it a funny place to be. marse barrow asks my stepma to stay cook and he'd pay her some money for it. we stayed four or five years. marse barrow give each he slaves somethin' when dey's freed. lots of master put dem out without a thing. but de trouble with most niggers, dey never done no managin' and didn't know how. de niggers suffered from de war, iffen dey did git freedom from it. "i's already married de slave way in mobile and had three chillen. my husband died 'fore war am over and i marries las gilmore and never has no more chillen. i has no livin' kinfolks i knows of. when we come here las done any work he could git and bought this li'l house, but i can't pay taxes on it, but, sho', de white folks won't put me out. i done git my leg cut off in a train wreck, so i can't work, and i's too old, noways. i don't has no idea how old i is. [illustration: andrew goodman] andrew goodman, , was born a slave of the goodman family, near birmingham, alabama. his master moved to smith county, texas, when andrew was three years old. andrew is a frail, kindly old man, who lives in his memories. he lives at canton st., dallas, texas. "i was born in slavery and i think them days was better for the niggers than the days we see now. one thing was, i never was cold and hongry when my old master lived, and i has been plenty hongry and cold a lot of times since he is gone. but sometimes i think marse goodman was the bestes' man gawd made in a long time. "my mother, martha goodman, 'longed to marse bob goodman when she was born, but my paw come from tennessee and marse bob heired him from some of his kinfolks what died over there. the goodmans must have been fine folks all-a-way round, 'cause my paw said them that raised him was good to they niggers. "old marse never 'lowed none of his nigger families separated. he 'lowed he thought it right and fittin' that folks stay together, though i heard tell of some that didn't think so. "my missus was just as good as marse bob. my maw was a puny little woman that wasn't able to do work in the fields, and she puttered round the house for the missus, doin' little odd jobs. i played round with little miss sallie and little mr. bob, and i ate with them and slept with them. i used to sweep off the steps and do things, and she'd brag on me and many is the time i'd git to noddin' and go to sleep, and she'd pick me up and put me in bed with her chillun. "marse bob didn't put his little niggers in the fields till they's big 'nough to work, and the mammies was give time off from the fields to come back to the nursin' home to suck the babies. he didn't never put the niggers out in bad weather. he give us something to do, in out of the weather, like shellin' corn and the women could spin and knit. they made us plenty of good clothes. in summer we wore long shirts, split up the sides, made out of lowerings--that's same as cotton sacks was made out of. in winter we had good jeans and knitted sweaters and knitted socks. "my paw was a shoemaker. he'd take a calfhide and make shoes with the hairy sides turned in, and they was warm and kept your feet dry. my maw spent a lot of time cardin' and spinnin' wool, and i allus had plenty things. "life was purty fine with marse bob. he was a man of plenty. he had a lot of land and he built him a big log house when he come to texas. he had sev'ral hundred head of cattle and more than that many hawgs. we raised cotton and grain and chickens and vegetables, and most anything anybody could ask for. some places the masters give out a peck of meal and so many pounds of meat to a family for them a week's rations, and if they et it up that was all they got. but marse bob allus give out plenty, and said, 'if you need more you can have it, 'cause ain't any going to suffer on my place.' "he built us a church, and a old man, kenneth lyons, who was a slave of the lyon's family nearby, used to git a pass every sunday mornin' and come preach to us. he was a man of good learnin' and the best preacher i ever heard. he baptised in a little old mudhole down back of our place. nearly all the boys and gals gits converted when they's 'bout twelve or fifteen year old. then on sunday afternoon, marse bob larned us to read and write. he told us we oughta git all the learnin' we could. "once a week the slaves could have any night they want for a dance or frolic. mance mcqueen was a slave 'longing on the dewberry place, what could play a fiddle, and his master give him a pass to come play for us. marse bob give us chickens or kilt a fresh beef or let us make 'lasses candy. we could choose any night, 'cept in the fall of the year. then we worked awful hard and didn't have the time. we had a gin run by horsepower and after sundown, when we left the fields, we used to gin a bale of cotton every night. marse allus give us from christmas eve through new year's day off, to make up for the hard work in the fall. "christmas time everybody got a present and marse bob give a big hawg to every four families. we had money to buy whiskey with. in spare time we'd make cornshuck horse collars and all kinds of baskets, and marse bought them off us. what he couldn't use, he sold for us. we'd take post oak and split it thin with drawin' knives and let it git tough in the sun, and then weave it into cotton baskets and fish baskets and little fancy baskets. the men spent they money on whiskey, 'cause everything else was furnished. we raised our own tobacco and hung it in the barn to season, and a'body could go git it when they wanted it. "we allus got saturday afternoons off to fish and hunt. we used to have fish fries and plenty game in them days. "course, we used to hear 'bout other places where they had nigger drivers and beat the slaves. but i never did see or hear tell of one of master's slaves gittin' a beatin'. we had a overseer, but didn't know what a nigger driver was. marse bob had some nigger dogs like other places, and used to train them for fun. he'd git some the boys to run for a hour or so and then put the dogs on the trail. he'd say, 'if you hear them gittin' near, take to a tree.' but marse bob never had no niggers to run off. "old man briscoll, who had a place next to ours, was vicious cruel. he was mean to his own blood, beatin' his chillen. his slaves was afeared all the time and hated him. old charlie, a good, old man who 'longed to him, run away and stayed six months in the woods 'fore briscoll cotched him. the niggers used to help feed him, but one day a nigger 'trayed him, and briscoe put the dogs on him and cotched him. he made to charlie like he wasn't goin' to hurt him none, and got him to come peaceful. when he took him home, he tied him and beat him for a turrible long time. then he took a big, pine torch and let burnin' pitch drop in spots all over him. old charlie was sick 'bout four months and then he died. "marse bob knowed me better'n most the slaves, 'cause i was round the house more. one day he called all the slaves to the yard. he only had sixty-six then, 'cause he had 'vided with his son and daughter when they married. he made a little speech. he said, 'i'm going to a war, but i don't think i'll be gone long, and i'm turnin' the overseer off and leavin' andrew in charge of the place, and i wants everything to go on, just like i was here. now, you all mind what andrew says, 'cause if you don't, i'll make it rough on you when i come back home.' he was jokin', though, 'cause he wouldn't have done nothing to them. "then he said to me, 'andrew, you is old 'nough to be a man and look after things. take care of missus and see that none the niggers wants, and try to keep the place going.' "we didn't know what the war was 'bout, but master was gone four years. when old missus heard from him, she'd call all the slaves and tell us the news and read us his letters. little parts of it she wouldn't read. we never heard of him gittin' hurt none, but if he had, old missus wouldn't tell us, 'cause the niggers used to cry and pray over him all the time. we never heard tell what the war was 'bout. "when marse bob come home, he sent for all the slaves. he was sittin' in a yard chair, all tuckered out, and shuck hands all round, and said he's glad to see us. then he said, 'i got something to tell you. you is jus' as free as i is. you don't 'long to nobody but you'selves. we went to the war and fought, but the yankees done whup us, and they say the niggers is free. you can go where you wants to go, or you can stay here, jus' as you likes.' he couldn't help but cry. "the niggers cry and don't know much what marse bob means. they is sorry 'bout the freedom, 'cause they don't know where to go, and they's allus 'pend on old marse to look after them. three families went to get farms for theyselves, but the rest just stay on for hands on the old place. "the federals has been comin' by, even 'fore old marse come home. they all come by, carryin' they little budgets, and if they was walkin' they'd look in the stables for a horse or mule, and they jus' took what they wanted of corn or livestock. they done the same after marse bob come home. he jus' said, 'let them go they way, 'cause that's what they're going to do, anyway.' we was scareder of them than we was of the debbil. but they spoke right kindly to us cullud folks. they said, 'if you got a good master and want to stay, well, you can do that, but now you can go where you want to, 'cause ain't nobody going to stop you.' "the niggers can't hardly git used to the idea. when they wants to leave the place, they still go up to the big house for a pass. they jus' can't understand 'bout the freedom. old marse or missus say, 'you don't need no pass. all you got to do is jus' take you foot in you hand and go.' "it seem like the war jus' plumb broke old marse up. it wasn't long till he moved into tyler and left my paw runnin' the farm on a halfance with him and the niggers workers. he didn't live long, but i forgits jus' how long. but when mr. bob heired the old place, he 'lowed we'd jus' go 'long the way his paw has made the trade with my paw. "young mr. bob 'parently done the first rascality i ever heard of a goodman doin'. the first year we worked for him we raised lots of grain and other things and fifty-seven bales of cotton. cotton was fifty-two cents a pound and he shipped it all away, but all he ever gave us was a box of candy and a sack of store tobacco and a sack of sugar. he said the 'signment done got lost. paw said to let it go, 'cause we had allus lived by what the goodman had said. "i got married and lived on the old place till i was in my late fifties. i had seven chillun, but if i got any livin' now, i don't know where they is now. my paw and maw got to own a little piece of land not far from the old place, and paw lived to be and maw . i'm the last one of any of my folks. "for twenty years my health ain't been so good, and i can't work even now, though my health is better'n in the past. i had hemorraghes. all my folks died on me, and it's purty rough on a old man like me. my white folks is all dead or i wouldn't be 'lowed to go hongry and cold like i do, or have to pay rent. [illustration: austin grant (a)] [illustration: austin grant (b)] austin grant came to texas from mississippi with his grandfather, father, mother and brother. george harper owned the family. he raised cotton on peach creek, near gonzales. austin was hired out by his master and after the war his father hired him out to the riley ranch on seco creek, above d'hanis. he then bought a farm in the slave settlement north of hondo. he is or years old. "i'm mixed up on my age, i'm 'fraid, for the bible got burned up that the master's wife had our ages in. she told me my age, which would make me , but i believe i come nearer bein' , accordin' to the way my mother figured it out. "i belonged to george harper, he was judge harper. the' was my father, mother and two boys. he brought us from mississippi, but i don' 'member what part they come from. we settled down here at gonzeles, on peach creek, and he farmed one year there. then he moved out here to medina county, right here on hondo creek. i dont 'member how many acres he had, but he had a big farm. he had at least eight whole slave families. he sold 'em when he wanted money. "my mother's name was mary harper and my father's name was ike harper, and they belonged to the harpers, too. you know, after they was turned loose they had to name themselves. my father named himself grant and his brother named himself glover, and my grandfather was filmore. they had some kin' of law you had to git away from your boss' name so they named themselves. "our house we had to live in, i tell you we had a tough affair, a picket concern, you might say no house a-tall. the beds was one of your own make; if you knowed how to make one, you had one, but of course the chillen slept on the floor, patched up some way. "we went barefooted in the summer and winter, too. you had to prepare that for yourself, and if you didn' have head enough to prepare for yourself, you went without. i don' see how they done as well as they done, 'cause some winters was awful cold, but i always said the lawd was with 'em. [handwritten note: 'used'] "we didn' have no little garden, we never had no time to work no garden. when you could see to work, you was workin' for him. ho! you didn' know what money was. he never paid you anything, you never got to see none. some of the germans would give the old ones a little piece of money, but the chillen, pshaw! they never got to see nothin.' "he was a pretty good boss. you didn' have to work sunday and part of saturday and in the evenin', you had that. he fed us good. sometimes, if you was crowded, you had to work all day saturday. but usually he give you that, so you could wash and weave cloth or such. he had cullud women there he kep' all the time to weave and spin. they kep' cloth made. "on saturday nights, we jes' knocked 'round the place. christmas? i don' know as i was ever home christmas. my boss kep' me hired out. the slaves never had no christmas presents i know of. and big dinners, i never was at nary one. they didn' give us nothin, i tell you, but a grubbin' hoe and axe and the whip. they had co'n shuckin's in them days and co'n shellin's, too. we would shuck so many days and so many days to shell it up. "we would shoot marbles when we was little. it was all the game the niggers ever knowed, was shootin' marbles. "after work at nights there wasn't much settin' 'round; you'd fall into bed and go to sleep. on saturday night they didn' git together, they would jes' sing at their own houses. oh, yes'm, i 'member 'em singin' 'run, nigger, run,' but it's too far back for me to 'member those other songs. they would raise up a song when they was pickin' cotton, but i don' 'member much about those songs. "my old boss, i'm boun' to give him praise, he treated his niggers right. he made 'em work, though, and he whipped 'em, too. but he fed good, too. we had rabbits and possums once in awhile. hardly ever any game, but you might git a deer sometimes. "let 'em ketch you with a gun or a piece of paper with writin' on it and he'd whip you like everything. some of the slaves, if they ever did git a piece of paper, they would keep it and learn a few words. but they didn' want you to know nothin', that's what, nothin' but work. you would think they was goin' to kill you, he would whip you so if he caught you with a piece of paper. you couldn' have nothin' but a pick and axe and grubbin' hoe. "we never got to play none. our boss hired us out lots of times. i don' know what he got for us. we farmed, cut wood, grubbed, anything. i herded sheep and i picked cotton. "we got up early, you betcha. you would be out there by time you could see and you quit when it was dark. they tasked us. they would give us or pounds of cotton to bring in and you would git it, and if you didn' git it, you better, or you would git it tomorrow, or your back would git it. or you'd git it from someone else, maybe steal it from their sacks. "my grandfather, he would tell us things, to keep the whip off our backs. he would say, 'chillen, work, work and work hard. you know how you hate to be whipped, so work hard!' and of course we chillen tried, but of course we would git careless sometimes. "the master had a 'black snake'--some called it a 'bull whip,' and he knew how to use it. he whipped, but i don' 'member now whether he brought any blood on me, but he cut the blood outta the grown ones. he didn' tie 'em, he always had a whippin' block or log to make 'em lay down on. they called licks a 'light breshin,' and right on your naked back, too. they said your clothes wouldn' grow but your hide would. from what i heered say, if you run away, then was when they give you a whippin,' prob'bly or licks. they'd shore tie you down then, 'cause you couldn' stan' it. then you'd have to work on top of all that, with your shirt stickin' to your back. "the overseer woke us up. sometimes he had a kin' of horn to blow, and when you heered that horn, you'd better git up. he would give you a good whippin' iffen he had to come and wake you up. he was the meanest one on the place, worse'n the boss man. "the boss man had a nice rock house, and the women didn' work at all. "i never did see any slaves auctioned off, but i heered of it. my boss he would take 'em there and sell 'em. "they had a church this side of new fountain and the boss man 'lowed us to go on sunday. if any of the slaves did join, they didn' baptize them, as i know of. "when one of the slaves would die, they would bury 'em on the land there. reg'lar little cemetery there. oh, yes, they would have doctors for 'em. if anybody died, they would tell some of the other slaves to dig the grave and take 'em out there and bury 'em. they jes' put 'em in a box, no preachin' or nothin.' but, of course, if it was sunday the slaves would follow out there and sing. no, if they didn' die on sunday, you couldn' go; you went to that field. "if you wanted to go to any other plantation you had to git a pass to go over there, and if you didn' and got caught, you got one of the worst whippins'. if things happened and they wanted to tell 'em on other plantations, they would slip out at night and tell 'em. "we never heered much about the fightin' or how it was goin.' when the war finally was over, our old boss called us all up and had us to stand in abreast, and he stood on the gallery and he read the verdict to 'em, and said, 'now, you can jes' work on if you want to, and i'll treat you jes' like i always did.' i guess when he said that they knew what he meant. the' wasn't but one family left with 'im. they stayed about two years. but the rest was just like birds, they jes' flew. "i went with my father and he hired me out for two years, to a man named riley, over on the seco. i did most everythin', worked the field and was house rustler, too. but i had a good time there. after i left 'im, i came to d'hanis. i worked on a church house they was buildin'. then i went back to my father and worked for him a long time, freightin' cotton to eagle pass. i used horses and mules and hauled cotton and flour and whiskey and things like that. "i met my wife down on black creek, and i freighted two years after we was married. we got married so long ago, but in them days anything would do. you see, these days they are so proud, but we was glad to have anything. i had a black suit to be married in, and a pretty long shirt, and i wore boots. she wore a white dress, but in them days they didn' have black shoes. yes'm, they had a dance, down here on black creek. danced half the night at her house and two men played the fiddle. eat? we had everythin' to eat, a barbecued calf and a hog, too, and all kinds of cakes and pies. drink? why, the men had whiskey to drink and the women drank coffee. we married about or in the evenin' at her house. my wife's name was sarah ann brackins. "did i see a ghost? well, over yonder on the creek was a ghost. it was a moonlight night and it passed right by me and it never had no head on it a-tall. it almost breshed me. it kep' walkin' right by side of me. i shore saw it and i run like a good fellow. lots of 'em could see wonnurful sights then and i heered lots of noises, but that's the only ghost i ever seen. "no, i never knowed nothing 'bout charms. i've seen 'em have a rabbit heel or coon heel for good luck. i seen a woman one time that was tricked, or what i'd call poisoned. a place on her let, it was jes' the shape of these little old striped lizards. it was somethin' they called 'trickin it,' and a person that knowed to trick you would put it there to make you suffer the balance of your days. it would go 'round your leg clear to the hip and be between the skin and the flesh. they called it the devil's work." [illustration: james green] james green is half american indian and half negro. he was born a slave to john williams, of petersburg, va., became a "free boy", then was kidnapped and sold in a virginia slave market to a texas ranchman. he now lives at n. olive st., san antonio, texas. "i never knowed my age till after de war, when i's set free de second time, and then marster gits out a big book and it shows i's year old. it shows i's when i is bought and $ is paid for me. that $ was stolen money, 'cause i was kidnapped and dis is how it come: "my mammy was owned by john williams in petersburg, in virginia, and i come born to her on dat plantation. den my father set 'bout to git me free, 'cause he a full-blooded indian and done some big favor for a big man high up in de courts, and he gits me set free, and den marster williams laughs and calls me 'free boy.' "then, one day along come a friday and that a unlucky star day and i playin' round de house and marster williams come up and say, 'delia, will you 'low jim walk down de street with me?' my mammy say, 'all right, jim, you be a good boy,' and dat de las' time i ever heared her speak, or ever see her. we walks down whar de houses grows close together and pretty soon comes to de slave market. i ain't seed it 'fore, but when marster williams says, 'git up on de block,' i got a funny feelin', and i knows what has happened. i's sold to marster john pinchback and he had de st. vitus dance and he likes to make he niggers suffer to make up for his squirmin' and twistin' and he the bigges' debbil on earth. "we leaves right away for texas and goes to marster's ranch in columbus. it was owned by him and a man call wright, and when we gits there i's put to work without nothin' to eat. dat night i makes up my mind to run away but de nex' day dey takes me and de other niggers to look at de dogs and chooses me to train de dogs with. i's told i had to play i runnin' away and to run five mile in any way and then climb a tree. one of de niggers tells me kind of nice to climb as high in dat tree as i could if i didn't want my body tore off my legs. so i runs a good five miles and climbs up in de tree whar de branches is gettin' small. "i sits dere a long time and den sees de dogs comin'. when dey gits under de tree dey sees me and starts barkin'. after dat i never got thinkin' of runnin' away. "time goes on and de war come along, but everything goes on like it did. some niggers dies, but more was born, 'cause old pinchback sees to dat. he breeds niggers as quick as he can, 'cause dat money for him. no one had no say who he have for wife. but de nigger husbands wasn't de only ones dat keeps up havin' chillen, 'cause de marsters and de drivers takes all de nigger gals dey wants. den de chillen was brown and i seed one clear white one, but dey slaves jus' de same. "de end of dat war comes and old pinchback says, 'you niggers all come to de big house in de mornin'. he tells us we is free and he opens his book and gives us all a name and tells us whar we comes from and how old we is, and says he pay us cents a day to stay with him. i stays 'bout a year and dere's no big change. de same houses and some got whipped but nobody got nailed to a tree by de ears, like dey used to. finally old pinchback dies and when he buried de lightnin' come and split de grave and de coffin wide open. "well, time goes on some more and den lizzie and me, we gits together and we marries reg'lar with a real weddin'. we's been together a long time and we is happy. "i 'members a old song like dis: "'old marster eats beef and sucks on de bone, and give us de gristle-- to make, to make, to make, to make, to make de nigger whistle.' "dat all de song i 'member from dose old days, 'ceptin' one more: "'i goes to church in early morn, de birds just a-sittin' on de tree-- sometimes my clothes gits very much worn-- 'cause i wears 'em out at de knee. "'i sings and shouts with all my might, to drive away de cold-- and de bells keep ringin' in gospel light, till de story of de lamb am told.'" [illustration: o.w. green and granddaughter] o.w. green, son of frank and of mary ann marks, was born in slavery at bradly co., arkansas, june , . his owners, the mobley family, owned a large plantation and two or three thousand slaves. jack mobley, green's young master, was killed in the civil war, and green became one of the "orphan chillen." when the ku klux klan became active, the "orphan chillen" were taken to little rock, ark. later on, green moved to del rio, texas, where he now lives. "i was bo'ned in arkansas. frank marks was my father and mary ann marks my mother. she was bo'n on the plantation. i had two brothers. "i don' 'member de quarters, but dey mus' of had plenty, 'cause dey was two, three thousand slaves on de plantation. all my kin people belonged to massa mobley. my grandfather was a millman and dey had one de bigges' grist mills in de country. "our massa was good and we had plenty for to eat. dere was no jail for slaves on our place but not far from dere was a jail. "de ku klux klan made everything pretty squally, so dey taken de orphan chillen to little rock and kep' 'em two, three years. dere was lots of slaves in dat country 'round rob roy and free nigger bend. old churchill, who used to be governor, had a plantation in dere. "when i was nine years ol' dey had de bruce and baxter revolution. 'twas more runnin' dan fightin'. bruce was 'lected for governor but baxter said he'd be governor if he had to run brooks into de sea. "my young massa, jack mobley, was killed in de war, is how i come to be one of de orphan chillen. "while us orphan chillen was at little rock dere come a terrible soreness of de eyes. i heard tell 'twas caused from de cholera. every little child had to take turns about sittin' by de babies or totin' them. i was so blind, my eyes was so sore, i couldn't see. the doctor's wife was working with us. she was tryin' to figure up a cure for our sore eyes, first using one remedy and den another. an old herb doctor told her about a herb he had used on de plantations to cure de slaves' sore eyes. dey boiled de herb and put hit on our eyes, on a white cloth. de doctor's wife had a little boy about my age. he would play with me, and thought i was about hit. he would lead me around, then he would run off and leave me and see if i could see. one day between 'leven and twelve o'clock--i never will fergit hit--he taken me down to de mess room. de lady was not quite ready to dress my eyes. she told me to go on and come back in a little while. when i got outside i tore dat old rag off of my eyes and throwed hit down. i told the little boy, 'o, i can see you!' he grabbed me by de arm and ran yellin' to his mammy, 'mama, he can see! mama, owen can see!' i neva will fo'git dat word. dey were all in so a rejoicin', excitable way. i was de first one had his eyes cured. dey sent de lady to new york and she made plenty of money from her remedy. "things sure was turrible durin' de war. dey just driv us in front of de soldiers. dere was lots of cholera. we was just bedded together lak hogs. the ku klux klan come behind de soldiers, killin' and robbin'. "after two or three years in de camp with de orphans, my kin found me and took me home. "my grandfather and uncle was in de fightin'. my grandfather was a wagon man. de las' trip he made, he come home bringin' a load of dead soldiers to be buried. my grandfather told de people all about de war. he said hit sure was terrible. "when de war was over de people jus' shouted for joy. de men and women jus' shouted for joy. 'twas only because of de prayers of de cullud people, dey was freed, and de lawd worked through lincoln. "my old masta was a doctor and a surgeon. he trained my grandmother; she worked under him thirty-seven years as a nurse. when old masta wanted grandmother to go on a special case he would whip her so she wouldn't tell none of his secrets. grandmother used herbs fo' medicine--black snake root, sasparilla, blackberry briar roots--and nearly all de young'uns she fooled with she save from diarrhea. "my old masta was good, but when he found you shoutin' he burnt your hand. my grandmother said he burnt her hand several times. masta wouldn't let de cullud folks have meetin', but dey would go out in de woods in secret to pray and preach and shout. "i jist picked up enough readin' to read my bible and scratch my name. i went to school one mo'ning and didn't git along wid de teacher so i didn't go no mo'. "i 'member my folks had big times come christmas. dey never did work on sundays, jist set around and rest. dey never worked in bad weather. dey never did go to de field till seven o'clock. "i married in . i have two step-daughters and one step-son. my step-son lives in san antonio. i have six step-grandchillen. i was a member of de baptist church befo' you was bo'n, lady. dibble, fred beaumont, jefferson co. dist. # rosa green, years old, was born at ketchi, louisiana, but as soon as she was old enough became a housegirl on the plantation of major "bob" hollingsworth at mansfield, louisiana. to the best of her knowledge, she was about when the "freedom papers" were read. she had had children by her two husbands, both deceased, and lives with her youngest daughter in beaumont. their one-room, unpainted house is one of a dozen unprepossessing structures bordering an alleyway leading off pine street. rosa, a spry little figure, crowned with short, snow-white pigtails extending in various directions, spends most of her time tending her small flowerbeds and vegetable garden. she is talkative and her memory seems quite active. "when de w'ite folks read de freedom paper i was year old. i jes' lean up agin de porch, 'cause i didn' know den what it was all about. i war'nt bo'n in texas, i was bo'n in ketchi, but i was rais' in manfiel'. law, yes, i 'member de fight at manfiel'. my ol' marster tuk all he niggers and lef' at night. lef' us little ones; say de yankees could git us effen day wan' to, 'cause we no good no way, and i wouldn' care if dey did git us. dey put us in a sugar hogshead and give us a spoon to scrape out de sugar. 'bout de ol' plantation, i work a little w'ile in de fiel'. i didn' know den like i see now. dese chillen bo'n wid mo' sense now dan we was den. dey was 'bout ten cullud folks on de place. my ol' marster name bob hollingsworth, but dey call 'im major, 'cause he was a major in de war, not de las' one, but de one way back yonder. ol' missus work de little ones roun' de house and under de house and kep' ev'yt'ing clean as yo' han'. the ol' marster i thought was de meanes' man de lawd ever made. look like he cuss ev'y time he open he mouth. de neighbor w'ite folks, some good, some bad. my work was cleanin' up 'roun de house and nussin' de chillen. only times i went to church when day tuk us long to min' de chillen. when de battle of manfiel' was, we didn' git out much. when de yankees was comin' to gran' cane, my w'ite folks dig a big pit and put der meat and flour and all in it and cover it over wid dirt and put wagon loads of pine straw over it. it was 'bout five or six mile to manfield and 'bout or mile to shreveport. my ol' marster tuk all he niggers and went off somweres, dey called it texas, but i didn' know where. de ol'er ones farm. dey rais' ev'yt'ing dey could put in de groun', dey did. my pa was kirrige(carriage) driver for my ol' missus. he was boss nigger fo' de cullud men when marster wan't right dere. my father jis' stay dere. see, dey free our people in july. dat leave de whole crop stanin' dere in de fiel'. dey had to stay dere and take care of de crop. after dat dey commence makin' contraks and bargins. i was years ol' when i marry de fus' time. both my husban's dead. i had chillen in all. "de fus' time i went to church, missus tuk me and another gal to min' de chillen. i never heared a preacher befo'. i 'member how de preacher word de hymn: 'come, ye sinners, po' and needy. weak and wounded, sick and so'.' "i couldn' understan' it, but now when i look down on it i sees it now. i bleeve us been here goin' on fo' year' right yere in dis house." [illustration: william green, (rev. bill) (a)] [illustration: william green, (rev. bill) (b)] william green, or "reverend bill", as he is call by the other negroes, was brought to texas from mississippi in . his master was major john montgomery. william is years old. he has lived in san antonio, texas, for years. "i is reverend bill, all right, but i is 'fraid dat compliment don't belong to me no more, 'cause i quit preachin' in favor of de young men. "i kin tell you my 'speriences in savin'--mis'ry dat was, is peace dat is. i tells you dis 'spite of bein' alone in de world with no chillun. "i is raised a slave and 'mancipated in june, but i 'members de old plantation whar i is born. massa john montgomery, he owned me, and he went to de war and git kilt. i knowed 'bout de war, though us slaves wasn't sposed to know nothin' 'bout it. i was livin' in texas then, 'cause massa john moved over here from mis'sippi. in dat place niggers was allus wrong, no matter what, but it was better in dis place. we used to think we was lucky to git over here to texas, and we used to sing a song 'bout it: "'over yonder is de wild-goose nation, whar old missus has sugar plantation-- sugar grows sweet but de plantation's sour, 'cause de nigger jump and run every hour. "'i has you all to know, you all to know, dare's light on de shore, says little bill to big bill, there's a li'l nigger to write and cipher.' "i don't know what de song meant but we thought we'd git free here in texas, and we'd git eddicated, and dat's de meanin' of de talk about writin' and cipherin'. "well, when i is free i isn't free, 'cause de boss wants me and another boy to stay till we's year old. but old judge longworth, he come down dere and dere was pretty near a fight, and he 'splains to us we was free. "'bout five year after dat i takes up preachin' and i preaches for a long time, and i works on a farm, half and half with de owner. i has a good life, but now i's too old to preach. [illustration: pauline grice] pauline grice, , was born a slave of john blackshier, who owned her mother, about slaves, slave children, and a large plantation near atlanta, georgia. pauline married navasota grice in and they moved to texas in . since her husband's death in pauline has depended on the charity of friends, with whom she lives at ross ave., north fort worth, texas. "white man, dis old cullud woman am not strong. 'bout all my substance am gone now. de way you sees me layin' on dis bed am what i has to do mos' de time. my mem'randum not so good like 'twas. "de place i am borned am right near atlanta, in georgia, and on dat plantation of massa john blackshier. a big place, with 'bout growed slaves and 'bout pickininnies. i doesn't work till near de surrender, 'cause i's too small. but us don't leave massa john, us go right on workin' for him like 'fore. "massa john am de kind massa and don't have whuppin's. he tell de overseer, 'if you can't make dem niggers work without de whup, den you not de man i wants.' mos' de niggers 'have theyselves and when dey don't massa put dem in de li'l house what he call de jail, with nothin' to eat till deys ready to do what he say. onct or twict he sell de nigger what won't do right and do de work. "us have de cabin what am made from logs but us only sleeps dere. all us cookin' done in de big kitchen. dere am three women what do dat, and give us de meals in de long shed with de long tables. "to de bes' of dis nigger's mem'randum, de feed am good. plenty of everything and corn am de mostest us have. dere am cornbread and cornmeal mush and corn hominy and corn grits and parched corn for drink, 'stead of tea or coffee. us have milk and 'lasses and brown sugar, and some meat. dat all raise on de place. stuff for to eat and wear, dat am made by us cullud folks and dat place am what dey calls se'f-s'portin'. de shoemaker make all de shoes and fix de leather, too. "after breakfas' in de mornin' de niggers am gwine here, dere and everywhere, jus' like de big factory. every one to he job, some a-whistlin', some a-singin'. dey sings diff'rent songs and dis am one when deys gwine to work: "'old cotton, old corn, see you every morn, old cotton, old corn, see you since i's born. old cotton, old corn, hoe you till dawn, old cotton, old corn, what for you born?' "yes, suh, everybody happy on massa's place till war begin. he have two sons and willie am 'bout and dave am 'bout . dey jines de army and after 'bout a year, massa jine too, and, course, dat make de missy awful sad. she have to 'pend on de overseer and it warn't like massa keep things runnin'. "in de old days, if de niggers wants de party, massa am de big toad in de puddle. and christmas, it am de day for de big time. a tree am fix, and some present for everyone. de white preacher talk 'bout christ. us have singin' and 'joyment all day. den at night, de big fire builded and all us sot 'round it. dere am 'bout hundred hawg bladders save from hawg killin'. so, on christmas night, de chillen takes dem and puts dem on de stick. fust dey is all blowed full of air and tied tight and dry. den de chillen holds de bladder in de fire and purty soon, 'b a n g,' dey goes. dat am de fireworks. "dat all changed after massa go to war. fust de 'federate sojers come and takes some mules and hosses, den some more come for de corn. after while, de yankee sojers comes and takes some more. when dey gits through, dey ain't much more tookin' to be done. de year 'fore surrender, us am short of rations and sometime us hongry. us sees no battlin' but de cannon bang all day. once, dey bang two whole days 'thout hardly stoppin'. dat am when missy go tech in de head, 'cause massa and de boys in dat battle. she jus' walk 'round de yard and twist de hands and say, 'dey sho' git kilt. dey sho' dead.' den when extra loud noise come from de cannon, she scream. den word come willie am kilt. she gits over it, but she am de diff'rent woman. for her, it am trouble, trouble and more trouble. "she can't sell de cotton. dey done took all de rations and us couldn't eat de cotton. one day she tell us, 'de war am on us. de sojers done took de rations. i can't sell de cotton, 'cause of de blockade.' i don't know what am dat blockade, but she say it. 'now,' she say, 'all you cullud folks born and raise here and us allus been good to you. i can't holp it 'cause rations am short and i'll do all i can for you. will yous be patient with me?' all us stay dere and holp missy all us could. "den massa come home and say, 'yous gwine be free. far as i cares, you is free now, and can stay here and tough it through or go where you wants. i thanks yous for all de way yous done while i's gone, and i'll holp you all i can.' us all stay and it sho' am tough times. us have most nothin' to eat and den de ku klux come 'round dere. massa say not mix with dat crowd what lose de head, jus' stay to home and work. some dem niggers on other plantations ain't keep de head and dey gits whupped and some gits kilt, but us does what massa say and has no trouble with dem klux. "it 'bout two year after freedom mammy gits marry and us goes and works on shares. i stays with dem till and den marries navasota robert grice and us live by farmin' till he die, nine year since. 'bout year since us come here from georgia and works de truck farm. i has two chillen but dey dead. de way i feels now, 'twon't be long 'fore i goes, too. my friends is good to me and lets me stay with dem. [illustration: mandy hadnot] mandy hadnot, small and forlorn looking, as she lies in a huge, old-fashioned wooden bed, appears very black in contrast to the clean white sheets and a thick mop of snowy wool on her head. she does not know her age, but from her appearance and the details she remembers of her years as slave in the slade home, near cold springs, texas, she must be very old. she lives in woodville, texas, with her husband, josh, to whom she has been married years. "i's too small to 'member my father, 'cause he die when i jus' a baby. dey was my mudder and me and de ole mistus and marster on de plantation. it were mo' jus' a farm, but dey raise us all we need to eat and feed de cows and hosses. "de earlies' 'membrance i hab is when de ole marster drive into de town for supplies every two weeks. us place was right near col' springs. he was a good man. he treat dis lil' darky jus' like he own chile, 'cause he never hab any chillen of his own. i know 'bout de time he comin' home when he go to town and i wait down by de big gate. purty soon i see de big ox comin' and see de smoke from de road dust flyin'. den i know he almos' home and i holler and wave my han' and he holler and wave he han' right back. he allus brung me somethin', jus' like i he own little gal. sometime he brung me a whistle or some candy or doll or somethin'. "one easter he brung me de purties' lil' hat i ever did see. my ole mistus took me to sunday school with her and i spruce up in dat hat. "every christmas 'fore ole marster die he fix me up a tree out de woods. dey put popco'n on it to trim it and dey give me sometime a purty dress or shoes and plenty candy and maybe a big, red apple. dey hab a big san' pile for me to play in, but i never play with any other chillen. my mammy, emily budle, she cook and clean up mistus log house cabin. after de ole marster die dey both work in de fiel' and raise plenty vegetables to can and eat. my task was to shell peas and watch and stir de big cookin' pots on de fireplace. "my mistus hav lots of company. when she come in and say, 'mandy, shine up de knife and fork and put de polish on de pianny, i allus happy, 'cause i lub to see folks come. us hab chicken and all kinds of good things. de preacher, he was big, jolly man, he come to de house 'bout one sunday in every month. sometime dey brung lil' white chillen to dinner. den us play 'rabbit, rabbit. jump fru' de crack.' and 'kitty, kitty, in de corner, meow, meow, run, kitty, run.' "de ole marster pick me out a lil', gentle hoss named julie and dat was my very own hoss. it was jus' a common lil' hoss. i uster sneak sugar out de barrel to feed julie. dey had a big smokehouse on de farm where dey kep' all kin's of good things like sugar and sich. dey had fruits of all kin's put up. "every mornin' de ole mistus took out de big bible and hab prayer meetin' for jus' us three. us never learn read much, tho' she try teach me some. when i's 'bout nine year ole she buy me a purty white dress and took me to jine de church. she was a little, white-hair' woman, what never los' her temper 'bout nothin'. she use' to let me bump on her pianny and didn' say nothin'. she couldn' play de pianny but she kinder hope maybe i could, but i never did learn how. "when freedom come my mudder and me pay no 'tention to it. us stay right on de place. purty soon my mudder die and i jus' took up her shoes. one day i's makin' a bonfire in de yard and ketch my dress on fire. de whol side of my lef' leg mos' bu'n off. mistus was so lil' she couldn' lif' me but she fin'ly git me to bed. dere i stay for long, long time, and she wait on me han' and feet. she make linseed poultice and kep' de bu'n grease good. mos' time she leave all de wo'k stan' in de middle of de floor and read de bible and pray for me to git heal up and not suffer. she cry right 'long with me when i cry, 'cause i hurt so. "when i's year ole i want to hab courtin'. mistus 'low me to hab de boy come right to de big house to see me. he come two mile every sunday and us go to lugene baptist church. den she hav nice sunday dinner for both us. she let me go to ice cream supper, too. dey didn' hab no freezer den, jus' a big pan in some ice. de boys and girls took tu'ns stirrin' de cream. it never git real ha'd but stay kinder slushy. dey serve cake. us hav pie supper, too. whoever git de girl's pie eat it with her. "my ole mistus she pay me money right 'long after freedom but i too close to spen' any. den when i 'cide to marry bob thomas, she he'p me fix a hope ches'. i buys goods for sheets and table kivers and one nice sunday set dishes. "us marry right in de parlor of de mistus house. de white man preacher marry us and mistus she give me 'way. ole mistus he'p me make my weddin' dress outta white lawn. i hab purty long, black hair and a veil with a ribbon 'round de fron'. de weddin' feas' was strawberry ice cream and yaller cake. ole mistus giv me my bedstead, one of her purtiest ones, and de set dishes and glasses us eat de weddin' dinner outta. my husban' gib me de trabblin' dress, but i never use dat dress for three weeks, though, 'cause ole mistus cry so when i hafter leave dat i stay for three weeks after i marry. "she all 'lone in de big house and i think it break her heart. i ain' been gone to de sawmill town very long when she sen' for me. i go to see her and took a peach pie, 'cause i lub her and i know dat's what she like better'n anything. she was sick and she say, 'mandy, dis de las' time us gwineter see each other, 'cause i ain' gwineter git well. you be a good girl and try to git through de worl' dat way.' den she make me say de lord prayer for her jus' like she allus make me say it for a night prayer when i lil' gal. i never see her no mo'. "me and bob thomas and dis husban', josh, what i marry thirteen year ago, hab 'bout chillen all togedder. us been lib here many a year. i don' care so much 'bout leavin' dis yearthly home, 'cause i knows i gwineter see de ole mistus up dere and i tell her i allus 'member what she tell me and try lib dat way all time. [illustration: william hamilton] william hamilton belonged to a slave trader, who left him on the buford plantation, near village creek, texas. the trader did not return, so the buford family raised the child with their slaves. william now lives at e. weatherford st., ft. worth, texas. "who i is, how old i is and where i is born, i don't know. but massa buford told me how durin' de war a slave trader name william hamilton, come to village creek, where massa buford live. dat trader was on his way south with my folks and a lot of other slaves, takin' 'em somewheres, to sell. he camped by massa buford's plantation and asks him, 'can i leave dis li'l nigger here till i comes back?' massa buford say, 'yes,' and de trader say he'll be back in 'bout three weeks, soon as he sells all the slaves. he mus' still be sellin' 'em, 'cause he never comes back so far and there i am and my folks am took on, and i is too li'l to 'member 'em, so i never knows my pappy and mammy. massa buford says de trader comes from missouri, but if i is born dere i don't know. "de only thing i 'members 'bout all dat, am dere am lots of cryin' when dey tooks me 'way from my mammy. dat something i never forgits. "i only 'members after de war, and most de cullud folks stays with massa buford after surrender and works de land on shares. dey have good times on dat place, and don't want to leave. day has dances and fun till de ku klux org'nizes and den it am lots of trouble. de klux comes to de dance and picks out a nigger and whups him, jus' to keep de niggers scart, and it git so bad dey don't have no more dances or parties. "i 'members seein' faith baldwin and jeb johnson and dan hester gittin' whupped by de klux. dey wasn't so bad after women. it am allus after dark when dey comes to de house and catches de man and whups him for nothin'. dey has de power, and it am done for to show dey has de power. it gits so bad round dere, dat de menfolks allus eats supper befo' dark and takes a blanket and goes to de woods for to sleep. alex buford don't sleep in de house for one whole summer. "no one knowed when de klux comin'. all a-sudden up dey gallops on hosses, all covered with hoods, and bust right into de house. jus' latches 'stead of locks was used dem days. dey comes sev'ral times to alex' house but never cotches him. i'd hear dem comin' when dey hit de lane and i'd holler, 'de klux am comin'.' it was my job, after dark, listenin' for dem klux, den i gits under de bed. "why dey comes so many times round dere, am 'cause de second time dey comes, jane bensom am dere. jane am lots of woman, wide as de door and tall, and weighs 'bout three hunder pounds. i calls, 'here comes de klux,' and makes for under de bed. there am embers in de fireplace and she fills a pail with dem and when de klux busts in de door she lets dem have de embers in de face, and den out de back door she goes. two of dem am burnt purty bad. de nex' night back dey comes and asks where jane am. she 'longs to massa john ditto and am so big everybody knows her, but de niggers won't tell on her. she leaves de country fin'ly, but dey comes lookin' for her every night for two months. "right over on massa ditto's place, am a killin' of a baby by dem klux. de baby am in de mammy's arms and a bunch of klux ridin' by takes a shot at de mammy, and it hits de baby and kills it. "right after de baby killin', sojers with blue coats comes dere and camps front of massa buford's place and pertects de cullud folks. i goes over to dey camp every day and dey gives me lots of good eats. "de cullud folks has lots of trouble after de war, 'cause dey am ir'rant niggers and gits foolishment in de head. they gits de idea de white folks should give dem land and mules and sich. over in de valley, massa moses owns lots of land and fifty nigger families, and he gives each family a deed to 'bout fifty acres. some dem cullud folks grandchillen still on dat land, too, de parkers and farrows and nelsons and some others. den all de other niggers thinks dey should git land, too, but dey don't, and it make dem git foolishment and git in trouble. "in i marries effie coleman and has no chillens, so i is alone in de world now. i can't do much and lives on de $ . de month pension. de white folks lets me live in dis shack for mowin' de lawn, but i worries 'bout when i can't do no more work. it am de awful way to spend you last days. pierce harper, , was born on the subbs plantation near snow hill, north carolina. when eight years old he was sold for $ , [handwritten note: '?'] to the harper family, who lived in snow hill. after the civil war, pierce farmed a small place near snow hill and saw many raids of the klu klux klan. he came to galveston, texas, in . pierce attended a negro school after he was grown, learned to read and write, and is interested in the betterment of his race. "when you ask me is i pierce harper, you kind of 'sprised me. i reckoned everybody know old pierce harper. sister johnson say to me outside of services last sunday night, 'brother harper, you is de beatines' man i ever seen. you know everybody and everybody know you.' and i said, 'sister johnson, dat's 'cause i keep faith with de lawd. i love de lawd and my neighbors and de lawd and my neighbors love me.' dat's what my old mother told me 'way back in slavery, before i was ever sold. but here i is talking 'bout myself when you want to hear me talk 'bout slavery. let's see, now. "i was born way back in in north carolina, on mr. subbs' plantation, clost to snow hill, which was the county seat. my daddy was a field hand and my mother worked in the fields, too, right 'longside my daddy, so she could keep him lined up. the master said that calisy, that my mother, was the best fieldhand he had, and calvin, that my daddy, was the laziest. my mother used to say he was chilesome. "then when i was eight years old they sold me. the market place was in snow hill on the public square near the jailhouse. it was jus' a little stand built out in the open with no top on it, that the slaves stood on to get sold while the white folks auctioned 'em off. i was too little to get on the stand, so they had to hold me up and mr. harper bought me for $ , . [handwritten note: '?'] that was cheap for a boy. "he lived in a brick house in town and had two-three slaves 'sides me. i run errands and kept the yard clean, things a little boy could do. they didn't have no school for slaves and i never learned to read and write till after freedom. after i was sold, they let me go visit my mother once a year, on sunday morning, and took me back at night. "the masters couldn't whip the slaves there. the law said in black and white no master couldn't whip no slave, no matter what he done. when a slave got bad they took him to the county seat and had him whipped. one day i seen my old daddy get whipped by the county and state 'cause he wouldn't work. they had a post in the public square what they tied 'em to and a man what worked for the county whipped 'em. "after he was whipped my daddy run away to the north. daddy come by when i was cleanin' the yard and said, 'pierce, go 'round side the house, where nobody can't see us.' i went and he told me goodbye, 'cause he was goin' to run away in a few days. he had to stay in the woods and travel at night and eat what he could find, berries and roots and things. they never caught him and after he crossed the mason-dixon line he was safe. "there used to be a man who raised bloodhounds to hunt slaves with. i seen the dogs on the trail a whole day and still not catch 'em. sometimes the slave made friends with the dogs and they wouldn't let on if they found him. three dogs followed one slave the whole way up north and he sold them up there. "i heered 'em talk about some slaves what run barefooted in cold weather and you could trail 'em by blood in the snow and ice where they hurt their feet. "most of the time the master gave us castor oil when we were sick. some old folks went in the woods for herbs and made medicine. they made tea out of 'lion's tongue' for the stomach and snake root is good for pains in the stomach, too. horse mint breaks the fever. they had a vermifuge weed. "i seed a lot of southern soldiers and they'd go to the big house for something to eat. late in ' they had a fight at a place called kingston, only miles from our place, takin' how the jacks go. we could hear the guns go off when they was fightin'. the yankees beat and settled down there and the cullud folks flocked down on them and when they got to the yankee lines they was safe. they went in droves of or to the yankees and they put 'em to work fightin' for freedom. they fit till the war was over and a lot of 'em got kilt. my mother and sister run away to the yankees and they paid 'em big money to wash for 'em. "when peace come they read the 'mancipation law to the cullud people and they stayed up half the night at mr. harper's, singing and shouting. they spent that night singin' and shoutin'. they wasn't slaves no more. the master had to give 'em a half or third of what he made. our master parceled out some land to 'em and told 'em to work it their selves and some done real well. they got hosses that the soldiers had turned loose to die, and fed them and took good care of 'em and they got good stock that way. cotton was twenty and thirty cents a pound then. "after us cullud folks was 'sidered free and turned loose, the klu klux broke out. some cullud people started to farmin', like i told you, and gathered the old stock. if they got so they made good money, and had a good farm, the klu klux would come and murder 'em. the gov'ment builded school houses and the klu klux went to work and burned 'em down. they'd go to the jails and take the cullud men out and knock their brains out and break their necks and throw 'em in the river. "there was a cullud man they taken, his name was jim freeman. they taken him and destroyed his stuff and him, 'cause he was making some money. hung him on a tree in his front yard, right in front of his cabin. "there was some cullud young men went to the schools they'd opened by the gov'ment. some white woman said someone had stole something of hers so they put them young men in jail. the klu klux went to the jail and took 'em out and killed 'em. that happened the second year after the war. "after the klu kluxes got so strong the cullud men got together and made the complaint before the law. the gov'nor told the law to give 'em the old guns in the com'sary, what the southern soldiers had used, so they issued the cullud men old muskets and said protect themselves. they got together and organized the militia and had leaders like reg'lar soldiers. they didn't meet 'cept when they heered the klu kluxes was coming to get some cullud folks. then they was ready for 'em. they'd hide in the cabins and then's when they found out who a lot of them klu kluxes was, 'cause a lot of 'em was kilt. they wore long sheets and covered the hosses with sheets so you couldn't rec'nize 'em. men you thought was your friend was klu kluxes and you'd deal with 'em in stores in the daytime and at night they'd come out to your house and kill you. i never took part in none of the fights, but i heered the others talk 'bout them, but not where them klu klux could hear 'em. "one time they had men in jail, 'cused of robbin' white folks. all was white in jail but one, and he was cullud. the klu kluxes went to the jailor's house and got the jail key and got them men out and carried 'em to the river bridge, in the middle. then they knocked their brains out and threw 'em in the river. "we was 'fraid of them klu kluxes and come to town, to snow hill. we rented a little house and my mother took in washing and ironing. i went to school and learned to read and write, then worked on farms, and fin'ly went to columbia, in south carolina, and worked in the turpentine country. i stayed there a while and got married. "i come to texas in and galveston was a little pen then, a little mess. i worked for some white people and then went to houston and it wasn't nothing but a mudhole. so i messed 'round in south carolina again a while and then come back to galveston. "the lawd called me then and i answered and i answered and was preacher here at the union baptist church, on th and k, 'bout years. "i knowed wright cuney well and he held the biggest place a cullud man ever helt in galveston. he was congressman and the white people looked up to him just like he was white. "durin' the spanish-american war i went to washington, d.c., to see my sister and got in the soldier business. the gov'ment give me $ . a month for drivin' a four-mule wagon for the army. i druv all through pennsylvania and virginia and south carolina for the gov'ment. i was a----what do they call a laborer in the army? "when war was over i come back here and now i'm too old to work and the state gives me a pension and me and my granddaughter live on that. the young folks is makin' their mark now. one thing about 'em, they get educated, but there's not much for them to do when they get finished with school but walk the streets now. i been always trying to help my people to rise 'bove their station and they are rising all the time, and some day they'll be free." molly harrell was born a slave on the swanson plantation, near palestine, texas. she was a housegirl, but must have been too small to do much work. she does not know her age, but thinks she was about seven when she was freed. molly lives at ave h., galveston, texas. "don't you tell nobody dat i use to be a slave. i 'most forgot it myself till you got round me jes' den. course, i ain't blamin' you for it, but what you done say 'bout all de plantations havin' schools was wrong, so i jes' had to tell you i been a slave myself. it jes' slip out. "like i jes' say, i knows what i's talkin' 'bout, 'cause i use to be a slave myself and i don't know how to read and write. dat why i say i can't see so good. it don't do to let folks know dey's smarter'n you, 'cause den dey got you right where dey wants you. now, will, dat de man i's marry to, am younger'n me but he don't know it. when you git marry, you don't tell de man how old you is. he wouldn't have you if you did. 'course, will ain't so young heself, but he's born after de war and i's born durin' slavery, so dat make me older. "mr. swanson use to own de big plantation in palestine. everybody in dat part de country knowed him. he use to live in a plain, wood house on de palestine road. my mother use to cook and wait on tables. john was my father. "dey use to have de little whip dey use on de women. course de field hands got it worse, but den, dey was men. mr. swanson was good and he was mean. he was nice one day and mean as hades de next. you never knowed what he gwine to do. but he never punish nobody 'cept dey done somethin'. my father was a field hand, and mr. swanson work de fire out dem. work, work--dat all dey know from time dey git up in de mornin' till dey went to bed at night. but he wasn't hard on dem like some masters was. if dey sick, dey didn't habe to work and he give dem de med'cine hisself. if he cotch dem tryin' play off sick, den he lay into dem, or if he cotch dem loafin'. course, i don't blame him for dat, 'cause dere ain't anythin' lazier dan a lazy nigger. will am 'bout de laziest one in de bunch. you ain't never find a lazier nigger dan will. "i was purty little den, but i done my share. i holp my mother dust and clean up de house and peel 'tatoes. dere some old men dat too old to work so dey sot in de sun all day and holp with de light work. dey carry grub and water to de field hands. "somebody run 'way all de time and hide in de woods till dere gut pinch dem and den dey have to come back and git somethin' to eat. course, dey got beat, but dat didn't worry dem none, and it not long till dey gone 'gain. "my mother sold into slavery in georgia, or round dere. she tell me funny things 'bout how dey use to do up dere. a old white man think so much of he old nigger when he die he free dat nigger in he will, and lef' him a little money. he open de blacksmith shop and buy some slaves. mother allus say dose free niggers make de hardes' masters. one in palestine marry a nigger slave and buy her from her master. den he tell everybody he own a slave. "everybody talk 'bout freedom and hope to git free 'fore dey die. i 'member de first time de yankees pass by, my mother lift me up on de fence. dey use to pass by with bags on de mules and fill dem with stuff from de houses. dey go in de barn and holp deyself. dey go in de stables and turn out de white folks' hosses and run off what dey don't take for deyself. "den one night i 'member jes' as well, me and my mother was settin' in de cabin gettin' ready to go to bed, when us hear somebody call my mother. we listen and de overseer whisper under de door and told my mother dat she free but not to tell nobody. i don't know why he done it. he allus like my mother, so i guess he do it for her. the master reads us de paper right after dat and say us free. "me and my mother lef' right off and go to palestine. most everybody else go with us. we all walk down de road singin' and shoutin' to beat de band. my father come nex' day and jine us. my sister born dere. den us go to houston and louisiana for a spell and i hires out to cook. i works till us come to galveston 'bout ten year ago. dibble, fred, p.w., beehler, rheba, p.w., beaumont, jefferson, dist. # . ann hawthorne, beaumont, tex., was clad in a white dress which was protected by a faded blue checked apron. on her feet she wore men's bedroom slippers much too large for her, and to prevent their falling off, were tied around the ankle by rag strings. she wore silk hose with the heels completely worn out of them. her figure is generous in proportions, and her hair snow white, fixed in little pig tails and wrapped in black string. ann related her story in a deep voice and a jovial manner. although born and raised in jasper county, she speaks boastfully about having been to houston. "if you's lookin' for ann hawthorne, dis is me. i was bo'n in slavery, and i was a right sizeable gal when freedom come. i was 'bout or year' ol' when freedom riz up." "i was bo'n up here in jasper. ol' marster woodruff norsworthy and miss ca'lina, dey was my ol' marster and mistus. miss ca'lina she name' me." "my pa was len norsworthy. my ma was name ca'line after ol' mistus. dat how come i 'member ol' mistus name so good. i got fo' brudders livin', but nary a sister. my brudders is newton and silas and willie and frank. i say dey's livin'. i mean dat de las' time i heard of 'em dey was livin'." "yas, i 'member de house i was raise in. it was jis' a one-room log house. dey was a ol' geo'gia hoss bed in it. it was up pretty high and us chillun had to git on a box to git in dat bed. de mattress was mek outer straw. sometime dey mek 'em in co'n sacks and sometime dey put 'em in a tick what dey weave on de loom. i had a aunt what was de weaver. she weave all de time for ol' marster. she uster weave all us clo's." "my ma she was jis' a fiel' han' but my gramma and my aunt dey hab dem for wuk 'roun' de house. i didn' do nuthin' but chu'n (churn) and clean de yard, and sweep 'roun' and go to de spring and tote de water. i l'arn how to hoe, too." "dat was a big plantation. fur as i kin 'member i t'ink dey was 'bout or slaves on de place. you see i done git ol' and childish and i can't 'member like what i uster could. i 'member though, dat my pa uster drive a team for ol' marster. sometime he fiel' han' on de plantation, too." "ol' marster he was good to his slaves. i heerd of slaves bein' whip' but i ain't never see any git whip. dey was a overseer on de place and iffen dey was any whippin' to be did, he done it." "me? i never did git no lickin's when i was a li'l slave. no mam. i allus did obey jis' like i was teached to do and dey didn' hafter whip me. i 'members dat." "we done our playin' 'roun' dat big house, but dat front gate, we dassen' go outside dat. we uster jump de rope and play ring plays and sich. you know how dey yoke dey han's togedder? dat de way us uster do and go 'roun' and 'roun' singin' our li'l jumped up songs. den us jis' play 'roun' lots of times anyt'ing what happen to come up in our min's." "dey feed us good back in slavery. give us plenty of meat and bread and greens and t'ings. ye, dey feed us good and us had plenty. dey give us plenty of co'nbread. dat's de reason i's a co'nbread eater now. i ain't no flour-bread eater. i lubs my co'nbread. us all eat outer one big pan. dey give each li'l nigger a big iron spoon and us sho' go to it. dey give us milk in a sep'rate vessel, and dey give eb'ryone a slice of meat in our greens. and dey never dassent tek de other feller's piece of meat. eb'ryt'ing better go 'long smoove wid us chillun. we better eat and shut our mouf. we dassent raise no squall." "i tell dese chillun here dey ain't know nuffin'. dey got dey glass. we had our li'l go'ds (gourds) pretty and clean and white. i wish i had one of dem ol' time go'ds now to drink my milk outer." "in good wedder dey feed us under a big tree out in de yard. and us better leave eb'ryt'ing clean and no litter 'roun'. in de winter time dey fed us in de kitchen." "us gals wo' plain, long waisted dress. dey was cut straight and wid long waist and dey button down de back." "dey was a cullud man what mek shoes for de slaves to wear in de winter time. he mek 'em outer rough red russet ledder. dat ledder was hard and lots of times it mek blister on us feet. i uster be glad when summer time come so's i could go barefoot." "dey had cabins for de slaves to live in. dere was jis' one room and one family to de cabin. some of 'em was bigger dan others and dey put a big family in a big cabin and a li'l family in a li'l cabin." "i never see no slaves bought and sol'. i heerd my gramma and ma say dey ol' marster wouldn' sell none of his slaves." "i heerd 'bout dem broom-stick marriages, but i ain't never seed none. dat was dey law in dem days." "dey didn' know nuffin' 'bout preachin' and sunday school in dem times. de fus' preachin' i heerd was atter dat. i hear a white preacher preach. he uster preach to de white folks in de mornin' and de cullud folks in de afternoons. but de slaves some of 'em uster had family prayer meetings to deyselfs." "de ol' marster he didn' work he han's on sunday and he give 'em half de day off on sadday, too. but he never give 'em a patch to work for deyself. dat half a day off on sadday was for de slaves to wash and clean up deyselfs." "i never git marry 'till way atter freedom come. dat was up in jasper county where i's bred and bo'n. i marry hyman hawthorne. near as you kin guess, dat was 'bout year' ago. den he die and lef' me wid eight chillun. my baby gal she ain't never see no daddy." "atter he dead i wash and iron and cook out and raise my chillun. i was raise up in de fiel' all my life. when i git disable' to wuk in de time of de 'pressure (depression) i git on my walkin' stick. i wag up town and i didn' fail to ax de white folks 'cause i wo' myself out wukkin' for 'em. dey load up my sack and sometime dey bring me stuff in a car right dere to dat gate. but i's had two strokes and i ain't able to go to town no mo'." "i tell you i never hear nuthin' 'bout chu'ch 'till way atter freedom. sometime den us go to chu'ch. dey was one mef'dis' chu'ch and one baptis' chu'ch in jasper. dere moughta been a cabilic (catholic) chu'ch dere too, but i dunno 'bout dat." "i don' 'member seein' no sojers. i t'ink some of ol' marster's boys went to de war but de ol' man didn' go. i dunno 'bout wedder dey come back or not 'cep'n' i 'member dat crab norsworthy he come back." "when any of de slaves git sick ol' mistus and my gramma dey doctor 'em. de ol' mistus she a pretty good doctor. when us chillun git sick dey git yarbs or dey give us castor oil and turpentine. iffen it git to be a ser'ous ailment dey sen' for de reg'lar doctor. dey uster hang asafoetida 'roun' us neck in a li'l bag to keep us from ketch' de whoopin' cough and de measles." "dey was a gin and cotton press on de place. ol' marster gin' and bale' he own cotton. dat ol' press had dem long arms a-stickin' down what dey hitch hosses to and mek 'em go 'roun' and 'roun' and press de bale." "dey raise dey own t'bacco on de place. i didn' use snuff nor chew 'till after i growed up and marry. back in slavery you couldn' let 'em ketch you wid a chew of t'bacco or snuff in your mouf. iffen you did dey wouldn' let you forgit it." "i uster like to go and play 'roun' de calfs, jis' go up and pet 'em and rub 'em. but we dassent git on 'em to ride 'em." "marster uster sit 'roun' and watch us chillun play. he enjoy dat. he call me his annie 'cause i name' after my mistus. sometime he hab a wagon load of watermilion haul' up from de fiel' and cut 'em. eb'ry chile hab a side of watermilion. and us hab all de sugar cane and sweet 'taters us want." "dey had a big smokehouse. dey hab big hog killin' time, and dey dry and salt de meat in a big long trough. dey git oak and ash and hick'ry wood and mek a fire under it and smoke it. my gramma toted de key to dat smokehouse and ol' mistus she'd tell her what to go and git for de white folks and de cullud folks." "when crismus come 'roun' dey give us big eatin'. us hab chicken and turkey and cake. i don' 'member dat dey give us no presents." "my gramma and my ma and ol' man norsworthy dey come from alabama. i never hear of him breakin' up a family. but when dey was livin' in geo'gy, my ma marry a man name' hawthorne in geo'gy. he wouldn' sell him to marse norsworthy when he come to texas. atter freedom marster go to geo'gy to git him and bring him to texas, but he done raisin' up anudder family dere and won't come. li'l befo' she die her husban' come. when he 'bout wo' out and ready to die, den he come. some of de ol'es' chillun 'member dey daddy and dey crazy for him to come and dey mek up de money for him. when he git here dey tek care of him 'till he die right dere at olive. ma tell 'em to write him he neenter (need not) come. she say he ain't no service to her. but he come and de daughter tek care of her ma and pa bofe." "i's got gran'chillun and great-gran'chillun. i 'vides (divide) my time 'tween my daughter here and de one in houston." "you wants to tek my picture? daughter, i don' want dat hat you got dere. dat one of de chillun' hats. git dat li'l bonnet. dat becomes me better. i can't stan' much sun. dey say i's got high blood pressue." james hayes, , was born a slave to a plantation owner whose name he does not now recall, in shelby co., two miles from marshall, texas. mr. john henderson bought the place, six slaves and james and his mother. james, known as uncle jim, seems happy, still stands erect, and is very active for his age. he lives on a green slope overlooking the trinity river, in moser valley, a negro settlement ten miles northeast of fort worth. "dis nigger have lived a long time, yas, suh! i's years ole, 'cause i's bo'n dec. , . dat makes me come nex' december. i can' 'member my fust marster's name, 'cause when i's 'bout two years ole, me and my sis, 'bout five, and our mammy was sol' to marster john henderson. i don' 'member anything 'bout my pappy, but i 'member marster henderson jus' like 'twas las' week. i's settin' hear a thinkin' of dem ole days when i's a li'l nigger a cuttin' up on ole marster's plantation. how i did play roun' with de chilluns till i's big enough for to wo'k. after i's 'bout , i jus' peddles roun' de house for 'bout a year, den 'twarn't long till i hoes co'n and potatoes. dere's six slaves on dat place and i coul' beat dem all a-hoein'. "de marster takes good care of us and sometimes give us money, 'bout ¢, and lets us go to town. dat's when we was happy and celebrates. we'uns spent all de money on candy and sweet drinks. marster never crowded us 'bout de wo'k, and never give any of us whuppin's. i's sev'ral times needed a whuppin', but de marster never gives dis nigger more'n a good scoldin'. de nearest i comes to gittin whupped, 'twas once when i stole a plate of biscuits offen de table. i warn't in need of 'em, but de devil in me caused me to do it. marster and all de folks comes in and sets down, and he asks for de biscuits, and i's under de house and could hear 'em talk. de cook says, 'i's put de biscuits on de table.' marster says, 'if you did, de houn' got 'em.' cook says, 'if a houn' got 'em, 'twas a two-legged one, 'cause de plate am gone, too.' i's made de mistake of takin' de plate. marster give me de wors' scoldin' i ever has and dat larned me a lesson. "not long after dat, marster sol' my mammy to his brudder who lived in fort worth. when dey took her away, i's powerful grieved. 'bout dat time de war started. de marster and his boy, marster ben, jined de army. de marster was a sergeant. de women folks was proud of dere men folks, but dey was powerful grieved. all de time de men's away, i could tell missy elline and her mamma was worried. dey allus sen's me for de mail, and when i fotches it, dey run to meet me, anxious like, to open de letter, and was skeert to do it. one day i fotches a letter and i could feel it in my bones, dere was trouble in dat letter. sure 'nough, dere was trouble, heaps of it. it tells dat marster ben am kilt and dat dey was a shippin' him home. all de ole folks, cullud and white, was cryin'. missy elline, she fainted. when de body comes home, dere's a powerful big funeral and after dat, dere's powerful weepin's and sadness on dat place. de women folks don' talk much and no laughin' like 'fore. i 'members once de missy asks me to make a 'lasses cake. i says, 'i's got no 'lasses.' missy says, 'don' say 'lasses, say molasses.' i says, 'why say molasses when i's got no 'lasses.' dat was de fus' time missy laugh after de funeral. "durin' de war, things was 'bout de same, like always, 'cept some vittles was scarce. but we'uns had plenty to eat and us slaves didn' know what de war was 'bout. i guess we was too ign'rant. de white folks didn' talk 'bout it 'fore us. when it's over, de marster comes home and dey holds a big celebration. i's workin' in de kitchen and dey tol' me to cook heaps of ham, chicken, pies, cakes, sweet 'taters and lots of vegetables. lots of white folks comes and dey eats and drinks wine, dey sings and dances. we'uns cullud folks jined in and was singin' out in de back, 'massa's in de col', har' groun'. marster asks us to come in and sing dat for de white folks, so we'uns goes in de house and sings dat for de white folks and dey jines in de chorus. "three days after de celebration, de marster calls all de slaves in de house and says, 'yous is all free, free as i am.' he tol' us we'uns could go if we'uns wanted to. none of us knows what to do, dere warn't no place to go and why would we'uns wan' to go and leave good folks like de marster? his place was our home. so we'uns asked him if we could stay and he says, 'yous kin stay as long as yous want to and i can keep yous.' we'uns all stayed till he died, 'bout a year after dat. "when he was a-dyin', marster calls me to his bed and says, 'my dyin' reques' is dat yous be taken to your mama.' he calls his son, zeke, in and tells him dat i should be fotched to my mamma. and 'bout in a year, marster zeke fotches me to my mamma, in johnson station, south of arlington. she's wo'kin' for jack ditto and i's pleased to see her. i's pleased to see my mammy, but after a few days i wants to go back to marshall with marster zeke. dat was my home, so i kep' pesterin' marster to fetch me back, but he slips off and leaves me. i has to stay and i's been here ever since. "i gits my fust job with carter cannon, on a farm, and stays seven years. den i goes to fort worth and takes a job cookin' in de gran' hotel for three years. den i goes to dallas and cooks for private families, and wo'ks for marster james ellison for years. i stops four years ago and comes out here to wait till de good lawd calls me home. "bout gittin' married, after i quits de gran' hotel i marries and we'uns has two chillen. my wife died three years later. "you knows, i believes i's mo' contented as a slave. i's treated kind all de time and had no frettin' 'bout how i gwine git on. since i's been free, i sometimes have heaps of frettin'. course, i don' want to go back into slavery, but i's paid for my freedom. "i's never been sick abed, but i's had mo' misery dis las' year dan all my life. it's my heart. if i live till december, i'll be years old, and dis ole heart have been pumpin' and pumpin' all dem years and have missed nary a beat till dis las' year. i knows 'twon't be long till de good lawd calls dis ole nigger to cross de ribber jordan and i's ready for de lawd when he calls. [illustration: felix haywood (a)] [illustration: felix haywood (b)] felix haywood is a temperamental and whimsical old negro of san antonio, texas, who still sees the sunny side of his years, in spite of his total blindness. he was born and bred a slave in st. hedwig, bexar co., texas, the son of slave parents bought in mississippi by his master, william gudlow. before and during the civil war he was a sheep herder and cowpuncher. his autobiography is a colorful contribution, showing the philosophical attitude of the slaves, as well as shedding some light upon the lives of slave owners whose support of the confederacy was not accompanied by violent hatred of the union. "yes, sir, i'm felix haywood, and i can answer all those things that you want to know. but, first, let me ask you this: is you all a white man, or is you a black man?" "i'm black, blacker than you are," said the caller. the eyes of the old blind negro,--eyes like two murkey brown marbles--actually twinkled. then he laughed: "no, you ain't. i knowed you was white man when you comes up the path and speaks. i jus' always asks that question for fun. it makes white men a little insulted when you dont know they is white, and it makes niggers all conceited up when you think maybe they is white." and there was the key note to the old negro's character and temperament. he was making a sort of privileged game with a sportive twist out of his handicap of blindness. as the interviewer scribbled down a note, the door to the little shanty on arabella alley opened and a backless chair was carried out on the porch by a vigorous old colored woman. she was mrs. ella thompson, felix' youngest sister, who had known only seven years of slavery. after a timid "how-do-you-do," and a comment on the great heat of the june day, she went back in the house. then the old negro began searching his years of reminiscences, intermixing his findings with philosophy, poetry and prognostications. "it's a funny thing how folks always want to know about the war. the war weren't so great as folks suppose. sometimes you didn't knowed it was goin' on. it was the endin' of it that made the difference. that's when we all wakes up that somethin' had happened. oh, we knowed what was goin' on in it all the time, 'cause old man gudlow went to the post office every day and we knowed. we had papers in them days jus' like now. "but the war didn't change nothin'. we saw guns and we saw soldiers, and one member of master's family, colmin gudlow, was gone fightin'--somewhere. but he didn't get shot no place but one--that was in the big toe. then there was neighbors went off to fight. some of 'em didn't want to go. they was took away (conscription). i'm thinkin' lots of 'em pretended to want to go as soon as they had to go. "the ranch went on jus' like it always had before the war. church went on. old mew johnson, the preacher, seen to it church went on. the kids didn't know war was happenin'. they played marbles, see-saw and rode. i had old buster, a ox, and he took me about plenty good as a horse. nothin' was different. we got layed-onto(whipped) time on time, but gen'rally life was good--just as good as a sweet potato. the only misery i had was when a black spider bit me on the ear. it swelled up my head and stuff came out. i was plenty sick and dr. brennen, he took good care of me. the whites always took good care of people when they was sick. hospitals couldn't do no better for you today.... yes, maybe it was a black widow spider, but we called it the 'devil biter'. "sometimes someone would come 'long and try to get us to run up north and be free. we used to laugh at that. there wasn't no reason to =run= up north. all we had to do was to =walk=, but walk =south=, and we'd be free as soon as we crossed the rio grande. in mexico you could be free. they didn't care what color you was, black, white, yellow or blue. hundreds of slaves did go to mexico and got on all right. we would hear about 'em and how they was goin' to be mexicans. they brought up their children to speak only mexican. "me and my father and five brothers and sisters weren't goin' to mexico. i went there after the war for a while and then i looked 'round and decided to get back. so i come back to san antonio and i got a job through colonel breckenridge with the waterworks. i was handling pipes. my foreman was tom flanigan--he must have been a full-blooded frenchman! "but what i want to say is, we didn't have no idea of runnin' and escapin'. we was happy. we got our lickings, but just the same we got our fill of biscuits every time the white folks had 'em. nobody knew how it was to lack food. i tell my chillen we didn't know no more about pants than a hawg knows about heaven; but i tells 'em that to make 'em laugh. we had all the clothes we wanted and if you wanted shoes bad enough you got 'em--shoes with a brass square toe. and shirts! mister, them was shirts that was shirts! if someone gets caught by his shirt on a limb of a tree, he had to die there if he weren't cut down. them shirts wouldn't rip no more'n buckskin. "the end of the war, it come jus' like that--like you snap your fingers." "how did you know the end of the war had come?" asked the interviewer. "how did we know it! hallelujah broke out-- "'abe lincoln freed the nigger with the gun and the trigger; and i ain't goin' to get whipped any more. i got my ticket, leavin' the thicket, and i'm a-headin' for the golden shore!' "soldiers, all of a sudden, was everywhere--comin' in bunches, crossin' and walkin' and ridin'. everyone was a-singin'. we was all walkin' on golden clouds. hallelujah! "'union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah! although i may be poor, i'll never be a slave-- shoutin' the battle cry of freedom.' "everybody went wild. we all felt like heroes and nobody had made us that way but ourselves. we was free. just like that, we was free. it didn't seem to make the whites mad, either. they went right on giving us food just the same. nobody took our homes away, but right off colored folks started on the move. they seemed to want to get closer to freedom, so they'd know what it was--like it was a place or a city. me and my father stuck, stuck close as a lean tick to a sick kitten. the gudlows started us out on a ranch. my father, he'd round up cattle, unbranded cattle, for the whites. they was cattle that they belonged to, all right; they had gone to find water 'long the san antonio river and the guadalupe. then the whites gave me and my father some cattle for our own. my father had his own brand, b ), and we had a herd to start out with of seventy. "we knowed freedom was on us, but we didn't know what was to come with it. we thought we was goin' to get rich like the white folks. we thought we was goin' to be richer than the white folks, 'cause we was stronger and knowed how to work, and the whites didn't and they didn't have us to work for them anymore. but it didn't turn out that way. we soon found out that freedom could make folks proud but it didn't make 'em rich. "did you ever stop to think that thinking don't do any good when you do it too late? well, that's how it was with us. if every mother's son of a black had thrown 'way his hoe and took up a gun to fight for his own freedom along with the yankees, the war'd been over before it began. but we didn't do it. we couldn't help stick to our masters. we couldn't no more shoot 'em than we could fly. my father and me used to talk 'bout it. we decided we was too soft and freedom wasn't goin' to be much to our good even if we had a education." the old negro was growing very tired, but, at a request, he instantly got up and tapped his way out into the scorching sunshine to have his photograph taken. even as he did so, he seemed to smile with those blurred, dead eyes of his. then he chuckled to himself and said: "'warmth of the wind and heat of the south, and ripe red cherries for a ripe, red mouth.'" "land sakes, felix!" came through the window from sister ella. "how you carries on! don't you be a-mindin' him, mister." [illustration: phoebe henderson] phoebe henderson, a year old negro of harrison co., was born a slave of the bradley family at macon, georgia. after the death of her mistress, phoebe belonged to one of the daughters, mrs. wiley hill, who moved to panola county, texas in , where phoebe lived until after the civil war. for the past years she has lived with mary ann butler, a daughter, about five miles east of marshall, in enterprise friendship community. she draws a pension of $ . a month. "i was bo'n a slave of the bradley family in macon, georgia. my father's name was anthony hubbard and he belonged to the hubbard's in georgia. he was a young man when i lef' georgia and i never heard from him since. i 'member my mother; she had a gang of boys. marster hill brought her to texas with us. "my ole missus name was bradley and she died in tennessee. my lil' missus was her daughter. after dey brought us to texas in i worked in the field many a day, plowin' and hoein', but the children didn't do much work 'cept carry water. when dey git tired, dey'd say dey was sick and the overseer let 'em lie down in de shade. he was a good and kindly man and when we do wrong and go tell him he forgave us and he didn't whip the boys 'cause he was afraid they'd run away. "i worked in de house, too. i spinned seven curts a day and every night we run two looms, makin' large curts for plow lines. we made all our clothes. we didn't wear shoes in georgia but in this place the land was rough and strong, so we couldn't go barefooted. a black man that worked in the shop measured our feet and made us two pairs a year. we had good houses and dey was purty good to us. sometimes missus give us money and each family had their garden and some chickens. when a couple marry, the master give them a house and we had a good time and plenty to wear and to eat. they cared for us when we was sick. "master wiley hill had a big plantation and plenty of stock and hawgs, and a big turnip patch. he had yellow and red oxen. we never went to school any, except sunday school. we'd go fishin' often down on the creek and on saturday night we'd have parties in the woods and play ring plays and dance. "my husband's name was david henderson and we lived on the same place and belonged to the same man. no, suh, master hill didn't have nothin' to do with bringin' us together. i guess god done it. we fell in love, and david asked master hill for me. we had a weddin' in the house and was married by a colored baptist preacher. i wore a white cotton dress and missus hill give me a pan of flour for a weddin' present. he give us a house of our own. my husband was good to me. he was a careful man and not rowdy. when we'd go anywhere we'd ride horseback and i'd ride behin' him. "i's scared to talk 'bout when i was freed. i 'member the soldiers and that warrin' and fightin'. toby, one of the colored boys, joined the north and was a mail messenger boy and he had his horse shot out from under him. but i guess its a good thing we was freed, after all. [illustration: albert hill] albert hill, , was born a slave of carter hill, who owned a plantation and about slaves, in walton co., georgia. albert remained on the hill place until he was , when he went to robinson co., texas. he now lives at e. th st., fort worth, texas, in a well-kept five-room house, on a slope above the trinity river. "i was born on massa carter hill's plantation, in georgia, and my name am albert hill. my papa's name was dillion, 'cause he taken dat name from he owner, massa tom dillion. he owned de plantation next to massa hill's, and he owned my mammy and us chillen. i don't know how old i is, but i 'members de start of de war, and i was a sizeable chile den. "de plantation wasn't so big and wasn't so small, jus' fair size, but it am fixed first class and everything am good. we has good quarters made out of logs and lots of tables and benches, what was made of split logs. we has de rations and massa give plenty of de cornmeal and beans and 'lasses and honey. sometimes we has tea, and once in a while we gits coffee. and does we have de tasty and tender hawg meat! i'd like to see some of dat hawg meat now. "massa am good but he don't 'low de parties. but we kin go to massa dillion's place next to us and dey has lots of parties and de dances. we dances near all night saturday night, but we has to stay way in de back where de white folks can't hear us. sometimes we has de fiddle and de banjo and does we cut dat chicken wing and de shuffle! we sho' does. "i druv de ox, and drivin' dat ox am agitation work in de summer time when it am hot, 'cause dey runs for water every time. but de worst trouble i ever has is with one hoss. i fotches de dinner to de workers out in de field and i use dat hoss, hitched to de two-wheel cart. one day him am halfway and dat hoss stop. he look back at me, a-rollin' de eye, and i knows what dat mean--'here i stays, nigger.' but i heered to tie de rope on de balky hosses tail and run it 'twixt he legs and tie to de shaft. i done dat and puts some cuckleburrs on de rope, too. den i tech him with de whip and he gives de rear back'ards. dat he best rear. when he do dat it pull de rope and de rope pull de tail and de burrs gits busy. dat hoss moves for'ard faster and harder den what he ever done 'fore, and he keep on gwine. you see, he am trying git 'way from he tail, but de tail am too fast. course, it stay right behin' him. den i's in de picklement. dat hoss am runnin' away and i can't stop him. de workers lines up to stop him but de cart give de shove and dat pull he tail and, lawdy whoo, dat hose jump for'ard like de jackrabbit and go through dat line of workers. so i steers him into de fence row, and dere's no more runnin', but an awful mix-up with de hoss and de cart and de rations. dat hoss so sceered him have de quavers. massa say, 'what you doin'?' i says, 'break de balk.' he say, 'well, yous got everything else broke. we'll see 'bout de balk later.' massa has de daughter, mary, and she want to marry bud jackson, but massa am 'gainst it. bud am gwine to de army and dat give dis boy work, 'cause i de messenger boy for him and missy mary. dey keeps company unbeknownst and i carry de notes. i puts de paper in de hollow stump. once i's sho' i's kotched. dere am de massa and he say, 'where you been, nigger?' i's sho' skeert and i says, 'i's lookin' for de squirrels.' so massa goes 'way and when i tells you i's left, it ain't de proper word for to 'splain, 'cause i's flew from here.' i tells missy mary and she say, 'you sho' am de lawd's chosen nigger.' "de 'federate soldiers comes and dey takes de rations, but de massa has dug de pit in de pasture and buried lots of de rations, so de soldiers don't find so much. de clostest battle was atlanta, more dan mile 'way. "when de war come over, bud jackson he come home. de massa welcome him, to de sprise of everybody, and when bud say he want to marry missy mary, massa say, 'i guesses you has earnt her.' "when freedom am here, massa call all us together and tells us 'bout de difference 'tween freedom and hustlin' for ourselves and dependin' on someone else. most of de slaves stays, and massa pays them for de work, and i stays till i's year old, and i gits $ . de month and de clothes and de house and all i kin eat. de massa have died 'fore dat, and dere am powerful sorrow. missy mary and massa bud has de plantation den, and dey don't want me to go to texas. but dey goes on de visit and while dey gone i takes de train for robinson county, what am in texas. "i works at de pavin' work and at de hostlin' work and i works on de hosses. den i works for de santa fe railroad, handlin' freight, and i works till 'bout three year ago, when i gits too old for to work no more. "but i tells you 'bout de visit back to de old plantation. i been gone near year and i 'cides to go back, so i reaches de house and dere am missy mary peelin' apples on de back gallery. she looks at me, and she say, 'i got whippin' waiting for yous, 'cause you run off without tellin' us.' dere wasn't no more peelin' dat day, 'cause we sits and talks 'bout de old times and de old massa. dere sho' am de tears in dis nigger's eyes. den we talks 'bout de nigger messenger i was, and we laughs a little. all day long we talks a little, and laughs and cries and talks. i stays 'bout two weeks and seed lots of de folks i knowed when i was young, de white folks and de niggers, too. "i's too old to make any more visits, but i would like to go back to old georgia once more. if missy mary was 'live, i'd try, but she am dead, so i tries to wait for old gabriel blow he horn. when he blow he horn, dis nigger say, 'louder, gabriel, louder!' rosina hoard does not know just where she was born. the first thing she remembers is that she and her parents were purchased by col. pratt washington, who owned a plantation near garfield, in travis county, texas. rosina, who is a very pleasant and sincere person, says she has had a tough life since she was free. she receives a monthly pension of fourteen dollars, for which she expresses gratitude. her address is chestnut st., austin, tex. "when i's a gal, i's rosina slaughter, but folks call me zina. yes, sar. it am zina dat and zina dis. i says i's born april , , but i 'lieve i's older. it was somewhere in williamson county, but i don't know the massa's name. my mammy was lusanne slaughter and she was stout but in her last days she got to be a li'l bit of a woman. she died only last spring and she was a hunerd eleven years old. "papa was a baptist preacher to de day of he death. he had asthma all his days. i 'member how he had de sorrel hoss and would ride off and preach under some arbor bush. i rid with him on he hoss. "first thing i 'member is us was bought by massa col. pratt washington from massa lank miner. massa washington was purty good man. he boys, george and john henry, was de only overseers. dem boys treat us nice. massa allus rid up on he hoss after dinner time. he hoss was a bay, call sank. de fields was in de bottoms of de colorado river. de big house was on de hill and us could see him comin'. he weared a tall, beaver hat allus. "de reason us allus watch for him am dat he boy, george, try larn us our a b c's in de field. de workers watch for massa and when dey seed him a-ridin' down de hill dey starts singin' out, 'ole hawg 'round de bench--ole hawg 'round de bench.' "dat de signal and den everybody starts workin' like dey have something after dem. but i's too young to larn much in de field and i can't read today and have to make de cross when i signs for my name. "each chile have he own wood tray. dere was old aunt alice and she done all de cookin' for de chillen in de depot. dat what dey calls de place all de chillen stays till dere mammies come home from de field. aunt alice have de big pot to cook in, out in de yard. some days we had beans and some day peas. she put great hunks of salt bacon in de pot, and bake plenty cornbread, and give us plenty milk. "some big chillen have to pick cotton. old junus was de cullud overseer for de chillen and he sure mean to dem. he carry a stick and use it, too. "one day de blue-bellies come to de fields. dey yankee sojers, and tell de slaves dey free. some stayed and some left. papa took us and move to de craft plantation, not far 'way, and farm dere. "i been married three time. first to peter collinsworth. i quit him. second to george hoard. we stayed togedder till he die, and have five chillen. den i marries he brother, jim hoard. i tells you de truth, jim never did work much. he'd go fishin' and chop wood by de days, but not many days. he suffered with de piles. i done de housework and look after de chillen and den go out and pick two hunerd pound cotton a day. i was a cripple since one of my boys birthed. i git de rheumatis' and my knees hurt so much sometime i rub wed sand and mud on dem to ease de pain. "we had a house at barton springs with two rooms, one log and one box. i never did like it up dere and i told jim i's gwine. i did, but he come and got me. "since freedom i's been through de toughs. i had to do de man's work, chop down trees and plow de fields and pick cotton. i want to tell you how glad i is to git my pension. it is sure nice of de folks to take care of me in my old age. befo' i got de pension i had a hard time. you can sho' say i's been through de toughs. tom holland was born in walker county, texas, and thinks he is about years old. his master, frank holland, traded tom to william green just before the civil war. after tom was freed, he farmed both for himself and for others in the vicinity of his old home. he now lives in madisonville, texas. "my owner was massa frank holland, and i's born on his place in walker county. i had one sister named gena and three brothers, named george and will and joe, but they's all dead now. mammy's name was gena and my father's named abraham holland and they's brung from north carolina to texas by massa holland when they's real young. "i chopped cotton and plowed and split rails, then was a horse rider. in them days i could ride the wildest horse what ever made tracks in texas, but i's never valued very high 'cause i had a glass eye. i don't 'member how i done got it, but there it am. i'd make a dollar or fifty cents to ride wild horses in slavery time and massa let me keep it. i buyed tobacco and candy and if massa cotch me with tobacco i'd git a whippin', but i allus slipped and bought chewin' tobacco. "we allus had plenty to eat, sich as it was them days, and it was good, plenty wild meat and cornbread cooked in ashes. we toasted the meat on a open fire, and had plenty possum and rabbit and fish. "we wore them loyal shirts open all way down the front, but i never seed shoes till long time after freedom. in cold weather massa tanned lots of hides and we'd make warm clothes. my weddin' clothes was a white loyal shirt, never had no shoes, married barefooted. "massa frank, he one real good white man. he was awful good to his negroes. missis sally, she a plumb angel. their three chillen stayed with me nearly all the time, askin' this negro lots of questions. they didn't have so fine a house, neither, two rooms with a big hall through and no windows and deer skins tacked over the door to keep out rain and cold. it was covered with boards i helped cut after i got big 'nough. "massa frank had cotton and corn and everything to live on, 'bout three hundred acres, and overseed it himself, and seven growed slaves and five little slaves. he allus waked us real early to be in the field when daylight come and worked us till slap dark, but let us have a hour and a half at noon to eat and rest up. sometimes when slaves got stubborn he'd whip them and make good negroes out of them, 'cause he was real good to them. "i seed slaves sold and auctioned off, 'cause i's put up to the highest bidder myself. massa traded me to william green jus' 'fore the war, for a hundred acres land at $ . a acre. he thought i'd never be much 'count, 'cause i had the glass eye, but i'm still livin' and a purty fair negro to my age. all the hollerin' and bawlin' took place and when he sold me it took me most a year to git over it, but there i was, 'longin' to 'nother man. "if we went off without a pass we allus went two at a time. we slipped off when we got a chance to see young folks on some other place. the patterrollers cotched me one night and, lawd have mercy on me, they stretches me over a log and hits thirty-nine licks with a rawhide loaded with rock, and every time they hit me the blood and hide done fly. they drove me home to massa and told him and he called a old mammy to doctor my back, and i couldn't work for four days. that never kep' me from slippin' off 'gain, but i's more careful the next time. "we'd go and fall right in at the door of the quarters at night, so massa and the patterrollers thinks we's real tired and let us alone and not watch us. that very night we'd be plannin' to slip off somewheres to see a negro gal or our wife, or to have a big time, 'specially when the moon shine all night so we could see. it wouldn't do to have torch lights. they was 'bout all the kind of lights we had them days and if we made light, massa come to see what we're doin', and it be jus' too bad then for the stray negro! "that there war brung suffrin' to lots of people and made a widow out of my missis. massa william, he go and let one them yankees git him in one of them battles and they never brung him home. missis, she gits the letter from his captain, braggin' on his bravery, but that never helped him after he was kilt in the war. she gits 'nother letter that us negroes is free and she tells us. we had no place to go, so we starts to cry and asks her what we gwine do. she said we could stay and farm with her and work her teams and use her tools and land and pay her half of what we made, 'sides our supplies. that's a happy bunch of negroes when she told us this. "late in that evenin' the negroes in huntsville starts hollerin' and shoutin' and one gal was hollerin' loud and a white man come ridin' on a hoss and leans over and cut that gal nearly half in two and a covered wagon come along and picks her up and we never heared nothin' more. "i married imogene, a homely weddin' 'fore the war. we didn't have much to-do at our weddin'. i asks missis if i could have imogene and she says yes and that's all they was to our weddin'. we had three boys and three gals, and imogene died 'bout twenty years ago and i been livin' with one child and 'nother. i gits a little pension from the gov'ment and does small jobs round for the white people. "i 'lieve they ought to have gived us somethin' when we was freed, but they turned us out to graze or starve. most of the white people turned the negroes slam loose. we stayed a year with missis and then she married and her husband had his own workers and told us to git out. we worked for twenty and thirty cents a day then, and i fin'ly got a place with dr. l.j. conroe. but after the war the negro had a hard struggle, 'cause he was turned loose jus' like he came into the world and no education or 'sperience. "if the negro wanted to vote the klu kluxes was right there to keep him from votin'. negroes was 'fraid to git out and try to 'xert they freedom. they'd ride up by a negro and shoot him jus' like a wild hawg and never a word said or done 'bout it. "i's farmed and makin' a livin' is 'bout all. i come over here in madison county and rents from b.f. young, clost to midway and gits me a few cows. i been right round here ever since. i lives round with my chillen now, 'cause i's gittin' too old to work. "this young bunch of negroes is all right some ways, but they won't tell the truth. they isn't raised like the white folks raised us. if we didn't tell the truth our massa'd tear us all to pieces. of course, they is educated now and can get 'most any kind of work, some of them, what we couldn't. [illustration: eliza holman] eliza holman, , was born a slave of the rev. john applewhite, near clinton, mississippi. in they came to texas, settling near decatur. eliza now lives at clinton ave., fort worth, texas. "talk 'bout de past from de time i 'members till now, slave days and all? dat not so hard. i knows what de past am, but what to come, dat am different. dey says, 'let de past be de guide for de future,' but if you don't know de future road, hows you gwine guide? i's sho' glad to tell you all i 'members, but dat am a long 'memberance. "i know i's past , for sho', and maybe more, 'cause i's old 'nough to 'member befo' de war starts. i 'members when de massa move to texas by de ox team and dat am some trip! dey loads de wagon till dere ain't no more room and den sticks we'uns in, and we walks some of de time, too. "my massa am a preacherman and have jus' three slaves, me and pappy and mammy. she am cook and housekeeper and i helps her. pappy am de field hand and de coachman and everything else what am needed. we have a nice, two-room log house to live in and it am better den what mos' slaves have, with de wood floor and real windows with glass in dem. "massa am good but he am strict. he don't have to say much when he wants you to do somethin'. dere am no honey words round de house from him, but when him am preachin' in de church, him am different. he am honey man den. massa could tell de right way in de church but it am hard for him to act it at home. he makes us go to church every sunday. "but i's tellin' you how we'uns come to texas. de meals am cook by de campfire and after breakfast we starts and it am bump, bump, bump all day long. it am rocks and holes and mudholes, and it am streams and rivers to cross. we'uns cross one river, musta been de mississippi, and drives on a big bridge and dey floats dat bridge right 'cross dat river. "massa and missus argues all de way to texas. she am skeert mos' de time and he allus say de lawd take care of us. he say, 'de lawd am a-guidin' us.' she say, 'it am fools guidin' and a fool move for to start.' dat de way dey talks all de way. and when we gits in de mudhole 'twas a argument 'gain. she say, 'dis am some more of your lawd's calls.' he say, 'hush, hush, woman. yous gittin' sac'ligious.' so we has to walk two mile for a man to git his yoke of oxen to pull us out dat mudhole, and when we out, massa say, 'thank de lawd.' and missus say, 'thank de mens and de oxen.' "den one day we'uns camps under a big tree and when we'uns woke in de mornin' dere am worms and worms and worms. millions of dem come off dat tree. man, man, dat am a mess. massa say dey army worms and missus say, 'why for dey not in de army den?' "after we been in texas 'bout a year, missy mary gits married to john olham. missy mary am massa's daughter. after dat i lives with her and massa john and den hell start poppin' for dis nigger. missy mary am good but massa john am de devil. dat man sho' am cruel, he works me to death and whups me for de leas' thing. my pappy say to me, 'you should 'come a runaway nigger.' he runs 'way hisself and dat de las' time we hears of him. "when surrender come i has to stay on with massa olham, 'cause i has no place to go and i's too young to know how to do for myself. i stays 'bout till i's year old and den i hunts some place to work and gits it in jacksboro and stays dere sev'ral years. i quits when i gits married and dat 'bout nine year after de war end. "i marries dick hines at silver creek and he am a farmer and a contrary man. he worked jus' as hard at his contrariness as him did at his farmin'. mercy, how distressin' and worryment am life with dat nigger! i couldn't stand it no longer dan five year till i tooks my getaway. de nex' year i marries sam walker what worked for cattlement here in fort worth and he died 'bout year ago. den 'twas 'bout year ago i marries jack holman and he died in . i's sho' try dis marrin' business but i ain't gwine try it no more, no, suh. "'twixt all dem husbands and workin' for de white folks i gits 'long, but i's old and de last few years i can't work. dey pays me $ . de month from de state and dat's what i lives on. shucks, i's not worth nothin' no more. i jus' sets and sets and thinks of de old days and my mammy. all dat make me sad. i'll tell you one dem songs what 'spresses my feelin's 'zactly. "i's am climbin' jacob's ladder, ladder, i's am climbin' jacob's ladder, ladder, soldier of de cross; o-h-h-h! rise and shine, give gawd de glory, glory, glory, in de year of jubilee. i wants to climb up jacob's ladder, ladder, jacob's ladder, till i gits in de new jerusalem. "dat jus' how i feels." larnce holt, , was born near woodville, in tyler county, texas, a slave of william holt. he now lives in beaumont, texas. "i's jus' small fry when freedom come, 'cause i's born in . bill holt was my massa's name, dat why dey calls me larnce holt. my massa, he come from alabama but my mammy and daddy born in texas. mammy named hannah and daddy elbert. mammy cooked for de white folks but daddy, he de shoemaker. dat consider' a fine job on de plantation, 'cause he make all de shoes de white folks uses for everyday and all de cullud people shoes. every time dey kill de beef dey save de hide for leather and dey put it in de trough call de tan vat, with de oak bark and other things, and leave 'em dere long time. dat change de raw hide to leather. when de shoe done us black dem with soot, 'cause us have to do dat or wear 'em red. i's de little tike what help my daddy put on de soot. "massa have de big plantation and i 'member de big log house. it have de gallery on both sides and dey's de long hall down de center. de dogs and sometimes a possum used to run through de hall at night. de hall was big 'nough to dance in and i plays de fiddle. "my mammy have four boys, call eb and ander and tobe. my big brother eb he tote so many buckets of water to de hands in de field he wore all de hair offen de top he head. "i be so glad when christmas come, when i's li'l. down in de quarter us hang up stocking and us have plenty homemake ginger cake and candy make out of sugar and maybe a apple. one christmas i real small and my mammy buy me a suit of clothes in de store. i so proud of it i 'fraid to sit down in it. 'terials in dem day was strong and last a long time. one time i git de first pair shoes from a store. i thought dey's gold. my daddy bought dem for me and dey have a brace in de toe and was nat'ral black. "when freedom come us family breaks up. old missy can't bear see my mammy go, so us stay. dey give my daddy a place on credick and he start farm and dey even 'low him hosses and mule and other things he need. my massa good to de niggers. i stays with my mammy till she die when i ten year old and den my brother eb he take me and raise me till i sixteen. den i go off for myself. "dem young year us have good time. i fiddle to de dance, play 'git up in de cool,' and 'hopus creek and de water.' us sho' dress up for de dance. i have black calico pants with red ribbon up de sides and a hickory shirt. de gals all wears ribbons 'round de waist and one like it 'round de head. "us have more hard time after freedom come dan in all de other time together. us livin' in trouble time. 'bout year ago i lost a leg, a big log fall 'cross it when i makin' ties. i had plenty den but it go for de hospital. [illustration: bill homer] bill homer, , was born a slave on june , , to mr. jack homer, who owned a large plantation near shreveport, la. in bill was given to mr. homer's daughter, who moved to caldwell, texas. bill now lives at mckinley ave., fort worth, texas. "i is years old, 'cause i is born on june th, in , and that's 'cording to de statement my missy give me. i was born on massa jack homer's plantation, close to shreveport. him owned my mammy and my pappy and 'bout other slaves. him's plantation was a big un. i don't know how many acres him have, but it was miles long. dere was so many buildings and sheds on dat place it was a small town. de massa's house was a big two-story building and dere was de spinnin' house, de smokehouse, de blacksmith shop and a nursery for de cullud chillens and a lot of sheds and sich. in de nigger quarters dere was one-room cabins and dey was ten in a row and dere was five rows. "de cabins was built of logs and had dirt floors and a hole whar a window should be and a stone fireplace for de cookin' and de heat. dere was a cookhouse for de big house and all de cookin' for de white folks was 'tended to by four cooks. we has lots of food, too--cornmeal and vegetables and milk and 'lassas and meat. for mos' de meat dey kotched hawgs in de miss'sippi river bottoms. once a week, we have white flour biscuit. "some work was hard and some easy, but massa don' 'lieve in overworkin' his slaves. sat'day afternoon and sunday, dere was no work. some whippin' done, but mos' reasonable. if de nigger stubborn, deys whips 'nough for to change his mind. if de nigger runs on, dat calls de good whippin's. if any of de cullud folks has de misery, dey lets him res' in bed and if de misery bad de massa call de doctor. "i larnt to be coachman and drive for massa's family. but in de year of , missy mary gits married to bill johnson and at dat weddin' massa homer gives me and other niggers to her for de weddin' present. massa johnson's father gives him niggers too. dey has a gran' weddin'. i helps take care of de hosses and dey jus' kep' a-comin'. i 'spect dere was more'n peoples dere and dey have lots of music and dancin' and eats and, i 'spects, drinks, 'cause we'uns made peach brandy. you see, de massa had his own still. "after de weddin' was over, dey gives de couple de infare. dere's whar dis nigger comes in. i and de other niggers was lined up, all with de clean clothes on and den de massa say, 'for to give my lovin' daughter de start, i gives you dese niggers. massa bill's father done de same for his son, and dere we'uns was, niggers with a new massa. "dey loads or wagons and starts for texas. we travels from daylight to dark, with mos' de niggers walkin'. of course, it was hard, but we enjoys de trip. dere was one nigger called monk and him knows a song and larned it to us, like this: "'walk, walk, you nigger, walk! de road am dusty, de road am tough, dust in de eye, dust in de tuft; dust in de mouth, yous can't talk-- walk, you niggers, don't you balk. "'walk, walk, you nigger walk! de road am dusty, de road am rough. walk 'til we reach dere, walk or bust-- de road am long, we be dere by and by.' now, we'uns was a-follerin' behin' de wagons and we'uns sings it to de slow steps of de ox. we'uns don't sing it many times 'til de missy come and sit in de back of de wagon, facin' we'uns and she begin to beat de slow time and sing wid we'uns. dat please missy mary to sing with us and she laugh and laugh. "after 'bout two weeks we comes to de place near caldwell, in texas, and dere was buildin's and land cleared, so we's soon settled. massa plants mostly cotton and corn and clears more land. i larned to be a coachman, but on dat place i de ox driver or uses de hoe. "yous never drive de ox, did yous? de mule ain't stubborn side of de ox, de ox am stubborn and den some more. one time i's haulin' fence rails and de oxen starts to turn gee when i wants dem to go ahead. i calls for haw, but dey pays dis nigger no mind and keeps agwine gee. den dey starts to run and de overseer hollers and asks me, 'whar you gwine?' i hollers back, 'i's not gwine, i's bein' took.' dem oxen takes me to de well for de water, 'cause if dey gits dry and is near water, dey goes in spite of de devil. "de treatment from new massa am good, 'cause of missy mary. she say to massa bill, 'if you mus' 'buse de nigger, 'buse yous own.' we has music and parties. we plays de quill, make from willow stick when de sap am up. yous takes de stick and pounds de bark loose and slips it off, den slit de wood in one end and down one side, puts holes in de bark and put it back on de stick. de quill plays like de flute. "i never goes out without de pass, so i never has trouble with de patter rollers. nigger monk, him have de 'sperience with 'em. dey kotched him twice and dey sho' makes him hump and holler. after dat he gits pass or stays to home. "de war make no diff'runce with us, 'cept de soldiers comes and takes de rations. but we'uns never goes hungry, 'cause de massa puts some niggers hustlin' for wil' hawgs. after surrender, missy reads de paper and tells dat we'uns is free, but dat we'uns kin stay 'til we is 'justed to de change. "de second year after de war, de massa sells de plantation and goes back to louisiana and den we'uns all lef'. i goes to laredo for seven year and works on a stock ranch, den i goes to farmin'. i gits married in to mary robinson and we'uns has chilluns. four of dem lives here. "i works hard all my life 'til and den i's too old. my wife and i lives on de pensions we gits. [illustration: scott hooper] scott hooper, , was born a slave of the rev. robert turner, a baptist minister who owned seven slave families. they lived on a small farm near tenaha, then called bucksnort, in shelby county, texas. scott's father was owned by jack hooper, a neighboring farmer. scott married steve hooper when she was thirteen and they had eight children, whose whereabouts are now unknown to her. she receives an $ . monthly pension. "well, i'll do de best i can to tell yous 'bout my life. i used to have de good 'collection, but worryment 'bout ups and downs has 'fected my 'membance. i knows how old i is, 'cause mammy have it in de bible, and i's born in de year , right in shelby county, and near by bucksnort, what am call tenaha now. "massa turner am de bestest man he could be and taken good care of us, for sho'. he treat us like humans. there am no whuppin's like some other places has. gosh. what some dem old slaves tell 'bout de whup and de short rations and lots of hard work am awful, so us am lucky. "massa don't have de big place, but jus' seven families what was five to ten in de family. my mammy had nine chillen, but my pappy didn't live on us place, but on jack hooper's farm, what am four mile off. he comes wednesday and saturday night to see us. his massa am good, too, and lets him work a acre of land and all what he raises he can sell. pappy plants cotton and mostest de time he raises better'n half de bale to he acre. dat-a-way, he have money and he own pony and saddle, and he brung us chillen candy and toys and coffee and tea for mammy. he done save 'bout $ when surrender come, but it am all 'federate money and it ain't worth nothin'. he give it to us chillen to play with. "massa turner am de baptist preacherman and he have de church at bucksnort. he run de store, too, and folks laughs 'cause 'sides being a preacherman he sells whiskey in dat store. he makes it medicine for us, with de cherry bark and de rust from iron nails in it. he call it, 'bitters,' and it a good name. it sho' taste bitter as gall. when us feels de misery it am bitters us gits. castor oil am candy 'side dem bitters! "my grandmammy am de cook and all us eats in de shed. it am plenty food and meat and 'lasses and brown sugar and milk and butter, and even some white flour. course, peas and beans am allus on dat table. "when surrender come massa calls all us in de yard and makes de talk. he tells us we's free and am awful sorry and show great worryment. he say he hate to part with us and us been good to him, but it am de law. he say us can stay and work de land on shares, but mostest left. course, mammy go to massa hooper's place to pappy and he rents land from massa hooper, and us live there seven years and might yet, but dem klu klux causes so much troublement. all us niggers 'fraid to sleep in de house and goes to de woods at night. pappy gits 'fraid something happen to us and come to fort worth. dat in and he farms over in de bottom. "i's married to steve hooper den, 'cause us marry when i's thirteen years old. he goes in teamin' in fort worth and hauls sand and gravel twenty-nine years. he doin' sich when he dies in . den i does laundry work till i's too old. i tries to buy dis house and does fair till age catches me and now i can't pay for it. all i has is $ . de month and i's glad to git dat, but it won't even buy food. on sich 'mount, there am no way to stinch myself and pinch off de payments on de house. dat am de worryment. [illustration: alice houston (a)] [illustration: alice houston (b)] alice houston, pioneer nurse and midwife on whom many san angeloans have relied for years, was born october , . she was a slave of judge jim watkins on his small plantation in hays county, near san marcos, texas and served as house girl to her mistress, mrs. lillie watkins for many years after the civil war. at mrs. watkins' death she came with her husband, jim houston, to san angelo, texas where she has continued her services as nurse to white families to the present time. alice relates her slave day experiences as follows: "i was jes' a little chile when dat civil war broke out and i's had de bes' white folks in de world. my ole mistress she train me for her house girl and nurse maid. dat's whar i's gits so many good ideas fer nursin'. "my mother's name was mariah watkins an' my father was named henry watkins. he would go out in de woods on sat'day nights and ketch 'possums and bring dem home and bake 'em wid taters. dat was de best eatin' we had. course we had good food all de time but we jes' like dat 'possum best. "my marster, he only have four families and he had a big garden fer all of us. we had our huts at de back of de farm. dey was made out of logs and de cracks daubbed up wid mud. dey was clean and comfortable though, and we had good beds. "when we was jes' little kids ole marster he ketch us a stealin' watermelons and he say, 'git! git! git! and when we runs and stoops over to crawl through de crack of de fence he sho' give us a big spank. den we runs off cryin' and lookin' back like. "ole marster, he had lots of hogs and cows and chickens and i can jes' taste dat clabber milk now. ole miss, she have a big dishpan full of clabber and she tells de girl to set dat down out in de yard and she say, 'give all dem chillun a spoon now and let dem eat dat.' when we all git 'round dat pan we sho' would lick dat clabber up. "we had straight slips made out of white lowell what was wove on dat ole spinnin' wheel. den dey make jeans for de men's breeches and dye it wid copperas and some of de cloth dey dye wid sumac berries and hit was sho' purty too. "ole miss, she make soda out of a certain kind of weed and dey makes coffee out of dried sweet taters. "my marster he didn' have no over-seer. he say his slaves had to be treated right. he never 'lowed none of his slaves to be sold 'way from their folks. i's nev'r, nev'r seen any slaves in chains but i's hear talk of dem chains. "my white folks, dey tries to teach us to read and spell and write some and after ole marster move into town he lets us go to a real school. that's how come i can read so many docto' books you see. "we goes to church wid our white folks at dem camp meetin's and oh lawdy! yes, mam, we all sho' did shout. sometimes we jined de church too. "we washed our clothes on sat'day and danced dat night. "on christmas and new year we would have all de good things old marster and ole missus had and when any of de white folks marry or die dey sho' carry on big. weddin's and funerals, dem was de biggest times. "when we gits sick, ole marster he have de docto' right now. he sho' was good 'bout dat. ole miss she make us wear a piece of lead 'round our necks fer de malaria and to keeps our nose from bleedin' and all of us wore some asafoetida 'round our necks to keep off contagion. "when de war close ole marster calls up all de slaves and he say, 'you's all free people now, jes' same as i is, and you can go or stay,' and we all wants to stay 'cause wasn't nothin' we knowed how to do only what ole marster tells us. he say he let us work de land and give us half of what we make, and we all stayed on several years until he died. we stayed with miss watkins, and here i is an ole nigga, still adoin' good in dis world, a-tellin' de white folks how to take care of de chilluns." josephine howard was born in slavery on the walton plantation near tuscaloosa, alabama. she does not know her age, but when mr. walton moved to texas, before the civil war, she was old enough to work in the fields. josephine is blind and very feeble. she lives with a daughter at arthur st., houston, texas. "lawd have mercy, i been here a thousand year, seems like. 'course i ain't been here so long, but it seems like it when i gits to thinkin' back. it was long time since i was born, long 'fore de war. mammy's name was leonora and she was cook for marse tim walton what had de plantation at tuscaloosa. dat am in alabamy. papa's name was joe tatum and he lived on de place 'jinin' ourn. course, papa and mamy wasn't married like folks now, 'cause dem times de white folks jes' put slave men and women together like hosses or cattle. "dey allus done tell us it am wrong to lie and steal, but why did de white folks steal my mammy and her mammy? dey lives clost to some water, somewheres over in africy, and de man come in a little boat to de sho' and tell dem he got presents on de big boat. most de men am out huntin' and my mammy and her mammy gits took out to dat big boat and dey locks dem in a black hole what mammy say so black you can't see nothin'. dat de sinfulles' stealin' dey is. "de captain keep dem locked in dat black hole till dat boat gits to mobile and dey is put on de block and sold. mammy is 'bout twelve year old and dey am sold to marse tim, but grandma dies in a month and dey puts her in de slave graveyard. "mammy am nuss gal till she git older and den cook, and den old marse tim puts her and papa together and she has eight chillen. i reckon marse tim warn't no wor'ser dan other white folks. de nigger driver sho' whip us, with de reason and without de reason. you never knowed. if dey done took de notion dey jes' lays it on you and you can't do nothin'. "one mornin' we is all herded up and mammy am cryin' and say dey gwine to texas, but can't take papa. he don't 'long to dem. dat de lastes' time we ever seed papa. us and de women am put in wagons but de men slaves am chained together and has to walk. "marse tim done git a big farm up by marshall but only live a year dere and his boys run de place. dey jes' like dey papa, work us and work us. lawd have mercy, i hear dat call in de mornin' like it jes' jesterday, 'all right, everybody out, and you better git out iffen you don't want to feel dat bullwhip 'cross you back.' "my gal i lives with don't like me to talk 'bout dem times. she say it ain't no more and it ain't good to think 'bout it. but when you has live in slave times you ain't gwine forgit dem, no, suh! i's old and blind and no 'count, but i's alive, but in slave times i'd be dead long time ago, 'cause white folks didn't have no use for old niggers and git shet of dem one way or t'other. "it ain't till de sojers comes we is free. dey wants us to git in de pickin', so my folks and some more stays. dey didn't know no place to go to. mammy done took sick and die and i hires out to cook for missy howard, and marries her coachman, what am woodson howard. we farms and comes to houston nigh sixty year ago. dey has mule cars den. woodson gits a job drayin' and 'fore he dies we raises three boys and seven gals, but all 'cept two gals am dead now. dey takes care of me, and dat all i know 'bout myself. lizzie hughes, blind negress of harrison county, texas, was born on christmas day, , a slave of dr. newton fall, near nacogdoches. lizzie married when she was eighteen and has lived near marshall since that time. she is cared for by a married daughter, who lives on lizzie's farm. "my name am lizzie fall hughes. i was borned on christmas at chireno, 'tween old nacogdoches town and san augustine. dat eighty-nine year ago in slavery time. my young master give me my age on a piece of paper when i married but the rats cut it up. "i 'longed to dr. fall and old miss nancy, his wife. they come from georgia. papa was named ed wilson fall and mammy was june. dr. newton fall had a big place at chireno and a hundred slaves. they lived in li'l houses round the edge of the field. we had everything we needed. dr. newton run a store and was a big printer. he had a printin' house at chireno and 'nother in california. "the land was red and they worked them big missouri mules and sho' raised somethin'. master had fifty head of cows, too, and they was plenty wild game. when master was gone he had a overseer, but tell him not to whip. he didn't 'lieve in rushin' his niggers. all the white folks at chireno was good to they niggers. on saturday night master give all the men a jug of syrup and a sack of flour and a ham or middlin' and the smokehouse was allus full of beef and pork. we had a good time on that place and the niggers was happy. i 'member the men go out in the mornin', singin': "'i went to the barn with a shinin', bright moon, i went to the wood a-huntin' a coon. the coon spied me from a sugar maple tree, down went my gun and up the tree went me. nigger and coon come tumblin' down, give the hide to master to take off to town, that coon was full of good old fat, and master brung me a new beaver hat.' "part of 'nother song go like this: "'master say, you breath smell of brandy, nigger say, no, i's lick 'lasses candy.' "when old master come to the lot and hear the men singin' like that, he say, 'them boys is lively this mornin', i's gwine git a big day's plowin' done. they did, too, 'cause them big missouri mules sho' tore up that red land. sometime they sing: "'this ain't christmas mornin', just a long summer day, hurry up, yellow boy and don't run 'way, grass in the cotton and weeds in the corn, get in the field, 'cause it soon be morn.' "at night when the hands come in they didn't do nothin' but eat and cut up round the quarters. they'd have a big ball in a big barn there on the place and sixty and seventy on the floor at once, singin': "'juba this and juba that, juba killed a yaller cat. juba this and juba that, hold you partner where you at.' "the whites preached to the niggers and the niggers preached to theyselves. gen'man sho' could preach good them times; everybody cried, they preached so good. i's a mourner when i git free. "i's big 'nough to work round the house when war starts, but not big 'nough to be studyin' 'bout marryin'. i's sho' sorry when we's sot free. old master didn't tell his niggers they free. he didn't want them to go. on a day he's gone, two white men come and showed us a piece of paper and say we's free now. one them men was a big mill man and told mama he'll give her $ . a month and feed her seven li'l niggers if she go cook for his millhands. papa done die in slavery, so mama goes with the man. i run off and hid under the house. i wouldn't leave till i seed master. when he come home he say, 'lizzie, why didn't you go?' i say, 'i don't want to leave my preserves and light bread.' he let me stay. "then i gits me a li'l man. he works for master in the store and i works round the house. master give me two dresses and a pair of shoes when i married. we lived with him a year or two and then come to marshall. my husband worked on public work and i kept house for white folks and we saved our money and buyed this li'l farm. my man's dead fourteen years now and my gal and her husband keeps the farm goin'. "me and my man didn't have nothin' when we left nacogdoches, but we works hard and saves our money and buyed this farm. it 'pear like these young niggers don't try to 'cumulate nothin'. [illustration: moses hursey] mose hursey believes he is about eighty-two years old. he was born in slavery on a plantation in louisiana, and was brought to texas by his parents after they were freed. mose has been a preacher most of his life, and now believes he is appointed by god to be "head prophet of the world." he lives with his daughter at tenth st., dallas, texas. "i was born somewhere in louisiana, but can't rec'lect the place exact, 'cause i was such a little chap when we left there. but i heared my mother and father say they belonged to marse morris, a fine gentleman, with everything fine. he sold them to marse jim boling, of red river county, in texas. so they changes their name from morris to boling, liza boling and charlie boling, they was. marse boling didn't buy my brother and sister, so that made me the olderest child and the onliest one. "the bolings had a 'normous big house and a 'normous big piece of land. the house was the finest i ever seen, white and two-story. he had about sixty slaves, and he thought a powerful lot of my folks, 'cause they was good workers. my mother, special, was a powerful 'ligious woman. "we lived right well, considerin'. we had a little log house like the rest of the niggers and i played round the place. eatin' time come, my mother brung a pot of peas or beans and cornbread or side meat. i had 'nother brother and sister comin' 'long then, and we had tin plates and cups and knives and spoons, and allus sot to our food. "we had 'nough of clothes, sich as they was. i wore shirttails out of duckings till i was a big boy. all the little niggers wore shirttails. my mother had fair to middlin' cotton dresses. "all week the niggers worked plantin' and hoein' and carin' for the livestock. they raised cotton and corn and veg'tables, and mules and horses and hawgs and sheep. on sundays they had meetin', sometimes at our house, sometimes at 'nother house. right fine meetin's, too. they'd preach and pray and sing--shout, too. i heared them git up with a powerful force of the spirit, clappin' they hands and walkin' round the place. they'd shout, 'i got the glory. i got that old time 'ligion in my heart.' i seen some powerful 'figurations of the spirit in them days. uncle billy preached to us and he was right good at preachin' and nat'rally a good man, anyways. we'd sing: "'sisters, won't you help me bear my cross, help me bear my cross, i been done wear my cross. i been done with all things here, 'cause i reach over zion's hill. sisters, won't you please help bear my cross, up over zion's hill?' "i seed a smart number of wagons and mules a-passin' along and some camp along the woods by our place. i heared they was a war and folks was goin' with 'visions and livestock. i wasn't much bigger'n a minute and i was scared clean to my wits. "then they's a time when paw says we'll be a-searchin' a place to stay and work on a pay way. they was a consider'ble many niggers left the bolings. the day we went away, which was 'cause 'twas the breakin' up of slavery, we went in the wagon, out the carriage gate in front the boling's place. as we was leavin', mr. boling called me and give me a cup sweet coffee. he thought consid'ble plenty of me. "we went to a place called mantua, or somethin' like that. my paw says he'll make a man of me, and he puts me to breakin' ground and choppin' wood. them was bad times. money was scarce and our feedin' was pore. "my paw died and maw and me and the children, nancy and margina and jessie and george, moves to a little place right outside sherman. maw took in washin' and ironin'. i went one week to school and the teacher said i learned fastest of any boy she ever see. she was a nice, white lady. maw took me out of school 'cause she needed me at home to tend the other children, so's she could work. i had a powerful yearnin' to read and write, and i studied out'n my books by myself and my friends helped me with the cipherin'. "i did whatever work i could find to do, but my maw said i was a different mood to the other children. i was allus of a 'ligious and serious turn of mind. i was baptised when i was fifteen and then when i was about twenty-five i heared a clear call to preach the gospel-word. i went to preachin' the word of gawd. i got married and raised a family of children, and i farmed and preached. "i was just a preacher till about thirty years ago, and then gawd started makin' a prophet out of me. today i am mose hursey, head prophet to the world. they is lesser prophets, but i is the main one. i became a great prophet by fastin' and prayin'. i fast mondays and wednesdays and fridays. i know gawd is feedin' the people through me. i see him in visions and he speaks to me. in i saw him at commerce and jefferson streets (dallas) and he had a great banner, sayin', 'all needs a pension.' in august this year i had a great vision of war in the eastern corner of the world. i seen miles of men marchin' and big guns and trenches filled with dead men. gawd tells me to tell the people to be prepared, 'cause the tides of war is rollin' this way, and all the thousands of millions of dollars they spend agin it ain't goin' to stop it. i live to tell people the word gawd speaks through me. [illustration: charley hurt] charley hurt, , was born a slave of john hurt, who owned a large plantation and over a hundred slaves, in oglethorpe county, georgia. charley stayed with his master for five years after the civil war. in charley moved to fort worth, and now lives at s. harding st. "yes, suh, i'm borned in slavery and not 'shamed of it, 'cause i can't help how i'm borned. dere am folks what wont say dey borned in slavery. "us plantation am near maxie, over in oglethorpe county, in georgia, and massa am john hurt and he have near a hunerd slaves. us live in de li'l cabin make from logs chink with mud and straw and twigs am mix with dat mud to make it hold. de big chimley am outside de cabin mostly, and am logs and mud, too. de cabin am 'bout ten by twenty feet and jus' one room. "would i like some dem rations we used to git, now? 'deed i would. dem was good, dat meat and cornmeal and 'lasses and plenty milk and sometimes butter. de meat am mostest pork, with some beef, 'cause massa raise plenty hawgs and tendin' meat curin' am my first work. i puts dat meat in de brine and den smokes de hams and shoulders. when hawg-killin' time come i'm busy watchin' de smokehouse, what am big, and hams and sich hung on racks 'bout six feet high from de fireplace. den it my duty to keep dat fire smoulderin' and jus' smokin'. de more smoke, de better. den i packs dat meat in hawgs heads and puts salt over each layer. dat am some meat! "i mus' tell you 'bout dat whiskey and brandy. massa have he own still and allus have three barrels or more whiskey and brandy on hand. den on christmas day, him puts a tub of whiskey or brandy in de yard and hangs tin cups 'round de tub. us helps ourselves. at first us start jokin' with each other, den starts to sing and everybody am happy. massa watches us and if one us gittin' too much, massa sends him to he cabin and he sleep it off. anyway, dat one day on massa's place all am happy and forgits dey am slaves. "de last christmas 'fore surrender i gits too much and am sick. gosh a-mighty! dat de sickest i ever be and dat de last time i gits drunk. yes, suh, dat spoil dis nigger's taste for whiskey. "now, 'bout whuppin's, dere am only one whuppin' what am give. jerry gits dat, 'cause he wont do what massa say. he tie jerry on de log and have de rawhide whip. "dere am system on dat plantation. everybody do he own work, sich as field hands, stock hands, de blacksmith and de shoemaker and de weavers and clothes makers. i'm all 'round worker and goes after de mail, jus' runnin' 'round de place. "when de war start, all massa's sons jines de army. he have three. john am de captain and james carry de flag and i guesses august am jus' de plain sojer. dey all comes home 'fore de war am finish. august git run over by de wheel of de cannon truck and it cripple he legs so he can't walk good. james gits sick with some kind fever misery and he am sent home. den john am shot in de shoulder and it stay sore and won't heal. one day jerry say to massa he want to look at dat sore. him see somethin' stickin' out and he pull it. it a piece of young massa's coat and de bullet have carry it into de flesh and it am dere a whole year. de sore gits all right after dat out. "'fore de boys goes to fightin' dey trains near de place where am de big field for to train hunerds of sojer boys. i likes dat, 'cause de drums goes, 'ter-ump, ter-ump, ter-ump, tump, tump,' and de fifes goes, 'te, te, ta, te, tat' and plays dixie. one day young massa trainin' dem sojers and he am walkin' backwards and facin' dem sojers, and jus' as him say, 'halt,' down he go, flat on he back. right away quick, him say, ''bout face,' 'cause him don't want dem sojers to laugh in he face, so he turn dem 'round. "when surrender come, all dem what not kilt comes home and dey have a big 'ception in maxie. dey have lots of long tables and de food am put on 'fore de train come in. dere was two coaches full of de boys and dey doesn't wait for dat train to stop. no, suh, dey crawls out de windows. well, dere am huggin' and kissin' of de homefolks, and dey all laughin' and cryin' at de same time, 'cause of de joy dey's feelin'. den dey all sets down to de feast. massa make de welcome talk. i done hide in de wagon full of hams and cakes and pies and dere a canvas over dat stuff, and dat how i gits to dat welcome home. "i crawls out 'fore dey unloads de wagon and 'fore long massa see me and him say, 'gosh for hemlock! boy, how comes you here?' i lets my face slip a li'l, 'bout half a laugh. i says, 'i rides under dat canvas.' dat start him laughin' and he tells de people dat i'm a pat'otic nigger. after dey all eats us niggers gits to eat. for once, i gits plenty pie and cake. "us never have much joyments in slave time. only when de corn ready for huskin' all de neighbors comes dere and a whole big crowd am a-huskin' and singin'. i can't 'member dem songs, 'cause i'm not much for singin'. one go like dis: "'pull de husk, break de ear; whoa, i's got de red ear here.' "when you finds de red ear, dat 'titles you to de prize, like kissin' de gal or de drink of brandy or somethin'. dey not 'nough red ears to suit us. "i'm thirteen year when surrender come. massa don't call us to him like other massas done. him jus' go 'mongst de folks and say, 'well, folks, yous am free now and no longer my prop'ty, and yous 'titled to pay for work. i 'member old jerry sings, 'free, free as de jaybird, free to flew like de jaybird. whew!' "some de cullud folks stays and some goes. mostest dem stays and works de land on shares. i stays till i'm eighteen year and den i works for a farmer den for a blacksmith den some carpenter work and some railroadin'. de fact am, i works at anything i could find to does. i does dat most my life. "it good for me to stay with massa hurt after freedom, 'cause den day plenty trouble in every place. dere am fightin' 'twixt white and cullud folks over votin' and sich. dey try 'lect my brudder to congress one time, but he not 'lect, 'cause de white man what am runnin' 'gainst him gits a cullud preacher to run 'gainst dem both. dat split de cullud votes and de white man am 'lect. i votes like de white man say, couple times, but after dat i stops votin'. it ain't right for me to vote 'less i knows how and why. i larns to read and den starts votin' 'gain. "after de war de ku klux am org'nize and dey makes de niggers plenty trouble. sometimes de niggers has it comin' to 'em and lots of times dey am 'posed on. dere a old, cullud man name george and he don't trouble nobody, but one night de white caps--dat what dey called--comes to george's place. now, george know of some folks what am whupped for no-cause, so he prepare for dem white caps. when dey gits to he house george am in de loft. he tell dem he done nothin' wrong and for dem to go 'way, or he kill dem. dey say he gwine have a free sample of what he git if he do wrong and one dem white caps starts up de ladder to git george and george shoot him dead. 'nother white cap starts shootin' through de ceilin'. he can't see george but through de cracks george can see and he shoots de second feller. so dey leaves and say dey come back. george runs to he old massa and he takes george to de law men. never nothin' am done 'bout him killin' de white caps, 'cause dem white caps goes 'round 'busing niggers. "i comes to texas 'bout year since and gits by purty good till de depression comes, den it hard for me. my age am 'gainst me, too, and many de time i's wish for some dat old ham and bacon on de old plantation. "first i marries ann arrant, in dat was, and us have three chillen but dey all dead. us git sep'rate in and i marries mary durham in , and us still livin' together. us have no chillen. mammy have ten chillen but i'm de only one what am livin' now, 'cause i'm de youngest. [illustration: wash ingram] wash ingram, a year old negro, was born a slave of capt. jim wall, of richmond, va. his father, charley wall ingram, ran away and secured work in a gold mine. later, his mother died and capt. wall sold wash and his two brothers to jim ingram, of carthage, texas. when wash's father learned this, he overtook his sons before they reached texas and put himself back in bondage, so he could be with his children. wash served as water carrier for the confederate soldiers at the battle of mansfield, la. he now lives with friends on the elysian fields road, seven miles southeast of marshall, texas. "i don' know just how ole i is. i was 'bout when de war was over. i was bo'n on captain wall's place in richmond, virgini'. pappy's name was charlie and mammy's name was ca'line. i had six sisters and two brothers and all de sisters is dead. i haven't heard from my brothers since master turn us loose, a year after de war. "pappy say dat he and mammy was sold and traded lots of times in virgini'. we always went by de name of whoever we belonged to. i first worked as a roustabout boy dere on capt. wall's place in virgini'. he was sho' a big man, weighed more'n pounds. he owned lots of niggers and worked lots of land. the white folks was good to us, but pappy was a fightin' man and he run off and got a job in a gold mine in virgini'. "after pappy run away, mammy died and den one day de overseer herded up a big bunch of us niggers and driv us to barnum's tradin' ya'd down in mississippi. dat's a place where dey sold and traded niggers jus' lak stock. i cried when capt. wall sold me, 'cause dat was one man dat sho' was good to his niggers. but he had too many slaves. "cotton was a good price den and dem slave buyers had plenty of money. we was sold to jim ingram, of carthage. he bought a big gang of slaves and refugeed part of 'em to louisiana and part to texas. we come to texas in ox wagons. while we was on the way, camped at keachie, louisiana, a man come ridin' into camp and someone say to me, 'wash, dar's your pappy.' i didn' believe it 'cause pappy was workin' in a gold mine in virgini'. some of de men told pappy his chillen is in camp and he come and fin' me and my brothers. den he jine master ingram's slaves so he can be with his chillen. "master ingram had a big plantation down near carthage and lots of niggers. he also buyed land, cleared it and sol' it. i plowed with oxen. we had a overseer and sev'ral taskmasters. dey whip de niggers for not workin' right, or for runnin' 'way or pilferin' roun' master's house. we woke up at four o'clock and worked from sunup to sundown. dey give us an hour for dinner. dem dat work roun' de house et at tables with plates. dem dat work in de field was drove in from work and fed jus' like hosses at a big, long wooden trough. dey had to eat with a wooden spoon. de trough and de food was clean and always plenty of it, and we stood up to eat. we went to bed soon after supper durin' de week for dat's 'bout all we feel like doin' after workin' twelve hours. we slep' in wooden beds what had corded rope mattresses. "we had to learn de best way we could, 'cause dere was no schools. we had church out in de woods. i didn' see no money till after de surrender. guess we didn' need any, 'cause dey give us food and clothes and tobacco. we didn' have to buy nothin'. i had broadcloth clothes, a blue jean overcoat and good shoes and boots. "de niggers had heap better times dan now. now we work all time and can't git nothin'. sat'day night we would have parties and dance and play ring plays. we had de parties dere in a big double log house. dey would give us whiskey and wine and cherry brandy, but dere wasn' no shootin' or gamblin'. dey didn' 'low it. de men and women didn' do like dey do now. if dey had such carryin's on as dey do now, de white folks would have whipped 'em good. "i 'member dat war and i sees dem cannons and hears 'em. i toted water for de soldiers what fought at de battle of mansfield. master ingram had slaves when de war was over but he didn' turn us loose till a year after surrender. he telled us dat de gov'ment goin' to give us acres of land and a pair of mules, but we didn' git nothin'. after master ingram turn us loose, pappy bought a place at de berry, texas, and i live with him till after i was grown. den i marry and move to louisiana. i come back to texas two years ago and lived with my friends here ever since. my wife died years ago and i had a hard time 'cause i don' have no folks, but i's managed to git someone to let me work for somethin' to eat, a few clothes and a place to sleep. [illustration: carter j. jackson] carter j. jackson, , was born in montgomery, alabama, a slave of parson dick rogers. in the rogers family brought carter to texas and he worked for them as a slave until four years after emancipation. carter was with his master's son, dick, when he was killed at pittsburg, pa. carter married and moved to tatum in . "if you's wants to know 'bout slavery time, it was hell. i's born in montgomery, over yonder in alabama. my pappy named charles and come from florida and mammy named charlotte and her from tennessee. they was sold to parson rogers and brung to alabama by him. i had seven brothers call frank and benjamin and richardson and anderson and miles, emanuel and gill, and three sisters call milanda, evaline and sallie, but i don't know if any of 'em are livin' now. "parson rogers come to texas in ' and brung 'bout slaves and my first work was to tote water in the field. parson lived in a good, big frame house, and the niggers lived in log houses what had dirt floors and chimneys, and our bunks had rope slats and grass mattress. i sho' wish i could have cotch myself sleepin' on a feather bed them days. i wouldn't woke up till kingdom come. "we et vegetables and meat and ash cake. you could knock you mammy in the head, eatin' that ash cake bread. i ain't been fit since. we had hominy cooked in the fireplace in big pots that ain't bad to talk 'bout. deer was thick them days and we sot up sharp stobs inside the pea field and them young bucks jumps over the fence and stabs themselves. that the only way to cotch them, 'cause they so wild you couldn't git a fair shot with a rifle. "massa rogers had a acre plantation and in cultivation and he had a overseer and steve o'neal was the nigger driver. the horn to git up blowed 'bout four o'clock and if we didn't fall out right now, the overseer was in after us. he tied us up every which way and whip us, and at night he walk the quarters to keep us from runnin' 'round. on sunday mornin' the overseer come 'round to each nigger cabin with a big sack of shorts and give us 'nough to make bread for one day. "i used to steal some chickens, 'cause we didn't have 'nough to eat, and i don' think i done wrong, 'cause the place was full of 'em. we sho' earned what we et. i'd go up to the big house to make fires and lots of times i seed the mantel board lined with greenbacks, 'tween mantel and wall and i's snitched many a $ . bill, but it 'federate money. "me and four of her chillen standin' by when mammy's sold for $ . . cryin' didn't stop 'em from sellin' our mammy 'way from us. "i 'member the war was tough and i went 'long with young massa dick when he went to the war, to wait on him. i's standin' clost by when he was kilt under a big tree in pittsburg, and 'fore he die he ask wes tatum, one the neighbor boys from home, to take care of me and return me to massa george. "i worked on for massa rogers four year after that, jus' like in slavery time, and one day he call us and say we can go or stay. so i goes with my pappy and lives with him till . then i marries and works on the railroad when it's builded from longview to big sandy, 'bout . i works there sev'ral years and i raises seven chillen. after i quits the railroad i works wherever i can, on farms or in town. [illustration: james jackson] james jackson, , was born a slave to the alexander family, in caddo parish, la. when he was about two, his master moved to travis county, texas. a short time later he and his two brothers were stolen and sold to dr. duvall, in bastrop co., texas. he worked around austin till he married, when he moved to taylor and then to kaufman. in he went to fort worth where he has lived ever since. "i was bo'n at caddo parish, dats in louisiana, on de doc alexander plantation. my mother says i was bo'n on de th day of december, in de year of . i guess dat's right, 'cause i's years ole dis comin' december. "jus' 'bout dat time dey started shippin' de darkies to texas. my marster moved to travis county, texas, and tuk all his slaves wid him. i was too young to 'member, but my mother, she told me 'bout it. "it wasn' long after we was on marster alexander's new place in travis county, till one night a man rode up on a hoss and stole me and my two brothers and rode away wid us. he tuk us to bastrop county and sold us to doc duvall. marster duvall sold my brother right after he bought us, but me and john, we stayed wid him till de slaves was freed. "on marster duvall's plantation de slaves all lived in log cabins back of de big house. dey was one room, two rooms and three room cabins, dependin' on de size of de family. most had dirt floors, but some of 'em had log slabs. we had dese ole wooden beds wid a rope stretch 'cross de bottom and a mattress of straw or cotton dat de niggers got in de fiel'. we had lots to eat, like biscuit, cornbread, meat and sich stuff. most times dey made coffee outta parch cornmeal. we had gardens and raised most of de stuff to eat. "i herds sheep and is houseboy most of de time. when i was ole enough, i picks cotton. i was jus' learnin' when de slaves was freed. marster duvall had over acres in cotton and he kep' us in de fiel' all de time, 'cept saturday afternoon and sunday. "dey had meetin' and dances saturday nights. i was too young to 'member jus' what de songs was, but dey had a fiddle and played all night long. on ever' sunday de niggers went to church in de evenin'. dey had a white preacher in de mornin' and a cullud preacher in de evenin'. "marster duvall would whip de niggers who was disobedience and he jus' call dem up and ask dem what was de trouble, den he would whip dem wid a cowhide or a rope whip. we could go anywhere iffen we had a pass, but if we didn' de paddlerollers would ketch us. they was kinda like policemen we got today. "in slavery, dey traded and sold niggers like dey do hosses and mules. dey carry dem to de court house and put dem on de block and auction 'em off. some sold for roun' $ , . it was hard to sell one wid scars on him, 'cause nobody wanted him. i seen 'em come by in droves, all chained together. "when de slaves was free dey was sho' happy. dey all got together and had a kin' of cel'bration. marster told dem if dey wanted to stay and help make de crop, he'd give 'em cents a day and a place to stay. some tuk him up on dat and stayed, but a lot of dem left dere. me and my brother, we started walkin' to austin. in austin we finds our mother, she was working for judge paschal. she hires us out to one place and den another. "since freedom i done most everything anybody could do. i been porter and waiter in hotels and rest'rants. i been factory hand, and worked for carpenters and in de roun' house. i picked cotton and worked on de farm. "i been married years. i gits married at home, like civilize folks do. i raised a big family, chillen, but only five is alive today. i moved here in and looks like i's here till i die. maggie jackson was born a slave of the sam oliver family, in cass co., texas, near douglasville. she is about years old and her memory is not very good, so her story gives few details. she lives with her daughter near douglasville, on highway # . "i am about years old and was a chile during slavery times. my papa's name was tom spencer hall and my mama's name was margaret hall. my brothers and sisters was maria and barbara and alice and octavia and andrew and thomas and hillary and eugenia and silas and thomas. we was a big fam'ly. "my mama was sam oliver's slave, but my papa lived a mile away with masta sam carlow. we lived in box houses and slep' on wood beds and we et co'nbread and peas and grits and lots of rabbits and 'possums. mama cooked it on the fireplace. "masta sam's house was big and had six big rooms with a hall through the middle and the kitchen sot way off in the ya'd and had a big cellar under it. masta sam had a big orchard and put apples and pears in the cellar for the winter. my brothers use' to slip under there and steal them and mama'd whip 'em. "the big house set 'mong big oak trees and the slaves houses was scattered roun' the back. masta sam had a ole cowhorn he use' to blow for the niggers to come outta the fiel'. "mos' all us chillen wen' fishin' on saturday and we'd fish with pins. one day i slipped off and caught a whole string of fish. "we learned to read and write and we wen' to church with the white folks. masta sam was good to us and gave us plenty food and clothes. "i never was 'fraid of haints and i never see none, but i know some seen 'em. "i married john jackson in a white muslin dress and we was married by dan sherman, a cullud preacher from jefferson. i married john 'cause i loved him and we didn' fuss and fight. i has five chillen and five grandchillen. [illustration: martin jackson (a)] [illustration: martin jackson (b)] martin jackson, who calls himself a "black texan", well deserves to select a title of more distinction, for it is quite possible that he is the only living former slave who served in both the civil war and the world war. he was born in bondage in victoria co., texas, in , the property of alvy fitzpatrick. this self-respecting negro is totally blind, and when a person touches him on the arm to guide him he becomes bewildered and asks his helper to give verbal directions, up, down, right or left. it may be he has been on his own so long that he cannot, at this late date, readjust himself to the touch of a helping hand. his mind is uncommonly clear and he speaks with no negro colloquialisms and almost no dialect. following directions as to where to find martin jackson, "the most remarkable negro in san antonio," a researcher made his way to an old frame house at center st., walked up the steps and through the house to an open door of a rear room. there, on an iron bed, lay a long, thin negro, smoking a cigarette. he was dressed in a woolen undershirt and black trousers and his beard and mustache were trimmed much after the fashion of white gallants of the gay nineties. his head was remarkably well-shaped, with striking eminences in his forehead over his brows. after a moment the intruder spoke and announced his mission. the old negro, who is stone blind, quickly admitted that he was martin jackson, but before making any further comment he carried on an efficient interview himself; he wanted to know who the caller was, who had directed the visit, and just what branch of the federal service happened to be interested in the days of slavery. these questions satisfactorily answered, he went into his adventures and experiences, embellishing the highlights with uncommon discernment and very little prodding by the researcher. * * * * * "i have about years of good memory to call on. i'm ninety, and so i'm not counting my first five years of life. i'll try to give you as clear a picture as i can. if you want to give me a copy of what you are going to write, i'll appreciate it. maybe some of my children would like to have it. "i was here in texas when the civil war was first talked about. i was here when the war started and followed my young master into it with the first texas cavalry. i was here during reconstruction, after the war. i was here during the european world war and the second week after the united states declared war on germany i enlisted as cook at camp leon springs. "this sounds as if i liked the war racket. but, as a matter of fact, i never wore a uniform--grey coat or khaki coat--or carried a gun, unless it happened to be one worth saving after some confederate soldier got shot. i was official lugger-in of men that got wounded, and might have been called a red cross worker if we had had such a corps connected with our company. my father was head cook for the battalion and between times i helped him out with the mess. there was some difference in the food served to soldiers in and ! "just what my feelings was about the war, i have never been able to figure out myself. i knew the yanks were going to win, from the beginning. i wanted them to win and lick us southerners, but i hoped they was going to do it without wiping out our company. i'll come back to that in a minute. as i said, our company was the first texas cavalry. col. buchell was our commander. he was a full-blooded german and as fine a man and a soldier as you ever saw. he was killed at the battle of marshall and died in my arms. you may also be interested to know that my old master, alvy fitzpatrick, was the grandfather of governor jim ferguson. "lots of old slaves closes the door before they tell the truth about their days of slavery. when the door is open, they tell how kind their masters was and how rosy it all was. you can't blame them for this, because they had plenty of early discipline, making them cautious about saying anything uncomplimentary about their masters. i, myself, was in a little different position than most slaves and, as a consequence, have no grudges or resentment. however, i can tell you the life of the average slave was not rosy. they were dealt out plenty of cruel suffering. "even with my good treatment, i spent most of my time planning and thinking of running away. i could have done it easy, but my old father used to say, 'no use running from bad to worse, hunting better.' lots of colored boys did escape and joined the union army, and there are plenty of them drawing a pension today. my father was always counseling me. he said, 'every man has to serve god under his own vine and fig tree.' he kept pointing out that the war wasn't going to last forever, but that our forever was going to be spent living among the southeners, after they got licked. he'd cite examples of how the whites would stand flatfooted and fight for the blacks the same as for members of their own family. i knew that all was true, but still i rebelled, from inside of me. i think i really was afraid to run away, because i thought my conscience would haunt me. my father knew i felt this way and he'd rub my fears in deeper. one of his remarks still rings in my ears: 'a clear conscience opens bowels, and when you have a guilty soul it ties you up and death will not for long desert you.' "no, sir, i haven't had any education. i should have had one, though. my old missus was sorry, after the war, that she didn't teach me. her name, before she married my old master, was mrs. long. she lived in new york city and had three sons. when my old master's wife died, he wrote up to a friend of his in new york, a very prominent merchant named c.c. stewart. he told this friend he wanted a wife and gave him specifications for one. well, mrs. long, whose husband had died, fitted the bill and she was sent down to texas. she became mrs. fitzpatrick. she wasn't the grandmother of governor ferguson. old fitzpatrick had two wives that preceded mrs. long. one of the wives had a daughter named fanny fitzpatrick and it was her that was the texas' governor's mother. i seem to have the complicated family tree of my old master more clear than i've got my own, although mine can be put in a nutshell: i married only once and was blessed in it with years of devotion. i had children and a big crop of grandchildren. "my earliest recollection is the day my old boss presented me to his son, joe, as his property. i was about five years old and my new master was only two. "it was in the battle of marshall, in louisiana, that col. buchell got shot. i was about three miles from the front, where i had pitched up a kind of first-aid station. i was all alone there. i watched the whole thing. i could hear the shooting and see the firing. i remember standing there and thinking the south didn't have a chance. all of a sudden i heard someone call. it was a soldier, who was half carrying col. buchell in. i didn't do nothing for the colonel. he was too far gone. i just held him comfortable, and that was the position he was in when he stopped breathing. that was the worst hurt i got when anybody died. he was a friend of mine. he had had a lot of soldiering before and fought in the indian war. "well, the battle of marshall broke the back of the texas cavalry. we began straggling back towards new orleans, and by that time the war was over. the soldiers began to scatter. they was a sorry-lookin' bunch of lost sheep. they didn't know where to go, but most of 'em ended up pretty close to the towns they started from. they was like homing pigeons, with only the instinct to go home and, yet, most of them had no homes to go to. "no, sir, i never went into books. i used to handle a big dictionary three times a day, but it was only to put it on a chair so my young master could sit up higher at the table. i never went to school. i learned to talk pretty good by associating with my masters in their big house. "we lived on a ranch of about , acres close to the jackson county line in victoria county, about miles from san antonio. just before the war ended they sold the ranch, slaves and all, and the family, not away fighting, moved to galveston. of course, my father and me wasn't sold with the other blacks, because we was away at war. my mother was drowned years before when i was a little boy. i only remember her after she was dead. i can take you to the spot in the river today where she was drowned. she drowned herself. i never knew the reason behind it, but it was said she started to lose her mind and preferred death to that." at this point in the old negro's narrative the sound of someone singing was heard. a moment later the door to the house slammed shut and in accompaniment to the tread of feet in the kitchen came this song: "i sing because i'm happy, and i sing because i'm free-- his eyes is on the sparrow and i know he watches me." the singer glanced in the bedroom and the song ended with both embarrassment and anger: "father! why didn't you say you had callers?" it was not long, however, before the singer, mrs. maggie jackson, daughter-in-law of old martin jackson, joined in the conversation. "the master's name was usually adopted by a slave after he was set free. this was done more because it was the logical thing to do and the easiest way to be identified than it was through affection for the master. also, the government seemed to be in a almighty hurry to have us get names. we had to register as someone, so we could be citizens. well, i got to thinking about all us slaves that was going to take the name fitzpatrick. i made up my mind i'd find me a different one. one of my grandfathers in africa was called jeaceo, and so i decided to be jackson." after this clear-headed negro had posed for his photograph, the researcher took his leave and the old blind man bade him a gracious "good-bye." he stood as if watching his new friend walking away, and then lighted a cigarette. "how long have you been smoking, martin?" called back the researcher. "i picked up the deadly habit," answered martin, "over seventy-five years ago." nancy jackson, about years old, was born in madison co., tennessee, a slave of the griff lacy family. she was married during slavery and was the mother of three children when she was freed. in , nancy claims, she was brought to texas by her owner, and has lived in panola co. all her life. she has no proof of her age and, of course, may be in the late nineties instead of over one hundred, as she thinks. she lives with her daughter about five miles west of tatum, tex. "i's live in panola county now going on year and that a mighty long time for to 'member back, but i'll try to rec'lect. i's born in tennessee and i think it's in or . i lives with my baby chile what am now year old and she's born when i's 'bout 'bout . but i ain't sho' 'bout my age, noways. "massa griff fetches us to texas when i a baby and my brudders what am redic and anthony and essex and allen and brick and my sisters what am ann and matty and charlotte, we all come to texas. mammy come with us but pappy was sold off the lacy place and stays in tennessee. "massa had the bigges' house in them parts and a passel of slaves. mammy's name was letha, and we have a purty good place to live and massa not bad to us. we was treated fair, i guesses, but they allus whipped us niggers for somethin'. but when we got sick they'd git the doctor, 'cause losin' a nigger like losin' a pile of money in them days. "massa sometimes outlines the bible to us and we had a song what we'd sing sometimes: "'stand your storm, stand your storm, till the wind blows over, stand your storm, stand your storm, i's a sojer of the cross, a follower of the lamb.' "we was woke by a bell and called to eat by a bell and put to bed by that bell and if that bell ring outta time you'd see the niggers jumpin' rail fences and cotton rows like deers or something, gettin' to that house, 'cause that mean something bad wrong at massa's house. "i marries right here in panola county while slavery still here and my brother-in-law marries me and lewis blakely, and i's 'bout nineteen. my husban' 'longed to the blakely's and after the weddin' he had to go back to them and they 'lowed him come to see me once a week on saturday and he could stay till sunday. i works on for the lacy's more'n a year after slavery till lewis come got me and we moved to ourselves. "i 'member one big time we done have in slavery. massa gone and he wasn't gone. he left the house 'tendin' go on a visit and missy and her chillen gone and us niggers give a big ball the night they all gone. the leader of that ball had on massa's boots and he sing a song he make up: "'ole massa's gone to philiman york and won't be back till july th to come; fac' is, i don't know he'll be back at all, come on all you niggers and jine this ball.' "that night they done give that big ball, massa had blacked up and slip back in the house and while they singin' and dancin', he sittin' by the fireplace all the time. 'rectly he spit, and the nigger who had on he boots recernizes him and tries climb up the chimmey." [illustration: richard jackson] richard jackson, harrison county farmer, was born in , a slave of watt rosborough. richard's family left the rosboroughs when the negroes were freed, and moved to a farm near woodlawn. richard married when he was twenty-five and moved to an adjoining farm, which he now owns. "i was born on the rosborough plantation in and 'longed to old man watt rosborough. he brung my mammy out of north carolina, but my pappy died when i was a baby, and mammy married will jackson. besides me they was six brothers, jack and nathan, josh and bill and ben and mose. i had three sisters named matilda and charity and anna. "i 'members my mammy's father, jack, but don't know where he come from. i heared him tell of fightin' the indians on the frontier, and one mammy's brothers was shot with a indian arrow. "the plantation jined the sabine river and old man watt owned many a slave. the old home is still standin' cross the road from rosborough springs, nine miles south of marshall. "they was a white overseer on the place and mammy's stepdaddy, kit, was niggerdriver and done all the whippin', 'cept of mammy. she was bad 'bout fightin' and the overseer allus tended to her. one day he come to the quarters to whip her and she up and throwed a shovel full of live coals from the fireplace in his bosom and run out the door. he run her all over the place 'fore he cotched her. i seed the overseer tie her down and whip her. the niggers wasn't whipped much 'cept for fightin' 'mongst themselves. "i 'members mammy allus sayin' the darkies had to pray out in the woods, 'cause they ain't 'lowed to make no fuss round the house. she say they was fed and clothed well 'nough, but the overseer worked the lights out of the darkies. i wasn't big 'nough to do field work, but 'member goin' to the field to take mammy's pipe to her. they wasn't no matches in them days, and i allus took fire from the house and sot a stump afire in the field, so mammy could light her pipe. "none of our folks larnt to read and write till after slavery. my oldes' brother was larnin' to read on the sly, but the overseer found out 'bout it and stopped him. he found some letters writ on the wall of the quarter with charcoal and made the darkies tell him who writ it. my brother jack done it. the overseer didn't whip him, but told him he darns't do it 'gain. "after surrender my folks left the rosboroughs right straight and moved clost to woodlawn. my oldes' hired out in shreveport. when they asks him what he's worth, he told them he didn't know, but he was allus worth a heap of money when anyone wanted to buy him from the rosboroughs. "the ku kluxers come to our house in woodlawn, and i got scart and crawled under the bed. they told mammy they wasn't gwine hurt her, but jus' wanted water to drink. they didn't call each other by names. when the head man spoke to any of them he'd say, number , or number , and like that. "i thunk i heared ghosts on the driscoll place once, up in the loft of the house. i heared them plain as day. my step-pa done die there and might of been his ghost. we moved away right straight, and old man driscoll had to burn that house down after that, 'cause wouldn't none the darkies live in it. "the only time i voted was when they put whiskey out. i heared a white man one time in marshall, makin' a speech on the square. he said he was gwine tell us darkies why they didn't low us to vote. he didn't tell us, 'cause the law come out and made him git out the wagon and leave. "this young race is sho' livin' fast, but i guess they's all right. things is jes' different now to when i was a boy. when i was a boy, folks didn't mind helpin' one 'nother, but now they is in too big a hurry to pay you any mind. [illustration: john james] john james, , was born a slave to john chapman, on a large plantation in east baton rouge parish, louisiana. john took the name of his father, who was owned by john james. john and his mother stayed with mr. chapman for six years after they were freed, then john went to missouri, where he worked for the m. k. & t. railroad for twenty years. he then came to texas, and now lives at s. jennings ave., in fort worth. "i doesn't have so much mind for slavery days, 'cause i's too young then, but i 'members when surrender come and some befo' dat. i 'members my mammy lef' me in de nursery with all de other cullud babies when she go work in de field. de old nurse, jane, tooks care of us. "dat were de big place what massa john have and dere 'bout fifty cullud families on de place, so it am more'n a hunerd slaves what he own. i's runnin' round, like kids am allus doin', first one place, den t'other, watchin' everything. de big bell ring in de mornin' and you'd see all de cullud folks comin' from dey cabins, gwineter de kitchen to breakfast. dat allus befo' daybreak, and dey have to eat by de light of de pine torch. it am de pineknot torch. de meals am all cooked dere and dey eat at long tables. de young'uns from six to ten year eats at de second table and little'r den dat, in de nursery. "i sho' 'members 'bout dat nursery feedin'. i never forgits how dat cornmeal mush and milk am served in de big pans. dey gives we uns de wooden spoon and we'uns crowds round de pans like little pigs. i can see it now. us push and shove and de nurse walk here and dere, tryin' to make us eat like humans. she have to cuff one of us once in a while. if she don't, dem kids be in de pans with both feet. when dey done eatin', dey faces am all smear with mush and milk. "massa allus feed plenty rations, only after war starts de old folks say dey am short of dis and dat, 'cause dem sojers done took it for de army. "after breakfast i'd see a crew go here and a crew go dere. some of 'em spin and weave and make clothes, and some tan de leather or do de blacksmith work, and mos' of 'em go out in de field to work. dey works till dark and den come home and work round de quarters. "dem quarters was 'bout ten by fifteen feet, each one, with a hole for de window dat am not dere and de floor am de ground, and de straw bunks for to sleep on. in us cabin am mammy and us three chillen and our aunt. my pappy done die befo' i 'member him. some kind stomach mis'ry kilt him. "one day massa chapman call all us to de front gallery. us didn't know what gwine to happen, 'cause it not ord'nary to git called from de work. him ring de bell and dat am sho' 'nough de liberty bell, 'cause him read from de long paper and say, 'you is slaves no more. you is free, jus' like i is, and have to 'pend on yourselves for de livin'. all what wants to stay i'll pay money to work, and a share of de crop, iffen you don't want money.' mostest of dem stays, and some what goes gits into troublement, 'cause den dere's trouble 'twixt de white folks and de cullud folks. some de niggers thinks they am bigger dan de white folks, 'cause dey free, and de klu klux, what us call white caps, puts dem in de place dey 'longs. "i gits chased by dem white caps once, jus' befo' us leave massa. dat am when i's 'bout thirteen year old. i's 'bout a mile off de place without de pass and it am de rule them days, all cullud folks must have de pass to show where dey 'longs and where dey gwine. i has no business to be off de place without de pass. 'twas a gal.. sho', day am it. us walks down de road 'bout a mile and am settin' 'hind some bushes, off de plantation. us see dem white caps comin' down de road on hossback and us ain't much scart, 'cause us think dey can't see us 'hind dem bushes. but dat leader say, 'whoa,' and dey could look down on us, 'cause dey on hossback. well, gosh for 'mighty! dere us am and can't move den us so scart. one dem white caps says, 'what you doin', nigger?' 'jus' settin' here,' i telt him. 'yous better start runnin', 'cause us gwine try cotch you,' dey says. "us two niggers am down dat road befo' dem words am outten he mouth. dey lets de hosses canter 'hind we'uns and us try to run faster. fin'ly us gits home and dat de last time i goes off without de pass. "mammy moves to baton rouge soon after dat and works as de housemaid. us stay dere two year and i gits some little jobs and den i goes to work for de railroad in sedalia, up in missouri, and dere i works as section hand for de katy railroad for twenty year. den i gits through and comes to texas. "i works at anything till eight year ago and den i's no count for work so i's livin' on de pension, what am $ . de month. "i's never married. i jus' couldn't make de hitch. dem what i wants, don't want me. dem what wants me, i don't want, so dere am never no agreement. "no, i's never voted, 'cause i done heared 'bout de trouble dey has over in baton rouge 'bout niggers votin'. i jus' don't like trouble, and for de few years what am left, i's gwine keep de record of stayin' 'way from it. thomas johns, knopp st., cleburne, texas, was born april , , in chambers co., alabama. he belonged to col. robert johns, who had come to alabama from virginia. after johns was freed he stayed with his old owner's family until , when he moved to texas. "my father's name was george and my mother's name was nellie. my father was born in africa. him and two of his brothers and one sister was stole and brought to savannah, georgia, and sold. dey was de chillen of a chief of de kiochi tribe. de way dey was stole, dey was asked to a dance on a ship which some white man had, and my aunt said it was early in de mornin' when dey foun' dey was away from de land, and all dey could see was de water all 'round. she said they was members of de file-tooth tribe of niggers. my father's teeth was so dat only de front ones met together when he closed his mouth. de back ones didn' set together. w'en his front teeth was together, de back ones was apart, sorta like a v on its side. "my mother was born a slave in virginia. she married there and had a little girl, and they was sold away from the husband and brought to alabama. she said her mother was part indian and part nigger. her father was part white and part nigger, but he look about as white as a white man. "my brother's names was john, jake and dave. my sister's names was ann, katie, judie and easter. "i belonged to col. robert johns. he owned or slaves. we was well treated and had the same food the white folks did, and didn' none of us go hongry. col. johns didn' have his niggers whipped, neither. "marster's place had acres in it. we raised cotton, corn and rice, vegetables and every sort of fruit that would grow there, a lot of it growin' wild. we et mostly hog meat, but we had some beef and mutton, too. when we'd kill a beef, we'd send some to all the neighbors. "we done a good day's work, but didn' have to work after night 'less it was necessary. we was allowed to stop at o'clock and have time for rest 'fore goin' back to work. other slave owners roun' our place wasn't as good to dere slaves, would work 'em hard and half starve 'em. and some marsters or overseers would whip dere niggers pretty hard, sometimes whip 'em to death. marster johns didn' have no overseer. he seed to the work and my father was foreman. for awhile after old marster died, in or , i forget which now, we had a overseer, john sewell. he was mean. he whipped the chillen and my mother told miss lucy, old marster's oldest girl. "we was allus well treated by old marster. we was called, 'john's free niggers,' not dat we was free, but 'cause we was well treated. jesse todd, his place joined ours, had slaves, and he treated 'em mighty bad. he whipped some of 'em to death. a man sold him two big niggers which was brothers and they was so near white you couldn' hardly tell 'em from a white man. some people thought the man what sold 'em was their daddy. the two niggers worked good and dey hadn' never been whipped and dey wouldn' stand for bein' whipped. one mornin' todd come up to 'em and told de oldest to take his shirt off. he say, 'marster, what you wan' me to take my shirt off for?' todd say, 'i told you to take your shirt off.' de nigger say, 'marster, i ain' never took my shirt off for no man.' todd run in de house and got his gun and come back and shot de nigger dead. his brother fell down by him where he lay on de groun'. todd run back to load his gun again, it bein' a single shot. todd's wife and son grabbed him and dey had all dey coul' do to keep him from comin' out and killin' de other nigger. "marse johns had chillen. de house dey lived in was colonyal style and had rooms. i was bo'n in dat house. "de slaves had log cabins. we wore some cotton clothes in de summer but in de winter we wore wool clothes. we allus had shoes. a shoemaker would come 'round once a year and stay maybe days, makin' shoes for everybody on de place; den in about months he would come back and half-sole and make other repairs to de shoes. we made all our clothes on de place. we wove light wool cloth for summer and heavy for winter. "i could take raw cotton and card and spin it on a spinnin' wheel into thread, fine enough to be sewed with a needle. we woun' de thread on a broche, make like and 'bout de size of a ice pick. de thread was den woun' on a reel 'bout de size of a forewheel of a wagon, and de reel would turn times and den 'cluck'. dat was for dem to be able to tell we was workin'. "dere was plenty wild game, possums, rabbits, turkey and so on. dere was fish, too, in de creek. i was de leader of de bunch. we would ketch little fish in de creek. we'd cook a lot of fish and den we'd put a rag rug in de yard under a big mulberry tree and pour de fish out on dat and den eat 'em. "old marster never beat his slaves and he didn' sell 'em. but some of de owners did. if a owner had a big woman slave and she had a little man for her husban' and de owner had a big man slave, dey would make de little husban' leave, and make de woman let de big man be her husban', so's dere be big chillen, which dey could sell well. if de man and woman refused, dey'd get whipped. "course whippin' made a slave hard to sell, maybe couldn' be sold, 'cause when a man went to buy a slave he would make him strip naked and look him over for whip marks and other blemish, jus' like dey would a horse. but even if it done damage to de sale to whip him, dey done it, 'cause dey figgered, kill a nigger, breed another--kill a mule, buy another. "i'll never forget de rice patch. it shore got me some whippin's, 'cause my daddy tell me to watch de birds 'way from dat rice, and sometimes dey'd get to it. it jus' seem like de blackbirds jus' set 'round and watched for dat rice to grow up where dey could get it. we would cut a block off a pine tree and build a fire on it and burn it out. den we would cut down into it and scrape out all de char, and den put de rice in dere and beat and poun' it with a pestle till we had all de grain beat out de heads. den we'd pour de rice out on a cloth and de chaff and trash would blow away. "our marster he drilled men for de army. de drill groun' was 'bout a mile from our place. he was a dead shot with a rifle and had a rifle with an extry long barrel. "de yankees told us niggers when dey freed us after de war dat dey would give each one of us acres of land and a mule. de nearest i'se ever come to dat is de pension of 'leven dollars i gets now. but i'se jus' as thankful for dat as i can be. in fac', i don't see how i could be any more thankful it 'twas a hun'erd and 'leven dollars. "a man told me a nigger woman told his wife she would ruther be slave than free. well, i think, but i might be wrong, anybody which says that is tellin a lie. dere is sumpin' 'bout bein' free and dat makes up for all de hardships. i'se been both slave and free and i knows. course, while i was slave i didn' have no 'sponsibility, didn' have to worry 'bout where sumpin' to eat and wear and a place to sleep was comin' from, but dat don't make up for bein' free. auntie thomas johns, knopp st., cleburne, texas, was born in burleson co., texas, in . she was only two when her mother was freed, so knows nothing of slavery except stories her mother told her, or that she heard her husband, thomas johns, tell. "i was two years old when my mama was set free. her owner was major odom. he was good to his niggers, my mama said. she tol' me 'bout slavery times. she said other white folks roun' there called major odom's niggers, 'odom's damn free niggers,' 'cause he was so easy on 'em. "he was never married, but he had a nigger woman, aunt phyllis she was called, that he had some children by. she was half white. i remember her and him and five of their sons. the ones i knowed was nearly all white, but aunt phyllis had one boy that was nigger black. his daddy was a nigger man. when she was drunk or mad she'd say she thought more of her black chile than all the others. major odom treated their children jus' like he treated the other niggers. he never whipped none of his niggers. when his and aunt phyllis'es sons was grown they went to live in the quarters, which was what the place the niggers lived was called. "one of major odom's niggers was whipped by a man named steve owens. he got to goin' to see a nigger woman owens owned, and one night they beat him up bad. major odom put on his gun for owens, and they carried guns for each other till they died, but they never did have a shootin'. "colonel sims had a farm joinin' major odom's farm, and his niggers was treated mean. he had a overseer, j.b. mullinax, i 'member him, and he was big and tough. he whipped a nigger man to death. he would come out of a mornin' and give a long, keen yell, and say, 'i'm j.b. mullinax, just back from a week in hell, where i got two new eyes, one named snap and jack, and t'other take hold. i'm goin' to whip two or three niggers to death today.' he lived a long time, but long 'fore he died his eyes turned backward in his head. i seen 'em thataway. he wouldn' give his niggers much to eat and he'd make 'em work all day, and just give 'em boiled peas with just water and no salt and cornbread. they'd eat their lunch right out in the hot sun and then go right back to work. mama said she could hear them niggers bein' whipped at night and yellin', 'pray, marster, pray,' beggin' him not to beat 'em. "other niggers would run away and come to major odom's place and ask his niggers for sumpin' to eat. my mama would get word to bring 'em food and she'd start out to where they was hidin' and she'd hear the hounds, and the runaway niggers would have to go on without gettin' nothin' to eat. "my husban's tol' me about slavery times in alabama. he said they would make the niggers work hard all day pickin' cotton and then take it to the gin and gin away into the night, maybe all night. they'd give a nigger on sunday a peck of meal and three pounds of meat and no salt nor nothin' else, and if you et that up 'fore the week was out, you jus' done without anything to eat till the end of the week. "my husban' said a family named gullendin was mighty hard on their niggers. he said ole missus gullendin, she'd take a needle and stick it through one of the nigger women's lower lips and pin it to the bosom of her dress, and the woman would go 'round all day with her head drew down thataway and slobberin'. there was knots on the nigger's lip where the needle had been stuck in it. [illustration: gus johnson] gus johnson, years or more, was born a slave of mrs. betty glover, in marengo co., alabama. most of his memories are of his later boyhood in sunnyside, texas. he lives in an unkempt, little lean-to house, in the north end of beaumont, texas. there is no furniture but a broken-down bed and an equally dilapidated trunk and stove. gus spends most of his time in the yard, working in his vegetable garden. "dey brung thirty-six of us here in a box car from alabama. yes, suh, dat's where i come from--marengo county, not so far from 'mopolis. us belong to old missy betty glover and my daddy name august glover and my mammy lucinda. old missy, she sho' treat us good and i never git whip for anything 'cept lyin'. old missy, she do de whippin'. "old missy she sho' a good woman and all her white folks, dey used to go to church at white chapel at 'leven in de mornin'. us cullud folks goes in de evenin'. us never do no work on sunday, and on saturday after twelve o'clock us can go fishin' or huntin'. "dey give de rations on saturday and dat's 'bout five pound salt bacon and a peck of meal and some sorghum syrup. dey make dat syrup on de plantation. dey's ten or twelve big clay kettles in a row, sot in de furnace. "we have lots to eat, and if de rations run short we goes huntin' or fishin'. some de old men kills rattlesnake and cook 'em like fish and say dey fish. i eat dat many a time and never knowed it. 'twas good, too. "dey used to have a big house where dey kep' de chillen, 'cause de wolves and panthers was bad. some de mammies what suckle de chillen takes care of all de chillen durin' de daytime and at night dey own mammies come in from de field and take dem. sometime old missy she help nuss and all de li'l niggers well care for. when dey gits sick dey makes de med'cine of herbs and well 'em dat way. "when us left alabama us come through meridian to houston and den to hockley and den to sunnyside, 'bout mile west of houston. dat a country with lots of woods and us sot in to clean up de ground and clean up acres to farm on. dere 'bout forty-seven hands and more 'cumulates. dey go back to meridian for more and brung 'em in a ox cart. "my brother, bonzane johnson, was one dey brung on dat trip. i had 'nother brother, keen, what die when he year old. us was all long-life people, 'cause i have a gran' uncle what die when he year old. he and my grandma and grandpa come from south carolina and dey was all africa people. i heered dem tell how dey brung from africa in de ship. my daddy he die at and 'nother brother at . "us see lots of sojers when us come through from meridian and dey de cavalry. dey come ridin' up with high hats like beavers on dey head and us 'fraid of 'em, 'cause dey told us dey gwine take us to cuba and sell us dere. "when us first git to texas it was cold--not sort a cold, but i mean cold. i shovel de snow many a day. dey have de big, common house and de white folks live upstairs and de niggers sleep on de first floor. dat to 'tect de white folks at night, but us have our own houses for to live in in de daytime, builded out of logs and daubed with mud and nail rive out boards over dat mud. dey make de chimney out of sticks and mud, too but us have no windows, and in summer us kind of live out in de bresh arbor, what was cool. "us have all kind of crops and more'n acres in fruit, 'cause dey brung all kind trees and seeds from alabama. dey was undergroun' springs and de water was sho' good to drink, 'cause in mobile de water wasn't fitten to drink. it taste like it have de lump of salt melted in it. us keep de butter and milk in de spring house in dem days, 'cause us ain't have no ice in dem time. "old massa, he name adam and he brother name john, and dey was way up yonder tall people. old massa die soon and us have missy to say what we do. all her overseers have to be good. she punish de slaves iffen day bad, but not whip 'em. she have de jail builded undergroun' like de stormcave and it have a drop door with de weight on it, so dey couldn't git up from de bottom. it sho' was dark in dat place. "in slavery time us better be in by eight o'clock, better be in dat house, better stick to dat rule. i 'member after freedom, missy have de big celebration on juneteenth every year. [handwritten note: '?'] "when war come to texas every plantation was conscrip' for de war and my daddy was 'pinted to selec' de able body men offen us place for to be sojers. my brother keen was one of dem. he come back all right, though. "when freedom come missy give all de men niggers $ each, but dat 'federate money and have pictures of hosses on it. dat de onlies' money missy have den. old missy betty, she die in sunnyside, texas, when she year old. "when i's year old i marry a gal by name lucy johnson. she dead now long ago. i got five livin' chillen somewhere, but i done lost track of 'em. one of dem boys serve in de last war. "i used to hear somethin' 'bout rabbit foot. de old folks used to say dat iffen de rabbit have time to stop and lick he foot de dog can't track him no more and i allus wears de rabbit foot for good luck. i don't know if it brung me dat luck, though. "i been here year and i work mos' de time as house mover, what i work at year. i'll be honnes' with you, i don't know how old i is, but it mus' be plenty, 'cause i 'members lots 'bout de war. i didn't see no fightin' but i knowed what was goin' on den. "i belong to de u. b. f. lodge, what i pays into in case i gits sick. but i never can git sick and i ain't have no ailment 'cept my feets jus' swoll up, and i can't git nothin' for that. harry johnson, , whose real name was jim, was born in missouri, where he was stolen by harry fugot, when about twelve years old, and taken to arkansas. he was given the name of harry and remained with fugot until near the close of the civil war. fugot then sold him to graham for , acres and he was brought to coryell co., texas, and later to caldwell co. he worked in texas two years before finding out the slaves were free. he later went to mcmullen co. to work cattle, but eventually spent most of his time rearing ten white children. he now lives in pearsall, where he married at the age of . "i come from missouri to arkansas and then to texas, and i was owned by massa louis barker and my name was jim johnson. but a white man name harry fugot stoled me and run me out to arkansas and changed my name to harry. he stoled me from mississippi county in de southern part of missouri, down close to de arkansas line, and i was 'bout year old then. "my mama's name was judie and her husban' name miller. when i wasn't big 'nough to pack a chip, old massa louis barker wouldn't take $ for me, 'cause he say he wants to make a overseer out of me. my daddy went off durin' de war. he carried off by sojers and he never did come back. "dey 'bout , acres in massa barker's plantation in missouri. he used to hire me out from place to place and de men what hires me puts me to doin' what he wanted. i was stole from my mammy when i's 'bout or and she never did know what become of me. "o, my stars! i seed hun'erds and hun'erds of sojers 'fore i stole from missouri. dey what us call yankees. i seed 'em strung out a half-mile long, goin' battle two and three deep. dey never did destroy any homes. dey took up a little stuff. i had five sacks of meal one day and was goin' to de mill and de sojers come along and taken me, meal and all. de maddes' woman i ever saw was dat day. de sojers come and druv off her cows. she told 'em not to, dat her husban' fightin' and she have to make de livin' off dem cows, but dey druv de cows to camp and kilt 'bout three of 'em. dey done dat, i knows, 'cause i's with 'em. "but down in arkansas i seed de southern sojers and i's plowin' for a old lady call williams, and some sojers come and goes in de house. i heered say dey was green's men, and dey taken everything dat old woman have what dey wants, and dey robs lots of houses. "it don't look reas'able to say it, but it's a fac'--durin' slavery iffen you lived one place and your mammy lived 'cross de street you couldn't go to see her without a pass. de paddlerollers would whip you if you did. dere was one woman owns some slaves and one of 'em asks her for a pass and she give him de piece of paper sposed to be de pass, but she writes on it: "'his shirt am rough and his back am tough, do, pray, mr. paddleroller, give 'im 'nough.' "de paddlerollers beat him nearly to death, 'cause that's what's wrote on de paper he give 'em. "i 'member a whippin' one slave got. it were lashes. dey's a big overseer right here on de san marcos river, clem polk, him and he massa kilt niggers in one day. dat massa couldn't keep a overseer, 'cause de niggers wouldn't let 'em whip 'em, and dis clem, he say, 'i'll stay dere,' and he finds he couldn't whip dem niggers either, so he jus' kilt 'em. one nigger nearly got him and would have kilt him. dat nigger raise de ax to come down on polk's head and de massa stopped him jus' in time, and den polk shoots dat nigger in de breast with a shotgun. "dey had court days and when court met, dey passed a bill what say, 'keep de niggers at home.' some of 'em could go to church and some of 'em couldn't. dey'd let de cullud people be baptized, but dey didn't many want it, dey didn't understan' it 'nough. "after de war ends, massa fugot sells me to massa graham for , acres of land, and i lives in caldwell county. he was purty good to he slaves and we live in a li'l old frame house, facin' west. i sleeps in de same house as massa and missus, to guard 'em. one night some men came and wake me up and tells me to put my clothes on. missus was in de bed and she 'gin cryin' and tell 'em not to take me, but dey taken me anyway. we called 'em guerrillas and dey thieves. dey white men and one of 'em i had knowed a long time. i's with dem thives and hears 'em talk 'bout killin' yankees. dey kep' me in de south part of missouri a long time. i didn't do anything but sit 'round de house with dem. "when i's sold to massa graham i didn't have to come to texas, 'cause i's free, but i didn't know dat, and i's out here two years 'fore i knowed i's free. down in caldwell county is where de bondage was lifted offen me and i found out i's free. i jus' stays on and works and my massa give me he promise i's git a hoss and saddle and $ in money when i's year old, but he didn't do it. he give me a li'l pony and a saddle what i sold for $ . and 'bout eight or nine dollars in money. he had me blindfolded and i thought i gwine git a good hoss and saddle and more money. "i looks back sometimes and thinks times was better for eatin' in slavery dan what dey is now. my mammy was a reg'lar cook and she made me peach cobblers and apple dumplin's. in dem days, we'd take cornmeal and mix it with water and call 'em corn dodgers and dey awful nice with plenty butter. we had lots of hawg meat and when dey kilt a beef a man told all de neighbors to come git some of de meat. "right after de war, times is pretty hard and i's taken beans and parched 'em and got 'em right brown, and meal bran to make coffee out of. times was purty hard, but i allus could find somethin' to work at in dem days. "i lived all my life 'mong white folks and jus' worked in first one place and then 'nother. i raised ten white chillen, nine of de lowe chillen, and dey'd mind me quicker dan dey own pappy and mammy. dat in mcmullin county. "de day i's married i's year old and my wife is 'bout year old now. de last years i's jus' piddled 'round and done no reg'lar work. i married right here in de church house. i nussed my wife when she a baby and used to court her mammy when she's a girl. we's been real happy together. [illustration: james d. johnson] james d. johnson, born oct. st, , at lexington, mississippi, was a slave of judge drennon. he now lives with his daughter at baltimore st., dallas, texas. his memory is poor and his conversation is vague and wandering. his daughter says, "he ain't at himself these days." james attended tuckaloo university, near jackson, mississippi, and uses very little dialect. "my first clear recollection is about a day when i was five years old. i was playing in the sand by the side of the house in lexington with some other children and some yankee soldiers came by. they came on horseback and they drew rein by the side of the house and i ran under the house and hid. my mother called to me to come out and told me they were federal soldiers and i could tell it by their blue uniforms. one of the soldiers reached into his haversack and pulled out a uniform and gave it to me. 'have your mammy make a suit out of it,' he said. another soldier gave me a uniform and my mother was a seamstress in the home of the drennons and she made me two suits out of those uniforms. "judge drennon had married the daughter of colonel terry and he had given my parents to his daughter when she married the judge. my father and mother both came from virginia. colonel terry had bought them at separate times from a slave trader who brought them from virginia to mississippi. they had a likeness for each other when they learned both came from virginia. both of them had white fathers, were light complected and had been brought up in the big house. "when they told the colonel they wished to marry he only said, 'julia, do you take william,' and 'william, do you take julia?' then they were man and wife. he gave them the name of johnson, which was the family name of my father's mother and the name of his father. "when my parents lived with judge drennon they had a house in the yard quarters. the drennon home was the most beautiful house i ever have seen. it was a big, brick mansion with tall, white pillars reaching up to the second story. the yards and grounds were so beautiful the white folks used to come from long ways off to see them. "after the surrendering we lived with the drennons four or five years. they paid my parents for their work and i had an easy time of it. i was youngest of eight children and there was ten years or more between me and the next older child. my mother wanted to make something special out of me. "i went to three different schools down in the woods before i was nine. white people would come and put up schools for the colored children but the white people in mississippi said they were not good people and would criticize them. sometimes the schools would get busted up. we studied out of the blue back speller and an arithmetic and a dictionary. i could spell and give the meaning of most nigh every word in that dictionary. "when i was thirteen they held an examination at lexington for colored children to see who'd get a scholarship at tuckaloo university, eight miles from jackson. i was greatly surprised when i won from my county and i went but didn't finish there. then i went a little while to a small university near lexington, called allcorn university. i loved to go to school and was considered bookish. but my people died and i had to earn a living for myself and i couldn't find any way to use so much what i learned out of books, as far as making money was concerned. so i came to texas, doing any kind of labor work i could find. finally i married and went to farming or years and raised five children. "i'm the only one left now of my brothers and sisters and it won't be long until i'm gone, too, but i don't mind that. we lived a long time. some of it was hard and some of it was good. i tried all the time to live according to my lights and that is as far as i know how to do. i don't feel resentful of anything, anymore. "when there is sun, i just sit in the sun." mary johnson does not know her age but is evidently very old. paralytic strokes have affected mind and body. her speech, though impaired, is a swift flow of words, often profane. a bitter attitude toward everything is apparent. mary is homeless and owes the necessities of life to the kindness of a middle aged negress who takes care of several old women in her home in pear orchard, in beaumont, texas. "now, wait, white folks, i got to scratch my head so's i kin 'member. i's been paralyze so i can't git my tongue to speak good. it git all twist up. "i don't know how old i is. my daddy he have my age in the big bible but he done move 'round so much it git lost long ago. he used to 'long to them guinea men. them was real small men and they sho' walk fast. he wasn't so tall as my mommer and he name john allen and he a pore man, all bone. he sold out from the old country, that mississippi. my mama name sarah and she come from choctaw country, 'round in georgia. i have grandma rebecca, a reg'lar old indian woman and she have two long black braid longer'n her waist and she allus wore a big bonnet with splits in it. you know de indian people totes they chillens on they back and my mommer have me wrop up in a blanket and strop on her back. "i's the firstborn chile and my mommer have two gal chillen, me and hannah, and she have seven boy. where i's born was old wild country and old virginny run down thataway. everything was plenty good to eat and i seed strawberries what would push you to git 'em in your mouth. "clost to where i's born they's a place where they brung the africy people to tame 'em and they have big pens where they puts 'em after they takes 'em outta they gun ships. they sho' was wild and they have hair all over jus' like a dog and big hammer rings in they noses. they didn't wore no clothes and sometime they git 'way and run to them swamps in floridy and git all wild and hairy 'gain. they brung preachers to help tame 'em, but didn't 'low no preacher in them pens by hisself, 'cause they say them preacher won't come back, 'cause some them wild africy people done kill 'em and eat 'em. they done worship them snake bit as a rake handle, 'cause they ain't knowed no better. when they gits 'em all tame they sells 'em for field hands, but they allus wild and iffen anybody come they duck and hide down. "my old missy she name florence walker and she reg'lar tough. i helps nuss her chile, mary, and mary make her mommer be good to me. us wore li'l brass toe shoes and i call mine gold toe shoes. them shoes hard 'nough to knock a mule out. after young missy and me git growed us run off to dances and old missy beat us behind good. she say us jes' chillen yet and keep us in short, short dress and we pull out the stitchin' in them hems so us dresses drags and she sho' wore us out for that. "did us love to dance? jesus help me! them country niggers swing me so hard us land in the corner with a wham. "my brudder robert he a pow'ful big boy and he wasn't 'lowed to have no pants till he year old, but that didn't 'scourage him from courtin' the gals. i try tease him 'bout go see the gals with dat split shirt. that not all, that boy nuss he mommer breast till he year old. he have to have that nussin' real reg'lar. but one time he pesterin' mommer and she tryin' milk the cow and the cow git nervous and kick over the bucket and mommer fall off the stool and she so mad she wean him right there and then. "old massa he never clean hisself up or dress up. he look like a vagrant thing and he and missy mean, too. my pore daddy he back allus done cut up from the whip and bit by the dogs. sometime when a woman big they make a hollow out place for her stomach and make her lay down 'cross that hole and whip her behind. they sho' tear that thing up. "us chillen git to play and us sing "'old possum in the holler log sing high de loo, fatter than a old green frog, sing high de loo, whar possum? "that church they have a 'markable thing. they a deep tranch what cut all 'round the bottom and clay steps what lead all the way to the top the mountain and when the niggers git to shoutin' that church jes' a-rollin' and rockin'. one the songs i 'member was "'shoo the devil out the corner, shoo, members, shoo, shoo the devil out the corner, shoo, members, shoo.' "us li'l gals allus wore cottanade dresses ev'ry day. them what us call nine-stitch dresses. mammy make fasten-back dresses and fasten-back drawers and knit sweaters and socks for the mens. she git sheep wool what near ruint by cockle burrs and make us chillen set by the hour and pick out them burrs. "us houses like chicken coops but us sho' happy in that li'l cabin house. nothin' to worry 'bout. mammy cook them grits, that yaller hominy. she make 'ash cat', cornbread wrop in cabbage leaf and put ashes 'round it. "the old plantation 'bout on the line 'tween virginny and mis'sippi and us live near the madstone. that a big stone, all smooth and when a dog bite you you go run 'round the madstone and wash yourself in the hot springs and the bites don't hurt you. "i seed lots of sojers and my daddy fit with the yankees and they have a big fight close there and have a while lots of dead bodies layin' 'round like so many logs and they jus' stack 'em up and sot fire to 'em. you seed 'em burnin' night and day. they lay down and shoot and then jump up and stick 'em and sometimes they drunk the blood outten where they stick 'em, 'cause they can't git no water. "after freedom us go in ox team to new orleans and daddy he raise cotton and sell it and mommer sell eggs. my daddy a workin' man and he help build the big custom house in new orleans and help pull the rope to pull the boats up the canal from the river. that canal street now. he put he name on top that custom house and it there to this day. you can go there and see it. he help build the hosp'tal, too. "one time us live close to the bay and that gran' and us take a stove and cotch catfish and perch and cook 'em on the bank and us go meet oyster boats and daddy git 'em by the tub. "i git marry in baton rouge when i sixteen and my husban' he name arras shaw and he lots older'n me and i couldn't keep him. he in port arthur now. my husban' and i sawmill year in grayburg, here in texas, and then us sep'rate. i been in beaumont year and i's rice farm cook in the camp on the fannett road. they tells me i got uncles in africy. i goes to sanctified church and that all i can do now. [illustration: mary ellen johnson] mary ellen johnson, owner of a little restaurant at marilla st., dallas, texas, is years old. she was born in slavery to the murth family, about ten miles from san marcos, texas. she neither reads nor writes but talks with little dialect. "i don't know so fur back as befo' i was born, 'cept what my mammy told me, and she allus said little black chillen wasn't sposed to ask so many questions. her name was missouri ellison, 'cause she belonged to miss micelder ellison and then when she married with mr. murth, her daddy said my mammy was her 'heritance. "my first mem'ries are us playin' in the backyard with miss fannie and miss martha and mr. sammie. they was the little murth chillen. we used to make playhouses out there and sweep the ground clean down to the level with brush brooms and dec'rate it all up with little broken glasses and crockery. "in them days we lived in a little, old log cabin in the backyard and there was just one room, but it was snug and we had a plenty of livin'. my mammy had a nice cotton bed and she weren't no field nigger, but my pappy were. "miss micelder had a fine farm and raised most everything we ate and the food nowadays ain't like what it was then. miss micelder had a wood frame house with a big kitchen and they were cookin' goin' on all the time. they cooked on a wood stove with iron pots and skillets, and the roastin' ears and chicken fried right out of your own yard is tastier than what you git now. grated 'tater puddin' was my dish. "when i am seven years old i hear talk 'bout a war and the separation but i don't pay much 'tention. it seem far away and i don't bother my kinky head 'bout it. but then they tells eme [typo: me] the war is over and i'm goin' to be raised free and that i don't 'long to anybody but gawd and my pappy and mammy, but it don't make me feel nothin', 'cause i ain't never know i ain't free. "after the war we removed to a house on a hill where they is five houses, little log houses all in a row. we had good times, but we had to work in the cotton and corn and wheat in the daylight time, but when the dusk come we used to sing and dance and play into the moonlight. "but one man called milton, he's past his yearling boy days and he didn't like to see us spend our time in sin, so he'd preach to us from the gospel, but i had the hardest time to get 'ligion of anybody i knowed. fin'ly i got sick when i were fifteen and was in my bed and somethin' happened. lawd, it was the most 'lievable thing ever happened to me. i was layin' there when sin formed a heavy, white veil just like a blanket over my bed and it just eased down over me till it was mashing the breath out of me. i crys out to the lawd to save me and, sho' 'nough, he hear the cry of a pore mis'able sinner. i ran to my mammy and pappy a-shoutin'. "the next year i marries and went on 'nother farm right near by and starts havin' chillen. i has ten and think i done rightly my part, 'cause i lived right by the word and taught my chillen the same. i'm lookin' to the promise to live in glory after my days here is done. [illustration: pauline johnson and felice boudreaux] pauline johnson and felice boudreaux, sisters, were once slaves on the plantation of dermat martine, near opelousas, louisiana. as their owners were french, they are more inclined to use a creole patois than english. "us was both slaves on de old plantation close to opelousas," pauline began. as the elder of the two sisters she carried most of the conversation, although often referring to felice before making positive statements. "i was year old when freedom come and felice was 'bout six. us belonged to massa dermat martine and the missy's name mimi. they raise us both in the house and they love us so they spoil us. i never will forget that. the little white chillen was younger than me, 'bout felice's age. they sho' had pretty li'l curly black hair. "us didn't have hard time. never even knowed hard time. that old massa, he what you call a good man. "us daddy was renee and he work in the field. the old massa give him a mud and log house and a plot of ground for he own. the rain sho' never get in that log house, it so tight. the furniture was homemake, but my daddy make it good and stout. "us daddy he work de ground he own on sunday and sold the things to buy us shoes to put on us feet and clothes. the white folks didn't give us clothes but they let him have all the money he made in his own plot to get them. "us mama name marguerite and she a field hand, too, so us chillen growed up in the white folks house mostly. 'fore felice get big enough to leave i stay in the big house and take care of her. "one day us papa fall sick in the bed, just 'fore freedom, and he kep' callin' for the priest. old massa call the priest and just 'fore us papa die the priest marry him and my mama. 'fore dat they just married by the massa's word. "felice and me, us have two brothers what was born and die in slavery, and one sister still livin' in bolivar now. us three uncles, bruno and pophrey and zaphrey, they goes to the war. them three dies too young. the yankees stole them and make them boys fight for them. "i never done much work but wash the dishes. they wasn't poor people and they uses good dishes. the missy real particular 'bout us shinin' them dishes nice, and the silver spoons and knives, too. "them white people was good christian people and they christen us both in the old brick catholic church in opelousas. they done torn it down now. missy give me pretty dress to get christen in. my godmother, she mileen nesaseau, but i call her 'miran'. my godfather called 'paran.' "on sunday mornin' us fix our dress and hair and go up to the missy's looking-glass to see if us pretty enough go to church. us goes to mass every sunday mornin' and church holiday, and when the cullud folks sick massa send for the priest same's for the white folks. "we wears them things on the strings round the neck for the good of the heart. they's nutmeg. "the plantation was a big, grand place and they have lots of orange trees. the slaves pick them oranges and pack then down on the barrel with la mosse (spanish moss) to keep them. they was plenty pecans and figs, too. "in slavery time most everybody round opelousas talk creole. that make the words hard to come sometime. us both talk that better way than english. "durin' the war, it were a sight. every mornin' capt. jenerette bank and he men go a hoss-back drillin' in the pasture and then have drill on foot. a white lady take all us chillen to the drill ground every mornin'. us take the lunch food in the basket and stay till they done drill out. "i can sing for you the song they used to sing: "o, de yankee come to put de nigger free, says i, says i, pas bonne; in eighteen-sixty-three, de yankee get out they gun and say, hurrah! let's put on the ball. "when war over none the slaves wants leave the plantation. my mama and us chillen stays on till old massa and missy dies, and then goes live on the old repridim place for a time. "both us get marry in that catholic church in opelousas. as for me, it most too long ago to talk about. his name alfred johnson and he dead years. our youngest boy, john, go to the world war. two my nephews die in that war and one nephew can't walk now from that war. "felice marry joseph boudreaux and when he die she come here to stay with me. there's more hard time now than in the old day for us, but i hope things get better. [illustration: spence johnson] spence johnson was born free, a member of the choctaw nation, in the indian territory, in the 's. he does not know his exact age. he and his mother were stolen and sold at auction in shreveport to riley surratt, who lived near shreveport, on the texas-louisiana line. he has lived in waco since . "de nigger stealers done stole me and my mammy out'n de choctaw nation, up in de indian territory, when i was 'bout three years old. brudder knox, sis hannah, and my mammy and her two step-chillun was down on de river washin'. de nigger stealers driv up in a big carriage and mammy jus' thought nothin', 'cause the road was near dere and people goin' on de road stopped to water de horses and res' awhile in de shade. by'n by, a man coaxes de two bigges' chillun to de carriage and give dem some kind-a candy. other chillun sees dis and goes, too. two other men was walkin' 'round smokin' and gettin' closer to mammy all de time. when he kin, de man in de carriage got de two big step-chillun in with him and me and sis' clumb in too, to see how come. den de man holler, 'git de ole one and let's git from here.' with dat de two big men grab mammy and she fought and screeched and bit and cry, but dey hit her on de head with something and drug her in, and throwed her on de floor. de big chilluns begin to fight for mammy, but one of de men hit 'em hard and off dey driv, with de horses under whip. "dis was near a place called boggy depot. dey went down de red ribber, 'cross de ribber and on down in louisian to shreveport. down in louisan us was put on what dey call de 'block' and sol' to de highes' bidder. my mammy and her three chillun brung $ , flat. de step chillun was sol' to somebody else, but us was bought by marse riley surratt. he was de daddy of jedge marshall surratt, him who got to be jedge here in waco. "marse riley surratt had a big plantation; don't know how many acres, but dere was a factory and gins and big houses and lots of nigger quarters. de house was right on de tex-louisan line. mammy cooked for 'em. when marse riley bought her, she couldn' speak nothin' but de choctaw words. i was a baby when us lef' de choctaw country. my sister looked like a full blood choctaw indian and she could pass for a real full blood indian. mammy's folks was all choctaw indians. her sisters was polly hogan, and sookey hogan and she had a brudder, nolan tubby. dey was all known in de territory in de ole days. "near as marse riley's books can come to it, i mus' of been bo'n 'round , up in de territory. "us run de hay press to bale cotton on de plantation and took cotton by ox wagons to shreveport. seven or eight wagons in a train, with three or four yoke of steers to each wagon. us made 'lasses and cloth and shoes and lots of things. old marse riley had a nigger who could make shoes and if he had to go to court in carthage, he'd leave nigger make shoes for him. "de quarters was a quarter mile long, all strung out on de creek bank. our cabin was nex' de big house. de white folks give big balls and had supper goin' all night. us had lots to eat and dey let us have dances and suppers, too. we never go anywhere. mammy always cry and 'fraid of bein' stole again. "dere was a white man live close to us, but over in louisan. he had raised him a great big black man what brung fancy price on de block. de black man sho' love dat white man. dis white man would sell ole john--dat's de black man's name--on de block to some man from georgia or other place fur off. den, after 'while de white man would steal ole john back and bring him home and feed him good, den sell him again. after he had sol' ole john some lot of times, he coaxed ole john off in de swamp one day and ole john foun' dead sev'ral days later. de white folks said dat de owner kilt him, 'cause 'a dead nigger won't tell no tales.' "durin' de freedom war, i seed soldiers all over de road. dey was breakin' hosses what dey stole. us skeered and didn' let soldiers see us if we could he'p it. mammy and i stayed on with marse riley after freedom and till i was 'bout sixteen. den marse riley died and i come to waco in a wagon with jedge surratt's brother, marse taylor surratt. i come to waco de same year dat dr. lovelace did, and he says that was . i married and us had six chillun. "i can't read or write, 'cause i only went to school one day. de white folks tried to larn me, but i's too thickheaded. [illustration: harriet jones] [illustration: harriet jones with daughter and granddaughter] harriet jones, , was born a slave of martin fullbright, who owned a large plantation in north carolina. when he died his daughter, ellen, became harriet's owner, and was so kind to harriet that she looks back on slave years as the happiest time in her life. "my daddy and mammy was henry and zilphy guest and marse martin fullbright brung dem from north carolina to red river county, in texas, long 'fore freedom, and settled near clarksville. i was one of dere eight chillen and borned in and am years old. my folks stayed with marse martin and he daughter, miss ellen, till dey went to de reward where dey dies no more. "de plantation raise corn and oats and wheat and cotton and hawgs and cattle and hosses, and de neares' place to ship to market am at jefferson, texas, ninety miles from clarksville, den up river to shreveport and den to memphis or new orleans. dey send cotton by wagon train to jefferson but mostly by boat up de bayou. "when marse martin die he 'vide us slaves to he folks and i falls to he daughter, miss ellen. iffen ever dere was a angel on dis earth she was it. i hopes wherever it is, her spirit am in glory. "when miss ellen marry marse johnnie watson, she have me fix her up. she have de white satin dress and pink sash and tight waist and hoop skirt, so she have to go through de door sideways. de long curls i made hang down her shoulders and a bunch of pink roses in de hand. she look like a angel. "all de fine folks in clarksville at dat weddin' and dey dances in de big room after de weddin' supper. it was de grand time but it make me cry, 'cause miss ellen done growed up. when she was a li'l gal she wore de sweetes' li'l dresses and panties with de lace ruffles what hung down below her skirt, and de jacket button in de back and shoes from soft leather de shoeman tan jus' for her. when she li'l bigger she wear de tucked petticoats, two, three at a time to take place of hoops, but she still wear de white panties with lace ruffles what hang below de skirt 'bout a foot. where dey gone now? i ain't seed any for sich a long time! "when de white ladies go to church in dem hoop skirts, dey has to pull dem up in da back to set down. after freedom dey wears de dresses long with de train and has to hold up de train when dey goes in de church, lessen dey has de li'l nigger to go 'long and hold it up for dem. "all us house women larned to knit de socks and head mufflers, and many is de time i has went to town and traded socks for groceries. i cooked, too, and helped 'fore old marse died. for everyday cookin' we has corn pone and potlicker and bacon meat and mustard and turnip greens, and good, old sorghum 'lasses. on sunday we has chicken or turkey or roast pig and pies and cakes and hot, salt-risin' bread. "when folks visit dem days dey do it right and stays several days, maybe a week or two. when de quality folks comes for dinner, missie show me how to wait on table. i has to come in when she ring de bell, and hold de waiter for food jus' right. for de breakfas' we has coffee and hot waffles what my mammy make. "dere was a old song we used to sing 'bout de hoecake, when we cookin' dem: "'if you wants to bake a hoecake, to bake it good and done, slap it on a nigger's heel, and hold it to de sun. "'my mammy baked a hoecake, as big as alabama, she throwed it 'gainst a nigger's head, it ring jus' like a hammer. "'de way you bake a hoecake, de old virginny way, wrap it round a nigger's stomach, and hold it dere all day.' "dat de life we lives with old and young marse and missie, for dey de quality folks of old texas. "'bout time for de field hands to go to work, it gittin' mighty hot down here, so dey go by daylight when it cooler. old marse have a horn and 'long 'bout four o'clock it 'gin to blow, and you turn over and try take 'nother nap, den it goes arguin', b l o w, how loud dat old horn do blow, but de sweet smell de air and de early breeze blowin' through de trees, and de sun peepin' over de meadow, make you glad to git up in de early mornin'. "'it's a cool and frosty mornin' and de niggers goes to work, with hoes upon dey shoulders, without a bit of shirt.' "'when dey hears de horn blow for dinner it am de race, and dey sings: "'i goes up on de meatskins, i comes down on de pone-- i hits de corn pone fifty licks, and makes dat butter moan.' "de timber am near de river and de bayou and when dey not workin' de hosses or no other work, we rides down and goes huntin' with de boys, for wild turkeys and prairie chickens, but dey like bes' to hunt for coons and possums. "'possum up de gum stump, raccoon in de hollow-- git him down and twist him out, and i'll give you a dollar.' "come christmas, miss ellen say, 'harriet, have de christmas tree carry in and de holly and evergreens.' den she puts de candles on de tree and hangs de stockin's up for de white chillen and de black chillen. nex' mornin', everybody up 'fore day and somethin' for us all, and for de men a keg of cider or wine on de back porch, so dey all have a li'l christmas spirit. "de nex' thing am de dinner, serve in de big dinin' room, and dat dinner! de onlies' time what i ever has sich a good dinner am when i gits married and when miss ellen marries mr. johnnie. after de white folks eats, dey watches de servants have dey dinner. "den dey has guitars and banjoes and fiddles and plays old christmas tunes, den dat night marse and missie brung de chillen to de quarters, to see de niggers have dey dance. 'fore de dance dey has christmas supper, on de long table out in de yard in front de cabins, and have wild turkey or chicken and plenty good things to eat. when dey all through eatin', dey has a li'l fire front de main cabins where de dancin' gwine be. dey moves everything out de cabin 'cept a few chairs. next come de fiddler and banjo-er and when dey starts, de caller call, 'heads lead off,' and de first couple gits in middle de floor, and all de couples follow till de cabin full. next he calls, 'sashay to de right, and do-si-do.' round to de right dey go, den he calls, 'swing you partners, and dey swing dem round twice, and so it go till daylight come, den he sing dis song: "'its gittin' mighty late when de guinea hen squall, and you better dance now if you gwine dance a-tall-- if you don't watch out, you'll sing 'nother tune, for de sun rise and cotch you, if you don't go soon, for de stars gittin' paler and de old gray coon is sittin' in de grapevine a-watchin' de moon.' "den de dance break up with de virginny reel, and it de end a happy christmas day. de old marse lets dem frolic all night and have nex' day to git over it, 'cause its christmas. "'fore freedom de soldiers pass by our house and stop ask mammy to cook dem something to eat, and when de yankees stop us chillen hides. once two men stays two, three weeks lookin' round, pretends dey gwine buy land. but when de white folks gits 'spicious, dey leaves right sudden, and it turn out dey's yankee spies. "i marries bill jones de year after freedom. it a bright, moonlight night and all de white folks and niggers come and de preacher stand under de big elm tree, and i come in with two li'l pickininnies for flower gals and holdin' my train. i has on one miss ellen's dresses and red stockin's and a pair brand new shoes and a wide brim hat. de preacher say, 'bill, does you take dis woman to be you lawful wife?' and bill say he will. den he say, 'harriet, will you take dis nigger to be you lawful boss and do jes' what he say?' den we signs de book and de preacher say, 'i quotes from de scripture: "'dark and stormy may come de weather, i jines dis man and woman together. let none but him what make de thunder, put dis man and woman asunder.' "den we goes out in de backyard, where de table sot for supper, a long table made with two planks and de peg legs. miss ellen puts on de white tablecloth and some red berries, 'cause it am november and dey is ripe. den she puts on some red candles, and we has barbecue pig and roast sweet 'taters and dumplin's and pies and cake. dey all eats dis grand supper till dey full and mammy give me de luck charm for de bride. it am a rabbit toe, and she say: "'here, take dis li'l gift, and place it near you heart; it keep away dat li'l riff what causes folks to part. "'it only jes' a rabbit toe, but plenty luck it brings, its worth a million dimes or more, more'n all de weddin' rings.' "den we goes to marse watson's saddleshop to dance and dances all night, and de bride and groom, dat's us, leads de grand march. "de yankees never burned de house or nothin', so young marse and missie jes' kep' right on livin' in de old home after freedom, like old marse done 'fore freedom. he pay de families by de day for work and let dem work land on de halves and furnish dem teams and grub and dey does de work. "but bye'n-bye times slow commence to change, and first one and 'nother de old folks goes on to de great beyon', one by one dey goes, till all i has left am my great grandchild what i lives with now. my sister was livin' at greenville six years ago. she was a hundred and four years old den. i don't know if she's livin' now or not. how does we live dat long? way back yonder 'fore i's born was a blessin' handed down from my great, great, grandfather. it de blessin' of long life, and come with a blessin' of good health from livin' de clean, hones' life. when nighttime come, we goes to bed and to sleep, and dat's our blessin'. [illustration: lewis jones] lewis jones, , was born a slave to fred tate, who owned a large plantation on the colorado river in fayette co., texas. lewis' father was born a slave to h. jones and was sold to fred tate, who used him as a breeder to build up his slave stock. lewis took his father's name after emancipation, and worked for twenty-three years in a cotton gin at la grange. he came to fort worth in and worked for armour & co. until . lewis lives at loving ave., fort worth, texas. "my birth am in de year on de plantation of massa fred tate, what am on de colorado river. yes, suh, dat am in de state of texas. my mammy am owned by massa tate and so am my pappy and all my brudders and sisters. how many brudders and sisters? lawd a-mighty! i'll tell you 'cause you asks and dis nigger gives de facts as 'tis. let's see, i can't 'lect de number. my pappy have chillen by my mammy and by anudder nigger name mary. you keep de count. den dere am liza, him have by her, and dere am mandy, him have by her, and dere am betty, him have six by her. now, let me 'lect some more. i can't bring de names to mind, but dere am two or three other what have jus' one or two chillen by my pappy. dat am right. close to chillen, 'cause my mammy done told me. it's disaway, my pappy am de breedin' nigger. "you sees, when i meets a nigger on dat plantation, i's most sho' it am a brudder or sister, so i don't try keep track of 'em. "massa tate didn't give rations to each family like lots of massas, but him have de cookhouse and de cooks, and all de rations cooked by dem and all us niggers sat down to de long tables. dere am plenty, plenty. i sho' wishes i could have some good rations like dat now. man, some of dat ham would go fine. dat was 'ham, what am.' "we'uns raise all de food right dere on de place. hawgs? we'uns have three, four hundred and massa raise de corn and feed dem and cure de meat. we'uns have de cornmeal and de wheat flour and all de milk and butter we wants, 'cause massa have 'bout cows. and dere am de good old 'lasses, too. "massa feed powerful good and he am not onreas'ble. he don't whup much and am sho' reas'ble 'bout de pass, and he 'low de parties and have de church on de place. old tom am de preacherman and de musician and him play de fiddle and banjo. sometime dey have jig contest, dat when dey puts de glass of water on de head and see who can jig de hardes' without spillin' de water. den dere am joyment in de singin'. preacher tom set all us niggers in de circle and sing old songs. i jus' can't sing for you, 'cause i's lost my teeth and my voice am raspin', but i'll word some, sich as "'in de new jerusalem, in de year of jubilee.' "i done forgit de words. den did you ever hear dis one: "'oh, do, what sam done, do dat again, he went to de hambone, bit off de end.' "when old tom am preacherman, him talks from he heartfelt. den sometime a white preacherman come and he am de baptist and baptize we'uns. "massa have de fine coach and de seat for de driver am up high in front and i's de coachman and he dresses me nice and de hosses am fine, white team. dere i's sat up high, all dress good, holdin' a tight line 'cause de team am full of spirit and fast. we'uns goes lickity split and it am a purty sight. man, 'twarnt anyone bigger dan dis nigger. "i has de bad luck jus' one time with dat team and it am disaway: massa have jus' change de power for de gin from hoss to steam and dey am ginnin' cotton and i's with dat team 'side de house and de hosses am a-prancin' and waitin' for missy to come out. massa am in de coach. den, de fool niggers blows de whistle of dat steam engine and de hosses never heered sich befo' and dey starts to run. dey have de bit in de teeths and i's lucky dat road am purty straight. i thinks of massa bein' inside de coach and wants to save him. i says to myself, 'dem hosses skeert and i don't want to skeer 'em no more.' i jus' hold de lines steady and keep sayin', 'steady, boys, whoa boys.' fin'ly dey begins to slow down and den stops and massa gits out and de hosses am puffin' hard and all foam. he turns to me and say, 'boy, you's made a wonnerful drive, like a vet'ran.' now, does dat make me feel fine! it sho' do. "when surrender come i's been drivin' 'bout a year and it's 'bout o'clock in de mornin', 'cause massa have me ring de bell and all de niggers runs quick to de house and massa say dey am free niggers. it am time for layin' de crops by and he say if dey do dat he pay 'em. some stays and some goes off, but mammy and pappy and me stays. dey never left dat plantation, and i stays 'bout years. i guess it dat coachman job what helt me. "when i quits i goes to work for ed mattson in la grange and i works in dat cotton gin years. fin'ly i comes here to fort worth. dat am . i works for armours years but dey let me off six years ago, 'cause i's too old. since den i works at any little old job, for to make my livin'. "sho', i's been married and it to jane owen in la grange, and we'uns have three chillen and dey all dead. she died in . "it am hard for dis nigger to git by and sometime i don't know for sho' dat i's gwine git anudder meal, but it allus come some way. yes, suh, dey allus come some way. some of de time dey is far apart, but dey comes. de lawd see to dat, i guess. liza jones, , was born a slave of charley bryant, near liberty, texas. she lives in beaumont, and her little homestead is reached by a devious path through a cemetery and across a ravine on a plank foot-bridge. liza sat in a backless chair, smoking a pipe, and her elderly son lay on a blanket nearby. both were resting after a hot day's work in the field. within the open door could be seen henry jones, liza's husband for sixty years, a tall, gaunt negro who is helpless. blind, deaf and almost speechless, he could tell nothing of slavery days, although he was grown when the war ended. "when de yankees come to see iffen dey had done turn us a-loose, i am a nine year old nigger gal. that make me about now. dey promenade up to de gate and de drum say a-dr-um-m-m-m-m, and de man in de blue uniform he git down to open de gate. old massa he see dem comin' and he runned in de house and grab up de gun. when he come hustlin' down off de gallery, my daddy come runnin'. he seed old massa too mad to know what he a-doin', so quicker dan a chicken could fly he grab dat gun and wrastle it outten old massa's hands. den he push old massa in de smokehouse and lock de door. he ain't do dat to be mean, but he want to keep old massa outten trouble. old massa know dat, but he beat on de door and yell, but it ain't git open till dem yankees done gone. "i wisht old massa been a-livin' now, i'd git a piece of bread and meat when i want it. old man charley bryant, he de massa, and felide bryant de missus. dey both have a good age when freedom come. "my daddy he george price and he boss nigger on de place. dey all come from louisiana, somewhere round new orleans and all dem li'l extra places. "liz'beth she my mama and dey's jus' two us chillen, me and my brudder, john. he lives in beaumont. "'bout all de work i did was 'tend to de rooms and sweep. nobody ever 'low us to see nobody 'bused. i never seed or heared of nobody gittin' cut to pieces with a whip like some. course, chillen wasn't 'lowed to go everywhere and see everything like dey does now. dey jump in every corner now. "miss flora and miss molly am de only ones of my white folks what am alive now and dey done say dey take me to san antonio with dem. course, i couldn't go now and leave henry, noway. de old bryant place am in de lawsuit. dey say de brudder, mister benny, he done sharped it 'way from de others befo' he die, but i 'lieve the gals will win dat lawsuit. "my daddy am de gold pilot on de old place. dat mean anything he done was right and proper. way after freedom, when my daddy die in beaumont, cade bryant and mister benny both want to see him befo' he buried. dey ride in and say, 'better not you bury him befo' us see him. dat's us young george.' dey allus call daddy dat, but he old den. "my mama was de spring back cook and turkey baker. dey call her dat, she so neat, and cook so nice. i's de expert cook, too. she larnt me. "us chillen used to sing "'don't steal, don't steal my sugar. don't steal, don't steal my candy. i's comin' round de mountain.' "dey sho' have better church in dem days dan now. us git happy and shout. dey too many blind taggers now. now dey say dey got de key and dey ain't got nothin'. us used to sing like dis: "'adam's fallen race, good lawd, hang down my head and cry. help me to trust him, help me to trust him, help me to trust him, gift of gawd. "'help me to trust him, help me to trust him, help me to trust him, eternal life. "'had not been for adam's race, i wouldn't been sinnin' today, help me to trust him, gift of gawd.' "dey 'nother hymn like dis: "'heavenly land, heavenly land, i's gwineter beg gawd, for dat heavenly land. "'some come cripplin', some come lame, some come walkin', in jesus' name.' "you know i saw you-all last night in my sleep? i ain't never seed you befo' today, but i seed you last night. dey's two of you, a man and a woman, and you come crost dat bridge and up here, askin' me iffen i trust in de lawd. and here you is today. "dey had nice parties in slavery time and right afterwards. dey have candy pullin' and corn shuckin's and de like. old massa day and massa bryant, dey used to put dey niggers together and have de prize dances. massa day allus lose, 'cause us allus beat he niggers at dancin'. lawd, when i clean myself up, i sho' could teach dem how to buy a cake-walk in dem days. i could cut de pigeon wing, jes' pull my heels up and clack dem together. den us do de back step and de banquet, too. "us allus have de white tarleton swiss dress for dances and sunday. dem purty good clothes, too and dey make at home. us knowed how to sew and one de old man's gals, she try teach me readin' and writin'. i didn't have no sense, though, and i cry to go out and play. "when freedom come old massa he done broke down and cry, so my daddy stay with him. he stay a good many year, till both us chillen was growed. us have de li'l log house on de place all dat time. dey 'nother old cullud man what stay, name george whitehouse. he have de li'l house, too. he stay till he die. "dey was tryin' to make a go of it after de war, 'cause times was hard. de white boys, dey go out in de field and work den, and work hard, 'cause dey don't have de slaves no more. i used to see de purty, young white ladies, all dress up, comin' to de front door. i slips out and tell de white boys, and dey workin' in de field, half-naked and dirty, and dey sneak in de back door and clean up to spark dem gals. "i been marry to dat henry in dere sixty year, and he was a slave in little rock, in arkansas, for anderson jones. henry knowed de bad, tejous part of de war and he must be 'bout year old. now he am in pain all de time. can't see, can't hear and can't talk. us never has had de squabble. at de weddin' de white folks brung cakes and every li'l thing. i had a white tarleton dress with de white tarleton wig. dat de hat part what go over de head and drape on de shoulder. dat de sign you ain't never done no wrong sin and gwinter keep bein' good. "after us marry i move off de old place, but nothin' must do but i got to keep de house for mister benny. i's cleanin' up one time and finds a milk churn of money. i say, 'mr. benny, what for you ain't put dat money in de bank?' he say he will. de next time i cleanin' up i finds a pillow sack full of money. i says, 'mr. benny, i's gwineter quit. i ain't gwineter be 'sponsible for dis money.' he's sick den and i put de money under he pillow and git ready to go. he say, 'you better stay, or i send andrew, de sheriff, after you.' i goes and cooks dinner and when i gits back dey has four doctors with mr. benny. he wife say to me, 'liza, you got de sight. am benny gwineter git well?' i goes and looks and i knowed he gwine way from dere. i knowed he was gone den. dey leant on me a heap after dat. "it some years after dat i leaves dem and henry and me gits married and us make de livin' farmin'. us allus stays right round hereabouts and gits dis li'l house. now my son and me, us work de field and gits 'nough to git through on. [illustration: lizzie jones] lizzie jones, an year old ex-slave of the r.h. hargrove family, was born in , in harrison county, texas. she stayed with her owner until four years after the close of the civil war. she now lives with talmadge buchanan, a grandson, two miles east of karnack, on the lee road. "i was bo'n on the ole henry hargrove place. my ole missus was named elizabeth and mammy called me lizzie for her. but the hargroves called me 'wink' since i was a chile, 'cause i was so black and shiny. massa hargrove had four girls and four boys and i helped tend them till i was big enough to cook and keep house. i wagged ole marse dr. hargrove, dat lives in marshall, round when he was a baby. "i allus lived in de house with the white folks and ate at their table when they was through, and slep' on the floor. we never had no school or church in slavery time. the niggers couldn' even add. none of us knowed how ole we was, but massa set our ages down in a big book. "i 'member playin' peep-squirrel and marbles and keepin' house when i was a chile. massa 'lowed the boys and girls to cou't but they couldn' marry 'fore they was years ole, and they couldn' marry off the plantation. slaves warn't married by no good book or the law, neither. they'd jes' take up with each other and go up to the big house and ask massa to let them marry. if they was ole enough, he'd say to the boy, 'take her and go on home.' "mammy lived 'cross the field at the quarters and there was so many nigger shacks it look like a town. the slaves slep' on bunks of homemade boards nailed to de wall with poles for legs and they cooked on the fireplace. i didn' know what a stove was till after de war. sometime they'd bake co'nbread in the ashes and every bit of the grub they ate come from the white folks and the clothes, too. i run them looms many a night, weavin' cloth. in summer we had lots of turnips and greens and garden stuff to eat. massa allus put up sev'ral barrels of kraut and a smokehouse full of po'k for winter. we didn' have flour or lard, but huntin' was good 'fore de war and on sat'day de men could go huntin' and fishin' and catch possum and rabbits and squirrels and coons. "the overseer was named wade and he woke the han's up at four in the mornin' and kep' them in the field from then till the sun set. mos' of de women worked in de fields like de men. they'd wash clothes at night and dry them by the fire. the overseer kep' a long coach whip with him and if they didn' work good, he'd thrash them good. sometime he's pretty hard on them and strip 'em off and whip 'em till they think he was gonna kill 'em. no nigger ever run off as i 'member. "we never have no parties till after 'mancipation, and we couldn' go off de place. on sundays we slep' or visited each other. but the white folks was good to us. massa hargrove didn' have no doctor but there wasn' much sickness and seldom anybody die. "i don' 'member much 'bout de war. massa went to it, but he come home shortly and say he sick with the 'sumption, but he got well real quick after surrender. "the white folks didn' let the niggers know they was free till 'bout a year after the war. massa hargrove took sick sev'ral months after and 'fore he did he tell the folks not to let the niggers loose till they have to. finally they foun' out and 'gun to leave. "my pappy died 'fore i was bo'n and mammy married caesar peterson and 'bout a year after de war dey moved to a farm close to lee, but i kep' on workin' for de hargroves for four years, helpin' missus cook and keep house. toby jones was born in south carolina, in , a slave of felix jones, who owned a large tobacco plantation. toby has farmed in madisonville, texas, since , and still supports himself, though his age makes it hard for him to work. "my father's name was eli jones and mammy's name was jessie. they was captured in africa and brought to this country whilst they was still young folks, and my father was purty hard to realize he was a slave, 'cause he done what he wanted back in africa. "our owner was massa felix jones and he had lots of tobacco planted. he was real hard on us slaves and whipped us, but missie janie, she was a real good woman to her black folks. i 'members when their li'l curlyheaded janie was borned. she jus' loved this old, black nigger and i carried her on my back whole days at a time. she was the sweetes' baby ever borned. "massa, he lived in a big, rock house with four rooms and lots of shade trees, and had 'bout fifty slaves. our livin' quarters wasn't bad. they was rock, too, and beds built in the corners, with straw moss to sleep on. "we had plenty to eat, 'cause the woods was full of possum and rabbits and all the mud holes full of fish. i sho' likes a good, old, fat possum cooked with sweet 'taters round him. we cooked meat in a old-time pot over the fireplace or on a forked stick. we grated corn by hand for cornbread and made waterpone in the ashes. "i was borned 'bout , so i was plenty old to 'member lots 'bout slave times. i 'members the loyal clothes, a long shirt what come down below our knees, opened all the way down the front. on sunday we had white loyal shirts, but no shoes and when it was real cold we'd wrap our feet in wool rags so they wouldn't freeze. i married after freedom and had white loyal breeches. i wouldn't marry 'fore that, 'cause massa wouldn't let me have the woman i wanted. "the overseer was a mean white man and one day he starts to whip a nigger what am hoein' tobacco, and he whipped him so hard that nigger grabs him and made him holler. missie come out and made them turn loose and massa whipped that nigger and put him in chains for a whole year. every night he had to be in jail and couldn't see his folks for that whole year. "i seed slaves sold, and they'd make them clean up good and grease their hands and face, so they'd look real fat, and sell them off. of course, most the niggers didn't know their parents or what chillen was theirs. the white folks didn't want them to git 'tached to each other. "missie read some bible to us every sunday mornin' and taught us to do right and tell the truth. but some them niggers would go off without a pass and the patterrollers would beat them up scand'lous. "the fun was on saturday night when massa 'lowed us to dance. there was lots of banjo pickin' and tin pan beatin' and dancin', and everybody would talk 'bout when they lived in africa and done what they wanted. "i worked for massa 'bout four years after freedom, 'cause he forced me to, said he couldn't 'ford to let me go. his place was near ruint, the fences burnt and the house would have been but it was rock. there was a battle fought near his place and i taken missie to a hideout in the mountains to where her father was, 'cause there was bullets flyin' everywhere. when the war was over, massa come home and says, 'you son of a gun, you's sposed to be free, but you ain't, 'cause i ain't gwine give you freedom.' so, i goes on workin' for him till i gits the chance to steal a hoss from him. the woman i wanted to marry, govie, she 'cides to come to texas with me. me and govie, we rides that hoss most a hundred miles, then we turned him a-loose and give him a scare back to his house, and come on foot the rest the way to texas. "all we had to eat was what we could beg and sometimes we went three days without a bite to eat. sometimes we'd pick a few berries. when we got cold we'd crawl in a breshpile and hug up close together to keep warm. once in awhile we'd come to a farmhouse and the man let us sleep on cottonseed in his barn, but they was far and few between, 'cause they wasn't many houses in the country them days like now. "when we gits to texas we gits married, but all they was to our weddin' am we jus' 'grees to live together as man and wife. i settled on some land and we cut some trees and split them open and stood them on end with the tops together for our house. then we deadened some trees and the land was ready to farm. there was some wild cattle and hawgs and that's the way we got our start, caught some of them and tamed them. "i don't know as i 'spected nothin' from freedom, but they turned us out like a bunch of stray dogs, no homes, no clothin', no nothin', not 'nough food to last us one meal. after we settles on that place, i never seed man or woman, 'cept govie, for six years, 'cause it was a long ways to anywhere. all we had to farm with was sharp sticks. we'd stick holes and plant corn and when it come up we'd punch up the dirt round it. we didn't plant cotton, 'cause we couldn't eat that. i made bows and arrows to kill wild game with and we never went to a store for nothin'. we made our clothes out of animal skins. "we used rabbit foots for good luck, tied round our necks. we'd make medicine out of wood herbs. there is a rabbit foot weed that we mixed with sassafras and made good cough syrup. then there is cami weed for chills and fever. "all i ever did was to farm and i made a livin'. i still makes one, though i'm purty old now and its hard for me to keep the work up. i has some chickens and hawgs and a yearling or two to sell every year. aunt pinkie kelly, whose age is a matter of conjecture, but who says she was "growed up when sot free," was born on a plantation in brazoria co., owned by greenville mcneel, and still lives on what was a part of the mcneel plantation, in a little cabin which she says is much like the old slave quarters. "de only place i knows 'bout is right here, what was marse greenville mcneel's plantation, 'cause i's born here and marse greenville and missy amelia, what was his wife, is de only ones i ever belonged to. after de war, marse huntington come down from up north and took over de place when marse greenville die, but de big house burned up and all de papers, too, and i couldn't tell to save my life how old i is, but i's growed up and worked in de fields befo' i's sot free. "my mammy's name was harriet jackson and she was born on de same plantation. my pappy's name was dan, but folks called him good cheer. he druv oxen and one day they show me him and say he my pappy, and so i guess he was, but i can't tell much about him, 'cause chillen then didn't know their pappys like chillen do now. "most i 'members 'bout them times is work, 'cause we's put out in de fields befo' day and come back after night. then we has to shell a bushel of corn befo' we goes to bed and we was so tired we didn't have time for nothin'. "old man jerry driver watches us in de fields and iffen we didn't work hard he whip us and whip us hard. then he die and 'nother man call archer come. he say, 'you niggers now, you don't work good, i beat you,' and we sho' worked hard then. "marse greenville treated us pretty good but he never give us nothin'. sometime we'd run away and hide in de woods for a spell, but when they cotch us marse greenville tie us down and whip us so we don't do it no more. "we didn't have no clothes like we do now, jes' cotton lowers and rubber shoes. they used to feed us peas and cornbread and hominy, and sometime they threw beef in a pot and bile it, but we never had hawg meat. "iffen we took sick, old aunt becky was de doctor. they was a building like what they calls a hospital and she put us in there and give us calomel or turpentine, dependin' on what ailed us. they allus kep' the babies there and let de mammies come in and suckle and dry 'em up. "i never heered much 'bout no war and marse greenville never told us we was free. first i knows was one day we gwine to de fields and a man come ridin' up and say, 'whar you folks gwine?' we say we gwine to de fields and then he say to marse greenville, 'you can't work these people, without no pay, 'cause they's as free as you is.' law, we sho' shout, young folks and old folks too. but we stay there, no place to go, so we jes' stay, but we gits a little pay. "after 'while i marries. allen kelley was de first husban' what i ever owned and he die. houston edmond, he the las' husban' i ever owned and he die, too. "law me, they used to be a sayin' that chillen born on de dark of de moon ain't gwineter have no luck, and i guess i sho' was born then!" [illustration: sam kilgore] sam kilgore, , was born a slave of john peacock, of williams county, tennessee, who owned one of the largest plantations in the south. when he was eight years old, sam accompanied his master to england for a three-year stay. sam was in the confederate army and also served in the spanish-american war. he came to fort worth in and learned cement work. in he started a cement contracting business which he still operates. he lives at e. cannon st., fort worth, texas. "you asks me when i's born and was i born a slave. well, i's born on july , , so i's a slave for twenty years, and had three massas. i's born in williamson county, near memphis, in tennessee. massa john peacock owned de plantation and am it de big one! dere am a thousand acres and 'bout a thousand slaves. "de slave cabins am in rows, twenty in de first row and eighteen in de second and sixteen in de third. den dere am house servants quarters near de big house. de cabins am logs and not much in dem but homemade tables and benches and bunks 'side de wall. each family has dere own cabin and sometimes dere am ten or more in de family, so it am kind of crowded. but massa am good and let dem have de family life, and once each week de rations am measure out by a old darky what have charge de com'sary, and dere am allus plenty to eat. "but dem eats ain't like nowadays. it am home-cured meat and mostly cornmeal, but plenty veg'tables and 'lasses and brown sugar. massa raised lots of hawgs, what am berkshires and razorbacks. razorback meat am 'sidered de best and sweetest. "de work stock am eighty head of mules and fifty head of hosses and fifteen yoke of oxen. it took plenty feed for all dem and massa have de big field of corn, far as we could see. de plantation am run on system and everything clean and in order, not like lots of plantations with tools scattered 'round and dirt piles here and there. de chief overseer am white and de second overseers am black. stien was nigger overseer in de shoemakin' and harness, and aunty darkins am overseer of de spinnin' and weavin'. "dat place am so well manage dat whippin's am not nec'sary. massa have he own way of keepin' de niggers in line. if dey bad he say, 'i 'spect dat nigger driver comin' round tomorrow and i's gwine sell you.' now, when a nigger git in de hands of de nigger driver it am de big chance he'll git sold to de cruel massa, and dat make de niggers powerful skeert, so dey 'haves. on de next plantation we'd hear de niggers pleadin' when dey's whipped, 'massa, have mercy,' and sich. our massa allus say, 'boys, you hears dat mis'ry and we don't want no sich on dis place and it am up to you.' so us all 'haves ourselves. "when i's four years old i's took to de big house by young massa frank, old massa's son. he have me for de errand boy and, i guess, for de plaything. when i gits bigger i's his valet and he like me and i sho' like him. he am kind and smart, too, and am choosed from nineteen other boys to go to england and study at de mil'tary 'cademy. i's 'bout eight when we starts for liverpool. we goes from memphis to newport and takes de boat, bessie. it am a sailboat and den de fun starts for sho'. it am summer and not much wind and sometimes we jus' stand still day after day in de fog so thick we can't see from one end de boat to de other. "i'll never forgit dat trip. when we gits far out on de water, i's dead sho' we'll never git back to land again. first i takes de seasick and dat am something. if there am anything worser it can't be stood! it ain't possible to 'splain it, but i wants to die, and if dey's anything worser dan dat seasick mis'ry, i says de lawd have mercy on dem. i can't 'lieve dere am so much stuff in one person, but plenty come out of me. i mos' raised de ocean! when dat am over i gits homesick and so do massa frank. i cries and he tries to 'sole me and den he gits tears in he eyes. we am weeks on dat water, and good old tennessee am allus on our mind. "when we gits to england it am all right, but often we goes down to de wharf and looks over de cotton bales for dat memphis gin mark. couple times massa frank finds some and he say, 'here a bale from home, sam,' with he voice full of joy like a kid what find some candy. we stands round dat bale and wonders if it am raised on de plantation. "but we has de good time after we gits 'quainted and i seed lots and gits to know some west india niggers. but we's ready to come home and when we gits dere it am plenty war. massa frank jines de 'federate army and course i's his valet and goes with him, right over to camp carpenter, at mobile. he am de lieutenant under general gordon and befo' long dey pushes him higher. fin'ly he gits notice he am to be a colonel and dat sep'rates us, 'cause he has to go to floridy. 'i's gwine with you,' i says, for i thinks i 'longs to him and he 'longs to me and can't nothing part us. but he say, 'you can't go with me this time. dey's gwine put you in de army.' den i cries and he cries. "i's seventeen years old when i puts my hand on de book and am a sojer. i talks to my captain 'bout massa frank and wants to go to see him. but it wasn't more'n two weeks after he leaves dat him was kilt. dat am de awful shock to me and it am a long time befo' i gits over it. i allus feels if i'd been with him maybe i could save his life. "my company am moved to birmingham and builds breastworks. dey say gen. lee am comin' for a battle but he didn't ever come and when i been back to see dem breastworks, dey never been used. we marches north to lexington, in kentuck' but am gone befo' de battle to louisville. we comes back to salem, in georgia, but i's never in no big battle, only some skirmishes now and den. we allus fixes for de battles and builds bridges and doesn't fight much. "i goes back after de war to memphis. my mammy am on de kilgore place and massa kilgore takes her and my pappy and two hundred other slaves and comes to texas. dat how i gits here. he settles at de place called kilgore, and it was named after him, but in he moves to cleburne. "befo' we moved to texas de klu kluxers done burn my mammy's house and she lost everything. dey was 'bout $ in greenbacks in dat house and a three hundred pound hawg in de pen, what die from de heat. we done run to massa rodger's house. de riders gits so bad dey come most any time and run de cullud folks off for no cause, jus' to be orn'ry and plunder de home. but one day i seed massa rodgers take a dozen guns out his wagon and he and some white men digs a ditch round de cotton field close to de road. couple nights after dat de riders come and when dey gits near dat ditch a volley am fired and lots of dem draps off dey hosses. dat ended de klux trouble in dat section. "after i been in texas a year i jines de fed'ral army for de indian war. i's in de transportation division and drives oxen and mules, haulin' supplies to de forts. we goes to fort griffin and dodge city and laramie, in wyoming. dere am allus two or three hundred sojers with us, to watch for indian attacks. dey travels on hosses, 'head, 'side and 'hind de wagon. one day de sent'nel reports indians am round so we gits hid in de trees and bresh. on a high ledge off to de west we sees de indians travelin' north, two abreast. de lieutenant say he counted 'bout seven hundred but dey sho' missed us, or maybe i'd not be here today. "i stays in de service for seven years and den goes back to johnson county, farmin' on de rodgers place, and stays till i comes to fort worth in . den i gits into 'nother war, de spanish 'merican war. but i's in de com'sary work so don't see much fightin'. in all dem wars i sees most no fightin', 'cause i allus works with de supplies. "after dat war i goes to work laborin' for buildin' contractors. i works for sev'ral den gits with mr. bardon and larns de cement work with him. he am awful good man to work for, dat john bardon. fin'ly i starts my own cement business and am still runnin' it. my health am good and i's allus on de job, 'cause dis home i owns has to be kept up. it cost sev'ral thousand dollars and i can't 'ford to neglect it. "i's married twict. i marries mattie norman in and sep'rates in . she could spend more money den two niggers could shovel it in. den i marries lottie young in , but dere am no chillens. i's never dat lucky. "i's voted ev'ry 'lection and 'lieves it de duty for ev'ry citizen to vote. "now, i's told you everything from genesis to rev'lations, and it de truth, as i 'members it. [illustration: ben kinchlow] ben kinchlow, , was the son of lizaer moore, a half-white slave owned by sandy moore, wharton co., and lad kinchlow, a white man. when ben was one year old his mother was freed and given some money. she was sent to matamoras, mexico and they lived there and at brownsville, texas, during the years before and directly following the civil war. ben and his wife, liza, now live in uvalde, texas, in a neat little home. ben has straight hair, a roman nose, and his speech is like that of the early white settler. he is affable and enjoys recounting his experiences. "i was birthed in in wharton, wharton county, in slavery times. my mother's name was lizaer moore. i think her master's name was sandy moore, and she went by his name. my father's name was lad kinchlow. my mother was a half-breed negro; my father was a white man of that same county. i don't know anything about my father. he was a white man, i know that. after i was borned and was one year old, my mother was set free and sent to mexico to live. when we left wharton, we was sent away in an ambulance. it was an old-time ambulance. it was what they called an ambulance--a four-wheeled concern pulled by two mules. that is what they used to traffic in. the big rich white folks would get in it and go to church or on a long journey. we landed safely into matamoros, mexico, just me and my mother and older brother. she had the means to live on till she got there and got acquainted. we stayed there about twelve years. then we moved back to brownsville and stayed there until after all negroes were free. she went to washing and she made lots of money at it. she charged by the dozen. three or four handkerchiefs were considered a piece. she made good because she got $ . a dozen for men washing and $ a dozen for women's clothes. "i was married in february, , to christiana temple, married at matagorda, matagorda county. i had six children by my first wife. three boys and three girls. two girls died. the other girl is in gonzales county. lawrence is here workin' on the kincaid ranch and andrew is workin' for john monagin's dairy and henry is seventy miles from alpine. he's a highway boss. this was my first wife. now i am married again and have been with this wife forty years. her name was eliza dawson. no children born to this union. "the way we lived in those days--the country was full of wild game, deer, wild hogs, turkey, duck, rabbits, 'possum, lions, quails, and so forth. you see, in them days they was all thinly settled and they was all neighbors. most settlements was all meskins mostly; of course there was a few white people. in them days the country was all open and a man could go in there and settle down wherever he wanted to and wouldn't be molested a-tall. they wasn't molested till they commenced putting these fences and putting up these barbwire fences. you could ride all day and never open a gate. maybe ride right up to a man's house and then just let down a bar or two. "sometime when we wanted fresh meat we went out and killed. we also could kill a calf or goat whenever we cared to because they were plenty and no fence to stop you. we also had plenty milk and butter and home-made cheese. we did not have much coffee. you know the way we made our coffee? we just taken corn and parched it right brown and ground it up. whenever we would get up furs and hides enough to go into market, a bunch of neighbors would get together and take ten to fifteen deer hides each and take 'em in to brownsville and sell 'em and get their supplies. they paid twenty-five cents a pound for them. that's when we got our coffee, but we'd got so used to using corn-coffee, we didn't care whether we had that real coffee so much, because we had to be careful with our supplies, anyway. my recollection is that it was fifty cents a pound and it would be green coffee and you would have to roast it and grind it on a mill. we didn't have any sugar, and very rare thing to have flour. the deer was here by the hundreds. there was blue quail--my goodness! you could get a bunch of these blue top-knot quail rounded up in a bunch of pear and, if they was any rocks, you could kill every one of 'em. if you could hit one and get 'im to fluttering the others would bunch around him and you could kill every one of 'em with rocks. "we lived very neighborly. when any of the neighbors killed fresh meat we always divided with one another. we all had a corn patch, about three or four acres. we did not have plows; we planted with a hoe. we were lucky in raisin' corn every year. most all the neighbors had a little bunch of goats, cows, mares, and hogs. our nearest market was forty miles, at old brownsville. when i was a boy i wo'e what was called shirt-tail. it was a long, loose shirt with no pants. i did not wear pants until i was about ten or twelve. the way we got our supplies, all the neighbors would go in together and send into town in a dump cart drawn by a mule. the main station was at brownsville. it was thirty-five miles from where they'd change horses. they carried this mail to edinburg, and it took four days. sometimes they'd ride a horse or mule. we'd get our mail once a week. we got our mail at brownsville. "the country was very thinly settled then and of very few white people; most all meskins, living on the border. the country was open, no fences. every neighbor had a little place. we didn't have any plows; we planted with a hoe and went along and raked the dirt over with our toes. we had a grist mill too. i bet i've turned one a million miles. there was no hired work then. when a man was hired he got $ or $ per month, and when people wanted to brand or do other work, all the neighbors went together and helped without pay. the most thing that we had to fear was indians and cattle rustlers and wild animals. "while i was yet on the border, the plantation owners had to send their cotton to the border to be shipped to other parts, so it was transferred by negro slaves as drivers. lots of times, when these negroes got there and took the cotton from their wagon, they would then be persuaded to go across the border by meskins, and then they would never return to their master. that is how lots of negroes got to be free. the way they used to transfer the cotton--these big cotton plantations east of here--they'd take it to brownsville and put it on the wharf and ship it from there. i can remember seeing, during the cotton season, fifteen or twenty teams hauling cotton, sometimes five or six, maybe eight bales on a wagon. you see, them steamboats used to run all up and down that river. i think this cotton went out to market at new orleans and went right out into the gulf. "our house was a log cabin with a log chimney da'bbed with mud. the cabin was covered with grass for a roof. the fireplace was the kind of stove we had. mother cooked in dutch ovens. our main meal was corn bread and milk and grits with milk. that was a little bit coarser than meal. the way we used to cook it and the best flavored is to cook it out-of-doors in a dutch oven. we called 'em corn dodgers. now ash cakes, you have your dough pretty stiff and smooth off a place in the ashes and lay it right on the ashes and cover it up with ashes and when it got done, you could wipe every bit of the ashes off, and get you some butter and put on it. m-m-m! i tell you, its fine! there is another way of cookin' flour bread without a skillet or a stove, is to make up your dough stiff and roll it out thin and cut it in strips and roll it on a green stick and just hold it over the coals, and it sure makes good bread. when one side cooks too fast, you can just turn it over, and have your stick long enough to keep it from burnin' your hands. how come me to learn this was: one time we were huntin' horse stock and there was an outfit along and the pack mule that was packed with our provisions and skillets and coffee pots and things--we never did carry much stuff, not even no beddin'--the pack turned on the mule and we lost our skillet and none of us knowed it at the time. all of us was cooks, but that old meskin that was along was the only one that knew how to cook bread that way. sometimes we would be out six weeks or two months on a general round-up, workin' horse stock; the country would just be alive with cattle, and horses too. we used to have lots of fun on those drives. "i tell you, i didn't enjoy that 'court' at night. they got so tough on us you couldn't spit in camp, couldn't use no cuss words--they would sure 'put the leggin's on you' if you did!" uncle ben hitched his chair, and with much chuckling, recalled the "kangaroo court" the cowboys used to hold at night in camp. these impromptu courts were often all the fun the cowboys had during the long weeks of hunting stock in the open range country. "oh, it was all in fun. just catch somebody so we could hold court! they would have two or three as a jury. they would use me as sheriff and appoint a judge. the prisoner was turned over to the judge and whatever he said, it had to be carried out exactly. the penalty? well, sometimes--it was owing to the crime--but sometimes they would put it up to about twenty licks with the leggin's. if they was any bendin' trees, they would lay you across the log. they got tough, all right, but we sure had fun. we had to salute the boss every mornin', and if we forgot it...! they never forgot it that night; you'd sure get tried in court. "we camped on the side of a creek one time, and we had a new man, a sort of green fellow. this new man unsaddled his horse by the side of the creek and he lay down there. he had on a big pair of spurs, and i was watchin' him and studyin' up some kind of prank to play on 'im. so i went and got me a string and tied one of his spurs to his saddle and then i told the boss what i'd done and he had one of the fellows put a saddle on and tie tin cups and pots on it and then they commenced shootin' and yellin'. this man with the saddle on went pitchin' right toward that fellow, and that man got up, scared to death, and started to run. he run the length of the string and then fell down, but he didn't take time to get up; he went runnin' on his all-fours as fur as he could, till he drug the saddle to where it hung up. he woulda run right into the creek, but the saddle held 'im back. we didn't hold kangaroo court over that! nobody knowed who did it. of course, they all knowed, but they didn't let on. but nobody ever got in a bad humor; it didn't do no good. "i've stood up of many a bad night, dozin'. it would be two weeks, sometimes, before we got to lay down on our beds. i have stood up between the wagon wheel and the bed (of the wagon) and dozed many a night. maybe one or two men would come in and doze an hour or two, but if the cattle were restless and ready to run, we had to be ready right now. sho! those stormy nights thunderin' and lightnin'! you could just see the lightnin' all over the steers' horns and your horse's ears and mane too. it would dangle all up and down his mane. it never interfered with =you= a-tall. and you could see it around the steer's horns in the herd, the lightnin' would dangle all over 'em. if the hands (cowboys) or the relief could get to 'em before they got started to runnin', they could handle 'em; but if they got started first, they would be pretty hard to handle. "the first ranch i worked on after i left mcnelly was on the =banqueta= on the =agua dulce= creek for the miley boys, putting up a pasture fence. i worked there about two months, diggin' post holes. from there to the king ranch for about four months, breaking horses. i kept travelin' east till i got back to wharton, where my mother was. she died there in wharton. i didn't stay with her very long. i went down to =tres palacios= in matagorda county. i did pasture work there, and cattle work. i worked for mr. moore for twelve years. then he moved to stockdale and i worked for him there eight years. from there, after i got through with mr. moore, i went back to =tres palacios= and i worked there for first one man and then another. i think we have been here at uvalde for about twenty-three years. "i've been the luckiest man in the world to have gone through what i have and not get hurt. i have never had but two horses to fall with me. i could ride all day right now and never tire. you never hear me say, 'i'm tired, i'm sleepy, i'm hongry.' and out in camp you never see me lay down when i come in to camp, or set down to eat, and if i =do=, i set down on my foot. i always get my plate in my hand and eat standin' up, or lean against the wagon, maybe. "when cap'n. mcnelly taken sick and resigned, i traveled east and picked up jobs of work on ranches. the first work after i left the rio grande was on the =banqueta=, and then i went to work on the king ranch about fifty miles southeast (?) of brownsville. it wasn't fixed up in them days like it is now. but the territory is like it was then. they worked all meskin hands. they were working about twenty-five or thirty meskins at the headquarters' ranch. and the main =caporal= was a meskin. his wages was top wages and he got twelve dollars a month. and the hands, if you was a real good hand, you got seven or eight dollars a month, and they would give you rations. they would furnish you all the meat you wanted and furnish you corn, but you would have to grind it yourself for bread. you know, like the meskins make on a =metate=. you could have all the home-made cheese you want, and milk. in them days, the meskins didn't have sense enough to make butter. i seen better times them days than i am seein' now. we just had a home livin'. you could go out any time and kill you anything you wanted--turkeys, hogs, javalinas, deer, 'coons, 'possums, quail. "i'll tell you about a meskin ranch i worked on. it was a big lake. it covered, i reckin, fifty acres, and these little meskin huts just surrounded that big lake. and fish! my goodness, you could just go down there and throw your hook in without a bait and catch a fish. that was what you call the =laguna de chacona=. that was out from brownsville about thirty-five miles. that ranch was owned by the old meskin named chacon, where the lake got its name. "it seems funny the way they handled milk calves--you know, the men-folks didn't milk cows, they wouldn't even fool with 'em. they would have a great big corral and maybe they would have fifteen or twenty cows and they would be four or five families go there to milk. every calf would have a rawhide strap around his neck about six foot long. now, instead of them makin' a calf pen--of evenin's the girls would go down there and i used to go help 'em--they would pull the calf up to the fence and stick the strap through a crack and pull the calf's head down nearly to the ground where he couldn't suck. of course, the old cow would hang around right close to the calf as she could git. when they let the calf suck, they'd leave 'im tied down so he couldn't suck in the night. they always kep' the cows up at night and they'd leave the calves in the pen with 'em, but tied down. but buildin' just what you call a calf pen, they'd set posts in the ground just like these stock pens at the railroad and lay the poles between 'em. then again, they would dig a trench and set mesquite poles so thick and deep, why, you couldn't push it down! "now, in dry times, they would have a =banvolete= (ban-bo-la-te). hand me two of them sticks, mama. now, you see, like here would be the well and you cut a long stick as long as you could get it, with a fork up here in this here pole, and have this here stick in the fork of the pole. they'd bolt the cross piece down in the fork of the pole that was put in the ground right by the well, and have it so it would work up and down. they'd be a weight tied on the end of the other pole and they could sure draw water in a hurry. i made one out here on the anderson ranch. just as fast as you could let your bucket down, then jerk it up, you had the water up. the well had cross pieces of poles laid around it and cut to fit together. "now, about the other way we had to draw water. we had a big well, only it was fenced around to keep cattle from gettin' in there. the reason they had to do that, they had a big wheel with footpieces, like steps, to tread, and you would have the wheel over the well and they had about fifteen or twenty rawhide buckets fastened to a rope (that the wheel pulled it went around), and when they went down, they would go down in front of you. you had to sit down right behind the wheel, and you would push with your feet and pull with your hands, and the buckets came up behind you and as they went up, they would empty and go back down. they had some way of fixin' the rawhide. i think they toasted it, or scorched the hide to keep it hard so the water wouldn't soak it up and get it soft. that was on that place, the chacona lakes. that old meskin was a native of the rio grande and run cattle and horses. in them days, you could buy an acre of land for fifty cents, river front, all the land you wanted. now that land in that valley, you couldn't buy it for a hundred dollars an acre. "did i tell you about diggin' that pit right in the fence of our corn patch to catch javalines? the way we done, why, we just dug a big pit right on the inside of the field, right against the fence, and whenever they would go through that hole to go in the corn patch, they would drop off in that hole. i think we caught nine, little and big, at one trappin' once. it was already an old trompin' place where they come in and out, and we had put the pit there. but after you use it, they won't come in there again. "you see, i tell you about them brush fences. the deer had certain places to go to that fence to jump it, and after we found the regular jumpin' place, we would cut three sticks--pretty good size, about like your wrist, about three foot long--and peel 'em and scorch 'em in the fire and sharpen the ends right good and we would go to set our traps. we would put these three sharp sticks right about where the forefeet of the deer would hit. you'd just set the sticks about four inches from where his forefeet would hit the ground, and you'd set the sticks leanin' towards the brush fence, and they would be one in the center and two on the side and about two inches apart. when he jumped, you would sure get 'im right about the point of the brisket. he'd hardly ever miss 'em, and you'd find 'im right there. oh, sometimes he'd pull up a stick and run a piece with it, but he didn't run very far. "i been listenin' to the radio about cap'n mcnelly and i tell you it didn't sound right to me. in what way? why, they never was no cattle on the steamboats down the rio grande. i just tell you they was no way of shippin' cattle on a steamboat. they couldn't get 'em down the hatch and they couldn't keep 'em on deck and they wasn't no wharf to load 'em, either. i was there and i seen them boats too long and i =know= they never shipped no cattle on them steamboats. after they crossed the rio grand into mexico, they might have been shipped from some port down there, but all them cattle they crossed was =swum= across. they was big boats, but they wasn't no stock boats. they shipped lots of cotton on them steamboats, but they wasn't fixed to ship no cattle. they was up there for freight and passengers. the passengers was going on down the gulf, maybe to new orleans. they would get on at brownsville. the steamboats couldn't go very fur up the river only in high water, but they could come up to brownsville all the time. "i was in the ranger service for about a year with captain mcnelly, or until he died. i was his guide. i was living thirty-five miles above brownsville. i was working for a man right there on the place by the name of john cunningham. it was called bare stone. you see, hit was a ranch there. mcnelly was stationed there after the government troops moved off. they had 'em (the troops) there for a while, but they never did do no good, never did make a raid on nothin'. i was twenty or twenty-one. how come me to get in with mcnelly, they had a big meadow there, a big 'permuda' (bermuda) grass meadow. me and another fellow used to go in there, and john cunningham furnished cap'n mcnelly hay for his horses. that's how come me to get in with 'im. fin'ly, he found out i knew all about that country and sometimes he would come over there and get me to map off a road, though they wasn't but one main road right there. so, one day i was over in the camp with 'im and i say, 'cap'n, how would you like to give me a job to work with you?' he said, 'i'd like to have you all right, but you couldn't come here on state pay, and under =no responsibility=.' i told 'im that was all right. i knew how i was going to get my money, 'cause i gambled. sometimes i would have a hundred or a hundred, twenty-five dollars. durin' the month i would win from the soljers dealin' monte or playin' seven-up. they wasn't no craps in them days. we played luck too; we never had no shenanigans, a-stealin' a man's money. if you had a good streak o' luck, you made good; if you didn't, you was out o' luck. sometimes, i had up as high as twenty-five or thirty dollars. "one thing about the cap'n, he'd tell his men--well, we had a sutler's shop right across from our camp, all kinds of good drinks--and he would tell his men he didn't care how much they drank but he didn't want any of 'em fighting'. he kep' 'em under good control. "you see, they was all dependin' on me for guidin'. there was no way for them cow rustlers or bandits to get to the cow ranches after they crossed the river (rio grande) excep' to cross that road for there was no other way for 'em to get out there. you see, there was where it would be easy for me, pickin' up a trail. i would just follow that road on if i had a certain distance to go, and if i didn't find no trail i would come back and report, and if i would find a trail he would ask me how many they was and where they was goin', and i would tell 'im which way, 'cause i didn't know exactly where they was goin' to round-up. he would always give 'em about two or three days to make the round-up from the time that trail crossed. and we always went to meet 'em, or catch 'em at the river. we got into two or three real bad combats. "the worst one was on palo alto prairie, one of santa anna's battle grounds. about twelve or fifteen miles east of old brownsville. they was sixteen of the bandits and they was fifteen of 'em killed--all meskins excep' one white man. one meskin escaped. the cap'n just put 'em all up together in a pile and sent a message to brownsville to the authorities and told 'em where they was at and what shape they was in. they must have had two hundred or two hundred and twenty-five head (of cattle) with 'em. it was open country and they would get anybody's cattle. they just got 'em off the range. "they mostly would cross that road at night, and by me gettin' out early next mornin' and findin' that trail, i could tell pretty much how old it was. i reckon that place wasn't over thirteen miles from brownsville and our camp was thirty-five miles, i guess it must have been twenty-five miles from our camp to where we had that battle. we sure went there to get 'em. i trailed them horses and i knowed from the direction they was takin' that they was goin' to those big lakes called santa lalla. they was between point isabel and brownsville and that made us about a forty-five mile ride to get to that crossin', to a place called bagdad, right on the waters of the rio grande. "we got our lunch at brownsville and started out to go to this crossin'. i knowed right about where this crossin' was and i says to the cap'n, 'don't you reckon i better go and see if they was any sign?' we stayed there about three hours and didn't hear a thing. and then the cap'n said, 'boys, we better eat our lunch'. while we was eatin', we heard somebody holler, and he said, 'boys, there they are.' and he said to me, 'ben, you want to stay with the horses or be in the fun?' and i said, 'i don't care.' so he said, 'you better stay with the horses; you ain't paid to kill meskins! i went out to where the horses were. the rangers were afoot in the brush. it was about an hour from the time we heard the fellow holler before the cattle got there. when the rangers placed themselves on the side of the road, the meskins didn't know what they was goin' to get into! "the meskins was all singin' at the top of their voices and they was comin' on in. the cap'n waited till they went to crossin' the herd, he waited till these rustlers all got into the river behind the cattle, and then the cap'n opened fire on the bandits. they didn't have no possible show. they was in the water, and he just floated 'em down the river. they was one man got away. i saw 'im later, and he told me about it. the way he got away, he says he was a good swimmer and he just fell off his horse in the water and the swift water took 'im down and he just kep' his nose out of the water and got away that way. they was fo'teen in that bunch, i know. "the echo of the shootin' turned the cattle back to the american side. the lead cattle was just gettin' ready to hit the other side of the river when the shootin' taken place and the echo of the shootin' turned 'em and they come back across. now, in swimmin' a bunch of cattle, if you pop your whip, you are just as liable to turn 'em back, or if you holler the echo might turn 'em back. it'll do that nearly every time. "after the fight, the cap'n says to the boys, 'well, boys, the fun is all over now, i guess we'd better start back to camp.' and they all mounted their horses and begun singin': "o, bury me not on the lone prairie-e-e where the wild coyotes will howl o'er me-e-e, right where all the meskins ought to be-e-e!" [illustration: mary kindred] mary kindred was a slave on the luke hadnot plantation in jasper, texas. she does not know her age but thinks she is about . she now lives in beaumont, texas. "my mind don't dwell back. the older i gits the lessen i thinks 'bout the old times. i ain't gittin' old. i's done got old. i not been one of them bad, outlawed fellers, so de good lawd done 'low me live a long time. some things i knows i heered from my mother and my grandma. they so fresh to them in that time, though, i mostly sure they's truth. "my mother name was hannah hadnot and my daddy was ruffin hadnot and he used to carry the mail from weiss bluff to jasper. they waylay him 'long the road in and kill him and rob the mail. "luke hadnot was our old massa. he good to my grandma and give her license for a doctor woman. old massa must of thought lots of her, 'cause he give her forty acres of land and a home fer herself. that house still standin' up there in jasper, yet. "grandma used to sing a li'l song to us, like this: "'one mornin' in may, i spies a beautiful dandy, a-rakin' way of de hay. i asks her to marry. she say, scornful, 'no.' but befo' six months roll by her apron strings wouldn't tie she wrote me a letter, she marry me then, i say, no, no, my gal, not i.' "grandma git de bark offen de thorn tree and bile it with turpentine for de toothache. she used herbs for de medicine and they's good. "old missy was tall and slim, a rawbone sort of woman. her name was matilda hadnot. massa have as big a still as ever i seed and dey used to make everything there. they has it civered with boards they rive out the woods. there wasn't no revenuers in dem days. "us gits de groceries by steamboat and the wagons go down the old bevilport road to the steamboat landin'. that the ang'leen river. one the biggest boats was own by capt. bryce hadnot, the 'old grim.' "i 'member back durin' the war the people couldn't git no coffee. they used to take bran and peanuts and okra seed and sich and parch 'em for coffee. it make right drinkable coffee. they gits sugar from the store or the sugar cane. when they buy it, it's in a big, white lump what they calls 'sugar loaf.' when they has no sugar they uses the syrup to sweeten the coffee and they call syrup 'long sweetenin' and sugar, 'short sweetenin'. "us has lots of dances with fiddle and 'corjum player. us sing, 'swing you partner, promenade.' another li'l song start out: "'dinah got a meat skin lay away, grease dat wooden leg, dinah. grease dat wooden leg, dinah. shake dat wooden leg, dinah, shake dat wooden leg, dinah.' i 'members this song: "'down in shiloh town, down in shiloh town, de old grey mare come tearin' out de wilderness. down in shiloh town, o, boys, o, o, boys, o, down in shiloh town.' "i's seed lots of blue gum niggers and they say iffen they bite you dey pizen you. they hands diff'rent from other niggers. now, my hand's right smart white in the inside, but blue gum nigger hand is more browner on the inside. "i used to have a old aunt name harriett and iffen she tell you anythin' you kin jes' put it down it gwineter come out like she say. she have the big mole on the inside her mouth and when she shake her finger at you it gwine happen to you jes' like she say. that what they call puttin' bad mouth on them and she sho' could do it. "i's had chillen. my first husban was anthony adams and the last alfred kindred. i only got three chillen livin' now, though. one of the sons am the outer door guard of the lodge here in beaumont. nancy king, , was born in upshur county, texas, a slave of william jackson. she and her husband moved to marshall, texas, in . nancy now lives with her daughter, lucy staples. "i was borned and raised on william jackson's place, jus' twelve miles east of gilmer. i was growed and had one child at surrender, and my mother told me i was a woman of my own when old missie sot us free, jus' after surrender, so you can figurate my age from that. "my first child was borned the january befo' surrender in june, and i 'members hoeing in the field befo' the war come on. massa william raised lots of cotton and corn and tobacco and most everything we et. i never worked in the field, 'cept to chase the calves in, till i was most growed. massa was good to us. course, i never went to school, but old missie sent my brother, alex, two years after the war, with her own chillen. "i was married durin' the war and it was at church, with a white preacher. old missie give me the cloth and dye for my weddin' dress and my mother spun and dyed the cloth, and i made it. it was homespun but nothin' cheap 'bout it for them days. after the weddin' massa give us a big dinner and we had a time. "massa done all the bossin' his own self. he never whipped me, but old missie had to switch me a little for piddlin' round, 'stead of doin' what she said. every sat'day night we had a candy pullin' and played games, and allus had plenty of clothes and shoes. "i seed the soldiers comin' and gwine to the war, and 'members when massa william left to go fight for the south. his boy, billie, was sixteen, and tended the place while massa's away. massa done say he'd let the niggers go without fightin'. he didn't think war was right, but he had to go. he 'serts and comes home befo' the war gits goin' good and the soldiers come after him. he run off to the bottoms, but they was on hosses and overtook him. i was there in the room when they brung him back. one of them says, 'jackson, we ain't gwine take you with us now, but we'll fix you so you can't run off till we git back.' they put red pepper in his eyes and left. missie cried. they come back for him in a day or two and made my father saddle up hawk-eye, massa's best hoss. then they rode away and we never seed massa 'gain. one day my brother, alex, hollers out, 'oh, missie, yonder is the hoss, at the gate, and ain't nobody ridin' him.' missie throwed up her hands and says, 'o, lawdy, my husban' am dead!' she knowed somehow when he left he wasn't comin' back. "old missie freed us but said we had a home as long as she did. me and my husban' stays 'bout a year, but my folks stays till she marries 'gain. "my brother-in-law, sam pitman, tells us how he put one by the ku kluxers. him and some niggers was out one night and the kluxers chases them on hosses. they run down a narrow road and tied four strands of grapevine 'cross the road, 'bout breast high to a hoss. the kluxers come gallopin' down that road and when the hosses hit that grapevine, it throwed them every which way and broke some their arms. sam used to laugh and tell how them kluxers cussed them niggers. "me and my husban' come to marshall the year after surrender, and i is lived here every since. my man works on farms till he got on the railroad. i's been married four times and raised six chillen. the young people is diff'rent from what we was, but diff'rent times calls for diff'rent ways, i 'spect. my chillen allus done the best they could by me. silvia king, french negress of marlin, texas, does not know her age, but says that she was born in morocco. she was stolen from her husband and three children, brought to the united states and sold into slavery. silvia has the appearance of extreme age, and may be close to a hundred years old, as she thinks she is, because of her memories of the children she never saw again and of the slave ship. "i know i was borned in morocco, in africa, and was married and had three chillen befo' i was stoled from my husband. i don't know who it was stole me, but dey took me to france, to a place called bordeaux, and drugs me with some coffee, and when i knows anything 'bout it, i's in de bottom of a boat with a whole lot of other niggers. it seem like we was in dat boat forever, but we comes to land, and i's put on de block and sold. i finds out afterwards from my white folks it was in new orleans where dat block was, but i didn't know it den. "we was all chained and dey strips all our clothes off and de folks what gwine buy us comes round and feels us all over. iffen any de niggers don't want to take dere clothes off, de man gits a long, black whip and cuts dem up hard. i's sold to a planter what had a big plantation in fayette county, right here in texas, don't know no name 'cept marse jones. "marse jones, he am awful good, but de overseer was de meanest man i ever knowed, a white man name smith, what boasts 'bout how many niggers he done kilt. when marse jones seed me on de block, he say, 'dat's a whale of a woman.' i's scairt and can't say nothin', 'cause i can't speak english. he buys some more slaves and dey chains us together and marches us up near la grange, in texas. marse jones done gone on ahead and de overseer marches us. dat was a awful time, 'cause us am all chained up and whatever one does us all has to do. if one drinks out of de stream we all drinks, and when one gits tired or sick, de rest has to drag and carry him. when us git to texas, marse jones raise de debbil with dat white man what had us on da march. he git de doctor man and tell de cook to feed us and lets us rest up. "after 'while, marse jones say to me, 'silvia, am you married?' i tells him i got a man and three chillen back in de old country, but he don't understand my talk and i has a man give to me. i don't bother with dat nigger's name much, he jes' bob to me. but i fit him good and plenty till de overseer shakes a blacksnake whip over me. "marse jones and old miss finds out 'bout my cookin' and takes me to de big house to cook for dem. de dishes and things was awful queer to me, to what i been brung up to use in france. i mostly cooks after dat, but i's de powerful big woman when i's young and when dey gits in a tight [handwritten note: 'place?'] i helps out. "'fore long marse jones 'cides to move. he allus say he gwine git where he can't hear he neighbor's cowhorn, and he do. dere ain't nothin' but woods and grass land, no houses, no roads, no bridges, no neighbors, nothin' but woods and wild animals. but he builds a mighty fine house with a stone chimney six foot square at de bottom. the sill was a foot square and de house am made of logs, but dey splits out two inch plank and puts it outside de logs, from de ground clean up to de eaves. dere wasn't no nails, but dey whittles out pegs. dere was a well out de back and a well on de back porch by de kitchen door. it had a wheel and a rope. dere was 'nother well by de barns and one or two round de quarters, but dey am fixed with a long pole sweep. in de kitchen was de big fireplace and de big back logs am haul to de house. de oxen pull dem dat far and some men takes poles and rolls dem in de fireplace. marse jones never 'low dat fire go out from october till may, and in de fall marse or one he sons lights de fire with a flint rock and some powder. "de stores was a long way off and de white folks loans seed and things to each other. if we has de toothache, de blacksmith pulls it. my husband manages de ox teams. i cooks and works in old miss's garden and de orchard. it am big and fine and in fruit time all de women works from light to dark dryin' and 'servin' and de like. "old marse gwine feed you and see you quarters am dry and warm or know de reason why. most ev'ry night he goes round de quarters to see if dere any sickness or trouble. everybody work hard but have plenty to eat. sometimes de preacher tell us how to git to hebben and see de ring lights dere. "de smokehouse am full of bacon sides and cure hams and barrels lard and 'lasses. when a nigger want to eat, he jes' ask and git he passel. old miss allus 'pend on me to spice de ham when it cure. i larnt dat back in de old country, in france. "dere was spinnin' and weavin' cabins, long with a chimney in each end. us women spins all de thread and weaves cloth for everybody, de white folks, too. i's de cook, but times i hit de spinnin' loom and wheel fairly good. us bleach de cloth and dyes it with barks. "dere allus de big woodpile in de yard, and de big, caboose kettle for renderin' hawg fat and beef tallow candles and makin' soap. marse allus have de niggers take some apples and make cider, and he make beer, too. most all us had cider and beer when we want it, but nobody git drunk. marse sho' cut up if we do. "old miss have de floors sanded, dat where you sprinkles fine, white sand over da floor and sweeps it round in all kinds purty figgers. us make a corn shuck broom. "marse sho' a fool 'bout he hounds and have a mighty fine pack. de boys hunts wolves and painters (panthers) and wild game like dat. dere was lots of wild turkey and droves of wild prairie chickens. dere was rabbits and squirrels and indian puddin', make of cornmeal. it am real tasty. i cooks goose and pork and mutton and bear meat and beef and deer meat, den makes de fritters and pies and dumplin's. sho' wish us had dat food now. "on de cold winter night i's sot many a time spinnin' with two threads, one in each hand and one my feets on de wheel and de baby sleepin' on my lap. de boys and old men was allus whittlin' and it wasn't jes' foolishment. dey whittles traps and wooden spoons and needles to make seine nets and checkers and sleds. we all sits workin' and singin' and smokin' pipes. i likes my pipe right now, and has two clay pipes and keeps dem under de pillow. i don't aim for dem pipes to git out my sight. i been smokin' clost to a hunerd years now and it takes two cans tobaccy de week to keep me goin'. "dere wasn't many doctors dem days, but allus de closet full of simples (home remedies) and most all de old women could git med'cine out de woods. ev'ry spring, old miss line up all de chillen and give dem a dose of garlic and rum. "de chillen all played together, black and white. de young ones purty handy trappin' quail and partridges and sech. dey didn't shoot if dey could cotch it some other way, 'cause powder and lead am scarce. dey cotch de deer by makin' de salt lick, and uses a spring pole to cotch pigeons and birds. "de black folks gits off down in de bottom and shouts and sings and prays. dey gits in de ring dance. it am jes' a kind of shuffle, den it git faster and faster and dey gits warmed up and moans and shouts and claps and dances. some gits 'xhausted and drops out and de ring gits closer. sometimes dey sings and shouts all night, but come break of day, de nigger got to git to he cabin. old marse got to tell dem de tasks of de day. "old black tom have a li'l bottle and have spell roots and water in it and sulphur. he sho' could find out if a nigger gwine git whipped. he have a string tie round it and say, 'by sum peter, by sum paul, by de gawd dat make us all, jack don't you tell me no lie, if marse gwine whip mary, tell me.' sho's you born, if dat jack turn to de laft, de nigger git de whippin', but if marse ain't makeup he mind to whip, dat jack stand and quiver. "you white folks jes' go through de woods and don't know nothin'. iffen you digs out splinters from de north side a old pine tree what been struck by lightnin', and gits dem hot in a iron skillet and burns dem to ashes, den you puts dem in a brown paper sack. iffen de officers gits you and you gwine have it 'fore de jedge, you gits de sack and goes outdoors at midnight and hold de bag of ashes in you hand and look up at de moon--but don't you open you mouth. nex' mornin' git up early and go to de courthouse and sprinkle dem ashes in de doorway and dat law trouble, it gwine git tore up jes' like de lightnin' done tore up dat tree. "de shoestring root am powerful strong. iffen you chews on it and spits a ring round de person what you wants somethin' from, you gwine git it. you can git more money or a job or most anythin' dat way. i had a black cat bone, too, but it got away from me. "i's got a big frame and used to weigh a hunerd pounds, but day tells me i only weighs a hunerd now. dis louis southern i lives with, he's de youngest son of my grandson, who was de son of my youngest daughter. my marse, he knowed gen. houston and i seed him many a time. i lost what teeth i had a long time ago and in two more new teeth come through. dem teeth sho' did worry me and i's glad when dey went, too. list of transcriber's corrections: list of illustrations: (# #) page : come (wooden dishes. some de knives and forks was make out of bone. dey had beef and pork and turkey and #some# antelope.) page : bit (all through dat house. i takes de lantern and out in de hall i goes. right by de foot de stairs i seed a woman, #big# as life, but she was thin and i seed right through her. she jes' walk on down dat hall and pay me no mind. she make de sound) page : was that a (slavery, 'cause massa give me a sack of molasses candy once and some biscuits once and that #was a# whole lot to me then.) page : kepps (daren't tell them 'cept on the sly. that i done lots. i tells 'em iffen they #keeps# prayin' the lord will set 'em free. but since them days i's done studied some and i preached all over panola and harrison county and) page : bit (piles, one for de big house and de bigges' pile for de slaves. when dey git it all hauled it look like a #big# woodyard. while dey is haulin', de women make quilts and dey is wool quilts. course, dey ain't made out of shearin' wool,) page : sich (course, i hears some talk 'bout bluebellies, what dey call de yanks, fightin' our folks, but dey wasn't fightin' round us. den one dey mamma took #sick# and she had hear talk and call me to de bed and say, 'lucinda, we all gwine be free soon and not) page : neber ("i seem jes' punyin' away, de doctors don' know jes' what's wrong wid me but i #never# was use to doctors anyway, jes' some red root tea or sage weed and sheep) page : was ("after #war# was over, old massa call us up and told us we free but he 'vise not leave de place till de crop was through. us all stay. den) page : suddent (for justice. one man, he look jus' like ordinary man, but he spring up 'bout eighteen feet high all of a #sudden#. another say he so thirsty he ain't have no water since he been kilt at manassas junction. he ask) page : (what lives at west columbia. massa kit on one side varney's creek and massa charles on de other side. massa kit have a #african# woman from kentucky for he wife, and dat's de truth. i ain't sayin' iffen she a) page : goiin' (where you gwine to go? i's #goin'# down to new ground, for to hunt jim crow.') page : hus' ("we lived in a log house with dirt floors, warm in winter but sho' hot in summer, no screens or nothin', #jus'# homemade doors. we had homemade beds out of planks they picked up around. mattresses nothin', we had shuck beds.) page : bit (whole sack of pure gold and silver, and say bury it in de orchard. i sho' was scart, but i done what she said. dey was more gold in a #big# desk, and de yanks pulled de top of dat desk and got de gold. miss jane had a purty gold ring on) page : of (the place, they still go up to the big house for a pass. they jus' can't understand 'bout the freedom. old marse #or#missus say, 'you don't need no pass. all you got to do is jus' take you foot in you hand and go.') page : ahd ("they had a church this side of new fountain #and# the boss man 'lowed us to go on sunday. if any of the slaves did join, they didn') page : of (cornmeal mush and corn hominy and corn grits and parched corn for drink, 'stead of tea #or# coffee. us have milk and 'lasses and brown sugar, and some meat. dat all raise on de place. stuff for to eat and wear, dat) page : pennslyvania (my sister and got in the soldier business. the gov'ment give me $ . a month for drivin' a four-mule wagon for the army. i druv all through #pennsylvania# and virginia and south carolina for the gov'ment. i was a——what) page : sue ("my mother sold into slavery in georgia, or round dere. #she# tell me funny things 'bout how dey use to do up dere. a old white man think so much of) page : turpentime (doctor. when us chillun git sick dey git yarbs or dey give us castor oil and #turpentine#. iffen it git to be a ser'ous ailment dey sen' for de reg'lar doctor. dey uster) page : missisippi (hedwig, bexar co., texas, the son of slave parents bought in #mississippi# by his master, william gudlow.) page : hallejujah! (crossin' and walkin' and ridin'. everyone was a-singin'. we was all walkin' on golden clouds. #hallelujah!#) page : tey ("i's too old to make any more visits, but i would like to go back to old georgia once more. if missy mary was 'live, i'd #try#, but she am dead, so i tries to wait for old gabriel blow he horn. when he blow he) page : ("when i's a gal, i's rosina slaughter, but folks call me zina. yes, sar. it am zina dat and zina dis. i says i's born april , # #, but i 'lieve i's older. it was somewhere in williamson county, but i don't) page : mercy me (when we got a chance to see young folks on some other place. the patterrollers cotched me one night and, lawd have #mercy on me#, they stretches me over a log and hits thirty-nine licks with a rawhide loaded with rock, and every time they hit) page : ot ("i's farmed and makin' a livin' is 'bout all. i come over here in madison county and rents from b.f. young, clost #to# midway and gits me a few cows. i been right round here ever since. i lives round with my chillen now,) page : whnen ("#when# surrender come massa calls all us in de yard and makes de talk. he tells us we's free and am awful sorry and show great worryment. he say) page : live (is cared for by a married daughter, who #lives# on lizzie's farm.) page : nand (to tell the people to be prepared, 'cause the tides of war is rollin' this way, #and# all the thousands of millions of dollars they spend agin it ain't goin' to stop it. i live to tell people the word gawd speaks through me.) page : wuarters ('bout fightin' and the overseer allus tended to her. one day he come to the #quarters# to whip her and she up and throwed a shovel full of live coals from the fireplace in his bosom and run out the door. he run her all over) page : tann ("after breakfast i'd see a crew go here and a crew go dere. some of 'em spin and weave and make clothes, and some #tan# de leather or do de blacksmith work, and mos' of 'em go out in de field to work. dey works till dark and den) page : botin' ("no, i's never voted, 'cause i done heared 'bout de trouble dey has over in baton rouge 'bout niggers #votin'#. i jus' don't like trouble, and for de few years what am left, i's gwine keep de record of stayin' 'way from it.) page : be ("old massa he never clean hisself up or dress up. he look like a vagrant thing and #he# and missy mean, too. my pore daddy he back allus done cut up from the whip and bit by the dogs. sometime when a woman big) page : stockn's (and i come in with two li'l pickininnies for flower gals and holdin' my train. i has on one miss ellen's dresses and red #stockin's# and a pair brand new shoes and a wide brim hat. de preacher say, 'bill, does you take dis woman to be you lawful) page : dey (jes' kep' right on livin' in de old home after freedom, like old marse done 'fore freedom. he pay de families by de #day# for work and let dem work land on de halves and furnish dem teams and grub and dey does de work.) page : iplot ("my daddy am de gold #pilot# on de old place. dat mean anything he done was right and proper. way after freedom, when my daddy die in beaumont,) page : wat ("i never heered much 'bout no #war# and marse greenville never told us we was free. first i knows was one day we gwine to de fields and a man) page : bermingham ("my company am moved to #birmingham# and builds breastworks. dey say gen. lee am comin' for a battle but he didn't ever come and when i been back) page : to (a three hundred pound hawg in de pen, what die from de heat. we done run to massa rodger's house. de riders gits #so# bad dey come most any time and run de cullud folks off for no cause, jus' to be orn'ry and plunder de home. but one) page : coudn't (through a crack and pull the calf's head down nearly to the ground where he #couldn't# suck. of course, the old cow would hang around right close) page : mcneely ("i was in the ranger service for about a year with captain #mcnelly#, or until he died. i was his guide. i was living thirty-five miles) page : whay (have the big mole on the inside her mouth and when she shake her finger at you it gwine happen to you jes' like she say. that #what# they call puttin' bad mouth on them and she sho' could do it.) proofreading team at http://www.fadedpage.com [illustration: frances pulled back on molly's bridle reins. frontispiece (page ).] frances of the ranges or the old ranchman's treasure by amy bell marlowe author of the oldest of four, the girls of hillcrest farm, wyn's camping days, etc. new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america copyright, , by grosset & dunlap frances of the ranges contents chapter page i. the adventure in the coulie ii. "frances of the ranges" iii. the old spanish chest iv. what happened in the night v. the shadow in the court vi. a difference of opinion vii. the stampede viii. in peril and out ix. surprising news x. the man from bylittle xi. frances acts xii. molly xiii. the girl from boston xiv. the contrast xv. in the face of danger xvi. a friend insistent xvii. an accident xviii. the wave of flame xix. most astonishing! xx. the boston girl again xxi. in the hands of the enemy xxii. what pratt thought xxiii. a game of puss in the corner xxiv. a good deal of excitement xxv. a plot that failed xxvi. frances in softer mood xxvii. a dinner dance in prospect xxviii. the bursting of the chrysalis xxix. "the panhandle--past and present" xxx. a reunion frances of the ranges chapter i the adventure in the coulie the report of a bird gun made the single rider in sight upon the short-grassed plain pull in her pinto and gaze westerly toward the setting sun, now going down in a field of golden glory. the pinto stood like a statue, and its rider seemed a part of the steed, so well did she sit in her saddle. she gazed steadily under her hand--gazed and listened. finally, she murmured: "that's the snarl of a lion--sure. get up, molly!" the pinto sprang forward. there was a deep coulie ahead, with a low range of grass-covered hills beyond. through those hills the lions often came down onto the grazing plains. it was behind these hills that the sun was going down, for the hour was early. as she rode, the girl loosened the gun she carried in the holster slung at her hip. on her saddle horn was coiled a hair rope. she was dressed in olive green--her blouse, open at the throat, divided skirts, leggings, and broad-brimmed hat of one hue. two thick plaits of sunburned brown hair hung over her shoulders, and to her waist. her grey eyes were keen and rather solemn. although the girl on the pinto could not have been far from sixteen, her face seemed to express a serious mind. the scream of that bane of the cattlemen--the mountain lion--rang out from the coulie again. the girl clapped her tiny spurs against the pinto's flanks, and that little animal doubled her pace. in a minute they were at the head of the slope and the girl could see down into the coulie, where low mesquite shrubs masked the bottom and the little spring that bubbled there. something was going on down in the coulie. the bushes waved; something rose and fell in their midst like a flail. there was a voice other than that of the raucous tones of the lion, and which squalled almost as loudly! a little to one side of the shrubs stood a quivering grey pony, its ears pointed toward the rumpus in the shrubs, blowing and snorting. the rider of that empty saddle was plainly in trouble with the snarling lion. the cattlemen of the panhandle looked upon the lion as they did upon the coyote--save that the former did more damage to the herds. roping the lion, or shooting it with the pistol, was a general sport. but caught in a corner, the beast--unlike the coyote--would fight desperately. whoever had attacked this one had taken on a larger contract than he could handle. that was plain. urged by the girl the pinto went down the slope of the hollow on a keen run. at the bottom she snorted and swerved from the mesquite clump. the smell of the lion was strong in molly's nostrils. "stand still, molly!" commanded the girl, and was out of the saddle with an ease that seemed phenomenal. she ran straight toward the thrashing bushes, pistol in hand. the lion leaped, and the person who had been beating it off with the shotgun was borne down under the attack. once those sabre-sharp claws got to work, the victim of the lion's charge would be viciously torn. the girl saw the gun fly out of his hands. the lion was too close upon its prey for her to use the pistol. she slipped the weapon back into its holster and picked up the shotgun. plunging through the bushes she swung the gun and knocked the beast aside from its prey. the blow showed the power in her young arms and shoulders. the lion rolled over and over, half stunned. "quick!" she advised the victim of the lion's attack. "he'll be back at us." indeed, scarcely had she spoken when the brute scrambled to its feet. the girl shouldered the gun and pulled the other trigger as the beast leaped. there was no report. either there was no shell in that barrel, or something had fouled the trigger. the lion, all four paws spread, and each claw displayed, sailed through the air like a bat, or a flying squirrel. its jaws were wide open, its teeth bared, and the screech it emitted was, in truth, a terrifying sound. the girl realized that the original victim of the lion's attack was scrambling to his feet. she dropped to her knee and kept the muzzle of the gun pointed directly for the beast's breast. the empty gun was her only defense in that perilous moment. "grab my gun! here in the holster!" she panted. the lion struck against the muzzle of the shotgun, and the girl--in spite of the braced position she had taken--was thrown backward to the ground. as she fell the pistol was drawn from its holster. the empty shotgun had saved her from coming into the embrace of the angry lion, for while she fell one way, the animal went another. then came three shots in rapid succession. she scrambled to her feet, half laughing, and dusting the palms of her gantlets. the lion was lying a dozen yards away, while the victim of its attack stood near, the blue smoke curling from the revolver. "my goodness!" after the excitement was all over that exclamation from the girl seemed unnecessary. but the fact that startled her was, that it was not a man at all to whose aid she had come. he was a youth little older than herself. "i say!" this young man exclaimed. "that was plucky of you, miss--awfully plucky, don't you know! that creature would have torn me badly in another minute." the girl nodded, but seemed suddenly dumb. she was watching the youth keenly from under the longest, silkiest lashes, it seemed to pratt sanderson, he had ever seen. "i hope you're not hurt?" he said, shyly, extending the pistol toward the girl. she stood with her hands upon her hips, panting a little, and with plenty of color in her brown cheeks. "how about you?" she asked, shortly. it was true the young man appeared much the worse for the encounter. in the first place, he stood upon one foot, a good deal like a crane, for his left ankle had twisted when he fell. his left arm, too, was wrenched, and he felt a tingling sensation all through the member, from the shoulder to the tips of his fingers. beside, his sleeve was ripped its entire length, and the lion's claws had cut deep into his arm. the breast of his shirt was in strips. "i say! i'm hurt, worse than i thought, eh?" he said, a little uncertainly. he wavered a moment on his sound foot, and then sank slowly to the grass. "wait! don't let yourself go!" exclaimed the girl, getting into quick action. "it isn't so bad." she ran for the leather water-bottle that hung from her saddle. molly had stood through the trouble without moving. now the girl filled the bottle at the spring. pratt sanderson was lying back on his elbows, and the white lids were lowered over his black eyes. the treatment the range girl gave him was rather rough, but extremely efficacious. she dashed half the contents of the bottle into his face, and he sat up, gasping and choking. she tore away his tattered shirt in a most matter-of-fact manner and began to bathe the scratches on his chest with her kerchief (quickly unknotted from around her throat), which she had saturated with water. fortunately, the wounds were not very deep, after all. "you--you must think me a silly sort of chap," he gasped. "foolish to keel over like this----" "you haven't been used to seeing blood," the girl observed. "that makes a difference. i've been binding up the boys' cuts and bruises all my life. never was such a place as the old bar-t for folks getting hurt." "bar-t?" ejaculated the young man, with sudden interest. "then you must be miss rugley, captain dan rugley's daughter?" "yes, sir," said the girl, quietly. "captain rugley is my father." "and you're going to put on that very clever spectacle at the jackleg schoolhouse next month? i've heard all about it--and what you have done toward making it what bill edwards calls a howling success. i'm stopping with bill. mrs. edwards is my mother's friend, and i'm the advance guard of a lot of amarillo people who are coming out to the edwardses just to see your 'pageant of the panhandle.' bill and his wife are no end enthusiastic about it." the deeper color had gradually faded out of the girl's cheeks. she was cool enough now; but she kept her eyes lowered, just the same. he would have liked to see their expression once more. there had been a startled look in their grey depths when first she glanced at him. "i am afraid they make too much of my part in the affair," said she, quietly. "i am only one of the committee----" "but they say you wrote it all," the young fellow interposed, eagerly. "oh--_that_! it happened to be easy for me to do so. i have always been deeply interested in the panhandle--'the great american desert' as the old geographies used to call all this great middle west, of kansas, nebraska, the indian territory, and upper texas. "my father crossed it among the first white men from the eastern states. he came back here to settle--long before i was born, of course--when a plow had never been sunk in these range lands. he belongs to the old cattle régime. he wouldn't hear until lately of putting wheat into any of the bar-t acres." "ah, well, by all accounts he is one of the few men who still know how to make money out of cows," laughed pratt sanderson. "thank you, miss rugley. i can't let you do anything more for me----" "you are a long way from the edwards' place," she said. "you'd better ride to the bar-t for the night. we will send a boy over there with a message, if you think mrs. edwards will be worried." "i suppose i'd better do as you say," he said, rather ruefully. "mrs. edwards _will_ be worried about my absence over supper time. she says i'm such a tenderfoot." for a moment a twinkle came into the veiled grey eyes; the new expression illumined the girl's face like a flash of sunlight across the shadowed field. "you rather back up her opinion when you tackle a lion with nothing but birdshot--and one barrel of your gun fouled in the bargain," she said. "don't you think so?" "but i killed it with a revolver!" exclaimed the young fellow, struggling to his feet again. "that pistol throws a good-sized bullet," said the ranchman's daughter, smiling. "but i'd never think of picking a quarrel with a lion unless i had a good rope, or something that threw heavier lead than birdshot." he looked at her, standing there in the after-glow of the sunset, with honest admiration in his eyes. "i _am_ a tenderfoot, i guess," he admitted. "and you were not scared for a single moment!" "oh, yes, i was," and frances rugley's laugh was low and musical. "but it was all over so quickly that the scare didn't have a chance to show. come on! i'll catch your pony, and we'll make the bar-t before supper time." chapter ii "frances of the ranges" the grey was a well-trained cow-pony, for the edwards' ranch was one of the latest in that section of the panhandle to change from cattle to wheat raising. a part of its range had not as yet been plowed, and bill edwards still had a corral full of good riding stock. pratt sanderson got into his saddle without much trouble and the girl whistled for molly. "i'll throw that lion over my saddle," she said. "molly won't mind it much--especially if you hold her bridle with her head up-wind." "all right, miss rugley," the young man returned. "my name is pratt sanderson--i don't know that you know it." "very well, mr. sanderson," she repeated. "they don't call me _that_ much," the young fellow blurted out. "i answer easier to my first name, you know--pratt." "very well, pratt," said the girl, frankly. "i am frances rugley--frances durham rugley." she lifted the heavy lion easily, flung it across molly, and lashed it to the saddle; then she mounted in a hurry and the ponies started for the ranch trail which frances had been following before she heard the report of the shotgun. the youth watched her narrowly as they rode along through the dropping darkness. she was a well-matured girl for her age, not too tall, her limbs rounded, but without an ounce of superfluous flesh. perhaps she knew of his scrutiny; but her face remained calm and she did not return his gaze. they talked of inconsequential things as they rode along. pratt sanderson thought: "_what_ a girl she is! mrs. edwards is right--she's the finest specimen of girlhood on the range, bar none! and she is more than a little intelligent--quite literary, don't you know, if what they say is true of her. where did _she_ learn to plan pageants? not in one of these schoolhouses on the ranges, i bet an apple! and she's a cowgirl, too. rides like a female centaur; shoots, of course, and throws a rope. bet she knows the whole trade of cattle herding. "yet there isn't a girl who went to school with me at the amarillo high who looks so well-bred, or who is so sure of herself and so easy to converse with." for her part, frances was thinking: "and he doesn't remember a thing about me! of course, he was a senior when i was in the junior class. he has already forgotten most of his schoolmates, i suppose. "but that night of cora grimshaw's party he danced with me six times. he was in the bank then, and had forgotten all 'us kids,' i suppose. funny how suddenly a boy grows up when he gets out of school and into business. but me---- "well! i should have known him if we hadn't met for twenty years. perhaps that's because he is the first boy i ever danced with--in town, i mean. the boys on the ranch don't count." her tranquil face and manner had not betrayed--nor did they betray now--any of her thoughts about this young fellow whom she remembered so clearly, but who plainly had not taxed his memory with her. that was the way of frances durham rugley. a great deal went on in her mind of which nobody--not even captain dan rugley, her father--dreamed. left motherless at an early age, the ranchman's daughter had grown to her sixteenth year different from most girls. even different from most other girls of the plains and ranges. for ten years there was not a woman's face--white, black, or red--on the bar-t acres. the captain had married late in life, and had loved frances' mother devotedly. when she died suddenly the man could not bear to hear or see another woman on the place. then frances grew into his heart and life, and although the old wound opened as the ranchman saw his daughter expand, her love and companionship was like a healing balm poured into his sore heart. the man's strong, fierce nature suddenly went out to his child and she became all and all to him--just as her mother had been during the few years she had been spared to him. so the girl's schooling was cut short--and frances loved books and the training she had received at the amarillo schools. she would have loved to go on--to pass her examinations for college preparation, and finally get her diploma and an a. b., at least, from some college. that, however, was not to be. old captain rugley lavished money on her like rain, when she would let him. she used some of the money to buy books and a piano and pay for a teacher for the latter to come to the ranch, while she spent much midnight oil studying the books by herself. captain rugley's health was not all it should have been. frances could not now leave him for long. until recently the old ranchman had borne lightly his seventy years. but rheumatism had taken hold upon him and he did not stand as straight as of old, nor ride so well. he was far from an invalid; but frances realized--more than he did, perhaps--that he had finished his scriptural span of life, and that his present years were borrowed from that hardest of taskmasters, father time. often it was frances who rode the ranges, instead of captain rugley, viewing the different herds, receiving the reports of underforemen and wranglers, settling disputes between the punchers themselves, looking over chuck outfits, buying hay, overseeing brandings, and helping cut out fat steers for the market trail. there was nothing frances of the ranges did not know about the cattle-raising business. and she was giving some attention to the new grain-raising ideas that had come into the panhandle with the return of the first-beaten farming horde. for the texas panhandle has had its two farming booms. the first advance of the farmers into the ranges twenty-five years or more before had been a rank failure. "they came here and plowed up little spots in our parsters that air eyesores now," one old cowman said, "and then beat it back east when they found it didn't rain 'cordin' ter schedule. this land ain't good for nothin' 'cept cows." but this had been in the days of the old unfenced ranges, and before dry-farming had become a science. now the few remaining cattlemen kept their pastures fenced, and began to think of raising other feed than river-bottom hay. the cohorts of agriculturists were advancing; the cattlemen were falling back. the ancient staked plains of the spanish _conquestadors_ were likely to become waving wheat fields and smiling orchards. the young girl and her companion could not travel fast to the bar-t ranch-house for two reasons: pratt sanderson was sore all over, and the mountain lion slung across frances' pony caused some trouble. the pinto objected to carrying double--especially when an occasional draft of evening air brought the smell of the lion to her nostrils. the young fellow admired the way in which the girl handled her mount. he had seen many half-wild horsemen at the amarillo street fairs, and the like; since coming to bill edwards' place he had occasionally observed a good rider handling a mean cayuse. but this man-handling of a half-wild pony was nothing like the graceful control frances of the ranges had over molly. the pinto danced and whirled and snorted, and once almost got her quivering nose down between her knees--the first position of the bucking horse. at every point frances met her mount with a stern word, or a firm rein, or a touch of the spur or quirt, which quickly took the pinto's mind off her intention of "acting up." "you are wonderful!" exclaimed the youth, excitedly. "i wish i could ride half as good as you do, miss frances." frances smiled. "you did not begin young enough," she said. "my father took me in his arms when i was a week old and rode a half-wild mustang twenty miles across the ranges to exhibit me to the man who was our next-door neighbor in those days. you see, my tuition began early." it was not yet fully dark, although the ranch-house lamps were lit, when they came to the home corral and the big fenced yard in front of the bar-t. two boys ran out to take the ponies. one of these frances instructed to saddle a fresh pony and ride to the edwards place with word that pratt sanderson would remain all night at the bar-t. the other boy was instructed to give the mountain lion to one of the men, that the pelt might be removed and properly stretched for curing. "come right in, pratt," said the girl, with frank cordiality. "you'll have a chance for a wash and a brush before supper. and dad will find you some clean clothes. "there's dad on the porch, though he's forbidden the night air unless he puts a coat on. oh, he's a very, very bad patient, indeed!" chapter iii the old spanish chest pratt saw a tall, lean man--a man of massive frame, indeed, with a heavy mustache that had once been yellow but had now turned grey, teetering on the rear legs of a hard-bottomed chair, with his shoulders against the wall of the house. there were plenty of inviting-looking chairs scattered about the veranda. there were rugs, and potted plants, and a lounge-swing, with a big lamp suspended from the ceiling, giving light enough over all. but the master of the bar-t had selected a straight-backed, hard-bottomed chair, of a kind that he had been used to for half a century and more. he brought the front legs down with a bang as the girl and youth approached. "what's kept you, frances?" he asked, mellowly. "evening, sir! i take it your health's well?" he put out a hairy hand into which pratt confided his own and, the next moment, vowed secretly he would never risk it there again! his left hand tingled badly enough since the attentions of the mountain lion. now his right felt as though it had been in an ore-crusher. "this is pratt sanderson, from amarillo," the daughter of the ranchman said first of all. "he's a friend of mrs. bill edwards. he was having trouble with a lion over in brother's coulie, when i came along. we got the lion; but pratt got some scratches. can't ming find him a flannel shirt, dad?" "of course," agreed captain rugley, his eyes twinkling just as frances' had a little while before. "you tell him as you go in. come on, pratt sanderson. i'll take a look at your scratches myself." a shuffle-footed chinaman brought the shirt to the room pratt sanderson had been ushered to by the cordial old ranchman. the chinaman assisted the youth to get into the garment, too, for captain rugley had already swathed the scratches on pratt's chest and arm with linen, after treating the wounds with a pungent-smelling but soothing salve. "san soo, him alle same have dlinner ready sloon," said ming, sprinkling 'l's' indiscriminately in his information. "clapen an' misse flank wait on pleaza." the young fellow, when he was presentable, started back for the "pleaza." everything he saw--every appointment of the house--showed wealth, and good taste in the use of it. the old ranchman furnished the former, of course; but nobody but frances, pratt thought, could have arranged the furnishings and adornments of the house. the room he was to occupy as a guest was large, square, grey-walled, was hung with bright pictures, a few handsome navajo blankets, and had heavy soft rugs on the floor. there was a gay drapery in one corner, behind which was a canvas curtain masking a shower bath with nickel fittings. the water ran off from the shallow marble basin through an open drain under the wall. the bed was of brass and looked comfortable. there was a big steamer chair drawn invitingly near the window which opened into the court, or garden, around which the house was built. the style of the building was spanish, or mexican. a fountain played in the court and there were trees growing there, among the branches of which a few lanterns were lit, like huge fireflies. in passing back to the front porch of the ranch-house (farther south it would have been called _hacienda_) pratt noted spanish and aztec armor hanging on the walls; high-backed, carven chairs of black oak, mahogany, and other heavy woods; weapons of both modern and ancient indian manufacture, and those of the style used by cortez and his cohorts when they marched on the capital city of the great montezuma. in a glass-fronted case, too, hung a brilliant cloak of parakeet feathers such as were worn by the aztec nobles. lights had been lit in the hall since he had arrived and the treasures were now revealed for the first time to the startled eye of the visitor. the sight of these things partially prepared him for the change in frances' appearance. her smooth brown skin and her veiled eyes were the same. she still wore her hair in girlish plaits. she was quite the simple, unaffected girl of sixteen. but her dress was white, of some soft and filmy material which looked to the young fellow like spider's web in the moonlight. it was cut a little low at the throat; her arms were bared to the elbow. she wore a heavy, glittering belt of alternate red-gold links and green stones, and on one arm a massive, wrought-gold bracelet--a serpent with turquoise eyes. "frances is out in her warpaint," chuckled captain rugley's mellow voice from the shadow, where he was tipped back in his chair again. "you gave me these things out of your treasure chest, daddy, to wear when we had company," said the girl, quite calmly. she wore the barbarous ornaments with an air of dignity. they seemed to suit her, young as she was. and pratt knew that the girdle and bracelet must be enormously valuable as well as enormously old. the expression "treasure chest" was so odd that it stuck in the young man's mind. he was very curious as to what it meant, and determined, when he knew frances better, to ask about it. a little silence had fallen after the girl's speech. then captain rugley started forward suddenly and the forelegs of his chair came sharply to the planks. "hello!" he said, into the darkness outside the radiance of the porch light. "who's there?" frances fluttered out of her chair. pratt noted that she slipped into the shadow. neither she nor the captain had been sitting in the full radiance of the lamp. the visitor had heard nothing; but he knew that the old ranchman was leaning forward listening intently. "who's there?" the captain demanded again. "don't shoot, neighbor!" said a hoarse voice out of the darkness. "i'm jest a-paddin' of it amarillo way. can i get a flop-down and a bite here?" "only a tramp, dad," breathed frances, with a sigh. "how did you get into this compound?" demanded captain rugley, none the less suspiciously and sternly. "i come through an open gate. it's so 'tarnal dark, neighbor----" "you see those lights down yonder?" snapped the captain. "they are at the bunk-house. cook'll give you some chuck and a chance to spread your blanket. but don't you let me catch you around here too long after breakfast to-morrow morning. we don't encourage hobos, and we already have all the men hired for the season we want." "all right, neighbor," said the voice in the darkness, cheerfully--too cheerfully, in fact, pratt sanderson thought. an ordinary man--even one with the best intentions in the world--would have been offended by the captain's brusk words. a stumbling foot went down the yard. captain rugley grunted, and might have said something explanatory, but just then ming came softly to the door, whining: "dlinner, misse." "guess pratt's hungry, too," grunted the captain, rising. "let's go in and see what the neighbors have flung over the back fence." but sad as the joke was, all that captain rugley said seemed so open-hearted and kindly--save only when he was talking to the unknown tramp--that the guest could not consider him vulgar. the dining-room was long, massively furnished, well lit, and the sideboard exposed some rare pieces of old-fashioned silver. two heavy candelabra--the loot of some old cathedral, and of spanish manufacture--were set upon either end of the great serving table. all these treasures, found in the ranch-house of a cowman of the panhandle, astounded the youth from amarillo. nothing mrs. bill edwards had said of frances of the ranges and her father had prepared him for this display. captain rugley saw his eyes wandering from one thing to the other as ming served a perfect soup. "just pick-ups over the border," the old man explained, with a comprehensive wave of his hand toward the candelabra and other articles of value. "i and a partner of mine, when we were in the rangers years and years ago, raided over into mexico and brought back the bulk of these things. "we cached them down in arizona till after i was married and built this ranch-house. poor lon! never have heard what became of him. i've got his share of the treasure out of old don milo morales' _hacienda_ right here. when he comes for it we'll divide. but i haven't heard from lon since long before frances, here, was born." this was just explanation enough to whet the curiosity of pratt. talk of the texas rangers, and raiding over the border, and looting a mexican _hacienda_, was bound to set the young man's imagination to work. but the dinner, as it was served in courses, took up pratt's present attention almost entirely. never--not even when he took dinner at the home of the president of the bank in amarillo--had he eaten so well-cooked and well-served a meal. despite his commonplace speech, captain rugley displayed a familiarity with the niceties of table etiquette that surprised the guest. frances' mother had come from the east and from a family that had been used to the best for generations. and the old ranchman, in middle age, had set himself the task of learning the niceties of table manners to please her. he had never fallen back into the old, careless ways after frances' mother died. he ate to-night in black clothes and a soft, white shirt in the bosom of which was a big diamond. although he had sat on the veranda without a coat--contrary to his doctor's orders--he had slipped one on when he came to the table and, with his neatly combed hair, freshly shaven face, and well-brushed mustache, looked well groomed indeed. he would have been a bizarre figure at a city table; nevertheless, he presided at his own board with dignity, and was a splendid foil for the charming figure of frances opposite. in the midst of the repast the captain said, suddenly, to the soft-footed chinaman: "ming! telephone down to sam at the bunk-house and see if a hobo has just struck there, on his way to amarillo. i told him he could get chuck and a sleep. savvy?" "jes so, clapen," said ming, softly, and shuffled out. it was evident that the tramp was on the captain's mind. pratt believed there must be some special reason for the old ranchman's worrying over marauders about the bar-t. there was nothing to mar the friendliness of the dinner, however; not even when ming slipped back and said in a low voice to the captain: "him slilent slam say no hobo come to blunk-house." they finished the meal leisurely; but on rising from the table captain rugley removed a heavy belt and holster from its hook behind the sideboard and slung it about his hips. withdrawing the revolver, he spun the cylinder, made sure that it was filled, and slipped it back in the holster. all this was done quite as a matter of course. frances made no comment, nor did she seem surprised. the three went back to the porch for a little while, although the night air was growing chill. frances insisted that her father wear his coat, and they both sat out of the brighter radiance of the hanging lamp. she and her guest were talking about the forthcoming pageant at the jackleg schoolhouse. pratt had begun to feel enthusiastic over it as he learned more of the particulars. "people scarcely realize," said frances, "that this panhandle of ours has a history as ancient as st. augustine, florida. and _that_, you know, is called the oldest white settlement in these united states. "long, long ago the spanish explorers, with indian guides whom they had enslaved, made a path through the swarming buffaloes up this way and called the country _llano estacada_, the staked plain. our geographers misapplied the name 'desert' to this vast country; but nebraska, kansas, and oklahoma threw off that designation because it was proven that the rains fell more often than was reported." "what has built up those states," said pratt, with a smile, "is farming, not cattle." the captain grunted, for he had been listening to the conversation. "you ought to have seen those first hayseeds that tried to turn the ranges into posy beds and wheat fields," he chuckled. "they got all that was coming to them--believe me!" frances laughed. "daddy is still unconverted. he does not believe that the panhandle is fit for anything but cattle. but he's going to let me have two hundred acres to plow and sow to wheat--he's promised." the captain grunted again. "and last year we grew a hundred acres of milo maize and feterita. helped on the winter feed--didn't it, daddy?" and she laughed. "got me there, frances--got me there," admitted the old ranchman. "but i don't hope to live long enough to see the bar-t raising more wheat than steers." "no. it's stock-raising we want to follow, i believe," said the girl, calmly. "we must raise feed for our steers, fatten them in fenced pastures, and ship them more quickly." "my goodness!" exclaimed pratt, admiringly, "you talk as though you understood all about it, miss frances." "i think i _do_ know something about the new conditions that face us ranchers of the panhandle," the girl said, quietly. "and why shouldn't i? i have been hearing it talked about, and thinking of it myself, ever since i can remember." secretly pratt thought she must have given her attention to something beside the ranch work and cattle-raising. of this he was assured when they went inside later, and frances sat down to the piano. the instrument was in a big room with a bare, polished floor. it was evidently used for dancing. there was a talking machine as well as a piano. the girl played the latter very nicely indeed. there were a few scratches on the floor of the room, and she saw pratt looking at them. "i told ratty m'gill he shouldn't come in here with the rest of the boys to dance if he didn't take his spurs off," she said. "we have an old-time hoe-down for the boys pretty nearly every week, when we're not too rushed on the ranch. it keeps 'em better contented and away from the towns on pay-days." "are the cowpunchers just the same as they used to be?" asked pratt. "do they go to town and blow it wide open on pay-nights?" "not much. we have a good sheriff. but it wasn't so long ago that your fancy little city of amarillo was nothing but a cattleman's town. i'm going to have a representation of old amarillo in our pageant--you'll see. it will be true to life, too, for some of the very people who take part in our play lived in amarillo at the time when the sight of a high hat would draw a fusillade of bullets from the door of every saloon and dance-hall." "don't!" gasped pratt. "was amarillo ever like _that_?" "and not twenty years ago," laughed frances. "it had a few hundred inhabitants--and most of them ruffians. now it claims ten thousand, has bricked streets that used to be cow trails, electric lights, a street-car service, and all the comforts and culture of an 'effete east.'" pratt laughed, too. "it's a mighty comfortable place to live in--beside bill edwards' ranch, for instance. but i notice here at the bar-t you have a great many of the despised eastern luxuries." "'do-funnies' daddy calls them," said frances, smiling. "ah! here he is." the old ranchman came in, the holstered pistol still slung at his hip. "all secure for the night, daddy?" she asked, looking at him tenderly. "locked, barred, and bolted," returned her father. "i tell you, pratt, we're something of a fort here when we go to bed. the court's free to you; but don't try to get out till ming opens up in the morning. you see, we're some distance from the bunk-house, and nobody but the two chinks are here with us now." "i see, sir," said pratt. but he did not see; he wondered. and he wondered more when, after separating from frances for the night, he found his way through the hall to the door of the room that had been assigned to him for his use. on the other side of the hall was another door, open more than a crack, with a light shining behind it. pratt's curiosity got the better of him and he peeped. captain dan rugley was standing in the middle of the almost bare room, before an old dark, spanish chest. he had a bunch of keys in one hand and in the other dangled the ancient girdle and the bracelet frances had worn. "that must be the 'treasure chest' she spoke of," thought the youth. "and it looks it! old, old, wrought-iron work trimmings of spanish design. what a huge old lock! my! it would take a stick of dynamite to blow that thing open if one hadn't the key." the captain moved quickly, turning toward the door. pratt dodged back--then crept silently away, down the hall. he did not know that the eye of the old ranchman watched him keenly through the crack of the door. chapter iv what happened in the night frances looked through her barred window, out over the fenced yard, and down to the few twinkling watch-lights at the men's quarters. all the second-story windows of the ranch-house, overlooking the porch roof, were barred with iron rods set in the cement, like those on the first floor. the bar-t ranch-house was a veritable fort. there was a reason for this that the girl did not entirely understand, although her father often hinted at it. his stories of his adventures as a texas ranger, and over the border into mexico, amused her; but they had not impressed her much. perhaps, because the captain always skimmed over the particulars of those desperate adventures which had so spiced his early years--those years before the gentle influence of frances' mother came into his life. he had mentioned his partner, "lon," on this evening. but he seldom particularized about him. frances could not remember when her father had gone into arizona and returned from thence with a wagon-train loaded with many of the most beautiful of their household possessions. it was when she was a very little girl. with the other things, captain rugley had brought back the old spanish chest which he guarded so anxiously. she did not know what was in the chest--not all its treasures. it was the one secret her father kept from her. out of it he brought certain barbarous ornaments that he allowed her to wear now and then. she was as much enamored of jewelry and beautiful adornments as other girls, was frances of the ranges. there was perfect trust between her father and herself; but not perfect confidence. no more than pratt sanderson, for instance, did she know just how the old ranchman had become possessed of the great store of indian and spanish ornaments, or of the old spanish chest. certain she was that he could not have obtained them in a manner to wrong anybody else. he spoke of them as "the loot of old don milo morales' _hacienda_"; but frances knew well enough that her good father, captain dan rugley, had been no land pirate, no so-called border ruffian, who had robbed some peaceful spanish ranch-owner across the rio grande of his possessions. frances was a bit worried to-night. there were two topics of thought that disturbed her. motherless, and with few female friends even, she had been shut away with her own girlish thoughts and fears and wonderings more than most girls of her age. life was a mystery to her. she lived in books and in romances and in imagination's pictures more than she did in the workaday world about her. there seems to be little romance attached to the everyday lives we live, no matter how we are situated. the most dreary and uncolored existence, in all probability, there is in the world to-day is the daily life of a real prince or princess. we look longingly over the fence of our desires and consider all sorts and conditions of people outside as happier and far better off than we. that was the way it was with frances. especially on this particular night. her unexpected meeting with pratt sanderson had brought to her heart and mind more strongly than for months her experiences in amarillo. she remembered her school days, her school fellows, and the difference between their lives and that which she lived at present. probably half the girls she had known at school would be delighted (or thought they would) to change places with frances of the ranges, right then. but the ranch girl thought how much better off she would be if she were continuing her education under the care of people who could place her in a more cultivated life. not that she was disloyal, even in thought, to her father. she loved him intensely--passionately! but the life of the ranges, after her taste of school and association with cultivated people, could not be entirely satisfactory. so she sat, huddled in a white wool wrapper, by the barred, open window, looking out across the plain. only for the few lights at the corrals and bunk-house, it seemed a great, horizonless sea of darkness--for there was no moon and a haze had enveloped the high stars since twilight. no sound came to her ears at first. there is nothing so soundless as night on the plains--unless there be beasts near, either tamed or wild. no coyote slunk about the ranch-house. the horses were still in the corrals. the cattle were all too far distant to be heard. not even the song of a sleepy puncher, as he wheeled around the herd, drifted to the barred window of frances' room. her second topic for thought was her father's evident expectation that the ranch-house might be attacked. every stranger was an object of suspicion to him. this did not abate one jot his natural western hospitality. as mark his open-handed reception of pratt sanderson on this evening. they kept open house at the bar-t ranch. but after dark--or, after bedtime at least--the place was barred like a fort in the indian country! captain rugley never went to his bed save after making the rounds, armed as he had been to-night, with ming to bolt the doors. the only way a marauder could get into the inner court was by climbing the walls and getting over the roof, and as the latter extended four feet beyond the second-story walls, such a feat was well-nigh impossible. the cement walls themselves were so thick that they seemed impregnable even to cannon. the roof was of slates. and, as has been pointed out already, all the outer first-floor windows, and all those reached from the porch roof, were barred. frances knew that her father had been seriously troubled to-night by the appearance of the strange and unseen tramp in the yard, and the fact that the arrival of that same individual had not been reported from the men's quarters. captain rugley telephoned and learned from his foreman, silent sam harding, that nobody had come to the bunk-house that night asking for lodging and food. frances was about to seek her bed. she yawned, curled her bare toes up closer in the robe, and shivered luxuriously as the night air breathed in upon her. in another moment she would pop in between the blankets and cuddle down---- something snapped! it was outside, not in! frances was wide awake on the instant. her eyelids that had been so drowsy were propped apart--not by fear, but by excitement. she had lived a life which had sharpened her physical perceptions to a fine point. she had no trouble in locating the sound that had so startled her. somebody was climbing the vine at the corner of the veranda roof, not twenty feet from her window. she crouched back, well sheltered in the shadow, but able to see anything that appeared silhouetted between her window and the dark curtain of the night. there was no light in the room behind her; indeed every lamp in the ranch-house had been extinguished some time before. it was evident that this marauder--whoever he was--had waited for the quietude of sleep to fall upon the place. back in the room at the head of frances' bed hung her belt with the holster pistol she wore when riding about the ranges. in these days it was considered perfectly safe for a girl to ride alone, save that coyotes sometimes came within range, or such a savage creature as had been the introduction of pratt sanderson and herself so recently. it was the duty of everybody on the ranges to shoot and kill these "varmints," if they could. frances did not even think of this weapon now. she did not fear the unknown; only that the mystery of the night, and of his secret pursuit, surrounded him. who could he be? what was he after? should she run to awaken her father, or wait to observe his appearance above the edge of the veranda roof? a dried stick of the vine snapped again. there was a squirming figure on the very edge of the roof. frances knew that the unknown lay there, panting, after his exertions. chapter v the shadow in the court a dozen things she _might_ have done afterward appealed to frances rugley. but as she crouched by her chamber window watching the squirming human figure on the edge of the roof, she was interested in only one thing: _who was he?_ this question so filled her thought that she was neither fearful nor anxious. curiosity controlled her actions entirely for the few next minutes. and so she observed the marauder rise up, carefully balance himself on the slates of the veranda roof, and tiptoe away to the corner of the house. he did not come near her window; nor could she see his face. his outlines were barely visible as he drifted into the shadow at the corner--soundless of step now. only the cracking of the dry branch, as he climbed up, had betrayed him. "i wish he had come this way," thought frances. "i might have seen what he looked like. surely, we have no man on the ranch who would do such a thing. can it be that father is right? did the fellow who hailed us to-night come here to the bar-t for some bad purpose?" she waited several minutes by her window. then she bethought her that there was a window at the end of a cross-hall on the side of the house where the man had disappeared, out of which she might catch another glimpse of him. so she thrust her bare feet into slippers, tied the robe more firmly about her, and hurried out of the room. nor did she think now of the charged weapon hanging at the head of her bed. she believed nobody would be astir in the great house. the chinamen slept at the extreme rear over the kitchen. their guest, pratt sanderson, was on the lower floor and at the opposite side, with his windows opening upon the court around which the _hacienda_ was built. captain rugley's rooms were below, too. frances knew herself to be alone in this part of the house. nothing had ever happened to frances rugley to really terrify her. why should she be afraid now? she walked swiftly, her robe trailing behind, her slippered feet twinkling in and out under the nightgown she wore. in the cross-hall she almost ran. there, at the end, was the open window. indeed, there were no sashes in these hall windows at this time of year; only the bars. the night air breathed in upon her. was that a rustling just outside the bars? there was no light behind her and she did not fear being seen from without. tiptoeing, she came to the sill. her ears were quick to distinguish sounds of any character. there _was_ a strange, faint creaking not far from that wide-open casement. she could not thrust her head between the bars now (she remembered vividly the last time she had done that and got stuck, and had to shriek for daddy to come and help her out), but she could press her face close against them and stare into the blackness of the outer world. there! something stirred. her eyes, growing more accustomed to the darkness, caught the shadow of something writhing in the air. what could it be? was it alive? a man, or---- then the bulk of it passed higher, and the strange creaking sound was renewed. frances almost cried aloud! it was the man she had before seen. he was mounting directly into the air. the over-thrust of the ranch-house roof made the shadow very thick against the house-wall. the man was swinging in the air just beyond this deeper shadow. "what can he be doing?" frances thought. she had almost spoken the question aloud. but she did not want to startle him--not yet. first, she must learn what he was about. then she would run and tell her father. this night raider was dangerous--there was no doubt of that. "oh!" quavered frances, suddenly, and under her breath. the uncertain bulk of the man hanging in the air had disappeared! for a minute she could not understand. he had disappeared like magic. his very corporeal body--and she noted that it had been bulky when she first saw him roll over the edge of the veranda roof and sit up--had melted into thin air. and then she saw something swinging, pendulum-like, before her. she thrust an arm between the bars and seized the thing. it was a rope ladder. the whole matter, then, was as plain as daylight. the man had climbed to the porch roof, with the rope ladder wound around his body. that was what had made him seem so bulky. selecting this spot as a favorable one, he had flung the grappling-hook over the eaves. there must be some break in the slates which held the hook. once fastened there, the man had quickly worked his way up to the roof, and frances had arrived just in time to see him squirm out of sight. there were a dozen questions in frances' mind. how did he get here? who was he? what did he want? was he the man captain rugley had seemed to be expecting to try to make a raid upon the ranch-house? was he alone? how did he know he could make the hook of his ladder fast at this point? was there a traitor about who had broken a slate in the roof? or was the broken place the result of an accident, and the marauder had noted it by daylight from the ground? question after question flashed through her mind. but there was one query far more important than all the others: where was the man going over the roof? frances let the ladder swing away from her clutch again. if she held it the fellow above might become alarmed. she turned from the window and darted back along the hall. at the end was a door leading out onto the balcony which surrounded the inner court of the house at the level of the second story. the roof sloped out from the main wall of the building at this inner side, just as it did in front--indeed, the eaves were even longer. but the pillars of the balcony met the overhang at its verge, making it very easy indeed for an active person to swarm down from the roof. once on the balcony, the interior of the house was open to a marauder by a dozen doors, while there were likewise two flights of stairs descending directly into the court. there were no lamps in the court now. it was a well, filled with grey shadows. frances leaned over the balustrade and heard no sound. she looked up. the edge of the roof was a sharply defined line against the lighter background of the sky. but there was no moving figure silhouetted against that background. where had the man gone who had climbed the rope ladder? he could not so quickly have descended into the court; frances was positive of that. she shivered a little. there was something quite disturbing about this mysterious marauder. she wished now she had aroused her father immediately on first descrying the man. she started around the gallery. her father's room lay upon the other side of the house. she could reach his windows by descending the outside stairway there. her slippered feet made no sound; the wool robe did not rustle. had she been seen by anybody she might have been taken for a ghost. but the black shadow of the roof of the gallery swathed frances about, and it would have taken keen eyes indeed to distinguish her form. down the stair she sped. she was almost at its foot when something held her motionless again. she halted with a gasp, while before her, from the direction of the softly playing fountain, a figure drifted in. frances held her breath. was _this_ the man who had come over the roof of the house? or was it another? she crouched silently behind the railing. the figure passed her, going toward her father's windows. she dared not whisper, for she did not think it bulky enough for her father's huge frame. on the trail of the figure she started, her heart palpitating with excitement, yet never for a moment considering her own peril. there were other bedrooms beside that of captain rugley in this direction. and there was that small apartment in which the old spanish chest was so carefully locked. captain rugley never allowed the key of this door or the key of the chest to go out of his possession. he had always intimated that if a thief ever tried to break into the bar-t ranch-house, he would first of all try to get at the treasure chest. there were plenty of valuable things scattered about the house, but they were bulky--hard for a thief to remove. although frances did not know just what her father's treasure consisted of, she believed it must be of such a nature that it could be removed by a thief. frances, her eyes now well used to the gloom, hurried along in the wake of the drifting shadow, without sound. she came to the first window opening into her father's sleeping apartment. like a wraith she glided in, believing at last that her duty was to awaken her father. but when she reached his bed she found it undisturbed. it seemed his pillow had not been lain upon that night. she felt swiftly over the smooth bed, and with growing alarm--not for herself, but alarm for the missing man. where could he have gone? what had happened here since the lights went out and that mysterious marauder had come in over the ranch-house roof? chapter vi a difference of opinion frances knew her way about her father's room in the dark as well as she did about her own. she knew where every piece of furniture stood. she knew where the chair was on which he carelessly threw his outer clothing at night. like most men who for years have slept in the open, captain rugley did not remove all his clothing when he went to bed. he usually lay between blankets on the outside of his bed, with his boots and trousers ready to jump into at a moment's notice. of some of the practices of his life on the plains, with the dome of heaven for a roof-tree, he could not be broken. she fumbled for the chair, and found it empty. she reached for the belt and holster which he usually hung on a hook at the head of the bed. they, too, were gone, and frances felt relieved. she did not withdraw from the room through either of the long windows. instead, she crept through her father's office and out of the door of that room into the great, main hall. along this a little way was the door of the room to which pratt sanderson had been assigned, and that of the treasure room as well. frances scarcely gave pratt a thought. she presumed him far in the land of dreams. she did not take into consideration the fact that about now the scratches of the mountain lion would become painful, and pratt correspondingly restless. frances was mainly troubled by her father's absence from his room. had he, too, seen the mysterious shadow in the court? was he on the watch for a possible marauder? by feeling rather than eyesight she knew the door to the treasure room was closed. was her father there? she doubled her fist and raised it to knock upon the panel. then she hesitated. the slightest sound would ring through the silent house like an alarm of fire. inclining her ear to the door, she listened. but the oak planking was thick and there was no crevice, now the portal was closed, through which any slight sound could penetrate. she could not have even distinguished the heavy breathing of a sleeping man behind the door. uncertain, wondering, yet quite mistress of herself again, frances went on along the corridor. here was an open door before her into the court. had that shadow she had seen come this way? she wondered. the hiss of a voice, almost in her ear, _did_ startle her: "my goodness! is it you, miss frances?" a clammy hand clutched her wrist. she knew that pratt sanderson must have been horribly wrought up and nervous, for he was trembling. "what is the matter? why are you out of your bed, pratt?" she asked, quite calmly. "i couldn't sleep. fever in those scratches, i s'pose," said the young man. "i got up and went outside to get a drink at the fountain--and to bathe my face and wrists. isn't it hot?" "you _are_ feverish," whispered frances, cautiously. "have you seen daddy?" "the captain?" returned pratt, wonderingly. "oh, no. he isn't up, is he?" "he's not in his room----" "and you're not in yours," said pratt, with a nervous laugh. "we all seem to be out of our beds at the hour when graveyards yawn, eh?" frances had a reassuring laugh ready. "i think you would better go to bed again, pratt," she said. "you--you saw nothing in the court?" "no. but i thought i heard a big bird overhead when i was splashing the water about out there. imagination, of course," he added. "there are no big night-flying birds out here on the plains?" "not that i know of," returned she. "i made some noise. i didn't know what it was i scared up. seemed to be on the roof of the house." frances thought of the mysterious man and his rope ladder. but she did not mention them to pratt. "put some more of father's salve on those scratches," she advised. "it's an indian salve and very healing. he was taught by an old indian medicine man to make it." "all right. good-night, miss frances," said pratt, and withdrew into his room, from which he had appeared so suddenly to accost her. pratt's mention of "the bird on the roof" disturbed frances a good deal. she turned to run back upstairs and learn if the ladder was still hanging from the eaves. but as she started to do so she realized that the door of the treasure room had been silently opened. "frances!" "oh, dad!" "what are you running about the house for at this time o' night?" he demanded. she laughed rather hysterically. "why are you out of your bed, sir--with your rheumatism?" she retorted. "good reason. thought i heard something," growled the captain. "good reason. thought i _saw_ something," mocked frances, seizing his arm. she stepped inside the room with him. he flashed an electric torch for a moment about the place. she saw he had a cot arranged at one side, and had evidently gone to bed here, beside the treasure chest. "why is this, sir?" she demanded, with pretty seriousness. "reckon the old man's getting nervous," said captain rugley. "can't sleep in my reg'lar bed when there are strangers in the house." frances started. "what do you mean?" she cried. "well, there's that young man." "why, pratt is all right," declared frances, confidently. "i don't know anything _for_ him--and do know one thing _against_ him," growled the old ranchman. "he's been up and about all night, so far. weren't you just talking to him?" "oh, yes, dad! but pratt is all right." "that's as may be. what was he doing wandering around that court?" "oh, dad! don't worry about _him_. his arm and chest hurt him----" "humph! didn't hurt him when he went to bed, did they? yet he was sneaking along this hall and looking into this very room when the door was slightly ajar. i saw him," said the old ranchman, bitterly. frances was amazed by this statement; but she realized that her father was oversuspicious regarding the interest of strangers in the old spanish chest and its contents. "never mind pratt," she said. "i came downstairs to find you, daddy, because there really _is_ a stranger about the house." "what do you mean, frances?" was the sharp retort. the girl told him briefly about the man she had observed climbing up to the veranda roof, and later to the roof of the house by aid of the rope ladder. "and pratt tells me he heard some sound up there. he thought it was a big bird," she concluded. "come on!" said her father, hastily. "let's see that ladder." he locked the door of the treasure room and strode up the main stairway. frances kept close behind him and warned him to step softly--rather an unnecessary bit of advice to an old indian trailer like captain rugley! but when they came to the window through which frances had seen the dangling ladder it was gone. the old ranchman shot a ray of his electric torch through the opening; but the light revealed nothing. "gone!" he announced, briefly. "do--do you think so, dad?" "sure. been scared off." "but what could he possibly want--climbing up over our roof, and all that?" captain rugley stood still and stroked his chin reflectively. "i reckon i know what they're after---- "they? but, daddy, there was only one man." "one that was coming over the roof," said her father. "but he had pals--sure he did! if one of them wasn't in the house----" "why, dad!" exclaimed frances, in wonder. "you can't always tell," said the old ranchman, slowly. "there's a heap of valuables in that chest. of course, they don't all belong to me," he added, hastily. "my partner, lon, has equal rights in 'em--don't ever forget that, frances, if something should happen to me." "why, dad! how you talk!" she exclaimed. "we can never tell," sighed her father. "treasure is tempting. and it looks to me as though this fellow who climbed over the roof expected to find somebody inside to help him. that's the way it looks to me," he repeated, shaking his head obstinately. "dear dad! you don't mean that you think pratt sanderson would do such a thing?" said frances, in a horrified tone. "we don't know him." "but his coming here to the bar-t was unexpected. i urged him to come. that lion really scratched him----" "yes. it doesn't look reasonable, i allow," admitted her father; but she could see he was not convinced of the honesty of pratt sanderson. there was a difference of opinion between frances and captain rugley. chapter vii the stampede the remainder of the night passed in quietness. that there really had been a marauder about the bar-t ranch-house could not be doubted; for a slate was found upon the ground in the morning, and the place in the roof where it had been broken out was plainly visible. captain rugley sent one of the men up with a ladder and new slates to repair the damage. he reported that the marks of the grappling-hook in the roof sheathing were unmistakable, too. although her father had expressed himself as doubtful of the good intentions of pratt sanderson, frances was glad to see at breakfast that he treated the young man no differently than before. pratt slept late and the meal was held back for him. "the attentions of that old mountain lion bothered me so that i did not sleep much the fore part of the night," pratt explained. "how about that bird you heard on the roof?" the captain asked, calmly. "i don't know what it was. it sounded like big wings flapping," the young fellow explained. "but i really didn't see anything." captain rugley grunted, and said no more. he grunted a good deal this morning, in fact, for every movement gave him pain. "the rheumatism has got its fangs set in me right, this time," he told frances. "that's for being out of your warm bed and chasing all over the house without a coat on in the night," she said, admonishingly. "goodness!" said her father. "must i be _that_ particular? if so, i _am_ getting old, i reckon." she made him promise to keep out of draughts when she mounted molly to ride away on an errand to a distant part of the ranch. she rode off with pratt sanderson, for he was traveling in the same direction, toward mr. bill edwards' place. frances of the ranges was more silent than she had been when they rode together the night before. pratt found it hard to get into conversation with her on any but the most ephemeral subjects. for instance, when he hinted about captain rugley's adventures on the border: "your father is a very interesting talker. he has seen and done so much." "yes," said frances. "and how adventurous his life must have been! i'd love to get him in a story-telling mood some day." "he doesn't talk much about old times." "but, of course, you know all about his adventures as a ranger, and his trips into mexico?" "no," said frances. "why! he spoke last night as though he often talked about it. about the looting of---- who was the old spanish grandee he mentioned?" "i know very little about it, pratt," fluttered frances. "that's just dad's talk." "but that gorgeous girdle and bracelet you wore!" frances secretly determined not to wear jewelry from the treasure chest again. she had never thought before about its causing comment and conjecture in the minds of people who did not know her father as well as she did. suppose people believed that captain dan rugley had actually stolen those things in some raid into mexico? such a thought had never troubled her before. but she could see, now, that strangers might misjudge her father. he talked so recklessly about his old life on the border that he might easily cause those who did not know him to believe that not alone the contents of that mysterious treasure chest but his other wealth was gained by questionable means. fortunately, a herd of steers, crossing from one of the extreme southern ranges of the bar-t to the north where juicier grass grew, attracted the attention of the guest from amarillo. "are those all yours, frances?" he asked, when he saw the mass of dark bodies and tossing horns that appeared through rifts in the dust cloud that accompanies a driven herd even over sod-land. "my father's," she corrected, smiling. "and only a small herd. not more than two thousand head in that bunch." "i'd call two thousand cows a whole lot," pratt sighed. "not for us. remember, the bar-t has been in the past one of the great cattle ranches of the west. daddy is getting old now and cannot attend to so much work." "but you seem to know all about it," said pratt, with enthusiasm. "don't you really do all the overseeing for him?" "oh, no!" laughed frances. "not at all. silent sam is the ranch manager. i just do what either dad or sam tell me. i'm just errand girl for the whole ranch." but pratt knew better than that. he saw now that she was watching the oncoming mass of steers with a frown of annoyance. something was going wrong and frances was troubled. "what's the matter?" he asked, curiously. "i thought that was ratty m'gill with that bunch," frances answered, more as though thinking aloud than consciously answering pratt's question. "the rascal! he'd run all the fat off a bunch of cows between pastures." she pulled molly around and headed the pinto for the herd. it was not in his way, but pratt followed her example and rode his grey hard after the cowgirl. not a herdsman was in sight. the steers were coming on through the dust, sweating and steaming, evidently having been driven very hard since daybreak. occasionally one bawled an angry protest; but those in front were being forced on by the rear ranks, which in turn were being harassed by the punchers in charge. suddenly, a bald-faced steer shot out of the ruck of the herd, darting at right angles to the course. for a little way a steer can run as fast as a race-horse. that's why the creatures are so very hard to manage on occasion. to pratt, who was watching sharply, it was a question which got into action first--frances or her wise little pinto. he did not see the girl speak to molly; but the pony turned like a shot and whirled away after the careering steer. at the same moment, it seemed, frances had her hair rope in her hand. the coils began to whirl around her head. the pinto was running like the wind. the bald-faced, ugly-looking brute of a steer was soon running neck and neck with the well-mounted girl. pratt followed. he was more interested in the outcome of the chase than he was in where his grey was putting his feet. there was an eerie yell behind them. pratt saw a wild-looking, hatless cowboy racing a black pony toward them. the whole herd seemed to have been turned in some miraculous way, and was thundering after old baldface and the girl. pratt began to wonder if there was not danger. he had heard of a stampede, and it looked to him as though the bunch of steers was quite out of hand. had he been alone, he would have pulled out and let the herd go by. but either frances did not see them coming, or she did not care. she was after that bald-faced steer, and in a moment she had him. the whirling noose dropped and in some wonderful way settled over a horn and one of the steer's forefeet. when molly stopped and braced herself, the steer pitched forward, turned a complete somersault, and lay on the prairie at the mercy of his captor. "hurray!" yelled pratt, swinging his hat. he was riding recklessly himself. he had seen a half-tamed steer roped and tied at an amarillo street fair; but _that_ was nothing like this. it had all been so easy, so matter-of-fact! no display at all about the girl's work; but just as though she could do it again, and yet again, as often as the emergency arose. frances cast a glowing smile over her shoulder at him, as she lay back in the saddle and let molly hold old baldface in durance. but suddenly her face changed--a flash of amazed comprehension chased the triumphant smile away. she opened her lips to shout something to pratt--some warning. and at that instant the grey put his foot into a ground-dog hole, and the young man from amarillo left the saddle! he described a perfect parabola and landed on his head and shoulders on the ground. the grey scrambled up and shot away at a tangent, out of the course of the herd of thundering steers. he was not really hurt. but his rider lay still for a moment on the prairie. pratt sanderson was certainly "playing in hard luck" during his vacation on the ranges. the mere losing of his mount was not so bad; but the steers had really stampeded, and he lay, half-stunned, directly in the path of the herd. old baldface struggled to rise and seized upon the girl's attention. she used the rope in a most expert fashion, catching his other foreleg in a loop, and then catching one of his hind legs, too. he was secured as safely as a fly in a spider-web. frances was out of her saddle the next moment, and ran back to where pratt lay. she knew molly would remain fixed in the place she was left, and sagging back on the rope. the girl seized the young man under his armpits and started to drag him toward the fallen steer. the bulk of old baldface would prove a protection for them. the herd would break and swerve to either side of the big steer. but one thing went wrong in frances' calculations. her rope slipped at the saddle. for some reason it was not fastened securely. the straining molly went over backward, kicking and squealing as the rope gave way, and the big steer began to struggle to his feet. chapter viii in peril and out pratt sanderson had begun to realize the situation. as frances' pony fell and squealed, he scrambled to his knees. "save yourself, frances!" he cried. "i am all right." she left him; but not because she believed his statement. the girl saw the bald-faced steer staggering to its feet, and she knew their salvation depended upon the holding of the bad-tempered brute. the stampeded herd was fast coming down upon them; afoot, she nor pratt could scarcely escape the hoofs and horns of the cattle. she saw ratty m'gill on the black pony flying ahead of the steers; but what could one man do to turn two thousand head of wild cattle? frances of the ranges had appreciated the peril which threatened to the full and at first glance. the prostrate carcase of the huge steer would serve to break the wave of cattle due to pass over this spot within a very few moments. if baldface got up, shook off the entangling rope and ran, frances and pratt would be utterly helpless. once under the hoofs of the herd, they would be pounded into the prairie like powder, before the tail of the stampede had passed. frances, seeing the attempts of the big steer to climb to its feet, ran forward and seized the rope that had slipped through the ring of her saddle. she drew in the slack at once; but her strength was not sufficient to drag the steer back to earth. snorting and bellowing, the huge beast was all but on his feet when pratt sanderson reached the girl's side. pratt was staggering, for the shock of his fall had been severe. he understood her, however, when she cried: "jump on it, pratt! jump on it!" the young man leaped, landing with both feet on the taut rope. frances, at the same instant, threw herself backward, digging her heels into the sod. the shock of the tightening of the rope, therefore, fell upon the steer. down he went bellowing angrily, for he had not cast off the noose that entangled him. "don't let him get loose, pratt! stand on the rope!" commanded frances. with the slack of the lariat she ran forward, caught a kicking hind foot, then entangled one of the beast's forefeet, and drew both together with all her strength. the bellowing steer was now doubly entangled; but he was not secure, and well did frances know it. she ran in closer, although pratt cried out in warning, and looped the rope over the brute's other horn. slipping the end of her rope through the loop that held his feet together, frances got a purchase by which she could pull the great head of the beast aside and downward, thus holding him helpless. it was impossible for him to get up after he was thus secured. "got him! quick, pratt, this way!" frances panted. she beckoned to the amarillo young man, and the latter instantly joined her. she had conquered the steer in a few seconds; the herd was now thundering down upon them. m'gill, on the black pony, dashed by. "bully for you, miss frances," he yelled. "you wait, ratty!" frances said; but, of course, only pratt heard. "father and sam will jack you up for this, and no mistake!" then she whipped out her revolver and fired it into the air--emptying all the chambers as the herd came on. the steers broke and passed on either side of their fallen brother. the tossing horns, fiery eyes and red, expanded nostrils made them look--to pratt's mind--fully as savage as had the mountain lion the evening before. then he looked again at his comrade. she was only breathing quickly now; she gave no sign of fear. it was all in the day's work. such adventures as this had been occasional occurrences with frances of the ranges since childhood. pratt could scarcely connect this alert, vigorous young girl with her who had sat at the piano in the ranch-house the previous evening! "you're a wonder!" murmured pratt sanderson, to himself. and then suddenly he broke out laughing. "what's tickling you, pratt?" asked frances, in her most matter-of-fact tone. "i was just wondering," the amarillo young man replied, "what sue latrop will think of you when she comes out here." "who's she?" asked frances, a little puzzled frown marring her smooth forehead. she was trying to remember any girl of that name with whom she had gone to school at the amarillo high. "sue latrop's a distant cousin of mrs. bill edwards, and she's from boston. she's eastern to the tips of her fingers--and talk about 'culchaw'! she has it to burn," chuckled pratt. "bill edwards says she is just 'putting on dog' to show us natives how awfully crude we are. but i guess she doesn't know any better." the steers had swept by, and pratt was just a little hysterical. he laughed too easily and his hand shook as he wiped the perspiration and dust from his face. "i shouldn't think she would be a nice girl at all," frances said, bluntly. "oh, she's not at all bad. rather pretty and--my word--some dresser! no end of clothes she's brought with her. she's coming out to the edwards ranch before long, and you'll probably see her." frances bit her lip and said nothing for a moment. the big steer struggled again and groaned. the girl and pratt were afoot and the stampede of cattle had swept their mounts away. even molly, the pinto, was out of call. the half dozen punchers who followed the maddened steers had no time for frances and her companion. a great cloud of dust hung over the departing herd and that was the last the castaways on the prairie would see of either cattle or punchers that day. "we've got to walk, i reckon," frances said, slowly. "how about this steer?" asked the young man, curiously. "i think he's tamed enough for the time," said the girl, with a smile. "anyway i want my rope. it's a good one." she began to untangle the bald-faced steer. he struggled and grunted and tossed his wide, wicked horns free. to tell the truth pratt was more than a little afraid of him. but he saw that frances had reloaded the revolver she carried, and he merely stepped aside and waited. the girl knew so much better what to do that he could be of no assistance. "now, pratt," she said, at last, "stand from under! hoop-la!" she swung the looped lariat and brought it down smartly upon the beast's back as it struggled to its shaking legs. the steer bellowed, shook himself like a dog coming out of the water, or a mule out of the harness, and trotted away briskly. "he'll follow the herd, i reckon," frances said, smiling again. "if he doesn't they'll pick him out at the next round-up. his brand is too plain to miss." "and now we're afoot," said pratt. "it's a long walk for you back to the house, frances." "and longer for you to the edwards ranch," she laughed. "but perhaps you will fall in with some of mr. bill's herders. they'll have an extra mount or two. i'll maybe catch molly. she's a good pinto." "but oughtn't i to go back with you?" questioned pratt, doubtfully. "you see--you're alone--and afoot----" "why! it isn't the first time, pratt," laughed the girl. "don't fret about me. this range to me is just like your backyard to you." "i suppose it sounds silly," admitted pratt. "but i haven't been used to seeing girls quite as independent as you are, frances rugley." "no? the girls you know don't live the sort of life i do," said the range girl, rather wistfully. "i don't know that they have anything on you," put in pratt, stoutly. "i think you're just wonderful!" "because i am doing something different from what you are used to seeing girls do," she said, with gravity. "that is no compliment, pratt." "well! i meant it as such," he said, earnestly. he offered his hand, knowing better than to urge his company upon her. "and i hope you know how much obliged to you i am. i feel as though you had saved my life twice. i would not have known what to do in the face of that stampede." "every man to his trade," quoted frances, carelessly. "good-bye, pratt. come over again to see us," and she gave his hand a quick clasp and turned away briskly. he stood and watched her for some moments; then, fearing she might look back and see him, he faced around himself and set forth on his long tramp to the edwards ranch. it was true frances did not turn around; but she knew well enough pratt gazed after her. he would have been amazed had he known her reason for showing no further interest in him--for not even turning to wave her hand at him in good-bye. there were tears on her cheeks, and she was afraid he would see them. "i am foolish--wicked!" she told herself. "of course he knows other--and nicer--girls than _me_. and it isn't just that, either," she added, rather enigmatically. "but to remember all those girls i knew in amarillo! how different their lives are from mine! "how different they must look and behave. why, i'm a perfect _tomboy_. pratt said i was wonderful--just as though i were a trick pony, or an educated goose! "i do things he never saw a girl do before, and he thinks it strange and odd. but if that sue latrop should see me and say that i was not nice, he'd begin to see, too, that it is a fact. "riding with the boys here on the ranch, and officiating at the branding-pen, riding herd, cutting out beeves and playing the cowboy generally, has not added to my 'culchaw,' that is sure. i don't know that i'd be able to 'act up' in decent society again. "pratt looked at me big-eyed last evening when i dressed for dinner. but he was only astonished and amused, i suppose. he didn't expect me to look like that after seeing me in this old riding dress. "oh, dear!" sighed frances of the ranges. "i wouldn't leave daddy, or do anything to displease him, poor dear! but i wish he could be content to live nearer to civilization. "we've got enough money. _i_ don't want any more, i'm sure. we could sell the cattle and turn our ranges into wheat and milo fields. then we could live in town part of the year--in amarillo, perhaps!" the thought was a daring one. indeed, she was not wholly confident that it was not a wicked thought. just then she reached the summit of a slight ridge from which she could behold the home corrals of the _hacienda_ itself, still a long distance ahead, and glowing like jewels in the morning sunshine. such a beautiful place! after all, frances rugley loved it. it was home, and every tender tie of her life bound her to it and to the old man who she knew was sitting somewhere on the veranda, with his pipe and his memories. there never was such another beautiful place as the old bar-t! frances was sure of that. she longed for amarillo and what the old captain called "the frills of society"; but could she give up the ranch for them? "i reckon i want to keep my cake and eat it, too," she sighed. "and that, daddy would say, 'is plumb impossible!'" chapter ix surprising news frances arrived at home about noon. the last few miles she bestrode molly, for that intelligent creature had allowed herself to be caught. it was too late to go on the errand to cottonwood bottom before luncheon. silent sam harding met her at the corral gate. he was a lanky, saturnine man, with never a laugh in his whole make-up. but he was liked by the men, and frances knew him to be faithful to the bar-t interests. "what happened to ratty's bunch?" he asked, in his sober way. "did you see them?" cried frances, leaping down from the saddle. "saw their dust," said sam. "they stampeded," frances said, warmly. "and mr. sanderson and i lost our ponies--pretty nearly had a bad accident, sam," and she went on to give the foreman of the ranch the particulars. "i thought something was wrong. i got that little grey hawse of bill edwards'. he just come in," said sam. "ratty m'gill was running those steers," frances told him. "i must report him to daddy. he's been warned before. i think ratty's got some whiskey." "i shouldn't wonder. there was a bootlegger through here yesterday." "the man who tried to get over our roof!" exclaimed frances. "mebbe." "do you suppose he's known to ratty?" questioned the girl, anxiously. "dunno. but ratty's about worn out his welcome on the bar-t. if the cap says the word, i'll can him." "well," said frances, "he shouldn't have driven that herd so hard. i'll have to speak to daddy about it, sam, though i hate to bother him just now. he's all worked up over that business of last night." "don't understand it," said the foreman, shaking his head. "could it have been the bootlegger?" queried frances, referring to the illicit whiskey seller of whom she suspected the irresponsible ratty m'gill had purchased liquor. the "bootleggers" were supposed to carry pint flasks of bad whiskey in the legs of their topboots, to sell at a fancy price to thirsty punchers on the ranges. "dunno how that slate come broken on the roof," grumbled sam. "the feller knowed just where to go to hitch his rope ladder. goin' to have one of the boys ride herd on the _hacienda_ at night for a while." this was a long speech for silent sam. frances thanked him and went up to the house. she did not find an opportunity of speaking to captain rugley about ratty m'gill at once, however, for she found him in a state of great excitement. "listen to this, frances!" he ejaculated, when she appeared, waving a sheet of paper in his hand, and trying to get up from the hard chair in which he was sitting. a spasm of pain balked him; his bronzed face wrinkled as the rheumatic twinge gripped him; but his hawklike eyes gleamed. "my! my!" he grunted. "this pain is something fierce." frances fluttered to his side. "do take an easier chair, daddy," she begged. "it will be so much more comfortable." "hold on! this does very well. your old dad's never been used to cushions and do-funnies. but see here! i want you to read this." he waved the paper again. "what is it, daddy?" frances asked, without much curiosity. "heard from old lon at last--yes, ma'am! what do you know about that? from good old lon, who was my partner for twenty years. i've got a letter here that one of the boys brought from the station just now, from a minister, back in mississippi. poor old lon's in a soldier's home, and he's just got track of me. "my soul and body, frances! think of it," added the excited captain. "he's been living almost like a beggar for years in a confederate soldiers' home--good place, like enough, of its kind, but here am i rolling in wealth, and that treasure chest right here under my eye, and lon suffering, perhaps----" the captain almost broke down, for with the pain he was enduring and all, the incident quite unstrung him. frances had her arms about him and kissed his tear-streaked cheek. "foolish, am i?" he demanded, looking up at her, "but it's broken me up--hearing from my old partner this way. read the letter, frances, won't you?" she did so. it was from the chaplain of the bylittle soldiers' home, of bylittle, mississippi. "captain daniel rugley, "bar-t ranch, "texas panhandle. "dear sir: "i am writing in behalf of an old soldier in this institution, one jonas p. lonergan, who was at one time a member of company k, texas rangers, and who before that time served honorably in company p, fifth regiment, mississippi volunteers, during the war between the states. "mr. lonergan is a sadly broken man, having passed through much evil after his experiences on the border and in mexico in your company. indeed, his whole life has been one of privation and hardship. now, bent with years, he has been obliged to seek refuge with some of his ancient comrades at bylittle. "in several private talks with me, captain rugley, he has mentioned the incidents relating to the looting and destruction of señor morales' _hacienda_, over the border in mexico, while you and he were on detail in that vicinity as rangers. "perhaps the old man is rambling; but he always talks of a treasure chest which he claims you and he rescued from the bandits and removed into arizona, hiding the same in a certain valley at the mouth of a cañon which he calls dry bone cañon. "mr. lonergan always speaks of you as 'the whitest man who ever lived.' 'if my old partner, captain dan, knew how i was fixed or where i was, he'd have me rollin' in luxury in no time,' he has said to me; 'providing he's this same captain dan rugley that's owner of the bar-t ranch in the panhandle.' "you know (if you know him at all) that mr. lonergan had no educational advantages. such men have difficulty in keeping up communication with their friends. "he claims to have lost track of you twenty-odd years ago. that when you separated you both swore to divide equally the contents of señor morales' treasure chest, the hiding place of which at that time was in a hostile country, geronimo and his braves being on the warpath. "if you are jonas p. lonergan's old-time partner you will remember the particulars more clearly than i can state them. "if this be the case, i am sure i need only state the above and certify to the identity of mr. lonergan, to bring from you an expression of your remembrance and the statement whether or no any property to which mr. lonergan might make a claim is in your possession. "mr. l. speaks much of the treasure chest and tells marvelous stories of its contents. he does not seem to desire wealth for himself, however, for he well knows that he has but a few months to live, nor does he seem ever to have cared greatly for money. "his anxiety is for the condition of a sister of his who was left a widow some years ago, and for her son. mr. l. fears that the nephew has not the chance of getting on in life that he would like the boy to have. in his old age mr. l. feels keenly the fact that he was never able to do anything for his family, and the fate of his widowed sister and her son is much on his mind. "a prompt reply, captain rugley, if you are the old-time partner of my ancient friend, will be gratefully received by the undersigned, and joyfully by mr. lonergan. "respectfully, "(rev.) decimus tooley." "why! what do you think of that?" gasped frances, when she had read the letter to the very last word. her father's face was shining and there were tears in his eyes. his joy at hearing from his old companion-in-arms was unmistakable. this turning up of jonas lonergan meant the parting with a portion of the mysterious wealth that the old ranchman kept hidden in the spanish chest--wealth that he might easily keep if he would. frances was proud of him. never for an instant did he seem to worry about parting with the treasure to lonergan. his fears for it had never been the fears of a miser who worshiped wealth--no, indeed! now it was plain that the thought of seeing his old partner alive again, and putting into his hands the part of the treasure rightfully belonging to him, delighted captain dan rugley in every fibre of his being. "the poor old codger!" exclaimed the ranchman, affectionately. "and to think of lon being in need, and living poor--maybe actually suffering--when i've been doing so well here, and have had this old chest right under my thumb all these years. "you see, frances," said the captain, making more of an explanation than ever before, "lon and i got possession of that chest in a funny way. "we'd been sent after as mean a man as ever infested the border--and there were some mighty mean men along the rio grande in those days. he had slipped across the border to escape us; but in those times we didn't pay much attention to the line between the states and mexico. "we went after him just the same. he was with a crowd of regular bandits, we found out. and they were aiming to clean up señor milo morales' _hacienda_. "we got onto their plans, and we rode hard to the _hacienda_ to head them off. we knew the old spaniard--as fine a castilian gentleman as ever stepped in shoe-leather. "we stopped with him a while, beat off the bandits, and captured our man. after everything quieted down (as we thought) we started for the border with the prisoner. señor morales was an old man, without chick or child, and not a relative in the world to leave his wealth to. his was one of the few castilian families that had run out. neither in mexico nor in spain did he have a blood tie. "his vast estates he had already willed to the church. such faithful servants as he had (and they were few, for the _peon_ is not noted for gratitude) he had already taken care of. "lon and i had saved his life as well as his personal property, he was good enough to say, and he showed us this treasure chest and what was in it. when he passed on, he said, it should be ours if we were fixed so we could get it before the mexican authorities stepped in and grabbed it all, or before bandits cleaned out the _hacienda_. it was a toss-up in those days between the two, which was the most voracious! "well, frances, that's how it stood when we rode away with simon hawkins lashed to a pony between us. before we reached the river we heard of a big band of outlaws that had come down from the sierras and were trailing over toward morales'. "we hurried back, leaving simon staked down in a hide-out we knew of. but lon and i were too late," said the old captain, shaking his head sadly. "those scoundrels had got there ahead of us, led by the men we had first beaten off, and they had done their worst. "the good old señor--as harmless and lovely a soul as ever lived--had been brutally murdered. one or two of his servants had been killed, too--for appearance's sake, i suppose. the others, especially the _vaqueros_, had joined the outlaws, and the _hacienda_ was being looted. "but lon and i took a chance, stole in by night, found the treasure chest, and slipped away with it. i went back alone before dawn, found a six-mule team already loaded with household stuff and drove off with it, thus stealing from the thieves. "a good many of these fine old things we have here were on that wagon. i decided that they belonged to me as much as to anybody. get them once over the boundary into god's country and the thieving mexican government--only one degree removed at that time from the outlaws themselves--would not dare lay claim to them. "we did this," concluded captain dan, with a sigh of reminiscence, and with his eyes shining, "and we got simon into the jail at elberad, too. "lon and i kept on up into arizona, into dry bone cañon, and there we cached the stuff. air and sand are so dry there that nothing ever decays, and so all these rugs and hangings and featherwork were uninjured when i brought them away to this ranch soon after you were born. "that's the story, my dear. i never talk much about it, for it isn't altogether my secret. you see, my old partner, lon, was in on it. and now he's going to come for his share----" "come for his share, daddy?" asked frances, in surprise. "yes--sir-ree--sir!" chuckled the old ranchman. "think i'm going to let old lon stay in that soldiers' home? not much!" "but will he be able to travel here to the panhandle?" "of course! what the matter is with lon, he's been shut indoors. i know what it is. why! he's younger than i am by a year or two." "but if he can't travel alone----" "i'll go after him! i'll hire a private car! my goodness! i'll hire a whole train if it's necessary to get him out of that bylittle place! that's what i'll do! "and he shall live here with us--so he shall! he and i will divide this treasure just as i've been aching to do for years. you shall have jewels then, my girl!" "but, dear!" gasped frances, "you are not well enough to go so far." "now, don't bother, frances. your old dad isn't dead yet--not by any means! i'll be all right in a day or two." but captain rugley was not all right in so short a time. he actually grew worse. frances sent a messenger for the doctor the very next morning. whether it was from the exposure of the night the stranger tried to climb over the _hacienda_ roof or not, captain rugley took to his bed. the physician pronounced it rheumatic fever, and a very serious case indeed. chapter x the man from bylittle responsibility weighed heavily upon the young shoulders of frances of the ranges in these circumstances. old captain rugley insisted upon being out of doors, ill as he was, and they made him as comfortable as possible on a couch in the court where the fountain played. ming was in attendance upon him all day long, for frances had many duties to call her away from the ranch-house at this time. but at night she slept almost within touch of the sick man's bed. he did not get better. the physician declared that he was not in immediate danger, although the fever would have to run its course. the pain that racked his body was hard to bear; and although he was a stoic in such matters, frances would see his jaws clench and the muscles knot in his cheeks; and she often wiped the drops of agony from his forehead while striving to hide the tears that came into her own eyes. he demanded to know how long he was "going to be laid by the heels"; and when he learned that the doctor could not promise him a swift return to health, captain rugley began to worry. it was of his old partner he thought most. that the affairs of the ranch would go on all right in the hands of his young daughter and silent sam, he seemed to have no doubt. but the letter from the chaplain of the bylittle soldiers' home was forever troubling him. between his spells of agony, or when his mind was really clear, he talked to frances of little but jonas lonergan and the treasure chest. "he is troubling his mind about something, and it is not good for him," the doctor, who came every third day (and had a two hundred-mile jaunt by train and buckboard), told frances. "can't you calm his mind, miss frances?" she told the medical man as much about her father's ancient friend as she thought was wise. "he desires to have him brought here," she explained, "so that they can go over, face to face and eye to eye, their old battles and adventures." "good! bring the man--have him brought," said the physician. "but he is an old soldier," said frances. she read aloud that part of the reverend decimus tooley's letter relating to the state of mr. lonergan's health. "don't know what we can do about it, then," said the doctor, who was a native of the southwest himself. "your father and the old fellow seem to be 'honing' for each other. too bad they can't meet. it would do your father good. i don't like his mind's being troubled." that night frances was really frightened. her father began muttering in his sleep. then he talked aloud, and sat up in bed excitedly, his face flushed, and his tongue becoming clearer, although his speech was not lucid. he was going over in his distraught mind the adventures he had had with lon when they two had foiled the bandits and recovered possession of the señor's treasure chest. frances begged him to desist, but he did not know her. he babbled of the long journey with the mule team into the mouth of dry bone cañon, and the caching of the treasure. for an hour he talked steadily and then, growing weaker, gradually sank back on his pillows and became silent. but the effort was very weakening. frances telephoned from the nearest station for the doctor. something _had_ to be done, for the exertion and excitement of the night had left captain rugley in a state that troubled the girl much. she had no friend of her own sex. mrs. bill edwards was a city woman whom, after all, she scarcely knew, for the lady had not been married to mr. edwards more than a year. there were other good women scattered over the ranges--some "nesters," some small cattle-raisers' wives, and some of the new order of panhandle farmers; but frances had never been in close touch with them. the social gatherings at the church and schoolhouse at jackleg had been attended by frances and captain rugley; but the bar-t folk really had no near neighbors. the girl's interest in the forthcoming pageant had called the attention of other people to her more than ever before; but to tell the truth the young folk were rather awe-stricken by frances' abilities as displayed in the preparation for the entertainment, while the older people did not know just how to treat the wealthy ranchman's daughter--whether as a person of mature years, or as a child. riding back from the railroad station, where one of the boys with the buckboard three hours later would meet the physician, she thought of these facts. somehow, she had never felt so lonely--so cut off from other people as she did right now. the railroad crossed one corner of the bar-t's vast fenced ranges; but there were twenty long miles between the house and the station. she had ridden molly hard coming over to speak to the doctor on the telephone; but she took it easy going back. somewhere along the trail she would meet the buckboard and ponies going over to meet the doctor. and as she walked her pony down the slope of the trail into cottonwood bottom, she thought she heard the rattle of the buckboard wheels ahead. a clump of trees hid the trail for a bit; when she rounded it the way was empty. whoever she had heard had turned off the trail into the cottonwoods. "maybe he didn't water the ponies before he started," thought frances, "and has gone down to the ford. that's a bit of carelessness that i do not like. whom could sam have sent with the bronchos for the doctor?" she turned molly off the trail beyond the bridge. the wood was not a jungle, but she could not see far ahead, nor be seen. by and by she smelled tobacco smoke--the everlasting cigarette of the cattle puncher. then she heard the sound of voices. why this latter fact should have made frances suspicious, she could not have told. it was her womanly intuition, perhaps. slipping out of the saddle, she tied molly with her head up-wind. she was afraid the pinto would smell her fellows from the ranch, and signal them, as horses will. once away from her mount, she passed between the trees and around the brush clumps until she saw the ford of the river sparkling below her. there were the hard-driven ponies, their heads drooping, their flanks heaving, standing knee-deep in the stream--this fact in itself an offense that she could not overlook. the animals had been overdriven, and now the employee of the ranch who had them in charge was allowing them to cool off too quickly--and in the cold stream, too! but who was he? for a moment frances could not conceive. the figure of the driver was humped over on the seat in a slouching attitude, sitting sideways, and with his back toward the direction from which the range girl was approaching. he faced a man on a shabby horse, whose mount likewise stood in the stream and who had been fording the river from the opposite direction. this horseman was a stranger to frances. he wore a broad-brimmed black hat, no chaps, no cartridge belt or gun in sight, and a white shirt and a vest under his coat, while shoes instead of boots were on his feet. he was neither puncher nor farmer in appearance. and his face was bad. there could be no doubt of that latter fact. he wore a stubble of beard that did not disguise the sneering mouth, or the wickedly leering expression of his eyes. "well, i done my part, old fellow," drawled the man in the seat of the buckboard, just as frances came within earshot. "'tain't my fault you bungled it." frances stopped instead of going on. it was ratty m'gill! she could not understand why he was not on the range, or why sam had sent the ne'er-do-well to meet the doctor. it puzzled her before the puncher's continued speech began to arouse her curiosity. "you'll sure find yourself in a skillet of hot water, old fellow," pursued ratty, inhaling his cigarette smoke and letting it forth through his nostrils in little puffs as he talked. "the old cap's built his house like a fort, anyway. and he's some man with a gun--believe me!" "you say he's sick," said the other man, and he, too, drawled. frances found herself wondering where she had heard that voice before. "he ain't so sick that he can't guard that chest you was talkin' about. he's had his bed made up right in the room with it. that's whatever," said ratty. "once let me get in there," said the other, slowly. "sam's set some of the boys to ride herd on the house," chuckled ratty. "that's the way, then!" exclaimed the other, raising his clenched fist and shaking it. "you get put on that detail, ratty." "i'll see you blessed first," declared the puncher, laughing. "i don't see nothing in it but trouble for me." "no trouble for you at all. they didn't get you before." "no," said the puncher. "more by good luck than good management. i don't like going things blind, pete. and you're always so blamed secretive." "i have to be," growled the other. "you're as leaky as a sieve yourself, ratty. i never could trust you." "nor nobody else," laughed the reckless puncher. "sam's about got my number now. if he ain't the gal has----" "you mean that daughter of the old man's?" "yep. she's an able-minded gal--believe me! and she's just about boss of the ranch, specially now the old cap is laid by the heels for a while." the other was silent for some moments. ratty gathered up the reins from the backs of the tired ponies. "i gotter step along, pete," he said. "gal's gone to telephone for the medical sharp, who'll show up on number when she goes through jackleg. i'm to meet him. or," and he began to chuckle again, "josé reposa was, and i took his place so's to meet you here as i promised." "and lots of good your meeting me seems to do me," growled the man called pete. "well, old fellow! is that my fault?" demanded the puncher. "i don't know. i gotter git inside that _hacienda_." "walk in. the door's open." "you think you are smart, don't you?" snarled pete, in anger. "you tell me where the chest is located; but it couldn't be brought out by day. but at night---- my soul, man! i had the team all ready and waiting the other night, and i could have got the thing if i'd had luck." "you didn't have luck," chuckled ratty m'gill. "and i don't believe you'd 'a' had much more luck if you'd got away with the old cap's chest." "i tell you there's a fortune in it!" "you don't know----" "and i suppose you do?" snarled pete. "i know no sane man ain't going to keep a whole mess of jewels and such, what you talk about, right in his house. he'd take 'em to a bank at amarillo, or somewhere." "not that old codger. he'd keep 'em under his own eye. he wouldn't trust a bank like he would himself. humph! i know his kind. "why," continued pete, excitedly, "that old feller at bylittle is another one just like him. these old-timers dug gold, and made their piles half a dozen times, and never trusted banks--there warn't no banks!" "not in them days," admitted ratty. "but there's a plenty now." "you say yourself he's got the chest." "sure! i seen it once or twice. old spanish carving and all that. but i bet there ain't much in it, pete." "you'd ought to have heard that doddering old idiot, lonergan, talk about it," sniffed pete. "then your mouth would have watered. i tell you that's about all he's been talkin' about the last few months, there at bylittle. and i was orderly on his side of the barracks and heard it all. "i know that the parson, mr. tooley, was goin' to write to this cap rugley. has, before now, it's likely. then something will be done about the treasure----" "waugh!" shouted ratty. "treasure! you sound like a silly boy with a dime story book." the puncher evidently did not believe his friend knew what he was talking about. pete glowered at him, too angry to speak for a minute or two. frances began to worm her way back through the brush. she put the biggest trees between her and the ford of the river. when she knew the two men could not see or hear her, she ran. she had heard enough. her mind was in a turmoil just then. her first thought was to get away, and get molly away. then she would think this startling affair out. chapter xi frances acts she got away from the bottom without disturbing ratty and the man from bylittle. once molly was loping over the plain again, frances began to question her impressions of the dialogue she had overheard. in the first place, she was sure she had heard the voice of the man, pete, before. it was the same drawling voice that had come out of the darkness asking for food and a bed the evening pratt sanderson stopped at the bar-t ranch. the voice had been cheerful then; it was snarling now; but the tones were identical. then, going a step farther, frances realized, from the talk she had just heard, that this pete was the man who had tried to get over the roof of the ranch-house. one and the same man--tramp and robber. ratty had shown pete the way. ratty was a traitor. he might easily have seen the broken slate on the roof and pointed it out to the mysterious pete. the latter had been an orderly in the bylittle soldiers' home, and had heard the story of the spanish treasure chest, when old mr. lonergan was rambling about it to the chaplain. the fellow's greed had started him upon the quest of the treasure so long in captain rugley's care. perhaps he had known ratty m'gill before; it seemed so. and yet, ratty did not seem entirely in the confidence of the robber. nevertheless, ratty must leave the ranch. frances was determined upon this. she could not tell her father about him; and she shrank from revealing the puncher's villainy to silent sam harding. indeed, she was afraid of what sam and the other boys on the ranch might do to punish ratty m'gill. the bar-t punchers might be rather rough with a fellow like ratty. frances believed the boys on the bar-t were loyal to her father and herself. ratty's defection hurt her as much as it surprised her. she had never thought him more than reckless; but it seemed he had developed more despicable characteristics. these and similar thoughts disturbed frances' mind as she made her way back to the ranch-house. she found her father very weak, but once more quite lucid. ming glided away at her approach and frances sat down to hold the old ranchman's hand and tell him inconsequential things regarding the work on the ranges, and the gossip of the bunk-house. all the time the girl's heart hungered to nurse him herself, day and night, instead of depending upon the aid of a shuffle-footed chinaman. the mothering instinct was just as strong in her nature as in most girls of her age. but she knew her duty lay elsewhere. before this time captain rugley had never entirely given over the reins of government into the hands of silent sam. he had kept in touch with ranch affairs, delegating some duties to frances, others to sam or to the underforeman. now the girl had to be much more than the intermediary between the old ranchman and his employees. the doctor had impressed her with the rule that his patient was not to be worried by business matters. many things she had to do "off her own bat," as sam harding expressed it. the matter of ratty m'gill's discharge must be one of these things, frances saw plainly. she waited now for the doctor's appearance with much anxiety of mind. the captain was quiet when the physician came; but the effect of his delirium of the night before was plain to the medical eye. "something must be done to ease his mind of this anxiety about his old chum, frances," said the doctor, taking her aside. "that, i take it, was the burden of his trouble when he rambled last night in his speech?" "yes, sir." "try to get the fellow brought here, then," said the doctor, with decision. "that mr. lonergan?" "the old soldier--yes. can't it be done?" "i--i don't know," said the troubled girl. "the chaplain writes that he is a sick man----" "and so is your father. i warn you. a very sick man. and he cannot be moved, while this lonergan can probably travel if his fare is paid." "oh, doctor! if it is only a matter of money, father, i know, would hire a private car--a whole train, he said!--to get his old partner here," frances declared. "good! i advise you to go ahead and send for the man," said the physician. "it's the best prescription for captain rugley that i can give you. he has his mind set upon seeing his old friend, and these delirious spells will be repeated unless his longing is satisfied. and such attacks are weakening." "oh, i see that, doctor!" agreed frances. she sat down that very hour and wrote to the reverend decimus tooley, explaining why she, instead of captain rugley, wrote, and requesting that jonas lonergan be made ready for the trip from bylittle to jackleg, in the panhandle, where a carriage from the bar-t ranch would meet him. she told the chaplain of the soldiers' home that a private car would be supplied for captain rugley's old partner to travel in, if it were necessary. she would make all arrangements for transportation immediately upon receiving word from mr. tooley that the old man could travel. haste was important, as she explained. likewise she asked the following question--giving no reason for her curiosity: "did there recently leave the bylittle home an employee--an orderly--whose first name is peter? and if so, what is his reputation, his full name, and why did he leave the home?" "maybe that will puzzle the reverend mr. tooley some," thought frances of the ranges. "but i am indeed curious about this friend of ratty m'gill's. and now i'll tell silent sam that there is a man lurking about the bar-t who must be watched." she said nothing to captain rugley about sending for lonergan until she had written. the doctor said it would be just as well not to discuss the matter much until it was accomplished. he also left soothing medicine to be given to the patient if he again became delirious. frances was so much occupied with her father all that day that she could do nothing about ratty m'gill. she had noticed, however, that the mexican boy, josé reposa, had driven the doctor to the ranch and that he took him back to the train again. the reckless cowpuncher had somehow bribed the mexican boy to let him take his place on the buckboard that forenoon. "ratty is like a rotten apple in the middle of the barrel," thought frances. "if i let him remain on the ranch he will contaminate the other boys. no, he's got to go! "but if i tell him why he is discharged it will warn him--and that pete--that we suspect, or know, an attempt is being made to rob father's old chest. now, what shall i do about this?" the conversation between ratty and pete at the ford which she had overheard gave frances an idea. she saw that the contents of the treasure chest ought really to be put into a safety deposit vault in amarillo. but the old ranchman considered it his bounden duty to keep the treasure in his own hands until his partner came to divide it; and he would be stubborn about any change in this plan. lonergan could not get to the bar-t for three weeks, or more. in the meantime suppose pete made another attempt to steal the contents of the spanish chest? frances rugley felt that she could depend upon nobody in this emergency for advice; and upon few for assistance in carrying out any plan she might make to thwart those bent upon robbing the _hacienda_. to see the sheriff would advertise the matter to the public at large. and that, she well knew, would make captain dan rugley very angry. whatever she did in this matter, as well as in the affair of ratty m'gill, must be done without advice. her mind slanted toward pratt sanderson at this time. had her father not seemed to suspect the young fellow from amarillo, frances would surely have taken pratt into her confidence. now that captain rugley had given a clear explanation of how he had come possessed of a part of the loot of señor milo morales' _hacienda_, frances was not afraid to take a friend into her confidence. there was no friend, however, that she cared to confide in save pratt. and it would anger her father if she spoke to the young fellow about the treasure. she knew this to be a fact, for when pratt sanderson had ridden over from the edwards ranch to inquire after captain rugley's health, the old ranchman had sent out a courteously worded refusal to see pratt. "i'm not so awfully fond of that young chap," the captain said, reflectively, at the time. "and seems to me, frances, he's mighty curious about my health." "but, daddy!" frances cried, "he was only asking out of good feeling." "i don't know that," growled the old ranchman. "i haven't forgotten that he was here in the house the night that other fellow tried to break in. looks curious to me, frances--sure does!" she might have told him right then about ratty m'gill and the man pete; but frances was not an impulsive girl. she studied about things, as the colloquialism has it. and she knew very well that the mere fact that ratty and the stranger were friends would not disprove pratt's connection with the midnight marauder. pete might have had an aid inside, as well as outside, the _hacienda_. so frances said nothing more to the old ranchman, and nothing at all to pratt about that which troubled her. they spoke of inconsequential things on the veranda, where ming served cool drinks; and then the amarillo young man rode away. "sue latrop and that crowd will be out to-morrow, i expect," he said, as he departed. "don't know when i can get over again, frances. i'll have to beau them around a bit." "good-bye, pratt," said frances, without comment. "by the way," called pratt, from his saddle and holding in his pony, "your father being so ill isn't going to make you give up your part in the pageant, frances?" "plenty of time for that," she returned, but without smiling. "i hope father will be well before the date set for the show." pratt's departure left frances with a sinking heart; but she did not betray her feelings. to be all alone with her father and the two chinamen at the ranch-house seemed hard indeed; and with the responsibility of the treasure chest on her heart, too! her father, it was true, had insisted on having his couch placed at night in the room with the spanish chest. he seemed to consider that, ill as he was, he could guard the treasure better than anybody else. frances had to devise a plan without either her father's advice or that of anybody else. she prepared for the adventure by begging the captain to have burlap wrapped about the chest and securely roped on. "then it won't be so noticeable," she told him, "when people come in to call on you." for some of the other cattlemen of the panhandle rode many miles to call at the bar-t ranch; and, of course, they insisted upon seeing captain rugley. ming and san soo (the latter was very tall and enormously strong for a coolie) corded the spanish chest as directed, and under the captain's eye. then frances threw a navajo blanket over it and it looked like a couch or divan. to silent sam she said; "i want a four-mule wagon to go to amarillo for supplies. when can i have it?" "can't you have the goods come by rail to jackleg?" asked the foreman, somewhat surprised by the request. now, jackleg was not on the same railroad as amarillo. frances shook her head. "i'm sorry, sam. there's something particular i must get at amarillo." "you going with the wagon, miss frances?" "yes. i want a good man to drive--bender, or mack hinkman. none of the mexicans will do. we'll stop at peckham's ranch and at the hotel in calas on the way." "whatever ye say," said sam. "when do ye want to go?" "day after to-morrow," responded frances, briskly. "it will be all right then?" "sure," agreed silent sam. "i'll fix ye up." frances had several important things to do before the time stated. and, too, before that time, something quite unexpected happened. chapter xii molly frances' secret plans did not interfere with her usual tasks. she started in the morning to make her rounds. molly had been resting and would now be in fine fettle, and the girl expected to call her to the gate when she came down to the corral in which the spare riding stock was usually kept. instead of seeing only josé reposa or one of the other mexicans hanging about, here was a row of punchers roosting along the top rail of the corral fence, and evidently so much interested in what was going on in the enclosure that they did not notice the approach of captain rugley's daughter. "better keep off'n the leetle hawse, ratty!" one fellow was advising the unseen individual who was partly, at least, furnishing the entertainment for the loiterers. "she looks meek," put in another, "but believe me! when she was broke, it was the best day's work joe magowan ever done on this here ranch. ain't that so, boys?" "ratty warn't here then," said the first speaker. "he don't know that leetle molly hawse and what capers she done cut up----" "molly!" ejaculated frances, under her breath, and ran forward. at that instant there was a sudden hullabaloo in the corral. some of the men cheered; others laughed; and one fell off the fence. "go it!" "hold tight, boy!" "tie a knot in your laigs underneath her, ratty! she's a-gwine to try to throw ye clean ter texarkana!" _"what's he doing with my pony?"_ the cry startled the string of punchers. they turned--most of them looking sheepish enough--and gaped, wordlessly, at frances, who came running to the fence. molly was her pet, her own especial property. nobody else had ridden the pinto since she was broken by the head wrangler, joe magowan. nor was molly really broken, in the ordinary acceptation of the term. frances could ride her--could do almost anything with her. she was the best cutting-out pony on the ranch. she was gentle with frances, but she had never shown fondness for anybody else, and would look wall-eyed on the near approach of anybody but the girl herself. none but joe and frances had ever bridled her or cinched the saddle on molly. ratty m'gill was the culprit, of course; nor did he hear frances' cry as she arrived at the corral. he had bestridden the nervous pinto and molly was "acting up." ratty had his rope around her neck and a loop around her lower jaw, as indians guide their half-wild steeds. at every bound the puncher jerked the pony's jaw downward and raked her flanks with his cruel spurs. these latter were leaving welts and gashes along the pinto's heaving sides. "you cruel fellow!" shrieked frances. "get off my pony at once!" "say! she's trying to buck, miss frances," one of the men warned her. "she'll be sp'il't if he lets her beat him now. you won't never be able to ride her, once let her git the upper hand." "mind you own concerns, jim bender!" exclaimed the girl, both wrathful and hurt. "i can manage that pony if she's let alone." then she raised her voice again and cried to ratty: "m'gill! you get off that horse! at once, i tell you!" "the missus is sure some peeved," muttered bender to one of his mates. "and why shouldn't she be? we'd never ought to let ratty try to ride that critter." "molly!" shouted frances, climbing the fence herself as quickly as any boy. she dropped over into the corral where the other ponies were running about in great excitement. "molly, come here!" she whistled for the pinto and molly's head came up and her eyes rolled in the direction of her mistress. she knew she was being abused; and she remembered that frances was always kind to her. whether ratty agreed or not, the pinto galloped across the corral. "get down off that pony, you brute!" exclaimed frances, her eyes flashing at the half-serious, half-grinning cowboy. "she's some little pinto when she gits in a tantrum," remarked the unabashed ratty. frances had brought her bridle. although molly stood shaking and quivering, the girl slipped the bit between her jaws and buckled the straps in a moment. she held the pony, but did not attempt to lead her toward the saddling shed. "m'gill," frances said, sharply, "you go to silent sam and get your time and come to the house this noon for your pay. you'll never bestride another pony on this ranch. do you hear me?" "what's that?" demanded the cowpuncher, his face flaming instantly, and his black eyes sparkling. she had reproved him before his mates, and the young man was angry on the instant. but frances was angry first. and, moreover, she had good reason for distrusting ratty. the incident was one lent by fortune as an excuse for his discharge. "you are not fit to handle stock," said frances, bitingly. "look what you did to that bunch of cattle the other day! and i've watched you more than once misusing your mount. get your pay, and get off the bar-t. we've no use for the like of you." "say!" drawled the puncher, with an ugly leer. "who's bossing things here now, i'd like to know?" "i am!" exclaimed the girl, advancing a step and clutching the quirt, which swung from her wrist, with an intensity that turned her knuckles white. "you see sam as i told you, and be at the house for your pay when i come back." the other punchers had slipped away, going about their work or to the bunk-house. ratty m'gill stood with flaming face and glittering eyes, watching the girl depart, leading the trembling molly toward the exit of the corral. "you're a sure short-tempered gal this a. m.," he growled to himself. "and ye sure have got it in for me. i wonder why? i wonder why?" frances did not vouchsafe him another look. she stood in the shadow of the shed and petted molly, fed her a couple of lumps of sugar from her pocket, and finally made her forget ratty's abuse. but molly's flanks would be tender for some time and her temper had not improved by the treatment she had received. "perfectly scandalous!" exclaimed frances, to herself, almost crying now. "just to show off before the other boys. oh! he was mean to you, molly dear! a fellow like ratty m'gill will stand watching, sure enough." finally, she got the saddle cinched upon the nervous pinto and rode her out of the corral and away to the ranges for her usual round of the various camps. she had not been as far as the west run for several days. chapter xiii the girl from boston cow-ponies are never trained to trot. they walk if they are tired; sometimes they gallop; but usually they set off on a long, swinging lope from the word "go!" and keep it up until the riders pull them down. the moment frances of the ranges had swung herself into molly's saddle, the badly treated pinto leaped forward and dashed away from the corrals and bunk-house. frances let her have her head, for when molly was a bit tired she would forget the sting and smart of ratty m'gill's spurs and quirt. frances had not seen silent sam that morning; but was not surprised to observe the curling smoke of a fresh fire down by the branding pen. she knew that a bunch of calves and yearlings had been rounded up a few days before, and the foreman of the bar-t would take no chance of having them escape to the general herds on the ranges, and so have the trouble of cutting them out again at the grand round-up. it was impossible, even on such a large ranch as the bar-t, to keep cattle of other brands from running with the bar-t herds. a breach made in a fence in one night by some active young bull would allow a bar-t herd and some of bill edwards' cattle, for instance, to become associated. to try to separate the cattle every time such a thing happened would give the punchers more than they could do. the cattle thus associated were allowed to run together until the round-up. then the unbranded calves would always follow their mothers, and the herdsmen could easily separate the young stock, as well as that already branded, from those belonging on other ranches. although it was a bit out of her direct course, frances pulled molly's head in the direction of the branding fire. before she came in sight of the bawling herd and the bunch of excited punchers, a cavalcade of riders crossed the trail, riding in the same direction. no cowpunchers these, but a party of horsemen and horsewomen who might have just ridden out of the central park bridle-path at fifty-ninth street or out of the fens in boston's back bay section. at a distance they disclosed to frances' vision--unused to such sights--a most remarkable jumble of colors and fashions. in the west khaki, brown, or olive grey is much worn for riding togs by the women, while the men, if not in overalls, or chaps, clothe themselves in plain colors. but here was actually more than one red coat! a red coat with never a fox nearer than half a thousand miles! "is it a circus parade?" thought frances, setting spurs to her pinto. and no wonder she asked. there were three girls, or young women, riding abreast, each in a natty red coat with tails to it, hard hats on their heads, and skirts. they rode side-saddle. luckily the horses they rode were city bred. there were two or three other girls who were dressed more like frances herself, and bestrode their ponies in sensible style. the males of the party were in the western mode; frances recognized one of them instantly; it was pratt sanderson. he was not a bad rider. she saw that he accompanied one of the girls who wore a red coat, riding close upon her far side. the cavalcade was ambling along toward the branding pen, which was in the bottom of a coulie. as frances rode up behind the party, molly's little feet making so little sound that her presence was unnoticed, the western girl heard a rather shrill voice ask: "and what are they doing it for, pratt? i re'lly don't just understand, you know. why burn the mark upon the hides of those--er--embryo cows?" "i'm telling you," pratt's voice replied, and frances saw that it was the girl next to him who had asked the question. "i'm telling you that all the calves and young stock have to be branded." "branded?" "yes. they belong to the bar-t, you see; therefore, the bar-t mark has to be burned on them." "just fancy!" exclaimed the girl in the red coat. "who would think that these rude cattle people would have so much sentiment. this frances rugley you tell about owns all these cows? and does she have her monogram burned on all of them?" frances drew in her mount. she wanted to laugh (she heard some of the party chuckling among themselves), and then she wondered if pratt sanderson was not, after all, making as much fun of her as he was of the girl in the red coat? pratt suddenly turned and saw the ranchman's daughter riding behind them. he flushed, but smiled, too; and his eyes were dancing. "oh, sue!" he exclaimed. "here is frances now." so this was sue latrop--the girl from boston. frances looked at her keenly as she turned to look at the western girl. "my dear! fancy! so glad to know you," she said, handling her horse remarkably well with one hand and putting out her right to frances. the latter urged molly nearer. but the pinto was not on her good behavior this morning. she had been too badly treated at the corral. molly shook her head, danced sideways, wheeled, and finally collided with pratt's grey pony. the latter squealed and kicked. instantly, molly's little heels beat a tattoo on the grey's ribs. "hello!" exclaimed pratt, recovering his seat and pulling in the grey. "what's the matter with that horse, frances?" molly was off like a rocket. frances fairly stood in the stirrups to pull the pinto down--and she was not sparing of the quirt. it angered her that molly should "show off" just now. she had heard sue latrop's shrill laugh. when she rode back frances did not offer to shake hands with the boston girl. and, as it chanced, she never did shake hands with her. "you ride such perfectly ungovernable horses out here," drawled the boston girl. "is it just for show?" "our ponies are not usually family pets," laughed frances. yet she flushed, and from that moment she was always expecting sue to say cutting things. "they tell me it is so interesting to see the calves--er--monogrammed; do you call it?" said sue, with a little cough. "branded!" exclaimed pratt, hurriedly. "oh, yes! so interesting, i suppose?" "we do not consider it a show," said frances, bluntly. "it is a necessary evil. i never fancied the smell of scorched hair and hide myself; and the poor creatures bawl so. but branding and slitting their ears are the only ways we have of marking the cattle." "re'lly?" repeated sue, staring at her as though frances were more curious than the bawling cattle. the irons were already in the fire when the party rode down to the scene of the branding. silent sam was in charge of the gang. they had rounded up nearly two hundred calves and yearlings. some of the cows had followed their off-spring out of the herd, and were lowing at the corral fence. afoot and on horseback the men drove the half-wild calves into the branding pen runway. as they came through they were roped and thrown, and sam and an assistant clapped the irons to their bony hips. the smell of singed hair was rather unpleasant, and the bawling of the excited cattle drowned all conversation. when a calf or a yearling was let loose, he ran as hard as he could for a while, with the smoking "monogram," as sue latrop called it, the object of his tenderest attention. but the smart of it did not last for long, and the branded stock soon went to graze contentedly outside the corral fence, forgetting the experience. frances had a chance to speak to sam for a moment. "ratty will come to you for his time. i'm going to pay him off this noon. i've got good reason for letting him go." "i bet ye," agreed sam, for whatever frances said or did was right with him. pratt insisted upon frances meeting all these people from amarillo. there was mrs. bill edwards, whom she already knew, as chaperon. most of the others were young people, although nearer pratt's age than that of the ranchman's daughter. sue latrop was the only one from the east. she had been to amarillo before, and she evidently had much influence over her girl friends from that panhandle city, if over nobody else. two of the girls had copied her riding habit exactly; and if imitation is the sincerest flattery, then sue was flattered indeed. the boston girl undoubtedly rode well. she had had schooling in the art of sticking to a side-saddle like a fly on a wall! her horse curvetted, arched his neck, played pretty tricks at command, and was long-legged enough to carry her swiftly over the ground if she so desired. he made the scrubby, nervous little cow-ponies--including molly--look very shabby indeed. sue latrop apparently believed she was ever so much better mounted than the other girls, for she was the only one who had brought her own horse. the others, including pratt, were mounted on bill edwards' ponies. while they were standing in a group and talking, there came a yell from the branding pen. a section of rail fence went down with a crash. through the fence came a little black steer that had escaped several "branding soirées." blackwater, as the bar-t boys called him, was a notorious rebel. he was originally a maverick--a stray from some passing herd--and had joined the bar-t cattle unasked. that was more than two years before. he had remained on the bar-t ranges, but was evidently determined in his dogged mind not to submit to the humiliation of the branding-iron. he had been rounded up with a bunch of yearlings and calves a dozen times; but on each occasion had escaped before they got him into the corral. it was better to let the black rebel go than to lose a dozen or more of the others while chasing him. this time, however, silent sam had insisted upon riding the rebel down and hauling him, bawling, into the corral. but the rope broke, and before the searing-iron could touch the black steer's rump he went through the fence like a battering-ram. "look out for that ornery critter, miss frances!" yelled the foreman of the bar-t ranch. frances saw him coming, headed for the group of visitors. she touched molly with the spur, and the intelligent cow-pony jumped aside into the clear-way. frances seized the rope hanging at her saddle. pratt had shouted a warning, too. the visitors scattered. but for once sue latrop did not manage her mount to the best advantage. "look out, sue!" "quick! he'll have you!" these and other warnings were shouted. with lowered front the black steer was charging the horse the girl from boston rode. unlike the trained cow-ponies from bill edwards' corral, this gangling creature did not know, of himself, what to do in the emergency. the other mounts had taken their riders immediately out of the way. sue's horse tossed his head, snorted, and pawed the earth, remaining with his flank to the charging steer. "get out o' that!" yelled pratt, and laid his quirt across the stubborn horse's quarters. but to no avail. sue could neither manage him nor get out of the saddle to escape blackwater. the maverick was fortunately charging the strange horse from the off side, and he was coming like a shot from a cannon. the cowpunchers at the pen were mounting their ponies and racing after the black steer, but they were too far away to stop him. in another moment he would head into the body of sue's mount with an awful impact! chapter xiv the contrast "frances!" pratt sanderson fairly shrieked the ranch girl's name. he could do nothing to save sue latrop himself, nor could the other visitors from amarillo. silent sam and his men were too far away. if with anybody, it lay with frances rugley to save the boston girl. frances already had her rope circling her head and molly was coming on the jump! the wicked little black steer was almost upon the gangling eastern horse ere frances stretched forward and let the loop go. then she pulled back on molly's bridle reins. the cow-pony began to slide, haunches down and forelegs stiffened. the loop dropped over the head of the black steer. had blackwater been a heavier animal, he would have overborne frances and her mount at the moment the rope became taut. for it was not a good job at all--that particular roping frances was afterward ashamed of. to catch a big steer in full flight around the neck only is to court almost certain disaster; but blackwater did not weigh more than nine hundred pounds. nor was molly directly behind him when frances threw the lariat. the rope tautened from the side--and at the very instant the mad steer collided with sue latrop's mount. the wicked head of the steer banged against the horse's body, which gave forth a hollow sound; the horse himself squealed, stumbled, and went over with a crash. fortunately sue had known enough to loosen her foot from the stirrup. as frances lay back in her own saddle, and she and molly held the black steer on his knees, pratt drove his mount past the stumbling horse, and seized the boston girl as she fell. she cleared her rolling mount with pratt's help. otherwise she would have fallen under the heavy carcase of the horse and been seriously hurt. blackwater had crashed to the ground so hard that he could not immediately recover his footing. he kicked with a hind foot, and frances caught the foot expertly in a loop, and so got the better of him right then and there. she held the brute helpless until sam and his assistants reached the spot. it was pratt who had really done the spectacular thing. it looked as though sue latrop owed her salvation to the young man. "hurrah for pratt!" yelled one of the other young fellows from the city, and most of the guests--both male and female--took up the cry. pratt had tumbled off his own grey pony with sue in his arms. "you're re'lly a hero, pratt! what a fine thing to do," the girl from boston gasped. "fancy my being under that poor horse." the horse in question was struggling to his feet, practically unhurt, but undoubtedly in a chastened spirit. one of the boys from the branding pen caught his bridle. pratt objected to the praise being showered upon him. "why, folks, i didn't do much," he cried. "it was frances. she stopped the steer!" "you saved my life, pratt sanderson," declared sue latrop. "don't deny it." "lots of good i could have done if that black beast had been able to keep right on after your horse, sue," laughed pratt. "you ask mr. sam harding--or any of them." sue's pretty face was marred by a frown, and she tossed her head. "i don't need to ask them. didn't you catch me as i fell?" "oh, but, sue----" "of course," said the boston girl, in a tone quite loud enough for frances to hear, "those cowmen would back up their employer. they'd say she helped me. but i know whom to thank. you are too modest, pratt." pratt was silenced. he saw that it was useless to try to convince sue that she was wrong. it was plain that the girl from boston did not wish to feel beholden to frances rugley. so the young man dropped the subject. he ran after his own pony, and then brought sue's stubborn mount to her hand. sue was being congratulated and made much of by her friends. none of them spoke to frances. pratt came over to the latter before she could ride away after the bawling steer. blackwater was going to be branded this time if it took the whole force of the bar-t to accomplish it! "thank you, frances, for what you did," the young man said, grasping her hand. "and bill will thank you, too. he'll know that it was your work that saved her; mrs. edwards isn't used to cattle and isn't to be blamed. i feel foolish to have them put it on me." frances laughed. she would not show pratt that this whole series of incidents had hurt her deeply. "don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill, pratt," she said. "and you did do a brave thing. that girl would have been hurt if you had not caught her." "oh, i don't know," he grumbled. "i reckon she thinks so, anyway," said frances, her eyes twinkling. "how does it feel to be a hero, pratt?" pratt blushed and turned away. "i don't want to wear any laurels that are not honestly my own," he muttered. "but you don't object to miss boston's expression of gratitude, pratt?" teased frances. he made a little face at her as he went back to the ranchman's wife and her guests; without another word frances spurred molly in the other direction, and before mrs. bill edwards could speak to her the girl of the ranges was far away. she headed for the west run, where a large herd of the bar-t cattle grazed. nor did she look back again to see what became of the group of riders who were with mrs. edwards and pratt. frances had no heart for such company just then. sue latrop's manner had really hurt the western girl. perhaps frances was easily wounded; but sue had plainly revealed her opinion of the ranchman's daughter. the contrast between them cut frances to the quick. she keenly realized how she, herself, must appear in the company of the pretty eastern girl. "of course, pratt, and mrs. edwards, and all of them, must see how superior she is to me," frances thought, as molly galloped away with her. "but just the same, i don't like that sue latrop a bit!" chapter xv in the face of danger frances was going by the way of cottonwood bottom because the trail was better and there were fewer gates to open. the bar-t kept a gang riding fence all the time; but even so, it was impossible always to keep up the wires. frances seldom if ever rode from home without wire cutters and staples in a pocket of her saddle. she stopped several times on this morning to mend breaks and to tighten slack wires, so it was late when she found the herd at west run. here were chuck-wagon, horse corral and camp--a regular "cowboy's home," in fact. the boss of the outfit was asa bird, and tom phipps was the wrangler, while a mexican, named miguel, was cooking for the outfit. "ya-as, miss frances," drawled asa, "i reckon we need a right smart of things. mike says he's most out o' provisions; but for the love of home don't send us no more beans. we've jest about been beaned to death! no wonder them greasers are fighting among themselves all the endurin' time. it's the _frijoles_ they eat makes 'em so fractious--sure is!" frances wrote out a list of the goods needed, for the next supply wagon that passed this way to drop at the camp, and looked over the outfit in general in order to report fully to sam and her father regarding the conditions at the west run. it was high noon before she got in sight of the cottonwoods on her homeward trail. she was hurrying molly, for she did not want to keep ratty m'gill waiting for his money. as she had told him, she wanted the reckless cowboy off the bar-t ranges before nightfall. she had struck the plain above the river ford when she sighted a single rider far ahead, and going in her own direction. it was plain that the man--whoever he was--was heading for the ford instead of the bridge where the new trail crossed. something about this fact--or about the slouching rider himself--made frances suspicious. she was reminded of the last time she had come this way and of the dialogue she had overheard between ratty m'gill and the man named pete. "if he turns to look back, he will see me," thought the excited girl. instantly she was off molly's back. there might be no time to ride out of sight over the ridge. here was an old buffalo wallow, and she took advantage of it. in the old days when the bison roamed the plains of the panhandle the beasts made wallows in which they ground off the grass, and the grassroots as well, leaving a barren hollow from two to four feet in depth. these dust baths were used frequently by the heavily-coated buffalo in hot weather. holding molly by the head the girl commanded her to lie down. the cow-pony, perfectly amenable to her young mistress now, obeyed the order, grunting as she dropped to her knees, the saddle squeaking. "be dead!" ordered frances, sternly. the pinto rolled on her side, stretched out her neck, and blinked up at the girl. she was entirely hidden from any chance glance thrown back by the stranger on the trail; and when frances dropped down, too, both of them were well out of sight of any one riding the range. the range girl waited until she was quite sure the stranger had ridden beyond the first line of cottonwoods. perhaps he merely wished to water his steed at the ford, but frances had her doubts of him. when she finally stood up to scrutinize the plain ahead, there was no moving object in sight. yet she did not mount and ride molly when she had got the pinto on its legs. instead, she led the pony, and kept off the wellworn trail, too. the pounding of hoofs on a hard trail can be distinguished for a long distance by a man who will take the trouble to put his ear to the ground. the sound travels almost as far as the jar of a coming railroad train on the steel rails. it was more than two miles to the beginning of the cottonwood grove, and one cannot walk very fast and lead a horse, too. but with a hand on molly's neck, and speaking an urgent word to the pinto now and then, frances was able to accomplish the journey within a reasonable time. meantime she saw no sign of the man on horseback, nor of anybody else. he had ridden down to the ford, she was sure, and was still down there. once among the trees, frances tied the pinto securely and crept through the thickets toward the shallow part of the stream. she heard no voices this time; but she did smell smoke. "not tobacco," thought frances rugley, with decision. "he's built a campfire. he is going to stay here for a time. what for, i wonder? is he expecting to meet somebody?" this cottonwood bottom, as it was called, was on the bar-t range. nobody really had business here save the ranch employees. the trail to the _hacienda_ was not a general road to any other ranch or settlement. it was curious that this lone man should come here and make camp. she came in sight of him ere long. he had kindled a small fire, over which already was a battered tin pot in which coffee beans were stewing. the rank flavor was wafted through the grove. his scrubby pony was grazing, hobbled. the man's flapping hat brim hid his face; but frances knew him. it was pete, the man who had been orderly at the soldiers' home, at bylittle, mississippi, and who had frankly owned to coming to the panhandle for the purpose of robbing captain dan rugley. the girl of the ranges was much puzzled what to do in this emergency. should she creep away, ride molly hard back to the ranch-house, arouse sam and some of the faithful punchers, and with them capture this ne'er-do-well and run him off the ranges? that seemed, on its face, the more sensible if the less romantic thing to do. yet the very publicity attending such a move was against it. the suspicion that captain rugley had a treasure hidden away in the old spanish chest was not a general one. it might have been lazily discussed now and then over some outfit's fire when other subjects of gossip had "petered out," to use the punchers' own expression. but it was doubtful if even ratty m'gill believed the story. frances had heard him scoff at the man, pete, for holding such a belief. if she attempted to capture this tramp by the fire, making the affair one of importance, the story of the spanish treasure chest would spread over half the panhandle. "what the boys didn't know wouldn't hurt them!" frances told herself, and she would not ask for help. she had already laid her plans and she would stick to them. and while she hesitated, discussing these things in her mind, a figure afoot came down the slope toward the ford and the campfire. it was ratty m'gill, walking as though already footsore, and with his saddle and accoutrements on his shoulder. the high-heeled boots worn by cowpunchers are not easy footwear to walk in. and a real cattleman's saddle weighs a good bit! ratty flung down the leather with a grunt, and dropped on the ground beside the fire. "what's the matter with you?" growled the man, pete. "been pulling leather?" "there ain't no hawse bawn can make me git off if i don't want," returned ratty m'gill, sharply. "i got canned." "fired?" "yep. and by that snip of a gal," and he said it viciously. "ain't you man enough to have a pony of your own?" "sam wouldn't sell me one--the hound! nor i didn't have no money to spare for a mount, anyway. i'd rustle one out of the herd if the wranglers hadn't drove 'em all up the other way las' night. and i said i'd come over here to see you again." "what else?" demanded pete, suspiciously. he seemed to know that ratty had not come here to the ford for love of him. "wal, old man! i tried to go to headquarters. went in to see the cap. nothing doing. if the gal had canned me, that was enough. so he said, and so sam harding said. i'm through at the bar-t." "that's a nice thing," snarled pete. "and just as i got up a scheme to use you there!" "mebbe you can use me now," grunted ratty. "i--don't--know." "oh, i seen something that you'd like to know about." "what is that?" asked pete, quickly. "the old cap has taken a tumble to himself. guess he was put wise by what happened the other night--you know. he's going to send the chest to the amarillo bank." "_what?_" "that's so," said ratty, with his slow drawl, and evidently enjoying the other's discomfiture. "how do you know?" snapped pete. "seed it. standing all corded up and with a tag on it, right in the hall. knowed sam was going to get ready a four-mule team for amarillo to-morrow morning. the gal's going with it, and mack hinkman to drive. good-night! if there's treasure in that chest, you'll have to break into the merchants' and drovers' bank of amarillo to get at it--take that from me!" pete leaned toward him and his hairy hand clutched ratty's knee. what he said to the discharged employee of the bar-t ranch frances did not hear. she had, however, heard enough. she was worried by what ratty had said about his interview with captain rugley. her father should not have been disturbed by ranch business just then. the girl crept back through the grove, found molly where she had left her, and soon was a couple of miles away from the ford and making for the ranch-house at molly's very best pace. she found her father not so much excited as she had feared. ratty had forced his way into the stricken cattleman's room and done some talking; but the captain was chuckling now over the incident. "that's the kind of a spirit i like to see you show, frances," he declared, patting her hand. "if those punchers don't do what you tell 'em, bounce 'em! they've got to learn what you say goes--just as though i spoke myself. and ratty m'gill never was worth the powder to blow him to halifax," concluded the ranchman, vigorously. frances was glad her father approved of her action. but she did not believe they were well rid of ratty just because he had started for jackleg station. she had constantly in mind ratty and the man, pete, with their heads together beside the campfire; and she wondered what villainy they were plotting. nevertheless, in the face of possible danger, she went ahead with her scheme of starting for amarillo in the morning. and, as ratty had said, the chest, burlapped, corded, and tagged, stood in the main hall of the ranch-house, ready for removal. chapter xvi a friend insistent it was a long way to the peckham ranch-house, at which frances meant to make her first night stop. the greater part of the journey would then be over. the second night she proposed to stay at the hotel in calas, a suburb of amarillo. her errands in the big town would occupy but a few hours, and she expected to be back at peckham's on the third evening, and at home again by the end of the fourth day. she was troubled by the thought of being so long away from her father's side; but he was on the mend again and the doctor had promised to see him at least once while she was away from the ranch. her reason she gave for going to amarillo was business connected with the forthcoming pageant, "the panhandle: past and present." this explanation satisfied her father, too--and it was true to a degree. she heard from the chaplain of the bylittle soldiers' home the day before she was to start on her brief journey, and she sent josé reposa with a long prepaid telegraph message to the station, arranging for a private car in which jonas p. lonergan was to travel from mississippi to the panhandle. she hoped the chaplain would come with him. about the ex-orderly of the home the letter said nothing. perhaps mr. tooley had overlooked that part of her message. captain rugley was delighted that his old partner was coming west; the announcement seemed to have quieted his mind. but he lay on his bed, watching the corded chest, with his gun hanging close at hand. that is, he watched one of the corded and burlapped chests. the secret of the second chest was known only to frances herself and the two chinamen. anybody who entered the great hall of the _hacienda_ saw that one, as ratty had, standing ready for removal. the one in captain rugley's room was covered by the blanket and looked like an ordinary divan. frances believed san soo and ming were to be trusted. but to silent sam she left the guarding of the ranch-house during her absence. day was just beginning to announce itself by faint streaks of pink and salmon color along the eastern horizon, when the four-mule wagon and frances' pony arrived at the gate of the compound. the two chinamen, sam himself, and mack hinkman, the driver, had all they could do to carry the chest out to the wagon. frances came out, pulling on her gantlets. she had kissed her father good-bye the evening before, and he was sleeping peacefully at this hour. "have a good journey, miss frances," said sam, yawning. "look out for that off mule, mack. _adios._" the chinamen had scuttled back to the house. frances was mounted on molly, and the heavy wagon lurched forward, the mules straining in the collars under the admonition of mack's voice and the snap of his bullwhip. the wagon had a top, and the flap at the back was laced down. no casual passer-by could see what was in the vehicle. frances rode ahead, for molly was fresh and was anxious to gallop. she allowed the pinto to have her head for the first few miles, as she rode straight away into the path of the sun that rose, red and jovial-looking, above the edge of the plain. a lone coyote, hungry after a fruitless night of wandering, sat upon its haunches not far from the trail, and yelped at her as she passed. the morning air was as invigorating as new wine, and her cares and troubles seemed to be lightened already. she rode some distance ahead of the wagon; but at the line of the bar-t she picketed molly and built a little fire. she carried at her saddle the means and material for breakfast. when the slower moving mule team came up with her there was an appetizing odor of coffee and bacon in the air. "that sure does smell good, ma'am!" declared mack. "and it's on-expected. i only got a cold bite yere." "we'll have that at noon," said frances, brightly. "but the morning air is bound to make one hungry for a hot drink and a rasher of bacon." in twenty minutes they were on the trail again. frances now kept close to the wagon. once off the bar-t ranges she felt less like being out of sight of mack, who was one of the most trustworthy men in her father's employ. he was not much of a talker, it was true, so frances had little company but her own thoughts; but _they_ were company enough at present. as she rode along she thought much about the pageant that was to be held at jackleg; many of the brightest points in that entertainment were evolved by frances of the ranges on this long ride to the peckham ranch. there were several breaks in the monotony of the journey. one was when another covered wagon came into view, taking the trail far ahead of them. it came from the direction of cottonwood bottom, and was drawn by two very good horses. it was so far ahead, however, that neither frances nor mack could distinguish the outfit or recognize the driver. "dunno who that kin be," said mack, "'nless it's bob ellis makin' for peckham's, too. i learned he was going to town this week." bob ellis was a small rancher farther south. frances was doubtful. "would ellis come by that trail?" she queried. "and why doesn't he stop to pass the time of day with us?" "that's so!" agreed mack. "it couldn't be bob, for he'd know these mules, and he ain't been to the bar-t for quite a spell. i dunno who that kin be, then, miss frances." frances had had her light fowling-piece put in the wagon, and before noon she sighted a flock of the scarce prairie chickens. away she scampered on molly after the wary birds, and succeeded, in half an hour, in getting a brace of them. mack picked and cleaned the chickens on the wagon-seat. "they'll help out with supper to-night, if miz' peckham ain't expectin' company," he remarked. but they were not destined to arrive at the peckham ranch without an incident of more importance than these. it was past mid-afternoon. they had had their cold bite, rested the mules and molly, and the latter was plodding along in the shade of the wagon-top all but asleep, and her rider was in a like somnolent condition. mack was frankly snoring on the wagon-seat, for the mules had naught to do but keep to the trail. suddenly molly lifted her head and pricked her ears. frances came to herself with a slight shock, too. she listened. the pinto nickered faintly. frances immediately distinguished the patter of hoofs. a single pony was coming. the girl jerked molly's head around and they dropped back behind the wagon which kept on lumberingly, with mack still asleep on the seat. from the south--from the direction of the distant river--a rider came galloping up the trail. "why!" murmured frances. "it's ratty m'gill!" the ex-cowboy of the bar-t swung around upon the trail, as though headed east, and grinned at the ranchman's daughter. his face was very red and his eyes were blurred, and frances feared he had been drinking. "hi, lady!" he drawled. "are ye mad with me?" "i don't like you, m'gill," the girl said, frankly. "you don't expect me to, do you?" "aw, why be fussy?" asked the cowboy, gaily. "it's too pretty a world to hold grudges. let's be friends, frances." frances grew restive under his leering smile and forced gaiety. she searched m'gill sharply with her look. "you didn't gallop out of your way to tell me this," she said. "what do you want of me?" "oh, just to say how-de-do!" declared the fellow, still with his leering smile. "and to wish you a good journey." "what do you know about my journey?" asked frances, quickly. but ratty m'gill was not so much intoxicated that he could be easily coaxed to divulge any secret. he shook his head, still grinning. "heard 'em say you were going to amarillo, before i went to jackleg," he drawled. "mighty lonesome journey for a gal to take." "mack is with me," said frances, shortly. "i am not lonely." "whew! i bet that hurt me," chuckled ratty m'gill. "my room's better than my comp'ny, eh?" "it certainly is," said the girl, frankly. "now, you wouldn't say that if you knowed something that i know," declared the fellow, grinning slily. "i don't know that anything you may say would interest me," the girl replied, sharply, and turned molly's head. "aw, hold on!" cried ratty. "don't be so abrupt. what i gotter say to you may help a lot." but frances did not look back. she pushed molly for the now distant wagon. in a moment she knew that ratty was thundering after her. what did he mean by such conduct? to tell the truth, the ranchman's daughter was troubled. surely, the reckless fellow did not propose to attack mack and herself on the open trail and in broad daylight? she opened her lips to shout for the sleeping wagon-driver, when a cloud of dust ahead of the mules came into her view. she heard the clatter of many hoofs. quite a cavalcade was coming along the trail from the east. out of the dust appeared a figure that frances had learned to know well; and to tell the truth she was not sorry in her heart to see the smiling countenance of pratt sanderson. "hold on, frances! ye better listen to me a minute!" shouted the ex-cowboy behind her. she gave him no attention. molly sprang ahead and she met pratt not far from the wagon. he stopped abruptly, as did the girl of the ranges. ratty m'gill brought his own mount to a sudden halt within a few yards. "hello!" exclaimed pratt. "what's the matter, frances?" "why, pratt! how came you and your friends to be riding this way?" returned the range girl. she saw the red coat of the girl from boston in the party passing the slowly moving wagon, and she was not at all sure that she was glad to see pratt, after all! but the young man had seen something suspicious in the manner in which ratty m'gill had been following frances. the fellow now sat easily in his saddle at a little distance and rolled a cigarette, leering in the meantime at the ranch girl and her friend. "what does that fellow want?" demanded pratt again. "oh, don't mind him," said frances, hurriedly. "he has been discharged from the bar-t----" "that's the fellow you said made the steers stampede?" pratt interrupted. "yes." "don't like his looks," the amarillo young man said, frankly. "glad we came up as we did." "but you must go on with your friends, pratt," said frances, faintly. "goodness! there are enough of them, and the other fellows can get 'em all back to mr. bill edwards' in time for supper," laughed pratt. "i believe i'll go on with you. where are you bound?" "to peckham's ranch," said frances, faintly. "we shall stop there to-night." the rest of the party passed, and frances bowed to them. sue latrop looked at the ranch girl, curiously, but scarcely inclined her head. frances felt that if she allowed pratt to escort her she would make the boston girl more of an enemy than she already felt her to be. "we--we don't really need you, pratt," said frances. "mack is all right----" "that fellow asleep on the wagon-seat? lots of good _he_ is as an escort," laughed pratt. "but i don't really need you," said the girl, weakly. "oh! don't be so offish!" cried the young man, more seriously. "don't you suppose i'd be glad of the chance to ride with you for a way?" "but your friends----" "you're a friend of mine," said pratt, seriously. "i don't like the look of that ratty m'gill. i'm going to peckham's with you." what could frances say? ratty leered at her from his saddle. she knew he must be partly intoxicated, for he was very careless with his matches. he allowed a flaming splinter to fall to the trail, after he lit his cigarette, and, drunk or sober, a cattleman is seldom careless with fire on the plains. it was mid-pasturage season and the ranges were already dry. a spark might at any time start a serious fire. "we-ell," gasped frances, at last. "i can't stop you from coming!" "of course not!" laughed pratt, and quickly turned his grey pony to ride beside the pinto. the wagon was now a long way ahead. they set off on a gallop to overtake it. but when frances looked over her shoulder after a minute, ratty m'gill still remained on the trail, as though undecided whether to follow or not. chapter xvii an accident it was not until later that frances was disturbed by the thought that pratt was suspected by her father of having a strong curiosity regarding the spanish treasure chest. "and here he has forced his company upon me," thought the girl. "what would father say, if he knew about it?" but fortunately captain rugley was not at hand with his suspicions. frances wished to believe the young man from amarillo truly her friend; and on this ride toward peckham's they became better acquainted than before. that is, the girl of the ranges learned to know pratt better. the young fellow talked more freely of himself, his mother, his circumstances. "just because i'm in a bank--the merchants' and drovers'--in amarillo doesn't mean that i'm wealthy," laughed pratt sanderson. "they don't give me any great salary, and i couldn't afford this vacation if it wasn't for the extra work i did through the cattle-shipping season and the kindness of our president. "mother and i are all alone; and we haven't much money," pursued the young man, frankly. "mother has a relative somewhere whom she suspects may be rich. he was a gold miner once. but i tell her there's no use thinking about rich relatives. they never seem to remember their poor kin. and i'm sure one can't blame them much. "we have no reason to expect her half-brother to do anything for me. guess i'll live and die a poor bank clerk. for, you know, if you haven't money to invest in bank stock yourself, or influential friends in the bank, one doesn't get very high in the clerical department of such an institution." frances listened to him with deeper interest than she was willing to show in her countenance. they rode along pleasantly together, and nothing marred the journey for a time. ratty had not followed them--as she was quite sure he would have done had not pratt elected to become her escort. and as for the strange teamster who had turned into the trail ahead of them, his outfit had long since disappeared. once when frances rode to the front of the covered wagon to speak to mack, she saw that pratt sanderson lifted a corner of the canvas at the back and took a swift glance at what was within. why this curiosity? there was nothing to be seen in the wagon but the corded chest. frances sighed. she could credit pratt with natural curiosity; but if her father had seen that act he would have been quite convinced that the young man from amarillo was concerned in the attempt to get the treasure. it was shortly thereafter that the trail grew rough. some heavy wagon-train must have gone this way lately. the wheels had cut deep ruts and left holes in places into which the wheels of the bar-t wagon slumped, rocking and wrenching the vehicle like a light boat caught in a cross-sea. the wagon being nearly empty, however, mack drove his mules at a reckless pace. he was desirous of reaching the peckham ranch in good season for supper, and, to tell the truth, frances, herself, was growing very anxious to get the day's ride over. this haste was a mistake. down went one forward wheel into a hole and crack went the axle. it was far too tough a stick of oak to break short off; but the crack yawned, finger-wide, and with a serious visage mack climbed down, after quieting his mules. the teamster's remarks were vividly picturesque, to say the least. frances, too, was troubled by the delay. the sun was now low behind them--disappearing below distant line of low, rolling hills. pratt got off his horse immediately and offered to help. and mack needed his assistance. "lucky you was riding along with us, mister," grumbled the teamster. "we got to jack up the old contraption, and splice the axle together. i got wire and pliers in the tool box and here's the wagon-jack." he flung the implements out upon the ground. they set to work, pratt removing his coat and doing his full share. meanwhile frances sat on her pony quietly, occasionally riding around the stalled wagon so as to get a clear view of the plain all about. for a long time not a moving object crossed her line of vision. "who you looking for, frances?" pratt asked her, once. "oh, nobody," replied the girl. "do you expect that fellow is still trailing us?" he went on, curiously. "no-o. i think not." "but he's on your mind, eh?" suggested pratt, earnestly. "just as well i came along with you," and he laughed. "so mack says," returned frances, with an answering smile. was she expecting an attack? would ratty come back? was the man, pete, lurking in some hollow or buffalo wallow? she scanned the horizon from time to time and wondered. the sun sank to sleep in a bed of gold and crimson. pink and lavender tints flecked the cloud-coverlets he tucked about him. it was full sunset and still the party was delayed. the mules stamped and rattled their harness. they were impatient to get on to their suppers and the freedom of the corral. "we'll sure be too late for supper at miz' peckham's," grumbled mack. "oh, you're only troubled about your eats," joked pratt. at that moment frances uttered a little cry. both pratt and the teamster looked up at her inquiringly. "what's the matter, frances?" asked the young fellow. "i--i thought i saw a light, away over there where the sun is going down." "plenty of light there, i should say," laughed pratt. "the sun has left a field of glory behind him. come on, now, mr. mack! ready for this other wire?" "glory to jehoshaphat!" grunted the teamster. "the world was made in a shorter time than it takes to bungle this mean, ornery job! i got a holler in me like the cave of winds." "hadn't we better take a bite here?" frances demanded. "it will be bedtime when we reach the peckhams." "wal, if you say so, miss," said the teamster. "i kin eat as soon as you kin cook the stuff, sure! but i did hone for a mess of miz' peckham's flapjacks." frances, well used to campwork, became immediately very busy. she ran for greasewood and such other fuel as could be found in the immediate vicinity, and started her fire. it smoked and she got the strong smell of it in her nostrils, and it made her weep. pratt, tugging and perspiring under the wagon-body, coughed over the smoke, too. "seems to me, frances," he called, "you're filling the entire circumambient air with smoke--ker-_chow_!" "why! the wind isn't your way," said frances, and she stood up to look curiously about again. there seemed to be a lot of smoke. it was rolling in from the westward across the almost level plain. there was a deep rose glow behind it--a threatening illumination. "wow!" yelled pratt. he had just crawled out from beneath the wagon and was rising to his feet. an object flew by him in the half-dusk, about shoulder-high, and so swiftly that he was startled. he stepped back into a gopher-hole, tripped, and fell full length. "what in thunder was that?" he yelled, highly excited. "a jack-rabbit," growled mack. "and going some. something scare't that critter, sure's you're bawn!" "didn't you ever see a jack before, pratt?" asked frances, her tone a little queer, he thought. "not so close to," admitted the young fellow, as he scrambled to his feet. "gracious! if he had hit me he'd have gone clear through me like a cannon-ball." it was only frances who had realized the unexpected peril. she had tried to keep her voice from shaking; but mack noticed her tone. "what's up, miss?" he asked, getting to his legs, too. "fire!" gasped the range girl, clutching suddenly at pratt's arm. "you mean smoke," laughed pratt. he saw her rubbing her eyes with her other hand. but mack had risen, facing the west. he uttered a funny little cluck in his throat and the laughing young fellow wheeled in wonder. along the horizon the glow was growing rapidly. a tongue of yellow flame shot high in the air. a long dead, thoroughly seasoned tree, standing at the forks of the trail, had caught fire and the flame flared forth from its top like a banner. _the prairie was afire!_ "glory to jehoshaphat!" groaned mack hinkman, again. "who done that?" "goodness!" gasped pratt, quite horror-stricken. frances gathered up the cooking implements and flung them into the wagon. she had hobbled molly and the grey pony; now she ran for them. "got that axle fixed, mack?" she shouted over her shoulder. "not for no rough traveling, i tell ye sure, miss frances!" complained the teamster. "that was a bad crack. have to wait to fix it proper at peckham's." then he added, _sotto voce_: "if we get the blamed thing there at all." "don't say that, man!" gasped pratt sanderson. "surely there's not much danger?" "this here spot will be scorched like an overdone flapjack in half an hour," declared hinkman. "we got to git!" frances heard him, distant as she was. "oh, mack! you know we can't reach the river in half an hour, even if we travel express speed." "well! what we goin' ter do then?" demanded the teamster. "stay here and fry?" pratt was impressed suddenly with the thought that they were both leaning on the advice and leadership of the girl! he was inexperienced, himself; and the teamster seemed quite as helpless. a pair of coyotes, too frightened by the fire to be afraid of their natural enemy, man, shot by in the dusk--two dim, grey shapes. frances released molly and the grey pony from their hobbles. she leaped upon the back of the pinto and dragged the grey after by his bridle-reins. she was back at the stalled wagon in a few moments. already the flames could be seen along the western horizon as far as the unaided eye could see anything, leaping under the pall of rising smoke. the fire was miles away, it was true; but its ominous appearance affrighted even pratt sanderson, who knew so little about such peril. mack was fastening straps and hooking up traces; they had not dared leave the mules hitched to the wagon while they were engaged in its repair. "come on! get a hustle on you, mister!" exclaimed the teamster. "we got to light out o' here right sudden!" chapter xviii the wave of flame pratt was pale, as could be seen where his face was not smudged with earth and axle-grease. he came and accepted his pony's bridle from frances' hand. "what shall we do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. it was plain that the teamster had little idea of what was wise or best to do. the young fellow turned to frances of the ranges quite as a matter of course. evidently, she knew so much more about the perilous circumstances than he did that pratt was not ashamed to take frances' commands. "this is goin' to be a hot corner," the teamster drawled again; but pratt waited for the girl to speak. "are you frightened, pratt?" she asked, suddenly, looking down at him from her saddle, and smiling rather wistfully. "not yet," said the young fellow. "i expect i shall be if it is very terrible." "but you don't expect me to be scared?" asked frances, still gravely. "i don't think it is your nature to show apprehension," returned he. "i'm not like other girls, you mean. that girl from boston, for instance?" frances said, looking away at the line of fire again. "well!" and she sighed. "i am not, i suppose. with daddy i've been up against just such danger as this before. you never saw a prairie fire, pratt?" "no, ma'am!" exclaimed pratt. "i never did." "the grass and greasewood are just right for it now. mack is correct," the girl went on. "this will be a hot corner." "and that mighty quick!" cried mack. "but you don't propose to stay here?" gasped pratt. "not much! hold your mules, mack," she called to the grumbling teamster. "i'm going to make a flare." "better do somethin' mighty suddent, miss," growled the man. she spurred molly up to the wagon-seat and there seized one of the blankets. "got a sharp knife, pratt?" she asked, shaking out the folds of the blanket. "yes." "slit this blanket, then--lengthwise. halve it," urged frances. "and be quick." "that's right, miss frances!" called the teamster. "set a backfire both sides of the trail. we got to save ourselves. be sure ye run it a mile or more." "do you mean to burn the prairie ahead of us?" panted pratt. "yes. we'll have to. i hope nobody will be hurt. but the way that fire is coming back there," said frances, firmly, "the flames will be ten feet high when they get here." "you don't mean it!" "yes. you'll see. pray we may get a burned-over area before us in time to escape. the flames will leap a couple of hundred feet or more before the supply of gas--or whatever it is that burns so high above the ground--expires. the breath of that flame will scorch us to cinders if it reaches us. it will kill and char a big steer in a few seconds. oh, it is a serious situation we're in, pratt!" "can't we keep ahead of it?" demanded the young man, anxiously. "not for long," replied frances, with conviction. "i've seen more than one such fire, as i tell you. there! take this rawhide." the ranchman's daughter was not idle while she talked. she showed him how to knot the length of rawhide which she had produced from under the wagon-seat to one end of his share of the blanket. her own fingers were busy with the other half meanwhile. "into your saddle now, pratt. take the right-hand side of the trail. ride as fast as you can toward the river when i give the word. go a mile, at least." the ponies were urged close to the campfire and he followed frances' example when she flung the tail of her piece of blanket into the blaze. the blankets caught fire and began to smoulder and smoke. there was enough cotton mixed with the wool to cause it to catch fire quickly. "all right! we're off!" shouted frances, and spurred her pinto in the opposite direction. immediately the smouldering blanket-stuff was blown into a live flame. wherever it touched the dry grass and clumps of low brush fire started like magic. immediately pratt reproduced her work on the other side of the trail. at right angles with the beaten path, they fled across the prairie, leaving little fires in their wake that spread and spread, rising higher and higher, and soon roaring into quenchless conflagrations. these patches of fire soon joined and increased to a wider and wider swath of flame. the fire traveled slowly westward, but rushed eastward, propelled by the wind. wider and wider grew the sea of flame set by the burning blankets. like frances, pratt kept his mount at a fast lope--the speediest pace of the trained cow-pony--nor did he stop until the blanket was consumed to the rawhide knot. then he wheeled his mount to look back. he could see nothing but flames and smoke at first. he did not know how far frances had succeeded in traveling with her "flare"; but he was quite sure that he had come more than a mile from the wagon-trail. he could soon see a broadening patch of burned-over prairie in the midst of the swirling flames and smoke. his pony snorted, and backed away from the approach-fire; but pratt wheeled the grey around to the westward, and where the flames merely crept and sputtered through the greasewood and against the wind, he spurred his mount to leap over the line of fire. the earth was hot, and every time the pony set a hoof down smoke or sparks flew upward; but pratt had to get back to the trail. with the quirt he forced on the snorting grey, and finally reached a place where the fire had completely passed and the ground was cooler. ashes flew in clouds about him; the smoke from the west drove in a thick mass between him and the darkened sky. only the glare of the roaring fire revealed objects and landmarks. the backfire had burned for many yards westward, to meet the threatening wave of flame flying on the wings of the wind. to the east, the line of flame pratt and frances had set was rising higher and higher. he saw the wagon standing in the midst of the smoke, mack hinkman holding the snorting, kicking mules with difficulty, while a wild little figure on a pony galloped back from the other side of the trail. "all right, pratt?" shrieked frances. "get up, mack; we've no time to lose!" the teamster let the mules go. yet he dared not let them take their own gait. the thought of that cracked axle disturbed him. the wagon led, however, through the smoke and dust; the two ponies fell in behind upon the trail. frances and pratt looked at each other. the young man was serious enough; but the girl was smiling. something she had said a little while before kept returning to pratt's mind. he was thinking of what would have happened had sue latrop, the girl from boston, been here instead of frances. "goodness!" pratt told himself. "they are out of two different worlds; that's sure! and i'm an awful tenderfoot, just as mrs. bill edwards says." "what do you think of it?" asked frances, raising her voice to make it heard above the roar of the fire and the rumble of the wagon ahead of them. "i'm scared--right down scared!" admitted pratt sanderson. "well, so was i," she admitted. "but the worst is over now. we'll reach the river and ford it, and so put the fire all behind us. the flames won't leap the river, that's sure." the heat from the prairie fire was most oppressive. over their heads the hot smoke swirled, shutting out all sight of the stars. now and then a clump of brush beside the trail broke into flame again, fanned by the wind, and the ponies snorted and leaped aside. suddenly mack was heard yelling at the mules and trying to pull them down to something milder than a wild gallop. frances and pratt spurred their ponies out upon the burned ground in order to see ahead. something loomed up on the trail--something that smoked and flamed like a big bonfire. "what can it be?" gasped pratt, riding knee to knee with the range girl. "not a house. there isn't one along here," she returned. "some old-timer got caught!" yelled the teamster, looking back at the two pony-riders. "hope he saved his skin." "a wagoner!" cried frances, startled. "he cut his stock loose, of course," yelled mack hinkman. but when they reached the burning wagon they saw that this was not altogether true. one horse lay, charred, in the harness. the wagon had been empty. the driver of it had evidently cut his other horse loose and ridden away on its back to save himself. "and why didn't he free this poor creature?" demanded pratt. "how cruel!" "he was scare't," said mack, pulling his mules out of the trail so as to drive around the burning wagon. "or mebbe the hawse fell. like enough that's it." frances said nothing more. she was wondering if this abandoned wagon was the one she had seen turn into the trail from cottonwood bottom early in the day? and who was its driver? they went on, puzzled by this incident. at least, frances and pratt were puzzled by it. "we may see the fellow at the ford," frances said. "too bad he lost his outfit." "he didn't have anything in that wagon," said pratt. "it was as empty as your own." frances looked at him curiously. she remembered that the young man from amarillo had taken a peep into the bar-t wagon when he joined them on the trail. he must have seen the heavy chest; and now he ignored it. on and on they rode. the smoke made the ride very unpleasant, even if the flames were now at a distance. behind them the glare of the fire decreased; but to north and south the wall of flame, at a distance of several miles, rushed on and passed the riders on the trail. the trees along the river's brink came into view, outlined in many places by red and yellow flames. the fire would do a deal of damage along here, for even the greenest trees would be badly scorched. the mules had run themselves pretty much out of breath and finally reduced their pace; but the wagon still led the procession when it reached the high bank. the water in the river was very low; the trail descended the bank on a slant, and mack put on the brakes and allowed the sure-footed mules to take their own course to the ford. with hanging heads and heaving flanks, the two cow-ponies followed. frances and pratt were scorched, and smutted from head to foot; and their throats were parched, too. "i hope i'll never have to take such another ride," admitted the young man from amarillo. "adventure is all right, frances; but clerking in a bank doesn't prepare one for such a strenuous life." "i think you are game, pratt," she said, frankly. "i can see that mack, even, thinks you are pretty good--for a tenderfoot." the wagon went into the water at that moment. mack yelled to the mules to stop. the wagon was hub deep in the stream and he loosened the reins so that the animals might plunge their noses into the flood. molly and the grey quickly put down their heads, too. above the little group the flames crackled in a dead-limbed tree, lighting the ford like a huge torch. above the flare of the thick canopy of the smoke spread out, completely overcasting the river. suddenly frances laid her hand upon pratt's arm. she pointed with her quirt into a bushy tree on the opposite bank. "look over there!" she exclaimed, in a low tone. almost as she spoke there sounded the sharp crack of a rifle, and a ball passed through the top of the wagon, so near that it made the ponies jump. "put up your hands--all three of you folks down there!" commanded an angry voice. "the magazine of this rifle is plumb full and i can shoot straight. d'ye get me? hands up!" "my goodness!" gasped pratt sanderson. what mack hinkman said was muffled in his own beard; but his hands shot upward as he sat on the wagon-seat. frances said nothing; her heart jumped--and then pumped faster. she recognized the drawling voice of the man in the tree, although she could not see his face clearly in the firelight. it was pete--ratty m'gill's acquaintance--the man who had been orderly at the bylittle soldiers' home, and who had come all the way to the panhandle to try to secure the treasure in the old spanish chest. perhaps frances had half expected some such incident as this to punctuate her journey to amarillo. nevertheless, the reckless tone of the man, and the way he used his rifle, troubled her. "put your hands up!" she murmured to pratt. "do just what he tells you. he may be wicked and foolish enough to fire again." chapter xix most astonishing! "the man must be crazy!" murmured the young bank clerk. "all the more reason why we should be careful to obey him," frances said. yet she was not unmindful of the peril pratt pointed out. only, in frances' case, she had been brought up among men who carried guns habitually, and the sound of a rifle shot did not startle her as it did the young man. "look yere, mr. hold-up man!" yelled mack hinkman, when his amazement let him speak. "ain't you headed in the wrong way? we ain't comin' from town with a load. why, man! we're only jest goin' to town. why didn't you wait till we was comin' back before springin' this mine on us?" "keep still there," commanded pete, from the tree. "drive on through the river, and up on this bank, and then stop! you hear?" "i'd hear ye, i reckon, if i was plumb deef," complained mack. "that rifle you handle so permiscuous speaks mighty plain." "let them on hossback mind it, too," added the man in the tree. "i got an eye on 'em." "easy, mister," urged mack, as he picked up the reins again. "one o' them is a young lady. you're a gent, i take it, as wouldn't frighten no female." "stow that!" advised pete, with vigor. "come out o' there!" mack started the mules, and they dragged the wagon creakingly up the bank. frances and pratt rode meekly in its wake. the man in the tree had selected his station with good judgment. when mack halted his four mules, and frances and pratt obeyed a commanding gesture to stop at the water's edge, all three were splendid targets for the man behind the rifle. "ride up to that wagon, young fellow," commanded pete. "rip open that canvas. that's right. roll off your horse and climb inside; but don't you go out of sight. if you do i'll make that canvas cover a sieve in about one minute. get me?" pratt nodded. he could not help himself. he gave an appealing glance toward frances. she nodded. "don't be foolish, pratt," she whispered. "do what he tells you to do." thus encouraged, the young fellow obeyed the mandate of the man who had stopped them on the trail. he had read of highwaymen and hold-ups; but he had believed that such things had gone out of fashion with the coming of farmers into the panhandle, the building up of the frequent settlements, and the extension of the railroad lines. pratt's heart was warmed by the girl's evident desire that he should not run into danger. the outlaw in the tree was after the chest hidden in the wagon; but frances put his safety above the value of the treasure chest. "heave that chist out of the end of the wagon, and be quick about it!" was the expected order from the desperado. "and don't try anything funny, young fellow." pratt was in no mood to be "funny." he hesitated just a moment. but frances exclaimed: "do as he says! don't wait!" so out rolled the chest. mack was grumbling to himself on the front seat; but if he was armed he did not consider it wise to use any weapon. the man with the rifle had everything his own way. "now, drive on!" commanded the latter individual. "i've got no use for any of you folks here, and you'll be wise if you keep right on moving till you get to that peckham ranch. git now!" "all right, old-timer," grunted mack. "don't be so short-tempered about it." he let the mules go and they scrambled up the bank, drawing the wagon after them. the chest lay on the river's edge. pratt sanderson had climbed upon his pony again. "you two git, also," growled the man in the tree. "i got all i want of ye." pratt groaned aloud as he urged the grey pony after molly. "what will your father say, frances?" he muttered. "i don't know," returned the girl, honestly. "i'm going to ride ahead to the peckham ranch and rouse them. that fellow can't get away with that heavy chest on horseback." "i'll go with you," returned the ranchman's daughter. "that rascal should be apprehended and punished. we have about chased such people out of this section of the country." "goodness! you take it calmly, frances," exclaimed pratt. "doesn't _anything_ ruffle you?" she laughed shortly, and made no further remark. they rode on swiftly and within the hour saw the lights of peckham's ranch-house. their arrival brought the family to the door, as well as half a dozen punchers up from the bunk-house. the fire had excited everybody and kept them out of bed, although there was no danger of the conflagration's jumping the river. "why, miss frances!" cried the ranchman's wife, who was a fleshy and notoriously good-natured woman, the soul of western hospitality. "why, miss frances! if you ain't a cure for sore eyes! do 'light and come in--and yer friend, too. "my goodness me! ye don't mean to say you've been through that fire? that is awful! come right on in, do!" but what frances and pratt had to tell about their adventure at the ford excited the peckhams and their hands much more than the fire. "john peckham!" commanded the fleshy lady, who was really the leading spirit at the ranch. "you take a bunch of the boys and ride right after that rascal. my mercy! are folks goin' to be held up on this trail and robbed just as though we had no law and order? it's disgraceful!" then she turned her mind to another idea. "miss frances!" she exclaimed. "what was in that trunk? must have been something valuable, eh?" "i was taking it to the amarillo bank, to put it in the safe deposit vaults," frances answered, dodging the direct question. "'twarn't full of money?" shrieked mrs. peckham. "why, no!" laughed frances. "we're not as rich as all that, you know." "well," sighed the good, if curious, woman, "i reckon there was 'nough sight more valuables in the trunk than captain dan rugley wants to lose. hurry up, there, john peckham!" she shouted after her husband. "git after that fellow before he has a chance to break open the trunk." "i'm going to get a fresh horse and ride back with them," pratt sanderson told frances. "and we'll get that chest, don't you fear." "you'd better remain here and have your night's rest," advised the girl, wonderfully calm, it would seem. "let mr. peckham and his men catch that bad fellow." "and me sit here idle?" cried pratt. "not much!" she saw him start for the corral, and suddenly showed emotion. "oh, pratt!" she cried, weakly. the young man did not hear her. should she shout louder for him? she paled and then grew rosy red. should she run after him? should she tell him the truth about that chest? "do come in the house, miss frances," urged mrs. peckham. and the girl from the bar-t obeyed her and allowed pratt to go. "you must sure be done up," said mrs. peckham, bustling about. "i'll make you a cup of tea." "thank you," said frances. she listened for the posse to start, and knew that, when they dashed away, pratt sanderson was with them. mack hinkman arrived with the double mule team soon after. he said the crowd had gone by him "on the jump." "i 'low they'll ketch that feller that stole your chist, miss frances, 'bout the time two sundays come together in the week," he declared. "he's had plenty of time to make himself scarce." "but the trunk?" cried mrs. peckham. "that was some heavy, wasn't it?" "aw, he had a wagon handy. he wouldn't have tried to take the chist if he hadn't. don't you say so, miss frances?" said the teamster. "i don't know," said the girl, and she spoke wearily. indeed, she had suddenly become tired of hearing the robbery discussed. "don't trouble the poor girl," urged mrs. peckham. "she's all done up. we'll know all about it when john peckham gets back. you wanter go to bed, honey?" frances was glad to retire. not alone was she weary, but she wished to escape any further discussion of the incident at the ford. mrs. peckham showed her to the room she was to occupy. mack would remain up to repair properly the cracked axle of the wagon. for, whether the chest was recovered or not, frances proposed to go right on in the morning to amarillo. she did not awaken when mr. peckham and his men returned; but frances was up at daybreak and came into the kitchen for breakfast. mrs. peckham was bustling about just as she had been the night before when the girl from the bar-t retired. "hard luck, miss frances!" the good lady cried. "them men ain't worth more'n two bits a dozen, when it comes to sending 'em out on a trail. they never got your trunk for you at all!" "and they did not catch the man who stopped us at the ford?" "of course not. john peckham never could catch anything but a cold." "but where could he have gone--that man, i mean?" queried frances. "give it up! one party went up stream and t'other down. your friend, mr. sanderson, went with the first party." "oh, yes," frances commented. "that would be on his way to the edwards ranch where he is staying." "well, mebbe. they say he was mighty anxious to find your trunk. he's an awful nice young man----" "where's mack?" asked frances, endeavoring to stem the tide of the lady's speech. "he's a-getting the team ready, frances. he's done had his breakfast. and i never did see a man with such a holler to fill with flapjacks. he eat seventeen." "mack's appetite is notorious at the ranch," admitted frances, glad mrs. peckham had finally switched from the subject of the lost chest. "he was telling me about that burned wagon you passed on the trail. can't for the life of me think who it could belong to," said mrs. peckham. "we thought once that mr. bob ellis was ahead of us on the trail," said frances. "he'd have come right on here," declared the ranchman's wife. "no. 'twarn't bob." "then i thought it might have belonged to that man who stopped us," suggested frances. "if that's so, i reckon he got square for his loss, didn't he?" cried the lady. "i reckon that chest was filled with valuables, eh?" fortunately, frances had swallowed her coffee and the mule team rattled to the door. "i must hurry!" the girl cried, jumping up. "many, many thanks, dear mrs. peckham!" and she kissed the good woman and so got out of the house without having to answer any further questions. she sprang into molly's saddle and mack cracked his whip over the mules. "mebbe we'll have good news for you when you come back, frances!" called the ranchwoman, quite filling the door with her ample person as she watched the bar-t wagon, and the girl herself, take the trail for amarillo. mack hinkman was quite wrought up over the adventure of the previous evening. "that young pratt sanderson is some smart boy--believe me!" he said to frances, who elected to ride within earshot of the wagon-seat for the first mile or two. "how is that?" she asked, curiously. "they tell me it was him found the place where the chest had been put aboard that punt." "what punt?" "the boat the feller escaped in with the chest," said mack. "then he wasn't the man whose wagon and one horse was burned?" queried frances. "don't know. mebbe. but that's no difference. this old punt has been hid down there below the ford since last duck-shooting season. maybe he knowed 'twas there; maybe he didn't. howsomever, he found the boat and brought it up to the ford. into the boat he tumbled the chest. there was the marks on the bank. john peckham told me himself." "and pratt found the trail?" "that's what he did. smart boy! the rest of 'em was up a stump when they didn't find the chest knocked to pieces. the hold-up gent didn't even stop to open it." "he expected we'd set somebody on his trail," frances said, reflectively. "in course. two parties. one went up stream and t'other down." "so mrs. peckham just told me." "wal!" said mack. "mebbe one of 'em will ketch the varmint!" but frances made no further comment. she rode on in silence, her mind vastly troubled. and mostly her thought connected pratt sanderson with the disappearance of the chest. why had the young fellow been so sure that the robber had gone up stream instead of down? it did not seem reasonable that the man would have tried to stem the current in the heavy punt--nor was the chest a light weight. it puzzled frances--indeed, it made her suspicious. she was anxious to learn whether the man who had stolen the chest had gone up, or down, the river. chapter xx the boston girl again frances warned mack to say nothing about the hold-up at the ford. that was certainly laying no cross on the teamster's shoulders, for he was not generally garrulous. they put up at the hotel that night and frances did her errands in amarillo the next day without being disturbed by awkward questions regarding their adventure. certainly, she was not obliged to go to the bank under the present circumstances, for there was no chest now to put in the safe-keeping of that institution. nor did frances rugley have many friends in the breezy, western city with whom she might spend her time. two years make many changes in such a fast-growing community. she was not sure that she would be able to find many of the girls with whom she had gone to high school. and she was, too, in haste to return to the bar-t. although she had left her father better, she worried much about him. naturally, too, she wished to get back and report to him the adventures which had marked her journey to amarillo. she would have been glad to escape stopping at the peckham ranch over the third night; but she could not get beyond that point--the wagon now being heavily laden; nor did she wish to remain out on the range at night without a shelter tent. the hold-up at the ford naturally made frances feel somewhat timid, too. mack was not armed, and she had only the revolver that she usually carried in her saddle holster and wouldn't have thought of defending herself with it from any human being. so she rode ahead when it became dark, and reached the peckham ranch at supper time, finding both a warm welcome and much news awaiting her. "glad to see ye back again, frances," declared mrs. peckham. "we done been talking about you and your hold-up most of the time since you went to amarillo. beats all how little it does take to set folks' tongues wagging in the country. ain't it so? "well! that feller got clean away. and he took chest and all. them fellers that went down stream found the old punt. but they never found no place where he'd shifted the trunk ashore. and it must have been heavy, frances?" "oh, yes!" "must have been a sight of valuables in it," repeated mrs. peckham. "what about those who went up stream?" asked frances, quickly. "there! your friend, mr. sanderson, didn't come back. he went on to mr. bill edwards' place, so he said. he axed would you lead his grey pony on behind your wagon to the bar-t. said he'd come after it there." "yes; of course," returned frances. "but didn't he find any trace of the robber up stream?" "how could they, miss frances, if the boat went down?" demanded mrs. peckham. "of course not." it was true. frances worried about this. pratt sanderson had insisted upon leading a part of the searchers in exactly the opposite direction to that in which common sense should have told him the robber had gone with the chest. "of course he would never have tried to pole against the current," frances told herself. "i am afraid daddy will consider that significant." she did not attempt to keep the story from captain dan rugley when she got back home on the fourth evening. "smart girl!" the old ranchman said, when she told him of the make-believe treasure chest she had carted halfway to amarillo, burlapped, corded, and tagged as though for deposit in the city bank for safe-keeping. "smart girl!" he repeated. "fooled 'em good. but maybe you were reckless, frances--just a wee mite reckless." "i had no intention of trying to defend the chest, or of letting mack," she told him. "and how about that pratt boy who you say went along with you?" queried the captain, his brows suddenly coming together. "well, daddy! he insisted upon going with me because ratty bothered me," said frances, in haste. "humph! mack could break that m'gill in two if the foolish fellow became really fresh with you. now! i don't want to say anything to hurt your feelings, frances; but it does seem to me that this pratt sanderson was too handy when that hold-up man got the chest." it was just as the girl feared. she bit her lip and said nothing. she did not see what there was to say in pratt's defense. besides, in her secret heart she, too, was troubled about the young fellow from amarillo. she wondered what the robber at the ford thought about it when he got the old trunk open and found in it nothing but some junk and rubbish she had found in the attic of the ranch-house. at least, she had managed to draw the attention of the dishonest orderly from the bylittle soldiers' home from the real spanish treasure chest for several days. before he could make any further attempt against the peace of mind of her father and herself, frances hoped mr. lonergan would have arrived at the bar-t and the responsibility for the safety of the treasure would be lifted from their shoulders. at any rate, the mysterious treasure would be divided and disposed of. when pete knew that the spanish treasure chest was opened and the valuables divided, he might lose hope of gaining possession of the wealth he coveted. a telegram had come while frances was absent from the chaplain of the soldiers' home, stating that mr. lonergan would start for the panhandle in a week, if all went well with him. captain rugley was as eager as a boy for his old partner's appearance. "and i've been wishing all these years," he said, "while you were growing up, frances, to dress you up in a lot of this fancy jewelry. it would have been for your mother if she had lived." "but you don't want me to look like a south sea island princess, do you, daddy?" frances said, laughing. "i can see that the belt and bracelet i wore the night pratt stopped here rather startled him. he's used to seeing ladies dressed up, in amarillo, too." "pooh! in the cities women are ablaze with jewels. your mother and i went to chicago once, and we went to the opera. say! that was a show! "let me tell you, there are things in that chest that will outshine anything in the line of ornaments that that pratt sanderson--or any other amarillo person--ever saw." the girl was quite sure that this desire on her father's part of arraying her in the gaudy jewels from the old chest was bound to make her the laughing-stock of the people who were coming out from amarillo to see the pageant of the panhandle. but what could she do about it? his wish was fathered by his love for her. she must wear the gems to please him, for frances would never do anything to hurt his feelings, for the world. a good many of their friends, of course--people like good mrs. peckham--would never realize the incongruity of a girl being bedecked like a barbarian princess. but frances wondered what the girl from boston would say to pratt sanderson about it, if she chanced to see frances so adorned? she had an opportunity of seeing something more of the boston girl shortly, for in a day or two pratt sanderson came over for the grey pony he had left at the peckham ranch, and frances had led back to the bar-t for him. and with pratt trailed along mrs. bill edwards and the visitors whom frances had met twice before. by this time captain dan rugley was able to hobble out upon the veranda, and was sitting there in his old, straight-backed chair when the cavalcade rode up. he hailed mrs. edwards, and welcomed her and her young friends as heartily as it was his nature so to do. "come in, all of you!" he shouted. "ming will bring out a pitcher of something cool to drink in a minute; and san soo can throw together a luncheon that'll keep you from starving to death before you get back to bill's place." he would not listen to refusals. the mexican boys took the ponies away and a round dozen of visitors settled themselves--like a covey of prairie chickens--about the huge porch. frances welcomed everybody quietly, but with a smile. she instructed ming to set tables in the inner court of the _hacienda_, as it would be both cool and shady there on this hot noontide. she noticed that sue latrop scarcely bowed to her, and immediately set about chattering to two or three of her companions. frances did not mind for herself; but she saw that the girl from boston seemed amused by captain rugley's talk, and was not well-bred enough to conceal her amusement. the old ranchman was not dull in any particular, however; before long he found an opportunity to say to his daughter: "who's the girl in the fancy fixin's? that red coat's got style to it, i reckon?" "if you like the style," laughed frances, smiling tenderly at him. "you don't? and i see she doesn't cotton much to you, frances. what's the matter?" "she's eastern," explained frances, briefly. "i imagine she thinks i am crude." "'crude'? what's 'crude'?" demanded captain dan rugley. "that isn't anything very bad, is it, frances?" and his eyes twinkled. "can't be anything much worse, daddy," she whispered, "if you are all 'fed up,' as the boys say, on 'culchaw'!" he chuckled at that, and began to eye sue latrop with more interest. when the shuffle-footed ming called them to luncheon, he kept close to the girl from boston, and sat with her and mrs. bill edwards at one of the small tables. "i reckon you're not used to this sort of slapdash eating, miss?" suggested captain rugley, with perfect gravity, as he saw sue casting doubtful glances about the inner garden. the fountain was playing, the trees rustled softly overhead, a little breeze played in some mysterious way over the court, and from the distance came the tinkle of some mexican mandolins, for frances had hidden josé and his brother in one of the shadowy rooms. "oh, it's quite _al fresco_, don't you know," drawled sue. "altogether novel and chawming--isn't it, mrs. edwards?" the neighboring rancher's wife had originally come from the east herself; but she had lived long enough in the panhandle to have quite rubbed off the veneer of that "culchaw" of which sue was an exponent. "the bar-t is the show place of the panhandle," she said, promptly. "we are rather proud of it--all of us ranchers." "indeed? i had no idea!" cooed the girl from boston. "and i thought all you ranch folk had your wealth in cattle, and re'lly had no time for much social exchange." "oh!" exclaimed the captain, "when we have folks come to see us we manage to treat 'em with our best." sue was obliged to note that the service and the napery were dainty, and what she had seen of the furnishings of the darkened hall amazed her--as it had pratt on his first visit. the food was, of course, good and well prepared, for san soo was "a number one, topside" cook, as he would have himself expressed it in pigeon english. yet sue could not satisfy herself that these "cattle people" were really worthy of her attention. had she not been with mrs. edwards she would have made open fun of the old captain and his daughter. frances of the ranges looked a good deal like a girl on a moving picture screen. she was in her riding dress, short skirt, high gaiters, tight-fitting jacket, and with her hair in plaits. the captain looked as though he had never worn anything but the loose alpaca coat he now had on, with the carpet-slippers upon his blue-stockinged feet. "re'lly!" sue whispered to pratt, as they all arose to return to the front of the house, "they are quite too impossible, aren't they?" "who?" asked pratt, with narrowing gaze. "why--er--this cowgirl and her father." "i only see that they are very hospitable," the young man said, pointedly, and he kept away from the boston girl for the remainder of their visit to the bar-t ranch-house. chapter xxi in the hands of the enemy silent sam had reported some jack-rabbits on one of the southern ranges, and the captain thought it would interest the party from the edwards ranch to come over the next day and help run them. jack-rabbits have become such a nuisance in certain parts of the west of late years that a price has been set upon their heads, and the farmers and ranchmen often organize big drives to clear the ranges of the pests. this was only a small drive on the bar-t; but captain rugley had several good dogs, and the occasion was an interesting one--for everybody but the jacks. of course, the old ranchman could not go; but frances and sam were at cottonwood bottom soon after sunrise, waiting for the party from mr. bill edwards' ranch. josé reposa had the dogs in leash--two long-legged, sharp-nosed, mouse-colored creatures, more than half greyhound, but with enough mongrel in their make-up to make them bite when they ran down the long-eared pests that they were trained to drive. the branch of the river that ran through cottonwood bottom was too shallow--at least, at this season--to float even a punt. frances gazed down the wooded and winding hollow and asked silent sam a question: "do you know of any place along the river where a man might hide out--that fellow who stopped us at the ford the other evening, for instance?" "there's a right smart patch of small growth down below bill edwards' line," said sam. "the boys from peckham's, with that pratt sanderson, didn't more'n skirt that rubbish, i reckon, by what mack said," sam observed. "mebbe that hombre might have laid up there for a while." "before or after he robbed us?" frances asked quietly. "wal, now!" ejaculated sam. "if he took that chest aboard the punt, and the punt was found below the ford----" "you know, sam," said the girl, thoughtfully, "that he might have poled up stream a way, put the chest ashore, and then let the punt drift down." "reckon that's so," grunted the foreman. he said no more, and neither did frances. but the brief dialogue gave the girl food for thought, and her mind was quite full of the idea when the crowd from the edwards ranch came into view. the boys were armed with light rifles or shotguns, and even some of the girls were armed, as well as mrs. edwards herself. but sue latrop had never fired a gun in her life, and she professed to be not much interested in this hunt. "oh, i've fox-hunted several times. that is real sport! but we don't shoot foxes. the dogs kill them--if there re'lly _is_ a fox." "humph!" asked one of the local boys, with wonder, "what do the dogs follow, if there's no fox? what scent do they trail, i mean?" "oh," said sue, "a man rides ahead dragging an aniseed bag. some dogs are trained to follow that scent and nothing else. it's very exciting, i assure you." "well! what do you know about that?" gasped the questioner. "say! was this around boston?" asked pratt, his eyes twinkling. "oh, yes. there is a fine pack of hounds at arlington," drawled sue. "sho!" chuckled pratt. "i should think they'd teach the dogs around boston to follow the trail of a bean-bag. wouldn't it be easier?" "oh, dear me!" exclaimed miss latrop. "don't you think you are witty? and look at those dogs!" "what's the matter with them?" asked one of the girls. "why, they are all limbs! what perfectly spidery-looking animals! did you ever----" "you wait a bit," laughed mrs. edwards. "those long-legged dogs are just what we need hunting the jacks. and if we didn't have guns, at that, there would be few of the rabbits caught. all ready, sam harding?" "jest when miss frances says the word, ma'am," returned the foreman, coolly. "of course! frances is mistress of the hunt," said the ranchman's wife, good-naturedly. sue latrop had been coaxed to leave her eastern-bred horse behind on this occasion, and was upon one of the ponies broken to side-saddle work. the tall bay would scarcely know how to keep his feet out of gopher-holes in such a chase as was now inaugurated. "be careful how you use your guns," frances said, quietly, when sam and the mexican, with the dogs, started off to round a certain greasewood-covered mound and see if they could start some of the long-eared animals. "never fire across your pony's neck unless you are positive that no other rider is ahead of you on either hand. better take your rabbit head on; then the danger of shooting into some of the rest of us will be eliminated." sue sniffed at this. she had no gun, of course, but almost wished she had--and she said as much to one of her friends. she'd show that range girl that she couldn't boss her! "why! that's good advice about using our guns," said this girl to whom sue complained, surprised at the objection. "pooh! what does she know about it? she puts herself forward too much," replied the girl from boston. it is probable that sue would have talked about any other girl in the party who seemed to take the lead. sue was used to being the leader herself, and if she couldn't lead she didn't wish to follow. there are more than a few people in the world of sue's temperament--and very unpleasant people they are. but it was frances who got the first jack. the creature came leaping down the slope, having broken cover at the brink and quite unseen by the rest of the hunters. this was business to frances, instead of sport. if allowed to multiply the jack-rabbits were not only a pest to the farmers, but to everybody else. frances raised the light firearm she carried and popped mr. longears over "on the fly." "glory! that's a good one!" shouted pratt, enthusiastically. "a clean hit, frances," said mrs. edwards. "you are a splendid shot, child." miss boston sniffed! the dogs did not bay. but in a minute or two a pair of the rabbits appeared over the rise, and then the two long-legged canines followed in their tracks. "wait till the jacks see us and dodge," called out frances, in a low tone. "then you can fire without getting the dogs in line." mrs. edwards was a good shot. she got one of the rabbits. after several of the others snapped at the second one, and missed him, frances brought him down just as he leaped toward a clump of sagebrush. behind it he would have been lost to them. "my goodness!" murmured pratt. "what a shot you are, frances!" "she's quite got the best of us in shooting," complained one of the other girls. "she'll bag them all." frances laughed, and spurred molly out of the group, "i'll put away my gun and use my rope instead," she remarked. "perhaps i have a handicap over the rest of you with a rifle. father taught me, and he is considered the best rifle shot in the panhandle." "my goodness, frances," said pratt again. "what isn't there that you don't do better than most of 'em?" "parlor tricks!" flashed back the girl of the ranges, half laughing, but half in earnest, too. "i know i should be just a silly with a lorgnette, or trying to tango." "well!" gasped the young fellow, "who isn't silly under those circumstances, i would like to know." mixing talk of lorgnettes and dancing with shooting jack-rabbits did not suit very well, for the next pair of the long-eared animals that the dogs started got away entirely. they rode on down the edge of the hollow through which the stream flowed. the dogs beat the bushes and cottonwood clumps. suddenly a small, graceful, spotted animal leaped from concealment and came up the slope of the long river-bank ahead of both the dogs and almost under the noses of some of the excited ponies. "oh! an antelope!" shrieked two or three of the young people, recognizing the graceful creature. "don't shoot it!" cried mrs. edwards. "i am not sure that the law will let us touch antelopes at this season. "you needn't fear, mrs. edwards," said the girl from boston, laughing. "nobody is likely to get near enough to shoot that creature. wonderful! see how it leaps. why! those funny dogs couldn't even catch it." frances had had no idea of touching the antelope. but suddenly she spurred molly away at an angle from the bank, and called to the dogs to keep on the trail of the little deer. "ye-hoo! go for it! on, boys!" she shouted, and already the rope was swinging about her head. pratt spurred after her, and by chance sue latrop's pony got excited and followed the two madly. sue could not pull him in. the antelope did not seem to be half trying, he bounded along so gracefully and easily. the long-limbed dogs were doing their very best. the ponies were coming down upon the quarry at an acute angle. the antelope's beautiful, spidery legs flashed back and forth like piston-rods, or the spokes of a fast-rolling wheel. they could scarcely be seen clearly. in five minutes the antelope would have drawn far enough away from the chase to be safe--and he could have kept up his pace for half an hour. frances was near, however. molly, coming on the jump, gave the girl of the ranges just the chance that she desired. she arose suddenly in her saddle, leaned forward, and let the loop fly. like a snake it writhed in the air, and then settled just before the leaping antelope. the creature put its forelegs and head fairly into the whirring circle! the moment before--figuring with a nicety that made pratt sanderson gasp with wonder--frances had pulled back on molly's bit and jerked back her own arm that controlled the lasso. molly slid on her haunches, while the loop tightened and held the antelope in an unbreakable grip. "quick, pratt!" cried the girl of the ranges, seeing the young man coming up. "get down and use your knife. he'll kick free in a second." as pratt obeyed, leaping from his saddle before the grey pony really halted, sue latrop raced up on her mount and stopped. frances was leaning back in her saddle, holding the rope as taut as possible. pratt flung himself upon the struggling antelope. and then rather a strange and unexpected thing happened. pratt had the panting, quivering, frightened creature in his arms. a thrust of his hunting knife would have put it out of all pain. sue was as eager as one of the hounds which were now coming up with great leaps. pratt glanced around a moment, saw the dogs coming, and suddenly loosened the noose and let the antelope go free. "what are you doing?" shrieked the girl from boston. "you've let it go!" "yes," said pratt, quietly. "but what for?" demanded sue, quite angrily. "why! you had it." "yes," said pratt again, as the two girls drew near to him. "you--you--why! what for?" repeated sue, half-bewildered. "i couldn't bear to kill it, or let the dogs tear it," said pratt, slowly. the antelope was now far away and frances had commanded the dogs to return. "why not?" asked sue, grimly. "because the poor little thing was crying--actually!" gasped pratt, very red in the face. "great tears were running out of its beautiful eyes. i could have killed a helpless baby just as easily." frances coiled up her line and never said a word. but sue flashed out: "oh, you gump! i've been in at the death of a fox a number of times and seen the brush cut off and the dogs worry the beast to death. that's what they are for. well, you are a softy, pratt sanderson." "i guess i am," admitted the young bank clerk. "i wasn't made for such work as this." he turned away to catch his pony and did not even look at frances. if he had, he would have seen her eyes illuminated with a radiant admiration that would almost have stunned him. "if daddy had seen him do that," whispered frances to herself, "i'm sure he would have a better opinion of pratt than he has. i am certain that nobody with so tender a heart could be really bad." but the incident separated the range girl from the young man from amarillo for the time being. silent sam and frances had some trouble in getting the dogs off the antelope trail. when they started the next bunch of jack-rabbits from the brush, frances was with the foreman and the mexican boy, and acted with them as beaters. the visitors had great fun bagging the animals. frances, rather glad to escape from the crowd for a time, spurred molly down the far side of the stream, having crossed it in a shallow place. she was out of sight of the hunters, and soon out of sound. they had turned back and were going up stream again. the ranchman's daughter pulled in molly at the brink of a little hollow beside the stream. there was a cleared space in the centre and--yes--there was a fireplace and ashes. thick brush surrounded the camping place save on the side next to the stream. "wonder who could have been here? and recently, too. there's smoke rising from those embers." this was frances' unspoken thought. she let molly step nearer. trees overhung the place. she saw that it was as secret a spot as she had seen along the river side, and her thought flashed to pete, the ex-orderly of the bylittle soldiers' home. then she turned in her saddle suddenly and saw the very man standing near her, rifle in hand. his leering smile frightened her. although he said never a word, frances' hand tightened on molly's rein. the next moment she would have spurred the pinto up the hill; but a drawling voice within a yard of her spoke. "how-do, frances? 'light, won't yer?" and there followed ratty m'gill's well-known laugh. "we didn't expect ye; but ye're welcome just the same." ratty's hand was on molly's bridle-rein. frances knew that she was a prisoner. chapter xxii what pratt thought the party of visitors to the edwards ranch tired of jack-shooting and jack-running before noon. josé reposa had cached a huge hamper of lunch which the bar-t cook had put up, and he softly suggested to mrs. edwards that the company be called together and luncheon made ready, with hot coffee for all. "but where's pratt?" cried somebody. "and miss rugley?" asked another. "oh, i guess you'll find them together somewhere," snapped sue latrop. she had felt neglected by her "hero" for the last hour, and was in the sulks, accordingly. pratt, however, came in alone. he had bagged several jacks. altogether silent sam and the mexican had destroyed more than a score of the pests, and the dogs had torn to pieces two or three beside. the canines were satiated with the meat, and were glad to lie down, panting, and watch the preparations for luncheon. "i have not seen miss frances since she caught the antelope," pratt declared. sue began to laugh--but it wasn't a nice laugh at all. "guess she got mad and went home. you, letting that animal go the way you did! i never heard of such a foolish thing!" pratt said nothing. he sat down on the other side of the fire from the girl from boston. he took it for granted that frances _had_ gone home. for, remembering as he did, that frances was a range girl, and had lived out-of-doors and undoubtedly among rough men, a good part of her life, the young fellow thought that, very probably, frances had been utterly disgusted with him when he showed so much tenderness for the innocent little antelope. since that moment of weakness he had been telling himself: "she thinks me a softy. i am. what kind of a hunter did i show myself to be? pooh! she must be disgusted with my weakness." nevertheless, he would have done the same thing over again. it was his nature not to wish to see dumb creatures in pain, or to inflict pain on them himself. killing the jack-rabbits was a necessity as well as a sport. even chasing a poor, unfortunate little fox, as sue had done in the east, might be made to seem a commendable act, for the foxes, when numerous, are a nuisance around the poultry runs. but by no possible reasoning could pratt have ever excused his killing of the pretty, innocent antelope. they did not need it for food, and it was one of the most harmless creatures in the world. to tell the truth, pratt was glad frances was not present at the luncheon. he cared a good deal less about sue's saucy tongue than he did for the range girl's opinion of him. during these weeks that he had known frances rugley, he had come to see that hers was a most vigorous and interesting character. pratt was a thoughtful young man. there was nothing foolish about his interest in frances, but he _did_ crave her friendship and liking. some of the other men rallied him on his sudden silence, and this gave sue latrop an opportunity to say more sarcastic things. "he misses that 'cattle queen,'" she giggled, but was careful that mrs. edwards did not hear what she said. "too bad; poor little boy! why didn't you ride after her, pratt?" "i might, had i known when she went home," replied pratt, cheerfully. "i beg the señor's pardon," whispered josé, who was gathering up the plates. "the _señorita_ did not go home." pratt looked at the boy, sharply. "sure?" he asked. "quite so--_si, señor_." "where did she go?" "_quien sabe?_" retorted josé reposa, with a shrug of his shoulders. "she crossed the river yonder and rode east." so did the party from the edwards ranch a little later. silent sam harding had already ridden back to the bar-t. josé gathered up the hamper and its contents and started home on mule-back. pratt had curiosity enough, when the party went over the river, to look for the prints of molly's hoofs. there they were in the soft earth on the far edge of the stream. frances had ridden down stream at a sharp pace. where had she gone? "it was odd for her to leave us in that way," thought pratt, turning the matter over in his mind, "and not to return. in a way she was our hostess. i did not think frances would fail in any matter of courtesy. how could she with captain dan rugley for a father?" the old ranchman was the soul of hospitality. that frances should seem to ignore her duty as a hostess stung pratt keenly. he heard sue latrop speaking about it. "went off mad. what else could you expect of a cowgirl?" said the girl from boston, in her very nastiest tone. the fact that sue seemed so sure frances was derelict in her duty made pratt more confident that something untoward had occurred to the girl of the ranges to keep her from returning promptly to the party. of course, the young man suspected nothing of the actual situation in which frances at that very moment found herself. pratt dreamed of a broken cinch, or a misstep that might have lamed molly. instead, frances rugley was sitting with her back against a stump at the edge of the clearing where she had come so suddenly upon the campfire, with her ungloved hands lying in her lap so that ratty's bright eyes could watch them continually. pete had taken away her gun. molly was hobbled with the men's horses on the other side of the hollow. the two plotters had rekindled the fire and were whispering together about her. had pete had his way he would have tied frances' hands and feet. but the ex-cowpuncher of the bar-t ranch would not listen to that. although pete was the leading spirit, ratty m'gill turned ugly when his mate attempted to touch the girl; so they had left her unbound. but not unwatched--no, indeed! ratty's beadlike eyes never left her. not much of their conversation reached the ears of frances, although she kept very still and tried to hear. she could read ratty's lips a little, for he had no mustache; but the bearded pete's lips were hidden. "i've got to have a good piece of it myself, if i'm going to take a chance like that!" was one declaration of the ex-cowpuncher's that she heard clearly. again ratty said: "they'll not only suspect me, they'll _know_. won't the girl tell them? i tell you i want to see my getaway before i make a stir in the matter--you can bet on that!" finally, frances saw the ex-orderly of the bylittle soldiers' home produce a pad of paper, an envelope, and pencil. he was plainly a ready writer, for he went to work with the pencil at once, while ratty rolled a fresh cigarette and still watched their captive. pete finished his letter, sealed it in the envelope, and addressed it in a bold hand. "that'll just about fix the business, i reckon," said pete, scowling across at frances. "that gal's mighty smart--with her trunk full of junk and all----" ratty burst into irrepressible laughter. 'you sure got pete's goat when you played him that trick, frances. he fair killed himself puntin' that trunk up the river and hiding it, and then taking the punt back and letting it drift so as to put peckham's crew off the scent. "and when he busted it open----" ratty burst into laughter again, and held his sides. pete looked surly. "we'll make the old man pay for her cuttin' up them didoes," growled the bewhiskered rascal. "and my horse and wagon, too. i b'lieve she and that man with her set the fire that burned up my outfit." frances herewith took part in the conversation. "who set the grass-fire, in the first place?" she demanded. "i believe you did that, ratty m'gill. you were just reckless enough that day." "aw, shucks!" said the young man, sheepishly. "but you haven't the same excuse to-day for being reckless," the girl said, earnestly. "you have not been drinking. what do you suppose sam and the boys will do to you for treating me in this manner?" "now, that will do!" said pete, hoarsely "you hold your tongue, young woman!" but ratty only laughed. he accepted the letter, took off his sombrero, tucked it under the sweatband, and put on the hat again. then he started lazily for the pony that he rode. "now mind you!" he called back over his shoulder to pete, "i'm not going to risk my scalp going to the ranch-house with this yere billy-do--not much!" "why not?" asked pete, angrily. "we got to move quick." "we'll move quick later; we'll go sure and steady now," chuckled the cowboy. "i'll send it in by one of the mexicans. say it was give to me by a stranger on the trail. i ain't welcome at the bar-t, and i know it." he leaped into his saddle and spurred his horse away, quickly getting out of sight. frances knew that the letter he carried, and which pete had written, was to her father. chapter xxiii a game of puss in the corner the reckless cowpuncher, ratty m'gill, riding up the bank of the narrow stream through the cottonwoods, and singing a careless song at the top of his voice, was what gave pratt sanderson the final suggestion that there was something down stream that he ought to look into. frances had gone that way; ratty was riding back. had they met, or passed, on the river bank? of the cavalcade cutting across the range for mr. edwards' place, pratt was the only member that noticed the discharged cowpuncher. and he waited until the latter was well out of sight and hearing before he turned his grey pony's head back toward the river. "where are you going, pratt?" demanded one of his friends. "i've forgotten something," the young man from amarillo replied. "oh, dear me!" cried sue latrop. "he's forgotten his cute, little cattle queen. give her my love, pratt." the young fellow did not reply. if the girl from boston had really been of sufficient importance, pratt would have hated her. sue had made herself so unpleasant that she could never recover her place in his estimation--that was sure! he set spurs to his pony and raced away before any other remarks could be made in his hearing. he rode directly back to the ford they had crossed; but reaching it, he turned sharply down stream, in the direction from which ratty m'gill had come. here and there in the soft earth he saw the marks of molly's hoofs. but when these marks were no longer visible on the harder ground, pratt kept on. he soon pulled the grey down to a walk. they made little noise, he and the pony. two miles he rode, and then suddenly the grey pony pointed his ears forward. pratt reached quickly and seized the grey's nostrils between thumb and finger. in the distance a pony whinnied. was it molly? "you just keep still, you little nuisance!" whispered pratt to his mount. "don't want you whinnying to any strange horse." he got out of the saddle and led his pony for some rods. the brush was thick and there was no bridle-path. he feared to go farther without knowing what and who was ahead, and he tied the grey--taking pattern by frances and tying his head up-wind. the young fellow hesitated about taking the shotgun he had used in the jack-rabbit hunt. there was a sheath fastened to his saddle for the weapon, and he finally left it therein. pratt really thought that nothing of a serious nature had happened to his girl friend. seeing ratty m'gill had reminded him that the cowpuncher had once troubled frances, and pratt had ridden down this way to offer his escort to the old ranchman's daughter. he had no thought of the man who had held them up at the lower ford, toward peckham's, the evening of the prairie fire; nor did he connect the cowpuncher and that ruffian in his mind. "if i take that gun, the muzzle will make a noise in the bushes, or the hammer will catch on something," thought pratt. so he left the shotgun behind and went on unarmed toward the place where frances was even then sitting under the keen eye of pete. "you keep where ye are, miss," growled that worthy when ratty rode away. "i will sure tie ye if ye make an attempt to get away. you have fell right into my han's, and i vow you'll make me some money. your father's got a plenty----" "you mean to make him ransom me?" asked frances, quietly. "that's the ticket," said pete, nodding, and searching his ragged clothing for a pipe, which he finally drew out and filled. "he's got money. i've spent what i brought up yere to the panhandle with me. and i b'lieve you made me lose my wagon and that other horse." frances made no rejoinder to this last, but she said: "father may be willing to pay something for my release. but you and ratty will suffer in the end." "we'll risk that," said the man, puffing at his pipe, and nodding thoughtfully. "you'd better let me go now," said the girl, with no display of fear. "and you'd better give up any further attempt to get at the old chest that mr. lonergan talked about." "hey!" exclaimed the man, startled. "what d'ye know about lonergan?" "he will be at the ranch in a few days, and if there is any more treasure than you found in that old trunk you stole from me, he will get his share and there will no longer be any treasure chest. make up your mind to that." "you know who i am and what i come up yere for?" demanded pete, eying her malevolently. "yes. i know you are the man who tried to steal in over the roof of our house, too. if you make my father any angrier with you than he is now, he will prosecute you all the more sharply when you are arrested." "you shut up!" growled pete. "i ain't going to be arrested." "both you and ratty will be punished in the end," said frances, calmly. "men like you always are." "lots you know about it, sissy. and don't you be too sassy, understand? i could squeeze yer breath out!" he stretched forth a clawlike hand as he spoke, and pinched the thumb and finger wickedly together. that expression and gesture was the first thing that really frightened the girl--it was so wicked! she shuddered and fell back against the tree trunk. never in her life before had frances rugley felt so nearly hysterical. the realization that she was in this man's power, and that he had reason to hate her, shook her usually steady nerves. after all, ratty m'gill was little more than a reckless boy; but this older man was vile and bad. as he squatted over the fire, puffing at his pipe, with his head craned forward, he looked like nothing so much as a bald-headed buzzard, such as she had seen roosting on dead trees or old barn-roofs, outside of amarillo. pete finally knocked the ashes out of his pipe on his boot heel and then arose. frances could scarcely contain herself and suppress a scream when he moved. she watched him with fearful gaze--and perhaps the fellow knew it. it may have been his intention to work upon her fears in just this way. brave as the range girl was, her helplessness was not to be ignored. she knew that she was at his mercy. when he shot a sideways glance at her as he stretched his powerful arms and stamped his feet and yawned, he must have seen the color come and go faintly in her cheeks. rough as were the men frances had been brought up with--for from babyhood she had been with her father in cow-camp and bunk-house and corral--she had always been accorded a perfectly chivalrous treatment which is natural to men of the open. where there are few women, and those utterly dependent for safety upon the manliness of the men, the latter will always rise to the very highest instincts of the race. frances had been utterly fearless while riding herd, or camping with the cowboys, or even when alone on the range. if she met strange men she expected and received from them the courtesy for which the western man is noted. but this leering fellow was different from any person with whom frances had ever come in contact before. each moment she became more fearful of him. and he realized her attitude of fear and worked upon her emotions until she was almost ready to burst out into hysterical screams. indeed, she might have done this very thing the next time pete came near her had not suddenly a voice spoken her name. "frances! what is the matter with you?" "oh!" she gasped. "pratt!" the young man stepped out of the bushes, not seeing pete at all. he had been watching the girl only, and had not understood what made her look so strange. "you haven't been thrown, frances, have you?" asked pratt, solicitously. "are you hurt?" then the girl's frightened gaze, or some rustle of pete's movement, made pratt sanderson turn. pete had reached for his rifle and secured it. and by so doing he completely mastered the situation. "put your hands over your head, young feller!" he growled, swinging the muzzle of the heavy gun toward pratt. "and keep 'em there till i've seen what you carry in your pockets." he strode toward the surprised pratt, who obeyed the order with becoming promptness. "don't you make no move, neither, miss," growled the man, darting a glance in frances' direction. "why--why---- what do you mean?" demanded pratt, recovering his breath at last. "do you dare hold this young lady a prisoner?" "yep. that's what i dare," sneered pete. "and it looks like i'd got you, too. what d'ye think you're going to do about it?" "isn't this the fellow who robbed us at the river that time, frances?" cried pratt. the girl nodded. just then she could not speak. "and that fellow ratty was with him this time?" again the girl nodded. "then they shall both be arrested and punished," declared pratt. "i never heard of such effrontery. do you know who this young lady is, man?" he demanded of pete. "jest as well as you do. and her pa's going to put up big for to see her again--unharmed," snarled the man. "what do you mean?" gasped pratt, his face blazing and his fists clenched. "you dare harm her----" pete was slapping him about the pockets to make sure he carried no weapon. now he struck pratt a heavy blow across the mouth, cutting his lips and making his ears ring. "shut up, you young jackanapes!" commanded the man. "i'll hurt her and you, too, if i like." "and captain dan rugley won't rest till he sees you well punished if you harm her," mumbled pratt. pete struck at him again. pratt dodged back. and at that moment frances disappeared! the man had only had his eyes off her for half a minute. he gasped, his jaw dropped, and his bloodshot eyes roved all about, trying to discover frances' whereabouts. he had not realized that, despite her fear, the girl of the ranges had had her limbs drawn up and her muscles taut ready for a spring. his attention given for the moment to pratt sanderson, frances had risen and dodged behind the bole of the tree against which she was leaning, a carefully watched prisoner. she would never have escaped so easily had it been ratty in charge; for his mental processes were quicker than those of pete. flitting from tree to tree, keeping one or more of the big trunks between her and pete's roving eyes while still he was speechless, she was traveling farther and farther from the camp. she might have set forth running almost at once, and so escaped. but she could not leave pratt to the heavy hand of pete. nor could she abandon molly. frances, therefore, began encircling the opening where the fire burned; but she kept well out of pete's sight. she heard him utter a bellow which would have done credit to a mad steer. that came when he saw pratt was about to escape, too. the young fellow was creeping away, stooping and on tiptoe. pete uttered a frightful imprecation and sprang after him with his rifle clubbed and raised above his head. "stand where you are!" he commanded, "or i'll bat your foolish head in!" and he looked enraged enough to do it. pratt dared not move farther; he crouched in terror, expecting the blow. he had bravely assailed pete with his tongue when frances seemed in danger; but the girl had escaped now and pratt hoped she was each minute putting rods between this place and herself. pete suddenly dropped his rifle and sprang at the young man. pratt's throat was in the vicelike grip of pete on the instant. both his wrists were seized by the man's other hand. such feeble struggles as pratt made were abortive. his breath was shut off and he felt his senses leaving him. but as his eyes rolled up there was a crash in the brush and a pony dashed into the open. it was molly and her mistress was astride her. frances had lost her hat; her hair had become loosened and was tossed about her pale face. but her eyes glowed with the light of determination and she spurred the pony directly at the two struggling figures in the middle of the hollow. "i'm coming, pratt!" she cried. "hold on!" chapter xxiv a good deal of excitement pete twisted himself around to look over his shoulder, but still kept his clutch on the breathless young man. however, pratt feebly dragged his wrists out of the man's grasp. frances was riding the pinto directly at them. under her skillful guidance the pony's off shoulder must collide with pete, unless the man dropped pratt entirely and sprang aside. the man did this, uttering a yell of anger. pratt staggered the other way and frances brought molly to a standstill directly between the two. "you let him alone!" the girl commanded, gazing indignantly at the rascally man. "oh! you shall be paid in full for all you have done this day. when captain rugley hears of this. "quick, pratt!" she shrieked. "that rifle!" pete was bent over reaching for the weapon. frances jerked molly around, but she could not drive the pony against the man in time to topple him over before his wicked fingers closed on the barrel of the gun. it was pratt who made the attack in this emergency. he had played on the amarillo high football eleven and he knew how to "tackle." before pete could rise up with the recovered weapon in his grasp pratt had him around the legs. the man staggered forward, trying to kick away the young fellow; but pratt clung to him, and his antagonist finally fell upon his knees. quick as a flash pratt sprang astride his bowed back. he kicked pete's braced arms out from under him and the man fell forward, screaming and threatening the most awful punishment for his young antagonist. frances could not get into the melee with molly. the two rolled over and over on the ground and suddenly pete gave vent to a shriek of pain. he had rolled on his back into the fire! "quick, pratt!" begged frances. "get away from him! he will do you some dreadful harm!" she believed pete would, too. as pratt leaped aside, the man bounded up from the bed of hot coals, his shirt afire, and he unable to reach it with his beating hands! pratt ran to frances' side. she pulled molly's head around and the pony trotted across the clearing, with pratt staggering along at the stirrup and striving to get his breath. as they passed the spot where the battle had begun, pratt stooped and secured the rifle. pete, in rage awful to see, was tearing the smouldering shirt from his back. then pete dashed after the escaping pair. the rifle encumbered the young man; but if he dropped it he knew the man would hold them at his mercy. so, swinging the weapon up by its barrel, he smashed the stock against a tree trunk. again and again he repeated the blow, until the tough wood splintered and the mechanism of the hammer and trigger was bent and twisted. pete almost caught him. pratt dashed the remains of the rifle in his face and ran on after frances. "i'll catch you yet!" yelled pete. "and when i do----" the threat was left incomplete; but the man ran for his own horse. if frances had only thought to drive molly that way and slip the hobbles of pete's nag, much of what afterward occurred in this hollow by the river bank would never have taken place. she and pratt would have been immediately free. it was hours afterward--indeed, almost sunset--that old captain rugley, sitting on the broad veranda of the bar-t ranch-house and expecting frances to appear at any moment, raised his eyes to see, instead, victorino reposa slouching up the steps. "hello, vic!" said the captain. "what do you want?" "letter, _capitan_," said the mexican, impassively, removing his big hat and drawing a soiled envelope from within. "seen anything of miss frances?" asked the ranchman, reaching lazily for the missive. "no, _capitan_," responded the boy, and turned away. the superscription on the envelope puzzled captain dan rugley. "here, vic!" he cried after the departing youth. "where'd you get this? 'tisn't a mailed letter." "it was give to me on the trail, _capitan_," said victorino, softly. "as i came back from the horse pasture." "who gave it to you?" demanded the ranchman, beginning to slit the flap of the envelope. "i am not informed," said victorino, still with lowered gaze. "the señor who presented it declare' it was give to heem by a strange hand at jackleg. he say he was ride this way----" the captain was not listening. victorino saw that this was a fact and he allowed his words to trail off into nothing, while he, himself, began again to slip away. the old ranchman was staring at the unfolded sheet with fixed attention. his brows came together in a portentous frown; and perhaps for the first time in many years his bronzed countenance was washed over by the sickly pallor of fear. victorino, stepping softly, had reached the compound gate. suddenly the forelegs of the ranchman's chair hit the floor of the veranda, and he roared at the mexican in a voice that made the latter jump and drop the brown paper cigarette he had just deftly rolled. "you boy! come back here!" called captain rugley. "i want to know what this means." "me, _capitan_?" asked victorino, softly, and hesitated at the gate. with his employer in this temper he was half-inclined to run in the opposite direction. "come here!" commanded the ranchman again. "who gave you this?" rapping the open letter with a hairy forefinger. "i do not know, _capitan_. a strange man--_si_." "never saw him before?" "no, _capitan_. he was ver' strange to me," whined victorino, too frightened to tell the truth. "what did he look like?" shot back the captain, holding himself in splendid control now. only his eyes glittered and his lips under the big mustache tightened perceptibly. "he was beeg man, _capitan_; rode bay pony; much wheeskers on face," declared victorino, glibly. the captain was silent for half a minute. then he snapped: "run find silent sam and tell him i want him _pronto_. _sabe?_ tell joe to saddle cherry, and sam's horse, and you get a saddle on your own, vic. i'll want you and about half a dozen of the boys who are hanging around the bunk-house. tell 'em it's important and tell them--yes!--tell them to come armed. in fifteen minutes. understand?" "_si, capitan_," whispered victorino, glad to get out from under the ranchman's eye for the time being. he was the oldest of the mexican boys employed at the bar-t, and he had been very friendly with ratty m'gill while that reckless individual had belonged to the outfit. it was victorino who had let ratty drive the buckboard to the railroad station one particular day when the cowpuncher wished to meet his friend, pete, at cottonwood bottom. now, unthinking and unknowing, he had been drawn by ratty into a serious trouble. victorino did not know what it was; but he trembled. he had never seen "_el capitan_" look so fierce and strange before. chapter xxv a plot that failed captain dan rugley seemed to forget his rheumatism. excitement is often a strong mental corrective; and with his mind upon the dearest possession of his old age, the ranchman forgot all bodily ills. victorino was scarcely out of the compound when the captain had summoned ming from the dining-room and san soo from his pots and pans. "put off dinner. maybe we won't have any dinner to-night, san soo," said the owner of the bar-t. "we're in trouble. you and ming shut the doors when i go out and bar them. stand watch. don't let a soul in unless i come back or miss frances appears. understand, boys?" "can do," declared the bigger chinaman, with impassive face. "me understland clapen velly well," said ming, who wished always to show that he "spoke melican." "all right," returned captain rugley. "help me with this coat, san. ming! bring me my belt and gun. yes, that's it. it's loaded. plenty of cartridges in that box? so. now i'm off," concluded the captain, and went to the door again to meet silent sam harding, the foreman. "read this," jerked out the ranchman, and thrust the crumpled letter into sam harding's hand. without a word the foreman spread open the paper and studied it. in perfectly plain handwriting he read the following astonishing epistle: "captain dan rugley, "bar-t ranch. "we've got your girl. she will be held prisoner exactly twenty-four hours from time you receive this. then, if you have not made arrangements to pay our agent $ , (five thousand dolls.), something will happen to your girl. we are willing to put our necks in a noose for the five thousand. come across, and come across quick. no check. cash does it. you can get cash at branch bank in jackleg. we will know when you get cash and then you'll be told who to hand money to and how to find your girl. remember, we mean business. you try to trail us, or rescue your daughter without paying five thousand and we'll get square with you by fixing the girl. that's all at present." this threatening missive was unsigned. silent sam read it twice. then he handed it back to the captain. "does it look like a joke to you--a poor sort of a joke?" whispered the ranchman. "i wouldn't say so," muttered sam. "i'm going after them," said captain rugley, with determination. "how?" "somebody handed vic this on the trail. he'll show us where. we'll try to pick up the man's traces. of course it was one of the scoundrels handed the letter to vic." "who do ye think they are?" asked sam, slowly. "i don't know," said the worried ranchman. "but whoever they are they shall suffer if they harm a hair of her head!" "that's what," said sam, quietly. "but ain't you an idee who they be?" "that fellow who took the old trunk away from frances?" "might be. and he must have partners." "so i've said right along," declared the ranchman, vigorously. "where did you leave frances, sam?" "after the jack hunt? right thar with miz' edwards and her crowd." "was young pratt sanderson with them?" "sure." "that's it!" growled captain dan rugley, smiting one palm with his other fist. "she'd ride off with him. thinks him all right----" "ye don't mean to say ye think he's in this mean mess?" "i don't know. he's turned up whenever we've had trouble lately. if it wasn't so far to bill edwards' i'd ride that way and find out if the fellow is there, or what they know about him." silent sam earned his nickname, if ever, during the next hour. he did not say ten words; but his efficient management got a posse of the most trustworthy men together, and they rode away from the ranch-house. there was no use advising the captain not to accompany the party. nobody dared thwart him after a glance into his grim face. the hard-bitted cherry which he always rode was held down to the pace of the other horses with an iron hand. the captain rode as securely in his saddle as he had before rheumatism seized upon his limbs. how long this false strength, inspired by his fear and indignation, would remain with him the others did not know. sam and his mates watched "the old cap" with wonder. victorino's gaze was fixed upon the doughty ranchman's back with many different emotions in his trouble-torn mind. he was wondering what would happen to him if captain rugley ever learned that he had told a falsehood about that note. he was so scared that he dared not lead the party to a false trail. he told them just where he had met ratty m'gill; but he stuck to his imaginary description of the person who had entrusted the letter to him. "going, west, you say?" said captain rugley. "it might be to lead us off the trail. and then again, he might be going right back to whatever place they have frances hidden. "i fear we'll have a hard time following a trail to-night, anyway. but sam says he left the folks after the jack hunt over there by cottonwood bottom. i think we'd better search the length of that stream first." sam spoke up suddenly: "frances asked me if there were any close thickets where a man might hide out, along those banks." "she did?" "yes. it just come to me," said the foreman. "when we were beating up those jacks." "enough said!" ejaculated the ranchman. "come on, boys!" through the dusk they rode straight away toward the ford. and although the old captain could hardly hope it, every moment the horse was bearing him nearer and nearer to his lost daughter. dusk had long since fallen; but there was a faint moon and a multitude of stars. on the open plain the shadows of the horses and riders moved in grotesque procession. in the hollow far down the stream, where pete had made his camp, the shadows were deep and oppressive. the fellow kept alive but a spark of fire. now and then he threw on a stick for replenishing. outside the feeble light cast by the flickering flames, one could scarcely see at all. but there were two faintly outlined forms near the fire beside that of the burly pete. occasionally a groan issued from the lips of pratt sanderson, for he lay senseless, a great bruise upon his head, his wrists and ankles tied with painful security. the other form was that of frances herself. she did not speak nor moan, although she was quite wide awake. she, too, was tied up in such a way that she could not possibly free herself. and she was frightened--desperately frightened! she had reason to be. the ex-orderly from the bylittle soldiers' home had proved himself to be a perfect madman when he found that the girl and pratt were really escaping. evidently he had seized upon the desperate attempt to hold frances for ransom as a last resort. she had played into his hands by riding down into this hollow. pratt sanderson's interference had enraged the fellow to the limit. and when the young man had momentarily gotten the best of him, pete was fairly insane for the time being. with his rifle broken the man was unable to shoot, for frances' revolver which he had obtained at the beginning of the scuffle was empty. the small gun she had used shooting jacks had been sent back with sam to the ranch. the girl was urging molly through the brush and pratt was tearing after her, their direction bringing them nearer and nearer to the young man's grey pony, when suddenly frances heard pratt scream. she glanced back, pulling in the excited pinto with a strong hand. her friend was pitching forward to the ground. he had been struck by her pistol, which pete had flung with all his might. the next moment with an exultant cry the man sprang from his horse upon the prostrate pratt. "get off him! go away!" cried frances, pulling molly around. but the brush was too thick, and the pinto got tangled up in it. fearful for pratt's safety, and never thinking of her own, the girl sprang from the saddle and ran back. this was what pete was expecting. pratt was safe enough--senseless and moaning on the ground. when the girl came near pete leaped up, seized her by the wrists, jerked her toward him, and held her firmly with one hand while he produced a soiled bandanna, with which he quickly knotted her wrists together. no matter how hard she fought, he was so much more powerful than she that the ranchman's daughter could not break his hold. in five minutes she was tied and thrown to the ground, quite as helpless as pratt himself. pete left her lying where she fell and picked up pratt first. him the fellow carried back to the campfire and tied both hand and foot before he returned for frances. all the time the man uttered the most fearful imprecations, and showed so much callousness toward the injured young man that the girl begged him, with tears, to do something to ease pratt. "let him lie there and grunt," growled pete. "didn't he chuck me into that fire? my back's all blistered." he pulled on a coat, for his clothes had been quite torn away above his waist at the back when he was putting out the fire. frances suffered keenly herself, for the man had tied her wrists and ankles so tightly that the cords cut into the flesh whenever she tried to move them. beside, she lay in a most uncomfortable position. but to hear pratt groan was terrible. the blow on the head had seriously hurt him--of that there could be no doubt. when she called to him he did not answer, and finally pete commanded her to keep silence. "ye want to make a fuss so as to draw somebody down here--i kin see what you are up to." frances had a wholesome fear of him by this time. she had seen pete at his worst--and had felt his heavy hand, too. she was bruised and suffering pain herself. but pratt's case was much worse than her own just then and her whole heart went out to the young man from amarillo. pete sat over his little fire and smoked. he was evidently expecting ratty m'gill to return; but for some reason ratty was delayed. doubtless the two plotters had proposed to themselves that captain rugley would be too ill to take the lead in any chase after the kidnappers. perhaps pete even hoped that the old ranchman would agree immediately to the terms of ransom set forth in the note ratty had taken to the bar-t. the ex-cowpuncher was to linger around and see what would be done about the message to the captain; then come here and report to pete. and as the hours dragged by, and it drew near midnight, with no appearance of the messenger, the chief plotter grew more anxious. he huddled over the fire, almost enclosing it with his arms and legs for warmth. frances, lying beyond, and out of the puny radiance of its warmth, felt the chill of the night air keenly. pete did not even offer her a blanket. but her attention was engaged by thoughts of pratt sanderson's sufferings. the young man groaned faintly from time to time, but he gave no other sign of life. as frances lay shivering on the ground her keen senses suddenly apprehended a new sound. she raised her head a little and the sound was absent. she dropped back upon the earth again and it returned--a throbbing sound, distant, faint but insistent. what could it be? frances was first startled, then puzzled by it. each time that she raised her head the noise drifted away; then it returned when her ear was against the ground. "it's a horse--it's several horses," she finally whispered to herself. "can it be----?" she sat up suddenly. pete immediately commanded her to lie down. "i'm cramped," said the girl, speaking clearly. "can't you change these cords? i won't try to run away." "i'd hurt you if you did," growled the fellow. "and i ain't going to change them cords." "oh, do!" cried frances, more loudly. "shut up and lay down there!" ordered pete, raising his own voice. "no, i will not!" retorted the girl, deliberately tempting pete into one of his rages. if he became angry and yelled at her all the better! "do what i tell ye!" exclaimed the man. "ain't ye l'arned that i mean what i say yet?" "i must move my limbs. they're cramped and co-o-old!" wailed frances, and she put a deal of energy into her cry. pete began to get stiffly to his feet. "do like i tell ye, and lie down--or i'll knock ye down!" he threatened. at that the girl risked uttering a cry and shrank back with a semblance of fear. aye, there was more than a semblance of fear in the attitude, for she believed he would strike her. she had shrieked, however, at the top of her voice. "shut your mouth, ye crazy thing!" exclaimed the man, and he leaped toward her. frances threw herself back upon the ground. she heard the clatter of hoofbeats approaching. they could be mistaken for no other sound. "daddy! daddy! help! help!" her voice was piercing. the cry for her father was involuntary, for she believed him too ill to leave the ranch-house. but the answering shout that came down the wind was unmistakable. "daddy! daddy!" frances cried again, eagerly, loudly. pete was about to strike her; but he darted back and stood erect. the horses were plunging madly down the hillside through the brush. the party of rescue was already upon the camp. the scoundrelly pete leaped away to reach his own horse. he must have found the creature quickly in the darkness; for before the men from the bar-t pulled in their horses before the smouldering campfire, frances heard the rush of pete's old pony as it dashed away down the stream. "daddy!" cried frances for a third time. "we're here--pratt and i. look out for pratt; he's hurt. i'm all right." "somebody throw some brush on that fire!" commanded the old ranchman. "let's see what's been doing here." "sam, take a couple of the boys and go after that fellow. you can follow that horse by sound." he climbed stiffly out of his own saddle, and when the firelight flashed up revealing the little glade to better purpose, it was captain dan rugley who lifted frances to her feet and cut her bonds. chapter xxvi frances in softer mood it was the next day but one and the _hacienda_ and compound lay bathed in the hot sun of noon-day. captain dan rugley was leaning back in his usual hard chair and in his usual attitude on the veranda, fairly soaking up the rays of the orb of day. "beats all the medicine for rheumatism in the doctor's shop!" he was wont to declare. since his night ride to rescue his daughter he had become more like his old self than he had been for weeks. the excitement seemed to have chased away the last twinges of pain for the time being, and he was without fever. now he was watching a swift pony-rider coming his way along the trail and listening to the patter of light footsteps coming down the broad stairway behind him. "here comes sam, frances," the ranchman said, in a low voice. "i reckon he'll have some news." the girl came to the door. she had discarded her riding habit and was dressed in a soft, clinging house gown, cut low at the throat and giving her arms freedom to the elbow. she wore pretty stockings and pretty slippers on her feet. instead of a quirt she carried a fan in her hand and there was a handkerchief tucked into her belt. the chrysalis of the cowgirl had burst and this butterfly had emerged. of late it was not often that frances had "dolled up," as the old captain called it. now he said, enthusiastically: "my! you do look sweet! what's all the dolling up for? me? the chinks? or maybe that boy upstairs, eh?" "for myself," said frances, quietly. "pratt is too sick to notice much what i wear, i guess. but i find that i have been paying too little attention to dress." "huh!" snorted the old ranchman. "it is a woman's duty to make herself as beautiful and attractive as possible," said frances, with a bright smile. "you know, i read that in a woman's paper." "you surely did!" agreed the ranchman, and then turned to meet silent sam as that individual drew up to the step. "what's the good word, sam?" inquired the captain. "got that ratty. he's in the jail at jackleg. like you said, i never told nobody but the sheriff what 'twas for you wanted him." "that's right," said the captain, gravely. "if the boys understood he was mixed up with this kidnapping business, i don't know what they would do." "right, captain," said the foreman. "so the sheriff took him for being all lit up. ratty won't sleep it off before to-morrow." "and if they could catch that pete what's-his-name by then----" "ain't found hide nor hair of him," answered silent sam. "where do you reckon he went to, sam?" "he didn't go with his horse, captain. he fooled us." "what?" "that's so. horse was found yisterday evenin' down beyand peckham's--scurcely breathed. he'd run fur, but he didn't have nobody on his back." "i see!" ejaculated the ranchman, smiting one doubled fist upon the other palm. "that pete has fooled us from the start." "sure did," admitted sam. "he never mounted his horse at all?" cried frances, deeply interested. "that's it," said her father. "we ought to have known that at the time. no horse could have gone smashing through the brush the way that one did without knocking his rider's head off." "sure," agreed sam again. "and he was right there near the place he held pratt and me captive all the time we were making a stretcher for poor pratt," said frances. "or hiking up stream," said the foreman, preparing to ride down to the corral. "lucky the boy broke the fellow's gun as he did," said captain rugley, thoughtfully, turning to his daughter. "otherwise some of us might have been popped off from the bushes." "oh, daddy!" "when a man's as mean as that scalawag," said her father, philosophically, "there's no knowing to what lengths he will go. i shan't feel that you are safe on the ranges until he's found and jailed." "and i shan't feel that we're out of trouble until your friend mr. lonergan comes here and you divide and get rid of that silly old treasure," declared frances, and she pouted a little. "what's that, frances?" gasped the old captain. "all those jewels and stuff? why, don't you care anything for them?" "i care more for my peace of mind," she said, decidedly. "and see what it's brought poor pratt to." "well," said her father, subsiding. "the boy did git the dirty end of the stick, for a fact. i'm sorry he was hurt----" "and you are sorry you thought so ill of him, too, daddy--you know you are," whispered frances, one arm stealing over the captain's shoulder. "well----" "now, ''fessup!'" she laughed, softly. "he's a good boy to risk himself for me." "i wouldn't have thought much of him if he hadn't," said the old ranchman, stubbornly. "what could you really expect when you consider that he has lived all his life in a city----" "and works in a bank," finished the captain, with a sly grin. "but i reckon i have got to take off my hat to him. he's a hero." "he is a good boy," frances said, cheerfully. "and i hope that he will recover all right, as the doctor says he will." "i don't know how fast he'll mend," chuckled the captain. "if i were he, and getting the attention he is----" "from whom?" demanded frances, turning on him sharply. "from ming, of course," responded her father, soberly, but with his eyes a-twinkle. and then frances fled upstairs again, her cheeks burning as she heard the old ranchman's mellow laughter. pratt lay on his bed with his head swathed in bandages and his shoulder in a brace. he had suffered a dislocation as well as the bruises and the cut in his head. from the time he had been struck from behind by the man, pete, the young fellow had known nothing at all until he awoke to find himself stretched upon this bed in the bar-t ranch-house. the old captain, with ming's help, had disrobed pratt and put him to bed; but when the doctor came early in the morning, he put the patient in frances' hands. "what he needs is good nursing. don't leave him to the men," said the doctor. "your father says he's cured himself by getting out on horseback. if it didn't kill him, i admit it's aiding in his cure for him to be more active again. "but i depend upon you, my dear, to keep this patient as quiet as possible. i hate having my patients get away from me," added the physician with twinkling eye. "and this lad is mine for some time. he has sure been badly shaken up." he was afraid at first that there was concussion of the brain; but after a few hours the young bank clerk became lucid in his speech and the fever began to decrease. the doctor had not left the ranch until the evening before this day when frances stole up the stair again to peer into the room to see how her patient was. "oh, i'm awake!" cried pratt, cheerfully. "you don't expect me to sleep all the time, do you, frances?" "sleep is good for you," declared the girl of the ranges, with a sober smile. "the doctor says you are to keep very quiet." "goodness! i might as well be buried and so save my board," grumbled pratt. "when is he going to let me get up out of this?" "not for a long, long time yet," said frances, seriously. "what? why, i could get up now----" "with those shingles plastered to your shoulder?" asked the girl, smiling again, but somewhat roguishly. "oh--well--have those boards actually got to stay on?" "yes, indeed." "how long?" "till the doctor removes them, pratt. now, be a good boy." "i'll never be able to get out of bed," grumbled the patient, "if he keeps me here much longer, i'll be bedridden." "nonsense," said frances, with a very superior air. "you haven't been here two days yet." "and when is the doctor coming again?" went on pratt. "he said he'd come within the week," replied the girl, demurely. "good-night, nurse!" groaned pratt. "a whole week? why, i'll die in that time--positively." "you only think so," said frances, coolly. "you don't know how hard it is to lie here with nothing to do." "you don't appreciate your good fortune, i am afraid," returned the girl, more gravely. "you might have been much more seriously hurt----" "you don't suppose i care about being hurt, do you?" he cried, with some excitement. "i'd go through it a dozen times to the same end, frances----" "now, stop!" she said, commandingly, and raising an admonitory finger. "if you show any excitement i will go out of the room and leave ming----" "don't!" groaned pratt. "i shall certainly leave him in charge of you. you won't talk to him." "no. if he doesn't sit silent like a yellow graven image, he scatters 'l's' all about the room until i want to get out of bed and sweep 'em up," declared pratt. the ranchman's daughter smiled at him, but shook her head. "now! no more talking. i'll sit here and promise not to scatter any of the alphabet broadcast; but you must keep still." "that's mighty hard," muttered the patient. "sit over by the window. there! right in the sun. i like to see your hair when the sun burnishes it." frances promptly removed her seat to the shady side of the room. "oh, please!" begged pratt. "i'm sick, you know. you really ought to humor me." "and you really ought not to jolly me!" laughed the range girl. "i think you are a tease, pratt." "honest! i mean it." she looked at him with a roguish smile. "what did you say to miss latrop about her hair? isn't it a lovely blond?" "oh! i never looked at it twice. molasses color," declared pratt. "i don't like such light hair." "now, be still. mrs. edwards sent over word they are coming to see you to-morrow. if you are feverish i shan't let them in." "my goodness!" gasped pratt. "not all of them coming, i hope?" "mrs. edwards and miss latrop, anyway," said frances, seriously. "now keep still." pratt digested this for a while; then he held up one arm and waved it. "well? what is it?" asked the stern nurse. "please, teacher!" "well?" "may i say one thing?" "just one. then silence for an hour." "if that girl from boston comes i'm going to have a fever--understand? i don't want her up here. now, that's all there is about it." "hush, small boy! you don't know what is good for you. you must leave it to the doctor and me," said frances, but she kept her head turned from the bed so that pratt would not see her eyes. by and by pratt waved his hand again like a pupil in school and even snapped his fingers to attract her attention. "please, teacher!" he begged when she looked up from the pad on her knee over which her pencil had been traveling so rapidly. "i'm nurse, not teacher," frances said, firmly. "nurse, then. is that the plan for the pageant you are writing?" "a part of it," she admitted. "some ideas that came to me the time i went to amarillo." "with the make-believe treasure chest?" "yes." "read it to me, will you, miss nurse?" he asked. "if you will keep still. i never did see such a chatterbox!" exclaimed frances, in vexation. "i'll be just as still as still!" he promised. "maybe it will put me to sleep." "mercy! i hope it isn't as dull as all that," she said, and began to read the pages she had written. chapter xxvii a dinner dance in prospect the girl from boston did not come over to see pratt that very next day; but soon she, as well as the remainder of the young people who had been the guests of mr. bill edwards and his hospitable wife, were stopping at the bar-t daily and inquiring for pratt; and as soon as he could be helped downstairs and out upon the veranda, he held a general reception all day long. in the afternoon when the edwards crowd was over, the old _hacienda_ took on a liveliness of aspect that it had never known before. the veranda was gay with bright frocks and the air resounded with laughter. the boys gathered around pratt and plans for future hunts and other junkets were made--for the young bank clerk was rapidly recovering. the girls meanwhile made much of the old captain--all but sue latrop. but she did not count for as much as she had at the beginning of her visit at the edwards ranch. the other young folk had begun to find her out. the punchers who were off duty were attracted to this gay party on the porch, as naturally as flies gravitate to molasses. the amarillo girls--and, of course, mrs. bill edwards--saw nothing out of the way in captain rugley's hands lounging up to the _hacienda_ to talk. most of them were young fellows of neighboring families, and quite as well known as were the visitors themselves. sue latrop's amazement at this familiarity only made the other girls laugh. unless she would be left alone on the veranda with pratt (which she considered very bad form) she was obliged one afternoon to go down to the corral with the crowd to see a bunch of ponies fresh from the range. some of the half-wild ponies rolled their eyes, snorted, and galloped to the far side of the corral the instant the visitors appeared. "get your reserved seats, gals!" cried fred purchase, preparing to open the gate. "roost all along the rail up there and watch the fun. i bet fatty obendorf falls off and breaks a suspender-button--fust throw out of the box!" "oh my! you don't mean for us to climb up _there_?" gasped sue, as one or two of her friends tucked up their skirts and started to mount the fence. "sure. reserved seats at the top," laughed mrs. edwards, likewise mounting the barrier. "why! i am afraid i could never do it," murmured the boston girl. "you'll miss a lot of fun, then," declared one of the amarillo girls, callously. they were all getting a little tired of sue latrop and her pose. finding herself the only one on the ground, sue scrambled up very clumsily and just in time to see fatty rope the first pony out of the bunch that was now racing around and around the corral. this was a black and white rascal with a high head and rolling eye, that looked as though he had never been bridled in his life. but it was only that he had been some months on the range, and freedom had gone to his head. fatty lay back on the lariat and dug his high heels into the sod. when the pony felt the noose he leaped into it, it tightened around his neck, and the creature came to the ground, kicking and squealing. "by hicketty!" yelled purchase. "ain't lil' old fatty good for suthin'? yuh could suah use him tuh tie a steamboat tuh--what!" for all the fun the other punchers made of fatty obendorf, he had his selection out of the herd blindfolded, bridled, and saddled, before any other pony was noosed. "good for you, fatty!" cried frances, who was perched on the corral fence with the other girls. "and that's a good horse, too; only you want to 'ware heels. i remember that he's a kicker." "oh! fatty don't keer if his fust name's kickapoo," jeered fred. the black and white pony gave obendorf all the work he wanted for some minutes, however, and afforded the spectators much excitement. he wasn't a bucking bronco, but he showed plainly his dislike for human management. spur and bit and quirt, however, was a combination that the pony was quickly forced to give in to. fred himself straddled a speckled, ugly-looking animal, and put it through its paces in short order. it was a spectacular exhibition; but some of the other punchers laughed uproariously. "what's the matter with you fellers, anyway?" demanded fred, complainingly. "ain't you a-gwine to accord me no praise? don't i look as purty on hawseback as that fat chunk does?" he added, referring to obendorf. "you know very well," called frances, from the seat of judgment, "that i drove that speckled pony to my little jumpcart two years ago. that's chippy--and he's almost as big a bluff, fred, as you are! he looks savage enough to eat you up, and is really as tame as tame can be." "hi, teddie! she's got yuh throwed, tied, an' branded, all right!" shouted one of the other punchers. the girls on the fence welcomed each feat of horsemanship with great applause. some of the ponies "acted up," as tom gallup called it, "to the queen's taste." "whatever that may mean, tom," mrs. edwards said, dryly. "why don't you try your 'prentice hand on that buckskin? he's dodged the lariat a dozen times." "why, that bucky is a regular rocking-horse, i bet," declared tom, who, for a city boy, was a pretty good rider. "get down and ride him, tommy," urged sue. "can't you ride as well as these country boys?" "i never said i could," retorted tom, doubtfully. "you girls are guying the punchers, too. why don't one o' you get down and show 'em what you can do?" "frances can beat all you boys riding, tommy," mrs. edwards cried. "bet she couldn't even get aboard of that bucky," young gallup instantly responded. "you're not going to take a dare like that, are you, frances?" demanded mrs. edwards. sue became disdainful the moment frances came into the argument. she had nothing further to say. "i believe the boys are all holding back on that little buckskin," said frances, laughing. "step right this way, ma'am, step right this way," urged fred purchase, bowing low and offering his lariat. "here's my rope and i'll lend ye anything else ye may need if ye wanter try that bucky. he's some bronco, believe me!" frances got down off the fence. "oh! don't you try it, frances!" cried one nervous girl. "that pony looks wicked!" "let her break her neck, if she wants to make a fool of herself!" snapped sue, _sotto voce_. nobody heard her. all were watching too closely the range girl approach the buckskin pony. she had accepted fred's lariat and the coil of it began to whirl about her head. "there it goes!" cried tom gallup. the buckskin started on a long, swinging lope; but it could not get out from under the coil of the lariat. the noose fell and the plunging pony went head and forefeet into it. frances leaped with both feet upon the rope, just as it snapped taut. bucky went on his head, kicking all four feet in the air. "got him! got him!" shrieked the excited tom, and the girls cheered likewise. and then the lariat snapped in two! muddied and scratched, the buckskin scrambled to his feet, his eyes blazing, nostrils distended, and as wild a horse as ever came off the range. "look out, miss frances!" yelled mack hinkman, who had just come upon the scene. "that thar buckskin hawse is a bad actor." "oh! the dear girl! whatever did possess me to urge her on?" cried mrs. edwards. "boys! save her!" but it was all over before any of the punchers, or the visitors on the fence, could go to frances' rescue. the buckskin rose on his hind legs and struck at the girl desperately. she had gathered in the slack of the broken lariat and she swung it sharply across the pony's face, leaping sideways to avoid him. the pony whirled and struck again, whistling shrilly, the foam flying from his jaws. once more frances avoided him. tom gallup was yelling like a wild boy on the fence. sue could scarcely catch her breath for fear. she would not have admitted it for the world; but the courage of the range girl amazed her. her own rescue from the charge of the little black bullock by frances had not impressed sue latrop as did this battle with the pony in the arena of the horse corral. fred purchase ran with another lariat. frances seized it, flung the noose over the upraised head of the pony, took a swift turn around a shed post, and brought the "bad actor" up short. she insisted, too, on cinching on the saddle and putting the bit in the pony's mouth. then she mounted him and as he tore around the corral, the girl sitting as though she were a part of the creature, the boys and girls joined the punchers in cheering her. it was not in this way, however, that the girl visitors to the ranges learned the true worth of frances rugley. they were, after all, only "porch acquaintances." once only had the party been invited into the inner court for luncheon, and their brief calls to the ranch-house offered little opportunity for the girls to really see frances' home. they had met her so much in riding costume that, like pratt sanderson, they were amazed when she appeared in a pretty house dress. and they were really a bit awed by her, for although the range girl was of a naturally cheerful disposition, she possessed, too, more than her share of dignity. "you don't flit about like these other girls, frances," said the old ranchman, who was very observant. "you grow to look and seem more like your mother every day. but the goodness knows i don't want you to grow into a woman ahead of your time." "i reckon i won't do that, dad," she said, laughing at him fondly. "i don't know. i reckon you've had too much responsibility on those shoulders of yours. you left school too young, too. that's what these other girls say. why, that boston girl is going to school now! "but, shucks! she wouldn't know enough to hurt her if she attended school from now till the end of time!" frances laughed again. "that is pretty harsh, father. now, i think i have had quite schooling enough to get along. i don't need the higher branches of education to help you run this ranch. do i?" "by mighty!" exploded the captain. "i don't know whether i have been doing right by you or not. i've been talking to mrs. bill edwards about it. i loved you so, frances, that i hated to have you out of my sight. but----" "now, now!" cried the girl. "let's have no more of that. you and i have only each other, and i couldn't bear to be away from you long enough to go to a boarding school." "yes--i know," went on captain rugley. "but there are ways of getting around _that_. we'll see." one thing he was determined on was captain dan rugley. he proposed to have "some doings" at the ranch-house before pratt was well enough to be discharged from "st. frances' hospital," as he called the _hacienda_. the old ranchman worked up the idea with mrs. edwards before frances knew anything about it. "they call it a 'dinner dance,'" he confided to frances at length, when the main plan was already made. "at least that's what mrs. edwards says." "a 'dinner dance'?" repeated his daughter, not sure for the moment that she wished to have so much confusion in the house when there was so much to do. "yes! now, it isn't one of those dances you read about out east, where folks drink a cup of tea, and then get up and dance around, and then take a sandwich and the orchestra strikes up another tune," chuckled captain rugley. "no, it isn't like that. i couldn't stand any such doings. i'd never know when i'd had enough to eat; every dance would shake down the courses so that my stomach would be packed as hard as a cement sidewalk." "oh, daddy!" said frances, half laughing at him. "no. this dinner dance idea is all right," declared the ranchman. "we give a dinner to the whole crowd--all the girls and boys that have been coming over here for the past two or three weeks." "it will make fifteen at table," said the practical frances, thinking hard of the resources of the household. "that's all right. i'll get in the reposa boys to help san soo and ming." "victorino, too?" asked his daughter, curiously. "yes," declared the captain, stoutly. "he's sorry he mixed up with ratty m'gill. vic isn't a bad boy. well, that's help enough, and san soo can outdo himself on his dinner." "that part of it will be all right--and the service, too, for josé and victorino are handy boys," admitted frances. "we'll have out the best tableware we own. that silver stuff that came from don morales will knock their eyes out----" "oh, daddy!" cried frances, going off into a gale of laughter. "you picked up that expression from tom gallup." "that's the slangy boy--yes," admitted the old ranchman, with a broad smile. "but some of his slang just hits things off right. some of those girls think you're 'country,' i know. we'll show them!" frances sighed. she knew it meant that she must dress the part of a barbarian princess to please her father. but she made no objection. if she tried to show him that the jewels and ornaments were not fit for her to wear, he would be hurt. "yes!" exclaimed captain rugley, evidently much pleased with the idea of a social time that he had evolved with mrs. edwards' help, "we'll have as nice a dinner as san soo can make. after dinner we'll have dancing, i'll get the string band from jackleg. jackleg's getting to be quite a social centre, mrs. edwards says." frances laughed again. "i expect," she said, "that mrs. edwards is eager to have a dance, and the jackleg string band _is_ a whole lot better than bob jones' accordion and perry's old fiddle." "oh, well! of course, an accordion and fiddle are all right for a cowboy dance, but this is going to be the real thing!" declared her father. "aren't you going to invite the boys as usual?" asked frances, quickly. "not to the dinner!" gasped her father. "but that's all right. to the dance, afterward. some of them are mighty good dancers, and there aren't boys enough in mrs. edwards' crowd to go round. it's quite the thing at a dinner dance, she says, to invite extra people to come in after the dinner is over." "all right," said frances, suppressing another sigh. "and i'm going to send off for half a carload of potted palms, and other plants. we'll decorate like the town hall. you'll see!" exclaimed the old ranchman, as eager as a boy about it all. frances hadn't the heart to make any objection, but she was afraid that the affair would be a disappointment to him. she did not think the boys from the ranges, and sue latrop and her girl friends, would mix well. but the captain went ahead with his preparations with his usual energy. he had mrs. edwards as chief adviser. but frances overlooked the plans in the household in her usually capable way. the big drawing-room was thoroughly cleaned and the floor waxed. the scratches made by ratty m'gill's spurs were eliminated. when the potted plants came--a four-mule wagon-load--frances arranged them about the dancing floor and dining-room. she found her father practising his steps in the hall one morning before breakfast. "goodness, daddy," she cried. "do be careful of your weak leg." "don't you worry about me," he chuckled. "i'm going to give old mr. rheumatism a black eye this time. i'm going to 'shake a leg' at this dance if it's the last act of my life." "don't be too reckless," she told him, with a worried little frown on her brow. "i want you to be able to ride to jackleg to see the pageant. and that comes the very day but one after our dance." "i'll be all right," he assured her. "i have a dance promised from mrs. edwards and each of the girls but that boston one, right now. and i wouldn't miss your show in jackleg, frances, for a penny! "i only wish lon were here to enjoy it. i got a letter from that minister saying that lon and he will reach here next week. if they'd come early in the week they'd get here in time for the pageant, anyway." with so much bustle and preparation about the bar-t ranch-house, there was not much likelihood of anybody being reckless enough to attempt stealing the old spanish chest, or its contents. these days the captain kept the room in which the chest of treasure lay double-locked, and at night slept in the room himself. from sunset to sunrise a relay of cowboys rode around the huge house and compound, and although pete marin, as ratty m'gill's friend from mississippi was called, was still at large, there was no fear that he, or anybody else, would get into the _hacienda_ at night. frances, with all her duties, had less time to devote to pratt's entertainment now. in truth, as soon as he was able to get downstairs by himself he complained that he lost his nurse. when the crowd came over from the edwards ranch, and sat around on the porch, frances was not always with them. one afternoon--the very day before the dinner and dance, in fact--she came through one of the long, open windows upon the veranda, right behind a group of three of the girls. it was by chance she heard one of them say: "well, i don't care, sue, i think she is real nice. you are awfully critical." "i can't bear dowdy people," drawled sue latrop. "i know she'll be a sight at that dinner to-morrow night. my goodness! if for nothing else i'd come to see how she looks in her 'best bib and tucker' and how that queer old man acts when he is what he calls 'all dolled up.'" "sh!" warned the third girl. "somebody will hear you." "pooh! if they do?" returned sue latrop, carelessly. "if i were you," said the other girl, with warmth, "i wouldn't accept an invitation to dine with people whom i expected to make fun of." "silly!" laughed the girl from boston. "i've got to find enjoyment somewhere--and there's little enough of it in this panhandle. i'll be glad when father writes saying that i can come home once again." "how about your going to this dance, sue?" chuckled one of the girls, suddenly. "i thought your doctor had forbidden dancing for this summer?" "i think i see myself dancing with these cowboys that they are going to invite," scoffed sue. "and pratt can't dance yet. there isn't anybody worth dancing with in our crowd now." "hasn't the captain asked you for a dance?" queried her friend, roguishly. "i should say not!" gasped sue. "fancy!" "you must not act as though his invitation insulted you, sue latrop," said one of the other girls, rather tartly. "you might as well understand, first as last, that we are all fond of captain rugley. besides, he's a very influential man and one of the wealthiest in this part of the panhandle." "_nouveau-riche_," sniffed miss sue, with a toss of her head. "if that means newly rich, why, he's not!" exclaimed the other girl, with continued warmth. "it's true, he didn't make his money baking beans, or bean-pots; nor by drying and selling pollock and calling it 'codfish.' i believe one has to make his money in some such way to break into boston society?" "something like that," responded sue, calmly. "well, the old captain is very, very wealthy," went on his champion. "if you'd ever been much inside this big house, you'd see it is so. and they say he has a treasure chest containing jewels of fabulous value." "a treasure chest!" ejaculated the boston girl. "yes, ma'am!" "now you are trying to fool me," declared sue latrop. "you wait! i expect frances will wear at the dinner some of those wonderful old jewels the captain digs out of his chest once in a while. i've heard they are really amazing---- "jewels to deck out the cattle queen!" interrupted sue, tauntingly. "nose ring and anklets included, i s'pose?" "now, sue! how can you be so mean?" cried one of the other girls. "pshaw! i suppose she'll be a wondrous sight in her 'best bib and tucker.' loaded down with silver ornaments, like a mexican belle at a fair, or an indian squaw at a poodle-dog feast. she will undoubtedly throw all us girls in the shade," and sue burst into a gale of laughter. "i declare! you're cruel, sue!" cried one of the girls from amarillo. "i'd like to know how you make that out, miss?" demanded the girl from boston. "frances has never done you a bit of harm. why! you are accepting her hospitality this very moment. and yet, you haven't a good word to say for her." "i don't see that i am called upon to give her a good word," sneered miss latrop. "she is a rough, rude, quite impossible person. i fail to see wherein she deserves any consideration at my hands. i declare! to hear you girls, one would think this cowgirl was of some importance." frances came quietly away from the window, postponing her dusting in that quarter until later. but she was tempted--very sorely tempted indeed. sue expected her to look like a cross between an indian squaw and a mexican belle at dinner--and frances was sorely tempted to fulfil the boston girl's idea of what a "cattle queen" should look like at a society function! chapter xxviii the bursting of the chrysalis frances durham rugley was growing up. at least, she felt a great many years older now than she did that day so short a time before when, riding along the trail, she had heard pratt and the mountain lion fighting in brother's coulie. she looked at her reflection in the long dressing-mirror in her own room, and could not see that she had added to her stature in this time "one jot or tittle." but inside she felt worlds older. it was the afternoon of the dinner-party day. she had come upstairs to make ready to receive her guests. the dinner was for seven and frances had given herself plenty of time to dress. pratt was off on his pony, "getting the stiffness out of himself," he declared. the old captain was just as busy as a bee, and just as fussy as a clucking hen, about the last preparations for the party. and meanwhile frances was undecided. she almost wished she might run away from the ordeal before her. to face all these people whom, after all, she knew so slightly, and play hostess at her father's table, and be criticised by them all, was an ordeal hard for the range girl to face. she was not particularly shy; but she shrank from unkind remarks, and she was sure of having at least one critic-extraordinary at the table--sue latrop. this was really frances' "coming out party" but she didn't want to "come out" at all! "oh! i wish they had never come here. i wish daddy had not asked them to this dinner. dear me!" groaned the girl of the ranges, "i almost wish i had never met pratt at all." for, looking into the future, she saw a long vista of range work and quiet living, with merely the minor incidents of ranch life to break the monotony. this "dip" into society would not even leave a pleasant remembrance, she was afraid. and it might be years before she would be called upon to play hostess in such a way as this again. she sighed and unbraided her hair. at that moment there sounded a knock upon her door. she ran to open it to her father. "here you are, frances," said the old ranchman, jovially. "never mind if lon hasn't got here yet; i've gone deeper into the treasure chest. i want you to be all dolled up to-night." his hands were fairly ablaze--or looked to be. he had his great palms cupped, and that cup was full of gems in all sorts of ancient settings--shooting sparks of all colors in the dimly lighted room. "there's a handful of stuff to make you pretty," he said, proudly. the ancient belt dangled over his arm. he placed all the things on her dressing-table, and stood off to admire their brilliancy. frances swallowed a lump in her throat. how could she disappoint him! how could she try to tell him how unsuitable these gems were for a young girl in her teens! he would be heart-broken if she did not wear them. "you are a dear, daddy!" she murmured, and kissed him. "now run away and let me dress." he tiptoed out, all a-smile. his wife's dressing-room had been a "holy of holies" to this simple-minded old man, and frances reminded him every day, more and more strongly, of the woman whom he had worshiped for a few happy years. frances did not hasten with her preparations, however. she sat down and spread the gewgaws out before her on the dresser. the belt, spanish earrings of fabulous value and length, rings that almost blinded her when she held the stones in the sunlight, a great oval brooch, bracelets, and a necklace of matched stones that made her heart beat almost to suffocation when she tried it on her brown throat. she had it in her power to "knock their eyes out," as daddy (and tom gallup) had expressed it. she could bedeck herself like a queen. she knew that sue latrop worshiped the tangible signs of wealth, as she understood them. cattle, and range lands, and horses, and a great, rambling house like this at the bar-t, impressed the girl from boston very little. but jewels would appeal to her empty head as nothing else could. frances knew this very well. she knew that she could overawe the boston girl with a display of these gems. and she would please her father, too, in loading her fingers and ears and neck and arms with the brilliants. and then, before she got any farther in her dressing, or had decided in her troubled mind what really to do, there came another, and lighter, tapping on her door. "who's there?" asked frances. "it's only me, frances," said pratt. "what do you want?" she asked, calmly, rising and approaching the door. "got something for you--if you want them," the young man said, in a low voice. "what is it?" she queried. "open the door and see," and he laughed a little nervously. frances drew her gown closer about her throat, and turned the knob. instantly a great bunch of fragrant little blossoms--the wild-flowers so hard to find on the plains and in the foothills--were thrust into her hands. "oh, _pratt!_" shrieked the girl in delight. she clasped the blossoms to her bosom; she buried her face in them. pratt watched her with smiling lips, and wonderingly. how pretty and girlish she was! the grown-up air that responsibilities had lent her fell away like a cloak. she was just a simple, enthusiastic, delighted girl, after all! "like them?" asked the young man, laconically. "i _love_ them!" frances declared. pratt was thinking how wonderful it was that a girl could seize a big bunch of posies like that, and hug them, and press them to her face, and still not crush the fragile things. "why," he thought, "i've had to handle them like eggs all the way here, to keep from spoiling them beyond repair. aren't girls wonders?" you see, pratt sanderson was beginning to be interested in the mysteries of the opposite sex. "run away now, like a good boy," she said to him, as she had to her father, and closed the door once more. she ran to her bathroom and filled two vases with water and put the flower stems in, that they might drink and keep the blossoms fresh. then, with a lighter air and tread, she went about her dressing for the party. she put up her hair, deftly copying the fashion that sue latrop--that mirror of eastern fashion--affected. and the new mode became frances vastly. her new dress--the one she had had made for the pageant--had already come home from the city dressmaker who had her measurements. she spread it upon the bed and got her skirts and other linen. half an hour later she was out of her bath and ready for the dress itself. it went on and fitted perfectly. "i am sure anybody must admire this," she told herself. she was sure that none of the girls at the dinner and dance would be more fitly dressed than herself--if she stopped right here! but now she returned to the dresser and looked at the blazing gems from the old spanish chest. if only daddy did not want her to wear them! a ring, one bracelet, possibly the brooch. she might wear those without shocking good taste. all were beautiful; but the heavy settings, the great belt of gold and emeralds, the necklace of sparkling brilliants--all, all were too rich and too startling for a girl of her age, and well frances knew it. with sinking heart and trembling fingers she adorned herself with the heaviest weight of trouble she had ever borne. a little later she descended the stairs, slowly, regally, bearing her head erect, and looking like a little tragedy queen as she appeared in the soft evening glow at the foot of the stairs. pratt's gasp of wonder and amazement made the old captain turn to look. above her brow was a crescent of sparkling stones. the long, graceful earrings lay lovingly upon the bared, velvet shoulders of the girl. the bracelets clasped the firm flesh of her arms warmly. the collar of gems sparkled at her throat. the brooch blazed upon her bosom. and around her slender waist was the great belt of gold. she was a wonderful sight! pratt was dazzled--amazed. the old ranchman poked him in the ribs. "what do you think of _that_?" he demanded. "went right down to the bottom of the chest to get all that stuff. isn't she the whole show?" and frances had hard work to keep back the tears. she knew that was exactly what she was--a show. she could see the change slowly grow in pratt's features. his wonder shifted to disapproval. after the first shock he realized that the exhibition of the gems on such an occasion as this was in bad taste. why! she was like a jeweler's window! the gems were wonderfully beautiful, it was true. but they would better be on velvet cushions and behind glass to be properly appreciated. "do you like me, daddy?" she asked, softly. "my mercy, frances! i scarcely know you," he admitted. "you certainly make a great show." "are you satisfied?" she asked again. "i--i'd ought to be," he breathed, solemnly. "you--you're a beauty! isn't she, pratt?" "save my blushes," frances begged, but not lightly. "if i suit you exactly, daddy, i shall appear at dinner this way." "sure! show them to our guests. there's not another woman in the panhandle can make such a show." frances, with a sharp pain at her heart, thought this was probably true. "wait, daddy," she said. "let me run back and make one little change. you wait there in the cool reception-room, and see how i look next time." she could no longer bear the expression of pratt's eyes. turning, she gathered up her skirts and scuttled back to her room. her cheeks were afire. her lips trembled. she had to fight back the tears. one by one she removed the gaudy ornaments. she left the crescent in her wavy brown hair and the old-fashioned brooch at her breast. everything else she stripped off and flung into a drawer, and locked it. these two pieces of jewelry might be heirlooms that any young girl could wear with taste at her "coming out" party. she ran to the vases and took a great bunch of pratt's flowers which she carried in her gloved hand when she went down for the second time to show herself to her father. this time she tripped lightly. her cheeks were becomingly flushed. her bare throat, brown and firm, rose from the soft laces of her dress in its unadorned beauty. the very dress she wore seemed more simple and girlish--but a thousand times more fitting for her wearing. "daddy!" she burst into the dimly lighted room. he wheeled in his chair, removed the pipe from his mouth, and stared at her again. this time there was a new light in his eyes, as there was in hers. he stood up and something caught him by the throat--or seemed to--and he swallowed hard. "how do you like me now?" she whispered, stretching her arms out to him. "my--my little girl!" murmured the old captain, and his voice broke. "then--then you are not grown up, after all?" "nor do i want to be, for ever and ever so long yet, daddy!" she cried, and ran to enfold him in her warm embrace. "humph!" said the old captain, confidentially. "i was half afraid of that young person who was just down here, frances. i can kiss you now without mussing you all up, eh?" pratt had stolen out of the room through one of the windows to the veranda. his heart was swelling and salt tears stung his eyes. like the old captain, the youth had felt some awe of the richly-bedecked young girl who had displayed to such advantage the stunning and wonderful old jewelry that had once adorned spanish señoras or aztec princesses. despite the fact that he disapproved of such a barbarous display, pratt had been impressed. he had an inkling, too, as to sue latrop's attitude toward the range girl and believed that some unkind expression of the boston girl's feelings had tempted frances to show herself in barbaric guise at the dinner. pratt could not have blamed the western girl if she had "knocked their eyes out," to use tom gallup's expression, with an exhibition of the gorgeous jewels captain rugley had got out of the treasure chest. without much doubt the old ranchman would have been very proud of his daughter's beauty, set off by the glitter of the wonderful old gems. it was his nature to boast of his possessions, although his pride in them was innocent enough. his wealth would never in this wide world make captain dan rugley either purse-proud or arrogant! the old man's sweetness of temper, kindliness of manner, and open-handedness had been inherited by frances. she was a true daughter of her father. but she was her mother's child, too. the well-bred, quiet, tactful lady whom the old border fighter had married had left her mark upon the range girl. frances possessed natural refinement and good taste. it was that which had caused her to go to her chamber after the display of the jewels, and return for a second "review." the appearance of the simply-dressed girl who had come downstairs the second time had so impressed pratt sanderson that he wished to get off here on the porch by himself for a minute or two. the first load of visitors was just driving up to the gate of the compound. he watched the girls from amarillo, and sue, and all the others descend, shake out their ruffles, and run up the steps. "my!" sighed pratt sanderson in his soul. "frances has got them all beat in every little way. that's as sure as sure!" chapter xxix "the panhandle--past and present" jackleg was in holiday attire. it was a raw western settlement, it was true; but there was more business ambition and public spirit in the place than in half a dozen eastern towns of its population. the schoolhouse was a long, low structure, seating as many people as the ordinary town hall. it was situated upon a flat bit of prairie on the outskirts of the town. rather, the town had grown from the schoolhouse to the railroad station, on either side of a long, dusty street. railroads in the west do not go out of their way to touch immature settlements. the settlements have to stretch tentacles out to the place where the railroad company determines to build a station. this was so at jackleg, but it gave a long vista of main street from the heart of the town to its outlying suburbs. this street was now gay with flags and bunting, while there were many arches of colored electric lights to burn at night. almost before the plans for the pageant had been formed, the business men of jackleg had subscribed a liberal sum to defray expenses. as the plans for the entertainment progressed, and it was whispered about what a really fine thing it was to be, more subscriptions rolled in. but captain dan rugley had deposited a guarantee with the committee that he would pay any debts over the subscriptions received, therefore frances and her helpers had gone ahead along rather lavish lines. the end wall of the school building had been actually removed. the framework of the wall was rearranged by the carpenters like the proscenium arch of a stage, and a drop of canvas faced the spectators where the teacher's desk and platform had been. behind the schoolhouse was a vacant lot. this had been surrounded with a high board fence. the enclosure made the great stage for the spectacle which the jackleg people, the ranchers and farmers from around about, and the visitors from amarillo and other towns, had come to see. at the back of this enclosure, or stage, was a big sheet, or screen, on which moving pictures could be thrown. on a platform built outside, and over the open end of the building, were two moving picture machines with operators who had come on from california where some of the pictures had been made by a very famous film company. some of the pictures had been made in oklahoma, too, where one public-spirited american citizen has saved a herd of the almost extinct bison that once roamed our western plains in such numbers. at either side of the fenced yard behind the schoolhouse stood the actors in the spectacle--both human and dumb--with all the paraphernalia. a director had come on from the film company to stage the show; but the story as developed was strictly in accordance with frances rugley's "plans and specifications." "she's a wonder, that little girl," declared the professional. "she'd make her mark as a scenario writer--no doubt of that. i'd like to get her for our company; but they say her father is one of the richest men in the panhandle." pratt sanderson, to whom he happened to say this, nodded. "and one of the best," he assured the californian. "captain dan rugley is a noble old man, a gentleman of the old school, and one who has seen the west grow up and develop from the times of its swaddling clothes until now." "wonderful country," sighed the director. "look at its beginnings almost within the memory of the present generation, and now--why! there's half a hundred automobiles parked right outside this show to-night!" captain dan rugley secured a front seat. he was as excited as a boy over the event. he admitted to mrs. bill edwards that he hadn't been to a "regular show" a dozen times in his life. "and i expect this is going to knock the spots out of anything i ever saw--even the grand opera at chicago, when my wife and i went on our honeymoon." the young folks from the edwards ranch were scattered about the old captain. sue latrop had assumed her most critical attitude. but sue had been wonderfully silent about frances and her father since the dinner dance. that occasion had turned out to be something entirely different from what the girl from boston expected. in the first place, her young hostess was better and more tastefully--though simply--dressed than any of her guests. her adornments had been only a crescent in her hair and a brooch; but sue had been forced to admire the beauty and value of these. beside frances, the other girls seemed overdressed. the range girl had dignity enough to carry off her part perfectly. under the soft glow of the candles in the wonderful old candelabra, to which the captain referred as "a part of the loot of señor morales' _hacienda_," frances of the ranges sat as hostess, calmly beautiful, and governing the course of the dinner without the least hesitancy or confusion. she looked out for every guest's needs and directed the two mexican boys and ming in their service with all the calmness and judgment of a hostess who was long used to dinner parties. indeed, sue latrop was forced to admit in her secret soul that she had never seen any hostess manage better at an entertainment of this kind. at the upper end of the table, the old captain fairly beamed his hospitality and delight. he kept the boys in a gale of laughter, and the girls seemed all to enjoy themselves, too. critical miss latrop could throw no wet blanket upon the proceedings; to tell the truth, her sour face was quite overlooked by the other guests, and about all the attention she attracted was when mrs. bill edwards asked her if she had the toothache. "no, i have no toothache!" snapped sue. "i don't see why you should ask." "well, my dear," said the lady, soothingly, "something must surely be the matter. i never saw a person at dinner with so miserable a countenance. does something pinch you?" yes! it was sue's vanity pinching her, if the truth were known. her diatribes about frances and the old captain were not to be easily forgotten by the girl from boston. not so much was she smitten because of her unkindness; but she felt that she had played the fool! her friends from amarillo must be quietly laughing in secret over what sue had said regarding the uncouthness of the captain and the lack of breeding of the "cattle queen." sue felt that she had laid herself open to ridicule, and it did hurt sue latrop to think that her young friends were laughing at her. as for the dinner, that was a revelation to the girl from boston. the service, if a bit odd, was very good. and the silver, cut glass, napery, and all were as rich as sue had ever seen. after the dinner, and the other guests began to arrive, and the band struck up behind the palms in the inner court of the _hacienda_, sue continued to be surprised, though she failed to admit it to her friends. it was true the boys came up from the bunk-house without evening dress. but their black clothes were clean and well brushed, and those who wore the usual kerchief about their necks sported silk ones and carried their bullion-loaded sombreros in their hands. and they could all dance. sue refused the first few dances and tried to sit and look on in a superior way; but she presently failed to make good at this. when the kindly old ranchman considered her a wall-flower and came and begged her to "give him a whirl," sue had to break through her "icy reserve." although they did not dance the more modern dances, she found that captain rugley knew his steps and was as light on his feet as a man half his age. "i have given mr. rheumatism the time of his life to-night!" declared the owner of the bar-t brand. "that's what i told frances i would do." and captain rugley suffered no ill effects from the dance, as was shown by his appearance here at the jackleg schoolhouse to-night, when the canvas curtain slowly rolled up to reveal first the painted curtain behind it, on which was a picture of the meeting of cortez and the aztec princes soon after the conqueror's arrival in mexico. the school teacher read the prologue, and the spectators settled down to listen and to see. his explanation of what was to follow was both concise and well written, and the whisper went around: "and she's only a girl! yes, miss rugley wrote it all." sue sniffed. the teacher stepped back into the shadow and the painted curtain rolled up. there was a gasp of amazement when the audience saw what was revealed behind the painted sheet. one of the moving picture machines was already running, and on the great screen was thrown a representation of the staked plains of the panhandle as they were in the days before the white man ever saw them. far, far away appeared a band of painted and feather-bedecked indians, riding their mustangs, and sweeping down toward the immediate foreground of the picture with a vividness that was almost startling. into that foreground was drifting a herd of buffaloes. they started, the bulls giving the signal as the enemy approached, and the end of that section was the scampering of the great, hairy beasts, with the indians in full chase, brandishing their spears. immediately the scene changed and a train of a different kind broke into view in the dim perspective. the moving figures grew clearer as the moments passed. over a similar part of the staked plain came the exploring spaniards, with their cattle and caparisoned horses, their enslaved aztecs, their priests bearing the cross before. the moving procession came closer and closer until suddenly the whirring of the picture machine stopped, a great searchlight was turned upon the dusky yard between the screen and the open end of the school building, and with a gasp of amazement the audience saw there the double of the procession which had just been pictured on the moving picture screen. the actors in this part of the pageant crowded across the desert, were stopped by a stampede of indian ponies, and later made friends of the wondering savages. from this point on the history of the panhandle developed rapidly. the spectators saw the crossing of the plains by the early pioneers, both in picture and by actual people, a train of prairie schooners drawn by oxen, and a sham battle between the pioneers and the indians. the buffaloes disappeared from the picture and the wide-horned cattle took their place. a picture of a famous round-up was shown, and then a real herd of cattle was driven into the enclosure (they wore the bar-t brand) and several cowboys displayed their skill in roping and tying. the curtain was dropped, there was a swift change, and it arose again on a hastily-built frontier town--a town of one-story shacks with two-story false fronts, dance and gambling halls, saloons, a pitiful hotel, and all the crude and ugly building expressions of a raw civilization. "my mighty!" gasped captain dan rugley. "that's amarillo--amarillo as i first saw it, twenty-five years ago." people appeared in the street, and rough enough they were. a band of cowpunchers rode in, with yells and pistol shots. the rough life of that early day was displayed in some detail. and then, after a short intermission, pictures were displayed again of great droves of cattle on the trail, bound for the shipping points; following which came pictures of the new wheat fields--that march of the agricultural régime that is to make the panhandle one of the wealthiest sections of our great country. a great reaper was shown at work; likewise a traction gang-plow and a motor threshing machine. the progress in agriculture in the panhandle during the last half dozen years really excited some of the older residents. "did you ever see the beat of that?" demanded captain rugley. "i'm blest if i wouldn't like to own one of them. see those little dinguses turn up the ribbons of sod! i don't know but that frances can encourage me to be that kind of a farmer, after all! there's something big about riding a reaper like that one. and that threshing machine, too! did you see the straw blowing out of the pipes as though a cyclone was whirling it away? "by mighty! i wish lon could have been here to see this, i certainly do!" for the last time the curtain was lowered and then rose again. on the screen was pictured amarillo as it is to-day. first a panorama of the town and its outskirts. then "stills" of its principal buildings, and its principal citizens. then the main streets, full of business life, autos chugging, electric cars clanging back and forth, all of the bustle of a modern town that is growing rich and growing rapidly. the contrast between what the spectators had seen early in the spectacle and this final scene made them thoughtful. there had been plenty of applause all through the show; but when "good-night" was shown upon the screen, nobody moved, and pratt raised the shout for: "miss rugley!" she would not appear before the curtain save with the other members of the committee. but the cheering was for her and she had to run away to hide her blushes and her tears of happiness. "wake up, sue, it's over!" exclaimed one of the other girls, shaking the young lady from boston. sue latrop came to herself slowly. she had never realized the spirit of the west before, nor appreciated what it meant to have battled for and grown up with a frontier community. "is--is that all true?" she whispered to pratt. "is what all true?" he asked, rather blankly. "that there have been such improvements and changes here in so few years?" "you bet!" exclaimed pratt, with emphasis. "well--re'lly--it's quite wonderful," admitted sue, slowly. "i had no idea it was like that!" "so you think better of our 'crude civilization,' do you?" laughed one of her girl friends. "why--why, it is quite surprising," said sue, again, and still quite breathless. "and what do you think of our frances?" demanded mrs. bill edwards, proudly. "there's nobody in boston's back bay, even, who could do better than she?" and sue latrop was--for the time being, at least--completely silenced. chapter xxx a reunion there had been a delay on the railroad caused by a washout; therefore jonas lonergan and mr. decimus tooley, the chaplain of the bylittle soldiers' home, did not arrive at jackleg in time for the night of the spectacle of the pageant of the panhandle. but the party from the bar-t ranch, after the show was over and frances and the captain had both been congratulated, rode down to the station to meet the belated train to which was attached the special car captain rugley had engaged for the service of his old partner and the minister. with the bar-t party was pratt, although he proposed going back to the edwards ranch that night. he wanted to get away from the crowd of enthusiastic and excited young people who had accompanied mr. and mrs. bill edwards into town to the show. this train that was stopping to cast loose the special car at jackleg was the last to stop at that station at night. some few of the spectators of the pageant would board it for stations farther west; so there was a small group on the station platform. the young folk, pratt and frances, sighted the headlight up the track. they were walking up and down the platform, arm in arm and talking over the successful completion of the play, when they spied it. "it's coming, daddy!" cried frances, running into the station to warn the old captain. to tell the truth, he had been leaning back against the wall--in a hard and straight-backed chair, of course--taking a "cat-nap." but he awoke instantly and with all his senses alert. "all right, frances--all right, my girl," he said. "i'm with you. hurrah! my old partner will be as glad to see me as i am to see him." but when the train rolled in there was some delay. the special car had to be shunted onto the siding before captain rugley could go aboard. "come on, frances," urged her father, as eager as a boy. he ran across the tracks and frances dutifully followed him. pratt remained on the platform and looked rather wistfully after her. their conversation had been broken off abruptly. he had not had an opportunity to say all that he wanted to say and he was to go back to amarillo the next day. he saw the captain and his daughter climb the steps, helped by the negro porter. they disappeared within the lighted car. pratt still lingered. his pony was hitched up the street a block or so. there really was nothing further for him to wait for. suddenly shadows appeared on a curtain of one section of the car. the shade flew up and the window was raised. the young man from amarillo stood right where the lamplight fell upon his features. he found himself staring into the face of a grey-visaged, sharp-eyed old man, who had a great shock of grey hair on the top of his head like a cockatoo's tuft. the stranger stared at pratt earnestly, and then beckoned him with both hands, shouting: "hey, you boy! you there, with the plaid cap. come here!" rather startled, and not a little amused, pratt started slowly in the direction of the car. "hey! lift your feet there," called out the old man. "you act like you had the hookworm. git a move on!" "what do you want?" demanded pratt, coming under the window. he could see into the lighted car now, and he observed frances and her father standing back of the stranger, the captain broadly agrin. the man reached down suddenly and grabbed pratt by the lobe of his right ear--pinching it between thumb and finger. "say! what are you about?" demanded pratt. but for a very good reason he did not seek to pull away. "let me look at you again," commanded the man who had taken this liberty. "turn your face up this way--you hear me? my soul! i knew i couldn't be mistaken. what did you say this boy's name was, dan?" he shot at the captain over his shoulder. "that's pratt sanderson," chuckled captain rugley. "something of a tenderfoot, but a good lad, lon, a good lad." "you bet he is!" declared jonas p. lonergan, vigorously. "i knew his name when you spoke it, and now i know his face. he's the image of his mother--that's what he is." then he turned to pratt again and roared: "do you know who i am, boy?" "i fancy you are the--the old partner of captain rugley whom he has expected so long," pratt said, puzzled but smiling. he had never chanced to hear the expected guest called by any other name than "lon." "i'm jonas p. lonergan!" exclaimed the old man. "_now_ do you know me. i'm your mother's half-brother. i knew you folks lived out this way somewhere, but i've not seen you since you were a little shaver. "but i'll never forget how my little half-sister used to look, and you are just like her when she was young," declared mr. lonergan. "come in here, you young rascal, and let me get a closer look at you." "my uncle jonas?" gasped pratt, in amazement. "that's what i am!" declared mr. lonergan. "your old uncle who never did much of anything for you--or the rest of the fam'ly--all his life. but he's goin' to be able to do something now. "listen here: captain dan rugley says the treasure chest old señor morales gave us so long ago is all right. it's chock-full of jewels and gold and money---- shucks! i'm as crazy as a child about it," laughed the old man. "after bein' through what i have, and livin' poor so many years, it's enough to scatter the brains of an old man like me to come into a fortune. yes, sir! and what's mine is yours, pratt. they tell me you are a mighty good boy. captain dan speaks well of you----" "and i ought to," growled the old ranchman from the background. "i owe something to him, too, for what he did for frances." "heh?" exclaimed lonergan. he turned short around and stared at the blushing frances. "she's a mighty fine girl, i reckon?" "the best in the panhandle," declared the old ranchman, nodding understandingly. "and this boy of my sister's is a pretty good fellow, dan?" asked lonergan. "mighty fine--mighty fine," admitted captain dan rugley. "i tell you what," whispered jonas, in the captain's ear, "this dividin' up the contents of that old treasure chest will only be temporary after all--just temporary, eh?" "we'll see--we'll see, lon," said captain dan, carefully. "they're young yet, they're over-young. but 'twould certain sure be a romantic outcome of all our adventures together years ago, eh?" "right you are, captain, right you are!" agreed lonergan. frances and pratt heard none of this. pratt had entered the car and the two young people were talking to the reverend mr. tooley, who was a demure little man in clerical black, who seemed quite happy over the reunion of the two old friends, captain dan rugley and jonas p. lonergan. lonergan was a lean old man who walked with a crutch. although he had a very vigorous voice, he showed his age and his state of ill health when he began to move about. "but we'll fix all that, lon," the captain assured him. "once we get you out to the bar-t we'll build you up in a jiffy. we'll get you out of doors. humph! soldiers' home, indeed! why, you've got a long stretch of life ahead of you yet. i've beat out old mr. rheumatism myself these last few weeks. "we'll fight our bodily ills and old age together, lon--just as we used to fight other enemies. back to back and never give up or ask for quarter, eh?" "that's the talk, dan!" cried the other old fellow. but mr. lonergan was glad to ride out to the bar-t in the comfortably-cushioned carriage that mack hinkman had driven to town. the party arrived at the ranch-house--mr. tooley and all--after daybreak. the captain had insisted upon pratt's going, too. "what?" lonergan demanded. "_you_ a bank clerk, looking out through the wires of a cage like a monkey in the zoo we saw years ago at kansas city?" "that _is_ a nice job for your nephew, hey lon?" put in the captain. "drop it, boy, drop it. you're the heir of a rich man now--isn't that so, captain?" "that's so," agreed captain dan rugley. "he'd better write in to his bank and tell 'em to excuse him indefinitely; and write to his mother to come out here and visit a spell with her brother. the bar-t's big enough, i should hope--hey, frances? what do you say?" "i am sure it would be nice to have pratt's mother with us. i'd be delighted to have somebody's mother in the house, daddy," said frances, smiling. "you know, you're the best father that ever lived; but you can't be mother, too." "it's what you've missed since you were a tiny little girl, frances," agreed captain rugley, gravely. "but just the same--i want 'em to show me a girl in all this blessed panhandle that's a better or finer girl than my frances. am i right, pratt?" "you most certainly are, captain," the young man agreed. "or anywhere outside the panhandle." frances smiled at him roguishly. "even from boston, pratt?" she whispered. but pratt forgave her for that. * * * * * another picture of the bar-t ranch-house on a late afternoon. the slanting rays of a westering sun lie across the floor of the main veranda. the family party idling there need no introduction save in a single particular. a tall, well-built lady in black, and with grey hair, and who looks so much like pratt sanderson that the relationship between them could be seen at a glance, has the chair of honor. mrs. sanderson is making her first of many visits to the bar-t. old jonas p. lonergan, his crutch beside him, is lying comfortably in another lounging chair. but he already looks much more vigorous. captain dan rugley, as ever, is tipped back against the wall in his favorite position. frances is with her sewing at a low table, while pratt is lying on the rug at his mother's feet. "what's that mr. tooley said in his letter, frances?" asked pratt. "is he sure the man who was killed on the railroad when he went home from here was a man named pete marin, who once was orderly at the soldiers' home?" "yes," said frances, gravely. "he was walking the track, they thought. either he was intoxicated or he did not hear the train. poor fellow!" "blamed rascal!" ejaculated jonas p. lonergan. "he made us some trouble--but it's over," said pratt. "you showed what sort of stuff you were made of, young man," said the captain, thoughtfully, "at that very time. maybe you've got something to thank that pete for." "and ratty m'gill?" asked pratt, smiling. "poor ratty!" said frances again. "he's gone down to the pecos country," said the captain, briskly. "best place for him. maybe he will know enough not to get in with such fellows as that pete again." "i should have been much afraid had i known what pratt was getting into out here," mrs. sanderson ventured. "now, now, sister! don't try to make a mollycoddle out o' the boy," said jonas p. lonergan. "i tell you we're going to make a man out o' pratt here. i've bought an interest in the bar-t for him. he's going to take some of the work off the captain's shoulders when we get him broke in, hey, dan?" "right you are, lon!" agreed the other old man. frances smiled quietly to hear them plan. she put her needle in and out of the work she was doing slowly. by and by her fingers stopped altogether and she looked away across the ranges. she, too, was planning. she was seeing herself living in a college town the next winter, with daddy for company, while mr. lonergan and pratt and his mother remained on at the bar-t. she saw herself graduating after a few years from some advanced school, quite the equal of pratt in education. meanwhile he would be learning to change the vast bar-t ranges into wheat and milo fields, and taking up the new farming that is revolutionizing the panhandle. and after that--and after that----? "how about ming bringing us a pitcher of nice cool lemonade, eh, frances?" said the captain, breaking in upon her day-dream. "all right, daddy. i'll tell him," said frances of the ranges. the end blue bonnet's ranch party the blue bonnet series _by_ _lela horn richards_ _and_ _caroline e. jacobs_ [illustration] each, one vol., large mo, illustrated $ . a texas blue bonnet blue bonnet's ranch party blue bonnet in boston blue bonnet keeps house blue bonnet--dÉbutante blue bonnet of the seven stars * * * * * the cosy corner series _by caroline e. jacobs_ each, one vol., small mo, illustrated $ . bab's christmas at stanhope the christmas surprise party a christmas promise [illustration] the page company beacon street, boston, mass. [illustration: "blue bonnet . . . watched the sun rise out of the prairie." (_see page ._)] blue bonnet's ranch party by c. e. jacobs and edyth ellerbeck read a sequel to a texas blue bonnet by c. e. jacobs _illustrated by_ john goss [illustration] the page company boston - - publishers _copyright, _ by the page company * * * * * _all rights reserved_ made in u. s. a. first impression, july, second impression, october, third impression, may, fourth impression, january, fifth impression, april, sixth impression, february, seventh impression, june, eighth impression, july, ninth impression, april, tenth impression, march, eleventh impression, july, twelfth impression, may, thirteenth impression, december, printed by c. h. simonds company boston, mass., u. s. a. contents chapter page i. the wanderer ii. in the blue bonnet country iii. the glorious fourth iv. the round robin v. the swimming hole vi. an adventure vii. a falling out viii. consequences ix. texas and massachusetts x. enter carita xi. camping by the big spring xii. poco tiempo xiii. around the camp-fire xiv. a falling in xv. sunday xvi. the lost sheep xvii. secrets xviii. some arrivals xix. blue bonnet's birthday xx. conferences xxi. blue bonnet decides xxii. hasta la vista list of illustrations page "blue bonnet . . . watched the sun rise out of the prairie" (_see page _) _frontispiece_ "comanche . . . leaped forward like a cat" "'_i_ believe the only way to learn to swim is to dive in head-first'" "they all gathered gypsy-fashion about the fire" "it was an exquisite miniature, painted on ivory" "alec surveyed her proud little profile" blue bonnet's ranch party chapter i the wanderer blue bonnet put her head out of the car window for the hundredth time that hour, and drew it back with a sigh of utter exasperation. "uncle cliff," she declared impatiently, "if the wanderer doesn't move a little faster i'll simply have to get out and push!" "better blame the engine, honey," said uncle cliff in his slow, soothing way. "the wanderer is doing her best. might as well blame the wagon for not making the horses gallop!" "i know," she confessed. "but it seems as if we'd never get to woodford. this is the longest-seeming journey i ever took--even if it is in a private car." then, fearing to appear inappreciative, she added quickly: "but i do think it is mighty good of mr. maldon to let us take his very own car. i can just see the we are sevens' eyes pop right out when they see this style of travelling." blue bonnet's own eyes roamed over the luxurious interior of the wanderer, dwelling with approval on the big, swinging easy chairs, the book-case cunningly set in just over a writing-desk, the buffet shining with cut glass and silver, and the thousand and one details that made the car a veritable palace on wheels. blue bonnet had been spending a few days in new york with her uncle, who had insisted that she should have a little "lark" after her long months in school. now, in a private car belonging to one of uncle cliff's friends, they were on their way back to woodford, there to gather up grandmother clyde, alec trent, and the other six of blue bonnet's "we are seven" club, and bear them off to texas for the summer. "i reckon sarah blake and kitty clark aren't very used to travelling?" suggested uncle cliff, more to draw out blue bonnet than with any consuming desire for information. "used to travelling! why, uncle cliff--" blue bonnet shook her head emphatically--"not one of the other we are sevens has ever so much as seen the inside of a pullman in all her life!" mr. ashe hid a smile under his moustache. the fact that blue bonnet's own introduction to a pullman car had occurred just nine months before, seemed to have escaped the young lady's mind. "well, well," ejaculated blue bonnet's uncle, "they've some experiences ahead of them, to be sure!" "oh, uncle,"--blue bonnet was struck with a sudden fear,--"do you suppose they will all be ready to go? we're two whole days earlier than we said we'd be--" "they'll be ready, don't you worry. your grandmother is not one of the unprepared sort, and the girls don't need much of a wardrobe for the ranch. besides, i wired them explicit directions--to meet the wanderer and be ready to come aboard immediately. we shall have only a few minutes in woodford." blue bonnet settled back in her red velvet reclining chair and shut her eyes. slowly a smile wreathed her lips. "what's the joke, honey?" blue bonnet looked up with dancing eyes. "benita!" she laughed. "won't she be just--petrified, when she sees seven girls instead of one? and can't you imagine the boys--" "benita had better not get petrified this summer," interrupted uncle cliff. "she has to do some tall hustling. i've wired uncle joe to get extra help while the ranch party is in session. if they can get old gertrudis from the lone star ranch--she's the finest cook in the state of texas. and her granddaughter might wait on table." "oh, i do think a ranch party is the grandest thing in the world," cried blue bonnet. "i've read of house parties, but they must be downright tame compared with this kind of a party. and it's not to last just over a week-end either, but _two whole months_! why, uncle cliff, any ordinary man would be scared to pieces at the prospect." "but i'm not an ordinary man, eh?" mr. ashe looked pleased as a boy as he put the question. "well, i reckon not! you're a fairy godfather. you grant my wishes before they're fairly out of my mouth. and i seem to have plenty of wishes. just think, uncle, how many things i've wished for since my last birthday!" "first," said uncle cliff, "you wished to go away from the ranch." blue bonnet nodded assent. "because i was--afraid--to ride. doesn't it seem ridiculous, now i'm over that silliness? but oh, how i did wish i could get over being afraid! that was about the only wish you couldn't grant, uncle cliff." "that wish was never expressed, honey--don't forget that. maybe i could have helped even there," mr. ashe suggested gently. "i know, it was my own fault. but i was--ashamed, uncle cliff. you don't suppose--" blue bonnet's face clouded, "you don't think, do you, that the fear will come again when i get back where i saw josé--dragged?" she shut her eyes and shuddered. "nonsense, honey. that fear died and was buried the day you rode alec's horse, victor. a good canter on firefly over the blue bonnet country will make you wonder that such a feeling was ever born." "dear old firefly! won't i make it up to him though! isn't it queer how many of my wishes have come true? it makes me feel almost--breathless. i no sooner got through wishing i could leave the ranch and go east and be with grandmother--than i woke up in woodford. and i wanted--thought i wanted--to be called elizabeth. blue bonnet became elizabeth!" "a real lightning change artist," murmured uncle cliff. "and i wanted to go to school. granted. i wanted to know a lot of girls, and behold the we are sevens!" "and when was it you changed names again?" uncle cliff asked slyly. "when i got tired of being elizabethed. everybody thinks blue bonnet suits me better, except aunt lucinda--on occasions." "and the next wish? they're stacking up." "i reckon it was about the sargent prize in school. i wanted alec trent to win it--and he did. and next i wished to pass my school examinations--" "and even that miracle was achieved!" said uncle cliff, pinching her cheek. "and, finally, i wanted to go back to texas, and, at the same time, i wished i didn't have to leave grandmother and alec and the girls. that might seem a contrary pair of wishes, but it doesn't daunt godfather ashe. he straightway makes a private car arise from--from what, uncle cliff?" "tobacco smoke," promptly supplied mr. ashe, with a reminiscent smile on his lips. "why tobacco smoke?" asked blue bonnet wonderingly. "i taught maldon to smoke when he was a young chap visiting out our way, and we've been friends ever since. the private car seems to have grown out of that," replied her uncle. "i see," blue bonnet nodded. "but don't tell aunt lucinda,--i fancy she doesn't approve of smoking." "so i've noticed," rather grimly rejoined mr. ashe. blue bonnet's prim new england aunt had not suffered him to remain long in ignorance of her disapproval of tobacco in any form. "there's one thing i don't understand at all," blue bonnet knitted her pretty brows. "and that is what was in uncle joe terry's telegram the other day. won't you tell me, uncle?" "nothing much,--only that i must be back at the ranch monday evening without fail," answered uncle cliff with an air of evasion. "there's some deep reason, i can just feel it. you mean well, uncle, but i just hate secrets." blue bonnet laid a coaxing hand on her uncle's arm. "secret indeed!" scoffed uncle cliff, avoiding his niece's eye. "you can't pretend a bit well," blue bonnet assured him gravely. "you look just the way my dog solomon does when he's pretending to be asleep--and can't keep his tail from wagging!" "thank you!" said uncle cliff with well-assumed indignation. "you're quite welcome. he's a mighty wise dog, uncle cliff--that's why i named him solomon. you know i think--" blue bonnet went on sagely, "i think there is some trouble at the ranch,--because i saw the big box you sent with our trunks and it was labelled 'dangerous.' now, be nice, and tell me what was in it." "i understood that miss kitty was the inquisitive member of your club," uncle cliff parried provokingly. blue bonnet sighed. "well, i can thank uncle joe for cutting us out of two whole days in new york. i'm sure aunt lucinda will be disappointed." "aunt lucinda--?" echoed mr. ashe. "yes, you see it was this way: aunt lucinda gave me a list of things i ought to see in new york. every day when you asked me 'what next?'--as you did, you nice fairy godfather--i chose the things i'd rather see and left the--the educational things for the last. you see the shops, the hippodrome, coney island, peter pan and the goddess of liberty were so fascinating, and i'd wanted so long to see them, that-- well, to face the bitter truth, uncle cliff, we left new york without one weenty peek in at the metropolitan museum!" "horrors!" uncle cliff looked properly stunned. then he said craftily, "keep it dark, honey. maybe we can bluff." blue bonnet shook her head. "nobody can bluff aunt lucinda--i ought to know! why--uncle cliff--i believe we're there!" and "there" they certainly were. while blue bonnet had been busily chattering, the wanderer had drawn in to the woodford station. half the population of the village was assembled on the platform, it seemed to blue bonnet as she sprang from the car steps. grandmother and aunt lucinda she saw first, and back of them denham, the coachman, bearing suitcases, umbrellas, magazines and wraps, besides holding on by main force to a leash at which solomon was straining frantically. beside him were katie and delia, on hand for a final farewell to blue bonnet and mrs. clyde. then came kitty and doctor clark; amanda and the parkers; sarah and the whole crowd of blakes, big and little; alec and the general; debby, and a collection of sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts that overflowed the platform and straggled clear out to the line of hitching-posts, where all of woodford's family conveyances seemed drawn up at once. the report of blue bonnet's ranch party had spread like wildfire through the town, and the going away of so many of its most prominent citizens to far-off texas, had aroused quiet woodford to a pitch of excitement equalled only by that of a prohibition election, or a visit from the president. blue bonnet was swallowed up by the crowd the moment she alighted, and it was a full five minutes before she emerged, flushed and minus her hat, to ask breathlessly, "oh, is everybody here?--i can't see anybody for the crowd!" "no time to lose," warned mr. ashe. "we must pull out in ten minutes in order to reach boston in time for the . to-night." even as he spoke, the wanderer began to move. "uncle cliff," cried blue bonnet in a panic, "they're going without us!" "just switching," soothed her uncle. "the wanderer has to be on the other track so as to hook on to the train for boston. that's due in five minutes. get your good-byes said so that everybody can go aboard when she comes alongside." during that five minutes while each girl was occupied with her own family, blue bonnet had a moment alone with her aunt. "it's a good thing we said our real good-bye before i went to new york, isn't it, aunt lucinda?" she asked, slipping her hand shyly into that of her tall, prim aunt. somehow aunt lucinda had never seemed so dear as in this moment of parting. perhaps it was the look as of unshed tears in her eyes, or the flush on her usually pale face that made her seem more approachable. blue bonnet could not tell exactly what it was, but there was a vague something about aunt lucinda that made her appear almost--yes, almost, pathetic. suddenly blue bonnet remembered--they were leaving aunt lucinda all alone. her heart reproached her. "aunt lucinda," she whispered hurriedly, "won't you come, too?" one of her rare sweet smiles lit miss clyde's face. "thank you, dear--it is sweet of you to want me. but not this time, for i have promised friends to go abroad with them. i shall miss you, blue bonnet,--you won't forget to write often?" "no, indeed!" blue bonnet assured her, at the same moment registering a solemn vow that she would write every week without fail. "and you'll write too, aunt lucinda? it'll be so exciting getting letters from funny, foreign places. and now it's good-bye. you--you are sure you've no--a--advice to give me?" miss clyde restrained an odd smile at the significant question. "no, dear. only this: be considerate of your grandmother, and bring her back safely to me." "i will! i will!" cried blue bonnet, and with another kiss was gone. there was only a moment for a handshake with katie and delia, who openly mopped their eyes at parting; a word with general trent, a chorus of good-byes to a score of we are seven relations, and then everybody crowded about the steps of the wanderer. "grandmother first," said blue bonnet. "denham, you'd better go aboard and get her settled. here, bennie blake--you hold solomon till i'm ready to take him. now then, we are sevens--forward!" suddenly blue bonnet gave a queer little exclamation and clapped her hand on a leather case which hung from her shoulder. "stop, everybody, till i get a picture--i nearly forgot! and i want pictures of every stage of the ranch party. grandmother, please stay on the top step and i'll group the girls below." "that's right," cried kitty. "take one now and another when we get back, and we can label them 'before and after taking!'" sarah, kitty, amanda and debby, amid the teasing remarks of sundry small boys, obediently took their places as designated by the young artist. then blue bonnet's eyes turned in search of the other two girls. "susy! ruth!" she called. "why--where are they?" an embarrassed hush fell on the group about the car. blue bonnet looked inquiringly at the telltale faces. it did not take her long to scent a mystery. "what's the matter?" she cried impatiently. doctor clark stepped forward, clearing his throat queerly. "fact is, miss blue bonnet," he began, "they--they can't go." "can't go?" blue bonnet started incredulously at the stammering doctor. "no, you see,--well, in fact, they're ill," he completed lamely. why didn't some one help him out, the doctor fumed inwardly, instead of letting him be the one to cloud that beaming face? suddenly kitty leaned down from the car step and whispered: "scarlet fever!" "both?" exclaimed the startled blue bonnet. "no, only ruth. but susy was exposed and father didn't think it safe for her to come." "oh, kitty!" the tears sprang to blue bonnet's eyes--she fought them but they would come. "we're all broken up over it," said kitty with her own lips trembling; "but it might have been worse. it's only because we've been too busy to go out there, that we weren't all exposed. then it would have been good-bye to the ranch party." "oh, kitty, suppose you had!" the thought of the narrow escape dried blue bonnet's tears. "i'm mighty glad you four could come. but it won't be complete. and you know how i love to have things complete!" "never mind, blue bonnet, you still have me!" cried alec, coming in with a cheerful note. "'the poor ye have always with you!'" chimed in kitty, and while everybody was laughing over this sally, blue bonnet took a snap-shot of the group, and then all the travellers trooped aboard. mr. ashe looked over the heads of the chattering crowd in the car and met mrs. clyde's amused eye. "how do you like mothering a family of this size?" he asked jocosely. "i fancy i feel much like the hen that hatched duck's eggs," mrs. clyde returned. there was a laugh at this, in the midst of which sarah blake was heard to remark solemnly: "yes, children are a great responsibility." whereat there was more laughter, and hardly had it subsided when from outside came the conductor's sonorous "all aboo--ard!" "girls, we're really going!" gasped kitty. there was a last vigorous waving of handkerchiefs out of the window. suddenly a wail burst from blue bonnet: "solomon! solomon!" all looked at one another aghast. in the excitement of the last moments no one had thought of the dog. "find bennie blake--he had solomon last," cried blue bonnet, rushing to the platform. "i'll find him, don't you worry," exclaimed alec, swinging down the steps just as the first creaks of the car gave notice of starting. "alec--you'll get left!" cried blue bonnet. "there's bennie,--oh, quick!" sure enough, there on the edge of the crowd was bennie, but alack!--no solomon. "stop the train, can't you, uncle cliff?" wailed blue bonnet. "alec will be left--and solomon too--" uncle cliff leaped to the bottom step,--the train was still only crawling,--and with one hand on the rail leaned out and peered after alec. blue bonnet gave a nervous clutch at his sleeve. what he saw evidently reassured mr. ashe, for suddenly he straightened up and held out both arms. a second later a brown furry object came hurtling through the air and was caught ignominiously by the tail. quick as a flash uncle cliff tossed the indignant solomon to blue bonnet, and bent down to lend a helping hand to alec. that young gentleman scrambled up with more haste than elegance, just as the train ceased to crawl and settled down to the real business of travelling. "i'll never forget this, alec trent, as long as i live,--i think you deserve a carnegie medal!" blue bonnet cried fervently. "i'd never get over it if solomon should be lost." "he wouldn't have been--lost, exactly," returned alec in an odd tone. "why, what do you mean? where did you find him?" blue bonnet demanded. and alec, bursting into a laugh in spite of his awful news, returned: "i found him just where that blake boy left him--tied on to the end of the car!" chapter ii in the blue bonnet country "if one of you speaks aloud in the next five minutes," declared blue bonnet earnestly, "i'll never forgive you." no one being inclined to risk blue bonnet's undying enmity, there was complete silence for the space of time imposed. they were rolling along the smooth white road between the railway station and the ranch, grandmother clyde and the girls in a buckboard drawn by sturdy little mustangs, while alec, uncle joe and uncle cliff, who had stayed behind to look after the luggage, were following on horseback. blue bonnet sat tense and still, her hands clasped in her lap, the color coming and going in her face in rapid waves of pink and white; her eyes very shiny, her lips quivering. this home-coming was having an effect she had not dreamed of. every familiar object, every turn of the road that brought her nearer the beloved ranch, gave her a new and delicious thrill. as they neared the modern wire fence two dusky little greaser piccaninnies rose out of the chaparral, hurled themselves on the big gate and held it open, standing like sentinels, bursting with importance, as the buckboard rolled through. "they're pancho's twins!" cried blue bonnet. "stop, miguel, while i give them something." hurriedly seizing a half-eaten box of candy from amanda's surprised hands, blue bonnet leaned down and tossed it to the grinning youngsters. "_muchas gracias_, señorita!" they cried in a duet, their black eyes wide with joy. "bless the babies!" exclaimed kitty, "--did you hear what they called you?" blue bonnet laughed. "i'm never called anything else here. they meant 'many thanks, ma'am.' you will be 'señorita' too,--better get used to it." "oh, i shall love it," cried kitty. "it sounds like a title--'my lady' or 'your grace' or something grand." "grandmother will be 'señora'--doesn't it just suit her, girls?" asked blue bonnet. "mrs. clyde, may we call you 'señora,' too?" asked debby, "--just while we're on the ranch?" "debby believes in the eternal fitness of things," put in kitty. "certainly, you may call me señora," said mrs. clyde. "when you're in texas do as the texans do," she paraphrased. "i intend to learn all the spanish i can while i'm here," remarked sarah. "i brought a grammar and a dictionary--" a chorus of indignation went up from the other girls. "this isn't a 'general culture club,' sarah blake," scolded kitty. "we didn't come to the blue bonnet ranch for mutual improvement--but for _fun_!" "we'll make a bonfire of those books," warned blue bonnet. "all the spanish that i can absorb through my--pores, is welcome to stick," said debby, "but i'm not going to dig for it." sarah tactfully changed the subject. "your house is a good way from the gate, blue bonnet," she remarked. "nearly two miles," blue bonnet smiled. "there's nothing like owning all outdoors!" commented kitty. "grandfather used to own nearly all outdoors," returned blue bonnet. "when father was a little boy nobody had fences and the cattle ranged through two or three counties. but now we keep a lot of fence-riders, who don't do a thing but mend fences, day after day. there's the bridge,--now as soon as we cross the river you can see the ranch-house." "is this what you call the 'river?'" sarah asked, as they rattled over the pretty little stream. "we call it a 'rio' in texas, and you'd better not insult us by calling it a creek, señorita blake," blue bonnet warned her. "i won't--'rio' is such a pretty name," said sarah, making a mental note of it for future use. "there!" cried blue bonnet, "behold the 'casa' of the blue bonnet ranch!" what they saw was a long, low, rambling house, with wide, hospitable verandas embowered in half-tropical vines. it had evidently started out as a one-roomed, spanish 'adobe,' and, as the needs of the family demanded it, an ell had been added here, a room there, like cells in a bee-hive, until now it covered a good deal of territory, still keeping its one-storied, mission-like character. "oh, blue bonnet--it's just what i wanted it to be," exclaimed kitty. "it looks as if a fat, spanish monk might come out of that door this very minute." "instead of which there is my dear old benita, and pancho and his wife and the children and--oh, everybody!" blue bonnet was bouncing up and down now with excitement. alec and the other two riders came up in a cloud of dust just as miguel raced the mustangs up to the veranda steps, where all the ranch hands were gathered to greet the young señorita. "señorita mia!" cried benita, and blue bonnet leaped from the wheel straight into her old nurse's arms. "and this is grandmother, benita," said blue bonnet, helping mrs. clyde from her place. "the little señora's mother--god bless you!" cried benita in spanish. then, in spite of her stiff joints, she made a deep, old-fashioned curtsy. tears sprang to the eyes of the eastern woman. "thank you, benita," she said. "my daughter always wrote lovingly of you." "blessed señora!" breathed benita fervently. "this is my grandmother, everybody," said blue bonnet, presenting mrs. clyde to the entire circle, "and these are my friends--'amigos' from massachusetts." "pleased to know ye!" said pinto pete and shady, the only american cowboys on the ranch; while the mexicans, as one voice, gave a hearty chorus of greeting. the six "amigos" from massachusetts were thrilled to the core, although at the same time a trifle embarrassed as to the correct way of responding to this vociferous welcome. blue bonnet set them all an example: she had a smile and a word for every man, woman and child, and finally sent them all off with a--"come back when my trunks arrive!" and the hint brought a fresh gleam to already beaming faces. later, after a bountiful supper, they all gathered once more on the broad veranda while blue bonnet distributed her gifts. that those days in new york had been profitably spent was fully attested now when the contents of the many trunks were displayed. there were ribbons, scarfs and gay beads for the women, toys and sweets for the children, and wonderful pocket-knives, pipes and tobacco pouches for the men. the blue bonnet ranch had been part of an original spanish land-grant in the days when texas was still part of mexico, and had descended from father to son until it came into the hands of blue bonnet's grandfather. many of the mexican ranch-hands had been born on the place and looked on the ashe family as their natural guardians and protectors. as yet they had not acquired a yankee sense of independence, nor had they lost the soft southern courtesy inherent in their race. they came up one at a time to blue bonnet as she stood at the top of the steps, her gifts in a great heap beside her; and each one, as he received his gift from her hand, called down a blessing on the head of the young señorita. then, laughing, chatting, and comparing gifts like a crowd of children, they trooped away, the single men to the "bunk-house" by the big corral, the married couples and their children to little cabins scattered over the place. "it's just like some old spanish tale," declared alec. "blue bonnet is a princess just returned to her castle, and all the serfs are come to pay her homage." "i suppose don quixote will be off soon, hunting wind-mills?" suggested kitty, with a mocking glance at alec, whose new gun was the pride of his heart. alec deigned no reply. "look!" said mrs. clyde, softly, "--there goes the sun." they followed her glance across the prairie that stretched away, green and softly undulating, in front of the veranda, and watched the red disk as it sank in a blaze of glory at the edge of the plain. "now you know," said blue bonnet, "why i felt like pushing back the houses in woodford--at first they just suffocated me." mrs. clyde smiled with new understanding. "you probably agree with our massachusetts writer who complained that people in cities live too close together and not near enough," she said, patting blue bonnet's head as the girl, sitting on the step below her, leaned against her knee. "didn't you ever get lonesome here?" asked debby, snuggling up to amanda. she had been brought up among houses. "lonesome?" echoed blue bonnet. "i never knew what lonesome meant--till my first day in school!" all too soon came bedtime. "where are we all to sleep?" blue bonnet asked benita. it was like blue bonnet not to give the matter a thought until beds were actually in demand. benita led the way proudly. "the señora will have the little señora's room," she said, throwing open the door of that long unused chamber. mrs. clyde entered it with softened eyes. "señorita's own room is ready for her, and here is place for the others." benita proceeded to the very end of a long ell to a huge airy room, seemingly all windows. it was blue bonnet's old nursery, and, next to the living-room, the largest room in the house. four single beds, one in each corner, showed how benita had solved the sleeping problem. the girls gave a shout of delight; visions of bedtime frolics and long talks after lights were out, sent them dancing about the place. "i tell you what," announced blue bonnet, "--if you imagine i am going off by myself when there's a sleeping-party like this going on, you're mistaken. i say--" here she turned on sarah, "--you've always wanted a bed-room all to yourself; you told me so, one day. well, here's your chance--you're welcome to every inch of mine!" sarah, quite willing to confine her "parties" to daylight hours, accepted the proposition eagerly. maybe then she could get a peek at those spanish books. "are you sure you're willing to give it up?" she asked quite honestly. and blue bonnet with an incredulous stare returned: "are you quite willing to give _this_ up?" "perfectly!" exclaimed sarah with such promptness that blue bonnet dismissed her lurking suspicion that sarah was just "being polite" and accepted the exchange. it was a happy sarah who tucked herself away in a little bed all to herself, in a dainty room destined to be her very own for two long months. four times happy was the quartet who shared the nursery. it was a long time before they subsided. there were so many things to be observed and discussed in that delightful place. uncle joe terry had had a hand in its arrangement, and now that worthy man would have felt well repaid if he could have heard the gales of merriment over his masterpieces of interior decoration. in her childhood blue bonnet had been blessed--or afflicted--with more dolls than ever fell to the lot of child before. now the long-discarded nursery-folk formed a frieze around the entire room, the poor darlings being, like blue-beard's wives, suspended by their hair. every nationality and every degree of mutilation was there represented, and the effect was funny beyond description. on the broad mantel-shelf over the stone fireplace reposed drums, merry-go-rounds, trumpets and toy horses; while on the hearth was a tiny kitchen range bearing a complete assortment of pots and pans of a most diminutive size. in every available nook of the room stood doll-carriages, rocking-horses, go-carts and fire-engines, each showing the scars of blue bonnet's stormy childhood. "i wish," cried kitty, "that we weren't any of us a day over seven!" while the girls were still making merry over her childhood treasures blue bonnet slipped away. she had not had a word alone with uncle cliff for days, and had exchanged only a hurried greeting with uncle joe at the station. and there were such heaps of things to talk over! she found them both on the veranda, enjoying the evening breeze that came laden with sweet scents from off the prairie. blue bonnet clapped her hands over uncle joe's eyes in her old madcap fashion. "it's blue bon--er--elizabeth, i mean," he guessed promptly. "wrong!" cried blue bonnet sternly. "elizabeth ashe was left behind in massachusetts, and only blue bonnet has come back to the ranch." "thank goodness for that!" breathed uncle joe devoutly. "elizabeth came mighty hard. it didn't fit, somehow. i reckon you're glad to get _home_, blue bonnet?" "glad? why, there isn't a word in the whole english dictionary that means just what i feel, uncle joe," replied blue bonnet, perching on the arm of his chair. "i love every inch of the state of texas." the two men exchanged a significant glance that was not lost on blue bonnet. "oh, i know what you are thinking of, uncle cliff. you remember the day when i said i hated the west and all it stood for. i meant that too--then. but i feel different now. it isn't that i'm sorry i went away; i just had to go, feeling as i did. i reckon i'll always be that way--i have to find things out for myself." uncle joe smiled humorously. "reckon we're most of us built that way, eh, cliff?" mr. ashe gave a rueful nod. "yes, what the other fellow has been through doesn't count for much. we all have to blister our fingers before we'll believe that fire really burns." they were all silent for a moment. "has any one seen solomon?" asked blue bonnet suddenly. "i think don is showing him over the ranch," replied uncle joe. "i saw them both headed for the stables a while ago." "i'm glad they're going to get on well," said blue bonnet in a relieved tone. "i was afraid don would be jealous." she gave a clear loud whistle, and a moment later the two animals came racing across the yard, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to be first up the steps. blue bonnet stooped and picked up the smaller dog, fondling him and saying foolish things. don, the big collie, gave a low whine and looked up at her piteously. "not jealous, did you say?" laughed uncle joe. blue bonnet patted the collie's head. "good dog," she said soothingly. "you're too big to be carried, don." then she put down solomon and bending put a hand under don's muzzle; his soft eyes met hers affectionately. "i'm going to put solomon in your charge--understand? you must warn him about snakes, don,--and don't let the coyotes get him." a sharp bark from don blue bonnet was satisfied to take for an affirmative answer, and with another pat sent him off for the night. "has alec some place to sleep?" inquired blue bonnet, her hospitable instincts suddenly and rather tardily aroused. "benita has put him in the ell by me. he's there now, unpacking to-night so that he won't have to waste any time to-morrow. i never saw a boy so keen about ranch-life as he is. he seems to look on himself as a sort of pioneer in a new country," uncle joe chuckled. "it's all new to him," rejoined blue bonnet. "this is his first glimpse of the west. i hope he gets strong and well out here--general trent worries so about him." "it will be the making of him," uncle cliff assured her. "he'll go back to massachusetts as husky as pinto pete, if he'll just learn to live outdoors, and leave books alone for a while." "i'm going to hide every book he has brought with him," declared blue bonnet. "and sarah blake will need looking after--she has the book habit, too." uncle joe shook his head. "it seems to be a germ disease they have back there in massachusetts. glad you didn't catch it, blue bonnet." "oh, i'm immune!" laughed she, as she said good-night and went to seek benita. she found her old nurse in the kitchen, resting after an arduous day. gertrudis, the famous cook "loaned" for the summer by a neighboring ranch, was mixing something mysterious in a wooden bowl, while her granddaughter juanita, a nut-brown beauty, pirouetted about the room, showing off her new rosettes in a spanish dance. blue bonnet clapped her hands. "that's a pretty step, juanita,--will you teach it to me some day?" "si, señorita," she assented eagerly, showing all her white teeth in a delighted smile. "it is the _cachucha_." "the girls will all want to learn it," blue bonnet assured her. she draw benita into the dining-room and then gave her a hearty squeeze. "everything's just lovely, you old dear," she cried. "the girls are crazy about the nursery, and they think you are the dearest ever!" benita's wrinkled face beamed. "if the señorita is pleased, old benita is happy," she said deprecatingly. "benita, i missed you dreadfully, off there in woodford. i had to make my own bed and do my own mending!" benita gave an odd little sound of distress. "but benita will do it now," she urged anxiously. "you'll have to get around grandmother then, benita,--i can't." "the señora is kind--" benita began. "--but firm," added blue bonnet. "i leave her to you!" it was so late before the girls finally settled down into their respective corners, that it seemed only about five minutes before they were awakened at daybreak by the most terrific tumult that ever smote the ears of slumbering innocence. bang, bang! boom, crash, bang! shouts, yells, wild comanche-like cries rent the ear, and punctuated the incessant booming that shook even the thick adobe walls of the nursery. four terrified faces were raised simultaneously from four white beds, and four voices in chorus whispered: "what is it?" no one dared stir. suddenly the door was burst open and in sprang a white-robed figure, hair flying, eyes wide with terror. straight to blue bonnet's bed the spectre flew and leaped into the middle of it with a plump that made its occupant gasp. "oh, girls, it's indians!" wailed the newcomer; and then they saw that it was sarah. "indians?" exclaimed blue bonnet. "there aren't any indians around here. get off my chest and i'll go see." casting off the bed-clothes and the startled sarah at the same time, with one spring blue bonnet was at the window. what she saw there was hardly reassuring; the whole space between the house and the stables seemed to be filled with a howling, whirling mass of men. in the gray half-light of early dawn she could recognize no one. suddenly a fresh explosion set the windows rattling; there was a hiss and a glare of red. in the glow she caught a glimpse of alec; he held a revolver and was shooting it with sickening rapidity, not stopping to take aim. blue bonnet staggered back faint with horror, and the girls gathered fearfully about her. uncle cliff's voice giving an order came to them from outside. blue bonnet leaned out and shrieked--"uncle, uncle--what's the matter--oh, what is it?" never had voice seemed so welcome as those calm, soothing tones, when uncle cliff replied: "reckon you've forgotten what day it is, honey." blue bonnet turned on the girls. "what--what day is it?" and the light from within was suddenly greater than that from without as they answered in a sheepish chorus: "the fourth of july!" chapter iii the glorious fourth "to think that a crowd of new england girls, of all people, should forget the fourth of july!" exclaimed alec, when they met around the big breakfast table, later that morning. sarah looked positively pained. "i never forgot it before in my whole life," she said plaintively. "but there have been so many new things to think of, and travelling, you know--" she ended lamely. "are new england people supposed to be more patriotic than those of other states?" inquired blue bonnet, bristling a little in defence of texas. "certainly!" cried alec. "new england folks are fed on plymouth rock and the declaration of independence from the cradle to the grave. that's the diet of patriots." "h'm!" murmured blue bonnet scornfully. "i'll wager that patriot alec trent would have forgotten independence day, too, if uncle cliff hadn't let him into the secret. now i know, uncle cliff, what was in that box labelled 'dangerous.' wasn't i a goose not to think of it? and uncle joe telegraphed so as to get us here in time. grandmother," here she turned a rueful countenance on mrs. clyde, "going to school hasn't helped my head a bit, i'm just downright _dull_." uncle cliff gave an amused laugh. "i'm glad to have caught you napping for once, young lady. now, as soon as gertrudis stops sending in corncake, i propose that we adjourn to the stables and look over the mounts. pinto pete says he has a nice little bunch of ponies." "why do they call him 'pinto?'" asked debby. "i thought that meant a spotted horse." "haven't you noticed pete's freckles?" asked uncle joe. "he has more and bigger ones than any other human in texas, and the boys called him 'pinto pete' the first minute they clapped eyes on him. he don't mind--it's the way of the west." "and is 'shady' a nickname, too?" debby asked. "no--just short for good old-fashioned shadrach. shadrach stringer's his name, and he's the best twister in the county." debby had a third question on her lips but checked it as she met kitty's saucy eye. kitty, known as "little miss why," was always on the alert to bequeath the name to a successor. but sarah saw none of the by-play and asked at once: "what's a 'twister?'" "a bronco buster," replied uncle joe. sarah's look of mystification at this definition sent alec off into a fit of laughter. blue bonnet came to the rescue. "a twister breaks in the wild horses, sarah. some day we'll get him to give an exhibition. you'd never believe how he can stick on,--it'll frighten you the first time you see it. the way the horse rears and bucks and runs, why--" blue bonnet suddenly choked and turned pale. mrs. clyde and uncle cliff read her thoughts at the same moment and both rose hurriedly. "come on, everybody," exclaimed mr. ashe in a resolutely cheerful tone, "we must make the most of the morning." "why?" asked kitty before she thought, and then bit her lip. that word "why" was such a pitfall. "everybody has to take a siesta in the afternoon," explained blue bonnet. "it's too hot to move." "every afternoon?" demanded debby. "every afternoon," repeated uncle cliff. "anybody caught awake between one and four p. m. will be severely dealt with. it's a law of the human constitution and the penalty is imprisonment in the hospital, headache, and loss of appetite." "what a waste of time," sarah commented, privately resolving that she would not spend two or three precious hours every afternoon in sleep. one didn't come to texas every summer. "i see mutiny in sarah's eye," said blue bonnet. "wait till you've had a sunstroke, sarah, then you'll wish you hadn't possessed such oceans of energy." she had put all unpleasant memories from her by now and was leading the way to the stables. straight to firefly's stall she went and threw her arms around her old playfellow's neck. in the few seconds before the others came in she had whispered into his velvet ear something that was both a confession and an apology, while firefly nosed her softly and looked as pleased as a mere horse-countenance is capable of looking. "isn't he a beauty?" she challenged as the rest entered. "a stunner," alec agreed warmly, coming up to admire. "wouldn't chula's nose be out of joint if she could see you petting firefly?" "victor has a rival too. where's alec's horse, uncle joe?" pinto pete came up just then, his freckles seeming to the girls to loom up larger and browner than ever now that they knew the origin of his nickname. "shady says the roan's too skittish for any of the young ladies--" he suggested. "strawberry?--oh, she's splendid! alec, you'll think you're in a cradle." the pretty creature, just the color of her namesake, was brought out and put through her paces, and the exhibition proved to the satisfaction of all the young ladies that shady's verdict was quite just. strawberry pranced, bared her teeth at any approach, and in general did her best to live up to her reputation for skittishness. the fighting blood in alec made him resolve to change that adjective to "kittenish" before he had ridden her many times. the four ponies provided for the girls were next brought out for inspection, and met with unqualified approval from all but sarah. these slender, restless little steeds seemed not at all related to the fat placid beasts to which she had heretofore trusted herself. her face betokened her unspoken dismay. "sallikins, i know the best mount for you," exclaimed kitty innocently. "oh, do you?" cried sarah hopefully. "um-hum,--blue bonnet's old rocking-horse in the nursery!" laughed kitty; whereupon pinto pete let out a loud guffaw, changing it at once into an ostentatious fit of coughing when he saw that sarah was inclined to resent kitty's insult. her mild blue eyes almost flashed as she returned: "you can pick out any one of those four horses you choose for me, kitty clark, and i'll show you if i'm afraid to ride!" this outburst from sarah the placid rather startled the we are sevens. but kitty, after a surprised stare at the ruffled one, picked up the gauntlet. she appraised the horses with a calculating glance, then picked out a chestnut who showed the whites of his eyes in a most terrifying manner. "how does that one suit you, señorita blake?" she asked tauntingly. "very well," returned sarah with a toss of her flaxen braids. this was sheer bravado, but it passed muster. no one dreamed of the shivers of abject fear that were chasing up and down the girl's spine at sight of the fiery little chestnut with the awful eyes. "why, that's comanche!" exclaimed blue bonnet. "he has a heavenly gait." "comanche!" alec echoed, and then withdrew hastily to a convenient stall. the thought of the plump, blond sarah mounted on a steed bearing such a wild indian name was too much for him. he emerged a moment later very red in the face and unable to meet blue bonnet's eye. their sense of humor was curiously akin, and blue bonnet knew, without being told, what mental picture filled alec's mind. "why not have a ride this morning,--there's plenty of time before noon," suggested uncle joe. "here, lupe, bring out the saddles," he called. guadalupe, the "wrangler," appeared from an inner room, looking like a chief of the navajo tribe, so burdened was he with the bright-hued indian saddle-blankets. the girls watched him with eager eyes, but when he was followed by several boys bearing huge cowboy saddles, there was a little murmur of dismay from the group. "men's saddles for us!" exclaimed debby in a shocked undertone. blue bonnet laughed outright. "didn't you hear grandmother say: 'when you're in texas do as the texans do?' well, turn and turn about is fair play. didn't i ride a side-saddle as proper as pie in woodford? now it's your turn." sarah gave an approving look at the high pommels of the saddles, and at the strong hair-bridle that was being fitted over comanche's wicked little head. blue bonnet gave the same bridle a look that was far from approving. "lupe, isn't that a spanish bit you're using?" "si, señorita," said guadalupe guiltily. "then take it right off!" commanded blue bonnet in her old imperious way. "they're cruel wicked things that cut a horse's mouth to pieces, and i won't have them used," she explained to the girls. "lupe knows i hate them." she turned accusingly on the boy. lupe looked at her appealingly. "it is the safer for the señoritas," he urged. blue bonnet was inexorable. "we're not going to do any lassoing or branding, lupe, and can manage very well without them. we'll have to organize a humane society, girls, and reform these cruel cowmen," she suggested. lupe discarded the offending bits and substituted others more to the señorita's liking, and then the girls went in to dress for the ride. "how can we ride across the saddle in these skirts?" demanded debby. blue bonnet and uncle cliff exchanged a significant glance, the reason for which was explained a moment later when the girls entered the nursery. there on the beds lay five complete riding suits: divided skirts of khaki, "middy" blouses of a cooler material, and soft panama hats, each wound with a blue scarf and finished with a smart bow. "how darling of you!" cried the girls, falling on blue bonnet rapturously. "it's all uncle cliff," exclaimed blue bonnet. "he saw some suits like these in a shop window while we were in new york and went in and ordered seven! but susy and ruth won't have a chance to wear theirs," she ended regretfully. the girls, too excited to spend time mourning the absent ones, were already getting into the fascinating suits. these were all of a size, close lines not being demanded of a middy blouse, and all were pronounced perfect except sarah's, which, as kitty remarked, "fitted too soon." gauntlet gloves and natty riding whips completed the equipment of the riders, and when they went out ready to mount they were as neat a crowd of equestriennes as ever graced central park. notwithstanding that they were all dressed alike, each girl's particular type stood out quite clearly. kitty had more "style" than the other woodford girls, and a carriage that had more of conscious vanity in it; her "middy" set more trimly and the little hat was set on her ruddy locks at a little more daring angle than that of the others. amanda and debby appeared the same unremarkable sort of schoolgirls that they always were. the costume was not designed for maidens of sarah's build, and it looked quite as uncomfortable on her as she felt in it. blue bonnet appeared as she always did in this sort of attire: as though it had grown on her. "whew!" exclaimed alec, "such elegance!" "strikes me you're not so slow yourself," returned kitty. "isn't he 'got up regardless,' girls?" alec was dressed for his part with elaborate attention to details. mr. ashe had been anxiously consulted, for the eastern boy had no desire to be dubbed a tenderfoot; and now, except for its spotless newness, his costume was quite "western and ranchified"--according to blue bonnet. [illustration: "comanche . . . leaped forward like a cat."] he was in khaki, too, with trousers that tucked into high "puttees"--thick pigskin leggings which gave his long limbs quite a substantial appearance and himself no end of comfort. a soft shirt and a carelessly knotted bandana gave the finishing touches to his attire. he had even turned in the neck of his shirt so as to be quite one of the cowmen, secretly hoping that the girls would not notice how white his throat was. it was a gay cavalcade that cantered out of the big corral, the five girls leading; alec, pinto pete, and uncle joe forming a rear guard, with don and solomon capering at their heels; while a crowd of little "greasers" clung on to the bars, their eyes big with the wonder of it all. "lucky we're not on the streets of woodford," remarked alec, looking with amused eyes over the well mounted company. "why?" asked blue bonnet a trifle resentfully. "aren't we grand enough for the east?" "sure! but i'm afraid we'd be arrested for running a circus without a license!" this piece of wit so tickled pinto pete that he nearly stampeded the bunch by bursting again into his ear-splitting laugh. sarah grabbed the handy pommel with a nervous clutch that was eloquent of her state of mind. and that action was all that saved her. for comanche, taking pete's guffaw for a command, leaped forward like a cat, and a moment later the whole crowd was galloping madly across the level meadow. it is probable that if sarah's hair had not already been as light as hair can well be, that wild ride would have turned it several shades lighter. the terrors that were compressed into those two hours are beyond description, while the bobbing, bumping and shaking of her poor plump body left reminders that only time and witch hazel were able to eradicate. when they returned at noon gertrudis had a wonderful dinner awaiting them, and the riders, with their appetites freshened by the air and exercise, fell upon it like a pack of famished wolves. all except sarah. protesting that she was not in the least hungry, she went at once to her room. on the little stand by her bed lay the spanish grammar and dictionary, mute evidences of the way she had intended to spend the siesta hour. she gave them not so much as a glance, but stepping out of her clothes left them in a heap where they fell,--an action indicating a state of demoralization hardly to be believed of the parson's daughter,--and flung herself into bed with a groan. two hours later she was awakened by the other four girls who had turned inquisitors, and while two were stripping off the bedclothes the other two applied a feather to the soles of her feet. "oh--is it morning?" gasped sarah, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "it doesn't seem as if i had been asleep a minute." "such a waste of time!" quoted kitty mockingly. "there's such a thing, sarah, as overdoing the siesta," she taunted. sarah drew up her feet and sat on them, smothering the groan that arose to her lips at the action. every bone and joint had a new and awful kind of ache, and in that minute sarah wished she had never heard of the blue bonnet ranch. just then came the welcome clatter of dishes and at the doorway appeared benita bearing a tray of good things, while back of her was grandmother clyde. "now off with you,--you tormentors," the señora commanded gaily. "this poor child must be nearly famished." "grandmother's pet!" sang blue bonnet over her shoulder, as obeying orders, the four girls left the suffering sarah in peace. existence assumed a brighter hue to sarah when she had eaten the generous repast benita set before her; and when she had bathed and rubbed herself with the pond's extract mrs. clyde had secretly provided her with, life seemed once more worth living. but she was very quiet and moved with great circumspection for the rest of the day, quite content to leave to the others the handling of the fireworks in the evening. uncle cliff's "dangerous" box yielded still more wonders. the noisy bombs and giant crackers of the morning were followed by pyrotechnics that aroused unbounded admiration from the grown-ups and caused an excitement among the small greasers that threatened to end in a human conflagration. a small fortune went up in gigantic pin-wheels; flower-pots that sent up amazing blossoms in all the hues of the rainbow; rockets that burst in mid-air and let fall a shower of coiling snakes, which, in their turn, exploded into a myriad stars; roman candles that sometimes went off at the wrong end and caused a wild scattering of the audience in their immediate vicinity; and "set-pieces" that were the epitome of this school of art. it would have been hard to say which was most tired, the hostess or her guests, when the last spark faded from the big "lone star" of texas which ended the show. no bedtime frolic to-night; the four in the nursery undressed in a dead quiet and fell asleep before their heads fairly touched the pillows. in her own little room sarah held another seance with the witch hazel bottle, and went to sleep only to dream of a wild ride across the meadows on blue bonnet's rocking-horse, with a fierce band of comanche indians pursuing her, yelling fiendishly all the while, and keeping up a mad fusillade of roman candles. chapter iv the round robin "what's the program for this morning?" asked uncle cliff, as the ranch party assembled on the veranda after a very late breakfast. "i don't know what the others are going to do," said sarah, "but i'm going to write letters." the other girls exchanged amused glances: it was evident that sarah wished to forestall suggestions of another ride. kitty was beginning to show symptoms of sauciness when mrs. clyde interrupted kindly with--"i think sarah's suggestion quite in order. every one at home will be looking for letters." "uncle cliff telegraphed," said blue bonnet, loath to settle down to so prosaic a pursuit. "but a telegram isn't very satisfying to mothers and fathers, dear," replied her grandmother. "and think of poor susy and ruth." "i intend to write them, too," remarked sarah. "let's all write them!" exclaimed blue bonnet. "that's the right spirit," said señora with an approving nod. "a 'round-robin' letter will cheer the poor girls wonderfully." "you hear the motion, are all in favor?" asked alec. "will you write a 'robin,' too?" bargained kitty, who loved to torment the youth. "sure!" he agreed at once, thus taking the wind out of her sails. "aye, aye, then!" they all exclaimed, and the motion was declared carried. there was a scattering for paper and ink, after which every one settled down for an hour's scribbling, some using the broad rail of the veranda as a table, others repairing to desks in the house. blue bonnet doubled up jack-knife fashion on one of the front steps, using her knees for a pad; while sarah, complaining that she could not think with so many people about her, took herself off to the window-seat in the nursery. "the idea of wanting to think!" exclaimed kitty. "i never stop to think when i write letters." "you don't need to tell that to any one who has ever heard from you," remarked blue bonnet. "the one letter i had from you in new york took me an hour to puzzle out,--it began in the middle and ended at the top of the first page, and there were six 'ands' and four 'ifs' in one sentence." "that's quite an accomplishment--i'll wager you couldn't get in half so many," retorted kitty. and then for a while there was silence, broken only by the scratching of pens and the query from blue bonnet as to whether there were two s's or two p's in "disappoint." "to susy and ruth doyle, woodford, massachusetts. "the blue bonnet ranch, "july the fifth. "you poor dears: you'll never know if you live to be a thousand years old what a fearful disappointment it was when doctor clark told me the awful news. where did you get it? is it very bad? and do you have to gargle peroxide of hydrogen? amanda says she just lived on it when her throat was bad. are you honestly as red as lobsters? it's a perfect shame you should have to be sick--and in vacation, too. there might be some advantages if it should happen--say at examination time. grandmother says it is very unusual to have scarlet fever in warm weather,--it just seems as if you must have gone out of your way to get it--or it went out of its way to get you. "the ranch party isn't a bit complete without you. i'm going to take pictures of everything and everybody so as to show you when we get back. that sounds as if i meant to go back again next fall, when really it isn't decided yet. i'm more in love with the ranch than ever and feel as if i never wanted to leave it again. it's so fine and big out here. there's so much air to breathe and such a long way to look, and you can throw a stone as far as you like without 'breaking a window or a tradition'--as alec says. we have our traditions, too, but they can stand any amount of stone-throwing--in fact that's part of them. "it's worth crossing the continent to see sarah on horseback, riding across the saddle in a wild western way that would shock her reverend father out of a whole paragraph. kitty dared her and i must say she showed pluck--comanche can go _some_ when he gets started, and sarah stayed with him to the finish. but you can imagine why she wanted to write letters to-day instead of riding again. you can thank her for the round robin. there, i've reached the bottom of the page before i've begun to tell you anything. but the others will make up for it, i reckon. no more now--i must save strength for a letter to aunt lucinda. do hurry and get well and out of quarantine so that you can write to "your devoted "blue bonnet." "dear susy and ruth: we arrived on monday evening after a very pleasant journey. the name of the station where you get off is jonah--isn't that odd? we had to drive twenty miles in a very queer kind of vehicle in order to reach blue bonnet's home, and this letter will have to go back over the same road in order to be posted. i think i had better go back to the beginning and tell you all about our trip from the time we left woodford. "the private car we came in is called the wanderer and it is really a pity you could not have shared it with us. it is much grander than mrs. clyde's drawing-room at home,--the mahogany shone till you could see your face in it, and wherever there was not mahogany there was a mirror, and slivers, the porter, dusted everything about twenty times a day. if you could see slivers i should not have to explain why he is called by that name. i am sure he is the tallest and slimmest man i have ever seen. and that is odd, too, for you always think of them as plump and fat. he is a negro, you know, and doesn't seem to mind it a bit, but is as jolly as if he were white and as fat as you think he ought to be, and sang and played his banjo in the evenings quite like a civilized person. he waited on table, too, while the chief--the cook, you know--prepared our meals in the most cunning little kitchen you can imagine. "it was a very interesting trip. sometimes we would begin our breakfast in one state and before we had finished we would be in another, and yet there would seem to be no difference. i think travelling is a very interesting way to learn geography, for you forget to think of kansas as yellow and oklahoma as purple, and think of them as _real_ places with trees and farms and other things like massachusetts. i knew already that texas is as big as all the new england states put together, but i never really _grasped_ it before. i am learning new things every day, some spanish, though not as much as i could wish. yesterday i learned to ride astride. that is, nearly learned. i don't feel entirely at home that way yet and it has tired me considerably, but i dare say it will come easier after a while. my horse is named comanche, and he looks just that way. there is more white to his eyes than anything else. "benita is blue bonnet's old nurse. she does the most exquisite drawn-work and is going to teach me (it would be as well for you not to mention this when you write) the spider-web stitch and the maltese cross, so that i can do a waist for blue bonnet. she is doing so much for us all that i want to make some return for her hospitality. blue bonnet, i mean, not benita. "i do hope you will soon be better. i felt so mean at leaving without even saying good-bye. but i had to think of all my brothers and sisters and the girls--i couldn't expose them to the fever, you know. i hope you liked the postals we sent. amanda and i came very near being left once when we couldn't find the post-box at kansas city,--we had to run a block, while alec and kitty stood on the back platform and laid bets on the winner. (amanda won.) "we are all well and hope you are the same,--i mean i hope you are better and will soon be well. "with best love, "sarah jane blake." "oh, girls, i am simply speechless and can't find a word to say when i try to describe our grand trip and this perfect peach of a place, and the glorious time we have had and are having ever since we left pokey old woodford and arrived at the blue bonnet ranch. i keep pinching myself to see if i'm really me, but it isn't at all convincing, and i suppose i'll simply go on treading air and not believe in the reality of a thing till i come to earth in time to hear the jolly good say--'miss kitty, you may take problem number ninety-four'--and wake up to the monotonous old grind again--oh, if you could only see this darling old house and the picturesque mexicans--rather dirty some of them (i suppose that's why they are called greasers) and the perfectly dear way they adore blue bonnet and their deference to her 'amigos'--i tell you i feel like a princess when they call me 'señorita' with a musical accent that makes you downright sick with envy. why anybody on earth ever left the west to go and settle up the east i don't see,--you may think i mean that the other way about but i don't, for anybody can see at half a glance that this country is as old as methusalem--the live-oaks look as if they'd been here forever and ever and would stay as much longer--they're all 'hoary with moss' and all that sort of thing like that poem of tennyson's--or maybe it is longfellow's--it doesn't matter which in vacation, thank goodness. i don't like to seem to be rubbing it in about our good times, for it's just too hateful that you can't be here, too, and ride like mad for miles without coming to a fence and wear the adorable riding-suits mr. ashe got for us in new york--all seven alike and as becoming as anything--and have the best things to eat, wear, do, and see every minute of the day. "this won't go into the envelope with the rest if i run on any longer so i'll close,--with a fat hard hug and lots of love to you both, "kitty." "dear girls: don't you ever go and get conditioned at school; take my solemn warning. that awful thing hanging over me is going to do its best to spoil my grand summer in texas. i intended to do a lot of studying as soon as we arrived here, so that i might have a few weeks perfectly free from worry; but goodness me, how can anybody open a book when there's something going on every blessed minute of the day? it's a pity it wasn't sarah who was conditioned. she actually likes to study and if it came to a choice between a horseback ride and doing ten pages of grammar, she'd jump at the grammar. sometimes i think sarah isn't made like other girls. not quite normal, you know. "now that i've seen blue bonnet at home, i realize what a hard time she must have had in woodford, at first especially. she's treated like a perfect _queen_ here, and doesn't have to mind a soul except señora--that's what we call mrs. clyde. fancy having run the ranch all your life and then at fifteen having to start in and obey miss clyde, and mr. hunt, and the rest of those mighty ones! i think she's a brick to have done it at all, and i take back every criticism i ever made of her. she must be terribly rich, but doesn't put on any airs at all. "how is little old woodford getting along without us? i'm almost ashamed to write mother and father, for i can't say i'm homesick and parents always expect you to be. debby wants to finish my page, so no more now from "your loving amanda." "dear susy and ruth: there's only room for me to say hello, and how are you? i wish i were a grand descriptive genius like robert louis stevenson so that i could describe this wonderful texas. but description isn't my strong point--you know how i just scraped through eng. comp. so i'll not try any flights. "it isn't half as _wild_ as we used to imagine it. the cowboys don't go shooting up towns and hanging horse-thieves to all the trees the way they do in most of the western stories. even the cattle are tame, but blue bonnet says that is because they are fenced nowadays, and most of them de-horned. all the cowboys except two are mexicans, and they are so picturesque and--different. mr. ashe says texas is filling up with negroes but he won't have any on the ranch,--he sticks to the mexicans, and i'm mighty glad, for they seem just to suit the atmosphere. juanita, who waits on the table, is a beauty, with the most coquettish airs. miguel is in love with her, and we all hope she won't keep him waiting too long, for if they are really going to be married, we want a grand wedding while we are here. wouldn't that be thrilling? "i've just room to sign my name, "yours, with love, "debby." "to the absent two-sevenths of the 'we-are-its'--greeting! please don't imagine that i forced my way into this round robin affair. my masculine chirography probably looks out of place in this epistolary triumph--ahem!--but you can thank kitty clark for it. i don't know whether or not this is intended as a letter of condolence, but it surely ought to be,--anybody who has to miss this summer-session on the blue bonnet ranch deserves flowers and slow music. "this letter will be postmarked 'jonah'--but don't be alarmed; they say it's a harmless one. i'm going to ride over with the mail. just a little matter of twenty miles, a trifle out here! kitty says she doesn't see how we can expect any letters to reach a place with such a name, but i've faith in the collection of relatives left behind in woodford. "now i advise you both, the next time you go into the vicinity of anything catching, cross your fingers and say 'king's ex.' for you're missing the time of your young lives. as a place of residence, texas certainly has my vote. a fellow can breathe his lungs full here without robbing the next fellow of oxygen. "with unbounded sympathy, "yours, "alec trent." blue bonnet collected the literary installments from each of the different authors and put them in a big envelope. "this 'round-robin' is as plump as a partridge," she remarked. "i hope susy and ruth won't strain their eyes devouring it." "the woodford postman in our part of town will have an unusually warm greeting, i fancy," said mrs. clyde, gathering up all the other letters and placing them with the round-robin in the roomy mail-bag. "i think father had better have a social at the church for the we-are-seven relatives and ask them to bring our letters. reading and passing them around would make a very interesting evening's entertainment," said sarah. blue bonnet paused long enough to shake her. "don't you dare suggest such a horrible thing to your father, sarah! my letter wasn't intended for--public consumption." "nor mine!" exclaimed kitty. "father and mother know what a scatter-brain i am, but it's a family skeleton which they don't care to have aired." "is the mail all in?" asked alec in an official tone. "all in, postmaster," replied mrs. clyde, fastening the bag and handing it to him with a smile. "you're not going alone, are you?" "no, shady is going along this trip, señora," he replied. "why don't we all go?" asked blue bonnet; "it isn't much of a ride." sarah looked up in alarm, but met mrs. clyde's reassuring glance. "not this time, dear," she returned to blue bonnet. "so far you have had all play and no work. the piano hasn't been touched since we arrived." blue bonnet said nothing, but into her eyes there sprang a sudden rebellion. out there by the stables don and solomon were frolicking, ready at a moment's notice to dash away at firefly's heels. away in front of the house stretched the road and the prairie, calling irresistibly to her restless, roving spirit. and vacation had been so long in coming! if grandmother were going to be like aunt lucinda-- again there flashed into her mind the wish so often voiced in woodford: that there might be two of her, so that one might stay at home and be taught things while the other went wandering about as she liked. all at once she remembered alec's suggestion--that she adopt sarah as her "alter ego." a smile drove the cloud from her eyes. "can't sarah do my practising while i do her riding?" she asked coaxingly. her grandmother hid a smile as she said: "i was under the impression that my coming to the ranch was to see that blue bonnet ashe did her practising, mending, and had coffee only on sundays." blue bonnet colored. she had uttered those very words, and nobody should say that an ashe was not sincere. straightening up she met the questioning looks of the other girls with a resolute glance. "grandmother is right, as she always is, girls. i'll go and practise, and you--what will you do?" "i'm sure all the girls will be glad of a little time to themselves," said the señora. "let us all do as we like until dinner-time. i've been longing to sit in the shade of the big magnolia ever since i came. i shall take a book and spend my two hours out there, and any one who wishes may share my bower." "then i'll be off," said alec. "any commissions for me in jonah?" he stood like an orderly at attention, with the mail-bag slung over one shoulder and his whole bearing expressive of the importance of his mission. the sun and the wind of the prairie had already tanned his smooth skin to the ruddy hue of health, but mrs. clyde, observing him closely, could not fail to note how very slim and frail the erect young figure was. "isn't twenty miles a rather long ride on a hot day?" she asked tactfully, fearing to wound the sensitive lad. "we shall reach kooch's ranch by noon, and we are to rest there until it is cool again," he replied, flushing a little under her solicitous glance. "well, keep an eye on shady!" said blue bonnet, waving him good-bye as she went to do her practising. fifteen minutes later each member of the ranch party was busily engaged in doing "just as she liked." mrs. clyde, deep in a book, sat under the fragrant magnolia; kitty reclined on a navajo blanket near her, lazily watching the gay-plumaged birds that made the tree a rendezvous. from the open windows of the living-room came a conscientious rendering of a "czerny" exercise, enlivened now and then by a bar or two of a rollicking dance, with which blue bonnet sugar-coated her pill. in the kitchen debby and amanda were deep in the mysteries of "pinoche" under the tutelage of lisa and gertrudis; while sarah, safe inside her own little sanctum, sat and drew threads rapturously, and later, coached by the delighted benita, wove them into endless spider-webs. chapter v the swimming hole they sat up late that evening waiting for alec to come with the mail. mrs. clyde and blue bonnet were somewhat uneasy, for they knew he had intended to be back in time for their late supper; and when ten o'clock came and no alec or shady appeared, they grew openly anxious. uncle cliff refused to share their worry. "shady's no tenderfoot," he scoffed, "and holding up the mail has gone out of fashion in these parts." blue bonnet had no fear of hold-ups and did not care to express her suspicion that the ride had proved too much for alec. she found reason to reproach herself: a forty-mile ride for a delicate boy like him was a foolish undertaking and she should have realized it. she had ridden that distance herself innumerable times; but she had practically been reared in the saddle and had lived all her life in this land of great distances. it was very different with alec. the day of their picnic in woodford came back to her, and again she saw the boy, worn out by a much shorter ride, lying white and unconscious before the fire in the hunter's cabin. she grew almost provoked with her grandmother for having insisted upon her practising instead of riding to jonah as she had wished. if she had gone along, she at least would have known what to do for alec in an emergency. at eleven the moon came up, and rising out of the prairie simultaneously with the golden disk, came shady, riding alone. a rapid fire of questions greeted him as he came up with the mail. "left the young fella at kooch's," he explained briefly. "what was the matter?" asked blue bonnet anxiously. "well, ye see--it was this way,--" shady paused and then stood awkwardly shifting his sombrero from hand to hand. blue bonnet guessed instantly that alec had sworn the cowboy to secrecy concerning the real reason for his non-appearance, and she refrained from further questioning. but her grandmother took alarm. "is he hurt--or ill?" mrs. clyde asked quickly. for a moment shady avoided her eyes, then resolutely squaring his shoulders he lied boldly: "no, señora,--the mare went lame on him. he'll be over in the morning." mrs. clyde drew a quick breath of relief; but blue bonnet was not so easily reassured. that kooch had a dozen horses which alec might have ridden if strawberry was really disabled, was something her grandmother did not know; but the little texan, used all her life to the easy give and take of ranch life, understood at once that alec's real reason for staying at the dutchman's was quite different from the one shady had so glibly given. she knew better, however, than to press the cowboy, and let him go off to the cook-house without attempting to get at the truth. "grammy kooch will take good care of him," said uncle joe; and with her fears thus set at rest, mrs. clyde proposed an adjournment to the house to read their letters. the next morning blue bonnet was up before any one else in the house was stirring, and, dressing without arousing any of the other occupants of the nursery, she stole out of the house and made her way to the stable. some of the mexicans were already up, feeding the stock and doing the "chores," and one of them saddled firefly. none of them wondered at blue bonnet's early appearance, for since her infancy she had ridden whenever the fancy took her, and now as she dashed out of the corral with don and solomon racing madly after her, the men grinned with satisfaction that the señorita had returned to the ranch unchanged. as she neared the kooch ranch she saw a solitary horseman emerging from the gate. he was not looking towards her, and after a moment's scrutiny she began to whistle "all the blue bonnets." with a start of surprise alec glanced up the road and at once galloped towards her. "is it really you?" he asked, hardly believing his eyes. "nae ither!" she laughed, turning firefly and falling in with the strawberry mare--whose four legs, she noted, were as sound as ever. "well, you are an early bird." "lucky you're not a worm,--i'm hungry enough to eat one!" she said gaily. under cover of the jest she stole a quick look at him. yes, in spite of the sunburn he looked worn out and ill; he needed to rest and be taken care of. she refrained from asking how he felt and instead kept up a steady fire of nonsense, describing their dull day at the ranch without him. if alec had felt any resentment at her coming for him, it melted under her light treatment of the situation; and by the time they reached the little "rio" he was more like his usual, interested self. "i think i'd like to follow up this cree--er--river, i mean," he remarked, looking up the winding, willow-grown course. "not before breakfast, thank you!" "well, i didn't mean right this minute, but sometime," he corrected. "we will, surely. i want to introduce you to the lovely spots of the ranch, just as you showed me the charming places about woodford. it will be different from following the brook as we used to do there, but i think you'll like it. there are picnic places along san franciscito that can't be beat." "san frances_cheeto_?" he echoed; "where's that?" "that's the name of this river," she replied loftily. alec threw back his head and laughed. "the name's bigger than the stream!" he declared. "it has advantages over the brook, as you'll see. one of them is the swimming hole. do you swim?" alec's eyes glistened. "i'm ready to learn." "well, get shady to teach you. i'm going to make the girls learn. you boys and we girls will have the pool on alternate days,--won't it be fun?" "the best ever. this is the first i've heard of it." "i wanted some things for surprises," blue bonnet declared. "isn't it odd your being here and seeing everything i used to talk about? it was a novelty then, but after this i won't have anything left to describe to you. what do you suppose we will talk about on our first jaunt by the brook next spring?" alec's face changed oddly. "maybe there won't be any jaunt by the brook next spring--for me," he said, looking away from her startled eyes. "why, what do you mean?" she asked, and then wished she had not spoken, for she was suddenly afraid of his answer. "i may not be,--you can't always tell," he stammered, looking as if he wanted to take it all back. "let's not talk about it now, please," he begged, and blue bonnet gladly let the subject drop. she rode on in silence the rest of the way, depressed and miserable. alec's words were a revelation; she had not dreamed he felt so ill and doubtful of living. she had thought he would grow strong and well at the ranch, and already he was worse and spoke of his case as hopeless. they were greeted with a loud outcry from the girls, who were perched on the top bar of the corral gate awaiting them. they had been somewhat startled upon arising to find blue bonnet gone, but firefly's absence from his stall had explained her disappearance. "hurry up,--we're starving!" they cried; and alec and blue bonnet, responding gaily, dismounted and hastened to the house with the rest, both glad to escape questions in the general hilarity and press of hunger. "grandmother," said blue bonnet later in the day; "i'm worried about alec." it was just after the siesta, and seeing her grandmother sitting alone in her chosen seat under the magnolia, she had gone out for a chat. they were seldom alone these days. "he does look tired," mrs. clyde admitted; "but it is natural he should after that long ride." "it isn't that." blue bonnet shook her head. "i'm afraid he's--got something." "got something?" her grandmother repeated in puzzled surprise. "_has_ something, if you object to 'got.' has something the matter with him, i mean,--serious, you know." then she repeated the conversation she had had with alec that morning. mrs. clyde listened in silence, but her eyes were troubled when blue bonnet finished. "it may not be so bad as alec imagines," she said with a forced hopefulness. "he has been outgrowing his strength, and being overtired, too, makes him despondent." in spite of her words, from that time on mrs. clyde was more observant of the boy, and the moment she saw the first signs of fatigue she would make some tactful suggestion for his benefit, relieving him of the necessity of saying he was tired, yet bringing about the possibility of rest. and often with her own hands she would concoct some nourishing dish, hardly so piquant as gertrudis' red-hot creations, but rather more healthful for a growing boy. neither she nor blue bonnet voiced their fears to the other girls nor to any of the men, but, with a silent understanding, ministered quietly to the frail boy's needs. a few days later the girls crossed the meadow to the pool for their first lesson in swimming. it was an odd little bunch that sat on the bank dabbling their toes in the limpid water. the hastily improvised bathing-suits they wore were of every style and color, and they looked as gay as a flock of parrots in their bright-hued raiment. blue bonnet dove off the big boulder in the middle, to the great envy of the others, who only consented to get wet all over after much persuasion and the threat of a forcible ducking. sarah took the whole thing as seriously as she did most things. "everybody should learn to swim," she announced authoritatively as she sat contemplating a plunge. "some day we might have a chance to cross the ocean, and then we'd wish we knew how." "do you mean to swim across the ocean?" demanded blue bonnet wickedly. "of course not," replied sarah, unruffled. "but in case of shipwreck, you know, it's well to be prepared. i believe it should be studied as a science,--get the stroke, then do it. it's like bicycle riding, they say: when you once learn how to keep your balance you never forget." blue bonnet demonstrated the stroke again and again, while the other girls watched and imitated as they sat or sprawled on the grassy bank. sarah bent her whole mind to the acquiring of the proper arm action; lay face-down and kicked scientifically; then, convinced of her preparation for the feat, boldly entered the water. "good for you, sallikins!" cried blue bonnet. "the others must be afraid of getting their feet wet." then she sang tauntingly: "mother, may i go out to swim? yes, my darling daughter, hang your clothes on a hickory limb-- but don't go near the water!" thus challenged, kitty stepped shrinkingly into the cold water. "if sarah will swim from me to you, i'll try it after her," she bargained. it was perhaps a distance of three yards from where she stood, waist-deep, to the big rock whereon blue bonnet was perched, laughing at them; but the hellespont could hardly have loomed wider to the anxious eyes of hero, than did this narrow channel now appear to the four novices. "all right," agreed sarah with dogged determination. she shut her eyes, screwed up her face, spread her arms, struck out with her feet and started. if a hippopotamus had suddenly slipped off the bank there could hardly have been a greater splash; sarah kicked madly, puffing, panting, and churning the water into foam. all to no avail. before she had gone a yard she sank like a paving-stone to the bottom of the pool. blue bonnet, convulsed with laughter, went down after her, but it took the combined efforts of herself and kitty to bring the struggling sarah to the surface. sputtering and choking and much puzzled over the failure of her scientific method, sarah retired to the bank to get her breath. "kitty's turn," she said inexorably as soon as she could speak. kitty found the bottom no less speedily, but scrambled up by herself and went at it again until she was able to progress almost two feet before going down to "call on the fishes," as blue bonnet said. it remained for debby to cover herself with glory. disdaining science and the instructions of the teacher, she took a lesson from nature and struck out like a puppy. straight to blue bonnet she swam, struggled up on the big boulder beside her, gasping and breathless, but delighted at her own success. "bravo!" cried the girls, quite overcome with admiration. emboldened by her triumph the others tried again and again, and while not wildly successful were so far encouraged that they lost their first great fear of the water. and that, as every swimmer knows, is the first step towards victory. "after you've all learned," said blue bonnet a little later, as they all sat on the veranda rail drying their hair, "we'll go over to the reservoir above jonah some time and have a real swim. that is, if grandmother's willing." she was glad she had remembered to add that last provision; it would have won an approving look from aunt lucinda. "then we'll have to have real suits," remarked kitty, beginning then and there to plan a fetching costume for the occasion. "i'll write home for one right away." when the plan was laid before señora she made a brilliant suggestion. "why not make your own suits? we may be able to find material in jonah, and benita and i will superintend." sarah beamed delightedly, but blue bonnet looked doubtful. "will it be as hard as knitting a shawl?" she asked, ignoring the giggles her question provoked. "lots harder, you goose," said kitty. "but if you begin it you'll probably have it finished for you by the same person who did the shawl." "then i don't mind!" blue bonnet agreed promptly. "we'll go to jonah to-morrow--" adding before the words were fairly said, "--may we, grandmother?" "perhaps," was all she said; but her eyes held more encouragement. chapter vi an adventure "have you decided, grandmother," asked blue bonnet, "whether or not we can go to jonah this morning?" "i think you may as well go," said mrs. clyde. "if they have no suitable material at jonah, we shall have to send away for it, and the sooner we know the better. and, besides, we need several things for the house." blue bonnet smiled gratefully. grandmother was so sweetly reasonable--most of the time. to her surprise sarah was the only one of the girls who greeted the proposal with any enthusiasm. the others looked listless and heavy-eyed. "i feel tired all over," said debby. "i can't move my arms without groaning," complained amanda. "i'm as stiff as a poker," added kitty mournfully. sarah looked wise. "it's the swimming," she declared. "trying to swim," blue bonnet corrected her. "i'm not tired or stiff." "if trying to swim has made us feel this way, why doesn't sarah make her little moan?" demanded kitty. sarah looked still wiser. "i was so stiff before that i think swimming just limbered me up," she explained delightedly. sarah could not help feeling a little very human satisfaction at the consciousness that she had borne her sufferings with far greater courage than the others now displayed. "i couldn't ride a mile," groaned kitty. "nor i!" declared both debby and amanda. "then, señorita blake, do we go by our lones?" asked blue bonnet. "i'd love to," sarah assented readily, beating down a nagging fear of comanche's eyes. "then let's hurry and dress. we must start while it's cool." "i think you will have to drive, dear," said her grandmother, looking up from the shopping list she was making. "lisa says we must have laundry soap, and i don't see how you can bring a big box unless you take the buckboard." blue bonnet's face fell. "lisa's always wanting soap," she grumbled. "i should love to drive," sarah suggested wistfully. blue bonnet hesitated; after all a hostess should consider a guest's preference, and sarah was certainly a "good sort." "very well," she assented, smothering a sigh. "have you all decided what color you want your bathing-suits?" asked the señora. "let's have them all alike," suggested sarah. "red!" exclaimed blue bonnet. "no, thank you," returned kitty. "pray consider the feelings of my hair! i'm willing to have any color so long as--" "--so long as it's green!" blue bonnet finished for her, recollecting former debates of this sort. "green is lovely for swimming, anyway," kitty contended. "it's so mermaidy, you know." "and so becoming to red--er--auburn hair," put in blue bonnet. "having blue eyes myself, i'm not partial to green." "oh, if you're going to insist on harmony of colors i think we had better stick to black and blue--i'm one big bruise." kitty illustrated her remark with a groan. "yes, i've seen blue trimmed with black and it was very pretty," said sarah, quite missing kitty's point. "here, grandmother, please make a list. now, everybody, decide. red for me. debby, what shall yours be?" "red with white braid, please," replied debby after a moment's thought. "blue with white ditto," was amanda's choice. "green," came from kitty. "black and blue,"--this from the consistent sarah. "i think you will have to change the name of your club from the 'we are sevens' to 'the rainbow quintet,'" said the señora, laughing as she wrote down the variegated list. after all it was a delightful drive to jonah. the two fleet horses drew the light buckboard over the smooth road with a motion that sarah found far preferable to the cat-like leaps of comanche; and blue bonnet was so proud of being trusted to drive a team that she was quite reconciled to the arrangement. "denham would have fainted if i had even suggested driving grandmother's carriage horses," she told sarah, with a scornful sniff for those fat woodford beasts. "you drive beautifully," was sarah's comforting rejoinder. to their great satisfaction they found just what they wanted in jonah. alpaca was to be had in almost every shade, and wide white braid that made an excellent trimming. and to blue bonnet's delight she found a bright red sash that would add the finishing touch of elegance to her suit. their shopping done and the buckboard well-heaped with their varied purchases, the two girls drove back as far as kooch's ranch, where, according to an immemorial custom, they lunched and rested until the cool of the afternoon. on the return trip they met with an adventure. the road ran for a short distance beside the little river with the big name--san franciscito--which had so amused alec. it was there that sarah did something unprecedented. for several miles she had been envying blue bonnet her easy manner of handling the reins and the light touch that sent the mustangs right or left as she willed. it was a beautiful accomplishment. "blue bonnet," she asked suddenly, "may i drive for a little while?" blue bonnet looked up in speechless surprise; sarah was certainly "coming on." "surely you may," she said cordially, straightway handing over the reins. "hold them firmly--these colts are apt to run under a loose rein." sarah felt a curious sense of power as she grasped the leather in her unpracticed hands. conscientious to a degree, she did as she was bid and held the mustangs firmly. in her anxiety to do the thing properly, she overdid it, and the next moment the horses were tossing their heads angrily and backing with all their might. the bank of the stream just here was very high and steep, though just beyond was a ford where the road branched. the light buckboard offered no resistance to the spirited mustangs, and, in a second, before blue bonnet could grasp the reins, one hind wheel had slipped an inch or two over the ledge. for a second or two the girls were in grave danger. blue bonnet felt a swift overpowering fear; the half-broken colts were as apt to plunge backward as to advance if they felt the whip, and that meant a plunge down the steep bank. she looked about her helplessly. sarah, with a faint shriek, shut her eyes and prepared for the catastrophe. at that moment a horseman came suddenly up the bank at the ford, emerging as if from out the earth. at a glance he took in the situation, was off his horse, caught the near colt by the bit and brought both frightened animals to a standstill with the wheel a safe margin from the bank. then without waiting to hear the faintly murmured thanks of the terrified girls, their rescuer turned at once to his own horse, which had seized the moment to make a break for freedom. the boy--for he was hardly more--had thrown the lines over the animal's head and now, with another of his incredibly swift movements, he caught them and in a second more had jerked the horse about. then in a flash he was once more in the saddle. blue bonnet had just managed to catch her breath,--when it was taken away again. for before the boy had put his right foot in the stirrup, he was out of the saddle once more, lying all of a heap in the grass, while his horse with a wicked kick-up of his heels, vanished around a turn in the road. not daring to trust the reins out of her hands a second time, blue bonnet almost pushed sarah from her seat. fearfully the girl approached and bent over the fallen hero; to her relief she saw that his eyes were open. he blinked queerly for a moment, then gave a gaspy little laugh. "i'm all right. don't worry. it's knocked the breath out of me--that's all," he managed to say at last; and then, after another pause, he scrambled up to a sitting posture. "i'm so sorry," said sarah, finding her voice. "i hope you're not seriously hurt." "i'm--quite whole!" he assured her, and stopped with a wince of pain. "it's my wrist, i reckon--broken or sprained." he examined the injured member closely and after a vain attempt to lift it said briefly: "broken. isn't that the limit?" "oh, dear," exclaimed sarah, all sympathy. "what shall we do?" she approached blue bonnet with a very serious face. "we shall have to get a doctor to set his arm right away," she said in a low tone. "you know the bones go crooked if they're not set soon." "if he can get up into the buckboard we can take him to the doctor, that'll be quicker," replied blue bonnet. sarah went back to the boy. he still sat, rather dazed and white, looking disgustedly at his injured arm. "say," she began hesitatingly; she wished she knew his name--"say" was so plebeian; "--are you too badly hurt to get into the buckboard?" "no, indeed," he replied cheerfully. "be--with you--in a minute. but sorry--to trouble you." "it's no trouble," said sarah. "we're terribly sorry about your arm." "nothing much,--only a bother," he maintained stoutly, setting his teeth as he said it and scrambling to his feet. then he swayed and would have fallen if sarah had not caught him. he clung to her for a moment, fighting the dizziness with all the pride of his seventeen years, then giving in sheepishly, let her lead him to the buckboard. once there he leaned weakly against the wheel, while the two girls, anxious and frightened, yet too considerate of his feelings to show their concern, watched him in speechless sympathy. at last he straightened up and gave a short, embarrassed laugh. "reckon i've got a funny-bone in my head," he said impatiently. then steadying himself with his right hand he climbed slowly into the back seat of the buckboard. "we'd better go to jonah at once, don't you think--for the doctor?" blue bonnet asked him. "is it far?" he asked. blue bonnet looked her surprise and he added: "i don't know these parts. i'm camping up at the big spring and was just riding down this way looking for a place they call kooch's." "why, we've just come from there," exclaimed blue bonnet. "then it is near?" he asked. "i'd begun to think i must have taken the wrong road." "just a mile or two back," explained blue bonnet. "then if you will kindly take me there, i'll not trouble you any further," the youth said eagerly. "but you must have your arm set right away," protested sarah. "well, if the man i was looking for is at kooch's, maybe he can set it," he replied, adding, "he's a 'medic' from chicago--a friend of a cousin of mine. left college on account of lung trouble, and i heard he was camping on kooch's ground somewhere." "maybe it was his tent we saw back there a ways," said sarah. "that's quite near." blue bonnet turned the horses and driving very slowly, so as not to hurt the boy's injured arm, went back over the road they had just traversed. it was not long before they came in sight of the tent she and sarah had noticed; a rather high fence prevented her approaching it very closely, and she stopped just opposite the camp. "i reckon you'll have to go and see if the man's there, sarah," said blue bonnet. sarah looked fearfully at the high fence. "i just know i can't get over." blue bonnet gave her a withering glance. "you--woodfordite!" was the worst epithet she dared trust herself to before a stranger. "then you'll have to hold the horses. there's no river to spill into here--and you don't have to pull them over backwards." "there's no need, really," the young fellow interrupted. "i can bring abbott if he's here." he raised his right hand, put the tips of two fingers to his lips and blew. the shrillest, most penetrating whistle the girls had ever heard pierced the air, causing the colts to lunge forward in a way that might have precipitated another catastrophe, had not blue bonnet's little steel wrist brought them up sharply. at the summons a tall lanky figure appeared from within the tent and stood peering under his hand at the occupants of the buckboard. the youth whistled again, this time only with his lips,--a bird-like call. "that's his frat whistle. ought to bring him." and bring him it did. the lanky figure deserted the tent and with an eager stride crossed the meadow and came up to the fence. after one scrutinizing glance at the girls his eye fell on the boy and he grinned broadly. "hullo, knight!--is it really you? glad to see you, old chap!" "hello, doc. how am i going to get over this hospitable fence of yours?" returned the boy, with an abruptness born of an aching wrist. "my nag threw me and i've broken my left arm. know anybody that can set it?" he winked impudently at the fledgling doctor. the latter beamed with professional delight. "just my line, dear boy. i wish it had been your leg, now,--i do those beautifully!" "or my neck--i don't doubt it. but this is quite enough, thank you," retorted the boy. he was white with pain and yet could joke!--it was the sort of pluck blue bonnet admired. "if your cousin will drive down to the gate,--" the young man suggested. the boy looked a trifle embarrassed. "this isn't my cousin," he replied. "these gir--er--young ladies picked me up after my spill and--" "i'm elizabeth ashe," blue bonnet supplied, coloring slightly. "of the blue bonnet ranch?" asked the medico, and at her affirmative nod he added, "i've met mr. ashe." "this is doctor abbott," said the boy, striving to make the introduction easily, though one could see that such social amenities were not a matter of habit with him. "i can't claim that title yet," the "doctor" protested. "my friends bestowed it when i was a freshman. i hope to earn it yet. now, knight,--about that arm. if miss ashe will drive on--there's a gate a hundred yards down the road. it isn't big enough to drive through, but i'll meet you there. i've some bandages in my tent. be with you in a minute." he appeared at the little gate bearing a most professional looking leather case and various packages that emitted queer odors. his enjoyment of the operation in store was plain. "hadn't i better go over to the tent with you?" asked the patient. to have an arm set with two strange girls looking on was evidently not to his taste. "too far for you to walk if you feel as shaky as you look," said doctor abbott, his keen eyes taking in young knight's pale face and twitching lips. "and i may need assistance." he sprang lightly into the seat beside the patient and made a rapid examination. the girls resolutely kept their eyes away, but they could hear the boy's quick breathing. he made no other sound. "a sprain, my boy," was the verdict which the girls heard with vast relief. "only a sprain?" asked knight in an injured tone. "then what makes it hurt so like the mischief?" "a sprain hurts worse than a fracture, sometimes, but it is less serious and will heal quicker," said the doctor. "i've just the right thing here and will fix you up in no time." the next five minutes were bad ones for the sufferer; sarah and blue bonnet knew it, though they still stared off over the meadow and tried to chat unconcernedly, while the hurried breathing of the boy continued. "there you are!" the girls turned to see the young man viewing his work and the neat bandage with approval, while knight, with his lips still trembling, looked up at him with forced cheerfulness. "you'll have to keep it still for a few days,--wish we had some sort of a sling." abbott knit his brow. knight touched the bandanna about his neck. "how about this?" abbott tried it but found it too short. blue bonnet had one of her sudden inspirations. diving down underneath the seat she fished up one of the many packages. under the interested eyes of the others she opened it and then held up something bright and silky. "your red sash!" gasped sarah. "will it do?" blue bonnet asked the doctor anxiously. "just the thing!" he exclaimed; and in a minute had slung his patient's arm in the scarlet folds of the sash. "i say," knight protested, "i hate like everything to take this from you, miss ashe." blue bonnet gave him a bright smile. "i'm very glad to have it prove so useful. sarah called me frivolous when i bought it." the boy looked uncomfortable but was forced to submit, vowing inwardly that he would buy her the "fanciest article in the sash line" that chicago could boast, to make up for the loss of her finery. "now, my friend," said the young surgeon, as he gathered up his instrument case in a professional manner, "i must see that wrist in the morning. where are you staying?" the youth colored; it was evident that he had expected an invitation to stay with his friend. blue bonnet spoke up at once: "you must come with us to the ranch. uncle would never forgive me if i let you stay anywhere else." "sorry i can't ask you to stay with me," abbott said, observing the boy's confusion. "but i've only a cot built for one, you know. you'll be a heap more comfortable at the blue bonnet ranch than in my quarters. i'll ride over in the morning and take a look at you." with the matter thus taken out of his hands, knight had to submit. "it's mighty good of you," he said to blue bonnet. "not at all," she returned heartily. "i'd have to do a great deal to get even!" "that wasn't anything," he protested. then, turning to the doctor, he remarked with a return of his usual humor: "so long, doc--hope you haven't injured me for life. bring over your bill in the morning!" chapter vii a falling out it was quite late when they reached the ranch, and an anxious crowd was awaiting them on the veranda. blue bonnet wished there were rather fewer people there; it was tiresome to make explanations before such an audience. besides, she did not know the visitor's name,--introductions had been of a rather sketchy sort that day. suddenly she made up her mind: she would explain nothing just then, and trust to her grandmother's ready tact to understand her reasons. "this is--" blue bonnet looked at the youth inquiringly. "--knight judson," he supplied. "--and he's met with an accident and will stay here till his arm is better," she said rather breathlessly to her uncle. "very glad to have you, i'm sure," said uncle cliff with ready, outstretched hand. knight judson took the proffered hand with an air of relief. "you're very kind, sir," he stammered. "not at all," mr. ashe protested cordially. "come right in to supper." they all went in without further ceremony to the delayed supper which juanita stood waiting to serve; and the meal progressed in the usual gay fashion that prevailed at the ranch. knight judson was placed between alec and uncle cliff, and in that congenial company the youth lost his shyness and was soon chatting away like an old friend. the awkwardness of eating with one hand gave him occasional bad moments, but little services, rendered unobserved by his attentive neighbors, tided over even these trying times. the girls stole occasional glances down to that end of the table, which were promptly frowned upon by blue bonnet and sarah. on the whole, they acted rather well considering the strain on their curiosity; it was not every day that a good-looking young chap, wearing a bright red sash for a sling, appeared at the ranch. it was not until after supper, when alec had taken the visitor to his room, that the others heard the whole story of the day's adventure. sarah and blue bonnet told it almost together, a rather incoherent but wholly thrilling tale, while the rest of the girls hung breathlessly on the recital. mrs. clyde look worried when sarah dwelt on the peril that had threatened the two of them; blue bonnet wished sarah had not found it necessary to enlarge on that part of it. she, herself, preferred to describe young judson's skill and quickness, his wonderful daring, and heroism under pain. "judson, judson," repeated sarah, wrinkling up her brow. "where have i heard that name before?" blue bonnet thought deeply for a moment. "i know," she cried; "don't you remember carita, carita judson,--my missionary girl!" "i wonder if they're related!" exclaimed sarah. "she lives in texas, you know." "we must ask him in the morning," said blue bonnet. early the next day mr. ashe despatched one of the mexicans with a letter from knight judson to his uncle at the big spring. "tell him not to expect you until he sees you," mr. ashe admonished the youth. "you must stay until that wrist is perfectly well." "you're very good, sir," replied knight warmly. he was not at all averse to spending any length of time in this pleasant place; he and alec had fraternized at once, and he welcomed the chance to know the bright eastern boy better; as for the girls, there were too many of them, he thought. at breakfast blue bonnet opened fire on him. "carita!" he exclaimed. "am i any relation to her? well, i guess yes--she's my cousin! do you know her?" "i don't exactly know her," blue bonnet confessed, "--but we have--corresponded." she stopped abruptly; it was impossible to tell knight about the missionary box; he might feel sensitive about it. happily sarah came to the rescue. "father knows the reverend mr. judson," she remarked. "is he your uncle?" "yes,--and carita's father," he explained. "you see, uncle bayard has charge of a summer camp for boys up at the big spring; he has had it for several years,--we have wonderful times there. a few days ago i had a letter from my cousin george in chicago asking me to look up his friend abbott, who had been ordered to texas for his health. abbott was at the spring with us last summer, but it didn't agree with him, so he came to kooch's. i was on my way there when--" "when!" exclaimed kitty dramatically. "we've heard what happened. we ought to have known better than to let a tenderfoot like blue bonnet go off with no protector but sarah." "it wasn't blue bonnet's fault," protested sarah indignantly. "i was driving." "and i suppose you drive as scientifically as you swim?" mocked kitty. knight looked up with twinkling eyes; evidently the we are sevens were not all of sarah's type. blue bonnet he had already put in a class by herself. "please tell us some more about the boys' camp," begged blue bonnet, "i've heard about the big spring, and uncle has promised to take me there. but, somehow, he never seems to get time. is it a camp just for boys?--it sounds so interesting." "it's one of uncle's fads," knight returned, showing by his tone that he was rather proud of "uncle's fad." "he's tremendously interested in boys and has started a sort of 'get together' movement for fellows who live on big ranches and farms and don't get a chance to see much of other young people--" "like me!" blue bonnet nodded. "they club in on expenses, share the work, and, incidentally, have more fun than some of them ever had before," he continued. "uncle isn't at all strong--that's why he came back from his mission--but he works hard all the time, always doing good--" he stopped abruptly. "i didn't mean to brag, but when i get started on uncle bayard, i never know when to stop." "and carita--does she go camping, too?" asked blue bonnet. "aunt cynthy often brings the whole family for over sunday," he replied. then a thought seemed to strike him. "why don't you all come up and camp--it isn't a hard trip?" blue bonnet clapped her hands. "oh, i think it would be perfectly lovely. grandmother, may we?" she asked. mrs. clyde looked up with her sympathetic smile. "it sounds attractive. perhaps we can arrange it." without seeming to do so grandmother had heard every word of the conversation, and her heart had warmed to the boy who spoke so glowingly of his uncle's work. knight judson was a manly young fellow, she concluded, the right sort to be among girls; the best of companions for the frail, bookish eastern lad. alec himself was charmed with knight. there was something fascinating about a boy who had spent most of his life in the open, and without much aid from books had yet thought more deeply than most youths of his age. he was tall and strong, all bone and muscle, with something about him that was suggestive of a restless colt; but a thoroughbred, every inch of him. after breakfast the two boys set out to hunt for knight's horse, as nothing had been seen or heard of that frisky pony since he had vanished so unceremoniously the evening before. alec carried a lariat, for learning to lasso had become the absorbing passion of his life, and young judson, in spite of the hampering folds of the sling about his left arm, could give lessons in that art to any boy of his age in texas. blue bonnet and mrs. clyde looked after the youthful pair with interested eyes. it was plain that knight had brought a new element into alec's life, and these two good friends rejoiced, though they said nothing and only smiled with new understanding. "i'm glad we nearly tipped over!" blue bonnet suddenly declared. "blue bonnet!" exclaimed her grandmother in a pained tone. "well, i reckon i didn't mean that," confessed blue bonnet after a moment's reflection. "but i'm glad we've met knight judson. alec has had too many girls around him here. he needs a spell of roughing it," and then, as she saw an odd look on her grandmother's face, she asked quickly: "isn't 'roughing it' in good society?" mrs. clyde laughed. "i believe it moves in the best circles--here." "that's good, for there isn't a massachusetts word that could possibly take its place." "the dining-table is cleared, benita says," sarah announced from the doorway, "and we can begin our sewing lesson." they all repaired to the house, and a few minutes later the big dining-room was the scene of great activity; the table strewn with the bright-hued pieces of material, benita smoothing and pinning the patterns, the señora superintending, and the girls cutting and snipping to their hearts' content. at the same time there went on an incessant chatter, chatter, to the cheerful accompaniment of the sewing-machine. when juanita entered to spread the cloth for their early dinner, the girls looked up in surprise. "i never knew time fly so quickly before," said debby. "if i'd known this kind of sewing was so easy and so fascinating," blue bonnet declared, "i'd have taken it up before. it's much nicer than embroidery or mending. just see how much i've done!" she proudly held up the bright red garment. sarah scanned it with perplexed eyes. "it looks rather queer to me," she said. kitty examined it, too, then snatched the suit from blue bonnet's hands. "look!" she bade the rest, "--there's no place to get into it. blue bonnet has sewn it up the back!" there was a great outcry at this, which had the unexpected effect of making blue bonnet angry. "there's nothing on earth gives kitty clark such pleasure as finding me out in a mistake," she declared with flashing eyes and cheeks that burned with mortification. then she turned on kitty,--"i'm sorry the ranch can't offer you any other enjoyment!" she said scathingly and then, snatching back her ridiculed work, flung herself out of the room. kitty's cheeks turned as red as her hair and she was just framing an angry reply to hurl after blue bonnet when she met mrs. clyde's eyes, full of a pained surprise. the girl checked the words on her lips at once, but a few hot tears came in spite of her efforts. "i was only joking," she said with a catch in her voice. "i'm afraid it was my fault," said sarah. "i shouldn't have called attention to her mistake. i'll go and apologize." kitty turned to mrs. clyde. "i apologize to _you_, señora," she said, adding proudly, "but i've nothing to apologize for to blue bonnet. half the fun of being a we are seven is being able to say just what we want to. if everybody is suddenly going to be thin-skinned, i'll have to go about muzzled." "blue bonnet was hasty," said mrs. clyde, "and i'm sure she'll be ready to apologize as soon as she has thought it over." the sewing lesson for that day ended in a gloomy silence. at dinner the two "magpies," as uncle joe had nicknamed them, were mute. this unheard of state of affairs would have aroused comment at any other time, but just now their attention was diverted. "doctor" abbott, who had ridden over to "take a look at knight's wrist," had stayed to dinner--there being always room for one more at that elastic table--and his bright humorous talk had completely fascinated every one. after dinner the men went off for a smoke, and the girls retired for their siesta in an atmosphere as hazy as if they too had indulged in the fragrant weed. they went to the swimming hole later in the day, but somehow the zest was all gone from the sport, with the two leading spirits distrait and moody, avoiding direct speech with each other, and preserving an attitude of injured pride. blue bonnet had made up her mind that kitty owed her an apology, while kitty obstinately refused even in her thoughts to acknowledge herself in the wrong. "blue bonnet thinks she's the king-pin of the universe," she mused angrily. "the others can keep on spoiling her if they want to, but i'm not going to kowtow all the time. they ape her every action,--_i'll_ show her that one of us has independence." keyed up by this formula, repeated mentally a great many times, kitty began to indulge in heroics. aching to excite some admiration for herself she did "stunts" in the water that would have terrified her the day before. once she plunged her bright head under the water and kept it there until she was almost black in the face, in an effort to prove her "staying powers." it only frightened the other girls and went apparently unnoticed by blue bonnet for whose benefit the test had been made. [illustration: "'_i_ believe the only way to learn to swim is to dive in head-first.'"] "i'll show her we're not all 'fraid-cats!" kitty resolved passionately. "i believe," she announced to the girls, in a tone loud enough to reach blue bonnet, who was doing an overhand stroke in the quiet water of the opposite bank. "_i_ believe the only way to learn to swim is to dive in head-first--then you just _have to_. big boys always toss little fellows into the middle of the pool and make 'em scramble back--they always do it right off. here goes!" she poised only for a moment on the bank, not daring to give herself time to reconsider. blue bonnet shot a quick glance at her; she saw at once that kitty had chosen too shallow a spot,--a dive at that point might be dangerous. at any other time she would have shouted a hasty warning, but now she hesitated,--and in that second kitty shot head-first into the water. the girls gave a gasp, and kept their eyes on the spot where she had gone down, waiting to see the red locks reappear. but the water closed over kitty,--and stayed closed. "blue bonnet!" they shouted shrilly, "she hasn't come up!" blue bonnet felt a queer tightening around her heart; she had heard of boys breaking their necks that way. with a few powerful strokes she reached the shallows and felt for kitty. "help me girls--quick!" she cried, "she's struck her head on the bottom." she had seized kitty by this time and held the girl's head above the water, but the body hung limp and heavy in her arms. the girls sprang to help and among them they managed to lift the slight figure to the bank and lay it tenderly on the soft grass. kitty's face was deathly white, and from a gash on the top of her head a trickling stream was dyeing her bright locks a deeper red. blue bonnet's teeth were chattering. "go for somebody!" she gasped, and then, as debby started on the run, she called after her--"that young doctor--bring him!" then she turned to sarah: "here, help me set her up--work her arms--so!" dripping as she fled like a frightened water-sprite, debby burst upon the others as they sat under the magnolia and screamed tragically: "come quick--the doctor, everybody! kitty dove and blue bonnet went down after her and she's drowned!" then breathless, exhausted, and with her bare feet cut and bleeding from her run over the rough meadow, she fell headlong at mrs. clyde's feet. uncle cliff dropped his pipe and ran, followed by the two boys and abbott, who paused only to catch up his medicine case from the veranda, and then sped like the wind after the others. mrs. clyde had turned ghastly white at debby's cry and had sprung up to follow the men. but the sight of the little messenger lying in a pathetic heap by her chair, stopped her. hastily summoning benita she helped carry debby into the house and put her to bed; and not until a faint tired moan told of returning consciousness, did she yield to her anxiety and hasten to the pool. with her feet winged by fear she crossed the meadow, ran as she had not run for forty years, and burst upon the group on the bank with a wild cry--"my girl, my girl--where is she?" at the sound blue bonnet sprang up, and running to her grandmother hugged her convulsively. "she isn't dead--only stunned," the girl sobbed in a glad relief. mrs. clyde held her off for a second. "it wasn't you then?" she questioned as if afraid to trust her eyes. "no, no!" cried blue bonnet. "thank god!" breathed her grandmother. then she folded the girl, wet as she was, in her arms, and held her close as if she would never let her go. in that moment blue bonnet knew and was never to forget how much she was loved by her mother's mother. a sound drew them to the group about kitty. "there now!" young abbott was saying cheerfully. "she's all right. now, knight, get in some of your good work,--first aid to the injured as taught by the reverend bayard judson. a stretcher is what we need." much pleased to be called upon, knight set about his task, while alec supplied the place of his disabled arm. under his directions two stout saplings were cut and the small twigs trimmed from them. then stripping off his coat he bade alec thrust the two poles into its sleeve, one in each. uncle cliff's coat went on at the other end; both coats were buttoned underneath, and there before the eyes of the interested group, was a stretcher ready for the patient. kitty, still weak and dazed, but with the color beginning to return to her milk-white cheeks, was borne gently to the house by uncle cliff and the doctor, attended by a body-guard of alec and mrs. clyde, and followed by the other dripping and subdued we are sevens. there was a rather bad quarter of an hour for kitty while the doctor bathed and dressed her wound. after much debating and grave consideration in his most profound manner, young abbott had decided that the cut was not deep or wide enough to warrant his sewing it up. whereat there was great rejoicing in the household,--not, however, shared by the medical man. a bit of stitching would have given him practice and no end of professional enjoyment. however, kitty felt that she had had quite her share of attention and was glad to be left alone in the nursery tucked in between cool sheets, to sleep off the ache in her broken head. when she awoke it was dusk in the room. beside her bed stood somebody, bearing a tray. "are you awake?" asked a sepulchral voice. "yes," she whispered faintly. the tray was hastily placed on a stand, a second pillow slipped deftly under kitty's head, and then before she had recognized her servitor a pair of soft lips were laid on hers and a penitent voice whispered: "i'm so sorry, kitty,--and ashamed!" "it wasn't your fault, blue bonnet," said kitty, returning the kiss warmly. "served me right for being such a peacock." "then all's serene on the potomac?" blue bonnet questioned. and with a reassuring, though somewhat shaky smile, kitty returned: "all's serene!" chapter viii consequences blue bonnet came in from an early morning romp with don and solomon looking even more rosy and debonair than usual. it was surprising how much easier it was to rise early at the ranch than it had been at woodford. she liked to steal quietly out of the nursery and go adventuring before breakfast; she felt then like blue bonnet the fourteen-year-old, full of the joy of life, untroubled by fears of any sort or desires for the great unknown. she and don in those days had had many a ramble before the dew was off the grass. hat-less and short-skirted she had climbed fences, brushed through mesquite and buffalo grass; hunted nests of chaparral-birds; sat on the top bar of the old pasture fence and watched the little calves gambolling; or, earlier in the spring, had gathered great armfuls of blue bonnets from over in the south meadow. now when she found herself away from the house, skirting san franciscito in an eager chase for a butterfly, she could have thought the past ten months all a dream,--except for a certain small brown dog tearing madly from one gopher-hole to another, while don, in the veteran's scorn for the novice, refused to be enticed from his mistress' side. "where's grandmother?" she asked as she entered the dining-room. grandmother always sat at the head of the breakfast table, and her sweet "homey" face over the teacups, was the first thing blue bonnet looked for. "benita says the señora is not well," replied juanita. the brightness all went out of the morning. grandmother breakfasting in bed! it was unheard of. in her impetuous rush from the room blue bonnet almost collided with benita. "is grandmother awake--can i go to her?" she asked, impatiently. "it is better not. the señora prefers to rest," said benita. "what's the matter with her, benita? i never knew grandmother to be ill before," blue bonnet asked miserably. "it is the shock, i think. the señora is not so young as she once was, señorita." blue bonnet turned away, sick at heart. in the nursery she found nothing to improve her spirits. kitty lay languid and pale among her pillows, saying that her head ached and she didn't care for any breakfast. debby, too, had kept her bed, declaring that she couldn't bear shoes on her poor lacerated feet. amanda and sarah only appeared as usual, and these two had their spirits dampened immediately by the sight of blue bonnet's gloomy countenance. the three of them had the table to themselves, the men having breakfasted earlier than usual and alec and knight having hurried through the meal and ridden off, no one knew where. blue bonnet was not conversational; everything in her world seemed topsy-turvy, and she felt that she must have an hour of hard thinking to sort things out and put them in their places. amanda and sarah, respecting blue bonnet's mood, were silent. during this period of unusual restraint, a resolution was forming in amanda's mind, and at the conclusion of the meal she made an announcement that would have petrified the rest had it come at any other time. "i'm going to study," she said. sarah looked her approval of this decision. "i'll help you,--let's do it in my room." relief on blue bonnet's part quite crowded out surprise. "then you don't mind if i leave you to yourselves?" she asked. "we wouldn't get much done if you didn't," amanda replied with more frankness than tact. blue bonnet had found solitude glorious in the half-hour before breakfast, but now it had lost its charm: joy in her heart had given place to hate. not hatred of the old life, such as had driven her to pastures new; not hatred of texas and "all it stood for"--as she had once passionately declared to uncle cliff. this time the object of her deep and bitter feeling was--herself. she had been rude to a guest in her own house. she had seen one of her best friends risk her life and had made no move to prevent it. she had been the cause of her grandmother's receiving a shock which, at her time of life, might prove very serious. and all this in spite of having lived for nearly a year with two such perfect gentlewomen as aunt lucinda and grandmother clyde. in spite of her boasted loyalty to the "we are sevens." in spite of her promise to her aunt to care tenderly for her grandmother and bring her back safely to woodford. she had wandered aimlessly outdoors and now flung herself face down on the navajo under the big magnolia. "it's no use,--i reckon it's the same old thing. i'm not an ashe clear through." with the thought came swift tears. her head lay against something hard and unyielding; and after her first grief had spent itself, she put up her hand to push away the object--but grasped it instead. it was a book; opening her tear-wet reddened eyes blue bonnet saw that it was a volume of her grandmother's favorite thoreau. it lay just where mrs. clyde had dropped it the day before when she had sprung up at debby's frightened cry. she dried her eyes and sat up. leaning against the low, wicker chair, that was her grandmother's chosen seat, she slowly turned the leaves of the well-worn volume, her thoughts more on the owner of the book than on its author. all at once her glance was caught and held by something that seemed an echo of the cry that kept welling up from her own unhappy heart. it was a prayer, only ten short lines, and she read them with growing wonder: "great god! i ask thee for no meaner pelf than that i may not disappoint myself; that in my striving i may soar as high as i can now discern with this clear eye. that my weak hand may equal my firm faith, and my life practise more than my tongue saith. that my low conduct may not show, nor my relenting lines, that i thy purpose did not know or over-rated thy designs." how could any one, and that a grown man and a poet, have so exactly voiced the thoughts of a young girl on a far-off texas ranch? " . . . . i ask thee for no meaner pelf than that i may not disappoint myself." that was just it--she had disappointed herself, grievously, bitterly. so absorbed was she that she did not hear a foot-fall, nor did she look up until uncle cliff exclaimed, "all alone, honey? that doesn't often happen these days!" his cheerful voice expressed no regret for the absence of the others. she looked up, and then quickly down again; but not soon enough for the traces of tears to escape his watchful eye. "what's up, blue bonnet?" he asked anxiously. he was on the rug beside her now, and with a hand under her quivering chin tilted her face and scanned it closely. she winked fast for a moment. "uncle cliff, do you find it terribly hard to be good?" "thundering hard, honey." he thought whimsically that it was lucky no one else had heard that question. "so hard that my success at it hasn't been remarkable!" "oh, uncle, it has!" she declared. "and it always seems so easy for you to 'live as you ride--straight and true.' i was so proud last winter when you said i'd proved i was an ashe, clear through. but i reckon you spoke too soon. i've been showing what alec calls 'a yellow streak.'" "don't you say that of my girl! i'll wager our best short-horn against a prairie-dog that if you've a yellow streak it's pure gold!" he caressed the brown head that nestled against his arm. she wriggled away and faced him firmly. "you may as well know the worst, uncle cliff. it was my fault that kitty was hurt yesterday. it's my fault grandmother is ill and debby's feet hurt. i was mean and thoughtless and selfish and--" he put his hand over her mouth. "look here, no ashe is going to hear one of his race called all those ugly names. remember whom you're talking to! things always seem to come in bunches, honey, but you have to dispose of them one at a time. why, it's hardly a year since a girl about your size--a bit younger she was, but she had blue eyes just like yours,--was saying she reckoned she'd never make a westerner, and she hated the ranch and was going to sell it as soon as she came of age--" "don't!" came in a smothered tone from blue bonnet. her face was buried again. "don't remind me how downright horrid i was." "and six months later that same little girl--blue eyes same as yours--was telling me how she reckoned that three hundred years would never make an easterner of her, and she loved the ranch and wanted to be a texas blue bonnet as long as she lived!" "and so i do, uncle." "well, i'm just running over a few items in order to remind you that most troubles aren't half as black as your feelings paint them at the time. it's best not to worry over spilt milk till you see it's made a grease-spot. ten to one the cat will lick it up,--and it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. there,--that figure of speech is as mixed as a plum-pudding, but it has a heap of sound philosophy!" blue bonnet was smiling now. "i wish all the preachers would say the kind of things you do. most of the sermons i've heard sound like that last piece of mine--'variations on one theme'--and the theme is duty with a big d. sarah was brought up on those. and they must be pretty successful, for sarah is awfully good. isn't she?" "just that--awfully good." she looked up quickly, struck by something odd in his tone; but he was perfectly sober. "she's the salt of the earth," he added, "and you--" "and what am i?" he smiled down at her. "do you remember how the south pasture looks when the blue bonnets bloom in march,--how fresh and sweet, a sky turned upside down--? it's the glory of the ranch, honey. and what they are to the ranch, you are to me. please don't be trying to be something you can't be, blue bonnet!" she laughed outright. "that sounds like the duchess in 'alice in wonderland.' don't you remember?" "i confess i don't. you've been neglecting my education, young lady, since you began your own. what does the duchess say?" "'be what you would seem to be'--or, if you want it put more simply--'never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.'" the face she turned to him as she finished was cloudless, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "that's quite plain," he said, "and i hope you'll take the lesson to heart!" she smiled as she rose. glancing up he was surprised to see how tall she looked,--quite as tall, he thought, as her mother had been when she came a bride to the ranch. well, she was almost sixteen,--the other elizabeth was only eighteen. "you've done me a lot of good, uncle cliff," she was saying. "i think my 'indigo fit,' as alec calls the blues, has faded to a pale azure, and i can go to grandmother. she will be wondering where i am." "next time i see a fit coming on, i shall quote the duchess!" he warned her. blue bonnet was delighted to find her grandmother awake and ready for a "heart to heart" talk. snuggled cosily on the bed at her feet the penitent poured out all her discouragement of the morning, and received the balm, which like the milk in the magic pitcher, bubbled constantly in grandmother's heart. in sarah's room the two students were diligently at work, sarah in the rôle of preceptress, hearing amanda's french verbs, or helping to discover the perplexing value of x in an algebraic equation. only occasionally did the thoughts of either wander. "this is the second time," remarked amanda, "that blue bonnet and kitty have had a tiff. the 'third time never fails,' you know." "do you really think that after the third falling-out they'd stay--" "out?--indeed i do think so," amanda declared. "i've seen it come true too many times to doubt it. there are always three fires--the last the worst; three spells of illness, three shipwrecks, three--everything!" "it sounds rather--superstitious to me," observed sarah, doubtfully. "i shouldn't like to believe it anyway, for it keeps you always looking out for the third time, and that is _so_ uncomfortable." "it's true as gospel," amanda insisted. from that time onward, in spite of her better judgment, sarah lived in perpetual dread of blue bonnet's third falling-out with kitty; and her attitude was continually that of the pacifier, pouring the oil of tactful words on troubled waters, or averting the wrath of either by a watchfulness that never relaxed. just how much was due sarah for the cordial spirit that prevailed for a long time following this between the two girls, neither realized; and sarah asked no reward for her pains, save peace. chapter ix texas and massachusetts at supper-time all the invalids were up; kitty appearing rather "interestingly pale," as amanda remarked; debby hobbling about in padded bedroom slippers; and grandmother clyde looking somewhat older and grayer than usual, but calm and contained once more. "where are the boys?" asked the señora, noting alec's absence with some anxiety. "they went off early this morning loaded for big game," said uncle joe with a twinkle in his eye. "do you mean they carried guns?" mrs. clyde spoke with a shade of worry in her tone; she had missed the twinkle. "shady had a shotgun, i believe, but the boys carried nothing deadlier than lariats. i believe young trent takes one to bed with him. he's been practising on the snubbing-post in the corral for hours every day,--he's got so he catches it about once in so often, and he's tickled to death." uncle joe chuckled. "knight judson can beat any of the mexicans at lassoing," blue bonnet declared. "he must be a wonder when he has both hands free." "he doesn't seem in any hurry to discard his sling, i notice," uncle joe remarked, winking at blue bonnet ostentatiously. "his wrist isn't well yet," she insisted, ignoring the teasing glance. "here they come, now," exclaimed kitty. "alec looks as excited as if he'd killed a bear at the very least!" "we've had a wonderful day," alec declared, full of enthusiasm, when he and knight had greeted every one and slipped into their places. both boys were ravenous; blue bonnet and her grandmother exchanged a significant glance as alec passed his plate for a second generous helping. he looked already a different boy from the pale student who had left woodford only a few weeks before. "guess what we bagged to-day?" he asked. "a bear!" kitty said immediately. "quail!" blue bonnet guessed. "shady got some quail, but we didn't do any shooting," replied alec. "maybe you and knight lassoed some prairie-hens," suggested uncle joe, laughing at his own joke. "alec lassoed his first steer all right--made a neat job of it too," said knight enthusiastically. "very amateurish work," alec protested, pleased nevertheless at knight's praise. "the steer thought i looked so harmless that he took a big chance--that's how i came to land him." "but what did you 'bag?'" asked blue bonnet, going back to the original question. "is it good to eat?" knight and alec exchanged amused glances. "never tasted them," both declared. "where is it?" blue bonnet persisted. "'tisn't 'it,'--but 'they'--and they're out in the barn," said alec, delighting in the mystery. blue bonnet was all impatience. "oh, do hurry, everybody, and let's go see," she urged. the rapidity with which knight and alec ate the rest of their supper should have given them indigestion, even if it did not. it was impossible to leave any of gertrudis' raspberry tart; equally impossible to keep their hostess waiting when she was on tip-toe to be off; mastication therefore was the only thing they could neglect--and did. blue bonnet had felt all the weight of her sixteen years a few hours earlier, but now she seemed to drop at least six of them, as she raced across the yard, impelled by a curiosity that kitty would have died rather than display. don and solomon were sniffing excitedly about one of the mangers, emitting an occasional shrill bark; blue bonnet went straight to it and peered down. it was too dark to make out anything, but she could hear a rustling in the hay, and a pathetic, low whine. "it's something alive!" she cried, and was about to put an exploring hand down to find the source of the whine, when she had a second thought. "will it bite?" "too little," knight assured her. he bent as he spoke and lifted two little furry bundles and laid them in blue bonnet's outstretched arms. "puppies!" she cried delightedly. she bore them to the light, the other girls crowding about for a view of the wriggling mites. after her first good look at them, sarah gave an exclamation of surprise. "why, they're not dogs," she cried. "yes, they are," said alec, "--coyote pups!" "oh, the dears!" cried blue bonnet ecstatically. "where did you get them?" "shady shot the mother," knight explained, and then wished he had not,--blue bonnet looked so grieved. "she killed a calf a few nights ago," he said in extenuation, "and shady was 'laying for' her. she made for her hole after she was wounded and we followed,--that's how we came to find the pups. lucky we did or they'd have had a hard time of it." "poor babies," said blue bonnet. "let's go and show them to grandmother and debby--i reckon they never saw a real live coyote before. here, sarah, you carry one." she generously held out one of the bright-eyed babies, but to her surprise sarah drew back. "why, you can't be afraid, sarah?" "n-no," sarah replied, edging away as she spoke. "but i don't like to touch--live animals." "well, i'd much rather touch live ones than dead things!" exclaimed blue bonnet. "here, alec, you take the poor baby--sarah doesn't know how to mother it!" grandmother and debby were rather lukewarm in their praise, blue bonnet thought, when the coyotes were brought to them on the veranda. grandmother did not look in the least delighted when the two sharp-nosed, long-haired puppies were dropped into her lap; and finally blue bonnet gathered them both in her arms, declaring that nobody knew how to appreciate real texas babies except herself. "i'm going to keep them always," she said. "and don and solomon will just have to be reconciled." "have you asked your uncle if he is willing for you to keep two such pets?" her grandmother asked. blue bonnet looked over to uncle cliff and laughed. "asked uncle cliff? why, grandmother, i brought him up and he knows better than to oppose me at this late day!" uncle cliff smiled back at her whimsically. "i hope i'm a credit to your training! two new pets is quite a modest demand. i've known her to have a dozen or two at a time. one summer she had twin lambs, a magpie, a lizard, bunnies--" "don't forget the snakes," blue bonnet interrupted. "blue bonnet ashe--you never made pets of snakes!" gasped debby. "three of them; beauties, too," blue bonnet replied. "weren't you afraid of them?" sarah asked wonderingly. "these were perfectly harmless; nobody should be afraid of such pretty little things. but the magpie had fits over them, so they had to go," blue bonnet remarked regretfully. "what became of the magpie?" asked kitty. "poor mag died of curiosity," said mr. ashe. "she sampled some cyanide of potassium i had put out for ants. we had a most impressive funeral. you must get blue bonnet to show you her grave." "i will some day. we chose mag's favorite spot--under a dewberry bush. now what shall we call these cherubs?" "you've just called them 'texas babies,' why not call one 'texas?'" knight suggested. "and the other 'massachusetts,'" said sarah. blue bonnet looked at her in open admiration. "your inspirations don't come often, sarah," she remarked, "but they're as apt as not to be positively brilliant when they get here! texas and massachusetts the babies shall be. poor massachusetts' name is as long as his tail, but maybe he can bear up under it." "let's go show them to the youngsters," alec suggested. "pancho's twins are straining their eyes for a peep." blue bonnet gave him one of the pups to carry and together they crossed the yard to the mexican quarters. a moment later blue bonnet was sitting in the doorway of the little adobe hut, the coyotes in her lap, while all of pancho's brood, not to mention pancho and his fat marta, were hanging about her in an eager, admiring circle. every little "greaser" on the ranch adored the señorita, and she was godmother to half the babies born on the place. alec bade fair to be almost as popular as she, for he was always ready for a romp and had an unfailing supply of nuts in his capacious pockets. the visit now ended in a "rough-house," alec with his ever-handy lariat lassoing the fleet-footed boys and pretending to take them prisoner, while they dodged and ran and kept up a shrill chorus of baby spanish that delighted his soul. later he and blue bonnet walked to the stable and put the coyotes down for the night; choosing the unused manger again as being secure against the impertinent investigations of don and solomon, and deep enough to prevent the venturesome babies from falling out. it was almost dark as they strolled back towards the house, lingering and chatting and drinking in the beauty of the night. the lovely southern sky was studded with stars; the breeze laden with perfumes that only a texas prairie knows; and the air full of melody,--the deep laughter of the cowboys lounging about the bunk-house, and the sweet tone of shady's fiddle as he played to the crowd on the house-veranda. alec paused and drew a deep breath. "and you wanted to leave it!" "i wonder at myself sometimes," she confessed. "but i'm not sorry. think how much richer i am this summer than last, with grandmother and all the girls,--not to mention present company!" "thank you!" alec laughed and made his bow. "you like it more because it is--different, than for any other reason. i reckon you have to know other places before you can properly appreciate your own," she went on thoughtfully. "this doesn't seem to add to my appreciation of--woodford," alec rejoined quickly. "that's because you haven't been here long enough. after a few years you'd begin to wonder how the elms look on adams avenue, and yearn for a glimpse of the boston common--just as i used to long for a sight of the prairie. but i'm glad you like it here--for it is a grand old place!" "i wish grandfather would rejoice because i like it," he remarked moodily. "he seems to be sorry that i didn't go abroad with boyd. and boyd's letters to him--which he always forwards--are full of ravings about automobiles and scenery and pictures. pictures!" alec pointed to the meadow ahead of them where a million fireflies flashed their tiny lanterns, "--i wish he could see this! and i wish--i wish i could make him understand the bigness of it all. and how tired i am of sitting still and letting other people _do_ things. i want to live." the boy's voice trembled as he ended. again blue bonnet had a sudden sinking of the heart--could alec mean--? she opened her lips to speak, but he went on gloomily: "grandfather doesn't seem able to understand. he has never been willing to admit that i am a weakling, and refuses to see that my days are numbered in woodford. i've been trying to get up courage enough to write him about myself, but i can't do it--yet." and then, as if fearing he had said too much, he added: "but don't say anything to the others, please. it's too soon--i may feel different by the end of the summer. let it be a secret between us two--three rather, for i've already told knight." then, before blue bonnet could gather herself together for a reply, he had started on a new tack. "i tell you, blue bonnet, there's a fellow that dwarfs every other chap i ever knew!" his tone was now as eager and enthusiastic as it had been doleful. blue bonnet was puzzled, but deciding that alec needed to have his mind turned from introspective subjects, she took him up at once. "i agree with you. he's a giant for his age." "i don't mean his size," returned alec. "he's so big--mentally, you know. and he's so alive, so--" "up and coming?" interpolated blue bonnet. "that's pure texan, i believe." "it describes him exactly." "what i can't understand is how such an expert horseman came to be thrown," blue bonnet remarked wonderingly. "i suppose he was startled at seeing a blue bonnet out of season!" laughed alec. "i'm so glad something happened to bring him my way. it seems to give me a new lease on life just to be with him." "uncle cliff says he is 'greased lightning' with a lariat," said blue bonnet. "i should say he is. i could find it in my heart to envy him that accomplishment, even if he hadn't any others." "uncle joe says you are getting quite expert yourself," she threw out comfortingly. "oh, yes, i can lasso a snubbing-post that can't get out of the way!" he retorted. he still clung to his lariat and now swung it in his hand rather impatiently. "try your skill now. there's one of the girls waiting for us--lasso her and see how she acts!" blue bonnet urged mischievously. "where?" "there--just by the magnolia," she whispered. it was almost dark, but alec could manage to make out a dark figure standing half within the shadow of the big tree. he crept silently a few steps nearer and paused, whirling the loop around his head. the hair rope spread into a circle, hissed and flickered for a moment in the air, then dropped straight over the victim. it was a good throw. alec gave a twitch--not too hard--to the lariat, and the thing was done. blue bonnet clapped her hands and started forward with alec to see which one of the girls he had caught. both suddenly stopped in dismay. there was a struggle, a shrill scream, and a very angry spanish oath. and as the two of them hastened up full of surprise and apologies, they saw--juanita and miguel both caught in the one noose. stifling their laughter, alec and blue bonnet released the embarrassed pair of sweethearts, and then the boy made a handsome apology. juanita hung her head and was silent, but miguel, after the first blazing up of his anger, cooled down and accepted the explanation in good part. still weak with suppressed laughter, the two miscreants hurried on, waiting to be out of ear-shot before giving way to their wild mirth. as they drew near to the veranda they heard the crowd there singing to the accompaniment of shady's violin. "nita, jua-a-an-ita, ask thy soul if we must part!" came tremulously from uncle joe and the we are sevens. it was too much. blue bonnet collapsed in a heap on the grass. "oh, alec!" she gasped. "miguel ought to have been singing that,--only he ought to have said--'jua-a-an-ita, bless my soul if we can part!'" chapter x enter carita two days later knight appeared at the table minus his sling, and announced that this must be his last day at the ranch. there were expressions of regret from everybody, and from blue bonnet vigorous objections. the boy quite glowed under the tribute. "i simply must go," he protested firmly. "though it's a big temptation to stay, i tell you. but it isn't fair to uncle bayard for me to be away any longer. those twelve boys keep things moving for him. i hope you will be able to come up for one of our sundays," he said to mrs. clyde. "grandmother has missed her church more than anything else," blue bonnet remarked. "it's been pretty warm to drive to jonah, and none of the padres has visited the ranch since we came." "we have an outdoor service in a beautiful grove of trees," knight explained, "and that setting and the boys' voices in the open air and all--well, it has spoiled me for stuffy meeting-houses. can't you all come up and stay over next sunday?" his glance and the eyes of all the we are sevens were fastened anxiously on mrs. clyde's face. she thought for a moment. "it seems a stupendous undertaking,--for so many of us," she said at length. camping out in texas was full of unknown and rather dreadful possibilities, she secretly opined. "we'll take all the responsibility, grandmother," blue bonnet assured her gravely. mrs. clyde did not meet her granddaughter's eye; that young lady's method of taking responsibility was not such as to inspire one with unlimited confidence. "i can send miguel ahead with one of the cook-wagons," uncle cliff suggested. "you can have pancho, too, if you like,--he cooked on the round-up this spring and didn't kill anybody. lisa's too fat and gertrudis too old for that ride." "and we want lupe for wrangler," said blue bonnet. "a wrangler looks after the horses, sarah _mia_," she explained, anticipating the question. "if we go," said señora, "let us go as simply as possible. surely we don't need such an army of men." "but, grandmother," blue bonnet protested, "there has to be a cook, and somebody to pitch tents, and one to look after the horses and--" "i don't see the necessity. you miss half the pleasure of camping out if you have everything done for you. when i was a girl we used to camp out in the maine woods, and we girls took turns cooking and washing dishes, while the boys gathered wood for the fires, caught fish and looked after the horses. to take a crowd of servants along would rob the life of all its simplicity." blue bonnet looked rather blank. cooking and washing dishes did not seem altogether simple to her. "i can make caramel cake," announced kitty. "that's lovely--especially for breakfast," said blue bonnet. "i don't like sweet things for breakfast," said sarah. "beans and bacon are as good camp fare as one needs," said knight. "it is pretty cool in the mornings and evenings, and one gets hungry enough to eat the dishes." "we'll agree to anything if grandmother will only go," said blue bonnet eagerly. grandmother, however, withheld her decision until she had held a serious conversation alone with uncle cliff. "don't you think you are encouraging blue bonnet in habits of extravagance?" she asked, smiling inwardly at the likeness of her question to some of lucinda's. uncle cliff pondered for a moment. "that depends on what you call 'extravagance.' according to my definition it means spending more than you can afford." "blue bonnet is certainly spending a great deal this summer. it must cost something to keep up a big place like this, so many servants besides all the guests." "mexicans don't draw down princely salaries, you know," he argued. "and we're not used to counting noses at table. besides, blue bonnet has enough to do just about as she likes with. miss clyde and i had some talk about it last winter--when she put the poor child on an allowance. three dollars!" mr. ashe made a comical grimace. "why, mrs. clyde, i've been putting by blue bonnet's profits every year for nearly sixteen years, and they've been pretty tidy sums, too. besides, she's going to have every penny of mine, some day. and now she's old enough to enjoy spending, i don't quite see the use of making her skimp." he looked very much in earnest and ready to "have it out" then and there. "but the possessors of wealth should be taught the value of money, just the same, don't you think so?" mrs. clyde urged. "surely!" he agreed. "and blue bonnet has a very fair idea of its value, i think. she gives more people a good time on it than any one i know. you never knew her to stay awake nights worrying over something for herself, now did you?" "blue bonnet is not given to worrying over anything. not that i wish her to. she is dear and warm-hearted and generous like her mother, but a little heedless,--lucinda thinks. she needs to be taught that wealth entails responsibility." "lucinda!" was mr. ashe's mental ejaculation. he might have known the source of mrs. clyde's arguments. miss clyde had undoubtedly sound ideas on the up-bringing of the young, and any amount of new england thrift. he had unlimited respect for her strength of character; but also his opinion as to why she was still _miss_ clyde. "maybe i've a queer mental twist," he went on audibly, "but that's just what i don't see the need of. poor folk have to worry about making ends meet; but if money is of any use at all it's to save one that kind of fretting. when one feels the 'responsibility of wealth,' then it's a burden. i'd hate to think blue bonnet would ever get to that pass." mrs. clyde wished for lucinda just at this moment; miss clyde could have met this argument with a worthy rejoinder, she was confident. "don't you fear that thoughtless spending now may grow into future extravagance?" she asked rather helplessly. "when the little girl begins to worry about bird-of-paradise aigrettes and pearl pendants for herself, i'll believe she's extravagant. as long as she spends only what she can afford and bestows it all upon others, i'll not begin to fret," he said decidedly. "then you don't think this camping-trip an extravagance? she is doing so much for the girls already that it seems rather unnecessary to me." "it will be a wonderful experience for the girls--and they're just the right age to enjoy it most. a few years later they'll fuss about dirt and want springs on their beds." grandmother clyde smothered a sigh; she had reached the latter stage, but perhaps it was not her place to "reason why." the conversation ended for the present, and during her stay on the ranch was not resumed. as uncle cliff left the veranda after the conference, he was set upon by blue bonnet and kitty and enticed to the lair of the we are sevens, which chanced this time to be the summer-house in the señorita's little garden. this rather shaky bower, overgrown by jack-beans which held together the would-be rustic structure, had once been the pride of blue bonnet's heart, but now, neglected--as was the garden since the advent of the ranch party--had become the residence of a large and growing family of insects. it served, however, as a very excellent spot for secret sessions such as the present one. a circular bench, very wobbly as to legs, had the advantage of bringing all the members face to face in solemn conclave. it was here their captive was haled. "what says the noble señora?" demanded blue bonnet, and then before he could answer she exclaimed--"uncle cliff, you must help us out. life without that camping trip will be stale, flat and unprofitable." "oh, blue bonnet," said sarah reproachfully, "how can you say that when we are having the most wonderful time that ever was?" "sarah, don't weaken our case," blue bonnet admonished her. "it's your place to look positively _pining_!" "if you'll allow me to speak," remarked uncle cliff, "i'll put an end to your suspense. the queen mother says she will sacrifice herself for the weal of her subjects." "hooray!" cried blue bonnet, and the cry was echoed even by sarah. alec and knight, hearing the uproar on their way to the house, stopped and begged permission to enter. "come right in and sit down on the floor," said blue bonnet cordially. "alec, grandmother says she'll go!" "so that's what all the row's about?" asked knight. "say, but i'm glad!" alec's eyes shone. "don't you think i'd better go ahead with knight? i could pick out a camping place and have everything ready for you." he had been awaiting a favorable moment to bring forth his quietly laid scheme, and the present seemed auspicious. "i think that would be splendid," cried blue bonnet enthusiastically, reading alec like a book. "but you'll wait and go with us, won't you, uncle?" "can't go this trip. pete has gone up with some of the boys to cut out a bunch of beef-cattle. i'll have to see to shipping them." "oh, uncle,--we need you," remonstrated blue bonnet. "and it's almost as good to be needed as it is to be wanted. thank you." "we want you even more than we need you," she insisted. "you'll have plenty of men creatures to tyrannize over in camp. how many boys did you say there were, knight?" "there are twelve--and they know how to work, too." "they'll be worked all right," said uncle cliff with a wicked twinkle. "we must all work," said sarah conscientiously. "i think we had better begin to plan things and get ready right away." "the first thing to do," said blue bonnet, "is to make a huge lot of pinoche." sarah regarded her in astonishment. "do you propose to live on pinoche?" "no, goose, but with twelve boys in camp--not counting alec and knight, a pound won't go very far. and we must send to jonah for marshmallows." "hadn't you better include several tons of angel-cake and fifty gallons or so of ice-cream?" asked kitty. "just you wait, kitty-kat. when you see the use to which i put those marshmallows, you'll see that i'm the most practical member of the club," blue bonnet prophesied solemnly. "grandmother, you're such a success," she said later, as they two sat discussing ways and means for the camping-trip. "a success?" mrs. clyde questioned. "as a grandmother, you know. if i'd had you made to order i wouldn't have had you a mite different! i hope our trip isn't going to be too hard for you. i promised aunt lucinda to take care of you, and i suspect sometimes that i'm not quite living up to the contract." "we elderly people must guard against getting 'set in our ways.' camp-life is certainly a good corrective for that." mrs. clyde smiled rather ruefully. "it surely is," blue bonnet laughed. "it would never suit aunt lucinda. but she isn't sixty-five years young!" "nor fifteen years old." "was she ever? somehow i can't imagine her different. it must give one a very--solid feeling, to be as sure about everything as aunt lucinda is. but she misses a lot of fun!" early the next morning alec and knight rode away; knight looking very soldierly and capable now that his arm no longer reposed in its scarlet sling; alec with his blankets in a business-like roll behind his saddle, and both boys provided with a "snack of lunch" to eat on the way. alec's eyes were shining with anticipation; even strawberry pranced more joyously than usual as though she knew a good time was in store. the we are sevens accompanied the travellers as far as kooch's, and sent them off from that point weighted with injunctions and messages innumerable. that ride, even sarah admitted, was a "grand and glorious" success; the air was fresh and sweet, comanche very tractable, and everybody in the best of humors. the girls returned to the ranch full of plans for the camping trip, and for the rest of the day, and for several days following, made out exhaustive lists of eatables, bedding and utensils such as would have provided amply for a regiment of soldiers. in the midst of the preparations sarah was caught red-handed packing her drawn-work among her effects. "she'll have to be watched, girls," said kitty. "white linen drawn-work on a camping-trip! next she'll be slipping in white piqué skirts and dancing slippers." "i suppose you'll object to my taking handkerchiefs, too?" sarah's look was a mixture of irony and indignation. "we ought really to bar all hankies except bandanas," said blue bonnet, "but we'll stretch a point for sarah's sake. she can't help having aristocratic tastes, you know." sarah was secretly of the opinion that drawn-work was no more out of place than the many boxes of pinoche and marshmallows that blue bonnet packed away in the huge "grub-boxes," but she yielded with her usual good grace. by wednesday all was pronounced in readiness for the start. miguel was sent ahead with tents and supplies in one of the big cook-wagons used on the round-ups; with help from alec and knight he was to have a camp ready for the rest of the party when they should arrive on the following day. "i wish grandmother were not so set on the 'simple life,'" remarked blue bonnet, "for i should like to take juanita along. it's a pity to separate her and miguel just now, when things are progressing so nicely." "how do you know?" kitty looked up quickly. blue bonnet bit her lip. she and alec had agreed not to tell of the incident of the lasso, and she had kept the secret, though she burned to tell the romance-loving we are sevens. "just by signs," she answered evasively. but kitty could read signs, too, and privately longed to shake the mystery out of her hostess. suspecting the trend of little miss why's thoughts, blue bonnet went on hurriedly: "how shall we go--in the buckboard or on horse-back?" "horse-back!" exclaimed all four of the others. "did i hear you speak, sarah?" kitty inquired. "you did if you were listening," replied sarah calmly. "i believe sarah and comanche have formed a real attachment for each other," said blue bonnet who secretly exulted in sarah's growing spirit. "it must be a patent attachment then," laughed kitty, "--something that keeps sarah on!" "grandmother will have to go in the buckboard--uncle joe's going to drive and--" blue bonnet did some hasty calculating, "i had better stay with grandmother--it's smoother riding with two in a seat. firefly will hate being led, but i reckon some disciplining won't hurt him." they were up before dawn in order to complete the first stage of the journey before noon. as they gathered about the lamp-lighted table for breakfast, yawning and rubbing their eyes, blue bonnet gave an amused laugh. "'in _summer_ i get up at night and dress by yellow candle-light.'" she quoted. "i think it would have been a good plan to have had breakfast before we went to bed," said sarah. "thank you, mrs. clyde, i will take coffee, i think it will wake me up." "never mind," said blue bonnet. "you can just alter the lines a bit-- "'in camp it's quite the other way, we'll all go straight to bed by day'-- and make up for the loss of our beauty sleep. and you'll see something worth getting up for later. sunrise on the prairie, kitty, makes the massachusetts article look like your pink lawn when it came back from the wash." they were several miles from the ranch when uncle joe raised his quirt and pointed to the east. "there she comes!" he warned. the whole crowd came to a standstill in the middle of the road in a hush that was almost reverent. blue bonnet drew a deep breath. the rolling prairie with the long grass stirred by the breeze; the peaceful herds just waking into life; the fleecy clouds glowing from buff to rosy pink--she loved it all. at eleven every one was ravenous and a halt was made for lunch. from that point the journey was hardly so pleasant; the road began to ascend sharply into the sturdy little range of hills that texans proudly call mountains, and being less frequented than the county road, was rough and full of surprises in the way of snakes and insects. sarah was just beginning to wonder if she could survive comanche's next fright, when a loud "whoa-o-o-pe!" sounded from somewhere above and ahead of them. blue bonnet answered immediately with the ranch-call which she and some of the cowboys had adapted years ago from one of uncle joe's old-time songs: [illustration: o ho ye ho ho!] she had a strong, carrying voice, and the cheery summons of the twickenham ferryman rang clearly on the air. the next minute three riders emerged from the trees in whose shade they had been waiting, and galloped to meet the campers. "it's alec and knight," kitty called from the front. "and there's a girl with them!" blue bonnet shot a quick glance at the approaching trio, and then gave a bounce of delight. that erect little figure, just about her own size, with the two pig-tails flying out behind her as she rode, could be no other than--carita judson. carita was not so quick at discovering her unknown friend; she gave a bashful, inquiring look at each one of the girls in turn. but as soon as she met blue bonnet's eye, full of an eager welcome, she rode straight to the side of the buckboard and held out a slim, brown hand. "you are--you must be--a texas blue bonnet!" "and you're carita,--i'm so glad!" blue bonnet took the outstretched hand in both her own and gazed with frank pleasure into the girl's smiling face. knight came up beside them and presented his cousin to mrs. clyde and the other girls, and after a short but merry halt they prepared to move on. camp was still at some distance and they must get settled before nightfall. sarah came up to the buckboard just as the others were starting. "do you mind changing places with me, blue bonnet?" she asked. "i'm tired of riding." the look blue bonnet gave her was ample reward for what sarah feared was almost an untruth on her part. she scrambled out of the saddle in a manner that blue bonnet would have smiled at ordinarily, but now regarded with sober eyes. the other girls, without giving a thought to her natural wish for a few words with carita had ridden on in a gay whirl of conversation; sarah with a thoughtfulness that blue bonnet was beginning to believe unfailing, had been the only one to read her unspoken wish. "isn't sarah the dearest?" she whispered to her grandmother. and mrs. clyde, mindful of a former comment of blue bonnet's, smiled with amusement as she replied--"not half bad--considering her bringing-up!" carita had lingered behind the others and now as she saw blue bonnet mount comanche, she rode back and joined her. they were the last of the procession and practically alone. "it's so wonderful," carita's small dark face was alight with pleasure, "--to think of seeing you after--everything!" they smiled into each other's eyes. carita did not in the least resemble the woodford girls. she wore a queer one-piece garment of blue denim, not designed for riding, which pulled up in a bunch on either side of the saddle, showing her feet in thick boyish boots, and an inch or two of much-darned stocking. on her head was an old felt sombrero, sadly drooping as to brim and dented as to crown, secured under her chin by a piece of black elastic. below it her small face, brown and freckled as it was, was not without a singular attraction. her eyes were big and soft, her lips scarlet as holly-berries; and the long braids were very heavy and of a glossy chestnut. in spite of her clumsy costume she rode her wiry little pinto as western girls ride--thistle-down in the saddle. she was a bit of the prairie herself, and blue bonnet saw it and loved her. "when did you come?" blue bonnet asked her. "yesterday. and we're to stay over sunday. won't we just have to cram the days full?" carita's eyes were wistful. "for fear we sha'n't have much time alone, i want to tell you how much it has meant to me--your letters, and the dress and the christmas box and everything. i can't begin to tell you the--difference they have made. we've always had boxes you know--father has no regular salary. but nothing ever came that was half so wonderful. last winter wasn't a bit like others--it was full of excitement!" blue bonnet smiled, but she felt nearer tears than laughter. such a little thing to mean so much! for the second time she had a feeling of thankfulness that she was--not poor. money was certainly worth while when it could give such pleasure. if miss lucinda could have read the girl's mind at this moment, she might have felt some doubts as to her niece's ability to profit by the last winter's lesson in new england thrift. blue bonnet's only regret was that her purse which had been slipped into the missionary box, had not contained several times as much! "i was sure we'd know each other, some day--i felt it!" carita went on in her eager way. "and i believe knight's meeting you that day was providential!" "it was certainly providential for sarah and me," blue bonnet laughed. "we'd have had a pretty spill if it hadn't been for him. but as 'all's well that ends well,' we can consider that everything has been for the best." "that sounds like father." it seemed to blue bonnet that carita smothered a sigh. "mother and i aren't always sure that _everything_ is for the best. but father never has the least bit of doubt." then with a quick return of animation--"i know you'll love the camp. knight has picked out the loveliest spot for your tents. there--look! you can see the spring, and that gleam of white through the trees--that's camp judson!" chapter xi camping by the big spring "oh, blue bonnet, do hurry!" cried debby as blue bonnet galloped into camp. "it's the most wonderful place,--we can't wait for you to see it." blue bonnet slipped from the saddle and flung the reins to miguel. "show me everything!" she cried; and then not waiting to be shown, went from one tent to another in her usual whirlwind fashion. "our sleeping-tent," said kitty; they were all trooping after the late-comer, chattering busily and explaining the most obvious arrangements. "that one's for you and the señora; this one is the dining-room--see the table and benches alec and knight made! the kitchen is under that awning. isn't that the darlingest stove?" "and the little creek right handy!" by the time she had completed her survey, blue bonnet was more enthusiastic than any one else. how she loved camping out! the spot the boys had chosen for them was a beautiful one. under two giant live-oaks whose branches interlaced overhead in a leafy canopy, the sleeping-tents were pitched, between them stretching an awning that formed both a dining-room and a lounging-place by day. the site had been used as a camping-ground before and still retained many conveniences installed by former campers; the underbrush had all been cut away, and the ground packed hard and level. for the kitchen, a canvas stretched between the camp-wagon and a convenient sycamore served as sufficient protection from sun and arboreal insects. the little sheet-iron stove, set up on a flat boulder, boasted an elbow in its pipe that could be adjusted to suit the direction of the wind. a thread of a creek, tumbling down the hillside, ran not ten yards from the wagon, and at one point a tiny wooden trough had been inserted, giving the effect of a spout where kettles could be quickly filled. alec and knight had labored diligently to have all attractive as well as convenient, and really deserved great praise for the completeness of all details. "everything is perfect!" blue bonnet declared. "but we must have the buckboard seats in the--er--living-room. uncle cliff sent all three so that we could use them as easy chairs,--especially for grandmo--why, where is she?" "here, dear," mrs. clyde came up with a tin dipper in her hand. "i've been having a drink,--such a drink, blue bonnet!" she held out the dripping cup and blue bonnet drank from it thirstily. as she finished she met the señora's eyes over the brim. "oh, grandmother, i ought to have done that--for you!" she shook her head. "i wonder if i'll ever think in time?" mrs. clyde smiled and pushed the hair back from the girl's hot brow. "where is carita?" "she rode on to tell her mother we had arrived. she'll be over later." blue bonnet glanced around the group. every one looked warm, dusty, tired. and there was supper to get and beds to make! "what shall we do first, grandmother?" her manner was not exactly eager. "first, we must all wash and brush up, for we are invited out to dinner!" mrs. clyde departed to suit the action to the words. "invited out--?" blue bonnet gazed at the girls incredulously. "the boys of camp judson, represented by knight, have invited us over there--" "and we didn't waste any time in accepting!" "wasn't it thoughtful of them?" blue bonnet beamed on every one. "now aren't you glad we brought the pinoche?" "let's go and dress," debby urged. "dress?" echoed blue bonnet. "what are you going to wear--your pink panne velvet or your yellow chiffon?" "why, blue bonnet," said sarah, "you know we haven't any clothes with us but these!" blue bonnet groaned. "then why is that worldly-minded debby talking about dressing for dinner?" "i meant wash and comb our hair," debby protested. "where's the wash-basin, blue bonnet? i saw you with it when we were packing," said sarah. blue bonnet clapped a hand to her brow. "i think i put it in with the frying-pan." "are you sure it isn't in the bread-box?" kitty asked. "i wouldn't be sure it isn't." blue bonnet began a hasty search in the camp-wagon. box after box was rummaged through, utensil after utensil picked up hopefully, only to disappoint when brought to the surface. "there's no help for it," declared debby, "we'll have to go and wash in the creek." "why, there may be campers below," said sarah in a shocked tone, "and they wouldn't like to--" "you needn't draw a diagram, sarah," interrupted blue bonnet. "a word to the wise, you know. i'll polish off with cold cream." and she vanished. sarah, armed with towel and soap emerged from her tent a few minutes later and made her way through the willows to the creek. blue bonnet spying her called tauntingly: "campers below!" "i'm only going to wet one corner," sarah went on calmly. "which corner--northeast or southwest?" "of the towel, of course." then a minute later she called, "girls, come quick!" there was an immediate stampede to the creek. "what is it--lions?" asked amanda. sarah pointed without speaking. there, bending over an old tree-stump, admirably fashioned for a wash-stand, was the señora calmly washing herself--in the basin. "i found it here all ready for us," she explained. "and see--here's a nail on this little tree ready for a mirror, and branches just made to hang towels on." "alec and knight haven't left a thing for me to see to," remarked blue bonnet. "i'm going to stop worrying." "oh, you were worrying, were you?" asked kitty. "we'll know the symptoms next time." the washing-up that ensued was very animated, if not thorough. taking turns at the basin the girls, wincing under the cold water, "polished off" the top layer of dust; brushed ruffled locks and retied ribbons; dabbed talcum on noses and straightened creased middies. they were just putting on the finishing touches when the sound of cow-bells, rung lustily and long, came from the direction of the other camp. "that must be the dinner-bell," said blue bonnet. "i hope they won't expect us to have dainty appetites just because we're girls!" a moment later alec and knight appeared to escort them in state. midway they were met by mr. and mrs. judson,--the latter with two small boys tugging at her skirts, and a third not far in the rear; a state of things that was later found to be invariably the case whenever mrs. judson ventured forth. blue bonnet decided that she was going to like the whole judson family. she liked the reverend mr. judson with his delicate face and kind, nearsighted eyes. she liked him particularly because he looked so unministerial in his soft shirt and blue overalls. she liked mrs. judson, with her sweet, tired face looking out from a cavernous sun-bonnet. mrs. clyde's discerning eye read in the patient worn face a history of privation and self-denial; and surmised that the enthusiasm of the missionary was paid for most dearly by this uncomplaining partner. it was to the tiniest toddler that blue bonnet was drawn most of all; she adored babies, and this chubby two-year-old was irresistible. she held out her arms to little joe, but, to her surprise, he held off shyly. he scanned the row of ingratiating faces slowly, and not until his eyes rested on the kindly round countenance of sarah did he show any response. "pitty lady!" he cried, holding out his arms and making a charge at her. sarah's face flushed pink with surprise and pleasure; and then with a rush she gathered joe in a close hug. she had not realized until then how she had missed the little clinging arms at home. "he spurns you, blue bonnet!" gasped kitty. "i reckon he can tell who has had experience with babies," blue bonnet remarked. the glance she gave sarah was almost envious. "well, pitty lady," she said at length, "you might leave a few kisses for somebody else!" but joe was chary and clung tightly to the lady of his choice; while the other girls secretly marvelled at any one's preferring sarah to blue bonnet. carita made up for her brother's lack of appreciation; running to meet the girls, she drew blue bonnet's arm through her own and gave it an affectionate squeeze every few minutes. "i hope the other girls won't mind if i monopolize you a little bit," she whispered; "they've had you so long and i'm to have such a short time." this sort of incense no one could have been proof against; and blue bonnet was presently glowing. "welcome to camp judson!" said knight proudly, as they neared a second grove of trees. "oh, how lovely!" every one came to a standstill while they took in the pretty scene. a model camp was camp judson. on a high flat knoll to the right was a long row of tiny white tents placed with military precision at regular spaces from each other, and each surrounded by a narrow trench. among the trees gleamed other tents, and occasionally a gay quilt hung to air. under one huge oak was the dining-room with a red-white-and-blue awning for a roof. here were two long tables made of smooth boards laid on barrels, with rude benches running their entire length. they were guiltless of cloth and spread with tin dishes, for simplicity was a law as well as a necessity in this camp. but a rustic basket of graceful ferns adorned one table, and the sun, hanging low in the sky, threw a pattern of quivering light and shade on the bare boards. the girls had rather dreaded having to meet a dozen boys all at once. but they found the ordeal not half so bad as they had expected. the youngest boys were already gathered about the smaller table awaiting the signal to be seated; while the second table was reserved for the judsons and their guests. standing beside it were three tall lads wearing towels pinned about them for aprons. "smith, brown and jones--the three props of the world!" explained knight, with a wave of his hand; and the girls acknowledged the introduction without knowing which was which. "keep your eye on the waiters, ladies and gentlemen," knight continued, "and report all incivilities to the management. there's a fine for every cup of cocoa they spill down anybody's neck, and another for every spider they don't see first!" everybody stood beside the benches for a moment while dr. judson said a simple grace. blue bonnet noticed that even the smallest boy there bent his head at once, without even so much as a nudge from his neighbor. there was a second of absolute quiet after the pleasant voice finished the short invocation; then a shoving of benches, a rattle of dishes; and the meal progressed amid peals of laughter and an incessant clucking as of chickens at feeding-time. "talk about chattering girls!" blue bonnet challenged alec with an amused glance. she found herself seated between him and knight, an arrangement that suited all three admirably; while carita smiled at her across the narrow table. some of the older boys were beside kitty, debby and amanda, and all three girls seemed to be well entertained. sarah, with a small judson on either side of her, was occupied chiefly in alternately kissing and feeding the youthful pair. steaming _frijoles_ in a huge earthen bowl; bass from the spring, fried with slices of bacon; baked potatoes, cocoa and doughnuts formed the menu, which the hearty appetites of all transformed into a banquet; and no one felt compelled to refuse a second or third helping from motives of politeness. "where's the spring?" blue bonnet asked suddenly. "the only creek i've seen is about as wide as my hand." "just a short walk from camp," knight replied. "i'm saving that to show you in the morning." there fell a moment of silence. "did i hear you sigh?" alec was looking at blue bonnet in astonishment. she had never looked happier or prettier in her life; sun and wind had painted a rose-blush on her cheeks; the blue eyes were positively luminous. yet he had distinctly heard her sigh. she nodded. "i had to. i'm just too full for utterance--no, no!--i'll take another doughnut! i didn't mean that literally. but i'm full of content,--i'd like to purr." alec laughed. "it's the best fun i've ever had. i believe i must be part indian, and this is the only time i've ever been able to obey 'the call of the wild.' it makes me sorry for all the misguided folk that spend all their lives in houses." "look at grandmother," blue bonnet whispered. "who would ever have thought that a colonial dame would look so natural eating beans with a tin spoon? i wish uncle cliff could have come, he's a born camper." "why didn't mr. terry come to dinner?" knight asked. "uncle joe!" blue bonnet's spoon dropped with a clatter. she hadn't even thought of uncle joe! "mrs. judson," she stammered, "will you please excuse me? i'll be right back." hardly waiting for mrs. judson's surprised "certainly," she sprang lightly over the bench and vanished through the trees. the we are sevens, used to blue bonnet's methods, went on unconcernedly with their dessert; but the judsons looked mildly amazed. blue bonnet found uncle joe smoking contentedly before a cosy gypsy fire on which a coffee-pot was steaming. she burst upon him breathlessly. "uncle joe--i forgot,--you're invited out to dinner!" he smiled at her over his pipe. "i ain't got a dinner-coat, honey." "but, uncle joe--it was horrid of me i know--" "no uncomplimentary remarks, please," he interrupted; then seeing that she was really distressed he went on seriously: "don't you worry about uncle joe, blue bonnet. he's used to looking out for number one. i had to help miguel hobble the horses, and that's a job that won't wait for any man. now i've got tortillas and bacon and coffee, and i'm that comfortable i wouldn't stir for a whole company of texas rangers!" as she reluctantly departed uncle joe looked after the slim figure with quiet delight. "same old blue bonnet. boston folks can't get any high-toned notions into that little head!" as blue bonnet slipped back into her place, she found an animated discussion in progress. "we're trying to decide on a name for our camp," debby explained. "we've run through ashe, clyde, trent and the rest, but they're too--exclusive," said kitty. "we want one that will include everybody." "why not 'camp we are seven?'" asked knight. "too clumsy," declared blue bonnet. "use initials then," urged knight. "camp w. a. s.--sounds rather like a has-been," remarked the bright-faced boy beside kitty. blue bonnet flashed him an appreciative smile. "that would never do for a crowd as--ahem--up-to-date as we try to be!" "let's have something beautiful," said kitty. "and romantic," added debby. "if you want something typical of this country," dr. judson spoke up, "--there's an expressive phrase often used hereabouts. those of you who know the habits of the 'greasers' don't need to be told why their country is called the 'land of _poco tiempo_.' it means literally 'little time'--but with the mexicans it usually means 'after a while' or even 'by and by.' 'always put off till to-morrow what should be done to-day' is their version of our old motto." "that just suits me!" cried blue bonnet. "i love spanish names," exclaimed kitty. _poco tiempo_ the camp was straightway christened; and, as they later proved, its inmates had no difficulty in living up to the name. chapter xii poco tiempo "i reckon we'll all sleep without rocking," blue bonnet smiled drowsily in on the girls who were disrobing for the night. she had stolen from grandmother's tent for a last word, but lingered for several before departing. "how's your bed, sarah?" "a bit bumpy," the honest girl admitted. "mustn't mind a little thing like that," blue bonnet admonished her. "they're not very little--just you wait and see." sarah squirmed about seeking a level spot for her body. alec and knight, who had spent hours stuffing the bed-ticks with spanish moss, would hardly have felt repaid could they have seen her discomfort at that moment. observing her blue bonnet remarked: "i'm glad we brought the canvas cot for grandmother. i don't mind bumpy beds myself--it isn't right to be too comfortable when you're camping out." kitty stood, mirror in hand, ministering unto a blistered nose, and as sarah gave a final grunt before closing her eyes, she called suddenly: "sarah blake, don't you dare go to sleep 'til we've drawn lots." "lots?" sarah blinked sleepily. "to see who's to get breakfast. after that we'll take turns, two at a time." "but there are five of us," protested debby. "grandmother says to count her in. we'll give her sarah for a running-mate,--she's about the only one that can keep sallykins in order." sarah woke up at that to give the speaker a surprised and grieved look, at which blue bonnet burst into a laugh. "i'll label my next joke, old reliable," she said. kitty looked about her for something which they could use for lots. nothing seeming appropriate, she suddenly tweaked three bright hairs from her own curly head, arranged them in lengths and held them out for the others to draw. "shortest gets breakfast; next lunch, longest dinner," she announced tersely. "hooray for us!" cried amanda, catching blue bonnet around the waist and hopping about on one foot, the other being unshod. "lunch for us. let's think up something easy." kitty made a grimace at the short hair left in her hand. "breakfast! debby, i call that hard luck." "the others may call it harder," prophesied blue bonnet. "never mind, the señora and sarah will make up for it at dinner-time," said kitty. "night-night!" said blue bonnet, preparing to leave. with her hand on the tent-flap she paused. "shake out your shoes before you put them on in the morning!" she said; and with this dark warning fled. camp judson had awakened, had had a fiercely contested water-fight, had breakfasted, tidied up, and most of its inmates scattered in quest of adventures, before the tired girls of _poco tiempo_ gathered for the morning meal. kitty and debby, enveloped in capacious gingham aprons, and appearing somewhat flushed and nervous, stood waiting to serve. mrs. clyde gave the two cooks an approving smile. "everything looks charming," she said as she took her place at the head of the board. the table here was spread with white oilcloth, and the dishes of blue enamelled-ware showed bright and cheerful against the immaculate expanse. bowls of steaming oatmeal porridge stood at each place, and huge mugs of cocoa. but it was at none of these that blue bonnet was gazing; her eyes were fastened in wonder on a pitcher of real milk and another of real cream. "where did that come from?" she demanded. "the spring!" declared kitty. "miguel rode to the circle y ranch and got it early this morning," debby confessed, "and they're going to let us have it every morning." "it's a jarring note," blue bonnet declared. "all right, you can have all the 'condemned milk' you want," said kitty, "--we've a dozen cans of it." but blue bonnet was already helping herself generously to the "jarring note" and seemed to enjoy it as much as any one. every one was exceedingly polite and made no mention of lumps in the porridge; and finally the anxious puckers in debby's forehead began to smooth themselves out. there was a moment of veritable triumph for the cooks when they came in with the nicely browned bacon and a plate heaped high with golden corn-bread. "who was the artist?" the señora asked in pleased surprise. "i didn't know you knew how," sarah commented. there was a moment's hesitation, and then blue bonnet, who had caught a glimpse of uncle joe's face, pointed an accusing finger at him. "fess up, uncle joe!" much annoyed at himself, uncle joe tried to deny the accusation, but kitty's face confirmed the suspicion against him, and in the end he "fessed up" rather lamely. "have to do something to earn my board and keep," he protested. "amanda and i get lunch, you know," blue bonnet suggested tactfully; and amanda telegraphed her approval of this gentle hint. "well, this camp is well-named," said knight, appearing suddenly with a half-dozen boys in his train. "is this breakfast or lunch?" "breakfast, and a very good one," mrs. clyde remarked. "won't you join us?" "don't tempt my merry men," knight begged comically. "they've never yet been known to refuse food, and though it's only an hour since breakfast, i've no confidence in them." "won't you please hurry?" alec asked eagerly. "i can't wait for you all to see the spring." "we're ready right now," said blue bonnet, jumping up impulsively. "come on, girls, it's a glorious morning for a tramp." "haven't you forgotten something, blue bonnet?" her grandmother asked. blue bonnet looked puzzled. "do you mean hats? i'd much rather go without one, if you don't mind, grandmother." but it was not hats that grandmother was thinking of; gradually it dawned on blue bonnet that the other girls were not making ready for the excursion, but were gathering up the dishes and clearing the table. she flashed a reproachful look at them. "you might let those wait," she protested. grandmother smiled. "you do surely belong to the 'land of _poco tiempo_,' blue bonnet." "but the dishes will keep--" "and so will the spring!" the girl gave a discouraged sigh; it was a pity grandmother had not been brought up in texas; then she would have understood what were the really necessary things in life. she nodded wistfully at the boys. "grandmother believes in every girl's doing her duty," she said. "we'll have the manager hold the performance," said knight cheerfully. "we'll be back in half an hour,--carita can go by that time, too." blue bonnet brightened visibly at this, and turned resolutely to the hated tasks. "debby and i will wash the dishes; sarah can 'red up,' and you and amanda do the beds," kitty suggested. aunt lucinda's training stood blue bonnet in good stead here. the going over the rather bumpy beds got in that half-hour left amanda breathless with admiration. "you can do things beautifully when you want to, blue bonnet," she remarked. "when i have to, you mean," blue bonnet replied. "where's the broom, do you know?" asked sarah. "sh!" blue bonnet drew her into the tent and out of every one's hearing. "there isn't any broom, sarah." "but i put one in the wagon myself." "and i _threw it out_!" "blue bonnet!" something like horror was in sarah's blue eyes. blue bonnet met her gaze defiantly. "did you ever see a picture of the witch of salem, sarah?" sarah gave a bewildered nod. "what has the witch of salem--" "wasn't she riding a broom?" blue bonnet persisted. "yes--but--" "well, in my opinion that's the only good use a broom was ever put to! it has no place in a respectable camping party." sarah said no more; but when, a few minutes later, amanda and blue bonnet looked out to learn the source of an odd sound, they beheld the indomitable sarah, armed with an antiquated rake, gathering up the leaves and litter on the hard dirt "floor" of the dining-room. "who would have thought to see our sarah grown rakish?" asked blue bonnet,--and then dodged the pillow sent by amanda's indignant hand. by the time the allotted half-hour was up, _poco tiempo_ was a model of neatness and order. the girls, booted and hatted in spite of blue bonnet's objections, were ready to the minute, and when the young scouts appeared they set out at once, exactly--as blue bonnet remarked--like the third-graders at recess. grandmother had settled herself comfortably with a book,--mrs. judson was coming over later for a chat,--and so it was with a free mind and a soul ready for a carnival of pleasure that blue bonnet stepped forth on the joyous expedition. "i reckon it is better," she admitted to alec, "to have everything done first, instead of having them to do when you're tired." "oh, wise young judge!" he laughed. "we'll make a new englander of you yet." "that reminds me of something cousin tracey said once. he thought i was developing a new england conscience, and said it was an exceedingly troublesome thing to have around. i believe him,--it's much more fun to develop kodak films. there now!" she broke off impatiently, "--if i haven't left my camera in the tent. and i want pictures of the spring." "never mind, we'll be up here every day," said alec. "there's a jolly little rustic bridge where you can gather the crowd for a group picture. here we are!" he and blue bonnet had walked faster than the others, and so were first to see this most beautiful of springs. blue bonnet gave one look, and then something rose in her throat, stifling breath and speech. alec watched her appreciatively. "if he speaks to me now, he's not the boy i've always believed him," the girl was saying to herself. she dreaded the first word that should break in on that moment of perfect beauty. below them the giant spring surged up, a great emerald in a setting of woods and hills. clear as air, the water boiled up from the bowels of the earth, revealing every fish and pebble in its mirror-like depths. shrubs overhung it; wild cresses and ferns clustered about it; below the surface long tresses of pinky-coral grasses floated and waved in the bubbling current. a voice shattered the blissful moment of peace. "isn't she a beauty?" it was a sandy-haired youth with kitty who had clambered roughly into the picture. blue bonnet hated him fiercely for a few seconds. then the rest came up with a babble of voices and exclamations and she resigned herself, with a sigh, to the fact that the gift of silence, being golden, is given to but few. knight gave her a questioning glance and she glowed back at him. "it's perfect--almost too perfect." "there's a wee spring up higher,--the camp creek flows from it. do you feel equal to the climb?" he asked her. she gave eager assent, and, after lingering a few minutes for the others and finding them too slow for the pace she liked, blue bonnet followed knight up a steep winding path that circled the hill. he carried a "twenty-two" rifle swung across his shoulders, and in his belt a rather formidable looking knife. "for use or ornament?" she asked, indicating the weapons. "you look like dick danger." "strictly for use," he assured her. "the gun has brought down many a toothsome 'possum, and the knife serves to cut anything from firewood to alpenstocks. shall i cut you one to assist your feeble steps?" they halted while he selected a sapling for the purpose, trimmed and sharpened it at the end. "alpine travellers put sharp iron points on their staffs, uncle says," he explained, "so that by thrusting them in the ice and snow they keep from slipping. we don't need them for just that purpose, but they are handy on steep paths--and to kill bugs with!" she accepted the "alpenstock" gratefully and soon found it useful for both purposes. "when we get back to camp i'll get sandy to carve your initials in it--he's quite a genius at carving," knight said. "is sandy the--sandy one?" "precisely." "then i don't think i like him." "oh, but you will when you know him better," knight protested. "he's tremendously clever,--a born orator. he won a medal last year in a debate." "that accounts for his talking so much," blue bonnet laughed. "he's always at it." "but unlike most incessant talkers, he says something," knight urged for his friend. "we'll get him to recite some evening, then you can judge how talented he is." "does he do 'curfew shall not--?'" she asked mischievously. "grief, no!" knight's disgusted tone sent blue bonnet off in a fit of laughter. to her surprise the ripple of her laugh came back in a gleeful "ha, ha!" that had something witchlike about it. she turned a startled face to her companion. "we've reached the 'whispering grotto,'" he explained. "the echo is famous." he pushed aside a low-growing bough, and brushing by it blue bonnet found herself in a lovely little cave-like spot, in the centre of which was a tiny spring. it bubbled up somewhere back in the hill and had made a long tunnel, coming to the light just here. "oh, for a cup. i'm thirsty as--as tantalus!" sighed blue bonnet. "a texas girl crying for a cup?" knight asked teasingly. "that wouldn't have happened before i went to woodford. i've been going through what they call--being civilized. it's mostly learning not to shock the new england sense of propriety." "i'm not a new englander!" knight's eyes were daring her; and it was fatal. what sarah would have said if she could have seen blue bonnet's method of getting a drink is hard to conjecture. hardly had she time to spring to her feet when voices were heard close at hand. "i can hear sandy." she turned eagerly to knight. "let's go on--i don't feel ready for a crowd." "there's a lovely view from the top of the hill," he suggested. her only answer was to push on, plying her alpenstock eagerly in her haste to elude the others. pausing only when the top of the hill was reached, she sank at length on a fallen tree-trunk. the view was all knight had promised for it, overlooking a quiet valley. "let's call it 'peaceful valley,'" she said. "it may have a different name on the map, but no one can prevent our christening it what we like," he agreed. blue bonnet was content to rest for a while here. there was no sign of life anywhere, except a solitary bird wheeling about far above their heads. "a swallow-tailed kite," knight said as the bird dropped suddenly into clearer view. "graceful, isn't it?" all at once the big kite alighted on the dead branch of a tree near them. "what glorious wings!" breathed blue bonnet. "would you like one for your hat?" knight asked. "oh, wouldn't i!" she cried eagerly. quick as flash knight swung his rifle about, aimed and fired. blue bonnet put her fingers in her ears with an exclamation of alarm. the bird toppled as if to fall, then righted itself with a lurch and fluttered out from the tree. blue bonnet gave a sigh of relief. "i was so afraid you had hurt him!" she cried,--and the words died away in a gasp of distress. the kite, pitching headlong, had fallen almost at her feet. she dropped on her knees beside it; but the bird was still. knight, bending over her, was suddenly filled with surprise and dismay; she was crying like a child. "it was so mean and vain of me," she said with quivering lips, "--to want him just for a hat, when he was having such a beautiful time." knight was pale with hatred of himself. she looked up at last and smiled mistily through her tears. "i reckon you think i am pretty much of a baby. but i can't bear to see things--die." "it's only a big hawk," he said to comfort both himself and her. she looked up hopefully. "and hawks are mean birds, aren't they,--that kill little chickens and other birds?" he hesitated, then said unwillingly: "some hawks do. but this is a different kind. it lives on snakes and insects--" "then it is a good bird!--that's what uncle cliff calls them." her face clouded again and she turned towards camp. "you don't want one of the wings then?" she shuddered. "oh, no!" then she paused. "i will have--i saw some feathers fall. will you give me one? i want it for a reminder." knight picked up one of the tiny barred wing-feathers and handed it to her. "a reminder?" "i'm never going to wear things like that again--wings and birds and all those cruel ornaments. i never realized before--and whenever i am tempted i shall look at this." knight bent, picked up another of the feathers and laid it away in his fly-book. "i need a reminder, too," he remarked. "but you never wear birds in your hats," blue bonnet said wonderingly. "my reminder shall be: 'think before you shoot,'" he said quietly. chapter xiii around the camp-fire there was no sign of the other trampers when blue bonnet and knight reached the little grotto; and descending to the big spring they found even that charming spot deserted. blue bonnet looked around in surprise. "do you suppose we've missed them on the way down?" raising her voice she gave her ranch-call--"ho, ye ho, ho!" "--ho ho!" the hill sent back; but no feminine or masculine voice answered the well-known notes. blue bonnet, child of the open, then looked at the sun and the shadows and gave an exclamation of astonishment. "it's past noon! they've gone back to camp. my, i'll have to hurry--it's my turn to cook lunch." she darted impetuously down the hillside, and knight found himself compelled to move briskly in order to keep up with her. they went too fast for conversation, but once blue bonnet paused long enough to say over her shoulder--"you'll come to lunch, won't you?" "catch me refusing now i know who the cook is!" he replied gaily. the path opened at last on the open space before _poco tiempo_. there was sound of voices and laughter, and yes--the clink of dishes! blue bonnet turned a rueful face to knight--"do you hear that? they won't say a thing to me!" "i am armed,--trust me to protect you," he declaimed theatrically. they had to pass through the "kitchen" first, and there the clutter of empty pots and pans told their own story. from the dining-room the others caught sight of the tardy pair and a wild hubbub at once arose. "tramps!" "set the dogs on them!" "why don't you work for a living?" knight's eyes twinkled as he looked from blue bonnet's amazed countenance to the teasing faces about the table. lunch was evidently not only ready but largely consumed. "what are you eating so early for?" blue bonnet demanded. "early!" "twenty minutes past one!" "no--!" blue bonnet gasped, subsiding on the end of the bench and fanning her hot face with her hat. "now, isn't that the funniest thing?" "i'm glad you see the point of your own joke," retorted kitty. "we have decided to give you a week's notice to get a new place." "i engage her on the spot," said knight. "it's all my fault." "we won't give her a reference," said kitty. "you needn't--if you'll just give me food," said blue bonnet. "alec, make room for knight beside you, will you? we're both starved. who made the muffins?" "guess," said kitty, relenting and passing her the nearly empty plate. sarah intercepted it. "i'll get you some hot ones." and she rose hastily. blue bonnet laughed. "now i know! grandmother, did you help sarah?" mrs. clyde nodded. "the girls came back so hungry i thought we had better not wait for the chief cook. no one knew where you were." "i'm going to wear a cow-bell after this," blue bonnet declared. "sarah, if i could make such muffins i'd insist upon cooking every meal." "i reckon you don't need any protection," knight said in an undertone. "oh, there's safety in numbers. wait till amanda catches me alone! we two will have to get dinner now." she buttered her third muffin and then glanced happily around the table. "i've a lovely scheme," she hinted. "did you ever see any one so bowed down with penitence?" asked kitty; adding promptly, "what's the scheme?" "it's to invite alec and knight to get down logs, make us a huge bonfire and--" "that's just like blue bonnet," kitty broke in, "--she'll let you do the work and she'll do the _rest_!" "--and then invite them to a party," blue bonnet went on imperturbably. "'she'll do the grand with a lavish hand,'" quoted alec. "we're your men. a party--with a big p--is what our souls have been pining for. where shall we build the festive pyre?" "in the open space between the two camps. there'll be no danger to the trees there and plenty of room to sit around it. i'll tell miguel to bring up one of the wagon horses to drag logs,--i want a perfectly mammoth fire." "you ought to have been a man, blue bonnet," debby remarked, "--you would have made such a wonderful general. your ability to put other people to work amounts to positive genius." but blue bonnet had already gone in search of miguel, with alec and knight in her train. for the rest of the afternoon the "general" demonstrated that she could not only put other people to work, but could work herself, to advantage. while the boys--whose forces had been augmented by the addition of sandy, smith, brown and jones--got down logs and built them into a miniature log cabin, blue bonnet made great preparations for the party. she spread all her indian blankets at a proper distance from the bonfire-to-be; distributed the buck-board seats judiciously, planning to add the dining-room benches as soon as supper was out of the way; whittled great quantities of long willow wands to a sharp point, maintaining great secrecy as to the use to which the latter were to be put; and stacked many boxes of the delectable pinoche in a convenient spot. hardly had these preparations been completed when amanda announced that it was time to begin cooking dinner. blue bonnet looked at her aghast. "i think it's maddening," she declared. "we are in a continual state of washing up after one meal and getting ready for another. and this is what grandmother calls 'simplicity'--! it would be a heap--much--simpler if i could just say--'lisa, we'll have dinner at six.' that would end it,--and what could be simpler?" "what shall we have?" asked amanda, considering that subject more to the point. "baked potatoes, then we won't have to peel them,--i'd as soon skin a rabbit. and gertrudis cooked a leg of lamb, so that we'll only have to warm it up." "shall we try hot bread?" asked amanda. "certainly not! hot bread twice to-day already--we'll all have indigestion. we've stacks of loaves, and bread and maple syrup is good enough camp fare for any one. if we're going in for the simple life, let's be simple." "that reminds me of something we translated in the german class," said amanda. "'man ist was er isst'--and it means 'one is what one eats.' and another german said 'tell me what you eat and i'll tell you what you are.'" "do you mean to tell me that if i live on angel-cake i'll grow to be angelic?" demanded blue bonnet. "hardly!" laughed amanda. "it would take a good deal more than that! no offence, blue bonnet,--i like you best when you're--the other thing. the germans are always arguing about something or other. we used to take sides in class and nearly come to blows." "you should have taken french," said blue bonnet, before she thought. "you didn't think that last march!" amanda teased; and the next moment could have bitten her tongue out for the thoughtless speech. blue bonnet did not smile; it was evident that the memory of the day when all the members of the french class except herself had "cut" was still a bitter one. "i'll wash the potatoes," amanda offered in amend for having touched a painful chord. "all right!" blue bonnet beamed acceptance of the kind intention and handed over the pan without hesitation. "i'll make up a hot fire, and we'll get everything started and the table set,--then you and i are going to the spring." "oh, are we?" asked amanda blankly. one never knew what scheme lurked in the back of blue bonnet's head. "for table decorations. i saw some ferns and wild honeysuckle near the bank, and it won't take much time to gather enough for the table." "decorating the table isn't 'simple,' is it?" amanda asked rather provokingly. "if you know anything simpler than a wildflower, i'd like to be shown it," retorted blue bonnet. "come on, we must do some tall hustling." the "tall hustling" got the table set in a rather sketchy fashion; hurried the potatoes into a scorching oven; placed the already cooked roast in the top of the same oven at the same time; and saw blue bonnet and amanda headed for the spring, bearing a fruit-jar and the camp's only carving-knife, just as uncle joe came up the bank with a fine string of speckled trout. "all ready to fry, honey," he said, holding them up proudly. "hide them quick!" cried blue bonnet in alarm, "shooing" him back towards the creek. used as he was to blue bonnet's impetuosity, this move of hers filled him with amazement. "what's the matter,--they're perfectly good trout!" he urged. "they're lovely. but i wouldn't fry one for ten million dollars! keep them for breakfast, uncle joe,--sarah will know how to do them beautifully." with an understanding chuckle, uncle joe went off to cache his string of beauties in a cool place along the creek; and blue bonnet and amanda continued their quest for ferns. as they were returning, crowned with success, they met the señora just back from a stroll with mrs. judson. the three other girls were already sitting suggestively about the board. "there," said blue bonnet triumphantly, as she deposited the fruit-jar in the centre of the table with its graceful ferns and honeysuckle trailing over the oil-cloth, "feast on that!" "i call that a pretty slim dinner," said kitty. blue bonnet, disdaining the insinuation, departed rather hastily to the kitchen, drawn thither by a strong odor and a still stronger suspicion of disaster. the sheet-iron stove was red-hot. catching up a cloth she flung open the oven door, and then backed abruptly away from the cloud of acrid yellow smoke that rolled thickly into her face. "oh, blue bonnet!" wailed amanda. "everything's burned to a cinder! we shouldn't have gone off." blue bonnet's only reply was a violent fit of coughing. the smoke continued to pour in dense billows from the oven. "grab the pans, quick!" she managed to choke out. amanda made a valiant dive through the smoke, and had just time to seize the pans from the top and bottom of the oven, when she, too, was overcome, and in the paroxysm of coughing that followed threatened to burst a blood-vessel. finally with crimson faces and streaming eyes, both cooks gazed ruefully down on the black marbles that had been potatoes, and the charred drum-stick that had once been a leg of spring lamb. "keep back--no trespassing!" called blue bonnet as the other girls, scenting fun as well as the odor of burning things, came running from the dining-room. "this is our funeral and we don't want any mourners!" she waved them back peremptorily, at the same time screening the ruins with her apron. the discomfited we are sevens returned to their seats, and a moment later there came the sound of spoons being vigorously thumped on the table. "we want dinner!" came imperiously from the hungry girls. amanda looked imploringly at her partner. "what shall we do?" blue bonnet thought hard for a moment. all at once her brow cleared. "here, take the meat, go find a gopher-hole and push that bone down into it as far as it will go. the potatoes can't be burned all the way through,--we'll scrape what's left into a bowl. and i'll tell uncle joe i've changed my mind,--we'll have the trout for dinner. and, amanda, you'll hurry back, won't you, and put the fish in the pan--i simply can't touch 'em!" each sped to fulfil her allotted task, and in an incredibly short space of time a family of gophers was sniffing about a strange object blocking their front door; and a pan of fragrant trout sputtered on top of the little stove. as blue bonnet set the great platter of perfectly browned fish in front of her grandmother, there was a flattering "ah!" of anticipation that repaid--almost repaid, her for the previous bad quarter of an hour. canned pears and the cookies that should have been saved for future emergencies, completed a dinner which was voted "not half bad" by the other girls, who secretly marvelled at getting any dinner at all. no one noticed that neither blue bonnet nor amanda partook of potatoes, and there proved to be ample for the rest. "i'll wash the dishes, amanda," blue bonnet offered, when at last that night-mare of a dinner was over. "i ought to walk over red-hot plowshares, or wear a hair-shirt or something as a penance for my sins of this day. lacking both plowshares and shirt, i'll substitute dish-washing. and you may bear me witness--i'd take the hair-shirt if i had my choice!" it was a very weary blue bonnet who turned the dishpan upside down and hung the dish-cloth on a bush to dry. the long tramp of the morning, the preparations for the bonfire party, and then the exhausting experience of getting dinner, had tired even her physique, which had seldom known fatigue. "i wish we could dis-invite the company," she said to amanda. "so do i," groaned her partner. "fancy having to sit around a bonfire and sing 'merrily we roll along'--! it makes me ache all over." later, when the inmates of both camps were gathered in a great circle about the fire, singing, jesting and story-telling, both girls forgot their weariness and might have been heard singing the same "merrily we roll along" with great zest and vocal strength. the bonfire did its builders proud and without any preparatory sulking or coaxing burst almost at once into pillars of soaring flame. there was a backing away at first on the part of the spectators as the intense heat began to scorch the circle of faces; then a gradual drawing near again. it was not until the flames had died down and the logs were a mass of glowing coals that blue bonnet handed around her willow-wands. each one was now tipped with a white ball, puffy, round and mysterious. to most of the boys this was an innovation, and they had to be shown how to hold the white globules over the coals until they spluttered and swelled to bursting. "now eat them!" she commanded. there was a chary tasting and then an ecstatic cry--"marshmallows!" the rapidity with which the tin boxes were emptied might have appalled a less generous provider than blue bonnet; but she had relied upon uncle cliff to fill her order for marshmallows, and consequently felt no fear of "going short." when little bayard had consumed his ninth "moth-ball" as he persisted in calling the sweets, his mother rose to take her brood home. mr. judson bent to lift joe who had fallen asleep in sarah's arms, and then turned to blue bonnet. "good-night," he said, holding out his free hand and smiling down into the girl's tired face; "this is the first time i ever partook of toasted moonshine, and i've enjoyed my initiation." carita kissed her impulsively. "it's the loveliest party i've ever been to," she whispered. blue bonnet looked wistfully after the departing group. "aren't families the nicest things in all the world?" she asked sarah, as she sank on the blanket beside this member of a numerous clan. "the very nicest." and sarah, whose arms still felt the warmth of little joe, stared into the fire with eyes that saw in the coals the picture of a family in far-off woodford. there were a few more songs; an eighth or ninth rendition of "meet me, dearest mandy, by the water-melion vine"-- for the benefit of amanda, who hated it, and then the rest rose reluctantly to depart. "it's the swellest thing in the bonfire line i've ever attended," sandy assured mrs. clyde; and she could excuse the phrase because of the undoubted enthusiasm of the speaker. half a dozen of the boys tramped away in a bunch, and there floated back to the group about the fire the rhythmic refrain of "good-night, ladies!" until it finally died away in a sleepy murmur. only the older boys had lingered and they, after making arrangements for a horse-back ride on the morrow, slowly straggled away. "where's blue bonnet?" asked alec; he was one of the last, loitering for a final word with his hostess. "she was sitting by me a little while ago," said sarah, looking towards the navajo. the spot was in shadow, but as they looked in that direction, a log fell, and a slender flame sprang up. in the light they saw blue bonnet, curled up on the bright blanket, with her head pillowed on her arm. she was fast asleep. chapter xiv a falling in "how's the sleeping beauty this morning?" was alec's salutation to blue bonnet, when he appeared early next day in advance of the other picnickers. blue bonnet asleep at her own party had been a spectacle he would not soon forget; it was almost as funny as being absent from her first tea, on that memorable day in woodford. "the sleeping beauty could find it in her heart to envy rip van winkle; a nap like his is just what i crave. but no,--sarah must needs have breakfast at cock-crow," blue bonnet complained. "why, blue bonnet, it was after eight o'clock when i called you," returned sarah in a grieved tone. "sarah didn't want breakfast mistaken for lunch again," said amanda. "my prophetic soul tells me that we are going to conduct ourselves like a model sunday-school class to-day," blue bonnet remarked. "what makes you think so?" asked amanda, in whom the memory of yesterday's trials was still undimmed. "'well begun is half done,' you know. and this beginning is obnoxiously perfect." blue bonnet was wiping off the oil-cloth as she spoke; dishes were already washed, beds done, and all without a hitch. "i hope our picnic won't prove to be of the sunday-school variety," said kitty. "i'm sure our sunday-school picnics at home are always very nice," sarah said reprovingly. "every one to his taste!" was kitty's airy rejoinder. "you can make up your mind that this picnic won't be like any other you ever attended," alec assured them. "knight has a scheme up his sleeve that will bear watching. i wonder, blue bonnet, if mrs. clyde would mind letting us take coffee?" blue bonnet reflected. "to-morrow is sunday and we're privileged to have it for breakfast. if we have it to-day instead i'm sure she won't object. what else shall we take?" "only some bread, some lump sugar and a tin of milk, please," said alec modestly. amanda gave a sudden exclamation of joy. "then we won't be back to lunch,--oh, blue bonnet, that lets us out to-day!" they fell upon each other rapturously. "i think we are the ones who should rejoice," said kitty; but her remark met with the silent scorn it deserved. they mustered a troop of twelve, all mounted, for knight's picnic. riding by twos, they cantered decorously as long as the eyes of their elders followed their course; but when a turn in the road freed them from observation, there was a spurring and an urging of the wiry ponies, and away they went, recking little of the grade whether up or down. it became a game of follow-my-leader, with knight and blue bonnet heading the procession and putting their horses through a performance that would have lamed anything but a western cow-pony. knight finally led the way to one of the "race-paths" that abound in the hilly regions of texas, and there began a tournament that for years lived in sarah's memory as the most reckless exhibition of daring ever seen outside a circus-ring. "who made this race-track?" she asked knight in one of the infrequent pauses in the performance. "nature!" he laughed at the look of incredulity with which sarah met this assertion. in truth she had good reason to doubt his word; the smooth broad road encircling the hill, a full quarter of a mile long, edged on either side by a dense growth of cedars, seemed unmistakably to show the hand of man in its creation. "it's the solemn truth i'm telling you," knight insisted, "--i swear it by the mane of my milk-white steed!" sarah gave one glance at the dark yellow buckskin pony he rode, and then clucked impatiently to comanche. she objected to having her faith in people imposed upon. knight was still laughing when blue bonnet came up and challenged him to a race. "my reputation for truth-telling is forever lost in señorita blake's estimation," he told her. "what do you think of sarah, anyway?" it would be curious to know just how a western boy regarded old reliable. "she's very nice," he said, with an utter absence of enthusiasm, "--but not exciting." blue bonnet smiled. "and kitty?" she continued. perhaps it wasn't polite in a hostess to discuss her guests, but she just had to ask that. "she's very pretty and vivacious," he replied with an increase of warmth. "she lacks only one thing to make her irresistible." "and that?" "having been brought up in texas!" if knight had expected a blush to follow his outspoken compliment he was disappointed. blue bonnet's hearty laugh showed a very healthy absence of self-consciousness in her make-up. "my aunt lucinda thinks that is my very worst drawback," she declared; and then chirping to firefly, she was off at a break-neck pace, hat bobbing, brown braid flying, her eyes alight with the excitement of the race. [illustration: "they all gathered gypsy-fashion about the fire."] the climax of the day was the gypsy picnic. when blue bonnet beheld the camp-fire with the pail of coffee steaming away over the bed of coals, and saw the feast spread out informally on the ground, with wild grape leaves for plates, she gave an exclamation of delight. "isn't it heavenly?" she cried. alec laughed. "i believe, blue bonnet, that your idea of heaven is to live in a wickiup and subsist on mustang grapes and wild berries indefinitely,--now isn't it?" "exactly--except that i'd add some of the bacon knight is preparing to give us. that's the way the cowboys cook it." knight had cut a dozen or more twigs having a forked branch at the tip; on the end of each he placed a slice of bacon and then handed around the "forks" ceremoniously. "i'm not going to offer you anything so dainty as toasted moonshine," he explained, "but it's a heap more substantial." they all gathered gypsy-fashion about the fire, toasting the bacon and their faces impartially; then transferring the crisp curly brown strips to the big slices of bread, devoured them with exclamations of approval that were most grateful to the arranger of the feast. even canned cream failed to detract from the flavor of the coffee, and they consumed great quantities of the fragrant beverage, even sarah partaking most intemperately. only a lot of ponies inured to the hardships of the round-up would have remained patient through the frolics of that day, and some of these wiry ponies looked rather drooping when the picnickers turned towards camp. mrs. clyde, who had been watching the road rather anxiously as the shadows began to lengthen, brightened at once when blue bonnet's cheery call sounded through the trees. "oh, grandmother, we've had the most gorgeous time in the world!" blue bonnet cried, as she flung herself out of the saddle. "did you ever see such a beautifully mussed-up crowd in all your life?" "if that is an evidence of a 'gorgeous time' you must certainly have had one," mrs. clyde smiled as her glance travelled from one rumpled and spotted we are seven to another. "these are the only skirts we brought and mine is all spluttered up with bacon," mourned sarah. "i think you will all have to go to bed while i wash them," the señora suggested laughingly. "grandmother, please don't let sarah play upon your sympathies. she doesn't appreciate how becoming a little dirt is to her peculiar style of beauty. she looks almost--human." the look of pained surprise sarah turned on her sent blue bonnet off in a fit of merriment. "oh, for a picture of that expression!" she cried. "and that reminds me,--i told all the boys to be at the spring in fifteen minutes. there is plenty of light for a snap-shot and i've just a few films left." "oh, blue bonnet, haven't you done enough tramping to-day?" her grandmother exclaimed. "you ought to rest." blue bonnet shook her head. "i can't rest till i get that picture. i want the boys and the we are sevens on the little rustic bridge. now, sarah, don't you dare tidy up till i get you just as you are. i want you to pose as terrible tom the texas terror." that sarah had her own opinion as to who the texas terror might be was shown by her expression as she relinquished her design of brushing her hair, and followed the other girls up the hill to the big spring. the boys were already assembled and were now grouped on the bridge in attitudes meant to be artistic and fetching. the rustic bridge--rather more rustic than substantial--was suspended just over a pretty waterfall, which slipped down a smooth runway of eight or ten feet into a pool all foam and spray; a charming spot for a group-picture. it required both skill and patience to get every one posed and the camera focussed; blue bonnet had just completed these preliminaries, when alec upset everything by insisting that he should be the photographer and she a member of the group. the rest supported his contention that she should be in the picture, and in the argument that followed, the chances for any picture at all grew slim. just then uncle joe appeared, and was at once pressed into service. blue bonnet gave explicit directions as to the precise moment at which the bulb was to be pressed, and then proceeded to join the rest who were in the agonies of trying to look pleasant. "do hurry, blue bonnet," urged sarah nervously, "i can hear the bridge creaking." a roar of derision followed this declaration and some of the smaller boys began stamping on the old timbers for the sheer joy of seeing poor sarah quake. at the precise moment that blue bonnet stepped from the bank to her place by the rail, there was a loud report, followed by a scream. uncle joe, looking up from the reflector, saw the bridge parted neatly in the middle, and the entire party shooting the chutes in a most informal manner. by the time the first boy had finished the descent, uncle joe was in the water fishing out the gasping victims. the pool was not deep, but the swift fall carried the smaller lads under the surface, and they came up too dazed to see the hands held out to seize them. knight and sandy found their feet at once, and with uncle joe formed a dam against which the others were caught like salmon in a river-trap. sarah was fished up by her blond braids and came up gasping, "i told you so!" before she opened her eyes. "that's about as busy a spell as i've had for some time," uncle joe declared as he hauled out the last of the small boys and then clambered up the steep bank. "you showed great presence of mind, uncle joe--except for one thing," said blue bonnet. "if you had just taken a snap-shot when the bridge broke i'd be quite happy." "and if a few of us had drowned while he was doing it--" kitty began ironically. "you'd have missed being in the picture, poor souls! well, since we're all alive, let's go break the news gently to the grown-ups." blue bonnet looked around the drenched, shivering group and then burst into peals of laughter. in truth they were a sorry looking lot. soaked to the skin, with hair and clothes dripping and bedraggled, they all looked at each other as if surprised and grieved to find themselves part of so undignified a company. grandmother's expression when the we are sevens hove into sight, sent blue bonnet off into another gale of merriment. "we've been shooting the chutes, grandmother," she said with dancing eyes. "without a boat," added kitty. it took sarah to tell the story in all its harrowing details, and at its conclusion mrs. clyde looked sober. "were you really in danger?" she asked blue bonnet. "not a bit," blue bonnet declared. "sarah was the only one who came near drowning and that was because she _would_ talk under water." fifteen minutes later the little sheet-iron stove was red-hot, and on a hastily strung clothes-line about it hung an array of dripping garments that almost hid it from view. "there's one comfort about all this," said kitty, "our skirts and middies have had a much-needed bath." "i'm afraid they won't be very clean,--cold water won't take grease out," said sarah mournfully. "and i'd like to know--how are we going to iron them?" they were all sitting in a circle about a blazing bonfire of uncle joe's building, with their streaming hair spread out to dry. dressing-gowns and bedroom slippers had made it unnecessary to go to bed while their wardrobe hung on the line, and now that they were warm and comfortable, they were disposed to look on the adventure of the afternoon as more of a lark than a misfortune. "do you recall a prophecy you made this morning, blue bonnet?" asked kitty. blue bonnet shook her head. "your 'prophetic soul' told you, if i remember rightly, that we were going to conduct ourselves like a model sunday-school class to-day." "well, if anybody would promise me as much fun in sunday-school as i've had this day, i'd never be absent or tardy!" laughed blue bonnet. sarah looked pained. "it's sunday to-morrow," she remarked. "i wonder what dr. judson will take as the text of his sermon." blue bonnet gave her a long, curious glance. "do you really wonder, sarah, about things like that?" sarah raised honest, serious eyes. "why, of course, blue bonnet. don't you?" "no," she confessed, "but i do wonder--at you!" as they sat silent for a moment about the blazing logs, blue bonnet had an inspiration. "grandmother," she asked abruptly, "are you very hungry?" "why--is it your turn to get dinner?" mrs. clyde smiled; she was shaking the water from her granddaughter's long hair, and spreading it in the warm rays of the fire. "no, amanda and i were to get lunch. but are you?" "not at all. mrs. judson and i had an excellent dinner at noon." "well, i've a splendid idea. there are heaps of hot ashes down under the logs. we can bury some potatoes there,--the cowboys cook them that way and they are delicious. then with some devilled-ham sandwiches we could sit right here and eat, and have no tiresome dishes to wash up afterwards." "hear, hear!" cried kitty and debby. "it's easy to see whose turn it is to wash dishes," laughed amanda. "it's right handsome of you, blue bonnet," kitty remarked gratefully, "--especially when it wasn't your turn to officiate. i'll make the sandwiches and debby--you get the potatoes." that buffet supper was later pronounced the most successful meal ever prepared in _poco tiempo_. "this is truly bohemian," remarked mrs. clyde, as with a newspaper for both plate and napkin, she joined the group about the fire, "--much more so than the studio-luncheons they call bohemian in boston." "fancy anything trying to be bohemian in boston!" exclaimed blue bonnet. "they haven't a thing in common." "they both begin with a b," said sarah. the girls were too surprised to laugh. "is that a joke, sarah?" asked kitty in an awestruck tone. "of course not,--they do, don't they?" she returned. as the girls collapsed at this, she looked up in puzzled surprise. "i'd like to know what's so funny about that," she remarked plaintively. "there comes mrs. judson," exclaimed debby. there was a hasty wiping of blackened fingers on newspaper napkins as the girls rose to greet this unexpected guest. the little figure approaching them seemed slighter than ever, and the gingham dress fairly trailed over the long grass. the face was hidden in the inevitable sunbonnet. "hello, everybody, are you dry yet?" called a cheerful voice. "carita!" exclaimed blue bonnet. "we thought you were your mother." carita looked down at her loosely fitting garment and laughed. "i had to wear this while my dress dried. knight said i ought to hang out a sign--'room to let.' mother made me wear the sunbonnet because my hair is still wet. but i said i could dry it by your fire as well as anywhere else." she tossed away the cavernous bonnet and the chestnut locks fell in a cloud about her shoulders. with her dark eyes and skin framed by the long straight hair she looked like a young indian. "have a potato?" asked blue bonnet, spearing one with a stick and presenting it to the guest. "thank you." carita took it as if this were the usual fashion of serving this vegetable, and ate it with the ease born of long experience. suddenly she gave an exclamation. "oh, i nearly forgot. alec sent over something. the boys couldn't come for they've nothing to wear but blankets--they're rolled up like a lot of mummies around the fire. but alec and knight and sandy have been writing something,--i think it's a letter." "it's a poem!--oh, blue bonnet, you read it aloud." kitty handed over the verses and in the flickering light they gathered close about blue bonnet as she read: the bridge "we stood on a bridge in texas, near a camp far, far from town; we stood there in broad daylight,-- 'cause there wasn't room to sit down. "we posed on that bridge so rustic, to be snapped by uncle joe, and we smiled and looked real pleasant, yet one heart was filled with woe. "for a stream, both swift and deadly, flowed beneath the bridgelet there, and the creaking of the timbers gave this timid maid a scare. "as sweeping eddying 'neath us the deep, dark waters rolled, she could seem to see our finish-- dashed beneath the waters cold. "yet the bridge still held, but trembled, --gleamed the torrent chilly, vast,-- and the weight of one blue bonnet broke the camel's back at last!" "who did it?" cried blue bonnet. "all three helped," said carita. "but i think sandy did most." "he must be cleverer than he looks," said blue bonnet. "why, don't you think he looks clever?" exclaimed kitty, "i do." "it wasn't clever of him to have sandy hair," blue bonnet declared perversely. "as if he could help it!" said sarah. "we must write a 'pome,' too," said blue bonnet. "we?" exclaimed debby. "i never found two words to rhyme in all my life. you and kitty are the only ones who ever 'drop into poetry.'" "the muse must be partial to red hair," said amanda. and though kitty sniffed insultedly at this insinuation, her bright head was soon bent over a pad beside blue bonnet's, and after much chewing of their pencils and shrieks of laughter at impossible rhymes, the two of them finally evolved the following: we are seven "you marvel that a simple band of maidens, young and fair, should linger ever on the land, nor for the water care? "if you should ask in dulcet tone why for the earth they sigh, they'll weep, they'll shriek, they'll give a groan,-- but they will answer why. "'last night we were a happy bunch, last night about eleven--' quoth you--'but why this sorry lot? how many members have you got?' they'll answer--'we are seven.' "'but seven are not all alive?' 'yea, yea, thou trifling varlet, though here we number only five,-- two caught a fever scarlet. "'and o'er us five whose courage great brought us to far-off texas, there seems to brood an awful fate, and trials sore to vex us. "'to-day the bridge on which we stood and posed above the rippling wave, alas! was made of rotten wood and plunged us in a watery grave.' "'then ye are dead! all five are dead! their spirits are in heaven!' 'tis throwing words away, for still these maidens five will have their will, and answer--'we are seven!'" "i wonder what mr. wordsworth would say to that?" said debby, when this effort had been heard and elaborately praised. "he's dead," remarked sarah. then, ignoring debby's snicker she continued: "it's very good, blue bonnet,--but you shouldn't have said that two had the scarlet fever. there's only one, really." "poetic license!" kitty claimed fiercely. "i think you are the cleverest girls i ever heard of!" carita exclaimed. "i'm going to run right over with that poem--i can't wait for the boys to see it." snatching up her bonnet carita ran back to the other camp; while the girls, quite tired out by the excitement and varied adventures of the day, prepared to go to bed. as they neared the tents there came a familiar sound from the direction of camp judson. it was the loud jangle of cowbells. "do you suppose those boys are going to eat at this time of night?" asked sarah. "of course not, sallykins," said debby. "don't you understand?--that's the boys applauding our poets!" chapter xv sunday "for once in my life," said blue bonnet, with a long-drawn sigh, "i'm ready for a day of rest." "please don't begin to rest till you've done the dishes," begged kitty. blue bonnet tossed her head scornfully. "i wouldn't trouble trouble till trouble troubles you, kitty-kat. if you can go to church with as clear a conscience as mine, i'll take off my hat to you. one lapse doesn't make a sinner!" "one?" kitty echoed, and would have continued scathingly had not sarah interrupted with-- "i don't see how we can go to church with such looking clothes." "sarah's regretting the white piqué skirt you wouldn't let her bring," said kitty. "why, sarah," blue bonnet turned a pained look on the serious young person, "i would never have believed you would be one to stay away from church for lack of an easter bonnet." "i didn't mention easter--nor bonnets either," sarah declared indignantly. "the idea,--to hear you girls talk any one would think i was completely wrapped up in clothes!" "everybody is, you know--except savages," returned blue bonnet. sarah's expression at this caused mrs. clyde to rise hurriedly and vanish within her tent. freed from this restraint kitty went on wickedly: "anyway, dr. judson has been a missionary in africa and i'm sure he'd excuse you if--" sarah left the table with great dignity, leaving the other girls weak with laughter. carita appeared a little later with her denim dress looking fresh, clean, and wrinkleless. "it looks as if it had just been ironed," sarah silently commented. when mrs. clyde called to the girls that it was time to go over to camp judson, miss blake was nowhere to be found. the church service was held in the "druid's grove," a place of mingled shade and sunshine, where a little tumbling creek was the only accompaniment to the hymns, and the birds trilled an obligato. an old tree-stump served as pulpit, and here dr. judson talked rather than preached to his youthful congregation. blue bonnet, listening to him, unconsciously let her eyes wander, as they always did in the church at woodford, in search of the memorial window 'sacred to the memory of elizabeth clyde ashe' that was inseparably linked in her mind with religious service. instead of the figure of the good shepherd with the lamb in his arms, the branches of the live oaks here formed a gothic arch, in the shadow of which sat mrs. judson with little joe asleep on her lap. the look on the mother's face was full of the same brooding tenderness that the artist had given to the eyes of the shepherd of old. when they rose to sing, the young voices rang out clear and joyous, quite unlike the droning that too often passes for singing in a grown-up congregation. "bright youth and snow-crowned age, strong men and maidens meek: raise high your free, exulting song! god's wondrous praises speak! "with all the angel choirs, with all the saints of earth, pour out the strains of joy and bliss, true rapture, noblest mirth!" the stirring verses, sung with a will by every one, seemed to soar to the very tree-tops, making the branches sway with the rhythm and spirit of the hymn. blue bonnet heaved a sigh of regret as they rose to leave the grove. "it's so sweet,--i wish it could last all day." "i don't remember ever having heard you make a remark like that about church before," remarked kitty. "i don't care much for anything that's held indoors," blue bonnet confessed. "and i don't like preachers who make their voices sound like the long-stop on an organ. now that last hymn we sang makes me fairly bubble inside." "don't let sarah hear you say that. she seems to think one ought to draw a long face on the sabbath,--a sort of 'world-without-end' expression, you know. i believe she thinks it almost wicked to be happy on sunday." "well, sarah may be as blue as she likes,--this is the kind of a day that makes me feel bright pink!" "where is sarah, anyway?" asked kitty. "i haven't seen her since breakfast. surely she didn't miss the service?" "no, i saw her sitting by a big tree 'way at the back," said amanda. "it isn't like sarah to take a back seat--at church," remarked blue bonnet. "i believe she must be cross because we teased her this morning." grandmother and sarah were already deep in preparations for dinner when the others straggled into camp. the well-cooked meal of muffins, fried ham, potatoes and stewed dried fruit they served met with visible as well as audible approval. "picnic lunches are more fun, but this kind of a meal is more--filling," said blue bonnet. "let's eat all we can now and have just bread and milk for supper--we've two cans of fresh milk in the creek." "blue bonnet seems to have developed a sudden liking for 'jarring notes,' doesn't she, girls?" asked kitty. when dinner was done and the dishes washed, they all sought the buck-board seats in the lounging room. "if we only had a book now, it would be fine to have grandmother read aloud," remarked blue bonnet. "you wouldn't let sarah bring any books," amanda reminded her. "nevertheless, methinks sarah looks as if she had one up her sleeve," said debby. "not up my sleeve," sarah confessed, "--but in my bag. i'll go get it,--it's 'don quixote,' in spanish and english both." "did you bring the drawn-work, too?" asked kitty. "my, sarah, but you are a first-rate smuggler!" "now that suspicion has raised its snaky head, i'd like to know--why is sarah, long after the dishes are done, still wearing that apron?" blue bonnet had sent a random shot, but to her surprise sarah flushed to the roots of her blond hair. she rose hastily to go in search of "don quixote," but the other girls were too quick for her. they pitilessly tore the shielding apron from her shoulders, and the newly sponged and pressed middy jacket and khaki skirt stood revealed in all their guilty freshness. "they've been ironed!" gasped kitty. "what do you think of that for selfishness,--not to let a soul know she had an iron?" demanded debby. "i got it over at mrs. judson's. and none of you said you wanted an iron," said sarah. "and do you mean to say that our sarah, daughter of the reverend samuel blake, wilfully broke the sabbath by ironing?" concentrated horror appeared on kitty's saucy countenance. "she probably thinks 'the better the day the better the deed,'" said blue bonnet. "if mrs. judson could press carita's dress, i don't see that it was any worse for me to press mine," sarah protested. "i'm used to looking respectable at church." "it's no wonder you refused to sit by so unrespectable a crowd as the rest of us!" exclaimed blue bonnet. mrs. clyde was laughing inwardly, but she came to the aid of the unhappy sarah. "i think good nature has ceased to be a virtue, sarah," she declared. "hereafter you have my permission to resort to violence if necessary to protect yourself. quiet down, girls,--remember it is sunday." much relieved, sarah brought forth the contraband book and the long peaceful afternoon was spent in listening to the various mishaps that befell the valiant don and his faithful sancho panza. "if it weren't for setting a dangerous precedent, i'd tell sarah how glad we all are that she defied the authorities and did some smuggling," remarked kitty. she and debby had gone to the creek to bring up the milk for supper, and now made a pretty picture as they came up the willow-grown path, bearing the tall cans. "you look like somebody-or-other at the well," blue bonnet declared as kitty came into sight. "are you sure you don't mean thing-a-ma-bob?" laughed kitty. "if you mean rebecca, i don't agree with you. i'll wager rebecca never wore a middy blouse or carried a tin milk-can!" that evening the inmates of both camps again sat about a big bonfire. but this time the frolics and rollicking airs had given way to a decorous singing of patriotic songs, stirring hymns and a pleasant "sermonette" by the pastor of this youthful flock. long after this sunday was past, blue bonnet remembered it as one of the sweetest sabbaths she had ever spent; and she could never decide just what part of the day she had liked most,--the hour in the druid's grove; the afternoon when grandmother with her pleasant voice had read aloud from "don quixote;" or the evening, when they sat about the glowing logs, alternately singing, and listening to dr. judson. "i'm going to ask sandy to recite," knight whispered to her as there fell a silence. "get him to do 'the bridge!'" blue bonnet said with dancing eyes. "i'm sure he'd rather do 'we are seven,'" he replied, laughing. "i wish he'd recite the 'hymn of the alamo,'" said alec, who had overheard the conversation. "ask him to, knight,--he'll do anything for you, and that's a fine poem." "alec wrote an essay on the alamo," blue bonnet explained to knight, "and it won a prize--the sargent prize--in our school this year." alec squirmed with a boyish dislike of hearing himself praised; but knight slapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "bully for you, old chap! tell the fellows the story of the alamo, will you? uncle bayard likes them to hear historical things like that--can't hear them too often." alec looked horrified at the idea, but blue bonnet joined knight in urging him. "you tell the story of the fight and maybe sandy will finish with the hymn." sandy promising to do his part, alec finally yielded. sinking far back in the shadow where his face could not be seen by any of the great circle of listeners, and his voice came out of the blackness with a decided tremor in it, the boy told, and told well, the story of the frontier riflemen in their struggle for the liberation of texas from the yoke of the mexican dictator. how the texas lads thrilled at the recital of heroism, and thrilled at the mention of such names as travis and crockett! it was not a new tale; not a boy there but knew the story of that handful of men--less than two hundred of them--who, barricading themselves within the alamo fortress, for ten days defied the mexicans, over four thousand strong; only to be massacred to a man in the final heartrending fall. alec's voice lost its tremor and ended with a patriotic ring that made blue bonnet glow with pride--pride in the heroes he told of, and in the friend who told of them. "it just needs colonel potter's poem to add the right climax to that bit of history," dr. judson declared; and sandy stood up at once. sandy was used to "talking on his feet;" and he stood in an easy posture, tossing his light reddish hair back from his broad forehead, and with one hand resting lightly on the alpenstock he had been carving for blue bonnet. listening to him, blue bonnet lost all her early prejudice against the clever lad, and responding to the unbounded enthusiasm and the true orator's ring in the boyish voice, thrilled warmly to the spirit of the lines: hymn of the alamo "arise! man the wall--our clarion blast now sounds its final reveille,-- this dawning morn must be the last our fated band shall ever see. to life, but not to hope, farewell; yon trumpet's clang and cannon's peal, and storming shout and clash of steel is _ours_,--but not our country's knell. welcome the spartan's death! 'tis no despairing strife-- we fall, we die--but our expiring breath is freedom's breath of life! "here, on this new thermopylae, our monument shall tower on high, and 'alamo' hereafter be on bloodier fields the battle-cry!" thus travis from the rampart cried; and when his warriors saw the foe like whelming billows surge below,-- at once each dauntless heart replied: "welcome the spartan's death! 'tis no despairing strife-- we fall--but our expiring breath is freedom's breath of life!" as sandy resumed his seat amid a hush that was a greater tribute than applause, blue bonnet turned to knight with glowing eyes. "and to think those brave fellows did all that for texas! aren't you proud to belong to this state?" "you'd better believe i am!" "we've had some heroes in massachusetts," alec reminded them. "and they were all _americans_--and so are we." knight's bigger way of looking at the matter settled what threatened to grow into an argument. "that sandy boy's a wonder," blue bonnet exclaimed. "i take back every uncomplimentary remark i ever made about him. appearances are so deceiving." "'all that glitters isn't gold,'" said knight, looking like his uncle as he gravely quoted this ancient maxim. "it's a pity it isn't,--sandy would be a millionaire with that hair of his!" blue bonnet laughed. "i mean 'handsome is as handsome does,'" said knight, "--that isn't quite so dangerous a quotation. i expect to see sandy president some day, or at least a senator." "can't you imagine the newspaper headings: 'senator red-top of texas'--?" laughed blue bonnet. "he's hoping to go east to college this fall," knight remarked more seriously. "it's queer," said alec, "how all the western boys long to go east and all the eastern fellows think they're just made if they can come west. i'd like to trade him my chance at harvard for his health and strength." "can't you arrange that trifling exchange for alec?" blue bonnet asked knight. he shook his head. "sandy won't take anybody's chances,--he's the sort that makes his own." "some of us aren't allowed to." alec's voice had suddenly grown moody, and blue bonnet thought it time to change the subject. in a moment her clear, sweet voice was leading the rest in "the flag without a stain." "how do you like a texas sunday?" blue bonnet found herself beside sarah as they walked back to _poco tiempo_, and put the question rather mischievously. "it's been very nice, most of it," sarah returned in a stiff manner, very unlike her usual one. "what part didn't you like?" sarah made sure that the others were not listening, then answered in a tone blue bonnet had never heard from her before: "i didn't like being made to feel that whatever i do is the wrong thing. i never seem to please you any more, blue bonnet." "why, sarah!" blue bonnet stopped still and gazed at sarah in consternation. sarah paused, too, and in the faint rays from the fire the two girls looked at each other steadily for a moment without speaking. finally blue bonnet blurted out: "i wish you'd tell me just what you mean." "i mean that i've come to the conclusion that i should have stayed in woodford. i don't seem to fit in here." sarah's voice shook a little. "sarah!" was still all blue bonnet could stammer. it was all so sudden and unexpected; a bolt from a clear sky. "please don't think i'm thin-skinned and can't stand a little teasing," sarah continued, "for i'm sure i can--i always have had to. but lately i haven't said a thing that hasn't made one or other of you 'hoot' as kitty says. and everything i've wanted to do you've thought ridiculous. lately the boys have begun to laugh at me; even those i hardly know." this time blue bonnet said nothing; she was overcome by the thought that all sarah had said was quite true. she hastily reviewed the past few weeks, and as one by one she remembered various incidents, the force of sarah's complaints struck her anew. kitty's dare and that wild ride; the ban put upon sarah's spanish books and the much-loved drawn-work; and, lately, the almost concerted effort of all of them to convert everything sarah said and did into something unwarranted and absurd. by the time blue bonnet had reached her own action of that very morning in tearing the apron forcibly from sarah's shoulders, she was dumb with shame. this was the way she had rewarded her friend for a loyalty that had been unswerving through all that dreadful week in woodford, when the other girls had sent her to coventry; for all her sweet thoughtfulness that had proved itself unfailing! she suddenly threw her arms impulsively around sarah's shoulders and faced her squarely. "i've been downright horrid," she said earnestly. "and a rude, selfish hostess. i haven't any right to expect you to forgive me, sarah, dear, but if you can find it in your heart to give another chance, i'll show you i can and will be different." "it isn't serious enough to talk of forgiveness," sarah said in her honest, straightforward way. "all i want to know is, that you're not--sorry--i came." "sarah, don't say that! you make me hate myself!" blue bonnet shook her almost fiercely. "you mustn't think it either. i'm glad, glad, glad you came! i've meant you to know it, and i've wanted you to have a splendid time, and here all the while--" she stopped and swallowed hard. sarah's face lighted up happily and she did what was for her an unprecedented thing,--she drew blue bonnet to her and gave her a hearty hug. "that's all i wanted to know," she said. "please don't imagine i haven't enjoyed myself, blue bonnet. it's been the most wonderful visit! i'm queer, i know, but i can't help liking the things i like, and if only the girls would stop trying to make me over--" "i'll make them!" blue bonnet declared; and at this threat they both laughed, and the storm was over. chapter xvi the lost sheep "oh, carita, do you really have to go to-day?" genuine regret was in blue bonnet's eyes and tone. carita sighed. "yes, grandfather expects us back at the farm to-night, and mother never disappoints him. he's getting old and she doesn't like to leave him alone much. we may come up again before the summer is over,--father has to be here for several weeks yet." "but we'll be gone,--we're to leave on wednesday, you know. did ever days fly so before? i haven't seen half enough of you, carita." "you seem to belong to so many people," carita said rather wistfully, "i've been afraid to claim too much of your time. but there are other summers. maybe when you come back from the east next year you can come to the farm,--it isn't much of a journey on the cars." blue bonnet lost herself a moment in reflection. "when she came back from the east"--why, she hadn't even decided that she was going east again--yet. "and you can come to see me--at the blue bonnet ranch," she said. carita shook her head. "railroad fares are pretty high. we have to be very careful since father lost his health. that's why we came back from india, you know. the doctors said that this climate was best for his trouble, and when grandfather offered us a home on the farm we were so glad. but father's not having a church--only once in a while when he fills a pulpit for a few weeks at a time--keeps us a little short. i reckon you don't know much about--being short. you have everything you want, don't you?" "everybody seems to think that; they forget that i haven't a mother or father--or any brothers and sisters," blue bonnet said very simply. carita threw her arms impulsively about her friend and gave her a warm kiss. "how mean of me to forget! i wish you were my sister. boys don't always understand. but you have so many people to love you, you can't ever get lonesome. and having lots of money must be so nice, and to go away to school, and have pretty clothes and go to parties and travel, why--" carita's breath failed her. "i ought to be mighty thankful. and i am most of the time," blue bonnet replied. "but the people who love you always expect a great deal of you, and it's very hard to live up to their expectations. besides, going to school isn't all fun, i can tell you." "i wouldn't care if it weren't all fun, if i could only go. father teaches me at home, but we have so many interruptions. there are dishes to wash, babies to mind, grandfather to wait upon, till neither of us knows whether we're doing arithmetic or grammar." carita rose. "i must hurry back to camp--mother's packing." "you never forget what's expected of you, do you?" blue bonnet asked, with a mixture of wonder and admiration. "it wouldn't do for me to forget,--i'm the eldest, you know. mother depends on me." carita spoke as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a fourteen-year-old girl to be "depended upon." "nobody ever depends on me--for a very good reason!" blue bonnet laughed. "somehow it's so much easier for me to forget than to remember. it's the only thing i do with shining success." "you'll learn to be responsible when you have children of your own," carita said as sagely as if she were forty instead of fourteen. blue bonnet's eyes shone. "i'm going to have a whole dozen!" she declared. "i wouldn't, if i were you--it would be so hard on the eldest," carita reminded her. and blue bonnet, noticing the care-worn look in the eyes of her "missionary girl," decided that being the eldest of a big family might have its disadvantages. "grandmother, i wish there were something i could do for carita," she said later that morning, as she and mrs. clyde found themselves alone. "you have already done a great deal for her," her grandmother remarked. "mrs. judson has told me how much your letters and presents have meant to carita." "but that was so little,--and it was just fun for me. she has all work and no play, and i don't think it's fair." "perhaps you can do something for her, later on. but you must be careful how you assume responsibilities, blue bonnet. you seem to have taken upon yourself a great many already." "what ones?" blue bonnet questioned in surprise. "in the first place--you've me!" grandmother smiled. "that's so,--i'm responsible to aunt lucinda for you. and what others?" "how about the we are sevens whom you've brought so far away from their homes? and alec?" blue bonnet's eyes opened. "i hadn't thought of them in that way. but i reckon you're right. and there's solomon, too." grandmother's mouth twitched. "you must be sure you can do your full duty by the responsibilities you have before you assume new ones." blue bonnet looked very serious. "seems to me life has a heap of complications. now there's alec,--he's worse than a complication. he's a downright puzzle." "has he said anything more about his trouble?" mrs. clyde asked. "just hints. but they sound as if he were hiding something pretty bad. sometimes i wish he would come right out with it, and then again, i'm afraid. if he keeps on looking dark and broody every time the conversation turns on the subject of health, i'm going to write the general about it. i think _that's_ my duty." "but alec looks wonderfully well, bigger, broader and better in every way than when he left woodford," mrs. clyde insisted. "i know he does. but when i remarked to knight how well alec looked, and said i thought he ought to get rid of his foolish notion about himself now, knight looked queer and asked, 'do you think it a foolish notion? i think he's dead right.' and knight's a sensible boy and wouldn't say that unless he thought so." mrs. clyde's eyes reflected blue bonnet's look of perplexity. "have you talked with your uncle about him?" "no. just after i talked with you alec asked me not to mention the matter to any one else. that shuts out uncle cliff. i'm sorry, for i'm sure he'd suggest the right thing. there comes miguel with the horses. you don't mind our riding a little way with the judsons do you? they're nearly ready to start." "no, so long as you are back for lunch," said her grandmother. the boys had all gone hunting early that morning, and only the girls of _poco tiempo_ were on hand to escort the departing guests. mrs. clyde said good-bye to mrs. judson with genuine regret, and kissed all the small judsons warmly at parting. the whole family was packed into the two seats of the heavy farm-wagon, the mother driving with one of the boys beside her; carita in the back seat holding joe and, at the same time, keeping a watchful eye on the two lively youngsters by her side. bedding and camp equipment were heaped high in the wagon-box. "you look like a picture of 'crossing the plains,'" blue bonnet exclaimed. "play you're the injuns going to scalp us!" begged carita's brother harry, his big dark eyes shining with eagerness. blue bonnet gave a shrill "ho, ye ho, ho!" that passed for a war-whoop, and in a minute they were all off, the farm horses rather startled at the carryings-on; the small boys wild with excitement; and the we are sevens tearing madly down the road "ki-yi-ing" at the top of their voices. mrs. clyde turned with a smile to dr. judson, who stood looking rather amazedly after his departing family. "blue bonnet is alternately five and fifteen," she remarked. "she is decidedly refreshing," he returned. "i hope you will try to keep her a child as long as possible." "i don't need to try!" she replied with a laugh. the parting between the "emigrants" and the indians was not such as history records of leave-takings between these sworn enemies. carita had to wink hard to keep back the tears when she said good-bye to blue bonnet, and the little judsons set up a loud wail when their former pursuers waved them farewell. "it's a shame carita has to go back and slave on that old farm," blue bonnet declared, as she looked after the little figure holding on to the baby with one hand and waving her handkerchief in the other. "it seems selfish of us to be having a whole summer of fun when she's only had two or three days," said sarah. "sarah talks as if it's downright wicked for any of us to be having a good time," kitty retorted. "maybe you think one of us ought to change places with carita?" she challenged sarah. "sarah is the only one of us that's unselfish enough to do such a thing!" blue bonnet exclaimed warmly; and sarah sent her a grateful glance. they were in a part of the country that blue bonnet called "the other side of the hills,"--a land of sheep-ranches, for the most part; rather barren and level, unlike the rolling green prairie of the cattle-country she loved. they could see the judson's wagon winding its way across the plain, until only a blur of dust marked its course towards the horizon. "let's hurry," said blue bonnet, "i promised grandmother we'd surely be back for lunch." "it isn't your turn to cook, is it?" asked kitty. "no,--it's my turn to eat!" and blue bonnet, urging firefly, was off at a lively clip towards camp. "please stop, blue bonnet," panted kitty after a few minutes of this sort of going. "i've a dreadful pain in my side." blue bonnet good-naturedly fell back with her, and the rest swept past them with a chorus of taunts for being "quitters." both girls looked after comanche and his rider with something like wonder in their eyes. sarah was riding like a veteran; it was plain that she and comanche understood each other at last. "sarah's coming on, isn't she?" said kitty. "coming?--i think she's arrived!" blue bonnet exclaimed. "she can thank me for picking out comanche for her," remarked kitty; she preferred herself to be the object of blue bonnet's approbation and could not be roused to much enthusiasm on sarah's account. "considering your motive, kitty-kat, i'm not so sure sarah owes you any gratitude," laughed blue bonnet. suddenly she gave an exclamation. "why, there's a lamb,--i wonder if it's dead." "where?" asked kitty. blue bonnet pointed to a spot some distance off the road, but kitty's city-bred eyes could make out nothing. just then there came a feeble bleat, and in a second blue bonnet had slipped from the saddle and handed the reins to kitty. "hold firefly a minute, please. that _is_ a lamb!" kitty obediently held the unwilling firefly, while blue bonnet hurried in the direction of the bleat. a moment later she stooped, and when she straightened up, there was a small woolly object in her arms. "it's too little to travel and the mean old mother's gone off with the flock," blue bonnet said, coming up with the deserted baby. "what are you going to do with it?" demanded kitty helplessly. "i'm going to find the flock. it's been driven along here and inside that fence. i'm going to let down the bars and cross the field. you see the little shanty over there?--i believe there must be a shepherd somewhere about, and i'll give him the lamb. he isn't a very good shepherd or he'd have been looking out for poor little lambs. shady used to herd sheep and he's told me lots about it." "and what shall i do?" asked kitty. "i'm afraid to hold firefly,--he nearly pulls me off the saddle." "then tie both horses to the bars here and help me with the lamb." kitty offered no protest. this was so like blue bonnet. it was always a stray dog or a lost baby, or an old woman at the poor-house that enlisted her ready sympathy; kitty ran over a long list in her mind. of course it had to be a lost lamb or a calf in texas; the wonder was there hadn't been more of them. hastily tying both ponies to a fence-post with a scrambling knot of the reins that would have brought down blue bonnet's wrath upon her hapless head, kitty hastened across the close-cropped meadow. it seemed to her they trudged miles, taking turns carrying the lamb, before they reached the little shack. a stupid young fellow, half-asleep, lay sprawled in the shade. "here's a lamb we found by the road," said blue bonnet, proffering her woolly burden. without uttering a word the sleepy youth took the lamb from her; but blue bonnet, observing his manner of handling it, saw that he was wise in the ways of sheep, and she was content to leave her charge with him. "flock's over there," he said at length, pointing vaguely with his thumb. "all right. come on, kitty." as they turned away she said in an undertone: "shady says the herders are alone so much they almost forget how to talk." "he's evidently forgotten how to say 'thank you,'" kitty said crossly. "why, blue bonnet--where are the horses?" "you ought to know. where did you tie them?" kitty's startled eyes rested on the post beside the bars. "to that post there. oh, blue bonnet, some one must have stolen them!" "stolen? who'd steal them, i'd like to know? this comes, kitty clark, of letting you hitch a horse!" blue bonnet was straining her eyes for a sight of the runaways. "this comes, blue bonnet ashe, of following you on every wild-goose chase you choose to lead me!" cross, tired and out of patience, kitty flared up in one of her sudden outbursts, and blue bonnet took fire at once. "if you think i'm going to let a poor creature starve to death rather than disturb your comfort, you're much mistaken!" an angry glance passed between them. sarah, the pacifier, was several miles away by this time; and even she would have felt her resources sorely taxed to meet this emergency. miles from camp and no horses! kitty stalked into the road and started to walk, holding her head high and swinging her arms as though _she_ didn't mind a little matter of five or six miles. blue bonnet, with the training of a lifetime, stopped to put up the bars before setting out on the long tramp. it was already noon and the sun glared down, unbearably hot. before she had gone a mile blue bonnet looked about for a mesquite bush, and finding one sank down in its shade. kitty kept doggedly on. "oh, kitty!" blue bonnet called after her. "i've heard of people who hadn't sense enough to come in out of the rain, and i think it's a heap sillier not to have sense enough to come in out of the sun!" kitty wavered; and was lost. turning back she threw herself beside blue bonnet with a groan. "my feet are one big blister," she moaned, her anger swallowed up in the anguish of the moment. "we can't possibly walk," said blue bonnet. "and i've an idea. if that cloud of dust i saw on the road towards camp was firefly and rowdy--and it probably was--the girls will soon be after us." and so it proved; except that it was alec and knight instead of the girls who came riding furiously down the road in search of them. when alec heard blue bonnet's ranch-call he threw his hat in the air with a whoop of relief. "we've been looking for your mangled remains all along the way," he declared, as they reached the girls. "we had the fright of our lives when firefly and rowdy came trotting into camp minus their riders." "you thought we'd been thrown?" blue bonnet asked. "i would have thought so if there had been only one, but it didn't seem likely that both of you could have come a cropper," knight replied. "is grandmother worried?" blue bonnet asked hastily. "she doesn't know. the girls didn't tell her anything except that you and kitty had loafed along the way. she didn't see the horses. but we'd better hurry back." each boy had led one of the errant ponies, and now the girls mounted and lost no time in getting back to camp. "i'm so sorry--" blue bonnet began to speak as soon as she came within sight of her grandmother, "--i didn't mean to be so late." "i can't quite understand, blue bonnet, why you and kitty could not come back with the other girls. it is long past noon." mrs. clyde had been worried, and required more of an explanation than an apology. blue bonnet's tired face and dusty, dishevelled clothes spoke eloquently of adventure. "i stopped to pick up a lamb,--its mother had gone on with the flock and left it to starve. shady says lots of sheep don't care about their children. that's why he likes beef-critters best,--cows always make good mothers. and kitty and i found the shepherd and gave him the lamb to take care of." the annoyance faded from grandmother's face and her eyes softened. uncle joe, who had been an interested listener, spoke up--"say, honey, why didn't you bring the lamb home?--fresh meat is just what we've been needing." "uncle joe!" horror rang in blue bonnet's voice. "do you think i'd have eaten that poor little darling?" he scratched a puzzled head. "why seems like i've known you to eat nice young roast lamb, blue bonnet." "that's different," she insisted. "the only acquaintances blue bonnet is willing to have roasted are her friends!" said kitty; and blue bonnet generously let her have the last word. chapter xvii secrets "there's only one thing nicer than going camping," blue bonnet declared. her grandmother looked up. "and that is--?" "getting home again!" blue bonnet laughed happily. they were in sight of the ranch-house now, and could see the girls and alec dismounting at the veranda steps. don and solomon leaping excitedly about the group, suddenly caught sight of the approaching buckboard and raced madly to meet their mistress. even the horses seemed glad to be home again and tired as they were with the long day's travel broke into a trot. benita's brown face beamed at them from the doorway, and over her shoulder peered juanita, with eyes only for miguel. kitty had sunk immediately into one of the deep veranda chairs. "i had to see how it feels to sit in a real live chair with a back once more," she explained. "and next i want to look at myself in a mirror that's more than three inches square; and have a drink out of a glass tumbler; and put on a clean white, fluffy dress!" they each did all these things as eagerly as if they had been marooned on a desert island for many months; even grandmother clyde wearing fresh white linen, and alec, for the first time on the ranch appearing in a starched shirt. whereupon the girls broke into deafening applause. "letters, letters for everybody!" cried blue bonnet bursting into the living-room with a great bundle of mail. "three for you and one for me, grandmother,--postmarked turino. heaps for you, kitty, ditto for sarah, amanda, debby, alec,--all woodford must have joined in a round-robin. hurry and read them and then everybody swap news!" a long silence ensued, as profound as it was rare, while each girl pored over the precious home letters. it was kitty who looked up first. "susy didn't catch the fever,--and ruth's all over it. and she's had to have all her hair cut off, and she's dreadfully thin and doesn't seem to get her strength back as she should, father says. he thinks she has fretted over having to miss the ranch party,--and no wonder!--it would simply have killed me. susy's been a regular trump and hasn't complained a bit, but every one knows it's been a dreadful disappointment, especially when she was perfectly well and could have come if it hadn't been for ruth." "it's a downright shame!" blue bonnet declared. "father says if ruth doesn't feel better soon she'll probably have to stay out of school this fall," kitty continued. "then i should say she hadn't suffered in vain," exclaimed blue bonnet; grandmother was deep in her letters. "but think how mean it would be to have one of the we are sevens out of school. you know how you love to 'have things complete,'" amanda reminded her. "yes, but--" she began; then feeling her grandmother's eyes upon her, failed to finish. it was odd how the girls took it for granted that she was going back with them. and she was not at all sure, herself. the girls had not noticed her hesitation, and were already exchanging other bits of home news and gossip. alec alone was silent. blue bonnet, stealing a look at him saw that he had finished his letters and was staring moodily out of the window, unmindful of all the gay chatter about him. "did you get bad news, alec?" she asked him, later that evening, as he accompanied her to the stable to see texas and massachusetts. "that depends on the way you look at it. boyd is coming back from europe to take the west point examinations--" blue bonnet smothered an exclamation: she had seen that coming. "--and grandfather says that since the army seems out of the question for me, he thinks i had better hurry home and take the harvard exams. he seems set on it." "and you don't want to?" "it isn't to be thought of." alec's mouth was very determined. now why, if west point was disposed of, could he not take the next best--or in her opinion the very best--thing that offered? it was on the point of blue bonnet's tongue to put the question, when alec spoke again. "i've been putting off writing grandfather,--what i told you a while ago,--thinking i might feel different after a time. but i'm more convinced than ever now. i had a long talk with knight's friend 'doc' abbott, and he gave me a thorough going over, as he called it--" "and what did he say?" "he agrees with me, absolutely. there's no harvard or any other college for alec trent--" "oh, alec!" blue bonnet was trembling. to hide it she bent and picked up little texas, stroking one of his silky ears. the coyotes had been placed in the empty rabbit-hutch, and were growing prodigiously. "well, it's better to know the truth and face it, isn't it?" alec asked, as if rather resenting her tone. "yes, but--i can't see how you can speak so lightly about it. it's so dreadfully--serious." "lightly?" echoed alec. "you're mistaken, blue bonnet. i know it's a mighty serious business for me. why, if i could view it lightly, i could sit down and write grandfather about it this very minute--" "well, if you don't, i'm going to!" she declared. "will you? oh, blue bonnet, that's just what i've been hoping you'd do!" the relief in alec's tone was unmistakable. "he's mighty fond of you, and i'm sure he'd consider that it came better from you than from me. and it will be a lot easier for you to do it, under the circumstances." easier! blue bonnet bent hastily and put texas back in the bunny-house so that alec might not see her face. if he had not been absorbed in his own thoughts he must have seen what a shock his words had been to her. it was so unlike alec to put upon a girl a task he felt too hard for himself,--a sort of cowardice of which she would never have believed him capable. it took her some seconds to steady her voice before she could answer: "i'll write to-morrow." "you're a trump, blue bonnet! i seem to get deeper and deeper into your debt," he said earnestly. blue bonnet fastened the little door of the rabbit-hutch, leaving texas and massachusetts to one of their frequent naps, and then walked back to the house in silence. alec, observing her, believed her to be composing her letter to the general. "the first of august to-day, just think how our summer is flying!" remarked amanda next morning. "just three weeks to blue bonnet's birthday," said sarah, who was engaged in making some mental calculations. "sixteen! just think how old i'm getting!" blue bonnet's smile showed her not at all depressed at the prospect. uncle joe cleared his throat gruffly. why on earth did everybody keep harping on blue bonnet's growing up? "i reckon you'll be having some howling celebration?" he asked rather crossly. "you wager we will!" uncle cliff replied, all the more cheerfully because he guessed the reason for uncle joe's irritation. "a sixteenth birthday only comes once in a lifetime." mrs. clyde, feeling an unusual sympathy with uncle joe, was silent. "we must have some sort of a party that's--different," exclaimed blue bonnet. "everything's different in texas," sarah remarked, and the usual laugh followed. "we can't have a dance without any boys," blue bonnet reflected. "no boys?" exclaimed uncle joe, with a return of his twinkle, "well, for a ranch that keeps a baker's dozen of cowboys--" "all mexicans except sandy and pete!" exclaimed blue bonnet scornfully. "i'll agree to furnish a boy apiece for the festive occasion," said uncle cliff; and blue bonnet, exchanging a glance with him, knew he was nursing a well-laid scheme. "now, listen," he continued. "i've been thinking over this thing--had time to think this last week!--and i've got it all figured out. my idea is to have an all-day affair, a real old-fashioned spanish tournament." blue bonnet clapped her hands. "oh, uncle cliff, you do think of the most glorious things!" "in the morning," uncle cliff went on, "we could have a steer-roping contest--the mexicans adore that--and señorita ashe bestow the prizes. and then--" "some bronco-busting," suggested uncle joe. blue bonnet turned pale and uncle cliff kicked his foreman under the table. "none of that," he said briefly. "too crude for our select company." "a bull-fight, then," uncle joe persisted, "--that's spanish, and the most seeleck ladies adore the ring." "oh, no!" cried blue bonnet, before she caught the gleam of mischief in the speaker's eye. "we might have some races in the pasture," alec suggested. "sure!" exclaimed uncle cliff. "and end with a grand fête in the evening,--and give everybody a holiday." "won't it be a great deal of work?" mrs. clyde inquired. "heaps. but these greasers never have enough to do,--we'll make them work for once," mr. ashe replied. "what shall we wear?" of course it was kitty who asked. "oh, girls, i've the loveliest plan,--you don't mind, do you, grandmother, if i get out my spanish costume again?" grandmother smiled at a sudden recollection. "no, dear. i think it would fit this occasion admirably." "but we haven't spanish costumes!" said debby and amanda in a breath. "get them!" blue bonnet exclaimed. "any old-fashioned, bright-colored gown will do to begin with, and a lace scarf for mantilla--" "but where are we to get the gowns,--they don't grow on bushes," demanded kitty. "there is such a thing as a post, kitty, and an express company. and you know your attics at home are full of lovely old things." "then we'll have to send right away to get them here in time." the girls rose as if there were not a moment to lose, and, later in the day, shady rode to jonah with a well-filled mail-bag. blue bonnet spent the entire morning over the composition of her letter to general trent. when she sat down soberly to write alec's grandfather a plain statement of facts, she found she had no facts to tell,--only a host of vague fears and hints that alec had uttered from time to time. it was hardly to be wondered at, therefor, that her epistle when finished was pervaded with mystery of a veiled sort that made the general knit his brow, fall into a brown study, and then stalk off to the telegraph office. it was uncle cliff who received the message and the matter aroused no comment. it said simply: "with your permission will come to texas. arrive august twentieth. prefer alec should not know." a telegram just as brief was despatched in reply; and no one was the wiser except blue bonnet and grandmother clyde. blue bonnet was much elated. telling bad news at long range was something she did not approve of, and it promised to be a far easier solution of the problem to have the general see and learn for himself. it was not easy, however, to keep the matter from alec, and blue bonnet, who had never had a secret of such importance before, had trouble more than once to keep from blurting it out. the air for the next few days was full of mystery. preparations for the birthday went forth apace, and the question of gifts was the important topic of the hour. isolation from shops threw the girls largely upon their own resources; besides, it was known that mrs. clyde did not favor anything but the simplest of gifts. sarah, whose drawn-work had progressed steadily in spite of all obstacles, enjoyed a small triumph, being the only one prepared with a suitable present. "now they'll leave me in peace while i finish it," she thought with a sigh of relief. but it was not altogether peace that sarah enjoyed, for the other girls took it into their heads to fashion something for blue bonnet with their own hands, and sought sarah's room as the one spot secure from the eyes of the curious. "what are you going to give blue bonnet?" debby asked alec one day. he laughed mysteriously. "i'm aiming to surprise everybody as well as blue bonnet. it isn't much of a present, and the surprise is the only thing about it worth while." blue bonnet was obligingly blind and deaf, in these days. letters flying back and forth, packages by mail or express, she ignored religiously. "it's a real midsummer christmas," she said to her grandmother one day, when all the other girls had shut themselves up in sarah's room. "i thought there never could be anything so exciting and thrilly as getting ready for christmas in woodford, but this is running it close!" "the mistress of the blue bonnet ranch is a very important personage these days," said grandmother. "she always has been made to feel important here. that's why it was so hard at first when i came to you and aunt lucinda." blue bonnet drew a low hassock beside her grandmother, and leaned cosily against her in the way they both loved. "you see, having my own way ever since i was old enough to have a way, didn't make it very easy to obey orders. my wishes didn't seem to count much with aunt lucinda." "but they do count, dear. your aunt is very fond of you, blue bonnet, and would grant any reasonable wish if she had it in her power." "oh, i understand her better now. it didn't take me very long to realize that she was running that ranch--that's a figure of speech, grandmother,--and it was my turn _to be run_." mrs. clyde stroked the brown head lovingly. "i saw the struggle, dear, and i know it was not easy. the things that are worth while don't come without effort." blue bonnet smiled understanding into her grandmother's eyes. "i know. and i'm so glad i wasn't what uncle cliff calls a 'quitter.' sticking it out was pretty hard, but it's made me feel more--worthy, somehow, to be sixteen!" mystery reached its highest point the next day when kitty, who had been absorbed in a bulky letter from home, suddenly gave a shrill scream of excitement, and summoning the other three girls, fled to sarah's room. the high-pitched chatter and ejaculations that issued from that quarter made even alec curious. going around the house he hung on to the window-ledge and begged to be let into the secret. "we want to surprise everybody!" said debby revengefully. alec dropped to the ground and walked away in high amusement. let them keep their secret then; he was sure he knew a surprise worth two of it. then he betook himself to the mexican quarters to note the progress of his own gift for blue bonnet. chapter xviii some arrivals the birthday celebration really began on the day before the birthday. uncle cliff had driven to the railway station early in the day, and long before it was time for him to be back, five pairs of eyes began searching the road for a sight of the returning buckboard. the we are sevens, observing blue bonnet to be as expectant as they, became apprehensive lest their great secret should have leaked out. for her part, blue bonnet had become so used to seeing the girls impatient for the arrival of the mail, that their frequent running to the veranda to peer down the road, occasioned her only amusement. how little they suspected what a valuable package that buckboard would contain! this was the twentieth of august. every time blue bonnet thought of the great surprise in store for alec, she grew first excited, then afraid. how would he take his grandfather's arrival? one minute she was sure he would be overwhelmingly glad, for alec had a deep affection for the "grand old man." the next, she was afraid he would think she had shirked her bargain by throwing on him the burden of telling the general his own bad news. well, this time she had truly done her best, let the results be what they might. "do what is right let the consequence follow!" she sagely remarked to solomon, and he put up his paw as if to say: "shake on that!" she was in her garden picking flowers for the table. indoors was a delightful flurry of preparation: from the kitchen came a clatter of pans, and a variety of appetizing odors; above the cackle of lisa and gertrudis rang the merry laugh of juanita as she waited on the busy cooks; while miguel could be seen haunting the region of the back door. out on the long-disused croquet-ground, which uncle joe had levelled and tamped for blue bonnet years before, alec and several of the cowboys were working, converting it into a dancing ground, and hanging chinese lanterns on long wires strung between the surrounding trees. "it's certainly worth while having a birthday on the ranch," blue bonnet thought happily. all this bustle of preparation to celebrate the birthday of a texas blue bonnet! hark! wasn't that the rattle of wheels? yes,--there came the buckboard at last. blue bonnet sprang up excitedly. had alec heard? she shot a look in the direction of the croquet-ground. alec had heard; had glanced at the cloud of dust that marked the approaching team, and then--had gone calmly on with his work. he was looking for travellers on horseback, and the buckboard's arrival won only slight notice from him. he would let the girls spring their surprise on blue bonnet and have the hubbub over before he intruded. "alec!" called blue bonnet in a fever of excitement; but he merely waved to her indulgently and went on fitting a candle into a socket with exasperating slowness. with her arms full of flaming poppies, blue bonnet flew to the house and reached the veranda just as the other girls poured from the door, and the buckboard came to a standstill. there was the general, and beside him--blue bonnet gasped as she saw--was a boyish figure with close-cropped hair. the poppies fell to the ground in a brilliant heap, and the moment that susy and ruth alighted blue bonnet gathered them both in an ecstatic hug. but not for long was she permitted a monopoly. these newly arrived two-sevenths were passed from hand to hand, or, more literally, from arm to arm, and caressed and exclaimed over until mrs. clyde came to the rescue of the tired girls. the general's arrival had become of quite secondary importance. he stood talking to the señora until blue bonnet at last turned to him apologetically. "i'm very glad to see you!" she said. general trent took her outstretched hand and smiled down into the eager flushed face. "you are very good to say so. a mere man is decidedly _de trop_ on such an occasion!" "no, you're not! only i was expecting you and i wasn't expecting susy and ruth,--so i rather lost my head. how did you happen to bring the girls?" "i didn't bring them, really. dr. clark wanted them to have a change of air, and when mrs. doyle heard i was coming here she asked if i would mind playing escort to her girls,--a change of air spelt only texas to them, it seems. my delight may better be imagined than described, and--here we are. ah, miss kitty, you see me at last!" he paused to shake hands with the young lady, and then the others came shyly up with greetings. "you didn't know i had a surprise up my sleeve, did you?" blue bonnet challenged the girls. "you must wear long sleeves!" laughed kitty, tilting her chin to look up at the tall military figure. the general laughed with the rest but blue bonnet could see him looking about with some impatience. "where's alec?" he asked finally. "we'll go find him. take everybody indoors, will you, grandmother? i'll be back in a minute." looking particularly small and slight, blue bonnet moved off with her tall companion towards the croquet-ground, where alec, all unconscious of their approach, stood on a step-ladder adjusting one of the paper lanterns. "how is the boy by this time?" general trent asked. "i--i don't know," blue bonnet stammered. it was quite true; she had given up trying to guess the state of alec's health. the horizontal line between the general's eyes grew deeper: it was plain that the girl shrank from telling him the worst. alec had started to descend the ladder when he caught sight of the approaching pair. for a second he stood transfixed with surprise; then with a real cowboy "whoop" of joy, took a flying leap from his perch, cleared various obstacles with a bound, and literally fell upon his grandfather. "how splendid of you to come, sir!" was all he could exclaim for some minutes. finally the general took him by the shoulders and held him off, looking him over from head to foot. blue bonnet saw a look of incredulous wonder grow in his eyes, as he took in the increased breadth of the boy, the erect carriage and the red that glowed through the sunburn of his rounded cheeks. "why, boy, how you've grown!" "have i?" asked alec eagerly. "never felt so well before in all my life!" well? blue bonnet felt her face grow hot. how could alec say that when he had let her--even urged her--to write that letter to his grandfather? if it was a joke, it struck her that alec must have developed rather poor taste in jokes. she could feel the general's eyes upon her, questioning mutely. she could not meet his glance yet, and said with elaborate carelessness: "i reckon you two would like to have a little talk, and the girls are waiting for me." she sped back to the house, and soon forgot her indignation in the joy of the we are sevens' reunion. "it seems too good to be true!" she exclaimed, gazing happily from one girl to another, as the seven of them lounged about the living-room, three on the broad couch and the rest distributed impartially between the floor and the window-seat. such complete informality had never seemed permissible in the sedate clyde mansion; but somehow these surroundings seemed to invite one to be as comfortable and unconventional as possible. suddenly blue bonnet's eyes danced. "doesn't this remind you of my first tea-party?" she asked demurely. "well, i should say not!" kitty exclaimed. "we all sat around your grandmother's drawing-room with manners as stiff as our dresses, waiting for our hostess--" "and wondering what you would be like--" added sarah. "were you prepared to see the wild indian i proved to be?" "fishing!" sang kitty. susy looked from blue bonnet to kitty and laughed. "my, this sounds like old times!" "stop talking about old times, please," begged ruth, "and tell us about the new ones. i want to be told all about the round-up, and i want to see the 'vast herds' and the cowboys,--and the blue bonnets!" blue bonnet's laugh rang out. "blue bonnets in august! come in march and i'll show you a sea of them,--and a round-up, too. the cattle and the cowboys you shall see to-morrow,--and some steer-roping that will make your hair stand on end." ruth ran her hand through her boyish, close-cut locks and made them stand literally on end. "it isn't much of a trick to do that!" she said with a grimace. "never mind, maybe it will come in curly," said sarah the comforter. "you can trust sarah not to see the thorns for the roses," said blue bonnet, sending the comforter an approving glance. "what turtle doves you all are," laughed susy. "oh, it's sarah and blue bonnet who do all the cooing. the rest of us are still just geese." kitty's voice had a tinge of envy that did not escape the notice of the rest. "go play us something, blue bonnet," suggested ruth tactfully, "--that cowboy piece we all like." "invalids must be humored," remarked blue bonnet as she went to the piano. in a minute the little rollicking air that she had played at her first tea-party, had set them all to dancing and humming as on that historic occasion. "aren't kitty and blue bonnet as chummy as they used to be?" ruth asked amanda under cover of the music. "yes, by spells. they had one tiff--the second since they've known each other,--and ever since we've lived in dread of the third, haven't we, sarah?" "you have," sarah returned. "and i have too, in fact, though i try not to be superstitious. besides they've had the third--and it's all over now." "they have? when?" amanda sat up in surprise. "while we were camping. kitty told me about it and said it was all her fault. the last one wasn't, you know. first it's one and then the other that's to blame." "kitty and blue bonnet aren't going to stop at three tiffs, you may depend on it," ruth said wisely. "they're going to have three times three and then some. because kitty is kitty, and blue bonnet is--blue bonnet!" as the gay music ceased grandmother clyde looked in at the door. "it is time for the travellers to rest. they must be fresh for the great occasion to-morrow," she said, nodding to susy and ruth. blue bonnet glanced over to the couch where ruth reclined among the pillows. her face, with its crown of short dark hair, looked very thin and white. "i reckon the girls had better go to your room, grandmother,--it's about the only place where they can be quiet. benita is putting two cots in the nursery, but it's never quiet in there till we're all asleep." ruth rose regretfully, "i'll go rest if i must. but i hate to miss anything that's going on. if you only knew how deadly dull it has been in woodford! i think the inhabitants have learned to appreciate the we are sevens, for the place has seemed empty without them. and everybody wants to know when the texas blue bonnet is coming back." they all looked towards blue bonnet. "i--why--there's uncle cliff looking for me," she said, and left the room precipitately. "blue bonnet's usual way of avoiding an answer," thought kitty. "when does the fall term of school begin?" asked sarah. "the tenth of september,--and that means we must leave here about the third," said susy. "only two weeks of this for us, girls!" "we'll see that they are two busy weeks," kitty promised. blue bonnet drew uncle cliff into a secluded spot on the side veranda. "you just saved my life, uncle cliff." "were you being talked to death, honey?" "no,--but i just escaped a pitfall. people do ask the most--uncomfortable questions." "suppose you tell me what sort?" "well, ruth says people want to know when the texas blue bonnet is going back to woodford." "so that's come up again, eh?" uncle cliff knitted his brow. "i reckon you're doing some thinking along that line, blue bonnet?" he watched her face anxiously. she nodded. "yes, i--you see there isn't much time left. i must decide soon. it's not going to be easy, uncle cliff." "no,--not for either of us, honey." "and there's grandmother, too,--and aunt lucinda. other people seem to have a lot to say about one's life, don't they?" "they have a lot to say, blue bonnet, but the person who has the final 'say' is yourself. you're old enough now to decide what you want to do with your life. sixteen to-morrow!" "i know what i want to do with my life, uncle, but i don't know yet just how to do it." "don't you think you could manage to do it on the ranch? we know now where to get a first-class tutor, and--" "oh, as far as 'book-learnin''--as uncle joe calls it,--goes, i reckon i could get that all right, here on the ranch with a tutor. but books, i've found out, aren't more than half of an education. you know, life's mighty simple on the ranch, and i've grown used to doing things the easiest way. but that isn't the big way. aunt lucinda says every woman should have a vocation." uncle cliff squirmed. blue bonnet seemed to have assimilated a rather big dose of aunt lucinda. "but, honey," he protested, "a girl with plenty of money doesn't need a vocation." "oh, she didn't mean that kind of a vocation. it's a sort of glorified way of doing your duty by your neighbor. and you know it isn't very easy to do your duty by your neighbor when the nearest neighbor is miles away! now, aunt lucinda is the most all-round useful person. she's helping to keep up a home for cripples in boston, and is secretary of the church aid society, runs grandmother's house and--" "everybody in it!" added uncle cliff. blue bonnet slipped her hand into his with a sympathetic pressure. "i reckon i caught it from you,--liking to paddle my own canoe, i mean. but, though i don't love discipline, i've learned to appreciate what it can do. now, look at solomon--" "--in all his glory!" laughed uncle cliff. at that moment the subject of the conversation was occupied in gnawing a very dirty bone on the forbidden territory of the veranda. "oh, he has his lapses," blue bonnet confessed, "--his forgettery is as active as mine. but he's hardly more than a puppy yet, and it's surprising how well he minds. he's getting pretty wild out here. the ranch has that effect i've observed. and that's why--" "say, honey," uncle cliff interrupted, "let's allow the subject of going back to rest right where it is until after to-morrow, will you? i want to enjoy my ward's birthday, and i'd rather have a clear sky without any clouds on my horizon." "that suits me, uncle cliff." "and while we're on the subject of the birthday, there's something i want to tell you, blue bonnet. i know it's usual to keep one's gift a secret, but--" "oh, i hope it's just some simple thing, uncle. grandmother's been looking pretty serious lately over what she thinks is our extravagant way of living. the woodford girls have to be very careful about expenses, you know, and she thinks it makes it harder for them to be satisfied when they see me have so much." "don't you worry, young lady. i'm only taking a leaf out of your book, and instead of giving pleasure to just one person--i. e. blue bonnet ashe,--i'm going to distribute it over quite a crowd. the trouble is it won't keep till to-morrow. it's about due now. jump on firefly, will you, and ride with me to meet it?" "yes, everybody is resting, or supposed to be. just wait till i slip on my riding-skirt and i'll be with you." a few minutes later blue bonnet and her uncle, after the fashion of the old days, cantered down the road together. hardly had they disappeared when kitty, also attired in riding-costume, stole quietly to the stable, and having found one of the mexicans to saddle rowdy, rode briskly out of the corral and off to the woods across san franciscito. at the gate uncle cliff drew rein. "we'd better form a reception committee right here. i think i hear your birthday present coming." blue bonnet looked down the road expectantly. what could it be? then, as they waited, there came the rhythmic pound of hoofs, a cloud of dust, and suddenly there swept into sight a company of riders with knight and carita in the lead. "oh, uncle cliff, what a splendid birthday present!" and blue bonnet, with a glad "ho ye, ho ho!" of welcome, galloped to meet the procession. sandy and the three "props of the world"--smith, brown and jones, with two of the younger boys from camp--made, as uncle cliff had promised, a "boy apiece" for the we are sevens and carita; and the entire party, dusty though they were from the long ride, were incorrigibly cheerful and apparently not at all tired by the trip. "oh, i'm so happy!" cried carita, as blue bonnet fell in beside her and led the way to the ranch. "i never dreamed i could come. but mr. ashe had made all arrangements, and mother said she could get along without me for the three days,--she's going to stay at the camp. just think, if we hadn't gone up there again, i couldn't have known about it in time!" "how lucky! carita, i think you are the nicest birthday present that was ever thought of." carita looked up in surprise. "having you and knight and the boys here is my birthday gift from uncle," blue bonnet explained. "wasn't it downright grand of him to plan it?" "it's sweet of you to want us," carita returned. "and your uncle looks as if he loved to do nice things. he has the kindest eyes i've ever seen." "except your father's," blue bonnet added. "i think they must both have been cut out by the same pattern." alec, who was in the secret, had assembled everybody on the veranda awaiting the arrivals, and the hubbub that ensued as the cavalcade dismounted and everybody exchanged greetings, convinced susy, ruth and the general that life in texas was quite as exciting as it had been painted. mrs. clyde, having been prepared by uncle cliff for this invasion, tried to view the proceedings as a matter of course, and was her usual cordial self. "where are we going to put them all?" blue bonnet asked in an undertone. "shady and uncle joe put up a tent as soon as you rode off," her grandmother explained. "the boys are used to camping out and there are only two nights to plan for. carita can share sarah's room. lisa has enlarged the dining-room table, and we shall have room for all. i hope we can make our guests comfortable." "don't you worry, grandmother. these guests will make the best of everything. people out here don't expect things to be--orderly, as they are in woodford." "evidently not!" was grandmother's unspoken thought. "where's kitty?" asked blue bonnet presently, missing one saucy face from the group on the side veranda where they had all gathered. "didn't she go with you? we haven't seen her for an hour or more," replied sarah. "here she comes now." alec rose and went to assist kitty from her horse. "hello, miss unsociable," he said. "fancy riding all by your lones! been keeping a tryst?" "nothing so romantic," she confessed. "i've been gathering these lovely wild vines to decorate the table with. see how pretty they are!" she tossed the big armful of glossy green stuff down to him. to her surprise and indignation alec dodged her offering and let the vines fall in a heap on the ground. kitty paused in the act of dismounting and stared at him, speechless with surprise at this act from well-bred alec. "i beg your pardon, kitty," he laughed. "i didn't mean to be rude, but i'm deadly afraid of that stuff." "stuff!" echoed kitty. she was off her horse in a minute, and giving the reins to miguel who had come up for rowdy, she bent to pick up her insulted treasure. alec prevented her. "i wouldn't, kitty,--though i don't suppose it matters now. the mischief's done, i'm afraid,--that's poison ivy." "poison ivy!" kitty sprang back as if the vine were about to sting her. "i never saw any before,--and i wanted to surprise blue bonnet--it looked so pretty. oh, alec, are you sure?" "sure?--positive. dr. judson pointed out lots of it around camp, and we learned to give it a wide berth. but say, every one isn't susceptible, kitty. maybe you're immune." "oh, dear!" wailed kitty. "what shall i do? can't i be vaccinated or something to ward it off?" "what's the trouble?" asked uncle joe, coming up in time to hear kitty's despairing cry. "poison ivy," said alec, pointing to the vines. "now that's bad." uncle joe kicked the innocent looking heap of greens off to one side. "i'll send up one of the boys to rake that up and get rid of it. nasty stuff to have around,--'specially for folks with your--coloring." he eyed kitty's milk-white freckled face apprehensively. "if i get it and have to miss the party i'll never get over it!" kitty declared. "oh, yes, you will--it only lasts a few days, generally," said uncle joe. kitty dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "here--don't do that!" alec exclaimed hastily. "that might play the mischief with your eyes. go bathe your face and hands with witch hazel, that may help. and hurry out again, kitty--your friend sandy is on the side veranda." kitty for the first time glanced towards the house and saw the latest arrivals. "carita, too! have they come to the party? oh, what fun! that's what mr. ashe meant when he promised us a boy apiece for the dance. but oh, alec--what if--?" kitty could not finish. "please don't get it, kitty,--it would spoil the day for sandy!" chapter xix blue bonnet's birthday "sixteen to-day!" was blue bonnet's first thought as she opened her eyes next morning. could it be only a year since her last birthday? less than a year since she had first seen grandmother? why, it seemed now as if she must have known grandmother and aunt lucinda all her life! she tried to remember how she used to feel before she ever left the ranch; before she had ever seen woodford, or the we are sevens, or--but the list seemed interminable; she gave up trying to recall how the blue bonnet of that careless time had thought and felt and spent her days. was every year to bring as many new experiences, as many new faces into her life? surely not if she stayed on the ranch, and if she went-- but uncle cliff had said that question was to be banished for this day. rising and dressing noiselessly, she stole out of the nursery for one of her usual early morning romps. being sixteen should not rob her of the right to be a child at this hour of the day! "wish me many happy returns, solomon!" she cried as the dogs raced to her across the yard. "don, this is the fifth occasion of this sort you've attended,--you're getting on in years, too. come on, i'll race you to the fence!" uncle cliff watched her from the pasture, a chuckle of satisfaction escaping him at this evidence of untamed tomboyism. he met her as she came up flushed and breathless. "getting mighty dignified since you turned sixteen, aren't you?" her laughing face peered at him over the rough old logs. "not so you'd notice it!" "i reckon i ought to thump you sixteen times and one to grow on. but that would make it necessary to climb the fence. how would you like kisses instead?" "give me the big one to grow on, anyway." she held up her lips. "and now i must run in to grandmother,--she must have the next." she found the señora waiting for her in the living-room. "i'm so glad you're alone, grandmother. i wanted you all to myself for a minute or two." she went straight into the arms grandmother held out to her, was folded close for a moment and received a second kiss "to grow on." [illustration: "it was an exquisite miniature, painted on ivory."] "while we're alone i want to tell you something," blue bonnet said earnestly, "--about this last year, i mean. i never have said just what i've felt. it has been the best of all years, grandmother, and the best of all the good things it has brought me--is you." "thank you, dear. and you must know, blue bonnet, without my telling you how great a comfort you are to me." "truly, grandmother,--a comfort?" "beyond words, dear." and grandmother gave her another kiss to grow on. "and now, blue bonnet, here is something for your birthday." blue bonnet took the dainty package and unwrapped it with fingers that trembled a little. within the paper was a box, and inside that, looking out from a frame of dull roman gold, was her mother's face. it was an exquisite miniature, painted on ivory. the rose-tints of the flesh and the deep tender blue of the eyes that smiled up at her, made the portrait seem a living thing. blue bonnet could not speak. she gazed and gazed at the dear features until her eyes blurred and she had to put up her hand to brush the tears away. "oh, grandmother--!" her lip quivered and she could say no more. but grandmother understood. "your aunt had it done from a photograph while she was in rome. the painter was a boston woman--an old friend of ours who knew your mother, blue bonnet. that is why the coloring is so true. the eyes are your eyes--can't you see, dear?" "am i truly like her?" "so like, blue bonnet, that sometimes it seems as if elizabeth had never left me." "i'm glad, grandmother. oh, how i shall treasure this! how can i ever thank you and aunt lucinda? there come the others,--i think i won't show them this just now. i'd rather let them see it one at a time. somehow a crowd--" "i understand, blue bonnet." it was well that she and her grandmother had made the most of that quiet five minutes before breakfast; for it was the last peaceful moment that day. as all the gay party trooped into the dining-room with its long table looking like a real banquet board, a big floral decoration was the first thing to greet all eyes. a long low basket of closely woven fibres formed a centrepiece, and inside it, growing so densely that only a vivid mass of blue showed above the brim, were blue bonnets in bloom. "how sweet! where did they come from?" blue bonnet demanded, looking from face to face. "there's a card on the handle," some one suggested. blue bonnet bent and read: "blue bonnet's namesakes wish her many happy returns of the day." looking up she caught alec's eye. "you?" she asked. "guilty!" he confessed. "you clever boy! you couldn't have given me anything i should love as much. how did you ever do it?" "easy enough. planted the seeds and took care of them,--had a bad scare for fear they wouldn't bloom in time. i've had them back of marta's cabin and she's been sitting up nights with them!" they all crowded about the table for a closer view. "i'm so glad we can see some blue bonnets before leaving. that's been the one thing necessary to complete texas!" exclaimed kitty. "sure you don't mean ivy?" asked alec in an undertone. she wilted. "sh! please don't remind me of that,--i was almost happy again!" "no symptoms yet?" he asked. "none--yet. i live in hopes!" "let's wait till after breakfast before we give blue bonnet our gifts," suggested sarah. "she'll enjoy them more, i think." "not to mention our enjoyment!" laughed kitty. the suggestion was followed, and at the conclusion of the meal, blue bonnet kept her seat and opened the rest of her packages with the eyes of all the crowd upon her. very simple were the gifts, as the woodford girls had slender purses; but the love and good will that went with the presents made up for their lack of material value. from kitty there was a dainty sewing apron of muslin, with pretty blue bows on the pockets; from amanda, a fancy-work bag, and from debby a complicated needlecase. a silver thimble from susy and ruth completed these very feminine accessories. alec's eyes twinkled as blue bonnet tried the thimble on her slender finger-tip. "if you're not a model of industry after this, blue bonnet, it will prove you're rather slow at taking a hint!" the girls joined heartily in the laugh against them, though they professed entire innocence of any such intention as alec implied. sarah's gift provoked a chorus of exclamations. from the fine drawn-work, the hand-made tucks, to the tiny irreproachable buttonholes, the waist was a triumph of the needlewoman's art. "it's the prettiest one i ever had!" blue bonnet declared. she would have liked to jump up and kiss sarah, the dear old thing! but with eight boys looking on, such a demonstration might appear done for effect, she concluded; and so reserved that mark of affection for a future occasion. when the girls had presented their offerings, knight came up and dropped a paper parcel into her lap. on the card tied to the blue ribbon that decorated it was written: "to the good samaritan from the one who fell by the wayside." there was a laugh in knight's eyes as he watched her read the inscription and then unwrap the tissue-paper that enclosed the object. blue bonnet lifted the lid of the long narrow box, took one look, and met knight's eyes with an answering laugh in her own. inside the box was a shimmering red silk sash. knight had kept his promise to himself to buy blue bonnet the "fanciest thing in the sash line that chicago could boast"--even though it had taken the last penny of his pocket money. "it's a beauty!" she declared. "knight must expect another spill to-day," laughed alec. blue bonnet looked about the circle with a bright, quick glance. "i'm not going to try to say 'thank you' to everybody,--those two words would be quite worn out by the time i finished!" "come along, everybody," said uncle cliff, "it's time for the festivities to begin." as they left the dining-room, carita slipped her arm about blue bonnet and whispered regretfully: "i wish i had a present for you. i didn't know in time or i could have made something." blue bonnet gave her an impulsive squeeze. "why, carita, you're a birthday present yourself!" blue bonnet's promise to ruth in regard to the steer-roping contest, proved almost literally true. this was the great feature of the day to the mexicans, and their delight in the sport knew no bounds. they made a brilliant picture as they stood or squatted about the corral gate, the women in their bright yellow, red and purple calicoes; and the men in their tight trousers, serapes rainbow hued, gay sashes and enormous peaked hats. the scene was full of life, color and motion. ruth's thin cheeks grew pink with excitement. "what's going to happen first?" she asked blue bonnet. "you see those steers inside the gate? well, pancho will drive one out and while it is running like mad, josef--he has the first turn--will lasso, throw it, and tie its feet together with that short rope he has. then, one after another, the rest of the cowboys will do the same thing, and the one that does it in the shortest time will get the prize and be declared champion of the blue bonnet ranch." "the world's record is thirty-seven seconds," knight added, "but it has to be a hustler who can do it under a minute." "look--there comes one now!" screamed kitty. the contest was swift, breathless and soon over. the corral gate was opened and through it driven a steer. outside, mounted on a swift cow-pony rode josef, awaiting the signal to start in pursuit. on came the steer with long frightened leaps, after him the vaquero with lariat whirling around his head. suddenly the rope whistled, hissed through the air, dropped and coiled about the steer's front feet. a quick movement on the part of both rider and horse; the lariat tightened, and the steer pitched on to its side. josef leaped from his pony, bent over his victim, and, in far less time than it takes to tell it, had tied three of the kicking hoofs together. the cowboy rose, grinning, amid the cheers of the delighted audience; and remounting his horse, coolly rolled a cigarette. "sixty-three seconds," said knight, who was time-keeper. one after another the cowboys took their turns, and every fraction of a second shaved from josef's record, sent the mexicans wild with excitement. it was lupe who was finally declared champion, and received from blue bonnet's hands the silver-braided mexican sombrero that was the prize. "i wonder why miguel didn't try," blue bonnet remarked, as lupe walked proudly away with his trophy. "he's always been able to beat lupe." "i asked pancho where miguel was," said alec, "and he said no one had seen him to-day. maybe juanita objects to steer-roping!" they smiled with a secret understanding. "how do you like the sport?" blue bonnet asked, turning to ruth. "it's exciting,--but isn't it cruel, blue bonnet?" "i reckon the steer thinks so," blue bonnet confessed. "but the cowboys have to practise, you know, for at the round-up that's the way they have to throw the calves to brand them." "then i don't want to see a round-up!" ruth declared. next came races in the pasture, and in these the girls and boys were the contestants. blue ribbons were the awards pinned on the winners by blue bonnet herself, and the rivalry for them was intense. leaning against the pasture fence which formed the "grandstand" general trent, uncle cliff, uncle joe, mrs. clyde, susy, ruth and blue bonnet watched and applauded; while the mexicans, squatting about in characteristic attitudes, chattered and laughed like a lot of children. as sarah swept by on comanche to take her place at the starting-line, ruth and susy turned amazed and questioning eyes on blue bonnet. she laughed at their expressions of wonder. "keep your eye on sarah!" she bade them. "comanche is one of the swiftest horses on the ranch, and he and our sallykins are on the best of terms." to blue bonnet's secret delight sarah won the first race. as she pinned the blue ribbon to the winner's middy blouse, her own face beamed the triumph that sarah was too modest to betray. "aren't you going in for any others?" ruth asked, as sarah returned on foot and dropped on the blanket beside her. "no, i only rode in that race to keep the girls from calling me 'fraid-cat.' i'm sure father wouldn't approve of horse-racing." ruth laughed. "you are the same old sarah! i was beginning to believe that the blue bonnet ranch had bewitched you." "don't say 'bewitched,'" blue bonnet interrupted, "locoed is the word we use in texas." the birthday dinner, served early as was the custom at the ranch, was the most animated of feasts, of which the birthday-cake with its sixteen blazing candles was the grand climax. it was fat lisa herself who waddled in and deposited her masterpiece in front of the señorita, and then lingered to see how it looked after cutting. "it's divine, lisa,--a complete success!" blue bonnet cried, and the cook grinned delightedly. as lisa turned to leave the room, blue bonnet detained her to whisper--"why is benita waiting on table alone?--where's juanita?" "who knows?" returned lisa with a shrug of her massive shoulders. "that _niña_ is run off and gertrudis means to thrash her." "oh, lisa, she mustn't!" blue bonnet said in genuine distress. "tell gertrudis i'll come out and see her after dinner." she found gertrudis slamming about the dishes in a most reckless fashion and muttering to herself angrily. to blue bonnet's plea in behalf of the absent juanita she returned only stormy answers. "no, señorita, she is spoiled for lack of thrashing. run off on the señorita's birthday! with a horde to wait on! and enough work for fifty lazy things like herself!" no, juanita should be thrashed if ever she could lay hands on her. blue bonnet could not sway her from her purpose, and finally gave up arguing and left the kitchen, vowing mentally to prevent the angry old woman from carrying out her threat. but in the excitement of the evening's festivities, she forgot all about it. what an evening it was! not one of the boys and girls lucky enough to be there would ever forget the scene. the broad verandas on which half the furniture of the house had been brought to form cosy-corners and lounging places; the soft gleam of chinese lanterns strung among the trees; the music of shady's violin, augmented by a flute and cello from jonah, to which they danced on the croquet-ground; and everywhere the we are sevens, stately in trains and hair dressed high, tripping and laughing and flirting their fans in the manner fondly believed to be that of high-born spanish dames. susy and ruth had obligingly crammed their trunks with the attic treasures of the various woodford families, and the costumes, while not strictly spanish, were quite gorgeous and "partified" enough to satisfy these finery-loving young folk. among them they had managed to fit out carita too, and she, in a yellow gown with velvety gold-of-ophir roses in the dusky coils of her hair, looked like a real maid of andalusia. blue bonnet, in her red satin gown, which had not seen the light since the night it had been worn for the benefit of the boston relatives, was a picture. alec came up to her in the middle of the evening and made a low bow. "señorita blue bonnetta, you look charming to-night, but it strikes me you're carrying things with a high hand. why, among all your humble subjects, am i not favored with a dance or promenade? you've been engaged three deep every time i've asked you." for a minute blue bonnet toyed with her fan without speaking. she had purposely avoided alec for a reason she considered good and sufficient. there was an explanation due her from him, and that also, she was resolved, should be "good and sufficient" or she would not accept it. and it seemed best, if there was to be any clash between them, that it should not come on her birthday. she would not easily forgive him for urging her to write that letter to the general. as she hesitated and a surprised look crept into alec's eyes, there came a great outcry from the direction of marta's cabin,--shouts, cheers and bursts of laughter. "the mexicans must be doing stunts,--let's go and see," alec suggested. gathering up her train blue bonnet hurried with him to the mexican quarters, where the noisy crowd had assembled. half way there they met gertrudis, also headed for the scene of merriment. "it's that juanita, they say," she cried, "come back after all the work's done!" her swarthy face was dark with anger; in her hand was a willow switch. "hurry!" cried blue bonnet. "let's get there first, alec,--she means to thrash juanita!" running and tripping on her long dress blue bonnet reached the group and at her appearance the mexicans burst into renewed cheering. "the señorita!" they cried and parted to make room for her. "what is it--what's all the noise about?" asked alec. but, as the circle parted, revealing a tableau in the centre, he and blue bonnet needed no explanation. standing hand in hand, in attitudes expressing both embarrassment and triumph, were--miguel and juanita. "ran off to jonah and got married!" chuckled pinto pete. blue bonnet and alec gazed at each other in stupefaction for a second, then blue bonnet glanced hastily about for gertrudis. the change in the old woman was instantaneous. she turned to blue bonnet with a grin. "that miguel makes good wages!" she cried. the anger had faded from her face, and instead of the switch, juanita received her blessing. "what a mercenary old thing gertrudis is!" exclaimed blue bonnet, as, after congratulating the happy pair, she and alec walked back to the house. "she's a sensible woman," alec remarked provokingly. "most of the mexicans are lazy old loafers,--but miguel has a streak of real american industry." "well," said blue bonnet, "i little expected my birthday party to be turned into a wedding!" when the last candle had been blown out and all was quiet except for the echo of music and laughter from the mexican quarters, where the wedding festivities were continued almost till dawn, blue bonnet slipped into her grandmother's room for a last word before retiring. "the sixteenth has been the best birthday of all," she said happily. "are you quite tired out, grandmother?" and mrs. clyde, bending to kiss the glowing face upturned to her, replied: "no, dear. it has been a beautiful party. but i'm glad for all our sakes that blue bonnet ashe has but one birthday a year!" chapter xx conferences it was well on towards noon before any one in either the house or tent was stirring. blue bonnet and ruth were the first to open their eyes, and they carried on a conversation in whispers for some time before waking the others. ruth looked around the six beds in the nursery and smiled. "it looks like a ward in a hospital, doesn't it?" "pretty healthy looking invalids in them," blue bonnet replied. "look what red cheeks kitty has." ruth raised herself and leaned on one elbow, peering at the unconscious kitty. "red as fire. doesn't she look funny?" "makes her hair look pale!" laughed blue bonnet. all at once, as she studied the face that looked a brilliant scarlet against the white pillow, the smile faded from her face. "ruth, come here," she said in a queer tone. ruth obediently stole from her bed and tiptoed to blue bonnet's side. "look at kitty _hard_." "doesn't she look strange?" ruth whispered. a sudden thought made blue bonnet start. "ruth, were you fumigated before you left woodford?" "fumigated? goodness no! they fumigate houses, not people." "well, disinfected is what i mean, i reckon. kitty's got a rash--and it's scarlet!" they gazed at each other in dismay. kitty stirred, moaned, and sat up. "what are you all talking about?--oh, girls,--i can't open my eyes!" at her cry all the other occupants of the nursery woke up, and crowded about the anguished kitty. "oh, susy, look at her," cried blue bonnet. "did ruth look like that? do you think it's scarlet fever?" "scarlet fever nothing!" wailed kitty. "it's poison ivy, that's what it is!" "how can it be? what makes you think so?" blue bonnet demanded. kitty's tale was soon told, and to her indignation it provoked a laugh. "it's no laughing matter, i tell you," she exclaimed miserably. "you wouldn't say that if you could see yourself!" blue bonnet returned. "you wouldn't think it so funny if both your eyes were swollen shut and your face burned like fire." kitty tried to look pathetic, but only succeeded in looking funnier than ever. stifling their laughter, but exchanging glances of amusement every time they caught sight of kitty's blotched and swollen countenance, the girls dressed and went to seek advice for the sufferer. everything in the shape of a remedy from soap-suds to raw beefsteak was proposed by somebody or other, and nearly every one of them tried before the day was over. kitty kept her bed and sarah constituting herself nurse, ministered unto the afflicted one. it was hard for fun-loving kitty to be shut up in a darkened room with her eyes and face bandaged, while the sounds of merriment and laughter floated tantalizingly in. sarah was kept busy bearing the numerous messages of sympathy, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous, that sandy and some of the other boys spent their time in composing. it was decided that the party from camp judson should remain over until the next day, since all had risen too late for the desired early start. carita looked supremely happy when knight yielded to blue bonnet's arguments and reached this decision. she had so wanted to stay, and yet--there were so many reasons why she should go; and it was a great relief to her conscience to have knight assume all responsibility for their prolonged visit. "now maybe we can have another nice talk," she said, sinking down beside blue bonnet in the hammock on the side veranda. "we've had only snatches, so far. and it will be so long before i see you again." "what makes you think so?" blue bonnet asked rather abruptly. "why,--you will be leaving in two weeks, the girls said." "oh, they did." blue bonnet was thoughtful for a moment, then burst out--"carita, what would you do, if you were in my place,--about going back east again?" "what would i do?" carita repeated wonderingly. "why, blue bonnet, do you mean that you're not sure about going?" "i do mean--just that. the girls have taken it for granted all along that i was going back with them, but somehow i can't make up my mind. every day the ranch grows dearer. and being shut up in a stuffy schoolroom, and having to get up and go to bed by the clock, and having a place for everything and everything in its place--carita, it goes against the grain!" carita gave a comical little sigh. "it's queer how things seem to be--cut on the bias, isn't it? now to go to school, and see and know lots of people, and have libraries and hear music--why, i seem sometimes to _ache_ for it all." "it's a pity you're not aunt lucinda's niece. you'd do her credit. now the only person i seem to suit through and through, is uncle cliff. he's been father and mother both to me, and i think that i owe him something in return. i can't bear to leave him all alone again." "i know. i should feel just that way about mother. she needs me, but, if we could afford it, she'd be the first to send me away to school. if i could get enough education to teach, i could help her more in the end." "i reckon it's the end that makes everything endurable. it was the thought of getting back to the ranch that got me through last year. but i haven't let myself think what the end of this summer would bring. every day on the ranch is complete in itself." "but think how it will seem after this--when the girls are all gone, and your grandmother--" "it's grandmother who counts more than any one, except uncle cliff. i reckon i'll just have to be blindfolded and then choose!" "there come knight and alec," said carita. "i shouldn't wonder if they'd been having the same sort of a conversation. they'd like to change places with each other. knight is wild to go east to college, and alec would give anything for--" "knight's health and strength,--i know," blue bonnet interrupted. "it's another case of the mixed-upness of things. i'm disappointed in alec." carita opened her eyes wide. "disappointed? why, i should think you, of all people, feeling as you do, would sympathize with him." "i do sympathize with him, and always have. that's why i was so glad uncle cliff asked him out here. i was sure it would do him the world of good--" "and so it has," said carita. "it has done wonders for him, knight says, and that's why--" "and that's why i don't understand how he could possibly--" blue bonnet broke off as the subject of their conversation took the three veranda steps in one leap and settled himself comfortably on the railing for a chat. knight threw himself into a chair near the hammock. "what are you two plotting?" asked alec. "you've had your heads together like a pair of russian conspirators." "we're only trying to make the most of every minute we're together. at least that's what i'm doing," said carita. "i believe you two are doing very much the same thing." the boys smiled at each other: that was a girl's way of putting it, but it came very near the truth. "i reckon you two girls will have lots to write about this winter," said knight. "carita used to wonder, all last year, how you looked, and what the we are sevens were like, and what you all wore and did and ate and--" he broke off with a laugh at carita's indignant denial. "i expect her mind will be in woodford more than ever, after this." "but blue bonnet may not go back," carita began, when a look from blue bonnet checked her. "not go back?" in his surprise alec nearly fell off the railing. "here's news for the we are sevens! well, blue bonnet, i can't say i'm sorry." so far from being depressed at the prospect, alec looked highly elated. blue bonnet was strangely still. alec had said that very much as if he meant it. and it hurt. after almost a year of close friendship it was, to say the least, hardly good taste to pretend he was glad she was no longer going to live next door to him. she did not intend, however, to let him see how she felt, and rose without glancing in his direction. "i must go see kitty," she said briefly. alec looked after her with a perplexed expression in his eyes. "isn't blue bonnet a bit offish lately, carita? she doesn't seem at all like herself." "i think she's worried," said carita. "it is hard trying to please both her uncle and her grandmother, when one wants her in massachusetts, and the other urges her to stay on the ranch." "so that's the trouble?" alec looked somewhat relieved. "poor blue bonnet must feel rather like the rag we saw texas and massachusetts worrying this morning," laughed knight, "each took a corner and pulled!" "she ought to appreciate one fact," added alec, "and that is, she at least can decide for herself. she isn't compelled to do what somebody else decides for her." "just the same, i believe she would prefer having some one else do it," said carita. in spite of carita's explanation, alec was not wholly at ease in his mind about blue bonnet. he imagined that her manner to him for the last few days had conveyed a vague reproach. but he had no chance that day to talk with her alone. early the next morning carita and knight and the other boys prepared for the long ride back to camp judson. "you'll write me soon, blue bonnet, won't you, and tell me what you decide to do?" carita asked as she leaned down from her pinto for a last word with blue bonnet. "indeed i will," blue bonnet assured her. "i wish i knew now." "and you'll write often if you go back--all about school and the girls and--" "i'll write about everything, if--!" and this was the word on which they parted. sandy lingered behind the others long enough to slip an envelope into blue bonnet's hand. "for kitty," he explained. "tell her i'm mighty sorry i couldn't see her to say good-bye." "maybe it is only '_hasta la vista_,' as the spanish say,--'good-bye till we meet again,'" said blue bonnet. "you must surely come to woodford and see us if you go to harvard." "'neither foes nor loving friends'--shall hinder me from doing that same, if--!" and with this word, sandy, too, galloped after the others. alec was to accompany the boys as far as the ford. as he rode away on strawberry, looking very straight and manly in the saddle, general trent gazed after him with an expression of pride in his eyes. "the change in the boy is hardly short of marvellous, miss blue bonnet," he said at last, turning to her. "i should never have believed it if i had not seen him. i'm very grateful to you for writing me that letter, though i confess you had me badly puzzled." blue bonnet had stood looking regretfully after carita, but at the general's words she turned with a brightened face. if he was grateful, then he must have forgiven her for bringing him to texas on what was evidently an unnecessary errand. "i was afraid you might think i had--rushed in," she said. "not at all!" he replied. "though i did not quite understand--you weren't entirely clear, you know." indeed she did know! "but alec has explained the situation," the general continued, "and i understand everything now." blue bonnet drew a quick breath of relief. "then it's all right?" "yes,--and he need not have hesitated. i sympathize with him wholly." sympathize? how queerly he said it. again blue bonnet was swept out to sea. "i am going to talk with mr. ashe about the matter now. we must do what is best for the boy." as general trent walked to meet uncle cliff, blue bonnet stood staring after him, her thoughts in a whirl. "what's the matter? you look as if you had just been through an earthquake," laughed ruth, coming up and slipping her thin hand into blue bonnet's. "i think i have,--and everything is upside down." blue bonnet still looked dazed as she turned to go into the house. "come in and see kitty. the poor child is pretty blue." "she was pretty red when i last saw her!" laughed blue bonnet. "i've something here to cheer her--a message from sandy. she snubs him dreadfully, but he seems to enjoy it." they found all the girls gathered about kitty's bed, evidently in the midst of a serious discussion. silence fell as blue bonnet entered. "i can see out of one eye!" kitty announced with forced gaiety. "praise be!" said blue bonnet. "now you can see what sandy sent for a farewell message." she held out the envelope. "open it please," said kitty. "that boy is always up to mischief and i can't take any more risks. i cut one of his dances the other evening and he vowed vengeance." blue bonnet obeyed while the other girls looked on with unconcealed interest. the envelope appeared to be empty, but when it was vigorously shaken upside down, something fell on to the counterpane. they all dove for it, but it was debby who finally caught and held it up. it was a tiny square of note-paper, in the centre of which a knot of ribbon secured something bright and shining. it was a lock of sandy's silky red hair. under it was written: "a coal of fire. i forgive you." kitty laughed for the first time since her affliction had come upon her; and the girls blessed sandy for his nonsense. "may i borrow my granddaughter for a few minutes?" asked the señora, looking in at the door. "blue bonnet, i've a letter here from your aunt lucinda." an odd look came into blue bonnet's face,--grandmother's voice held a hint of something important. she handed sandy's memento to kitty and forced a smile. "put this in your memory-book, kitty. when sandy is president, you can point with pride to that coal of fire--they're likely, by then, to call it 'the fire of genius!'" when she had left the room, kitty looked out of her one good eye with a glance intended to be solemn. "girls, i've a presentiment." "what about,--sandy?" asked sarah. "no, you silly,--except that he'll never be president! i'm thinking about blue bonnet,--i was just going to tell you when she came in. i don't believe she intends to go back with us." kitty's words produced even more of an effect than she had expected. for several minutes no one spoke, then ruth said half irritably: "if you can't have pleasanter presentiments than that, kitty, i wish you wouldn't have them." "i can't help it," kitty declared. "she won't say a word about it. and every time we get on to the subject, she either begins to talk about something else, or leaves the room." "i've noticed it, too," said sarah, quietly. the gloom on every countenance bore silent witness to the hold blue bonnet had on the affections of the we are sevens. "woodford will be a stupid old hole without her," kitty declared. "passing over your implied compliment to us," said debby, "i agree with you." grandmother handed blue bonnet aunt lucinda's letter without comment; but watched the girl's face closely as she read. a characteristic letter it was, showing the fine mind and cultivation of the writer, yet like her, too, precise and rather formal in its wording. she was in munich, enjoying the summer music festival. nothing very important so far, blue bonnet concluded, and began to breathe more easily. but over the closing pages she sobered again. "there is a rather remarkable pianist staying at this same pension," she wrote; "and she plays for us very often. something in the charm and delicacy of her touch makes me think of blue bonnet's, when she plays her little 'ave maria.' i have talked with her about blue bonnet and she thinks with me that the child must have real talent for the piano. fräulein schirmer is to teach music in a school for girls in boston, this coming winter, and i think it would be an excellent plan to place blue bonnet right in the school. she is old enough now to appreciate the atmosphere of culture and refinement in such a place,--i am told that the first families of boston send their daughters there--and she could have the advantage of attending the symphony concerts. "woodford has nothing much to offer in the way of musical advantages, and i think blue bonnet should develop her talent in this line. she could come to us for the week-end always, and in that way we should not have to part with her altogether. but we can settle the matter when we are all in woodford once more." blue bonnet sighed as she finished and let the letter drop into her lap. "when they were all in woodford once more." so aunt lucinda, too, took it for granted! she stirred a trifle resentfully. "one would think i had signed a life-contract!" she thought. mrs. clyde sought her granddaughter's eye anxiously. "well, blue bonnet, what are you thinking?" "i'm thinking--not for the first time either,--of something i once said to alec. i wished, and keep on wishing--that there were two of me,--so that one might stay here on the ranch with uncle cliff, while the other was with you and aunt lucinda in woodford, being educated." grandmother smiled and sighed in the same breath. "suppose you leave me and uncle clifford and aunt lucinda out of the matter entirely. just think how it would have appealed to--your mother." the blue eyes turned swiftly from her grandmother's face to gaze out across the wide sweep of prairie. there was a long silence. when blue bonnet faced her grandmother again, her eyes were misty. "i wish she were here to tell me. somehow i can't make it seem right, either way. will you wait and let me sleep on it, grandmother? i'll tell you, as the mexicans say--_mañana_." "to-morrow?" "well, _mañana_ with the mexicans means almost any time in the future, but i'll make it--to-morrow." mrs. clyde was silent, but the glance that followed blue bonnet as she left the room, was very wistful. chapter xxi blue bonnet decides [illustration: "alec surveyed her proud little profile."] "i say, blue bonnet, wait for a fellow, won't you?" blue bonnet waited, none too eagerly, while alec caught up with her, and then, whistling to don and solomon, turned to resume her walk along the grassy bank of san franciscito. alec surveyed her proud little profile for a few minutes in a sort of puzzled wonder, and finally as she kept on in the same unsociable manner, he began with determined friendliness: "we've never yet taken the walk we planned, along the _rio_. feel equal to it this morning?" "there isn't time to go far. i told grandmother i'd not be gone long," she returned carelessly. "another tea-party on?" this time he succeeded in bringing the old sparkle of laughter to her eyes. "not this time," she answered. "your parties have been a sort of continuous performance this summer, haven't they?" he persisted, hoping to win her to a more conversational mood. "and the summer is almost over,--did you ever know such a short vacation?" "it's been the jolliest one i've ever had. and it is going to mean a lot to me all my life, blue bonnet." they walked on in silence for a few minutes. then alec asked--"do you remember the morning we first spoke of following this stream?" "yes,--and do you remember how we wondered what we would talk about on our next jaunt by the woodford brook?" he nodded. "i remember everything; that was the first day i told you i wasn't likely to be in woodford next spring. it was only a day-dream then,--isn't it funny how things have come out?" "funny? alec, you are the queerest boy. you've taken to talking in riddles lately, and i--i reckon i'm pretty slow at guessing riddles. we may as well have it out right now. i've been wanting to have a talk with you." "same here," returned alec. "what's the matter, anyway? you've not been a bit like yourself the last few days." "don't you really know, alec?" blue bonnet met his puzzled eyes very soberly. "i honestly don't, blue bonnet." "and haven't you felt the least little bit guilty about letting me write that letter to your grandfather?" "guilty?" alec's tone expressed unaffected amazement. "do you mean i ought to have written it myself? i'd have done it if you had hinted that you'd rather have me. why didn't you say so?" "you seemed so anxious to have me do it." "and so i was. it seemed only right and proper that you should be the first to suggest the proposition. you're the owner of the blue bonnet ranch." "what has that to do with it?" "well, i should think it had everything to do with it. i couldn't very well invite myself, could i?" "invite yourself? oh, dear, now you're talking in riddles again." "well, blue bonnet, after you had invited me to spend two months on the ranch, it certainly took more courage than i possessed to suggest extending my visit for a year or two. you can see how much better it was for the suggestion to come from you. grandfather has fallen right in with it and is making all arrangements with mr. ashe right now." blue bonnet's eyes grew round with astonishment. "do you mean to tell me that you are going to stay on the ranch a year or two?" "if you and mr. ashe will stand for it. i want to stay till i outgrow being a weakling and grow into a real man. till i'm as broad as a fellow my age should be and have a muscle bigger than a girl's. the two months here have already shown what two years is likely to do for me." alec squared his shoulders and drew himself up as if already the example of brawn he longed to be. "and do you mean to tell me that when you said you might not go back to woodford, and that there was no college in store for alec trent you only meant--" "till i had the strength to go through with it, yes. i've had enough breakdowns. why, what--" "i wish you were a girl so that i could shake you!" blue bonnet's look was a queer mixture of relief and indignation. "why couldn't you say so in the first place? when you kept making all those mysterious hints, i was wasting good, honest pity on you because i thought you were preparing for an early grave!" alec's peal of laughter showed how far from pitiable his state was. "oh, blue bonnet, i wish i could tell that to knight!" "but didn't you hint?" she demanded. "of course i did. i was fishing for an invitation to make a good long visit to the blue bonnet ranch. hardly likely, was it, that i was going to demand it boldly as a right?" "well, it would have saved me a heap of worry if you had. why, alec!" blue bonnet sank down on the bank to think it over. "what are you going to do on the ranch all winter?" he threw himself on the grass beside her. "i'm going to live, as far as possible, like pinto pete and shady. i'm going to ride the range, go on the round-up this fall and next spring,--spend about fifteen hours a day in the open. and if i'm not as husky as a texas cowboy by next summer, it won't be my fault. you know it's been my one wish, blue bonnet, and this, i'm convinced is the way to get it." "and college?" "college can wait. i'd rather have biceps like knight's than be a walking encyclopædia!" "think of all the sympathy i've wasted!" blue bonnet laughed at herself. "oh, i don't know that it's all been wasted. i've deserved a good deal. i've been afraid grandfather would be against the scheme--he's never been willing to admit that i wasn't as strong as i ought to be. i've only just begun myself to realize how good-for-nothing i used to feel most of the time. there's nothing like feeling able to shake your fist at all out-doors!" blue bonnet smiled. "then i needn't regret my letter?" "regret?--well, i should say not! you builded better than you knew. getting grandfather worried was just the right thing, though it sounds rather heartless to say it. being worried, he came and saw and--i conquered!" "now i won't have to ask for an explanation of a very rude speech of yours." "was i rude--to you?" alec looked up hastily. "it sounded--rather queer, for you to rejoice over my not going back to woodford," she answered. "meant purely as a compliment," he assured her. "it would be mighty jolly to have you here, blue bonnet." she rose hurriedly. "let's not go into that, please. every time i get pretty near a decision, some new argument bobs up on the other side. i'm dreadfully worried, alec. but, thank goodness, you're off my mind!" "i'll try to stay off, blue bonnet," he laughed as he followed her along the narrow path. "if you go back you'll write often, won't you? i shall depend on you--" she made a movement of impatience. "i'm not going to cross bridges, alec, till i come to them." "i beg your pardon. i forgot that bridges are a touchy subject with you!" they found uncle cliff and the general still absorbed in what appeared to be an interminable conversation. the general rose with old-fashioned courtesy as blue bonnet came up the veranda steps. "what do you think of your new cowboy?" he asked, laying his hand affectionately on alec's shoulder. "we've just been exchanging opinions with each other," she said, with a sidelong glance at alec. "i'm going to miss the boy," general trent continued. "the old house will be very dull and empty,--unless you make up your mind to be particularly neighborly, miss blue bonnet." blue bonnet colored and looked way. "i--i'll do my best if--" "will you walk down to the stable with me, grandfather?" alec asked quickly. "i've not shown you the little coyotes yet." as the general walked away with his hand still on alec's shoulder, blue bonnet turned to her uncle. "read this, will you please, uncle? it came to-day." he took aunt lucinda's letter, an odd expression growing around his mouth. but he opened it without speaking. blue bonnet sank into the hammock and watched him narrowly,--much as grandmother had watched her as she read the same pages. she saw his lower teeth close on his mustache when he came to the significant part. he lifted his eyes at last. "well, honey?" "well, uncle?" he sighed deeply. "are you putting this up to me?" she raised her shoulders in an expressive shrug. "i reckon you ought to have the deciding vote. i'm on the fence." "do you want to be a musician, blue bonnet?" "i'd love to--if it weren't for all the practising!" "seems to me you play mighty well now." "i'm very careless in my methods, aunt lucinda says." uncle cliff winced. "none of the girls play as well as you do, honey." "i--i don't believe they do. but maybe, uncle cliff, that is a very good reason why i should go on with it. maybe i really have talent." "wouldn't it be very lonesome off there in boston? and won't it be mostly work and very little play?" "i'm afraid it will. but, somehow, it's chiefly because it will be so much easier to stay on the ranch and be--desultory, as aunt lucinda says,--that i think i ought to go." "i see, honey. you _are_ developing a new england conscience!" "i wonder?" she pondered. "i don't want you to do anything just because it's easier, blue bonnet," uncle cliff continued. "that wasn't your father's way." "nor your way, uncle cliff." "i hope not, blue bonnet. that's why i'm going to stop arguing right here. it's my natural inclination to say 'stay with me, honey, i need you.' but i know i don't,--i just want you. but what i want more is to have you do the thing that's best for blue bonnet ashe,--the thing that will make you say in the end, 'i'm glad i did it!'" more moved than he cared to show, clifford ashe rose, and running down the veranda steps, strode off in the direction of the stable. "oh, dear!" thought blue bonnet, gazing after him. "in the language of the cowboys,--it's certainly up to me!" when she went into her grandmother's room that night--the room that had been her mother's--blue bonnet found benita acting as lady's maid, brushing mrs. clyde's long hair. the old nurse enjoyed nothing so much as waiting on the little señora's mother,--unless it was babying the little señora's daughter. as she stood in the doorway silently watching the two, the sight of the rippling gray locks, fast whitening into snow, did more to sway blue bonnet than all the other array of arguments. uncle cliff wanted her; it was grandmother who really needed her. she tiptoed up back of benita, but her grandmother had caught sight of her in the mirror and turned at her approach. something in the expression of blue bonnet's eyes as she bent for the good-night kiss made mrs. clyde say hastily-- "what is it, dear?" and blue bonnet, her tone reflecting the happiness her words gave, replied: "it isn't _mañana_ yet, but i can't wait to tell you--i'm going when you go, grandmother." when they looked up, benita stood with her apron thrown over her face. chapter xxii hasta la vista the we are sevens were packing. an open trunk blocked each aisle between the six beds in the nursery; in sarah's room two more were standing, half-filled, one reflecting the neatness and order of its owner, the other bearing silent witness to the fact that it belonged to blue bonnet ashe. "what are you doing with that old stick, blue bonnet?" asked sarah, as she carefully folded her riding-skirt and laid tissue paper between the folds. "old stick, indeed! that's the alpenstock knight cut for me and sandy carved,--i've sawed off about six inches of it, though it broke my heart to do it. it's one of my dearest treasures and i'm going to take it to woodford if i have to carry it all the way!" blue bonnet declared vigorously. "i don't see anything so wonderful about it," sarah returned. "there are plenty of old sticks just like it to be had around woodford." blue bonnet lifted indignant eyes. "as if any old woodford stick could mean as much as this one. why, this has the initials of every one in both camps carved on it, and every inch of it represents a good time. you've no sentiment, sarah." "i certainly haven't enough sentiment to make me rumple my best white dress with a clumsy old stick," sarah replied. "i reckon it ought to have gone in with my shoes, but it's too late now. how you do fuss over that riding-skirt, sarah!" "well, if you want to know it, i've a lot of sentiment about that skirt. i wish i could take comanche along, too." here blue bonnet amazed sarah by jumping up and giving her a hug. "oh, sarah, i do love you for saying that! if you had been reconciled to riding that same old poke you had last year i'd have been so--disgusted. won't the livery-man in woodford open his eyes when miss blake demands a 'horse with some go in him'--! the inhabitants of the town will get a few thrills too, i reckon." "do you think it will be proper for us to ride there the way we ride here?" sarah asked eagerly. "astride? we'll make it proper! it's the only humane way, uncle says--a side-saddle is a downright cruelty. and i don't see why a parson's daughter shouldn't set the fashion." "then ruth will get a chance to wear her riding-skirt after all--her heart will be stronger after a while. i've hated to ride when she couldn't, but she has insisted upon our going." "that's just like you, you unselfish old dear! but ruth told me that it was the next best thing to riding herself, to see you on comanche." "did she?" asked sarah; and then hid her face in the trunk so that blue bonnet should not see how pleased she was. they were to leave in the morning, and trunks were to be sent to the station this very afternoon. already uncle joe was hovering about, rope in hand, waiting to give the final touch to the baggage. he had found it necessary to keep very busy these last few days. "we might have seen this coming," he said disconsolately to mr. ashe, as the latter sat smoking a solitary pipe on the front veranda. "let young folks get runnin' with young folks, and they're never again contented alone." "it isn't _young_ folks that's taking blue bonnet this time, joe." mr. ashe glanced in to where a silver head showed just inside the window. "_her_ girl never went back to her from texas, and i reckon it's only right she should have her share of elizabeth's daughter." uncle joe looked sober. "you're right, cliff." then, as if determined to look on the bright side of things, "we'll have the boy for company." "yes, and there'll be more letters. she'll tell him things she wouldn't be likely to write to two old fellows." and with this crumb of comfort the "two old fellows" were forced to content themselves. blue bonnet was up at daybreak next morning, and, sitting on the top rail of the pasture fence, watched the sun rise out of the prairie. don and solomon eyed her expectantly. "our last sunrise on the ranch, solomon, for ever and ever so long,--we're off to massachusetts this very morning. and it's a pullman for me and a baggage-car for you--no private car this time! but i'll come and see you at every station and see that you have exercise. poor dog, i wonder how you'll like the 'resumption of discipline'--as alec calls it? we're going back to aunt lucinda, you know, solomon, and aunt lucinda's strong for discipline." her eyes wandered off toward the distant hills and then away across the wind-swept, rolling prairie. how would it seem to be back again among houses, tall houses with trim door-yards and clipped hedges,--houses so close one couldn't throw a stone without "breaking a window or a tradition"--? some one was whistling "all the blue bonnets are over the border." she looked up as alec came towards her. "do i intrude upon a solemn hour?" he asked. "the solemn hour has ticked its last second. i've said good-bye to everything and everybody,--except texas and massachusetts. come with me to see those infants." hardly infants any longer, however. long-tailed, with erect silky ears and coats that stood out shaggily from their fattening sides, the coyotes were fast growing into big, clumsy dogs. "you'll look after them, won't you, alec?" blue bonnet asked anxiously. "that i will," he promised. "and you'll write me often about--everything? and see that uncle cliff doesn't smoke too much, and that uncle joe takes his rheumatism medicine--" "trust me!" alec knew better than to smile at such a moment. "and in turn, blue bonnet, you'll give an eye to grandfather, won't you?" they shook hands on it solemnly, and went in to breakfast. kitty, her face restored to its usual milky-whiteness, and looking very pretty in her jaunty travelling-suit, met them at the door. peering over her shoulder stood ruth--a sunburned ruth with bright eyes and a rounder curve to her cheek than it had worn two weeks before. "we were afraid you had decided to run off and hide at the last minute," said kitty, slipping her arm around blue bonnet as if determined not to risk losing her a second time. "i was only--saying good-bye," said blue bonnet soberly. "blue bonnet is like more than one famous prima donna," said alec, "she has made half a dozen 'positively last' farewell tours!" they were off at last. distributed equally between the buckboard and one of the farm-wagons, the we are sevens, grandmother clyde, general trent and uncle joe went ahead. blue bonnet, alec, and uncle cliff followed on horseback. as they neared the bridge blue bonnet drew rein, and, turning in the saddle, glanced back for a last look at the weather-stained old ranch-house. the cowboys and most of the mexicans, who had gathered to say good-bye to the señorita and her "amigos" from massachusetts, were already scattering about the work of the day. but in the doorway the faithful benita still stood, waving her apron. blue bonnet's eyes filled. "good-bye, old house, good-bye, benita," she said, and then added softly: "_hasta la vista!_" =the end.= selections from the page company's books for young people * * * * * =the blue bonnet series= _each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =a texas blue bonnet= by caroline e. jacobs. "the book's heroine, blue bonnet, has the very finest kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness."--_chicago inter-ocean._ =blue bonnet's ranch party= by caroline e. jacobs and edyth ellerbeck read. "a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every chapter."--_boston transcript._ =blue bonnet in boston= by caroline e. jacobs and lela horn richards. "it is bound to become popular because of its wholesomeness and its many human touches."--_boston globe._ =blue bonnet keeps house= by caroline e. jacobs and lela horn richards. "it cannot fail to prove fascinating to girls in their teens."--_new york sun._ =blue bonnet--dÉbutante= by lela horn richards. an interesting picture of the unfolding of life for blue bonnet. =blue bonnet of the seven stars= by lela horn richards. "the author's intimate detail and charm of narration gives the reader an interesting story of the heroine's war activities."--_pittsburgh leader._ =the young pioneer series= by harrison adams _each mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =the pioneer boys of the ohio; or,= clearing the wilderness. "such books as this are an admirable means of stimulating among the young americans of to-day interest in the story of their pioneer ancestors and the early days of the republic."--_boston globe._ =the pioneer boys on the great lakes;= or, on the trail of the iroquois. "the recital of the daring deeds of the frontier is not only interesting but instructive as well and shows the sterling type of character which these days of self-reliance and trial produced."--_american tourist, chicago._ =the pioneer boys of the mississippi;= or, the homestead in the wilderness. "the story is told with spirit, and is full of adventure."--_new york sun._ =the pioneer boys of the missouri;= or, in the country of the sioux. "vivid in style, vigorous in movement, full of dramatic situations, true to historic perspective, this story is a capital one for boys."--_watchman examiner, new york city._ =the pioneer boys of the yellowstone;= or, lost in the land of wonders. "there is plenty of lively adventure and action and the story is well told."--_duluth herald, duluth, minn._ =the pioneer boys of the columbia;= or, in the wilderness of the great northwest. "the story is full of spirited action and contains much valuable historical information."--_boston herald._ =the hadley hall series= by louise m. breitenbach _each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =alma at hadley hall= "the author is to be congratulated on having written such an appealing book for girls."--_detroit free press._ =alma's sophomore year= "it cannot fail to appeal to the lovers of good things in girls' books."--_boston herald._ =alma's junior year= "the diverse characters in the boarding-school are strongly drawn, the incidents are well developed and the action is never dull."--_the boston herald._ =alma's senior year= "a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every chapter."--_boston transcript._ =the girls of friendly terrace series= by harriet lummis smith _each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =the girls of friendly terrace= "a book sure to please girl readers, for the author seems to understand perfectly the girl character."--_boston globe._ =peggy raymond's vacation= "it is a wholesome, hearty story."--_utica observer._ =peggy raymond's school days= the book is delightfully written, and contains lots of exciting incidents. =the friendly terrace quartette= these four lively girls found their opportunities to serve their country. the story of their adventures will bring anew to every girl who reads about them the realization of what she owes to her country. =famous leaders series= by charles h. l. johnston _each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =famous cavalry leaders= "more of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant, informal way."--_new york sun._ =famous indian chiefs= "mr. johnston has done faithful work in this volume, and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these famous indians with the whites for the possession of america is a worthy addition to united states history."--_new york marine journal._ =famous scouts= "it is the kind of a book that will have a great fascination for boys and young men."--_new london day._ =famous privateersmen and adventurers of the sea= "the tales are more than merely interesting; they are entrancing, stirring the blood with thrilling force."--_pittsburgh post._ =famous frontiersmen and heroes of the border= "the accounts are not only authentic, but distinctly readable, making a book of wide appeal to all who love the history of actual adventure."--_cleveland leader._ =famous discoverers and explorers of america= "the book is an epitome of some of the wildest and bravest adventures of which the world has known."--_brooklyn daily eagle._ =famous generals of the great war= who led the united states and her allies to a glorious victory. "the pages of this book have the charm of romance without its unreality. the book illuminates, with life-like portraits, the history of the world war."--_rochester post express._ =hildegarde-margaret series= by laura e. richards eleven volumes the hildegarde-margaret series, beginning with "queen hildegarde" and ending with "the merryweathers," make one of the best and most popular series of books for girls ever written. _each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . _the eleven volumes boxed as a set_ $ . =list of titles= =queen hildegarde= =hildegarde's holiday= =hildegarde's home= =hildegarde's neighbors= =hildegarde's harvest= =three margarets= =margaret montfort= =peggy= =rita= =fernley house= =the merryweathers= =the captain january series= by laura e. richards _each one volume, mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ cents =captain january= a charming idyl of new england coast life, whose success has been very remarkable. same. _illustrated holiday edition_ $ . =melody:= the story of a child. =marie= a companion to "melody" and "captain january." =rosin the beau= a sequel to "melody" and "marie." =snow-white;= or, the house in the wood. =jim of hellas;= or, in durance vile, and a companion story, bethesda pool. =narcissa= and a companion story, in verona, being two delightful short stories of new england life. ="some say"= and a companion story, neighbors in cyrus. =nautilus= "'nautilus' is by far the best product of the author's powers, and is certain to achieve the wide success it so richly merits." =isla heron= this interesting story is written in the author's usual charming manner. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. italics are denoted by _tags_ and bold text by =tags=. varied hyphenation was retained in horseback/horse-back; bedroom/bed-room; bedclothes/bed-clothes; buckboard/buck-board; cowbells/cow-bells; oilcloth/oil-cloth; outdoors/out-doors; sunbonnet/sun-bonnet; we are seven/we-are-seven. varied spelling of bandana/bandanna was retained. page , "horse" changed to "horses" (appraised the horses) page , "francescito" changed to "franciscito" (skirting san franciscito) page , "pique" changed to "piqué" (white piqué skirt) texas. a brief account of the origin, progress and present state of the colonial settlements of texas; together with an exposition of the causes which have induced the existing war with mexico. extracted from a work entitled "a geographical, statistical and historical account of texas," now nearly ready for the press. some of these numbers have appeared in the new orleans bee and bulletin. . preface. it will be seen that the title of this little pamphlet implies more than it contains. as war is now the order of the day, only a small portion of the political part of the work on "texas" is here presented. it is hoped and believed that enough is unfolded to convince the most incredulous that the colonists of texas have been _forced_ into this contest with the mother country, by persecutions and oppressions, as unremitting as they have been unconstitutional. that it is not a war waged by them for cupidity or conquest, but for the establishment of the blessings of liberty and good government, without which life itself is a curse and man degraded to the level of the brute. if the time-hallowed principle of the declaration of independence, namely, "that governments are instituted for the protection and happiness of mankind, and that whenever they become destructive of these ends it is the right, nay it is the duty of the people to alter or abolish them." if this sacred principle is recognised and acted upon, all must admit that the colonists of texas have a clear right to burst their _fetters_, and have also a just claim for recognition as an independent nation, upon every government not wholly inimical to the march of light and liberty, and to the establishment of the unalienable rights of man. curtius. to an impartial world. no. i. the unconstitutional oppression long and unremittingly practised upon the colonists of texas, having at length become insupportable, and having impelled them to take up arms in defence of their rights and liberties, it is due to the world that their motives, conduct and causes of complaint should be fully made known. in order to do this it will be necessary to explain the origin, progress and present state of the colonial settlements. without parade or useless preliminaries, i shall proceed to the subject, as substance and not sound--matter and not manner are the objects of the present discussion. it is known at least to the reading and inquiring world, that on the dissolution of the connection between mexico and spain in , don augustin iturbide, by corruption and violence, established a short-lived, imperial government over mexico, with himself at the head under the title of augustin i. on arriving at supreme power, iturbide or augustin i. found that vast portion of the mexican government, east of the rio grande, known by the name of texas, to be occupied by various tribes of indians, who committed incessant depredations on the mexican citizens west of the rio grande, and prevented the population of texas. he ascertained that the savages could not be subdued by the arms of mexico, nor could their friendship be purchased. he ascertained that the mexicans, owing to their natural dread of indians, could not be induced to venture into the wilderness of texas. in addition to the dread of indians, texas held out no inducements for mexican emigrants. they were accustomed to a lazy pastoral or mining life, in a healthy country. texas was emphatically a land of agriculture--the land of cotton and of sugar cane, with the culture of which staples they were wholly unacquainted; and moreover, it abounded in the usual concomitants of such southern regions--fevers, mosquitoes &c., which the mexicans hated with a more than natural or reasonable hatred. iturbide finding from those causes that texas could not be populated with his own subjects, and that so long as it remained in the occupancy of the indians, the inhabited parts of his dominions continually suffered from their ravages and murders, undertook to expel the savages by the introduction of foreigners. accordingly the national institute or council, on the d day of january, , by his recommendation and sanction, adopted a law of colonization, in which they invited the immigration of foreigners to texas on the following terms:-- st. they promise to protect their liberty, property and civil rights. d. they offer to each colonist one league of land, ( , acres) for coming to texas. d. they guarantee to each colonist the privilege of leaving the empire at any time, with all his property, and also the privilege of selling the land which he may have acquired from the mexican government, (see the colonization law of , more especially articles st, th and th.) these were the inducements and invitations held out to foreigners under the imperial government of iturbide or augustin i. in a short time, however, the nation deposed iturbide, and deposited the supreme executive power in a body of three individuals. this supreme executive power on the th of august, , adopted a national colonization law, in which they recognized and confirmed the imperial colonization law with all its guarantees of person and property. it also conceded to the different states the privilege of colonizing the vacant lands within their respective limits. (see national colonization law, articles st and th.) in accordance with this law, the states of coahuila and texas on the th march, , adopted a colonization law for the purpose, as expressed in the preamble, of protecting the frontiers, expelling the savages, augmenting the population of its vacant territory, multiplying the raising of stock, promoting the cultivation of its fertile lands, and of the arts and of commerce. in this state-colonization law--the promises to protect the persons and property of the colonists, which had been made in the two preceding national colonization laws, were renewed and confirmed. we have now before us the invitations and guarantees under which the colonists immigrated to texas. let us examine into the manner in which these conditions have been complied with, and these flattering promises fulfilled. the donation of , acres sounds largely at a distance. considering, however, all the circumstances, the difficulties of taking possession, &c. it will not be deemed an entire gratuity or magnificent bounty. if these lands had been previously pioneered by the enterprise of the mexican government, and freed from the insecurities which beset a wilderness, trod only by savages--if they had have been situated in the heart of an inhabited region, and accessible to the comforts and necessaries of life--if the government had have been deriving any actual revenue, and if it could have realised a capital from the sale of them--then we admit that the donation would have been unexampled in the history of individual or national liberality. but how lamentably different from all thus was the real state of the case. the lands granted were in the occupancy of savages and situated in a wilderness, of which the government had never taken possession, and of which it could not with its own citizens ever have taken possession. they were not sufficiently explored to obtain that knowledge of their character and situation necessary to a sale of them. they were shut out from all commercial intercourse with the rest of the world, and inaccessible to the commonest comforts of life; nor were they brought into possession and cultivation by the colonists without much toil and privation, and patience and enterprise, and suffering and blood, and loss of lives from indian hostilities, and other causes. under the smiles of a benignant heaven, however, the untiring perseverance of the colonists triumphed over all natural obstacles, expelled the savages by whom the country was infested, reduced the forest into cultivation, and made the desert smile. from this it must appear that the lands of texas, although nominally given, were in fact really and clearly bought. it may here be premised that a gift of lands by a nation to foreigners on condition of their immigrating and becoming citizens, is immensely different from a gift by one individual to another. in the case of individuals, the donor loses all further claim or ownership over the thing bestowed. but in our case, the government only gave wild lands, that they might be redeemed from a state of nature; that the obstacles to a first settlement might be overcome; that they might be rid of those savages who continually depredated upon the inhabited parts of the nation, and that they might be placed in a situation to augment the physical strength and power and revenue of the republic. is it not evident that mexico now holds over the colonized lands of texas, the same jurisdiction and right of property which all nations hold over the inhabited parts of their territory? but to do away more effectually the idea that the colonists of texas are under great obligations to the mexican government for their donations of land, let us examine at what price the government estimated the lands given. twelve or thirteen years ago, they gave to a colonist one league of laud for coming, he paying the government $ , and this year ( ) they have sold hundreds of leagues of land for $ each. so that it appears that the government really gave us what in their estimation was worth $ . a true statement of facts then is all that is necessary to pay at once that immense debt of endless gratitude which, in the estimation of the ignorant and interested is due from the colonists to the government. i pass over the toil and suffering and danger which attended the redemption and cultivation of their lands by the colonists, and turn to their civil condition and to the conduct and history of the government. it is a maxim no less venerable for its antiquity than its truth--a maxim admitted and illustrated by all writers on political economy--and one that has been corroborated by experience in every corner of the earth, that miserable is the servitude and horrible the condition of that people whose laws are either uncertain or unknown. i ask, with a defiance of contradiction, if ours is not and has not always been, in texas, the unhappy condition and miserable bondage spoken of in this maxim? who of us knows or can by possibility arrive at a knowledge of the laws that govern our property and lives? who of us is able to read and understand and be entirely confident of the validity of his title to the land he lives on, and which he has redeemed from a state of nature by the most indefatigable industry and perseverance? who knows whether he has paid on his land all that government exacts, or whether he has not paid ten times as much? look at the mere mockery of all law and justice which has always prevailed in place of an able and learned judiciary. alcaldes, most of them unlearned in any system of jurisprudence, and unconversant with legal proceedings of any description, have been elected to administer a code, scattered through hundreds of volumes and written in languages of which they did not understand one word. who among us is able to confer with his rulers; to represent his wants and grievances; to ask advice, or recommend salutary changes? have we had more than one or two organs of communication with the government, and must not they have been omniscient to have always understood the wishes of the people, and incorruptible to have always correctly represented them? who of us feels or ever has felt any reliance or can place any confidence in governmental matters, or can predict with any sort of certainty what in this respect a day may bring forth? there are thousands of other evils growing out of our present situation, too hourly, universally and bitterly felt to require to be mentioned. who will say that these things do not exist? who will say that we have not suffered the harassing uncertainty and miserable bondage here represented? when the people of the united states commenced their war for independence against great britain, the friends of britain charged them with ingratitude. they said that britain had founded the colonies at great expense--had increased a load of debt by wars on their account--had protected their commerce, &c. this cannot be said of mexico. not one dollar has she spent for texas--not one mexican soldier has ever fought by our side in expelling the savages. she has given us no protection whatever; and as allegiance and protection are reciprocal, we have a right on this principle to cast off her yoke. however, in my next i pledge myself to demonstrate that the mexicans are wholly incapable of self-government, and that on that principle we are bound by the first law of nature--self-preservation--to dissolve all connexion, and take care of ourselves. * * * * * no. ii. i now proceed to demonstrate that the mexicans are wholly incapable of self-government, and that our liberties, our fortunes and our lives are insecure so long as we are connected with them. at the onset i cannot but advert to the spirit of prophecy and truth with which that unequalled expounder and defender of the rights of man, mr. jefferson, spoke more than years ago in regard to this very matter. in a letter to the marquis de lafayette, dated monticello, th may, , he says, "i wish i could give you better hopes of our mexican brethren. the achievement of their independence of old spain is no longer a question. but it is a very serious one what will then become of them. ignorance and bigotry, like other insanities, are incapable of self-government. they will fall under military despotism, and become the murderous tools of their respective bonapartes. no one i hope can doubt my wish to see them and all mankind exercising self-government. but the question is not what we wish--but what is practicable. as their sincere friend, then, i do believe the best thing for them would be to come to an accord with spain, under the guarantee of france, russia, holland, and the united states, allowing to spain a nominal supremacy, with authority only to keep the peace among them, leaving them otherwise all the powers of self-government, until their experience, their education, and their emancipation from their priests should prepare them for complete independence." jefferson's works, vol. , page . mr. jefferson well knew that from the discovery of america to the date of his letter, the mexicans had unfortunately been the persecuted, pillaged, and priest-ridden slaves of the kings of spain--a line of kings, with but few exceptions, more inimical to the rights of man, more opposed to the advancement of truth, and light, and liberty, more practised in tyranny, more hardened in crime, more infatuated with superstition, and more benighted with ignorance, than any other monsters that ever disgraced a throne in christendom, since the revival of letters. yes, humanity shudders, and freedom burns with indignation at a recital of the barbarities and oppressions practised upon the ill-fated mexicans from the bloody days of cortes up to the termination of their connexion with spain. the produce of their cultivated fields was rifled--the natural products of their forests pillaged--the bowels of their earth ransacked, and their suffering families impoverished to glut the grandeur and enrich the coffers of their trans-atlantic oppressors. to make their miserable servitude less perceptible, they were denied the benefits of the commonest education, and were kept the blind devotees of the darkest and most demoralizing superstition that ever clouded the intellects, or degraded the morals of mankind. from this it is evident, that up to the period of their independence, having been so long destitute of education, so long unaccustomed to think or legislate for themselves, and so long under the complete dominion of their liberty-hating priests, they must have been totally unacquainted with the plainest principles of self-government. let us examine what their subsequent opportunities of improvement have been. at the close of the revolution, iturbide, by fraud and force, caused himself to be proclaimed emperor, who after much commotion, was dethroned, banished and shot. after this victoria was elected president, during all of whose administration the country was distracted with civil wars and conspiracies, as is evidenced by the rebellion and banishment of montano, bravo, and many others. victoria's term having expired, pedraza was constitutionally elected, but was dispossessed by violence, and guerero put in his stead. guerero was scarcely seated before bustamente with open war deposed him, put him to death and placed himself at the head of the government. bustamente was hardly in the chair before santa anna, warring, as he pretended, for the constitution and for making it still more liberal, dispossessed him by deluging the country in a civil war, the horrors of which have not at this moment ended. since his accession we have been woful witnesses that nothing but turmoil, anarchy and revolution have overshadowed the land, and that at last he has at one fell stroke, with an armed soldiery, turned congress out of doors, dissolved that body and proclaimed that the constitution is no more. here, then, we have a lamentable verification of the fears and predictions of that great apostle of human liberty, mr. jefferson. his prophecy in relation to the result of their governmental experiment, implies in him an almost superhuman forecast and knowledge of the elements essential to self-government. he knew that they were too ignorant and too much under the dominion of their priests at the period of their declaration, and he but too truly foresaw that owing to the unhallowed ambition of their military aspirants, the country would be too continually distracted with revolutions to admit of their advancement in education or any useful knowledge whatever. time has developed it. there has been no attention on the part of government to schools or other useful institutions. the present generation are as ignorant and bigoted as the past one, and so will continue each succeeding one to the end of time, unless some philanthropic and enlightened citizen shall arrive at power with a purity of patriotism and reach of intellect unexampled among his countrymen, and with energies of character sufficiently commanding to emancipate the nation from the thraldom of her priests--to curb or kill her countless military aspirants, thereby preventing incessant revolutions, and thereby enabling a new generation to experience the benefits of education and to qualify themselves in other respects for complete self-government. i have now gone through with the administration, or rather mal-administration, of the general government. it is equally demonstrable that so far as texas is concerned, there have been equal confusion, insecurity and injustice in the administration of the state governments. texas, as is known, forms an integral part of the state known by the name of coahuila and texas. during the past year there were three persons claiming and fighting for the office of governor of this state. there was no session of the legislature at the regular period, on account of this civil war, and fifteen officers of the federal troops elected a governor of their own over the head of the one elected by the people. at an extraordinary time the legislature was convoked, and fraudulently sold for a thousandth part of their value, millions of acres of our public domain. this legislature was finally dispersed by the threats of the general government, and our governor and one of the members were, on their retreat, arrested and imprisoned by the troops of the permanent army--leaving us involved in chaotic anarchy. do not these facts conclusively demonstrate an incapability of self-government on the part of the mexicans? do they not cry aloud for an immediate dissolution of all connexion with them as the only rock of our salvation? yes, the vital importance of a declaration of independence is as clearly indicated by them as if it were "written in sunbeams on the face of heaven." * * * * * no. iii. analysis of the mexican federal constitution of . it has been wisely remarked by that great illustrator of the machinery of governments, (montesquieu) that there can be no liberty where the legislative, executive, and judicial powers, or any two of them, are united in the same person or body of persons. see spirit of laws, in reference to the english constitution. if any corroboration of this high authority is needed, i will refer to mr. jefferson, and the writers of that invaluable text book, the federalist. mr. jefferson, in his notes on virginia, page , says the concentration of legislative, executive and judicial powers in the same hands, is precisely the definition of despotism. and in the federalist, page , it is said, "the accumulation of these powers in the same hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary, self-appointed, or elective, is the very definition of tyranny." in the same great work it is clearly demonstrated, that if each department is not so fortified in its powers as to prevent infringement by the others, the constitution which creates them all will be worth no more than the parchment upon which it is written. so important was it deemed by all the states of the union to keep these departments distinct, and in different hands, that it has been specially provided for in all their constitutions. see the constitutions of the different states. and yet in the face of all this wisdom and experience, and contrary to every thing that is republican in its nature, the framers of the mexican constitution have reserved to congress the sole power of construing the constitutionality of its acts. this, it will be readily seen, is an entire nullification of the judiciary in all constitutional matters, and leaves the rights of the people and the constitution itself without any other security than what is to be found in the virtue, patriotism and intelligence of congress. what slender reliances, where the liberties and happiness of a nation are concerned! if in the united states congress should transcend its powers in the passage of a law, the courts would declare it null and void, and bring back congress to a constitutional discharge of its duties. but if the same thing were attempted in mexico, congress would re-enact the law, declare it constitutional, and imprison the judge for his presumption. it appears then, that the mexican constitution of contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction,--for the accumulation of legislative and judicial powers in congress, and the enabling of that body to violate the constitution at will, renders it of no more avail than "a sounding brass or tinkling cymbal." it will be no alleviation, says mr. jefferson, in his work above quoted, page , that in the case of congress unlimited powers are vested in a plurality of hands. one hundred or two hundred despots are surely as oppressive as one. let those who doubt it turn their eyes on the republic of venice. in the next place i will show, that independent of this objection, the mexican constitution contains principles and provisions years behind the liberalized views of the present age, and at war with every thing that is akin to civil or religious liberty. in that instrument the powers of government, instead of being divided as they are in the united states, and other civilized countries, into legislative, executive and judicial, are divided into military, ecclesiastical and civil, and these two first are fortified with exclusive privileges, and made predominant. it is specially declared that the roman catholic religion is, and forever shall be, the established religion of the land. no other is tolerated, and no one can be a citizen without professing it. can any people be capable of self-government--can they know any thing about republicanism, who will, in this enlightened age endeavor to erect the military over the civil--to bind the conscience in chains, and to enforce an absolute subscription to the dogmas of any religious sect--but more especially of that sect, which has waged an unceasing warfare against liberty, whenever the ignorance and superstition of mankind have given it a foothold? can republicans live under a constitution containing such unhallowed principles? all will say they cannot. and if the texan colonists are willing to do so a moment longer than they are able to shake off the yoke, they are unworthy the sympathies or assistance of any free people--they are unworthy descendants of those canonized heroes of the american revolution, who fought, and bled, and conquered for religious as well as civil liberty, and who established the sacred principle, that "all men have a right to worship almighty god according to the dictates of their consciences." yet bad as this constitution is, it has been swept away by, if possible, a worse form of government, the central. this system, now attempted to be rivetted upon the people of texas, has preserved most of the bad features of the old constitution, viz: the preponderance of the military and clergy, and has destroyed all of the good features, to wit: the representation of the people through the medium of congress, and the division of the republic into states. the whole of the states are now consolidated into one, and governed by a dictator and council of about a dozen, who are the creatures of his will, and the flatterers of his lawless despotism. all of mexico, but texas, has submitted to this, and she is waging a war against it with all the energies of an infant and much oppressed people. if it be asked, why have the people of texas submitted so long to such a constitution, i answer, that for the first few years their numbers or wealth did not attract the notice or cupidity of government. dly, the incessant revolutions of mexico kept their attention from texas for many years more. dly, they submitted from physical inability to resist. and thly, they were determined to prove themselves a law and oath abiding people, and in case of rupture with mexico, to show to the world that they were not the aggressors. this rupture has been brought about, and it is folly to think of ever healing the breach. the constitution has been destroyed, and it is idle to think of restoring it. if restored, i have shown that no republican can live under it. we have no right to conclude, that if re-established, it will be amended so as to be made more republican and more congenial with our wishes--for in all their changes and commotions, each party contends for the established religion--it is the last thing they will part with--believing it to be the anchor of their hope and salvation here and hereafter. but granting that the federal party should triumph--that the monster centralism should be crushed, and that the constitution should be amended so as to make it appear, on parchment, the most unexceptionable charter of human rights known to the world, have we any reason to believe or to hope, from their demonstrated incapacity of self-government, and from their incessant past revolutions, that it will be or can be administered for a day? but, as i before said, it is idle to talk of the constitution now. _texas must be independent_. the tie between her and mexico is severed, and that by the injustice and violence of mexico. it can never be re-united--for between the colonists and mexicans there is an almost total dissimilarity of soil, climate, productions, pursuits, interests, habits, manners, education, language and religion. * * * * * no. iv. in my last i contended that none of those ties which are necessary to bind a people together and make them one, existed between the colonists and mexicans. that there was an almost total dissimilarity in the soil, climate and productions of the regions of territory they respectively inhabited; and that superadded to this, there was no identity of pursuits, habits, manners, education, language or religion. i now proceed to show, that these circumstances have engendered towards the colonists in the mass of the mexican nation, feelings of unconquerable jealousy and hostility. yes! our superiority in enterprise, in learning, in the arts and in all that can dignify life, or embellish human nature, instead of exciting in them a laudable ambition to emulate, to equal, or excel us--excites the most hateful of all the passions--envy--and has caused them to endeavor for years past, by an unremitting series of vexatious, oppressive and unconstitutional acts, to retard our growth and prosperity, and if possible, to get rid altogether of a people whose presence so hourly reminds them of their own ignorance and inferiority. some of these acts i now proceed to enumerate. st. with a sickly philanthropy worthy of the abolitionists of these united states, they have, contrary to justice, and to law, intermeddled with our slave population, and have even impotently threatened in the war now pending, to emancipate them, and induce them to turn their arms against their masters. if they would cast their eyes around them, they would find that at home the more wealthy and intelligent of the mexicans have unjustly imposed upon at least one quarter of their fellow citizens, the most galling and illegal system of servitude that ever stained the annals of human oppression. d. [footnote: have been repealed.] although the colonization law conceded to emigrants to texas all the rights and privileges of citizens, in a law was passed confining the retail of merchandize to native born mexicans. it is useless to comment upon the illegality and injustice of this law. it speaks for itself, and clearly indicates the diabolical spirit in which it was engendered. d. i pass over many minor grievances growing out of their illegal legislative enactments, and plainly denoting their settled hostility, and come to the law of the th [footnote: have been repealed.] of april, . by this law, north americans, and they alone, were forbidden ad mission into texas. this was enough to blast all of our hopes, and dishearten all of our enterprise. it showed to us that we were to remain scattered, isolated, and unhappy tenants of the wilderness--compelled to gaze upon the resources of a lovely and fertile region, undeveloped for want of population. that we were to be cut off forever from the society of fathers and friends in the united states of the north--to prepare comforts suited to whose age and infirmities, many of us had emigrated and patiently submitted to every species of privation, and whose presence to gladden our firesides we were hourly anticipating. that feature of this law granting admission to all other nations except our brethren of the united states of the north, was sufficient to goad us on to madness. yes! the door of emigration to texas was closed upon the only sister republic worthy of the name which mexico could boast of in this new world. it was closed upon a people among whom the knowledge and the foundations of rational liberty are more deeply laid than among any other on the habitable globe. it was closed upon a people who would have carried with them to texas those principles of freedom, and those ideas of self-government in which, from their birth, they had been educated and practised. in short, and more than all, inasmuch as it stamps the mexican government with the foul blot of ingratitude, it was closed upon a people who generously and heroically aided them in their revolutionary struggle, and who were first and foremost to recognize and rejoice at the consummation of their independence. nothing but envy, jealousy, and a predetermination to destroy the colonial settlements, could have prompted the passage of this most iniquitous law. simultaneous with it, all parts of texas were deluged with garrisons in a time of profound peace. these garrisons extorted and consumed the substance of the land, and paid for their supplies in drafts on a faithless and almost bankrupt government. in their presence and vicinity the civil arm was paralyzed and powerless. they imprisoned our citizens without cause, and detained them without trial, and in every respect trampled upon our rights and privileges. they could not have been sent to texas for our protection, for when they came we had expelled the savages, and were able to protect ourselves; and at the commencement of the colonial settlements, when we were few and weak, and scattered, and defenceless, not a garrison--no! not a soldier came to our assistance. as another evidence of the hostility of the mexicans to the colonists, i will instance the following: on the th of may, , when the republic was divided into states by the constituent congress, the territory called texas, not being sufficiently populous for a state, was united to coahuila, but it was specially decreed by congress that whenever texas was sufficiently populous to figure as a state, she should make it known and be admitted. in , the people of texas, knowing that their numbers exceeded those of several of the old states, in solemn convention formed a constitution, and sent on a delegate to the city of mexico, praying that texas be admitted as a state. instead of granting this just and legal request, they imprisoned our delegate in the dungeons of the inquisition, and detained him without a trial for more than a year, deprived of the common air and common use of his own limbs! under all of those multiplied oppressions, the colonists, from a spirit of forbearance, or rather from physical inability to resist, long groaned and languished. not a voice, not an arm was uplifted. the wheels of government were not retarded in their operation by us. we consoled ourselves with the pleasing but delusive hope that a returning sense of liberality and justice would give to these obnoxious laws a brief duration. while laying this flattering unction to their souls, while indulging dreams of fancied felicity never to be realized, the dictator, santa anna, developed his tyrannical course. he surrounded congress with an armed force, dissolved the body, and declared the constitution at an end. he dispersed our state legislature by violence, imprisoned our governor, demanded the arrest of some of the unoffending colonists, to be tried by military tribunals for (if any) civil offences, disarmed the militia, leaving only one gun to citizens, and sent an army of mercenaries into texas to rivet upon us the chains of centralism. when these glaring oppressions were attempted to be practised, the people of texas felt that the cup of their bitterness was full to overflowing--that the rod of persecution had smitten sufficiently severe, and that they could no longer submit without relinquishing forever the glorious appellation of freemen. they struck, and struck with the potent arm of _liberty_. they conquered and drove the enemy from their soil. they wish not to wage a war of cupidity and conquest. they only ask to be permitted to govern the territory they occupy after the republican mode of their fathers. if this, their reasonable demand, is not conceded, they will carry the war into the enemy's country, and force the tyrant (as they have the power to do,) to acknowledge the independence of texas within the very walls of his capital. after so many descriptions it is useless to discuss the capability of texas to figure as an independent government. suffice it to say, that it is larger than france, england, scotland and ireland united--of more general fertility, and susceptible of a greater and denser population. curtius. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the wrong woman by charles d. stewart [frontispiece: she saw that she would have to continue her journey afoot] the copp clark company limited toronto copyright, , by charles d. stewart all rights reserved illustrations she saw that she would have to continue her journey afoot (page ) . . . . . _frontispiece_ the stars, a vast audience, had all taken their places "there's number one," steve remarked casually in the very midst of that dread ordeal, a test _from drawings by harold m. brett_ the wrong woman chapter i having made final inspection of the knots of her shoe-laces and the fastenings of her skirt, janet turned toward her "perfectly horrid" oilcoat, which, as usual, had spent the night on the floor. as it would never come off till she had tortured her fingers on the edges of its big rusty buttons, she always parted from it on unpleasant terms, casting it from her; whereupon this masculine garment fell into the most absurd postures, sprawling about on her bedroom floor, or even sitting up, drunkenly, in the corner,--which latter it could easily do, being as stiff as it was yellow. this time it had caught by one arm on the back of a chair, and it came so near standing alone that it seemed to be on the point of getting along without the chair's assistance. as janet stood considering its case, she turned her eyes toward the window to see what the weather had decided, and now she saw the farmer leading forth her pony. she went to the window and opened it wider. "please, mr. wanger, make it tight. he always swells himself out when he sees he is going to be saddled. then, when he has gone a little distance, he lets himself in, and both the girths are hanging loose. that's one of his tricks." she leaned farther out and made further observation of the weather. as the air was mild and the sky serenely blue (though you can never tell about a texas norther), she took sir slicker by the nape of his collar-band and dropped him out of the window to be lashed to the saddle; then she turned to the mirror again, and, having done the best she could with the hat, she went to take leave of the farmer's family, who, as she judged by certain sounds, were assembled at the front of the house awaiting her departure. but scarcely had she stepped into the adjoining room and shut the door behind her, when the buxom, blue-eyed lena, rushing in from the porch, met her with a hug that was more like a welcome than a leave-taking. "oh, goo-o-o-bye, miss janey. i am so-o-o sorry. i t'ink you are so-o-o sweet and nice." and then lena, whose open swiss nature was either at the summit of happiness or down in the valley of despair, regarded her ruefully for a space, and after one more hug and the shedding of two large healthy tears, accompanied her out to the porch. there the wangers were waiting and the children standing in line to be kissed--quite as if she were a dear relative, or at least an acquaintance of more than four days' standing. janet kissed them all; and having done so she proceeded to the hitching-post, followed by the entire family, down to little jacob, who stationed himself at the very heels of the broncho, and was so far forgotten by them all, in their concern with janet's affairs, that they did not think to rescue him from his perilous situation till it was everlastingly too late, the horse having by that time moved away. and then jacob, who had been studying his elders closely, after the manner of his tribe, guessed the meaning of those farewell words which he had not been able to understand; and as she drew away he opened his mouth and bawled. her route, which lay forty miles before her with but one stream to ford, might be described as simply a fenced road on each side of which was open prairie and the sky; for, though this land was all private property, the holdings were so vast that the rest of the fence could not be seen as far as the eye could reach. as this gave the roadside fence the appearance of not inclosing land at all, but rather of inclosing the traveler as he crossed over the vacant waste from town to town, the stretch of wire seemed to belong to the road itself as properly as a hand-rail belongs to a bridge; and this expansive scene, while it was somewhat rolling, was of so uniform and unaccentuated a character in the whole, and so lacking in features to arrest the eye, that the road might be said to pass nothing but its own fence-posts. for a while janet's thoughts dwelt upon her experience with the farmer's family, the final scene of which now impressed her more deeply as she realized how promptly these good folk had opened their hearts to receive her, and how genuine was their sorrow at seeing her go; and this reflection imparted so pleasant a flavor to the world that her mind kept reënacting that simple scene of leave-taking. but when she had got well out to sea,--for that is the effect of it except that the stretch of wire puts the mind in a sort of telegraphic touch with the world,--she drifted along contemplating the prairie at large, all putting forth in spring flowers, and for a time she seemed to have ridden quite out of the past; but finally, recalling her affairs, her mind projected itself forward and she fell to wondering what the future might have in store. there was nothing to answer her, and little to interrupt her speculations. about the middle of the forenoon, or later, she encountered a fellow-traveler in the person of a cowboy on a bay pony. at first a mere speck in the distance, he grew steadily on her vision, and then went riding past, life-size and lifting his sombrero; which salute she acknowledged pleasantly, smiling and inclining her head. a very strong fellow, she thought, whoever he might be. a while later, as she was jogging along with her mind on the horse, whose need of a drink was now a matter of growing concern to her, she came to where a wooden gate opened upon the roadside, and here, after a moment of doubtful consideration, she entered; and having closed it and got into the saddle again by means of its bars, she struck out across the prairie with the intention of casting about until she should come upon one of those spring-fed water-holes which are always to be found, here and there, upon the cattle range. for a time it looked as if her horse would have to go thirsty; but just when she was beginning to feel that she must not venture farther, she found herself upon a slight rise or swell from which she made out a group of cattle in the distance, and with this promise of success before her she put her horse to a gallop and set out for it, slapping him with the reins. presently, the ring of black muck becoming plainly visible, she knew her quest was at an end; and her thirsty animal quickened his pace as if he caught scent of the water. there now ensued a course of conduct upon the part of the horse which was strange. there was a small mesquite bush near the water-hole which lay directly in the horse's course, and janet, seeing he was almost upon it, and not wishing him to leap it, as a running cow-pony will often do, gave the reins a jerk to make him dodge it, the which he did, and that with a suddenness which only a cow-pony would be capable of. a cowboy's horse is so used to outdodging wild cattle that such a sudden turn is nothing to him. but now, instead of going to drink, he gave a leap and broke into a mad race, splashing right through one end of the water-hole and continuing onward. it was such a burst of speed as only the wildest rider could have roused him to; and he kept it up despite janet's efforts to stop him. to her, it seemed as if no horse had ever gone at such a pace before. at every leap forward she felt as if he must shoot straight from under her. she supposed he had taken fright at something; but instead of slackening his pace as he got farther away, he rather added to his speed like a horse in a race. though there was nothing ahead which he seemed to be going to, and nothing behind which he could now be running from, he did not abate his efforts; he pushed forward-- as one pursued with yell and blow still treads the shadow of his foe and forward bends his head. poor janet, utterly ignorant of the cause, and knowing not whither she was bound, rode a mad ride to nowhere-in-particular. at times she pulled hard on the bridle, but without effect; he kept right on with her. she clung desperately to her seat. there was nothing for her to do but ride; and so many strange things seemed to have happened at once that she was almost bewildered. altogether he gave her a ride which, in her own opinion afterwards, threw into insignificance the adventures of mazeppa or john gilpin, or even the experiences of the ancient mariner "alone on a wide, wide sea." the reason for the horse's hurry would appear to be a very good one when brought to light and explained; and this we shall probably be expected to do at this point, an historian having no choice but to tell what actually happened. there had been a mishap in the saddle-bow. the bow is that little arch in front which, when the saddle is in place, fits over the bony ridge above the horse's shoulders. this part of janet's saddle, instead of being made in the good old-fashioned way,--which consists in selecting the fork of a tree and shaping it to the purpose,--had been more cheaply manufactured of cast iron; and that part of the bow which clasps the withers and sits on the shoulders spread out in the form of iron wings or plates. the saddle, at some time in its history, had received a strain which was too much for it, and one of the iron wings broke partly across; and this flaw, hidden by leather and padding, had been lurking in the dark and biding its time. when janet braced her foot in the stirrup and made the horse dodge, it cracked the rest of the way, whereupon the jagged point of metal pressed into his shoulder with her weight upon it. it was nothing less than this that was spurring him on. a saddle-bow, into which the horse's shoulders press like a wedge (for it must not rest its weight on top of the withers), needs to be strong, because it is the part which withstands whatever weight is thrown into the stirrups in mounting or making sudden evolutions, besides which it takes whatever strain is put on the horn; in short, it is what holds the saddle in place. with a broken bow and girths that are none too tight, a rider's seat is but temporary at the best; and it is safe to say that janet's ride was not quite as long as it seemed. with a broken bow a saddle must, sooner or later, start to turn,--and it is a strange sensation to upset while you are sitting properly in the saddle with your feet in the stirrups; it is impossible seeming; and with a woman, who is fastened more tightly to the saddle itself, the sliding of the girth on the horse's barrel is as if she were soon going to be riding upside down. janet, sticking valiantly to her seat and riding like a trooper, felt suddenly that peculiar sensation and had a moment's horror of she knew not what. the next she was aware of she had struck ground in some confused and complicated way and quickly got herself right side up. and while she felt that she ought to be dead or at least badly injured, she had done nothing worse than to crush down a lot of spring flowers. and there sat janet. her horse, relieved of the pressure on the sharp iron, and brought to a halt by her final desperate pull on the reins, was standing stock-still, his saddle askew like a scotchman's bonnet, and his ears laid back. but scarcely had she located him when he began to pitch and kick, and with the surprising result that the saddle slipped entirely round. this turn of affairs was hardly calculated to please a texas horse. what this one thought about it, janet very soon discovered; for however meekly his stubborn spirit had given in to certain things, he had _not_ consented to wear a saddle on his belly; and this time when he pitched he seldom used earth to stand on. he came down on this hateful globe of ours only to stamp on it and kick it away from beneath him. up he went and hung in space a moment as if he were being hoisted by his middle and came down with a vengeance that jolted a snort out of him; and up he went again, turning end for end and kicking the atmosphere all the way round. he was no sooner down than he went up again,--and usually with a twist which threw him over to another hateful spot, from which he flung himself as if it were hot. and all the time the hooded stirrup flew about like a boot on a boneless leg and kicked him fore and aft. thoroughly insulted, he pitched by a mixture of methods which amazed janet; she ran farther back. now she beheld a fine vaulting movement, going up with the hoofs together, opening out in midair and coming down repeatedly in the same place; and here he worked away industriously, stretching his loins with the regularity of a machine and hitting away at the one spot in space with his fine punctuating heels; then he settled down to a short shuttle-like movement, his forelegs out stiff and his head down. it shook the saddle like a hopper; and the stirrup danced a jig. in this movement he fairly scribbled himself on the air, in red and white. finding that this did not accomplish the purpose, he went back to mixed methods a while and threw a confusion of side jumps and twisting leaps; and then, after a particularly fine flight, he came down with a heavy lunge and paused. he was standing with one of his own feet in the stirrup. janet would now hardly have been surprised to see him throw a somersault, as, indeed, he seemed on the point of doing at times when he stood up so high that he almost went over backwards. this time, after a moment of inaction, he reared again, and as he stood up with his hind hoof in the stirrup the girth strap parted and the saddle dropped from him. he jumped suddenly aside as if he were startled at his success, and finding himself rid of it he gave a final flourish to his heels and galloped away. the last janet saw of him, he was going over a knoll with a cow running on before. he seemed to be chasing it. we are not at liberty to doubt that this was the case, for many a cow-pony takes so much interest in his work that he will even crowd a cow as if to bite her tail, and outdodge her every move. and so it is possible that billy, finding a cow running before him, took a little turn at his trade. janet, hatless, her hair half-down and her chatelaine bag yawning open, had thus far given little thought to her various belongings scattered about in the grass; but now that the accident was all done happening and she saw that she would have to continue her journey afoot, her first concern was to get herself together again. luckily the comb and the hatpin had fallen in the same small territory with the hat and were easily found--though the hatpin, standing upright amid the flowers, was hard to distinguish for a while; and the contents of her bag, having spilled almost together, were soon accounted for except a small circular mirror. this was very difficult, but presently she caught the flash of it in the grass and gathered it up also. and now, ascertaining the condition of her hair, she went to the place that had been made by her tumble from the horse, and seating herself in it tailor-fashion, she set to work pulling out hairpins and dropping them into her lap beside the rest of her property. having her hair in shape, she took up the hat. this part of her apparel, which had been stepped on without detriment but needed brushing, might be described as a man's hat in the sense that its maker had not intended it for a young lady. it was a black hat, of soft felt, with a wide flat rim which had been turned up in front and fastened with a breastpin, a measure which had obviously been taken because the rim caught the wind in such a way as to cause it to blow down over the eyes--a thing which a true sombrero would not do. when she had furbished it and put it on, she glanced at the image of herself in her lap, and then, having held the little mirror at a distance to better view the effect, she took it off and set to work with pins, making it three-cornered. this proved to be quite a change; for whatever it might be said to look like in her hands, it became a hat the moment she put it on; it had an appearance and an air; and now the dark surface lent itself all to contrast with her light, soft-hued hair and clear, delicate skin. it was still further improved, when, having removed it again, she set it on at a rakish artillery angle. possibly, if hers had been the dark, nut-brown beauty, she would have seen that she looked best lurking beneath its sombre shade, and therefore have turned the rim down some way to even increase the shade; but janet fitted that which was frank, open, and aboveboard. and so she used the black for contrast rather than obscurity--besides which there was another sort of contrast, for a soldier hat on janet was a striking foil for her utter femininity. and its romantic pretense (so different from the dark gypsy-like romantic) was such an arrant little piece of make-believe that it had the effect of playful candor, acknowledging how impossible a man she would make; and while it was, strikingly, a pure case of art for art's sake, you could not but remark how much better _she_ looked in it than any soldier could ever have done. to tell the truth, we do not really pretend to know why janet did this, or what taught her how to do it; anyway, she did it; and now, having so easily accomplished one of the most difficult parts of a self-made woman, she fixed it in position with the hatpin, snapped shut her chatelaine bag, and rose to go. looking forward in the direction she had turned to, her mind began to be crossed with doubts as to whether that was the right way. she looked in other directions. then she turned slowly about. what she saw was simply prairie all the way round. which part of that horizon had she come from--what point in space? there is nothing so answerless. she was now in a world where there was no such thing as direction except that one side was opposite the other. there seemed to be nowhere that she could really consider as a place! the spot where she had been sitting seemed to be a place; but now she realized that she could go far from it in any direction and still be resting in the middle of nature's lap. how she strained her mind out to the very edge of things and tried to think! what endeavor she made to get out of her mind that which was not in it! she could not but feel that it was all because she was "such a fool"--for she could hardly believe that a whole country could be so lacking in information. poor janet! she even looked up toward the high sun and wondered what kind of sailor science would compel him to divulge his relations with a certain wooden gate. but there was no recognition there, no acknowledgment. the four quarters of heaven were fitted together with a viewless joint. all was silent. everything was a secret. of course she finally thought of the obvious thing to do; but afterwards she was sorry that she did, for that was just how she lost a good part of the afternoon. she found traces of her horse's course--here some flower stems had been broken, and a little farther on, some more; and now that all was made plain she took her slicker, which was tied in a roll behind the saddle, and, putting her mind straight ahead on the course, she set out. in his high gallop her horse had left no trail that she could follow as a path--nothing but slight records which might be discovered upon close and particular search. as his shoeless feet had made little or no impression on the sward, and there were wide spaces where flowers were sparse, she decided, in order to make progress, to go straight forward in the direction which had been determined, and then, if the fence did not put in an appearance, to refer to the trail again. after a time, seeing nothing ahead, she began to look about, this side and that, in doubt; and now, being "all turned round" again, she looked for the trail. but she could not find it. looking about everywhere, round and round and farther and wider, she at last found herself inspecting her own footsteps and following her own wandering path; and here she gave it up utterly. she knew she was lost. again she peered out at a point in space and wondered if _that_ was the place she came from. how different the distance looked now from what it did when she saw it down that endless road. that, at least, gave some shape to the future; and though she had been in doubt as to what it might be like, she at least knew it was there. now the future was all around her. a thousand futures now confronted her--all done up alike in blue and awaiting her chance move, this direction or that; whereby she may be said to have been confronted with the world as it is--a veritable old wheel of fortune. but she had to do something; and the only thing to do was to walk. making up her mind to the somewhere in front of her, she simply went ahead; for the afternoon was going and the night was sure to come--a prospect that filled her with dread. it is no wonder that lot's wife looked back when she was well out on the plain. probably she wanted to see where she was going--so janet thought, as she trudged wearily along. or possibly the poor woman wanted to make sure that she was going _at all_; for when you are walking always at the middle of things, and not coming to anything, there is no progress. janet thought--for she had to think something--that she knew just how stationary lot's wife felt when she was turned into a pillar of salt. possibly, if the truth were known, lot's wife desired to be turned into a pillar of salt--who can tell? janet, walking along so unrelated and ineffectual, rather fancied that she herself might want to be turned into a salt-lick (she had passed one all worn hollow as the stone of mecca by the tongues of many pilgrims); because if she were such a thing she would not be so utterly useless and foolish under the eye of heaven. but still she kept trudging along, feeling the growing weight of the slicker in her arms, for janet was not much of a hand to carry anything on her shoulder. janet walked and walked, but her walking did not seem to have any effect upon that endless land. the fence did not put in its appearance, neither did a house nor a path, nor anything else which would make it different from the sky-covered plain that it was. it persisted in being itself, world without end, amen. to make matters worse, her shoe began to hurt (she had suspected it would and taken the man's promise that it would n't), and the more she persevered the more it clamped her toe and wrung her heel and drew fire to her instep. but there was nothing to do but walk; and she kept on with her footsteps till the operation became monotonous. still that roadless scene was unmoved. the world was "round like an apple"; that she could plainly see. and as to her feelings, this globe was just a big treadmill under her aching feet. the only escape from such tyranny is to rise superior to it, withdrawing the mind from its service; so she decided to think of something else. and now, as she went on with no company but her own thoughts, she had a growing realization, more and more vivid, of her fall from the horse and what the consequences might have been. it was a miraculous escape, due to no management of hers. suppose she had been disabled!--and in such a place! what a thought! she became frightened at what was past. she had not really thought of it before; and now that she did, her imagination was thrown wide open to the future, and she looked into the possibilities ahead of her. a cow, she recalled, has been known to attack even a horse and rider. and these wild range cattle; how might they take the presence of a woman, never having seen one before? there were thousands of them wandering about this big place, with horns that spread like the reach of a man's arms. her only recourse was to wish she were a man. this was a favorite wish of hers, indulged in upon those occasions when she discovered that she had been a "silly coward" or a "perfect fool." after all, she considered, a woman is n't much loss. "and it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said. escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed. . . . but his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt." it was an old sunday-school lesson. and janet had to think something. chapter ii while janet was determinedly putting her foot down on pain and keeping up the light of faith on the distant sky-line, another and quite separate horizon was witnessing a little incident of its own. on a spot on the prairie which was no more a particular place than any other part of it, a lamb was born. the two occupants of those parts, a man and a dog (not to mention a flock of sheep), were soon at the spot where it lay, its small body marking down in white the beginning of the season. nature had thus dropped her card announcing that lambing-time was now here; and so the little white form in the grass, meaning so much, claimed all the attention due to an important message--albeit the message was delivered with somewhat the carelessness of a handbill. the man stooped over and looked straight down with an expression at once pleased and perplexed. as coming troubles cast their shadows before, this little memento, coming on ahead of a gay and giddy throng, raised visions of troublous and erratic times. the dog, a genteel, white-ruffed collie, sat down and viewed the infant with a fine look of high-browed intelligence, as if he were the physician in the case. the lamb was an old friend of his--just back from nature's laundry. the newcomer, about a minute of age and not yet fully aware of itself, raised its round white poll and looked forthwith a fixed gaze as foolishly irresponsible as if it were a lamb that had just fallen off a christmas tree. the man turned and strode away, leaving the dog on watch to mark the place. just below a water-hole near by was a place thickly covered with dry marsh grass, all combed over by the wind and matted down like a thatched roof, beneath which shelter opossums and rabbits ran about in tunnels of their own making. to this place he went, and having grabbed a handful of hay from the convenient mouth of a burrow, he returned to the lamb, and kneeling down beside it he rubbed it into a comfortable warmth and dryness. not quite satisfied with the results (there was a touch of chill in the air), he produced a white pocket handkerchief which had not yet been unfolded, and he used this to perfect the work. this latter touch was more than a texas lamb can reasonably expect; but there were distant circumstances which prompted the act, and the sentimental effects of these were much augmented by the fact that the first and only lamb was disowned by its mother. she had given it a cold-eyed look and walked away without even the formality of taking its scent. as she was now back at her grazing again, it was plain to be seen that she was going to give herself no further concern in the matter; indeed, it was likely that when the lamb should come forward to make his claims upon her, she would resent and oppose such intimacy, sheep being different from other animals in this regard. the man felt, naturally enough, that the first-born of such a host, and the representative of so many idiots, mothered and motherless, who were soon to arrive, deserved a better reception. the lamb spelled duty as plain as chalk; and so he rubbed away, with a look of weighty concern which almost obliterated the smile with which he began. when the fleece was perfectly dry and warm he stood up to await developments. by this time the lamb, which had already tried to stand up, decided to do it. it got part-way up and fell. again it came up on its stilts, wavered drunkenly and collapsed. it had made a mistake of some kind. but the only way to learn walking is to do it; and a lamb, being more ambitious than either a colt or a calf, rises at once and starts right in, regardless of the fact that it does not understand the machinery. this one was weak but game; and it went down only to rise again. it went in for a course of experience; and finally, having got the hang of things, it was balancing on all fours with fair prospects of success. its status was a little uncertain,--like a sailor just landed on a continent which seems to have been drinking,--but still it was up and ready to try a step or two if necessary. but now the dog, who had been keeping a sharp eye on every move, became so personally interested that he gave it a poke with his nose; and over it went. this must have been discouraging. the lamb, dazed for a moment, waited for the spirit to move it, and up it came again, a little groggy but still in the ring. it staggered, got its legs crossed and dug its nose in the dirt, but by using that for an extra support it got its bearings again and was not frustrated. this time it succeeded, its legs widely braced. with the general demeanor of a carpenter jack it continued to stand, for that way was solid and scientific; and now it looked straight ahead for the sheep that was not present. in her place was empty air--nothing. this not being according to the order of nature, the lamb was at its wits' end. the man in the case, acting upon the philosophy of mahomet, gathered up the lamb and went to the ewe--which would have been more easily done had the ewe been willing. having caught her and made her fast by putting her head between his legs, which made very good stanchions, he hung the lamb across his palm and set it down carefully on the proper spot on the prairie; and now, everything being arranged as such things should be arranged, little me went straightway to the point, his underpinning braced outward like the legs of a milking-stool. with a well-filled stomach, the lamb stared out at the world in general, and seemed greatly edified. the man was about to let the ewe go, but hesitated, considering that after she got back among the multitude it might be quite a while before the lamb would have another chance. he had better keep her till he had made sure that the lamb could not hold any more. the lamb grew visibly in gumption; and finally, after another swig at the bar of life, he was a made lamb. he actually started to walk. his steps, to be sure, were rather theoretical and absent-minded, and as he had not yet discovered just where earth begins and air leaves off, he seemed to be putting his feet into places that were not there; but considering the dizzy height of his legs, and the unevenness of this wabbly world, he did as well as any lamb can do on one dose of milk. once he seemed to be struck with the idea of having fun; he gave a frisky twitch to a leg and a sort of little jump-up in the rear. the man, satisfied with this evidence, let the ewe go, first taking the precaution to mark her by tying the handkerchief round her neck. all of which took but a short while. a lamb, upon arriving, needs a few moments to take notice that this is the earth; but he has not much more than come to a stop when he realizes that it is the place for refreshments. for this reason, the force of gravity cannot keep a good lamb down; and as nature has provided him with just enough strength to rise and partake, the sooner he is about it the better. after a few draughts from the fount of knowledge his education is complete; and it is not many days till sheep life is too dull for him and he must lead a livelier career. mary's lamb "followed her to school one day," and the reason he followed her to school was (a fact never before published) that he thought mary was his mother. it was a lamb whose mother had disowned him, leaving the responsibility to mary. and if there were any tag-ends or trimmings on mary's dress, it is safe to say that they bore evidence of having been in the lamb's mouth. the present lamb, again deserted by its parent, was completely at sea; and not having anything to attach itself to, it simply kept on standing up, which was plenty of exercise for it just now. the man, having released the ewe, who went back to the flock with an inane _baa_ which reminded a scattered score of other ewes to do the same, now turned his attention to the problem of carrying the little stranger. as this visitation was entirely unlooked-for, he had not brought the lamb-bag along, so he had to find some other way. his coat, unbuttoned at the top for the better insertion of his hand, he had been using as a sort of capacious breast-pocket in which he stowed his lunch and other incumbrances. one side of it now bulged out with the carcass of a cotton-tail which he had scared out of the marsh grass, together with various conveniences which he had brought along from the shack. these things out of the way there would be room for the lamb to ride; he therefore spilled everything on the ground and set to work to make an entirely new arrangement, pausing, however, when he had unbuttoned his coat (he had left his vest off) to observe the present state of his white shirt-front, one side of which, in addition to its generally soiled condition and the darker streak which marked the pathway of his hand, had now a crimson spot from the head of the cotton-tail. that side, in comparison with the spotless and polished condition of the other, presented a contrast as striking as did the new white lamb and the weather-stained flock. having hung the rabbit to the canteen strap, he put the lamb in where it was warm; and now, as he resumed his ramble with the flock, the little grass orphan (or whatever we may call an orphan whose parents are both living) bobbed his head up and down at the powerful chest of his protector, and looked out upon the world with all the advantages, and none of the disadvantages, of having been born. this way with the young had previously been adopted by the aforesaid mrs. o'possum, who always carries the children in her pocket; and whom we may imagine noting the fact in terms of the very highest approval. it had been his intention that morning to get back to the corral at an earlier hour than usual; and as the sun was well past meridian he ordered the dog out to turn the flock, the leaders of which were now about a quarter of a mile away. the collie, eager for work, skirted round and brought them all face-about suddenly, barking his threats along the van, and then closed in some stragglers, according to instructions received from the distance. the man stayed where he was till the flock had drifted past him; then he took his place at the rear again, the dog falling in close behind. he idled along after them, revolving in his mind his plans for the evening--some boards to be nailed tight on the storm-shed, and certain repairs on the south side of the pen. although the lamb had delayed him, the sun was still above the horizon as he drew near home--if a word which means so much may be applied to a herder's shack. a shack is a residence about like a farmer's smokehouse, being taller than it is wide or long; and as it is intended only for sleeping purposes there is just enough floor space to allow for a door, and room to turn yourself in as you shut the door. its breadth is equal to the length of a texan when he lies down in the bunk built into it, the headboard and footboard of which are the walls of the building itself. it might be called a bedroom on the inside, but as it is only a two-story bunk boarded in and roofed over, it is more properly a room-bed; or rather it is comparable to a passage at sea with its upper and lower bunk and the surrounding ocean of prairie--a sort of stateroom in the flight of time. the architect of this one had been short of lumber, or too economical, the result being that the present occupant was a trifle too long for it; and he had considered the advisability of cutting a little window in the side to let his feet out. its inconveniences bothered him little, however, as he spent his evenings stretched out on the prairie by the fire. it was so far from being home to him that he never felt so far from home as when he entered it; and as he seldom entered it except in the dark, it was hardly a familiar place to him. outside it might be home all over; inside was a timber tomb and the far-away country of sleep. this edifice stood on a low knoll from the heart of which issued a small spring-fed stream which had cut itself a deep ditch or gully down to the general level; and on the slope opposite to where the stream went out was a narrow path where the sheep ran up. the little eminence, with its structures, was a shanty acropolis to a universe otherwise unimproved. it was to this place he was at last coming, his blatant rabble moving gradually together as they neared their familiar destination. now that he felt relieved of responsibility, his thoughts, which had hurried on before him, as it were, dwelt with much satisfaction upon a certain little prison-pen on the hill ahead. once arrived here, the lamb, could get a meal from his unwilling mother, who would be confined in such straits in the narrow little pen that she could not move nor help herself. the advantages of this arrangement the lamb would make full use of; and thereafter he would get along very well, interrupting his slumbers at any time and supping to his full satisfaction. there was a row of the separate little stalls or sheep stocks along the outside of the corral, this department being the orphan asylum of the community; and hereabouts there galloped and capered, in springtime, lambs whose mothers had died in "havin'" them, lambs whose own mothers were too poor to support them, and most frequently the child of a ewe like this. the sheep crowded still closer together as they reached the beginning of the sheep-path; and now the man's face may be said to have taken on two coats of expression--a stern judicial look with a smile underneath. the thought that he was about to execute justice occupied his mind wholly as the old wether led them into the strait and narrow way. with the object of catching the ewe, he ran on ahead toward the path, beside which he stationed himself, halfway up the hillock, just as the head of the column was coming; and when the misbehaved mother came trotting along he laid hands upon her and pulled her out of the procession. at this, the lamb, which had become a very warm spot on his breast, said something which sounded very much like _ma-a-a_; whereupon he decided that it might as well have supper at once, after which it could follow afoot. the lamb, having been carried so far through life, came down rather carelessly on its newly unfolded legs and stumbled; but it soon picked up what it had learned of the laws of mechanics and fell to supper forthwith. the man held the ewe as before, and when he judged the lamb held a sufficiency, he hauled her away toward prison, pulling her unceremoniously out of the lamb's mouth. and then the lamb, instead of following, stood braced on the spot as if unable to comprehend that such a thing was possible. it let out a quavering complaint, a melting infant cry, at which the man stopped and turned his head, and, seeing it standing there and looking ahead in a wooden sort of way, he returned to get it, marching the ewe down the hill again. "i hope i'll have five hundred like you," he said, scooping it up under his arm. "yes, i do. you'll have me talking to myself yet. yes, you will." for a sheep-man to talk to himself is considered a bad sign; but the present hermit had no chance to go farther in this course. the dog, dashing suddenly ahead, stopped at the corner of the shack and growled. so occupied had the herder been with his distracting duties that he had not taken much notice of the shack as he drew nearer to it; but now that the dog raised the alarm he looked and saw a blue wraith of smoke hovering over the roof. his fire-hole, it seemed, was lit. this was not unwelcome news, as any one may imagine who has lived even a few days so utterly alone. but whether the visitor was a stranger or a friend was made a matter of doubt by the conduct of the dog, who was barking and growling and wagging his tail. and his only change in conduct towards his friend the enemy consisted in doing it all more industriously, making threats with one end of himself and waving a welcome with the other. but no sound came from the other side of the shack. the intruder did not stand forth and show himself. the herder wondered that his approach had not been discovered. in the meantime the ewe, which he had absent-mindedly let go of, had made her escape and was again mingling with the multitude which was now running pell-mell into the corral. it seemed strange that the person behind the shack did not step forth. being now free of the ewe (who had in no wise thwarted justice by her act), he proceeded to investigate his home. and when he reached the corner of the shack he saw--a woman. a woman. at a sheep-shack. she had his tin stew-pan on the fire and was bending over it, sampling the contents. on the ground was a strange sight--two pieces of pie, two peaches, half a chicken, sandwiches,--some with ham and some with jam,--pickles and cheese. and the coffee-pot under full steam. the large-hearted and healthy lena had put all this into the package rolled into the slicker. it was partly this that had made janet's burden so heavy. the man's jaw dropped, as almost did the lamb; but catching himself in time he hugged it closer with unconscious strength. the woman replaced the cover on the stew-pan, straightened up, and spoke. "good-evening," she said. this in a tone of positive welcome (possibly a little overdone). "how do you do," he replied. "i have just been making use of your fire-hole. and your coffee-pot. you see i was--i was--" "oh, that's all right. that's all right. just make yourself right at home. are the men folks gone somewhere?" he cast his eyes about. "there are no--no men folks. you see i was just coming along by myself--alone--without anybody--any men folks." these words nearly choked her. but immediately she added, with the most brightening smile, "i was _so_ frightened by your dog. he scared me so." having said this, she dropped her eyes to the stew-pan, the contents of which seemed to need attention just at that moment. "oh, he won't bite. anyway, he won't bite you. he knows ladies." "i am so afraid of them," she said, her eyes still occupied. she needed a moment to recover her courage, thinking rapidly. and as for the man, he thought nothing whatever; he just looked. she was bright-eyed and fair and wholly perfect. she was dressed in plain black, with deep white cuffs which turned back upon the sleeves, and a white turnover collar, as neat as a nun. offsetting, somehow, the severity of this, was the boyish side-sweep of her hair, and the watch-chain looped to a crocheted pocket on her breast. and on the ground lay the soldierly three-cornered hat. to a man who had been expecting to come home to doughy hot bread and fried rabbit and solitude, this was a surprise. it was somewhat as if providence had taken note of his case and sent out a sister of charity; and one who had the charming advantage of being also a dimpled daughter of the regiment. once his eye had taken in the regular contour of her nose and rested on that dimple, his gaze did not wander. he did not even wink--it would have been a complete loss of looking. when she removed the lid from the saucepan a spicy aroma spread itself abroad. dog and herder sniffed the evening air, sampling the new odor. it was a whiff of araby the blest. "as i was just going to explain," she said, straightening up again, "i had an accident with my horse. i came in here to find a water-hole and he ran away and threw me off. then i found i was lost"; and she went on to relate the details of her adventure up to the time of her arrival at the shack. as she spoke, she felt as if she had been thrust out into the middle of a big empty stage to make a speech to that momentous audience of one man--a speech upon which everything depended. however panic-stricken she might be, she must not show it. for that would give him an opening for assurances, for allusions which would have to be recognized, for asseverations which would have to be formally confided in--intimacy. and that must not be. the least betrayal of fear by her would bring it about. there must not be even the suggestion of a situation. it had been a godsend that, upon the first failure of her courage, the dog had offered himself as a reason. the dog had made an excellent cover for her trepidation. and now it was a support to feel that the dog was walking about--an object upon which to saddle her nervous apprehension at any moment when she lost control. she delivered her speech with a naturalness and ease which surprised her. she even added a little high-handed touch or two, referring to the aggravation of being thrown by one's horse and thus delayed in one's business; not to speak of being made such an intruder. the man stood and listened to the music of her voice. as she began to speak with so much ease, he was smitten with a consciousness of his personal appearance, with the four awkward legs dangling down in front of him. in hope of making a more manly figure before her, he set the lamb down, feasting his eyes meanwhile upon the dainty repast and the two white napkins spread upon the ground. and when he stood up again, no one knew less than he whether he had set the lamb on its legs or its back or stood it on its head. it now occurred to him that he had not removed his hat. he did so immediately. "and as i was coming across the range," she continued, "i saw your place. i had been so tired and hungry that i had lost my appetite. a person does, you know. but i was just dying for a cup of hot coffee. so i decided to use your conveniences. and i intended to leave your fire-hole burning for you--" "oh, that's all right. i 'm glad you did." she gave a sudden little scream. this was so unexpected that the man, whose nerves were not easily touched, drew himself up straighter and stared at her in amazement. "oo-o-o-o-o!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together and fixing her gaze upon the supper. it was the lamb again. it was standing right in the middle of the feast, its legs spread as usual and one foot deep in the sugar-bowl. the lamb was waiting. it was waiting till the spirit should move it to the next idiotic thing to do; and it would no doubt have achieved it had not the man taken quick action. he seized upon the lamb precipitately and snatched it away; then he stood with one hand around its middle and its long legs hanging down, with the four hoofs together. "oh, is n't that a _sw-e-e-et_ little lamb!" she exclaimed, delightedly. "oh, _is n't_ he a darling!" "well--yes," said the man, holding it out and regarding it critically. "it was certainly trying to be a sweet little lamb." she blushed. she had not seen the lamb all by himself, before; and these were the first free and natural words she had spoken. after this spontaneous outburst she proceeded more guardedly. "and after the coffee was on," she continued, "i thought it would be such a shame for a man to have to get his own supper after i had left, with so _much_ to eat. so i intended to leave your supper for you. that is in case you did n't come along when i--i--you see i did n't expect you home so early." to which she quickly added, "you know, when i first came along, i thought the place might possibly be vacant. of course, i had to go in and see; and then, as long as i had already made so free, i thought i might as well use your coffee-pot and things. and your coffee, too." "oh, that's all right--perfectly all right. this place does n't all belong to me. there's plenty of room for everybody." he delivered this with a sweep of his arm that seemed to give her everything inside the horizon, and possibly lap over the edges. "so i did take your coffee--and sugar. and i hope you 'll like what i have." "judging by the looks, it's mighty good. perfectly grand. but i 'll go now and put this lamb where he won't be scaring us again miss---- excuse me, but i haven't asked your name." "my name is smith. janet smith." "my name is brown. stephen brown. glad to meet you, miss smith." he put his hat to his head in order to take it off. she acknowledged the formality with a slight bow. "i 'll go and fix this lamb," he resumed. "i intended to do some repairing before sundown; that's why i came home a little early. but it's rather late now to do much. there's other work i have to 'tend to, though. i hope it won't take very long." so saying, he started away. when he had gone a little distance, and observed that the dog was remaining behind, an interested spectator, he called back: "don't mind him if he watches you. his name is shep. he likes ladies." janet finished setting mr. brown's table, which consisted of a place where the grass was worn short. when he was working among the sheep with his back turned, she patted the dog on the head with the greatest familiarity. janet "loved" dogs. when next she looked up to see what had become of her guest, or host, he was disappearing in the deep little gully. chapter iii when the shack rose upon her vision, janet's spirits gave a leap. a mere box it was, in the image of a house; but yet, from the moment its countenance appeared on the scene, that lost and lorn prairie seemed to have found a place for itself. the whole interminable region attached itself to the shack and became a front and backyard; the landscape was situated and set right, knowing its right hand from its left. four walls, a roof, and a door--all the things necessary to make a threshold, that magic line across which woman faces the world with the courage of divine right. at the end of a lonesome, laborious day she saw it; and she hurried to it with a sort of homing instinct. opening the door, she gave a start and stepped back. another's "things" were in it. now what should she do? it was a question with half a dozen answers; and they all said, go. just outside the door was a box with a hinged lid. it contained kitchenware and supplies. there was the coffee-pot--and coffee. as there was no one in sight (rolling ground is very deceptive), she decided that, tired as she was and with the journey still before her, this opportunity of rest and a comfortable supper, with plenty of strong hot coffee, ought to be taken advantage of. then, as soon as supper was over, she would retire from the scene and consider what was best to do. she would sit down and try her courage in the dark. possibly, under cover of night, she would come in closer to his camp-fire and sit there on her slicker. or maybe there would be two men! but at present it was all undecidable, almost unthinkable; she must take this little respite from being lost and try to make the most of things. the twigs of half-dried mesquite did not kindle readily. with fanning and blowing the fire consumed a great deal of time and matches; but at last it got itself into the spirit of burning. in the midst of these preparations she heard the bark of a dog and a medley of _baas_, and looking round the corner of the shack she saw that it was too late. when mr. brown had recovered from his surprise and excused himself, she became very industrious indeed, flitting about on the little space of ground like a bird in a cage. despite her confusion, her mother wit was still with her, prompting her to cover her agitation with the appearance of housewifely activity; so every time that she beat against the bars of her situation she carried a fork or a spoon or the lid of something. she set his place, fed the fire, put on more coffee. he continued to work about the corral. though the sight of him was not quieting, she glanced up often enough to keep track of him. he seemed to take his time. janet, partially blinded by too much attention to the fire, looked up through the dusk as he went to the edge of the little gully and descended. he was a "full fathom of a man," and as he sank from sight his length seemed to go right down through the surface of things, like hamlet's father retiring to the lower regions. when, finally, his head had disappeared, she dropped her pretense of being cheerfully occupied and turned her attention in another direction. she looked hard at the shack--its door half open and the two bunks showing. her brows drew closer together, with the enigma between them. that little home, to which she had hurried with such a feeling of relief, had taken on a different guise. it was now the place she must get away from. at the same time black night was coming on as if to drive her into it. the sun was sinking. in the east the vanguard of darkness was already advancing. she gripped her chin tensely and tried to think, her forefinger pressed deep into the dimple. on the upper bunk was a faded blue blanket; the lower one was red. which way should she turn, or how conduct herself? dreading to go and afraid to stay, she was confronted with a problem the terms of which seemed only able to repeat themselves. with the terrors of the night before her, she dared not venture away from this man; her very nature courted his presence. his strength and fearlessness she found herself clinging to as if he belonged to her--and yet he was a menace! of course there might be nothing to fear if---- but if was the dove that found no rest for the sole of its foot. the problem presented difficulty on every hand, as if things were on his side. the darkness and the shack worked together to prevent escape; they seemed to have her completely surrounded. what sort of man was he? repeatedly she had taken note of his features, but only to feel more deeply how little can be told in that way. her inability to decide what impression he _should_ have made on her was tantalizing--the aching question still remained. the face is but a likeness; you should know the original. and yet his countenance, so strongly painted on her mind, seemed always on the point of answering her profoundest query. it was as if she knew him. she now contemplated her mental image more deeply, feeling that she could get behind that countenance and have absolute knowledge. but it was a delusion. the soul is invisible. in utter homelessness she gazed down at that little space of ground allotted to him and her. and the supper which united them. in nature there seemed to be no barrier between man and woman; their paths led toward each other. the flat ground seemed paved with gradual ingratiating approach; and no defense but outcry--too terrible and too late. surely too late, for he was in the position of her protector, and she would have to assume that he was a gentleman; and how is a girl by that prairie camp-fire going to say just how much room her person shall occupy? then how shall she set safe bounds? with the darkness closing in around her she felt trapped. her wits hard-pressed by this paradoxical plight, she looked with new longing at the shack. she felt that if she were on the other side of that threshold, and it were hers by right, she could stand behind it with some assurance of power against him, some dependence in forces not her own. for a door-sill is definite, and on it rises a formal spectre; but the way to a woman's heart is not so. out here there were no set bounds; nothing to give pause at a distance showing the first and fatal step: no line in nature which becomes evident before it has been passed. without it the moral dead-line was too close. oh! if that shack were only hers--the rights of its lockless door. but it was not hers. thus janet's imagination battered at the doors of home, scarcely knowing what she thought, but taking mental action, nevertheless, in the face of circumstance and the quick speech of things. it seemed to her--afterwards--that never till that moment had she seen the full nature of home. that she could see any of its features, even for a moment, in a shack so frail that a boot could break it, did not seem reasonable, even to her; but the strength of a house is not all in locks and bars. she had caught the depth of the man's first charmed look at her. even a shack can excuse one from the scene, extinguish the light of beauty, and then say with the voice of society--keep out. thus things do not so easily and gradually come to an issue. but before her was only the prospect of her open presence, without screen or barrier or warning sign. and she, on her part, had not failed to note that, besides his straightness and look of strength, there was something of virile charm. what a terrible thing to be a woman! so, having turned instinctively to the shack, and recoiled from it, and then, with nothing else in sight, returned to it with the imagination of despair, there was nothing left but to turn about and stand with equal bafflement before the closed secrets of his soul. as if by a deeper instinct, rewarding her efforts, she saw in him certain abilities for evil--deep, deliberate, and daring. he had quite deliberately left her; then he had, as deliberately, and without saying a word, gone down into that place. the little gully was as steep, almost, as a grave, deep, long, and narrow. her eyes turned toward its gloomy shape. what could he be doing down there? what thinking? she could hear her watch tick. a meaningless _baa_ broke out in the corral and went round in changing tones among the sheep. while she is so standing, let us take a look at affairs in the gully. mr. brown, upon arriving at the bottom, proceeded to cast a burden from his breast--first, a stone which he had been saving for an opossum, a rawhide thong, a newspaper which had done duty over and over, and which he kept in hope that it might yield up some further bit of news, and finally, the rabbit, all of which he dropped on the ground beside his hat; and then, getting down on his knees, he washed his face. having spluttered vigorously into double-handfuls of water from the little stream and put the towel back on its bush, he turned his attention to his twelve-dollar boots--for in the country of boots and saddles the leatherwork is the soul of appearances. he removed the mud with his knife and brushed off the dust with the rabbit. finding that this latter operation promised finer results, he damped the boots with the tips of his fingers, and taking hold of the long ears and hind legs he worked the rabbit back and forth so industriously that a fair polish came forth. with a careless twirl he threw the rabbit away. it was probably as well for janet that she had no knowledge of what he was doing down there; she would have been terrified by these too evident indications of his intentions. having combed his hair and brushed his clothes with the palms of his hands, he felt generally renovated and pulled together; he took his hat in hand and straightened up in readiness to make his appearance. then he sat down. before him was the spring with night already in its depths. the little stream murmured of its flowing in the overhanging grass, and caught the color of the sunset as it ran out into the open. a little farther on it emptied its reflections into a pool of gold. steve brown, having in his mind's eye a vision lovelier than this, and much more interesting, rested his gaze on a dark spot which was the spring. at first, her presence at his firehole had seemed unreal; and yet perfectly natural. it was very much as if she had just stepped down out of the sky and said, "your wish has come true." at least, he had been wishing that he had something fit to eat, having become dissatisfied with himself as a cook. his period of due consideration did not take long; he again picked up his hat, and after a momentary pause in this vestry or anteroom of the scene he made his entrance. janet, having done the last possible thing to the supper, stood her ground bravely as he issued from the trench and marched upon her camp; for so it seemed to her, so conscious she was of swinging thighs and formidable front as he advanced. he hung his sombrero on a nail at the corner of the shack, apologized for his delay, and stood with his arms folded, awaiting her orders. "sit right down, mr. brown," she said, indicating his place and smiling as best she could. she seated herself on the grass opposite. "it is very fine weather we are having, mr. brown," she remarked. "yes; it was a fine day. nice and bright; but a little chilly." "it looks as if it might stay this way," she added. "yes--i think it will. hope it will anyway. but you can't tell." the last remark had the effect of bringing their beginning to an end--as if this pliable subject had broken off in too strong hands. while she poured the coffee, he served the meat, which she had put at his place; and when he saw her take up his well-filled cup he lifted her plate at the same moment and passed it to her, giving and receiving together. in the midst of this exchange, janet (probably owing to the ceremonious way in which he did it) suddenly saw into the little formality as if a strange new light had been shed upon it; and instantly she felt that if she had it to do again she would not set the table in this husband-and-wife way. she was smitten with self-consciousness; and thinking it over it seemed strange that she, who was so anxious to avoid all suggestion of intimacy, could have arranged such a token between them and not have been aware of it. in that all-silent place the act was like words--as if mere things had spoken out loud. "that is a pretty bouquet you have," he remarked. the reference was to some spring flowers which she had plucked upon arriving and used to fill up her cup of joy, the said cup being one of mr. brown's. "yes; i thought they were very sweet. in looks, i mean. especially that blue kind." then suddenly, as the thought struck her, "but you see so _many_ of them!" for a moment he looked disconcerted, like a man accused of something. inquiringly he looked at the flowers, first at the ones which belonged to her, then at the thousands just like them all around. "but so did _you_ see a great many of them." this was his defense. "oh, yes---- well--but what i meant"--the fact being that she did not know what she meant any more than he knew what he meant--"was---- of course _you_ would n't pick them for a bouquet, though, would you?" instantly she felt that matters had been made worse. it was like offering final proof that he had not admired her flowers, really; and what was his defense? "oh, no--i suppose i would n't. that is, not for myself." it was the first step of his approach! "some people do not care for flowers so much as others do," she answered hurriedly. "i have even heard of persons to whom the perfume was offensive; especially in damp, warm weather. odors are always strongest in damp weather, you know." it was a relief to feel that she had been able to lead away from it. this put them on the weather again; then ensued a conversation perfectly inconsequential, and yet remarkable, to janet at least, for the amount of guidance it needed. she felt, as if her fate depended on it, that there must be nothing of intimacy, not even suggestion. so much might come from the drift of the conversation. she kept it as inconsequential as she could--a sort of chat hardly worth setting down except great art had been shown in it. had janet been a more experienced woman, and one with the firm sure touch of the conversational pilot, there might be some interest in charting out her secret course, showing all the quick invisible moves that were made, and how she steered through swift hidden dangers and grazed imminent perils unscathed, chatting inconsequentially all the while. but janet was not that. she was little more than a girl. she did the best she could. meanwhile the flowers flaunted their colors in the firelight, seeming now a danger signal to remind her of her bungling start. the flowers! she wished she had not plucked them or put them there. those preferred posies, standing there apart from the crowd just like them, looked perfectly foolish. she did not understand what she had done it for. the moment she had made that remark she saw the only reason why he admired them: it was simply because they were _hers_. and she had almost pushed the matter to this admission, so thoughtless she was. while they talked, she took fuller observation of him, hoping to find an answer to her great question. he wore a white shirt--this had flashed upon her first of all. further scrutiny told her that he had better clothes than his calling would seem to allow, and in better condition. his suit was gray, and though somewhat worn and unfurbished, was evidently of fine quality. there was little about his attire which would have attracted attention in a northern city except, possibly, the wide-brimmed hat and the boots with high heels. he was about thirty years of age. in the shack shone a polished spur--there seemed to be nothing else of cowboy accoutrement. she could not make him out. he seemed taciturn at times and eyed her strangely. conversation can take such quick turns. words, even mere things, can pop up with such unlooked-for allusions. they had drifted into some remarks upon sheep-herding, a trying occupation. mr. brown attested its monotonous and wearing nature. "yes," she said, "it must be so. no doubt you are always glad enough, mr. brown, when the time comes to get back home again." "yes--i prefer town to this. but i can't exactly say that it is like going home nowadays. i have a house just outside of town on the county-seat road. but a house is n't home." "oh, no, indeed. but a house is a very good thing to have--even in this mild climate." she paused a moment. "but texans," she added, "keep the windows open so much, night and day, that one might just as well sleep out of doors. there is no difference really." considered in all its bearings, this answer seemed an improvement; it encouraged her for the moment. but it seemed impossible for them to sit out there and talk in a man-to-man relation; they were society. the very phrases of society,--even the flowers, the supper, the yawning shack,--everything, it seemed to her, was against it. it is in the nature of things; and the devil is on the man's side. they were man and woman, sitting out there in that little circle of fire. it seemed to her at times as if some terrible light were being thrown upon them with a burning focus. one precaution she tried to keep constantly before her. she must not tell him her affairs--nothing of her situation in the world. it did not seem advisable even to tell him the nature of her errand to the county-seat; too much might be reasoned from it, of her helplessness. her great danger lay in being questioned: this must be avoided. but strangely--and its strangeness grew upon her--he did not ask such questions. he did not seem to have the least interest in her family, her history, or the object of her journey. he asked where she was going, a conventional question, perfunctorily put. his remarks all seemed somewhat conventional. even these she had sometimes to evade and direct into other channels; and naturally a conversation, conducted solely with the idea of concealing her affairs, did not prosper. he began to say less. finally he did not talk at all. he simply listened. his quiet way of waiting for her to continue bore in upon her as if it were some new quality of silence. to meet the situation she returned to the subject of her adventure; she recounted that day's travels with endless inconsequential comment and explanation. if she paused, he made some obvious observation and waited. janet, rather than face awkward pauses, silences which she could hardly support, would take up her travels again. she talked on because there seemed no way to stop. his way of waiting for her to continue seemed quite in keeping with that deliberateness which she had already noted. what to make of it she did not know. it might be that he was simply satisfied with the sound of her voice. or possibly he had not the least care as to her past or future. simply disinterest! this latter feeling--despite the state of affairs was so desirable--touched her in some deep part of her being. she told herself he was full of studious design; but whenever he looked straight at her and repeated her words in his quiet, well-modulated tones, she found her better judgment softly set aside, and all put in obeyance [transcriber's note: abeyance?]. at such times a pleasant feeling passed over her; all her speculations and apprehensions were sunk in the atmosphere of his presence. it was a soothing effect, a personal influence which extended about him and pervaded her part of the air. as she talked on and on, and he gave her attention, she felt it more and more, as if she were sitting, not merely in his presence but within the circle of his being. it was as if, with her eyes shut, she could have entered his company and felt its atmosphere like entering a room. she had not been able to see any way of getting the immediate future into her own hands. whenever she thought of bringing the story to an end, her mind confronted her with the question, what next? something certainly would be next. with all her talking, she confined herself to the details of that one day's experience. it seemed capable of indefinite expansion; there would never be any end unless she made it. having supported herself in conversational flight so long, she began to feel that anything was better than suspense. she must do something. with this in mind she ceased and looked out into the night. the stars, a vast audience, had all taken their places. she leaned forward and began removing the dishes from her napkins. [illustration: the stars, a vast audience, had all taken their places] "it is time for me to be going," she said. he sat up straight--as suddenly erect as if he had been caught sleeping in the saddle. "going! going where?" "i'm going--on my way." "why, town is seventeen miles from here!" "oh, i can walk if--if i only knew the way." "and hear the coyotes? and no light!" getting his small heels directly under him, he rose to six feet and looked directly down on her. it was as if he had ascended to the top of his stature to get a full view of such a proposition. "pshaw!" he said. "stay right here. i 'll fix you up all right." without pausing for further parley, or even looking to her for assent, he turned and went into the shack. from the inside of this sleeping-place there came sounds of energetic house-cleaning: pieces of property came tumbling out of the door--an old saddle-blanket, a yellow slicker, a pair of boots, a tin bucket. finally a branding-iron bounded back from the heap and fell rattling on the door-sill; then there was a sound of wiping and dusting out. janet sat silent, her hands in her lap. in a little while he came crawling backwards out of the door and brushed the accumulated dirt off the door-sill with a light blue shirt. he went in again, and after a moment appeared with the red blanket, which he shook so that it made loud reports on the air and then carried to the fire for inspection, and to find the long and short of it. "i guess there is n't any head or foot to this, is there?" he smiled dryly as if this comment pleased him; and without expecting an answer he went into the shack with it and busied himself again. "there, now!" he remarked as he came out. "you can fix up the little things to suit yourself. and if there's anything else, just let me know and i 'll do it for you." "i am very much obliged to you," she said, rising. "oh, that's all right--no trouble at all. and now, if you will just excuse me, i 'll go and finish up around the place. if you want to go to bed before i get through, you will find a candle in the top bunk. i have n't got an extra lantern." so saying he took his leave. he put three of the coyote lanterns on their poles at the corners of the pen, unwrapped the red cloth from the fourth and used it to light his way over to the shed. he came back, wrapped the red around it again, and hoisted it to its place at the top of the pole. a watchful ram _baaed_ awesomely as it rose. janet's shoe had been hurting her unmercifully. she had not been able to compose herself in any way without in some degree sitting on her foot; and it had kept up a throbbing pain. as she stood up, it seemed to reach new heights of aching and burning. she decided that she had better take possession of the shack at once; so she got the candle and lit it at the fire. the first thing she did upon entering was to remove her shoes. the relief was a luxury. the door had no means of locking; the wooden latch lifted from the outside. having latched it, she sat down on the edge of the bunk. her shack! but after a little this inward exclamation began to take the form of a question. suddenly she rose and looked at the top bunk. the blue blanket was still there. she was very tired. after sitting a while in thought, she put the corner of the red blanket over her feet and lay down, letting the candle burn. she was sleepy as well as tired; but she kept her eyes upon the door. it was really his place, not hers. and that made it all so different--after all. of all our protectors, there is none whose rumorous presence is more potent than the spirit of the threshold. his speech is a whisper, and before his airy finger even the desperado quails. thus doors are stronger than they seem, and a house, if there is no other need of it, is an excellent formality. the accusing spirit stands aside only for the owner. janet kept her eyes half open, watching that ancient mark between mine and thine. chapter iv janet, opening her eyes upon daylight, sat up drowsily and looked about. how long she had been sleeping she had not the least idea. her windowless chamber, all shot through with sunlight, presented a surprising array of cracks, and the slanting beams told her that the sun was well up. her watch had stopped. in the absence of toilet conveniences she arranged her hair as best she could; and having adjusted her skirt-band and smoothed out the wrinkles, she put her hand to the latch. her attention was caught by certain sunlit inscriptions on the pine siding--verses signed by the pencil of pete harding, paducah, kentucky. mr. harding showed that he had a large repertoire of ribald rhyme. and he had chosen this bright spot whereon to immortalize his name. she opened the door and went out. mr. brown was nowhere to be seen. the flock, all eyes, turned in a body and stared at her. presently she went to look for him. he was not in the storm-shed, nor anywhere down the slope, nor in the gully. she walked slowly round the shack and scanned the prairie in all directions. the face of nature was quite innocent of his presence. the dog, too, was gone. as she came back to her starting place, the sheep again regarded her in pale-eyed expectation. a ewe emitted her one doleful note; another gave hers, sadly. the fire had been burning quite a while; it had made a good bed of coals on which the kettle was steaming briskly. she put on the coffee and prepared breakfast; and as he still continued to be absent, she sat down and ate alone. then she put up a lunch and stowed it in the pocket of her slicker. its weight had diminished considerably from what it was the day before, and as it did not now have to be done up in the form of a bundle it could be carried in a more convenient way. she folded the slicker lengthwise and threw it across her shoulder. he had pointed out to her the direction in which the road lay at its nearest point. she walked up and down restlessly. after much indecision and aimless casting about, she turned suddenly toward her own quarter of the horizon and set forth on her journey. but having proceeded a fair distance she slackened her pace and came to a stop; and again she strolled up and down, looking occasionally in the direction of the knoll. finally, she returned to it and resumed her meditations, less impatient. after a long time, or so it seemed to her, she looked up and saw him coming. he carried a rope, the long noose of which he was making smaller to fit the coil on his arm. as he reached the shack he threw down the coil and lifted his hat. "good-morning, miss janet"--he used the southern form of address--"are you all ready to leave us?" "yes; i thought i ought to get as early a start as possible. i made the coffee right away. i did not know but you might be back in a little while." "oh, i had breakfast long ago. i went out to see if i could get your horse for you. but i did n't catch sight of him. i hunted for him longer than i realized. it is quite a distance for you to walk, and i thought we might fix up some way for you to ride." "that was very kind of you, mr. brown. i shall be quite able to walk. it was only necessary for me to be shown the direction." "the road is over that way," he said, indicating its position with his arm. "keep in that direction a while and you will strike a wagon-trail. then follow that and it will bring you right out on the road. after you get to the road, you will find a house about a mile to the right. that is, if you intend to go that way." "i am from merrill, mr. brown. i am on my way to the county-seat. for the past week i have been teaching school a few miles from merrill. it is the little white schoolhouse near crystal spring." "a teacher!" he exclaimed. "i can hardly claim to be a teacher," she answered. "the girl who has that school was called home by the death of her brother. i have only been substituting. i am on my way to belleview to take a teacher's examination." as janet offered this conscientious information, steve brown looked in vain for any allusion to her secretiveness of the night before. in her bearing there was not the least vestige of arts and airs, nor any little intimation of mutual understanding; she simply looked up with wide-open eyes and told it to him. this honesty, quite as if she owed it, gave steve a new experience in life; and he gazed into eyes that charmed him by the clarity of their look. "you are going to the court-house to get a certificate!" he remarked. "i do not belong here in texas," she said, continuing her story. "i am from ohio. i am stopping with the dwights, down at merrill. but for the past week i have been stopping at a farmer's in order to be nearer the school." "will you be going back to ohio, possibly?" "it might be that i shall go back. but it all depends. i may get a school if i pass." she stepped forward to take leave of him. but just at that moment he thrust both hands deep into his pockets and bent his gaze intently upon the ground, his brows knit together. she waited. "miss janet," he said, looking up suddenly, "i would be interested in knowing whether you pass." "well," she said, "i suppose i might easily let you know." "my address is thornton, box . i get my mail every day--excepting the last few days, of course;--but i will get it again promptly as soon as i am out of this fix i am in. i don't suppose--" "why, are you in some sort of trouble?" she asked, interrupting him. "not very serious. i need a herder. i really ought to have two or three for a while now. i don't suppose, miss janet, there is any _doubt_ that you will pass?" "i think," she said, a playful light now touching her features, "it is quite possible for me not to pass. i suppose i could have passed easily enough four years ago. but after i got out of the academy, i went to live with my aunt; and women, you know, don't keep up their interest in algebra and things. this winter when aunt mary died, in toledo, i came down here." she stepped forward again and extended her hand. he had been seeing more and more of beauty as he gazed into her eyes. the truth was in them deeper than words. they were large gray eyes, gentle and quiet and soft as dawn; and they had that fulfilling influence which spread peace upon the waters of his soul. "good-bye, mr. brown. i am very much obliged to you." "well--good-bye, miss janet. be sure and let me know." she turned at once and proceeded on her way. with her attention straight ahead, but without any landmark to go by, she went resolutely forward, and when finally she turned to look back she saw him standing just as she had left him. he did not seem to have moved. again she put forward, widening the distance in imagination; and the next time she turned to view her work, the shack was sinking behind a billow of land. she stood now and gazed back at the flat, flowered expanse; then she turned her back upon it for the last time. one does not look long upon the gay curtain after it has closed upon the scene. "i would be interested in knowing whether you pass." the morning had shed new light upon her situation; and this shed a light upon morning. and now that she could view her adventure in the light of its outcome, she went back to the moment of their meeting, and did so, recalling what next he said or did. she lived it all over again; this time more understandingly. meantime the prairie accommodated her with its silence. it was the same sameness as on the day before; but not to her. with her eyes fixed upon infinity she went buoyantly forward; for this time she was not lost. the sun, already high when she arose, was blazing somewhere in the regions above, and the strong light, flaring in her face and shining on the broad reaches ahead, was very trying to her eyes. after peering against it ineffectually for a while she took off the three-cornered hat and proceeded to undo her work of the day before, removing the pins and letting down the rim. the wearing of a man's hat was one of those things which she herself would "never have thought of." but just at a time when she had been having experience with the tribulations of a big leghorn on horseback, she saw a woman with a man's hat turned up at the side; and the next day she had procured one like it, which she turned up in the same manner with a breastpin. and the leghorn, unsuited to trials of wind and weather, was left at home. the woman--raymond her name was--was passing the school on horseback, and she stopped in to get a drink. janet noticed the hat more particularly because of its contrast with the woman's hair, which was light like her own; although, as she observed to herself, of quite a different shade. as it was almost noon she stopped for lunch, and janet found her very good company if not quite to her fancy. she smelled horribly of perfume. with the brim shading her eyes, janet could now look forward with a degree of comfort. presently she was brought to a stop by a small stream. it was a mere brook--probably the water from a single spring such as the one which issued from the knoll; but at this point it spread out and took the form of a wide patch of marsh grass. farther down it gathered its laggard waters together and became a brook again. janet, keeping clear of the bog, went down here intending to jump across. finding it too wide for her, she followed it along, its varying width promising to let her pass. she skirted round other patches of marsh grass and black boggy places only to find it too wide again. at last she removed her shoes and stockings and waded it. for some time she had been ignoring the troubles of her left foot, the instep of which felt as if some one had been heaping coals of fire on it. it was such a relief to step out of the hot grip of leather into the well-fitting water that she loitered a while in the current; then it occurred to her that here was the place to stop for dinner. with her slicker spread out on the bank she sat down and had lunch, holding her feet in the water while she ate. being done she sat a while longer, and when the sun had dried her feet she put on the shoes again, lacing them carefully with particular regard to the ailing instep. then she folded the slicker. as she straightened up and turned to go, she beheld a texas steer of the longhorn variety only a short distance away. he had been grazing toward her, and as she arose he threw up his head. at sight of him--he seemed to be all horns--she turned and made straightway for the other side of the stream. she splashed through it as fast as she could go; and being back where she came from, she turned upstream and ran. she kept on till she came to a particularly wide piece of marsh grass. here, with a good bog between herself and the appalling pair of horns, she came to a stop. her shoes were now heavy with mud and water. janet can hardly be called a coward for acting as she did. a texas longhorn of the old school was enough to move anybody,--better calculated to do so than either the elk or deer. consider the stag raising his antlers in the forest aisle. held to the spot by this display of headgear you contemplate it in all its branches,--main-beam, brow-tine, bes-tine, royal and surroyal,--they are all beautifully named. to run is only second thought. no particular horn seems aimed at you. between so many there may be room for escape. but think of the texas steer! to right and left of him is one long tapering tine. each of them, naked as a tusk, has a peculiar twist which suggests that it is perfectly scientific. immediately you are impressed with the idea of running. he is a pitchfork on four legs. and so is his wife. with other beasts of horn and antler, it is only the male who is thus favored; he has them to fight out his differences over the ladies; and also, no doubt, to make a grand impression. but mrs. longhorn has them as well as he and is quite able to take care of herself. and so, meeting either of them in their native state, you are inclined to regard the horizon as one vast bull-ring. janet was not at all cowardly when she arose and went. having reached a safer place, she turned her attention to the stream again; and as she was now confronted by the bog, she had to find a crossing somewhere else. naturally she did not turn her steps downstream again. the steer had grown small in the distance by the time she came to a place where the black bottom looked safe. she stepped in and got to the other side without difficulty. for quite a while now, janet's journey might best be described by saying that she walked. the scenery was grass. evidently she had missed the road. still, though the fence was not yet in sight, she did not give up hope; a wire fence does not become visible at a very great distance. her wet shoes were very annoying. the imprisoned water inwardly sucked and squirted at every step, and made queer sounds. unable to endure it longer she sat down and took them off, and while they were draining, upside down, she removed the stockings and wrung them out. although she did not get them thoroughly dry, the walking was somewhat natural again at least. her shadow became long and stretched out indefinitely beside her. the sun came down from above and appeared in its own form; then quickly it sank. she kept steadily on. she knew it could not be far now to the fence; and once she was on the road she would feel safer. but while she walked the gray of evening came on; then somewhere in the distance a coyote barked. her courage began to depart, as the dusk deepened; it seemed to her as if all the loneliness in the world had come home to roost. it was no use to watch for the fence now; it would apprise her of its presence when she came to it. regardless of the possibility of running into its iron barbs, she walked faster; at times she ran. a star came out faintly. it was night. the swish-swish of her feet in the grass, the rustle of her skirts, became prominent sounds. she missed the company of her watch; she wound it up and got it to ticking; anything to ward off the solitude. the thought of camping out she did not like to entertain; but thoughts are unavoidable. once she stood quite still to make a little trial of it, but her pause was not long; she soon got her feet to going again. she missed the sound of trees, the breezes playing upon them. if there had only been something,--she knew not what,--it would have seemed more world-like. there was an absence of everything familiar. to stop and rest was now out of the question. it were better to walk and keep thinking of the road. that would be human ground. so she thought of the road and tried to keep her mind flowing in its channel. how far might it be now? how long? in the midst of this suspense she sighted a light ahead--a camp-fire. it was somewhat to the left of her present course. steadily it drew nearer, straight ahead--her footsteps had bent toward it. when she was beginning to distinguish the play of the flames, it sank from sight; but presently it appeared again, more plainly. now a lantern was moving about behind a pair of legs. she could see just the legs, scissors-like, cutting off the light at each step. the lantern stopped and burned steadily; then another appeared. then another. the open side of a shed became visible, a block of deeper darkness which made the night seem lighter. janet, scarce knowing her intentions, kept going towards it. the lantern which first stopped now turned red and began ascending. it was a coyote lantern. it was going up to the top of its pole. a sheep _baaed_ with the suddenness of a bagpipe. janet halted. she had now gone dangerously near. the fire invited her to come; but many things warned her away. what to do she did not know. to her dismay, the problem very quickly took itself out of her hands. the dog, alive to his duty, came out at her with alarming threats. a short distance from her he circled around her to make his attack from the rear, as scotch dogs wisely do. janet screamed and ran forward, though not so willingly as a sheep. as the dog desisted, in obedience to a sharp command from his master, she halted again. one of the lanterns was suddenly lifted, and being held up to give a wider light it shone full on the face of the man. it was the countenance of mr. stephen brown. "goodness gracious!" said janet. chapter v rumor worketh in a thousand ways her wonders to perform. on the day of janet's runaway, tuck reedy, of thornton, rode in at the southeast gate and struck out in the direction of certain water-holes, his mission being to look over some b.u.j. cattle which had recently been branded, and see whether their burns had "peeled" properly. in a good many cases he found that the blow-flies had worked havoc, so that, working single-handed, he had a great deal to do; and by the time he had thrown a number of lusty calves and treated their sides with his bottle of maggot medicine, he had pretty well worn-out the day. being done, he turned his attention to a cow which had become deeply involved in a boggy water-hole. he threw the rope over her horns and pulled with his pony this way and that, but without success. finally, when the sun was going down on failure, he resolved to kill or cure. he gave the rope another turn round the horn of his saddle and started up at imminent risk to her neck. her legs were rooted in the tough muck as if they were the fangs of a colossal tooth, but tuck pulled it; and having now rounded out an honest day's work, his fancy turned toward the fire of the sheep-herding pete harding. pete was a congenial spirit, even if he was not much of a horseman, and he had a pack of cards with which he passed much time, trying to beat himself at solitaire. tuck did not know that pete harding was not at present in charge of the sheep. he eventually made the discovery by the light of steve's fire; and he made it at remarkably long range. like others whose vision has been trained on far-off cattle, he was very long-sighted; his eye could reach out and read the half-obliterated brand on a distant cow--a faculty which saves a horse many steps, especially on a ranch where the cattle do not all belong to one owner. tuck, being one of this kind, was as yet afar off when he saw that there were two persons at the fire. closer approach making the fact vividly plain, he pulled rein and came to a stop. sure enough, it was a woman! she was sitting there eating supper! the extraordinary spectacle quite balked his comprehension. having taken in all visible details and circumstances, he very considerately turned his horse and made himself "scarce." on the following day, while everybody was waiting for the mail to be distributed, tuck was loitering up and down past the various groups on thornton's principal thoroughfare. coming finally to where the subject of horse was being discussed, he joined himself to this multitude of counselors; and finding hank bullen among those present, he related his experience of the night before. while the two speculated and conjectured, others became included in the conversation, a process which requires a story to be several times repeated. "did you say this was yesterday?" asked ed curtis, who had just caught the drift of it. "last night," said tuck. "you say she wore a white collar and cuffs and a black felt hat?" "no; i did n't see what sort of a hat she had. she did n't have any hat on. i said she had on a dark dress with white around the wrists and a wide white collar turned down." "i passed that girl on the road yesterday. she was going out that way. she rode a sorrel with one stocking behind and a star." "why!" exclaimed reedy, "that must 'a' been the horse i seen out on the grass. he was a short-coupled sorrel with a stocking on his near hind leg, and he had a star. i thought to myself that he looked corn-fed." "that's hers. she wore a man's hat. it was turned up on one side with a big breastpin. i noticed it wasn't any eight-dollar hat; she had to fix it that way to stiffen the brim in front. it was a black hat." "she must be intending to make a stay to turn him loose like that," remarked bill whallen. further discussion yielding nothing but these same facts, the talk came round to horse-lore again. a while later, whallen, having called for his mail and received none, stepped out of the post-office and ran his eye along the row of horses at the hitching-rack. at the end of the row was an extremely starved-looking animal; and he was being stoutly defended by his owner, al todd, against the aspersions of the drug clerk. "all that horse needs," said al todd, "is a little something to eat. what do you expect of a horse that is just out of the poor-house? there's a real horse. look at his framework. look at them legs. look at how he's ribbed up." whallen examined the horse's bones and teeth; then he stepped back and took a general all-over view. "what do you think of it?" asked the drug clerk. "is he for sale?" inquired whallen, before answering. "no, he ain't for sale," answered todd. "this fellow thinks he ain't a nice horse." "well," said whallen, "a man can easy enough put meat on a horse. but he can't put the bones in him." "nor the git-ap," added todd. "does he know anything?" asked whallen. "that's just what he does," answered todd. "i threw a steer with him yesterday and he held it while i made a tie. a steer can't get any slack rope on him. he surprised me." "who had him?" inquired whallen. "don't know. i bought him up at the county-seat. he was one of them uncalled-for kind--like that suit of clothes they sold me up in chicago. and steve brown says to me, 'i should say they were uncalled for, entirely uncalled for.' they can't fool me on horses, though." "say!" said whallen; "ed curtis got in from belleview yesterday. when he was coming along the road he met a girl on a sorrel. and last night tuck reedy--" and whallen went on to tell about the strange case of steve brown and the woman. "was he sure that was steve brown?" the drug clerk questioned. "reedy could n't say it was brown for certain; he did n't get a right good view of his face. he said it looked like him. but he could see the woman plain." "why, sure that was brown," said the owner of the horse. "i saw pete harding when i was up at the county-seat; and he came along with me to see them auction off the bunch of strays. this horse was one of them; that's why he's so thin. i asked harding who had his job now, and he told me nobody had it because brown was running the sheep himself." "how did the woman come to be out there?" "there was n't any woman out there when pete left. i know pete. brown came out there to see how things were doing, and while he was there pete remarked that sheep-life was getting pretty monotonous. so brown told him to go away a while and give his mind a change. pete did n't say anything about a woman." "i guess mr. reedy did n't see very plain," remarked the drug clerk. "see plain!" said todd in disgust. "you don't listen plain." "then harding did n't quit on his own hook?" queried whallen. "he did n't quit at all. he's going back in a few days if he gets through being drunk. he told me he had to get through before the lambs was born. he did n't know about any woman." "humph! brown went off by himself and did herding like that before. he acts queer lately. he don't say much." "that's what pete said. me and him trailed round belleview all morning, and i got him to go along and bid in this horse for me. i saw he was a good horse, but i did n't know he was rope-wise. look at his backbone. look at how he's coupled up." the drug clerk, having affected horse wisdom and miscarried, now stepped forward and began feeling the distance between the horse's rump and floating ribs, a move evidently intended to show his knowledge of this last technical term. "what's all that for!" inquired todd, with a touch of surprise. "ain't them bones plain enough to see? i guess you think he is one of them nice fat horses that you have got to feel." "that's right, al," remarked whallen. "buy a horse like that and you see what you 're getting. what's the use feeling when the package is open?" the drug clerk, thus suddenly put out of countenance by the very bones he had been flouting, stepped back and held his peace; and presently, under cover of whallen's going, he took his own departure. al, now that he had vanquished his opponent and made him seek the intrenchment of his counter, cast his eye about and searched the length of main street, one side and then the other. he expected to get sight of some one of the crew that had brought the cattle into the loading-pens; but they had totally disappeared. after looking into a few likely places, and finding that he had guessed wrong, he paused on a street corner to give the matter deeper thought. "come on, al," said toot wilson, hastening past. "where at?" "up to the saddle-maker's. they 're in there. he is making a fine one. did you see it?" "no." "it's for young chase. it's great work." in john diefenbach's workroom was a numerous company of saddle admirers, sitting and lounging about in the seductive odor of new-mown leather. the saddler, happily busied among his patterns and punches and embossing-tools, turned at times and peered over the rims of his spectacles in evident satisfaction. the heavy stock saddle, its quantities of leather all richly beflowered, was mounted on a trestle beside him. it was so near completion that the long saddle-strings now hung down in pairs all round, and these thongs, being of lighter-colored leather, and sprouting out of the hearts of embossed primroses, looked quite as if they were the natural new growth of that spring--in fact the whole flourishing affair might have been expected to put on a few more layers of leather out of its own powers of luxuriance. but there was nothing superfluous about it. "what do you think of it, al?" asked one of the company. todd looked it over, the broad hair girths fore and aft, the big cinch rings and strong stirrup straps. the stirrups were missing. his eye sought the hooks and pegs over the workbench. "do _them_ things go on it?" he asked, pointing an accusing finger. hanging on the wall was a pair of mexican _tapaderas_--deep hooded stirrups with a great superfluity of leather extending below as if they were wings for the feet. "oh! no, no, no," said the saddler, turning hastily and holding up his hand as if to quell this mental disturbance before it had gone too far. "these go on it--these." he held out a pair of plain wooden hoops. todd's countenance rearranged itself at once. "she's a jim-dandy," said todd. with this verdict rendered, he seated himself on a chair which had a nail-keg for legs and gave his attention to the principal speaker as he resumed his account of a roping-match. the story was rather long, showing how it was that the best man did n't win. in the ensuing silence todd found his opportunity to speak. "i just heard something," he said. "steve brown is herding sheep." "that's nothing," said the story-teller. "he done that a couple of times before." "and they say there is a woman out there with him," added todd. "a woman! what woman?" "i don't know. tuck reedy rode past and saw them sitting by the fire. ed curtis saw her too." "whose sheep's he herdin'?" asked big tom brodie. "i don't know anything about the sheep. he's out there tending them. and she's out there with him." "i know what he's doing with them," said harry lee. "he's administrating them." "what have they got?" inquired big tom. "who's got what?" "what is it that's ailin' them? i say, what have they _got_?" repeated tom assertively, being a little in liquor. "they have n't got anything. i said he is administrating them. when a man dies, the court chooses somebody that's reliable to settle up what he leaves. and this other fellow sees that everything is tended to and done on the square. they were john clarkson's sheep, and they belong to his little boy. he is administrating them." "huh!" grunted tom, whose untutored mind now needed a rest. "but how about this woman?" asked frank sloan. "she's turned her horse out to grass; and she's out there with him. just him and her. all alone." "pshaw!" said harry lee. "they ain't alone. how could tuck reedy tell she was alone just by the light of the fire? there might have been somebody in the shack. or behind it." "and maybe the horse had just pulled up his stake-rope," said another. "or maybe the horse had hobbles on," added another. "_did n't i tell you ed curtis saw the same woman?_" said todd, now growing assertive. "and she was going out there alone. and if there was anybody else around would n't they be eating supper with them? and if a horse was dragging a stake-rope would n't tuck reedy know it?" to make the matter unquestionable he now started at the very beginning and told it all, going into details and pointing out how one witness corroborated another. "you say she wore a felt hat? and was light-haired?" "yes. it was black. it was turned up at the side." "hell! i know who that is!" exclaimed sloan. "why, that's a woman that was up here at preston. said she was an actress. she came along with a fellow and started a saloon over on the other side of the tracks near the loading-pen. after a while the women folks got to talking about the place and making objections; so then the rent was raised. i heard just the other day that she left town on a horse and was looking around the country. she fastened the side of it up with a big pin." "a big breastpin," said al todd. "that's her." here was a sufficient subject. recollection failed to bring up a parallel. it was something new in sheep-herding. "well," said sloan, finally, "a man's liable to end almost anywhere if he takes it into his head to herd sheep. they can raise all of them they want, but i 'll stick to cattle; 'specially in spring. one thing about a cow or a mare is that you don't ever have to teach her the mamma business." "some sheep," remarked todd, "ain't got natural human affections. when one of that kind has a lamb you've got to mix in and get her to adopt it. and half the time it's twins. and maybe she's willin' to take one and won't have the other. i would n't have the patience." "nor me, either," said harry lee. "i have a brother that tried it one time. and after he got through with that band of sheep, it would have taken solomon to straighten out the family troubles. one thousand of them. some had twins and some did n't have any, and the bunch was full of robber lambs." "what's robber lambs?" asked diefenbach, who had now turned his back on the workbench. "that's a lamb that has n't got any mother in particular. maybe his own mother died or disowned him. and the other sheep all know their own lambs and won't have anything to do with him. you see, a sheep is mighty particular; no admittance unless he 's the right one, according to smell. and maybe she won't take one anyway. then the lamb is up against trouble; he keeps going round trying to get dinner everywhere. if he 's a robber lamb, he finds out that if he comes up and takes his dinner from behind she can't smell him and don't know the difference. what a sheep don't know don't hurt her. that's where a lot of trouble comes in." "what hurt does that do?" inquired the philosophic diefenbach. "has n't a lamb got to have some milk?" "sure. but that sheep has got a lamb of her own; and pretty likely she has twins, and it's all she can do to keep them. so this lamb that's onto the game comes and robs them." "you see, it's like this," put in sloan. "suppose you have a thousand sheep; and over here is a lot of lambs playing around. you see, a sheep and a lamb don't always go together like a cow and a calf. sheep are awful monotonous, and i guess the lambs know it. so they go off in a bunch and have a good time. and when one of them gets hungry he lets a bleat out of him and starts for the bunch of sheep. they are all tuned up to a different sound; so are the sheep. and the lamb and the sheep know each other by sound. well, the sheep will hear that and she'll let out her sound and get an answer back, and that way he 'll find her in the bunch. maybe they meet halfway; then she smells him and it is all right. well, we have a thousand sheep all grazing together; and off here is a bunch of lambs with a lot of robbers among them, all playing and skipping around and having a hell of a time. well, a robber lamb gets hungry all of a sudden, so he skips off and takes the first sheep that comes handy. he takes what ain't his. and maybe it's twins. after a while little johnny and mary come home and then _they 're_ up against it." "and if you let things go like that," added lee, "one sheep won't have any lamb or any milk and another will be feeding two twins and a robber. you can't raise sheep that way." "but what is a man going to do about _that_? how can _he_ help it?" pursued diefenbach. "why," said lee, "he 's got to keep track of them when they 're being born and see that every sheep takes her lamb and gets to liking it. whenever there's one that don't want a lamb he's got to tend to her." "_donnerwetter!_" exclaimed diefenbach, reverting momentarily to his native tongue. he picked up a beading-punch and turned to his own line of industry. from sheep they got back to horses again,--conversation usually travels in a circle,--and being now in their native element they continued in one stay, discussing ways and means "to wind and turn a fiery pegasus, and witch the world with noble horsemanship." the story of the woman had reached this state, circumstantial and complete, when, by divers methods, it got out to the more aristocratic circles of claxton road. chapter vi there was not a stone, it is safe to say, within half a day's walk of claxton road. prairie country of the black-waxy variety is noticeably bereft of this usual feature of life, the lazy southern ocean which formerly brooded over these parts having deposited black, rich muck till it covered everything post-hole deep. and so if a man had wanted a stone to throw he would have had to walk several miles to find one, by which time, of course, his anger would have cooled off. originally there had been one here and there, but these solitary specimens, being such a novelty, and standing out so plainly on the flat scene, had been picked up by farmer or cowboy and taken home. thus each of the several stones in those parts was engaged in holding open the barn door or the ranch gate, or was established in the back yard to crack pecan nuts on, much to the improvement of flatirons. if a man had stolen one and used it openly, he would sooner or later have been found out. but why do we speak of stones? shortly after supper, mrs. arthur wright--kitty they still called her--came out of the front gate whistling, and going to the middle of the road, there being no sidewalk that far out from town, she turned to the left and set out for the chautauqua meeting at captain chase's. claxton road, coming in from the county-seat, changed its name a mile or so out of thornton and became claxton road. the wright residence may be said to have been located just where the capital r began. at this point the barb wire of the prairie thoroughfare gave way, on the left-hand side, to the white fences of suburban estates with big front yards and windmills and stables; and on the right there came, at the same time, an unfenced vacancy, or "free grass," which, though it had a private owner somewhere, might be called a common. the estates along claxton road faced this big common, looking across it toward the cottages which marked the edge of town on the other side, and there was nothing to obstruct the view except a time-blackened frame house which, for some reason, had posted itself right in the middle of this spacious prospect. these places along claxton road were the homes of cattle and sheep-men who owned vast ranches in adjacent counties. they had thus herded themselves together, largely, if not entirely, on account of woman and her institutions. as the wright place was the farthest out in this row of suburban estates, mrs. wright was frequently the first to start to a chautauqua or other social affair; indeed, had it not been that she made a practice of hurrying up the others as she went along, she would usually have been the first to arrive. a short walk brought her to harmon's, and here bringing to a hurried conclusion the wedding march from "lohengrin,"--an excellent tune to march by,--she changed her flutelike notes for a well-known piercing trill. at the second shrill summons mrs. harmon came to the door. "just a minute, kitty--i 'm coming." "don't forget your specimen," called mrs. wright. mrs. harmon, after a somewhat protracted minute, came out with nothing on her arm but a book. "i 've just been too busy for anything," she explained. "you know i had the dressmaker two days--i thought i 'd take the opportunity while george was away at the ranch. and, besides," she added, after a short pause, "i did n't think of it." "that's right, statia. always tell the truth, even as an afterthought." "my! but you 're coming out bright this evening," responded mrs. harmon. "i hope we can depend upon the others," mused kitty. mrs. dix and mrs. norton came out of their respective homes empty-handed except for books. so also mrs. plympton and her mother. "well, i just don't care," said mrs. norton. "how in the world could i get a stone? i have been having the awfulest time with our windmill. the thingumajig that is supposed to turn it off has got broken or something and it keeps pumping water all over where i don't want it to. if i had an artificial pond like the harmons i would know what to do with so much water. i wonder when jonas hicks will get back?" "i wonder!" echoed mrs. dix. "i was depending upon him. mr. dix said he expected him back in a day or two. if it had n't been for that he would n't have taken fred along; for you know i can't put a saddle on major myself. jonas will probably be back to-day or to-morrow he said." "i am su-u-u-ure," said little grandma plympton, in her sweet and feeble tremolo,--"i am su-u-u-ure that if we had all asked mr. hicks to get us a stone he would most willingly have done so. mr. hicks would do anything for a lady." grandma plympton--what there was left of her after seventy-four years of time's attrition--had a way of speaking which made it easy enough to believe that she had, in her day, been a beautiful singer. as her message to the world was usually one of promise and reassurance, she had the gift of dwelling with songlike sweetness on those words in which the music lay. she was altogether lovable and quaint. on fine days she would still go forth alone, bearing her mother-of-pearl card-case, and she would leave her card here or there as naturally as a flower drops a petal; for despite her years she had by no means turned traitor to society. nor had society so much as thought of leaving her out. in her, indeed, the fine flower of aristocracy was still in bloom, and delicately fragrant. the party, suiting their pace to hers, went more slowly after passing plymptons', whereupon grandma, finding herself thus accommodated, gave over what efforts she had been making and went more slowly still; and so, when they came to the brown place, which faced the middle of the common, they were moving at a most deliberate rate. as they arrived opposite the small gate, they all, as if by simultaneous thought, stopped at once. the object of their sudden interest was a rockery in the front yard. this work, a pile of smooth boulders about three feet in height, and as yet only partially covered with young vines, was the only scenic rival to the artificial pond in the harmons' front yard. steve brown built it to please his mother, picking up a boulder here and there in the course of his travels and getting it home by balancing it on the horn of his saddle. during the last weeks of her illness, when her wandering mind went back to the hills of her girlhood, her imagination played continually around this mimic mountain of steve's, and as it seemed to be the one joy of her prairie-spent life, he would carry her out on the porch in good weather and prop her up so that she could sit and look at it. jonas hicks, becoming interested, took a hand in the work; he kept on making contributions as long as the resources of the country held out. here was one reason that there was not a sole stone remaining to be discovered. "if we only had a few of them!" suggested mrs. norton. "yes--but he might not like it," said the younger mrs. plympton. "but we would just borrow them, you know," explained mrs. norton. "and anyway, how are we going to get along without them? here we have arranged for the professor to come and tell us about them; and we all promised to bring a specimen. it will seem strange for not one of us to have a rock." "oh, i don't think it would do any harm for us to borrow a few stones," said kitty wright. "i don't see anything so awful about it." there came a pause of indecision. mrs. harmon--she was the dignified daniel webster of the circle, and just the opposite of the small and sprightly mrs. wright--was yet to be heard from. "really," she said, "we ought not to agree to do things and then not do them. we should have done it or else found somebody like jonas hicks to do it for us. what's everybody's business is nobody's business." "and what's nobody's business is everybody's business," added mrs. wright. "good!" exclaimed mrs. norton. "where did you hear that, kitty?" "i just heard myself say it. i did it with my little hatchet." "sort of a double-edged axiom," observed mrs. harmon. "i am su-u-u-ure," chimed grandma plympton, "that if mr. brown were here, and knew the circumstances, he would most wi-i-i-llingly offer to assist us. of course, we should never take--what does not belong to us, without the owner's permission, but i am qui-i-i-i-ite sure that if we were to take them and put them back just where we got them, mr. brown would quite approve of it." "mother has a very high opinion of stephen brown," said mrs. plympton. "mr. brown is quite a gentleman, indeed," said grandma. this advice, coming from so white a priestess, and in words that lent so musical and sweet a sanction, removed the last mote of conjecture from the air. mrs. wright, as usual, was the first to take action. every set of women, probably, has its recognized clown, she who is just too cute and killing. and those who do not like her say she is tiresome and "silly." mrs. wright, in keeping with the character, went through the gate with exaggerated show of dissolute abandon. "come on, girls," she said, breaking into the rockery. "i do hope i 'll get one with feldspar in it, or something nice and interesting." mrs. norton, having been the one to make the suggestion, now followed her own advice; mrs. dix, taking example from mrs. norton, came next; thus the motion was carried. and pretty soon the caravan moved forward, heavily laden with food for thought. the next two houses in the line of march were those of mrs. jephson, and mrs. osgood and her sister hannah--she was quite usually spoken of as mrs. osgood's sister; but the two latter had already gone. "what do you think?" said mrs. jephson. "i just got word that oliver would n't be home to-night, and he is probably gone for several days. and captain chase, too. the captain had to go to san antonio on business, and oliver went along." "the captain, too! not a man left in the neighborhood!" said mrs. harmon. "except uncle israel," added mrs. wright. uncle israel was the captain's aged darky. a shortage of men was nothing new to the ladies of this community. rather, being a cattle-raising country, it was a thing to be expected at any time in spring or fall; and when claxton road did enumerate its full quota of husbands, fathers, and brothers, many of them were liable to be absent from chautauqua. always with good excuse, however. one would be getting ready for a trip to the ranch; another would have to stay at home to instruct his foreman; another would have to sit up with a costly bull that was going through the rigors of acclimation; and on more than one occasion it was the very man who was being depended upon to tell them all about civil war or civil government who would have to be excused by his wife for some such reason, upon which there would be a chatter of regret and the meeting would fall into a conference upon matters in general. while the gentlemen would "expatiate and confer" with one another as to what breeding would produce the most wrinkles on a sheep's back (thus giving the greatest wool-bearing surface), the ladies would devise new wrinkles to make use of it. and usually the ones who produced the raw material would be entirely through with their plans while yet the consumers were settling fine points with regard to the finished product. in this matter of higher culture, the true bent of masculine nature was likely to betray itself in absence. but the present scarcity of man may be said to have been somewhat above the average. for some distance the ladies went forward without saying a word. a spell of utter silence had fallen upon the party. then mrs. wright spoke. "statia." "yes." "do you remember what we studied about gravity?" "why, certainly. every certain number of feet a thing falls it goes twice as fast." "well, i have made a discovery just as good as sir isaac newton's. every foot you carry a rock it gets twice as heavy." some one among them dropped her burden; instantly they all let go. the boulders struck the road with almost as simultaneous a thump as when the drill-sergeant calls out "ground arms." "oh! i 'm nearly dead," said mrs. norton. "so 'm i," gasped mrs. dix, sinking down on the roadside grass. "o-h-h-h!" gasped mrs. plympton. the next minute or two was devoted to breathing. "why did n't you _say_ you were nearly dead?" demanded mrs. harmon, when she had somewhat recovered. "why did n't _you_ say something?" replied mrs. dix. "why did n't we all say something?" inquired mrs. norton. "i did n't know the rest of you were as tired as me." mrs. wright, despite she was the smallest of the number, was evidently the hardiest; she had calmly turned her stone over and sat down upon it. "it's a wonder you don't all blame it on me," she said philosophically. "well, whatever i learn about this stone i 'll never forget," remarked mrs. dix. "never as long as i live. let's take them back." "yes; but it's farther to go back than it is to keep on," said mrs. harmon. "and we certainly can't leave them here. we are responsible for them." a very evident state of affairs. being begun it had to be done. "come on, stone, we're going," said mrs. wright, taking hers up again. the others followed. again the rock-laden ladies went manfully onward. when next they reached the limit of endurance, chase's big red gate was so near that they hung on with final determination, and when they were almost to it they rushed forward to get inside the goal before the rocks fell. they all succeeded except mrs. plympton, who lost hers in the middle of the road and then finished its journey by rolling it. "i was never so glad in my life before that i am not a horse," she said. virginia chase had come down the path to shut the gate, which some one among the earlier arrivals had not properly fastened, and she was the bearer of bad news. the professor, after all, would not be able to be present. he had one of his sick headaches again. "and who else do you think is sick?" added virginia. "aberdeen boy. i wish jonas hicks was back, because uncle israel does not know very much, really, about stock. i am so worried. he held his head out so funny, i thought maybe it was something the matter with the ring in his nose. but it wasn't. he is just sick." "i am su-u-u-ure," said grandma plympton, "that if jonas hicks were back he could give him something that would relieve him." when the specimen-hunters had recovered from their labors they accompanied virginia up the driveway, explaining, as they went, the whole case of the abducted rockery. in the chase's big sitting-room the earlier contingent was drawn together in conversation as close as chairs would permit, and as the belated ones entered they were greeted with exclamations in which there was an extra touch of the joy of life, it being in the very nature of gossip to seek new openings and exploit itself in mystery and surprise. "hurry up, statia; get your things off and come here---- wait, mrs. osgood; don't tell anymore till kitty is here---- sh-h-h-h; be careful what you say before grandma plympton." the newcomers, returning from the bedroom divested of their wraps, began at once to relate their own experiences in geology, but they had no more than stated the bare facts when they became aware that there was a more absorbing topic in the air. somebody had told mrs. osgood's hired man, who had told his wife, who told mrs. osgood--but for that matter there was no great secret about it. "have n't you heard a thing about it, mrs. plympton--re-e-eally?" this was asked by one who had herself heard of it only a few minutes before. "why, no; what is it?" "you tell it, mrs. osgood. you can tell it best." then followed the story. in the course of its travels it had not suffered any loss of detail; it had rather prospered. each person to whom it had been intrusted had sent it on its way richer and better; it became longer and truer. and so mrs. osgood told it, ably assisted by those who had just heard it and kept seeing new phases of it. finally the case was rested. "what do you think of it, mrs. plympton? you live nearest to him." "i must say that i am surprised. but then, i don't know whether a person ought to be surprised at anything like that." "and to think of it!" said mrs. dix. "away out there where nobody is likely to come along once in two weeks. what an idea!" "well," remarked mrs. harmon, who had been taking time, and might therefore be supposed to have given the matter her weightier consideration, "it is, in fact, just what one might expect. he has always been so steady and sober-minded. it is n't as if he had had a greater variety of interests and more social inclination and--wilder, you know. he was entirely devoted to his mother; and he has n't the resources and flexibility to make so complete a change easily, and naturally." "he has been acting quite strangely since his mother died," interpolated mrs. dix. "he cooks and eats and sleeps out on that kitchen porch, and does n't seem to take any pleasure in being invited out, or spending an evening at other people's houses." "that's it," said mrs. harmon. "in his position, and especially his _dis_position, a man is just ripe for the first adventuress that comes along. in considering such things we ought to make allowances." "i suppose so," remarked mrs. norton. "but to think of it being _her_. the low calculating thing!" grandma plympton was out in the dining-room with virginia sipping a glass of wine, and having admired an embroidered sideboard scarf, a recent work of virginia's, she was now engaged in examining other things as they came forth from a lower drawer, which creations interested her so much that virginia went still deeper into the family treasury and finally brought forth a sampler and counterpane which her own grandmother had wrought. the examination of these things, together with reminiscence of her own early achievements, kept grandma plympton so long that by the time she reached the sitting-room the absorbing topic had subsided from its first exclamatory stage and was being treated in a more allusive and general way. grandma soon gathered from the allusions that stephen brown had at last met the lady of his choice. "indeed!" she exclaimed. "now i am sure he will settle down and make an excellent husband. not that there was anything bad about him, not at all; but he was rather wild when he was a boy, and gave his mother a great deal of worriment--especially, i mean, when he took his cattle up into the territory. and in those days she could hardly keep him from joining the rangers. but now he is older and more sensible and has had responsibilities; and i am su-u-u-ure it will be a fine match for any young lady." it is hardly in human nature to shatter such illusions. thereafter, the subject of the evening was more guardedly treated, pending her departure. grandma plympton, valiant as she was in the social cause, could seldom stay up for more than the first few numbers of a dance, and she could never, of late, remain to the end of an evening party. before a great while she signified her readiness to go, and after her usual courtly leave-taking she went away on the arm of her daughter-in-law. "do you know," said mrs. dix, "i hardly felt like saying anything before her. she is so old and innocent." "is n't she!" said mrs. osgood. virginia, much exercised over the health of aberdeen boy, had gone out to the barn to have a talk with uncle israel, who, with a peacock fly-fan moving majestically back and forth, was sitting up with eighteen hundred pounds of sick bull. aberdeen boy, a recent importation, and one of the noblest of those who were to refine the wild-eyed longhorns of texas, was having no more trouble with acclimation than his predecessors; he manifested his illness simply by lying down and looking more innocent than usual, and heaving big sighs which wrung virginia's heart. in the sitting-room the study of steve brown went forward prosperously again, but especially now in regard to the woman in the case. if the one they named was anywhere within range of psychic influence, it is safe to say her left ear burned that evening. and when, finally, it was all over, the guests, departing, paused at the gate and turned their thoughts to the rocks there assembled. "what will we do? i would n't carry mine for anything," said mrs. norton. "why, leave them here. we 'll have jonas hicks come and get them," said mrs. harmon. chapter vii janet caught her breath and looked about her. it was the same shack on a hillock, the same gully and sheep-pen and dog, likewise the same mr. brown. under the circumstances, it was natural for her to try to say something, and she did the best she could. when he had gathered, from her rather unexplanatory remarks, just what had happened, the first thought that crossed his mind was that he had eaten the last piece of fruit-cake which she left behind. if there is anything embarrassing to a man, it is to have company come unexpectedly when there is not a thing fit to eat in the house. he had finished up the cake a short while before, together with the remainder of crackers and a dill pickle. "i have eaten up all the good stuff," he explained. "do you like beans?" "yes, indeed," answered janet, who was truly hungry. he lifted the lid of the box and produced a small iron pot of boiled beans. they were beans of the mexican variety, a kind which look nice and brown because they are that color before you cook them. when he had put some bacon into the frying-pan and given it time to heat, he scraped the beans in and stirred them up. he had made bread for supper by the usual method of baking soft dough in a skillet with the lid on; there was left of this a wedge big enough to split the stoutest appetite; and when he had placed this where it would warm up, he turned his attention to the coffee-pot. "oh, you do not need to do that. i can make my own coffee," offered janet. "you had better let me get supper," he answered. "you 're tired." several times during the day she had pondered upon his high-handed way of taking charge of her affairs. submitting to this further dictation, she spread her slicker before her place at table, as indicated by the bare spot of ground, and sat down. mr. brown took a bucket and disappeared in the gully. evidently he had gone to get fresh water. janet now put her feet out farther toward the fire. when he returned, he made some remarks upon the weather and put on the coffee; then he turned about and went into the shack. as on the previous evening, everything came tumbling pell-mell out of the door. janet, having nothing else to do, looked up and gave her attention to a big sixteen-carat star. shep, the dog, came and planted himself at the very edge of the bare spot. without giving her so much as a glance, he sat there primly and looked straight off the end of his nose at the sugar bowl in the middle. not till this moment had janet realized what a beautiful, intelligent-looking collie dog mr. brown had. his brown-buff coat, of just the right shade, seemed slightly veiled with black; his full out-arching front was pure white. "shep," said janet. his fine eyebrow rose as he gave her a look--a very short one, however. when she addressed him again she could see his interest rising a degree; finally he came and sat down beside her. encouraged by this show of friendship, janet put her hand on him. when her host had got through with the more violent exercises of practical courtesy,--which sounded somewhat like trouble in a barroom,--he came out bearing a jug marked molasses; this he set down before her, and then, finding the coffee done, he proceeded to serve up the viands. "that is n't much of a supper," he remarked, sitting down opposite. "it tastes very good," said janet. it hardly did seem the right thing to set before such a guest. but janet, as good as her word, steadily made way with the _frijole_ beans and did full justice to the hot bread; and soon, inspirited by his powerful coffee, she continued the story of how she was frightened by the steer and baffled by the brook, and how she was foolish enough to think she was going straight forward all the time. he had a way, whenever she came to a pause, of enticing her to go on. sometimes he primed the conversation by repeating the last thing she had said; again, an apt word or two summed up the whole spirit of the matter encouragingly; or there would be just a composed waiting for her to resume. not that he had any difficulty in finding something to say. he evidently liked to hear her talk, and so he rather deferred to her. whether it was that she now had a feeling of this, or that there was something in the influence of his presence, his voice and manner, which removed all constraint, janet had not the least difficulty in talking. she told him how the teacher at the school "boarded round," what an unnecessary number of classes miss porter had for so small a number of pupils,--although it was difficult to remedy the matter by "setting back" certain children, because their proud mothers would object to such a leveling,--and how the blodgett children, four of them, all came to school on the back of one buckskin pony, the youngest having to hold on tight to keep from slipping off at the tail. "buckskin,"; it seemed, had won quite a place in janet's affections, although he was the worst behaved horse that came to school. he used to graze in the yard till school was out,--the other horses being staked out on the prairie,--and he had become so familiar that he would sometimes go so far as to put his head in at the window in hope of being fed. and janet could not see, considering that texas horses were used to being staked out, what reason there had been for building a fence around a school that stood out on open prairie, unless it was, perchance, that the texans thought they ought to have a corral to herd the children in. while she was thus going on, there came from the corral a bleat in the awe-inspiring tone of _fa_, and this was followed by a succession of bleats which reminded her of nothing so much as a child getting its hands on the keyboard of an organ. steve, as if suddenly admonished of something, rose to his feet, excused himself, and disappeared in the direction of the corral. with the place before her temporarily vacant, and unable to see out of her circle of light except by looking upward, janet instinctively lifted her eyes to the scene above. thousands and thousands of stars made the night big and beautiful. they were so clear and so lively, as if they took joy in their shining. a mild southern breeze gave the night motion and perfume. janet took a deep breath which was hardly a sigh; it was rather a big drink of air and the final suspiration of all her worries. as she took in more deeply the constellated heavens and the free fresh spirit of the roaming air, she began to feel that she would rather like to be a sheep-herder herself. from looking at so many, her mind turned back to her selected star, the "captain jewel" of them all, and her eye sought its whereabouts again. in others she could see tremulous tinges of red and blue; but this seemed to be the pure spirit of light. unconsciously she had put her arm around the dog, as if to hold on to this earth, and shep, whose affection had been steadily growing, nudged up closer and gave her a sense of warm companionship. when steve returned from his mysterious errand, he looked at her a moment and then fetched an armful of wood. the fire, to serve better the purposes of cooking, had been allowed to burn down to coals, and the smouldering embers now gave so little light that the face and figure of his guest were losing themselves in obscurity. as this state of affairs hardly suited him, he piled on the dry mesquite brush and fanned it with his hat into leaping flames. when janet was lit up to his satisfaction, he put down the hat and resumed his earthen lounge. as he stretched himself out before her, lithe-limbed and big-chested, the atmosphere of that firelit place seemed filled with a sense of safety. his deliberate manner of speech, quite different from the slowness of a drawl, was the natural voice of that big starry world so generous of time. occasionally he made a remark which ought to have been flattery, but which, coming from him, was so quiet and true that one might float on it to topics of unknown depth. he was so evidently interested in everything she said, and his attention was so single-minded and sincere, that janet was soon chatting again upon the subject of her recent circumnavigation of the prairie, which, as she now saw it in the light of the present, seemed more and more a sea of flowers--as the past always does. indeed, the whole recent course of her experience was such a novelty--the trip to texas was her first real adventure in the world--that she saw things with the new vision of a traveler; and the present situation, turning out so happily, put the cap-sheaf on that dream which is truly life. janet, recently delivered from all danger, and yet sitting right in the middle of her adventures, had a double advantage; she was living in the present as well as the past, breathing the sweetness of the air, looking up at the big flock of stars and seeing in them all nothing less than the divine shepherding. "but, of all the wonderful things i ever saw," she exclaimed. "why, it was worth walking all day to see it." "what was it?" he asked. "sensitive plants. and when i came they all lowered their branches to their sides like--well, slowly, like this--" she held her right arm out straight and lowered it slowly and steadily to her side. and a most graceful and shapely arm it was. "i would n't have been so much surprised," she continued, "to just see leaves fold together, like clover. you know clover leaves all shut up at night and go to sleep. but these plants were quite large and they actually _moved_. and of course the leaves shut together, too; they were long like little tender locust leaves, and each one folded itself right in the middle." she placed her hands edge to edge and closed them together to show him. "but, you know, while they were doing that, they were folding back against their long stems, and the stems were folding back against the branches, and the straight branches were all folding downwards against the main stalk. what i mean is that everything worked together, like this--" janet extended both arms with her fingers widely spread; then, as her arms gradually lowered, her fingers closed together. "it was something like that," she added, "but not exactly; it was ten times as much--something like the ribs of an umbrella going down all around, with stems and rows of locust leaves all along them closing together. and every little leaf was like a rabbit laying back its ears." "yes; i know what you mean," said steve. "they are a kind of mimosa. some people call them that." "well," said janet, "i sat and watched one. i just touched it with a hatpin and it did that. a person would almost think it had intelligence. and after a while--when it thought i was gone, i suppose--it began to open its leaves and stems and put its arms out again." she raised her arms slowly, spreading her fingers. steve was a most attentive listener and spectator. he rather wished there were other plants to imitate. "but that wasn't really what i started to tell about," she went on. "as i was walking along i came to a--well, you might say a whole _crowd_ of them. there was quite a growth like a patch of ferns. i had n't got to them yet, or even taken particular notice of them,--i must have been ten or twelve feet away,--when they all began to close up. i stopped perfectly still; and pretty soon the green leaves were gone and the place was all changed. now, how do you suppose those plants ever _knew_ i was coming? i would give anything to know how such things can be." "how much would you give?" inquired steve. for a moment, the spirit of this question hung in the balance. he felt the spell of her inquiring eyes as her hand dropped idly on shep's back. "why--do you know?" she asked doubtfully. "i think i do," he answered. "you see, that kind of plants have very long roots; they run away out. you stepped on their toes." "well, i declare," said janet, enthusiastic again. "and what a way of saying it." "it looks simple enough, does n't it?" he remarked. "and i never thought of it. why, it was enough to make a person superstitious. isn't nature wonderful!" as she took up the coffee, too long neglected, steve got an imaginary taste of it, and finding it neither hot nor cold, he arose and took her cup. having refilled it and offered her more of the beans, which to his surprise and gratification she accepted, he made another trip to the corral. in a little while he returned and promptly took his place. "you were saying this morning," he began, "that you were going to the county-seat. were you sure that you could find your way all alone?" "oh, yes," answered janet. "i was there before. you see, i took an examination a couple of months ago, when i first came." "oh; that's it. what sort of a certificate did that little--examiner--give you?" there was something in the sound of this question which conveyed to her that he regarded her standing in an examination largely as a matter of luck. janet felt an instant approval of this philosophy of the matter. "third-class," she answered. "well, that's better than fourth-class," he remarked. "oh--but there _is_ no fourth-class," exclaimed janet. her eyes widened as she waited to hear what his reply to this might be. he entirely ignored the matter. "that examiner is a kind of a cocky little rooster, is n't he?" he commented. "did you ever have any trouble with him?" inquired janet. "me!" he was evidently surprised that she should think so. "why, no. i don't know him. i just saw him a few times. he is a sort of a dried-up little party. you know i get up to the court-house once in a while to have a brand registered or something like that." "he _is_ rather important--for his size," mused janet. "and very particular about his looks." "they have a man teacher at a school near my house," remarked steve, in no seeming connection. "i suppose he has a first-class certificate," said janet. "until lately it was easy to get a school in texas. but the country school boards rate you by your certificate more and more. this time i am going to get first-class, or at least second. if i don't i 'll have to go back north." "what kind of questions does that fellow ask when he examines people?" steve inquired. "well--for instance--'give the source and course of the orizaba.'" "huh!" remarked steve. "to tell the truth," said janet, "i would n't have got even third-class if it had n't been for the way i pulled through in geography." "are you good in geography?" "hardly. i just passed. he asked a great many questions about climate, and every time he asked that i wrote that it was salubrious. you see," she explained, with a sly little air, "in the children's geographies the climate of a country is nearly always salubrious. so i took a chance on every country. that brought my average up." "good for you," exclaimed steve. "nothing like beating them at their own game. won't you have some more coffee?" "no, thank you," said janet. "two cups is really more than i ought to drink at night." having risen in expectation of getting the coffee, he gave the fire another armful of mesquite. "you take a good deal of notice of flowers, don't you!" he said, sitting down again. "a person could hardly help it in texas. lilies and trumpet-flowers and lobelias and asters and dahlias and wax-plants--they all grow wild here. and in spring it is just wonderful. there is scarcely room for grass." "texas won't be like that long, if it keeps on." "no?" "these plants all grow from seed. and when the land is heavily grazed they don't have a chance to plant themselves. they become--what do you call it--extinguished?" "extinct," prompted janet. "on my ranch, about twelve miles from here, it is n't what it used to be in springtime. we've got it pretty heavily stocked; we 're working it over into shorthorn. this place that we're on now has a fence all around it; the country is becoming crowded. and they are breaking farms all the time, too. it won't last long." "won't that be a shame!" said janet. "people spoil everything, don't they? i am glad i came down here just to see the texas prairie in spring. even if i do have to go back again. just look at that!" she reached out, and, grasping a handful, she bent the still rooted bouquet so that the light shone full upon its countenance. "how did you come to know the names of them all?" he asked. "why, we grow them in gardens up north. i know their names in that way. they are old acquaintances." "oh, that's it. well, it is n't hard to grow them here. us fellows out on the prairie make all our flower-beds round." janet paused. "oh!" she exclaimed. "you mean the _horizon_. is n't that an idea! i am going to tell that to ruth ferguson the first time i write." steve made no reply. janet gave her attention for a space to the beans. then, suddenly reminded, she put down her fork. "mr. brown! if you were teaching just ten or twelve children, would n't it strike you as rather foolish to call the roll every morning? you know there were only fourteen pupils in the school where i was substituting; so of course i got acquainted with them all right away. well, one morning when the weather was bad there were only six present; so when the hour came i just began to teach. but a little boy who is in the first reader held up his hand and told me i had to call the roll first. i could hardly keep from smiling. as if i could n't see the six that were there. then i made inquiry and i found that miss porter called the roll when there were only four there. does n't it seem funny for a person to go through a formality like that just because--well, just because?" "that's because you 've got sense," said steve. she dropped her eyes and ate. when this remark had had time to pass over, janet's sociable spirit, never self-conscious for long, began to unfold its leaves and raise its stems and lift up its branches again. in this juncture, the dog profited. shep had been giving her such unremitting attention, his wistful brown eyes following each forkful as it went from plate to mouth, that janet's consciousness of her selfish situation kept bearing in upon her till now every bean carried reproach with it. thinking to convince him that it was only beans, and not desirable, she put him down a forkful from her own too generous allowance. she was surprised at the suddenness with which it disappeared. beans were his staff of life also, a discovery which made her smile. and as one good turn deserves another--at least shep seemed to think so--she was expected to do it again; thus supper, with his assistance, was soon over. and now janet, with nothing whatever to do, sat face to face with her situation. "have you got a dishpan?" she inquired. "oh, you don't need to mind that. i have n't got anything you are used to. i just take them down to the stream and swab them off with a bunch of dry grass." "oh!" remarked janet. she felt, however, that it would be easier to be doing something. she gathered things together and made general unrest among the dishes. mr. brown, instead of being stirred by this operation of cleaning up, stretched himself out more contentedly, moved up a little closer, and took still fuller possession of her presence; and as he did so he poked up the fire and struck her a light on a new topic. but this time the train of conversation did not catch. janet was thinking. and like most of us she could not talk well while thinking. mr. brown seemed quite contented, then, with silence and peace. evidently he too was thinking. after a little time he sat up and reached into an inside pocket. he drew forth a large leather wallet which, upon being opened, disclosed two compartments well filled with bank-notes and documentary-looking papers. there was another compartment with a flap on it and a separate fastening, opening which he took out an object wrapped in tissue paper. having carefully unwrapped it, he folded the paper again and placed it where it would not blow away. "that's my mother's picture," he said, handing it over formally to his guest. janet received it rather vaguely and sat looking at it, saying nothing. "she died just last winter," he added, in his usual deliberate way. "oh, did she?" what else to say, she hardly knew. turning it to the light she studied it more closely and noted each resemblance to his own features, looking up at him in an impersonal sort of way and with a soberness of countenance which was a reflection of his own entirely serious mood. "she had a very kind-looking face," she said. to this there was no reply. janet, about to hand it back, was momentarily in doubt as to how long a proper respect should prompt her to retain it; this, however, settled itself when she observed that he had ready to offer her a long newspaper clipping. "i had the editor put some of that in myself," he said, reaching the long ribbon of paper over to her. it was an obituary of mrs. stephen p. brown, who passed to "the realms beyond" on the eighteenth of november. with this janet found no difficulty. "but," he added suddenly as it occurred to him, "i did n't have him print that part at the bottom. he just put that in himself. i mean that stuff about me." janet at once turned her attention to the bottom. he sat silently with the wallet in hand, his countenance a shade more solemn than usual. in the midst of this waiting there came a wail from the corral and he left suddenly upon one of his unexplained errands, this time without excusing himself. he got back while janet was still engaged upon the article. when she looked up he was standing beside the fire looking down at her. there was something new in his face, a look half lugubrious, semi-humorous, apologetic. "we've got another lamb," he announced. "oh!--another little lamb?" she exclaimed. "there are only three so far. three lambs and two mothers. it has n't really got started yet, but i 'm afraid it will. my herder ought to have got back yesterday and brought help along." "then you have a great deal to do?" queried janet. "yes; after it once gets really started. then it never rains but it pours. i have been hoping it would hold off a day or two longer; but you can't tell exactly." he put more wood on the fire and took his place again. "you mustn't let me interfere with your work," she suggested. "oh, that is n't it at all. i was just explaining. i'll get through somehow; it won't amount to anything." with a characteristic sweep of his arm he waved the whole subject aside as if he did not want to have it interfere with her reading of the newspaper clipping. janet had dropped it absent-mindedly in her lap; she now took it up again. besides the tribute to mrs. brown's character, who was not a native of texas but had come to the state in her girlhood from west virginia, there was a considerable memoir of stephen brown, senior, relating his activities and adventures as a texas patriot. he had "crossed the great divide" six years before. finally, there was a paragraph of sympathy with the only son, "one of our most valued citizens." "your father knew houston, did n't he?" remarked janet. "oh, yes; he knew a lot about him." "how interesting that must have been. your father was a pioneer, was n't he?" "oh, no. you 've got to go back pretty far in history to be a texas pioneer. he was just a texan." she gave another perusal to certain parts and offered it back. "there is another piece on the other side," he said. she turned it over and found a shorter clipping carefully pasted to the back. this also she read. an artistic monument mr. stephen brown yesterday received from austin the monument which he had made for the grave of his mother, mrs. stephen p. brown, who died last november. it is a most beautiful work of art and was much admired by those who saw it. it is a massive block of imported gray granite skillfully carved with clusters of grapes in high relief. mr. brown ordered it from the leading marble-cutters in austin. the reverse side of the stone was cut after his own design, and consists simply of a lone star. on the base is the word mother. many of our citizens were enabled to inspect it as it went up main street, mr. jonas hicks stopping his three yoke of oxen to accommodate those who wished to look it over. it will be by far the most beautiful work of art in our local cemetery. janet folded up the clipping carefully, according to the creases in it, and passed it back. when he had returned it to its compartment in the wallet,--an operation which was somewhat delayed by his difficulties with the tissue paper around the picture,--she questioned him further about the comanche indians and his father's adventures in the war with mexico. now the conversational situation was turned about, janet becoming the interlocutor; and as she had the advantage of so copious a source of information, there was no end to her questioning. and as the stream of talk broadened, it began to include his own experiences and adventures, most interesting of which, to janet, was a short account of the fight of a sheriff's posse with the train-robbers intrenched near the post oaks, a most determined encounter in which the sheriff was among those killed while steve brown received only a blunted thumb, for the clumsy appearance of which his story was rather an apology. "that's all i got," he said. "and it works as good as ever." to demonstrate which fact, he held it up and made it work. now that she had material by which to lead the conversation, she found him not nearly so taciturn as she had at first thought him. indeed, he talked on without remembering to fix the fire. and when it had nearly faded out he continued on, unconscious of the fact that the real janet was no longer in sight except as she was partially lit by the moon which now hove upon the scene. "but i am keeping you up too late," she said, suddenly rising. steve gathered himself together and stood up, hat in hand. "oh, i am used to all hours," he said. "anyway, i 've got to keep an eye on things." "and i am sorry to put you out," she added. "don't mention it. i put myself out. i could let you have a lantern if you need it. there 's a piece of candle and some matches on the top bunk. it's down near the foot." "oh, that will be all the light i need. good-night." "good-night, miss janet,"--saluting her by raising his hat to the side of his head and then bringing it down with a large sweep. when the door had closed upon her and the shack showed light at all its cracks, he turned and went to the corral, closely followed by shep. he took a look at the two sheep, each confined in one of the narrow little prison-pens along with the lamb whose property it was. the lambs were evidently full of milk; they were sleeping. seeing that all was well, he got an old discarded saddle out of the shed, threw it on his shoulder, and descended to the general level to find himself a buffalo-wallow. having picked one out he kicked a longhorn skull away from its vicinity, threw the saddle down at its edge, and lined the grassy interior with his slicker. then he sat down in the middle, crushing the slicker deep into the spring bloom. here he sat a while. it is not easy for the human mind, constituted as it is, to pick out a bed on a prairie. it offers such a large field of choice, and no grounds for preference. steve had long ago formed the habit of sleeping in a wallow, always to be found within a short distance, and, when found, possessing the advantage of being a "place." such a place--a bowl-like depression--was made by the bison who pawed away the tough sward to get at mother earth, and then wore it deep and circular as he tried to roll on his unwieldy hump. steve brown, anywhere between texas and montana, had often slept in the "same old place," though in a different locality, and for some reason he was never so content--either because it was really a "place," or because he liked a bed that sagged in the middle, or because (which is more likely) he found a certain atmosphere of sleep in one of these places so long ago dedicated to rest and comfort. which hollow is all that is now left of the buffalo--a vacancy. he sat down in the middle, his attention fixed upon the shack, which now existed as a sort of picture of itself drawn in lines of light. when suddenly it was erased from the night, he pressed the slicker down and lay back with his head in the saddle. he folded his hands and waited, looking straight up. in a little while the world receded and he was only conscious of sundry stars. thus, looking heaven in the eye, his hands clasped across his chest, steve brown sunk to sleep, his head and feet sticking up at the ends. again eternity held sway; and only shep was left. shep turned round and round till he had trampled a place among the flowers, his usual way of winding up the day. he lay down in it with his chin on his paws. but soon he got up and went at it again. he milled round and round, with several pauses as if he were not quite satisfied; then he dropped down with a decisiveness that settled the matter for good. with his chin on the brink of the wallow he went to sleep; or rather he went as near asleep as a dog with such great responsibilities allows himself to do. chapter viii the sheep, having several times broken the silence of the dawn, were growing impatient to be let out. now that the sun had appeared and the bars were not let down, there was unanimous expression of opinion in the corral, an old wether stamping his foot sternly and leading the chorus with a doleful note. it was very much as if he had put the question and they had all voted "aye." what was the matter with the man who was running this part of the world? steve brown was otherwise engaged. he was sitting on the ground behind the storm-shed with a lamb in his lap. he was trying to remove from its back the pelt of another lamb which had been neatly fitted on over its own. this was a trick on the mother of the dead lamb intended to get her to care for the present lamb, who was an orphan; which is to say, the extra pelt was the lamb's meal-ticket, and she had given him several meals on the evidence of smell. the deception had worked all the more readily because she had not had time to become familiar with her own lamb's voice; and now that a sort of vocal relationship had been established between the two, things promised to go along naturally, with probably a little insistence upon the lamb's part. in accordance with the usual practice in such cases, the pelt, with head and legs removed, had been fastened on by means of holes cut at the corners, through which the live one's legs were inserted, care being taken to leave on the tail, which part, when a lamb is nursing, is most convenient to smell. as steve brown was not used to this sort of tailoring, he had made rather too close a fit of it, and now that it was dried up at the edges and slightly shrunk, he found difficulty in removing it. seeing, upon further effort, that he could not get it off without risk of straining the lamb's anatomy, he laid the problem across his knees again and searched his pockets for his knife. he had felt for it, not very thoroughly, before. the knife seemed to be lost. janet, awakened by the clamor in the pen, arose from the bunk and set to work arranging her hair. rather drowsily she moved about through the rifts of sunshine which beamed from the cracks; then, as she realized what a golden day the sun was weaving, she put her eye to a crack and looked out. in her elongated picture of things there were several miles of prairie, the sun just edge-to-edge with the horizon, and any amount of blue sky above. in the sky were some birds soaring at a great height. smaller birds went skimming over the prairie,--now a golden meadowlark, then a darker scissortail snipping the air off behind it in swift flight. suddenly, and rather precipitately, there came from around the corner of the storm-shed a lamb in full action. its gait was as effective as it was erratic; it looked very much as if the legs were running away with it. from the corner of the shed it made a joyous gambol in the direction of the fire and the steaming kettle, from which point it made for the down-slope of the knoll. steve brown, whose legs were none too long for the race, came running after. a moment later the dog arrived on the scene; he made a sudden dash and performed his part in a most creditable manner, overtaking the lamb and upsetting it with a poke of his nose. the lamb, not at all disconcerted by the tumble, which was only a variation of its method of progress, came over on its knees and rose at once to go ahead; but the delay had been sufficient. steve caught up; and the next instant, the truant, feeling the ground removed from under it, hung helpless across the hand of its captor. "je-e-emima!" steve remarked. "you 're feeling awful glad this morning." janet, who could not see the end of this performance, but only that part of it which came within range of the crack, stepped back in surprise. as who would not be surprised to see a black lamb with a white head and white legs, and two tails. such being the result of her prying upon the world, she turned her attention to her toilet again and made haste to go out and see whether her eyes had deceived her. in the mean time steve, not being able to find the knife, stood with the lamb in his arms and bent the whole force of his mind upon the problem of its whereabouts. suddenly he remembered that he had last used it in front of the shack to put the pelt on the lamb. naturally, it was still there. having it again, he sat down near the fire-hole, where he could keep an eye on the kettle, placed the lamb on his lap and opened the blade. he had just got to work on one of the legs when the door opened and his guest made her appearance. he rose at once to pay his respects, the lamb in one hand and his hat in the other. "good-morning, miss janet." "good-morning, mr. brown. it is a very beautiful day, is n't it?" "first-class," he replied. "i 'm just doing a little work on this lamb. i guess you know him; he 's the one you saw when you first came." "what! the one that stepped in the sugar bowl?" "yes, that's him. he doesn't look exactly natural, does he? i had to make some changes in him. you see his mother did n't think she wanted any lamb. but another sheep had one that died and i could see she wanted a lamb, so that was an opening for this fellow. and i had to fix him up so that she 'd take him." "what a funny thing to do," said janet. "is n't it! do you wonder that sheep-herders go crazy? just wait a minute, miss janet, and i 'll have this off of him." he sat down again with the lamb in his lap. turning it over on its back he set to work on the hind legs. janet, becoming interested, stooped down beside him. she patted the infant on its high forehead. "and did n't the other sheep want to adopt him?" she asked. "oh, no. sheep don't believe in charity." "and won't even have their own sometimes! is n't that strange!" "some of them seem to be built that way, especially if it is their first one. but that sheep did n't have much milk anyway, and maybe she thought he might as well die. if it had n't been for that i would have tried to make her take him. but i saw the other sheep could do better by him." "there is really a great deal to think of, is n't there?" said janet, lending a hand to the operation by catching hold of a too active hind leg. "but i don't see how you could fool her that way. could n't she see that this lamb had a white head? and white legs? and an extra tail?" "oh, they don't go by looks," he explained. "they go by smell. and later on by voice, too. appearances don't count." "the idea! you seem to know all about them." "not much," he said. "i 'm no sheep-man." "but anyway, you do get along with them." "if they were my sheep," he answered, "and i was n't responsible for them, i would n't be so particular. especially with this one; he has been a lot of trouble. as far as money goes--he is n't worth over fifty cents--i would have let him die." "oh, no-o-o-o!" protested janet, lending further assistance with the pelt. "but after i had carried him around with me all day i got to feeling responsible for him." "a person naturally would," said janet. "and besides," he added, holding the lamb upright while she, with her more skillful fingers, removed the fore legs from the armholes of the pelt, "a fellow sort of hates to lose the first one, you know." janet, finding the lambskin left on her hands, examined it curiously, running her fingers over the soft black wool. "what shall i do with this, mr. brown?" "oh, just throw it away. but no," he added, upon second thought, "i guess you had better keep that. it would be good for you to sit on." following this suggestion she took it to her "place" on the prairie and spread it down. then, as he seemed to be waiting for her, she returned. "miss janet, i guess you 'll want to wash up. the best i can offer you is the place down below the spring. you 'll find some soap down there in a cigar-box. the bank is a little steep for you to climb down, so i guess you had better go round and get in the front way. on your way around you 'll find a towel on a bush; it is pretty clean,--i washed it last night. and you 'd better take the lambskin along to kneel on." steve carried the lamb away to its breakfast. janet took the pelt and followed his instructions, going down the slope and skirting round the base of the knoll till she came to where the stream issued forth. the little gully was hardly more than a deep grass-grown ditch made by the spring as it won its way out of the heart of the knoll; or rather it was a green hallway, overtopped with a frieze of mesquite, leading in privately to the source of the stream. janet, as she entered the house-like cosiness of this diminutive valley, felt very much as if she had just stepped in out of the universe. on a prairie there is such an insistent stare of space, so great a lack of stopping-place for the mind, that this little piece of outdoors, with the sun shining in at its eastern end, was a veritable snug-harbor in an ocean of land. as she turned and looked out of its sunny portal, she told herself that if she had to live in the shack this place would be her front yard. just below the spring was a grassy bank against which the water ran invitingly; she spread the lambskin here, rolled up her sleeves, took off her collar, and conformed to the customs of the place. the cool water was so invigorating, and there was something so intimate in the live push of the current against her hand, that she lathered her arms an unnecessary number of times and kept rinsing them off. it was a brisk little stream and so bent upon its business that she could almost feel its impatience when she obstructed it,--for which reason, probably, she interfered with it the more; and finally, being done, she made a little heap of foam in her palm and reached it down just to see the water run away with it. as she came round to the sheep-path again, she met steve, who had been standing on the side of the knoll and started down the moment he saw her. evidently he had been waiting his turn. "breakfast is all ready," he announced as he passed. "i 'll be up in a minute." by the time she reached the shack there was a great spluttering and splashing and blowing of water down below. it was mr. brown "washing up." in little more than the minute he was back again. finding her seated upon the lambskin, he took his place opposite her and passed the hot bread. "i saw you chasing that lamb this morning," she said, quite directly. "i was looking out of a crack to find what the weather was like." "did you? did you see the dog throw him?" "no; i couldn't see it all. but i saw how he had learned to use his legs. why, it does n't seem possible." "oh, that's nothing. he's an old hand now--this is his third day on earth." "yes; but is n't he unusually smart?" "oh, no. they 've got to catch on pretty quick, you know, or they could n't keep up with the procession. he's just about like the rest of them. they all learn fast." "but it hardly seems possible that such a _helpless_ little thing as he was could learn so much. why, when i first saw him he was just able to stand up." "they're animals," replied steve, spreading a thick coat of molasses on a large piece of hot bread. "it only takes them a few minutes to learn standing up?" "but they do have to learn, don't they?" "oh, yes. they don't always get it right the first time. lambs make mistakes the same as anybody else. but if they get started out right, with a good meal the first thing, and a warm sleep, they go ahead surprisingly. the trouble with them at first is that they are a little weak." "i don't suppose, then, that a lamb can get right up and follow the flock?" she queried. "oh, no. that would be expecting too much. they can toddle around pretty well in a few hours; but they could n't really travel till they've had time to grow strong." janet paused in her questioning. she spent a few moments reflecting upon the information gained thus far. "then i can't understand, mr. brown, how you can herd those sheep and take care of the lambs too. you surely can't carry them all?" "that 's just what the trouble is," he answered. "i guess that harding must be drunk. if he doesn't get back soon and bring help it's likely to get serious." "and what will you do?" "you see, miss janet," he said, laying down knife and fork for a formal statement of the difficulty, "when you 're grazing a bunch of sheep and one of them drops a lamb she stays right there with it. that is, she does if she is one of the natural kind. pretty soon the flock has gone on and she is left behind. after a while another has a lamb and she drops out and is left behind. and so on. so there ought to be somebody to take them back to the corral. but of course the lambs can't travel. they 've got to be carried." "how long do you suppose that man will take--at the farthest?" "he ought to be back now. he may come any time. if i only knew he was coming before night i would know how to manage. i would go right along and leave the wet-lambs and their mothers stringing along behind; then when he came with help he could get them in for the night. they would be all right to stay out on the prairie for a while--all except those whose mothers did n't care for them. but i would do that; and those whose mothers did n't stick to them would have to die." "oh, that would be such a shame!" janet's eyes opened wide as she contemplated this state of affairs. "and how about the ones who had mothers? would it be all right if they had to stay out on the prairie till the next day?" "no-o-o-o--it would hardly do to leave lambs scattered around on the prairie all night even if their mothers were with them. coyotes would get them." "oh, dear! don't you think, mr. brown, that that man is quite certain to get back sometime to-day?" "i don't see how he can stay away much longer. he knows mighty well he has my horse, too. he might come along any time." for a while they ate in silence. "miss janet," he said suddenly, "i don't think you had better start out alone again. when he gets back with my horse and i am free of this place, i can show you the road and see that you are all right. i would feel more satisfied that way." "well, then, couldn't i be of some assistance--if i stay?" "oh, that is n't necessary. i 'll get along somehow. i don't suppose, though, that you 'd care to sit here alone at the shack; so maybe you 'd better come along with me. and if you want to drop behind once in a while and help a lamb out, why, of course you can. you seem to be pretty handy with them." this plan was adopted. when breakfast was over he let down the bars; the sheep poured forth; shep sprang to life and barked orders right and left. the crowding multitude spread out on the prairie in grazing order, and when shep had executed certain commands necessary to get them headed in the right direction, the trio of caretakers began their slow progress through the day. shep, subject to orders, followed at steve's heels; janet walked at his right hand; thus they wandered along in the desultory manner of the sheep-herder, standing a while, sitting down a while, advancing now and then as the flock grazed farther away. "there's number one," steve remarked casually. [illustration: "there's number one," steve remarked casually] they had ascended, almost imperceptibly, one of those slow rises or folds in the prairie from which more distant objects, if there are any, come into view. janet had just been taking her bearings; ahead of them there had now come to sight the long file of trees which marked the course of comanche creek; looking back she could still see the shack, quite plainly, on its knoll. as he spoke, and pointed, her eyes followed the new direction, off to the left. a sheep had fallen out of the flock; she was now standing some distance behind. from the way she nosed in the grass without advancing, it was evident what had taken place. "well, good-bye," said janet. then, feeling suddenly that these words had too serious a sound, she added, "but i suppose i will catch up with you before long." "shall i go over with you?" "oh, no," she answered, and hurried away. "don't forget what i said about the creek," he called out after her. as she looked back he pointed first at the shack and then at the creek, bringing his arm around in a semicircle as if it were a sort of dial-hand to the prairie. "don't get lost," he added. when she nodded to show that she understood, he strode on after the sheep. they had been gaining ground steadily and had got far ahead. janet, reaching the scene of the nativity, became very much interested. the lamb was just beginning to look up and take notice; she stooped over him in rapt contemplation. his little merino back was wrinkled as fine as a frown. his little hoofs were already beginning to feel the ground under them; he was going to rise! then ensued a lamb's usual drunken contest with the laws of gravity. while he stepped on air and tried to get the hang of things, janet followed his fortunes with bated breath. when he had got his four legs firmly planted, the first thing he did was to shake himself; and he did it with such vigor that he upset himself. this was a surprise to janet if not to the lamb; he had shaken himself off his feet; everything had to be done over again. he seemed a little stultified by this turn of affairs; but though he was down the fall had not knocked any of the ambition out of him; he immediately went at it again. this time he conquered and stood right up to the bar of life, much to janet's relief. having filled himself and spent a moment looking at nothing in particular, he decided that the best thing to do was to veer around and have some more; in taking this step, however, there was some sort of error in the proceedings and he went down forward on his knees. a moment later the hind legs stumbled and fell, and he was all down; now he decided to take a rest. as the mother nosed him over and showed every sign of affection, janet began to see that her services were not needed; her presence was of no consequence whatever. there was nothing for her to do but to stroke his back and pat him on the head; having done which she rose and again went forward upon her charitable mission. the flock by this time had eaten its way into the distance. it was not so far away, however, but that she could soon have overtaken it. she walked along at a moderate pace, looking alternately to right and left for such as might fall under her care. she had not gone far when she sighted another. as this one had dropped out of the right wing of the army ahead, he was off to one side of her present course. by the time she arrived he had already succeeded in standing up; he even took a distinct step; then he shook himself like a dog just out of water. like the other lamb, he shook himself down; he hit the ground with rather more decisive a drop. when he had again mastered the difficulties, and achieved his reward, janet sat down near by and waited to see whether the two would become acquainted. this again proved to be a happy union. janet felt a little disappointed. she had expected to be of some use. now that she had proved to be a mere looker-on she began to take thought about the lamb's future. there came to her again those words--"the coyotes would get them." she rose at once. a man would carry them back to the corral; why not she? she took the lamb in her arms intending to go off a distance and see whether the mother would follow. the experiment proved unnecessary, however; the ewe not only followed but kept close at her side. accompanied thus by the mother she went back to the first halting-place where the other ewe joined them; thence she set a course straight for the shack, a lamb on each arm and a sheep at each side of her. things went much easier than she had expected. in this turn of affairs, she felt quite satisfied. although it was the first time she had ever touched a lamb or had any experience with a sheep, the work seemed perfectly natural. indeed, as she marched along between the two watchful ewes, and hugged to her breast the warm objects of their attention, it seemed to her--a very puzzling delusion--that she had done this same thing before; it was like a half-faded memory. nor did it seem natural to think of mr. brown as a stranger; it seemed that she had known him a long time ago--always. possibly this was because she felt so much at home in this sort of work. then, too, we dream dreams, and they have a way of bringing themselves to pass in some shape or other. having reached the corral she managed to let down the bars without getting the infants mixed up--a matter which had given her much concern; and now that she had them safely inside she thought it advisable to wait a while and make sure that family relations were going to be permanent, after her interference. she rested herself by sitting on the top rail of the corral; meantime she took an interested survey of the stuffed clothes of mr. pete harding under whose manly presentment the lambs enjoyed protection. mr. brown had made a very good imitation of a man by filling the herder's working-clothes with marsh grass; the figure had been made to stand up by means of a pole thrust through the fence, to the end of which mr. harding was suspended by the neck as if he had been hung in effigy. the man himself had not yet put in his appearance. janet, as she thought of him, scanned the horizon for signs of his approach. there was no indication of his coming. but still the day was not half over; possibly, she told herself, he would arrive early in the afternoon. having become satisfied that all was well, so far as the lambs were concerned, she put up the top bar and went forth again to her work. by looking back occasionally and sighting her route by means of the shack and the storm-shed, the relative positions of which she had been careful to observe when she first went out, she held her course so well that when she next came in sight of the line of trees she was at the same point as before. here she set straight out for the bend in the creek, which landmark was to guide her on the next stage of her quest. as before, she kept a sharp lookout for stranded sheep. she had not gone a great distance when another case presented itself. this time it was twins. the pair were sleeping. the mother, having licked them nicely into shape, had lain down beside them; when janet arrived she got up suddenly and stared at her in alarm. the twins had evidently been successful, so far, in all their undertakings, not the least of which is to take a rest. they were in very good condition to be carried. she took them up and arranged them comfortably, one on each arm, and soon they were on their way to safety, the anxious mother trotting first to one side of janet and then to the other. these also were added to the ones in the corral. janet did not feel so tired but that she could have turned about at once; she would have done so had it not been that it was dinner-time and she was hungry. mr. brown had taken along with him an extra large lunch which he expected her to share with him somewhere along the shaded banks of the comanche; the little plan passed momentarily through her mind as she raised the lid of the box and took out a pan of beans. there was also a piece of bread left; it tasted better than she would have expected cold hot-bread to do. luckily for the work she had taken upon herself, steve brown had planned a route for the day which any one could easily follow. he was going to graze the sheep along comanche creek, downstream, on the right-hand side; he would bring them back not very wide of the same course. this arrangement he had made entirely with a view to being quickly found in case help arrived; he had left a note behind giving instructions. as this was all very plain sailing, janet saw that she would be quite free to come and go, and she had been quick to turn this arrangement to the lambs' advantage. when she had satisfied the worst of her hunger she started out again. the consciousness that she could find him whenever she wished, and was, virtually, in touch with him all the time, made her task entirely enjoyable. this time she reached the creek and gave herself over to its guidance. comanche creek, like other prairie streams, had its line of trees which very plainly belonged to it and not to the prairie. this impression of foreignness to the region was emphasized by their extending in unbroken procession from horizon to horizon, as if they were merely crossing the plains. while the stream hurried on to its congregation of waters, the trees seemed bound for some distant forest. quite strictly they kept to the course; none of them, beech, hickory, live-oak, nor pecan, encroached beyond the right of way nor seemed ever to have been forgetful that these were the plains. it was very much as if they recognized that trees ought not to grow here. as, indeed, they ought not. the prairie is itself as much as is the ocean or forest, and it has no room to spare. space, like wood and water, must have its own exclusive regions wherein to exercise its larger and deeper spell. these were the earthly fastnesses of space; and so preëmpted. many grapevines looped along the route, some of them of ancient growth, hanging like big ropes from tree to tree; these had the appearance of keeping a still closer regard to the direction of the stream itself, their more sinuous wood flowing along in a like spirit and keeping the waters company. nowhere so artfully, perhaps, as in a prairie stream, are eye and ear addressed by the manifold activities of wood and water. to come across it in the course of a long monotonous journey is as sudden as falling in love--and very much like it. comanche creek, having such advantages of contrast and sharp comparison, was well calculated to strike the mind with the whole charm of stream and forest; and so it worked upon janet. to her right was the prairie as monotonous as duty; to her left the creek with its mirrored vistas, its rippling bends, its comfortable resting-places where sun and shade played together. inviting as it all was, however, she kept well out on the open where her business lay; only occasionally did she let her gaze wander from its set task to loiter in this more restful scene. she kept on looking for lambs. but after a while she awoke to the fact that she had been walking closer and closer when she ought to be keeping out on the prairie; instead of using it as a guide in her work she was making a companion of it. she turned at once and marched out to the scene of duty. as she got out nearer to the centre of her field of operations,--twelve hundred sheep cut a pretty wide swath,--she thought she heard the cry of a lamb. she stopped and listened. all was silence. it might have been imagination, assisted, possibly, by some rumor of the distant flock; but yet the still small voice had seemed to come from somewhere near at hand. she went forward, listening intently. presently she heard it again; then she saw him. he was so close that she could see his little red tongue as he opened his mouth and called to her. poor little lamb! there was not a sheep in sight. there was just him and the prairie. he was barely managing to stand up; she could easily see that he was on his last legs as well as his first ones. as she went to him he took a step or two as if to meet her, but his legs lacked stiffening and he fell on his nose. she ran and picked him up. as she took him in her arms he opened his mouth again and called upon his mother. which way to take him in search of milk became now a pressing problem. she thought she felt him shiver. if he was to be saved, it would not do for him to starve much longer; nature demands that if a lamb is to live he must have his first meal without delay. she paused to decide the matter, holding his passive little hoofs in her hand. to keep right on after the flock might prove the quickest way; but again it might not; it would be taking a chance. back at the corral, far though it was, the services of a mother were certain. the surest way seemed the best to her, and having decided so, she turned about at once, walking rapidly. the return trip seemed very long, and the forced pace told upon her strength. she kept it up, however, till the goal had been reached. having her orphan inside the bars she deposited him in a corner while she turned her attention to the row of little stalls or prison-pens which were built along the outside of the fence. this institution she had observed with great interest. each pen was just large enough to crowd a ewe in, being calculated to allow her no liberty in any way; they were all built so that sheep could be put into them from the inside of the corral. she opened one of them, seized upon the first lamb at hand and put it in, and when the fond mother put her nose in after it janet gave her a good push from behind and sent her in also; then she abstracted the rightful lamb and put the other in its place. having closed the opening she climbed over the fence and sat down on the prairie beside the pen where she could look in between the rails and watch developments. the lamb, probably because it had gone too long without that first drink which is the making of a lamb, did not seem able to rise. janet put her hand in between the rails and gave it a lift. once it had its legs under it, it managed for itself. to janet's great satisfaction it filled up visibly. when it was done, she let out the ewe, who hastened to find her own again, knocking down the orphan in the process of getting out. as he made no effort to rise, janet again took him in her arms. the lamb seemed dispirited and chilled. this is a condition which is quite likely to overtake a "wet-lamb" if it is neglected from the outset, in which case its little stock of vitality is not easily regained. despite the brightness of the weather there was a touch of chill in the air. janet sat down in the doorway of the shack and held the lamb in her lap, doubling her skirt up over it in order to get it warm. like any other lamb it submitted to whatever was done to it. now it lay so quietly in her lap, and looked so innocent and helpless, that she felt permanently responsible for it. especially as she did not know what else to do with it. presently she felt it growing warmer and warmer; then it went to sleep. janet was tired. she sat there watching the prairie. in the sky the same dark birds were soaring. the suspended effigy of mr. pete harding, swayed by the slightest breeze, moved its loose-hung arms and legs as if it were being visited by the drunken spirit of its owner. at intervals the solitude found expression in a sheep's automatic _baa_. the birds, which were buzzards, wheeled round and round as the time passed and brought them nothing. one of them, tired of wheeling round and round, sat on one of the posts of the corral and waited for something to happen. these were the dusky angels that carried away the lamb's body of the day before; she had seen its little white bones down at the foot of the knoll. the present watcher, a stoop-shouldered, big, rusty-black bird, was quite indifferent to human presence; he sat on his post like a usurer on his high stool, calculating and immovable. janet knew what was in his mind. she drew the lamb a little closer and tucked her skirt in around it. again she fell to contemplating the prairie--and the sky. the birds above seemed connected with the machinery of time. at unexpected moments a sheep gave voice to it all "in syllable of dolour." no, she would not really want to be a sheepherder; at least not alone. last night, or whenever steve brown was about, everything looked quite different. even now, she reflected, it was not so bad as it might be, and she did not really mind it much; it was his place; he was just over the horizon somewhere; and as long as it was his place she did not feel so lonesome. he had long ago turned the flock about; she could picture him as he followed them along, nearer and nearer. after a while he would be home. she sat holding the lamb till the sun began to redden; then it occurred to her that, under the circumstances, it was her duty to get supper. it was a welcome thought; she would see what she could do. she put the orphan at the foot of the bunk, drew the quilt over it and set to work. it had now become apparent that she was destined to spend another night at the shack; this, however, gave her no serious concern. it entered her mind only in the form of the pleasant reflection that nobody would be worried by her absence; the farmer's family would think she had gone to the county-seat and then reached her destination at merrill; the folks at merrill would think she was still at the school, all of which was very fortunate, and so she thought no more about it. she was mainly concerned with the lambs, and particularly, at the present moment, with supper. she spread down her two white napkins, which had not seen service the night before, placing them corner to corner or diamondwise on the ground; then she set the table and examined further into the resources of the provision box. while the fire was getting itself under way, she completed the effect by arranging some flowers in a cup and placing a nosegay upon the bosom of nature. before long there was a good bed of coals in the fire-hole. supper was just ready when the flock reached the knoll and began streaming up the slope into the corral; then followed steve brown escorted by three sheep. he carried four lambs, one on each arm, and two others whose heads protruded from the breast of his coat. "four more!" she exclaimed, stepping forward to meet them. "did you get all there were, mr. brown?" "i got all i saw, miss janet," he answered, casting a bright and intelligent look at the fire-hole. "and i was afraid i had lost you. you got supper, did n't you? that looks nice." steve brown's conversation was largely illumined by the light of his eye; likewise his silences, which were many. they were direct eyes which paid close attention and shot their beams straight as along the barrel of a rifle. the live interest of his look, and the slight but expressive play of his features, made up quite well for the occasional scarcity of words. "yes, everything is all ready," she said. "well, i won't keep you waiting long." when he had rid himself of the lambs he strode down the slope to the spring, and presently she heard him "washing up" with more than his usual vigor. pretty soon he came up and bore a beaming countenance to supper. janet, as she poured the coffee and passed the hot bread, gave an account of her day's work, telling first about the orphan and how she managed with him; then she took up the other lambs, consecutively. "i got four altogether," she ended. "oh, you should not have done that." "no?" there was mingled surprise and disappointment in her look; but mainly disappointment. "you could never have handled them that way--if they had been really coming fast. it would take a wagon. there is no use of your working like that." "but," she insisted, after a pause, "you could n't have carried more than those four, could you?" "no--that was just about a load." "and we got them all in, did n't we?" "oh, yes--yes. what i meant was that you ought n't to work like that. but we certainly did get them all in. and it's the only way we could have done it. as it turned out, it was just the right thing to do--all that was necessary." after a moment's silence he felt he had not said quite enough. "you did first-class," he added. "the fact is, nobody could have done better." janet recovered her cheerfulness at once. she resumed her story of the day, and then, as she got around to the subject of the lamb again, she went into the shack and brought him out. having been assured that he was looking well and was likely to recover, she sat down at her place again with the lamb in her lap. he lay there contentedly while she finished her supper. "yes," said steve in answer to another of her questions, "lambs are kind of cute. sometimes i feel bad for a lamb myself when his mother won't have anything to do with him. you ought to be out here later on, miss janet, when the lambs have all been born and are starting to get frisky. that's when the fun begins." "i have heard that lambs play together like children," she said. "oh, they do. you see they've got to learn jumping, too. and climbing--like a goat. that first lamb will soon be so lively that plain running won't be good enough for him. he 'll want to do fancy tricks." "nature teaches them to play," observed janet. "that's to give them practice and make them strong." "i should say she did," said steve, referring thus familiarly to nature. "she puts all sorts of notions into their heads." "what do they do, for instance, mr. brown?" "well, for one thing, a lamb likes to practice jumping. you see, sheep don't belong on prairies, like cattle. cattle belong on prairies the same as buffalo, but sheep don't; they belong on mountains; that's the reason the young ones are so handy with their hoofs. they like to climb and jump, but on a prairie there is n't any place to jump off of. well, maybe some day a lamb will be galloping and cavorting around, and he 'll come across a hunk of rock salt that has been all licked off smooth on top and hollowed out. he 'll take a running jump at that and land on it with all four hoofs in one spot and then he'll take a leap off the top. then, when he sees what a good circus actor he is, he will gallop right around and do it over again; and the rest of his gang will start in and follow him, because what one sheep does the rest have got to do. that way they get to running in a circle round and round and taking turns at jumping." "how perfectly funny!" exclaimed janet. "that's the way they do. they run races and play 'stump-the-leader' and 'hi-spy' and 'ring-around-the-rosy.' why, miss janet, if you were out here a little later on, you would think it was _recess_ all the time." "i wish i might be," said janet. "a lamb likes to be on the go," he continued. "sheep really ain't lively enough for a lamb, so he has to go off and have his own fun. he 'll gallop around with a troop of other lambs and won't stop except long enough to go home for dinner." "i don't see," said janet, "how a lamb can go away like that and ever find his mother again, in such a crowd. they all look alike." "that's easy enough. every sheep's voice is keyed up to a different pitch; they all sound different some way or another. and every lamb has a little voice of his own." "yes, i've noticed that. but i did n't know there was any object in it. or that they knew each other's voices." "oh, certainly they do. when a lamb gets hungry he whisks right around and runs into the flock and starts up his tune. she'll hear it and she'll start up too; and that way they'll keep signaling to each other. a lamb will run into a crowd of a thousand sheep and go right to his mother. when he has arrived, maybe she will smell him to make sure; and if he is all right, why--then it is all right." "then they don't ever go by looks, even when they're acquainted." "oh, no. they are different from people. they are not like you that know all the children by sight and don't have to call the roll. when a lamb wants to find a sheep, he just calls and she answers 'present.'" steve brown did not seem to lose sight of the fact that he was addressing his remarks to a school-teacher. while something of humor passed over his countenance at times, his attitude toward her was mainly sober and earnest. janet, all absorbed in the subject of lambs, was in quite as serious a mood. she waited for him to continue; but he was not one to keep on indefinitely without questioning, not presuming, evidently, to know how much further she might be interested. "she answers 'present,'" repeated janet. "well, then; while they are answering each other, does she go to the lamb or does the lamb go to her?" "most likely they'll go to each other, and meet halfway. you see, that's the quickest way, when a lamb is hungry he wants his dinner right off." "then they are not any trouble in that way at all, are they!" "well--it's all easy enough after they have learned each other's voices. but at first they don't know that, and it takes them a little time to get it into their minds. that's when a herder has got trouble to keep things from getting mixed up. and if she has twins she has got to learn them both by heart." "that's so--she would, would n't she!" "oh, yes. and twins learn to know each other, too. that's so they can go home to dinner together. for of course if she let one of them come alone it would n't be fair." "then sheep know that much!" "i don't know that they do. i guess it's nature that tends to that, too. but there's a lot that nature is too busy to tend to. then it's all up to the herder." "lambs are really quite dependent upon human care, then, are n't they?" "oh, yes. that is, if you want to try and save them all--like that one." he pointed to the occupant of her lap. "a lamb has got to get a meal right away, and a little sleep, and not get too chilled, or wet. then if his mother and him stick together till they know each other by voice and smell, his chances are all right. after that you could n't lose him." "how long will it be, mr. brown, before everything is running that way?" "it will start in just a few days. just as soon as we get the lamb band going." "the lamb band?" she queried. "we have some lambs there in the corral now. well, all that come to-morrow will go in with them, and in a day or two all that are strong and active will go out with their mothers and be the lamb band. all the others that have n't dropped lambs yet are called the drop band; they travel too much for lambs. sheep with lambs ought to go out together and be handled separate. well, whenever a lamb is born in the drop band, he is brought home to the corral; then when he knows things and is a little stronger he goes out with the lamb band; that way we keep advancing them right along, same as in school. first in the first reader, then in the second reader, and so on." "oh, i see," said janet, growing more deeply interested. "and it is n't very long, of course, till they have all gone through and are in one band again. the lambs are all having a high old time and managing for themselves; and then one man can handle them again. the worst of the trouble is over, and there are not so many things to do all at once." this seemed to exhaust the subject. "what are you going to do to-morrow?" she inquired. "well, if i was sure that the herder was coming, i would just take them out and let the lambs drop behind, the same as to-day. then if he brings the wagon along, as i told him to, he could get them in--that is, if there are a great many of them. there might not be many lambs come; but the trouble is that you can't tell. if i thought there were going to be a great many lambs, and he was n't coming right away, i would keep the whole bunch here and not take them out at all--that is, i would if i had feed. but i could hardly feed twelve hundred sheep on a mere chance if i had it to spare. but then, i don't think he will stay away any longer. i 'll just take them out." "really, it is quite a problem, is n't it?" "that's just what i was beginning to think," he replied. "how many lambs might there be in the next day or two, if they really started coming?" "maybe two or three hundred." "two or--!" the words died out as janet looked down in her lap and considered the one. he was resting comfortably. "two--or--three--hundred," she repeated vacantly. chapter ix g'lang there, yeoo-oo-oo, _rip_. yeoo-oo-oo, _squat_. yeoo-oo-oo ---- ---- ---- buff. _bang_. as it is difficult to make a noise in print, it might be well to explain that, of the above words, the last is supposed to sound like a revolver-shot. it is as near as we can come to the disturbance made by a texas "prairie buster" as he came down claxton road. ahead of him were ten oxen--five yoke. his far-reaching bull-whip exploded just beside rip's left ear. the next shot took squat exactly as aimed. there was a momentary scuffling of hoofs, an awful threat in the ox-driving language; then everything went on peacefully as before. the ox-driver caught the returning cracker deftly in two fingers of his right hand and settled down on his iron seat with his elbow on his knee while he took a chew of tobacco. the big tongue of his "busting" plow knocked in the ring of the wheelers' yoke; the chain clanked idly against it; a little cloud of debris--hair and dust which the cracker had bit out of the tuft between squat's horns--floated away on the breeze. all this was not done with any expectation of making them go faster. for an ox to alter his gait, except slightly to run away, would be unnatural. it was merely to convey to certain ones that they were not out to enjoy the roadside grass. and to remind the string in general that the seat of authority was still being occupied. for several days his voracious plowshare had been turning over the prairie in long ribbons of swath like the pages of a book. texas in those days was turning over a new leaf; and such outfits as this did the turning. his last job had been to put an addition on a farm for an ohio man about six miles out of town; he had turned forty more acres of tough prairie sod black side upwards and left behind him a dry dusky square in the horizon-girt green of the range. being now homeward bound, he bent his sharp gray eyes upon the road ahead. the claxton road community, a moneyed streak in the population, was only half a mile away. in the distance appeared a black man riding a broncho mule. it was colonel chase's man, uncle israel; he was coming along at an unsatisfactory pace, using his quirt regularly and remonstrating with the mule. as he drew near the head of the ox procession, the driver roared out a _wo-o-o-o_ in a tone which was intended to be understood as a general command; the powerful wheelers held back obediently and drew the chain tight in their efforts to stop; the rest of the string, after pulling them a short distance, also obeyed. "hello, uncle." "good-mawnin', mistah hicks." "how's things doing down home? anything new?" "well--no, sah. ev'ything jes' 'bout de same." "is the colonel home?" "no, sah. he's done gone to san antone." "has he shipped yet?" "yes, sah." "who went up to chicago with them?" "mistah sattlee an' john dick an' some mo'." "is steve brown at home?" "no, sah. he 's gone somewha's. an' he ain' come back. mos' all de men folks is gone away." "has miss alice got back yet?" "no, sah. she's off to de school-house in boston yet. an' it ain't leff out. she 's gwine be back dis spring." "what's cattle bringing now?" "dunno, sah. i heah dey 's done riz." "has little johnnie martin got his curls cut yet?" "no, sah. ah seed 'em on him." "what's doing in town? anything new there?" "no, sah. jes' 'bout de same as usual." uncle israel, feeling that his information had not been very abundant, scratched his head and stirred his mind up thoroughly for news. he met the demand with two pieces of information. "de railroad's done built a new loadin'-pen. an' dat high-tone bull took sick wif acclimatin'. but we 's got him restin' easy now." "the railroad's getting real extravagant, ain't it?" commented jonas, turning his attention to the oxen again. having said a few words appropriate to the occasion of starting up, he flung out his bullwhip in a flourish of aerial penmanship and drove home the aforesaid remarks with a startling report. again the bovine procession got under way. in the course of time he came to where claxton road ends and claxton road begins. it will be recalled that claxton road, hemmed in by barb wire, leads interminably past vacant stretches of prairie with occasionally a farm and farmhouse. nearing town its scene and atmosphere suddenly change. on the left are the ranchmen's home estates, with the stables and windmills and short avenues of china-berry trees leading up to comfortable porches; to the right, or facing these, is a large square of green with no roadside houses and no longer any confining fence. to any one who had come a long distance between the barb wires, this emergence upon the free, open common was very much as if he had been following a stream which, after long confinement to its course, opens out suddenly into a lake. this piece of land was not different from the prairie it had always been, except that the houses which faced it on all sides, as if it were a lake of the summer-resort variety, gave it an importance which was not its own. it was no more nor less than a square of primeval prairie whose owner, being satisfied with it, let it be as it was. surrounded on all sides by real estate and other improvements, it held its own as immovably as if texas had here taken her last stand, in hollow square, against the encroachments of civilization. it belonged to jonas hicks. in the exact middle of it was the paintless frame house which we have already mentioned. this structure is easily described. it consisted of a house with one room downstairs and one room upstairs. its boarding was of the kind that runs up and down with battening strips at the cracks. any one familiar with prairie architecture would see at once that the owner, having a house to build, had gone straightway to work and erected a herder's shack on a residential scale and put some windows in it. because of its porchlessness it seemed rather tall, as if it had grown after it was built or had stretched itself up to get a better view; and the single window in the end of the upper story gave it a watchful appearance. this watchful window, which might be said to mark its front, looked toward the residences along williston road. the cottages which faced this place on the side toward town were confined to "lots" along an unpaved street. across on claxton road town lots grew to the size of country estates and looked more commanding. but the shack house, with its twenty acres of elbow room, rather commanded them all, especially as its central position marked the common as its own grounds. being tall and upright and spare, like a texan, it had an attitude toward them like that of a pioneer drill-master; it seemed to be standing out on the drill-grounds with the other houses all marshaled up before it and toeing the social line. the place was given shape and form entirely by the other property, all of which was fenced on its own side of the highway, the owner of the twenty acres never having shut it off from the roads which passed along two sides of it. this hospitable openness was a fortunate thing for the traveling public, affording as it did a short cut to town. quite a little of the traffic that came down williston road turned out and followed the trail which led diagonally across it past the door of the house. and usually the traveler, whether horseman or driver, would speak in passing; or, more likely, stop to have a talk with jonas hicks, who, if he were at home, might be engaged in plaiting a whip or mixing batter for pancakes or taking a stitch in his clothes, the iron seat of a "prairie-busting" plow being particularly hard on the seat of a man's trousers. it was to this place that the plowman was bending his homeward way. eventually, as oxen always do, they arrived. having navigated them up to the kitchen door and brought them to a stop with a stentorian _wo_, he unhooked the wheelers, dropped the chain from each yoke, and turned them loose to graze or lie down as each pair might decide; then he went around the corner of the house and set to work making a fire in the stove. it was an outdoor stove of the locomotive variety, having two large iron wheels upon which it had traveled thousands of miles in the service of the j. w. cattle company. mr. hicks had fastened its tongue or handle to a staple in the chimney of the house, for which chimney it had no use, having a smoke-stack of its own. when the stove was belching forth smoke he turned his attention to the inside of the house. presently he came out with a pan of flour and various kitchen utensils which he placed on a bench beside the door; then he drew a bucket of water and proceeded to mix pancake batter. he had not accomplished much when he was interrupted. just when the batter was mixed to the right consistency, and the first spoonful was ready to go on, a little girl appeared. she had a pie which she bore before her with a look of great responsibility. "ma says maybe you would like to have a pie." "why, how do, susie. how 's susie getting along these days?" "real well," replied susan, holding the pie up higher. mr. hicks bent his tall texas form in the middle and took it from her. the pie had the outlines of a star in its centre by way of a vent-hole; the edges were nicely crimped. "it's a mighty good-looking pie. what does that stand for, susie?" he asked, holding the pie up so that she could view its face and placing his finger upon its centre. "that stands for texas," answered susan promptly. mr. hicks put the pie on the bench and sat down beside it with his elbows on his knees. something like a smile betrayed itself in the lean muscles of his jaw and showed somehow around his large aggressive chin. "how does it come that you did n't go to school to-day, susie?" he pointed to the white frame school-house which occupied a corner of his place. "'cause," answered susan, by way of complete explanation. "that's a mighty good reason. if i had an excuse like that i would n't go to school myself. how's your ma? is she well?" "yes, sir. only she had a kinda headache this morning, and i wiped the dishes." "you did? how did you know so quick that i was back? were you watching for me so that you could bring over the pie?" "oh!" exclaimed susan, "we heard you coming. we could hear you saying bad words when you was 'way up the road." a change suddenly came over the spirit of mr. hicks's physiognomy. he sat stroking his wide-spreading moustache. jonas hicks had a self-made moustache which seemed to have borrowed its style from the horns of a texas steer. it might be said that, for the moment, he looked serious; but you could never tell from his face exactly what his emotions were. it was against his principles to be caught laughing, and yet his solemnity was somewhat radiant despite him. suddenly he rose and went into the house. in a little while he reappeared carrying a milk-pan filled with comb-honey. it was white honey which the bees had deposited in his useless chimney; the sirup filled the pan almost to its edge, while the middle was piled high with oozing chunks of comb. he placed it on the bench beside him. the eyes of susan opened wide as she saw this sight. he talked about one thing and another and asked her many inconsequential questions. after much tantalizing talk on mr. hicks's part, she learned that the honey was for her and that she was to take it all home with her. susan was for starting home at once. "what' s your hurry, susie? won't you stay a while and have a piece of pie?" "i 'd rather i 'd have a pancake," said susan, looking furtively at the smoking griddle. he rose at once and put on a large spoonful of batter. when the cake was ready to turn, he caused it to turn a somersault with a quick toss of the griddle; then he spread it evenly with honey and rolled it into the form of a cylinder with the honey inside. "there, now, susie. that's what i call a joof-lickum _tamale_. it's pancake _de la verandah_. watch out that you don't burn your fingers." he set the griddle temporarily aside and sat down again. while susan ate, she leaned across his tall knee and looked up at him admiringly. "i like your pancakes," she volunteered. "your pancakes has got fringe on them." mr. hicks's countenance took on more of an expression around the eyes; he regarded her with deep interest. "all the boys at school like your pancakes, too," she continued. "they are coming over some other recess when you are home, and you can make them all a pancake again. will you put honey on their pancakes?" "for boys!" exclaimed susan's heroine in great surprise. "no honey for boys. honey is only for girls." "and mas too," added susan. "ain't honey for mas too?" "does n't your ma make them with fringe on?" inquired jonas, in hope of making a new start. susan vouchsafed no reply. the subject stood in abeyance while she feasted and took thought. presently her attention rested upon the griddle. on it there was a diminutive pancake which had made itself from the drippings of an overgenerous spoonful. "i like little pancakes too," she hinted. jonas took it off and presented it to her. "there, susie. when you go home you can give that to your dollie." susan's eyes seemed to expand as she turned them up to mr. hicks, the source of supernal illumination. if the pancake had seemed desirable, this wonderful _idea_ was ten times as much of a present. her bliss grew visibly deeper as she looked first at the pancake and then at the resourceful mr. hicks. she was so completely won that she consented to sit on his knee. there she resumed her _tamale_ in the intervals of conversation. "mr. hicks. how did the bees come to go down your chimbly?" "'cause," replied mr. hicks. "oh, _mister_ hicks--tell me _why_ the bees went down your chimbly. i want to know why." "i guess they thought it was an old hollow tree." "do you think maybe they would think our chimbly was an old hollow tree? oh, i wish they would come down our chimbly." "oh, they would n't come down your chimney. that would n't do at all." "why would n't they, mr. hicks?" "'cause," answered jonas, still pretending to be taciturn and mysterious. "oh, mister _hicks_. _please_ don't talk that way. tell me why." "because," explained mr. hicks, "bees would know better than that. if they came and stopped your chimney all up with honey, how would santa claus ever get down? who gave you the dolly?" "santa claus." "well, don't you see if the chimney was all full of honey he would get it all over his clothes? and all over _her_ clothes? and besides, he would get his whiskers all chock-full of honey. how would you like to have your curls all full of molasses?" as he made this remark he lifted a curl and contemplated it, the truth being that he was not nearly so much interested in the honey as in her hair. he made these remarks simply by way of sticking to the subject. susan, conscious of her curls, gave her head a toss which sent them flying about her face, one side and then the other; then she took another bite and returned to her speculations. "did the bees know that you haven't got any little girl?" mr. hicks was inclined to sanction the idea that the bees had this view of the uselessness of his chimney. the subject of his girllessness leading on to another case of "why," he fell back promptly upon the hollow tree theory pure and simple; the which he took pains to establish by stories of trees filled with honey and of terrible big bears that lived in the trees and ate the honey. he was going on to consider the advantages of living in a hollow tree--with a good strong door to it--when a new game offered itself. leaning forward and turning his head to see how the stove was doing, the end of his long moustache stroked susan under the chin and drew a fine trail of titillation across her throat. to the surprise of the owner of the "whiskers," she clapped her chin to her shoulder and shrank from the excruciating touch. before long mr. hicks had occasion to turn his head to the other side. this time it tickled even more and susan had to giggle. after that a surprising number of things, of all imaginable sorts, demanded his attention on one side or the other, and every time the moustache acted in the same manner, much to the surprise of the innocent mr. hicks. as soon as that beard developed its full powers of tickling, it took effect wherever it touched, and susan had to protect herself by grabbing the moustache and pushing mr. hicks's face, which face seemed able to stand any amount of rough usage. when finally his every move produced such paroxysms of laughter that she could stand it no longer, susan squirmed out of his arms. then, with sudden seriousness, she picked up the doll's pancake which had fallen from her hand. their visit thus brought to an end, jonas did not try to renew it; he was growing hungry. he gave her the pan of honey and placed her hands so that she would hold it level. "there, now, susan. be careful that you don't fall down and get any of it in your mouth." susan, who was nobody's fool, knew that mr. hicks sometimes made remarks which were purposely foolish. this one engaged her mind for a moment as if she hoped to make head and tail of it, but as it seemed to be unanswerable she gave him an amused look and started for home. as susan neared her front gate another visitor was approaching--this time from the direction of claxton road. it was mrs. norton; she had in mind to get the rockery returned. jonas, watching susan to see whether she got home with the honey unspilt, was oblivious to the half of the world that was behind his back; but when he turned about and took up the dish of batter, intending to pour out a griddleful of pancakes, he saw her coming. immediately he seized the pie and hurried it into the house. by the time he came out she had arrived. "good-morning, mrs. norton." "good-morning, mr. hicks. have you got all through with your work?" "all except sewing on a few buttons. ploughing is all done for the present, i guess." "mr. hicks, we have been wondering whether you could do us a little favor. the ladies of the chautauqua circle have been studying geology,--the earth, you know,--and we needed some stones for specimens--samples. and of course stones are not very plentiful around here--" "why don't you go and take some out of steve brown's rockery? help yourself, as god says." "why, that's just what we did do. we were passing there, and we each took one--without particularly thinking. they are lying behind colonel chase's big gate. we got them up there, but found they were rather heavy. could we get you to haul them back for us?" "i bet you could, mrs. norton. the next time i pass there with the wagon i 'll put them on. i don't suppose those stones are in any particular hurry, are they?" "well," said mrs. norton, taking thought, "i have been thinking that perhaps it would be just as well to get them back before he comes home. he is out at the thompson ranch tending to those sheep again, you know." "did you hear whether any one went with him?" "well, no--er--yes. that is, i don't really know whether there is or not. i heard there was somebody out there." her answer, or the manner of it, struck jonas as peculiar. "extra herder or two?" he suggested. "one of the boys who was out at the ranch told somebody in town that there was somebody out there. the regular herder was up at the county-seat and had n't got back." mrs. norton, now that she had boggled, by surprise, into the acknowledgment that she knew anything whatever about the matter, felt herself in a problematical position. she did not know whether his question had been accidental or not; it sounded as if he knew; possibly he had put it as a feeler to discover whether she knew. in which case the subject became rather difficult; she did not know whether to dissemble, nor how much to dissemble, nor how to do it. jonas, his curiosity aroused, persevered with more inquiries. mrs. norton, after answering with a few vague references to tuck reedy's report, suddenly made a bald evasion of the subject; she went back without ceremony to the subject of rocks. jonas had a new feeling that there was something peculiar about the matter. "and so i was thinking," continued mrs. norton, "that we had better return them pretty soon. it was really an improper thing for us to do--though we did not particularly think of it at the time. if he came home and found the rockery gone he might not like it." "steve is rather peculiar, some ways," remarked jonas. "is he? in what way?" this remark of his had seemed to bear upon the hidden subject. she had hope of receiving moral enlightenment from the masculine standpoint. "mostly about rocks. did you ever hear about the time i hauled that tombstone for him?" "i knew you did, of course. what did he do?" "well, he did n't do anything much. he expected me to drive oxen without using any strong language. just took a sudden notion he did n't want it. i had got that stone loaded onto a strong truck that i had rigged up apurpose; then i started up and got the cattle headed up main street in fine shape. steve was coming along on the sidewalk. all of a sudden he stepped out into the road and spoke to me. he said he did n't like the sound of it and he wished i 'd leave out the swearing. he said it rather cool and solemn, like pastor gates does when he says to omit the second stanza. for a minute i did n't know what to think. i was doing a plain job of ox-driving and i told him so. 'that's all right; i understand that,' he says. 'but you don't expect to go cussing into that cemetery, do you?' 'well--no,' i says. 'not since you mention it.' for a minute he had me where i could n't go ahead nor back up. a man has got to use language to oxen, and what is he going to say? i am so used to it that i don't even hear myself, unless i stop to listen; and so it does n't mean any more than the oxen understand by it. and that is n't much. 'no,' i says, 'not since you mention it.' 'well, then,' he says, 'you might as well quit now. afterwards you can drive them any way you please and say anything you want. but it does n't sound right to me now, and i don't want any swearing on this job.' he said it in such a way that i could see just about how he felt about it. i saw that any more of it would n't do. i guess i ought to 'a' thought of it myself." "and did you succeed in doing as he wished?" asked mrs. norton. "well, i managed to get them there somehow--considering i hadn't had any time to practice. it made me wonder, though, what a deaf and dumb man would think if he got a job driving oxen." "and that is what you mean by his being peculiar?" "that's sort of it. but maybe that one does n't quite cover the point. what i mean is that he 's got all sorts of notions of what's right and wrong; and he tells it to you all of a sudden. he 's quicker 'n pig-tail lightning." "do you suppose he might think it wrong for us to meddle with his property?" "oh, no. he is n't that way. you know how he is about such things. and besides he would n't be likely to say anything. i only mentioned that tombstone business because his mother set so much store by the rockery. he looks at that as a sort of a monument." a look of deep seriousness came over mrs. norton's countenance. it deepened as she thought. "of course, mr. hicks, we intended to tell him about it--and thank him for the use of the stones. but possibly it would be more considerate not to say anything about it." "not tell him at all," repeated jonas reflectively. "but i suppose that no matter how we put them back he would notice that it had been changed." "yes. i guess he knows it by heart. he had those blue-flower vines started on it." "it was really very thoughtless of us," mused mrs. norton. "oh, well; it is n't anything serious," remarked jonas. "if he seems serious about it you can blame me. tell him i told you to. i 'm really part owner anyway; i discovered a lot of those stones and put them there. he 'll understand how it was. and if he says anything to me i 'll tell him i did n't think. if you want me to i 'll make it all right when i go out there this afternoon." "are you going out there?" she asked, looking up with sudden interest. "i 've been thinking i would. i want to drop out those three middle yoke and let them run on grass a while. while i 'm out there, i guess i 'll make steve a call and stop overnight. it 'll be late when i get there." "oh!" she saw a very lively and interesting picture of mr. hicks's arrival at the shack. he would not be a very welcome visitor, she thought. having the misconceptions she did of affairs at the ranch, she saw all sorts of possibilities; she said nothing, however, which would keep this interesting three-cornered meeting from taking place. she turned the conversation at once into other channels. having answered his inquiries regarding neighborhood affairs, and having been finally assured that he would return the rockery and make everything "all right," she took her leave. jonas had had no very definite intention of undertaking the journey at once; but now that his mind was turned in that direction, he saw that to-day was as good as to-morrow, or even the day after; he fired up the stove and again took the batter in hand. this time the pancakes went ahead without interruption. when he had stacked up the requisite number, and eaten them with honey and bacon, he hooked the wheelers to the wagon, and then added the rest of the cattle, yoke after yoke. the plough was to remain where it was. ensconced upon the more altitudinous seat of authority he swung his lash out with a report like a starting-gun and made his way, with the necessary language, across the open and up claxton road. jonas's trip to the ranch took longer than it takes to tell it. but there is not, in truth, anything about the trip itself to tell--and yet there ought to be some way of describing time. under the circumstances, and especially as oxen cannot be hurried, it might be well to pass the time by talking about jonas hicks's past; it will be better than to take up the scenery again. in those parts the scenery, if the weather remains settled, is rather uneventful; it is the same when you arrive as when you started. on a prairie the human mind carries its own scenery. jonas hicks's past had been somewhat variegated and thus all of a piece. some years before the present moment, when the railroad was younger and the "garden spot of the world" was just beginning to attract attention to its future, jonas carelessly acquired a patch of forty acres near the new town of thornton. at that time he was still "on the drive," a vocation which took him with the big herds anywhere from texas to fort benton in montana. in the calling of cowboy he had, by a process of natural selection, risen and gradually settled into the character of cook. risen, we say, because, in a cattle outfit, there is not a more important and unquestioned personage; his word is law and they call him pet names. however, from the day he got down out of the saddle, in an emergency, and consented to act in the capacity of "ma,"--which was a joke,--he was in continual demand as cook, with increasing popularity. though he still claimed the ability to ride and rope and hog-tie with the best of them, he was thenceforth a cook with all the cook's perquisites and autocratic say-so. there is nowhere, we might observe, so deep an indication of the true power of woman as this respect that is paid to her position, even when it is being occupied by a red-faced being who wears whiskers and who has no real right, of his own, to be anything more than an equal of his brother man. but the cook's laws must not be disobeyed; they allow him to make laws because he is cook; masculine sentiment is on his side; human welfare demands it. as jonas was popular in the position, and did not mind the work when it was appreciated, he continued to fry bacon and fringy flapjacks and, in general, to furnish "the grease of life," as he called it, to the outfit. and while he was doing it his fellows conducted the beef, on ten thousand legs, from the south to the north. they took them north so that they would put on fat under the stimulus of a northern winter. in those days he engineered the peculiar cookstove which we have already noticed. it was a big, square, sheet-iron stove with an iron axle and wheels like those of a sulky plow. this piece of machinery was hooked on behind the chuckwagon, which it followed from clime to clime. jonas, being a live man and a "hustler," seldom waited for the outfit to reach the camping-place and come to a halt before starting to get a meal. as he explained, he had to get about a two-mile start on their appetites, with pancakes; and so, while the stove was yet far off from its destination, he would fire up and get things going. then he would trot along behind and cook. while "she" (the stove) lurched into buffalo wallows and rode the swells and unrolled the smoke other stack far out across the billowy prairie, jonas would hurry along behind and keep house. entirely occupied with his kitchen duties he would move busily here and there or remain steadily behind or beside the stove while it pursued its onward way, and with the bucket of batter in his hand and the griddle smoking and sizzling, he would seldom miss a flap. from the standpoint of a weary cowboy it was a beautiful sight. it is, indeed, a pleasant thing, when you are tired and hungry, to see your supper thus coming along as conqueror over space and time. no one but a man like jonas, who had the combined talents of a sea-cook and a cowboy, could have managed it. to make coffee under such circumstances took considerable ability, of course. and even the flapjacks, which stayed on the stove better, might seem difficult. jonas, however, was a man of quick hand and eye; things seldom got the drop on him, and he handled the pancakes with a revolver wrist. as the foreman said, he was "a first-class culinary engineer." in doing this, his longtime experience on bucking bronchos stood him in good stead; then, too, his practice was confined almost entirely to pancakes and coffee, for they were but few and simple dishes that he knew by heart. but even with this special expertness it took a quick man and a philosopher, especially when the stove cut a caper and the footing was uneven. as jonas once remarked when he stepped amiss on his high boot-heel and spilled all the batter into a buffalo wallow, "this is certainly a corrugated country." he was not always and necessarily a profane man, whatever one might think who heard him driving oxen. in times of real trouble he expressed himself coolly and then stuck to the facts. for a long time jonas thought little of the small patch of prairie which belonged to him; he only began to take it seriously when he sold twenty acres--a deal which was consummated through the agency of stephen brown, senior, who paid the taxes in his absence and thus knew, generally, where jonas was. coming back a year or two later he was surprised to see how that place had built up; and when, after repeated visits, he had made himself known to all the neighbors and discovered what nice people they were,--it was a new sensation for jonas to have neighbors,--he got it more and more into his head that they were _his_ neighbors, and that he belonged there. he decided to settle down in those parts. things in general seemed to be shifting into a new mode of life and impelling him to go along. in the early eighties, central texas was becoming tightly fenced; the barb wire was spreading out generally; railroads were hauling herds where formerly they went afoot; shorthorn bulls were changing the face of nature; it was plain to be seen that before a great while the long drives would be a thing of the past. while there was still use for the cowboy, there was less call for jonas's peculiar abilities. having land which seemed to call for a house, he built one on it; but at first he did not occupy it himself. during his absences it was occupied by "white" families of the sort that move often by wagon and work cotton on shares; meantime his fancy was playing about the place and taking root. coming back in the fall the house was vacant. as jonas was himself an excellent wife and a kind husband, he moved in. having in mind to stop a while, he of course stopped at his own house. the problem of living on one spot solved itself in the most natural manner. instead of driving cattle in the old way, he conquered a few and drove them from the seat of a plow. thus while everything was going forward, he mounted the wheel of progress and put his hand to the throttle; and now every time he got back from one of his occasional absences a new farm had been opened up forever and ever. but it must not be thought that he had himself become an agriculturist. he had not even dreamed of it. there is not necessarily any more relation between a "prairie buster" and the land he "busts" than there is between a farmer and a locomotive engineer; the spirit of it is different. jonas bossed cattle. if there would seem to be anything of incongruity or humorous contrast between jonas and his married neighbors, it must be remembered that, under the circumstances of a growing country, there was not. in a land where many men live alone in shacks and do their own work, and where any woman's husband must be able to go forth with a frying-pan and shift for himself at times, it was no marvel to see jonas hicks doing the same; though, to be sure, he was doing it a little nearer town than is customary, and this proximity made his single-blessedness shine out a little plainer. but if there was any humor in that, or in fact anything else, it was jonas's prerogative to see it first and to stretch the joke as far as it would go. then, too, he lived there only at intervals--which were getting to cover the greater part of the time--in the style of a man who camps out. and after a few days' absence in "busting," he would suddenly reappear and turn loose his oxen and start up housekeeping with all the new pleasure of a man who is glad to get back among the folks again. from all of which it will be seen that jonas's house needed to make no apology for its presence; he had owned land there among the first; it was the others who were the innovators and the newcomers; and as to his way of housekeeping it simply clung a little closer to nature. it was, in fact, the most natural thing in the neighborhood. as he continued to live there he liked it more and more. he was glad that things turned out just as they did. his very location in "the middle of the puddle," as steve brown put it, made it look, to him, as if all these beautiful women and interesting little children had gathered round to ornament his position in life; and there is a great deal in looks. he felt also, having owned some of the land upon which the townspeople were settled, that he was in some manner responsible for it all; and so he had a corresponding pride in the community at large and was personally interested in everybody's welfare. his own property he could have sold or cultivated; but he was well enough satisfied with things as they were. he could have put up a sign, "keep off the grass"; he could have built a fence or forbidden any one to use his place as a short cut to town; he could have done anything that goes with private ownership; but with him ownership was not necessarily private. to a man with such large texas views and lifelong experience of "free grass," such carefulness of a mere twenty acres would seem rather small, especially small as directed against such neighbors. he was pleased to be numbered among them, and he acted accordingly. if the minister's wife needed temporary pasturage for her real shorthorn cow, just arrived from the north, he invited her to use his place permanently; he rather liked to see cows around. if an incoming herd of cattle wished to halt there they were welcome; it reminded him of old times. if the whole surrounding country went "cross-lots" over his land, there was no objection; what difference did it make? and besides, it was the farmers and ranchmen who gave him employment. he would not sell any land, though. right here was where he exercised his private right. he liked things well enough as they were. but when the proposition came up to purchase a small site for a school-house, he presented them with a small piece off the corner, only asking that they refrain from putting a fence around it. as this restriction was no drawback to the community, they readily acceded to it; consequently the children played ball or did whatever they pleased all over the place, much to his entertainment. at recess the youngsters spent much of their time around him, if he were at home, and though this interfered considerably with his housework he did not mind the delay. however difficult it might be to name his particular function in the social organism, he had certainly made a place for himself; and it was wonderful, as time went on, how large that place grew to be. any woman, when her husband is away from home, is likely to face situations which make sudden call for a man. in a neighborhood where husbands and hired men were frequently away at the ranch, this state of affairs was always breaking out somewhere, and jonas, occupying his prominent position as next door neighbor to everybody, and being naturally adapted to act in that capacity, was always the man. his very geographical situation was sufficient to turn the mind towards him, but the particular reason for that heliotropism on the part of his feminine neighbors was that he was an easy man for a woman to ask. being asked, he always served her in a spirit of masculine banter and then went away as if he had enjoyed the joke. thus she could be grateful for his neighborly turn without feeling herself under any painful state of obligation. naturally his custom grew. one moment he would be mending a yoke or plaiting a lash, the next moment he would be clapping himself on a broncho to outdodge an escaped bull, or dashing up the road to put out a prairie fire before it reached the stable; he could lift a stove or drive a nail or spade up a little place for flower seed; he could do any one of these things in about a minute and then have time to sit down and have a good neighborly visit. possibly his familiarity with cookstove affairs had brought him nearer to woman's point of view. he looked like a texas ranger, and was just as generally useful, but in a more domestic way. and yet he had been good with a six-shooter. so times change; and men with them. altogether, he might be best described simply as jonas hicks; his position being one that he naturally fell into. and he filled the position of jonas hicks the same as if he were a policeman or a priest or a fire department. in time of trouble it was only necessary for a woman to ask. indeed, his trade with woman grew to such proportions that he had been obliged, on more than one occasion, to cancel an engagement with a man in order that he might do something for his wife. and he stated the case in just about that way. chivalry is not entirely a thing of the past. it is a virtue which grows wild in texas. when it is domesticated with the ox, and pursues the even tenor of everyday life, it is a most useful institution. with all this talk of ours, it is doubtful if we have brought the oxen a mile on their way. at this point we shall go on ahead. it will be easy enough to reach the next chapter before he does. chapter x repeatedly, janet had misjudged her fellow man's motives and had to correct her theory of him. it was, however, his own fault. he had a way of going ahead without making explanations. he seemed deficient in that sort of guile which would prompt a man to forefend suspicion of his motives, or else he did not think it necessary, or, worse still, did not care; and so his "high-handedness," as it had at first appeared to her, took sinister color from her unusual situation and his too easy advantage. now she had about arrived at the comfortable conclusion that steve brown was simply one who saw what ought to be done and did it. his acts had a way of doing their own explaining, uninterpreted by him, so that, as they sorted together in that prairieful of time, he became a less difficult study; and by the time she had thus learned him she found herself in a most comfortable case. he was really a very simple sort of man to understand, after all. while he had been very alarming at first she had come to see into his mental state, and she liked, or at least had grown accustomed to, his faults. his lack of talkativeness had made the process seem rather slow at first, and she had felt that more talk would have helped; but now she had begun to think differently. she had thought him wanting in tact, but the fact of the matter was that he did not need it. he did better without it. she reflected, however, that his qualities were of the kind that would easily remain undiscovered by other women. one had to know him. he had been quite a revelation to her, perfectly simple. it was no longer he that seemed strange to her, but rather the adventure itself,--especially when she reflected that it happened such a little while ago. he seemed to date back farther than that; indeed, her knowing of him did not seem to be a thing of any date at all. and yet he owed his existence, so far as she was concerned, to that mere chance and her sudden dash out into the distance. it is strange how things happen. what had been his history up to the time that had happened? this question had passed across her mind and brought with it a shade of doubt; but it soon lost itself in his real presence; he was simply steve brown. she felt that she knew him. and now, on this evening, when he had entertained her with his explanation of the ways of sheep, there came a pause. after a while he rose to tend the fire, which had burnt low. he scraped the embers together and put on the wood, and then, having sat down again, he told her, rather deliberately, that on that day he had caught her horse. he had not broached this subject during all this time. and at supper, before they became so interested in talking, there had been plenty of opportunity. he went on to explain that he had not caught the horse exactly; he had rather got it without the trouble of catching. the animal had been so willing to form his acquaintance that it had only been necessary to lay hold of him. "and where is he now?" she was puzzled. "i put him in an old sheep corral near the place i got him. i 've been thinking i ought to go and get him to-night. that is, if you are not afraid to stay alone." _why had he not informed her of this before_? would not any one naturally have done so? here she was in this place all on account of the escape of her horse; and yet he had not told her about this. there was something strange here. could it be that he would stoop to deceit! janet immediately--what she would not have believed she would do--brought him to an accounting. "mr. brown," she said sternly, "why did you not tell me of this before?" "well, miss janet, the point-blank truth is that i thought i would rather spend the evening here." he blenched perceptibly as he said it. janet, seeing him now in a state of mild propitiation, became suddenly aware of the schoolmistress tone in which she had made him own up; and as he considered what way to answer, she was more at a loss than he was. "and besides," he added, with more assurance, "i intended to go for him after you had gone to bed and say nothing about it. you might be afraid if you knew i was not around--though there is n't any danger of anything. but just now i got to thinking it over and when it came to the point, i did not like to go away without your knowing it. i thought i ought to tell you." "oh--that was it!" "you see i did n't have any rope or bridle along when i caught him; so i just put him in the corral. and i could n't bring him home by the forelock when i had my arms full of lambs. i caught him just before noon. if he waited till i got around to him again in the regular course of herding, he would be pretty bad off for a drink." this statement of the case decided her at once. as far as her own needs were concerned, she could not ride the horse without a saddle even if she dared mount him again, which she would not; but when she considered the animal's thirst she decided to set her night fears aside. "no; of course you could not bring him home that way. if you wish to go for him i can stay here. i am not at all afraid." "there is n't really anything to be afraid of," he said, rising. he paused a moment, regarding her seriously. "i _could_ go for him in the morning before i take the sheep out. but you see i would have to start so early that it would still be night anyway." "oh, i shall not be afraid at all, mr. brown. there is nothing to be afraid of." this was how it happened that janet, a while later, was sitting alone gazing at the north star. she was looking at that star in particular because steve brown had called her attention to it by way of proving that he would be able to find his way back to her. at intervals her eye let go of the star and came back to the fire. "_i thought i ought to tell you._" why ought? if there was no danger at all, and he felt that she would be afraid, why did he change his mind? this interested her. for a time the darkness was neglected. evidently he had planned this and had no doubts. if a woman is afraid to be alone in the dark, and there is no danger at all, the most considerate course is to go away when she is sleeping. he had his ideas of dealing with women. why then had he found any difficulty in doing it with her? "i thought i _ought_ to tell you." she had said she would not be the least bit afraid. and so she was not--at first. before long, however, the night insisted upon being seen and heard. space and darkness began to demand human attention. unable to do otherwise, she looked up and contemplated the big blackboard of night, and especially the north star, to which the front stars of the dipper served as a pointer. and very soon she was wholly engaged upon the silence. it is no small thing, if you are not used to it, to occupy a lone prairie at night. you face the absence of the whole human race. the ominous stillness centres upon you with all the weight of past, present, and future. you are sitting up with the universe. and while you sit there, and keep watch, you feel like the last survivor. night burns her solemn tapers over the living and the dead; there is now room for anything to happen. suddenly and without warning, an awful outburst of language sprang from the very throat of night and claimed the starry silence for its own. it was a clap of language which, coming so unexpectedly, seemed to make the stars all blink at once. then fell a hush much deeper than the silence of before. there was a moment of suspense; then a sharp gunlike report which seemed to crack the silence but not to break it. again the threatening voice sounded--this time nearer and more violent. janet sprang to her feet and made for the shack--not forgetting, fortunately, the lamb. being inside, she dropped the lamb on the bunk and shut the door. she had noticed in the corner that morning a narrow roof-board which might have been used to hold the door shut; she felt for it at once. when she had it in her hands, at last, she put one end against the door and braced the other end against the wall opposite where it met the floor. the board was so long that it would not go low enough to catch securely against the door. she managed, however, by pressing down hard on its middle, to spring it tightly into place. there being nothing further to be done, except to keep as still as possible and hope for the best, she proceeded to do so. the lamb being less discreet, lifted its voice and called out for its mother. there was an answering cry from the corral, after which there seemed to be promise of quiet. janet held her breath and got what reassurance she could out of the fact that she was surrounded by walls, between the shrunk boards of which the glare of the fire showed in vertical streaks. as it was pitch dark inside, she could see nothing of her protecting structure except in so far as it had the appearance of being a cage of fire. the threatening voice advanced by stages, coming surely on. presently she could hear the tramp of many feet, accompanied by the clanking of chains. there was a dull knocking of heavy wheels. there was the sharp crack of the whip-lash again, a quicker trampling of hoofs, a louder sound of wheels and chains and a still louder vociferation of commands. janet could hardly have felt less confidence in that shack if it had been the heavy artillery that was coming into position--which it sounded very much like. there some sort of evolution performed and a command to stop; then all was silent again. for a space, janet heard nothing. then a sound of footfalls told her that he was coming nearer. the door was tried. when it did not open he pushed it harder. it gave a little at the top, but, to her great relief, the brace held. after a little she heard his measured tramp again. and again there was silence. janet, unable to endure the suspense, put her eye to the knot-hole. the intruder, a tall piratical-looking figure, was standing between her and the fire; she could see his general build in black. from the side of his face there protruded a terrible moustache. the man, after a period of silent thought, went and fetched some wood. he was going to take possession of the fire. janet kept her eye to the knot-hole. when he had the fire burning better, he straightened up and wandered round to the other side of it. at this, the sinister silhouette, acting as a sort of dissolving view, came out in favor of the old maxim that "there is a bright side to everything." it was no less a person than jonas hicks. little jimmie wanger's "misser donas!" "misser donas dimme pop,"--janet's mind took a jump to this. morning and night she had heard the sentence reiterated by the diminutive jimmie, the interpretation of which was, according to rosie, that mr. hicks had at one time presented jimmie with a ball of pop-corn. it was the only sentence jimmie's mind cared to communicate. as it was the only thing in life worth mentioning, he brought it out upon every occasion; thus it had become recorded on her mind with phonographic unforgettableness, and when she saw mr. hicks through the knot-hole his act of benevolence repeated itself in the same words. the sight of this benefactor in the guise of a cursing desperado made a clash among the ideas in her mind; but jimmie's sentence came out on top. besides hearing about him in this way, she had once had the honor of meeting mr. hicks himself--this time also in connection with his leaning toward children. he stopped at her schoolyard pump for a drink, and having taken it he put his head in at the door and smiled--a thing he never did upon compulsion. being invited to enter, he did so, taking the visitors' chair near the rostrum; and when she asked him, according to the time-honored custom, whether he would not like to address a few words to the school, he did that also, standing his whip up in the corner and giving some very engaging advice upon the subject of education, part of which, being of a hidden nature, was evidently intended for the entertainment of the teacher. in this way he had been her one and only visitor; and then, having had his jocose presence so repeatedly called to mind at the wangers', she had become disabled to think of him as anything but the ministering angel of pop-corn. now her sole concern was to put in her appearance in as graceful a manner as possible. whatever sort of man he might really be, she knew he was a person of quick intelligence who would certainly see any indications of her taking fright at him. she wished to emerge at once, smoothly and naturally. but when she put her hands to the tight roofing-board she discovered that there was going to be difficulty in the operation. at first she tried to lift it by taking hold near the middle. as the board had been bent down by her pressing it into place, her lifting only made it grip tighter. it resisted her best efforts. once and again she tried, but without success; it was beyond her strength. she could not get out! "oh, dear," breathed janet in dismay. she tried to force it out sideways. but this was even less practicable if anything. perceiving finally the nature of her mechanical difficulty, she turned with new hopes to the end that was against the door. as she expected, this proved to be the proper place to take hold; but now the board moved only to make a noise that was amazing. the method of its surprising operation was like the stuttering of a stick when it is rubbed endwise on a box; but as this was a board and as it operated against a rumbly shack, it reverberated like a giant drum; it was an excellent apparatus for making artificial thunder. at her very first effort it gave a little jump and made a noise sufficient to put all the silence on the prairie to flight. she let go at once. more deliberate efforts brought forth results still more tremendous; it was something between a volley and a groan. now that she had done what she had, she felt that, embarrassing as it was, she might as well get through with it and show herself promptly. she might as well make the noise all at once as to make it piecemeal. it was like operating a gatling gun. the board, being sprung down, had a considerable distance to move before it would come free, but janet, having put her hands to it, stuck to it without flinching. it set the whole shack a-going; those boards made such a noise as they had not made since the day they went through the sawmill in long-drawn agony. but she got it free. being through with it, she set the board softly in the corner; then she calmed herself and stepped forth. so far as janet could see, he considered it the most natural meeting in the world. jonas hicks, fortunately, was not easily confused. she lost no time, however, in beginning her explanation. "you see, mr. hicks, i was going on horse-back from wanger's farm up to the county-seat to take the examination, and just as i was passing here--" poor janet; she had to tell that whole story over again. she told it with particular attention to plausible detail; she wanted him to have a perfect understanding of just how it was. "oh, yes--just so--i see," he would say promptly. "you just got lost on the prairie. and you 've been stopping a few days with steve." as if it were nothing! such ready belief and general inconsequentiality bothered janet. she did not know, of course, that jonas was hardly the sort of a texan to feel comfortable in having a woman stand before him in the defensive, stating her case. upon her first appearance he had concealed his surprise and rallied nobly to the courtesies of the occasion; it was sufficient that he was in the presence of the fair. having heard enough to get the facts of her adventure and grasp her present situation, it was hardly in him to play the part of the unconvinced and give her a hearing through the corroborating details--it was too inquisitorial for him. suspicion? he would have felt vitally impeached. he could not stand judicially; he would have knocked down the man that did it. for this reason, while he manifested sufficient interest, he escaped from his position by finding casual employment; he examined the skillet, looked into the provision box, and presently set about getting his supper, which, he insisted, he was perfectly capable of doing. janet persevered with her story. he kept up his interest, making a mere anecdote out of her tale and mitigating the atmosphere with the sound of pots and kettles. "well, now; if that don't beat all---- naturally---- just what would happen--" such was the tenor of his remarks. as if nothing more need really be said. to janet, his too ready acceptance was peculiarly unsatisfying. "and then," he remarked, just as she was coming to it, "i bet you walked right round in a circle." she wished most heartily that she could have replied, "oh, no," and explained that that was n't the way of it at all. she felt that her whole story must seem to him an easily concocted, and a merely necessary fiction. but as that was exactly what did happen she had to accept this part of it from him and do her best with other details. she wished he would pay more strict attention. "and so," she finally ended, "as mr. brown went away just a while ago to get my horse, i was rather frightened when i heard somebody coming. i suppose i surprised you too." "well, yes; i must say you did, sort of. but of course when i heard that noise i knew something was bound to come of it. but i managed to save my appetite." "there is n't very much left to eat," she said seriously. "oh, i 've got a plenty to eat right there in my wagon. pie is good enough for anybody. i 've got a real northern pie." he made a trip to the wagon and came back with the pie. he placed the pie in the middle of the repast and arranged knife and fork on their respective sides of it. having it properly disposed and everything in readiness he invited her to join him. janet, because she had had supper, was inclined to refuse. but there is something cordial about a pie's countenance, especially if it be a pie of one's own country, and still more especially if one has been living regularly on _frijole_ beans. she cut her regrets short and accepted. it seemed to her, though, that all human companionship was being rather strictly confined to the process of eating. plainly he considered her the guest; he took her cup and poured the coffee himself. "it is a beautiful evening, is n't it," remarked janet. "i was just going to say it was a nice night. quite a flock of stars out." "a flock, did you say?" "well, sort of. i don't usually speak of them that way. only on special occasions. hasn't steve got any sweetenin'?" he had just rattled the spoon in the sugar bowl and found it empty. janet was sorry to say that she had poured out the last grain of it that very evening. she explained to him how the lamb had stepped into a bowlful and thus contributed to the present shortage. "ain't steve got a jug of molasses? he ought to have some sweetenin' somewheres." "why, i did see a jug of something under the bed. i don't know what is in it, though." he went to investigate, getting down on the door-sill and entering the shack on his knees. presently he reappeared, smelling the cork. "it ain't anything more or less than molasses," he reported. as he sat down, the off wheeler of the team, which had been drawn up a short distance from the fire, dropped on his paunch with a great rattling of chain and began placidly chewing his cud. following his example, an ox in the middle of the string got down on his knees and began chewing. at the same moment the lamb, which had fallen out of bed and found his way out of the shack, announced himself with a bleat and went toddling off toward the darkness. janet jumped up at once and went after him. having captured him, she brought him back and stowed him comfortably in her lap, drawing the edge of her skirt up over him. "i suppose you've noticed, miss janet," he remarked, as he again turned his attention to the jug, "that the animals out in these parts don't know very much. they make people lots of trouble." "oh, i don't mind the trouble at all. you see, i saved this one's life myself; that's why i am so interested in caring for him. he 's an orphan." "so i see. there's liable to be plenty of them. are you partial to orphans?" "i could hardly help caring for him. of course one naturally is." jonas again turned his attention to the jug, removing the cork and placing it upside down on the ground. janet held a saucer to receive her share. the molasses was slow about making its appearance. "this golden drip is a little late about coming. it's as stubborn as old doc wharton used to be." "was he stubborn?" janet asked, keeping the saucer level. "he wasn't much of anything else. he was so stubborn that when he drowned in the comanche he floated upstream." "really?" "wasn't any doubt about it. some people said that his foot must 'a' been caught in the stirrup and the horse dragged him up that far from where he went in. but i always claimed it was just natural." as the molasses had not yet responded, he up-ended the jug still farther and waited for results. "i suppose," he queried, "that steve has told you about things down home. and all about his mother?" "he told me that he lost his mother last winter." "ye-e-e-es," he said reflectively, drawing the word out as a thick sluggish stream began to pile up in the saucer. when she exclaimed "enough," he lowered the bottom of the jug and kept the mouth over the saucer as the molasses continued to run from it. "you can't stop that stuff by saying _wo_," he remarked, whirling the jug in his hands to stop the flow from the lip. "it is n't as thick, though, as some that i 've seen." "no!" "i don't suppose steve told you about the molasses i had with the 'j. k.' outfit one winter." "no, he did n't tell me anything about it." "well, that molasses was so thick that when you got too much on a flapjack, all you had to do was to give the jug a few turns and wind the molasses right up into it again. you could wrap it around the neck of the jug till next time if you wanted to. if you 'll just excuse me a moment, miss janet, i 'll put this jug back in home, sweet home, again." when he had put it where he found it, under the foot of the bed, he returned to his place and passed the flapjacks. he insisted that she try one at least. "so he told you about his mother. and maybe about his house?" "he did n't tell me much about his house--just about his mother. he showed me the clipping about her. he did n't tell me anything in particular about her." "well, that's all the same. just the same as if he told you." janet sampled the pancake and complimented him upon his cooking, in return for which he told her his recipe, which could be varied with water "according to taste." there came a pause in which mr. hicks seemed to be thinking. "can you play the piano?" he asked. "i can play some," answered janet. "but i am a little out of practice lately." "you 'd soon enough pick that up, as long as you know how." the first lot of pancakes having dwindled, he got up and put on the remainder of the batter. as janet declined his offer of more, he insisted that she start on the pie. "are you fond of piano music?" she inquired as he sat down. "most any kind suits me. i suppose you can play most any kind of a tune." "yes, mostly. as i say, i am a little out of practice lately. but my music always comes back to me suddenly after a day or two." "steve has a piano," he said. there came a hiatus in the conversation. janet applied herself to the pie. "mr. hicks," she said suddenly, "i should think mr. brown would hardly choose to come out here and do a sheep-herder's work. especially as i understand he does n't really have to." "well, it would seem that way, looking at it from this end. it's a little lonesome out here when there is n't anybody around. but down home there is n't anybody around his house, and that's lonesomer still. there a person would notice it; but you don't expect anything else of a shack. i don't suppose he has been on the inside of that house more than once in two or three weeks." "and yet he lives there?" "oh, yes. gets along good, too, as far as that goes. he washes the dishes on the porch and hangs the pan up outside. i guess he borrowed some of his style from me. steve would make a pretty good ranger yet; he hasn't got spoiled. but his ma told him he must n't ever join them." "why," exclaimed janet, "does _he_ think of joining the rangers?" "oh, no--not now. i don't suppose he ever thinks of such an idea. he 's got too many other things to tend to, anyway." "then, why should she tell him that?" "that was just an idea she had. when he was a young fellow about eighteen or nineteen he had an idea of being a ranger, and he gave her considerable worry, i guess. steve was like his father was, and she was always watching over him to see that he did n't get into danger. steve's ma was hardly more than up to his elbow. she looked like a little girl alongside of him. she had real white hair." "he must have been very fond of his mother." "thought as much of her as if he had picked her out himself. but as i was going to tell---- towards the last when she was down sick and pretty near faded out, she seemed to think he was n't any more than a little boy that had just grown up big. she always did seem to have pretty much that idea anyway; and he never let on but what he was. as long as he fetched and carried for her, and never got into any danger except when he kept it secret, i don't suppose she ever exactly noticed when he did grow up. and when she died you could see that she was worried about what would become of him. i went for the doctor when she died. steve got out a fast horse and i made some pretty quick time. when i got the doctor to the house i went into the room with him; and you could see she was n 't going to hold out much longer. she seemed to know it too. the last thing she said that night was, 'good-bye, stevie; don't go and join the rangers.'" "and what did he say?" "he told her he would n't--just as honest as if it was all so. that satisfied her and she shut her eyes again, and that was the way she went. 'good-bye, stevie, don't go and join the rangers.'" "he did n't usually tell her everything?" said janet reflectively. "not till he saw fit. old steve was pretty much the same way. if it was anything she 'd worry about, he 'd do it first. then sometime when it was all over, he 'd let the cat out of the bag. the old man sort of spoiled her; and steve just naturally took hold the same way." "they always did tell her, then?" "sooner or later." "he struck me as a man that was--rather fond of his mother." "he thought she could n't be beat. she pretty near run him and old steve; they were two of a kind. they would n't 'a' dared to do anything if she was against it. i guess that was the reason they went ahead on their own hook on anything she might worry about. they were afraid she 'd say no, i guess." "then she really did have something to say, after all," suggested janet. "she twisted them around her finger pretty much as it was. and that's where steve misses her. he's used to being run. he's lost. about a week after she was buried he took her picture down out of the parlor and hung it up nearer the kitchen where he could see it every day." "but," exclaimed janet, "i thought you said he hardly ever went into the house!" jonas took a moment for consideration. then he put his hand to his hip pocket and felt around in it. not finding what he was looking for, and being evidently at a loss, he cast his eyes about on the vacant ground. presently his eye lit on janet's yellow oil-coat. he reached out and took it, and having folded it somewhat like a cushion, so that its back presented a smooth surface, he again made search of his various pockets. when he had hunted down the elusive lead-pencil he moistened it on his tongue and set to work deliberately to draw on the slicker. the result of his work was simply a square. "that," he said, "is steve's house." moistening the pencil again, he drew another square, somewhat smaller, so that it just touched the other square corner to corner. "that's the kitchen," he explained. again he drew a square; this one touching corners with the kitchen so that it faced the side of the house. "that's the milk-house," he said. the three squares, one large and two smaller ones, being thus joined at the corners, made a space between them. this space, surrounded on but three sides, seemed to be open towards the road. "now, this place in between here," began jonas, "is out of doors. but it ain't really out of doors at all, because it has got a roof on it and has a floor. it ain't a room exactly nor it ain't a porch. it's a sort of an inside porch or an outside room. now, the open side of this place faces the road; but it is n't open to the road at all, because there is a lattice-work there covered with vines. this lattice"--he wet the pencil and set it to work again--"this lattice that closes this place runs out from the side of the house, but it does n't join to the corner of the milk-house, because you see that would close this place all up so that you could n't come in from outside. it comes a distance away from the corner of the milk-house; and that makes a door so that you can go out into the yard without going through the kitchen. so you see, you can go into this inside place without going through the house at all." janet drew closer, the better to study the plan. "yes; i see how that is," she said. "well, now," he continued, "these three parts of the house have each got a door opening into this inside place--the dining-room door, and the kitchen door, and the milk-house door. and right here beside the dining-room door is a bench where steve washes up, and a looking-glass. and right on the other side of this door is where he hung her picture. that's how it is that he hardly ever goes into the house at all and he 's got her picture right in there where he does his work. he cooks some in aunt lucy's kitchen, and eats and sets here. aunt lucy has got a new place to work." "i understand perfectly well now what you meant, mr. hicks. it is perfectly plain." she had rather awkwardly accused him of getting his tale tangled; and now that he suddenly brought the whole weight of this explanation to bear upon the point at issue, she felt a new striking-in of her shame. she hoped that if there was to be any further explanation it would not be in this particular connection. "now," said jonas, wetting his pencil and setting to work on the interior of the house, "right here in the main house is a long dining-room. and a hall runs from this dining-room right straight through onto the front porch. you can set right here at the head of the table and eat and see everything that is passing on the road. and there is a cool draught right through. off to the right of this hall is the parlor." jonas wetted the pencil unusually and worked it busily in the corner of the parlor till he had made a very black and shiny little square. janet leaned farther over to watch him. "and this here," he announced, "is the piano." janet resumed her erect position. "it is a very convenient house in some ways," she said. "it has certain advantages for a warm climate." "it 's all figured out," said jonas. he made a dot by holding the pencil straight down and twirling it round. this was about the middle of the "inside place." janet leaned over and became interested again. "now," he continued, "suppose it is a rainy day. right here in the middle of this inside place is a chain pump. you don't have to go outside for anything. or suppose it is a hot day. and maybe there is a big company dinner to get. you can set here by the lattice where it is cool and breezy,--the gulf breeze comes right in that place by the milk-house,--and keep track of what's going on in the kitchen. you don't have to go right into the kitchen once in a week if you don't want to. but it's a good thing to keep an eye on aunt lucy or the best of them. they 're likely to hand out half of the provisions to the rest of the niggers. you see it's fixed so that it don't make any difference whether it's rainy or hot, or whether you 've got company clothes on or not. you can set right here with your knitting and see into the kitchen or out to the road--but people going past on the road can't see you." "it is an outside kitchen without the disadvantages of a separate building, is n't it! and it looks like a part of the house, too." "so does the milk-house. when you come out of the side door of the dining-room the milkhouse is right in front of you. and to your right is the kitchen door. everything 's handy. old steve used to be a great hand for company. and i guess steve b. is likely to turn out just as bad. so you see these are all three joined at the corners and this place between is all floored and roofed over, and there is a lattice and vines where you can see out onto the road. and it's nice and cool. you can set right here in the shade and tend to everything." having submitted the plans to her contemplation awhile jonas withdrew the slicker as if he were considering any possible improvements. janet, being tired by her constrained position in viewing the work,--for she had not moved entirely round to his side of the supper,--straightened up and spent the interval in a new survey of the stars. it rested her neck. as on the previous nights it was clear and spacious. there were stars and stars. the biggest and brightest stood out in unison; in between them and hanging far off in space were so many others that all confusion seemed straightened out in the unity of the infinite. it was all very beautiful--heaven is not disorder, after all. and yet a coyote, complaining in the distance, seemed to set the world to a false note. her mind seemed tangled in light as her eye, following the stars, was led along the devious invisible lines from one to another. she had a feeling as if she would like to look up the definition of "you" in the dictionary. when she came back to earth again, jonas was sitting there awaiting her return. one would almost think he was waiting for an answer. janet looked at her watch. it was twenty minutes after ten--but she did not know whether it was right or not. "i hope i have n't been keeping you up, miss janet," said jonas. "whenever your time comes to turn in, go right along. don't consider me company." "oh, it was n't that; i was just wondering what time it is. do you suppose, mr. hicks, that he will have any difficulty finding that horse and getting it back here? i should think he would get lost." "how long has he been gone?" "a little over an hour." "oh, that ain't bad. you can't lose steve." "no, of course not. i thought it was longer." "what time is it?" "twenty minutes after ten by my watch. but i don't really know what time it is." "well, there ain't much use knowin'. time is queer anyway on a prairie. sometimes it takes a considerable while for it to go past. and then again, as the other fellow said, 'time is shorter than it is long.' maybe if you are sleepy you 'd better go to bed." "well--i believe i will. i don't suppose i had better wait any longer. will you find a place to sleep? maybe you will want to use my slicker." "oh, i 'm all right. i 'll just chase away these cattle and roll in under the wagon. and if you should hear me serrynadin' you with a horse-fiddle after a while, don't be scared. that's me snoring. i 'm what they call a sound sleeper." "good-night, mr. hicks." "same to you, miss janet." chapter xi the sun, lifting his countenance above the horizon that morning, centred his whole attention upon a pair of polished brass-bound hubs. the rest of the scene, grass and flowers "in unrespective same," formed a mere background on the general plane of existence while the sun beamed upon the brass--delighted, no doubt, to find an affinity in this unexpected place. we accentuate the detail slightly, our reason being that janet, whenever she had occasion to tell how it all happened, was sure to make mention of the brass hubs. unconscious as she may have been of it at the time, the hubs commanded the scene and formed the shining high-light of memory's picture; and as the years passed they took on a still brighter polish. the hubs belonged to a snug-looking rockaway buggy. hitched to the buggy was her own horse, which was tied to a post of the corral. the gate of the corral was open and the sheep were gone. jonas's outfit was gone too; there was nobody in sight. as she stood looking and wondering, steve emerged from the gully; and having saluted her in his usual manner he began to explain to her how the change was wrought. when he returned late that night and found that jonas hicks was in charge, he saw his way clear to solve her transportation problems. as a horse without a saddle would hardly do for her, he remounted and rode almost to town on the main road, where he borrowed a buggy. getting back again he found that the much-expected herder had put in his appearance with a man to help him; the two were now out with the sheep. the wagon had not arrived because the bed with sheep-stalls was out of repair; a second helper would come with it later in the day and in the meantime jonas would follow the flock with his wagon and two yoke of oxen. as to mr. pete harding, that delinquent, instead of being conscience-smitten by his long absence, had returned as one who is the bearer of glad tidings, the burden of his song being that he had been most surpassingly drunk. steve, taking into consideration that the man, being now satisfied with his achievements and the proud possessor of a headache, would settle down to the simple life with all the more interest, let him off without a word of reproof. and besides, mr. brown, though he did not say so, was grateful to the man for having stayed away as long as he did. thus steve brown was free to do as he pleased. he would himself take janet to her destination at the county-seat; and if she would allow him to,--he seemed to lose all his usual self-confidence at this point in his relations toward her,--he would wait there until she had taken the examination. and then, if she were willing, he would take her wherever she wished to go. janet, protesting mildly against putting him to so much trouble, accepted the offer. "that's the best thing for us to do," he said. so it was decided; and when breakfast was over and the hieroglyphic oil-coat had been stowed under the seat of the buggy, janet's horse got the word to go. not without regret, nor certain light allusions to the state other feelings, did janet part company with the shack and the now familiar prairie. the shack had been a house to her, and one whose roof and walls had held her in the very closest relations; and besides, though she did not say a word about this, it was the only residence she had ever met which she could possibly imagine herself saving up enough money to buy. this was one of its secrets. steve, taking a route of his own, drove twice through the waters of the wandering comanche. at these wide shallows, janet's gossip ceased while she held to his coat-sleeve and kept her eye on the water as it hurried through the spokes and rose steadily to the hub. but when the stout pony pulled them up the opposite bank and the road lay before them the same length as before, she again took up the thread of the conversation. as everybody knows, a conversation can lead almost anywhere; the talk will get to wherever it is going by some route as long as words point the way, and always the story of one's _self_ will leak through the sentences in the end. and where is there anything so conducive to the objects of conversation as a rockaway buggy wheeling it over the cushioned sward and the flowers trooping by? we are not going to intrude upon their pleasant situation; suffice it to say that as time passed he became more and more steve brown and she became increasingly janet. it was about the middle of the forenoon when they reached belleville, the prairie highway becoming now a shady homestead street, with southern cottages ensconced in vines and shrubbery and sheltered by prosperous trees. presently they turned into a street of stores which delivered them finally to a hitching-rack at the end of a walk leading up to the steps of the court-house. the professor, it devolved upon inquiry, was busy just at present, but if the young lady would step up to his room he would give her an examination shortly. steve, being thus left to himself, went outside again. at the side of the gravel walk was a green bench presided over by a china-berry tree; he sat down here and waited. occasionally a passer-by diversified the tenor of his waiting--now a straight-paced lawyer garbed in black and thinking dark thoughts; again, a leisurely stockman arrayed like himself with sombrero and spurs. his own spurs he had not thought to remove since he got back that morning. the little town, like other county capitals, had an atmosphere that was half the hush of the court-room and partly the quiet of academic groves, in which state of being the inhabitants were peacefully and permanently established, the court-house being, in truth, belleville's principal industry. having nodded to several and encountered none that he was well acquainted with, he arose and went into the court-house again. after a spell of indecision in the corridor, he turned and proceeded up the dark-banistered stairs to the second story. at the head of the stairs was a long hall with two rows of doors and a window at each end. one of the farther doors was open, but gave forth no sound. in this direction he turned his steps,--ostensibly toward the window which was invitingly open,--and as he passed the door he turned his head and viewed the scene of the "examination." the place was filled with cast-iron desks screwed to the floor and surrounded by blackboards; and all empty except for the seat which held janet. the professor, elevated on a little platform with a table before him, sat sidewise in his chair out of regard to a set of questions which he had chalked upon the blackboard; meanwhile he tapped the table with his fingernails and regarded janet with a look of great profundity. it was a speechless process; he wrote the questions on the blackboard, she wrote the answers on the paper. janet, evidently perplexed, bit the end of her penholder. she turned her eyes to the door as steve passed and gave him a furtive look. it made him feel as if he were a boy again and janet a little girl being kept after school. he passed onward to the window. below him was a view of the court-house yard, and through the trees a glimpse of the short business street. for a little while he made this the object of his attention, then he turned about and proceeded to the window at the other end. as he passed the door he turned his eyes again and took quick survey of affairs inside the examination-room, the other window, being at the back of the courthouse, opened upon a wide prospect; in the near distance were tree-hidden cottages, beyond this scene was the stretch of prairie again. steve sat down on the sill to wait. but in a little while he got up and went back to the first window. when he passed the door again the young lady blushed. janet was now in the very midst of that dread ordeal known as a "test." she was being tried for her life,--which is to say her living,--and her speechless inquisitor made the most of his attainments. "give the source and course of the volga." having writ down that cold-blooded query he ascended his dais again and suppressed all feelings of triumph. janet again put the pen-holder to her teeth. evidently this was more than the young lady was able to "give." he drummed on the wood with his finger-nails; otherwise he sat before her like patience on a pedestal. his single spectator, feeling herself no match for such a brain, was beginning to abandon all hope of passing. [illustration: in the very midst of that dread ordeal known as a test] steve brown, having gathered some inkling of janet's mental troubles, was beginning to have his opinion of the whole procedure. seeing her in such difficulty he had a feeling of revolt against educational things in general, but as the wrong seemed to be beyond his individual powers to remedy, he could only make another trip to the end of the hall. glancing again at the questions on the board he looked in vain for some inquiry upon the subject of climate. there did not seem to be even one. and when next he came back, after composing himself for about half a minute on the window ledge, the door was unceremoniously shut in his face! he had come to a definite stop in hope of finding at least one question upon the subject of climate; the door was shut in his face. confronting him was the printed legend--"county superintendent." his heels were frozen to the floor. if it had not been that it was an improper and very unusual thing to do, he could have shot each particular letter of that announcement full of bullet holes. the remedy for this peculiar outrage not at once presenting itself, he turned on his heel and made another trip to the farther window where he at once came face-about and began patrolling the hallway, past the door and back again, his spurs clicking sharply and his high boot-heels punctuating his progress as if every step put a period to his thoughts. as he thus took his mind a-walking, everything about janet's present situation struck him in a light more obnoxious and foolish. examination! examin_ation_! the idea of that girl having to go to that fellow to be tested! the idea of _his_ having any such _authority_ over her! and besides, if that little professor really wanted to get an idea of her merits, why did n't he talk to her and find out whether she had common sense? she certainly had more than _he_ had. as if any man with half an eye could n't see that she was the very person to teach children! as janet's situation struck him more deeply, and he began to realize how she might feel if she failed, he stopped and glared again at that brazen lettering. possibly she was failing now. he felt that if he had the authority, or any proper cause,--which he could hardly make out that he had,--he would march in and reform the thing right then and there. but he had no authority. the other fellow had the authority. and the right to close the door between them! this being actually the case he whirled about and resumed his marching back and forth; and his spurs began snapping their jaws again. janet, when she saw the door shut, caught her breath and paid strict attention to the paper. the examiner, evidently unconscious of anything but his own precise self, went officially to the blackboard and took up next the writing of another set of questions. he wrote impromptu and with considerable readiness, pausing occasionally to think up a poser. regularly she heard her escort coming down the hall on his return trip, and each time she suspended mental operations until he was safely away again. about the time that she had done her best, and worst, to the subject of geography, he failed to pass the door; his footsteps seemed to turn with a new and lighter expression in some other direction. then she heard no more of him. the next subject was grammar. she caught glimpses of the questions as her examiner walked back and forth from one end of a sentence to the other. as grammar is a subject in which there is some limit to the number of possible questions, she felt that she now had an advantage. she would now do wonders providing he did not ask her something easy. luckily he did not. she pushed geography aside and took a new sheet of foolscap with every prospect of passing. at first it had looked very much as if she were going to fail. steve's withdrawal had merely been due to the sudden realization that he was making a great deal of noise in the court-house; whereupon he saw that, all things considered, he could contain himself better somewhere else. he went down the stairs, through the corridor, and out of the grounds. thence his feet carried him clean to the other side of town. when he found himself upon the silent shore of the prairie he turned about with the intention of going straight back, but he was three times delayed, first at the hitching-rack in front of "hart's general store," where a knot of story-tellers halted him to tell him about the phenomenal good time of his herder, and again in front of the post-office, where another group of loiterers had to be listened to; and finally, having made his escape when he felt that it was high time to go, he had the bad luck to run into judge tillotson, whose propensity to talk was such that he could not be denied a hearing without good excuse. when he at last arrived at the foot of the court-house path, he saw janet sitting on the bench under the china-berry tree. how long had she been waiting for him? as she caught sight of him she began dabbing her eyes hastily with her handkerchief. steve saw this. his stride lengthened as he came up the path. having reached the bench he dropped down suddenly beside her, his arm extended along the top of the bench at her back. "how did you make out, miss janet?" there was a lugubrious attempt at a smile as she turned her eyes toward him. the tears had been put into her pocket; but still he could see that her eyes were swimming. to him they looked more wonderfully gentle, more wholly true than any eyes he had ever seen. "well--mr. brown--i failed," she said. "what! didn't he let you pass?" "i already had a third-class certificate, you know." "yes; but that is n't any good to you." "no," she said meditatively. "even second-class would have got me that school near merrill. i think i would have passed, too, if he had only been fair in geography and history." "what? did he do anything that wasn't on the square?" he asked sternly. "oh, i did n't mean it that way. it is always possible to be unfair in geography and history, you know,--and besides there is a good deal of luck about it, too. he said he would have let me pass, but he had decided to raise the standard." she felt his arm stiffen behind her like an iron bar. she thought he was going to rise. "but he was _perfectly_ fair," she added quickly. steve's muscle relaxed slowly; he resumed his former lax attitude and fell to thinking. "you deserve to get a certificate and you _did n't_," he said, suddenly sitting up again. "it is n't _right_." this last word came out as sharp as a challenge to fight. he seemed to have stiffened up in the saddle with the straight look of indomitable will. janet's eyes opened wider with the impression she got of him. "oh, it is n't a great matter--except that--of course--it is a little disappointing." "yes. and somebody that it doesn't make any difference about will come along and pass." his eye still had fight in it. "you like texas?" he said suddenly. "don't you think it is a pretty good state?" "oh, yes, indeed," answered janet. "i was very much in hope of being able to stay. if i had only had more time to study--more time--" there was a quaver in her voice, and she let the sentence end itself there. he sat for a moment looking straight at the middle of the path before him. then deliberately he turned about, put his arm behind her again, and took her hand in his. "janet," he said, "if you had been here in two or three months from now, there was a question i had all made up to ask you." "a question?" "as long as you might have to go away, i might as well tell you now--before you are gone. i was going to ask you in two or three months whether, if---- but no. that is n't fair. what i mean is, _will_ you marry me? would you?" janet paused during a space that would best be represented by a musical rest--a silence in the midst of a symphony. then her clear eyes turned toward him. "yes, steve; i would." "you would! do you mean that _now_--for keeps?" "i could go and live with you anywhere in the world. i could _almost_ have answered that two days ago." her hand was taken tighter in his grasp. the edge of his sombrero touched the top of her head, and she felt herself being taken under its broad brim with a sense of everlasting shelter. and just then they were interrupted. a visitor to the court-room came up the path--unnoticed till he was almost past. at the same time there was a sound of footsteps coming down the courthouse steps. it was the professor. seeing which steve released her hand and assumed a more conventional public attitude until this particular spectator should be gone. the professor passed. he kept on his way down the path and did not look back; whereupon steve took possession of her hand again. it was such a fine delicate hand to him--so small and tender a hand to have to grapple with things of this rough world; he looked at it thoughtfully and hefted it as so much precious property in his own. "i am mighty glad you said that," he offered. "i was afraid you might have to leave. that's why i wanted you to pass." "and that's why i _wanted_ to pass, too," she said. now that the coast was clear they resumed their confessions. at times they sat in silence, holding hands. as the time approached when they ought to start back, they were reminded to make more definite plans. he would take her to merrill, leave the horse and buggy there, and come home to thornton on the night train. on the following day he would come down with one of his own horses to get the buggy and she could ride up "home" with him and catch the early train back. "i want you to come up right away and look over the house and get acquainted with the neighborhood." "are we going to have nice neighbors?" she asked. "first-class. a mighty fine lot of folks. they 'll all put themselves out to accommodate you. i think you 'll like them." "oh, i know i shall," she answered. "and i 'll have something i want to give you, too. and we can talk things over and make up our minds about the date. i don't see any use in waiting a long time, do you?" "well--no; not too long. but of course there are quite a number of things that need to be done first." "yes--of course," he mused. "quite a number of things that have to be done. and there 's the license to get, too," looking up suddenly at the court-house. "what!--right now?" "we might as well get it while we 're right here, don't you think? i might have to come out here after it anyway--and maybe the comanche would be up and on a rampage. here we are right now. and there's the court-house." "it does seem the most sensible way--of course. you had better do whatever you think best." upon receiving this commission he arose and proceeded for the license. as he set foot upon the court-house steps he paused and looked back at her. he was straight as a ramrod; there was self-confidence in his carriage and pride in his mien. "i 'll bet ten dollars _i 'll_ pass," he said. chapter xii susie's ma--she who made the "real northern" pie--was busy in her kitchen. a dishpanful of dough, which had risen till it overhung the edges of the pan, indicated that it was high time to knead a batch of bread. she was just clearing the table with this end in view when she heard a familiar sound in the distance, and going to the window she saw that jonas hicks was at home again. he turned loose his "string," now reduced to two yoke, and went into the house. while it was no unusual thing for jonas to go into the house, it was seldom that he stayed long, for which reason mrs. berry tarried at the window in expectation of getting another sight of him. while she was thus waiting she saw mrs. harmon making her way across the open. evidently she was bound for jonas's house. she had hardly reached the door when mrs. norton and kitty wright made their appearance on claxton road, arm in arm. they turned off the road and bent their steps in the same direction. in a little while mrs. plympton and another of her aristocratic neighbors issued forth and joined company, walking faster. they too struck out across the common. what might this mean? to mrs. berry, who knew nothing of the unreturned rockery, and nothing of the mysterious doings of steve brown, this was a question which called for an answer. evidently it was no preconcerted move. mrs. berry, being a woman, could see, from various indications of dress and manner, that each of them was going simply because she had seen the other do so, and this was reason enough; but still, behind it all, there must have been some original reason; and what was it? mrs. berry proceeded to the kitchen and faced her work. she addressed her remarks particularly to the dough. "well, i guess i can just let my work go for _once_ in my life," she said. she spread out her hands and pushed down the dough till it was about half its former size. "there, now," she said. "rise again." donning a clean apron and her best hat, and giving susan some parting instructions, she opened the door and set forth for the common destination. mrs. berry had the courage of her curiosity. she was not meddlesome, but only interested; and as there was nothing whatever between her and what she saw in the world,--not even an education,--she dealt with life in her own resourceful way. mrs. berry was a "railroad widow"; she supported herself and susan by ceaseless industry helped out by a small income received from "the company" when her husband was killed in the faithful discharge of his duty. by the time she had put in her appearance at jonas's ever-open door, the ladies had come to a period in their conference with jonas and now they were engaged in expressing various sorts of surprise. they were quite astonished at something--whatever the nature of it might be. "yes, she had on that kind of a hat," jonas was saying. "but she ain't any woman from around here. she is a school-teacher and educated. i know her." there was another chorus of "i declare!" which came to a stop as mrs. berry rapped on the door-jamb; then all reference to their business was dropped as they welcomed her in and made the usual polite inquiries regarding herself and little susan. mrs. berry seated herself in the proffered chair without any reference to what the nature of her own errand might have been. when it was seen that she had settled down to stay, mrs. harmon took in hand to make everything plain and open. they had just received news that mr. brown was engaged to be married. it was this, mrs. harmon explained, that they had all been talking over, and they were all very much delighted. mrs. berry, on her part, was not a whit less interested in such things than the rest of them; she expressed her opinion that it was really the best thing for a man to do. with which sentiment they all agreed. then jonas spoke. "you see, mrs. berry," he said, "steve and the young lady passed me on the road coming in from the ranch; and they stopped and told me all about it. they just got engaged to-day." "oh, indeed," said mrs. berry. and then she created consternation by a most embarrassing question. "and were you all expecting it?" "well--yes. we rather _suspected_ it, you know," put in mrs. harmon, viewing her benignly. "we heard in a roundabout way that mr. brown was paying attention to a young lady." this crisis safely passed, gossip revived and took on new life, in the course of which mrs. berry gathered a few details regarding the bride-elect. talk had not proceeded far, however, when mrs. harmon rose and stationed herself behind jonas's kitchen table. "ladies," she said, "i think that, just at this time, and while we are all together, we had better call a meeting of the circle." she took up jonas's long-handled batter-spoon and rapped three times on the table. the result was that they all sat up a little straighter and came to order. "as you are all aware," she continued, "the business of our last meeting was left in a rather unfinished and unsatisfactory state. it has just occurred to me that there is a little point that ought to be taken up promptly and brought to a general understanding. i would suggest that anything in our last meeting which might be of a--star chamber nature--be expunged from the records, verbal and otherwise. in every sense i mean--entirely. will some one make a motion to that effect?" kitty wright arose to the occasion. "i move," she said, "that the proceedings of the last meeting be expunged. and that it be understood that it be considered a permanent meeting of the committee of the whole behind closed doors. also that it be understood that any member--such as mrs. plympton, for instance--is entitled to vote now, and make inquiries from any of her sisters, at any time, regarding the nature of the present parliamentary vocabulary." "second the motion," said mrs. plympton. "moved and seconded that the last meeting be of the aforesaid nature." the motion was carried. "and now," said mrs. harmon, rapping again with the spoon, "as this little matter is tended to, i think it no more than proper, in view of the pleasant news we have just received, that we turn our attention, while the opportunity offers, to an _entirely different_ matter." here she turned a wary glance in the direction of the much-mystified mrs. berry. "while we are all here i think it would be a matter of pleasure to all concerned that we make some plans for the proper treatment of the young lady who is going to settle among us. possibly we could do something to entertain her and make her feel at home. if any of you have an idea on which we could act, motions to that effect will now be in order." "mrs. president," said kitty wright, rising to her feet, "i think that would be just lovely. i move that when miss smith arrives to-morrow she be invited to a chicken dinner at the home of our worthy president; and that two members of the circle be invited, including myself." "second the motion," said mrs. norton. "moved and seconded that the young lady and her escort be invited to dinner at the home of the president, and that mrs. wright and mrs. norton include themselves. are you ready for the question?" "question." the motion was carried. "mrs. president," said mrs. plympton, rising and receiving recognition, "i understand from the information that has been conveyed to us by mr. hicks, that the wedding is not likely to be put off to a very late day. it may occur very soon; therefore any plans that we may have in that regard ought to be set in motion at once. now, i have just been thinking that i have those fifty japanese lanterns which we used in the lawn festival. i move that a committee be appointed, at the pleasure of the president, to begin arrangements for celebrating the return of the bridal couple with a reception _al fresco_ in our peach orchard. and that the colonel be notified to have his barn in readiness for another dance." the motion was seconded and carried by extra unanimous vote. mrs. harmon paused a moment before bringing the meeting to an end. while she was hesitating a chair scraped behind her and mrs. berry took the floor. "i don't know as i belong to this here circle," said mrs. berry, "but anyway i guess i belong to the square." a murmur of approval showed that they appreciated this view, referring as it did to that rectangular neighborhood surrounding jonas's twenty acres. "i guess i belong to the square. and i have just been thinking that as long as mr. brown has been living alone around that house he has probably got it into a pretty bad mess. most likely the kitchen is a sight and the place is all out of order. somebody ought to go over and sweep and dust and scrub and red things up. if the young lady was to come along to-morrow and see things like that she would think we was a _pretty_ sort of a neighborhood. i move and second that i go and do it." without a dissenting vote, this motion was carried. mrs. harmon was about to declare the meeting adjourned; but she paused with her spoon in the air. "mr. hicks," she said, turning her head in his direction, "i believe you understand about the rockery?" "yes," replied jonas, rising. "i 'll tend to that all right. i 'll get them back and fixed just the same as before. and as long as everybody is bearing witness, i might as well do the same, as the cat said when she got caught in the mousetrap. most likely, if steve has been hauling things around in that house, there will be lots of heavy lifting and tall reaching that needs to be done; so if mrs. berry is going over there to fix up i guess i 'll go along too." upon this the batter-spoon came down and the meeting was declared adjourned. but though it was adjourned, it did not immediately disperse--women's meetings seldom do. such delightful duties being in the air, they had to be dwelt upon and enlarged, and jonas had to bring forth further details of his favorable impressions of the young lady. and did he do her justice? did he let them understand how well-bred and refined and good-looking she was? did he, in short, convey the information that she was just about the sweetest and most delightful and charming young lady that ever set foot on the soil of texas? i think, dear reader, that we may safely intrust that duty to mr. jonas hicks. a texas cow boy or fifteen years on the hurricane deck of a spanish pony. taken from real life by chas. a. siringo. an old stove up cow puncher who has spent nearly a life time on the great western cattle ranges. globe lithographing & printing co. chicago illustration: representation of life in a cow camp. illustration: the author, in cow boy uniform. a texas cow boy or, fifteen years on the hurricane deck of a spanish pony. taken from real life by chas. a. siringo, an old stove up "cow puncher," who has spent nearly twenty years on the great western cattle ranges. m. umbdenstock & co., publishers, chicago, illinois. . illustration: the author after he became stove-up--financially, as well as otherwise. index. chapter. page. i. my boyhood days ii. my introduction to the late war iii. my first lesson in cow punching iv. my second experience in st. louis v. a new experience vi. adopted and sent to school vii. back at last to the lone star state viii. learning to rope wild steers ix. owning my first cattle x. a start up the chisholm trail xi. buys a boat and becomes a sailor xii. back to my favorite occupation, that of a wild and woolly cow boy xiii. mother and i meet at last xiv. on a tare in wichita, kansas xv. a lonely trip down the cimeron xvi. my first experience roping a buffalo xvii. an exciting trip after thieves xviii. seven weeks among indians xix. a lonely ride of eleven hundred miles xx. another start up the chisholm trail xxi. a trip which terminated in the capture of "billy the kid" xxii. billy the kid's capture xxiii. a trip to the rio grande on a mule xxiv. waylaid by unknown parties xxv. lost on the staked plains xxvi. a trip down the reo pecos xxvii. a true sketch of "billy the kid's" life xxviii. wrestling with a dose of small pox on the llano esticado xxix. in love with a mexican girl xxx. a sudden leap from cow boy to merchant copyrighted by chas. a. siringo, caldwell, kans. all rights reserved. preface. my excuse for writing this book is money--and lots of it. i suppose the above would suffice, but as time is not very precious i will continue and tell how the idea of writing a book first got into my head: while ranching on the indian territory line, close to caldwell, kansas, in the winter of ' and ' , we boys--there being nine of us--made an iron-clad rule that whoever was heard swearing or caught picking grey backs off and throwing them on the floor without first killing them, should pay a fine of ten cents for each and every offense. the proceeds to be used for buying choice literature--something that would have a tendency to raise us above the average cow-puncher. just twenty-four hours after making this rule we had three dollars in the pot--or at least in my pocket, i having been appointed treasurer. as i was going to town that night to see my sunday girl, i proposed to the boys that, while up there, i send the money off for a years subscription to some good newspaper. the question then came up, what paper shall it be? we finally agreed to leave it to a vote--each man to write the one of his choice on a slip of paper and drop it in a hat. there being two young texans present who could neither read nor write, we let them _speak_ their choice after the rest of us got our votes deposited. at the word given them to cut loose they both yelled "police gazette", and on asking why they voted for that wicked sheet, they both replied as though with one voice: "cause we can read the pictures." we found, on counting the votes that the police gazette had won, so it was subscribed for. with the first copy that arrived was the beginning of a continued story, entitled "potts turning paris inside out." mr. potts, the hero, was an old stove-up new york preacher, who had made a raise of several hundred thousand dollars and was over in paris blowing it in. i became interested in the story, and envied mr. potts very much. i wished for a few hundred thousand so i could do likewise; i lay awake one whole night trying to study up a plan by which i could make the desired amount. but, thinks i, what can an uneducated cow puncher do now-a-days to make such a vast sum? in trying to solve the question my mind darted back a few years, when, if i had taken time by the forelock, i might have now been wallowing in wealth with the rest of the big cattle kings--or to use a more appropriate name, cattle thieves. but alas! thought i, the days of honorable cattle stealing is past, and i must turn my mind into a healthier channel. the next morning while awaiting breakfast i happened to pick up a small scrap of paper and read: "to the young man of high aims literature offers big inducements, providing he gets into an untrodden field." that night i lay awake again, trying to locate some "cussed" untrodden field, where, as an author, i might soar on high--to the extent of a few hundred thousand at least. at last, just as our pet rooster, "deacon bates" was crowing for day, i found a field that i had never heard of any one trampling over--a "nigger" love story. so that night i launched out on my new novel, the title of which was, "a pair of two-legged coons." my heroine, miss patsy washington was one shade darker than the ace of spades, while her lover, mr. andrew jackson, was three colors darker than herself. my plot was laid in african bend on the colorado river in southern texas. everything went on nicely, until about half way through the first chapter, when mr. jackson was convicted and sent to huntsville for stealing a neighbors hog; and while i was trying to find a substitute for him, old patsy flew the track and eloped with a yankee carpet-bagger. that was more than i could endure, so picking up the manuscript i threw it into the fire. thus ended my first attempt at authorship. i then began figuring up an easier field for my inexperienced pen, and finally hit upon the idea of writing a history of my own short, but rugged life, which dear reader you have before you. but whether it will bring me in "shekels" enough to capsize paris remains yet to be "disskivered" as the negro says. a texas cow boy. chapter i. my boyhood days. it was a bright morning, on the th day of february , as near as i can remember, that your humble servant came prancing into this wide and wicked world. by glancing over the map you will find his birthplace, at the extreme southern part of the lone star state, on the peninsula of matagorda, a narrow strip of land bordered by the gulf of mexico on the south and matagorda bay on the north. this peninsula is from one to two miles wide and seventy five miles long. it connects the mainland at caney and comes to a focus at deskrows point or "salura pass." about midway between the two was situated the "dutch settlement," and in the centre of that settlement, which contained only a dozen houses, stood the little frame cottage that first gave me shelter. my father who died when i was only a year old, came from the sunny clime of italy, while my dear old mother drifted from the boggs of good "ould" ireland. am i not a queer conglomerate--a sweet-scented mixture indeed! our nearest neighbor was a kind old soul by the name of john williams, whose family consisted of his wife and eleven children. in the fall of i took my first lessons in school, my teacher being a mr. hale from illinois. the school house, a little old frame building, stood off by itself, about a mile from the settlement, and we little tow-heads, sister and i, had to hoof it up there every morning, through the grassburrs, barefooted; our little sunbrowned feet had never been incased in shoe-leather up to that time. to avoid the grassburrs, sometimes on getting an early start we would go around by the gulf beach which was quite a distance out of our way. in taking this route though, i would generally be late at school, for there were so many little things to detain me--such as trying to catch the shadow of a flying sea gull, or trying to lasso sand crabs on my stick horse. crowds of cow boys used to come over to the peninsula from the mainland and sometimes have occasion to rope wild steers in my presence--hence me trying to imitate them. i remember getting into a scrape once by taking the beach route to school; sister who was a year older than i, was walking along the water edge picking up pretty shells while i was riding along on my stick horse taking the kinks out of my rope--a piece of fishline--so as to be ready to take in the first crab that showed himself. those crabs went in large droves and sometimes ventured quite a distance out from the gulf, but on seeing a person would break for the water. it was not long before i spied a large drove on ahead, pulling their freight for the water. i put spurs to my pony and dashed after them. i managed to get one old fat fellow headed off and turned towards the prairie. i threw at him several times but he would always go through the loop before i could pull it up. he finally struck a hole and disappeared. i was determined to get him out and take another whirl at him, so dropping my horse and getting down on all fours i began digging the sand away with my hands, dog fashion. about that time sister came up and told me to come on as i would be late at school, etc. i think i told her to please go to halifax, as i was going to rope that crab before i quit or "bust." at any rate she went off, leaving me digging with all my might. every now and then i would play dog by sticking my snoot down in the hole to smell. but i rammed it down once too often. mr. crab was nearer the surface than i thought for. he was laying for me. i gave a comanche yell, jumped ten feet in the air and lit out for home at a : gait. one of his claws was fastened to my upper lip while the other clamped my nose with an iron-like grip. i met mr. william berge coming out to the beach after a load of wood, and he relieved me of my uncomfortable burden. he had to break the crabs claws off to get him loose. i arrived at school just as mr. hale was ringing the bell after recess. he called me up and wanted to know what was the matter with my face, it was so bloody. being a little george w., minus the hatchet, i told him the truth. suffice to say he laid me across his knee and made me think a nest of bumble bees were having a dance in the seat of my breeches--or at least where the seat should have been. i never had a pair of pants on up to that time. had worn nothing but a long white shirt made of a flour sack after some of the "big bugs" in matagorda had eaten the flour out. the fall of mr. hale broke up school and left for yankeedom to join the blue coats. and from that time on i had a regular picnic, doing nothing and studying mischief. billy williams was my particular chum; we were constantly together doing some kind of devilment. the old women used to say we were the meanest little imps in the settlement, and that we would be hung before we were twenty-one. our three favorite passtimes were, riding the milk calves, coon hunting and sailing play-boats down on the bay shore. shortly after school broke up i wore my first pair of breeches. uncle "nick" and aunt "mary," mothers' brother and sister, who lived in galveston, sent us a trunk full of clothes and among them was a pair of white canvas breeches for me. the first sunday after the goods arrived mother made me scour myself all over and try my new pants on. they were large enough for two kids of my size, but mother said i could wear them that day if i would be a good boy, and that she would take a few tucks in them before the next sunday. so after getting me fixed up she told me not to leave the yard or she would skin me alive, etc. of course i should have been proud of the new addition to my wardrobe and like a good little boy obeyed my mother; but i wasn't a good little boy and besides the glory of wearing white pants was insignificant compared to that of an exciting coon hunt with dogs through brush, bramble and rushes. you see i had promised billy the evening before to go coon hunting with him that day. i watched my chance and while mother was dressing sister in her new frock i tiptoed out of the house and skipped. billy was waiting for me with the four dogs and off we went for the bay shore. arriving there the dogs disappeared in the tall rushes barking at every jump; we jumped right in after them, up to our waists in the mud. we had a genuine good all-day coon hunt, killing several coons and one wild cat. we gave up the hunt about sundown, and i started for home, the glory of my new pants having departed. i was indeed a sorry looking sight, covered with mud from head to foot. i entered the house with some fear and trembling, and well i might, for mother was "laying" for me with the old black strap. the result was i slept sound that night, but couldn't sit down without pain for a week afterwards. chapter ii. my introduction to the late war. it was monday morning--a day that i despised. need you wonder, for it was mother's wash day and i had to carry wood from the gulf beach to keep the "pot boiling." i tried to play off sick that morning but it would not work, for mother had noticed that i got away with two plates of mush besides three hard boiled eggs for breakfast. before starting out after my first load of wood, i hid the big old strap which hung by the door, for i felt it in my bones there was war in the air. i always did have a tough time of it on wash days, and i knew this monday would bring the same old story. at last mother got the fire started under the wash-pot which stood out in the yard and told me for about the twentieth time to go after an armful of wood. i hesitated, in hopes that she would take a notion to go herself, but when she stamped her foot and picked up a barrel stave i knew i had better be going, for when she got her irish blood up it was dangerous to linger. when i got out among the drift wood on the beach, i treed a cotton-tail rabbit up a hollow log, and i made up my mind to get mr. cotton-tail out, wood or no wood. i began digging the sand away from the log as fast as i could so as to be able to roll it down into the gulf and drown the rabbit out. it was a very hot day and digging the heavy sand with only my hands and a stick was slow, tiresome work. the result was i fell asleep with my head under the log and my bare legs sticking out in the hot june sun. i dreamt i died and went to a dreadful hot country and satan was there piling hot coals on me. finally the sun went under a cloud, or at least i suppose it did, for the burning pain left me and i began to dream of heaven; i thought the lord was there sitting upon his throne of gold in the midst of scores of happy children. calling me up to him he pointed to a large pile of fence rails down in a beautiful valley and said: "my boy you go down and carry every one of those rails up here to me before you stop." his words landed up against my happy thoughts like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. i had been thinking of what a picnic i would have with the other children. a walk of about one mile brought me to the pile of rails; there were more in the pile than i could count, i shouldered one of the lightest and struck out up the steep hill, thinking how i would like to be back with mother, even if i had to carry an armful of wood from the beach now and then. when about half way up the hill i heard a terrible noise such as i had never heard before, it awakened me, and in trying to jump up i bumped my head against the log, and also filled my eyes full of sand. when i got onto my feet and the sand out of my eyes, i discovered the whole beach, east of me, thronged with men carrying guns, and marching right towards me. the head ones were not over a hundred yards off, beating drums and blowing their horns. it is needless to say i was scared and that i ran as fast as my legs could carry me, looking back every minute to see if they were after me. it was in this way that i ran or sprang right into the midst of mrs. zipprian's drove of geese, before i knew it. there were several old ganders in the drove which used to chase me every chance they got. i generally took particular pains to go around them; but this time my mind was in a different channel from what it had ever been in before, hence my not looking out for them. as i flew past, two of the old ganders made a dive at me, but only one succeeded in catching on; he grabbed the tail of my shirt, which stuck straight out behind, in his mouth and hung on with blood in his eyes. my speed seemed to increase instead of slacken, every time the old gander would bounce up and come down, his claws would rake the skin from the calves of my legs. his death-like grip finally broke loose and i felt considerable lighter. my mind also, felt somewhat relieved. mother was out in the yard washing, she had picked up chips enough to boil the water; the tub was sitting upon a box and she was rubbing away with all her might, her back towards me. as i was looking over my shoulder i ran against her, knocking her, tub and all over in a pile, myself with them. mother got up first with her right hand in my shirt collar, i plead manfully, and tried to tell her about the scores of men, but she was too mad to listen, she dragged me to where the big black strap should have hung, i knew she couldn't find it, therefore hoped to get off with a few slaps, but alas, no she spied the mush stick and the way she gave it to me with that was a caution! the crowd i saw proved to be dr. pierceson's company of rebels, who had been sent over from matagorda to drill and be ready to fight the blue coats when they came. it was then the summer of . they located their camp on the beach, about a mile from our house, and i used to march with them all day long sometimes. the captain, dr. pierceson, gave me an umbrella stick which i used for a gun. that coming fall about five thousand yankees landed at deckrows point on the peninsula and marched by our ranch on their way to the rebel camp which was stationed forty miles above, at the mouth of caney creek. they camped one night close to our house and filled me up with hard-tack, which was quite a treat to a fellow living on mush and milk. they had a five or six day fight with the rebels, neither of them coming off victorious. we could hear the guns plainly from the "settlement." many dead men were washed ashore on the beach. my sister and i stumbled onto one poor fellow one day, shot through the heart. his clothes were gone and his wrist was marked "j. t." in india ink. after the battle the yankees marched back to deckrows point where they remained to the end of the war; the rebels still held their ground at the mouth of caney. every now and then a squad from each side would meet at the "settlement" and have a skirmish. i remember once after one of those skirmishes a crowd of yankees rounded mr. williams up on the prairie--billy and i being with him--and throwing their pistols in his face told him if they ever found him so far from home again they would kill him. their threats didn't scare mr. williams the least bit, for he afterwards slipped into their camp after dark and stole eleven head of their best horses and gave them to the rebels. but on his way back from the rebel ramp, where he went to take the horses they caught him and took him aboard of a yankee man-of-war to hang him. they had the rope around his neck ready to swing him when the general turned him loose, on account of his old age and bravery, telling him never to be caught from home again. fighting was going on nearly every day in sight of us; sometimes the yankee gun boats would get into the bay among the rebel boats, and at other times they would fight across the narrow strip of land, shooting right over the houses at one another. many of the cannon balls dropped on the prairie; one of them at one time struck within a few feet of mr. williams, almost burying him in the sand as it plowed along on the ground. poor fellow, he was afterwards killed by one, he carried one home and taking all the powder out of it, as he supposed, set it out in the yard with the hole up, and then told billy to get him a coal of fire in the tongs. he thought it would just flash a little. i was present, and not liking the looks of it, crept out behind the picket gate, a few yards away, and peeped between the pickets. the whole family was looking on to see the fun, mattie, one of the little girls, was sitting with her arms around a dog's neck, within a few feet of it. billy, arriving with the coal, handed it to his father who reached over and let it drop down into the hole--where he had taken out the lead screw. it seemed to me that the coal hadn't reached the hole when the thing exploded. for a few seconds everything was enveloped in smoke; when the smoke disappeared sufficiently for me to see, the whole sky seemed to be a blaze of fire, and finally mr. williams emerged out of the heavy cloud of smoke hopping on one leg. a piece of the bomb-shell had taken off part of one foot on the left leg and another piece had plowed through the calf of his right leg; part of one ear was also gone. he only lived a few days. a piece of the shell took off one of the dog's legs without even touching mattie, the little girl who had her arms around his neck. several pieces went through the house, and one piece went through the picket gate right over my head. the next day billy and i found a large piece sticking in the wall of an old vacant house a mile from where it exploded. during the war several ships were driven ashore on the beach by the yankee gun boats. the folks at the "settlement" would get all the plunder. one ship was loaded with dry goods and from that time on i wore breeches. about a year after the war broke out the rebels gathered up all the cattle on the peninsula and drove them to the mainland, where they were turned loose with the thousands upon thousands of wild cattle already over there. their idea in doing so was to keep the yankees--whom they knew would hold the lower part of the peninsula, they having the best gunboats--from getting fresh beef to eat. there was only one cow left in the whole "settlement" and that was our old "browny;" mother had begged manfully for them to leave her, for she knew we children would starve to death living on mush straight. when the war broke up everybody was happy. we cheered for joy when mr. joe yeamans brought the good news from town. shortly after this all of the men and boys that were large enough, went over to the mainland to gather up the peninsula cattle. on their arrival they found it a bigger job than they had figured on, for they were scattered over two or three hundred miles of country and as wild as deer. billy and i thought it very hard that we could not go and be cow boys too; but we had lots of fun all by ourselves, for we had an old mule and two or three ponies to ride, so you see we practiced riding in anticipation of the near future, when we would be large enough to be cow boys. after being gone about three months the crowd came back, bringing with them several hundred head of cattle, which they had succeeded in gathering. among them were about twenty head belonging to mother. the crowd went right back after more. this stimulated billy and i to become a crowd of cow boys all by ourselves, therefore we put in most of our time lassoing and riding wild yearlings, etc. we hardly stayed at home long enough to get our meals. mother had to get her own wood in those days, for sister had gone to school in galveston. of course i always had to come home at night, therefore mother would get satisfaction out of me with the black strap or mush stick, after i was snugly settled in bed, for my waywardness and trifling habits. in the spring of , a cattle man by the name of faldien brought his family over to the peninsula for their health and rented part of our house to live in. after getting his wife and babies located in their new quarters, he started back home, in matagorda, to make preparations for spring work, he having to rig up new outfits, etc. he persuaded mother to let me go with him, and learn to run cattle. when she consented i was the happiest boy in the "settlement," for my life long wish was about to be gratified. chapter iii. my first lesson in cow punching. the next day after arriving in town, mr. faldien sent me out to his ranch, twenty miles, on big boggy. i rode out on the "grub" wagon with the colored cook. that night, after arriving at the ranch, there being several men already there, we went out wild boar hunting. we got back about midnight very tired and almost used up. such a hunt was very different from the coon hunts billy and i used to have at the "settlement." our dogs were badly gashed up by the boars, and it was a wonder some of us hadn't been served the same way. in a few days mr. faldien came out to the ranch, bringing with him several men. after spending a few days gathering up the cow-ponies, which hadn't been used since the fall before, we started for lake austin--a place noted for wild cattle. during the summer i was taken sick and had to go home. i was laid up for two months with typhoid fever. every one thought i would die. that fall, about october, mother married a man by the name of carrier, who hailed from yankeedom. he claimed that he owned a farm in michigan, besides lots of other property. he was very anxious to get back to his farm, so persuaded mother to sell out lock, stock and barrel and go with him. she had hard work to find a buyer as money was very scarce, but finally she got mr. george burkheart, a merchant in matagorda, to set his own price on things and take them. the house and one hundred and seventy-five acres of land only brought one hundred and seventy-five dollars. the sixty head of cattle that we had succeeded in getting back from the mainland went at one dollar a head and all others that still remained on the mainland--thrown in for good measure. at last everything for sale was disposed of and we got "chris" zipprian to take us to indianola in his schooner. we bade farewell to the old homestead with tears in our eyes. i hated more than anything else to leave old "browny" behind for she had been a friend in need as well as a friend indeed. often when i would be hungry and afraid to go home for fear of mother and the mush stick, she would let me go up to her on the prairie calf fashion and get my milk. she was nearly as old as myself. at indianola we took the steamship "crescent city" for new orleans. the first night out we ran into a large brig and came very near going under. the folks on the brig were nearly starved to death, having been drifting about for thirty days without a rudder. we took them in tow, after getting our ship in trim again, and landed them safely in galveston. there was a bar-room on our ship, and our new lord and master, mr. carrier, put in his spare time drinking whisky and gambling; i do not think he drew a sober breath from the time we left indianola until we landed in new orleans, by that time he had squandered every cent received for the homestead and cattle, so mother had to go down into her stocking and bring out the little pile of gold which she had saved up before the war for "hard times," as she used to say. with this money she now bought our tickets to saint louis. we took passage, i think, on the "grand republic." there was also a bar-room on this boat, and after wheedling mother out of the remainder of her funds, he drank whisky and gambled as before, so we landed in saint louis without a cent. mother had to pawn her feather mattress and pillows for a month's rent in an old delapidated frame building on one of the back streets. it contained only four rooms, two up stairs and two down; the lower rooms were occupied by the stingy old landlord and family; we lived in one of the upper rooms, while a mr. socks, whose wife was an invalid, occupied the other. the next day after getting established in our new quarters, the "old man," as i called him, struck out to find a job; he found one at a dollar a day shoveling coal. at first he brought home a dollar every night, then a half and finally a quarter. at last he got to coming home drunk without a nickel in his pocket. he finally came up missing; we didn't know what had become of him. mother was sick in bed at the time from worrying. i went out several times hunting work but no one would even give me a word of encouragement, with the exception of an old jew who said he was sorry for me. a little circumstance happened, shortly after the "old man" pulled his trifling carcass for parts unknown, which made me a better boy and no doubt a better man than i should have been had it never happened. everything was white without, for it had been snowing for the past two days. it was about five o'clock in the evening and the cold piercing north wind was whistling through the unceiled walls of our room. mother was sound asleep, while sister and i sat shivering over an old, broken stove, which was almost cold, there being no fuel in the house. sister began crying and wondered why the lord let us suffer so? i answered that may be it was because we quit saying our prayers. up to the time we left texas mother used to make us kneel down by the bed-side and repeat the lord's prayer every night before retiring. since then she had, from worrying, lost all interest in heavenly affairs. "let us say our prayers now, then, brother!" said sister drying the tears from her eyes. we both knelt down against the old, rusty stove and commenced. about the time we had finished the door opened and in stepped mr. socks with a bundle under his arm. "here children, is a loaf of bread and some butter and i will bring you up a bucket of coal in a few moments, for i suppose from the looks of the stove you are cold," said the good man, who had just returned from his day's work. was ever a prayer so quickly heard? we enjoyed the bread and butter, for we hadn't tasted food since the morning before. the next day was a nice sunny one, and i struck out up town to try and get a job shoveling snow from the sidewalks. the first place i tackled was a large stone front on pine street. the kind lady of the establishment said she would give me twenty-five cents if i would do a good job cleaning the sidewalk in front of the house. after an hour's hard work i finished, and, after paying me, the lady told me to call next day and she would give me a job shoveling coal down in the cellar, as i had done an extra good job on the sidewalk. this was encouraging and i put in the whole day shoveling snow, but never found any more twenty-five cent jobs; most i received for one whole hour's work was ten cents, and then the old fat fellow kicked like a bay steer, about the d----d snow being such an expense, etc. from that time on i made a few dimes each day sawing wood or shoveling coal and therefore got along splendid. i forgot to mention my first evening in saint louis. i was going home from the bakery when i noticed a large crowd gathered in front of a corner grocery; i went up to see what they were doing. two of the boys had just gotten through fighting when i got there; the store-keeper and four or five other men were standing in the door looking on at the crowd of boys who were trying to cap another fight. as i walked up, hands shoved clear to the bottom of my pockets, the store-keeper called out, pointing at me, "there's a country jake that i'll bet can lick any two boys of his size in the crowd." of course all eyes were then turned onto me, which, no doubt, made me look sheepish. one of the men asked me where i was from; when i told him, the store-keeper exclaimed, "by gum, if he is from texas i'll bet two to one that he can clean out any two boys of his size in the crowd." one of the other men took him up and they made a sham bet of ten dollars, just to get me to fight. the two boys were then picked out; one was just about my size and the other considerably smaller. they never asked me if i would take a hand in the fight until everything was ready. of course i hated to crawl out, for fear they might think i was a coward. everything being ready the store-keeper called out, "dive in boys!" we had it up and down for quite a while, finally i got the largest one down, and was putting it to him in good shape, when the other one picked up a piece of brick-bat and began pounding me on the back of the head with it. i looked up to see what he was doing and he struck me over one eye with the bat. i jumped up and the little fellow took to his heels, but i soon overtook him and blackened both of his eyes up in good shape, before the other boy, who was coming at full tilt could get there to help him. i then chased the other boy back to the crowd. that ended the fight and i received two ginger-snaps, from the big hearted storekeeper, for my trouble. i wore the nick-name of "tex" from that time on, during my stay in that neighborhood; and also wore a black eye, where the little fellow struck me with the bat, for several days afterwards. about the middle of january mother received a letter from the "old man," with ten dollars enclosed, and begging her to come right on without delay as he had a good job and was doing well, etc. he was at lebanon, ill., twenty-five miles from the city. the sight of ten dollars and the inducements he held out made us hope that we would meet with better luck there, so we packed up our few traps and started on the ohio and mississippi railroad. on arriving in lebanon about nine o'clock at night we found the "old man" there waiting for us. the next morning we all struck out on foot, through the deep snow, for moore's ranch where the "old man" had a job chopping cord wood. a tramp of seven miles brought us to the little old log cabin which was to be our future home. a few rods from our cabin stood a white frame house in which lived mr. moore and family. everything went on lovely for the first week, notwithstanding that the cold winds whistled through the cracks in our little cabin, and we had nothing to eat but corn bread, black coffee and old salt pork that moore could not find a market for. the first saturday after getting established in our new home the "old man" went to town and got on a glorious drunk, squandered every nickel he could rake and scrape; from that time on his visits to town were more frequent than his trips to the woods, to work. at last i was compelled to go to work for moore at eight dollars a month, to help keep the wolf from our door, and don't you forget it, i earned eight dollars a month, working out in the cold without gloves and only half clothed. towards spring the "old man" got so mean and good-for-nothing that the neighbors had to run him out of the country. a crowd of them surrounded the house one night, took the old fellow out and preached him a sermon; then they gave him until morning to either skip or be hung. you bet he didn't wait until morning. a short while afterwards mother took sister and went to town to hunt work. she left her household goods with one of the near neighbors, a mr. muck, where they still remain i suppose, if not worn out. but there was nothing worth hauling off except the dishes. i must say the table ware was good; we had gotten them from a spanish vessel wrecked on the gulf beach during the war. mother found work in a private boarding house, and sister with a mrs. bell, a miller's wife, while i still remained with moore at the same old wages. along in june sometime i quit moore on account of having the ague. i thought i should have money enough to take a rest until i got well, but bless you i only had ninety cents to my credit, moore had deducted thirty-five dollars the "old man" owed him out of my earnings. i pulled for town as mad as an old setting hen. but i soon found work again, with an old fellow by the name of john sargent, who was to give me eight dollars a month, board and clothes and pay my doctor bills. about the first of september mother and sister went to saint louis where they thought wages would be higher. they bade me good bye, promising to find me a place in the city, so i could be with them; also promised to write. shortly afterwards i quit mr. sargent with only one dollar to my credit; and that i havn't got yet. he charged me up with everything i got in the shape of clothes, doctor bills, medicine, etc. i then went to work for a carpenter, to learn the trade, for my board, clothes, etc. i was to remain with him three years. my first day's work was turning a big heavy stone for him to grind a lot of old, rusty tools on. that night after supper i broke my contract, as i concluded that i knew just as much about the carpenter's trade as i wished to know, and skipped for the country, by moonlight. i landed up at a mr. jacobs' farm twelve miles from town and got a job of work at twelve dollars a month. i didn't remain there long though, as i had a chill every other day regular, and therefore couldn't work much. i made up my mind then to pull for saint louis and hunt mother and sister. i had never heard a word from them since they left. after buying a small satchel to put my clothes in and paying for a ticket to the city, i had only twenty-five cents left and part of that i spent for dinner that day. i arrived in east saint louis about midnight with only ten cents left. i wanted to buy a ginger-cake or something, as i was very hungry, but hated to as i needed the dime to pay my way across the river next morning. i wasn't very well posted then, in regard to the ways of getting on in the world, or i would have spent the dime for something to eat, and then beat my way across the river. chapter iv. my second experience in st. louis. bright and early next morning i gave my dime to the ferryman and pulled out for the bustling city, where i was soon lost in the large crowd which thronged the levee. i left my satchel in a saloon and struck out to find mr. socks, hoping he could give me some information as to mother and sister's whereabouts, but i was sadly disappointed, he had left that part of the city in which he lived when i knew him. i put in the rest of the day gazing through the show windows, especially of the bakeries, at the fat pies, cakes, etc., for i was getting very hungry, my last meal being dinner the day before. about dark i strolled up to a second-hand book store and asked how much a bible, nearly new, would bring? the man behind the counter told me to bring it around and he would give whatever it was worth. so i struck out after my satchel; i hated the idea of parting with the book for it had been presented to me by my late employer's mother mrs. moore, a nice old lady who had taken a liking to me. but you know how it is when a fellow is hungry, or would have known had you been in my shoes. i got twenty-five cents for the bible and immediately invested fifteen cents of it in a mince pie. that night i stowed myself away in an empty dry goods box. i did not sleep well, and when i did sleep it was to dream of snakes and other venomous reptiles. i put in the whole of the next day hunting work, but failed to find it. i had bought a five cent ginger-cake for my dinner and now i got a five cent pie for my supper; this broke me flat and i had nothing else that i could sell; so i put up for the night in a pile of bailed hay, which was stacked up behind a store. the next morning i struck out again hunting work, but this time on an empty stomach. about two o'clock in the afternoon i found a hack driver who said he wanted to hire a boy to take care of his horses; he said he would not be going home until about one o'clock that night and for me to wait for him in front of the court house on fourth street. just as soon as dark came, i went to the appointed place and staid there for fear my man would conclude to go home earlier than he expected. i was exceedingly happy when the long-looked for hour drew near, for i thought it wouldn't be long until i would have a good square meal and a warm bed to sleep in. about two o'clock, while leaning against a lamppost gazing up and down fourth street, a policeman punched me in the ribs and told me to "hunt my hole" and that if he caught me out again so late at night he would put me in the cooler. i pulled out across the street and waited until he got out of sight, then i went back to my same old stand, thinking that my man would certainly be along in a few moments at the outside. every hack that drove by would cause me to have a spell of the blues, until another hove in sight--soon to disappear again. finally about three o'clock my courage and what few sparks of hopes that still remained, wilted, for, an empty stomach and sitting up so late had given me a terrible headache, which was almost past endurance. i was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, with my face buried in both hands, crying, when someone touched me on the shoulder. i was scared at first for i thought it was a "peeler;" but my fears vanished when i looked up into the gleaming countenance of a small, red complexioned man, who said in a pleasant tone:--"is there anything i can do for you my little man?" his kindness proved too much for me, i burst out crying and it was quite awhile before i could tell him my trouble. he was terribly mad when i told him how the hack man had served me; he told me to watch for the hard-hearted wretch next day and if i saw him to point him out and he would teach him how to play jokes on innocent children. he took me to his boarding place, a fancy restaurant, right across the street; he said he was just fixing to go to bed when he spied me across the street, acting as though in trouble. when he found out that i hadn't had a square meal for three days he remarked that it was a d--d shame and then told the night clerk, who appeared to be half asleep, to have me a good supper fixed up and to give me a good room. he then bid me good night and started to bed, telling me to remain there until i found work, if it was a month, that he would arrange everything with the proprietor in the morning before he went to work. i thanked him with tears in my eyes, for his kindness. i was so tired and sleepy that i never woke up until nearly noon next day. after eating breakfast, i struck out to hunt a job, but failed as usual. three days after, while out hunting work, i stopped an old man and asked him if he knew where i could find a job? he smiled and said: "my boy this is the fourth time you have asked me that same question in the last three days. you must like my looks, for i have noticed you pass scores of men without stopping them." i told him i never tackled a man unless he had a pleasing countenance, for i had been snapped up short by so many; i also told him that i did not remember asking him before. he finally, after asking me a few questions, said: "follow me and i will find you work before i stop." the first place we went into was the planters' house, on fourth street, between pine and chestnut, and he asked the clerk if they needed a bell boy. "no," was the short answer he received. he then asked where he could find the proprietor. "up in his room, no.--. on first floor," was the answer. we found the "boss" busily writing. my new friend plead my case like a dutch uncle and told him if i didn't prove to be just what he recommended me to be--a wide-awake, get-up-and-get, honest boy, that he would pay all damages, etc. that seemed to settle it, for i was told to go down to the office and wait for orders. i was too happy to live. i thanked the kind old gentleman from the bottom of my heart and offered to pay him for his trouble as soon as i earned some money. he told me i could pay him for his trouble by being a good boy. after waiting a few minutes in the office, the proprietor came down and made a bargain with me. my wages were to be ten dollars a month. he gave me one month's wages in advance, to buy clean clothes with. i was put on the forenoon watch which went on duty at eight in the morning and came off at one in the afternoon. there were five of us on at a time. we would always make from twenty-five cents to five dollars a day while on duty, for we hardly ever went to wait on a person but what they would give us something in the shape of money. gamblers generally gave us the most; sometimes a lot of them would get together in a room to play cards and send down to the bar after their drinks and may be send a ten or twenty dollar bill and tell the bell boy to keep the change. with this money we used to have some gay old times taking in the city after coming off guard. the next fall, nearly one year after landing at the "planters," i had a fight with one of the bell boys, jimmie byron. he called me a liar and i jumped aboard of him. when it was over with, the clerk, mr. cunningham, called me up to the counter and slapped me without saying a word. i went right straight to my room, packed up my "gripsack" and went to the proprietor for a settlement. he was surprised and wanted to know what in the world had gotten into me. i told him the whole thing, just as it happened. he tried to get me to stay but i was still mad and wouldn't listen to him. i had made up my mind to buy a pistol, come back and get square with mr. cunningham for slapping me. i left the house with eighteen dollars in my pocket; jumped aboard of a street car and rode down to the levee. i left my valise at a saloon and then started back to find a gun store. i finally found one and gave ten dollars for a fancy little ivory handled five-shooter. i then started for the "planters" still as mad as an old setting hen. i had not gone far when i came across a large crowd gathered around one of those knife rackets, where you pay a quarter for five rings and try to "ring" a knife. i watched the thing awhile and finally invested a quarter. i got a little "jim crow" barlow the first throw. that made it interesting, so i bought another quarters worth, and another until five dollars was gone. this did not satisfy me, so i kept on until i didn't have a nickel left. but wasn't i mad when i realized what i had done! i forgot all about my other troubles and felt like breaking my own head instead of cunningham's. i went to the levee and found out that the "bart able" would start for new orleans in a few minutes, so i ran to get my satchel, not far off, determined on boarding the steamer and remaining there until kicked off. anything to get nearer the land of my birth, i thought, even if i had to break the rules of a gentleman in doing so. when the purser came around collecting fares, i laid my case before him with tears in my eyes; i told him i was willing to work--and hard, too, to pay my fare. he finally, after studying awhile, said, "well go ahead, i'll find something for you to do." everything went on lovely with me until one evening when we stopped at a landing to take on some freight, mostly grain. we pulled up by the side of an old disabled steamer which was being used for a wharf-boat and went to work loading. the job given to me was sewing sacks when ever one was found out of order. there were two sets of men loading, one in the stern and the other in the bow, and i was supposed to do the sewing at both ends. when they came across a holey sack, if i happened to be at the other end they would holloa for me and i would go running through the narrow passage way, leading from one end to the other. i was in the stern when the sound of my name came from the other end; i grabbed my ball of twine and struck out in a dog trot through the passage the sides of which were formed of grain piled to the ceiling. when about half way through i thought i heard my name called from the end i had just left; i stopped to listen and while waiting, being tired, i went to lean over against the wall of sacked grain, but instead of a wall there was an old vacated hatchway and over into that i went. there being no flooring in the boat, there was nothing but the naked timbers for my weary bones to alight upon. chapter v. a new experience. the next day about noon i came to my senses. i found myself all alone in a nice little room on a soft bed. i tried to get up but it was useless; my back felt as if it was broken. i couldn't think what had happened to me. but finally the door opened and in stepped a doctor, who explained the whole matter. he said the captain, just as the boat was fixing to pull out, was walking through the passage way when he heard my groans down in the hold and getting a lantern, ladder and help, fished me out almost lifeless. i was in the captain's private room and having the best of care. the back of my head was swollen out of shape, it having struck on one of the cross timbers, while my back landed across another. the doctor said i owed my life to the captain for finding me, "for," said he, "if you had remained in there twenty minutes longer your case would have been hopeless." at last we arrived in memphis, tenn. we had been traveling very slowly on account of having to stop at all the small landings and unload freight or take on more. after landing at memphis i took a notion that a little walk would help my lame back, so i struck out along the river bank, very slowly. during my walk i came across a drove of small snipe, and having my pistol with me, i shot at them. the pistol report attracted the attention of two boys who were standing not far off. they came over to me, and one of them, the oldest, who was on crutches, having only one leg, asked how much i would take for my "shooter?" i told him i would take ten dollars for it, as i was in need of money. he examined it carefully and then said: "it's a trade buddy, but you will have to go up to that little house yonder, to get the money, as i havn't got that much with me." the house he pointed out stood off by itself to the right of the town, which was situated about a mile from the river. the house in question being half a mile off, i told him that i was too weak to walk that far, on account of my back being out of whack. "well," said he, "you go with us as far as that big sand hill yonder," pointing to a large red sand hill a few hundred yards from where we stood, "and my chum here, who has got two good legs, will run on and get the money while we wait." i agreed, not suspecting anything wrong and when behind the sand hill, out of sight of the steamboat landing, mr. one-leg threw down on me with my own "shooter" and ordered me to throw up my hands. i obeyed and held mighty still while the other young ruffian went through my pockets. they walked off with everything i had in my pockets, even took my valise key. i felt considerably relieved, i can assure you, when the cocked revolver was taken down from within a few inches of my nose. i was in dread for fear his trembling finger might accidently touch the trigger. as soon as i was released i went right back to the landing and notified a policeman who struck out after them. but whether he caught them or not i never knew, as the "bart able" steamed down the river shortly afterwards. the same evening after arriving in new orleans the "bart able" pulled back, for saint louis, leaving me there flat broke and among strangers. i looked terribly blue late that evening as i walked up and down the crowded levee studying what to do. i had already been to the morgan steamship landing and begged for a chance to work my way to texas, but met with poor success. i could not hire out even if i had applied and got a job, for my back was still stiff, so much so that i couldn't stoop down without terrible pain. that night i laid down under an old tarpaulin which was spread over a lot of sugar. after getting up and shaking the dust off next morning, i went down the river about a mile where scores of small boats were being unloaded. among them were several boat loads of oranges, bananas, etc., which were being unloaded. in carrying the bananas on shore the over ripe ones would drop off. on those i made my breakfast, but i wished a thousand times before night that i had not eaten them, for oh lord, how my head did ache! that night i went to sleep on a pile of cotton bales--that is i tried to sleep, but my headache was terrible, i could get but little repose. the next morning i found there was a morgan steamship in from texas, and i struck out to interview the captain in regard to a free ride to texas. but the old pot-bellied sinner wouldn't talk to me. in the afternoon i began to grow weak from hunger and my back ached badly. i sat down on an old stove at the foot of canal street and never moved for three long hours. finally a well dressed old man about fifty years of age, with an umbrella over his head, came out of couens' office, a small building a short distance from where i sat, and walking up to me said, in a gruff voice, "young man what are you sitting out here in the sun for, so upright and stiff, as if nailed to that old stove?" i told him i was compelled to sit upright on account of a lame back. in fact i laid my case before him in full. he then said in a much more pleasant voice: "my boy i'm going to make you an offer, and you can take it or let it alone--just as you like. i will give you four dollars a month to help my wife around the house and at the end of four months will give you a free pass to texas. you see i am agent for couens' red river line of boats and, therefore, can get a pass cheap." i accepted his offer at once and thanked him with all my heart for his kindness. being on his way home, we boarded a canal street car. it was then almost sundown. about a half hour's ride brought us within half a block of our destination. walking up a pair of nicely finished steps at no. derbigny street, he rang a bell. a negro servant whom he called "ann," answered the call. everything sparkled within, for the house was furnished in grand style. the old gentleman introduced me to his wife as a little texas hoosier that had strayed off from home and was about to starve. after supper "miss mary," as the servants called mrs. myers and as i afterwards called her showed me to the bath house and told me to give myself an extraordinary good scrubbing. i do not know as this improved my looks any, as i hadn't any clean clothes to put on, my valise having been stolen during my illness coming down the river. the next day miss mary took me to a clothing house and fitted me out in fine style. i admired all but the narrow brimmed hat and peaked toed gaiters. i wanted a broad brimmed hat and star top boots, but she said i would look too much like a hoosier with them on. that evening i got a black eye. after mr. myers came home from his work about four o'clock, we all went out on the front steps to breathe the fresh air. there being a crowd of boys playing at the corner i asked mr. and mrs. myers if i could go over and watch them awhile. both consented, but told me not to stay long as they didn't want me to get into the habit of mixing with the street loafers. on arriving there all eyes were turned towards me. one fellow yelled out, "hello dandy, when did you arrive!" and another one remarked, "he is a stiff cuss--aint he?" i concluded there was nothing to be seen and turned back; just as i turned around a yellow negro boy slipped up behind me and pulled my hair. the white boys had put him up to it, no doubt. i jumped aboard of him quicker than a flash and forgot all about my sore back. it was nip and tuck for awhile--we both being about the same size, but i finally got him down and blooded his nose in good shape. as i went to get up he kicked me over one eye with his heavy boot. hence the black eye, which was swollen up in a few minutes to an enormous size. i expected to get a scolding from mr. and mrs. myers, but they both gloried in my spunk for taking my own part. they had witnessed the whole thing. somehow or another that fight took the kink out of my back for from that time on it began to get well. i am bothered with it though, to this day, when i take cold or do a hard day's work. chapter vi. adopted and sent to school. mr. and mrs. myers had no children and after i had been with them about a month, they proposed to adopt me, or at least they made me promise to stay with them until i was twenty-one years of age. they were to send me to school until i was seventeen and then start me in business. they also promised to give me everything they had at their death. so they prepared me for school right away. as i was not very far advanced in book learning, having forgotten nearly all that mr. hale taught me, they thought i had better go to fisk's public school until i got a start. i had not been going to this school long when i had trouble with the lady teacher, miss finnely. it happened thus: a boy sitting behind me, struck me on the neck with a slate pencil, and when i turned around and accused him of it he whispered, "you lie." i gave him a lick on the nose that made him bawl like a calf. of course the teacher heard it and called us up to take our medicine. she made the other boy hold out his hand first and after giving him five raps told him to take his seat. it was then my time, and i stuck out my hand like a little man. she gave me five licks and was raising the rule to strike again when i jerked my hand away, at the same time telling her that it wasn't fair to punish me the most when the other boy caused the fuss. she insisted on giving me a little more so finally i held out my hand and received five more licks and still she was not satisfied; but i was and went to my seat. she told me two or three times to come back but i would not do it, so she sent a boy upstairs after mr. dyer, the gentleman who taught the large boys. i had seen mr. dyer try his hand on boys, at several different times, therefore didn't intend to let him get hold of me if i could help it. she saw me looking towards the door, so she came over and stood between me and it. i heard mr. dyer coming down the stairs; that was enough; i flew for the door. i remember running against something soft and knocking it over and suppose it must have been miss finnely. when i got to the street i pulled straight for home. about a week afterwards mr. myers sent me to pay school, where i was taught german, french and english. my teacher was an old gentleman who only took a few select scholars. everything went on fine until the following spring, in may or june, when i got into a fuss with one of the scholars and skipped the country. the way it happened: one day when school let out for dinner we all, after emptying our dinner baskets, struck out for the "green" to play "foot and a half." there was one boy in the crowd by the name of stemcamp who was always trying to pick a fuss with me. he was twice as large as i was, therefore i tried to avoid him, but this time he called me a liar and i made for him. during the scuffle which followed, i got out my little pearl handled knife, one "miss mary" had given me just a few days before and was determined to use it the first opportunity. i was down on all fours and he astride of my back putting it to me in the face, underhanded. the only place i could get at with the knife was his legs, so i stuck it in up to the handle, on the inside of one leg, just below the groin and ripped down. he jumped ten feet in the air and roared out "holy moses!" as soon as i regained my feet he took to his heels, but i soon overtook him and got another dig at his back. i thought sure i had done him up for good this time but found out afterwards that i had done no harm, with the exception of ripping his clothes down the back. the next day at that time i was on my way to saint louis. i had stowed myself away on board of the "mollie able" among the cotton bales. the second night out we had a blow up. one of the cylinder-heads blew out of the engine. it nearly killed the engineer and fireman, also several other persons. a little negro boy--who was stealing his passage--and i were sleeping on a pile of lumber close to the engine when she went off. we both got pretty badly scalded. the steamer ran ashore and laid there until morning and then went the balance of the way on one wheel. it took us just eight days from that time to get to saint louis. i remained in saint louis one day without food--not caring to visit the "planters" or any of my acquaintances--and then walked to lebanon, ill., twenty-five miles. i thought may be i might find out through some of my lebanon friends where mother and sister were. it was nearly noon when i struck out on my journey and nine o'clock at night when i arrived at my destination. i went straight to mrs. bell's, where sister had worked, but failed to hear a word of mother and sister's whereabouts. mrs. bell gave me a good bed that night and next morning i struck out to hunt a job. after considerable tramping around i found work with one of my old employers, a mr. jacobs, who lived twelve miles from town. i only worked a short while when i began to wish i was back under "miss mary's" wing. so one morning i quit and pulled for saint louis. i had money enough to pay my fare to saint louis and i arrived there just as the "robert e. lee" and "natchez" were fixing to pull out on their big race for new orleans. the "robert e. lee" being my favorite boat, i jumped aboard just as she was shoving off. of course i had to keep hidden most of the time, especially when the captain or purser were around. i used to get my chuck from the cook who thought i was a bully boy. the "natchez" would have beaten, no doubt, but she got too smart by trying to make a cut-off through an old canal opposite memphis and got stuck in the mud. the first thing after landing in new orleans, i hunted up one of my boy friends and found out by him how my victim was getting on. he informed me that he was up and hobbling about on crutches. he also stated that the poor fellow came very near losing his leg. i concluded if they did have me arrested that mr. myers was able to help me out, so i braced up and struck out for home. mr. and mrs. myers were terribly tickled over my return. they had an awful time though getting me scrubbed up again, as i was very black and dirty. a few days after my return mr. myers went to see my same old teacher to find out whether he would take me back or not. at first he said that no money could induce him to be bothered with me again, but finally mr. myers talked him into the notion of trying me once more. so the next morning i shouldered my books and struck out for school to take up my same old studies, german, french and english. chapter vii. back at last to the lone star state. everything went on lovely until the coming fall, about the latter part of november when i skipped the country for good. i will tell you how it happened. one afternoon a fire broke out close to the school house and as everybody was rushing by, i became excited and wanted to go too, to see the fun. i asked the teacher if i could go, but he refused in a gruff voice. this did not keep me, i made a break for the door and was soon lost among the surging mass of people. the next heard of me was on the "rolling deep." i had boarded a morgan steamship and stowed myself away until the vessel was at sea, where i knew they wouldn't land to put me ashore. "st. mary" was the name of the ship. she lost one of her wheel houses and was considerably out of shape when we landed in galveston, texas. it had stormed terribly during the whole trip. during the few hours that the ship remained in galveston, i put in my time hunting an old uncle of mine by the name of "nick" white, whom i had never seen. he had been living there seventeen years, therefore i experienced but little difficulty in finding his place; but after finding it i didn't have courage enough to go in and make myself known. one reason was, i thought he might think i was beholden to him, or in other words, trying to get his sympathy. i just stood at the gate a few minutes viewing the beautiful shrubbery, which filled the spacious yard and went back to the boat which by that time, was just fixing to pull out. we arrived in indianola one morning about sun-up. i recognized several of my old acquaintances standing on the wharf before the ship landed; among them was my old god-father mr. hagerty, who stood for me when i was being christened by the catholic priest. they were all surprised to see me back. mr. hagerty took me home with him and told me to content myself until i could find work. in about a week i went to work for mr. h. selickson, who ran a packing house five miles below town. he gave me fifteen dollars a month all winter. the first month's wages went for a fancy pistol, the next, or at least part of it, for a pair of star topped boots and all the balance on "monte," a mexican game. there were lots of mexicans working there and after working hours some of them would "deal" monte while the rest of us "bucked." about the first of february i quit the packing house and went to matagorda where i was welcomed by all my old acquaintances. from there i took a trip over to the "settlement," on the peninsula, to see the old homestead. everything looked natural; the cedar and fig trees were covered with little red winged black birds, seemingly the same ones that were there when i left, nearly three years before. after a week's stay in the settlement, i went back to matagorda and went to work for mr. joseph yeamans, a baptist preacher. my work was farming and my wages part of the crop. mr. yeamans' farm was a thirty acre sand patch on the peninsula, about forty miles above the settlement. our aim was to raise a big crop of water melons and sweet potatoes, but when i left everything pointed to a big crop of grass burrs and a very slim lay out of sweet potatoes and water melons. the old gentleman and i lived all alone in a little delapidated shanty with a dirt floor. our chuck consisted of black coffee, hard-tack and coon or 'possum meat. we had three good coon dogs, therefore had plenty of fresh meat such as it was. there being plenty "mavricks" close at hand, and being tired of coon meat, i used to try and get the old man to let me butcher one now and then for a change, but he thought it wicked to kill cattle not our own. as some of you may not know what a "mavrick" is, i will try and explain. in early days, a man by the name of mavrick settled on the lavaca river and started a cow ranch. he being a chicken-hearted old rooster, wouldn't brand nor ear-mark any of his cattle. all his neighbors branded theirs, therefore mr. mavrick claimed everything that wore long ears. when the war broke out mr. mavrick had to bid adieu to wife and babies and go far away to fight for his country's good. when the cruel war was ended, he went home and found his cattle roaming over a thousand hills. everywhere he went he could see thousands upon thousands of his long-eared cattle. but when his neighbors and all the men in the surrounding country came home and went to branding their five years increase, mr. mavrick did not feel so rich. he made a terrible fuss about it, but it did no good, as in a very few years his cattle wore some enterprising man's brand and he was left out in the cold. hence the term "mavrick." at first people used to say: "yonder goes one of mr. mavrick's animals!" now they say: "yonder goes a mavrick!" about the time we got our crops, sweet potatoes, melons, etc., in the ground, i swore off farming and skipped out for town, leaving mr. yeamans my share of the "crop" free _gratis_. after arriving in matagorda i hired out to a mr. tom nie, who was over there, from rancho grande, hiring some cow boys. "rancho grande" was owned by "shanghai" pierce and allen and at that time was considered one of the largest ranches in the whole state of texas. to give you an idea of its size, will state, that the next year after i went to work we branded twenty-five thousand calves--that is, just in one season. altogether there were five of us started to rancho grande to work--all boys about my own age; we went in a sail boat to palacious point, where the firm had an outside ranch and where they were feeding a large lot of cow ponies for spring work. it was about the middle of april, , that we all, about twenty of us, pulled out for the headquarter ranch at the head of tresspalacious creek. it took us several days to make the trip as we had to brand calves and mavricks on the way up. a few days after arriving at the ranch mr. or "old shang" pierce as he was commonly called, arrived from old mexico with about three hundred head of wild spanish ponies, therefore we kids had a high old time learning the art of riding a "pitching" horse. we put in several days at the ranch making preparations to start out on a two months trip. being a store there we rigged up in good shape; i spent two or three months' wages for an outfit, spurs, etc., trying to make myself look like a thoroughbred cow boy from bitter creek. there were three crowds of us started at the same time; one to work up the colorado river, the other around home and the third which was ours, to work west in jackson and lavaca counties. our crowd consisted of fifteen men, one hundred head of ponies--mostly wild ones--and a chuck wagon loaded down with coffee, flour, molasses and salt. tom nie was our boss. chapter viii. learning to rope wild steers. arriving on the navadad river, we went to work gathering a herd of "trail" beeves and also branding mavricks at the same time. some days we would brand as high as three or four hundred mavricks--none under two years old. after about a month's hard work we had the herd of eleven hundred ready to turn over to mr. black who had bought them, delivered to him at the snodgrass ranch. they were all old mossy horn fellows, from seven to twenty-seven years old. mr. black was a kansas "short horn" and he had brought his outfit of "short horn" men and horses, to drive the herd "up the trail." some of the men had never seen a texas steer, consequently they crossed red river into the indian territory with nothing left but the "grub" wagon and horses. they had lost every steer and mr. black landed in kansas flat broke. lots of the steers came back to their old ranges and mr. "shanghai" had the fun of selling them over again, to some other greeny, may be. "shanghai" pierce went to kansas the next year and when he returned he told of having met mr. black up there, working at his old trade--blacksmithing. he said mr. black cursed texas shamefully and swore that he never would, even if he should live to be as old as isaac, son of jacob, dabble in long horns again. after getting rid of mr. black's herd we turned our whole attention to branding mavricks. about the first of august we went back to the ranch and found that it had changed hands in our absence. "shanghai" pierce and his brother jonathan had sold out their interests to allen, pool & co. for the snug little sum of one hundred and ten thousand dollars. that shows what could be done in those days, with no capital, but lots of cheek and a branding iron. the two pierce's had come out there from yankeedom a few years before poorer than skimmed milk. everything had taken a change--even to the ranch. it had been moved down the river four miles to mr. john moore's place. mr. moore had been appointed "big chief," hence the ranch being moved to his place. about the middle of august we pulled out again with a fresh supply of horses, six to the man and a bran new boss, mr. wiley kuykendall. some of the boys hated to part with mr. nie, but i was glad of the change, for he wouldn't allow me to rope large steers nor fight when i got on the war-path. i remember one time he gave me fits for laying a negro out with a four-year old club; and another time he laid me out with his open hand for trying to carve one of the boys up with a butcher knife. we commenced work about the first of september on "big sandy" in lavaca county, a place noted for wild "brush" cattle. very few people lived in that section, hence so many wild unbranded cattle. to illustrate the class of people who lived on big sandy, will relate a little picnic a negro and i had a few days after our arrival there. while herding a bunch of cattle, gathered the day before, on a small prairie, we noticed a footman emerge from the thick timber on the opposite side from where we were and make straight for a spotted pony that was "hobbled" and grazing out in the open space. he was indeed a rough looking customer, being half naked. he had nothing on his head but a thick mat of almost gray hair; and his feet and legs were bare. we concluded to "rope" him and take him to camp, so taking down our ropes and putting spurs to our tired horses we struck out. he saw us coming and only being about a hundred yards from the spotted pony, he ran to him and cutting the "hobbles," which held his two front legs together, jumped aboard of him and was off in the direction he had just come, like a flash. the pony must have been well trained for he had nothing to guide him with. a four hundred yard race for dear life brought him to the "brush"--that is timber, thickly covered with an underbrush of live-oak "runners." he shot out of sight like an arrow. he was not a minute too soon, for we were right at his heels. we gave up the chase after losing sight of him, for we couldn't handle our ropes in the "brush." the next day the camp was located close to the spot where he disappeared at, and several of us followed up his trail. we found him and his three grown daughters, his wife having died a short while before, occupying a little one room log shanty in a lonely spot about two miles from the little prairie in which we first saw him. the whole outfit were tough looking citizens. the girls had never seen a town, so they said. they had about two acres in cultivation and from that they made their living. their nearest neighbor was a mr. penny, who lived ten miles west and the nearest town was columbus, on the colorado river, fifty miles east. as the cattle remained hidden out in the "brush" during the day-time, only venturing out on the small prairies at night, we had to do most of our work early in the morning, commencing an hour or two before daylight. as you might wish to know exactly how we did, will try and explain:--about two hours before daylight the cook would holloa "chuck," and then mr. wiley would go around and yell "breakfast, boys; d----n you get up!" two or three times in our ears. breakfast being over we would saddle up our ponies, which had been staked out the night before, and strike out for a certain prairie may be three or four miles off--that is all but two or three men, just enough to bring the herd, previously gathered, on as soon as it became light enough to see. arriving at the edge of the prairie we would dismount and wait for daylight. at the first peep of day the cattle, which would be out in the prairie, quite a distance from the timber, would all turn their heads and commence grazing at a lively rate towards the nearest point of timber. then we would ride around through the brush, so as not to be seen, until we got to the point of timber that they were steering for. when it became light enough to see good, we would ride out, rope in hand, to meet them and apt as not one of the old-timers, may be a fifteen or twenty-year old steer, which were continuously on the lookout, would spy us before we got twenty yards from the timber. then the fun would begin--the whole bunch, may be a thousand head, would stampede and come right towards us. they never were known to run in the opposite direction from the nearest point of timber. but with cattle raised on the prairies, it's the reverse, they will always leave the timber. after coming in contact, every man would rope and tie down one of the finest animals in the bunch. once in awhile some fellow would get more beef than he could manage; under those circumstances he would have to worry along until some other fellow got through with his job and came to his rescue. if there was another prairie close by we would go to it and tie down a few more, but we would have to get there before sunup or they would all be in the brush. it was their habit to graze out into the little prairies at night-fall and go back to the brush by sunrise next morning. finally the herd which we had gathered before and which was already "broke in," would arrive from camp, where we had been night-herding them and then we would drive it around to each one of the tied-down animals, letting him up so he couldn't help from running right into the herd, where he would generally stay contented. once in awhile though, we would strike an old steer that couldn't be made to stay in the herd. just as soon as he was untied and let up he would go right through the herd and strike for the brush, fighting his way. under those circumstances we would have to sew up their eyes with a needle and thread. that would bring them to their milk, as they couldn't see the timber. i got into several scrapes on this trip, by being a new hand at the business. one time i was going at full speed and threw my rope onto a steer just as he got to the edge of the timber; i couldn't stop my horse in time, therefore the steer went on one side of a tree and my horse on the other and the consequence was, my rope being tied hard and fast to the saddle-horn, we all landed up against the tree in a heap. at another time, on the same day, i roped a large animal and got my horse jerked over backwards on top of me and in the horse getting up he got me all wound up in the rope, so that i couldn't free myself until relieved by "jack" a negro man who was near at hand. i was certainly in a ticklish predicament that time; the pony was wild and there i hung fast to his side with my head down while the steer, which was still fastened to the rope, was making every effort to gore us. just before christmas moore selected our outfit to do the shipping at palacious point, where a morgan steamship landed twice a week to take on cattle for the new orleans market. we used to ship about five hundred head at each shipping. after getting rid of one bunch we would strike right back, to meet one of the gathering outfits, after another herd. there were three different outfits to do the gathering for us. we kept that up all winter and had a tough time of it, too, as it happened to be an unusually cold and wet winter. towards spring the cattle began to get terribly poor, so that during the cold nights while night-herding them a great many would get down in the mud and freeze to death. have seen as high as fifty head of dead ones scattered over the ground where the herd had drifted during the night. it's a pity if such nights as those didn't try our nerves. sometimes it would be twelve o'clock at night before we would get the cattle loaded aboard of the ship. but when we did get through we would surely have a picnic--filling up on mr. geo. burkheart's red eye. mr. burkheart kept a store at the "point" well filled with cow boys delight--in fact he made a specialty of the stuff. our camping ground was three miles from the point, and some mornings the cook would get up and find several saddled horses standing around camp waiting for their corn--their riders having fallen by the wayside. chapter ix. owning my first cattle. when spring opened, our outfit, under the leadership of mr. robert partin, mr. wiley having quit, struck out up the colorado river in whorton and colorado counties to brand mavricks. about the last of july we went to the "home" ranch, where mr. wiley was put in charge of us again. we were sent right out on another trip, west, to jackson county. it was on this trip that i owned my first cattle. mr. wiley concluded it would look more business like if he would brand a few mavricks for himself instead of branding them all for allen, pool & co., so he began putting his own brand on all the finest looking ones. to keep us boys from giving him away, he gave us a nest egg apiece--that is a few head to draw to. my nest eggs were a couple of two-year olds, and my brand was a. t. connected--the t. on top of the a. of course after that i always carried a piece of iron tied to my saddle so in case i got off on the prairie by myself i could brand a few mavricks for myself, without mr. wiley being any the wiser of it. the way i would go about it would be to rope and tie down one of the long-eared fellows and after heating the straight piece of round, iron bolt, in the brush or "cow-chip" fire, "run" my brand on his hip or ribs. he was then my property. everything ran along as smooth as if on greased wheels for about two months, when somehow or another, mr. moore, our big chief, heard of our little private racket and sent for us to come home. mr. wiley got the "g. b." at once and a mr. logan was put in his place. now this man logan was a very good man but he was out of his latitude, he should have been a second mate on a mississippi steamboat. i worked with logan one trip, until we got back to the ranch and then i settled up for the first time since going to work, nearly two years before. an old irishman by the name of "hunky-dorey" brown kept the store and did the settling up with the men. when he settled with me he laid all the money, in silver dollars, that i had earned since commencing work, which amounted to a few hundred dollars, out on the counter and then after eyeing me awhile, said: "allen, pool & co. owe you three hundred dollars," or whatever the amount was, "and you owe allen, pool & co. two hundred ninety-nine dollars and a quarter, which leaves you seventy-five cents." he then raked all but six bits into the money drawer. to say that i felt mortified wouldn't near express my feelings. i thought the whole pile was mine and therefore had been figuring on the many purchases that i intended making. my intentions were to buy a herd of ponies and go to speculating. i had a dozen or two ponies, that i knew were for sale, already picked out in my mind. but my fond expectations were soon trampled under foot. you see i had never kept an account, consequently never knew how i stood with the company. after pocketing my six bits, i mounted "fannie" a little mare that i had bought not long before and struck out for w. b. grimes' ranch, a few miles up the river. i succeeded in getting a job from the old gentleman at fifteen dollars per month. mr. grimes had a slaughter house on his ranch where he killed cattle for their hides and tallow--the meat he threw to the hogs. about two hundred head per day was an average killing. did you ask kind reader, if those were all his own cattle that he butchered? if so, will have to say that i never tell tales out of school. after working around the ranch a short while mr. grimes gave me the job of taking care of his "stock horses," that is mares, colts and horses that wern't in use. there were about two hundred head of those and they were scattered in two hundred and fifty different places--over fifty square miles of territory and of course before i could take care of them i had to go to work and gather them up into one bunch. a little circumstance happened shortly after going to work at the "w. b. g." ranch which i am going to relate. an old gentleman by the name of kinchlow, who owned a large horse ranch up on the colorado river in whorton county, came down and told mr. grimes that his outfit was fixing to start on a horse "hunt" and for him to send a man along, as there were quite a number of "w. b. g." horses in that country. as i had the job taking care of the horses, it fell to my lot to accompany the old gentleman, mr. kinchlow, to his ranch fifty miles distant. it was bright and early one morning when we pulled out, aiming to ride the fifty miles by ten o'clock that night. mr. kinchlow was mounted on "old beauregard," a large chestnut sorrel, while i rode a fiery little bay. our journey was over a bald, wet prairie; night overtook us at the head of blue creek, still twenty miles from our destination. a few minutes after crossing blue creek, just about dusk, we ran across a large panther, which jumped up out of the tall grass in front of us. it was a savage looking beast and appeared to be on the war-path. after jumping to one side it just sat still, growling and showing its ugly teeth. i started to shoot it but mr. kinchlow begged me not to as it would frighten his horse, who was then almost beyond control, from seeing the panther. we rode on and a few minutes afterwards discovered the panther sneaking along after us through the tall grass. i begged mr. kinchlow to let me kill it, but he wouldn't agree, as, he said, a pistol shot would cause old beauregard to jump out of his hide. it finally became very dark; our guide was a certain bright little star. we had forgotten all about the panther as it had been over half an hour since we had seen it. the old man was relating an indian tale, which made my hair almost stand on end, as i imagined that i was right in the midst of a wild band of reds, when all at once old beauregard gave a tremendous loud snort and dashed straight ahead at a break-neck speed. mr. kinchlow yelled "whoa," every jump; finally his voice died out and i could hear nothing but the sound of his horse's hoofs, and finally the sound of them too, died out. of course i socked spurs to my pony and tried to keep up, for i imagined there were a thousand and one indians and panthers right at my heels. after running about a quarter of a mile i heard something like a faint, human groan, off to my right about fifty yards. i stopped and listened, but could not hear anything more, except now and then the lonely howl of a coyote off in the distance. i finally began to feel lonesome, so i put spurs to my pony again. but i hadn't gone only a few jumps when i checked up and argued with myself thusly:--now suppose that groan came from the lips of mr. kinchlow, who may-be fell from his horse and is badly hurt; then wouldn't it be a shame to run off and leave him there to die when may be a little aid from me would save him? i finally spunked up and drawing my pistol started in the direction from whence came the groan. my idea in drawing the pistol was, for fear the panther, who i felt satisfied had been the cause of the whole trouble, might tackle me. suffice it to say that i found the old gentleman stretched out on the ground apparently lifeless and that a half hour's nursing brought him to. he finally after several trials, got so he could stand up, with my aid. i then helped him into my saddle, while i rode behind and held him on and we continued our journey both on one horse. he informed me after he came to his right senses, that old beauregard had fallen and rolled over him. we landed at our destination about ten o'clock next morning; but the good old man only lived about two weeks afterwards. he died from the effects of the fall, so i heard. about christmas i quit mr. grimes and went to work on my own hook, skinning "dead" cattle and adding to the nest egg mr. wiley gave me. i put my own brand on quite a number of mavricks while taking care of mr. grimes' horses, which began to make me feel like a young cattle king. the only trouble was they were scattered over too much wild territory and mixed up with so many other cattle. when a fellow branded a mavrick in those days it was a question whether he would ever see or realize a nickel for it. for just think, one, or even a hundred head mixed up with over a million of cattle, and those million head scattered over a territory one hundred miles square and continually drifting around from one place to another. after leaving daddy grimes i made my home at mr. horace yeamans', an old mexican war veteran, who lived five miles from grimes'. his family consisted of two daughters and two sons, all grown but the youngest daughter, sally, who was only fourteen, and who i was casting sheeps eyes at. the old gentleman had brought his children up very pious, which was a glorious thing for me as, during the two years that i made my home there, i got broke of swearing--a dirty, mean habit which had fastened itself upon me, and which i thought was impossible to get rid of. i had become so that it was almost an impossibility for me to utter a sentence without using an oath to introduce it and another to end it. to show how the habit was fastened upon me: mr. parten, one of my former bosses, made me an offer of three dollars more wages, on the month, if i would quit cursing but i wouldn't do it. horace yeamans, who was about my own age and i went into partnership in the skinning business. cattle died by the thousands that winter, on account of the country being overstocked, therefore horace and i had a regular picnic skinning, and branding mavricks--only those that looked as if they might pull through the winter. to give you an idea how badly cattle died that winter will state that, at times, right after a sleet, a man could walk on dead animals for miles without stepping on the ground. this, of course, would be along the bay shore, where they would pile up on top of one another, not being able to go further, on account of the water. about five miles east of mr. yeamans' was a slough or creek called "turtle bayou" which lay east and west a distance of several miles, and which i have seen bridged over with dead cattle, from one end to the other. you see the solid mass of half starved animals, in drifting ahead of a severe "norther," would undertake to cross the bayou, which was very boggy and consequently the weakest ones would form a bridge for the others to cross on. my share of the first hides we shipped to indianola amounted to one hundred and fourteen dollars. you bet i felt rich. i never had so much money in all my life. i went at once and bought me a twenty-seven dollar saddle and sent mother twenty-five dollars. i had found out mother's address, in saint louis, by one of my old peninsula friends getting a letter from sister. our next sale amounted to more than the first. that time horace and i went to indianola with the hides for we wanted to blow in some of our surplus wealth; we were getting too rich. when spring opened i bought five head of horses and thought i would try my hand at trading horses. the first trade i made, i cleared twenty-five dollars. i gave an old mare which cost me twenty dollars, for a pony which i sold a few days afterwards for forty-five. along in may i fell head over heels in love, for the first time in my life. a pretty little fourteen year old miss, cousin to horace and the girls, came over on a month's visit and when she left i was completely rattled--couldn't think of anything but her; her beautiful image was continually before my eyes. her father, who was sheriff of matagorda county lived on the road to matagorda, fifteen miles from mr. yeamans', therefore, during the coming summer i went to town pretty often; to get a new brand recorded was generally my excuse. you see, as she lived about half way between the yeamans' ranch and town, i could be near her two nights each trip, one going and one returning. i had very poor success that summer in my new enterprise, horse trading. i was too badly "locoed" to tell a good horse from a bad one; in fact i wasn't fit for anything, unless it would have been a mail carrier between "denning's bridge" and matagorda. chapter x. a start up the chisholm trail. i put in the following winter branding mavricks, skinning cattle and making regular trips to matagorda; i still remained in partnership with horace yeamans in the skinning business. i made considerable money that winter as i sold a greater number of mavricks than ever before. but the money did me no good as i spent it freely. that coming spring, it being , i hired to leander ward of jackson county to help gather a herd of steers for the muckleroy bros., who were going to drive them to kansas. i had also made a contract with muckleroy's boss, tom merril, to go up the trail with him, therefore i bid my friends good-bye, not expecting to see them again until the coming fall. my wages were thirty-five dollars per month and all expenses, including railroad fare back home. after a month's hard work we had the eleven hundred head of wild and woolly steers ready to turn over to the muckleroy outfit at thirteen mile point on the mustang, where they were camped, ready to receive them. their outfit consisted mostly of kansas "short horns" which they had brought back with them the year before. it was a cold, rainy evening when the cattle were counted and turned over to tom merril. henry coats, geo. gifford and myself were the only boys who were turned over with the herd--that is kept right on. we were almost worn out standing night guard half of every night for the past month and then starting in with a fresh outfit made it appear tough to us. that night it began to storm terribly. the herd began to drift early and by midnight we were five or six miles from camp. the steers showed a disposition to stampede but we handled them easy and sang melodious songs which kept them quieted. but about one o'clock they stampeded in grand shape. one of the "short horns," a long legged fellow by the name of saint clair got lost from the herd and finally when he heard the singing came dashing through the herd at full speed yelling "let 'em slide, we'll stay with'em!" at every jump. they did slide sure enough, but he failed to "stay with 'em." for towards morning one of the boys came across him lying in the grass sound asleep. when he came dashing through the herd a stampede followed; the herd split up into a dozen different bunches--each bunch going in a different direction. i found myself all alone with about three hundred of the frightened steers. of course all i could do was to keep in front or in the lead and try to check them up. i finally about three o'clock got them stopped and after singing a few "lullaby" songs they all lay down and went to snoring. after the last steer dropped down i concluded i would take a little nap too, so locking both legs around the saddle-horn and lying over on the tired pony's rump, with my left arm for a pillow, while the other still held the bridle-reins, i fell asleep. i hadn't slept long though when, from some unaccountable reason, every steer jumped to his feet at the same instant and was off like a flash. my pony which was sound asleep too, i suppose, became frightened and dashed off at full speed in the opposite direction. of course i was also frightened and hung to the saddle with a death grip. i was unable to raise myself up as the pony was going so fast, therefore had to remain as i was, until after about a mile's run i got him checked up. just as soon as i got over my scare i struck out in a gallop in the direction i thought the cattle had gone, but failed to overtake them. i landed in camp almost peetered out about nine o'clock next morning. the rest of the boys were all there, just eating their breakfast. tom merril and henry coats had managed to hold about half of the herd, while the balance were scattered and mixed up with "range" cattle for twenty miles around. after eating our breakfast and mounting fresh horses we struck out to gather up the lost steers. we could tell them from the range cattle by the fresh "road" brand--a brand that had been put on a few days before--therefore, by four o'clock that evening we had all but about one hundred head back to camp and those leander ward bought back at half price--that is he just bought the road brand or all cattle that happened to be left behind. on arriving at camp, we all caught fresh horses before stopping to eat dinner or supper, whichever you like to call it, it being then nearly night. the pony i caught was a wild one and after riding up to camp and dismounting to eat dinner, he jerked loose from me and went a flying with my star-spangled saddle. i mounted a pony belonging to one of the other boys and went in hot pursuit. i got near enough once to throw my rope over his rump and that was all. after a run of fifteen miles i gave it up as a bad job and left him still headed for the rio grande. i got back to camp just at dark and caught a fresh horse before stopping to eat my supper. it was still raining and had kept it up all day long. mr. "jim" muckleroy had an extra saddle along therefore i borrowed it until i could get a chance to buy me another one. after eating a cold supper, the rain having put the fire out, i mounted and went on "guard," the first part of the night, until one o'clock, being my regular time to stay with the herd, while the last "guard" remained in camp and slept. about ten o'clock it began to thunder and lightning, which caused the herd to become unruly. every time a keen clash of thunder would come the herd would stampede and run for a mile or two before we could get them to stop. it continued in that way all night so that we lost another night's rest; but we managed to "stay with 'em" this time; didn't even loose a steer. that morning we struck out on the trail for kansas. everything went on smoothly with the exception of a stampede now and then and a fuss with jim muckleroy, who was a regular old sore-head. charlie, his brother was a white man. where the trouble began, he wanted coats and i, we being the only ones in the crowd who could ride wild horses--or at least who were willing to do so, to do the wild horse riding for nothing. we finally bolted and told him that we wouldn't ride another wild horse except our regular "mount," unless he gave us extra pay. you see he expected us to ride a horse a few times until he began to get docile and then turn him over to one of his muley pets while we caught up a fresh one. at high hill in fayette county i got the bounce from old jim and a little further on coats got the same kind of a dose; while nearing the northern state-line geo. gifford and tom merril, the boss, were fired; so that left old jim in full charge. he hired other men in our places. he arrived in wichita, kansas with eight hundred steers, out of the eleven hundred we started with. after leaving the outfit i rode to the sunset railroad at shusenburg and boarded a train for columbus on the colorado river. "pat" muckleroy, charlie's son, who was about eighteen years old, quit and went with me. his home was in columbus and he persuaded me to accompany him and have a good time. on arriving in columbus i went with pat to his home where i remained during my stay in that place. i found mrs. m., pat's mother, to be a kind-hearted old lady, and i never shall forget the big, fat apple cobblers she used to make; she could beat the world making them. there were also two young misses in the family, nannie and mary, who made time pass off pleasantly with me. it being seventy-five miles to tresspalacious and there being no railroad nearer than that, i had to wait for a chance to get home. i could have bought a horse and saddle when i first struck town but after remaining there a week i began to get light in the pocket, for it required quite a lot of money to keep up my end with the crowd that pat associated with. at last after about a three weeks stay, i struck asa dawdy, an old friend from tresspalacious. he was there with a load of stock and was just fixing to load them on the cars to ship them to galveston when i ran afoul of him. he had sold his saddle and was going to put his pet pony, one that he wouldn't sell, into a pasture until some other time when he happened up there. so you see i was in luck, he turned the pony over to me to ride home on. after buying and rigging up a saddle i left town flat broke. i spent my last dime for a glass of lemonade just before leaving. thus ended my first experience on the "trail." chapter xi. buys a boat and becomes a sailor. a three days' ride brought me to grimes' ranch where i hoped to strike a job, but the old gent' informed me that he was full handed--had more men than he really needed. but he offered me a job cutting cord wood at a dollar a cord until there should be an opening for me, which he thought would be when the branding outfit arrived from jackson county where it had gone quite a while before. "cutting cord wood" sounded tough to me, but i finally agreed to try it a round or two, for i hated the idea of being "busted." mr. grimes was to advance me about two weeks provisions on "tick," so i concluded i couldn't lose anything--unless it was a few pounds of muscle and i had grave doubts about that, for i knew my failing when it came to dabbling in wood. before launching out into the wood business i borrowed a horse and struck out to hunt up old satan so that i could ride around and find easy trees to cut down; i found him about thirty miles from grimes' ranch; he was fat and wild; i had to get help to put him in a corral and when i mounted him he pitched like a wolf. he had forgotten that he had ever been ridden. the "wood camp" was three miles from the ranch in a thinly timbered bottom. i had to camp all by myself, which made it a disagreeable job. the first day, after locating camp, was spent in building a kind of jim crow shanty out of rotten logs--was saving my muscle to cut cord wood. next morning bright and early i mounted satan and rode around hunting some easy trees--ones that i thought would cut nicely. i marked about a dozen and went back to camp, it being noon by that time. after dinner i lay down to take a nap until evening when it would be cooler. about five o'clock i rolled up my sleeves and waded into a small, sickly pin-oak tree and the way chips flew for half an hour was a caution. i then put in the balance of the evening cording it up--that is what i had cut. it lacked considerable of being half a cord, but i filled in a lot of rotten chunks to make it pan out fifty cents worth. i slept sound that night for i was tired. bright and early next morning i shouldered my axe and struck out to tackle another sickly pin-oak tree. while spitting on my hands and figuring on how many licks it would take to down the little sapling, i spied a large coon in a neighboring live-oak. now catching coons, you all know by this time was a favorite passtime with me, so dropping the axe i went for him. by the time i got part of him cooked it was noon; and after dinner i fell asleep and dreamt happy dreams until after sundown. after supper i went turkey hunting and killed a fat gobbler. thus ended my third day in a wood camp. i became tired of the cord wood business after two weeks time. it was too lonesome a work for a boy of my restless disposition. i mounted satan one morning after devouring the last speck of grub in camp and struck out for the ranch. on my arrival there mr. grimes asked me how much wood i had? i told him i thought there was enough to balance my grub bill. he said all right, he would send a man up there with me next morning to measure it. i finally informed him that it wasn't in shape for measuring, with the exception of half a cord that i cut the first day, as it was scattered over a vast territory, two or three sticks in a place. i suppose he balanced my grub bill as he has never presented it yet. just then i came across a factory hand, john collier by name, who had a boat for sale. he had bought it for a pleasure boat but found he couldn't support such a useless piece of furniture. he offered it to me for forty dollars and he had paid one hundred for it. i tried to sell satan so as to buy it, but no one would have him as a gift, as they said they would have to get their lives insured before mounting him. i wanted the boat, but how to get her i did not know. i finally studied up a scheme: mr. collier wanted to buy a horse in case he sold the boat, so i began talking horse trade. nothing but a gentle animal would suit he said. i then described one to him and asked how much he would take to-boot if the pony proved to be as i represented? "ten dollars" said he; "she pops" continued i. so i started over to cashe's creek to trade horace yeamans out of an old crippled pony that he couldn't get rid of. he was a nice looking horse and apparently as sound as a dollar; but on trotting him around a short while he would become suddenly lame in both of his front legs. before starting to cashe's creek next morning mr. collier told me to try and get the horse there that night as, in case we made the trade, he and mr. murphy would start next morning on a pleasure trip to columbia, a town forty miles east. i assured him that i would be back by dark. you see, that was a point gained, making the trade after dark. i succeeded in making the trade with horace; he gave me "old gray" as he called him and fourteen dollars in money for my interest in three different brands of cattle. he afterwards sold the cattle for enough to buy a whole herd of crippled ponies. i rode back to grimes' ranch very slowly so as not to cause old gray to become lame. i arrived there about sundown, but remained out in the brush until after dark. mr. collier, on being notified of my arrival, came out, lantern in hand, bringing his friend murphy along to do the judging for him. he confessed that he was a very poor judge of a spanish pony, not having been long in america. he was from "hengland." after examining old gray all over they both pronounced him a model of beauty--an honor to the mustang race. you see, he was hog fat, not having been used for so long. the trade was sealed that night and next morning mr. collier and murphy, who already had a pony of his own, started on their forty mile journey. when within five miles of elliott's ferry on the colorado river, which was fifteen miles from grimes' old gray gave out entirely, so that poor collier had to hoof it to the ferry where he secured another horse. now kind reader you no doubt think that a shabby trick. if so, all i can say is "such is life in the far west." now that i was owner of a ship i concluded it policy to have a partner for company if nothing more, so i persuaded a young factory hand by the name of sheiseinhamer or some such name to go in with me in my new enterprise. he only had ten dollars to invest, therefore i held the controlling interest. our ship was schooner-rigged and would carry about three tons. her name was "great eastern" but we changed it to "the blood hound." i turned satan loose to rustle for himself (i afterwards sold him to a _stranger_ for thirty dollars) and then pulled down the river for matagorda bay, a distance of fifteen miles. i concluded to go to the peninsula and buy a load of melons that trip, as there were none on tresspalacious. we struck the bay just at dark; the water was terribly rough and the wind was so strong that it made the blood hound dip water and slide along as though it was fun. my young pard, who had never been on salt water before, having been raised in saint louis, turned pale behind the gills and wanted to turn back when the low streak of land behind us began to grow dim. but as i owned the controlling interest in the ship, i told him he would have to grin and bear it. he swore that would be his last trip and it was. he sold me his interest on the way back for eight dollars; he lost just two dollars besides his time in the speculation. finally we hove in sight of the light house at salura pass. then we were all right for i could tell just where to head for, although i hadn't been on the bay much since leaving there in ' . but i had learned it thoroughly before then. it was fifteen miles across the bay to fred vogg's landing, where i had concluded to land. we arrived there about midnight and next morning walked up to mr. vogg's house, about half a mile for breakfast. the whole family were glad to see me--for the first time in eight years. i bought a load of melons delivered at the landing for five cents a head--or piece i should have said. the next evening we started back home, and arrived at grimes' just as the whistle was tooting for dinner, next day. the whole crowd of factory hands, there being about seventy-five, made a break for the boat to fill up on melons. the largest i sold at fifty cents and the smallest at twenty-five. by night i had sold entirely out and started back after another load, all by myself this time, with the exception of a dog, a stray that i had picked up. i bought my melons at a different place this time, from a mr. joe berge who lived a few miles above mr. vogg. i got them for two and a half cents a piece, therefore made a better "speck" than before. i struck a terrible storm on my return trip and came very near swamping. i made my next trip to indianola as i had four passengers to take down, at two dollars and a half a head. shortly after landing in indianola i got two passengers, one of them a pretty young lady, miss ruthie ward, to take to sand point in lavaca county, just across the bay from indianola. i remained in indianola two days "bucking" monte. i left there broke after paying for a load of melons. chapter xii. back to my favorite occupation, that of a wild and woolly cow boy. when the oyster season began, i abandoned the melon trade in favor of the former. i would load up at one of the many oyster reefs in the bay and take them either to the factory or indianola where they sold for one dollar a barrel, in the shell. along in october sometime, i worked up a scheme by which i thought i could make a stake. my scheme was to get into the colorado river where there were no boats and speculate among the africans that lined the river banks on both sides just as far up as it was navigable, which was fifty miles or more. the worst job was to get the boat into the river, the mouth of it being stopped up with a raft, or "drift" about eighteen miles long. my only show was to snake her across the prairie from the head of willson's creek, a distance of five miles--and that i concluded to do if it took all the oxen in matagorda county. as i needed a partner in my new enterprise, i managed to find one in the person of an old irishman by the name of "big jack." he only had a capital of eighteen dollars but i agreed to give him half of the profits--which i figured on being very large. you see my intentions were to swap for hides, pecans, etc., which i would have hauled overland to willson's creek and from there to indianola by sail boat. our plans being laid we struck out for indianola to buy our goods--all kinds of articles that we thought would catch the negro's eye, including a good supply of tanglefoot--which i am sorry to say cost me dear, besides being the cause of smashing my little scheme into a thousand fragments. we finally started back from indianola with our load of goods; and jack being an irishman, couldn't resist the temptation of taking a "wee drop of the critter" every fifteen or twenty minutes. the consequences were everything but edifying. i hired anthony moore, a gentleman of color to haul the blood hound and all of our traps to the river. we fixed rollers under the boat and after getting her out high and dry on the ball prairie, found that we didn't have oxen enough to carry out the job. while anthony moore was off rustling for a couple more yoke of cattle, i hired a horse to ride up to the post office after my mail, but before starting i gave jack a raking over for remaining drunk so long. he hadn't drawn a sober breath since leaving town. when i returned next evening jack was gone--no one there but my faithful dog, ranger. i found jack had taken a negro's skiff and pulled down willson's creek, taking all of my snide jewelry, tobacco, etc. along. i traced him up to where he had sold a lot of the stuff. he sold an old englishman a lot of tobacco for seven dollars that didn't cost less than twenty. being discouraged i sold the blood hound to anthony moore for twenty-five dollars, right where she lay, on the open prairie. i then hired to wiley kuykendall, who was buying and shipping beeves at houston, at twenty-five dollars per month. i left my companion, ranger, with anthony, paying him two dollars and a half a month for his board. but poor dog he met a sad fate the next winter during one of my rash moments. i was out after a wild bunch of horses one day and while trying to slip up on them unobserved ranger and three others belonging to a neighbor made a break after a little calf that jumped up out of the tall grass, which of course scared the horses. i wanted to run after them as that was my best and only chance, but i hated to go off and let the dogs kill the poor little calf which they all four had hold of by that time. i finally galloped back and yelled myself hoarse trying to get them off; but no use, so drawing my pistol i began firing right and left. when the smoke cleared away i discovered two of the dogs lifeless and poor ranger crawling up towards me howling with pain. he was shot through both shoulders. no, no! i didn't feel bad; it was some other youngster about my size. i dismounted and caressed the poor dumb brute, with tears in my eyes. it was ten miles to camp or the nearest ranch, therefore i had no alternative but to kill him--or leave him there to suffer and finally die. i had tried to lift him on my horse so as to take him to camp and try and doctor him up, but he was too heavy--being a large, powerful brute. i made several attempts to kill him, but every time i would raise the pistol to shoot he would look up into my eyes so pitifully as much as to say please don't kill me. i at last mounted my horse and after starting off wheeled around in my saddle and put a bullet between his eyes. thus ended the life of as faithful a dog as ever lived. after new year's i quit mr. wiley and went to work again on my own hook, skinning cattle and branding mavricks. i had bought me a twenty-five dollar horse for the occasion. i established my camp at the head of cashe's creek, three miles above mr. yeamans.' the only company i had was ranger and i didn't have him but a short while, as you already know. cattle died pretty badly that winter and therefore i made quite a pile of money, besides branding a great many mavricks. about the middle of april i met with a painful and almost fatal accident--got shot through the knee with one of those old time dragoon pistols, which carry a very large ball. the bullet entered the top of my knee and came out--or at least was cut out--on the opposite side; went right through the knee-cap. the doctor who waited on me said i would be a cripple for life, but he missed his guess, although i have received another bullet hole through the same knee since then. after getting wounded i remained at mr. yeamans' awhile and then went down to mr. morris' on tresspalacious bay to board. when i got so that i could move around on crutches i went up to mr. john pierce's ranch to live. mr. pierce had persuaded me to put in my time going to school while unable to work. he gave me my board and washing free and all i had to do was to take care of the "children," little johnny pierce, eight years old, mamie pierce, "shang's" only child, twelve years old and a miss fannie elliott, sweet sixteen. the school house being two miles off, we had to ride on horseback. i would have had a soft time of it all summer, but before two weeks rolled around i had a fuss with the red complexioned school master. i then mounted "boney-part" and struck out for houston, ninety miles east. i arrived in houston during the state fair. everything was lively there--in fact too lively for me. the first thing i did was to strike a monte game and the second thing was lose nearly all the money i had. after quitting the monte game i struck out to hunt aunt "mary" whom i heard had moved to houston from galveston. i had never seen her that i remembered of, but held her in high esteem for her kindness in sending me the white canvas breeches during the war. i found her after hunting all day; she kept a private boarding house close to the union depot. she appeared to be glad to see me. the next day aunt mary's husband, mr. james mcclain, took me out to the fair ground to see the sights. the biggest sight to me was jeff. davis, although i was deceived as to his makeup; i expected to see a portly looking man on a gray horse. may be the following song that i used to sing during the war had something to do with that, for it ran thus: jeff davis is our president, and lincoln is a fool, jeff davis rides a big gray horse while lincoln rides a mule. chapter xiii. mother and i meet at last. after spending a week with aunt mary, i grew restless and pulled for galveston to visit my uncle "nick." i went by way of steamboat down buffalo bayou, leaving my horse and saddle in houston. i landed in the "island city" one evening about dark. the first man i met, i inquired of him, if he knew where mr. nicholas white lived? "why of course," was his quick answer, "i have known him for seventeen years." he then gave me the directions how to find him. his wife, whom he had just married a short while before, she being his second wife, met me at the door and escorted me to the bed room where i found the old fellow three sheets in the wind. he soon braced up though and tendered me a hearty welcome. the next day he spent in showing me around the city and introducing me to his friends as his little nephew who had to "skip" from western texas for stealing cattle. i remember there were several high toned officials among the ones he introduced me to; one of them i think was tom ochiltree--a red-headed congressman or senator, i forget which. the old gentleman had a horse and buggy, consequently i had a regular picnic, during my stay, driving up and down the beach watching the pretty girls go in bathing. i remained there two weeks and on taking my departure uncle "nick" presented me with a spencer carbine--one he had captured from a yankee while out scouting during the war. i was very proud of the gift for i had never owned a repeating rifle before. i landed in houston flat broke, but wasn't long in making a raise of ten dollars from aunt mary. boney-part had been taken good care of during my absence, which made him feel too rollicky--he tried to pitch me off when i got on him. after bidding aunt mary and uncle "jim" good-bye i struck out for allen, pool & co.'s ranch on simms' bayou. there i hired to a mr. joe davis of clear creek, who had the contract furnishing beef to the gulf, colorado and santa fe r. r. which was just building out from galveston. about the first of september i mounted ranger, a pony i swapped boney-part for and lit out for tresspalacious. my wound by that time was about well. on arriving at mr. "tom" kuykendall's at the head of tresspalacious river, i learned that mother was at mr. morris', at the mouth of cashe's creek, waiting for me. she had arrived there just a few days after my departure--for parts unknown, as no one knew where i was going. you see after getting shot i wrote to mother telling her of the accident and also sending her some money, as i was in the habit of doing when flush. hence, like a kind mother, she came out to be of service to me, but arrived too late. it is needless to say we were glad to meet, for the first time in several long years. i went right to work trying to rig up a home for her. she had brought some money with her and i sold a lot of mavricks--some of those i branded the winter previous--for two dollars a head, therefore we both together had money enough to build and furnish a shanty. as mr. morris was just going to indianola in his schooner we sent by him after our lumber, etc. but before he got there the "big" storm, which swept nearly every soul from the peninsula and nearly wiped indianola out of existence, struck him and scattered his boat, money and everything he had aboard to the four winds of heaven. he and his son "tom" barely escaped with their own lives. mother and i experienced a share of the same storm too; we were still at mr. morris.' the storm came about ten o'clock at night and blew the morris mansion down, leaving us, mrs. morris, her three children and a step-son, "jim," mother and myself to paddle around in water up to our waists until morning. when daylight came the bay shore was lined with dead cattle just as far as the eye could reach; cattle that had blown into the water and drowned. when mr. morris got back he started a new ranch up at the head of cashe's creek, where i had camped the winter before and i built mother a shanty a few hundred yards from his, so she wouldn't get lonesome while i was away. i built it out of an old torn down house that i bought from mr. john pierce on "tick" for i was then financially "busted." cattle didn't die very badly that coming winter, therefore i did not make much money. but towards spring i got my work in branding mavricks. some days i would brand as high as fifteen or twenty head. that spring there was a law passed prohibiting the carrying of pistols and i was the first man to break the law, for which they socked a heavier fine to me than i was able to pay; but i found a good friend in the person of mr. john pierce who loaned me the desired amount without asking for it. the first of april i hired to w. b. grimes to go "up the trail" at thirty dollars per month. i bade mother good bye, promising to return, sure, that coming fall. our outfit consisted of twenty-five hundred head of old mossy-horn steers, a cook and twenty-five riders, including the boss, asa dawdy, with six head of good horses to the man. everything went on lovely with the exception of swimming swollen streams, fighting now and then among ourselves and a stampede every stormy night, until we arrived on the canadian river in the indian territory; there we had a little indian scare. when within a few miles of the river, dawdy went on ahead to look up a good crossing; it wasn't long until we discovered a terrible dust on the trail between us and the river; it looked like it might be a cyclone coming, but instead of that it was our boss returning. he galloped up almost out of wind telling us to stop the herd and make preparations for war, as the woods along the river were covered with indians on the war path. after getting everything in shape for war, he selected two of his best armed men, which happened to be otto draub and myself, to go back with him and try to make peace with the red devils. we scoured the woods out thoroughly, but only succeeded in finding one old, blind "buck." asa had, no doubt, seen him and imagined the rest. from that time on though we were among indians all the time; and they used to try and scare asa into giving them "wo-ha's," (cattle) but he wasn't one of the scaring kind--except when taken by surprise. everything went on smoothly again until we arrived at "salt fork" close to the kansas line. it was raining and storming terribly when we hove in sight of the above named river. asa went on ahead with the wagons--we having an extra one along then to haul wood and water in--to find a crossing, but on arriving there he found it very high, almost swimming; he succeeded in getting both wagons over though. he then galloped back to hurry the herd up. we were just about a mile from the river when he came dashing up saying: "whoop 'em up boys! for she's rising a foot every second." when we got there she was "bank full" and still rising. it was at least half a mile to the opposite side and drift wood was coming down at a terrible rate, which made it dangerous to cross. but the wagons being over made it a ground hog case--or at least we thought so. the old lead steers went right into the foaming water without a bit of trouble and of course the balance followed. henry coats was in the lead of the herd, asa dawdy and otto draub on the left point, while negro "gabe" and i kept them from turning to the right. we were all--that is we fellows on the points--out in swimming water when henry coats' horse went under, which scared the leaders, causing the whole herd to turn back amidst terrible confusion. coats came very near drowning. we worked for half an hour or more trying to get the herd to take water again, but failed. the river continued to rise until she was over a mile wide. suffice it to say, we remained there seven days without anything to eat except fresh meat without salt. it rained during the whole time nearly, so that we didn't get much sleep on account of having to stay with the cattle night and day. the first grub we got was from a lot of soldiers camped on the opposite side of the wicked little stream "wild horse." they were waiting for it to go down so they could proceed to wichita, kansas, their destination. the boss, dawdy, a fellow by the name of hastings and myself found the "blue coats" while out hunting a lot of steers lost the night before during a severe storm. we had spied the white tents off to the southward and pulled out for them, in a gallop. on arriving within a few hundred yards we found out that a swift stream of muddy water laid between us. they were camped right on the opposite bank from where we stood. dawdy yelled over asking if they could spare some chuck? "yes" was the quick response, "if you will come over after it." dawdy and hastings both looked at me, as much as to say: "charlie it all depends on you." i was considered an extra good swimmer. after shedding my heaviest clothes--there being officers' wives in camp, so that i couldn't undress altogether--i put spurs to "yankee-doodle" and went into her. it was at least two hundred yards across, but i made it all o. k. when the captain found out how long we had been without grub he ordered the cook to bring out some cold biscuits. he brought out a large pan full, and after i got my fists full, a lot of the soldiers took the balance and selecting a narrow place, threw them over one by one to dawdy and hastings. after hiding a dozen or two fat government biscuits under my belt, i began studying up a plan by which i could get some flour and salt, also coffee, over. at last i hit upon a plan: i got a wash-tub from the captain's wife and filling it full of such stuff as we needed, launched her out into the water; i swam by the side of it and landed on the opposite side about half a mile below where i started in at. i then took the tub back thanked our benefactors, mounted yankee-doodle and pulled for the other shore feeling a thousand per cent. better. we arrived at camp about sundown and the boys went to work baking bread by rolling the dough around a stick and holding it over the fire. some of them sat up all night eating, trying to make up for lost time. the sun came out next morning for the first time in eight long days and towards evening we made it across the river. the wagons we found at the "pond creek" ranch on the kansas line. the cooks had been having a soft time. chapter xiv. on a tare in wichita, kansas. on the fourth day of july, after being on the trail just three months, we landed on the "ninnasquaw" river, thirty miles west of wichita, kansas. nearly all the boys, the boss included, struck out for wichita right away to take the train for houston, texas, the nearest railroad point to their respective homes. mr. grimes paid their railroad fares according to custom in those days. i concluded i would remain until fall. mr. grimes had come around by rail, consequently he was on hand to receive us. he already had several thousand steers--besides our herd--on hand; some that he drove up the year before and others he bought around there. he had them divided up into several different herds--about eight hundred to the herd--and scattered out into different places, that is each camp off by itself, from five to ten miles from any other. with each herd or bunch would be a cook and "chuck" wagon, four riders, a "boss" included--and five horses to the rider. during the day two men would "herd" or watch the cattle until noon and the other two until time to "bed" them, which would be about dark. by "bedding" we mean take them to camp, to a certain high piece of ground suitable for a "bed ground" where they would all lie down until morning, unless disturbed by a storm or otherwise. the nights would be divided up into four equal parts--one man "on" at a time, unless storming, tormented with mosquitos or something of the kind, when every one except the cook would have to be "out" singing to them. the herd i came up the trail with was split into three bunches and i was put with one of them under a man by the name of phillups, but shortly afterwards changed and put with a mr. taylor. i spent all my extra time when not on duty, visiting a couple of new york damsels, who lived with their parents five miles east of our camp. they were the only young ladies in the neighborhood, the country being very thinly settled then, therefore the boys thought i was very "cheeky"--getting on courting terms with them so quick. one of them finally "put a head on me"--or in grammatical words, gave me a black eye--which chopped my visits short off; she didn't understand the texas way of proposing for one's hand in marriage, was what caused the fracas. she was cleaning roasting-ears for dinner when i asked her how she would like to jump into double harness and trot through life with me? the air was full of flying roasting-ears for a few seconds--one of them striking me over the left eye--and shortly afterwards a young cow puncher rode into camp with one eye in a sling. you can imagine the boys giving it to me about monkeying with civilized girls, etc. after that i became very lonesome; had nothing to think of but my little texas girl--the only one on earth i loved. while sitting "on herd" in the hot sun, or lounging around camp in the shade of the wagon--there being no trees in that country to supply us with shade--my mind would be on nothing but her. i finally concluded to write to her and find out just how i stood. as often as i had been with her i had never let her know my thoughts. she being only fourteen years of age, i thought there was plenty time. i wrote a long letter explaining everything and then waited patiently for an answer. i felt sure she would give me encouragement, if nothing more. a month passed by and still no answer. can it be possible that she don't think enough of me to answer my letter? thought i. "no," i would finally decide, "she is too much of an angel to be guilty of such." at last the supply wagon arrived from wichita and among the mail was a letter for me. i was on herd that forenoon and when the other boys came out to relieve collier and i, they told me about there being a letter in camp for me, written by a female, judging from the fine hand-writing on the envelope. i was happy until i opened the letter and read a few lines. it then dropped from my fingers and i turned deathly pale. mr. collier wanted to know if some of my relations wasn't dead? suffice it to say that the object of my heart was married to my old playmate billy williams. the letter went on to state that she had given her love to another and that she never thought i loved her only as a friend, etc. she furthermore went on advising me to grin and bear it, as there were just as good fish in the sea as ever was caught etc. i wanted some one to kill me, so concluded to go to the black hills--as everyone was flocking there then. mr. collier, the same man i traded the crippled horse to--agreed to go with me. so we both struck out for wichita to settle up with daddy grimes. mr. collier had a good horse of his own and so did i; mine was a california pony that i had given fifty-five dollars for quite awhile before. my intention was to take him home and make a race horse of him; he was only three years old and according to my views a "lightning striker." after settling up, we, like other "locoed" cow punchers proceeded to take in the town, and the result was, after two or three days carousing around, we left there "busted" with the exception of a few dollars. as we didn't have money enough to take us to the black hills, we concluded to pull for the medicine river, one hundred miles west. we arrived in kiowa, a little one-horse town on the medicine, about dark one cold and disagreeable evening. we put up at the davis house, which was kept by a man named davis--by the way one of the whitest men that ever wore shoes. collier made arrangements that night with mr. davis to board us on "tick" until we could get work. but i wouldn't agree to that. the next morning after paying my night's lodging i had just one dollar left and i gave that to mr. collier as i bade him adieu. i then headed southwest across the hills, not having any destination in view; i wanted to go somewhere but didn't care where. to tell the truth i was still somewhat rattled over my recent bad luck. that night i lay out in the brush by myself and next morning changed my course to southeast, down a creek called driftwood. about noon i accidently landed in gus johnson's cow camp at the forks of driftwood and "little mule" creeks. i remained there all night and next morning when i was fixing to pull out--god only knows where, the boss, bill hudson, asked me if i wouldn't stay and work in his place until he went to hutchison, kansas and back? i agreed to do so finally if he would furnish "whisky-peat," my pony, all the corn he could eat--over and above my wages, which were to be twenty-five dollars a month. the outfit consisted of only about twenty-five hundred texas steers, a chuck wagon, cook and five riders besides the boss. a few days after mr. hudson left we experienced a terrible severe snow storm. we had to stay with the drifting herd night and day, therefore it went rough with us--myself especially, being from a warm climate and only clad in common garments, while the other boys were fixed for winter. when mr. hudson came back from hutchison he pulled up stakes and drifted south down into the indian territory--our camp was then on the territory and kansas line--in search of good winter quarters. we located on the "eagle chief" river, a place where cattle had never been held before. cattlemen in that section of country considered it better policy to hug the kansas line on account of indians. about the time we became settled in our new quarters, my month was up and mr. hudson paid me twenty-five dollars, telling me to make that my home all winter if i wished. my "pile" now amounted to forty-five dollars, having won twenty dollars from one of the boys, ike berry, on a horse race. they had a race horse in camp called "gray-dog," who had never been beaten, so they said, but i and whisky-peat done him up, to the extent of twenty dollars, in fine shape. i made up my mind that i would build me a "dug-out" somewhere close to the johnson camp and put in the winter hunting and trapping. therefore as hudson was going to kiowa, with the wagon, after a load of provisions, etc., i went along to lay me in a supply also. on arriving at kiowa i found that my old "pard" mr. collier had struck a job with a cattleman whose ranch was close to town. but before spring he left for good "hold hengland" where a large pile of money was awaiting him; one of his rich relations had died and willed him everything he had. we suppose he is now putting on lots of "agony," if not dead, and telling his green countrymen of his hair-breadth escapes on the wild texas plains. we often wonder if he forgets to tell of his experience with "old gray," the pony i traded to him for the boat. after sending mother twenty dollars by registered mail and laying in a supply of corn, provisions, ammunition, etc., i pulled back to eagle chief, to make war with wild animals--especially those that their hides would bring me in some money, such as gray wolves, coyotes, wild cats, buffaloes and bears. i left kiowa with just three dollars in money. the next morning after arriving in camp i took my stuff and moved down the river about a mile to where i had already selected a spot for my winter quarters. i worked like a turk all day long building me a house out of dry poles--covered with grass. in the north end i built a "sod" chimney and in the south end, left an opening for a door. when finished it lacked about two feet of being high enough for me to stand up straight. it was almost dark and snowing terribly when i got it finished and a fire burning in the low, jim crow fire-place. i then fed whisky-peat some corn and stepped out a few yards after an armful of good solid wood for morning. on getting about half an armful of wood gathered i heard something crackling and looking over my shoulder discovered my mansion in flames. i got there in time to save nearly everything in the shape of bedding, etc. some of the grub, being next to the fire-place, was lost. i slept at johnson's camp that night. the next morning i went about two miles down the river and located another camp. this time i built a dug-out right on the bank of the stream, in a thick bunch of timber. i made the dug-out in a curious shape; started in at the edge of the steep bank and dug a place six feet long, three deep and three wide, leaving the end next to the creek open for a door. i then commenced at the further end and dug another place same size in an opposite direction, which formed an "l." i then dug still another place, same size, straight out from the river which made the whole concern almost in the shape of a "z." in the end furthest from the stream i made a fire-place by digging the earth away--in the shape of a regular fire-place. and then to make a chimney i dug a round hole, with the aid of a butcher knife, straight up as far as i could reach; then commencing at the top and connecting the two holes. the next thing was to make it "draw," and i did that by cutting and piling sods of dirt around the hole, until about two feet above the level. i then proceeded to build a roof over my Ã� mansion. to do that i cut green poles four feet long and laid them across the top, two or three inches apart. then a layer of grass and finally, to finish it off, a foot of solid earth. she was then ready for business. my idea in making it so crooked was, to keep the indians, should any happen along at night, from seeing my fire. after getting established in my new quarters i put out quite a number of wolf baits and next morning in going to look at them found several dead wolves besides scores of skunks, etc. but they were frozen too stiff to skin, therefore i left them until a warmer day. the next morning on crawling out to feed my horse i discovered it snowing terribly, accompanied with a piercing cold norther. i crawled back into my hole after making whisky-peat as comfortable as possible and remained there until late in the evening, when suddenly disturbed by a horny visitor. it was three or four o'clock in the evening, while humped up before a blazing fire, thinking of days gone by, that all at once, before i had time to think, a large red steer came tumbling down head first, just missing me by a few inches. in traveling ahead of the storm the whole johnson herd had passed right over me, but luckily only one broke through. talk about your ticklish places! that was truly one of them; a steer jammed in between me and daylight, and a hot fire roasting me by inches. i tried to get up through the roof--it being only a foot above my head--but failed. finally the old steer made a terrible struggle, just about the time i was fixing to turn my wicked soul over to the lord, and i got a glimpse of daylight under his flanks. i made a dive for it and by tight squeezing i saved my life. after getting out and shaking myself i made a vow that i would leave that god-forsaken country in less than twenty-four hours; and i did so. chapter xv. a lonely trip down the cimeron. the next morning after the steer racket i pulled out for kiowa, kansas. it was then sleeting from the north, consequently i had to face it. about three o'clock in the evening i changed my notion and concluded to head for texas. so i turned east, down the eagle chief, to where it emptied into the cimeron, and thence down that stream; knowing that i was bound to strike the chisholm trail--the one i came up on, the spring before. i camped that night at the mouth of eagle chief, and went to roost on an empty stomach, not having brought any grub with me. i was then in the western edge of what is known as the black-jack country, which extends east far beyond the chisholm trail. the next morning i continued down the cimeron, through black-jack timber and sand hills. to avoid the sand hills, which appeared fewer on the opposite side, i undertook to cross the river, but bogged down in the quicksand and had to turn back. that night i camped between two large sand hills and made my bed in a tall bunch of blue-stem grass. i went to bed as full as a tick, as i had just eaten a mule-eared rabbit, one i had slipped up onto and killed with a club. i was afraid to shoot at the large droves of deer and turkeys, on account of the country being full of fresh indian signs. i crawled out of my nest next morning almost frozen. i built a roaring big fire on the _south_ edge of the bunch of tall grass so as to check the cold piercing norther. after enjoying the warm fire a few moments, i began to get thirsty and there being no water near at hand, i took my tin cup and walked over to a large snow-drift a short distance off, to get it full of clean snow, which i intended melting by the fire to quench my burning thirst. while filling the cup i heard a crackling noise behind me and looking over my shoulder discovered a blaze of fire twenty feet in the air and spreading at a terrible rate. i arrived on the scene just in time to save whisky-peat from a horrible death. he was tied to a tree, the top limbs of which were already in a blaze. i also managed to save my saddle and an old piece of saddle blanket, they being out under the tree that whisky-peat was tied to. i didn't mind losing my leather leggins, saddle blankets, etc., so much as i did the old delapidated overcoat that contained a little silver-plated match box in one of the pockets. that day i traveled steady, but not making very rapid progress, on account of winding around sand hills, watching for indians and going around the heads of boggy sloughs. i was certain of striking the chisholm trail before night, but was doomed to disappointment. i pitched camp about nine o'clock that night and played a single-handed game of freeze-out until morning, not having any matches to make a fire with. i hadn't gone more than two miles next morning when i came across a camp-fire, which looked as though it had been used a few hours before; on examination i found it had been an indian camp, just vacated that morning. the trail, which contained the tracks of forty or fifty head of horses, led down the river. after warming myself i struck right out on their trail, being very cautious not to run onto them. every now and then i would dismount and crawl to the top of a tall sand hill to see that the road was clear ahead. about noon i came to a large creek, which proved to be "turkey creek." the reds had made a good crossing by digging the banks down and breaking the ice. after crossing, i hadn't gone but a short distance when i came in sight of the chisholm trail. i never was so glad to see anything before--unless it was the little streak of daylight under the steer's flanks. the indians on striking the trail had struck south on it; and after crossing the cimeron i came in sight of them, about five miles ahead of me. i rode slow so as to let them get out of sight. i didn't care to come in contact with them for fear they might want my horse and possibly my scalp. about dark that evening i rode into a large camp of government freighters, who informed me that the fifty indians who had just passed--being on their way back to the reservation--were kiowas who had been on a hunting expedition. i fared well that night, got a good supper and a warm bed to sleep in--besides a good square meal of corn and oats for my horse. the next morning before starting on my journey, an old irish teamster by the name of "long mike" presented me with a pair of pants--mine being almost in rags--and a blue soldier coat, which i can assure you i appreciated very much. about dusk that evening, i rode into cheyenne agency and that night slept in a house for the first time since leaving kiowa--in fact i hadn't seen a house since leaving kiowa. the next morning i continued south and that night put up at "bill" williams' ranch on the "south canadian" river. shortly after leaving the williams ranch next morning i met a crowd of chickasaw indians who bantered me for a horse race. as whisky-peat was tired and foot-sore, i refused; but they kept after me until finally i took them up. i put up my saddle and pistol against one of their ponies. the pistol i kept buckled around me for fear they might try to swindle me. the saddle i put up and rode the race bare-back. i came out ahead, but not enough to brag about. they gave up the pony without a murmer, but tried to persuade me to run against one of their other ponies, a much larger and finer looking one. i rode off thanking them very kindly for what they had already done for me. that night i put up at a ranch on the washita river and next morning before leaving swapped my indian pony off for another one and got ten dollars to-boot. that morning i left the chisholm trail and struck down the washita river, in search of a good, lively place where i might put in the balance of the winter. i landed in erin springs late that evening and found a grand ball in full bloom at frank murry's mansion. the dancers were a mixed crowd, the ladies being half-breeds and the men, mostly americans and very tough citizens. of course i joined the mob, being in search of excitement and had a gay old time drinking kill-me-quick whisky and swinging the pretty indian maidens. after breakfast next morning the whole crowd, ladies and all, went down the river five miles to witness a "big" horse race at "kickapoo" flat. after the "big" race--which was for several thousand dollars--was over the day was spent in running pony races and drinking whisky. by night the whole mob were gloriously drunk, your humble servant included. there were several fights and fusses took place during the day, but no one seriously hurt. it being against the laws of the united states to sell, or have whisky in the indian territory, you might wonder where it came from: a man by the name of bill anderson--said to have been one of quantrell's men during the war--did the selling. he defied the united states marshalls and it was said that he had over a hundred indictments against him. he sold it at ten dollars a gallon, therefore you see he could afford to run quite a risk. the next day on my way down the river to paul's valley i got rid of my extra pony; i came across two apple peddlers who were on their way to fort sill with a load of apples and who had had the misfortune of losing one of their horses by death, the night before, thereby leaving them on the prairie helpless, unable to move on. they had no money to buy another horse with, having spent all their surplus wealth in arkansas for the load of apples. when i gave them the pony, they felt very happy judging from their actions. on taking my departure one of them insisted on my taking his silver watch as a token of friendship. i afterwards had the watch stolen from me. well, patient reader, i will now drop the curtain for awhile. just suffice it to say i had a tough time of it during the rest of the winter and came out carrying two bullet wounds. but i had some gay times as well as tough and won considerable money running whisky-peat. the following may i landed in gainesville, texas, "right side up with care" and from there went to saint joe on the chisholm trail, where i succeeded in getting a job with a passing herd belonging to capt. littlefield of gonzales. the boss' name was "jim" wells and the herd contained thirty-five hundred head of stock cattle. it being a terribly wet season we experienced considerable hardships, swimming swollen streams, etc. we also had some trouble with indians. we arrived in dodge city, kansas on the third day of july and that night i quit and went to town to "whoop 'em up liza jane." i met an old friend that night by the name of "wess" adams and we both had a gay time, until towards morning when he got severely stabbed in a free-to-all fight. on the morning of july fifth i hired to david t. beals--or the firm of bates & beals, as the outfit was commonly called--to help drive a herd of steers, twenty-five hundred head, to the panhandle of texas, where he intended starting a new ranch. the next morning we struck out on the "old fort bascom" trail, in a southwesterly direction. the outfit consisted of eight men besides the boss, bill allen and "deacon" bates, one of mr. beals' silent partners, who was going along to locate the new range and o. m. johnson, the whole-souled ex-rebel cook. we had six extra good horses apiece, my six being named as follows: comanche, allisan, last chance, creeping moses, damfido and beat-and-be-damned. the last named was afterwards shot full of arrows because he wouldn't hurry while being driven off by a band of indians who had made a raid on the camp. chapter xvi. my first experience roping a buffalo. about the sixth day out from dodge we crossed the cimeron and that evening i had a little excitement chasing a herd of buffaloes. after crossing the river about noon, we drove out to the divide, five or six miles and made a "dry" camp. it was my evening to lay in camp, or do anything else i wished. therefore concluded i would saddle my little indian mare--one i had traded for from an indian--and take a hunt. about the time i was nearly ready to go mr. bates, seeing some of the cattle slipping off into a bunch of sand hills which were near the herd, asked me if i wouldn't ride out and turn them back. i went, leaving my pistol and gun in camp, thinking of course that i would be back in a few minutes. but instead of that i didn't get back until after dinner the next day. just as i was starting back to camp, after turning the cattle, a large herd of buffaloes dashed by camp headed west. the boys all ran out with their guns and began firing. i became excited and putting spurs to my pony, struck out to overtake and kill a few of them, forgetting that i didn't have anything to shoot with. as they had over a mile the start it wasn't an easy matter to overtake them. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon and terribly hot; which of course cut off my pony's wind and checked her speed to a great extent. about sundown i overtook them. their tongues were sticking out a yard. i took down my rope from the saddle-horn, having just missed my shooting irons a few minutes before, and threw it onto a yearling heifer. when the rope tightened the yearling began to bleat and its mammy broke back out of the herd and took after me. i tried to turn the rope loose so as to get out of the way, but couldn't, as it was drawn very tight around the saddle-horn. to my great delight, after raking some of the surplus hair from my pony's hind quarters, she turned and struck out after the still fleeing herd. now the question arose in my mind, "how are you going to kill your buffalo?" break her neck was the only way i could think of; after trying it several times by running "against" the rope at full speed, i gave it up as a failure. i then concluded to cut the rope and let her go, so getting out my old frog-sticker--an old pocket knife i had picked up a few days before and which i used to clean my pipe--i went to work trying to open the little blade it being the only one that would cut hot butter. the big blade was open when i found it, consequently it was nothing but a sheet of rust. the little blade had become rusted considerably, which made it hard to open. previous to that i always used my bowie knife, which at that time was hanging to my pistol belt, in camp, to open it with. after working a few minutes i gave up the notion of opening the little blade and went to work sawing at the rope with the big one. but i soon gave that up also, as i could have made just as much headway by cutting with my finger. at last i dismounted and went to him, or at least her, with nothing but my muscle for a weapon. i finally managed to get her down by getting one hand fastened to her under jaw and the other hold of one horn and then twisting her neck. as some of you might wonder why i had so much trouble with this little animal, when it is a known fact that one man by himself can tie down the largest domestic bull that ever lived, i will say that the difference between a buffalo and a domestic bull is, that the latter when you throw him hard against the ground two or three times, will lie still long enough to give you a chance to jump aboard of him, while the former will raise to his feet, instantly, just as long as there's a bit of life left. after getting her tied down with my "sash," a silk concern that i kept my breeches up with, i went to work opening the little blade of my knife. i broke the big one off and then used it for a pry to open the other with. when i got her throat cut i concluded it a good idea to take the hide along, to show the boys that i didn't have my run for nothing, so went to work skinning, which i found to be a tedious job with such a small knife-blade. it was pitch dark when i started towards camp with the hide and a small chunk of meat tied behind my saddle. after riding east about a mile, i abandoned the idea of going to camp and turned south facing the cool breeze in hopes of finding water, my pony and i both being nearly dead for a drink. it was at least twenty miles to camp over a level, dry plain, therefore i imagined it an impossibility to go that distance without water. as the streams all lay east and west in that country, i knew by going south i was bound to strike one sooner or later. about midnight i began to get sleepy, so, pulling the bridle off my pony so she could graze, i spread the buffalo hide down, hair up, and after wrapping the end of the rope, that my pony was fastened to around my body once or twice so she couldn't get loose without me knowing it, fell asleep. i hadn't slept long when i awoke, covered from head to foot with ants. the fresh hide had attracted them. after freeing myself of most of the little pests i continued my journey in search of water. about three o'clock in the morning i lay down again, but this time left the hide on my saddle. i think i must have been asleep about an hour when all at once my pony gave a tremendous snort and struck out at full speed, dragging me after her. you see i had wrapped the rope around my body as before and it held me fast some way or another; i suppose by getting tangled. luckily for me though it came loose after dragging me about a hundred yards. you can imagine my feelings on gaining my feet, and finding myself standing on the broad prairie afoot. i felt just like a little boy does when he lets a bird slip out of his hand accidently--that is--exceedingly foolish. the earth was still shaking and i could hear a roaring noise like that of distant thunder. a large herd of buffaloes had just passed. while standing scratching my head a faint noise greeted my ear; it was my pony snorting. a tramp of about three hundred yards brought me to her. she was shaking as though she had a chill. i mounted and continued my journey south, determined on not stopping any more that night. about ten o'clock next morning i struck water on the head of sharp's creek, a tributary to "beaver" or head of north canadian. when i got to camp--it having been moved south about twenty miles from where i left it--the boys had just eaten dinner and two of them were fixing to go back and hunt me up, thinking some sad misfortune had befallen me. when we got to blue creek, a tributary to south canadian, camp was located for awhile, until a suitable location could be found for a permanent ranch. mr. bates struck out across the country to the canadian river, taking me along, to hunt the range--one large enough for at least fifty thousand cattle. after being out three days we landed in tascosa, a little mexican town on the canadian. there were only two americans there, howard & reinheart, who kept the only store in town. their stock of goods consisted of three barrels of whisky and half a dozen boxes of soda crackers. from there we went down the river twenty-five miles where we found a little trading point, consisting of one store and two mexican families. the store, which was kept by a man named pitcher, had nothing in it but whisky and tobacco. his customers were mostly transient buffalo hunters, they being mostly indians and mexicans. he also made a business of dealing in robes, furs, etc., which he shipped to fort lyons, colorado, where his partner, an officer in the united states army lived. there were three hundred apache indians camped right across the river from "cold springs," as pitcher called his ranch. a few miles below where the little store stood mr. bates decided on being the center of the "l. x." range; and right there, wheeler post-office now stands. and that same range, which was then black with buffaloes, is now stocked with seventy-five thousand fine blooded cattle, and all fenced in. so you see time makes changes, even out here in the "western wilds." chapter xvii. an exciting trip after thieves. after arriving on our newly located ranch we counted the cattle and found the herd three hundred head short. bill allen, the boss, struck back to try and find their trail. he found it leading south from the "rifle pits." the cattle had stolen out of the herd without anyone finding it out; and of course finding themselves free, they having come from southern texas, they headed south across the plains. allen came back to camp and taking me and two horses apiece, struck down the river to head them off. we made our headquarters at fort elliott and scoured the country out for a hundred miles square. we succeeded in getting about two hundred head of them; some had become wild and were mixed up with large herds of buffalo, while others had been taken up by ranchmen around the fort and the brands disfigured. we got back to camp after being absent a month. about the first of october four more herds arrived; three from dodge and one from grenada, colorado, where bates & beals formerly had a large ranch. we then turned them all loose on the river and established "sign" camps around the entire range, which was about forty miles square. the camps were stationed from twenty-five to thirty miles apart. there were two men to the camp and their duty was to see that no cattle drifted outside of the line--on their "ride," which was half way to the next camp on each side, or in plainer words one man would ride south towards the camp in that direction, while his pard would go north until he met the man from the next camp, which would generally be on a hill, as near half way as possible. if any cattle had crossed over the line during the night they would leave a trail of course, and this the rider would follow up until he overtook them. he would then bring them back inside of the line; sometimes though they would come out so thick that half a dozen men couldn't keep them back, for instance, during a bad storm. under such circumstances he would have to do the best he could until he got a chance to send to the "home ranch" for help. a young man by the name of john robinson and myself were put in a sign camp ten miles south of the river, at the foot of the staked plains. it was the worst camp in the whole business, for three different reasons, the first one being, cattle naturally want to drift south in the winter, and secondly, the cold storms always came from the north, and the third and most objectionable cause was, if any happened to get over the line onto the staked plains during a bad snow storm they were considered gone, as there were no "breaks" or anything to check them for quite a distance. for instance, drifting southwest they would have nothing but a level plain to travel over for a distance of three hundred miles to the pecos river near the old mexico line. john and i built a small stone house on the head of "bonetta" canyon and had a hog killing time all by ourselves. hunting was our delight at first, until it became old. we always had four or five different kinds of meat in camp. buffalo meat was way below par with us, for we could go a few hundred yards from camp any time of day and kill any number of the woolly brutes. to give you an idea how thick buffaloes were around there that fall will say, at one time when we first located our camp on the bonetta, there was a solid string of them, from one to three miles wide, going south, which took three days and nights to cross the canadian river. and at other times i have seen them so thick on the plains that the country would look black just as far as the eye could reach. late that fall we had a change in bosses. mr. allen went home to corpus christi, texas, and a man by the name of moore came down from colorado and took his place. about christmas we had a little excitement, chasing some mexican thieves, who robbed mr. pitcher of everything he had in his little jim crow store. john and i were absent from our camp, six days on this trip. there were nine of us in the persuing party, headed by mr. moore, our boss. we caught the outfit, which consisted of five men, all well armed and three women, two of them being pretty maidens, on the staked plains, headed for mexico. it was on this trip that i swore off getting drunk, and i have stuck to it--with the exception of once and that was over the election of president cleveland--it happened thus: we rode into tascosa about an hour after dark, having been in the saddle and on a hot trail all day without food or water. supper being ordered we passed off the time waiting, by sampling howard and reinheart's bug juice. supper was called and the boys all rushed to the table--a few sheepskins spread on the dirt floor. when about through they missed one of their crowd--a fellow about my size. on searching far and near he was found lying helplessly drunk under his horse, whisky-peet--who was tied to a rack in front of the store. a few glasses of salty water administered by mr. moore brought me to my right mind. moore then after advising me to remain until morning, not being able to endure an all night ride as he thought, called, "come on, fellers!" and mounting their tired horses they dashed off at almost full speed. there i stood leaning against the rack not feeling able to move. whisky-peet was rearing and prancing in his great anxiety to follow the crowd. i finally climbed into the saddle, the pony still tied to the rack. i had sense enough left to know that i couldn't get on him if loose, in the fix i was in. then pulling out my bowie knife i cut the rope and hugged the saddle-horn with both hands. i overtook and stayed with the crowd all night, but if ever a mortal suffered it was me. my stomach felt as though it was filled with scorpions, wild cats and lizards. i swore if god would forgive me for geting on that drunk i would never do so again. but the promise was broken, as i stated before, when i received the glorious news of cleveland's election. after new year's, moore took jack ryan, vandozen and myself and went on an exploring expedition south, across the staked plains, with a view of learning the country. the first place we struck was canyon paladuro, head of red river. the whole country over there was full of indians and mexicans. we laid over two days in one of their camps, watching them lance buffaloes. from there we went to mulberry where we put in three or four days hunting. when we pulled out again our pack-pony was loaded down with fat bear meat. chapter xviii. seven weeks among indians. on our arrival back to the ranch, moore rigged up a scouting outfit to do nothing but drift over the plains in search of strayed cattle. the outfit consisted of a well-filled chuck-wagon, a number one good cook, mr. o. m. johnson, and three warriors, jack ryan, vanduzen and myself. we had two good horses apiece, that is, all but myself, i had three counting whisky-peet. about the sixth day out we struck three thousand comanche indians and became pretty badly scared up. we had camped for the night on the plains, at the forks of mulberry and canyon paladuro; a point from whence could be seen one of the roughest and most picturesque scopes of country in the west. the next morning jack ryan went with the wagon to pilot it across mulberry canyon, while "van" and i branched off down into canyon paladuro to look for cattle signs. we succeeded in finding two little knotty-headed two-year old steers with a bunch of buffalo. they were almost as wild as their woolly associates, but we managed to get them cut out and headed in the direction the wagon had gone. about noon, on turning a sharp curve in the canyon, we suddenly came in full view of our wagon surrounded with a couple of thousand red skins, on horse back, and others still pouring down from the hills, on the east. it was too late to figure on what to do, for they had already seen us, only being about half a mile off. you see the two wild steers had turned the curve ahead of us and attracted the indians attention in that direction. we couldn't see anything but the white top of our wagon, on account of the solid mass of reds, hence couldn't tell whether our boys were still among the living or not. we thought of running once, but finally concluded to go up and take our medicine like little men, in case they were on the war-path. leaving whisky-peet, who was tied behind the wagon, kept me from running more than anything else. on pushing our way through the mass we found the boys, winchesters in hand, telling the old chiefs where to find plenty of buffalo. there were three thousand in the band, and they had just come from ft. sill, indian territory, on a hunting expedition. they wanted to get where buffaloes were plentiful before locating winter quarters. from that time on we were among indians all the time. the pawnee tribe was the next we came in contact with. close to the indian territory line we run afoul of the whole cheyenne tribe. they were half starved, all the buffalo having drifted south, and their ponies being too poor and weak to follow them up. we traded them out of lots of blankets, trinkets, etc. for a pint of flour or coffee they would give their whole soul--and body thrown in for good measure. we soon ran out of chuck too, having swapped it all off to the hungry devils. we then circled around by ft. elliott, and up the canadian river to the ranch, arriving there with eighteen head of our steers, after an absence of seven weeks. we only got to remain at the ranch long enough to get a new supply of chuck, etc., and a fresh lot of horses, as moore sent us right back to the plains. in a south westerly direction this time. we remained on the plains scouting around during the rest of the winter, only making short trips to the ranch after fresh horses and grub. we experienced some tough times too, especially during severe snow storms when our only fuel, "buffalo-chips," would be covered up in the deep snow. even after the snow melted off, for several days afterwards, we couldn't get much warmth out of the buffalo-chips, on account of them being wet. about the first of april, moore called us in from the plains to go up the river to ft. bascom, new mexico, on a rounding-up expedition. we were gone on that trip over a month. on our arrival back, moore went right to work gathering up everything on the range in the shape of cattle, so as to "close-herd" them during the summer. his idea in doing that was to keep them tame. during the winter they had become almost beyond control. the range was too large for so few cattle. and another thing buffalo being so plentiful had a tendency to making them wild. about the first of june moore put me in charge of an outfit, which consisted of twenty-five hundred steers, a wagon and cook, four riders, and five horses to the man or rider. he told me to drift over the plains wherever i felt like, just so i brought the cattle in fat by the time cold weather set in. it being an unusually wet summer the scores of basins, or "dry lakes," as we called them, contained an abundance of nice fresh water, therefore we would make a fresh camp every few days. the grass was also fine, being mostly buffalo-grass and nearly a foot high. if ever i enjoyed life it was that summer. no flies or mosquitoes to bother, lots of game and a palmy atmosphere. towards the latter part of july about ten thousand head of "through" cattle arrived from southern texas. to keep the "wintered" ones from catching the "texas fever," mr. moore put them all on the plains, leaving the new arrivals on the north side of the river. there was three herds besides mine. and i was put in charge of the whole outfit, that is, the four herds; although they were held separate as before, with the regular number of men, horses, etc. to each herd. i then put one of my men in charge of the herd i had been holding, and from that time on until late in the fall i had nothing to do but ride from one herd to the other and see how they were getting along. some times the camps would be twenty miles apart. i generally counted each bunch once a week, to be certain they were all there. about the first of october, moore came out and picked eight hundred of the fattest steers out of the four herds and sent them to dodge to be shipped to chicago. he then took everything to the river, to be turned loose onto the winter range until the next spring. when the hardest work was over--winter camps established, etc., i secured moore's consent to let me try and overtake the shipping steers, and accompany them to chicago. so mounted on whisky-peet i struck out, accompanied by one of the boys, john farris. it was doubtful whether we would overtake the herd before being shipped, as they had already been on the road about fifteen days, long enough to have gotten there. the night after crossing the cimeron river we had a little indian scare. about three o'clock that afternoon we noticed two or three hundred mounted reds, off to one side of the road, marching up a ravine in single file. being only a mile off, john proposed to me that we go over and tackle them for something to eat. we were terribly hungry, as well as thirsty. i agreed, so we turned and rode towards them. on discovering us they all bunched up, as though parleying. we didn't like such maneuvering, being afraid maybe they were on the war-path, so turned and continued our journey along the road, keeping a close watch behind for fear they might conclude to follow us. we arrived on crooked creek, where there was a store and several ranches, just about dark. on riding up to the store, where we intended stopping all night, we found it vacated, and everything turned up-side down as though the occupants had just left in a terrible hurry. hearing some ox bells down the creek we turned in that direction, in hopes of finding something to eat. about a mile's ride brought us to a ranch where several yoke of oxen stood grazing, near the door. finding a sack of corn in a wagon we fed our horses and then burst open the door of the log house, which was locked. out jumped a little playful puppy, who had been asleep, his master having locked him up in there, no doubt, in his anxiety to pull for dodge. hanging over the still warm ashes was a pot of nice beef soup which had never been touched. and in the old box cupboard was a lot of cold biscuits and a jar of nice preserves, besides a jug of molasses, etc. after filling up we struck out for dodge, still a distance of twenty-five miles. we arrived there a short while after sun-up next morning; and the first man we met--an old friend by the name of willingham--informed us of the indian outbreak. there had been several men killed on crooked creek the evening before--hence john and i finding the ranches deserted. on riding through the streets that morning, crowds of women, some of them crying, seeing we were just in from the south, flocked around us inquiring for their absent ones, fathers, brothers, lovers and sons, some of whom had already been killed, no doubt; there having been hundreds of men killed in the past few days. john and i of course laughed in our boots to think that we turned back, instead of going on to the band of blood-thirsty devils that we had started to go to. the first thing after putting our horses up at the livery stable, we went to wright & beverly's store and deposited our "wealth." john had a draft for one hundred and fourteen dollars, while i had about three hundred and fifty dollars. we then shed our old clothes and crawled into a bran new rig out and out. erskine clement, one of mr. beal's partners, was in town waiting to ship the herd which should have been there by that time. but he hadn't heard a word from it, since getting moore's letter--which, by the way, had to go around through las vegas, new mexico, and down through the southern part of colorado--stating about what time it would arrive in dodge. he was terribly worried when i informed him that john and i had neither seen nor heard anything of the outfit since it left the ranch. that night about ten o'clock john, who had struck a lot of his old chums, came and borrowed twenty-five dollars from me, having already spent his one hundred and fourteen dollars that he had when he struck town. i went to bed early that night, as i had promised to go with clement early next morning to make a search for the missing herd. the next morning when clement and i were fixing to strike out, john came to me, looking bad after his all night rampage, to get his horse and saddle out of "soak." i done so, which cost me thirty-five dollars, and never seen the poor boy afterwards. shortly after that he went to ft. sumner and was killed by one of "billy the kid's" men, a fellow by the name of barney mason. thus ended the life of a good man who, like scores of others, let the greatest curse ever known to mankind, whisky, get the upper hand of him. clement and i pulled south, our ponies loaded down with ammunition so in case the indians got us corralled we could stand them off a few days, at least. we were well armed, both having a good winchester and a couple of colts' pistols apiece. we found the outfit coming down crooked creek; they having left the main trail, or road, on the cimeron, and came over a much longer route, to avoid driving over a dry stretch of country, forty miles between water. hence john and i missing them. no doubt but that it was a lucky move in them taking that route, for, on the other, they would have just about come in contact with the three or four hundred cheyenne reds, whose bloody deeds are still remembered in that country. on arriving in town with the herd we split it in two, making four hundred head in each bunch, and put one half on the cars to be shipped to chicago. i accompanied the first lot, while clement remained to come on with the next. in burlington, iowa, i met mr. beals. we lay there all day feeding and watering the cattle. on arriving in chicago, i went right to the palmer house, but after paying one dollar for dinner i concluded its price too high for a common clod-hopper like myself. so i moved to the ervin house, close to the washington street tunnel, a two dollar a day house. that night i turned myself loose taking in the town, or at least a little corner of it. i squandered about fifteen dollars that night on boot-blacks alone. every one of the little imps i met struck me for a dime, or something to eat. they knew, at a glance, from the cut of my jib, that they had struck a bonanza. they continued to "work" me too, during my whole stay in the city. at one time, while walking with mr. beals and another gentleman, a crowd of them who had spied me from across the street, yelled "yonder goes our texas ranger! lets tackle him for some stuff!" about the third day i went broke, and from that time on i had to borrow from mr. beals. i left there about a hundred dollars in his debt. after spending six days in the city i left for dodge city, kansas, in company with mr. beals and erskine clement, who, instead of stopping at dodge, continued on to grenada, colorado, where the "beals cattle co." still held their headquarters. arriving in dodge city, i found whiskey-peet, whom i had left in anderson's stable, all o. k., and mounting him i struck out all alone for the "l. x." ranch, two hundred and twenty-five miles. arriving at the ranch i found the noted "billy the kid" and his gang there. among his daring followers were the afterwards noted tom o'phalliard, and henry brown, leader of the medicine lodge bank tragedy which happened in , who was shot in trying to escape, while his three companions were hung. "the kid" was there trying to dispose of a herd of ponies he had stolen from the "seven river warriors" in lincoln county, new mexico--his bitter enemies whom he had fought so hard against, that past summer, in what is known as the "bloody lincoln county war of ' ." during his stay at the ranch and around tascosa, i became intimately acquainted with him and his jovial crowd. i mention these facts because i intend to give you a brief sketch of billy's doings, in the closing pages of this book. chapter xix. a lonely ride of eleven hundred miles. after laying around the ranch a couple of weeks, mr. moore put me in charge of a scouting outfit and sent me out on the south plains to drift about all winter, watching for cattle thieves, etc.; also to turn back any cattle that might slip by the "sign riders" and drift across the plains. during that winter we, that is my crowd, went to church several times. a little colony of christians headed by the rev. cahart, had settled on the head of salt fork, a tributary of red river, and built a church house in which the little crowd, numbering less than fifty souls would congregate every sunday and pray. that same little church house now ornaments the thriving little city of clarendon, county seat of donley county. the old inhabitants point to it with pride when telling of how it once stood solitary and alone out on the great buffalo range two hundred miles from nowhere. the colony had come from illinois and drifted away out there beyond the outskirts of civilization to get loose from that demon whisky. and early that coming spring a lot of ruffians started a saloon in their midst. a meeting was called in the little church house and resolutions passed to drive them out, if in no other way, with powder and lead. they pulled their freight and i am proud to state that i had a hand in making them pull it; for the simple reason that they had no business encroaching upon those good people's rights. when spring opened mr. moore called me in from the plains and put me in charge of a rounding-up outfit, which consisted of twelve riders and a cook. to begin rounding-up, we went over to canyon paladuro, where chas. goodnight had a ranch, and where a great many of the river cattle had drifted during the winter. there was about a hundred men and seven or eight wagons in the outfit that went over. we stopped over sunday in the little christian colony and went to church. the rev. cahart preached about the wild and woolly cow boy of the west; how the eastern people had him pictured off as a kind of animal with horns, etc. while to him, looking down from his dry goods box pulpit into the manly faces of nearly a hundred of them, they looked just like human beings, minus the standing collar, etc. about the first of july, moore sent me to nickerson, kansas, with a herd of eight hundred shipping steers. my outfit consisted of five men, a chuck wagon, etc. our route lay over a wild strip of country where there was no trails nor scarcely any ranches--that is, until reaching the southern line of kansas. we arrived at nickerson after being on the road two months. "deacon" bates, mr. beals partner, was there waiting for us. he had come through with several herds that had left the ranch a month ahead of us. he was still holding some of the poorest ones, south of town, where he had a camp established. after loading my wagon with a fresh supply of grub, mr. bates, or the "deacon" as he was more commonly called, sent me back over the trail he and his outfits had come, to gather lost steers--some they had lost coming through. i was gone about a month and came back with eighteen head. we had a soft trip of it, as most of our hard work was such as buying butter, eggs, etc., from the scattering grangers along the kansas border. we never missed a meal on the trip, and always had the best the country afforded, regardless of cost. deacon bates was always bragging on some of his bosses, how cheap they could live, etc. i just thought i would try him this time, being in a country where luxuries were plentiful, and see if he wouldn't blow on me as being a person with good horse sense. an animal of course, as we all know, will eat the choicest grub he can get; and why not man, when he is credited with having more sense than the horse, one of the most intellectual animals that exists? on our return to nickerson, i concluded to quit and spend the winter with mother, whom i received letters from every now and then begging me to come home. as i wasn't certain of coming back, i thought it best to go overland and take whisky-peet along, for i couldn't even bear the _thought_ of parting with him; and to hire a car to take him around by rail would be too costly. i got all ready to start and then went to deacon bates for a settlement. he took my account book and, after looking it over, said: "why, dum-it to h--l, i can't pay no such bills as those! why, dum-it all, old jay gould would groan under the weight of these bills!" he then went on to read some of the items aloud. they ran as follows: cod-fish $ ; eggs $ ; butter $ ; milk $ ; bacon $ ; flour $ ; canned fruits $ ; sundries $ , etc., etc. suffice it to say, the old gent told me in plain yankee english that i would have to go to chicago and settle with mr. beals. i hated the idea of going to chicago, for i knew my failings--i was afraid i wouldn't have money enough left when i got back to pay my expenses home. that same evening a letter came from mr. beals stating that he had just received a letter from moore, at the ranch, in which he informed him that there were two more herds on the trail for nickerson, and, as it was getting so near winter, for joe hargraves, better known as "jinglebob joe," and i to go and turn them to dodge city, the nearest shipping point. after putting whisky-peet and my "missouri" mare, one i had bought to use as a pack-horse going home, in care of an old granger to be fed and taken good care of until my return, joe and i struck out with only one horse apiece--just the ones we were riding. on our arrival in dodge i pulled out for chicago, to get a settlement, with the first train load we shipped. i took my saddle, bridle, spurs, etc. along and left them in atchison, mo., the first point we stopped to feed at, until my return. arriving in chicago, i told mr. beals that i was going home to spend the winter, and therefore wanted to settle up. he set 'em up to a fine havana and then proceeded. every time he came to one of those big bills, which caused the deacon's eyes to bulge out, he would grunt and crack about a forty-cent smile, but never kicked. when he had finished there was a few hundred dollars to my credit. he then asked me if i could think of anything else that i had forgotten to charge the "company" with? of course i couldn't, because i didn't have time; his question was put to me too sudden. if i could have had a few hours to myself, to figure the thing up just right, i think i could have satisfied the old gent. i remained in the city three days taking in the sights and feeding the hungry little boot blacks. when leaving, mr. beals informed me that he was going to buy a lot of southern texas cattle, to put on his panhandle ranch, the coming spring, and if i wanted a job, to hold myself in readiness to boss one of the herds up the trail for him. of course that just suited me, providing i couldn't make up my mind to remain at home. landing in nickerson i hired a horse and went out to the old granger's ranch where i had left my two ponies. they were both fat and feeling good. before starting out on my little journey of only eleven hundred miles, i bought a pack-saddle and cooking outfit--that is, just a frying pan, small coffee pot, etc. i used the mare for a pack animal and rode whisky-peet. i had just six dollars left when i rode out of nickerson. i went through fort reno and fort sill, indian territory and crossed red river into texas on the old military road, opposite henrietta. when within ten miles of denton, texas, on pecan creek, whisky-peet became lame--so much so that he could scarcely walk. i was stopping over night with a mr. cobb, and next morning i first noticed his lameness. i lacked about twenty-five cents of having enough to pay mr. cobb for my night's lodging that morning. i had sold my watch for five dollars a short while before and now that was spent. whisky-peet being too lame to travel, i left him with mr. cobb while i rode into denton to try and make a raise of some money. i tried to swap my mare off for a smaller animal and get some boot, but every one seemed to think that she had been stolen; i being so anxious to swap. i rode back to mr. cobb's that night in the same fix, financially, as when i left that morning. the next day i made a raise of some money. mr. cobb and i made a saddle swap, he giving me twenty dollars to boot. he and i also swapped bridles, i getting four dollars and a half to boot. one of his little boys then gave me his saddle and one dollar and a half for my pack-saddle, which had cost me ten dollars in nickerson. i then had lots of money. whisky-peet soon got over his lameness, having just stuck a little snag into the frog of his foot, which i succeeded in finding and pulling out before it had time to do serious damage, and i started on my journey again. on arriving in denton that time, a negro struck me for a horse swap right away. i got a three year old pony and six dollars in money for my mare; the pony suited just as well for a pack animal as the mare. the next day after leaving denton, i stopped in a negro settlement and won a fifty-dollar horse, running whisky-peet against a sleepy looking grey. i had up twenty dollars in money and my winchester, a fine silver mounted gun. i won the race by at least ten open feet, but the negroes tried to swindle me out of it. while riding along that evening three negroes rode up and claimed the horse i had won. they claimed that the parties who bet him off had no right to him, as they just had borrowed him from one of them to ride to the settlement that morning. i finally let them have him for twenty dollars. i went through the following towns after leaving denton: ft. worth, clenborn, hillsborough, waco, herrene, bryant, brenham and columbus; besides scores of smaller places. i rode up to mother's little shanty on cashe's creek after being on the road just a month and twelve days. to say that mother was glad to see me would only half express it. she bounced me the first thing about not coming back the next fall after leaving as i had promised. i had been gone nearly four years. chapter xx. another start up the chisholm trail. i hadn't been at home but a few days when i came very near getting killed by a falling house. mother had become tired of the neighborhood she lived in and wanted me to move her and her shanty down the creek about a mile, to mr. cornelius's. so hiring a yoke of oxen--although a pair of goats would have answered the purpose--i hauled her household goods down to the spot selected. i then went to work tearing the shanty down. in building it i had set eight pine posts two feet in the ground, and then nailed the sidings, etc., to them. there was only one room and it was eight feet wide and fourteen long. the roof had been made of heavy pine boards. after tearing both ends out, i climbed onto the roof to undo that. i was a-straddle of the sharp roof, about midway, axe in one hand and a large chisel in the other, when all at once the sides began spreading out at the top. of course i began sinking slowly but surely, until everything went down with a crash. the pine posts had become rotten from the top of the ground down; and just as soon as the roof and i had struck bottom the sides flopped over onto us. a neighbor's little boy by the name of benny williams, had been monkeying around watching me work, and unluckily he was inside of the shanty when the collapse came. i was sensible, but unable to move, there being so much weight on me. finally little benny who was one thickness of boards under me woke up and began squalling like a six months old calf being put through the process of branding. after squalling himself hoarse he began to moan most pitiously. that was too much for me. i could stand his bleating but his moaning for help put new life into my lazy muscles, causing me to exert every nerve in my body, so as to get out and render the poor boy assistance. i had, before the boy's cries disturbed me, made up my mind to lie still and wait for something to turn up. in exerting myself i found that i could move my body down towards my feet, an inch at a time. the weight was all on my left shoulder. but it soon came in contact with something else, which relieved my bruised shoulder of most of the weight. i got out finally after a long and painful struggle; and securing help from the morris ranch, fished benny out. he had one leg broken below the knee, besides other bruises. i was slightly disfigured, but still in the ring. i put in the winter visiting friends, hunting, etc. i had sold my cattle--the mavricks branded nearly four years before--to mr. geo. hamilton, at the market price, from five to ten dollars a head, according to quality, to be paid for when he got his own brand put on to them. every now and then he would brand a few, and with the money received for them i would buy grub and keep up my dignity. about the first of march i received a letter from mr. rosencrans, one of d. t. beals' partners, stating that mr. beals had bought his cattle in middle texas instead of southern as he had expected, and as he had told me in chicago. "but," continued the letter, "we have bought a herd from charles word of goliad, on the san antonia river, to be delivered at our panhandle ranch and have secured you the job of bossing it. now should you wish to come back and work for us, go out and report to mr. word at once." the next day i kissed mother good-bye, gave whisky peet a hug, patted chief--a large white dog that i had picked up in the indian territory on my way through--a few farewell pats on the head, mounted "gotch"--a pony i had swapped my star-spangled winchester for--and struck out for goliad, ninety miles west. leaving whisky-peet behind was almost as severe on me as having sixteen jaw-teeth pulled. i left him, in horace yeamans' care, so that i could come back by rail the coming fall. i failed to come back though that fall as i expected, therefore never got to see the faithful animal again; he died the following spring. a three days' ride brought me to goliad, the place where fannin and his brave followers met their sad fate during the mexican war. it was dark when i arrived there. after putting up my horse, i learned from the old gent mr. word, who was a saddler, and whom i found at work in his shop, that his son charlie was out at beeville, gathering a bunch of cattle. next morning i struck out for beeville, thirty miles west, arriving there about four o'clock in the afternoon. about sun-down i found charles word, and his crowd of muddy cow-punchers, five miles west of town. they were almost up to their ears in mud, (it having been raining all day,) trying to finish "road branding" that lot of steers before dark. the corral having no "chute" the boys had to rope and wrestle with the wild brutes until the hot iron could be applied to their wet and muddy sides. when i rode up to the corral, charlie came out, and i introduced myself. he shook my hand with a look of astonishment on his brow, as much as to say, i'll be----if beals mustn't be crazy, sending this smooth-faced kid here to take charge of a herd for me! he finally after talking awhile told me that i would have to work under mr. stephens, until we got ready to put up the beals herd--or at least the one i was to accompany. he also told me to keep the boys from knowing that i was going to boss the next herd, as several of them were fishing for the job, and might become stubborn should they know the truth. i went on "night-guard" after supper and it continued to rain all night, so that i failed to get any sleep; but then i didn't mind it, as i was well rested. the next day after going to work, was when i caught fits though, working in a muddy pen all day. when night came i didn't feel as much like going on guard as i did the night before. a laughable circumstance happened that morning after going into the branding-pen. as the pen had no "chute" we had to rope and tie down, while applying the brand. the men working in pairs, one, which ever happened to get a good chance, to catch the animal by both fore feet as he run by which would "bump" him, that is, capsize him. the other fellow would then be ready to jump aboard and hold him until securely fastened. there being only seven of us to do the roping that morning, it of course left one man without a "pard," and that one was me. each one you see is always anxious to get a good roper for a "pard," as then everything works smoothly. mr. word told me to sit on the fence and rest until ike word, an old negro who used to belong to the word family, and who was the best roper in the crowd, returned from town where he had been sent with a message. it wasn't long till old ike galloped up, wearing a broad grin. he was very anxious to get in the pen and show "dem fellers de art of cotching um by boaf front feet." but when his boss told him he would have to take me for a "pard" his broad grin vanished. calling mr. word to one side he told him that he didn't want that yankee for a "pard," as he would have to do all the work, etc. he was told to try me one round and if i didn't suit he could take some one else. shortly afterwards while passing mr. word old ike whispered and said: "dogon me if dat yankee don't surprise de natives!" when night came, and while i was on herd, old ike sat around the camp fire wondering to the other boys "whar dat yankee learned to rope so well." you see mr. word had told the boys that i was from the panhandle, and old ike thought the panhandle was way up in yankeedom somewhere, hence he thinking i was a yankee. a few days after that though, i satisfied old ike that i was a thoroughbred. mr. word bought a bunch of ponies, new arrivals from mexico, and among them was a large iron-grey, which the mexicans had pointed out as being "muncho deablo." none of the boys, not even old ike, cared to tackle him. so one morning i caught and saddled him. he fought like a tiger while being saddled; and after getting it securely fastened he threw it off and stamped it into a hundred pieces, with his front feet, which caused me to have to buy a new one next day. i then borrowed mr. stephens' saddle, and after getting securely seated in it, raised the blinds and gave him the full benefit of spurs and quirt. after pitching about half a mile, me, saddle and all went up in the air, the girths having broken. but having the "hackimore" rope fastened to my belt i held to him until help arrived. i then borrowed another saddle, and this time stayed with him. from that on, old ike recognized me as a genuine cow-puncher. we finally got that herd, of thirty-seven hundred steers, ready for the trail; but the very night after getting them counted and ready to turn over to mr. stephens the next morning, they stampeded, half of them getting away and mixing up with thousands of other cattle. mr. stephens thought he would try a new scheme that trip up the trail, so he bought a lot of new bulls-eye lanterns to be used around the herd on dark, stormy nights, so that each man could tell just where the other was stationed by the reflection of his light. this night in question being very dark and stormy, stephens thought he would christen his new lamps. he gave me one, although i protested against such nonsense. about ten o'clock some one suddenly flashed his bulls-eye towards the herd, and off they went, as though shot out of a gun. in running my horse at full speed in trying to get to the lead, or in front of them, me, horse, bulls-eye and all went over an old rail fence--where there had once been a ranch--in a pile. i put the entire blame onto the lamp, the light of which had blinded my horse so that he didn't see the fence. i wasn't long in picking myself up and mounting my horse who was standing close by, still trembling from the shock he received. i left the lamp where it lay, swearing vengeance against the use of them, around cattle, and dashed off after the flying herd. when daylight came i and a fellow by the name of glass, found ourselves with about half of the herd, at least ten miles from camp. the rest of the herd was scattered all over the country, badly mixed up with other cattle. it took us several days to get the lost ones gathered, and the herd in shape again. after bidding stephens and the boys who were to accompany him, adieu, to meet again on red river where he was to wait for us, we pulled for goliad to rig up a new outfit, horses, wagon, etc. the horses, word bought out of a mexican herd which had just arrived from old mexico. he gave eighteen dollars a head for the choice, out of several hundred head. being all ready to start for kimble county, two hundred miles northwest, where the herd was to be gathered, mr. word turned the outfit over to me, while he went around by stage. chapter xxi. a trip which terminated in the capture of "billy the kid." we went through san antonio and lay there long enough to have all of our horses shod, as we were going into a mountainous country where they couldn't stand it without shoes. while there i visited the almo building where poor davy crocket and his brave companions bit the dust. we arrived at our destination, joe taylor's ranch, on paint creek a small tributary to the llano, at last; and it was one of the roughest, rockiest, god-forsaken countries i ever put foot on. we finally, after three weeks hard work, got the herd of twenty-five hundred head started towards the north star. we were awful glad to get out of there too, for our horses were all nearly peetered out, and the men on the war-path, from having to work twenty-six hours a day. at red river we overtook stephens and changed herds with him, his being the ones to go to beal's ranch, while the others were for the wyoming market. after parting with stephens again we turned in a northwesterly direction and arrived at the "l. x." ranch on the first day of july. moore sent me right out on the plains to hold the herd i came up with, until fall. that just suited me as i needed a rest. after turning the herd loose on the range about the first of september, i was put in charge of a branding outfit. our work then was drifting over the range branding calves. late in the fall when all the branding was done, moore put me in charge of a scouting outfit and sent me out on the plains to drift around, the same as previous winters. i hadn't been there long, though, when he sent word for me to turn my outfit over to james mcclaughety and come in to the ranch; and to bring three of my picked men along. on arriving at the ranch i found that he wanted me to take an outfit and go to new mexico after a lot of cattle that "billy the kid" had stolen and run over there. the cattlemen along the canadian river had hired a fellow by the name of frank stuart to keep a lookout for stolen cattle in new mexico; and along in the summer he came to the panhandle and notified the different cattlemen who had him employed that "billy the kid" and his gang were making a regular business of stealing panhandle cattle and selling them to an old fellow named pat cohglin who had a large ranch on three rivers, close to ft. stanton. the outfits then made up a crowd between them, and sent with stuart, giving him orders to go right to the cohglin ranch and take all the cattle found there, in their brands. but mr. stuart failed to go nearer than forty miles from where the cattle were reported to be. he claimed that cohglin, who had a blood-thirsty crowd around him, sent him word that if he got the cattle he would have to take some hot lead with them, or something to that effect. so stuart came back, claiming he didn't have men enough. this made moore mad, so he concluded to rig up an outfit of his own and send them over after the cattle, hence he sending out after me. my outfit, after getting it rigged up, consisted of a chuck wagon with four good mules to pull it, a cook and five picked men, named as follows: james east, lee hall, lon chambers, cal pope and last but not by any means least "big-foot wallace." they all, except me, had one extra good horse apiece; i had two. moore thought it best not to have many horses to feed, as corn would be scarce and high. he thought it best to buy more if we needed them. on starting, moore gave me these orders: "stay over there until you get those cattle or bust the "l. x." company. i will keep you supplied in money just as long as they have got a nickel left, that i can get hold of. and when you get the cattle if you think you can succeed in capturing "billy the kid" do so. you can hire all the men you need; but don't undertake his capture until you have first secured the cattle." at tascosa we met stuart who had succeeded in raising a little crowd to join us. mr. mccarty, boss of the "l. i. t." ranch had furnished five men, a cook and chuck wagon; and torry, whose ranch was further up the river, a wagon and two men, while a man by the name of johnson furnished a man and wagon. the "l. i. t." outfit was in charge of a fellow by the name of "bob" roberson, whose orders were to get the stolen cattle before trying to capture the kid, but in the meantime, to be governed by stuart's orders. this placed "bob" in bad shape, as you will see later. stuart, after we all got strung out, took the "buck-board" on the mail line, and went on ahead to las vegas to put in a week or so with his solid girl. on arriving at san lorenzo, new mexico, i mounted a buck-board and struck out ahead, to las vegas, to buy a lot of corn, grub, ammunition, etc., to be delivered at anton chico, twenty-five miles south of "vegas," by the time the crowd got there, so as not to cause any delay. "bob" roberson also gave me money to buy a lot of stuff for his outfit. arriving in vegas, during a severe snow storm, i found there wasn't fifty bushels of corn in town, the snow storm having delayed the freight trains. one merchant had just got a bill of several car loads which he expected to arrive any minute. so i concluded i would wait--and help stuart hold the town down. i wrote a letter to anton chico, telling the boys to lay there and take it easy, as i might be detained several days waiting for corn. every morning i would go to the grain merchant, and receive this reply: "am looking for it every minute; t'will certainly be here by night." not being acquainted in town, time passed off very slowly, so i finally got to "bucking" at my old favorite game--monte. i won for a while, but finally my luck took a turn and i lost nearly every dollar i had in my possession, most of which belonged to my employers. the one hundred dollars that "bob" roberson gave to buy stuff for his outfit, also went. while standing over the exciting game, after my pile had dwindled down to an even seventy dollars, i put just half of it, thirty-five dollars, on the queen, or "horse," as it is called, being the picture of a woman on horseback, and made a vow, if i lost that bet that i never would as long as i lived, "buck" at monte again. i lost, and my vow has been sacredly kept. the corn finally arrived, but having no money, i had to run my face by giving an order on the "l. x." company, payable on demand. the other stuff, ammunition, etc., also things "bob" had sent for, i had to buy in the same manner. of course i hated to give orders so soon after leaving the ranch with a pocketfull of money, but then that was the best i could do under existing circumstances. after getting the goods started for anton chico, stuart and i hired a rig and followed. arriving in "chico" we found barney mason, (an ex-chum of the "kid's," but now a deputy sheriff under pat garrett) there, with a message from garrett telling stuart to meet him in vegas at a certain date, on important business. so stuart struck right back to vegas, accompanied by mason, as the date fixed was only a few days off. i found the boys all well and having a fat time. the only thing that bothered me they had run in debt head over heels on the strength of me having lots of money. the merchants expected their pay according to contract, immediately after my arrival. i had to satisfy them with orders on the "l. x." firm. the boys had lots of news to relate, things that had happened after i left: one of "bob's" men had had a shooting scrape with some mexicans; and "billy the kid" and his crowd had been in town, they having come in afoot, and went out well mounted. he and his five men having hoofed it through deep snow from the greathouse ranch, over a hundred miles southwest of there. after getting everything in shape we pulled out for white oaks, one hundred and fifty miles southwest. the second night out we camped at the lewelling wells, where bright and early next morning stuart overtook us; accompanied by pat garrett and barney mason. they came with a scheme all cut and dried, by which they could get the big reward offered for the "kid." garrett knew the kid and his few remaining followers had been to chico and left for fort sumner a few days before; and that they were wore out from having been chased all over the country by a gang of ninety men from white oaks and vicinity. now was his time to strike, if he could just get stuart to go in cahoots with him. that was soon accomplished; a promise of half of the reward, i suppose, done the work. hence he sending for stuart to come and see him in "vegas" on important business. after eating breakfast stuart broke the ice by telling a lie. he knew our orders were strictly to get the cattle first, and then if we could assist in the capture of the "kid" to do so. therefore he branched out thus: "well boys, we have got a job on our hands: 'kid' is on his way to old mexico with a bunch of panhandle cattle; and we want every man in the outfit, except just enough to accompany the wagons to white oaks, to go with garrett and i to overtake them." "how can that be," someone asked "when kid and his men just left anton chico a few days ago?" "don't know," was the quick answer, unless some of his outfit had the cattle under herd somewhere down the river waiting for him. if you doubt my word about it, just ask mr. garrett, there. of course we all did doubt his word, and were well satisfied that it was a put up job, to gain the reward. "bob" roberson and i went to one side and talked the matter over, while stuart and his little party remained at camp wondering whether their little scheme would have strength to hold out, on its weak legs or not. "bob" was in favor, after we had talked the thing over, of going right back and telling stuart in plain english that he lied. but i wouldn't agree to that for fear it might accidently be true. i thought it strange that garrett, who had the reputation of being a model of a man, would sit by with his mouth shut and listen to such a falsehood. of course garrett couldn't be blamed very much for he, being sheriff, was interested in the "kid's" capture, no matter what became of the cattle we had come after. "bob" and i finally concluded, for fear the statement might be true, to let them have a few men, but not enough to completely cripple us so that we couldn't go on after the cattle should we think it best, after getting to white oaks. i let them take three out of my crowd: "jim" east, "lon" chambers and "lee" hall. while "bob" gave up two, "tom" emory and louis bozman. stuart wasn't satisfied, he wanted more. but not being successful in getting his whole wants supplied, they all rode off down the pecos valley. shortly after they left we pulled out on the white oaks road. that night it began to snow, and kept it up for several days until the whole ground was covered to the depth of from two to three feet; so that it was slow work getting our wagons along through it. a few days afterwards we came to the greathouse ranch, or at least to the hot ashes where it once stood, where "kid" and six of his daring followers were surrounded by ninety men one whole night and day. it was as follows: a squad of men left white oaks to hunt the "kid" who was lurking in the neighborhood. they suddenly came upon him and bill willson cooking their breakfasts, one morning. on discovering their enemies they both, after firing a shot apiece, sped through the mountains like deer, leaving their horses, saddles, coats and breakfast behind. one of the shots fired at the white oaks party took effect in the brain of a good horse that a young man by the name of johnny hudgens was riding, while the other, went through a hat, on the head of a young man. after following the trail through the deep snow awhile, and after satisfying themselves that the two young outlaws couldn't hide their tracks, the party struck back to white oaks after something to eat, and more men. when they returned, that same evening, there was ninety men in the crowd. they got on the trail and followed it, until shortly after dark, when it brought them to within a few hundred yards of the greathouse ranch, on the "vegas" and white oaks road. to satisfy themselves that the game was bagged, they circled around the ranch to see that no trails were leading out from it. they then stationed themselves in a circle around the house and, dismounting, began to make breast-works out of pine logs--the ranch being in the midst of a large pine grove. when day-light came greathouse sent a negro, who was stopping with him, out after the horses which had been hobbled the night before. mr. "nig" hadn't gone but a few hundred yards when he was captured by the white oaks boys. after learning from him that the "kid" and five of his men were in the house they sent him back with a note to the "kid," telling him if he and his party would come out with their hands up they would be treated as prisoners of war; if not they would have to stand the consequences, etc. in a few minutes the negro returned with a note from the "kid," stating: "you fellers go to h--l!" or something to that effect. a consultation was then held, and finally decided to give the boys one more chance for their lives, before storming the house. so they sent mr. coon back with another note stating, that that would be their last chance, etc. in a short while a new messenger came forward. it was "jim" greathouse, proprietor of the ranch. he stated that the "kid" desired to have a talk with their leader. on asking him what assurance he could give that their leader wouldn't be harmed, he replied, "myself." he told them that they could hold him a prisoner, and if anything happened to carlyle, he was willing to stand the consequences. so mr. "jim" carlyle, he being the leader, marched forward--never more to return--to have a talk with the "kid". arriving in the house where there was also a saloon, kept there to accommodate the thirsty traveler, he was made to go up to the bar and drink "health to billy the kid." this of course went against the grain with "jim," but then what else could he do now, being at their mercy? finally the kid spied one of the gloves he had left behind in his retreat the day before, sticking out of "jim's" coat pocket. this revived the hardships he and billy willson were compelled to endure, nearly all day the day before, traveling through snow up to their knees. so pulling the glove out of "jim's" pocket and holding it up at arms length, he asked: "jim, was you with that mob yesterday who caused me such a tramp through the snow?" "yes," was the answer. "well then, come up and take your last drink on this earth, for i am going to blow your light out." "jim" of course didn't relish the half pint of rotgut that he was forced to drink at the point of a colts " ." after drinking a full glass himself the "kid" threw his pistol down in "jim's" face, full cocked, telling him at the same time to say his prayers while he slowly counted "three." the "one, two, three!" was uttered, and then a pistol shot rang out upon the still air, re-echoing from the mountain sides, in every direction. the bullet had struck its mark, a tin can hanging on the wall a few inches above "jim's" head. "well, jim," was the first words that broke the death-like silence within, "you are worth several dead men yet, ain't you?" said "kid" grabbing "jim's" trembling hand and leading him up to the bar, over which billy willson handed the fiery bug-juice. "you didn't think i would be brute enough to shoot you in _such_ a cowardly manner, did you, jim?" continued the "kid" setting his empty glass down on the counter. the shot from within had excited the crowd outside almost to fever heat; they thinking that it meant their leaders' death. one fellow during the exciting moment scribbled off a note which read thus: "if carlyle ain't out here in ten minutes by the watch, your friend greathouse will be a corpse," and sent it to the "kid" by the negro, who had returned after delivering the last message which brought greathouse out. the note was read in the presence of carlyle, so that he heard every word it contained. "kid" then answered it by stating: "carlyle is safe, but we can't give him up just yet. now remember, if we hear a shot from the outside we will take it for granted that you have carried out your threats by killing greathouse, and will have to pay you back by killing our prisoner," etc. "jim" knew the substance of the note and trembled in his boots at the thoughts of an accident shot being fired by his party. he was satisfied that his men wouldn't do as they threatened in the note after hearing, from the negro's own lips, that he was still alive. it was the _accident_ shot that disturbed his mind. the negro hadn't more than got behind the breastworks with the note when a man, stationed behind another breastwork, who knew nothing of the threat having been made, fired a shot at the house "just for fun." carlyle, on hearing the shot, made a leap at the only glass window in the house, taking sash and all with him. but before striking the ground several bullets from the "kids" well aimed " " had pierced his body. he crawled a few yards and then fell over dead, in plain view of his eighty odd companions. "kid" claimed afterwards that he was sorry for having had to kill "jim." their intentions were to hold him prisoner until dark, when they would tie him down, so he couldn't give the alarm, and then make their escape. from that on, the mad crowd outside kept up a continued firing at the log house until dark. but doing no damage, as the boys had breast-works built of sacks of flour, boxes, bedding, etc. jim greathouse during the excitement gave his guards the slip and pulled for "tall timber" up in the mountains where it was almost impossible for a mounted man to follow. i have often afterwards heard greathouse laugh over the matter and tell how he "just hit the high places," and beat goldsmith maid's fastest time, for the first half mile. about ten o'clock that night the white oaker's began to get tired and hungry, so concluded they would go back to town, forty miles, fill up, get a fresh mount and return by daylight, without the "kid" and his men knowing anything of it. they stole off very slyly, without making any noise, and when they got about a mile, put their horses down to their best licks. about midnight the little party inside made a bold break for liberty. they headed north-east, with cocked winchesters, determined on fighting their way out. but they were happily disappointed. a ten-mile tramp through snow brought them to the spencer ranch, which was kept by a kind old man by the name of spencer, who lived there all alone, and was trying to establish a shorter route from "vegas" to the "oaks" by turning the road by his place, where there was a fine spring of water, a luxury the greathouse ranch lacked, they having to haul water a distance of several miles from up in the rough mountains. just as day was breaking the crowd returned from the "oaks," and finding their game had fled they set fire to the house and struck out on the newly made foot prints. arriving at the spencer ranch they learned, from the old gentleman, that the "kid" and his little party of five had been gone about two hours, and that they had eaten breakfast with him. after continuing on the trail about an hour longer, until it brought them to a rough strip of country where they would be compelled to take it afoot, they gave up the chase, and turned back to take their spite out on poor old spencer for feeding the "kid" and his crowd. they took the poor old harmless fellow out to a neighboring tree, after setting fire to his ranch, and put a rope around his neck; but before they had time to swing him up, a few of the men, who had been opposed from the start, interfered in the old man's behalf. thus his neck was saved, and he is to-day a highly respected citizen in that community, which has since that time become a rich mining district. the "kid" and his men made it into anton chico, where, as i stated before, they stole a good horse and saddle apiece, while the boys were there waiting for me to arrive from "vegas," and pulled down the reo pecos. chapter xxii. billy the kid's capture we arrived in the beautifully located town of white oaks on the d day of december, ( ). the town, which consisted of inhabitants, mostly american miners, was then not quite two years old and pretty lively for its age. it contained eight saloons; and saturday nights when the boys would come in from the surrounding mountains, to spend the sabbath, is when the little burg would put on city airs. we rented a large log house in the lower end of town and went to living like white folks. we had no money, but we struck two of the merchants who gave us an unlimited credit until we could make a raise. our greatest expense was feeding the horses corn which cost five cents a pound and hay, two cents a pound. the grub we ate wasn't very expensive as we stole all of our meat, and shared with our honest neighbors who thought it a great sin to kill other people's cattle. you see "bob" and i still clung to the old texas style which is, never kill one of your own beeves when you can get somebody else's. we had concluded not to go after the stolen cattle until the rest of the boys got there, by which time the deep snow would be melted, maybe, so that we could scour the white mountains, where the cattle were reported to be, out thoroughly. new-year's night we had a bushel of fun making the citizens think that "billy the kid" had taken the town. billy was in the habit of "shooting the town up a lot" every now and then, hence, every time a few dozen shots were fired at an unusually late hour, they putting it down as being some of his devilment. we first sent one of our crowd up-town to the billiard hall, where most of the men generally congregated, and especially "pinto tom," the marshal, whose maneuvers we were anxious to learn, to watch and see what kind of an effect our shooting had on the people. at precisely twelve o'clock we got out with winchesters and six-shooters, cooks and all, and turned ourselves loose. about one hundred shots were fired in quick succession. we then went up town to note the effect. arriving at the billiard hall we found old "uncle jimmie," our man, standing in the door laughing fit to kill himself. the hall was empty, with the exception of a few who were still hid under tables, chairs, etc. most of them had gone out of the back door, there being a rough canyon within a few yards of it leading to the mountains, right at the marshal's heels. it was said that "pinto tom" didn't get in from the mountains for two days, and when he did come, he swore he had been off prospecting. shortly after new-years some of our men arrived, bringing the news of the "kid's" capture, while the rest, jim east and tom emory had accompanied garrett and stuart to "vegas" with the prisoners. stuart sent a letter by one of the boys, stating that he, east and emory, would be in the "oaks" just as quick as they could get there, after turning the prisoners over to the authorities in "vegas." so, knowing that we were destined to remain around the "oaks" a week or two at least, we pulled out in the mountains and camped, so as to save expenses by letting our horses eat grass instead of hay. that night, after the boys arrived and after we had moved camp out in the timber, while seated around a blazing pinyon fire, lon chambers who was a splendid single-handed talker, began relating how they captured the "kid," etc., which ran about this way, as near as i can remember: "after leaving you fellers we caught----. it began snowing that night, and kept it up for two or three days and nights. arriving in ft. sumner, garrett got word that the kid and outfit would be in town that night from los potales, where the 'kid's' ranch or cave was situated, so he secured a house near the road leading to 'potales,' to secret his men in. he then kept a man out doors, on guard, watching the road. about ten o'clock that night, while we were all inside playing a five-cent game of poker, the guard opened the door and said, 'garrett, here comes a crowd down the road!' we all dashed out, winchesters in hand, and hid behind an adobe fence, close by, which they would be compelled to pass. the moon was shining and we could tell who it was, or at least garrett and mason could; they being well acquainted with them. there was six in the approaching crowd, and thirteen of us. when they rode up within speaking distance garrett yelled, 'throw up your hands!' his voice had hardly died out when thirteen shots from our nervously gripped winchesters were fired into their midst. when the smoke cleared off we found that they had all vanished, with the exception of tom ophalliard who was mortally wounded, and died shortly after. he had several bullet holes through his body. 'these,' pointing down to his feet, 'are his over shoes, and this' pulling off a finely finished mexican sombraro and displaying it, "is the hat i pulled from his head before he had quit kicking." the next morning we struck out on the trail which led back towards los potales. the white snow along the trail was red with blood, having flowed from the wounds in rudabaugh's horse. the poor animal died though after carrying his heavy master through twelve miles of deep snow. about midnight we hove in sight of a little rock house standing on the banks of a small arroyo. the trail led right up to the door which faced the south. right near the door stood four shivering horses. knowing we had the little band trapped, we took things cool until daylight, when we stationed ourselves around the house. there being no opening in the building except the door, garrett and lee hall crawled up to the end wall so they could watch the door from around the corner, while the rest of us concealed ourselves behind knolls, etc. we had left our horses behind a hill quite a distance from the house. when it became light enough to see, charlie bowdre stepped out doors to see about his horse, but he hadn't more than hit the ground when two bullets, fired by garrett and hall, who were still at the corner not a dozen feet from the door, sent him to his long home. he only uttered a few words, which were: 'i wish, i wish,' before his last breath left him. of course that caused a stirring around inside; they knew what it meant and began making preparations for an escape. the 'kid' had his pony inside, out of the cold and the other four--rudabaugh having secured another one--were tied to the door frame so that they could reach the ropes without exposing their bodies. now thought they if we can pull three of the horses inside we will mount and make a bold dash out of the door. but when they got the first animal about half way into the house garrett sent a bullet through its heart. the dead animal of course blocked the way so that they had to give up that scheme. they then tried picking port holes through the thick rock walls, but had to give it up also, as they had nothing to do it with but their knives and firearms. the 'kid' and garrett finally opened up a conversation. the former seemed to be in fine humor. every now and then he would crack some kind of a joke and then laugh, so that every one of us could hear him. at one time he asked in a jovial way: 'garrett, have you got a fire out there?' 'yes, a good one!' was the answer. 'can we come out and warm if we behave ourselves?' 'yes,' replied garrett, 'but come with your hands up.' 'oh, you go to h--l, won't you? you old long-legged s--n of a b----h!' you see they were without fire, water or provisions, consequently we had the advantage. we had a good fire out behind one of the knolls and would take turns about, during the day and coming night, going to warm. they held out until next day, when they surrendered, after being promised protection from mob violence. kid was the last man to come out with his hands up. he said he would have starved to death before surrendering if the rest had stayed with him." chambers, after finishing gave a heavy sigh and wondered whether garrett and stuart would act white and whack up the reward evenly among the whole outfit, or not. "bob" and i made arrangements with the boys to loan us their part of the reward, which would amount to considerable over a hundred dollars apiece, until we got back to the ranch, to pay our debts with. chapter xxiii. a trip to the rio grande on a mule. about the time we were getting out of patience waiting, the two boys, east and emory, arrived with the good news that stuart would be along in a few days, he having to remain over to get their part of the reward, etc. stuart arrived finally; he came in a buggy with a gentleman from "vegas." his orders to roberson and torry's men were: "boys, you fellows pull right back to the ranch, as i have got some important business to look after in 'vegas.' we can come back after those cattle in the spring," etc. the boys who had helped capture the "kid" and outfit rounded him up for their part of the reward, but he said it was already spent. oh no, they wasn't mad! some of them swore that he would be a corpse before morning. but luckily for him he pulled for "vegas" that night. i am not certain whether he was aware of his danger or not, but there is one thing i am certain of and that is, it wouldn't have been healthy for him to remain in that locality very long. "bob" had even consented to the crowd hanging him. i was the only one who protested, for the simple reason that i do not believe in mob law. of course i thought it very wrong in swindling the boys out of equal share of the reward, after they had shared equally in the danger and hardships. "bob" was in a bad fix, in debt, no money and ordered home, by one whose orders his boss had told him to obey. the question was, how to stand his creditors off and get grub, corn, etc. enough to last him home. i finally came to his rescue. as i intended remaining, i went to the merchants and told them his fix and guaranteed that he would send the money he owed as soon as he got home, or else i would let them take it out of my four mules and wagon, which were worth a thousand dollars at least. they let him off; also let him have grub, corn, etc. enough to last him home, which would take fifteen days to make the trip. as some of my boys became homesick, on seeing roberson's outfit getting ready to pull back and as i was anxious to cut down expenses, knowing that i would have to lay there the rest of the winter, waiting for money to pay up my bills before the merchants would let me move my wagon, i let three of them go along with "bob." those three were james east, cal. pope and lee hall. "bob" let tom emory, one of his men, who was stuck on the light mountain air of new mexico remain with me. this left me there with a cook and three warriors, emory, chambers and "big-foot" wallace. just as soon as "bob" had pulled out, i moved into town and rented a house, so that we could put on style, while waiting for the money i had written to the ranch for. the mails were so irregular, on account of the deep snow which lay on the ground up there in the mountains nearly all winter, that i didn't get a letter from moore for three weeks. in the letter were drafts for three hundred dollars; and moore stated that i had done just right by not taking stuart's advice and coming home. he also reminded me that i mustn't come back until i got the cattle, if it took two years; and also that i must scour out the sand hills on the plains around las potales, "kid's" den, on my return. i distributed the three hundred dollars among my creditors and then wrote back to the ranch for some more, as that was already gone, etc. we found the citizens of white oaks to be sociable and kind; and everything went on lovely with the exception of a shooting scrape between a school teacher and "big foot." about the last of february i received another three hundred dollars and i then struck out, accompanied by tom emory, to hunt the noted pat cohglin and find out if he would let us have the cattle without bloodshed or not. as he had a slaughter house in fort stanton i struck out for there first. we left the "oaks" one morning early, emory mounted on his pet "grey" and i on one of the fat work mules and arrived in "stanton" about sundown. we rode up to cohglin's slaughter pen the first thing and found a man by the name of peppen in charge. on examining the hides which hung on the fence we found five bearing the "l. x." brand. i laid them to one side and next morning brought two men crawford and hurly, down from the post to witness the brands. i then told mr. peppen, or "old pap" as he was called, not to butcher any more of those cattle sold by "billy the kid." he promised he wouldn't unless he got new orders from cohglin. from there we pulled for tulerosa where cohglin lived. the first night out we stopped at the mescalero apache indian agency, which is known as south fork. there i learned from the storekeeper of a bunch of eight hundred cattle having passed there in a terrible hurry, about three weeks before, going west. he said that they were undoubtedly stolen cattle, for they drove night and day through the deep snow. i came to the conclusion that maybe it was tom cooper, one of "kid's" right-hand bowers with a stolen herd of panhandle cattle, so made up my mind to keep on his trail. we rode into tulerosa the next evening about sundown. a young man from the panhandle, by the name of sam coleman, who was on his way to willcox, arizona, was with us. we found the town to be a genuine mexican "plaza" of about one thousand souls. we put up for the night at cohglin's store and learned from the clerk, morris, that the "king of tulerosa," as cohglin was called, was down on the rio grande on trail of a bunch of cattle stolen from him by tom cooper. i put that down as a very thin yarn, having reasons to believe that he and cooper stood in with one another. i made up my mind that it was our cattle he was trying to get away with, after hearing of us being in the "oaks." the clerk had told the truth though, for he was after cooper. the way it happened, cohglin had only paid cooper and the "kid" half down on the last bunch of panhandle cattle he bought from them and cooper hearing of "kid's" capture and of us being in the "oaks" on our way after the cattle, came onto cohglin for the rest of the money so he could leave the country. on being refused he got his crowd together and stole three hundred head of the latter's best cattle and pulled for arizona with them. after supper emory and coleman went to bed while i struck out to a mexican dance, at the outskirts of town, to keep my ears open for news connected with panhandle cattle, etc. there being plenty of wine, or "mescal," on the ground the "greasers" began feeling pretty good about midnight. of course i had to join in their sports, so as to keep on the good side of them. there was only one american in the crowd, besides myself. i became pretty intimate with one old fellow of whom i made scores of inquiries in regard to mr. cohglin and the herd--the one i heard about at south fork--that had passed there a few weeks before. he knew nothing of the herd, no further than having seen it, but he pointed out a long-haired "greaser," who was three sheets in the wind and swinging his pistol around on his fore-finger, who could tell me all about it, as he had piloted it through san augustine pass. i learned that the herd was owned by charlie slaughter and that their destination was the heeley river, near tombstone, arizona. marking out a lot of brands which i had never heard of on a piece of paper, i asked the long-haired fellow if he noticed any of them on the cattle. he did not. so i then marked off a lot of panhandle brands. he picked out several, the "l x." among them, this time, that he remembered of seeing in the herd. this satisfied me that the herd would bear inspection. the next morning i told emory what the old mexican had said and that my intentions were to kill two birds with one stone; find cohglin and then follow the herd. this didn't impress emory very favorably. he advised me to return and get the wagon and outfit. i couldn't see the point, for we would lose at least a week by the operation. he took the back track while i continued single handed, accompanied by sam coleman, whose route was the same as mine until arriving on the rio grande, where he would change his course to southward. chapter xxiv. waylaid by unknown parties. after leaving tulerosa our route lay across a young desert, called the "white sands," a distance of sixty miles. that night sam and i camped at a lonely spot called "white water," where there wasn't a stick of wood in sight. we had to make a fire out of a bush called the "oil weed" to keep warm by. the next night we put up with an old man by the name of shedd, who kept a ranch on the east side of osscuro mountains, near san augustine pass. on arriving in the pass next morning, on our way to las cruces, we could see the whole rio grande valley, dotted with green fields, for at least a hundred miles up and down. and by looking over our shoulder, in the direction we had come, we could see the white looking plain or desert, which extends for two hundred miles north and south. it was indeed a beautiful sight, to one who had just come from a snowy country, and we were loath to leave the spot. arriving in las cruces, (city of the crosses) on the rio grande, twenty-five miles from shedd's where we had left that morning, i went to making inquiries about mr. pat cohglin's whereabouts. i found out by the postmaster, cunnifee, who was an intimate friend of his that he was in el paso, texas, fifty miles below, and would be up to "cruces" the next day. that night sam and i proceeded to take in the town, which was booming, on account of the a. t. and s. f. r. r. being only forty miles above, and on its way down the river to el paso. the next morning sam bid me adieu and struck out on his journey for willcox, arizona, about two hundred miles distant. that evening mr. cohglin, whom i found to be a large, portly looking half-breed irishman, drove up to mr. cunnifee's store in a buggy drawn by a fine pair of black horses. i introduced myself as having been sent from the panhandle after the cattle he had purchased from the "kid." he at first said i couldn't have them, but finally changed his tone, when i told him that i had a crowd at white oaks, and that my instructions were to take them by force if i couldn't secure them in any other way. he then began giving me "taffy," as i learned afterwards. he promised faithfully that, as he didn't like to have his whole herd, which was scattered through the whole white mountain district, disturbed at that season of the year, if i would wait until the first of april, at which time the new grass would be up, he would help me round-up every hoof of panhandle cattle on his range. i agreed to do so providing he would promise not to have any more of them butchered at "stanton." the old fellow was worried considerably about the three hundred head of cattle cooper had stolen from him. he told me about having followed him with a crowd of mexicans into the black range, near the arizona line, where he succeeded in getting back a few of the broken-down ones. there being a fellow by the name of "hurricane bill," of ft. griffin, texas notoriety, in town, direct from tombstone, arizona, i concluded to lay over a few days and "play in" with him and his gang of four or five, in hopes of learning something about slaughter and his herd, the one i was on trail of. i went under an assumed name and told them that i was on the "dodge" for a crime committed in southern texas. i found out all about their future plans from one of the gang, by the name of johnson, who seemed to be more talkative than the rest. he said they were waiting for the railroad to get to el paso; and then they were going into the butchering business on a large scale. he wanted me to join them; and said the danger wouldn't be very great, as they intended stealing the cattle mostly from ignorant mexicans. one morning while johnson and i were eating breakfast at a restaurant a man sat down at the same table and, recognizing me, said: "hello," calling me by name; "where did you come from?" he then continued; although i winked at him several times to keep still, "so you fellows succeeded in capturing billy the kid, did you?" etc. johnson gave a savage glance at me as much as to say: d----m you, you have been trying to work us, have you? i kept my hand near old colts " " for i expected, from his nervous actions, for him to make a break of some kind. he finally got up and walked out without saying a word. this man who had so suddenly bursted our friendship was a friend of frank stuart's and had met me in las vegas, with his chum, stuart. i concluded it wouldn't be healthy for me to remain there till after dark, nor to undertake the trip to tombstone, for i had manifested such an interest in the slaughter herd, etc., that they might follow me up, on hearing that i had left town. so i wrote a letter to mr. moore, telling him of the whole circumstances, and asking him if i had better take my men and follow the herd to the jumping-off place or not? i then struck back to white oaks over the same route i had come. that night i stopped at shedd's ranch; and so did cohglin, he being on his way back to tulerosa. the next day i rode the entire sixty miles, across the "white sands," and landed in tulerosa about a half hour behind cohglin and his fast steppers. i was tired though, and swore off ever riding another mule on a long trip. i had figured on being in mountains all the time, where i would have lots of climbing to do, is why i rode the mule instead of a horse. the next morning i made up my mind that i would take a new route to the "oaks" by going around the mountains through mr. cohglin's range which was on three rivers, twenty odd miles north. so before starting i inquired of cohglin's clerk as to the best route, etc. i stopped at the cohglin ranch that night and was treated like a white head by mr. nesbeth and wife who took care of the ranch, that is, done the cooking, gardening, milking, etc. the herders, or cowboys, were all mexicans, with the exception of bill gentry, the boss, who was away at the time. while getting ready to start for white oaks next morning one of the eight or ten, mexicans, who were sitting on the fence sunning themselves, came to me, and told me of a near cut to the "oaks," by taking an old indian trail over the white mountains, and advised me to take that route as i could save at least twenty miles, it being forty around by the road. mr. nesbeth spoke up and said it would be better for me to travel on the road, even if it was further, as i might experience some difficulty in finding the old indian trail, etc. the "greaser" then offered me his service, saying that he would go and put me on the trail so that it would be impossible for me to miss my way. i agreed, so he mounted a pony and we rode east up a rough canyon. a ride of about five miles brought us to the almost obliterated trail. it lead up an awful brushy and rocky canyon towards the snowy crags of the white mountain range. about an hour after bidding the "greaser" adieu, i came to where the trail made a short curve to the left, but i could tell from the lay of the ground that, by keeping straight ahead, i would strike it again. so i left it, and luckily for me that i did, for there was some one laying for me not far from there. i hadn't gone but a rod or two when bang! bang! bang! went three shots in quick succession, not over fifty yards to the left; and at the same time my mule gave a lunge forward, on the ice-covered stones, and fell broad-side, throwing me over a precipice about eight feet to the bottom. my winchester and pistol both were hanging to the saddle-horn, but i managed to grab and pull the latter out of the scabbard as i went off, and took it with me. the first thing i done on striking bottom was to hunt a hole. i found a nice little nook between two boulders and lay there with cocked pistol, expecting every second to see three indians or "greasers" peep over the ledge on the hunt for a dead "gringo"--as the mexicans call an american. after waiting a few minutes i became impatient and crawled on top of a small knoll and, on looking in the direction the shooting had come from, i got a faint glimpse of what i took to be two half-stooped human forms retreating, through the pinyon brush, at a lively gait. suffice it to say i found my mule standing in a grove of trees, with his front feet fastened in the bridle-reins, about two hundred yards from where he fell. and between his forelegs, on the ground was a small pool of sparkling red blood, which had dripped from a slight bullet wound in his breast. on examination i found that one bullet had cut a groove in the hind tree of my saddle, and another had plowed through a pair of blankets tied behind the saddle. i arrived in the oaks, on my almost broken-down mule about dark that night, after an absence of nearly two weeks. chapter xxv. lost on the staked plains. about a week after my return to white oaks, i received a letter from mr. moore stating that i need not go to arizona to look after the slaughter herd as he had hired a united states deputy marshal by the name of john w. poe, now sheriff of lincoln county, new mexico, to go around by rail and tend to the matter. but when poe arrived there the herd had been sold and driven to old mexico, so that we never knew whether there were any panhandle cattle in it or not, except what i learned from the mexican, which appeared to me very good evidence, that there were. on the tenth day of march, while taking it easy waiting for the first of april to arrive so that we could round up the cohglin range according to agreement, i received a confidential letter from mr. geo. nesbeth of the cohglin ranch, giving me a broad hint that mr. cohglin was getting rid of our cattle as fast as possible, before the first of april should arrive. the letter arrived in the evening and next morning i took "big foot" along and struck out for "stanton"--after giving chambers and emory orders to load up the wagon with grub and corn, and follow. "big-foot" and i arrived in the post about three o'clock in the afternoon and went through the cohglin slaughter pens, finding several freshly butchered "l. x." hides, which went to show that i had been duped, and that the hint from nesbeth was true. we then rode down the "bonetta" river nine miles to lincoln, to go through the hides there and to look for a herd we expected the old fellow had hidden out somewhere along the river. we stopped in "stanton" that night and next morning struck out on the white oaks road to meet the wagon and turn it towards three rivers. we met the outfit at the mouth of nogal canyon and camped for dinner. it was sixty miles around by the road to cohglin's ranch, the route the wagon would have to go and about twenty-five or thirty on a straight line over the white mountains. after dinner "big-foot" and i struck out over the mountains, while emory and chambers went around by the road to pilot the cook, etc. about twelve o'clock that night, after a very hard ride over one of the roughest strips of snow covered countries a man ever saw, we arrived at the cohglin ranch. we found the corral full of cattle, but, being very dark, couldn't tell whose they were. mr. and mrs. nesbeth got up out of bed and gave us a cold supper; and he also gave us a few pointers in regard to his employer's doings, etc. he informed me that bill gentry, the boss, had just began, that day, gathering the remaining panhandle cattle, that might still be left on the range, to take to the "stanton" slaughter pens. hence those cattle in the corral. after breakfast gentry and his seven "greasers" turned the herd out of the corral with the intention of keeping right on with his work. there was only five head of "l. x.'s," all large steers, in the bunch and i told gentry that i would have to take charge of those and also gather up the rest that were on his range. he couldn't agree to that, he said, for his orders from cohglin were, not to give up any of the panhandle cattle, etc. i told him that i didn't care what his orders were, as i was bound to have the cattle. just about the time we were arguing the case the rest of my outfit hove in sight; they had been traveling all night. after camping the wagon we all went out to the herd, which the mexicans were guarding and proceeded to cutting our five head out. gentry tried to get me to wait until he could send for cohglin, he having already dispatched a mexican to tulerosa after him, but i wouldn't reason the matter at all, as i was mad about the way i had been served. we went right to work after cutting out the five head, rounding up the whole range in search of more, but after three days hard work we only succeeded in finding three head more. but we left there with nine head, the ninth one being one of cohglin's own steers which we butchered in the oaks on our arrival back there, for the benefit of our many friends whom had been depending on us all winter for their fresh beef. thus i had the satisfaction of getting even with the old fellow to the extent of one steer and a fat hog which we had butchered and stowed away in the wagon the night before leaving. the mexican that gentry sent to tulerosa with the dispatch had to go on down to las cruces, on the rio grande, cohglin having started down there the day before; hence we not having the old fellow to contend with. after looking over the "carezo" range, which was owned by catron and waltz and several small mexican ranges, we pulled into white oaks with lots of experience but very few cattle. on arriving in the "oaks" i wrote to mr. moore telling him all about the way in which cohglin had taken advantage of me, etc. also advised him to have the old fellow prosecuted as i had sufficient evidence to send him to the "pen," etc. mr. moore on getting my letter, sent john poe, the united states deputy marshal that he had sent to tombstone, arizona, over to have cohglin arrested and put through the mill. on leaving the "oaks" for good, i bought a wagon load of corn, chuck, etc. for which i gave orders on the "l. x." company, not having any money left. the merchants had by this time, become acquainted with me, so that my name to an order was just the same as cash to them. from the "oaks" i pulled due east, around the "capitan" mountains to roswell on the pecos river. i overhauled scores of little mexican ranches scattered through the mountains on my route, but failed to find any of our stock. at roswell though we found two large steers which swelled our little herd to ten head. from roswell we went to john chisholm's ranch on the head of south spring river; and got there just in time as he was rigging up his outfit for spring work. they were going to start down the reo pecos to the texas line, next day, to begin work and i concluded we had better work with them, in search of panhandle cattle which might have drifted across the plains. i took my outfit back to roswell, five miles, where i made arrangements with capt. j. c. lea, who kept a store, to board one of my men whom i wanted to leave there to take care of the ten head of steers until my return, not caring to drive them two hundred miles down the river and then back again. not having grub enough to last on the trip i bought a supply from the accommodating capt. lea, who took my note for pay. he also sold me two horses on the same terms. we were absent two weeks on this trip, but failed to find any of our cattle. we came back with the satisfaction though of knowing that there wasn't any in that part of the world. on our arrival back to roswell we learned of the "kid's" escape from lincoln after having killed his two guards. that night lon chambers wore a different hat; he had swapped his star-spangled mexican sombraro off to one of chisholm's men. this hat had been presented to tom o'phalliard by the "kid," hence chambers not wanting it in his possession for fear he might run across the "kid." chambers of course denied the above, saying that he never thought of such a thing, but traded it off just because it, being so heavy, made his head ache. but that was too thin we thought under the circumstances. any of us would have done the same though, no doubt, knowing that the "kid" had sworn vengeance against all of o'phalliard's "murderers" as he termed them. we found emory and the ten steers doing finely. tom hated to see us back for he was having such a soft time. all he had to do was turn the steers out of the corral, mornings, and then round-up and pen them at night again. after drawing on the whole-souled capt. lea again for more grub, etc., we pulled up the reo pecos--looking through all the cattle on our route--to ft. sumner, a distance of one hundred miles. we laid over in sumner two days and went to a mexican fandango both nights, at the maxwell mansion in which the "kid" was killed shortly afterwards. the "kid" was in the building while the dance was going on but we didn't know it at the time. the way i found it out, i had escorted a young woman, after the dance, one night, to her room, which was in the same building as the dance, and she bid me good night without asking me in. i thought it strange but never said anything. that fall when i came back there she explained matters, by saying that the "kid" was in her room at the time, reading. i had noticed that she stood outside of the door until i had turned the corner out of sight. she also explained that: the "kid" had the door locked and she had to give a private rap to get him to open it. from ft. sumner we pulled due east on the los potales road, on our way to scour out the "sand hills" according to moore's instruction in one of his letters to me at white oaks. before leaving the post, the last settlement or store that we would come to before reaching the canadian river, i sold one of the horses bought from capt. lea, for thirty-five dollars and laid in a small supply of grub with the money. not being acquainted there my credit wasn't good, hence having to sell the horse. two days out from ft. sumner we came to the little rock house, at stinking springs, where the "kid" and his companions held out so long without fire, food or water. chambers and emory of course had to explain and point out every place of interest, to "big-foot wallace," the mexican cook, frank, or francisco, and myself. the second day after leaving stinking springs, we came to the "kid's" noted "castle" at los potales, on the western edge of the great "llano estacado." los potales is a large alkali lake, the water of which is unfit for man or beast. but on the north side of the lake is two nice, cool springs which gurgle forth from a bed of rock, near the foot of "kid's" castle--a small cave in the cliff. in front of the cave is a stone corral about fifty feet square; and above the cave on the level plain is several hitching posts. outside of those things mentioned there is nothing but a level prairie just as far as the eye can reach. we found about one hundred head of cattle, mostly from the canadian river, but a few from as far north as denver col., at "potales," which improved the appearance of our little herd considerably. from there we went to the coyote lake, twelve miles further east, where we found about fifty head more cattle, a mixed lot like the first. they were almost as wild as deer. we then pulled into the sand hills, which extend over a scope of country from ten to fifty miles wide, and two hundred long--that is, two hundred miles north and south. after about ten days hard work we came out onto the plains again, our herd having increased to about twenty-five hundred head. we were undoubtedly a worn out crowd--horses and all. to do that amount of work we should have had at least five more men, and three or four more horses apiece. we only had one horse apiece, besides one extra, and the four work mules, which we had to press into double duty by using them to guard the cattle at night. the next day about noon, after getting out of the sand hills, we came to a buffalo-hunter's camp on the head of yellow-house canyon, a tributary to the brazos river. there was one man in camp, the other one being away on a hunt. our cattle being nearly dead for water, there being none there, with the exception of a small spring, just large enough to allow one animal to drink at a time, i asked the hunter to give me directions to the nearest water from there, on our route. pointing to a cluster of sand hills about fifteen miles to the east, he said: "you will find running water, the head of canyon blanco, just eight miles east of those sand hills." as we learned, after it was too late, he should have said; eight miles _north_ of the sand hills, instead of _east_. we were all acquainted with the country from running water north, but had never been south of it; hence us having to depend on the "locoed" buffalo-hunter's directions. we camped for the night within a few miles of the sand hills. the cattle were restless all night, on account of being thirsty, which caused us all to lose sleep and rest. the next morning, after eating a hasty breakfast, we let the moaning herd string out towards the big red sun which was just making its appearance. giving the boys orders to keep headed east, and telling the cook to follow behind the herd with his wagon, i struck out ahead on my tired and weak pony, croppy, to find the water, which was "so near, and yet so far." i rode about fifteen miles, and still no water. i then dismounted to wait for the herd to come in sight, but changed my notion and galloped on five miles further, thinking maybe the hunter might have meant eighteen miles instead of eight. the five miles was reached and still nothing but a dry, level plain, with no indications of water ahead, as far as i could see. thinking maybe i had bore too far to the south, i then rode five or six miles to the north, but with the same result. i then, after letting croppy blow awhile started back towards the herd at a slow gait. finally a cloud of dust appeared, and shortly after, the herd hove in sight. the poor cattle were coming in a trot, their tongues hanging out a foot. the way the boys cursed and abused that poor old hunter, at a distance, was a sin, after i had told them of our luck. chambers wanted to go right back and eat the poor "locoed" human up alive without salt or pepper. but i pacified him by saying that maybe he had made a mistake of a few miles, meant eighty instead of eight. at any rate we continued right on, east. about noon our ten-gallon keg run dry, and then we began to feel ticklish, scared, or whatever you wish to call it. but about three o'clock, we spied a bunch of mustangs off to the right, about five miles, and on galloping over to where they had been, before seeing me, i found a small pool of muddy rain water, which they had been wallowing in. after letting croppy fill up, and eating a drink of the muddy stuff myself, i struck back to let the other boys come on and fill up; also sent the cook to fill the keg, and to water his mules, i kept the herd, they being anxious to travel in search of water, pointed east, by myself, while the rest of the boys were absent. we traveled till midnight and then pitched camp to get something to eat. after getting supper cooked, it was almost an impossibility to find time to eat it, as the herd kept milling and trotting around like so many crazy animals. we remained there all night, and next morning used the last drop of water to make coffee. we found the keg, after draining it, to be about half full of solid mud. i concluded that we had gone far enough east, so, that morning changed our course to north. about eleven o'clock, while the hot june sun was coming down with vengeance, we struck a large lake about a mile wide. if ever a crowd was happy it was us. the poor cattle drank till some of them fell down and was unable to move. we laid there resting up until the next day after dinner. our grub had given out by this time, therefore we had nothing to eat but coffee and beef "straight." when we left the lake our course was due north. about noon the next day we came to the head of canyon blanco, twelve miles below running water, consequently we turned west, and traveled twelve miles up the dry canyon before pitching camp. from there we turned due north again and traveled two days before striking any more water. on arriving at terra blanco, fifty miles south of the canadian river we struck mr. summerfield, and his outfit, from whom we borrowed grub enough to last us home. there were also two "l. x." boys in the summerfield camp, and they, having five good horses apiece, divided with us. our ponies were just about completely peetered out. we landed at the "l. x." ranch on the nd day of june, with the herd of twenty-five hundred head of cattle, after having been absent just seven months, to a day. chapter xxvi. a trip down the reo pecos. on my return i found that the "l. x." ranch had changed bosses. moore had quit and bought a ranch of his own, while john hollicott, one of the old hands had been put in his place. hence in the future i had to be governed by mr. hollicott's orders--that is while working around the ranch. one of the firm, erskine clement, had charge of outside matters, now, since moore had left. i put in the summer running a branding outfit, loafing around tascosa, working up a cattle stealing case, etc., until the middle of october, when clement received a letter from john poe, who was prosecuting cohglin, stating for chambers and i to come over to lincoln as witnesses in the cohglin case. the time set for us to be there, was on the th day of november, therefore we had no time to lose, it being five hundred miles over there, by the shortest route. hollicott and clement talked the matter over and concluded that i had better not come back until the next spring--"just put in the winter drifting over the country, wherever you can do the most good," was my orders. chambers and i struck out from tascosa on the nd of october. he had only one horse, while i had two of the best animals on the ranch, croppy and buckshot. we traveled up the river to liberty, new mexico, and from there cut across the staked plains to ft. sumner, on the reo pecos. the distance from "sumner" to the "oaks" was about one hundred miles on a bee line across the country, while it was one hundred and fifty around by the road. we chose the former route, although we were told that there wasn't any water until reaching the capitan mountains within thirty miles of the "oaks." we both wished though, that we had followed the road, for, our progress being very slow on account of the loose dirt which would give away under a horse, allowing him to sink almost to his knees, we came very near perishing from thirst; and so did our poor horses. we landed in white oaks about noon of the fourth day out from ft. sumner; and had been on the road twelve days from tascosa. we were welcomed back to the "oaks" by all of our old acquaintances, especially those whom we had furnished with stolen beef all winter. as we had five days to loaf in, before court set in, we went to work prospecting for gold, every body in the town being at fever heat over recent rich strikes. the first day was spent in climbing to the top of baxter mountain, where most of the rich mines were located, and back. the only thing we found of interest was a lot of genuine oyster shells imbedded in a large rock on the extreme top of the mountain. of course this brought up a discussion as to how they came there. chambers contended that they grew there during the flood, and i argued that they were there before god made the earth. we both finally got mad, each one, over the other's weak argument, and began to slide down hill towards town, which looked something like a checkerboard from where we were. the next day we tied the pick and shovel behind our saddles and struck out on horseback to prospect in the valleys. at last we struck it, a fine gold bearing lead. it cropped out of the ground about a foot. i told chambers to go to work and dig the prospect-hole, while i wrote out the location notices. finally an old miner by the name of stone came to us. i was sitting under the shade of a pinyon tree writing, while chambers was sweating like a "nigger at election." "what are you fellows trying to do?" spoke up mr. stone, after grinning a few moments. we told him. he then said: "why neither one of you fellows has got as much sense as a last year's bird's nest; that's nothing but a very common ledge of rock." we took him at his word and went back to town. that night mr. stone gave us one of his mines, if we would sink a twenty foot shaft on it. we done so; that is, chambers did, while i carried water, and rode into town every day at noon to bring him out his dinner. finally our time was out and we had to pull for lincoln, a distance of thirty-five miles. poe had written to me to come in after night, and on the sly, as he wanted to make cohglin believe that we wouldn't be there to appear against him, so he would let his trial come off, instead of taking a change of venue. i left croppy in a feed stable to be taken care of until my return. arriving in lincoln, poe sent us down the reo bonetta, twelve miles, to stop with a mr. cline, with whom he had made arrangements, until sent for. mr. cline was a dutchman who had married a mexican wife and had a house full of little half-breeds around him. time passed off very slowly to chambers and i, although our host tried to amuse us by telling his hairbreadth escapes from wild indians and grizzly-bears. we were indeed glad when mr. poe rode up, after we had been at the cline ranch twelve days, and told us that we were free. cohglin had "smelled a mice" and taken a change of venue to mesilla, in dona anna county. before leaving lincoln i had to sign a five hundred dollar bond for my appearance in mesilla, as a witness against cohglin, on the first monday in april, , which was the following spring. mr. chambers being sworn and not knowing anything of importance, was allowed to return home. we both received ninety dollars apiece, for mileage and witness fees. returning to white oaks, chambers remained there a week, making love to his mexican widow, and then struck for the "l. x." ranch, by way of anton chico, and down the canadian river. the route he and i had come was too far between ranches for him, traveling alone. i remained in the "oaks" about a week after my "pard" had left, waiting for some more money which i had written for. from the "oaks" i went to roswell on the reo pecos, a distance of one hundred and twenty-five miles, by the route i took. there i struck company, a jovial old soul by the name of "ash" upson, who was just starting to the texas pacific railroad, two hundred miles down the river, to meet pat. garrett, who had written to come there after him, in a buggy. ash was making his home at garrett's ranch, a few miles from roswell. we laid over christmas day at the mouth of seven rivers and helped kind mrs. jones, one of mr. upson's old-time friends, get away with a nice turkey dinner. while sitting around our camp-fire at nights "old" ash would amuse me by relating circumstances connected with the "bloody lincoln county war." he also gave me a full sketch of "billy the kid's" life, a subject which i am going to devote the next chapter to, as i imagine it will be interesting reading to some. we arrived at pecos station, on the t. p. r. r., one afternoon about three o'clock. and it being a terribly lonesome place, we, after leaving our horses and things in care of an old wolf hunter who promised to see that the horses were well fed, boarded the west bound passenger train for toyah, a distance of twenty-two miles. we put up at the alverado house, in toyah. it was kept by a man named newell, who had a pretty little fifteen-year old daughter, whose sparkling eyes were too much for me; to use a western phrase, she broke me all up on the first round. after supper ash went out to take in the town, while i remained in the office exchanging glances with miss bulah. it was new year's eve and mr. and mrs. newell were making preparations for a ball to be given new year's night. toyah was then one of those terrible wicked infant towns, it being only a few months old and contained over a dozen saloons and gambling halls. about midnight ash got through taking in the town and came back to the hotel. he was three sheets in the wind, but swore he hadn't drank anything but "tom and jerry." the next morning the town was full of railroaders, they having come in to spend new years. a grand shooting match for turkeys was advertised to come off at ten o'clock, and everybody, railroaders and all, were cleaning up their pistols, when ash and i got up, we having slept till about nine o'clock. miss bulah made a remark, in my presence, that she wished someone would win a fat turkey and give it to her. now was my time to make a "mash," so i assured her that i would bring in a dozen or two and lay them at her feet. when the shooting commenced i was on hand and secured the ticket which was marked number eleven. the tickets were sold at twenty-five cents apiece, and if you killed the bird, you were entitled to a free shot until you missed. mr. miller, the justice, was running the business for what money there was in it. he had sent to dallas, six hundred miles east, after the turkeys, which had cost him three dollars apiece. hence he had to regulate the distance and everything so that there would be considerable missing done. everything being ready, he placed the turkey in an iron box, with nothing but its head visible and then set the box thirty-five yards from the line. the shooting to be done with pistols "off hand." ten shots were fired and still mr. turkey was casting shy glances towards the large crowd of several hundred men. mr. miller wore a pleasant smile, when he shouted number eleven. i stepped forward trembling like an aspen leaf, for fear i would miss and thereby fail to win miss bulah's admiration. i was afraid, should the bullet miss its mark, that the few dozen birds would be all killed before my time would come around again, there being so many men waiting for a shot. at last i cut loose and off went the turkey's head, also mr. miller's happy smile. you see he lacked "two bits" of getting cost for the bird. another one was put up, and off went his head. this was too much for mr. miller, two birds already gone and only two dollars and "six bits" in the pot. he finally after humming and hawing awhile, said: "gentlemen, i don't like to weaken this early in the game, but you all know i have got a large family to support and consequently i will have to rule this young man out of the ring. he's too slick with a pistol to have around a game of this kind anyway." i hated to quit of course, but it was best, for i might have missed the very next time, and as it was bulah would think that i would have carried out my promise if i had been allowed to keep on. after that, during my stay on the t. p. r. r., i was called the "turkey shooter." often while riding near the railroad track, maybe four or five hundred miles from toyah, some one would hail me from a passing train by that name; and whenever i would ride into a town there was sure to be some fellow on hand to point me out. they all knew me so well by my horse, croppy, he being milk white and both ears being off close up to his head. he was indeed a notable animal, as well as a long, keen, good one. that night nearly everybody got drunk, old ash excepted of course, as he was already full. the ball was a grand success. the dancers on the womens' side, were all married ladies, with the exception of miss bulah and a miss lee; and those on the opposite side were a terribly mixed mob, but mostly gamblers, horse thieves and cow boys. the railroaders didn't take any stock in the ball. maybe it was because there were so many on the floor wearing six-shooters and bowie knives around their waists. it was indeed a grand sight next morning looking at black eyes and swollen heads. every chinaman, there being a dozen or two living in town, skipped for parts unknown that night. there was too many loose bullets flying through the air to suit them; and it is said that the "pig-tails" have shunned toyah ever since that new year's night. a few days after new years a telegram came to ash, from garrett who had arrived at pecos station stating: "come on the first train as i am in a hurry to get home." ash got me to answer it as he, having drank too much tom and jerry, was unable to walk to the telegraph office. i sent the following message: "can't leave here; owe every man in town." in a few minutes another one came, an answer to the one just sent, stating: "if you don't come down on the morning train i will strike out and leave you." this one raised ash's spunk, so he told me to write down just what he told me, and then give it to the operator. i done as requested, which ran thus: "go to, hic, h--l, d---- you!" the next evening, garrett arrived on the west bound passenger, and next morning, after paying a lot of saloon bills, etc., took old ash back with him. i had, the day after new year's, went down to the pecos and brought my ponies up to toyah, therefore i took a little spin out into the country to pass off the time, every now and then, or at least to look through a few herds of cattle in that vicinity. after spending about two weeks around toyah, i struck out for colorado city, two hundred miles east. of course i hated to part with miss bulah; and so did mr. newell hate to part with me, for he was losing a good cash boarder. illustration: "billy the kid." chapter xxvii. a true sketch of "billy the kid's" life. the cut on opposite page was taken from a photograph and represents the "kid" as he appeared before the artist after having just returned from a long, tiresome raid; and the following sketch of his short but eventful life was gleaned from himself, ash upson and others. the circumstance connected with his death i got from the lips of john w. poe, who was with garrett when he fired the fatal shot. billy bonney, alias the "kid" was born in new york city, november the rd, ; and at the age of ten he, in company with his mother and step-father, antrim, landed in the territory of new mexico. mr. antrim, shortly after his arrival in the territory, opened up a restaurant in santa fe, the capitol, and one of his boarders was the jovial old ash upson, my informant, who was then interested in a newspaper at that place. often when ash was too busily engaged about his office to go to dinner, mrs. antrim would send it by her little merry-eyed boy, billy, who was the pride of her life. finally ash sold out and moved to silver city, which was then booming on account of its rich mines. and it wasn't long until mr. antrim followed and opened up another eating house there, with ash as a boarder again. thus it will be seen that my informant was just the same as one of the family for quite a while. the "kid's" first man, as told to me by himself, was a negro soldier in ft. union, whom he shot in self-defence. his next killing was a young blacksmith in silver city whom he killed in a personal encounter, but not according to law, hence it was this scrape that first caused him to become an outcast; driven from pillar to post, out of reach of a kind mother's influence. it was a cold stormy night when he, after kissing his mother's pale cheeks for the last time on this earth, rode out into the darkness, headed west for the wilds of arizona, where he soon became an adept at cards and horse stealing. he finally landed in the city of chihuahua, old mexico, with a pocket full of arizona gold. here he led a gay life until one night when a bullet from his trusty revolver sent a rich mexican monte-dealer to his long and happy home. the next we hear of him is in the friendly land of texas, where he remained in retirement until the spring of , when he drifted across the lonely gandalupe mountains into lincoln county, new mexico, then the outlaw's paradise. at lincoln, the county seat, he hired out as a cow boy to a young englishman by the name of tunstall. in the spring of ' mr. tunstall was killed by a mob, headed by a fellow named morton, from the reo pecos. the "kid" hearing of his employer's foul murder, rode into lincoln from the tunstall ranch to learn the full particulars concerning the killing. he and the young englishman were warm friends and before leaving the ranch he swore vengeance against every one of the murderers. arriving in the mexican plaza of lincoln the "kid" learned that morton and crowd had pulled back to the reo pecos. so he joined a crowd composed of the following named parties: r. m. bruer, j. g. skurlock, charlie bowder, henry brown, frank mcnab, fred wayt, sam smith, jim french, mcclosky and johnny middleton, and started in pursuit. this was just the beginning of the "bloody lincoln county war" which you have all read so much about. but it is said that the "kid" killed every man connected with the murder of his friend before the war ended. billy was caught in a great many close places during the six month's bloody encounter, but always managed to escape, as though possessed of a charmed life. there is one of his hair-breadth escapes i wish to relate, just to show how cool he was in time of danger. he and about a dozen of his men were housed up at lawyer mcsween's in lincoln, when thirty-five of the seven river "warriors" and two companies of united states soldiers under command of col. dudly of the ninth cavalry, surrounded and set the large two-story building on fire, determined to capture or kill the young outlaw. the house was burning on the south side from whence the wind came, and as the fire advanced the little crowd would move further north, into an adjoining room. there was a fine piano in the parlor, the property of mrs. mcsween, who was absent, and on this the "kid" played during the whole time, "just to amuse the crowd outside" he said. finally everything was wrapped in flames but the little kitchen which stood adjoining the main building on the north, but still the coarse music continued to sail forth out onto the night air. at last the blaze began to stick its firey tongues into the kitchen. then the music ceased, and the little band, headed by the "kid" made a bold dash for liberty, amidst the thick shower of hot lead. the balance can be described best by quoting a negro soldier's words, he being nearest the kitchen door when the dash was made: "i jes' tell you white folkses dis nigger was for getting away from dah, kase dat billy-goat was shooten wid a gun and two six-pistols all bofe at de same time." the "kid" and tom o'phalliard were the only ones who came out of this scrape unhurt. mr. mcsween, owner of the burned building was among the killed. he had nine bullets in his body. late that fall when the war had ended, "kid" and the remainder of his little gang stole a bunch of horses from the seven river warriors, whom they had just got through fighting with and drove them across the plains to the texas panhandle, at tascosa on the canadian, where they were soon disposed of at good figures. after lying around the little town of tascosa for nearly a month, squandering their surplus wealth on poor whisky and mexican woman, they, with the exception of fred wayt and henry brown who struck east for the chickisaw nation where the former's mother and two half-breed sisters lived, pulled back to lincoln county, new mexico, to continue their lawlessness. from that time on, the "kid" made a specialty of stealing cattle and horses, although he would kill a man now and then, for what he supposed to be a just cause. let it be said right here that the "kid" was not the cruel hearted wretch that he was pictured out to be in the scores of yellow-back novels, written about him. he was an outlaw and maybe a very wicked youth, but then he had some good qualities which, now that he is no more, he should be credited with. it has been said and written that he would just as soon shoot an innocent child as a mule-eared rabbit. now this is all wrong, for he was noted as being kind to the weak and helpless; there is one case in particular which i can prove: a man, now a highly respected citizen of white oaks, was lying at the point of death in ft. sumner, without friends or money, and a stranger, when the "kid," who had just come into town from one of his raids, went to his rescue, on hearing of his helpless condition; the sick man had been placed in an old out-house on a pile of sheep skins. the "kid" hired a team and hauled him to las vegas, a distance of over a hundred miles, himself, where he could receive care and medical aid. he also paid the doctor and board bills for a month, besides putting a few dollars in money in the sick man's hand as he bid him good bye. this circumstance was told to me by the sick man himself, who at the time was hale and hearty, on hearing of the "kid's" death. while relating it the tears chased one another down his manly cheeks, to the end, at which time he pulled out a large red handkerchief and wiped them away. after the "kid's" capture at stinking springs, he was lodged in jail at santa fe, and the following spring taken to mesilla, county seat of dona ana county, and tried before judge bristol for the murder of sheriff brady, during the lincoln county war. he was sentenced to be taken to lincoln, and hung on the th day of may. on the st day of april he was turned over to pat. garrett, who, being sheriff, was to see that the law was carried out. there being no jail in lincoln, garrett used his office, which was up-stairs in the two-story court house, to guard the prisoner in. robert ollinger and j. w. bell, two men who should have been hung before william bonney was born--judging from reliable reports, were secured to do the guarding. the morning of april, th, garrett was making preparations to go to white oaks, when he told the guards to be very watchful as the prisoner, not having but a few more days to live, might make a desperate effort to escape. ollinger who hated the "kid," they having fought against one another in the lincoln county war, spoke up and said: "don't worry pat, we'll watch him like a goat." so saying he unlocked the armory, a small closet in the wall, and getting out his double-barrel shot gun, put eighteen buck-shot in each barrel. then setting it back, remarked, at the same time glancing over in the opposite corner at the "kid" who was sitting on a stool, shackled and hand-cuffed: "i bet the man that gets them will feel it!" the "kid" gave one of his hopeful smiles and said: "you might be the one to get them yourself." after garrett left, the two guards had five more prisoners to look after. but they were allowed to wear their pistols, for fear of being mobbed by a crowd of tulerosa mexicans who had chased them into lincoln. they had given themselves up to garrett more for protection than anything else. they had killed four tulerosa mexicans, in a hand to hand fight, the day before, hence the mob being after them. one of those prisoners was a young texan by the name of chas. wall, who had received two almost fatal bullet wounds in the fracas of the day before. it was from this young man, mr. wall, whom i became personally acquainted with afterwards, that i received my information from, in regard to the "kid's" escape, etc. about five o'clock, that evening, ollinger took the armed prisoners across the street, to the hotel, to supper, leaving bell to guard the "kid." according to what the "kid" told after his escape, bell became interested in a newspaper, and while thus engaged, he slipped one of his hand-cuffs, which he could have done long before if the right chance had been presented, and made a leap towards his guard, using the hand-cuff as a weapon. bell almost fainted on looking up from his paper. he broke for the door after receiving a stunning lick over the head with the hand-cuff. but the "kid" was right at his heels; and when he got to the door and started down stairs the "kid" reached forward and jerked the frightened man's pistol which still hung at his side, he having never made an effort to pull it. bell fell dead out in the back yard, near the foot of the stairs, with a bullet hole through his body. "kid" then hobbled, or jumped, his legs being still shackled, to the armory and kicking the door open secured ollinger's shot-gun, which contained the eighteen buck-shot in each barrel. then springing to an open window, in an adjoining room, under which the other guard would have to come to get up stairs, he waited patiently for his "meat," as he termed it. he hadn't waited long though when ollinger, who had started on hearing the shooting, came trotting under the window. "kid" called in a pleasant voice: "hello, bob!" robert looked up, but just in time to receive eighteen buck-shot in his breast. the "kid" then walked out onto the balcony, fronting on main street, and emptied the other barrel into the dead body of ollinger. then breaking the gun in two over the balcony railing he threw the pieces at the corpse, saying: "take that you s---- of a b----h! you will never follow me with that gun again!" this proceeding was witnessed by nearly a hundred citizens, nearly all of whom sympathized with the "kid," although they didn't approve of his law-breaking. there was a few of his bitter enemies in town, though, but they soon hunted their holes, each one trying to pull the hole in after him, so as to be hid from the outside world. after being supplied from the armory with a good winchester, two colts " " pistols and four belts of cartridges, he ordered a file thrown up to him, which was done without ceremony; he also ordered the deputy county clerk's pony and saddle brought out into the street, which was also done in double quick time. the shackles being filed in two he danced around on the balcony quite a while, as though he was the happiest mortal on earth. as he went to mount, the firey pony, which was being held out in the street, and which had once belonged to him, broke loose and ran back to the stable. but he was soon brought back, and this time held until the "kid" was securely seated in the saddle. after bidding everybody in sight adieu he rode slowly towards the setting sun, the winchester still gripped in his right hand. but when he arrived at the end of main street he pulled off his hat, and waving it over his head, yelled at the top of his voice: "three cheers for billy the kid!" then putting spurs to the pony he dashed out of sight. after traveling about four miles west he turned north-east, across the capitan mountains, towards ft. sumner. about the first of july, garrett, who hadn't hunted much for the "kid" since his escape, received a letter from a mr. brazil, who lived near ft. sumner, informing him of the "kid's" presence in that vicinity. garrett after answering the letter, asking mr. brazil to meet him at a certain spot on a certain night, secured the services of john w. poe, one of the whitest and bravest men in the territory, and taking his deputy, "kip" mckinnie along, struck out for "sumner" to capture the kid if possible. the little party of three arrived at the mouth of tayban arroyo, on the reo pecos, where garrett had written brazil to meet him, about dark on the night of july th. they waited there all night and mr. brazil failed to show up. mr. poe being a stranger in that country, and not known in the post, garrett sent him to the town, a distance of five miles, to try and learn, by keeping his ears open and mouth shut, of the "kid's" whereabouts, while he and "kip" would meet him at "sunny-side" a ranch seven miles above "sumner." about sundown poe met his two companions, at sunny-side, but was no wiser than when he had left them. garrett then concluded that they would all ride into the town and if peet maxwell was at home he could maybe get some information from him. arriving in an old orchard back of the maxwell mansion about ten o'clock that night, they tied their horses and crawled around to the front of the building. there was a long porch on the south side of the house and about midway was peet's room, the door of which opened onto the porch. garrett knew where the room was, and there they headed for. on arriving in the front yard opposite the door of peet's room, which was wide open, the night being very hot, garrett told his companions to lie flat down in the grass while he slipped into the room. he found peet asleep, but awakened him. he then laid down by the side of peet, and they began talking. back of the maxwell house was an adobe cabin in which lived an old mexican peon. the mexican had gone to bed, and by a greasy looking table sat the "kid," who had just come in from the hills. he had pulled off his boots to rest his tired feet, and was glancing over a newspaper. throwing down the paper he told the peon to get up and cook him some supper, as he was very hungry. being told that there was no meat in the house he picked up a butcher-knife which was lying on the table, and said: "i will go and get peet to rustle me a piece." he started without either hat or boots. while walking along on the porch, butcher-knife in hand, he discovered the two men out in the grass, and, drawing his pistol, asked in mexican: quien es? quien es? (who's there? who's there?) not getting an answer, the boys thinking he was one of the peons, he backed into the door of peet's room, and then turning towards the bed, which was to the left of the door, he asked: "peet, who is that out there?" not receiving an answer again, and being suspicious of some one being in bed with peet, he began backing towards the opposite side of the room, at the same time asking: "who in the h--l is in here? who in the h--l is in here?" peet whispered to garrett: "that's him pat." and by that time the "kid" had backed until the light shone full upon him, through one of the south windows, giving garrett a good chance to make a center shot. bang! bang! went garrett's pistol. the first bullet took effect in the "kid's" heart, while the next one struck the ceiling. the remains of what was once a fond mother's darling were buried next day in the old dilapidated military cemetery, without a murmer, except from one, a pretty young half-breed mexican damsel, whose tears, no doubt, has dampened the lonely grave more than once. thus ended the life of william h. bonney, one of the coolest-headed, and most daring young outlaws that ever lived. he had dwelt upon this earth just years, seven months and days. chapter xxviii. wrestling with a dose of small pox on the llano esticado. after leaving toyah i followed the railroad east cross the reo pecos, out onto the llano esticado and through the sixty mile stretch of sand hills. at sand hill station, about midway through the sand hills, i left the railroad and branched off in a north-easterly direction in search of buffalo-hunter's camps. knowing buffalo were getting scarce, and having heard of a great many hunters being in the vicinity of ceader lake, i thought it a good idea to go out there and see what kind of game they were killing. being nearly south of the canadian river country, i thought maybe they were killing cattle which had drifted down in there during the winters. but i was mistaken. i found their camps black with genuine buffalo hides. there being no ranches in that wild scope of country the buffalo, what few there were left, had nearly all congregated in there. i played a single-handed game of freeze-out the first two nights after leaving the railroad, for there came a terrible snow storm, which covered up the buffalo-chips, there being no wood in that whole country, so that i couldn't make a fire to warm by. after striking the first buffalo-camp, then i was all right, for i could get directions how to find the next one, etc. i finally, by circling around to the east, and then south, struck the railroad again, and landed in the town of big springs; where i was mistaken for a horse-thief, whom i answered the description of, and told to "skip" by one of my friends, a stranger who recognized me as the turkey shooter from toyah. i didn't skip; and the thing was finally straightened up to their entire satisfaction. i was out of money by this time, but found a draft in the express office awaiting me. not having any particular use for the draft i swapped it off for a hundred dollars in money, to the express manager. after looking through a few herds around the springs i pulled north-east for the head of colorado river, to take a look over the lum slaughter range, which extended from the head of colorado river down to colorado city on the railroad, a distance of about sixty miles. i went to all the sign camps, and also the head-quarter ranch, but didn't let my business, residence or name be known, which caused the boys to believe i was "on the dodge." i rode into the lively little town of colorado city one afternoon about four o'clock, and imagine my surprise at meeting miss bulah newell on her way home from school. she and mrs. newell had left toyah shortly after i did. they had left mr. newell at home to run the hotel. and mrs. newell had accompanied bulah to colorado city, the nearest place where there was a school, so as to keep "the wild rattled-brain girl," as she called her, under her wing. they had rented a little cottage and were keeping house. i ran out of money shortly after striking colorado city, my expenses being high, having to pay three dollars a day to keep my two horses at a feed stable, and one dollar and a half per day for my own board, lodging, etc., but found a good friend, mr. snyder, a merchant, who let me have all i wanted on my good looks until i could write to the ranch for some. while waiting for an answer to my letter i would put in my spare time taking little spins out into the country, looking through herds of cattle, etc. the longest trip i made was three days, down on the concho river, and that was just two days and a half longer than i cared to be away from miss bulah. the mail finally brought two hundred dollars worth of "l. x." drafts, wrapped up in a letter from mr. erskine clement, reminding me of the fact that his company wasn't a first national bank. this of course was a hint for me to be more economical. having to be in mesilla, new mexico, a distance of five hundred and fifty miles, by the last of march, and wanting to look over some small cattle ranges on the route, i struck out. i hated to leave colorado city on account of bulah, but was anxious to leave on account of the small-pox beginning to spread there. a forty-mile ride brought me to big springs, where i lay two days with a burning fever. the morning of the third day i pulled out, across the staked plains for the reo pecos, still feeling sick. that night i stopped at one of the section houses, which were located every ten miles along the railroad. and the next morning after riding about five miles i became so sick that i had to dismount and lie down in the grass. after groaning and tumbling around about two hours i fell asleep. about sundown an east bound freight train came along, which scared my ponies and awakened me. i felt terribly; my lips were parched, my bones ached and my tongue felt as though it was swollen out of shape. i started to lie down again, after the noise from the passing train had died out, but there being an ugly looking black cloud in the north, which indicated a norther, i concluded to brace up and ride to the next section house, a distance of about five miles. arriving there, just as a cold norther was springing up, and riding up to the fence i called: "hello!" in a feeble voice. a gentleman came out, and on informing him that i was sick, he told me to go in the house, that he would unsaddle and take care of my horses. i walked into a large room where a nice blazing fire greeted my eyes. there was a lady sitting by the fire sewing. on looking up at me, as i stepped into the door, she gave a scream, which brought her husband in on the double quick. "small-pox, small-pox," was all she could say. the gentleman looked at me and asked: "are you from colorado city?" "yes," was my answer. "well, you have got it, and i am sorry we can't keep you here to-night. i hate to turn a sick man out such a night as this, but i have got a wife and three little children here whose lives are at stake." i had never thought of small-pox since leaving colorado city, until the good lady put me in mind of it. oh, how my heart did ache at the thoughts of that dreadful disease, and having to go out into the cold night air. it was pitch dark and beginning to sleet when i mounted and struck out, west, aiming to go on to the next section house, ten miles, and try my luck there. about half an hour after the light over my shoulder had disappeared i began to grow weaker, so much so that i could hardly sit on my saddle. so finally, dismounting, i unsaddled and staking the two hungry ponies out to a telegraph pole, rolled myself up in my blankets, my saddle for a pillow, and went to sleep. i awakened just as day was breaking. the ground was covered with snow, and i was almost frozen. i felt as though i had been sent for and couldn't go. my mouth, i could tell by feeling it, was covered with sores, in fact it was one solid scab, and so were my shoulders and back. strange to say there wasn't a sore on any other part of my body. those sores on my mouth was what attracted the lady's attention the evening before, although they had just began to show themselves then. with great difficulty i saddled up and continued on towards the section house. this time i made up my mind not to let the folks know where i was from, and if they had cheek enough to ask i intended to say ft. concho. to avoid the sores on my mouth being seen i tied a silk handkerchief around it. and should they ask any questions about that, i intended telling them i had some fever blisters on my mouth, etc. i found only one man, the cook, at the section house this time, the section hands having gone to work. i was treated like a white head by the cook, who no doubt took me for a desperado or horse-thief, by my looks. he thought no doubt the handkerchief was tied over my face to keep from being recognized. i informed him that i was feeling bad and would like to lie down a few moments, etc. he led the way up stairs where the section hands slept and told me to occupy any of the dirty looking beds there. i laid down and told him to bring me up a cup of coffee. he brought up a good breakfast and after he left i undone the handkerchief and tried to eat, but couldn't, on account of my tongue being so badly swollen. i found a looking glass in the room and took a squint at myself, and must say that i was indeed a frightful looking aspect, my face from nose to chin being a solid scab and terribly swollen. no wonder i frightened the lady so badly, i thought. after drinking the hot cup of coffee i went down stairs, gave the cook a silver dollar for his kindness and pulled out. i was very anxious to get to a doctor, and toyah was the nearest place to find one unless i turned back to colorado city, which i hated to do on account of having to attend court in mesilla, soon. i arrived in toyah about noon of the sixth day out from big springs. i headed straight for the alverado house and who do you suppose was standing in the door when i rode up? miss bulah. the small pox had scared her and her mother away from colorado city. the first thing she said was: "hello, what's the matter with your face?" "nothing but fever blisters." was my answer. i didn't dismount, for fear of giving the pretty little miss the small pox, but rode a few blocks to doctor roberson's office, telling her that i was going after some fever medicine and would be back in a few minutes, etc. the doctor informed me that the danger was all over with, and that, if i hadn't been made of good stuff, i would have surely died, being exposed to bad weather, etc. he gave me some salve to dry up the sores, that being all there was to do at that stage of the disease, he said, and advised me to leave town, for said he: "if the citizens discover that you have had the small pox, they will have you taken to the pest house, where there are already three occupants, although the danger of it being catching from you is past." i assured him that i would fix it so they wouldn't find it out. on arriving back to the alverado house, my face still tied up, i hired a boy to take care of my ponies and then telling miss bulah that i wanted a room to myself, i went to bed. bulah would bring my meals into the room and sometimes sit down to wait until i got through eating, but i would never commence until she left. i would generally let her stay until she got ready to go, telling her that i wasn't hungry just then, but would try and eat it after awhile, etc. she would finally get tired and go, then i would lock the door and undo the handkerchief from my face. i kept this up a week, before eating my meals at the table with the rest of the boarders. i finally struck out for el paso, two hundred miles over a dry, waterless plain, and another hundred up the rio grande valley, making three hundred miles in all. i hove in sight of the rio grande river one morning, but never got there until sundown. when i arrived within a few miles of the river i noticed a covered wagon and what i supposed to be a camp, down the valley, about three miles out of my way. i finally concluded to turn off and go and stop with whoever they were for the night. i found it to be a mexican camp, an old man, two boys and a grown girl. they had come from larado and were on their way to el paso. they gave me a hearty welcome. next morning about daylight i got up and went out to change croppy, he having been staked and buckshot hobbled the evening before, in a fresh place, but lo, and behold! there was nothing there but the stake. i circled around and found both of the ponies tracks leading towards the river, a few hundred yards west, i followed, and found they had crossed over. after standing on the bank a few seconds, dreading to get wet, i went over too. the water was only about waist deep. near the water's edge on the other side i found some mocassin tracks in the soft sand. i could see through the whole thing then, from indications, etc: two footmen, who wore mocassins, had stolen my horses and pulled into old mexico for safety. where the tracks were visible in the sand, there was no doubt, they had dismounted and taken a farewell drink, or maybe filled a canteen, before leaving the river. after following the trail, there being just the tracks of two horses, a few hundred yards out from the river i turned and went back to camp, to try and hire the old mexican's horse to follow them on. the old fellow only had one pony, his team being oxen and i had to talk like a dutch uncle to get it, as he argued that i was liable to get killed and he lose the pony by the operation. i finally though put up the price of the horse as security and promised the old fellow ten dollars a day for the use of him, when i returned. this seemed to give satisfaction, even with the two boys who would have to hoof it after the oxen every morning, in case the pony never returned. just about sundown as i turned a sharp curve, near the top of the long chain of high mountains which run parallel with the river, i came in sight of both of my ponies staked to a pinyon tree, grazing. i immediately rode out of sight, dismounted, tied my tired pony to a tree and crawled to the top of a knoll, where i could see the surrounding country for half a mile around. but i couldn't see a living thing except the two horses, and the one i had just left. finally, bang! went a shot, which sounded to be at least half a mile away, on the opposite side of the mountains. thinks i now there's either a ranch over there and the two thieves have walked to it, to keep from being seen with the horses, or else they have gone out hunting to kill something for supper. at any rate i took advantage of their absence and stole my ponies back. near where they were tied was a small spring of cool water; the first water i had seen since leaving the river. after taking a hasty drink myself, and letting the pony i was on, fill up, the other two not being dry, i took a straight shoot down grade, for the "eastern shores of the rio grande," a distance of about thirty-five miles. it was then nearly dark. i arrived in camp next morning just as the big yellow sun was peeping over the top of the sierra blanco mountains; and the old mexican, who was awaiting my return, was glad to see me back. that night i stopped with an old fat fellow by the name of chas. willson, in the little town of camp rice, and the next night i put up in the beautiful town of san elizario, which is situated in the centre of the garden spot of the whole rio grande valley. the next morning i crossed the river into old mexico and took a three day's hunt through the mountains in search of a herd which had come from the north, and had crossed the river at san elizario about a week before. i found it, but was unacquainted with any of the brands that the cattle wore. the herd had been stolen though, i think, from the way the men acted. i finally landed in el paso and found a letter in the post office from john poe, written at lincoln, new mexico, advising me not to go to mesilla until the day that court set, as cohglin, who was out on bond, was there and might have my light blown out, i being one of the main witnesses against him. also, it had been reported that he had said he would give five thousand dollars to get me out of the way. he furthermore advised me in the letter to take the train from el paso, as the old fellow might have some mexicans watching along the road for me. chapter xxix. in love with a mexican girl. i found el paso, to be a red-hot town of about three thousand inhabitants. there were also about that number of people in paso del norte, across the river in old mexico. i spent several days in each place. i finally, after leaving my ponies in good hands, boarded one of the atchison, topeka and santa fe trains for las cruces, two and a half miles from mesilla, the county seat. there being better accommodations, in the way of hotels, in "cruces," nearly every one who was attending court would stop there and ride to the county seat in one of the "hacks" which made hourly trips between the two places. consequently i put up at the montezuma house, in las cruces. there were several lincoln county boys there when i arrived. poe and garrett came down next day. mr. and mrs. nesbeth also came as witnesses against cohglin. mrs. nesbeth had heard mr. cohglin make the contract with, "billy the kid," to buy all the stolen cattle he would bring to his ranch. but the good lady didn't live long afterwards, for she, her husband, a stranger, who was going from "cruces" to tulerosa with them, and a little girl whom they had adopted were all murdered by unknown parties. cohglin was accused of having the crime committed, but after fighting the case through the courts, he finally came clear. a few days after my arrival in las cruces i went back to el paso after my ponies. i ate dinner there and rode into las cruces about sundown. a pretty quick fifty-five mile ride, considering part of it being over a rough mountain road. the cause of my hurry was, we couldn't tell what minute the cohglin case would be called up for trial. i had a little love scrape while loafing in las cruces. i don't mention it because my love scrapes were so scarce, but because it was with a mexican girl, and under curious circumstances, that is, the circumstances were curious from the fact that we became personally acquainted and never spoke to one another, except by signs, and through letters. her name was magdalena ochoa, niece to the rich bankers ochoa's in el paso, tucson, arizona, and chihuahua, old mexico, and she was sweet sixteen. she lived with her grandmother, whose residence was right straight across the street from the montezuma hotel, and who wouldn't let a young man, unless he was a peon, come inside of her house. and she wouldn't let magdalena go out of her sight, for fear she would let some of the young "gringoes" make love to her. i first saw her one sunday morning when she and her grandmother were going to church. i was standing out in front of the hotel hugging an awning post, and wishing that i had something more human-like to hug, when they passed within a few feet of me. the girl looked up, our eyes met, and such a pair of eyes i had never seen. they sparkled like diamonds, and were imbedded in as pretty a face as was ever moulded. her form was perfection itself; she had only one drawback that i didn't like and that was her grandmother. i immediately unwound my arms from around the post and started to church too. the church house was a very large building, and the altar was in one end. the couple i was following walked up near the altar and took a seat on the right hand side--on the dirt floor, there being no such thing as seats in the building--which was reserved for ladies, while the left hand side, of the narrow passage way, was for the men. i squatted myself down opposite the two, and every now and then the pretty little miss would cast sparks from her coal black eyes over towards me which would chill my very soul with delight. when church was over i followed, to find out where she lived. i was exceedingly happy when i found she was a near neighbor to me, being only a few steps across the street. i spent the rest of that day setting out under the awning in front of the hotel, straining my eyes in hopes of getting a glimpse of her beautiful form through the large bay window which opened out from the nicely furnished parlor onto the street. but not a glimpse did i get. i retired that night with the vision of a lovely sunburnt angel floating before my eyes. the next morning i went to mesilla and answered to my name when it was called, by the judge, and then told poe that i had some very important business to attend to in "cruces" and for him, in case the cohglin case was called, to hire a man at my expense and send him after me. on arriving back to the hotel i took a seat in an old arm-chair under the awning. i was all alone, nearly every one being in mesilla. finally magdalena brought her sewing and sat down among the flowers in the bay window. it was indeed a lovely picture, and would have been a case of "love among the roses" if it hadn't been for her old grandparent, who every now and then appeared in the parlor. at last i, having a good chance, no one being in sight but her and i, threw a kiss, to see how i stood in her estimation. she immediately darted out of sight, but soon re-appeared and peeping around a cluster of roses, returned the compliment. she then left the room and i never seen her again till after dinner. i then started into the hotel, but was detained by a voice calling, through the closed blinds of a window near by: "me ketch you! me ketch you!" come to find out it was the proprietor's wife, mrs. duper, an old mexican lady, who had been watching our maneuvers. she then opened the blinds and asked me in broken english, what i was trying to do? "oh, nothing, much, just trying to catch on, is all;" was my answer. the old lady then broke out in one of her jovial fits and said: "you ketch on? me bet you ten tousand dollars you no ketch him!" she then went on and told me how closely the old lady "grandma ochoa" watched her young niece. in fact, she gave me the girl's history from the time of her birth: her father and mother were both dead and she, being the only child, was worth over a million dollars, all in her own name. this of course was good news to me, as it gave my love a solid foundation, and spread a kind of gold-like lining over the young lady's beauty. finally, after court had been in session two weeks the cohglin case was called up. his lawyers were col. rynerson and thornton, while the territory was represented by newcomb, district attorney, and a. j. fountain whose services poe had secured. mr. cohglin began to grow restless, for the "pen" stared him in the face. there were eight indictments against him, but the worst one was where he had butchered the cattle after being notified by me not to. his only hopes now was to "sugar" the prosecuting attorney, and that no doubt was easily done, or at least it would have looked easy to a man up a tree. you see cohglin was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, and therefore could well afford to do a little sugaring, especially to keep out of the penitentiary. at any rate whether the attorney was bought off or not, the trial was put off, on account of illness on said attorney's part, until the last days of court. when the case came up again mr. prosecuting attorney was confined to his room on account of a severe attack of cramp-colic. judge bristol was mad, and so was poe. they could see through the whole thing now. that night cohglin made a proposition that he would plead guilty to buying stolen cattle knowing they were stolen, if the one case in which he had killed cattle after being notified not to, would be dismissed, or thrown entirely out of court. it was finally decided to do that, as then he could be sued for damages, so the next day he plead guilty to the above charge, and was fined one hundred and fifty dollars besides costs. fountain, our lawyer then entered suit against him for ten thousand dollars damage. i was then relieved. my mileage and witness fees amounted to something over a hundred dollars, this time. of course that was appreciated as it was my own, over and above my wages. it came handy too as i was almost broke and needed it to take me home. i had spent all of my own money, besides nearly one hundred and fifty dollars borrowed from poe. it was the first day of may, i think, when i mounted croppy in front of the hotel, threw a farewell kiss at miss magdalena, who was standing in the bay-window, and started east, in company with chas. wall--the young man i mentioned as being a prisoner in lincoln at the time of "kid's" escape. i hated to part with the pleasant smiles of my little mexican sweetheart, but then it had to be done. i still hold a rose and a bundle of beautifully written letters to remember her by. we stopped at san augustine the first night out from "cruces," and from there we struck south-east across the white sands for the mouth of dog canyon--the noted rendezvous of old victoria and his band of blood-thirsty apache's. i had heard so much about this beautiful dog canyon that i concluded to see it before going home, so that if it proved to be as represented i could secure it for a cattle ranch. it was a ticklish job going there by ourselves, as a telegram was received in las cruces, the morning we left, that a band of apache's had crossed the rio grande at colorow, killing three men there, and were headed toward dog canyon. but i had faith in croppy and buckshot, they being well rested and hog fat, carrying us out of danger should we come in contact with them. we arrived at the noted canyon after being away from water nearly two days. it was a lovely place, at the foot of gandalupe mountains. after leaving there we went through the following towns: la luz, tulerosa, south fork and ft. stanton. at the last named place charlie wall left me, and i continued on alone. i remained in white oaks a few days, looking over my town property, i having bought some lots and built cabins thereon, and examining the 'old panhandle tiger' gold mine, the one stone, chambers and i owned. i had some of the rock assayed and it run twelve dollars in gold to the ton, besides a few ounces in silver and about two million dollars worth of hopes. from white oaks i went through anton chico, san lorenzo, liberty and tascosa, and arrived at the "l. x." ranch after an absence of nearly eight months, and about a three thousand mile ride. chapter xxx. a sudden leap from cow boy to merchant. about the first of july, shortly after my return, hollicott sent me to kansas with a herd of eight hundred fat steers. my outfit consisted of a cook, chuck wagon, five riders, and six horses to the rider. we arrived in caldwell, kansas, near the northern line of the indian territory, about september the first. after putting the cattle aboard of the cars, and giving them a send-off towards chicago, we all proceeded to take in the "queen city of the border," as caldwell is called. i immediately fell in love with the town, also with a couple of young ladies, and therefore concluded to locate. i bought some lots and contracted a house built, with a view of going after mother. i then struck out with my outfit to attend the fall round-ups in the vicinity of camp supply, indian territory. returning to caldwell the latter part of november, i boarded a train for southern texas, after mother, by way of saint louis to visit my sister whom i hadn't seen for thirteen long years. i arrived in saint louis one evening--just in time to let an old flop-eared jew take me in to the extent of a hundred dollars for a lot of snide jewelry and a jim-crow suit of clothes. not caring to hunt sister until morning i went to the planter's house to put up for the night, and to note the change of twelve years. after taking a bath and getting into my new rigging, i took a straight shoot for the office to make inquiries about the old boys. i found a long-legged youth behind the counter who, on asking how many of the old hands of twelve years ago were still there, pointed out jimmy byron, the kid i had the fight with, behind the cigar and news stand, across the hall. he was very busy at the time dishing out cigars, etc. to the scores of old fat roosters and lean dudes who were hurrying out after having eaten their supper. the rush was finally over and then i made myself known. he was terribly glad, as well as surprised to see me. we had parted as enemies but now met as friends. he informed me that there wasn't but three, besides himself, of the old outfit left, and those were the old steward, who was now proprietor, "old" mike, who was still acting as night watchman, and cunningham, the fellow who had slapped me and who was still clerk. the latter gentleman i didn't get to shake hands with as he failed to put in an appearance during my stay. the next morning i struck out to hunt sister. i was armed with an old letter which gave the address, therefore had no trouble in finding her. she was alone with her three pretty little girls, her husband having gone up town to his place of business--a drug store--when i found her. the first thing she asked after kissing me, was, where i got my new suit? of course i had to acknowledge that i bought them from a jew on fourth street. she then became frantic and wanted to know why in the world i didn't go to humphry's and get them? "who in the dickens is humphry?" i asked. "why, i thought everybody knew mr. humphry," she continued. she took me up town to this great establishment of humphry's that evening and there i learnt how badly i had been bitten by the jew. i remained in the city about a week and my brother-in-law spent most of his time showing me the sights. before taking the train for texas i bought mother a trunk full of clothes, knowing that she would be in need of them after having "roughed it" for nearly eight years. i stopped in houston one day looking for aunt mary, but learnt finally that she had moved to the country. i then took in galveston and spent two days visiting uncle nick and aunt julia. from there i went to indianola on a morgan steamship and became sea sick; oh, lord! i concluded i would prefer the hurricane deck of a spanish pony to that of a ship, every time. in the town of indianola i met a lot of my old peninsula playmates, who were there from matagorda, in their sail boats, with freight. there being no boats down from tresspalacious, i left my trunk to be shipped up the first chance and went to matagorda with the two williams' boys, johnny and jimmy. nearly all the peninsula folks lived in the vicinity of matagorda now since the great storm of , washed everything they had out into the gulf, besides drowning about half of their number. hence me going to matagorda to visit them. there were three tresspalacious boys in matagorda, and one of them, jim keller, loaned me his horse and saddle to ride home on. mother was happy when i told her to get ready and go to kansas with me. there was only one thing she hated to leave behind, and that was her wood pile. she had spent the past two years lugging wood from along the creek and piling it up against her old shanty for "old age," she said. i suppose her idea in piling it against the house, on all sides, was to keep it from blowing over, should some kind of an animal accidently blow its breath against it. after spending about a week, visiting friends and waiting for my trunk to arrive from indianola, i struck out with mother for the enterprising state of kansas. i hired a neighbor, mr. cornelious, to take us to the railroad, fifty miles north. he hauled us in an old go cart--one that had been sent from germany in --drawn by two brindle oxen. we arrived in caldwell a few days before christmas and after getting mother established in her new house, i went to work for the "l. x." company again. i had secured a winter's job from mr. beals before leaving therefore it was all ready for me to take charge of on my return. the job was feeding and taking care of about two hundred head of horses, at the company's ranch on the territory line, near caldwell. having lots of fat ponies to ride, i used to take a dash up town nearly every night to see how mother was getting along and to see my sweethearts. thus the winter passed off pleasantly. about the first of march i received orders from mr. beals, who was then at his home in boston, mass. to get everything in shape to start for the panhandle at a moment's notice. that very night, after those orders were received, i fell head over heels in love with a pretty little fifteen-year old, black-eyed miss, whom i accidently met. it was a genuine case of love at first sight. i wanted her, and wanted her badly, therefore i went to work with a brave heart and my face lined with brass. it required lots of brass too, as i had to do considerable figuring with the old gent, she being his only daughter. just three days after meeting we were engaged and at the end of the next three days we were made one. and three days later i was on my way to the panhandle with an outfit of twenty-five men, one hundred horses and six wagons. an eighteen day's drive, southwest, brought us to the "l. x." ranch. after laying there about a week, resting up, hollicott sent me and my outfit south to attend the round ups in the red river country. we arrived back at the ranch about july the first, with three thousand head of "l. x." cattle which had drifted south during the past winter. as i was anxious to get back to kansas to see my wife and mother, hollicott immediately gathered eight hundred fat shipping steers and started me. i arrived in caldwell september the first, and after shipping the herd, mr. beals ordered me to take the outfit back to the panhandle and get another drove. this of course didn't suit, as i had only been at home a few days. but then what could i do? i hated to give up a good job, with no prospects of making a living by remaining in town. i finally concluded to obey orders, so started the men and horses up the territory line, while i and sprague went to town with the wagon to load it with chuck. mr. beals had taken the train the day before to be absent quite a while. after getting the wagon loaded and ready to start, i suddenly swore off cow-punching and turned everything over to mr. sprague, who bossed the outfit back to the panhandle. the next day i rented a vacant room on main street and, rolling up my sleeves and putting on a pair of suspenders, the first i had ever worn, started out as a merchant--on a six-bit scale. thus one cow-puncher takes a sensible tumble and drops out of the ranks. now, dear reader in bidding you adieu, will say: should you not be pleased with the substance of this _book_, i've got nothing to say in defence, as i gave you the best i had in my little shop, but before you criticise it from a literary standpoint, bear in mind that the writer had fits until he was ten years of age, and hasn't fully recovered from the effects. finis. * * * * * transcriber notes minor obvious spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected. words with various spellings interchangeably used in the book have been retained as written. whisky-peet, whisky peet, whiskey-peet, and whisky-peat sunup; sun-up breastworks; breast-works may be; may-be daylight; day-light hairbreadth; hair-breadth headquarter; head-quarter storekeeper; store-keeper sundown; sun-down southeast; south-east upstairs; up-stairs daylight; day-light page : made up my mind not to let the folk's know where ... author perhaps intended folks? left as written. page , the spelling gandalupe mountains is used in this book twice and is found in few other sources at the time. although spelled guadalupe mountains in most other sources, it is left as written: gandalupe mountains. mary ware in texas * * * * * works of annie fellows johnston the little colonel series (_trade mark, reg. u. s. pat. of._) each one vol., large mo, cloth, illustrated the little colonel stories $ . (containing in one volume the three stories, "the little colonel," "the giant scissors," and "two little knights of kentucky.") the little colonel's house party . the little colonel's holidays . the little colonel's hero . the little colonel at boarding-school . the little colonel in arizona . the little colonel's christmas vacation . the little colonel: maid of honor . the little colonel's knight comes riding . mary ware: the little colonel's chum . mary ware in texas . the above vols., _boxed_ with the little colonel good times book, as a set of vols. . the little colonel good times book . the little colonel doll book . illustrated holiday editions each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in colour the little colonel $ . the giant scissors . two little knights of kentucky . big brother . cosy corner series each one vol., thin mo, cloth, illustrated the little colonel $. the giant scissors . two little knights of kentucky . big brother . ole mammy's torment . the story of dago . cicely . aunt 'liza's hero . the quilt that jack built . flip's "islands of providence" . mildred's inheritance . other books joel: a boy of galilee $ . in the desert of waiting . the three weavers . keeping tryst . the legend of the bleeding heart . the rescue of the princess winsome . the jester's sword . asa holmes . l. c. page & company beacon street boston, mass. * * * * * [illustration: it would have been joy to her soul could she have seen herself---- mary ware in texas chap xiii] mary ware in texas by annie fellows johnston author of "the little colonel series," "big brother," "ole mammy's torment," "joel: a boy of galilee," "asa holmes," etc. illustrated by frank t. merrill [illustration] boston * l. c. page & company * mdccccx copyright, , by l. c. page & company (incorporated) entered at stationer's hall, london all rights reserved first impression, october, electrotyped and printed by the colonial press c. h. simonds & co., boston, u.s.a. to f. v. p. contents chapter page i. in san antonio ii. in search of a home iii. the little town of bauer iv. mary finds gay v. at fort sam houston vi. on the creek-bank vii. christmas viii. "die kleinen teufel" ix. at the barnaby ranch x. in joyce's studio xi. phil goes to warwick hall xii. in "blue-bonnet" time xiii. jack xiv. san jacinto day xv. new trails list of illustrations page "it would have been joy to her soul could she have seen herself" (_see page _) _frontispiece_ "'what an adorable little curl!'" "a dashing girl in khaki and a cowboy hat, astride a fiery little mustang" "he . . . seated himself beside her, coffee-cup in hand" "she sent the boat down stream with long, swift strokes" "three alert and expectant little figures sat in a row on the steps" "leaning against the mantel, looked down at her, thoughtfully" "'well, i'm going away and i may not see you again'" mary ware in texas chapter i in san antonio the musicians were tuning their instruments somewhere behind the palms in the hotel courtyard. it was one of the older hotels of san antonio, much sought by northern tourists on account of that same inner garden, around which the big building stretched itself. the rooms opening on to it had vine-covered balconies, and, looking down from them into the tropical growth of palms and banana trees and roses, one felt that it was summer time, no matter what the calendar said. it was on one of the second floor balconies at the close of a november day that mary ware stood looking around her with eager eyes. queen's wreath and moon-vines made such a thick screen that no one could see her, so she might lean over the railing as far as she pleased to watch the brilliantly lighted scene below. electric bulbs were strung through the cacti and devil's ivy like elfin lamps. there was a shine of brass buttons as colored bell boys scudded across the open space with clinking ice-pitchers or jingling keys, and through the glass doors beyond came the gleam of silver and flowers where the waiters were arranging the tables for dinner. there was to be a military banquet in one of the private dining-rooms, and already the guests were beginning to arrive for the reception which was to precede it. so much bunting was draped over the arch between the office corridors and this inner court, that the view was somewhat obscured, but, by leaning dangerously far over the railing, mary could catch a glimpse of the legs of a uniform now and then, strolling along beside the trailing skirt of a dainty evening gown. all this warmth and life and color was in sharp contrast to the dreary solitudes of the snow covered mining camp which she had just left. it had been winter for nearly a month up in the hills of arizona, and lone rock in the winter was such a barren waste socially that her present surroundings seemed wildly exciting. in lone rock it was a matter of comment whenever a human being passed the house, and even a stray mule, stumbling along with a bell on its neck, was enough to call one to the windows. the orchestra behind the palms having finished its tuning, swung into a gay two-step. at the sudden burst of music mary drew a long breath and stood up straight, her pulses a-tingle. something delightful was beginning to happen. two girls, one in white and one in pale lemon-yellow, attended by a young lieutenant and a still younger man in civilian's evening dress, came out under the bunting-draped arch and strolled along past the banana trees to the garden seat just below her. from her hiding place behind the moon-vines, mary watched them as only a sociable little soul could watch, who for months had been hungering for such companionship. she clutched the railing with both hands, hoping fervently that they would stop. they did pause for a few moments, just under the balcony, so near that for the little while they stood there she could almost feel herself to be one of the party. she could even smell the white violets that the girl in white wore on her corsage, and was close enough to see that an amber comb was slipping out of the soft auburn-bronze hair arranged so becomingly on the graceful little head. each laugh and gesture sent it slipping lower and lower till involuntarily mary's hand went out to stop it. then she drew back in confusion. she had almost called attention to herself by speaking aloud. "let's go into the other court," insisted the girl in yellow. "i want to show you the alligators in the fountain, mr. wade, to convince you that you're really in the sunny south. some people can't appreciate alligators--bogey there, for instance." her disdainful glance indicated the lieutenant. "he jeers at me for liking them, but i think they are more interesting than half the people one meets." "_bogey!_ what a nickname for such a dignified officer," thought mary, peeping over the railing to see how such banter was received. evidently the lieutenant was accustomed to it, for he smiled indulgently as one would at a spoiled child. "'birds of a feather,' you know," was his answer. "go on, roberta. _i_ don't care to flock with alligators myself, but if you do we'll follow and see it done." roberta deigned no reply but a glance intended to be withering, which failed in its purpose because it was only counterfeit. her eyes were as dark as a gypsy's and she had the curliest lashes mary had ever seen. a boyish straightforwardness of manner contradicted their coquettish curliness, however. she had an air that comes only from being brought up in a houseful of teasing brothers. the man in civilian dress, whom she called mr. wade, watched her as if he had found a new species of girl, uncertain what she might say or do next. he was familiar with the coquettish kind and with the tom-boy kind, but this combination puzzled him. mary longed to follow as the four went slowly away together into the adjoining court, wholly unconscious that they had left an indelible memory behind them, or that they had revealed anything of themselves and their affairs to an unseen listener. but to mary it was as if a new book had been opened before her and she had been allowed a glimpse of one page and the attractive picture that illustrated it. it was never necessary for her to begin at the first chapter of a book. often, attracted by some paragraph in the middle, she would plunge into a story, only turning back for the beginning after she had pursued it eagerly through to the last word and found "how it all ended." [illustration: "mary ware in texas" "what an adorable little curl"] now as the interesting group walked away she fervently hoped that fate would send them across her path sometime again during her sojourn in san antonio, that she might piece together the rest of the story. all that she knew now was that the girl in white was a daughter of one of the majors at fort sam houston, that the lieutenant had known roberta ever since he was a cadet at the west texas military school, and that it was her brothers who had dubbed him bogey. she had learned also that this was mr. wade's first visit to texas, and that roberta was trying to impress him with it by marvelous tales, so that he would decide to spend the winter in san antonio instead of going on to mexico. but if the conversation revealed little, the picture they made as they stood against the tropical background of palms and banana trees held many suggestions. mary felt that she knew all about lieutenants, having met two at a kentucky house-party where she had gone to be flower-girl at a wedding when she was only fourteen. fashions evidently had not changed in lieutenants, since these looked as if they might have been taken out of the same box that furnished the first soldiers of her acquaintance; but the girls--there had been many changes in girls since she last saw any of this kind. it was eight months since she had left school at the end of the easter vacation, and none of the girls at warwick hall were doing their hair then as roberta and the major's daughter were doing theirs. each had a very elaborate coiffure with a cluster of little short curls escaping to nestle against their white necks. her attention was especially called to this new style by roberta's escort, whom mary had classified in her mind as a "callow youth with a habit of making gallant little personal speeches." when they first stepped into the court roberta had thrown a white scarf about her, almost as light as thistledown, and glistening with crystal beads which spangled its soft meshes like dewdrops. as they turned to go it slipped from her shoulders, and mr. wade sprang forward to replace it. drawing it around her shoulders he said with a melting glance at her dark hair, "what an adorable little curl! "'ringlet, o ringlet, she blushed a rosy red, when ringlet, o ringlet, she clipped you from her head!'" mary, who knew her tennyson like her multiplication table, recalled the next lines, "ringlet, o ringlet, she gave you me and said, 'come kiss it, love, and put it by, if this can change, why, so can i.'" roberta only laughed, not in the least impressed by his manner nor embarrassed by the inference of his quotation. mary knew that she could not copy the curls, but she decided to try the rest of the coiffure in the morning. not a single twist or wave had escaped her sharp eyes. in the darkness of her retreat, after they had gone, she put her hands to her head, rehearsing in pantomime each move she would have to make to produce the result she admired. suddenly her hands dropped and one clutched the railing, as the window shutters of the next room were thrown open with a bang and some one stepped out on to the balcony adjoining hers. the intruder was a large and elderly woman in a rustling black dress. the light from the room streaming out behind her showed that she was portly and gray-haired, and the way she peered through the vines, changing quickly from one view-point to another, showed that she was impatient. when she turned, mary saw that her dress, which was made to fasten in the back, was open from collar to belt, and she readily guessed the trouble. forgetting that her presence was unknown to the anxious watcher, she leaned forward through the dark, saying politely, "can i help you, madam?" if a hand had reached out and grabbed her, the old lady could not have been more startled. with a stifled shriek she backed up against the wall to hide her open bodice, and stood there limp and panting. "merciful _fathers_! how you scared me!" she breathed as mary's face appeared in the full light. when she saw only a little school-girl of seventeen or thereabouts her relief found vent in a hysterical giggle. it shook her plump shoulders until they both started to laughing so hard that she could barely find voice to explain, or mary to apologize. "i just couldn't get my dress hooked up the back," she finally managed to say. "i rang half a dozen times for a chambermaid, but the ones on this floor all seem to be off duty this time of evening, and i won't ask a bell-boy as some of the ladies do. i don't think it's decent. so i just thought i'd look down into the court and see if i couldn't catch sight of james. he did it yesterday and i vowed i'd never ask him again. he's willing enough, but he kept me standing a solid half hour by the clock, and we were both tuckered out when he got through." "let me come and do it for you," said mary with her usual alacrity for following up promising beginnings. "oh, if you only would!" was the grateful answer. "i'll go in and unlock the door--" before she could finish her sentence mary had climbed lightly over the railing which divided their balconies, and was following her into her room through the long windows that opened to the floor. "do you know," confided the old lady while mary deftly fastened the hooks, "i think a hotel is the lonesomest place on the face of the globe for a woman. i come down here once a year or so with my husband, and he has a good time sitting around in the lobby smoking and making friends with stockmen like himself, but by the end of the second day i'm homesick for the ranch. of course i enjoy the stores and the crowds on the street, and seeing all the finely dressed tourists at meal-times, but we've been down here three days now, and you're the first person i've spoken to besides the chambermaid and james. it's all right for strangers to keep themselves to themselves i suppose, but i must say it's a sort of strain when it comes to being the stranger yourself. i want somebody to neighbor with." "so do i," responded mary with such heartiness that the old lady instantly expanded into warm friendliness. before she was fairly fastened into her rustling black and purple gown she had confided to mary that it was her very best one, and that it just wouldn't wear out, because it was too fine for church and she had no occasion to put it on save when she made her rare visits to san antonio. the sleeves had been changed so many times to keep it in fashion, that her dressmaker had refused to alter it another time, even if the lace on it did cost five dollars a yard. james said why didn't she wear it at home and get done with it. but she told him much comfort a body would take around home in the tight gear a dressmaker boned you up in. but she'd have to do something, for full skirts were clear out now, and she felt like a balloon when other people were going around as slim and lank as starved snakes. "it doesn't take long to get out of date," she added, "when you're living up in the hills in the back-woods." "oh, i know that," agreed mary. "i've been living in a lonesome little spot out in arizona for so long that i've nearly forgotten what civilization is like." "you don't look like it," was the frank comment as the still franker gaze of her listener travelled over her dress from top to bottom, noting every detail. "oh, this," answered mary, as if the eyes had spoken. "this is a dress that i got in new york last easter vacation. i was in school at washington, but as i had to leave at the end of the term and go back home i've had no occasion to wear it since. that's why it looks so new." "now do sit down and tell me about it," urged her hostess hospitably. "i've always wanted to go to washington." she pushed forward a low rocker, and took the arm chair opposite with such a look of pleasurable anticipation on her kindly old face, that mary obeyed. she knew how it felt to be fairly bursting with a sociability for which there was no outlet. she had experienced that same sensation a few minutes before when she watched roberta and the major's daughter go by with their friends. besides, she felt a real liking for this companionable old lady who introduced herself as mrs. barnaby of bauer, texas. mrs. james barnaby. "she's the real, comfortable, homey sort," thought mary, who had been much given of late to classifying people. "she's like mission furniture--plain and simple and genuine. she'd be her simple unpretentious self no matter what gilt and veneer she found herself among." mary was proud of her insight afterward when she learned more about mrs. barnaby's family. they had come out from ohio over fifty years before when she was so young that she could barely remember the great prairie schooner that brought them. they had suffered all the hardships of the early texas settlers, gone through the horrors of the indian uprisings, and fought their way through with sturdy pioneer fortitude to the place where they could fold their hands and enjoy the comforts of the civilization they had helped to establish. she told mary little of this now, however, but led her on with many questions to talk of herself. mrs. barnaby had a lively curiosity and always took the most straightforward means to gratify it. "she's interested in people, no matter who they are, just as i am," thought mary, instantly recognizing the spirit which prompted the questions, and for that reason was led on to tell more than she would have told to most strangers. she did not take the world at large into her confidence now as she had done in her chatterbox days. in just a few moments mrs. barnaby had a very fair snapshot picture of the ware family in her mind. mary had given it very simply. "i had gone from school at warwick hall to new york, to spend the easter vacation with my sister joyce. she's an artist and has her studio there. and we got word that my oldest brother, jack, had been dreadfully hurt in an accident at the mines where he was manager--that it had made him a cripple for life. we all just adore jack, so of course i packed up and went straight back to arizona. it wasn't possible for joyce to leave just then, and my brother holland is in the navy, and of course he couldn't get away. except the trained nurse there was nobody with mamma at the time but my youngest brother norman, and as he is only fourteen i felt that i had to go." "i hope he got better right away," interrupted mrs. barnaby eagerly. "yes, he did for awhile. he even got so that he could wheel himself around in his chair and go down to the office awhile every morning. but as soon as the cold weather set in he began to have such dreadful rheumatism that the doctor said the only thing to do was to take him to a milder climate. so we got ready right away and brought him down here." "it must have been a hard trip for him," commented mrs. barnaby with a sympathetic shake of the head. "arizona always did seem to me like the jumping-off place. i don't see how you managed it, him in a wheeled chair and so helpless." "oh, we came in a private car," mary made haste to explain, "and jack really enjoyed the trip. waffles, the old colored cook on the car, you know, just laid himself out to please him, and the porter was so strong and helpful." "h'm!" exclaimed her interested listener. "i've always thought i'd like to travel in a private car. it must be such a nice way to get over the country. but it isn't everybody that can afford it." it was on the tip of mary's honest little tongue to explain that it was not their car. they had come as guests of mr. robeson, one of the mine owners. but mrs. barnaby interrupted her with a question. "didn't you all go out in a big red automobile this afternoon? i've been trying to think ever since you came in here where it was i'd seen you before, and i believe it was with that party. there was a little lady in black and a boy and a rather heavy-set man with iron gray whiskers. i heard him giving orders to the chauffeur to go out to the missions." "yes," agreed mary, "that was mr. robeson, one of the owners of the mine. he's so fond of jack and has been so lovely to all of us on his account. his valet stayed with jack while we went out to see the town. he's going on to mexico this afternoon." again she was on the point of saying that it was as mr. robeson's guests they had enjoyed the outing in the expensive car, but another question switched her off to another subject and left mrs. barnaby with the impression that the wares were wealthy beyond computation. mary had the manner of one always accustomed to luxury, and her easy way of referring to the studio in new york and the private car and the valet made one think she was born to purple and fine linen. the impression was deepened later, when the barnabys found themselves at the same table with mary and norman in the dining-room. "mrs. ware was having dinner in her rooms with jack," mary explained. he was sensitive about being wheeled into a public dining-room, so she and her mother would take turns staying with him. with a brief glance at the menu card mary ordered dinner for herself and brother before mr. barnaby had adjusted his glasses on his long nose and stumbled half-way through the menu. he always read the bill of fare aloud to his wife, pronouncing the french words exactly as they were spelled, and they paused to discuss the nature of each unfamiliar dish with the amused waiter before ordering. the ease with which mary ordered gave further evidence to mrs. barnaby that the wares had always been accustomed to sumptuous living, and to being "waited on, hand and foot." and it was proof to mary that "james" was as genuine and primitive as his wife when he made no attempt to cover his ignorance of french menus. looking up with a twinkle in his eyes he said to the waiter, "just bring me the same as my wife ordered." then he added with an odd one-sided smile that gave an irresistible expression of humor to his face, "i always take the blazed trail when there is one. it's a heap sight safer than striking out for yourself when you're in tall timber." evidently mrs. barnaby had told him all that she had learned of the ware family, for he at once began making minute inquiries about arizona and the mines, with the interest of a shrewd, genial old man who kept pace with the times and liked the companionship of young people. they were warm friends before the meal was over, and mary hurried up-stairs afterward, to report all she could remember to jack. she had fallen into the habit of making the most of everything she saw and heard, for his entertainment. she found him in his chair, out on the balcony with her mother, looking down on the same scene she had watched earlier in the evening. mrs. ware had just tucked a lap-robe around him and drawn a wrap over her own shoulders when mary opened the door of the room behind them, and started across the floor to join them. some letters had been sent up while she was at dinner and seeing one on the table addressed to herself, she paused to read it before joining them. it was just a note from one of the girls at warwick hall, who, knowing mary's fondness for the beautiful old garden there, always enclosed some leaf or flower from it every time she wrote. this time several violets fell out, withered but still sweet. as mary stooped to pick them up she heard jack say in a voice so full of hearty enjoyment that she scarcely recognized it for his: "this certainly is great! what a world of things we've been missing all these years, little mother! i never realized just how much we have missed till i went east last year. then afterwards the days were so full of work and the new responsibilities that i didn't have time to think about it much. but i can see now what a dull gray existence _you've_ had, for as far back as i can remember there's only been three backgrounds for you: a little kansas village, a tent on the edge of the arizona desert, and a lonely mining camp. how long has it been since you've seen a sight like this?" the scattered violets were all picked up now, but mary still stood by the table, waiting for her mother's reply. "it's so long ago i'll have to stop and count up. let me see. you're twenty-two and joyce twenty-three--really it's almost a quarter of a century since i've been in a large city, and seen anything like this in the way of illuminations, with music and crowds. your father took me to new york the winter after we were married. before that i'd always had my full share. i'd visited a great deal and travelled with cousin kate and her father. and i'm sure that no one could want anything brighter and sweeter and more complete than life as i found it as a girl, in 'my old kentucky home.' as i had so much more than most people the first part of my life i couldn't complain when i had less afterwards. but i certainly do enjoy this," she added earnestly, as the orchestra began the haunting air of the mexican "swallow song," _la golondrina_, and the odor of roses stole up from below. the court was filled now with gay little groups of people who had the air of finding life one continual holiday. the cheeriness of the reply almost brought tears to mary's eyes, as she realized for the first time how much more than any of them her mother must have suffered from the hardships of their early poverty, because it was in such sharp contrast to what she had known before. to hide the little quiver that wanted to creep into her voice mary laughed as she joined them, dragging a chair through the french window after her. "here you sit like two comfortable cats in the lap of luxury," she said. "you'll begin to purr soon." "that's exactly what we're doing now," answered jack. "we're congratulating ourselves on being in this land of summer with every comfort at hand and a free show to entertain us. this is as good as being in a box-party at the opera." mary settled herself with her chair tipped back on its rockers, and looked down on the court below. "i wish we could stay at this hotel all winter," she exclaimed. "i wish we could be as rich all the time as i feel to-night. ever since we started south in mr. robeson's car i've felt as opulent and as elegant as if we owned the earth, and i've noticed that you and mamma take to luxury quite as readily as i do--like ducks to water. norman is learning fast, too, for one of his opportunities. he's having the time of his life now, down in the lobby, just 'seein' things at night.' he asked me for a quarter when i left him, to get some postcards of the alamo and the plaza to send home." "well?" queried jack as she paused. mary had had the family finances in hand since his illness, and her economical clutch had earned her the title of "watch-dog of the treasury." "oh, i gave it to him," she answered. "gave it with a lordly sweep of the hand, as if bestowing millions were a daily habit of mine. but to-morrow it will be a different story. to-morrow a copper cent may be too great a boon for my family to ask me to part with. to-morrow we go house-hunting, with the sad realization that we're all as poor as job's old blue turkey hen." "what's the odds so long as you're happy," quoted jack. there was a long pause in which they listened to the music, each enjoying to the fullest the novelty of being in such a place. then jack asked, "didn't you have any adventures down in the dining-room? we rather expected that you'd have a series of them to report." "mercy, yes! i've had half a dozen since i saw you last, very mild ones though. i've seen some most interesting people, a major's daughter and a lieutenant from the post, called bogey, and i overheard the beginning of a romance, a most sentimental request for an 'adorable little curl,' and i've hooked mrs. james barnaby of bauer, texas, up in her best black and purple gown, and james himself has invited me to take 'pot luck' with them up at the barnaby ranch any time i choose to go. he's a dear and so is she, and if you'd only--" her chatter was stopped by a sudden exclamation from jack, and following his gaze into the court below she saw two of the group in which she had been so interested earlier in the evening. "that's the lieutenant i told you about!" she exclaimed excitedly. "that's bogey, and the other is the major's daughter. i don't wonder that you're stunned at the sight of a pretty girl like that when it's been such ages since you have seen one." "i'm stunned because it happens to be a girl i know," exclaimed jack in a tone almost as excited as her own. "that's gay melville, and i met her at the locusts the night i stopped in lloydsboro valley with the shermans." "are you sure?" gasped mary. "dead sure! she played the violin that evening, and you can't take your eyes off her face when she plays, it's so sweet, and you could never forget it after you'd watched her through one performance. then her hair--there's no mistaking _that_, and that little trick of lifting her chin. besides, it's no surprising matter to see her. she lives here and she's a popular girl." "oh, i know it!" exclaimed mary, "and i've known all the time that her home is in san antonio. haven't i heard the warwick hall seniors talk of her by the hour? but somehow i never put two and two together and got it through my head that we're in the same town. really i'd forgotten her in the excitement of our sudden coming. but now it just takes me off my feet to know that we're under the same roof, and to remember that she lived a whole summer in lloydsboro valley and is such a dear friend of the little colonel and betty. why, we're _bound_ to meet her some time this winter. oh, i know we're going to have a good time here, and i think that san antonio is just the dearest, most charming old place in the world." "it is certainly a good place to be to-night," answered jack, following with intent gaze the vanishing figure of the major's pretty daughter. "and to-morrow--" he did not finish the sentence, for the violins were throbbing through that last refrain of _la golondrina_ so softly and sweetly that he did not want to lose a note. when it was done mary took up his last word, quoting with a dramatic sweep of the hand, "to-morrow do thy worst, for i have lived to-day!" chapter ii in search of a home it was with the vision of a charming little bungalow in her mind that mary started on her search for a house next morning; a little white bungalow half hidden in vines, and set among heuisach and mesquite trees, or maybe in the shelter of one giant pecan. as they had whirled around the city in the touring car the day before, she had seen several of that kind which she thought would suit both their taste and their purse. she had not yet reached the point of picturing to herself the inside furnishings. they would have to be of the simplest sort, of course. but one picture seemed to rise up of its own accord whenever she thought of the new home. she saw a big living-room, the centre of a cheery hospitality, where girls fluttered in and out at all hours of the day. bright, fun-loving, interesting girls like gay melville and roberta. her wistful little face grew very sweet and eager at the mere thought of such companionship, and there was such a dancing light in her gray eyes and such a happy glow of expectancy on her cheeks that more than one passer-by took a second glance and felt the morning brighter because of it. mrs. ware had expected to accompany her, leaving jack to norman's care for the morning, but a neuralgic headache, an old enemy of hers, seized her on awakening, and she was obliged to shift the responsibility to mary's willing shoulders. although it doubled the car-fare, mary took norman with her for company. armed with a map of the city and a list of houses, clipped from the morning paper, they started gaily out on their quest. it was good just to be alive on such a morning, and out in the brilliant sunshine, with the air so fresh and sweet, and the plaza as green and flowery as if it were mid-summer instead of the week before thanksgiving. they walked at first, wanting a closer view than the cars afforded of the fascinating old curio shops. mexicans were no novelty to them as they were to northern tourists. they had seen too many in phoenix and at the mining camp to care for a second look at the tall, peaked hats of the men or the rebosa-draped heads of the women. but the narrow streets of the mexican quarter with their chili and tamale stands interested them. it was some kind of a fête day, and flags were flying and a festive spirit was in the air; a spirit that seems to belong peculiarly to this alluring old spanish city, where fête days come often and one soon learns to say "mañana" with the rest. norman, who picked up bits of information here and there as a magnet draws needles and nails, imparted some of it to mary as he trudged along beside her. everything was making a deep impression on his mind because this was his first journey of any consequence. "this is the third oldest city in the united states, the guide book says," he began, then paused before a shop window, attracted by the sign, "dressed fleas, cents," to exclaim, scornfully, "who'd be fool enough to want one of _those_ things, dead or alive!" with a skip or two to catch up with mary, he continued, "and there's thirteen miles of river twisting in and out among the streets, with seventeen bridges over it." "it surely is the twistiest, crookedest river that i ever saw on a map," answered mary, "but that's what makes the town so lovely--all those graceful bends with the green banks and tropical foliage and the little boats tied up here and there to the landings. i wish we could find the kind of a place we want somewhere along the river. maybe we could manage to get a boat. anyhow, if we couldn't do any better we could make a raft. i'd love to pole one, and it would be just like doing it in our own back yard if the river ran right behind our place." "say! let's!" exclaimed norman, explosively. "mary ware, you've got a head on you that's worth something! and i'll tell you something else i wish we could manage to do,--that's to get a house out near brackenridge park. they've got antelope and buffalo and elk, and all sorts of wild animals out there. i'd like to see them often." "we'd better get down to business, then," said mary, "instead of loitering along this way. we can look at the shops after we've found a house." "stop just a minute at the alamo," begged norman. "i want to see the place where travis and davy crockett and bowie put up such a desperate fight against santa anna. this is just as interesting a place to me as bunker hill or plymouth rock would be, and i want to write home to billy downs about it." "but it isn't the _exact_ spot," objected mary, who wanted to lose no more time and was sometimes provokingly literal. "this is only the little chapel, and the real fight took place in a court that was away over yonder, and the walls were pulled down long ago." norman planted himself at the entrance and proceeded to argue the matter. "but the chapel was part of it, and it stands for the whole thing now--a sort of monument, you know, and there's relics inside and--" "oh, well, come on, then," said mary, "if you're _that_ anxious, but just for a minute. you can come here some other time by yourself and prowl around all day." she followed him into the dim interior, still insisting at every step that they must hurry. it was so early no one but the care-taker was in sight. she knew how norman liked history, and what enthusiastic admiration he had for the heroes of frontier times, but she was surprised to see how deeply he was impressed by the venerable building. he took off his hat as they entered and walked around as reverently as if they were in a church. as they gazed up at the narrow, iron-barred windows which had witnessed such a desperate struggle for liberty, he said, in an awed tone, which made even mary feel solemn: "'here, for ten days, took place the most memorable, thrilling, tragic, and bloody siege in american history. one hundred and seventy-nine indomitable american frontier riflemen against an army of six thousand brave and disciplined troops led by veteran officers!'" "_where_ did you get all that?" demanded mary, in surprise. "i saw it in a little pamphlet, in the reading-room last night, and it told about the comanche indians that came here about seventy years ago. the fiercest fighting you ever heard of--thirty-two indian warriors killed right out there in the street that we came across just now, and seven texans." "goodness, norman!" she answered, with a shrug. "what do you want to resurrect all those old horrors for? it doesn't make the place any more attractive to me to know that its streets once ran red with blood. i'd rather think of them as they will be in the spring on san jacinto day, red with roses after the battle of flowers. think of our being here to see that!" she added, exultingly. as they emerged from the dimly-lighted chapel into the blinding sunshine of the street, norman remarked thoughtfully, "of course i'm sorry that jack had the rheumatism so badly that he had to get out of lone rock, but as long as we did have to leave home, i'm jolly glad it brought us to san antonio. think of the times we'll have going out to fort sam houston to guard-mounts and parade. it's something just to be within walking distance of the largest army post of the united states." "i'm thinking of the public library," was her rejoinder. "jack can have all the books he wants to read this winter; and i'm thinking of the friends we'll have; the real, satisfying kind, that do things, and go places, and think, and keep you from sinking to the level of a cabbage. i've always wanted to live in the thick of things, and here we are at last!" they paused on the curb to wait for a long string of vehicles to pass. an army ambulance came first, drawn by sleek mules, driven by a soldier in khaki and carrying several ladies and children from the post. close behind it came a riding party, clattering in on horseback from a breakfast at the country club. then followed close on each other's heels, a dilapidated prairie schooner, three boys on a burro, a huckster's wagon, and a carriage with liveried coachman and prancing, thoroughbred horses. the clang of a long line of electric cars whizzing past, the honk of many automobiles, and the warning sound of bicycle bells, as their owners wheeled in and out through the bewildering maze of vehicles and pedestrians, made norman exclaim, joyfully, "gee! i'm glad we're out of lone rock! there's something to see here every single minute." mary signalled a passing car, and as soon as they were seated, drew out her newspaper clippings. "mrs. barnaby said for us to go to laurel heights first," she remarked, "so i believe we'll find it best to try this one. it sounds all right." she read the advertisement aloud: "a five-room bungalow, never been occupied, all modern conveniences, one block from car-line, rent reasonable, inquire next door." then she unfolded the map and studied it as they whirled along, now and then repeating the name of a street as she came across one which sounded particularly pleasing and story-bookish, as she called it, to norman: "king william street, mistletoe avenue, dolorosa and san pedro." when a little later they alighted from the car and found the place described in the advertisement, it was almost the bungalow of mary's dreams. the vines were lacking and the lawn was still strewn with the débris of building, but that could soon be remedied. "what good, wide porches to hang a hammock on!" exclaimed norman, as they mounted the steps and walked around, peering through the windows. "you'll have to say gallery," corrected mary. "everybody down here calls a porch a gallery. they won't know what you mean." they walked all around the house, exclaiming over each attractive feature, as each window revealed a new one. the electric lights, the convenient little bathroom, the open fire-place in the living-room, the built-in china closet. norman's only complaint was that the house was nowhere near the river. that was a drawback in mary's eyes also, for ever since they had thought of a boat it had begun to take its place in that mental picture in which those alluring girls were always fluttering in and out. "of course we'll look farther," she said. "it wouldn't do to take the first one we came to when there are so many to choose from. i'll just run in next door and inquire the price, and tell them we'll make up our minds later." but when she had made her inquiries her decision followed immediately. what might seem reasonable rent to the owner and to the people of that neighborhood was entirely out of the reach of the ware pocket-book. "you won't find anything cheaper in this part of town," the woman assured her, and after several more experiences of the same kind, mary believed her. they passed all sorts of beautiful homes in their wanderings; stately colonial mansions, comfortable wide-spreading houses with broad galleries and hospitable doors, picturesque bungalows in the mission style, little white-winged cottages over-run with tangles of maréchal niel roses, their fragrant buds swinging from the very eaves. the farther they searched the more mary longed to find a home among them, and it was with a feeling of deep disappointment that she turned back to the hotel for lunch. mrs. ware had spent part of the morning telephoning to different real estate offices recommended by mr. barnaby, and had a small list of houses sifted down from those offered her. "they tell me we are too late to get much of a choice," she reported. "people have been pouring into the city for a month, and the freight stations and ware-houses are piled up with household goods. it is this way every fall, they say. no matter how many homes they build there are always more families clamoring to occupy them than can be accommodated. it would be easier for us to find one if we could afford to pay more, but i had to cut out all the high-priced ones from the lists that they gave me." mary took the slip of paper from her mother, saying, "so far the ones we have seen have been too big or too expensive, or else far too small. i wonder what will be the matter with these?" she began to find out almost as soon as she and norman resumed their search again after lunch. the lists they had led them into older parts of the town, where the rented houses had seen several generations of transitory occupants. some of the places they visited made her shrink back in dismay. a long procession of careless tenants had passed through, each leaving some contribution to the evidences of their slack housekeeping. nearly every family had had its share of disease and death, and mary hurried away with a wry face and the single exclamation, "germs!" mrs. barnaby had spoken of that class of houses. "you want to be careful," she told her. "even the nicest looking may have had dreadfully sick tenants in them, and although there is a law requiring landlords to fumigate, and all that sort of thing, you can't be sure that it has been done as thoroughly as it should." "this is getting monotonous," mary exclaimed, wearily, when they had walked block after block to no purpose, and the end of the day found them with nothing accomplished. the morning freshness of the atmosphere had given place to such enervating heat that she had been carrying her coat on her arm for several hours. the sky was overcast with clouds, when fagged and inwardly cross she climbed on the car that was to take them back to the hotel, vowing that she couldn't drag herself another step. at the next corner half a dozen people hurried down the street, waving frantically for the car to wait. as they crowded into the aisle, laughing and out of breath, mary heard a lady exclaim, "we certainly were lucky to catch this car. if we'd had to wait for the next one the 'norther' surely would have caught us, and this is going to be a nasty, wet one, too." even as she spoke there was a sense of sudden chill in the air. a cold gale swept down the street, setting flags and awnings to flapping, and blinding pedestrians with whirling clouds of dust. the conductor hurried to close the car windows, and the passengers began struggling into their wraps. the sudden freshening of the air had such a bracing effect that mary straightened up, feeling that after all she might be able to walk the half block from the car to the hotel. when the time came, she found that she could even run the distance, for the few big drops of rain that splashed in her face were the fore-runner of a downpour, and they had no umbrella. just as they reached the entrance such a mighty deluge began that mary's disappointment in house-hunting was somewhat softened by the fact that her beloved hat had escaped a wetting which must have ruined it. "never mind, little vicar," said jack, consolingly, when she had made her report to the assembled family. "the proverbial turn in our fortune is bound to come. it's never failed us yet, you know." "but we've simply got to get out of this expensive hotel," she answered, desperately. "do you realize that we could keep house for a week on what it costs the four of us to stay here just one day?" mrs. ware broke the long silence that followed, by suggesting, "maybe for the present we'd better try to get a few rooms somewhere, just for light housekeeping. it's a last resort, i know, but mary is right. every day we spend here is taking a big mouthful out of our little capital." nobody liked the suggestion, for whatever else they had lacked in their arizona homes there had been no lack of space, but they all saw the wisdom of mrs. ware's suggestion, and agreed to try it until they could look around and do better. "how lovely it must be to have an ancestral roof-tree," thought mary that night, as she tossed, restlessly, kept awake by the noises of the big hotel. "i can't think of anything more heavenly than to always live in the house where you were born, and your fathers and grandfathers before you, as the lloyds do at the locusts. it must be so delightful to feel that you've got an attic full of heirlooms and that everything about the place is connected with some old family tradition, and to know that you can take root there, and not have to go wandering around from pillar to post as we wares have always had to do. i wonder if lloyd sherman knows how much she has to be thankful for!" next day in her shortest skirt and rain-coat, and under a dripping umbrella, mary started to look for rooms. she was alone this time. company was too expensive a luxury to afford more than one day, since it meant extra car-fare. she paddled blithely off, however, never minding the weather. this rain made the little home she was seeking seem all the more desirable. whenever a window showed her a cozy interior with the light of an open fire shining cheerily over it, she thought it would not be long till she would be making afternoon tea over just such a fire, or popping corn or toasting marsh-mallows. she could think of a dozen ways to make it attractive for the girls when they dropped in of rainy afternoons. occupied with such plans she tramped along through the mud and slush as happily as she had gone through the sunshine the day before. but by the end of the morning repeated failures began to bring a worried line between her eyes and a sharp note of anxiety into her voice when she made her inquiries. once, finding herself in the neighborhood of a house which she had refused the day before because it did not quite measure up to the standards she had set, she went to look at it again, thinking, after all, they might manage to be more comfortable in it than in a few rooms. to her disappointment she found a family already moving in. it had been rented almost immediately after her refusal to take it. in her search for rooms a new difficulty faced her. invariably one of the first questions asked her was, "anyone sick in your family?" "yes, my brother," she would say. "he has rheumatism. that is why we are particular about getting a sunny south room for him." "well, we can't take sick people," would be the positive answer, and she would turn away with an ache in her throat and a dull wonder why jack's rheumatism could make him objectionable in the slightest degree as a tenant. the morning was nearly gone before she found the reason. she was shown into a dingy parlor by a child of the family, and asked to wait a few moments. its mother had gone around the corner to the bakery, but would be right back. there were two others already waiting when mary entered the room, a stout, middle-aged woman and a delicate-looking girl. the woman looked up with a nod as mary took a chair near the stove and spread out her damp skirts to dry. "i reckon you're on the same errand as us," said the woman, "but it's first come, first served, and we're ahead of you." "yes," answered mary, distantly polite, and wondering at the aggressive tone. when the child left the room the woman rose and shut the door behind it, and then came back to mary, lowering her voice confidentially. "it's just this way. we're getting desperate. we came down here for my daughter's health--the doctor sent us, and we've gone all over town trying to get some kind of roof over our heads. we can't get in anywhere because maudie has lung trouble. people have been coming down here for forty years to get cured of it, and folks were glad enough to rent 'em rooms and take their money, till all this talk was stirred up in the papers about lung trouble being a great white plague, and catching, and all that. now you can't get in anywhere at a price that poor folks can pay. i've come to the end of my rope. the landlady at the boarding-house where we've been stopping, told me this morning that she couldn't keep us another day, because the boarders complained when they found what ailed maudie. i was a fool to tell 'em, for she doesn't cough much. it's only in the first stages. after this i'm just going to say that i came down here to look for work, and goodness knows, _that's_ the truth! what i want to ask of you is that you won't stand in the way of our getting in here by offering more rent or anything like that." "certainly not," mary answered, drawing back a little, almost intimidated by the fierceness which desperation gave to the other's manner. the landlady bustled in at that moment, and as she threw the rooms open for inspection, she asked the question that mary had heard so often that morning,--"any sick in your family?" "no," answered the woman, glibly. "i'm down in the city looking for work. i do plain sewing, and if you know of any likely customers i'd be glad if you'd mention me." the landlady glanced shrewdly at maudie, who kept in the background. "she does embroidery," explained her mother. "needle-work makes her a little pale and peaked, sitting over it so long. i ain't going to let her do so much after i once get a good start." "well, a person in my place can't be too careful," complained the landlady. "we get taken in so often letting our rooms to strangers. they have all sorts of names for lung trouble nowadays, malaria and a weak heart and such things. the couple i had in here last said it was just indigestion and shortness of breath, but she died all the same six weeks later, in this very room, and he had to acknowledge it was her lungs all the time, and he knew it." mary looked around the room with a shiver. its old wallpaper, dingy paint and worn carpet proclaimed too plainly that its renovation since the last lodgers' departure had been only a superficial one, barely what the law demanded. "no, thank you," she replied to the landlady, who had turned to her with the hope of finding a more desirable tenant. "i couldn't consider these rooms at all. there are only two, and we need three at least." out on the street again a tear or two splashed down and mingled with the rain on her face as she walked away. she was growing desperate herself. if two rooms had been all they needed, she could have found them a number of times over. or, if they could have afforded some of the flats or the sunny suites she discovered on pleasant streets, her search would have been soon over. but it was the same old circle she kept coming back to. when the rooms were large enough and within their means, either they were unsanitary or the owners objected to invalids. in vain she explained that jack's helplessness was due to an accident, and that rheumatism is not contagious. too many people like maudie's mother had been ahead of her and bred suspicion of all strangers in quest of rooms for light housekeeping. mary had told her mother not to expect her back for lunch. she would go into some tea-room or restaurant wherever she happened to be. but one o'clock found her in a part of the town where nothing of the kind was in sight. she bought an apple and some crackers at a grocery, and ate them under cover of her umbrella while she stood on a corner, waiting for a car to take her to another part of the city. what a different place it seemed to be from the one they had seen the day of their arrival! then it was a world of hospitable homes and sunshine and kindly faces. the very shop windows looked friendly and inviting. now, plodding along in the wet, to the tired, homesick girl it seemed only a great, desolate place full of lonely, discouraged strangers and sick people and dingy boarding-houses, whose doors shut coldly in anxious faces. all afternoon she kept up the search. the electric lights were beginning to gleam through the rain, throwing long, quivering reflections in the puddles when she finally turned back to the hotel, bedraggled and utterly discouraged. "i _won't_ cry!" she said, fiercely, to herself. "i can't! for jack would see that i had been at it, and he is getting so sensitive lately. it would hurt him dreadfully to know that we are barred out of all the desirable places because he is an invalid." the habit of years is strong. mary had persisted so long in applying the good vicar of wakefield's motto to her childish difficulties and disappointments, that it had taught her remarkable self-control. instead of bursting impulsively into the room as so many girls of her age would have done, and giving vent to her over-taxed nerves and discouragement in a tearful report of the day's adventures, she walked slowly from the elevator to her room, trying to think of some careless way in which to announce her failure. she paused with her hand on the knob, thinking, "i'll just tell them that i've come back like noah's dove did the first time it was sent out from the ark, because i could find no rest for the sole of my foot; at least a rest which fitted both our ideas and our income." to her relief, the room was empty when she entered. the only light streamed through the transom and keyhole from jack's room, where a low murmur told that her mother was reading aloud. opening the door just a crack so that her face was not visible, she called, gaily, "i'm back, mamma, but you can just go on with your reading; i'll not tell a single thing till i'm all dried and dressed. i'm as wet as a frog." "oh, i was afraid you'd be," came the anxious answer. "i'll come and get--" "no," interrupted mary, decidedly. "i don't want anything but time." closing the door between the rooms, she switched on the light and began slipping out of her wet clothes into dry ones. in a moment or two she was in her soft, warm kimona and turkish slippers, standing on the threshold of the bathroom, intending to plunge her face into a basin of hot water. it was the best thing she could think of to remove the traces of tears, and she was so tired that now she was safe in the harbor of her own room the tears _would_ come, no matter how hard she tried to keep them back. but before she could turn the faucet, a tap at the hall door made her dab her handkerchief hastily across her eyes, for mrs. barnaby's voice followed the tap. "i surely hate to trouble you," she began, apologetically, as soon as mary had admitted her, "but if you could only hook me up this one more time--i've been waiting for james with this shawl over my shoulders for nearly half an hour. then i heard you come in and i thought maybe you wouldn't mind doing it once more. we're going home in the morning." then with a keen look into mary's face, she added, kindly, "why, you poor child, what's the matter? your brother isn't worse, i hope!" there was such a note of real concern in the sympathetic voice that mary's lip trembled and her eyes brimmed over again. when the next moment she found herself drawn into mrs. barnaby's capacious embrace with a plump hand patting her soothingly on the back, the story of her discouragement seemed to sob itself out of its own accord. the performance left mary's eyes very red and tear-swollen, but the outburst brought such relief that she could laugh the moment it was over. it was mrs. barnaby's surprise which brought the laugh. "i can't get over it!" she kept exclaiming. "to think that all this time i supposed that you were enormously wealthy--actually rolling in riches! well, well!" "i didn't know that my 'short and simple annals of the poor' would be so upsetting," giggled mary, hysterically. "you were so sweet and sympathetic i couldn't help telling you. but don't take it to heart, please. we wares never stay discouraged long. i'll be all right now after i get my face washed. as soon as i fasten your dress i'll run in and turn on the hot water." the hooking proceeded in silence, mrs. barnaby so absorbed in thought that she forgot her usual sigh of relief and expression of thanks at the end. instead she said, abruptly, "you come and go up on the train with us in the morning to bauer. it's only thirty miles from here and it's up in the hills, high and dry, and there's the metz cottage i'm sure you can get, all freshly scrubbed and ready to move into. mrs. metz is the cleanest little german woman you ever saw,--scrubs even the under sides of her tables as white as the tops. it wasn't rented when we came down here last saturday. let me talk to your mother about it. i'm sure it is just the place for you." "oh, no," began mary. "we couldn't possibly go there! we've counted so much on living here in san antonio this winter and meeting some of our friends' friends--" then she stopped with a little gasp, and after an instant's pause said, apologetically, "i didn't mean to refuse so abruptly, and now i take it all back. changing plans so suddenly is somewhat of a shock to one's system, isn't it! after all, i'm like a drowning man catching at straws, and i'd be very glad, indeed, if you would talk to mamma about it. you can go right in now while i finish dressing, if you like." it was not the first time mrs. barnaby had been ushered into jack's room. their acquaintance had begun over the railing of their adjoining balconies the first day of mary's house-hunting, and had rapidly deepened into a mutual liking. so strongly had mrs. barnaby been attracted to the young fellow who bore his crippled condition so lightly that he made others forget it, that she induced james to go in and make his acquaintance also. the two men had spent several hours of the long, rainy morning together, each greatly interested in the other's conversation. mary, who had been gone all day, did not know of this, but she knew that her mother had met and liked mrs. barnaby, and that the story of the day's unsuccessful search would not sound half so serious if that cheerful old lady told it, especially if it were followed immediately by her offer to find them a home in bauer. bauer was an uncharted country on mary's map, but if mrs. barnaby thought of it as their desired haven, she could trust her capable hands to take them safely into it. so it was with a sigh of relief that she opened the door between the rooms, saying, "here's mrs. barnaby, mamma," and left her to make explanations while she finished dressing. chapter iii the little town of bauer mary was the only one to whom the change of plans made a vital difference. she had built such lovely dream-castles of their winter in san antonio that it was hard to see them destroyed at one breath. "of course it's the only thing to do," she said, in a mournful aside to norman, "but did you ever dream that there was a dish of rare, delicious fruit set down in front of you, so tempting that you could hardly wait to taste it, and just as you put out your hand it was suddenly snatched away? that's the way i feel about leaving here. and i've dreamed of getting letters, too; big, fat letters, that were somehow going to change my whole life for the better, and then just as i started to read them i always woke up, and so never found out the secret that would make such a change in my fortunes." "maybe it won't be so bad after all," encouraged norman. "maybe we can have a boat. there's a creek running through the town and the barnaby ranch is only seven miles out in the country. we'll see them often." mary wanted to wail out, "oh, it isn't boats, and ranches, and old people i want! it's girls, and boys, and something doing! being in the heart of things, as we would be if we could only stay here in this beautiful old city!" the wail found no voice, however, for even in the midst of her disappointment mary remembered jack, and could not let him feel that this change in their plans meant any sacrifice for her. besides, she had to acknowledge that the creek and the ranch _did_ hold out some compensations, and she was deeply grateful to these two kind old people who had come to their rescue in such cordial, neighborly fashion. mr. barnaby had been called into the family council also, and had spent the evening with them discussing prices and prospects. even norman was impressed by their offers of assistance, and spoke of it as he sat slowly unlacing his shoes after they had gone. mary was in the next room, repacking her trunk, for it had been decided that she and norman were to go to bauer on the early accommodation train when the barnabys left for home. the door between the rooms was still open, and she heard him say, thoughtfully: "what do you suppose makes them so rattling good to us when we're just strangers?" jack laughed and quoted, teasingly: "'what makes the lamb love mary so?' the eager children cry. 'oh, mary loves the lamb, you know,' the teacher did reply." "aw, talk sense!" was norman's disgusted answer. "i don't know what you mean by that." an understanding smile flashed between jack and his mother, who had stayed to help him prepare for the night, and she answered for him. "jack only means that we get just what we give in this world, dear. from the days of solomon it's been a proverb that the man who would have friends 'must show himself friendly.' and that's what you and mary did the first night you met the barnabys. you made them feel that you found them genuinely interesting, and that awakened a liking for you." "but anybody'd find that old man interesting," norman explained, gravely. "you never heard such indian stories as he can tell,--true ones that he's been in himself,--and hunting--gee! you ought to hear him! i bid to sit next to him going up on the train." "you're welcome to him!" called mary. "i'll take mrs. b." then she came to the doorway, a pile of folded garments in her hands. "i declare, she's just an old dear! she's thought of so many ways to save us expense since she found out that we have to economize. she even offered to have our two extra trunks checked on their tickets. they only brought suit-cases. so we'll have no extra baggage to pay for." the sun was shining next morning, and although the chill of the norther was still in the air, the rain-washed plazas were greener than ever, and new roses were opening to take the places of the old ones that the storm had beaten off the day before. mary's spirits seemed to have passed through the same freshening process, for there was no trace of tears or regrets on the bright face that greeted her travelling companions. the only morning train was an accommodation, which carried much freight and took its own time for the journey. this happened to be a day when it was four hours on the road, but none of the little party felt that time dragged. ordinarily, mary would have enjoyed keeping close to the old ranchman, as norman did, hopping off the car every time they stopped on a side-track, to investigate everything along the way,--the lime works, the rock quarry, the station where the mail was put off for the soldiers who were camped at the government reservation for target practise. even the little oil-burning engine would have been of as much interest to her as it was to norman, had she not been so busily occupied otherwise. as they wound higher and higher into the hills she looked out now and then with a quick exclamation of pleasure at the view, but for the most part she was "visiting" with mrs. barnaby, as that good soul expressed it. their acquaintance took long strides forward that morning. part of the time mary chattered along just as if her listener had been one of the warwick hall girls, and part of the time she listened to elderly views and confidences with the seeming sympathy of middle age. a bit of personal history from one called out a corresponding scrap from the other, and they had exchanged views on many subjects, ranging from young turkeys to unhappy marriages, when the porter passed through the train calling, "bauer! all out for bauer!" mrs. barnaby glanced out the window, saying in surprise, "i had no idea we were so near home!" then she gave mary's sleeve an affectionate little pat with her plump hand, exclaiming cordially, "i declare, it's been a real treat to have you along." and mary, as she helped mrs. barnaby struggle into her coat, responded, "well, i've enjoyed every inch of the way. somehow you make me feel that you're just my age or i'm just yours,--i don't know which. you can't imagine how 'little and lorn' i feel at the thought of leaving you." "oh, but i'm not going to leave you until you're safely settled," was the comforting assurance. "james has some business at the court-house that will keep him in town for an hour or so. as soon as we drop him there i'll drive around with you to make arrangements about the cottage. there's pedro now." they were on the platform by this time, and she indicated by a nod the slim young mexican who had driven the carriage from the ranch to meet them. it was a roomy, old-fashioned carriage drawn by two big gray mules, with much shining nickel-plating on their stout black harness. the station was half a mile away from the village, and as they swung down the sunny white road towards it, at a rapid gait, both norman and mary looked out eagerly at the place that was to be their home for a whole long winter, and maybe more. from a distance it looked almost like a toy village, with its red roofs, blue barns and flashing windmills nestled against the background of misty hills. low mountain peaks rose here and there on the far horizon beyond. "this is distinctly a german village, you know," explained mrs. barnaby, as they passed a group of little flaxen-haired teutons on the roadside, who were calling to each other and their dog in a tongue which mary could not understand. "bauer was settled by an old german count and a baron or two, who came over here with their families and followers. they made it as much like a corner of the fatherland as they could, and their descendants still cling to their language and customs. they don't want any disturbing, aggressive americans in their midst, so they never call on new-comers, and never return their visits if any of them try to make the advances. they will welcome you to their shops, but not to their homes. even the english and scotch people who have owned the out-lying ranches as long as they have owned the town are looked upon as aliens and strangers, in a way." [illustration: "mary ware in texas" "a dashing girl in khaki and a cowboy hat astride of a fiery little mustang"] mary gave an exclamation of dismay. "texas certainly is full of surprises," she said, in a disappointed tone. "one thinks of it as being young and crude, and with the proverbial hospitality of a new country. i've always thought of it as having the latch-string out for everybody." "oh, _texas_ has," mrs. barnaby hastened to assure her. "its doors are wide open, and its welcome corresponds to its size, the biggest in the union. but bauer is different. it has a few families who will not look on you with suspicion. the old couple who own the cottage which i hope to get for you will be good neighbors, and if you were to live here a long time there are others who would be friendly. then there are several american families who have found a foothold in the town, and as i said, english-speaking people on the ranches hereabout. they are cultured, refined people, interesting to know, but strangers coming here rarely make their acquaintance. you see we have so many transients coming for their health, staying just a few weeks or months and going on again--it's hardly to be expected we'd--" her sentence was interrupted by a dashing girl in khaki and a cowboy hat, astride a fiery little mustang. she rode past the carriage, calling out a greeting as she passed. norman turned around exclaiming, "did you see that? a cartridge belt around her waist and a six-shooter in her holster! that's the wild west for you." "that's the sheriff's daughter," explained mrs. barnaby. "she's his deputy, and meets the trains when it's necessary and he's out of town." "i'd like to know her," said mary. "i'm glad that there's something to give one the kind of a thrill you naturally expect to have out here. i was beginning to have such a foreign, far-away feeling, seeing all these picturesque little german gardens with old women weeding in them. we can imagine we are abroad this winter in cologne or pottsdam or bingen on the rhine. oh, _oh!_ how quaint and dear!" the exclamation escaped her as the gray mules stopped at the gate of an old garden, over whose stone walls arched a row of great pecan trees. a straight path ran from the gate to the kitchen door, stiffly bordered by coxcombs and princes' feather, while on each side chrysanthemums and roses and a host of old-fashioned autumn flowers made the little plot a tangle of colors and sweet smells. there were some bee-hives under the bare peach trees, and at one side beyond them, a small vineyard where the mockingbirds still sang noisily although the grapes had all been gathered and pressed into wine. an old man with a flowing white beard and a high black hat sat on a bench by the kitchen door placidly smoking a long pipe. "that's mr. metz," said mrs. barnaby, preparing to alight. "come in with me." "it's all just like one of the pictures in joyce's studio," commented mary, as they followed the straight walk to the door, "and this is just like one of those lovely old-master, dutch interiors," she added, in a whisper, as mr. metz ushered them into the big, clean kitchen, where his wife sat knitting. on the deep window-sill a cat lay asleep in the sun beside a pot of glowing red geraniums, and there was such an air of cleanliness and thrift and repose about the room that mary could not help exclaiming aloud over it. as she glanced around with admiring glances her bright face showed its appreciation also, and mrs. metz watched it shrewdly while she talked with mrs. barnaby, in english so broken as to be almost unintelligible. what the old woman saw must have satisfied her, for she accepted mrs. barnaby's offer after a very short parley with her husband in german, and when they rose to go she bade them wait while she made a stiff little nosegay for each of them, culled from her garden borders and edged with strong-smelling mint. in the center of mary's was one of her handsomest coxcombs. mrs. barnaby smiled meaningly when she saw it, and when they had climbed back into the carriage, said in a pleased tone, "that shows that she has weighed you in the balance and is satisfied with the result. you'll get along famously with her, i'm sure, and we'll soon have you settled now, in fine shape." an hour later mary stood on the threshold of the cottage she had rented, with the keys of possession in her hand. thanks to mrs. barnaby and the rapid gait of the gray mules, much had been accomplished in that time. the groceries they had ordered were already piled on the table in the kitchen. a load of wood was on its way. the new mattresses they had bought at the furniture shop (kept by the undertaker of the village) were promised for delivery early in the afternoon, and they had been introduced at each place as friends of the barnabys, who were to be charged home prices, and not the ones usually asked of strangers. mrs. barnaby was what she called plain-spoken, and although she made a jest of her demands they carried weight. their trunks, three of which contained bedclothes and dishes, stood on the front gallery waiting to be unpacked. inside, the house looked as clean as soapsuds and fresh paint could make it. mrs. metz herself had attended to the scrubbing after the last tenant left. but mary decided that she would feel more comfortable, moving in after strangers, if she should give the furniture a personal washing before they began to use it. while norman built a fire in the kitchen stove, she unlocked one of the trunks and changed her travelling suit for a gingham dress and apron. "let's eat picnic fashion," called norman, "and unpack afterward. it's nearly one o'clock, and i'm too hungry to wait. i've found a cup i can boil some eggs in, and if we don't use any dishes we won't have any to wash afterwards." "that's a bright suggestion," mary called back. "we haven't any time to lose if we are to get everything ready for mamma and jack by to-morrow afternoon." when she came dancing out into the kitchen a few minutes later norman had already begun his luncheon, and was walking around with a cheese sandwich in one hand and a pickle in the other, investigating the premises while he ate. mary followed his example, and wandered from the open doorway to the open windows, looking at the view from each, and exclaiming over each new discovery. the house was on a slight knoll with a wide cotton-field stretching down between it and the little village. from this distance it looked more than ever like a toy village, against the background of low hills. "you ought to see it from the top of the windmill," said norman. "i climbed up while you and mrs. barnaby were talking so long at the gate. i'm glad we've got a windmill. it'll save me a lot of pumping, and it makes such a fine watch-tower. you ought to see how far you can look across the country. you can see the creek. it's just a little way back of our place." "i'm going up this minute!" answered mary. slipping her unfinished sandwiches into her apron pocket, she ran out to the windmill and began to swing herself from one cross-piece of the tower to another, as lightly as norman had done. "it's perfectly lovely!" she called back from the top. "i'd like to perch up here all afternoon if there wasn't so much to do. i'm going to come up here often. it gives you such a high-up-above-all-your-earthly-ills feeling! there's st. peter's," she called, "over at the south end of town. i recognize the little stone belfry. what do you suppose that square tower is at the other end of town?" norman came out and climbed half-way up the windmill, swinging there below her by one arm, as he slowly munched a ginger-snap. "oh, that," he said, as he looked in the direction which she pointed. "that's the sisters' school. i asked pedro this morning. it's the academy of the holy angels." mary's face glowed as she shook back the hair which the wind kept blowing into her eyes. "that's perfectly fascinating!" she declared. "there's something beautiful to me in the thought that the little town we've come to lies between two such guardians. it's a good omen, and i'm not sorry now that we had to come." she stayed perched on the windmill, enjoying the view and eating her sandwiches until norman called her that the wash-water was boiling over on the stove. then she climbed nimbly down and started towards the kitchen door. the kitchen was in an ell of the house, and from its front window she could see the road which ran in front of the house. just across it, half hidden by a row of bushy umbrella trees, stood two little blue cottages. they were within easy calling distance, and the voices of half a dozen children at play came cheerfully across to her. although they spoke in a foreign tongue the chatter gave her a sense of companionship. "norman," she suddenly suggested, "let's stay here to-night, instead of going to the boarding-house as mamma and mrs. barnaby arranged. i'm not afraid with neighbors so near, and i'm sure mamma wouldn't care if she could see how quiet and peaceful it is here. we'd be saving considerable--a night's lodging for two, and we can make this real comfortable and homey by bedtime." with the promise of hot biscuit and honey for supper norman agreed to her plan. he was to call at the boarding-house and cancel the arrangements mrs. barnaby had made for them, when he went for the milk which mr. metz had promised to sell them. it was from the metz bee-hives they were to have the honey, too. she had engaged it as a special treat for jack. under her direction norman fell to work making a kitchen cabinet out of two old boxes, while she scrubbed away at the chairs and tables. "isn't it funny the way history repeats itself?" she remarked. "this makes me think of the time that joyce and jack had getting settled in the wigwam. i felt so defrauded then because i couldn't have a hand in it, and this seems a sort of compensation for what i missed then." the exercise seemed to loosen her tongue, for as she worked she went on, "i'm truly glad that i can enjoy both the top and bottom crusts of things. nobody, i am sure, could have squeezed more pleasure out of this last week than i did. i fairly revelled in all the luxuries we had as mr. robeson's guests. it comes so easy to be waited on and to be the fine lady. and on the other hand, it is a real joy to be working this way, blacking stoves and filling lamps and making things look spick and span. i can spend like a lord and i can skimp like a scrubwoman, and i really don't know which i enjoy most." she did not attempt to put any finishing touches to the house that day, but left such things as the hanging of curtains and the few pictures they had brought until next morning. but before she stopped everything was shining, her room was ready for the night, and a cot was made up for norman in the room which he was to share with jack. later, while she waited for the biscuits to bake and for him to come home with the milk and honey, she wrote a letter to joyce. she did not take time to go to the bottom of her trunk for writing material, but emptying the sugar from a large paper sack, cut it into several square sheets. with a big tin pan turned bottom upwards in her lap for a desk, she hastily scribbled the events of the day with a lead-pencil, which she sharpened with the carving-knife. joyce has that letter yet. it was scribbled in the most careless, commonplace way, just as mary would have told it had they been together; but joyce, who could read her little sister like a book, read between the lines and divined the disappointments she had conquered, and saw the courage it took to make the most of every amusing incident in such a cheery way, while she touched only lightly on the serious ones. "we had a visitor a little while ago," wrote mary, in closing. "the reverend paul rochester came to call, and where, of all awkward impossible places, do you suppose he found me? up on the windmill tower. i had gone up again to watch the sunset,--for just a minute. the glow on the roofs of the town and the hills beyond was so lovely! if norman had had any sense he would have ignored my high perch. he was splitting kindling by the back door, making such a noise that we could not hear mr. rochester's knock at the front door, so he came around. "mrs. barnaby had stopped at the rectory on her way home to tell them about our coming to town, and mrs. rochester thought that we were all here, and that we would be so busy getting settled that we wouldn't have much time to cook things for an invalid, and she had sent the most tempting basketful of good things you ever saw. there was orange gelatine and charlotte russe, and some delicious nut sandwiches. the rector had walked all the way up here and carried the basket himself. you know i've always stood in awe of clergymen. at first this one seemed fully as dignified and reverend as all the others, and i nearly fell off my perch with embarrassment when he looked up and saw me hanging there like a monkey on a stick. but the next moment we both laughed, and he seemed almost as young and boyish as jack. "i scuttled down in a hurry, i assure you. he only stayed a minute, just long enough to deliver the basket and his wife's message, but you've no idea how that little incident changed the whole atmosphere. i'd been looking down the white road that leads from our place into the town, thinking how lonely and foreign everything was, and how hard it would be to live all winter in a place where nobody wanted to be neighborly, and where the only people we knew were slightly old like the barnabys or awfully old like the metzes, and then mr. rochester appeared, young and so nice-looking and with a jolly twinkle in his eyes that makes you forget the clerical cut of his clothes. "his wife must be young, too, or she couldn't be married to him, and she must be dear or she wouldn't have sent such a dainty, altogether charming basket with her message of greeting. you've no idea how their cordial welcome changed everything. now as i look through the open door at the same road leading to the town, it doesn't look lonely and foreign any more. it makes me think of a verse that dear old grandmother ware taught me once. you remember how she used to take us up in her lap and make us spell the words out to her from her big bible with the terrible pictures. '_the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways shall be made smooth!_' "well, grandmother's verse is coming true. it was all so crooked and uncertain and rough yesterday. but now everything is being smoothed out for us so beautifully. i have just looked out to see if norman is coming. i can hear him whistling away down the road. "i wish you, with your artist's eye for effect, could see the little town now, spread out below the hills in the twilight, with the windmills silhouetted against the sky. at one end is the little stone belfry of st. peter's, at the other the square gray tower of the academy of the holy angels; and just between, swinging low over the hills in the faint afterglow, the pale golden crescent of the new moon. after all, it's a good old world, joyce, and i 'feel it in my bones' that little old bauer is going to bring us some great good that shall make us thankful always for having come. in some way, i am sure, all our '_rough ways shall be made smooth_.'" chapter iv mary finds gay the day before thanksgiving saw the ware family fully settled in their new home. the trunks had been unpacked and their contents disposed of to make the little cottage look as homelike as possible. even the preparations for their thanksgiving dinner were all made. they had been simplified by mrs. barnaby's gift of a jar of mince-meat, and the plump hen, which was to take the place of a turkey, had been bought already dressed. now at only nine o'clock the morning work was all done, and mrs. ware sat sewing on the south gallery where jack had wheeled himself into the sunshine. mary came and stood in the doorway. "things stay so clean here," she grumbled in a laughing way. "i could do everything there is to be done with one hand and not half try, and when you all help we get through so fast it makes me dizzy. then there's nothing left to do but sit in the sun and wait till time to get the next meal ready. i wish i hadn't been in such a hurry to put everything in order. i wouldn't be so restless and idle now. it makes me fidgety to have nothing to do." "take the basket and dishes back to the rectory," suggested mrs. ware, after jack had proposed several occupations to no purpose. "but i've never met mrs. rochester yet," objected mary, "and it would be sort of awkward, going in and introducing myself." "no more awkward than it was for mr. rochester to come here and introduce himself," said jack. "you can tell her for me that that charlotte russe was perfection." "i wonder what she is like," mused mary, half persuaded to go and see. "if i thought she'd be approachable and easy to talk to--but--" "oh, you know she's all right," urged jack, "or she never would have been so good to a family of strangers. i'll bet she's a dear, motherly old soul, in a checked apron, with gray hair and a double chin." "why, she couldn't be!" cried mary. "not and be mr. rochester's wife. he doesn't look much older than you do, and for all he's so dignified there's something so boyish and likable about him that i felt chummy with him right away." "well, the things she cooked tasted as if she were the kind of woman i said," persisted jack, "and i shall keep on thinking of her as that kind until it's proved that my guess is wrong. i should think that anybody with as much curiosity as you have would go just to satisfy it." "you mean you want yours satisfied," retorted mary. "well, she'll do it herself in a few days. she sent word that she'd call soon, so i believe that i'll wait." coming out she stood leaning idly against one of the gallery posts, a restless, dissatisfied little figure. then she strolled out to the front gate and stood there awhile, looking down the deserted road. jack's gaze followed her sympathetically, and he said to his mother in a low tone, "poor little kid, it's going to be a dull winter for her i'm afraid. she was never cut out for solitude. she'd 'rather dwell in the midst of alarms,' and this place isn't much more diverting than a country graveyard." mrs. ware's glance followed his, then she replied confidently as she looked down to thread her needle, "oh, she'll soon adjust herself. she'll find something that will not only keep her busy but will amuse all the rest of us." jack picked up the magazine from which he had been reading aloud the evening before and resumed the story, but he was conscious all the time of the little figure at the gate, and saw her without seeming to notice when she slipped around the corner of the house presently to the back yard. then he looked up with a smile when he heard the creaking of the windmill crank at the back of the house. "she's stopping the wheel," said mrs. ware, "so that she can climb to the top of the tower again. it seems to have some sort of fascination for her." jack went on with his story, and mary, perched on her watch-tower, clung to the bar above and looked down over the town. the currents of air were stronger up at the height to which she had climbed. down below scarcely a breath was stirring, but here a fresh breeze blew the hair into her eyes and began to blow the discontent out of her mind. her wish that jack could see the view was followed instantly by the thought that he could never, never have any other outlook than the one the wheeled chair afforded. "it's wicked of me to be discontented one single minute," she thought remorsefully. "there i was fussing right before him about having nothing to do, when he'd give worlds just to be foot loose--to climb up here and walk about the place. and he was so dear and considerate, never once reminded me how much harder it is for him than me, and that he has nothing else to look forward to as long as he lives." the yellow walls of the rectory gleamed through the trees at the north end of the little hamlet, reminding her of jack's laughing wish to know what mrs. rochester was like. "it's as little as i can do to go and find out for him," she thought, "even if he did ask it in a joke. i ought to be willing to do anything in the world he expresses a wish for, poor boy. there's little enough here to amuse him." a few minutes later, in her travelling suit and hat, with mrs. rochester's basket on her arm, she interrupted the reading on the gallery. "i'm going to see your motherly friend," she announced--"to find out if she is gray-haired and double-chinned. maybe i'll tell her how you described her." "don't you dare," warned jack, laughingly. "i'll get even with you if you do." "you've already done that on a dozen old scores," answered mary gaily. "good-bye, my friends and kinsmen dear! as the story books say, 'we shall see what we shall see.'" what she saw when she rang the bell at the rectory was the exact opposite of the motherly creature whom jack had pictured; for mrs. rochester, who came to the door herself, was tall and slim and very young, with the delicate, spirituelle kind of beauty that had always been plump little mary's greatest admiration and desire. one part of jack's guess was correct, however. she wore a big checked apron, for she was making cake, and she invited mary into the dining-room where the materials were all spread out on the table. with the girlish cordiality that had won her so many friends even in unsociable bauer, she made mary feel so much at home, that in a few moments she was insisting on helping with the cake. it seemed a matter of course that mrs. rochester should hand her the egg-beater, and before the eggs were whipped into a stiff white mountain of snow, they were exchanging experiences like old friends. mrs. rochester had found bauer a lonely place too, at first. "jack says there was some great mix-up made when i alighted on this planet," said mary. "i should have dropped down some place where 'the breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock-bound coast.' he says i wasn't meant for a quiet fish-pond existence." "i know," laughed her hostess. "you feel as if you were bound into the wrong book. you'd be perfectly satisfied to find yourself in one of scott's novels, in a jumble of knights and tourneys and border wars, but you would be bored beyond endurance to have to be one of the characters in jane austen's stories." "oh, you _do_ know," cried mary eagerly, emphasizing her pleasure with a harder bang of the egg-beater. "you understand exactly. there's nothing tamer than miss austen's stories. why, there's pages and pages taken up with just discussing the weather and each other's health; and they do such trivial, inane things and go around and around in such a deadly monotonous circle that sometimes i've been so out of patience with them that i wanted to throw the book into a corner." "but you never did throw it down," answered mrs. rochester, "you read on to the end and in spite of yourself you were interested in those same commonplace happenings and conversations, just as readers before you have been interested in them and always will be as long as those books live. and i'll tell you why. you read them to the end because they are true pictures of the lives of average people. the majority of us have to put up with the humdrum, no matter how much we long for the heroic, and it's a good thing to read such books as 'emma' and 'pride and prejudice' every now and then, as a sort of spirit-level. we're more satisfied to amble along the road if everybody else drives a slow nag too." "i'm not," declared mary. "i want to whizz past everything in sight that is poky and slow. i know it would be lots easier for me if i could only make up my mind to the fact that nothing exciting and important is ever going to happen to me, but i can't break myself of the habit of expecting it. i've felt that way as far back as i can remember. i'm always looking for something grand and unexpected, and every morning when i wake up it gives me a sort of thrill to think, maybe it will come to-day." "well, if you're going to stay in bauer for awhile you certainly do need another dose of 'emma,'" answered mrs. rochester, nodding to the shelves in the adjoining library, where stood a well thumbed edition of miss austen's works. "take her home with you, and any of the books you think your brother would like. we are glad to make our library a circulating one." mary's face showed her pleasure quite as much as her words, as she left her seat by the table to slip into the great book-lined room and glance around it. "you've made up for one of my disappointments," she called back. "i had counted so much on having the library in san antonio to draw on this winter, and this is even better, for i'm sure that they haven't all these rare old prints and first editions that i see here." her five minutes' call stretched into an hour, when she found that mrs. rochester had been brought up in washington and had spent her school days there. then it stretched into two, for some one drove in from the country with a carriage load of autumn leaves, and mary stayed to help arrange them in the little church for the thanksgiving service next day. it was nearly noon when she finally started home with several books under her arm, her usual hopefulness and buoyancy of spirits quite restored. "mamma and i can't both be away from jack at the same time," she said in response to mrs. rochester's invitation to attend the service next day. "i want her to come. i've already had my share of thanksgiving. i've been thankful every minute while i've been here that i discovered you. it's been a beautiful morning." "come over often," urged mrs. rochester cordially. "i can always find something for you to do, and i'd love to have you come." mary's wave of the hand as she turned to latch the gate at the end of the walk was answered by a flutter of mrs. rochester's apron in the doorway, and each went her way smiling over the recollection of the other. "she's a diverting little piece," mrs. rochester reported to her husband at noon. "i laughed all the time she was here." "she's a darling," mary reported at home, and quoted her at intervals for several days. "she's promised to take me with her sometime when she drives out to call at the ranches. nearly all the members of st. boniface are out-of-town people, so they'll probably not call on us she says. but she's coming as soon as she can get around to it. i saw our name on a list she has hanging beside her calendar. but there's nearly a week full of things for her to do before she gets to us. i wish that i had a list of duties and engagements that would keep me going every minute, the way she has to go." "you can easily fill out a list that will keep you busy for awhile," answered her mother. "while you were gone jack and i got to discussing dates, and it was somewhat of a shock to find that christmas will be here so soon. one forgets the calendar in this summer-like climate. whatever we send to holland and joyce must be started from here in less than three weeks, and as our gifts must be all home-made we cannot afford to lose any time in beginning." the problem of christmas giving had always been a knotty one in the ware household, but it was especially hard this year. mary spent nearly all afternoon making her list of names with the accompanying list of gifts that seemed suitable for each one. there were so many to whom she longed to send little remembrances that the length of it was appalling. then she revised it, putting in one column such people as madam chartley and mrs. lee, to whom she decided to write letters--the gayest, brightest greetings she could think of. still there were a goodly number left to provide with gifts, no matter how simple, and she was busy till bed-time measuring and figuring over the amount of material she would need for each, and how much it would cost. it had been decided that she should go to san antonio for a day to attend to the family shopping. "the trouble is," she sighed next morning, "it's the simplest things that are always the hardest to get. don't you remember, in the story of beauty and the beast, the father had no difficulty in buying ropes of jewels and costly things for his oldest daughters, but it almost cost him his life to get the one common little white rose that his youngest daughter so modestly asked for. i could do this shopping in a few hours if i did not have to stop to consider pennies, but there are several little things that may take me all day to find. i'm sure that that particular kind of narrow beading that i need for lloyd's present will prove to be the fatal white rose. i can't make it without and there isn't time to send back east for it." "maybe you'd better arrange to stay over night," suggested her mother, "and take two days to look around for what you want. of course you couldn't go to a hotel alone, and it would be too expensive even if you had company, but mrs. rochester might be able to recommend some private family who has rooms for transients." mary caught at the idea so eagerly that had it not been thanksgiving day and she feared to intrude, she would have gone that very hour to ask if the rochesters knew of such a place. she remembered that they were to have guests to dinner. fortunately for her peace of mind the rector and his wife called for a few moments just before dusk. mrs. rochester did know of a quiet inexpensive place where she could spend the night, and then and there slipped off her gloves to write a cordial note of introduction. it rained the friday after thanksgiving, but the next day was fair, and mary insisted on doing the week's washing saturday morning, and as much of the ironing as she could accomplish in the afternoon, in order to be able to start early monday morning. several times she left her tubs to run into the house and jot down some small items on her memorandum, which she remembered would be indispensable in making up their christmas packages. once she thought of something in the night, when the barking of a neighbor's dog awakened her. if she had been alone in the room she would have lighted a candle and made a note of it. as it was she was afraid to do so lest she waken her mother, and afraid not to lest it should slip her mind before morning. finally she settled the difficulty by putting her hand to her head and pulling out several hairs which she twisted together and tied around her finger. "there!" she said to herself. "hair will make me think of herring, and then ring will make me think of the little white celluloid rings that i must get for those safety-pin holders." armed with mrs. rochester's letter she started off gaily on the monday morning train. it was not due in the city till nearly ten, so she decided that it would save time to go at once to the largest department store, check her suit-case and wait until shopping hours were over before going out to the boarding-house which mrs. rochester had recommended. she had thought san antonio charming the first time she saw it, but it seemed doubly so now that she came back to it, as one familiar with its principal streets and landmarks. the life, the color, the holiday air of the crowds, the fête day atmosphere of the old town itself, exhilarated her till her cheeks glowed like roses, and several times, both on the street and in the stores, she caught herself whistling half under her breath. although the usual monday morning bargain hunters were out in throngs, she found no trouble in making her purchases. everything seemed to be in her favor this morning. the shop girls were unusually responsive and helpful, showed her just what she wanted or suggested something better than she had thought of. only once or twice did the prices go above the limit she had set for them, and several times they were lower. by quarter to twelve she had checked off two thirds of the articles on her list. elated by this success, she stood waiting at the transfer desk for her change, looking around with unabated interest. suddenly her attention was attracted to a girl in a brown tailor suit, standing in the next aisle. her back was turned towards mary, but there was something familiar looking in the poise of the graceful head; something very familiar looking in the puffs of soft auburn-bronze hair held by amber combs, and arranged so becomingly under the big brown hat. mary had been on the look-out all morning for the girl whom jack had recognized at the hotel as gay melville. she might have missed her had gay been an ordinary blonde or brunette, but as jack said, there was no mistaking that glorious hair. snatching up the proffered change, which the cashier put through the cage window, she pushed her way into the next aisle. the girl turned. the big plumed hat drooped over her face, still mary recognized the delicate profile, the slight tilt of the slender chin. it was an opportunity which she could not afford to lose, and as the girl turned her back again to receive a package held out to her by a clerk, and started slowly to the door, mary hurried after her. almost breathless in her eagerness she exclaimed impulsively, "i beg your pardon--but aren't you _gay_?" there was an instant of freezing silence as the eyes of the girl in brown swept mary from head to foot. "well, not particularly," was the indignant reply. the roll of her r's emphasized mary's mistake. it was evidently some stranger from the north whom she had accosted. one glance into her full face made mary see how dire her mistake had been. there was no resemblance whatever in that to gay. wishing that she could drop out of sight through the floor, she hastily apologized and hurried out into the street, her cheeks burning, as she smarted under the recollection of the stranger's supercilious glance. "she needn't have been so snippy," mary thought. "_any_body is liable to make such mistakes." not until she had crossed the street and was stopped short by her own reflection in a mirror in the show window opposite, did she realize how her question might have sounded. "oh, she must have thought that i was asking her if she wasn't _gay_! _gay with a little g!_" she gasped. "no wonder she looked at me so freezingly." she was so perturbed by this discovery, that she walked on, unmindful of the direction. when a group of children crowded past her on the narrow pavement, she turned into a side street to avoid being jostled, and walked aimlessly for some distance. it was the sight of a green kettle swinging above a door which she was approaching that brought her to herself with a start. mrs. rochester had told her to stop at the sign of the green kettle for lunch, and had given her directions for finding it. here she had stumbled upon it unaware, just as the city bells were beginning to clang for noon. at the next glance her heart went to thumping so hard that she could plainly hear it. there on the step leading up to the door of the green kettle, stood gay melville; the real gay this time. there was no shadow of doubt about it. as she looked, mary wondered how she ever could have mistaken the other girl for her, although each had hair wonderfully like the other. this one carried a violin case. she had paused on her way in to call back something to the girl in the carriage, who had brought her down town. and the girl in the carriage was roberta--roberta of the boyish speech and coquettish eyelashes, whose laughing question held the girl on the step long enough for mary to reach it too, and stand there beside her while she gathered courage to speak. it was the little pin thrust through gay's tie which finally brought the words trembling to mary's lips, for it was the warwick hall pin which only its alumni might wear; those who had kept the four years' tryst with all its requirements. it was a mailed hand rising from a heart to grasp a spear, the motto and the crest of edryn. all diffidence fled at that familiar sight, but this time mary did not ask if the girl were gay. with a gesture toward the pin she cried breathlessly, "oh, i know by _that_ that you are miss melville. _aren't_ you!" gay after one look into the eager gray eyes said quite as cordially, "and you're mary ware! i had a letter from betty lewis this very morning telling me to be sure to find you." she gave a quick glance at the chatelaine watch she wore. "i haven't a minute to stop--i'm to play an obligato for the great prima donna, madame de martel, and she has a beast of a temper which she lets loose if a person is one second late at rehearsal. but i must take time to say one thing if she wipes me off the face of the earth for it. the girls' letters have made me wild to know you. at what hotel can i find you? i'll call this very day." "we've taken a cottage in bauer," mary answered hastily. "i came down on a little shopping expedition, and am on my way in here for luncheon." the heavy chords of a piano accompaniment rolled threateningly through the music rooms up-stairs, and gay shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "do be a long time over it," she begged as she turned towards the stairs. "i'll get through as quickly as possible and hurry back for another word with you." mary watched her out of sight before starting into the dining-room of the green kettle, and then deliberately pinched herself to make sure that she was awake. it was a good hard nip, which hurt, and smiling to herself because it proved that she was not dreaming, she sat down at a table near the window to gloat over the fact that one of her best dreams had come true at last. she had met gay melville. the lunch was a good one, but it would have made no difference to mary what was put before her that day. anything would have been nectar and ambrosia served to the accompaniment of the music overhead. a chorus of cherubim and seraphim could not have left her more uplifted. madame de martel might have the temper of a beast at times, but she had a voice of rare sweetness and power, and the knowledge that it was gay's violin pouring out that tremulous, tender, heartbreaking obligato, enhanced mary's enjoyment of every note. the rehearsal was a short one. all that the famous visiting singer wanted was to make sure, since her own accompanists had failed her, that the local ones were satisfactory. it came to an end just as mary began her dessert, and almost instantly it seemed gay was at her elbow, and seating herself in the chair beside her. "isn't it a shame i haven't more than two minutes to stay," she began. "this is like having warwick hall and lloydsboro valley rolled into one, to find somebody who loves them both as much as i do. i could talk a week without stopping about each place, and ask a thousand questions, but i'm due at a luncheon out on government hill by the time the next car can put me there. immediately after that is over we're all going to the polo tournament. all during rehearsal i kept trying to think of some way i could arrange to see you, and there's only one. you've simply got to come home with me to stay all night. go on and finish your shopping, and i'll come down for you after the tournament and meet you anywhere you say." the invitation, as cordial as it was sudden, was gladly accepted and gay exclaimed, "oh, i'm so delighted to think i've found you at last! you've no idea how often you were quoted the summer i was in the valley. lloyd and betty and the old colonel and dr. alex shelby were always saying 'as little mary ware says.' i feel as if i'd known you from babyhood up." "and i know all about your past," laughed mary. she was about to mention several incidents to prove her claim, when gay stopped her by a glance at the clock and the question: "wouldn't you like to see the dress parade at the post this evening? most people do, and it's well worth seeing." would she _like_ it! mary's beaming face answered the question before her usually ready tongue found a word, and gay smiled as she hastily drew on her gloves and picked up her violin case. "i'd like to keep you all to myself to-night," she said, "but i do want you to meet some of the people that kitty walton liked best when she visited me last year. i'll pick up roberta and lieutenant boglin to take dinner with us if i can get them. they're always so nice to my warwick hall friends. they were both wild about kitty. well, at quarter to five, then, i'll meet you--where?" finally the glove counter at joske's was agreed upon as a meeting place, and with a friendly pat on the shoulder in passing, gay hurried away to keep her engagement. smiling blissfully after her, mary whispered to herself with one of her old childish wriggles of pleasure, "and _bogey_, too." chapter v at fort sam houston promptly at the time agreed upon, mary took her station by the glove counter, almost sure that gay would be late. it was one of the warwick hall traditions that something tragic always happened to gay's clothes at the last moment, to delay her departure. but she had scarcely seated herself and deposited her suit-case on the floor beside her when the door opened and gay came breezily into the store. her hat was awry and her hair disheveled. "on time for once," she exclaimed triumphantly with a glance at the clock. "but i couldn't have been if roberta hadn't come to the rescue. she brought me down in their carriage. it's roberta mayrell," she explained, as they made their way as rapidly as possible down the crowded aisle. "she isn't really one of the army girls, but she lives just outside the post and has always been counted in everything there, since she was old enough to talk. i've been telling her all about you on the way down." "well, i hope she'll find me as interesting as the alligators," began mary, remembering the speech she had overheard from the hotel balcony. but gay was stopping to apologize to an old lady whom she had bumped into, and did not hear the remark. the next moment they were outside and at the curbstone, where a carriage drawn by two kentucky horses was in waiting, and roberta was stepping down with outstretched hands to welcome her. roberta at close range was even more fascinating than when seen from a hotel balcony, and mary, sitting between the two girls as they drove along towards government hill, had much the same feeling that a thirsty bedouin has when after miles of desert journeying he finds himself beside the well of a green oasis. they were fairly bubbling over with high spirits, and it was impossible to be with them and not share their exhilaration. before they had gone two blocks the weight of care and anxiety that had been resting on mary's shoulders ever since jack's accident, began to slip off. it almost gave her a sense of having wings, to be so light and care free. the last eight months with their constant association with suffering and anxiety about finances had been like a hard march through the sands. now the sudden substitution of something frivolous and young was so refreshing that she giggled almost hysterically in her enjoyment of it. "oh, we forgot to tell you," exclaimed gay as they came in sight of the parade grounds. "there's to be a hop at the gymnasium to-night for the visiting polo team. they got it up on short notice. lieutenant boglin told me about it when i invited him to come to dinner. he asked if he might take you, and i said he might, for of course you won't want to miss it, and old bogey is quite the nicest officer in the bunch when it comes to giving a girl a good time." mary's face wore such a comical expression of blended delight and dismay that roberta laughed, and gay stopped the refusal that mary was beginning to stammer out by putting both hands over her ears. "no, i won't listen," she declared. "of course you didn't expect to do anything like this, and didn't bring the proper clothes, but it is such an informal affair that it doesn't make any difference. roberta and i can rig you out in something of mine. it will be all the more fun." "oh, it's just the larkiest lark that ever was!" exclaimed mary so excited over the prospect that her cheeks were growing redder and redder, and her eyes shining with happy anticipation. "this day has been full of thrills, and--oo, oo! there goes another!" she added with a little shiver of delight as the band began to play. the carriage had stopped at the end of the parade ground, where the usual crowd of spectators was gathered. "martial music always sends cold shivers up and down my back," she said gravely. "it makes me want to cheer and march right off to do something big and brave--'storm the heights,' or bleed and die for my country, or something of that sort. i've always thought that i'd have been a soldier if i hadn't been born a girl." she laughed as she said it, but there was a quiver of earnestness in her voice. parade was a matter-of-course affair to gay and roberta, a part of the weekly routine of post life, which familiarity made ordinary. they exchanged amused glances which mary did not see, and made remarks and criticisms on the manoeuvres which she did not hear. wholly absorbed, she leaned forward in the carriage, watching every movement of the drill. it is always an inspiring sight, even to one who looks no farther than the outward show, admiring the clock-like precision which makes a battalion move as one man; but to mary every khaki coat in the regiment clothed a hero. lexington and valley forge, gettysburg and chickamauga called to her through every drum-beat and bugle note. she had loved her old dog-eared copy of the history of the united states, and many a time had spread it out on her desk to re-read, when she should have been studying other things. she had pored over its stories of war till the black and white of its printed pages had transformed her into a little fire-ball of a patriot. now as she saw for the first time these men who stood as the guardians of "old glory," everything she had ever read of heroism and blood-stained battle-fields and glorious dying, came back to her in a flood of enthusiasm which nearly lifted her to her feet. when at last the band struck into "the star-spangled banner" and the guns fired the signal which heralded the lowering of the colors, her plain little face was almost transfigured with the exalted emotions of the moment. "aye, call it holy ground, the soil that they have trod," she was repeating to herself, when she became aware that roberta was trying to attract her attention, and was holding out a box of candy. "come down to earth!" she exclaimed laughingly. "i tried to get you to take some earlier in the action, but you hadn't eyes for anything but the brass buttons. i don't believe you would have heard thunder!" "it wasn't brass buttons i was seeing," began mary. "it was--" then realizing the utter hopelessness of trying to explain what soul-stirring visions had been hers for that little space of time that the band played and the heroes of the past as well as the present passed before her, she did as roberta advised, came down to earth and took a caramel. when they reached major melville's house in the officers' quarters, roberta dismissed the carriage and went in with gay and mary. she had decided not to change her dress for the hop, she said as she threw off her long cloak in the hall, revealing the pretty frock of pink and gray foulard which she had worn at the luncheon. mrs. melville came out to meet them, a large sandy-haired woman with a certain faded fairness and enough of a resemblance to gay to suggest what she might have looked like in her teens. her cordial welcome put mary at ease at once, and she followed the girls up the broad staircase, feeling that this visit was quite the most delightful thing which had happened to her since she left warwick hall. while gay rummaged through trunks and wardrobes to find party raiment for her guest, mary walked about the room, experiencing more thrills at every turn; for on each wall and book-shelf and bracket was some picture or souvenir of warwick hall or lloydsboro valley. "oh, there's lloyd and betty and the walton girls!" she cried. "i have this same picture at home, and one like this of madam chartley too, in her high-back chair with the carved griffins on it. "what a splendid picture this is of dr. alex shelby," she called a moment later. then catching sight of a larger one on the mantel in a silver frame, she exclaimed in surprise, "why, you have two of doctor alex." gay was deep in a closet, her head between rows of dress-skirts, and she made no answer; but roberta, perching in the window-seat, cleared her throat to attract mary's attention, and then with an impish smile held up seven fingers and pointed in different directions to five other photographs that mary had not yet discovered. "one for each day in the week," she said in a low tone. "i'd give a good deal to see that man. he was here last spring, but i was down on the coast and missed him. i intend to make a point of staying at home next time he comes. i want to see for myself what's up. gay pretends there isn't anything, but i have my own ideas." "oh, is he coming again?" cried mary. roberta's only answer was a significant nod, for gay emerged from the closet just then. "there's nothing in there," she announced, "but i've just thought of one that lucy left here this spring. i'll ask mother where it is." "you see," said roberta as the door closed behind gay, "i wouldn't tease her if she'd confess anything, but she won't. kitty walton thinks i've guessed right too. she said that from the moment she heard about their romantic meeting she was sure something would come of it." "oh, tell me about it," urged mary. "i know doctor alex so well that i can't help being interested." "and do you know a place in lloydsboro valley called the log cabin?" asked roberta. "a fine country home built of logs and furnished with beautiful old heirlooms? gay's sister, mrs. harcourt, rented it one summer." "indeed i do know it," assented mary. "it is a fascinating place, with a big outside fire-place on the porch, and the front is covered with a climbing rose. we used to pass it often." "well, kitty says that the day after the harcourts took possession, gay put a ladder against the front of the house and climbed up on it to hang a mirror on the outside of her window-sill, the way they do in holland. it was one she had brought all the way from amsterdam. and while she was up on the ladder, looking like a picture, of course, with the roses all about her and the sunshine turning her hair to gold, dr. shelby came by on horseback. she saw him in the mirror and the girls teased her about it--called it her lady of shalott mirror and him her knight of the looking-glass. kitty says he was devotion itself to her all summer." what more she might have revealed was interrupted by gay's return. she tossed an armful of dainty muslin and lace on the bed, and for a few moments all three gave their undivided attention to the trying-on process. "i must confess it doesn't look as if it were fitted to you in perfect health," confessed roberta, "but it's one of those soft clinging things that doesn't have to fit like a glove. i can pin it up on you to make it look all right, and it's so pretty with all that fine lace and embroidery that it'll pass muster anywhere." gay sat down to make some slight alteration in the girdle, while roberta invited mary to a seat in front of the dressing-table, proposing to try her skill on her as a hair-dresser. it was all so delightfully intimate and friendly, just such a situation as mary had longed for in her dream-castle building, that she even felt at liberty to grow a little personal with roberta. she peeped out through the hair which now hung over her face, to watch roberta's face reflected in the mirror opposite. "do you know," she remarked with a mischievous glance, like a skye terrier peeping through its bangs, "that i've actually lain awake nights, wondering if you'd been persuaded yet to give up that 'adorable little curl.'" roberta's mouth opened wide in astonishment, and she dropped the comb with which she was parting mary's hair. "how spooky!" she cried. "i was just thinking about that myself. who in the world told you anything about that?" "oh, i overheard the remark," confessed mary. "i was on one of those hotel balconies all hidden by moon-vines when you and gay and mr. wade and the officer you call bogey came out into the court. i was so lonesome for some young person to talk to, and so close to you all that i could see the comb slipping out of gay's hair. i didn't know who she was then. if i had i should have leaned over the railing and called to her. wouldn't it have made a sensation? "i'll never forget how either of you looked. she was in white with white violets, and you were in pale lemon yellow with a scarf over your shoulders that looked like a white moonbeam spangled with dewdrops. it slipped down as you started to go and see the alligators, and that mr. wade drew it up for you and said what he did about the curl." "that was the first time he ever mentioned it," explained roberta. "i thought when you spoke that you meant last night. i was going to tell gay about it, and as long as you're so interested i don't mind telling you, too. you know mr. wade has been very nice to me, and i thought he was great fun until he began to get sentimental. my brother william knew him at college, and he told me what i might expect. he said 'that chap always gets sentimental with every girl he goes with.' it's a great thing to have plenty of brothers to put you wise. "when mr. wade began that nonsense about wanting one of those little curls and its being the most fetching thing he had ever seen i laughed at him. but it only made him the more determined. he wrote some poetry about wearing it over his heart forever and all that sort of thing. if he only could have known how billy and i shrieked over it! of course i hadn't given him the slightest encouragement, or it would have been different--" "roberta," interrupted gay sternly, "how can you say that? you know you looked at him. i saw you do it. and when you look out at anybody from under those lashes, whether you mean it or not you _do_ look flirtatious, and you know it." "i don't!" contradicted roberta hotly, with boyish directness. "i can't help the way my lashes are kinked, and i'm very sure i'm not going to pull them out to keep people from getting a wrong impression. anyhow there's no kink in my tongue! i told him straight enough what i thought of his silly speeches. i put a stop to them last night, all right." "how?" demanded gay. "well," began roberta, plaiting mary's hair so energetically that it pulled dreadfully. "he went over the same performance again, begging me for that little curl in token that i'd be his'n forevermore, etc. and after he'd spun it out into a most romantic proposal i said very sweetly, 'really, mr. wade, to be honest with you, i can't afford to give away a seventy-five cent curl to every man who asks for one. you see i'm always financially embarrassed, for papa won't let me borrow after i've spent my monthly allowance, and i never by any chance have a cent left over after the second of the month. but if you must have a curl i'll give you madame main's address on houston street, where you can get an exact duplicate. i'm sure it will be just as good to wear over your heart as mine would.'" "roberta, you little beast!" laughed gay. "how could you give him the impression they were false, when you know very well they grow tight on your own scalp?" "i wanted to see if he would say 'with all thy faults i love thee still.' but he didn't. he got very stiff and red and walked away, and spent the rest of the evening flirting with louie rowan to show that he didn't care." gay continuing to shake her head in a shocked and disapproving way, roberta cried out, "i don't care! it's no worse than what you said to a certain freshman who proposed to you." "i don't call that a proposal," calmly disagreed gay. "he didn't ask anything. he simply took it for granted that i'd fall all over myself to accept him. mary, what would you say to a boy, one whom you'd always known but who'd never been particularly nice to you, who would march up to you some day and say: 'you suit me better than any girl i know, and i'd like to talk over arrangements with you now. of course we couldn't marry till a year after my graduation, but i want to have it settled before i go away, so that i'll know what to depend on. my family all tell me that it's risky business, choosing a wife with red hair, but i'm willing to take the chances.'" "now, gay, you know it wasn't as bald as that," protested roberta. "he put in all sorts of 'long and short sweetenin'.'" "it amounted to the same thing," persisted gay, and in answer to mary's gasping question, "what _did_ you say?" she replied: "i couldn't speak at first, i was so furious at his speech about red hair. but i managed to tell him several things before i finished, and nothing can be frostier and snippier than a sixteen year old girl when she tries to appear very dignified. that was my age then. the thing that made him maddest however, was that i told him that even the 'frog who would a-wooing go' knew how to go about such a matter in a much better way than he did. that he'd better wait till he was older, and amounted to something more than a mere silly boy. my snubbing almost gave him apoplexy, but it did him good in the long run." "a proposal, and she was a year younger than i am now," thought mary, wishing with a queer little throb of envy that she had some such experience to confess. roberta was only nineteen now, and to judge by gay's teasing remarks had had any number of romantic affairs. lloyd was only fourteen when phil first began to care so much for her. roberta was putting the finishing touches to her hair now, and as mary's eyes met their wistful reflection in the mirror, she wondered if there would ever be a time when any one would care enough for her to come to her with the momentous question. she wouldn't mind so much being an old maid if she could only have some such experience to lay away in her memory, as people lay away treasures in rose-leaves and lavender. but so far she couldn't count even a susceptible youth like young mr. wade, or a conceited freshman like gay's early admirer. she wanted to ask how it felt to be proposed to, and thus keep the conversation rolling along in the same interesting groove. but roberta suddenly switched off to saddles. she was about to buy a new one, and saddles, as roberta presented the topic, became so vastly important that mary did not have the courage to attempt to turn the talk back to the subject of mere men. it was one of roberta's chief characteristics that she swept everything before her by the sheer force of her personality. she dominated whatever company she was in, and the most frivolous things she said carried weight and made people listen because of the way she said them. she made statements in the same manner she was now thrusting the safety-pins into mary's skirt-bands, in a direct, forcible way that made people feel that they might be depended upon. "roberta's pins always stay where they are put," gay remarked admiringly, as she watched the capable way in which mary was being fastened into her borrowed gown. "there's no danger of your coming to pieces, when she fixes you. sometimes i think that she must hypnotize things. it's a gift with her. there! you look perfectly fine. come on down stairs and let's try that piece of new music before dinner." mary had her doubts about looking perfectly fine. she was uncomfortably conscious that the dress was not a good fit. it was too tight in the arm-holes and too short in the waist. but the girls seemed proud of the costume they had evolved for her, the parting glance in the mirror showed that the general effect was becoming, and their compliments were most reassuring. so she followed them down stairs in a very elated and "partified" state of mind. the old major's affable greeting as she entered the living-room was as cordial as his wife's had been, and seemed to place her at once on the footing of an old friend. she sank into the comfortable chair he pushed forward for her with the sensation that she was coming back to a familiar hearthstone, where she had been a guest many times. it was very queer, but it was decidedly pleasant to have it all seem so homelike and familiar. with such surroundings mary ought to have appeared at her best, but roberta's dominating presence made her silent and shy. it had not had that effect when they were up-stairs together, but now in the presence of older people roberta gave the effect of a lamp that has suddenly been turned up to a brighter flame. she was positively brilliant, mary thought, and made everybody else in the room seem of secondary interest. roberta, who ran in and out every day, felt the same freedom that a daughter of the house would have. she laughingly pushed mrs. melville into a chair and ordered her to sit still while _she_ ran up-stairs for the forgotten spectacles. she joked with the major about numberless things which were meaningless to mary because she had not shared their beginnings, and when she sat down at the piano and played with strong masterful touches, it really seemed that what gay had jokingly said about her having hypnotic powers was true. mary felt as if she had been thrust into a corner and deprived of power to come out. at first she was so absorbed in her enjoyment of the music that she was not conscious of that sensation, but it oppressed her when lieutenant boglin and the captain of the polo team, a mr. mills, came in. they were strangers to her but old friends of all the others, and she suddenly felt herself as self-conscious and shy as the bashful little country mouse of the fable. she began to contrast herself with the other girls, and try to find a reason for the difference which she felt existed. "it's partly because they've always lived in the heart of things," she thought, a trifle enviously. "they're used to meeting strangers, and they're pretty and gifted and accomplished; a very different thing from being just 'plain little mary ware,' with no talents or _anything_. i can't even play yankee doodle with one finger, as norman does." when they went out to dinner the uneven number and the small size of the company made the conversation general around the table. if it had been a larger party with only her immediate neighbors to give ear, mary was sure that she could have found plenty to say to the major on one side, or to lieutenant boglin on the other. but roberta kept the conversational ball rolling, and always in directions that mary could not follow. she knew nothing of polo or golf or the people of the post, and the funny stories and quick-witted replies which circled around the table gave her no opportunity to rise to the occasion as the others did. [illustration: "mary ware in texas" "he seated himself beside her, coffee-cup in hand"] they were all so vastly entertained and entertaining themselves that no one seemed to notice mary's silence. she was angry with herself because she could not chime in with the others, and thought with flaming cheeks that they must think her dreadfully stupid and unresponsive; just a bread-and-butter miss, not yet out of the nursery. once there came a place where an anecdote about hawkins and a new school-girl would have fitted in beautifully if she could only have mustered up courage to tell it. she had a conundrum too, when the others were propounding them, and had opened her mouth to tell it--in fact had said "did you ever hear--" when somebody else who had not heard her tremulous beginning captured the attention of the table with one of his own. the sound of her voice thus suddenly stopped made her blush, choke, take a drink of water and subside into silence again. it was not until coffee was being served afterward in the living-room, that mary found her tongue. roberta did not take coffee, and at the major's request had gone to the piano to play a dashing fantasie that he always called for on such occasions. the lieutenant, who, as mary had feared, had classed her as a callow little school-girl who couldn't talk except in embarrassed monosyllables, had been wondering why gay had made such a point of his meeting her. now as he looked across the room at her animated face, responsive to every chord of the brilliantly executed music, he decided that there might be some reason for gay's interest in her which he had not yet fathomed, and he at once proceeded to find out. he started towards her, stopping to say in an aside to gay, "what's the little girl's name? i've forgotten. oh, thank you." then he deliberately pulled up a chair, tête-à-tête wise, and seated himself beside her, coffee-cup in hand. "miss ware," he began in a flatteringly confidential tone, "it is an old saying that the 'shallows murmur, but the deeps are dumb.' is that why you are so silent this evening?" it was easy now, under cover of the music, and in response to such deferential attention to make a reply, and mary began at a rate that made bogey "sit up and take notice," as he expressed it afterward. "no, i was only like the fox in Ã�sop's fables, the one that went to dine with the stork, you know. don't you remember, the stork put the soup into such a slender-necked deep vase that only a long-beaked bird like himself could reach it. you see the people you talked about to-night were utter strangers to me, and i never saw a polo game, so i couldn't very well dip into the conversation." "by george!" exclaimed bogey. "that wasn't very considerate of us, _was_ it?" "oh, i enjoyed it!" mary hastened to add. "only i was afraid you'd think i was dreadfully stupid. it made me think of the time i used that same fable to get rid of an unwelcome caller when i was at a house-party in kentucky. i wanted to be with the older girls who were to be bridesmaids, and watch their preparations for the wedding, and this child tagged after me so persistently that i lay awake nights trying to plan some way to get rid of her. it was the fable that finally suggested it. i had lots of fun playing the stork, but i never realized before just how _she_ must have felt, till i took the part of fox to-night." "tell me how you did it," insisted the lieutenant. he liked the way mary's face lighted up when she talked, and the way her dimples flashed in and out as she chattered on. gay looked over approvingly a little later when his hearty laugh showed that he was thoroughly amused by something that she had said. the tête-à-tête was ended by the stopping of the music and the arrival of the man who was to be gay's escort, and almost immediately after it seemed, although in fact it was half an hour, the 'bus whistle sounded outside, and mary was being hurried into her borrowed party cloak and helped into the waiting 'bus. "it always goes around the post collecting passengers on such occasions as this," bogey told her. "you can imagine we sometimes have a jolly crowd." it was an old story to the other passengers, but as they passed the sally port where the sentinel stood attention, mary nearly fell out in her eagerness to see all the novel sights. the lieutenant smiled at her enthusiasm. visiting girls always exhibited it in some degree, but never in quite such a precipitate manner as mary. "she's a funny little piece," he thought as the whole 'bus load laughed at her naïve comment on the sentinel, "but there is something genuine and likeable about her. she shall have the time of her life to-night if i can give it to her." chapter vi on the creek-bank there is only a partial account of that evening in mary's good times book. she recorded the fact that the general himself came and talked to her a few minutes, and laughed several times at her replies till people turned to see who it was that he found so amusing. the handsome officer of the day in sword and spurs was brought up to be introduced, and there was a most gratifying list of names on her well-filled program. lieutenant boglin had dutifully seen to that. had it not been for one circumstance the evening would have been a succession of thrills, and she could have filled several pages with enthusiastic recollections of it. that one little happening, however, marred the whole occasion. she made no record of it in her good times book, and she made up her mind never to speak of it, but to seal it up in its particular memory cell as the bees do any intruding object which threatens to poison their honey. there was so much else to tell about her visit, that for several days after her return she kept the family amused by her lively descriptions. she and gay had had a whole string of adventures the morning after the hop, when they went down town together to finish her shopping. there had been some interesting guests from new zealand at luncheon, who had vied with each other in telling marvelous yarns, and mary had stored them all away to repeat at home. with so much else to talk about she might have succeeded in keeping her resolution, had not she and jack gone off to the creek one afternoon, instead of taking their usual excursion towards the village. the spot where they paused was a place which seemed to invite confidences. she wheeled his chair along the bank, close to the water's edge, until they came to a secluded circle of shade under an ancient cypress tree. there she sat down opposite him on a big boulder. they were some distance from the main road. except when a wagon rattled down the hill and across the ford it was so very still that the rush of water over the pebbles sounded almost brawling. the constant gurgle and swish seemed to have a sort of hypnotic effect on them both, for neither of them spoke for a long time. then jack broke the silence. "this monotony is getting on my nerves," he said in a low tense voice. "you're a wonder to me, mary. i don't see how you can come back to such a deadly stupid place as this is, after the taste of gay times you've had, and settle down again as cheerfully as you do. it makes me desperate whenever i think that if it wasn't for my being in such a fix you needn't be tied here. you could be where you'd have the social opportunities you ought to have." mary looked up quickly. this tone of bitterness was a new note in jack's speech. he had drawn his hat down over his eyes, and was gripping the arms of his chair with both hands, as if trying to keep his resentment against fate in check. "just let me tell you something," cried mary, so anxious to smooth the grim lines of suffering out of the beloved face that she recklessly broke her resolution. "_i didn't have as good a time at that hop as i made out! the last part of it was perfectly ghastly, and i never want to go to another as long as i live!_" then, seeing the look of blank amazement that spread over jack's face, she hastened to explain. "oh, it started out beautifully. i was simply ecstatic when we climbed out of the 'bus and were ushered into that long room with the flags and the evergreens, and the military music. and you already know how much it meant to me to have the general so nice to me and the officer of the day so attentive and complimentary; and how happy i was to have my programme filled up so that there was no danger of my being a wall-flower. i was having the loveliest time imaginable, when i went up to gay to ask if any of the safety-pins showed below my girdle. the polo man i had met at dinner, that mr. mills, had been dancing with me, and, when he left me with gay, went over to speak to a pretty butterfly sort of girl, a little brunette all in frilly pink and white; i'd been admiring her at a distance. of course he didn't know his voice carried so far. he was protesting because she had left no place for him on her programme, and i heard him say: "'it wasn't _my_ fault that i didn't get to you in time. bogey roped me in first thing for a turn with that kindergarten kid he's got in tow. she's miss melville's guest and i couldn't get out of it, but really, juliet--_that was punishment enough_ without your--'" "i didn't hear the rest of it. some people beside me laughed just then and drowned his voice, but the girl looked over at me, and gave me a long, searching glance, sort of out of the corner of her eye, and then turned away with a little shrug of her shoulders and smiled up at him quite as if she agreed with him and had forgiven him because he had such a good excuse. "i never had anything make me so uncomfortable in all my life as his speech and then her sidelong look and nasty little shrug. it was the _way_ he said it, and the _way_ she answered, that hurt. after that i never forgot for a moment that my dress was a borrowed one and that it didn't fit, and that i was the plain little country mouse that they were polite to, merely because i was gay's guest and lieutenant boglin asked them to be. and i couldn't help feeling that every man who danced with me was as bored as mr. mills had been; even more so, for i had been perfectly natural and at ease when i was talking to him, and after i overheard his remark i was so stiff and self-conscious that such a state of mind was bound to have its effect all the rest of the evening. i was perfectly aware that i was boring my partners." "but that was such a little thing to let spoil your whole evening," interrupted jack. "it was awfully rude of the fellow to make such a speech, but he probably said it just to square himself with the other girl. 'all's fair in love and war,' they say, and you don't know how much it might have meant to him to keep in her good graces. i don't believe he really meant it." "oh, i know better!" insisted mary dismally. "he _did_ mean it! i felt it!" she slowly gathered up a handful of pebbles and sent them skipping across the water at intervals as she continued: "it gave me the same sensation that i had years ago, when i had my first toy balloon. that is one of my earliest and most vivid recollections. one moment i was hugging it to me because it was such a dear, gay, red bubble, fairly entranced with the beauty of it. the next i was looking down in a scared, puzzled way at what was left--just a dull scrap of wrinkled rubber. that one remark and glance and shrug made all the pleasure ooze out of the evening as quickly as my hugging squeezed the air out of that collapsed balloon." jack smiled at her comparison. he remembered that time, and how they had all laughed at her bewildered expression when the balloon burst in her hands. she could not be convinced at first that her beautiful, red bubble had ceased to be, and hopefully peered under tables and chairs, even while she held the wreck of it in her hands. jack had always been her comforter. he had dried her tears then with the promise of another balloon as soon as he could find the man who sold them, and now he hurried to lift the gloom that had settled down on her usually cheerful features. having thrown away all her pebbles, she bunched herself up into a disconsolate little heap, on the boulder, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hand. "no, it's no use your trying to comfort me," she said presently in response to his repeated attempts. "every time i think about that evening i'm so mortified that i could cry. my mind's made up. i am a dead failure socially, and i never want to go to another function as long as i live!" "you're a little goose! that's what you are," said jack. "and i know what's at the root of the whole trouble. you've done a lot of imagining about your social career at one time and another. you've looked forward to it and seen yourself in the rôle of an irresistible charmer. you've felt like a dowager duchess inwardly, and forgotten that you've no marks outwardly to show that you've grown up to take such a part. you have your own individual charm, but so far it is only the charm of an unsophisticated little school-girl, and naturally grown men find older girls more interesting, just as you would prefer phil tremont's company for instance, to that of little billy downs. but that's not saying that you dislike billy downs, or that he won't grow up to be a social lion some day. so may you. now own up. you always have pictured yourself as cutting quite a wide swath on your first appearance in society, haven't you? that's one reason you were so disappointed at the hop." "well," admitted mary, smiling in spite of herself, "i own i did expect to once, a long time ago, and maybe that had a sort of sub-conscious influence on me. it was when we first moved to arizona. hazel lee and i found a book that a boarder had left behind in his tent. it was called 'the lady agatha's career; a novel.' we took it out on the desert, a little way, and spelled it out between us, sitting on the sand behind a clump of grease-wood bushes, that hid us from view of the ranch house. hazel was allowed only juvenile books, and she knew her mother would take this away from us on account of the word novel. "it was such a horribly sentimental story that we found it embarrassing to read the tenderest parts of it aloud, and i suppose because it was the first one of the kind we had ever come across, it made a deeper impression on us than it would have done otherwise. we fairly devoured it. for days we thought and talked of nothing else, and we used to take turns playing we were the lady agatha, about to burst on society like a dazzling star, and win the heart of the proud scion of the house of de hoverly." jack threw back his head and laughed so heartily that mary was forced to smile again herself, as she went on with her confession. "that all came back to me the other night when we climbed out of the 'bus, and i almost giggled when i remembered that this was what hazel and i had looked forward to as such a grand event--being escorted for the first time by a grown man. it was on a similar occasion that the lady agatha made such a hit in society. our ideas of society were so crude and funny then," mary went on, beginning to relish her own reminiscences. "all we knew about it we gathered from that book. it seemed to be made up principally of haughty earls and dowager duchesses who lived in castles and wore coronets. i didn't know what a dowager was then, but i privately resolved to be one when i was grown. the name seemed so grand and high-sounding, and in the story they always had everything their own way. i couldn't help laughing a bit ago when you used the word, for you had hit the nail on the head." "then you won't mind when i say 'i told you so'" laughed jack. "if you hadn't gone that night expecting to create a sensation, you'd have been satisfied to have people nice to you simply because you were their friend's friend, and wouldn't have been so cut up over that remark you overheard." "i'm not so sure about the last part," mary insisted, her face clouding again. "it _was_ nasty of him to say it, and the mere thought of that man will always be an abomination to me." there was silence for a little while. everything was so still that a bird hopped fearlessly out on a limb above them, and began to call to its mate. when mary spoke again there was a whimsical expression on her face that soon reflected itself in jack's. "i can't help picturing things out beforehand, the way i'd like to have them be. i've done it all my life. the rehearsing is always more fun, though, than the actual happening. now when i went away to school last year, every time i'd wake up that last night in the sleeping-car, i'd plan just what i'd say and how i'd act to make my entrance to warwick hall imposing. i could actually see myself sweeping in to make a good impression on madam chartley, and you know what happened! my hat was cocked over one ear, the wire sticking out through the loops of ribbon, and madam caught me jumping up and down to try every seat in the reception-room, one after the other." jack chuckled, glad to see some of mary's cheerfulness returning. "and then," she continued, "you remember when we met phil and elsie tremont on the train, as we were going out to arizona to live?" jack nodded. "i was only nine years old then, but for weeks i thought of phil as a sort of young god--a regular apollo, and i pictured all sorts of scenes in which i should be a prominent personage at our next meeting. and when he _did_ come i was sprinting down the road in a cloud of dust, hatless and breathless and purple in the face, crying, and crazy with fright, because i thought that a harmless old indian who chanced to be riding down the same road, was chasing me. how phil does laugh every time that is mentioned!" mary was sitting up straight on the boulder now, her face dimpling as she recalled these various predicaments. "then there's the time the little colonel visited us at the wigwam. hadn't i dreamed of that first meeting for weeks--what we'd say and what she'd say? me in my rosebud sash and best embroidered white gown. but she caught you and joyce at the wash-tub, and i had to take my first peep at her, crouched down in an irrigating ditch on my way home from school, all inky and dirty and torn. "but i don't think i've done quite so much romancing since betty gave me my good times book and preached me that little sermon on being self-conscious," mary chattered on. "she said that my always thinking of the impression i was making on people, and being so eager to please was what made me miserable when i fell short of my expectations. she said that i ought to copy lloyd. that her greatest charm was her utter unconsciousness of self. i think that is betty's too. she's _such_ a darling." there was no response to this. the mention of betty's name brought up so many pleasing scenes to mary, that she sat living them over, unmindful of the long silence that fell between her and jack. he sat with his hat pulled still farther over his eyes, in a revery as deep as hers. betty's name recalled the picture that was often before him in these long, idle days. he was seeing her as he had seen her the first time, now over a year ago, when he made his memorable visit to kentucky. she was standing at the end of the long locust avenue, all in white, between the stately white pillars, with her godmother's arm about her, as they awaited his approach. slim and girlish and winsomely sweet she was, and when he looked into her wistful brown eyes, he felt in some strange way that he had come to the end of all pilgrimage. the world held nothing beyond worth seeking for. after a long time the swirl of the water past them was lost in the sound of a wagon, rattling noisily down the hill and across the ford. then a long line of cattle passed down the same road, accompanied by the hoarse calls of their drivers on horseback. mary looked up. "jack," she said hesitatingly, "did you ever hear this verse? "'for should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill, and come not by the far sea-way, yet come he surely will. close all the roads of all the world--_love's road is open still_.' "do you believe that is true?" "not for me," he answered in a hoarse voice, so bitter, so resentful that it startled her, coming as it did after long silence. he gripped the arms of his chair again, as if in pain too great to endure, and then burst out vehemently, "_every_ road is closed to me now! it wouldn't be so hard if there was any prospect of the end coming soon, but i may have to hang on this way for years--just a living death! caged in this helpless hulk of a body, a drag on every one and a misery to myself! _heavens!_ if i could only end it all!" "oh, jack!" begged mary, starting up, tears in her eyes. "don't talk that way! you're not a drag on anybody! we couldn't live without you! you've been so brave--just like aldebaran in the jester's sword. '_so bravely did he bear his lot, it seemed a kingly spirit dwelt among us!_' don't you know that just having you with us is more to us than anything else in the whole world?" she was fairly wringing her hands in her distress over this revelation of the overwhelming bitterness of jack's soul. for months he had been so cheerful, hiding his real feelings under a playfulness of manner, that it was a shock to her to find that his cheerfulness was only assumed. because he "had met his hurt so bravely and made no sign" she, like the jester, thought "the struggle had grown easier with time, and that he really felt the gladness that he feigned." like the jester, too, she was "at her wit's end for a reply." she could think of no word of comfort. the loud halloo which sounded just then in a familiar voice from up the creek, was a welcome interruption. the next instant norman came in sight around the curve. he was standing up in a flat-bottomed boat, poling down stream towards them, with the vigor and skill of a young indian. it was a clumsy, home-made affair, with "the swan" painted in blue letters on the side. "she's mine for the winter!" he announced joyfully, as soon as he was within speaking distance. "a man who lives up past klein's crossing rented it to me. i'm to chop wood awhile every saturday to pay for the use of it." norman was so interested in his new possession that he could not see that he had interrupted a conversation of tragic seriousness. "come on and get in, mary," he urged. "it's great. beats those old rafts you used to pole at lee's ranch, all hollow. don't you want to try it?" mary hesitated. to go off and leave jack sitting on the creek-bank, unable to accompany her, would emphasize his crippled condition. to refuse to leave him would only be added proof in his present sensitive mood that he was a "drag on every one." "the sun is dropping so low we ought to be starting home before it begins to get chilly," she said with a meaning glance towards jack, which to her relief norman interpreted aright. he answered cheerfully, "oh, go on! it's a cinch _you_ won't get chilly if you push that old boat along as fast as i did, and if we get cold waiting for you, it won't be many minutes till we'll be 'seen, a-rolling down the bowling green' towards home." "all right, then," said mary, climbing in as he climbed out to hold the boat steady for her. "i won't go far, but i'm surely glad to get out on the water again." she took the oar he handed her, and with a skilful push against the bank she sent the boat gliding out into the stream. as she went off she thought: "that was considerate of norman, to put it the way he did--to include jack with himself as a matter of course, and not to remind him of his helplessness by saying he'd stay and take care of him. norman has lots of tact for a boy of his age; more than i have. i must have hurt jack many a time by my inconsiderate speeches, but i had no idea he felt so horribly sensitive about being dependent." all the way up the creek she was so occupied with thinking of what jack had said, and so depressed over the depths of mental suffering which his exclamations revealed, that she plied her oar mechanically, only partly awake to the scenes about her. but the long even strokes, first on one side and then the other, sent her darting forward through the water so rapidly that she soon reached a turn in the creek which she had never passed before, and as she rounded the curve such a beautiful sight greeted her that she cried out in pleased surprise, "how perfectly _heavenly_!" on one side the bank towered up into a high, steep cliff, straight as a wall. it was completely covered with ferns; delicate, feathery maiden-hair ferns, as luxuriantly green as in mid-summer. in this sheltered spot they were still left untouched by the frost, although it was now december. everywhere else vegetation was dry and sere, but the green freshness of this bank was accounted for by a number of tiny water-falls splashing down from unseen springs above, and sending a light spray in every direction, as fine as mist. "i'm coming straight back here in the morning," she said to herself, "and dig up a lot of these ferns before the frost gets them. i can't think of anything lovelier to send to gay for a christmas greeting than a clump of them growing in a box--a rustic box covered with bark and dainty lichens. one would be nice for mrs. rochester, too. she's just the kind that would appreciate such a gift. well, that solves two of my hardest problems of what to give." that trip up the creek in _the swan_ was a voyage of discovery in more ways than one, for mary came upon the fact that she had grown older in the last quarter of an hour, quite as suddenly and unexpectedly as she had come upon the fern-bank. that cry of jack's, "heavens! if i could only end it all!" had shocked her into a deeper understanding of pain, and human limits of endurance. she had always prided herself on her ability to imagine herself in other people's places, and until now had believed that she fully understood and appreciated the depths of jack's suffering. now she saw that she had not even begun to fathom it. his bravery had deceived her. all the while that she had been thinking that he was growing accustomed to his lot and that time was making it easier for him to bear, a fire of rebellion was smouldering fiercely within him, making each day one of new torture. [illustration: mary ware in texas "she sent the boat down stream with long swift strokes."] because she could plaster up her own small hurts with platitudes and proverbs, and ease her disappointments by counting her blessings "as one would count the beads upon a rosary" she had vainly imagined that all this would be balm for him. how many times she had offered him such comfort, feeling with childish complacency that she was helping to ease his pain. she understood now. a sugarplum may help one to forget a bee-sting, but a death-thrust is another matter. absorbed in her thoughts, she sent the boat down stream with long, swift strokes, not noticing how fast it was going. helped by the current, she came in sight of jack and norman before she had mentally adjusted herself to her new view-point. she was afraid that as soon as she and jack were left alone again they would find themselves facing the same wall of blank despair, and she dreaded it. so to gain time, she began calling to them about the wonderful bank of ferns she had discovered, and made several awkward thrusts of the oar in an attempt to land, before she finally ran the boat up on the bank. but norman did not leave them alone. deciding that that secluded spot would be a good place to chain the boat, and that it was time to be doing his evening chores, he slipped the padlock key in his pocket and handed the oar over to mary, saying, "you carry this and i'll wheel the chair." jack had taken a new grip on his courage, and if mary could have but known it, it was by the help of one of the very means she had branded as futile, a few moments before. the sight of the bloodstone on his watch-fob, as he glanced at the time, recalled the story of the poor jester who had been born in mars month, like himself, and for that reason had cause to claim undaunted courage as the "jewel of his soul." the merest flicker of a smile crossed jack's grimly-set lips as he looked down at the bloodstone and thought of all it stood for; and pulling himself together he whispered the jester's vow between clenched teeth: "i'll keep my oath until the going down of one more sun." when mary joined them he was chaffing norman quite as usual, and immediately began to joke about the awkward landing she had made. on the way home norman laughed often, thinking that jack was in one of his jolliest moods; but mary walked beside them, the oar over her shoulder, saying to herself, "and under all this brave show, _he's feeling every minute that he'd be glad to die_!" when she reached the house mrs. ware met them at the door, and mary, passing in quietly as norman began telling about the boat, suddenly remembered that that was not the natural way for her to come home. whenever she had any news she fairly tumbled into the house in her haste to tell it. the boys knew that she had discovered the bank of ferns, and that it was as exciting as norman's discovery of a boat, because it would provide some of her christmas presents without cost. yet here she was walking in as calmly as if she were fifty years old and had outgrown her girlish enthusiasms. it certainly was not natural. so she turned back and interrupted norman, because that was what she always did when she was in a hurry to tell things, and she tried to make her description as full of life and color as she usually did; but all the time she had a feeling that she was acting. mrs. ware expressed her interest with many pleased exclamations as she always did when mary came to her with any new-found cause for rejoicing, but mary, suddenly grown keen of vision, saw the look of anxiety and weariness that seemed to lie in the back of her eyes behind the smile. "i wonder," she mused, "if mamma is acting, too, if her gladness is only on the surface, and she smiles to keep up her courage and ours, as they say little boys whistle in the dark. oh, it's dreadful to grow up if one has to lose faith in this being a good old world. it used to seem so happy all the time, and now it's all so sorrowful and out of joint." she went into her room to wash her hands and get an apron before going out into the kitchen to help prepare supper. as she stood tying the apron-strings, she looked up at lloyd sherman's picture which hung over her bed, as it used to hang in warwick hall and at lone rock, when she pretended that it was lloyd's _shadow-self_, the chum to whom she could carry all her troubles, sure of silent sympathy. but somehow, while the beautiful eyes smiled down into hers as kindly as they had always done, they did not bring the sense of her presence. they did not speak to her as they had done those other times when she turned to them for the imagined communion that always brightened her spirits. "it's never seemed the same since i knew she was engaged," mary thought with a sigh. "of course i know she's just as fond of me as she was before, but i can't help feeling that she's so taken up with other things now, her life so heavenly full since she has found her prince, that she _can't_ take the same interest in my affairs." as she passed the mirror she turned back for a second glance. the first had shown her the fresh unlined face of a girl of seventeen, but judging by the way she felt she was sure there should be wrinkles. the weight of world-weariness and disillusionment and foreboding which depressed her, certainly could not belong to youth. they must be the property of an old woman, in her sixties at least. chapter vii christmas ten days before christmas mary opened the bottom drawer of her bureau, in which she had placed each gift as soon as it was finished, and sitting down on the floor beside it, proceeded to take an inventory of the packages within. they were all wrapped, stamped and addressed, but she had made them ready without a single christmas thrill. there was nothing in the climate or surroundings to suggest the holiday season, and she compared this year's preparations with the year before at warwick hall, when the very air seemed charged with a spirit of delightful expectancy; when everybody had secrets and went around smiling and humming snatches of carols which the choir-girls were practising for the service in the chapel. mechanically she counted the bundles and checked them off her list: the ones for holland, for joyce, for eugenia, the bunny doll with the chamois skin head which she had made for little patricia. she was very well satisfied with them all, as well as with the fancy trifles she had made for lloyd and betty and the girls at school, with whom she still kept up a correspondence. they were inexpensive, but they were original and appropriate. allowing for the crowded condition of the mails, she decided that the packages which had the longest distance to go should be started that very day. these she took from the drawer and piled on her bed, and then got out her pen to begin the writing of her christmas letters. now one may make all sorts of dainty gifts, and tie them with holly ribbon, and send them away in christmasy looking packages which will bring a glow to the heart of the one who opens them, and yet do it all without one spark of festal feeling herself. but it is impossible to write a christmas letter and put the proper zest into its greetings, unless one is a-tingle with it. when mary discovered that fact, she tore up the sheets on which she had made various beginnings, and put the cork in her ink-bottle. "i can't do it any more than i could keep thanksgiving on the fourth of july or new year's on april fool's day," she thought. "luckily the letters travel faster than second-class mail, so i'll take my packages to the post-office now, and then go out in the boat awhile, and think about snow and sleigh-bells and holly berries till i work myself up to the proper mood." as she started out of the door her mother called to her to remind her that they needed eggs. that meant that mary was to go around by the metz place to get them on her way home, which would take so much longer that there wouldn't be much time for meditation in the boat. but it was in going for the eggs that she came across the very inspiration of which she was in quest. mr. metz and his wife were sitting on a bench in the sunny garden near the kitchen door, when mary opened the gate. looking up the path between the stiff rows of coxcombs and prince's feather, she could see that the old lady was knitting, as usual. he sat with a newspaper across his knees, and his spectacles folded in one hand. the other grasped the end of his long white beard which flowed almost to his lap. they were both singing; singing with the quavering voices of age, a song which they had brought with them from their far away youth in the beloved fatherland. it was a song of christmas joy which they had carolled many a time around a candle-lighted tree. their voices were thin and tremulous, and broke now and then on the high notes, but it was a gay little tune, very sweet and full of cheer; and mary, who stopped to listen just inside the gate, was thankful that they had not heard the latch click. when it came to an end she waited a moment, hoping there would be another verse, but they began to talk, and she started on up the path. but halfway to the house she paused again, for they had begun another song. "_am weinachtsbaum die lichter brennen!_" their voices came to a sudden stop at the end of that line, however, as they became aware of an approaching visitor. mary hurried forward saying, "oh, i understood one word of it. you were singing about a christmas tree, weren't you? the children in the blue cottages across from us have been talking about a 'weinachtsbaum' all week. please don't stop. it sounded so sweet as i came in at the gate." at some other time the old couple might have been hard to persuade, but the holiday season was their high-tide of the year, and its return always swept them along with a rush of happy memories, to a state of enjoyment that was almost childish in its outward manifestation. finding that mary was really interested in hearing them talk of the customs of their youth, they began a series of reminiscences so interesting that she could have listened all day. seventy christmases they could remember distinctly, besides the dim impressions of several earlier ones. in the course of describing them it came about quite naturally that they should sing her the interrupted song. the old man, because he spoke better english than his wife, interpreted the verses first. but even his speech was halting and broken, and he pulled his white beard desperately, and used many despairing gestures when he could not find the right word. she, clicking her needles, kept up a constant nodding while he explained. "on the christmas tree the lights are burning. the children gaze at the what you call it--picture--scene--till the eye laughs and the heart laughs and the old look himmelwartz, heavenwards that means, with blessed rapture." "yah, yah!" nodded the old wife, prompting him as he paused. "zwei engel"-- "two angels appear," he repeated, going haltingly on with the next verse. mary could not understand all that he tried to convey, but she caught the meaning of the last part, that the day brings god's blessing to young and old alike, to the white as well as the brown hair. "it is the same all over the world," he said, clearing his throat preparatory to singing the lines he had just translated. "we will be alone this year. we cannot go to our children and they cannot come to us. but we shall not feel alone. we will make ready one little tree, and in our hearts we will join hands with all the happy ones who greet the _weinachtsbaum_. we will be part of that circle which reaches around the whole wide world." the quavering old voices took up the tune, and although mary recognized only three words, christmas-tree, angels and heavenward, there was something in the zest with which they sung it, something in the expression of the wrinkled old faces, which gave her the inspiration she was in search of. it was as if she had brought to them a little unlighted candle, and they had kindled it at the flame of their own glowing ones. when mary went home she was more like her accustomed self than she had been for days. she went dancing into the house with the eggs, and immediately set about the writing of her christmas letters in her usual resourceful way. mrs. ware looked up, much amused, to see her piling some fresh orange peel and bits of broken cedar on the table beside her ink-bottle. "there's nothing like that combination of smells to make you think that santa claus is coming straight down the chimney," exclaimed mary gravely, catching her mother's amused glance. "you may think it is foolish, but really it makes all the christmases i have ever known stand right up in a row in front of me, whenever i smell that smell." she rubbed a bit of the fresh peel and then a piece of the cedar between her palms to bring out the pungent fragrance, and afterwards, from time to time, bent over it for another whiff to bring her new inspiration. by the twentieth of december the last letter and the last out-of-town package but one was started on its way. gay's box of ferns, a mass of luxuriant, feathery greenness, sat on a window-sill, waiting for its time to go. the crate in which it was to be shipped stood ready in the wood-shed, even to the address on the express-tag. then time began to drag. the next two days, although the shortest in the year, seemed many times longer than usual. "it's like trying to keep things hot when somebody is late and keeps dinner waiting," complained mary. "if you can't eat when it's all ready, some of the things are sure to dry up and some to get cold. i was worked up to quite a festive state of mind day before yesterday, but my enthusiasm is all drying up and cooling off now." "here's something to warm it over again," announced norman, coming in from the express office with a box on his shoulder. "here's the first gift to arrive. let's open up right now, and open each thing that comes after this _when_ it comes instead of waiting for one grand surprise on christmas morning. you never will try my way, and it would spread the pleasure out and make it last lots longer if you only would. you're bound to get more enjoyment out of each thing if you give your undivided attention to it." for once norman's suggestion, made yearly, was not opposed, and as he pried the lid off the box mary flopped down on the floor beside it, jack wheeled his chair closer, and mrs. ware came in from the next room in answer to their eager calls that it was from joyce. each one of the studio family had contributed to the filling of the box. the holly-wreaths on top, tied with great bows of wide red ribbon, were from miss henrietta robbins. "don't you know," exclaimed mary, as she lifted them out and held them up for them all to admire, "that miss henrietta has turned that studio into a perfect bower of christmas greens? she gives it all the elegant costly touches that joyce never could afford, just as she's put the finishing touch on these wreaths with this beautiful ribbon. it's wide enough and satiny enough for a sash." "and isn't it just like little mrs. boyd to send _this_!" she cried a moment later, when the opening of a fancy pasteboard box revealed a doll about six inches long, dressed like a ballet dancer. its fluffy scarlet skirts hid the leaves of a needle-book, concealed among its folds, and from the ends of the sash, by which it was intended to dangle, hung a tiny emery bag in the shape of a strawberry, and a little silk thimble-case. "she got the idea for that from the ladies' home magazine, i am sure. she adores the pages that tell how to evolve your entire spring outfit from a shoe-string and a strip of left-over embroidery. it's not that she's trying to economize. joyce says she has the piece-bag habit. the girls tease her about not being able to see a scrap of goods without wishing to find some way to use it, but they love the homey flavor her home-made things give to the house. she is as old-fashioned and dear in her ways as she is in her ideas of art." "that is an unusually pretty doll," remarked mrs. ware as mary swung it around by its sash. "yes," she answered, "it's the kind hazel lee and i were always wishing for. ours were flaxen haired, and this has raven curls. we would have called her 'lady agatha' if we had had her then. i believe i'll name her that now," she added with a glance towards jack to see if he understood the allusion. but jack was not noticing. he was turning the pages of a handsomely illustrated work on geology, a book he had long wanted to own. joyce had had little to spend this year compared with last, but in her hurried shopping expeditions, she had considered the tastes and needs of each one so well that every gift was hailed with delight. "norman's way is a dandy one," acknowledged mary, as she opened a box of fine stationery engraved with her monogram, the first she had ever owned. "now i can write my note to gay on this. if we had waited i should have had to use the common paper that we buy at the drug-store by the pound, because it is cheap. and it's so nice too, to have these holly-wreaths beforehand." she danced away to hang them in the windows, and to swing the lady agatha from a corner of the mirror over her bureau, where her hidden needle-book could readily be reached. then she thriftily gathered up every bit of ribbon and tinsel from the discarded wrappings, smoothed out the tissue paper and picked loose from it all the adhering seals that had not been broken in the process of tearing open the packages. "here's seven whole seals with holly on them," she announced to her mother, "six with santa claus heads and four with the greeting merry christmas. i'm going to use them over again in doing up the rest of my packages. that box that the doll came in is exactly what i want to put the candy in that i made for the barnabys. and that plain one that holds the stuffed dates that lucy boyd sent will do for the candy i'm going to send mr. and mrs. metz. all i'll need to do is to cover it with some of this holly paper and tie it with the same gold cord. i'll find a use for nearly everything i've saved before the week is over." she said it in a tone of such deep satisfaction that norman looked up from the book and other gifts in which he had seemed absorbed, to laugh at her. "mary is like that old woman who wrote those recipes for cheap pies in that old new england cook-book we have at home," he said to his mother. "she thinks 'a little ingenuity added to almost any material that comes to hand will make a tasty pie!' you ought to send the ladies' home magazine some pointers, mary, on '_how to make christmas gifts for others on the wrappings of those sent you_.' didn't some one say something about the _scrap-bag_ habit awhile ago?" mary's only answer was a saucy grimace. she could afford to let him tease her about her squirrel instinct for hoarding, when it gave her so much satisfaction to add to her store of scraps. she had all sorts of things to draw on in emergencies. in the one month they had been in bauer she had nearly filled a shoe-box with odds and ends. she had sheets of tin-foil, saved from packages of chocolate, picture cards, little bottles and boxes and various samples of toilet articles sent out by firms who advertise their goods in that way. for the next two days every mail brought greetings and remembrances to some one of the family, sometimes to all, so that the hours slipped by at a fairly rapid pace. one of the gifts which gave mary most pleasure was the chiffon scarf that lloyd sent. it was like the one roberta wore the first evening mary had seen her, and which she rapturously compared to "a moonbeam spangled with dew-drops," only she thought hers far lovelier than roberta's. a dozen times a day she slipped into her room to take the floating, filmy web from its box, and spread it out to gloat over it. she had to try the effects of different lights on it, sunshine and moonlight and the rays of the lamp. she spread it over different dresses, white, pink and green, to see which produced the prettiest glimmers, and norman caught her once posing before a mirror with it draped over head, and teased her all the rest of the evening. betty's gift was a simple, inexpensive one, intended merely as a greeting. it was only a green bay-berry candle, but the card tied to it by a scarlet bow bore the verse: "this bay-berry candle's tongue of flame bears message. prithee hear it! _while it burns mid your christmas greens i'm with you all in spirit!_" "i'm glad that it's a big fat candle," said mary, passing it around for each one to enjoy the spicy, aromatic fragrance. "it'll burn a long time." she lighted it christmas eve and put it in the centre of the table with one of the holly-wreaths laid around the base, and the tongue of flame did seem to "bear message." it started mary to talking of her absent friend; of the bloodstone and the good times book betty had given her. of betty's clear brown eyes and dearer ways, of betty's sweet consideration for others, of her talent for writing which was sure to make her famous some day. she talked of her all during supper, not noticing that jack was unusually silent, and that his eyes rested oftener on the candle than it did on his plate. as they left the table mr. metz appeared at the door like a veritable old santa claus, with his long white beard and eyes a-twinkle. in one arm he carried a big round hat-box full of nuts, in the other two bottles of home-made wine. his own pecan trees and vineyard had furnished his offering. he thanked them so volubly in his broken way for the little gifts that norman had carried over when he went for the milk, and delivered his nuts and wine with such benign smiles and a flow of good wishes from his wife and himself, that mary gave a skip of pleasure when she closed the door after him. she went back to the kitchen singing: "'now jingle, jingle, come kris kringle!' oh, i feel as if the old fellow himself had really been here. he and betty's candle have given me a real night-before-christmas-and-all-through-the-house feeling. it's lovely!" they had had supper so early that it was barely dusk outdoors when she and norman started to take the box of ferns to the rectory. when they had passed the cotton field, the bend in the road soon brought them to the edge of the village, and the beginning of the short thoroughfare which led to the main street, past the cotton-gin and the free camp-yard. the free camp-yard was always an interesting place to both of them, and they never passed it without looking in. it was a large lot surrounded by a high board fence. low sheds were built along one side within the enclosure, in which both men and beasts might find shelter in time of storm. usually they slept in the open, however, with little campfires here and there to boil their coffee and give them light. peddlers, hucksters and belated country people were its usual patrons. but sometimes one saw a family of armadillo hunters on their way to the curio dealers, with crates full of the queer nine-banded shells which can be made into baskets, simply by tying the head and tail together. one evening mary saw two country belles, putting the finishing touches to their toilets behind a wagon, by the aid of a pocket-mirror. they had come in for one of the saturday night balls, held regularly in the town hall. the week before, part of a disbanded freak show had taken refuge in the camp-yard. norman, peeping through a knot-hole, the gate being shut, had seen the armless man scratch a match and light a fire with his toes. it was deserted to-night, except for a dilapidated covered wagon which had driven in a few minutes before. it was drawn by a big bony horse and a dejected little burro, and piled high with household goods. a gaunt, rough-looking man with a week's stubble of red beard on his chin, was beginning to unhitch. his wife, who was only a young thing, and pretty in a worn, faded way, put down the sleeping baby that she had been holding, and stretched her arms wearily. she seemed too tired and listless to move till one of the two children, who were climbing down over the wheel, fell and began to whimper. a pair of hounds that had trailed along behind dropped down under the wagon as if they had followed a long way and were utterly exhausted. "did you ever see anything so forlorn in all your life!" exclaimed norman as they passed on. "and christmas eve, too. i don't suppose those poor little kids will have a thing." "no, i suppose not," answered mary. "it seems a shame, too, when there'll probably be a tree in every house in bauer. mrs. metz says that is one custom that they keep up here as faithfully as they do in the old country. even the poorest families will manage to get one somehow." "those were cute kids," norman went on, too much interested in what he had just seen to put the subject by. "that oldest little girl with the yellow curls looked like a big doll, and the little one is almost as pretty." he spoke of them again on the way back, after they had left the ferns at the rectory, and turned homeward. the lights were beginning to twinkle all down the long street. in every house they passed, where the shades had not been drawn, they could see a tree, standing all ready for the lighting, from gift-laden base to top-most taper. as they drew near the camp-yard again they saw the red-whiskered man going into the corner grocery with a tin pail on his arm. at the camp-yard gate they looked in. a small fire had been started, over which a battered coffee-pot had been set to boil. the burro and the bony horse were munching fodder near the wagon, but the woman and the children had disappeared. "there they are," whispered mary, pointing down the road a little way to a group standing in front of the pretty green and white cottage next to the cotton gin. the lace curtains had been dropped over the windows, but they did not hide the gay scene within. the family was having its celebration early, because the two small lads for whom it was designed were so young that their bedtime came early. they were handsome little fellows, one in kilts and the other just promoted to trousers. the gifts hanging from the lighted boughs were many and costly. the two little ones outside looking in, had never seen anything so fine and beautiful before, and stood gazing in round-eyed wonder. attracted by the music they had strayed down from the camp-yard, and their mother had followed with the sleeping baby thrown across her shoulder, to bring them back. now she, too, stood and stared. the phonograph was still playing when mary and norman reached the gate, so they paused to listen, also, more interested in the watchers outside however, than the revellers within. presently mary turned to the woman, saying, "it's pretty, _isn't_ it?" in such a friendly way that her remark called out an equally friendly response, and in a few moments she had learned what she wanted most to know about the strangers. they were moving on to the next county, having already been two days and a night on the road. her man thought he could find work in the cedar brakes. they stood talking until the phonograph stopped, then a glance over her shoulder told the woman that her husband was returning to the wagon, and she turned to go. the children were loath to leave, however. "it's their first sight of sandy claws," she remarked as if to explain their unwillingness. then as one of them stumbled and caught at her skirts she added impatiently, "i reckon it's likely to be your last. he don't care anything for the likes of _us_." it was said so bitterly, that as norman trudged on in the opposite direction with his sister, he exclaimed in a regretful tone, "it's too bad that we didn't find out about them sooner, in time to fix something for them. it sort of spoils my own christmas to think of those kids going without." "they are not going without," replied mary promptly, who had been thinking rapidly as she walked. "we've got to get something ready for them before they shut their eyes to-night." "huh, i'd like to know how you'll do it this late," norman answered. she laughed in reply, saying teasingly, "who was it said that 'a little ingenuity added to almost any material that comes to hand will make a tasty pie?' well, it will make a tasty tree too. if you'll help i'll have one ready in an hour." his skeptical "i don't believe it! why, you _can't_!" was all she needed to start her to working out her resolution with the force of a young whirlwind. she could plan with lightning-like rapidity when any need arose. "i said if you'd all help," she reminded him. as soon as he had expressed a hearty willingness to do anything he could to carry "sandy claws" to the camp-yard, she began. "the minute we get home, you hack off one of the bottom branches of that cedar tree outside the gate; a good bushy one about three feet high. put it into the box that joyce's presents came in, and nail it in place with cleats made from the lid. better weight it with some stones in the bottom, and we can tack green crêpe paper all over the base. we've nothing but ordinary white candles, but we can cut them in two, and wire them on with hairpins, and cover the pins with tinfoil out of my scrap-box that you make so much fun of. that will be _your_ part. "there's some corn already popped, waiting till i get back, to be made into balls. i'll get mamma to string it instead, and jack to make a lot of little gilt cornucopias out of some stuff i've saved. i'm sure he'll donate the candy cane joyce sent as a joke, although he is so fond of old-fashioned striped peppermint sticks. we'll break it up into short pieces and hang that on. and we can tie up a few dates and nuts into tiny packages. there are fancy papers and ribbons galore in that aforesaid scrap-box. i'll think of more after we get started. come on, let's race the rest of the way. the one who gets there first can tell the others." norman reached the front door several yards ahead of mary, but he did not claim his privilege. he merely rushed into the kitchen for a hatchet, calling as he dashed out again, "sixty minutes to make a christmas tree in! everybody get to work." mary did not stop to take off her hat. throwing off her coat, she began talking "on the bounce" as jack said, for she hurried from one room to the other, explaining at the top of her voice, while she gathered up pop-corn, scrap-box, paste-tube and scissors. her enthusiasm was so contagious, her description of the camp-yard pilgrims so appealing, that by the time she had finished her breathless account of them jack had begun cutting squares of gilt paper and mrs. ware was stringing corn as if they were working to win a wager. the race against time was the most exciting experience they had had in bauer. they watched the clock with many laughing exclamations, but were working too fast to talk much. in twenty minutes norman brought in a shapely little tree firmly fastened on a green base. in thirty minutes more the candles were wired in place; a few skilful twists had turned part of the tinfoil into silvery ornaments to hang beneath, while the rest had gone to the making of a great star to blaze on the top-most bough. white strings of pop-corn were festooned around it like garlands of snow. every branch was bright with gilt and silver and blue and red packages, holding only a nut or a sweetmeat it is true, but adding much to the gay attire of the tree. a little pocket-mirror flashed from one bough, a fancy sample bottle of perfume hung from another. a miniature cake of scented soap and many fluttering picture cards bore witness to the resources of the scrap-box. then exclaiming over a sudden happy thought mary darted into the bedroom and took down lady agatha. three snips of the scissors robbed her of the needle book hidden under her fluffy scarlet skirts and of the emery bag and thimble case tied to her sash ends, and left her no longer useful; only so ornamental that any little girl would have been glad to take her to her arms and affection. "i know mrs. boyd wouldn't mind my passing it on to those children," mary said as she tied it to one of the highest branches, "if she knew that it makes me happy as well as them." "but," asked norman, "what if goldilocks and her sister both want to play with it at the same time? what will the left-out one do?" mary thought an instant and then flew to the tray of her trunk to snatch out a woolly toy lamb, that had fallen to her lot from the mock christmas tree at warwick hall. "i brought it down to texas with me because dorene said that 'everywhere that mary went the lamb was sure to go.' i expected to keep it always as a reminder of that lovely evening, but--" with a half stifled sigh, "it will do them more good than me." when that was in place she gave one last glance around the room to see what else she could appropriate. her eyes fell on the holly wreaths. "those red bows will make lovely hair-ribbons," she cried. "we can spare two of them. hurry, mamma, and help me untie them! the needle-book may as well go too. pin it on, norman, and stick a date in the thimble bag and swing it up, jack." in the meantime norman had been lighting the candles in order that they might see how it looked when it was all ashine, and it stood now, a very creditable and a very bright little tree. there were none of the spun-glass birds and crystal icicles and artificial fruits that had made little patricia's tree such a gorgeous affair the year before, and were probably making it beautiful to-night, but there was sparkle and color and glow and charm of beribboned packages, enough to make little eyes who saw such a sight for the first time believe that it was the work of magic hands. "done!" cried mary triumphantly, "and in only fifty-eight minutes!" "well, i didn't believe it would be possible," acknowledged norman. "i'll bet it's the only tree in texas trimmed in such short order." when he and mary reached the camp-yard again, they found the family sitting around the smouldering fire, listening to the phonograph which was still playing in the cottage down the road. the quilts were spread out in the wagon, ready for the night, but the children, who had slept most of the afternoon on their tiresome journey, could not be induced to climb in while the music lasted. the two bearers of yule-tide cheer set the tree down and reconnoitered through cracks in the fence. "the man looks awfully down in the mouth," whispered norman. "so does she. shall we tell them 'sandy claws' sent it?" "no," mary whispered back. "they look so forlorn and friendless, and the woman seemed to feel so left out of everything, that it might do them good to tell them we brought it because the angels sang peace on earth, good-will to men, and that it's a sort of sign that they're _not_ left out. they're to have a part in it too." norman turned his eye from the knot-hole to gape at her. "well!" was his whispered ejaculation. "if you want all _that_ said you'll have to say it yourself. i'm no preacher." "come on then," said mary boldly. she knew what she wanted to convey to them but the words stuck in her throat, and she never could remember afterwards exactly what she blurted out as they put the tree down in front of the astonished family and then turned and ran. however, her words must have carried some of the good cheer she intended, for when she and norman paused again outside, she at the knot-hole this time and he at the crack, it gave them each a queer little flutter inside to see the expression on the pleased faces and hear their exclamations of wonder. "they couldn't be more surprised if it had dropped right down out of the sky," whispered norman. "now the kids are getting over their daze a bit. they're hopping around just like they saw the kramer boys do." "see, they've found lady agatha," answered mary. "just _look_ at goldilocks now! did you ever see such an ecstatic little face. i wouldn't have missed it for anything. now they've got the lamb. i'm so glad i thought of it, for the kramers had a whole bunch of little white sheep around the base of their tree." they were both very quiet when they finally turned away from the fence and started home. they did not speak till they reached the white moonlighted road, stretching past the cotton field. then mary looked up at the stars saying reverently, "somehow i feel as if we'd been taking part in the _first_ christmas. it was a sort of camp-yard that the star of bethlehem led to. don't you remember, 'there was no room in the inn' for the child and his mother? it was a manger the gold and frankincense and myrrh were carried to. i feel as if we'd been following along--a little way at least--on the trail of the wise men." "me too," confessed norman. then nothing more was said for a long time. mary could find no words for the next thoughts which puzzled her. she was picturing all the christmas trees of the world brought together in one place, and trying to imagine the enormous forest they would make. then she fell to wondering what it was about them that should make "the eye laugh and the heart laugh, and bring a blessing to the silver hair as well as brown" as the old couple had sung in the garden. all over the world it was so. since looking into the windows at other peoples' trees, and then causing one to bloom and bear fruit herself for the homeless campers, she felt that she had joined hands with that circle which reaches around the world. she was no longer an alien and stranger among the people of bauer. the "weinachtsbaum" had given her a happy bond of understanding and kinship. it had taken the hard, hopeless look out of the older faces around the camp-fire, for awhile at least, and made the little ones radiant. and at home--she remembered gratefully how jack had burst out whistling several times while he helped to trim it. and the tune that came in such lusty, rollicking outbursts was one which he never whistled except when he was in high good humor with himself and all the universe. she was sure that he wasn't acting then--he couldn't have been just pretending that he was glad, for it sounded as it always used to do back at the wigwam. she wondered why the tree had had that effect. and then, like an answer, a verse popped into her thoughts; one that she had spelled out long ago for grandmother ware, letter by letter, one little finger pointing to each in turn. it was a verse from revelation, about the tree that stands on either side of the river, clear as crystal, "_which bare twelve manner of fruit, and the leaves were for the healing of the nations_." then all of a sudden she understood why those shining boughs with their strange fruitage of gifts have power to bring hope and good cheer to lonely hearts the world over. they are the symbols, which the spirit of christmas sets ashine, of that tree of life. and the spirit of christmas is only another name for love, and it is love alone, the human and divine together, which can bring about the healing needed by hearts in every nation. all this did not come to mary in words. she could not have expressed it to any one else, but it sent her on her way, deeply, quietly glad. next morning while she was stooping before the oven, basting the turkey which the barnabys had sent with their greetings, jack called her to the front window where he was sitting. a covered wagon was creaking slowly by, drawn by a big horse and a little burro. the cover was looped up, and in the back end, carefully tied to the tail-gate, stood the tree which had taken them fifty-eight minutes to prepare, but whose memory would not be effaced in that many years from the minds of the two children, seated on the quilts beside it. "i'm so glad you got to see them," said mary. "aren't they dear? and oh, look! goldilocks is still holding lady agatha, and the other one's hugging the woolly lamb!" when the wagon was entirely out of sight mary started back to her turkey basting, but stopped a moment to take another look at the gifts spread out on the side table. several things had been added to them that morning; a dissected puzzle picture which norman had made for her, a spool case that jack had whittled out, and a strip of exquisitely embroidered rosebuds that mrs. ware had wrought to be put into a white dress. there was also a pot of white hyacinths from the rectory, and mary held her face down against the cool snow of their blossoms, taking in their sweetness in long breaths. "it's been a pretty full christmas, hasn't it!" exclaimed jack as he watched her. "it's really been one of the nicest i ever had," she answered, "for one reason because it's lasted so long. norman's plan is a success." that night after supper norman insisted on taking his mother down into the village to look at the lighted windows. after they had gone mary took out her good times book to record the happenings of the day. she had a few more notes of acknowledgment to write also, and was glad that jack was busy with his own writing. she noticed that he was using india ink and a crow-quill pen, but thought nothing of that as he was always experimenting with them. joyce was not the only one of the children who had inherited artistic ability. jack never attempted pictures, but he did beautiful lettering; odd initials and old english script, and had copied verses for calendars and fly-leaf inscriptions. joyce said some of his pen-and-ink work was as beautifully done as the letters she had seen in old missals, made by the monks. nearly an hour went by. mary addressed her last envelope. he laid down his pen and pushed a narrow strip of cardboard towards her. "i've made you one more present to end the day with, mary," he said jokingly. "it's a bookmark." inside a narrow border of conventional scrollwork was one line, and the line was from the verse which she had quoted so disastrously that day at the creek-bank: "close all the roads of all the world, _love's_ road is open still!" as she looked up to speak he interrupted her hurriedly: "yes, i know how miserable i made you that day with my outburst against fate, and i've felt that you've never believed me since when i laughed and joked and said that i enjoyed things. but that was only one time that i gave way, just once that i got down in the dumps and i don't want you to think that is my usual state of feelings. really i'm getting more out of life than you imagine. i'm putting up the best fight i can. i just wanted you to know that although every other road in the world is closed against me i can still scrape along pretty comfortably because that last line is true. love's road is open still. you all have made it a good wide one for me, and made it worth while for me to travel it with you cheerfully to the end. i'm perfectly willing to, _now_." "oh, jack!" cried mary in a voice that trembled with both joy and tears. "i've had a happy christmas, but knowing you feel that way is the very best part of all!" chapter viii "die kleinen teufel" christmas was followed by a week of small calamities. some of them would have been laughable, counted singly, but taken all together they assumed a seriousness not to be considered lightly. in the first place, mary, attempting to tie the boat at the usual landing, slipped on the muddy bank and dropped the chain. in her effort to recover it she stepped into the water. her shoes were soaking wet when she reached home, and as they were her only good ones she stuffed them carefully with paper and hung them over the little drum stove in the living room to dry. that evening jack read aloud while they washed the dishes, so they were all in the kitchen when the smouldering log in the drum stove, having reached the blazing point, suddenly burst into flame. presently a smell of burning leather made them all begin to sniff inquiringly, and mary rushed in to find that one of her shoes had dropped from the string to which she had tied it by the laces, and was scorching to a crisp on the red-hot stove. her old shoes were so shabby that the immediate need of new ones, left her figuring over the family accounts until bed-time. it was hard to cut down a list of expenses already reduced to low water mark. the next day a wet "norther" blew up, bringing the first cold weather of the winter. after weeks of almost summer-like heat, the mercury dropped to freezing point in just a few hours, and roaring fires in both the kitchen and drum stoves failed to warm the little cottage. like most houses in that section it had not been built with a view to excluding the cold. the wind blew in under the north door, lifting the rugs until they shifted with a wave-like motion across the floor. jack had to have a blanket hung behind his chair, and when mrs. ware sat down to write her weekly letter to joyce the draughts that rattled the windows set her to sneezing as if she never could stop. mary, full of resources, brought her pink sunbonnet and perched it on her mother's head, pulling its ruffled cape well down on her shoulders. "there!" she exclaimed, laughing at the jaunty effect. "that will keep 'the cauld blasts' from giving you a stiff neck. do look in the mirror and then draw a picture of yourself for joyce. tell her that the sunny south is a delusion. the mercury is only down to freezing, but i am sure that there isn't an esquimau in all the arctic circle as cold as we are this blessed minute. that wind goes through a body like a fine-pointed needle." "these little stoves fairly eat up the wood," she grumbled a few minutes later, glancing into the empty wood-box which norman had piled to the top before he left that morning. "norman will be back soon," said mrs. ware, looking out from her aureole of pink ruffles, which she had found such a comfortable shield from the draughts that she left it as mary had placed it. "he'll fill the box again as soon as he comes." but mary had slipped into a coat and was tying a veil over her ears. "it isn't safe to wait," she answered. "we'd be stiff and stark as icicles in no time if we were to let the fires go out. i don't mind being stoker. it's good exercise." she skipped out to the wood-pile gaily enough, but the tune she was whistling changed to a long-drawn note of surprise and dismay when she saw what inroads they had made on it since the last time she had noticed it. "we'll have to have another cord right away," she thought. "i never dreamed that fuel would be such a big item of expense, away down here so far south. but if we have much more weather like this it will be a very serious item." the discovery sent her back to her account book again, but this time she took it to her own room where jack could not see her figuring. the butcher raised the price of meat that week. both butter and eggs went higher, and jack's rubber air-cushion sprung such a leak that it collapsed hopelessly. a new one was a necessity. then the cold norther made jack's rheumatism so much worse that he had to stay in bed, and several visits from the doctor and a druggist's bill had to be added to the list of the week's calamities. the last straw was reached when joyce's letter came, deploring the fact that the check which she was enclosing was only half the size which she usually sent. she had some unexpected expenses at the studio which she was obliged to meet, but she hoped to send the customary amount next month. this information was not in the letter which mrs. ware promptly sent in to jack by norman, but in a separate postscript, folded inside the check. mary read it with startled eyes. "whatever are we going to do?" she asked in a despairing whisper. mrs. ware shook her head and sat folding and unfolding the check in an absent-minded way for several minutes. then she went into her room for pen and ink to endorse it, so that mary, who was going down into the town that afternoon, could cash it. she was gone a long time and when she came back she had two letters ready to post. as mary went down the road a while later, she glanced at the first envelope which was addressed to joyce, admiring as she always did her mother's penmanship. "it's just like her," she thought, "so fine and even and ladylike." then she gave an exclamation of surprise as she saw that the second envelope was addressed to mrs. barnaby. "whatever can she be writing to _her_ about?" she wondered. "it's queer she never said anything about it, when we always talk over everything together, even the tiniest trifles." she puzzled over it nearly all the way to the post-office till she remembered that she had heard her mother say that she was not altogether satisfied with the new doctor's treatment for jack, and that she wanted to ask mrs. barnaby whom to call in consultation. satisfied with that solution, mary thought no more about the matter till the following friday, when she came back from a short call at the rectory, to find that mrs. barnaby had just driven away from the house. she was disappointed, for these visits were always hailed as joyful events by the entire household. "i wouldn't have missed her for _anything_!" exclaimed mary, following her mother into their bedroom. "she's so diverting. what particularly funny things did she say this time? _what's that?_" her glance and question indicated a bundle that her mother had brought in from the back doorstep and laid on the bed. mrs. ware shook her head meaningly, and closed the door into jack's room before she answered. then she said in a low tone: "it's some linen and lace that mrs. barnaby brought this afternoon. i wrote to her asking her if she had any fine hand-sewing that i could do. sh!" she whispered, lifting a warning finger, as mary's cry of "why, mamma ware!" interrupted her. "jack will hear you, and he is not to know. that's why i had pedro take the bundle to the back door. mrs. barnaby understands. something had to be done, and under the circumstances sewing is the only thing i can turn my hand to at home." "but mamma!" exclaimed mary, so distressed that she was almost crying. "your eyes are not strong enough for that any more. you nearly wore yourself out trying to support us when we were little, and i'm very sure we're not going to allow it now. joyce would be terribly distressed, and as for jack--i know perfectly well that he'd just rather lie down and die than have you do it. we'll bundle that stuff right back to mrs. barnaby, and i'll go down town and see if i can't get a position in one of the stores." mrs. ware's answer was in such a low voice that it went no farther than the closed door, but it silenced mary's protests. only a few times in her remembrance had the gentle little woman used that tone of authority with her children, but on those rare occasions they recognized the force of her determination and the uselessness of opposing it. mary turned away distressed and sore over the situation. she said nothing more, but as she went about her work she kept wiping away the tears, and a fierce rebellion raged inwardly. there would have been little said at the supper-table that night if norman had not come home in a talkative mood. he was to start to the public high school the following monday, at the beginning of the new term, and had recently made the acquaintance of a boy lately come to bauer, who would enter with him. "ed masters is his name," norman reported, raising his voice a trifle, so that jack, who was taking his supper at the same time from a bedside table in the next room, might be included in the conversation. "i like him first rate, and it will make it lots easier for me at school, not to be the only new boy. the only trouble is, he doesn't know whether his folks are going to stay in bauer long enough to make it worth while for him to start or not. they came for the whole winter, but they say that they can't stand it at the hotel many more days if something isn't done to those mallory kids. ed says they're regular little imps for mischief. they've been here only two weeks, but they're known all over bauer as 'die kleinen teufel.'" "which being interpreted," laughed jack from the next room, "means the little devils. what have they done to earn such a name?" "it might be easier to tell what they haven't done," answered norman. "there's two of them, the boy seven and the girl eight, but they're exactly the same size, and look so much alike everybody takes them for twins. they put a puppy in the ice-cream freezer yesterday morning, ed says, and miss edna, the landlady's daughter, almost had a spasm when she went to make ice-cream for dinner and found it in the can. "yesterday afternoon the delivery wagon stopped at the side entrance of the hotel (it's the williams house where ed is staying), and those children waited until the boy had gone in with a basket of groceries. then they climbed up into the delivery wagon and changed the things all around in the other baskets so that the orders were hopelessly mixed up, and nobody got what he had bought. there was a ten gallon can of kerosene in the wagon, the kind that has a pump attachment. the boy stopped to talk a minute to mrs. williams, and by the time he got back they had pumped all the kerosene out into the road, and were making regular gatling guns of themselves with a bushel of potatoes. they were firing them out of the basket as fast as they could throw, in a wild race to see which would be first to grab the last potato. "ed says they ride up and down the hotel galleries on their tricycles till it sounds like thunder, when the other boarders are trying to take a nap, or they'll chase up and down hooting and slashing the air with switches. if people don't dodge and scrooge back against the wall they'll get slashed too. "i suppose every merchant on main street has some grievance against them, for they haven't the slightest regard for other people's rights or property, and they're not afraid of anything. the little girl went into the livery stable the other day and swung onto the tail of one of those big white 'bus horses, and pulled a handful of hairs out of it. it's a favorite trick of theirs to climb into any automobile left at the curbstone, and honk the horn till the owner comes out. then they calmly sit still and demand a ride." "they must be the children that doctor mackay was telling me about," spoke up jack. "he came in here one day, furious with them. he had caught them smearing soap over the glass wind shield of his new machine. they had climbed all over the cushions with their muddy feet, and tinkered with the clock till it couldn't run. he threatened to tell their father, and all they did was to put their thumbs to their noses and say: 'yah! tattle-tale! you _can't_ tell! he's a thousand miles away!'" "isn't any one responsible for them?" asked mrs. ware. "yes," said norman, "there is a colored girl at their heels whenever they don't give her the slip. but their mother is ill--came here for her health, ed says, and their grandmother who tries to look after them is so deaf that she can't hear their noise and their saucy speeches. they're so quick that she never sees them making faces and sticking their tongues out at people. they do it behind her back. she thinks they are little angels, but she'll find out when they're asked to leave the hotel. ed says it's coming to that very soon--either the mallorys will have to go, or everybody else will. they got into his box of fishing tackle, and you never saw such a mess as they made. he is furious." with her mind intent on her own troubles, mary did not listen to the recital of other people's with her usual interest, although what she heard that night was recalled very clearly afterward. all evening she brooded over her grievance, trying to discover some remedy. she could not take the sewing away from her mother and do it herself, for while fairly skilful with her needle, she had not learned to make a fine art of her handiwork. the garments mrs. ware made were as beautifully wrought as those fashioned and embroidered by the french nuns. "i _know_ mrs. barnaby never would order anything so fine and expensive," thought mary bitterly, "if she didn't know that we need the money so badly. she did it because mamma asked her, and felt that she couldn't refuse. that is a sort of charity that kills me to accept, and i sha'n't do it one minute longer than i have to." it was easier to make such a resolution, however, than to carry it out. a short call on mrs. metz next morning, showed her that her first plan was not feasible. the old woman being related to nearly half of bauer by birth or marriage, and knowing the other half with the intimacy of an "oldest inhabitant," was in a position to know each merchant's needs and requirements, also what wages he paid each employee. most of them had no occasion to hire outside help. their own families furnished enough. it was a necessary requirement of course, that any one applying for a position must speak german. that one thing alone barred mary out, and she went home anxious and disheartened. still, even if she could have spoken a dozen tongues, the position she had coveted did not seem so desirable, after she learned the small amount the clerks received. all that day and the next she worried over the matter, and finally decided to go to mrs. rochester and ask her advice. on the way up to the rectory she stopped at the post-office. the mail was being distributed, and while she stood waiting for the delivery window to open, the rector himself came in. as he turned away from his locked box, in which only papers had been deposited so far, he saw mary and went over to her with a cordial greeting. "i'm looking for something," he said with a twinkle of fun in his eyes. "maybe you can help me. it is as hard to find as the proverbial needle in the haystack, but i must have it before sundown if possible. some one as patient as job, as tactful as a diplomat, with the nerve of a lion-tamer and the resources of a sleight-of-hand performer--the kind who can draw rabbits out of a silk hat if necessary." mary laughed. "what are you going to do with such a wonderful creature when you find it?" "turn it loose on those mallory children," answered mr. rochester, lowering his tone. "i was sent for yesterday, presumably to see their mother who is an invalid, but i found that the real reason was to give some advice to mr. mallory about the children. the hotel refused to harbor them any longer, and he had been summoned hastily by telegraph. he has moved his family to a furnished cottage near the hotel. their meals will be sent in to them, and his mother can look after his wife, but he is desperate about the children. "he acknowledges he could not cope with them even if he could stay here all the time away from his business. his wife has never allowed them to be punished, and has foolishly humored them till they are past being controlled. he besought me to find some one who could take them in hand for a part of the day at least." "but what could an outsider do with them if their own family has failed?" queried mary. "ah, that's where the lion-tamer and the sleight-of-hand performer combination gets in his work. he must quell them with his eye, and draw ways and means out of his silk hat. mrs. mallory would like to have them taught to read and write if it can be done without crossing the little dears, but i inferred that their father would be glad simply to have them taken in hand and tamed sufficiently to keep them from being public nuisances." mary's pulses began to pound with the excitement of a daring thought, but she managed to appear unconcerned, and asked him in a joking way, "and if you can't find this job-like, diplomatic lion-tamer they want, they'll have to take some ordinary person?" "they'll be obliged to. but i'm afraid that a quest even in that direction will prove fruitless. it's a field for real missionary effort, though. some one might be willing to approach it in that spirit." the delivery window flew up, and as the waiting line began moving along towards it, mr. rochester lifted his hat and turned away. but before he could fit his key in the lock of his box, mary was at his side. "one moment, please," she exclaimed, her face flushing. she spoke very fast. "if you think that _i_ can fill that position will you tell them about me? i've really got lots of patience with children, and"--laughing nervously--"last summer i partly tamed a young wild-cat. i could at least tell the children stories, and teach them all sorts of wood-lore that would keep them busy and interested out of doors. besides," she flushed still deeper, "i _must_ find some way to earn some money soon. my very need of it would make me try all the harder to fill the place. i am on my way now to see mrs. rochester and ask her advice about what to do." a few minutes later she and mr. rochester were walking rapidly along the road in the direction of the williams house. as they crossed the wide foot-bridge which spans the creek, and climbed the hill on the other side, she told him of the work she had done the previous summer under the noted naturalist, professor carnes. "he had arranged to send his fifteen-year-old niece to lone rock this winter," she added, "but her physicians decided at the last moment that she needed a milder climate. she was to have boarded near us, and i had promised to devote my mornings to keeping her out of doors and teaching her in an indirect way that would not suggest books or study hours. maybe the fact that such a man as professor carnes thought me competent to do that, and was willing to pay me a grown teacher's salary, might have some weight with the mallorys. oh, i _hope_ they won't think seventeen and a half is too young," she exclaimed, with an anxious glance at her companion, as if to discover his opinion. "if i'd only known such an important interview was ahead of me i'd have worn my blue suit. i look lots older in that because it's longer than this one." "i don't think you need worry about that," the rector answered. he spoke gravely, but the face he turned away from her twitched with suppressed amusement. they passed the williams house, and turned in at the gate of a gray cottage, where mr. mallory himself met them at the door. he was a prosperous young broker with an affable manner and the self-confident air that some people acquire from the carrying of a fat bank-book. he ushered them into the room where mrs. mallory was lying on a couch. she was very young and blue-eyed and soft-haired. curled up among the cushions under a blue and white afghan, she made mary think of a kitten. she seemed so helpless and incapable, as if she had never known anything but cushions and cream, all her life. two children were playing quietly under a table, in the corner. mary could not see what they were doing, for they were lying on their stomachs with their heads towards the wall. only their little black-stockinged legs and slippered feet protruded from under the table, and they were waving back and forth in mid-air above their backs. when mr. rochester introduced mary as the young lady they were so desirous of finding, one pair of small legs stopped waving, and their owner backed hastily out into the room. humping along on all fours until she reached her mother's couch, she sat on the floor beside it and began studying the visitors with a quiet intense gaze. she was an attractive child, with rather a wistful little face. her hair was cut short in buster brown fashion, and she was remarkably strong and sturdy looking for a girl. otherwise there was nothing in her appearance to justify one's belief that she had done all the tom-boy things ascribed to her. to mary's surprise mrs. mallory discussed the children as freely as if they were not present, repeating their pranks and smart sayings as if they were too young to understand what was being said, and frankly admitting her inability to control them. "mr. mallory and i agree on every subject but the proper way to rear children, and we almost come to blows over that," she said, smiling up at him till the dimples in her cheeks made her seem more childish and appealing than ever. "i believe in letting children do exactly as they please as far as possible. the time will come soon enough when they can't, poor little dears. we have not imposed our wishes on them even in the matter of names. it has been a life-long regret with me that my mother burdened me with a name that i despised, and i made up my mind that _my_ children should be allowed to choose their own. little brother, there, has chosen his father's name, herbert. but we're slow about adopting it. we've called him brud so long, his sister's baby name for him, when she was learning to talk, that it is hard to break the habit." "and the little girl?" asked mary politely, beginning to feel that she had hastened to shoulder a load which she might not be able to carry. "really it's too cunning the way little sister does," exclaimed mrs. mallory. "one week she announces she's genevive and the next that she's bessie or maud or irma--whatever happens to strike her fancy, and she gets simply furious if we don't remember every time she changes. that was one thing that miss edna fell out with us about. she kept calling her bessie the week that she wished to be known as marion. of course the child naturally resented it, and miss edna actually caught her and shook her, when she hadn't done a thing but throw a biscuit or some little article like that in her direction." mary cast a half-frightened glance at mr. rochester, aghast at the prospect before her. the soft voice went on. "_we_ don't believe in being harsh with children, _do_ we, beautiful?" she reached down to stroke the little head nestled against her couch. "i want my children to have it to remember of their mother that she never scolded or punished them. _you_ can say that. _can't_ you, pet?" pet only nodded in reply, but she caught the slim white hand in both her own and pressed it lovingly against her cheek. it made a pretty tableau, and mary found it hard to realize that this affectionate little creature was one of the "kleinen teufel" of norman's report. but she noticed the satisfied gleam in the child's eyes when her mother went on to retail other instances of miss edna's harshness. mr. rochester saw the expression also, and the shrewd, knowing glance that followed when he finally broached the terms of a settlement, asking them to specify exactly what would be expected of mary and what salary would be paid in return. he mildly suggested that it might be wiser to dispense with a juvenile audience at this point. he had chosen words that he thought far beyond little sister's comprehension, and there was something startling as well as uncanny in the way she spoke up for the first time since his entrance. "_i aren't a-going to leave this room! nobody can make me!_" mrs. mallory looked up at her husband with an amused simper and shook her head as if to say, "now, isn't that the smartest thing you _ever_ saw?" and mr. rochester's suggestion was ignored. when they rose to go it had been arranged that mary was to take the children in charge every afternoon, except sundays, from one o'clock till five, at the same salary professor carnes had offered her. she was to teach them anything she could in any way she chose, provided her methods did not conflict with their happiness. the chief thing was that they should be kept interested and amused. "then to-morrow at one," said mr. mallory, rising with them, "they will take their first lesson. come out from under that table, brud, and get acquainted with your new teacher." brud waved one leg in token that he heard, but made no further response. suddenly sister found her voice again. "_what you going to teach us first? 'cause if we don't like it we won't go._" taken thus suddenly, without having had a moment in which to form any plan of action, mary groped wildly around in her mind for an answer. she recognized this as a crucial moment. she could not hesitate long, for mrs. mallory's appealing blue eyes were fixed on her also, the while she patted the child's cheek and purred, "why, of _course_ little sister will go when the nice lady is planning to give her such a happy time." "happy time adoing _what_?" was the persistent question. just then, meliss, the colored nurse-girl, opened the side door, and there floated in from the hotel kitchen the appetizing smell of pies--hot mince pies just being lifted from the oven. mary caught eagerly at the straw of suggestion which the odor offered. at the same time some instinct prompted her that it was foolishness to address this child of eight as if she were an infant, or to talk down to her as her family made a practise of doing. so speaking directly to her as if she were addressing an intelligent and reasonable being she said gravely: "the kind of school we are going to have is so different from any you've ever heard of, that i can't explain it beforehand. i can only tell you this,--it is somewhat like a jack horner pie. each day you'll put in your thumb and pull out a plum. but what that particular plum will be depends on so many things that i could not possibly give it a name before it actually happens. it will be a surprise school." at the mention of pies the legs under the table hastily came down out of the air, and the small boy attached hastily backed out into general view. planting himself in front of mary with a swaggering air, his feet wide apart, he announced aggressively: "i'll bring my new hatchet if i want to, and nobody can make me leave it at home!" there was something so impertinent in his manner that mary longed to shake him and say, "don't be so sure of that, mr. smarty!" but remembering the dignified position she now had to maintain, she only remarked in a matter of fact tone: "if your hatchet has a good sharp edge it will probably be one of the first things you'll need. and you'll find use for a pocket full of medium sized nails, too." "what for?" he demanded, drawing a little closer to begin a thorough cross examination. but mary, who had turned to listen to a question of mr. mallory's, paid no heed. "i say," brud repeated, calling as if she were deaf. "what for? _what for?_ what for?" mary paid not the slightest attention until she had answered his father, then said deliberately, "i've already explained that in a surprise school you can't know what is going to happen till the time comes." "why?" he whined. "because," she said, pausing impressively, and then lowering her voice as if she were imparting a mysterious secret, "_it's the law of the jungle_." the unexpectedness of this mystifying answer and the sepulchral voice in which she gave it, was so different from anything brud had ever encountered before, that it took him some seconds to recover, and she was gone before he could think of another question. mr. mallory walked to the gate with them. "you've certainly started out well, miss ware," he remarked admiringly. "at first i thought we might have some difficulty in getting their consent to go, but they'll be on hand to-morrow all right. you've aroused their curiosity to such a pitch that a regiment armed to the teeth couldn't keep them from satisfying it now." after an instant's pause he added a trifle awkwardly, seeming to feel some explanation was due, "their mother never sees a fault in them, and my business keeps me away from them so much that--well, you see yourself how it is." on the way home neither mary nor mr. rochester spoke till they were halfway down the hill. then they looked at each other and laughed. "i hope i haven't got you into _too_ deep water, miss mary," he said. "it's a big undertaking. i must confess to a curiosity as great as brud's. what _are_ you going to do with them?" "oh, i don't know!" exclaimed mary desperately. "did you see me fencing for time when little sister demanded to be told what i'd teach them first? things had happened so fast that i hadn't had a moment to think, so i had to say the first thing that came into my head. i tremble to think what a long pause there might have been if the smell of those pies had not suggested an answer. i think the first week i'll just play with them as hard as i can. play indian maybe, so that if they get too obstreperous it will be part of the game to tie them to a tree and torture them. but after all i can't help being sorry for the little things after hearing their mother talk to them and about them." at the end of the foot-bridge where she turned to take the lower road which was the short cut home, she started to thank him, but he stopped her earnest words with an uplifted hand and an amused protest. "wait and see how it turns out before you thank me. you may want to wreak dire vengeance on me before the week's over, for getting you into such a predicament." with a cordial word of parting mary hurried down the road, and burst into the house with the breathless announcement that she'd consented to go as a missionary; that mr. rochester had persuaded her to take the step. she waited a moment to give them a chance to guess what special field it was she was about to enter, but was so eager to tell that she had to burst out with the answer herself: "it's to the heathen at home i am going, i'm to be an apostle to 'die kleinen teufel'!" jack gave a loud whistle of surprise and then burst out laughing, but mrs. ware looked across at him soberly, with a triumphant nod of the head. "there! what did i tell you?" she asked. "didn't i say that she'd soon adjust herself--find something to amuse herself and all the rest of us as well?" mary, who had been wondering all the way home how her news would be received, had never imagined this--that her venture would be looked upon merely as an outlet for her surplus energy, but after one gasp of surprise she was glad that her mother had put it that way. "she did it on purpose," mary thought. "so that jack need not have added to his other ills the tormenting thought that he had driven his little sister to a disagreeable task, in order that she might help support him." an understanding glance from her mother, full of approval and tender appreciation, flashed on her as she drew her chair up to the stove, but all she said was, "i'm sure you had an amusing interview." then mary proceeded to recount it, giving a graphic and laughable description of her half hour in the gray cottage. but all the time she was talking and mimicking she was looking forward to the moment when she could escape to a corner of the kitchen, and calculate with pencil and paper what she could never do in her head, the height of prosperity to which this tidal wave of a salary would lift them. chapter ix at the barnaby ranch [illustration: "mary ware in texas" "three alert and expectant little figures sat in a row on the steps--"] three alert and expectant little figures sat in a row on the steps of the gray cottage, and watched for mary's coming the next afternoon. brud, sawing his hatchet blade up and down on the edge of the step below him, made deep notches in the paint while he waited. little sister, fuming with impatience, sat with one arm around the young hunting dog which squatted beside her, and made dire threats as to her conduct, in case the new teacher should refuse to let him go with them. he was a brown english pointer, with a white vest, and the silver plate on his collar bore the name by which he was registered among the aristocracy of dogs. the name was "uncle august." strangers always laughed when they read that on his collar, but as brud usually began to explain about that time that he was a "peggydreed" dog, his sister thought that they were laughing at the way he pronounced pedigreed. therefore, she would gravely correct him and add the information that one of his great gram'pas was the king of kent and another was rip-rap; that he was the finest bird-dog in the united states,--her pappy said so,--and that he had been to a dog college and learned all that there was for a dog _to_ know. the moment mary appeared, the usual formula was gone through with before they gave her a chance for more than a bare word of greeting, and she never knew how much her reception of uncle august counted in her favor with the two watching children. like everybody else, she laughed when she heard his name, and put out her hand to shake the brown paw which he gravely offered. but when he continued to hold it out to her, and plainly showed by every way in a dog's power that he liked her and wanted to emphasize his friendliness, she took his silky ears in her hands, and looking down into his wistful eyes, praised and petted him till he wriggled all over for joy. brud immediately gave her his full approval, but little sister, while impressed favorably, was not in a mood to approve anything fully. according to meliss, "she'd done got out of bed crosswise of herself that mawnin'" and had continued so ever since. there was a pout on her lips when her mother called her in to kiss her good-bye, and there was a defiant light in her eyes as she listened to the farewell instructions delivered to mary through the window. she lagged behind when the others started briskly off, and halfway down the hill began to drag and scrape her feet annoyingly through the gravel. although she hadn't the faintest intention of turning back, she stood still when they reached the foot-bridge, and announced with a whine: "i'm going home! i aren't a having a happy time like mommey said i would!" mary, who was a few steps ahead, never stopped, even to glance back over her shoulder, and sister was obliged to follow in order to hear what she was saying. "you can hardly expect to enjoy a thing before it _begins_," explained mary, politely, in that grown-up tone that was such a novelty to sister when employed towards herself. "you've never seen the place where mr. metz has given us permission to build. it's where a branch of the creek curves up through his place. it's dry now, but it is full of big, flat rocks where we can build the fire when we get to that part of the school. maybe we'll be ready for one as soon as next week." there was no response save a stifled sniffle and the patter of small feet which had to move briskly in order to keep up with the procession. but brud's questions opened the way for further information which was not lost on the reluctant follower. "there's a little spring that comes bubbling out below, so that we won't have to go far to fill our kettle. he said we might trim off some of the smallest shoots of his willows, and he marked the trees we could chop. that's where you will find use for your hatchet. willow switches woven together make a fine covering for a wigwam or a robinson crusoe shack. i learned how to weave them the way the indians do when i first went to arizona." it was the novelty of being talked to in that dignified, grown-up way that drew sister slowly but surely along after the others. as they followed the creek, uncle august, dashing on ahead, scared a rabbit out of the underbrush. he was too well trained to give chase to it, so the frightened little cotton-tail loped away unhurt. it served its mission in life, however, as far as mary was concerned, for it reminded her of a story which she proceeded to tell as they walked along. sister listened, suspiciously, expecting a personal application at the end, about a sulky little girl who never wanted to do anything that other people did. that was the kind meliss always told. so did mommey, in vivacious, kindergarten style, when they had been especially naughty. sister hated stories, since those with a moral attached were the only kind she had ever known. when this tale turned out to be one of br'er rabbit's funny adventures in outwitting mr. fox, and ended with a laugh instead of a personal application, she was bewildered for a moment. then she remembered that this was a surprise school, and determined not to miss anything that seemed to start out with such promise for further entertainment, she stopped dragging her feet and took up a more cheerful pace along the creek bank, in the trail of brud and uncle august. it would have been a determined soul indeed who could have stayed morose very long, out-of-doors in the perfect weather that had followed the norther. it was like late october in kentucky--sunny, yet with a crystal-like coolness that made exercise a delight. it had been such a short time since mary had stepped out of her own play days that she found herself stepping into the children's with an _abandon_ which almost equalled theirs. there was no pretense about her enjoyment at first. with a pleasure almost as deep and unalloyed as when she and hazel lee built wigwams on the edge of the arizona desert, she went about the building of a shack on the side of this texas creek bank. the energy with which she brought things to pass was contagious. brud and little sister worked like beavers to keep up with this rare, new playfellow, who had something better than a midas touch,--something which not only put a golden glamour over everything she said and did, but turned their little world of mimic sports into a real world of tremendous meaning and importance. for the first time in his life brud found himself where there were things lawful for his hatchet to cut. for the first time sister was kept so busy doing delightful things that there was no necessity for anyone to say "don't." before the week was over mary had opened so many windows for them into the land of make-believe that they began to look upon her resources for entertainment as boundless. the more she gave, the more they demanded. they never wanted to go home and would have hung on to her until dark every evening, had it not been for the alarm-clock which she brought with her each day. she had no watch and was afraid to accept jack's offer of his, lest she should lose it in the woods. it was a little, round clock, with a bell on top, the dollar and a half kind sold in country groceries and cross-roads stores. she always wound the alarm just before she hung the clock on a bush, muttering over it a mysterious charm that the children listened to with skeptical grins, yet with furtive side-glances at each other. to her surprise they accepted the whirr and bang of the alarm-bell at five o'clock as the voice of fate, which must be promptly obeyed. she often wondered why they did. to mary the muttering of the abracadabra charm was only a part of the game, one of the many little embellishments which made her plays more picturesque than ordinary people's, and she had no thought of the children attaching any superstitious import to it. she did not take into account their long association with meliss, who was wise on the subject of hoodoos. but the fact remained that her alarm-clock was the only timepiece within their reach which they never tampered with, and the only one whose summons they ever obeyed. it was probably because she had set such a hard pace for herself that first week that she found it so difficult to go on afterward. a surprise school was a greater tax on her inventive genius than she had anticipated. she had promised them a different plum in their pie each day, and she lay awake at night to plan games that were instructive as well as interesting, for she was conscientiously carrying out her agreement to teach them as well as to amuse them. by the end of the second week the strain was almost unendurable. one evening she went home to find the barnaby carriage and the gray mules standing at the gate. mrs. barnaby had brought in some venison for them, and waited to see mary before taking her leave. "i'm waiting to hear about those little savages of yours," she said, as mary greeted her and sank limply down into a chair. "why, you look all tuckered out. they must be even worse than people say." "no, they're not!" protested mary, warmly. "i'm really proud of the way i succeeded. the only thing is, i have to keep them busy and interested every moment, and they're so hungry for stories they never get enough. the poor little souls have never heard any before, and it is really pathetic the way they listen. they'll sit as still as graven images, so interested they scarcely breathe, till the last word is out. then they'll begin, 'oh, tell us another, miss mayry! just _one_ more! please, miss mayry!' they cling to me like burrs. we nearly always have a small campfire every day now, for either we're indians or gypsies, cooking our meals, or we're witches brewing spells, or elves gathering magic fires for our midnight revels. they play so hard that the last hour they always want to sit down by the embers and listen to stories. but they've nearly drained me dry now. sometimes i come home so limp and exhausted i can scarcely move my tongue. i'm glad that to-morrow is sunday, for i've surely earned one day of rest." "come out and spend it at the ranch," urged mrs. barnaby, hospitably. "it happens that there is no service to-morrow at st. boniface, but james will be coming in for the mail, and will be glad to bring you out in time for dinner." mary had spent two afternoons at the barnaby ranch, driving out with mrs. rochester, and she enjoyed them so much that she welcomed the thought of a return to the homelike old place, with its air of thrift and comfort. jack had been better the last few days, so she eagerly accepted the invitation. next morning mr. barnaby drove in for her himself with the gray mules and the roomy old carriage. mary, comfortably stowed away on the back seat, because it had the best springs, leaned forward to hold the reins while he went into the post-office. she had risen early and hurried through as much of the work as she could in order that her holiday might not mean extra work for her mother. now with an easy conscience she settled herself to enjoy a care-free day, and looked forward with keen enjoyment to the seven miles' drive along the smooth country road. she had been sitting in a pleasant reverie some four or five minutes, when a familiar little voice close by the wheel piped out: "why, there's miss mayry! _where_ are you going?" before she could reply, brud and sister and uncle august came swarming into the carriage, stepping on her toes, climbing up on the seat, and showing such joy over having discovered her that it was impossible not to give them a gracious reception, even though she groaned inwardly at the sight of them. their prompt demand for a story the moment they were seated was followed by the appearance of mr. barnaby. "i can't tell you any stories to-day," mary explained, pleasantly, "because i am going visiting. but i'll tell you a lovely one to-morrow, about ali baba and the forty thieves. you'll have to hop out now. mr. barnaby is ready to start." "i aren't going to hop out!" declared sister, winding her arms around mary's neck in a choking clasp. brud immediately threw his arms around uncle august and held him tight, regardless of the fact that mr. barnaby was whistling to the dog and motioning him to jump out. "we are a-going with you," brud announced. "but you are not invited," mary answered, in a provoked tone. "you surely don't care to go where you're neither asked nor wanted!" "come on, bub. i'm in a hurry," said mr. barnaby, kindly. he took hold of the child's arms to lift him out, but brud, seizing the back of the seat with both hands, stiffened himself and began to cry, shrieking out between sobs, "i want to go with miss mayry! _please_ don't put me out! aw, miss mayry! _don't_ let him put me out!" immediately sister added her tearful wails to his. meliss, sauntering down the street in search of the children, heard the familiar cries, and quickened her pace to a run. a crowd was gathering around the carriage. she came up in time to hear mr. barnaby say, good-naturedly, "oh, well, if they're going to break their little hearts over it, let 'em come along. _i_ don't mind!" "but their mother will think that something has happened to them," protested mary. "she'll be frantic." meliss pushed her way through the crowd to the carriage. "no'm, she won't, miss ma'y. she won't worry none. her haid aches fit to bus' this mawnin'. i'll tell her _you's_ takin' keer of 'em, and she'll be only too thankful to you-all for a free day." "it's meliss who will be thankful for a free day," thought mary, still hesitating. she rebelled at the thought of her own day being spoiled, and realized that for discipline's sake the children ought not to be allowed to carry their point. mr. barnaby settled the question by stepping into the carriage and gathering up the reins. "tell their mother i'll bring them back before night," he said to meliss. the sobs and tears stopped as suddenly as they had begun. presently mr. barnaby glanced back over his shoulder, saying: "this load doesn't seem equally divided. here, one of you kids climb over into the front seat with me." at the invitation both children threw themselves violently on mary and clung to her, beginning to sniffle again. he looked back at her with the humorous one-sided smile that she always found irresistibly droll. "first time i ever came across that particular brand of youngsters. strikes me the old nick has put his ear marks on 'em pretty plain. you're crowded back there, aren't you, with that dog sitting on your feet? here, sir! come over here with me!" with one bound uncle august sprang over on the front seat, and sat up beside his host, looking so dignified and so humanly interested in everything they passed that mr. barnaby laughed. he laid a caressing hand on him, saying, "so you're the dog that's been to college. well, it has made a gentleman of you, sir! i admire your manners. it's a pity you can't pass them around the family." charmed by the novelty of the drive, the children cuddled up against mary, and were so quiet all the way to the ranch that she felt remorseful when she remembered how near she had come to depriving them of the pleasure. mrs. barnaby threw up her hands in surprise when she saw the three self-invited guests who calmly followed mary out of the carriage, but when the situation had been explained in a laughing aside, she said in her whole-souled, motherly way, "now, my dear, don't you worry one mite! we are used to children, and we'll find some way to keep them from spoiling your day." her first step in that direction was to take them out to the kitchen and fill their hands with cookies, and send them outdoors to eat them. she also gave them instructions to stay out and play. a low swing and a seesaw between the kitchen and the garden gate showed where her grand-children amused themselves hours at a time on their annual visits. when she went back into the living-room mary had seated herself in a rocking-chair with a sigh of content. "what a dear old room this is," she said, looking up with a smile. "it makes me think of grandmother ware's. i love its low ceiling and little, deep-set windows and wide fireplace. i could sit here all day and do nothing but listen to the clock tick and the fire crackle, and rest." "well, you do just that," insisted mrs. barnaby, hospitably. "i have to be out in the kitchen for a while. i've got pretty fair help, but she needs a good deal of oversight, so you sit here and enjoy the quiet while you can." the early rising and the drive had made mary drowsy, and as soon as she was left alone the deep stillness of the country sabbath that filled the room seemed to fold about her like a mantle of restfulness. she closed her eyes, making believe that she really was back at her grandmother ware's; that the sunshine streaming in at the open door was the sunshine of a northern june instead of a texas january; and that the odor of lemon verbena which reached her now and then came from an outside garden instead of the potted plant on the deep window-sill at her elbow. the old place was so associated in mary's memory with a feeling of perpetual, unbroken calm, that she had never lost one of her earliest impressions that it was the place of "green pastures and still waters" mentioned in the psalms. "jack always said that i'll have my innings when i'm a grandmother," she said, drowsily, to herself. "i wonder if i'll ever get to a place where i can always be as serene of spirit as she was, no matter what happens. i wonder if she ever had anything as upsetting as brud and sister to try her nerves in her young days." as if in answer to her mere thought of them, the two children came racing around the house. they fairly fell into the room, and, throwing themselves across her lap, demanded that she come out at once and see the peacocks. had they said any other kind of fowl she would have resented the intrusion more than she did, but peacocks recalled warwick hall so pleasantly that she got up at once and went with them. she had seen none since leaving school. these had not been near the house on her former visits to the ranch. the stately birds strutted up and down in the sunshine, their tails spread in dazzling gorgeousness. "they're sammy's," called mrs. barnaby from the kitchen door. "he takes the greatest pride in them. that cock took a prize at the last san antonio fair." mary had met "sammy" the last time she was at the ranch, and had heard of him ever since her first conversation with mrs. barnaby. he was an elderly cousin of her husband's who had made his home with them for years. a few minutes later she came upon the old man in the barnyard. the children, having once obtained possession of her, had dragged her down there to see a colt that they had discovered. sammy was sitting on the fence in his sunday clothes, busy with his usual sunday occupation of whittling. his bushy gray beard made him look older than mr. barnaby, and the keen glance he gave the children from under his shaggy eyebrows made them sidle away from him. they, too, had met him before, under circumstances which they did not take pleasure in recalling. only a few moments before he had caught them chasing the ducks until they were dizzy, and stopped them with a sternness that made them wary of him. they had had an encounter with him one day in town also, soon after their arrival in bauer. they had climbed into the wagon, which he left hitched in front of the grocery, and had poked holes into every package he had piled on the seat, in order to discover what they held. when he came out little streams of rice and sugar and meal were dribbling out all over the wagon. when he started after them with a threatening crack of his whip they escaped by darting into the front door of the butcher shop and out of the back, but they always felt that it was one of the narrowest escapes they ever made, and that a day of reckoning would come if he ever got close enough to them to reach them with his whip. it was a trifling disconcerting to come across him suddenly on this peaceful ranch, and they pulled mary away as soon as they could. she was enjoying the conversation they had drifted into, starting with the colt. he spoke with a strong new england twang, and his quaint sayings and homely comparisons suggested the types and times portrayed in the bigelow papers. despite her determination not to have her day taken up by the children, mary found herself devoting the entire morning to their entertainment. country sights and sounds were so new and strange to them that it seemed selfish not to answer their eager questions, and when their wanderings around the place led them to a deserted cabin where the indians had once killed two mexican shepherds, she repeated the thrilling story as she had heard it from mrs. barnaby, with all its hair-raising details. when they went in to dinner she had been answering questions and entertaining her pupils for two hours, as diligently as on any week-day. it was an old-fashioned "turkey dinner" to which they were summoned, and the variety and deliciousness of the dishes may have had much to do with the children's conduct. they were so quiet and well behaved that mary watched them in surprise. beyond yes and no and politely expressed thanks, brud spoke not at all, and sister only once. that was to say, when mrs. barnaby addressed her as sister, "call me nancy. i'm trying that name now." seeing the look of surprise that circled around the table, mary explained, feeling that sister, as usual, was enjoying the limelight that this peculiar custom of hers called her into. "hump!" exclaimed old sammy. "something of a chameleon, eh? if she changes her nature to suit her name it must keep her family busy getting acquainted with her." "i think it does have some slight influence," answered mary. "then she'd better drop the name of nancy," said old sammy, with a solemn wag of the head. "in an old blue poetry book that i used to read back in vermont, it said, "'little nancy would never her mother obey, but always did choose to have her own way.' "she came to a frightful end, jumping up and down in her chair. "'in vain did her mother command her to stop. nan only laughed louder and higher did hop,' till she fell over and cracked her head. the only nancys i have ever known have all been self-willed like that." garrulous cousin sammy was only indulging in reminiscence. he had not intended to tease the child, but she resented his remarks, and thrusting out her tongue at him, screwed up her face into the ugliest grimace possible for her to make. fortunately the arrival of a huge pumpkin pie turned his eyes away from her just then, for sammy bradford, old bachelor though he was, had strict new england notions about the rearing of children, which he sometimes burned to put into practice for the good of the general public. after dinner mr. barnaby retired to his room for his usual sunday nap. cousin sammy took his pipe to the sunny bench outside the open door, and mrs. barnaby provided for the children's entertainment by bringing out a box of toys that had been left behind at different times by various grand-children. she arranged them on a side table in the dining-room, with some colored pencils, paper and scissors. brud and "nancy," ever ready to investigate anything new, seated themselves at her bidding, and began to paw over the games and pictures with apparent interest. thereupon mrs. barnaby and mary went into the next room, and drawing two big easy chairs into the chimney corner, they settled themselves for a long, cosy _tête-à-tête_. it was the first opportunity mary had had to explain to mrs. barnaby that she had undertaken to teach the children in order to prevent her mother from sewing for other people. they had had about ten minutes of uninterrupted quiet, when the door opened and "nancy" walked in with her hat and coat on. her lips were drawn into a dissatisfied pout, and she threw herself across mary's lap, whining, "i don't like those old things in there! tell us about the forty thieves _now_!" "no, nancy," said mary, firmly, hoping to appease her by remembering to use the new name. "i told you before you came out here that i'd not tell you a single story to-day." "but you already have," cried brud, triumphantly, appearing in the doorway also in coat and hat. "you told us about the indians killing the shepherds." "oh, but that was just a true happening that i told to explain about the cabin we were looking at," was the patient answer. "that was different from sitting down on purpose to tell you a story, and i shall _not_ do that to-day." "then come and play with us," demanded sister, seizing her by the hands, after one keen glance at her to see if she really was in earnest. "come on, brud, and help me pull. we'll _make_ her come!" "sh!" warned mary, attempting to free herself, as they began shouting and tugging at her. "i came out here to visit mrs. barnaby, and i'll not play with you till to-morrow. if you don't want to make pictures or cut paper or work the puzzle games you'll have to go outdoors and amuse yourselves. but you must not make such a noise. mr. barnaby is asleep." "then if you don't want us to wake him up you've _got_ to play with us to keep us still!" cried brud. "hasn't she, sister?" "call me nancy when i tell you!" screamed sister, in an exasperated tone, stamping her foot. then, fired by brud's suggestion, she dropped mary's hands and darted across the room to the piano, which was standing open in the corner. it was an old-fashioned one, its rosewood case inlaid above the keyboard with mother-of-pearl. the yellow keys were out of tune, but they had never been touched save by careful fingers, for it was one of mrs. barnaby's cherished treasures. now she rose as if she had been struck herself, as both children began pounding upon it ruthlessly with their fists, making a hideous, discordant din. "stop, children! stop, i say!" she demanded. but her commands fell on unheeding ears, and they pounded away until she laid vigorous hands on them and forcibly dragged them away from the piano. instantly they struggled out of her grasp, and rushing back, pounded the keys harder than before. mary, who had never seen them act like this, was distressed beyond measure that she had been the cause, even though the unwilling one, of such an invasion. she started to the rescue, thinking savagely that they would have to be gagged and tied, hand and foot, and that she would take pleasure in helping do it. old sammy reached them first, however, his puritanical soul resenting both the disobedience and the sabbath-breaking uproar. with one swoop he caught up a child under each arm, and carried them kicking and struggling out-of-doors. "here ye'll stay the rest of the afternoon!" he announced, in a gruff voice, as he put them down. "there's all out-of-doors to play in, and if you so much as step over the door-sill into that room until i give ye leave, i'll _withe_ ye!" it was a mysterious threat, since neither child had ever heard the word _withe_ before, and he said it in a deep, awful voice that made brud think creepily of the fee-fi-fo-fum giant in his picture-book at home, who went about smelling blood and saying, "_dead or alive, i will have some!_" for a moment they stood in awed silence, gaping at the only person who had ever intimidated them; then sister, in a blind rage, seized his clay pipe that he had put down on the bench, and threw it with all her force on the stone floor of the porch. "you let me alone!" she shrieked, as she darted away from him. "you--you--you old _billygoat_, you!" it was the sight of his gray beard that finally suggested to her choking wrath a name ugly enough to hurl at him. then she took to her heels down the grassy lane, brud following as fast as possible. "there's nothing for me to do but follow them," said mary, starting into the bedroom for her hat and coat, which had been laid away in there. "i'd feel so responsible if they should get hurt, and there are so many things on a big place like this that they are not used to." "now, don't you worry," interrupted old sammy. "i'll keep _my_ eye on them." he was quite red in the face with vexation over the loss of his pipe, which lay in several pieces on the floor, and mrs. barnaby, knowing him well, prevailed on mary to come back to her easy-chair. "you leave them to him," she insisted, in a laughing aside. "he's so mad that he'll watch them like a hawk, just for the pleasure of pouncing down on them again if they cut up any more didoes; but his bark is worse than his bite, and they'll be perfectly safe with him." so mary allowed herself to be drawn back to their interrupted conversation, but she could not rid herself of an uneasy feeling that kept obtruding itself into her thoughts, even when she was most interested. if brud and sister had deliberately planned a revenge on the old man who had forced them into exile and temporary obedience, they could not have chosen anything which would have hurt him worse than their next prank. their wild chase down the lane had been brought to a sudden stop by the sight of the lordly peacock, strutting back and forth in the barn-yard, his beautiful tail spread wide in the sun. they climbed up on the gate to watch it, and, hanging over the top bar, admired it in almost breathless ecstasy for several minutes. the iridescent shimmer of the gorgeous eyes in its tail started a dispute. "that's why you can't ever catch a peacock," brud asserted, "'cause with all those eyes in its tail it can see you coming up behind it." "aw, goosey," contradicted nancy, "it sees with its two little _head_ eyes. those feather eyes in its tail can't see." "they can!" "they can't!" the two words were bandied back and forth, the dispute promising to go on indefinitely, till brud's triumphant, "ten million times _can_," was answered by nancy's final, "million billion times _can't_! so there." "we'll prove it," was brud's next taunt. "try and see if you can catch him." "all right," was the willing assent. "and if the feathers come out of his tail as easy as they did out of mis' williams' red rooster, won't that old man be mad!" in the meantime sammy had gone into the house to hunt among his possessions for a certain corncob pipe, to take the place of the clay one just broken. the mantel-shelf in his room was as crowded as the corner of an old junk shop, so it took some time for him to find what he was searching for. he had taken it down and was slowly filling it, when the sound of a wild commotion in the barn-yard made him hurry to the door. turkeys, guineas, ducks, hens,--everything that could gobble or flutter or squawk, were doing their utmost to attract someone's attention. and the cause of it all, or, rather, the two causes, were standing by the watering-trough, comparing the spoils of the chase. they had crept up behind the peacock, despite his thousand eyes, and caught him by the tail. each proudly clutched a handful of long, trailing feathers, and the bird, miserably conscious that his glory had been torn from him, had taken refuge under the corn-crib. "you outrageous little hittites!" roared old sammy, coming upon them suddenly and seeing the feathers. then a real chase began. a little while later, mary paused in the middle of a sentence to say, "listen! didn't that sound like the children crying or calling?" mrs. barnaby, who was slightly deaf, shook her head. "no, i think not. anyhow, sammy is looking after them. he won't let them come to any real harm. what was it we were talking about? oh, yes! those heirloom candlesticks." more than an hour afterward a shadow darkened the doorway for an instant as sammy strode past it on his way across the porch. "mr. bradford," called mary. "do you know where the children are?" at her call he turned back to the door, holding out a great handful of peacock feathers which he was taking sorrowfully to his room. "those pesky little varmints!" he exclaimed, still wrathful, "they've teetotally ruined that cock's looks. yes, i know where they are. i've had them shut up in the corn-crib till a minute ago." "shut up in the corn-crib!" echoed mary and mrs. barnaby in the same breath. "yes, as i told 'em, they haven't any more idea of other people's rights than weasels, and it's high time they are being taught." "well, do you think they've learned their lesson in one dose, sammy?" asked mr. barnaby, dryly, coming out from his room in time to hear his cousin's speech. "that remains to be seen," spluttered sammy, as he strode on to his room. "they were sniffling and snubbing considerable when i let them out. i don't think they'll chase _my_ peacock any more." the "sniffling and snubbing" changed into out-and-out crying as soon as they reached mary's side, and that was followed by heart-broken wails and demands to be taken home. nothing comforted them. nothing could turn them aside from their belief that they had been abused and must be taken back immediately to mommey. after nearly half an hour spent in vain attempts to silence them, mrs. barnaby said in sheer desperation, "well, james, you'll just have to hitch up and take them back, even if it is so early. i hate to have mary's visit cut short, but they'd spoil it worse if they stayed. if i only felt free to give them a good sound spanking now--" she did not finish the sentence, but looked over her spectacles so sternly that the children backed away, lest a feeling of liberty might suddenly descend upon her. as mary pinned on her hat before the mirror in the bedroom, she turned to her hostess with a hunted look in her eyes. "do you ever get desperate over things?" she asked. "that's the way i am now. i'm so tired of those children that the very sound of their voices sets my teeth on edge. if i only could have had this one whole day away from them i might have been able to go on with them to-morrow, but now it seems as if i can't! i just _can't_!" "i don't wonder, you poor child," was the sympathetic answer. "the worst of it is, i'm utterly discouraged," confessed mary, almost tearfully. "i've been pluming myself on the fact that my two weeks' work had amounted to something; that i'd really made an impression, and given them all sorts of good ideas. but you see it isn't worth a row of pins. they are good only so long as i'm exercising like an acrobat, mind and body, to keep them entertained. the minute i stop they don't pay the slightest attention to my wishes." "maybe you've done too much for them," said mrs. barnaby, shrewdly guessing the root of the trouble. "you told them it was a surprise school. let the next surprise be a different sort. turn them loose and make them hunt their own entertainment." "as they did to-day," mary answered, with a shrug. "they'd run home howling and their mother would think i was incapable and give my place to someone else. no, we must have the money, so i'll have to go on and put in my best licks, no matter how i detest it." when she drew on her gloves she was so near to tears that the little bloodstone ring on her hand looked so dim she could scarcely see it. but it made her glance up with a smile into the benevolent old face above her, and she stripped back the glove from her finger with a dramatic gesture. "see?" she said, brightly, exhibiting the ring. "by the bloodstone on my finger, i'll keep my oath until the going down of one more sun." "you're a brave little girl. that's what you are!" said mrs. barnaby, stooping to kiss her good-bye. only that week she had read _the jester's sword_, from which mary was quoting, and she knew what grim determination lay beneath the light tone. "i guess it will help you the same way it did the poor jester, to remember that it's only one day at a time you're called on to endure. and another thing," she added, trying to put as many consoling thoughts into their parting as possible, "if you _do_ succeed in teaching them anything that'll help to snatch them as brands from the burning, it will count for a star in your crown just as much as if you'd gone out and converted the heathen on 'india's coral strand.'" "it's not stars in my crown i'm working for," laughed mary. "it's for pence in my purse." nevertheless the suggestion stayed with her all the way home. when conversation flagged, she filled the silences with pleasant snatches of day-dreams, in which she saw herself becoming to these benighted little creatures, asleep on either side of her, the inspiration that madam chartley was to everyone who crossed the threshold of warwick hall. "i've just _got_ to do something to make them see themselves as they look to other people," she thought, desperately. "but the question is, _what_?" a hard problem indeed for one who, in many ways, was still only a child herself. chapter x in joyce's studio it was a wild, blustery day in march, two months after mary's interrupted visit at the ranch. joyce ware, sitting before the glowing wood fire in the studio, high up on the top floor of a new york apartment house, had never known such a lonesome sunday. the winds that rattled the casements and sent alternate dashes of rain and snow against the panes had kept her house-bound all day. usually she was glad to have one of these shut-in days, after a busy week, when she could sit and do nothing with a clear conscience. every moan of the wind in the chimney and every glimpse of the snow-whitened roofs below her windows, emphasized the luxurious comfort of the big room. she had had a hard week, trying to crowd into it some special orders for easter cards. a year ago she would not have added them to her regular work, but now she was afraid to turn anything away which might help to swell the size of the check she must send home every month. if the days were not long enough to do the tasks she set for herself at a comfortable pace, she simply worked harder--feverishly, if need be, to finish them. she had been practically alone the entire day, for the two members of the household who were at home were staying in their own rooms. lucy boyd had a cold, and her devoted little aunt was nursing her with the care of the traditional hen for its one chicken. mrs. boyd had not allowed lucy to leave her room even for her sunday dinner, but had carried it in to her with her own on a tray. as miss henrietta robbins was spending the week-end in the country, joyce did not take the trouble to set the table for herself, but ate her own dinner in the little kitchenette. afterward, to make the day as different as possible from the six others in the week, in which she sat at her easel from morning till night in a long-sleeved gingham apron, she went into her room and put on a dress of her own designing, soft and trailing and of a warm wine-red. pushing a great sleepy-hollow chair close enough to the hearth for the tips of her slippers to rest on the shining brass fender-rail, she settled herself among the cushions with a book which she had long been trying to find time to read. the story, like the bleak outdoor world, seemed to accentuate her sense of shelter and comfort, but at the same time it somehow emphasized her loneliness. now and then, when her eyes grew tired, she paused for a moment to look around her. there were several things which gave her keen pleasure every time her attention was called to them, which she felt ought to be enough of themselves to dispel her vague depression: the odor of growing mignonette, the sunny yellow of the pot of daffodils on the black teakwood table, the gleam of firelight on the brasses, and the warm shadows it cast on the trailing folds of her wine-red dress. that lighting was exactly what she wanted for some drapery folds which she would be putting on a magazine cover next week. she studied the effect, thinking lazily that if it were not her one day of rest, she would get out palette and brushes, and make a sketch of what she wanted to keep, while it was before her. she read for over two hours. when the story came to an unhappy ending she dropped the book, wishing she had never come across such a tale of misfortune and misunderstanding. it depressed her strangely, and presently, as she sat looking into the fire, the unbroken quiet of the big room gave her an overwhelming sense of loneliness that was like an ache. "i'd give anything to walk in and see what they're all doing at home right now," she thought, as she stared into the red embers, "but i can't even picture them as they really are, because they are no longer living in any place that i ever called home." the thought of their being off in a strange little texas town that she had never seen made her feel far more forlorn and apart than she would have felt could she have imagined them with any of the familiar backgrounds she had once shared with them. they seemed as far away and out of reach as they had been that winter in france, when she used to climb up in monsieur greyville's pear tree and cry for sheer homesickness. that was years ago, and before the gate of the giant scissors had opened to give her a playmate, but she recalled, as if it were but yesterday, the performance that often took place in the pear tree. she began by repeating that couplet from _snowbound_,-- "the dear home faces, whereupon the fitful firelight paled and shone." it was like a charm, for it always brought a blur of tears through which she could see, as in a magic mirror, each home face as she had seen it oftenest in the little brown house in plainsville. there was her mother, so patient and gentle and tired, bending over the sewing which never came to an end; and jack, charging home from school like a young whirlwind to do his chores and get out to play. she could see mary, with her dear earnest little freckled face and beribboned pigtails, always so eager to help, even when she was so small that she had to stand on a soap-box to reach the dish-pan. such a capable, motherly little atom she was then, looking after the wants of holland and the baby untiringly. despite the ache in her throat, a smile crossed joyce's face now and then, as she went on calling up other scenes. they had had hard work at the wigwam, and had felt the pinch of poverty, but she had never known a family who found more to laugh over and enjoy when they looked back over their hard times. but now--the change was more than she could bear to think of. jack a hopeless cripple, mary tied down to the uncongenial work that she had to take up as a breadwinner, when she ought to be free to enjoy the best part of her girlhood as other girls were doing. tears came into joyce's eyes as she brooded over the pictures she had conjured up. then she rose, and trailing into her bedroom, came back with a lapful of letters; all that the family had written her since leaving lone rock four months ago. dropping on the hearth-rug, she arranged them in little piles beside her, according to their dates, and beginning at the first, proceeded to read them through in order. they did bring the family nearer, as she had expected them to do, but the later ones brought such a weight of foreboding with their second reading, that presently she buried her face in the cushions of the chair against which she was leaning, and began to cry as she had not cried for nearly a year. not since the first news of jack's accident, had she given way to such a storm of tears. it was some time before she sobbed herself quiet, and then she still sat with her head in the cushions, till she heard the faint buzz of an electric doorbell. it sounded so far away that she thought it was the bell of the adjoining apartment, and gave it no more than a passing thought. so, too, the sound of an opening door, of an umbrella dropped into a hat-rack, of voices, seemed to have but a vague connection with her world. then she was startled by hearing mrs. boyd's voice at the portière saying: "joyce, dear, here is mr. tremont to see you. ah! i _knew_ you were asleep. he rang twice, so i answered the bell." phil tremont, pausing between the portières as mrs. boyd slipped back to lucy, caught only a glimpse of joyce's red dress trailing through the opposite doorway. the scattered letters on the rug bore witness to her hurried flight. "come on in to the fire, phil," she called, through the partly closed door. "poke it up and make yourself at home. i'll be out in a minute. i never dreamed of such joy as a caller on this dreadful day, or i should have been sitting up in state, waiting to receive you!" the laughing reply he sent back brightened her spirits as if by magic. the next best thing to having one of her own family suddenly appear, was the pleasure of seeing the friend who had made one of their home circle so often and so intimately in the old wigwam days which she had just been crying over. hastily smoothing her rumpled hair, bathing her eyes and fluffing a powder-puff over her nose to take away the shine which her tear-sopped handkerchief had left on it, she came out to find him standing before the fire, looking down suspiciously at the scattered letters. as he stepped forward with a hearty hand-clasp, she felt that the keen glance he gave her was a question, and answered as if he had spoken aloud. "no, i wasn't asleep, as mrs. boyd thought. i was just having a good old-fashioned cry--a regular bawl! i don't get a chance to indulge in such an orgy of weeps often, but now the storm is over and it has cleared the atmosphere for another year or so." "what is it, joyce? bad news from home? is jack worse?" phil's voice was so sympathetic, his real concern so evident, that joyce could not trust herself to answer immediately. she stooped and began to pick up the letters. "i--i'm afraid i boasted too soon about the storm being over. you'll have to talk about something else for awhile, or i might tune up again." "all right," he answered, in a soothing tone, reaching down to help her gather up the letters. "that suits me, anyhow, for i came on purpose to bring you a rare bit of news concerning the tremont family." in her present mood the mere sight of phil's broad shoulders was a comfort. they might not be able to lift her actual burdens, but she felt their willingness, and his unspoken sympathy steadied her like an outstretched hand. now with the consideration that was one of his most lovable traits, he gave her time to compose herself, by rattling on in a joking way about himself. "i've come a long distance in the rain and snow to tell my news. i've torn myself away from all the wiles of stuart and eugenia to keep their only brother with them. i've braved the dangers of greater new york and defied the elements in order to be the bearer of such important tidings, and you needn't think i'm going to give it to you as if it were any common bit of information. i tell you what i'll do. you may have three guesses. if you fail you pay a forfeit, say--an invitation to supper, with the privilege of my helping get it ready in that tabloid kitchen of yours." "that is highly satisfactory," agreed joyce, whose voice was under control by this time. she drew her chair a trifle closer to the fire, and, leaning her elbows on her knees, looked into the embers for inspiration. "it concerns the tremont family," she mused. "that means all of you. well, it must be that the old tangle about your great-aunt patricia's holdings in england has been settled and you're coming into some money after all these years." "no; guess again." picking up the long brass tongs, she began to trace pictures on the sooty background of the chimney while she tried to think of a better answer. "it concerns _all_ of you!" "yes." with his hands in his pockets, phil walked over to the window and stood looking out over the wide stretch of city roofs below, now almost hidden by the rapidly deepening twilight. he was smiling while he waited, and humming half under his breath a song that his old english nurse used to sing to him and his sister elsie: "maid elsie roams by lane and lea." he had whistled it almost constantly the last few days: "kling! lang-ling! she seems to hear her bride-bells ring, her bonnie bride-bells ring!" he hummed it again when joyce's second guess was wrong, while he waited for the third. then, when it, too, was wide of the mark and she demanded to be told, he began it again; but this time he sang it meaningly, and loud enough to fill the room with the deep, sweet notes: "a year by seas, a year by lands, a year since then has died, and elsie at the altar stands, her sailor at her side. while kling! lang! ling! their bonnie bride-bells gaily ring!" joyce's face grew bright with sudden understanding as he finished, and she cried, "elsie is to be married! is _that_ what you came to tell me?" "yes, my littlest, onliest sister is to be married, immediately after easter, out in california, in the gold-of-ophir rose-garden you have heard so much about. we are all going--daddy and stuart and eugenia and little patricia and your obedient servant, 'pat's pill,' himself." he left the window, and stretching himself out in the big chair opposite hers, gave her the details that she instantly demanded. "elsie's sailor lad is a navy surgeon. the wedding is to be in the rose-garden, because there is where they first met, and there is where elsie has had all the best times of her life. she has always lived with mother's people, you know, since our home was broken up, and even before mother's death, we used to spend our winters there. yes, daddy opposed the marriage at first, but you know daddy. he'd hardly think an archangel good enough for elsie." the news had the effect which phil had foreseen, and joyce's own affairs retired into the background, while she discussed the matter which was of such vital importance to the whole tremont family. later, he asked her to name all the things she considered the most desirable and unique as wedding gifts, and they were still adding to the list from which he was to make his choice, when they heard mrs. boyd come out into the hall to turn on the light. in the bright firelight, they had not noticed how dark it had grown outside. joyce looked at the clock and sprang up, exclaiming: "lucy will be wanting her cream toast, and it's time also for me to pay my forfeit to you. how much of a supper are you going to claim, young man?" "that depends on how many good left-overs there are in the pantry and ice-box," said phil, rising also. "i'll come and investigate, myself, thank you." pinning up the train of her red gown and tying on a big apron, joyce made quick work of her supper preparations, and the long, lonely day ended in a jolly little feast, which completely restored her to her usual cheerful outlook on life. mrs. boyd joined them, despite the fact that she must leave lucy to eat alone, in order to do so. it was always a red-letter day in her drab existence when phil tremont came into it. she was such a literal little body, that she never joked herself. she was mentally incapable of the repartee that always flew back and forth across the table when phil was a guest, but she considered his tamest sallies as positively brilliant. when she went back to lucy she had enough material to furnish conversation all the rest of the evening. "now," said phil, when he and joyce were back in the studio again, before the fire, "i don't want to upset your equanimity, but if you can talk about it calmly, i'd like to hear exactly how things are going with jack and aunt emily and that little brick of a mary. i had one letter from jack the first of the winter, and i've had the casual reports you've given me at long intervals, but i've no adequate idea of their whereabouts or their present sayings and doings." "suppose i read you some of mary's letters," proposed joyce. "i've been surprised at the gift she's developed lately for describing her surroundings. really, she's done some first-class word-pictures." in answer to his pleased assent, joyce turned over the letters till she came to the first one that mary had written from bauer. "it was written on pieces of a paper sugar-sack while she was getting supper," explained joyce. "but you can fairly see the little town spread out between the spire of st. peter's and the tower of the holy angels' academy, with the windmills in between and the new moon low on the horizon." phil, lounging back in the big chair, sat with a smile on his face as he listened to mary's account of the rector's call, while she was perched up on the windmill. but when joyce reached the closing paragraph about its being a good old world after all, and her belief in grandmother ware's verse that the crooked should be made straight and the rough places smooth, a very tender light shone in his keen eyes. he said in a low tone, "the dear little vicar! she's game to the core!" urged to read more, joyce went on, sometimes choosing only an extract here and there, sometimes reading an entire letter, till he had heard all about her visit to gay, her first experience at a military hop, their brave attempt to make a merry christmas among strangers, and finally her experience with the mallory children, because of their desperate need of money. "don't skip!" insisted phil, still laughing over her account of her "day of rest" at the barnaby ranch, when the peacock lost its tail. "the next one isn't funny," replied joyce, "but it is especially interesting to me because it shows how mary is growing up." she hunted through the disordered pile until she found one dated two months ago. "'the night after i brought brud and sister back from the ranch i lay awake for hours, trying to think what to do next to find the vulnerable spot in my _kleinen teufel_. i couldn't think of a thing, but decided to begin telling them kipling's jungle stories instead of any more fairy-tales, and to try mrs. barnaby's suggestion of making them responsible for their own entertainment part of the time.' "oh, this isn't the one i thought," exclaimed joyce. "it goes on to tell about the last news from holland, instead of the children. here is the one i wanted, written two weeks later: "'hail, columbia, happy land! i've found the "open sesame," thanks to kipling, and in a way i little expected. the children showed a breathless interest in the jungle stories from the start, and began dramatizing them of their own accord. they have thrown themselves into the play with a zest which nothing of my proposing has ever called out. for two weeks i have been old baloo, the brown bear, and father wolf by turns. there are two little hairless man-cubs in our version, however, for a mowglina divides honors with mowgli. sister says she has chosen the name of mowglina "for keeps," and i sincerely hope she has, if what mr. sammy bradford said about names having a moral effect on her is true. "'we have our council rock up on the high hill back of st. peter's, where meliss sometimes plays the part of the black panther. we no longer greet each other with "good morning." it is "good hunting" now, and when we part, it is with the benediction, "jungle favor go with thee!" you remember baloo taught the wood and water laws to mowgli, how to tell a rotten branch from a sound one, how to speak politely to the wild bees when he came upon a hive of them, etc. but more than all he taught the master words of the jungle, that turned every bird, beast and snake into a friend. it is simply amazing to me the way they seemed to be charmed by that idea, and it is strange that such utterly lawless children should be not only willing but eager to abide by the rules laid down for animals. it does my soul good to hear brud, who has never obeyed anyone, gravely declaim: "'"now these are the laws of the jungle, and many and mighty are they, but the head and the hoof of the law and the haunch and the hump is--_obey_!" "'or to hear saucy little sister in the rôle of mowglina, repeating kaa's words to uncle august, "a brave heart _and a courteous tongue_, they will carry thee far through the jungle, manling." "'it was uncle august, bless his old brown body, who helped me to make my first personal application of the play. i had just heard of their latest prank down-town. (sad to say, the more angelic they are as little wolves, the more annoying they are when they return to the man-pack.) they had dropped a live garter snake, a good-sized one, through the slit of the package box, and the postmistress had picked it up with a bundle of newspapers. she was so frightened that she yelled like a comanche, and then had a nervous chill that lasted for a quarter of an hour. that same day they filled all the keyholes of the private letterboxes with chewing-gum, as far up as they could reach, and everybody who had to stop to pry it out was _so_ cross. "'i didn't say anything to them about it till after they had told me about uncle august's chasing the calves out of mrs. williams' garden, and how she had petted and praised him for it. we talked a few minutes about the way uncle august is beloved by everybody who knows him, and how even strangers on the street stop to pat his head or say something kind about him. "'"it's because he keeps every law of the jungle, for dogs," i told them, and then i said, quite mercilessly, "but the whole town looks on you two children as _banderlogs_! mere, senseless monkey-folks, outcasts who have no leaders and no laws!" really, it hurt them dreadfully and i felt almost cruel for saying it. i could see that the shot told when i reminded them how they had been turned out of the hotel and chased out of every store in town. i told them that people said ugly things about them behind their backs, just as kaa and baloo did about the silly gray apes who threw dirt and sticks and made mischief wherever they went. "'that was the climax. they both threw themselves across my lap and began to cry, protesting that they were _not_ banderlogs. they didn't want people to call them that. i think my good angel must have inspired me to make the little sermon that i gave them then, for i certainly had never thought of the analogy before--how the same thing that is true in the jungle holds good in the man-world; that we must learn the master words for each person we meet, so that every heart will understand when we call out, "we be of one blood, ye and i." that just as the elephants and kites and snakes became friendly to mowgli as soon as he learned the master words of their speech, so miss edna and the postmistress and old mr. sammy would be friendly to them, when they showed that they not only had brave hearts, which scorned to play little, mean, silly tricks, but _courteous tongues_ as well. "'the amazing part of it is that they understood me perfectly, and right then and there had a sort of spiritual awakening to the fact that they really are "of one blood" with these people they have been tormenting. it is pathetic to watch how hard they have been trying ever since, to convince people that they are _not_ banderlogs, but are sensible children, willing to be governed by laws that they never understood before. now, at parting, they insist on my repeating _all_ the verse: "'"wood and water, wind and tree, _wisdom_, _strength and courtesy_, jungle favor go with thee." they seem to believe that it verily holds some sort of hoodoo spell which will armor them with magic power to make friends. "'already sister has made peace with the postmistress by the gift of a crude little willow basket of her own weaving, filled with wildflowers. it met with such a gracious reception (due principally to private explanation beforehand) that sister fairly squirmed with the blessedness of giving,--her first real experience of that sort. brud used his hatchet to split a pine box into kindling, and presented the same, tied in neat bundles, to mrs. williams. her surprise and voluble thanks (also solicited beforehand) were so gratifying that brud came home so satisfied with the new application of the game that he burns to play it with everyone in bauer, proving with actions, if not words, that he has a right to say, "we be of one blood, ye and i," and that he is _not_ a banderlog.'" as joyce slipped the letter back into its envelope, phil leaned forward to put another log on the fire, saying, as he did so, "good for mary! she always manages to find some way out, and it is always a way no one else would think of. but somehow i can't quite place her in these letters. she's the same little bunch of energy that i've always known, and yet there's a difference. i can't quite make out what." "she's growing up, i tell you," answered joyce. "that's what makes the difference. listen to this one: "'yesterday being valentine's day, we had a picnic at the council rock. the hill rises straight up from the public road, just back of the mallory cottage and st. peter's. there is a roundabout road to the top, leading in from a back lane, which is easy to climb, but, of course, the children chose the steep trail starting near their gate. nothing but a goat could walk up it with perfect ease and safety. "'once at the top, the view is lovely. you can see over half the county, and look right down into the chimneys of the town. the whole hilltop is covered with wildflowers; strange, beautiful things i have never seen before--so many exquisite colors, you'd think a rainbow had been broken to bits and scattered over the ground. "'at one o'clock we started out of the mallory gate, the most grotesque procession that ever went down the pike of bauer. you see, we'd dropped the jungle game for the day, and they were doing st. valentine honor. i went first in my oldest dress, on account of the climb, my mexican hat on my head, my alarm-clock, as usual, in one hand and a thermos bottle in the other. i was taking some boiling water along to make them tea, as a great treat. they don't like it particularly, but they wanted to use a little japanese tea-set that had just been sent to them. "'sister, fired by some of my descriptions of valentine costumes, had elected to attend the picnic as the queen of hearts, and had dressed herself for the part with the assistance of meliss. she looked perfectly ridiculous, spotted all over with turkey-red calico hearts. they were sewed on her dress, her hat, and even her black stockings. she was as badly broken out with them as a measles patient would have been with a red rash. "'brud wouldn't let her dike him out in the same way. she wanted him to go as cupid. he consented to let her call him cupid and he carried a bow and arrow, and wore some of the trimmings, but he wore them in his own way. the white turkey-wings, which she tried to attach to his shoulderblades, he wore bound to his brow like an indian chieftain's war-bonnet. long-suffering uncle august frisked about in a most remarkable costume. i think it must have been made of the top section of brud's pajamas, with the sleeves pulled up over his front paws, and buttoned in the back. it was sprinkled with big hearts, some blue and some yellow. "'but, funny as they looked, meliss was the comic valentine of the occasion. the front of her was covered with an old lace window curtain. across her bosom, carefully fastened with a gilt paper arrow, was the lithographed picture of a big red heart, as fat and red and shiny as a ripe tomato. she carried the lunch basket. "'i must confess it staggered me a trifle when the procession came out to meet me, but they were so pleased with themselves i hadn't the heart to suggest a single change. i led on, hoping that we wouldn't meet anyone. well, we hadn't gone a hundred paces till we heard hoof-beats, and a solitary horseman came riding along behind us. brud looked back and then piped up in his shrill little voice: "'"oh, look, miss mayry! look at the soldier man coming!" "'naturally, i glanced back, and my blood fairly ran cold, for there, riding along with a broad grin on his face at sight of our ridiculous turnout, was lieutenant boglin! i was so amazed at seeing him that i just stood still in the road and stared, feeling my face get redder and redder. somehow i had no power to move. he didn't recognize me till he was opposite us, but the instant he did, he was off his horse and coming up to shake hands, and i was trying to account for our appearance. it seems he had been with the troops up at leon springs for target practice, and was taking a day off while they were breaking camp. he had been commissioned to look at a polo pony somebody had for sale in bauer, and thought while he was about it he would call and see the ware family, after he had had dinner at the hotel. he was on his way there. "'well, there i was! i couldn't ask him to go on such a babyfied lark as our valentine picnic. i couldn't leave the children and take him over home, because my time is mrs. mallory's. even if she had excused me, the children would have raised an unstoppable howl, and probably would have followed us. they are making grand strides in the courtesy business, but they are still far from being models of propriety. "'when i had explained to the best of my ability, i told him i would be through at five, and asked him to wait and take supper with us. i could see that he was inwardly convulsed, and i do believe it was because we all looked so ridiculous and he wanted to see the show a second time that he accepted my invitation with alacrity. as soon as he started on to the williams house, i stopped under a tree and wrote a scrawl to mamma on the margin of the newspaper that was spread on top of the lunch-basket. then i gave meliss a dime to run over home with it, so that the family needn't be taken by surprise if bogey happened to get there before i did. "'but it seems that he forgot the directions i gave him for finding the house, and about ten minutes to five, as the children and meliss were finishing the lunch which was spread out on the council rock, he came climbing up the side of the hill. the children had been angelic before his arrival and they were good after he came, except--i can't explain it--there was something almost impish in the way they sat and watched us, listening to everything we said, as if they were committing it to memory to repeat afterward. even uncle august, in his heart-covered pajamas, squatted solemnly on the rock beside them and seemed to be stowing away something to remember. "'the lieutenant couldn't glance in their direction without laughing out loud; they looked so utterly comical. so he turned his back on them and began to admire the view, which certainly was magnificent. as the sun began to go down the wind came up, and the veil i had tied around my hat got loose, and streamed out like a comet's tail. i couldn't tie it down and i couldn't find a pin to fasten it, and first thing i knew he had taken one of those fancy bronze pins from the collar of his uniform, those crossed guns that officers wear, you know, and he gave me that to fasten my veil with. "'now, there was nothing remarkable in that. gay and roberta have whole rows of such pins that different officers have given them. but sister pointed her finger at me and shrilled out like a katydid, as if they had been discussing the subject before, "no, sir, brud! you can't fool _me_! he _is_ miss mayry's valentine. he's her _beau_!" "'unless you could have heard the elfish way she said it, you couldn't understand why it should have embarrassed me so dreadfully. my face felt as hot as a fiery furnace. he sort of smiled and pretended not to hear, and i couldn't think of a word to break the awful pause. but just then the alarm-clock, hanging on a bush behind us, went off with a whang and clatter that sent us both springing to our feet. "'they had finished their lunch by that time, so i helped meliss hustle the dishes into the basket and headed the party for home as soon as possible. you can imagine the deep breath of thankfulness i drew when i finally left them at their own gate. but i drew it too soon. i should have waited until we were out of earshot. for as they went racing up the path to meet their mother, we could hear them shrieking to her about miss mayry's valentine beau who gave her two teeny, weeny guns to pin her veil with. "'the wind wasn't blowing so hard down where we were then, so as we went along i said in a careless sort of way, "oh,--'lest we forget'--i'll return this now," and started to take it out of my veil. but he only laughed and said, with such a mischievous glance, "no, keep it, 'miss mayry,' lest you forget--your valentine." "'fortunately, it was one of jack's good days, and he was able to be out in the sitting-room, and the two took to each other at once. you know nobody can give people quite such a gentle, gracious reception as mamma can, and much as i had dreaded taking him into such a barely furnished little house, and serving him from our motley collection of dishes, i didn't mind it at all after she had made him welcome. such things don't matter so much when you've a family you can be proud of. "'we had a delicious supper, and he ate and ate, and said nothing had tasted so good since he left home years ago to enlist. he stayed till ten o'clock, and then went down to the livery stable to get his horse and ride back to camp by moonlight. we sat up for nearly an hour after he left, comparing notes on how we had enjoyed the evening, and talking over all he had said. jack said it was like coming across a well in a thirsty desert to meet a fellow like that, and mamma said she was sure he had enjoyed his little taste of simple home life quite as much as we had enjoyed having him. he quite captivated her, especially when he asked permission to come again. norman was so impressed that he has been talking ever since about the advantages of being an army man. as for me, i found him lots more interesting than he was the night of the hop, although i must say i'll always remember him as a sort of guardian angel that night, for being so kind and saving me from being a wall-flower.'" there was a peculiar expression on phil's face as joyce laid down that letter. "do you know," he said, gravely, "i feel as if i'd been seeing the little vicar grow up right under my very eyes. i'd never before thought of her as being old enough to have 'affairs,' but this seems to give promise of blossoming into one. of course, it's what one might naturally expect, but somehow i can't quite get used to the idea, and--" he did not finish the sentence aloud, but as he scowled into the fire, he added to himself, "_i don't like it_!" chapter xi phil goes to warwick hall had it not been for that package of letters read aloud before the fire on that stormy march night, this story might have had a very different ending. but for them phil never would have known what a winsome, unselfish character the little vicar had grown up to be. the casual meetings of years could not have revealed her to him as did these intimate glimpses of her daily life and thought, through her letters to joyce. they showed her childishly jubilant in her delight when the first month's salary was paid into her hands, and yet practical and womanly in her plans for spending it. like a child she was, too, in her laments over some of the mistakes which her inexperience led her into with brud and sister, yet he could see plainly underneath her whimsical words her deep earnestness of purpose. at last she had recognized that this opportunity to impress them with her high ideals was one of the king's calls, and she was bending every energy to the keeping of that tryst. it was this development of character which interested phil, even more than the news of the letters. still there were a number of items which gave him something to think about. lieutenant boglin had made a second visit. once she mentioned a book he had sent her, and another time a rare butterfly to add to the new collection she was starting. evidently they had found several interests in common. on his last visit she had taken him to fernbank in the boat, and he had captured a fine big hairy tarantula for her from among the roots of a clump of maidenhair ferns. she had been able to enjoy the boat a great deal more since the children had learned the meaning of the word obey. she could take them with her now without fear of their rocking the boat, and in consequence they had had many a delightful hour on the water that had not been possible before. "do you know," said phil, slowly, when he had listened awhile longer, "it doesn't strike me that those are particularly doleful letters; at any rate, anything to send you into an 'orgy of weeps.' i believe it is nothing but the weather which gave you the spell of doldrums that you were in when i came." "oh, but you haven't heard the latest ones," joyce exclaimed. "mamma's reports of jack's condition and jack's own little pencilled scrawls. i can read between the lines just what a desperate fight he is making, and this last one from mary simply knocked all the props out from under the hope i had been clinging to." she picked up the last envelope on the pile, postmarked march first, and turned to the closing pages: "'jack is so much worse that i can scarcely think of anything else. we are _so_ worried about him. he is in bed all the time now, and is growing so thin and weak. he is very despondent,--something new for him. it keeps us busy trying to think of things to tempt his appetite or to arouse him out of his listlessness. he has always been so cheerful before--so full of jokes and so responsive to any attempt to amuse him. but now he doesn't seem to want to talk or to be read to or anything. once in a while he'll smile a wan little sort of smile when i repeat some of the children's doings, but he isn't like himself any more. sometimes i believe he's just worn out with the long effort he's made to be brave and keep up for our sake. "'it is hard for me to keep my interest in the children keyed up to the proper pitch any more, when all the time i am thinking how pitiful and white he looks, lying back on his pillows. i am telling you exactly how things are because i would want you to tell me if i were in your place and you in mine. i can understand how hard it is for you to be so far away where you can't see for yourself how he is, every hour. i'll try to send a note or postal each day. [illustration: mary ware in texas. "leaning against the mantel looked down at her thoughtfully"] "'he's talked about you a lot, lately. says you have the pioneer spirit of all our old colonial grandmothers, to stick to your post the way you are doing for our sakes. he's constantly referring to things that happened at the wigwam, and to the people who used to come there,--mr. ellested and the lees and phil,--especially phil. i wish he could drop in here to see us daily as he used to do in arizona. maybe jack would rouse up and take some interest in _him_. he doesn't take any now in the people we have met here, although no one could be kinder than the rochesters and the barnabys have been to us.'" joyce finished reading, and phil rose to his feet and began pacing up and down the long room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the floor as if he were considering some weighty problem. finally he stopped, and leaning against the mantel, looked down at her, thoughtfully, saying, "joyce, i've about thought out a way to manage it--to take in bauer on my way to california, i mean. you told me once that aunt emily calls me her 'other boy.' well, you all are my other family, and these glimpses you've given me of it make me homesick to see them. i might be able to help matters some way. i'm almost sure i can arrange to start several days before the rest of the party and go around that way, so if you have any messages or things to send, get them ready." "oh, phil!" she cried, thankfully. "they'll be so glad--i know it will do them a world of good to see you. maybe you can cheer jack up a bit. so much depends on keeping him hopeful." then she added, wistfully, "i only wish you could put me in your pocket and take me along." "i wish i could," he answered, cordially. then more cordially still after a moment's thought, "why, that's the very thing! come and go along! just cut loose for a short visit and let things here go hang! it would mean more to them at home to see you again than the few dollars you could pile up if you stayed on here." "no," she contradicted, sadly, the light dying out of her eyes, which had brightened at the mere thought of such a visit. "it's too long a trip and too expensive, and--" "but we can easily arrange all that," he interrupted, eagerly. "under the circumstances you ought to let me do for jack's sister what jack would gladly do for mine were the circumstances reversed. _please_, joyce." she shook her head as he urged his plan, but her eyes filled with tears and she said, brokenly, "you are a dear, generous boy to offer it, and i'll remember it always, but phil--don't you see--there's too much at stake. i _can't_ leave now. not only my work in hand would stop, but i'd lose the orders that are constantly coming in, and i can't afford to miss a penny that would add to jack's comfort in any way. he may be helpless for years and years, and mary's salary will stop as soon as the mallorys leave bauer this summer." "well, think about it, anyway," urged phil, hopefully. "maybe you'll see things differently by daylight, and change your mind. i'll ring you up in the morning." "by the way," he said, a few minutes later, when he was slipping into his overcoat, "don't write to mary that there is a possibility of my going to bauer. if i should go i want to surprise her." "very well," agreed joyce. "but i may write about elsie's wedding and say that you'll all be going west?" "oh, yes, she'll probably have cards herself soon, for elsie has never forgotten her one encounter with the little vicar, and she wrote for her address some time ago." it was several days before joyce saw phil again. when he did come he was in such a hurry that he did not wait for the elevator, which seemed to be stuck somewhere in the basement. after several impatient rings he started up the stairs, two steps at a time, and had reached the fifth floor before the elevator overtook him. he was slightly out of breath, but so intent on his errand that he never would have thought to step in and ride the rest of the way, had it not stopped on the landing for another passenger, as he was about to pass the cage. the janitor was cleaning the halls of the top floor apartments, and the door into joyce's studio being open, phil walked in without waiting to ring. joyce was at her easel hard at work. her face lighted up when she saw his, for it showed so plainly he was the bearer of good news. "daddy's going with me," were his first breathless words of greeting. "we--" then he paused as if some sudden recollection warned him to ask, "what have you heard from home lately?" she thought the question was prompted by his fear that it might not be convenient for them to have guests in the house if jack were so ill, so she hastened to reassure him. "oh, i had the cheerfulest sort of letter from mamma this morning, written last sunday, the very day i was crying my eyes out over them. isn't that always the way? here it was so bleak and blustery that i couldn't help imagining that they were as dismal as i. and all the time it was as warm as summer in bauer, the country a mass of wildflowers, and they were having a perfectly delightful time with gay melville. and guess who had gone up with her to spend the day there! alex shelby of kentucky!" she added, without an instant's pause for him to answer. "mamma wrote that she didn't know when she had had such an enjoyable day. dr. shelby insisted on her going for a little outing with the girls while he and norman took care of jack. mary poled them up to fernbank in the boat, and when they got back they found that, in some unaccountable way, jack had been wonderfully cheered up. he seemed more like himself than he had been for weeks. mamma was so happy over that, for even if he can never be any better physically it is a lot to be thankful for to have his spirits kept up." "is that all?" asked phil, when she paused at last. "yes. why? isn't that _enough_?" "i only wanted to find out how much you knew before i broke _my_ news. now, listen to this! alex shelby wrote to daddy that same night. you know they met at eugenia's wedding, and shelby who was just beginning to practise medicine then seemed to develop a case of hero-worship for father. shelby has taken a great interest in jack's case ever since he heard of the accident, and the reason he sent aunt emily out that afternoon was that he might have a chance to examine jack without her knowing it. he didn't want to raise anybody's hopes if nothing can be done. he thinks that the first operation did not go quite far enough. there is still a pressure on the spinal cord which may be removed by a very delicate bit of surgery. _i_ don't understand his technical terms, but it's one of the most difficult things known to the medical profession. "daddy says there are very few cases on record of its having been done successfully, although it has been attempted several times. personally he knows of two cases. one was a football player in this country who had his back broken, and one was a man in germany who was injured in exactly the same vertebræ where jack's trouble lies. and--mark this now--_daddy helped with that operation_. the surgeon who performed it was a friend of his, and called him in because it was such a rare and peculiar case." joyce was scarcely breathing now, as she listened. she was white to the lips in her intense excitement. "oh, go _on_!" she exclaimed, unable to endure the suspense when he paused. "doctor tremont thinks he can cure him?" "no--" was the guarded response. "he is not sure. he doesn't say that. but there is a chance, just one chance, and he is going to take it. we're leaving in a few hours, so i haven't another moment to stay!" joyce, who had risen in her first excitement, dropped back on her stool again, limp and trembling. she had thought so long of jack's illness as being hopeless that the possibility of a cure almost unnerved her with the great joy of it. phil went on, rapidly: "shelby told jack of his hope, but evidently he said nothing to the rest of the family, or they would have known the reason for jack's return to cheerfulness. now, don't go to getting upset like that," he added, holding out his hands for a cordial leave-taking. "i don't want to get your hopes up too high, but i've always felt that daddy could come as near to working miracles as anyone living, and you just remember this--he's going to work one this time, if mortal man can do it! you see, he knows what the wares were to me that year on the desert. he hasn't forgotten how you all saved his motherless boy for him. that's the way he puts it. saved me from my besetting temptation and sent me away to make a man of myself. if he can put jack on his feet again he will feel that he is only paying back a small part of his obligation to you all--to say nothing of _my_ debt. lord! i can't even talk about that now! it's too big for me ever to tackle myself. but i just wanted you to know how we both feel about it--" he did not attempt to finish, but with a final strong handclasp he was gone before joyce could find her voice for more than a faltering good-by. for a little while after he left she sat before her easel, gazing vacantly at the canvas with eyes which saw nothing. she could not settle down to work again with so many exciting mental pictures rising up before her: jack, undergoing the operation at home. the awful suspense and tension of that time of waiting until they could know the result, and then--jack, strong and well and swinging along with the vigorous stride she remembered so well. or would it be--she shut her eyes and shuddered, putting away from her with an exclamation of horror the other scene that persisted in presenting itself. she had never forgotten the tramp of feet across the threshold of the little brown house in plainsville the day they carried her father away. presently she could bear it no longer, and pushing back her easel she slipped off her apron and called to mrs. boyd that she was going out for awhile. in her present tremor of nervousness she could not trust herself to stop and explain. she felt that she could not bear to listen to the little woman's platitudes, no matter how sympathetic they might be. it was not till she was on the car, half-way out to central park, that she remembered she had not told phil of one other item of news in her mother's letter. she wondered if he knew that gay and alex shelby were engaged. the reason that they had gone to bauer was to announce it themselves to the only people in that part of the world who knew and loved lloydsboro valley. it was in that happy valley that their romance had begun, and they both knew that mrs. ware had spent her girlhood there, that mary regarded it as her "promised land," and that jack, although his visit there had been limited to one day, had seen the rose-covered cabin where gay and her knight of the looking-glass had first caught sight of each other, and where their married life was to begin. it was several hours before joyce got back to the studio. the long car-ride and the brisk walk in the park had helped her to regain her usual outward composure, but she was far from being as calm as she seemed. alternate moods of hopefulness and foreboding kept her swinging like a pendulum from exhilaration to a sickening sense of fear. she could hardly fix her mind on her work, although her hands moved feverishly. before starting back to work she hunted up one of henrietta's railroad time-tables, and fastened it to a corner of her canvas, so that she could follow the course of the texas-bound travellers. at intervals she glanced from the clock to the card, thinking, "now they are just leaving the new york station," or, "now they are pulling into washington." later she found the time when they would be going aboard the new orleans sleeper, and from then on a thousand times her thoughts ran on ahead to picture their reception in bauer, and the events that would follow there in quick succession. her waking hours were filled with only one thought till phil's first telegram announced their arrival. then she scarcely ate or slept, so great was her anxiety as she waited his second message. as doctor tremont and phil pushed through the crowds at the new york station, hurrying to reach the washington-bound train, steaming on the track, phil recalled the last time he had passed through. it was in march of the previous year, but later in the month, that he had come down with joyce to put mary and betty aboard the train, the morning after they had heard about jack's accident. it was at that stand that he bought the fruit for them, here he had snatched up the magazines, and there was where he had stood while the train pulled out, waiting for the last glimpse of the little vicar's face at the window, bravely smiling in her efforts to "keep inflexible" for joyce's sake. the scene had been impressed vividly upon his memory, because of the way the whole affair had touched his sympathies, and now he found himself, after a year, recalling things that at the time he had barely noticed. it was like taking a second look at a snapshot picture, and finding details in the background to which he had paid no attention when first focussing the camera. there was that wistful look in betty's brown eyes, for instance. they had been almost as full of trouble as mary's. their appealing sadness came back to him now quite as forcibly as mary's tearful good-by smile. he remembered the protecting way she had put her arm around her little pupil. they had been such good comrades all through the vacation pleasures which they had shared, that christmas and easter. he remembered now how far back betty's friendship with joyce dated. suddenly it occurred to him that betty, of all people, would be most interested in what was about to occur in the ware family. whatever followed the operation, whether it were grief or joy, she would share with them. doctor tremont had some business to attend to which would keep him busy during the few hours they were obliged to stop over in washington, and, after a few moments' deliberation, phil decided to go out to warwick hall while he waited, instead of spending his time looking up an old acquaintance, as he had intended doing. there was another reason for calling on betty, which he did not acknowledge to himself as a reason, but it carried weight in helping him to make a decision. that was the knowledge that she would have the latest news of lloyd sherman. he had had six months in which to grow accustomed to the idea that the little unset turquoise he had once given her could never stand for anything more between them than the "true-blue friendship stone." he had been so determined to make it more, that his whole world seemed jolted out of its orbit when he heard of her engagement to rob moore. he could not talk of it at first. lately, however, he had come to take a more philosophical view of the situation. several hours later, when phil found himself in front of warwick hall, the great castle-like building and beautifully kept grounds seemed as familiar as if he had visited it before. the lloydsboro valley girls had sung its praises ever since he had known them. lloyd herself had talked much of it in the days when every subject she mentioned was interesting, simply because she chose to talk about it. mary ware had pictured it to him as a veritable paradise, and he had been pressed to admire so many photographs of it on so many occasions that it was no wonder it had a familiar look, every way he turned. he would have been highly amused could he have known what a sensation he was creating in the school, as he stood on the highest terrace, looking down the flight of stately marble steps that led to the river. in the first place, the sight of such an unusually attractive man, young, handsome, and with an air of distinction, was a rarity in those parts. that he should loiter down the walk instead of striding straight up to the massive portal, aroused the curiosity of every girl who happened to be near a window, and why he should pluck a leaf from the abbotsford ivy, overhanging the pergola, and then walk along the hedge of the wonderful old garden until he could lean over and read the motto on the ancient sun-dial, was more than any of them could fathom. there was a flutter among those who had seen him, when presently the great knocker, echoing through the hall, announced that he was ready to enter. the pompous butler opened the door, and for the second time in his history nearly fell backward, for the dignified young stranger who stood there with the easy grace of at least a viscount, called out as if he had known him always, "oh, it's hawkins." when phil raised his hand to the knocker he was smiling over mary's account of her first entrance through that door. he had teased her unmercifully when he heard of her rehearsals for the purpose of impressing the butler, and when the man instantly appeared just as mary had pictured him, he was so much like a stiff old portrait bowing from the frame of the doorway, that the exclamation slipped from phil in surprise. then he smiled again, thinking how inadvertently he had copied mary. at first glance hawkins thought he must be one of madam chartley's relatives from england, and bowed again, obsequiously this time. but the card laid on his silver tray was not for madam. it was for miss elizabeth lewis, the youngest and most popular teacher in the hall. it was after recitation hours and betty was not in her room, but she came in presently from a walk, looking as girlish and rosy as the little freshman who had been her companion. the march winds had given her color, and blown her brown hair about her face in soft little curls. phil could see her through the curtained arch as she came into the hall and took the card hawkins presented on his tray. her face lighted up with pleasure, and she gave an exclamation of surprise, both of which items hawkins noticed. when she hurried into the reception-room he cast a look of discreet curiosity after her. then he turned away with a wise wag of the head. of course, one knew what to expect when the young stranger called her by her first name in such a joyful tone as that, and she responded cordially that it was such a lovely surprise to see "the best man!" all the wedding party had called phil the best man, ever since mary had emphasized the name by her comically reverent use of it, and it seemed quite natural that the next remark should be about her. phil thought to surprise betty by saying, casually, "i've just stopped by to ask if you want to send any message to mary ware. i'm on my own way to bauer now." but he was the one to be surprised, for her face paled and she exclaimed, in a voice tense with suppressed excitement, "oh, is your father going, too? has he really consented to attempt the operation?" then, in answer to his exclamation of astonishment that she should know anything about it, she explained, while the color returned in a rush. she had had a note from jack that morning, just a scribbled line, telling what alex shelby had written to doctor tremont, and what they hoped would be the answer. "he hasn't told the family yet," she explained, seeing from phil's face that he thought it queer she should know of it. "he didn't want them to suffer the cruel disappointment it would be should they discover they had been cherishing a false hope. but he just _had_ to tell somebody, and he knew i'd understand how much recovery would mean to him, for he used to write me so fully of his plans and ambitions before he was hurt." she closed her hands so tightly that the pink nails pressed into the tender palms. "oh, i _hope_ alex hasn't been mistaken," she exclaimed. "i can't think of anything so cruel as to hold out the heaven of such a hope to him, only to have it dashed away." "daddy says there is one chance," answered phil, "and he is going to take it." then, with a sudden understanding of the situation as he watched her face, he began to comfort her with the same words he had spoken to joyce. "daddy can come as near to working miracles as any man living, and you just remember this, little girl. he's going to work one this time if mortal man can do it!" the ring of certainty in his voice made her look up at him with a smile that was like an april day, such joy shone through the brown eyes, which a moment before had been misty with tears. she did not know how much she had revealed, but as she turned away phil said to himself, "so _that's_ the way the land lies! i must give daddy a hint of how much is at stake. if he saves jack it won't be for the ware family alone." betty had been called aside a moment to speak to a visiting parent, and when she came back to phil, had fully recovered her composure. "come on," she said, gaily. "there are a few things i must show you. it will never do for anybody to confess to mary ware that he has been to warwick hall and missed seeing the things that she particularly adores." it was a short pilgrimage she led him on; to meet madam chartley first, then to see the great stained-glass window where the motto of edryn, "i keep tryste," flaunted itself in letters of light above the ruby heart and the mailed hand, clasping the spear. then outdoors they went, past the peacocks on the terraces, down the marble steps to the river, where pretty girls were walking arm in arm, and phil was conscious of many curious glances cast in his direction. then they strolled through the garden, where the crocuses and early march flowers were making a brave showing, and out towards the golf links a little way. betty's cheeks were almost as red as the bright tam o'shanter cap she wore, and her eyes shone with a happy, tender light as she talked of mary and what the school had meant to her. the pilgrimage, like the bundle of letters which joyce had read, was eloquent with suggestions of mary at every turn. he understood now as he had not before how much she had renounced when she left without finishing the year. he began to appreciate the greatness of her sacrifice, and, guided by betty at his elbow, he began to perceive what an influence such a place, with its ideals and its refined, old-world fashion of living might exert on a girl like mary ware. there was not much opportunity to lead the conversation towards lloyd, with betty constantly breaking off to say, "oh, don't forget to mention this to mary," or, "tell her you saw this and that." he learned very little about her, save that she was well and happy. betty had always known, she said, that rob was the one written in the stars for the princess winsome. they knew each other so thoroughly and had such a happy childhood in common, and in her opinion they had always been meant for each other from the beginning. it was growing late when they came back to the front door, but betty insisted on his coming in for a moment for a cup of tea, "served from an ancestral teacup," she insisted, "so that you can brag to mary of it." while they waited for it to be brought, betty hastily summoned several of the girls whom she wanted him to meet. "you'll never remember their names," she said, laughingly, "and mary will make your life a burden with questions if you can't answer. give me a pencil and i'll scribble them down for you. elise walton, you'll remember, of course, for she was the pretty child with the long, dark curls, whom you used to meet so many times at the beeches, the summer eugenia was married. you'll quite fall in love with her, i am sure, for she is getting prettier every day, and you'll not need any memorandum to keep her in mind when you've once heard her talk. a. o. miggs will be the little roly-poly dumpling of a girl, and dorene derwent, the one who giggles so gurglingly. cornie dean you'll remember for the elaborate way she does her hair, and the coy way she has of casting melting side-glances. that's a habit she has acquired just in this last year, so you might mention it to mary. she'll be immensely interested in hearing it. see, i have made marginal notes for each one, if you can understand my abbreviations." as she handed him the slip of paper the girls came in, all pleased to meet "such a fascinating, lord-lochinvar looking man," as a. o. described him afterward, and all overjoyed to find that he would be the bearer of messages to mary ware. they sent so many that he laughingly disclaimed all responsibility in case he should get them mixed in transit. he had an odd feeling that he was on exhibition to these girls as mary's friend, and that he must do her credit. the few moments he stayed with them he used to such advantage that he was straightway written down in their opinion as the most fascinating man they had ever met. when he took his leave it was with a flattering regret that made each girl feel that she was the one who inspired it, and they went back to their rooms to compare notes and to "rave over him," as dorene expressed it, for days. the twilight was falling when he started back to the station. betty walked part of the way with him. only once they referred to jack again, and that was not till they reached the bend in the driveway, where betty turned back. she put out her hand with wishes for a safe journey, and he held it an instant to say, "i'm sure it's all going to end happily, and you shall have the first telegram." chapter xii in "blue-bonnet" time the time of "blue-bonnets" had come. no matter where else in texas the lupin may grow, one thing is certain; there is enough of it in the meadows around bauer nearly every spring to justify its choice as the state flower. this particular march, acres and acres of it, blue as the mediterranean, stretched away on either side of the high-roads. viewed from a distance when the wind, blowing across it, made waves of bloom, it almost seemed as if a wide blue sea were rolling in across the land. from his bed near the window jack ware could catch a glimpse of one of these meadows, where the cattle stood buried up to their bodies in the fragrant blossoms. now and then the breeze, fluttering his curtains, brought the odor to him almost as heavy and sweet as the smell of locusts. he watched the picture with languid eyes which closed weakly at intervals. they were shut when mary tiptoed into the room, to see if there was anything she could do for his comfort before starting out on her usual afternoon excursion with her pupils, but they opened with an expression of greater interest than they had held for some days as he saw her standing there in a freshly laundered gingham. it was so blue and white that she suggested a blooming blue-bonnet herself. "hullo, finnigan," he said, with an attempt at his old-time pleasantry. "'off agin, gone agin,' are you? which way this time?" touched almost to tears by this evidence of returning interest, mary explained eagerly that they were still studying about bees. she had found a bee-tree in the herdt pasture, and the lupin was all a-buzz with specimens to illustrate the lesson. that was for the wisdom part of it. for the strength there were some new exercises in climbing and hanging from a low limb. the practical application of their courtesy lesson would be the gathering of a great basketful of blue-bonnets for the ladies of the guild, who wanted to decorate the parish house with them for an entertainment to be given there. "oh, they're making long strides," she assured him. "mrs. mallory told me that the time it rained so hard last week, and i couldn't get across the foot-bridge at the ford to give them their usual lesson, brud sat down at bedtime and howled, because he said he'd have to 'count that day lost.' the sun was down and he hadn't 'any worvey action done.' it took the combined wits of the family to think of some worthy action he could do at that late hour, and he finally went to bed happy. so you see my labor hasn't been all in vain." there was a faint gleam of amusement in jack's eyes, but seeing that she was about to leave him, he turned the subject by motioning toward the table beside his bed, where elsie tremont's wedding invitations lay. "mary," he said, slowly, "would you be surprised if phil were to come by bauer on his way to california?" to her vehement avowal that such a happening would certainly surprise her out of a year's growth, at least, he answered: "well, i am a good deal more than half-way looking for him. 'i feel it in my bones' that he is coming, and coming very soon." "oh, jack!" she cried in distress. "don't look for him. don't set your heart on seeing him! i couldn't bear for you to be disappointed." "don't you worry about that," he answered, soothingly. "you run along and pick your blue-bonnets, and if phil _should_ happen to come walking down the road towards you one of these days, remember the feeling in my bones warned you. the poor old things have been so full of aches and pains that you might allow them one pleasant sensation at least." "but, jack," she began again, a wrinkle of distress deepening between her eyes. "if he shouldn't come you'd be so awfully disappointed!" jack's thin hand waved both her and her objections aside. "hike along," he insisted, cheerfully, "i merely said _if_!" considerably worried by what she thought was a groundless hope of jack's, mary started out of the gate. his suggestion seemed to change the entire landscape, and instead of seeing it as it had grown to look to her accustomed eyes, she saw it as she imagined it would appear to phil; the cottage she was leaving behind her, the wide blue lupin meadows ahead, the white of the wild plum blossoms mingled with the glowing branches of the red-bud trees, in every lane and stretch of woodland. with her old childish propensity for day-dreaming unabated, she made pictures for herself as she walked along towards the foot-bridge. suppose he really would come, and she, by some intuition of his approach, could divine the day and hour. she would like to be all in white when he met her, emerging from the edge of the woods with her arms heaped up with snowy masses of wild plum blossoms, and a spray of red-bud in her hair. or, maybe, it would be more picturesque for her to be standing in the boat, poling slowly towards the landing, a cargo of wild flowers at her feet like a picture of the spirit of spring. here she broke off from her musings, saying, half aloud, "but as sure as i posed to look like a spring goddess i'd be looking like a young goose. it doesn't pay for me to plan impressive entrances and meetings; they always turn out with my looking perfectly ridiculous." she had reached the first turn in the road by this time, and, stooping to tie her shoe, suddenly became aware of the fact that her hands were empty. she had started off without the alarm-clock and the magnifying glass which she always carried on these trips. in addition she had intended to bring a large market-basket to-day, in which to put the flowers. the basket, with the clock and glass inside, was in her hand before she started. she remembered she had set it down for a moment on the front step while she went back into jack's room, and it was what he said about phil's coming that made her go off without it. there was no time to lose, so she started back, running all the way. snatching up the basket from the step where she found it still undisturbed, she was starting off again, when a little bird-like cry stopped her. it was like the softest notes of a mocking-bird. "that provoking little wildcat is out of her cage again!" she exclaimed, stopping to look all around. "here, matilda, kitty, kitty, where are you?" in response to her call, what seemed to be the gentlest of house-kittens came bounding through the grass. thinking it would be less trouble to take it along than to carry it back to its cage in the woodshed when she was in such a great hurry, mary caught it up in her arms, and once more started down the road, one hand slipped through the handle of the basket. it snuggled down against her shoulder, purring loudly. "you ridiculous little atom!" laughed mary. "i wonder what the girls at warwick hall would say if they could see me going along carrying a live _wildcat_. that will be something wild and texasy for me to put in my next letters. i needn't say that it weighs only twenty ounces, and that if it wasn't for its bow legs and funny little bobbed tail and spotted stomach one would think it was just a tame, ordinary, domestic pussy. but you'll be savage enough by and bye, won't you? when the tassels grow on your ear-tips and your whiskers spread out wide and your spots get big and tigery!" two soft paws reached up to tap her face, and she gave the furry ball in her arms an affectionate squeeze. she had never cared especially for kittens, but this little wild one with its coquettish ways had wonderfully ingratiated itself into her affections in the week she had owned it. mrs. barnaby had brought it in from the ranch. cousin sammy had found eight of them in the woods after pedro had killed the old mother cat, caught in the act of carrying off one of the turkeys. this was the only one that lived. mrs. barnaby could not keep it, because, tiny as it was, it toddled around after the chickens and put even the big plymouth rock hens to flight. so she brought it in to mary, and mary, feeling particularly forlorn that day, welcomed the little orphan, because its lonely state gave them a bond in common. the day it came happened to be her eighteenth birthday, with nothing to mark it as a gala occasion except a handkerchief from her mother and a string of trout from norman. he had gone out before daylight to catch them for her breakfast. joyce's present did not arrive until the next day, and the round-robin letter from warwick hall was nearly a week late. not until after the sorority was seated at its annual st. patrick's day dinner, did they recall the double celebration they had had the year before. the letter was written then and there, passing around the table with the bonbons, that each one present might add a birthday greeting. then dorene, to whom it was entrusted, forgot to post it for several days. it was a joy when it did come, but the anniversary itself, before the letter reached her, was a disappointing day. she had always looked forward to her eighteenth birthday as being one of the most important milestones of her life; not so important, of course, as one's graduation or début or wedding, but still a day that should be made memorable by something unusually nice. years ago jack had promised her a watch on her eighteenth birthday, a little chatelaine watch with a mother-of-pearl case, like the one the old colonel had given to lloyd. but when the time came jack did not even know that it was her birthday. he never looked at the calendar since their weary, monotonous days had grown to be all alike. she did not show him the handkerchief or tell him that the delicious fish which they had for breakfast was in honor of any especial occasion. in no way did she refer to its being the seventeenth of march. she ironed all morning and took the children out in the afternoon, as usual, and nothing made the day different from an ordinary one, only that she felt very old and grown up, and thought now and then a little pityingly of her early expectations and the way they had turned out. in a vague sort of way she was sorry for herself, till mrs. barnaby came in with the baby wildcat, which she jokingly offered as a st. patrick's day greeting. mary immediately named it matilda, for mrs. barnaby, and for the civilizing effect such a tame, gentle sort of name ought to have on a wild creature. in watching it and laughing over its playful antics she forgot to feel middle-aged and sorry for herself. as long as someone could keep an eye on it to prevent its straying away after any animal that passed the house, it could be allowed the liberty of the place, but whenever mary went off for a long time it had to be fastened in its cage. this was the first time she had taken it with her for an afternoon's outing, and as she hurried down the road with it in her arms, the knowledge of what she was carrying gave her the first feeling of adventure that she had had since coming to texas. "it's all been as tame as an old tabby and a teapot," she thought. she had pictured texas as a land of cowboys and round-ups and thrilling frontier experiences. she had found only the commonplace and conventional, so that there was a source of satisfaction in the fact that, at last, she had captured something untamed and savage. as she reached the foot-bridge a party on horseback came down the opposite bank to cross the ford. she recognized the young fellow in the lead as a boy from the east who had been staying at the williams house several months. evidently he also had expected to find texas a land of adventure. soon after his arrival he appeared in the quiet streets of bauer attired like the cowboy of a wild west show. that he was a tenderfoot was amusingly apparent to the natives. everything proclaimed it, from his awkward seat in his creaking new saddle to the new rope coiled around the horn of it. he could have no more use for a lariat than for a tomahawk, but he never rode without it. he had his picture taken in full paraphernalia, from his spurs to the rattlesnake skin band on his rakish sombrero, to send back home to show what a sport he had become; and his cup of satisfaction brimmed over when a still more recent tenderfoot took a snapshot of him, evidently considering him the "real thing." he had three eastern girls with him this morning, whom he was trying to impress with stories of his recklessness and prowess, and of the dangers one daily encountered in a new country. he had met norman and he knew mary by sight, and had heard of her odd pet. as they approached her he said, in a tone which she could not fail to hear, although he lowered his voice: "there's mighty little out here that is tame. lots of people keep foxes running around their premises instead of rat-terriers, and when they can get a wildcat they always prefer them to tame mousers." "now, dexter, stop stuffing us," one of the girls exclaimed. "i don't believe a word of it!" "it's the truth," he insisted. "that very young lady over yonder on the foot-bridge could tell you so. that isn't a kitten she is carrying. it is a young wildcat." the next instant the girl was splashing through the water across to mary, calling, "excuse me, but _is_ that a wildcat? i can't believe it!" mary had heard the conversation, and her face dimpled with amusement as she held matilda up to view, saying, "certainly. see how beautifully she is marked." she pointed out the various signs which proved her claim. the girl gave a little shriek. "for mercy sakes!" she exclaimed. "suppose it should get loose! what a dreadful country! aren't you afraid?" assured that mary was not in the least afraid, she dashed up the bank after her laughing escort, who thereafter had no trouble in convincing her that his most daring tales were true, since matilda had proved the truth of his first one. mary looked after them almost enviously. when she first came to bauer she had had faint hopes of sometime being able to join a riding party like that. she had seen girls going by often from the hotel, and had told herself that, before the winter was over, she intended to find some way to earn enough to hire a horse one afternoon of every week. and that time when she visited gay, and roberta talked of saddles while she combed mary's hair, roberta had said that she would ride up to bauer sometime after christmas; all her "crowd" would go, and they would stay several days at the williams house, and mary was to show them the country. gay had promised several visits, and mary had looked forward to them more eagerly than she knew, till word came soon after new year that the bauer trips would have to be postponed indefinitely. roberta had gone to the coast for the rest of the winter, and gay expected to spend several months with her sister lucy, mrs. jameson harcourt, in florida. it seemed to mary that there had been disappointment for her in her texas winter every way she turned. true, gay was home now, and they had had two pleasant days with her, once when she and alex shelby came up to announce their engagement, and cheered jack up so wonderfully. but gay wasn't interested in horseback riding with "the crowd" any longer. besides, the ware fortunes had taken such a turn that the money she had succeeded in earning had to go for more necessary things than saddles and horse-hire and a pretty habit. as mary glanced after the departing cavalcade once more the sight of them suggested a new picture that appealed to her as an interesting way to meet phil in case he should come. it would be so picturesque to be galloping down the road on a mettlesome black horse in a pretty white riding habit like those girls were wearing. white, with a scarlet four-in-hand and a soft fold of scarlet silk around the crown of her wide-brimmed white hat. phil had been such a dashing horseman himself, and had owned such a beautiful animal when they were out on the desert, that maybe he would be more interested in an approach made that way, than one in a boat with a cargo of wild flowers. she walked along slowly, considering the question, till brud and sister hailed her. meanwhile jack was saying to his mother that it wouldn't have been fair to the kid to let her get away without some inkling of the truth. "she'd have been terribly upset if i'd have told her that they are due here this afternoon, and she'd have been equally upset if they had walked in on her without any warning. but the hint i gave her will start her to thinking about them, so she will not be altogether surprised when she sees them." he had waited until mary left the house before breaking the news to his mother that he expected alex shelby to come sometime during the afternoon, bringing doctor tremont and phil. but even then he did not mention the faint hope which had buoyed him up night and day since alex's first visit. he had faith in the young physician's ability, but not until the older one confirmed his opinion would he allow himself to share that hope with any one else, lest it prove without foundation. with his eyes on the clock he lay counting the minutes until their arrival. he was deliberately forcing himself to be calm; to take slow, even breaths, to think of everything under the sun save the one thing which set his pulses to beating wildly and sent a thrill like fire tingling through him. he lay there like a prisoner in his dungeon who hears footsteps and new voices approaching. they might mean that deliverance is at hand, or they might pass on, leaving him to the blackness and despair of his dungeon for the rest of his life. in a like agony of apprehension he watched the pendulum swing back and forth, and listened to the slow tick! tock! till his suspense grew almost unendurable. one hand clasped and unclasped a corner of the counterpane in a paroxysm of nervousness. he lay with his face turned away from his mother, and she, busy with her endless sewing over by the side window, did not guess what great effort he was making to retain his outward composure. she saw his eyes fixed on the clock, however, when she rose to get a spool that had rolled away, and feeling his restrained restlessness she tried to think of something to talk about which would make him forget how slowly time was passing. subjects of that kind are rare, when two people have been constantly shut in together for a year, and while she considered, a long silence fell between them. it was broken by a demand, almost querulous, from jack; the same cry that had aroused her in the night, when he was a little boy, suddenly awakening from a scary dream. "_sing to me, mother!_" it had been years since she had heard that cry, and the long form stretched out under the white covers bore small resemblance to the little one that had summoned her then, but she answered in the same soothing way: "all right, little son, what shall i sing?" she smiled as the same tremulous answer came now as it had then. "why, sing _my_ song! of course!" she did not rise as had been her custom, to go to his bedside and hold his hand while she lulled him back to sleep with her low humming, and the blessed consciousness of her nearness. he was a grown man now, and it was broad daylight. but instinctively she felt his need was greater than it had ever been, and her voice took on its tenderest soothing quality as she began to croon the old hymn that had always been his chosen lullaby, when he was tucked to sleep in a little crib bed. "pilgrims of the night," she sang: "'hark, hark, my soul! angelic songs are swelling, o'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore.'" glancing across, she saw his drawn face relax a trifle, and he snuggled his thin cheek contentedly against the pillow. high and sweet her voice rose tremulously: "'angels of light, singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.'" the song had many associations for them both. what he was thinking about she could not guess, but when she began the third verse: "'far, far away like bells at evening pealing,'" her own thoughts were back in that time when she rocked in her arms the dearest little son that ever cuddled against a mother's shoulder. she was recalling time after time when she had held him so, telling him good-night stories, listening to his funny little questions and baby confidences, and kissing the dimpled fingers clasped in her own when he knelt to lisp his evening prayer. he had always been a comfort to her, even in the boisterous outbreaking days that are the most trying in a boy's growing-up time. there had never been a noisier boy, or one who threw himself into his play with more headlong vigor, but, in a flash, scene after scene passed through her mind, showing him both at work and play as she had prayed he might be, strong and manly and clean and absolutely fearless either of fists or opinions. then she thought of his touching consideration of her when he tried "to take father's place behind the plow." he had been a tower of strength to her from that day on. what a future she had dreamed for him, and now in the high tide of his young manhood, when he should have years of conquest and achievement ahead of him, here he was a helpless cripple! "rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary, the day must dawn, and darksome night be passed." her voice faltered almost to breaking now, as she sang on, rebelling at the thought that his life which promised so fair, should have been made long and dreary, changed so hopelessly and so suddenly into darksome night. it seemed so cruel, she thought, with a tightening of the throat which made it almost impossible to finish the song. but supposing from the peaceful expression of jack's face that he was falling asleep, she sang bravely on to the end, although the tears were dropping down on the seam in her now idle hands. "angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping, sing us sweet fragments of the song above, till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping, and life's long shadows break in cloudless love. angels of jesus, angels of light, singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night." looking across as the last note died away, she thought he was asleep, and rose to draw down the window-shade. but as she tiptoed past him he opened his eyes and held out his hand to draw her to him. "little mother," he said with a wistful smile that made her bend hastily over him and kiss his forehead to hide the trembling of her lips. "i'd like you to know in case anything should happen--sooner than we expect--that that's the way i think of death. it's a going out into the dark--but it's only going as a 'pilgrim of the night.' i don't mind it. it'll not be lonesome. they'll be singing to welcome me." in answer to her cry, "oh, jack! don't!" he drew her cheek down against his, and as he felt it wet with tears he said, lightly: "why, mother mine, that's nothing to cry about. i've always looked forward in a way to that ever since i can remember. that song always brings up the most comforting picture to me--a procession of friendly white angels coming down the dark road to meet a frightened little boy and lead him home!" she held him close a moment, not finding words wherewith to answer him, but feeling that he understood all that was left unspoken in her heart. she wanted to hold him thus, always, so tightly that he could not slip away on that pilgrimage he faced so confidently, that pilgrimage from which he could never return to her. while she clung to him thus, a noise outside brought them back to the things of earth. an automobile, speeding up the road, had stopped at the gate. mrs. ware glanced out hastily. as she saw the three men striding up the path her first thought was one of housewifely dismay. she wondered how she could stretch the simple supper she had planned for that evening, into enough for these unexpected guests. if jack had only given her a little longer notice-- but that thought was immediately thrust aside in her pleasure at seeing phil again. it was the first time since the day she bade him good-bye in the little wigwam sitting-room, and sent him out with her godspeed to make a man of himself. his waywardness had given her a motherly interest in him, and now, her quick glance showed that he had not disappointed her, that he had kept every promise. she welcomed him with a welcome that made him feel that this was a real home-coming, so that he called out to the distinguished-looking, gray-haired old doctor just behind him, "now, daddy, you see for yourself how it was!" mrs. ware ushered them at once into jack's room. she knew he was waiting impatiently to see them, but did not dream how much was at stake. it was nearly half an hour later when phil discovered that he was thirsty, and asked the way to the well. mrs. ware led him out through the kitchen, picking up a pitcher and tumbler as she went. the windmill was in motion, and while the water was gushing from the pump spout into the pitcher phil said, meaningly, "well, aunt emily, your prodigal has come back." "yes," she responded. "it makes me glad and proud to see how my faith in him has been justified. but, oh, boy, why didn't you give me a little warning, so that we might have had time to make ready a 'fine, fatted calf?' jack never told me until a few minutes before you arrived that he expected you." "i'd rather have the pleasure of surprising you all than to share in a fatted calf, any day. besides, there won't be an occasion for trotting out such a commodity. alex will be going back to san antonio in less than an hour. you see he has only a few more days to spend with his lady love, as he is due in kentucky the last of this week. he can't afford to miss even one of these gorgeous moonlight nights. daddy is so tired with his trip and thinking of the strain ahead of him that he is in no trim for visiting. on the way here we stopped at the williams house and engaged rooms for to-night. i promised him that he needn't stay up for supper, could take it in his room and turn in soon after we had made a short call here. you see he didn't sleep at all coming out here, so he is considerably worse for wear. he's very much interested in jack's case, and thinks something may be done to relieve his suffering, so maybe it will be as well for us to stay out here a bit and give them a chance to look him over." from the quick lighting up of mrs. ware's face it was evident that such a hope was a new one to her. jack had not mentioned the prospect of an operation, so phil left the subject as quickly as possible, beginning to tell her of his last visit to joyce. as he had come directly from her mrs. ware found so much to question him about, that she was surprised, when alex shelby joined them, to find that they had been leaning against the windmill tower for more than half an hour, too interested to think of finding a seat. alex's face was glowing, and he looked across at phil with a nod of elation. "your father confirms my opinion, phil, so i'll be starting back at once." when mrs. ware found out doctor tremont's real purpose in coming, she was thankful that jack had spared her all those days of anxiety and apprehension that would have been hers had she known of the operation earlier. as it was there would be only one night in which to dread it. alex was coming back in the morning with a nurse and it would all be over by noon of the next day. now she understood their consideration in going to a hotel. it was not so much that doctor tremont was in no condition for visiting, as that they knew that any guests, no matter how much desired, would be a burden on the eve of such an event. jack's room was already nearly as bare and clean as a hospital ward, but there would still be much to do before the surgeons could begin their delicate and vital task. so when alex shelby went away, doctor tremont went with him as far as the hotel. phil was to follow later after he had seen mary and had the pleasure of "surprising" her. chapter xiii jack a huisache tree leaned over the old stone wall which separated the herdt pasture from the road, and here phil took his stand. he had started to find the bee-tree, following mrs. ware's directions, but shrill little voices floating across the meadow, made him pause. it was evident that mary and her small charges were somewhere near. a moment later they came in sight, and for once in her life mary moved on towards a meeting, often rehearsed in thought, which did not end ridiculously. it would have been joy to her soul could she have seen herself as she looked to phil, coming across the field of blue-bonnets. the fresh blue and white dress she wore, repeated the color of the waves of bloom through which she waded. sister had twined a wreath of the same flowers around the crown of her mexican hat, and she carried a great sheaf of them across one arm. the inevitable alarm clock swung from the other hand. brud was carrying a butterfly net, sister as a great favor held matilda, and meliss brought up the rear with the big basket of blue-bonnets, which they had gathered as a special act of courtesy for the guild ladies. their voices blended happily as they drew nearer, but when they were close enough for phil to distinguish their words the procession stood still. they had reached the place where a path crossed the one they were following, and the cross-path was a short cut to the foot-bridge. "here's the parting of the ways," called mary gaily. "so run along with meliss, now, and be sure to give mrs. rochester my message." "we will," answered brud, in a voice that was almost a happy little squeal it was so high and eager, "and we'll have another good time to-morrow! _won't_ we, miss mayry?" "indeed we will," was the answer, given so heartily and convincingly, that it was easy to see how she had obtained her hold on the two little friends who seemed so loath to leave her. they stood talking a moment, then sister deposited the kitten on mary's armful of flowers, with a farewell squeeze, and the parting ceremony began. four voices, for meliss was taking the part of the black panther this afternoon, repeated gravely and distinctly the words of their daily benediction: "wind and water, wood and tree, wisdom, strength and courtesy, _jungle favor go with thee_!" then mary called as they started down the path, "good-bye, mowgli and mowglina! good-bye, panther," and a trio of happy voices answered, "good-bye, baloo!" it was a childish performance, but brud and sister went through their part so seriously, as if it had been an incantation of some kind, that phil did not smile as he watched the little by play. it was proof to him that mary had accomplished what she had set out to do. she had inspired them with an ambition to always "keep tryst" just as edryn's window had inspired her. feeling that she had had a particularly satisfactory afternoon, mary answered their last wave with a swing of the hand that held the clock, and started on towards the stone wall. if her attention had not been engrossed by her efforts to hold the big armful of blue-bonnets, the clock and the squirming kitten without dropping one of the three, she would have seen phil stepping out from the shadow of the huisache to meet her. but the kitten struggled out of her arms and climbed up on her shoulder, catching its claws in her collar, and biting playfully at her chin. "matilda, you little mischief!" scolded mary affectionately, "how am i ever going to get over this stone wall with you acting so?" "come on! i'll help you!" spoke up phil from the other side. the expression of utter amazement which spread over her face when she looked up and saw him standing in front of her was even more amusing than he had anticipated it would be. despite jack's hints and the fact that they had set her to picturing phil's possible coming, the surprise of his actual presence was so overwhelming that she could scarcely speak. she let him take the clock and the wildcat from her, and put them down on his side of the wall with the flowers, but not until she had climbed to the top of the wall and felt the firm clasp of his hands, outstretched to help her down, did she persuade herself that she was not dreaming. then the face that she turned towards him fairly beamed, and he thought as he looked down at her that it was well worth the long journey, to find some one so genuinely glad to see him. "when did you come? have you been to the house? was jack very much surprised?" the questions poured out in a steady stream as soon as she found her voice, and if he had not been looking at her, he could have well believed that she was the same amusing child she was when he found her running away from the indian on the desert road to lee's ranch. but he could not look away long enough to keep up the illusion. there was a charm about her face which drew his eyes irresistibly back to it. he tried to determine just what that charm was. it was not of feature, for much as she had improved, she did not at all measure up to his standard of beauty. presently he decided that it was just mary's own self, her interesting, original personality shining out through her eyes and speaking through every movement of her mobile lips, which made her so attractive. her years of effort to grow up to her ideal of all that was sweet and maidenly had left their imprint on her face. naturally unselfish, trouble and hard times had broadened her sympathies and taught her a still deeper consideration for others. loneliness and a dearth of amusement had developed her own resources for entertainment, and taught her to find something of interest in every object and person about her. as he looked at her he thought it a pity that more of the girls of his acquaintance couldn't have a course in the same hard school of experience which had developed mary into such a lovable and interesting character. he felt that in the one year since he had seen her last, she had grown so far past his knowledge of her, that it would be well worth while to cultivate her acquaintance further. it was some distance from the pasture to the cottage, and as they walked, phil had time to tell her of his trip to warwick hall, and to deliver the mixture of messages from the girls, which by this time had resolved into a ridiculous hotch-potch, despite his effort to keep them separate, and his reference to the memorandum that betty had given him. then he presented the ivy leaf which he had plucked for her, as proof that he had actually walked in her beloved garden. up to that time there had been so much to say that mary had not discovered that doctor tremont was in bauer also. the explanation came about when they reached the gate, and phil, after opening it for her to pass through, stayed on the outside himself. her surprise at his not coming in was fully as great as it had been when she first saw him. "the idea of your going to a hotel when you've come all the way from new york to texas to see us!" she exclaimed. "and then not even staying to supper! jack will be _so_ disappointed." "no," answered phil. "he knows the reason why daddy and i are putting up at the hotel. so does your mother, and they both think it is a good one. you run along in and ask them, and they'll convince you that i am right. i'll come over for a few minutes after supper though, just to show you that there's no hard feeling between us." he laughed as he said it, lifting his hat and turning away. thoroughly mystified by his manner, mary stood a moment looking after him. it was all so strange and unreal, his sudden appearance, and then his walking off in such a mysterious way. she could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes. yet the tall, handsome figure striding down the road was not "of such stuff as dreams are made on." her fingers still tingled with the warm clasp of the strong hands that had helped her over the wall. when she went into the house it was jack who told her of his coming ordeal, and he told her in a way to make it seem of little consequence. he said that doctor tremont wanted to experiment on him. he had known of a man injured in the same way, whose suffering had been entirely relieved by the removal of a fragment of bone which pressed on the spinal cord. it would be worth while to go through almost anything to be rid of the excruciating pain he had suffered at times, and doctor tremont assured him that it would pass away entirely if the operation proved successful. not a word did he say about the greater hope that had been held out to him. as the time drew near he was beginning to lose faith in its being possible. it seemed too great a miracle for him to expect it to be wrought for him. mary went out to find her mother in a daze of mingled emotions. the prospect of jack's being freed from the pain that had racked him for months made her inexpressibly happy, but she had a horror of operations. the nurse they had in lone rock after jack's first one, had spent hours telling grewsome details of those she had known which were not successful. or if they were successful from the surgeon's viewpoint, the patients usually died from shock, later. she wanted to stay in jack's room every minute of the time after she heard what was to be done, for she had a sickening foreboding that it might be the last evening he would be able to talk to them. still she was so nervous that she was afraid her frame of mind might be contagious. she wondered how her mother could sit there so calmly, talking of the trivial things that filled the round of their days, just as if to-morrow were going to be like all the commonplace yesterdays. it was a relief to her when phil came back, according to promise, and turned their thoughts into other channels for awhile. as he rose to go, jack motioned to a letter lying on the table beside him, and asked phil to post it on his way back to the hotel. phil slipped it into his pocket, barely glancing at the envelope as he did so. it was addressed in such a big plain hand that the "miss elizabeth lewis" on it, caught his attention as if the words had called out to him. several other letters lying on the edge of the table fell to the floor as phil's coat brushed them in passing. he stooped mechanically to pick them up, for he was busy talking, and without being conscious of having noted the address, laid them back on the table. but afterwards it occurred to him that they were all addressed to jack, and by the same hand that had made the memorandum for him, about the girls whom he met at warwick hall. mary wondered afterwards how she ever could have lived through the next morning had it not been for phil. she was all right as long as there was anything to do, or while she sat listening to doctor tremont talk to her mother and the local physician, doctor mackay. but as soon as alex shelby arrived with the nurse she fell into such a tremor of nervousness that she could scarcely keep from shaking as if she had a chill. there was a cluster of umbrella trees in the farthest corner of the yard, and carrying some chairs out to their dense shade phil called her to come and sit with him there. he had a glove that was ripped and he hoped she would take pity on him and sew it up. she understood perfectly well his object in putting her to work, and although her hands trembled at first so that she could barely thread a needle, she had to acknowledge inwardly that it was easier to compose herself when her hands were busy. one finger was ripped the entire length, so it took a long time to mend it neatly; to buttonhole the edges on each side, and then draw the stitches together in a seam that was stronger than the original one. gradually she became so interested in her task and what phil was telling her of his adventures in the past year, that she stopped glancing every moment towards the house, and no longer jumped nervously at every sound. once or twice she smiled at something he told her; something that would have been uproariously funny if she had heard it at any other time. just now she could not forget the fact that jack was lying unconscious under the surgeon's knife, and the stories the lone rock nurse had told her came back to haunt her with terrifying suggestions. "i am to meet your friend, miss gay melville," phil said, when they had been sitting there a long time. "shelby is to take daddy and me up to the post to-night, to dine at her house. the major came down to the train with him when he met us yesterday morning, and delivered the invitation in person. he's a hospitable old duck, the major. he's kin to some people that are intimate friends of daddy's and he's almost ready to adopt us both into his family on the strength of it. alex told me on the side that i am invited specially to meet a very particular chum of his fiancée's, miss roberta somebody, i can't remember the name. miss melville thinks i will find her my affinity, judging by what she knows of her and has heard of me." "roberta mayrell," prompted mary. "oh, i don't think you'll find her _that_! she's a fascinating sort of girl, but she's such a different type from--i mean--i think. well--" she was floundering desperately to turn her sentence. "i can't imagine you'd care for her to the _affinity_ point." what she had almost said was, "she's such a different type from the little colonel." she had remembered just in time that she was not supposed to know about that affair. had she not been an unintentional eaves-dropper she could not have heard his offer to lloyd of the unset turquoise, and all that followed. phil noticed her embarrassment and wondered what caused it, but the subject was immediately forgotten. the door they had been watching so long opened at last, and doctor tremont came out and stood on the step. phil beckoned, and he came across to the clump of umbrella trees where they were sitting. one glance at his face showed mary that she had nothing to fear. he stood with his hand on phil's shoulder as he said kindly, "it's all good news, mary. we found exactly the state of affairs that i expected. if he follows the other case on record, it will not be long till he is as strong and husky and active as this young rascal here." he gave phil's shoulder an affectionate grip. mary looked up at him trying to comprehend all she had heard. "strong--and husky and active--as phil?" she repeated in dull wonder. "you can't mean that he--will ever be able--to _walk_?" the question came in dry, sobbing gasps. "yes, just that." she stood up. the news was so stupendous, the reaction so great that everything turned black. she sat down again giddily. the sympathetic faces, the trees, everything seemed to be whirling around and around. she heard phil's voice, but it sounded as if it were miles away. "brace up, little vicar! you're surely not going limp now, just when fortune is making such a tremendous turn in your favor." "no," she said, shaking herself and fighting off the faintness. such a feeling had never assailed her before, and she did not know what to make of it. "you see, nobody ever told me--i didn't know such a heavenly thing was possible! i can't believe it yet. oh, are you _sure_?" she looked up into the strong, calm face of the gray-haired old surgeon, as if his answer meant life or death. "as sure as any one can be about any operation," he answered. "he has everything in his favor; there is the clean life he has always led, back of him; his splendid constitution, the fine aseptic air of these hills. everything is favorable. the paralysis and all the other trouble was caused by one thing. we have removed the cause, and i see no reason why he should not recover completely in time. he has rallied from the anesthetic, and is so happy over the result, so buoyantly hopeful, that that of itself, with his dogged determination to get well, will go a long distance toward pulling him through." the tears were rolling down mary's cheeks, but she did not know it, nor did she know that her face was ashine at the same time with the inward light of a joy too great for telling. "to think that he'll be able to _walk_ again!" she exclaimed over and over, as if trying to grasp the greatness of such a fact. "and _you_ did it! oh, doctor tremont! there isn't anything good enough in heaven or earth, for the hand that could bring a happiness like that to my brother jack!" as she tried brokenly to express her gratitude, and the good old doctor tried as hard to deny any obligation on her part, saying he had only partly squared himself with the wares, phil slipped away. the scene was coming near to upsetting his own equanimity. besides he had some telegrams to send. there were three and save for the address they were identically the same: "operation successful. every reason to expect complete and rapid recovery." stuart tremont received his just as he was driving in at the gate of his country place. a messenger boy on a wheel handed him the yellow envelope. he hurried into the house, catching up little patricia, and swinging her to his shoulder as she ran to meet him. eugenia was coming down the stairs. "good news!" he cried boyishly. "hurrah for daddy! he's brought the year of jubilee to the ware family, root and branch." "to say nothing of the professional laurels he has added to the house of tremont," eugenia answered. "sometimes i'm tempted to wish you hadn't followed in his footsteps, stuart, and chosen such a hard life. but when i think what just one cure like that means, i wouldn't have you anything else in the world than what you are, for all the kingdoms of the earth. oh, i'm so glad for all of them! joyce will be nearly wild with joy. she has been so broken up over jack's condition ever since the accident, that now her happiness will be something good to see. i must try to go in to the city for a short call before we start west." joyce's happiness _was_ good to see. when her telegram came she was starting out of the studio on her way to an interview with the art editor of a magazine that had published one of her sketches. she could not turn back because the appointed hour was too near at hand and the interview too important. so she stood in the corridor after she left the elevator, wiping away her happy tears until she was composed enough to go out on the street. and because she had to share her good news with some one, she told the janitor's wife. the hearty sympathy of that motherly irish woman sent her away as if she were treading on air. the art editor, who dimly remembered her as a very quiet, reserved young girl, wondered at the transformation when she came into his office, looking like the very incarnation of joy. she had been afraid of the stern, forbidding man before, saying to henrietta that she always expected him to bark at her. but to-day, to her own surprise as well as his, she found herself telling him her good news, just as she had poured it out to the janitor's wife, because she couldn't help it. that his congratulations should be quite as hearty as mrs. phelan's caused her no surprise then, for at the moment jack's recovery seemed such a miracle that she felt the whole world must be interested in hearing of it. but she wondered afterwards what he must have thought of her for pouring out her confidences to him about jack as impulsively as if he had been an old friend instead of a stranger. had she only known it, that impulsive outburst aroused a friendly interest in her that the reserved man rarely felt in struggling young artists, and he bought all the sketches she had with her. an hour before, that of itself would have been enough to send her back to the studio rejoicing; but now it seemed such a drop in the bucket compared to the news she had for mrs. boyd and lucy and henrietta, that she forgot to mention the little matter of the sale for several days. there was some delay in the transmission of betty's message. it did not reach her until nearly sundown. she was passing through the lower hall on the way to the drawing-room, when the envelope was put into her hands. the house suddenly seemed to grow stifling. she needed all out of doors to breathe in. so running down the marble steps to the river, she walked along to the circular seat surrounding the old willow. with the tree between herself and the hall, she looked out across the potomac, that a gorgeous sunset was turning into a river of gold. the slip of paper fluttered in her fingers but she feared to read it. such life-long tragedies can be told sometimes in the short space of ten words. but at last she summoned courage to glance at the message, after which she read it through slowly, several times. then looking up above the shining of the river to the glory of the sunset sky beyond, she whispered softly, as she had always done since she was a little child, in the great moments of her life, "_thank you, dear god!_" the same afternoon doctor tremont and phil and alex went to san antonio, leaving the nurse and doctor mackay in charge of jack. the tremonts, after dining at major melville's, were to take the night train for california. they had promised elsie to be with her as long as possible before her wedding. she had seen little of phil for several years. he was taking a month's vacation; the first long one since he started to work, in order to spend the most of it with her in the old gold-of-ophir rose-garden, that had been their earliest playground. doctor tremont did not expect to come back to bauer, but phil promised to stop off for a few days on his return trip, which would be in a little less than three weeks. after the departure of their guests the family settled down to wait patiently and happily for time to finish the process of healing. since such great cause for thanksgiving had come to them, the small ills that every one is heir to, almost lost the power to annoy. when mary burned herself badly with a hot iron, when she ruined her best dress by spilling a bottle of ink, when the little wildcat, which grew dearer every day, was crippled so badly by a falling wood-pile that it had to be put out of its misery, there were some tears and regrets; but the unfailing balm for everything was the thought: "_but jack's getting well!_ nothing else matters much." as spring deepened, the wild flowers grew still more abundant. acres of wild verbenas spread their royal purple underfoot, and the china-berry trees hung answering pennons overhead of the same kingly color. spider-wort starred the grass. wine-cups held up their crimson chalices along every lane. mexican blankets sported their gaudy stripes of red and yellow, and even the cacti, thorny and forbidding, burst into gorgeous bloom. and then, just at easter, a waxen blossom, snow-white, and sweet-breathed as the narcissus, sprang up all over the hills. rain lilies, miss edna called them. norman and mary gathered great armfuls of them and carried them to mrs. rochester to put around the chancel. they seemed to suit the little country church far better than the florists' lilies would have done. the casement windows stood open, and mary sat looking out through one of them, listening to the reading of the account of the first easter: "_and very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they came unto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun._" but it was not the green spring-time world outside she saw. it was jack's face as she had caught a glimpse of it, earlier in the morning, when he lay listening to his mother read those same words. she had heard him say in one of the pauses: "mother, sometimes i am so happy i don't see how i can endure such blessedness! i've dreamed so many times that i was well, only to waken and find it all a cruel mistake, that now when i realize it's really going to be true--that life still holds everything for me--oh, i can't tell you!" he broke off, a smile of ineffable happiness spreading over his face. "now i know how lazarus felt when the stone was rolled away and he heard the call 'come forth!'" that smile was still before mary's eyes when the white-robed choir rose to sing, and she joined with all her heart in the chant, which swelled forth at the end of every line into a glad "_alleluia!_" chapter xiv. san jacinto day. it was the twentieth of april when phil returned to bauer, and for the second time his visit was cut disappointingly short. the reason was that he had promised major melville the night he dined with him, to be back in san antonio in time for the carnival. the major wanted to take him to a mexican restaurant for a typical mexican supper the night of the twenty-first. on the twenty-second there would be an entertainment for the queen of the carnival at her court of the roses; something too unique and beautiful for him to miss, they all said. then, on the twenty-third, san jacinto day, which all loyal texans keep as a state holiday, the annual battle of flowers would take place in the plaza in front of the alamo, which they call their "cradle of liberty." the flower battle was an old institution, the major explained. but this was only the second year for the queen's court, and it was something so surpassingly beautiful that he thought it ought to become a regular feature of every carnival. roberta, who was also at the dinner, added her persuasions. "you'll think you're back in the time 'when knighthood was in flower,'" she insisted. "i wish every easterner accustomed to poking fun at our state could see it. nobody knows what i suffered at school from having people talk as if all texans are 'long-horns.'" "roberta was one of the duchesses last year," explained lieutenant boglin. "you should have seen her sweep up to the throne when they announced, 'her grace, the lady roberta of the house of mayrell!' she certainly looked the real article, and was a far cry from a long-horn then." "don't emphasize the _then_ so pointedly, bogey," ordered roberta. when phil hesitated to accept because his time in bauer would be shortened so much thereby, gay insisted that she was going to invite mary down for the queen's entertainment and the flower battle anyhow, and that if he refused to come mary would be cut out of the pleasure of coming, for, of course, she couldn't leave a guest behind, under the circumstances. so presently the major's programme was arranged to his partial satisfaction. it was not complete, because he could not persuade the old doctor, who intended spending several months in california, to return also. gay went up to bauer that same week, directly after alex shelby's departure. she wanted to deliver her invitation in person, and to spend the day with the ware family. she liked to hear them sing alex's praises. _he_ was the one who discovered that something could be done for jack, and he it was who had summoned doctor tremont, and every discussion of the subject always brought out the gratifying fact that had it not been for him, jack would not now be on the high road to recovery. she had found, too, that mary made a most satisfactory little confidante; much better than roberta, for she seemed really interested in alex and all that pertained to him, and never laughed at gay's rhapsodies and made cynical remarks about "before and after taking" as the worldly-wise roberta did. two thoughts gave mary the utmost satisfaction in accepting the invitation. one was, there would be time before san jacinto day to make up the white dress for which her mother had embroidered the lovely rosebuds. the other was, that an occasion had come at last when it would be appropriate for her to wear lloyd's gift, the beautiful chiffon scarf, spangled with the crystal beads which sparkled like dewdrops. with only a day and a half to spend in bauer, phil could do few of the things she had planned for his entertainment. now that jack was better, she did not like to take him away from the house long enough to ride out to the barnaby ranch and pole up to fernbank, and such things. instead, all the time was spent so that jack could have his full share of the visit. she would have been greatly disappointed had she not known she was going to see phil several times during her visit to gay. he went down to the mexican supper on the twenty-first, and she followed next morning. he was to take luncheon with the mayrells that day, so she did not see him till night, when they all went in the same party to the entertainment, phil and roberta, gay and billy mayrell, mary and lieutenant boglin. the stage of beethoven hall was turned into a bower of roses on this eve of san jacinto day, and a great audience, assembling early, awaited the coming of the queen of the carnival and her royal court. in the patent of nobility given by her gracious majesty to her attendants, was the command: "we bid you to join with all of our loyal subjects in the mirth and merriment of this festival of flowers, which doth commemorate the glorious freedom of this, our texas, won by the deathless heroism of the defenders of the alamo, and the victory of san jacinto." this call for mirth and merriment struck the keynote of the carnival, and everyone in the great assembly seemed to be responding with the proper festival spirit. back in the crowded house in a seat next the aisle and almost at the entrance door, sat mary ware, completely entranced by all that was going on about her. lieutenant boglin was beside her, and in the chairs directly behind them were gay and billy mayrell. roberta and phil were in front of them. they had come early to secure these chairs, and the men had given the girls the end seats in order that they might have unobstructed view of both aisle and stage. they all turned so that conversation was general until the house was nearly filled, then roberta said something which drew phil's attention wholly to herself, and he turned his back on the others, beginning to talk exclusively to her. gay, who appeared to know at least every fourth person who came down the aisle, sat, like most of the audience, with her head turned expectantly towards the door, and kept up a running comment to mary on the acquaintances who passed her with nods of recognition or brief words of greeting. the thrum of the orchestra, the sight of so many smiling faces, although they were strange to her, and the blended colors of fashionable evening gowns would have furnished mary ample entertainment after her dull winter in the country; but it was doubly entertaining with gay to point out distinguished people and give her bits of information, supplemented by billy and bogey about this one from the post and that one from the town. she wished that phil could hear too. she wanted him to know what prominent personages he was in the midst of. once when some world-known celebrity was escorted up the aisle she leaned over and called his attention to the procession. he looked up with a smile to follow her glance, and made a joking response, but returned so quickly to the fascinating roberta, that mary felt that his interest in everything else just then was merely perfunctory. she remembered what gay had said about his finding his affinity, and stole a side glance at roberta to study her in the new light which phil's interest threw upon her. now in the days when phil worshipped at the little colonel's shrine, mary was perfectly content to have it so. she would have walked over hot plowshares to have brought his romance to a happy consummation. it seemed so eminently fitting that the two people in the world whom she had invested with halos, should stand together on the same pedestal in her affections. to her doting eyes, lloyd was such an angel that she knew phil must be happy with her, and phil measured so fully up to the notch on the sterling yard-stick which indicated the inches and ells that a true prince should be, that she was sure no girl who wove her clotho-web for him could fail to find the happiness that was written for her in the stars. mary had grown accustomed to the fact by this time that she had made a mistake in her reading of the stars. lloyd was destined for someone else. but it had not occurred to her before that maybe phil was, too. the thought that he would carry a secret sorrow with him to the grave, invested him with a melancholy charm that made him all the more interesting. it was somewhat of a shock to her to see him watch the downward sweep and swift upward glance of roberta's pretty eyes in such an admiring way, although mary herself had heretofore found pleasure in watching them. of course she didn't want him to go on suffering always, still--she didn't want him to forget. in her passionate loyalty to lloyd she resented his bestowing a second glance on any girl who was any less of an angel than she; and yet her loyalty to phil made her want him to have whatever he wanted. knowing how many men had fallen victims to roberta's flirtatious little ways, she longed to save phil from the same fate. the growing alarm with which she watched them was almost comical for one of her years. it was comical because it was so motherly. not a particle of jealousy or a thought of self entered into it. a hush fell on the great audience, and the curtain rose on a tableau of surpassing loveliness. the stage seemed to be one mass of american beauty roses. the walls were festooned and garlanded with them. they covered the high throne in the centre and bordered the steps leading up to it. they hung in long streamers on either side from ceiling to floor. grouped against this glowing background, stood the noble dukes, the lords-in-waiting and their esquires. the gay-colored satins and brocades of their old-time court costumes, the gleam of jewelled sword-hilts, the shine of powdered perukes, transported one from prosaic times and lands to the old days of chivalry and romance. the jester shook his bells, the trumpeters in their plumed helmets raised their long, shining trumpets, and sounded the notes that heralded the first approach. then the lord chamberlain stepped forth in a brave array of pink satin, carrying the gold stick that was his insignia of office. "that's me friend," whispered gay, "the man who originated this affair. i tell him i think he must be one of the knights of the round table re-incarnated, or else the wizard merlin come to life again, to bring such a beautiful old court scene into being in the way he has done." she stopped whispering to hear the impressive announcement he was making, in a voice that rang through the hall: "her grace, lady elizabeth, of the house of lancaster!" immediately every eye turned from the stage to look at the rose-trimmed entrance door. the orchestra struck into an inspiring march and the stately beauty, first to arrive at the court of roses, began her triumphal entry up the long aisle. she passed so near to mary that the tulle bow on the directoire stick she carried almost touched her cheek with its long floating ends, light as gossamer web. and mary, clasping her hands together in an ecstasy of admiration, noted every detail of the beautiful costume in its slow passing. "it's like the princess olga's," she thought, recalling the old fairy-tale of the enchanted necklace. "whiter than the whiteness of the fairest lily, fine, like the finest lace that the frost-elves weave, and softer than the softest ermine of the snow." the long court train that swept behind her was all aglisten, as if embroidered with dewdrops and pearls. mary watched her, scarcely breathing till she had ascended the steps to the stage. then her appointed duke came forward to meet her and led her to the steps of the throne. the music stopped. again the heralds sounded their trumpets and the lord chamberlain announced the next duchess. "you see," explained gay, hastily, as all necks craned toward the door again, "each girl is duchess of some rose or other, like killarney or malmaison or maréchal niel." one after another they passed by to take their places beside the throne, all in such exquisitely beautiful costumes that mary thought that each one must be indelibly photographed on her memory. but when they had passed, all she could remember of so many was a spangled procession of court trains, covered with cascades of crystal and silver and pearls and strung jewels. each time a new duchess swept slowly and majestically by, mary turned a quick glance toward phil to see if he were properly impressed; but when the queen was announced, she had no eyes for anything but the regal figure proceeding slowly up the aisle, amid the admiring applause which almost drowned the music of the march. it was at this juncture that phil glanced back at mary. her face so plainly showed the admiration which filled her that he continued to watch her with an amused smile, saying to roberta in an undertone: "look at mary's rapt expression! she's always adored queens and such things, and now she feels that she's up against the real article." "i don't wonder," answered roberta, herself so interested that she turned her back on phil until the royal party had passed by. two little pages in costumes of white and gold, with plumed hats and spangled capes, bore the royal train, and roberta tried to upset the dignity of one of them, who was a little friend of hers, by whispering, "hello, gerald, where did you get that feather?" in mary's estimation it was not the diamond crown that marked the queen as especially regal, not the jewelled sceptre nor the white satin gown, heavily embroidered in gold roses and gleaming with brilliants; it was the fact that the long train borne by the little pages was of _cloth-of-gold_. to mary, cloth-of-gold was more royal than ermine or purple velvet, and lovingly associated in her thought with the white samite of tennyson's idyls. it was cloth-of-gold that the lily maid of astolat had worn to her burying, and the only piece that mary had ever seen was the drapery over the bier of the fair elaine, when lloyd took the part of the lily maid, in the tableaux at the beeches. when she caught sight of it she clasped her hands still tighter, and never took her eyes from it until the queen was seated on her throne, and the long, shining folds swept down beside her, the full length of the steps. the presentation scene followed. in the name of the order of the alamo, the queen was given a magnificent necklace, with a jewelled pendant. after that the visiting duchesses were received, representing many towns of texas, from el paso to the gulf. they came with their maids of honor, and when they had been met by their lords-in-waiting and their esquires, the entertainment for the queen began. grecian maidens bearing garlands of roses danced before her. the second group was of seven little barefoot girls, carrying golden lyres, and forming a rainbow background for another small maid who gave a cymbal dance. the grecian dances were followed by a gavotte of the time of louis xiii, in which all the dukes and duchesses took part. "they danced the minuet last year," commented gay. "this is the end of the performance, but we'll wait to watch them go out, on their way to the queen's ball. i went to that too, last year. these are good seats; we catch them coming and going." the audience remaining seated until all the members of the court had passed out two by two, had ample time for comment and observation. bogey, who, seeing mary's absorbing interest in the scene, had considerately left her undisturbed most of the time, now leaned over and began to talk. as gay had once said, "when it comes to giving a girl a good time, bogey is quite the nicest officer in the bunch," and phil, overhearing scraps of their conversation, concluded that mary was finding her escort as entertaining as the pageant. a backward glance now and then showed that she was not watching the recessional as closely as she was listening to him. as they all started out of the hall together, moving slowly along with the crowd, barely an inch at a time, they talked over arrangements for the next day. lieutenant boglin could not be counted in. he had to ride in the procession with the rest of the troops from the post who were to take part in the parade. billy mayrell had another engagement, so phil proposed to take all three of the girls under his wing. it was too late to secure seats in the plaza from which to watch the flower battle. the major had been able to get only two. so phil said the major and his wife should occupy those. he would come around for the girls in an automobile and they could watch the parade seated in that. there was a blockade near the door, but as soon as they could get through it, they all walked up the street to a building in which the major had secured the use of a second-story window, from which they could watch the parade of the queen and her court on their way to the ball. the time spent in waiting was well worth while, when it finally appeared. the horses of the chariots were led by nubian servants, and each chariot represented a rose, wherein sat the duchess who had made it her choice. the queen's chariot was surmounted by a mammoth american beauty rose, and as she smiled out from the midst of its petals, mary had one more entrancing view of the royal robes. this time they were lit up by the red gleam of torches, for eight torch-bearers, four on a side, accompanied each chariot, and added their light to the brilliant illuminations of the streets. "you must see the river," said billy mayrell, after the procession had passed by. "nobody can describe it, with the lights strung across it from shore to shore all down its winding course. it makes you think of venice." he led them to a place where they could look across a bend and see one of the bridges. it was strung so thickly with red lights which outlined every part, that it seemed to be made of glowing rubies, and its reflection in the water made another shining ruby bridge below, wavering on the dark current. mary leaned over the rail watching the shimmering lights, and feeling dreamily that this city of the alamo was an enchanted city; that the buildings looming up on every side were not for the purpose of barter and trade. they were thrown up simply as backgrounds for the dazzling illuminations which outlined them against the night sky. the horns of the revellers answering each other down every street, the music of distant bands, the laughter of the jostling throngs, all deepened the illusion. it did not seem possible that this could be the city through which she had once tramped in the rain, discouraged and forlorn, in search of a home. it was a realm given over utterly to "mirth and merriment," where a gracious young queen held sway, where illness and trouble and grief had no part. "i don't wonder that the major wants everybody not already a loyal texan to see this," she said to the lieutenant. "it's enough to make one want to live here always." she made the same remark to gay next afternoon, as she sat beside her on the back seat of the automobile. roberta was on the front seat with phil. he had ordered a machine which he could drive himself, and they had taken a run through the principal streets to see all the decorations, before coming to a standstill to wait for the procession. it was an inspiring scene, the grandstand packed with applauding spectators, the plaza crowded from park to curbstone. shops and offices had closed for the day, schools were dismissed and all work abandoned as far as possible, in order that everyone might share in the carnival play-time. the wise old town knows the full worth of holidays, and makes the most of each one. the chariots mary had seen in the brilliantly-lighted streets the night before, lost some of their glamour seen by day; but the duchesses and their ladies-in-waiting were dressed now in the colors of their chosen roses instead of the court-robes, and there were many new features in this parade; floats and handsomely decorated carriages, and a long line of troops from the post with the famous military bands. it was hard to sit still when they played so inspiringly. back and forth in front of the alamo went the two divisions of the parade, meeting and passing and turning to meet and pass again, all the while pelting each other with flowers, till the plaza where they rode was covered deep with them. and the bands played and the people cheered, till the smallest schoolboy in their midst felt a thrill of gratitude to the heroes whose deeds they were commemorating. he might miss the deeper meaning of it all, but he grasped one fact clearly enough: that had it not been for the grim battle which those brave fellows fought to the death, there would have been no san jacinto day for him. no pageant-filled holiday to make one feel that it is a great and glorious thing to be a son of the lone star state. phil dined at the major's again that night, and roberta was the only other guest beside mary. gay had objected when her father proposed others, saying that they intended to devote the entire evening to music. since they had discovered what a magnificent voice mr. tremont had, and he had discovered what proficient accompanists she and roberta were, they had decided to treat themselves to a musicale given by the three, with only mary for audience. the family could listen, of course, but with the understanding that there was to be no conversation. as the major had an engagement which took him out immediately after dinner and mrs. melville had some friends drop in to call soon after, it happened that their audience was limited to one. now the one thing that mary enjoyed above all others was hearing phil sing, and quite the pleasantest part of her whole visit was that last evening spent in listening to him, with roberta at the piano, and gay improvising wonderfully soft and lovely accompaniments on her violin. mary had heard two celebrated opera singers while in washington, but in her opinion neither one equalled phil. phil's surprise would have been unbounded could he have known that she was comparing his singing to the angel israfel's, "whose heartstrings were a lute, and who had the sweetest voice of all god's creatures." it would have been a matter of still greater surprise if he could have known the exalted opinion that mary had of him. not that any sentimental interest entered into her regard for him. despite her eighteen years and her womanly attitude towards the world in general, she was still a little girl, and a very humble little girl in her own estimation, as far as he was concerned. he was her ideal; the man whose good opinion she valued above all things, whose approval made her inexpressibly happy, and whose advice she eagerly followed. she had adored him for years as little girls do sometimes look up to and adore grown men, and had stored away in her memory many a remark that he forgot as soon as it was uttered. there was the time she confided to him her grief at being so fat and her ambition to be an "airy, fairy lillian," like lloyd. he did not even smile, and he answered so gravely and kindly that she remembered even yet the consolation that his words gave her. another time she overheard him referring to her as an "angel unawares," because she had unknowingly done him a service by repeating something lloyd had said about him. from that time on, that was the part she longed to play in his life. she burned to be the "angel unawares" who could help him to the attainment of everything he wanted. that was why she had been so bitterly disappointed when lloyd's engagement to rob moore had been announced. she wanted lloyd to marry phil because she knew that was what phil wanted. now that that was not possible she was just as ready to help him if he should ever love again. she hardly thought that he could do _that_, though. it seemed so incredible that he should ever find another as fine and high and sweet as the princess winsome; it was still more incredible that once having set his mark that high he could ever look at anything less. his powerful, well-trained voice filled the room with a sweetness that brought an ache to her throat and sometimes tears to her eyes. presently roberta rummaged out some old, old melodies--"drink to me only with thine eyes," and the "bedouin love-song." when she asked for that last one, mary cringed inwardly, as if she had been hurt herself, so sure was she that it must bring up painful memories to phil. she fully expected to see him lay it aside with some excuse for not singing it. she remembered as vividly as if it were only last night how she had sat on the floor of the library at the locusts, listening to the notes of his guitar as he sang to lloyd outside on the porch: "till the stars are old and the sun grows cold and the leaves of the judgment book unfold." for the life of her, she couldn't see how lloyd ever listened to any other wooing after that. had any one sung that to _her_ in that voice it would have won her so completely that she would have risen like the sleeping beauty at the call of the prince. "beyond the night--across the day-- through all the world she followed him." to her surprise, phil took up the sheet of music as nonchalantly as if he had never seen it before. but when he began to sing it seemed to her anxious ear that he sang it more feelingly than anything she had ever heard. it was plain enough to her now that he had not ceased to care. it wrung her heart to hear him sing it so, pouring out his soul in a flood of noble devotion which he knew could never be requited, but which would live on till the sun lost its heat and the stars their light. "i love that song," said roberta, laying it aside to pick up another. "but i'd like to meet that fiery old duck of a bedouin when the leaves of the judgment book _do_ unfold, and find out how long his devotion kept up to high-water mark." then she trilled airily, "men are gay deceivers ever." under the circumstances the remark seemed flippant, almost sacrilegious, to mary. she gave roberta a disapproving glance behind her back, thinking, "little _you_ know about it. if you could see as i do now, how phil is hiding his real feelings, you'd realize that there's _one_ man, at least, capable of the deathless devotion you scoff at." the evening was over all too soon. phil was to take roberta home on his way back to the hotel, and when he rose to go said, "i'll not make my farewells now. my train doesn't leave till nearly noon to-morrow, so i'll call some time during the morning to pay my respects to the major and see you all again." "you'll have to say good-by to mary now," said gay. "she insists on taking that horrid freight car back to bauer, at seven in the morning." "i must," said mary. "you know they need me, now that the nurse is gone, and i've already been away two days." roberta went out into the hall for her hat, and gay followed as far as the door, talking as she went. "and i haven't had any visit with _you_ at all," said phil, who was standing, hat in hand, looking down at mary. "i haven't had a word with you by yourself, and you haven't confided once in me or asked me a single scrap of advice. it doesn't seem natural. but i'm not going to let you escape me this way; i'm going down to the train in the morning to see you off." gay turned in time to hear the last part of his sentence. "that is," she corrected, "if you are called in time. they don't always do it at hotels when they say they will. i've had some bad experiences that way. so if he doesn't appear, mary, you can console yourself with the thought that he's like kathleen mavourneen--'slumbering still.'" "i'll be there," was the confident reply, as he smiled down into mary's wistful eyes and held out his hand to say good-night. "electric bells are not as romantic as the 'horn of the hunter heard on the hill,' but they're more effective when it comes to getting a fellow up in the morning; you'll see me sure." chapter xv new trails the train to bauer left so early that mary had to take the first street-car passing the post, in order to reach the station in time. gay had announced her intention of going down with her, but did not awaken until mary, who occupied an adjoining room, was nearly dressed and the maid was bringing up a hastily-prepared breakfast, on a tray. but mary could not honestly share gay's regrets at being late. she had dressed noiselessly on purpose not to waken her. she wanted to go alone in order to have those last moments with phil all to herself, and she was so elated when she finally got away from the house unaccompanied that she could have sung aloud. her route took her through alamo plaza again, and the streets which still bore witness to the presence of the carnival. all the buildings were still gay with bunting, and flags flapped merrily in the morning sunshine. she wondered which would be first to reach the station, and all the way down, phil's face was before her. she could see just the way he would look, coming towards her through the crowd, tall and distinguished and with such a jolly twinkle in his handsome eyes. and he would call out, "hullo, little vicar; i beat you to it!" or some such friendly greeting as that. she did not know that she was smiling to herself, but it made no difference. there was no one to see, for the men on the car were all hidden behind their morning papers. when she reached the station only a few people were in sight, and when she climbed into the coach at the end of the long line of freight-cars, there were not more than half a dozen passengers aboard. all of them looked sleepy, and a series of gentle snores attracted her attention to an old countryman, curled up on a back seat with his valise for a pillow. on her way in she had passed through the waiting-room and given a hasty look around to see if phil were ahead of her. glancing up at the clock she found that she had ten minutes to spare. three of these passed in getting settled and in taking an inventory of her fellow-passengers. then she began to hang out of the window and anxiously watch the waiting-room door. she was growing uneasy. maybe the clerk _had_ forgotten to call him. maybe he _was_ "slumbering still," as gay had prophesied. he might have missed the car he should have taken, or there might be a tie-up somewhere along the line. a colored man hurried into the coach with a chunk of ice for the water cooler. the conductor came down the platform looking at his watch, and signalled something to a brakeman. mary put her head out of the window again and looked anxiously up and down, whispering in a flutter of nervousness, "oh, _why_ doesn't he come? why _doesn't_ he come? there's only a minute or two left and there won't be time for a word." she would not admit the possibility of his not coming at all, until she heard the warning, "all aboard!" the ringing of the engine bell, and felt the jerk and jar which proclaimed all too plainly that the car was in motion. she was so disappointed that she could hardly keep the tears back. her last thought before falling asleep the night before and the first one on awakening had been that she was going to see the "best man" by himself a few moments, without any talkative roberta to absorb his attention, or any other people to run away with the conversation. it was a very disconsolate little face that turned towards the open window to hide its disappointment from possibly curious neighbors. she found it hard to wink the tears back when she was so deeply, grievously disappointed. her back was turned resolutely towards the aisle and her arms were crossed on the window-sill. in that position she could not see the rear door of the car open and some one come in from the back platform. he stood a moment, his hat in one hand and a suit-case in the other, breathing fast as if he had been running. then after a searching glance through the car, he went directly down the aisle and stopped beside mary's seat. her attitude, even to the droop of her hat-brim, proclaimed her dejection so clearly that a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. then he said in a deep voice, so deep that it was fairly sepulchral, "i beg pardon, miss. may i occupy this end of the seat?" startled by the strange voice so near, she turned a very sober and unsmiling face to see what manner of person had accosted her. then she exclaimed, in astonishment, "why, phil tremont! how ever did you get on without my seeing you? i looked and looked and thought you must have gotten left!" then realizing that the train was well under way and they had been carried some distance past the station, she cried in alarm, "but you can't get off! they're carrying you away!" she was almost wringing her hands in her excitement. "well, i don't mind it if you don't," said phil, sitting down beside her and laughing at her concern. "i'm going along with you. something miss roberta said last night on her way home started me to thinking, and--the result was, i decided to spend another day and night in bauer. it's positively my last appearance, however. i'll leave for good in the morning." what roberta could have said to make such a change in his plans was more than mary could imagine. she almost had to bite her tongue to keep from asking, and phil, knowing that he had aroused her wildest curiosity, laughed again. but he wasted no more time in teasing her. "no, really," he said, "i was joking. a telegram from my firm routed me out about six o'clock this morning. they want me to go to st. louis to see some parties before returning to new york. i figured it out that i could double things up there so as to give me one more day here. but it took me so long to figure it, that, by the time i had made up my mind, there was only a moment to stuff my things into my suit-case and call a taxicab. when i got down to the station i saw i had about three minutes in which to snatch a sandwich and a cup of coffee at the lunch counter; but the coffee was so hot i came near missing my train. had to run a block and swing up on the rear platform. if it had been the regular express i couldn't have caught it. luckily it was a freight, so here i am." he did not add that an unaccountable impulse to go back to bauer had seized him the night before when he bade her good-night, or that the impulse had been strengthened afterward by a casual remark of roberta's about lieutenant boglin. roberta thought she saw the first symptoms of a budding romance on bogey's part. not being given to the practice of analyzing his feelings, phil did not stop to ask himself why it should make any difference to him what the lieutenant thought of little mary ware, nor did he realize at the time how much that remark influenced his decision to spend one more day with her. afterwards he used to say that it was fate and not himself that was responsible for that journey; that it was destined from the beginning he should chase madly after that freight-train, catch it, and thereby give himself four long uninterrupted hours in which to grow better acquainted with her than he had ever been before. at the end of that time he knew why he had been drawn back. it was that her real self, the depth of whose charm he had not even half suspected, should be revealed to him in the intimacy of this conversation. it changed his whole attitude toward her to find how much she had changed herself; how she had grown and developed. in some ways she was still the amusing child whose unexpected sayings had first attracted him. she would always be that, but she was so much more now; and, again, as on the day he met her in the field of blue-bonnets, he found himself watching her, trying to decide just wherein her charm lay, and how it made her different from any other girl he had ever known. sometimes he would almost lose what she was saying, puzzling over the problem. at the stone quarry, while they waited a long time for the engine to switch off some empty cars, and pick up some loaded ones, they left the coach and walked up and down beside the track. they were talking about gay and alex, and he laughed at her outspoken honesty in expressing her opinion about their delayed wedding. "i think it's so sensible for them to wait till he's got something saved up for a rainy day, when he's nothing now but his practice. it's like providing a sort of financial umbrella. really, it is just like starting out without a sign of an umbrella when you know it's going to rain, and trusting to luck to keep you dry, for people to marry with nothing to depend on but an uncertain salary." phil laughed, as he answered, "what a little pessimist you are, mary. it _doesn't_ always rain, and people _have_ married without such a provision who lived happily ever after." "but it does oftener than it doesn't," she insisted. "papa and mamma lived happily, and he had only his practice as a young lawyer. but look what we've been through since he died. things wouldn't have come to such a pass when his health broke down if there had been something laid away for such emergencies. joyce and i have often talked about it when we've had to pinch and work and economize down to the last cent." "so you'll never marry a man who has only the shelter of a salary to offer you?" said phil, teasingly. "i didn't say that," answered mary, her face puckered up into a puzzled expression. "i don't want to, and i don't _think_ i would, but, honestly, i don't know what i would do. i'm afraid that if i loved a man as much as you ought to to be his wife that i'd be every bit as foolish as anybody else, and that i'd marry him even if i had to take in back stairs to scrub for a living. but i do hope i'll have more sense, or else he won't be that kind of a man. it isn't that i mind work," she added, "but i'm so tired of doing without and making over, and tugging and pulling to make both ends meet. do you know what they call me at home? the watch-dog of the treasury, and you can guess what i've had to be like to earn such a name. i earned it, too, all right. i fought over every penny, and i'd hate to keep on in the same old rut all the rest of my days. it would be so nice to look forward to a luxurious old age." she laughed when she had said it, but such a tired little sigh came first, and that wistful look again in her honest, straightforward eyes as she glanced up at him, that he was seized with a sudden desire such as no one else had ever inspired before, to pick her up and carry her away from all her troubles; to surround her with all the girlish pleasures and pretty things she loved, and to humor every whim all the rest of her life. but all he said was: "and if you were a man i suppose you would feel the same way about it." "oh, more so!" she cried. "the more i thought of a girl the surer i'd want to be that she need never face that rainy day unprotected." she stooped to pick a tiny yellow star from a clump of broom growing alongside the track, and they walked on in silence a moment. then he said, with an amused side-glance at her: "you can't imagine how funny it seems to hear such common-sense, practical 'side talks on matrimony' from an eighteen-year-old girl like you. i feel as if i'd had a scolding from my grandmother, and that i'll have to own up that i did it, but i'm sorry and i'll never do it again." "did what?" queried mary in surprise. "spent everything as fast as i made it. had money to burn and burnt it. i don't ask any better salary than i've been receiving for several years. of course, when i go in by myself, that'll be another matter. but i'll have to own up; out of it all, i've saved practically nothing. i haven't spent it in riotous living, and it doesn't seem that i've been particularly extravagant, but it's gone. it just slipped through my fingers." "oh, well, _you_," began mary. "that's different." "in what way is it different?" he persisted, when she did not go on. "well, if a man doesn't mind getting wet himself it's nobody's business if he takes chances. it's the man who expects to--to have some one else to protect--who ought to be ready for the possible storms." "but what makes you think that i'll always go it alone?" insisted phil. "that i'll never have any one to--protect? that's what you seem to insinuate." he was looking directly into her eyes, laughingly, teasingly, and a wave of color swept over her face. roberta would have evaded the question, and turned it off with a laugh. mary was too simple and direct. it was the moment she had long felt must confront her some time. her day of reckoning had come for playing eavesdropper. no matter how hard she fought against doing so, she knew she was going to confess that she had been one, albeit unintentionally. as he repeated his question with smiling insistence, the words stuck in her throat, but the thought uppermost in her mind called out to him by some strange, telepathic power, and he understood as if she had spoken. "you think," he said slowly, looking into her eyes as if the written words were actually before him there and he was reading them aloud, "you think that it is on lloyd's account. how did you know about--_that_?" it startled her so that he should read her thought in such a way that she could only stammer in reply: "i--i--heard you singing to her once at the locusts, that song you sang last night, 'till the stars are old,' and i thought if you cared for her as it sounded both times, that there _couldn't_ be anybody else, _ever_!" phil turned partly away from her, and stared off towards the hills a moment, his eyes narrowed into a thoughtful, musing expression. finally he said, "i thought so, too, mary, once. i thought it for a number of years. that time will always be one of the sweetest and most sacred of my memories. one's earliest love always is, they say, like the first white violet in the spring." there was a long pause, then he finished the sentence by turning around to her to say, significantly, "but there's always a summer after every spring, you know. come on, we'd better be getting aboard again. it looks as if they're about ready to start." he helped her up the steps and followed her down the aisle. while adjusting the window-shade before she took her seat, he began to talk of other things, and the subject was dropped between them. but it was not dropped in mary's mind. she had been called on to adjust herself to a new viewpoint of him so quickly that it left her mentally gasping. with his own hand he had ruthlessly swept away one of her dearest illusions. she had always believed that no matter who else might forget, _he_ would always stand as a model of manly constancy. what surprised her now was not his change of view. it was her own. by that one sentence he had made it perfectly clear to her that it was not reasonable to expect him to go on mourning always for the "first white violet." it was only natural that summer should follow the spring. but the puzzle now was, who was good enough and sweet and high and fine enough to follow lloyd? mary was positive that there was nobody. he might hunt the whole world over, but she was sure he would be doomed to disappointment in the end. her motherly concern over that was almost as great as her sympathy had been when she thought of him as doomed to carry a secret sorrow with him to the grave. after that the conversation was not so personal. it was nearly noon when they reached bauer, and in that time they had exchanged views on enough subjects to have filled an encyclopædia. twice after that they talked together alone. the first time was when they went out in the boat just before sunset. mary wanted him to see fernbank in all its glory of fresh april greenness, with the little waterfalls splashing their fine mist over the walls of delicate maiden-hair. she insisted on poling the boat, although he protested that it made him uncomfortable to sit still and see her doing the work. he refused to go at all, until she compromised by saying he might pole on the way back. "it isn't work," she insisted. "it's one of the greatest pleasures i have, and about the only one i've had in this benighted place." "you always did love to 'paddle your own canoe' and strike out and do things for yourself," he remarked, as they shot swiftly up the stream. "by the way, what are you going to do next? will you be starting back to warwick hall again in september, now that jack is sure of taking his old position in the mines then?" "no," was her decided answer. "we've scrapped about that a lot lately. he insists that i must. but it's this way. he's lost a whole year out of his life, and although he's never said so, i know the time is coming when he'll want to settle down and have a home of his own. and _he's_ the kind who'd never ask a girl to marry him until he'd provided for her future in case anything should happen to him. joyce's plans have been put back a year, too. she has her heart set on going to paris with miss henrietta to study, just as soon as she can afford it. of course, jack will pay back his part of what she's spent on us this winter, but it will take a good while for him to do it. i've made up my mind i'm not going to stand in their way. i'll not be a drag on either one of them. there's lots of things that i can do. the summer is already provided for. when mrs. mallory found that we are going to stay on here till september, till jack is strong enough to go back to work, she made up her mind to stay, too, no matter how hot it gets, because the children are so happy here. they can't bear the idea of stopping their lessons. they're beginning to learn to read now, and are as wild over that as if it were a new game. mrs. rochester says it does get frightfully hot here in the summers, but that we can stand it if we have the lessons in the morning instead of afternoon." "and then," asked phil, "after that?" "after that i don't know, but there'll be something. it's all uncertain, but it's interesting just to wonder what will come next. i'm like the wolf in the last of the mowgli stories." she turned to glance over her shoulder as she quoted, laughingly, "'_the stars are thin,' said gray brother, sniffing at the dawn wind. 'where shall we lair to-day? for, from now, we follow new trails._' i don't know where the new trails will lead, but from all that's happened in the past, i've faith to believe that there'll be 'good hunting' in them." "there will always be that for you," said phil, warmly. "you'll never strike one where you'll not find friends and interests and--" he started to say more, but checked himself, and after an instant's pause, stood up, almost upsetting the boat, and laughingly took the oar away from her, insisting that he couldn't sit still another minute. he had to work off some of his surplus energy. what he had come near saying when he checked himself was, "and you'll never strike a trail where you won't be the bravest, jolliest, dearest little comrade a man could have; one that he would never tire of, one who could inspire him to do and be his best." the impulse to say all this came upon him so suddenly that it startled him. then a sober second thought told him that after all she was scarcely more than a child, that she had always looked upon him as an elderly brother, and that it would be better not to destroy that old intimate relationship until he was sure of being able to establish a new one. a strange feeling of humility took possession of him. it suddenly seemed that he had so little to offer one who could give so much. even her opinion which he had laughed at at the stone quarry, about providing a financial umbrella, carried weight now, and made him hesitate, no longer confidant of himself. his strong, quick sweeps of the oar sent the boat upstream at twice the speed it had been going before, and mary, from her seat in the stern, called out that it was as good as flying, and that she'd have to acknowledge that she'd never known before how delightful it was to sit still and let somebody else do the paddling. but that was because nobody else had taken her along so fast. at fernbank they did not get out of the boat. phil took the seat facing her, while they drifted around the deep pool for a little while. it was almost twilight there, for the high bank shut out the glow of the sunset, and it was deliciously cool and green and still. presently some remark of phil's made mary exclaim: "that reminds me, although i don't know why it should, of something i've been intending to tell you, that joyce wrote recently. you've heard her talk of little jules ciseaux, the boy who played such an important part in her winter in france. he lived in the house with the giant scissors on the gables, and over the great gate, you know. well, he's over here in america now. he's always wanted to come ever since joyce told him so much about it. his mother was an american and i think he was born in this country. at any rate, he's here now, sightseeing and trying to hunt up his mother's family. "he's come into quite a large fortune lately, ever so many hundred thousand francs. as he is of age, he can do as he pleases. joyce says he wants to come out to lone rock to see us, because she used to entertain him by the hour with tales of us, and he used to envy us our good times together in the little brown house at plainsville. he never knew any home life like ours. i'm wild to see him. joyce says he is charming! such lovely manners, and such a sensitive, refined face, like one's ideal of a young poet. he's really something of an artist. joyce says he's done some really creditable work, and all her friends have taken him up and are making it nice for him while he is in new york." "that _is_ interesting," said phil. "i'll look him up as soon as i get back. wouldn't it be romantic if the friendship that started between them as children should grow into something more? all those inherited francs would provide the fine, large umbrella which you seem to think is necessary." "oh, it never can be anything but friendship in this case," exclaimed mary. "jules is two years younger than joyce." "by the same token he is three years older than you. maybe it's joyce's little sister he will be taking an interest in." "humph! you're as bad as norman!" replied mary, calmly. "that's what _he_ said. he thought he had something new to tease me about, but he soon found out that it wouldn't work." despite her indifference, phil thought of the possibility again many times that night before he fell asleep. knowing the limited space of the cottage, he had taken a room at the williams house, despite mrs. ware's protests, saying he would be over early in the morning for breakfast. but it seemed for awhile that breakfast-time would arrive before he could fall asleep. things assume formidable proportions in the darkness and dead quiet of the night that they never have by day. away after midnight he was still thinking of what mary had said about the young frenchman who had lately come into his fortune, and of what roberta had said about lieutenant boglin. the face of the latter rose up before him. not a particularly good-looking face, he thought, but it was a strong, likable one, and he had a sense of humor which made him good company, and a blarney-stone turn of the tongue that would take with any girl. as for jules ciseaux, who had envied the wares their home life, phil knew all about the childhood of the lonely little lad left to the mercies of a brutal caretaker. jules would only need to see mary once, dear little home-maker that she was, to want to carry her away with him to his chateau beside the loire. before phil finally fell asleep he had decided just what he would say to mary next morning, and that he would go early enough to make an opportunity to say it. it _was_ early when he went striding down the road, across the foot-bridge, and took the short cut through a meadow to the back of the ware cottage; but the preparations for breakfast were well under way. when he reached the back porch, screened by morning-glory vines, he saw the table set out there, with fresh strawberries at each place, wreathed in their own green leaves. judging from the odors wafted through the door, chickens were broiling within to exactly the right degree of delectable crispness, and coffee which would be of amber clearness, was in the making. but the noises within the kitchen were not to be interpreted as easily as the odors. there was a banging and scuffling over the floor, muffled shrieks and broken sentences in high voices, choking with laughter. not till he reached the open window and looked in could he imagine the cause of the uproar. norman and mary were wrestling and romping all over the kitchen, having a tug-of-war over something he was trying to take away from her. unconscious of a spectator, they dragged each other around, bumping against walls amid a clatter of falling tinware, stumbling over chairs and coming to a deadlock in each others' arms in a corner, so full of laughter they could scarcely hold their grip. "dare me again! will you?" gasped norman, thinking he had her pinned to the wall. but wrenching one hand free, she began to tickle him until he writhed away from her with a whoop, and dashed out of the door. "yah! 'fraid cat!" she jeered after him. "afraid of a tickle!" "you just wait till i get back with the milk," he cried, catching up a shining tin pail that stood on the bench, and starting down the path over which phil had just come. [illustration: mary ware in texas. well, i'm going away and i may not see you again.] "you'll have to hurry," she called after him. "breakfast is almost ready." she stooped to open the oven door and peep at the pan of biscuit within, just beginning to turn a delicate brown. then she looked up and caught sight of phil. he was leaning against the window looking in, his arms crossed on the sill as if he had been enjoying the spectacle for some time. "for mercy sakes!" she exclaimed. "how long have you been there?" the coast was clear. norman was well on his way to the metz place, and mrs. ware was helping jack get ready for breakfast. it was as good an opportunity as phil could have hoped for, to repeat the speech he had rehearsed so many times the night before. and she looked so fresh and wholesome and sweet, standing there in her pink morning dress with the big white apron, that she was more like an apple-blossom than anything else he could think of. he wanted to tell her so; to tell her she had never seemed so dear and desirable as she did at this moment, when he must be going away to leave her. yet how could he tell her, when she was all a-giggle and a-dimple and aglow from her romp with norman? clearly she was too far from his state of mind to share it now, or even to understand it. after all, she was only a little girl at heart--only eighteen. it wasn't fair to her to awaken her quite yet--to hurry her into giving a promise when she couldn't possibly know her own mind. he would wait-- so he only leaned on the window-sill and laughed at her for having been caught in such an undignified romp, and asked her when she intended to grow up, and if she ever expected to outgrow her propensity for scrapping. but when he had joked thus a few minutes, he said, quite suddenly and seriously, "mary, i want you to promise me something." she was taking the chickens from the broiler and did not look at him until they were safely landed in the hot platter awaiting them, but she said lightly, "yes, your 'ighness. to the 'arf of me kingdom. wot is it?" "well, i'm going away and i may not see you again for a long time. the chief wants me to take a position, engineering the construction of a big dam down in mexico. it would keep me down there two years, but it would be the biggest thing i've had yet, in every way. last night i just about made up my mind i'd take it. "while i'm gone you will be striking out into all sorts of new trails, and i am afraid that on some of them somebody will come along and try to persuade you to join him on his, even if you are such a little girl. now i want to have a hand in choosing the right man, and i want you to promise me that you won't let anybody persuade you to do that till i come back. or at least if they do try, that you'll send me word that they're trying, and give me a chance to come back and have a look at the fellow, and see if i think he is good enough to carry you off." "why, the idea!" she laughed, a trifle embarrassed, but immensely pleased that he should think it possible for her to have numerous suitors or to have them soon, and flattered that he should take enough interest in her future to want to be called back from mexico to direct her choice. "but will you promise?" he urged. "yes; that is not much to promise." "and you'll give me your hand on it?" he persisted. "yes, and cross my heart and body in the bargain," she added, lightly, "if that'll please you any better." for all his gravity, she thought he was jesting until she reached her hand through the window to seal the compact. "you know," he said, as his warm fingers closed over it, "i've never yet seen anybody whom i considered good enough for little mary ware." her eyes fell before the seriousness of his steady glance, and she turned away all in a flutter of pleasure that the "best man" should have said such a lovely thing about _her_. it was the very thing she had always thought about him. mrs. ware came out just then, wheeling jack in his chair, and soon after norman was back with the milk, and breakfast was served out on the porch among the morning-glories. "a perfect breakfast and a perfect morning," phil said. the 'bus which was to call for him came while they were still lingering around the table, and there was only time for a hasty good-by all around. "come and walk out to the gate with me, mary, and give me a good send-off," he said, hurriedly snatching up his suit-case. now in this last moment, when there was much to say, neither had a word, and they walked along in silence until they reached the gate. there he turned for one more hand-clasp. "remember your promise," he said, gravely, as his fingers closed warmly over hers. "i meant every word i said." "i'll remember," she answered, dimpling again as if he had reminded her of a good joke; "and i'll keep my word. honest, i will!" with that he went away, carrying with him a picture which he recalled a thousand times in the months that followed; mary, standing at the gate in the pink and white dress that had the freshness of a spring blossom, with her sweet, sincere eyes and her dear little mouth saying, "i'll keep my word! honest, i will!" it was a long, long, hot summer that followed. the drought dried up the creek so that the boat lay idle on the bank. the dust grew deeper and deeper in the roads and lay thick on the wayside weeds. even the trees were powdered with it; all the green of the landscape took on an ashen grayness. meadows lay parched and sere. walking ceased to be a pleasure, and as they gasped through the tropical heat of the endless afternoons, they longed for the dense shade of the pines at lone rock, and counted the days till they could go back. but as soon as the sun dropped behind the hills each day, and the breeze started up from the far-away gulf, their discomfort was forgotten. in the wonderful brilliance of the starry nights when there was no moon, or in the times when one hung like a luminous pearl above a silver world, the air grew fresh and cool, and they sat late in the open, making the most of every minute. in the early mornings there was that same crisp freshness of the hills again, so one could endure the merciless, yellow glare and the panting heat of the afternoons, for the sake of the nights and dawns. even without that, however, they would have been content to stay on, enduring it gladly, for jack was daily growing stronger; and to see him moving about the house on his own feet, no matter how falteringly at first, was a cause for hourly rejoicing. mary still played the part of baloo with brud and sister, starting early in the morning and taking them over to the old mill-dam, in the shade of some big cypress and sycamore trees. she was teaching them to read and write, but there was little poring over books for them. they built their letters out of stones, and fashioned whole sentences of twigs; wrote them in the sand and modelled them in mud, scratched them on rocks with bits of flint, as indians do their picture language, and pricked them in the broad sycamore leaves with thorns. by the end of the summer they had enough of a vocabulary to write a brief letter to their father, and their pride knew no bounds when each had achieved one entirely alone, from date to stamp, and dropped it into the box at the post-office. his pride in them was equally great, and the letter that he sent mary with her final check was one of the few things which she carried away from texas as a cherished memento. she did not write often in her good times book. there was so little to chronicle. an occasional visit from the barnaby's, a call at the rectory, a few minutes spent in neighborly gossip in the metz garden; never once in the whole summer a happening more exciting than that, except when the troops from fort sam houston were ordered out on their annual "hike" and passed through bauer in july. each of the different divisions camped a day and a night in the grove back of the cottage, near enough for the wares to watch every manoeuvre. the artillery band played at sunset when it was in camp, and gave a concert that night in the plaza. when the cavalry passed through, lieutenant boglin came to supper and spent the evening. gay was up for a day twice, and mary went once to san antonio. that was all. yet stupid as it was for a girl of her age, and much as she missed young companionship, mary managed to get through the summer very happily. all its unpleasantness was atoned for one day in early september, when she looked out to see jack going down the road, straight and strong, pushing his own wheeled chair in front of him. he was taking it down to doctor mackay's office to leave "for the first poor devil who needs it," he said. in the last few weeks he had discovered what he had not known before, that the town was full of invalids in quest of health, attracted from all over the country by the life-giving air of its hills. he had made the acquaintance of a number of them since he had been able to ride around with the doctor. now, as he went off down the road with the chair, with all of the family at the window to see the happy sight, mrs. ware repeated to mary what the doctor had said about jack's effect on his other patients, and what the rector had told her of the regard all the villagers had for jack. "the dear boy's year of suffering has done one thing for the world," she added. "it has given it another aldebaran. don't you remember in _the jester's sword_--" she quoted it readily, because ever since she had first seen it she had always read jack's name in place of aldebaran's: "'_it came to pass whenever he went by, men felt a strange, strength-giving influence radiating from his presence, a sense of hope. one could not say exactly what it was, it was so fleeting, so intangible, like warmth that circles from a brazier, or perfume that is wafted from an unseen rose._' that's what one feels whenever jack comes near." "yes, i know," assented mary. "even old mr. metz tried to say as much to me about him. he didn't choose those words, of course, but in his own broken way he meant the same thing." when the day came to leave, there was no one to go with them to the station. the rochesters were away on their vacation, and it was too early in the morning for the barnabys to come in from the ranch. they had bidden each other good-by the day before, with deep regrets on both sides. it seemed so good to both mary and her mother to see jack attending to the tickets and the trunks in his old way, so quick and capable. while he was getting the checks, mary walked down the track a little piece to a place where she could look back at the town for one more picture to carry away in her memory. how friendly and homelike and dear it seemed now. between the belfry of st. peter's and the gray tower of holy angels, rose the smoke from many breakfast fires, and the windmills twirled merrily in the morning sun. for all its dreariness she was carrying away the recollection of a score of happy times. over there was the free camp-yard, where their little christmas tree had spread such cheer. further on shone the spire of st. boniface. she would always think of it as she saw it easter morning, its casement windows set wide, and its altar white with the snowy beauty of the rain lilies. there was the meadow through which she had gone in blue-bonnet time, to find phil waiting under the _huisache_ tree, and there the creek, running on to fernbank. nearer by she could see the windmill tower she had so often climbed, sticking up over the roof that had sheltered them during the ten months they had been in bauer. "dear little old bauer," she thought, gratefully. she wouldn't have believed it in the beginning if anyone had told her, that there would be any regrets in her leave-taking when the time came to go. how wonderfully it had all turned out. the crooked _had_ been made straight, and the rough places smooth. she could face the future gladly, buoyantly, now, no matter what it held, since jack was well again. "come on, mary, it's time to go aboard!" called norman. "you go on in, and save me a seat," she called back. "here come the children. i must wait to speak to them." she had bidden them good-by the night before, and had not expected to see them again. they came running, out of breath. sister had a little bag of animal crackers she had brought as a farewell offering, and brud proffered a companion-piece, a sack of sticky red cinnamon drops. they had cried the night before, and they were close to tears now, realizing that something very rare and precious was passing out of their lives. she took their offerings with thanks that brought smiles to their dejected little faces, then once more stooped to kiss them good-by. "from now, it's new trails for all of us," she said, lightly, "and you'll write and tell me what you find in yours, and i'll write and tell you about mine." on the platform of the car she turned for a last look at the three disconsolate little figures, waiting to watch her start off towards those new trails. there were three, for uncle august had joined them now, squatting mournfully beside them as if he, too, were losing his best playfellow. the train began to move slowly out. as she clung to the railing to wave to them one more time, a mournful little pipe followed her shrilly down the track. it was brud's voice: "good hunting, miss mayry! good hunting!" the end. books for young people the little colonel books (trade mark) _by annie fellows johnston_ _each vol., large mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol._ $ . the little colonel stories (trade mark) being three "little colonel" stories in the cosy corner series, "the little colonel," "two little knights of kentucky," and "the great scissors," put into a single volume. the little colonel's house party (trade mark) the little colonel's holidays (trade mark) the little colonel's hero (trade mark) the little colonel at boarding-school (trade mark) the little colonel in arizona (trade mark) the little colonel's christmas vacation (trade mark) the little colonel, maid of honor (trade mark) the little colonel's knight comes riding (trade mark) mary ware: the little colonel's chum (trade mark) mary ware in texas _these eleven volumes, boxed as an eleven-volume set_ $ . the little colonel (trade mark) two little knights of kentucky the giant scissors big brother special holiday editions each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $ . new plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. in the desert of waiting: the legend of camelback mountain. the three weavers: a fairy tale for fathers and mothers as well as for their daughters. keeping tryst the legend of the bleeding heart the rescue of princess winsome: a fairy play for old and young. the jester's sword each one volume, tall mo, cloth decorative $ . paper boards . there has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these six stories which were originally included in six of the "little colonel" books. joel: a boy of galilee: by annie fellows johnston. illustrated by l. j. bridgman. new illustrated edition, uniform with the little colonel books, vol., large mo, cloth decorative $ . a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author's best-known books. the little colonel good times book uniform in size with the little colonel series $ . bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . cover design and decorations by peter verberg. published in response to many inquiries from readers of the little colonel books as to where they could obtain a "good times book" such as betty kept. the little colonel doll book large quarto, boards $ . a series of "little colonel" dolls,--not only the little colonel herself, but betty and kitty and mary ware, yes, and rob, phil, and many another of the well-loved characters,--even mom' beck herself. there are many of them and each has several changes of costume, so that the happy group can be appropriately clad for the rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series. the large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called doll "books" have been discarded, and instead each character, each costume, occupies a sheet by itself, the dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are wanted. asa holmes: or, at the cross-roads. a sketch of country life and country humor. by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. large mo, cloth, gilt top $ . "'asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads' is the most delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while."--_boston times._ the rival campers; or, the adventures of henry burns. by ruel perley smith. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . a story of a party of typical american lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the maine coast. the rival campers afloat; or, the prize yacht viking. by ruel perley smith. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . this book is a continuation of the adventures of "the rival campers" on their prize yacht _viking_. the rival campers ashore by ruel perley smith. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "as interesting ashore as when afloat."--_the interior._ the rival campers among the oyster pirates; or, jack harvey's adventures. by ruel perley smith. illustrated $ . "just the type of book which is most popular with lads who are in their early teens."--_the philadelphia item._ prisoners of fortune: a tale of the massachusetts bay colony. by ruel perley smith. cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $ . "there is an atmosphere of old new england in the book, the humor of the born raconteur about the hero, who tells his story with the gravity of a preacher, but with a solemn humor that is irresistible."--_courier-journal._ famous cavalry leaders. by charles h. l. johnston. large mo, with illustrations $ . biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and reminiscences of the heroes of history who were leaders of cavalry. "more of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant informal way."--_n. y. sun._ famous indian chiefs. by charles h. l. johnston. large mo, illustrated $ . in this book mr. johnston gives interesting sketches of the indian braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land, including powhatan, the indian cæsar; massasoit, the friend of the puritans; pontiac, the red napoleon; tecumseh, the famous war chief of the shawnees; sitting bull, the famous war chief of the sioux; geronimo, the renowned apache chief, etc., etc. famous scouts. by charles h. l. johnston. large mo, illustrated $ . mr. johnston gives us historical facts and biographical sketches and interesting anecdotes of those heroes of early pioneer days who made names for themselves among the hardy adventurers who thronged the border. there are tales of gen. israel putnam; the celebrated daniel boone; kit carson, the noted scout; lewis and clarke, the hardy explorers; the world-renowned buffalo bill, and of many other famous scouts, trappers and pioneers. beautiful joe's paradise: or, the island of brotherly love. a sequel to "beautiful joe." by marshall saunders, author of "beautiful joe." one vol., library mo, cloth, illustrated $ . "this book revives the spirit of 'beautiful joe' capitally. it is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light."--_philadelphia item._ 'tilda jane. by marshall saunders. one vol., mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $ . "i cannot think of any better book for children than this. i commend it unreservedly."--_cyrus townsend brady._ 'tilda jane's orphans. a sequel to "'tilda jane." by marshall saunders. one vol., mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $ . 'tilda jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her animal pets as ever. the story of the graveleys. by marshall saunders, author of "beautiful joe's paradise," "'tilda jane," etc. library mo, cloth decorative. illustrated by e. b. barry $ . here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful new england family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. born to the blue. by florence kimball russel. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . the atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. the boy is the son of a captain of u. s. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation. in west point gray by florence kimball russel. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "singularly enough one of the best books of the year for boys is written by a woman and deals with life at west point. the presentment of life in the famous military academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic and enjoyable."--_new york sun._ the sandman: his farm stories by william j. hopkins. with fifty illustrations by ada clendenin williamson. large mo, decorative cover $ . "an amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. it should be one of the most popular of the year's books for reading to small children."--_buffalo express._ the sandman: more farm stories by william j. hopkins. large mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $ . mr. hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval that this second book of "sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager children. life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner. the sandman: his ship stories by william j. hopkins, author of "the sandman: his farm stories," etc. large mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $ . "children call for these stories over and over again."--_chicago evening post._ the sandman: his sea stories by william j. hopkins. large mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $ . each year adds to the popularity of this unique series of stories to be read to the little ones at bed time and at other times. a texas blue bonnet by emilia elliott. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . this is the story of a warm-hearted, impulsive and breezy girl of the southwest, who has lived all her life on a big ranch. she comes to the far east for a long visit, and her experiences "up north" are indeed delightful reading. blue bonnet is sure to win the hearts of all girl readers. the doctor's little girl by marion ames taggart, author of "pussy-cat town," etc. one vol., library mo, illustrated $ . a thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her comrade father, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension of the child's point of view. sweet nancy the further adventures of the doctor's little girl. by marion ames taggart. one vol., library, mo, illustrated $ . in the new book, the author tells how nancy becomes in fact "the doctor's assistant," and continues to shed happiness around her. carlota a story of the san gabriel mission. by frances margaret fox. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by ethelind ridgway $ . "it is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an entertaining contribution to juvenile literature."--_the new york sun._ the seven christmas candles by frances margaret fox. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by e. b. barry $ . miss fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the delightful mulvaney children. seven little wise men by frances margaret fox. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by e. b. barry $ . in this new story miss fox relates how seven little children, who lived in sunny california, prepared for the great christmas festival. pussy-cat town by marion ames taggart. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors $ . "anything more interesting than the doings of the cats in this story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, would be hard to imagine."--_chicago post._ the roses of saint elizabeth by jane scott woodruff. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart $ . this is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the wartburg. gabriel and the hour book by evaleen stein. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart $ . gabriel was a loving, patient, little french lad, who assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. a little shepherd of provence by evaleen stein. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by diantha horne marlowe $ . this is the story of little lame jean, a goatherd of provence, and of the "golden goat" who is supposed to guard a hidden treasure. the enchanted automobile translated from the french by mary j safford. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by edna m. sawyer $ . "an up-to-date french fairy-tale which fairly radiates the spirit of the hour,--unceasing diligence."--_chicago record-herald._ o-heart-san the story of a japanese girl. by helen eggleston haskell. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by frank p. fairbanks $ . "the story comes straight from the heart of japan. from every page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums."--_the chicago inter-ocean._ the young section-hand; or, the adventures of allan west. by burton e. stevenson. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . mr. stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling. the young train dispatcher. by burton e. stevenson. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "a better book for boys has never left an american press."--_springfield union._ the young train master. by burton e. stevenson. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for boys in which the actualities of life are set forth in a practical way could be devised or written."--_boston herald._ captain jack lorimer. by winn standish. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . jack is a fine example of the all-around american high-school boy. jack lorimer's champions; or, sports on land and lake. by winn standish. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "it is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested in athletics, for it shows him what it means to always 'play fair.'"--_chicago tribune._ jack lorimer's holidays; or, millvale high in camp. by winn standish. illustrated $ . full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to excite the healthy minded youngster to emulation. jack lorimer's substitute; or, the acting captain of the team. by winn standish. illustrated $ . on the sporting side, this book takes up football, wrestling, tobogganing, but it is more of a _school_ story perhaps than any of its predecessors. the red feathers. by theodore roberts cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "the red feathers" tells of the remarkable adventures of an indian boy who lived in the stone age, many years ago, when the world was young. flying plover. by theodore roberts. cloth decorative. illustrated by charles livingston bull $ . squat-by-the-fire is a very old and wise indian who lives alone with her grandson, "flying plover," to whom she tells the stories each evening. comrades of the trails. by g. e. theodore roberts. cloth decorative. illustrated by charles livingston bull $ . the story of a fearless young english lad, dick ramsey, who, after the death of his father, crosses the seas and takes up the life of a hunter and trapper in the canadian forests. little white indians. by fannie e. ostrander. cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "a bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the 'make-believe' instinct in children, and will give them a healthy, active interest in 'the simple life.'" the boy who won by fannie e. ostrander, author of "little white indians." mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by r. farrington elwell $ . a companion volume to "little white indians" continuing the adventures of the different "tribes," whose "doings" were so interestingly told in the earlier volume. marching with morgan. how donald lovell became a soldier of the revolution. by john v. lane. cloth decorative, illustrated $ . this is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of montgomery and arnold against quebec. cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature,--stories that shall not only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover design. each vol., mo, cloth $ . _by annie fellows johnston_ the little colonel (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. the giant scissors this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the "house party" and the "holidays." two little knights of kentucky who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights." mildred's inheritance a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is enabled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one. cicely and other stories for girls the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people. aunt 'liza's hero and other stories a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. big brother a story of two boys. the devotion and care of stephen, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. ole mammy's torment "ole mammy's torment" has been fitly called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. the story of dago in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing. the quilt that jack built a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. flip's islands of providence a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, well worth the reading. _by edith robinson_ a little puritan's first christmas a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christmas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child of the puritans, aided by her brother sam. a little daughter of liberty the author introduces this story as follows: "one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride,--the ride of anthony severn,--which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its consequences." a loyal little maid a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders important services to george washington. a little puritan rebel this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massachusetts. a little puritan pioneer the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown. a little puritan bound girl a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers. a little puritan cavalier the story of a "little puritan cavalier" who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders. a puritan knight errant the story tells of a young lad in colonial times who endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knights of olden days. _by ouida_ (_louise de la ramee_) a dog of flanders a christmas story too well and favorably known to require description. the nurnberg stove this beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price. _by frances margaret fox_ the little giant's neighbours a charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbors were the creatures of the field and garden. farmer brown and the birds a little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends. betty of old mackinaw a charming story of child life. brother billy the story of betty's brother, and some further adventures of betty herself. mother nature's little ones curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors. how christmas came to the mulvaneys a bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. the country christmas miss fox has vividly described the happy surprises that made the occasion so memorable to the mulvaneys, and the funny things the children did in their new environment. _by miss mulock_ the little lame prince a delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. adventures of a brownie the story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him. his little mother miss mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of delight to them, and "his little mother," in this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers. little sunshine's holiday an attractive story of a summer outing. "little sunshine" is another of those beautiful child-characters for which miss mulock is so justly famous. _by marshall saunders_ for his country a sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country; written with that charm which has endeared miss saunders to hosts of readers. nita, the story of an irish setter in this touching little book, miss saunders shows how dear to her heart are all of god's dumb creatures. alpatok, the story of an eskimo dog alpatok, an eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen from his master and left to starve in a strange city, but was befriended and cared for, until he was able to return to his owner. _by will allen dromgoole_ the farrier's dog and his fellow this story, written by the gifted young southern woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. the fortunes of the fellow those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of "the farrier's dog and his fellow" will welcome the further account the adventures of baydaw and the fellow at the home of the kindly smith. the best of friends this continues the experiences of the farrier's dog and his fellow, written in mr. dromgoole's well-known charming style. down in dixie a fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of alabama children who move to florida and grow up in the south. _by marian w. wildman_ loyalty island an account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of dishonesty. theodore and theodora this is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mischievous twins, and continues the adventures of the interesting group of children in "loyalty island." _by charles g. d. roberts_ the cruise of the yacht dido the story of two boys who turned their yacht into a fishing boat to earn money. the young acadian the story of a young lad of acadia who rescued a little english girl from the hands of savages. the lord of the air the story of the eagle. the king of the mamozekel the story of the moose. the watchers of the camp-fire the story of the panther. the haunter of the pine gloom the story of the lynx. the return to the trails the story of the bear. the little people of the sycamore the story of the raccoon. _by juliana horatio ewing_ story of a short life this beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. it is a part of the world's literature, and will never die. jackanapes a new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching story, dear alike to young and old. a great emergency a bright little story of a happy, mischievous family of children. _by other authors_ the great scoop _by molly elliot seawell_ a capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon. john whopper _by bishop clark_ the late bishop clark's popular story of the boy who fell through the earth and came out in china, with a new introduction by bishop potter. rab and his friends _by dr. john brown_ doctor brown's little masterpiece is too well known to need description. the dog rab is already known and loved by all. the sleeping beauty: a modern version. _by martha b. dunn_ this charming story of a little fishermaid of maine, intellectually "asleep" until she meets the "fairy prince," reminds us of "ouida" at her best. susanne _by frances j. delano_ susanne is a story of a motherless little girl with a wonderful voice who is taken to the city to be educated by a rich aunt, but runs away from the city and returns home. a child's dream of a star _by charles dickens_ one of those beautiful, fanciful little allegories which dickens alone knew how to write. the dole twins _by kate upson clark_ the adventures of two little people who tried to earn money to buy crutches for a lame aunt. an excellent description of child-life about , which will greatly interest and amuse the children of to-day, whose life is widely different. larry hudson's ambition _by james otis_, author of "tobey tyler," etc. larry hudson is a typical american boy, whose hard work and enterprise gain him his ambition,--an education and a start in the world. the little christmas shoe _by jane p. scott woodruff_ a touching story of yule-tide. wee dorothy _by laura updegraff_ a story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and setting. with a bit of sadness at the beginning, the story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether wholesome in every way. the king of the golden river a legend of stiria. _by john ruskin_ written fifty years or more ago, and not originally intended for publication, this little fairy-tale soon became known and made a place for itself. a child's garden of verses _by r. l. stevenson_ mr. stevenson's little volume is too well known to need description. the little cousin series the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. each one vol., mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page illustrations in color. price per volume $ . _by mary hazelton wade unless otherwise indicated_ our little african cousin our little alaskan cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little arabian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little armenian cousin our little australian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little brazilian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little brown cousin our little canadian cousin by elizabeth r. macdonald our little chinese cousin by isaac taylor headland our little cuban cousin our little dutch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little egyptian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little english cousin by blanche mcmanus our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin by blanche mcmanus our little german cousin our little grecian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little hawaiian cousin our little hindu cousin by blanche mcmanus our little hungarian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin by h. lee m. pike our little mexican cousin by edward c. butler our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin by h. lee m. pike our little persian cousin by e. c. shedd our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious punctuation errors were corrected. this text uses "weinachtsbaum" instead of "weihnachtsbaum" many times and was left as printed. page , "jask" changed to "jack" ("well?" queried jack as) page , "embarassment" changed to "embarrassment" (my perch with embarrassment) page , "to" changed to "too" (may as well go too) page , "that's" changed to "that" (and the next that she's) page , "irridescent" changed to "iridescent" (minutes. the iridescent) page , "palate" changed to "palette" (get out palette and brushes) page , "role" changed to "rôle" (in the rôle of) page , "corrider" changed to "corridor" (stood in the corridor) page , "sea" changed to "seat" (circular seat surrounding) advertising pages: page , "ceronimo" changed to "geronimo" (geronimo, the renowned apache) page , "atc." changed to "etc." (apache chief, etc.) page , "d scribing" changed to "describing" (sketches describing the early) page , our little alaskan cousins, "nixon-roule" changed to "nixon-roulet" (mary f. nixon-roulet) team editorial note: randy adams, the author of this book, wrote from first-hand experience. as a young man he spent years traildriving cattle from texas to markets in the 's and 's. project gutenberg's library contains several of his other books. reed anthony, cowman an autobiography by andy adams [illustration: the cowman] to captain john t. lytle secretary of the texas cattle raisers' association fort worth, texas contents i. in retrospect ii. my apprenticeship iii. a second trip to port sumner iv. a fatal trip v. summer of ' vi. sowing wild oats vii. "the angel" viii. the "lazy l" ix. the school of experience x. the panic of ' xi. a prosperous year xii. clear fork and shenandoah xiii. the centennial year xiv. establishing a new ranch xv. harvest home xvi. an active summer xvii. foreshadows xviii. the beginning of the boom xix. the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company xx. holding the fort xxi. the fruits of conspiracy xxii. in conclusion chapter i in retrospect i can truthfully say that my entire life has been spent with cattle. even during my four years' service in the confederate army, the greater portion was spent with the commissary department, in charge of its beef supplies. i was wounded early in the second year of the war and disabled as a soldier, but rather than remain at home i accepted a menial position under a quartermaster. those were strenuous times. during lee's invasion of pennsylvania we followed in the wake of the army with over a thousand cattle, and after gettysburg we led the retreat with double that number. near the close of the war we frequently had no cattle to hold, and i became little more than a camp-follower. i was born in the shenandoah valley, northern virginia, may , . my father was a thrifty planter and stockman, owned a few slaves, and as early as i can remember fed cattle every winter for the eastern markets. grandfather anthony, who died before i was born, was a scotchman who had emigrated to the old dominion at an early day, and acquired several large tracts of land on an affluent of the shenandoah. on my paternal side i never knew any of my ancestors, but have good cause to believe they were adventurers. my mother's maiden name was reed; she was of a gentle family, who were able to trace their forbears beyond the colonial days, even to the gentry of england. generations of good birth were reflected in my mother; and across a rough and eventful life i can distinctly remember the refinement of her manners, her courtesy to guests, her kindness to child and slave. my boyhood days were happy ones. i attended a subscription school several miles from home, riding back and forth on a pony. the studies were elementary, and though i never distinguished myself in my classes, i was always ready to race my pony, and never refused to play truant when the swimming was good. evidently my father never intended any of his boys for a professional career, though it was an earnest hope of my mother that all of us should receive a college education. my elder brother and i early developed business instincts, buying calves and accompanying our father on his trading expeditions. once during a vacation, when we were about twelve and ten years old, both of us crossed the mountains with him into what is now west virginia, where he bought about two hundred young steers and drove them back to our home in the valley. i must have been blessed with an unfailing memory; over fifty years have passed since that, my first trip from home, yet i remember it vividly--can recall conversations between my father and the sellers as they haggled over the cattle. i remember the money, gold and silver, with which to pay for the steers, was carried by my father in ordinary saddle-bags thrown across his saddle. as occasion demanded, frequently the funds were carried by a negro man of ours, and at night, when among acquaintances, the heavy saddle-bags were thrown into a corner, every one aware of their contents. but the great event of my boyhood was a trip to baltimore. there was no railroad at the time, and as that was our market for fat cattle, it was necessary to drive the entire way. my father had made the trip yearly since i could remember, the distance being nearly two hundred miles, and generally carrying as many as one hundred and fifty big beeves. they traveled slowly, pasturing or feeding grain on the way, in order that the cattle should arrive at the market in salable condition. one horse was allowed with the herd, and on another my father rode, far in advance, to engage pasture or feed and shelter for his men. when on the road a boy always led a gentle ox in the lead of the beeves; negro men walked on either flank, and the horseman brought up the rear. i used to envy the boy leading the ox, even though he was a darky. the negro boys on our plantation always pleaded with "mars" john, my father, for the privilege; and when one of them had made the trip to baltimore as a toll boy he easily outranked us younger whites. i must have made application for the position when i was about seven years old, for it seemed an age before my request was granted. my brother, only two years older than i, had made the trip twice, and when i was twelve the great opportunity came. my father had nearly two hundred cattle to go to market that year, and the start was made one morning early in june. i can distinctly see my mother standing on the veranda of our home as i led the herd by with a big red ox, trembling with fear that at the final moment her permission might be withdrawn and that i should have to remain behind. but she never interfered with my father, who took great pains to teach his boys everything practical in the cattle business. it took us twenty days to reach baltimore. we always started early in the morning, allowing the beeves to graze and rest along the road, and securing good pastures for them at night. several times it rained, making the road soft, but i stripped off my shoes and took it barefooted through the mud. the lead ox was a fine, big fellow, each horn tipped with a brass knob, and he and i set the pace, which was scarcely that of a snail. the days were long, i grew desperately hungry between meals, and the novelty of leading that ox soon lost its romance. but i was determined not to show that i was tired or hungry, and frequently, when my father was with us and offered to take me up behind him on his horse, i spurned his offer and trudged on till the end of the day. the mere driving of the beeves would have been monotonous, but the constant change of scene kept us in good spirits, and our darkies always crooned old songs when the road passed through woodlands. after the beeves were marketed we spent a day in the city, and my father took my brother and me to the theatre. although the world was unfolding rather rapidly for a country boy of twelve, it was with difficulty that i was made to understand that what we had witnessed on the stage was but mimicry. the third day after reaching the city we started on our return. the proceeds from the sale of the cattle were sent home by boat. with only two horses, each of which carried double, and walking turn about, we reached home in seven days, settling all bills on the way. that year was a type of others until i was eighteen, at which age i could guess within twenty pounds of the weight of any beef on foot, and when i bought calves and yearling steers i knew just what kind of cattle they would make at maturity. in the mean time, one summer my father had gone west as far as the state of missouri, traveling by boat to jefferson city, and thence inland on horseback. several of our neighbors had accompanied him, all of them buying land, my father securing four sections. i had younger brothers growing up, and the year my oldest brother attained his majority my father outfitted him with teams, wagons, and two trusty negro men, and we started for the nearest point on the ohio river, our destination being the new lands in the west. we embarked on the first boat, drifting down the ohio, and up the other rivers, reaching the ultima thule of our hopes within a month. the land was new; i liked it; we lived on venison and wild turkeys, and when once we had built a log house and opened a few fields, we were at peace with the earth. but this happy existence was of short duration. rumors of war reached us in our western elysium, and i turned my face homeward, as did many another son of virginia. my brother was sensible enough to remain behind on the new farm; but with nothing to restrain me i soon found myself in st. louis. there i met kindred spirits, eager for the coming fray, and before attaining my majority i was bearing arms and wearing the gray of the confederacy. my regiment saw very little service during the first year of the war, as it was stationed in the western division, but early in it was engaged in numerous actions. i shall never forget my first glimpse of the texas cavalry. we had moved out from corinth, under cover of darkness, to attack grant at pittsburg landing. when day broke, orders were given to open out and allow the cavalry to pass ahead and reconnoitre our front. i had always felt proud of virginian horsemanship, but those texans were in a class by themselves. centaur-like they sat their horses, and for our amusement, while passing at full gallop, swung from their saddles and picked up hats and handkerchiefs. there was something about the texans that fascinated me, and that sunday morning i resolved, if spared, to make texas my future home. i have good cause to remember the battle of shiloh, for during the second day i was twice wounded, yet saved from falling into the enemy's hands. my recovery was due to youth and a splendid constitution. within six weeks i was invalided home, and inside a few months i was assigned to the commissary department with the army in virginia. it was while in the latter service that i made the acquaintance of many texans, from whom i learned a great deal about the resources of their state,--its immense herds of cattle, the cheapness of its lands, and its perpetual summer. during the last year of the war, on account of their ability to handle cattle, a number of texans were detailed to care for the army's beef supply. from these men i received much information and a pressing invitation to accompany them home, and after the parole at appomattox i took their address, promising to join them in the near future. on my return to the old homestead i found the place desolate, with burnt barns and fields laid waste. the shenandoah valley had experienced war in its dread reality, for on every hand were the charred remains of once splendid homes. i had little hope that the country would ever recover, but my father, stout-hearted as ever, had already begun anew, and after helping him that summer and fall i again drifted west to my brother's farm. the war had developed a restless, vagabond spirit in me. i had little heart to work, was unsettled as to my future, and, to add to my other troubles, after reaching missouri one of my wounds reopened. in the mean time my brother had married, and had a fine farm opened up. he offered me every encouragement and assistance to settle down to the life of a farmer; but i was impatient, worthless, undergoing a formative period of early manhood, even spurning the advice of father, mother, and dearest friends. if to-day, across the lapse of years, the question were asked what led me from the bondage of my discontent, it would remain unanswered. possibly it was the advantage of good birth; surely the prayers of a mother had always followed me, and my feet were finally led into the paths of industry. since that day of uncertainty, grandsons have sat upon my knee, clamoring for a story about indians, the war, or cattle trails. if i were to assign a motive for thus leaving a tangible record of my life, it would be that my posterity--not the present generation, absorbed in its greed of gain, but a more distant and a saner one--should be enabled to glean a faint idea of one of their forbears. a worthy and secondary motive is to give an idea of the old west and to preserve from oblivion a rapidly vanishing type of pioneers. my personal appearance can be of little interest to coming generations, but rather what i felt, saw, and accomplished. it was always a matter of regret to me that i was such a poor shot with a pistol. the only two exceptions worthy of mention were mere accidents. in my boyhood's home, in virginia, my father killed yearly a large number of hogs for the household needs as well as for supplying our slave families with bacon. the hogs usually ran in the woods, feeding and thriving on the mast, but before killing time we always baited them into the fields and finished their fattening with peas and corn. it was customary to wait until the beginning of winter, or about the second cold spell, to butcher, and at the time in question there were about fifty large hogs to kill. it was a gala event with us boys, the oldest of whom were allowed to shoot one or more with a rifle. the hogs had been tolled into a small field for the killing, and towards the close of the day a number of them, having been wounded and requiring a second or third shot, became cross. these subsequent shots were usually delivered from a six-shooter, and in order to have it at hand in case of a miss i was intrusted with carrying the pistol. there was one heavy-tusked five-year-old stag among the hogs that year who refused to present his head for a target, and took refuge in a brier thicket. he was left until the last, when we all sallied out to make the final kill. there were two rifles, and had the chance come to my father, i think he would have killed him easily; but the opportunity came to a neighbor, who overshot, merely causing a slight wound. the next instant the stag charged at me from the cover of the thickety fence corner. not having sense enough to take to the nearest protection, i turned and ran like a scared wolf across the field, the hog following me like a hound. my father risked a running shot, which missed its target. the darkies were yelling, "run, chile! run, mars' reed! shoot! shoot!" when it occurred to me that i had a pistol; and pointing it backward as i ran, i blazed away, killing the big fellow in his tracks. the other occasion was years afterward, when i was a trail foreman at abilene, kansas. my herd had arrived at that market in bad condition, gaunted from almost constant stampedes at night, and i had gone into camp some distance from town to quiet and recuperate them. that day i was sending home about half my men, had taken them to the depot with our wagon, and intended hauling back a load of supplies to my camp. after seeing the boys off i hastened about my other business, and near the middle of the afternoon started out of town. the distance to camp was nearly twenty miles, and with a heavy load, principally salt, i knew it would be after nightfall when i reached there. about five miles out of town there was a long, gradual slope to climb, and i had to give the through team their time in pulling to its summit. near the divide was a small box house, the only one on the road if i remember rightly, and as i was nearing it, four or five dogs ran out and scared my team. i managed to hold them in the road, but they refused to quiet down, kicking, rearing, and plunging in spite of their load; and once as they jerked me forward, i noticed there was a dog or two under the wagon, nipping at their heels. there was a six-shooter lying on the seat beside me, and reaching forward i fired it downward over the end gate of the wagon. by the merest accident i hit a dog, who raised a cry, and the last i saw of him he was spinning like a top and howling like a wolf. i quieted the team as soon as possible, and as i looked back, there was a man and woman pursuing me, the latter in the lead. i had gumption enough to know that they were the owners of the dog, and whipped up the horses in the hope of getting away from them. but the grade and the load were against me, and the next thing i knew, a big, bony woman, with fire in her eye, was reaching for me. the wagon wheel warded her off, and i leaned out of her reach to the far side, yet she kept abreast of me, constantly calling for her husband to hurry up. i was pouring the whip into the horses, fearful lest she would climb into the wagon, when the hub of the front wheel struck her on the knee, knocking her down. i was then nearing the summit of the divide, and on reaching it, i looked back and saw the big woman giving her husband the pommeling that was intended for me. she was altogether too near me yet, and i shook the lines over the horses, firing a few shots to frighten them, and we tore down the farther slope like a fire engine. there are two events in my life that this chronicle will not fully record. one of them is my courtship and marriage, and the other my connection with a government contract with the indian department. otherwise my life shall be as an open book, not only for my own posterity, but that he who runs may read. it has been a matter of observation with me that a plain man like myself scarcely ever refers to his love affairs. at my time of life, now nearing my alloted span, i have little sympathy with the great mass of fiction which exploits the world-old passion. in no sense of the word am i a well-read man, yet i am conscious of the fact that during my younger days the love story interested me; but when compared with the real thing, the transcript is usually a poor one. my wife and i have now walked up and down the paths of life for over thirty-five years, and, if memory serves me right, neither one of us has ever mentioned the idea of getting a divorce. in youth we shared our crust together; children soon blessed and brightened our humble home, and to-day, surrounded by every comfort that riches can bestow, no achievement in life has given me such great pleasure, i know no music so sweet, as the prattle of my own grandchildren. therefore that feature of my life is sacred, and will not be disclosed in these pages. i would omit entirely mention of the indian contract, were it not that old friends may read this, my biography, and wonder at the omission. i have no apologies to offer for my connection with the transaction, as its true nature was concealed from me in the beginning, and a scandal would have resulted had i betrayed friends. then again, before general amnesty was proclaimed i was debarred from bidding on the many rich government contracts for cattle because i had served in the confederate army. smarting under this injustice at the time the indian contract was awarded, i question if i was thoroughly _reconstructed._ before our disabilities were removed, we ex-confederates could do all the work, run all the risk, turn in all the cattle in filling the outstanding contracts, but the middleman got the profits. the contract in question was a blanket one, requiring about fifty thousand cows for delivery at some twenty indian agencies. the use of my name was all that was required of me, as i was the only cowman in the entire ring. my duty was to bid on the contract; the bonds would be furnished by my partners, of which i must have had a dozen. the proposals called for sealed bids, in the usual form, to be in the hands of the department of the interior before noon on a certain day, marked so and so, and to be opened at high noon a week later. the contract was a large one, the competition was ample. several other texas drovers besides myself had submitted bids; but they stood no show--_i had been furnished the figures of every competitor._ the ramifications of the ring of which i was the mere figure-head can be readily imagined. i sublet the contract to the next lowest bidder, who delivered the cattle, and we got a rake-off of a clean hundred thousand dollars. even then there was little in the transaction for me, as it required too many people to handle it, and none of them stood behind the door at the final "divvy." in a single year i have since cleared twenty times what my interest amounted to in that contract and have done honorably by my fellowmen. that was my first, last, and only connection with a transaction that would need deodorizing if one described the details. but i have seen life, have been witness to its poetry and pathos, have drunk from the cup of sorrow and rejoiced as a strong man to run a race. i have danced all night where wealth and beauty mingled, and again under the stars on a battlefield i have helped carry a stretcher when the wails of the wounded on every hand were like the despairing cries of lost souls. i have seen an old demented man walking the streets of a city, picking up every scrap of paper and scanning it carefully to see if a certain ship had arrived at port--a ship which had been lost at sea over forty years before, and aboard of which were his wife and children. i was once under the necessity of making a payment of twenty-five thousand dollars in silver at an indian village. there were no means of transportation, and i was forced to carry the specie in on eight pack mules. the distance was nearly two hundred miles, and as we neared the encampment we were under the necessity of crossing a shallow river. it was summer-time, and as we halted the tired mules to loosen the lash ropes, in order to allow them to drink, a number of indian children of both sexes, who were bathing in the river, gathered naked on either embankment in bewilderment at such strange intruders. in the innocence of these children of the wild there was no doubt inspiration for a poet; but our mission was a commercial one, and we relashed the mules and hurried into the village with the rent money. i have never kept a diary. one might wonder that the human mind could contain such a mass of incident and experiences as has been my portion, yet i can remember the day and date of occurrences of fifty years ago. the scoldings of my father, the kind words of an indulgent mother, when not over five years of age, are vivid in my memory as i write to-day. it may seem presumptuous, but i can give the year and date of starting, arrival, and delivery of over one hundred herds of cattle which i drove over the trail as a common hand, foreman, or owner. yet the warnings of years--the unsteady step, easily embarrassed, love of home and dread of leaving it--bid me hasten these memoirs. even my old wounds act as a barometer in foretelling the coming of storms, as well as the change of season, from both of which i am comfortably sheltered. but as i look into the inquiring eyes of a circle of grandchildren, all anxious to know my life story, it seems to sweeten the task, and i am encouraged to go on with the work. chapter ii my apprenticeship during the winter of - i corresponded with several of my old comrades in texas. beyond a welcome which could not be questioned, little encouragement was, with one exception, offered me among my old friends. it was a period of uncertainty throughout the south, yet a cheerful word reached me from an old soldier crony living some distance west of fort worth on the brazos river. i had great confidence in my former comrade, and he held out a hope, assuring me that if i would come, in case nothing else offered, we could take his ox teams the next winter and bring in a cargo of buffalo robes. the plains to the westward of fort griffin, he wrote, were swarming with buffalo, and wages could be made in killing them for their hides. this caught my fancy and i was impatient to start at once; but the healing of my reopened wound was slow, and it was march before i started. my brother gave me a good horse and saddle, twenty-five dollars in gold, and i started through a country unknown to me personally. southern missouri had been in sympathy with the confederacy, and whatever i needed while traveling through that section was mine for the asking. i avoided the indian territory until i reached fort smith, where i rested several days with an old comrade, who gave me instructions and routed me across the reservation of the choctaw indians, and i reached paris, texas, without mishap. i remember the feeling that i experienced while being ferried across red river. that watercourse was the northern boundary of texas, and while crossing it i realized that i was leaving home and friends and entering a country the very name of which to the outside world was a synonym for crime and outlawry. yet some of as good men as ever it was my pleasure to know came from that state, and undaunted i held a true course for my destination. i was disappointed on seeing fort worth, a straggling village on the trinity river, and, merely halting to feed my mount, passed on. i had a splendid horse and averaged thirty to forty miles a day when traveling, and early in april reached the home of my friend in paolo pinto county. the primitive valley of the brazos was enchanting, and the hospitality of the edwards ranch was typical of my own virginia. george edwards, my crony, was a year my junior, a native of the state, his parents having moved west from mississippi the year after texas won her independence from mexico. the elder edwards had moved to his present home some fifteen years previous, carrying with him a stock of horses and cattle, which had increased until in he was regarded as one of the substantial ranchmen in the brazos valley. the ranch house was a stanch one, built at a time when defense was to be considered as well as comfort, and was surrounded by fine cornfields. the only drawback i could see there was that there was no market for anything, nor was there any money in the country. the consumption of such a ranch made no impression on the increase of its herds, which grew to maturity with no demand for the surplus. i soon became impatient to do something. george edwards had likewise lost four years in the army, and was as restless as myself. he knew the country, but the only employment in sight for us was as teamsters with outfits, freighting government supplies to fort griffin. i should have jumped at the chance of driving oxen, for i was anxious to stay in the country, and suggested to george that we ride up to griffin. but the family interposed, assuring us that there was no occasion for engaging in such menial work, and we folded our arms obediently, or rode the range under the pretense of looking after the cattle. i might as well admit right here that my anxiety to get away from the edwards ranch was fostered by the presence of several sisters of my former comrade. miss gertrude was only four years my junior, a very dangerous age, and in spite of all resolutions to the contrary, i felt myself constantly slipping. nothing but my poverty and the hopelessness of it kept me from falling desperately in love. but a temporary relief came during the latter part of may. reports came down the river that a firm of drovers were putting up a herd of cattle for delivery at fort sumner, new mexico. their headquarters were at belknap, a long day's ride above, on the brazos; and immediately, on receipt of the news, george and i saddled, and started up the river. the elder edwards was very anxious to sell his beef-cattle and a surplus of cow-horses, and we were commissioned to offer them to the drovers at prevailing prices. on arriving at belknap we met the pioneer drover of texas, oliver loving, of the firm of loving & goodnight, but were disappointed to learn that the offerings in making up the herd were treble the drover's requirements; neither was there any chance to sell horses. but an application for work met with more favor. mr. loving warned us of the nature of the country, the dangers to be encountered, all of which we waived, and were accordingly employed at forty dollars a month in gold. the herd was to start early in june. george edwards returned home to report, but i was immediately put to work, as the junior member of the firm was then out receiving cattle. they had established a camp, and at the time of our employment were gathering beef steers in loving's brand and holding the herd as it arrived, so that i was initiated into my duties at once. i was allowed to retain my horse, provided he did his share of the work. a mule and three range horses were also allotted to me, and i was cautioned about their care. there were a number of saddle mules in the remuda, and mr. loving explained that the route was through a dry country, and that experience had taught him that a mule could withstand thirst longer than a horse. i was a new man in the country, and absorbed every word and idea as a sponge does water. with the exception of roping, i made a hand from the start. the outfit treated me courteously, there was no concealment of my past occupation, and i soon had the friendship of every man in the camp. it was some little time before i met the junior partner, charlie goodnight, a strapping young fellow of about thirty, who had served all through the war in the frontier battalion of texas rangers. the comanche indians had been a constant menace on the western frontier of the state, and during the rebellion had allied themselves with the federal side, and harassed the settlements along the border. it required a regiment of mounted men to patrol the frontier from red river to the coast, as the comanches claimed the whole western half of the state as their hunting grounds. early in june the herd began to assume its required numbers. george edwards returned, and we naturally became bunkies, sharing our blankets and having the same guard on night-herd. the drovers encouraged all the men employed to bring along their firearms, and when we were ready to start the camp looked like an arsenal. i had a six-shooter, and my bunkie brought me a needle-gun from the ranch, so that i felt armed for any emergency. each of the men had a rifle of some make or other, while a few of them had as many as four pistols,--two in their belts and two in saddle holsters. it looked to me as if this was to be a military expedition, and i began to wonder if i had not had enough war the past few years, but kept quiet. the start was made june , , from the brazos river, in what is now young county, the herd numbering twenty-two hundred big beeves. a chuck-wagon, heavily loaded with supplies and drawn by six yoke of fine oxen, a remuda of eighty-five saddle horses and mules, together with seventeen men, constituted the outfit. fort sumner lay to the northwest, and i was mildly surprised when the herd bore off to the southwest. this was explained by young goodnight, who was in charge of the herd, saying that the only route then open or known was on our present course to the pecos river, and thence up that stream to our destination. indian sign was noticed a few days after starting. goodnight and loving both read it as easily as if it had been print,--the abandoned camps, the course of arrival and departure, the number of horses, indicating who and what they were, war or hunting parties--everything apparently simple and plain as an alphabet to these plainsmen. around the camp-fire at night the chronicle of the comanche tribe for the last thirty years was reviewed, and their overbearing and defiant attitude towards the people of texas was discussed, not for my benefit, as it was common history. then for the first time i learned that the comanches had once mounted ten thousand warriors, had frequently raided the country to the coast, carrying off horses and white children, even dictating their own terms of peace to the republic of texas. at the last council, called for the purpose of negotiating for the return of captive white children in possession of the comanches, the assembly had witnessed a dramatic termination. the same indignity had been offered before, and borne by the whites, too weak to resist the numbers of the comanche tribe. in this latter instance, one of the war chiefs, in spurning the remuneration offered for the return of a certain white girl, haughtily walked into the centre of the council, where an insult could be seen by all. his act, a disgusting one, was anticipated, as it was not the first time it had been witnessed, when one of the texans present drew a six-shooter and killed the chief in the act. the hatchet of the comanche was instantly dug up, and had not been buried at the time we were crossing a country claimed by him as his hunting ground. yet these drovers seemed to have no fear of an inferior race. we held our course without a halt, scarcely a day passing without seeing more or less fresh sign of indians. after crossing the south fork of the brazos, we were attacked one morning just at dawn, the favorite hour of the indian for a surprise. four men were on herd with the cattle and one near by with the remuda, our night horses all securely tied to the wagon wheels. a feint attack was made on the commissary, but under the leadership of goodnight a majority of us scrambled into our saddles and rode to the rescue of the remuda, the chief objective of the surprise. two of the boys from the herd had joined the horse wrangler, and on our arrival all three were wickedly throwing lead at the circling indians. the remuda was running at the time, and as we cut through between it and the savages we gave them the benefit of our rifles and six-shooter in passing. the shots turned the saddle stock back towards our camp and the mounted braves continued on their course, not willing to try issues with us, although they outnumbered us three to one. a few arrows had imbedded themselves in the ground around camp at the first assault, but once our rifles were able to distinguish an object clearly, the indians kept well out of reach. the cattle made a few surges, but once the remuda was safe, there was an abundance of help in holding them, and they quieted down before sunrise. the comanches had no use for cattle, except to kill and torture them, as they preferred the flesh of the buffalo, and once our saddle stock and the contents of the wagon were denied them, they faded into the dips of the plain. the journey was resumed without the delay of an hour. our first brush with the noble red man served a good purpose, as we were doubly vigilant thereafter whenever there was cause to expect an attack. there was an abundance of water, as we followed up the south fork and its tributaries, passing through buffalo gap, which was afterward a well-known landmark on the texas and montana cattle trail. passing over the divide between the waters of the brazos and concho, we struck the old butterfield stage route, running by way of fort concho to el paso, texas, on the rio grande. this stage road was the original staked plain, surveyed and located by general john pope in . the route was originally marked by stakes, until it became a thoroughfare, from which the whole of northwest texas afterward took its name. there was a ninety-six mile dry drive between the headwaters of the concho and horsehead crossing on the pecos, and before attempting it we rested a few days. here indians made a second attack on us, and although as futile as the first, one of the horse wranglers received an arrow in the shoulder. in attempting to remove it the shaft separated from the steel arrowhead, leaving the latter imbedded in the lad's shoulder. we were then one hundred and twelve miles distant from fort concho, the nearest point where medical relief might be expected. the drovers were alarmed for the man's welfare; it was impossible to hold the herd longer, so the young fellow volunteered to make the ride alone. he was given the best horse in the remuda, and with the falling of darkness started for fort concho. i had the pleasure of meeting him afterward, as happy as he was hale and hearty. the start across the arid stretch was made at noon. every hoof had been thoroughly watered in advance, and with the heat of summer on us it promised to be an ordeal to man and beast. but loving had driven it before, and knew fully what was before him as we trailed out under a noonday sun. an evening halt was made for refreshing the inner man, and as soon as darkness settled over us the herd was again started. we were conscious of the presence of indians, and deceived them by leaving our camp-fire burning, but holding our effects closely together throughout the night, the remuda even mixing with the cattle. when day broke we were fully thirty miles from our noon camp of the day before, yet with the exception of an hour's rest there was never a halt. a second day and night were spent in forging ahead, though it is doubtful if we averaged much over a mile an hour during that time. about fifteen miles out from the pecos we were due to enter a cañon known as castle mountain gap, some three or four miles long, the exit of which was in sight of the river. we were anxious to reach the entrance of this cañon before darkness on the third day, as we could then cut the cattle into bunches, the cliffs on either side forming a lane. our horses were as good as worthless during the third day, but the saddle mules seemed to stand grief nobly, and by dint of ceaseless effort we reached the cañon and turned the cattle loose into it. this was the turning-point in the dry drive. that night two men took half the remuda and went through to horsehead crossing, returning with them early the next morning, and we once more had fresh mounts. the herd had been nursed through the cañon during the night, and although it was still twelve miles to the river, i have always believed that those beeves knew that water was at hand. they walked along briskly; instead of the constant moaning, their heads were erect, bawling loud and deep. the oxen drawing the wagon held their chains taut, and the commissary moved forward as if drawn by a fresh team. there was no attempt to hold the herd compactly, and within an hour after starting on our last lap the herd was strung out three miles. the rear was finally abandoned, and when half the distance was covered, the drag cattle to the number of fully five hundred turned out of the trail and struck direct for the river. they had scented the water over five miles, and as far as control was concerned the herd was as good as abandoned, except that the water would hold them. horsehead crossing was named by general pope. there is a difference of opinion as to the origin of the name, some contending that it was due to the meanderings of the river, forming a horse's head, and others that the surveying party was surprised by indians and lost their stock. none of us had slept for three nights, and the feeling of relief on reaching the pecos, shared alike by man and beast, is indescribable. unless one has endured such a trial, only a faint idea of its hardships can be fully imagined--the long hours of patient travel at a snail's pace, enveloped by clouds of dust by day, and at night watching every shadow for a lurking savage. i have since slept many a time in the saddle, but in crossing that arid belt the one consuming desire to reach the water ahead benumbed every sense save watchfulness. all the cattle reached the river before the middle of the afternoon, covering a front of five or six miles. the banks of the pecos were abrupt, there being fully one hundred and twenty-five feet of deep water in the channel at the stage crossing. entrance to the ford consisted of a wagon-way, cut through the banks, and the cattle crowded into the river above and below, there being but one exit on either side. some miles above, the beeves had found several passageways down to the water, but in drifting up and down stream they missed these entrances on returning. a rally was made late that afternoon to rout the cattle out of the river-bed, one half the outfit going above, the remainder working around horsehead, where the bulk of the herd had watered. i had gone upstream with goodnight, but before we reached the upper end of the cattle fresh indian sign was noticed. there was enough broken country along the river to shelter the redskins, but we kept in the open and cautiously examined every brake within gunshot of an entrance to the river. we succeeded in getting all the animals out of the water before dark, with the exception of one bunch, where the exit would require the use of a mattock before the cattle could climb it, and a few head that had bogged in the quicksand below horsehead crossing. there was little danger of a rise in the river, the loose contingent had a dry sand-bar on which to rest, and as the indians had no use for them there was little danger of their being molested before morning. we fell back about a mile from the river and camped for the night. although we were all dead for sleep, extra caution was taken to prevent a surprise, either goodnight or loving remaining on guard over the outfit, seeing that the men kept awake on herd and that the guards changed promptly. charlie goodnight owned a horse that he contended could scent an indian five hundred yards, and i have never questioned the statement. he had used him in the ranger service. the horse by various means would show his uneasiness in the immediate presence of indians, and once the following summer we moved camp at midnight on account of the warnings of that same horse. we had only a remuda with us at the time, but another outfit encamped with us refused to go, and they lost half their horses from an indian surprise the next morning and never recovered them. i remember the ridicule which was expressed at our moving camp on the warnings of a horse. "injun-bit," "man-afraid-of-his-horses," were some of the terms applied to us,--yet the practical plainsman knew enough to take warning from his dumb beast. fear, no doubt, gives horses an unusual sense of smell, and i have known them to detect the presence of a bear, on a favorable wind, at an incredible distance. the night passed quietly, and early the next morning we rode to recover the remainder of the cattle. an effort was also made to rescue the bogged ones. on approaching the river, we found the beeves still resting quietly on the sand-bar. but we had approached them at an angle, for directly over head and across the river was a brake overgrown with thick brush, a splendid cover in which indians might be lurking in the hope of ambushing any one who attempted to drive out the beeves. two men were left with a single mattock to cut out and improve the exit, while the rest of us reconnoitered the thickety motte across the river. goodnight was leery of the thicket, and suggested firing a few shots into it. we all had long-range guns, the distance from bank to bank was over two hundred yards, and a fusillade of shots was accordingly poured into the motte. to my surprise we were rewarded by seeing fully twenty indians skulk out of the upper end of the cover. every man raised his sights and gave them a parting volley, but a mesquite thicket, in which their horses were secreted, soon sheltered them and they fell back into the hills on the western side of the river. with the coast thus cleared, half a dozen of us rode down into the river-bed and drove out the last contingent of about three hundred cattle. goodnight informed us that those indians had no doubt been watching us for days, and cautioned us never to give a comanche an advantage, advice which i never forgot. on our return every one of the bogged cattle had been freed except two heavy beeves. these animals were mired above the ford, in rather deep water, and it was simply impossible to release them. the drovers were anxious to cross the river that afternoon, and a final effort was made to rescue the two steers. the oxen were accordingly yoked, and, with all the chain available, were driven into the river and fastened on to the nearest one. three mounted drivers had charge of the team, and when the word was given six yoke of cattle bowed their necks and threw their weight against the yokes; but the quicksand held the steer in spite of all their efforts. the chain was freed from it, and the oxen were brought around and made fast again, at an angle and where the footing was better for the team. again the word was given, and as the six yoke swung round, whips and ropes were plied amid a general shouting, and the team brought out the steer, but with a broken neck. there were no regrets, and our attention was at once given to the other steer. the team circled around, every available chain was brought into use, in order to afford the oxen good footing on a straight-away pull with the position in which the beef lay bogged. the word was given for an easy pull, the oxen barely stretched their chains, and were stopped. goodnight cautioned the drivers that unless the pull was straight ahead another neck would be broken. a second trial was made; the oxen swung and weaved, the chains fairly cried, the beef's head went under water, but the team was again checked in time to keep the steer from drowning. after a breathing spell for oxen and victim, the call was made for a rush. a driver was placed over every yoke and the word given, and the oxen fell to their knees in the struggle, whips cracked over their backs, ropes were plied by every man in charge, and, amid a din of profanity applied to the struggling cattle, the team fell forward in a general collapse. at first it was thought the chain had parted, but as the latter came out of the water it held in its iron grasp the horns and a portion of the skull of the dying beef. several of us rode out to the victim, whose brain lay bare, still throbbing and twitching with life. rather than allow his remains to pollute the river, we made a last pull at an angle, and the dead beef was removed. we bade horsehead crossing farewell that afternoon and camped for the night above dagger bend. our route now lay to the northwest, or up the pecos river. we were then out twenty-one days from belknap, and although only half way to our destination, the worst of it was considered over. there was some travel up and down the pecos valley, the route was even then known as the chisum trail, and afterward extended as far north as fort logan in colorado and other government posts in wyoming. this cattle trace should never be confounded with the chisholm trail, first opened by a half-breed named jesse chisholm, which ran from red river station on the northern boundary of texas to various points in kansas. in cutting across the bends of the rio pecos we secured water each day for the herd, although we were frequently under the necessity of sloping down the banks with mattocks to let the cattle into the river. by this method it often took us three or four hours to water the herd. until we neared fort sumner precaution never relaxed against an indian surprise. their sign was seen almost daily, but as there were weaker outfits than ours passing through we escaped any further molestation. the methods of handling such a herd were a constant surprise to me, as well as the schooling of these plainsmen drovers. goodnight had come to the plains when a boy of ten, and was a thorough master of their secrets. on one occasion, about midway between horsehead crossing and our destination, difficulty was encountered in finding an entrance to the river on account of its abrupt banks. it was late in the day, and in order to insure a quiet night with the cattle water became an urgent necessity. our young foreman rode ahead and found a dry, sandy creek, its bed fully fifty yards wide, but no water, though the sand was damp. the herd was held back until sunset, when the cattle were turned into the creek bed and held as compactly as possible. the heavy beeves naturally walked back and forth, up and down, the sand just moist enough to aggravate them after a day's travel under a july sun. but the tramping soon agitated the sands, and within half an hour after the herd had entered the dry creek the water arose in pools, and the cattle drank to their hearts' content. as dew falls at night, moisture likewise rises in the earth, and with the twilight hour, the agitation of the sands, and the weight of the cattle, a spring was produced in the desert waste. fort sumner was a six-company post and the agency of the apaches and navajos. these two tribes numbered over nine thousand people, and our herd was intended to supply the needs of the military post and these indians. the contract was held by patterson & roberts, eligible by virtue of having cast their fortunes with the victor in "the late unpleasantness," and otherwise fine men. we reached the post on the th of july. there was a delay of several days before the cattle were accepted, but all passed the inspection with the exception of about one hundred head. these were cattle which had not recuperated from the dry drive. some few were footsore or thin in flesh, but taken as a whole the delivery had every earmark of an honest one. fortunately this remnant was sold a few days later to some colorado men, and we were foot-loose and free. even the oxen had gone in on the main delivery, and harnesses were accordingly bought, a light tongue fitted to the wagon, and we were ready to start homeward. mules were substituted for the oxen, and we averaged forty miles a day returning, almost itching for an indian attack, as we had supplied ourselves with ammunition from the post sutler. the trip had been a financial success (the government was paying ten cents a pound for beef on foot), friendly relations had been established with the holders of the award, and we hastened home to gather and drive another herd. chapter iii a second trip to fort sumner on the return trip we traveled mainly by night. the proceeds from the sale of the herd were in the wagon, and had this fact been known it would have been a tempting prize for either bandits or indians. after leaving horsehead crossing we had the advantage of the dark of the moon, as it was a well-known fact that the comanches usually choose moonlight nights for their marauding expeditions. another thing in our favor, both going and returning, was the lightness of travel westward, it having almost ceased during the civil war, though in ' it showed a slight prospect of resumption. small bands of indians were still abroad on horse-stealing forays, but the rich prizes of wagon trains bound for el paso or santa fé no longer tempted the noble red man in force. this was favorable wind to our sail, but these plainsmen drovers predicted that, once traffic westward was resumed, the comanche and his ally would be about the first ones to know it. the redskins were constantly passing back and forth, to and from their reservation in the indian territory, and news travels fast even among savages. we reached the brazos river early in august. as the second start was not to be made until the latter part of the following month, a general settlement was made with the men and all reëngaged for the next trip. i received eighty dollars in gold as my portion, it being the first money i ever earned as a citizen. the past two months were a splendid experience for one going through a formative period, and i had returned feeling that i was once more a man among men. all the uncertainty as to my future had fallen from me, and i began to look forward to the day when i also might be the owner of lands and cattle. there was no good reason why i should not, as the range was as free as it was boundless. there were any quantity of wild cattle in the country awaiting an owner, and a good mount of horses, a rope, and a branding iron were all the capital required to start a brand. i knew the success which my father had made in virginia before the war and had seen it repeated on a smaller scale by my elder brother in missouri, but here was a country which discounted both of those in rearing cattle without expense. under the best reasoning at my command, i had reached the promised land, and henceforth determined to cast my fortunes with texas. rather than remain idle around the loving headquarters for a month, i returned with george edwards to his home. altogether too cordial a welcome was extended us, but i repaid the hospitality of the ranch by relating our experiences of trail and indian surprise. miss gertrude was as charming as ever, but the trip to sumner and back had cooled my ardor and i behaved myself as an acceptable guest should. the time passed rapidly, and on the last day of the month we returned to belknap. active preparations were in progress for the driving of the second herd, oxen had been secured, and a number of extra fine horses were already added to the saddle stock. the remuda had enjoyed a good month's rest and were in strong working flesh, and within a few days all the boys reported for duty. the senior member of the firm was the owner of a large number of range cattle, and it was the intention to round up and gather as many of his beeves as possible for the coming drive. we should have ample time to do this; by waiting until the latter part of the month for starting, it was believed that few indians would be encountered, as the time was nearing for their annual buffalo hunt for robes and a supply of winter meat. this was a gala occasion with the tribes which depended on the bison for food and clothing; and as the natural hunting grounds of the comanches and kiowas lay south of red river, the drovers considered that that would be an opportune time to start. the indians would no doubt confine their operations to the first few tiers of counties in texas, as the robes and dried meat would tax the carrying capacity of their horses returning, making it an object to kill their supplies as near their winter encampment as possible. some twenty days were accordingly spent in gathering beeves along the main brazos and clear fork. our herd consisted of about a thousand in the straight ranch brand, and after receiving and road-branding five hundred outside cattle we were ready to start. sixteen men constituted our numbers, the horses were culled down until but five were left to the man, and with the previous armament the start was made. never before or since have i enjoyed such an outing as this was until we struck the dry drive on approaching the pecos river. the absence of the indians was correctly anticipated, and either their presence elsewhere, preying on the immense buffalo herds, or the drift of the seasons, had driven countless numbers of that animal across our pathway. there were days and days that we were never out of sight of the feeding myriads of these shaggy brutes, and at night they became a menace to our sleeping herd. during the day, when the cattle were strung out in trail formation, we had difficulty in keeping the two species separated, but we shelled the buffalo right and left and moved forward. frequently, when they occupied the country ahead of us, several men rode forward and scattered them on either hand until a right of way was effected for the cattle to pass. while they remained with us we killed our daily meat from their numbers, and several of the boys secured fine robes. they were very gentle, but when occasion required could give a horse a good race, bouncing along, lacking grace in flight. our cook was a negro. one day as we were nearing buffalo gap, a number of big bulls, attracted by the covered wagon, approached the commissary, the canvas sheet of which shone like a white flag. the wagon was some distance in the rear, and as the buffalo began to approach it they would scare and circle around, but constantly coming nearer the object of their curiosity. the darky finally became alarmed for fear they would gore his oxen, and unearthed an old creedmoor rifle which he carried in the wagon. the gun could be heard for miles, and when the cook opened on the playful denizens of the plain, a number of us hurried back, supposing it was an indian attack. when within a quarter-mile of the wagon and the situation became clear, we took it more leisurely, but the fusillade never ceased until we rode up and it dawned on the darky's mind that rescue was at hand. he had halted his team, and from a secure position in the front end of the wagon had shot down a dozen buffalo bulls. pure curiosity and the blood of their comrades had kept them within easy range of the murderous creedmoor; and the frenzied negro, supposing that his team might be attacked any moment, had mown down a circle of the innocent animals. we charged and drove away the remainder, after which we formed a guard of honor in escorting the commissary until its timid driver overtook the herd. the last of the buffalo passed out of sight before we reached the headwaters of the concho. in crossing the dry drive approaching the pecos we were unusually fortunate. as before, we rested in advance of starting, and on the evening of the second day out several showers fell, cooling the atmosphere until the night was fairly chilly. the rainfall continued all the following day in a gentle mist, and with little or no suffering to man or beast early in the afternoon we entered the cañon known as castle mountain gap, and the dry drive was virtually over. horsehead crossing was reached early the next morning, the size of the herd making it possible to hold it compactly, and thus preventing any scattering along that stream. there had been no freshets in the river since june, and the sandy sediment had solidified, making a safe crossing for both herd and wagon. after the usual rest of a few days, the herd trailed up the pecos with scarcely an incident worthy of mention. early in november we halted some distance below fort sumner, where we were met by mr. loving,--who had gone on to the post in our advance,--with the report that other cattle had just been accepted, and that there was no prospect of an immediate delivery. in fact, the outlook was anything but encouraging, unless we wintered ours and had them ready for the first delivery in the spring. the herd was accordingly turned back to bosque grande on the river, and we went into permanent quarters. there was a splendid winter range all along the pecos, and we loose-herded the beeves or rode lines in holding them in the different bends of the river, some of which were natural inclosures. there was scarcely any danger of indian molestation during the winter months, and with the exception of a few severe "northers" which swept down the valley, the cattle did comparatively well. tents were secured at the post; corn was purchased for our saddle mules; and except during storms little or no privation was experienced during the winter in that southern climate. wood was plentiful in the grove in which we were encamped, and a huge fireplace was built out of clay and sticks in the end of each tent, assuring us comfort against the elements. the monotony of existence was frequently broken by the passing of trading caravans, both up and down the river. there was a fair trade with the interior of mexico, as well as in various settlements along the rio grande and towns in northern new mexico. when other means of diversion failed we had recourse to sumner, where a sutler's bar and gambling games flourished. but the most romantic traveler to arrive or pass during the winter was captain burleson, late of the confederacy. as a sportsman the captain was a gem of the first water, carrying with him, besides a herd of nearly a thousand cattle, three race-horses, several baskets of fighting chickens, and a pack of hounds. he had a large mexican outfit in charge of his cattle, which were in bad condition on their arrival in march, he having drifted about all winter, gambling, racing his horses, and fighting his chickens. the herd represented his winnings. as we had nothing to match, all we could offer was our hospitality. captain burleson went into camp below us on the river and remained our neighbor until we rounded up and broke camp in the spring. he had been as far west as el paso during the winter, and was then drifting north in the hope of finding a market for his herd. we indulged in many hunts, and i found him the true gentleman and sportsman in every sense of the word. as i recall him now, he was a lovable vagabond, and for years afterward stories were told around fort sumner of his wonderful nerve as a poker player. early in april an opportunity occurred for a delivery of cattle to the post. ours were the only beeves in sight, those of captain burleson not qualifying, and a round-up was made and the herd tendered for inspection. only eight hundred were received, which was quite a disappointment to the drovers, as at least ninety per cent of the tender filled every qualification. the motive in receiving the few soon became apparent, when a stranger appeared and offered to buy the remaining seven hundred at a ridiculously low figure. but the drovers had grown suspicious of the contractors and receiving agent, and, declining the offer, went back and bought the herd of captain burleson. then, throwing the two contingents together, and boldly announcing their determination of driving to colorado, they started the herd out past fort sumner with every field-glass in the post leveled on us. the military requirements of sumner, for its own and indian use, were well known to the drovers, and a scarcity of beef was certain to occur at that post before other cattle could be bargained for and arrive. my employers had evidently figured out the situation to a nicety, for during the forenoon of the second day out from the fort we were overtaken by the contractors. of course they threw on the government inspector all the blame for the few cattle received, and offered to buy five or six hundred more out of the herd. but the shoe was on the other foot now, the drovers acting as independently as the proverbial hog on ice. the herd never halted, the contractors followed up, and when we went into camp that evening a trade was closed on one thousand steers at two dollars a head advance over those which were received but a few days before. the oxen were even reserved, and after delivering the beeves at sumner we continued on northward with the remnant, nearly all of which were the burleson cattle. the latter part of april we arrived at the colorado line. there we were halted by the authorities of that territory, under some act of quarantine against texas cattle. we went into camp on the nearest water, expecting to prove that our little herd had wintered at fort sumner, and were therefore immune from quarantine, when buyers arrived from trinidad, colorado. the steers were a mixed lot, running from a yearling to big, rough four and five year olds, and when goodnight returned from sumner with a certificate, attested to by every officer of that post, showing that the cattle had wintered north of latitude , a trade was closed at once, even the oxen going in at the phenomenal figures of one hundred and fifty dollars a yoke. we delivered the herd near trinidad, going into that town to outfit before returning. the necessary alterations were made to the wagon, mules were harnessed in, and we started home in gala spirits. in a little over thirty days my employers had more than doubled their money on the burleson cattle and were naturally jubilant. the proceeds of the trinidad sale were carried in the wagon returning, though we had not as yet collected for the second delivery at sumner. the songs of the birds mixed with our own as we traveled homeward, and the freshness of early summer on the primitive land, as it rolled away in dips and swells, made the trip a delightful outing. fort sumner was reached within a week, where we halted a day and then started on, having in the wagon a trifle over fifty thousand dollars in gold and silver. at sumner two men made application to accompany us back to texas, and as they were well armed and mounted, and numbers were an advantage, they were made welcome. our winter camp at bosque grande was passed with but a single glance as we dropped down the pecos valley at the rate of forty miles a day. little or no travel was encountered en route, nor was there any sign of indians until the afternoon of our reaching horsehead crossing. while passing dagger bend, four miles above the ford, goodnight and a number of us boys were riding several hundred yards in advance of the wagon, telling stories of old sweethearts. the road made a sudden bend around some sand-hills, and the advance guard had passed out of sight of the rear, when a fresh indian trail was cut; and as we reined in our mounts to examine the sign, we were fired on. the rifle-shots, followed by a flight of arrows, passed over us, and we took to shelter like flushed quail. i was riding a good saddle horse and bolted off on the opposite side of the road from the shooting; but in the scattering which ensued a number of mules took down the road. one of the two men picked up at the post was a german, whose mule stampeded after his mates, and who received a galling fire from the concealed indians, the rest of us turning to the nearest shelter. with the exception of this one man, all of us circled back through the mesquite brush and reached the wagon, which had halted. meanwhile the shooting had attracted the men behind, who charged through the sand-dunes, flanking the indians, who immediately decamped. security of the remuda and wagon was a first consideration, and danger of an ambush prevented our men from following up the redskins. order was soon restored, when we proceeded, and shortly met the young german coming back up the road, who merely remarked on meeting us, "dem injuns shot at me." the indians had evidently not been expecting us. from where they turned out and where the attack was made we back-trailed them in the road for nearly a mile. they had simply heard us coming, and, supposing that the advance guard was all there was in the party, had made the attack and were in turn themselves surprised at our numbers. but the warning was henceforth heeded, and on reaching the crossing more indian sign was detected. several large parties had evidently crossed the river that morning, and were no doubt at that moment watching us from the surrounding hills. the cañon of castle mountain gap was well adapted for an indian ambush; and as it was only twelve miles from the ford to its mouth, we halted within a short distance of the entrance, as if encamping for the night. all the horses under saddle were picketed fully a quarter mile from the wagon,--easy marks for poor lo,--and the remuda was allowed to wander at will, an air of perfect carelessness prevailing in the camp. from the sign which we had seen that day, there was little doubt but there were in the neighborhood of five hundred indians in the immediate vicinity of horsehead crossing, and we did everything we could to create the impression that we were tender-feet. but with the falling of darkness every horse was brought in and we harnessed up and started, leaving the fire burning to identify our supposed camp. the drovers gave our darky cook instructions, in case of an attack while passing through the gap, never to halt his team, but push ahead for the plain. about one third of us took the immediate lead of the wagon, the remuda following closely, and the remainder of the men bringing up the rear. the moon was on the wane and would not rise until nearly midnight, and for the first few miles, or until we entered the cañon, there was scarce a sound to disturb the stillness of the night. the sandy road even muffled the noise of the wagon and the tramping of horses; but once we entered that rocky cañon, the rattling of our commissary seemed to summon every comanche and his ally to come and rob us. there was never a halt, the reverberations of our caravan seeming to reëcho through the gap, resounding forward and back, until our progress must have been audible at horsehead crossing. but the expected never happens, and within an hour we reached the summit of the plain, where the country was open and clear and an attack could have been easily repelled. four fresh mules had been harnessed in for the night, and striking a free gait, we put twenty miles of that arid stretch behind us before the moon rose. a short halt was made after midnight, for a change of teams and saddle horses, and then we continued our hurried travel until near dawn. some indistinct objects in our front caused us to halt. it looked like a caravan, and we hailed it without reply. several of us dismounted and crept forward, but the only sign of life was a dull, buzzing sound which seemed to issue from an outfit of parked wagons. the report was laid before the two drovers, who advised that we await the dawn, which was then breaking, as it was possible that the caravan had been captured and robbed by indians. a number of us circled around to the farther side, and as we again approached the wagons in the uncertain light we hailed again and received in reply a shot, which cut off the upper lobe of one of the boys' ears. we hugged the ground for some little time, until the presence of our outfit was discovered by the lone guardian of the caravan, who welcomed us. he apologized, saying that on awakening he supposed we were indians, not having heard our previous challenge, and fired on us under the impulse of the moment. he was a well-known trader by the name of "honey" allen, and was then on his way to el paso, having pulled out on the dry stretch about twenty-five miles and sent his oxen back to water. his present cargo consisted of pecans, honey, and a large number of colonies of live bees, the latter having done the buzzing on our first reconnoitre. at his destination, so he informed us, the pecans were worth fifty cents a quart, the honey a dollar a pound, and the bees one hundred dollars a hive. after repairing the damaged ear, we hurried on, finding allen's oxen lying around the water on our arrival. i met him several years afterward in denver, colorado, dressed to kill, barbered, and highly perfumed. he had just sold eighteen hundred two-year-old steers and had twenty-five thousand dollars in the bank. "son, let me tell you something," said he, as we were taking a drink together; "that pecos country was a dangerous region to pick up an honest living in. i'm going back to god's country,--back where there ain't no injuns." yet allen died in texas. there was a charm in the frontier that held men captive. i always promised myself to return to virginia to spend the declining years of my life, but the fulfillment never came. i can now realize how idle was the expectation, having seen others make the attempt and fail. i recall the experience of an old cowman, laboring under a similar delusion, who, after nearly half a century in the southwest, concluded to return to the scenes of his boyhood. he had made a substantial fortune in cattle, and had fought his way through the vicissitudes of the frontier until success crowned his efforts. a large family had in the mean time grown up around him, and under the pretense of giving his children the advantages of an older and established community he sold his holdings and moved back to his native borough. within six months he returned to the straggling village which he had left on the plains, bringing the family with him. shortly afterwards i met him, and anxiously inquired the cause of his return. "well, reed," said he, "i can't make you understand near as well as though you had tried it yourself. you see i was a stranger in my native town. the people were all right, i reckon, but i found out that it was me who had changed. i tried to be sociable with them, but honest, reed, i just couldn't stand it in a country where no one ever asked you to take a drink." a week was spent in crossing the country between the concho and brazos rivers. not a day passed but indian trails were cut, all heading southward, and on a branch of the clear fork we nearly ran afoul of an encampment of forty teepees and lean-tos, with several hundred horses in sight. but we never varied our course a fraction, passing within a quarter mile of their camp, apparently indifferent as to whether they showed fight or allowed us to pass in peace. our bluff had the desired effect; but we made it an object to reach fort griffin near midnight before camping. the comanche and his ally were great respecters, not only of their own physical welfare, but of the henri and spencer rifle with which the white man killed the buffalo at the distance of twice the flight of an arrow. when every advantage was in his favor--ambush and surprise--lo was a warrior bold; otherwise he used discretion. chapter iv a fatal trip before leaving fort sumner an agreement had been entered into between my employers and the contractors for a third herd. the delivery was set for the first week in september, and twenty-five hundred beeves were agreed upon, with a liberal leeway above and below that number in case of accident en route. accordingly, on our return to loving's ranch active preparations were begun for the next drive. extra horses were purchased, several new guns of the most modern make were secured, and the gathering of cattle in loving's brand began at once, continuing for six weeks. we combed the hills and valleys along the main brazos, and then started west up the clear fork, carrying the beeves with us while gathering. the range was in prime condition, the cattle were fat and indolent, and with the exception of indian rumors there was not a cloud in the sky. our last camp was made a few miles above fort griffin. military protection was not expected, yet our proximity to that post was considered a security from indian interference, as at times not over half the outfit were with the herd. we had nearly completed our numbers when, one morning early in july, the redskins struck our camp with the violence of a cyclone. the attack occurred, as usual, about half an hour before dawn, and, to add to the difficulty of the situation, the cattle stampeded with the first shot fired. i was on last guard at the time, and conscious that it was an indian attack i unslung a new sharp's rifle and tore away in the lead of the herd. with the rumbling of over two thousand running cattle in my ears, hearing was out of the question, while my sense of sight was rendered useless by the darkness of the morning hour. yet i had some very distinct visions; not from the herd of frenzied beeves, thundering at my heels, but every shade and shadow in the darkness looked like a pursuing comanche. once i leveled my rifle at a shadow, but hesitated, when a flash from a six-shooter revealed the object to be one of our own men. i knew there were four of us with the herd when it stampeded, but if the rest were as badly bewildered as i was, it was dangerous even to approach them. but i had a king's horse under me and trusted my life to him, and he led the run until breaking dawn revealed our identity to each other. the presence of two other men with the running herd was then discovered. we were fully five miles from camp, and giving our attention to the running cattle we soon turned the lead. the main body of the herd was strung back for a mile, but we fell on the leaders right and left, and soon had them headed back for camp. in the mean time, and with the breaking of day, our trail had been taken up by both drovers and half a dozen men, who overtook us shortly after sun-up. a count was made and we had every hoof. a determined fight had occurred over the remuda and commissary, and three of the indians' ponies had been killed, while some thirty arrows had found lodgment in our wagon. there were no casualties in the cow outfit, and if any occurred among the redskins, the wounded or killed were carried away by their comrades before daybreak. all agreed that there were fully one hundred warriors in the attacking party, and as we slowly drifted the cattle back to camp doubt was expressed by the drovers whether it was advisable to drive the herd to its destination in midsummer with the comanches out on their old hunting grounds. a report of the attack was sent into griffin that morning, and a company of cavalry took up the indian trail, followed it until evening, and returned to the post during the night. approaching a government station was generally looked upon as an audacious act of the redskins, but the contempt of the comanche and his ally for citizen and soldier alike was well known on the texas frontier and excited little comment. several years later, in broad daylight, they raided the town of weatherford, untied every horse from the hitching racks, and defiantly rode away with their spoil. but the prevailing spirits in our camp were not the kind to yield to an inferior race, and, true to their obligation to the contractors, they pushed forward preparations to start the herd. within a week our numbers were completed, two extra men were secured, and on the morning of july , , we trailed out up the clear fork with a few over twenty-six hundred big beeves. it was the same old route to the southwest, there was a decided lack of enthusiasm over the start, yet never a word of discouragement escaped the lips of men or employers. i have never been a superstitious man, have never had a premonition of impending danger, always rather felt an enthusiasm in my undertakings, yet that morning when the flag over fort griffin faded from our view, i believe there was not a man in the outfit but realized that our journey would be disputed by indians. nor had we long to wait. near the juncture of elm creek with the main clear fork we were again attacked at the usual hour in the morning. the camp was the best available, and yet not a good one for defense, as the ground was broken by shallow draws and dry washes. there were about one hundred yards of clear space on three sides of the camp, while on the exposed side, and thirty yards distant, was a slight depression of several feet. fortunately we had a moment's warning, by several horses snorting and pawing the ground, which caused goodnight to quietly awake the men sleeping near him, who in turn were arousing the others, when a flight of arrows buried themselves in the ground around us and the war-whoop of the comanche sounded. ever cautious, we had studied the situation on encamping, and had tied our horses, cavalry fashion, to a heavy rope stretched from the protected side of the wagon to a high stake driven for the purpose. with the attack the majority of the men flung themselves into their saddles and started to the rescue of the remuda, while three others and myself, detailed in anticipation, ran for the ravine and dropped into it about forty yards above the wagon. we could easily hear the exultations of the redskins just below us in the shallow gorge, and an enfilade fire was poured into them at short range. two guns were cutting the grass from underneath the wagon, and, knowing the indians had crept up the depression on foot, we began a rapid fire from our carbines and six-shooters, which created the impression of a dozen rifles on their flank, and they took to their heels in a headlong rout. once the firing ceased, we hailed our men under the wagon and returned to it. three men were with the commissary, one of whom was a mere boy, who was wounded in the head from an arrow during the first moment of the attack, and was then raving piteously from his sufferings. the darky cook, who was one of the defenders of the wagon, was consoling the boy, so with a parting word of encouragement we swung into our saddles and rode in the direction of dim firing up the creek. the cattle were out of hearing, but the random shooting directed our course, and halting several times, we were finally piloted to the scene of activity. our hail was met by a shout of welcome, and the next moment we dashed in among our own and reported the repulse of the indians from the wagon. the remuda was dashing about, hither and yon, a mob of howling savages were circling about, barely within gunshot, while our men rode cautiously, checking and turning the frenzied saddle horses, and never missing a chance of judiciously throwing a little lead. there was no sign of daybreak, and, fearful for the safety of our commissary, we threw a cordon around the remuda and started for camp. although there must have been over one hundred indians in the general attack, we were still masters of the situation, though they followed us until the wagon was reached and the horses secured in a rope corral. a number of us again sought the protection of the ravine, and scattering above and below, we got in some telling shots at short range, when the redskins gave up the struggle and decamped. as they bore off westward on the main clear fork their hilarious shoutings could be distinctly heard for miles on the stillness of the morning air. an inventory of the camp was taken at dawn. the wounded lad received the first attention. the arrowhead had buried itself below and behind the ear, but nippers were applied and the steel point was extracted. the cook washed the wound thoroughly and applied a poultice of meal, which afforded almost instant relief. while horses were being saddled to follow the cattle, i cast my eye over the camp and counted over two hundred arrows within a radius of fifty yards. two had found lodgment in the bear-skin on which i slept. dozens were imbedded in the running-gear and box of the wagon, while the stationary flashes from the muzzle of the cook's creedmoor had concentrated an unusual number of arrows in and around his citadel. the darky had exercised caution and corded the six ox-yokes against the front wheel of the wagon in such a manner as to form a barrier, using the spaces between the spokes as port-holes. as he never varied his position under the wagon, the indians had aimed at his flash, and during the rather brief fight twenty arrows had buried themselves in that barricade of ox-yokes. the trail of the beeves was taken at dawn. this made the fifth stampede of the herd since we started, a very unfortunate thing, for stampeding easily becomes a mania with range cattle. the steers had left the bed-ground in an easterly direction, but finding that they were not pursued, the men had gradually turned them to the right, and at daybreak the herd was near elm creek, where it was checked. we rode the circle in a free gallop, the prairie being cut into dust and the trail as easy to follow as a highway. as the herd happened to land on our course, after the usual count the commissary was sent for, and it and the remuda were brought up. with the exception of wearing hobbles, the oxen were always given their freedom at night. this morning one of them was found in a dying condition from an arrow in his stomach. a humane shot had relieved the poor beast, and his mate trailed up to the herd, tied behind the wagon with a rope. there were several odd oxen among the cattle and the vacancy was easily filled. if i am lacking in compassion for my red brother, the lack has been heightened by his fiendish atrocities to dumb animals. i have been witness to the ruin of several wagon trains captured by indians, have seen their ashes and irons, and even charred human remains, and was scarce moved to pity because of the completeness of the hellish work. death is merciful and humane when compared to the hamstringing of oxen, gouging out their eyes, severing their ears, cutting deep slashes from shoulder to hip, and leaving the innocent victim to a lingering death. and when dumb animals are thus mutilated in every conceivable form of torment, as if for the amusement of the imps of the evil one, my compassion for poor lo ceases. it was impossible to send the wounded boy back to the settlements, so a comfortable bunk was made for him in the wagon. late in the evening we resumed our journey, expecting to drive all night, as it was good starlight. fair progress was made, but towards morning a rainstorm struck us, and the cattle again stampeded. in all my outdoor experience i never saw such pitchy darkness as accompanied that storm; although galloping across a prairie in a blustering rainfall, it required no strain of the imagination to see hills and mountains and forests on every hand. fourteen men were with the herd, yet it was impossible to work in unison, and when day broke we had less than half the cattle. the lead had been maintained, but in drifting at random with the storm several contingents of beeves had cut off from the main body, supposedly from the rear. when the sun rose, men were dispatched in pairs and trios, the trail of the missing steers was picked up, and by ten o'clock every hoof was in hand or accounted for. i came in with the last contingent and found the camp in an uproar over the supposed desertion of one of the hands. yankee bill, a sixteen-year-old boy, and another man were left in charge of the herd when the rest of us struck out to hunt the missing cattle. an hour after sunrise the boy was seen to ride deliberately away from his charge, without cause or excuse, and had not returned. desertion was the general supposition. had he not been mounted on one of the firm's horses the offense might have been overlooked. but the delivery of the herd depended on the saddle stock, and two men were sent on his trail. the rain had freshened the ground, and after trailing the horse for fifteen miles the boy was overtaken while following cattle tracks towards the herd. he had simply fallen asleep in the saddle, and the horse had wandered away. yankee bill had made the trip to sumner with us the fall before, and stood well with his employers, so the incident was forgiven and forgotten. from elm creek to the beginning of the dry drive was one continual struggle with stampeding cattle or warding off indians. in spite of careful handling, the herd became spoiled, and would run from the howl of a wolf or the snort of a horse. the dark hour before dawn was usually the crucial period, and until the arid belt was reached all hands were aroused at two o'clock in the morning. the start was timed so as to reach the dry drive during the full of the moon, and although it was a test of endurance for man and beast, there was relief in the desert waste--from the lurking savage--which recompensed for its severity. three sleepless nights were borne without a murmur, and on our reaching horsehead crossing and watering the cattle they were turned back on the mesa and freed for the time being. the presence of indian sign around the ford was the reason for turning loose, but at the round-up the next morning the experiment proved a costly one, as three hundred and sixty-three beeves were missing. the cattle were nervous and feverish through suffering from thirst, and had they been bedded closely, stampeding would have resulted, the foreman choosing the least of two alternatives in scattering the herd. that night we slept the sleep of exhausted men, and the next morning even awaited the sun on the cattle before throwing them together, giving the indian thieves full ten hours the start. the stealing of cattle by the comanches was something unusual, and there was just reason for believing that the present theft was instigated by renegade mexicans, allies in the war of ' . three distinct trails left the range around the crossing, all heading south, each accompanied by fully fifty horsemen. one contingent crossed the pecos at an indian trail about twenty-five miles below horsehead, another still below, while the third continued on down the left bank of the river. yankee bill and "mocho" wilson, a one-armed man, followed the latter trail, sighting them late in the evening, but keeping well in the open. when the comanches had satisfied themselves that but two men were following them, small bands of warriors dropped out under cover of the broken country and attempted to gain the rear of our men. wilson was an old plainsman, and once he saw the hopelessness of recovering the cattle, he and yankee bill began a cautious retreat. during the night and when opposite the ford where the first contingent of beeves crossed, they were waylaid, while returning, by the wily redskins. the nickering of a pony warned them of the presence of the enemy, and circling wide, they avoided an ambush, though pursued by the stealthy comanches. wilson was mounted on a good horse, while yankee bill rode a mule, and so closely were they pursued, that on reaching the first broken ground bill turned into a coulee, while mocho bore off on an angle, firing his six-shooter to attract the enemy after him. yankee bill told us afterward how he held the muzzle of his mule for an hour on dismounting, to keep the rascal from bawling after the departing horse. wilson reached camp after midnight and reported the hopelessness of the situation; but morning came, and with it no yankee bill in camp. half a dozen of us started in search of him, under the leadership of the one-armed plainsman, and an hour afterward bill was met riding leisurely up the river. when rebuked by his comrade for not coming in under cover of darkness, he retorted, "hell, man, i wasn't going to run my mule to death just because there were a few comanches in the country!" in trailing the missing cattle the day previous, i had accompanied mr. loving to the second indian crossing. the country opposite the ford was broken and brushy, the trail was five or six hours old, and, fearing an ambush, the drover refused to follow them farther. with the return of yankee bill safe and sound to camp, all hope of recovering the beeves was abandoned, and we crossed the pecos and turned up that river. an effort was now made to quiet the herd and bring it back to a normal condition, in order to fit it for delivery. with indian raids, frenzy in stampeding, and an unavoidable dry drive, the cattle had gaunted like rails. but with an abundance of water and by merely grazing the remainder of the distance, it was believed that the beeves would recover their old form and be ready for inspection at the end of the month of august. indian sign was still plentiful, but in smaller bands, and with an unceasing vigilance we wormed our way up the pecos valley. when within a day's ride of the post, mr. loving took wilson with him and started in to fort sumner. the heat of august on the herd had made recovery slow, but if a two weeks' postponement could be agreed on, it was believed the beeves would qualify. the circumstances were unavoidable; the government had been lenient before; so, hopeful of accomplishing his mission, the senior member of the firm set out on his way. the two men left camp at daybreak, cautioned by goodnight to cross the river by a well-known trail, keeping in the open, even though it was farther, as a matter of safety. they were well mounted for the trip, and no further concern was given to their welfare until the second morning, when loving's horse came into camp, whinnying for his mates. there were blood-stains on the saddle, and the story of a man who was cautious for others and careless of himself was easily understood. conjecture was rife. the presence of the horse admitted of several interpretations. an indian ambush was the most probable, and a number of men were detailed to ferret out the mystery. we were then seventy miles below sumner, and with orders to return to the herd at night six of us immediately started. the searching party was divided into squads, one on either side of the pecos river, but no results were obtained from the first day's hunt. the herd had moved up fifteen miles during the day, and the next morning the search was resumed, the work beginning where it had ceased the evening before. late that afternoon and from the east bank, as goodnight and i were scanning the opposite side of the river, a lone man, almost naked, emerged from a cave across the channel and above us. had it not been for his missing arm it is doubtful if we should have recognized him, for he seemed demented. we rode opposite and hailed, when he skulked back into his refuge; but we were satisfied that it was wilson. the other searchers were signaled to, and finding an entrance into the river, we swam it and rode up to the cave. a shout of welcome greeted us, and the next instant wilson staggered out of the cavern, his eyes filled with tears. he was in a horrible physical condition, and bewildered. we were an hour getting his story. they had been ambushed by indians and ran for the brakes of the river, but were compelled to abandon their horses, one of which was captured, the other escaping. loving was wounded twice, in the wrist and the side, but from the cover gained they had stood off the savages until darkness fell. during the night loving, unable to walk, believed that he was going to die, and begged wilson to make his escape, and if possible return to the herd. after making his employer as comfortable as possible, wilson buried his own rifle, pistols, and knife, and started on his return to the herd. being one-armed, he had discarded his boots and nearly all his clothing to assist him in swimming the river, which he had done any number of times, traveling by night and hiding during the day. when found in the cave, his feet were badly swollen, compelling him to travel in the river-bed to protect them from sandburs and thorns. he was taken up behind one of the boys on a horse, and we returned to camp. wilson firmly believed that loving was dead, and described the scene of the fight so clearly that any one familiar with the river would have no difficulty in locating the exact spot. but the next morning as we were nearing the place we met an ambulance in the road, the driver of which reported that loving had been brought into sumner by a freight outfit. on receipt of this information goodnight hurried on to the post, while the rest of us looked over the scene, recovered the buried guns of wilson, and returned to the herd. subsequently we learned that the next morning after wilson left loving had crawled to the river for a drink, and, looking upstream, saw some one a mile or more distant watering a team. by firing his pistol he attracted attention to himself and so was rescued, the indians having decamped during the night. to his partner, mr. loving corroborated wilson's story, and rejoiced to know that his comrade had also escaped. everything that medical science could do was done by the post surgeons for the veteran cowman, but after lingering twenty-one days he died. wilson and the wounded boy both recovered, the cattle were delivered in two installments, and early in october we started homeward, carrying the embalmed remains of the pioneer drover in a light conveyance. the trip was uneventful, the traveling was done principally by night, and on the arrival at loving's frontier home, six hundred miles from fort sumner, his remains were laid at rest with masonic honors. over thirty years afterward a claim was made against the government for the cattle lost at horsehead crossing. wilson and i were witnesses before the commissioner sent to take evidence in the case. the hearing was held at a federal court, and after it was over, wilson, while drinking, accused me of suspecting him of deserting his employer,--a suspicion i had, in fact, entertained at the time we discovered him at the cave. i had never breathed it to a living man, yet it was the truth, slumbering for a generation before finding expression. chapter v summer of ' the death of mr. loving ended my employment in driving cattle to fort sumner. the junior member of the firm was anxious to continue the trade then established, but the absence of any protection against the indians, either state or federal, was hopeless. texas was suffering from the internal troubles of reconstruction, the paternal government had small concern for the welfare of a state recently in arms against the union, and there was little or no hope for protection of life or property under existing conditions. the outfit was accordingly paid off, and i returned with george edwards to his father's ranch. the past eighteen months had given me a strenuous schooling, but i had emerged on my feet, feeling that once more i was entitled to a place among men. the risk that had been incurred by the drovers acted like a physical stimulant, the outdoor life had hardened me like iron, and i came out of the crucible bright with the hope of youth and buoyant with health and strength. meanwhile there had sprung up a small trade in cattle with the north. baxter springs and abilene, both in kansas, were beginning to be mentioned as possible markets, light drives having gone to those points during the present and previous summers. the elder edwards had been investigating the new outlet, and on the return of george and myself was rather enthusiastic over the prospects of a market. no indian trouble had been experienced on the northern route, and although demand generally was unsatisfactory, the faith of drovers in the future was unshaken. a railroad had recently reached abilene, stockyards had been built for the accommodation of shippers during the summer of , while a firm of shrewd, far-seeing yankees made great pretensions of having established a market and meeting-point for buyers and sellers of texas cattle. the promoters of the scheme had a contract with the railroad, whereby they were to receive a bonus on all cattle shipped from that point, and the texas drovers were offered every inducement to make abilene their destination in the future. the unfriendliness of other states against texas cattle, caused by the ravages of fever imparted by southern to domestic animals, had resulted in quarantine being enforced against all stock from the south. matters were in an unsettled condition, and less than one per cent of the state's holdings of cattle had found an outside market during the year , though ranchmen in general were hopeful. i spent the remainder of the month of october at the edwards ranch. we had returned in time for the fall branding, and george and i both made acceptable hands at the work. i had mastered the art of handling a rope, and while we usually corralled everything, scarcely a day passed but occasion occurred to rope wild cattle out of the brush. anxiety to learn soon made me an expert, and before the month ended i had caught and branded for myself over one hundred mavericks. cattle were so worthless that no one went to the trouble to brand completely; the crumbs were acceptable to me, and, since no one else cared for them and i did, the flotsam and jetsam of the range fell to my brand. had i been ambitious, double that number could have been easily secured, but we never went off the home range in gathering calves to brand. all the hands on the edwards ranch, darkies and mexicans, were constantly throwing into the corrals and pointing out unclaimed cattle, while i threw and indelibly ran the figures " " on their sides. i was partial to heifers, and when one was sighted there was no brush so thick or animal so wild that it was not "fish" to my rope. in many instances a cow of unknown brand was still followed by her two-year-old, yearling, and present calf. under the customs of the country, any unbranded animal, one year old or over, was a maverick, and the property of any one who cared to brand the unclaimed stray. thousands of cattle thus lived to old age, multiplied and increased, died and became food for worms, unowned. the branding over, i soon grew impatient to be doing something. there would be no movement in cattle before the following spring, and a winter of idleness was not to my liking. buffalo hunting had lost its charm with me, the contentious savages were jealous of any intrusion on their old hunting grounds, and, having met them on numerous occasions during the past eighteen months, i had no further desire to cultivate their acquaintance. i still owned my horse, now acclimated, and had money in my purse, and one morning i announced my intention of visiting my other comrades in texas. protests were made against my going, and as an incentive to have me remain, the elder edwards offered to outfit george and me the following spring with a herd of cattle and start us to kansas. i was anxious for employment, but assuring my host that he could count on my services, i still pleaded my anxiety to see other portions of the state and renew old acquaintances. the herd could not possibly start before the middle of april, so telling my friends that i would be on hand to help gather the cattle, i saddled my horse and took leave of the hospitable ranch. after a week of hard riding i reached the home of a former comrade on the colorado river below austin. a hearty welcome awaited me, but the apparent poverty of the family made my visit rather a brief one. continuing eastward, my next stop was in washington county, one of the oldest settled communities in the state. the blight of reconstruction seemed to have settled over the people like a pall, the frontier having escaped it. but having reached my destination, i was determined to make the best of it. at the house of my next comrade i felt a little more at home, he having married since his return and being naturally of a cheerful disposition. for a year previous to the surrender he and i had wrangled beef for the confederacy and had been stanch cronies. we had also been in considerable mischief together; and his wife seemed to know me by reputation as well as i knew her husband. before the wire edge wore off my visit i was as free with the couple as though they had been my own brother and sister. the fact was all too visible that they were struggling with poverty, though lightened by cheerfulness, and to remain long a guest would have been an imposition; accordingly i began to skirmish for something to do--anything, it mattered not what. the only work in sight was with a carpet-bag dredging company, improving the lower brazos river, under a contract from the reconstruction government of the state. my old crony pleaded with me to have nothing to do with the job, offering to share his last crust with me; but then he had not had all the animosities of the war roughed out of him, and i had. i would work for a federal as soon as any one else, provided he paid me the promised wage, and, giving rein to my impulse, i made application at the dredging headquarters and was put in charge of a squad of negroes. i was to have sixty dollars a month and board. the company operated a commissary store, a regular "pluck-me" concern, and i shortly understood the incentive in offering me such good wages. all employees were encouraged and expected to draw their pay in supplies, which were sold at treble their actual value from the commissary. i had been raised among negroes, knew how to humor and handle them, the work was easy, and i drifted along with all my faculties alert. before long i saw that the improvement of the river was the least of the company's concern, the employment of a large number of men being the chief motive, so long as they drew their wages in supplies. true, we scattered a few lodgments of driftwood; with the aid of a flat-bottomed scow we windlassed up and cut out a number of old snags, felled trees into the river to prevent erosion of its banks, and we built a large number of wind-dams to straighten or change the channel. it seemed to be a blanket contract,--a reward to the faithful,--and permitted of any number of extras which might be charged for at any figures the contractors saw fit to make. at the end of the first month i naturally looked for my wages. various excuses were made, but i was cordially invited to draw anything needed from the commissary. a second month passed, during which time the only currency current was in the form of land certificates. the commonwealth of texas, on her admission into the union, retained the control of her lands, over half the entire area of the state being unclaimed at the close of the civil war. the carpet-bag government, then in the saddle, was prodigal to its favorites in bonuses of land to any and all kinds of public improvement. certificates were issued in the form of scrip calling for sections of the public domain of six hundred and forty acres each, and were current at from three to five cents an acre. the owner of one or more could locate on any of the unoccupied lands of the present state by merely surveying and recording his selection at the county seat. the scrip was bandied about, no one caring for it, and on the termination of my second month i was offered four sections for my services up to date, provided i would remain longer in the company's employ. i knew the value of land in the older states, in fact, already had my eye on some splendid valleys on the clear fork, and accepted the offered certificates. the idea found a firm lodgment in my mind, and i traded one of my six-shooters even for a section of scrip, and won several more in card games. i had learned to play poker in the army,--knew the rudiments of the game at least,--and before the middle of march i was the possessor of certificates calling for thirty sections of land. as the time was drawing near for my return to palo pinto county, i severed my connection with the dredging company and returned to the home of my old comrade. i had left my horse with him, and under the pretense of paying for feeding the animal well for the return trip, had slipped my crony a small gold piece several times during the winter. he ridiculed me over my land scrip, but i was satisfied, and after spending a day with the couple i started on my return. evidences of spring were to be seen on every hand. my ride northward was a race with the season, but i outrode the coming grass, the budding trees, the first flowers, and the mating birds, and reached the edwards ranch on the last day of march. any number of cattle had already been tendered in making up the herd, over half the saddle horses necessary were in hand or promised, and they were only awaiting my return. i had no idea what the requirements of the kansas market were, and no one else seemed to know, but it was finally decided to drive a mixed herd of twenty-five hundred by way of experiment. the promoters of the abilene market had flooded texas with advertising matter during the winter, urging that only choice cattle should be driven, yet the information was of little value where local customs classified all live stock. a beef was a beef, whether he weighed eight or twelve hundred pounds, a cow was a cow when over three years old, and so on to the end of the chapter. from a purely selfish motive of wanting strong cattle for the trip, i suggested that nothing under three-year-olds should be used in making up the herd, a preference to be given matured beeves. george edwards also favored the idea, and as our experience in trailing cattle carried some little weight, orders were given to gather nothing that had not age, flesh, and strength for the journey. i was to have fifty dollars a month and furnish my own mount. horses were cheap, but i wanted good ones, and after skirmishing about i secured four to my liking in return for one hundred dollars in gold. i still had some money left from my wages in driving cattle to fort sumner, and i began looking about for oxen in which to invest the remainder. having little, i must be very careful and make my investment in something staple; and remembering the fine prices current in colorado the spring before for work cattle, i offered to supply the oxen for the commissary. my proposal was accepted, and accordingly i began making inquiry for wagon stock. finally i heard of a freight outfit in the adjoining county east, the owner of which had died the winter before, the administrator offering his effects for sale. i lost no time in seeing the oxen and hunting up their custodian, who proved to be a frontier surveyor at the county seat. there were two teams of six yoke each, fine cattle, and i had hopes of being able to buy six or eight oxen. but the surveyor insisted on selling both teams, offering to credit me on any balance if i could give him security. i had never mentioned my land scrip to any one, and wishing to see if it had any value, i produced and tendered the certificates to the surveyor. he looked them over, made a computation, and informed me that they were worth in his county about five cents an acre, or nearly one thousand dollars. he also offered to accept them as security, assuring me that he could use some of them in locating lands for settlers. but it was not my idea to sell the land scrip, and a trade was easily effected on the twenty-four oxen, yokes, and chains, i paying what money i could spare and leaving the certificates for security on the balance. as i look back over an eventful life, i remember no special time in which i felt quite as rich as the evening that i drove into the edwards ranch with twelve yoke of oxen chained together in one team. the darkies and mexicans gathered about, even the family, to admire the big fellows, and i remember a thrill which shivered through me as miss gertrude passed down the column, kindly patting each near ox as though she felt a personal interest in my possessions. we waited for good grass before beginning the gathering. half a dozen round-ups on the home range would be all that was necessary in completing the numbers allotted to the edwards ranch. three other cowmen were going to turn in a thousand head and furnish and mount a man each, there being no occasion to road-brand, as every one knew the ranch, brands which would go to make up the herd. an outfit of twelve men was considered sufficient, as it was an open prairie country and through civilized tribes between texas and kansas. all the darkies and mexicans from the home ranch who could be spared were to be taken along, making it necessary to hire only three outside men. the drive was looked upon as an experiment, there being no outlay of money, even the meal and bacon which went into the commissary being supplied from the edwards household. the country contributed the horses and cattle, and if the project paid out, well and good; if not there was small loss, as they were worth nothing at home. the th of april was set for starting. three days' work on the home range and we had two thousand cattle under herd, consisting of dry or barren cows and steers three years old or over, fully half the latter being heavy beeves. we culled back and trimmed our allotment down to sixteen hundred, and when the outside contingents were thrown in we had a few over twenty-eight hundred cattle in the herd. a mexican was placed in charge of the remuda, a darky, with three yoke of oxen, looked after the commissary, and with ten mounted men around the herd we started. five and six horses were allotted to the man, each one had one or two six-shooters, while half a dozen rifles of different makes were carried in the wagon. the herd moved northward by easy marches, open country being followed until we reached red river, where we had the misfortune to lose george edwards from sickness. he was the foreman from whom all took orders. while crossing into the chickasaw nation it was necessary to swim the cattle. we cut them into small bunches, and in fording and refording a whole afternoon was spent in the water. towards evening our foreman was rendered useless from a chill, followed by fever during the night. the next morning he was worse, and as it was necessary to move the herd out to open country, edwards took an old negro with him and went back to a ranch on the texas side. several days afterward the darky overtook us with the word that his master would be unable to accompany the cattle, and that i was to take the herd through to abilene. the negro remained with us, and at the first opportunity i picked up another man. within a week we encountered a country trail, bearing slightly northwest, over which herds had recently passed. this trace led us into another, which followed up the south side of the washita river, and two weeks after reaching the nation we entered what afterward became famous as the chisholm trail. the chickasaw was one of the civilized tribes; its members had intermarried with the whites until their identity as indians was almost lost. they owned fine homes and farms in the washita valley, were hospitable to strangers, and where the aboriginal blood was properly diluted the women were strikingly beautiful. in this same valley, fifteen years afterward, i saw a herd of one thousand and seven head of corn-fed cattle. the grain was delivered at feed-lots at ten cents a bushel, and the beeves had then been on full feed for nine months. there were no railroads in the country and the only outlet for the surplus corn was to feed it to cattle and drive them to some shipping-point in kansas. compared with the route to fort sumner, the northern one was a paradise. no day passed but there was an abundance of water, while the grass simply carpeted the country. we merely soldiered along, crossing what was then one of the no-man's lands and the cherokee outlet, never sighting another herd until after entering kansas. we amused ourselves like urchins out for a holiday, the country was full of all kinds of game, and our darky cook was kept busy frying venison and roasting turkeys. a calf was born on the trail, the mother of which was quite gentle, and we broke her for a milk cow, while "bull," the youngster, became a great pet. a cow-skin was slung under the wagon for carrying wood and heavy cooking utensils, and the calf was given a berth in the hammock until he was able to follow. but when bull became older he hung around the wagon like a dog, preferring the company of the outfit to that of his own mother. he soon learned to eat cold biscuit and corn-pone, and would hang around at meal-time, ready for the scraps. we always had to notice where the calf lay down to sleep, as he was a black rascal, and the men were liable to stumble over him while changing guards during the night. he never could be prevailed on to walk with his mother, but followed the wagon or rode in his hammock, and was always happy as a lark when the recipient of the outfit's attentions. we sometimes secured as much as two gallons of milk a day from the cow, but it was pitiful to watch her futile efforts at coaxing her offspring away from the wagon. we passed to the west of the town of wichita and reached our destination early in june. there i found several letters awaiting me, with instructions to dispose of the herd or to report what was the prospect of effecting a sale. we camped about five miles from abilene, and before i could post myself on cattle values half a dozen buyers had looked the herd over. men were in the market anxious for beef cattle with which to fill army and indian contracts, feeders from eastern states, shippers and speculators galore, cowmen looking for she stuff with which to start new ranches, while scarcely a day passed but inquiry was made by settlers for oxen with which to break prairie. a dozen herds had arrived ahead of us, the market had fairly opened, and, once i got the drift of current prices, i was as busy as a farmer getting ready to cut his buckwheat. every yoke of oxen was sold within a week, one ranchman took all the cows, an army contractor took one thousand of the largest beeves, feeders from iowa took the younger steers, and within six weeks after arriving i did not have a hoof left. in the mean time i kept an account of each sale, brands and numbers, in order to render a statement to the owners of the cattle. as fast as the money was received i sent it home by drafts, except the proceeds from the oxen, which was a private matter. i bought and sold two whole remudas of horses on speculation, clearing fifteen of the best ones and three hundred dollars on the transactions. the facilities for handling cattle at abilene were not completed until late in the season of ' , yet twenty-five thousand cattle found a market there that summer and fall. the drive of the present year would triple that number, and every one seemed pleased with future prospects. the town took on an air of frontier prosperity; saloons and gambling and dance halls multiplied, and every legitimate line of business flourished like a green bay tree. i made the acquaintance of every drover and was generally looked upon as an extra good salesman, the secret being in our cattle, which were choice. for instance, northern buyers could see three dollars a head difference in three-year-old steers, but with the average texan the age classified them all alike. my boyhood knowledge of cattle had taught me the difference, but in range dealing it was impossible to apply the principle. i made many warm friends among both buyers and drovers, bringing them together and effecting sales, and it was really a matter of regret that i had to leave before the season was over. i loved the atmosphere of dicker and traffic, had made one of the largest sales of the season with our beeves, and was leaving, firm in the conviction that i had overlooked no feature of the market of future value. after selling the oxen we broke some of our saddle stock to harness, altered the wagon tongue for horses, and started across the country for home, taking our full remuda with us. where i had gone up the trail with five horses, i was going back with twenty; some of the oxen i had sold at treble their original cost, while none of them failed to double my money--on credit. taking it all in all, i had never seen such good times and made money as easily. on the back track we followed the trail, but instead of going down the washita as we had come, we followed the chisholm trail to the texas boundary, crossing at what was afterward known as red river station. from there home was an easy matter, and after an absence of four months and five days the outfit rode into the edwards ranch with a flourish. chapter vi sowing wild oats the results from driving cattle north were a surprise to every one. my employers were delighted with their experiment, the general expense of handling the herd not exceeding fifty cents a head. the enterprise had netted over fifty-two thousand dollars, the saddle horses had returned in good condition, while due credit was given me in the general management. from my sale accounts i made out a statement, and once my expenses were approved it was an easy matter to apportion each owner his just dues in the season's drive. this over i was free to go my way. the only incident of moment in the final settlement was the waggish contention of one of the owners, who expressed amazement that i ever remitted any funds or returned, roguishly admitting that no one expected it. then suddenly, pretending to have discovered the governing motive, he summoned miss gertrude, and embarrassed her with a profusion of thanks, averring that she alone had saved him from a loss of four hundred beeves. the next move was to redeem my land scrip. the surveyor was anxious to buy a portion of it, but i was too rich to part with even a single section. during our conversation, however, it developed that he held his commission from the state, and when i mentioned my intention of locating land, he made application to do the surveying. the fact that i expected to make my locations in another county made no difference to a free-lance official, and accordingly we came to an agreement. the apple of my eye was a valley on the clear fork, above its juncture with the main brazos, and from maps in the surveyor's office i was able to point out the locality where i expected to make my locations. he proved an obliging official and gave me all the routine details, and an appointment was made with him to report a week later at the edwards ranch. a wagon and cook would be necessary, chain carriers and flagmen must be taken along, and i began skirmishing about for an outfit. the three hired men who had been up the trail with me were still in the country, and i engaged them and secured a cook. george edwards loaned me a wagon and two yoke of oxen, even going along himself for company. the commissary was outfitted for a month's stay, and a day in advance of the expected arrival of the surveyor the outfit was started up the brazos. each of the men had one or more private horses, and taking all of mine along, we had a remuda of thirty odd saddle horses. george and i remained behind, and on the arrival of the surveyor we rode by way of palo pinto, the county seat, to which all unorganized territory to the west was attached for legal purposes. our chief motive in passing the town was to see if there were any lands located near the juncture of the clear fork with the mother stream, and thus secure an established corner from which to begin our survey. but the records showed no land taken up around the confluence of these watercourses, making it necessary to establish a corner. under the old customs, handed down from the spanish to the texans, corners were always established from natural landmarks. the union of creeks arid rivers, mounds, lagoons, outcropping of rock, in fact anything unchangeable and established by nature, were used as a point of commencement. in the locating of spanish land grants a century and a half previous, sand-dunes were frequently used, and when these old concessions became of value and were surveyed, some of the corners had shifted a mile or more by the action of the wind and seasons on the sand-hills. accordingly, on overtaking our outfit we headed for the juncture of the brazos and clear fork, reaching our destination the second day. the first thing was to establish a corner or commencement point. some heavy timber grew around the confluence, so, selecting an old patriarch pin oak between the two streams, we notched the tree and ran a line to low water at the juncture of the two rivers. other witness trees were established and notched, lines were run at angles to the banks of either stream, and a hole was dug two feet deep between the roots of the pin oak, a stake set therein, and the excavation filled with charcoal and covered. a legal corner or commencement point was thus established; but as the land that i coveted lay some distance up the clear fork, it was necessary first to run due south six miles and establish a corner, and thence run west the same distance and locate another one. the thirty sections of land scrip would entitle me to a block of ground five by six miles in extent, and i concluded to locate the bulk of it on the south side of the clear fork. a permanent camp was now established, the actual work of locating the land requiring about ten days, when the surveyor and edwards set out on their return. they were to touch at the county seat, record the established corners and file my locations, leaving the other boys and me behind. it was my intention to build a corral and possibly a cabin on the land, having no idea that we would remain more than a few weeks longer. timber was plentiful, and, selecting a site well out on the prairie, we began the corral. it was no easy task; palisades were cut twelve feet long and out of durable woods, and the gate-posts were fourteen inches in diameter at the small end, requiring both yoke of oxen to draw them to the chosen site. the latter were cut two feet longer than the palisades, the extra length being inserted in the ground, giving them a stability to carry the bars with which the gateway was closed. ten days were spent in cutting and drawing timber, some of the larger palisades being split in two so as to enable five men to load them on the wagon. the digging of the narrow trench, five feet deep, in which the palisades were set upright, was a sore trial; but the ground was sandy, and by dint of perseverance it was accomplished. instead of a few weeks, over a month was spent on the corral, but when it was finished it would hold a thousand stampeding cattle through the stormiest night that ever blew. after finishing the corral we hunted a week. the country was alive with game of all kinds, even an occasional buffalo, while wild and unbranded cattle were seen daily. none of the men seemed anxious to leave the valley, but the commissary had to be replenished, so two of us made the trip to belknap with a pack horse, returning the next day with meal, sugar, and coffee. a cabin was begun and completed in ten days, a crude but stable affair, with clapboard roof, clay floor, and ample fireplace. it was now late in september, and as the usual branding season was at hand, cow-hunting outfits might be expected to pass down the valley. the advantage of corrals would naturally make my place headquarters for cowmen, and we accordingly settled down until the branding season was over. but the abundance of mavericks and wild cattle was so tempting that we had three hundred under herd when the first cow-hunting outfits arrived. at one lake on what is now known as south prairie, in a single moonlight night, we roped and tied down forty head, the next morning finding thirty of them unbranded and therefore unowned. all tame cattle would naturally water in the daytime, and anything coming in at night fell a victim to our ropes. a wooden toggle was fastened with rawhide to its neck, so it would trail between its forelegs, to prevent running, when the wild maverick was freed and allowed to enter the herd. after a week or ten days, if an animal showed any disposition to quiet down, it was again thrown, branded, and the toggle removed. we corralled the little herd every night, adding to it daily, scouting far and wide for unowned or wild cattle. but when other outfits came up or down the valley of the clear fork we joined forces with them, tendering our corrals for branding purposes, our rake-off being the mavericks and eligible strays. many a fine quarter of beef was left at our cabin by passing ranchmen, and when the gathering ended we had a few over five hundred cattle for our time and trouble. fine weather favored us and we held the mavericks under herd until late in december. the wild ones gradually became gentle, and with constant handling these wild animals were located until they would come in of their own accord for the privilege of sleeping in a corral. but when winter approached the herd was turned free, that the cattle might protect themselves from storms, and we gathered our few effects together and started for the settlements. it was with reluctance that i left that primitive valley. somehow or other, primal conditions possessed a charm for me which, coupled with an innate love of the land and the animals that inhabit it, seemed to influence and outline my future course of life. the pride of possession was mine; with my own hands and abilities had i earned the land, while the overflow from a thousand hills stocked my new ranch. i was now the owner of lands and cattle; my father in his palmiest days never dreamed of such possessions as were mine, while youth and opportunity encouraged me to greater exertions. we reached the edwards ranch a few days before christmas. the boys were settled with and returned to their homes, and i was once more adrift. forty odd calves had been branded as the increase of my mavericking of the year before, and, still basking in the smile of fortune, i found a letter awaiting me from major seth mabry of austin, anxious to engage my services as a trail foreman for the coming summer. i had met major seth the spring before at abilene, and was instrumental in finding him a buyer for his herd, and otherwise we became fast friends. there were no outstanding obligations to my former employers, so when a protest was finally raised against my going, i had the satisfaction of vouching for george edwards, to the manner born, and a better range cowman than i was. the same group of ranchmen expected to drive another herd the coming spring, and i made it a point to see each one personally, urging that nothing but choice cattle should be sent up the trail. my long acquaintance with the junior edwards enabled me to speak emphatically and to the point, and i lectured him thoroughly as to the requirements of the abilene market. i notified major mabry that i would be on hand within a month. the holiday season soon passed, and leaving my horses at the edwards ranch, i saddled the most worthless one and started south. the trip was uneventful, except that i traded horses twice, reaching my destination within a week, having seen no country en route that could compare with the valley of the clear fork. the capital city was a straggling village on the banks of the colorado river, inert through political usurpation, yet the home of many fine people. quite a number of cowmen resided there, owning ranches in outlying and adjoining counties, among them being my acquaintance of the year before and present employer. it was too early by nearly a month to begin active operations, and i contented myself about town, making the acquaintance of other cowmen and their foremen who expected to drive that year. new orleans had previously been the only outlet for beef cattle in southern texas, and even in the spring of ' very few had any confidence of a market in the north. major mabry, however, was going to drive two herds to abilene, one of beeves and the other of younger steers, dry cows, and thrifty two-year-old heifers, and i was to have charge of the heavy cattle. both herds would be put up in llano county, it being the intention to start with the grass. mules were to be worked to the wagons, oxen being considered too slow, while both outfits were to be mounted seven horses to the man. during my stay at austin i frequently made inquiry for land scrip. nearly all the merchants had more or less, the current prices being about five cents an acre. there was a clear distinction, however, in case one was a buyer or seller, the former being shown every attention. i allowed the impression to circulate that i would buy, which brought me numerous offers, and before leaving the town i secured twenty sections for five hundred dollars. i needed just that amount to cover a four-mile bend of the clear fork on the west end of my new ranch,--a possession which gave me ten miles of that virgin valley. my employer congratulated me on my investment, and assured me that if the people ever overthrew the reconstruction usurpers the public domain would no longer be bartered away for chips and whetstones. i was too busy to take much interest in the political situation, and, so long as i was prosperous and employed, gave little heed to politics. major mabry owned a ranch and extensive cattle interests northwest in llano county. as we expected to start the herds as early as possible, the latter part of february found us at the ranch actively engaged in arranging for the summer's work. there were horses to buy, wagons to outfit, and hands to secure, and a busy fortnight was spent in getting ready for the drive. the spring before i had started out in debt; now, on permission being given me, i bought ten horses for my own use and invested the balance of my money in four yoke of oxen. had i remained in palo pinto county the chances were that i might have enlarged my holdings in the coming drive, as in order to have me remain several offered to sell me cattle on credit. but so long as i was enlarging my experience i was content, while the wages offered me were double what i received the summer before. we went into camp and began rounding up near the middle of march. all classes of cattle were first gathered into one herd, after which the beeves were cut separate and taken charge of by my outfit. we gathered a few over fifteen hundred of the latter, all prairie-raised cattle, four years old or over, and in the single ranch brand of my employer. major seth had also contracted for one thousand other beeves, and it became our duty to receive them. these outside contingents would have to be road-branded before starting, as they were in a dozen or more brands, the work being done in a chute built for that purpose. my employer and i fully agreed on the quality of cattle to be received, and when possible we both passed on each tender of beeves before accepting them. the two herds were being held separate, and a friendly rivalry existed between the outfits as to which herd would be ready to start first. it only required a few days extra to receive and road-brand the outside cattle, when all were ready to start. as major seth knew the most practical route, in deference to his years and experience i insisted that he should take the lead until after red river was crossed. i had been urging the chisholm trail in preference to more eastern ones, and with the compromise that i should take the lead after passing fort worth, the two herds started on the last day of march. there was no particular trail to follow. the country was all open, and the grass was coming rapidly, while the horses and cattle were shedding their winter coats with the change of the season. fine weather favored us, no rains at night and few storms, and within two weeks we passed fort worth, after which i took the lead. i remember that at the latter point i wrote a letter to the elder edwards, inclosing my land scrip, and asking him to send a man out to my new ranch occasionally to see that the improvements were not destroyed. several herds had already passed the fort, their destination being the same as ours, and from thence onward we had the advantage of following a trail. as we neared red river, nearly all the herds bore off to the eastward, but we held our course, crossing into the chickasaw nation at the regular chisholm ford. a few beggarly indians, renegades from the kiowas and comanches on the west, annoyed us for the first week, but were easily appeased with a lame or stray beef. the two herds held rather close together as a matter of mutual protection, as in some of the encampments were fully fifty lodges with possibly as many able-bodied warriors. but after crossing the washita river no further trouble was encountered from the natives, and we swept northward at the steady pace of an advancing army. other herds were seen in our rear and front, and as we neared the kansas line several long columns of cattle were sighted coming in over the safer eastern routes. the last lap of the drive was reached. a fortnight later we went into camp within twelve miles of abilene, having been on the trail two months and eleven days. the same week we moved north of the railroad, finding ample range within seven miles of town. herds were coming in rapidly, and it was important to secure good grazing grounds for our cattle. buyers were arriving from every territory in the northwest, including california, while the usual contingent of eastern dealers, shippers, and market-scalpers was on hand. it could hardly be said that prices had yet opened, though several contracted herds had already been delivered, while every purchaser was bearing the market and prophesying a drive of a quarter million cattle. the drovers, on the other hand, were combating every report in circulation, even offering to wager that the arrivals of stock for the entire summer would not exceed one hundred thousand head. cowmen reported en route with ten thousand beeves came in with one fifth the number, and sellers held the whip hand, the market actually opening at better figures than the summer before. once prices were established, i was in the thick of the fight, selling my oxen the first week to a freighter, constantly on the skirmish for a buyer, and never failing to recognize one with whom i had done business the summer before. in case major mabry had nothing to suit, the herd in charge of george edwards was always shown, and i easily effected two sales, aggregating fifteen hundred head, from the latter cattle, with customers of the year previous. but my zeal for bartering in cattle came to a sudden end near the close of june. a conservative estimate of the arrivals then in sight or known to be en route for abilene was placed at one hundred and fifty thousand cattle. yet instead of any weakening in prices, they seemed to strengthen with the influx of buyers from the corn regions, as the prospects of the season assured a bountiful new crop. where states had quarantined against texas cattle the law was easily circumvented by a statement that the cattle were immune from having wintered in the north, which satisfied the statutes--as there was no doubt but they had wintered somewhere. steer cattle of acceptable age and smoothness of build were in demand by feeders; all classes in fact felt a stimulus. my beeves were sold for delivery north of cheyenne, wyoming, the buyers, who were ranchmen as well as army contractors, taking the herd complete, including the remuda and wagon. under the terms, the cattle were to start immediately and be grazed through. i was given until the middle of september to reach my destination, and at once moved out on a northwest course. on reaching the republican river, we followed it to the colorado line, and then tacked north for cheyenne. reporting our progress to the buyers, we were met and directed to pass to the eastward of that village, where we halted a week, and seven hundred of the fattest beeves were cut out for delivery at fort russell. by various excuses we were detained until frost fell before we reached the ranch, and a second and a third contingent of beeves were cut out for other deliveries, making it nearly the middle of october before i was finally relieved. with the exception of myself, a new outfit of men had been secured at abilene. some of them were retained at the ranch of the contractors, the remainder being discharged, all of us returning to cheyenne together, whence we scattered to the four winds. i spent a week in denver, meeting charlie goodnight, who had again fought his way up the pecos route and delivered his cattle to the contractors at fort logan. continuing homeward, i took the train for abilene, hesitating whether to stop there or visit my brother in missouri before returning to texas. i had twelve hundred dollars with me, as the proceeds of my wages, horses, and oxen, and, feeling rather affluent, i decided to stop over a day at the new trail town. i knew the market was virtually over, and what evil influence ever suggested my stopping at abilene is unexplainable. but i did stop, and found things just as i expected,--everybody sold out and gone home. a few trail foremen were still hanging around the town under the pretense of attending to unsettled business, and these welcomed me with a fraternal greeting. two of them who had served in the confederate army came to me and frankly admitted that they were broke, and begged me to help them out of town by redeeming their horses and saddles. feed bills had accumulated and hotel accounts were unpaid; the appeals of the rascals would have moved a stone to pity. the upshot of the whole matter was that i bought a span of mules and wagon and invited seven of the boys to accompany me overland to texas. my friends insisted that we could sell the outfit in the lower country for more than cost, but before i got out of town my philanthropic venture had absorbed over half my savings. as long as i had money the purse seemed a public one, and all the boys borrowed just as freely as if they expected to repay it. i am sure they felt grateful, and had i been one of the needy no doubt any of my friends would have shared his purse with me. it was a delightful trip across the indian territory, and we reached sherman, texas, just before the holidays. every one had become tired of the wagon, and i was fortunate enough to sell it without loss. those who had saddle horses excused themselves and hurried home for the christmas festivities, leaving a quartette of us behind. but before the remainder of us proceeded to our destinations two of the boys discovered a splendid opening for a monte game, in which we could easily recoup all our expenses for the trip. i was the only dissenter to the programme, not even knowing the game; but under the pressure which was brought to bear i finally yielded, and became banker for my friends. the results are easily told. the second night there was heavy play, and before ten o'clock the monte bank closed for want of funds, it having been tapped for its last dollar. the next morning i took stage for dallas, where i arrived with less than twenty dollars, and spent the most miserable christmas day of my life. i had written george edwards from denver that i expected to go to missouri, and asked him to take my horses and go out to the little ranch and brand my calves. there was no occasion now to contradict my advice of that letter, neither would i go near the edwards ranch, yet i hungered for that land scrip and roundly cursed myself for being a fool. it would be two months and a half before spring work opened, and what to do in the mean time was the one absorbing question. my needs were too urgent to allow me to remain idle long, and, drifting south, working when work was to be had, at last i reached the home of my soldier crony in washington county, walking and riding in country wagons the last hundred miles of the distance. no experience in my life ever humiliated me as that one did, yet i have laughed about it since. i may have previously heard of riches taking wings, but in this instance, now mellowed by time, no injustice will be done by simply recording it as the parting of a fool and his money. chapter vii "the angel" the winds of adversity were tempered by the welcome extended me by my old comrade and his wife. there was no concealment as to my financial condition, but when i explained the causes my former crony laughed at me until the tears stood in his eyes. nor did i protest, because i so richly deserved it. fortunately the circumstances of my friends had bettered since my previous visit, and i was accordingly relieved from any feeling of intrusion. in two short years the wheel had gone round, and i was walking heavily on my uppers and continually felt like a pauper or poor relation. to make matters more embarrassing, i could appeal to no one, and, fortified by pride from birth, i ground my teeth over resolutions that will last me till death. any one of half a dozen friends, had they known my true condition, would have gladly come to my aid, but circumstances prevented me from making any appeal. to my brother in missouri i had previously written of my affluence; as for friends in palo pinto county,--well, for the very best of reasons my condition would remain a sealed book in that quarter; and to appeal to major mabry might arouse his suspicions. i had handled a great deal of money for him, accounting for every cent, but had he known of my inability to take care of my own frugal earnings it might have aroused his distrust. i was sure of a position with him again as trail foreman, and not for the world would i have had him know that i could be such a fool as to squander my savings thoughtlessly. what little correspondence i conducted that winter was by roundabout methods. i occasionally wrote my brother that i was wallowing in wealth, always inclosing a letter to gertrude edwards with instructions to remail, conveying the idea to her family that i was spending the winter with relatives in missouri. as yet there was no tacit understanding between miss gertrude and me, but i conveyed that impression to my brother, and as i knew he had run away with his wife, i had confidence he would do my bidding. in writing my employer i reported myself as busy dealing in land scrip, and begged him not to insist on my appearance until it was absolutely necessary. he replied that i might have until the th of march in which to report at austin, as my herd had been contracted for north in williamson county. major mabry expected to drive three herds that spring, the one already mentioned and two from llano county, where he had recently acquired another ranch with an extensive stock of cattle. it therefore behooved me to keep my reputation unsullied, a rather difficult thing to do when our escapade at sherman was known to three other trail foremen. they might look upon it as a good joke, while to me it was a serious matter. had there been anything to do in washington county, it was my intention to go to work. the dredging company had departed for newer fields, there was no other work in sight, and i was compelled to fold my hands and bide my time. my crony and i blotted out the days by hunting deer and turkeys, using hounds for the former and shooting the animals at game crossings. by using a turkey-call we could entice the gobblers within rifle-shot, and in several instances we were able to locate their roosts. the wild turkey of texas was a wary bird, and although i have seen flocks of hundreds, it takes a crafty hunter to bag one. i have always loved a gun and been fond of hunting, yet the time hung heavy on my hands, and i counted the days like a prisoner until i could go to work. but my sentence finally expired, and preparations were made for my start to austin. my friends offered their best wishes,--about all they had,--and my old comrade went so far as to take me one day on horseback to where he had an acquaintance living. there we stayed over night, which was more than half way to my destination, and the next morning we parted, he to his home with the horses, while i traveled on foot or trusted to country wagons. i arrived in austin on the appointed day, with less than five dollars in my pocket, and registered at the best hotel in the capital. i needed a saddle, having sold mine in wyoming the fall before, and at once reported to my employer. fortunately my arrival was being awaited to start a remuda and wagon to williamson county, and when i assured major mabry that all i lacked was a saddle, he gave me an order on a local dealer, and we started that same evening. at last i was saved. with the opening of work my troubles lifted like a night fog before the rising sun. even the first view of the remuda revived my spirits, as i had been allotted one hundred fine cow-horses. they had been brought up during the winter, had run in a good pasture for some time, and with the opening of spring were in fine condition. many trail men were short-sighted in regard to mounting their outfits, and although we had our differences, i want to say that major mabry and his later associates never expected a man to render an honest day's work unless he was properly supplied with horses. my allowance for the spring of was again seven horses to the man, with two extra for the foreman, which at that early day in trailing cattle was considered the maximum where kansas was the destination. many drovers allowed only five horses to the man, but their men were frequently seen walking with the herd, their mounts mingling with the cattle, unable to carry their riders longer. the receiving of the herd in williamson county was an easy matter. four prominent ranchmen were to supply the beeves to the number of three thousand. nearly every hoof was in the straight ranch brand of the sellers, only some two hundred being mixed brands and requiring the usual road-branding. in spite of every effort to hold the herd down to the contracted number, we received one hundred and fifty extra; but then they were cattle that no justifiable excuse could be offered in refusing. the last beeves were received on the d of the month, and after cutting separate all cattle of outside brands, they were sent to the chute to receive the road-mark. major mabry was present, and a controversy arose between the sellers and himself over our refusal to road-brand, or at least vent the ranch brands, on the great bulk of the herd. too many brands on an animal was an objection to the shippers and feeders of the north, and we were anxious to cater to their wishes as far as possible. the sellers protested against the cattle leaving their range without some mark to indicate their change of ownership. the country was all open; in case of a stampede and loss of cattle within a few hundred miles they were certain to drift back to their home range, with nothing to distinguish them from their brothers of the same age. flesh marks are not a good title by which to identify one's property, where those possessions consist of range cattle, and the law recognized the holding brand as the hall-mark of ownership. but a compromise was finally agreed upon, whereby we were to run the beeves through the chute and cut the brush from their tails. in a four or five year old animal this tally-mark would hold for a year, and in no wise work any hardship to the animal in warding off insect life. in case of any loss on the trail my employer agreed to pay one dollar a head for regathering any stragglers that returned within a year. the proposition was a fair one, the ranchmen yielded, and we ran the whole herd through the chute, cutting the brush within a few inches of the end of the tail-bone. by tightly wrapping the brush once around the blade of a sharp knife, it was quick work to thus vent a chuteful of cattle, both the road-branding and tally-marking being done in two days. the herd started on the morning of the th. i had a good outfit of men, only four of whom were with me the year before. the spring could not be considered an early one, and therefore we traveled slow for the first few weeks, meeting with two bad runs, three days apart, but without the loss of a hoof. these panics among the cattle were unexplainable, as they were always gorged with grass and water at bedding time, the weather was favorable, no unseemly noises were heard by the men on guard, and both runs occurred within two hours of daybreak. there was a half-breed mexican in the outfit, a very quiet man, and when the causes of the stampedes were being discussed around the camp-fire, i noticed that he shrugged his shoulders in derision of the reasons advanced. the half-breed was my horse wrangler, old in years and experience, and the idea struck me to sound him as to his version of the existing trouble among the cattle. he was inclined to be distant, but i approached him cautiously, complimented him on his handling of the remuda, rode with him several hours, and adroitly drew out his opinion of what caused our two stampedes. as he had never worked with the herd, his first question was, did we receive any blind cattle or had any gone blind since we started? he then informed me that the old spanish rancheros would never leave a sightless animal in a corral with sound ones during the night for fear of a stampede. he cautioned me to look the herd over carefully, and if there was a blind animal found to cut it out or the trouble would he repeated in spite of all precaution. i rode back and met the herd, accosting every swing man on one side with the inquiry if any blind animal had been seen, without results until the drag end of the cattle was reached. two men were at the rear, and when approached with the question, both admitted noticing, for the past week, a beef which acted as if he might be crazy. i had them point out the steer, and before i had watched him ten minutes was satisfied that he was stone blind. he was a fine, big fellow, in splendid flesh, but it was impossible to keep him in the column; he was always straggling out and constantly shying from imaginary objects. i had the steer roped for three or four nights and tied to a tree, and as the stampeding ceased we cut him out every evening when bedding down the herd, and allowed him to sleep alone. the poor fellow followed us, never venturing to leave either day or night, but finally fell into a deep ravine and broke his neck. his affliction had befallen him on the trail, affecting his nervous system to such an extent that he would jump from imaginary objects and thus stampede his brethren. i remember it occurred to me, then, how little i knew about cattle, and that my wrangler and i ought to exchange places. since that day i have always been an attentive listener to the humblest of my fellowmen when interpreting the secrets of animal life. another incident occurred on this trip which showed the observation and insight of my half-breed wrangler. we were passing through some cross-timbers one morning in northern texas, the remuda and wagon far in the lead. we were holding the herd as compactly as possible to prevent any straying of cattle, when our saddle horses were noticed abandoned in thick timber. it was impossible to leave the herd at the time, but on reaching the nearest opening, about two miles ahead, i turned and galloped back for fear of losing horses. i counted the remuda and found them all there, but the wrangler was missing. thoughts of desertion flashed through my mind, the situation was unexplainable, and after calling, shooting, and circling around for over an hour, i took the remuda in hand and started after the herd, mentally preparing a lecture in case my wrangler returned. while nooning that day some six or seven miles distant, the half-breed jauntily rode into camp, leading a fine horse, saddled and bridled, with a man's coat tied to the cantle-strings. he explained to us that he had noticed the trail of a horse crossing our course at right angles. the freshness of the sign attracted his attention, and trailing it a short distance in the dewy morning he had noticed that something attached to the animal was trailing. a closer examination was made, and he decided that it was a bridle rein and not a rope that was attached to the wandering horse. from the freshness of the trail, he felt positive that he would overtake the animal shortly, but after finding him some difficulty was encountered before the horse would allow himself to be caught. he apologized for his neglect of duty, considering the incident as nothing unusual, and i had not the heart even to scold him. there were letters in the pocket of the coat, from which the owner was identified, and on arriving at abilene the pleasure was mine of returning the horse and accoutrements and receiving a twenty-dollar gold piece for my wrangler. a stampede of trail cattle had occurred some forty miles to the northwest but a few nights before our finding the horse, during which the herd ran into some timber, and a low-hanging limb unhorsed the foreman, the animal escaping until captured by my man. on approaching fort worth, still traveling slowly on account of the lateness of the spring, i decided to pay a flying visit to palo pinto county. it was fully eighty miles from the fort across to the edwards ranch, and appointing one of my old men as segundo, i saddled my best horse and set out an hour before sunset. i had made the same ride four years previously on coming to the country, a cool night favored my mount, and at daybreak i struck the brazos river within two miles of the ranch. an eventful day followed; i reeled off innocent white-faced lies by the yard, in explaining the delightful winter i had spent with my brother in missouri. fortunately the elder edwards was not driving any cattle that year, and george was absent buying oxen for a fort griffin freighter. good reports of my new ranch awaited me, my cattle were increasing, and the smile of prosperity again shed its benediction over me. no one had located any lands near my little ranch, and the coveted addition on the west was still vacant and unoccupied. the silent monitor within my breast was my only accuser, but as i rode away from the edwards ranch in the shade of evening, even it was silenced, for i held the promise of a splendid girl to become my wife. a second sleepless night passed like a pleasant dream, and early the next morning, firmly anchored in resolutions that no vagabond friends could ever shake, i overtook my herd. after crossing red river, the sweep across the indian country was but a repetition of other years, with its varying monotony. once we were waterbound for three days, severe drifts from storms at night were experienced, delaying our progress, and we did not reach abilene until june . we were aware, however, of an increased drive of cattle to the north; evidences were to be seen on every hand; owners were hanging around the different fords and junctions of trails, inquiring if herds in such and such brands had been seen or spoken. while we were crossing the nations, men were daily met hunting for lost horses or inquiring for stampeded cattle, while the regular trails were being cut into established thoroughfares from increasing use. neither of the other mabry herds had reached their destination on our arrival, though major seth put in an appearance within a week and reported the other two about one hundred miles to the rear. cattle were arriving by the thousands, buyers from the north, east, and west were congregating, and the prospect of good prices was flattering. i was fortunate in securing my old camp-ground north of the town; a dry season had set in nearly a month before, maturing the grass, and our cattle took on flesh rapidly. buyers looked them over daily, our prices being firm. wintered cattle were up in the pictures, a rate war was on between all railroad lines east of the mississippi river, cutting to the bone to secure the western live-stock traffic. three-year-old steers bought the fall before at twenty dollars and wintered on the kansas prairies were netting their owners as high as sixty dollars on the chicago market. the man with good cattle for sale could afford to be firm. at this juncture a regrettable incident occurred, which, however, proved a boon to me. some busybody went to the trouble of telling major mabry about my return to abilene the fall before and my subsequent escapade in texas, embellishing the details and even intimating that i had squandered funds not my own. i was thirty years old and as touchy as gunpowder, and felt the injustice of the charge like a knife-blade in my heart. there was nothing to do but ask for my release, place the facts in the hands of my employer, and court a thorough investigation. i had always entertained the highest regard for major mabry, and before the season ended i was fully vindicated and we were once more fast friends. in the mean time i was not idle. by the first of july it was known that three hundred thousand cattle would be the minimum of the summer's drive to abilene. my extensive acquaintance among buyers made my services of value to new drovers. a commission of twenty-five cents a head was offered me for effecting sales. the first week after severing my connection with major seth my earnings from a single trade amounted to seven hundred and fifty dollars. thenceforth i was launched on a business of my own. fortune smiled on me, acquaintances nicknamed me "the angel," and instead of my foolishness reflecting on me, it made me a host of friends. cowmen insisted on my selling their cattle, shippers consulted me, and i was constantly in demand with buyers, who wished my opinion on young steers before closing trades. i was chosen referee in a dozen disputes in classifying cattle, my decisions always giving satisfaction. frequently, on an order, i turned buyer. northern men seemed timid in relying on their own judgment of texas cattle. often, after a trade was made, the buyer paid me the regular commission for cutting and receiving, not willing to risk his judgment on range cattle. during the second week in august i sold five thousand head and bought fifteen hundred. every man who had purchased cattle the year before had made money and was back in the market for more. prices were easily advanced as the season wore on, whole herds were taken by three or four farmers from the corn regions, and the year closed with a flourish. in the space of four months i was instrumental in selling, buying, cutting, or receiving a few over thirty thousand head, on all of which i received a commission. i established a camp of my own during the latter part of august. in order to avoid night-herding his cattle the summer before, some one had built a corral about ten miles northeast of abilene. it was a temporary affair, the abrupt, bluff banks of a creek making a perfect horseshoe, requiring only four hundred feet of fence across the neck to inclose a corral of fully eight acres. the inclosure was not in use, so i hired three men and took possession of it for the time being. i had noticed in previous years that when a drover had sold all his herd but a remnant, he usually sacrificed his culls in order to reduce the expense of an outfit and return home. i had an idea that there was money in buying up these remnants and doing a small jobbing business. frequently i had as many as seven hundred cull cattle on hand. besides, i was constantly buying and selling whole remudas of saddle horses. so when a drover had sold all but a few hundred cattle he would come to me, and i would afford him the relief he wanted. cripples and sore-footed animals were usually thrown in for good measure, or accepted at the price of their hides. some buyers demanded quality and some cared only for numbers. i remember effecting a sale of one hundred culls to a settler, southeast on the smoky river, at seven dollars a head. the terms were that i was to cut out the cattle, and as many were cripples and cost me little or nothing, they afforded a nice profit besides cleaning up my herd. when selling my own, i always priced a choice of my cattle at a reasonable figure, or offered to cull out the same number at half the price. by this method my herd was kept trimmed from both ends and the happy medium preserved. i love to think of those good old days. without either foresight or effort i made all kinds of money during the summer of . our best patrons that fall were small ranchmen from kansas and nebraska, every one of whom had coined money on their purchases of the summer before. one hundred per cent for wintering a steer and carrying him less than a year had brought every cattleman and his cousin back to abilene to duplicate their former ventures. the little ranchman who bought five hundred steers in the fall of was in the market the present summer for a thousand head. demand always seemed to meet supply a little over half-way. the market closed firm, with every hoof taken and at prices that were entirely satisfactory to drovers. it would seem an impossibility were i to admit my profits for that year, yet at the close of the season i started overland to texas with fifty choice saddle horses and a snug bank account. surely those were the golden days of the old west. my last act before leaving abilene that fall was to meet my enemy and force a personal settlement. major mabry washed his hands by firmly refusing to name my accuser, but from other sources i traced my defamer to a liveryman of the town. the fall before, on four horses and saddles, i paid a lien, in the form of a feed bill, of one hundred and twenty dollars for my stranded friends. the following day the same man presented me another bill for nearly an equal amount, claiming it had been assigned to him in a settlement with other parties. i investigated the matter, found it to be a disputed gambling account, and refused payment. an attempt was made, only for a moment, to hold the horses, resulting in my incurring the stableman's displeasure. the outcome was that on our return the next spring our patronage went to another _bran_, and the story, born in malice and falsehood, was started between employer and employee. i had made arrangements to return to texas with the last one of major mabry's outfits, and the wagon and remuda had already started, when i located my traducer in a well-known saloon. i invited him to a seat at a table, determined to bring matters to an issue. he reluctantly complied, when i branded him with every vile epithet that my tongue could command, concluding by arraigning him as a coward. i was hungering for him to show some resistance, expecting to kill him, and when he refused to notice my insults, i called the barkeeper and asked for two glasses of whiskey and a pair of six-shooters. not a word passed between us until the bartender brought the drinks and guns on a tray. "now take your choice," said i. he replied, "i believe a little whiskey will do me good." chapter viii the "lazy l" the homeward trip was a picnic. counting mine, we had one hundred and fifty saddle horses. all surplus men in the employ of major mabry had been previously sent home until there remained at the close of the season only the drover, seven men, and myself. we averaged forty miles a day returning, sweeping down the plains like a north wind until red river station was reached. there our ways parted, and cutting separate my horses, we bade each other farewell, the main outfit heading for fort worth, while i bore to the westward for palo pinto. major seth was anxious to secure my services for another year, but i made no definite promises. we parted the best of friends. there were scattering ranches on my route, but driving fifty loose horses made traveling slow, and it was nearly a week before i reached the edwards ranch. the branding season was nearly over. after a few days' rest, an outfit of men was secured, and we started for my little ranch on the clear fork. word was sent to the county seat, appointing a date with the surveyor, and on arriving at the new ranch i found that the corrals had been in active use by branding parties. we were soon in the thick of the fray, easily holding our own, branding every maverick on the range as well as catching wild cattle. my weakness for a good horse was the secret of much of my success in ranching during the early days, for with a remuda of seventy picked horses it was impossible for any unowned animal to escape us. our drag-net scoured the hills and valleys, and before the arrival of the surveyor we had run the " " on over five hundred calves, mavericks, and wild cattle. different outfits came down the brazos and passed up the clear fork, always using my corrals when working in the latter valley. we usually joined in with these cow-hunting parties, extending to them every possible courtesy, and in return many a thrifty yearling was added to my brand. except some wild-cattle hunting which we had in view, every hoof was branded up by the time the surveyor arrived at the ranch. the locating of twenty sections of land was an easy matter. we had established corners from which to work, and commencing on the west end of my original location, we ran off an area of country, four miles west by five south. new outside corners were established with buried charcoal and stakes, while the inner ones were indicated by half-buried rock, nothing divisional being done except to locate the land in sections. it was a beautiful tract, embracing a large bend of the clear fork, heavily timbered in several places, the soil being of a rich, sandy loam and covered with grass. i was proud of my landed interest, though small compared to modern ranches; and after the surveying ended, we spent a few weeks hunting out several rendezvous of wild cattle before returning to the edwards ranch. i married during the holidays. the new ranch was abandoned during the winter months, as the cattle readily cared for themselves, requiring no attention. i now had a good working capital, and having established myself by marriage into a respectable family of the country, i found several avenues open before me. among the different openings for attractive investment was a brand of cattle belonging to an estate south in comanche county. if the cattle were as good as represented they were certainly a bargain, as the brand was offered straight through at four dollars and a half a head. it was represented that nothing had been sold from the brand in a number of years, the estate was insolvent, and the trustee was anxious to sell the entire stock outright. i was impressed with the opportunity, and early in the winter george edwards and i rode down to look the situation over. by riding around the range a few days we were able to get a good idea of the stock, and on inquiry among neighbors and men familiar with the brand, i was satisfied that the cattle were a bargain. a lawyer at the county seat was the trustee, and on opening negotiations with him it was readily to be seen that all he knew about the stock was that shown by the books and accounts. according to the branding for the past few years, it would indicate a brand of five or six thousand cattle. the only trouble in trading was to arrange the terms, my offer being half cash and the balance in six months, the cattle to be gathered early the coming spring. a bewildering list of references was given and we returned home. within a fortnight a letter came from the trustee, accepting my offer and asking me to set a date for the gathering. i felt positive that the brand ought to run forty per cent steer cattle, and unless there was some deception, there would be in the neighborhood of two thousand head fit for the trail. i at once bought thirty more saddle horses, outfitted a wagon with oxen to draw it, besides hiring fifteen cow-hands. early in march we started for comanche county, having in the mean time made arrangements with the elder edwards to supply one thousand head of trail cattle, intended for the kansas market. an early spring favored the work. by the th of the month we were actively engaged in gathering the stock. it was understood that we were to have the assistance of the ranch outfit in holding the cattle, but as they numbered only half a dozen and were miserably mounted, they were of little use except as herders. all the neighboring ranches gave us round-ups, and by the time we reached the home range of the brand i was beginning to get uneasy on account of the numbers under herd. my capital was limited, and if we gathered six thousand head it would absorb my money. i needed a little for expenses on the trail, and too many cattle would be embarrassing. there was no intention on my part to act dishonestly in the premises, even if we did drop out any number of yearlings during the last few days of the gathering. it was absolutely necessary to hold the numbers down to five thousand head, or as near that number as possible, and by keeping the ranch outfit on herd and my men out on round-ups, it was managed quietly, though we let no steer cattle two years old or over escape. when the gathering was finished, to the surprise of every one the herd counted out fifty-six hundred and odd cattle. but the numbers were still within the limits of my capital, and at the final settlement i asked the privilege of cutting out and leaving on the range one hundred head of weak, thin stock and cows heavy in calf. i offered to tally-mark and send after them during the fall branding, when the trustee begged me to make him an offer on any remnant of cattle, making me full owner of the brand. i hesitated to involve myself deeper in debt, but when he finally offered me the "lazy l" brand outright for the sum of one thousand dollars, and on a credit, i never stuttered in accepting his proposal. i culled back one hundred before starting, there being no occasion now to tally-mark, as i was in full possession of the brand. this amount of cattle in one herd was unwieldy to handle. the first day's drive we scarcely made ten miles, it being nearly impossible to water such an unmanageable body of animals, even from a running stream. the second noon we cut separate all the steers two years old and upward, finding a few under twenty-three hundred in the latter class. this left three thousand and odd hundred in the mixed herd, running from yearlings to old range bulls. a few extra men were secured, and some progress was made for the next few days, the steers keeping well in the lead, the two herds using the same wagon, and camping within half a mile of each other at night. it was fully ninety miles to the edwards ranch; and when about two thirds the distance was covered, a messenger met us and reported the home cattle under herd and ready to start. it still lacked two days of the appointed time for our return, but rather than disappoint any one, i took seven men and sixty horses with the lead herd and started in to the ranch, leaving the mixed cattle to follow with the wagon. we took a day's rations on a pack horse, touched at a ranch, and on the second evening reached home. my contingent to the trail herd would have classified approximately seven hundred twos, six hundred threes, and one thousand four years old or over. the next morning the herd started up the trail under george edwards as foreman. it numbered a few over thirty-three hundred head and had fourteen men, all told, and ninety-odd horses, with four good mules to a new wagon. i promised to overtake them within a week, and the same evening rejoined the mixed herd some ten miles back down the country. calves were dropping at an alarming rate, fully twenty of them were in the wagon, their advent delaying the progress of the herd. by dint of great exertion we managed to reach the ranch the next evening, where we lay over a day and rigged up a second wagon, purposely for calves. it was the intention to send the stock cattle to my new ranch on the clear fork, and releasing all but four men, the idle help about the home ranch were substituted. in moving cattle from one range to another, it should always be done with the coming of grass, as it gives them a full summer to locate and become attached to their new range. when possible, the coming calf crop should be born where the mothers are to be located, as it strengthens the ties between an animal and its range by making sacred the birthplace of its young. from instinctive warnings of maternity, cows will frequently return to the same retreat annually to give birth to their calves. it was about fifty miles between the home and the new ranch. as it was important to get the cattle located as soon as possible, they were accordingly started with but the loss of a single day. two wagons accompanied them, every calf was saved, and by nursing the herd early and late we managed to average ten miles between sunrise and sunset. the elder edwards, anxious to see the new ranch, accompanied us, his patience with a cow being something remarkable. when we lacked but a day's drive of the clear fork it was considered advisable for me to return. once the cattle reached the new range, four men would loose-herd them for a month, after which they would continue to ride the range and turn back all stragglers. the veteran cowman assumed control, and i returned to the home ranch, where a horse had been left on which to overtake the trail herd. my wife caught several glimpses of me that spring; with stocking a new ranch and starting a herd on the trail i was as busy as the proverbial cranberry-merchant. where a year before i was moneyless, now my obligations were accepted for nearly fourteen thousand dollars. i overtook the herd within one day's drive of red river. everything was moving nicely, the cattle were well trail-broken, not a run had occurred, and all was serene and lovely. we crossed into the nations at the regular ford, nothing of importance occurring until we reached the washita river. the indians had been bothering us more or less, but we brushed them aside or appeased their begging with a stray beef. at the crossing of the washita quite an encampment had congregated, demanding six cattle and threatening to dispute our entrance to the ford. several of the boys with us pretended to understand the sign language, and this resulted in an animosity being engendered between two of the outfit over interpreting a sign made by a chief. after we had given the indians two strays, quite a band of bucks gathered on foot at the crossing, refusing to let us pass until their demand had been fulfilled. we had a few carbines, every lad had a six-shooter or two, and, summoning every mounted man, we rode up to the ford. the braves outnumbered us about three to one, and it was easy to be seen that they had bows and arrows concealed under their blankets. i was determined to give up no more cattle, and in the powwow that followed the chief of the band became very defiant. i accused him and his band of being armed, and when he denied it one of the boys jumped a horse against the chief, knocking him down. in the mêlée, the leader's blanket was thrown from him, exposing a strung bow and quiver of arrows, and at the same instant every man brought his carbine or six-shooter to bear on the astonished braves. not a shot was fired, nor was there any further resistance offered on the part of the indians; but as they turned to leave the humiliated chief pointed to the sun and made a circle around his head as if to indicate a threat of scalping. it was in interpreting this latter sign that the dispute arose between two of the outfit. one of the boys contended that i was to be scalped before the sun set, while the other interpreted the threat that we would all he scalped before the sun rose again. neither version troubled me, but the two fellows quarreled over the matter while returning to the herd, until the lie was passed and their six-shooters began talking. fortunately they were both mounted on horses that were gun-shy, and with the rearing and plunging the shots went wild. every man in the outfit interfered, the two fellows were disarmed, and we started on with the cattle. no interference was offered by the indians at the ford, the guards were doubled that night, and the incident was forgotten within a week. i simply mention this to give some idea of the men of that day, willing to back their opinions, even on trivial matters, with their lives. "i'm the quickest man on the trigger that ever came over the trail," said a cowpuncher to me one night in a saloon in abilene. "you're a blankety blank liar," said a quiet little man, a perfect stranger to both of us, not even casting a glance our way. i wrested a six-shooter from the hand of my acquaintance and hustled him out of the house, getting roundly cursed for my interference, though no doubt i saved human life. on reaching stone's store, on the kansas line, i left the herd to follow, and arrived at abilene in two days and a half. only some twenty-five herds were ahead of ours, though i must have passed a dozen or more in my brief ride, staying over night with them and scarcely ever missing a meal on the road. my motive in reaching abilene in advance of our cattle was to get in touch with the market, secure my trading-corrals again, and perfect my arrangements to do a commission business. but on arriving, instead of having the field to myself, i found the old corrals occupied by a trio of jobbers, while two new ones had been built within ten miles of town, and half a dozen firms were offering their services as salesmen. there was a lack of actual buyers, at least among my acquaintances, and the railroads had adjusted their rates, while a largely increased drive was predicted. the spring had been a wet one, the grass was washy and devoid of nutriment, and there was nothing in the outlook of an encouraging nature. yet the majority of the drovers were very optimistic of the future, freely predicting better prices than ever before, while many declared their intention of wintering in case their hopes were not realized. by the time our herd arrived, i had grown timid of the market in general and was willing to sell out and go home. i make no pretension to having any extra foresight, probably it was my outstanding obligations in texas that fostered my anxiety, but i was prepared to sell to the first man who talked business. our cattle arrived in good condition. the weather continued wet and stormy, the rank grass harbored myriads of flies and mosquitoes, and the through cattle failed to take on flesh as in former years. rival towns were competing for the trail business, wintered cattle were lower, and a perfect chaos existed as to future prices, drovers bolstering and pretended buyers depressing them. within a week after their arrival i sold fifteen hundred of our heaviest beeves to an army contractor from fort russell in dakota. he had brought his own outfit down to receive the cattle, and as his contract called for a million and a half pounds on foot, i assisted him in buying sixteen hundred more. the contractor was a shrewd yankee, and although i admitted having served in the confederate army, he offered to form a partnership with me for supplying beef to the army posts along the upper missouri river. he gave me an insight into the profits in that particular trade, and even urged the partnership, but while the opportunity was a golden one, i was distrustful of a northern man and declined the alliance. within a year i regretted not forming the partnership, as the government was a stable patron, and my adopted state had any quantity of beef cattle. my brother paid me a visit during the latter part of june. we had not seen each other in five years, during which time he had developed into a prosperous stockman, feeding cattle every winter on his missouri farm. he was anxious to interest me in corn-feeding steers, but i had my hands full at home, and within a week he went on west and bought two hundred colorado natives, shipping them home to feed the coming winter. meanwhile a perfect glut of cattle was arriving at abilene, fully six hundred thousand having registered at stone's store on passing into kansas, yet prices remained firm, considering the condition of the stock. many drovers halted only a day or two, and turned westward looking for ranges on which to winter their herds. barely half the arrivals were even offered, which afforded fair prices to those who wished to sell. before the middle of july the last of ours was closed out at satisfactory prices, and the next day the outfit started home, leaving me behind. i was anxious to secure an extra remuda of horses, and, finding no opposition in that particular field, had traded extensively in saddle stock ever since my arrival at abilene. gentle horses were in good demand among shippers and ranchmen, and during my brief stay i must have handled a thousand head, buying whole remudas and retailing in quantities to suit, not failing to keep the choice ones for my own use. within two weeks after george edwards started home, i closed up my business, fell in with a returning outfit, and started back with one hundred and ten picked saddle horses. after crossing red river, i hired a boy to assist me in driving the remuda, and i reached home only ten days behind the others. i was now the proud possessor of over two hundred saddle horses which had actually cost me nothing. to use a borrowed term, they were the "velvet" of my trading operations. i hardly feel able to convey an idea of the important rôle that the horses play in the operations of a cowman. whether on the trail or on the ranch, there is a complete helplessness when the men are not properly mounted and able to cope with any emergency that may arise. on the contrary, and especially in trail work, when men are well mounted, there is no excuse for not riding in the lead of any stampede, drifting with the herd on the stormiest night, or trailing lost cattle until overtaken. owing to the nature of the occupation, a man may be frequently wet, cold, and hungry, and entitled to little sympathy; but once he feels that he is no longer mounted, his grievance becomes a real one. the cow-horse subsisted on the range, and if ever used to exhaustion was worthless for weeks afterward. hence the value of a good mount in numbers, and the importance of frequent changes when the duties were arduous. the importance of good horses was first impressed on me during my trips to fort sumner, and i then resolved that if fortune ever favored me to reach the prominence of a cowman, the saddle stock would have my first consideration. on my return it was too early for the fall branding. i made a trip out to the new ranch, taking along ample winter supplies, two extra lads, and the old remuda of sixty horses. the men had located the new cattle fairly well, the calf crop was abundant, and after spending a week i returned home. i had previously settled my indebtedness in comanche county by remittances from abilene, and early in the fall i made up an outfit to go down and gather the remnant of "lazy l" cattle. taking along the entire new remuda, we dropped down in advance of the branding season, visited among the neighboring ranches, and offered a dollar a head for solitary animals that had drifted any great distance from the range of the brand. a camp was established at some corrals on the original range, extra men were employed with the opening of the branding season, and after twenty days' constant riding we started home with a few over nine hundred head, not counting two hundred and odd calves. little wonder the trustee threatened to sue me; but then it was his own proposition. on arriving at the edwards ranch, we halted a few days in order to gather the fruits of my first mavericking. the fall work was nearly finished, and having previously made arrangements to put my brand under herd, we received two hundred and fifty more, with seventy-five thrifty calves, before proceeding on to the new ranch on the clear fork. on arriving there we branded the calves, put the two brands under herd, corralling them at night and familiarizing them with their new home, and turning them loose at the end of two weeks. moving cattle in the fall was contrary to the best results, but it was an idle time, and they were all young stuff and easily located. during the interim of loose-herding this second contingent of stock cattle, the branding had been finished on the ranch, and i was able to take an account of my year's work. the "lazy l" was continued, and from that brand alone there was an increase of over seventeen hundred calves. with all the expenses of the trail deducted, the steer cattle alone had paid for the entire brand, besides adding over five thousand dollars to my cash capital. who will gainsay my statement that texas was a good country in the year ? chapter ix the school of experience success had made me daring. and yet i must have been wandering aimlessly, for had my ambition been well directed, there is no telling to what extent i might have amassed a fortune. opportunity was knocking at my gate, a giant young commonwealth was struggling in the throes of political revolution, while i wandered through it all like a blind man led by a child. precedent was of little value, as present environment controlled my actions. the best people in texas were doubtful of ever ridding themselves of the baneful incubus of reconstruction. men on whose judgment i relied laughed at me for acquiring more land than a mere homestead. stock cattle were in such disrepute that they had no cash value. many a section of deeded land changed owners for a milk cow, while surveyors would no longer locate new lands for the customary third, but insisted on a half interest. ranchmen were so indifferent that many never went off their home range in branding the calf crop, not considering a ten or twenty per cent loss of any importance. yet through it all--from my virginia rearing--there lurked a wavering belief that some day, in some manner, these lands and cattle would have a value. but my faith was neither the bold nor the assertive kind, and i drifted along, clinging to any passing straw of opinion. the indians were still giving trouble along the texas frontier. a line of government posts, extending from red river on the north to the rio grande on the south, made a pretense of holding the comanches and their allies in check, while this arm of the service was ably seconded by the texas rangers. yet in spite of all precaution, the redskins raided the settlements at their pleasure, stealing horses and adding rapine and murder to their category of crimes. hence for a number of years after my marriage we lived at the edwards ranch as a matter of precaution against indian raids. i was absent from home so much that this arrangement suited me, and as the new ranch was distant but a day's ride, any inconvenience was more than recompensed in security. it was my intention to follow the trail and trading, at the same time running a ranch where anything unfit for market might be sent to mature or increase. as long as i could add to my working capital, i was content, while the remnants of my speculations found a refuge on the clear fork. during the winter of - very little of importance transpired. several social letters passed between major mabry and myself, in one of which he casually mentioned the fact that land scrip had declined until it was offered on the streets of the capital as low as twenty dollars a section. he knew i had been dabbling in land certificates, and in a friendly spirit wanted to post me on their decline, and had incidentally mentioned the fact for my information. some inkling of horse sense told me that i ought to secure more land, and after thinking the matter over, i wrote to a merchant in austin, and had him buy me one hundred sections. he was very anxious to purchase a second hundred at the same figure, but it would make too serious an inroad into my trading capital, and i declined his friendly assistance. my wife was the only person whom i took into confidence in buying the scrip, and i even had her secrete it in the bottom of a trunk, with strict admonitions never to mention it unless it became of value. it was not taxable, the public domain was bountiful, and i was young enough man those days to bide my time. the winter proved a severe one in kansas. nearly every drover who wintered his cattle in the north met with almost complete loss. the previous summer had been too wet for cattle to do well, and they had gone into winter thin in flesh. instead of curing like hay, the buffalo grass had rotted from excessive rains, losing its nutritive qualities, and this resulted in serious loss among all range cattle. the result was financial ruin to many drovers, and even augured a lighter drive north the coming spring. early in the winter i bought two brands of cattle in erath county, paying half cash and getting six months' time on the remainder. both brands occupied the same range, and when we gathered them in the early spring, they counted out a few over six thousand animals. these two contingents were extra good cattle, costing me five dollars a head, counting yearlings up, and from them i selected two thousand steer cattle for the trail. the mixed stuff was again sent to my clear fork ranch, and the steers went into a neighborhood herd intended for the kansas market. but when the latter was all ready to start, such discouraging reports came down from the north that my friends weakened, and i bought their cattle outright. my reputation as a good trader was my capital. i had the necessary horses, and, straining my credit, the herd started thirty-one hundred strong. the usual incidents of flood and storm, of begging indians and caravans like ourselves, formed the chronicle of the trip. before arriving at the kansas line we were met by solicitors of rival towns, each urging the advantages of their respective markets for our cattle. the summer before a small business had sprung up at newton, kansas, it being then the terminal of the santa fé railway. and although newton lasted as a trail town but a single summer, its reputation for bloodshed and riotous disorder stands notoriously alone among its rivals. in the mean time the santa fé had been extended to wichita on the arkansas river, and its representatives were now bidding for our patronage. abilene was abandoned, yet a rival to wichita had sprung up at ellsworth, some sixty-five miles west of the former market, on the kansas pacific railway. the railroads were competing for the cattle traffic, each one advertising its superior advantages to drovers, shippers, and feeders. i was impartial, but as wichita was fully one hundred miles the nearest, my cattle were turned for that point. wichita was a frontier village of about two thousand inhabitants. we found a convenient camp northwest of town, and went into permanent quarters to await the opening of the market. within a few weeks a light drive was assured, and prices opened firm. fully a quarter-million less cattle would reach the markets within the state that year, and buyers became active in securing their needed supply. early in july i sold the last of my herd and started my outfit home, remaining behind to await the arrival of my brother. the trip was successful; the purchased cattle had afforded me a nice profit, while the steers from the two brands had more than paid for the mixed stuff left at home on the ranch. meanwhile i renewed old acquaintances among drovers and dealers, major mabry among the former. in a confidential mood i confessed to him that i had bought, on the recent decline, one hundred certificates of land scrip, when he surprised me by saying that there had been a later decline to sixteen dollars a section. i was unnerved for an instant, but major mabry agreed with me that to a man who wanted the land the price was certainly cheap enough,--two and a half cents an acre. i pondered over the matter, and as my nerve returned i sent my merchant friend at austin a draft and authorized him to buy me two hundred sections more of land scrip. i was actually nettled to think that my judgment was so short-sighted as to buy anything that would depreciate in value. my brother arrived and reported splendid success in feeding colorado cattle. he was anxious to have me join forces with him and corn-feed an increased number of beeves the coming winter on his missouri farm. my judgment hardly approved of the venture, but when he urged a promised visit of our parents to his home, i consented and agreed to furnish the cattle. he also encouraged me to bring as many as my capital would admit of, assuring me that i would find a ready sale for any surplus among his neighbors. my brother returned to missouri, and i took the train for ellsworth, where i bought a carload of picked cow-horses, shipping them to kit carson, colorado. from there i drifted into the fountain valley at the base of the mountains, where i made a trade for seven hundred native steers, three and four years old. they were fine cattle, nearly all reds and roans. while i was gathering them a number of amusing incidents occurred. the round-ups carried us down on to the main arkansas river, and in passing pueblo we discovered a number of range cattle impounded in the town. i cannot give it as a fact, but the supposition among the cowmen was that the object of the officials was to raise some revenue by distressing the cattle. the result was that an outfit of men rode into the village during the night, tore down the pound, and turned the cattle back on the prairie. the prime movers in the raid were suspected, and the next evening when a number of us rode into town an attempt was made to arrest us, resulting in a fight, in which an officer was killed and two cowboys wounded. the citizens rallied to the support of the officers, and about thirty range men, including myself, were arrested and thrown into jail. we sent for a lawyer, and the following morning the majority of us were acquitted. some three or four of the boys were held for trial, bonds being furnished by the best men in the town, and that night a party of cowboys reëntered the village, carried away the two wounded men and spirited them out of the country. pueblo at that time was a unique town. live-stock interests were its main support, and i distinctly remember gann's outfitting store. at night one could find anywhere from ten to thirty cowboys sleeping on the counters, the proprietor turning the keys over to them at closing time, not knowing one in ten, and sleeping at his own residence. the same custom prevailed at gallup the saddler's, never an article being missed from either establishment, and both men amassing fortunes out of the cattle trade in subsequent years. the range man's patronage had its peculiarities; the firm of wright, beverly & co. of dodge city, kansas, accumulated seven thousand odd vests during the trail days. when a cow-puncher bought a new suit he had no use for an unnecessary garment like a vest and left it behind. it was restored to the stock, where it can yet be found. early in august the herd was completed. i accepted seven hundred and twenty steers, investing every cent of spare money, reserving only sufficient to pay my expenses en route. it was my intention to drive the cattle through to missouri, the distance being a trifle less than six hundred miles or a matter of six weeks' travel. four men were secured, a horse was packed with provisions and blankets, and we started down the arkansas river. for the first few days i did very little but build air castles. i pictured myself driving herds from texas in the spring, reinvesting the proceeds in better grades of cattle and feeding them corn in the older states, selling in time to again buy and come up the trail. i even planned to send for my wife and baby, and looked forward to a happy reunion with my parents during the coming winter, with not a cloud in my roseate sky. but there were breakers ahead. an old military trail ran southeast from fort larned to other posts in the indian territory. over this government road had come a number of herds of texas cattle, all of them under contract, which, in reaching their destination, had avoided the markets of wichita and ellsworth. i crossed their trail with my colorado natives,--the through cattle having passed a month or more before,--never dreaming of any danger. ten days afterward i noticed a number of my steers were ailing; their ears drooped, they refused to eat, and fell to the rear as we grazed forward. the next morning there were forty head unable to leave the bed-ground, and by noon a number of them had died. i had heard of texas fever, but always treated it as more or less a myth, and now it held my little herd of natives in its toils. by this time we had reached some settlement on the cottonwood, and the pioneer settlers in kansas arose in arms and quarantined me. no one knew what the trouble was, yet the cattle began dying like sheep; i was perfectly helpless, not knowing which way to turn or what to do. quarantine was unnecessary, as within a few days half the cattle were sick, and it was all we could do to move away from the stench of the dead ones. a veterinary was sent for, who pronounced it texas fever. i had previously cut open a number of dead animals, and found the contents of their stomachs and manifolds so dry that they would flash and burn like powder. the fever had dried up their very internals. in the hope of administering a purgative, i bought whole fields of green corn, and turned the sick and dying cattle into them. i bought oils by the barrel, my men and myself worked night and day, inwardly drenching affected animals, yet we were unable to stay the ravages of death. once the cause of the trouble was located,--crossing ground over which texas cattle had passed,--the neighbors became friendly, and sympathized with me. i gave them permission to take the fallen hides, and in return received many kindnesses where a few days before i had been confronted by shotguns. this was my first experience with texas fever, and the lessons that i learned then and afterward make me skeptical of all theories regarding the transmission of the germ. the story of the loss of my colorado herd is a ghastly one. this fever is sometimes called splenic, and in the present case, where animals lingered a week or ten days, while yet alive, their skins frequently cracked along the spine until one could have laid two fingers in the opening. the whole herd was stricken, less than half a dozen animals escaping attack, scores dying within three days, the majority lingering a week or more. in spite of our every effort to save them, as many as one hundred died in a single day. i stayed with them for six weeks, or until the fever had run through the herd, spent my last available dollar in an effort to save the dumb beasts, and, having my hopes frustrated, sold the remnant of twenty-six head for five dollars apiece. i question if they were worth the money, as three fourths of them were fever-burnt and would barely survive a winter, the only animals of value being some half dozen which had escaped the general plague. i gave each of my men two horses apiece, and divided my money with them, and they started back to colorado, while i turned homeward a wiser but poorer man. whereas i had left wichita three months before with over sixteen thousand dollars clear cash, i returned with eighteen saddle horses and not as many dollars in money. my air-castles had fallen. troubles never come singly, and for the last two weeks, while working with the dying cattle, i had suffered with chills and fever. the summer had been an unusually wet one, vegetation had grown up rankly in the valley of the arkansas, and after the first few frosts the very atmosphere reeked with malaria. i had been sleeping on the ground along the river for over a month, drinking impure water from the creeks, and i fell an easy victim to the prevailing miasma. nearly all the texas drovers had gone home, but, luckily for me, jim daugherty had an outfit yet at wichita and invited me to his wagon. it might be a week or ten days before he would start homeward, as he was holding a herd of cows, sold to an indian contractor, who was to receive the same within two weeks. in the interim of waiting, still suffering from fever and ague, i visited around among the few other cow-camps scattered up and down the river. at one of these i met a stranger, a quiet little man, who also had been under the weather from malaria, but was then recovering. he took an interest in my case and gave me some medicine to break the chills, and we visited back and forth. i soon learned that he had come down with some of his neighbors from council grove; that they expected to buy cattle, and that he was banker for the party. he was much interested in everything pertaining to texas; and when i had given him an idea of the cheapness of lands and live stock in my adopted state, he expressed himself as anxious to engage in trailing cattle north. a great many texas cattle had been matured in his home county, and he thoroughly understood the advantages of developing southern steers in a northern climate. many of his neighbors had made small fortunes in buying young stock at abilene, holding them a year or two, and shipping them to market as fat cattle. the party bought six hundred two-year-old steers, and my new-found friend, the banker, invited me to assist in the receiving. my knowledge of range cattle was a decided advantage to the buyers, who no doubt were good farmers, yet were sadly handicapped when given pick and choice from a texas herd and confined to ages. i cut, counted, and received the steers, my work giving such satisfaction that the party offered to pay me for my services. it was but a neighborly act, unworthy of recompense, yet i won the lasting regard of the banker in protecting the interests of his customers. the upshot of the acquaintance was that we met in town that evening and had a few drinks together. neither one ever made any inquiry of the other's past or antecedents, both seeming to be satisfied with a soldier's acquaintance. at the final parting, i gave him my name and address and invited him to visit me, promising that we would buy a herd of cattle together and drive them up the trail the following spring. he accepted the invitation with a hearty grasp of the hand, and the simple promise "i'll come." those words were the beginning of a partnership which lasted eighteen years, and a friendship that death alone will terminate. the indian contractor returned on time, and the next day i started home with daugherty's outfit. and on the way, as if i were pursued by some unrelenting nemesis, two of my horses, with others, were stolen by the indians one night when we were encamped near red river. we trailed them westward nearly fifty miles, but, on being satisfied they were traveling night and day, turned back and continued our journey. i reached home with sixteen horses, which for years afterwards, among my hands and neighbors, were pointed out as anthony's thousand-dollar cow-ponies. there is no denying the fact that i keenly felt the loss of my money, as it crippled me in my business, while my ranch expenses, amounting to over one thousand dollars, were unpaid. i was rich in unsalable cattle, owned a thirty-two-thousand-acre ranch, saddle horses galore, and was in debt. my wife's trunk was half full of land scrip, and to have admitted the fact would only have invited ridicule. but my tuition was paid, and all i asked was a chance, for i knew the ropes in handling range cattle. yet this was the second time that i had lost my money and i began to doubt myself. "you stick to cows," said charlie goodnight to me that winter, "and they'll bring you out on top some day. i thought i saw something in you when you first went to work for loving and me. reed, if you'll just imbibe a little caution with your energy, you'll make a fortune out of cattle yet." chapter x the panic of ' i have never forgotten those encouraging words of my first employer. friends tided my finances over, and letters passed between my banker friend and myself, resulting in an appointment to meet him at fort worth early in february. there was no direct railroad at the time, the route being by st. louis and texarkana, with a long trip by stage to the meeting point. no definite agreement existed between us; he was simply paying me a visit, with the view of looking into the cattle trade then existing between our respective states. there was no obligation whatever, yet i had hopes of interesting him sufficiently to join issues with me in driving a herd of cattle. i wish i could describe the actual feelings of a man who has had money and lost it. never in my life did such opportunities present themselves for investment as were tendered to me that winter. no less than half a dozen brands of cattle were offered to me at the former terms of half cash and the balance to suit my own convenience. but i lacked the means to even provision a wagon for a month's work, and i was compelled to turn my back on all bargains, many of which were duplicates of my former successes. i was humbled to the very dust; i bowed my neck to the heel of circumstances, and looked forward to the coming of my casual acquaintance. i have read a few essays on the relation of money to a community. none of our family were ever given to theorizing, yet i know how it feels to be moneyless, my experience with texas fever affording me a post-graduate course. born with a restless energy, i have lived in the pit of despair for the want of money, and again, with the use of it, have bent a legislature to my will and wish. all of which is foreign to my tale, and i hasten on. during the first week in february i drove in to fort worth to await the arrival of my friend, calvin hunter, banker and stockman of council grove, kansas. several letters were awaiting me in the town, notifying me of his progress, and in due time he arrived and was welcomed. the next morning we started, driving a good span of mules to a buckboard, expecting to cover the distance to the brazos in two days. there were several ranches at which we could touch, en route, but we loitered along, making wide detours in order to drive through cattle, not a feature of the country escaping the attention of my quiet little companion. the soil, the native grasses, the natural waters, the general topography of the country, rich in its primal beauty, furnished a panorama to the eye both pleasing and exhilarating. but the main interest centred in the cattle, thousands of which were always in sight, lingering along the watercourses or grazing at random. we reached the edwards ranch early the second evening. in the two days' travel, possibly twenty thousand cattle came under our immediate observation. all the country was an open range, brands intermingling, all ages and conditions, running from a sullen bull to seven-year-old beeves, or from a yearling heifer to the grandmother of younger generations. my anxiety to show the country and its cattle met a hearty second in mr. hunter, and abandoning the buckboard, we took horses and rode up the brazos river as far as old fort belknap. all cattle were wintering strong. turning south, we struck the clear fork above my range and spent a night at the ranch, where my men had built a second cabin, connecting the two by a hallway. after riding through my stock for two days, we turned back for the brazos. my ranch hands had branded thirty-one hundred calves the fall before, and while riding over the range i was delighted to see so many young steers in my different brands. but our jaunt had only whetted the appetite of my guest to see more of the country, and without any waste of time we started south with the buckboard, going as far as comanche county. every day's travel brought us in contact with cattle for sale; the prices were an incentive, but we turned east and came back up the valley of the brazos. i offered to continue our sightseeing, but my guest pleaded for a few days' time until he could hear from his banking associates. i needed a partner and needed one badly, and was determined to interest mr. hunter if it took a whole month. and thereby hangs a tale. the native texan is not distinguished for energy or ambition. his success in cattle is largely due to the fact that nearly all the work can be done on horseback. yet in that particular field he stands at the head of his class; for whether in montana or his own sunny texas, when it comes to handling cattle, from reading brands to cutting a trainload of beeves, he is without a peer. during the palmy days of the cherokee strip, a texan invited captain stone, a kansas city man, to visit his ranch in tom green county and put up a herd of steers to be driven to stone's beef ranch in the cherokee outlet. the invitation was accepted, and on the arrival of the kansas city man at the texan's ranch, host and guest indulged in a friendly visit of several days' duration. it was the northern cowman's first visit to the lone star state, and he naturally felt impatient to see the cattle which he expected to buy. but the host made no movement to show the stock until patience ceased to be a virtue, when captain stone moved an adjournment of the social session and politely asked to be shown a sample of the country's cattle. the two cowmen were fast friends, and no offense was intended or taken; but the host assured his guest there was no hurry, offering to get up horses and show the stock the following day. captain stone yielded, and the next morning they started, but within a few miles met a neighbor, when all three dismounted in the shade of a tree. commonplace chat of the country occupied the attention of the two texans until hunger or some other warning caused one of them to look at his watch, when it was discovered to be three o'clock in the afternoon. it was then too late in the day to make an extensive ride, and the ranchman invited his neighbor and guest to return to the ranch for the night. another day was wasted in entertaining the neighbor, the northern cowman, in the meantime, impatient and walking on nettles until a second start was made to see the cattle. it was a foggy morning, and they started on a different route from that previously taken, the visiting ranchman going along. unnoticed, a pack of hounds followed the trio of horsemen, and before the fog lifted a cougar trail was struck and the dogs opened in a brilliant chorus. the two texans put spurs to their horses in following the pack, the cattle buyer of necessity joining in, the chase leading into some hills, from which they returned after darkness, having never seen a cow during the day. one trivial incident after another interfered with seeing the cattle for ten days, when the guest took his host aside and kindly told him that he must be shown the cattle or he would go home. "you're not in a hurry, are you, captain?" innocently asked the texan. "all right, then; no trouble to show the cattle. yes, they run right around home here within twenty-five miles of the ranch. show you a sample of the stock within an hour's ride. you can just bet that old tom green county has got the steers! sugar, if i'd a-known that you was in a hurry, i could have shown you the cattle the next morning after you come. captain, you ought to know me well enough by this time to speak your little piece without any prelude. you yankees are so restless and impatient that i seriously doubt if you get all the comfort and enjoyment out of life that's coming to you. make haste, some of you boys, and bring in a remuda; captain stone and i are going to ride over on the middle fork this morning. make haste, now; we're in a hurry." in due time i suppose i drifted into the languorous ways of the texan; but on the occasion of mr. hunter's first visit i was in the need of a moneyed partner, and accordingly danced attendance. once communication was opened with his northern associates, we made several short rides into adjoining counties, never being gone over two or three days. when we had looked at cattle to his satisfaction, he surprised me by offering to put fifty thousand dollars into young steers for the kansas trade. i never fainted in my life, but his proposition stunned me for an instant, or until i could get my bearings. the upshot of the proposal was that we entered into an agreement whereby i was to purchase and handle the cattle, and he was to make himself useful in selling and placing the stock in his state. a silent partner was furnishing an equal portion of the means, and i was to have a third of the net profits. within a week after this agreement was perfected, things were moving. i had the horses and wagons, men were plentiful, and two outfits were engaged. early in march a contract was let in parker county for thirty-one hundred two-year-old steers, and another in young for fourteen hundred threes, the latter to be delivered at my ranch. george edwards was to have the younger cattle, and he and mr. hunter received the same, after which the latter hurried west, fully ninety miles, to settle for those bought for delivery on the clear fork. in the mean time my ranch outfit had gathered all our steer cattle two years old and over, having nearly twenty-five hundred head under herd on my arrival to receive the three-year-olds. this amount would make an unwieldy herd, and i culled back all short-aged twos and thin steers until my individual contingent numbered even two thousand. the contracted steers came in on time, fully up to the specifications, and my herd was ready to start on the appointed day. every dollar of the fifty thousand was invested in cattle, save enough to provision the wagons en route. my ranch outfit, with the exception of two men and ten horses, was pressed into trail work as a matter of economy, for i was determined to make some money for my partners. both herds were to meet and cross at red river station. the season was favorable, and everything augured for a prosperous summer. at the very last moment a cloud arose between mr. hunter and me, but happily passed without a storm. the night before the second herd started, he and i sat up until a late hour, arranging our affairs, as it was not his intention to accompany the herds overland. after all business matters were settled, lounging around a camp-fire, we grew reminiscent, when the fact developed that my quiet little partner had served in the union army, and with the rank of major. i always enjoy a joke, even on myself, but i flashed hot and cold on this confession. what! reed anthony forming a partnership with a yankee major? it seemed as though i had. fortunately i controlled myself, and under the excuse of starting the herd at daybreak, i excused myself and sought my blankets. but not to sleep. on the one hand, in the stillness of the night and across the years, came the accusing voices of old comrades. my very wounds seemed to reopen and curse me. did my sufferings after pittsburg landing mean nothing? a vision of my dear old mother in virginia, welcoming me, the only one of her three sons who returned from the war, arraigned me sorely. and yet, on the other hand, this man was my guest. on my invitation he had eaten my salt. for mutual benefit we had entered into a partnership, and i expected to profit from the investment of his money. more important, he had not deceived me nor concealed anything; neither did he know that i had served in the confederate army. the man was honest. i was anxious to do right. soldiers are generous to a foe. while he lay asleep in my camp, i reviewed the situation carefully, and judged him blameless. the next morning, and ever afterward, i addressed him by his military title. nearly a year passed before major hunter knew that he and his texas partner had served in the civil war under different flags. my partner returned to the edwards ranch and was sent in to fort worth, where he took stage and train for home. the straight two-year-old herd needed road-branding, as they were accepted in a score or more brands, which delayed them in starting. major hunter expected to sell to farmers, to whom brands were offensive, and was therefore opposed to more branding than was absolutely necessary. in order to overcome this objection, i tally-marked all outside cattle which went into my herd by sawing from each steer about two inches from the right horn. as fast as the cattle were received this work was easily done in a chute, while in case of any loss by stampede the mark would last for years. the grass was well forward when both herds started, but on arriving at red river no less than half a dozen herds were waterbound, one of which was george edwards's. a delay of three days occurred, during which two other herds arrived, when the river fell, permitting us to cross. i took the lead thereafter, the second herd half a day to the rear, with the almost weekly incident of being waterbound by intervening rivers. but as we moved northward the floods seemed lighter, and on our arrival at wichita the weather settled into well-ordered summer. i secured my camp of the year before. major hunter came down by train, and within a week after our arrival my outfit was settled with and sent home. it was customary to allow a man half wages returning, my partner approving and paying the men, also taking charge of all the expense accounts. everything was kept as straight as a bank, and with one outfit holding both herds separate, expenses were reduced to a minimum. major hunter was back and forth, between his home town and wichita, and on nearly every occasion brought along buyers, effecting sales at extra good prices. cattle paper was considered gilt-edge security among financial men, and we sold to worthy parties a great many cattle on credit, the home bank with which my partners were associated taking the notes at their face. matters rocked along, we sold when we had an opportunity, and early in august the remnant of each herd was thrown together and half the remaining outfit sent home. a drive of fully half a million cattle had reached kansas that year, the greater portion of which had centred at wichita. we were persistent in selling, and, having strong local connections, had sold out all our cattle long before the financial panic of ' even started. there was a profitable business, however, in buying herds and selling again in small quantities to farmers and stockmen. my partners were anxious to have me remain to the end of the season, doing the buying, maintaining the camp, and holding any stock on hand. in rummaging through the old musty account-books, i find that we handled nearly seven thousand head besides our own drive, fifteen hundred being the most we ever had on hand at any one time. my active partner proved a shrewd man in business, and in spite of the past our friendship broadened and strengthened. weeks before the financial crash reached us he knew of its coming, and our house was set in order. when the panic struck the west we did not own a hoof of cattle, while the horses on hand were mine and not for sale; and the firm of hunter, anthony & co. rode the gale like a seaworthy ship. the panic reached wichita with over half the drive of that year unsold. the local banks began calling in money advanced to drovers, buyers deserted the market, and prices went down with a crash. shipments of the best through cattle failed to realize more than sufficient to pay commission charges and freight. ruin stared in the face every texan drover whose cattle were unsold. only a few herds were under contract for fall delivery to indian and army contractors. we had run from the approaching storm in the nick of time, even settling with and sending my outfit home before the financial cyclone reached the prairies of kansas. my last trade before the panic struck was an individual account, my innate weakness for an abundance of saddle horses asserting itself in buying ninety head and sending them home with my men. i now began to see the advantages of shrewd and far-seeing business associates. when the crash came, scarce a dozen drovers had sold out, while of those holding cattle at wichita nearly every one had locally borrowed money or owed at home for their herds. when the banks, panic-stricken themselves, began calling in short-time loans, their frenzy paralyzed the market, many cattle being sacrificed at forced sale and with scarce a buyer. in the depreciation of values from the prices which prevailed in the early summer, the losses to the texas drovers, caused by the panic, would amount to several million dollars. i came out of the general wreck and ruin untouched, though personally claiming no credit, as that must be given my partners. the year before, when every other drover went home prosperous and happy, i returned "broke," while now the situation was reversed. i spent a week at council grove, visiting with my business associates. after a settlement of the year's business, i was anxious to return home, having agreed to drive cattle the next year on the same terms and conditions. my partners gave me a cash settlement, and outside of my individual cattle, i cleared over ten thousand dollars on my summer's work. major hunter, however, had an idea of reëntering the market,--with the first symptom of improvement in the financial horizon in the east,--and i was detained. the proposition of buying a herd of cattle and wintering them on the range had been fully discussed between us, and prices were certainly an incentive to make the venture. in an ordinary open winter, stock subsisted on the range all over western kansas, especially when a dry fall had matured and cured the buffalo-grass like hay. the range was all one could wish, and major hunter and i accordingly dropped down to wichita to look the situation over. we arrived in the midst of the panic and found matters in a deplorable condition. drovers besought and even begged us to make an offer on their herds, while the prevailing prices of a month before had declined over half. major hunter and i agreed that at present figures, even if half the cattle were lost by a severe winter, there would still be money in the venture. through financial connections east my partners knew of the first signs of improvement in the money-centres of the country. as i recall the circumstances, the panic began in the east about the middle of september, and it was the latter part of october before confidence was restored, or there was any noticeable change for the better in the monetary situation. but when this came, it found us busy buying saddle horses and cattle. the great bulk of the unsold stock consisted of cows, heifers, and young steers unfit for beef. my partners contended that a three-year-old steer ought to winter anywhere a buffalo could, provided he had the flesh and strength to withstand the rigors of the climate. i had no opinions, except what other cowmen had told me, but was willing to take the chances where there was a reasonable hope of success. the first move was to buy an outfit of good horses. this was done by selecting from half a dozen remudas, a trail wagon was picked up, and a complement of men secured. once it was known that we were in the market for cattle, competition was brisk, the sellers bidding against each other and fixing the prices at which we accepted the stock. none but three-year-old steers were taken, and in a single day we closed trades on five thousand head. i received the cattle, confining my selections to five road and ten single-ranch brands, as it was not our intention to rebrand so late in the season. there was nothing to do but cut, count, and accept, and on the evening of the third day the herd was all ready to start for its winter range. the wagon had been well provisioned, and we started southwest, expecting to go into winter quarters on the first good range encountered. i had taken a third interest in the herd, paying one sixth of its purchase price, the balance being carried for me by my partners. major hunter accompanied us, the herd being altogether too large and unwieldy to handle well, but we grazed it forward with a front a mile wide. delightful fall weather favored the cattle, and on the tenth day we reached the medicine river, where, by the unwritten law of squatter's rights, we preëmpted ten miles of its virgin valley. the country was fairly carpeted with well-cured buffalo-grass; on the north and west was a range of sand-dunes, while on the south the country was broken by deep coulees, affording splendid shelter in case of blizzards or wintry storms. a dugout was built on either end of the range. major hunter took the wagon and team and went to the nearest settlement, returning with a load of corn, having contracted for the delivery of five hundred bushels more. meanwhile i was busy locating the cattle, scattering them sparsely over the surrounding country, cutting them into bunches of not more than ten to twenty head. corrals and cosy shelters were built for a few horses, comfortable quarters for the men, and we settled down for the winter with everything snug and secure. by the first of december the force was reduced to four men at each camp, all of whom were experienced in holding cattle in the winter. lines giving ample room to our cattle were established, which were to be ridden both evening and morning in any and all weather. two texans, both experts as trailers, were detailed to trail down any cattle which left the boundaries of the range. the weather continued fine, and with the camps well provisioned, the major and i returned to the railroad and took train for council grove. i was impatient to go home, and took the most direct route then available. railroads were just beginning to enter the west, and one had recently been completed across the eastern portion of the indian territory, its destination being south of red river. with nothing but the clothes on my back and a saddle, i started home, and within twenty-four hours arrived at denison, texas. connecting stages carried me to fort worth, where i bought a saddle horse, and the next evening i was playing with the babies at the home ranch. it had been an active summer with me, but success had amply rewarded my labors, while every cloud had disappeared and the future was rich in promise. chapter xi a prosperous year an open winter favored the cattle on the medicine river. my partners in kansas wrote me encouragingly, and plans were outlined for increasing our business for the coming summer. there was no activity in live stock during the winter in texas, and there would be no trouble in putting up herds at prevailing prices of the spring before. i spent an inactive winter, riding back and forth to my ranch, hunting with hounds, and killing an occasional deer. while visiting at council grove the fall before, major hunter explained to our silent partner the cheapness of texas lands. neither one of my associates cared to scatter their interests beyond the boundaries of their own state, yet both urged me to acquire every acre of cheap land that my means would permit. they both recited the history and growth in value of the lands surrounding the grove, telling me how cheaply they could have bought the same ten years before,--at the government price of a dollar and a quarter an acre,--and that already there had been an advance of four to five hundred per cent. they urged me to buy scrip and locate land, assuring me that it was only a question of time until the people of texas would arise in their might and throw off the yoke of reconstruction. at home general opinion was just the reverse. no one cared for more land than a homestead or for immediate use. no locations had been made adjoining my ranch on the clear fork, and it began to look as if i had more land than i needed. yet i had confidence enough in the advice of my partners to reopen negotiations with my merchant friend at austin for the purchase of more land scrip. the panic of the fall before had scarcely affected the frontier of texas, and was felt in only a few towns of any prominence in the state. there had been no money in circulation since the war, and a financial stringency elsewhere made little difference among the local people. true, the kansas cattle market had sent a little money home, but a bad winter with drovers holding cattle in the north, followed by a panic, had bankrupted nearly every cowman, many of them with heavy liabilities in texas. there were very few banks in the state, and what little money there was among the people was generally hoarded to await the dawn of a brighter day. my wife tells a story about her father, which shows similar conditions prevailing during the civil war. the only outlet for cotton in texas during the rebellion was by way of mexico. matamoros, near the mouth of the rio grande, waxed opulent in its trade of contrabrand cotton, the texas product crossing the river anywhere for hundreds of miles above and being freighted down on the mexican side to tide-water. the town did an immense business during the blockade of coast seaports, twenty-dollar gold pieces being more plentiful then than nickels are to-day, the cotton finding a ready market at war prices and safe shipment under foreign flags. my wife's father was engaged in the trade of buying cotton at interior points, freighting it by ox trains over the mexican frontier, and thence down the river to matamoros. once the staple reached neutral soil, it was palmed off as a local product, and the federal government dared not touch it, even though they knew it to be contrabrand of war. the business was transacted in gold, and it was mr. edwards's custom to bury the coin on his return from each trading trip. my wife, then a mere girl and the oldest of the children at home, was taken into her father's confidence in secreting the money. the country was full of bandits, either government would have confiscated the gold had they known its whereabouts, and the only way to insure its safety was to bury it. after several years trading in cotton, mr. edwards accumulated considerable money, and on one occasion buried the treasure at night between two trees in an adjoining wood. unexpectedly one day he had occasion to use some money in buying a cargo of cotton, the children were at a distant neighbor's, and he went into the woods alone to unearth the gold. but hogs, running in the timber, had rooted up the ground in search of edible roots, and edwards was unable to locate the spot where his treasure lay buried. fearful that possibly the money had been uprooted and stolen, he sent for the girl, who hastily returned. as my wife tells the story, great beads of perspiration were dripping from her father's brow as the two entered the woods. and although the ground was rooted up, the girl pointed out the spot, midway between two trees, and the treasure was recovered without a coin missing. mr. edwards lost confidence in himself, and thereafter, until peace was restored, my wife and a younger sister always buried the family treasure by night, keeping the secret to themselves, and producing the money on demand. the merchant at austin reported land scrip plentiful at fifteen to sixteen dollars a section. i gave him an order for two hundred certificates, and he filled the bill so promptly that i ordered another hundred, bringing my unlocated holdings up to six hundred sections. my land scrip was a standing joke between my wife and me, and i often promised her that when we built a house and moved to the clear fork, if the scrip was still worthless she might have the certificates to paper a room with. they were nicely lithographed, the paper was of the very best quality, and they went into my wife's trunk to await their destiny. had it been known outside that i held such an amount of scrip, i would have been subjected to ridicule, and no doubt would have given it to some surveyor to locate on shares. still i had a vague idea that land at two and a half cents an acre would never hurt me. several times in the past i had needed the money tied up in scrip, and then i would regret having bought it. after the loss of my entire working capital by texas fever, i was glad i had foresight enough to buy a quantity that summer. and thus i swung like a pendulum between personal necessities and public opinion; but when those long-headed yankee partners of mine urged me to buy land, i felt once more that i was on the right track and recovered my grasp. i might have located fifty miles of the valley of the clear fork that winter, but it would have entailed some little expense, the land would then have been taxable, and i had the use of it without outlay or trouble. an event of great importance to the people of texas occurred during the winter of - . the election the fall before ended in dispute, both great parties claiming the victory. on the meeting of the legislature to canvass the vote, all the negro militia of the state were concentrated in and around the capitol building. the reconstruction régime refused to vacate, and were fighting to retain control; the best element of the people were asserting in no unmistakable terms their rights and bloodshed seemed inevitable. the federal government was appealed to, but refused to interfere. the legislature was with the people, and when the latter refused to be intimidated by a display of force, those in possession yielded the reins, and governor coke was inaugurated january , ; and thus the prediction of my partners, uttered but a few mouths before, became history. major hunter came down again about the last of february. still unshaken in his confidence in the future of texas, he complimented me on securing more land scrip. he had just returned from our camps on the medicine river, and reported the cattle coming through in splendid condition. gray wolves had harassed the herd during the early winter; but long-range rifles and poison were furnished, and our men waged a relentless war on these pirates along the medicine. cattle in texas had wintered strong, which would permit of active operations beginning earlier than usual, and after riding the range for a week we were ready for business. it was well known in all the surrounding country that we would again be in the market for trail cattle, and offerings were plentiful. these tenders ran anywhere from stock cattle to heavy beeves; but the market which we were building up with farmers at council grove required young two and three year old steers. it again fell to my province to do the buying, and with the number of brands for sale in the country i expected, with the consent of my partners, to make a new departure. i was beginning to understand the advantages of growing cattle. my holdings of mixed stock on the clear fork had virtually cost me nothing, and while they may have been unsalable, yet there was a steady growth and they were a promising source of income. from the results of my mavericking and my trading operations i had been enabled to send two thousand young steers up the trail the spring before, and the proceeds from their sale had lifted me from the slough of despond and set me on a financial rock. therefore my regard for the eternal cow was enhancing. home prices were again ten dollars for two-year-old steers and twelve for threes. instead of buying outright at these figures, my proposition was to buy individually brands of stock cattle, and turn over all steers of acceptable ages at prevailing prices to the firm of hunter, anthony & co. in making up trail herds. we had already agreed to drive ten thousand head that spring, and my active partner readily saw the advantages that would accrue where one had the range and outfit to take care of the remnants of mixed stock. my partners were both straining their credit at home, and since it was immaterial to them, i was given permission to go ahead. this method of buying might slightly delay the starting of herds, and rather than do so i contracted for three thousand straight threes in erath county. this herd would start ten days in advance of any other, which would give us cattle on the market at wichita with the opening of the season. my next purchase was two brands whose range was around the juncture of the main brazos and clear fork, adjoining my ranch. these cattle were to be delivered at our corrals, as, having received the three-year-olds from both brands the spring before, i had a good idea how the stock ought to classify. a third brand was secured up the clear fork, adjacent to my range, supposed to number about three thousand, from which nothing had been sold in four years. this latter contingent cost me five dollars a head, but my boys knew the brand well enough to know that they would run forty per cent steer cattle. in all three cases i bought all right and title to the brand, giving them until the last day of march to gather, and anything not tendered for count on receiving, the tail went with the hide. from these three brands i expected to make up the second herd easily. with no market for cattle, it was safe to count on a brand running one third steers or better, from which i ought to get twenty-five per cent of age for trail purposes. long before any receiving began i bought four more brands outright in adjoining counties, setting the day for receiving on the th of april, everything to be delivered on my ranch on the clear fork. there were fully twenty-five thousand cattle in these seven brands, and as i had bought them all half cash and the balance on six months' time, it behooved me to be on the alert and protect my interests. a trusty man was accordingly sent from my ranch to assist in the gathering of each of the four outside brands, to be present at all round-ups, to see that no steer cattle were held back, and that the dropping calves were cared for and saved. this precaution was not taken around my ranch, for any animal which failed to be counted my own men would look out for by virtue of ownership of the brand. my saddle horses were all in fine condition, and were cut into remudas of ninety head each, two new wagons were fitted up, and all was ready to move. the erath county herd was to be delivered to us on the th of march. george edwards was to have charge, and he and major hunter started in ample time to receive the cattle, the latter proving an apt scholar, while the former was a thorough cowman. in the mean time i had made up a second outfit, putting a man who had made a number of trips with me as foreman in charge, and we moved out to the clear fork. the first herd started on the d, major hunter accompanying it past the edwards ranch and then joining us on my range. we had kept in close touch with the work then in progress along the brazos and clear fork, and it was probable that we might be able to receive in advance of the appointed day. fortunately this happened in two cases, both brands overrunning all expectations in general numbers and the quantity of steer cattle. these contingents were met, counted, and received ten miles from the ranch, nothing but the steers two years old and upward being brought in to the corrals. the third brand, from west on the clear fork, came in on the dot, and this also surprised me in its numbers of heavy steer cattle. from the three contingents i received over thirteen thousand head, nearly four thousand of which were steers of trail age. on the first day of april we started the second herd of thirty-five hundred twos and threes, the latter being slightly in the majority, but we classified them equally. major hunter was pleased with the quality of the cattle, and i was more than satisfied with results, as i had nearly five hundred heavy steers left which would easily qualify as beeves. estimating the latter at what they ought to net me at wichita, the remnants of stock cattle cost me about a dollar and a half a head, while i had received more cash than the amount of the half payment. the beef steers were held under herd to await the arrival of the other contingents. if they fell short in twos and threes, i had hopes of finding an outlet for my beeves with the last herd. the young stuff and stock cattle were allowed to drift back on their own ranges, and we rested on our oars. we had warning of the approach of outside brands, several arriving in advance of appointment, and they were received at once. as before, every brand overran expectations, with no shortage in steers. my men had been wide awake, any number of mature beeves coming in with the mixed stock. as fast as they arrived we cut all steers of desirable age into our herd of beeves, sending the remnant up the river about ten miles to be put under loose herd for the first month. fifteen-thousand cattle were tendered in the four brands, from which we cut out forty-six hundred steers of trail age. the numbers were actually embarrassing, not in stock cattle, but in steers, as our trail herd numbered now over five thousand. the outside outfits were all detained a few days for a settlement, lending their assistance, as we tally-marked all the stock cattle before sending them up the river to be put under herd. this work was done in a chute with branding irons, running a short bar over the holding-brand, the object being to distinguish animals received then from what might be gathered afterward. there were nearly one hundred men present, and with the amount of help available the third herd was ready to start on the morning of the th. it numbered thirty-five hundred, again nearly equal in twos and threes, my ranch foreman having charge. with the third herd started, the question arose what to do with the remnant of a few over sixteen hundred beeves. to turn them loose meant that with the first norther that blew they would go back to their own range. major hunter suggested that i drive an individual herd. i tried to sell him an interest in the cattle, but as their ages were unsuited to his market, he pleaded bankruptcy, yet encouraged me to fill up the herd and drive them on my own account. something had to be done. i bought sixty horses from the different outfits then waiting for a settlement, adding thirty of my own to the remuda, made up an outfit from the men present, rigged a wagon, and called for a general round-up of my range. two days afterward we had fifteen hundred younger steers of my own raising in the herd, and on the th of the month the fourth one moved out. a day was lost in making a general settlement, after which major hunter and i rode through the mixed cattle under herd, finding them contentedly occupying nearly ten miles of the valley of the clear fork. calves were dropping at the rate of one hundred a day, two camps of five men each held them on an ample range, riding lines well back from the valley. the next morning we turned homeward, passing my ranch and corrals, which but a few days before were scenes of activity, but now deserted even by the dogs. from the edwards ranch we were driven in to fort worth, and by the middle of the month reached wichita. no herds were due to arrive for a month. my active partner continued on to his home at the grove, and i started for our camps on the medicine river. the grass was coming with a rush, the cattle were beginning to shed their winter coats, and our men assured me that the known loss amounted to less than twenty head. the boys had spent an active winter, only a few storms ever bunching the cattle, with less than half a dozen contingents crossing the established lines. even these were followed by our trailers and brought back to their own range; and together with wolfing the time had passed pleasantly. an incident occurred at the upper camp that winter which clearly shows the difference between the cow-hand of that day and the modern bronco-buster. in baiting for wolves, many miles above our range, a supposed trail of cattle was cut by one of the boys, who immediately reported the matter to our texas trailer at camp. they were not our cattle to a certainty, yet it was but a neighborly act to catch them, so the two men took up the trail. from appearances there were not over fifteen head in the bunch, and before following them many miles, the trailer became suspicious that they were buffalo and not cattle. he trailed them until they bedded down, when he dismounted and examined every bed. no cow ever lay down without leaving hair on its bed, so when the texan had examined the ground where half a dozen had slept, his suspicions were confirmed. declaring them buffalo, the two men took up the trail in a gallop, overtaking the band within ten miles and securing four fine robes. there is little or no difference in the tracks of the two animals. i simply mention this, as my patience has been sorely tried with the modern picturesque cowboy, who is merely an amateur when compared with the men of earlier days. i spent three weeks riding the range on the medicine. the cattle had been carefully selected, now four and five years old, and if the season was favorable they would be ready for shipment early in the fall. the lower camp was abandoned in order to enlarge the range nearly one third, and after providing for the wants of the men, i rode away to the southeast to intercept the chisholm trail where it crossed the kansas line south of wichita. the town of caldwell afterward sprang up on the border, but at this time among drovers it was known as stone's store, a trading-post conducted by captain stone, afterward a cowman, and already mentioned in these memoirs. several herds had already passed on my arrival; i watched the trail, meeting every outfit for nearly a week, and finally george edwards came snailing along. he reported our other cattle from seven to ten days behind, but was not aware that i had an individual herd on the trail. edwards moved on to wichita, and i awaited the arrival of our second outfit. a brisk rivalry existed between the solicitors for ellsworth and wichita, every man working faithfully for his railroad or town, and at night they generally met in social session over a poker game. i never played a card for money now, not that my morals were any too good, but i was married and had partners, and business generally absorbed me to such an extent that i neglected the game. i met the second herd at pond creek, south in the cherokee outlet, and after spending a night with them rode through to wichita in a day and night. we went into camp that year well up the arkansas river, as two outfits would again hold the four herds. our second outfit arrived at the chosen grazing grounds on time, the men were instantly relieved, and after a good carouse in town they started home. the two other herds came in without delay, the beeves arriving on the last of the month. barely half as many cattle would arrive from texas that summer, as many former drovers from that section were bankrupt on account of the panic of the year before. yet the market was fairly well supplied with offerings of wintered texans, the two classes being so distinct that there was very little competition between them. my active partner was on hand early, reporting a healthy inquiry among former customers, all of whom were more than pleased with the cattle supplied them the year before. by being in a position to extend a credit to reliable men, we were enabled to effect sales where other drovers dared not venture. business opened early with us. i sold fifteen hundred of my heaviest beeves to an army contractor from wyoming. my active partner sold the straight three-year-old herd from erath county to an ex-governor from nebraska, and we delivered it on the republican river in that state. small bunches of from three to five hundred were sold to farmers, and by the first of august we had our holdings reduced to two herds in charge of one outfit. when the hipping season began with our customers at the grove, trade became active with us at wichita. scarcely a week passed but major hunter sold a thousand or more to his neighbors, while i skirmished around in the general market. when the outfit returned from the republican river, i took it in charge, went down on the medicine, and cut out a thousand beeves, bringing them to the railroad and shipping them to st. louis. i never saw fatter cattle in my life. when we got the returns from the first consignment, we shipped two trainloads every fortnight until our holding's on the medicine were reduced to a remnant. a competent bookkeeper was employed early in the year, and in keeping our accounts at wichita, looking after our shipments, keeping individual interests, by brands, separate from the firm's, he was about the busiest man connected with the summer's business. aside from our drive of over thirteen thousand head, we bought three whole herds, retailing them in small quantities to our customers, all of which was profitable. i bought four whole remudas on personal account, culled out one hundred and fifty head and sold them at a sacrifice, sending home the remaining two hundred saddle horses. i found it much cheaper and more convenient to buy my supply of saddle stock at trail terminals than at home. once railroad connections were in operation direct between kansas and texas, every outfit preferred to go home by rail, but i adhered to former methods for many years. in summing up the year's business, never were three partners more surprised. with a remnant of nearly one hundred beeves unfit for shipment, the medicine river venture had cleared us over two hundred per cent, while the horses on hand were worth ten dollars a head more than what they had cost, owing to their having wintered in the north. the ten thousand trail cattle paid splendidly, while my individual herd had sold out in a manner, leaving the stock cattle at home clear velvet. a programme was outlined for enlarging our business for the coming year, and every dollar of our profits was to be reinvested in wintering and trailing cattle from texas. next to the last shipment, the through outfit went home, taking the extra two hundred saddle horses with it, the final consignment being brought in to wichita for loading out by our ranch help. the shipping ended in october. my last work of the year was the purchase of seven thousand three-year-old steers, intended for our medicine river range. we had intentionally held george edwards and his outfit for this purpose, and cutting the numbers into two herds, the medicine river lads led off for winter quarters. we had bought the cattle worth the money, but not at a sacrifice like the year before, neither would we expect such profits. it takes a good nerve, but experience has taught me that in land and cattle the time of the worst depression is the time to buy. major hunter accompanied the herds to their winter quarters, sending edwards with his outfit, after their arrival on the medicine, back to texas, while i took the train and reached home during the first week in november. chapter xii clear fork and shenandoah i arrived home in good time for the fall work. the first outfit relieved at wichita had instructions to begin, immediately on reaching the ranch, a general cow-hunt for outside brands. it was possible that a few head might have escaped from the clear fork range and returned to their old haunts, but these would bear a tally-mark distinguishing them from any not gathered at the spring delivery. my regular ranch hands looked after the three purchased brands adjoining our home range, but an independent outfit had been working the past four months gathering strays and remnants in localities where i had previously bought brands. they went as far south as comanche county and picked up nearly one hundred "lazy l's," scoured the country where i had purchased the two brands in the spring of , and afterward confined themselves to ranges from which the outside cattle were received that spring. they had made one delivery on the clear fork of seven hundred head before my return, and were then away on a second cow-hunt. on my reaching the ranch the first contingent of gathered cattle were under herd. they were a rag-tag lot, many of them big steers, while much of the younger stuff was clear of earmark or brand until after their arrival at the home corrals. the ranch help herded them by day and penned them at night, but on the arrival of the independent outfit with another contingent of fifteen hundred the first were freed and the second put under herd. counting both bunches, the strays numbered nearly a thousand head, and cattle bearing no tally-mark fully as many more, while the remainder were mavericks and would have paid the expenses of the outfit for the past four months. i now had over thirty thousand cattle on the clear fork, holding them in eleven brands, but decided thereafter to run all the increase in the original " ." this rule had gone into effect the fall previous, and i now proposed to run it on all calves branded. never before had i felt the necessity of increasing my holdings in land, but with the number of cattle on hand it behooved me to possess a larger acreage of the clear fork valley. a surveyor was accordingly sent for, and while the double outfit was branding the home calf crop, i located on the west end of my range a strip of land ten miles long by five wide. at the east end of my ranch another tract was located, five by ten miles, running north and taking in all that country around the junction of the clear fork with the mother brazos. this gave me one hundred and fifty sections of land, lying in the form of an immense lazy l, and i felt that the expense was justified in securing an ample range for my stock cattle. my calf crop that fall ran a few over seven thousand head. they were good northern texas calves, and it would cost but a trifle to run them until they were two-year-olds; and if demand continued in the upper country, some day a trail herd of steers could easily be made up from their numbers. i was beginning to feel rather proud of my land and cattle; the former had cost me but a small outlay, while the latter were clear velvet, as i had sold thirty-five hundred from their increase during the past two years. once the surveying and branding was over, i returned to the edwards ranch for the winter. the general outlook in texas was for the better; quite a mileage of railroad had been built within the state during the past year, and new and prosperous towns had sprung up along their lines. the political situation had quieted down, and it was generally admitted that a reconstruction government could never again rear its head on texas soil. the result was that confidence was slowly being restored among the local people, and the press of the state was making a fight for recognition, all of which augured for a brighter future. living on the frontier and absent the greater portion of the time, i took little interest in local politics, yet could not help but feel that the restoration of self-government to the best elements of our people would in time reflect on the welfare of the state. since my advent in texas i had been witness to the growth of fort worth from a straggling village in the spring of to quite a pretentious town in the fall of . ever since the partnership was formed i had been aware of and had fostered the political ambitions of the firm's silent member. he had been prominently identified with the state of kansas since it was a territory, had held positions of trust, and had been a representative in congress, and all three of us secretly hoped to see him advanced to the united states senate. we had fully discussed the matter on various occasions, and as the fall elections had gone favorably, the present was considered the opportune time to strike. the firm mutually agreed to stand the expense of the canvass, which was estimated on a reasonable basis, and the campaign opened with a blare of trumpets. assuming the rôle of a silent partner, i had reports furnished me regularly, and it soon developed that our estimate on the probable expense was too low. we had boldly entered the canvass, our man was worthy, and i wrote back instructing my partners to spare no expense in winning the fight. there were a number of candidates in the race and the legislature was in session, when an urgent letter reached me, urging my presence at the capital of kansas. the race was narrowing to a close, a personal consultation was urged, and i hastened north as fast as a relay of horses and railroad trains could carry me. on my arrival at topeka the fight had almost narrowed to a financial one, and we questioned if the game were worth the candle. yet we were already involved in a considerable outlay, and the consultation resulted in our determination to win, which we did, but at an expense of a little over four times the original estimate, which, however, afterward proved a splendid investment. i now had hopes that we might enlarge our operations in handling government contracts. major hunter saw possibilities along the same line, and our silent partner was awakened to the importance of maintaining friendly relations with the interior and war departments, gathering all the details in contracting beef with the government for its indian agencies and army posts in the west. up to date this had been a lucrative field which only a few texas drovers had ventured into, most of the contractors being northern and eastern men, and usually buying the cattle with which to fill the contracts near the point of delivery. i was impatient to get into this trade, as the indian deliveries generally took cows, and the army heavy beef, two grades of cattle that at present our firm had no certain demand for. also the market was gradually moving west from wichita, and it was only a question of a few years until the settlements of eastern kansas would cut us off from our established trade around the grove. i had seen abilene pass away as a market, wichita was doomed by the encroachments of agriculture, and it behooved us to be alert for a new outlet. i made up my mind to buy more land scrip. not that there had been any perceptible improvement in wild lands, but the general outlook justified its purchase. my agent at austin reported scrip to be had in ordinary quantities at former prices, and suggested that i supply myself fully, as the new administration was an economical one, and once the great flood of certificates issued by the last reconstruction régime were absorbed, an advance in land scrip was anticipated. i accordingly bought three hundred sections more, hardly knowing what to do with it, yet i knew there was an empire of fine grazing country between my present home and the pecos river. if ever the comanches were brought under subjection there would be ranches and room for all; and our babies were principally boys. major hunter came down earlier than usual. he reported a clear, cold winter on the medicine and no serious drift of cattle, and expressed the belief that we would come through with a loss not exceeding one per cent. this was encouraging, as it meant fat cattle next fall, fit for any market in the country. it was yet too early to make any move towards putting up herds for the trail, and we took train and went down the country as far as austin. there was always a difference in cattle prices, running from one to two dollars a head, between the northern and southern parts of the state. both of us were anxious to acquaint ourselves with the different grades, and made stops in several intervening counties, looking at cattle on the range and pricing them. we spent a week at the capital city and met all the trail drovers living there, many of whom expected to put up herds for that year southeast on the colorado river. "shanghai" pierce had for some time been a prominent figure in the markets of abilene and wichita, driving herds of his own from the extreme coast country. but our market required a better quality than coasters and mexican cattle, and we turned back up the country. before leaving the capital, major hunter and i had a long talk with my merchant friend over the land scrip market, and the latter urged its purchase at once, if wanted, as the issue afloat was being gradually absorbed. already there had been a noticeable advance in the price, and my partner gave me no peace until i bought, at eighteen dollars a section, two hundred certificates more. its purchase was making an inroad on my working capital, but the major frowned on my every protest, and i yielded out of deference to his superior judgment. returning, we stopped in bell county, where we contracted for fifteen thousand two and three year old steers. they were good prairie-raised cattle, and we secured them at a dollar a head less than the prices prevailing in the first few counties south of red river. major hunter remained behind, arranging his banking facilities, and i returned home after my outfits. before leaving bell county, i left word that we could use fifty good men for the trail, but they would have to come recommended by the ranchmen with whom we were dealing. we expected to make up five herds, and the cattle were to be ready for delivery to us between the th and th of march. i hastened home and out to the ranch, gathered our saddle stock, outfitted wagons, and engaged all my old foremen and twenty trusty men, and we started with a remuda of five hundred horses to begin the operations of the coming summer. receiving cattle with me was an old story by this time, and frequently matters came to a standstill between the sellers and ourselves. we paid no attention to former customs of the country; all cattle had to come up full-aged or go into the younger class, while inferior or knotty stags were turned back as not wanted. scarcely a day passed but there was more or less dispute; but we proposed paying for them, and insisted that all cattle tendered must come up to the specifications of the contract. we stood firm, and after the first two herds were received, all trouble on that score passed, and in making up the last three herds there was actually a surplus of cattle tendered. we used a road brand that year on all steers purchased, and the herds moved out from two to three days apart, the last two being made up in coryell, the adjoining county north. george edwards had charge of the rear herd. there were fourteen days between the first and the last starts, a fortnight of hard work, and we frequently received from ten to thirty miles distant from the branding pens. i rode almost night and day, and edwards likewise, while major hunter kept all the accounts and settled with the sellers. as fast as one herd was ready, it moved out under a foreman and fourteen men, one hundred saddle horses, and a well-stocked commissary. we did our banking at belton, the county seat, and after the last herd started we returned to town and received quite an ovation from the business men of the village. we had invested a little over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cattle in that community, and a banquet was even suggested in our honor by some of the leading citizens. most of the contracts were made with merchants, many of whom did not own a hoof of cattle, but depended on their customers to deliver the steers. the business interests of the town were anxious to have us return next year. we declined the proposed dinner, as neither major hunter nor myself would have made a presentable guest. a month or more had passed since i had left the ranch on the clear fork, the only clothes i had were on my back, and they were torn in a dozen places from running cattle in the brush. my partner had been living in cow-camps for the past three weeks, and preferred to be excused from receiving any social attentions. so we thanked our friends and started for the railroad. major hunter went through to the grove, while i stopped at fort worth. a buckboard from home was awaiting me, and the next morning i was at the edwards ranch. a relay team was harnessed in, and after counting the babies i started for the clear fork. by early evening i was in consultation with my ranch foreman, as it was my intention to drive an individual herd if everything justified the venture. i never saw the range on the clear fork look better, and the books showed that we could easily gather two thousand twos and threes, while the balance of the herd could be made up of dry and barren cows. all we lacked was about thirty horses, and my ranch hands were anxious to go up the trail; but after riding the range one day i decided that it would be a pity to disturb the pastoral serenity of the valley. it was fairly dotted with my own cattle; month-old calves were playing in groups, while my horse frequently shied at new-born ones, lying like fawns in the tall grass. a round-up at that time meant the separation of mothers from their offspring and injury to cows approaching maternity, and i decided that no commercial necessity demanded the sacrifice. then again it seemed a short-sighted policy to send half-matured steers to market, when no man could bring the same animals to a full development as cheaply as i could. barring contagious diseases, cattle are the healthiest creatures that walk the earth, and even on an open range seldom if ever does one voluntarily forsake its birthplace. i spent two weeks on the ranch and could have stayed the summer through, for i love cattle. our lead herd was due on the kansas state line early in may, so remaining at the edwards ranch until the last possible hour, i took train and reached wichita, where my active partner was awaiting me. he had just returned from the medicine river, and reported everything serene. he had made arrangements to have the men attend all the country round-ups within one hundred miles of our range. several herds had already reached wichita, and the next day i started south on horseback to meet our cattle at caldwell on the line, or at pond creek in the cherokee outlet. it was going to be difficult to secure range for herds within fifteen miles of wichita, and the opinion seemed general that this would be the last year that town could hope to hold any portion of the texas cattle trade. on arriving at pond creek i found that fully half the herds were turning up that stream, heading for great bend, ellsworth, ellis, and nickerson, all markets within the state of kansas. the year before nearly one third the drive had gone to the two first-named points, and now other towns were offering inducements and bidding for a share of the present cattle exodus. our lead herd arrived without an incident en route. the second one came in promptly, both passing on and picking their way through the border settlements to wichita. i waited until the third one put in an appearance, leaving orders for it and the two rear ones to camp on some convenient creek in the outlet near caldwell. arrangements were made with captain stone for supplying the outfits, and i hurried on to overtake the lead herds, then nearing wichita. an ample range was found but twenty miles up the arkansas river, and the third day all the bell county men in the two outfits were sent home by train. the market was much the same as the year before: one herd of three thousand two-year-olds was our largest individual sale. early in august the last herd was brought from the state line and the through help reduced to two outfits, one holding cattle at wichita and the other bringing in shipments of beeves from the medicine river range. the latter were splendid cattle, fatted to a finish for grass animals, and brought top prices in the different markets to which they were consigned. omitting details, i will say it was an active year, as we bought and sold fully as many more as our drive amounted to, while i added to my stock of saddle horses an even three hundred head. an amusing incident occurred with one of my men while holding cattle that fall at wichita. the boys were in and out of town frequently, and one of them returned to camp one evening and informed me that he wanted to quit work, as he intended to return to wichita and kill a man. he was a good hand and i tried to persuade him out of the idea, but he insisted that it was absolutely necessary to preserve his honor. i threatened to refuse him a horse, but seeing that menace and persuasion were useless, i ordered him to pick my holdings of saddle stock, gave him his wages due, and told him to be sure and shoot first. he bade us all good-by, and a chum of his went with him. about an hour before daybreak they returned and awoke me, when the aggrieved boy said: "mr. anthony, i didn't kill him. no, i didn't kill him. he's a good man. you bet he's a game one. oh, he's a good man all right." that morning when i awoke both lads were out on herd, and i had an early appointment to meet parties in town. major hunter gave me the story immediately on my arrival. the boys had located the offender in a store, and he anticipated the fact that they were on his trail. as our men entered the place, the enemy stepped from behind a pile of clothing with two six-shooters leveled in their faces, and ordered a clerk to relieve the pair of their pistols, which was promptly done. once the particulars were known at camp, it was looked upon as a good joke on the lad, and whenever he was asked what he thought of mr. blank, his reply invariably was, "he's a good man." the drive that year to the different markets in kansas amounted to about five hundred thousand cattle. one half this number were handled at wichita, the surrounding country absorbing them to such an extent that when it came time to restock our medicine river range i was compelled to go to great bend to secure the needed cattle. all saddle horses, both purchased and my own remudas, with wagons, were sent to our winter camps by the shipping crew, so that the final start for texas would be made from the medicine river. it was the last of october that the last six trains of beeves were brought in to the railroad for shipment, the season's work drawing to an end. meanwhile i had closed contracts on ten thousand three-year-old steers at "the bend," so as fast as the three outfits were relieved of their consignment of beeves they pulled out up the arkansas river to receive the last cattle of the year. it was nearly one hundred miles from wichita, and on the arrival of the shipping crews the herds were received and started south for their winter range. major hunter and i accompanied the herds to the medicine, and within a week after reaching the range the two through outfits started home with five wagons and eight hundred saddle horses. it was the latter part of november when we left our winter camps and returned to the grove for the annual settlement. our silent partner was present, and we broke the necks of a number of champagne bottles in properly celebrating the success of the year's work. the wintered cattle had cleared the dutchman's one per cent, while every hoof in the through and purchased herds was a fine source of profit. congress would convene within a week, and our silent partner suggested that all three of us go down to washington and attend the opening exercises. he had already looked into the contracting of beef to the government, and was particularly anxious to have my opinion on a number of contracts to be let the coming winter. it had been ten years since i left my old home in the shenandoah valley, my parents were still living, and all i asked was time enough to write a letter to my wife, and buy some decent clothing. the trio started in good time for the opening of congress, but once we sighted the potomac river the old home hunger came on me and i left the train at harper's ferry. my mother knew and greeted me just as if i had left home that morning on an errand, and had now returned. my father was breaking with years, yet had a mental alertness that was remarkable and a commercial instinct that understood the value of a texas cow or a section of land scrip. the younger members of the family gathered from their homes to meet "texas" anthony, and for ten continuous days i did nothing but answer questions, running from the color of the baby's eyes to why we did not drive the fifteen thousand cattle in one herd, or how big a section of country would one thousand certificates of land scrip cover. my visit was broken by the necessity of conferring with my partners, so, promising to spend christmas with my mother, i was excused until that date. at the war and interior departments i made many friends. i understood cattle so thoroughly that there was no feature of a delivery to the government that embarrassed me in the least. a list of contracts to be let from each department was courteously furnished us, but not wishing to scatter our business too wide, we submitted bids for six indian contracts and four for delivery to army posts on the upper missouri river. two of the latter were to be northern wintered cattle, and we had them on the medicine river; but we also had a sure market on them, and it was a matter of indifference whether we secured them or not. the indian contracts called for cows, and i was anxious to secure as many as possible, as it meant a market for the aging she stuff on my ranch. heretofore this class had fulfilled their mission in perpetuating their kind, had lived their day, and the weeds grew rankly where their remains enriched the soil. the bids would not be opened until the middle of january, and we should have notice at once if fortunate in securing any of the awards. the holiday season was approaching, major hunter was expected at home, and the firm separated for the time being. chapter xiii the centennial year i returned to texas early in january. quite a change had come over the situation since my leaving home the spring before. except on the frontier, business was booming in the new towns, while a regular revolution had taken place within the past month in land values. the cheapness of wild lands had attracted outside capital, resulting in a syndicate being formed by northern capitalists to buy up the outstanding issue of land scrip. the movement had been handled cautiously, and had possibly been in active operation for a year or more, as its methods were conducted with the utmost secrecy. options had been taken on all scrip voted to corporations in the state and still in their possession, agents of the syndicate were stationed at all centres where any amount was afloat, and on a given day throughout the state every certificate on the market was purchased. the next morning land scrip was worth fifty dollars a section, and on my return one hundred dollars a certificate was being freely bid, while every surveyor in the state was working night and day locating lands for individual holders of scrip. this condition of affairs was largely augmented by a boom in sheep. san antonio was the leading wool market in the state, many clips having sold as high as forty cents a pound for several years past on the streets of that city. free range and the high price of wool was inviting every man and his cousin to come to texas and make his fortune. money was feverish for investment in sheep, flock-masters were buying land on which to run their bands, and a sheepman was an envied personage. up to this time there had been little or no occasion to own the land on which the immense flocks grazed the year round, yet under existing cheap prices of land nearly all the watercourses in the immediate country had been taken up. personally i was dumfounded at the sudden and unexpected change of affairs, and what nettled me most was that all the land adjoining my ranch had been filed on within the past month. the clear fork valley all the way up to fort griffin had been located, while every vacant acre on the mother brazos, as far north as belknap, was surveyed and recorded. i was mortified to think that i had been asleep, but then the change had come like a thief in the night. my wife's trunk was half full of scrip, i had had a surveyor on the ground only a year before, and now the opportunity had passed. but my disappointment was my wife's delight, as there was no longer any necessity for keeping secret our holdings in land scrip. the little tin trunk held a snug fortune, and next to the babies, my wife took great pride in showing visitors the beautiful lithographed certificates. my ambition was land and cattle, but now that the scrip had a cash value, my wife took as much pride in those vouchers as if the land had been surveyed, recorded, and covered with our own herds. i had met so many reverses that i was grateful for any smile of fortune, and bore my disappointment with becoming grace. my ranch had branded over eight thousand calves that fall, and as long as it remained an open range i had room for my holdings of cattle. there was no question but that the public domain was bountiful, and if it were necessary i could go farther west and locate a new ranch. but it secretly grieved me to realize that what i had so fondly hoped for had come without warning and found me unprepared. i might as well have held title to half a million acres of the clear fork valley as a paltry hundred and fifty sections. little time was given me to lament over spilt milk. on the return from my first trip to the clear fork, reports from the war and interior departments were awaiting me. two contracts to the army and four to indian agencies had been awarded us, all of which could be filled with through cattle. the military allotments would require six thousand heavy beeves for delivery on the upper missouri river in dakota, while the nation's wards would require thirteen thousand cows at four different agencies in the indian territory. my active partner was due in fort worth within a week, while bonds for the faithful fulfillment of our contracts would be executed by our silent partner at washington, d.c. these awards meant an active year to our firm, and besides there was our established trade around the grove, which we had no intention of abandoning. the government was a sure market, and as long as a healthy demand continued in kansas for young cattle, the firm of hunter, anthony & co. would be found actively engaged in supplying the same. major hunter arrived under a high pressure of enthusiasm. by appointment we met in fort worth, and after carefully reviewing the situation we took train and continued on south to san antonio. i had seen a herd of beeves, a few years before, from the upper nueces river, and remembered them as good heavy cattle. there were two dollars a head difference, even in ages among younger stock, between the lower and upper counties in the state, and as it was pounds quantity that we wanted for the army, it was our intention to look over the cattle along the nueces river before buying our supply of beeves. we met a number of acquaintances in san antonio, all of whom recommended us to go west if in search of heavy cattle, and a few days later we reached uvalde county. this was the section from which the beeves had come that impressed me so favorably; i even remembered the ranch brands, and without any difficulty we located the owners, finding them anxious to meet buyers for their mature surplus cattle. we spent a week along the frio, leona, and nueces rivers, and closed contracts on sixty-one hundred five to seven year old beeves. the cattle were not as good a quality as prairie-raised north texas stock, but the pounds avoirdupois were there, the defects being in their mongrel colors, length of legs, and breadth of horns, heritages from the original spanish stock. otherwise they were tall as a horse, clean-limbed as a deer, and active on their feet, and they looked like fine walkers. i estimated that two bits a head would drive them to red river, and as we bought them at three dollars a head less than prevailing prices for the same-aged beeves north of or parallel to fort worth, we were well repaid for our time and trouble. we returned to san antonio and opened a bank account. the th of march was agreed on to receive. two remudas of horses would have to be secured, wagons fitted up, and outfits engaged. heretofore i had furnished all horses for trail work, but now, with our enlarging business, it would be necessary to buy others, which would be done at the expense of the firm. george edwards was accordingly sent for, and met us at waco. he was furnished a letter of credit on our san antonio bank, and authorized to buy and equip two complete outfits for the uvalde beeves. edwards was a good judge of horses, there was an abundance of saddle stock in the country, and he was instructed to buy not less than one hundred and twenty-five head for each remuda, to outfit his wagons with four-mule teams, and announce us as willing to engage fourteen men to the herd. once these details were arranged for, major hunter and myself bought two good horses and struck west for coryell county, where we had put up two herds the spring before. our return met with a flood of offerings, prices of the previous year still prevailed, and we let contracts for sixty-five hundred three-year-old steers and an equal number of dry and barren cows. we paid seven dollars a head for the latter, and in order to avoid any dispute at the final tender it was stipulated that the offerings must be in good flesh, not under five nor over eight years old, full average in weight, and showing no evidence of pregnancy. under local customs, "a cow was a cow," and we had to be specific. we did our banking at waco for the coryell herds. hastening north, our next halt was in hood county, where we bought thirty-three hundred two-year-old steers and three thousand and odd cows. this completed eight herds secured--three of young steers for the agricultural regions, and five intended for government delivery. we still lacked one for the indian bureau, and as i offered to make it up from my holdings, and on a credit, my active partner consented. i was putting in every dollar at my command, my partners were borrowing freely at home, and we were pulling together like a six-mule team to make a success of the coming summer's work. it was now the middle of february, and my active partner went to fort worth, where i did my banking, to complete his financial arrangements, while i returned to the ranch to organize the forces for the coming campaign. all the latter were intrusted to me, and while i had my old foremen at my beck and call, it was necessary to employ five or six new ones. with our deliveries scattered from the indian territory to the upper missouri river, as well as our established trade at the grove, two of us could not cover the field, and george edwards had been decided on as the third and trusted man. in a practical way he was a better cowman than i was, and with my active yankee partner for a running mate they made a team that would take care of themselves in any cow country. a good foreman is a very important man in trail work. the drover or firm may or may not be practical cowmen, but the executive in the field must be the master of any possible situation that may arise, combining the qualities of generalship with the caution of an explorer. he must be a hail-fellow among his men, for he must command by deserving obedience; he must know the inmost thoughts of his herd, noting every sign of alarm or distress, and willingly sacrifice any personal comfort in the interest of his cattle or outfit. i had a few such men, boys who had grown up in my employ, several of whom i would rather trust in a dangerous situation with a herd than take active charge myself. no concern was given for their morals, but they must be capable, trustworthy, and honest, as they frequently handled large sums of money. all my old foremen swore by me, not one of them would accept a similar situation elsewhere, and in selecting the extra trail bosses their opinion was valued and given due consideration. not having driven anything from my ranch the year before, a fine herd of twos, threes, and four-year-old steers could easily be made up. it was possible that a tenth and individual herd might be sent up the country, but no movement to that effect was decided on, and my regular ranch hands had orders only to throw in on the home range and gather outside steer cattle and dry cows. i had wintered all my saddle horses on the clear fork, and once the foremen were decided on, they repaired to the ranch and began outfitting for the start. the coryell herds were to be received one week later than the beef cattle, and the outfits would necessarily have to start in ample time to meet us on our return from the upper nueces river country. the two foremen allotted to hood county would start a week later still, so that we would really move north with the advance of the season in receiving the cattle under contract. only a few days were required in securing the necessary foremen, a remuda was apportioned to each, and credit for the commissary supplies arranged for, the employment of the men being left entirely to the trail bosses. taking two of my older foremen with me, i started for fort worth, where an agreeable surprise awaited me. we had been underbidden at the war department on both our proposals for northern wintered beeves. the fortunate bidder on one contract was refused the award,--for some duplicity in a former transaction, i learned later,--and the secretary of war had approached our silent partner to fill the deficiency. six weeks had elapsed, there was no obligation outstanding, and rather than advertise and relet the contract, the head of the war department had concluded to allot the deficiency by private award. major hunter had been burning the wires between fort worth and washington, in order to hold the matter open until i came in for a consultation. the department had offered half a cent a pound over and above our previous bid, and we bribed an operator to reopen his office that night and send a message of acceptance. we had ten thousand cattle wintering on the medicine river, and it would just trim them up nicely to pick out all the heavy, rough beeves for filling an army contract. when we had got a confirmation of our message, we proceeded on south, accompanied by the two foremen, and reached uvalde county within a week of the time set for receiving. edwards had two good remudas in pastures, wagons and teams secured, and cooks and wranglers on hand, and it only remained to pick the men to complete the outfits. with three old trail foremen on the alert for good hands while the gathering and receiving was going on, the help would be ready in ample time to receive the herds. gathering the beeves was in active operation on our arrival, a branding chute had been built to facilitate the work, and all five of us took to the saddle in assisting ranchmen in holding under herd, as we permitted nothing to be corralled night or day. the first herd was completed on the th, and the second a day later, both moving out without an hour's delay, the only instructions being to touch at great bend, kansas, for final orders. the cattle more than came up to expectations, three fourths of them being six and seven years old, and as heavy as oxen. there was something about the days of the open range that left its impression on animals, as these two herds were as uniform in build as deer, and i question if the same country to-day has as heavy beeves. three days were lost in reaching coryell county, where our outfits were in waiting and twenty others were at work gathering cattle. the herds were made up and started without a hitch, and we passed on to hood county, meeting every date promptly and again finding the trail outfits awaiting us. leaving my active partner and george edwards to receive the two herds, i rode through to the clear fork in a single day. a double outfit had been at work for the past two weeks gathering outside cattle and had over a thousand under herd on my arrival. everything had worked out so nicely in receiving the purchased herds that i finally concluded to send out my steers, and we began gathering on the home range. by making small round-ups, we disturbed the young calves as little as possible. i took charge of the extra outfit and my ranch foreman of his own, one beginning on the west end of my range, the other going north and coming down the brazos. at the end of a week the two crews came together with nearly eight thousand cattle under herd. the next day we cut out thirty-five hundred cows and started them on the trail, turning free the remnant of she stuff, and began shaping up the steers, using only the oldest in making up thirty-two hundred head. there were fully two thousand threes, the remainder being nearly equally divided between twos and fours. no road branding was necessary; the only delay in moving out was in provisioning a wagon and securing a foreman. failing in two or three quarters, i at last decided on a young fellow on my ranch, and he was placed in charge of the last herd. great bend was his destination, i instructed him where to turn off the chisholm trail,--north of the salt fork in the cherokee outlet,--and he started like an army with banners. i rejoined my active partner at fort worth. the hood county cattle had started a week before, so taking george edwards with us, we took train for kansas. major hunter returned to his home, while edwards and i lost no time in reaching the medicine river. a fortnight was spent in riding our northern range, when we took horses and struck out for pond creek in the outlet. the lead herds were due at this point early in may, and on our arrival a number had already passed. a road house and stage stand had previously been established, the proprietor of which kept a register of passing herds for the convenience of owners. none of ours were due, yet we looked over the "arrivals" with interest, and continued on down the trail to red fork. the latter was a branch of the arkansas river, and at low water was inclined to be brackish, and hence was sometimes called the salt fork, with nothing to differentiate it from one of the same name sixty miles farther north. there was an old indian trading post at red fork, and i lay over there while edwards went on south to meet the cows. his work for the summer was to oversee the deliveries at the indian agencies, major hunter was to look after the market at the bend, and i was to attend to the contracts at army posts on the upper missouri. our first steer herd to arrive was from hood county, and after seeing them safely on the great bend trail at pond creek, i waited for the other steer cattle from coryell to arrive. both herds came in within a day of each other, and i loitered along with them, finally overtaking the lead one when within fifty miles of the bend. in fair weather it was a delightful existence to loaf along with the cattle; but once all three herds reached their destination, two outfits held them, and i took the hood county lads and dropped back on the medicine. our ranch hands had everything shaped up nicely, and by working a double outfit and making round-ups at noon, when the cattle were on water, we quietly cut out three thousand head of our biggest beeves without materially disturbing our holdings on that range. these northern wintered cattle were intended for delivery at fort abraham lincoln on the missouri river in what is now north dakota. the through heavy beeves from uvalde county were intended for fort randall and intermediate posts, some of them for reissue to various indian agencies. the reservations of half a dozen tribes were tributary to the forts along the upper missouri, and the government was very liberal in supplying its wards with fresh beef. the medicine river beeves were to be grazed up the country to fort lincoln. we passed old fort larned within a week, and i left the outfit there and returned to the bend. the outfit in charge of the wintered cattle had orders to touch at and cross the missouri river at fort randall, where i would meet them again near the middle of july. the market had fairly opened at great bend, and i was kept busy assisting major hunter until the arrival of the uvalde beef herds. both came through in splendid condition, were admired by every buyer in the market, and passed on north under orders to graze ten miles a day until reaching their destination. by this time the whereabouts of all the indian herds were known, yet not a word had reached me from the foreman of my individual cattle after crossing into the nations. it was now the middle of june, and there were several points en route from which he might have mailed a letter, as did all the other foremen. herds, which crossed at red river station a week after my steers, came into the bend and reported having spoken no " " cattle en route. i became uneasy and sent a courier as far south as the state line, who returned with a comfortless message. finally a foreman in the employ of jess evens came to me and reported having taken dinner with a " " outfit on the south canadian; that the herd swam the river that afternoon, after which he never hailed them again. they were my own dear cattle, and i was worrying; i was overdue at fort randall, and in duty bound to look after the interests of the firm. major hunter came to the rescue, in his usual calm manner, and expressed his confidence that all would come out right in the end; that when the mystery was unraveled the foreman would be found blameless. i took a night train for the north, connected with a boat on the missouri river, and by finally taking stage reached fort randall. the mental worry of those four days would age an ordinary man, but on my arrival at the post a message from my active partner informed me that my cattle had reached dodge city two weeks before my leaving. then the scales fell from my eyes, as i could understand that when inquiries were made for the salt fork, some wayfarer had given that name to the red fork; and the new dodge trail turned to the left, from the chisholm, at little turkey, the first creek crossed after leaving the river. the message was supplemented a few days later by a letter, stating that dodge city would possibly be a better market than the bend, and that my interests would be looked after as well as if i were present. a load was lifted from my shoulders, and when the wintered cattle passed randall, the whole post turned out to see the beef herd on its way up to lincoln. the government line of forts along the missouri river had the whitest lot of officers that it was ever my good fortune to meet. i was from texas, my tongue and colloquialisms of speech proclaimed me southern-born, and when i admitted having served in the confederate army, interest and attention was only heightened, while every possible kindness was simply showered on me. the first delivery occurred at fort lincoln. it was a very simple affair. we cut out half a dozen average beeves, killed, dressed, and weighed them, and an honest average on the herd was thus secured. the contract called for one and a half million pounds on foot; our tender overran twelve per cent; but this surplus was accepted and paid for. the second delivery was at fort pierre and the last at randall, both of which passed pleasantly, the many acquaintances among army men that summer being one of my happiest memories. leaving randall, we put in to the nearest railroad point returning, where thirty men were sent home, after which we swept down the country and arrived at great bend during the last week in september. my active partner had handled his assignment of the summer's work in a masterly manner, having wholesaled my herd at dodge city at as good figures as our other cattle brought in retail quantities at the bend. the former point had received three hundred and fifty thousand texas cattle that summer, while every one conceded that great bend's business as a trail terminal would close with that season. the latter had handled nearly a quarter-million cattle that year, but like abilene, wichita, and other trail towns in eastern kansas, it was doomed to succumb to the advance guard of pioneer settlers. the best sale of the year fell to my active partner. before the shipping season opened, he sold, range count, our holdings on the medicine river, including saddle stock, improvements, and good will. the cattle might possibly have netted us more by marketing them, but it was only a question of time until the flow of immigration would demand our range, and major hunter had sold our squatter's rights while they had a value. a new foreman had been installed on our giving up possession, and our old one had been skirmishing the surrounding country the past month for a new range, making a favorable report on the eagle chief in the outlet. by paying a trifling rental to the cherokee nation, permission could be secured to hold cattle on these lands, set aside as a hunting ground. george edwards had been rotting all summer in issuing cows at indian agencies, but on the first of october the residue of his herds would be put in pastures or turned free for the winter. major hunter had wound up his affairs at the bend, and nothing remained but a general settlement of the summer's work. this took place at council grove, our silent partner and edwards both being present. the profits of the year staggered us all. i was anxious to go home, the different outfits having all gone by rail or overland with the remudas, with the exception of the two from uvalde, which were property of the firm. i had bought three hundred extra horses at the bend, sending them home with the others, and now nothing remained but to stock the new range in the cherokee outlet. edwards and my active partner volunteered for this work, it being understood that the uvalde remudas would be retained for ranch use, and that not over ten thousand cattle were to be put on the new range for the winter. our silent partner was rapidly awakening to the importance of his usefulness in securing future contracts with the war and indian departments, and vaguely outlining the future, we separated to three points of the compass. chapter xiv establishing a new ranch i hardly knew fort worth on my return. the town was in the midst of a boom. the foundations of many store buildings were laid on monday morning, and by saturday night they were occupied and doing a land-office business. lots that could have been bought in the spring for one hundred dollars were now commanding a thousand, while land scrip was quoted as scarce at twenty-five cents an acre. i hurried home, spoke to my wife, and engaged two surveyors to report one week later at my ranch on the clear fork. big as was the state and boundless as was her public domain, i could not afford to allow this advancing prosperity to catch me asleep again, and i firmly concluded to empty that little tin trunk of its musty land scrip. true enough, the present boom was not noticeable on the frontier, yet there was a buoyant feeling in the air that betokened a brilliant future. something enthused me, and as my creed was land and cattle, i made up my mind to plunge into both to my full capacity. the last outfit to return from the summer's drive was detained on the clear fork to assist in the fall branding. another one of fifteen men all told was chosen from the relieved lads in making up a surveying party, and taking fifty saddle horses and a well-stocked commissary with us, we started due west. i knew the country for some distance beyond fort griffin, and from late maps in possession of the surveyors, we knew that by holding our course, we were due to strike a fork of the mother brazos before reaching the staked plain. holding our course contrary to the needle, we crossed the double mountain fork, and after a week out from the ranch the brakes which form the border between the lowlands and the llano estacado were sighted. within view of the foothills which form the approach of the famous plain, the salt and double mountain forks of the brazos are not over twelve miles apart. we traveled up the divide between these two rivers, and when within thirty miles of the low-browed borderland a halt was called and we went into camp. from the view before us one could almost imagine the feelings of the discoverer of this continent when he first sighted land; for i remember the thrill which possessed our little party as we looked off into either valley or forward to the menacing staked plain in our front. there was something primal in the scene,--something that brought back the words, "in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth." men who knew neither creed nor profession of faith felt themselves drawn very near to some great creative power. the surrounding view held us spellbound by its beauty and strength. it was like a rush of fern-scents, the breath of pine forests, the music of the stars, the first lovelight in a mother's eye; and now its pristine beauty was to be marred, as covetous eyes and a lust of possession moved an earth-born man to lay hands on all things created for his use. camp was established on the double mountain fork. many miles to the north, a spur of the plain extended eastward, in the elbow of which it was my intention to locate the new ranch. a corner was established, a meridian line was run north beyond the salt fork and a random one west to the foothills. after a few days one surveyor ran the principal lines while the other did the cross-sectioning and correcting back, both working from the same camp, the wagon following up the work. antelope were seen by the thousands, frequently buffaloes were sighted, and scarcely a day passed but our rifles added to the larder of our commissary supplies. within a month we located four hundred sections, covering either side of the double mountain fork, and embracing a country ten miles wide by forty long. coming back to our original meridian line across to the salt fork, the work of surveying that valley was begun, when i was compelled to turn homeward. a list of contracts to be let by the war and interior departments would be ready by december , and my partners relied on my making all the estimates. there was a noticeable advance of fully one dollar a head on steer cattle since the spring before, and i was supposed to have my finger on the pulse of supply and prices, as all government awards were let far in advance of delivery. george edwards had returned a few days before and reported having stocked the new ranch in the outlet with twelve thousand steers. the list of contracts to be let had arrived, and the two of us went over them carefully. the government was asking for bids on the delivery of over two hundred thousand cattle at various posts and agencies in the west, and confining ourselves to well-known territory, we submitted bids on fifteen awards, calling for forty-five thousand cattle in their fulfillment. our estimates were sent to major hunter for his approval, who in turn forwarded them to our silent partner at washington, to be submitted to the proper departments. as the awards would not be made until the middle of january, nothing definite could be done until then, so, accompanied by george edwards, i returned to the surveying party on the salt fork of the brazos. we found them busy at their work, the only interruption having been an indian scare, which only lasted a few days. the men still carried rifles against surprise, kept a scout on the lookout while at work, and maintained a guard over the camp and remuda at night. during my absence they had located a strip of country ten by thirty miles, covering the valley of the salt fork, and we still lacked three hundred sections of using up the scrip. the river, along which they were surveying, made an abrupt turn to the north, and offsetting by sections around the bend, we continued on up the valley for twenty miles or until the brakes of the plain made the land no longer desirable. returning to our commencement point with still one hundred certificates left, we extended the survey five miles down both rivers, using up the last acre of scrip. the new ranch was irregular in form, but it controlled the waters of fully one million acres of fine grazing land and was clothed with a carpet of nutritive grasses. this was the range of the buffalo, and the instinct of that animal could be relied on in choosing a range for its successor, the texas cow. the surveying over, nothing remained but the recording of the locations at the county seat to which for legal purposes this unorganized country was attached. all of us accompanied the outfit returning, and a gala week we spent, as no less than half a dozen buffalo robes were secured before reaching fort griffin. deer and turkey were plentiful, and it was with difficulty that i restrained the boys from killing wantonly, as they were young fellows whose very blood yearned for the chase or any diverting excitement. we reached the ranch on the clear fork during the second week in january, and those of the outfit who had no regular homes were made welcome guests until work opened in the spring. my calf crop that fall had exceeded all expectations, nearly nine thousand having been branded, while the cattle were wintering in splendid condition. there was little or nothing to do, a few hunts with the hounds merely killing time until we got reports from washington. in spite of all competition we secured eight contracts, five with the army and the remainder with the indian bureau. then the work opened in earnest. my active partner was due the first of february, and during the interim george edwards and i rode a circle of five counties in search of brands of cattle for sale. in the course of our rounds a large number of whole stocks were offered us, but at firmer prices, yet we closed no trades, though many brands were bargains. it was my intention to stock the new ranch on the double mountain fork the coming summer, and if arrangements could be agreed on with major hunter, i might be able to repeat my success of the summer of ' . emigration to texas was crowding the ranches to the frontier, many of them unwillingly, and it appealed to me strongly that the time was opportune for securing an ample holding of stock cattle. the appearance of my active partner was the beginning of active operations, and after we had outlined the programme for the summer and gone through all the details thoroughly, i asked for the privilege of supplying the cows on the indian contracts. never did partners stand more willingly by each other than did the firm of hunter, anthony & co., and i only had to explain the opportunity of buying brands at wholesale, sending the young steers up the trail and the aging, dry, and barren cows to indian agencies, to gain the hearty approval of the little yankee major. he was entitled to a great deal of credit for my holdings in land, for from his first sight of texas, day after day, line upon line, precept upon precept, he had urged upon me the importance of securing title to realty, while its equivalent in scrip was being hawked about, begging a buyer. now we rejoiced together in the fulfillment of his prophecy, as i can lay little claim to any foresight, but am particularly anxious to give credit where credit is due. with an asylum for any and all remnants of stock cattle, we authorized george edwards to close trades on a number of brands. taking with us the two foremen who had brought beef herds out of uvalde county the spring before, the major and i started south on the lookout for beeves. the headwaters of the nueces and its tributaries were again our destination, and the usual welcome to buyers was extended with that hospitality that only the days of the open range knew and practiced. we closed contracts with former customers without looking at their cattle. when a ranchman gave us his word to deliver us as good or better beeves than the spring before, there was no occasion to question his ability, and the cattle never deceived. there might arise petty wrangles over trifles, but the general hungering for a market among cowmen had not yet been satiated, and they offered us their best that we might come again. we placed our contracts along three rivers and over as many counties, limiting the number to ten thousand beeves of the same ages and paying one dollar a head above the previous spring. one of our foremen was provided with a letter of credit, and the two were left behind to make up three new and complete outfits for the trail. this completed the purchase of beef cattle. two of our contracts called for northern wintered beeves, which would be filled out of our holdings in the cherokee outlet. we again stopped in central texas, but prices were too firm, and we passed on west to san saba and lampasas counties, where we effected trades on nine thousand five hundred three-year-old steers. my own outfits would drop down from the clear fork to receive these cattle, and after we had perfected our banking arrangements the major returned to san antonio and i started homeward. george edwards had in the mean time bargained for ten brands, running anywhere from one to five thousand head, paying straight through five to seven dollars, half cash and the balance in eight months, everything to be delivered on the clear fork. we intentionally made these deliveries late--during the last week in march and the first one in april--in order that major hunter might approve of the three herds of cows for indian delivery. once i had been put in possession of all necessary details, edwards started south to join major hunter, as the receiving of the nueces river beeves was set for from the th to the th of march. i could see a busy time ahead. there was wood to haul for the branding, three complete outfits to start for the central part of the state, new wagons to equip for the trail, and others to care for the calf crop while en route to the double mountain fork. there were oxen to buy in equipping teams to accompany the stock cattle to the new ranch, two yoke being allowed to each wagon, as it was strength and not speed that was desired. my old foremen rallied at a word and relieved me of the lesser details of provisioning the commissaries and engaging the help. trusty men were sent to oversee and look out for my interests in gathering the different brands, the ranges of many of them being fifty to one hundred miles distant. the different brands were coming from six separate counties along the border, and on their arrival at my ranch we must be ready to receive, brand, and separate the herds into their respective classes, sending two grades to market and the remnant to their new home at the foot of the staked plain. the condition of the mules must be taken into consideration before the army can move, and in cattle life the same reliance is placed on the fitness for duty of the saddle horses. i had enough picked ones to make up a dozen remudas if necessary, and rested easy on that score. the date for receiving arrived and found us all ready and waiting. the first herd was announced to arrive on the th of march. i met it ten miles from the ranch. my man assured me that the brand as gathered was intact and that it would run fifty per cent dry cows and steers over two years old. a number of mature beeves even were noticeable and younger steers were numerous, while the miscellany of the herd ran to every class and condition of the bovine race. two other brands were expected the next day, and that evening the first one to arrive was counted and accepted. the next morning the entire herd was run through a branding chute and classified, all steers above a yearling and dry and aging cows going into one contingent and the mixed cattle into another. in order to save horseflesh, this work was easily done in the corrals. by hanging a gate at the exit of the branding chute, a man sat overhead and by swinging it a variation of two feet, as the cattle trailed through the trough in single file, the herd was cut into two classes. those intended for the trail were put under herd, while the stock cattle were branded into the " " and held separate. the second and third herds were treated in a similar manner, when we found ourselves with over eleven thousand cattle on hand, with two other brands due in a few days. but the evening of the fourth day saw a herd of thirty-three hundred steers on its way to kansas, while a second one, numbering two hundred more than the first, was lopped off from the mixed stuff and started west for the double mountain fork. the situation was eased. a conveyance had been sent to the railroad to meet my partner, and before he and edwards arrived two other brands had been received. a herd of thirty-five hundred dry cows was approved and started at once for the indian territory, while a second one moved out for the west, cleaning up the holdings of mixed stuff. the congestion was again relieved, and as the next few brands were expected to run light in steers, everything except cows was held under herd until all had been received. the final contingent came in from wise county and were shaped up, and the last herd of cows, completing ten thousand five hundred, started for the washita agency. i still had nearly sixty-five hundred steers on hand, and cutting back all of a small overplus of thin light cows, i had three brands of steers cut into one herd and four into another, both moving out for dodge city. this left me with fully eight thousand miscellany on hand, with nothing but my ranch outfit to hold them, close-herding by day and bedding down and guarding them by night. settlements were made with the different sellers, my outstanding obligations amounting to over one hundred thousand dollars, which the three steer herds were expected to liquidate. my active partner and george edwards took train for the north. the only change in the programme was that major hunter was to look after our deliveries at army posts, while i was to meet our herds on their arrival in dodge city. the cows were sold to the firm, and including my individual cattle, we had twelve herds on the trail, or a total of thirty-nine thousand five hundred head. on the return of the first outfit from the west, some three weeks after leaving, the herd of stock cattle was cut in two and started. but a single man was left on the clear fork, my ranch foreman taking one herd, while i accompanied the other. it requires the patience of a saint to handle cows and calves, two wagons to the herd being frequently taxed to their capacity in picking up the youngsters. it was a constant sight to see some of the boys carrying a new-born calf across the saddle seat, followed by the mother, until camp or the wagon was reached. i was ashamed of my own lack of patience on that trip, while irritable men could while away the long hours, nursing along the drag end of a herd of cows and their toddling offspring. we averaged only about ten miles a day, the herds were large and unwieldy, and after twelve days out both were scattered along the salt fork and given their freedom. leaving one outfit to locate the cattle on the new range, the other two hastened back to the clear fork and gathered two herds, numbering thirty-five hundred each, of young cows and heifers from the ranch stock. but a single day was lost in rounding-up, when they were started west, half a day apart, and i again took charge of an outfit, the trip being an easy one and made in ten days, as the calves were large enough to follow and there were no drag cattle among them. on our arrival at the new ranch, the cows and heifers were scattered among the former herds, and both outfits started back, one to look after the clear fork and the other to bring through the last herd in stocking my new possessions. this gave me fully twenty-five thousand mixed cattle on my new range, relieving the old ranch of a portion of its she stuff and shaping up both stocks to better advantage. it was my intention to make my home on the clear fork thereafter, and the ranch outfit had orders to build a comfortable house during the summer. the frontier was rapidly moving westward, the indian was no longer a dread, as it was only a question of time until the comanche and his ally would imitate their red brethren and accept the dole of the superior race. i was due in dodge city the first of june, the ranches would take care of themselves, and touching at the edwards ranch for a day, i reached "dodge" before any of the herds arrived. here was a typical trail town, a winter resort for buffalo hunters, no settlement for fifty miles to the east, and an almost boundless range on which to hold through texas cattle. the business was bound to concentrate at this place, as all other markets were abandoned within the state, while it was easily accessible to the mountain regions on the west. it was the logical meeting point for buyers and drovers; and while the town of that day has passed into history as "wicked dodge," it had many redeeming features. the veneer of civilization may have fallen, to a certain extent, from the wayfaring man who tarried in this cow town, yet his word was a bond, and he reverenced the pure in womanhood, though to insult him invited death. george edwards and major hunter had become such great chums that i was actually jealous of being supplanted in the affections of the yankee major. the two had been inseparable for months, visiting at the grove, spending a fortnight together at the beef ranch in the outlet, and finally putting in an appearance at dodge. headquarters for the summer were established at the latter point, our bookkeeper arrived, and we were ready for business. the market opened earlier than at more eastern points. the bulk of the sales were made to ranchmen, who used whole herds where the agricultural regions only bought cattle by the hundreds. it was more satisfactory than the retail trade; credit was out of the question, and there was no haggling over prices. cattle companies were forming and stocking new ranges, and an influx of english and scotch capital was seeking investment in ranches and live stock in the west,--a mere forerunner of what was to follow in later years. our herds began arriving, and as soon as an outfit could be freed it was started for the beef ranch under george edwards, where a herd of wintered beeves was already made up to start for the upper missouri river. major hunter followed a week later with the second relieved outfit, and our cattle were all moving for their destinations. the through beef herds from the upper nueces river had orders to touch at old fort larned to the eastward, edwards drifted on to the indian agencies, and i bestirred myself to the task of selling six herds of young cattle at dodge. once more i was back in my old element, except that every feature of the latter market was on an enlarged scale. two herds were sold to one man in colorado, three others went under contract to the republican river in nebraska, and the last one was cut into blocks and found a market with feeders in kansas. long before deliveries were concluded to the war or interior departments, headquarters were moved back to the grove, my work being done. in the interim of waiting for the close of the year's business, our bookkeeper looked after two shipments of a thousand head each from the beef ranch, while i visited my brother in missouri and surprised him by buying a carload of thoroughbred bulls. arrangements were made for shipping them to fort worth during the last week in november, and promising to call for them, i returned to the grove to meet my partners and adjust all accounts for the year. chapter xv harvest home the firm's profits for the summer of ' footed up over two hundred thousand dollars. the government herds from the cherokee outlet paid the best, those sent to market next, while the through cattle remunerated us in the order of beeves, young steers, and lastly cows. there was a satisfactory profit even in the latter, yet the same investment in other classes paid a better per cent profit, and the banking instincts of my partners could be relied on to seek the best market for our capital. there was nothing haphazard about our business; separate accounts were kept on every herd, and at the end of the season the percentage profit on each told their own story. for instance, in the above year it cost us more to deliver a cow at an agency in the indian territory than a steer at dodge city, kansas. the herds sold in colorado had been driven at an expense of eighty-five cents a head, those delivered on the republican river ninety, and every cow driven that year cost us over one dollar a head in general expense. the necessity of holding the latter for a period of four months near agencies for issuing purposes added to the cost, and was charged to that particular department of our business. george edwards and my active partner agreed to restock our beef ranch in the outlet, and i returned to missouri. i make no claim of being the first cowman to improve the native cattle of texas, yet forty years' keen observation has confirmed my original idea,--that improvement must come through the native and gradually. climatic conditions in texas are such that the best types of the bovine race would deteriorate if compelled to subsist the year round on the open range. the strongest point in the original spanish cattle was their inborn ability as foragers, being inured for centuries to drouth, the heat of summer, and the northers of winter, subsisting for months on prickly pear, a species of the cactus family, or drifting like game animals to more favored localities in avoiding the natural afflictions that beset an arid country. in producing the ideal range animal it was more important to retain those rustling qualities than to gain a better color, a few pounds in weight, and a shortening of horns and legs, unless their possessor could withstand the rigors of a variable climate. nature befriends the animal race. the buffalo of montana could face the blizzard, while his brother on the plains of texas sought shelter from the northers in cañons and behind sand-dunes, guided by an instinct that foretold the coming storm. i accompanied my car of thoroughbred bulls and unloaded them at the first station north of fort worth. they numbered twenty-five, all two-year-olds past, and were representative of three leading beef brands of established reputation. others had tried the experiment before me, the main trouble being in acclimation, which affects animals the same as the human family. but by wintering them at their destination, i had hopes of inuring the importation so that they would withstand the coming summer, the heat of which was a sore trial to a northern-bred animal. accordingly i made arrangements with a farmer to feed my car of bulls during the winter, hay and grain both being plentiful. they had cost me over five thousand dollars, and rather than risk the loss of a single one by chancing them on the range, an additional outlay of a few hundred dollars was justified. limiting the corn fed to three barrels to the animal a month, with plenty of rough feed, ought to bring them through the winter in good, healthy form. the farmer promised to report monthly on their condition, and agreeing to send for them by the first of april, i hastened on home. my wife had taken a hand in the building of the new house on the clear fork. it was quite a pretentious affair, built of hewed logs, and consisted of two large rooms with a hallway between, a gallery on three sides, and a kitchen at the rear. each of the main rooms had an ample fireplace, both hearths and chimneys built from rock, the only material foreign to the ranch being the lumber in the floors, doors, and windows. nearly all the work was done by the ranch hands, even the clapboards were riven from oak that grew along the mother brazos, and my wife showed me over the house as though it had been a castle that she had inherited from some feudal forbear. i was easily satisfied; the main concern was for the family, as i hardly lived at home enough to give any serious thought to the roof that sheltered me. the original buildings had been improved and enlarged for the men, and an air of prosperity pervaded the anthony ranch consistent with the times and the success of its owner. the two ranches reported a few over fifteen thousand calves branded that fall. a dim wagon road had been established between the ranches, by going and returning outfits during the stocking of the new ranch the spring before, and the distance could now be covered in two days by buckboard. the list of government contracts to be let was awaiting my attention, and after my estimates had been prepared, and forwarded to my active partner, it was nearly the middle of december before i found time to visit the new ranch. the hands at double mountain had not been idle, snug headquarters were established, and three line camps on the outskirts of the range were comfortably equipped to shelter men and horses. the cattle had located nicely, two large corrals had been built on each river, and the calves were as thrifty as weeds. gray wolves were the worst enemy encountered, running in large bands and finding shelter in the cedar brakes in the cañons and foothills which border on the staked plain. my foreman on the double mountain ranch was using poison judiciously, all the line camps were supplied with the same, and an active winter of poisoning wolves was already inaugurated before my arrival. long-range rifles would supplement the work, and a few years of relentless war on these pests would rid the ranch of this enemy of live stock. together my foreman and i planned for starting an improved herd of cattle. a cañon on the west was decided on as a range, as it was well watered from living springs, having a valley several miles wide, forming a park with ample range for two thousand cattle. the bluffs on either side were abrupt, almost an in closure, making it an easy matter for two men to loose-herd a small amount of stock, holding them adjoining my deeded range, yet separate. the survival of the fittest was adopted as the rule in beginning the herd, five hundred choice cows were to form the nucleus, to be the pick of the new ranch, thrift and formation to decide their selection. solid colors only were to be chosen, every natural point in a cow was to be considered, with the view of reproducing the race in improved form. my foreman--an intelligent young fellow--was in complete sympathy, and promised me that he would comb the range in selecting the herd. the first appearance of grass in the spring was agreed on as the time for gathering the cows, when he would personally come to the clear fork and receive the importation of bulls, thus fully taking all responsibility in establishing the improved herd. by this method, unless our plans miscarried, in the course of a few years we expected to be raising quarter-bloods in the main ranch stock, and at the same time retaining all those essential qualities that distinguish the range-raised from the domestic-bred animal. on my return to the clear fork, which was now my home, a letter from my active partner was waiting, informing me that he and edwards would reach texas about the time the list of awards would arrive. they had been unsuccessful in fully stocking our beef ranch, securing only three thousand head, as prices were against them, and the letter intimated that something must be done to provide against a repetition of this unforeseen situation. the ranch in the outlet had paid us a higher per cent on the investment than any of our ventures, and to neglect fully stocking it was contrary to the creed of hunter, anthony & co. true, we were double-wintering some four thousand head of cattle on our cherokee range, but if a fair allowance of awards was allotted the firm, requiring northern wintered cattle in filling, it might embarrass us to supply the same when we did not have the beeves in hand; it was our business to have the beef. at the appointed time the buckboard was sent to fort worth, and a few days later major hunter and our main segundo drove up to the clear fork. omitting all preludes, atmosphere, and sunsets, we got down to business at once. if we could drive cattle to dodge city and market them for eighty-five cents, we ought to be able to deliver them on our northern range for six bits, and the horses could be returned or sold at a profit. if any of our established trade must be sacrificed, why, drop what paid the least; but half stock our beef ranch? never again! this was to be the slogan for the coming summer, and, on receiving the report from washington, we were enabled to outline a programme for the year. the gradually advancing prices in cattle were alarming me, as it was now perceptible in cows, and in submitting our bids on indian awards i had made the allowance of one dollar a head advance over the spring before. in spite of this we were allotted five contracts from the interior department and seven to the army, three of the latter requiring ten thousand northern wintered beeves,--only oversold three thousand head. major hunter met my criticisms by taking the ground that we virtually had none of the cattle on hand, and if we could buy southern stock to meet our requirements, why not the three thousand that we lacked in the north. our bids had passed through his hands last; he knew our northern range was not fully stocked, and had forwarded the estimates to our silent partner at washington, and now the firm had been assigned awards in excess of their holdings. but he was the kind of a partner i liked, and if he could see his way clear, he could depend on my backing him to the extent of my ability and credit. the business of the firm had grown so rapidly that it was deemed advisable to divide it into three departments,--the army, the indian, the beef ranch and general market. major hunter was specially qualified to handle the first division, the second fell to edwards, and the last was assumed by myself. we were to consult each other when convenient, but each was to act separately for the firm, my commission requiring fifteen thousand cattle for our ranch in the outlet, and three herds for the market at dodge city. our banking points were limited to fort worth and san antonio, so agreeing to meet at the latter point on the st of february for a general consultation, we separated with a view to feeling the home market. our man edwards dropped out in the central part of the state, my active partner wished to look into the situation on the lower nueces river, and i returned to the headwaters of that stream. during the past two summers we had driven five herds of heavy beeves from uvalde and adjoining counties, and while we liked the cattle of that section, it was considered advisable to look elsewhere for our beef supply. within a week i let contracts for five herds of two and three year old steers, then dropped back to the colorado river and bought ten thousand more in san saba and mcculloch counties. this completed the purchases in my department, and i hastened back to san antonio for the expected consultation. neither my active partner nor my trusted man had arrived, nor was there a line to indicate where they were or when they might be expected, though major hunter had called at our hotel a few days previously for his mail. the designated day was waning, and i was worried by the non-appearance of either, when i received a wire from austin, saying they had just sublet the indian contracts. the next morning my active partner and edwards arrived. the latter had met some parties at the capital who were anxious to fill our indian deliveries, and had wired us in the firm's name, and major hunter had taken the first train for austin. both returned wreathed in smiles, having sublet our awards at figures that netted us more than we could have realized had we bought and delivered the cattle at our own risk. it was clear money, requiring not a stroke of work, while it freed a valuable man in outfitting, receiving, and starting our other herds, as well as relieving a snug sum for reinvestment. our capital lay idle half the year, the spring months were our harvest, and, assigning edwards full charge of the cattle bought on the colorado river, we instructed him to buy for the dodge market four herds more in adjoining counties, bringing down the necessary outfits to handle them from my ranch on the clear fork. previous to his return to san antonio my active partner had closed contracts on thirteen thousand heavy beeves on the frio river and lower nueces, thus completing our purchases. a healthy advance was noticeable all around in steer cattle, though hardly affecting cows; but having anticipated a growing appreciation in submitting our bids, we suffered no disappointment. a week was lost in awaiting the arrival of half a dozen old foremen. on their arrival we divided them between us and intrusted them with the buying of horses and all details in making up outfits. the trails leading out of southern texas were purely local ones, the only established trace running from san antonio north, touching at fort griffin, and crossing into the nations at red river station in montague county. all our previous herds from the uvalde regions had turned eastward to intercept this main thoroughfare, though we had been frequently advised to try a western outlet known as the nueces cañon route. the latter course would bring us out on high tablelands, but before risking our herds through it, i decided to ride out the country in advance. the cañon proper was about forty miles long, through which ran the source of the nueces river, and if the way were barely possible it looked like a feasible route. taking a pack horse and guide with me, i rode through and out on the mesa beyond. general mckinzie had used this route during his indian campaigns, and had even built mounds of rock on the hills to guide the wayfarer, from the exit of the cañon across to the south llano river. the trail was a rough one, but there was grass sufficient to sustain the herds and ample bed-grounds in the valleys, and i decided to try the western outlet from uvalde. an early, seasonable spring favored us with fine grass on which to put up and start the herds, all five moving out within a week of each other. i promised my foremen to accompany them through the cañon, knowing that the passage would be a trial to man and beast, and asked the old bosses to loiter along, so that there would be but a few hours' difference between the rear and lead herds. i received sixteen thousand cattle, and the four days required in passing through nueces cañon and reaching water beyond were the supreme physical test of my life. it was a wild section, wholly unsettled, between low mountains, the river-bed constantly shifting from one flank of the valley to the other, while cliffs from three to five hundred feet high alternated from side to side. in traveling the first twenty-five miles we crossed the bed of the river twenty-one times; and besides the river there were a great number of creeks and dry arroyos putting in from the surrounding hills, so that we were constantly crossing rough ground. the beds of the streams were covered with smooth, water-worn pebbles, white as marble, and then again we encountered limestone in lava formation, honeycombed with millions of sharp, up-turned cells. some of the descents were nearly impossible for wagons, but we locked both hind wheels and just let them slide down and bounce over the boulders at the bottom. half-way through the cañon the water failed us, with the south fork of the llano forty miles distant in our front. we were compelled to allow the cattle to pick their way over the rocky trail, the herds not over a mile apart, and scarcely maintaining a snail's pace. i rode from rear to front and back again a dozen times in clearing the defile, and noted that splotches of blood from tender-footed cattle marked the white pebbles at every crossing of the river-bed. on the evening of the third day, the rear herd passed the exit of the cañon, the others having turned aside to camp for the night. two whole days had now elapsed without water for the cattle. i had not slept a wink the two previous nights. the south fork of the llano lay over twenty miles distant, and although it had ample water two weeks before, one of the foremen and i rode through to it that night to satisfy ourselves. the supply was found sufficient, and before daybreak we were back in camp, arousing the outfits and starting the herds. in the spring of the old military trail, with its rocky sentinels, was still dimly defined from nueces cañon north to the mckinzie water-hole on the south llano. the herds moved out with the dawn. thousands of the cattle were travel-sore, while a few hundred were actually tender-footed. the evening before, as we came out into the open country, we had seen quite a local shower of rain in our front, which had apparently crossed our course nearly ten miles distant, though it had not been noticeable during our night's ride. the herds fell in behind one another that morning like columns of cavalry, and after a few miles their stiffness passed and they led out as if they had knowledge of the water ahead. within two hours after starting we crossed a swell of the mesa, when the lead herd caught a breeze from off the damp hills to the left where the shower had fallen the evening before. as they struck this rise, the feverish cattle raised their heads and pulled out as if that vagrant breeze had brought them a message that succor and rest lay just beyond. the point men had orders to let them go, and as fast as the rear herds came up and struck this imaginary line or air current, a single moan would surge back through the herd until it died out at the rear. by noon there was a solid column of cattle ten miles long, and two hours later the drag and point men had trouble in keeping the different herds from mixing. without a halt, by three o'clock the lead foremen were turning their charges right and left, and shortly afterward the lead cattle were plunging into the purling waters of the south llano. the rear herds turned off above and below, filling the river for five miles, while the hollow-eyed animals gorged themselves until a half dozen died that evening and night. leaving orders with the foremen to rest their herds well and move out half a day apart, i rode night and day returning to uvalde. catching the first stage out, i reached san antonio in time to overtake major hunter, who was awaiting the arrival of the last beef herd from the lower country, the three lead ones having already passed that point. all trail outfits from the south then touched at san antonio to provision the wagons, and on the approach of our last herd i met it and spent half a day with it,--my first, last, and only glimpse of our heavy beeves. they were big rangy fellows many of them six and seven years old, and from the general uniformity of the herd, i felt proud of the cowman that my protégé and active partner had developed into. major hunter was anxious to reach home as soon as possible, in order to buy in our complement of northern wintered cattle; so, settling our business affairs in southern texas, the day after the rear beeves passed we took train north. i stopped in the central part of the state, joining edwards riding night and day in covering his appointments to receive cattle; and when the last trail herd moved out from the colorado river there were no regrets. hastening on home, on my arrival i was assured by my ranch foreman that he could gather a trail herd in less than a week. my saddle stock now numbered over a thousand head, one hundred of which were on the double mountain ranch, seven remudas on the trail, leaving available over two hundred on the clear fork. i had the horses and cattle, and on the word being given my ranch foreman began gathering our oldest steers, while i outfitted and provisioned a commissary and secured half a dozen men. on the morning of the seventh day after my arrival, an individual herd, numbering thirty-five hundred, moved out from the clear fork, every animal in the straight ranch brand. an old trail foreman was given charge, dodge city was the destination, and a finer herd of three-year-olds could not have been found in one brand within the boundaries of the state. this completed our cattle on the trail, and a breathing spell of a few weeks might now be indulged in, yet there was little rest for a cowman. not counting the contracts to the indian bureau, sublet to others, and the northern wintered beeves, we had, for the firm and individually, seventeen herds, numbering fifty-four thousand five hundred cattle on the trail. in order to carry on our growing business unhampered for want of funds, the firm had borrowed on short time nearly a quarter-million dollars that spring, pledging the credit of the three partners for its repayment. we had been making money ever since the partnership was formed, and we had husbanded our profits, yet our business seemed to outgrow our means, compelling us to borrow every spring when buying trail herds. in the mean time and while we were gathering the home cattle, my foreman and two men from the double mountain ranch arrived on the clear fork to receive the importation of bulls. the latter had not yet arrived, so pressing the boys into work, we got the trail herd away before the thoroughbreds put in an appearance. a wagon and three men from the home ranch had gone after them before my return, and they were simply loafing along, grazing five to ten miles a day, carrying corn in the wagon to feed on the grass. their arrival found the ranch at leisure, and after resting a few days they proceeded on to their destination at a leisurely gait. the importation had wintered finely,--now all three-year-olds,--but hereafter they must subsist on the range, as corn was out of the question, and the boys had brought nothing but a pack horse from the western ranch. this was an experiment with me, but i was ably seconded by my foreman, who had personally selected every cow over a month before, and this was to make up the beginning of the improved herd. i accompanied them beyond my range and urged seven miles a day as the limit of travel. i then started for home, and within a week reached dodge city, kansas. headquarters were again established at dodge. fortunately a new market was being developed at ogalalla on the platte river in nebraska, and fully one third the trail herds passed on to the upper point. before my arrival major hunter had bought the deficiency of northern wintered beeves, and early in june three herds started from our range in the outlet for the upper missouri river army posts. we had wintered all horses belonging to the firm on the beef ranch, and within a fortnight after its desertion, the young steers from the upper nueces river began arriving and were turned loose on the eagle chief, preempting our old range. one outfit was retained to locate the cattle, the remaining ones coming in to dodge and returning home by train. george edwards lent me valuable assistance in handling our affairs economically, but with the arrival of the herds at dodge he was compelled to look after our sub-contracts at indian agencies. the latter were delivered in our name, all money passed through our hands in settlement, so it was necessary to have a man on the ground to protect our interests. with nothing but the selling of eight herds of cattle in an active market like dodge, i felt that the work of the summer was virtually over. one cattle company took ten thousand three-year-old steers, two herds were sold for delivery at ogalalla, and the remaining three were placed within a month after their arrival. the occupation of the west was on with a feverish haste, and money was pouring into ranches and cattle, affording a ready market to the drover from texas. nothing now remained for me but to draw the threads of our business together and await the season's settlement in the fall. i sold all the wagons and sent the remudas to our range in the outlet, while from the first cattle sold the borrowed money was repaid. i visited ogalalla to acquaint myself with its market, looked over our beef ranch in the cherokee strip during the lull, and even paid the different indian agencies my respects to perfect my knowledge of the requirements of our business. our firm was a strong one, enlarging its business year by year; and while we could not foresee the future, the present was a harvest home to hunter, anthony & co. chapter xvi an active summer the summer of closed with but a single cloud on the horizon. like ourselves, a great many cattlemen had established beef ranches in the cherokee outlet, then a vacant country, paying a trifling rental to that tribe of civilized indians. but a difference of opinion arose, some contending that the cherokees held no title to the land; that the strip of country sixty miles wide by two hundred long set aside by treaty as a hunting ground, when no longer used for that purpose by the tribe, had reverted to the government. some refused to pay the rent money, the council of the cherokee nation appealed to the general government, and troops were ordered in to preserve the peace. we felt no uneasiness over our holdings of cattle on the strip, as we were paying a nominal rent, amounting to two bits a head a year, and were otherwise fortified in possession of our range. if necessary we could have secured a permit from the war department, on the grounds of being government contractors and requiring a northern range on which to hold our cattle. but rather than do this, major hunter hit upon a happy solution of the difficulty by suggesting that we employ an indian citizen as foreman, and hold the cattle in his name. the major had an old acquaintance, a half-breed cherokee named laflors, who was promptly installed as owner of the range, but holding beeves for hunter, anthony & co., government beef contractors. i was unexpectedly called to texas before the general settlement that fall. early in the summer, at dodge, i met a gentleman who was representing a distillery in illinois. he was in the market for a thousand range bulls to slop-feed, and as no such cattle ever came over the trail, i offered to sell them to him delivered at fort worth. i showed him the sights around dodge and we became quite friendly, but i was unable to sell him his requirements unless i could show the stock. it was easily to be seen that he was not a range cattleman, and i humored him until he took my address, saying that if he were unable to fill his wants in other western markets he would write me later. the acquaintance resulted in several letters passing between us that autumn, and finally an appointment was made to meet in kansas city and go down to texas together. i had written home to have the buckboard meet us at fort worth on october , and a few days later we were riding the range on the brazos and clear fork. in the past there never had been any market for this class of drones, old age and death being the only relief, and from the great number of brands that i had purchased during my ranching and trail operations, my range was simply cluttered with these old cumberers. their hides would not have paid freighting and transportation to a market, and they had become an actual drawback to a ranch, when the opportunity occurred and i sold twelve hundred head to the illinois distillery. the buyer informed me that they fattened well; that there was a special demand for this quality in the export trade of dressed beef, and that owing to their cheapness and consequent profit they were in demand for distillery feeding. fifteen dollars a head was agreed on as the price, and we earned it a second time in delivering that herd at fort worth. many of the animals were ten years old, surly when irritated, and ready for a fight when their day-dreams were disturbed. there was no treating them humanely, for every effort in that direction was resented by the old rascals, individually and collectively. the first day we gathered two hundred, and the attempt to hold them under herd was a constant fight, resulting in every hoof arising on the bed-ground at midnight and escaping to their old haunts. i worked as good a ranch outfit of men as the state ever bred, i was right there in the saddle with them, yet, in spite of every effort, to say nothing of the profanity wasted, we lost the herd. the next morning every lad armed himself with a prod-pole long as a lance and tipped with a sharp steel brad, and we commenced regathering. thereafter we corralled them at night, which always called for a free use of ropes, as a number usually broke away on approaching the pens. often we hog-tied as many as a dozen, letting them lie outside all night and freeing them back into the herd in the morning. even the day-herding was a constant fight, as scarcely an hour passed but some old resident would scorn the restraint imposed upon his liberties and deliberately make a break for freedom. a pair of horsemen would double on the deserter, and with a prod-pole to his ear and the pressure of a man and horse bearing their weight on the same, a circle would be covered and toro always reëntered the day-herd. one such lesson was usually sufficient, and by reaching corrals every night and penning them, we managed, after two weeks' hard work, to land them in the stockyards at fort worth. the buyer remained with and accompanied us during the gathering and en route to the railroad, evidently enjoying the continuous performance. he proved a good mixer, too, and returned annually thereafter. for years following i contracted with him, and finally shipped on consignment, our business relations always pleasant and increasing in volume until his death. returning with the outfit, i continued on west to the new ranch, while the men began the fall branding at home. on arriving on the double mountain range, i found the outfit in the saddle, ironing up a big calf crop, while the improved herd was the joy and pride of my foreman. an altitude of about four thousand feet above sea-level had proved congenial to the thoroughbreds, who had acclimated nicely, the only loss being one from lightning. two men were easily holding the isolated herd in their cañon home, the sheltering bluffs affording them ample protection from wintry weather, and there was nothing henceforth to fear in regard to the experiment. i spent a week with the outfit; my ranch foreman assured me that the brand could turn out a trail herd of three-year-old steers the following spring and a second one of twos, if it was my wish to send them to market. but it was too soon to anticipate the coming summer; and then it seemed a shame to move young steers to a northern climate to be matured, yet it was an economic necessity. ranch headquarters looked like a trapper's cave with wolf-skins and buffalo-robes taken the winter before, and it was with reluctance that i took my leave of the cosy dugouts on the double mountain fork. on returning home i found a statement for the year and a pressing invitation awaiting me to come on to the national capital at once. the profits of the summer had exceeded the previous one, but some bills for demurrage remained to be adjusted with the war and interior departments, and my active partner and george edwards had already started for washington. it was urged on me that the firm should make themselves known at the different departments, and the invitation was supplemented by a special request from our silent partner, the senator, to spend at least a month at the capital. for years i had been promising my wife to take her on a visit to virginia, and now when the opportunity offered, womanlike, she pleaded her nakedness in the midst of plenty. i never had but one suit at a time in my life, and often i had seen my wife dressed in the best the frontier of texas afforded, which was all that ought to be expected. a day's notice was given her, the eldest children were sent to their grandparents, and taking the two youngest with us, we started for fort worth. i was anxious that my wife should make a favorable impression on my people, and in turn she was fretting about my general appearance. out of a saddle a cowman never looks well, and every effort to improve his personal appearance only makes him the more ridiculous. thus with each trying to make the other presentable, we started. we stopped a week at my brother's in missouri, and finally reached the shenandoah valley during the last week in november. leaving my wife to speak for herself and the remainder of the family, i hurried on to washington and found the others quartered at a prominent hotel. a less pretentious one would have suited me, but then a united states senator must befittingly entertain his friends. new men had succeeded to the war and interior departments, and i was properly introduced to each as the texas partner of the firm of hunter, anthony & co. within a week, several little dinners were given at the hotel, at which from a dozen to twenty men sat down, all feverish to hear about the west and the cattle business in particular. already several companies had been organized to engage in ranching, and the capital had been over-subscribed in every instance; and actually one would have supposed from the chat that we were holding a cattle convention in the west instead of dining with a few representatives and government officials at washington. i soon became the object of marked attention. possibly it was my vocabulary, which was consistent with my vocation, together with my ungainly appearance, that differentiated me from my partners. george edwards was neat in appearance, had a great fund of western stories and experiences, and the two of us were constantly being importuned for incidents of a frontier nature. both my partners, especially the senator, were constantly introducing me and referring to me as a man who, in the course of ten years, had accumulated fifty thousand cattle and acquired title to three quarters of a million acres of land. i was willing to be a sociable fellow among my friends, but notoriety of this character was offensive, and in a private lecture i took my partners to task for unnecessary laudation. the matter was smoothed over, our estimates for the coming year were submitted, and after spending the holidays with my parents in virginia, i returned to the capital to await the allotments for future delivery of cattle to the army and indian service. pending the date of the opening of the bids a dinner was given by a senator from one of the southern states, to which all members of our firm were invited, when the project was launched of organizing a cattle company with one million dollars capital. the many advantages that would accrue where government influence could be counted on were dwelt upon at length, the rapid occupation of the west was cited, the concentration of all indian tribes on reservations, and the necessary requirements of beef in feeding the same was openly commented on as the opportunity of the hour. i took no hand in the general discussion, except to answer questions, but when the management of such a company was tendered me, i emphatically declined. my partners professed surprise at my refusal, but when the privacy of our rooms was reached i unburdened myself on the proposition. we had begun at the foot of the hill, and now having established ourselves in a profitable business, i was loath to give it up or share it with others. i argued that our trade was as valuable as realty or cattle in hand; that no blandishments of salary as manager could induce me to forsake legitimate channels for possibilities in other fields. "go slow and learn to peddle," was the motto of successful merchants; i had got out on a limb before and met with failure, and had no desire to rush in where angels fear for their footing. let others organize companies and we would sell them the necessary cattle; the more money seeking investment the better the market. major hunter was western in his sympathies and coincided with my views, the senator was won over from the enterprise, and the project failed to materialize. the friendly relations of our firm were slightly strained over the outcome, but on the announcement of the awards we pulled together again like brothers. in the allotment for delivery during the summer and fall of , some eighteen contracts fell to us,--six in the indian bureau and the remainder to the army, four of the latter requiring northern wintered beeves. a single award for fort buford in dakota called for five million pounds on foot and could be filled with southern cattle. others in the same department ran from one and a half to three million pounds, varying, as wanted for future or present use, to through or wintered beeves. the latter fattened even on the trail and were ready for the shambles on their arrival, while southern stock required a winter and time to acclimate to reach the pink of condition. the government maintained several distributing points in the new northwest, one of which was fort buford, where for many succeeding years ten thousand cattle were annually received and assigned to lesser posts. this was the market that i knew. i had felt every throb of its pulse ever since i had worked as a common hand in driving beef to fort sumner in . the intervening years had been active ones, and i had learned the lessons of the trail, knew to a fraction the cost of delivering a herd, and could figure on a contract with any other cowman. leaving the arrangement of the bonds to our silent partner, the next day after the awards were announced we turned our faces to the southwest. february was agreed on for the meeting at fort worth, so picking up the wife and babies in virginia, we embarked for our texas home. my better half was disappointed in my not joining in the proposed cattle company, with its officers, its directorate, annual meeting, and other high-sounding functions. i could have turned into the company my two ranches at fifty cents an acre, could have sold my brand outright at a fancy figure, taking stock in lieu for the same, but i preferred to keep them private property. i have since known other cowmen who put their lands and cattle into companies, and after a few years' manipulation all they owned was some handsome certificates, possibly having drawn a dividend or two and held an honorary office. i did not then have even the experience of others to guide my feet, but some silent monitor warned me to stick to my trade, cows. leaving the family at the edwards ranch, i returned to fort worth in ample time for the appointed meeting. my active partner and our segundo had become as thick as thieves, the two being inseparable at idle times, and on their arrival we got down to business at once. the remudas were the first consideration. besides my personal holdings of saddle stock, we had sent the fall before one thousand horses belonging to the firm back to the clear fork to winter. thus equipped with eighteen remudas for the trail, we were fairly independent in that line. among the five herds driven the year before to our beef ranch in the outlet, the books showed not over ten thousand coming four years old that spring, leaving a deficiency of northern wintered beeves to be purchased. it was decided to restock the range with straight threes, and we again divided the buying into departments, each taking the same division as the year before. the purchase of eight herds of heavy beeves would thus fall to major hunter. austin and san antonio were decided on as headquarters and banking points, and we started out on a preliminary skirmish. george edwards had an idea that the indian awards could again be relet to advantage, and started for the capital, while the major and i journeyed on south. some former sellers whom we accidentally met in san antonio complained that we had forsaken them and assured us that their county, medina, had not less than fifty thousand mature beeves. they offered to meet any one's prices, and major hunter urged that i see a sample of the cattle while en route to the uvalde country. if they came up to requirements, i was further authorized to buy in sufficient to fill our contract at fort buford, which would require three herds, or ten thousand head. it was an advantage to have this delivery start from the same section, hold together en route, and arrive at their destination as a unit. i was surprised at both the quality and the quantity of the beeves along the tributaries of the frio river, and readily let a contract to a few leading cowmen for the full allotment. my active partner was notified, and i went on to the headwaters of the nueces river. i knew the cattle of this section so well that there was no occasion even to look at them, and in a few days contracted for five herds of straight threes. while in the latter section, word reached me that edwards had sublet four of our indian contacts, or those intended for delivery at agencies in the indian territory. the remaining two were for tribes in colorado, and notifying our segundo to hold the others open until we met, i took stage back to san antonio. my return was awaited by both major hunter and edwards, and casting up our purchases on through cattle, we found we lacked only two herds of cows and the same of beeves. i offered to make up the indian awards from my ranches, the major had unlimited offerings from which to pick, and we turned our attention to securing young steers for the open market. our segundo was fully relieved and ordered back to his old stamping-ground on the colorado river to contract for six herds of young cattle. it was my intention to bring remudas down from the clear fork to handle the cattle from uvalde and medina counties, but my active partner would have to look out for his own saddle stock for the other beef herds. hurrying home, i started eight hundred saddle horses belonging to the firm to the lower country, assigned two remudas to leave for the double mountain ranch, detailed the same number for the clear fork, and authorized the remaining six to report to edwards on the colorado river. this completed the main details for moving the herds. there was an increase in prices over the preceding spring throughout the state, amounting on a general average to fully one dollar a head. we had anticipated the advance in making our contracts, there was an abundance of water everywhere, and everything promised well for an auspicious start. only a single incident occurred to mar the otherwise pleasant relations with our ranchmen friends. in contracting for the straight threes from uvalde county, i had stipulated that every animal tendered must be full-aged at the date of receiving; we were paying an extra price and the cattle must come up to specifications. major hunter had moved his herds out in time to join me in receiving the last one of the younger cattle, and i had pressed him into use as a tally clerk while receiving. every one had been invited to turn in stock in making up the herd, but at the last moment we fell short of threes, when i offered to fill out with twos at the customary difference in price. the sellers were satisfied. we called them by ages as they were cut out, when a row threatened over a white steer. the foreman who was assisting me cut the animal in question for a two-year-old, major hunter repeated the age in tallying the steer, when the owner of the brand, a small ranchman, galloped up and contended that the steer was a three-year-old, though he lacked fully two months of that age. the owner swore the steer had been raised a milk calf; that he knew his age to a day; but major hunter firmly yet kindly told the man that he must observe the letter of the contract and that the steer must go as a two-year-old or not at all. in reply a six-shooter was thrown in the major's face, when a number of us rushed in on our horses and the pistol was struck from the man's hand. an explanation was demanded, but the only intelligent reply that could be elicited from the owner of the white steer was, "no g---- d---- yankee can classify my cattle." one of the ranchmen with whom we were contracting took the insult off my hands and gave the man his choice,--to fight or apologize. the seller cooled down, apologies followed, and the unfortunate incident passed and was forgotten with the day's work. a week later the herds on the colorado river moved out. major hunter and i looked them over before they got away, after which he continued on north to buy in the deficiency of three thousand wintered beeves, while i returned home to start my individual cattle. the ranch outfit had been at work for ten days previous to my arrival gathering the three-year-old steers and all dry and barren cows. on my return they had about eight thousand head of mixed stock under herd and two trail outfits were in readiness, so cutting them separate and culling them down, we started them, the cows for dodge and the steers for ogalalla, each thirty-five hundred strong. two outfits had left for the double mountain range ten days before, and driving night and day, i reached the ranch to find both herds shaped up and ready for orders. both foremen were anxious to strike due north, several herds having crossed red river as far west as doan's store the year before; but i was afraid of indian troubles and routed them northeast for the old ford on the chisholm trail. they would follow down the brazos, cross over to the wichita river, and pass about sixty miles to the north of the home ranch on the clear fork. i joined them for the first few days out, destinations were the same as the other private herds, and promising to meet them in dodge, i turned homeward. the starting of these last two gave the firm and me personally twenty-three herds, numbering seventy-six thousand one hundred cattle on the trail. an active summer followed. each one was busy in his department. i met major hunter once for an hour during the spring months, and we never saw each other again until late fall. our segundo again rendered valuable assistance in meeting outfits on their arrival at the beef ranch, as it was deemed advisable to hold the through and wintered cattle separate for fear of texas fever. all beef herds were routed to touch at headquarters in the outlet, and thence going north, they skirted the borders of settlement in crossing kansas and nebraska. where possible, all correspondence was conducted by wire, and with the arrival of the herds at dodge i was kept in the saddle thenceforth. the demand for cattle was growing with each succeeding year, prices were firmer, and a general advance was maintained in all grades of trail stock. on the arrival of the cattle from the colorado river, i had them reclassed, sending three herds of threes on to ogalalla. the upper country wanted older stock, believing that it withstood the rigors of winter better, and i trimmed my sail to catch the wind. the cows came in early and were started west for their destination, the rear herds arrived and were located, while dodge and ogalalla howled their advantages as rival trail towns. the three herds of two-year-olds were sold and started for the cherokee strip, and i took train for the west and reached the platte river, to find our cattle safely arrived at ogalalla. near the middle of july a wyoming cattle company bought all the central texas steers for delivery a month later at cheyenne, and we grazed them up the south platte and counted them out to the buyers, ten thousand strong. my individual herds classed as pan-handle cattle, exempt from quarantine, netted one dollar a head above the others, and were sold to speculators from the corn regions on the western borders of nebraska. one herd of cows was intended for the southern and the other for the uncompahgre utes, and they had been picking their way through and across the mountains to those agencies during the summer mouths. late in august both deliveries were made wholesale to the agents of the different tribes, and my work was at an end. all unsold remudas returned to dodge, the outfits were sent home, and the saddle stock to our beef ranch, there to await the close of the summer's drive. chapter xvii foreshadows i returned to texas early in september. my foreman on the double mountain ranch had written me several times during the summer, promising me a surprise on the half-blood calves. there was nothing of importance in the north except the shipping of a few trainloads of beeves from our ranch in the outlet, and as the bookkeeper could attend to that, i decided to go back. i offered other excuses for going, but home-hunger and the improved herd were the main reasons. it was a fortunate thing that i went home, for it enabled me to get into touch with the popular feeling in my adopted state over the outlook for live stock in the future. up to this time there had been no general movement in cattle, in sympathy with other branches of industry, notably in sheep and wool, supply always far exceeding demand. there had been a gradual appreciation in marketable steers, first noticeable in , and gaining thereafter about one dollar a year per head on all grades, yet so slowly as not to disturb or excite the trade. during the fall of , however, there was a feeling of unrest in cattle circles in texas, and predictions of a notable advance could be heard on every side. the trail had been established as far north as montana, capital by the millions was seeking investment in ranching, and everything augured for a brighter future. that very summer the trail had absorbed six hundred and fifty thousand cattle, or possibly ten per cent of the home supply, which readily found a market at army posts, indian agencies, and two little cow towns in the north. investment in texas steers was paying fifty to one hundred per cent annually, the whole northwest was turning into one immense pasture, and the feeling was general that the time had come for the lone star state to expect a fair share in the profits of this immense industry. cattle associations, organized for mutual protection and the promotion of community interests, were active agencies in enlarging the texas market. national conventions were held annually, at which every live-stock organization in the west was represented, and buyer and seller met on common ground. two years before the cattle raisers' association of texas was formed, other states and territories founded similar organizations, and when these met in national assembly the cattle on a thousand hills were represented. no one was more anxious than myself that a proper appreciation should follow the enlargement of our home market, yet i had hopes that it would come gradually and not excite or disturb settled conditions. in our contracts with the government, we were under the necessity of anticipating the market ten months in advance, and any sudden or unseen change in prices in the interim between submitting our estimates and buying in the cattle to fill the same would be ruinous. therefore it was important to keep a finger on the pulse of the home market, to note the drift of straws, and to listen for every rumor afloat. lands in texas were advancing in value, a general wave of prosperity had followed self-government and the building of railroads, and cattle alone was the only commodity that had not proportionally risen in value. in spite of my hopes to the contrary, i had a well-grounded belief that a revolution in cattle prices was coming. daily meeting with men from the northwest, at dodge and ogalalla, during the summer just passed, i had felt every throb of the demand that pulsated those markets. there was a general inquiry for young steers, she stuff with which to start ranches was eagerly snapped up, and it stood to reason that if this reckless northern demand continued, its influence would soon be felt on the plains of texas. susceptible to all these influences, i had returned home to find both my ranches littered with a big calf crop, the brand actually increasing in numbers in spite of the drain of trail herds annually cut out. but the idol of my eye was those half-blood calves. out of a possible five hundred, there were four hundred and fifty odd by actual count, all big as yearlings and reflecting the selection of their parents. i loafed away a week at the cañon camp, rode through them daily, and laughed at their innocent antics as they horned the bluffs or fought their mimic fights. the double mountain ranch was my pride, and before leaving, the foreman and i outlined some landed additions to fill and square up my holdings, in case it should ever be necessary to fence the range. on my return to the clear fork, the ranch outfit had just finished gathering from my own and adjoining ranges fifteen hundred bulls for distillery feeding. the sale had been effected by correspondence with my former customer, and when the herd started the two of us drove on ahead into fort worth. the illinois man was an extensive dealer in cattle and had followed the business for years in his own state, and in the week we spent together awaiting the arrival of his purchase, i learned much of value. there was a distinct difference between a range cowman and a stockman from the older western states; but while the occupations were different, there was much in common between the two. through my customer i learned that western range cattle, when well fatted, were competing with grass beeves from his own state; that they dressed more to their gross weight than natives, and that the quality of their flesh was unsurpassed. as to the future, the illinois buyer could see little to hope for in his own country, but was enthusiastic over the outlook for us ranchmen in the southwest. all these things were but straws which foretold the course of the wind, yet neither of us looked for the cyclone which was hovering near. i accompanied the last train of the shipment as far as parsons, kansas, where our ways parted, my customer going to peoria, illinois, while i continued on to the grove. both my partners and our segundo were awaiting me, the bookkeeper had all accounts in hand, and the profits of the year were enough to turn ordinary men's heads. but i sounded a note of warning,--that there were breakers ahead,--though none of them took me seriously until i called for the individual herd accounts. with all the friendly advantages shown us by the war and interior departments, the six herds from the colorado river, taking their chances in the open market, had cleared more money per head than had the heavy beeves requiring thirty-three per cent a larger investment. in summing up my warning, i suggested that now, while we were winners, would be a good time to drop contracting with the government and confine ourselves strictly to the open market. instead of ten months between assuming obligations and their fulfillment, why not reduce the chances to three or four, with the hungry, clamoring west for our market? the powwow lasted several days. finally all agreed to sever our dealings with the interior department, which required cows for indian agencies, and confine our business to the open market and supplying the army with beef. our partner the senator reluctantly yielded to the opinions of major hunter and myself, urging our loss of prestige and its reflection on his standing at the national capital. but we countered on him, arguing that as a representative of the west the opportunity of the hour was his to insist on larger estimates for the coming year, and to secure proportionate appropriations for both the war and interior departments, if they wished to attract responsible bidders. if only the ordinary estimates and allowances were made, it would result in a deficiency in these departments, and no one cared for vouchers, even against the government, when the funds were not available to meet the same on presentation. major hunter suggested to our partner that as beef contractors we be called in consultation with the head of each department, and allowed to offer our views for the general benefit of the service. the senator saw his opportunity, promising to hasten on to washington at once, while the rest of us agreed to hold ourselves in readiness to respond to any call. edwards and i returned to texas. the former was stationed for the winter at san antonio, under instructions to keep in touch with the market, while i loitered between fort worth and the home ranch. the arrival of the list of awards came promptly as usual, but beyond a random glance was neglected pending state developments. an advance of two dollars and a half a head was predicted on all grades, and buyers and superintendents of cattle companies in the north and west were quietly dropping down into texas for the winter, inquiring for and offering to contract cattle for spring delivery at dodge and ogalalla. i was quietly resting on my oars at the ranch, when a special messenger arrived summoning me to washington. the motive was easily understood, and on my reaching fort worth the message was supplemented by another one from major hunter, asking me to touch at council grove en route. writing edwards fully what would be expected of him during my absence, i reached the grove and was joined by my partner, and we proceeded on to the national capital. arriving fully two weeks in advance of the closing day for bids, all three of us called and paid our respects to the heads of the war and interior departments. on special request of the secretaries, an appointment was made for the following day, when the senator took major hunter and me under his wing and coached us in support of his suggestions to either department. there was no occasion to warn me, as i had just come from the seat of beef supply, and knew the feverish condition of affairs at home. the appointments were kept promptly. at the interior department we tarried but a few minutes after informing the secretary that we were submitting no bids that year in his division, but allowed ourselves to be drawn out as to the why and wherefore. major hunter was a man of moderate schooling, apt in conversation, and did nearly all the talking, though i put in a few general observations. we were cordially greeted at the war office, good cigars were lighted, and we went over the situation fully. the reports of the year before were gone over, and we were complimented on our different deliveries to the army. we accepted all flatteries as a matter of course, though the past is poor security for the future. when the matter of contracting for the present year was broached, we confessed our ability to handle any awards in our territory to the number of fifty to seventy-five thousand beeves, but would like some assurance that the present or forthcoming appropriations would be ample to meet all contracts. our doubts were readily removed by the firmness of the secretary when as we arose to leave, major hunter suggested, by way of friendly advice, that the government ought to look well to the bonds of contractors, saying that the beef-producing regions of the west and south had experienced an advance in prices recently, which made contracting cattle for future delivery extremely hazardous. at parting regret was expressed that the sudden change in affairs would prevent our submitting estimates only so far as we had the cattle in hand. three days before the limit expired, we submitted twenty bids to the war department. our figures were such that we felt fully protected, as we had twenty thousand cattle on our northern range, while advice was reaching us daily from the beef regions of texas. the opening of proposals was no surprise, only seven falling to us, and all admitting of southern beeves. within an hour after the result was known, a wire was sent to edwards, authorizing him to contract immediately for twenty-two thousand heavy steer cattle and advance money liberally on every agreement. duplicates of our estimates had been sent him the same day they were submitted at the war office. our segundo had triple the number of cattle in sight, and was then in a position to act intelligently. the next morning major hunter and i left the capital for san antonio, taking a southern route through virginia, sighting old battlefields where both had seen service on opposing sides, but now standing shoulder to shoulder as trail drovers and army contractors. we arrived at our destination promptly. edwards was missing, but inquiry among our bankers developed the fact that he had been drawing heavily the past few days, and we knew that all was well. a few nights later he came in, having secured our requirements at an advance of two to three dollars a head over the prices of the preceding spring. the live-stock interests of the state were centring in the coming cattle convention, which would be held at fort worth in february. at this meeting heavy trading was anticipated for present and future delivery, and any sales effected would establish prices for the coming spring. from the number of northern buyers that were in texas, and others expected at the convention, edwards suggested buying, before the meeting, at least half the requirements for our beef ranch and trail cattle. major hunter and i both fell in with the idea of our segundo, and we scattered to our old haunts under agreement to report at fort worth for the meeting of the clans. i spent two weeks among my ranchmen friends on the headwaters of the frio and nueces rivers, and while they were fully awake to the advance in prices, i closed trades on twenty-one thousand two and three year old steers for march delivery. it was always a weakness in me to overbuy, and in receiving i could never hold a herd down to the agreed numbers, but my shortcomings in this instance proved a boon. on arriving at fort worth, the other two reported having combed their old stamping-grounds of half a dozen counties along the colorado river, and having secured only fifteen thousand head. every one was waiting until after the cattle convention, and only those who had the stock in hand could be induced to talk business or enter into agreements. the convention was a notable affair. men from montana and intervening states and territories rubbed elbows and clinked their glasses with the texans to "here's to a better acquaintance." the trail drovers were there to a man, the very atmosphere was tainted with cigar smoke, the only sounds were cattle talk, and the nights were wild and sleepless. "i'll sell ten thousand pan-handle three-year-old steers for delivery at ogalalla," spoken in the lobby of a hotel or barroom, would instantly attract the attention of half a dozen men in fur overcoats and heavy flannel. "what are your cattle worth laid down on the platte?" was the usual rejoinder, followed by a drink, a cigar, and a conference, sometimes ending in a deal or terminating in a friendly acquaintance. i had met many of these men at abilene, wichita, and great bend, and later at dodge city and ogalalla, and now they had invaded texas, and the son of a prophet could not foretell the future. our firm never offered a hoof, but the three days of the convention were forewarnings of the next few years to follow. i was personally interested in the general tendency of the men from the upper country to contract for heifers and young cows, and while the prices offered for northern delivery were a distinct advance over those of the summer before, i resisted all temptations to enter into agreements. the northern buyers and trail drovers selfishly joined issues in bearing prices in texas; yet, in spite of their united efforts, over two hundred thousand cattle were sold during the meeting, and at figures averaging fully three dollars a head over those of the previous spring. the convention adjourned, and those in attendance scattered to their homes and business. between midnight and morning of the last day of the meeting, major hunter and i closed contracts for two trail herds of sixty-five hundred head in erath and comanche counties. within a week two others of straight three-year-olds were secured,--one in my home county and the other fifty miles northwest in throckmorton. this completed our purchases for the present, giving us a chain of cattle to receive from within one county of the rio grande on the south to the same distance from red river on the north. the work was divided into divisions. one thousand extra saddle horses were needed for the beef herds and others, and men were sent south, to secure them. all private and company remudas had returned to the clear fork to winter, and from there would be issued wherever we had cattle to receive. a carload of wagons was bought at the fort, teams were sent in after them, and a busy fortnight followed in organizing the forces. edwards was assigned to assist major hunter in receiving the beef cattle along the lower frio and nueces, starting in ample time to receive the saddle stock in advance of the beeves. there was three weeks' difference in the starting of grass between northern and southern texas, and we made our dates for receiving accordingly, mine for medina and uvalde counties following on the heels of the beef herds from the lower country. from the th of march i was kept in the saddle ten days, receiving cattle from the headwaters of the frio and nueces rivers. all my old foremen rendered valuable assistance, two and three herds being in the course of formation at a time, and, as usual, we received eleven hundred over and above the contracts. the herds moved out on good grass and plenty of water, the last of the heavy beeves had passed north on my return to san antonio, and i caught the first train out to join the others in central texas. my buckboard had been brought down with the remudas and was awaiting me at the station, the colorado river on the west was reached that night, and by noon the next day i was in the thick of the receiving. when three herds had started, i reported in comanche and erath counties, where gathering for our herds was in progress; and fixing definite dates that would allow edwards and my partner to arrive, i drove on through to the clear fork. under previous instructions, a herd of thirty-five hundred two-year-old heifers was ready to start, while nearly four thousand steers were in hand, with one outfit yet to come in from up the brazos. we were gathering close that year, everything three years old or over must go, and the outfits were ranging far and wide. the steer herd was held down to thirty-two hundred, both it and the heifers moving out the same day, with a remnant of over a thousand three-year-old steers left over. the herd under contract to the firm in the home county came up full in number, and was the next to get away. a courier arrived from the double mountain range and reported a second contingent of heifers ready, but that the steers would overrun for a wieldy herd. the next morning the overplus from the clear fork was started for the new ranch, with orders to make up a third steer herd and cross red river at doan's. this cleaned the boards on my ranches, and the next day i was in throckmorton county, where everything was in readiness to pass upon. this last herd was of clear fork cattle, put up within twenty-five miles of fort griffin, every brand as familiar as my own, and there was little to do but count and receive. road-branding was necessary, however; and while this work was in progress, a relay messenger arrived from the ranch, summoning me to fort worth posthaste. the message was from major hunter, and from the hurried scribbling i made out that several herds were tied up when ready to start, and that they would be thrown on the market. i hurried home, changed teams, and by night and day driving reached fort worth and awakened my active partner and edwards out of their beds to get the particulars. the responsible man of a firm of drovers, with five herds on hand, had suddenly died, and the banks refused to advance the necessary funds to complete their payments. the cattle were under herd in wise and cook counties, both major hunter and our segundo had looked them over, and both pronounced the herds gilt-edged north texas steers. it would require three hundred thousand dollars to buy and clear the herds, and all our accounts were already overdrawn, but it was decided to strain our credit. the situation was fully explained in a lengthy message to a bank in kansas city, the wires were kept busy all day answering questions; but before the close of business we had authority to draw for the amount needed, and the herds, with remudas and outfits complete, passed into our hands and were started the next day. this gave the firm and me personally thirty-three herds, requiring four hundred and ninety-odd men and over thirty-five hundred horses, while the cattle numbered one hundred and four thousand head. two thirds of the herds were routed by way of doan's crossing in leaving texas, while all would touch at dodge in passing up the country. george edwards accompanied the north texas herds, and major hunter hastened on to kansas city to protect our credit, while i hung around doan's store until our last cattle crossed red river. the annual exodus from texas to the north was on with a fury, and on my arrival at dodge all precedents in former prices were swept aside in the eager rush to secure cattle. herds were sold weeks before their arrival, others were met as far south as camp supply, and it was easily to be seen that it was a seller's market. two thirds of the trail herds merely took on new supplies at dodge and passed on to the platte. once our heavy beeves had crossed the arkansas, my partner and i swung round to ogalalla and met our advance herd, the foreman of which reported meeting buyers as far south as the republican river. it was actually dangerous to price cattle for fear of being under the market; new classifications were being introduced, pan-handle and north texas steers commanding as much as three dollars a head over their brethren from the coast and far south. the boom in cattle of the early ' 's was on with a vengeance. there was no trouble to sell herds that year. one morning, while i was looking for a range on the north fork of the platte, major hunter sold my seven thousand heifers at twenty-five dollars around, commanding two dollars and a half a head over steers of the same age. edwards had been left in charge at dodge, and my active partner reluctantly tore himself away from the market at ogalalla to attend our deliveries of beef at army posts. within six weeks after arriving at dodge and ogalalla the last of our herds had changed owners, requiring another month to complete the transfers at different destinations. many of the steers went as far north as the yellowstone river, and wyoming and nebraska were liberal buyers at the upper market, while colorado, kansas, and the indian territory absorbed all offerings at the lower point. horses were even in demand, and while we made no effort to sell our remudas, over half of them changed owners with the herds they had accompanied into the north. the season closed with a flourish. after we had wound up our affairs, edwards and i drifted down to the beef ranch with the unsold saddle stock, and the shipping season opened. the santa fé railway had built south to caldwell that spring, affording us a nearer shipping point, and we moved out five to ten trainloads a week of single and double wintered beeves. the through cattle for restocking the range had arrived early and were held separate until the first frost, when everything would be turned loose on the eagle chief. trouble was still brewing between the cherokee nation and the government on the one side and those holding cattle in the strip, and a clash occurred that fall between a lieutenant of cavalry and our half-breed foreman laflors. the troops had been burning hay and destroying improvements belonging to cattle outfits, and had paid our range a visit and mixed things with our foreman. the latter stood firm on his rights as a cherokee citizen and cited his employers as government beef contractors, but the young lieutenant haughtily ignored all statements and ordered the hay, stabling, and dug-outs burned. like a flash of light, laflors aimed a six-shooter at the officer's breast, and was instantly covered by a dozen carbines in the hands of troopers. "order them to shoot if you dare," smilingly said the cherokee to the young lieutenant, a cocked pistol leveled at the latter's heart, "and she goes double. there isn't a man under you can pull a trigger quicker than i can." the hay was not burned, and the stabling and dug-outs housed our men and horses for several winters to come. chapter xviii the beginning of the boom the great boom in cattle which began in and lasted nearly five years was the beginning of a ruinous end. the frenzy swept all over the northern and western half of the united states, extended into the british possessions in western canada, and in the receding wave the texan forgot the pit from which he was lifted and bowed down and worshiped the living calf. during this brief period the great breeding grounds of texas were tested to their utmost capacity to supply the demand, the canebrakes of arkansas and louisiana were called upon for their knotty specimens of the bovine race, even mexico responded, and still the insatiable maw of the early west called for more cattle. the whirlpool of speculation and investment in ranches and range stock defied the deserts on the west, sweeping across into new mexico and arizona, where it met a counter wave pushing inland from california to possess the new and inviting pastures. naturally the texan was the last to catch the enthusiasm, but when he found his herds depleted to a remnant of their former numbers, he lost his head and plunged into the vortex with the impetuosity of a gambler. pasture lands that he had scorned at ten cents an acre but a decade before were eagerly sought at two and three dollars, and the cattle that he had bartered away he bought back at double and triple their former prices. how i ever weathered those years without becoming bankrupt is unexplainable. no credit or foresight must be claimed, for the opinions of men and babes were on a parity; yet i am inclined to think it was my dread of debt, coupled with an innate love of land and cattle, that saved me from the almost universal fate of my fellow cowmen. due acknowledgment must be given my partners, for while i held them in check in certain directions, the soundness of their advice saved my feet from many a stumble. major hunter was an unusually shrewd man, a financier of the rough and ready western school; and while we made our mistakes, they were such as human foresight could not have avoided. nor do i withhold a word of credit from our silent partner, the senator, who was the keystone to the arch of hunter, anthony & co., standing in the shadow in our beginning as trail drovers, backing us with his means and credit, and fighting valiantly for our mutual interests when the firm met its waterloo. the success of our drive for the summer of changed all plans for the future. i had learned that percentage was my ablest argument in suggesting a change of policy, and in casting up accounts for the year we found that our heavy beeves had paid the least in the general investment. the banking instincts of my partners were unerring, and in view of the open market that we had enjoyed that summer it was decided to withdraw from further contracting with the government. our profits for the year were dazzling, and the actual growth of our beeves in the outlet was in itself a snug fortune, while the five herds bought at the eleventh hour cleared over one hundred thousand dollars, mere pin-money. i hurried home to find that fortune favored me personally, as the texas and pacific railway had built west from fort worth during the summer as far as weatherford, while the survey on westward was within easy striking distance of both my ranches. my wife was dazed and delighted over the success of the summer's drive, and when i offered her the money with which to build a fine house at fort worth, she balked, but consented to employ a tutor at the ranch for the children. i had a little leisure time on my hands that fall. activity in wild lands was just beginning to be felt throughout the state, and the heavy holders of scrip were offering to locate large tracts to suit the convenience of purchasers. several railroads held immense quantities of scrip voted to them as bonuses, all the charitable institutions of the state were endowed with liberal grants, and the great bulk of certificates issued during the reconstruction régime for minor purposes had fallen into the hands of shrewd speculators. among the latter was a chicago firm, who had opened an office at fort worth and employed a corps of their own surveyors to locate lands for customers. they held millions of acres of scrip, and i opened negotiations with them to survey a number of additions to my double mountain range. valuable water-fronts were becoming rather scarce, and the legislature had recently enacted a law setting apart every alternate section of land for the public schools, out of which grew the state's splendid system of education. after the exchange of a few letters, i went to fort worth and closed a contract with the chicago firm to survey for my account three hundred thousand acres adjoining my ranch on the salt and double mountain forks of the brazos. in my own previous locations, the water-front and valley lands were all that i had coveted, the tracts not even adjoining, the one on the salt fork lying like a boot, while the lower one zigzagged like a stairway in following the watercourse. the prices agreed on were twenty cents an acre for arid land, forty for medium, and sixty for choice tracts, every other section to be set aside for school purposes in compliance with the law. my foreman would designate the land wanted, and the firm agreed to put an outfit of surveyors into the field at once. my two ranches were proving a valuable source of profit. after starting five herds of seventeen thousand cattle on the trail that spring, and shipping on consignment fifteen hundred bulls to distilleries that fall, we branded nineteen thousand five hundred calves on the two ranges. in spite of the heavy drain, the brand was actually growing in numbers, and as long as it remained an open country i had ample room for my cattle even on the clear fork. each stock was in splendid shape, as the culling of the aging and barren of both sexes to indian agencies and distilleries had preserved the brand vigorous and productive. the first few years of its establishment i am satisfied that the double mountain ranch increased at the rate of ninety calves to the hundred cows, and once the clear fork range was rid of its drones, a similar ratio was easily maintained on that range. there was no such thing as counting one's holdings; the increase only was known, and these conclusions, with due allowance for their selection, were arrived at from the calf crop of the improved herd. its numbers were known to an animal, all chosen for their vigor and thrift, the increase for the first two years averaging ninety-four per cent. there is little rest for the wicked and none for a cowman. i was planning an enjoyable winter, hunting with my hounds, when the former proposition of organizing an immense cattle company was revived at washington. our silent partner was sought on every hand by capitalists eager for investment in western enterprises, and as cattle were absorbing general attention at the time, the tendency of speculation was all one way. the same old crowd that we had turned down two winters before was behind the movement, and as certain predictions that were made at that time by major hunter and myself had since come true, they were all the more anxious to secure our firm as associates. our experience and resultant profits from wintering cattle in southern kansas and the cherokee strip were well known to the senator, and, to judge from his letters and frequent conversations, he was envied by his intimate acquaintances in congress. in the revival of the original proposition it was agreed that our firm might direct the management of the enterprise, all three of us to serve on the directorate and to have positions on the executive committee. this sounded reasonable, and as there was a movement on foot to lease the entire cherokee outlet from that nation, if an adequate range could be secured, such a cattle company as suggested ought to be profitable. major hunter and i were a unit in business matters, and after an exchange of views by letter, it was agreed to run down to the capital and hold a conference with the promoters of the proposed company. my parents were aging fast, and now that i was moderately wealthy it was a pleasure to drop in on them for a week and hearten their declining years. accordingly with the expectation of combining filial duty and business, i took edwards with me and picked up the major at his home, and the trio of us journeyed eastward. i was ten days late in reaching washington. it was the christmas season in the valley; every darky that our family ever owned renewed his acquaintance with mars' reed, and was remembered in a way befitting the season. the recess for the holidays was over on my reaching the capital, yet in the mean time a crude outline of the proposed company was under consideration. on the advice of our silent partner, who well knew that his business associates were slightly out of their element at social functions and might take alarm, all banquets were cut out, and we met in little parties at cafés and swell barrooms. in the course of a few days all the preliminaries were agreed on, and a general conference was called. neither my active partner nor myself was an orator, but we had coached the silent member of the firm to act in our behalf. the senator was a flowery talker, and in prefacing his remarks he delved into antiquity, mentioning the aryan myth wherein the drifting clouds were supposed to be the cows of the gods, driven to and from their feeding grounds. coming down to a later period, he referred to cattle being figured on egyptian monuments raised two thousand years before the christian era, and to the important part they were made to play in greek and roman mythology. referring to ancient biblical times, he dwelt upon the pastoral existence of the old patriarchs, as they peacefully led their herds from sheltered nook to pastures green. passing down and through the cycles of change from ancient to modern times, he touched upon the relation of cattle to the food supply of the world, and finally the object of the meeting was reached. in few and concise words, an outline of the proposed company was set forth, its objects and limitations. a pound of beef, it was asserted, was as staple as a loaf of bread, the production of the one was as simple as the making of the other, and both were looked upon equally as the staff of life. other remarks of a general nature followed. the capital was limited to one million dollars, though double the capitalization could have been readily placed at the first meeting. satisfactory committees were appointed on organization and other preliminary steps, and books were opened for subscriptions. deference was shown our firm, and i subscribed the same amount as my partners, except that half my subscription was made in the name of george edwards, as i wanted him on the executive committee if the company ever got beyond its present embryo state. the trio of us taking only one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, there was a general scramble for the remainder. the preliminary steps having been taken, nothing further could be done until a range was secured. my active partner, george edwards, and myself were appointed on this committee, and promising to report at the earliest convenience, we made preparations for returning west. a change of administration was approaching, and before leaving the capital, edwards, my partners, and myself called on secretaries schurz of the interior department and ramsey of the war department. we had done an extensive business with both departments in the past, and were anxious to learn the attitude of the government in regard to leasing lands from the civilized indian nations. a lease for the cherokee outlet was pending, but for lack of precedent the retiring secretary of the interior, for fear of reversal by the succeeding administration, lent only a qualified approval of the same. there were six million acres of land in the outlet, a splendid range for maturing beef, and if an adequate-sized ranch could be secured the new company could begin operations at once. the cherokee nation was anxious to secure a just rental, an association had offered $ , a year for the strip, and all that was lacking was a single word of indorsement from the paternal government. hoping that the incoming administration would take favorable action permitting civilized indian tribes to lease their surplus lands, we returned to our homes. the cherokee strip cattle association had been temporarily organized some time previous,--not being chartered, however, until march, ,--and was the proposed lessee of the outlet in which our beef ranch lay. the organization was a local one, created for the purpose of removing all friction between the cherokees and the individual holders of cattle in the strip. the officers and directors of the association were all practical cattlemen, owners of herds and ranges in the outlet, paying the same rental as others into the general treasury of the organization. major hunter was well acquainted with the officers, and volunteered to take the matter up at once, by making application in person for a large range in the cherokee strip. there was no intention on the part of our firm to forsake the trail, this cattle company being merely a side issue, and active preparations were begun for the coming summer. the annual cattle convention would meet again in fort worth in february. with the west for our market and texas the main source of supply, there was no occasion for any delay in placing our contracts for trail stock. the closing figures obtainable at dodge and ogalalla the previous summer had established a new scale of prices for texas, and a buyer must either pay the advance or let the cattle alone. edwards and i were in the field fully three weeks before the convention met, covering our old buying grounds and venturing into new ones, advancing money liberally on all contracts, and returning to the meeting with thirty herds secured. major hunter met us at the convention, and while nothing definite was accomplished in securing a range, a hopeful word had reached us in regard to the new administration. starting the new company that spring was out of the question, and all energies were thrown into the forthcoming drive. representatives from the northwest again swept down on the convention, all texas was there, and for three days and nights the cattle interests carried the keys of the city. our firm offered nothing, but, on the other hand, bought three herds of pan-handle steers for acceptance early in april. three weeks of active work were required to receive the cattle, the herds starting again with the grass. my individual contingent included ten thousand three-year-old steers, two full herds of two-year-old heifers, and seven thousand cows. the latter were driven in two herds; extra wagons with oxen attached accompanied each in order to save the calves, as a youngster was an assistance in selling an old cow. everything was routed by doan's crossing, both edwards and myself accompanying the herds, while major hunter returned as usual by rail. the new route, known as the western trail, was more direct than the chisholm though beset by comanche and kiowa indians once powerful tribes, but now little more than beggars. the trip was nearly featureless, except that during a terrible storm on big elk, a number of indians took shelter under and around one of our wagons and a squaw was killed by lightning. for some unaccountable reason the old dame defied the elements and had climbed up on a water barrel which was ironed to the side of the commissary wagon, when the bolt struck her and she tumbled off dead among her people. the incident created quite a commotion among the indians, who set up a keening, and the husband of the squaw refused to be comforted until i gave him a stray cow, when he smiled and asked for a bill of sale so that he could sell the hide at the agency. i shook my head, and the cook told him in spanish that no one but the owner could give a hill of sale, when he looked reproachfully at me and said, "mebby so you steal him." i caught a stage at camp supply and reached dodge a week in advance of the herds. major hunter was awaiting me with the report that our application for an extra lease in the cherokee strip had been refused. those already holding cattle in the outlet were to retain their old grazing grounds, and as we had no more range than we needed for the firm's holding of stock, we must look elsewhere to secure one for the new company. a movement was being furthered in washington, however, to secure a lease from the cheyenne and arapahoe tribes, blanket indians, whose reservation lay just south of the strip, near the centre of the territory and between the chisholm and western trails. george edwards knew the country, having issued cows at those agencies for several summers, and reported the country well adapted for ranging cattle. we had a number of congressmen and several distinguished senators in our company, and if there was such a thing as pulling the wires with the new administration, there was little doubt but it would be done. kirkwood of iowa had succeeded schurz in the interior department, and our information was that he would at least approve of any lease secured. we were urged at the earliest opportunity to visit the cheyenne and arapahoe agency, and open negotiations with the ruling chiefs of those tribes. this was impossible just at present, for with forty herds, numbering one hundred and twenty-six thousand cattle, on the trail and for our beef ranch, a busy summer lay before us. edwards was dispatched to meet and turn off the herds intended for our range in the outlet, major hunter proceeded on to ogalalla, while i remained at dodge until the last cattle arrived or passed that point. the summer of proved a splendid market for the drover. demand far exceeded supply and prices soared upward, while she stuff commanded a premium of three to five dollars a head over steers of the same age. pan-handle and north texas cattle topped the market, their quality easily classifying them above mexican, coast, and southern breeding. herds were sold and cleared out for their destination almost as fast as they arrived; the old west wanted the cattle and had the range and to spare, all of which was a tempered wind to the texas drover. i spent several months in dodge, shaping up our herds as they arrived, and sending the majority of them on to ogalalla. the cows were the last to arrive on the arkansas, and they sold like pies to hungry boys, while all the remainder of my individual stock went on to the platte and were handled by our segundo and my active partner. near the middle of the summer i closed up our affairs at dodge, and, taking the assistant bookkeeper with me, moved up to ogalalla. shortly after my arrival there, it was necessary to send a member of the firm to miles city, on the yellowstone river in montana, and the mission fell to me. major hunter had sold twenty thousand threes for delivery at that point, and the cattle were already en route to their destination on my arrival. i took train and stage and met the herds on the yellowstone. on my return to ogalalla the season was drawing to a feverish close. all our cattle were sold, the only delay being in deliveries and settlements. several of our herds were received on the platte, but, as it happened, nearly all our sales were effected with new cattle companies, and they had too much confidence in the ability of the texas outfits to deliver to assume the risk themselves. everything was fish to our net, and if a buyer had insisted on our delivering in canada, i think major hunter would have met the request had the price been satisfactory. we had the outfits and horses, and our men were plainsmen and were at home as long as they could see the north star. edwards attended a delivery on the crazy woman in wyoming, major hunter made a trip for a similar purpose to the niobrara in nebraska, and various trail foremen represented the firm at minor deliveries. all trail business was closed before the middle of september, the bookkeepers made up their final statements, and we shook hands all round and broke the necks of a few bottles. but the climax of the year's profits came from the beef ranch in the outlet. the eastern markets were clamoring for well-fatted western stock, and we sent out train after train of double wintered beeves that paid one hundred per cent profit on every year we had held them. the single wintered cattle paid nearly as well, and in making ample room for the through steers we shipped out eighteen thousand head from our holdings on the eagle chief. the splendid profits from maturing beeves on northern ranges naturally made us anxious to start the new company. we were doing fairly well as a firm and personally, and with our mastery of the business it was but natural that we should enlarge rather than restrict our operations. there had been no decrease of the foreign capital, principally scotch and english, for investment in ranges and cattle in the west during the summer just past, and it was contrary to the policy of hunter, anthony & co. to take a backward step. the frenzy for organizing cattle companies was on with a fury, and half-breed indians and squaw-men, with rights on reservations, were in demand as partners in business or as managers of cattle syndicates. an amusing situation developed during the summer of at dodge. the texas drovers formed a social club and rented and furnished quarters, which immediately became the rendezvous of the wayfaring mavericks. cigars and refreshments were added, social games introduced, and in burlesque of the general craze of organizing stock companies to engage in cattle ranching, our club adopted the name of the juan-jinglero cattle company, limited. the capital stock was placed at five million, full-paid and non-assessable, with john t. lytle as treasurer, e.g. head as secretary, jess pressnall as attorney, captain e.g. millet as fiscal agent for placing the stock, and a dozen leading drovers as vice-presidents, while the presidency fell to me. we used the best of printed stationery, and all the papers of kansas city and omaha innocently took it up and gave the new cattle company the widest publicity. the promoters of the club intended it as a joke, but the prominence of its officers fooled the outside public, and applications began to pour in to secure stock in the new company. no explanation was offered, but all applications were courteously refused, on the ground that the capital was already over-subscribed. all members were freely using the club stationery, thus daily advertising us far and wide, while no end of jokes were indulged in at the expense of the burlesque company. for instance, major seth mabry left word at the club to forward his mail to kansas city, care of armour's bank, as he expected to be away from dodge for a week. no sooner had he gone than every member of the club wrote him a letter, in care of that popular bank, addressing him as first vice-president and director of the juan-jinglero cattle company. while attending to business major mabry was hourly honored by bankers and intimate friends desiring to secure stock in the company, to all of whom he turned a deaf ear, but kept the secret. "i told the boys," said major seth on his return, "that our company was a close corporation, and unless we increased the capital stock, there was no hope of them getting in on the ground floor." in dodge practical joking was carried to the extreme, both by citizens and cowmen. one night a tipsy foreman, who had just arrived over the trail, insisted on going the rounds with a party of us, and in order to shake him we entered a variety theatre, where my maudlin friend soon fell asleep in his seat. the rest of us left the theatre, and after seeing the sights i wandered back to the vaudeville, finding the performance over and my friend still sound asleep. i awoke him, never letting him know that i had been absent for hours, and after rubbing his eyes open, he said: "reed, is it all over? no dance or concert? they give a good show here, don't they?" chapter xix the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company the assassination of president garfield temporarily checked our plans in forming the new cattle company. kirkwood of the interior department was disposed to be friendly to all western enterprises, but our advices from washington anticipated a reorganization of the cabinet under arthur. senator teller was slated to succeed kirkwood, and as there was no question about the former being fully in sympathy with everything pertaining to the west, every one interested in the pending project lent his influence in supporting the colorado man for the interior portfolio. several senators and any number of representatives were subscribers to our company, and by early fall the outlook was so encouraging that we concluded at least to open negotiations for a lease on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. a friendly acquaintance was accordingly to be cultivated with the indian agent of these tribes. george edwards knew him personally, and, well in advance of major hunter and myself, dropped down to the agency and made known his errand. there were already a number of cattle being held on the reservation by squaw-men, sutlers, contractors, and other army followers stationed at fort reno. the latter ignored all rights of the tribes, and even collected a rental from outside cattle for grazing on the reservation, and were naturally antagonistic to any interference with their personal plans. there had been more or less friction between the indian agent and these usurpers of the grazing privileges, and a proposition to lease a million acres at an annual rental of fifty thousand dollars at once met with the sanction of the agent. major hunter and i were notified of the outlook, and at the close of the beef-shipping season we took stage for the cheyenne and arapahoe agency. our segundo had thoroughly ridden over the country, the range was a desirable one, and we soon came to terms with the agent. he was looked upon as a necessary adjunct to the success of our company, a small block of stock was set aside for his account, while his usefulness in various ways would entitle his name to grace the salary list. for the present the opposition of the army followers was to be ignored, as no one gave them credit for being able to thwart our plans. the indian agent called the head men of the two tribes together. the powwow was held at the summer encampment of the cheyennes, and the principal chiefs of the arapahoes were present. a beef was barbecued at our expense, and a great deal of good tobacco was smoked. aside from the agent, we employed a number of interpreters; the council lasted two days, and on its conclusion we held a five years' lease, with the privilege of renewal, on a million acres of as fine grazing land as the west could boast. the agreement was signed by every chief present, and it gave us the privilege to fence our range, build shelter and stabling for our men and horses, and otherwise equip ourselves for ranching. the rental was payable semiannually in advance, to begin with the occupation of the country the following spring, and both parties to the lease were satisfied with the terms and conditions. in the territory allotted to us grazed two small stocks of cattle, one of which had comfortable winter shelters on quartermaster creek. our next move was to buy both these brands and thus gain the good will of the only occupants of the range. possession was given at once, and leaving edwards and a few men to hold the range, the major and i returned to kansas and reported our success to washington. the organization was perfected, and the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company began operations with all the rights and privileges of an individual. one fourth of the capital stock was at once paid into the hands of the treasurer, the lease and cattle on hand were transferred to the new company, and the executive committee began operations for the future. barbed wire by the carload was purchased sufficient to build one hundred miles of four-strand fence, and arrangements were made to have the same freighted one hundred and fifty miles inland by wagon from the railway terminal to the new ranch on quartermaster creek. contracts were let to different men for cutting the posts and building the fence, and one of the old trail bosses came on from texas and was installed as foreman of the new range. the first meeting of stockholders--for permanent organization--was awaiting the convenience of the western contingent; and once edwards was relieved, he and major hunter took my proxy and went on to the national capital. every interest had been advanced to the farthest possible degree: surveyors would run the lines, the posts would be cut and hauled during the winter, and by the first of june the fences would be up and the range ready to receive the cattle. i returned to texas to find everything in a prosperous condition. the texas and pacific railway had built their line westward during the past summer, crossing the colorado river sixty miles south of headquarters on the double mountain ranch and paralleling my clear fork range about half that distance below. previous to my return, the foreman on my western ranch shipped out four trains of sixteen hundred bulls on consignment to our regular customer in illinois, it being the largest single shipment made from colorado city since the railway reached that point. thrifty little towns were springing up along the railroad, land was in demand as a result of the boom in cattle, and an air of prosperity pervaded both city and hamlet and was reflected in a general activity throughout the state. the improved herd was the pride of the double mountain ranch, now increased by over seven hundred half-blood heifers, while the young males were annually claimed for the improvement of the main ranch stock. for fear of in-and-in breeding, three years was the limit of use of any bulls among the improved cattle, the first importation going to the main stock, and a second consignment supplanting them at the head of the herd. in the permanent organization of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company, the position of general manager fell to me. it was my wish that this place should have gone to edwards, as he was well qualified to fill it, while i was busy looking after the firm and individual interests. major hunter likewise favored our segundo, but the eastern stockholders were insistent that the management of the new company should rest in the hands of a successful cowman. the salary contingent with the position was no inducement to me, but, with the pressure brought to bear and in the interests of harmony, i was finally prevailed on to accept the management. the proposition was a simple one,--the maturing and marketing of beeves; we had made a success of the firm's beef ranch in the cherokee outlet, and as far as human foresight went, all things augured for a profitable future. there was no intention on the part of the old firm to retire from the enviable position that we occupied as trail drovers. thus enlarging the scope of our operations as cowmen simply meant that greater responsibility would rest on the shoulders of the active partners and our trusted men. accepting the management of the new company meant, to a certain extent, a severance of my personal connection with the firm, yet my every interest was maintained in the trail and beef ranch. one of my first acts as manager of the new company was to serve a notice through our secretary-treasurer calling for the capital stock to be paid in on or before february , . it was my intention to lay the foundation of the new company on a solid basis, and with ample capital at my command i gave the practical experiences of my life to the venture. during the winter i bought five hundred head of choice saddle horses, all bred in north texas and the pan-handle, every one of which i passed on personally before accepting. thus outfitted, i awaited the annual cattle convention. major hunter and our segundo were present, and while we worked in harmony, i was as wide awake for a bargain in the interests of the new company as they were in that of the old firm. i let contracts for five herds of fifteen thousand pan-handle three-year-old steers for delivery on the new range in the indian territory, and bought nine thousand twos to be driven on company account. there was the usual whoop and hurrah at the convention, and when it closed i lacked only six thousand head of my complement for the new ranch. i was confining myself strictly to north texas and pan-handle cattle, for through montana cowmen i learned that there was an advantage, at maturity, in the northern-bred animal. major hunter and our segundo bought and contracted in a dozen counties from the rio grande to red river during the convention, and at the close we scattered to the four winds in the interests of our respective work. in order to give my time and attention to the new organization, i assigned my individual cattle to the care of the firm, of which i was sending out ten thousand three-year-old steers and two herds of aging and dry cows. they would take their chances in the open market, though i would have dearly loved to take over the young steers for the new company rather than have bought their equivalent in numbers. i had a dislike to parting with an animal of my own breeding, and to have brought these to a ripe maturity under my own eye would have been a pleasure and a satisfaction. but such an action might have caused distrust of my management, and an honest name is a valuable asset in a cowman's capital. my ranch foremen made up the herds and started my individual cattle on the trail. i had previously bought the two remaining herds in archer and clay counties, and in the five that were contracted for and would be driven at company risk and account, every animal passed and was received under my personal inspection. three of the latter were routed by way of the chisholm trail, and two by the western, while the cattle under contract for delivery at the company ranch went by any route that their will and pleasure saw fit. i saw very little of my old associates during the spring months, for no sooner had i started the herds than i hastened to overtake the lead one so as to arrive with the cattle at their new range. i had kept in touch with the building of fences, and on our arrival, near the middle of may, the western and southern strings were completed. it was not my intention to inclose the entire range, only so far as to catch any possible drift of cattle to the south or west. a twenty-mile spur of fence on the east, with half that line and all the north one open, would be sufficient until further encroachments were made on our range. we would have to ride the fences daily, anyhow, and where there was no danger of drifting, an open line was as good as a fence. as fast as the cattle arrived they were placed under loose herd for the first two weeks. early in june the last of the contracted herds arrived and were scattered over the range, the outfits returning to texas. i reduced my help gradually, as the cattle quieted down and became located, until by the middle of summer we were running the ranch with thirty men, which were later reduced to twenty for the winter. line camps were established on the north and east, comfortable quarters were built for fence-riders and their horses, and aside from headquarters camp, half a dozen outposts were maintained. hay contracts were let for sufficient forage to winter forty horses, the cattle located nicely within a month, and time rolled by without a cloud on the horizon of the new cattle company. i paid a flying visit to dodge and ogalalla, but, finding the season drawing to a close and the firm's cattle all sold, i contentedly returned to my accepted task. i had been buried for several months in the heart of the indian territory, and to get out where one could read the daily papers was a treat. during my banishment, senator teller had been confirmed as secretary of the interior, an appointment that augured well for the future of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company. advices from washington were encouraging, and while the new secretary lacked authority to sanction our lease, his tacit approval was assured. the firm of hunter, anthony & co. made a barrel of money in trailing cattle and from their beef ranch during the summer of . i actually felt grieved over my portion of the season's work for while i had established a promising ranch, i had little to show, the improvement account being heavy, owing to our isolation. it was doubtful if we could have sold the ranch and cattle at a profit, yet i was complimented on my management, and given to understand that the stockholders were anxious to double the capitalization should i consent. range was becoming valuable, and at a meeting of the directors that fall a resolution was passed, authorizing me to secure a lease adjoining our present one. accordingly, when paying the second installment of rent money, i took the indian agent of the two tribes with me. the leading chiefs were pleased with my punctuality in meeting the rental, and a proposition to double their income of "grass" money met with hearty grunts of approval. i made the council a little speech,--my maiden endeavor,--and when it was interpreted to the squatting circle i had won the confidence of these simple aborigines. a duplicate of our former lease in acreage and terms was drawn up and signed; and during the existence of our company the best teepee in the winter or summer encampments, of either the cheyennes or arapahoes, was none too good for reed anthony when he came with the rent money or on other business. our capital stock was increased to two million dollars, in the latter half of which, one hundred thousand was asked for and allotted to me. i stayed on the range until the first of december, freighting in a thousand bushels of corn for the horses and otherwise seeing that the camps were fully provisioned before returning to my home in texas. the winter proved dry and cold, the cattle coming through in fine condition, not one per cent of loss being sustained, which is a good record for through stock. spring came and found me on the trail, with five herds on company account and eight herds under contract,--a total of forty thousand cattle intended for the enlarged range. all these had been bought north of the quarantine line in texas, and were turned loose with the wintered ones, fever having been unknown among our holdings of the year before. in the mean time the eastern spur of fence had been taken down and the southern line extended forty miles eastward and north the same distance. the northern line of our range was left open, the fences being merely intended to catch any possible drift from summer storms or wintry blizzards. yet in spite of this precaution, two round-up outfits were kept in the field through the early summer, one crossing into the chickasaw nation and the other going as far south as red river, gathering any possible strays from the new range. i was giving my best services to the new company. save for the fact that i had capable foremen on my individual ranches in texas, my absence was felt in directing the interests of the firm and personally. major hunter had promoted an old foreman to a trusted man, and the firm kept up the volume of business on the trail and ranch, though i was summoned once to dodge and twice to ogalalla during the summer of . issues had arisen making my presence necessary, but after the last trail herd was sold i returned to my post. the boom was still on in cattle at the trail markets, and texas was straining every energy to supply the demand, yet the cry swept down from the north for more cattle. i was branding twenty thousand calves a year on my two ranches, holding the increase down to that number by sending she stuff up the country on sale, and from half a dozen sources of income i was coining money beyond human need or necessity. i was then in the physical prime of my life and was master of a profitable business, while vistas of a brilliant future opened before me on every hand. when the round-up outfits came in for the summer, the beef shipping began. in the first two contingents of cattle purchased in securing the good will of the original range, we now had five thousand double wintered beeves. it was my intention to ship out the best of the single wintered ones, and five separate outfits were ordered into the saddle for that purpose. with the exception of line and fence riders,--for two hundred and forty miles were ridden daily, rain or shine, summer or winter,--every man on the ranch took up his abode with the wagons. caldwell and hunnewell, on the kansas state line were the nearest shipping points, requiring fifteen days' travel with beeves, and if there was no delay in cars, an outfit could easily gather the cattle and make a round trip in less than a month. three or four trainloads, numbering from one thousand and fifty to fourteen hundred head, were cut out at a time and handled by a single outfit. i covered the country between the ranch and shipping points, riding night and day ahead in ordering cars, and dropping back to the ranch to superintend the cutting out of the next consignment of cattle. each outfit made three trips, shipping out fifteen thousand beeves that fall, leaving sixty thousand cattle to winter on the range. several times that fall, when shipping beeves from caldwell, we met up with the firm's outfits from the eagle chief in the cherokee outlet. naturally the different shipping crews looked over each other's cattle, and an intense rivalry sprang up between the different foremen and men. the cattle of the new company outshone those of the old firm, and were outselling them in the markets, while the former's remudas were in a class by themselves, all of which was salt to open wounds and magnified the jealousy between our own outfits. the rivalry amused me, and until petty personalities were freely indulged in, i encouraged and widened the breach between the rival crews. the outfits under my direction had accumulated a large supply of saddle and sleeping blankets procured from the indians, gaudy in color, manufactured in sizes for papoose, squaw, and buck. these goods were of the finest quality, but during the annual festivals of the tribe lo's hunger for gambling induced him to part, for a mere song, with the blanket that the paternal government intended should shelter him during the storms of winter. every man in my outfits owned from six to ten blankets, and the eagle chief lads rechristened the others, including myself, with the most odious of indian names. in return, we refused to visit or eat at their wagons, claiming that they lived slovenly and were lousy. the latter had an educated scotchman with them, mcdougle by name, the ranch bookkeeper, who always went into town in advance to order cars. mcdougle had a weakness for the cup, and on one occasion he fell into the hands of my men, who humored his failing, marching him through the streets, saloons, and hotels shouting at the top of his voice, "hunter, anthony & company are going to ship!" the expression became a byword among the citizens of the town, and every reappearance of mcdougle was accepted as a herald that our outfits from the eagle chief were coming in with cattle. a special meeting of the stockholders was called at washington that fall, which all the western members attended. reports were submitted by the secretary-treasurer and myself, the executive committee made several suggestions, the proposition, to pay a dividend was overwhelmingly voted down, and a further increase of the capital stock was urged by the eastern contingent. i sounded a note of warning, called attention to the single cloud on the horizon, which was the enmity that we had engendered in a clique of army followers in and around fort reno. these men had in the past, were even then, collecting toll from every other holder of cattle on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. that this coterie of usurpers hated the new company and me personally was a well-known fact, while its influence was proving much stronger than at first anticipated, and i cheerfully admitted the same to the stockholders assembled. the eastern mind, living under established conditions, could hardly realize the chaotic state of affairs in the west, with its vicious morals, and any attempt to levy tribute in the form of blackmail was repudiated by the stockholders in assembly. major hunter understood my position and delicately suggested coming to terms with the company's avowed enemies as the only feasible solution of the impending trouble. to further enlarge our holdings of cattle and leased range, he urged, would be throwing down the gauntlet in defiance of the clique of army attaches. evidently no one took us seriously, and instead, ringing resolutions passed, enlarging the capital stock by another million, with instructions to increase our leases accordingly. the western contingent returned home with some misgivings as to the future. nothing was to be feared from the tribes from whom we were leasing, nor the comanche and his allies on the southwest, though there were renegades in both; but the danger lay in the flotsam of the superior race which infested the frontier. i felt no concern for my personal welfare, riding in and out from fort reno at my will and pleasure, though i well knew that my presence on the reservation was a thorn in the flesh of my enemies. there was little to fear, however, as the latter class of men never met an adversary in the open, but by secret methods sought to accomplish their objects. the breach between the indian agent and these parasites of the army was constantly widening, and an effort had been made to have the former removed, but our friends at the national capital took a hand, and the movement was thwarted. fuel was being constantly added to the fire, and on our taking a third lease on a million acres, the smoke gave way to flames. our usual pacific measures were pursued, buying out any cattle in conflict, but fencing our entire range. the last addition to our pasture embraced a strip of country twenty miles wide, lying north of and parallel to the two former leases, and gave us a range on which no animal need ever feel the restriction of a fence. ten to fifteen acres were sufficient to graze a steer the year round, but owing to the fact that we depended entirely on running water, much of the range would be valueless during the dry summer months. i readily understood the advantages of a half-stocked range, and expected in the future to allow twenty-five acres in the summer and thirty in the winter to the pasture's holdings. everything being snug for the winter, orders were left to ride certain fences twice a day,--lines where we feared fence-cutting,--and i took my departure for home. chapter xx holding the fort as in many other lines of business, there were ebb and flood tides in cattle. the opening of the trail through to the extreme northwest gave the range live stock industry its greatest impetus. there have always been seasons of depression and advances, the cycles covering periods of ten to a dozen years, the duration of the ebb and stationary tides being double that of the flood. outside influences have had their bearing, and the wresting of an empire from its savage possessors in the west, and its immediate occupancy by the dominant race in ranching, stimulated cattle prices far beyond what was justified by the laws of supply and demand. the boom in live stock in the southwest which began in the early ' 's stands alone in the market variations of the last half-century. and as if to rebuke the folly of man and remind him that he is but grass, nature frowned with two successive severe winters, humbling the kings and princes of the range. up to and including the winter of - the loss among range cattle was trifling. the country was new and open, and when the stock could drift freely in advance of storms, their instincts carried them to the sheltering coulees, cut banks, and broken country until the blizzard had passed. since our firm began maturing beeves ten years before, the losses attributable to winter were never noticed, nor did they in the least affect our profits. on my ranches in texas the primitive law of survival of the fittest prevailed, the winter-kill falling sorest among the weak and aging cows. my personal loss was always heavier than that of the firm, owing to my holdings being mixed stock, and due to the fact that an animal in the south never took on tallow enough to assist materially in resisting a winter. the cattle of the north always had the flesh to withstand the rigors of the wintry season, dry, cold, zero weather being preferable to rain, sleet, and the northers that swept across the plains of texas. the range of the new company was intermediate between the extremes of north and south, and as we handled all steer cattle, no one entertained any fear from the climate. i passed a comparatively idle winter at my home on the clear fork. weekly reports reached me from the new ranch, several of which caused uneasiness, as our fences were several times cut on the southwest, and a prairie fire, the work of an incendiary, broke out at midnight on our range. happily the wind fell, and by daybreak the smoke arose in columns, summoning every man on the ranch, and the fire was soon brought under control. as a precaution to such a possibility we had burned fire-guards entirely around the range by plowing furrows one hundred feet apart and burning out the middle. taking advantage of creeks and watercourses, natural boundaries that a prairie fire could hardly jump, we had cut and quartered the pasture with fire-guards in such a manner that, unless there was a concerted action on the part of any hirelings of our enemies, it would have been impossible to have burned more than a small portion of the range at any one time. but these malicious attempts at our injury made the outfit doubly vigilant, and cutting fences and burning range would have proven unhealthful occupations had the perpetrators, red or white, fallen into the hands of the foreman and his men. i naturally looked on the bright side of the future, and in the hope that, once the entire range was fenced, we could keep trespassers out, i made preparations for the spring drive. with the first appearance of grass, all the surplus horses were ordered down to texas from the company ranch. there was a noticeable lull at the cattle convention that spring, and an absence of buyers from the northwest was apparent, resulting in little or no trouble in contracting for delivery on the ranch, and in buying on company account at the prevailing prices of the spring before. cattle were high enough as it was; in fact the market was top-heavy and wobbling on its feet, though the brightest of us cowmen naturally supposed that current values would always remain up in the pictures. as manager of the new company, i bought and contracted for fifty thousand steers, ten herds of which were to be driven on company account. all the cattle came from the pan-handle and north texas, above the quarantine line, the latter precaution being necessary in order to avoid any possibility of fever, in mixing through and northern wintered stock. with the opening of spring two of my old foremen were promoted to assist in the receiving, as my contracts called for everything to be passed upon on the home range before starting the herds. some little friction had occurred the summer before with the deliveries at the company ranch in an effort to turn in short-aged cattle. all contracts this year and the year before called for threes, and frequently several hundred long twos were found in a single herd, and i refused to accept them unless at the customary difference in price. more or less contention arose, and, for the present spring, i proposed to curb all friction at home, allotting to my assistants the receiving of the herds for company risk, and personally passing on seven under contract. the original firm was still in the field, operating exclusively in central texas and pan-handle cattle. both my ranches sent out their usual contribution of steers and cows, consigned to the care of the firm, which was now giving more attention to quality than quantity. the absence of the men from the northwest at the cattle convention that spring was taken as an omen that the upper country would soon be satiated, a hint that retrenchment was in order, and a better class of stock was to receive the firm's attention in its future operations. my personal contingent of steers would have passed muster in any country, and as to my consignment of cows, they were pure velvet, and could defy competition in the upper range markets. everything moved out with the grass as usual, and when the last of the company herds had crossed red river, i rode through to the new ranch. the north and east line of fence was nearing completion, the western string was joined to the original boundary, and, with the range fully inclosed, my ranch foreman, the men, and myself looked forward to a prosperous future. the herds arrived and were located, the usual round-up outfits were sent out wherever there was the possibility of a stray, and we settled down in pastoral security. the ranch outfit had held their own during the winter just passed, had trailed down stolen cattle, and knew to a certainty who the thieves were and where they came from. except what had been slaughtered, all the stock was recovered, and due notice given to offenders that judge lynch would preside should any one suspected of fence-cutting, starting incendiary fires, or stealing cattle be caught within the boundaries of our leases. fortunately the other cowmen were tiring of paying tribute to the usurpers, and our determined stand heartened holders of cattle on the reservation, many of whom were now seeking leases direct from the tribes. i made it my business personally to see every other owner of live stock occupying the country, and urge upon them the securing of leases and making an organized fight for our safety. lessees in the cherokee strip had fenced as a matter of convenience and protection, and i urged the same course on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation, offering the free use of our line fences to any one who wished to adjoin our pastures. in the course of a month, nearly every acre of the surrounding country was taken, only one or two squaw-men holding out, and these claiming their ranges under indian rights. the movement was made so aggressive that the usurpers were driven into obscurity, never showing their hand again until after the presidential election that fall. during the summer a deputation of cheyennes and arapahoes visited me at ranch headquarters. on the last lease taken, and now inclosed in our pasture, there were a number of wild plum groves, covering thousands of acres, and the indians wanted permission to gather the ripening fruit. taking advantage of the opportunity, in granting the request i made it a point to fortify the friendly relations, not only with ourselves, but with all other cattlemen on the reservation. ten days' permission was given to gather the wild plums, camps were allotted to the indians, and when the fruit was all gathered, i barbecued five stray beeves in parting with my guests. the indian agent and every cowman on the reservation were invited, and at the conclusion of the festival the quaker agent made the assembled chiefs a fatherly talk. torpid from feasting, the bucks grunted approval of the new order of things, and an arapahoe chief, responding in behalf of his tribe, said that the rent from the grass now fed his people better than under the old buffalo days. pledging anew the fraternal bond, and appointing the gathering of the plums as an annual festival thereafter, the tribes took up their march in returning to their encampment. i was called to dodge but once during the summer of . my steers had gone to ogalalla and were sold, the cows remaining at the lower market, all of which had changed owners with the exception of one thousand head. the demand had fallen off, and a dull close of the season was predicted, but i shaded prices and closed up my personal holdings before returning. several of the firm's steer herds were unsold at dodge, but on the approach of the shipping season i returned to my task, and we began to move out our beeves with seven outfits in the saddle. four round trips were made to the crew, shipping out twenty thousand double and half that number of single wintered cattle. the grass had been fine that summer, and the beeves came up in prime condition, always topping the market as range cattle at the markets to which they were consigned. that branch of the work over, every energy was centred in making the ranch snug for the winter. extra fire-guards were plowed, and the middles burned out, cutting the range into a dozen parcels, and thus, as far as possible, the winter forage was secured for our holdings of eighty thousand cattle. hay and grain contracts had been previously let, the latter to be freighted in from southern kansas, when the news reached us that the recent election had resulted in a political change of administration. what effect this would have on our holding cattle on indian lands was pure conjecture, though our enemies came out of hiding, gloating over the change, and swearing vengeance on the cowmen on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. the turn of the tide in cattle prices was noticeable at all the range markets that fall. a number of herds were unsold at dodge, among them being one of ours, but we turned it southeast early in september and wintered it on our range in the outlet. the largest drive in the history of the trail had taken place that summer, and the failure of the west and northwest to absorb the entire offerings of the drovers made the old firm apprehensive of the future. there was a noticeable shrinkage in our profits from trail operations, but with the supposition that it was merely an off year, the matter was passed for the present. it was the opinion of the directors of the new company that no dividends should he declared until our range was stocked to its full capacity, or until there was a comfortable surplus. this suited me, and, returning home, i expected to spend the winter with my family, now increased to four girls and six boys. but a cowman can promise himself little rest or pleasure. after a delightful week spent on my western ranch, i returned to the clear fork, and during the latter part of november a terrible norther swept down and caught me in a hunting-camp twenty-five miles from home. my two oldest boys were along, a negro cook, and a few hands, and in spite of our cosy camp, we all nearly froze to death. nothing but a roaring fire saved us during the first night of its duration, and the next morning we saddled our horses and struck out for home, riding in the face of a sleet that froze our clothing like armor. norther followed norther, and i was getting uneasy about the company ranch, when i received a letter from major hunter, stating that he was starting for our range in the outlet and predicting a heavy loss of cattle. headquarters in the indian territory were fully two hundred and fifty miles due north, and within an hour after receiving the letter, i started overland on horseback, using two of my best saddlers for the trip. to have gone by rail and stage would have taken four days, and if fair weather favored me i could nearly divide that time by half. changing horses frequently, one day out i had left red river in my rear, but before me lay an uninhabited country, unless i veered from my course and went through the chickasaw nation. for the sake of securing grain for the horses, this tack was made, following the old chisholm trail for nearly one hundred miles. the country was in the grip of winter, sleet and snow covering the ground, with succor for man and horse far apart. mumford johnson's ranch on the washita river was reached late the second night, and by daybreak the next morning i was on the trail, making quartermaster creek by one o'clock that day. fortunately no storms were encountered en route, but king winter ruled the range with an iron hand, fully six inches of snow covering the pasture, over which was a crusted sleet capable of carrying the weight of a beef. the foreman and his men were working night and day to succor the cattle. between storms, two crews of the boys drifted everything back from the south line of fence, while others cut ice and opened the water to the perishing animals. scarcity of food was the most serious matter; being unable to reach the grass under its coat of sleet and snow, the cattle had eaten the willows down to the ground. when a boy in virginia i had often helped cut down basswood and maple trees in the spring for the cattle to browse upon, and, sending to the agency for new axes, i armed every man on the ranch with one, and we began felling the cottonwood and other edible timber along the creeks and rivers in the pasture. the cattle followed the axemen like sheep, eating the tender branches of the softer woods to the size of a man's wrist, the crash of a falling tree bringing them by the dozens to browse and stay their hunger. i swung an axe with the men, and never did slaves under the eye of a task-master work as faithfully or as long as we did in cutting ice and falling timber in succoring our holding of cattle. several times the sun shone warm for a few days, melting the snow off the southern slopes, when we took to our saddles, breaking the crust with long poles, the cattle following to where the range was bared that they might get a bit of grass. had it not been for a few such sunny days, our loss would have been double what it was; but as it was, with the general range in the clutches of sleet and snow for over fifty days, about twenty per cent, of our holdings were winter-killed, principally of through cattle. our saddle stock, outside of what was stabled and grain-fed, braved the winter, pawing away the snow and sleet in foraging for their subsistence. a few weeks of fine balmy weather in january and february followed the distressing season of wintry storms, the cattle taking to the short buffalo-grass and rapidly recuperating. but just when we felt that the worst was over, simultaneously half a dozen prairie fires broke out in different portions of the pasture, calling every man to a fight that lasted three days. our enemies, not content with havoc wrought by the elements, were again in the saddle, striking in the dark and escaping before dawn, inflicting injuries on dumb animals in harassing their owners. that it was the work of hireling renegades, more likely white than red, there was little question; but the necessity of preserving the range withheld us from trailing them down and meting out a justice they so richly deserved. dividing the ranch help into half a dozen crews, we rode to the burning grass and began counter-firing and otherwise resorting to every known method in checking the consuming flames. one of the best-known devices, in short grass and flank-fires, was the killing of a light beef, beheading and splitting it open, leaving the hide to hold the parts together. by turning the animal flesh side down and taking ropes from a front and hind foot to the pommels of two saddles, the men, by riding apart, could straddle the flames, virtually rubbing the fire out with the dragging carcass. other men followed with wet blankets and beat out any remaining flames, the work being carried on at a gallop, with a change of horses every mile or so, and the fire was thus constantly hemmed in to a point. the variations of the wind sometimes entirely checked all effort, between midnight and morning being the hours in which most progress was accomplished. no sooner was one section of the fire brought under control than we divided the forces and hastened to lend assistance to the next nearest section, the cooks with commissaries following up the firefighters. while a single blade of grass was burning, no one thought of sleeping, and after one third of the range was consumed, the last of the incendiary fires was stamped out, when we lay down around the wagons and slept the sleep of exhaustion. there was still enough range saved to bring the cattle safely through until spring. leaving the entire ranch outfit to ride the fences--several lines of which were found cut by the renegades in entering and leaving the pasture--and guard the gates, i took train and stage for the grove. major hunter had returned from the firm's ranch in the strip, where heavy losses were encountered, though it then rested in perfect security from any influence except the elements. with me, the burning of the company range might be renewed at any moment, in which event we should have to cut our own fences and let the cattle drift south through an indian country, with nothing to check them except red river. a climax was approaching in the company's existence, and the delay of a day or week might mean inestimable loss. in cunning and craftiness our enemies were expert; they knew their control of the situation fully, and nothing but cowardice would prevent their striking the final, victorious blow. my old partner and i were a unit as to the only course to pursue,--one which meant a dishonorable compromise with our enemies, as the only hope of saving the cattle. a wire was accordingly sent east, calling a special meeting of the stockholders. we followed ourselves within an hour. on arriving at the national capital, we found that all outside shareholders had arrived in advance of ourselves, and we went into session with closed doors and the committee on entertainment and banquets inactive. in as plain words as the english language would permit, as general manager of the company, i stated the cause for calling the meeting, and bluntly suggested the only avenue of escape. call it tribute, blackmail, or what you will, we were at the mercy of as heartless a set of scoundrels as ever missed a rope, whose mercenaries, like the willing hirelings that they were, would cheerfully do the bidding of their superiors. major hunter, in his remarks before the meeting, modified my rather radical statement, with the more plausible argument that this tribute money was merely insurance, and what was five or ten thousand dollars a year, where an original investment of three millions and our surplus were in jeopardy? would any line--life, fire, or marine--carry our risk as cheaply? these men had been receiving toll from our predecessors, and were then in a position to levy tribute or wreck the company. notwithstanding our request for immediate action, an adjournment was taken. a wire could have been sent to a friend in fort reno that night, and all would have gone well for the future security of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company. but i lacked authority to send it, and the next morning at the meeting, the new england blood that had descended from the puritan fathers was again in the saddle, shouting the old slogans of no compromise while they had god and right on their side. major hunter and i both keenly felt the rebuke, but personal friends prevented an open rupture, while the more conservative ones saw brighter prospects in the political change of administration which was soon to assume the reins of government. a number of congressmen and senators among our stockholders were prominent in the ascendant party, and once the new régime took charge, a general shake-up of affairs in and around fort reno was promised. i remembered the old maxim of a new broom; yet in spite of the blandishments that were showered down in silencing my active partner and me, i could almost smell the burning range, see the horizon lighted up at night by the licking flames, hear the gloating of our enemies, in the hour of their victory, and the click of the nippers of my own men, in cutting the wire that the cattle might escape and live. i left washington somewhat heartened. major hunter, ever inclined to look on the bright side of things, believed that the crisis had passed, even bolstering up my hopes in the next administration. it was the immediate necessity that was worrying me, for it meant a summer's work to gather our cattle on red river and in the intermediate country, and bring them back to the home range. the mysterious absence of any report from my foreman on my arrival at the grove did not mislead me to believe that no news was good news, and i accordingly hurried on to the front. there was a marked respect shown me by the civilians located at fort reno, something unusual; but i hurried on to the agency, where all was quiet, and thence to ranch headquarters. there i learned that a second attempt to burn the range had been frustrated; that one of our boys had shot dead a white man in the act of cutting the east string of fence; that the same night three fires had broken out in the pasture, and that a squad of our men, in riding to the light, had run afoul of two renegade cheyennes armed with wire-nippers, whose remains then lay in the pasture unburied. both horses were captured and identified as not belonging to the indians, while their owners were well known. fortunately the wind veered shortly after the fires started, driving the flames back against the plowed guards, and the attempt to burn the range came to naught. a salutary lesson had been administered to the hirelings of the usurpers, and with a new moon approaching its full, it was believed that night marauding had ended for that winter. none of our boys recognized the white man, there being no doubt but he was imported for the purpose, and he was buried where he fell; but i notified the indian agent, who sent for the remains of the two renegades and took possession of the horses. the season for the beginning of active operations on trail and for ranch account was fast approaching, and, leaving the boys to hold the fort during my absence, i took my private horses and turned homeward. chapter xxi the fruits of conspiracy with a loss of fully fifteen thousand cattle staring me in the face, i began planning to recuperate the fortunes of the company. the cattle convention, which was then over, was conspicuous by the absence of all northern buyers. george edwards had attended the meeting, was cautious enough to make no contracts for the firm, and fully warned me of the situation. i was in a quandary; with an idle treasury of over a million, my stewardship would be subject to criticism unless i became active in the interests of my company. on the other hand, a dangerous cloud hung over the range, and until that was removed i felt like a man who was sent for and did not want to go. the falling market in texas was an encouragement, but my experience of the previous winter had had a dampening effect, and i was simply drifting between adverse winds. but once it was known that i had returned home, my old customers approached me by letter and personally, anxious to sell and contract for immediate delivery. trail drovers were standing aloof, afraid of the upper markets, and i could have easily bought double my requirements without leaving the ranch. the grass was peeping here and there, favorable reports came down from the reservation, and still i sat idle. the appearance of major hunter acted like a stimulus. reports about the new administration were encouraging--not from our silent partner, who was not in sympathy with the dominant party, but from other prominent stockholders who were. the original trio--the little major, our segundo, and myself--lay around under the shade of the trees several days and argued the possibilities that confronted us on trail and ranch. edwards reproached me for my fears, referring to the time, nineteen years before, when as common hands we fought our way across the staked plain and delivered the cattle safely at fort sumner. he even taunted me with the fact that our employers then never hesitated, even if half the comanche tribe were abroad, roving over their old hunting grounds, and that now i was afraid of a handful of army followers, contractors, and owners of bar concessions. edwards knew that i would stand his censure and abuse as long as the truth was told, and with the major acting as peacemaker between us i was finally whipped into line. with a fortune already in hand, rounding out my forty-fifth year, i looted the treasury by contracting and buying sixty thousand cattle for my company. the surplus horses were ordered down from above, and the spring campaign began in earnest. the old firm was to confine its operations to fine steers, handling my personal contribution as before, while i rallied my assistants, and we began receiving the contracted cattle at once. observation had taught me that in wintering beeves in the north it was important to give the animals every possible moment of time to locate before the approach of winter. the instinct of a dumb beast is unexplainable yet unerring. the owner of a horse may choose a range that seems perfect in every appointment, but the animal will spurn the human selection and take up his abode on some flinty hills, and there thrive like a garden plant. cattle, especially steers, locate slowly, and a good summer's rest usually fortifies them with an inward coat of tallow and an outward one of furry robe, against the wintry storms. i was anxious to get the through cattle to the new range as soon as practicable, and allowed the sellers to set their dates as early as possible, many of them agreeing to deliver on the reservation as soon as the middle of may. ten wagons and a thousand horses came down during the last days of march, and early in april started back with thirty thousand cattle at company risk. all animals were passed upon on the texas range, and on their arrival at the pasture there was little to do but scatter them over the ranch to locate. i reached the reservation with the lead herd, and was glad to learn from neighboring cowmen that a suggestion of mine, made the fall before, had taken root. my proposition was to organize all the cattlemen on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation into an association for mutual protection. by coöperation we could present a united front to our enemies, the usurpers, and defy them in their nefarious schemes of exacting tribute. other ranges besides ours had suffered by fire and fence-cutters during the winter just passed, and i returned to find my fellow cowmen a unit for organization. a meeting was called at the agency, every owner of cattle on the reservation responded, and an association was perfected for our mutual interest and protection. the reservation was easily capable of carrying half a million cattle, the tribes were pleased with the new order of things, and we settled down with a feeling of security not enjoyed in many a day. but our tranquil existence received a shock within a month, when a cowboy from a neighboring ranch, and without provocation, was shot down by indian police in a trader's store at the agency. the young fellow was a popular texan, and as nearly all the men employed on the reservation came from the south, it was with difficulty that our boys were restrained from retaliating. those from texas had little or no love for an indian anyhow, and nothing but the plea of policy in preserving peaceful relations with the tribes held them in check. the occasional killing of cattle by indians was overlooked, until they became so bold as to leave the hides and heads in the pasture, when an appeal was made to the agent. but the aborigine, like his white brother, has sinful ways, and the influence of one evil man can readily combat the good advice of half a dozen right-minded ones, and the quaker agent found his task not an easy one. cattle were being killed in remote and unfrequented places, and still we bore with it, the better class of indians, however, lending their assistance to check the abuse. on one occasion two boys and myself detected a band of five young bucks skinning a beef in our pasture, and nothing but my presence prevented a clash between my men and the thieves. but it was near the wild-plum season, and as we were making preparations to celebrate that event, the killing of a few indians might cause distrust, and we dropped out of sight and left them to the enjoyment of their booty. it was pure policy on my part, as we could shame or humble the indian, and if the abuse was not abated, we could remunerate ourselves by with-holding from the rent money the value of cattle killed. our organization for mutual protection was accepted by our enemies as a final defiance. a pirate fights as valiantly as if his cause were just, and, through intermediaries, the gauntlet was thrown back in our faces and notice served that the conflict had reached a critical stage. i never discussed the issue direct with members of the clique, as they looked upon me as the leader in resisting their levy of tribute, but indirectly their grievances were made known. we were accused of having taken the bread out of their very mouths, which was true in a sense, but we had restored it tenfold where it was entitled to go,--among the indians. with the exception of an occasional bottle of whiskey, none of the tribute money went to the tribes, but was divided among the usurpers. they waxed fat in their calling and were insolent and determined, while our replies to all overtures looking to peace were firm and to the point. even at that late hour i personally knew that the clique had strength in reserve, and had i enjoyed the support of my company, would willingly have stood for a compromise. but it was out of the question to suggest it, and, trusting to the new administration, we politely told them to crack their whips. the _fiesta_ which followed the plum gathering was made a notable occasion. all the cowmen on the reservation had each contributed a beef to the barbecue, the agent saw to it that all the principal chiefs of both tribes were present, and after two days of feasting, the agent made a quaker talk, insisting that the bond between the tribes and the cowmen must be observed to the letter. he reviewed at length the complaints that had reached him of the killing of cattle, traceable to the young and thoughtless, and pointed out the patience of the cattlemen in not retaliating, but in spreading a banquet instead to those who had wronged them. in concluding, he warned them that the patience of the white man had a limit, and, while they hoped to live in peace, unless the stealing of beef was stopped immediately, double the value of the cattle killed would be withheld from the next payment of grass money. it was in the power of the chiefs present to demand this observance of faith among their young men, if the bond to which their signatures were attached was to be respected in the future. the leading chiefs of both tribes spoke in defense, pleading their inability to hold their young men in check as long as certain evil influences were at work among their people. the love of gambling and strong drink was yearly growing among their men, making them forget their spoken word, until they were known as thieves and liars. the remedy lay in removing these evil spirits and trusting the tribes to punish their own offenders, as the red man knew no laws except his own. the festival was well worth while and augured hopefully for the future. clouds were hovering on the horizon, however, and, while at ogalalla, i received a wire that a complaint had been filed against us at the national capital, and that the president had instructed the lieutenant-general of the army to make an investigation. just what the inquiry was to be was a matter of conjecture; possibly to determine who was supplying the indians with whiskey, or probably our friends at washington were behind the movement, and the promised shake-up of army followers in and around fort reno was materializing. i attended to some unsettled business before returning, and, on my arrival at the reservation, a general alarm was spreading among the cattle interests, caused by the cock-sure attitude of the usurpers and a few casual remarks that had been dropped. i was appealed to by my fellow cowmen, and, in turn, wired our friends at washington, asking that our interests be looked after and guarded. pending a report, general p.h. sheridan arrived with a great blare of trumpets at fort reno for the purpose of holding the authorized investigation. the general's brother, michael, was the recognized leader of the clique of army followers, and was interested in the bar concessions under the sutler. matters, therefore, took on a serious aspect. all the cowmen on the reservation came in, expecting to be called before the inquiry, as it was then clear that a fight must be made to protect our interests. no opportunity, however, was given the indians or cattlemen to present their side of the question, and when a committee of us cowmen called on general sheridan we were cordially received and politely informed that the investigation was private. i believe that forty years have so tempered the animosities of the civil war that an honest opinion is entitled to expression. and with due consideration to the record of a gallant soldier, i submit the question, were not the owners of half a million cattle on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation entitled to a hearing before a report was made that resulted in an order for their removal? i have seen more trouble at a country dance, more bloodshed in a family feud, than ever existed or was spilled on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. the indians were pleased, the lessees were satisfied, yet by artfully concealing the true cause of any and all strife, a report, every word of which was as sweet as the notes of a flute, was made to the president, recommending the removal of the cattle. it was found that there had been a gradual encroachment on the liberties of the tribes; that the rental received from the surplus pasture lands had a bad tendency on the morals of the indians, encouraging them in idleness; and that the present system retarded all progress in agriculture and the industrial arts. the report was superficial, religiously concealing the truth, but dealing with broad generalities. had the report emanated from some philanthropical society, it would have passed unnoticed or been commented on as an advance in the interest of a worthy philanthropy but taken as a whole, it was a splendid specimen of the use to which words can be put in concealing the truth and cloaking dishonesty. an order of removal by the president followed the report. had we been subjects of a despotic government and bowed our necks like serfs, the matter would have ended in immediate compliance with the order. but we prided ourselves on our liberties as americans, and an appeal was to be made to the first citizen of the land, the president of the united states. a committee of western men were appointed, which would be augmented by others at the national capital, and it was proposed to lay the bare facts in the chief executive's hands and at least ask for a modification of the order. the latter was ignorant in its conception, brutal and inhuman in its intent, ending in the threat to use the military arm of the government, unless the terms and conditions were complied with within a given space of time. the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company, alone, not to mention the other members of our association equally affected, had one hundred and twenty-five thousand head of beeves and through steers on its range, and unless some relief was granted, a wayfaring man though a fool could see ruin and death and desolation staring us in the face. fortunately major hunter had the firm's trail affairs so well in hand that edwards could close up the business, thus relieving my active partner to serve on the committee, he and four others offering to act in behalf of our association in calling on the president. i was among the latter, the only one in the delegation from texas, and we accordingly made ready and started for washington. meanwhile i had left orders to start the shipping with a vengeance. the busy season was at hand on the beef ranges, and men were scarce; but i authorized the foreman to comb the country, send to dodge if necessary, and equip ten shipping outfits and keep a constant string of cattle moving to the markets. we had about sixty-five thousand single and double wintered beeves, the greater portion of which were in prime condition; but it was the through cattle that were worrying me, as they were unfit to ship and it was too late in the season to relocate them on a new range. but that blessed hope that springs eternal in the human breast kept us hopeful that the president had been deceived into issuing his order, and that he would right all wrongs. the more sanguine ones of the western delegation had matters figured down to a fraction; they believed that once the chief executive understood the true cause of the friction existing on the reservation, apologies would follow, we should all be asked to remain for lunch, and in the most democratic manner imaginable everything would be righted. i had no opinions, but kept anticipating the worst; for if the order stood unmodified, go we must and in the face of winter and possibly accompanied by negro troops. to return to texas meant to scatter the cattle to the four winds; to move north was to court death unless an open winter favored us. on our arrival at washington, all senators and congressmen shareholders in our company met us by appointment. it was an inactive season at the capital, and hopes were entertained that the president would grant us an audience at once; but a delay of nearly a week occurred. in the mean time several conferences were held, at which a general review of the situation was gone over, and it was decided to modify our demands, asking for nothing personally, only a modification of the order in the interest of humanity to dumb animals. before our arrival, a congressman and two senators, political supporters of the chief executive, had casually called to pay their respects, and incidentally inquired into the pending trouble between the cattlemen and the cheyenne and arapahoe indians. reports were anything but encouraging; the well-known obstinacy of the president was admitted; it was also known that he possessed a rugged courage in pursuance of an object or purpose. those who were not in political sympathy with the party in power characterized the president as an opinionated executive, and could see little or no hope in a personal appeal. however, the matter was not to be dropped. the arrival of a deputation of cattlemen from the west was reported by the press, their purposes fully, set forth, and in the interim of waiting for an appointment, all of us made hay with due diligence. major hunter and i had a passing acquaintance at both the war and interior departments, and taking along senators and representatives in political sympathy with the heads of those offices, we called and paid our respects. a number of old acquaintances were met, hold-overs from the former régime, and a cordial reception was accorded us. now that the boom in cattle was over, we expressed a desire to resume our former business relations as contractors with the government. at both departments, the existent trouble on the indian reservations was well known, and a friendly inquiry resulted, which gave us an opportunity to explain our position fully. there was a hopeful awakening to the fact that there had been a conspiracy to remove us, and the most friendly advances of assistance were proffered in setting the matter right. public opinion is a strong factor, and with the press of the capital airing our grievances daily, sympathy and encouragement were simply showered down upon us. finally an audience with the president was granted. the western delegation was increased by senators and representatives until the committee numbered an even dozen. many of the latter were personal friends and ardent supporters of the chief executive. the rangemen were introduced, and we proceeded at once to the matter at issue. a congressman from new york stated the situation clearly, not mincing his words in condemning the means and procedure by which this order was secured, and finally asking for its revocation, or a modification that would permit the evacuation of the country without injury to the owners and their herds. major hunter, in replying to a question of the president, stated our position: that we were in no sense intruders, that we paid our rental in advance, with the knowledge and sanction of the two preceding secretaries of the interior, and only for lack of precedent was their indorsement of our leases withheld. it soon became evident that countermanding the order was out of the question, as to vacillate or waver in a purpose, right or wrong, was not a characteristic of the chief executive. our next move was for a modification of the order, as its terms required us to evacuate that fall, and every cowman present accented the fact that to move cattle in the mouth of winter was an act that no man of experience would countenance. every step, the why and wherefore, must be explained to the president, and at the request of the committee, i went into detail in making plain what the observations of my life had taught me of the instincts and habits of cattle,--why in the summer they took to the hills, mesas, and uplands, where the breezes were cooling and protected them from insect life; their ability to foretell a storm in winter and seek shelter in coulees and broken country. i explained that none of the cattle on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation were native to that range, but were born anywhere from three to five hundred miles to the south, fully one half of them having arrived that spring; that to acquaint an animal with its new range, in cattle parlance to "locate" them, was very important; that every practical cowman moved his herds to a new range with the grass in the spring, in order that ample time should be allowed to acclimate and familiarize them with such shelters as nature provided to withstand the storms of winter. in concluding, i stated that if the existent order could be so modified as to permit all through cattle and those unfit for market to remain on their present range for the winter, we would cheerfully evacuate the country with the grass in the spring. if such relief could be consistently granted, it would no doubt save the lives of hundreds and thousands of cattle. the president evidently was embarrassed by the justice of our prayer. he consulted with members of the committee, protesting that he should be spared from taking what would be considered a backward step, and after a stormy conference with intimate friends, lasting fully an hour, he returned and in these words refused to revoke or modify his order: "if i had known," said he, "what i know now, i never would have made the order; but having made it, i will stand by it." laying aside all commercial considerations, we had made our entreaty in behalf of dumb animals, and the president's answer angered a majority of the committee. i had been rebuked too often in the past by my associates easily to lose my temper, and i naturally looked at those whose conscience balked at paying tribute, while my sympathies were absorbed for the future welfare of a quarter-million cattle affected by the order. we broke into groups in taking our leave, and the only protest that escaped any one was when the york state representative refused the hand of the executive, saying, "mr. president, i have my opinion of a man who admits he is wrong and refuses to right it." two decades have passed since those words, rebuking wrong in high places, were uttered, and the speaker has since passed over to the silent majority. i should feel that these memoirs were incomplete did i not mention the sacrifice and loss of prestige that the utterance of these words cost, for they were the severance of a political friendship that was never renewed. the autocratic order removing the cattle from the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation was born in iniquity and bore a harvest unequaled in the annals of inhumanity. with the last harbor of refuge closed against us, i hastened back and did all that was human to avert the impending doom, every man and horse available being pressed into service. our one hope lay in a mild winter, and if that failed us the affairs of the company would be closed by the merciless elements. once it was known that the original order had not been modified, and in anticipation of a flood of western cattle, the markets broke, entailing a serious commercial loss. every hoof of single and double wintered beeves that had a value in the markets was shipped regardless of price, while i besought friends in the cherokee strip for a refuge for those unfit and our holding of through cattle. fortunately the depreciation in live stock and the heavy loss sustained the previous winter had interfered with stocking the outlet to its fall capacity, and by money, prayers, and entreaty i prevailed on range owners and secured pasturage for seventy-five thousand head. long before the shipping season ended i pressed every outfit belonging to the firm on the eagle chief into service, and began moving out the through cattle to their new range. squaw winter and snow-squalls struck us on the trail, but with a time-limit hanging over our heads, and rather than see our cattle handled by nigger soldiers, we bore our burdens, if not meekly, at least in a manner consistent with our occupation. i have always deplored useless profanity, yet it was music to my ears to hear the men arraign our enemies, high and low, for our present predicament. when the last beeves were shipped, a final round-up was made, and we started out with over fifty thousand cattle in charge of twelve outfits. storms struck us en route, but we weathered them, and finally turned the herds loose in the face of a blizzard. the removed cattle, strangers in a strange land, drifted to the fences and were cut to the quick by the biting blasts. early in january the worst blizzard in the history of the plains swept down from the north, and the poor wandering cattle were driven to the divides and frozen to death against the line fences. of all the appalling sights that an ordinary lifetime on the range affords, there is nothing to compare with the suffering and death that were daily witnessed during the month of january in the winter of - . i remained on the range, and left men at winter camps on every pasture in which we had stock, yet we were powerless to relieve the drifting cattle. the morning after the great storm, with others, i rode to a south string of fence on a divide, and found thousands of our cattle huddled against it, many frozen to death, partially through and hanging on the wire. we cut the fences in order to allow them to drift on to shelter, but the legs of many of them were so badly frozen that, when they moved, the skin cracked open and their hoofs dropped off. hundreds of young steers were wandering aimlessly around on hoofless stumps, while their tails cracked and broke like icicles. in angles and nooks of the fence, hundreds had perished against the wire, their bodies forming a scaling ladder, permitting late arrivals to walk over the dead and dying as they passed on with the fury of the storm. i had been a soldier and seen sad sights, but nothing to compare to this; the moaning of the cattle freezing to death would have melted a heart of adamant. all we could do was to cut the fences and let them drift, for to halt was to die; and when the storm abated one could have walked for miles on the bodies of dead animals. no pen could describe the harrowing details of that winter; and for years afterward, or until their remains had a commercial value, a wayfarer could have traced the south-line fences by the bleaching bones that lay in windrows, glistening in the sun like snowdrifts, to remind us of the closing chapter in the history of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company. chapter xxii in conclusion the subsequent history of the ill-fated cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company is easily told. over ninety per cent of the cattle moved under the president's order were missing at the round-up the following spring. what few survived were pitiful objects, minus ears and tails, while their horns, both root and base, were frozen until they drooped down in unnatural positions. compared to the previous one, the winter of - , with the exception of the great january blizzard, was the less severe of the two. on the firm's range in the cherokee strip our losses were much lighter than during the previous winter, owing to the fact that food was plentiful, there being little if any sleet or snow during the latter year. had we been permitted to winter in the cheyenne and arapahoe country, considering our sheltered range and the cattle fully located, ten per cent would have been a conservative estimate of loss by the elements. as manager of the company i lost five valuable years and over a quarter-million dollars. time has mollified my grievances until now only the thorn of inhumanity to dumb beasts remains. contrasted with results, how much more humane it would have been to have ordered out negro troops from fort reno and shot the cattle down, or to have cut the fences ourselves, and, while our holdings were drifting back to texas, trusted to the mercy of the comanches. i now understand perfectly why the business world dreads a political change in administration. whatever may have been the policy of one political party, the reverse becomes the slogan of the other on its promotion to power. for instance, a few years ago, the general government offered a bounty on the home product of sugar, stimulating the industry in louisiana and also in my adopted state. a change of administration followed, the bounty was removed, and had not the insurance companies promptly canceled their risks on sugar mills, the losses by fire would have been appalling. politics had never affected my occupation seriously; in fact i profited richly through the extravagance and mismanagement of the reconstruction régime in texas, and again met the defeat of my life at the hands of the general government. with the demand for trail cattle on the decline, coupled with two severe winters, the old firm of hunter, anthony & co. was ripe for dissolution. we had enjoyed the cream of the trade while it lasted, but conditions were changing, making it necessary to limit and restrict our business. this was contrary to our policy, though the spring of found us on the trail with sixteen herds for the firm and four from my own ranches, one half of which were under contract. a dry summer followed, and thousands of weak cattle were lost on the trail, while ruin and bankruptcy were the portion of a majority of the drovers. we weathered the drouth on the trail, selling our unplaced cattle early, and before the beef-shipping season began, our range in the outlet, including good will, holding of beeves, saddle horses, and general improvements, was sold to a kansas city company, and the old firm passed out of existence. meanwhile i had closed up the affairs of the cheyenne and arapahoe company, returning a small pro rata of the original investment to shareholders, charging my loss to tuition in rounding out my education as a cowman. the productive capacity of my ranches for years past safely tided me over all financial difficulties. with all outside connections severed, i was then enabled to give my personal attention to ranching in texas. i was fortunate in having capable ranch foremen, for during my almost continued absence there was a steady growth, together with thorough management of my mixed cattle. the improved herd, now numbering over two thousand, was the pride of my operations in live stock, while my quarter and three-eighths blood steers were in a class by themselves. we were breeding over a thousand half and three-quarters blood bulls annually, and constantly importing the best strains to the head of the improved herd. results were in evidence, and as long as the trail lasted, my cattle were ready sellers in the upper range markets. for the following few years i drove my own growing of steers, usually contracting them in advance. the days of the trail were numbered; saw the last herd leave texas, many of the northern states having quarantined against us, and we were afterward compelled to ship by rail in filling contracts on the upper ranges. when kansas quarantined against texas cattle, dodge was abandoned as a range market. the trail moved west, first to lakin and finally to trail city, on the colorado line. in attempting to pass the former point with four pan-handle herds in the spring of , i ran afoul of a quarantine convention. the cattle were under contract in wyoming, and it was my intention not even to halt the herds, but merely to take on supplies in passing. but a deputation met us south of the river, notifying me that the quarantine convention was in session, and requesting me not to attempt to cross the arkansas. i explained that my cattle were from above the dead line in texas, had heretofore gone unmolested wherever they wished, and that it was out of my way to turn west and go up through colorado. the committee was reasonable, looked over the lead herd, and saw that i was driving graded cattle, and finally invited me in to state my case before the convention. i accompanied the men sent to warn me away, and after considerable parley i was permitted to address the assembly. in a few brief words i stated my destination, where i was from, and the quality of cattle making up my herds, and invited any doubters to accompany me across the river and look the stock over. fortunately a number of the cattlemen in the convention knew me, and i was excused while the assembly went into executive session to consider my case. prohibition was in effect at lakin, and i was compelled to resort to diplomacy in order to cross the arkansas river with my cattle. it was warm, sultry weather in the valley, and my first idea was to secure a barrel of bottled beer and send it over to the convention, but the town was dry. i ransacked all the drug stores, and the nearest approach to anything that would cheer and stimulate was hostetter's bitters. the prohibition laws were being rigidly enforced, but i signed a "death warrant" and ordered a case, which the druggist refused me until i explained that i had four outfits of men with me and that we had contracted malaria while sleeping on the ground. my excuse won, and taking the case of bitters on my shoulder, i bore it away to the nearest livery stable, where i wrote a note, with my compliments, and sent both by a darkey around to the rear door of the convention hall. on adjournment for dinner, my case looked hopeless. there was a strong sentiment against admitting any cattle from texas, all former privileges were to be set aside, and the right to quarantine against any section or state was claimed as a prerogative of a free people. the convention was patiently listening to all the oratorical talent present, and my friends held out a slender hope that once the different speakers had relieved their minds they might feel easier towards me, and possibly an exception would be made in my case. during the afternoon session i received frequent reports from the convention, and on the suggestion of a friend i began to skirmish around for a second case of bitters. there were only three drug stores in the town, and as i was ignorant of the law, i naturally went back to the druggist from whom i secured the first case. to my surprise he refused to supply my wants, and haughtily informed me that one application a day was all the law permitted him to sell to any one person. rebuffed, i turned to another drug store, and was greeted by the proprietor, who formerly ran a saloon in dodge. he recognized me, calling me by name; and after we had pledged our acquaintance anew behind the prescription case, i was confidentially informed that i could have his whole house and welcome, even if the state of kansas did object and he had to go to jail. we both regretted that the good old days in the state were gone, but i sent around another case of bitters and a box of cigars, and sat down patiently to await results. with no action taken by the middle of the afternoon, i sent around a third installment of refreshments, and an hour later called in person at the door of the convention. the doorkeeper refused to admit me, but i caught his eye, which was glassy, and received a leery wink, while a bottle of bitters nestled cosily in the open bosom of his shirt. hopeful that the signs were favorable, i apologized and withdrew, but was shortly afterwards sent for and informed that an exception had been made in my favor, and that i might cross the river at my will and pleasure. in the interim of waiting, in case i was successful, i had studied up a little speech of thanks, and as i arose to express my appreciation, a chorus of interruptions greeted me: "g' on, reed! g' on, you d----d old cow-thief! git out of town or we'll hang you!" with the trail a thing of the past, i settled down to the peaceful pursuits of a ranchman. the fencing of ranges soon became necessary, the clear fork tract being first inclosed, and a few years later owners of pastures adjoining the double mountain ranch wished to fence, and i fell in with the prevailing custom. on the latter range i hold title to a little over one million acres, while there are two hundred sections of school land included in my western pasture, on which i pay a nominal rental for its use. all my cattle are now graded, and while no effort is made to mature them, the advent of cotton-seed oil mills and other sources of demand have always afforded me an outlet for my increase. i have branded as many as twenty-five thousand calves in a year, and to this source of income alone i attribute the foundation of my present fortune. as a source of wealth the progeny of the cow in my state has proven a perennial harvest, with little or no effort on the part of the husbandman. reversing the military rule of moving against the lines of least resistance, experience has taught me to follow those where nature lends its greatest aid. mine being strictly a grazing country, by preserving the native grasses and breeding only the best quality of cattle, i have always achieved success. i have brought up my boys to observe these economics of nature, and no plow shall ever mar the surface where my cows have grazed, generation after generation, to the profit and satisfaction of their owner. where once i was a buyer in carload lots of the best strains of blood in the country, now i am a seller by hundreds and thousands of head, acclimated and native to the soil. one man to his trade and another to his merchandise, and the mistakes of my life justly rebuke me for dallying in paths remote from my legitimate calling. there is a close relationship between a cowman and his herds. my insight into cattle character exceeds my observation of the human family. therefore i wish to confess my great love for the cattle of the fields. when hungry or cold, sick or distressed, they express themselves intelligently to my understanding, and when dangers of night and storm and stampede threaten their peace and serenity, they instinctively turn to the refuge of a human voice. when a herd was bedded at night, and wolves howled in the distance, the boys on guard easily calmed the sleeping cattle by simply raising their voices in song. the desire of self-preservation is innate in the animal race, but as long as the human kept watch and ward, the sleeping cattle had no fear of the common enemy. an incident which i cannot explain, but was witness to, occurred during the war. while holding cattle for the confederate army we received a consignment of beeves from texas. one of the men who accompanied the herd through called my attention to a steer and vouchsafed the statement that the animal loved music,--that he could be lured out of the herd with singing. to prove his assertion, the man sang what he termed the steer's favorite, and to the surprise of every soldier present, a fine, big mottled beef walked out from among a thousand others and stood entranced over the simple song. in my younger days my voice was considered musical; i could sing the folk-songs of my country better than the average, and when the herdsmen left us, i was pleased to see that my vocal efforts fascinated the late arrival from texas. within a week i could call him out with a song, when i fell so deeply in love with the broad-horn texan that his life was spared through my disloyalty. in the daily issue to the army we kept him back as long as possible; but when our supply was exhausted, and he would have gone to the shambles the following day, i secretly cut him out at night and drove him miles to our rear, that his life might be spared. within a year he returned with another consignment of beef; comrades who were in the secret would not believe me; but when a quartette of us army herders sang "rock of ages," the steer walked out and greeted us with mute appreciation. we enjoyed his company for over a month, i could call him with a song as far as my voice reached, and when death again threatened him, we cut him to the rear and he was never spoken again. loyal as i was to the south, i would have deserted rather than have seen that steer go to the shambles. in bringing these reminiscences to a close, i wish to bear testimony in behalf of the men who lent their best existence that success should crown my efforts. aside from my family, the two pleasantest recollections of my life are my old army comrades and the boys who worked with me on the range and trail. when men have roughed it together, shared their hardships in field and by camp-fire like true comrades, there is an indescribable bond between them that puts to shame any pretense of fraternal brotherhood. among the hundreds, yes, the thousands, of men who worked for our old firm on the trail, all feel a pride in referring to former associations. i never leave home without meeting men, scattered everywhere, many of them prosperous, who come to me and say, "of course you don't remember me, but i made a trip over the trail with your cattle,--from san saba county in ' . jake de poyster was foreman. by the way, is your old partner, the little yankee major, still living?" the acquaintance, thus renewed by chance, was always a good excuse for neglecting any business, and many a happy hour have i spent, living over again with one of my old boys the experiences of the past. i want to say a parting word in behalf of the men of my occupation. sterling honesty was their chief virtue. a drover with an established reputation could enter any trail town a month in advance of the arrival of his cattle, and any merchant or banker would extend him credit on his spoken word. when the trail passed and the romance of the west was over, these same men were in demand as directors of banks or custodians of trust funds. they were simple as truth itself, possessing a rugged sense of justice that seemed to guide and direct their lives. on one occasion a few years ago, i unexpectedly dropped down from my double mountain ranch to an old cow town on the railroad. it was our regular business point, and i kept a small bank account there for current ranch expenses. as it happened, i needed some money, but on reaching the village found the banks closed, as it was labor day. casually meeting an old cowman who was a director in the bank with which i did business, i pretended to take him to task over my disappointment, and wound up my arraignment by asking, "what kind of a jim-crow bank are you running, anyhow?" "well, now, reed," said he in apology, "i really don't know why the bank should close to-day, but there must be some reason for it. i don't pay much attention to those things, but there's our cashier and bookkeeper,--you know hank and bill,--the boys in charge of the bank. well, they get together every once in a while and close her up for a day. i don't know why they do it, but those old boys have read history, and you can just gamble your last cow that there's good reasons for closing." the fraternal bond between rangemen recalls the sad end of one of my old trail bosses. the foreman in question was a faithful man, working for the firm during its existence and afterwards in my employ. i would have trusted my fortune to his keeping, my family thought the world of him, and many was the time that he risked his life to protect my interests. when my wife overlooks the shortcomings of a man, it is safe to say there is something redeemable in him, even though the offense is drinking. at idle times and with convivial company, this man would drink to excess, and when he was in his cups a spirit of harmless mischief was rampant in him, alternating with uncontrollable flashes of anger. though he was usually as innocent as a kitten, it was a deadly insult to refuse drinking with him, and one day he shot a circle of holes around a stranger's feet for declining an invitation. a complaint was lodged against him, and the sheriff, not knowing the man, thoughtlessly sent a mexican deputy to make the arrest. even then, had ordinary courtesy been extended, the unfortunate occurrence might have been avoided. but an undue officiousness on the part of the officer angered the old trail boss, who flashed into a rage, defying the deputy, and an exchange of shots ensued. the mexican was killed at the first fire, and my man mounted his horse unmolested, and returned to the ranch. i was absent at the time, but my wife advised him to go in and surrender to the proper authorities, and he obeyed her like a child. we all looked upon him as one of the family, and i employed the best of counsel. the circumstances were against him, however, and in spite of an able defense he received a sentence of ten years. no one questioned the justice of the verdict, the law must be upheld, and the poor fellow was taken to the penitentiary to serve out the sentence. my wife and i concealed the facts from the younger children, who were constantly inquiring after his return, especially my younger girls, with whom he was a great favorite. the incident was worse than a funeral; it would not die out, as never a day passed but inquiry was made after the missing man; the children dreamed about him, and awoke from their sleep to ask if he had come and if he had brought them anything. the matter finally affected my wife's nerves, the older boys knew the truth, and the younger children were becoming suspicious of the veracity of their parents. the truth was gradually leaking out, and after he had served a year in prison, i began a movement with the view of securing his pardon. my influence in state politics was always more or less courted, and appealing to my friends, i drew up a petition, which was signed by every prominent politician in that section, asking that executive clemency be extended in behalf of my old foreman. the governor was a good friend of mine, anxious to render me a service, and through his influence we managed to have the sentence so reduced that after serving two years the prisoner was freed and returned to the ranch. he was the same lovable character, tolerated by my wife and fondled by the children, and he refused to leave home for over a year. ever cautious to remove temptation from him, both my wife and i hoped that the lesson would last him through life, but in an unguarded hour he took to drink, and shot to death his dearest friend. for the second offense he received a life sentence. my regret over securing his pardon, and the subsequent loss of human life, affected me as no other event has ever done in my career. this man would have died for me or one of mine, and what i thought to be a generous act to a man in prison proved a curse that haunted me for many years. but all is well now between us. i make it a point to visit him at least once a year; we have talked the matter over and have come to the conclusion that the law is just and that he must remain in confinement the remainder of his days. that is now the compact, and, strange to say, both of us derive a sense of security and peace from our covenant such as we had never enjoyed during the year of his liberty. the wardens inform me that he is a model prisoner, perfectly content in his restraint; and i have promised him that on his death, whether it occurs before or after mine, his remains will be brought back to the home ranch and be given a quiet grave in some secluded spot. for any success that i may have achieved, due acknowledgment must be given my helpmate. i was blessed with a wife such as falls to the lot of few men. once children were born to our union and a hearthstone established, the family became the magnet of my life. it mattered not where my occupation carried me, or how long my absence from home, the lodestar of a wife and family was a sustaining help. our first cabin, long since reduced to ashes, lives in my memory as a palace. i was absent at the time of its burning, but my wife's father always enjoyed telling the story on his daughter. the elder edwards was branding calves some five miles distant from the home ranch, but on sighting the signal smoke of the burning house, he and his outfit turned the cattle loose, mounted their horses, and rode to the rescue at a break-neck pace. when they reached the scene our home was enveloped in flames, and there was no prospect of saving any of its contents. the house stood some distance from the other ranch buildings, and as there was no danger of the fire spreading, there was nothing that could be done and the flames held undisputed sway. the cause of the fire was unknown, my wife being at her father's house at the time; but on discovering the flames, she picked up the baby and ran to the burning cabin, entered it and rescued the little tin trunk that held her girlhood trinkets and a thousand certificates of questionable land scrip. when the men dashed up, my wife was sitting on the tin trunk, surrounded by the children, all crying piteously, fully unconscious of the fact that she had saved the foundation of my present landed holdings. the cabin had cost two weeks' labor to build, its contents were worthless, but i had no record of the numbers of the certificates, and to my wife's presence of mind or intuition in an emergency all credit is given for saving the land scrip. many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. the compiling of these memoirs has been a pleasant task. in this summing-up of my active life, much has been omitted; and then again, there seems to have been a hopeless repetition with the recurring years, for seedtime and harvest come to us all as the seasons roll round. four of my boys have wandered far afield, forging out for themselves, not content to remain under the restraint of older brothers who have assumed the active management of my ranches. one bad general is still better than two good ones, and there must be a head to a ranch if it is to be made a success. i still keep an eye over things, but the rough, hard work now falls on younger shoulders, and i find myself delegated to amuse and be amused by the third generation of the anthonys. in spite of my years, i still enjoy a good saddle horse, scarcely a day passing but i ride from ten to twenty miles. there is a range maxim that "the eyes of the boss make a fat horse," and at deliveries of cattle, rounds-ups, and branding, my mere presence makes things move with alacrity. i can still give the boys pointers in handling large bodies of cattle, and the ranch outfits seem to know that we old-time cowmen have little use for the modern picturesque cowboy, unless he is an all-round man and can deliver the goods in any emergency. with but a few years of my allotted span yet to run, i find myself in the full enjoyment of all my faculties, ready for a romp with my grandchildren or to crack a joke with a friend. my younger girls are proving splendid comrades, always ready for a horseback ride or a trip to the city. it has always been a characteristic of the anthony family that they could ride a horse before they could walk, and i find the third generation following in the footsteps of their elders. my grandsons were all expert with a rope before they could read, and it is one of the evidences of a merciful providence that their lives have been spared, as it is nearly impossible to keep them out of mischief and danger. to forbid one to ride a certain dangerous horse only serves to heighten his anxiety to master the outlaw, and to banish him from the branding pens means a prompt return with or without an excuse. on one occasion, on the double mountain ranch, with the corrals full of heavy cattle, i started down to the pens, but met two of my grandsons coming up the hill, and noticed at a glance that there had been trouble. i stopped the boys and inquired the cause of their tears, when the youngest, a barefooted, chubby little fellow, said to me between his sobs, "grandpa, you'd--you'd--you'd better keep away from those corrals. pa's as mad as a hornet, and--and--and he quirted us--yes, he did. if you fool around down there, he'll--he'll--he'll just about wear you out." should this transcript of my life ever reach the dignity of publication, the casual reader, in giving me any credit for success, should bear in mind the opportunities of my time. my lot was cast with the palmy days of the golden west, with its indefinable charm, now past and gone and never to return. in voicing this regret, i desire to add that my mistakes are now looked back to as the chastening rod, leading me to an appreciation of higher ideals, and the final testimony that life is well worth the living. (http://www.freeliterature.org) the border rifles. a tale of the texan war by gustave aimard, author of "trapper's daughter," "indian scout," etc. london: ward and lock, , fleet street. mdccclxi. preface in the series commencing with the present volume gustave aimard has entirely changed the character of his stories. he has selected a magnificent episode of american history, the liberation of texas from the intolerable yoke of the mexicans, and describes scenes _quorum pars magna fuit_. at the present moment, when all are watching with bated breath the results of the internecine war commencing between north and south, i believe that the volumes our author devotes to this subject will be read with special interest, for they impart much valuable information about the character of the combatants who will, to a great extent, form the nucleus of the confederated army. the north looks down on them with contempt, and calls them "border ruffians;" but when the moment arrives, i entertain no doubt but that they will command respect by the brilliancy of their deeds. surprising though the events may be which are narrated in the present volume, they are surpassed by those that continue the series. the next volume, shortly to appear under the title of "the freebooters," describes the progress of the insurrection till it attained the proportions of a revolution, while the third and last volume will be devoted to the establishment of order in that magnificent state of texas, which has cast in its lot with the secessionists, and will indubitably hold out to the very last, confident in the prowess of its sons, whose fathers aimard has so admirably depicted in the present and the succeeding volumes of the new series. l.w. contents. i. the runaway xvi. a political sketch ii. quoniam xvii. the panther-killer iii. black and white xviii. lanzi iv. the manada xix. the chase v. black-deer xx. the confession vi. the claim xxi. the jaguar vii. monkey-face xxii. blue-fox viii. the declaration of war xxiii. the white scalper ix. the snake pawnees xxiv. after the fight x. the battle xxv. an explanation xi. the venta del potrero xxvi. the express xii. love and jealousy xxvii. the guide xiii. carmela xxviii. john davis xiv. the conducta de plata xxix. the bargain xv. the halt xxx. the ambuscade chapter i. the runaway. the immense virgin forests which once covered the soil of north america are more and more disappearing before the busy axes of the squatters and pioneers, whose insatiable activity removes the desert frontier further and further to the west. flourishing towns, well tilled and carefully-sown fields, now occupy regions where, scarce ten years ago, rose impenetrable forests, whose dense foliage hardly allowed the sunbeams to penetrate, and whose unexplored depths sheltered animals of every description, and served as a retreat for hordes of nomadic indians, who, in their martial ardour, frequently caused these majestic domes of verdure to re-echo with their war-yell. now that the forests have fallen, their gloomy denizens, gradually repulsed by the civilization that incessantly pursues them, have fled step by step before it, and have sought far away other and safer retreats, to which they have borne the bones of their fathers with them, lest they might be dug up and desecrated by the inexorable ploughshare of the white men, as it traces its long and productive furrow over their old hunting-grounds. is this constant disafforesting and clearing of the american continent a misfortune? certainly not: on the contrary, the progress which marches with a giant's step, and tends, before a century, to transform the soil of the new world, possesses all our sympathy; still we cannot refrain from a feeling of pained commiseration for that unfortunate race which is brutally placed beyond the pale of the law, and pitilessly tracked in all directions; which is daily diminishing, and is fatally condemned soon to disappear from that earth whose immense territory it covered less than four centuries ago with innumerable tribes. perhaps if the people chosen by god to effect the changes to which we allude had understood their mission, they might have converted a work of blood and carnage into one of peace and paternity, and arming themselves with the divine precepts of the gospel, instead of seizing rifles, torches, and scalping-knives, they might, in a given time, have produced a fusion of the white and red races, and have attained a result more profitable to progress, civilization, and before all, to that great fraternity of nations which no one is permitted to despise, and for which those who forget its divine and sacred precepts will have a terrible account some day to render. men cannot become with impunity the murderers of an entire race, and constantly wade in blood; for that blood must at some time cry for vengeance, and the day of justice break, when the sword will be cast in the balance between conquerors and conquered. at the period when our narrative commences, that is to say, about the close of , the emigration had not yet assumed that immense extension which it was soon to acquire, for it was only beginning, as it were, and the immense forests that stretched out and covered an enormous space between the borders of the united states and mexico, were only traversed by the furtive footsteps of traders and wood-rangers, or by the silent moccasins of the redskins. it is in the centre of one of the immense forests to which we have alluded that our story begins, at about three in the afternoon of october th, . the heat had been stifling under the covert, but at this moment the sunbeams growing more and more oblique, lengthened the tall shadows of the trees, and the evening breeze that was beginning to rise refreshed the atmosphere, and carried far away the clouds of mosquitoes which during the whole mid-day had buzzed over the marshes in the clearings. we find ourselves on the bank of an unknown affluent of the arkansas; the slightly inclined trees on either side the stream formed a thick canopy of verdure over the waters, which were scarce rippled by the inconstant breath of the breeze; here and there pink flamingos and white herons, perched on their tall legs, were fishing for their dinner, with that careless ease which generally characterizes the race of great aquatic birds; but suddenly they stopped, stretched out their necks as if listening to some unusual sound, then ran hurriedly along to catch the wind, and flew away with cries of alarm. all at once the sound of a musket-shot was re-echoed through the forest, and two flamingos fell. at the same instant a light canoe doubled a little cape formed by some mangrove-trees jutting out into the bed of the stream, and darted in pursuit of the flamingos which had fallen in the water. one of them had been killed on the spot, and was drifting with the current; but the other, apparently but slightly wounded, was flying with extreme rapidity, and swimming vigorously. the boat was an indian canoe, made of birch bark removed from the tree by the aid of hot water, and there was only one man in it; his rifle lying in the bows and still smoking, shewed that it was he who had just fired. we will draw the portrait of this person, who is destined to play an important part in our narrative. as far as could be judged from his position in the canoe, he was a man of great height; his small head was attached by a powerful neck to shoulders of more than ordinary breadth; muscles, hard as cords, stood out on his arms at each of his movements; in a word, the whole appearance of this individual denoted a vigour beyond the average. his face, illumined by large blue eyes, sparkling with sense, had an expression of frankness and honesty which pleased at the first glance, and completed the _ensemble_ of his regular features, and wide mouth, round which an unceasing smile of good humour played. he might be twenty-three, or twenty-four at the most, although his complexion, bronzed by the inclemency of the weather, and the dense light brown beard that covered the lower part of his face, made him appear older. this man was dressed in the garb of a wood-ranger: a beaver-skin cap, whose tail fell down between his shoulders, hardly restrained the thick curls of his golden hair, which hung in disorder down his back; a hunting shirt of blue calico, fastened round his hips by a deerskin belt, fell a little below his muscular knees; _mitasses_, or a species of tight drawers, covered his legs, and his feet were protected against brambles and the stings of reptiles by indian moccasins. his game-bag, of tanned leather, hung over his shoulder, and, like all the bold pioneers of the virgin forest, his weapons consisted of a good kentucky rifle, a straight-bladed knife, ten inches long and two wide, and a tomahawk that glistened like a mirror. these weapons, of course with the exception of the rifle, were passed through his belt, which also supported two buffalo horns filled with powder and bullets. the appearance of the man thus equipped, and standing in the canoe amid the imposing scenery that surrounded him, had something grand about it which created an involuntary respect. the wood-ranger, properly so termed, is one of those numerous types of the new world which must soon entirely disappear before the incessant progress of civilization. the wood-rangers, those bold explorers of the deserts, in which their whole existence was spent, were men who, impelled by a spirit of independence and an unbridled desire for liberty, shook off all the trammels of society, and who, with no other object than that of living and dying unrestrained by any other will save their own, and in no way impelled by the hope of any sort of lucre, which they despised, abandoned the towns, and boldly buried themselves in the virgin forests, where they lived from day to day indifferent about the present, careless as to the future, convinced that god would not desert them in the hour of need, and thus placed themselves outside of that common law they misunderstood, on the extreme limit that separates barbarism from civilization. most of the celebrated wood-rangers were french canadians; in truth, there is in the norman character something daring and adventurous, which is well adapted to this mode of life, so full as it is of strange interludes and delicious sensations, whose intoxicating charms only those who have led it can understand. the canadians have never admitted in principle the change of nationality which the english tried to impose on them; they still regard themselves as frenchmen, and their eyes are constantly fixed on that ungrateful mother-country which has abandoned them with such cruel indifference. even at the present day, after so many years, the canadians have still remained french; their fusion with the anglo-saxon race is only apparent, and the slightest pretext would suffice to produce a definitive rupture between them and the english. the british government is well, aware of this fact, and hence displays toward the canadian colonies a marked kindliness and deference. at the earlier period of the conquest this repulsion (not to call it hatred) was so prominent between the two races, that the canadians emigrated in a mass, sooner than endure the humiliating yoke which was attempted to be placed on them. those of them who, too poor to leave their country definitively, were compelled to remain in a country henceforth sullied by a foreign occupation, chose the rude trade of wood-rangers, and preferred such an existence of misery and danger to the disgrace of enduring the laws of a detested conqueror. shaking the dust over their shoes on the paternal roof, they threw their rifles over their shoulders, and stifling a sigh of regret, went away not to return, burying themselves in the impenetrable forests of canada, and laying unconsciously the foundation of that generation of intrepid pioneers, to one of the finest specimens of whom we introduced the reader at the beginning of this chapter. the hunter went on paddling vigorously; he soon reached the first flamingo, which he threw into the bottom of his canoe. but the second gave him more trouble. it was for a while a struggle of speed between the wounded bird and the hunter: still the former gradually lost its strength; its movements became uncertain, and it beat the water convulsively. a blow from the canadian's paddle at length put an end to its agony, and it joined its mate in the bottom of the canoe. so soon as he had secured his game, the hunter shipped his paddles, and prepared to reload his rifle, with the care which all devote to the operation who know that their life depends on a charge of powder. when his gun was in order again, the canadian took an inquiring glance around. "why," he presently said, talking to himself, a habit which men who live in solitude very frequently acquire, "hang me! if i have not reached the meeting-place without suspecting it. i cannot be mistaken: over there are the two oaks fallen across each other, and that rock, which stands out over the water. but what's that?" he exclaimed, as he stooped, and cocked his rifle. the furious barking of several dogs became suddenly audible in the centre of the forest; the bushes were parted eagerly, and a negro appeared on the top of the rock, at which the canadian was at this moment looking. this man, on reaching the extremity of the rock, stopped for an instant, and seemed to listen attentively, while displaying signs of the most extreme agitation. but this halt was short, for he had hardly rested there for a few seconds, ere, raising his eyes to heaven in despair, he leaped into the river, and swam vigorously to the opposite bank. the sound of the negro's fall into the water had hardly died away, when several dogs dashed on to the platform, and began a concert of horrible barking. these dogs were powerful animals; their tongues were pendant, their eyes infested with blood, and their hair standing on end, as if they had come a long distance. the hunter shook his head several times while giving a glance of pity at the hapless negro, who was swimming with that energy of despair which doubles the strength--and seizing his paddles, he turned the canoe toward him, with the evident intention of rendering him assistance. at this moment a hoarse voice was heard on the river-bank. "hilloh, there! silence, you demons incarnate! silence, i tell you!" the dogs gave vent to a few whines of pain, and were suddenly silent. the individual who had reproved the animals then said, in a louder key-- "hilloh, you fellow in the canoe there!--hilloh!" the canadian had just pulled to the opposite bank; he ran his canoe on the sand, and then carelessly turned to the person who addressed him. this was a man of middle height, muscular, and dressed like the majority of rich farmers. his face was brutal, crafty, and four persons, apparently servants, stood by his side; it is needless to say that all were armed with guns. the stream at this spot was rather wide, being about fifty yards, which, temporarily, at any rate, established a respectable barrier between the negro and his pursuers. the canadian leaned against a tree. "are you by chance speaking to me?" he asked, in a somewhat contemptuous tone. "who else do you suppose?" the first speaker continued, angrily: "so try and answer my questions!" "and why should i answer them? will you be good enough to tell me?" the canadian continued, with a laugh. "because i order you to do so, you scoundrel!" the other said, brutally. the hunter shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "good-bye," he said, and made a movement as if to retire. "stop where you are!" the american shouted, "or so truly as my name is john davis i will put a bullet through your skull!" while uttering the threat he levelled his gun. "ah! ah!" the canadian went on, with a laugh, "then you're john davis, the famous slave-dealer?" "yes, i am," the other said, harshly. "pardon me; but i had hitherto only known you by reputation. by jove! i am delighted to have seen you." "well, and now that you know me, are you disposed to answer my questions?" "i must know their nature first, so you had better ask them." "what has become of my slave?" "do you mean the man who leaped off the platform just before you reached it?" "yes. where is he?" "here, by my side." in fact, the negro, his strength and courage quite exhausted from the desperate efforts he had made during the obstinate pursuit of which he had been the object, had dragged himself to the spot where the canadian stood, and now lay in a half fainting condition at his feet. on hearing the hunter reveal his presence so clearly, he clasped his hands with an effort, and raised toward him a face bathed in tears. "oh! master, master!" he cried, with an expression of agony impossible to render, "save me! save me!" "ah, ah!" john davis shouted, with a grin, "i fancy we can come to an understanding, my fine fellow, and that you will not be sorry to gain the reward." "in truth i should not be sorry to hear the price set on human flesh in what is called your free country. is the reward large?" "twenty dollars for a runaway nigger." "pooh!" the canadian said, thrusting out his lower lip in disgust, "that is a trifle!" "do you think so?" "indeed i do." "still, i only ask you to do a very simple matter in order to earn them." "what is it?" "tie that nigger, put him in your canoe, and bring him to me." "very good. it is not difficult, i allow; and when he is in your power, supposing i do what you wish, what do you intend doing with him?" "that is not your business." "granted: hence i only asked you for information." "come! make up your mind; i have no time to waste in chattering. what is your decision?" "this is what i have to say to you, mr. john davis, who hunt men with dogs less ferocious than yourself, which in obeying you only yield to their instincts--you are a villain! and if you only reckon on my help in regaining your negro, you may consider him lost." "ah, that is it!" the american shouted, as he gnashed his teeth furiously, and turned to his servants; "fire at him! fire! fire!" and joining example to precept, he quickly shouldered his gun and fired. his servants imitated him, and four shots were confounded in a single explosion, which the echoes of the forest mournfully repeated. chapter ii. quoniam. the canadian did not lose one of his adversaries' movements while he was speaking with them; hence, when the shots ordered by john davis were fired, they proved ineffectual; he had rapidly hidden himself behind a tree, and the bullets whistled harmlessly past his ears. the slave-dealer was furious at being thus foiled by the hunter; he gave him the most fearful threats, blasphemed, and stamped his foot in rage. but threats and imprecations availed but little; unless they swam the river, which was impracticable, in the face of a man so resolute as the hunter seemed to be, there were no means of taking any vengeance on him, or recapturing the slave he had so deliberately taken under his protection. while the american racked his brains in vain to find an expedient that would enable him to gain the advantage, a bullet dashed the rifle he held in his hand to pieces. "accursed dog!" he yelled in his fury, "do you wish to assassinate me?" "i should have a right to do so," the canadian replied, "for i am only defending myself fairly, after your attempt to kill me; but i prefer dealing amicably with you, although i feel convinced i should be doing a great service to humanity by lodging a couple of slugs in your brain." and a second bullet at this moment smashed the rifle one of the servants was reloading. "come, enough of this," the american shouted, greatly exasperated; "what do you want?" "i told you--treat amicably with you." "but on what conditions? tell me them at least." "in a moment." the rifle of the second servant was broken like that of the first: of the five men, three were now disarmed. "curses," the slave-dealer howled; "have you resolved to make a target of us in turn?" "no, i only wish to equalise chances." "but--" "it is done now." the fourth rifle was broken. "and now," the canadian said, as he showed himself "suppose we have a talk." and, leaving his shelter, he walked to the river bank. "yes, talk, demon," the american shouted. with a movement swift as thought, he seized the last rifle, and shouldered it; but, ere he could pull the trigger, he rolled on the platform, uttering a cry of pain. the hunter's bullet had broken his arm. "wait for me, i am coming," the canadian continued with perfect calmness. he reloaded his rifle, leaped into the canoe, and with a few strokes of his paddle, found himself on the other side of the river. "there," he said as he landed and walked up to the american, who was writhing like a serpent on the platform, howling and blaspheming; "i warned you: i only wished to equalise the chances, and you have no right to complain of what has happened to you, my dear sir: the fault rests entirely with yourself." "seize him! kill him!" the wretch shouted, a prey to indescribable fury. "come, come, calm yourself. good gracious, you have only a broken arm, after all; remember, i could have easily killed you, had i pleased. hang it, you are not reasonable." "oh! i will kill him," he yelled, as he gnashed his teeth. "i hardly think so, at least not for the present; i will say nothing about by and by. but let that be: i will examine your wound, and dress it while we talk." "do not touch me! do not come near me, or i know not to what extremities i may proceed." the canadian shrugged his shoulders. "you must be mad," he said. incapable of enduring longer the state of exasperation in which he was, the dealer, who was also weakened by the loss of blood, made a vain effort to rise and rush on his foe; bat he fell back and fainted while muttering a final curse. the servants stood startled, as much by the unparalleled skill of this strange man, as by the boldness with which, after disarming them all in turn, he had crossed the river, in order, as it were, to deliver himself into their hands; for, if they had no longer their rifles, their knives and pistols were left them. "come, gentlemen," the canadian said with a frown, "have the goodness to shake out the priming of your pistols, or, by heaven! we shall have a row." the servants did not at all desire to begin a fight with him; moreover, the sympathy they felt for their master was not great, while, on the other hand, the canadian, owing to the expeditious way in which he had acted, inspired them with a superstitious fear: hence they obeyed his orders with a species of eagerness, and even wished to hand him their knives. "it is not necessary," he said; "now, let us see about dressing this worthy gentleman's wound: it would be a pity to deprive society of so estimable a person, who is one of its brightest ornaments." he set to work at once, aided by the servants, who executed his orders with extraordinary rapidity and zeal, for they felt so thoroughly mastered by him. compelled by the mode of life they pass to do without any strange assistance, the wood-rangers all possess, to a certain extent, elementary notions of medicine, and especially of surgery, and can, in case of need, treat a fracture or wound of any nature as well as a professional man; and that, too, by simple means usually employed with the greatest success by the indians. the hunter proved by the skill and dexterity which he dressed the slave-dealer's wound, that, if he knew how to inflict wounds, he was equally clever in curing them. the servants regarded with heightening admiration this extraordinary man, who seemed suddenly metamorphosed, and proceeded with a certainty of glance and lightness of hand which many a surgeon might have envied him. during the bandaging, the wounded man returned to consciousness, and opened his eyes, but remained silent; his fury had been calmed, and his brutal nature subdued by the energetic resistance the canadian opposed to him. the first and piercing pain of the wound had been succeeded, as always happens when the bandaging is properly done, by an extraordinary feeling of relief: hence, recognising, in spite of himself, the comfort he had experienced, he had felt his hatred melting away in a feeling for which he could not yet account, but which now made him regard his enemy almost with a friendly air. to render john davis the justice due to him, we will say that he was neither better nor worse than any of his fellows who trafficked in human flesh. accustomed to the sufferings of slaves, who to him were nothing but beings deprived of reason, or merchandize in a word, his heart had gradually grown callous to softer emotions: he only saw in a negro the money he had expended, and what he expected to gain by him, and like a true tradesman, he was very fond of money: a runaway negro seemed to him a wretched thing, against whom any means were permissible in order to prevent a loss. still, this man was not insensible to every good feeling; apart from his trade, he even enjoyed a certain reputation for kindness, and passed for a gentleman. "there, that is all right," the canadian said, as he gave a satisfied glance at the bandages; "in three weeks there will be nothing to be seen, if you take care of yourself; for, through a remarkable piece of good luck, the bone has not been touched, and the ball has only passed through the fleshy part of the arm. now, my good friend, if you like to talk, i am ready." "i have nothing to say, except to ask you to return the scoundrel who is the cause of the whole mishap." "hum! if we go on in that way, i am afraid we shall not come to an understanding. you know perfectly that the whole quarrel arose about the surrender of the scoundrel, as you term him." "still, i cannot lose my money." "what money do you mean?" "well, my slave, if you prefer it; he represents a sum i do not at all care to lose; the less so, because things have been going very queerly with me lately, and i have suffered some heavy losses." "that is annoying, and i pity you sincerely; still, i should like to settle the affair amicably as i began," the canadian continued. the american made a grimace. "it is a deuced amicable way you have of settling matters," he said. "it is your fault, my friend; if we did not come to an immediate arrangement, it was because you were a little too quick, as you will allow." "well, we will not say any more about that, for what's done cannot be undone." "you are right, so let us return to business. unluckily, i am poor; were not so, i would give you a few hundred dollars, and all would be settled." the dealer scratched his head. "listen," he said. "i do not know why, but, in spite of all that has passed between us, perhaps in consequence of it, i should not like for us to separate on bad terms; the more so, because, to tell you the truth, i care very little for quoniam." "who's quoniam?" "the nigger." "oh, very good, that's a funny name you have given him; however, no matter, you say you care very little for him?" "indeed i do." "then why did you begin the obstinate hunt with dogs and guns?" "through pride." "oh!" the canadian said, with a start of dissatisfaction. "listen to me, i am a slave dealer." "a very ugly trade, by the way," the hunter observed. "perhaps so, but i shall not discuss that point. "about a month ago, a large sale was announced at baton rouge, of slaves of both sexes, belonging to a rich gentleman who had died suddenly, and i proceeded there. among the slaves exposed for sale was quoniam. the rascal is young, active, and vigorous; he has a bold and intelligent look; so he naturally pleased me at the first glance, and i felt desirous to buy him. i went up and questioned him; and the scamp answered me word for word as follows, which put me out of countenance for a moment, i confess. "'master, i do not advise you to buy me, for i have sworn to be free or die; whatever you may do to prevent me, i warn you that i shall escape. now you can do as you please.' "this clear and peremptory declaration piqued me, 'we shall see,' i said to him, and then went to find the auctioneer. the latter, who was a friend of mine, dissuaded me from buying quoniam, giving me reasons, each better than the other, against doing so. but my mind was made up, and i stuck to it. quoniam was knocked down to me for ninety dollars, an absurd price for a negro of his age, and built as he is; but no one would have him at any price. i put irons on him, and took him away, not to my house, but to the prison, so that i might feel sure he would not escape. the next day, when i returned to the prison, quoniam was gone; he had kept his word. "at the end of two days he was caught again; the same evening he was off once more, and it was impossible for me to discover how he had foiled the plans i had formed to restrain him. this has been going on for a month; a week ago he escaped again, and since then i have been in search of him; despairing of being able to keep him, i got into a passion, and started after him, this time with my blood-hounds, resolved to finish, once for all, with this accursed negro, who constantly slips through my fingers like a lizard." "that is to say," the canadian remarked, who had listened with interest to the dealer's story, "you would not have hesitated to kill him." "that i should, for the confounded scamp is so crafty; he has so constantly taken me in, that i have grown to hate him." "listen in your turn, mr. john davis; i am not rich, but a long way from it. what do i need gold or silver, as a man of the desert to whom heaven supplies daily food so liberally? this quoniam, who is so eager for liberty and the open air, inspires me with a lively interest, and i wish to try and give him that freedom to which he so persistently aspires. this is what i propose; i have in my canoe three jaguar skins and twelve beaver skins, which, if sold at any town of the union, will be worth from one hundred and fifty to two hundred dollars; take them, and let all be finished." the dealer looked at him with a surprise mingled with a certain degree of kindliness. "you are wrong," he said, presently; "the bargain you offer is too advantageous for me, and too little so for you. that is not the way to do business." "how does that concern you? i have got it in my head that this man shall be free." "you do not know the ungrateful nature of niggers," the other persisted; "this one will be in no way grateful to you for what you do for him; on the contrary, on the first opportunity he will probably give you cause to repent your good action." "that is possible, but it is his business, for i do not ask gratitude of him; if he shows it, all the better for him; if not, the lord's will be done! i act in accordance with my heart, and my reward is in my conscience." "by the lord, you are a fine fellow, i tell you," the dealer exclaimed, incapable of restraining himself longer. "it would be all the better if a fellow could meet with more of your sort. well, i intend to prove to you that i am not so bad as you have a right to suppose, after what has passed between us. i will sign the assignment of quoniam to you, and i will only accept in return one tiger skin in remembrance of our meeting, although," he added, with a grimace, as he pointed to his arm, "you have already given me another." "done," the canadian exclaimed, eagerly; "but you must take two skins instead of one, as i intend to ask of you a rifle, an axe, and a knife, so that the poor devil we now set at liberty (for you are now halves in my good deed) may provide for his support." "be it so," the dealer said, good humouredly; "as the scoundrel insists on being at liberty, let him be, and he can go to the deuce." at a sign from his master, one of the servants produced from his game bag ink, pens, and paper, and drew up on the spot, not a deed of sale, but a regular ticket of freedom, to which the dealer put his signature, and which the servants afterwards witnessed. "on my word," john davis exclaimed, "it is possible that from a business point of view i have done a foolish thing, but, you may believe me or not, as you like, i never yet felt so satisfied with myself." "that is," the canadian answered, seriously, "because you have to-day followed the impulses of your heart." the canadian then quitted the platform to go and fetch the skins. a moment after, he returned with two magnificent jaguar hides, perfectly intact, which he handed to the dealer. the latter, as was arranged, then delivered the weapons to him; but a scruple suddenly assailed the hunter. "one moment," he said; "if you give me these weapons, how will you manage to return to town?" "that need not trouble you," john davis replied; "i left my horse and people scarce three leagues from here. besides, we have our pistols, which we could use if necessary." "that is true," the canadian remarked, "you have therefore nothing to fear; still, as your wound will not allow you to go so far a-foot, i will help your servants to prepare you a litter." and with that skill, of which he had already supplied so many proofs, the canadian manufactured, with branches of trees he cut down with his hatchet, a litter, on which the two tiger skins were laid. "and now," he said, "good bye; perhaps we shall never meet again. we part, i trust, on better terms than we came together: remember, there is no trade, however shameful, which an honest man cannot carry on honourably; when your heart inspires you to do a good action, do not be deaf to it, but do it without regret, for god will have spoken to you." "thanks," the dealer said, with considerable emotion, "but grant me one word before we part." "say on." "tell me your name, so that if any day accident brought us together again, i might appeal to your recollections, as you could to mine." "that is true, my name is tranquil; the wood-rangers, my companions, have surnamed me the panther killer." and, ere the slave dealer had recovered from the astonishment caused by this sudden revelation of the name of a man whose renown was universal on the border, the hunter, after giving him a parting wave of the hand, bounded from the platform, unfastened his canoe, and paddled vigorously to the other bank. "tranquil, the panther-killer," john davis muttered when he was alone; "it was truly my good genius which inspired me to make a friend of that man." he lay down on the litter which two of his men raised, and after giving a parting glance at the canadian, who at this moment was landing on the opposite bank, he said:-- "forward!" the platform was soon deserted again, the dealer and his men had disappeared under the covert, and nothing was audible but the gradually departing growls of the bloodhounds, as they ran on ahead of the little party. chapter iii. black and white. in the meanwhile, as we have said, the canadian hunter, whose name we at length know, had reached the bank of the river where he left the negro concealed in the shrubs. during the long absence of his defender, the slave could easily have fled, and that with the more reason, because he had almost the certainty of not being pursued before a lapse of time, which would have given him a considerable start on those who were so obstinately bent on capturing him. he had not done so, however, either because the idea of flight did not appear to him realizable, or because he was too wearied, he had not stirred from the spot where he sought a refuge at the first moment, and had remained with his eyes obstinately fixed on the platform, following with anxious glance the movements of the persons collected on it. john davis had not at all flattered him in the portrait he had drawn of him to the hunter. quoniam was really one of the most magnificent specimens of the african race: twenty-two years of age at the most, he was tall, well-proportioned and powerfully built; he had wide shoulders, powerfully developed chest, and well-hung limbs; it was plain that he combined unequalled strength with far from ordinary speed and lightness; his features were fine and expressive, his countenance breathed frankness, his widely opened eyes were intelligent--in short, although his skin was of the deepest black, and unfortunately, in america, the land of liberty, that colour is an indelible stigma of servitude, this man did not seem at all to have been created for slavery, for everything about him aspired to liberty and that free-will which god has given to his creatures, and men have tried in vain to tear from them. when the canadian re-entered the canoe, and the american quitted the platform, a sigh of satisfaction expanded the negro's chest, for, without knowing positively what had passed between the hunter and his old master, as he was too far off to hear what was said, he understood that, temporarily at least, he had nothing to fear from the latter, and he awaited with feverish impatience the return of his generous defender, that he might learn from him what he had henceforth to hope or fear. so soon as he reached land, the canadian pulled his canoe on to the sand, and walked with a firm and deliberate step toward the spot where he expected to find the negro. he soon noticed him in a sitting posture, almost at the same spot where he had left him. the hunter could not repress a smile of satisfaction. "ah, ah," he said to him, "there you are, then, friend quoniam." "yes, master. did john davis tell you my name?" "as you see; but what are you doing there? why did you not escape during my absence?" "quoniam is no coward," he replied, "to escape while another is risking his life for him. i was waiting ready to surrender myself if the white hunter's life had been threatened."[ ] this was said with a simplicity full of grandeur, proving that such was really the negro's intention. "good!" the hunter replied, kindly, "i thank you, for your intention was good; fortunately, your interference was unneeded; but, at any rate, you acted more wisely by remaining here." "whatever may happen to me, master, be assured that i shall feel ever grateful to you." "all the better for you, quoniam, for that will prove to me that you are not ungrateful, which is one of the worst vices humanity is afflicted by; but be good enough not to call me master again, for it grieves me; the word implies a degrading inferiority, and besides, i am not your master, but merely your companion." "what other name can a poor slave give you?" "my own, hang it. call me tranquil, as i call you quoniam. tranquil is not a difficult name to remember, i should think." "oh, not at all," the negro said with a laugh. [footnote : nothing appears to us so ridiculous as that conventional jargon which is placed in the mouth of negroes; a jargon which, in the first place, impedes the story, and is moreover false; a double reason which urges us not to employ it here--all the worse for the local colouring.--g.a.] "good! that is settled, then; now, let us go to something else, and, in the first place, take this." the hunter drew a paper from his belt, which he handed to the black. "what is this?" the latter asked with a timid glance, for his ignorance prevented him deciphering it. "that?" the hunter said with a smile; "it is a precious talisman, which makes of you a man like all the rest of us, and removes you from the animals among which you have been counted up to this day; in a word, it is a deed by which john davis, native of south carolina, slave dealer, from this day restores to quoniam his full and entire liberty, to enjoy it as he thinks proper--or, if you prefer it, it is your deed of liberation written by your former master, and signed by competent witnesses, who will stand by you if necessary." on hearing these words the negro turned pale after the fashion of men of his colour; that is to say, his face assumed a tinge of dirty gray, his eyes were unnaturally dilated, and for a few seconds he remained motionless, crushed, incapable of uttering a word or making a movement. at length he burst into a loud laugh, leaped up twice or thrice with the suppleness of a wild beast, and then broke suddenly into tears. the hunter attentively watched the negro's movement, feeling interested to the highest degree in what he saw, and evidencing each moment a greater sympathy with this man. "then," the black at length said, "i am free--truly free?" "as free as a man can be," tranquil replied, with a smile. "now i can come, go, sleep, work, or rest, and no one can prevent me, and i need not fear the lash?" "quite so." "i belong to myself, myself alone? i can act and think like other men? i am no longer a beast of burthen, which is loaded and harnessed? i am as good as any other man, white, yellow, or red?" "quite so," the hunter answered, amused and interested at the same time by these simple questions. "oh!" the negro said, as he took his head in his hands, "i am free then--free at last!" he uttered these words with a strange accent, which made the hunter quiver. all at once he fell on his knees, clasped his hands, and raised his eyes to heaven. "my god!" he exclaimed, with an accent of ineffable happiness. "thou who canst do all, thou to whom all men are equal, and who dost not regard their colour to protect and defend them. thou, whose goodness is unbounded like thy power; thanks! thanks! my god, for having drawn me from slavery, and restored my liberty!" after giving vent to this prayer, which was the expression of the feelings that boiled in his heart, the negro fell on the ground, and for some minutes remained plunged in earnest thought. the hunter respected his silence. at length the negro raised his head again. "listen, hunter," he said. "i have returned thanks to god for my deliverance, as was my duty; for it was he who inspired you with the thought of defending me. now that i am beginning to grow a little calmer, and feel accustomed to my new condition, be good enough to tell me what passed between you and my master, that i may know the extent of the debt i owe you, and that i may regulate my future conduct by it. speak, i am listening." "what need to tell you a story which can interest you so slightly? you are free, that ought to be sufficient for you." "no, that is not sufficient; i am free, that is true, but how have i become so? that is what i do not know, and i have the right to ask of you." "the story, i say again, has nothing that can interest you at all; still, as it may cause you to form a better opinion of the man to whom you belonged, i will not longer refuse to tell it to you; so listen." tranquil, after this opening, told in all their details the events that happened between himself and the slave dealer, and when he had finished, added-- "well, are you satisfied now?" "yes," the negro replied, who had listened to him with the most sustained attention. "i know that, next to god, i owe everything to you, and i will remember it; never will you have to remind me of the debt, under whatever circumstances we may meet." "you owe me nothing, now that you are free; it is your duty to employ that liberty in the way a man of upright and honest heart should do." "i will try not to prove myself unworthy of what god and you have done for me; i also thank john davis sincerely for the good feeling that urged him to listen to your remonstrances; perhaps i may be able to requite him some day; and, if the opportunity offers, i shall not neglect it." "good! i like to hear you speak so, for it proves to me that i was not mistaken about you; and now what do you intend to do?" "what advice do you give me?" "the question you ask me is a serious one, and i hardly know how to answer it; the choice of a profession is always a difficult affair, and must be reflected upon ripely before a decision is formed; in spite of my desire to be of service to you, i should not like to give you advice, which you would doubtless follow for my sake, and which might presently cause you regret. besides, i am a man whose life since the age of seven has always been spent in the woods, and i am, consequently, far too unacquainted with what is called the world to venture to lead you on a path which i do not know myself." "that reasoning seems to me perfectly correct. still, i cannot remain here, and must make up my mind to something or other." "do one thing." "what is it?" "here are a knife, gun, powder, and bullets; the desert is open before you, so go and try for a few days the free life of the great solitudes; during your long hours of hunting you will have leisure to reflect on the vocation you are desirous to embrace; you will weigh in your mind the advantages you expect to derive from it, and then, when your mind is quite made up, you can turn your back on the desert, go back to the towns, and, as you are an active, honest, and intelligent man, i am certain you will succeed in whatever calling you may choose." the negro nodded his head several times. "yes," he said, "in what you propose to me there is both good and bad; that is not exactly what i should wish." "explain yourself clearly, quoniam; i can see you have something at the end of your tongue which you do not like to say." "that is true; i have not been frank with you, tranquil, and i was wrong, as i now see clearly. instead of asking you hypocritically for advice, which i did not at all intend to follow, i ought to have told you honestly my way of thinking, and that would have been altogether better." "come," the hunter said, laughingly, "speak." "well, really i do not see why i should not tell you what i have on my heart. if there be a man in the world who takes an interest in me it is certainly you; and hence, the sooner i know what i have to depend on, the better: the only life that suits me is that of a wood-ranger. my instincts and feelings impel me to it; all my attempts at flight, when i was a slave, tended to that object. i am only a poor negro, whom his narrow mind and intelligence would not guide properly in towns, where man is not valued for what he is worth, but for what he appears. what use would that liberty, of which i am so proud, appear to me, in a town where i should have to dispose of it to the first comer, in order to procure the food and clothing i need? i should only have regained my liberty to render myself a slave. hence it is in the desert alone i can profit by the kindness i owe to you, without fear of ever being impelled by wretchedness to actions unworthy of a man conscious of his own worth. hence it is in the desert i desire henceforth to live, only visiting the towns to exchange the skins of animals i have killed for powder, bullets, and clothing. i am young and strong, and the god who has hitherto protected me will not desert me." "you are perhaps right, and i cannot blame you for wishing to follow my example, when the life i lead seems to me preferable to all others. well, now that is all settled, my good quoniam, we can part, and i wish you luck; perhaps we shall meet again, sometimes, on the indian territory." the negro began laughing, and showed two rows of teeth white as snow, but made no reply. tranquil threw his rifle on his shoulder, gave him a last friendly sign of parting, and turned to go back to his canoe. quoniam seized the rifle the hunter had left him, passed the knife through his girdle, to which he also fastened the horns of powder and bullets, and then, after a final glance to see he had forgotten nothing, he followed the hunter, who had already gained a considerable start on him. he caught tranquil up at the moment he reached his canoe, and was about to thrust it into the water; at the sound of footsteps, the hunter turned round. "halloh," he said, "is that you again, quoniam?" "yes," he answered. "what brings you here?" "why," the negro said, as he buried his fingers in his woolly hair, and scratched his head furiously, "you forgot something." "what was it?" "to take me with you." "that is true," the hunter said, as he offered him his hand; "forgive me, brother." "then you consent?" he asked, with ill-restrained joy. "yes." "we shall not part again?" "it will depend on your will." "oh, then," he exclaimed, with a joyous outburst of laughter, "we shall be together a long time." "well, be it so," the canadian went on. "come; two men, when they have faith in each other, are very strong in the desert. heaven, doubtless, willed that we should meet. henceforth we shall be brothers." quoniam leaped into the canoe, and gaily caught up the paddles. the poor slave had never been so happy; never had the air seemed to him purer, or nature more lovely--everything smiled on him, and made holiday for him, for that moment he was about to begin really living the life of other men, without any bitter afterthought; the past was no more than a dream. he had found in his defender what so many men seek in vain, throughout a lengthened existence--a friend, a brother, to whom he could trust entirely, and from whom he would have no secrets. in a few minutes they reached the spot which the canadian had noticed on his arrival; this spot, clearly indicated by the two oaks which had fallen in a cross, formed a species of small sandy promontory, favourable to the establishment of a night bivouac; for thence not only could the river be surveyed a long distance up and down, but it was also easy to watch both banks, and prevent a surprise. "we will pass the night here," tranquil said; "let us carry up the canoe, so as to shelter our fire." quoniam seized the light skiff, raised it, and placing it on his muscular shoulders, carried it to the spot his comrade had pointed out. in the meanwhile, a considerable period had elapsed since the canadian and the negro met so miraculously. the sun, which had been low when the hunter doubled the promontory and chased the herons, was now on the point of disappearing; night was falling rapidly, and the background of the landscape was beginning to be confused in the shades of night, which grew momentarily denser. the desert was awakening, the hoarse roar of the wild beasts was heard at intervals, mingled with the miawling of the carcajou, and the sharp snapping bark of the prairie wolves. the hunter chose the driest wood he could find to kindle the fire, in order that there might be no smoke, and the flame might light up the vicinity, so as to reveal at once the approach of the dangerous neighbours whose cries they could hear, and whom thirst would not fail soon to bring toward them. the roasted birds and a few handfuls of pemmican composed the rangers' supper; a very sober meal, only washed down with water from the river, but which they ate with good appetite, like men who knew how to appreciate the value of any food providence places at their disposal. when the last mouthful was swallowed, the canadian paternally shared his stock of tobacco with his new comrade, and lit his indian pipe, in which he was scrupulously imitated by quoniam. "now," said tranquil, "it is as well you should know that an old friend of mine gave me the meeting at this spot about three months ago; he will arrive at daybreak to-morrow. he is an indian chief, and, although still very young, enjoys a great reputation in his tribe. i love him as a brother, and we were, i may say, brought up together. i shall be glad to see you gain his favour, for he is a wise and experienced man, for whom desert life possesses no secrets. the friendship of an indian chief is a precious thing to a wood-ranger; remember that. however, i feel certain you will be good friends at once." "i will do all that is required for that. it is sufficient that the chief is your friend, for me to desire that he should become mine. up to the present, though i have wandered about the woods a long time as a runaway slave, i have never seen an independent indian; hence it is possible that i may commit some awkwardness without my knowledge. but be assured that it will not happen through any fault of mine." "i am convinced of it, so be easy on that head. i will warn the chief, who, i fancy, will be as surprised as yourself, for i expect you will be the first person of your colour he has ever met. but night has now quite set in; you must be fatigued by the obstinate pursuit you experienced the whole day, and the powerful emotion you endured: sleep, while i watch for both, especially as i expect we shall make a long march to-morrow, and you must be prepared for it." the negro understood the correctness of his friend's remarks, the more so as he was literally exhausted with fatigue; he had been hunted so closely by his ex-master's blood-hounds, that for four days he had not closed his eyes. hence, laying aside any false shame, he stretched out his feet to the fire, and slept almost immediately. tranquil remained seated on the canoe with his rifle between his legs, to be prepared for the slightest alarm, and plunged into deep thought, while attentively watching the neighbourhood, and pricking his ear at the slightest noise. chapter iv. the manada. the night was splendid, the dark blue sky was studded with millions of stars which shed a gentle and mysterious light. the silence of the desert was traversed by thousands of melodious and animated whispers; gleams, flashing through the shadows, ran over the grass like will-o'-the-wisps. on the opposite bank of the river the old moss-clad oaks stood out like phantoms, and waved in the breeze their long branches covered with lichens and lianas; vague sounds ran through the air, nameless cries emerged from the forest lairs, the gentle sighing of the wind in the foliage was heard, and the murmur of the water on the pebbles, and last that inexplicable and unexplained sound of buzzing life which comes from god, and which the majestic solitude of the american savannahs renders more imposing. the hunter yielded involuntarily to all the puissant influences of the primitive nature that surrounded him. he felt strengthened and cheered by it; his being was identified with the sublime scene he surveyed; a gentle and pensive melancholy fell upon him; so far from men and their stunted civilization, he felt himself nearer to god, and his simple faith was heightened by the admiration aroused in him by these secrets of nature, which were partly unveiled in his presence. the soul is expanded, thought enlarged, by contact with this nomadic life, in which each minute that passes produces new and unexpected incidents; where at each step man sees the finger of god imprinted in an indelible manner on the abrupt and grand scenery that surrounds him. hence this existence of danger and privation possesses, for those who have once essayed it, a nameless charm and intoxication, incomprehensible joys, which cause it ever to be regretted; for it is only in the desert man feels that he lives, takes the measure of his strength, and the secret of his power is revealed to him. the hours passed thus rapidly with the hunter, though slumber did not once close his eyelids. already the cold morning breeze was curling the tops of the trees, and rippling the surface of the stream, whose silvery waters reflected the shadows of its irregular banks; on the horizon broad pink stripes revealed the speedy dawn of day. the owl, hidden beneath the foliage, had twice saluted the return of light, with its melancholy toowhit--it was about three o'clock in the morning. tranquil left the rustic seat on which he had hitherto remained, shook off the stiffening feeling which had seized on him, and walked a few paces up and down the sand to restore the circulation in his limbs. when a man, we will not say awakes--for the worthy canadian had not closed his eyes once during the whole of this long watch--but shakes off the torpor into which the silence, darkness, and, above all, the piercing cold of night have plunged him, he requires a few minutes to regain possession of his faculties, and restore perfect lucidity of mind. this was what happened to the hunter; still, long habituated as he had been to desert life, the time was shorter to him than to another, and he was soon as acute and watchful as he had been on the previous evening; he therefore prepared to arouse his comrade, who was still enjoying that good and refreshing sleep which is only shared here below by children and men whose conscience is void of any evil thought--when he suddenly stopped, and began listening anxiously. from the remote depths of the forest, which formed a thick curtain behind his camping-place, the canadian had heard an inexplicable rumour rise, which increased with every moment, and soon assumed the proportions of hoarsely-rolling thunder. this noise approached nearer; it seemed like sharp and hurried stamping of hoofs, rustling of trees and branches, hoarse bellowing, which had nothing human about it; in short, it was a frightful, inexplicable sound, momentarily growing louder and louder, and yet more confused. quoniam, startled by the strange noise, was standing, rifle in hand, with his eye fixed on the hunter, ready to act at the first sign, though unable to account for what was occurring, a prey to that instinctive terror which assails the bravest man when he feels himself menaced by a terrible and unknown danger. several minutes passed thus. "what is to be done?" tranquil murmured, hesitatingly, as he tried in vain to explore the depths of the forest, and account for what was occurring. all at once a shrill whistle was audible a short distance off. "ah," tranquil exclaimed, with a start of joy as he threw up his head, "now i shall know what i have to depend on." and, placing his fingers in his mouth, he imitated the cry of the heron; at the same moment a man bounded from the forest, and with two tiger-like leaps was by the hunter's side. "wah!" he exclaimed, "what is my brother doing here?" it was black-deer, the indian chief. "i am awaiting you, chief," the canadian answered. the redskin was a man of twenty-six to twenty-seven years of age, of middle height, but admirably proportioned. he wore the great war-garb of his nation, and was painted and armed as if on the war-trail; his face was handsome, his features intelligent, and his whole countenance indicated bravery and kindness. at this moment he seemed suffering from an agitation, the more extraordinary because the redskins make it a point of honour never to appear affected by any event, however terrible in its nature; his eyes flashed fire, his words were quick and harsh, and his voice had a metallic accent. "quick," he said, "we have lost too much time already." "what is the matter?" tranquil asked. "the buffaloes!" said the chief. "oh! oh!" tranquil exclaimed, in alarm. he understood all; the noise he had heard for some time past was occasioned by a _manada_ of buffaloes, coming from the east, and probably proceeding to the higher western prairies. what the hunter so quickly comprehended requires to be briefly explained to the reader, in order that he may understand to what a terrible danger our characters were suddenly exposed. manada is the name given in the old spanish possessions to an assemblage of several thousand wild animals. buffaloes, in their periodical migrations during the pairing season, collect at times in manadas of fifteen and twenty thousand animals, forming a compact herd; and travelling together, they go straight onwards, closely packed together, leaping over everything, and overthrowing every obstacle that opposes their passage. woe to the rash man who would attempt to check or change the direction of their mad course, for he would be trampled like a wisp of straw beneath the feet of these stupid animals, which would pass over him without even noticing him. the position of the three hunters was consequently extremely critical, for hazard had placed them exactly in front of a manada, which was coming towards them at lightning speed. flight was impossible, and could not be thought of, while resistance was more impossible still. the noise approached with fearful rapidity; already the savage bellowing of the buffaloes could be distinctly heard, mingled with the barking of the prairie wolves; and the shrill miauls of the jaguars which dashed along on the flanks of the manada, chasing the laggards or those that imprudently turned to the right or left. within a quarter of an hour all would be over; the hideous avalanche already appeared, sweeping away all in its passage with that irresistible brute force which nothing can overcome. we repeat it, the position was critical. black-deer was proceeding to the meeting place; he had himself indicated to the canadian hunter, and was not more than three or four leagues from the spot where he expected to find him, when his practised ear caught the sound of the mad chase of the buffaloes. five minutes had sufficed for him to recognize the imminence of the danger his friend incurred; with that rapidity of decision which characterizes redskins in extreme cases, he had resolved to warn his friend, and to save or perish with him. he had then rushed forward, leaping with headlong speed over the space that separated him from the place of meeting, having only one thought, that of distancing the manada, so that the hunter might escape. unhappily, however quickly he went--and the indians are remarkable for their fabulous agility--he had not been able to arrive soon enough to save his friend. "when the chief, after warning the hunter, recognized the futility of his efforts, a sudden change took place in him. his features reassumed their old stoicism; a sad smile played round his mocking lips, and he sank to the ground, muttering, in a hollow voice-- "the wacondah would not permit it." but tranquil did not accept the position with the same resignation and fatalism, for he belonged to that race of energetic men whose powerful character causes them to struggle to their dying breath. when he saw that the redskin, with the fatalism peculiar to his race, gave up the contest for life, he resolved to make a supreme effort, and attempt impossibilities. about twenty yards in front of the spot where the hunter had established his bivouac, were several trees lying on the ground, dead, and, as it were, piled on each other; then, behind this species of breastwork a clump of five or six oaks grew, isolated from all the rest, and formed a sort of oasis in the midst of the sand on the river bank. "quick!" the hunter shouted. "quoniam, pick up as much dead wood as you can find, and come here. chief, do the same." the two men obeyed without comprehending, but reassured by their comrade's coolness. in a few minutes a considerable pile of dead wood was piled over the fallen oaks. "good!" the hunter exclaimed; "by heaven! all is not lost yet--take courage!" then, carrying to this improvised bonfire the remains of the fire he had lit at his bivouac, to defeat the night cold, he enlarged the flames with resinous matters, and in less than five minutes a large column rose whirling to the clouds, and soon formed a dense curtain more than ten yards in width. "back! back!" the hunter then shouted,--"follow me." black-deer and quoniam dashed after him. the canadian did not go far; on reaching the clump of trees we have alluded to, he clambered up the largest with unparalleled skill and agility, and soon he and his comrades found themselves perched a height of fifty feet in the air, comfortably lodged on strong branches, and completely concealed by the foliage. "there," the canadian said, with the utmost coolness, "this is our last resource; so soon as the column appears, fire at the leaders; if the flash startles the buffaloes, we are saved; if not, we shall only have death to await. but, at any rate, we shall have done all that was humanly possible to save our lives." the fire kindled by the hunter had assumed gigantic proportions; it had extended from tree to tree, lighting up the grass and shrubs, and though too remote from the forest to kindle it, it soon formed a curtain of flames nearly a quarter of a mile in length, whose reddish gleam tinged the sky for a long distance, and gave the landscape a character of striking and savage grandeur. from the spots where the hunters had sought shelter they commanded this ocean of flame, which could not reach them, and completely hovered over its furnace. all at once a terrible crash was heard, and the vanguard of the manada appeared on the skirt of the forest. "look out!" the hunter shouted, as he shouldered his rifle. the buffaloes, startled by the sight of this wall of flame that rose suddenly before them, dazzled by the glare, and at the same time burned by its extreme heat, hesitated for an instant, as if consulting, but then rushed forward with blind fury, and uttering snorts of fury. three shots were fired. the three leading buffaloes fell and rolled in the agonies of death. "we are lost!" tranquil said, coldly. the buffaloes still advanced. but soon the heat became insupportable; the smoke, driven in the direction of the manada by the wind, blinded the animals; then a reaction was effected; there was a delay, soon followed by a recoil. the hunters, with panting breasts, followed anxiously the strange interludes of this terrible scene. a question of life or death for them was being decided at this moment, and their existence only hung on a thread. in the meanwhile the mass still pushed onward. the animals that led the manada could not resist the pressure of those that followed them; they were thrown down and trampled underfoot by the rear, but the latter, assailed in their turn by the heat, also tried to turn back. at this moment some of the buffaloes diverged to the right and left; this was enough, the others followed them: two currents were established on either side the fire, and the manada cut in two, overflowed like a torrent that has burst its dykes, rejoining on the bank, and crossing the stream in close column. terrible was the spectacle presented by this manada flying in horror, pursued by wild beasts, and enclosing, amid its ranks, the fire kindled by the hunter, and which seemed like a gloomy lighthouse intended to indicate the track. they soon plunged into the stream, which they crossed in a straight line, and their long serried columns glided up the other bank, where the head of the manada speedily disappeared. the hunters were saved by the coolness and presence of mind of the canadian; still, for nearly two hours longer, they remained concealed among the branches that sheltered them. the buffaloes continued to pass on their right and left. the fire had gone out through lack of nourishment, but the direction had been given, and, on reaching the fire, which was now but a pile of ashes, the column separated of its own accord into two parts. at length, the rearguard made its appearance, harassed by the jaguars that leaped on their back and flank, and then all was over. the desert, whose silence had been temporarily disturbed, fell back into its usual calmness, and merely a wide track made through the heart of the forest, and covered with fallen trees, testified to the furious passage of this disorderly herd. the hunters breathed again; now they could without danger leave their airy fortress, and go back again to earth. chapter v. black-deer. so soon as the three rangers descended, they collected the scattered logs, in order to rekindle the fire over which they would cook their breakfast. as there was no lack of provisions, they had no occasion to draw on their own private resources; several buffaloes that lay lifeless on the ground offered them the most succulent meal known in the desert. while tranquil was engaged in getting a buffalo hump ready, the black and redskin examined each other with a curiosity revealed in exclamations of surprise from both sides. the negro laughed like a maniac on remarking the strange appearance of the indian warrior, whose face was painted of four different colours, and who wore a costume so strange in the eyes of quoniam; for that worthy, as he himself said, had never before come in contact with indians. the other manifested his astonishment in a different way: after standing for a long time motionless, and watching the negro, he walked up to him, and not uttering a word, seized quoniam's arm, and began rubbing it with all his strength with the skirt of his buffalo robe. the negro, who at the outset readily indulged the indian's whims, soon began to grow impatient; he tried at first to liberate himself, but was unable to succeed, for the chief held him firmly, and conscientiously went on with his singular operation. in the meanwhile, the negro, whom this continued rubbing was beginning not merely to annoy, but cause terrible suffering, began uttering frequent yells, while making the most tremendous efforts to escape from his pitiless torturer. tranquil's attention was aroused by quoniam's cries; he threw up his head smartly, and ran up at full speed to deliver the negro, who was rolling his eyes in terror, leaping from one side to the other, and yelling like a condemned man. "why does my brother torture that man so?" the canadian asked as he interposed. "i?" the chief asked in surprise, "i am not torturing him; his disguise is not necessary, so i am removing it." "what! my disguise?" quoniam shouted. tranquil made him a sign to be silent. "this man is not disguised," he continued. "why, then, has he painted all his body in this way?" the chief asked obstinately, "warriors only paint their face." the hunter could not repress a burst of laughter. "my brother is mistaken," he said, so soon as he recovered his seriousness; "this man belongs to a separate race; the wacondah has given him a black skin, in the same way as he made my brother's red, and mine white; all the brothers of this man are of his colour; the great spirit has willed it so, in order that they may not be confused with the redskin nations and the palefaces; if my brother look at his buffalo robe, he will see that not the least bit of black has come off on it." "wah!" the indian said, letting his head sink, like a man placed before an insoluble problem; "the wacondah can do everything!" and he mechanically obeyed the hunter by taking a peep at the tail of his robe, which he had not yet thought of letting go. "now," tranquil went on, "be kind enough to regard this man as a friend, and do for him what you would do, if wanted, for me, and i shall feel under the greatest obligations to you." the chief bowed gracefully, and held out his hand to the negro. "the words of my brother the hunter warble in my ears with the sweetness of the song of the _centzontle,"_ he said. "black-deer is a sachem of his nation, his tongue is not forked, and the words his chest breathes are clear, for they come from his heart; black-face will have his place at the council fire of the pawnees, for from this moment he is the friend of a chief." quoniam bowed to the indian, and warmly returned the pressure of his hand. "i am only a poor black," he said, "but my heart is pure, and the blood is as red in my veins as if i were indian or white; both of you have a right to ask my life of me, and i will give it you joyfully." after this mutual exchange of assurances of friendship, the three men sat down on the ground, and began their breakfast. owing to the excitement of the morning, the three adventurers had a ferocious appetite; they did honour to the buffalo hump, which disappeared almost entirely before their repeated attacks, and which they washed down with a few horns of water mixed with rum, of which liquor tranquil had a small stock in a gourd, hanging from his waist belt. when the meal was ended, pipes were lighted, and each began smoking, silently, with the gravity peculiar to men who live in the woods. when the chief's pipe was ended, he shook out the ashes on his left thumbnail, passed the stem through his belt, and turned to tranquil, "will my brothers hold a council?" he asked. "yes," the canadian answered: "when i left you on the upper missouri, at the end of the moon of the burned fruit (july), you gave me the meeting at the creek of the dead oaks of the elk river, on the tenth day of the moon of the falling leaves (september), two hours before sunrise: both of us were punctual, and i am now waiting till it please you to explain to me, chief, why you gave me this meeting." "my brother is correct, black-deer will speak." after uttering these words, the indian's face seemed to grow dark, and he fell into a profound reverie, which his comrades respected by patiently waiting till he spoke again. at length, after about a quarter of an hour, the indian chief passed his hand over his brow several times, raised his head, took a searching glance around, and made up his mind to speak, though in a low and restrained voice, as if, even on the desert, he feared lest his words might fall on hostile ears. "my brother the hunter has known me since child-hood," he said, "for he was brought up by the sachems of my nation: hence i will say nothing of myself. the great paleface hunter has an indian heart in his breast; black-deer will speak to him as a brother to a brother. three moons ago, the chief was following with his friend the elks and the deer on the prairies of the missouri, when a pawnee warrior arrived at full speed, took the chief aside, and spoke with him privately for long hours; does my brother remember this?" "perfectly, chief; i remember that after the conversation blue fox, for that was the name of the chief, set off as rapidly as he had come, and my brother, who till then had been gay and cheerful, became suddenly sad. in spite of the questions i addressed to my brother he could not tell me the cause of this sudden grief, and on the morrow, at sunrise, he left me, giving me the meeting here for this day." "yes," the indian said, "that is exact. things happened so; but what i could not then tell, i will now impart to my brother." "my ears are open," the hunter replied, with a bow. "i fear that, unfortunately, my brother has only bad news to tell me." "my brother shall judge," he said. "this is what blue fox came to tell me. one day a paleface of the long knives of the west arrived on the banks of elk river, where stood the village of the snake pawnees, followed by some thirty warriors of the palefaces, several women, and large medicine lodges, drawn by buffaloes without humps or manes. this paleface halted two arrow shots' lengths from the village of my nation, on the opposite bank, lit his fires, and camped. my father, as my brother knows, was the first sachem of the tribe. he mounted his horse and, followed by several warriors, crossed the river and presented himself to the stranger, in order to bid him welcome on the hunting grounds of our nation, and offer him the refreshments he might have need of. "this paleface was a man of lofty stature, with harsh and marked features. the snow of several winters had whitened his scalp. he began laughing at my father's words, and replied to him--'are you the chief of the redskins of this village?' 'yes,' said my father. then the paleface took from his clothes a great necklace, on which strange figures were drawn, and showing it to my father, said, 'your pale grandfather of the united states has given me the property in all the land stretching from antelope's fall to buffalo lake. this,' he added, as he struck the necklace with the back of his hand, 'proves my title.' "my father and the warriors who accompanied him burst into a laugh. "'our pale grandfather,' he answered, 'cannot give what does not belong to him. the land of which you speak has been the hunting ground of my nation ever since the great tortoise came out of the sea to support the world on its shell.' "'i do not understand what you say to me,' the paleface continued. 'i only know that this land has been given to me; and that, if you do not consent to withdraw and leave me to the full enjoyment of it, i possess the means to compel you.'" "yes," tranquil interrupted, "such is the system of those men--murder and rapine." "my father retired," the indian continued, "under the blow of this threat. the warriors immediately took up arms, the women were hidden in a cave, and the tribe prepared for resistance. the next morning, at daybreak, the palefaces crossed the river and attacked the village. the fight was long and obstinate. it lasted the whole period contained between two suns. but what could poor indians do against palefaces armed with rifles? they were conquered and forced to take to flight. two hours later, their village was reduced to ashes, and the bones of their ancestors cast to the four winds. my father was killed in the battle." "oh!" the canadian exclaimed, sadly. "that is not all," the chief went on. "the palefaces discovered the cave where the women of my tribe were sheltered; and nearly all--for about a dozen contrived to escape with their papooses--were coldly massacred, with all the refinements of the most horrible barbarity." after uttering these words, the chief hid his head on his buffalo robe, and his comrades heard the sobs he tried in vain to stifle. "such," he went on a moment later, "was the news blue fox communicated to me. 'my father died in his arms, leaving his vengeance as my inheritance. my brothers, pursued like wild beasts by their ferocious enemies, and compelled to hide themselves in the most impenetrable forests, had elected me as chief. i accepted, making the warriors of my nation swear to avenge themselves on the palefaces, who had seized our village and massacred our brothers. since our parting, i have not lost a moment in collecting all the means of revenge. to-day all is ready. the palefaces have gone to sleep in a deceitful security, and their awakening shall be terrible. will my brother follow me?'" "yes, by heaven! i will follow you, chief, and help you with all my ability," tranquil answered, resolutely, "for your cause is just; but on one condition." "my brother can speak." "the law of the desert says, 'eye for eye and tooth for tooth,' it is true; but you can avenge yourself without dishonouring your victory by useless barbarity. do not follow the example given you, but be humane, chief; and the great spirit will smile on your efforts and be favourable to you." "black-deer is not cruel," the chief answered. "he leaves that to the palefaces. he only wishes to be just." "what you say is noble, chief; and i am happy to hear you speak thus; but are your measures well taken? is your force large enough to ensure success? you know that the palefaces are numerous, and never allow one aggressor to pass unpunished. whatever may happen, you have to expect terrible reprisals." the indian smiled disdainfully. "the long knives of the west are cowardly dogs and rabbits. the squaws of the pawnees will make them petticoats," he answered. "black-deer will go with his tribe to settle on the great prairies of the comanches, who will receive them as brothers, and the palefaces of the west will not know where to find them." "that is a good idea, chief; but, since you have been driven from your village, have you not kept spies round the americans, in order to be informed of their actions? that was important for the success of your further plans." black-deer smiled, but made no other answer, whence the canadian concluded that the redskin had, with the sagacity and prudence which characterize his race, taken all the necessary precautions to insure the success of the blow he was about to deal at the new clearing. tranquil, owing to his semi-indian education, and the hereditary hatred which, as a true canadian, he bore to the anglo-saxon race, was perfectly well inclined to help the pawnee chief in taking an exemplary vengeance on the americans for the insults he had received at their hands; but with that correctness of judgment which formed the basis of his character, he did not wish to let the indians indulge in those atrocious cruelties, to which they only too often yield in the first intoxication of victory. hence the determination he formed had a double object--in the first place, to insure as far as he could the success of his friends, and, secondly, to employ all the influence he possessed over them, to restrain them after the battle, and prevent them satiating their vengeance on the conquered, and, above all, on the women and children. as we have seen, he did not attempt to conceal his object from black-deer, and laid down as the first condition of his co-operation, which the indians would be delighted to receive, that no unnecessary cruelty should be committed. quoniam, for his part, did not make any stipulation; a natural enemy of the whites, and specially of the north americans, he eagerly seized the occasion of dealing them as much injury as possible, and avenging himself for the ill treatment he had experienced, without taking the trouble to reflect that the people he was about to fight were innocent in the matter of his wrong; these individuals were north americans, and that reason was more than sufficient to justify, in the sight of the vindictive negro, the conduct he proposed to carry out when the moment arrived. after a few minutes the canadian spoke again. "where are your warriors?" he asked the chief. "i left them three suns' march from the spot where we now are; if my brother has nothing to keep him longer here, we will set out immediately, in order to join them as soon as possible, for my return is impatiently expected by the warriors." "let us go," the canadian said; "the day is not yet far advanced, and it is needless for us to waste our time in chattering like curious old women." the three men rose, drew on their belts, walked hastily along the path formed by the manada through the forest, and soon disappeared under its covert. chapter vi. the claim. we will now leave our three travellers for a while, and employing our privilege of narrator, transfer the scene of our story a few hundred miles away, to a rich and verdant valley of the upper missouri, that majestic river, with its bright and limpid waters, on the banks of which now stand so many flourishing towns and villages, and which magnificent steamboats furrow in every direction, but which, at the period when our story opens, was almost unknown, and only reflected in the mirror of its waters the lofty and thick frondage of the gloomy and mysterious virgin forests that covered its banks. at the extremity of a fork, formed by two rather large affluents of the missouri, stretches out a vast valley, bordered on one side by abrupt mountains, and on the other by a long line of wooded hills. this valley, almost entirely covered with thick forests, full of game of every description, was a favourite gathering-place of the pawnee indians, a numerous tribe of whom, the snakes, had established their abode in the angle of the fork, in order to be nearer their hunting-grounds. the indian village was rather large, for it counted nearly three hundred and fifty fires, which is enormous for redskins, who usually do not like to collect in any considerable number, through fear of suffering from famine. but the position of the village was so well chosen, that in this instance the indians had gone out of their usual course; in fact, on one side the forest supplied them with more game than they could consume; on the other, the river abounded with deliciously tasted fish of every description; while the surrounding prairies were covered throughout the year with a tall close grass, that supplied excellent pasturage for their horses. for several centuries the snake pawnees had been settled in this happy valley, which, owing to its sheltered position on all sides, enjoyed a soft climate, exempt from those great atmospheric perturbations which so frequently disturb the high american latitudes. the indians lived there quiet and unknown, occupying themselves with hunting and fishing, and sending annually small bodies of their young men to follow the war-trail, under the most renowned chiefs of the nation. all at once this peaceful existence was hopelessly disturbed; murder and arson spread like a sinister winding-sheet over the valley; the village was utterly destroyed, and the inhabitants were pitilessly massacred. the north americans had at length gained knowledge of this unknown eden, and, in their usual way announced their presence on this remote nook of earth, and their taking possession of it by theft, rapine, and assassination. we will not repeat here the story black-deer told the canadian, but confine ourselves to the assertion that it was in every point true, and that the chief, in telling it, far from rendering it more gloomy by emphatic exaggeration, had, on the contrary, toned it down with uncommon justice and impartiality. we will enter this valley three months after the arrival of the americans which proved so fatal to the redskins, and describe, in a few words, the way in which they formerly had established themselves on the territory from which they so cruelly expelled the legitimate owners. hardly had they become uncontested owners of the soil, than they commenced what is called a clearing. the government of the united states had, about forty years ago, and probably still has, a habit of requiting the services of old officers, by making them concessions of land on those frontiers of the republic most threatened by the indians. this custom had the double advantage of gradually extending the limits of the american territory by driving back the indians into the desert, and of not abandoning in their old days soldiers who during the greater portion of their life had shed their blood nobly for their country. captain james watt was the son of an officer who distinguished himself in the war of independence. colonel lionel watt, aide-de-camp to washington, had fought by the side of that celebrated founder of the republic in all the battles against the english. seriously wounded at the siege of boston, he had been, to his great regret, compelled to retire into private life; but, faithful to his principles, so soon as his son james reached his twentieth year, he made him take his place under the flag. at the period when we bring him on the scene, james watt was a man of about five-and-forty, although he appeared at least ten years older, owing to the incessant fatigue of the exacting profession in which his youth had been passed. he was a man of five feet eight, powerfully built, with broad shoulders, dry, muscular, and endowed with an iron health; his face, whose lines were extremely rigid, was imprinted with that expression of energetic will, blended with carelessness, which is peculiar to those men whose existence has been only one continual succession of dangers surmounted. his short grey hair, his bronzed complexion, black and piercing eyes, his well-chiselled mouth, gave his face an expression of inflexible severity, which was not deficient in grandeur. captain watt, who had been married for two years past to a charming young lady he adored, was father of two children, a son and daughter. his wife, fanny by name, was a distant relation of his. she was a brunette, with exquisite blue eyes, and was most gentle and modest. although much younger than her husband, for she was not yet two-and-twenty, fanny felt for him the deepest and sincerest affection. when the old soldier found himself a father, and began to experience the intimate joys of a family life, a revolution was effected in him; he suddenly took a disgust to his profession, and only desired the tranquil joys of home. james watt was one of those men with whom it is only one step from the conception to the execution of a plan. hence, no sooner had the idea of retiring from the service occurred to him than he at once carried it out, resisting all the objections and remonstrances his friends raised. still, although the captain was inclined to retire into private life, he did not mean to put off military harness and assume a citizen's coat. the monotonous life of union towns had nothing very seductive for an old soldier, for whom excitement and movement had been the normal condition almost from his birth. consequently, after ripe reflection, he stopped half way, which, in his opinion, would remedy the excessive simplicity and peace a citizen life might have for him. this was to be effected by asking for a claim on the indian border, clearing it with the help of his servants, and living there happy and busy, like a mediæval lord among his vassals. this idea pleased the captain the more, because he fancied that in this way he should still be serving his country, as he would lay the foundation of future prosperity, and develop the first traces of civilization in a district still given up to all the horrors of barbarity. the captain had long been engaged with his company in defending the frontier of the union against the incessant depredations of the redskins, and preventing their incursions; hence he had a knowledge--superficial it is true, but sufficient--of indian manners, and the means he must employ not to be disturbed by these restless neighbours. during the course of the numerous expeditions which the service had compelled him to make, the captain had visited many fertile valleys, and many territories, the appearance of which had pleased him; but there was one above all, the memory of which had been obstinately engraved on his mind--a delicious valley he had seen one day as in a dream, after a hunting expedition, made in company of a wood-ranger--an excursion which lasted three weeks, and had insensibly taken him further into the desert than ever civilized man had gone before. though he had not seen this valley again for more than twenty years, he remembered it as if he had seen it but yesterday--recalling it, as it were, in its minutest details. and this obstinacy of his memory in constantly bringing before him this nook of earth, had ended by affecting the captain's imagination to such a degree, that when he resolved to leave the service and ask for a claim, it was to this place and no other that he was determined to go. james watt had numerous friends in the offices of the presidency; besides, the services of his father and himself spoke loudly in his favour: hence he experienced no difficulty in obtaining the claim he requested. several plans were shewn him, drawn up by order of government, and he was invited to select the territory that suited him best. but the captain had chosen the one he wanted long before; he rejected the plans shewn him, produced from his pocket a wide slip of tanned elk hide, unrolled it, and shewed it to the commissioner of claims, telling him he wanted this, and no other. the commissioner was a friend of the captain, and could not refrain from a start of terror on hearing his request. this claim was situated in the heart of the indian territory, more than four hundred miles from the american border. the captain wished to commit an act of madness, of suicide; it would be impossible for him to hold his ground among the warlike tribes that would surround him on all sides; a month would not elapse ere he would be piteously massacred, as must be his family and those servants who were mad enough to follow him. to all these objections, which his friend piled up one atop of the other, in order to make him change his opinion, the captain only replied by a shake of the head, accompanied by a smile, which proved that his mind was irrevocably made up. at length, the commissioner being driven into his last intrenchments, told him point-blank that it was impossible to grant him this claim, as the territory belonged to the indians, and, moreover, a tribe had built its village there since time immemorial. the commissioner had kept this argument to the last, feeling convinced that the captain could find no answer, and would be compelled to change, or, at least, modify his plans. he was mistaken; the worthy commissioner was not so well acquainted with his friend's character as he might fancy. the latter, not at all affected by the triumphant gesture with which the commissioner concluded his speech, coolly drew from another pocket a second slip of tanned deer-hide, which he handed his friend, without saying a word. the latter took it with an inquiring glance, but the captain merely nodded to him to look at it. the commissioner unrolled it with marked hesitation; from the old soldier's behaviour he suspected that this document contained a peremptory answer. in fact, he had scarce looked at it, ere he threw it on the table with a violent movement of ill humour. this slip of deer-skin contained the sale of the valley and the surrounding territory made by itsichaichè or monkey-face, one of the principal sachems of the snake pawnees, in his name and that of the other chiefs of the nation, in exchange for fifty muskets, fourteen dozen scalping-knives, sixty pounds of gunpowder, sixty pounds of bullets, two barrels of whisky, and twenty-three complete militia uniforms. each of the chiefs had placed his hieroglyphic at the foot of the deed, beneath that of monkey-face. we will say at once that this deed was false, and the captain in the affair was the perfect dupe of monkey-face. this chief, who had been expelled from the tribe of snake pawnees for various causes, as we shall reveal at the proper moment, had forged the deed, first to rob the captain, and next to avenge himself on his countrymen; for he knew perfectly well that if the captain received authority from his government he would seize the valley, whatever the consequences of this spoliation might be. the only condition the captain made was, that the redskin should act as his guide, which he consented to do without any hesitation. when the deed of sale was laid before him, the commissioner was forced to confess himself beaten, and _nolens volens_ grant the authority so obstinately solicited by the captain. when all the documents were duly registered, signed, and sealed, the captain began his preparations for departure without further delay. mrs. watts loved her husband too well to offer any objections to the execution of his plans. brought up herself on a clearing at no great distance from the indian border, she had become familiarized with the savages, whom the habit of constantly seeing caused her no longer to fear them; besides, she cared little where she lived, so long as she had her husband by her side. quite calm as regarded his wife, the captain therefore set to work with all that feverish activity which distinguished him. america is a land of prodigies; it is, perhaps, the only country in the world where it is possible to find between to-day and the morrow the men and things indispensable for carrying out the maddest and most eccentric projects. the captain did not deceive himself in the slightest as to the probable consequences of the resolution he had formed; hence he wished, as far as was possible, to guard against any eventualities, and ensure the security of the persons who would accompany him to his claim, the first among these being his wife and children. his selection, however, did not take him long: among his old comrades many wished for nothing better than to follow him, at the head of them being an old sergeant of the name of walter bothrel, who had served under him for more than fifteen years, and who, at the first news of his chief's retirement, went to him and said that as his captain was leaving the service, he did not care to remain in it, and the only favour he asked was leave to accompany him wherever he went. bothrel's offer was gladly accepted by the captain, for he knew the value of the sergeant, who was a sort of bull-dog for fidelity, a man of tried courage, and one on whom he could entirely count. to the sergeant captain watt entrusted the duty of enrolling the detachment of hunters he intended to take with him, in order to defend the new colony, if the redskins took it into their head to attack it. bothrel carried out his instructions with the intelligent consciousness he displayed in all matters, and he soon found in the captain's own company thirty resolute and devoted men, only too glad to follow the fortunes of their ex-chief, and attach themselves to him. on his side, the captain had engaged some fifteen workmen of every description, blacksmiths, carpenters, &c., who signed an undertaking to serve him five years, after which they would become tenants at a small rental of farms the captain would give them, and which would become their own property on the expiration of a further term of years. all the preparations being at length terminated, the colonists, amounting to fifty men, and about a dozen females, at length set out for the claim in the middle of may, taking with them a long pile of waggons loaded with stores of every description, and a large herd of cattle, intended to provision the colony, as well as for breeding purposes. monkey-face acted as guide, as had been arranged. to do the indian the justice due to him, we will say that he conscientiously performed the duty he undertook; and that during a journey of nearly three months across a desert infested by wild beasts and traversed in every direction by indian hordes, he managed to save those he led from the majority of the dangers that menaced them at each step. chapter vii. monkey-face. we have seen in what summary manner the captain seized on the territory conceded to him. we will now explain how he established himself there, and the precautions he took not to be disturbed by the indians he had so brutally dispossessed, and who, he judged from his knowledge of their vindictive character, would probably not yet consider themselves beaten, but might begin at any moment the attempt to take a sanguinary and terrible vengeance for the insults put upon them. the fight with the indians had been rude and obstinate, but, thanks to monkey-face, who revealed to the captain the weakest points of the village, and especially the superiority of the american fire-arms, the indians were at length compelled to take to flight, and abandon all they possessed to the conquerors. it was a wretched booty, consisting only of animal skins, and a few vessels made of coarse clay. the captain, no sooner master of the place, began his work, and laid the foundation stone of the new colony; for he understood the necessity of protecting himself as quickly as possible against a _coup-de-main_. the site of the village was completely freed from the ruins that encumbered it; the labourers then began levelling the ground, and digging a ditch six yards wide, and four deep, which was connected on one side by means of a drain with the affluent of the missouri, on the other with the river itself; behind this ditch, and on the wall formed of the earth dug out of it, a line of stakes was planted, twelve feet high, and fastened together by iron bands, almost invisible interstices being left, through which a rifle barrel could be thrust and discharged under covert. in this entrenchment a gate was made large enough for a waggon to pass, and which communicated with the exterior by a drawbridge, which was pulled up at sunset. these preliminary precautions taken, an extent of about four thousand square yards was thus surrounded by water, and defended by palisades on all sides, excepting on the face turned to the missouri, for the width and depth of that river offered a sufficient guarantee of security. it was in the free space to which we have just alluded, that the captain began building the houses and offices for the colony. at the outset these buildings were to be made of wood, as is usually the case in all clearings, that is to say, of trees with the bark left on them; and there was no lack of wood, for the forest was scarce a hundred yards from the colony. the works were pushed on with such activity, that two months after the captain's arrival at the spot all the buildings were finished, and the interior arrangements almost completed. in the centre of the colony, on an elevation made for the purpose, a species of octagonal tower, about seventy feet in height, was erected, of which the roof was flat, and which was divided into three storeys. at the bottom were the kitchen and offices, while the upper rooms were allotted to the members of the family, that is to say, the captain and his lady, the two nursemaids, young and hearty kentuckians, with rosy and plump cheeks, called betsy and emma; mistress margaret, the cook, a respectable matron entering on her ninth lustre, though she only confessed to five-and-thirty, and still had some pretence to beauty, and, lastly, to sergeant bothrel. this tower was closed with a stout iron-lined door, and in the centre was a wicket to reconnoitre visitors. about ten yards from the tower, and communicating with it by a subterraneous passage, were the log huts of the hunters, the workmen, the neatherds, and labourers. after these, again came the stables and cow houses. in addition, scattered here and there, were large barns and granaries intended to receive the produce of the colony. but all these different buildings were arranged so as to be isolated, and so far from each other, that in the event of fire, the loss of one building need not absolutely entail that of the rest; several wells were also dug at regular distances, so as to have abundance of water, without the necessity of fetching it from the river. in a word, we may say that the captain, as an old experienced soldier, accustomed to all the tricks of border warfare, had taken the minutest precautions to avoid not merely an attack, but a surprise. three months had elapsed since the settlement of the americans; this valley, hitherto uncultivated, and covered with forests, was now in great part ploughed up; clearings effected on a large scale had removed the forest more than a mile from the colony; all offered the image of prosperity and comfort at a spot where, so shortly before, the carelessness of the redskins allowed nature to produce at liberty the small stock of fodder needed for their beasts. inside the colony, all offered the most lively and busy sight; while outside, the cattle pastured under the care of mounted and well-armed herds, and the trees fell beneath the blows of the axemen; inside, all the workshops were in full activity, long columns of smoke rose from the forges, the noise of hammers was mingled with the whirring of the saw; on the river bank, enormous piles of planks stood near others composed of fire-wood; several boats were tied up, and from time to time the shots of the hunters could be heard, who were carrying out a battue in the woods in order to stock the colony with deer-meat. it was about four in the afternoon, and the captain, mounted on a magnificent black horse, with four white stockings, was ambling across a freshly-cleared prairie. a smile of quiet satisfaction played over the old soldier's stern face at the sight of the prodigious change his will and feverish activity had effected in so short a time on this unknown corner of earth, which must, however, in no remote future, acquire a great commercial importance, owing to its position; he was approaching the colony, when a man, hitherto hidden behind a pile of roots and bushes heaped up to dry, suddenly appeared at his side. the captain repressed a start of anger on perceiving this man, in whom he recognised monkey-face. we will say here a few words about this man, who is destined to play a rather important part in the course of our narrative. itsichaichè was a man of forty, tall, and well proportioned; he had a crafty face, lit up by two little gimlet eyes; his vulture-beaked nose, his wide mouth, with its thin and retiring lips, gave him a cunning and ugly look, which, in spite of the cautious and cat-like obsequiousness of his manner, and the calculated gentleness of his voice, inspired those whom accident brought in contact with him with an impulsive repugnance which nothing could overcome. contrary to the usual state of things, the habit of seeing him, instead of diminishing, and causing this unpleasant feeling to disappear, only increased it. he had conscientiously and honestly performed his contract in leading the americans, without any obstacle, to the spot they wished to reach; but, since that period, he had remained with them, and had, so to speak, foisted himself on the colony, when he came and went as he pleased, and no one paid any attention to his actions. at times, without saying anything, he would disappear for several days, then suddenly return, and it was impossible to obtain any information from him as to where he had been and what he had been doing during his absence. still, there was one person to whom the indian's gloomy face constantly caused a vague terror, and who had been unable to overcome the repulsion with which he inspired her, although she could give no explanation of the feeling: this person was mrs. watt. maternal love produces clearsightedness: the young lady adored her children, and when at times the redskin by chance let a careless glance fall on the innocent creatures, the poor mother shivered in all her limbs, and she hastily withdrew from the sight of the man the two beings who were all in all to her. at times she tried to make her husband share her fears, but to all her remarks the captain merely replied by a significant shrug of his shoulders, supposing that with time this feeling would wear off and disappear. still, as mrs. watt constantly returned to the charge with the obstinacy and perseverance of a person whose ideas are positively formed and cannot change, the captain, who had no cause or plausible reason to defend against the wife he loved and respected, a man for whom he did not profess the slightest esteem, at length promised to get rid of him. as, moreover, the indian had been absent from the colony for several days, he determined immediately on his return to ask for an explanation of his mysterious conduct, and if the other did not reply in a plain and satisfactory manner, to tell him that he would not have him any longer about the settlement, and the sooner he took himself off the better for all parties. such was the state of the captain's feelings toward monkey-face, when accident brought him across his path at the moment he least expected him. on seeing the indian, the captain checked his horse. "is my father visiting the valley?" the pawnee asked. "yes," was the answer. "oh!" the indian went on as he looked around him, "all has greatly changed since the beasts of the long knives of the west have been grazing peacefully on the territories of which they dispossessed the snake pawnees." the indian uttered these words in a sad and melancholy voice, which caused the captain some mental anxiety. "is that a regret you are giving vent to, chief?" he asked him. "if so, it seems to me very unsuitable from your lips, since it was you who sold me the territory i occupy." "that is true," the indian said with a shake of his head. "monkey-face has no right to complain, for it was he who sold to the palefaces of the west the ground where his fathers repose, and where he and his brothers so often hunted the elk and the jaguar." "hum, chief, i find you very sad to-day; what is the matter with you? did you, on waking this morning find yourself lying on your left side?" he said, alluding to one of the most accredited superstitions among the indians. "no," he continued, "the sleep of monkey-face was exempt from evil omens, nothing arrived to alter the calmness of his mind." "i congratulate you, chief." "my father will give tobacco to his son, in order that he may smoke the calumet of friendship on his return." "perhaps so, but first i have a question to ask of you." "my father can speak, his son's ears are open." "it is now a long time, chief," the captain continued, "since we have been established here." "yes, the fourth moon is beginning." "since our arrival, you have left us a great many times without warning us." "why should i do so? air and space do not belong to the palefaces, i suppose; the pawnee warrior is at liberty to go where he thinks proper; he was a renowned chief in his tribe." "all that may be true, chief, and i do not care about it; but what i do care about is the safety of my family and the men who accompanied me here." "well," the redskin said, "in what way can monkey-face injure that safety?' "i will tell you, chief; listen to me attentively, for what you have to hear is serious." "monkey-face is only a poor indian," the redskin answered, ironically; "the great spirit has not given him the clear and subtle mind of the palefaces, still he will try to understand my father." "you are not so simple as you choose to appear at this moment, chief; i am certain you will perfectly understand me, if you only take the trouble." "the chief will try." the captain repressed a movement of impatience. "we are not here in one of the great cities of the american union, where the law protects the citizens and guarantees their safety; we are, on the contrary, on the redskin territory, far from any other protection than our own; we have no help to expect from anyone, and are surrounded by vigilant enemies watching a favourable moment to attack us and massacre us if they can; it is therefore our duty to watch over our own safety with the utmost vigilance, for the slightest imprudence would gravely compromise us. do you understand me, chief?" "yes, my father has spoken well; his head is grey; his wisdom is great." "i must therefore carefully watch," the captain continued, "the movements of all the persons who belong nearly or remotely to the colony; and when their movements appear to me suspicious, to ask those explanations which they have no right to refuse me. now, i am compelled to confess to you, chief, with extreme regret, that the life you have been leading for some time past seems to me more than suspicious. it has, therefore, attracted my attention, and i expect a satisfactory answer from you." the redskin had stood unmoved; not a muscle of his face moved; and the captain, who watched him closely, could not notice the slightest trace of emotion on his features. the indian had expected the question asked him, and was prepared to answer it. "monkey-face led my father and his children from the great stone villages of the long-knives of the west to the spot. has my father had any cause to reproach the chief?" "none, i am bound to allow," the captain answered, frankly; "you did your duty honestly." "why, then, does a skin now cover my father's heart? and why has suspicion crept into his mind about a man against whom, as he says himself, he has not the slightest reproach to bring? is that the justice of the palefaces?" "let us not drift from the question, chief, or change it, if you please. i could not follow you through all your indian circumlocution; i will, therefore, confine myself to saying that, unless you consent to tell me frankly the cause of your repeated absences, and give me assured proof of your innocence, i will have you turned out of the colony, and you shall never set foot again on the territory i occupy." a gleam of hatred flashed from the redskin's eye; but, immediately recalling it, he replied, in his softest voice-- "monkey-face is a poor indian; his brothers have rejected him on account of his friendship with the palefaces. he hoped to find among the long-knives of the west, in the absence of friendship, gratitude for service rendered. he is mistaken." "that is not the question," the captain continued impatiently; "will you answer yes or no?" the indian drew himself in, and walked up to the speaker close enough to touch him. "and if i refuse?" he said, as he gave him a glance of defiance and fury. "if you refuse, scoundrel! i forbid you ever appearing again before me; and if you disobey me, i will chastise you with my dog-whip!" the captain had hardly uttered these insulting words ere he repented of them. he was alone, and unarmed, with a man whom he had mortally insulted; hence he tried to arrange matters. "but monkey-face," he went on, "is a chief; he is wise; he will answer me--for he knows that i love him." "you lie, dog of the palefaces!" the indian yelled, as he ground his teeth in fury; "you hate me almost as much as i hate you!" the captain, in his exasperation, raised the switch he carried in his hand; but, at the same moment, the indian, with a panther-leap, bounded on to his horse's croup, dragged the captain out of his stirrups, and rudely hurled him to the ground. "the palefaces are cowardly old women," he said; "the pawnee warriors despise them, and will send them petticoats." after uttering these words with a sarcastic accent impossible to describe, the indian bent over the horse's neck, let loose the rein, uttered a fierce yell, and started at full speed, not troubling himself further about the captain, whom he left severely bruised by his fall. james watt was not the man to endure such treatment without trying to revenge himself; he got up as quickly as he could, and shouted, in order to get together the hunters and wood-cutters scattered over the plain. some of them had seen what had happened, and started at full speed to help their captain; but before they reached him, and he could give them his orders to pursue the fugitive, the latter had disappeared in the heart of the forest, toward which he had directed his rapid course. the hunters, however, at the head of them being sergeant bothrel, rushed in pursuit of the indian, swearing they would bring him in either dead or alive. the captain looked after them till he saw them disappear one after the other in the forest, and then returned slowly to the colony, reflecting on what had taken place between himself and the redskin, and his heart contracted by a gloomy presentiment. something whispered to him that, for monkey-face, generally so prudent and circumspect, to have acted as he had done, he must have fancied himself very strong, and quite certain of impunity. chapter viii. the declaration of war. there is an incomprehensible fact, which we were many times in a position to appreciate, during the adventurous course of our lengthened wanderings in america--that a man will at times feel the approach of a misfortune, though unable to account for the feeling he suffers from; he knows that he is menaced, though unable to tell when the peril will come, or in what way it will arrive; the day seems to grow more gloomy, the sunbeams lose their brilliancy, external objects assume a mournful appearance; there are strange murmurs in the air; all, in a word, seems to feel the impression of a vague and undefined restlessness. though nothing occurred to justify the captain's fears after his altercation with the pawnee, not only he, but the whole population of the colony felt under the weight of dull terror on the evening of this day. at six o'clock, as usual, the bell was rung to recall the wood-cutters and herds; all had returned, the beasts were shut up in their respective stalls, and, apparently, at any rate nothing out of the common troubled the calm existence of the colonists. sergeant bothrel and his comrades, who had pursued monkey-face for several hours, had only found the horse the indian so audaciously carried off, and which he probably abandoned, in order to hide his trail more effectually. although no indian sign was visible in the vicinity of the colony, the captain, more anxious than he wished to appear, had doubled the sentries intended to watch over the common safety, and ordered the sergeant to patrol round the entrenchments every two hours. when all these precautions had been taken, the family and servants assembled on the ground floor of the tower to spend the evening, as had been their wont ever since the beginning of the settlement. the captain, sitting in an easy chair by the fire, for the nights were beginning to become fresh, was reading an old work on military tactics, while mrs. watt, with the servants, was engaged in mending the household linen. this evening, however, the captain, instead of reading, seemed to be thinking profoundly, with his arms crossed on his chest, and his eyes fixed on the fire. at last he raised his head, and turned to his wife-- "do you not hear the children crying?" he said. "i really do not know what is the matter with them to-day," she answered, "for we cannot quiet them; betsy has been with them for more than an hour, and has not been able to get them to sleep." "you should go yourself, my dear, that would be more proper than leaving these things to the care of a servant." mrs. watt went out without answering, and her voice could soon be heard on the upper floor, where was the children's room. "so, sergeant," the captain went on, addressing the old soldier, who was busy in a corner mending a yoke, "you found it impossible to catch up that accursed heathen, who threw me so roughly this morning?" "we could not even see him, captain," the sergeant replied: "these indians are like lizards, they slip through anywhere. luckily i found boston again; the poor brute seemed delighted at seeing me again." "yes, yes. boston is a noble brute, i should have been vexed to lose him. the heathen has not wounded him, i hope, for you know that these demons are accustomed to treat horses badly." "there is nothing the matter with him as far as i can see; the indian was probably compelled to leap off his back in a hurry upon finding us so close at his heels." "it must be so, sergeant. have you examined the neighbourhood carefully?" "with the greatest attention, captain, but i noticed nothing suspicious. the redskins will look twice before attacking us: we gave them too rude a shaking for them to forget it." "i am not of your opinion, sergeant; the pagans are vindictive; i am convinced that they would like to avenge themselves on us, and that some day, before long perhaps, we shall hear them utter their war-yell in the valley." "i do not desire it, it is true; but i believe, if they attempted it, they would sing small." "i think so too; but they would give us a sorrowful surprise, especially now that, through our labours and our care, we are on the point of receiving the price of our fatigues, and beginning to see the end of our troubles." "that is true, it would be vexatious, for the losses an attack from these bandits would entail on us are incalculable." "unluckily, we can only keep on our guard, and it will be impossible for us to foil the plans which these red demons are doubtless ruminating against us. have you placed the sentinels as i recommended, sergeant?" "yes, captain, and i ordered them to display the utmost watchfulness; i do not believe that the pawnees can surprise us, however clever they may be." "we cannot take our oath of anything, sergeant," the captain answered, as he shook his head with a doubtful air. at this moment, and as if accident wished to confirm his views, the bell hung outside, and which was used to tell the colonists someone desired to come in, was rung violently. "what does that mean?" the captain exclaimed, as he looked at a clock on the wall in front of him; "it is nearly eight o'clock, who can come so late? have not all our men returned?" "all, captain, there is no one outside the palisades." james watt rose, seized his rifle, and making the sergeant a sign to follow him, prepared to go out. "where are you going, my love?" a gentle, anxious voice asked him. the captain turned; his wife had re-entered the keeping room unnoticed by him. "did you not hear the bell?" he asked her; "someone wishes to come in." "yes, i heard it, dear," she replied; "but do you intend to open the gate at this hour?" "i am the head of this colony, madam," the captain answered, coldly but firmly; "and at such an hour as this it is my duty to open the gate, for there may be danger in doing it, and i must give to all an example of courage and accomplishment of duty." at this moment the bell pealed a second time. "let us go," the captain added, turning to the sergeant. his wife made no reply. she fell into a chair, pale and trembling with anxiety. in the meanwhile the captain had gone out, followed by bothrel and four hunters, all armed with rifles. the night was dark. there was not a star in the heavens, which were black as ink. two paces ahead it was impossible to distinguish objects, and a cold breeze whistled fitfully. bothrel had taken down a lanthorn to guide him through the room. "how is it," the captain said, "that the sentry at the drawbridge has not challenged?" "perhaps he is afraid of giving an alarm, knowing, as he did, that we should hear the bell from the tower." "hum!" the captain muttered between his teeth. they walked onward. presently they heard a sound of voices, to which they listened. it was the sentry speaking. "patience!" he said. "someone is coming. i see a lanthorn shining. you will only have a few moments longer to wait, though for your own sake i recommend you not to stir, or i shall put a bullet into you." "hang it!" a sarcastic voice replied outside, "you have a curious idea of hospitality in there. no matter, i will wait; so you can raise your barrel, for i have no idea of carrying your works by myself." the captain reached the intrenchments at this moment. "what is it, bob?" he asked the sentry. "i really don't know, captain," he answered. "there is a man on the edge of the ditch who insists on coming in." "who are you? what do you want?" the captain shouted. "and pray who may you be?" the stranger replied. "i am captain james watt, and i warn you that unknown vagabonds are not allowed to enter here at such an hour. return at sunrise, and then i may possibly allow you to come in." "take care what you are about," the stranger said. "your obstinacy in causing me to shiver on the brink of this ditch may cost you dearly." "take care yourself," the captain answered, impatiently. "i am not in the mood to listen to threats." "i do not threaten: i warn you. you have already committed a grave fault to-day. do not commit a grave one to-night, by obstinately refusing to let me come in." this answer struck the captain, and made him reflect. "supposing," he said presently, "i allow you to enter, who guarantees that you will not betray me? the night is dark, and you may have a large band with you, which i am unable to see." "i have only one companion with me, for whom i answer with my head." "hum!" the captain remarked, more undecided than ever, "and who will answer for you?" "myself." "who are you, as you speak our language with such correctness that you might almost be taken for one of our countrymen?" "well, i am nearly one; for i am a canadian, and my name is tranquil." "tranquil!" the captain exclaimed. "are you, then, the celebrated wood-ranger, surnamed the panther-killer?" "i do not know whether i am celebrated, captain. all i am certain of is, that i am the man you refer to." "if you are really tranquil, i will allow you to enter; but who is the man that accompanies you, and for whom you answer?" "black-deer, the first sachem of the snake pawnees." "oh! oh!" the captain muttered, "what does he want here?" "let us in, and you will know," "well, be it so," the captain shouted; "but i warn you that, at the slightest appearance of treachery, you and your comrade will be mercilessly killed." "and you will be justified in doing it, if i break my word." the captain, after recommending his hunters to hold themselves in readiness for any event, ordered the drawbridge to be lowered. tranquil and black-deer entered. both were unarmed, or, at any rate, seemed so. in the presence of such a proof of confidence, the captain felt ashamed of his suspicions; and after the bridge had been raised again, he dismissed his escort, and only kept bothrel with him. "follow me," he said to the strangers. the latter bowed without further reply, and walked at his side. they reached the tower without exchanging a syllable. the captain introduced them into the keeper's room, where mrs. watt was alone, a prey to the most lively anxiety. by a sign her husband ordered her to retire. she gave him a suppliant glance, which he understood, for he did not insist, and she remained silent in her chair. tranquil had the same calm and open countenance as of yore. nothing in his manner seemed to evidence that he had any hostile intentions towards the colonists. black-deer, on the contrary, was gloomy and stern. the captain offered his guests seats by the fire. "be seated, gentlemen," he said. "you must feel the need of warmth. have you come to me as friends or foes?" "it is more easy to ask that question than answer it," the hunter said, honestly; "up to the present our intentions are kindly; you will decide yourself, captain, as to the terms on which we shall leave you." "in any case, you will not refuse some slight refreshment?" "for the present, i must ask you to excuse us," tranquil replied, who appeared to be spokesman for himself and friend; "it is better, i think, to settle at once the point that brings us here." "hum!" the captain muttered, annoyed in his heart at this refusal, which foreboded nothing good; "in that case speak, and an amicable interview will not depend on me." "i, wish it with all my heart, captain; the more so, because if i am here it is with the object of avoiding the consequences either of a mistake or a moment of passion." the captain bowed his thanks, and the canadian went on. "you are an old soldier, sir," he said, "and the shorter the speech the better you will like it; in two words, then, this is what brings us: the snake pawnees accuse you of having seized their village by treachery, and massacred the greater part of their relations and friends. is that true?" "it is true that i seized their village, but i had the right to do so, since the redskins refused to surrender it to me; but i deny that i acted treacherously: on the contrary, the pawnees behaved in that way to me." "oh!" black-deer exclaimed, as he rose quickly, "the paleface has a lying tongue in his mouth." "peace!" tranquil cried, as he forced him to take his seat again, "leave me to disentangle this skein, which seems to me very troublesome. forgive me for insisting," he went on, addressing the captain, "but the question is a grave one, and the truth must out. were you not received, on your arrival, by the chiefs of the tribe, in the light of a friend?" "yes; our first relations were amicable." "why, then, did they become hostile?" "i have told you; because, contrary to sworn faith and pledged word, they refused to give up the land." "what do you say?" "certainly, because they had sold me the territory they occupied." "oh, oh, captain! this requires an explanation." "it is very easy to give, and to prove my good faith in the matter, i will show you the deed of sale." the hunter and the chief exchanged a glance of surprise. "i am quite out of my reckoning," said tranquil. "wait a moment," the captain went on, "i will fetch the deed and show it to you." and he went out. "oh, sir!" the young lady exclaimed, as she clasped her hands entreatingly, "try to prevent a quarrel." "alas, madam!" the hunter said sadly, "that will be very difficult, after the turn matters have taken." "here, look," the captain said, as he came in and showed them the deed. the two men required but a glance to detect the trick. "that deed is false," said tranquil. "false! that is impossible!" the captain went on in stupor; "if it be, i am odiously deceived." "unfortunately that has happened." "what is to be done?" the captain muttered, mechanically. black-deer rose. "let the palefaces listen," he said, majestically; "a sachem is about to speak." the canadian tried to interpose, but the chief sternly imposed silence on him. "my father has been deceived; he is a just warrior, his head is grey; the wacondah has given him wisdom; the snake pawnees are also just; they wish to live in peace with my father, because he is innocent of the fault with which he is reproached, and for which another must be rendered responsible." the commencement of this speech greatly surprised the chief's hearers; the young mother especially, on hearing the words, felt her anxiety disappear, and joy well up in her heart again. "the snake pawnees," the sachem continued, "will restore to my father all the merchandize he extorted from him; he, for his part, will pledge himself to abandon the hunting-grounds of the pawnees, and retire with the palefaces who came with him; the pawnees will give up the vengeance they wished to take for the murder of their brothers, and the war hatchet will be buried between the redskins and the palefaces of the west. i have spoken." after these words there was a silence. his hearers were struck with stupor: if the conditions were unacceptable, war became inevitable. "what does my father answer?" the chief asked presently. "unhappily, chief," the captain answered sadly, "i cannot consent to such conditions, that is impossible; all i can do is to double the price i paid previously." the chief shrugged his shoulders in contempt. "black-deer was mistaken," he said, with a crushing smile of sarcasm; "the palefaces have really a forked tongue." it was impossible to make the sachem understand the real state of the case; with that blind obstinacy characteristic of his race, he would listen to nothing; the more they tried to prove to him that he was wrong, the more convinced he felt he was right. at a late hour of the night the canadian and black-deer withdrew, accompanied, as far as the entrenchments, by the captain. so soon as they had gone, james watt returned thoughtfully to the tower; on the threshold he stumbled against a rather large object, and stooped down to see what it was. "oh!" he exclaimed as he rose again, "then they really mean fighting! by heaven! they shall have it to their heart's content!" the object against which the captain had stumbled was a bundle of arrows fastened by a serpent skin; the two ends of this skin and the points of the arrows were blood stained. black-deer, on retiring, had let the declaration of war fall behind him. all hope of peace had vanished, and preparation for fighting must be made. after the first moment of stupor the captain regained his coolness; and although day had not yet broken, he aroused the colonists and assembled them in front of the town, to hold a council and consult as to the means for neutralizing the peril that menaced them. chapter ix. the snake pawnees. we will now clear up a few points in this story which may appear obscure to the reader. the redskins, however great their other faults may be, have a fanatic love for the country where they are born, and nothing can take its place. monkey-face did not speak falsely when he told captain watt that he was one of the principal chiefs of his tribe; but he had been careful not to reveal for what reason he had been expelled from his tribe. this reason the time has now arrived for us to make known. monkey-face was not only a man of unbridled ambition, but also, an extraordinary thing for an indian, he had no religious faith, and was completely exempt from those weaknesses and that superstitious credulity to which his fellows are so amenable: in addition, he was faithless, dishonourable, and of more than depraved manners. having been taken, when young, to the towns of the american union, he had been in a position to see closely the eccentric civilization of the united states. unable to comprehend the good and bad sides of this civilization, and steer between them, he had, as generally happens in such cases, been seduced by that which most flattered his tastes and instincts, and had only taken from the customs of the whites whatever completed and furnished his precocious depravity. hence, when he returned to his tribe, his language and manners were so discordant with what was done and said around him, that he speedily excited the contempt and hatred of his countrymen. his most violent enemies were naturally the priests, or, at least, the sorcerers, whom he had tried several times to turn into ridicule. so soon as monkey-face had put on his back the omnipotent party of the sorcerers, it was all over with his ambitious plans: all his manoeuvres failed, a dull opposition constantly overthrew his schemes at the very moment when he expected to see them succeed. for a long time, the chief, not knowing how to act, kept prudently on the defensive, while actively watching the movements of his enemies; awaiting, with that feline patience which formed the basis of his character, for chance to reveal to him the name of the man on whom his vengeance should fall. as all his measures were taken, he soon discovered that the man to whom he owed his continual checks was no other than the principal sorcerer of the tribe. this was an aged man, respected and beloved by all on account of his wisdom and goodness. monkey-face hid his hatred for a season; but one day, in full council, after a lively discussion, he allowed his rage to carry him away, and, rushing on the unhappy old man, he stabbed him in the sight of all the elders of the tribe, before those present could prevent the execution of his design. the murder of the sorcerer put the climax on the horror this villain inspired. on the spot, the chief drove him from the territory of the nation, refusing him fire and water, and threatening him with the heaviest punishment if he dared to appear before them again. monkey-face, too weak to resist the execution of this sentence, retired with rage in his heart, and uttering the most horrible threats. we have seen in what way he revenged himself by selling the territory of his tribe to the americans, and thus causing the ruin of those who banished him. but he had scarce obtained the vengeance he had so long pursued, when a strange revolution took place in this man's heart. the sight of the land where he was born, and where the ashes of his father reposed, aroused in him with extreme force that love of his country which he thought dead, but was only asleep in his heart. the shame at the odious action he had committed by surrendering to the enemies of his race the hunting grounds which he had himself so long freely traversed, the obstinacy with which the americans set to work changing the face of the country, and destroying their aged trees, whose shadows had so long protected the councils of his nation--all these causes combined had caused him to reflect, and, rendered desperate by the sacrilege which hatred impelled him to commit, he tried to rejoin his comrades, in order to assist them in recovering what they had lost through his fault. that is to say, he resolved to betray his new friends to the profit of his old friends. this man was unhappily engaged in a fatal path where each step he took must be marked for a crime. it was easier than he at first supposed for him to rejoin his countrymen, for they were scattered and wandering in despair through the forests round the colony. monkey-face presented himself boldly to them, and was very careful not to tell them that he alone was the cause of the misfortunes that overwhelmed them. on the other hand, he made a secret of his return, telling them that the news of the calamities which had suddenly fallen on them was the sole cause of his coming; that, had they continued to be happy, they would never have seen him again; but that, in the presence of such a frightful catastrophe as that which had crushed them, every feeling of hatred must disappear before the common vengeance to be taken on the pale-faces, those eternal and implacable enemies of the red race. in a word, he displayed such noble sentiments, and put the step he was taking in such a brilliant light, that he completely succeeded in deceiving the indians, and persuading them of the purity of his intentions, and his good faith. after this, with the diabolical intelligence he possessed, he formed a vast plot against the americans, a plot into which he had the cleverness to draw the other indian people allied to his tribe; and, while ostensibly remaining the friend of the colonists, he silently prepared and organized their utter ruin. the influence he succeeded in obtaining over his tribe within a short time was immense: three men alone entertained an instinctive distrust of him, and carefully watched his movements; they were tranquil, the canadian hunter, black-deer, and blue-fox. tranquil could not understand the conduct of the chief; it seemed to him extraordinary that this man had thus become a friend of the americans. several times he asked him explanations on this head, but monkey-face had always answered in an ambiguous way, or evaded his questions. tranquil, whose suspicions daily grew, and who was determined to know positively what opinion to have of a man whose manoeuvres appeared to him daily more suspicious, succeeded in getting himself chosen with black-deer, by the great council of the nation, to bear the declaration of war to captain watt. monkey-face was vexed at the choice of the envoys whom he knew to be secretly his enemies; but he concealed his resentment; the more so, because matters were too far advanced to withdraw, and everything was in readiness for the expedition. tranquil and black-deer consequently set out with orders to declare war on the palefaces. "if i am not greatly mistaken," the canadian said to his friend as they rode along, "we are going to hear something about monkey-face." "do you think so?" "i would wager it. i am convinced the scamp is playing a double game, and cheats us all to his own profit." "i have no great confidence in him, still i cannot believe that he could carry his effrontery so far." "we shall soon see what we have to depend on; at any rate, though, promise me one thing." "what is it?" "that i be the first to speak. i know better than you how to deal with the palefaces of the west." "be it so," black-deer replied, "act as you think proper." five minutes after, they reached the colony. we related in the previous chapter how they were received, and what passed between them and captain watt. this custom of the indians of declaring war against their enemies may appear extraordinary to europeans, who are accustomed to regard them as stupid savages, but we must make no mistake; the redskins have an eminently chivalrous character, and never, except in the case of a horse robbery or such matter, will they attack an enemy before warning him that he may be on his guard. in fact, it is by cleverly working on this chivalrous character, of which the north americans, we regret to say, do not possess a particle, that the whites have gained the majority of their victories over the redskins. when a few yards from the colony, the two men found again their horses which they had hobbled; they mounted, and went off at a rapid rate. "well," tranquil asked the chief, "what do you think of all this?" "my brother was right, monkey-face has constantly cheated us; it is evident that this deed emanates from him alone." "what do you intend doing?" "i do not know yet; perhaps it would be dangerous to unmask him at this moment." "i am not of your opinion, chief; the presence of this traitor among us can only injure our cause." "let us have a look at him first." "be it so! but permit me a remark." "i am listening, my brother.' "how is it that after recognizing the falseness of that deed of sale, you insisted on declaring war against this long knife of the west, since he has proved to you that he was deceived by monkey-face?" the chief smiled cunningly. "the paleface was only deceived," he said, "because it suited him to be so." "i do not understand you, chief." "i will explain myself. does my brother know how a sale of land is effected?" "no, i do not; and i confess to you, that, never having got to buy or sell, i have not troubled myself about it." "wah! in that case i will tell my brother." "you will cause me pleasure, for i always like to gain information, and this may be useful to me at some time," the canadian said with a grin. "when a paleface wishes to buy the hunting-ground of a tribe he goes to the principal sachems of the nation, and after smoking the calumet of peace in council, he explains his meaning; the conditions are discussed; if the two contracting parties agree, a plan of the territory is drawn up by the principal sorcerer, the paleface gives his goods, all the chiefs place their sign manual at the foot of the plan, the trees are blazed with a tomahawk, the borders marked, and the purchaser takes immediate possession." "hum," tranquil remarked, "that seems simple enough." "in what council has the grey-head chief smoked the calumet? where are the sachems who have treated with him? let him show me the trees that were marked." "in truth, i fancy he would find that difficult." "the grey-head," the chief continued, "knew that monkey-face was cheating him; but the territory suited him, and he calculated on the strength of his arms to hold his own." "that is probable." "conquered by evidence, and recognizing too late that he acted inconsiderately, he fancied he could recover all difficulties by offering us a few more bales of merchandize. whenever did the palefaces have a straight and honest tongue?" "thank you," the hunter said, laughingly. "i do not speak of my brother's nation; i never had to complain of them, and i only refer to the long knives of the west. does my brother still think that i was wrong in throwing down the bloody arrows?" "perhaps, in that circumstance, chief, you were a little too quick, and allowed your passion to carry you away, but you have so many reasons for hating the americans that i dare not blame you." "then, i can still count on my brother's assistance?" "why should i refuse it to you, chief? your cause is still as it was, that is to say, just; it is my duty to help you, and i will do so, whatever may happen." "och! i thank my brother; his rifle will be useful to us." "here we are; it is time to form a determination with reference to monkey-face." "it is formed," the chief answered, laconically. at this moment, they entered a vast clearing, in the centre of which several fires were burning. five hundred indian warriors, painted and armed for war, were lying about in the grass, while their horses, all harnessed, and ready for mounting, were hobbled, and eating their provender of climbing peas. round the principal fire several chiefs were crouching and smoking silently. the newcomers dismounted, and proceeded rapidly toward this fire, before which monkey-face was walking up and down in considerable agitation. the two men took their places by the side of the other chiefs, and lit their calumets; although every one expected their arrival impatiently, no one addressed a word to them, indian etiquette prohibiting a chief from speaking, before the calumet was completely smoked out. when black-deer had finished his calumet, he shook out the ashes, passed it through his belt, and said:-- "the orders of the sachems are accomplished; the bloody arrows have been delivered to the palefaces." the chiefs bowed their heads in sign of satisfaction at these news. monkey-face walked up. "has my brother black-deer seen grey-head?" he asked. "yes," the chief answered, drily. "what does my brother think?" monkey-face pressed him. black-deer gave him an equivocal glance. "what matters the thought of a chief at this moment," he answered, "since the council of the sachems has resolved on war?" "the nights are long," blue-fox then said, "will my brothers remain here smoking?" tranquil remarked in his turn-- "the long knives are on their guard, they are watching at this moment, my brothers will remount their horses, and withdraw, for the hour is not propitious." the chiefs gave a sign of assent. "i will go on the discovery," monkey-face said. "good," black-deer answered, with a stern smile; "my brother is skilful, he sees many things, he will inform us." monkey-face prepared to leap on a horse which a warrior led him up, but suddenly black-deer rose, rushed toward him, and laying his hand roughly on his shoulder, compelled him to fall on his knees. the warriors, surprised at this sudden aggression, the motive of which they did not divine, exchanged glances of surprise, though they did not make the slightest movement to interpose between the two chiefs. monkey-face quickly raised his head. "does the spirit of evil trouble my brother's brain?" he said, as he tried to free himself from the iron grip that nailed him to the ground. black-deer gave a sarcastic smile, and drew his scalping knife. "monkey-face is a traitor," he said in a sullen voice "he has sold his brothers to the palefaces; he is about to die." black-deer was not only a renowned warrior, but his wisdom and honour were held in just repute by the tribe; hence no one protested against the accusation he had made, the more so, because, unfortunately for him, monkey-face had been long known. black-deer raised his knife, whose bluish blade flashed in the fire-light, but by a supreme effort monkey-face succeeded in freeing himself, bounded like a wild beast, and disappeared in the bushes with a hoarse laugh. the knife had slipped, and only cut the flesh, without inflicting a serious wound on the clever indian. there was a moment of stupor, but then all rose simultaneously to rush in pursuit of the fugitive. "stay," tranquil shouted in a loud voice, "it is now too late. make haste to attack the palefaces before that villain has warned them, for he is doubtless meditating fresh treachery." the chiefs recognized the justice of this, advice, and the indians prepared for the combat. chapter x. the battle. in the meanwhile, as is stated a little while ago, captain watt had assembled all the members of the colony in front of the town. the number of combatants amounted to sixty-two, including the females. european ladies may think it singular that we count the females among the combatants: in truth, in the old world the days of bradamante and joan d'arc have happily passed away for ever, and the fair sex, owing to the constant progress of civilization, is no longer reduced to the necessity of fighting side by side with men. in north america, at the period of which we write, and even at the present day, on the prairies and the clearings, it is not so; when the war-yell of the indians suddenly echoes on the ears of the pioneers, the women are constrained to give up the labour of their sex, to take a rifle in their delicate hands, and fight boldly in defence of the community. we could, if necessary, cite several of these heroines with soft eyes and angelic countenances who, on occasion, have valiantly done their duty as soldiers and fought like perfect demons against the indians. mrs. watt was anything rather than a heroine, but she was the daughter and the wife of a soldier; she was born and brought up on the indian borders; she had already smelt powder several times and seen blood flow, but, before all, she was a mother. as her children had to be defended, all her feminine timidity had disappeared and made way for a cold and energetic resolution. her example electrified all the other women of the colony, and all had armed, resolved to fight by the side of their husbands and fathers. we repeat here that, what with men and women, the captain had sixty-two combatants around him. he tried to dissuade his wife from taking part in the fight, but the gentle creature whom he had seen hitherto so timid and obedient, plainly refused to give up her project, and the captain was compelled to let her do as she pleased. he therefore made his arrangements for defence. twenty-four men were placed in the entrenchments under the orders of bothrel. the captain himself took the command of a second party of twenty-four hunters, intended to act anywhere and everywhere. the females, under the orders of mrs. watt, were left in charge of the tower, in which the children and the invalids were shut up, and the arrival of the indians was then awaited. it was about one in the morning when the canadian hunter and the pawnee chief left the colony; by about half-past two all was ready for the defence. the captain made a last round of the entrenchment in order to ensure himself that all was in order, then, after ordering all the fires to be extinguished, he secretly left the colony by a concealed door in the palisades, of whose existence only himself and sergeant bothrel were cognizant. a plank was placed across the ditch, and the captain crossed, only followed by bothrel and a kentuckian of the name of bob, a daring and broad-shouldered fellow, to whom we have already had occasion to refer. the plank was carefully hidden so as to serve for their return, and the three men glided through the darkness like phantoms. when they had gone about one hundred yards from the colony, the captain halted. "gentlemen," he then said in a voice so faint that they were obliged to stoop down to hear him; "i have chosen you because the expedition we are about to attempt is dangerous, and i wanted resolute men with me." "what is to be done?" bothrel asked. "the night is so dark that those accursed pagans could if they liked reach the very edge of the ditch, and it would be impossible for us to notice them; i have, therefore, resolved to set fire to the piles of planks and roots. a man must know how to make sacrifices when needed; these fires which will burn a long while will spread a brilliant light, enabling us to see our enemies for a long distance and fire at them with certainty." "the idea is excellent," bothrel answered. "yes," the captain continued, "still, we must not hide from ourselves that it is extremely perilous; it is plain that indian scouts are already scattered over the prairies, perhaps very close to us, and when two or three fires have been lighted, if we see them, they will not fail to see us too. each of us will take the necessary objects, and we will try by the rapidity of our movements to foil the tricks of these demons; remember that we shall act separately, and each of us will have four or five fires to light, so we cannot count on one another. to work!" the combustibles and inflammable matters were shared between the three men and they separated. five minutes later a spark glistened, then a second, then a third; at the end of a quarter of an hour ten tires were lighted. weak at first, they seemed to hesitate for a while, but gradually the flame increased, gained consistency, and soon the whole plain was lit up by the blood-red glare of these immense torches. the captain and his comrades had been more fortunate than they anticipated in their expedition, for they had succeeded in lighting the piles of wood scattered over the valley, without attracting the attention of the indians; and they hurried back to the entrenchments at full speed. it was high time, for suddenly a terrible war-yell burst forth behind them, and a large band of indian warriors appeared on the skirt of the forest, galloping at full speed, and brandishing their weapons like a legend of demons. but they came up too late to catch the whites, who had crossed the ditch and were sheltered from their missiles. a discharge of musketry greeted the arrival of the indians, several fell from their horses, and the others turned and fled with great precipitation. the fight had commenced, but the captain cared little about that; thanks to his lucky expedient, a surprise was impossible, and they could see as well as in the daylight. there was a moment's respite, by which the americans profited to reload their rifles. the colonists had felt anxious on seeing the immense fires lit up one after the other on the prairie; they believed in an indian device, but were soon disabused, by the captain's return, and congratulated themselves, on the contrary, upon this happy expedient, which enabled them to fire almost with certainty. the pawnees, however, had not given up their project of attack; in all probability they had only retired in order to deliberate. the captain, with his shoulder leant against the palisade, was attentively examining the deserted plain, when he fancied he perceived an unusual motion in a rather large field of indian corn, about two rifle shots from the colony. "look out!" he said, "the enemy is approaching." every one put his finger on his trigger. all at once a great noise was heard, and the furthest pile of wood fell in, emitting myriads of sparks. "by heaven!" the captain shouted, "there is some indian devilry behind that, for it is impossible for that enormous pile to be consumed." at the same instant another fell in, followed immediately by a third, and then by a fourth. there could no longer be a doubt as to the cause of these successive falls. the indians, whose movements were neutralized by the light these monster beacons shed, had taken the very simple method of extinguishing them, which they were enabled to do in perfect safety, for they were out of rifle range. no sooner was the wood down than it was scattered in every direction, and easily put out. this expedient enabled the indians to get very near to the palisades unnoticed. still, all the piles were not overthrown, and those that remained were near enough to the fort to be defended by its fire. for all that, the pawnees attempted to put them out. but the firing then recommenced, and the bullets fell in a hailstorm on the besiegers, who, after holding out for some minutes, were at last compelled to take to flight, for we cannot give the name of a retreat to the precipitation with which they withdrew. the americans began laughing and hooting at the fugitives. "i think," bothrel said facetiously, "that those fine fellows find our soup too hot, and regret having put their fingers in it." "in truth," the captain remarked, "they do not appear inclined to return this time." he was mistaken; for, at the same instant, the indians came back at a gallop. nothing could check them, and, in spite of the fusillade, to which they disdained to reply, they reached the very brink of the ditch. it is true, that once there, they turned back, and retired as rapidly as they had come, though not without leaving on the way a great number of their comrades, whom the american bullets pitilessly laid low. but the plan of the pawnees had been successful, and the whites soon perceived, to their great disappointment, that they had been too hasty in congratulating themselves on their facile victory. each pawnee horseman carried on his croup a warrior, who, on reaching the ditch, dismounted, and profiting by the disorder and smoke, which prevented their being seen, sheltered themselves behind the trunks of trees and elevations of the soil so cleverly, that when the americans leaned over the palisade to discover the results of the evening's charge, they were in their turn greeted by a discharge of bullets and long barbed arrows, which stretched fifteen on the ground. there was a movement of blind terror among the whites after this attack made by invisible enemies. fifteen men at one round was a fearful loss for the colonists; the combat was assuming serious proportions, which threatened to degenerate into a defeat; for the indians had never before displayed so much energy and obstinacy in an attack. no hesitation was possible; the daring force must be dislodged at any cost from the post where they had so rashly ambushed themselves. the captain formed his resolve. collecting some twenty resolute men, while the others guarded the palisades, he had the drawbridge lowered, and rushed out. the enemies then met face to face. the medley became terrible; the white men and redskins intertwined like serpents, drunk with rage and blinded by hatred, only thought of killing each other. all at once an immense glare illumined the scene of carnage, and cries of terror rose from the colony. the captain turned his head, and uttered a shriek of despair at the horrible sight that met his terror-stricken gaze. the tower and principal buildings were on fire; in the light of the flames the indians could be seen bounding like demons in pursuit of the defenders of the colony, who, grouped here and there, were attempting a resistance which had now become impossible. this is what had occurred:-- while black-deer, blue-fox, and the other principal pawnee chiefs attempted an attack on the front of the colony, tranquil, followed by quoniam, and fifty warriors, on whom he could depend, had got into the buffalo-hide canoes, silently descended the river, and landed in the colony itself, before the alarm was given, for the very simple reason that the americans did not at all apprehend an attack from the side of the missouri. still, we must do the captain the justice of saying that he had not left this side undefended; sentries had been posted there; but, unfortunately, in the disorder occasioned by the indians' last charge, the sentries, thinking nothing was to be feared from the river, deserted their post to go whither they imagined the danger greatest, and help their comrades in repulsing the indians. this unpardonable fault ruined the defenders of the colony. tranquil disembarked his party without firing a shot. the pawnees, when they had once entered the fort, threw incendiary torches on the wooden buildings, and, uttering their war-yell, rushed on the americans, whom they placed between two fires. tranquil, quoniam, and some warriors who did not leave them, hurried up to the town. mrs. watt, although taken by surprise, prepared, however, to defend the post confided to her. the canadian approached with hands upraised in sign of peace. "surrender, in heaven's name!" he cried, "or you are lost; the colony is captured!" "no!" she answered, boldly, "i will never surrender to a coward, who betrays his brothers to take the part of the pagans!" "you are unjust to me," the hunter answered, sadly-- "i have come to save you." "i will not be saved by you!" "unhappy woman! if not for your own sake, surrender on behalf of your children. see, the tower is on fire!" the lady raised her eyes, uttered a thrilling shriek, and rushed wildly into the interior of the building. the other females, trusting in the hunter's words, attempted no resistance, but laid down their arms. tranquil entrusted the guard of these poor women to quoniam, with whom he left a few warriors, and then hurried off to put a stop to the carnage which was going on in all parts of the colony. quoniam entered the tower when he found mrs. watt half stifled and holding her children pressed to her heart with extraordinary strength. the worthy negro threw the young lady across his shoulder, carried her out, and collecting all the females and children, led them to the banks of the missouri to get them out of range of the fire, and await the end of the fight, without exposing the prisoners to the fury of the victors. it was now no longer a combat but a butchery, rendered more atrocious still by the barbarous refinements of the indians, who attacked their unhappy enemies with indescribable fury. the captain, bothrel, bob, and some twenty americans, the only colonists still alive, were collected in the centre of the esplanade defending themselves with the energy of despair against a cloud of indians, and resolved to die sooner than fall into the hands of their ferocious enemies. tranquil, however, succeeded, by repeated entreaties and braving a thousand perils, in inducing them to lay down their arms and thus put an end to the carnage. all at once cries, groans, and entreaties were heard from the riverside. the hunter dashed off; agitated by a gloomy presentiment. black-deer and his warriors followed him. when they reached the spot where quoniam had collected the women, a fearful sight presented itself to them. mrs. watt and three other females lay motionless on the ground in a pool of blood, quoniam lay extended in front of them with two wounds, one on his head, the other in his chest. it was impossible to obtain any information from the other females as to what had occurred, for they were half mad with terror. the captain's children had disappeared. end of prologue. chapter xi. the venta del potrero. using now our privilege as romancer, we will transfer the scene of our narrative to texas, and resume our story about sixteen years after the events recorded in the prologue. dawn was beginning to tinge the clouds with its opaline rays, the stars went out one after the other in the gloomy depths of the sky, and on the extreme blue line of the horizon a bright red reflection, precursor of sunrise, showed that day would ere long appear. thousands of invisible birds, hidden beneath the foliage, suddenly woke up, and melodiously began their morning concert, while the yells of the wild beasts quitting the watering places, and returning slowly to their unexplored lairs, became gradually more dull and indistinct. at this moment the breeze rose, burst into the dense cloud of steam which at sunrise exhales from the earth in these intertropical regions, whirled it round for an instant, then rent it asunder, and scattered it in space; thus displaying, without any apparent transition, the most delicious landscape the dreaming mind of poet or painter could imagine. it is, before all, in america that providence appears to have taken a pleasure in lavishing the most striking landscape effects, and in infinitely varying the contrasts and harmonies of that puissant nature which can only be found there. through the centre of an immense plain, circled on all sides by the tall foliage of a virgin forest, there ran in capricious windings a sandy road, whose golden colour contrasted harmoniously with the deep green of the grass and the silvery whiteness of a narrow stream which the first beams of the sun caused to sparkle like a casket of jewels. not far from the stream, and at about the middle of the plain, rose a white house with a verandah running round it, and a roof of red tiles. this house, prettily covered with creepers that almost hid its walls, was a _venta_, or hostelry, built on the top of a small mount. it was reached by an imperceptible ascent, and, owing to its position, commanded the immense and grand landscape. before the door of the venta several dragoons, picturesquely grouped, and about twenty in number, were saddling their horses while the arrieros were actively engaged in loading seven or eight mules. along the road and some paces from the venta, several horsemen, resembling black dots, could be seen just entering the forest to which we alluded, a forest which rose gradually, and was commanded by a girdle of lofty mountains, whose rugged and bare crests were almost confounded with the azure of the sky. the door of the venta opened, and a young officer came out singing, accompanied by a stout and jolly-looking monk; after them, a charming maiden of eighteen or nineteen, fair-haired and fragile, with blue eyes and golden hair, appeared on the threshold. "come, come," the captain said, for the young officer wore the marks of that grade, "we have lost too much time already, so to horse." "hum!" the monk growled, "we have had hardly time to breakfast; why the deuce are you in such a hurry, captain?" "holy man," the officer went on with a laugh, "if you prefer remaining, you are at liberty to do so." "no, no, i will go with you," the monk exclaimed, with a look of terror; "_caspita!_ i want to take advantage of your escort." "then make haste, for i shall give orders to start within five minutes." the officer, after looking round the plain, gave his _asistente_ orders to bring up his horse, and mounted with that grace peculiar to mexican riders. the monk stifled a sigh of regret, probably thinking of the savoury hospitality he was leaving, to run the risk of a long journey, and, aided by the arrieros, he contrived to lift himself on to a mule, whose loins gave way beneath the enormous load. "ouf!" he muttered, "here i am." "to horse!" the officer commanded. the dragoons obeyed at once, and for a few seconds the clash of steel could be heard. the maiden, to whom we have alluded, had hitherto stood silent and motionless in the doorway, apparently suffering from some secret agitation, and looking now and then anxiously at two or three campesinos, who, leaning negligently against the wall of the venta, listlessly followed the movements of the party; but at the moment when the captain was about to give the order to start, she resolutely went up to him and offered him a mechero. "your cigarette is not lighted, sir," she said, in a soft and melodious voice. "on my honour, 'tis true," he replied, and bending gallantly down to her, he returned her the mechero, saying, "thanks, my pretty child." the girl profited by this movement, which brought his face close to hers, to whisper hurriedly-- "take care!" "what?" he said, as he looked fixedly at her. without replying, she laid her finger on her rosy lips, and turning quickly away, ran back into the venta. the captain drew himself up, frowned savagely, and bent a threatening glance on the two or three fellows leaning against the wall, but he soon shook his head. "bah!" he muttered, disdainfully, "they would not dare." he then drew his sabre, whose blade glistened dazzlingly in the sunbeams, and placed himself at the head of the troop. "forward!" he shouted. they started at once. the mules followed the bell of the néna, and the dragoons collected round the _recua_ enclosed it in their midst. for a few minutes the campesinos, who had been watching the departure of the troop, looked after it along the winding road, then re-entered the venta one by one. the girl was seated alone on an _equipal_, apparently busily engaged in sewing; still, through the almost imperceptible tremor that agitated her body, the flush on her brow, and the timid look she shot through her long eyelashes on the entrance of the campesinos, it was easy to read that the calmness she affected was far from her heart, and that, on the contrary, a secret fear tormented her. these campesinos were three in number; they were men in the full vigour of life, with harshly marked features, firm glances, and brusque and brutal manners. they wore the mexican border costume, and were well armed. they sat down on a bench placed before a clumsily planed table, and one of them striking it sharply with his fist, turned to the girl and said roughly-- "drink here." she started, and raised her head quickly. "what do you wish for, caballeros?" she said. "mezcal." she rose and hastened to serve them; the man who had spoken caught her by the dress at the moment she passed. "an instant, carmela," he said. "let go my dress, ruperto," she replied, with a slight pout of ill-humour, "you will tear it for me." "nonsense!" he replied, with a coarse laugh, "you must fancy me very awkward." "no, but your manner does not please me." "oh! oh! you are not always so wild, my charming bird." "what do you mean?" she continued, with a blush. "no matter, i understand it; but that is not the question just at present." "what is it, then?" she asked with feigned surprise; "have i not brought you the mezcal you ordered?" "yes, yes; but i have something to say to you." "well, say it quickly, and let me go." "you are in a great hurry to escape from me; are you afraid lest your lover may surprise you in conversation with me?" ruperto's comrades began laughing, and the maiden stood quite abashed. "i have no lover, ruperto, and you know it very well," she answered with tears in her eyes; "it is cruel of you to insult a defenceless girl." "nonsense! i am not insulting you, carmela; what harm is there in a pretty girl like you having a lover, if not two?" "let me go," she cried, as she made an angry movement to free herself. "not before you have answered my question." "ask it then, and let us have an end of this." "well, my wild little maid, be good enough to repeat to me what you whispered just now to that springald of a captain." "i?" she replied in embarrassment; "what do you suppose i said to him?" "that is the very point. niña, i do not suppose what you said to him, i merely wish you to tell me what it was." "leave me alone, ruperto, you only take a delight in tormenting me." the mexican looked at her searchingly. "do not turn the conversation, my beauty," he said drily, "for the question i ask you is serious." "that is possible; but i have no answer to give you." "because you know you have done wrong." "i do not understand you." "of course not! well, i will explain myself; at the moment the officer was about to start, you said to him, 'take care,' would you venture to deny it?" the girl turned pale. "since you heard me," she said, attempting to jest, "why do you ask me?" the campesinos had frowned on hearing ruperto's accusation; the position was growing serious. "oh, oh!" one of them said, as he looked up; "did she really say that?" "apparently, since i heard it," ruperto retorted brutally. the girl took a timid glance around, as if imploring an absent protector. "he is not there," ruperto remarked cruelly, "so it is of no use looking for him." "who?" she asked, hesitating between the shame of the supposition and the terror of her dangerous position. "he," he answered with a grin. "listen, carmela; several times already you have learned more of our business than we liked; i repeat to you the remark you made a minute ago to the captain, and try to profit by it; take care." "yes," the second speaker said brutally; "for we might forget that you are only a child, and make you pay dearly for your treachery." "nonsense," the third said, who had hitherto contented himself with drinking, and taking no part in the conversation; "the law must be equal for all; if carmela has betrayed us, she must be punished." "well said, bernardo," ruperto exclaimed, as he smote the table; "there are just enough of us to pronounce the sentence." "good heavens!" she screamed, as she freed herself by a sudden effort from the grasp of the arm which had hitherto held her; "let me go, let me go!" "stay!" ruperto shouted as he rose; "if you do not, some misfortune will happen." the three men rushed on the maiden, and the latter, half wild with terror, sought in vain the door of the venta by which to escape. but, at the moment when the three men laid their rough and horny hands on her white and delicate shoulders, the door, whose hasp she had been unable to lift in her terror, was thrown wide open, and a man appeared on the threshold. "what is the matter here?" he asked in a harsh voice, as he crossed his hands on his chest; and he stood motionless, looking round at the company. there was such menace in the voice of the new-comer, such a flash shot from his eyes, that the three terrified men fell back mechanically against the opposing wall, muttering--"the jaguar! the jaguar!" "save me! save me!" the maiden shrieked, as she rushed wildly toward him. "yes," he said in a deep voice; "yes, i will save you, carmela; woe to the man who causes a hair of your head to fall." and softly raising her in his powerful arms, he laid her gently on a butacca, where she reclined in a half-fainting condition. the man who appeared so suddenly was still very young; his beardless face would have seemed that of a child, if his regular features, with their almost feminine beauty, had not been relieved by two large black eyes, which possessed a brilliancy and magnetic power that few men felt themselves capable of enduring. he was tall, but graceful and elegant, and his chest was wide; his long hair, black as the raven's wing, fell in clusters beneath his vicuna hat, which was ornamented with a deep gold toquilla. he wore the brilliant and luxurious mexican costume; his calzoneras of violet velvet, open above the knee, and decorated with a profusion of carved gold buttons, displayed his shapely leg, elegantly imprisoned in plaid silk stockings; his manga, thrown over, his shoulder, was bordered with a wide gold galoon, a girdle of white china crape confined his hips, and bore a pair of pistols and a sheathless machete, with a broad and glittering blade, passed through a ring of bronzed steel: an american rifle, studded with silver ornaments, was slung over his shoulder. there was in the person of this man, still so young, an attraction so powerful, a dominating fire so strange, that it was impossible to see him without loving or hating him--so profound was the impression he unconsciously produced on all those, without exception, with whom chance brought him into relation. no one knew who he was, or whence he came; his very name was unknown; and people had consequently been compelled to give him a sobriquet, with which, however, he did not appear at all offended. as for his character, the following scenes will make it sufficiently well known for us to dispense for the present with entering into any lengthened details. chapter xii. love and jealousy. the first feeling of terror which had caused the three men to recoil at the appearance of the jaguar, had gradually worn off; their effrontery, if not their courage, had returned on seeing the inoffensive manner of the man they had long been accustomed to fear. ruperto, the biggest scoundrel of the three, was the first to regain his coolness, and, reflecting that the man who caused them such terror was alone, and therefore could not have the force on his side, he walked resolutely toward him. "rayo de dios!" he said in a brutal voice, "let that girl alone, for she deserves not only what has happened to her, but also the chastisement we are about to inflict on her at once." the young man started as if a snake had stung him, and darted over his shoulder a glance full of menace at the man who had addressed him. "are you speaking to me in that way?" he asked. "to whom else?" the other answered, resolutely, although in his heart he felt alarmed at the way in which his question had been taken up. "ah!" was all the jaguar said; and without adding another word, he walked slowly toward ruperto, whom he held motionless beneath his fascinating glance, and who watched him come up with a terror that momentarily increased. on arriving about a yard from the mexican the young man stopped. this scene, apparently so simple, must, however, have possessed a terrible significance for the witnesses, for all bosoms were heaving, every brow was pallid. the jaguar, with livid face, crisped features, eyes inflamed with blood, and brows frowning, thrust forth his arm to seize ruperto, who, overcome by terror, did not make a single movement to escape from this clutch, which he knew, however, would be mortal. suddenly carmela bounded like a startled fawn, and cast herself between the two men. "oh!" she shrieked, as she clasped her hands; "have pity on him; do not kill him, in heaven's name!" the young man's face suddenly changed, and assumed an expression of ineffable gentleness. "be it so!" he said; "since such is your wish, he shall not die; but he insulted you, carmela, and must be punished. on your knees, villain!" he continued, as he turned to ruperto and pressed his hand heavily on his shoulder; "on your knees, and ask pardon of this angel." ruperto sunk together beneath the weight of this iron hand, and fell at the maiden's feet, murmuring in a timid voice-- "pardon, pardon!" "enough," the jaguar then said, with a terrible accent; "rise, and thank your god for having escaped this time again from my vengeance. open the door, carmela." the maiden obeyed. "to horse!" the jaguar continued; "go and wait for me at the rio seco, and mind that not one stirs before my arrival, under penalty of death. begone!" the three men bowed their heads, and went out without reply; an instant later the gallop of their horses could be heard echoing on the sandy road. the two young people remained alone in the venta. the jaguar sat down at the table where the men had been drinking a moment previously, buried his face in his hands, and seemed plunged in serious thought. carmela looked at him with a mixture of timidity and fear, not daring to address him. at length, after a considerable period had elapsed, the young man raised his head, and looked around him, as if suddenly aroused from deep sleep. "what, you remained here?" he said to her. "yes," she answered, softly. "thanks, carmela--you are kind! you alone love me, when all else hates me." "have i not reason to do so?" the jaguar smiled mournfully, but answered this question by asking another, the usual tactics of persons who do not wish to let their thoughts be read. "now, tell me frankly what happened between you and those scoundrels." the maiden seemed to hesitate for a moment, but made up her mind and confessed the warning she gave the captain of dragoons. "you were wrong," the jaguar said sternly to her; "your imprudence may produce serious complications. yet i dare not blame you; you are a woman, and consequently ignorant of many things. are you alone here?" "quite alone." "what imprudence! how can tranquil leave you thus?" "his duties keep him at present at the larch-tree hacienda, where there is going to be a grand hunt in a few days." "hum! at any rate, quoniam ought to have remained with you." "he could not, for tranquil required his help." "the devil is in the business, as it seems," he said, in an ill-humoured voice; "he must be mad thus to abandon a girl alone in a venta situated alone in the midst of such a desolate country, during whole weeks." "i was not alone, for lanzi was left with me." "ah! and what has become of him?" "a little before sunrise i sent him to kill a little game." "a capital reason; and you have been left exposed to the coarse language and ill-treatment of the first scoundrel who thought proper to insult you." "i did not think there was any danger." "now, i trust you are undeceived." "oh!" she cried, with a start of terror, "that shall never happen again, i swear to you." "good! but i think i hear lanzi's footsteps." she looked out. "yes," she replied, "here he is." the man shortly after entered. he was of about forty years of age, with an intelligent and bold face; he had on his shoulders a magnificent deer, fastened much in the way swiss hunters carry a chamois, and in his right hand he held a gun. he gave a look of annoyance on perceiving the young man; still, he bowed slightly to him as he placed the venison on the table. "oh, oh," the jaguar said, in a good-humoured tone, "you have had a good hunt it seems, lanzi; are the deer plentiful on the plain?" "i have known the time when they were more numerous," he replied, gruffly; "but now," he added, shaking his head sorrowfully, "it is a hard matter for a poor man to kill one or two in a day." the young man smiled. "they will return," he said. "no, no," lanzi replied, "when the deer have been once startled, they do not return to the parts they have left, however much it might be to their benefit to do so." "you must put up with it then, master, and take things as they are." "well, what else do i?" he growled, as he angrily turned his back on the speaker. and, after this sally, he reloaded the game on his shoulders, and entered the other room. "lanzi is not amiable to-day," the jaguar observed, when he found himself alone with carmela. "he is annoyed at meeting you here." the young man frowned. "why so?" he asked. carmela blushed and looked down without answering. the jaguar looked at her searchingly for a moment. "i understand," he said at last; "my presence in this hostelry displeases somebody--him, perhaps." "why should it displease him? he is not the master, i suppose." "that is true; then it displeases your father--is that it?" the maiden gave a nod of assent. the jaguar sprung up violently, and walked up and down the room, with his head down, and his arms behind his back; after a few minutes of this behaviour, which carmela followed with an anxious eye, he stopped suddenly before her, raised his head, and looked at her fixedly. "and does my presence here, carmela, displease you also?" the girl remained silent. "reply," he went on. "i did not say so," she murmured, with hesitation. "no," he said, with a bitter smile, "but you think so, carmela, though you have not the courage to confess it to my face." she drew herself up proudly. "you are unjust to me," she replied, with peevish excitement, "unjust and unkind. why should i--_i,_ desire your absence? you never did me any harm; on the contrary, i have ever found you ready to defend me; this very day you did not hesitate to protect me from the ill-treatment of the wretches who insulted me." "ah! you allow it?" "why should i not allow it, since it is true? do you consider me ungrateful, then?" "no, carmela, you are only a woman," he replied, bitterly. "i do not understand your meaning, and do not wish to do so; i alone here defend you, when my father, or quoniam, or anyone else accuses you. is it my fault, if, owing to your character, and the mysterious life you lead, you are placed beyond the pale of ordinary existence? am i responsible for the silence you insist on maintaining on all that concerns you personally? you know my father; you know how kind, frank, and worthy he is; many times he has tried, by circuitous ways, to lead you to an honourable explanation--but you have always repulsed his advances. you must, therefore, only blame yourself for the general isolation in which you are left, and the solitude formed around you; and do not address reproaches to the only person who, up to the present, has dared to support you against all." "it is true," he answered, bitterly; "i am a madman. i acknowledge my wrongs towards you, carmela, for you say truly; in all this world, you alone have been constantly kind and compassionate for the reprobate--for the man whom the general hatred pursues." "hatred as foolish as it is unjust." "and which you do not share in--is it not?" he exclaimed, sharply. "no, i do not share it; still, i suffer from your obstinacy; for, in spite of all that is said of you, i believe you to be honourable." "thank you, carmela; i wish i had it in my power to prove immediately that you are right, and give a denial to those who insult me like cowards behind my back, and tremble when i stand before them. unfortunately, that is impossible for the present; but the day will come, i hope, when it will be permitted me to make myself known as what i really am, and throw off the mask that stifles me; and then--" "then?" she repeated, seeing that he hesitated. again he hesitated. "then," he said, in a choking voice, "i shall have a question to ask you, and a request to make." the maiden blushed, but recovered herself directly. "you will find me ready to answer both," she murmured, in a low and inarticulate voice. "do you mean it?" he asked, joyfully. "i swear it to you." a flash of happiness lit up the young man's face like a sunbeam. "my good carmela," he said, in a deep voice, "when the moment arrives, i shall remind you of your promise." she bowed her head in dumb assent. there was a moment of silence. the maiden attended to her household duties with that bird-like lissomness and activity peculiar to women; the jaguar walked up and down the room with a preoccupied air; after a few moments he went to the door and looked out. "i must be gone," he said. she gave him a scrutinizing glance. "ah," she said. "yes; then be kind enough to order lanzi to prepare santiago. perhaps if i told him so myself he would feel disinclined to do it. i fancy i can see i am no longer in his good graces." "i will go," she answered him with a smile. the young man watched her depart with a stifled sigh. "what is this i feel?" he muttered, as he pressed his hand powerfully against his heart, as if he suddenly felt a sudden pain: "can it be what people call love? i am mad!" he went on, directly after; "how can i, the jaguar, love? can a reprobate be beloved?" a bitter smile contracted his lips; he frowned and muttered, in a hollow voice-- "every man has his task in this world, and i shall know how to accomplish mine." carmela came in again. "santiago will be ready in a moment. here are your vaquera boots, which lanzi begged me to give you." "thank you," he said. and he began fastening on his legs those two pieces of stamped leather which in mexico play the part of gaiters, and serve to protect the rider from the horse. while the young man fastened on his botas, with one foot on the bench, and his body bent forward, carmela examined him attentively, with an expression of timid hesitation. the jaguar noticed it. "what do you want?" he asked her. "nothing," she said, stammering. "you are deceiving me, carmela. come--time presses--tell me the truth." "well," she replied, with a hesitation more and more marked, "i have a prayer to make to you." "speak quickly, niña, for you know that, whatever it may be, i grant it to you beforehand." "you swear it?" "i do." "well, whatever may happen, i desire that if you meet the captain of dragoons who was here this morning, you will grant him your protection." the young man sprung up, as if stung by a viper. "ah, then," he shrieked, "what i was told was true, then?" "i do not know what you are alluding to, but i repeat my request." "i do not know the man, since i did not arrive until after his departure." "yes, you know him," she continued, boldly. "why seek a subterfuge, if you wish to break the promise you made me? it would be better to be frank." "it is well," he replied, in a gloomy voice and a tone of biting irony; "reassure yourself carmela, i will defend your lover." and he rushed madly from the venta. "oh!" the maiden exclaimed, as she fell on a bench, and melted into tears; "oh! that demon is properly christened the jaguar! he has a tiger's heart in his bosom." she buried her face in her hands, and broke out into sobs. at the same moment the rapid gallop of a retreating horse was heard. chapter xiii. carmela. before we continue our story, it is indispensable for us to give our readers certain important and indispensable details about facts that have to come. among the provinces of the vast territory of new spain, there is one, the most eastern of all, whose real value the government of the viceroys has constantly ignored. this ignorance was kept up by the mexican republic, which, at the period of the proclamation of independence, did not think it worthy of being formed into a separate state, and, without dreaming of what might happen at a later date, negligently allowed it to be colonized by the north americans, who even at that period seemed infected by that fever of encroachment and aggrandizement which has now become a species of endemic mania among these worthy citizens--we refer to texas. this magnificent country is one of the most fortunately situated in mexico; territorially regarded, it is immense, no country is better watered, for considerable rivers pour into the sea, their waters swollen by countless streams which fertilize this country, as they traverse it in every direction; and these currents and rivers being deeply imbedded, never form those wide expanses of water by their overflow, which in other countries are transformed into fetid marshes. the climate of texas is healthy, and exempt from those frightful diseases which have given such a sinister celebrity to certain countries of the new world. the natural borders of texas are the sabina on the east, red river on the north, to the west a chain of lofty mountains, which enters vast prairies, and the rio bravo del norte, and lastly, from the mouth of the latter river to that of the sabina, the gulf of mexico. we have said that the spaniards were almost ignorant of the real value of texas, although they had been acquainted with it for a very long time, for it is almost certain that in , cabeça de vaca traversed it when he proceeded from florida to the northern provinces of mexico. still the honour of the first settlement attempted in this fine country belongs incontestably to france. in fact, the unfortunate and celebrated robert de la salle, ordered by the marquis de siegnelay to discover the mouth of the mississippi in , made a mistake, and entered the rio de colorado, which he descended with countless difficulties, till he reached the san bernardo lagoon, where he built a fort between velasco and matagorda, and took possession of the country. we will enter into no further details about this bold explorer, who twice attempted to reach the unknown lands to the east of mexico, and was traitorously assassinated in , by villains who belonged to his band. a later reminiscence attaches france to texas, for it was there that general lallemand attempted in to found, under the name of _champ d'asyle_, a colony of french refugees, the unhappy relics of the invincible armies of the first empire. this colony, situated about ten leagues from galveston, was utterly destroyed by the orders of the viceroy apodaca, by virtue of the despotic system, constantly followed by the spaniards of the new world, of not allowing strangers, under any pretext, to establish themselves on any point of their territory. we shall be forgiven these prosy details when our readers reflect that this country, scarce twenty years free, with a superficies of one hundred thousand acres and more, and inhabited by two hundred thousand persons at the most, has, however, entered on an era of prosperity and progress, which must inevitably arouse the attention of european governments, and the sympathies of intelligent men of all nations. at the period when the events occurred which we have undertaken to narrate, that is to say in the later half of , texas still belonged to mexico, but its glorious revolution had begun, it was struggling valiantly to escape from the disgraceful yoke of the central government, and proclaim its independence. before, however, we continue our story, we must explain how it was that tranquil, the canadian hunter, and quoniam, the negro, who was indebted to him for liberty, whom we left on the upper missouri leading the free life of wood-rangers, found themselves established, as it were, in texas, and how the hunter had a daughter, or, at any rate, called his daughter, the lovely fair-haired girl we have presented to the reader under the name of carmela. about twelve years before the day we visit the venta del potrero, tranquil arrived at the same hostelry, accompanied by two comrades, and a child of five to six years of age, with blue eyes, ruddy lips, and golden hair, who was no other than carmela; as for his comrades, one was quoniam, the other an indian half-breed, who answered to the name of lanzi. the sun was just about setting when the little party halted in front of the venta. the host, but little accustomed in this desolate country, close to the indian border, to see travellers, and especially at so late an hour, had already closed and barred his house, and was himself getting ready for bed, when the unexpected arrival of our friends forced him to alter his arrangements for the night. it was, however, only with marked repugnance, and on the repeated assurances the travellers made him that he had nought to fear from them, that he at length decided to open his door, and admit them to his house. once that he had resolved to receive them, the host was as he should be to his guests, that is to say, polite and attentive, as far as that can enter into the character of a mexican landlord, a race, be it noted in a parenthesis, the least hospitable in existence. he was a short, stout man, with cat-like manners, and crafty looks, already of a certain age, but still quick and active. when the travellers had placed their horses in the corral, before a good stock of alfalfa, and had themselves supped with the appetite of men who have made a long journey, the ice was broken between them and the host, thanks to a few tragos of catalonian refino, liberally offered by the canadian, and the conversation went on upon a footing of the truest cordiality, while the little girl, carefully wrapped up in the hunter's warm zarapé, was sleeping with that calm and simple carelessness peculiar to that happy age when the present is all in all, and the future does not exist. "well, gossip," tranquil said gaily, as he poured out a glass of refino for the host; "i fancy you must lead a jolly life of it here." "i?" "hang it, yes; you go to bed with the bees, and i feel certain you are in no hurry to get up in the morning." "what else can i do in this accursed desert, where i have buried myself for my sins?" "are travellers so rare, then?" "yes and no; it depends on the meaning you give the word." "confound it! there are not two meanings, i should fancy." "yes, two very distinct meanings." "nonsense! i am curious to know them." "that is easy enough: there is no lack of vagabonds of every colour in the country, and if i liked, they would fill my house the whole blessed day; but they would not shew me the colour of their money." "ah, very good; but these estimable caballeros do not constitute the whole of your customers, i presume?" "no; there are also the indios bravos, comanches, apaches, and pawnees, and heaven alone knows who else, who prowl about the neighbourhood from time to time." "hum! those are awkward neighbours, and if you have only such customers, i am beginning to be of your opinion; still, you must now and then receive pleasanter visits." "yes, from time to time, straggling travellers like yourself, of course; but the profits, in any case, are far from covering the expenses." "that is true, here's your health." "the same to you." "in that case, though, allow me a remark which may appear to you indiscreet." "speak, speak, caballeros, we are talking as friends, so have no chance of offence." "you are right. if you are so uncomfortable here, why the deuce do you remain?" "why, where would you have me go?" "well, i do not know, but you would be better off anywhere than here." "ah! if it only depended on me," he said, with a sigh. "have you anybody with you here?" "no, i am alone." "well, what prevents you going then?" "eh, caramba, the money! all i possessed, and that was not much, was spent in building this house, and installing myself, and i could not have managed it had it not been for the peons." "is there a hacienda here?" "yes, the larch tree hacienda, about four leagues off, so that, you understand, if i go, i must give up my all." "ah, ah," tranquil said thoughtfully, "very good, go on. why not sell it?" "where are the buyers? do you fancy it so easy to find about here a man with four or five hundred piastres in his pocket; and, moreover, ready to commit an act of folly?" "well, i can't say, but i fancy by seeking he could be found." "nonsense, gossip, you are jesting!" "on my word i am not," tranquil said, suddenly changing his tone, "and i will prove it to you." "good." "you say you will sell your house for four hundred piastres?" "did i say four hundred?" "don't finesse, you did." "very good, then; i admit it: what next?" "well, i will buy it, if you like." "you?" "why not?" "i will think about it." "that is done; say yes or no, take it, or leave it; perhaps i may have altered my mind in five minutes, so decide." the landlord gave the canadian a searching glance. "i accept," he said. "good: but i will not give you four hundred piastres." "how much?" the other said, crying off. "i will give you six hundred." the landlord looked at him in amazement. "i am quite agreeable," he said. "but on one condition." "what is it?" "that to-morrow, so soon as the sale is completed, you will mount your horse--you have one, i suppose?" "yes." "well, you will mount, start, and never show yourself here again." "oh! you may be quite certain on that point." "it's settled then?" "perfectly." "then let your witnesses be ready at day-break." "they shall be." the conversation ended here. the travellers wrapped themselves in their fressadas and zarapés, lay down on the lumpy floor of the room, and fell asleep; the host followed their example. as was arranged between them, the landlord, a little before daybreak, saddled his horse, and went to fetch the witnesses necessary for the validity of the transaction; for this purpose he galloped to the larch-tree hacienda and returned by sunrise, accompanied by the major-domo and seven or eight peons. the major-domo, the only one who could read and write, drew up the deed of sale, and after collecting all the persons, read it aloud. tranquil then took thirty-seven and a half gold onzas from his girdle, and spread them out on the table. "be witnesses, caballeros," the major-domo said, addressing his audience, "that the señor tranquilo has paid the six hundred piastres agreed on for the purchase of the venta del potrero." "we are witness," they replied. then all present, the major-domo at their head, passed into the corral behind the house. on reaching it, tranquil pulled up a tuft of grass which he cast over his shoulder; then picking up a stone, he hurled it over the opposite wall: according to the terms of mexican law, he was now the owner. "be witness, señores," the major-domo again spoke, "that señor tranquilo, here present, has legally taken possession of this estate. _dios y libertad!_" "_dios y libertad_!" the others shouted; "long life to the new huesped!" all the formalities being performed, they now returned to the house, when tranquil poured out bumpers for his witnesses, whom this unexpected liberality filled with delight. the ex-landlord, faithful to his agreement, pressed the buyer's hand, mounted his horse, and went off, wishing him good luck. from that day they never heard of him again. this was the manner in which the hunter arrived in texas, and became a landed proprietor. he left lanzi and quoniam at the venta with carmela. as for himself, thanks to the patronage of the major-domo, who recommended him to his master, don hilario de vaureal, he entered the larch-tree hacienda in the capacity of tigrero or tiger-killer. although the country selected by the hunter to establish himself was on the confines of the mexican border, and, for that reason, almost deserted, the vaqueros and peons cudgelled their brains for some time in trying to discover the reason which bad compelled so clever and brave a hunter as the canadian to retire there. but all the efforts made to discover this reason, all the questions asked, remained without result; the hunter's comrades and himself remained dumb; as for the little girl, she knew nothing. at length the disappointed people gave up trying to find the explanation of this enigma, trusting to time, that great clearer up of mysteries, to tell them at length the truth which was so carefully concealed. but weeks, months, years elapsed, and nothing raised even a corner of the hunter's secret. carmela had grown an exquisite maiden, and the venta had increased the number of its customers. this border, hitherto so quiet, owing to its remoteness from the towns and pueblos, felt the movement which the revolutionary ideas imparted to the centre of the country; travellers became more frequent, and the hunter, who had up to this time appeared rather careless as to the future, trusting for his safety to the isolation of his abode, began to grow anxious, not for himself, but for carmela, who was exposed almost definitively to the bold attempts not only of lovers, whom her beauty attracted, as honey does flies, but also to those of the ruffians whom the troublous times had drawn out of their lairs, and who wandered about all the roads like coyotes seeking prey to devour. the hunter, wishful no longer to leave the maiden in the dangerous position into which circumstances had thrown her, was actively employed in warding off the misfortunes he foresaw; for, although it is impossible, for the present, to know what ties attached him to the girl who called him father, we will state here that he felt a really paternal affection and absolute devotion for her, in which, indeed, quoniam and lanzi imitated him. carmela to these three men was neither girl nor woman; she was an idol they adored on their bended knees, and for whom they would have readily sacrificed their lives at the slightest sign it might please her to make them. a smile from carmela rendered them happy; the slightest frown from her made them sorrowful. we must add, that although she was aware of the full extent of her power, carmela did not abuse it, and it was her greatest joy to see herself surrounded by these three hearts which were so entirely devoted to her. now that we have given these details, doubtless very imperfect, but the only ones possible, we will resume our story at the point where we left it in the penultimate chapter. chapter xiv. the conducta de plata. we will now return to the caravan, which we saw leave the potrero at sunrise, and in the chief of which carmela seemed so greatly interested. this chief was a young man of about five-and-twenty, with delicate, dashing, and distinguished features; he wore, with supreme elegance, the brilliant uniform of a captain of dragoons. although he belonged to one of the oldest and noblest families in mexico, don juan melendez de gongora would only owe his promotion to himself; an extraordinary desire in a country where military honour is regarded almost as nothing, and where only the superior grades give those who hold them a degree of consideration which is rather the result of fear than of sympathy, on the part of the people. still don juan had persevered in his eccentric idea, and each step he won was not the result of a pronunciamento successfully carried out by any ambitious general, but that of a brilliant action. don juan belonged to that class of real mexicans who honestly love their country, and who, jealous of its honour, dream for it a restoration, very difficult, if not impossible, to obtain. the force of virtue is so great, even on the most depraved natures, that captain don juan melendez de gongora was respected by all the men who approached him, even by those who loved him the least. however, the captain's virtue had nothing austere or exaggerated about it; he was a thorough soldier, gay, obliging, brave as his sword, and ever ready to help, either with his arm or purse, all those, friends or foes, who had recourse to him. such, physically and morally, was the man who commanded the caravan, and granted his protection to the monk who rode by his side. this worthy frayle, about whom we have had already occasion to say a few words, deserves a detailed description. physically, he was a man of about fifty, almost as tall as he was wide, bearing a striking likeness to a barrel set on legs, and yet gifted with far from common strength and activity; his violet nose, his huge lips, and ruddy face, gave him a jovial appearance, which two little grey sunken eyes, full of fire and resolution, rendered ironical and mocking. morally, he was in no way distinguished from the majority of mexican monks--that is to say, he was ignorant as a carp, prone to drinking, a passionate lover of the fair sex, and superstitious in the highest degree; but for all that, the best companion in the world, at home in all society, and always able to raise a laugh. what singular accident could have brought him so far on the border? this no one knew or cared for, as everyone was aware of the vagabond humour of mexican monks, whose life is constantly passed in roaming from one place to the other, without object, and generally without interest, but simply at the dictates of caprice. at this period, texas, joined to another province, formed a state called texas and cohahuila. the party commanded by don juan de melendez left nacogdoches eight days previously, bound for mexico; but the captain, in accordance with the instructions he received, left the ordinary road, inundated at that moment with bands of brigands of every description, and made a long circuit to avoid certain ill-famed gorges of the sierra de san saba. he would still have to cross that range; but on the side of the great prairies, that is to say, at the spot where the plateaux, gradually descending, do not offer those variations of landscape which are so dangerous to travellers. the ten mules the captain escorted must be loaded with very precious merchandise, for the federal government--seeing the small number of troops it had in the state--to have resolved on having it convoyed by forty dragoons under an officer of don juan's reputation, whose presence, under existing circumstances, would have been highly necessary, not to say indispensable, in the interior of the state, in order to suppress revolutionary attempts, and keep the inhabitants in the path of duty. in fact, the merchandise was very valuable; these ten mules transported three millions of piastres, which would assuredly be a grand windfall for the insurgents, if they fell into their hands. the time was left far behind, when, under the rule of the viceroys, the spanish flag borne at the head of a train of fifty or sixty mules laden with gold, was sufficient to protect a conducta de plata effectually, and enable it to traverse, without the slightest risk, the whole width of mexico, so great was the terror inspired by the mere name of spain. now, it was not one hundred, or sixty mules; but ten, which forty resolute men seemed hardly sufficient to protect. the government considered it advisable to employ the greatest prudence in sending off this conducta, which had long been expected at mexico. the greatest silence was maintained as to the hour and day of departure, and the road it would follow. the bales were made so as to conceal, as far as possible, the nature of the merchandise carried; the mules sent off one by one, in open day, only under the protection of the arriero, joined, fifteen leagues from the town, the escort which had been encamped for more than a month, under some plausible excuse, in an ancient presidio. all had, therefore, been foreseen and calculated with the greatest care and intelligence to get this precious merchandise in safety to its destination; the arrieros, the only persons who knew the value of their load, would be careful not to speak about it, for the little they possessed was made responsible for the safety of their freight, and they ran the risk of being utterly ruined if their mules were robbed on the road. the conducta advanced in the most excellent order, to the sound of the néna's bells; the arrieros sang gaily their mules, urging them on by this eternal "arrea, mula! arrea, linda!" the pennons fastened to the long lances of the dragoons fluttered in the morning breeze, and the captain listened idly to the monk's chatter, while at intervals taking a searching glance over the deserted plain. "come, come, fray antonio," he said to his stout companion, "you can no longer regret having set out at so early an hour, for the morning is magnificent, and everything forebodes a pleasant day." "yes, yes," the other replied with a laugh; "thanks to nuestra señora de la soledad, honourable captain, we are in the best possible state for travelling." "well, i am glad to find you in such good spirits, for i feared lest the rather sudden waking this morning might have stirred up your bile." "i, good gracious, honourable captain!" he replied, with feigned humility; "we unworthy members of the church must submit without murmuring to all the tribulations which it pleases the lord to send us; and besides, life is so short, that it is better only to look at the bright side, not to lose in vain regret the few moments of joy to which we can lay claim." "bravo! that is the sort of philosophy i like; you are a good companion, padre--i hope we shall travel together for a long while." "that depends a little on you, señor captain." "on me? how so?" "well, on the direction you propose following." "hum!" don juan said; "and pray where may you be going, señor padre?" this old-fashioned tactic of answering one question by another, is excellent, and nearly always succeeds. this time the monk was caught; but, in accordance with the habit of his brethren, his answer was as it was meant to be, evasive. "oh, i," he said with affected carelessness; "all roads are pretty nearly the same to me; my gown assures me, wherever chance bends my steps, pleasant faces and hearty reception." "that is true; hence i am surprised at the question you asked me an instant back." "oh, it is not worth troubling yourself about, honourable captain. i should feel agonised at having annoyed you, hence i humbly beg you to pardon me." "you have in no way annoyed me, señor padre. i have no reason for concealing the road i purpose following; this recua of mules i am escorting does not affect me in any way, and i propose leaving it to-morrow or the day after." the monk could not restrain a start of surprise. "ah!" he said, as he looked searchingly at the speaker. "oh yes," the captain continued, in an easy tone, "these worthy men begged me to accompany them for a few days, through fear of the gavillas that infest the roads; they have, it appears, valuable merchandize with them, and would not like to be plundered." "i understand; it would not be at all pleasant for them." "would it? hence i did not like to refuse them the slight service which took me only a little way out of my road; but so soon as they consider themselves in safety, i shall leave them and enter the prairie, in accordance with the instructions i have received, for you know that the indios bravos are stirring." "no, i was not aware of it." "well, in that case, i tell it you; there is a magnificent opportunity that presents itself to you, padre antonio, and you must not neglect it." "a magnificent opportunity for me?" the monk repeated, in amazement; "what opportunity, honourable captain?" "for preaching to the infidels, and teaching them the dogmas of our holy faith," he replied, with imperturbable coolness. at this abrupt proposal the monk made a frightful face. "deuce take the opportunity!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers; "i will leave that to other asses! i feel no inclination for martyrdom." "as you please, padre; still you are wrong." "that is possible, honourable captain, but hang me if i accompany you near those pagans; in two days i shall leave you." "so soon as that?" "why, i suppose, that since you are going on to the prairie, you will leave the recua of mules you are escorting at the rancho of san jacinto, which is the extreme point of the mexican possessions on the desert border." "it is probable." "well, i will go on with the muleteers; as all the dangerous passes will then have been left behind, i shall have nothing to fear, and shall continue my journey in the most agreeable way possible." "ah," the captain said to him, with a piercing glance; but he was unable to continue this conversation, which seemed highly interesting to him, for a horseman galloped up at full speed from the front, stopped before him, and stooping to his ear, whispered a few words. the captain looked scrutinizingly round him, drew himself up in the saddle, and addressed the soldier-- "very good. how many are they?" "two, captain." "watch them, but do not let them suspect they are prisoners; on arriving at the halting ground i will cross-question them. rejoin your comrades." the soldier bowed respectfully without reply, and went off at the same speed he had come up. captain melendez had for a long time accustomed his subordinates not to discuss his orders, but obey them unhesitatingly. we mention this fact because it is excessively rare in mexico, where military discipline is almost a nullity, and subordination unknown. don juan closed up the ranks of the escort, and ordered them to hurry on. the monk had seen with secret alarm the conference between the officer and the soldier, of which he was unable to catch a word. when the captain, after attentively watching the execution of his orders, returned to his place by his side, father antonio tried to jest about what had happened, and the cloud of gravity that had suddenly darkened the officer's face. "oh, oh," he said to him, with a loud laugh, "how gloomy you are, captain! did you see three owls flying on your right? the pagans assert that such is an evil omen." "perhaps so," the captain drily replied. the tone in which the remark was uttered had nothing friendly or inviting about it. the monk understood that any conversation at this moment was impossible; he took the hint, bit his lips, and continued to ride silently by his companion's side. an hour later they reached the bivouac; neither the monk nor the officer had said a word; but the nearer they came to the spot selected for the halt, the more anxious each seemed to grow. chapter xv. the halt. the sun had almost entirely disappeared on the horizon at the moment when the caravans reached the halting ground. this spot, situated on the top of a rather scarped hill, had been selected with that sagacity which distinguishes texan or mexican arrieros; any surprise was impossible, and the aged trees that grew on the crest of the hill would, in the event of an attack, offer a secure protection against bullets. the mules were unloaded, but, contrary to the usual custom, the bales, instead of being employed as a breastwork for the camp, were piled up and placed out of reach of the marauders whom chance or cupidity might attract to this quarter when the darkness had set in. seven or eight large fires were lit in a circle, in order to keep off wild beasts; the mules received their ration of indian corn on _mantas_ or horsecloths laid on the ground; then, so soon as sentinels were posted round the camp, the troopers and arrieros were busily engaged in preparing the poor supper, which the day's fatigues rendered necessary. captain don juan and the monk, who had gone a little aside to a fire lit expressly for them, were beginning to smoke their husk cigarettes, while the officer's servant was hastily preparing his master's meal--a meal, we are bound to say, as simple as that of the other members of the caravan, but which hunger had the privilege of rendering not only appetising, but almost succulent, although it was only composed of a few _varas_ of tocino, or meat dried in the sun, and four or five biscuits. the captain soon finished his supper. he then rose, and, as night had completely fallen, went to visit the sentries, and see that all was in order. when he resumed his place by the fire, father antonio, with his feet turned to the flame, and wrapped in a thick zarapé, was sleeping, or pretending to sleep, soundly. don juan examined him for a moment with an expression of hatred and contempt, impossible to describe, shook his head twice or thrice thoughtfully, and then told his assistants, who were standing a few paces off in expectation of his orders, to have the two prisoners brought up. these prisoners had hitherto been kept apart; though treated with respect, it was, however, easy for them to see that they were guarded with the greatest care; still, either through carelessness or some other reason, they did not appear to notice the fact, for their weapons had been left them, and, judging from their muscular force and energetic features, though both had reached middle life, there was fair ground for supposing when the moment arrived for them to insist on their liberty, they would be the men to try and regain it by force. without any remark they followed the captain's servant, and soon found themselves before that officer. though the night was gloomy, the flames of the fire spread sufficient light around to illumine the faces of the new comers. on seeing them don juan gave a start of surprise, but one of the prisoners laid his finger on his lip to recommend prudence to him, and at the same time glanced significantly at the monk lying near them. the captain understood this dumb warning, to which he replied by a light nod of the head, and then affected the utmost carelessness. "who are you?" he asked, as he idly rolled a cigarette between his fingers. "hunters," one of the prisoners answered, without hesitation. "you were found a few hours back halting on the bank of a stream." "quite correct." "what were you doing there?" the prisoner bent a scrutinizing glance around, and then looked again boldly at the speaker. "before giving any further answer to your questions," he said, "i should like to ask you one in my turn." "what is it?" "your right to cross-question me?" "look round you," the captain lightly replied. "yes, i understand you, the right of force. unluckily i do not recognize that right. i am a free hunter, acknowledging no other law but my will, no other master but myself." "oh, oh! your language is bold, comrade." "it is that of a man not accustomed to yield to any arbitrary power; to take me you have abused--i do not say your strength, for your soldiers would have killed me, before compelling me to follow them, had not such been my intention--but the facility with which i confided in you: i therefore protest against it, and demand my immediate freedom." "your haughty language has no effect on me, and were it my good pleasure to force you to speak, i could compel you by certain irresistible arguments i possess." "yes," the prisoner said, bitterly, "the mexicans remember the spaniards their ancestors, and appeal to torture when necessary; well, try it, captain--who prevents you? i trust that my gray hairs will not grow weak before your young moustache." "enough of this," the captain said, angrily. "if i give you your liberty, should i deliver a friend or a foe?" "neither." "hum! what do you mean?" "my answer is clear enough, surely." "still, i do not understand it." "i will explain in two words." "speak." "both of us being placed in diametrically opposite positions, chance has thought proper to bring us together to-day: if we now part, we shall take with us no feeling of hatred through our meeting, because neither you nor i have had cause to complain of each other, and probably we shall never see each other again." "still, it is plain that when my soldiers found you, you were expecting somebody on this road." "what makes you suppose that?" "hang it! you told me you were hunters; i do not see any game you could hunt along this road." the prisoner began laughing. "who knows?" he replied, with a stress on his words, "perhaps it was more precious game than you may fancy, and of which you would like to have your share." the monk gave a slight start, and opened his eyes as awaking. "what?" he said, addressing the captain, and stifling a yawn. "you are not asleep, don juan?" "not yet," the latter answered. "i am questioning the two men my vanguard arrested some hours ago." "ah!" the monk remarked with a disdainful glance at the strangers, "these poor devils do not appear to me very alarming." "you think so?" "i do not know what you can have to fear from these men." "perhaps they are spies?" fray antonio assumed a paternal air. "spies?" he said; "do you fear an ambuscade?" "under the circumstances in which we now are, that supposition is not so improbable, i fancy." "nonsense! in a country like this, and with the escort you have at your service, that would be extraordinary; moreover, these two men let themselves be captured without resistance, as i heard, when they might easily have escaped." "that is true." "it is evident, then, that they had no bad intentions. if i were you, i would quietly let them go where they pleased." "is that your advice?" "indeed it is." "you seem to take a great interest in these two strangers." "i? not the least in the world. i only tell you what is right, that's all: now you can act as you please. i wash my hands of it." "you may be right, still i will not set these persons at liberty till they have told me the name of the person they were expecting." "were they expecting anybody?" "they say so, at any rate." "it is true, captain," said the person who had hitherto spoken; "but though we knew you were coming, it was not you we were waiting for." "who was it, then?" "do you insist on knowing?" "certainly." "then answer, fray antonio," the prisoner said with a grin; "for you alone can reveal the name the captain asks of us." "i?" the monk said with a start of passion, and turning pale as a corpse. "ah, ah!" the captain said, as he turned to him, "this is beginning to grow interesting." it was a singular scene presented by the four men standing round the fire, whose flame fantastically lit up their faces. the captain carelessly smoked his cigarette, while looking sarcastically at the monk, on whose face impudence and fear were fighting a battle, every incident in which was easy to read; the two hunters, with their hands crossed over the muzzles of their long rifles, smiled cunningly, and seemed to be quietly enjoying the embarrassment of the man whom they had placed in this terrible dilemma. "don't pretend to look so surprised, padre antonio," the prisoner then at length said; "you know very well we were expecting you." "me?" the monk said in a choking voice; "the scoundrel is mad, on my soul." "i am not mad, padre, and i will trouble you not to employ such language toward me," the prisoner replied drily. "come, give in," the other, who had hitherto been silent, cried coarsely; "i do not care to dance at the end of a rope for your good pleasure." "which will inevitably happen," the captain remarked quietly, "if you do not decide, caballeros, on giving me a clear and explicit explanation of your conduct." "there you see, señor frayle," the prisoner continued, "our position is growing delicate; come, behave like a man." "oh!" the monk exclaimed furiously, "i have fallen into a horrible trap." "enough," the captain said in a thundering voice; "this farce has lasted only too long, padre antonio. it is not you who have fallen into a trap, but you tried to draw me into one. i have known you for a long time, and possess the most circumstantial details about the plans you were devising. it is a dangerous game you have been playing for a long time; a man cannot serve god and the devil simultaneously, without all being discovered at last; still, i wished to confront you with these worthy men, in order to confound you, and make the mask fall from your hypocritical face." at this rude apostrophe the monk was for a moment stunned, crushed as he was beneath the weight of the charges brought against him; at length he raised his head and turned to the captain. "of what am i accused?" he asked haughtily. don juan smiled contemptuously. "you are accused," he replied, "of having wished to lead the conducta i command into an ambush formed by you, and where at this moment your worthy acolytes are waiting to massacre and rob us. what will you reply to that?" "nothing," he answered, drily. "you are right, for your denials would not be accepted. still, now that you are convicted by your own confession, you will not escape without an eternal recollection of our meeting." "take care of what you are about to do, señor captain: i belong to the church, and this gown renders me inviolable." a mocking smile contracted the captain's lips. "no matter for that," he replied, "it shall be stripped off you." most of the troopers and arrieros, aroused by the loud voices of the monk and the officer, had gradually drawn nearer, and attentively followed the conversation. the captain pointed to the monk, and addressed the soldiers. "strip off the gown that covers that man," he said; "fasten him to a catalpa, and give him two hundred lashes with a _chicote_." "villains!" the monk exclaimed, nearly out of his mind; "any man of you who dares to lay hands on me i curse; he will be eternally condemned for having insulted a minister of the altar." the soldiers stopped in terror before this anathema, which their ignorance and stupid superstition robbed them of the courage to brave. the monk folded his arms, and addressed the officer triumphantly-- "wretched madman," he said, "i could punish you for your audacity, but i pardon you. heaven will undertake to avenge me, and you will be punished when your last hour arrives. farewell! make room for me to pass, fellows!" the dragoons, confused and timid, fell back slowly and hesitatingly before him; the captain, forced to confess his impotence, clenched his fists, as he looked passionately around him. the monk had all but passed through the ranks of the soldiers, when he suddenly felt his arm clutched; he turned with the evident intention of severely reprimanding the man who was so audacious as to touch him, but the expression of his face suddenly changed on seeing who it was that stopped him, and looked at him craftily, for it was no other than the strange prisoner, the first cause of the insult offered him. "one moment, señor padre," the hunter said. "i can understand that these worthy fellows, who are catholics, should fear your curse, and dare not lay a hand on you through their dread of eternal flames, but with me it is different. i am a heretic, as you know, hence i run no risk in taking off your gown, and, with your permission, i will do you that slight service." "oh!" the monk replied, as he ground his teeth; "i will kill you, john, i will kill you, villain!" "nonsense, threatened people live a long while," john replied, as he forced him to take off his monk's gown. "there," he continued, "now, my fine fellows, you can carry out your captain's orders in perfect safety; this man is no more to you than the first comer." the hunter's bold action suddenly broke the spell that enchained the soldiers. so soon as the much-feared gown no longer covered the monk's shoulders, listening to neither prayers nor threats, they seized the culprit, fastened him, in spite of his cries, securely to a catalpa, and conscientiously administered the two hundred lashes decreed by the captain, while the hunters played their part by counting the blows and laughing loudly at the contortions of the wretched man, whom pain caused to writhe like a serpent. at the one hundred and twenty-eighth lash the monk became silent: his nervous system being completely overthrown, rendered him insensible; still, he did not faint, his teeth were clenched, a white foam escaped from his crisped lips, he looked fixedly before him without seeing anything, and giving no other signs of existence than the heavy sighs which at intervals upheld his muscular chest. when the punishment was ended, and he was unfastened, he fell to the ground like a log, and lay there motionless. his robe was handed back to him, and he was left to lie there, no one troubling himself further about him. the two hunters then went off, after talking to the captain for some minutes in a low voice. the rest of the night passed away without incident. a few minutes before sunrise, the soldiers and arrieros prepared to load the mules, and prepare everything for the start. "stay," the captain suddenly exclaimed, "where is the monk? we cannot abandon him thus; lay him on a mule, and we will leave him at the first rancho we come to." the soldiers hastened to obey, and look for padre antonio, but all their search was in vain; he had disappeared, and left no trace of his flight. don juan frowned at the news, but, after a moment's reflection, he shook his head carelessly. "all the better," he said, "he would have been in our way." the conducta herewith started again. chapter xvi. a political sketch. before proceeding further, we will say in a few words what was the political situation of texas at the moment when the story we have undertaken to tell took place. during the spanish domination, the texans claimed their liberty, arms in hand; but after various successes, they were definitively crushed at the battle of medina, on august th, , a fatal date, by colonel arredondo, commanding the regiment of estremadura, who was joined by the militia of the state of cohahuila. from that period up to the second mexican revolution, texas remained bowed beneath the intolerable yoke of the military regime, and left defenceless to the incessant attacks of the comanche indians. the united states had on many occasions raised claims to that country, declaring that the natural frontiers of mexico and the confederation were the rio bravo; but compelled in to allow ostensibly that their claims were not founded, they employed roundabout means to seize on this rich territory, and incorporate it in their borders. it was at that time they displayed that astute and patiently machiavellian policy, which finally led to their triumph. in , the first american emigrants made their appearance, timidly, and almost incognito, on the brazos, clearing the land, colonizing secretly, and becoming in a few years so powerful, that in they had made sufficient progress to form a compact mass of nearly , individuals. the mexicans, incessantly occupied in struggling one against the other in their interminable civil wars, did not understand the purport of the american immigration, which they encouraged at the outset. hardly eight years had elapsed since the arrival of the first americans in texas, when they formed nearly the entire population. the washington cabinet no longer concealed its intentions, and spoke openly of buying from the mexicans the territory of texas, in which the spanish element had almost entirely disappeared, to make room for the daring and mercantile spirit of the anglo-saxons. the mexican government, at last aroused from its long lethargy, understood the danger that threatened it from the double invasion of the inhabitants of missouri and texas into the state of santa fé. it tried to arrest the american emigration, but it was too late; the law passed by the mexican congress was powerless, and the colonization was not arrested, in spite of the mexican military posts scattered along the border, with orders to turn the immigrants back. general bustamante, president of the republic, seeing that he would soon have to fight with the americans, silently prepared for the conflict, and sent under different pretexts to red river and the sabina various bodies of troops, which presently attained to the number of men. still, everything remained quiet apparently; and nothing evidenced the period when the struggle would commence, which a perfidy on the part of the governor of the eastern provinces caused to break out at the moment when least expected. the facts were as follow:-- the commandant of anahuac arrested and put in prison several american colonists, without any plausible grounds. the texans had hitherto patiently endured the innumerable vexations which the mexican officers made them undergo, but at this last abuse of force they rose as if by one accord, and went under arms to the commandant, demanding with threats and angry shouts the immediate liberation of their fellow-citizens. the commandant, too weak to resist openly, feigned to grant what was asked of him, but represented that he required two days to fulfil certain formalities, and cover his own responsibility. the insurgents granted this delay, by which the commandant profited to send in all haste to the nacogdoches garrison to help him. this garrison arrived at the moment when the insurgents, confiding on the governor's promise, were with-drawing. furious at having been so perfidiously deceived, the latter returned and made such an energetic demonstration that the mexican officer considered himself fortunate in escaping a fight by surrendering his prisoners. at this period, a _pronunciamento_ in favour of santa anna hurled general bustamante from power to the cry of "long live the federation!" texas was extremely afraid of the system of centralization, from which it would never have obtained the recognition of its independence as a separate state, and hence the people were unanimous for federalism. the colonists rose, and joining the insurgents of anahuac who were still under arms, marched resolutely on fort velasco, to which they laid siege. the rallying cry was still "long live the federation!" but this time it concealed the cry of independence, which the texans were as yet too weak to raise. fort velasco was defended by a small mexican garrison, commanded by a brave officer of the name of ugartechea. during this extraordinary siege, in which the assailants only replied to the cannon with rifle bullets, both texans and mexicans performed prodigies of valour and displayed extraordinary obstinacy. the colonists, skilful marksmen, hidden behind enormous barricades, fired as at a mark, and killed the mexican gunners whenever they showed themselves to load their guns. matters reached such a point that the commandant, seeing his bravest soldiers fall round him, devoted himself and set to work as artilleryman. struck by this heroic courage, the texans, who could have killed the brave commandant twenty times, ceased their fire, and ugartechea at length surrendered, giving up a defence which was henceforth impossible. the success filled the colonists with joy, but santa anna was not deceived as to the object of the texan insurrection; he understood that federalism concealed a well-devised revolutionary movement, and far from trusting to the apparent devotion of the colonists, so soon as his power was sufficiently strengthened to allow him to act energetically against them, he sent off colonel mexia with four hundred men, to reestablish in texas the greatly shaken mexican authority. after many hesitations and diplomatic dodges, which had no possible result with parties, both of which employed perfidy as their chief weapon, the war at length broke out furiously; a committee of public safety was organized at san felipe, and the people were called upon to take part in the struggle. the civil war, however, had not yet officially broken out, when the man at length appeared who was destined to decide the fate of texas, and for whom the glory of liberating it was reserved--we allude to samuel houston. from this moment the timid and purposeless insurrection of texas became a revolution. still the mexican government remained apparently the legitimate master of the colony, and the colonists were naturally denominated insurgents, and treated as such, when they fell into the hands of their enemies; that is to say, they were without trial hung, drowned, or shot, according as the spot where they were captured suited one of these three modes of death. at the period when our story opens, the exasperation against the mexicans and the enthusiasm for the noble cause of independence had reached their acme. about three weeks previously, a serious engagement had taken place between the garrison of bejar and a detachment of texan volunteers, commanded by austin, one of the most renowned chiefs of the insurgents; in spite of their inferiority in numbers and ignorance of military tactics, the colonists fought so bravely, and worked their solitary gun so skilfully, that the mexican troops, after undergoing serious losses, were compelled to retreat precipitately on bejar. this action was the first on the west of texas after the capture of fort velasco; it decided the revolutionary movement which ran through the country like a train of gunpowder. on all sides the towns raised troops to join the army of liberation; resistance was organized on a grand scale and bold guerilla chiefs began traversing the country in every direction, making war on their own account, and serving after their fashion the cause they embraced and which they were supposed to be defending. captain don juan melendez, surrounded by enemies the more dangerous because it was impossible for him to know their numbers or guess their movements; entrusted with an extreme delicate mission; having at each step a prescience of treachery incessantly menacing, though ignorant where, when, or how it would burst on him; was compelled to employ extreme precautions and a merciless severity, if he wished to get safe home the precious charge confided to him; hence he had not hesitated before the necessity of instituting an example by roughly punishing padre antonio. for a long time past, grave suspicions had been gathering over the monk; his ambiguous conduct had aroused distrust, and caused presumptions in no way favourable to his honesty. don juan had determined to clear up his doubts at the first opportunity that offered; we have stated in what way he had succeeded by springing a countermine, that is to say, by having the spy watched by others more skilful than himself, and catching him almost red-handed. still, we must do the worthy monk the justice of declaring that his conduct had not the slightest political motive; his thoughts were not so elevated as that; knowing that the captain was entrusted with the charge of a conducta de plata, he had only tried to draw him into a trap, for the sake of having a share in the plunder, and making his fortune at a stroke, in order that he might enjoy those indulgences he had hitherto gone without; his ideas did not extend further, the worthy man was simply a highway robber, but there was nothing of the politician about him. we will leave him for the present to follow the two hunters to whom he was indebted for the rude chastisement he received, and who quitted the camp immediately after the execution of the sentence. these two men went off at a great speed, and, after descending the hill, buried themselves in a thick wood, where two magnificent prairie horses, half-tamed mustangs, with flashing eye and delicate limbs, were quietly browsing, while waiting for their riders; they were saddled in readiness for mounting. after unfastening the hobbles, the hunters put the bits in their mouths, mounted, and digging in their spurs, started at a sharp gallop. they rode for a long distance, bent over their horses' necks, following no regular path, but going straight on, caring little for the obstacles they met on their passage, and which they cleared with infinite skill; about an hour before sunrise they at length stopped. they had reached the entrance of a narrow gorge, flanked on both sides by lofty wooded hills, the spurs of the mountains, whose denuded crests seemed from their proximity to hang over the landscape. the hunters dismounted before entering the gorge, and after hobbling their horses, which they hid in a clump of floripondios, they began exploring the neighbourhood with the care and sagacity of indian warriors seeking booty on the war-trail. their researches remained for a long time sterile, which could easily be perceived from the exclamations of disappointment they every now and then vented in a low voice: at length, after two hours, the first beams of the sun dissipated the darkness, and they perceived some almost imperceptible traces which made them start with joy. probably feeling now liberated from the anxiety that tormented them, they returned to their horses, lay down on the ground, and after fumbling in their alforjas, drew from them the materials for a modest breakfast, to which they did honour with the formidable appetite of men who have spent the whole night in the saddle, riding over mountains and valleys. since their departure from the mexican camp the hunters had not exchanged a syllable, apparently acting under the influence of a dark preoccupation, which rendered any conversation unnecessary. in fact, the silence of men accustomed to desert life is peculiar; they pass whole days without uttering a word, only speaking when necessity obliges them, and generally substituting for oral language that language of signs which, in the first place, has the incontestable advantage of not betraying the presence of those who employ it to the ears of invisible enemies constantly on the watch, and ready to leap, like birds of prey, on the imprudent persons who allow themselves to be surprised. when the hunters' appetite was appeased, the one whom the captain called john lit his short pipe, placed it in the corner of his month, and, handed the tobacco-pouch to his comrade. "well, sam," he said in a low voice, as if afraid of being overheard, "i fancy we have succeeded, eh?" "i think so too, john," sam replied with a nod of affirmation; "you are deucedly clever, my boy." "nonsense," the other said disdainfully; "there is no merit in deceiving those brutes of spaniards; they are stupid as bustards." "no matter, the captain fell into the hole in a glorious way." "hum! it was not he i was afraid of; for he and i have been good friends for a long time; but it was the confounded monk." "eh, eh, if he had not arrived just in time, he would probably have spoiled our fun; what is your opinion, john?" "i think you are right, sam. by jabers, i laughed at seeing him writhe under the chicote." "it was certainly a glorious sight; but are you not afraid that he may avenge himself? these monks are devilishly spiteful." "bah! what have we to fear from such vermin? he will never dare to look us in the face." "no matter, we had better be on our guard. our trade is a queer one, as you know, and it is very possible that some day or other this accursed animal may play us an ugly trick." "don't bother about him; what we did was all fair in war. be assured that, under similar circumstances, the monk would not have spared us." "that is true; so let him go to the deuce; the more so as the prey we covet could not be in a better situation for us. i should never pardon myself if i let it escape." "shall we remain here in ambush?" "that is the safest way; we shall have time to rejoin our comrades when we see the recua enter the plain; and, besides, have we not to meet somebody here?" "that is true, i forgot it." "and stay, when you speak of the devil--here is our man." the hunters rose quickly, seized their rifles, and hid themselves behind a rock, so as to be ready for any event. the rapid gallop of a horse became audible, approaching nearer and nearer; ere long a rider emerged from the gorge, and pulled up calmly and haughtily at about two paces from the hunters. the latter rushed from their ambuscade, and advanced toward him, with the right arm extended, and the palm of the hand open in sign of peace. the horseman, who was an indian warrior, responded to these pacific demonstrations by letting his buffalo robe float out; then he dismounted, and without further ceremony, shook the hands offered him. "you are welcome, chief," john said; "we were awaiting you impatiently." "my pale brothers can look at the sun," the indian answered; "blue-fox is punctual." "that is true, chief; there is nothing to be said, for you are remarkably punctual." "time waits for no man; warriors are not women; blue-fox would like to hold a council with his pale brothers." "be it so," john went on: "your observation is just. chief, so let us deliberate; i am anxious to come to a definitive understanding with you." the indian bowed gravely to the speaker, sat down, lit his pipe, and, began smoking with evident pleasure; the hunters took seats by his side, and, like him, remained silent during the whole period their tobacco lasted. at length, the chief shook the ashes out of the bowl on his thumbnail, and prepared to speak. at the same instant a detonation was heard, and a bullet cut away a branch just over the chiefs head. the three men leaped to their feet, and seizing their arms, prepared bravely to repulse the enemies who attacked them so suddenly. chapter xvii. the panther-killer. between the larch-tree hacienda and the venta del potrero, just half way between the two places, or at about forty miles from either, two men were sitting on the banks of a nameless stream, and conversing, as they supped on pemmican and a few boiled _camotes_. these two men were tranquil, the canadian, and quoniam, the negro. about fifty yards from them, in a copse of brambles and shrubs, a young colt about two months old was fastened to the trunk of a gigantic catalpa. the poor animal, after making vain efforts to break the cord that held it, had at length recognised the inutility of its attempts, and had sorrowfully lain down on the ground. the two men, whom we left young at the end of our prologue, had now reached the second half of life. although age had got but a slight grasp on their iron bodies, a few grey hairs were beginning to silver the hunter's scalp, and wrinkles furrowed his face, which was bronzed by the changes of the seasons. still, with the exception of these slight marks, which serve as a seal to ripened age, nothing denoted any weakening in the canadian; on the contrary, his eye was still bright, his body equally straight, and his limbs just as muscular. as for the negro, no apparent change had taken place in him, and he seemed as young as ever; he had merely grown lustier, but had lost none of his unparalleled activity. the spot where the two wood rangers had camped was certainly one of the most picturesque on the prairie. the midnight breeze had swept the sky, whose dark blue vault seemed studded with innumerable spangles of diamonds, in the midst of which the southern cross shone; the moon poured forth its white rays, which imparted to objects a fantastic appearance; the night had that velvety transparence peculiar to twilight; at each gust of wind the trees shook their damp heads, and rained a shower, which pattered on the shrubs. the river flowed on calmly between its wooded banks, looking in the distance like a silver riband, and reflecting in its peaceful mirror the trembling rays of the moon, which had proceeded about two-thirds of its course. so great was the silence of the desert, that the fall of a withered leaf, or the rustling of a branch agitated by the passage of a reptile, could be heard. the two men were conversing in a low voice; but, singularly enough with men so habituated to desert life, their night encampment, instead of being, according to the invariable rules of the prairie, situated on the top of a hillock, was placed on the slope that descended gently to the river, and in the mud of which numerous footprints of more than a suspicious nature were encrusted, the majority belonging to the family of the great carnivora. in spite of the sharp cold of night, and the icy dew which made them tremble, the hunters had lit no fire; still they would assuredly have derived great comfort from warming their limbs over the genial flames; the negro especially, who was lightly attired in drawers that left his legs uncovered, and a fragment of a zarapé, full of holes, was trembling all over. tranquil, who was more warmly attired in the garb of mexican campesinos, did not appear to notice the cold at all; with his rifle between his legs, he gazed out into the darkness, or listened to any sound perceptible to him alone, while he talked to the negro, disdaining to notice either his grimaces or the chattering of his teeth. "so," he said, "you did not see the little one to-day quoniam?" "no, no, i have not seen her for two days," the negro answered. the canadian sighed. "i ought to have gone myself," he went on; "the girl is very solitary there, especially now that war has let loose on this side all the adventurers and border-ruffians." "nonsense! carmela has beak and nails; she would not hesitate to defend herself if insulted." "confusion!" the canadian exclaimed, as he clutched his rifle, "if one of those malvados dared to say a word--" "do not trouble yourself thus, tranquil; you know very well that if any one ventured to insult the querida niña, she would not want for defenders. besides, lanzi never leaves her for a moment, and you are aware how faithful he is." "yes," the hunter muttered, "but lanzi is only a man after all." "you drive me to desperation with the ideas which so unreasonably get into your head." "i love the girl, quoniam." "hang it, and i love her too, the little darling! well, if you like, after we have killed the jaguar, we will go to the potrero--does that suit you?" "it is a long way from here." "nonsense! three hours' ride at the most. by the bye, tranquil, do you know that it is cold? and i am getting literally frozen; cursed animal! i wonder what it is doing at this moment; i daresay it is amusing itself with wandering about instead of coming straight here." "to be killed, eh?" tranquil said, with a smile. "hang it all! perhaps it suspects what we have in store for it." "that is possible, for those confounded animals are so cunning. hilloah! the colt is quivering--it has certainly scented something." the canadian turned his head. "no, not yet," he said. "we shall have a night of it," the negro muttered, with an ill-tempered look. "you will ever be the same, quoniam--impatient and headstrong. whatever i may tell you, you obstinately refuse to understand me; how many times have i repeated to you that the jaguar is one of the most cunning animals in existence? although we are to windward, i feel convinced it has scented us. it is prowling cunningly around us, and afraid to come too near us; as you say, it is wandering about without any apparent object." "hum! do you think it will carry on that game much longer?" "no, because it must be beginning to grow thirsty; three feelings are struggling in it at this moment--hunger, thirst, and fear; fear will prove the weakest, you may be assured; and it is only a question of time." "i can see it; for nearly four hours we have been on the watch." "patience; the worst is over, and we shall soon have some news, i feel assured." "may heaven hear you, for i am dying of cold; is it a large animal?" "yes, its prints are wide, but, if i am not greatly mistaken, it has paired." "do you think so?" "i could almost bet it, it is impossible for a single jaguar to do so much mischief in less than a week; from what don hilario told me, it seems that ten head of the ganada have disappeared." "in that case," quoniam said, rubbing his hands gleefully, "we shall have a fine hunt." "that is what i suppose; and it must have whelps to come so near the hacienda." at this moment a hoarse bellowing, bearing some slight resemblance to the miauling of a cat, troubled the profound silence of the desert. "there is its first cry," said quoniam. "it is still a long way off." "oh, it will soon come nearer." "not yet; it is not after us at this moment." "who else, then?" "listen." a similar cry to the first, but coming from the opposite side, burst forth at this moment. "did i not tell you," the canadian continued, quietly, "that it had paired?" "i did not doubt it. if you do not know the habits of tigers, who should?" the poor colt had risen; it was trembling all over, half dead with terror, and with its head buried between its front legs, it was standing up and uttering little plaintive cries. "hum!" quoniam said, "poor innocent brute, it understands that it is lost." "i hope not." "the jaguar will strangle it." "yes, if we do not kill the brute first." "by jabus!" the negro said, "i confess i should not be sorry if that wretched colt escaped." "it will do so," the hunter answered; "i have chosen it for carmela." "nonsense! then why did you bring it here?" "to make it used to the tiger." "well, that is an idea! then i need not look any longer over there?" "no, only think of the jaguar which will come on your right, while i take charge of the other." "that's agreed." two other louder roars burst forth almost simultaneously. "the beast is thirsty," tranquil remarked; "its anger is aroused, and it is coming nearer." "good! shall we get ready?" "wait a while, our enemies are hesitating; they have not yet reached that paroxysm of rage which makes them forget all prudence." the negro, who had risen, sat down again philosophically. a few minutes passed thus. at intervals the night breeze, laden with uncertain rumour, passed over the hunters' heads, and was lost in the distance like a sigh. they were calm and motionless, with the eye fixed on space, the ear open to the mysterious noises of the desert, the finger on the rifle-trigger, ready at the first signal to face the still invisible foe, whose approach and imminent attack they, however, instinctively divined. all at once the canadian started, and stooped down to the ground. "oh!" he said, as he rose with marks of terrible anxiety, "what is taking place in the forest?" the roar of the tiger burst forth like a clap of thunder. a horrible shriek responded to it, and the wild gallop of a horse was heard, approaching at headlong speed. "quick! quick!" tranquil shouted, "someone is in danger of death--the tiger is on his trail." the two hunters rushed intrepidly in the direction of the roars. the whole forest seemed quivering; nameless sounds issued from the hidden lairs, resembling at one moment mocking laughter, at another cries of agony. the hoarse miauling of the jaguars went on uninterruptedly. the gallop of the horses which the hunters heard at first seemed multiplied and issuing from opposite points. the panting hunters still ran on in a straight line, bounding over ravines and morasses with wonderful speed; the terror they felt for the strangers whom they wished to help gave them wings. suddenly a shriek of agony, louder and more despairing than the former, was heard a short distance off. "oh!" tranquil shouted, in a paroxysm of madness, "it is she! it is carmela!" and, bounding like a wild beast, he rushed forward, followed by quoniam, who, during the whole wild race, had never left him a hair's breadth. suddenly a deadly silence fell over the desert--every noise, every rumour, ceased as if by enchantment, and nothing could be heard save the panting of the hunters, who still ran on. a furious roar uttered by the tigers burst forth; a crashing of branches agitated an adjoining thicket, and an enormous mass, bounding from the top of the tree, passed over the canadian's head and disappeared; at the same instant a flash burst through the gloom and a shot was heard, answered almost immediately by a roar of agony and a shriek of horror. "courage, niña, courage!" a masculine voice exclaimed, a short distance off, "you are saved!" the hunters, by a supreme effort of their will, increased their speed, which was already incredible, and at length entered the scene of action. a strange and terrible sight then offered itself to their horror-stricken gaze. in a small clearing a fainting woman was stretched out on the ground, by the side of a ripped-up horse, which was struggling in the final convulsions. this female was motionless, and appeared to be dead. two young tigers, crouching like cats, fixed their ardent eyes upon her, and were preparing to attack her; a few paces further on a wounded tiger was writhing on the ground with horrid roars, and trying to leap on a man, who, with one knee on the ground, with his left arm enveloped in the numerous folds of a zarapé, and the right armed with a long machete, was resolutely awaiting its attack. behind the man, a horse, with outstretched neck, smoking nostrils and laid-back ears, was quivering with terror, while a second tiger, posted on the largest branch of a larch tree, fixed its burning glances on the dismounted rider, while lashing the air with its tail, and uttering hoarse miauls. what we have taken so long to describe, the hunters saw at a glance; quick as lightning the bold adventurers selected their parts, with a look of sublime simplicity. while quoniam leaped on the tiger cubs, and seizing them by the scurf, dashed their brains out against a rock, tranquil shouldered his rifle, and killed the tigress at the moment when she was leaping on the horseman. then turning with marvellous speed he killed the second tiger with the butt of his rifle, and laid it stiff at his feet. "ah!" the hunter said, with a feeling of pride, as he rested his rifle on the ground, and wiped his forehead, which was bathed in a cold perspiration. "she lives!" quoniam shouted, who understood what agony his friend's exclamation contained; "fear alone made her faint, but she is otherwise unhurt." the hunter slowly took off his cap, and raised his eyes to heaven. "thanks, o god!" he murmured, with an accent of gratitude impossible to render. in the meanwhile, the horseman, so miraculously saved by tranquil, had walked up to him. "i will do the same for you, some day," he said, as he held out his hand. "it is i who am your debtor," the hunter answered, frankly; "had it not been for your sublime devotion, i should have arrived too late." "i have done no more than another in my place." "perhaps so. your name, brother?" "loyal heart. yours?" "tranquil. we are friends for life and death." "i accept, brother. and now let us attend to this poor girl." the two men shook hands for a second time, and went up to carmela, on whom quoniam was lavishing every imaginable attention, though unable to recall her from the profound faint into which she had fallen. while tranquil and loyal heart took the negro´s place, the latter hastily collected a few dried branches and lit a fire. after a few minutes, however, carmela faintly opened her eyes, and was soon sufficiently recovered to explain the cause of her presence in the forest, instead of being quietly asleep in the venta del potrero. this story, which, in consequence of the maiden's weakness, and the poignant emotions she had endured, it took her several hours to complete, we will tell the reader in a few words in the next chapter. chapter xviii lanzi. carmela watched for a long time the jaguar's irregular ride across country, and when he at length disappeared in the distance, in a clump of pine trees, she sadly bowed her head and re-entered the venta slowly and pensively. "he hates him," she murmured, in a low, agitated voice; "he hates him. will he be willing to save him?" she fell into an equipal, and for some minutes remained plunged in a deep reverie. at last she raised her head; a feverish flush covered her face, and her soft eyes seemed to emit flashes. "i will save him!" she exclaimed, with supreme resolution. after this exclamation she rose, and walking hurriedly across the room, opened the door leading into the corral. "lanzi?" she cried. "niña?" the half-breed replied, who was engaged at this moment in giving their alfalfa to two valuable horses belonging to the young lady, which were under his special charge. "come here." "i will be with you in a moment." five minutes later at the most he appeared in the doorway. "what do you want, señorita?" he said, with that calm obsequiousness habitual to servants who are spoiled by their masters; "i am very busy at this moment." "that is possible, my good lanzi," she answered softly; "but what i have to say to you admits of no delay." "oh, oh," he said, in a slightly suppressed tone, "what is the matter, then?" "nothing very extraordinary, my good man; everything in the venta is regular as usual. but i have a service to ask of you." "speak, señorita; you know that i am devoted to you." "it is growing late, and it is probable that no traveller will arrive at the venta to-day." the half-breed raised his head, and mentally calculated the position of the sun. "i do not believe that any travellers will arrive to-day," he at length said, "for it is nearly four o'clock; still, they might come for all that." "nothing leads to the supposition." "nothing, indeed, señorita." "well, i wish you to shut up the venta." "shut up the venta! what for?" "i will tell you." "is it really very important?" "very." "speak, then, niña, i am all ears." the maiden gave the half-breed, who was standing in front of her, a long and searching glance, leant her elbow gracefully on the table, and said, quietly-- "i am anxious, lanzi." "anxious? what about?" "at my father's long absence." "why, he was here hardly four days back." "he never left me alone so long before." "still," the half-breed remarked, scratching his head with an embarrassed air-- "in a word," she interrupted him, resolutely, "i am anxious about my father, and wish to see him. you will close the venta, saddle the horses, and we will go to the larch-tree hacienda; it is not far, and we shall be back in four or five hours." "that will make it very late." "the greater reason to start at once." "still--" "no remarks; do as i order you--i insist on it." the half-breed bowed without replying, for he knew that when his young mistress spoke thus he must obey. the maiden walked forward a step, laid her white and delicate hand on the half-breed's shoulder, and putting her lovely face close to his, she added, with a gentle smile which made the poor fellow start with joy-- "do not be vexed at my whim, my kind lanzi, but i am suffering." "be vexed with you, niña!" the half-breed answered with a significant shrug of his shoulders; "why, do you not know that i would go into the fire for you? much more, then, would i satisfy your slightest wish." he then began carefully barricading the doors and windows of the venta, after which he proceeded to the corral to saddle the horses, while carmela, suffering from nervous impatience, changed her attire for other clothes more convenient for the journey she designed, for she had deceived the old servant. it was not tranquil she wished to find. but heaven had decreed that the plan she revolved in her pretty head should not succeed. at the moment when she re-entered the sitting-room, fully dressed and ready to start, lanzi appeared in the doorway of the corral with extreme agitation displayed in his face. carmela ran up to him eagerly, fancying that he had hurt himself. "what is the matter with you?" she asked him, kindly. "we are lost!" he replied, in a hollow voice, as he looked about him in terror. "lost!" she exclaimed, turning pallid as a corpse; "what do you mean?" the half-breed laid a finger on his lip to command silence, made her a sign to follow him, and glided noiselessly into the corral. carmela followed him. the corral was enclosed with a plank wall about six feet high; lanzi went up to a spot where a wide cleft allowed a prospect of the plain. "look," he said to his mistress. the girl obeyed, and laid her face against the plank. night was beginning to fall, and a denser shadow was each moment invading the plain. still, the obscurity was not great enough to prevent carmela distinguishing, about two hundred yards away, a numerous party of horsemen coming at full speed in the direction of the venta. a glance sufficed the maiden to perceive that these horsemen were indios bravos. the warriors, more than fifty in number, were in their full war paint; and as they bent over the necks of their horses, which were as untamable as themselves, they brandished their long lances over their heads with an air of defiance. "these are apaches," carmela exclaimed, as she recoiled in terror. "how comes it that they have reached this place before we are warned of their arrival?" the half-breed shook his head sadly. "in a few minutes they will be here," he said; "what is to be done?" "defend ourselves!" the maiden replied, bravely; "they do not appear to have fire-arms. behind the walls of our house we could easily hold out against them till daybreak." "and then?" the half-breed asked, doubtfully. "then," she answered with exaltation, "heaven will come to our aid." "amen!" the half-breed answered, less convinced than ever of the possibility of such a miracle. "make haste and bring down into the inn-room all the fire-arms we have; perhaps the heathens will fall back if they find themselves hotly received: and, after all, who knows whether they will attack us?" "hum! the demons are crafty, and know perfectly well how many persons dwell in this house. do not expect that they will withdraw till they have carried it by storm." "well," she exclaimed, resolutely, "let us trust to heaven; we shall die bravely fighting, instead of letting ourselves be captured like cowards, and becoming the slaves of those heartless and merciless villains." "be it so, then," the half-breed answered, electrified by his mistress's enthusiastic words, "we will fight. you know, señorita, that a combat does not terrify me. the pagans had better look out, for unless they take care, i may play them a trick they will remember for a long time." this conversation broke off here for the present, owing to the necessity the speakers were under of preparing their means of defence, which they did with a speed and intelligence which proved that this was not the first time they found themselves in so critical a position. the reader must not feel surprised at the virile heroism carmela displayed under the present circumstances. on the border, where persons are incessantly exposed to the incursions of indians and marauders of every description, the women fight by the side of the men, and forgetting the weakness of their sex, they can, on occasion, prove themselves as brave as their husbands and brothers. carmela was not mistaken, it was really a band of indian bravos coming up at a gallop, who soon reached the house, and completely surrounded it. usually the indians in their expeditions proceed with extreme prudence, never showing themselves openly, and only advancing with great circumspection. this time it was easy to see that they believed themselves certain of success, and were perfectly well aware that the venta was stripped of its defenders. on coming within twenty yards of the venta they stopped, dismounted, and seemed to be consulting for a moment. lanzi had profited by these few moments of respite to pile on the table all the weapons in the house, consisting of about a dozen rifles. although the doors and windows were barred, it was easy to follow the movements of the enemy through loopholes made at regular distances. carmela, armed with a rifle, had intrepidly stationed herself before the door, while the half-breed walked up and down anxiously, going out and coming in again, and apparently giving the last touch to an important and mysterious job. "there," he said, a moment later, "that is all right; lay that rifle on the table again, señorita; we can only conquer those demons by stratagem, not by force, so leave me to act." "what is your plan?" "you will see. i have sawn two planks out of the enclosure of the corral; so soon as you hear me open the door, set off at full speed." "but you?" "do not trouble yourself about me, but give your horse the spurs." "i will not abandon you." "nonsense! no folly of that sort; i am old, my life only hangs by a thread, but yours is precious and must be saved; let me alone, i tell you." "no, unless you tell me." "i will tell you nothing. you will find tranquil at the ford of the venado; not a word more." "ah, that is it," she exclaimed; "well, i swear that i will not stir from your side, whatever may happen." "you are mad; have i not told you i wished to play the indians a famous trick?" "indeed!" "well, you will see. as, however, i fear some imprudence on your part, i wish to see you start before me, that is all." "are you speaking the truth?" "of course i am. in five minutes i shall have joined you again." "do you promise me, then?" "do you fancy i should find any fun in remaining here?" "what do you intend doing?" "here are the indians; begone, and do not forget to start at full gallop so soon as i open the door of the venta, and ride in the direction of the venado ford." "but i expect--" "begone, begone," he interrupted her quickly, as he pushed her toward the corral, "it is all settled." the maiden unwillingly obeyed: but at this moment loud blows against the shutters were audible, and the half-breed profited by this demonstration of the indians to close the door leading into the corral. "i swore to tranquil to protect her, whatever might happen," he muttered, "and i can only save her by desires for her. well, i will die: but, capa de dios, i will have a fine funeral." fresh blows were dealt at the shutters, but with such violence that it was easy to see that they would be soon broken in. "who's there?" the half-breed asked quietly. "gente de paz," was the reply from without. "hum!" lanzi said, "for peaceful people you have a singular way of announcing your presence." "open, open!" the voice outside repeated. "i am very ready to do so, but what proves to me that you do not mean harm?" "open, or we will break down the door." and the blows were renewed. "oh, oh," the half-breed said, "you are strong in the arms; do not trouble yourself further, i am going to open." the blows ceased. the half-breed unbarred the door, and opened it. the indians rushed into the interior with yells and howls of joy. lanzi slipped on one side to let them pass; he gave a start of joy on hearing a horse set out at full gallop. the indians paid no attention to this incident. "drink!" they shouted. "what would you like to have?" the half-breed asked, seeking to gain time. "fire-water!" they yelled. lanzi hastened to serve them, and the orgy began. knowing they had nothing to fear from the inhabitants of the venta, the redskins had rushed in so soon as the door was opened, without taking the precaution to post sentries; this negligence, on which lanzi calculated, gave carmela the opportunity of escaping unseen and undisturbed. the indians, and especially the apaches, have a frenzied passion for strong liquors; the comanches alone are teetotallers. hitherto, they have succeeded in refraining from that mournful tendency to intoxication, which decimates and brutalizes their brothers. lanzi followed with a cunning look the evolutions of the redskins, who crowded round the tables, drank deeply, and emptied the botas placed before them; their eyes were beginning to sparkle, their features were animated; they spoke loudly all at once, no longer knowing what they said, and only thinking about becoming intoxicated. suddenly the half-breed felt a hand laid on his shoulder. he turned. an indian was standing with folded arms in front of him. "what do you want?" he asked him. "blue-fox is a chief," the indian answered, "and has to speak with the paleface." "is not blue-fox satisfied with the way in which i have received him and his companions?" "it is not that; the warriors are drinking, and the chief wants something else." "ah," the half-breed said, "i am vexed, for i have given you all i had." "no," the indian replied drily. "how so?" "where is the golden-haired girl?" "i do not understand you, chief," the half-breed said; on the contrary, understanding perfectly well. the indian smiled. "the paleface will look at blue-fox," he said, "and will then see that he is a chief, and not a child who can be put off with falsehoods. what has become of the girl with the golden hair, who lives here with my brother?" "the person of whom you speak, if you mean the young lady to whom this house belongs--" "yes." "well! she is not here." the chief gave him a searching glance. "the paleface lies," he said. "look for her." "she was here an hour ago." "that is possible." "where is she?" "look." "the paleface is a dog whose scalp i will raise." "much good may it do you," the half-breed answered with a grin. unfortunately, while uttering these words, lanzi gave a triumphant glance in the direction of the corral; the chief caught it, rushed to the door, and uttered a yell of disappointment on seeing the hole in the palisade; the truth flashed upon him. "dog!" he yelled, and drawing his scalping knife, he hurled it furiously at his enemy. but the latter, who was watching him, dodged the missile, which struck into the wall a few inches from his head. lanzi leaped over the bar, and rushed at blue-fox. the indians rose tumultuously, and seizing their arms, bounded like wild beasts in pursuit of the half-breed. the latter, on reaching the door of the corral, turned, fired his pistols among the crowd, leapt on his horse, and burying his spurs in its flanks, forced it to leap through the breach. at the same moment a horrible noise was heard behind him, the earth trembled, and a confused mass of stones, beams, and fragments of every description fell around the rider and his horse, which was maddened with terror. the venta del potrero was blown into the air, burying beneath its ruins the apaches who had invaded it. such was the trick lanzi had promised himself to play on the indians. we can now understand why he had insisted on carmela setting off at full speed. by a singular piece of good fortune, neither the half-breed nor his horse was wounded; the mustang, with foaming nostrils, flew over the prairie as if winged, incessantly urged on by its rider, who excited it with spur and force, for he fancied he could hear behind him the gallop of another horse in pursuit. unluckily the night was too dark for him to assure himself whether he were mistaken. chapter xix. the chase. the reader will probably consider that the means employed by lanzi to get rid of the indians were somewhat violent, and that he should not have had recourse to them save in the utmost extremity. the justification of the half-breed is as simple as it is easy to give; the indian braves, when they cross the mexican border, indulge mercilessly in every possible riot, displaying the greatest cruelty toward the unhappy white men who fall into their hands, and for whom they testify a hatred which nothing can assuage. lanzi's position, alone, without help to expect from anyone, in an isolated spot, in the power of some fifty demons without faith or law, was most critical; the more so, as the apaches, once they had been excited by strong liquors, the abuse of which causes them a species of raving madness, would no longer have recognized any restraint; their sanguinary character would have regained the upper hand, and they would have indulged in the most unjustifiable cruelty, for the mere pleasure of making an enemy of their race suffer. the half-breed had, besides, peremptory reasons for behaving thus; he must, at all risks, ensure carmela's safety, whom he had solemnly sworn to tranquil to defend, even at the peril of his own life. in the present case, he knew that his life or death depended solely on the caprice of the indians, and hence he was quite reckless. lanzi was a cold, positive, and methodical man, who never acted till he had previously fully weighed the chances of success or failure. under present circumstances, the half-breed ran no risk, for he knew that he was condemned by the indians beforehand; if his plan succeeded, he might possibly escape; if not, he could die, but as a brave borderer should do, taking with him into the tomb a considerable number of his implacable foes. his resolution once formed, it was carried out with the coolness we have described, and, thanks to his presence of mind, he had found time to leap on his horse and fly. still, all was not finished yet, and the galloping the half-breed heard behind him disturbed him greatly, by proving to him that his plan had not succeeded so well as he hoped, and that one of his enemies, at any rate, had escaped, and was on his track. the half-breed redoubled his speed; he made his horse swerve from the straight line incessantly, in order to throw out his obstinate pursuer; but everything was of no avail, and still he heard him galloping behind him. however brave a man may be, however great the energy is with which heaven has endowed him, nothing affects his courage so much as to feel himself menaced in the darkness by an invisible and unassailable foe; the obscurity of night, the silence that broods over the desert, the trees which in his mad race defile on his right and left like a legion of gloomy and threatening phantoms--all this combines to heighten the terrors of the hapless man who dashes along under the impression of a nightmare which is the more horrible, because he is conscious of danger, and knows not how to exorcise it. lanzi, with frowning brow, quivering lips, and forehead bathed with cold perspiration, rode thus for several hours across country, bowed over his horse's neck, following no settled course, but constantly pursued by the dry, sharp sound of the horse galloping after him. strangely enough, since he first heard this gallop, it had not appeared to draw any nearer; it might be thought that the strange horseman, satisfied with following the trail of the man he pursued, was not desirous of catching him up. by degrees the half-breed's excitement calmed: the cold night air restored a little order to his ideas, his coolness returned, and with it the necessary clearness to judge of his position soundly. lanzi was ashamed of this puerile terror, so unworthy of a man like himself, which had for so long, through a selfish feeling, caused him to forget the sacred duty he had taken on himself, of protecting and defending at the peril of his life his friend's daughter. at this thought, which struck him like a thunder-bolt, a burning blush flushed his face, a flash darted from his eyes, and he stopped his horse short, resolved on finishing once for all with his pursuer. the horse, suddenly arrested in its stride, uttered a snort of pain, and remained motionless, at the same instant the galloping of the invisible steed ceased to be heard. "hilloah!" the half-breed muttered, "this is beginning to look ugly." and drawing a pistol from his belt, he set the hammer. he immediately heard, like a funeral echo, the sharp sound of another hammer being set by his adversary. still, this sound, instead of increasing the half-breed's apprehensions, seemed, on the contrary, to calm them. "what is the meaning of that?" he asked himself, mentally, as he shook his head, "can i be mistaken? have i not to deal with an apache?" after this aside, during which lanzi sought in vain to distinguish his unknown foe, he shouted in a loud voice:-- "hilloah, who are you?" "who are you?" a masculine voice replied, emerging from the darkness, in a tone quite as resolute as that of the half-breed. "that's a singular answer," lanzi went on. "not more singular than the question." these words were exchanged in excellent spanish. the half-breed, now certain that he had to deal with a white man, banished all fear, and uncocking his pistol returned it to his girdle, as he said good-humouredly:-- "you must feel like myself, caballero, inclined to draw breath after so long a ride; shall we rest together?" "i wish for nothing better," the other answered. "why," a voice exclaimed, which the half-breed at once recognised, "it is lanzi." "certainly," the latter shouted, joyfully, "_voto à brios_, doña carmela, i did not hope to meet you here." the three persons joined, and the explanations were short. fear does not calculate or reflect. doña carmela on one side, lanzi on the other, filled with a vague terror, fled without attempting to account for the feeling that impelled them, exerted only by the instinct of self-preservation, that supreme weapon given by god to man with which to escape danger in extremities. the only difference was, that the half-breed believed himself pursued by the apaches, while doña carmela supposed them a-head of her. when the young lady, on lanzi's recommendation, left the venta, she rode blindly along the first path that presented itself. heaven willed it for her happiness that at the moment the house blew up with a terrible crash, doña carmela, half dead with fear and thrown from her horse, was found by a white hunter, who, moved with pity at the recital of the dangers that menaced her, generously offered to escort her to the larch-tree hacienda, where she desired to proceed, in order to place herself under tranquil's immediate protection. doña carmela, after taking a scrutinizing glance at the hunter, whose honest look and open face were proofs of his loyalty, gratefully accepted his offer, fearing, as she did, that she might fall, in the darkness, among the indian bands which were doubtless infesting the roads, and to which her ignorance of localities would have inevitably made her a prey. the maiden and her guide set out therefore at once for the hacienda, but affected by numberless apprehensions, the gallop of the half-breed's horse made them believe a party of the enemy a-head of them, hence they had kept far enough behind to be able to turn and fly at the slightest suspicious movement on the part of their supposed enemies. this explanation did away with all alarm, and carmela and lanzi were delighted at having met again thus providentially. while the half-breed was telling his young mistress in what way he had disposed of the apaches, the hunter, like a prudent man, had taken the horses by the bridle and led them into a thick coppice, where he carefully hid them. he then returned to his new friends, who had seated themselves on the ground, to enjoy a few moments of welcome rest. at this moment, when the hunter returned, lanzi was saying to his mistress-- "why, señorita, should you fatigue yourself further this night? our new friend and i will build you with a few axe strokes a jacal under which you will be famously sheltered; you will sleep till sunrise, and then we can start again for the hacienda. for the present you have no danger to fear, as you are protected by two men who will not hesitate to sacrifice their lives for you, if necessary." "i thank you, my good lanzi," the young lady answered; "your devotion is known to me, and i could not hesitate to trust to you if i were at this moment affected by fear of the apaches. believe me, that the thought of the perils i may have to incur from those pagans goes for nothing in my determination to start again immediately." "what more important consideration can compel you, then, señorita?" the half-breed asked, in surprise. "that, my friend, is an affair between my father and myself; it is sufficient for you to know that i must see and speak to him this very night." "be it so, as you wish it, señorita, i consent," the half-breed said, with a shake of his head; "still, you must allow that it is a very strange caprice on your part." "no, my good lanzi," she answered, sadly, "it is not a caprice; when you know the reasons that cause me, to act, i am convinced you will applaud me." "that is possible; but if that is the case, why not tell me them, at once?" "because that is impossible." "silence!" the hunter interfered, quickly; "any discussion is unnecessary, for we must start as soon as we can." "what do you mean?" they exclaimed, with a start of terror. "the apaches have found our trail; they are coming up quickly, and will be here within twenty minutes. this time there is no mistake, they are the men." there was a lengthened silence. doña carmela and lanzi listened attentively. "i hear nothing," the half-breed said, presently. "nor i," the maiden whispered. the hunter smiled softly. "you can hear nothing yet," he said, "for your ears are not accustomed, like mine, to catch the slightest sounds from the desert. put faith in my words, trust to an experience which was never mistaken: your enemies are approaching." "what is to be done?" doña carmela murmured. "fly," the half-breed exclaimed. "listen," the hunter said, quietly; "the apaches are numerous, they are cunning, but we can only conquer them by cunning. if we try to resist we are lost; if we fly all three together, sooner or later we shall fall into their hands. while i remain here you will fly with señorita, but be careful to muffle your horses' hoofs so as to dull the sound." "but you?" the maiden exclaimed quickly. "have i not told you? i shall remain here." "oh, in that case you will fall into the hands of the pagans, and be inevitably massacred." "perhaps so," he replied with an indescribable expression of sadness; "but at any rate my death will be of some service, as it will save you." "very well," said lanzi; "i thank you for your offer, caballero; unhappily, i cannot, and will not, accept it, for matters must not turn thus. i began the affair, and insist on ending it in my own way. go away with the señorita, deliver her into her father's hands, and if you do not see me again, and he asks what has happened to me, tell him simply that i kept my promise, and laid down my life for her." "i will never consent," doña carmela exclaimed energetically. "silence!" the half-breed hastily interrupted her, "be off, you have not a moment to lose." in spite of the young lady's resistance, he raised her in his muscular arms, and ran off with her into the thicket. carmela understood that nothing could change the half-breed's resolution, so she yielded to him. the hunter accepted lanzi's devotion as simply as he had offered his own, for the half-breed's conduct appeared to him perfectly natural; he therefore made not the slightest objection, but busied himself with getting the horses ready. "now begone," the half-breed said, so soon as the hunter and the maiden had mounted; "go, and may heaven be merciful to you!" "and you, my friend?" doña carmela remarked sadly. "i?" he answered with a careless toss of his head; "the red devils have not got me yet. come, be off." to cut short the conversation, the half-breed roughly lashed the horses with his chicote; the noble animals started at a gallop, and soon disappeared from his sight. so soon as he was alone, the poor fellow gave vent to a sigh. "hum!" he muttered sadly; "this time i am very much afraid that it is all up with me; no matter, canarios, i will fight to the last, and if the pagans catch me, it shall cost them dearly." after forming this heroic resolution, which seemed to restore all his courage, the worthy man mounted his horse and prepared for action. the apaches dashed up with a noise resembling thunder. the black outlines could already be distinguished through the darkness. lanzi took the bridle between his teeth, seized a pistol in either hand, and when he judged the moment propitious, he dug his spurs into his horse, dashed out in front of the redskins, and crossed their front diagonally. when within range, he fired his pistols into the group, gave a yell of defiance, and continued his flight with redoubled speed. what the half-breed expected, really happened. his shots had told, and two apaches fell with their chests pierced through and through. the indians, furious at this audacious attack, which they were far from expecting from a single man, uttered a cry of fury, and dashed after him. this was exactly what lanzi wanted. "there," he said on seeing the success of his scheme; "they are altogether now, and there is no fear of their scattering; the others are saved. as for me--bah, who knows?" doña carmela and the hunter only escaped from the apaches to fall in with the jaguars. we have seen how they were saved, thanks to tranquil. chapter xx. the confession. tranquil attentively listened to the girl's story with drooping head and frowning brows; when she had finished, he looked at her for a moment enquiringly. "is that all?" he asked her. "all," she answered timidly. "and lanzi, my poor lanzi, have you no news of him?" "none. we heard two shots, the furious galloping of several horses, the war-cry of the apaches, and then all became silent again." "what can have become of him?" the tigrero muttered sadly. "he is resolute, and seems to me conversant with desert life," loyal heart said. "yes," tranquil replied, "but he is alone." "that is true," said the hunter; "alone against fifty, perhaps." "oh, i would give ten years of my life," the canadian exclaimed, "to have some news of him." "caray, gossip," a merry voice replied; "i have brought you some all fresh, and shall charge you nothing for them." the hearers started involuntarily at the sound of this voice, and turned quickly to the side where they heard it. the branches parted, and a man appeared. it was lanzi. the half-breed seemed as calm and composed as if nothing extraordinary had happened to him; but his face, usually so cold, now had an indescribable expression of cunning joy, his eyes sparkled, and a mocking smile played about his lips. "by jove! our friend," tranquil said as he offered him a hand; "you are a thousand times welcome, for our anxiety about you was great." "thank you, gossip; but, luckily for me, the danger was not so imminent as might be supposed, and i very easily succeeded in getting rid of those demons of apaches." "all the better; no matter how you contrived to escape, here you are safe and sound, so all is for the best; now that we have met again, they may come if their heart tells them to do so, and they will find somebody to talk to them." "they will not do it; besides, they have something else on hand at this moment." "do you think so?" "i am sure of it; they perceived the bivouac of mexican soldiers escorting a conducta de plata, and are naturally trying to get hold of it; it was partly to that fortuitous circumstance i owe my safety." "on my word! all the worse for the mexicans," the canadian said carelessly; "every man for himself: let them settle matters as they think proper, their affairs do not interest us." "that is my opinion too." "we have still three hours of night; let us profit by them to rest, in order to be ready to start for the hacienda at sunrise." "the advice is good, and should be followed," said lanzi, who immediately lay down with his feet to the fire, wrapped himself in his zarapé, and closed his eyes. loyal heart, who doubtless shared his opinion, followed his example. as for quoniam, after conscientiously flaying the tigers and their cubs, he lay down in front of the fire, and for the last two hours had been sleeping with that careless indifference so characteristic of the black race. tranquil then turned to carmela. the maiden was seated a few paces from him; she was gazing into the fire pensively, and tears stood in her eyes. "well, daughter mine," the canadian said to her softly, "what are you doing there? you must be exhausted with fatigue, so why not try to get a few minutes' rest?" "for what good?" she asked sorrowfully. "what do you mean?" the tigrero asked sharply, though the girl's accent made him start; "why, to regain your strength of course." "let me remain awake, father; i could not sleep, however tired i might feel; sleep will fly my eyelids." the canadian examined her for a moment with the greatest attention. "what is the meaning of this?" he asked, shaking his head meditatively. "nothing, father," she replied, as she tried to force a smile. "girl, girl," he muttered, "all this is not quite clear; i am only a poor hunter, very ignorant of matters of the world, and my mind is simple; but i love you, child, and my heart tells me you are suffering." "i?" she exclaimed in denial; but all at once she burst into tears, and falling on the hunter's manly chest, she hid her face in his bosom, and murmured in a choking voice-- "oh, father, father, i am so wretched." tranquil, at this exclamation, torn from her by the force of pain, started as if a serpent had stung him; his eye sparkled, he gave the girl a look full of paternal love, and compelled her with gentle constraint to look him in the face. "wretched? you, carmela?" he exclaimed anxiously. "great heaven, what has happened then?" by a supreme effort, the maiden succeeded in calming herself; her features reassumed their ordinary tranquillity, she wiped away her tears, and smiled at the hunter, who anxiously watched her. "pardon me, father," she said in an insinuating voice, "i am mad." "no, no," he replied, shaking his head twice or thrice; "you are not mad, my child, but are concealing something from me." "father!" she said with a blush, and looked down in confusion. "be frank with me, child, for am i not your best friend?" "that is true," she stammered. "have i ever refused to satisfy the slightest of your wishes?" "oh, never!" "have you ever found me severe to you?" "oh, no!" "well, then, why not confess to me frankly what is troubling you?" "because--" she murmured, in hesitation. "what?" he answered, affectionately. "i dare not." "it must be very difficult to say, then?" "yes." "nonsense! go on, girl, where will you find a confessor so indulgent as i am?" "nowhere, i know." "speak, then." "i am afraid of vexing you." "you will vex me a great deal more by obstinately remaining silent." "but--" "listen, carmela; while telling us a little while back what happened to-day at the venta, you confessed yourself that you wished to find me, no matter where i was, this very night; is that so?" "yes, father." "well, here i am, i am listening to you; besides, if what you have to say to me is so important as you led me to suppose, you will do well to make haste." the maiden started; she gave a glance at the sky, where the gloom was beginning to be intersected by white stripes; all the hesitation disappeared from her face. "you are right, father," she said, in a firm voice; "i hate to speak with you about an affair of the greatest importance, and perhaps i have deferred it too long, for it is a question of life and death." "you startle me." "listen to me." "speak, child, speak, without fear, and reckon on my affection for you." "i do so, my kind father, so you shall know all." "it is well." doña carmela seemed to collect herself for a moment, then, letting her dainty hand fall into her father's rough and large hand, while her long silken lashes drooped timidly, to serve as a veil to her eyes, she began in a weak voice at first, which, however, soon became more firm and distinct. "lanzi told you that meeting with a conducta de plata encamped a short distance from here, helped him to escape from the pursuit of the pagans. father, this conducta spent last night at the venta, and the captain who commands the escort is one of the most distinguished officers in the mexican army; you have heard him spoken of before now in terms of praise, and i even think you are personally acquainted with him; his name is don juan melendez de gongora." "ah!" said tranquil. the maiden stopped, all palpitating. "go on," the canadian said, gently. carmela gave him a side glance; as the tigrero was smiling, she resolved to continue. "already accident has brought the captain several times to the venta; he is a true caballero--gentle, polite, honourable, and we have never had the slightest ground of complaint against him, as lanzi will tell you." "i am convinced of it, my child, for captain melendez is exactly what you describe him." "is he not?" she quickly asked. "yes, he is a true caballero; unfortunately, there are not many officers like him in the mexican army." "this morning, the conducta set out, escorted by the captain; two or three ill-looking fellows, who remained at the venta, watched the soldiers depart with a cunning smile, then sat down, began drinking and saying to me things a girl ought not to hear, until at last they even threatened me." "ah!" tranquil interrupted her, with a frown, "do you know the scoundrels?" "no, father, they are border ruffians, like those of whom there are too many about here; but, though i have seen them several times, i do not know their names." "no matter, i will discover them, you may feel assured. "oh, father, you would do wrong to trouble yourself about that." "very well, that is my business." "fortunately for me, while this was occurring, a horseman arrived, whose presence was sufficient to impose silence on these men, and force them to become what they should always have been, that is to say, polite and respectful to me." "of course," the canadian remarked, laughingly, "this caballero, who arrived so fortunately, was a friend of yours?" "only an acquaintance, father," she said, with a slight blush. "ah! very good." "but he is a great friend of yours--at least, i suppose so." "hum! and pray do you know _his_ name, my child?" "of course," she replied, quickly. "and what is it, may i ask, if you have no objection to tell me?" "none at all; he is called the jaguar." "oh, oh!" the hunter continued, with a frown, "what could he have to do at the venta?" "i do not know, father; but he said a few words in a low voice to the men of whom i have told you, who immediately left the talk, mounted their horses, and started at a gallop without making the slightest remark." "that is strange," the canadian muttered. there was a rather lengthened silence; tranquil was deep in thought, and was evidently seeking the solution of a problem, which appeared to him very difficult to solve. at length he raised his head. "is that all you have to tell me?" he asked the girl; "up to the present i see nothing very extraordinary in all you have told me." "wait a while," she said. "then you have not finished yet?" "not yet." "very good--go on." "although the jaguar spoke in a low voice with these men, through some words i overheard, without wishing to do so, i assure you, father--" "i am fully persuaded of that. what did you guess from these few words?" "i mean, i fancied i understood--" "it is the same thing; go on." "i fancied i understood, i say, that they were speaking of the conducta." "and very naturally of captain melendez, eh?" "i am certain that they mentioned his name." "that is it. then you supposed that the jaguar intended to attack the conducta, and possibly kill the captain, eh?" "i do not say that," the maiden stammered, in extreme embarrassment. "no, but you fear it." "good heavens, father!" she went on, in a tone of vexation, "is it not natural that i should take an interest in a brave officer who--" "it is most natural, my child, and i do not blame you; even more, i fancy that your suppositions are very near the truth." "do you think so, father?" she exclaimed, as she clasped her hands in terror. "it is probable," the canadian quietly answered; "but reassure yourself, my child," he added, kindly; "although you have perhaps delayed too long in speaking to me, i may yet manage to avert the danger which is now suspended over the head of the man in whom you take such interest." "oh do so, father, i implore you." "i will try, at any rate, my child, that is all i can promise you for the present; but what do you purpose doing?" "i?" "yes, while my comrades and i are trying to save the captain?" "i will follow you, father, if you will let me." "i think that is the most prudent course; but you must feel a great affection for the captain, that you so ardently desire to save him?" "i, father?" she replied with the most perfect frankness, "not the least; it only seems to me terrible that so brave an officer should be killed, when there is a chance of saving him." "then you hate the jaguar of course?" "not at all, father; in spite of his violent character, he seems to me a noble-hearted man--the more so, because he possesses your esteem, which is the most powerful reason with me; still it grieves me to see two men opposed who, i feel convinced, if they knew each other, would become fast friends, and i do not wish blood to be shed between them." these words were uttered by the maiden with such simple frankness, that for some moments the canadian remained completely stunned; the slight gleam of light he fancied he had found suddenly deserted him again, though it was impossible for him to say in what manner it had disappeared; he neither understood doña carmela's behaviour, nor the motives on which she acted--the more so, because he had no reason to doubt the good faith in all she had told him. after looking attentively at the maiden for some minutes, he shook his head twice or thrice like a man completely at sea, and without adding a word, proceeded to arouse his comrades. tranquil was one of the most experienced wood-rangers in north america; all the secrets of the desert were known to him, but he was ignorant of the first word of that mystery which is called a woman's heart. a mystery the more difficult to fathom, because women themselves are nearly always ignorant of it; for they only act under the impression of the moment, under the influence of passion, and without premeditation. in a few words the canadian explained his plans to his comrades: the latter, as he anticipated, did not offer the slightest objection, but prepared to follow him. ten minutes later they mounted and left their bivouac under the guidance of lanzi. at the moment when they disappeared in the forest, the owl uttered its matutinal cry, the precursor of sunrise. "oh, heavens!" the maiden murmured in agony; "shall we arrive in time?" chapter xxi. the jaguar. the jaguar, when he left the venta del potrero, was suffering from extreme agitation, the maiden's words buzzed in his ears, with a mocking and ironical accent; the last look she had given him pursued him like a remorse. the young man was angry with himself for having so hastily broken off the interview with doña carmela, and dissatisfied with the way in which he had responded to her entreaties; in short, he was in the best possible temper to commit one of those acts of cruelty into which the violence of his character only too often led him, which had inflicted a disgraceful stigma on his reputation, and which he always bitterly regretted having committed, when it was too late. he rode at full speed across the prairie, lacerating the sides of his horse, which reared in pain, uttering stifled maledictions, and casting around the ferocious glances of a wild beast in search of prey. for a moment he entertained the idea of returning to the venta, throwing himself at the maiden's feet, and repairing the fault which his growing jealousy had forced him to commit, by abjuring all his hopes, and placing himself at doña carmela's service, to do whatever she might please to order. but, like most good resolutions, this one lasted no longer than a lightning flash. the jaguar reflected, and with reflection doubt and jealousy returned. the natural consequences of which was fresh fury, wilder and more insane than the first. the young man galloped on thus for a long time, apparently following no settled direction; still at long intervals he stopped, rose in his stirrups, explored the plain with an eagle-glance, and then started again at full speed. at about three in the afternoon he passed the conducta de plata, but as he perceived it a long way off, it was easy for him to avoid it by swerving slightly to the right, and entering a thick wood of pine trees, which rendered him invisible long enough for him not to fear discovery from the scouts sent on ahead. about an hour before sunset, the young man, who had perhaps stopped a hundred times to explore the neighbourhood, uttered a suppressed cry of joy; he had at length come up to the persons he was so anxious to join. not five hundred yards from the spot where the jaguar had halted, a band of thirty to five and thirty horsemen was following the track complimented with the name of road, that led across the prairie. this band, entirely composed of white men, as could be easily seen from their costume, appeared to assume something of a military air, and all were fully equipped with arms of every description. at the beginning of this story we mentioned some horsemen just disappearing on the horizon; these were the men the jaguar had just perceived. the young man placed his open hands to his mouth in the shape of a speaking trumpet, and twice gave a sharp, shrill, and prolonged cry. although the troop was some distance off at the moment, still at this signal the riders stopped as if the feet of their horses had suddenly become embedded in the ground. the jaguar then bent over his saddle, leaped his horse over the bushes, and in a few minutes joined the men who had stopped for him. the jaguar was hailed with shouts of joy, and all pressed round him with marks of the deepest interest. "thanks, my friends," he said, "thanks for the proofs of sympathy you give me; but i must ask you to give me a moment's attention, for time presses." silence was re-established, as if by enchantment, but the flashing glances fixed on the young man said clearly that sympathy, though dumb, was not the less vivid. "you were not mistaken, master john," the jaguar said, addressing one of the persons nearest to him; "the conducta is just behind us; we are not more than three or four hours' march ahead of it; as you warned me, it is escorted, and in proof that great importance is attached to its safety, the escort is commanded by captain melendez." his audience gave a start of disappointment at these news. "patience," the jaguar went on, with a sarcastic smile; "when force is not sufficient, stratagem remains; captain melendez is brave and experienced, i grant you, but are we not also brave men? is not the cause we defend grand enough to excite us to carry out our enterprise at all hazards?" "yes, yes, hurrah, hurrah!" all the hearers shouted, as they brandished their weapons enthusiastically. "master john, you have already entered into relations with the captain; he knows you, so you will remain here with another of our friends. allow yourselves to be arrested. i entrust to you the duty of removing the suspicions that may exist in the captain's mind." "i will do it, you may be certain." "very good, but play close with him; for you have a strong opponent." "do you think so?" "yes. do you know who accompanies him?" "on my word, no." "el padre antonio." "what's that you say? by jove, you did right to warn me." "i thought so." "oh, oh! does that accursed monk wish to poach on our manor?" "i fear it. this man, as you know, is affiliated with all the scamps, no matter of what colour, who prowl about the desert: he is even reported to be one of their chiefs; the idea of seizing the conducta may easily have occurred to him." "by heaven, i will watch him; trust to me, i know him too thoroughly and too long for him to care to oppose me; if he dared to attempt it, i could reduce him to impotence." "that is all right. when you have obtained all the information we require to act, lose not a moment in informing us, for we shall count the minutes while waiting for you." "that is settled. i suppose we meet at the barranca del gigante." "yes." "one word more." "make haste." "what about blue-fox?" "hang it! i forgot all about him." "shall i wait for him?" "certainly." "shall i treat with him? you know but little reliance is to be placed in the word of an apache." "that is true," the young man answered, thoughtfully; "still, our position is at this moment most difficult. we are left to our own resources; our friends hesitate, and dare not yet decide in our favour; while, on the other hand, our enemies are raising their heads, regaining courage, and preparing to attack us vigorously. although my heart heaves against such an alliance, it is still evident to me, that if the apaches consent frankly to help us, their assistance will be very useful to us." "you are right. in our present situation, outlawed by society, and tracked like wild beasts, it would, perhaps, be imprudent to reject the alliance of the redskins." "well, my friend, i give you full liberty, and events must guide you. i trust entirely to your intelligence and devotion." "i shall not deceive your expectations." "let us part now; and luck be with you." "goodbye, till we meet again." "goodbye, till to-morrow." the jaguar gave a parting nod to his friend or accomplice, whichever the reader pleases to call him, placed himself at the head of the band, and started at a gallop. this john was no other than john davis, the slave-dealer, whom the reader probably remembers to have come across in the earlier chapters of this story. how it is we find him again in texas, forming part of a band of outlaws, and become the pursued instead of the pursuer, would be too long to explain at this moment. let us purpose eventually to give the reader full satisfaction on the point. john and his comrades let themselves be apprehended by captain melendez's scouts, without offering the slightest opposition. we have already described how they behaved in the mexican camp; so we will follow the jaguar at present. the young man seemed to be, and really was, the chief of the horsemen at whose head he rode. these individuals all belonged to the anglo-saxon race, and to a man were north americans. what trade were they carrying on? surely a very simple one. for the moment they were insurgents; most of them came to texas at the period when the mexican government authorized american immigration. they had settled in the country, colonized it, and cleared it; in a word, they ended by regarding it as a new country. when the mexican government inaugurated that system of vexations, which it never gave up again, these worthy fellows laid down the pick and the spade to take up the kentucky rifle, mounted their horses, and broke out in overt insurrection against an oppressor who wished to ruin and dispossess them. several bands of insurgents were thus hastily formed on various points of the texan territory, fighting bravely against the mexicans wherever they met with them. unfortunately for them, however, these bands were isolated; no tie existed among them to form a compact and dangerous whole; they obeyed chiefs, independent one of the other, who all wished to command, without bowing their own will to a supreme and single will, which would have been the only way of obtaining tangible results, and conquering that independence, which, owing to this hapless dissension, was still regarded as a utopia by the most enlightened men in the country. the horsemen we have brought on the stage were placed under the orders of the jaguar, whose reputation for courage, skill, and prudence was too firmly established in the country for his name not to inspire terror in the enemies whom chance might bring him across. the sequel will prove that, in choosing their chiefs, the colonists had made no mistake about him. the jaguar was just the chief these men required. he was young, handsome, and gifted with that fascination which improvises kingdoms; he spoke little, but each of his words left a reminiscence. he understood what his comrades expected of him, and had achieved prodigies; for, as ever happens with a man born for great things, who rises proportionately and ever remains on a level with events, his position, by extending, had, as it were, enlarged his intellect; his glance had become infallible, his will of iron; he identified himself so thoroughly with his new position, that he no longer allowed himself to be mastered by any human feeling. his face seemed of marble, both in joy and sorrow. the enthusiasm of his comrades could produce neither flame nor smile on his countenance. the jaguar was not an ordinary ambitious man; he was grieved by the disagreement among the insurgents; he most heartily desired a fusion, which had become indispensable, and laboured with all his might to effect it; in a word, the young man had faith; he believed; for, in spite of the innumerable faults committed since the beginning of the insurrection by the texans, he found such vitality in the work of liberty hitherto so badly managed, that he learned at length that in every human question there is something more powerful than force, than courage, even than genius, and that this something is the idea whose time has come, whose hour has struck by the clock of deity. hence he forgot all his annoyances in hoping for a certain future. in order to neutralize, as far as possible, the isolation in which his band was left, the jaguar had inaugurated certain tactics which had hitherto proved successful. what he wanted was to gain time, and perpetuate the war, even though waging an unequal contest. for this purpose he was obliged to envelop his weakness in mystery, show himself everywhere, stop nowhere, enclose the foe in a network of invisible adversaries, force him to stand constantly on guard, with his eyes vainly fixed on all points of the horizon, and incessantly harassed, though never really and seriously attacked by respectable forces. such was the plan the jaguar inaugurated against the mexicans, whom he enervated thus by this fever of expectation and the unknown, the most terrible of all maladies for the strong. hence the jaguar and the fifty or sixty horsemen he commanded were more feared by the mexican government than all the other insurgents put together. an extraordinary prestige attached to the terrible chief of these unsiegeable men; a superstitious fear preceded them, and their mere approach produced disorder among the troops sent to fight them. the jaguar cleverly profited by his advantages to attempt the most hazardous enterprises and the most daring strokes. the one he meditated at this moment was one of the boldest he had hitherto conceived, for it was nothing less than to carry off the conducta de plata and make a prisoner of captain melendez, an officer whom he justly considered one of his most dangerous adversaries, and with whom he, for that very reason, longed to measure himself, for he foresaw the light such a victory would shed over the insurrection, and the partisans it would immediately attract to him. after leaving john davis behind him, the jaguar rapidly advanced toward a thick forest, whose dark outline stood out on the horizon, and in which he prepared to bivouac for the night, as he could not reach the barranca del gigante till late the following day. moreover, he wished to remain near the two men he had detached as scouts, in order the sooner to learn the result of their operations. a little after sunset, the insurgents reached the forest, and instantaneously disappeared under covert. on reaching the top of a small hill which commanded the landscape, the jaguar halted, and ordered his men to dismount and prepare to camp. a bivouac is soon organized in the desert. a sufficient space is cleared with axes, fires are lighted at regular distances to keep off wild beasts; the horses are picketed, and sentries placed to watch over the common safety, and then everybody lies down before the fire, rolls himself in his blanket, and that is all. these rough men, accustomed to brave the fury of the seasons, sleep as profoundly under the canopy of the sky, as the denizens of towns in their sumptuous mansions. the young man, when everybody had lain down to rest, went the rounds to assure himself that all was in order, and then returned to the fire, when he fell into earnest thought. the whole night passed and he did not make the slightest movement; but he did not sleep, his eyes were open and fixed on the slowly expiring embers. what were the thoughts that contracted his forehead and made his eyebrows meet? it would be impossible to say. perhaps he was travelling in the country of fancy, dreaming wide awake one of those glorious dreams we have at the age of twenty, which are so intoxicating and so deceitful! suddenly he started and sprung up as if worked by a spring. at this moment the sun appeared in the horizon, and began slowly dispersing the gloom. the young man bent forward and listened. the sharp snap of a gun being cocked was heard a short distance off, and a sentry concealed in the shrubs shouted in a harsh, sharp voice:-- "who goes there?" "a friend," was the reply from the bushes. the jaguar started. "tranquil here!" he muttered to himself; "for what reason can he seek me?" and he rushed in the direction where he expected to find the panther-killer. chapter xxii. blue-fox. we will now return to blue-fox and his two comrades, whom, in a previous chapter, we left at the moment when, after hearing bullets "ping" past their ears, they instinctively entrenched themselves behind rocks and trunks of trees. so soon as they had taken this indispensable precaution against the invisible assailants, the three men carefully inspected their weapons to be ready to reply; and then waited with finger on trigger, and looking searchingly in all directions. they remained thus for a rather lengthened period, though nothing again disturbed the silence of the prairie, or the slightest sign revealed to them that the attack made upon them would be renewed. suffering from the deepest anxiety, not knowing to what they should attribute this attack, or what enemies they had to fear, the three men knew not what to do, or how to escape with honour from the embarrassing position into which chance had thrown them. at length blue-fox resolved to go reconnoitring. still, as the chief was justly afraid of falling into an ambuscade, carefully prepared to capture him and his comrades, without striking a blow, he thought it prudent, ere he started, to take the most minute precautions. the indians are justly renowned for their cleverness; forced, through the life they lead from their birth, to employ continually the physical qualities with which providence has given them, in them hearing, smell, and, above all, sight have attained such a development, that they can fairly contend with wild beasts, of whom, after all, they are only plagiarists; but, as they have at their disposal one advantage over animals in the intelligence which permits them to combine their actions and see their probable consequences, they have acquired a cat-like success, if we may be allowed to employ the expression, which enables them to accomplish surprising things, of which only those who have seen them at work can form a correct idea, so greatly does their skill go beyond the range of possibility. it is before all when they have to follow a trail, that the cleverness of the indians, and the knowledge they possess of the laws of nature, acquire extraordinary proportions. whatever care their enemy may have taken, whatever precautions he may have employed to hide his trail and render it invisible, they always succeed in discovering it in the end; from them the desert has retained no secrets, for them this virgin and majestic nature is a book, every page of which is known to them, and in which they read fluently, without the slightest--we will not say mistake, but merely--hesitation. blue-fox, though still very young, had already gained a well-deserved reputation for cleverness and astuteness; hence under the present circumstances, surrounded in all probability by invisible enemies, whose eyes, constantly fixed on the spot that served as his refuge, watched his every movement, he prepared with redoubled prudence to foil their machinations and countermine their plans. after arranging with his comrades a signal in the probable event of their help being required, he took off his buffalo robe, whose wide folds might have impeded his movements, removed all the ornaments with which his head, neck, and chest were loaded, and only retained his _mitasses_, a species of drawers made in two pieces, fastened from distance to distance with hair, bound round the loins with a strip of untanned deer-hide, and descending to his ankles. thus clothed, he rolled himself several times in the sand, for his body to assume an earthy colour. then he passed through his belt his tomahawk and scalping knife, weapons an indian never lays aside, seized his rifle in his right hand, and, after giving a parting nod to his comrades who attentively watched his different preparations, he lay down on the ground, and began crawling like a serpent through the tall grass and detritus of every description. although the sun had risen for some time, and was pouring its dazzling beams over the prairie, blue-fox's departure was managed with such circumspection that he was far out on the plain, while his comrades fancied him close to them; not a blade of grass had been agitated in his passage, or a pebble slipped under his feet. from time to time blue-fox stopped, took a peering glance around, and then, when he felt assured that all was quiet, and nothing had revealed his position, he began crawling again on his hands and knees in the direction of the forest covert, from which he was now but a short distance. he then reached a spot entirely devoid of trees, where the grass, lightly trodden down at various spots, led him to suppose he was reaching the place where the men who fired must have been ambushed. the indian stopped, in order to investigate more closely the trail he had discovered. it apparently belonged to only one man; it was clumsy, wide, and made without caution, and rather the footsteps of a white man ignorant of the customs of the prairie, than of a hunter or indian. the bushes were broken as if the person who passed through them had done so by force, running along without taking the trouble to part the brambles; while at several spots the trampled earth was soaked with blood. blue-fox could not at all understand this strange trail, which in no way resembled those he was accustomed to follow. was it a feint employed by his enemies to deceive him more easily by letting him see a clumsy trail intended to conceal the real one? or was it, on the other hand, the trail of a white man wandering about the desert, of whose habits he was ignorant? the indian knew not what opinion to adhere to, and his perplexity was great. to him it was evident that from this spot the shot was fired which saluted him at the moment when he was about to begin his speech; but for what object had the man, whoever he was, that had chosen this ambush, left such manifest traces of his passage? he must surely have supposed that his aggression would not remain unpunished, and that the persons he selected as a target would immediately start in pursuit of him. at length, after trying for a long time to solve this problem, and racking his brains in vain to arrive at a probable conclusion, blue-fox adhered to his first one, that this trail was fictitious, and merely intended to conceal the true one. the great fault of cunning persons is to suppose that all men are like themselves, and only employ cunning; hence they frequently deceive themselves, and the frankness of the means employed by their opponent completely defeats them, and makes them lose a game which they had every chance of winning. blue-fox soon perceived that his supposition was false, that he had given his enemy credit for much greater skill and sagacity than he really possessed, and that what he had regarded as an extremely complicated scheme intended to deceive him, was, in fact, what he had at first thought it, namely, the passing of a man. after hesitating and turning back several times, the indian at length resolved on pushing forward, and following what he believed to be a false trail, under the conviction that he would speedily find the real one; but, as he was persuaded that he had to do with extremely crafty fellows, he redoubled his prudence and precautions, only advancing step by step, carefully exploring the bushes and the chaparral, and not going on till he was certain he had no cause to apprehend a surprise. his manoeuvres occupied a long time; he had left his comrades for more than two hours, when he found himself all at once at the entrance of a rather large clearing, from which he was only separated by a curtain of foliage. the indian stopped, drew himself up gently, parted the branches, and looked into the clearing. the forests of america are full of these clearings, produced either by the fall of trees crumbling with old age, or of those which have been struck by lightning, and laid low by the terrible hurricanes which frequently utterly uproot the forests of the new world. the clearing to which we allude here was rather large; a wide stream ran through it, and in the mud of its banks might be seen the deeply-imprinted footprints of the wild beasts that came here to drink. a magnificent mahogany tree, whose luxuriant branches overshadowed the whole clearing, stood nearly in the centre. at the foot of this gigantic denizen of the forest, two men were visible. the first, dressed in a monk's gown, was lying on the ground with closed eyes, and face covered with a deadly pallor; the second, kneeling by his side, seemed to be paying him the most anxious attention. owing to the position occupied by the redskin, he was enabled to distinguish the features of this second person, whose face was turned toward him. he was a man of lofty stature, but excessively thin; his face, owing to the changes of weather to which it must have been long exposed, was of a brick colour, and furrowed by deep wrinkles; a snow-white beard fell on his chest, mingled with the long curls of his equally white hair, which fell in disorder on his shoulders. he wore the garb of the american rangers combined with the mexican costume; thus a vicuña-skin hat, ornamented with a gold _golilla_, covered his head; a zarapé served as his cloak, and his cotton velvet violet trousers were thrust into long deer-skin gaiters, that came up to his knees. it was impossible to guess this man's age; although his harsh and marked features, and his wild eyes, which burned with a concentrated fire and had a wandering expression, revealed that he had attained old age, still no trace of decrepitude was visible in any part of his person; his stature seemed not to have lost an inch of its height, so straight was he still; his knotted limbs, full of muscles hard as ropes, seemed endowed with extraordinary strength and suppleness; in a word, he had all the appearance of a dangerous wood-ranger, whose eye must be as sure, and arm as ready, as if he were only forty years of age. in his girdle he carried a pair of long pistols, and a sword with a straight and wide blade, called a machete, passed through an iron ring instead of a sheath, hung on his left side. two rifles, one of which doubtless belonged to him, were leant against the trunk of the tree, and a magnificent mustang, picketed a few yards off, was nibbling the young tree shoots. what it has taken us so long to describe, the indian saw at a glance; but it appeared as if this scene, which he was so far from anticipating, was not very cheering to him, for he frowned portentously, and could hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise and disappointment on seeing the two persons. by an instinctive movement of prudence he cocked his rifle, and after he had done this, he went on watching what was doing in the clearing. at length the man dressed in the monk's gown made a slight movement as if to rise, and partly opened his eyes; but too weak yet, probably, to endure the brilliancy of the sunbeams, though they were filtered through the dense foliage, he closed them again; still, the individual who was nursing him, saw that he had regained his senses, by the movement of his lips, which quivered as if he were murmuring a prayer in a low voice. considering, therefore, that, for the present at least, his attentions were no longer needed by his patient, the stranger rose, took his rifle, leant his crossed hands on the muzzle, and awaited stoically, after giving a look round the clearing, whose gloomy and hateful expression caused the indian chief to give a start of terror in his leafy hiding place. several minutes elapsed, during which no sound was audible, save the rustling of the stream over its bed, and the mysterious murmur of the insects of all descriptions hidden beneath the grass. at length the man lying on the ground made a second movement, stronger than the first, and opened his eyes. after looking wildly around him, his eyes were fastened with a species of strange fascination on the tall old man, still standing motionless by his side, and who gazed on him in return with a mingled feeling of ironical compassion and sombre melancholy. "thanks," he at last murmured, in a weak voice. "thanks for what?" the stranger asked, harshly. "thanks for having saved my life, brother," the sufferer answered. "i am not your brother, monk," the stranger said, mockingly; "i am a heretic, a gringo, as you are pleased to call us; look at me, you have not examined me yet with sufficient attention; have i not horns and goat's feet?" these words were uttered with such a sarcastic accent, that the monk was momentarily confounded. "who are you, then?" he at length asked, with secret apprehension. "what does that concern you?" the other said, with an ill-omened laugh; "the demon, mayhap." the monk made a sudden effort to rise, and crossed himself repeatedly. "may heaven save me from falling into the hands of the evil spirit!" he added. "well, you ass," the other said, as he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, "reassure yourself, i am not the demon, but a man like yourself, perhaps not quite so hypocritical, though, that's the only difference." "do you speak truly? are you really one of my fellow men, disposed to serve me?" "who can answer for the future?" the stranger replied, with an enigmatical smile; "up to the present, at any rate, you have had no cause of complaint against me. "no, oh no, i do not think so, although since my fainting fit my ideas have been quite confused, and i can remember nothing." "what do i care? that does not concern me, for i ask nothing of you; i have enough business of my own not to trouble myself with that of others. come, do you feel better? have you recovered sufficiently to continue your journey?" "what! continue my journey?" the monk asked timidly; "do you intend to abandon me then?" "why not? i have already wasted too much time with you, and must attend to my own affairs." "what?" the monk objected, "after the interest you have so benevolently taken in me, you would have the courage to abandon me thus when almost dead, and not caring what may happen to me after your departure?" "why not? i do not know you, and have no occasion to help you. accidentally crossing this clearing, i noticed you lying breathless and pale as a corpse. i gave you that ease which is refused to no one in the desert; now that you have returned to life, i can no longer be of service to you, so i am off; what can be more simple or logical? goodbye, and may the demon, for whom you took me just now, grant you his protection!" after uttering these words in a tone of sarcasm and bitter irony, the stranger threw his rifle over his shoulder, and walked a few paces toward his horse. "stay, in heaven's name!" the monk exclaimed, as he rose with greater haste than with his weakness seemed possible, but fear produced the strength; "what will become of me alone in this desert?" "that does not concern me," the stranger answered, as he coolly loosed the arm of his zarapé, which the monk had seized; "is not the maxim of the desert, each for himself?" "listen," the monk said eagerly; "my name is fray antonio, and i am wealthy: if you protect me, i will reward you handsomely." the stranger smiled contemptuously. "what have you to fear? you are young, stout, and well armed; are you not capable of protecting yourself?" "no, because i am pursued by implacable enemies. last night they inflicted on me horrible and degrading torture, and i only managed with great difficulty to escape from their clutches. this morning accident brought me across two of these men. on seeing them a species of raging madness possessed me; the idea of avenging myself occurred to me; i aimed at them, and fired, and then fled, not knowing whither i was going, mad with rage and terror; on reaching this spot i fell, crushed and exhausted, as much through the sufferings i endured this night, as through the fatigues caused by a long and headlong race along abominable roads. these men are doubtless pursuing me; if they find me--and they will do so, for they are wood-rangers, perfectly acquainted with the desert--they will kill me without pity; my only hope is in you, so in the name of what you hold dearest on earth, save me! save me, and my gratitude will be unbounded." the stranger had listened to this long and pathetic pleading without moving a muscle of his face. when the monk ceased, with breath and argument equally exhausted, he rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. "all that you say may be true," he answered drily, "but i care as little for it as i do for a flash in the pan; get out of the affair as you think proper, for your entreaties are useless; if you knew who i am, you would very soon give up tormenting my ears with your jabbering." the monk fixed a terrified look on the strange man, not knowing what to say to him, or the means he should employ to reach his heart. "who are you then?" he asked him, rather for the sake of saying something than in the hope of an answer. "who i am?" he said, with an ironical smile, "you would like to know. very good, listen in your turn; i have only a few words to say, but they will ice the blood in your veins with terror; i am the man called the white scalper, the pitiless one!" the monk tottered back a few paces, and clasped his hands with an effort. "oh, my god!" he exclaimed, frenziedly; "i am lost!" at this moment the hoot of an owl was heard a short distance off. the hunter started. "some one was listening to us!" he exclaimed, and rushed rapidly to the side whence the signal came, while the monk, half dead with terror, fell on his knees, and addressed a fervent prayer to heaven. chapter xxiii. the white scalper. we must now stop our story for a little while, in order to give the reader certain details about the strange man whom we introduced in our previous chapter, details doubtless very incomplete, but still indispensable to the proper comprehension of facts that have to follow. if, instead of telling a true story, we were inventing a romance, we should certainly guard ourselves against introducing into our narrative persons like the one we have to deal with now; unhappily, we are constrained to follow the line ready traced before us, and depict our characters as they are, as they existed, and as the majority still exist. a few years before the period at which the first part of our story begins, a rumour, at first dull, but which soon attained a certain degree of consistency and a great notoriety in the vast deserts of texas, arose almost suddenly, icing with fear the indios bravos, and the adventurers of every description who continually wander about these vast solitudes. it was stated that a man, apparently white, had been for some time on the desert, pursuing the redskins, against whom he seemed to have declared an obstinate war. acts of horrible cruelty and extraordinary boldness were narrated about this man, who was said to be always alone; wherever he met indians, no matter their number, he attacked them; those who fell into his power were scalped, and their hearts torn out, and in order that it might be known that they had fallen under his blows, he made on their stomach a wide incision, in the shape of a cross. at times this implacable enemy of the red race glided into their villages, fired them during the night, when all were asleep, and then he made a frightful butchery, killing all who came in his way; women, children, and old men, he made no exception. this gloomy redresser of wrongs, however, did not merely pursue indians with his implacable hatred--half-breeds, smugglers, pirates, in a word, all the bold border ruffians accustomed to live at the expense of society had a rude account to settle with him; but the latter he did not scalp, but merely contented himself with fastening them securely to trees, where he condemned them to die of hunger, and become the prey of wild beasts. during the first years, the adventurers and redskins, drawn together by the feeling of a common danger, had several times banded to put an end to this ferocious enemy, bind him, and inflict the law of retaliation on him; but this man seemed to be protected by a charm, which enabled him to escape all the snares laid for him, and circumvent all the ambuscades formed on his road, it was impossible to catch him; his movements were so rapid and unexpected, that he often appeared at considerable distances from the spot where he was awaited, and where he had been seen shortly before. according to the indians and adventurers, he was invulnerable; bullets and arrows rebounded from his chest; and soon, through the continual good fortune that accompanied all his enterprises, this man became a subject of universal terror on the prairie; his enemies, convinced that all they might attempt against him would prove useless, gave up a struggle which they regarded as waged against a superior power. the strangest legends were current about him; every one feared him as a maleficent spirit; the indians named him _kiein-stomann_, or the white scalper, and the adventurers designated him among themselves by the epithet of pitiless. these two names, as we see, were justly given to this man, with whom murder and carnage seemed the supreme enjoyment, such pleasure did he find in feeling his victims quivering beneath his blood-red hand, and tearing the heart out of their bosom; hence his mere name, uttered in a whisper, filled the bravest with horror. but who was this man? whence did he come? what fearful catastrophe had cast him into the fearful mode of life he led? no one could answer these questions. this individual was a horrifying enigma, which no person could solve. was he one of those monstrous organizations, which, beneath the envelope of man, contain a tiger's heart? or, else, a soul ulcerated by a frightful misfortune, all whose faculties are directed to one object, vengeance? both these hypotheses were equally possible; perhaps both were true. still, as every medal has its reverse, and man is not perfect in either good or evil, this individual had at times gleams, not of pity, but perhaps of fatigue, when blood mounted to his gorge, choked him, and rendered him a little less cruel, a little less implacable, almost human, in a word. but these moments were brief, these attacks, as he called them himself, very rare; nature regained the upper hand almost at once, and he became only the more terrible, because he had been so near growing compassionate. this was all known about this individual at the moment when we brought him on the stage in so singular a fashion. the assistance he had given the monk was so contrary to all his habits, that he must have been suffering at the moment from one of his best attacks, to have consented not only to give such eager attention to one of his fellows, but also to waste so much time in listening to his lamentations and entreaties. to finish the information we have to give about this person, we will add that no one knew whether he had a permanent abode; he was not known to have any woman to love, or any follower; he had ever been seen alone; and during the ten years he had roamed the desert in every direction, his countenance had undergone no change; he had ever the same appearance of old age and strength, the same long and white beard, and the same wrinkled face. as we have said, the scalper rushed into the chaparral to discover who had given the signal that startled him; his researches were minute, but they produced no other result than that of enabling him to discover that he was not mistaken, and that a spy hidden in the bushes had really seen all that took place in the clearing, and heard all that was said. blue-fox, after summoning his comrades, cautiously retired, convinced that if he fell into the hands of the scalper, he would be lost in spite of all his courage. the latter returned thoughtfully to the side of the monk, whose praying still went on, and had assumed such proportions that it threatened to become interminable. the scalper looked for a moment at the fray, an ironical smile playing round his pale lips the while, and then gave him a hearty blow with the butt of his rifle between the shoulders. "get up!" he said, roughly. the monk fell on his hands, and remained motionless. believing that the other intended to kill him, he resigned himself to his fate, and awaited the death-blow which, in his opinion, he must speedily receive. "come, get up, you devil of a monk!" the scalper went on; "have you not mumbled paternosters enough?" fray ambrosio gently raised his head; a gleam of hope returned to him. "forgive me, excellency," he replied; "i have finished; i am now at your orders; what do you desire of me?" and he quickly sprung up, for there was something in the other's eye which told him that disobedience would lead to unpleasant results. "that is well, scoundrel! you seem to me as fit to pull a trigger as to say a prayer. load your rifle, for the moment has arrived for you to fight like a man, unless you wish to be killed like a dog." the monk took a frightened glance around. "excellency," he stammered, with great hesitation, "is it necessary that i should fight?" "yes, if you wish to keep a whole skin; if you do not, why, you can remain quiet." "but perhaps there is another mode?" "what is it?" "flight, for instance," he said, insinuatingly. "try it," the other replied, with a grin. the monk, encouraged by this semi-concession, continued, with slightly increased boldness-- "you have a very fine horse." "is it not?" "magnificent," fray antonio went on, enthusiastically. "yes, and you would not be vexed if i let you mount it, to fly more rapidly, eh?" "oh! do not think that," he said, with a gesture of denial. "enough!" the scalper roughly interrupted; "think of yourself, for your enemies are coming." with one bound he was in the saddle, made his horse curvet, and hid himself behind the enormous stem of the mahogany tree. fray antonio, aroused by the approach of danger, quickly seized his rifle, and also got behind the tree. at the same moment a rather loud rustling was heard in the bushes, which then parted, and several men appeared. they were about fifteen in number, and apache warriors; in the midst of them were blue-fox, john davis, and his companions. blue-fox, though he had never found himself face to face with the white scalper, had often heard him spoken of, both by indians and hunters; hence, when he heard him pronounce his name, an indescribable agony contracted his heart, as he thought of all the cruelty to which his brothers had been victims from this man; and the thought of seizing him occurred to him. he hastened to give the signal agreed on with the hunters, and rushing through the chaparral with the velocity characteristic of indians, went to the spot where his warriors were waiting, and bade them follow him. on his return, he met the two hunters who had heard the signal, and were hurrying to his help. in a few words blue-fox explained to them what was occurring. to tell the truth, we must confess that this confidence, far from exciting the warriors and hunters, singularly lowered their ardour, by revealing to them that they were about to expose themselves to a terrible danger, by contending with a man who was the more dangerous because no weapon could strike him; and those who had hitherto dared to assail him, had ever fallen victims to their temerity. still, it was too late to recoil, and flight was impossible; the warriors, therefore, determined to push on, though much against the grain. as for the two hunters, if they did not completely share in the blind credulity of their comrades, and their superstitious fears, this fight was far from pleasing them. still, restrained by the shame of abandoning men to whom they fancied themselves superior in intelligence, and even in courage, they resolved to follow them. "excellency!" the monk exclaimed in a lamentable voice, when he saw the indians appear, "do not abandon me." "no, if you do not abandon yourself, scoundrel!" the scalper answered. on reaching the skirt of the clearing, the apaches, following their usual tactics, sheltered themselves behind trees, so that this confined clearing, in which so many men were on the point of beginning an obstinate struggle, seemed absolutely deserted. there was a moment of silence and hesitation. the scalper at length decided on being the first to speak. "halloh!" he cried, "what do you want here?" blue-fox was going to answer, but john davis prevented him. "leave him to me," he said. quitting the trunk of the tree behind which he was sheltered, he then boldly walked a few paces forward, and stopped almost in the centre of the clearing. "where are you, you who are speaking?" he asked in a loud and firm voice; "are you afraid of letting yourself be seen?" "i fear nothing," the squatter replied. "show yourself, then, that i may know you again," john said impudently. thus challenged, the scalper came up within two paces of the hunter. "here i am," he said, "what do you want of me?" davis let the horse come up without making any movement to avoid it. "ah," he said, "i am not sorry to have had a look at you." "is that all you have to say to me?" the other asked gruffly. "hang it, you are in a tremendous hurry! give me time to breathe, at any rate." "a truce to jests, which may cost you dearly; tell me at once what your proposals are--i have no time to lose in idle talk." "how the deuce do you know that i have proposals to make to you?" "would you have come here without?" "and i presume that you are acquainted with these proposals?" "it is possible." "in that case, what answer do you give me?" "none." "what, none!" "i prefer attacking you." "oh, oh, you have a tough job before you; there are eighteen of us, do you know that?" "i do not care for your numbers. if there were a hundred of you, i would attack you all the same." "by heaven! for the rarity of the fact, i should be curious to see the combat of one man against twenty." "you will do so ere long." and, while saying this, the scalper pulled his horse back several paces. "one moment, hang it," the hunter exclaimed sharply; "let me say a word to you." "say it." "will you surrender?" "what?" "i ask you if you will surrender." "nonsense," the scalper exclaimed with a grin; "you are mad. i surrender! it is you who will have to ask mercy ere long." "i would not believe it, even if you killed me." "come, return to your shelter," the scalper said with a shrug of his shoulders; "i do not wish to kill you defencelessly." "all the worse for you, then," the hunter said; "i have warned you honourably, now i wash my hands of it; get out of it as you can." "thanks," the scalper answered energetically; "but i am not yet in so bad a state as you fancy." john davis contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, and returned slowly to his shelter in the forest, whistling yankee doodle. the scalper had not imitated him; although he was perfectly well aware that a great number of enemies surrounded him and watched over his movements, he remained firm and motionless in the centre of the clearing. "hola!" he shouted in a mocking voice, "you valiant apaches, who hide yourselves like rabbits in the shrubs, must i come and smoke you out of your holes in order to make you show yourselves? come on, if you do not wish me to believe you old cowardly and frightened squaws." these insulting words raised to the highest pitch the exasperation of the apache warriors, who replied by a prolonged yell of fury. "will my brothers allow themselves any longer to be mocked by a single man?" blue-fox exclaimed; "our cowardice causes his strength. let us rush with the speed of the hurricane on this genius of evil; he cannot resist the shock of so many renowned warriors. forward, brothers, forward! to us be the honour of having crushed the implacable foe of our race." and uttering his war-cry, which his comrades repeated, the valiant chief rushed upon the scalper, resolutely brandishing his rifle over his head; all the warriors followed him. the scalper awaited them without stirring; but so soon as he saw them within reach, drawing in the reins, and pressing his knees, he made his noble stud leap into the thick of the indians. seizing his rifle by the barrel, and employing it like a club, he began smiting to the right and left with a vigour and rapidity that had something supernatural about them. then a frightful medley commenced; the indians rushed on this man, who, being a skilful horseman, made his steed go through the most unexpected curvets, and by the rapidity of his movements prevented the enemy leaping on his bridle and stopping him. the two hunters at first remained quiet, convinced that it was impossible for a single man even to resist for a few moments such numerous and brave foes; but they soon perceived, to their great amazement, that they were mistaken; several indians were already stretched on the ground, their skulls split by the scalper's terrible club, all whose blows went home. the hunters then began changing their opinion as to the result of the fight, and wished to help their comrades, but their rifles were useless to them in the continued changes of the scene of action, and their bullets might as easily have struck friend as foe; hence they threw away their rifles, drew their knives, and hurried to the assistance of the apaches, who were already beginning to give way. blue-fox, dangerously wounded, was lying in a state of insensibility. the warriors, still on their legs, were beginning to think of a retreat, and casting anxious glances behind them. the scalper still fought with the same fury, mocking and insulting his enemies; his arm rose and fell with the regularity of a pendulum. "ah, ah!" he exclaimed, on noticing the hunters; "so you want your share. come on, come on." the latter did not allow it to be repeated, but rushed wildly upon him. but they fared badly; john davis, struck by the horse's chest, was hurled twenty feet, and fell to the ground; at the same instant his comrade's skull was broken, and he expired without a groan. this last incident gave the finishing stroke to the indians, who, unable to overcome the terror with which this extraordinary man inspired them, began flying in all directions with yells of terror. the scalper gave a glance of triumph and satisfied hatred at the sanguinary arena, where a dozen bodies lay stretched out, and urging his horse on, he caught up a fugitive, lifted him by the hair, and threw him over his saddle-bow, and disappeared in the forest with a horrible grin. once again the scalper had opened a bloody passage for himself. as for fray antonio, so soon as he saw that the fight had begun, he thought it needless to await its issue; he, therefore, took advantage of the opportunity, and gliding gently from tree to tree, he effected a skilful retreat and got clear off. chapter xxiv. after the fight. for more than half an hour the silence of death hovered over the clearing, which offered a most sad and lugubrious aspect through the fight we described in the preceding chapter. at length john davis, who in reality had received no serious wound, for his fall was merely occasioned by the shock of the scalper's powerful horse, opened his eyes and looked around him in amazement; the fall had been sufficiently violent to cause him serious bruises, and throw him into a deep fainting fit; hence, on regaining consciousness, the american, still stunned, did not remember a single thing that had happened, and asked himself very seriously what he had been doing to find himself in this singular situation. still, his ideas grew gradually clearer, his memory returned, and he remembered the strange and disproportioned fight of one man against twenty, in which the former remained the victor, after killing and dispersing his assailants. "hum!" he muttered to himself, "whether he be man or demon, that individual is a sturdy fellow." he got up with some difficulty, carefully feeling his paining limbs; and when he was quite assured he had nothing broken, he continued with evident satisfaction-- "thank heaven! i got off more cheaply than i had a right to suppose, after the way in which i was upset." then he added, as he gave a glance of pity to his comrade, who lay dead near him; "that poor jim was not so lucky as i, and his fun is over. what a tremendous machete stroke he received! nonsense!" he then said with the egotistic philosophy of the desert; "we are all mortal, each has his turn; to-day it's he, to-morrow i, so goes the world." leaning on his rifle, for he still experienced some difficulty in walking, he took a few steps on the clearing in order to convince himself by a conclusive experiment that his limbs were in a sound state. after a few moments of an exercise that restored circulation to his blood and elasticity to his joints, completely reassured about himself, the thought occurred to him of trying whether among the bodies lying around him any still breathed. "they are only indians," he muttered, "but, after all, they are men; although they are nearly deprived of reason, humanity orders me to help them; the more so, as my present situation has nothing very agreeable about it, and if i succeed in saving any of them, their knowledge of the desert will be of great service to me." this last consideration determined him on helping men whom probably without it he would have abandoned to their fate, that is to say, to the teeth of the wild beasts which, attracted by the scent of blood, would have certainly made them their prey after dark. still it is our duty to render the egotistic citizen of the united states the justice of saying that, so soon as he had formed this determination, he acquitted himself conscientiously and sagaciously of his self-imposed task, which was easy to him after all; for the numerous professions he had carried on during the course of his adventurous life had given him a medical knowledge and experience which placed him in a position to give sick persons that care their condition demanded. unfortunately, most of the persons he inspected had received such serious wounds that life had long fled their bodies, and help was quite unavailing. "hang it, hang it!" the american muttered at every corpse he turned over, "these poor savages were killed by a master-hand. at any rate they did not suffer long, for with such fearful wounds they must have surrendered their souls to the creator almost instantaneously." he thus reached the spot where lay the body of blue-fox, with a wide gaping wound in his chest. "ah, ah! here is the worthy chief," he went on. "what a gash! let us see if he is dead too." he bent over the motionless body, and put the blade of his knife to the indian's lips. "he does not stir," he continued, with an air of discouragement; "i am afraid i shall have some difficulty in bringing him round." in a few minutes, however, he looked at the blade of his knife and saw that it was slightly tarnished. "come, he is not dead yet; so long as the soul holds to the body, there is hope, so i will have a try." after this aside, john davis fetched some water in his hat, mixed a small quantity of spirits with it, and began carefully laving the wound; this duty performed, he sounded it and found it of no great depth, and the abundant loss of blood had in all probability brought on the state of unconsciousness. reassured by this perfectly correct reflection, he pounded some _oregano_ leaves between two stones, made a species of cataplasm of them, laid it on the wound, and secured it with a strip of bark; then unclenching the wounded man's teeth with the blade of his knife, he thrust in the mouth of his flask, and made him drink a quantity of spirits. success almost immediately crowned the american's tentatives, for the chief gave vent to a deep sigh, and opened his eyes almost instantaneously. "bravo!" john exclaimed, delighted at the unhoped for result he had achieved. "courage, chief, you are saved. by jove! you may boast of having come back a precious long distance." for some minutes the indian remained stunned, looking around him absently, without any consciousness of the situation in which he was, or of the objects that surrounded him. john attentively watched him, ready to give him help again, were it necessary; but it was not so. by degrees the redskin appeared to grow livelier; his eyes lost their vacant expression, he sat up and passed his hand over his dank brow. "is the fight over?" he asked. "yes," john answered, "in our complete defeat; that was a splendid idea we had of capturing such a demon." "has he escaped, then?" "most perfectly so, and without a single wound, after killing at least a dozen of your warriors, and cleaving my poor jim's skull down to the shoulders." "oh!" the indian muttered hoarsely, "he is not a man, but the spirit of evil." "let him be what he likes," john exclaimed, energetically; "i intend to fight it out some day, for i hope to come across this demon again." "may the wacondah preserve my brother from such a meeting, for this demon would kill him." "perhaps so; as it is, if he did not do so to-day, it was no fault of his, but let him take care; we may some day stand face to face with equal weapons, and then--" "what does he care for weapons? did you not see that they have no power over him, and that his body is invulnerable?" "hum! that is possible; but for the present let us leave the subject and attend to matters that affect us much more closely. how do you find yourself?" "better, much better; the remedy you have applied to my wound does me great good; i am beginning to feel quite comfortable." "all the better; now try to rest for two or three hours, while i watch over your sleep; after that, we will consult as to the best way of getting out of this scrape." the redskin smiled on hearing this remark. "blue-fox is no cowardly old woman whom a tooth-ache or ear-ache renders incapable of moving." "i know that you are a brave warrior, chief; but nature has limits, which cannot be passed, and, however great your courage and will may be, the abundant haemorrhage which your wound has caused you must have reduced you to a state of extreme weakness." "i thank you, my brother; those words come from a friend; but blue-fox is a sachem in his nation, death alone can render him unable to move. my brother will judge of the chief's weakness." while uttering these words, the indian made a supreme effort; fighting against pain, with the energy and contempt of suffering that characterize the red race, he succeeded in rising, and not only stood firmly on his feet, but even walked several yards without assistance, or the slightest trace of emotion appearing on his face. the american regarded him with profound admiration; he could not imagine, though he himself justly enjoyed a reputation for braver, that it was possible to carry so far the triumph of moral over physical force. the indian smiled proudly on reading in the american's eyes the astonishment his performance caused him. "does my brother still believe that blue-fox is so weak?" he asked him. "on my word, chief, i know not what to think; what you have just done confounds me; i am prepared to suppose you capable of accomplishing impossibilities." "the chiefs of my nation are renowned warriors, who laugh at pain, and for them suffering does not exist," the redskin said, proudly. "i should be inclined to believe it, after your way of acting." "my brother is a man; he has understood me. we will inspect together the warriors lying on the ground, and then think of ourselves." "as for your poor comrades, chief, i am compelled to tell you that we have no occasion to trouble ourselves about them, for they are all dead." "good! they fell nobly while fighting; the wacondah will receive them into his bosom, and permit them to hunt with him on the happy prairies." "so be it!" "now, before all else, let us settle the affair we began this morning, and which was so unexpectedly broken off." john davis, in spite, of his acquaintance with desert life, was confounded by the coolness of this man, who, having escaped death by a miracle, still suffering from a terrible wound, and who had regained possession of his intellectual faculties only a few moments before, seemed no longer to think of what had occurred, considered the events to which he had all but fallen a victim as the very natural accidents of the life he led, and began again, with the greatest freedom of mind, a conversation interrupted by a terrible fight, at the very point where he left it. the fact was, that, despite the lengthened intercourse the american had hitherto had with the redskins, he had never taken the trouble to study their character seriously, for he was persuaded, like most of the whites indeed, that these men are beings almost devoid of intelligence, and that the life they lead places them almost on a level with the brute, while, on the contrary, this life of liberty and incessant perils renders danger so familiar to them that they have grown to despise it, and only attach a secondary importance to it. "be it so," he said presently; "since you wish it, chief, i will deliver the message intrusted to me for you." "my brother will take a place by my side." the american sat down on the ground by the chief, not without a certain feeling of apprehension through his isolation on this battle-field strewn with corpses; but the indian appeared so calm and tranquil that john davis felt ashamed to let his anxiety be seen, and affecting carelessness he was very far from feeling, he began to speak. "i am sent to my brother by a great warrior of the palefaces." "i know him; he is called the jaguar. his arm is strong, and his eye flashes like that of the animal whose name, he bears." "good! the jaguar wishes to bury the hatchet between his warriors and those of my brother, in order that peace may unite them, and that, instead of fighting with each other, they may pursue the buffalo on the same hunting grounds, and avenge themselves on their common enemies. what answer shall i give the jaguar?" the indian remained silent for a long time; at length he raised his head. "my brother will open his ears," he said, "a sachem is about to speak." "i am listening," the american answered. the chief went on-- "the words my bosom breathes are sincere--the wacondah inspires me with them; the palefaces, since they were brought by the genius of evil in their large medicine-canoes to the territories of my fathers, have ever been the virulent enemies of the red men; invading their richest and most fertile hunting grounds, pursuing them like wild beasts whenever they met with them, burning their callis, and dispersing the bones of their ancestors to the four winds of heaven. has not such constantly been the conduct of the palefaces? i await my brother's answer." "well," the american said, with a certain amount of embarrassment, "i cannot deny, chief, that there is some truth in what you say; but still, all the men of my colour have not been unkind to the redskins, and several have tried to do them good." "wah! two or three have done so, but that only goes to prove what i assert. let us come to the question we wish to discuss at present." "yes, i believe that will be the best," the american replied, delighted in his heart at not having to sustain a discussion which he knew would not result in victory to him. "my nation hates the palefaces," the chief continued; "the condor does not make its nest with the maukawis, or the grizzly bear pair with the antelope. i, myself, have an instinctive hatred for the palefaces. this morning, then, i should have peremptorily declined the jaguar's proposals, for how do the wars the palefaces wage together concern us? when the coyotes devour each other, the deer rejoice: we are happy to see our cruel oppressors tearing one another; but now, though my hatred is equally vivid, i am bound to bury it in my heart. my brother has saved my life; he helped when i was stretched out on the ground, and the genius of death was hovering over my head; ingratitude is a white vice, gratitude a red virtue. from this day the hatchet is buried between the jaguar and blue-fox for five succeeding moons; for five moons the enemies of the jaguar will be those of blue-fox; the two chiefs will fight side by side, like loving brothers: in three suns from this one, the sachem will join the paleface chief at the head of five hundred renowned warriors, whose heels are adorned with numerous coyote tails, and who form the pick of the nation. what will the jaguar do for blue-fox and his warriors?" "the jaguar is a generous chief; if he is terrible for his enemies, his hand is always open for his friends; each apache warrior will receive a rifle, one hundred charges of powder, and a scalping knife, the sachem will also receive in addition to these presents two vicuna skins filled with fire-water." "wah!" the chief exclaimed, with evident satisfaction, "my brother has said truly that the jaguar is a generous chief. here is my totem as signal of alliance, as well as my feather of command." while thus speaking the chief drew from his game bag or medicine bag, which he wore slung, a square piece of parchment, on which was clumsily drawn the totem or animal emblematic of the tribe, handed it to the american, who placed it in his bosom; then removing the eagle feather fixed in his war-lock, he also gave him that. "i thank my brother the sachem," john davis then said, "for having acceded to my proposal; he will have no cause to repent it." "a chief has given his word; but see, the sun is lengthening the shadows of the trees, the maukawis will soon strike up the evening song; the hour has come to pay the last duties to the chiefs who are dead, and then separate to rejoin our common friends." "on foot as we are, that appears to me rather difficult," john remarked. the indian smiled. "the warriors of blue-fox are watching over him," he said. in fact, the chief had hardly twice given a private signal, ere fifty apache warriors burst into the clearing, and assembled silently around him. the fugitives who escaped from the scalper's terrible arm, soon collected again; they returned to their camp and announced the news of their defeat to their comrades, and then a detachment was sent off under the orders of a subaltern chief, to look for their sachem, but these horsemen, seeing blue-fox in conference with a paleface, remained under covert, patiently waiting till it pleased him to summon them. the sachem gave orders to bury the dead. the funeral ceremony then began, which circumstances compelled them to abbreviate. the bodies were carefully washed, wrapped in new buffalo robes, and then placed in a sitting posture in trenches dug for each of them, with their weapons, bit, and provisions by their side, in order that they might want for nothing on their journey to the happy hunting grounds, and be able to mount and hunt so soon as they joined the wacondah. when these several rites had been performed, the hunters were filled up, and covered with heavy stones, lest the wild beasts should grub up and devour the bodies. the sun was just disappearing on the horizon, when the apaches finished the last duties to their brothers. blue-fox then walked up to the hunter, who had hitherto been a silent, if not indifferent, spectator of the ceremony. "my brother wishes to return to the warriors of his nation?" he said to him. "yes," the american laconically answered. "the paleface has lost his horse, so he will mount the mustang blue-fox offers him; within two hours he can have returned to his friends." john davis gratefully accepted the present so generously made him, mounted at once, and, after taking leave of the apaches, set off at full speed. on their side, the indians, at a signal from their chief, buried themselves in the forest and clearing where such terrible events had occurred, and fell back into silence and solitude. chapter xxv. an explanation. like all men the greater portion of whose life is spent in the desert, the jaguar was gifted with excessive prudence joined to extreme circumspection. though still very young, his life had been composed of such strange incidents, he had been an actor in such extraordinary scenes, that from an early age he had grown accustomed to shut up his emotions in his heart, and preserve on his countenance, whatever he might see or experience, that marble-like stoicism which characterizes the indians, and which the latter have converted into such a tremendous weapon against their enemies. on hearing tranquil's voice all at once so close to him, the young man gave a start, frowned, and asked himself mentally how it was that the hunter came to find him thus in his camp, and what reason was powerful enough to impel him to do so; the more so, because his intimacy with the canadian, ever subject to intermittences, was at this moment on terms far from amicable, if not completely hostile. still the young man, in whom the feeling of honour spoke loudly, and whom the steps taken by tranquil flattered more than he cared to let anyone see, concealed the apprehensions that agitated him, and walked quickly, and with a smile on his lips, to meet the hunter. the latter was not alone; loyal heart accompanied him. the canadian's manner was reserved, and his face was covered by a cloud of sorrow. "you are welcome to my camp, hunter," the jaguar said kindly, as he offered his hand. "thank you," the canadian answered laconically, not touching the proffered hand. "i am glad to see you," the young man went on, without any display of annoyance; "what accident has brought you in this direction?" "my comrade and i have been hunting for a long time; fatigue is crushing us, and the smoke of your camp attracted us." the jaguar pretended to accept as gospel this clumsy evasion of a man who justly prided himself as being the healthiest and strongest wood-ranger of the desert. "come, then, and take a seat at my camp fire, and be good enough to regard everything here as belonging to you, and act in accordance with it." the canadian bowed, but made no answer, and with loyal heart followed the hunter who preceded them, and guided them through the mazes of the camp. on reaching the fire, upon which the young man threw a few handfuls of dry wood, the hunters sat down on buffalo skulls placed there as seats, and then, without breaking the silence, filled their pipes and began smoking. the jaguar imitated them. those white men who traverse the prairie, and whose life is spent in hunting or trapping on these vast solitudes, have unconsciously assumed most of the habits and customs of the redskins, with whom the exigencies of their position bring them constantly into contact. a thing worthy of remark, is the tendency of civilized men to return to savage life, and the facility with which hunters, born for the most part in the great centres of population, forget their habits of comfort, surrender the customs of towns, and renounce the usages by which they were governed during the earlier part of their life, in order to adopt the manners, and even the habits, of the redskins. many of these hunters carry this so far, that the greatest compliment which can be paid them is to pretend to take them for indian warriors. we must confess that, per contra, the redskins are not at all jealous of our civilization, in which they take but slight interest, and that those whom accident or commercial reasons carry to cities, and by such we mean cities like new york, or new orleans;--these indians, we say, far from being astounded at what they see, look around them with glances of pity, not understanding how men can voluntarily consent to shut themselves up in the smoky cages called houses, and expend their life in ungrateful toil, instead of living in the open air among the vast solitudes, hunting the buffalo, bear, and jaguar, under the immediate eye of heaven. are the savages completely wrong in thinking so? is their reasoning false? we do not believe it. desert life possesses, for the man whose heart is still open enough to comprehend its moving incidents, intoxicating delights which can only be experienced there, and which the mathematically ruled customs of towns cannot at all cause to be forgotten, if they have once been tasted. according to the principles of indian etiquette on matters of politeness, no question must be addressed to strangers who sit down at the camp-fire, until they are pleased to begin the conversation. in an indian's wigwam a guest is regarded as sent by the great spirit; he is sacred to the man he visits as long as he thinks proper to remain with him, even if he be his mortal enemy. the jaguar, thoroughly conversant with redskin customs, remained silently by the side of his guests, smoking and thinking, and waiting patiently till they decided on speaking. at length, after a considerable lapse of time, tranquil shook the ashes from his pipe on his thumbnail, and turned to the young man. "you did not expect me, i fancy?" he said. "i did not," the other answered; "still be assured that the visit, though unexpected, is not less agreeable to me." the hunter curled his lip in a singular fashion. "who knows?" he muttered, answering his own thoughts rather than the jaguar's remark; "perhaps yes, perhaps no; man's heart is a mysterious and undecipherable book, in which only madmen fancy they can read." "it is not so with me, hunter, as you know from experience." the canadian shook his head. "you are still young; the heart to which you refer is still unknown to yourself; in the short period your existence has passed through, the wind of passion has not yet blown over you and bowed you down before its powerful impetus: wait, in order to reply with certainty, until you have loved and suffered; when you have bravely sustained the shock, and resisted the hurricane of youth, it will be time for you to speak." these words were uttered with a stern accent, but there was no bitterness about them. "you are harsh to me, to-day, tranquil," the young: man answered sorrowfully; "how have i sunk in your esteem? what reprehensible act have i done?" "none--at any rate, it pleases me to believe so; but i fear that soon--" he stopped and shook his head mournfully. "finish the sentence," the young man quickly exclaimed. "for what end?" he answered; "who am i that i should impose on you a line of conduct which you would probably despise, and advice which would prove unwelcome? it is better to be silent." "tranquil!" the young man said, with an emotion he could not master, "for a long time we have known each other, you are aware of the esteem and respect i hold you in, so speak; whatever you have to say, however rude your reproaches may be, i will listen to you, i swear it." "nonsense; forget what i said to you; i was wrong to think of meddling in your affairs; on the prairie, a man should only think about himself, so let us say no more." the jaguar gave him a long and profound glance. "be it so," he answered; "we will say no more about it." he rose and walked a few yards in agitation, then he brusquely returned to the hunter. "pardon me," he said, "for not having thought of offering you refreshment, but breakfast time has now arrived. i trust that your comrade and yourself will do me the honour of sharing my frugal meal." while speaking thus, the jaguar bent on the canadian a most meaning glance. tranquil hesitated for a second. "this morning at sunrise," he then said, "my friend and myself ate, just before entering your camp." "i was sure of it," the young man burst out. "oh, oh! now my doubts are cleared up; you refuse water and salt at my fire, hunter." "i? but you forget that--" "oh!" he interrupted, passionately, "no denial, tranquil; do not seek for pretexts unworthy of yourself and me; you are too honest and sincere a man not to be frank, cuerpo de cristo! likewise, you know the law of the prairies; a man will not break his fast with an enemy. now, if you still have in your heart a single spark of that kindly feeling you entertained toward me at another period, explain yourself clearly, and without any beating round the bush--i insist on it." the canadian seemed to reflect for a few moments, and then suddenly exclaimed, with great resolution-- "indeed, you are right, jaguar; it is better to have an explanation like honest hunters, than try to deceive each other like redskins; and besides, no man is infallible. i may be mistaken as well as another, and heaven is my witness that i should like it to be so." "i am listening to you, and on my honour, if the reproaches you make are well founded, i will recognize it." "good!" the hunter said, in a more friendly tone than he had hitherto employed; "you speak like a man; but, perhaps," he added, pointing to loyal heart, who discreetly made a move to withdraw, "you would prefer our interview being private?" "on the contrary," the jaguar answered, eagerly, "this hunter is your friend; i hope he will soon be mine, and i do not wish to have any secrets from him." "i desire ardently for my part," loyal heart said, with a bow, "that the slight cloud which has arisen between you and tranquil may be dispersed like the vapour driven away by the morning breeze, in order that i may become better acquainted with you; as you wish it, i will listen to your conversation." "thanks, caballero. now speak, tranquil, i am ready to listen to the charges you fancy you have to bring against me." "unluckily," said tranquil, "the strange life yon have led since your arrival in these parts gives occasion for the most unfavourable surmises; you have formed a band of adventurers and border-ruffians, outlawed by society, and living completely beyond the ordinary path of civilized peoples." "are we prairie-hunters and wood-rangers obliged to obey all the paltry exigencies of cities?" "yes, up to a certain point; that is to say, we are not allowed to place ourselves in open revolt against the institutions of men who, though we have separated from them, are no less our brothers, and to whom we continue to belong by our colour, religion, origin, and the family ties which attach us to them, and which we have been unable to break. "be it so, i admit to a certain extent the justice of your reasoning; but even supposing that the men i command are really bandits, border-ruffians as you call them, do you know from what motives they act? can you bring any accusation against them?" "patience, i have not finished yet." "go on, then." "next, in addition to this band of which you are the ostensible chief, you have contracted alliances with the redskins, the apaches among others, the most impudent plunderers on the prairie; is that so?" "yes, and no, my friend; in the sense that the alliance which you charge me with never existed until the present hour; but this morning it was probably concluded by two of my friends with blue-fox, one of the most renowned apache chiefs." "hum! that is an unlucky coincidence." "why so?" "are you aware what your new allies did last night?" "how should i? since i do not know where they are, and have not even received the official report of the treaty being made." "well, i will tell you; they attacked the venta del potrero, and burned it to the ground." the jaguar's savage eye emitted a flash of fury; he bounded to his feet, and convulsively seized his rifle. "by heaven!" he shouted, loudly, "have they done that?" "they did; and it is supposed at your instigation." the jaguar shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "for what object?" he said. "but doña carmela, what has become of her?" "she is saved, thank heaven!" the young man heaved a sigh of relief. "and you believed in such infamy on my part?" he asked, reproachfully. "i do not believe it now," the hunter replied. "thanks, thanks! but by heaven! the demons shall pay dearly, i swear, for the crime they have committed; now go on." "unluckily, if you have exculpated yourself from my first accusation, i doubt whether you will be able to do so with the second." "you can tell me it, at any rate." "a conducta de plata, commanded by captain melendez, is on the road for mexico." the young man gave a slight start. "i know it," he said, shortly. the hunter gave him an inquiring glance. "they say--" he went on, with considerable hesitation. "they say," the jaguar interrupted him, "that i am following the conducta, and when the propitious moment arrives, i mean to attack it at the head of my bandits, and carry off the money; that is the story?" "yes." "they are right," the young man answered, coldly; "that is really my intention; what next?" tranquil started in surprise and indignation at this cynical answer. "oh!" he exclaimed, in great grief, "what is said of you is true, then? you are really a bandit?" the young man smiled bitterly. "perhaps i am," he said, in a hollow voice; "tranquil, your age is double mine; your experience is great; why do you judge rashly on appearances?" "what! appearances! have you not confessed it yourself?" "yes, i have." "then you meditate a robbery?" "a robbery!" he exclaimed, blushing with indignation, but at once recovering himself, he added, "it is true, you are bound to suppose that." "what other name can be given to so infamous a deed?" the hunter exclaimed, violently. the jaguar raised his head quickly, as if he intended to answer, but his lips remained dumb. tranquil looked at him for a moment with mingled pity and tenderness, and then turned to loyal heart. "come, my friend," he said, "we have remained here only too long." "stay!" the young man exclaimed, "do not condemn me thus; i repeat to you that you are ignorant of the motives through which i act." "whatever these motives may be, they cannot be honourable; i see no other than pillage and murder." "oh!" the young man exclaimed, as he buried his face sorrowfully in his hands. "let us go," tranquil repeated. loyal heart had watched this strange scene attentively and coldly. "a moment," he said; then, slipping forward, he laid his hand on the jaguar's shoulder. the latter raised his head. "what do you want of me?" he asked. "listen to me, caballero," loyal heart answered in a deep voice; "i know not why, but a secret foreboding tells me that your conduct is not so infamous as everything leads us to suppose, and that some day you will be permitted to explain it, and exculpate yourself in the sight of all." "oh! were it but possible for me to speak!" "how long do you believe that you will be compelled to remain silent?" "how do i know? that depends on circumstances independent of my will." "then, you cannot fix a period?" "it is impossible; i have taken an oath, and am bound to keep it." "good: then promise me only one thing." "what is it?" "to make no attempt on the life of captain melendez." the jaguar hesitated. "well?" loyal heart went on. "i will do everything to save it." "thanks!" then, turning to tranquil, who stood motionless by his side, he said-- "take your place again, brother, and breakfast with this caballero, i answer for him body for body; if in two months from this day he does not give you a satisfactory explanation of his conduct, i, who am bound by no oath, will reveal to you this mystery, which appears, and really is, inexplicable for you." the jaguar started, and gave loyal heart a searching glance, which produced no effect, however, on the hunter's indifferently placid face. the canadian hesitated for a few moments, but at length took his place again by the fire, muttering--. "in two months, be it so;" and he added in an aside, "but till then i will watch him." chapter xxvi. the express. captain melendez was anxious to pass through the dangerous defile near which the conducta had bivouacked; he knew how great was the responsibility he had taken on himself in accepting the command of the escort, and did not wish, in the event of any misfortune happening, that a charge of carelessness or negligence could be brought against him. the sum conveyed by the recua of mules was important. the mexican government, ever forced to expedients to procure money, was impatiently expecting it; the captain did not conceal from himself that the whole responsibility of an attack would be mercilessly thrown on him, and that he would have to endure all the consequences, whatever might be the results of an encounter with the border rifles. hence his anxiety and alarm increased with every moment; the evident treachery of fray antonio only heightened his apprehensions, by making him suspect a probable trap. though it was impossible for him to guess from what quarter the danger would come, he felt it, as it were, approaching him inch by inch, and besetting him on all sides, and he expected a terrible explosion at any moment. this secret intuition, this providential foreboding, which told him to be on his guard, placed him in a state of excitement impossible to describe, and threw him into an intolerable situation, from which he resolved to escape at all hazards, preferring to run the danger and confront it, to remaining longer with bayonets pointed at unseen foes. hence he doubled his vigilance, himself inspecting the vicinity of the camp, and watching the loading of the mules, which, fastened to each other, would, in the event of an attack, be placed in the centre of the most devoted and resolute men of the escort. long before sunrise, the captain, whose sleep had been an uninterrupted series of continued starts, quitted the hard bed of skins and horsecloths on which he had vainly sought a few hours of rest, which his nervous condition rendered impossible, and began walking sharply up and down the narrow space that composed the interior of the camp, involuntarily envying the careless and calm slumbers of the troopers, who were lying here and there on the ground, wrapped up in their zarapés. in the meanwhile day gradually broke. the owl, whose matin hoot announces the appearance of the sun, had already given its melancholy note. the captain kicked the arriero chief, who was lying by the fire, and aroused him. the worthy man rubbed his eyes several times, and when the last clouds of sleep were dissipated, and order was beginning to be re-established in his ideas, he exclaimed, while stifling a last sigh-- "caray, captain, what fly has stung you that you awake me at so early an hour? why, the sky has scarce turned white yet; let me sleep an hour longer. i was enjoying a most delicious dream, and will try to catch it up again, for sleep is a glorious thing." the captain could not refrain from smiling at this singular outburst; still, he did not consider himself justified in listening to the arriero's complaints, for circumstances were too serious to lose time in futile promises. "up, up! cuerpo de cristo!" he shouted; "remember that we have not yet reached the rio seco, and that if we wish to cross this dangerous passage before sunset, we must make haste." "that is true," the arriero said, who was on his legs in a moment, as fresh and lively as if he had been awake for an hour; "forgive me, captain, for i have quite as much interest as yourself in making no unpleasant encounter; according to the law, my fortune answers for the load i am conveying, and if an accident happened, i and my family would be reduced to beggary." "that is true, i did not think of that clause in your contract." "that does not surprise me, for it cannot at all interest you; but i cannot get it out of my head, and i declare to you, captain, that since i undertook this unlucky journey, i have very often repented having accepted the conditions imposed on me; something tells me that we shall not arrive safe and sound on the other side of these confounded mountains." "nonsense, that is folly, no bautista. you are in a capital condition, and well escorted; what cause can you have for fear?" "none, i know, and yet i am convinced that i am not mistaken, and this journey will be fatal to me." the same presentiments agitated the officer; still, he must not allow the arriero to perceive any of his internal disquietude; on the contrary, he must comfort him, and restore that courage which seemed on the point of abandoning him. "you are mad, on my soul," he exclaimed; "to the deuce with the absurd notions you have got in your wool-gathering noddle." the arriero shook his head gravely. "you are at liberty, don juan melendez," he answered, "to laugh at these ideas; you are an educated man, and naturally believe in nothing. but i, caballero, am a poor ignorant indian, and set faith in what my fathers believed before me; look you, captain, we indians, whether civilized or savage, have hard heads, and your new ideas cannot get through our thick skulls." "come, explain yourself," the captain continued, desirous to break off the conversation without thwarting the arriero's prejudices; "what reason leads you to suppose that your journey will be unlucky? you are not the man to be frightened at your own shadow; i have been acquainted with you for a long while, and know that you possess incontestable bravery." "i thank you, captain, for the good opinion you are pleased to have of me; yes, i am courageous, and believe i have several times proved it, but it was when facing dangers which my intellect understood, and not before perils contrary to the natural laws that govern us." the captain twisted his moustache impatiently at the arriero's fatiguing prolixity: but, as he reminded him, he knew the worthy man, and was aware by experience that attempting to cut short what he had to say was a loss of time, and he must be allowed to do as he liked. there are certain men with whom, like the spur with restiff horses, any attempt to urge them on is a sure means of making them go back. the young man, therefore, mastered his impatience, and coldly said:-- "i presume, then, you saw some evil omen at the moment of your departure?" "indeed i did, captain; and certainly, after what i saw, i would not have started, had i been a man easily frightened." "what was the omen, then?" "do not laugh at me, captain; several passages of scripture itself prove that god is often pleased to grant men salutary warnings, to which unhappily," he added with a sigh, "they are not wise enough to give credence." "that is true," the captain muttered in the style of an interjection. "well," the arriero continued, flattered by this approval from a man like the one he was talking with; "my mules were saddled, the recua was waiting for me in the corral, guarded by the peons, and i was on the point of starting. still, as i did not like separating from my wife, for a long time probably, without saying a last good bye, i proceeded toward the house to give her a parting kiss, when, on reaching the threshold, i mechanically raised my eyes, and saw two owls sitting on the azotea, who fixed their eyes on me with infernal steadiness. at this unexpected apparition, i shuddered involuntarily and turned my eyes away. at this very moment, a dying man, carried by two soldiers on a litter, came down the street, escorted by a monk who was reciting the penitential psalms, and preparing him to die like an honest and worthy christian; but the wounded man made no other answer than laughing ironically at the monk. all at once this man half rose on the litter, his eyes grew brilliant, he turned to me, gave me a glance full of sarcasm, and fell back, muttering these two words evidently addressed to me:-- "_hasta luego_ (we shall meet soon)." "hum!" the captain said. "the species of rendezvous this individual gave me, had nothing very flattering about it, i fancy!" the arriero continued. "i was deeply affected by the words, and i rushed toward him with the intention of reproaching him, as i thought was proper--but he was dead." "who was the man--did you learn?" "yes, he was a salteador, who had been mortally wounded in a row with the citizens, and was being carried to the steps of the cathedral, to die there." "is that all?" the captain asked. "yes.' "well, my friend, i did well in insisting upon knowing the motives of your present uneasiness." "ah!" "yes, for you have interpreted the omen with which you were favoured, in a very different way from what you should have done." "how so?" "let me explain: this foreboding signifies, on the contrary, that with prudence and indefatigable vigilance you will foil all treachery, and lay beneath your feet any bandits who dare to attack you." "oh!" the arriero exclaimed, joyfully; "are you sure of what you assert?" "as i am of salvation in the other world," the captain replied, crossing himself fervently. the arriero had a profound faith in the captain's words, for he held him in great esteem, owing to his evident superiority; he did not dream, consequently, of doubting the assurance the latter gave him of the mistake he had made in the interpretation of the omen which had caused him such alarm; he instantly regained his good spirits, and snapped his fingers mockingly. "caray, if that is the case, i run no risk; hence it is useless for me to give nuestra señora de la soledad the wax taper i promised her." "perfectly useless," the captain assured him. now, feeling perfectly at his ease again, the arriero hastened to perform his ordinary duties. in this way, the captain, by pretending to admit the ideas of this ignorant indian, had led him quietly to abandon them. by this time all were astir in the camp, the arrieros were rubbing down and loading the mules, while the troopers were saddling their horses and making all preparations for a start. the captain watched all the movements with feverish energy, spurring some on, scolding others, and assuring himself that his orders were punctually carried out. when all the preparations were completed, the young officer ordered that the morning meal should be eaten all standing, and with the bridle passed over the arm, in order to lose no time, and then gave the signal for departure. the soldiers mounted, but at the moment when the column started to leave the camp finally, a loud noise was heard in the chaparral, the branches were violently pulled back, and a horseman dressed in a dragoon uniform appeared a short distance from the party, toward which he advanced at a gallop. on coming in front of the captain, he stopped short, and raised his hand respectfully to the peak of his forage cap. "_dios guarde a vm!_" he said, "have i the honour of speaking with captain don juan melendez?" "i am he," the captain answered in great surprise; "what do you want?" "nothing personally," the trooper said, "but i have to place a despatch in your excellency's hands." "a despatch--from whom?" "from his most excellent general don josé-maria rubio, and the contents of the despatch must be important, for the general ordered me to make the utmost diligence, and i have ridden forty-seven leagues in nineteen hours, in order to arrive more quickly." "good!" the captain answered; "give it here." the dragoon drew from his bosom a large letter with a red seal, and respectfully offered it to the officer. the latter took it and opened it, but, before reading it, he gave the motionless and impassive soldier before him a suspicious glance, which he endured, however, with imperturbable assurance. the man seemed to be about thirty years of age, tall and well built; he wore his uniform with a certain amount of ease; his intelligent features had an expression of craft and cunning, rendered more marked still by his incessantly moving black eyes, which only rested with considerable hesitation on the captain. sum total, this individual resembled all mexican soldiers, and there was nothing about him that could attract attention or excite suspicion. still it was only with extreme repugnance that the captain saw himself compelled to enter into relations with him; the reason for this it would certainly have been very difficult, if not impossible for him to say; but there are in nature certain laws which cannot be gainsaid, and which cause us at the mere sight of a person, and before he has even spoken, to feel a sympathy or antipathy for him, and be attracted or repulsed by him. whence comes this species of secret presentiment which is never wrong in its appreciation? that we cannot explain: we merely confine ourselves to mentioning a fact, whose influence we have often undergone and efficacy recognized, during the course of our chequered life. we are bound to assert that the captain did not feel at all attracted toward the man to whom we refer, but, on the contrary, was disposed to place no confidence in him. "at what place did you leave the general?" he asked, as he mechanically turned in his fingers the open despatch, at which he had not yet looked. "at pozo redondo, a little in advance of the noria de guadalupe, captain." "who are you--what is your name?" "i am the assistente of his most excellent general; my name is gregorio lopez." "do you know the contents of this despatch?" "no; but i suppose it is important." the soldier replied to the captain's questions with perfect freedom and frankness. it was evident that he was telling the truth. after a final hesitation, don juan made up his mind to read; but he soon began frowning, and an angry expression spread over his features. this is what the despatch contained:-- _"pozo redondo."_ "general don josé-maria rubio, supreme military commandant of the state of texas, has the honour to inform captain don juan melendez de gongora, that fresh troubles have broken out in the state; several parties of bandits and border-ruffians, under the orders of different chiefs, are going about the country pillaging and burning haciendas, stopping convoys, and interrupting the communications. in the presence of such grave facts, which compromise the public welfare and the safety of the inhabitants, the government, as their duty imperiously orders, have thought fit, in the interest of all, to take general measures to repress these disorders, before they break out on a larger scale. in consequence, texas is declared under martial law--(here followed the measures adopted by the general to suppress the rebellion, and then the despatch went on as follows)--general don josé-maria rubio having been informed by spies, on whose devotion he can trust, that one of the principal insurgent chiefs, to whom his comrades have given the name of the jaguar, is preparing to carry off the conducta de plata confided to the escort of captain don juan melendez de gongora, and that, for this purpose, the said cabecilla purposes to form an ambuscade on the rio seco, a spot favourable for a surprise; general rubio orders captain melendez to let himself be guided by the bearer of the present despatch, a sure and devoted man, who will lead the conducta to the laguna del venado, where this conducta will form a junction with a detachment of cavalry sent for the purpose, whose numerical strength will protect it from any aggression. captain melendez will take the command of the troops, and join the general at head quarters with the least possible delay." "_dios y libertad._" "_the supreme military general commanding in the state of texas,_ "don jose-maria rubio." after reading this despatch carefully, the captain raised his head and examined the soldier for an instant with the deepest and most earnest attention. the latter, leaning on the hilt of his sword, was carelessly playing with his knot, and apparently paying no attention to what was going on around him. "the order is positive," the captain repeated several times, "and i must obey it, although everything tells me that this man is a traitor." then he added aloud-- "are you well acquainted with this part of the country?" "i was born here, captain," the dragoon replied; "there is not a hidden track i did not traverse in my youth." "you know that you are to serve as my guide?" "his excellency the general did me the honour of telling me so, captain." "and you feel certain of guiding us safe and sound to the spot where we are expected?" "at least i will do all that is necessary." "good. are you tired?" "my horse is more so than i. if you would grant me another, i would be at your orders immediately, for i see that you are desirous of setting out." "i am. choose a horse." the soldier did not let the order be repeated. several remounts followed the escort, and he selected one of them, to which he transferred the saddle. in a few minutes he was mounted again. "i am at your excellency's orders," he said. "march," the captain shouted, and added mentally, "i will not let this scoundrel out of sight during the march." chapter xxvii. the guide. military law is inflexible--it has its rules, from which it never departs, and discipline allows of neither hesitation nor tergiversation; the oriental axiom, so much in favour at despotic courts, "to hear is to obey," is rigorously true from a military point of view. still, however hard this may appear at the first blush, it must be so, for if the right of discussion were granted inferiors with reference to the orders their superiors gave them, all discipline would be destroyed; the soldiers henceforth only obeying their caprices, would grow ungovernable, and the army, instead of rendering the country the services which it has a right to expect from it, would speedily become a scourge. these reflections, and many others, crossed the captain's mind, while he thoughtfully followed the guide whom his general's despatch had so singularly forced on him; but the order was clear and peremptory, he was obliged to obey, and he did obey, although he felt convinced that the man to whom he was compelled to trust was unworthy of the confidence placed in him, if he were not an utter traitor. as for the trooper, he galloped carelessly at the head of the caravan, smoking, laughing, singing, and not seeming to suspect the doubts entertained about him. it is true that the captain carefully kept secret the ill opinion he had formed of the guide, and ostensibly placed the utmost confidence in him: for prudence demanded that in the critical situation in which the conducta was placed, those who composed it should not suspect their chief's anxiety, lest they might be demoralized by the fear of an impending, treachery. the captain, before starting, had given the most severe orders that the arms should be in a good state; he sent off scouts ahead, and on the flanks of the troops, to explore the neighbourhood, and be assured that the road was free, and no danger to be apprehended; in a word, he had taken most scrupulously all the measures prudence dictated, in order to guarantee the safety of the journey. the guide, who was an impassive witness of all these precautions, on whose behalf they were taken with so much ostentation, appeared to approve of them, and even drew attention to the skill the border-ruffians have in gliding through bushes and grass without leaving traces, and the care the scouts must devote to the accomplishment of the mission entrusted to them. the further the conducta advanced in the direction of the mountains, the more difficult and dangerous the march became; the trees, at first scattered over a large space, became imperceptibly closer, and at last formed a dense forest, through which, at certain spots, they were compelled to cut their way with the axe, owing to the masses of creepers intertwined in each other, and forming an inextricable tangle; then again, there were rather wide streams difficult of approach, which the horses and mules were obliged to ford in the midst of iguanas and alligators, having frequently the water up to their girths. the immense dome of verdure under which the caravan painfully advanced, utterly hid the sky, and only allowed a few sunbeams to filter through the foliage, which was not sufficient entirely to dissipate the gloom which prevails almost constantly in the virgin forests, even at mid-day. europeans, who are only acquainted with the forests of the old world, cannot form even a remote idea of those immense oceans of verdure which in america are called virgin forests. there the trees form a compact mass, for they are so entwined in each other, and fastened together by a network of lianas which wind round their stems and branches, plunging in the ground to rise again like the pipes of an immense organ, or forming capricious curves, as they rise and descend incessantly amid tufts of the parasite called spanish beard, which falls from the ends of the branches of all the trees; the soil, covered with detritus of every sort, and humus formed of trees that have died of old age, is hidden beneath a thick grass several feet in height. the trees, nearly all of the same species, offer so little variety, that each of them seems only a repetition of the others. these forests are crossed in all directions by paths formed centuries agone by the feet of wild beasts, and leading to their mysterious watering-places; here and there beneath the foliage are stagnant marshes, over which myriads of mosquitoes buzz, and from which dense vapours rise that fill the forest with gloom; reptiles and insects of all sorts crawl on the ground, while the cries of birds and the hoarse calls of the wild beasts form a formidable concert which the echoes of the lagoons repeat. the most hardened wood-rangers enter in tremor the virgin forests, for it is almost impossible to find one's way with certainty, and it is far from safe to trust to the tracks which cross and are confounded; the hunters know by experience that once lost in one of these forests, unless a miracle supervene, they must perish within the walls formed by the tall grass and the curtain of lianas, without hope of being helped or saved by any living being of their own species. it was a virgin forest the caravan entered at this moment. the guide pushed on, without the least hesitation, appearing perfectly sure of the road he followed, contenting himself by giving at lengthened intervals a glance to the right or left, but not once checking the pace of his horse. it was nearly mid-day; the heat was growing stifling, the horses and men, who had been on the march since four in the morning along almost impracticable roads, were exhausted with fatigue, and imperiously claimed a few hours' rest, which was indispensable before proceeding further. the captain resolved to let the troop camp in one of those vast clearings, so many of which are found in these parts, and are formed by the fall of trees overthrown by a hurricane, or dead of old age. the command to halt was given. the soldiers and arrieros gave a sigh of relief, and stopped at once. the captain, whose eyes were accidentally fixed at this moment on the guide, saw a cloud of dissatisfaction on his brow; still, feeling he was watched, the man at once recovered himself, pretended to share the general joy, and dismounted. the horses and mules were unsaddled, that they might browse freely on the young tree shoots and the grass that grew abundantly on the ground. the soldiers enjoyed their frugal meal, and lay down on their zarapés to sleep. ere long, the individuals composing the caravan were slumbering, with the exception of two, the captain and the guide. probably each of them was troubled by thoughts sufficiently serious to drive away sleep, and keep them awake, when all wanted to repose. a few paces from the clearing, some monstrous iguanas were lying in the sun, wallowing in the grayish mud of a stream whose water ran with a slight murmur through the obstacles of every description that impeded its course. myriads of insects filled the air with the continued buzzing of their wings; squirrels leaped gaily from branch to branch; the birds, hidden beneath the foliage, were singing cheerily, and here and there above the tall grass might be seen the elegant head and startled eyes of a deer or an ashata, which suddenly rushed beneath the covert with a low of terror. but the two men were too much occupied with their thoughts to notice what was going on around them. the captain raised his head at the very moment when the guide had fixed on him a glance of strange meaning: confused at being thus taken unawares, he tried to deceive the officer by speaking to him--old-fashioned tactics, however, by which the latter was not duped. "it is a hot day, excellency," he said, with a nonchalant air. "yes," the captain answered, laconically. "do you not feel any inclination for sleep?" "no." "for my part, i feel my eyelids extraordinarily heavy, and my eyes close against my will; with your permission i will follow the example of our comrades, and take a few moments of that refreshing sleep they seem to enjoy so greatly." "one moment--i have something to say to you." "very good," he said, with an air of the utmost indifference. he rose, stifling a sigh of regret, and seated himself by the captain's side, who withdrew to make room for him under the protecting shadow of the large tree which stretched out above his head its giant arms, loaded with vines and spanish beard. "we are about to talk seriously," the captain went on. "as you please." "can you be frank?" "what?" the soldier said, thrown off his guard by the suddenness of the question. "or, if you prefer it, can you be honest?" "that depends." the captain looked at him. "will you answer my questions?" "i do not know." "what do you say?" "listen, excellency," the guide said, with a simple look, "my mother, worthy woman that she was, always recommended me to distrust two sorts of people, borrowers and questioners, for she said, with considerable sense, the first attack your purse, the others your secrets." "then you have a secret?" "not the least in the world." "then what do you fear?" "not much, it is true. well, question me, excellency, and i will try to answer you." the mexican peasant, the manzo or civilized indian, has a good deal of the norman peasant about him, in so far as it is impossible to obtain from him a positive answer to any question asked him. the captain was compelled to be satisfied with the guide's half promise, so he went on:-- "who are you?" "i?" "yes, you." the guide began laughing. "you can see plainly enough," he said. the captain shook his head. "i do not ask you what you appear to be, but what you really are." "why, señor, what man can answer for himself, and know positively who he is?" "listen, scoundrel," the captain continued, in a menacing tone, "i do not mean to lose my time in following you through all the stories you may think proper to invent. answer my questions plainly, or, if not--" "if not?" the guide impudently interrupted him. "i blow out your brains like a dog's!" he replied, as he drew a pistol from his belt, and hastily cocked it. the soldier's eye flashed fire, but his features remained impassive, and not a muscle of his face stirred. "oh, oh, señor captain," he said, in a sombre voice, "you have a singular way of questioning your friends." "who assures me that you are a friend? i do not know you." "that is true, but you know the person who sent me to you; that person is your chief as he is mine. i obeyed him by coming to find you, as you ought to obey him by following the orders he has given you." "yes, but those orders were sent me through you." "what matter?" "who guarantees that the despatch you have brought me was really handed to you?" "caramba, captain, what you say is anything but flattering to me," the guide replied with an offended look. "i know it; unhappily we live at a time when it is so difficult to distinguish friends from foes, that i cannot take too many precautions to avoid falling into a snare; i am entrusted by government with a very delicate mission, and must therefore behave with great reserve toward persons who are strangers to me." "you are right, captain; hence, in spite of the offensive nature of your suspicions, i will not feel affronted by what you say, for exceptional positions require exceptional measures. still, i will strive by my conduct to prove to you how mistaken you are." "i shall be glad if i am mistaken; but take care. if i perceive anything doubtful, either in your actions or your words, i shall not hesitate to blow out your brains. now that you are warned, it is your place to act in accordance." "very good, captain, i will run the risk. whatever happens. i feel certain that my conscience will absolve me, for i shall have acted for the best." this was said with an air of frankness which, in spite of his suspicions, had its effect on the captain. "we shall see," he said; "shall we soon get out of this infernal forest in which we now are?" "we have only two hours' march left; at sunset we shall join the persons who are awaiting us." "may heaven grant it!" the captain muttered. "amen!" the soldier said boldly. "still, as you have not thought proper to answer any of the questions i asked you, you must not feel offended if i do not let you out of sight from this moment, and keep you by my side when we start again." "you can do as you please, captain; you have the power, if not the right, on your side, and i am compelled to yield to your will." "very good, now you can sleep if you think proper." "then you have nothing more to say to me?" "nothing." "in that case i will avail myself of the permission you are kind enough to grant me, and try to make up for lost time." the soldier then rose, stiffing a long yawn, walked a few paces off, lay down on the ground, and seemed within a few minutes plunged in a deep sleep. the captain remained awake. the conversation he had held with his guide only increased his anxiety, by proving to him that this man concealed great cunning beneath an abrupt and trivial manner. in fact, he had not answered one of the questions asked him, and after a few minutes had succeeded in making the captain turn from the offensive to the defensive, by giving him speciously logical arguments to which the officer was unable to raise any objection. don juan was, therefore at this moment in the worst temper a man of honour can be in, who is dissatisfied with himself and others, fully convinced that he was in the right, but compelled, to a certain extent, to allow himself in the wrong. the soldiers, as generally happens in such cases, suffered from their chief's ill temper; for the officer, afraid of adding the darkness to the evil chances he fancied he had against him, and not at all desirous to be surprised by night in the inextricable windings of the forest, cut the halt short much sooner than he would have done under different circumstances. at about two o'clock p.m. he ordered the boot and saddle to be sounded, and gave the word to start. the greatest heat of the day had passed over, the sunbeams being more oblique, had lost a great deal of their power, and the march was continued under conditions comparatively better than those which preceded it. as he had warned him, the captain intimated to the guide that he was to ride by his side, and, so far as was possible, did not let him out of sight for a second. the latter did not appear at all troubled by this annoying inquisition; he rode along quite as gaily as heretofore, smoking his husk cigarette, and whistling fragments of jarabés between his teeth. the forest began gradually to grow clearer, the openings became more numerous, and the eye embraced a wider horizon; all led to the presumption that they would soon reach the limits of the covert. still, the ground began rising slightly on both sides, and the path the conducta followed grew more and more hollow, in proportion as it advanced. "are we already reaching the spurs of the mountains?" the captain asked. "oh, no, not yet," the guide answered. "still we shall soon be between two hills?" "yes, but of no height." "that is true; still, if i am not mistaken, we shall have to pass through a defile." "yes, but of no great length." "you should have warned me of it." "why so?" "that i might have sent some scouts ahead." "that is true, but there is still time to do so if you like; the persons who are waiting for us are at the end of that gorge." "then we have arrived?" "very nearly so." "let us push on in that case." "i am quite ready." they went on; all at once the guide stopped. "hilloh!" he said, "look over there, captain; is not that a musket barrel glistening in the sunbeams?" the captain sharply turned his eyes in the direction indicated by the soldier. at the same moment a frightful discharge burst forth from either side of the way, and a shower of bullets poured on the conducta. before the captain, ferocious at this shameful treachery, could draw a pistol from his belt, he rolled on the ground, dragged down by his horse, which had a ball right through its heart. the guide had disappeared, and it was impossible to discover how he had escaped. chapter xxviii. john davis. john davis, the ex-slave dealer, had too powerful nerves for the scenes he had witnessed this day, and in which he had even played a very active and dangerous part, to leave any durable impressions on his mind. after quitting blue-fox, he galloped on for some time in the direction where he expected to find the jaguar; but gradually he yielded to his thoughts, and his horse, understanding with that admirable instinct which distinguishes these noble animals, that its rider was paying no attention to it, gradually reduced its pace, passing from the gallop to a trot, and then to a foot-pace, walking with its head down, and snapping at a few blades of grass as it passed. john davis was considerably perplexed by the conduct of one of the persons with whom accident had brought him in contact on this morning so fertile in events of every description. the person who had the privilege of arousing the american's attention to no eminent degree was the white scalper. the heroic struggle sustained by this man alone against a swarm of obstinate enemies, his herculean strength, the skill with which he managed his horse--all in this strange man seemed to him to border on the marvellous. during bivouac watches on the prairie he had frequently heard the most extraordinary and exaggerated stories told about this hunter by the indians with, a terror, the reason of which he comprehended, now that he had seen the man; for this individual who laughed at weapons directed against his chest, and ever emerged safe and sound from the combats he engaged in, seemed rather a demon than a being appertaining to humanity. john davis felt himself shudder involuntarily at this thought, and congratulated himself in having so miraculously escaped the danger he had incurred in his encounter with the scalper. we will mention, in passing, that no people in the world are more superstitious than the north americans. this is easy to understand: this nation--a perfect harlequin's garb--is an heterogeneous composite of all the races that people the old world; each of the representatives of these races arrived in america, bearing in his emigrants' baggage not only his vices and passions, but also his creed and his superstitions, which are the wildest, most absurd, and puerile possible. this was the more easily effected, because the mass of emigrants, who have at various periods sought a refuge in america, was composed of people for the most part devoid of all learning, or even of a semblance of education; from this point of view, the north americans, we must do them the justice of saying, have not at all degenerated; they are at the present day at least as ignorant and brutal as were their ancestors. it is easy to imagine the strange number of legends about sorcerers and phantoms which are current in north america. these legends, preserved by tradition, passing from mouth to mouth, and with time becoming mingled one with the other, have necessarily been heightened in a country where the grand aspect of nature renders the mind prone to reverie and melancholy. hence john davis, though he flattered himself he was a strong-minded man, did not fail, like all his countrymen, to possess a strong dose of credulity; and this man, who would not have recoiled at the sight of several muskets pointed at his breast, felt himself shiver with fear at the sound of a leaf falling at night on his shoulder. moreover, so soon as the idea occurred to john davis that the white scalper was a demon, or, at the very least, a sorcerer, it got hold of him, and this supposition straightway became an article of belief with him. naturally, he found himself at once relieved by this discovery; his ideas returned to their usual current, and the anxiety that occupied his mind disappeared as if by enchantment; henceforth his opinion was formed about this man, and if accident again brought them face to face, he would know how to behave to him. happy at having at length found this solution, he gaily raised his head, and took a long searching look around him at the landscape he was riding through. he was nearly in the centre of a vast rolling prairie, covered with tall grass, and with a few clumps of mahogany and pine trees scattered here and there. suddenly he rose in his stirrups, placed his hand as a shade over his eyes, and looked attentively. about half a mile from the spot where he had halted, and a little to the right, that is to say, exactly in the direction he intended to follow himself, he noticed a thin column of smoke, which rose from the middle of a thicket of aloe and larch trees. on the desert, smoke seen by the wayside always furnishes ample matter for reflection. smoke generally rises from a fire round which several persons are seated. now man, in this more unfortunate than the wild beasts, fears before all else on the prairie meeting with his fellow-man, for he may wager a hundred to one that the man he meets will prove an enemy. still john davis, after ripe consideration, resolved to push on toward the fire; since morning he had been fasting, hunger was beginning to prick him, and in addition he felt excessively fatigued; he therefore inspected his weapons with the most scrupulous attention, so as to be able to have recourse to them if necessary, and digging the spur into his horse's flank, he went on boldly toward the smoke, while carefully watching the neighbourhood for fear of a surprise. at the end of ten minutes he reached his destination; but when fifty yards from the clump of trees, he checked the speed of his horse, and laid his rifle across the saddle-bow; his face lost the anxious expression which had covered it, and he advanced toward the fire with a smile on his lips, and the most friendly air imaginable. in the midst of a thick clump of trees, whose protecting shade offered a comfortable shelter to a weary traveller, a man dressed in the costume of a mexican dragoon was lazily seated in front of a fire, over which his meat was cooking, while himself smoked a husk cigarette. a long lance decorated with its guidon leaned against a larch tree close to him, and a completely harnessed horse, from which the bit had, however, been removed, was peaceably nibbling the tree shoots and the tender prairie grass. this man seemed to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age; his cunning features were lit up by small sharp eyes, and the copper tinge of his skin denoted his indian origin. he had for a long time seen the horseman coming toward his camp, but he appeared to attach but slight importance to it, and quietly went on smoking and watching the cooking of his meal, not taking any further precaution against the unforeseen visitor than assuring himself that his sabre came easily out of its scabbard. when he was only a few paces from the soldier, john davis stopped and raised his hand to his hat. "ave maria purísima!" he said. "sin pecado concebida!" the dragoon answered, imitating the american's gesture. "santas tardes!" the new comer went on. "dios les da a vm buenas!" the other immediately answered. these necessary formulas of every meeting exhausted, the ice was broken, and the acquaintance made. "dismount, caballero," the dragoon said; "the heat is stifling on the prairie; i have here a famous shade, and in this little pot cecina, with red harico beans and pimento, which i think you will like, if you do me the honour to share my repast." "i readily accept your flattering invitation, caballero," the american answered with a smile; "the more readily because i confess to you that i am literally starving, and, moreover, exhausted with fatigue." "caray! in that case i congratulate myself on the fortunate accident that occasions our meeting, so pray dismount without further delay." "i am going to do so." the american at once got off his horse, removed the bit, and the noble animal immediately joined its companion, while its master fell to the ground by the dragoon's side, with a sigh of satisfaction. "you seem to have made a long ride, caballero?" the soldier said. "yes," the american answered, "i have been on horseback for ten hours, not to mention that i spent the morning in fighting." "cristo! you have had hard work of it." "you may say so without any risk of telling an untruth; for, on the word of a hunter, i never had such a tough job." "you are a hunter?" "at your service." "a fine profession," the soldier said with a sigh; "i have been one too." "and you regret it?" "daily." "i can understand that. once a man has tasted the joys of desert life, he always wishes to return to it." "alas, that is true." "why did you give it up then, since you liked it so much?" "ah, why!" the soldier said; "through love." "what do you mean?" "yes, a child with whom i was so foolish as to fall in love, and who persuaded me to enlist." "oh, hang it!" "yes, and i had scarce put on my uniform, when she told me she was mistaken about me: that, thus dressed, i was much uglier than she could have supposed; in short, she left me in the lurch to run after an arriero." the american could not refrain from laughing at this singular story. "it is sad, is it not?" the soldier continued. "very sad," john davis answered, trying in vain to regain his gravity. "what would you have?" the soldier added gloomily; "the world is only one huge deception. but," he added with a sudden change of his tone, "i fancy our dinner is ready--i smell something which warns me that it is time to take off the pot." as john davis had naturally no objection to offer to this resolution of the soldier, the latter at once carried it into effect; the pot was taken off the fire and placed before the two guests, who began such a vigorous attack, that it was soon empty, in spite of its decent capacity. this excellent meal was washed down with a few mouthfuls of catalonian refino, with which the soldier appeared amply provided. all was terminated with the indispensable cigarette, that obligato complement of every hispano-american meal, and the two men, revived by the good food with which they had lined their stomachs, were soon in an excellent condition to open their hearts to each other. "you seem to me a man of caution, caballero," the american remarked, as he puffed out an immense mouthful of smoke, part of which came from his mouth, and part from his nostrils. "it is a reminiscence of my old hunter's trade. soldiers generally are not nearly so careful as i am." "the more i observe you," john davis went on, "the more extraordinary does it appear to me that you should have consented to take up a profession so badly paid as that of a soldier." "what would you have? it is fatality, and then the impossibility of sending the uniform to the deuce. however, i hope to be made a _cabo_ before the year's out." "that is a fine position, as i have heard; the pay must be good." "it would not be bad, if we received it." "what do you mean?" "it seems that the government is not rich." "then, you give it credit?" "we are obliged to do so." "hang it! but forgive me for asking you all these questions, which must appear to you indiscreet." "not at all; we are talking as friends." "how do you live?" "well, we have casualties." "what may they be?" "do you not know?" "indeed, i do not." "i will explain." "you will cause me pleasure." "sometimes our captain or general entrusts us with a mission." "very good." "this mission is paid for separately; the more dangerous it is, the larger the amount." "still on credit?" "no, hang it; in advance." "that is better. and have you many of these missions?" "frequently, especially during a pronunciamento." "yes, but for nearly a year no general has pronounced." "unluckily." "then you are quite dry?" "not quite." "you have had missions?" "i have one at this moment." "well paid?" "decently." "would there be any harm in asking how much?" "not at all; i have received twenty-five ounces." "cristo! that is a nice sum. the mission must be a dangerous one to be paid so highly." "it is not without peril." "hum! in that case take care." "thank you, but i run no heavy risk; i have only to deliver a letter." "it is true that a letter--" the american carelessly remarked. "oh! this one is more important than you fancy it." "nonsense!" "on my honour it is, for it concerns some millions of dollars." "what is that you say?" john davis exclaimed with an involuntary start. since his meeting with the soldier, the hunter had quietly worked to get him to reveal the reason that brought him into these parts, for the presence of a single dragoon on the desert seemed to him queer, and for good reason; hence it was with great pleasure that he saw him fall into the trap set for him. "yes," the soldier continued, "general rubio, whose asistente i am, has sent me as an express to meet captain melendez, who at this moment is escorting a conducta de plata." "do you mean that really?" "do i not tell you that i have the letter about me?" "that is true; but for what purpose does the general write to the captain?" the soldier looked for a moment cunningly at the hunter, and then suddenly changed his tone. "will you play fair?" he asked him, as he looked him full in the face. the hunter smiled. "good," the soldier continued; "i see that we can understand one another." "why not? those are the conditions that suit caballeros." "then, we play fair?" "that is agreed." "confess that you would like to know the contents of this letter." "through simple curiosity, i swear to you." "of course! i felt assured of that. well, it only depends on yourself to know them." "i will not take long then; let me hear your conditions." "they are simple." "tell me them for all that." "look at me carefully; do you not recognize me?" "on my honour, i do not." "that proves to me that i have a better memory than you." "it is possible." "i recognize you." "you may have seen me somewhere." "very likely, but that is of little consequence; the main point is that i should know who you are." "oh, a simple hunter." "yes, and an intimate friend of the jaguar." "what!" the hunter exclaimed with a start of surprise. "do not be frightened at such a trifle: answer me simply; is it so or not?" "it is true; i do not see why i should hide the fact from you." "you would be wrong if you did. where is the jaguar at this moment?" "i do not know." "that is to say, you will not tell me." "you have guessed it." "good. could you tell me, if i wished you to lead me to him?" "i see no reason to prevent it, if the affair is worth your while." "have i not told you that it related to millions?" "you did, but you did not prove it." "and you wish me to give you that proof?" "nothing else." "that is rather difficult." "no, it is not." "how so?" "hang it, i am a good fellow; i only want to cover my responsibility; show me the letter, i ask no more." "and that will satisfy you?" "yes, because i know the general's handwriting." "oh, in that case, it is all right," and drawing a large envelope from his breast, he said as he showed it to the american, though without loosing his hold, "look!" the latter looked at it closely for some minutes. "it is really the general's handwriting," the soldier continued. "yes," "now, do you consent to lead me to the jaguar?" "whenever you like." "at once then." "very good." the two men rose by mutual agreement, put the bits in their horses' mouths, leaped into their saddles, and left at a gallop the spot which for several hours had afforded them such pleasant shade. chapter xxix. the bargain. the two adventurers rode gaily side by side, telling one another the news of the desert, that is to say, hunting exploits, and skirmishes with the indians, and conversing about the political events which for some months past had attained a certain gravity and alarming importance for the mexican government. but, while thus talking, asking each other questions, the answers to which they did not wait to hear, their conversation had no other object save to conceal the secret preoccupation that agitated them. in their previous discussion, each had tried to overreach the other, trying to draw out secrets, the hunter manoeuvring to lead the soldier to an act of treachery, the latter asking no better than to sell himself, and acting in accordance with his wishes; the result of the trial was that they had found themselves of equal force, and each had obtained the result he wanted. but this was no longer the question with them; like all crafty men, success, instead of satisfying them, had given birth in their minds to a multitude of suspicions. john davis asked himself what cause had led the dragoon to betray his party so easily, without stipulating beforehand for important advantages for himself. for everything is paid for in america, and infamy especially commands a high price. on his side, the dragoon found that the hunter put faith in his statements very easily, and, in spite of his comrade's affectionate manner, the nearer he approached the camp of the border rifles, the more his uneasiness increased; for he was beginning to fear lest he had gone head first into a snare, and had trusted too imprudently to a man whose reputation was far from reassuring him. such was the state of mind in which the two men stood to each other, scarce an hour after leaving the spot where they had met so accidentally. still, each carefully hid his apprehensions in his heart; nothing was visible on the exterior; on the contrary, they redoubled their politeness and obsequiousness toward each other, behaving rather like brothers delighted to have met after a long separation, than as men who two hours previously spoke together for the first time. the sun had set about an hour, and it was quite dark when they came within a short distance of the jaguar's camp, whose bivouac fires flashed out of the gloom, reflecting themselves with fantastic effects of light on the surrounding objects, and imprinting on the rugged scenery of the prairie a stamp of savage majesty. "we have arrived," the hunter said, as he stopped his horse and turned to his companion; "no one has perceived us; you can still turn back without any fear of pursuit; what is your decision?" "canarios! comrade," the soldier answered, shrugging his shoulders with a disdainful air; "i have not come so far to shiver at the entrance of the camp, and allow me to remark, with all the respect due to you, that your remark appears to me singular at the least." "i owed it to myself to make it; who knows whether you may not repent to-morrow the hazardous step you are taking to-day?" "that is possible. well, what would you have? i will run the risk; my determination is formed, and is unchangeable. so let us push on, in heaven's name." "as you please, caballero; within a quarter of an hour you will be in the presence of the man you desire to see. you will have an explanation with him, and my task will be accomplished." "and i shall have nothing but thanks to offer you," the soldier quickly interrupted him; "but let us not remain any longer here: we may attract attention, and become the mark for a bullet, which i confess to you i am not at all desirous of." the hunter, without replying, let his horse feel the spur, and they continued to advance. within a few minutes they entered the circle of light cast by the fire; almost immediately the sharp click of a rifle being cocked was heard, and a rough voice ordered them to stop in the devil's name. the order, though not positively polite, was not the less peremptory, and the two adventurers thought it advisable to obey. several armed men then issued from the entrenchments; and one of them, addressing the strangers, asked them who they were, and what they wanted at such an unseasonable hour. "who we are?" the american answered, firmly; "what we want? to come in as quickly as we can." "that is all very fine," the other replied; "but, if you do not tell us your names, you will not enter so soon, especially as one of you wears a uniform which is not in the odour of sanctity with us." "all right, ruperto," the american replied, "i am john davis, and you know me, i suppose; so let me pass, without delay. i answer for this caballero, who has an important communication to make to the chief." "you are welcome, master john; do not be angry with me, for you know that prudence is the mother of safety." "yes, yes," the american said, with a laugh, "deuce take me if you easily get into a scrape for lack of prudence, gossip." they then entered the camp without farther obstacle. the border rifles were generally sleeping round the fires, but a cordon of vigilant sentries, placed at the openings of the camp, watched over the common security. john davis dismounted, inviting his comrade to follow his example; then, making him a sign to follow, he walked toward a tent, through the canvas of which a weak light could be seen flickering. on reaching the entrance of the tent, the hunter stopped, and tapped twice. "are you asleep, jaguar?" he asked, in a suppressed voice. "is that you, davis, my old comrade?" was immediately asked from within. "yes." "come in, for i was impatiently waiting for you." the american raised the curtain which covered the entrance, and glided into the tent; the soldier followed him gently, and the curtain fell down behind them. the jaguar, seated on a buffalo skull, was reading a voluminous correspondence by the dubious light of a _candil_; and in a corner of the tent might be seen two or three bear-skins, evidently intended to serve as a bed. on seeing the newcomers, the young man folded up the papers, and laid them in a small iron casket, the key of which he placed in his bosom, then raised his head, and looked anxiously at the soldier. "who's this, john?" he asked; "have you brought prisoners?" "no," the other answered, "this caballero was most desirous of seeing you, for certain reasons he will himself explain; so i thought i had better carry out his wishes." "good; we will settle with him in a moment. what have you done?" "what you ordered me." "then you have succeeded?" "completely." "bravo, my friend! tell me all about it." "what need of details?" the american answered, looking meaningly at the dragoon, who stood motionless a couple of paces from him. the jaguar understood him. "that is true," he said, "suppose we see of what sort of wood this man is made;" and addressing the soldier, he added, "come hither, my good fellow." "here i am, at your orders, captain." "what is your name?" "gregorio felpa. i am a dragoon, as you can see by my uniform, excellency." "what is your motive for wishing to see me?" "an anxiety to render you an important service, excellency." "i thank you, but usually services are confoundedly dear, and i am not a rich man." "you will become so." "i hope so. but what is the great service you propose to render me?" "i will explain to you, in two words. in every political question there are two sides, and that depends on the point of view from which you regard it. i am a child of texas, son of a north american and an indian woman, which means that i cordially detest the americans." "come to facts." "i am doing so. a soldier against my will, general rubio has entrusted me with a dispatch for captain melendez, in which he gives him a place of meeting, so as to avoid the rio seco, where the report runs that you intend to ambush, in order to carry off the conducta." "ah, ah," the jaguar said, becoming very attentive, "but how do you know the contents of the dispatch?" "in a very simple way. the general places the utmost confidence in me; and he read me the dispatch, because i am to serve as the captain's guide." "then you are betraying your chief?" "is that the name you give my action?" "i am looking at it from the general's side." "and from yours?" "when we have succeeded i will tell you." "good," he carelessly replied. "you have this dispatch?" "here it is." the jaguar took it, examined it attentively, turning it over and over, and then prepared to break the seal. "stop!" the soldier hurriedly exclaimed. "what for?" "because, if you open it, i cannot deliver it to the man for whom it is intended." "what do you mean?" "you do not understand me," the soldier said, with ill-concealed impatience. "that is probable," the captain answered. "i only ask you to listen to me for five minutes." "speak." "the meeting-place appointed for the captain and the general is the laguna del venado. before reaching the laguna there is a very narrow and densely-wooded gorge." "the paso de palo muerto; i know it." "good. you will hide yourself there, on the right and left, in the bushes; and when the conducta passes, you will attack it on all sides at once; it is impossible for it to escape you, if, as i suppose, your arrangements are properly made." "yes, the spot is most favourable for an attack. but who guarantees that the conducta will pass through this gorge?" "i do." "what do you mean?" "certainly, as i shall act as guide." "hum! we no longer understand one another." "excuse me, we do, perfectly. i will leave you, and go to the captain, to whom i will deliver the general's dispatch; he will be compelled to take me for his guide, whether we like it or not; and i will lead him into your hands as surely as a novillo taken to the shambles." the jaguar gave the soldier a glance which seemed trying to read the bottom of his heart. "you are a daring fellow," he said to him, "but i fancy you settle events a little too much as you would like them. i do not know you; i see you to-day for the first time, and, excuse my frankness, it is to arrange an act of treachery. who answers for your good faith? if i am foolish enough to let you go quietly, what assures me that you will not turn against me?" "my own interest, in the first place; if you seize the conducta by my aid, you will give me five hundred ounces." "that is not too dear: still, allow me to make a further objection." "do so, excellency." "nothing proves to me that you have not been promised double the amount to trap me." "oh!" he said, with a shake of the head. "hang it all! listen to me; more singular things than that have been known, and though my head may be worth little, i confess to you that i have the weakness of attaching remarkable value to it; hence i warn you, that unless you have better security to offer, the affair is broken off." "that would be a pity." "i am well aware of that, but it is your fault, not mine; you should have taken your measures better before coming to me." "then nothing can convince you of my good faith?" "nothing." "come, we must have an end of this!" the soldier exclaimed, impatiently. "i ask for nothing better." "it is clearly understood between us, excellency, that you will give me five hundred ounces?" "if by your aid i carry off the conducta de plata; i promise it." "that is enough; i know that you never break your word." he then unbuttoned his uniform, drew out a bag hung round his neck by a steel chain, and offered it to the captain. "do you know what this is?" he asked him. "certainly," the jaguar replied, crossing himself fervently; "it is a relic." "blessed by the pope! as this attestation proves." "it is true." he took it from his neck, and laid it in the young man's hand, then crossing his right thumb over the left, he said, in a firm and marked voice-- "i, gregorio felpa, swear on this relic to accomplish faithfully all the clauses of the bargain i have just concluded with the noble captain called the jaguar: if i break this oath, i renounce from this day and for ever the place i hope for in paradise, and devote myself to the eternal flames of hell. now," he added, "keep that precious relic; you will restore it to me on my return." the captain, without replying, immediately hung it round his own neck. strange contradiction of the human heart, and inexplicable anomaly; these indians, for the most part pagans, in spite of the baptism they have received, and who, while affecting to follow ostensibly the rules of the catholic religion, secretly practise the rites of their worship, have a lively faith in relics and amulets; all wear them round their necks in little bags, and these perverse and dissolute men, to whom nothing is sacred, who laugh at the most noble feelings, whose life is passed in inventing roguery, and preparing acts of treachery, profess so great a respect for these relics, that there is no instance of an oath taken on one of them having ever been broken. anyone who pleases may explain this extraordinary fact; we content ourselves with telling it. before the oath taken by the soldier, the jaguar's suspicions at once faded away to make room for the most perfect confidence. the conversation lost the stiff tone it had up to the present, the soldier sat down on a buffalo skull, and the three men, henceforth in good harmony, quietly discussed the best means to be employed to prevent a failure. the plan proposed by the soldier was so simple and easy to carry out, that it guaranteed success; hence it was adopted entirely, and the discussion only turned on points of detail. at a rather late hour of the night, the three men at length separated, in order to take a few moments of indispensable rest between the fatigue of the past day and that they would have to endure on the morrow. gregorio slept _a pierna suelta_, to employ the spanish phrase, that is to say, straight off the reel. about two hours before sunrise, the jaguar bent over the sleeper and awoke him; the soldier rose at once, rubbed his eyes for an instant, and at the end of five minutes was as fresh and ready as if he had been asleep for eight-and-forty hours. "it is time to start," the jaguar said, in a low voice; "john davis has himself rubbed down and saddled your horse; come." they left the tent; they found the american holding the soldier's bridle, and the latter leaped into the saddle without using his stirrups, in order to show that he was quite fresh. "mind," the jaguar observed, "that you employ the utmost prudence, watch your words and your slightest gestures carefully, for you are about to deal with the bravest and most skilful officer in the whole mexican army." "trust to me, captain. canarios! the stake is too large for me to run any risk of losing the game." "one word more." "i am listening." "manage so as not to reach the gorge till nightfall, for darkness goes a great way toward the success of a surprise--and now good-bye and good luck." "i wish you the same." the jaguar and the american escorted the dragoon to the barrier, in order to pass him through the sentries, who, had not this precaution been taken, would have infallibly fired at him, owing to the uniform he wore. "when he had left the camp, the two men looked after him so long as they could distinguish his dark outline gliding like a shadow through the trees of the forest, when it speedily disappeared. "hum!" said john davis, "that is what i call a thorough scoundrel; he is more cunning than an opossum. what a fearful villain!" "well, my friend," the jaguar answered, carelessly, "men of that stamp are necessary, else what would become of us?" "that is true. they are as necessary as the plague and leprosy; but i stick to what i said, he is the most perfect scoundrel i ever saw; and the lord knows the magnificent collection i have come across during the course of my life!" a few minutes later, the border rifles raised their camp and mounted to proceed to the gorge, where the rendezvous had been made with gregorio felpa, the asistente of general rubio, who placed in him a confidence of which the soldier was in every respect so worthy. chapter xxx. the ambuscade. the jaguar's measures were so well taken, and the traitor to whom the guidance of the conducta was entrusted had manoeuvred so cleverly, that the mexicans fell literally into a wasp's nest, from which it was very difficult, if not impossible, for them to escape. although demoralized for a moment by the fall of their chief, whose horse was killed at the beginning of the action, they still obeyed the captain's voice, who, by a supreme effort, rose again almost simultaneously, and they collected round the string of mules laden with the treasure. they boldly formed a square, and prepared to defend courageously the precious depôt they had under their guard. the escort commanded by captain melendez, though not large, was composed of old tried soldiers, long habituated to bush-fighting, and for whom the critical position in which their unlucky star had brought them, possessed nothing very extraordinary. the dragoons had dismounted, and throwing away their long lances, useless in a fight like the one that was preparing, seized their carbines, and with their eyes fixed on the bushes, calmly awaited the order to begin firing. captain melendez studied the terrain with a hurried glance, and it was far from being favourable. on the right and left steep slopes, crowned by enemies; in the rear, a large party of border rifles ambushed behind a barricade of trees, which, as if by enchantment, suddenly interrupted the road, and prevented a retreat; lastly, in front, a precipice about twenty yards in width, and of incalculable depth. all hope, therefore, of getting safe and sound out of the position in which they were beset seemed taken from the mexicans, not only through the considerable number of enemies that surrounded them, but also through the nature of the battle-field; still, after carefully examining it, a flash burst from the captain's eye, and a gloomy smile passed over his face. the dragoons had known their commander a long time, they placed faith in him; they perceived this fugitive smile, and their courage was heightened. as the captain had smiled, he must have hopes. it is true that not a man in the whole escort could have said in what that hope consisted. after the first discharge, the bandits appeared on the heights, but remained there motionless, satisfying themselves with attentively watching the movements of the mexicans. the captain profited by this respite which the enemy so generously offered him, to take a few defensive measures, and amend his plan of battle. the mules were unloaded, and the precious boxes placed right away at the rear, as far as possible from the enemy; then the horses and mules, led to the front, were arranged so that their bodies should serve as a rampart for the soldiers, who, kneeling and stooping behind this living breastwork, found themselves comparatively sheltered from the enemy's bullets. when these measures were taken, and the captain had assured himself by a final glance that his orders were punctually executed, he bent down to the ear of no bautista, the chief arriero, and whispered a few words. the arriero gave a quick start of surprise on hearing the captain's words, but recovered himself immediately, and bowed his head in assent. "you will obey?" don juan asked, as he looked at him fixedly. "on my honour, captain," the arriero answered. "very good," the young man said gaily; "we shall have some fun, i promise you." the arriero fell back, and the captain placed himself in front of the soldiers. he had scarce taken up his fighting position, when a man appeared at the top of the right hand bank; he held in his hand a long lance, from the end of which fluttered a piece of white rag. "oh, oh," the captain murmured, "what is the meaning of this! are they beginning to fear lest their prey may escape them? hilloh," he shouted, "what do you want?" "to parley," the man with the flag answered laconically. "parley," the captain answered, "what good will that do? besides, i have the honour of being a captain in the mexican army, and do not treat with bandits." "take care, captain, misplaced courage is frequently braggadocio; your position is desperate." "do you think so?" the young man said in an ironical voice. "you are surrounded on all sides." "bar one." "yes, but there is an impassable abyss there." "who knows?" the captain said, still mockingly. "in a word, will you listen to me?" the other said, who was beginning to grow impatient at this conversation. "well," the officer said, "let me hear your propositions, after which i will let you know my conditions." "what conditions?" the bandit asked in amazement. "those i intend to impose on you, by jove." a homeric laugh from the border rifles greeted these haughty words. the captain remained cold and impassive. "who are you?" he asked. "the chief of the men who hold you imprisoned." "prisoners? i do not believe it; however, we shall see. ah! you must be the jaguar, whose name is held in execration on this border?" "i am the jaguar," the latter answered simply. "very good. what do you want with me? speak, and before all be brief," the captain said, as he leaned the point of his sword on the end of his boot. "i wish to avoid bloodshed," the jaguar said. "that is very kind of you, but i fancy it is rather late to form so laudable a resolve," the officer said in his sarcastic voice. "listen, captain, you are a brave officer, and i should be in despair if any misfortune happened to you; do not obstinately carry on an impossible struggle, surrounded as you are by an imposing force; any attempt at resistance would be an unpardonable act of madness, which could only result in a general massacre of the men you command, while you would not have the slightest hope of saving the conducta under your escort. surrender, i repeat, for you have only that way of safety left open to you." "caballero," the captain said, and this time seriously, "i thank you for the words you have spoken; i am a connoisseur in men, and see that you are speaking honourably at this moment." "i am," said the jaguar. "unfortunately," the captain continued, "i am forced to repeat to you that i have the honour to be an officer, and would never consent to deliver my sword to the leader of banditti, for whose head a price is offered. if i have been mad and idiotic enough to let myself be drawn into a trap, all the worse for me--i must accept the consequences." the two speakers had by this time come together, and were conversing side by side. "i can understand, captain, that your military honour must, under certain circumstances, compel you to fight, even under unfavourable conditions; but here the case is different--all the chances are against you, and your honour will in no way suffer by a capitulation which will save the lives of your brave soldiers." "and deliver to you without a blow the rich prey you covet." "whatever you may do, that prey cannot escape me." the captain shrugged his shoulders. "you are mistaken," he said; "like all men accustomed to prairie warfare, you have been too clever, and your adroitness has carried you past your object." "what do you mean?" "learn to know me, caballero; i am a cristiano viejo; i am descended from the old conquistadors, and the spanish blood flows pure in my veins. all my men are devoted to me, and at my order they will let themselves be killed to the last without hesitation; but whatever may be the advantages of the situation you occupy, and the number of your companions, you will require a certain time to kill fifty men reduced to desperation, and who are resolved not to ask quarter." "yes," the jaguar said in a hollow voice; "but in the end they are killed." "of course," the captain replied calmly; "but while you are murdering us, the arrieros have my positive orders to cast the money chests to the bottom of the abyss, to the brink of which you have forced us." "oh," the jaguar said with an ill-restrained look of menace, "you will not do that." "why shall i not, if you please?" the officer said coldly. "yes, i will do it, i pledge you my honour." "oh!" "what will happen, then? you will have brutally murdered fifty men, with no other result than that of wallowing in the blood of your countrymen." "rayo de dios! this is madness." "not at all; it is simply the logical consequence of the threat you make me; we shall be dead, but as men of honour, and have fulfilled our duty, as the money will be saved." "all my efforts, then, to bring about a peaceful settlement are sterile." "there is one way." "what is it?" "to let us pass, after pledging your word of honour not to molest our retreat." "never! that money is indispensable to me, and i must have it." "come and take it, then," "that is what i am going to do." "very good." "the blood i wished to spare will fall on your head." "or on yours." they separated. the captain turned to his soldiers, who had been near enough to follow the discussion through all its turnings. "what will you do, lads?" he asked them. "die!" they answered in a loud and firm voice. "be it so--we will die together;" and brandishing his sabre over his head, he shouted, "_dios y libertad viva méxico!_" "_viva méxico_!" the dragoons repeated, enthusiastically. while this had been going on, the sun had disappeared below the horizon, and darkness covered the earth, like a sombre winding-sheet. the jaguar, with rage in his heart at the ill success of his tentatives, had rejoined his comrades. "well," john davis asked him, who was anxiously watching for his return, "what have you obtained?" "nothing. that man is a fanatic." "as i warned you, he is a demon; fortunately he cannot escape us, whatever he may do." "then you are mistaken," the jaguar replied, stamping his foot passionately; "whether he live or die the money is lost to us." "how so?" the jaguar told his confidant in a few words what had passed between him and the captain. "confusion!" the american exclaimed; "in that case let us make haste." "to increase our misfortunes, it is as dark as in an oven." "by heavens! let us make an illumination. perhaps it will cause those demons incarnate to reflect, who are croaking there like frogs calling for rain." "you are right. torches here!" "better still. let us fire the forest." "ah, ah," the jaguar said, with a laugh, "bravo! let us smoke them out like musk-rats." this diabolical idea was immediately carried out, and ere long a brilliant belt of flame ran all around the gorge, where the mexicans were stoically awaiting the attack. they had not long to wait; a sharp fusillade began, mingled with the cries and yells of the assailants. "it is time!" the captain shouted. the sound of a chest falling down the precipice was immediately heard. owing to the fire, it was as bright as day, and not a movement of the mexicans escaped their adversaries. the latter uttered a yell of fury on seeing the chests disappear one after the other in the abyss. they rushed at the soldiers; but the latter received them at the bayonet's point, not giving ground an inch. a point-blank discharge from the mexicans, who had reserved their fire, laid many of the enemy low, and spread disorder through the ranks of the assailants, who began falling back involuntarily. "forward!" the jaguar howled. the bandits returned to the charge more eagerly than before. "keep firm, we must die," the captain said. "we will," the soldiers repeated unanimously. the fight then began, body to body, foot to foot, chest against chest; the assailants and assailed were mixed up and fought more like wild beasts than men. the arrieros, though decimated by the bullets fired at them, did not the less eagerly continue their task; the crowbar scarce fell from the hand of one shot down, ere another seized the heavy iron mass, and the chests of money toppled uninterruptedly over the precipice, in spite of the yells of fury, and gigantic efforts of the enemy, who exhausted themselves in vain to breach the human wall that barred their passage. 'twas a fearfully grand sight, this obstinate struggle, this implacable combat which these men carried on, by the brilliant light of a burning forest. the cries had ceased, the butchery went on silently and terribly, and at times the captain could be heard sharply repeating-- "close up there, close up!" and the ranks closed, and the men fell without a murmur, having sacrificed their lives, and only fighting now to gain the few moments indispensable to prevent their sacrifice being sterile. in vain did the border rifles, excited by the desire of gain, try to crush this energetic resistance offered them by a handful of men; the heroic soldiers, supporting one another, with their feet pressed against the corpses of those who had preceded them to death, seemed to multiply themselves in order to bar the gorge on all sides at once. the fight, however, could not possibly last much longer; ten men only were left of the captain's detachment; the others had fallen, but every man with his face to the foe. all the arrieros were dead; two chests still remained on the edge of the precipice; the captain looked hurriedly around. "one more effort, lads!" he shouted, "we only want five minutes to finish our task." "_dios y libertad_!" the soldiers shouted; and, although exhausted with fatigue, they threw themselves resolutely into the thickest part of the crowd that surrounded them. for a few minutes, these men accomplished prodigies; but at length numbers gained the mastery: they all fell! the captain alone was still alive. he had taken advantage of the devotion of his soldiers to seize a crowbar, and hurl one chest over the precipice; the second, raised with great difficulty, only required a final effort to disappear in its turn, when suddenly a terrible hurrah caused the officer to raise his head. the border rifles were rushing up, terrible, and panting like tigers thirsting for carnage. "ah!" gregorio felpa, the traitor-guide, shouted gladly, as he rushed forward; "at any rate we shall have this one." "you lie, villain!" the captain answered. and raising with both hands the terrible bar of iron, he cleft the skull of the soldier, who fell like a stunned ox, not uttering a cry, or giving vent to a sigh. "whose turn is it next?" the captain said as he raised the crowbar. a yell of horror burst from the crowd, which hesitated for a moment. the captain quickly lowered his crowbar, and the chest hung over the brink of the abyss. this movement restored the borderers all their rage and fury. "down with him, down with him!" they shouted, as they rushed on the officer. "halt!" the jaguar said as he bounded forward, and overthrew all in his way; "not one of you must stir; this man belongs to me." on hearing this well-known voice, all the men stopped. the captain threw away his crowbar, for the last chest had fallen in its turn over the precipice. "surrender, captain melendez," the jaguar said, as he advanced toward the officer. the latter had taken up his sabre again. "it is not worth while now," he replied, "i prefer to die." "defend yourself then." the two men crossed swords, and for some minutes a furious clashing of steel could be heard. all at once, the captain, by a sharp movement, made his adversary's weapon fly ten paces off, and ere the latter recovered from his surprise, the officer rushed on him and writhed round him like a serpent. the two men rolled on the ground. two yards behind them was the precipice. all the captain's efforts were intended to drag the jaguar to the verge of the abyss; the latter, on the contrary, strove to free himself from his opponent's terrible grasp, for he had doubtless guessed his desperate resolve. at last, after a struggle of some minutes, the arms that held the jaguar round the body gradually loosed their hold, the officer's clenched hands opened, and the young man, by the outlay of his whole strength, succeeded in throwing off his enemy and rising. but he was hardly on his feet, ere the captain, who appeared exhausted and almost fainting, bounded like a tiger, seized his adversary round the body, and gave him a fearful shock. the jaguar, still confused by the struggle he had gone through, and not suspecting this sudden attack, tottered, and lost his balance with a loud cry. "at length!" the captain shouted with ferocious joy. the borderers uttered an exclamation of horror and despair. the two enemies had disappeared in the abyss. [what became of them will be found fully recorded in the next volume of this series, called "the free-booters."] http://www.freeliterature.org the freebooters. a story of the texan war. by gustave aimard, author of "border rifles," "the indian scout," etc. london: ward and lock, , fleet street. mdccclxi. preface. apart from the thrilling interest of aimard's new story, which i herewith offer to english readers, i think it will be accepted with greater satisfaction, as being an historical record of the last great contest in which the north americans were engaged. as at the present moment everything is eagerly devoured that may tend to throw light on the impending struggle between north and south, i believe that the story of "the freebooters," which is rigorously true in its details, will enable my readers to form a correct opinion of the character of the southerners. the series, of which this volume forms a second link, will be completed in a third volume, to be called "the white scalper," which contains an elaborate account of the liberation of texas, and the memorable battle of san jacinto, together with personal adventures of the most extraordinary character. l.w. , drayton terrace, west brompton. contents. i. fray antonio ii. indian diplomacy iii. down the precipice iv. two enemies v. general rubio vi. the hunter's council vii. an old friend viii. quoniam's return ix. hospitality x. the larch-tree hacienda xi. a metamorphosis xii. the summons xiii. the siege xiv. the proposal xv. a thunderbolt xvi. the conspirators xvii. the spy xviii. the pulqueria xix. at sea xx. the prize xxi. a strange legend xxii. the surprise xxiii. el salto del frayle xxiv. the landing xxv. forward! chapter i. fray antonio. all the wood rangers have noticed, with reference to the immense virgin forests which still cover a considerable extent of the soil of the new world, that, to the man who attempts to penetrate into one of these mysterious retreats which the hand of man has not yet deformed, and which preserve intact the sublime stamp which deity has imprinted on them, the first steps offer almost insurmountable difficulties, which are gradually smoothed down more and more, and after a little while almost entirely disappear. it is as if nature had desired to defend by a belt of thorns and spikes the mysterious shades of these aged forests, in which her most secret arcana are carried out. many times, during our wanderings in america, we were in a position to appreciate the correctness of the remark we have just made: this singular arrangement of the forests, surrounded, as it were, by a rampart of parasitic plants entangled one in the other, and thrusting in every direction their shoots full of incredible sap, seemed a problem which offered a certain degree of interest from various points of view, and especially from that of science. it is evident to us that the circulation of the air favours the development of vegetation. the air which circulates freely round a large extent of ground covered with lofty trees, and is driven by the various breezes that agitate the atmosphere, penetrates to a certain depth into the clumps of trees it surrounds, and consequently supplies nourishment to all the parasitical shrubs vegetation presents to it. but, on reaching a certain depth under the covert, the air, less frequently renewed, no longer supplies carbonic acid to all the vegetation that covers the soil, and which, through the absence of that aliment, pines away and dies. this is so true, that those accidents of soil which permit the air a more active circulation in certain spots, such as the bed of a torrent or a gorge between two eminences, the entrance of which is open to the prevailing wind, favour the development of a more luxuriant vegetation than in flat places. it is more than probable that fray antonio[ ] made none of the reflections with which we begin this chapter, while he stepped silently and quietly through the trees, leaving the man who had helped him, and probably saved his life, to struggle as he could with the crowd of redskins who attacked him, and against whom he would indubitably have great difficulty in defending him. fray antonio was no coward; far from it: in several critical circumstances he had displayed true bravery; but he was a man to whom the existence he led offered enormous advantages and incalculable delights. life seemed to him good, and he did all in his power to spend it jolly and free from care. hence, through respect for himself, he was extremely prudent, only facing danger when it was absolutely necessary; but at such times, like all men driven into a corner, he became terrible and really dangerous to those who, in one way or the other, had provoked in him this explosion of passion. in mexico, and generally throughout spanish america, as the clergy are only recruited from the poorest class of the population, their ranks contain men of gross ignorance, and for the most part of more than doubtful morality. the religious orders, which form nearly one-third of the population, living nearly independent of all subjection and control, receive among them people of all sorts, for whom the religious dress they don is a cloak behind which they give way with perfect liberty to their vices, of which the most venial are indubitably indolence, luxury, and intoxication. enjoying a great credit with the civilized indian population, and greatly respected by them, the monks impudently abuse that halo of sanctity which surrounds them, in order to shamefully plunder these poor people under the slightest excuses. indeed, blackguardism and demoralisation have attained such a pitch in these unhappy countries, which are old and decrepit without ever having been young, that the conduct of the monks, offensive it may seem in the sight of europeans, has nothing at all extraordinary for those among whom they live. far from us the thought of leading it to be supposed that among the mexican clergy, and even the monks we have so decried, there are not men worthy of the gown they wear, and convinced of the sanctity of their mission; we have, indeed, known many of that character; but unfortunately they form so insignificant a minority, that they must be regarded as the exception. fray antonio was assuredly no better or worse than the other monks whose gown he wore; but, unluckily for him, for some time past fatality appeared to have vented its spite on him, and mixed him up, despite his firm will, in events, not only opposed to his character but to his habits, which led him into a multitude of tribulations each more disagreeable than the other, and which were beginning to make him consider that life extremely bitter, which he had hitherto found so pleasant. the atrocious mystification of which john davis had rendered the poor monk a victim, had especially spread a gloomy haze over his hitherto so gay mind; a sad despondency had seized upon him; and it was with a heavy and uncertain step that he fled through the forest, although, excited by the sounds of combat that still reached his ear, he made haste to get off, through fear of falling into the hands of the redskins, if they proved the victors. night surprised poor fray antonio ere he had reached the skirt of this forest, which seemed to him interminable. naturally anything but hard-working, and not at all used to desert life, the monk found himself greatly embarrassed when he saw the sun disappear on the horizon in a mist of purple and gold, and the darkness almost instantaneously cover the earth. unarmed, without means of lighting a fire, half-dead with hunger and alarm, the monk took a long glance of despair around him, and fell to the ground, giving vent to a dull groan: he literally did not know to what saint he should appeal. still, after a few moments, the instinct of self-preservation gained the mastery over discouragement, and the monk, whose teeth chattered with terror on hearing re-echoed through the forest the lugubrious roaring of the wild beasts, which were beginning to awaken, and greeted in their fashion the longed-for return of gloom--rose with a feverish energy, and suffering from that feverish over-excitement which fear raised to a certain pitch produces, resolved to profit by the fugitive rays that still crossed the glade, to secure himself a shelter for the night. opposite to him grew a majestic mahogany tree, whose interlaced branches and dense foliage seemed to offer him a secure retreat against the probable attack of the gloomy denizens of the forest. assuredly, under any other circumstances than those in which he found himself, the bare idea of escalading this immense forest would have appeared to the monk the height of folly and mental aberration, owing first to his paunch, and next to his awkwardness, of which he felt intimately convinced. but it was a critical point: at each instant the situation grew more dangerous; the howling came nearer in a most alarming manner; there was no time to hesitate; and fray antonio did not do so. after walking once or twice round the tree, in order to discover the spot which offered him the greatest facility for his ascent, he gave vent to a sigh, embraced the enormous and rugged trunk with his arms and knees, and painfully commenced his attempted climb. but it was no easy matter, especially for a plump monk, to mount the tree, and fray antonio soon perceived this fact at his own expense; for each time that, after extraordinary efforts, he managed to raise himself a few inches from the ground, his strength suddenly failed him, and he fell back on the ground with lacerated hands and torn clothes. ten times already had he renewed his efforts, with the desperation produced by despair, without seeing them crowned with success; the perspiration poured down his face; his chest panted; he was in a state to produce pity even in his most obstinate enemy. "i shall never succeed in mounting it," he muttered sadly; "and if i remain here, i am a lost man, for within an hour i shall be infallibly devoured by some tiger in search of its supper." this final reflection, which was incontestably true, restored a fresh ardour to the monk, who resolved to make a new and supreme attempt but this time he wished to take all his precautions; consequently, he began collecting the dead wood round him and piling it at the foot of the tree, so as to form a scaffolding high enough for him to reach, without any great difficulty, a branch sufficiently low for him, while careful to remain awake, to hope to spend the night without fear of being devoured--an alternative for which the worthy monk did not feel the slightest inclination. soon, thanks to the vivacity of his movements, fray antonio had a considerable heap of wood piled up around him. a smile of satisfaction lit up his wide face, and he breathed again, while wiping away the perspiration that poured down his face. "this time," he muttered, calculating with a glance the space he had to cover, "if i do not succeed, i shall be preciously clumsy." in the meanwhile the last gleams of twilight, so useful to the monk, had entirely disappeared; the absence of the stars, which had not yet shown themselves, left a profound obscurity in the sky, which was even more obscure under the covert; all was beginning to be blotted out, only allowing here and there a few clumps of trees to be distinguished, as they designed their gloomy masses in the night, or a few patches of water, the result of the last storm, which studded the forest with paler spots. the evening breeze had risen, and could be heard soughing through the foliage with a sad and melancholy plaintiveness. the dangerous denizens of the forest had quitted their lurking places, and crushed the dead wood, as they eagerly came on, amid a deafening current of catlike howls. the monk had not an instant to lose, if he did not wish to be attacked on all sides at once by the wild beasts, whom a lengthened fast rendered more terrible still. after taking a searching glance around him in order to assure himself that no pressing danger threatened him, the monk devotedly crossed himself, fervently recommended himself to heaven with a sincerity he had probably never evinced before, and then, suddenly making up his mind, began resolutely climbing up the pile of wood. after several unsuccessful attempts, he at last reached the top of this fictitious mount. he then stopped for a minute to draw breath; indeed, thanks to his ingenious ideas, fray antonio was now nearly ten feet from the ground. it is true that any animal could easily have overthrown this obstacle; but for all that, this beginning of success revived the monk's courage, the more so because, on raising his eyes he saw a few paces above him, the blessed branch toward which he had so long extended his arms in vain. "come!" he said, hopefully. he embraced the tree once more, and recommenced his fatiguing clambering. either through skill or accident fray antonio at length managed to seize the branch with both hands, and clung to it with all his strength. the rest was as nothing. the monk assembled by a supreme effort all the vigour his previous attempts had left him, and raising himself by his arms, tried to get astride on the branch. owing to his energetic perseverances, he had raised his head and shoulders above the branch, when all at once he felt a hand or a claw fasten round his right leg, and squeeze it as in a vice. a shudder of terror ran over the monk's body: his blood stood still in his veins; an icy perspiration beaded on his temples, and his teeth chattered fit to break. "mercy!" he exclaimed in a choking voice, "i am dead. holy virgin, have pity on me." his strength, paralyzed by terror, deserted him, his hands let loose the protecting branch, and he fell in a lump at the foot of the tree. fortunately for fray antonio, the care he had taken in piling up the dead wood to a considerable extent broke his fall, otherwise it would probably have been mortal: but the shock he experienced was so great that he completely lost his senses. the monk's fainting fit was long: when he returned to life and opened his eyes again, he took a frightened glance around, and fancied he must be suffering from a horrible nightmare. he had not stirred from the spot, so to speak: he still found himself by the tree, which he had tried so long to climb up in vain, but he was lying close to an enormous fire, over which half a deer was roasting, and around him were some twenty indians, crouching on their heels, silently smoking their pipes, while their horses, picketed a few yards off, and ready to mount, were eating their provender. fray antonio had seen indians several times before, and had stood on such intimate terms, indeed, with them, as to be able to recognize them. his new friends were clothed in their war garb, and from their hair drawn off their foreheads, and their long barbed lances, it was easy to recognize them as apaches. the monk's blood ran cold, for the apaches are notorious for their cruelty and roguery. poor fray antonio had fallen from charybdis into scylla; he had only escaped from the jaws of the wild beasts in order to be in all probability martyred by the redskins. it was a sad prospect which furnished the unlucky monk with ample material for thoughts, each more gloomy than the other, for he had often listened with a shudder to the hunters' stories about the atrocious tortures the apaches take a delight in inflicting on their prisoners with unexampled barbarity. still, the indians went on smoking silently, and did not appear to perceive that their captive had regained his senses. for his part, the monk hermetically closed his eyes, and anxiously preserved the most perfect tranquillity, in order to leave his dangerous companions, so long as he could, in ignorance of the state in which he was. at length the indians left off smoking, and after shaking the ash out of their calumets, passed them again through their girdle; a redskin removed from the fire the half deer which was perfectly roasted, laid it in abanijo leaves in front of his comrades, and each drawing his scalping knife, prepared for a vigorous attack on the venison, which exhaled an appetizing odour, especially for the nostrils of a man who, during the whole past day, had been condemned to an absolute fast. at this moment the monk felt a heavy hand laid on his chest, while a voice said to him with a guttural accent, which, however, had nothing menacing about it. "the father of prayer can open his eyes now, for the venison is smoking, and his share is cut off." the monk, perceiving that his stratagem was discovered, and excited by the smell of the meat, having made up his mind, opened his eyes, and sat up. "och!" the man who had before spoken said, "my father can eat; he must be hungry, and has slept enough." the monk attempted to smile, but only made a frightful grimace, so alarmed did he feel. as however, he was really hungry as a wolf, he followed the example offered him by the indians, who had already commenced their meal, and set to work eating the lump of venison which they had the politeness to set before him. the meal did not take long; still it lasted long enough to restore a little courage to the monk, and make him regard his position from a less gloomy side than he had hitherto done. in truth, the behaviour of the apaches toward him had nothing hostile about it; on the contrary, they were most attentive in serving him with what he needed, giving him more food so soon as they perceived that he had nothing before him: they had even carried their politeness so far as to give him a few mouthfuls of spirit, an extremely precious liquid, of which they are most greedy, even for their own use, owing to the difficulty they experience in obtaining it. when he had ended his meal, the monk, who was almost fully reassured as to the amicable temper of his new friends, on seeing them light their pipes, took from his pocket tobacco and an indian corn leaf, and after rolling a _pajillo_ with the skill which the men of spanish race possess, he conscientiously enjoyed the bluish smoke of his excellent havana tobacco, _costa abajo_. a considerable space of time elapsed thus, and not a syllable was exchanged among them. by degrees the ranks of the redskins thinned: one after the other, at short intervals, rolled themselves in their blankets, lay down with their feet to the fire, and went to sleep almost immediately. fray antonio, crushed by the poignant emotions of the day, and the enormous fatigue he had experienced, would gladly have imitated the indians, had he dared, for he felt his eyes close involuntarily, and found immense difficulty in contending against the sleep that overpowered him. at last the indian who hitherto had alone spoken, perceiving his state of somnolency, took pity on him. he rose, fetched a horsecloth, and brought it to the monk. "my father will wrap himself in this fressada,[ ]" he said, employing the bad spanish in which he had hitherto spoken; "the nights are cold, and my father needs sleep greatly, he will, therefore, feel warmed with this. tomorrow, a chief will smoke the calumet with my father in council. blue-fox desires to have a serious conversation with the father of prayer of the palefaces." fray antonio gratefully accepted the horsecloth so graciously offered by the chief, and without attempting to prolong the conversation, he wrapped himself up carefully, and lay down by the fire so as to absorb the largest amount of caloric possible. still the indian's words did not fail to cause the monk a certain degree of anxiety. "hum!" he muttered to himself, "that is the reverse of the medal. what can this pagan have to say to me? he does not mean to ask me to christen him, i suppose? especially as his name appears to be blue-fox, a nice savage name, that. well, heaven will not abandon me, and it will be day tomorrow. so now for a snooze." and with this consolatory reflection the monk closed his eyes: two minutes later he slept as if never going to wake again. blue-fox, for it was really into the hands of that chief the monk had so unexpectedly fallen, remained crouched over the fire the whole night, plunged in gloomy thought, and watching, alone of his comrades, over the common safety: at times, his eyes were fixed with a strange expression on the monk who was fast asleep, and far from suspecting that the apache chief was so obstinately engaged with him. at sunrise blue-fox was still awake: he had remained the whole night without once changing his position, and sleep had not once weighed down his eyelids. [ ] see "border rifles," same publishers. [ ] "frazada." chapter ii indian diplomacy. the night passed calm and peaceful. at the moment when the sun appeared on the horizon, saluted by the deafening concert of the birds, hidden beneath the foliage, blue-fox, who had hitherto remained motionless, extended his right arm in the direction of the monk, who was lying by his side, and gently touched him with his hand. this touch, slight as it was, sufficed, however, to arouse fray antonio. there are moments in life when, although the body reposes, the mind retains all its delicate perceptions and vigilance; the monk was in a similar situation. the gentleness the apaches displayed towards him on the previous night was so extraordinary, and opposed to their usual habit of treating white men, their inveterate foes, that the monk, despite the coolness which formed the basis of his character, understood that the strange conduct of the men into whose power he had fallen must result from very powerful motives, and that, in spite of the pretended friendship they showed him, he would do well to keep on his guard, in order to be able to make head against the storm, from whatever quarter it might come. in consequence of this reasoning, while taking advantage of the friendly feeling of the indians, he craftily watched their movements, only yielded to sleep with great circumspection, and then slept with one eye open, to employ the vulgar expression. hence at the first signal he was ready to respond to the indian's summons with a vivacity that brought an equivocal smile upon the latter's stern features. the redskins are physiognomists by nature; and, in spite of the tranquillity the monk affected, blue-fox had, from certain signs that never deceive, guessed the secret alarm that internally devoured him. "has my brother slept well?" the indian asked in his hoarse voice; "the wacondah loves him, has watched over his sleep, and kept nyang, the genius of evil, away from his dreams." "i have, indeed, slept well, chief, and i thank you for the cordial hospitality you have been pleased to grant me." a smile played round the indian's lips, as he continued:-- "my father is one of the chiefs of prayer of his nation, the god of the palefaces is powerful, he protects those who devote themselves to his service." as this remark required no answer, the monk contented himself by bowing in the affirmative. still, his anxiety increased; beneath the chiefs gentle words he fancied he could hear the hoarse voice of the tiger, which licks its lips ere devouring the booty it holds gasping in its terrible claws. fray antonio had not even the resource of pretending not to understand the dangerous speaker, for the chief expressed himself in bad spanish, a language all the indian tribes understand, and which, despite their repugnance to use it, they still employ in their dealings with the white men. the morning was magnificent; the trees, with their dew-laden leaves, seemed greener than usual; a slight mist, impregnated with the soft matutinal odours, rose from the ground, and was sucked up by the sunbeams, which with each moment grew warmer. the whole camp was still sunk in sleep; the chief and the monk were alone awake. after a moment's silence, blue-fox continued:-- "my father will listen," he said; "a chief is about to speak; blue-fox is a sachem, his tongue is not forked, the words his chest breathes are inspired by the great spirit." "i am listening," fray antonio replied. "blue-fox is not an apache, although he wears their costumes, and leads one of their most powerful tribes on the war trail; blue-fox is a snake pawnee, his nation is as numerous as the grains of sand on the borders of the great lake. many moons ago, blue-fox left the hunting grounds of his nation, never to return to them, and became an adopted son of the apaches; why did blue-fox act thus?" the chief interrupted himself. the monk was on the point of answering that he did not know the fact, and cared very little about learning it, but a moment's reflection made him understand the danger of such an answer to a man so irritable as the one he was now talking with. "the brothers of the chief were ungrateful to him," he replied with feigned interest, "and the sachem left them; after shaking off his moccasins at the entrance of their village." the chief shook his head in negation. "no," he answered, "the brothers of blue-fox loved him, they still weep for his absence; but the chief was sad, a friend had abandoned him, and took away his heart." "ah!" said the monk, not at all understanding. "yes," the indian continued; "blue-fox could not endure the absence of his friend, and left his brothers to go in search of him." "of course you have found the person again, chief, to whom you devoted yourself?" "for a long time blue-fox sought, but did not succeed in obtaining any news of him; but one day he at length saw him again." "good, and now you are re-united?" "my father does not understand," the indian answered drily. this was perfectly correct. the monk did not understand a syllable of what it pleased the chief to tell him--the more so, as this obscure narrative interested him but very slightly; and while the apache was speaking, he was cudgelling his brains to discover the motives for this confidence. the consequence was that most of the words uttered by the chief struck his ear, but only produced an empty sound, whose meaning did not reach his mind; but the peremptory accent with which blue-fox uttered the last sentence, aroused him, and while recalling him to a feeling of his present position, made him comprehend the danger of not seeming to take an interest in the conversation. "pardon me, chief," he eagerly answered; "on the contrary, i perfectly understand; but i am subject to a certain absence of mind completely independent of my will, which i hope you will not feel offended at, for i assure you it is no fault of mine." "good, my father is like all the chiefs of prayer of the palefaces, his thoughts are constantly directed to the wacondah." "so it is, chief," the monk exclaimed, delighted at the way in which his apology was accepted; "continue your narrative, i beg, for i am now most anxious to listen to it." "wah! my father constantly traverses the prairies of the palefaces." "yes, for the duties of my office oblige me to--" blue-fox quickly interrupted him. "my father knows the pale hunters of these prairies?" "nearly all." "very good; one of these hunters is the friend so deeply regretted by blue-fox." "who is he?" the monk asked. the indian did not seem to hear the question, for he went on-- "very often the redskin warrior has been led a short distance from his friend by the incidents of the chase, but never near enough to make himself known." "that is unfortunate." "the chief would like to see his friend, and smoke the calumet of peace with him at the council fire, while conversing about old times, and the period when, as children of the same tribe, they traversed together the hunting grounds of the sachem's terrible nation." "then the hunter is an indian?" "no, he is a paleface; but if his skin is white, the great spirit has placed an indian heart in his bosom." "but why does not the chief frankly go and join his friend, if he knows where he is? he would be probably delighted to see him again." at this insinuation, which he was far from anticipating, the chief frowned, and a cloud momentarily crossed his face; but the monk was too little of an observer to remark this emotion: he had asked the question, as he would have done any other, unmeaningly, and simply to show the chief by replying that he was an attentive listener. after a few seconds, the indian reassumed that apathy which the redskins rarely put off, and only when taken by surprise, and continued-- "blue-fox does not go to meet his friend, because the latter is not alone, and has with him enemies of your chief." "that is different, and i can understand your prudence." "good," the indian added, with a sardonic smile, "wisdom speaks by the mouth of my rather; he is certainly a chief of prayer, and his lips distil the purest honey." fray antonio drew himself up, and his alarm was beginning to be dissipated; he saw vaguely that the redskin wished to ask something of him--in short, that he wanted his help. this thought restored his courage, and he tried to complete the effect he fancied he had produced on his machiavellian questioner. "what my brother is unable to do, i can undertake," he said, in an insinuating voice. the apache gave him a piercing glance. "wah!" he replied, "then my father knows where to find the chiefs friend?" "how should i know it?" the monk objected; "you have not told me his name yet." "that is true; my father is good, he will forgive me. so he does not yet know who the pale hunter is?" "i know him, perhaps, but up to the present i am ignorant whom the chief alludes to." "blue-fox is rich; he has numerous horses; he can assemble round his totem one hundred warriors, and ten times, twenty times more. if my father is willing to serve the sachem, he will find him grateful." "i ask nothing better than to be agreeable to you. chief, if it lies in my power; but you must explain: clearly what i have to do, in order that i may make no mistake." "good; the sachem will explain everything to his father." "in that way, nothing will be easier." "does my father believe so?" "well, i do not see what can prevent it." "then my father will listen. among all the pale hunters, whose moccasins trample the prairie grass in all directions, there is one who is braver and more terrible than the rest; the tigers and jaguars fly at his approach, and the indian warriors themselves are afraid to cope with him. this hunter is no effeminate yori; the blood of the gachupinos does not flow in his veins; he is the son of a colder land, and his ancestors fought for a lengthened period with the long knives of the east." "good," the monk said; "from what the chief tells me, i see that this man is a canadian." "that is the name given, i think, to the nation of my friend." "but among all the hunters i am acquainted with, there is only one who is a canadian." "wah!" said the chief, "only one?" "yes; his name is tranquil, i think, and he is attached to the larch-tree hacienda." "wah! that is the very man. does my father know him?" "not much, i confess, but still sufficiently to present myself to him." "very good." "still, i warn you, chief, that this man, like all his fellows, leads an extremely vagabond life, being here today and gone tomorrow; so that i am in great doubt as to where i should seek him." "wah! my father need not trouble himself about that; the sachem will lead him to the camp of the tiger killer." "in that case, very good; i will undertake the rest." "my father must carefully retain in his heart the words of blue-fox. the warriors are awaking; they must know nothing. when the hour arrives, the chief will tell my father what he wants of him." "as you please, chief." the conversation broke off here. the warriors were really awaking, and the camp, so quiet a few moments previously, had now the aspect of a hive, when the bees prepare at sunrise to go in search of their daily crop. at a sign from the chief, the hachesto, or public crier, mounted a fallen tree, and twice uttered a shrill cry. at this appeal all the warriors, even those still lying on the ground, hastened to range themselves behind the chief. a deep silence then prevailed for several minutes; all the indians, with their arms folded on their chest, and their faces turned to the rising sun, awaited what the sachem was about to do. the latter took a calabash full of water, which the hachesto handed him, and in which was a spray of wormwood. then raising his voice, he sprinkled toward the four cardinal points, saying-- "wacondah, wacondah! thou unknown and omnipotent spirit, whose universe is the temple, master of the life of man, protect thy children!" "master of the life of man, protect thy children!" the apaches repeated in chorus, respectfully bowing. "creator of the great sacred tortoise, whose skill supports the world, keep far from us nyang, the genius of evil! deliver our enemies to us, and give us their scalps. wacondah! wacondah! protect thy children!" "wacondah! wacondah! protect thy children!" the warriors repeated. the sachem then bowed to the sun, and then towards the contents of the calabash, saying-- "and thou, sublime star, visible representative of the omnipotent and invincible creator, continue to pour thy vivifying heat on the hunting grounds of thy red sons, and intercede for them with the master of life. may this clear water i offer thee be grateful. wacondah! wacondah! protect thy children!" "wacondah! wacondah! protect thy children!" the apaches repeated, and followed their chief's example by kneeling reverently. the latter then took a medicine rod from the hachesto, and waved it several times over his head, while shouting in a loud voice-- "nyang, spirit of evil, rebel against the master of life; we brave and despise thy power, for the wacondah protects us!" all the congregation uttered a loud yell, and rose. when the morning prayer had been said, and the rites performed, each man began attending to his daily duties. fray antonio had witnessed with extreme astonishment this sacred and affecting ceremony, whose details, however, escaped his notice, for the words uttered by the chief had been in the dialect of his nation, and consequently incomprehensible to the monk. still, he experienced a certain delight on seeing that these men, whom he regarded as barbarians, were not entirely devoid of better feelings, and religious faith. the expiring campfires were rekindled, in order to prepare the morning meal, while scouts started in every direction, to assure themselves that the road was free, and no enemy on the watch. the monk, being now completely reassured, and beginning to grow accustomed to his new position, ate with good appetite the provisions offered him, and made no objection to mount the horse the chief indicated to him, when they prepared to set out on the termination of the meal. fray antonio was beginning to find that the savages, who had been represented to him in such gloomy colours, were not so wicked as they were said to be, and he was almost inclined to believe that they had been calumniated. in truth, their hospitality had never once been in default; on the contrary, they had apparently studied to please him. they rode on for several hours along tracks marked by the wild beasts, forced, through the narrowness of the paths, to go in indian file, that is to say, one behind the other; and although the monk perceived that the sachem constantly kept by his side, he did not feel at all alarmed by it, remembering the conversation they had in the morning. a little before midday the band halted on the bank of a small stream, shadowed by lofty trees, where they intended to wait till the great heat had passed over. the monk was not at all vexed at this delay, which enabled him to rest in the cool. during the halt blue-fox did not once address him, and the monk made no attempt to bring on a conversation, as he much preferred enjoying a siesta. at about four p.m. the band mounted, and set out again; but this time, instead of going at a walking pace, they galloped. the indians, by the way, only recognize these two paces; they consider trotting an absurdity, and we confess that we are somewhat of their opinion. the ride was long; the sun had set for more than two hours, and still the indians galloped. at length, at a signal from their chief, they halted. blue-fox then went up to the monk, and drew him a little aside. "we shall separate here," he said; "it would not be prudent for the apaches to go further: my father will continue his journey alone." "i?" the monk said, in surprise; "you are jesting, chief--i prefer remaining with you." "that cannot be," the indian said, in a peremptory voice. "where the deuce would you have me go at this hour, and in this darkness?" "my father will look," the chief continued, stretching out his arm to the south-west, "does he see that reddish light scarce rising above the horizon?" fray antonio looked attentively in the direction indicated. "yes," he said, presently, "i do see it." "very good; that flame is produced by a campfire of the palefaces." "oh, oh! are you sure of that?" "yes; but my father must listen; the palefaces will receive my father kindly." "i understand; then i will tell tranquil that his friend blue-fox desires to speak with him, point out where he is, and--" "the magpie is a chattering and brainless bird, which gabbles like an old squaw," the chief roughly interrupted him; "my father will say nothing." "oh!" the monk said, in confusion. "my father will be careful to do what i order him, if he does not wish his scalp to dry on the lance of a chief." fray antonio shuddered at this menace. "i swear it, chief," he said. "a man does not swear," the chief remarked, brutally; "he says yes or no. when my father reaches the camp of the palefaces, he will not allude to the apaches; but when the pale hunters are asleep, my father will leave the camp and come to warn blue-fox." "but where shall i find you?" the monk asked, piteously, beginning to perceive that he was destined to act as the spy of the savages in one of their diabolical machinations. "my father need not trouble himself about that, for i shall manage to find him." "very good." "if my father is faithful, blue-fox will give him a buffalo skin full of gold dust; if not, he must not hope to escape the chief; the apaches are crafty, the scalp of a chief of prayer will adorn the lance of a chief; i have spoken." "you have no further orders to give me?" "no." "good-bye, then." "till we meet again," the apache said, with a grin. fray antonio made no reply, but uttered a deep sigh, and pushed on in the direction of the camp. the nearer he drew to it, the more difficult did it appear to him to accomplish the sinister mission with which the apache chief had intrusted him; twice or thrice the idea of flight crossed his mind, but whither could he go? and then it was probable that the indians placed but slight confidence in him, and carefully watched him in the gloom. at length the camp appeared before the monk's startled eyes, as he could not draw back, for the hunters had doubtless perceived him already; he decided on pushing forward, while desperately muttering-- "the lord have mercy upon me!" chapter iii. down the precipice. the romancer has an incontestable advantage over the historian. not being obliged to restrict himself to historical documents, he bases his work chiefly on tradition, and revels in those incidents of private life disdained by cold and severe history, which is constrained to describe only great events, and is not permitted to descend to the frequently trivial causes which not only prepared, but actually brought them about. frequently, after a long journey, the traveller, fatigued by the vast horizons incessantly unrolled before him, and rendered giddy by the sharp air of the elevations along which he has been riding, looks down on the plain, and his eye rests with indescribable pleasure on those modest points in the landscape which at the outset he despised. in the same way the romancer halts at the familiar episodes of the great poem, and listens to the simple stories told him by those who were actors in the scenes merely indicated by history. such stories complete the dry and stern narrative of great wars, but historians dare not transcribe them. it is true that in these stories ignorance is nearly always perceptible, and prejudice very frequently; but life is found in them, for if the narrators tell inexactly what happened, they at any rate say frankly how they felt, what they heard and saw themselves, and the errors they sometimes involuntarily make are not falsehoods, but relative truths, which it is the duty of the romancer to classify and put in their proper place. we have several times visited the narrow defile where the border rifles and the mexicans fought the action we described in a previous volume.[ ] bending over the precipice, with our eyes fixed on the yawning abyss beneath us, we heard the narrative of the strange incidents of that battle of giants, and if we had not been certain of the veracity of the narrator, we should certainly have not only doubted but completely denied the possibility of certain facts which are, however, rigorously true, and which we are now about to impart to the reader. the border rifles saw with a shriek of horror the two men, intertwined like serpents, roll together over the precipice; the flashes of the fire, which was beginning to die out for want of nourishment, after devastating the crests of the hills, threw at intervals a lurid light over this scene, and gave it a striking aspect. the first moment of stupor past, john davis, mastering with difficulty the emotion that agitated him, sought to restore courage, if not hope, to all these men who were crushed by the terrible catastrophe. john davis enjoyed, and justly so, a great reputation among the borderers. all know the close friendship which attached the americans to their chief: in several serious affairs he had displayed a coolness and intelligence which gained him the respect and admiration of these men: hence they immediately responded to his appeal, by grouping silently round him, for they understood intuitively that there was only one man among them worthy of succeeding the jaguar, and that he was the north american. john davis had guessed the feelings that agitated them, but did not allow it to be seen: his face was pale, his appearance sad: he bent a thoughtful glance on the rude, determined men who, leaning on their rifles, gazed at him mournfully, and seemed already tacitly to recognize the authority with which he was, probably, about to invest himself. their expectations were deceived, at least, temporarily. davis, at this moment, had no intention of making the borderers elect him as their chief: the fate of his friend entirely absorbed him, and all other considerations disappeared in the presence of the one idea. "caballeros," he said, in a melancholy tone, "a terrible misfortune has struck us. under such circumstances, we must summon up all our courage and resignation, for women weep, but men revenge themselves. the death of the jaguar is not only an immense loss for ourselves, but also for the cause we have sworn to defend, and to which he has already given such great proof of devotion. but, before bewailing our chief, so worthy in every respect of the sorrow which we shall feel for him, we have one duty to accomplish--a duty which, if we neglect it, will cause us piercing remorse at a later date." "speak, speak, john davis, we are ready to do anything you order us," the borderers exclaimed unanimously. "i thank you," the american continued, "for the enthusiasm with which you have replied to me: i cannot believe that an intellect so vast, a heart so noble, as that of our beloved chief can be thus destroyed. god, i feel convinced, would not thus have broken a cause for which we have so long been struggling with such devotion and self-denial. heaven will have performed a miracle in favour of our chief, and we shall see him reappear among us safe and sound! but whatsoever may happen, should this last hope be denied us, at any rate, we must not abandon like cowards, without attempting to save him, the man who twenty times braved death for each of us. for my part, i swear by all that is most sacred in the world, that i will not leave this spot till i have assured myself whether the jaguar be dead or alive." at these words a buzz of assent ran along his hearers, and john davis continued, "who knows whether our unhappy chief is not lying crushed, but still breathing, at the foot of this accursed abyss, and reproaching us for our cowardly desertion of him?" the border rifles declared, with the most energetic oaths, that they would find their chief again, dead or alive. "good, my friends," the american exclaimed; "if he be unhappily dead, we will place his body in the ground and protect his remains, so dear to us on many accounts, from the insults of wild beasts: but, i repeat to you, one of those presentiments which never deceive, because they come from god, tells me that he is still alive." "may heaven hear you, john davis," the borderers shouted, "and restore us our chief." "i am going to descend the precipice," the american said; "i will inspect its most secret recesses, and before sunrise we shall know what we have to hope or fear." this proposal of john davis' was greeted as it deserved, by enthusiastic shouts. when the excitement of the hearers had slightly calmed, the american prepared to carry out his design. "permit me a remark," said an old wood ranger. "speak, ruperto, what is it?" davis answered. "i have known the spot where we now are for a long time, and have often hunted deer and antelopes here." "come to facts, my friend." "you can act as you please, john davis, on the information i am about to give you; by turning to the right, after marching for about three miles, you get round the hills, and what appears to us from here a precipice, is, in fact, only a plain, very enclosed, i allow, but easy to traverse on horseback." "ah, ah," john said thoughtfully, "and what do you conclude from that, ruperto?" "that it would be, perhaps, better to mount and skirt the hills." "yes, yes, that is a good idea, and we will take advantage of it; take twenty men with you, ruperto, and proceed at full speed to the plain you allude to, for we must not throw away any chance; the rest of the band will remain here to watch the environs, while i effect the descent of the barranca." "you still adhere to your idea, then?" "more than ever." "as you please, john davis, as you please, though you risk your bones on such a black night as this." "i trust in heaven, and i hope it will protect me." "i hope so too for your sake; but i must be off--here's luck." "thanks, the same to you." red ruperto then went off, followed by twenty borderers, who spontaneously offered to accompany him, and soon disappeared in the darkness. the descent john davis was preparing to make, was anything but easy. the american was too experienced a wood ranger not to know, and hence took all proper precautions. he placed in his belt next his knife a wide and strong axe, and fastened round his waist a rope formed of several _reatas_. three men seized the end of the rope, which they turned round the stem of a tree, so as to let it out without a shock, whenever the american desired it. as a final precaution, he lit a branch of ocote wood, which was to serve as his guide during his perilous descent, for the sky was perfectly black, which rendered the gloom so thick that it was impossible to see anything two paces away. his last measures taken with the coolness that distinguishes men of his race, the north american pressed the hands held out to him, tried once again to restore hope to his comrades by a few hearty words, and kneeling on the brink of the abyss, began slowly descending. john davis was a man of tried courage, his life had been one continued struggle, in which he had only triumphed through his strength of will and energy; still, when he began descending into the barranca, he felt chilled to the heart, and could not repress a slight start of terror, which ran over all his limbs like an electric flash. still, he fought against this emotion, which is nothing but that instinct of self-preservation which duty has placed in the heart of every man, the bravest as the most cowardly, and continued his descent. although he was fastened round the waist, it was no easy task to go down this almost perpendicular wall, to which he was compelled to cling like a reptile, clutching at every tuft of grass or shrub he came across, or else he had been carried away by the wind, which blew furiously, and would have crushed him like a nutshell against the sides of the abyss. the first minutes were the most terrible to the bold adventurer; the feet and hands must grow accustomed to the rude task imposed on them, and they only gradually learn to find, as it were instinctively, their resting places; and this remark, which may appear erroneous to certain persons, who, fortunately for themselves, have never been obliged to try the experiment, will be recognized as rigorously true by all travellers who have been compelled to ascend or descend mountains. after a few minutes, when the mind remains at liberty, the body assumes of its own accord the necessary equilibrium, the feet find secure resting places, and the hands settle unhesitatingly on the grass or roots which offer them the indispensable degree of resistance. john davis had hardly gone ten yards down, ere he found himself on a wide ledge covered with thick shrubs; hitherto the descent had been extremely rapid. lighting himself by the torch, the american traversed in every direction this species of esplanade, which was about a dozen paces in circumference; and, on carefully examining the thick shrubs which covered it, the adventurer perceived that the tops had been broken as if they had received a tremendous blow. davis looked around him. he soon concluded that this enormous gap could only have been made by the fall of two bodies: this remark gave him good hope, for at so slight a distance from the mouth of the abyss, the two enemies must have been full of life; the rapidity of their fall must have naturally been arrested by the shrubs; they might have met at various distances similar obstacles, and consequently have undergone several comparatively harmless falls. this hypothesis, erroneous though it was, still might be true. john davis continued his descent; the slope became constantly less abrupt, and the adventurer met within his passage, not merely shrubs, but clumps of trees, grouped here and there. still, as john davis found no further traces, a fear fell upon him, and painfully contracted his heart; he was afraid lest the shrubs, through their elasticity, might have hurled the two unhappy men into space, instead of letting them follow the slope of the precipice. this thought so powerfully occupied the american's mind, that a deep discouragement seized upon him, and for some moments he remained without strength or will, crouching sadly on the ground. but davis was a man of too stern a character, and endowed with such an energetic will, to give way for any length of time to despair: he soon raised his head, and looked boldly around him. "i must go on," he said in a firm voice. but, at the moment when he prepared to continue his descent, he suddenly gave a start of surprise, and uttered a cry as he rushed quickly toward a black mass, to which he had hitherto paid but slight attention. we once again ask our readers' pardon for the improbability of the following detail; but we repeat that we are not explaining, but narrating, confining ourselves to telling the truth, without pretending to discuss the greater or less possibility of facts, which, however extraordinary they may appear, are exactly true. the white-headed eagle, the most powerful and the best provided of the birds, ordinarily builds its nest on the sides of barrancas, at the top of the loftiest trees, and chiefly those denuded of branches to a considerable height, but they are never found on rocks. this nest, strongly built, is composed of sticks from three to five feet in length, fastened together and covered with spanish braid, a species of cryptogamic plant of the lichen family, wild grass, and large patches of turf. when the nest is completed, it ordinarily measures from six to seven feet in diameter, and at times the accumulation of materials there is so considerable--for the same nest is frequently occupied for a number of years, and receives augmentations each season--that its depth equals its diameter. as the nest of the white-headed eagle is very heavy, it is generally placed in the centre of a fork formed by the fortuitous meeting of several large branches. john davis, by the help of his torch, had just discovered a few yards from him, and almost on a level with the spot where he was standing, an eagle's nest, built on the top of an immense tree, whose trunk descended for a considerable depth in the precipice. two human bodies were lying stretched across this nest, and the american only required one glance to assure himself that they were those of the jaguar and the mexican captain. they were perfectly motionless, and still fast locked in each other's arms. it was not at all an easy undertaking to reach this nest, which was nearly ten yards from the sides of the precipice; but john davis did not give in on that account; now that he had found the body of his chief again, he was determined to learn, at all risks, whether he were alive or dead. but what means was he to employ to acquire this certainty? how reach the tree, which oscillated violently with every gust? after ripe reflection, the american recognized the fact that he could never climb the tree alone; he therefore placed his hands funnel-wise to his month, and gave the shout agreed on with his comrades. the latter drew up the reata, and after half an hour of unheard of fatigue, davis found himself again among his comrades. the border rifles crowded round him eagerly to ask the details of his expedition, which he hastened to give them, and which were received with shouts of joy by all. then happened a thing which proves how great was the affection all these men bore their chief; without exchanging a word, or coming to any agreement, all procured torches, and, as if obeying the same impulse, began descending the abyss. through the multiplicity of torches, which spread abroad sufficient light, and, before all, the skill of these men, accustomed since childhood to run about the forests, and clamber up rocks and precipices in sport, this descent was effected without any further misfortunes to deplore, and the whole band was soon assembled at the spot whence the american had first discovered the nest of the white-headed eagle. all was in the same state as davis left it: the two bodies were still motionless, and still intertwined. were they dead, or only in a faint? such was the question all persons asked themselves, and no one could answer it. all at once a loud noise was heard, and the bottom of the barranca was illumined by a number of torches. ruperto's party had arrived. guided by the flashes they saw running along the sides of the precipice, the latter soon discovered the nest, and the truth was revealed to them. the arrival of ruperto and his comrades was a great comfort to the americans, for now nothing would be more easy than to reach the nest. four powerful adventurers, armed with axes, glided along the side of the precipice to the foot of the tree, which they began felling with hurried strokes, while john davis, and the men with him, threw their reatas round the top branches of the tree, and gradually drew it towards them. the tree began gracefully bending, and at length lay on the side of the barranca, without receiving any very serious shock. john davis immediately entered the nest, and drawing his knife from his belt, bent over the body of the jaguar, and put the blade to the young man's lips. there was a moment of profound anxiety for these men; their silence was so complete, that the beating of their hearts might be heard. they stood with their eyes obstinately fixed on the american, daring scarcely to breathe, and, as it were, hanging on his lips. at length john rose, and placed the knife near a torch; the blade was slightly tarnished. "he lives, brothers, he lives!" he shouted. at these news the border rifles broke out into such a howl of joy and happiness, that the nightbirds, startled in their gloomy hiding places, rose on all sides, and began flying heavily backwards and forwards, while uttering discordant and deafening cries. but this was not all: the next point was to get the jaguar out of the precipice, and let him down into the gorge. we have said that the two bodies were closely intertwined. the adventurers felt but slender sympathy for captain melendez, the primary cause of the catastrophe, which had so nearly proved fatal to the jaguar; hence they were not at all eager to assure themselves whether he were dead or alive; and when the moment arrived to find means for conveying the body of their chief into the barranca, a very serious and stormy discussion arose on the subject of the mexican officer. the majority of the adventurers were of opinion that the easiest way of separating the two bodies was by cutting off the captain's arms, and throwing his body into the abyss, to serve as food for wild beasts. those who were more excited talked about stabbing him at once, so as to make quite sure that he did not recover. some even had seized their knives and machetes to carry out this resolution, but john davis suddenly interfered. "stop!" he shouted, eagerly, "the jaguar lives; he is still your chief, so leave him to treat this man as he thinks proper. who knows whether the life of this officer may not be more valuable to us than his death?" the adventurers were not easily induced to spare the captain, and adhered for a while to their proposal of stabbing him, after cutting off his arms. still, owing to the influence he enjoyed with the band, davis succeeded in making them listen to reason, and they began arranging how to get the bodies down. [ ] see border rifles, same publishers. chapter iv. two enemies. in the great work of creation, god indubitably most profoundly set the seal of his omnipotence in the heart of forests. the ocean, despite its immense extent, offers sailors only a despairing monotony, or sudden upheavals, which fill the mind with a secret and invincible terror. the mountains which stud the globe, and elevate to immense heights their serrated peaks, covered with eternal snow, only inspire terror, and represent to the astonished eyes of the tourist a terrific maze of chaos and travailing nature. but when you reach the verge of one of those splendid oases of verdure which are called virgin forests, you undergo involuntarily an impression of religious contemplation and gentle melancholy at the sight of these thousand arches of foliage, intertwined like the ceiling of an old gothic church, in which the moss-clad trunks of centennial oaks represent the clustered columns, rising at one spot only a few feet from the ground, at others soaring to the skies. then, animated by the purer air, breathing with the full power of the lungs, attracted and fascinated by the mobile and infinite perspectives that open out on all sides--feeling the movement easier on the soft carpet of soil and dust accumulated by departed ages, the traveller's step grows freer, his glance more piercing, and his hand more firm, and he begins sighing for the hazardous and masculine life of the desert. the further he proceeds beneath these shifting shadows, while life is as noisy all around as a rising tide, the more does the freshness which circulates through the foliage purify the blood, and strengthen the limbs; and he comprehends more and more the irresistible attractions of the forest, and the religious love the wood rangers have for it. men habituated to a desert life are never willing to quit it again; for they understand all its voices, have sounded all its mysteries, and to them the forest is a world which they love much as the sailor does the sea. when a glowing sun enlivens the wild and picturesque landscape, when the glistening snow on the far-off peaks stands out like a silver ribbon above the masses of verdure, when the birds twitter among the leaves, the insects buzz on the grass, and the wild beasts in their unknown lairs, add their solemn sounds to the concert;--at such a moment all invites reverie and contemplation, and the wood rangers feel themselves the nearer to god, because they are the further from man. these bold explorers of the desert are picked men, and powerfully built, kept constantly in movement, and forced each second into a contest with the obstacles that incessantly arise before them. no danger terrifies them, no difficulty arrests them; perils they brave, difficulties they surmount as if in sport; for, hurled by the divine will beyond the pale of common law, their existence is only a succession of strange incidents and feverish adventures, which cause them to live a century in a few moments. the hesitation of the border rifles was short; for these half-savage men, an obstacle to be overcome could only prove a stimulus for their minds, so fertile in resources. the two wounded men, securely fastened on cross pieces of wood by reatas, were let down in turn to the bottom of the precipice, and laid on the bank of a small stream, which ran noiselessly through this plain, forming the most capricious windings. john davis, fearing some outbreak on the part of his angry comrades, himself undertook to let the captain down, in order to be certain that no accident would happen to him. when the wounded men had been removed from the eagle's nest, which had so miraculously saved them, the adventurers glided along the cliff with singular address and rapidity, and the whole band was soon collected on the bank of the stream. as is frequently the case in a mountainous country, the bottom of the barranca was a rather wide prairie, sheltered between two lofty hills, which enclosed it on the right and left, thus forming a species of gorge, which, at the spot where the fight took place, was really a gulf of great depth. john davis, without losing a moment, lavished on the jaguar all the attention his state demanded; while ruperto, though much against the grain, did the same for the mexican captain, by the american's peremptory orders. during the various events we have described, the whole night had slipped away, and the sun rose at the moment the adventurers completed their perilous descent. the country then resumed its real aspect, and what had appeared by the flickering light of the torches a desolate and arid desert, became a charming and smiling landscape. the sun has enormous power over the human organisation: it not only dispels those sombre phantoms which are produced by the darkness, but also revives the mind and restores to the body its elasticity and vigour, which have been neutralised by the piercing cold of night. with day, hope and joy returned to the heart of the adventurers; a joy rendered more lively still by the sight of the cases hurled over the previous night by the mexicans, and which, though crushed by their fall, had lost none of their precious contents. hence, the heroic courage and devotion of the mexicans had no other result than allowing them to die bravely at their posts, for their sacrifice had not obtained the anticipated result. the prairie soon assumed a lively aspect, to which it certainly was not accustomed; the adventurers lit fires, erected jacals, and the camp was formed in a few minutes. for a very lengthened period davis' efforts to bring his friend to life remained sterile; still, the jaguar had received no wound; he did not seem to have a limb broken; his syncope resulted solely from the moral effect of his horrible fall. for all that, the american, far from giving in, redoubled his care and attention, and at length, saw his efforts crowned with success. the jaguar made a weak movement, his lips parted as if he were about to speak, he raised his hand to his brow, gave a deep sigh, and partly opened his eyes, but closed them instantly, probably dazzled by the brilliant sunlight. "at length he is saved!" the american exclaimed, joyously. the adventurers surrounded their chief, anxiously watching his every movement. the young man soon opened his eyes again, and, helped by davis, managed to sit up. a slight patch of red was visible on his cheekbones, but the rest of his face retained an ashen and cadaverous hue. he looked slowly round him, and the absent expression of his glance gradually changed into a gleam of intelligence. "drink!" he muttered in a hollow and inarticulate voice. john davis uncorked his flask, bent over the wounded man, and placed it to his lips. the latter drank eagerly for two or three minutes, and then stopped with a sigh of relief. "i fancied i was dead," he said. "by heaven!" john davis remarked, "it was a close shave." "is captain melendez still alive?" "yes." "what state is he in?" "no worse than your own." "all the better." "shall we hang him?" ruperto remarked, still adhering to his notion. the jaguar started, frowned, and then shouted with greater strength than he might be supposed to possess-- "on your life, not a hair of his head must fall; you answer for him to me body for body." and he added in a low voice, unintelligible by the hearers, "i swore it--" "'tis a pity," ruperto went on. "i am certain that hanging a mexican captain would have produced an excellent effect through the country." the jaguar made a sign. "all right, all right," the adventurer continued; "if it is not pleasant to you, we will say no more about it. no matter, that is a funny notion of yours." "enough," the young man said; "i have given my orders." so soon as he was alone. captain melendez let his head fall on his hands, and tried to re-establish the balance in his mind and arrange his ideas, which the shock he had received had utterly disordered. still he gradually yielded to a species of lethargy, the natural result of his fall, and soon fell into a deep sleep. he slept peacefully for several hours, nothing happening to disturb his repose; and when he awoke he found himself quite a new man; the restorative sleep he had enjoyed had completely rested his nervous system, his strength had returned, and it was with an indescribable feeling of joy that he rose and walked a few steps on the prairie. with calmness of mind courage returned, and he was ready to recommence the contest. he noticed, too, with a certain degree of pleasure, that the adventurers left him at perfect liberty, and did not appear to pay any attention to him. ruperto returned, but this time he had put off his mocking air, and carried some provisions in a basket. the adventurer offered them to the captain with rough politeness, in which, however, the desire to be agreeable was perceptible. the captain readily accepted the food, and ate with an appetite that surprised himself after so serious a fall. "well," ruperto remarked, "did i not tell you that you would be soon cured? it is just the same with the captain--he is as fresh as a floripondio, and was never better in his life." "tell me, my friend," don juan answered, "may i be allowed to speak with the chief?" "very easily--the more so, as it seems that he has something to say to you." "indeed." "yes, and he even ordered me to ask you if you would allow him an interview after dinner." "most heartily; i am entirely at his orders; especially," the captain added, with a smile, "since i am his prisoner." "that is true; well, eat quietly, and while you are doing so i will convey your message." hereupon ruperto left the captain, who did not require the invitation to be repeated, but vigorously attacked the provisions placed before him. his meal was soon over, and he had been walking up and down for some time, when he saw the jaguar approach. the two men bowed ceremoniously, and examined each other for some moments with the greatest attention. up to this moment they had hardly seen one another; their interview of the previous evening had taken place in the darkness, and then fought obstinately; but they had found no time to form mutual opinions as they now did with the infallible glance of men who are accustomed to judge in a second, persons with whom they have dealings. the jaguar was the first to break the silence. "you will excuse, caballero," he said, "the rusticity of my reception: banished men have no other palace save the dome of the forests that shelter them." the captain bowed. "i was far from expecting," he said, "so much courtesy from--" he stopped, not daring to utter the word that rose to his lips, through fear of offending the other. "from bandits, i suppose, captain?" the jaguar replied, with a smile. "oh, no denial, i know what we are called at mexico. yes, caballero, at the present day we are outlaws, border ruffians, freebooters; tomorrow, perhaps, we shall be heroes and saviours of a people; but so the world goes; but let us leave that. you wished to speak to me, i heard." "did you not also evince a desire, caballero, to have an interview with me?" "i did, captain; i have only one question to ask you, though--will you promise me to answer it?" "on my honour, if it be possible." the jaguar reflected for a moment, and then continued-- "you hate me, i suppose?" "what makes you imagine that?" "how do i know?" the jaguar replied, with embarrassment; "a thousand reasons, as, for instance, the obstinacy with which you sought to take my life a few hours agone." the captain drew himself up, and his face assumed a stern expression which it had not worn hitherto. "i pledge you my word to be frank with you, caballero," he said. "i thank you beforehand." "between yourself and me, personally, no hatred can exist--at any rate, not on my side; i do not know you, i only saw you yesterday for the first time; never, to my cognizance, have you come across my path before, hence i have no reason to hate you. but beside the man there is the soldier; as an officer in the mexican army--" "enough, captain," the young man sharply interrupted him; "you have told me all i desired to know; political hatreds, however terrible they may be, are not eternal. you do your duty as i believe i do mine--that is to say, as well as you possibly can, and to that i have no objection. unfortunately, instead of fighting side by side, we are in opposite camps; fatality decrees it so; perhaps, some day these unhappy dissensions will cease, and then, who knows whether we may not be friends?" "we are so already, caballero," the captain said, warmly, as he held out his hand to the jaguar. the latter pressed it vigorously. "let us each follow the road traced for us," he said; "but if we defend a different cause, let us maintain, when the contest is raging, that esteem and friendship which two loyal enemies ought to feel, who have measured their swords and found them of equal length." "agreed," said the captain. "one word more," the jaguar continued. "i must respond to your frankness by equal frankness." "speak." "i presume that the question i asked surprised you?" "i confess it." "well, i will tell you why i asked it." "what good will that do?" "i must; between us two henceforth there must be nothing hidden. in spite of the hatred i ought to feel for you, i feel myself attracted to you by a secret sympathy, which i cannot explain, but which urges me to reveal to you a secret on which the happiness of my life depends." "i do not understand you, caballero; the language seems strange to me. explain yourself, in heaven's name." a feverish flush suddenly covered the jaguar's face. "listen, captain, if you only know me today for the first time, your name has been ringing in my ears for many months past." the officer fixed an inquiring glance on the young man. "yes, yes," the latter continued, with increasing animation, "she ever has your name on her lips--she only speaks of you. only a few days back--but why recall that? suffice it for you to know that i love her to distraction." "carmela?" the captain muttered. "yes," the jaguar exclaimed, "you love her too!" "i do," the captain replied, simply, as he looked on the ground with an air of embarrassment. there was a lengthened silence between the two men. it was easy to discover that each of them was having an internal fight; at length the jaguar managed to quell the storm that growled in his heart, and went on, in a firm voice-- "thanks for your loyal answer, captain; in loving carmela you take advantage of your good right, just as i do; let this love, instead of separating, form a stronger link between us. carmela is worthy of the love of an honourable man; let us each love her, and carry on an open warfare, without treachery or trickery; all the better for the man she may prefer. she alone must be judge between us; let her follow her heart, for she is too pure and good to deceive herself and make a bad choice." "good!" the captain exclaimed, enthusiastically; "you are a man after my own heart, jaguar, and whatever may happen, i shall always think with gladness that i have pressed your honest hand, and am worthy of being counted among your friends. yes, i have a deep and sincere love for carmela; for a smile from her rosy lips i would joyfully lay down my life; but i swear that i will follow the noble example you give me, and the struggle shall be as honourable on my side as on yours." "viva cristo!" the young man said with frank and simple delight, "i was sure we should end by coming to an understanding." "to produce that," the captain remarked, with a smile, "we only needed the opportunity for an explanation." "canarios, i trust that it will not be repeated under similar conditions, for it is a perfect miracle that we are still alive." "i am not at all anxious to repeat the experiment." "nor i either, i swear to you. but the sun is rapidly declining on the horizon: i need not tell you that you are free, and at liberty to go wherever you please, if it is not your intention to remain any length of time with us: i have had a horse got ready which you will permit me to offer you." "i gladly accept it: i do not wish to have any false pride with you, and afoot in these regions, which are quite strange to me, i should feel greatly embarrassed." "that need not trouble you, for i will give you a guide to accompany you, till you get in the right road." "a thousand thanks." "where do you propose going? of course, if my question be indiscreet, i do not expect you to answer it." "i have nothing to hide from you; i intend joining general rubio as quickly as possible, to whom i must report the accident that has happened to the conducta de plata, and the terrible catastrophe of which i have been the victim." "it is the fortune of war, captain." "i do not reproach you; i merely say it was an unfortunate affair." "had it been possible to save the conducta by courage and devotion, you would have doubtless done it, for you performed your duty worthily." "i thank you for this praise." "it will be easy for you to reach general rubio's camp before sunset." "do you think so?" "i am sure of it, for you are only three leagues at the most from it." "so near as that? had i but known it," the captain said in a tone of regret. "yes, but you were ignorant of the fact. but, nonsense, what good is it returning to that, you will take your revenge some day or the other." "you are right; what is done cannot be undone, so i will be off." "already?" "i must." "that is true." the jaguar made a signal to a borderer standing a short distance off. "the captain's horse," he said. five minutes later, this borderer, who was no other than ruperto, reappeared, leading two horses, one of which was a magnificent mustang, with delicate limbs, and flashing eye. the captain reached the saddle at one leap, and ruperto was already mounted. the two enemies, henceforth friends, shook hands for the last time, and after an affectionate parting, the captain let his horse go. "mind, no tricks, ruperto!" the jaguar said in a peremptory voice to the adventurer. "all right, all right!" the latter growled in reply. the horsemen left the prairie. the jaguar looked after them as long as he could see them, and then returned thoughtfully to the jacal, which served as his tent. chapter v. general rubio. as the opportunity offers itself, let us say a few words about the military organization of the united states of mexico, an organization as singular as all the rest of the machinery by means of which the strange government of this eccentric republic does its work. a military uniform generally pleases the masses; a soldier's life has something in it so independent of ordinary life, that all nations more or less allow themselves to be carried away and seduced by the glitter of embroidery and epaulettes, the rolling of drums, and the shrill notes of the bugles. young nations, especially, like to play at soldiering, to make standards flutter, horses curvet, and mighty sabres flash. the struggle of mexico with spain lasted ten years, constant, feverish, and obstinate: it was fertile in terrible events and striking incidents. the mexicans, held by their oppressors in the most complete subjection, were as simple at the beginning of the revolution as at the period of the conquest: the majority did not know how to load a gun, and none of them had ever had firearms in their hands. still, excited by the ardent desire for liberty which boiled in their hearts, their progress in military tactics was rapid, and the spaniards soon learned at their own expense that these wretched guerillas, commanded by priests and curates, who at the outset were only armed with lances and arrows, became at length capable of responding to their platoon fire, dying bravely without yielding an inch, and inflicting terrible defeats upon them. the enthusiasm and hatred of the oppressors had made soldiers of all the men capable of bearing arms. when the independence was proclaimed and the war ended, the part played by the army was at an end in a country which, without immediate neighbours, had no foreign intervention to apprehend in its internal affairs and had no invasion to fear. the army, therefore, ought to have laid down the arms which had so valiantly achieved the liberty of the country, and returned peaceably home. such was its duty, and such was expected; but this was a great mistake. the army felt itself strong and feared; hence it wished to keep the place it had assumed, and, impose conditions in its turn. having no longer enemies to combat, the mexican army constituted itself, or its private authority, the arbiter of the destinies of the country it had been called out to defend: in order to secure promotion among the officers, the army made revolutions. then commenced that era of pronunciamentos, in which mexico is fatally ensnared, and which is leading it irresistibly to that gulf in which its independence, so dearly acquired, and even its nationality, will be finally wrecked. from the sub-lieutenant to the general of division, each officer made a stepping stone of a pronunciamento to gain a step--the lieutenant to become captain; the captain, colonel; the colonel, general; and the general, president of the mexican republic. there are generally three to four presidents at once; often enough there are five, or even six; a single president would be regarded as an extraordinary phenomenon--a _rara avis._ we believe that since the proclamation of independence no single president has governed the country for six consecutive months. the result of this state of things is, that the army has fallen into extreme discredit; and while the profession of arms was honourable at the period of the struggle against the spaniards, it is exactly the reverse now. the army is, therefore, necessarily recruited from the lowest classes of society, that is to say, from bandits, leperos, and even the villains condemned for robbery or assassination. all these men, on reaching certain grades, merely change their uniform, while retaining in the new rank where accident places them their vices and low habits; hence young men of good family are not at all inclined to accept an epaulette, and despise a profession regarded with so little honour by the respectable classes of society. in a corps so badly organised, where discipline does not exist, and military education is a nullity, any _esprit de corps_ must be unknown, and that is the case. and yet this army has been good, and it counts magnificent exploits on its books; its soldiers and officers displayed great bravery in the critical phases of the war of independence. but at the present day everything is dead, the feeling of duty is despised, and honour--that powerful stimulus to the soldier--is trampled under foot. duelling, that necessary evil to a certain point to make the soldier respect the cloth he wears, is forbidden under the severest penalties; and if you horsewhip a mexican officer, or call him a coward or a scoundrel, the only risk you run is of being treacherously assassinated. it needs a lengthened apprenticeship to become a soldier and obtain the proper spirit; it is only after long and serious study, when he has suffered great privations, and looked death several times in the face, that a man acquires that knowledge and coolness which enable him to sacrifice his life without calculation, and fulfil the duties of a true soldier. most of the mexican generals would blush at their ignorance if they found themselves face to face with the lowest non-commissioned officer of our army; for they know absolutely nothing, and have not the least idea of their art. with mexican officers all is reduced to this: changing the scarf. the colonel wears a red one, the brigadier-general's is green, and that of the general of division white. it is for the purpose of obtaining the last colour that all the pronunciamentos are made. badly clothed, badly fed, and badly paid, the mexican troops are a scourge to the civilian population, whom they shamelessly and pitilessly squeeze upon the slightest pretext. from what we have written, it is easy to see how an armed corps thus disorganised must be dangerous to everybody, for it knows no restraint, and lives beyond the law which it despises. the present state of mexico proves the incontestable truth of our assertions. we have not wished to enter into personalities, but treated the question generally, seeking to show what it is really. there are, we allow, some officers of merit--a few truly honourable men--in this unhappy army; but they are pearls lost in the mud, and the number is so limited, that if we quoted all their names, we should not reach a hundred. this is the more sad, because the further mexico goes, the nearer it approaches the catastrophe; and, ere long, the evil that undermines this fair country will be incurable, and it will sink for ever--not under the blows of strangers, but assassinated by its own children. general don josé maria rubio was in no way distinguished from the herd of mexican officers, but he possessed over those who surrounded him the immense advantage of being a soldier of the war of independence, and in him experience amply compensated for his lack of education. his history was simple, and may be told in a few words. son of an evangelista or public writer at tampico, he had with great difficulty learned a little reading and writing under the auspices of his father; this pretence at education, slight as it was, was destined to be of great utility to him at a later date. the great uprising, of which the celebrated fray hidalgo was the promoter, and which inaugurated the revolution, found young josé maria wandering about the neighbourhood of tampico, where he gained a livelihood by the most heterogeneous trades. the young man--a little bit of a muleteer, a little bit of a fisherman, and a good deal of a smuggler--intoxicated by the smell of gunpowder, and fascinated by the omnipotent influence hidalgo exercised over all those who approached him, threw his gun over his shoulder, mounted the first horse he came across, and gaily followed the revolutionary band. from that moment his life was only one long succession of combats. he became in a short time, thanks to his courage, energy, and presence of mind, one of the guerillas most feared by the spaniards; always the first in attack, the last to retreat. chief of a cuadrilla composed of picked men, to whom the most daring and wild expeditions appeared but child's play, and favoured by constant good luck, for fortune ever loves the rash, josé maria soon became a terror to the spaniards, and his mere name inspired them with indescribable terror. after serving in turn under all the heroes of the mexican war of independence, and fighting bravely by their side, peace found him a brigadier-general. general rubio was not ambitious; he was a brave and honest soldier, who loved his profession passionately, and who needed to render him happy the roll of the drum, the lustre of arms, and military life in its fullest extent. when he fought, the idea never occurred to him that the war would end some day or other; and hence he was quite surprised and perfectly demoralised when peace was made and independence proclaimed. the worthy general looked round him. everybody was preparing to retire to the bosom of his family, and enjoy a repose do dearly purchased. don josé maria might perhaps have desired nothing better than to follow the example; but his family was the army, and he had, or at least was acquainted with, no other. during the ten years' fighting which had just elapsed, the general had completely lost out of sight all the relations he possessed. his father, whose death he learned accidentally, was the sole person whose influence might have brought him to abandon a military career, but the paternal hearth was cold. nothing attracted him to the province, and he therefore remained under the banner, though not through ambition. we repeat that the worthy soldier did himself justice, and recognised the fact that he had attained a position far superior to any he might ever have dared to desire; but he could not live alone or abandon old friends with whom he had so long suffered, combated--in a word, shared good and evil fortune. the different chiefs, who immediately began coveting power, and succeeded each other in the presidential chair, far from fearing the general, whose simple and honest character was known to them, on the contrary sought his friendship, and lavished on him proofs of the most frank and real protection; for they felt convinced that he would never abuse their confidence in him. at the period when the texans began agitating and claiming their independence, the mexican government, deceived at the outset by the agents appointed to watch that state, sent insufficient forces to re-establish order, and crush the insurgents: but the movement soon assumed such a distinctly revolutionary character, that the president found it urgent to make an effective demonstration. unfortunately it was too late; the dissatisfaction had spread: it was no longer a question of suppressing a revolt, but stifling a revolution, which is not at all the same thing. the president of the mexican republic then learned at his own cost that, in every human question, there is something more powerful than the brute force of bayonets: it is the idea whose time has come and hour struck. the troops sent to texas were beaten and driven back on all sides; in short, they were compelled to treat with the insurgents, and withdraw ignominiously. the government could not, and would not, accept such a dishonouring check inflicted by badly-armed and undisciplined bands, and they resolved to make a last and decisive effort. numerous troops were massed on the texan frontiers; and to terrify the insurgents, and finish with them at one blow, a grand military demonstration was made. but the war then changed its character: the texans, nearly all north americans, skilful hunters, indefatigable marchers, and marksmen of proverbial reputation, broke up into small bands, and instead of offering the mexican troops a front, which would have enabled them to outmanoeuvre and crush them, they began a hedge war, full of tricks and ambushes, after the manner of the vendeans, the first result of which was to enormously fatigue the soldiers by compelling them to make continual marches and counter-marches, and produced among them discouragement and demoralization, by compelling to fight against a shifting foe, whom they knew to be everywhere, and yet could never seize. the position became more and more critical. these outlaws, branded with the epithets of bandits, border ruffians, and freebooters, whom they affected to confound with the villains who congregate in these countries, and whom they obstinately treated as such by granting them no quarter, and shooting them without trial wherever they were captured: these men, now disciplined, hardened, and strong in the moral support of their fellow citizens, who applauded their successes, and put up vows for them, had boldly raised the flag of texan independence, and after several engagements, in which they decimated the troops sent against them, compelled the latter to recognize them as the avowed defenders of an honourable cause. among the numerous generals of the republic, the president at length chose the only man capable of repairing the successive disasters undergone by the government. general don josé maria rubio was invested with the supreme command of the troops detached to act against texas. this choice was most lucky; the general, an honest man and brave soldier, was incapable of selling himself, however great the price offered. hence there was no reason to fear treachery from him, from which others, less susceptible or more avaricious than he was, had not recoiled. as an old soldier of the war of independence, and ex-guerilla, don josé maria was thoroughly conversant with all the tricks, and was the very man to fight with advantage against the foes that awaited him. unfortunately, this selection was made very late. still, the general, while perfectly comprehending the immense responsibility he assumed, accepted without a murmur the rude task imposed on him. certain men have the incontestable privilege of being born for the positions they occupy; their intellect seems to grow with the situation; made for great things, they ever remain on a level with events, whatever the nature of the latter may be. the general possessed this precious faculty; at the first glance he judged his enemies with that coolness which renders old soldiers so strong, and his plan was formed in a few minutes. he immediately changed the tactics employed by his predecessors, and adopted a system diametrically opposite. instead of fatiguing his troops by purposeless marches which had no result, he seized on the strongest positions, scattered his troops through cantonments, where they supported each other, and in case of need could all he assembled under his orders within four-and-twenty hours. when these precautions were taken, still keeping his forces in hand, he prudently remained on the defensive, and instead of marching forward, watched with indefatigable patience for the opportunity to fall on the enemy suddenly and crush him. the texan chiefs soon comprehended all the danger of these new and skilful tactics. in fact, they had changed parts; instead of being attacked, the insurgents were obliged to become the assailants, which made them lose all the advantages of their position, by compelling them to concentrate their troops, and make a demonstration of strength, contrary to their usual habits of fighting. to the young officers who murmured at the plan adopted by the general, and made sarcastic remarks on his prudence, the latter replied with a smile that there was no hurry, that war was a game of skill in which the cleverest man won; and that he must not, for the sake of little lustre, let himself be led away to compromise the success of an enterprise which, with a little patience, must lead to certain success. the result proved that the general reasoned correctly, and that his plan was good. the insurgents, reduced to inactivity by the system the new chief of the mexican army adopted, tried several times to attack his entrenchments, and draw him out; but the general contented himself with killing as many of them as he could, and would not move a step forward. the conducta de plata intrusted to captain melendez had an immense importance in the eyes of the needy government at the capital; the dollars must at all hazards reach mexico in safety; the more so, because for some time past the arrival of coin from texas had become desperately irregular, and threatened to leave off altogether ere long. general rubio found himself reluctantly compelled to modify temporarily the line he had traced; he did not doubt that the insurgents, advised of the passage of the conducta, would make the greatest efforts to intercept and seize it, for they also suffered from a great want of money, and the millions sent to mexico were of the utmost importance to them. hence their plans must be foiled, and the conducta saved. for this purpose the general collected a large body of troops, placed himself at their head, and advanced by forced marches to the entrance of the defile, where, from the reports of his spies, he knew that the insurgents were ambuscaded; then, as we have seen, he sent off a sure man (or whom he supposed to be) to captain melendez, to warn him of his approach, and put him on his guard. we have narrated in the "border rifles" what took place, and how truly worthy the general's express was of the confidence placed in him. the mexican camp stood in the centre of a beautiful plain, facing the defile through which the conducta must pass, according to the general's instructions. it was evening, and the sun had set for about an hour. don josé maria, rendered anxious by the captain's delay, and beginning to suspect a mishap, had sent off scouts in different directions to bring him news, and a prey to an agitation, which each moment that passed augmented, was walking anxiously about his tent, cursing and swearing in a low voice, frowning and stopping every now and then to listen to those thousand noises which arise at night without apparent cause, and pass as if borne on the wings of the djinns. general don josé maria rubio was still a young man; he was about forty-two, though he seemed older, through the fatigues of a military life, which had left rude marks on his martial and open countenance; he was tall and well-built; his muscular limbs, his wide and projecting chest denoted great vigour; and though his close-shaven hair was beginning to turn grey, his black eye had a brilliancy full of youth and intelligence. contrary to the habits of mexican general officers, who, under all circumstances, make a great display of embroidery, and are gilded and plumed like charlatans, his uniform had a simplicity and severity which added to his military appearance, and gave him that aspect of reflection and majesty which is so befitting the chief of an army. a sabre and a pair of holster pistols were carelessly thrown across a map on the table in the centre of the room, over which the general frequently bent in his agitated walk. the gallop of a horse, at first distant, but which rapidly drew nearer, was heard. the sentinel outside the tent challenged, "who goes there?" the horseman stopped, leapt to the ground, and a moment later the curtain of the tent was thrust aside, and a man appeared. it was captain don juan melendez. "here you are, at last!" the general exclaimed, as his countenance grew brighter. but on noticing the impression of sorrow spread over the officer's features, the general, who had walked two steps toward him, stopped, and his face again assumed an anxious look. "oh, oh!" he said, "what can have happened? captain, has any mishap occurred to the conducta?" the officer bowed his head. "what is the meaning of this, caballero?" the general continued, angrily; "have you suddenly grown dumb?" the captain made an effort. "no, general," he answered. "the conducta! where is the conducta?" he went on, violently. "captured!" don juan replied, in a hollow voice. "viva dios!" the general shouted, as he gave him a terrible glance, and stamped his foot: "the conducta captured, and yourself alive to bring me the news?" "i could not get myself killed." "i really believe, heaven pardon me!" the general said, ironically, "that you have not even received a scratch." "it is true." the general walked up and down the tent in the utmost agitation. "and your soldiers, caballero," he went on, a minute later, stopping before the officer, "i suppose they fled at the first shot?" "my soldiers are dead, general." "what do you say?" "i say, general, that my soldiers fell to the last man defending the trust confided to their honour." "hum, hum!" the general remarked, "are they all dead?" "yes, general, all lie in a bloody grave; i am the only survivor of fifty brave and devoted men." there was a second silence. the general knew the captain too well to doubt his courage and honour. he began to suspect a mystery. "but i sent you a guide," he at length said. "yes, general, and it was that guide who led us into the trap laid by the insurgents." "a thousand demons! if the scoundrel----" "he is dead," the captain interrupted him, "i killed him." "good. but there is something about the affair i cannot understand." "general," the young man exclaimed, with some animation, "though the conducta is lost, the fight was glorious for the mexican name. our honour has not suffered; we were crushed by numbers." "come, captain, you are one of those men above suspicion, whom not the slightest stain can affect. if necessary, i would give bail for your loyalty and bravery before the world. report to me frankly, and without any beating round the bush, all that has happened, and i will believe you; give me the fullest details about this action, in order that i may know whether i have to pity or punish you." "listen, then, general. but i swear to you that if after my report the slightest doubt remains in your heart as to my honour and the devotion of my soldiers, i will blow out my brains in your presence." "speak first, caballero, we will see afterwards what your best course should be." the captain bowed, and began an exact report of what had taken place. chapter vi. the hunter's council. we will now return to tranquil, whom we have too long neglected. the canadian had left his friends two musket shots from the texan encampment, intending, were it required, to call in carmela: but that was not necessary; the young man, though unwillingly, had consented to all the canadian asked of him, with which the latter was delighted, for without knowing exactly why, he would have been sorry to facilitate an interview between the young people. immediately after his conversation with the leader of the freebooters, the hunter rose, and, in spite of the jaguar's efforts to retain him, left the camp. he then remounted his horse, and, only half satisfied by his conversation with the jaguar, returned thoughtfully to the spot where his friends were camping. the latter were awaiting him anxiously, and carmela especially was suffering from a terrible uneasiness. it was a strange fact, which women alone can explain, that the maiden, perhaps unconsciously, entertained toward the jaguar and captain melendez feelings which she was afraid to analyze, but which led her to take an equal interest in the fate of those two men, and fear a collision between them, whatever the result might have proved. but for all that, it is certain that if she had been obliged to explain the reason which impelled her to act thus, she would have been unable to answer; and had anybody told her that she loved one or the other, she would have energetically protested; under the honest conviction that she spoke the truth. still, she felt herself, perhaps from different motives, irresistibly attracted toward them. she started at their approach; the sound of their voices caused her an internal thrill of happiness; if she remained long without news of them, she grew sad, pensive, and anxious; their presence restored her all her gaiety and birdlike freedom. was it friendship, or was it love? who can answer? tranquil found his friends comfortably located in a narrow clearing, near a fire, over which their next meal was cooking. carmela, a little apart, questioned with an impatient glance the path by which she knew the hunter must arrive. so soon as she perceived him, she uttered a suppressed cry of delight, and made a movement to run and meet him; but she checked herself with a flush, let her head droop, and concealed herself timidly behind a clump of floripondios. tranquil peacefully dismounted, took the bridle off his horse, which he sent with a friendly slap on the croup to join its comrades, and then sat down by the side of loyal heart. "ouf!" he said, "here i am, back again, and not without difficulty." "did you run any dangers?" loyal heart asked, eagerly. "not at all; on the contrary, the jaguar received me, as he was bound to do, that is, as a friend; and i have only to complain of his courtesy; besides, we have known each other too long for it to be otherwise." carmela had softly come up to the hunter; she suddenly bent her graceful head down to him, and offered him her forehead to kiss. "good day, father," she said, demurely, "you have already returned?" "already!" tranquil answered, as he kissed her and laughed, "hang it, girl, it seems as if my absence did not appear to you long." "pardon me, father, i did not mean that," she said, in great confusion. "what did you mean, then, my child?" "oh, nothing." "yes you did, you little rogue! but you cannot deceive me, with all your tricks; i am too old a fox to be taken in by a girl." "you are unkind, father," she answered, with a pout, "you always give a false meaning to what i say." "only think of that, señorita! well, do not be in a passion, i have brought you good news." "do you mean it?" she said, clasping her hands joyfully. "would you doubt my word?" "oh, no, father." "very good, so now sit down by my side and listen." "speak, speak, father," she exclaimed eagerly, as she took the seat allotted her. "you seem to take great interest in captain melendez, my child?" "i, father!" she exclaimed with a start of surprise. "hang it! i fancy a young lady must feel a lively interest in a person, to take such a step for his sake as you have done." the maiden became serious. "father," she said a moment later with that little, resolute tone spoilt children know so well how to assume; "i could not tell you why i acted as i did; i swear that it was against my will, i was mad; the thought that the captain and the jaguar were about to engage in a mortal combat, made me chill at heart; and yet i assure you, now that i am cool, i question myself in vain to discover the reason which urged me to intercede with you to prevent that combat." the hunter shook his head. "all that is not clear, niña," he replied; "i do not at all understand your arguments. hang it! i am only a poor woodranger, possessing no more learning than i have drawn from the great scenes of nature i constantly have before my eyes, and a woman's heart is to me a closed book, in which i could not decipher a line. still, girl, believe me, take care, and do not play imprudently with weapons whose strength and mechanism you are ignorant of; though the antelope be so light and active when it is leaping from rock to rock on the verge of precipices, the moment arrives when it grows giddy, its head turns, and it rolls into the abyss--i have often seen similar catastrophes in the forests. take care, my girl, take care, and believe in the old hunter's experience." carmela pensively leant her blushing brow on the canadian's shoulder, and lifted to him her large blue eyes full of tears. "i am suffering, father," she murmured sadly. "good heavens! my child, you are suffering, and did not tell me--are you ill?" he exclaimed anxiously; "how imprudent it was of you to be out in the desert by night." "you are mistaken, father," she replied with a faint smile; "i am not ill, it is not that." "what is it then?" "i do not know, but my heart is contracted, my bosom is oppressed. oh, i am very unhappy!" and hiding her head in her hands, she burst into tears. tranquil looked at her for a moment with an astonishment mingled with terror. "you, unhappy!" he at length exclaimed as he smote his head passionately. "oh, whatever has been done to her, that she should weep thus!" there was a silence of some minutes' duration, when the conversation seemed to take a confidential turn. loyal heart and lanzi rose quietly, and soon disappeared in the chaparral. tranquil and the maiden were hence alone. the hunter was suffering from one of those cold fits of passion which are so terrible because so concentrated; adoring the girl, he fancied in his simple ignorance that it was he who, without suspecting it, through the coarseness and frivolity of his manner, rendered her unhappy, and he accused himself in his heart for not having secured her that calm and pleasant life he had dreamed for her. "forgive me, my child," he said to her with emotion; "forgive me for being the involuntary cause of your suffering. you must not be angry with me, for really it is no fault of mine, i have always lived alone in the desert, and never learned how to treat natures so frail as those of women; but henceforth i will watch myself. you will have no reason to reproach me again. i promise you i will do all you wish, my darling child--well, does that satisfy you?" by a sudden reaction, the maiden wiped away her tears, and bursting into a joyous laugh, threw her arms round the hunter's neck, and kissed him repeatedly. "it is you who should pardon me, father," she said in her wheedling voice, "for i seem to take pleasure in tormenting you, who are so kind to me; i did not know what i was saying just now; i am not unhappy, i do not suffer, i am quite happy, and love you dearly, my good father; i only love you." tranquil looked at her in alarm; he could not understand these sudden changes of humour, whose cause escaped him. "good heavens!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands in terror; "my daughter is mad!" at this exclamation, the laughing girl's gaiety was augmented. the silvery sound of her laugh would have made a nightingale die of envy. "i am not mad, father," she said, "i was so just now when i spoke to you in the way i did, but now the crisis has past; forgive me, and think no more about it." "hum!" the hunter muttered, as he raised his eyes to heaven in great embarrassment; "i desire nothing more, niña; but i am no further on than i was before, and on my word i understand nothing of what is passing through your mind." "what matter, so long as i love you, father? all girls are so, and no importance must be attached to their caprices." "good, good, it must be so since you say it, little one. but for all that, i suffered terribly, your words rent my heart." carmela lovingly kissed him. "and the jaguar?" she asked. "all is arranged; the captain has nothing to fear from him." "oh, the jaguar has a noble heart; if he has pledged his word, he may be trusted." "he has given it to me." "thanks, father. well, now that all is arranged according to our wishes--" "your wishes?" the hunter interrupted. "mine or yours, father--is that not the same thing?" "that is true, i was wrong--go on." "well, i say, call your friends, who are walking about close by, i suppose, and let me eat, for i am dying of hunger." "are you?" he said eagerly. "indeed, i am; but i was ashamed to tell you." "in that case you will not have long to wait." the canadian whistled; and the two men, who probably only awaited this signal, made their appearance at once. the venison was removed from the fire, laid on a leaf, and all seated themselves comfortably. "hilloh!" tranquil said all at once, "why, where is quoniam?" "he left us shortly after your departure," loyal heart made answer "to go to the larch-tree hacienda, as he told us." "all right, i did not think of that; i am not anxious about my old comrade, for he will manage to find us again." each then began eating with good appetite, and troubled themselves no further about the negro's absence. it is a noteworthy fact, that men whom the life they lead compels to a continual employment of their physical faculties, whatever may be the circumstances in which they are, or the dangers that surround them--always eat with a good appetite, and sleep soundly, so indispensable for them is the satisfaction of these two material wants, in order that they may successfully resist the incessant incidents of their existence, which is so varied, and full of accidents of every description. during the hunter's meal, the sun had set, and night invaded the forest. carmela, exhausted by the various events of this day, retired almost immediately to a light jacal of leaves which loyal heart had built for her. the maiden needed to restore order in her ideas, and take a few hours' rest, the privation from which had over-excited her nervous system, and caused the crisis which had fallen on her a few hours previously. when they were alone, the hunters laid in a stock of dead wood, which would keep the fire in all night then, after throwing on some handfuls of dry branches, they sat down in indian fashion, that is to say, with their back to the flame, so that their eyes might not be dazzled by the light, and they could distinguish in the gloom the arrival of any unwelcome guest, man or wild beast. when this precaution had been taken, and the rifles laid within hand reach, they lit their pipes and smoked silently. it is specially at night, when the sounds of day die out to make room for the mysterious rumours of the darkness, that the desert assumes a grand and imposing appearance, which affects the mind, and leads it into those gentle and melancholy reveries which are so full of charm. the purer night air refreshed by the breeze which passes through the branches and gently agitates them; the murmuring of the water among the lilies; the confused buzz of myriads of invisible insects; the silence of the desert interrupted by the melodious and animated sounds; and that busy hum of the great flood of life which comes from god and passes away incessantly to be constantly renewed--all these things plunge the strong-hearted man involuntarily into a religious contemplation, which those to whom the grand scenes of nature are unknown, cannot imagine. the night was cold and clear; a profusion of light flashed from the millions of stars that studded the dark olive sky, and the moon poured on the earth her silvery rays which imparted a fantastic appearance to objects.--the atmosphere was so pure and transparent that the eye could distinguish, as in bright day, the surrounding landscape. several hours passed thus, and one of the three men, seduced as they were by the splendour of the night, thought of taking that rest which, however, was so necessary after the fatigues of the day. "who will keep watch tonight?" lanzi at length asked, as he passed the stem of his pipe through his belt; "we are surrounded by people amongst whom it is wise to take precautions." "that is true," said loyal heart; "do you sleep, and i will watch for all." "one moment," the canadian said; "if sleep does not too greatly overpower you. lanzi, we will profit by carmela's absence to hold a council. the situation in which we are is intolerable for a girl, and we must make up our minds to some course at once. unluckily, i know not what to do, and your ideas will hardly suffice, i fear, to get me out of my embarrassment." "i am at your orders, tranquil," lanzi answered; "let us hold a council, and i will make up for it by sleeping faster." "speak, my friend," said loyal heart. the hunter reflected for a moment, and then continued-- "life is rough in the desert for delicate natures: we men, accustomed to fatigue, and hardened to privations, not only support it without thinking of it, but even find delight in it." "that is true," loyal heart observed; "but the dangers that men such as we can bear, it would be unjust and cruel to inflict on a woman,--a maiden who has hardly emerged from childhood, and whose life has hitherto passed exempt from care, privations, or fatigue of any description." "yes," lanzi supported him. "that is the very point," tranquil continued; "though it will cost me a pang to part with her, carmela can no longer remain with us." "it would kill her," said loyal heart. "it would not take long, poor little darling," lanzi pouted. "yes: but to whom can i trust her now that the venta is destroyed?" "it is a difficult point," lanzi observed. "stay," said loyal heart, "are you not tigrero to the larch-tree hacienda?" "i am." "there you have it," the half-breed exclaimed. "that is a good idea. it would not have occurred to me." "what idea?" the canadian asked. "the master of the hacienda," loyal heart continued, "will not refuse to receive carmela in his house." the hunter shook his head in denial. "no, no," he said, "if i once asked the favour of him, i feel certain he would consent; but it cannot be." "why?" "because the owner of the larch-tree is not the man we need to protect a girl." "hum!" loyal heart said, "our situation is growing more complicated, for i know nobody else who would take charge of her." "nor i either, and that is what vexes me. listen!" loyal heart suddenly exclaimed, "i do not know. heaven pardon me, where my head was that i did not think of it at once. do not be alarmed: i know somebody." "speak, speak." "come," the half-breed said aside, "this loyal heart is really a capital fellow, for he is full of good ideas." "for reasons too long to tell you at this moment, but which i will confide to you some day," the young man continued, "i am not alone in the desert, for my mother and an old servant of my family live about three hundred miles from where we now are with a tribe of comanches, whose chief adopted me a few years back. my mother is kind, she loves me madly, and will be delighted to treat your charming child as a daughter. she will watch over her, and give her those maternal attentions which only a woman can offer, especially when that woman is really a mother, and constantly trembles for the safety of a son to whom she has sacrificed everything. every month, on the same day, i abandon the chase, mount my mustang, and, traversing the desert with the speed of an arrow, i go and see my mother, with whom i remain for some time among the tribe. this is about the period when i am wont to proceed to the village; so, will you let me guide you there? coming with me, the indians will receive you kindly, and my mother will thank you for confiding your daughter to her." "loyal heart," the canadian answered, with emotion, "your offer is that of an honest, upright man. i accept it as frankly as you make it; by the side of your mother my daughter will be happy, and she will have nothing to fear. thanks." "loyal heart," the half-breed said, eagerly, "i know not who gave you the name you bear; but, canarios, he was well acquainted with you, i declare." the two men smiled at lanzi's outbreak. "now, that is settled," he continued, "you want me no longer, i suppose? if so, good night; my eyelids prick as if they were full of thorns." he wrapped himself carefully in his zarapé, stretched himself on the ground, and a minute later was fast asleep. it is probable that the worthy man wished to make up for lost time, for he saw plainly that he had been of no use in the council. "when do we start?" the canadian asked. "the road is a long one," loyal heart answered. "we have more than three hundred miles to ride; carmela is exhausted by the fatigue she has endured for some time past, and perhaps we should do well to grant her a day or two of rest to regain the requisite strength to endure the new fatigues that await her during the long journey we are about to undertake." "yes, you are right; this journey, which would be as nothing to us, is enormous for a girl; let us remain here a couple of days--the camp is good, and the spot well selected. there is nothing to hurry us; it is better to act prudently, in order that we may not have at a later date to regret precipitation, which may prove fatal to her whom we desire so greatly to protect." "during the time we spend here our horses will regain their fire and vigour, and we can profit by the rest to get some provisions together." "well said, brother; that is settled; in two days we will set out, and i hope that heaven will be so merciful as to permit us to reach our journey's end safe and sound." "heaven will not turn against us, brother, you may be sure." "i am well aware of that," the canadian answered, with that simple faith which characterised him; "hence you see me quite happy. you cannot imagine how anxious i feel, and what an immense service you have just rendered me." "do not speak about that, for are we not sworn friends?" "no matter, i must thank you once more, my heart is so full that it must overflow; but now that we understand each other thoroughly, go and sleep, my friend; night is drawing on apace, and you must need rest." "on the contrary, you must lie down, my friend, for do you not remember i said i would keep watch?" "no, no." "but you must be tired to death, my friend." "i? nonsense; i have a body of iron and nerves of steel; weariness has no effect on me." "still, my friend, human strength, however great it may be, has its limits, beyond which it cannot go." "that is possible, my friend. i will not discuss that question with you, but merely limit myself to saying that joy has robbed me of sleep. i am as wide awake as an opossum, and in vain should i try to close my eyes. no, i require to reflect a little on all this, and i propose doing so, while you, who are naturally calmer, will sleep." "as you insist on it, i will give way." "very good; you are becoming reasonable," tranquil said, with a smile. "good night, brother." "good night!" loyal heart answered. the young man, in the face of the resolve so clearly made by the canadian, thought it useless longer to resist, the more so, as he was beginning to feel great inclination for sleep. he, therefore, lay down, and was soon sound asleep. tranquil had spoken the truth; he required to isolate himself for some hours, in order to go over the events which during the last few days had fallen upon him so unexpectedly, and broken up that placidity of life to which he had grown gently accustomed for some years past. the hours passed away one after the other, but the hunter, plunged in his reflections, felt no desire for sleep. the stars were beginning to go out, the horizon was crossed by pale bands, the breeze grew sharper and colder; all foreboded, in fact, the approach of dawn, when suddenly a slight noise, resembling that produced by the fracture of a withered branch, smote on the hunter's practised ear, and caused him to start. the canadian, without stirring, raised his head and listened, while softly placing his hand on the rifle that lay by his side. chapter vii. an old friend. tranquil was too old and too crafty a wood ranger to let himself be surprised. with his eyes obstinately fixed on the spot whence the sound that had aroused him came, he tried to pierce the darkness, and distinguish any movement in the chaparral which would permit him to form probable conjectures as to the visitors who were arriving. for a long period the noise he had heard was not repeated, and the desert had fallen back into silence. but the canadian did not deceive himself. up to all indian tricks, and knowing the unbounded patience of the redskins, he continued to keep on his guard; still, as he suspected that in the darkness searching glances were fixed on him and spying his slightest movements, tranquil yawned twice or thrice, as if overcome by sleep, drew back the hand he had laid on his rifle barrel, and pretending to be unable to resist sleep any longer, he let his head sink on his chest with a natural movement. nothing stirred. an hour elapsed ere the slightest rumour disturbed the silence of the forest. still, tranquil felt confident that he had not deceived himself. the sky grew gradually brighter, the last star had disappeared, the horizon was assuming those fiery red tints which immediately precede the appearance of the sun: the canadian, weary of this long watching, and not knowing to what he should attribute this inaction on the part of the redskins, resolved at last to obtain the solution of the enigma. he therefore started suddenly to his feet and took up his rifle. at the moment he prepared to go on the discovery, a noise of footsteps near him, mingled with the rustling of leaves, and the breaking of dry branches, smote his ear. "ah, ah!" the canadian muttered, "it seems they have made up their mind at last; let us see who these troublesome neighbours are." at the same instant, a clear feminine voice rose harmoniously and sonorously in the silence. tranquil stopped with a start of surprise. this voice was singing an indian melody, of which this was the first verse-- "i confide my heart to thee in the name of the omnipotent. i am unhappy, and no one takes pity on me; still god is great in my eyes." "oh!" the hunter muttered, with a nervous quivering, "i know that song, it is that of the betrothed of the snake-pawnees. how is it that these words strike my ear so far from their hunting grounds? can a detachment of pawnees be wandering in the neighbourhood? oh, no! that is impossible. i will see who this singer is who has awaked with the sun." without further hesitation, the hunter walked hurriedly toward the thicket, from the centre of which the melody had been audible. but at the moment he was about to enter it, the shrubs were quickly parted, and two redskins entered the clearing, to the amazement of the canadian. on coming within ten paces of the hunter the indians stopped, and stretched their arms out in front of them, with fingers parted in sign of peace; then, crossing their arms on their chest, they waited. at this manifestation of the peaceful sentiments of the newcomers, the canadian rested the butt of his rifle on the ground, and examined the indians with rapid glance. the first was a man of lofty stature, with intelligent features and open countenance; as far as it was possible to judge the age of an indian, this man seemed to have passed the middle stage of life. he was dressed in his full warpaint, and the condor plume, fastened above his right ear, indicated that he held the rank of a sachem in his tribe. the other redskin was not a man, but a woman, twenty years of age at the most; she was slim, active, and elegant, and her dress was decorated in accordance with the rules of indian coquetry: still, her worn features, on which only the fugitive traces of a prematurely vanished beauty were visible, shewed that, like all indian squaws, she had been pitilessly compelled to do all those rude household tasks, the whole weight of which the men lay on them, regarding it as beneath their dignity to interfere. at the sight of these two persons, the hunter involuntarily felt an emotion, for which he could not account; the more he regarded the warrior standing before him, the more he seemed to find again in this martial countenance the distant memory of the features of a man he had formerly known, though it was impossible for him to recall how or where this intimacy had existed; but overcoming his feelings, and comprehending that his lengthened silence must appear extraordinary to the persons who had been waiting so long for him to address to them the compliments of welcome, which indian etiquette demands, he at length decided on speaking. "the sachem can approach without fear and take his seat by the fire of a friend," he said. "the voice of the pale hunter rejoices the heart of the chief," the warrior answered; "his invitation pleases him; he will smoke the calumet of friendship with the pale hunter." the canadian bowed politely; the sachem gave his squaw a sign to follow him, and he crouched on his heels in front of the fire, where loyal heart and lanzi were still asleep. tranquil and the warrior then began smoking silently, while the young indian squaw was busily engaged with the household duties and preparing the morning meal. the two men allowed her to do so, not noticing apparently the trouble she took. there was a lengthened silence. the hunter was reflecting, while the indian was apparently completely absorbed by his pipe. at last he shook the ash out of the calumet, thrust the stem through his belt, and turned to his host-- "the walkon and the maukawis," he said, "always sing the same song; the man who has heard them during the moons of spring recognizes them in the moons of winter, it is not the same with man; he forgets quickly; his heart does not bound at the recollection of a friend; and if he meet him again after many moons, his eyes do not see him." "what does the chief mean?" the canadian asked, astonished at these words, which seemed to convey a reproach. "the wacondah is powerful," the indian continued; "it is he who dictates the words my breast breathes; the sturdy oak forgets that he has been a frail sapling." "explain yourself, chief," the hunter said, with great agitation; "the sound of your voice causes me singular emotion; your features are not unknown to me; speak, who are you?" "singing-bird," the indian said, addressing the young woman, "you are the _cihuatl_ of a sachem; ask the great pale hunter why he has forgotten his friend--the man who, in happier times, was his brother?" "i will obey," she answered, in a melodious voice; "but the chief is deceived; the great pale hunter has not forgotten the wah-rush-a-menec of the snake pawnees." "oh!" tranquil exclaimed, warmly, "are you really black-deer, my brother? my heart warned me secretly of your presence, and though your features had almost faded from my memory, i expected to find a friend again." "wah! is the paleface speaking the truth?" the chief said, with an emotion he could not quite conceal; "has he really retained the memory of his brother, black-deer?" "ah, chief," the hunter said, sadly; "to doubt any longer would be an insult to me; how could i suppose i should ever meet you here, at so considerable a distance from the wigwams of your nation?" "that is true?" the indian remarked, thoughtfully; "my brother will forgive me." "what!" tranquil exclaimed, "is that charming squaw i see there, the singing-bird, that frail child whom i so often tossed on my knee?" "singing-bird is the wife of a chief," the indian answered, flattered by the compliment; "at the next fall of the leaves forty-five moons will have passed since black-deer bought her of her father for two mustangs and a panther skin quiver." singing-bird smiled gracefully at the hunter, and went on with her duties. "will the chief permit me to ask him a question?" tranquil went on. "my brother can speak, the ears of a friend are open." "how did the sachem learn that he would find me here?" "black-deer was ignorant of it: he was not seeking the great pale hunter; the wacondah has permitted him to find a friend again, and he is grateful." tranquil looked at the warrior in surprise. he smiled. "black-deer has no secret from his brother," he said, softly; "the pale hunter will wait; soon he shall know all." "my brother is free to speak or be silent; i will wait." the conversation ceased here. the sachem had wrapped himself in his buffalo robe, and did not appear disposed, to give any further explanation at present. tranquil, restrained by the duties of hospitality, which in the desert prohibit any interrogation of a guest; imitated the chiefs reserve; but the silence had lasted but a few minutes, when the hunter felt a light hand laid on his shoulder, while a soft and affectionate voice murmured in his ear:--"good morning, father." and a kiss completed the silence. "good-morning, little one," the hunter replied, with a smile; "did you sleep well?" "splendidly, father." "and you have rested?" "i no longer feel fatigued." "good; that is how i like to see you, my darling girl." "father," the inquisitive maiden said, as she looked around, "have visitors arrived?" "as you see." "strangers?" "no, old friends, who, i hope, will soon be yours." "redskins?" she asked with an instinctive start of terror. "all of them are not wicked," he answered with a smile: "these are kind." then, turning to the indian woman, who had fixed her black velvet looking eyes on carmela with simple admiration, he called out, "singing-bird!" the squaw bounded up like a young antelope. "what does my father want?" she asked, bowing gently. "singing-bird," the hunter continued, "this girl is my daughter, carmela," and taking in his bony hand those of the two women, he clasped them together, adding with emotion, "love one another like sisters." "singing-bird will feel very happy to be loved by the white lily," the indian squaw replied; "for her heart has already flown towards me." carmela, charmed at the name which the squaw with her simple poesy had given her, bent down affectionately to her and kissed her forehead. "i love you already, sister," she said to her, and holding her by the hand, they went off together twittering like two nightingales. tranquil looked after them with a tender glance. black-deer had witnessed this little scene with that indian phlegm which nothing even disturbs: still, when he found himself alone with the hunter, he bent over to him, and said in a slightly shaking voice,-- "wah! my brother has not changed: the moons of winter have scattered snow over his scalp, but his heart has remained as good as when it was young." at this moment the sleeper awoke. "hilloh!" loyal heart said gaily, as he looked up at the sun, "i have had a long sleep." "to tell you the truth," lanzi observed, "i am not an early bird either: but nonsense! i will make up for it. the poor beasts of horses must be thirsty, so i will give them water." "very good!" said tranquil; "by the time you have done that, breakfast will be ready." lanzi rose, leaped on his horse, and seizing the lasso of the others, went off in the direction of the stream without asking questions relative to the strangers. on the prairie it is so: a priest is an envoy of god, whose presence must arouse no curiosity. in the meanwhile loyal heart had also risen: suddenly his glance fell on the indian chief, whose cold eye was fixed on him: the young man suddenly turned pale as a corpse, and hurriedly approached the chief. "my mother!" he exclaimed in a voice quivering with emotion, "my mother--" he could say no more. the pawnee bowed peacefully to him. "my brother's mother is still the cherished child of the wacondah," he answered in a gentle voice; "her heart only suffers from the absence of her son." "thanks, chief," the young man said with a sigh of relief; "forgive this start of terror which i could not overcome, but on perceiving you i feared lest some misfortune bad happened." "a son must love his mother: my brother's feeling is natural; it comes from the wacondah. when i left the village of flowers, the old greyhead, the companion of my brother's mother, wished to start with me." "poor ño eusabio," the young man muttered, "he is so devoted to us." "the sachems would not consent; greyhead is necessary to my brother's mother." "they were right, chief; i thank them for retaining him. have you followed my trail from the village?" "i did." "why did you not awake me on your arrival?" "loyal heart was asleep. black-deer did not wish to trouble his sleep: he waited." "good! my brother is a chief; he acted as he thought advisable." "black-deer is intrusted with a message from the sachems to loyal heart. he wishes to smoke the calumet in council with him." "are the reasons that have brought my brother here urgent?" "they are." "good! my brother can speak, i am listening." tranquil rose, and threw his rifle over his shoulder. "where is the hunter going?" the indian asked. "while you tell loyal heart the message i will take a stroll in the forest." "the white hunter will remain; the heart of black-deer has nothing hidden from him. the wisdom of my brother is great; he was brought up by the redskins; his place is marked out at the council fire." "but perhaps you have things to tell loyal heart which only concern yourselves." "i have nothing to say which my brother should not hear; my brother will disoblige me by withdrawing." "i will remain, then, chief, since such is the case." while saying these words, the hunter resumed his seat, and said: "speak, chief, i am listening." the methodical indian drew out his calumet, and, to display the importance of the commission with which he was entrusted, instead of filling it with ordinary tobacco, he placed in it _morhichee_, or sacred tobacco, which he produced from a little parchment bag he took from the pouch all indians wear when travelling, and which contains their medicine bag, and the few articles indispensable for a long journey. when the calumet was filled, he lit it from a coal he moved from the fire by the aid of a medicine rod, decorated with feathers and bills. these extraordinary preparations led the hunters to suppose that black-deer was really the bearer of important news, and they prepared to listen to him with all proper gravity. the sachem inhaled two or three whiffs of smoke, then passed the calumet to tranquil, who, after performing the same operation, handed it to loyal heart. the calumet went the round thus, until all the tobacco was consumed. during this ceremony, which is indispensable at every indian council, the three men remained silent. when the pipe was out, the chief emptied the ash into the fire, while muttering a few unintelligible words, which, however, were probably an invocation to the great spirit; he then thrust the pipe in his girdle, and after reflecting for some moments, rose and began speaking. "loyal heart," he said, "you left the village of flowers to follow the hunting path at daybreak of the third sun of the moon of the falling leaves; thirty suns have passed since that period, and we are hardly at the beginning of the moon of the passing game. well, during so short a period many things have occurred, which demand your immediate presence, in the tribe of which you are one of the adopted sons. the war hatchet, so deeply buried for ten moons between the prairie comanches and the buffalo apaches, has suddenly been dug up in full council, and the apaches are preparing to follow the war trail, under the orders of the wisest and most experienced chiefs of the nation. shall i tell you the new insults the apaches have dared to offer your comanche fathers? what good would it be? your heart is strong, you will obey the orders of your fathers, and fight for them." loyal heart bowed his head in assent. "no one doubted you," the chief continued; "still, for a war against the apaches, the sachems would not have claimed your help; the apaches are chattering old women, whom comanche children can drive off with their dog-whips; but the situation has all at once become complicated, and it is more your presence at the council of the nation than the aid of your arm, though you are a terrible warrior, which your fathers desire. the long knives of the east and the yoris have also dug up the hatchet, and both have offered to treat with the comanches. an alliance with the palefaces is not very agreeable to redskins; still, their anxiety is great, as they do not know which side to take, or which party to protect." black-deer was silent. "the situation is, indeed, grave," loyal heart answered; "it is even critical." "the chiefs, divided in opinion, and not knowing which is the better," black-deer continued, "sent me off in all haste to find my brother, whose wisdom they are aware of, and promise to follow his advice." "i am very young," loyal heart answered, "to venture to give my advice in such a matter, and settle so arduous a question. the comanche nation is the queen of the prairies; its chiefs are all experienced warriors; they will know better than i how to form a decision which will at once protect the interests and honour of the nation." "my brother is young, but wisdom speaks by his mouth. the wacondah breathes in his heart the words his lips utter; all the chiefs feel for him the respect he deserves." the young man shook his head, as if protesting against such a mark of deference. "since you insist," he said, "i will speak; but i will not give my opinion till i have heard that of this hunter, who is better acquainted with the desert than i am." "wah!" said black-deer, "the pale hunter is wise; his advice must be good; a chief is listening to him." thus compelled to explain his views, tranquil had involuntarily to take part in the discussion; but he did not feel at all inclined to take on himself the responsibility of the heavy burden which loyal heart tried to throw off his own shoulders. still, he was too thoroughly a man of the desert to refuse giving his opinion in council, especially upon so important a question. after reflecting for some moments, he therefore at length decided on speaking. "the comanches are the most terrible warriors of the prairie," he said, "no one must try to invade their hunting grounds; if they make war with the apaches, who are vagabond and cowardly thieves, they are in the right to do so; but for what good object would they interfere in the quarrels of the palefaces? whether yoris or long knives, the whites have ever been, at all times, and under all circumstances, the obstinate enemies of the redskins, killing them wherever they may find them, under the most futile pretexts, and for the most time simply because they are indians. when the coyotes are tearing each other asunder on the prairie, do the indians try to separate them? no. they say, let them fight it out--the more that fall, the fewer thieves and plunderers will there be in the desert. to the redskins the palefaces are coyotes thirsting for blood. the comanches should leave them to devour each other; whichever party triumph, those who have been killed will be so many enemies the fewer for the indians. this war between the palefaces has been going on for two years, implacably and obstinately. up to the present the comanches have remained neutral; why should they interfere now? however great the advantages offered them may be, they will not be equivalent to a neutrality, which will render them stronger and more dangerous in the sight of the whites. i have spoken." "yes," loyal heart said, "you have spoken well, tranquil. the opinion you have offered is the only one the comanches ought to follow, an interference on their part would be an act of deplorable folly, which the sachems would soon regret having committed." black-deer had carefully listened to the canadian's speech, and it appeared to have produced a certain impression on him; he listened in the same way to loyal heart, and when the latter had ceased speaking, the chief remained thoughtful for a while, and then replied-- "i am pleased with the words of my brothers, for they prove to me that i regarded the situation correctly. i gave the council of the chiefs the same advice my brothers just offered. my brothers have spoken like wise men, i thank them." "i am ready to support in council," loyal heart remarked, "the opinions the white hunter has offered, for they are the only ones which should prevail." "i think so too. loyal heart will accompany the chief to the callis of the nation?" "it is my intention to start on my return tomorrow; if my brother can wait till then, we will start together." "i will wait." "good; tomorrow at daybreak we will follow the return trail in company." the council was over, yet tranquil tried vainly to explain to himself how it was that black-deer, whom he had left among the snake pawnees, could now be an influential chief of the comanche nation; and the connection between loyal heart and the chief perplexed him not a bit less. all these ideas troubled the hunter's head, and he promised himself on the first opportunity to ask black-deer for the history of his life since their separation. as soon as lanzi returned with the horses, the hunters and carmela sat down to breakfast, waited on by singing-bird, who performed her duties with extreme grace. chapter viii. quoniam's return. the meal did not take long; each of the guests, busied with secret thoughts, ate quietly and silently. tranquil, though he did not dare ask any questions of black-deer or loyal heart, for all that, burned to learn by what concourse of extraordinary events these two men, who had started from diametrically opposite points, had eventually grown into such close intimacy. nor did he understand any better how a white man of a pure race, young, and who appeared to have received a certain education, had so completely given up relations with men of his ideas, to adopt, as loyal heart had done, the mode of life of the redskins, and become, as it were, a part of one of these nations. but the tiger killer was too well acquainted with prairie manners to try and lead the conversation to a topic which might perhaps have displeased his comrades, and which, at any rate, would have displayed a curiosity on his part unworthy of an old wood ranger; he therefore contented himself with cudgelling his brains to try and strike a spark which might guide him to the discovery of the truth, without permitting himself the slightest allusion to a subject which he longed to know all about. carmela felt a great friendship for singing-bird, and so soon as the meal was ended, led her off to the jacal, where both began chattering. in accordance with the arrangements the hunters had made, loyal heart and tranquil took their rifles, and entered the forest on opposite sides, to go in quest of game. black-deer and lanzi remained behind to protect the women in the slightly probable event of an attack. the two men, lying on the ground side by side, slept or smoked with that apathy and careless indolence peculiar to men who despise talking for the sake of talking, and thus expending energy which they may require at any moment. several hours passed away thus, nothing occurring to trouble the calmness and silence that reigned over the bivouac, except at intervals the joyous laughter of the two young women, which vibrated harmoniously on the ears of the hunters, and brought a slight smile to their lips. a little before sunset the hunters returned, almost simultaneously, bending beneath the weight of the game they had killed. loyal heart, moreover, had lassoed a horse, which he brought in for black-deer, who had not one. the sight of this animal caused the adventurers some alarm, and numerous conjectures. it was not at all wild; it had allowed loyal heart to approach it without difficulty, who made a prisoner of it almost without opposition. moreover, and this increased the restlessness of its new owners, it was completely equipped in the mexican fashion. tranquil concluded from this, after reflecting for a moment, that the freebooters had attacked the conducta de plata, and the animal, whose rider had probably been killed, had escaped during the action. but which side had gained the day, no one was able to conjecture. after a rather lengthy discussion, it was at last agreed that so soon as night had completely set in, black-deer should go reconnoitring, while those who remained in the camp redoubled their vigilance, through fear of a surprise, either from the border ruffians or the mexican soldiers; for although the adventurers were known to both parties, they justly feared the excesses to which they might give way in the intoxication of victory. this fear, correct perchance as far as the troops were concerned, was not at all so with the men commanded by the jaguar, and merely proved that the worst, and at the same time most erroneous opinion was entertained of them. the sun was just disappearing behind the dense mass of lofty mountains that marked the horizon, when the hurried paces of a horse were heard a short distance off. the hunters seized their weapons, and posted themselves behind the enormous boles of the sumach trees that surrounded them, in order to be ready for any event. at this moment the cry of the blue jay was repeated twice. "take your places again at the fire," tranquil said, "'tis a friend." in fact, a few moments later, the branches cracked, the shrubs were smartly thrust aside, and quoniam made his appearance. after nodding to the company, he dismounted, and sat down by the side of the panther-killer. "well, gossip," the latter asked him at once; "what news have you?" "plenty," he answered. "then, i suppose, you have been reconnoitring?" "i did not have the trouble to ask questions; i only required to listen in order to learn in an hour more news than i could have discovered in a year." "oh, oh," the canadian said, "eat something, compadre, and when your appetite is satisfied, you will tell us all you have learnt." "i wish for nothing better, especially as there are sundry matters it is as well for you to know." "eat then without further delay, that you may be able to talk to us all the sooner." the negro did not let the invitation be repeated, and began vigorously attacking the provisions which tranquil had put aside, and which loyal heart now spread on the ground. the hunters were eager to hear the news of which quoniam stated himself to be the bearer; after all they had been able to see during the past few days, they must possess considerable importance. still, however great their curiosity might be, they succeeded in hiding it, and patiently waited till the negro had finished his meal. the latter, who suspected what thoughts were crossing their minds, did not put their patience to a long trial; he ate with the proverbial rapidity of hunters, and had finished in a twinkling. "now i am quite at your service," he said, as he wiped his mouth on the skirt of his hunting shirt, "and ready to answer all your questions." "we have none to ask you," tranquil said; "we wish you, gossip, to give us a short narrative of all that has happened to you." "yes, i fancy that will be the best; in that way it will be clearer and more easy for you to show the conclusions you think the most suitable." "excellently reasoned, my friend; we are listening to you." "do you know why i left you?" quoniam began. "yes, i was told, and approved of it highly." "all the better, because i fancied for a moment that i did wrong in going without informing you, and i was on the point of returning." "you would have done wrong." "at present i am convinced of that, and congratulate myself on having pushed forward. it is not a long ride from here to the larch-tree hacienda in a straight line; my horse is good; i went straight ahead, and covered the distance in eight hours." "that was good riding." "was it not? but i was in a hurry to join you again, and most anxious not to lose any time on the road. when i reached the larch-tree, there was a great confusion at the hacienda. the peons and vaqueros collected in the patio were talking and shouting all together, while the capataz, the major-domo, and even the signor haciendero himself, pale and alarmed, were distributing arms, raising barricades before the gates, placing cannon on their carriages--in short, taking all the precautions of men who expect an attack at any moment. it was impossible for me to make myself heard at first, for everybody was speaking at once--women crying, children screaming, and men swearing. i might have fancied myself in a madhouse, so noisy and terrified did i find everybody; at length, however, by going from one to the other, questioning this man, and bullying that one, i learned the following, which enabled me to comprehend the general terror; the affair, i swear to you, was worth the trouble." "out with it, friend," loyal heart exclaimed, with ill-restrained impatience. quoniam had never during life raised any pretensions to be an orator. the worthy negro, who was naturally very modest, even experienced a certain difficulty in speaking at all. the hunter's unexpected interruption troubled him so that he stopped short, and was unable to find a single word. tranquil, who had so long known his comrade, hastily interposed. "let him tell his story in his own way," he said to loyal heart; "if not, it will be impossible for him to reach the end. quoniam has a way of telling things peculiar to himself; if interrupted, he loses the thread of his ideas, and then he grows confused." "that is true," said the negro; "i do not know whence it comes, but it is stronger than i: when i am stopped, it is all up with me, and i get in such a tangle that i cannot find my way out." "that arises from your modesty, my friend." "do you think so?" "i am sure of it, so do not alarm yourself any more, but go on in the full confidence that you will meet with no further interruption." "i am most ready to go on, but i have forgotten where i left off." "at the information you had succeeded in obtaining," tranquil said, giving loyal heart a look which the latter understood. "that is true: this, then, is what i learned:--the conducta de plata, escorted by captain melendez, was attacked by the border rifles, or the freebooters as they are now called, and after a desperate fight, all the mexicans were killed." "ah!" tranquil exclaimed, in stupor. "all," quoniam repeated; "not one escaped; it must have been a frightful butchery." "speak lower, my friend," the hunter remarked, as he looked in the direction of the jacal, "carmela might hear you." the negro gave a nod of assent. "but," he continued, in a lower key, "this victory was not very productive to the borderers, for the mexicans had been careful to hurl the gold they carried into a barranca, whence it was impossible to get it out." "well played, by heaven!" the canadian exclaimed; "the captain is a brave fellow." "was so, you mean," said quoniam. "that is true," the canadian remarked, sadly; "but go on, my friend." "this victory fired the mine; the whole of texas has risen; the towns and pueblos are in full revolt, and the mexicans are pursued like wild beasts." "is it so serious as that?" "much more than you suppose. the jaguar is at this moment at the head of a real army; he has hoisted the flag of texan independence, and sworn that he will not lay down arms till he has restored liberty to his country, and driven the last mexican beyond the frontier." there was a moment of stupor among his audience. "is that all?" tranquil at length asked. "not yet," quoniam made answer. "have you further bad news to tell us?" "you shall judge for yourself, my friend, when i have told you all i know." "speak, then, in heaven's name!" "this is the information i have picked up. considering that you would not be sorry to hear these important news as speedily as possible, i hastened to finish my business with the capataz. i had some difficulty in finding him, as he was so busy; so soon as i got hold of him, instead of giving me the money i asked him for, he answered me that i must be off at once, and tell you to come to the hacienda as soon as you could, for, under the circumstances, your presence there was indispensable." "hum!" said tranquil, without any further explanation of his thoughts. "seeing," quoniam went on, "that there was nothing more to expect of the capataz, i took leave of him and remounted my horse; but just as i was leaving, a great noise was heard outside, and everybody rushed to the gates, uttering shouts of joy. it seems that general don josé maria rubio, who commands the province, considers that the position of the hacienda is a very important point to defend." "of course," tranquil said; "the larch-tree commands the entrance of the valley, and as long as it remains in the power of the mexicans, insures the entry of their troops into the state." "that is it, though i do not remember the term they employed." "was it, strategetical position?" "the very thing." "yes, the hacienda, built at the period of the conquest, is a perfect fortress; its thick, battlemented walls, its situation on an elevation which cannot be commanded, and which on one side holds under its guns the mountain passes, and on the other the valley de los almendrales, render it a point of the utmost importance, which can only be carried by a regular seige." "that is what everybody said down there; it seems, too, that such is general rubio's opinion, for the cause of all the disturbance i heard was the arrival of a large body of troops commanded by a lieutenant colonel, who had orders to shut himself up in the hacienda, and defend it to the last extremity." "in that case war is declared?" "of course." "civil war," tranquil continued, mournfully, "that is to say, the most odious and horrible of all; a war in which fathers fight against sons, brothers against brothers, in which friend and foe speak the same tongue, issue from the same stem, have the same blood in their veins, and through that very reason are the more inveterate and rend each other with greater animosity and rage; civil war, the most horrible scourge that can crush a people! may god grant in his mercy that it be short; but, since divine patience is at length wearied, and the omnipotent has permitted this fratricidal struggle, let us hope that right and justice may remain victorious, and that the oppressors, who are the cause of all these misfortunes, may be for ever expelled from a territory which they have too long sullied by their unworthy and odious presence." "may god grant it!" his hearers replied, in a deep voice. "but how did you succeed in escaping from the hacienda after the arrival of the troops, quoniam?" tranquil continued. "i saw that, if i amused myself by admiring the uniform and fine appearance of the troops, when order was slightly restored, the gates would be closed, and my hopes of escaping foiled for a long time. without saying a word, i dismounted, and leading my horse by the bridle, glided through the mob so cleverly, that i at length found myself outside. i then leaped into the saddle, and pushed straight ahead. i was only just in time, i declare, for five minutes later all the gates were closed." "and then you came straight here?" quoniam smiled cunningly. "do you think so?" he said. "hang it! i suppose so, at least." "well, you are mistaken, gossip; i did not return straight here: and yet it was not my inclination that prevented it, i assure you." "what happened, then?" "you will see, for i have not finished yet." "go on, then; but be brief, if that is possible." "every man does what he can, and you have no right to ask more of him." "that is true, speak as you think proper." "never," the negro continued, "did i gallop in such good spirits; my horse stretched out, so that it was a pleasure to see; and it seemed as if the poor brute understood my impatience to get away from the hacienda, so fast did it race. this ride lasted thus, without interruption, for nearly five hours; at the end of that period i thought it advisable to grant my horse a few minutes' rest, that it might regain its breath, for animals are like men precisely--if you overwork them, they break down all at once; and that would have happened to me had i not been careful to stop in time. i therefore allowed my horse to rest for two hours; then, after rubbing it down, i started again, but had not yet reached the end of my adventures. i had scarce galloped an hour longer ere i fell into a large party of horsemen, armed to the teeth, who suddenly emerged from a ravine, and surrounded me ere i had even time enough to notice them. the meeting was anything but agreeable--the more so, as they did not appear at all well disposed toward me; and i do not exactly know how i should have got out of the hobble, had not one of the men thought proper to recognize me, though i do not remember ever to have met him before, and burst out, 'why, it is a friend; 'tis quoniam, tranquil's comrade!' i confess that this exclamation pleased me; a man may be brave, but there are circumstances in which he feels frightened, and this is what happened to me at that moment." the hunters smiled at the negro's simple frankness, but were careful not to interrupt him, as they felt instinctively that he had reached the most interesting point of his long and prolix narration. "at once," the latter continued, "the manner of these men changed entirely; they became most polite and attentive, in proportion as they had been, previously brutal. 'lead him to the commandant,' said one of them the others approved, and i gave in, because resistance would have been folly. i followed without any remark, the man who led me to their chief, though inwardly cursing the wasps' nest into which i had fallen. fortunately i had not far to go. can you guess, tranquil, who this chief was to whom i was led?" "the jaguar," the hunter answered. "what!" the negro exclaimed, in amazement, "have you guessed it? well! i swear to you that i did not suspect it in the least, and was greatly surprised at seeing him. but i must do him the justice of saying that he received me very well; he questioned me about a good many matters, which i answered as well as i could--where i came from, what was doing at the hacienda, where i was going, and so on. in short, he conversed with me for more than an hour; then, doubtless, satisfied with the information i had given him, he left me free to continue my journey, and began his own. it seems that he is going straight to the larch-tree hacienda." "does he intend to lay siege to it?" "that is his intention, i believe; but, although he is at the head of nearly twelve hundred determined bandits, i do not think his nails, and those of his comrades, will be hard enough to dig a hole in such stout walls." "that is in god's hands. have you finished your narrative?" "very soon." "go on, then." "before restoring me to liberty, the jaguar inquired after you and doña carmela with considerable interest. then he wrote a few words on a piece of paper, which he handed me, with a recommendation to be sure and give it you so soon as i rejoined you." "good heaven!" tranquil exclaimed, in agitation, "and you have delayed so long in executing your commission!" "was i not obliged to tell you first what had happened to me? but there is no time lost, for here is the paper." while saying this, quoniam drew a paper from his pocket, and offered it to tranquil, who almost tore it out of his hands. the negro, convinced that he had carried out his commission excellently, did not at all comprehend the hunter's impatience; he looked at him for a moment with an air of amazement, then shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly, filled his pipe, and began smoking, not troubling himself further about what was going on around him. the hunter quickly unfolded the paper; he turned it over and over in his hands with an air of embarrassment, taking a side glance every now and then at loyal heart, who had drawn a burning log from the fire, and now held it within reading distance, for night had completely set in. this went on for some minutes; at length, loyal heart, understanding the reason of the hunter's hesitation, resolved on speaking to him. "well," he said, with a smile, "what does your friend jaguar write?" "hum!" said the hunter. "perhaps," the other continued, "it is so badly written that you cannot make out his scrawl. if you permit me, i will try." the canadian looked at him. the young man's face was calm; nothing evidenced that he had a thought of making fun of the hunter. the latter shook his head several times, and then burst into a hearty laugh. "deuce take all false shame!" he said, as he gave him the letter. "why should i not confess that i cannot read? a man whose life has been spent in the desert ought not to fear confessing an ignorance which can have nothing dishonouring for him. read, read, my lad, and let us know what our doubtful friend wishes." and he took the log from the young man's hands. loyal heart took a rapid glance at the paper. "the letter is laconic," he said, "but explicit. listen: "'the jaguar has kept his word. of all the mexicans who accompanied the conducta, only one is alive free and unwounded--captain don juan melendez de gongora. will the friends of the jaguar have a better opinion of him?'" "is that all?" tranquil asked. "yes." "well," the hunter exclaimed, "people may say as they please, but, by heavens! the jaguar is a fine fellow." "is he not, father?" a gentle voice murmured in his ear. tranquil started at this remark, and turned sharply round. carmela was by his side, calm and smiling. chapter ix. hospitality. we have said that night had fallen for some time past, and it was quite dark under covert. in the black sky a chaos of clouds, laden with the electric fluid, rolled heavily along. not a star glistened in the vault of heaven; an autumnal breeze whistled gustily through the trees, and at each blast covered the ground with a shower of dead leaves. in the distance could be heard the dull and mournful appeals of the wild beasts proceeding to the drinking place, and the snapping bark of the coyotes, whose ardent eyes at intervals gleamed like incandescent coals amid the shrubs. at times lights flashed in the forest and ran along the fine marsh grass like will-o'-the-wisps. large dried up sumach trees stood at the corners of the clearing, in which the bivouac was established, and in the fantastic gleams of the fire waved like phantoms their winding sheets of moss and lianas. a thousand sounds passed through the air; nameless cries escaped from invisible lairs, hollowed beneath the roots of the aged trees; stifled cries descended from the crests of the quebradas, and our adventurers felt an unknown world living around them, whose proximity froze the soul with a secret terror. nature was sad and melancholy, as when she is in travail with one of those terrible overthrows so frequent in these regions. in spite of themselves, the hunters underwent the influence of this discomfort of the desert. there are black hours in life, in which, either through the action of external objects, or the common and mysterious disposition of the inner being, that _me_ which cannot be defined, the strongest men feel unconsciously mastered by a strange contagion of sadness which they seem to breathe in the air, and which overpowers them without power of defence. the news brought by quoniam had further augmented this tendency of the hunters to melancholy; hence the conversation round the fire, ordinarily gay and careless, was sad and short. everyone yielded to the flood of gloomy thoughts that contracted his heart, and the few words exchanged at lengthened intervals between the hunters generally remained unanswered. carmela alone, lively as a nightingale, continued in a low voice her conversation with singing-bird, while warming herself, for the night was cold, and not noticing the anxious sideglances which the canadian at times gave her. at the moment when lanzi and quoniam were preparing to go to sleep, a slight crackling was heard in the shrubs. the hunters, suddenly torn from their secret thoughts, raised their heads quickly. the horses had stopped eating, and with their heads turned to the thicket, and ears laid back, appeared to be listening. in the desert, everything has a reason; the wood rangers, accustomed to analyse all the rumours of the prairie, know and explain them without ever making a mistake; the rustling of the branch on which the hand rests, the noise of the leaf falling on the ground, the murmur of the water over the pebbles--nothing escapes the marvellous sagacity of these men, whose senses have acquired an extraordinary delicacy. "someone is prowling round us," loyal heart muttered in a voice not above a breath. "a spy, of course," said lanzi. "spy or no, the man who is approaching is certainly a white," said tranquil, as he stretched out his arm to clutch the rifle lying by his side. "stay, father," carmela said eagerly, as she seized his arm; "perhaps it is a poor wretch lost in the desert, who needs help." "it may be so," tranquil replied after a moment's reflection; "at any rate, we shall soon know." "what do you intend doing?" the girl exclaimed, terrified at seeing him rise. "go and meet the man, and ask him what he wants, that is all." "take care, father." "of what, my child?" "suppose this man were one of the bandits who traverse the desert?" "well, what then?" "and he were to kill you?" the canadian shrugged his shoulders. "kill me, girl, nonsense! reassure yourself, my child, whoever the man may be, he will not see me unless i deem it necessary. so let me alone." the maiden tried once more to prevent his departure, but the canadian would listen to nothing. freeing himself gently from carmela's affectionate clutch, he picked up his rifle and disappeared in the chaparral with so light and well-measured a step, that he seemed rather to be gliding on a cloud, than walking on the grass of the clearing. so soon as he reached the centre of the thicket, from which the ill-omened sound he had heard came, the hunter, ignorant as he was as to how many enemies he had to deal with, redoubled his prudence and precautions: after a hesitation which lasted only a few seconds, he lay down on the ground, and began gently crawling through the grass, without producing the slightest rustling sound. we will now return to the monk, whom we left proceeding toward the hunters' bivouac, accompanied by blue-fox. the apache chief, after giving him the instructions he thought best adapted to inspire him with a wholesome terror, and compel him to serve his plans, left him alone, and disappeared so suddenly, that the monk could not guess in what direction he had gone. when he was alone, fray antonio took a timid glance around him; his mind was perplexed, for he could not conceal from himself how delicate and difficult of accomplishment was the mission with which the chief had entrusted him, especially when dealing with a man so clever and well versed in indian tricks as the tiger killer. more than once the monk cursed the malignity of his planet which led him into such traps, and seemed to take a delight in accumulating on his head all the annoyances and tribulations possible. for a moment, he thought of flight, but he reflected that he was doubtless carefully watched, and that at the slightest suspicious movement he attempted, the invisible guardians who were watching him would suddenly appear before him, and compel him to carry out the adventure to the end. fortunately for himself, the monk belonged to that privileged class of men whom even the greatest annoyances but slightly affect, and who, after feeling wretched for a few moments, frankly make up their minds, saying to themselves that when the moment arrives in which they run a risk, an accident will perhaps draw them from their trouble, and turn matters to their advantage, in lieu of crushing them. this reasoning, false though it be, is employed more frequently than may be supposed by a number of people, who, after saying to themselves "when it comes, we shall see," push boldly onwards, and, extraordinary to say, generally succeed in getting out of the hobble, without the loss of too many feathers, and without themselves knowing what they did to have so lucky an escape. the monk, therefore, resolutely entered the covert, guiding himself by the light of the fire as a beacon. for some minutes he went on at a tolerable pace, but gradually as he approached, his alarm returned; he remembered the rough correction captain melendez had administered to him, and this time he feared even worse. still, he was now so near the bivouac that any backsliding would be useless. for the purpose of granting himself a few minutes' further respite, he dismounted, and fastened his horse to a tree with extreme slowness: then, having no further plausible pretext to offer himself for delaying his arrival among the hunters, he decided on starting again, employing the most minute precautions not to be perceived too soon, through fear of receiving a bullet in his chest, before he had time to have an explanation with the persons he visited at so awkward an hour. but fray antonio, unluckily for himself, was extremely obese; he walked heavily, and like a man accustomed to tread the pavement of a town; moreover, the night was extremely dark, which prevented him seeing two yards ahead, and he could only progress with outstretched hands, tottering at each step, and running against every obstacle that came across his path. hence he did not go far, ere he aroused the persons he desired so much to surprise, and whose practised ear, constantly on the watch, had at once noticed the unusual sound which he had himself not noticed. fray antonio, extremely satisfied with his manner of progression, and congratulating himself in his heart at having succeeded so well in concealing himself, grew bolder and bolder, and began to feel almost entirely reassured, when suddenly he uttered a slight cry of terror, and stopped as if his feet had been rooted in the ground. he had felt a heavy hand laid on his shoulder. the monk began trembling all over, though not daring to turn his head to the right or left, for he was persuaded in his heart that his last hour had arrived. "hilloh, señor padre, what are you doing in the forest at such an hour?" a hoarse voice then said to him. but fray antonio was unable to answer; terror had rendered him deaf and blind. "are you dumb?" the voice went on a minute after in a friendly voice. "come, come, it is not wise to traverse the desert at so late an hour." the monk did not reply. "deuce take me," the other exclaimed, "if terror has not rendered him idiotic. come, bestir yourself, canarios." and he began shaking him vigorously. "eh, what?" the monk said, in whom a species of reaction was beginning to take place. "come, there is some progress, you speak, hence you are not dead," tranquil went on joyously, for it was he who had so cruelly frightened the monk; "follow me, you must be frozen, don't let us remain here." and passing his arm through the monk's, he led him away; the latter followed him passively and mechanically, not able yet to understand what was happening to him, but still beginning to regain a small amount of courage. in a few minutes, they reached the clearing. "ah!" carmela exclaimed in surprise; "fray antonio! by what accident is he here, when he started with the conducta de plata?" this remark made the hunter prick his ears; he examined the monk attentively, and then compelled him to sit down by the fire. "i trust that the good father will explain to us what has happened to him," he muttered. everything, however, has an end in this world; and the monk for some time past had seemed destined to pass, with the greatest rapidity and almost without transition, from the extremest terror to the most complete security. when he was a little warmed, the confusion produced in his ideas by the sudden meeting with the hunter gradually yielded to the cordial reception given him; and carmela's gentle voice breaking pleasantly on his ear, completely re-established the balance of his mind, and dismissed the mournful apprehensions that tormented him. "do you feel better, holy father?" carmela asked him, with much sympathy. "yes," he said, "i thank you, i am now quite comfortable." "all the better. will you eat? would you like to take any refreshment?" "nothing at all, i thank you, for i have not the least appetite." "perhaps you are thirsty, fray antonio; if so, here is a bota of refino," said lanzi, as he offered him a skin more than half full of the comforting liquid. the monk permitted himself to be persuaded sufficiently to prove that he was no lover of ardent spirits; then he allowed himself to be convinced, and seizing the bota, drank a hearty draught of the generous fluid. this libation restored him all his coolness and presence of mind. "then," he said, as he turned the bota to the half-breed, and gave vent to a sigh of relief, "heaven preserve me; were the evil one to come now in person, i feel capable of holding my own against him." "ah, ah!" said tranquil, "it seems, my good father, as if you were now completely restored to the possession of your intellectual faculties." "yes, and i will give you the proof whenever you like." "hang it! you challenge me. i did not dare cross-question you before; but, as it is so, i will no longer hesitate." "what do you wish to know?" "a very simple matter: how it is that a monk finds himself at such an hour alone in the heart of the desert?" "nonsense," fray antonio said, gaily. "who told you that i was alone?" "nobody; but i suppose so." "do not make any suppositions, brother, for you would be mistaken." "indeed!" "yes, as i have the honour of telling you." "still, when i met you, you were alone." "granted." "well?" "the others were further off, that's all." "what others?" "the persons who accompanied me." "ah! and who are they?" "that is the question----nonsense," he said, a minute after, as if holding a conversation with himself, "the most disadvantageous reports are current about me. i am accused of a number of bad actions; suppose i were to try and do a good one, that might change my luck. who knows whether i may not be rewarded at a later date? at any rate, here goes." tranquil and his comrades listened in extreme surprise to the monologue of the monk, not knowing exactly what to think of this man, and half inclined to deem him mad. the latter perceived the impression he produced on his hearers. "listen," he said, in a stern voice, and with a slight frown, "form what opinion of me you like, that is a matter of indifference to me; still i do not wish it to be said, that i requited your cordial hospitality by odious treachery." "what do you mean?" tranquil exclaimed. "listen to me. i uttered the word treachery, and perhaps i was wrong, for nothing proves to me that it is so; still, all sorts of reasons lead me to suppose that it is nothing else persons tried to force me into committing for your injury." "explain yourself, in heaven's name; you speak in enigmas, and it is impossible to understand you." "you are right, so i will be clear: which of you gentlemen bears the name of tranquil?" "it is i." "very good. owing to certain circumstances, the recital of which would not at all interest you, i unluckily fell into the hands of the apaches." "apaches!" tranquil exclaimed, in surprise. "good lord, yes," the monk continued; "and i assure you that when i found myself in their power, i did not feel at all comfortable. still, i was wrong to be alarmed; far from inventing for me one of those atrocious tortures which they mercilessly inflict on the whites who are so unhappy as to become their prisoners, they treated me, on the contrary, with extreme gentleness." tranquil fixed a scrutinising glance on the monk's placid face. "for what purpose did they that?" he asked, with a suspicious accent. "ah," fray antonio went on, "that i could not comprehend, though i am perhaps beginning to suspect it." the hearers bent toward the speaker with an expression of impatient curiosity. "this evening," the monk went on, "the chief of the redskins himself accompanied me to within a short distance of your bivouac; on coming in sight of your fire he pointed it out to me, saying, 'go and sit down at that brasero. you will tell the great pale hunter that one of his oldest and dearest friends desires to see him.' then he left me, after making the most horrible threats if i did not obey him at once. you know the rest." tranquil and his comrades regarded each other in amazement, but without exchanging a word. there was a rather long silence; but tranquil at length took on himself to express aloud the thought each had in his heart. "'tis a trap," he said. "yes," loyal heart remarked; "but for what purpose?" "how do i know?" the canadian muttered. "you said, fray antonio," the young man continued, addressing the monk, "that you suspected the motives of the apaches' extraordinary treatment of you?" "i did say so," he replied. "let us know that suspicion." "it was suggested to me by the conduct of the pagans, and by the clumsy snare they laid for you; it is evident to me that the apache chief hopes, if you consent to grant the interview he asks, to profit by your absence to carry off doña carmela." "carry me off!" the maiden exclaimed, with a start of horror, surprised and alarmed at once by this conclusion, which she was far from anticipating. "the redskins are very fond of white women," the monk continued, coolly; "most of the incursions they make into our territory are undertaken for the purpose of carrying off captives of that colour." "oh!" carmela exclaimed, with an accent of indomitable resolution, "i would sooner die than become the slave of one of those ferocious demons." tranquil shook his head sadly. "the monk's supposition appears to me correct," he said. "the more so," fray antonio confirmed him, "because the apaches who made me prisoner are the same that attacked the venta del potrero." "oh, oh," said lanzi, "in that case i know their chief, and his name; he is one of the most implacable enemies of the white men. it is very unlucky that i did not succeed in burying him under the ruins of the venta, for heaven is my witness that such was my intention." "what is the fellow's name?" the hunter asked, sharply, evidently annoyed at his verbiage. "blue-fox!" said lanzi. "ah," tranquil said, ironically and with a dark frown, "i have known blue-fox for many years, and you, chief?" he added, turning to black-deer. the name of the apache sachem had produced such an impression on the pawnee, that the hunter was startled by it. the indians retain under all circumstances an apathetic mask, which they consider it an honour not to remove, whatever may happen; but the mere name of blue-fox, pronounced as if by accident, was sufficient to melt that indifference, and cause black-deer to forget indian etiquette. "blue-fox is a dog, the son of a coyote," he said, as he spat on the ground disdainfully; "the gypaètes would refuse to devour his unclean carcase." "these two men must have a mortal hatred for each other," the canadian muttered, as he took a sideglance at the inflamed features and sparkling eyes of the indian chief. "will my brother kill blue-fox?" the pawnee asked. "it is probable," tranquil answered; "but in the first place, let us try to play this master rogue a trick, who fancies us stupid enough to be caught in the clumsy snares he lays in our path. be frank, monk, have you told us the truth?" "on my honour." "i should prefer any other oath," the canadian said ironically, in a low voice. "can you be trusted?" "yes." "is what you said to us about your return to honest courses sincere?" "put me on my trial." "that is what i intend to do; but reflect ere answering. do you really intend to be of service to us?" "i do." "whatever may happen?" "whatever may happen, and whatever the consequence may be of what you ask of me." "that will do. i warn you that, in all probability, you will be exposed to serious perils." "i have told you that my resolution is formed; speak, therefore, without further hesitation." "listen to me, then." "i am doing so. have no fear of finding me recoil, so cut it short." "i will try to do so." chapter x. the larch-tree hacienda. though the report made by quoniam was in every respect true, the negro was ignorant of certain details of which we will now inform the reader, because these events are closely connected with our story, and clearness renders it indispensable that they should be made known. we will, therefore, return to the larch-tree hacienda. but, in the first place, let us explain the meaning of this word "hacienda," which we have employed several times in the course of this narrative, and which several authors have employed before us, without understanding its significance. in sonora, texas, and all the old spanish colonies generally, where the land is, as it were, left to anyone who likes to take possession of it and cultivate it, there may be found at immense distances, and broadcast like almost imperceptible dots over the waste lands, vast agricultural establishments, each as large as one of our counties. these establishments are called haciendas, a word we improperly translate by farm, which has not at all the same meaning. immediately after the conquest, the cortez, pizarros, almagros, and other leaders of adventurers hastened to repay their comrades by dividing among them the lands of the conquered, following, perhaps without suspecting it, the example which had been given them a few centuries previously by the leaders of the barbarians, after the break-up and dismemberment of the roman empire. the conquerors were few in number, the shares were large; and the majority of these ragged conquerors, who in their own country had not even a roof to shelter their heads, found themselves all at once masters of immense domains, which they immediately set to work turning to account, laying down the sword without regret to take the pick, that is to say, compelling the indians who had become their slaves to clear for them the land they had stolen. the first care of the new possessors of the soil was to erect, in positions easy to defend, houses, whose lofty, thick, and embattled walls rendered them thorough fortresses, behind which they could easily defy any attempted revolt on the part of their slaves. the inhabitants had been allotted like the ground; each spanish soldier received a considerable number as his share; arms cost nothing. there was no lack of stone, and hence the buildings were constructed of vast proportions, and of such extreme strength, that even at the present day, after the lapse of several centuries, these haciendas are an object of admiration to the traveller. slaves alone, for whom the measure of time no longer exists, and whose only hope is death, can undertake and complete these cyclopean buildings, of which we, men of another age, cannot understand the existence on the globe, where they stand at various spots, like dumb and touching protests. at the haciendas, in addition to agriculture, which, especially at the present day, has greatly fallen off, owing to the incessant invasions of the indian bravos, the breeding of cattle and horses is carried on to a considerable extent. hence, each of these farms contains an infinity of servants of all descriptions, peons, vaqueros, etc., and resembles a small town. the owners of these establishments are consequently men belonging to the highest society, and the richest and most intelligent class in the country. the majority prefer residing in the cities, and visit only at long intervals their haciendas, the management of which they entrust to the major-domo and capataz, who are themselves semi-savages, whose life is spent in riding constantly from one end to the other of the hacienda. the larch-tree hacienda, but a short distance from the mountains whose passes it commanded, was therefore of great strategetical value to both the parties now disputing the possession of texas. the insurgent chiefs understood this as well as the mexican generals did. after the total destruction of the detachment commanded by captain melendez, general rubio hastened to throw a powerful garrison into the larch-tree. as an old soldier of the independence, accustomed to the incessant struggles of a people that desires to be free, he had divined the revolution behind the insurrection, on seeing that for ten years past these insurgents, though incessantly conquered, seemed to grow from their ashes again to return more obstinate and powerful than before, and expose their chests to the pitiless bullets of their oppressors. he was aware that the inhabitants only awaited the announcement of a success, even though problematical, to rise to a man, and make common cause with the daring partisans, branded by their enemies with the name of border ruffians, but who in reality were only the forlorn hope of a revolution, and apostles acting under a holy and noble idea. far from offering captain melendez reproaches, which he knew that the latter did not deserve, the general pitied and consoled him. "you have your revenge to take, colonel," he said to him, for this grade, long deserved by the young officer, had just been given him by the president of the republic; "your new epaulettes have not yet smelt powder. i propose giving you a splendid opportunity for christening them." "you will fulfil my wishes, general," the young officer replied, "by entrusting me with a perilous enterprise, my success in which will serve to wipe out the shame of my defeat." "there is no shame, colonel," the general replied, kindly, "in being conquered as you were. war is only a game like any other, in which chance often declares for the weaker side; let us not despond at an insignificant check, but try, on the contrary, to cut the comb of these cocks who, pluming themselves on their ephemeral triumph, doubtless imagine that we are terrified and demoralised by their victory." "be assured, general, that i will help you to the best of my ability. whatever be the post you confide to me, i will die at it before surrendering." "an officer, my friend, must put off that impetuosity which so well becomes the soldier, but it is a grave fault in a chief trusted with the lives of his fellow men. do not forget that you are a head, and not an arm." "i will be prudent, general, as far as the care for my honour will permit me." "that will do, colonel--i ask no more." don juan merely bowed in response. "by-the-bye," said the general, presently, "have these partisans any capable men at their head?" "very capable, general; thoroughly acquainted with guerilla fighting, and possessing a bravery and coolness beyond all praise." "all the better, for in that case we shall reap more glory in conquering them. unfortunately, they are said to wage war like perfect savages, pitilessly massacring the soldiers that fall into their hands; indeed, what has happened to you is a proof of it." "you are mistaken, general. whatever these men may be, and the cause for which they fight, it is my duty to enlighten and disabuse you, for they have been strangely calumniated; it was only after my repeated refusals to surrender that the action began. their chief even offered me my life at the moment when i hurled myself with him into the yawning abyss at our feet. when i became their prisoner they restored me my sword, gave me a horse and a guide, who brought me within musket shot of your outposts: is that the conduct of cruel men?" "certainly not, and i am pleased to see you thus do justice to your enemies." "i merely declare a fact." "yes, and an unlucky one for us; these men must consider themselves very strong to act thus. this clemency of theirs will attract a great number of partisans to their ranks." "i fear it." "and i too. no matter, the moment has arrived to act with vigour; for, if we do not take care, within a week the very stones of this country, of which we are still the masters, will rise to expel us, and the ground will grow so hot under our feet, that we shall be compelled to fly before these undisciplined masses of badly armed _guasos_, who harass us like swarms of mosquitoes." "i await your orders, general." "do you feel strong enough to mount again?" "perfectly." "very good, then. i have prepared three hundred men, cavalry and infantry; the latter will mount behind the horsemen, in order not to delay the march, which must be rapid, for my object is that you should reach the hacienda before the insurgents; and fortify yourself there." "i will reach it." "i count on you. two mountain guns will follow your detachment, and will prove sufficient; for, if i am rightly informed, the hacienda has six in good condition. still, as ammunition may run short, you will take sufficient with you to last for a fortnight. at all risks, the hacienda must hold out for that period against all the attacks the insurgents may make." "it shall hold out, i swear it to you, general." "i trust entirely to you." the general walked to the entrance of the tent and raised the curtain. "summon the officers told off for the expedition," he said. five minutes later the officers appeared; nine in number--two captains of cavalry, two of infantry, two lieutenants, and two alferez or second lieutenants, and a captain, lieutenant, and alferez of artillery. the general looked for a moment searchingly at these men, who stood serious and motionless before him. "caballeros," he at length said, "i have carefully chosen you from the officers of my army, because i know that you are brave and experienced; you are about to carry out, under colonel don juan melendez de gongora, a confidential mission, which i would not have given to others whose devotion to their country was less known to me. this mission is most perilous. i hope that you will accomplish it like brave men, and return here with glory." the officers bowed their thanks. "do not forget," the general continued, "that you owe your soldiers an example of subordination and discipline; obey the colonel as myself in all he may order for the good of the service and the success of your enterprise." "we cannot desire a better chief than the one your excellency has selected to lead us," one of the captains answered; "under his orders we are certain of performing prodigies." the general smiled graciously. "i count on your zeal and bravery. now, to horse without further delay, for you must have left the camp within ten minutes." the officers bowed and retired. don juan prepared to follow them. "stay," the general said to him; "i have one final recommendation to give you." the young man walked up to him. "shut yourself up carefully in the place," the general went on. "if you are invested, do not attempt any of those sallies, which often compromise the fate of a garrison, without positive advantage. content yourself with vigorously repulsing attacks, sparing the blood of your soldiers, and not expending your ammunition needlessly. so soon as my final arrangements are made, i will march in person to your help; but you _must_ resist till then, at any cost." "i have already told you i will do so, general." "i know that you will. now, my friend, to horse, and may you be fortunate." "thanks, general." the colonel bowed, and immediately withdrew to place himself at the head of the small band, which, collected a short distance off, only awaited his arrival to start. the general was standing in the doorway of his tent to witness their departure. don juan mounted, drew his sabre, and turned toward the motionless detachment. "forward!" he commanded. the squadrons at once started, and began drawing out in the darkness like the black folds of an ill-omened serpent. the general remained in the doorway of his tent for some time, and when the last sound had died away in the night, he pensively re-entered the tent, and let the curtain fall behind him, muttering in a low and sad voice-- "i have sent them to death, for heaven fights on the side of our adversaries." and, after shaking his head several times with an air of discouragement, the old soldier of the war of independence fell into an equipal, hid his face in his hands, and plunged into serious reflections. in the meanwhile, the detachment rapidly continued its march. thanks to the mexican fashion of mounting infantry _en croupe_, the troops carried out their movements with a rapidity that seemed almost prodigious, the more so as american horses go very quickly, and endure great fatigue without injury. the americans of the south are generally very harsh to their horses, to which they pay no attention. never in the interior does a horse pass the night, whatever the weather may be, otherwise than in the open air. every morning it receives its ration for the whole day, marching frequently fourteen, or even sixteen hours, without stopping or drinking; when evening arrives, the harness is removed, and it is left to find its food where it can. on the indian border, where there is much to fear from the redskins, who are great admirers of horses, and display admirable skill in stealing them, certain precautions are used at night; the horses are picquetted in the interior of the bivouac, and feed on the pea vines, the young tree shoots, and a few measures of maize or other corn, which is given with extreme parsimony. still, in spite of the careless way in which they are treated, we repeat that these horses are very handsome, vigorous, remarkably docile, and of great speed. colonel melendez arrived at an early hour in sight of the hacienda, for his troops had made a forced march through the night. with a rapid glance the experienced chief of the mexicans examined the neighbourhood, but the plain was deserted. the larch-tree hacienda stood like an eagle's nest on the top of a hillock, whose abrupt sides had never been smoothed, as the steepness of their ascent was regarded as a means of defence in the event of an attack. thick walls turned yellow by time, at each angle of which could be seen the threatening muzzles of two guns peering out, gave this strongly-built house the appearance of a real fortress. the mexicans increased their already rapid pace, in order to reach the hacienda before the gates were opened, and the ganado let out. the scene presented by this magnificent plain at sunrise, had something imposing about it. the hacienda, whose roof was still veiled in mist; the gloomy forests in the distance, which ran with almost imperceptible undulations along the spurs of the sierra; the silvery thread of a small stream, which wound with capricious meanderings through the plain, and whose waters sparkled in the hot sunbeams; the dumps of larches, sumachs, and peru trees, which rose here and there from amid the tall grass, and agreeably broke the monotony of the plain, while from the thickets rose the joyous song of the birds saluting the return of day--in a word, all seemed to breathe repose and happiness in this abode momentarily so tranquil. the mexicans reached the hacienda, whose gates were not opened till the inhabitants were well assured that the newcomers were really friends. they had already heard of the general insurrection occasioned by the surprise of the conducta de plata, and hence the major-domo, who commanded in the absence of don felipe de valreal, proprietor of the hacienda, kept on his guard. this major-domo, whose name was don felix paz, was a man of about five-and-forty at the most, tall, well-built, and powerful; he had, in truth, the appearance of a perfect _hombre de a caballo_, an essential condition for fulfilling his onerous duties. this major-domo came in person to receive the mexican detachment at the gate of the hacienda. after congratulating the colonel, he informed him that so soon as he received the news of the general revolt of the province, he had brought all his cattle in, armed the servants, and rendered the guns on the platform serviceable. the colonel complimented him on his diligence, established his troops in the outhouses destined for the peons and vaqueros, took military possession of all the posts, and, accompanied by the major-domo, made a strict inspection of the interior of the fortress. don juan melendez, being well acquainted with the carelessness and sloth of his fellow countrymen, expected to find the hacienda in a wretched state, but was agreeably deceived. this large estate, situated on the limits of the desert, as it were between civilisation and barbarism, was too exposed to the unforeseen attacks of redskins and bandits of every description who congregate on the border, for its owner not to watch with the utmost care over its defence. this wise foresight was at this moment of a great utility for the siege which, in all probability, they would have to withstand ere long. the colonel found but very little to alter in the arrangements made by the major-domo; he contented himself with cutting down several clumps of trees which, being situated too near the hacienda, might shelter sharpshooters, who could annoy their artillery men. at each entrance of the hacienda barricades were erected by his orders, composed of branches interlaced, and outside the walls the arms of all the healthy men were called into requisition, to dig a deep and wide trench, the earth from which, thrown up on the side of the hacienda, formed a breast-work, behind which the best shots in the garrison were placed. the two mountain guns brought by the colonel remained horsed, so that they might be transported to the point of danger. finally, the mexican flag was haughtily hoisted on the top of the hacienda. counting the servants, to whom don felix had distributed arms, the garrison amounted to nearly four hundred men, a sufficient force to resist a coup de main, especially in so good a position as this; there was plenty of ammunition and food; the mexicans were animated by the best spirit, and the colonel, therefore, felt certain of being able to hold out for a fortnight against troops more numerous and experienced than those the insurgents had at their disposal. the works of fortification were carried on with such great activity, that they were completed within twenty-four hours of the colonel's arrival at the hacienda. the scouts, sent out in all directions, came back without any fresh news of the insurgents, whose movements were so cleverly veiled, that, since the affair of the conducta, they seemed to have disappeared without leaving a trace, and buried themselves in the bowels of the earth. this complete want of news, far from reassuring the colonel, on the contrary, augmented his anxiety. this factitious tranquillity, this gloomy silence of the landscape, seemed to him more menacing than if he had heard of the approach of the enemy, whose masses, however, he felt, by a species of secret intuition, were gradually drawing in round the post he had been selected to defend. it was the second day after the arrival of the mexicans at the larch-tree; the sun was disappearing behind the mountains in masses of gold; night would soon set in. colonel melendez and the major-domo, leaning on one of the battlements of the platform, were absently gazing out on the immense landscape unrolled at their feet, while conversing together. don juan had in a few minutes appreciated the loyalty and intelligence of the major-domo; hence these two men, who thoroughly understood each other, had become friends. "another day past," said the colonel, "and it has been impossible for us yet to learn the movements of the insurgents. does not that appear extraordinary to you, don felix?" the major-domo sent forth a cloud of smoke from his mouth and nostril, took his husk cigarette from his mouth, and quietly flipped away the ash. "very extraordinary," he said, without turning his head, and continuing to look fixedly at the sky. "what a singular man you are! nothing disturbs you," don juan went on half angrily, "have all our scouts returned?" "all." "and still brought no news?" "none." "by heaven! your coolness would make a saint swear! what are you looking at so fixedly in the sky? do you fancy you can find the information we require there?" "perhaps so," the major-domo replied seriously. then extending his hand in a north-east direction, he said-- "look there." "well?" the colonel said looking in the direction indicated. "do you see nothing?" "on my honour, no." "not even those flocks of herons and flamingos flying in large circles, and uttering shrill cries which you can hear from here?" "certainly i see birds; but what have they in common----?" "colonel," the major-domo interrupted him, turning and drawing himself up to his full height; "prepare to defend yourself; the enemy is there." "what--the enemy? you are mad, don felix; look out in the last gleams of day, the plain is deserted." "colonel, before becoming major-domo at the larch-tree hacienda, i was a wood ranger for fifteen years; the desert is to me a book, every page of which i can peruse. watch the timid flight of those birds, notice the numberless flocks which are constantly joining those we first perceived; those birds, driven from their nests, are flying haphazard before an enemy who will soon appear. that enemy is the insurgent army, whose masses will soon be visible to us, probably preceded by fire." "rayo de dios, don felix," the colonel suddenly exclaimed; "you are right, look there!" a red line, momentarily growing wider, suddenly appeared on the extreme verge of the horizon. "did the flight of the birds deceive us?" the major-domo asked. "forgive me, friend, a very excusable ignorance, but we have not a moment to lose." they went down at once; five minutes later the defenders of the hacienda lined the tops of the walls, and ambushed themselves behind the exterior intrenchments. the texan army, now perfectly visible, was deploying on the plains in heavy columns. chapter xi. a metamorphosis. we must now go back for some days, and return to the encampment of the hunters, whom we left in a most awkward position, watched by the vigilant eye of the apaches, and compelled to trust temporarily to fray antonio, that is to say, to a man for whom, in his heart, not one of them felt the slightest sympathy. still, had it been possible to read the monk's mind, their opinion about him would probably have been completely changed. a revolution had taken place in this man's mind, and he had been unconsciously overcome by that influence which upright natures ever exert over those which have not yet been entirely spoiled. however, whatever was the cause of the change which had taken place almost suddenly in the monk's ideas, we are bound to state that it was sincere, and that fray antonio really intended to serve his new friends, whatever the consequences might be to himself. tranquil, accustomed, through the desert life he led, to discover with a certain degree of skill the true feelings of persons with whom accident brought him in contact, thought it his duty to appear to trust, under present circumstances, entirely on the monk, though he might not give perfect credence to his protestations of devotion. "are you brave?" he asked him, continuing the conversation. fray antonio, surprised by the sudden question, hesitated for a moment. "that depends," he said. "good; that is the answer of a sensible man. there are moments when the bravest is afraid, and no man can answer for his courage." the monk gave a sign of assent. "we have," tranquil continued, "to cheat the cheater, and play at diamond cut diamond with him; you understand me?" "perfectly. go on." "very good. return to blue-fox," "what?" "are you afraid?" "not exactly; but i fancy he may proceed to extremities with me." "that is a risk to be run." "well, be it so," he exclaimed resolutely, "i will run it." the canadian looked fixedly at him. "that will do," he said to him. "here, take these, and, at any rate, if you are attacked, you will not die unavenged." and he put a brace of pistols in his hand. the monk examined them attentively for a moment, turning them over so as to assure himself that they were in good state, then he hid them under his gown with a start of joy. "i fear nothing now," he said; "i am going." "still i must explain to you----" "for what good purpose?" the monk interrupted him. "i will tell blue-fox that you consent to have an interview with him; but, as you do not care to go alone to his camp, you prefer seeing him without witnesses in the middle of the prairie." "that will do, and you will bring him with you to the spot where i shall be waiting." "i will try, at any rate." "that is what i mean." "but where will you wait for him?" "on the skirt of the forest." "all right." "one parting hint." "out with it." "keep a few paces from the chief, not before or behind, but on his right hand, if possible." "very good; i understand." "well, i trust you will succeed." "oh, now i fear nothing, as i am armed." after uttering these words, the monk rose and walked away with a quick and firm step. the canadian looked after him for some time. "is he a traitor?" he muttered. "i do not think so," loyal heart answered. "may heaven grant it!" "what is your plan?" "it is simple: we can only triumph over the enemies who surround us by stratagem; hence, that is the only thing i intend employing. we must escape from these red demons at all hazards." "that is true. but, when we have succeeded in throwing them out, where shall we go?" "we must not dream, in the present excited state of the country, of making a long journey across the desert with two females; it would be running certain ruin." "that is true; but what can we do?" "it is my intention to proceed to the larch-tree hacienda. there, i fancy, my daughter will obtain the best protection for the present." "permit me to remind you that yourself refused to have recourse to that." "that is true; hence i only resolve on it when in a fix. as for you----" "oh, i will accompany you," loyal heart quickly interrupted him. "thanks," the canadian exclaimed, warmly. "still, in spite of all the pleasure your generous offer occasions me, i cannot accept it." "why not?" "because the nation which had adopted you claims your help, and you cannot refuse it." "it will wait; besides, black-deer will make my excuses." "no," the chief said, distinctly; "i will not leave my pale friends in danger." "by jove!" tranquil exclaimed joyously, "as it is so, we shall have some fun; hang it all, if five resolute and well-armed men cannot get the best of a hundred apaches. listen to me, comrades: while i go ostensibly to the meeting i have granted blue-fox, follow me in indian file, and be ready to appear directly i give you the signal by imitating the cry of the mockingbird." "all right." "you, lanzi and quoniam, will watch over carmela." "we will all watch over her, friend, trust to us," said loyal heart. tranquil gave his comrades a parting farewell, threw his rifle over his shoulder, and left the encampment. he had hardly disappeared ere the hunters lay down on the ground, and crawled on his trail, carmela guided by singing-bird forming the rearguard. the maiden felt an involuntary shudder run over her limbs as she entered the forest. this night march, whose issue might prove so fatal, terrified her, and suggested gloomy forebodings, which she feared to see realised at every step. in the meanwhile fray antonio continued his journey, and soon emerged from the forest. far from his resolution being shaken, the nearer he drew to the apaches he felt it, on the contrary, become firmer. the monk was eager to prove to the hunters that he was worthy the confidence they placed in him; and if at times the thought of the dangers to which he exposed himself crossed his mind, he drove it off, being determined to risk his life, if needed, in saving doña carmela, and preventing her falling into the hands of the cruel enemies who were preparing to seize her. fray antonio had gone hardly five hundred yards from the forest, when a man suddenly emerged from a thicket and barred his passage. the monk suppressed with difficulty a cry of terror at this unexpected apparition, and started back. but immediately regaining his coolness, he prepared to sustain the terrible contest that doubtless menaced him, for he had recognised blue-fox at the first glance. the chief examined him in silence, fixing on him his deep black eye with an expression of suspicion which did not escape the monk. "my father has been a long time," he at length said, harshly. "i could not be any quicker," the monk answered. "wah! my father returns alone; the great pale warrior was afraid; he did not accompany my father." "you are mistaken, chief; the man you call the great pale hunter, and whom i call tranquil, was not afraid, and did not refuse to accompany me." "och! blue-fox is a sachem; his eye pierces the thickest darkness; though he may look he sees nothing." "that is probably because you do not look in the right direction, that's all." "my father will explain. blue-fox desires to know how his pale friend carried out the mission the sachem confided to him." "i took the best advantage possible of my meeting with the hunter, in order to carry out the orders i had received." "my father will pardon me, i am only a poor indian without brains; things must be repeated to me several times before i can understand them. will the great pale hunter come?" "yes." "when?" "at once." "where is he then?" "i left him over there, at the verge of the forest. he is waiting for the chief." blue-fox started at this remark, and fixed on the monk a glance which seemed trying to read the most secret thoughts of his heart. "why did he not accompany my father here?" he said. the monk assumed the most simple look possible. "on my faith, i do not know," he answered; "but of what consequence is it?" "it is pleasanter to converse on the prairie." "do you think so? well, it is possible. for my part i do not see any difference between here and there." this was said with such apparent carelessness, that, in spite of all his craft, the chief was deceived. "has the great pale hunter come alone?" "no," fray antonio replied, boldly. "if that be so, blue-fox will not go." "the chief will reflect." "what is the use of reflecting? the father has deceived his red friend." "the hunter could not come alone." "why not?" "because he did not wish to leave in the forest the girl who accompanies him." the indian's face suddenly brightened, and assumed an expression of extraordinary cunning. "wah!" he said, "and no other person but the young pale virgin accompanies the hunter?" "no. it seems that the other white warriors who were with him left him at daybreak." "does my father know where they are gone?" "i did not inquire. that does not concern me. every man has enough business of his own without troubling himself about that of others." "my father is a wise man." the monk made no reply to this compliment. these words were rapidly exchanged between the two men. fray antonio had answered so naturally, and with such well-played frankness, that the indian, whose secret thoughts the mexican's answers flattered, felt all his suspicions vanish, and went, head down, into the snare so adroitly laid for him. "och!" he said, "blue-fox will see his friend." "the father can return to the camp of the apache warriors." "no, thank you, chief," the monk answered, resolutely, "i prefer remaining with people of my own colour." blue-fox reflected for an instant, and then replied, with an ironical smile playing round his thin lips-- "good; my father is right. he can follow me, then." "it is evident," the monk thought to himself, "that this accursed pagan is devising some treachery. but i will watch him, and at the slightest suspicious movement i will blow out his brains like the dog he is." but he kept these reflections to himself, and followed the chief with an easy and perfectly indifferent air. in the moonbeams, which allowed objects to be distinguished for a considerable distance, they soon perceived, on the extreme verge of the forest, the dark outline of a man leaning on a rifle. "ah," the chief said, "we must make ourselves known." "that need not trouble you. i take it on myself to warn the hunter when the time arrives." "good," the indian muttered, and they continued to advance. blue-fox, though he placed confidence in his companion, only advanced, however, with extreme caution and prudence, examining the shrubs, and even the smallest tufts of grass, as if assuring himself that they concealed no enemy. but, with the exception of the man they perceived before them, the place seemed plunged in profound solitude; all was calm and motionless; no unusual sound troubled the silence. "let us stop here," said fray antonio, "it would be imprudent for us to advance further without announcing ourselves, although the hunter has probably recognized us already; for, as you perceive, chief, he has not made the slightest move." "that is true, but it is as well to be cautious," the other replied. they stopped at about twenty yards from the covert, where fray antonio placed his hands funnel-wise on either side his mouth, and shouted at the full extent of his lungs-- "hilloh! tranquil, is that you?" "who calls me?" the latter immediately answered. "i--fray antonio. i am accompanied by the person you are expecting." "advance without fear," tranquil replied. "those who seek me without any intention of treachery have nothing to fear from me." the monk turned to the apache chief. "what shall we do?" he asked him. "go on," the latter replied, laconically. the distance which separated them from the hunter was soon covered; and the mexican becoming an impromptu master of the ceremonies, presented the two men to each other. the sachem took a searching glance around him. "i do not see the young pale girl," he said. "did you wish to speak to her or to me?" the canadian answered, drily. "i am ready to listen to you. what have you to say to me?" the indian frowned; his suspicions were returning; he gave a menacing glance at the monk, who, obeying the advice given him, had insensibly withdrawn a few steps, and was preparing to be an apparently calm witness of the coming scene. still, after an internal conflict of some seconds, the sachem succeeded in mastering the wrath that agitated him, and assumed an affable and confiding countenance. "i only wished to speak to my brother," he replied, in an insinuating voice; "blue-fox has for many moons desired to see again the face of a friend." "if it were really as the chief says," the hunter continued, "nothing could have been more easy. many days have succeeded one to the other; many years have been swallowed up in the immense gulf of the past, since the period when, young and full of faith, i called blue-fox my friend. at that period he had a pawnee heart; but now that he has plucked it from his bosom, to exchange it for an apache heart, i know him no longer." "the great hunter of the palefaces is severe to his red brother," the indian answered, with feigned humility, "what matter the days that have passed, if the hunter finds again his friend of the olden time?" the canadian smiled disdainfully as he shrugged his shoulders. "am i an old woman, to be deceived by the smooth words of a forked tongue?" he said. "blue-fox is dead; my eyes only see here an apache chief, that is to say, an enemy." "let my brother remove the skin from his heart, he will recognise a friend," the indian continued, still in a honeyed voice. tranquil involuntarily felt impatient at such cynical impudence. "a truce to fine speeches, whose sincerity i do not believe in," he said. "was he my friend who a few days ago tried to carry off my daughter, and at the head of his warriors attacked the calli in which she dwelt, and which is now reduced to ashes?" "my brother has heard the mockingbird whisper in his ear, and put faith in its falsehoods; the mocker is a chattering and lying bird." "you are more chattering and lying than the mocker," tranquil exclaimed, as he violently stamped the butt of his rifle on the ground. "for the last time i repeat to you that i regard you not as a friend, but as an enemy. now, we have nothing more to say to one another, so let us separate, for this unpleasant conference has already lasted too long." the indian took a piercing glance around him, and his eye sparkled ferociously. "we will not part thus," he said, as he walked two or three steps nearer the hunter, who still remained motionless. the latter attentively followed his every movement, while affecting the most perfect confidence. as for fray antonio, through certain signs that do not deceive men accustomed to indian tricks, he understood that the moment for acting vigorously was fast approaching, and while continuing to feign the most perfect indifference to the interview of which he was witness, he had quietly drawn the pistols from under his gown, and held them cocked in his hand, ready to employ them at the first alarm. the situation was growing most awkward between the two speakers: each was preparing for the struggle, although the faces were still calm and their voices gentle. "yes," tranquil continued, without displaying the slightest emotion, "we will part thus, chief, and may heaven grant that we may never find ourselves face to face again." "before separating, the hunter will answer one question." "i will not, for this conversation has lasted too long already. farewell!" and he fell back a pace. the sachem stretched forth his arm to stop him. "one word!" "i will not," the canadian replied. "then die, miserable dog of a paleface," the chief exclaimed, at length throwing off the mask and brandishing his tomahawk with extreme rapidity. but at the same instant a man rose like a black phantom behind the apache chief, threw his arms round his body, and lifting him with wondrous strength, hurled him to the ground, and placed his knee on his chest, ere the sachem, surprised and alarmed by this sudden attack, had attempted to defend himself. at the yell uttered by blue-fox, some fifty apache warriors appeared as if by enchantment, but almost at the same moment the hunter's comrades, who, although invisible, had attentively followed the incidents of this scene, stood by the canadian's side. fray antonio, from whom they were far from expecting such resolution, brought down two apaches with his pistols, and rejoined the whites. two groups of implacable enemies were thus opposed; unfortunately, the hunters were very weak against the numerous foes that surrounded them on all sides. still, their firm demeanour and flashing eyes evidenced their unbending resolution to let themselves be killed to the last man, sooner than surrender to the redskins. it was an imposing spectacle offered by this handful of men surrounded by implacable foes, and who yet seemed as calm as if they were peaceably seated round their campfire. carmela and singing-bird, suffering from sharp pangs of terror, pressed all in a tremor to the side of their friends. blue-fox still lay on the ground, held down by black-deer, whose knee compressed his chest, and neutralised all the tremendous efforts he made to rise. the apaches, with their long barbed arrows pointed at the hunters, only awaited a word or a sign to begin the attack. a silence of death brooded over the prairie: it seemed as if these men, before tearing each other to pieces, were collecting all their strength to bound forward and rush on each other. black-deer was the first to break the silence. "wah!" he shouted, in a voice rendered hoarse with passion, as he brandished over his enemy's head his scalping knife, whose blade emitted sinister gleams; "at length i meet thee, dog, thief, chicken heart; i hold my vengeance in my hands; at last thy scalp will adorn my horse's mane." "thou art but a chattering old woman; thy insults cannot affect me, so try something else. blue-fox laughs at thee; thou can'st not compel him to utter a cry of pain or make a complaint." "i will follow thy advice," black-deer shouted, passionately, and seized his enemy's scalp lock. "stop, i insist," the canadian shouted, in a thundering voice, as he seized the arm of the vindictive chief. the latter obeyed. "let that man rise," tranquil continued. black-deer gave him a ferocious glance, but made no reply. "it must be so," the hunter said. the comanche chief bent his head, restored his enemy to liberty, and fell back a pace. with one bound blue-fox sprang up; but, instead of attempting flight, he crossed his arms on his chest, resumed that mask of impenetrable stoicism which indians so rarely doff, and waited. tranquil regarded him for a moment with a singular expression, and then said--- "i was wrong just now, and my brother must pardon me. no, the memories of youth are not effaced like clouds which the wind bears away. when i saw the terrible danger that menaced blue-fox, my heart was affected, and i remembered that we had been for a long time friends. i trembled to see his blood flow before me. blue-fox is a great chief, he must die as a warrior in the sunshine, he is free to rejoin his friends; he can go." the chief raised his head. "on what conditions?" he said, drily. "on none. if the apache warriors attack us, we will fight them; if not, we will continue our journey peacefully. the chief must, decide, for events depend on his will." tranquil, in acting as he had done, had furnished an evident proof of the profound knowledge he possessed of the character of the redskins, among whom any heroic action is immediately appreciated at its full value. it was a dangerous game to play, but the situation of the hunters was desperate, despite their courage; if the fight had begun, they must have been naturally crushed by numbers, and pitilessly massacred. for the success of his plan the canadian could only calculate on a good feeling on the part of blue-fox, and he had staked his all. after carefully listening to tranquil's remarks, blue-fox remained silent for some minutes, during which a violent combat went on in his heart; he felt that he was the dupe of the snare into which he had tried to draw the hunter by reminding him of their old friendship; but the murmurs of admiration, which his warriors were unable to suppress, on seeing the canadian's noble deed, warned him that he must dissimulate, and feign a gratitude which he was far from experiencing. the power of an indian chief is always very precarious; and he is often constrained, in spite of himself, to bow before the demands of his subordinates, if he does not wish to be overthrown and have a new chief set up immediately in his place. blue-fox, therefore, slowly drew his scalping knife from his belt, and let it fall at the hunter's feet. "the great white hunter and his brothers can continue to follow their path," he said; "the eyes of the apache warriors are closed, they will not see them. the palefaces can depart, they will find no one on their road till the second moon from this; but then they must take care; an apache chief will set himself on their trail, in order to ask back from them the knife he leaves them, and which he will require." the canadian stooped down and picked up the knife, which he passed through his belt. "when blue-fox asks me for it, he will find it there," he said, as he pointed to it. "och! i will manage to take it again. now, we are even. farewell!" the chief then bowed courteously to his enemies, made a prodigious bound back, and disappeared in the lofty grass. the apache warriors uttered their war yell twice, and almost immediately their black outlines disappeared in the gloom. tranquil waited for a few minutes, and then turned to his comrades. "now, we will set out," he said; "the road is free." "you got out of the scrape cleverly," loyal heart said to him; "but it was a terrible risk." the canadian smiled, but made no further reply. then they started. chapter xii. the summons. europeans, accustomed to the gigantic wars of the old world, in which enormous masses of two to three hundred thousand men on both sides come into collision on the battle field, where armies have divisions of thirty or forty thousand men, a cavalry often of sixty to eighty thousand sabres, and in which the guns are counted by hundreds, have a difficulty in forming an idea of the way in which war is waged in certain parts of america, as well as the component strength of the armies of the new world. in mexico, a population of several millions can hardly collect ten thousand men under arms, an enormous number in those countries. the various republics which were formed on the dismemberment of the spanish colonies, such as peru, chile, new granada, bolivia, paraguay, &c., cannot succeed in assembling more than two or three thousand men under their banners, and that, too, with immense sacrifices; for these countries, which, territorially speaking, are each far larger than england, are nearly deserted, being incessantly decimated by civil war, which gnaws at them like a hideous leprosy, and left almost uninhabitable by the neglect of the various governments, which succeed each other with a giddy and almost fabulous rapidity. these governments, submitted to rather than accepted by these unfortunate nations, although powerless for good, owing to their precarious duration, are omnipotent for evil, and profit by it to plunder the people, and load their creatures with riches, not troubling themselves about the abyss they are opening beneath their feet, and which, daily growing deeper, will eventually swallow up all these accidental nationalities, which will be dead almost ere they are born, and have only known liberty by name, though never in a position to appreciate its blessings. texas, at the period when it claimed its independence, in a contest of ten years, so obstinately, counted over its entire territory only a population of six hundred thousand--a very weak and modest amount, when compared with the seven million of the mexican confederation. still, as we have remarked in a preceding chapter, the texan population was composed, in a great measure, of north americans--energetic, enterprising men, of known courage, who, annoyed by the long lasting tyranny the federal government exercised over them, through jealousy and narrowness of views, had sworn to be free at any price, and took up arms in order to guarantee the possession of their estates, and their personal security. the combat had been going on for ten years; at first timid and secret, it had gradually widened, holding in check the mexican power, and at length attained that final and supreme period when the alternative is victory or death. the surprise of the conducta, so skilfully managed by the jaguar, had been the electric spark destined to definitively galvanize the country, and make it rise as one man for this modern thermopylae. the independent chiefs, who were fighting all along the border, had, at the unexpected news of the decisive success obtained by the jaguar, assembled their _cuadrillas_, and, by common agreement, and through an heroic impulse, ranged themselves under the banners of the youthful chieftain, and pledged him obedience, in order to carry through the liberation of their country. thanks to the generous assistance on the part of all the guerilla leaders, the jaguar suddenly found himself at the head of imposing forces, that is to say, he collected an army of about eleven hundred men. our readers must not smile at the name of army given to what would represent a regiment with us. never before had texas collected so many fighting men under one chief. and then, after all, everything is relative in this world, and the greatest masses do not accomplish the most brilliant exploits. did we not see, a few years back, in sonora, the heroic and unfortunate count de raousset bourbon, at the head of only two hundred and fifty ragged frenchmen, half dead with hunger and fatigue, attack hermosillo, a town of fifteen thousand souls, enclosed with walls, and defended by twelve thousand regulars and six thousand indians, carry it _in an hour_, and enter it, sword in hand, at the head of his soldiers, who did not themselves dare to believe in their heroism?[ ] the jaguar's army was composed of men hardened by lengthened fighting, who burned to cope with the mexicans, and who, before all, wished to be free! no more was needed for them to accomplish miracles. the jaguar was thoroughly acquainted with the character of his soldiers; he knew that he must only ask one thing of them--an impossibility--and this he had, consequently, determined to attempt. through the wish of the new commander-in-chief, all the captains of cuadrillas assembled in a council of war, in order to draw up a plan of campaign. each party gave his opinion. the debate was short, for all entertained the same idea--and that was, to seize on the larch-tree hacienda, in order to cut off the communications of the mexican army, prevent it from receiving reinforcements from the other states of the confederation; and, once masters of the fortress, to defeat in detail the different mexican detachments scattered over texan territory. as this plan was remarkably simple, the jaguar resolved to carry it out immediately. after leaving a detachment of five hundred horseman to cover his rear, and avoid any surprise, he advanced with his main body by forced marches on the larch-tree, with the intention of investing and carrying it by assault ere the mexicans had found time to put a garrison in it and throw up intrenchments. unfortunately, despite all the diligence the jaguar had displayed in the execution of his plan, the mexicans, owing to the lengthened experience and infallible glance of general rubio, had been more prompt than he, and the place had been in a perfect state of defence two days ere the texan army appeared at the foot of its walls. this disappointment greatly annoyed the jaguar, but did not discourage him; he saw that he would have to lay siege to the larch-tree, and bravely made his preparations. the americans dug up the soil with wondrous rapidity, and a night was sufficient for them to finish the preparatory works, and make breast-works and parapets. the mexicans gave no signs of life, and allowed the insurgents to establish themselves in their lines without opposition; by sunrise all was finished. it was a strange spectacle offered by this handful of men, who, without artillery or siege material of any description, boldly traced lines round a stoutly-built fortress, admirably situated for resistance, and defended by a numerous garrison, which was determined not to surrender. but what in this heroic madness produced admiration, and almost stupor, was the conviction these men had that they would eventually take the place. this persuasion, by doubling the strength of the insurgents, rendered them capable of accomplishing the greatest things. as they arrived after sunset, when the night had all but set in, the texans had formed an imperfect idea of the defensive state of the place which they proposed to besiege; hence, when day broke, they eagerly proceeded to see what enemy they would have to deal with. the surprise was anything but agreeable to them, and they were compelled to confess to themselves in their hearts that the job would be a tough one, and that the intrenchments they proposed to carry had a formidable appearance. this surprise was changed almost into discouragement when the fortress haughtily hoisted the mexican flag, saluting it with several rounds of grapeshot, which fell into the centre of the camp, and killed and wounded some fifteen men. but this movement of weakness was but short; a reaction speedily took place in these energetic men, and it was with hurrahs and shouts of joy that they displayed the colours of texan independence. for valid reasons they did not accompany the hoisting of their flag by cannon shots, but they saluted it with salvos of musquetry, whose well-sustained fire gave back to the besieged the death they had scattered through the camp. the jaguar, after attentively examining the fortifications, resolved to proceed according to rule, and summon the place to surrender before beginning the siege seriously. consequently, he hoisted a white flag on the top of the entrenchments, and waited; a few moments later, a flag of the same colour appeared on the breastwork thrown up outside the place. the jaguar, preceded by a trumpeter, followed by two or three officers, left the camp and climbed up the hill on which the hacienda was situated. a number of officers equal to his own had left the place and advanced to meet him. on arriving at about an equal distance from the two lines, the jaguar halted, and in a few minutes the mexican officers, commanded by don felix paz, joined him. after the usual compliments had been exchanged with extreme politeness, the major-domo asked-- "with whom have i the honour of speaking?" "with the commander-in-chief of the texan army," the jaguar answered. "we do not recognise any texan army," the major-domo said drily. "texas forms an integral portion of mexico; her army, the only one she ought to possess, is mexican." "if you do not know the one i have the honour of commanding," the jaguar said with a smile of superb irony, "ere long, please heaven, it will have made so much noise, that you will be compelled to recognise it." "that is possible; but for the present we do not know it." "then, you do not wish to parley?" "with whom?" "come, caballero, suppose we are frank with one another--are you willing?" "i wish for nothing better." "you know as well as i do that we are fighting for our independence." "very good. in that case you are insurgents?" "certainly, and feel proud of the title." "hum! we do not treat with insurgents, who are placed beyond the pale of the law, and who, as such, cannot offer us any serious guarantee." "caballero," the jaguar exclaimed with ill-disguised impatience, "i have the honour of remarking that you insult me." "i am very sorry for it; but what other answer than that can i give you?" there was a momentary silence; the vigorous resistance offered him made the jaguar feel seriously alarmed. "are you the fort-commandant?" he asked. "no." "why did you come, then?" "because i was ordered to do so." "hum! and who is the governor of the place?" "a colonel." "why did he not come in person to meet me?" "because he probably did not think it worth while to put himself out of the way." "hum! that way of behaving seems to me rather lax, for war has laws which every man is bound to follow." "maybe, but it is not war in this case, that must not be let out of sight." "what is it then, in your opinion?" "insurrection." "well, i wish to speak with your commandant, for i can only treat with him. are you disposed to let me see him?" "that does not depend on me, but on him." "very good. can i trust to your delivering my message to him?" "i do not see why i should not." "be kind enough, then, to return at once to him, and i will wait for you here, unless you permit me to enter the fortress." "that is impossible." "as you please; i will, therefore, await your reply here." "very well." the two men bowed courteously, and took leave of each other. don felix paz re-entered the fortress, while the jaguar, sitting on the trunk of a felled tree, examined with the greatest attention the fortifications of the hacienda, the details of which he could easily survey from the spot where he now was. the young man leaned his elbow on his knee, and let his head rest on his hand; his eyes wandered over the surrounding objects with an expression of indefinable melancholy; gradually a gloomy sadness seized on his mind; while indulging in his thoughts, external objects disappeared from his sight, and isolating himself completely, he gave way to the flood of bitter recollections which rose from his heart to his brain, and removed him from the preoccupations of his present situation. for a long time he had been plunged in this species of prostration, when a friendly voice smote his ear. the jaguar, suddenly drawn from his reverie by the sound of a voice which he fancied he recognised, threw up his head sharply, and gave a start of surprise on recognising don juan melendez de gongora, for it was really the colonel who was now addressing him. the texan chief rose, and spoke to his officers. "back, caballeros," he said; "this gentleman and myself have matters to talk about which no one must hear." the texans withdrew out of earshot. the colonel was alone, for on recognising the jaguar, he had ordered his escort to await him at the base of the intrenchments. "i meet you here again then, my friend," the jaguar said sadly. "yes," the young officer answered; "fatality seems determined to keep us in constant opposition." "on examining the height and strength of your walls," the independent continued, "i had already recognized the difficulties of the task forced on me; these difficulties have now grown almost into impossibilities." "alas, my friend, fate wills it so, we are forced to submit to its caprices; and while in my heart deploring what takes place, i am yet resolved to do my duty as a man of honour, and die in the breach, with my breast turned toward you." "i know it, brother, and cannot feel angry with you; for i too am resolved to carry out the difficult task imposed on me." "such are the terrible exigencies of civil war, that the men most inclined to esteem and love one another, are compelled to be foes." "god and our country will judge us, friend, and our consciences will absolve us; men are not combating, but principles fatally placed in opposition." "i was not aware that you were the chief of the insurrectionary bands that have invested the place, although a secret foreboding warned me of your presence." "that is strange," the jaguar muttered, "for i also felt the foreboding to which you allude; that is why i so strongly insisted on having an interview with the commandant of the hacienda." "the same reason urged me, on the contrary, not to show myself; but i thought i must yield to your entreaty, and hence here i am; i swear to you that i should have wished to avoid this interview, which is so painful to both of us, in consequence of our mutual feelings." "it is better that it should have taken place; now that we have had a frank explanation, we shall be better fitted to do our duty." "you are right, friend; it is perhaps better that it should be so; let me press your honest hand for the last time, and then each of us will resume his part." "here is my hand, friend," the young chief made answer. the two men heartily shook hands, and then fell back a few paces, making a signal to their respective escorts to rejoin them. when the officers were ranged behind the chiefs, the jaguar ordered his bugler to sound the summons; the latter obeyed, and the mexican trumpet immediately replied. the jaguar then advanced two paces, and courteously took off his hat to the colonel. "with whom have i the honour of speaking?" he asked. "i am," the officer replied, returning the salute, "colonel don juan melendez de gongora, invested by general don josé maria rubio, commander-in-chief of the mexican forces in texas, with the military government of the larch-tree hacienda, which present circumstances have raised to the rank of a first class fortress; and who may you be, caballero?" "i," the jaguar answered, as he drew himself up, and placed his hat again on his head, "am the supreme chief of the confederated army of texas." "the men who take that name, and the person who commands them, can only be regarded by me as traitors and fosterers of rebellion." "we care little, colonel, what name you give us, or the manner in which you regard our acts. we have taken up arms to render our country independent, and shall not lay them down till that noble task is accomplished. these are the proposals i think it my duty to make you." "i cannot and will not treat with rebels," the colonel said, clearly and distinctly. "you will act as you please, colonel; but humanity orders you to avoid bloodshed, if possible, and your duty imperiously commands you to listen to what i have to say to you." "be it so, caballero, i will listen to you, and then will see what answer i have to give you; but i must ask you to be brief." the jaguar leaned the point of his sabre on the ground, and giving a clear and piercing glance at the mexican staff, he continued, in a loud, firm, and accentuated voice-- "i, the commander-in-chief of the liberating army of texas, summon you, a colonel in the service of the mexican republic, whose sovereignty we no longer recognise, to surrender to us this larch-tree hacienda, of which you entitle yourself the governor, and which you hold without right or reason. if, within twenty-four hours, the said hacienda is put into our hands, with all it contains, guns, ammunition, material of war, and otherwise, the garrison will quit the place with the honours of war, under arms, with drums and fifes playing. then, after laying down their arms, the garrison will be free to retire to the interior of texas, after making oath that during a year and a day they will not serve in texas against the liberating army." "have you ended?" the colonel asked, with ill-disguised impatience. "not yet," the jaguar coldly answered. "i must ask you to make haste." on seeing these two men exchange savage glances, and placed in such a hostile position face to face, no one would have supposed that they were fond of each other, and groaned in their hearts at the painful part fate compelled them to play against their will. the truth was, that in one military fanaticism, in the other an ardent love of his country, had imposed silence on every other feeling, and only permitted them to listen to one, the most imperious of all--the sentiment of duty. the jaguar, perfectly calm and firm, continued in the same resolute accent-- "if, against my expectations, these conditions are refused, and the place obstinately defends itself, the army of liberation will immediately invest it, carry on the siege with all the vigour of which it is capable, and when the hacienda is captured, it will undergo the fate of towns taken by assault; the garrison will be decimated, and remain prisoners till the end of the war." "very good," the colonel replied, ironically; "however harsh these conditions may be, we prefer them to the former; and if the fate of arms betray us, we will endure without complaint the law of the conquerors." the jaguar bowed ceremoniously. "i have only to withdraw," he said. "one moment," the colonel said, "you have explained to me your conditions, so it is now your turn to hear mine." "what conditions can you have to offer us, since you refuse to surrender?" "you shall hear." the colonel looked round him with a glance of assurance; then, crossing his arms on his chest, and drawing himself up with the air of sovereign contempt for those who surrounded him, began speaking in a sharp and sarcastic voice-- "i," he said, "don juan de melendez de gongora, colonel in the service of the mexican republic, considering that the majority of the individuals assembled at this moment at the foot of my walls are poor, ignorant men, whom bad example and bad counsel have led into a revolt, which they detest in their hearts--for i know that the mexican government has ever been just, kind, and paternal to them; considering, moreover, that possibly the fear of the severe chastisement which they have deserved by their culpable conduct keeps them, against their desire and will, in the ranks of the rebels; employing the prerogative given me by my title of governor of a first class fortress, and a field officer in the mexican army, i promise them, that if they immediately lay down their arms, and, as a proof of sincere repentance, surrender to me the chiefs who deceived them and led them into revolt--i promise them, i repeat, a complete pardon and oblivion of the faults they may have committed up to today, but only on this condition. they have till sunset of the present day to make their submission; when that period is passed, they will be regarded as inveterate rebels, and treated as such---that is to say, hanged without trial, after their identity has been proved, and deprived in their last moments of the consolations of religion, as being unworthy of them. as for the chiefs, as traitors, they will be shot in the back, and their bodies fastened by the feet on gibbets, where they will remain as food for birds of prey, and serve as an example to those who may venture in their track. reflect, then, and repent, for such are the sole conditions you will obtain of me. and now, caballeros," he said, turning to his officers, "we will return to the fort, as we have nothing more to do here." his hearers had listened with increasing surprise to this strange address, uttered in a tone of sarcasm and haughty contempt, which had filled the hearts of the jaguar's comrades with gall, while the mexican officers looked at each other with a laugh. by a sign, the jaguar imposed silence on his comrades, and bowed respectfully to the colonel. "your will be done," he said to him. "god will judge between us; the bloodshed will fall on your head." "i accept the responsibility," the commandant remarked, disdainfully. "then, the words you have just uttered are serious?" "they are." "you are quite resolved on opposing us?" "of course." "your resolution will not change?" "it is immovable." "we will fight, then," the jaguar exclaimed, enthusiastically. "_viva la patria, viva la independencia!_" this cry, repeated by his comrades, was heard in the camp, and taken up with extraordinary enthusiasm by his comrades. "_viva mejico!_" the colonel said. he then retired, followed by his officers. on his side, the jaguar returned to his camp, resolved to attempt a vigorous hand stroke on the place. on both sides preparations were made for the implacable struggle that was about to begin between members of the same family and children of the same soil; a homicidal and fearful struggle, a hundredfold more horrible than a foreign war! [ ] see the "gold-seekers," same publishers. chapter xiii. the siege. while all this was going on, the hunters, as we mentioned before, resumed their journey, so soon as the apaches disappeared. the night was clear, and the hunters marched in indian file, that is to say, one after the other; still, through a prudential motive, carmela was placed pillion-wise behind tranquil, while singing-bird rode with black-deer. the canadian had whispered a few words to lanzi and quoniam, upon which the two men, without replying, dug their spurs in, and started at a gallop. "when you have ladies with you," tranquil said, with a laugh to loyal heart, "it is necessary to take precautions." the hunter, however, did not ask him for any explanation, and the four men continued their march in silence. during the whole night nothing occurred to disturb their journey; the apaches kept their word faithfully, and had really withdrawn. tranquil had not for a moment doubted their promise. at times the hunter turned to the maiden, and asked her with ill-disguised anxiety if she felt fatigued, but carmela constantly replied in the negative. a few minutes before sunrise, he bent down to her for the last time. "courage," he said, "we shall soon arrive." the girl attempted to smile, but this long night spent on horseback had crushed her; she could not even find the courage to answer, so annihilated was she, and tranquil, anxious for his daughter, hurried on. still in the sunbeams, whose warmth caressed her, the maiden felt newborn, her courage returned, and she drew herself up with a sigh of relief. the journey, then, became more gay; for each, on this much desired appearance of day, had forgotten his fatigue and the emotions of the past night. two hours later they reached the base of a hill, halfway up which was a natural grotto. "our friends are expecting us there," said tranquil. a few moments later, the little band entered the grotto on horseback, without leaving any traces of its passage. this grotto, like many others in that country, possessed several entrances, and through this peculiarity it often served as a refuge to the wood rangers, who, being thoroughly conversant with all its windings, could easily escape from the search of any enemies who might have followed their trail. it was divided into several compartments, without visible communication with each other, and formed a species of maze, which ran with inextricable windings under the whole of the hill. on the prairie the name of the jaguar's grotto had been given it. the two hunters, sent forward by the canadian, were seated by an enormous fire of heather, and quietly roasting a magnificent haunch of venison, as they silently smoked their pipes. although they must have been waiting a long time for their friends, on the arrival of tranquil and his comrades they contented themselves with a slight bow, and did not evince the slightest desire to know what had occurred since their departure, for these men had lived so long on the desert, that they had grown to assume all the indian habits. tranquil led the two females into a grotto a considerable distance from the principal one. "here," he said in a gentle whisper, "you must speak as little as possible, and as low as you can, for you never know what neighbours you may have; pay great attention to this piece of advice, for your safety depends on it. if you require me, or have an inclination to join us, you know where we are, and it is an easy matter for you to come; good-bye." his daughter caught him by the arm for a moment, and whispered in his ear. he bowed in reply, and went out. when the two females found themselves alone, their first impulse was to fall into each other's arms. this first emotion past, they lay on the ground with that feeling of comfort which is experienced when you have sighed during a long period for a rest, the want of which you greatly feel. at the expiration of about an hour, tranquil returned. "are we going to start again?" carmela asked hurriedly, with an ill-disguised agitation. "on the contrary, i expect to remain here till sunset." "heaven be praised!" the maiden exclaimed. "i have come to tell you that breakfast is ready, and that we are only awaiting your presence to begin our meal." "eat without us, my dear papa," carmela answered; "at this moment we have more need of sleep than anything else." "sleep if you like; i have brought you, however, male clothing, which i must ask you to put on." "what, father, dress ourselves as men?" carmela said in surprise, and with a slight repugnance. "you must, child--it is indispensable." "in that case i will obey you, father." "thank you, my daughter." the hunter withdrew, and the two young women soon fell asleep. their sleep lasted a long time, for the sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon, when they awoke, completely recovered from their fatigue. carmela, fresh and rosy, felt no effects of the long sleeplessness of the preceding night; and the indian girl, stronger, or more hardened, had not suffered so much as her companion. the two girls then began, while chattering and laughing, to prepare everything necessary for the disguise the hunter had recommended them. "let us begin our toilette," carmela said gaily to singing-bird. at the moment when they were removing their dresses, they heard the noise of footsteps near them, and turned like two startled fawns, thinking that tranquil was coming to see whether they were awake yet; but a couple of words distinctly pronounced, caused them to listen, and stand quivering with emotion, surprise, and curiosity. "my brother has been a long time," the voice had said, which seemed to belong to a man standing scarce three paces from them; "i have been expecting him for two hours." "by heaven, chief, your remark is perfectly correct; but it was impossible for me to come sooner," another person immediately answered, whose strongly pronounced accent proved to be a foreigner. "my brother will speak without loss of tune." "that is what i intend doing," at this moment tranquil came up. the young women laid the forefinger on their lips, recommending silence; the hunter understood what this meant, and advanced on tiptoe to listen. "the jaguar," the second speaker continued, "desires most eagerly that, in accordance with the promise you made him, you should join his army with your warriors." "up to the present that has been impossible." "blue-fox!" tranquil muttered. "i warn you that he accuses you of breach of faith." "the pale chief is wrong; a sachem is not a chattering old woman who knows not what he says. this evening i shall join him with two hundred picked warriors." "we shall see, chief." "at the first song of the mankawis, the apache warriors will enter the camp." "all the better. the jaguar is preparing a general assault on the fort, and only awaits your arrival to give the signal of attack." "i repeat to my brother that the apaches will not fail." "those confounded mexicans fight like demons; the man who commands them seems to have galvanized them, they second him so well. there was only one good officer in the mexican army, and we are obliged to fight against him. it is really most unlucky." "the chief of the yoris is not invulnerable. the arrows of the apaches are long--they will kill him." "nonsense," the other said ill-temperedly; "this man seems to have a charm that protects him. our kentuckian rifles are wonderfully true, and our marksmen possess a far from common skill; but no bullet can hit him." "while coming to this grotto, blue-fox raised the scalp of a chief of the yoris." "ah!" the first speaker observed with indifference. "here it is; this man was the bearer of a necklace." "a letter, by heavens!" the other exclaimed anxiously; "what have you done with it? you have not destroyed it, i trust?" "no, the chief has kept it." "you did well. show it to me, perhaps it is important." "wah! it is some medicine of the palefaces; a chief does not want it; my brother can take it." "thanks!" there was a moment's silence, during which the hearts of the three hearers might have been heard beating in unison, so great was their anxiety. "by jove!" the white man suddenly burst out; "a letter addressed to colonel don juan melendez de gongora, commandant of the larch-tree, by general rubio. you were in luck's way, chief. are you sure that the bearer of this letter is dead?" "it was blue-fox who killed him." "in that case i feel confident, for i can trust to you. now, this is what you must do: so soon as----" but while speaking thus, the two men had withdrawn, and the sound of their voices was lost in the distance, so that it was impossible to hear the termination of the sentence, or guess its purport. the two women turned round. tranquil had disappeared, and they were again alone. carmela, after listening to this strange conversation, of which accident allowed her to catch a few fragments, had fallen into a profound reverie, which her companion, with that sense of propriety innate in indians, was careful not to disturb. in the meanwhile, time slipped away, the gloom grew denser in the grotto, for night had set in; the two young women, afraid to remain alone in the obscurity, were preparing to rejoin their companions, when they heard the sound of footsteps, and tranquil entered. "what!" he said to them, "not ready yet? make haste to put on your masculine attire, for every minute is an age." the girls did not allow this to be repeated; they disappeared in an adjoining compartment, and returned a few minutes later, entirely disguised. "good," the canadian said, after examining them for a moment; "we are going to try and enter the larch-tree hacienda. now follow me, and be prudent." the eight persons left the grotto, gliding along in the darkness like phantoms. no one, unless he has tried the experiment, can imagine what a night march on the desert is, when you are afraid each moment of falling into the hands of invisible enemies, who watch you behind every bush. tranquil had placed himself at the head of the little party, who marched in indian file, at times stooping to the ground, going on his hands and knees, or crawling on his stomach so as to avoid notice. doña carmela, in spite of the extraordinary difficulties she had to surmount, advanced with admirable courage, never complaining, and enduring, without seeming to notice them, the scratches of the roots and brambles, which lacerated her hands, and caused her atrocious suffering. after three hours of gigantic effort in following tranquil's trail, the latter stopped, and had them look around them. they raised their heads, and found themselves in the camp of the texan insurgents. all around them, in the moonbeams, they could see the elongated shadows of indian sentries, leaning on their long lances, motionless as equestrian statues, who were watching over the safety of their paleface brothers. the young women felt a thrill of terror run over their persons at this sight, which was not of a nature to reassure them. fortunately for them, the indians keep very bad guard, and most generally only place sentries to frighten the enemy. on this occasion, as they knew very well, they had no sortie to apprehend on the part of the larch-tree garrison, the sentinels were nearly all asleep; but the slightest badly-calculated move, the merest false step, might arouse them, for these men, who are habituated in keeping their senses alive, can hardly ever be taken unawares. at about two hundred yards at the most from the adventurers were the advanced works of the larch-tree, gloomy, silent, and apparently, at least, abandoned or plunged in sleep. tranquil had only stopped to let his comrades fully understand the imminent danger to which they were exposed, and urge them to redouble their caution, for, at the slightest weakness, they would be lost. after this they started again. they advanced thus for one hundred yards, or about half the distance separating them from the larch-tree, when suddenly, at the moment when tranquil stretched out his arms to shelter himself behind a sandhill, several men, crawling in the opposite direction found themselves face to face with him. there was a second of terrible anxiety. "who goes there?" a low and menacing voice asked. "oh!" he said; "we are saved! it is i--tranquil the tigrero." "who are the persons with you?" "wood rangers, for whom i answer." "very good; pass on." the two parties separated, and crawled in opposite directions. the band with which the hunters exchanged these few words was commanded by don felix paz, who, more vigilant than the texans, was making a round of the glacis to assure himself that all was quiet, and no surprise need be feared. it was very lucky for tranquil and his companions that the jaguar, in order to do honour to blue-fox, had this night intrusted the camp guard to his warriors, and that, confiding in the redskins, the texans had gone to sleep, with that carelessness characteristic of americans; for, with other sentries than those through whom they had glided unseen, the adventurers must infallibly have been captured. ten minutes after their encounter with don felix, which might have turned out so fatally for them, the hunters reached the gates, and at the mention of tranquil's name a passage was at once granted them. they were at length in safety within the hacienda, and it was high time that they should arrive; a few minutes longer and, carmela and her companion would have fallen by the wayside. in spite of all their courage and goodwill, the girls could no longer keep up, their strength was exhausted. hence, so soon as the danger had passed, and the nervous excitement, which alone sustained them, ceased, they fell down unconscious. tranquil raised carmela in his arms, and carried her to the interior of the hacienda; while black-deer, who, in spite of his apparent insensibility, adored his squaw, hurried up to restore her to life. the unexpected arrival of tranquil caused a general joy among the inhabitants of the hacienda, who all had a deep friendship for this man, whose glorious character they had had so many opportunities of appreciating. the hunter was still busied with his daughter, who was just beginning to recover her senses, when don felix paz, who had finished his rounds, entered the cuarto, with a message from the colonel to the canadian, begging the latter to come to him at once. tranquil obeyed, for doña carmela no longer required his assistance--the maiden had scarce regained her senses, ere she fell into a deep sleep, the natural result of the enormous fatigue she had endured during several days. while proceeding to the colonel's apartments, tranquil questioned the major-domo, with whom he had been connected for several years, and who had no scruples about answering the hunter's queries. matters were far from being well at the larch-tree; the siege was carried on with an extraordinary obstinacy on both sides, and with many strange interludes. the insurgents, greatly annoyed by the artillery of the fort, which killed a great many of them, and to which they could not reply, owing to their absolute want of cannon, had adopted a system of reprisals, which caused the besieged considerable injury. this simple system was as follows: the insurgents, who were mostly hunters, were exceedingly skilful marksmen, and renowned as such in a country where the science of firing is carried to its extreme limits. a certain number of these marksmen sheltered themselves behind the epaulments of the camp; and each time a gunner attempted to load a piece, they infallibly shot away his hands. this had been carried so far, that nearly all the gunners were _hors de combat_, and it was only at very long intervals that a gun was fired from the fort. this isolated shot, badly aimed, owing to the precipitancy with which the men laid the gun, through their fear of being mutilated, caused but insignificant damage to the insurgents, who applauded, with reason, the good result of their scheme. on the other hand, the fort was so closely invested, and watched with such care, that no one could enter or quit it. it was impossible for those in the fort to understand how it was that the adventurers had managed to slip in after traversing the whole length of the enemy's camp. we must state, too, in order to treat everybody with justice, that the adventurers understood it less than anybody. the garrison of the hacienda lived, then, as if they had been roughly cut off from the world, for no sound transpired without, and no news reached them. this situation was extremely disagreeable to the mexicans; unfortunately for them, it was daily aggravated, and threatened to become, ere long, completely intolerable. colonel melendez, since the beginning of the siege, had proved himself what he was, that is to say, an officer of rare merit, with a vigilance nothing could foil, and a trustworthy bravery. seeing his gunners so cruelly decimated by the texan bullets, he undertook to take their place, loading the guns at his own peril, and firing them at the insurgents. such courage struck the texans with so great admiration, that although it would several times have been easy for them to kill their daring foe, their rifles had constantly turned away from this man, who seemed to find a delight in braving death at every moment. the jaguar, while closely investing the fort, and eagerly desiring to carry it, had given peremptory orders to spare the life of his friend, whom he could not refrain from pitying and admiring, as much for his courage as for his devotion to the cause he served. although it was near midnight, the colonel was still up; at the moment when the hunter was brought to him, he was walking thoughtfully up and down his bedroom, consulting from time to time a detailed plan, of the fortifications that lay open on a table. tranquil's arrival caused him great satisfaction, for he hoped to obtain from him news from without. unfortunately, the hunter did not know much about the political state of the country, owing to the isolated life he led in the forests. still, he answered with the greatest frankness all the questions the colonel thought proper to ask him, and gave him the little information he had been enabled to collect; then he told him the various incidents of his own journey. at the name of carmela the young officer was slightly troubled, and a vivid flush suffused his face; but he recovered, and listened attentively to the hunter's story. when the latter came to the incident in the grotto, and the fragment of conversation he had overheard between the apache chief and the texan, his interest was greatly excited, and he made him repeat the story. "oh, that letter," he muttered several times, "that letter; what would i not give to know its contents!" unhappily, that was impossible. after a moment, the colonel begged tranquil to continue his story. the hunter then told him in what way he had managed to cross the enemy's lines and introduce himself into the fort. this bold action greatly struck the colonel. "you were more fortunate than prudent," he said, "in thus venturing into the midst of your enemies." the hunter smiled good-temperedly. "i was almost certain of succeeding," he said. "how so?" "i have had a long experience of indian habits, which enables me to make nearly certain with them." "granted; but in this case you had not indians to deal with." "pardon me, colonel." "i do not understand you, so be kind enough to explain." "that is an easy matter. blue-fox entered the texan camp this evening, at the head of two hundred warriors." "i was not aware of it," the colonel said, in surprise. "the jaguar, to do honour to his terrible allies, confided to them the camp guard for this night." "hence?" "hence, colonel, all the texans are sleeping soundly at this moment, while the apaches are watching, or, at least, ought to be watching over the safety of their lives." "what do you mean by ought to be watching?" "i mean that the redskins do not at all understand our manner of carrying on war, are not accustomed to sentinel duty, and so everybody is asleep in the camp." "ah!" said the colonel, as he began once more, with a thoughtful air, the promenade he had interrupted to listen to the hunter's story. the latter waited, taking an interrogative glance at don felix, who had remained in the room till it pleased the commandant to dismiss him. a few minutes passed, and not a syllable was exchanged; don juan seemed to be plunged in serious thought. all at once he stopped before the hunter, and looked him full in the face. "i have known you for a long time by reputation," he said, sharply. "you pass for an honest man, who can be trusted." the canadian bowed, not understanding to what these preliminaries tended. "i think you said the enemy's camp was plunged in sleep?" the colonel continued. "that is my conviction," tranquil answered; "we crossed their lines too easily for it to be otherwise." don felix drew nearer. "yes," the young officer muttered, "we might give them a lesson." "a lesson they greatly need," the major-domo added. "ah, ah!" the colonel said, with a smile; "then you understand me, don felix?" "of course." "and you approve?" "perfectly." "it is one in the morning," the colonel went on, as he looked at a clock standing on a console; "at this moment sleep is the deepest. well, we will attempt a sortie; have the officers of the garrison aroused." the major-domo went out: five minutes later the officers, still half-asleep, obeyed their chief's orders. "caballeros," the latter said to them, so soon as he saw them all collected round him, "i have resolved to make a sortie against the rebels, surprise them, and fire their camp, if it be possible. select from your soldiers one hundred and fifty men, in whom you can trust; supply them with inflammable matters, and in five minutes let them be drawn up in the patio. go; and before all, i recommend you the deepest silence." the officers bowed, and at once left the room. the colonel then turned to tranquil. "are you tired?" he asked him. "i am never so." "you are skilful?" "so they say." "very good. you will serve as our guide; unfortunately, i want two others." "i can procure them for your excellency." "you?" "yes, a wood ranger and a comanche chief, who entered the fort with me, and for whom i answer with my life; loyal heart and black-deer. "warn them, then, and all three wait for me in the patio." tranquil hastened to call his friends. "if that hunter has spoken the truth, and i believe he has," the colonel continued, addressing the major-domo, "i am convinced we shall have an excellent opportunity for repaying the rebels a hundredfold the harm they have done us. do you accompany me, don felix?" "i would not for a fortune leave you one inch, under such circumstances." "come, then, for the detachment must be ready by this time." they went out. chapter xiv. the proposal. on the same night, almost at the same hour, the jaguar, seated on a modest oak equipal in his tent, with his elbow leaning on the table and his head on his hand, was reading, by the light of a candle that emitted but a dubious light, important despatches he had just received. absorbed in the perusal, the young commander of the insurgents paid no attention to the noises without, when suddenly a rather sharp puff of wind caused the flame of the candle to flicker, and the shadow of a man was darkly defined on the canvas of the tent. the young man, annoyed at being disturbed, raised his head angrily, and looked toward the entrance of the tent, with a frown that promised nothing very pleasant for his inopportune intruder. but at the sight of the man who stood in the door-way, leaning on a long rifle, and fixing on him eyes that sparkled like carbuncles, the jaguar restrained with difficulty a cry of surprise, and made a move to seize the pistols placed within reach on the table. this man, whom we have already had occasion to present to the reader under very grave circumstances, had nothing, we must confess, in his appearance that spoke greatly in his favour. his stern glance, his harsh face, rendered still harsher by his long white beard, his tall stature and strange attire, all about him, in a word, inspired repulsion and almost terror. the jaguar's movement produced a sinister smile on his pale lips. "why take up your weapons?" he said, in a hoarse voice, as he struck the palm of his hand against his rifle barrel; "had i intended to kill you, you would have been dead long ago." the young man wheeled round his equipal, which brought him face to face with the stranger. the two men examined each other for a moment with the most minute attention. "have you looked at me enough?" the stranger at length asked. "yes," the jaguar answered; "now tell me who you are, what brings you here, and how you reached me." "those are a good many questions at once, still i will try to answer them. who am i? no one knows, and there are moments when i am myself ignorant; i am an accursed, and a reprobate, prowling about the desert like a wild beast in search of prey; the redskins, whose implacable enemy i am, and in whom i inspire a superstitious terror, call me the klein stoman; is this information sufficient for you?" "what?" the young man exclaimed utterly astounded, "the white scalper!" "i am the man," the stranger quietly answered; "i am also known at times by the name of the pitiless." all this had been said by the old man in that monotonous and hoarse voice peculiar to men who, deprived for a long time of the society of their fellow men, have been restricted to a forced silence, and hence speaking has become almost a labour to them. the jaguar gave a start of repulsion at the sight of this sinister man, whose mournful reputation had reached him with all its horrors. his memory immediately recalled all the traits of ferocity and cruelty imputed to this man, and it was under the impression of this recollection that he said to him with an accent of disgust he did not wish to conceal-- "what is there in common between you and me?" the old man smiled sarcastically. "god," he answered, "connects all men to each other by invisible bonds which render them responsible one for the other; he willed it so, in his supreme omniscience, in order to render society possible." on hearing this wild, solitary man pronounce the name of deity, and utter so strange an argument, the jaguar felt his surprise redoubled. "i will not discuss the point with you," he said; "everyone in life follows the path destiny has traced for him, and it does not belong to me to judge you either favourably or unfavourably; still, i have the right of denying any connection with you, whatever may be your feelings toward me, or the motives that brought you hither; up to the present, we have been strangers to each other, and i desire to remain so for the future." "what do you know of it? what certainty have you that this is the first time we have been face to face? man can no more answer for the past than for the future; both are in the hands of one more powerful than him, of him who judges of actions immediately, and for whom there is only one weight and one measure." "i am astonished," the jaguar answered, involuntarily interested, "that the name of deity should be so often on your lips." "because it is deeply engraved on my heart," the old man said with an accent of gloomy sorrow which spread a veil of melancholy over his austere features. "you said yourself that you would not judge me; retain, if you will, the evil impression which the probable false statements of others have made on you. i care little for the opinion of men, for i recognise no other judge of my actions but my conscience." "be it so; but permit me to remark that time is rapidly slipping away, night is advancing. i have serious business to attend to, and need to be alone." "in a word, you show me the door; unluckily, i am not disposed, for the present, to accede to your request, or, if you prefer it, obey your orders; i wish first to answer all your questions, and then, if you still insist on it, i will retire." "take care, for this obstinacy on your part may lead to dangerous consequences for you." "why threaten a man who does not insult you?" the old man replied with undiminished coolness; "do you fancy that i put myself out of the way for nothing? no, no, serious motives bring me to you; and if i am not mistaken, ere long you will allow that the time you are unwilling to grant me, could not be better employed than in listening to me." the jaguar shrugged his shoulders impatiently; he felt a repugnance to employ violence against a man who, after all, had in no way infringed on the laws of politeness, and, spite of himself, a species of secret presentiment warned him that the visit of this singular old man would be useful to him. "speak then," he said a moment after, in the tone of a man who resigns himself to endure a thing that displeases him, but which he cannot elude; "but pray be brief." "i am not so used to speaking as to find pleasure in making long harangues," the scalper replied; "i will only say things strictly indispensable to be properly understood by you." "do so then without further preamble." "be it so. i now return to the second question you asked me: what reason brought me here? i will tell you presently, but first answer your third question--how i got here?" "in truth," the jaguar exclaimed, "that seems to me extraordinary." "not so extraordinary as you suppose; i might tell you that i am too old a hand on the prairies not to foil the most vigilant sentries; but i prefer confessing the truth, as it will be more profitable to you. you have this night confided the guard of the camp to apache dogs, who, instead of watching, as they pledged themselves to do, are asleep on their posts, so thoroughly that the first comer can enter your lines as he thinks proper; and this is so true, that scarce two hours back a party of eight went through the whole length of your camp, and entered the hacienda, without encountering opposition from anyone." "viva dios!" the jaguar exclaimed, turning livid with passion; "can it possibly be so?" "i am the proof of it, i fancy," the old man answered simply. the young chief seized his pistols, and made a hurried movement to rush out, but the stranger restrained him. "what good will it do," he said, "to pick a quarrel with your allies? it is an accomplished fact, so it is better to undergo the consequences. still, let it serve you as a lesson to take better precautions another time." "but these men who crossed the camp?" the jaguar said sharply. "you have nothing to fear from them; they are poor devils of hunters, who were probably seeking a refuge for the two women they brought with them." "two women?" "yes, a white and an indian; although they were dressed in male attire, i recognized them the more easily, because i have been watching them for a long time." "ah," said the jaguar thoughtfully, "do you know any of these hunters?" "only one, who is, i believe, tigrero to the hacienda." "tranquil!" the jaguar exclaimed with aft expression impossible to render. "yes." "in that case, one of the females is his daughter carmela'" "probably." "she is now, then, at the larch-tree?" "yes." "oh," he burst out, "i must at all hazards carry that accursed hacienda." "that is exactly what i came to propose to you," the scalper said quietly. the young man advanced a step. "what do you say?" he asked. "i say," the old man replied in the same tone, "that i have come to propose to you the capture of the hacienda." "you! it is impossible." "why so?" "because," the jaguar went on with agitation, "the hacienda is well fortified: it is defended by a numerous and brave garrison, commanded by one of the best officers of the mexican army, and for the seventeen days i have been investing these accursed walls, i have been unable, despite all my efforts, to take one forward step." "all that is correct." "well?" "i repeat my proposition." "but how will you effect it?" "that is my business." "that is not an answer." "i can give you no other." "still?" "when force does not avail, stratagem must be employed; is not that your opinion?" "yes; but one must have the necessary means in his hands." "well, i have them." "to seize the hacienda?" "i will introduce you into the interior--the rest is your affair." "oh, once inside, i will not leave it again." "then, you accept?" "one moment." "do you hesitate?" "i do." "when i offer you an unexpected success?" "for that very reason." "i do not understand you." "i will explain myself." "do so." "it is not admissible that you have come to make such a proposal for my sake, or that of the cause i serve." "perhaps not." "let us deal frankly. whatever your character may be, you have a manner of looking at things which renders you perfectly indifferent to the chances, good or bad, of the struggle going on at this moment in this unhappy country." "you are quite correct." "am i not? you care little whether texas be free or in slavery?" "i admit it." "you have, then, a reason for acting as you are now doing?" "a man always has a reason." "very good; well, i wish to know that reason." "and suppose i refuse to tell it to you?" "i shall not accept your proposition." "you will be wrong." "that is possible." "reflect." "i have reflected." there was a moment's silence, which the old man interrupted-- "you are a suspicious and headstrong boy," he said to him, "who, through a false feeling of honour, risk losing an opportunity which you will probably never find again." "i will run the risk; i wish to be frank with you; i only know you from very ill reports; your reputation is execrable, and nothing proves to me that, under the pretext of serving me, you may not be laying a snare for me." the old man's pale face was covered by a sudden flush at these rude words, a nervous tremor agitated all his limbs; but, by a violent effort, he succeeded in mastering the emotion he experienced, and after a few minutes, he replied in a calm voice, in which, however, there remained some traces of the tempest that growled hoarsely in his heart-- "i forgive you," he said; "you had a right to speak to me as you did, and i cannot be angry with you. time is slipping away, it is nearly one in the morning; it will soon be too late to execute the bold plan i have formed; i will therefore only add one word--reflect before answering me, for on that answer my resolution, depends. the motive that urges me to offer to introduce you to the hacienda is quite personal, and in no way affects or concerns you." "but what guarantee can you offer me on the sincerity of your intentions?" the old man walked a step forward, drew himself up to his full height, stamped with an accent of supreme majesty-- "my word, the word of a man who, whatever may be said about him, has never failed in what he owes himself; i swear to you on my honour, before that god in whose presence you and i will probably soon appear, that my intentions are pure and loyal, without any thought of treachery. now, answer, what is your resolve?" while uttering these words, the old man's attitude, gestures, and race were imprinted with such nobility and grandeur, that he seemed transfigured. in spite of himself, the jaguar was affected: he felt himself led away by this accent, which seemed to him to come straight from the heart. "i accept," he said in a firm voice. "i expected it," the old man replied; "in young and generous natures good feelings always find an echo. you will not repent the confidence you give me." "here is my hand," the young man said passionately; "press it without fear, for it is that of a friend." "thanks," the old man said, as a burning tear beaded on his eyelashes; "that word repays me for much suffering and sorrow." "now, explain your plan to me." "i will do so in two words; but, ere we discuss the plan we shall adopt, collect noiselessly three or four hundred men, so that we may be able to start immediately we have come to an understanding." "you are right." "i need not advise you to be prudent; your men must assemble in the utmost silence. take no redskins with you, for they would be more injurious than useful. i am not desirous to be seen by them, for you know that i am their enemy." "do not trouble yourself, i will act as you wish." the jaguar went out, and remained away for about a quarter of an hour; during that time the white scalper remained motionless in the centre of the tent, leaning pensively on his rifle barrel, the butt of which rested on the ground. soon could be heard outside something like the imperceptible buzzing of bees in a hive. it was the camp awakening. the jaguar came in again. "now," he said, "the order is given; within a quarter of an hour, four hundred men will be under arms." "that is a longer period than i need for what i have to say to you; my plan is most simple, and if you follow it point for point, we shall enter the hacienda without striking a blow; listen to me attentively." "speak." the old man drew an equipal up to the table at which the jaguar was standing, sat down, placed his rifle between his legs, and began-- "for very many years i have known the larch-tree hacienda. owing to events too long to tell you, and which would but slightly interest you, i was resident in it for nearly a year as major-domo. at that period the father of the present owner was still living, and for sundry reasons had the greatest confidence in me. you are aware that at the period of the conquest, when the spaniards built these haciendas, they made them fortresses rather than farmhouses, as they were compelled to defend themselves nearly daily against the aggressions of the redskins; now, you must know that in such a fortress there is a masked gate, a secret sally port, which, if necessary, the garrison employ, either to receive reinforcements or provisions, or to evacuate the place, should it be too closely invested." "oh," the jaguar said, smiting his forehead, "can the hacienda have one of these sally ports?" "patience, let me go on." "but look," the young man objected, "here is the detailed plan of the larch-tree, made by a man whose family have lived there for three generations from father to son, and there is nothing of the sort marked on it." the old man gave a careless glance at the plan the young man showed him. "because," he replied, "the secret is generally known to the owner of the hacienda alone; but let me finish." "speak, speak." "these sally ports, so useful at the time of the conquest, became eventually perfectly neglected, owing to the long peace that reigned in the country; then, by degrees, as they served no purpose, the recollection of them was totally lost, and i am convinced that the majority of the hacienderos at the present day are ignorant of the existence of these secret gates in their habitation; the owner of the larch-tree is one of the number." "how do you know? perhaps the gate is blocked up, or at least defended by a strong detachment." the old man smiled. "no," he said, "the gate is not stopped up, nor is it guarded." "are you certain?" "did i not tell you that i have been prowling about the neighbourhood for some days?" "i do not remember it." "i wished to assure myself of the existence of this gate, which an accident led me to discover in former days." "well?" "i have sought it, found it, and opened it." "viva dios!" the jaguar shouted joyfully; "in that case the hacienda is ours." "i believe so, unless a fatality or a miracle occur--two things equally improbable." "but where is this gate situated?" "as usual, at a spot where it is the most unlikely to suspect its existence. look," he added, bending over the plan, "the hacienda, being built on a height, runs a risk in the event of a long siege of seeing its wells dry up--does it not?" "yes." "very good. the river on this side runs along the foot of the rocks on which its walls are built." "yes, yes," said the young man, who was eagerly following the indications made by the old man. "judging rightly," he went on, "that on this side the hacienda was impregnable, you contented yourself with establishing on the river bank a few outposts, intended to watch the enemy's movements." "any flight on that side is impossible--in the first place, owing to the height of the walls; and next, through the river, which forms a natural trench." "well, the gate by which we shall enter is among those very rocks, almost on a level with the water; it opens into a natural grotto, the entrance of which is so obstructed by creepers, that from the opposite bank it is impossible to suspect its existence." "at length," the jaguar exclaimed, "this redoubt, which has hitherto been one of the links of the heavy chain riveted round texas, will be tomorrow one of the most solid barriers of her independence. may heaven be praised for permitting so brilliant a triumph to crown our efforts!" "i hope to see you master of the place before sunrise." "may heaven hear you!" "now, we will start whenever you please." "at once, at once." they then left the tent. according to the jaguar's orders, john davis had roused four hundred men, chosen from the boldest and most skilful fellows of the force. they were drawn up a few paces from the tent, motionless and silent. their rifles, whose barrels were bronzed lest they might emit any denunciatory gleams in the moonbeams, were piled in front of them. the officers formed a group apart. they were conversing together in a low voice, with considerable animation, not at all understanding the orders they had received, and not knowing for what reason the chief had them awakened. the jaguar advanced toward them, and the officers fell back. the young man, followed by the scalper, entered the circle, which at once closed up again. john davis, on perceiving the old man, whom he at once recognised, uttered a stifled cry of surprise. "caballeros," the jaguar said, in a low voice, "we are about to attempt a surprise, which, if it succeed, will render us masters of the hacienda almost without a blow." a murmur of surprise ran round the circle. "a person in whom i have the most entire confidence," the jaguar continued, "has revealed to me the existence of a secret gate, not known to the garrison, which will give us access to the fort. each of you will now take the command of his men. our march must be as silent as that of indian warriors on the war trail. you have understood me fully, so i count on your aid. in the event of separation, the watchword will be _texas y libertad_ to your posts." the circle was broken up, and each officer placed himself at the head of his men. john davis then went up to the jaguar. "one word," he said to him, bending to his ear to speak. "do you know who that man is, standing close to you?" "yes." "are you sure?" "it is the white scalper." "and you trust to him?" "entirely." the american tossed his head. "was it he who revealed to you the existence of the sally port by which we are to enter?" "yes." "take care." in his turn, the jaguar shrugged his shoulders. "you are mad," he said. "well, that is possible," john replied; "but for all that, i will watch him." "as you please." "well, let us be off." the american followed his chief, casting a parting look of suspicion on the old man. the latter did not seem to trouble himself at all about this aside. apparently indifferent to what went on around him, he waited, quietly leaning on his rifle, till it pleased the jaguar to give the command for departure. at length, the word "march" ran from rank to rank, and the column started. these men, the majority of whom were accustomed to long marches in the desert, placed their feet so softly on the ground, that they seemed to glide along like phantoms, so silent was their march. at this moment, as if the sky wished to be on their side, an immense black cloud spread across the heavens and interrupted the moonbeams, substituting, almost without transition, a deep obscurity for the radiance that previously prevailed, and the column disappeared in the gloom. a few paces ahead of the main body, the jaguar, white scalper, and john davis marched side by side. "bravo!" the young man muttered; "everything favours us." "let us wait for the end," the american growled, whose suspicions, far from diminishing, on the contrary were augmented from moment to moment. instead of leaving the camp on the aide of the hacienda, whose gloomy outline was designed, sinister and menacing, on the top of the hill, the scalper made the column take a long circuit, which skirted the rear of the camp. the deepest silence prevailed on the plain, the camp and hacienda seemed asleep, not a light gleamed in the darkness, and it might be fancied, on noticing so profound a calm, that the plain was deserted; but this factitious calm held a terrible tempest, ready to burst forth at the first signal. these men, who walked on tiptoe, sounding the darkness around them, and with their finger placed on the rifle trigger, felt their hearts beat with impatience to come into collision with their enemies. it was a singular coincidence, a strange fatality, which caused the besiegers and besieged to attempt a double surprise at the same hour, almost at the same moment, and send blindly against each other men who on either side advanced with the hope of certain success, and convinced that they were about to surprise asleep the too confident enemy, whom they burned to massacre. so soon as they had left the camp, the insurgents drew near the river, whose banks, covered with thick bushes and aquatic plants, would have offered them, even in bright day, a certain shelter from the mexicans. on coming within about half a league of the entrenchments, the column halted; the scalper advanced alone a few yards, and then rejoined the jaguar. "we shall have to cross the river here," he said; "there is a ford, and the men will only be up to their waists in water." and, giving the example, the old man stepped into the bed of the river. the others followed immediately, and, as the scalper had announced, the water was only up to their waists. they passed threes in front, and closing up the ranks, so as to resist the rather strong current, which, without these precautions, might have carried them away. five minutes later, the whole band was collected in the interior of the grotto, at the end of which was the secret door. "the moment has arrived," the jaguar then said, "to redouble our prudence; let us avoid, if it be possible, bloodshed. not a word must be uttered, or a shot fired, without my orders, under penalty of death." then, turning to the white scalper, he said, in a firm voice--"now, open the door!" there was a moment of supreme anxiety for the insurgents, who awaited with a quiver of impatience the downfall of the frail obstacle that separated them from their enemies. chapter xv. a thunderbolt. we will now return to the hacienda. the colonel and the major-domo went down to the patio, where they found assembled the one hundred and fifty men selected for the execution of the surprise, which the colonel proposed to attempt on the rebel camp. tranquil, according to the orders he had received, after assuring himself that carmela was enjoying a sound and refreshing sleep, hastened to tell loyal heart and black-deer what the colonel expected from them. the two men immediately followed their friend into the patio, where the soldiers were already assembled. the colonel divided his men into three detachments, each of fifty men: he took the command of the first, keeping the canadian with him; don felix, having loyal heart for guide, had the command of the second; and the third, at the head of which was placed a captain, an old soldier of great experience, was directed by black-deer. these arrangements made, the colonel gave the order for departure. the detachments at once separated, and left the hacienda by three different gates. the colonel's plan was extremely simple; descend unheard to the rebels' camp, enter it, and fire it on three different sides; then, profiting by the disorder and tumult occasioned by this surprise, rush on the rebels with shouts of "viva mejico!" prevent them rallying or extinguishing the fire, massacre as many as possible, and afterwards effect an orderly retreat on the hacienda. at the moment when the mexicans left the hacienda, the same thing happened to them as to the insurgents, who left their camp at the same moment, that is to say, they were suddenly enveloped in thick darkness. the colonel bent down to tranquil, and said to him good-humouredly-- "this is a good omen for the success of our expedition." the jaguar was saying the same thing to white scalper almost simultaneously. the three detachments silently descended the hill, marching in indian file, and taking the greatest care to stifle the sound of their footsteps on the ground. on coming within a certain distance of the texan entrenchments, they halted, with one accord, to take breath, like tigers, which at the moment of leaping on the prey they covet, draw themselves up, in order to take a vigorous impetus. the soldiers wheeled, so as to present a rather extensive line; then each lay down on the sand, and at the signal, muttered in a low voice by the guides, they began crawling like reptiles through the tall grass, cutting passages through the bushes, advancing in a straight line, and clearing obstacles, without thinking of turning them. we have said that white scalper, no doubt with the intention of causing the larch-tree garrison to feel greater security, and persuade them that all was quiet in camp, had objected to the apache sentries being aroused, for he considered their vigilance quite unnecessary,--not supposing for a moment that the mexicans would dare to leave their lines of defence and take the initiative in a sally. the direction the old man had given to the detachment he guided, by drawing it away from the approaches of the fortress, had also favoured the colonel's plans, which, without that, would have been, in all probability, foiled. still, the canadian hunter was too prudent and accustomed to the tricks of indian war not to assure himself previously that there was no trap to apprehend. hence, on arriving about fifteen yards from the breastworks, he ordered a halt. then, gliding like a serpent through the shrubs and dead trees that covered the ground at this spot, he pushed forward a reconnoissance. loyal heart and black-deer, to whom he had given detailed instructions how to act before leaving the hacienda, executed the same manoeuvre. the absence of the scouts was long, or, at least appeared so to all these men, who were so impatient to bound on the enemy and begin the the attack. at length tranquil returned, but he was anxious and frowning, and a gloomy restlessness seemed to agitate him. these signs did not escape the colonel's notice. "what is the matter with you?" he asked him. "are the rebels alarmed? have you noticed any signs of agitation in their camp?" "no," he replied, with his eyes obstinately fixed before him, as if he wished to pierce the gloom and read the mysteries it contained. "i have seen nothing, noticed nothing; the deepest calm, apparently, prevails in the camp." "apparently, do you say?" "yes; for it is impossible that this calm can be real, for most of the texan insurgents are old hunters, accustomed to the rude fatigues of a desert life. i can just understand that, during the first part of the night, they might not notice the gross neglect of the apache sentries; but what i cannot in any way admit is, that during the whole night not one of these partisans, to whom prudence is so imperiously recommended, should have got up to make the rounds and see that all was in order. above all, i cannot understand this of the jaguar--that man of iron, who never sleeps, and who, though still very young, possesses all the wisdom and experience which are usually the appanage of men who have passed middle life." "and you conclude from this?" "i conclude that we should, perhaps, do better by not continuing this reconnoissance further, but return at full speed to the hacienda; for, unless i am greatly mistaken, this gloomy night covers some sinister mystery which we shall see accomplished ere long, and of which we may fall the victims, unless we take care." "from what you say to me," the colonel made answer, "i see that you rather give me the expression of your own personal opinions than the result of important facts you may have seen during your reconnoissance." "that is true, colonel; but, if you will permit me to speak so, i would observe that these opinions emanate from a man for whom, thanks to his experience, the desert possesses no secrets, and whom his presentiments rarely deceive." "yes, all that is true; and, perhaps, i ought to follow your advice. my resolution has possibly been premature, but now, unfortunately, it is too late to recall it. withdrawing is an impossibility, for that would prove to my soldiers that i was mistaken, which is not admissible. we must, at any cost, accept the consequences of our imprudence, and push on, no matter what happens. still, we will redouble our prudence, and try to accomplish our scheme without incurring too great a risk." "i am at your orders, colonel, ready to follow you wherever you may please to lead me." "forward, then, and may heaven be favourable to us!" the young officer said, resolutely. the order was whispered along the line, and the soldiers, whom this long conference had perplexed, and who were afraid they should be obliged to turn back, received it joyfully, and advanced with renewed ardour. the ground that separated them from the breastwork was soon covered, and the entrenchments were escaladed ere a single apache sentry had given the alarm. suddenly, from three different points of the camp an immense flame shot up, and the mexicans rushed forward, shouting "_viva mejico!_" as the insurgents, who, hardly awake yet, ran hither and thither, not understanding these flames which surrounded them, and these terrible yells which sounded in their ears like a funereal knell. for nearly an hour the contest was a chaos; smoke and noise covered everything else. according to the american custom, most of the insurgents had their wives and children with them: hence, from the first moment the fight assumed gigantic and terrible proportions. the country was covered with a confused medley of startled women, who called to their husbands or brothers, apache horsemen galloping among the terrified foot soldiers and overthrown tents, from which rose the cries of children and the groans of the wounded. all around the camp an immense line of smoke bordered the flames kindled by the mexicans, who bounded forward like wild beasts, uttering fearful yells. all these united sounds formed a chorus of inexpressible horror, whose echo extended to the extreme verge of the horizon as sad and mournful as that of the rising tide. such are the fearful results of civil wars: they let loose and aggravate all the evil passions of man; the latter forget every human feeling in the hope of attaining the object they desire, and incessantly push onward, not caring whether they stumble over ruins or wade through blood. still, when the first feeling of surprise had passed, the insurgents began gradually rallying, in spite of the incessant efforts of the mexicans, and the resistance was organized to a certain extent. colonel melendez had gained his object, the success of his plan was complete, the losses of the texans in men and ammunition were immense; he did not wish, with the few troops he had under him, to advance further into a blazing camp, where they walked under a vault of flames, running the risk of being struck at each moment by the ruins of the powder magazines, which exploded one after the other with a terrible noise. the colonel took a triumphant glance at the ruins piled up around him, and then ordered the retreat to be sounded. the mexicans had allowed their ardour to carry them in every direction; some, in spite of the repeated warnings of their chief, were already too far off for it to be possible for them to fall in directly. these must be waited for, therefore. the three detachments formed in a semicircle, firing on the insurgents, who profited by the moment of respite chance afforded them to become constantly more numerous. they then noticed the small strength of their assailants, and rushed resolutely upon them. the mexicans, now united, wished to effect their retreat, but at each instant their position became more difficult, and threatened to become even critical. the texans, who were still the more numerous, with rage in their hearts at having allowed themselves to be thus surprised, and burning for vengeance, vigorously pressed the mexicans, who, compelled to retreat inch by inch, and keep a front constantly to the enemy, were on the point of being outflanked, in spite of the heroic resistance they opposed to the assailants. colonel melendez, seeing the danger of the position, collected forty resolute men, and placing himself at their head, rushed on the insurgents with an irresistible impetuosity. the latter, surprised in their turn by this vigorous attack, which they were far from expecting, recoiled, and at length fell back some hundred yards to reform, closely pursued by the colonel. this lucky diversion gave the main body of the mexicans time to gain ground, and when the texans returned to the charge with fresh ardour, the propitious moment had passed, and the mexicans were definitively protected from any assault. "_viva dios!_" the colonel said, as he rejoined his company; "the affair was hot, but the advantage remains with us." "i did not see the jaguar during the whole action," the canadian muttered. "that is true," the young man replied, "and is most strange." "his absence alarms me," the hunter said sadly; "i should have preferred his being there." "where can he be?" the colonel remarked, suddenly turning thoughtful. "perhaps we shall learn only too soon," the canadian replied with a shake of the head, foreboding misfortune. all at once, and as if chance had wished to justify the hunter's sad forebodings, an immense noise was heard in the hacienda, amid which could be distinguished cries of distress, and a well-sustained musketry fire. then, a sinister glare rose above the larch-tree, which it coloured with the hues of fire. "forward! forward!" the colonel cried; "the enemy have got into the fort!" at the first glance, the young officer understood what had taken place, and the truth at once struck his mind. all rushed toward the hacienda, inside which an obstinate contest seemed to be raging. they soon reached the gates, which, fortunately for them, still remained in the hands of their comrades, and rushed into the patio, where a horrible spectacle offered itself to their sight. this is what had happened. at the moment when white scalper prepared to break in the door with the lever, the clamour made by the mexicans in firing the camp, reached the ears of the texans assembled in the grotto. "_rayo de dios!_" the jaguar shouted; "what is the meaning of that?" "probably the mexicans are attacking your camp," the old man quietly answered. the young chief gave him an ugly look. "we are betrayed," said john davis, as he cocked a pistol, and pointed it at the old man. "i am beginning to believe it," the jaguar muttered, all his suspicions coming back. "by whom?" the white scalper asked with a smile of contempt. "by you, you villain!" the american answered roughly. "you are mad," the old man said with a disdainful shrug of his shoulders; "if i had betrayed you, should i have led you here?" "that is true," said the jaguar; "but it is strange, and the noise is unceasing. the mexicans are doubtless massacring our companions; we cannot abandon them thus, but must hurry to their assistance." "do nothing of the sort," the scalper sharply exclaimed. "hasten, on the contrary, to invade the fortress, which i doubt not is abandoned by the greater part of its defenders; your companions, so soon as they have rallied, will be strong enough to repulse their assailants." the jaguar hesitated. "what is to be done?" he muttered with an undecided air, as he bent an enquiring glance on the men as they passed round him. "act without loss of a moment," the old man eagerly exclaimed, and with a vigorously dealt stroke he broke in the door, which fell in splinters to the ground; "here is the way open, will you recoil?" "no! no!" they shouted impetuously, and rushed into the gaping vault before them. this vault formed a passage wide enough for four persons to march abreast, and of sufficient height for them not to be obliged to stoop; it rose with a gentle incline, and resembled a species of labyrinth, owing to the constant turns it took. the darkness was complete, but the impulse had been given, and no other noise was audible save that of the panting breathing of these men, and their hurried footsteps, which sounded hollow on the damp ground they trod. after a twenty minutes' march, which seemed to last an age, the scalper's voice rose in the gloom, and uttered the single word, "halt!" all stopped. "here we shall have to make our final arrangements," the scalper continued; "but in the first place let me procure you a light, so that you may know exactly where you are." the old man, who seemed gifted with the precious privilege of seeing in the darkness, walked about for some minutes in various directions, doubtless collecting the ingredients necessary for the fire he wished to kindle; then he struck a light, lit a piece of tinder, and almost immediately a brilliant flame seemed to leap forth from the ground, and illumined objects sufficiently for them to be distinguished. the scalper had simply lighted a fire of dry wood, probably prepared beforehand. the texans looked curiously around them, so soon as their eyes, at first dazzled by the bright flames of the fire, had grown accustomed to the light. they found themselves in a very large, almost circular vault, somewhat resembling a crypt; the walls were lofty, and the roof was rounded in the shape of a dome. the ground was composed of a very fine dry sand, as yellow as gold. this room seemed cut out of the rock, for no sign of masonry was visible. in the background, a staircase of some twenty steps, wide, and without bannister, mounted to the roof, where it terminated, and it was impossible to distinguish whether there were any trapdoor or opening. this trap doubtless existed, but time had covered its openings with the impalpable dust, which it incessantly wears off even the hardest granite. after attentively examining the vault by the aid of a blazing log, the jaguar returned to the old man, who had remained by the fire. "where are we?" he asked him. each curiously extended his ear to hear the scalper's answer. "we are," he said, "exactly under the patio of the hacienda; this staircase ends in an opening i will point out to you, and which leads into a long-deserted corral, in which, if i am not mistaken, the wood stores of the hacienda are now kept." "good," the jaguar answered; "but before venturing into what may be an adroitly laid trap, i should like, myself, to visit the corral of which you speak, in order to see with my own eyes, and assure myself that things are really as you say." "i ask nothing better than to lead you to it." "thank you; but i do not see exactly how we shall manage to open the passage of which you speak, without making a noise, which will immediately bring down on us the whole of the garrison, of which i am excessively afraid, as we are not at all conveniently situated for fighting." "that need not trouble you; i pledge myself to open the trap without making the slightest noise." "that is better; but come, time presses." "that is true. come." the two men then proceeded to the flight of stairs. on reaching the top, the white scalper thrust his head against the ceiling, and after several attempts a slab slowly rose, turned over, and fell noiselessly on its side, leaving a passage large enough for two men to pass together. white scalper passed through this opening. with one bound the jaguar stood by his side, pistol in hand, ready to blow out his brains at the first suspicious movement. but he soon perceived that the old man had no intention of betraying him, and, ashamed at the suspicion he had evidenced, he hid his weapon. as the scalper had stated, they found themselves in an abandoned corral--a sort of vast stall, open to the sky, in which the americans keep their horses; but this one was quite empty. the jaguar went up to a door behind which he heard the sound of footsteps and the clanking of arms, and assured himself that nothing was more easy than to burst this door open. "good," he muttered; "you have kept your word; thank you." the scalper did not seem to hear him; his eyes were fixed on the door with a strange intensity, and his limbs trembled, as if he had been attacked by ague. without attempting to discover the cause of his old comrade's extraordinary emotion, the jaguar ran to the opening, over which he bent down. john davis was standing on the top step. "well?" he asked. "all goes well. come up, but do not make any noise." the four hundred texans then rose one after the other from the vault. each, as he came out of the trap, silently fell in. when all had entered the corral, the jaguar returned the slab to its place. then, returning to his comrades, said in a low but perfectly distinct voice: "our retreat is now cut off; we must either conquer or die." the insurgents made no reply; but their eyes flashed such fire, that the jaguar comprehended that they would not give way an inch. it was a moment of terrible suspense while white scalper was forcing the door. "forward!" the jaguar shouted. all his comrades rushed after him with the irresistible force of a torrent that is bursting its dykes. very different from the texans, whose camp had so easily been invaded, the mexicans were not asleep, but perfectly awake. by orders of the commandant, so soon as he had left the hacienda the whole garrison got under arms, and fell in the patio, ready, if need was, to go immediately to the aid of the expeditionary corps, still, they were so far from expecting an attack, especially in this manner, that the sudden apparition of this band of demons, who seemed to have ascended from the infernal regions, caused them extraordinary surprise and terror, and during some time there was an inextricable confusion. the texans, skilfully profiting by the terror their presence caused, redoubled their efforts to render it impossible for their enemies to offer any lengthened resistance. but, shut up as they were in a court without an outlet, the very impossibility of flight gave the mexicans the necessary courage to rally and fight courageously. collected round their officers, who encouraged them by voice and example, they resolved to do their duty manly, and the combat began again with fresh obstinacy. it was at this moment that colonel melendez and the soldiers who followed him burst into the patio, and by their presence were on the point of restoring to their party the victory which was slipping from them. unfortunately, this success arrived too late: the mexicans, surrounded by the texans, were compelled, after a desperate resistance and prodigies of valour, to lay down their arms, and surrender at discretion. for the second time don juan melendez was prisoner to the jaguar. as on the first occasion, he was compelled to break his sword, conquered by fatality rather than by his fortunate enemy. the first care of the jaguar, so soon as he was master of the fort, was to give strict orders that the females should not be insulted. the conditions imposed on the conquered by the chief of the texan army were the same as he had offered them at the outset. the mexicans, persuaded that the texans were no more than half savage men, were agreeably surprised at this lenity, which they were far from expecting, and pledged themselves without hesitation to observe scrupulously the conditions of the capitulation. the mexican garrison was to leave the hacienda at daybreak. the preliminaries of the surrender had scarce been agreed on between the two leaders ere piercing cries were suddenly heard from the building occupied by the women. almost immediately the white scalper, who had been lost out of sight during the excitement of the combat, emerged from these buildings bearing across his shoulders a woman whose long hair trailed on the ground. the old man's eyes flashed, and foam came from his mouth. in his right hand he brandished his rifle, which he held by the barrel, and fell back step by step, like a tiger at bay, before those who tried in vain to bar his passage. "my daughter!" tranquil shrieked, as he rushed toward him. he had recognised carmela; the poor child had fainted, and seemed dead. the colonel and the jaguar had also recognised the maiden, and by a common impulse hurried to her aid. the white scalper, recoiling step by step before the cloud of enemies that surrounded him, did not reply a word to the insults poured upon him. he laughed a dry and sharp laugh, and whenever an assailant came too near him, he raised his terrible club, and the imprudent man rolled with a fractured skull on the ground. the hunters and the two young men, recognising the impossibility of striking this man without running the risk of wounding her they wished to save, contented themselves with gradually contracting the circle round him, so as to drive him into a corner of the court, where they would be enabled to seize him. but the ferocious old man foiled their calculations; he suddenly bounded forward, overthrew those who opposed his passage, and climbed with headlong speed up the steps leading to the platform. on reaching the latter, he turned once again to his startled enemies, burst into a hoarse laugh, and leaped over the breastwork into the river, bearing with him the young girl, of whom he had not loosed his hold. when the witnesses of this extraordinary act of folly had recovered from the stupor into which it threw them, and rushed on the platform, their anxious glances in vain interrogated the river--the waters had reassumed their ordinary limpidness. white scalper had disappeared with the unhappy victim whom he had so audaciously carried off. to accomplish this unheard-of ravishment he had surrendered the larch-tree hacienda to the texan army. what motive had impelled the strange man to this unqualifiable action? the impenetrable mystery that enveloped his life rendered any supposition impossible. chapter xvi. the conspirators. more fortunate than dramatic authors, the romancers, being bound by no rules of time and place, can, at their pleasure, transport their action and characters from one country to another, and then return to their starting point, not having any account to give of the time that has elapsed, or of the space they have traversed. employing in our turn this privilege, we will momentarily quit the indian border, on the skirt of which our story has hitherto passed, and crossing at a leap over about two hundred miles, beg the reader to follow us to galveston, in the centre of texas, four months after the events we chronicled in our last chapter. at the period when our story is laid, that city, in which general lallemand wished to found the _champ d'asyle_--that sublime utopia of a noble and broken heart--was far from that commercial prosperity which the progress of civilization, successive immigrations, and, most of all, the speculations of bold capitalists, have caused it to attain during the last few years. we shall therefore describe it such as it was during our stay in america, leaving out of sight the enormous transformations it has since undergone. galveston is built on the small sandy islet of st. louis, which almost closes up the mouth of the rio trinidad. at that time the houses were low, mostly built of wood, and surrounded by gardens planted with fragrant trees, which impregnated the atmosphere with delicious odours. unfortunately there is one thing that cannot alter--the climate and the nature of the soil. the suffocating heat that almost continually prevails in the town corrodes the earth and changes it into an impalpable dust, in which you sink up to the knees, and which, at the least breath of air, penetrates into the eyes, mouth, and nostrils; myriads of mosquitoes, whose stings are extremely painful; and, above all, the bad quality of the water, which the inhabitants collect with great difficulty in plank reservoirs during the rainy season, and which the sun renders boiling--these grievous occurrences, especially for europeans, render a residence at galveston insupportable, and even most dangerous. the texans themselves so greatly fear the deadly influence of this climate that, during the torrid heat of summer, rich persons emigrate by hundreds to the mainland, so that the town, which becomes almost suddenly deserted by this momentary departure, assumes a look of sad desolation which is painful to behold. about four in the afternoon, at the moment when the rising sea breeze began to refresh the atmosphere, a little indian canoe, made of beech bark, left the mainland, and vigorously impelled by two men supplied with wide sculls, proceeded toward the city and pulled alongside the plank quay, which served at that time as the landing place. so soon as the canoe was stationary, a third person, carelessly reclining in the stern sheets, rose, looked round him as if to recognise the spot where he was; then, taking a spring, he landed on the quay. the canoe immediately turned round, though not a syllable had been exchanged between the scullers and the passenger they had brought. the latter then pulled his hat over his eyes, wrapped himself carefully in the folds of a wide zarapé of indian fabric and striking colour, and proceeded hastily towards the centre of the city. after a walk of a few minutes the stranger stopped in front of a house, whose comfortable appearance and well-tended garden showed that it belonged to a person who, if not rich, was in easy circumstances. the door was ajar; the stranger pushed it, entered, and closed it after him; then, without any hesitation, like a man sure of what he was about, he crossed the garden, in which he met nobody, entered the passage of the house, turned to the right, and found himself in a room modestly, though comfortably furnished. on reaching this room the stranger fell into a butaca with the air of a tired man delighted to rest after a long journey, took off his zarapé, which he placed on the equipal, threw his hat upon it, and then, when he had made himself comfortable, he rolled a husk cigarette, struck a light with a gold mechero he took from his pocket, lit his papelito, and was soon surrounded by a dense cloud of bluish and fragant smoke, which rose above his head and formed a species of halo. the stranger threw his body back, half closed his eyes, and fell into that gentle ecstasy which the italians call the _dolce far niente_, the turks, _kief_, and for which we northerns, with our more powerful constitutions, have found no name, for the simple reason that we do not know it. the stranger had reached about the half of his second cigarette when another person entered the room. this man, who did not appear to take the slightest notice of the previous arrival, behaved, however, precisely as he had done: he also took off his zarapé, reclined on a butaca, and lit up a cigarette. presently the garden sand creaked beneath the footsteps of a third visitor, followed immediately by a fourth, and then by a fifth; in short, at the end of an hour twenty persons were assembled in this room. they all smoked with apparent carelessness, and since their arrival had not exchanged a syllable. six o'clock struck from a clock standing on a sideboard. the last stroke of the hour had scarce ceased vibrating ere the company, as if by common agreement, threw away their cigars, and rose with a vivacity that certainly was little to be expected after their previous carelessness. at the same moment a secret door opened in the wall, and a man appeared on the threshold. this man was tall, elegant, and aristocratic, and appeared to be young. a half-mask of velvet concealed the upper part of his face; as for his attire, it was exactly similar to that of the other persons in the room, but a brace of long pistols and a dagger were passed through the girdle of red china crape which was wound tightly round his waist. at the appearance of the stranger a quiver ran, like an electric current, through the lines of visitors. the masked man, with head erect, arms crossed on his chest, and body haughtily thrown back, gave his audience a glance, which could be seen flashing through the holes in the velvet. "it is well," he at length said, in a sonorous voice; "you are faithful to your promise, caballeros, not one of you have kept us waiting. this is the eighth time i have assembled you during the month, and each time i have found you equally prompt and faithful; thanks, in the name of the country, caballeros." his auditors bowed silently, and the stranger continued, after a slight pause-- "time presses, gentlemen; the situation is growing with each moment more serious; today we have no longer to attempt an adventurous stroke; the hour has arrived to stake our heads resolutely in a glorious and decisive game. are you ready?" "we are," they all answered unanimously. "reflect once more before pledging yourselves further," the mask continued, in a thrilling voice: "this time i repeat to you, we shall take the bull by the horns, and have a hand-to-hand fight with it; of one hundred chances, ninety-eight are against us." "no matter," the person who first entered the room said, haughtily; "if two chances are left us, they will be sufficient." "i expected no less from you, john davis," the stranger said, "you have ever been full of devotion and self-denial; but, perhaps, among our comrades some may not think as you do entirely. i do not regard this as a crime, for a man may love his country and yet not consent to sacrifice his life to it without regret; still, i must have perfect confidence in those who follow me; they and i must have but one heart and one thought. let those, then, who feel a repugnance to share in the task we have to perform tonight withdraw. i know that if prudence urges them to abstain this time, under circumstances less desperate i should find them ready to support me." there was a lengthened silence, and no one stirred; at length the stranger said, with an expression of joy which he did not try to conceal-- "come, i was not mistaken; you are brave fellows." john davis shrugged his shoulders. "by heaven!" he said, "the trial was useless; you ought to have known long ago what we are." "certainly i knew it, but my honour commanded me to act as i have done. now, all is said: we shall succeed or perish together." "very good, that is what i call speaking," the ex-slave dealer said, with a hearty laugh; "the partisans of santa anna must have to hold their own; for, if i am not greatly mistaken, ere long we shall cut them into stirrup leathers." at this moment a shrill whistle, although rather remote, was heard: a second whistle, still nearer, replied. "gentlemen," the stranger said, "we are warned of the approach of an enemy; perhaps it is only a false alarm, still the interest of the cause we defend imperiously ordains prudence. follow john davis, while i receive the troublesome fellow who is intruding on us." "come," said the american. the conspirators, for they were no other, displayed some hesitation, for they felt a repugnance to hide themselves. "leave me," the stranger went on, "you must." all bowed and left the room after john davis by the secret door, which had offered passage to their chief, and which closed upon them without displaying a sign of its existence, as it was so carefully hidden in the wall. a third whistle, close by, was heard at this moment. "yes, yes," the chief said, with a smile, "whoever you may be, you can come now; if you possessed the craft of the opossum and the eyes of the eagle, i defy you to discover anything suspicious here." he took off his mask, concealed his weapons, and lay back in a butaca. almost immediately the doors opened, and a man appeared. it was lanzi, the half-breed; he was dressed like the sailors of the port, with canvas trousers drawn in round the hips, a white shirt, with a blue turned down collar, with a white edging, and a tarpaulin hat. "well," the chief asked, without turning, "why did you warn us, lanzi?" "it is highly necessary," the other answered. "is it serious, then?" "you shall judge for yourself. the governor is coming hither with several officers and a company of soldiers." "general rubio?" "in person." "hang it!" the conspirator said, "are we threatened with a domiciliary visit?" "you will soon know, for i hear him." "very good; we shall see what they want of us. in the meanwhile take this mask and these weapons." "the weapons too?" the other said in surprise. "what shall i do with them? that is not the way in which i must fight them at this moment. be off, here they are!" the half-breed took the mask and pistols, pressed a spring, and disappeared through the door. the garden gravel could now be heard creaking under the footsteps of several persons. at length the door of the saloon was thrown open, and the general entered, followed by four or five officers, who, like himself, were in full dress. the general stopped on the threshold, and took a piercing glance around; the chief had risen, and was standing motionless in the centre of the apartment. general rubio was a thorough man of the world. he bowed politely, and apologized for having thus entered the house without being announced; but he found all the doors open, and no servant had come up to him. "these excuses are useless, caballero," the young man answered; "the mexican government has for a long time accustomed us to its unceremonious way of behaving toward us; besides, the governor of the city has the right, i presume, to enter any house when he thinks proper, and if he does not find the door open, to have it opened, either with a masterkey or a crowbar." "your remarks, caballero," the general answered, "breathe an irritation that must be regretted. the state of effervescence in which texas is at this moment would be more than sufficient to justify the unusual step i am taking with you." "i know not to what you are pleased to allude, señor general," the young man remarked, coldly; "it is possible that texas may be in a state of effervescence, and the annoyances the government have put on it would completely justify this; but as concerns myself, personally, i might perhaps have a right to complain of seeing my house invaded by an armed force, without any previous summons, when nothing authorizes such an arbitrary measure." "are you quite sure, caballero, that i have not the right to act as i am doing? do you consider yourself so free from suspicion that you really consider this measure arbitrary?" "i repeat to you, caballero," the young man continued, haughtily, "that i do not at all understand the language you do me the honour of addressing to me. i am a peaceable citizen; nothing in my conduct has, as far as i know, aroused the jealous solicitude of the government; and if it pleases its agents to make me undergo ill-deserved annoyance, it is not in my power to oppose it otherwise than by protesting energetically against the insult offered me. you have force on your side, general, so do as you think proper; i am alone here, and shall not attempt in any way to resist the measures you may think proper to take." "that language, caballero, evidently comes from a man assured of his safety." "you are mistaken, general; it is that of a free man, unjustly insulted." "it may be so, but i shall not discuss the point with you. you will permit me, however, to remark, that for a man so justly indignant, and apparently solitary, you are very carefully guarded; for, if the house be empty, as you state, the environs are guarded by friends of yours, who, i must allow, perform admirably the commission with which they were intrusted, by warning you sufficiently early of unexpected visits for you to take your precautions in consequence, and render it an easy matter to get rid in a twinkling of persons whose presence here might compromise you." "instead of speaking thus in enigmas, general, it would be better, perhaps, to have a clear explanation; then, knowing the charge brought against me, i might attempt to defend myself." "nothing is more easy, caballero; still, you will allow me to remark that we have been talking together for some time, and you have not yet offered me a chair." the young chieftain gave the general an ironical glance. "why should i employ toward you those conventional forms of politeness, general? from the moment when, without my authority, and against my will, you introduced yourself into this house, you should have considered yourself as quite at home. it is i, then, who am the stranger here, and in that position i am no longer permitted to do the honours of this house." "caballero," the general answered, with a movement of impatience, "i am grieved to find in you this stiffness and determination to quarrel. when i entered this house, my intentions with respect to you were, perhaps, not so hostile as you suppose; but, since you force me to a clear and categorical explanation, i am prepared to satisfy you, and prove to you that i am acquainted not only with your conduct, but with the plans you entertain and are carrying out, with a tenacity and boldness which, if i did not take, would lead inevitably to their speedy realization." the young man started, and a flash burst from his wild eye at this direct insinuation, which revealed to him the danger with which he was menaced; but immediately regaining his presence of mind, and extinguishing the fire of his glance, he replied, coolly-- "i am listening to you, general." the latter turned to his officers. "do as i do, señores," he said, as he sat down; "take seats, as this caballero refuses to offer them to us. as this friendly conversation may be prolonged for some time yet, it is unnecessary that you should fatigue yourselves by listening to it standing." the officers bowed, and seated themselves comfortably on the butacas with which the apartment was furnished. the general continued, after a few moments of reflection, during which the young man looked at him carelessly, while rolling a husk cigarette: "and in the first place, to proceed regularly, and prove to you that i am well-informed of all that concerns you," he said, purposely laying a stress on the words, "i will begin by telling you your name." "in truth, general, you should have begun with that," the young man said, negligently. "you are," the general went on, quietly, "the famous chief whom the insurgents and freebooters have christened the jaguar." "ah, ah!" he remarked, ironically, "so you know that, señor governor?" "and a good many more things, as you shall see." "go on," he said, as he threw himself back with the graceful negligence of a friend on a visit. "after giving a powerful organization to your revolt on the indian border by seizing the larch-tree hacienda, and allying yourself with certain comanche and apache tribes, you understood that, to succeed, you must give up that guerilla warfare, which i confess you had carried on for some time with considerable success." "thanks," said the jaguar, with an ironical bow. "you therefore entrust the temporary command of your bands to one of your comrades, and yourself come into the heart of texas, with your most faithful associates, in order to revolutionize the coast, and deal a great blow by seizing a seaport. galveston, by its position at the mouth of the trinidad river, is a strategical point of the utmost importance for your plans. for two months past you have been concealed in this house, which you have made the headquarters of your insurrection, and where you are making all the preparations for the audacious enterprise you wish to attempt. you have at your disposal numerous emissaries and faithful conspirators; the government of the united states supply you with abundance of arms and ammunition, which you think you will soon have need of. your measures have been so well taken, and your machinations carried on with such great skill; you fancy yourself so nearly on the point of success, that hardly an hour back you convened here the principal members of your party, in order to give them their final instructions. is it so? am i correctly informed? answer me, caballero." "what would you have me answer, caballero," the young man said, with a delightful smile, "since you know all?" "then, you confess that you are the jaguar, the chief of the freebooters!" "canarios, i should think so." "you also allow that you came here with the intention of seizing the city?" "incontestably," the other said, with an air of mockery; "it does not allow the shadow of a doubt." "take care," the general remarked drily; "it is a much more serious matter than you seem to think." "what the deuce would you have me do general? it is not my fault. you enter my house, without giving me notice, with a crowd of officers and soldiers; you surround my residence, carry it by storm, and when you have finished this pretty job worthy of an alguazil, without showing me the slightest scrap of paper authorising you to act in that way, you tell me to my face that i am the chief of the bandits, a conspirator, and lord knows what; and then you request me to prove it. on my faith! any other in my place would act as i am doing; like me, he would bow to the weight of so great a military force and such an entire conviction. all this seems to me so extraordinary and novel, that i am beginning to doubt my own identity, and i ask myself if i have not been hitherto deceived in believing myself, martin gutierrez, the ranchero of santa aldegonida, in the state of sonora, and if i am not, on the contrary, the ferocious jaguar, of whom you speak to me, and for whom you do me the honour of taking me. i confess to you, general, that all this perplexes me in the highest degree, and i should feel greatly obliged if you would kindly bring me to some settled conviction." "then, caballero, up to the present you have been jesting!" the general said hastily. the jaguar began laughing. "_cuerpo de cristo_," he replied. "i should think so. what else could i do in the face of such accusations? discuss them with you? you know as well as i do, general, that it is useless to attempt to overthrow a conviction. instead of telling me that i am the jaguar, prove it to me, and then i will bow to the truth. that is very simple, it appears to me." "very simple, indeed, caballero; i hope to be able soon to give you that certainty." "very good; but till then, i would observe that you entered my house in a way contrary to law, that the domicile of a citizen is inviolable, and that what you have done today, only a juez de letras, armed with a legal warrant, was empowered to do." "you would possibly be correct, caballero, if we lived in ordinary times; but at this moment such is no longer the case; the state is in a state of siege, the military power has taken the place of the civil authority, and alone has the right to command and have carried out those measures that relate to the maintenance of order." the young man, while the general was speaking, had taken a side glance at the clock. when the governor ceased he rose, and bowing ceremoniously, said: "to be brief, be kind enough, then, to explain to me categorically, and without further circumlocution, the motives for your presence in my house; we have been talking a long time and i have not yet been able to read your intentions. i should, therefore, feel obliged by your making them known to me without delay, as important business claims my presence abroad; and if you insist on staying here, i shall be compelled to leave you to yourselves." "oh, oh! you change your tone, i fancy, caballero," the general said, with a little irony. "i will tell you the motives you desire to learn; as for your leaving the house without me or my sanction, which is the same thing, i fancy you would find it rather difficult." "which means, i presume, that you look upon me as a prisoner, general?" "nearly so, caballero. when your house has been carefully searched, and we are convinced there is nothing suspicious in it, i may, perhaps, permit you to be put aboard a ship which will carry you far away from the territory of the mexican confederation." "what! without a warrant, by your mere will?" "by my mere will: yes, caballero." "_canarios_, señor general, i see that your government has preserved the healthy spanish traditions, and is deliciously arbitrary," the jaguar said, mockingly; "the only question is whether i shall voluntarily submit to such treatment." "you must have already perceived that force is not on your side, at least for the present." "oh, general, when a man has right on his side, force can soon be found." "try it, then, caballero; but i warn you that it will be at your own risk and peril." "then you will employ force to coerce a single, unarmed man in his own house?" "that is my intention." "oh! if that be so, i thank you, for you leave me free to act." "what do you mean by that remark, caballero?" the general asked, with a frown. "what do you mean by yours, señor governor? i consider that all means are good to escape an arbitrary arrest, and that i shall employ them without the slightest hesitation." "try it," the officer said, ironically, "when the moment for action arrives, i shall not wait for your permission to do so, general," the jaguar replied, with equal sarcasm. although this was the first time general rubio and the jaguar had met, the governor of galveston had long been acquainted with the reputation of the man with whom he had to deal; he knew how fertile in resources his mind was, and the audacious temerity that formed the basis of his character; personally he owed him a grudge for carrying off the conducta de plata, and capturing the larch-tree, hence he entertained a lively desire to take an exemplary revenge on his bold adventurer. the tone in which the jaguar uttered the last words caused the general a moment's anxiety; but after taking a glance round him, he was reassured. in fact, owing to the precautions taken by the old soldier, it seemed materially impossible that his prisoner could escape, for he was alone, unarmed, in a house surrounded by soldiers, and watched by several resolute officers; he, therefore, regarded his answer as bravado, and took no further notice of it. "i absolve you beforehand," he said disdainfully, "for any efforts you may make to escape." "i thank you, general," the jaguar answered, with a ceremonious bow. "i expected nothing else from your courtesy; i make a note of your promise." "be it so. now, with your permission we are about to commence our domiciliary visit." "do so, general, pray do so; if you desire it, i will myself act as your guide." "in my turn i thank you for this obliging offer, but i do not wish to put your kindness to a trial; the more so, as i am thoroughly acquainted with this house." "do you think so, general?" "judge for yourself." the jaguar bowed without replying, and carelessly leant his elbow on the couch upon which the clock stood. "we will first begin with this saloon," the general continued. "you mean that you will finish with it," the young man remarked, with an ironical smile. "let us look first at the secret door in that wall." "what! you know it then?" "it seems so." "hang it all! you are better informed than i supposed." "you do not know all yet." "i hope so; judging from the commencement, i expect some extraordinary discoveries." "perhaps so. will you make the spring work yourself, caballero, or would you prefer my doing it?" "on my word, general, i confess that all this interests me so hugely that, until fresh orders, i desire to remain a simple spectator, in order not to trouble my pleasure." this continued irony produced an involuntary impression on the general; the calm and coldly mocking attitude of the young man troubled him in his heart; he feared a snare, without knowing when or how it would reveal itself. "pay attention, caballero," he said in a menacing tone to the jaguar; "i know for a fact that when i arrived you had a large party assembled here; on my entrance, your comrades fled by that door." "that is true," the young man said with a nod of assent. "take care," the general continued, "that if assassins are hidden behind that door, the blood shed will fall on your head." "general," the jaguar said seriously, "press the spring, the passage is empty; i require no aid but my own to deliver myself from your clutches when i think proper." the governor no longer hesitated; he walked resolutely to the wall, and pressed the spring; his officers had followed him, ready to aid him if any danger presented itself. the jaguar did not stir. the door opened, and displayed a long and completely deserted corridor. "well, general, have i kept my word?" the jaguar said. "yes, señor, i must concede it. now, caballeros," the general continued, addressing his officers, "draw swords, and forward!" "one moment, if you please," said the jaguar. "what do you want, señor?" "you will remember that i warned you you would end your domiciliary visit with this room?" "well?" "i will keep that second promise as i did the first." at the same instant, and ere the general and his officers could account for what was happening, they felt the flooring give way beneath their feet, and they rolled to the bottom of a vault, of slight depth, it is true, but buried in the most intense gloom. "a pleasant journey!" the jaguar said with a laugh, as he closed the trap again. chapter xvii. the spy. while these events were occurring, the sun had set, and night almost immediately succeeded day. so soon as the jaguar had closed the trap on his prisoners, he proceeded toward the masked door to rejoin his comrades; but a sound of footsteps he heard outside, made him change his plans; he shut the door again, and returned to his old position to await the newcomer. the latter did not delay long. although the night was too dark to allow the jaguar to recognise his features, by the sparkling of his gold lace, and the clank of his spurs and steel scabbard on the pavement, he saw that he was once more in the presence of a mexican officer high in command. at the end of a moment, however, the jaguar's eyes, gifted possibly with that precious quality possessed by animals of the feline race to see through the darkness, appeared to have recognised the stranger. the young man frowned, and gave a start of disappointment. "is there no one here?" the officer asked, as he stopped in the doorway with very excusable hesitation. "who are you, and what do you want?" the jaguar answered, disguising his voice. "that is a curious question," the officer continued, as he stepped forward with his hand on his sabre hilt; "first have this room lighted up, which looks like a cut-throat's den, and then we will talk." "it is not necessary for what we have to say to each other, you can leave your sabre at rest; although this house is dark, it is no cut-throat den, as you seem to believe." "what has become of general rubio and the officers who accompanied him?" "am i their keeper, colonel melendez?" the jaguar asked in a sarcastic tone. "who are you, who appear to know me and answer so strangely?" "perhaps a friend, vexed at seeing you here, and who would be glad were you elsewhere." "a friend would not hide himself as you are doing." "why not, if circumstances compel him?" "a truce to this exchange of puerile speeches; will you answer my question, yes or no?" "which question?" "the one i asked you about the general." "suppose i refuse?" "i shall know how to compel you." "that is haughty language, colonel." "which i shall support by deeds." "i do not think so: not that i doubt your courage, heaven forbid, for i have long known it." "well! what will prevent me?" "you have not the means to carry out your wishes." "they are easily found." "try it." while speaking, the colonel had mechanically taken a couple of steps into the room. "i shall soon return," he said, as he laid his hand on the door latch. the jaguar only answered by a hoarse laugh. the door was closed, in vain did the colonel try to open it; it resisted all his efforts. "i am your prisoner, then?" he said, addressing the young man. "perhaps so; it will depend on yourself." "you wish me to fall into the same snare into which the general and his officers probably fell before me. try it, señor; still i warn you that i am on my guard, and will defend myself." "your words are harsh, colonel. you gratuitously insult a man of whom, up to the present, you have no cause to complain, and whom you will regret having attacked when you know him." "tell me the fate of my companions, and what your intentions are with regard to myself." "my intentions are better than yours, colonel; for, if you had me in your power, as i have you in mine, it is probable that your general, if not yourself, would make me pay dearly for the imprudence i have committed; but enough of this, we have lost too much time already. general rubio and his officers are my prisoners, and you feel in your heart that i can do what i please with you; withdraw the soldiers who surround my house, pledge me your word of honour that no attempt shall be made on me by the mexican government for four-and-twenty hours, and i will immediately restore you all to liberty." "i know not who you are, señor; the conditions you wish to impose on me are those a conqueror would offer to enemies reduced to impotence." "what else are you at this moment?" the young man interrupted violently. "be it so; but i cannot take it on myself to accept or decline these conditions, as the general alone has the right to form a determination and pledge his word." "then, ask himself what his intentions are, and he will answer you." "is he here, then?" the colonel exclaimed eagerly, as he moved a step forward. "it is of little consequence to you where he is, provided he hear and answer you; do not stir from where you are; one step further, and you are a dead man; what is your resolve?" "i accept." "in that case speak to him." the jaguar worked the spring that opened the trap, and displayed the entrance of the vault into which the mexican officers had been so suddenly hurled; but the darkness was so intense, that the colonel could perceive nothing, in spite of his efforts to try and distinguish a gleam; he merely heard a slight sound produced by the grating of the trap in its groove. the colonel understood that he must get out of the difficulty as well as he could. "general," he said raising his voice, "can you hear me?" "who speaks?" the general answered immediately. "i, colonel melendez de gongora." "heaven be praised!" the general shouted; "in that case all goes well." "on the contrary, all goes ill." "what do you mean?" "that, like yourself, i am in the hands of the accursed insurgents who have captured you." "mil demonios!" the old soldier shouted angrily. "are you all right?" "bodily, yes; my officers and myself have received no wounds; i must confess that the demon who played us this trick was so far civil." "thanks, general," the jaguar said in a tone of mockery. "ah, salteador," the general exclaimed in a rage; "i swear by heaven that we shall settle our accounts some day." "i hope so too, general; but for the present, believe me, you had better listen to what colonel melendez has to say to you." "i suppose i must," the governor muttered. "speak, colonel," he added aloud. "general, we are offered our liberty on condition," the colonel immediately replied, "that we pledge our word of honour to attempt nothing against the man whose prisoner we are." "or against his adherents, whoever they may be," the jaguar interrupted. "be it so, or against his adherents, during the next twenty-four hours, and that the house shall be left free." "hum:" said the general, "that requires reflection." "i give you five minutes." "demonios! that is very short; you are not at all generous." "it is impossible for me to grant a longer period." "and suppose i refuse?" "you will not do so," "for what reason?" "because you are furious with me, and hope to avenge yourself some day." "excellently reasoned; but supposing i _do_ refuse?" "in that case, i will treat you and yours exactly as you intended to treat me and mine." "that is to say?" "you will be all shot within a quarter of an hour." there was a mournful silence. no other sound could be heard but the dry and monotonous one produced by the escapement of the clock. these men, collected without seeing each other, in so narrow a space, felt their hearts beat as if to burst their chests; they trembled with impotent rage, for they recognised that they were really in the hands of an implacable foe, against whom any struggle was mad, if not impossible. "viva dios!" the colonel shouted; "better to die than surrender thus!" and he rushed forward with uplifted sabre. suddenly a hand of iron clutched him, threw him down, and he felt the point of his own sword, which he had let fall, slightly prick his throat. "surrender, or you are a dead man," a rough voice shouted in his ear. "no; mil demonios!" the colonel said, furiously; "i will not surrender to a bandit; kill me." "stop," the jaguar said, "i insist." the man who held the colonel down left him at liberty, and the latter rose, ashamed and partly stunned. "well," the young man continued, "do you accept, general?" "yes, demon," the latter replied passionately; "but i shall revenge myself." "then, you give me your word as a soldier that the conditions i impose on you will be legally carried out by you?" "i give it; but who guarantees me that you will act honourably on your side?" "my honour, señor general," the jaguar answered, proudly; "my honour, which, as you know, is as unsullied as your own." "very good, señor, i trust to you as you do to me. must we surrender our swords?" "general," the jaguar answered nobly, "a brave soldier never separates from his weapons; i should blush to deprive you of yours. your companions, like yourself, can keep their swords." "thanks for that courtesy, caballero, for it proves to me that every good feeling is not dead in your heart. now i am waiting for you to supply me with the means for leaving the place into which you made me fall so skilfully." "you shall be satisfied, señor general. as for you, colonel, you can retire, for the door is now open." "not before i have seen you," the officer answered. "what good would that do, since you have not recognised me?" the young man said, reassuming his natural voice. "the jaguar!" the colonel ejaculated in surprise. "ah! i might have expected that; i shall certainly remain now," he added, with a singular inflection in his voice. "very good," said the chief, "remain." he clapped his hands, and four peons entered with lighted candelabra. so soon as the saloon was lit up, the young officer perceived the general and his aides-de-camp standing up in the vault. a criado brought a ladder to the trap, and the mexicans ascended--half-pleased, half-ashamed. "gentlemen," the insurgent continued, "you are free. any other in my place would, doubtless, have profited by the bad position in which you were, to impose on you conditions far harder than those i demanded of you; but i only understand a fair fight, steel against steel, chest against chest. go in peace, but take care, for hostilities have begun between us, and the war will be rude." "one word before separating," said the general. "i listen, caballero." "whatever may be the circumstances under which we may meet at a later date, i shall not forget your conduct of this day." "i dispense you from any gratitude on that account, general; the more so, because if i acted thus it was for reasons entirely strange to you." "whatever be the motive of your conduct, my honour urges me to remember your conduct." "as you please; i only ask you to remember our conditions." "they shall be punctually carried out." the jaguar, upon this, bowed to the general; the latter returned his salute, and, making a sign to his officers to follow him, left the room. the young chief listened attentively to the sound of the retiring footsteps, and then drew himself up. "what!" he exclaimed with surprise, on perceiving the colonel, "are you still here, señor don juan?" "yes, brother," the latter answered, in a sad voice, "i am still here." the jaguar walked rapidly up to him, and took his hand. "what have you to say to me, brother?--have you a fresh misfortune to announce?" "alas, friend, what greater misfortune could i tell you of than that which, by ruining our dearest hopes, has plunged us into despair?" "have you received news of our friends?" "none." "tranquil?" "i know not what has become of him." "loyal heart?" "has also disappeared." "listen, brother, this situation cannot endure long; whatever happens, it must cease. time fails me at this moment to explain to you certain matters you ought to know; but we will meet tomorrow." "where, and at what hour?" "at the salto del frayle, at two in the afternoon." "why so far and so late, brother?" "because between this and then something will happen, which i cannot tell you at present, but which will doubtless oblige me to cross the bay and seek shelter on the mainland." "i have no right to ask you for an explanation, brother; but take care. whatever you may attempt, you will have to deal with a rude adversary; the general is furious against you; he has his revenge to take; and if you furnish him with the opportunity, he will not let it slip." "i am convinced of it, friend, but the die is cast; unfortunately, we follow different roads. heaven will help the good cause. your hand once more, and good-bye." "good-bye, brother, and it is settled that we meet tomorrow." "death alone can prevent me being at the place of meeting i have selected." the two political enemies, so cordially attached, shook hands and separated. the colonel wrapped himself in his cloak, and immediately left the room and the house. the general, as he went away, had given the company posted round the mansion orders to follow him, and the street was completely deserted. the jaguar was so intimately convinced of the fidelity with which general rubio would fulfil his engagements, that he did not even take the trouble to assure himself of the fact. so soon as he was alone he closed the trapdoor, touched the spring of the secret door, and left the saloon in his turn, to enter the dark corridor through which, on the general's entrance, his friends had disappeared at the heels of john davis. this passage, after several turnings, opened into a rather large room, in which all the conspirators were assembled, silent and gloomy, waiting, with their hands on their weapons, till the chief claimed their assistance. lanzi was standing sentry in the doorway, to prevent any surprise: the jaguar resumed his mask, thrust his pistols in his girdle, and entered. on seeing him, the conspirators gave a start of joy, which was immediately suppressed, however, at a signal from the young man. "my comrades," he said, in a saddened voice, "i have evil tidings to communicate to you. had not my measures been so well taken, we should all have been prisoners at this moment. a traitor has slipped in among us, and this man has given the governor the most detailed and positive information about our projects. a miracle has alone saved us." a shudder of indignation ran through the ranks of the conspirators; by an instinctive movement they separated, giving each other sinister glances, and laying their hands on their weapons. the vast hall, only lighted by a smoky lamp, whose reddish light threw strange reflections at each breath of air on the energetic faces of the conspirators, had a mournful, and yet striking aspect. after a moment's silence the chief went on, in a firm and marked voice-- "what matter, comrades, if a cowardly spy has stepped in among us; the hour of fear and hesitation has passed away, and we shall now go to work in the sight of all. no more secret meetings, no more masks," he added, violently tearing off his own and trampling it under foot; "our enemies must know us at length, and learn that we are really the apostles of that liberty which is about to gleam like a brilliant beacon over our country." "long live the jaguar!" the conspirators shouted as they rushed joyfully towards him. "yes, the jaguar," he continued in a thundering voice, "the chief of the freebooters, the first man in texas who dared to rise against our oppressors; the jaguar, who has sworn to make you free, and who will keep his oath, unless death prevent him; now let the coward who has sold us complete his work by revealing my name to the governor, who has already almost divined it, and will be happy to acquire the certainty at last. this final denunciation will assuredly be paid highly, but he must make haste, for tomorrow will be too late." at this moment a man burst through the conspirators, thrusting back right and left those who barred his passage, and placed himself opposite the young chief. "listen," he said, turning to his comrades, "and let what you are about to hear form a profitable lesson to you:--the man who revealed the secret of your meetings to the governor, the man who sold you, the man, in a word, who wished to give you up, i know!" "his name, his name!" all the conspirators shouted, brandishing their weapons passionately. "silence!" the jaguar ordered, "allow our comrade to speak." "do not give me that name, jaguar, for i am not your comrade, and never was such. i am your enemy, not your personal enemy, for i do not know you; but the enemy of every man who tries to tear from the mexican republic that texas where i was born, and which is the most brilliant gem of the union. it was i, i alone who sold you, i, lopez hidalgo d'avila, but not in the cowardly way you suppose, for when the moment arrived for me to make myself known to you, i had sworn to do so; now you know all, and i am in your power. there are my weapons," he added, as he threw them disdainfully on the ground; "i shall not resist, and you can do with me as you please." after uttering these words with a haughty accent impossible to render, don lopez hidalgo proudly crossed his arms on his chest, drew up his head, and waited. the conspirators had listened to this strange revelation with an indignation and rage that attained such a pitch of violence that their will was, so to speak, paralyzed, and in spite of themselves they remained motionless. but so soon as don lopez had finished speaking, their feelings suddenly burst out, and they rushed upon him with tiger yells. "stay, stay!" the jaguar shouted, as he rushed forward and made of his own person a rampart for the man on whom twenty daggers were lifted; "stay, brothers; as this man has said, he is in our power, and cannot escape us; although his blood be that of a traitor, let us not commit an assassination, but try him." "yes, yes," the conspirators yelled, "let us try him." "silence," the jaguar ordered, and then turning to don lopez hidalgo, who during their proceedings had remained as calm and quiet as if he were a stranger to what was going on; "will you answer frankly the questions i ask you?" he inquired. "yes," don lopez simply replied. "was it pure love of your country, as you call it, that urged you to pretend to be one of us in order to betray us more securely, or was it not rather the hope of a rich reward that impelled you to the infamous action of which you have been guilty?" the mexican shrugged his shoulders with disdain. "i am as rich as the whole of you put together," he replied; "who does not know the wealthy don lopez hidalgo d'avila?" "that is true," one of the company remarked; "this man, i am bound to allow, for i have been acquainted with him for many years, does not know the amount of his fortune." the jaguar's forehead was wrinkled by the effect of a little thought. "then, that noble and revered feeling, the love of one's country, instead of elevating your soul and making generous feeling spring up in it," he continued, "has made you a coward. instead of fighting honestly and loyally in the daylight against us, you followed the gloomy path of espial to betray us, and assumed the mask of friendship to sell us." "i only picked up the weapon yourselves offered me. did you fight, pray, in the open day? no, you conspired craftily in the darkness; like the mole, you dug the underground mine that was to swallow us up, and i countermined you. but what use is discussion? for you will no more comprehend my assertions than i can yours. now to the business, for i am convinced that is the only point on which we shall agree." "one moment, don lopez; explain to me the reason why, when no suspicion pointed to you, when no one thought of asking you to account for your actions, you denounced yourself and trusted to our mercy:" "although unseen, i overheard what passed between you and your governor," the mexican coldly answered; "i saw in what way the perilous position in which i had succeeded in placing you turned to your advantage; i understood that all was lost, and did not wish to survive our defeat." "then you know the conditions i imposed on general rubio?" "and which he was constrained to accept. yes, i know them; i am aware, also, that you are too clever and determined a man not to profit by the twenty-four hours' respite which you have so adroitly gained; then i despaired of the cause i was defending." "good! don lopez, that is all i wished to know. when you entered our association you accepted all the laws?" "i did so." "you are aware that you have deserved death?" "i know it and desire it." the jaguar turned to the conspirators, who had listened, panting with fury and impatience, to this singular dialogue. "brothers," he said, "you have heard all that passed between don lopez hidalgo d'avila and myself?" "yes," they answered. "on your soul and conscience, is this man guilty?" "he is guilty," they burst forth. "what punishment does he deserve?" "death!" "you hear, don lopez; your brethren condemn you to die." "i thank them; that favour is the only one i hoped and desired to receive from them." there was a moment of supreme silence; all eyes were fixed on the jaguar, who, with his head hanging on his breast, and frowning brows, seemed plunged in serious thought. suddenly the young man raised his head; a lightning glance flashed from his eyes, a strange smile curled his lip, and he said, with a tone of bitter irony-- "your brethren have condemned you to die; well, i, their chief, condemn you to live!" don lopez, despite all his courage, felt himself turn pale at these cutting words; he instinctively stooped to pick up the weapons he had previously hurled at his feet; but the jaguar guessed his thoughts. "seize that man!" he shouted. john davis and two or three other conspirators rushed on the mexican, and, in spite of his active resistance, soon rendered him powerless. "bind him," the jaguar next ordered. this command was immediately carried out. "now, listen to me, brothers," the jaguar continued, in a loud voice--"the task we have taken on ourselves is immense, and studded with perils and difficulties of every description; we are no longer men but lions, and those who fall into our power must eternally bear the mark of our powerful claws. what this man has done for an object honourable in his eyes, another might be tempted to do to satisfy a sordid passion. death is only the end of life, a moment to endure; many men desire it, through weariness or disgust. don lopez has himself told us that he wished to give us a profitable lesson; and he is not mistaken, for we shall profit by it. in killing him we should but accomplish his dearest wish, as himself said: let him live, as we desire to punish him, but let that life he retains be such a burden to him, and so miserable, that he may for ever regret not having fallen beneath our daggers; this man is young, handsome, rich, and honoured by his fellow citizens; let us deprive him, not of his riches, for that is not in our power, but of his beauty, that flower of youth of which he is so proud, and make him the most wretched and despicable being in creation. in that way our vengeance will be complete; we shall have attained our object by imprinting a just terror on the hearts of those who may be tempted hereafter to follow his example." the conspirators, despite all their resolution and ferocity, experienced a secret terror on hearing the savage words of their chief, whose gloomy countenance reflected a terrible energy. "don lopez hidalgo d'avila," the jaguar continued, in a hollow voice, "traitor to your brothers, your false tongue will be plucked out and your ears cut off. such is the sentence which i, the chief of the freebooters, pass on you; and in order that everybody may know that you are a traitor, a t will be cut on your forehead between your eyebrows." this sentence caused a momentary stupor among the company; but soon a tiger-like yell burst from all their panting chests, and it was with a tremor of ferocious joy that these men prepared to carry out the atrocious sentence pronounced by their chief. the prisoner struggled in vain to burst the bonds that held him. in vain he demanded death with loud cries. as the jaguar had said, the lion's paw was on him; the conspirators were inexorable, and the sentence was carried, out in all its rigour. an hour later, don lopez hidalgo d'avila, bleeding and mutilated, was deposited at the door of the governor's palace. on his chest was fastened a large placard, on which were written in blood the two words: cobarde! traidor! after this fearful execution, the conspirators continued their meeting as if nothing extraordinary had interrupted them. but the jaguar's revenge was foiled--at least partially; for when the unhappy victim was picked up at daybreak he was dead. don lopez had found the strength and courage to dash out his brains against the wall of the house near which he had been thrown as an unclean animal. chapter xviii the pulqueria. the same day on which we resume our narrative, on the firing of the cannon from the fort that commands the entrance to the port of galveston, to announce the setting of the sun, whose glowing disk had just disappeared in the sea, colouring the horizon with a ruddy hue for a long distance, the town, which had, during the day, been plunged into a mournful torpor owing to the heat, woke up all at once with lengthened and joyous clamour. the streets, hitherto solitary, were peopled as if by enchantment by an immense crowd, which emerged in disorder from all the houses, so eager were they to breathe the fresh air of evening which the sea breeze brought up on its humid wing; the shops were opened, and lit up with an infinite number of coloured paper lamps. ere long there was in this town, where, scarce an hour earlier, such silence and solitude prevailed, a medley of individuals of all classes and countries--english, spaniards, americans, mexicans, french, russians, chinese--all dressed in their national costume: women, coquettishly wrapped in their rebozos, darting to the right and left provocative glances; perambulating tradesmen vaunting their merchandise, and serenos, armed to the teeth, trying to maintain good order. and all this crowd came and went, and stopped,--pushing and elbowing and laughing, singing, shouting, and quarrelling, making the dogs bark and the children cry. two young gentlemen, dressed in the simple but graceful uniform of officers of the united states navy, who were coming from the interior of the town, forced their way with some difficulty through the crowd that impeded their every step on the port, as they proceeded toward the pier, where a large number of boats of all shapes and sizes were tied up. they had scarce reached the landing place ere they were surrounded by some twenty boatmen, who offered their services, while exaggerating in their praiseworthy fashion the surprising qualities and unparalleled speed of their boats, doing so in the bastard patois which belongs to no language, but is formed of words culled haphazard from all, and by means of which, in every seaport, the people of the country and strangers contrive to understand each other, and which is called in the scales of the levant the linguafranca. after giving a careless glance at the numerous skiffs dancing before them, the officers abruptly dismissed the boatmen by peremptorily declining their services; but they did not get rid of them till they had told them they had a boat of their own, and scattered some small change among them. the boatmen withdrew, half vexed, half satisfied, and the officers were at length left alone on the jetty. we have said that the sun had set for some time, and hence the night was gloomy. still, the two officers, in order, doubtless, to assure themselves that the darkness concealed no spy, walked several times up and down the jetty, while conversing together in a low voice, and examining with the most scrupulous attention those spots which might have afforded shelter to anyone. they were certainly alone. one of them then drew from his breast one of those silver whistles, such as boatswains employ on board ships, and then produced a soft and prolonged note thrice repeated. a few moments passed, and nothing proved to the officers that their signal had been heard. at last, a soft whistle traversed the air and expired on the ears of the two men who were listening, with bodies bent forward and faces turned to the sea. "they are coming," said one. "we will wait," his comrade answered laconically. they carefully wrapped themselves in their cloaks to guard themselves against the damp sea breeze; they leant against an old gun that served to tie boats up, and remained motionless as statues, without exchanging a syllable. a few minutes passed thus; the darkness grew gradually denser; the noises of the town insensibly died out, and the promenaders, driven away by the coolness of the night, quitted the seashore for the interior of the town. the beach was soon completely deserted--the two officers alone remained leaning against the gun. at length a remote sound, scarcely perceptible, but which practised ears could recognise, rose from the sea. this sound became gradually more and more distinct; and it was easy, especially for sailors, to recognise the sharp and cadenced sound of oars striking against the tholes and dipping into the sea; although these oars, judging from the sound, were muffled, and employed with the utmost caution. in fact, the boat itself ere long became visible. its long black outline stood out in the luminous line traced by the moon on the waves, as it approached the jetty at great speed. the two officers had bent forward curiously, but did not leave the post of observation they had selected. on coming within pistol-shot, the boat stopped. suddenly, a rough voice, lowered prudently, however, rose in the silence, singing the first verse of a song well known in these parts: ¿qué rumor lejos suena, qué el silencio en la serena negra noche interrumpió?[ ] the man who was singing had scarce finished these five lines ere one of the officers took up the song in a sonorous voice; doubtless, replying to the signal made him by the steerer of the boat: ¿es del caballo la veloz carrera, tendido en el escape volador, o el aspero rugir de hambrienta fiera, o el silbido tal vez del aquilon?[ ] there was a delay of a few seconds, during which no other sound was audible save the monotonous break of the waves as they died away on the beach, or the distant twanging of some jarabés or vihuelas, playing those seguedillas and tyranas so dear to all peoples of the spanish race. at length, the voice which first struck up the song continued, but this time with an intonation approaching to a threat, although the man who spoke did not appear to be addressing anyone in particular. "the night is dark, it is imprudent to wander haphazard on the seashore." "yes, when a man is alone, and feels his heart die out in his bosom," the officer who had sung answered immediately. "who can flatter himself with possessing a firm heart?" the voice went on. "the man whose arm is ever ready to support his words for the defence of a good cause," the other at once replied. "come, come," the sailor exclaimed, gaily, addressing his companions this time; "lay on your oars, lads, the jaguars are out hunting." "take care of the coyotes," the officer said again. the boat pulled up alongside the jetty; the officers had by this time left their place of shelter, and hurried to the end of the jetty. there a man, dressed in sailor's garb, with an oilskin souwester, whose large brim concealed his features, was standing motionless, with a pistol in either hand. "patria!" he said, sharply, when the officers were only two paces from him. "libertad!" they answered, without hesitation. "viva dios!" the sailor said, as he returned his pistols to the leather belt that passed round his hips; "it is a good wind that brings you, don serapio, and you too, don cristoval." "all the better, ramirez," said the officer addressed as serapio. "have you any news, then?" his comrade asked, curiously. "excellent, don cristoval, excellent," ramirez answered, as he rubbed his hands gleefully. "oh, oh!" the two officers muttered, as they exchanged a glance of satisfaction; "tell us it, then, ramirez." the latter took a suspicious glance around. "i should like to do so," he said, "but the place where we are does not seem at all propitious for a conversation of the nature of the one we have before us." "that is true," said don serapio; "but what prevents us getting into your boat? there we can talk at ease." but ramirez shook his head. "yes," he said; "but then we should have to push off; and i am no more anxious than i presume you to be, to be discovered and hailed by some guard boat." "that is true," don cristoval objected; "we must find other and less perilous means for conversing, without fear of indiscreet ears." "what o'clock is it?" ramirez asked. don serapio struck his repeater. "just ten," he answered. "good: in that case we have time, since the affair does not come off till midnight. follow me. i know a pulqueria where we shall be as safe as on the top of the coffre de perote." "but the boat?" don cristoval objected. "be at your ease--it is commanded by lucas. however clever the mexicans may be, he is the man to play at hide and seek with them for the entire night; besides, he has my instructions." the officers bowed, but made no further remark. the three men then set out, ramirez walking a few paces in advance of his companions. although the night was so dark that it was impossible to distinguish objects ten paces off, the sailor proceeded through the narrow and winding streets of the town with as much certainty and ease as if traversing it in broad daylight, in the bright sunshine. close to the cabildo, at the corner of the plaza mayor, stood a species of cabin, built of ships' planks, clumsily nailed together, which offered, in the stifling midday hours, a precarious shelter to the leperos and idlers of all sorts, who collected there to smoke, drink mezcal, or play at monte, that game so beloved by spanish-americans of all classes. the interior of this suspicious rancho, honoured with the name of pulqueria, corresponded perfectly with the miserable aspect of the exterior. in a large room, only lighted by the dubious gleam of a smoky candle, a number of individuals, with ferocious countenances, dressed in filthy rags, and armed to the teeth, were collected round a few planks laid across empty barrels, and serving as a table. these men were drinking, and playing with that mexican coolness which no event, however serious it may be, succeeds in disturbing, and staking piles of gold, which they drew from their patched calzoneras. it was in front of this unclean pothouse, from the broken door of which escaped a reddish steam, laden with pestilential emanations, that ramirez stopped. "where the deuce are you taking us?" don serapio asked him, with an expression of disgust he could not master at the repulsive appearance of this den. the sailor laid a finger on his lip. "silence!" he said, "you shall know. wait for me here an instant, but be careful to keep in the shade, so as not to be seen; the customers of this honest establishment have such numerous reasons to distrust spies, that if they saw you suddenly appear among them, they might be capable of playing you a trick." "why enter such a den as this?" ramirez smiled craftily. "do you fancy, then," he said, "that if i had only some news to tell you, i should have brought you here?" "why else, then?" "you will soon know; but i can tell you nothing at this moment." "go on, then, as it is so; still, i beg you not to keep us too long at the door of this disgusting house." "all right, i will only go in and come out again." then, after again recommending the officers to be prudent, he pushed the door of the pulqueria, which at once opened, and he went in. in the darkest corner of the room two men, almost completely hidden by the dense cloud of smoke that rose over the heads of the gamblers, carefully wrapped in their zarapés of indian manufacture, with the brim of their hats pulled down over their eyes (a very needless precaution in the darkness where they were), and leaning on their long rifles, whose butts rested on the floor of the room, were whispering in each other's ear, while taking, at intervals, anxious glances at the leperos assembled a few paces from them. the gamblers, fully engaged, did not dream of watching the strangers, who, however, from their martial demeanour, and the cleanliness of their attire, formed a striking contrast to them, and evidently did not belong to the company that usually assembled at this rancho; hence the strangers had very unnecessarily taken their precautions to escape from inquisitive looks, supposing such were their object. eleven o'clock struck from the cabildo; at the same moment a form appeared in the doorway. this man stopped, took a sharp glance round the room, and then, after a slight hesitation, doubtless caused by the difficulty of recognizing in the crowd the persons he wished to see, he entered the rancho, and walked hastily toward the strangers. the latter turned at the sound of his footsteps, and gave a start of joy on recognizing him. we need hardly say that it was ramirez. the three men shook hands with an expression of pleasure which proved that with them it was not a mere act of politeness, such as are so greatly abused in what is called the civilized life of towns. "well," ramirez asked, "what have you done?" "nothing," one of the men answered, "we were waiting for you." "and those scoundrels?" "are already more than three parts ruined," "all the better; they will march with greater impetuosity." "they must soon see the bottom of their purses." "do you think so?" "i am sure of it; they have been playing since eight in the morning, so the pulquero says." "without leaving off?" the sailor said, in surprise. "they have not ceased for an instant." "all the better." "by the bye," one of the strangers remarked, "have you come alone? where are the men you promised to bring?" "they are here, and you will see them in a moment." "very good. then it is still for this night?" "you must know that better than i." "on my honour, no." "then you have not seen him?" "seen who?" "why, _him._" "no." "hang it all! that is annoying," "i did not require to see him," "but it is different with me." "why so?" "because i have executed his orders, as they are with me." "that is true." "viva dios! i was obliged to employ stratagem to induce them to follow me here." "why did you not bring them in at once?" "i should be very sorry to do so, at least for the present. they are cool and steady naval officers, whose smile, under all circumstances, resembles a grimace, so close do they keep their lips. the free-and-easy manner of our worthy associates," he added, "might possibly displease them." "but when the master arrives?" "oh, then the affair will rest with him alone." at the same moment a sharp whistle was heard outside, and the gamblers sprang up as if they had received an electric shock. ramirez bent down to the two men. "here he is," he said; "i shall be back directly." "where are you going?" one of the strangers asked, sharply. "to join those who are waiting for me." and winding through the groups, the sailor left the pulqueria unnoticed. ramirez had hardly left the room, ere the door was burst open by a violent blow, and a man rushed in. all present took off their hats, as if by common agreement, and bowed respectfully. we will give, in a few words, a portrait of this new personage, who is destined to play a most important part in this narrative. the stranger seemed to be twenty, or two-and-twenty at the most, though he was probably older; he was slim and delicate, but perfectly proportioned, and all his movements were marked by indescribable grace and nobility. his beardless face was surrounded by magnificent black ringlets, which escaped in profusion from under his hat, and fell in large clusters on his shoulders. this man had a lofty and wide forehead, intelligent and pensive, and a deep and well-opened eye, an aquiline nose with flexible nostrils, and a disdainful and mocking lip. all his features made up a strange, but commanding countenance. he might be loved, but he must be feared. his feet and hands were small, and evidenced good breeding. dressed in the picturesque costume of mexican campesinos, he wore his rich clothes with inimitable grace and ease. who was he? his best friends, and he counted many such among the men in whose midst he had suddenly appeared, could not say. in america, especially at the period when our story is laid, it was the easiest thing in the world to conceal one's private existence: an intelligent man suddenly revealed himself, no one caring, whence he came or whither he went--a brilliant meteor, he traced a luminous line on the chaos of the revolutionary struggle, which he illumined by the strange flashes of his extraordinary deeds. then this man--this unknown hero disappeared as suddenly as he had arisen: night closed in round him, the darkness grew denser and denser, and an impenetrable mystery brooded over his birth and his grave. the stranger was one of these men. he and the jaguar were thus placed in an identical situation in the eyes of their partisans; but men live so quickly when the hour for the supreme struggle has struck, that no one attempted to pierce the gloom, and obtain the secret of these two young chieftains. the man with whom we are now engaged was commonly called el alferez by his friends and enemies. this word, which in spanish literally signifies sub-lieutenant, had become the name of this singular person, which he had accepted, and to which he answered. why had this strangely selected title been given him? this question, or any other, it is impossible for us to answer--at any rate, for the present. after taking a haughty and assured glance at the persons collected in disorderly groups around him, the young man leant against a barrel, and, with affected carelessness, said to the individuals who surrounded him--"well, my scamps, have you amused yourselves properly?" a murmur of general satisfaction ran along the ranks. "good, my coyotes," he continued, with the same mocking tone; "now, i suppose, you would like to smell a little blood?" "yes," these sinister persons answered unanimously. "well, console yourselves; i will let you smell it ere long, and in a satisfactory manner. but i do not see ramirez among you; can he have been so awkward as to get himself hung? although he has deserved it a long time. i do not think him such a fool as to let himself be apprehended by the spies of the mexican government." these words were uttered in a soft voice, harmoniously modulated, but at the same time sharp and rather shrill. "i heard my name," said ramirez, as he appeared in the doorway. "yes, i mentioned it. well, are you alone?" "no." "are they both here?" "both." "that is excellent. now, if the jaguar be as true to his word as i am to mine, i answer for success." "i hold your promise, señor alferez," said a man who had entered the room some moments previously. "rayo de dios! you and your comrades are welcome; for, of course, you are not alone." "i have twenty men, worth a hundred." "bravo! i recognise the jaguar in that." the latter began laughing. "they only await a signal from me to come in." "let them come, let them come; time is precious, so let us not waste it in trifling." the jaguar walked to the door, and threw away the lighted cigarette he held in his hand. the twenty conspirators entered, and ranged themselves silently behind their chief. ramirez came in immediately after, followed by the two naval officers. "all is clearly understood between us, jaguar?" "all." "we act toward each other with all frankness and honesty of purpose?" "yes." "you swear it?" "without hesitation, i swear it." "thanks, my friend. on my side i swear to be a faithful comrade." "how many men have you?" "as you see, thirty." "who, added to the twenty i bring, give the respectable amount of fifty men; if the affair be properly managed, they are more than we require." "now, let us divide our parts." "nothing is changed, i think; i will surprise the fort, while you board the corvette." "agreed; where are the guides?" "here," the two men said, with whom ramirez conversed when he entered the pulqueria the first time. el alferez examined them attentively for some minutes, and then turned to the jaguar. "you can start, i fancy." "how many men do you keep with you?" "take them all; i will only keep ramirez and the two persons to whom he has to introduce me." "that is true," said the sailor. "come, my coyotes," el alferez continued, "follow your new chief. i place you temporarily under the orders of the jaguar, to whom i surrender all my claims upon you." the men bowed, but made no reply. "and now, brothers," the young man continued, "remember that you are about to fight for the liberty of your country, and that the man who commands you will not grudge his life for the success of the daring stroke he is about to attempt with your aid; that ought to render you invincible. go." "do not forget the signal--one rocket, if we fail." "three, if we succeed; and we shall do so, brother." "may heaven grant it." "till we meet again." the two men shook hands, and the jaguar quitted the pulqueria, followed by these savage men, who marched silently behind him, like wild beasts going in quest of prey. ere long, none remained in the room but the two naval officers, ramirez, and the pulquero, who, with eyes dilated by terror, looked at and listened to all this, without understanding anything. el alferez remained motionless, with his body bent forward, so long as it was possible for him to hear the slightest sound of retiring footsteps; when all had become silent again, he drew himself up, and turned to his comrades, who were as attentive as himself. "may heaven favour us!" he said, as he piously crossed himself. "now, caballeros, it is our turn." "we are ready," the three men answered. el alferez took a rapid glance round the room. the pulquero, either through curiosity, want of occupation, or some other cause, was standing motionless in a distant corner of the room, following with an attentive glance the movements of his singular customers. "hilloh!" el alferez said to him, "come hither." the pulquero obsequiously doffed his straw hat, and hastened to obey this injunction, which admitted of no reply. "what do you desire, excellency?" he asked. "to ask you a question." "pray do so." "are you fond of money? "well, tolerably so, excellency," he replied, with a crafty grimace, which doubtless had pretensions to be a smile. "very good, here is an onza: when we go away, we will give you a second; but bear in mind that you must be deaf and blind." "that is easy," he replied, as he pocketed the gold coin, and drew aside. since the jaguar's departure, the two officers had been suffering from an anxiety they did not attempt to conceal, but which el alferez did not appear to notice, for his face was quite radiant. in fact, the expedition they were going to attempt in the company of the daring partisan seemed to them not only rash but mad, especially since el alferez had so cavalierly given up to the jaguar the thirty resolute men, whose support they considered indispensable. "come, come, señors," the young man said, with a smile, after attentively watching them for some moments, "regain your courage; hang it all, you look as if you had been buried and dug up again; and we are not dead yet, i suppose." "that is true; but we are not much better," don serapio said significantly. el alferez frowned. "can you be frightened?" he said, haughtily. "we are not afraid of dying, but only of failing." "that is my business: i answer for success on my head." "we are perfectly aware of what you are capable, señor; but we are only four men, and after all----" "and the boat's crew?" "that is true; but they are only sixteen men." "they will be enough." "i wish it, but can hardly reckon on it." "well, say whether you are resolved to obey me at all hazards?" "we have made the sacrifice of our lives." "then, whatever happens, you will act?" "whatever happens." "it is well--" el alferez appeared to reflect for a moment, and then addressed the pulquero, who was standing anxiously near him--"has anything been left with you for me?" he asked him. "yes, excellency; this evening at oración a man brought a trunk on his shoulders." "where is it?" "as the man assured me that it contained articles of considerable value, i had the chest placed in my bedroom, in order that it might be in safety." "lead me to your room." "whenever you please, excellency." "señors," el alferez said, addressing the two naval officers and ramirez, "wait for me in this room; in ten minutes i will join you again." and without awaiting a reply, he made a sign to the pulquero to lead the way, and left the room with a rapid step. there was a momentary silence with the three men; they seemed to be engaged in sad thoughts, and looked anxiously around them. time, which never stands still, had rapidly advanced during the course of the events we have narrated. nearly the whole night had passed away, the first gleams of dawn were beginning to whiten the smoky walls of the pulqueria, and already some inhabitants, who had risen earlier than the others, were venturing into the streets; ere long the sun would make its appearance. "day will soon be here," don serapio remarked, as he shook his head anxiously. "what matter?" ramirez answered. "what matter, do you say?" don serapio replied in amazement; "but it seems to me that one of the most important conditions for the enterprise we are about to attempt, is darkness." "certainly," don cristoval supported him, "if we wait till the sun has risen, any surprise will be impossible." ramirez shrugged his shoulders. "you do not know the man under whose orders you have voluntarily placed yourselves," he answered; "impossible things are those he prefers attempting." "you know him better than we do then, as you speak thus of him?" "better than you or anyone," the sailor said with considerable animation; "i have the greatest faith in him; for ten years i have lived by his side, and have many times been able to appreciate all the nobility and generosity that exist in his heart." "ah," the two officers said, walking quickly up to him, "who is he, then?" an ironical smile curled ramirez's delicate lip. "you know as well as i do: a warm patriot, and one of the most renowned chiefs of the revolutionary movement." "hum!" don sandoval remarked, "that is not what we want to know." "what then?" he asked with almost imperceptible irony. "hang it, you say that you have lived ten years with this man," don serapio went on; "you must know certain peculiarities about him which no one else is acquainted with, and which we should not be sorry to know." "that is possible; unfortunately, i am utterly unable to satisfy your curiosity on that point; if el alferez has not thought proper to give you certain intimate details about his private life, it is not my place to reveal them to you." don serapio was about to reply rather sharply to the sailor, when the door opened through which don alferez had gone out, and the pulquero entered, followed by a lady. the two officers could scarce refrain from a cry of surprise on recognising beneath this dress el alferez himself. the young chief wore feminine attire with considerable grace and reality; he walked with such ease, and appeared so accustomed to the thousand knick-nacks of a lady's dress--in a word, the metamorphosis was so complete, that, had it not been for the eye whose strange lustre the young man had not quite succeeded in subduing, the three men could have sworn that this singular being was really a woman. the costume of el alferez, though not rich, was elegant, and in good taste; his face, half concealed beneath the silken folds of his rebozo, partly hid his haughty expression; in his right hand he held a pretty sandalwood fan, with which he played with that graceful nonchalance so full of skill which is only possessed by spanish women and their american daughters. "well, caballeros," the young man said mincingly, in a sweet and harmonious voice; "do you not recognize me? i am the daughter of your friend doña leonora salcedo, doña mencia." the three men bowed respectfully. "pardon me, señorita," don serapio replied as he gravely kissed the tips of el alferez's fingers; "we know you perfectly well, but were so far from anticipating the happiness of meeting you here, that----" "even at this moment, after hearing you speak, we dare not yet believe in the reality of what we see." the pulquero looked in alarm from one to the other. the worthy man understood nothing of what was going on, and he asked himself confidentially were he asleep or awake. in fact, he was not far from believing himself under a spell. "i do not understand your surprise, caballeros," the feigned doña mencia said with a stress on her words; "was it not arranged some days back between yourselves, my mother, and my husband, that we should go this morning and breakfast with commandant rodriguez, on board the _libertad_ corvette?" "of course," don serapio quickly exclaimed; "excuse me, señorita, but i really do not know where my head is. how could i have forgotten that?" "i will excuse you," el alferez replied with a smile, "but on condition that you repair your inexplicable forgetfulness, and rather ungallant behaviour, by offering me your arm to go on board the corvette at once." "the more so," don cristoval added, "as we have rather a long distance to go, and i have no doubt the commandant is expecting us." "canarios! i should think he was," ramirez ejaculated; "why, señor, he sent me with a boat to take you aboard." "since that is the case, i think we shall do well by starting without further delay." "we are at your orders, señorita." "stay, my good man," el alferez added in a soft voice, and addressing the pulquero, "take this in recollection of me." the good man, half stunned by what he saw, mechanically held out his right hand, into which the mysterious adventurer carelessly let a gold onza fall; then, taking don serapio's arm, he went out, preceded by don cristoval and ramirez, who hurried to get the boat ready. the pulquero stood in his doorway, and looked after the strange visitors who had spent the whole night in his house, as long as he could see them; then he went in again, shaking his head thoughtfully, and muttering, as he jingled the coin he had received--"all this is not clear; a man who is a woman, friends who do not recognize each other after two hours' conversation, that is preciously queer; i am certain something is going to happen. but hang me if i mix myself up in it; it is well, in certain circumstances, to know how to hold one's tongue; besides, it is no business of mine; the money they gave me is good, and i have no right to look further." strengthened by this philosophic reasoning, and filled with prudence, the pulquero closed his door, and went to bed in order to fetch up by day the sleep his singular curiosities had made him lose during the night. [ ] what rumour resounds in the distance which interrupts the placid silence of the dark night? [ ] can it be the rapid gallop of a horse urged along a narrow road--or the ferocious howling of a starving beast of prey--or, perchance, the whistling of the north-west wind? chapter xix. at sea. it was about four in the morning; the dawn was beginning to mark the horizon with wide white bands; on the extreme line of the water, a bright red reflection, the harbinger of sunrise, announced that the sun would soon appear. at this moment a light brig gradually emerged from the dense fog that hid it, and could be seen sailing close to the wind along the dangerous and rugged coast which forms the entrance of galveston bay, at the mouth of the rio trinidad. it was a neat vessel of three hundred tons at the most, with a gracefully-built hull, and its tall masts coquettishly raking. the rigging was carefully painted and tarred, the yards symmetrically square, and more than all, the menacing muzzles of four eight-pounder carronades which peered out of the bulwarks on either side, and the long thirty-two pounder swivel in the bows, indicated that, although a man-of-war pennant might not be flying from the mainmast, it was not the less resolved, in case of necessity, to fight energetically against the cruisers that might attempt to check its progress. at the moment when we first notice the brig, with the exception of the man at the wheel, and an individual walking up and down the poop smoking his pipe, at the first glance the brig's deck seemed deserted; still, on examining it carefully, fifteen men constituting the watch might have been seen sleeping in the bows, whom the slightest signal would be sufficient to awaken. "halloh!" the walker said suddenly, as he halted near the binnacle, and addressed the helmsman; "i fancy the wind is shifting." "yes, master lovel," the sailor answered, as he raised his hand to his woollen cap; "it has veered round two points." as the individual who answered to the pleasant name of lovel is destined to play a certain part in the scenes we have undertaken to describe, we ask our readers' permission to draw his portrait. physically, he was a man of about fifty, nearly as broad as he was tall, and bearing a striking resemblance to a barrel mounted on feet, but for all that gifted with far from common strength and activity; his violet nose, his thick lips, and highly-coloured face, with large red whiskers, gave him a jovial appearance, to which, however, two small grey and deep-set eyes, full of fire and resolution, imparted something skeptical and mocking. morally, he was an honest, worthy man, open-hearted and loyal, an excellent sailor, and loving only two things, or rather beings, in the world: his captain, who had brought him up, and, as he often said, had taught him to make his first splice by administering tobacco to him, and his ship, which he had seen built, which he had gone aboard when ready for sea, and had never quitted since. master lovel had never known either father or mother; hence he had made the brig and his captain his family. all his loving faculties, a long time driven back and slumbering in his heart, were so fully concentrated on them, that what he felt for both went beyond the limits of a reasonable affection, and had acquired the veritable proportions of a gigantic fanaticism. however, the captain, of whom we shall soon speak, amply requited the old sailor's friendship. "by the way, lieutenant, i ask your pardon," the helmsman continued, doubtless encouraged by the manner in which his officer had spoken to him; "do you know that we have been making a precious queer navigation the last few days?" "do you think so, lad?" "hang it, sir, these continued tacks, and that boat we sent ashore yesterday, and has not yet returned--all that is rather singular." "hum!" the officer said, without any other expression of his opinion. "where may we be going, lieutenant?" the sailor went on. "are you very anxious to know?" lovel asked him, with a half-sweet, half-bitter tone. "well," the other said, as he turned his quid in his mouth, and sent forth a stream of blackish saliva, "i confess that i should not be sorry to know." "really now?--well, my boy," the old sailor said, with a crafty smile, "if you are asked, you will answer that you do not know; in that way you are certain of not compromising, and, before all, of not deceiving, yourself." then, after looking for an instant at the helmsman's downcast face on receiving this strange answer, he added--"strike eight bells, my dear; there is the sun rising over there behind the mountains: we will call the watch." and, after restoring his pipe to the corner of his mouth, he resumed his walk. the sailor seized the cord fastened to the clapper of the bell, and struck four double strokes. at this signal they knew so well, the men lying in the forecastle sprang up tumultuously, and rushed to the hatchway, shouting-- "up with you, starboard watch; up, up, it is four o'clock. starboard watch, ahoy!" so soon as the watch was changed, the master gave the necessary orders to dress the vessel. then, as the sun was beginning to rise above the horizon in a flood of ruddy vapour, which gradually dispersed the dense fog, that had enveloped the brig throughout the night, like a winding-sheet, he set a man to the foretop to look seaward, and examine the coast they were sailing along. when all these various duties had been discharged, the old sailor resumed his walk, taking a look every now and then at the masts, and muttering between his teeth--"where can we be going? he would be very kind, if he would tell me: we are making a regular blind man's traverse, and we shall be very lucky if we get out of it safe and sound." all at once his face brightened, and a glad smile spread over it. the captain had just left his cabin and come upon deck. captain johnson was at this period a man of hardly three-and-thirty years of age, above the middle height; his gestures were simple, graceful, and full of natural elegance; his features were masculine and marked, and his black eyes, in which intelligence sparkled, gave his countenance an expression of grandeur, strength, and loyalty. "good morning, father," he said to master lovel, as he cordially offered him his hand. "good morning, lad," the latter replied; "did you sleep well?" "very well, thank you, father. is there anything new?" at this question, apparently so simple, the lieutenant drew himself up, raised his hand to his hat, and answered deferentially-- "captain, there is nothing new on board. i tacked at three o'clock, and, according to your orders, we have been sailing as close to the wind as we could, at a rate of six three-quarter knots an hour, under foretop sails, and always keeping galveston point on the larboard quarter." "that is well," the captain answered, as he took a glance at the compass and the sails. in all matters connected with duty, master lovel, in spite of the reiterated remarks of his chief, constantly maintained toward the latter the tone and manner of a subordinate to his superior. the captain, seeing that the old sailor could not be turned from this, ended by paying no attention to it, and left him free to speak as he thought proper. "by the way, captain," the lieutenant continued, with some hesitation, "we are drawing near the gut; do you intend to pass through it?" "i do." "but we shall be sunk." "not such fools." "hum! i do not see how we shall escape it." "you will see; besides, must we not go and pick up our boat, which has not yet returned?" "that is true; i did not think of it." "well, you see; and our passengers?" "i have not seen them yet this morning." "they will soon come on deck." "a ship in sight," the watch shouted. "that is what i was waiting for," said the captain. "to tack?" "on the contrary, to pass without a shot in front of the fort that commands the entrance of the bay." "i do not understand." "all right; you soon will." and speaking to the look-out man, he said-- "in what direction is that ship?" "to starboard, to windward of us; it is coming out of a creek, in which it was hidden, and steering straight down on the brig." "very good," the captain answered; then, turning to lovel, he continued: "this ship is chasing us; we shall, by constant short tacks, pass the fort and the battery which crosses fire with it. the mexicans, who are watching us, feeling convinced that we cannot escape their cruiser, will not take the trouble to fire at us, but let us pass through without offering any obstacle." and, leaving his lieutenant astounded at this singular line of argument, which he did not at all comprehend, the captain went on the quarterdeck, and leaning over the gangway, began carefully watching the movements of the ship signalled by the lookout. an hour passed thus, without producing any change in the respective position of the two ships; but the brig, which had no intention of getting too far away from the cruiser, did not carry half the sail it could. the men had been quietly beaten to quarters, and thirty powerful sailors, armed to the teeth, were holding the running rigging, ready to obey the slightest signal from their captain. for more than an hour the brig had been approaching the coast, and the captain, being now compelled to skirt a submarine reef, whose situation was not positively known to him, ordered sail to be reduced, and advanced, sounding lead in hand. the cruiser, on the contrary, was literally covered with canvas, and grew momentarily larger, while assuming the imposing proportions of a first class corvette; its black hull could be clearly distinguished, along which ran a long white stripe, containing sixteen portholes, through which passed the muzzles of her paixhan guns. on the shore, to which the brig was now close, could be seen a great number of persons of both sexes, who, shouting, yelling, and clapping their hands, eagerly followed the incidents of this strange chase. suddenly a light cloud of smoke rose from the bow of the corvette, the sound of a gun was dully heard, and a mexican flag was hoisted at the peak. "ah, ah," captain johnson said, as he mechanically chumped the end of a cigarette held between his teeth, "she has at length decided on throwing off her incognito. come, lieutenant, politeness deserves the same; show her our colours; hang it all, they are worth showing." a minute later, a large star-spangled flag was majestically fluttering at the stern of the brig. at the appearance of the united states colours, so audaciously hoisted, a shout of fury was raised aboard the mexican corvette, which was taken up by the crowd assembled at the point, though it was impossible to tell, owing to the distance, whether they were shouts of joy or anger. in the meanwhile the sun was beginning to rise, the morning was growing apace, and there must be an end to the affair, especially as the corvette, confiding in her strength, and now almost within gunshot, would not fail to open fire on the american vessel. strange to say, the garrisons of the fort and the battery, as the captain had foreseen, had allowed the brig to double the point without trying to stop it, which it would have been most easy for them to do, owing to the crossfire. the captain gave his lieutenant a sign to come to him, and bending down to his ear, whispered something in it. "eh, eh!" the lieutenant said with a hearty laugh, "that is an idea! by jove! we may have some fun." and, without saying another word, he proceeded forwards. on reaching the swivel gun he had it unlashed and carefully loaded, adding a ball and a grape shot to the ordinary charge. bending over the sight he seized the screw placed under the breech, then making a sign to the men who stood on either side with handspikes, he began laying the gun slowly and with the utmost precaution, scrupulously calculating the distance that separated the two ships, and the deviation caused by the rolling. at length, when he believed he had attained the desired result, he seized the lanyard, fell back, and made a signal to the captain, who was impatiently awaiting the termination of his proceedings. "attention!" the latter shouted; "stand by, all." there was a moment of supreme expectation. "is all clear?" "yes," the lieutenant replied. "ready about," the captain ordered; "down with the helm! ease off the jib sheets! sheet home top sails! sheet home lower sails! haul the bowlines taut!" the sailors hurried to the running rigging, and the ship, obedient to the impulse given it, majestically swung round. at the moment when it fell, and had its bows turned toward the broadside of the corvette, master lovel, who was watching for a favourable opportunity to carry out the orders he had received, sharply pulled the lanyard and fired. the mexicans, confounded by this sudden aggression, which they were far from anticipating from an enemy apparently so weak, replied furiously, and a shower of iron and lead hurtled over the deck and through the rigging of the american ship. the fort and battery continued to preserve the strictest neutrality, and captain johnson did not take the trouble to reply. "brace up closer to the wind!" he shouted. "haul down the sheets! we have had fun enough, lads." the brig continued its course, and when the smoke had dispersed the mexican corvette could be perceived in a pitiable condition. the shot fired by master lovel had carried away her bowsprit close by the head, which naturally entailed the fall of the foremast, and the poor corvette, half rendered unserviceable, and unable longer to pursue its audacious enemy, bore up to repair hastily the worst of the damage. on board the brig, owing to the hurry in which the mexicans had returned the fire, only one man had been killed and three slightly wounded. as for the damage, it was trifling; only a few ropes were cut, that was all. "now," the captain said, as he came down from the quarterdeck, "in ten minutes, father, you will tack, and when we are abreast of the fort you will lie to, let down a boat, and let me know." "what!" the lieutenant could not refrain from saying, "you mean to go ashore?" "hang it," said the captain; "why, i only came here for that purpose." "are you going to the fort?" "yes. still, as it is always as well to be on the right side, you will send into the boat the ten most resolute men of the crew, with axes, cutlasses, muskets, and pistols. let all be in order, and ready for fighting." "i fancy those precautions will be unnecessary," said a man who had just come on deck and walked up to the spectators. "ah! it is you, master tranquil," the captain replied, as he shook hands with the old hunter; for it was he who had so unexpectedly interfered in the conversation. "what do you say?" "i say," the canadian replied, in his calm voice, "that your precautions will probably be unnecessary." "why so?" "hang it! i don't know, for i am not a sailor. but look for yourself. do you not think as i do--that something extraordinary is taking place on board the corvette?" the captain quickly opened his telescope, and fixed it on the mexican ship. "it is true," he said, a moment later. "oh, oh! can our audacious attempt have proved successful?" "all leads to the supposition," said the hunter, with his old stoicism. "by heavens! i will ascertain." "what will you do?" "by jupiter! convince myself of what is taking place." "as you please." "bear up!" the captain ordered. the manoeuvre was executed. the sheets were let go, and the brig, catching more wind in its sails, advanced rapidly toward the corvette, on board which a strange scene was taking place at this moment, which must interest captain johnson in the highest degree. but, in order to make the reader thoroughly understand this scene, we must now return to el alferez and his comrades, whom we left at their departure from the pulqueria. at the moment when the four men reached the jetty, although it was about seven in the morning, the beach was nearly deserted; only a few ships' boats were fastened up, and landing the men who were going to buy provisions. it was, therefore, an easy matter for the conspirators to, embark without attracting attention to their movements. at a signal given by ramirez, the boat which had been pulling back and forwards during the night, came nearer land, and when the four men were seated in the stern sheets, and ramirez had taken the tiller, the boat started for a small creek situated a little distance beyond the roadstead. the breeze, which during the night had been rather weak, had gradually risen; the boat was easily got out to sea, sail was hoisted, and it soon entered the creek, where the _libertad_ was riding gently on her anchors. still, it was easy for a sailor to see that this ship, apparently so quiet, was ready to slip out at a moment's notice. the sails, though furled, were cast off, and the anchor, apeak, only needed a turn of the capstan to be tripped. posted craftily in this creek, like a bird of prey in the hollow of a rock, the corvette could easily expand its sails, and dart on any suspicious vessel signalled by the lookout. without uttering a syllable our friends exchanged a significant glance; they understood one another's manoeuvring. the boat had scarce come within hail ere a sentry, standing in the starboard gangway, hailed it in spanish. ramirez replied, and, leaning on the tiller, made the boat describe a graceful curve, and brought her up to the starboard accommodation ladder. the officer of the watch was standing at the top to receive the visitors. on perceiving a lady, he hurried down the ladder to offer his hand, and do her the honours of the ship she was about to enter. to the right and left of the entrance, sailors, drawn up in file, saluted by raising their hands to their caps, while a boatswain gave the accustomed whistle. as we have already mentioned, the _libertad_ was a first class corvette. don manuel rodriguez, her commandant, was an old sailor, brought up in the spanish navy, and had retained its healthy traditions: hence, his ship was kept with great care and coquettishness. don serapio and don cristoval, themselves naval officers, could not refrain from expressing to the officer of the watch the satisfaction they experienced at seeing a vessel in such splendid order. commandant rodriguez, called by a midshipman, hastened on deck to receive his guests; the boat was fastened astern of the corvette, while its crew went forward with the sailors of the vessel. like the other spanish american republics, the mexican confederation has but few vessels; its navy is composed of but a dozen ships at the most--consisting of corvettes, brigs, and schooners. the gravity of the events taking place in texas had induced the mexican government to send a corvette there, in order to render themselves masters of the sea, and prevent the united states, whose sympathies with the texan revolution were notorious, from giving the insurgents help in arms, men, or money. commandant rodriguez, an energetic man, and excellent sailor, had been chosen to carry out this dangerous mission; for two months he had been cruising off the coast of texas, where he had established a rigorous blockade, and owing to his intelligent arrangements, he had managed, up to the period we have arrived at, to stop or turn back all vessels sent from the united states to the help of the insurgents. the latter, reduced to their own resources, and understanding that the decisive hour would soon strike for them, had resolved to get rid of this corvette, which did them enormous injury, and seize it at all risks. the chiefs of the insurgents had formed their plans to this effect. during commandant rodriguez's rare visits to galveston, he was adroitly surrounded by persons who ostensibly professed a deep hatred for the revolution, while in secret they were the active and devoted agents of the insurgent chiefs. almost involuntarily the commandant had been induced to invite several persons to visit his corvette, and breakfast on board; but the old sailor was a true mexican, that is to say, accustomed to all the tricks and treachery of a country where revolutions have been counted by hundreds during the twenty years since it proclaimed its so-called independence, and his prudence did not fail him under the circumstances. being not at all anxious to run the risk of seeing his ship boarded, he left the roads, and anchored in a solitary creek, in order to have his elbows at liberty; and then, instead of inviting many persons at the same time, he merely requested doña mencia, her father, and two of her cousins, officers in the united states' service, to pay him a visit. we know now who the persons really were who accepted the invitation. the captain frowned on seeing the number of the boat's crew; but, reflecting that he had two hundred and fifty men aboard, he did not think for a moment that sixteen men, apparently unarmed, would try to seize his ship, and it was with the most smiling and affectionate air that he received doña mencia and the persons who accompanied her. after showing them all over the corvette, he led his guests to the stern gallery, where a table had been laid, and a magnificent breakfast awaited them. only five persons sat down, the supposed young lady, her pretended cousins, the commandant, and his first lieutenant, an old sailor like himself, full of experience and bravery. the breakfast began in the most cordial and frank manner; the commandant regretted that doña mencia's father had been unable to accompany her, as he had promised, and a most gallant conversation went on. presently, a warrant officer opened the door, and, at a sign from the commandant, whispered a few words in his ear; the latter, after excusing himself to his guests, gave him an order in a low voice, and the officer retired as discreetly as he had come in. "señora," the commandant said, leaning over to the young lady seated by his side; "are you afraid of the sea?" "i?" she replied with a smile, "why do you ask, commandant?" "because," he answered, "unless you immediately leave my vessel, which, i confess, would greatly annoy me, you will be compelled to take a trip to sea for some hours." "i am the daughter and cousin of sailors, commandant; that is as good as saying that a trip to sea would be most pleasing to me under any circumstances; at this moment it would be a delightful interlude, and complete the graceful hospitality you have been kind to offer us." "very good," the commandant said gaily; "you are a true heroine, doña mencia; you fear nothing." "or, at any rate, very little," she replied with an emphasis which escaped the notice of the commandant. "will you permit me to ask, commandant," said don serapio, "whether you are starting simply to afford us the pleasure of a trip, or whether a more serious motive obliges you to leave your anchorage?" "i have no secrets from you," he said simply, "and a few words will explain the affair; for about a fortnight i have been playing a game of chess with a brig, whose appearance is most suspicious. its rig, and fine lines, lead us to believe that it is a north-american privateer, trying to land arms, and possibly men, for the insurgents." "do you imagine," don cristoval objected, "that a privateer brig, knowing you to be in these parts, would venture to force a passage?" "yes, i do. these demons of privateers are afraid of nothing; and, besides, during the war of independence, i myself carried out more daring adventures than this." "then, we are about to witness a sea fight?" doña mencia asked timidly. "oh, do not feel alarmed, señorita; it will not go so far as that, i hope; this brig, which i had lost out of sight for two days, has just reappeared, but this time with the apparent object of getting close enough to land to send a boat ashore. i will chase it vigorously, and do not doubt i shall compel it to put out to sea again, for it is impossible that it should attempt seriously to oppose us." "really, that is delightful!" doña mencia exclaimed with a laugh; "the fête will be complete: a trip to sea, a chase, and, perhaps, the capture of a vessel. you are really too kind, commandant." while the conversation became more and more friendly and lively in the state cabin, the corvette had started, and with all sail set, was pursuing captain johnson's brig. "halloh!" don cristoval suddenly asked, "what has become of our boat?" "it was left fastened to a buoy," the commandant said; "we will pick it up again when we return to our anchorage." "well," don serapio remarked laughingly, "if the privateer should feel inclined to fight, our sixteen men are quite at your disposal." "i thank you, but do not think i shall requite their assistance." "who knows? no one can foresee events. our sailors are brave, and, if it should come to fighting, be assured they will do their share." only one of the guests had remained silent during the breakfast, contenting himself with eating and drinking; while attentively listening to what was said around him. this guest was the lieutenant. so soon as the ship had started, he left the table, bowed to the company, and went on deck. "your lieutenant is no talker, commandant," doña mencia observed; "he only opened his lips to eat and drink." "that is true, señorita; but pray excuse him, he is an old sailor, but little accustomed to society--he felt embarrassed and almost in his wrong place with you; but few men know their profession so well as he, or are so firm and intrepid in danger." at this moment a loud detonation made the vessel quiver. "ah!" said doña mencia with a cry of terror, "what does that mean?" "less than nothing, señorita; we have merely hoisted our flag, and fired a blank shot, to oblige the brig to show her colours." "would there be any danger in going on deck?" doña mencia asked with curiosity. "not the least." "in that case, with your permission, we will go up and see what is happening." "i am at your orders, señorita." the breakfast was over; they left the table and went up on the quarterdeck. the ship offered to the sight of persons unacquainted with naval affairs, a most singular and attractive appearance. the powerful breeze had bellied the sails; the corvette bounded over the waves like a gazelle, but did not take in a drop of water over the catheads. on deck, the crew were standing silent and motionless by the standing rigging, the gunners at their pieces, and the topmen at their posts. on the forecastle ramirez and his sixteen men were collected near the head, apparently indifferent, but actually watching the movements of the mexican. at about a gunshot and a half distant, the brig could be seen, from whose peak haughtily floated a large american flag. "i suspected it," said the commandant, "it is a privateer, and has hoisted american colours to deceive us, but we are on our guard." "do you think, then, that ship is not american?" don serapio asked. "no more than you are; it is an argentine, or brazilian privateer." "still, it appears american built," "that proves nothing; our ships, bought in different countries, have nothing that causes them to be recognized, for we have no docks." "that is true; but look, she is going to tack." "yes, the sails are beginning to shiver." the mexicans fancied themselves so secure from an attack, that most of the crew had left their quarters to follow the manoeuvres of the brig; the sailors, perched on the yards, or leaning out of the ports, were curiously looking on, without dreaming of the danger such a breach of discipline might entail. in the meanwhile the brig came round, as don serapio had said. suddenly, at the moment when it completed the manoeuvre, a detonation was heard, a shrill whistle cut through the air, and the corvette's bowsprit, pierced by a ball, fell into the sea, dragging with it the foremast. this produced an extraordinary pause and confusion on board the corvette; the terrified sailors ran about in all directions, listening to nothing. at length the commandant succeeded in overcoming the tumult; the crew recognized his voice, and at the order to fire, fifteen guns thundered at once, in reply to the unjustifiable aggression of the privateer. chapter xx. the prize. the damage sustained by the corvette was serious; the bowsprit is the key of the ship's rigging, its loss entailed that of the foremast, which the main-topmast, no longer stayed, speedily followed. the utmost disorder prevailed on board, when, as nearly always happens under such circumstances, the crew had suddenly passed from blind confidence to profound terror. the deck was encumbered with fragments of every description, yards, spars, sails, stunsail-booms, and entangled rigging, in the midst of which the sailors ran about distractedly, abandoning their posts, deaf to the exhortations equally with the menaces of their officers, and having only one thought: to escape from the death they believed suspended over their heads. still, the officers did not at all conceal from themselves the gravity of their position, which the brig's manoeuvres rendered more complicated, and momentarily more precarious; they did all in their power, therefore, to restore a little courage to all these individuals, whom terror blinded, and induce them to sell their lives dearly. a fresh incident occurred suddenly, which rendered the situation of the ship, if possible, more critical and desperate. commandant rodriguez had not left the quarterdeck; motionless at his post during the events we have described, he had continued to give his orders in a firm voice, apparently not noticing the symptoms of insubordination which, since the catastrophe had happened, were manifest amongst the crew. with pale face, frowning brow, and clenched teeth, the old sailor mechanically played with the hilt of his sword, taking every now and then a cold and resolute glance around him, while exerting his officers to redouble their efforts to do their duty bravely. doña mencia and the two supposititious officers of the american navy were standing silent and attentive by his side, probably awaiting the moment for action. at the tumult which suddenly broke out on the forecastle, they all three started and drew nearer to the commandant when the brig had so skilfully carried away the bowsprit of the _libertad_, ramirez and his sailors were the first to sow and propagate terror among the crew by uttering cries of terror; and running in all directions. their example was promptly followed. then they changed their tactics, and began openly accusing the commandant by asserting that he was a traitor, who wished to ruin them, and surrender the corvette to the insurgents. there is nothing, however stupid it may be, a thinker has said, which people may not be led to believe by a certain mode of treating them. this remark is strictly true, and this time again received perfect application. the sailors of the _libertad_ forgot in an instant all they owed to the commandant, whose constant solicitude watched over them with paternal care, for they were urged on and excited by the perfidious insinuations of ramirez and his comrades. the courage they lacked to defend themselves and do their duty as men of honour, they found again to accuse their chief of treachery, and seizing any arms they came across, they rushed tumultuously toward the quarterdeck, uttering menaces and cries of revolt. the officers, justly alarmed, and not knowing what means to employ to bring these men back to their duty, collected round their commandant, resolved to save themselves or perish with him. the old sailor was still apparently just as calm and stoical; nothing revealed on his stern face the agony that secretly crushed his heart. with his arms folded on his chest, his head erect, and a steady glance, he awaited the mutineers. the latter soon invaded the after part of the vessel; but, after passing the mainmast, they stopped, through a remnant of that respect which is innate in sailors for their superiors. the quarterdeck is that portion of the deck which is exclusively reserved for the officers: the sailors, under no consideration, are allowed to tread it, except for the purpose of executing a manoeuvre. on reaching the foot of the mainmast, then, the mutineers hesitated, for they no longer felt on their own ground, and at length stopped: for the mere fact of their invading this part of the deck constituted a grave infraction of naval discipline. we have said that they stopped; but they were like an angry sea which breaks against the foot of a dyke it cannot dash over; that is to say, yelling and gesticulating furiously, but yet without going an inch further. at the same time, however, they did not fall back. but this hesitation and almost timid attitude of the mutineers did not at all suit the views of those who had urged them to insubordination. collected in the rear of the sailors, they shouted and gesticulated louder than the rest, trying by all means to revive the fire which was already threatening to expire. the corvette's deck presented at this moment the most desolating, and yet at the same time imposing appearance. in the midst of the fragments piled up pell-mell on this fine ship so fatally decapitated by canister shot, these men, with their rude and fierce features, grouped in disorderly and menacing groups; and, scarce a few yards from them, a small band of calm and resolute officers, collected round the commandant, who, standing on the quarterdeck, seemed to dominate over the men. then, a little in the rear, doña mencia and the two american officers, apparently disinterested spectators of the events which chance compelled them to witness, but, in reality, following with anxious glance all the incidents of the drama that was being played before them. assuredly a painter would have found a magnificent subject for a picture in the position of the different characters, and the expression that at times lit up their masculine faces. and then, in the distance the lofty sails of the brig could be seen glistening, which was rapidly approaching, doubtless with the intention of coming, like the classic _deus ex machina_, to unravel at the right time this situation, which every passing moment only tended to render the more complicated. there was a momentary truce between the two parties, who, like practised duellists, had tried to discover their adversary's vulnerable point before crossing swords. a deep silence prevailed on the deck of this ship, where so many passions were fermenting in these hearts of bronze; no other sound was audible save the hollow and monotonous moaning of the sea, as it broke against the sides of the corvette, and the indistinct sound of weapons clutched by eager hands. this hesitation had something sinister and startling about it, and the commandant resolved to put an end to it at all hazards. he understood that he was the only person who could make an appeal to these misguided men, who might possibly not remain dumb to the voice of duty speaking through the lips of a man, whose noble character they had enjoyed many opportunities of appreciating, and whom they had been so long accustomed to respect and love. commandant rodriguez looked slowly and sadly, but yet firmly, round him, and extending his arm in the direction of the brig, which was hugging the wind to be able to run alongside the corvette more easily, he said, in a loud and marked voice-- "my men, here comes the enemy. we have our revenge to take upon him: then why are you not at your quarters? what do you want of me? are you afraid that i shall fail you when the hour for fighting arrives?" at this direct and firm appeal a strange quiver ran along the ranks of the mutineers; some of them were even going to reply, when a voice was heard from the rear: "who tells you that we regard that vessel as an enemy?" immediately hurrahs and shouts of joy, mingled with oaths and hisses, burst forth on all sides. "the man who dares to speak so," the commandant shouted, in a voice that for a moment quelled the tumult, "is a traitor and a coward. he does not form part of my ship's crew." an indescribable tumult then broke out. the sailors, forgetting all respect and discipline, rushed toward the quarterdeck with frightful yells and vociferations. the commandant, not at all disconcerted by this hostile manifestation, seized a pistol, which a faithful sailor handed him, coolly cocked it, and addressing the mutineers, said: "take care. the first who advances one step further i will blow out his brains." some men are gifted with so great a magnetic power, and their influence over the lower classes is so real, that the two to three hundred mutineers, at the sight of this man, who alone withstood and threatened them with a pistol, hesitated, and finally stopped, with a vague movement of alarm. it was evident that this pistol was little to be feared, even under the hypothesis that the commandant carried out his threat, since it would only kill or wound one man; still, we repeat, all these men stopped, surprised, perhaps terrified, but certainly not able to account for the feelings they experienced. a smile played round the commandant's lips; he understood that these rough and rebellious natures had been subdued. he determined to make sure of his triumph. "every man to his quarters," he said; "the topmen will get the ship clear while the carpenters rig up a jury bowsprit." and leaving the quarterdeck, the commandant advanced resolutely toward the mutineers. the latter fell back as he advanced, without speaking or gesticulating, but only opposing that final resistance, the most dangerous of all, the force of inertia. it was all over with the mutiny, however; the crew, shaken by the firm and wise conduct of their chief, were on the point of returning to their duty, when an unexpected incident completely changed the aspect of affairs, and put the officers once more in the critical position from which the commandant had extricated them with such ease. we have said that doña mencia and her two companions attentively followed the incidents of this scene, in readiness to interfere, when the moment arrived. commandant rodriguez had scarcely left the quarterdeck ere the young woman, or young man, whichever it may please the reader to call this mysterious being, rushed forward, and seizing a telescope, fixed it on the brig, as if to feel certain of the privateer's position, and be assured of support if required. the brig was now only two cables' lengths from the corvette, and within a few minutes would be within hail. suddenly doña mencia, throwing off her feminine character, hurriedly tore off the dress that covered her, removed her bonnet, and appeared in the masculine attire el alferez had worn at the pulqueria. this transformation had been so rapid that the officers and crew had not recovered front the astonishment this strange metamorphosis caused them, when the young man, drawing a pistol from his belt, cocked and pointed it at a number of cartridges the boys had brought on deck when the captain beat to quarters, and which they had left lying pell-mell at the foot of the mizzenmast during the disorder that followed the fall of the spars. "surrender!" el alferez shouted in a thundering voice; "surrender, or you are dead men!" don cristoval and don serapio were standing on the right and left of the young man, holding a pistol in either hand. ramirez, for his part, had lost no time; by his care two of the bow carronades had been dragged from their ports and trailed on the stern, and two sailors, match in hand, were standing motionless by them, only awaiting the signal to fire. ramirez and the fourteen men left him were aiming at the mexican sailors. the crew was taken between two fires; two hundred and fifty men were at the mercy of twenty. the position was desperate, and the commandant had not even the resource of falling honourably. the events had occurred with such rapidity, this coup-de-main, prepared long beforehand, had been carried out with such coolness and skill, and all had been so thoroughly foreseen, that the commandant, after taking a despairing glance along the deck, was obliged to allow that he had only one chance of escape--laying down his arms. still he hesitated, however, and el alferez understood the combat that was going on in the heart of the brave officer. "we are not pirates," he said, "commandant rodriguez, we are texans; you can lay down your arms without shame--not to save your life, to which the defeat you have just suffered causes you to attach but slight value, and which you would doubtless readily sacrifice to expiate your misfortunes--but you are responsible before heaven for the two hundred and fifty men forming your crew. why needlessly shed precious blood! for the last time i invite you to surrender." at this moment a thick shadow covered the deck of the corvette; the brig, which everyone had forgotten, had continued to advance; it had come within pistol shot, and its lofty sails stretched out over the vessel and intercepted the sunshine. "halloo the ship!" a voice shouted from the stern of the cruiser; "send a boat aboard us with your captain." this voice sounded like a thunderclap in the ears of the mexicans. the brig had shortened sail, and was now lying motionless to starboard of the corvette. there was a moment of intense silence, during which all eyes were instinctively turned on the privateer; her yards were lined with topmen armed with muskets and hand grenades, through the open ports the men could be seen standing by the guns, and it literally held the corvette under its fire. "well," el alferez continued, stamping his foot impatiently, "have you made up your mind; yes or no?" "sir," the commandant answered, "by an infamous act of treachery you have become master of my vessel; as any resistance is henceforth useless, i surrender." and with a gesture full of dignity the old sailor drew his sword, snapped the blade asunder, and after throwing the pieces into the sea, retired to the stern with a calm and resigned step. "captain johnston," el alferez shouted, "your corvette is ours; send a boat's crew on board." a whistle was heard from the brig's deck; a boat was let down, and a few minutes after, twenty privateer's men, armed to the teeth, and commanded by the captain in person, stepped on the corvette's deck. the disarmament of the crew was effected without the slightest resistance, and commandant rodriguez and his staff were at once transferred to the brig, in order that the mexican sailors, who were much more numerous than their visitors, might be without a leader in the event of their attempting to regain possession of the corvette by a desperate effort. but this precaution was unnecessary, for the mexicans had not the slightest idea of rising; on the contrary, most of them were natives of texas, who found among the sailors of the brig many of their old friends and acquaintances; in a few moments the two crews were on the most cordial terms, and mixed up together. captain johnson resolved to profit by this fortunate circumstance; the privateer was in a very difficult position, and literally experienced at this moment an embarrassment of wealth; he had, without striking a blow, captured a first class corvette, but that corvette required a crew, and the sailors he could dispose of by taking them from his own ship to put them aboard the prize were insufficient; the good understanding that had almost suddenly sprung up between the two crews, therefore, supplied him with the means of escape from the difficulty. sailors, as a general rule, are men hardened to fatigue; faithful, but unscrupulous in politics, whose questions are much too abstract for their intellect, which is naturally limited on all affairs relating to land. accustomed to be sternly governed and have all the actions of their life directed, from the gravest down to the most trivial, sailors are only full-grown children, who appreciate but one thing--strength. a resolute man can always do what he likes with them, if he succeed in proving his superiority over them. captain johnson was too old a hand not to know how he should act under the present circumstances. so soon as the disarmament was effected he mounted the quarterdeck, took up the speaking trumpet, and making no distinction among the sailors scattered about the deck, he ordered a series of manoeuvres, intended to habituate the men to the sound of his voice, and prove to them that he was a thorough sailor, which all recognised in a few minutes. the orders were then executed with such rapidity and eagerness that the corvette, almost unserviceable an hour previously, was soon under jury masts, and in a condition to sail for any port to which it pleased its new commander to take it. the deck had been completely cleared, the running rigging cut during the action spliced--in short, an hour before sunset any stranger whom accident brought aboard the _libertad_ could have formed no idea of what had really taken place. when he had obtained this result, captain johnson smiled in his moustache, and ordered master lovel, who had followed him on board, to pipe all hands on deck. at this familiar signal the sailors, who were now quite submissive, gaily ranged themselves at the foot of the mainmast, and waited patiently for their new captain's orders. the latter knew how to address rude fellows like these; after complimenting them on the intelligent way in which they had comprehended his orders, he told them that he had no intention of keeping them prisoners, for the majority of them were texans like himself, and as such had a claim to his entire sympathy. consequently, those sailors who did not wish to serve the texan republic would be landed at the first place on mexican territory the corvette touched at; as for those who consented to remain aboard and serve their country, their pay would be raised to twenty-five piastres a month, and in order to prove to them the good intentions of the texan government towards them, a month's pay would be distributed on the spot in the shape of bounty. this generous proposition was greeted with shouts of joy by those men who began at once to calculate how many glasses of tafia and measures of pulque they could consume for this fabulous sum of twenty-five dollars. the poor fellows, ever since they had been in the mexican service, had only been paid in promises, and for a long time past had considered this pay far too meagre. the captain was aware of this circumstance, he saw the effect he had produced, and continued in the midst of a religious silence-- "then, that is settled, my men. you are free not to remain on board, where i have no desire to retain you as prisoners. still, reflect on the propositions i make you, in the name of the government i have the honour of serving, for i consider them in every way advantageous for you. now, let those who wish to enter on board the corvette pass to larboard, while those who wish to be put ashore can remain where they are. the purser will draw up the agreement, and pay the bounty at once." the captain had installed the purser at the foot of the mizenmast, with a table before him, and bags of dollars at his feet. this display met with the greatest success, nothing more was wanting, and the sight of the piastres decided even the most irresolute. at the command of "go," given by the captain, the sailors crowded round the purser, who ere long did not know whom to attend to first, so anxious were all to receive the bounty. the captain smiled at the result of his eloquence, but he considered it advisable to go to the aid of the purser, and by his orders, the sailors displayed a little less precipitation in presenting themselves to him. the enlistment lasted two hours. all the sailors entered all now joyously clinked in their horny hands the handsome piastres they had received; and assuredly, if a mexican ship had come up at the moment, the new crew would have given it a rude reception, and infallibly captured it. the result obtained by captain johnson was easy to foresee: in every sailor there is something of the privateer, and ready money is the only available argument with him. but captain johnson was a cool and methodical man, on whom enthusiasm had but a slight effect. he was not at all intoxicated by the success he had met with; he knew very well, that when the first effervescence had worn off, reflection would come, and with reflection that insubordination so natural to the sailor's character. above all, he must avoid giving any pretext for mutiny; and for that purpose, it was urgent to break up the unanimity which a lengthened dwelling together had produced among them. the means to effect this were simple, and the captain employed them. his own brig had a crew of one hundred and ninety men; of these he only retained fifty, while the others went aboard the corvette, one hundred and forty of her crew being transferred to the brig; in this way the two crews were fused, and were completely at the disposal of the captain, who became their entire master. the various events we have described, and the incidents that followed them, had occupied a considerable period; the whole day had slipped away, and the organisation was not completed till an hour before sunset. captain johnson gave the command of the corvette to don serapio, with don cristoval as first lieutenant, and ramirez as master; while he himself retained the command of the brig. then, when all was in order, the captain had the mexican flag hoisted at the peak of the corvette, which immediately started for galveston. the captain returned on board his own vessel, taking with him el alferez, to whose determination and coolness the texan revolutionary government owed the possession of a naval force. the result was grand, and surpassed even the expectations of the insurgents. but that was not enough: on getting aboard his brig, the captain ordered the texan flag to be struck, turned upside down, and hoisted again with the mexican colours above it. the brig set sail, and kept up with the corvette, being careful to keep under her guns, as if really captured by her. the sailors did not at all comprehend this singular manoeuvre; but, as they had seen the captain laugh, they suspected some stratagem, and, in spite of the shame they felt at seeing their colours beneath those of mexico, they repressed their murmurs, in the hope of a speedy revenge. in the meanwhile, the whole population of galveston had since morning been plunged in the greatest anxiety. assembled on the jetty, they had watched the obstinate pursuit until the vessels disappeared; the sound of cannon, repeated by the echo of the cliffs, had reached the city; a fight had, therefore, taken place, but what the result was everybody asked the other, and no one could answer. the silence of the fort had also seemed inexplicable; they could not understand why it had not sunk the brig as it passed. suddenly there was an outburst of shouts and cheers, for the brig and corvette reappeared at the entrance of the passage, with the mexican colours proudly flying on the two ships over the texan flag, which was disgracefully reversed. this delight knew no bounds when the ships were seen to anchor beneath the guns of the battery; the mexicans were victors, and the texan insurgents had suffered a defeat, from which they would not so easily recover. chapter xxi. a strange legend. we will now return to the jaguar, whom we left departing from the pulqueria, and proceeding at the head of his bold companions toward the fort of the point. but, before going further, in order to make the reader understand the almost insurmountable difficulties which the jaguar would meet with on the audacious expedition he was attempting, we ask leave to tell him the legend current about this fortress, a legend which has survived to this day, in all its quaint simplicity. the european traveller who visits for the first time texas, and all the coasts of southern america generally, experiences a feeling of indefinable sorrow at the sight of these gloomy and sinister shores, which have witnessed so many accidents, and against which the dark waves of the pacific break with mysterious murmurs. all, in fact, disposes to reverie in these poetic countries: the sky, which resembles a plate of red-hot iron; the lofty denuded cliffs, whose capricious outline looks as if it had been cut out by some artistic giant of past ages, and bearing at times on their proud crests the still imposing ruins of an old palace of the incas, or a teocali, whose massive walls are lost in the clouds--the ancient lurking places of those ferocious priests of the sun, who made all tremble around them, and raised their bloody titles both afloat and ashore. before the conquest, at the time when the descendants of quetzalcoatl, or the serpent covered with feathers, peacefully reigned in these countries, the thick walls of the teocalis stifled many a groan, concealed and authorised many a crime. of all the stories told us in our last journey through texas, about these mournful abodes scattered over the country, we will only relate one, which has reference to the narrative we have undertaken to tell. it was a short while after the daring expedition, during which columbus, while seeking a new road to india, had found america again; the fever of discovery had affected every imagination; each, with his eyes fixed on the new world, which had sprung up as if by magic, rushed toward these unknown regions with all that feverish activity we have seen suddenly rekindled with reference to the californian placers. among the adventurers who went to try their fortunes, some were only urged by the hope of making discoveries, while others, on the contrary, only obeyed the thirst for gold, and renewed, on another stage, the fabulous exploits of the scandinavians--those bold kings of the sea, whose life was a continued combat. among these men was one who had made, with the unfortunate de la salle, that unlucky expedition, during which he crossed over the whole of texas. this adventurer, however, don estevan de sourdis by name, caring little for the unprofitable adventures the brave frenchman undertook, secretly quitted his chief with the vessel he commanded, and sailed quietly along the coasts of the new land so recently discovered. the idea was excellent, and the profits were great: in a few months the adventurer's vessel was filled with riches, more or less honourably acquired. still, for reasons best known to himself, don estevan felt no desire to return to france. he therefore resolved to seek a spot where it would be possible for him to build a fortress capable of protecting him, and serve him as a secure retreat against the pirates who traversed these seas in the same way as he did; he therefore began carefully exploring the texan coast, in order to find a suitable spot to carry out his plans. accident led him to the mouth of the rio trinidad, a few miles from the spot where galveston was built at a later date, in a wild and uninhabited country, whose appearance attracted him at the first glance. like the old pirate he was, the count admired the magnificent block of granite that commanded the entrance of the bay he had put into; and, seeing the importance of a citadel built on this rock, and the power it would eventually give his family, he resolved to form his nest there. when his choice was made, the pirate had his vessel drawn ashore, camped with his men at the foot of the rock, and began reflecting on the means of carrying out his bold scheme. a good many things troubled him--in the first place, where should he procure the stones necessary for such an edifice; and if the stones were found, where should he get the masons to put them together. count estevan de sourdis and his comrades were excellent sailors--killing, pillaging, and ravishing conscientiously each time that the opportunity offered itself; but, as a general rule, they were very poor masons, and nothing of architects. and then again, supposing the stones were found, squared, and brought to the foot of the rock, how were they to be raised to the top? this was really the insurmountable difficulty; and any other than the bold pirate would have renounced the execution of a plan which he recognised as impossible. but the count was obstinate; he said to himself with a certain show of reason, that the greater the difficulties to overcome, the stronger and better protected from attack his castle would be. in consequence, far from recoiling, he armed his people with iron crowbars, and began forming in the rock a path which wound round it and was to finish at the summit. this path, three feet wide at the most, was so steep and abrupt, that the slightest false step sufficed to hurl those who ventured on it down an abyss, at the bottom of which they were crushed to death. after a year of superhuman toil, the path was formed, and the count, scaling it on his horse, at the risk of breaking his neck one hundred times, planted his banner on the top of the rock, with a shout of pride and joy. another cry answered his, but it was so ironical and mocking that the old pirate, whose nerves were as hard as cords, and who had never trembled in his life, felt a shudder of terror run over all his limbs; his hair stood erect in horror, and an icy perspiration beaded on his temples. the count turned round; a man wrapped in a large black cloak, and with a red plumed hat on his head, was standing by his side. the man's face was ashy, his eyes glistened with a gloomy fire, and his parched up lips grimaced a mournful smile. the count regarded him for a moment with surprise; but as, after all, he was a brave sailor who feared nothing in the world, he asked the stranger, in a firm voice, who he was, and how he happened to be at this spot. to these two questions the unknown answered politely that he had heard say that the count de sourdis was seeking an architect capable of building him a strong and handsome castle, and that he had come to treat with him. the chieftain bowed courteously, and the following dialogue took place between the speakers. "do you not think, master," the pirate said, "that this spot is excellently chosen for the place i meditate?" "excellency," the stranger replied, "you could not have found a better site all along the coast." the pirate smiled proudly. "yes," he said, "and when my castle is built, no one will be able to assail it." "oh, of course." "look here," he continued, making the stranger a sign to follow him, "this is what i propose doing." and walking round the plateau, he described the plan in its fullest details: the stranger approved of it by nodding his head and smiling his crafty smile. in the meanwhile time was passing: for about an hour day had given way to night, and gloom had gradually invaded the rock; the pirate, carried away by the irresistible attraction a man ever feels in ventilating his ideas, specially to a person who seems to approve of them, continued his demonstrations without noticing that the darkness had grown too dense for the person he was addressing to derive great profit from what he was saying; at length he turned to the stranger. "well," he asked him, "what do you think of it?" "it is perfect," the other answered. "is it not?" the chief asked, with an air of conviction. "yes, but--" "ah," said the pirate, "there is a but then?" "there is always one," the stranger objected judiciously. "that is true," the old pirate muttered. "you are aware that i am an architect?" "you told me so." "well, i have made a plan too." "indeed, indeed!" "yes, if you will permit me, excellency, i shall have the honour of submitting it to you." "do so, my dear fellow, do so," the chief said with a condescending smile, for he was convinced in his heart that his plan was the better of the two. "directly." "but i have an idea." "what is it?" "why, it is rather dark, and in order to judge of your plan--" "a light would be necessary, i suppose you mean, excellency." "why yes," the pirate replied, "i fancy it would prove useful." "pray do not put yourself out of the way," said the stranger, "i will procure one." with the greatest possible coolness, he took off the feather that adorned his hat, and stuck it in the ground, when it suddenly burst into a flame, just as if it had been a torch. the count was astounded at this marvel, but as, after all, he was a good christian, and he was beginning to distrust his companion considerably, he mechanically prepared to cross himself. but the stranger eagerly caught hold of his arm. "let us lose no time, excellency," he said. and drawing a roll of parchment from under his cloak he unrolled and laid it before the pirate, who was in extasies at the magnificent plan he saw. "what do you, think of that, excellency?" the architect said, in a sweet, bitter voice. "sublime!" he exclaimed, transported with admiration. "you are a judge," the other answered, "this is what i propose doing." and in his turn he began entering into the most minute details, to which the old sailor listened with gaping mouth and flashing eyes, never leaving off looking at the splendid fortress drawn on the parchment. when the architect ceased speaking, the pirate was so confounded by all he had heard, that he remained for a moment stunned, and tried in vain to restore the regular flow of his thoughts. "well," he at last asked with a certain shade of incredulity, which involuntarily betrayed itself in his voice, "do you fancy yourself capable of carrying out such a masterpiece?" "nothing is easier." "but we have no building stones." "i will find them." "i have no masons." "i will procure them." "but iron, wood--in a word, all the articles necessary for such a building, how to procure them?" "i will take it on myself." "but it will cost me a tremendous sum," said the count, pressingly, for fear was more and more overpowering him. "pooh!" the stranger said, carelessly, and thrusting out his lower lip in disdain, "less than nothing, a trifle." "and how long will you require to finish my fortress as it stands on the parchment?" "wait," the other said, calculating on his fingers, and scratching his forehead like a man who is seeking the solution of a difficult problem; "it is about nine o'clock, i think?" "about," the count said, not at all understanding the stranger's meaning. "well! by sunrise all will be ready, and you can take possession of your new residence." "what, why, you must be the demon!" the count exclaimed in utter stupefaction. the stranger rose, bowed to the pirate courteously, and answered him with great politeness and a most gentlemanly manner. "in person, excellency. on my honour," he added, "i never could leave a worthy man in a difficulty. i was affected by your perplexity, and resolved to come to your aid." "you are most kind," the old sailor muttered mechanically, not knowing what he was saying. "that is my motive," said the other, with a modest bow. "thanks; and you ask me--" "i have told you already--a mere trifle." "still----" "we shall come to an agreement; besides, i am too much of the gentleman to treat you as a greenhorn. still, to keep things straight, just sign this simple agreement." "pardon me; but i cannot read. i can sign nothing; besides, you can easily understand that i am not at all desirous to give you my soul." "come, excellency," said mephistopheles, "you can hardly suppose that i have any intention of taking you in?" "what? "hang it all! your soul has been mine for a long time, and i do not require your authorization to take it." "nonsense," said the worthy pirate, who was quite rebuffed, "do you think our lord will not look twice before condemning a man of my sort?" "not the least in the world," the demon continued good-humouredly; "so reassure yourself. it is not that i intend to ask of you." "speak, then; and, on the word of a gentleman adventurer, i will grant it." "done!" said satan, graciously stretching out his hand. "done!" the pirate replied. "come, that is settled. well, you will surrender to me the first living creature you address in the morning when you wake. you see that i am not exigent, for i might have charged you much more dearly." don stephen made a face, for the first person he was in the habit of addressing in the morning was his daughter. "do you hesitate?" the demon asked in a sub-acid voice. the pirate sighed. the conditions seemed hard, still he must accept them. "no, i don't," he said; "it is a bargain." "very good; now leave me to my work." "as you please," the pirate answered, and prepared to go down; but, suddenly reflecting, he added, "tell me, can you not do me a service?" "with pleasure." "during our conversation night has fallen; it is as black as in your domains, and i am frightfully afraid of breaking my neck in going down to the plain." "do you wish to rest?" "yes; the day has been fatiguing, and i am desirous of sleep." "all right; nothing is easier." "then, i shall have my castle tomorrow?" "at sunrise i promised it." "thanks; and now, if you will help me----" "certainly; hold on." and the demon, seizing the tail of the horse on which the pirate was mounted, whirled the animal round his head, and then hurled it into space. the pirate, slightly stunned by the rapidity of his flight, fell without the slightest injury at the entrance of his tent; he immediately dismounted, and prepared for bed. his boatswain's mate was waiting to help him in taking off his harness. the count threw himself anxiously on his couch, but though he might close his eyes and turn and roll in every direction, sleep shunned him. the mate, who was lying in the doorway of the tent, was also awake, but through another motive; he fancied he saw strange lights running along the rock; he heard the sound of hammers and crowbars, stone being sawn, and the creaking of pullies--in a word, those thousand rumours produced by masons, carpenters, and blacksmiths, when at work. the poor sailor, not knowing to what he should attribute what he fancied he saw and heard, rubbed his eyes to assure himself that he was not asleep, and then thrust his fingers in his ears--fearing, for good reasons, that it must all be an illusion. at length, unable to doubt any longer, he resolved to inform his captain, and entered his tent. as we have said, the count was not asleep. he rose in haste, and followed his boatswain's mate; then, as he placed the utmost confidence in this worthy man, who had served him for twenty years, he did not hesitate to tell him what had passed between him and the devil, and what he had himself promised, adding, in the most insinuating tone he could assume, that he counted on the mate's attachment to prevent his daughter entering the tent the next morning, as she was accustomed to do, and to find some means of getting him out of the scrape. on hearing this avowal, and the proof of confidence that accompanied it, the boatswain's mate became anxious; he was very fond of his chief, for he had risked his life twenty times for him; but the worthy sailor was a breton and excellent christian, and was not at all desirous of placing himself under the claws of messire satanas for an affair that did not at all concern him. still, after a few moments' reflection, his face brightened and reassumed its ordinary look of careless gaiety, and he said with a laugh: "go and sleep, my lord; tomorrow it will be day. after all, the demon may not be so crafty as he looks." the pirate, comforted by the joyous air of his boatswain's mate, felt more tranquil; he returned to his couch, and speedily fell asleep. the sailor passed the whole night in prayer, and when the dawn began to suffuse the sky with white tints, he went to the kennel, fetched a poor mangy dog dying in a corner, thrust it into the tent, and letting fall the curtain, waited for what would happen. the poor brute was no sooner at liberty than it leaped into its master's bed and began licking his face. "may the demon take thee, accursed animal!" the pirate shouted, awaking with a start, and furious at having been thus disturbed in his sleep. a fearful blast shook the tent, a terrible yell was heard, and the dog disappeared. the demon fled, all abashed, with the scurvy booty he had secured. messire satanas had worked, however, conscientiously: a formidable fortress now rose haughtily on the crest of the rock which on the previous evening had been naked and deserted. the count was delighted, and took possession of his castle the same day. still, what the demon had stated about his soul put a flea in the ear of the worthy seigneur; and hence, without loss of time, he occupied himself about his salvation. his first care was to establish a town near the fortress, to which he attracted, by promises, adventurers from all countries; then he sought a monk capable of liberating him from all his sins; and it is probable that he found one, added the worthy franciscan who narrated this legend to us, in which he firmly believed, for count estevan de sourdis died in a state of grace, after leaving the greater portion of his property to the clergy, founding two monasteries, and building three churches. in short, the ex-pirate made a fool of the demon to the end. without attaching to this legend the perfect belief of the man who told it us, still we were struck with admiration at the sight of the immense, perpendicular block of granite, on the crest of which the castle boldly stands, perched there like a vulture's nest, and we were compelled to allow that the means employed to build it seemed to us entirely incomprehensible. it was this fortress that the jaguar had resolved to carry by surprise. the task, if not impossible, was at the least very difficult, and it needed all the audacious rashness of the young chief merely to conceive the thought of undertaking it. the night was dark; heavy clouds laden with electricity coursed across the sky, and by intercepting the moonbeams rendered the gloom denser still. the conspirators passed silently through the deserted streets of the town like a legion of phantoms. they went on thus for a long time, with watchful eye and finger on the rifle trigger, ready to fire at the slightest suspicious sound; but nothing disturbed their march to the seashore, which they reached after making a thousand windings, in order to foil the spies who might have attempted to follow them in the darkness. the spot where they were was a small sandy creek, sheltered on all sides by tall cliffs; here, at a word from the jaguar, they halted, for the difficulties of the expedition were about to begin. the young chief assembled his comrades round him. "caballeros," he then said, in a low voice, "we are proceeding to the fort of the point, which we must carry before sunrise; listen to me attentively, and remember my instructions, in order that during the expedition we may be exposed to no misunderstanding, which, in our present situation, would not only be mortal to us, but cause our comrades, who on their side are attempting a hazardous enterprise, to lose all the fruit of their labours." the conspirators drew nearer in order to hear better. the swell died, at their feet with a hollow murmur, and out at sea could be seen the wares raised by the north-east wind, which would probably rise into a tempest within an hour. the jaguar continued-- "the fort of the point is impregnable, or, at least, passes as such; i have resolved to deprive it of the haughty boast, and for that purpose have counted on you, comrades. owing to the opinion the mexicans have of the strength of this citadel, they have considered it unnecessary to keep up a numerous garrison there, convinced as they are that its position will defend it, and that it is impossible to carry it, save by treachery. the garrison, therefore, is only composed of thirty soldiers, commanded by a lieutenant; it is small, and yet enormous; small, if we force them into a hand-to-hand fight; enormous, if we are compelled to remain at a distance. on the land side, the granite rock on which the fort is built is so perpendicular that we could not hope to ascend beyond one half of it; for, excepting the path cut in the rock, which is defended at regular distances by barricades, escalading is impracticable. we cannot, therefore, think of attacking it on that side. but the sea is left to us, if the land fails us; if we can succeed in landing on the narrow strip of earth which is left uncovered at low water for about an hour at the foot of the fortress, it is probable that we shall succeed in our enterprise; for it will never occur to the garrison that any attempt to attack them by sea will be made on such a night as this. that is not all--we must reach that strip of land, and speedily too; the sea is beginning to ebb, and the moment is favourable. this is what i propose doing." the conspirators, collected round their chief, paid the most earnest attention to his words. it was for them a question of life or death. "now, my companions," the jaguar continued, "we have no boat in which to reach the base of the fort; the sound of oars striking against the thowls would give the alarm, excite the suspicion of the garrison, and reveal our presence; we must, therefore, cross by swimming; but it is nearly a league to go; the tide runs out fast, and we shall have to cross it at right angles; moreover, the night is dark, and the sea rough. i will only remind you of the sharks and tintoreras we run a risk of meeting on the way. you see, comrades, that it is a rude affair, and it is certain that we shall not all reach the sand strip. some of us will remain on the road; but what matter, so long as we succeed? you are brave men, so i have preferred to speak openly with you, and allow you to see all the danger, than deceive you, for a peril if known is half overcome." in spite of all their courage, the conspirators felt a spasm at their hearts; still not one of them hesitated, for they had freely offered their lives as a sacrifice; besides, they had now gone too far to recoil; they must proceed at all risks. we must say, in praise of the conspirators, that of all the perils enumerated by the jaguar, only one really alarmed them. what they most feared was the meeting with the tintorera. we will explain to the reader, who is probably ignorant of the fact, what this dangerous animal is, which possesses the privilege of producing goose flesh in the bravest man, on the mere mention of its name. the seas of mexico, and especially the coasts, swarm with dangerous fish, among which the shark holds a very honourable place. but, though it be so dangerous, the mexican pearl diver, who are mostly indians, care little for it, and bravely fight it, when the opportunity offers. still, there is a special sort they are extraordinarily afraid of, and that is the tintorera. the tintorera is a shark of the largest size, and owes its name to a peculiarity that reveals its presence at a considerable distance. holes placed near the snout of the fish distil a gluey matter, which spreads over its whole body, and renders it brilliant as fireflies. these phosphoric gleams are the most splendid on stormy nights, when the wind moans and the thunder growls. the same phenomenon is produced on dark nights; the denser the gloom, the more vivid is the furrow traced by the tintorera. this animal, fortunately, is nearly blind, and, consequently, cannot follow its prey by sight. they are also compelled to turn their belly completely up on seizing their prey. in the pearl islands of the mexican coast there are several indian and half-breed divers, who are not at all afraid of fighting them, and who frequently succeed in killing them. "now," the jaguar continued, after allowing his comrades some minutes for reflection, "it is time for us to get ready. listen to me. we are about to attempt a surprise, and must therefore act accordingly. let us leave here our firearms, which would not only be useless, but might prove dangerous, if a shot were fired imprudently and revealed our presence; hence each will undress, only keeping on his trousers, and carrying his dagger between his teeth; that will be sufficient, as further clothing would only embarrass us in our long swim." the night grew more and more dark; the sea moaned sadly, under the impulse of the _coromuel_, which was beginning to blow in gusts; the sea wolves howled in the darkness; the _gaviota_ groaned sadly on the top of the rocks; and from time to time the lamantine, as if jealous to add its mournful moan to the sinister sounds of night, mingled with the sharp sighs of the wind its accents, melancholy and plaintive as those of a soul in pain;--all, is short, foreboded a tempest. the hour was well chosen for a deed of darkness. the first emotion passed, the conspirators, galvanized, so to speak, by the firm and confident accent of their chief, bravely made up their minds without observation or murmur. they threw down their weapons and arms, and silently ranged themselves on the beach, only awaiting the order to dash into the sea. the jaguar, with fixed eye and frowning brow, remained motionless for some minutes, doubtless thinking of the immense responsibility he assumed in devoting to a probable death so many men who placed their hopes and confidence in him. at length he made a powerful effort over himself, a sigh escaped from his overladen breast, and, turning to his comrades, who were calmly awaiting the order to start, which would probably be a sentence of death to the majority, he said in a hollow voice-- "brothers, let us pray!" all knelt down, and the jaguar offered up a prayer. his powerful voice was mingled with the howls of the wild beasts and the crash of the tempest; his companions repeated the sentences after him, with the faith of primitive souls, who regard the belief transmitted to them by their ancestors as the only true one. it was at once a touching and terrible spectacle offered by these simple-minded, lion-hearted men, piously kneeling on this deserted shore in the black night, while the tempest raged around them, preparing themselves by prayer for the sacrifice of their life--alone in the gloom, without the dazzling prestige of a brilliant sun and thousands of spectators, but compelled to lay down their lives, and know no reward in this world. when the prayer was ended, all rose to their feet. they felt stronger; as god would henceforth be on their side, what had they to fear?--they had made him their accomplice. the jaguar was the last to rise; his brow was serene, but a febrile ardour caused his eyes to flash; he believed in the success of his enterprise. after assuring himself that all his comrades were ready, he ordered-- "take your daggers between your teeth: heaven protects us. forward, brothers, and long live liberty!" "long live liberty!" the conspirators shouted. a dull sound was heard, as they dashed simultaneously into the sea. chapter xxii. the surprise. the jaguar spoke truly when he said that the task the conspirators were about to undertake was rude. swimming side by side, the texans advanced in a straight line in the direction of the fort, which the obscurity prevented them seeing. the sea was rough and lumpy; heavy waves poured in, and rolled at every moment on their heads; the wind redoubled its violence; the terrible coromuel, the scourge of these coasts, where it causes so many shipwrecks, had risen; there was not a star in the sky to guide these determined men. they swam on--not a cry, moan, or sigh revealing any fatigue or discouragement on their part. at the head of the gloomy line formed by the energetic heads of the conspirators, the jaguar progressed alone. three-quarters of an hour passed, during which all the strength and courage the human will possesses were expended in this struggle of giants by these men, whom nothing could quell. not one had broken down; the line was still compact, and they advanced with the same vigour. before them, at about a musket shot distance, a denser shadow was visible in the gloom, thrown out by the enormous mass of the fortress they were approaching! since the departure, the conspirators, with their eyes ardently fixed ahead, had not exchanged a syllable. what could they have said? they were perfectly aware of the probable consequences of their mad enterprise, and fully conscious of the danger they incurred. besides, what was the good of speaking, when they could act? hence they were silent, but they acted vigorously. still, as all the men swam like otters, and were accustomed to the perfidious element in which they now were, they only expended the necessary amount of strength, and were very careful to keep the line regular. at length, after superhuman efforts, they succeeded in cutting through the current that dashed with extreme rapidity and strength into the straits. the hardest work was over; from this moment they needed only to let themselves drift gently ashore, while careful to keep the right direction. "courage!" the jaguar said. this word, the first the young man had uttered since the start, restored the strength of his comrades and aroused their ardour again. the fortress stood out gloomy and imposing a short distance ahead, and the conspirators were already swimming in the shadow it cast. all at once a cry disturbed the silence. "_tintorera!_" a brilliant mass came to meet the conspirators, leave a long phosphorescent trail behind it. "tintorera!" a second voice shouted. in fact, another shark was advancing from the open sea and swimming straight towards the conspirators, leaving a line of fire. "tintorera!" a third voice said, with an indescribable accent of agony. three tintoreras beset the swimmers and momentarily contracted the circle in which they held them. the danger was serious. "forward, comrades," the jaguar said, in his calm and sympathetic voice, "swim gently and noiselessly; you know that these monsters are almost blind, and more than half deaf, they have not seen us. john davis?" he added. "here!" the american answered. "where are you?" "i am the last but one on the right." "good! you will take the second tintorera and i the first. lanzi!" "lanzi has just disappeared," a voice answered. "malediction!" said the jaguar, "can he be dead? who shall attack the third tintorera?" "do not trouble yourself, jaguar," the well-known voice of the half-breed answered, "i am after it." "good! swim on, comrades, and leave us to cope with these monsters." the conspirators continued to advance silently, although they redoubled their efforts. the jaguar dived immediately and dashed toward the shark, which was swimming at a moderate depth. the chief and the monster were soon so near that the brown fins of the tintorera grazed the shoulder of the daring texan, who saw the glassy eye of the shark, half covered by a membrane, fixed upon him with an expression of cold malignity. the jaguar remounted to the surface of the water and clutched his dagger, at the same instant the monster's silvery belly was visible, as it opened its enormous mouth, armed with terrible teeth, close set as those of a harrow. the jaguar drove in his dagger with all his strength, and ripped the belly for about one-third its length. the hideous tintorera, wounded to death, gave an enormous bound, while wildly beating the water, and then fell back stark dead. the jaguar, half blinded by the blood-stained water, and tossed about in the whirlpool it had caused in its flurry, did not regain his senses for more than a minute. at length, by a supreme effort, he returned to the surface, inhaled the fresh air, and stifled a cry of triumph on seeing near him the inanimate body of his foe the sport of the waves. without stopping, he took an anxious glance around. "it's all over," a voice said near him. "is that you, lanzi?" "it is," the half-bred answered, in a voice as tranquil as if he were on terra firma. "well?" "the shark is dead." "now for the third, then. where is john davis? i do not see him." "let us go and see." not troubling themselves about their comrades, who were swimming towards land, the two lion-hearted men dashed to the american's help. but all was gloomy and silent around them; in vain did they cross-question the darkness, nothing appeared, neither man nor tintorera. "can he be dead?" the jaguar muttered, in a hollow voice. "oh, i cannot think so," lanzi answered, "he is so brave and clever." "suppose we hail him? he may be wounded." "but we shall be heard from the fort." "no, the wind is off shore." "help, help!" a voice shouted at the moment close by. "that is he," said the jaguar; "here we are, john, so have courage." and redoubling their efforts they proceeded in the direction whence the cry for help had come. "help, help!" the voice repeated with such an expression of agony, that the two men felt themselves shudder, although they were so inaccessible to fears. there is in the parting cry of agony of a strong man conquered by necessity, so poignant and crushing an expression, that it stirs the hearer to the depths of the soul. "courage, courage!" the two men repeated, redoubling their already prodigious efforts. all at once they saw a black mass swirling at about a yard from them and then sink. the jaguar immediately plunged and brought it to the surface; this mass, which they had been unable to discover in the darkness, was the body of john davis. it was high time for them to arrive; the american, finding himself conquered in the obstinate struggle he had so long sustained against death, was sinking. still, he had not entirely lost his senses; being held above water, he inhaled the fresh air, and was soon in a condition to answer the questions his comrades asked him. "are you wounded?" said the jaguar. "yes." "what's the matter?" "i fancy my shoulder bone is put out; the monster, in dying, dealt me a blow with his tail which all but made me faint. had it not been for you, i was lost. but good bye, and thanks; lose no further time with a man who is half dead." "we shall not abandon you if you do not abandon yourself, john. lanzi and i, two powerful men, are ready to do everything to save you." "we are too far from land." "you are mistaken, we are almost touching it; a few more strokes and we shall find ground; let us act." "be it so, as you insist on it." "can you support yourself in the water by putting one hand on lanzi's shoulder and the other on mine?" "i will try, brother." "come on then." john davis, stifling the horrible sufferings he underwent, succeeded in doing what the jaguar asked him, and all three then advanced towards the shore, which was, in truth, no great distance off, and, in spite of the darkness, its outline could be distinctly marked. but, in spite of all his courage, davis's sufferings were so atrocious, that he felt his eyes grow dim and his strength all at once fail him. "no," he said, "it is impossible and letting loose the support that had hitherto kept him up, he sunk. "cuerpo de cristo!" the jaguar exclaimed, with a sublime outburst of grief, "i will save him or perish with him." he plunged boldly seized his friend by his black hair, and mounting again with him, held his head above water, while he swam gently with his right hand. lanzi had in no way attempted to oppose the heroic action of the chief of the freebooters, but at the same time had not deserted him; he swam close to him, ready to come to his aid if needed. fortunately for the jaguar, the enormous mass of rock on which the fort was built neutralized the effects of the wind, and produced a factitious calm which allowed the young man to reach with his precious burden the narrow tongue of land, where his comrades were already awaiting him; but on landing he fainted. human strength has limits which it cannot surpass; so long as the danger endured, the jaguar had struggled energetically, but, once it was over, and his friend saved, he had been, compelled to confess himself conquered, and rolled on the sand with terror. the conspirators were terrified at the condition in which they saw their chief, for what could they do without him--what would become of them? lanzi reassured them by stating what had happened, and then all crowded round the young man and the american, whose condition was far more serious, since he had received an injury. as we have said, only fatigue and moral over-excitement had caused the jaguar's fainting fit. thanks to the eager and intelligent attention of his comrades, he speedily regained his senses, and returned to full possession of his faculties. time pressed, and they must act without delay, if they did not wish to be surprised by the return of the tide. so soon as the jaguar had recovered, his first care was to count his comrades; nine were missing. these nine men had died without venting a cry or uttering a complaint; when fatigue crushed them, they had sunk sooner than claim assistance, which would probably have occasioned the loss of their comrades by compelling them to offer assistance, which would have exhausted their strength in a few moments. great causes alone produce such acts of devotion. the conspirators were at the very foot of the rock, at the top of which the fort was built. it was a great step made, but it was as nothing so long as the rock was not escaladed. but how to attempt that feat on a dark night and with a coromuel, which every moment blew with greater force, and threatened to hurl to destruction the man who was so rash as to venture to attempt such an ascent! still, they must act, and the jaguar did not hesitate. he had not risked his own life and that of his comrades to be arrested by any obstacle, whatever its nature might be; impossibilities themselves must not stay him, for, although he might be killed, he would not recoil an inch. still the means he had at his disposal were extremely limited; he had but a silken cord about a hundred fathoms in length rolled round his body, and his comrades had no other weapons than their daggers. the persons who have read the early scenes of this story will doubtless remember the portrait we drew of the jaguar. although still very young, or at least appearing so, he joined exceptional strength to marvellous agility and skill; his adventurous character found delight in extraordinary things, and impossibilities alone offered any attraction to him. after reflecting for a few moments, he advised his comrades to lie down at the foot of the rock, lest they should be blown away by the coromuel, which was raging at the moment, passed two daggers through his belt, and began examining with the most scrupulous attention the rock he wished to attack. this granitic mass, whose base was bathed in the sea and beaten by the waves, had never been seriously investigated by anyone, for who had any interest in such a thing? the jaguar alone, since the thought had occurred to him of carrying the fort by surprise, had, on several occasions and for hours together, examined it with a telescope. unluckily, through fear of exciting suspicions, he could only inspect it from a long distance, and hence many details escaped his notice, as he perceived at once when he began a serious investigation. in fact, this rock, which at a distance seemed to form an almost perpendicular wall, was hollowed out at several points, and fissures had been opened by time--that great demolisher, which wears away the hardest granite. though the ascent was still extremely difficult, it was not impossible; the jaguar welcomed this certainty with a quick start of delight. "it is all right, brothers," he said to his comrades, "so take courage; now, i entertain firm hopes of success." and he prepared to mount. lanzi followed him. "where are you going?" the jaguar asked him. "with you," the half-breed answered, laconically. "for what good? one man is sufficient for what i am going to do." "yes," he answered; "but two are better." "well, come on, then." and then, turning to his attentive comrades, he added, "so soon as the rope falls, cling on to it without fear." "yes," the conspirators said. the jaguar then planted his dagger in a crevice above his head, and with the help of his hands and feet, raised himself sufficiently to thrust in a second dagger above the first. the first step was taken; from dagger to dagger the jaguar reached, in a few minutes, a species of platform about two square yards in width, where it was possible to draw breath. lanzi arrived almost with him. "well," said the latter, "this trip is rather amusing; it is only a pity that it is so dark." "all the better; on the contrary," the jaguar replied, "we need not fear a dizziness." "by my faith, that is true," said the half-breed, who cared as little for a dizziness as he did for a grain of sand. they examined the spot where they were. it was a species of hollow, probably excavated by time in the sides of the rock. unfortunately, over this hollow the rock formed a projection, rendering any further ascent impossible. while the jaguar was seeking on either side the means to continue his climb, the half-breed, thinking it useless to fatigue himself, sat down quietly in the crevice to shelter himself from the wind. the end of the hollow was covered by a thick curtain of shrubs, against which lanzi leaned with the confiding delight of a man who is glad to rest himself, if only for a moment, after his fatigue; but the shrubs gave way under his weight, and the half-breed fell down at his full length. "hilloa!" he said, with that magnificent coolness which never deserted him, "what's this?" "will you be quiet?" the jaguar exclaimed, as he hurried up, "or we shall be found out. what has happened to you?" "i do not know. look for yourself." the two men then advanced with outstretched arms, owing to the darkness. "why, it is a grotto. viva dios!" the jaguar exclaimed a moment later. "it looks to me very like one," said the half-breed, with his old coolness. in fact, this excavation, which at a distance appeared a narrow fissure, concealed the entrance to a natural grotto, completely masked by the shrubs which accident had planted there, and which an equally great accident had enabled the half-breed to discover. what was this passage through? did it go up and down? and was it known to the garrison? such were the questions which the adventurers asked themselves, and they naturally could not answer them. "what shall we do?" lanzi asked. "por dios! that is not difficult to guess," the jaguar replied; "we will explore this cave." "that is my opinion too; but i think there is a matter of inquiry to do before that." "what is it?" "whatever this cave may be, and no matter where it ends, it is certain that it will, at any rate, offer us an excellent shelter. supposing, at any rate, as is possible, that we cannot succeed in effecting the ascent of the rock this night, we will hide ourselves here during tomorrow, and be ready to finish on the following night what we shall not have time to effect during the present one." "that is an excellent idea," the jaguar remarked, "and we will immediately carry it into effect." the young man unfastened the rope round his hips, and after securely attaching one end round a point of rock, and a stone to the other end, that the wind might not blow it about, he let it fall. in a few minutes the rope stiffened--the conspirators watching on the beach had seized it. ere long a man made his appearance, then a second, and so on till all reached the platform. as they arrived, lanzi sent them into the grotto. "and john davis?" the jaguar asked reproachfully; "have you abandoned him?" "certainly not," the conspirator who mounted last answered. "upon leaving i was careful to put the rope several times round his body, in spite of his objections. we only succeeded in overcoming his obstinacy by persuading him that the weight of his body would keep the rope taut, and facilitate my ascent." "thank you," said the jaguar. "now, lads, to work; we must not abandon our brother." at the chiefs order, or rather entreaty, eight or ten men seized the rope, and the american was soon hoisted on to the platform. "what is the use of taking so much trouble about me?" he said. "i can be of no service to you: on the contrary, i shall only be in the way, and impede your operations. it would have been better to leave me to die; the rising tide would have formed my winding sheet." the jaguar made no answer, but had him conveyed into the grotto, where he was laid down on the ground. the young chief then collected his comrades, and explained to them how, by a providential accident, lanzi had discovered the entrance of the grotto. still, it had not yet been explored, and it was of urgency to find out in what direction it ran. "unfortunately," the young man added, "the darkness is dense, and we have no means of procuring fire." "listen, jaguar," john davis said, who had attentively followed the chiefs remarks; "i will give you fire." "you!" the young man said with a start of delight; "but no, that is impossible." in spite of his sufferings the american attempted to smile. "what! you a wood ranger," he said, "did not think of that! and yet it is very simple. just feel in the right-hand pocket of my calzoneras, and take out a packet." the jaguar hastily obeyed; he drew out a small parcel about seven inches in length, carefully wrapped up in shagreen and tied with thread. "what does this parcel contain?" he asked in some curiosity. "a dozen _cabos_, which i brought with me on the chance," the american calmly replied. "candles! _viva dios!_" the young man exclaimed with delight; "that is a brilliant idea. you are an invaluable man, john. but," he added sadly a moment later, "of what use will they be?" "to light us, of course." "unfortunately, all our matches are damped by the sea." "not mine. do you imagine, jaguar, that i am the man to neglect any precautions, and do things by halves? feel in the left-hand pocket of my calzoneras, friend." the jaguar did not allow the intimation to be repeated. he found a second parcel smaller than the first, equally preserved from the wet, containing a gold mechero with its flint and steel. "oh," the young chief said, "now we are saved!" "i hope so," the american said, as he fell back on the ground, where he remained motionless, conquered by pain. a few minutes later, four candles were lighted, and illumined the interior of the grotto. the conspirators restrained with difficulty a cry of terror, for, thanks to the precautions taken by john davis, they were saved, but not in the sense meant by the jaguar. this grotto extended a long distance; its walls were lofty, and it seemed to ascend; but in the centre was an opening, stretching across about two-thirds of its width, and whose depth appeared enormous: one step further into the interior of the cavern, and the conspirators would have disappeared in the abyss. there are some dangers which go beyond the range of all human foresight, and which, through that very reason, render the most intrepid man frozen with terror. these men, who for some hours past had risked their lives twenty times in a mad struggle, and who only lived yet through a miracle, shuddered on thinking of the horrible danger they had escaped by a providential accident. "oh!" the jaguar exclaimed with an expression impossible to render, "it is evident that heaven is on our side, and we shall succeed. follow me, brothers, for you must be as anxious as myself to hold the clue of this enigma." all rushed after him. the cave took several windings, but, contrary to what is generally found in most natural grottos, it did not appear to have any other arteries save the one in which the conspirators found themselves. the latter went on, following their leader step by step. the deeper they got into the cavern, the ruder became the ascent. the jaguar advanced with extreme caution and doubt, for it seemed to him impossible that this passage should be unknown to the commandant of the garrison. on reflection he supposed--and with some semblance of truth--that this cave had been excavated, in earlier times, by human hands, and that the abyss into which he and his comrades had all but fallen, was nought else than a well, intended to supply the garrison in the event of a siege. he soon obtained a proof that his surmises were correct, for after marching for a few minutes longer, the conspirators were arrested by an iron-bound door, which barred their way. at a sign from the jaguar, they remained motionless, with their hands on their dagger hilts. the moment for action had arrived: this door evidently opened into the fort. the jaguar examined the lock for an instant, and then ordered the lights to be put out, which was immediately obeyed, and the conspirators were again in darkness. this door, which was very old, and probably had not been opened for a long series of years, could not offer any serious resistance. the young chieftain thrust the point of his dagger between the bolt and the staple, and pressed on it. the staple fell to the ground, but the door still resisted; it was fastened on the other side by strong bolts. there was a moment of extreme anxiety and discouragement for the conspirators. how was the door to be opened? must they turn back, and lose all the profit of such perils overcome, and difficulties incurred? the position was serious; but, as we have said, the jaguar was a man who only took a delight in impossibilities. he lit a candle again, and examined the door with the most minute attention. the wood, acted upon by age and damp, fell off in scales, and melted into dust at the slightest effort. when the candle had been again extinguished, the young man knelt down before the door, and began cutting it with his dagger, taking the greatest care to make no noise for fear of alarming the garrison; for though he was convinced that this door opened into the fort, he could not know to what point it led. after ten minutes of slow and continued toil, the whole lower part of the door was removed. the jaguar crawled through the orifice, and, not trying to discover where he was, he got up, felt for the bolts, drew them one after the other, and quietly opened the door, through which his comrades silently slipped. the conspirators then groped their way along the walls, not wishing to light a candle, for fear of giving an alarm, and trusting to chance to lead them in the right road. they were justified in doing so, for lanzi reached a door, which he mechanically pushed, and which was ajar. this door opened into a long corridor lighted by a lamp, and the insurgents boldly entered the passage, after taking the precaution to take down the lamp and put it out. it was now about half-past four in the morning, and day was beginning to break. at the end of the passage, the jaguar perceived a motionless shadow leaning against the wall. at an order from his chief, the half-breed glided like a serpent up to this shadow, which was nothing less than a sentry, who was quietly asleep, with his musket by his side, and on coming within reach, the half-breed bounded like a tiger at the throat of the sleeper, whom he threw down without giving him time to utter a cry. the poor fellow was bound and gagged, ere he was sufficiently awake to understand what was happening to him. this sentry was stationed at the entrance of a guard-room, in which some fifteen soldiers were sleeping. the post was carried, without a blow, by the insurgents, who bound the soldiers, and took possession of their arms. the expedition was going on famously; but unluckily, while the scene we have referred to was taking place in the guard-room, the sentry in the passage, who had been neglected, succeeded in loosing his bonds and giving the alarm. the position had become serious. "come," the jaguar said quickly, "it seems as if we shall have a fight of it. well, several of you are now armed: comrades, remember my orders--no quarter!" the insurgents, not at all anxious to be besieged in the guard-room, where it would have been easy to overpower them, then went out. at the moment when they appeared in the passage, they perceived some thirty soldiers, at the head of whom three officers in uniform marched, coming boldly to meet them. "fire!" the jaguar thundered, "and then forward!" ten muskets were discharged, the three officers fell, and the texans rushed ferociously on the soldiers. the latter, terrified by this furious attack, and seeing their leaders dead, offered but a weak resistance; after a few minutes of hand-to-hand fighting, sustained rather to save the military honour than in the hope of conquering the assailants, they asked leave to capitulate. the jaguar ordered a suspension of fighting, and ordered the garrison to lay down their arms, which they readily did. during the short fight, the texans had lost eight men killed at the bayonet point. the fort of the point, which was supposed to be impregnable, had been surprised by twenty-five men only armed with daggers. but these twenty-five fought for a holy and great idea--they were resolved to conquer or perish. the jaguar had accomplished the task which had been allotted to him in the vast plan conceived by the texan insurgents, and the capture of the fort must inevitably lead to the surrender of the town, if el alferez succeeded in making himself master of the _libertad_ corvette. we have seen how, on his side, that chief had behaved, and what result he had achieved. chapter xxiii. el salto del frayle. the expeditious way in which the jaguar had gained the capture of the castle, by firing, without any previous summons, on the commandant of the garrison and his officers, was, perhaps, not strictly loyal, or recognized by the military code; but we must not forget that the jaguar and his men were placed without the pale of the law by the mexicans, that they were regarded as wild beasts, and a considerable reward offered for their heads. placed in such a position, the texan insurgents must regard themselves as freed from any courteous obligation toward their enemies, and in fact were so. until they were permitted to treat on equal terms with their old masters, they had only one thing to regard, namely, the object to be attained: under the present circumstances they had attained it, and no more could be asked of them. the jaguar's first care, so soon as he was in possession of the fortress, was to have john davis installed in a comfortable and airy room; then he sent several men to the creek whence the expedition had started, to fetch the clothes and anything the conspirators had left there. during the works necessitated by the new occupation and an exact inspection of the important fortress the texans had succeeded in seizing, day had broke, and the sun risen. the jaguar, after taking all the necessary precautions to prevent himself being surprised in his turn, took a telescope, and went up to the platform of the castle. from this point the eye surveyed an immense landscape, and a magnificent panorama was unrolled. on one side were the undulating texan plains, which lofty mountains enclosed on the horizon; on the other, the sea with its grand and mysterious immensity. the jaguar first looked carelessly through the telescope at the town of galveston, which was beginning to wake up, and whose streets were growing gradually peopled; next at the mainland, and the entrance of the rio trinidad, which was still plunged in a mournful solitude. then, turning, he fixed the glass on the sea, and attentively examined the horizon. lanzi, carelessly lounging on a gun carriage, was rolling a husk cigarette with all the serious attention he generally devoted to this important operation. "lanzi!" the jaguar suddenly said, as he hurried to him. "well!" he answered, raising his head, but not otherwise disturbing himself. "do you know what has become of the mexican flag we found in the commandant's room?" "indeed i do not." "you must go and enquire at once, my good fellow. so soon as you have got it, bring it to me." "very good." the half-breed rose and left the platform; in the meanwhile, the jaguar, who was leaning over the parapet, seemed deeply interested. in fact, the chase of the privateer by the corvette was beginning at this moment! and the two vessels appeared under full sail. "oh, oh," the jaguar muttered, "how will it end? the brig is very small to carry so large a vessel by storm! nonsense," he added after a little reflection, "we have seized the fort, then why should they not capture the corvette?" "i see nothing to prevent it," a voice said at his elbow. the jaguar turned and saw the half-breed standing by his side, with a roll of bunting under his arm. "well," he asked him, "where is the flag?" "here it is." "now, my friend, yon will hoist the flag on that staff; but, in order that our comrades may not mistake our meaning, mind and fasten a dagger to the top of the flag. the inhabitants of galveston will not notice this addition, while our friends, who have an interest in carefully examining what goes on here, will immediately understand what it signifies." lanzi punctually carried out the order given him, and five minutes later, the mexican banner, surmounted by a dagger, was majestically floating from the flagstaff. the jaguar soon obtained the certainty that his signal was understood, for the brig, closely pursued by the corvette, waited till it had come within pistol shot of the fort ere it tacked, which it assuredly would not have done had there been any cause of fear. during the greater part of the day, the jaguar followed with the greatest interest the progress of the two ships, and witnessed the final incidents from his observatory. at about two in the afternoon, however, he went down into the interior of the fort, and, after recommending the greatest vigilance to his friends, he armed himself, threw a zarapé over his shoulders, and quitted the castle. by lanzi's care, a horse had been prepared for him near the foot of the rock: the jaguar bounded into the saddle, and after giving one glance at the fortress, he dug in the spurs, and started at a gallop. the jaguar was proceeding to the salto del frayle, where, on the previous evening, he had appointed to meet don juan melendez de gongora. the coasts of mexico are probably the most varied of all those in the new world. the seaboard of texas especially is so strangely broken up, that the mind loses itself in trying to discover what accident or antediluvian cataclysm could have been powerful enough to produce these bold gaps and sudden fissures in the tall cliffs that border it. not far from galveston, on the seashore, there is a rather wide road, whose capricious windings follow for a considerable distance the crest of the cliffs. this road is usually followed by the muleteers and travellers of every description proceeding to mexico. being wide and convenient, it might justly pass as excellent in a country where the highways of communication are--or, at least, were--completely unknown, for at the present day, texas possesses fine carriage roads, and long iron way. but at one spot, the road to which we allude suddenly breaks off: the cliff, cleft as if by a giant's sabre stroke, displays a yawning abyss, about ten feet wide, and some seven hundred feet deep. at the base of this fissure the sea constantly breaks in fury, producing a hollow and monotonous sound. on the other side of the gap the road begins again. in europe, where government is necessarily occupied in improving the means of communication, a remedy would easily have been found for this interruption by throwing a bridge across the fissure, but in america it is not so. the governments have something else to do than trouble themselves about the general welfare: in the first place, they have to raise as much money as they can by taxation; and next, defend themselves against _pronunciamentos_ and ambitious men constantly on the watch to overthrow them. the result is, that all goes on as it best can, and each gets out of a hobble, in the best way he can contrive it. fortunately, the horses and mules, more intelligent than men, have produced a remedy for this neglect, thanks to that instinct of self-preservation which god has bestowed on them. nothing is more curious than to see the passage of the fissure by a recua of mules. these animals come up gently, stretching over their necks, sounding the ground at each step, and sniffing all around with signs of the most lively alarm. on reaching the edge of the gap, they stiffen their front legs, bend the hind ones, and toss their heads; then all at once they take their spring, and fall on the other side upon all four feet, without ever making a mistake. still, it is necessary that the man who is astride them should completely lay aside his own will, and abandon them entirely to their infallible instinct. if he attempt to guide them, it is all over: man and steed roll to the bottom of the precipice, which both reach in small pieces. as for the name of the salto del frayle or the monk's leap, which this spot bears, the following is the motive for it, according to the local chronicle. it is stated (we affirm nothing, and in no way guarantee the veracity of the legend)--it is stated, we say, that a few years after the settlement of the spaniards in texas, a franciscan monk, the pater guardian, or prior, of his monastery, being accused of insulting a maiden whose confessor he was, escaped from the hands of the alguazil sent to seize him, and fled across country. after a very long chase, and when closely pursued by the soldiers, who were furious at their inability to capture him, he reached the edge of this gap. taking a glance at the abyss, the poor monk felt he was a lost man; recommending his soul to his patron saint, and calling heaven to bear witness to his innocence, he leaped boldly across. the soldiers who arrived at this moment distinctly saw two angels supporting the monk under the arms, and they laid him in safety upon the other bank. the soldiers naturally fell on their knees, and implored the blessing of the holy man, whose innocence was thus distinctly proved to them. the latter turned to them with a radiant face, blessed them with emotion, and then disappeared, to the sound of celestial music, in a cloud of purple and gold. such was the story the soldiers told on returning from their expedition. whether they spoke truly or falsely, no one ever knew; but one thing is certain, that from that moment nothing more was ever heard of the monk. the populace, who are always lovers of the marvellous, put the most entire faith in this story, and an annual procession was instituted, at which we had the honour of being present, and which, at each anniversary of the worthy prior's miraculous leap, is performed with great ceremony, in the presence of an immense crowd which has arrived from very part of texas. whatever may be thought as to the authenticity of this story, it is certain that this spot is called the monk's leap, and it was here that the jaguar had given the meeting to colonel don juan melendez. the sun had sunk almost level with the horizon when the young man reached the gap. he looked around him; the road was deserted, so he dismounted, hobbled his horse, lay down on the ground, and waited. he had been there about a quarter of an hour, when the sound of a horse galloping reached his ear; he rose and looked round. he soon saw a horseman turning a corner of the road and recognized the colonel. on reaching the jaguar he bowed and leaped to the ground. "pardon me, my friend," he said, "for having kept you waiting, but it is a long distance from galveston to this spot; and you and your comrades give us so much to do, that, viva dios! we have not an instant to ourselves." the young man smiled. "you are quite forgiven, colonel," he said; "have you received any more bad news?" "neither good nor bad, but in truth very disagreeable; we learn that a corps of freebooters has been formed, of which you are strongly suspected to be the chief, and which at this moment is ravaging the whole country." "have you heard no more than that?" "not up to the present." "well, before we part, i will give you some news, which, if i am not mistaken, will deeply annoy you." "what do you mean, my friend? explain yourself." "not at this moment. we have not come here to discuss politics, but our own affairs. let us proceed regularly. we shall always have time enough to return to politics." "that is true; but answer me one question first." "what is it?" "is the news you have to tell me really serious?" the jaguar frowned and stamped his foot on the ground with suppressed violence. "extremely serious," he said. there was a moment's silence; at length the young man walked up to the colonel and laid his hand on his shoulder. "don juan," he said to him in a kindly voice, "listen to me for a moment." "speak, my friend." "don juan," he continued, "why do you so obstinately defend a lost cause? why shed your generous blood in the service of tyranny? texas wishes to be free, and will be so! count the capable men who serve in your ranks; with the exception of two, perhaps three, there is not another you can mention: mexico, exhausted by the revolutions which incessantly overthrow it, has at its disposal neither men nor money enough to assume a vigorous offensive: the very name of mexican is odious to the texans. on all sides the people are rebelling against you; it is a constantly rising tide, which breaks down every dyke. you are surrounded: within a month your army will be disgracefully expelled from our territory. reflect, my friend, for there is yet time; return your sword to its scabbard, and leave fate to accomplish its task." "listen to me in your turn, friend," the colonel answered, in a mournful voice. "what you have just said to me i knew as well as you do. i have felt for a long time past that the ground trembles beneath our feet, and that we shall ere long be swallowed up by the revolution; i therefore form no illusion to the fate that awaits us. but i am a soldier, my friend, i have taken an oath: that oath i must keep, at all risks. moreover, i am a mexican--do not forget that fact; i must, therefore, regard this question from a point of view diametrically opposed to yours. besides," he added, with feigned gaiety, "we are not yet in the state you imagine. you have certainly taken from us a few pueblos, but we still have the towns, and hold the sea. you sing victory too soon; the texan revolution is as yet only in the state of insurrection. at a later date, when it holds a strong town, and its government is constituted, we shall see what is to be done; but for the present there is no cause to despair, my friend, and you have not made the progress you fancy." "perhaps so," the jaguar answered, with an equivocal accent that caused the colonel to reflect. "i thought it my duty to speak to you as a friend, and give you some disinterested advice; if you will not take it, you are quite at liberty to neglect it." "do not feel annoyed; my remarks can have nothing to wound your feelings. i had no intention of vexing you when i spoke as i did. but put yourself for a moment in my place; if i had made you the same proposals you offered me, what would your answer have been?" "i should have refused, by heaven!" the young man exclaimed, impetuously. the colonel began laughing. "well, i acted as you would have done. what harm do you see in that?" "that is true; you were right, and i am an ass! forgive me, my friend. besides, was it not agreed that political questions should never separate us? let us, therefore, return to the object of our interview, which is of much greater importance to us, and temporarily leave the mexicans and texans to settle matters as they can." for some minutes the colonel's eyes had been fixed on the sea, and he had listened to his friend's remarks with a very absent air. "why," he suddenly said, "look there, my friend." "what is it?" "do you not see?" "what do _you_ see, let me ask in return?" "hang it! i see the _libertad_ corvette, which has first anchored under the guns of the point fort, bringing with her a privateer brig, which she has, in all probability, captured off the coast." "do you think so?" the jaguar asked, sarcastically. "look for yourself!" "my friend, i am rather like st. thomas." "what do you mean?" "that as long as i am not completely convinced, i shall attach but very slight faith to the testimony of my eyesight." these words were uttered with such a singular intonation, that, in spite of himself, the colonel felt ashamed. "what can you mean?" he asked. "nothing but what i say," the jaguar answered. "still, i fancy i cannot be mistaken. i can very distinctly see the mexican flag over the reversed texan colours." "it is true," the jaguar said, coldly, "but what does that prove?" "what do you say?--'what does that prove?'" "yes." "are you so ignorant of naval matters, then, as not to know what takes place on board a vessel after an engagement?" "i beg your pardon, friend, but i know all about it. but i know, too, that what we see may be the result of a stratagem, and that the brig, after capturing the corvette, may have an interest in concealing the fact." "come, come," the colonel said, with a laugh, "that is carrying optimism a little too far. let us leave the corvette and brig, and return to our own affairs." "well, i think you are in the right; for, judging from the turn the conversation has taken, we should presently be unable to understand one another at all." during this conversation the sun had set, and night completely fallen. the two gentlemen passed their horses' bridles over their arm to prevent them straying, and then walked slowly, side by side, in the direction of the rio trinidad. the night was clear, the sky studded with a profusion of flashing stars, and the atmosphere of marvellous transparency; it was, in a word, one of those american nights that conduce to gentle reverie. the young men yielded involuntarily to the intoxicating charm of this exquisite evening; yielding to their thoughts, neither dreamed of resuming a conversation suddenly broken off by a bitter remark. for a long time they walked on thus, till they reached an angle in the road, where the track they were following divided into several branches. here they halted. "we must separate here, don juan," the jaguar said, "for we probably do not follow the same road." "that is true, friend, and i regret it," the colonel answered, sadly, "for i should be so happy if i had you constantly by my side." "thanks, friend, but you know that is impossible; let us, therefore, profit by the few moments left us to be together. well, what have you done?" "nothing, alas! for a soldier is the slave of discipline; in a period of war, more especially, it is impossible for him to leave his corps. i have, therefore, been unable to obtain any information. have you been more fortunate?" "i can hardly say, yet; still, i hope. tranquil has this very night to give me certain information, which will perfect that i have myself obtained." "and is tranquil here?" "he arrived today, but i have not yet been able to see him." "then you imagine----?" the colonel said, eagerly. "this is what i have succeeded in finding out. remark that i assert nothing; i am at this moment merely the echo of certain rumours, which may be well founded, but can also be false." "no matter; speak, my friend, in heaven's name." "about six weeks ago, according to what my spies tell me, a strange man arrived in this country, bringing a girl with him. this man has purchased a rancho, of no great value, situated a few leagues from here, nearly on the seashore. he paid cash for it, shut himself up in the rancho with the girl, and since then no one has seen them. the man has immured himself in his property, to which nobody has admission; but whether this man be the white scalper, and the maiden carmela, no one is able to state positively, and i would not venture to affirm it. several times i have prowled round the abode of this mysterious being, but have not succeeded in seeing him: windows and doors are constantly closed, nothing is heard of what takes place in this strange house, which, through its isolated position, is, to a certain extent, protected from indiscreet visitors. this is what i had to tell you, perhaps tomorrow i shall have learned more." "no," don juan answered, pensively, "that man cannot be the white scalper, or the maiden carmela." "what makes you think so?" "the mystery with which the man surrounds himself. the white scalper, you must not forget, is a man for whom the nomadic life of the desert possesses too great charms for him to be willing to shut himself up. and then, what would be his reason for doing so? to keep a young girl prisoner? but doña carmela is no frail and timid woman, weakened by the mephitic air of cities, without will or strength. she is a brave and courageous maiden, with a resolute heart and strong arm, who would never have consented thus to bow her head beneath the yoke. a man, however strong he may be, is very weak, believe me, when he finds himself in presence of a woman, who says to him boldly--no! woman, through the mere fact that she has generally only one thought at a time, is greatly superior to us, and nearly always attains the object she desires. and then again, for what reason can the white scalper, who had in his hands a thousand unknown desert hiding places to conceal his captive from sight, have retired without any plausible motive to the vicinity of a town, in a populous country, where he must expect to attract suspicion and arouse attention? no, it is evident to me that you are mistaken." "perhaps you are right; still, it is my duty to clear up the affair, and i will do so." "certainly, you will act prudently by doing so. i confess that, were it possible, i should be happy to accompany you on your expedition. for even supposing, as i believe, that this man is not the white scalper, it is probable that the mystery with which he surrounds himself conceals a crime, and that if your expedition does not meet with the result you suppose, it will have, at any rate, served to liberate a maiden who is the victim of odious tyranny." "who knows?" "only one man, in my opinion, could put you on the trail of her we have so unfortunately lost, through the numerous relations he maintains with the indians." "whom do you mean?" "loyal heart--" "that is true. he was brought up by the indians, and one of their tribes has adopted him. he would be better able than anybody to supply us with information." "why have you not applied to him, then?" "for the very simple reason that, on the day after the capture of the larch-tree hacienda, loyal heart left us to return to his tribe, whither serious matters recalled him." "that is annoying," the colonel said thoughtfully. "i know not why, but i feel convinced that this hunter, with whom i am but very slightly acquainted, as i only conversed with him once, and that but for ten minutes--i am convinced, i say, that this hunter may prove extremely useful to us in our search for the unfortunate carmela." "perhaps you are right, colonel. this night, as i told you, i am to see tranquil, and shall have a serious explanation with him. he is as interested as we are, perhaps more so, in the success of our researches. he is a man of extreme prudence, and thoroughly conversant with the desert; i shall see what he says to me." "insist, i beg, friend, on establishing a friendly connection with loyal heart." "i shall not fail; besides, tranquil is sure to know where to find him." "that is probable. now, i can speak to you with open heart, my friend. honour alone has hitherto kept me at my post; i desire to recover my liberty, and only await an honourable occasion to send in my resignation. i should not like to abandon my comrades in arms at a critical moment; but i swear to you on my honour, friend, that on the day when i am free, and that day is approaching i hope, i will join you, and then we shall find carmela again, even at the risk of my life." the colonel uttered these words with a fire and animation which made his friend start involuntarily, and aroused in his heart a lively feeling of jealousy. still, the jaguar had sufficient power over himself to conceal the emotion he felt, and he replied in a calm voice: "may heaven grant that it may speedily be so, my friend. what could we two not do?" "then you intend to make the expedition you told me of this night?" the colonel continued. "it is not i, though i shall probably be present, but another person who will direct it." "why not you?" "tranquil desires it so; he is carmela's father, and i must yield to his wishes." "that is true. now, when and how shall we meet again? i have the greatest desire to learn what may occur tonight; whatever be the result of the expedition, i trust to be informed of what you have done. unfortunately, i fear it will be very difficult for us to meet again." "why so?" "why, my friend, you know as well as i do, the truce made between general rubio and yourself expires tonight." "well?" "i presume you do not intend returning to galveston?" "for the present, no; but i hope to do so shortly." "let us not trust to probabilities, for we run too great a risk of deceiving ourselves." the jaguar burst into a laugh. "you are perfectly right," he said; "still, it is important that we should meet within the next twenty-four hours." "certainly." "if i cannot enter galveston, you can leave it, i suppose?" "oh, of course." "well then, the matter is easily arranged; i will tell you a spot where you will be certain of finding me." "take care, my friend, be prudent; i will not conceal from you that the general is furious at having fallen into the trap you so cleverly laid for him, and will do all in his power to seize your person." "i expect so; but do not be alarmed, he will not succeed." "i hope so, friend; but believe me, do not be too confident." "i defy him to come and take me at the spot where i shall be within an hour, and where i shall be delighted to welcome you, if you are inclined to pay me a visit." "and where is this privileged spot, my friend?" "the fort of the point." "what!" the colonel said, suddenly stopping and looking him in the face; "of course you are joking." "not the least in the world." "what! you give me the meeting at the fort of the point?" "yes." "why, that is impossible." "why so?" "oh, you must be mad, my friend!" "remember that the fort has been in my hands for the past twelve hours," the jaguar coldly interrupted him. "i surprised it last night." "ah!" the colonel exclaimed, in stupor. "did i not tell you that i had serious news to impart to you?" the young man continued; "would you like, now, to learn the second item?" "the second!" the colonel repeated, utterly astounded; "and what can the second item be? after what i have just heard, i can expect anything." "the second item is this: the _libertad_ corvette has been boarded by the privateer brig, with which it and chored at sunset beneath the guns of the fort." at this unexpected revelation the colonel staggered like a drunken man; he turned pale as a corpse, and his limbs were agitated by a convulsive movement. "woe, woe!" he exclaimed in a choking voice. the jaguar felt moved with pity at the sight of this true and poignant grief. "alas! my friend," he said gently, "it is the fortune of war." "oh, galveston, galveston!" the colonel said in despair, "that city which the general has sworn never to surrender!" after a moment's silence, the colonel mounted his horse. "let me go," he said; "i must immediately impart these frightful news to the governor." "go, my friend," the jaguar answered affectionately; "but, remember, that you will find me at the fort of the point." "we are accursed!" the colonel cried wildly, and burying his spurs in the sides of his horse, which snorted with pain, he started at full gallop. "poor friend!" the jaguar muttered sadly, as he looked after him, "the news has quite upset him." after this reflection, the young man mounted and went back to the fort, which he reached about half an hour later. chapter xxiv. the landing. immediately on reaching his anchorage, captain johnson, after conversing for a moment privately with el alferez, gave orders that commandant rodriguez and his officers should be brought into his presence. the commandant, despite the politeness with which he had been treated, and the kindness the privateer's men had shown him, could not forgive them the way in which they had seized his vessel; he was sad, and had hitherto only answered the questions asked him by disdainful silence, or insulting monosyllables. when the officers of the corvette were assembled in the cabin, captain johnson, turning politely to the mexicans, said: "gentlemen, i am really most sorry for what has occurred. i should be glad to set you at liberty immediately, but your commandant's formal refusal to pledge himself not to serve against us for a year and a day, obliges me, to my great regret, to keep you prisoners, at least temporarily. however, gentlemen, be assured that you will be treated as caballeros, and everything done to alleviate the sorrow this temporary captivity must occasion you." the officers, and even the commandant, bowed their thanks, and the captain continued: "all your property has been placed in the boat i have ordered to be got ready, to convey you ashore. you will, therefore, lose nothing that belongs to you personally; if war has terrible claims, i have tried, as far as lay in my power, to spare you its bitterest conditions. if nothing retains you here, be kind enough to get ready to land." "would it be indiscreet, captain, to ask you whither you have given orders to have us taken?" commandant rodriguez asked. "not at all, commandant," the captain replied; "you are about to be taken to the port of the point, whose walls will serve as your prison, until fresh orders." "what!" the old sailor exclaimed in astonishment; "the fort of the point?" "yes," the captain answered with a smile; "the fort which some of my friends seized, while i had the honour of boarding your fine corvette, commandant." the captain could have gone on talking thus for some time: the old officer, confounded by what he had just heard, was incapable of connecting two ideas. at length, he let his head fall wearily on his chest, and making his officers a sign to follow him, went on deck. a boat, with a crew of ten men, was balancing at the starboard accommodation ladder, which the commandant, still silent, entered, and his staff followed his example. "push off!" el alferez ordered, who was holding the yoke lines. the boat started and speedily disappeared. for some minutes the cadenced sound of the oars dipping in the water could be heard, and then all became silent again. the captain had watched the departure of his prisoners; when the boat had disappeared in the gloom, he gave master lovel orders to weigh and stand out to sea, and then returned to his cabin, where a man was waiting for him. it was tranquil, the old tigrero. "well!" the hunter asked. "they have gone, thank heaven!" the captain said, as he sat down. "then we are at liberty?" "quite." "when shall we land?" "this night; but is your information positive?" "i believe so." "well, we shall soon know how matters stand." "may heaven grant that we succeed!" "let us hope it. do you think the coast is guarded?" "i fear it, for your vessel must have been signalled all along the shore." "do you know whether the mexicans have other ships observing the ports, in addition to the corvette we have captured?" "i think they have three more, but smaller than the _libertad_." "hang it all! we must act prudently, then; however, whatever may happen, i will not desert so old a friend as yourself when unfortunate. we have still three hours before us, so try and sleep a little, for we shall have a tough job." tranquil smiled at this recommendation; but to please his friend, who had already laid himself down in his bunk, in the position of a man preparing to sleep, he wrapped himself in his zarapé, leant back in his chair, and closed his eyes. the night, which at the beginning had been very bright and clear, had suddenly become dark and stormy; black clouds surcharged with electricity covered the whole of the sky; the breeze moaned sadly in the rigging, and mingled with the dash of the waves against the sides of the vessel. the brig was sailing slowly close to the wind, the only sails it carried being double-reefed topsails, the fore staysail, and the spanker. at the moment when the helmsman struck the two double strokes on the bell, indicating ten o'clock, captain johnson and tranquil appeared on deck. the captain was dressed in a thick blue pilot coat, a leathern belt, through which were passed a cutlass, a pair of pistols and an axe, was fastened round his waist; a cloak was thrown over his shoulders, and a broad-brimmed felt hat completely concealed his features. the canadian wore his hunter's garb, though, through the dangerous nature of the affair, he had added a brace of pistols to his ordinary armament. the captain's orders have been carried out with that minute consciousness which master lovel displayed in everything connected with duty. the boarding netting was braced up, and the running rigging secured as if for action. at the starboard ladder the longboat was tossing with its crew of thirty men, all armed to the teeth, and holding their oars aloft ready to dash into the water. they were, however, muffled, so as to stifle, as far as possible, the sound of rowing, and foil the vigilance of the mexicans. "that is well, lads," the captain said, after giving a pleased glance at their preparations, "let us be off. mind, father," he added, turning to father lovel, "that you keep a good watch. if we are not on board again by four in the morning, stand out to sea, and do not trouble yourself further about us; for it will be useless to wait for us longer, as we shall be prisoners of the mexicans; and any lengthened stay in these waters might compromise the safety of the brig. be of good cheer, though, for i have hopes of success." and after kindly pressing the old sailor's hand, he went down to the boat, seated himself in the sternsheets by the side of the hunter, took up the yoke lines, and said, in a low voice, "push, off!" at this command the painter was cast off, the oars dashed together into the sea, and the boat started. when it had disappeared in the fog, master lovel ran at full speed to the stern of the brig, and leaned over the taffrail. "are you there?" he said. "yes," a suppressed voice answered him. "get ready," the master added, and then said to an old sailor, who had followed him: "you know what i recommended to you, wells," he said; "i reckon on you, and intrust the lookout to you." "all right, master," the sailor answered, "you can cut your cable without fear, i will keep a bright lookout." "all right; get in, men, and double-bank the oars." some forty sailors, who were well armed, like their predecessors, let themselves down, one after the other, by a rope that hung over the taffrail, and got into a second boat, which master lovel had ordered to be quietly got ready, and of which he took the command. he started at once, and steered after the captain's pinnace, whose direction he was pretty well acquainted with, saying every now and then to the rowers, in order to increase their speed, "give way, my lads, give way, all!" and he added, as he chewed his enormous quid, with a cunning smile, "it was very likely i should let my old fellow have his face scored by those brigands of mexicans, who are all as crafty as caimans." so soon as he had left the ship, the captain, leaving on his right hand a small fishing village, whose lights he saw flashing through the darkness, steered for a jutting-out point, where he probably hoped to disembark in safety. after rowing for about three-quarters of an hour, a black line began to be vaguely designed on the horizon in front of the boat. the captain gave his men a sign to rest on their oars for a moment, and taking up a long night glass, he carefully examined the coast. in two or three minutes he shut up the glass again, and ordered his men to give way. all at once the keel of the pinnace grated on the sand: they had reached land. after hurriedly exploring the neighbourhood, the crew leaped ashore, leaving only one man as boat keeper, who at once pushed off, so as not to be captured by the enemy. all was calm, and a solemn silence reigned on the coast, which was apparently deserted. the captain having assured himself that, for the present, at any rate, he had nothing to fear, concealed his men behind some rocks, and then addressed tranquil. "it is now your turn, old hunter," he said. "good!" the latter replied, not adding another word. he left his hiding place, and walked forward, with a pistol in one hand, and a tomahawk in the other, stopping at intervals to look around him, and listen to those thousand sounds, without any known cause, which at night trouble the silence, though it is impossible to guess whence they come, or what produces them. on getting about one hundred yards from the spot where the landing was effected, the hunter stopped, and began gently whistling the first strains of a canadian air. another whistle answered his, and finished the tune he had purposely broken off. footsteps were heard, and a man showed himself. it was quoniam, the negro. "here i am," he said. "where are your men?" "hidden behind the rocks close by." "call them up, for we have not a moment to lose." tranquil clapped his hands twice, and a moment later the captain and his men had rejoined him. "where is the person we have come to deliver concealed?" the captain asked. "at a rancho about two miles from here. i will lead you to it." there was a moment's silence, during which the captain studied the negro's noble face, his black flashing eye, which glistened with boldness and honour; and he asked himself whether such a man could be a traitor? quoniam seemed to read his thoughts, for he said to him, as he laid his hand on the canadian's shoulder-- "if i had intended to betray; you, it would have been done ere now. trust to me, captain; i owe my life to tranquil. i almost witnessed the birth of the maiden you wish to save. my friendship and gratitude answer to you for my fidelity. let us start." and without saying anything further, he placed himself at the head of the band, which followed him along a hollow way that ran between two hills. while the incidents we have just described were taking place on the beach, two persons, male and female, seated in a room, modestly, though comfortably, furnished, were holding a conversation, which, judging from the angry expression of their faces, seemed to be most stormy. these two persons were carmela and the white scalper. carmela was half reclining in a hammock; she was pale and suffering, her features were worn, and her red eyes showed that she had been weeping. the white scalper, dressed in the magnificent costume of a mexican campesino, was walking up and down the room, champing his grey moustaches, and angrily clanking his heavy silver spurs on the floor. "take care, carmela!" he said, as he suddenly halted in front of the young woman, "you know that i crush all who resist me. for the last time i ask you: will you tell me the reason of your constant refusals?" "what good to tell you?" she answered, sadly, "for you would not understand me." "oh! this woman will drive me mad," he exclaimed, clenching his fists. "what have i done, now?" carmela asked with ironical surprise. "nothing, nothing," he answered, as he resumed his hurried walk. then at the end of a moment, he returned to the maid and said, "you hate me then?" carmela replied by shrugging her shoulders, and turning away from him. "speak!" he said, seizing her arm, and squeezing it fiercely in his powerful hand. carmela liberated herself from his grasp, and said bitterly: "i fancied that since you left the western prairies, you contented yourself with ordering your slaves to torture your victims, and did not descend to the part of hangman." "oh!" he said, furiously. "come," she continued, "this farce wearies me, so let us bring it to a finale. i know you too well now, not to be aware that you would not hesitate to proceed to odious extremities, if i would not submit to your wishes. since you insist on it, i will explain my thoughts to you." drawing herself up to her full height, and fixing on him a bright and challenging glance, she continued in a firm and distinct voice-- "you ask me if i hate you? no, i do not hate you, i despise you!" "silence, wretched girl!" "yourself ordered me to speak, and i shall not be silent till i have told you all. yes, i despise you, because, instead of respecting a poor girl whom you, coward as you are, carried off from her relations and friends you, torture her, and become her executioner. i despise you, because you are a man without a soul; an old man who might be my father, and yet you do not blush to ask me to love you, under some ignoble pretext of my resemblance with some woman i have no doubt you killed." "carmela!" "lastly, i despise you, because you are a furious brute, who only possess one human feeling, 'the love of murder!' because there is nothing sacred in your sight, and if i was weak enough to consent to your wishes, you would make me die of despair, by taking a delight in breaking my heart." "take care, carmela!" he exclaimed furiously, as he advanced a step toward her. "what, threats!" she continued in a loud voice. "do i not know that all is ready prepared for my punishment. summon your slaves, master, and bid them torture me! but know this, i will never consent to obey you. i am not so abandoned as you may feel inclined to suppose; i have friends i love, and who love me in return. make haste, for who knows whether i may not be liberated tomorrow, if you do not kill me to day?" "oh, this is too much," the white scalper said in a low and inarticulate voice, "so much audacity shall not pass unpunished. ah! you reckon, foolish child, on your friends! but they are far away," he said with a bitter laugh; "we are safe here, and i shall make you yield to my will." "never!" she exclaimed with exaltation, and rushing toward him, she stopped almost within grasp, adding,-- "i defy you, coward who threaten a woman!" "help!" the white scalper exclaimed, with a tiger yell. all at once the window was noisily burst open and tranquil entered. "i think you called, señor?" he said, as he leaped into the room and advanced with a firm and measured step. "my father! my father!" the poor girl shrieked, as she threw herself into his arms with delight; "you are come at last!" the white scalper, utterly astonished and startled by the unexpected appearance of the hunter, looked around him in alarm, and could not succeed in regaining his coolness. the canadian, after lovingly replying to the maiden's warm greeting, laid her gently on the hammock, and then turned to the white scalper, who was beginning to come to himself again. "i ask your pardon, señor," he said with perfect ease, "for not having advised you of my visit; but you are aware we are on delicate terms, and, as it is possible that if i had written, you would not have received me, i preferred bringing matters to the point." "and pray what may you want with me, señor?" the scalper drily asked. "you will permit me to remark, señor," tranquil replied still with the same placid air, "that the question appears to me singular at the least in your mouth. i simply wish to take back my daughter, whom you carried off." "your daughter?" the other said ironically. "yes, señor, my daughter." "could you prove to me that this young person is really your daughter?" "what do you mean by that remark?" "i mean that doña carmela is no more your daughter than she is mine; that consequently our claims are equal, and that i am no more obliged to surrender her than you have a right to claim her." "that is very vexatious," the hunter said mockingly. "is it not?" the white scalper said. tranquil gave an ironical smile. "i fancy you are strangely mistaken, señor," he said with his old calmness. "ah!" "listen to me for a few moments. i will not encroach on your time, which no doubt is valuable. i am only a poor hunter, señor, ignorant of worldly affairs, and the subtleties of civilization. still, i believe that the man who adopts a child in the cradle, takes care of it, and brings it up with a tenderness and love that have never failed, is more truly its father than the man who, after giving it life, abandons it and pays no farther attention to it; such is my idea of paternity, señor. perhaps i am mistaken; but, in my idea, as i have no lessons or orders to receive from you, i shall act as i think proper, whether you like it or no. come, my dear carmela, we have remained here too long as it is." the maiden bounded to her feet, and placed herself by the hunter's side. "one moment, señor," the scalper exclaimed; "you have learned how to enter this house, but you do not yet know how to leave it." and seizing two pistols lying on a table, he pointed them at the hunter, while shouting--"help! help!" tranquil quietly raised his rifle to his shoulder. "i should be delighted at your showing me the road," he said peaceably. a dozen slaves and mexican soldiers rushed tumultuously into the room. "ah, ah!" said the scalper, "i fancy i have you at last, old tiger-killer." "nonsense," a mocking voice replied; "not yet." at this moment the captain and his men dashed through the window which had afforded the canadian a passage into the room, and uttered a fearful yell. an indescribable medley and confusion then began: the lights were extinguished, and the slaves, mostly unarmed, and not knowing with how many enemies they had to deal, fled in all directions. the scalper was carried away by the stream of fugitives, and disappeared with them. the texans took advantage of the stupor of their enemy to evacuate the rancho, and effect their retreat. "father," the maiden exclaimed, "i felt certain you would come." "oh!" the hunter said with ineffable delight, "you are at length restored to me." "make haste! make haste!" the captain shouted; "who knows whether we may not be crushed by superior forces in an instant?" at his orders, the sailors, taking the maiden in their midst, ran off in the direction of the seashore. in the distance, drums and bugles could be heard calling the soldiers under arms, and on the horizon the black outline of a large body of troops hurrying up, with the evident intention of cutting off the retreat of the texans, could be distinguished. panting and exhausted, the latter still ran on; they could see the coast; a few minutes more and they would reach it. all at once a band, commanded by the white scalper, dashed upon them, shouting-- "down with the texans! kill them! kill them!" "oh, my god!" carmela exclaimed, falling on her knees, and clasping her hands fervently; "will you abandon us?" "lads," the captain said, addressing his sailors, "we cannot talk about conquering, but we will die." "we will, captain," the sailors answered unanimously, as they formed front against the mexicans. "father," said doña carmela, "will you let me fall alive into the hands of that tiger?" "no," said tranquil, as he kissed her pale forehead; "here is my dagger, child?" "thanks!" she replied, as she seized it with eyes sparkling with joy. "oh, now i am certain of dying free." lest they should be surrounded, the texans leant their backs against a rock, and awaited with levelled bayonets the attack of the texans. "surrender, dogs!" the scalper shouted contemptuously. "nonsense!" the captain answered; "you must be mad, señor. do men like us ever surrender?" "forward!" the scalper shouted. the mexicans rushed on their enemies with indescribable rage. a heroic and gigantic struggle then began, a combat impossible to describe of three hundred men against thirty: a horrible and merciless carnage, in which none demanded quarter, while the texans, certain of all falling, would not succumb till buried under a pile of hostile corpses. after twenty minutes, that lasted an age, only twelve texans remained on their legs. the captain, tranquil, quoniam, and nine sailors, remained alone, accomplishing prodigies of valour. "at last!" the scalper shouted, as he dashed forward to seize doña carmela. "not yet," tranquil said, as he dealt a blow at him with his axe. the scalper avoided the blow by leaping on one side, and replied with his machete; tranquil fell on his knee with a pierced thigh. "oh!" he said in despair; "she is lost! my god, lost!" carmela understood that no hope was left her; she therefore placed the dagger against her bosom, and said to the scalper--"one step further, and i fall dead at your feet!" in spite of himself, this savage man, terrified by the resolution he saw flashing in the maiden's eye, hesitated for a second, but, reassuming almost immediately his old ferocity, he shouted--"what do i care, so long as you belong to no one else!" and he rushed toward her, uttering a fearful yell. terrified at the immense danger to which his daughter was exposed, the hunter collected all his strength, and by a superhuman effort, once more stood menacingly before his enemy. the two men exchanged a terrible glance, and rushed on each other. carmela, almost dead with terror, lay stretched out between the two foes, forming with her person a barrier they did not dare to pass, but over which they crossed their machetes, whose blades met with an ill-omened clang. unfortunately, tranquil, weakened by his wound, could not, despite his indomitable courage, sustain this obstinate contest for any length of time, and consequently he only delayed for a few moments the fearful catastrophe he wished to prevent. he understood this; for, while wielding his machete with far from common dexterity, and not allowing his enemy time to breathe, he looked anxiously around him: quoniam was fighting like a lion by his side. "friend!" he said in a heart-rending voice; "in the name of what you hold the dearest, save her--save carmela!" "but yourself?" "well," the hunter said nobly, "it is no matter what becomes of me, providing that she escapes this monster, and is happy." quoniam hesitated for a moment; a feeling of regret and pain rendered his face gloomy. but at a last glance from the hunter, a glance laden with an expression of despair impossible to describe, he at length decided on obeying him, and lowering his axe, which was dripping with blood, and red up to the wood, he stooped down to the maiden. but she suddenly started up, and bounding like a lioness, shrieked frenziedly-- "leave me! leave me! he is dying for me, and i will not abandon him." and she resolutely placed herself by her father's side. at this movement of the girl, for whom they were fighting so desperately, the two men fell back a step, and lowered the points of their machetes; but this truce was but of shout duration, for after a moment of respite, they rushed once more on each other. then, texans and mexicans recommenced the fight with new fury, and the contest went on more terrible than before. chapter xxv. forward! in the meanwhile, master lovel made his men row vigorously, in order to reach land as soon as possible. but whatever desire he might have for haste, it was impossible for him to reach the shore so soon as he might have wished, for not knowing the coast, and steering, as it were, blindly, his boat ran several times upon submarine reefs, which caused him to lose a considerable amount of time by forcing him to change his course; hence, when he at last reached the shore, the captain had landed long before. the old sailor had his boat tied up to the captain's, in order that they could be used if required, and then leaped ashore, followed by his men, and advanced cautiously inland. he had not proceeded many yards, however, ere a tremendous noise reached his ears, and he saw the sailors who accompanied the captain debouch from the hollow way in disorder, and closely pursued by mexican soldiers. master lovel did not lose his heart under these critical circumstances: instead of rushing into the medley, he ambushed his men behind a clump of peru and mahogany trees that stood a short distance off, and prepared with perfect coolness to make a diversion in favour of his comrades when the favourable moment arrived. the texans, with their backs to a rock, not ten yards from the sea, were fighting desperately against an immense number of enemies. a minute later, and all would have been over, but suddenly the cry of "forward! _texas y libertad!_" was raised in the rear of the mexicans, accompanied by a tremendous noise and a deadly discharge, almost at point-blank range, scattered terror and disorder through their ranks. it was master lovel effecting his diversion, in order to save his captain, or his adopted son, as he called him in his simple devotion. the mexicans, who already believed themselves victors, were terrified at this unforeseen attack, which, owing to the vigour with which it was carried out, they supposed to be made by a considerable body of these terrible freebooters, commanded by the jaguar, whose reputation was already immense in the ranks of the american army. persuaded that the texans had landed in force, and had only given way in order to make them fall more surely into the trap, they hesitated, fell back in their turn, and finally being seized with a panic terror which their officers could not succeed in mastering, they broke and fled in all directions, throwing their arms away. the texans, revived by the providential arrival of the old sailor, and excited by their captain's voice, redoubled their efforts. tranquil tied a handkerchief round his thigh, and supported by quoniam, who, during the action, had not left him for an instant, he retreated to the boats, leading carmela, and followed by the captain and his brave sailors. the latter, like lions at bay, turned at each instant to dash with axes and bayonets at the few soldiers their officers had at length succeeded in rallying, but who did not venture to press too closely the terrible adversaries, whom, since the beginning of the action, they had learned to appreciate and consequently to fear. still fighting, the sailors at length reached the boats prepared for their reception. captain johnson ordered the wounded to be placed in the launch, and getting into the other boat with tranquil, quoniam, and the sound men, he put off from the shore, towing the boat that served as an ambulance. this daring retreat, effected under the enemy's fire, was carried out with admirable precision and skill. one part of the crew of the pinnace fired at the mexicans who lined the beach, while the other portion pulled vigorously in the direction of the brig. ere long the coast disappeared in the fog, the shouts of the enemy became less distinct, the shots ceased, the lights flashing on the shore died out one after the other, and all grew silent again. "ah!" the captain said with a sigh of relief, as he offered his hand to master lovel, "without you, father, we were lost." "aha!" the old sailor answered with a hearty grin, and rubbing his hands joyously, "i suspected that if you had a secret from me, it was because you meditated some act of folly, so that is why i came after you." the captain merely replied to his worthy mate's remark by a fresh squeeze of the hand. carmela, with her hands clasped and eyes raised above, was praying fervently, while returning thanks to heaven for her miraculous deliverance. "this is the girl you have saved," tranquil said; "it is to you i owe the recovery of my daughter, and i shall not forget it, captain." "nonsense, old hunter," the captain said, laughingly, "i only kept the promise i made you; did i not pledge myself to help you, even at the risk of my life?" "and you were uncommonly near losing your stake," master lovel observed. "after all, though," he added gallantly, "though i am no connoisseur, i can perfectly understand a man risking his skin to board so neat a corvette." this sally restored the gaiety of the sailors, which the grave events that had occurred had temporarily dissipated. "are we really out of danger, father?" the maiden asked with a shudder of fear, which she was unable to conceal. "yes, my child; keep your spirits up," the hunter answered, "we are now in safety." at this very moment, the sailors, as if wishing to confirm the canadian's assurance, or perhaps with the wish to mock the enemies they had so barely escaped, struck up one of those cadenced songs which serve to mark time, and the words of which each repeats as he lays out on his oars. master lovel, after turning and returning several times the enormous quid that swelled his right cheek, made a signal to the crew of the pinnace, and struck up in a rough voice a stanza, which all repeated in chorus after him. this song, which was as interminable as a sailor's yarn, would, in all probability, have lasted much longer, if the captain had not suddenly ordered silence by an imperious gesture. "is a new danger threatening us?" tranquil inquired anxiously. "perhaps so," the captain replied, who had for some time been scanning the horizon with a frowning brow. "what do you mean?" the hunter asked. "look!" the captain said, extending his hand in the direction of the fishing tillage, to which we before alluded. tranquil hastily took up the night glass: a dozen large boats, crowded with soldiers, were leaving a small creek, and pulling out to sea. the water was lumpy, the breeze blew strongly, and the over-crowded long boat advanced but slowly, as it was compelled to tow the pinnace. the peril which they fancied they had escaped, burst out again in a different shape, and this time assumed really terrific proportions, for the mexicans were rapidly approaching, and would soon be within gunshot. the brig, whose tall masts were visible, was, it is true, only two cables' length, at the most, from the texan boats, but the few men left on board were not nearly sufficient to make the requisite manoeuvres to enable the brig to help its boats effectually. the position grew with each moment more critical, and the captain sprang up. "lads," he said, "the ten best swimmers among you will jump into the sea, and go to the ship with me." "captain," the hunter exclaimed, "what do you propose doing?" "to save you," he simply answered, as he prepared to carry out his design. "oh, oh," master lovel said hastily, "i will not allow such an act of madness." "silence, sir," the captain interrupted him rudely. "i am the sole commander." "but you are wounded!" the master objected. in fact, captain johnson had received an axe stroke, which laid open his right shoulder. "silence! i tell you. i allow no remarks." the old sailor bowed his head, and wiped away a tear. after squeezing the hunter's hand, the captain and his ten sailors leaped boldly into the sea, and disappeared in the darkness. at the news of fresh danger, carmela had fallen, completely overwhelmed, in the bottom of the boat. master lovel, leaning out, tried to discover his chief. heavy tears coursed down his bronzed cheeks, and all his limbs were agitated by a convulsive quivering. the mexicans approached nearer and nearer; they were already close enough for the number of their boats to be distinguished, and a schooner was already leaving the creek, and coming up under press canvas, to ensure the success of the attack. at this moment a mournful cry, desperate as the last shriek of a dying man, came over the waters, and terrified all the men whom no danger could affect. "oh, the unhappy man!" tranquil cried, as he rose and made a move to leap overboard. but lovel seized him by the waist belt, and in spite of his resistance, compelled him to sit down again. "what are you about?" he asked him. "well," tranquil replied, "i want to pay my debt to your captain; he risked his life for me, and i am going in return to risk mine to save him." "good!" the master exclaimed, "by heaven! you are a man. but keep quiet, that doesn't concern you; it is my business." and ere tranquil had time to answer him, he plunged into the waves. the captain had presumed too much on his strength, he was hardly in the water ere his wound caused him intolerable suffering, and his arm was paralyzed. with that tenacity which formed the basis of his character, he tried to contend against the pain, and overcome it, but nature had proved more powerful than his will and energy, a dizziness had come over his sight, and he felt himself slowly sinking. at this moment he uttered that parting cry for help to which lovel had responded by flying to his aid. ten minutes passed, minutes of agony, during which the persons who remained in the boat scarce dared to breathe. "courage, my lads," the panting voice of lovel was suddenly heard saying, "he is saved!" the sailors burst into a shout of joy, and laying on their oars, redoubled their efforts. a frightful discharge answered them, and the balls flattened against the sides of the pinnace and dashed up the water around. the mexicans, who had come within range, opened a terrible fire on the texans, but the latter did not reply. a dull noise was heard, followed by cries of despair and imprecations, and a black mass passed to windward of the long boat. it was the brig coming to the assistance of its crew, and in passing it sunk and dispersed the enemy's boats. when she set foot on the deck of the brig, carmela, at length succumbing to her emotions, lost her senses. tranquil raised her in his arms, and, aided by quoniam and the captain, carried her hastily down to the cabin. "captain," a sailor shouted, as he rushed after him, "the mexicans, the mexicans!" while the texans were engaged in taking their wounded aboard, feeling convinced that the mexican boats had been all, or at any rate the majority of them, sunk by the brig, they had not dreamed of watching an enemy they supposed crushed. the latter had cleverly profited by this negligence to rally, and collecting beneath the bows of the brig, had boldly boarded her, by climbing up the main chains, the spritsails, and any ropes' ends they had been able to seize. fortunately, master lovel had the boarding nettings triced up on the previous evening, and through this wise precaution on the part of the old sailor, the desperate surprise of the mexicans did not meet with the success they anticipated from it. the texans, obeying the voice of their captain, took up their weapons again and rushed on the mexicans, who were already all but masters of the forepart of the ship. tranquil, quoniam, captain johnson, and lovel, armed with axes, had flown to the front rank, and by their example excited the crew to do their duty properly. there, on a limited space of ten square yards at the most, one of those fearful naval combats without order or tactics began, in which rage and brutal strength represent science. a horrible struggle, a fearful carnage, with pikes, axes, and cutlasses; a struggle in which each wound is mortal, and which recalls those hideous combats of the worst days of the middle ages, when brute strength alone was the law. the white scalper had never before fought with such obstinacy. furious at the loss of the prey he had so audaciously carried off, half mad with rage, he seemed to multiply himself, rushing incessantly with savage yells into the densest part of the fight, seeking carmela, and longing to kill the man who had so bravely torn her from him. accident seemed for a moment to smile on him, by bringing him suddenly face to face with the captain. "now for my turn," he exclaimed with a ferocious shout of joy. the captain wised his axe. "no, no!" said tranquil, as he threw himself hurriedly before him; "this victim is reserved for me; i must kill this human-faced tiger. besides," he added, with a grin, "it is my profession to kill wild beasts, and this one will not escape me." "ah," the white scalper said, "it is really fatality which brings you once more face to face with me. well, be it so! i will settle with you first." "it is you who will die, villain!" the canadian replied. "ah, you carried off my daughter and fancied yourself well concealed, did you? but i was on your trail; for the last three months i have been following you step by step, and watching for the favourable moment for vengeance." on hearing these words the scalper rushed furiously on his enemy. the latter did not make a movement to avoid him; on the contrary, he seized him in his powerful arms, and tried to throw him down, while stabbing him in the loins with his dagger. these two men, with flashing eyes and foaming lips, animated by an implacable hatred, intertwined breast to breast, face to face, each trying to kill his adversary, caring little to live provided that his enemy died, resembled two wild beasts determined to destroy each other. texans and mexicans had ceased fighting as if by common accord, and remained horrified spectators of this atrocious combat. at length the canadian, who had been severely wounded before, fell, dragging his enemy down with him. the latter uttered a yell of triumph, which was soon converted into a groan of despair: quoniam rushed madly upon him, but, unfortunately, he had miscalculated his distance, and they both fell into the sea, which closed over them with a hollow and ill-omened sound. the mexicans, deprived of their chief, now only thought of flight, and rushed in mad disorder to their boats; a moment later, they had all quitted the brig. quoniam reappeared, the worthy negro was dripping with water. he tottered a few paces and fell by the side of tranquil, to whom carmela and the captain were paying the most assiduous attention, and who was beginning to recover his senses. a few minutes later the hunter felt strong enough to try and rise. "well!" he asked quoniam, "is he dead?" "i believe so," the negro replied; "look here," he added, as he offered him a small object he held in his hand. "what is it?" the hunter asked. quoniam shook his head mournfully. "look at it," he said. after having attentively regarded the negro for an instant, whose features expressed singular despondency, strange in a man of this stamp, he asked him in alarm:-- "are you seriously wounded?" the negro shook his head. "no," he said, "i am not wounded." "what is the matter, then?" "take this," he said, stretching his arm out a second time, "take this and you will know." astonished at this singular persistence, tranquil stretched out his arm, too. "give it here," he said. quoniam handed him an article which he seemed anxious to conceal from the persons present; the canadian uttered a cry of surprise on seeing it. "where did you find this?" he asked anxiously. "when i rushed on that man, i know not how it was, but this chain and the articles attached to it were placed, as it were, in my hand. when i fell into the sea, i clung to the chain; there it is, do what you please with it." tranquil, after again examining the mysterious object, concealed it in his chest, and gave vent to a profound sigh. all at once, carmela started up in horror. "oh, look, look, father!" she shrieked, "woe, woe, we are lost!" the hunter started at the sound of the girl's voice, and his eyes filled with tears. "what is the matter?" he asked in a weak voice "the matter is," the captain said rudely, "that unless a miracle take place, we are really lost this time, as doña carmela says." and he pointed to some thirty armed boats, which were pulling up and converging round the brig, so as to enclose it in a circle, whence it would be impossible for it to escape. "oh! fate is against us!" carmela exclaimed in despair. "no, it is impossible," tranquil said quickly; "god will not abandon us thus!" "we are saved!" master lovel shouted; "we are saved! look, look! the boats are turning back!" the crew burst into a shout of joy and triumph; in the beams of the rising sun, the _libertad_ corvette could be seen passing through galveston straits, hardly two cannon shots' distance from the brig. the mexican boats pulled at full speed in the direction of land, and soon all had disappeared. the brig drifted down to the corvette, and both returned to their old anchorage, which they reached an hour later. the two ships had scarce let their anchor fall, ere a boat came alongside the brig, from the fort, containing; the jaguar and el alferez. the prisoners had been handed over to the jaguar, who, while ordering them to be closely watched, thought it advisable to let them move freely about the fortress. the success of the two hazardous expeditions attempted by the texans, had given the cause they defended a great impulse. in a few hours the revolt had become a revolution, and the insurgent chiefs men whose existence must henceforth be recognised. the jaguar desired to push matters on actively, and wished to profit by the probable discouragement of the mexicans to secure the surrender of the town without a blow, if it were possible. in his conversation with colonel melendez, the young chief had purposely startled him with the news of the success of the two expeditions, calculating for the success of future operations on the stupor general rubio would experience on being told of them. but ere undertaking anything, the jaguar desired a conference with his friends, in order to settle definitively the way in which he must behave under such serious circumstances, as he was not at all anxious to assume the responsibility of the undertaking that might be formed. this was acting not only with prudence, but also with perfect self-denial, especially after the way in which he had behaved since the commencement of hostilities, and the high position he had attained among his party. but as the heart of even the purest and most honourable man is never exempt from those weaknesses inherent in human nature, the jaguar, though perhaps not daring to avow it to himself had another motive that urged him to go aboard the brig so speedily. this motive, of a thoroughly private nature, was the desire to learn as soon as possible the result of the expedition attempted by captain johnson and tranquil against the rancho of the white scalper. hence, the young man had scarce reached the deck, ere, without returning the salutes of his friends who hurried to greet him at the ladder, he enquired after tranquil, feeling justly surprised at not seeing him among the persons assembled. the captain gave him no other answer than a sign to follow. the young man, not understanding this reserve, though feeling seriously alarmed, went below, where he saw tranquil reclining in a berth, and a weeping female seated on a chair by his side. the jaguar turned pale, for in the female he recognized doña carmela; his emotion was so extreme, that he was obliged to lean against the partition lest he should fall. at the sound of his approaching footsteps, the maiden raised her head. "oh!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands with joy, "it is you! you have come at last then!" "thanks, carmela," he replied in a gasping voice; "thanks for this kindly greeting! it proves to me that you have not forgotten me." "forget you, to whom, next to my father, i owe everything! oh, you know that was impossible." "thank you once again. you do not, you cannot know how happy you render me at this moment, carmela. my whole life, employed in your service, would not suffice to repay the good you do me. you are free at last! brave tranquil, i felt sure that he would succeed!" "alas, my friend, this success costs him dear." "what do you mean? i trust that he is not dangerously wounded?" "i fear the contrary, my friend." "oh! we will save him." "come hither, jaguar," the hunter then said in a feeble voice; "give me your hand, that i may press it in mine." the young man walked quickly up to him. "oh, with all my heart!" he said, as he held out his hand. "the affair was a tough one, my friend," the canadian went on; "that man is a lion." "yes, yes, he is a rude adversary; but you got the better of him at last?" "thanks to heaven, yes; but i shall keep his mark all my life, if god permit me to rise again." "canarios! i trust that will soon happen." the hunter shook his head. "no, no," he answered, "i am a connoisseur in wounds, through having inflicted a good many, and received more than my proper share: these are serious." "have you no hopes of recovery, then?" "i do not say so, i merely repeat that many days will pass ere i can return to the desert," the hunter replied, with a stifled sigh. "nonsense, who knows? any wound that does not kill is soon cured, the indians say, and they are right. and what has become of that man?" "in all probability he is dead," tranquil said, in a hollow voice. "that is all for the best." at this moment captain johnson opened the door. "a boat, bearing a flag of truce, is hailing the brig; what is to be done?" he asked. "receive it, sangre de dios! my dear johnson. this boat, if i am not mistaken, is a bearer of good news." "our friends would like you to be present to hear the proposals which will doubtless be made." "what do you say, tranquil?" the young chief asked, turning to the old hunter. "go, my boy, where duty calls you," the latter answered; "i feel that i need repose. however, you will not be away long." "certainly not, and so soon as i am at liberty again i will return to your side, but merely to have you carried ashore; your condition demands attention you cannot obtain here." "i accept, my friend, the more so as i believe the land air will do me good." "that is settled then," the jaguar said, joyously; "i shall be back soon." "all right," tranquil replied, and fell back in his berth. the young man, after bowing to carmela, who returned the salute with a gentle and sad glance, left the cabin with the captain and returned on deck. [in our next volume, "the white scalper," we shall again come across all the characters of this long history, for the great stake is about to be played for: liberty and tyranny are at length face to face, and the destiny of a people will probably depend on the fate of a battle.] the end. http://www.freeliterature.org (from images at hathi trust.) the white scalper. a story of the texan war. by gustave aimard, author of "indian scout," "freebooters," "border rifles" etc. london: ward and lock, , fleet street. mdccclxi. advertisement. with the conclusion of the present series of gustave aimard's tales, it may be advisable to inform the readers in what succession the eleven volumes already published should be read. it is as follows;-- first series. . border rifles. . freebooters. . white scalper. second series. . trail hunter. . pirates of the prairies. . trapper's daughter. . tiger-slayer. . gold-seekers. . indian chief. third series. . prairie flower. . indian scout. these, three series are now complete, and in the ensuing volumes the author intends to introduce an entirely fresh set of characters. encouraged by the unexpectedly favourable reception these volumes have met with, the publishers have determined on producing a magnificent illustrated edition. each volume will contain twelve page engravings, drawn and engraved by the first artists of the day, and be published at a price which will place the series within reach of all classes. these engravings will necessarily enhance the pleasure of the reader; as the most careful attention has been paid to correctness of costume and scenery, and a perfect idea can be at once formed from them of the peculiarities of the country in which the scene is laid. in all indian novels that have hitherto been published with illustrations, this important point has been neglected; but the purchasers of the illustrated edition of gustave aimard's works may feel assured that whatever is offered them in the way of elucidating the text is strictly true to nature. when it is stated, for instance, that the indian dresses have been obtained from catlin's elaborate work, and the distinctive costumes of each tribe faithfully adhered to, the publishers trust this will prove a sufficient guarantee that no idle boast is intended. at the same time, artistic value has not been neglected. the engraving has been intrusted to mr. edmund evans, who has surpassed all his former efforts in the elaboration of these, the most perfect specimens which have yet issued from his studio. the publishers, therefore, confidently anticipate that this enterprise will render gustave aimard's works of indian life the universal favourites they deserve to be, for the volumes will be appropriate as gift books at all seasons of the year. for it should not be left out of sight that, although the author has thought proper to write his tales in different series, each volume can be read with equal interest separately. as he only records the incidents of his own life under assumed characters, it is but natural that the same individuals should appear on the scene in a succession of volumes. but in this gustave aimard merely follows the example of his master, fenimore cooper, and no complaint was ever, to our knowledge, raised to his introduction of the same hero through a lengthened series of volumes. on the contrary, the readers were pleased at it; and the same kind indulgence is asked for the present author, who, if he may have erred in an artistic sense, has a brilliant example to fall back on. the first volume of the new illustrated edition will be published in october next, and procurable of all booksellers throughout the kingdom. as the demand, however, is anticipated to be very large, intending subscribers are requested to send in their orders early, so that any delay or disappointment may be avoided. _august_, . contents. i. a reconnoissance ii. a bargain iii. the retreat iv. john davis v. before the battle vi. the battle of cerro pardo vii. to the atepetl viii. hospitality ix. the marriage x. return to life xi. the pirates of the prairies xii. in the cavern xiii. a conversation xiv. two enemies xv. the ambuscade xvi. the scalp dance xvii. the meeting xviii. a reaction xix. a page of history xx. the bivouac xxi. sandoval xxii. loyal heart's history xxiii. the expiation xxiv. in the desert xxv. the last halt xxvi. san jacinto the white scalper chapter i. a reconnoissance. colonel melendez, after leaving the jaguar, galloped with his head afire, and panting chest, along the galveston road, exciting with his spurs the ardour of his horse, which yet seemed to devour space, so rapid was its speed. but it is a long journey from the salto del frayle to the town. while galloping, the colonel reflected; and the more he did so, the more impossible did it appear to him that the jaguar had told him the truth. in fact, how could it be supposed that this partisan, brave and rash though he was, would have dared to attack, at the head of a handful of adventurers, a well-equipped corvette, manned by a numerous crew, and commanded by one of the best officers in the mexican navy? the capture of the fort seemed even more improbable to the colonel. while reflecting thus, the colonel had gradually slackened his horse's speed; the animal, feeling that it was no longer watched, had insensibly passed from a gallop into a canter, then a trot, and by a perfectly natural transition, fell into a walk, with drooping head, and snapping at the blades of grass within its reach. night had set in for some time past; a complete silence brooded over the country, only broken by the hollow moan of the sea as it rolled over the shingle. the colonel was following a small track formed along the coast, which greatly shortened the distance separating him from galveston. this path, much used by day, was at this early hour of night completely deserted; the ranchos that stood here and there were shut up, and no light gleamed through their narrow windows, for the fishermen, fatigued by the rude toil of the day, had retired to bed at an early hour. the young officer's horse, which had more and more slackened its pace, emboldened by impunity, at length stopped near a scrubby bush, whose leaves it began nibbling. this immobility aroused the colonel from his reverie, and he looked about him to see where he was. although the obscurity was very dense, it was easy for him to perceive that he was still a long distance from his destination. about a musket-shot ahead was a rancho, whose hermetically-closed windows allowed a thin pencil of light to filter through the interstices of the shutters. the colonel struck his repeater and found it was midnight. to go on would be madness; the more so, as it would be impossible for him to find a boat in which to cross to the island. greatly annoyed at this obstacle, which, supposing the jaguar's revelations to be true, might entail serious consequences, the young officer, while cursing this involuntary delay, resolved on pushing on to the rancho before him, and once there, try to obtain means to cross the bay. after drawing his cloak tightly round him, to protect him as far as possible from the damp sea air, the colonel caught up his reins again, and giving his horse the spur, trotted sharply towards the rancho. the traveller speedily reached it, but, when only a few paces from it, instead of riding straight up to the door, he dismounted, fastened his horse to a larch-tree, and, after placing his pistols in his belt, made a rather long circuit, and stealthily crept up to the window of the rancho. in the present state of fermentation from which people were suffering in texas, the olden confidence had entirely disappeared to make way for the greatest distrust. the times were past when the doors of houses remained open day and night, in order to enable strangers to reach the fireside with greater facility. hospitality, which was traditional in these parts, had, temporarily at any rate, changed into a suspicious reserve, and it would have been an act of unjustifiable imprudence to ride up to a strange house, without first discovering whether it was that of a friend. the colonel especially, being dressed in a mexican uniform, was bound to act with extreme reserve. this rancho was rather large; it had not that appearance of poverty and neglect which are found only too often in the houses of spanish american campesinos. it was a square house, with a roof in the italian fashion, having in front an azotea-covered portillo. the white-washed walls were an agreeable contrast to the virgin vines, and other plants which ran over it. this rancho was not enclosed with walls: a thick hedge, broken through at several places, alone defended the approaches. the dependencies of the house were vast, and well kept up. all proved that the owner of this mansion carried on a large trade on his account. the colonel, as we have said, had softly approached one of the windows. the shutters were carefully closed, but not so carefully as not to let it be seen that someone was up inside. in vain did the colonel, though, place his eye at the slit, for he could see nothing. if he could not see, however, he could hear, and the first words that reached his ear probably appeared to him very serious, for he redoubled his attention, in order to lose no portion of the conversation. employing once again our privilege as romancers, we will enter the rancho, and allow the reader to witness the singular scene going on there, the most interesting part of which escaped the colonel, greatly to his annoyance. in a rather small room, dimly lighted by a smoky candle, four men, with gloomy faces and ferocious glances, dressed in the garb of campesinos, were assembled. three of them, seated on butacas and equipals, were listening, with their guns between their legs, to the fourth, who, with his arms behind his back, was walking rapidly up and down, while talking. the broad brims of the vicuña hats which the three first wore, and the obscurity prevailing in the room, only allowed their faces to be dimly seen, and their expression judged. the fourth, on the contrary, was bare-headed; he was a man of about forty, tall, and well built; his muscular limbs denoted a far from common strength, and a forest of black and curly hair fell on his wide shoulders. he had a lofty forehead, aquiline nose, and black and piercing eyes; while the lower part of his face disappeared in a long and thick beard. there was in the appearance of this man something bold and haughty, which inspired respect, and almost fear. at this moment, he seemed to be in a tremendous passion; his eyebrows were contracted, his cheeks livid, and, at times, when he yielded to the emotion he tried in vain to restrain, his eye flashed to fiercely, that it forced his three hearers to bow their heads humbly, and they seemed to be his inferiors. at the moment when we entered the room, the stranger appeared to be continuing a discussion that had been going on for some time. "no," he said in a powerful voice, "things cannot go on thus any longer. you dishonour the holy cause we are defending by revolting acts of cruelty, which injure us in the opinion of the population, and authorise all the calumnies our enemies spread with reference to us. it is not by imitating our oppressors that we shall succeed in proving to the masses that we really wish their welfare. however sweet it may be to avenge an insult received, where men put themselves forward as defenders of a principle so sacred as that for which we have been shedding our blood the last ten years, every man must practise self-denial, and forget all his private animosities to absorb them in the great national vengeance. i tell you this frankly, plainly, and with no reserve. i, who was the first that dared to utter the cry of revolt, and inaugurate resistance: i, who, since i have reached man's estate, have sacrificed everything, fortune, friends, and relations, in the sole hope of seeing my country one day free, would retire from a struggle which is daily dishonoured by excesses such as the redskins themselves would disavow." the three men, who had been tolerably quiet up to this moment, then rose, protesting simultaneously that they were innocent of the crimes imputed to them. "i do not believe you," he continued passionately; "i do not believe you, because i can prove the utter truth of the accusation i am now making. you deny it as i expected. your part was ready traced, and you might be expected to act so: all other paths were closed to you. only one of you, the youngest, the one who perhaps had the greatest right to employ reprisals, has always remained equal to his mission; and, though our enemies have tried several times to brand him, he has ever remained firm, as the mexicans themselves allow. this chief you know as well as i do: it is the jaguar. only yesterday, at the head of some of our men, he accomplished one of the most glorious and extraordinary exploits." all pressed round the stranger, and eagerly questioned him. "what need for me to tell you what has occurred? you will know it within a few hours. suffice it for you to know for the present, that the consequence of the jaguar's daring achievement is the immediate surrender of galveston, which cannot hold out against us any longer." "then we triumph!" one of the campesinos exclaimed. "yes; but all is not over yet: if we have succeeded in taking the town of galveston from the mexicans, they have fifty others left, in which they can shut themselves up. hence, believe me, instead of giving way to immoderate joy, and imprudent confidence, redouble, on the contrary, your efforts and self-denial, if you wish to remain victors to the end." "but what is to be done to obtain the result we desire as much as you do?" the one who had already spoken asked. "follow blindly the counsels i give you, and obey without hesitation or comment the orders i send you. will you promise me this?" "yes," they exclaimed, enthusiastically; "you alone, don benito, can guide us safely and ensure our victory." there was a moment's silence. the man who had just been addressed as don benito went to a corner of the room hidden behind a curtain of green serge. this curtain he drew back, and behind it was an alabaster statue of the virgin soledad, with a lamp burning in front of it, and then turned to the others. "on your knees, and take off your hats," he said. they obeyed. "now," he continued, "swear to keep faithfully the promise you have just made me of your own accord; swear to be merciful to the conquered in battle, and gentle to the prisoners after the victory. at this price i pledge myself to support you; if not, i retire immediately from a cause which is at least dishonoured, if not lost." the three men, after piously crossing themselves, stretched out their right arms toward the statue, saying in a firm voice-- "we swear it, by the share we hope in paradise." "it is well," don benito replied, as he drew the curtain across again and made them a sign to rise; "i know you are too thoroughly caballeros to break so solemn an oath." the colonel, confounded by this singular scene, which he did not at all comprehend, did not know what to do, when he fancied he heard an indistinct sound not far from him. drawing himself up at once, he concealed himself behind the hedge, rather alarmed as to the cause of this noise, which was rapidly approaching. almost immediately he noticed several men coming gently up; they were four in number, as he soon made out, and carrying a fifth in their arms. they walked straight to the door, at which they tapped in a peculiar way. "who's there?" was asked from inside. one of the newcomers replied, but in so low a tone, that it was impossible for the colonel to hear the word pronounced. the door was opened, and the strangers entered; it was then closed again, but not until the opener had cast a scrutinizing glance round him. "what does this mean?" the colonel muttered. "it means," a rough voice said in his ear, "that you are listening to what does not concern you, colonel melendez, and that it may prove dangerous to you." the colonel, astounded at this unexpected answer, and especially at being so well known, quickly drew a pistol from his belt, cocked it, and turned to his strange speaker. "on my word," he answered, "there is no worse danger to incur than that of an immediate death, which i should not at all object to, i swear to you." the stranger began laughing, and emerged from the thicket in which he was hidden. he was a powerful-looking man, and, like the colonel, held a pistol in his hand. "you are aware that duelling is forbidden in the mexican army," he said, "so take my advice, sir, and put up that pistol, which, if it exploded, might entail very disagreeable consequences for you." "lower your weapon first," the colonel said, coldly, "and then i will see what i have to do." "very good," the other remarked, still smiling, as he thrust his pistol into his belt. the colonel imitated him. "and now," the stranger continued, "i have to converse with you; but, as you can see, this spot is badly chosen for a secret interview." "that is true," the colonel interrupted, frankly assuming the tone of the singular man with whom chance had so unexpectedly brought him together. "i am delighted that you are of my opinion. well, colonel, as it is so, be kind enough to accompany me merely a few paces, and i will lead you to a spot i know, which is perfectly adapted for the conversation we must have together." "i am at your orders, caballero," the colonel answered, with a bow. "come, then," the stranger added, as he made a start. the colonel followed him. the stranger led him to the spot where he had tied up his horse, by the side of which another was now standing. the stranger stopped. "let us mount," he said. "what for?" the young officer asked. "to be off, of course. are you not returning to galveston?" "certainly; still----" "still," the stranger interrupted, "you would have had no objection to prowl a little longer round the rancho, i presume?" "i confess it." "well, on my honour, you are wrong, for two excellent reasons: the first is, that you will learn nothing more than you have surmised,--that is to say, that the rancho is the headquarters of the insurrection. you see that i am frank with you." "i perceive it. and now, what is your second reason?" "it is very simple: you run the risk, at any moment, of being saluted with a bullet, and you know that the texans are decent marksmen." "certainly; but you know also that this reason possesses but slight value for me." "i beg your pardon; courage does not consist, in my opinion, at least, in sacrificing one's life without reason; it consists, on the contrary, in being only killed for a good price,--that is to say, for a motive worth the trouble." "thanks for the lecture, caballero." "shall we be off?" "at once, if you will be good enough to tell me who you are and where we are going?" "i am surprised that you did not recognise me long ago, for we have been for some time past on excellent, if not intimate terms." "that may be; the sound of your voice is rather familiar to me, and i fancy i have heard it before, but it is impossible for me to recall either when or under what circumstances." "by heaven, colonel! you will allow me to remark that you have a preciously short memory. but since our last meeting, so many events have occurred, that it is not surprising you should have forgotten me. with one word i will recall everything to your mind--i am john davis, the ex-slave dealer." "you!" the colonel exclaimed, with a start of surprise. "yes, i am that person." "ah! ah!" the colonel continued, as he crossed his arms haughtily and looked him in the face, "in that case we have an account to settle." "i am not aware of the fact, colonel." "you forget, master davis, in what manner you abused my confidence in order to betray me." "i? you are in error, colonel. to do that i must have been a mexican, which is not the case, thank heaven! i served my country as you serve yours, that is all; each for himself in a revolution, you know." "that proverb may suit you, master davis, i grant, but i only know one way of acting honourably, with uplifted head." "hum! there would be a good deal to say on that head, but it is not the question at this moment. the proof that you are mistaken and unjust toward me is, that a few minutes ago i held your life in my hands, and was unwilling to take it." "you were wrong, for i swear to you that unless you defend yourself i shall take yours in a second," he said, as he cocked a pistol. "you are in earnest, then?" "most earnest, he assured." "you are mad," said davis, with a shrug of his shoulders; "what strange idea is this of yours to insist on killing me?" "will you defend yourself; yes or no?" "wait a moment. what a man you are! there is no way of having an explanation with you." "one word, then, but be brief." "well, as you are aware, i am not accustomed to make long speeches." "i am listening to you." "why play with the butt of your pistol so? vengeance is only real when complete. a shot fired would be the signal for your death, for you would be surrounded and attacked on all sides at once before you had even time to place a foot in the stirrup. you allow this, i suppose?" "to the point, master davis, for i am in a hurry." "you admit," the other said, with his old stoicism, "that i am seeking no unworthy subterfuge to avoid a meeting with you?" "i know that you are a brave man." "thanks! i do not discuss the validity of the reason which makes you wish to exchange bullets with me: a pretext is nothing with men like ourselves. i pledge my word to be at your disposal on any day, and at any hour you please, with or without witnesses. does that suit you?" "would it not be better to mount, gallop into the plain that stretches out before us, and settle the affair at once?" "i should like to do so, but, unfortunately, i must, for the present, deprive myself of the pleasure. i repeat to you that we cannot fight, at least not at this moment." "but the reason, the reason?" the young man exclaimed, with feverish impatience. "the reason is this, as you absolutely insist on my telling it you: i am at this moment entrusted with very great interests; in a word, i am charged by the chief of the texan army with a mission of the utmost importance to general rubio, military governor of galveston. you are too much of a gentleman not to understand that this prohibits me risking a life which does not belong to me." the colonel bowed with exquisite politeness and uncocked the pistol, which he restored to his belt. "i am confounded at what has taken place," he said. "you will excuse me, señor, for having allowed my passion to carry me away thus; i recognise how worthy and delicate your conduct has been under the circumstances. may i venture to hope you will pardon me?" "not another word about the past, colonel. so soon as i have terminated my mission, i shall have the honour of placing myself at your orders. now, if nothing further keeps you here, we will proceed together to galveston." "i accept gladly the offer you make me. there is a truce between us: be good enough till further orders to consider and treat me as one of your friends." "that is settled; i was certain we should end by understanding each other. to horse, then, and let us start." "i ask nothing better; still, i would observe that the night is as yet only half spent." "which means?" "that till sunrise, and perhaps later, it will be impossible for us to find a boat in which to cross over to the island." "that need not trouble you, colonel; i have a boat waiting for me, in which i shall be delighted to offer you a place." "hum! all the measures of you revolutionary gentlemen seem to be well taken; you want for nothing." "the reason is very simple; would you like to know it?" "i confess that i am curious in the matter." "it is because, up to the present, we have appealed to the hearts, rather than the purses of our confidants. the hatred of the mexican government renders every intelligent man a devoted partisan; the hope of liberty gives us all we want; that is our whole secret. you are aware, colonel, that the spirit of opposition is innate in the heart of every man; insurrection or opposition, whichever you like to call it, is only that spirit organised." "that is true," said the colonel, with a laugh. the two enemies, temporarily friends, mounted and set out side by side. "you have very singular ideas and opinions," the colonel, whom the american's remarks amused, continued. "oh dear no!" the latter replied, carelessly; "those ideas and opinions are nothing but the fruit of lengthened experience. i do not ask of a man more than his organisation allows him to give, and enacting these i am certain of never making a mistake. hence, suppose that the mexicans are expelled the country, and the government of texas established and working regularly----" "good," the colonel said, with a smile; "what will happen then." "this will inevitably happen," the american answered, imperturbably. "a hot-headed or ambitious man will emerge from the crowd and rebel against the government. he will immediately have partisans, who will make a flag of truce, and the same men who today are ready to shed their blood for us with the most utter abnegation, will act in the same way for him; not because they have to complain of the government they desire to overthrow, but merely on account of that spirit of opposition to which i have alluded." "come, that is a little too strong," the colonel exclaimed, as he burst into a laugh. "you do not believe me? well, listen to this: i who am speaking to you once knew, no matter where, a man whose whole life was spent in conspiring. one day luck smiled on him, and chance enabled him, hardly knowing how or why, to occupy the highest post in the republic--something like president. do you know what he did, so soon as he obtained power?" "canarios! he tried to hold his ground, of course." "you are quite out. on the contrary, he went on conspiring, and so famously that he overthrew himself and was condemned to perpetual imprisonment." "so that--?" "so that, if the man who succeeded to power had not amnestied him, he would, in all probability, have died in prison." the two men were still laughing at john davis's last repartee, when the latter stopped, and made the colonel a sign to follow his example. "have we arrived?" he asked. "all but. do you see that boat tossing about at the foot of the cliff?" "of course i see it." "well, it is the one which will convey us to galveston." "but our horses?" "don't be uneasy; the owner of that wretched rancho will take all proper care of them." john davis raised a whistle to his lip and blew it twice sharply. almost immediately the door of the rancho opened and a man appeared; but, after taking one step forward, he took two backward, doubtless astonished at seeing two persons when he only expected one. "halloh! halloh, john!" davis shouted, "don't go in again." "is it you, then?" he asked. "yes! unless it be the demon who has assumed my face." the fisherman shook his head with a dissatisfied air. "do not jest so, john davis," he said; "the night is black and the sea rough; so the demon is about." "come, come, old porpoise," the american continued, "get your boat ready, for we have no time to lose. this señor is a friend of mine. have you any alfalfa for our horses in your cabin?" "i should think so. eh, pedriello, come hither, muchacho. take the horses from the caballero, and lead them to the corral." at this summons a tall young fellow came yawning from the rancho, and walked up to the two travellers. the latter had already dismounted; the peon took the horses by the bridle and went off with them, not saying a word. "shall we go?" john davis asked. "whenever you please," the fisherman growled. "i hope you have men enough?" "my two sons and i are, i should think, enough to cross the bay." "you must know better than i." "then, why ask?" the fisherman said with a shrug of his shoulders, as he proceeded toward the boat. the two men followed him, and found that he had not deceived them. the sea was bad, being rough and lumpy, and it required all the old sailor's skill to successfully cross the bay. still, after two hours of incessant toil, the boat came alongside galveston jetty, and disembarked its passengers safe and sound; then, without waiting for a word of thanks, the sailor at once disappeared in the obscurity. "we part here," said john davis to the colonel; "for we each follow a different road. tomorrow morning, at nine o'clock, i shall have the honour of presenting, myself at the general's house. may i hope that you have spoken to him of me in sufficient favourable terms for him to grant me a kind reception?" "i will do all that depends on myself." "thank you, and good night." "one word, if you please, before parting." "speak, colonel." "i confess to you, that at this moment i am suffering from extreme curiosity." "what about?" "a moment before your arrival, i saw four men, carrying a fifth, enter the rancho to which accident had brought me." "well?" "who is that man?" "i know no more about him than you do. all i can tell you is, that he was picked up dying on the beach, at eleven o'clock at night, by some of our men stationed as videttes to watch the bay. now, who he is, or where he comes from, i do not know at all. he is covered with wounds; when picked up, he held an axe still clutched in his hand, which makes me suppose that he belonged to the crew of the _libertad_ corvette, which our friends so successfully boarded. that is all the information i am able to give you. is it all you wish to know?" "one word more. who is the man i saw at the rancho, and to whom the persons with him gave the name of don benito?" "as for that man, you will soon learn to know him. he is the supreme chief of the texan revolution; but i am not permitted to tell you more. good bye, till we meet again at the general's." "all right." the two men, after bowing courteously, separated, and entered the town from opposite sides; the colonel proceeding to his house, and john davis, in all probability, to crave hospitality from one of the numerous conspirators galveston contained. chapter ii. a bargain. there is in the rapidity with which all news spread, a mystery which has remained, up to the present, incomprehensible. it seems that an electric current bears them along at headlong speed, and takes a cruel pleasure in spreading them everywhere. the most minute precautions had been taken by the jaguar and el alferez to keep their double expedition a secret, and hide their success until they had found time to make certain arrangements necessary to secure the results of their daring attempts. the means of communication were at that period, and still are, extremely rare and difficult. only one man, colonel melendez, was at all cognizant of what had happened, and we have seen that it was impossible for him to have said anything. and yet, scarce two hours after the events we have described were accomplished, a vague rumour, which had come no one knew whence, already ran about the town. this rumour, like a rising tide, swelled from instant to instant, and assumed gigantic proportions; for, as always happens under similar circumstances, the truth, buried in a mass of absurd and impossible details, disappeared almost entirely to make way for a monstrous collection of reports, each more absurd than the other, but which terrified the population, and plunged it into extreme anxiety. among other things, it was stated that the insurgents were advancing on the town with a formidable fleet of twenty-five ships, having on board ten thousand troops, amply provided with cannon and ammunition of every description. nothing less was spoken of than the immediate bombardment of galveston by the insurgents, large parties of whom, it was stated, were scouring the country to intercept all communication between the town and the mainland. terror never calculates or reasons. in spite of the material impossibility of the insurgents being able to collect so considerable a fleet and army, no one doubted the truth of the rumour, and the townspeople, with their eyes anxiously fixed on the sea, fancied in each gull whose wing flashed on the horizon, they saw the vanguard of the texan fleet. general rubio was himself very much alarmed. if he did not place entire faith on these stupid rumours, still one of those secret forebodings, that never deceive, warned him that grave events were preparing, and would soon burst like a thundercloud over the town. the colonel's prolonged absence, whose motive the general was ignorant of, added still further to his anxiety. still the situation was too critical for the general not to try to escape from it by any means, or dispel the storm that was constantly menacing. unfortunately, through its position and commerce, galveston is a thoroughly american town, and the mexican element is found there in but very limited proportions. the general was perfectly aware that the north. americans who represented the mercantile houses, sympathized with the revolution, and only waited for a favourable opportunity to raise the mask and declare themselves overtly. the mexican population itself was not at all desirous of running the risk of a siege: it preferred to a contest, which is ever injurious to commercial interests, an arrangement, no matter its nature, which would protect them. money has no country, and hence, politically regarded, the population of galveston cared very little whether it was texan or mexican, provided that it was not ruined, which was the essential point. in the midst of all this egotism and vexation, the general felt the more embarrassed, because he possessed but a very weak armed force, incapable of keeping the population in check, if they felt any desire to revolt. after vainly awaiting the colonel's return till eleven o'clock, the general resolved to summon to his house the most influential merchants of the town, in order to consult with them on the means to protect individuals, and place the town in a posture of defence, were that possible. the merchants responded to the general's summons with an eagerness which, to any man less thoroughly acquainted with the american character, would have seemed a good omen, but which produced a diametrically opposite effect on the general. at about half-an hour after midnight, the general's saloon was crowded: some thirty merchants, the elite of galveston, were collected there. his excellency, don josé maria rubio, was essentially a man of action, frank, loyal, and convinced that in all cases the best way of dealing is to go straight to the point. after the first compliments, he began speaking, and without any tergiversation or weakness, explained clearly and distinctly the state of their situation, and claimed the assistance of the notable inhabitants of the town to ward off the dangers that threatened it, promising, if that help were assured him, to hold out against the whole revolutionary army, and compel it to retire. the merchants were far from expecting such a requests which literally stunned them. for some minutes they knew not what answer to give; but at last, after consulting in whispers, the oldest and most influential of them undertook to reply in the names of all, and began speaking with that feigned frankness which forms the basis of the anglo-american character--a frankness which conceals so much duplicity, and by which only those who are unacquainted with the inhabitants of the united states are at times entrapped. this merchant, a native of tennessee, had in his youth carried on nearly all those trades more or less acknowledgeable, by means of which men in the new world contrive in so short a time to raise the scaffoldings of a large fortune. coming to texas as a slave-dealer, he had gradually extended his trade; then he became a speculator, corn-dealer, and all sorts of things. in a word, he worked so well, that in less than ten years he was in possession of several millions. morally, he was an old fox, without faith or law; a greek by instinct, and a jew by temperament. his name was lionel fisher; he was short and stout, and appeared scarce sixty years of age, although he was in reality close on seventy. "señor general," he said in an obsequious voice, after bowing with that haughty humility which distinguishes parvenus, "we are extremely pained by the sad news your excellency has thought it right to communicate to us, for none are more affected than ourselves by the calamities of our hapless country. we deplore in our hearts the situation into which texas is suddenly cast, for we shall be the first assailed in our fortunes and affections. we should be glad to make the greatest sacrifices in order to prevent disasters and ward off the fearful catastrophe that menaces us. but, alas! what can we do?--nothing. in spite of our good will and warm desire to prove to your excellency that you possess all our sympathies, our hands are tied. our assistance, far from helping the mexican government, would, on the contrary, injure it, because the populace and vagabonds who flock to all seaports, and who are in a majority at galveston, delighted at having found a pretext for disorder, would immediately revolt, apparently to defend the insurrection, but in reality to plunder us. this consideration, therefore, compels us most reluctantly to remain neutral." "reflect, señores," the general answered, "that the sacrifice i ask of you is but a trifle. each of you will give me a thousand piastres; it is not too much, i suppose, to guarantee the security of your money and goods? for with the sum you collect, i pledge myself to preserve you from all harm by collecting a sufficient number of men to foil any expedition made against the town by the insurgents." at this point-blank appeal the merchants made a frightful grimace, which the general did not appear to notice. "the offering i claim from you at such a moment," he continued, "is not exorbitant; is it not just that in the hour of need you should come to the aid of a government under whose protection you have grown rich, and which, although it would have been perfectly justified in doing so, has, up to this day, demanded nothing from you?" caught in this dilemma, the merchants did not know what to answer. they were not all desirous to give their money in the defence of a cause which their secret efforts tended on the contrary to destroy, but when thus pressed by the general, their embarrassment was extreme; they did not dare openly to refuse, and wished still less to say yes. it is a singular fact, though perfectly true, that those men who have grown rich with the greatest facility, cling the most to their fortunes. of all the natives of the new world, the north american is the one who most craves money. he professes a profound love for the precious metals; with him money is everything, and to gain it he would sacrifice relatives and friends without remorse and without pity. it is the north american who invented that egotistic and heartless proverb, which so thoroughly displays the character of the people, _time is money_. ask what you will of a north american, and he will give it you, but do not try to burrow a dollar of him, for he will bluntly refuse, however great the obligations he owes you may be. the great american bankruptcies which a few years back terrified the old world by their cynical effrontery, edified us as to the commercial honesty of this country, which in its dealings never says, yes, and is so afraid of letting; its thoughts be penetrated, that even in the most frivolous conversations the people, through fear of compromising themselves by an affirmative, say at each sentence, "i suppose," "i believe," "i think." general rubio, who had been a long time in texas, and accustomed to daily dealings with the americans, was perfectly well aware in what way he should treat them, hence he was not at all disturbed by their embarrassed denials, their protestations of devotion, or their downcast faces. after leaving them a few moments for reflection, seeing that they could not make up their minds to answer him, he continued in his calmest voice and with his most pleasant air-- "i see, señores, that the reasons i have had the honour of laying before you have not had the good fortune to convince you, and i am really vexed at it. unfortunately, we are in one of those fatal crises where long deliberations are impossible. ever since the president of the republic appointed me military chief of this state, i have ever been anxious to satisfy you, and not make you feel too heavily the weight of the power entrusted to me, taking on myself on several occasions, to modify any harshness in the orders i received from high quarters with reference to you. i venture to believe that you will do me the justice of saying that you have always found me kind and complaisant toward you." the merchants naturally burst into affirmations as the general continued. "unfortunately it can no longer be so. in the face of this obstinate and unpatriotic refusal you so peremptorily give me, i am, to my great regret, constrained to carry out literally the orders i have received,--orders that concern you, señores, and whose tenor, i repeat, i find myself utterly unable to modify." at this declaration, made in a sarcastic voice, the merchants began shivering; they understood that the general was about to take a brilliant revenge, although they did not know yet what was about to happen. for all that, they began to repent having accepted the invitation, and placed themselves so simply in the wolf's mouth. the general kept smiling, but the smile had something bitter and mocking in its expression, which was far from reassuring them. at this moment a clock, standing on a bracket, struck two. "caramba," said the general, "is it so late as that already? how quickly time passes in your agreeable company. señores, we must wind up the business. i should be in despair if i kept you longer from your homes--the more so, as you must be desirous of rest." "in truth," stammered the merchant who had hitherto spoken in the name of all, "whatever pleasure we feel at being here----" "you would feel greater still at being elsewhere," the general interrupted, with a laugh; "i perfectly understand that, don lionel, hence i will not abuse your patience much longer. i only ask you for a few minutes more, and then i will set you at liberty, so be kind enough to sit down again." the merchants obeyed, while exchanging a glance of despair on the sly. the general seemed on this night to be deaf and blind, for he saw and heard nothing. he struck a bell; at the summons a door opened, and an officer walked in. "captain saldana," the general asked, "is all ready?" "yes, general," the captain answered, with a respectful bow. "señores," the governor continued, "i have received from the mexican government orders to lay on the rich merchants of this town a war tax of sixty thousand piastres in cash. as you are aware, señores a soldier can only obey. still, i had taken on myself to reduce this contribution by one-half, desiring, as far as in me lay, to prove to you up to the last moment, the interest i take in you. you would not understand me; i am vexed at it, but nothing is now left me save obedience. here is the order," he added, as he took a paper from the table and unfolded it, "it is peremptory; still, i am ready to grant you five minutes to make up your minds; but when that period has elapsed, i shall be compelled to do my duty, and you are sufficiently well acquainted with me, señores, to know that i shall do it at all hazards." "but, general," the old merchant hazarded, "your excellency will permit me to observe, that the sum is enormous." "nonsense, señores; there are thirty of you--it only amounts to two thousand piastres per head, which is only a trifle to you. i made you an offer to knock off half, but you were not willing." "business has been very flat for some years, and money is becoming excessively scarce." "to whom do you say that, don lionel? i fancy i am better aware of that fact than anybody else." "perhaps if you were to grant us a delay of a month or a fortnight, by collecting all our resources and making enormous sacrifices, we might manage to scrape together one-half the amount." "unfortunately, i cannot even grant you an hour." "in that case, general, it is impossible." "nonsense! i feel certain that you have not reflected. besides, that is no affair of mine: in asking you for this money, i carry out the orders i have received, it is for your to judge whether you will consent or not. i, personally, am completely out of the affair." "really, general," the old merchant continued, deceived, in spite of all his craft, by the governor's tone, "really, it is impossible for us to pay the smallest amount." all bowed in affirmation, supporting the remarks of their spokesman. "very good," the general continued, still in a coolly mocking tone, "that is clearly understood, then. still, you will not, i trust, render me responsible for the consequences which this refusal may entail on you." "oh, general, you cannot suppose that!" "thanks. you heard, captain?" he added, turning to the officer, who was standing motionless by the door; "order in the detachment." "yes, general." and the officer quitted the room. the merchants gave a start of terror, for this mysterious order caused them to reflect seriously, and their anxiety became the greater, when they heard the clang of arms in the patios, and the heavy footfalls of approaching troops. "what is the meaning of this, general?" they cried in terror, "can we have fallen into a trap?" "what do you mean?" the general said. "oh, i beg your pardon, but i forgot to communicate to you the end of this order, which concerns you particularly, however, that will be soon done. i am instructed to have all persons shot, who refuse to subscribe to the loan demanded by the government, in order to get over the serious embarrassments the malcontents occasion it." at the same instant, the doors were thrown wide open, and a detachment of fifty men silently surrounded the american merchants. the latter were more dead than alive--they fancied they were having a frightful dream, or suffering from a horrible nightmare. certain that the general would not hesitate to execute the threat he had made them, the merchants did not know how to get out of the scrape. the governor himself had made no change in his demeanour--his face was still gracious, and his voice gentle. "come, señors," he said, "pray accept my heartfelt sympathy. captain, lead away these gentlemen, and treat them with all the kindness their sad position claims." he then bowed, and prepared to leave the room. "one moment," the old merchant said, quite appalled by the approach of death; "are there no means of settling this business, general?" "i only know one--paying." "i am well aware of that," he said with a sigh; "but, alas! we are ruined." "what can i do? you know, and yourselves allowed, that i am quite unconnected with this unhappy affair." "alas," the poor merchants exclaimed in chorus, "you will not kill us, surely, general; we are fathers of families, what will become of our wives and children?" "i pity you, but, unfortunately, can do no more than that." "general," they cried, falling at his knees, "in the name of what you hold dearest, have pity on us, we implore you." "i am really in despair at what has occurred, and should like to come to your aid; unhappily i do not see my way, and then, again, you do nothing to help me." "alas!" they repeated, sobbing and clasping their hands desperately. "i am well aware that you have not the money, and there is the insurmountable difficulty, believe me. however, let us see," he added, apparently reflecting. the poor devils, who felt themselves so near death, looked at him with eyes sparkling with hope. there was a rather lengthened silence, during which you might have heard the heart throbs of these men, who knew that life and death depended on the man who held them panting under his eye. "listen," he continued, "this is all i can do for you, and believe me, that, in acting thus, i assume an enormous responsibility; there are thirty of you, i think?" "yes, excellency," they exclaimed unanimously. "well, only ten of you shall be shot. you shall select them yourselves, and those you designate will be immediately led into the patio and executed. but now ask me for nothing further, as i shall be constrained to refuse you; and that you may have time to make your selection carefully, i grant you ten minutes." this was a proof of incontestable cleverness on the part of the general. by breaking, through this decision, the agreement that had hitherto prevailed among the merchants, by opposing them to one another, he was certain of obtaining the result which, without, he would probably not have secured. for we prefer to suppose, for the honour of the general, whose career up to this day had been so free from excesses, and acts of this nature, that the threat of death was only a mode employed to cause these men, whom he knew to be opposed to the government he represented, into undoing their purse strings, and that he would not have been so cruel as to carry matters to extremities, and shoot in cold blood thirty of the most respectable townsmen. whatever general rubio's intentions might have been, however, the americans believed him, and acted accordingly. after two or three minutes' hesitation, the merchants came one after the other, to give their consent to the loan. but their tergiversation had cost them a thousand dollars a-piece. it was dear, hence we must allow that they consented with very ill grace. but the soldiers were there ready to obey the slightest sign from their chief; the muskets were loaded, and the patio two paces off. there was no chance of getting out of it. still, the general did not let them off so cheaply. the americans were led home one after the other by four soldiers and an officer, whose instructions were to shoot the prisoner at the slightest attempted escape, and it was not till the general had the two thousand piastres in his hands that a second prisoner was sent home in the same fashion. this went on until the whole sum was collected, and the only persons remaining in the saloon were the general and old lionel. "oh, excellency!" he said, reproachfully, "how is it possible that you, who have hitherto been so kind to us, could have had the thought of committing such an act of cruelty?" the general burst out laughing. "do you imagine i would have done it?" he said, with a shrug of his shoulder. the merchant struck his forehead with a gesture of despair. "ah!" he exclaimed, "we were idiots." "hang it, did you have such a bad opinion of me? caramba, señor, i do not commit such acts as that." "ah," the merchant said, with a laugh, "i have not paid yet." "which means?" "that now i know what i have to expect. i shall not pay." "really, i believed you cleverer than that." "why so?" "what? you do not understand that a man may hesitate to execute thirty persons, but when it comes to only one man, who, like yourself, has a great number of misdeeds on his conscience, his execution is considered an act of justice, and carried out without hesitation?" "then, you would shoot me?" "without the slightest remorse." "come, come, general, you are decidedly stronger than i am." "you flatter me, señor lionel." "no, i tell you what i think; it was cleverly played." "you are a judge." "thanks," he answered, with a modest smile. "to spare you the trouble of having me executed, i will execute myself," he added, good temperedly, as he felt his coat pocket. he drew out a pocketbook crammed with bank of england notes, and made up the sum of two thousand piastres, which he laid on the table. "i have now only to thank you," the general said, as he picked up the notes. "and i you, excellency," he answered. "why so?" "because you have given me a lesson by which i shall profit when the occasion offers." "take care, señor lionel," the general said, meaningly; "you will not, perhaps, come across a man so good-natured as myself." the merchant restored the portfolio to his pocket, bowed to the general, and went out. it was three o'clock; all had been finished in less than an hour; it was quick work. "poor scamps, after all, those gringos," the general said, when he was alone; "oh, if we had not to deal with mountaineers and campesinos we should soon settle this population." "general," said an aide-de-camp, as he opened the door, "colonel melendez asks whether you will deign to receive him, in spite of the late hour?" "is colonel melendez here?" the general asked in surprise. "he has this instant arrived, general; can he come in?" "of course; show him in at once." in a few minutes the colonel appeared. "here you are at last," the general cried, as he went to meet him; "i fancied you were either dead or a prisoner." "it was a tossup that one of the two events did not happen." "oh, oh! then you have something serious to tell me." "most serious, general." "hang it, my friend, take a chair and let us talk." "before all, general," the colonel remarked, "do you know our position?" "what do you mean?" "only, general, that you may possibly be ignorant of certain events that have happened." "i think i have heard grave events rumoured, though i do not exactly know what has happened." "listen, then! the _libertad_ corvette is in the hands of the insurgents." "impossible!" the general exclaimed, bounding in his chair. "general," the young officer said, in a mournful voice, "i have to inform you of something more serious still." "pardon me, my friend, perhaps i am mistaken, but it seems to me highly improbable that you could have obtained such positive news during the pleasure trip you have been making." "not only, general, have the insurgents seized the _libertad_, but they have also made themselves masters of the fort of the point." "oh!" the general shouted, as he rose passionately, "this time, colonel, you are badly informed; the fort of the point is impregnable." "it was taken in an hour by thirty freebooters, commanded by the jaguar." the general hid his face in his hands, with an expression of despair impossible to render. "oh! it is too much at once," he exclaimed. "that is not all," the colonel continued, sharply. "what have you to tell me more terrible than what you have just said?" "a thing that will make you leap with rage and blush with shame, general." the old soldier laid his hand on his heart, as if wishful to arrest its hurried beating, and then said to the colonel, in a tone of supreme resignation-- "speak, my friend; i am ready to hear all." the colonel remained silent for some minutes; the despair of the brave old soldier made him shiver. "general," he said, "perhaps it would be better to defer till tomorrow what i have to say to you; you appear fatigued, and a few hours, more or less, are not of much consequence." "colonel melendez," the general said, giving the young officer a searching glance, "under present circumstances a minute is worth an age. i order you to speak." "the insurgents request a parley," the colonel said, distinctly. "to parley with me?" the general answered, with an almost imperceptible tinge of irony in his voice. "these caballeros do me a great honour. and what about, pray?" "as they think themselves capable of seizing galveston, they wish to avoid bloodshed by treating with you." the general rose, and walked sharply up and down the room for some minutes. at length he stopped before the colonel. "and what would you do in my place?" "i should treat," the young officer replied, unhesitatingly. chapter iii. the retreat. after this frankly expressed opinion there was a rather lengthened silence, and the colonel was the first to resume the conversation. "general," he went on, "you evidently know nothing of the events that have occurred during the last four and twenty hours." "how could i know anything? these demons of insurgents have organised guerillas, who hold the country and so thoroughly intercept the communications, that out of twenty spies i have sent out, not one has returned." "and not one will return, be assured." "what is to be done, then?" "do you really wish for my advice, general?" "on my honour, i desire to know your real opinion; for you are the only one among us, i fancy, who really knows what is going on." "i am aware of it. listen to me, then, and do not feel astonished at anything you may hear, for all is positively true. the information i am about to have the honour of communicating to you was given me, by the jaguar himself, scarce three hours back, at the salto del frayle, whither he invited me to come to converse about some matters in no way connected with politics." "very good," the general remarked, with a slight smile. "go on, i am listening to you with the deepest attention." the colonel felt himself blush under his chief's slightly ironical smile; still he recovered himself, and continued-- "in two words, this is our position: while a few bold men, aided by a privateer brig under the american flag, carried by surprise the _libertad_--" "one of the finest ships in our navy!" the general interrupted, with a sigh. "yes, general, but unhappily it is now an accomplished fact. while this was taking place, other insurgents, commanded by the jaguar in person, got into the fort of the point, and carried it almost without a blow." "but what you tell me is impossible!" the old soldier interrupted with a burst of passion. "i tell you nothing that is not rigorously true, general." "the vague rumours that have reached me, led me to suppose that the insurgents had dealt us a fresh blow but i was far from suspecting such a frightful catastrophe." "i swear to you, on my honour, as, a soldier, general, that i only tell you the most rigid truth:" "i believe you, my friend, for i know how brave and worthy of confidence you are. still, the news you give me is so frightful, that, in spite of myself, i should like to be able to doubt it." "unhappily, that is impossible." the general, suffering from a fury which was the more terrible as it was concentrated, walked up and down the room, clenching his fists, and muttering broken sentences. the colonel looked after him sadly, not dreaming of offering him any of those conventional consolations which, far from offering any relief to pain, only render it sharper and more poignant. at the end of some minutes, the general succeeded so far in mastering his emotion as to draw back to his heart the annoyance he felt. he sat down again by the colonel's side, and took his hand kindly. "you have not yet given me your advice," he said with a ghost of a smile. "if you really insist on my speaking, i will do so, general," the young man answered, "though i am convinced beforehand that our ideas are absolutely similar on this question." "that is probable. still, my dear colonel, the opinion of a man of your merits is always precious, and i should be curious to know if i really agree with you." "be it so, general. this is what i think: we have but insufficient forces to sustain an assault effectively. the town is very badly disposed toward us: i am convinced that it only wants an opportunity to rise and make common cause with the insurgents. on the other hand, it would be a signal act of folly to shut ourselves up in a town with an issue, where we should be forced to surrender--an indelible stain for the mexican army. for the present, we have no succour to expect from the government of mexico, which is too much engaged in defending itself against the ambitious men of every description who hold it continually in check, to dream of coming effectively to our assistance, either by sending us reinforcements, or carrying out a diversion in our favour." "what you say is unfortunately only too true; we are reduced to reckon on ourselves alone." "now, if we obstinately shut ourselves up in the town, it is evident to me that we shall be compelled eventually to surrender. as the insurgents are masters of the sea, it is a mere question of time. on the other hand, if we quit it of our free will, the position will be singularly simplified." "but, in that case, we shall be compelled to treat with these scoundrels?" "i thought so for an instant; but i believe we can easily avoid that misfortune." "in what way? speak, speak, my friend." "the flag of truce the insurgents send you, will not arrive at the cabildo till nine in the morning; what prevents you, general, evacuating the town, ere he makes his appearance?" "hum!" said the general, growing more and more attentive to the young man's remarks. "then you propose flight to me?" "not at all," the colonel retorted; "remember, general, that the position is admitted, that in war, recoiling is not flying. if we render ourselves masters of the country by leaving the town to the insurgents, by this skilful retreat we place them in the difficult position in which we are today. in the open plains, and through our discipline, we shall be enabled to hold our own against a force four times our strength, which would not be possible here; then, when we have obtained those reinforcements santa anna will probably himself bring us ere long, we will re-enter galveston, which the insurgents will not attempt to defend against us. such is my opinion, general, and the plan i should adopt, had i the honour to be governor of this state." "yes," the general answered, "the advice you offer would have some chance of success, were it possible to follow it. unluckily, it would be madness to reckon on santa anna's support: he would allow us to be crushed, not perhaps of his own will, but compelled by circumstances, and impeded by the constant obstacles the senate creates for him." "i cannot share your opinion on that point, general; be well assured that the senate, ill-disposed though it may be to the president of the republic, is no more desirous to lose texas than he is. besides, under the present circumstances, we must make a virtue of necessity; it would be great madness for us to await here the enemy's attack." the general seemed to hesitate for some minutes, then, suddenly forming a determination, he rang a bell. an aide-de-camp appeared. "let all the general officers assemble here within half an hour," he said. "begone." the aide-de-camp bowed, and left the room. "you wish it," the general continued, turning to the colonel; "well, be it so. i consent to follow your advice. besides, it is, perhaps, the only chance of safety left us at this moment." in europe, where we are accustomed to see great masses of men come in contact on the field of battle, it would cause a smile to hear the name of army given to what, among us, would not even be a regiment. but we must bear in mind that the new world, excepting north america, is very sparely populated; the inhabitants are scattered over immense districts, and the most imposing regular forces rarely attain the number of five or six thousand men. an army is usually composed of fifteen to eighteen hundred troops, all told, infantry, cavalry, and artillery. and what soldiers! ignorant, badly paid, badly armed, only half obeying their chiefs, whom they know to be as ignorant as themselves, and in whom they naturally have not the slightest confidence. in mexico, the military profession, far from being honoured as it is in europe, is, on the contrary, despised, so that the officers and soldiers are generally blemished men to whom every other career would be closed. the officers, with a few honourable exceptions, are men ruined by debt and in reputation, whose ignorance of their profession is so great, that one of our sergeants could give them lessons. as for the soldiers, they are only recruited among the leperos, thieves, and assassins. hence the army is a real scourge for the country. it is the army that makes and unmakes the governments, which succeed each other with perfectly headlong rapidity in mexico; for, since its pretended emancipation, this unhappy country has witnessed nearly three hundred pronunciamentos, all organised in the army, and carried through for the benefit of the officers, whose only object is to be promoted. still, what we say is not absolute. we have known several mexican officers, highly educated and honourable men; unluckily their number is so limited, that they are impotent to remedy the evil, and are constrained to put up with what they cannot prevent. general rubio was undeniably one of the most honourable officers in the mexican army. still, we have seen that he did not hesitate to plunder the very persons whom his duty obliged him to protect against all annoyance. my readers can judge by this example, selected from a thousand, what tricks the other generals play. the corps d'armée placed under the command of general rubio, and shut up with him in galveston, only amounted to nine hundred and fifty officers and men, to whom might be found at a given signal some three hundred lanceros scattered in little posts of observation along the coast. though incapable of effectually defending the town, this force, well directed, might hold in check for a long time the worse armed, and certainly worse disciplined insurgents. the general had rapidly seen the value of the colonel's advice. the plan the latter proposed was, in truth, the only practicable one, and hence he accepted it at once. still, it was necessary to act with vigour; the sun was rising, and the coming day was sunday; hence it was important that the army should have evacuated the town before the end of mass, that is to say, eleven in the morning, for the following reason: in all the slave states, and especially in texas, a strange custom exists, reminding us distantly of the lupercalia of ancient rome. on a sunday masters grant their slaves entire liberty; one day in seven is certainly not much; but it is a great deal for the southern states, where slavery is so sternly and strictly established. these poor slaves, who seek compensation for six days of hard servitude, enjoy with childish delight their few holiday hours: not caring a whit for the torrid heat that transforms the streets into perfect ovens, they spread over the town singing, dancing, or galloping at full speed in carts belonging to their masters which they have appropriated. on this day the town belongs to them, they behave almost as they please, no one interfering or trying to check their frolic. general rubio rightly feared lest the merchants of galveston, whom he had so cleverly compelled to disgorge, might try to take their revenge by exciting the slaves to mutiny against the mexicans, and they would probably be ready enough to do so, delighted at finding a pretext for disorder, without troubling themselves further as to the more or less grave results of their mutiny. hence, while his aide-de-camp performed the commission he had entrusted to him, general rubio ordered colonel melendez to take with him all the soldiers on duty at the cabildo, place himself at their head, and seize the requisite number of boats for the transport of the troops to the main land. this order was not difficult to execute. the colonel, without losing a moment, went to the port, and not experiencing the slightest opposition from the captains and masters of the vessels, who were well aware, besides, that a refusal would not be listened to, assembled a flotilla of fifteen light vessels, amply sufficient for the transport of the garrison. in the meanwhile, the aide-de-camp had performed his duties with intelligence and celerity, so that within twenty minutes all the mexican officers were collected at the general's house. the latter, without losing a moment, explained to them in a voice that admitted of no reply, the position in which the capture of the fort placed the garrison, the necessity of not letting the communication with the mainland be cut off, and his intention of evacuating the town with the least possible delay. the officers, as the general expected, were unanimous in applauding his resolution, for in their hearts they were not at all anxious to sustain a siege in which only hard blows could be received. taking the field pleased them, on the contrary, for many reasons: in the first place, the pillage of the estancias and the haciendas offered them great profits, and then they had a hope of taking a brilliant revenge on the insurgents for the numerous defeats the latter had inflicted on them since they had been immured in the town. orders were therefore immediately given by the general to march the troops down to the quay with arms and baggage; still, in order to avoid any cause for disorder, the movement was executed very slowly, and the colonel, who presided over the embarkation, was careful to establish numerous posts at the entrance of each street leading to the port, so that the populace were kept away from the soldiers, and no disputes were possible between them. so soon as one boat had its complement of troops on board it pushed off, though it did not start, as the general wished the entire flotilla to leave the town together. it was a magnificent day, the sun dazzled, and the bay sparkled like a burning-glass. the people, kept at a distance by the bayonets of the soldiers, watched in gloomy silence the embarkation of the troops. alarmed by this movement, which they did not at all understand, and were so far from suspecting the departure of the mexican garrison, that they supposed, on the contrary, that the general was proceeding with a portion of his troops to make an expedition against the insurgents. when all the soldiers, with the exception of those intended to protect the retreat of their comrades, had embarked, the general sent for the alcade mayor, the juez de letras, and the corregidor. these magistrates came to the general, concealing, but poorly, under a feigned eagerness, the secret alarm caused them by the order they had just received. in spite of the rapidity with which the troops effected their embarkation, it was by this time nearly nine o'clock. at the moment when the general was preparing to address the magistrates whom he had so unexpectedly convened, colonel melendez entered the cabildo, and after bowing respectfully to the governor, said-- "general, the person to whom i had the honour of referring last night is awaiting your good pleasure." "ah! ah!" the general replied, biting his moustache with an ironical air, "is he there, then?" "yes, general; i have promised to act as his introducer to your excellency." "very good. request the person to enter." "what!" the colonel exclaimed, in surprise, "does your excellency intend to confer with him in the presence of witnesses?" "certainly, and i regret there are not more here. bring in the person, my dear colonel." "has your excellency carefully reflected on the order you have done me the honour to give me?" "hang it! i should think so. i am sure you will be satisfied with what i am about to do." "as you insist, general," the colonel said with marked hesitation, "i can only obey." "yes, yes, my friend, obey; do not be uneasy, i tell you." the colonel withdrew without any further remark, and in a few moments returned, bringing john davis with him. the american had changed his dress for one more appropriate to the circumstances. his demeanour was grave, and step haughty, though not arrogant. on entering the room he bowed to the general courteously, and prepared to address him. general rubio returned his bow with equal courtesy, but stopped him by a sign. "pardon me, sir," he said to him, "be kind enough to excuse me for a few moments. perhaps, after listening to what i shall have the honour of saying to these caballeros, you will consider your mission to me as finished." the american made no further reply than a bow, and waited. "señores," the general then said, addressing the magistrates, "orders i have this moment received compel me to leave the town at once with the troops i have the honour to command. during my absence i entrust the direction of affairs to you, feeling convinced that you will act in all things prudently and for the common welfare. still, you must be cautious not to let yourselves be influenced by evil counsels, or led by certain passions to which i will not allude now, particularly here. on my return, which will not be long delayed, i shall ask of you a strict account of your acts during my absence. weigh my words carefully, and be assured that nothing you may do will be concealed from me." "then, general," the alcade said, "that is the motive of the movement of the troops we have witnessed this morning. do you really intend to depart?" "you have heard me, señor." "yes, i have heard you, general; but in my turn, in my capacity as magistrate, i will ask you by what right you, the military governor of the state, leave one of its principal ports to its own resources in the present critical state of affairs, when the revolution is before our gates, and make not the slightest attempt to defend us? is it really acting as defenders of this hapless town thus to withdraw, leaving it, after your departure, a prey to that anarchy which, as you are aware, only the presence of your forces has hitherto prevented breaking out? the burden you wish to lay upon us, general, we decline to accept; we will not assume the responsibility of so heavy a task; we cannot bear the penalty of another person's faults. the last mexican soldier will scarcely have left the town, ere we shall have handed in our resignations, not being at all desirous to sacrifice ourselves for a government whose conduct toward us is stamped with egotism and cold-blooded cruelty. that is what i have to say to you in my name and in that of my colleagues. now, in your turn, you will act as you think proper, but you are warned that you can in no way reckon upon us." "ah, ah, señores!" the general exclaimed, with an angry frown, "is that the way you venture to act? take care, i have not gone yet; i am still master of galveston, and can institute a severe example before my departure." "do so, general, we will undergo without a murmur any punishment you may please to inflict on us, even were it death." "very good," the general replied, in a voice quivering with passion; "as it is so, i leave you free to act, according to circumstances. but you will have a severe account to render to me, and that perhaps shortly." "not we, excellency, for your departure will be the signal of our resignation." "then you have made up your mind to plunge the country into anarchy?" "what can we do? what means have we to prevent it? no, no, general, we are not the persons who deserve reproach." general rubio in his heart felt the logic of this reasoning; he saw perfectly well how egotistic and cruel his conduct was toward the townsmen, whom he thus surrendered, without any means of defence, to the fury of the popular passion. unfortunately, the position was no longer tenable--the town could not be defended, hence he must depart, without answering the decade; for what reply could he have made him? the general gave his aides-de-camp a sign to follow him, and prepared to leave the cabildo. "pardon me for detaining you for a moment, general," john davis said: "but i should have liked to have a short conversation with your excellency, prior to your departure." "for what good object, sir?" the general answered, sharply; "did you not hear what was said in this room? return to those who sent you, and report to them what you have seen, that will be sufficient." "still, general," he urged, "i should have desired--" "what?" the general interrupted, and then added, ironically, "to make me proposals, i presume, on the part of the insurgents. know, sir, that whatever may happen, i will never consent to treat with rebels. thank colonel melendez, who was kind enough to introduce you to my presence. had it not been for his intervention i should have had you hung as a traitor to your country. begone!--or stay!" he added, on reflection; "i will not leave you here after i am gone. seize this man!" "general, take care," the american replied. "i am intrusted with a mission; arresting me is a violation of the law of nations." "nonsense, sir," the general continued, with a shrug of his shoulders, "why, you must be mad? do i recognize the right of the persons from whom you come to send me a flag of truce? do i know who you are? viva dios! in what age are we living, then, that rebels dare to treat on equal terms with the government against which they have revolted? you are my prisoner, sir! but be at your ease i have no intention of ill-treating you, or retaining you any length of time. you will accompany us to the mainland, that is all. when we have arrived there you will be free to go wherever you please; so you see, sir, that those mexicans, whom you like to represent in such dark colours, are not quite so ferocious as you would have them supposed." "we have always rendered justice to your heart and loyalty, general." "i care very little for the opinion you and yours have of me. come on, sir." "i protest, general, against this illegal arrest." "protest as much as you please, sir, but follow me!" as resistance would have been madness, davis obeyed. "well," he said, with a laugh, "i follow you, general. after all, i have not much cause to complain, for everything is fair in war." they went out. in spite of the dazzling brilliancy of the sun, whose beams spread a tropical heat through the town, the entire population encumbered the streets and squares. the multitude was silent, however; it witnessed with calm stoicism the departure of the mexican army; not an effort was attempted by the people to break the cordon of sentries drawn up on the fort. when the general appeared, the crowd made way respectfully to let him pass, and many persons saluted him. the inhabitants of galveston detested the mexican government; but they did justice to the governor, whose honest and moderate administration had effectually protected them during the whole time he remained among them, instead of taking advantage of his authority to plunder and tyrannize over them. they saw with pleasure the departure of the troops, with sorrow that of the general. the old soldier advanced with a calm step, talking loudly with his officers, and courteously returning the bows he received, with smiling face and assured demeanour. he reached the port in a few minutes, and at his order the last soldiers embarked. the general, with no other weapon but his sword, remained for some minutes almost alone in the midst of the crowd that followed him to the quay. two aides-de-camp alone accompanied him. john davis had already entered a boat, which took him on board the schooner, in which the general himself intended to cross. "general," one of the aides-de-camp said, "all the troops have embarked, and we are now only waiting your excellency's pleasure." "very good, captain," he answered. he then turned to the magistrates, who had walked by his side from the cabildo. "farewell, señores," he said, taking off his hat, whose white plumes swept the ground, "farewell, till we meet again. i pray heaven, from my heart, that, during my short absence, you will be enabled to avoid the scenes of disorder and anarchy which the effervescence of parties too often occasions. we shall meet again sooner than you may possibly suppose. long live mexico!" "long live mexico!" the two officers shouted. the crowd remained dumb; not a man took up the general's shout. he shook his head sadly, bowed for the last time, and went down into the boat waiting for him. two minutes later the mexican flotilla had left galveston. "when shall we return?" the general muttered, sadly, with eyes fixed on the town, whose buildings were slowly disappearing from sight. "never!" john davis whispered in his ear; and this prophetic voice affected the old soldier to the depth of his heart, and filled it with bitterness. chapter iv. john davis. the mexican flotilla, impelled by a favourable breeze, accomplished the passage from the island to the mainland in a comparatively very brief period. the brig and corvette, anchored under the battery of the fort, made no move to disturb the general; and it was evident that the texans did not suspect the events taking place at this moment, but awaited the return of their envoy ere making any demonstration. colonel melendez had seized the few boats capable of standing out to sea in galveston harbour, so that the magistrates could not, had they wished it, have sent a boat to the texans to inform them of the precipitate departure of the mexican garrison. the general's resolution had been formed so suddenly, and executed with such rapidity, that the partisans of the revolution in the town, and who were ignorant of the cause of that retreat, felt singularly embarrassed by the liberty so singularly granted them, and did not know what arrangements to make, or how to enter into communication with their friends, whose position they were ignorant of. only one man could have enlightened them, and he was john davis. but general rubio, foreseeing what would have inevitably happened had he left the ex-slave dealer behind him, had been very careful to carry him off with him. the landing of the troops was effected under the most favourable conditions. the point they steered for was in the hands of the mexicans, who had a strong detachment there, so that the army got ashore without arousing the slightest suspicion, or any attempt to prevent the landing. the general's first care, so soon as he reached the mainland, was to send off spies in every direction, in order to discover, were it possible, the enemy's plans, and whether they were preparing to make a forward movement. the boats which had been used to convey the troops were, till further orders, drawn up on the beach, through fear lest the insurgents might make use of them. two schooners, however, on each of which two guns were put, received orders to cruise in the bay, and pick up all boats the inhabitants of galveston might attempt to send off to the chief of the texan army. the banks of the rio trinidad are charming and deliciously diversified, bordered by rushes and reeds, and covered with mangroves, amid which sport thousands of flamingoes, cranes, herons, and wild ducks, which cackle noisily as they swim about in tranquil and transparent waters. about four miles from the sea, the banks rise gradually with insensible undulations, and form meadows covered with a tall and tufted grass, on which grow gigantic mahogany trees with their oblong leaves, and peru trees with their red fruit, and magnolias, whose large white flowers shed an intoxicating perfume. all these trees, fastened together by lianas which envelop them in their inextricable network, serve as a retreat for a population of red and grey squirrels, that may be seen perpetually leaping from branch to branch, and of cardinal and mocking birds. the centzontle, the exquisite mexican nightingale, so soon as night arrives, causes this picturesque solitude to re-echo with its gentle strains. on the side of a hill that descends in a gentle slope to the river, glisten the white walls of some twenty cottages, with their flat roofs and green shutters, hanging in clusters from the scarped side of the hill, and hidden like timorous birds amid the foliage. these few cottages, built so far from the noise of the world, constitute the rancho of san isidro. unfortunately for the inhabitants of this obscure nook, general rubio, who felt the necessity of choosing for the site of his camp a strong strategic position, came suddenly to trouble their peace, and recall them rather roughly to the affairs of this world. in fact, from this species of eagles' nests, nothing was easier than for the general to send his columns in all directions. the mexican army, therefore, marched straight on the rancho of san isidro, where it arrived about midday. at the unexpected appearance of the troops, the inhabitants were so terrified that, hastily loading themselves with their most valuable articles, they left their houses and fled to hide themselves in the woods. whatever efforts the general might make to prevent them, or bring them back to their houses, the poor indians offered a deaf ear to all, and were resolved not to remain in the vicinity of the troops. the mexicans therefore remained sole possessors of the rancho, and at once installed themselves in their peaceful conquest, whose appearance was completely changed within a few hours. tall trees, flowers, and lianas, nothing was respected. enormous masses of wood lay that same evening on the ground, which they had so long protected with their beneficent shadow. the very birds were constrained to quit their pleasant retreat, to seek a shelter in the neighbouring forest. when all the approaches to the forest had been cleared for a radius of about twelve hundred yards, the general had the place surrounded by powerful barricades, which transformed the peaceful village into a fortress almost impregnable, with the weak resources the insurgents possessed. the trees on the interior of the rancho were alone left standing, not for the purpose of affording, but to conceal from the enemy the strength of the corps encamped at this spot. the house of the indian alcade, somewhat larger and more comfortably built than the rest, was selected by the general as headquarters. this house stood in the centre of the pueblo; from its azotea the country could be surveyed for a great distance, and no movement in galveston roads escaped notice. the texans could not stir without being immediately discovered and signaled by the sentry, whom the general was careful to place in this improvised observatory. at sunset all the preliminary preparations were finished, and the rancho rendered safe against a coup de main. about seven in the evening the general, after listening to the report of the spies, was sitting in front of the house in the shadow of a magnificent magnolia, whose graceful branches crossed above his head. he was smoking a papillo, while conversing with several of his officers, when an aide-de-camp came up and told him that the person who had come to him that morning from the rebels, earnestly requested the favour of a few minutes' conversation. the general gave an angry start, and was about to refuse, when colonel melendez interposed, representing to the general that he could not do so without breaking his word, which he had himself pledged in the morning. "as it is so," the general said, "let him come." "why," the colonel continued, "refuse to listen to the propositions this man is authorized to offer you?" "what good is it at this moment? there is always a time to do so if circumstances compel it. now our situation is excellent; we have not to accept proposals, but, on the contrary, are in a position to impose those that may suit us." these words were uttered in a tone that compelled the colonel to silence; he bowed respectfully, and withdrew softly from the circle of officers. at the same moment john davis arrived, led by the aide-de-camp. the american's face was gloomy and frowning; he saluted the general by raising his hand to his hat, but did not remove it; then he drew himself up haughtily and crossed his hands on his chest. the general regarded him for a moment with repressed curiosity. "what do you want?" he asked him. "the fulfilment of your promise," davis replied drily. "i do not understand you." "what do you say? when you made me a prisoner this morning, in contempt of the military code and the laws of nations, did you not tell me that so soon as we reached the mainland, the liberty you had deprived me of by an unworthy abuse of strength, would be immediately restored to me?" "i did say so," the general answered meekly. "well, i demand the fulfilment of that promise; i ought to have left your camp long ago." "did you not tell me that you were deputed to me by the rebel army, in order to submit certain propositions?" "yes, but you refused to hear me." "because the moment was not favourable for such a communication. imperious duties prevented me then giving your words all the attention that they doubtless deserve." "well, and now?" "now i am ready to listen to you." the american looked at the officers that surrounded him. "before all these persons?" he asked. "why not? these caballeros belong to the staff of my army, they are as interested as i am in this interview." "perhaps so: still, i would observe, general, that it would be better for our discussion to be private." "i am the sole judge, señor, of the propriety of my actions. if it please you to be silent, be so; if not, speak, i am listening." "there is one thing i wish to settle first." "what is it?" "do you regard me as an envoy, or merely as your prisoner?" "why this question, whose purport i do not understand?" "pardon me, general," he said with an ironical smile, "but you understand me perfectly well, and so do these caballeros--if a prisoner, you have the right to force silence upon me; as a deputy, on the other hand, i enjoy certain immunities, under, the protection of which i can speak frankly and clearly, and no one can bid me be silent, so long as i do not go beyond the limits of my mission. that is the reason why i wish first to settle my position with you." "your position has not changed to my knowledge. you are an envoy of rebels." "oh, you recognise it now?" "i always did so." "why did you make me a prisoner, then?" "you are shifting the question. i explained to you a moment ago, for what reason i was, to my great regret, compelled to defer our interview till a more favourable moment, that is all." "very good, i am willing to admit it. be kind enough, general, to read this letter," he added, as he drew from his pocket a large envelope, which, at a sign from the general, he handed to him. night had fallen some time before, and two soldiers brought up torches of acote-wood, which one of the aides-de-camp lit. the general opened the letter and read it attentively, by the ruddy light of the torches. when he had finished reading, he folded up the letter again pensively, and thrust it into the breast of his uniform. there was a moment's silence, which the general at last broke. "who is the man who gave you this letter?" "did you not read his signature?" "he may have employed a go-between." "with me, that is not necessary." "then, he is here?" "i have not to tell you who sent me, but merely discuss with you the proposals contained in the letter." the general gave a passionate start. "reply, señor, to the questions i do you the honour of asking you," he said, "if you do not wish to have reasons for repenting." "what is the use of threatening me, general? you will learn nothing from me," he answered firmly. "as it is so, listen to me attentively, and carefully weigh your answer, before opening your mouth to give it." "speak, general." "this moment,--you understand, this moment, señor, you will confess to me, where the man is who gave you this letter, if not--" "well?" the american nominally interrupted. "within ten minutes you will be hanging from a branch of that tree, close to you." davis gave him a disdainful glance. "on my soul," he said ironically, "you mexicans have a strange way of treating envoys." "i do not recognise the right of a scoundrel, who is outlawed for his crimes, and whose head is justly forfeited, to send me envoys, and treat with me on an equal footing." "the man whom you seek in vain to brand, general, is a man of heart, as you know better than anybody else. but gratitude is as offensive to you as it is to all haughty minds, and you cannot forgive the person to whom we allude, for having saved, not only your life, but also your honour." john davis might have gone on speaking much longer, for the general, who was as pale as a corpse, and whose features were contracted by a terrible emotion he sought in vain to master, seemed incapable of uttering a syllable. colonel melendez had quietly approached the circle. for some minutes he had listened to the words the speakers interchanged, with gradually augmenting passion; judging it necessary, therefore, to interpose ere matters had reached such a point as rendered any hope of conciliation impossible, he said to john davis, as he laid his hand on his shoulder: "silence! you are under the lion's claw, take care that it does not rend you." "under the tiger's claw you mean, colonel melendez," he exclaimed, with much animation. "what! shall i listen calmly to an insult offered the noblest heart, the greatest man, the most devoted and sincere patriot, and not attempt to defend him and confound his calumniator? come, colonel, that would be cowardice, and you know me well enough to feel assured that no consideration of personal safety would force me to do so." "enough," the general interrupted him, in a loud voice, "that man is right; under the influence of painful reminiscences i uttered words that i sincerely regret. i should wish them forgotten." john davis bowed courteously. "general," he said, respectfully, "i thank you for this retraction; i expected nothing less from your sense of honour." the general made no answer; he walked rapidly up and down, suffering from a violent agitation. the officers, astonished at this strange scene, which they did not at all understand, looked restlessly at each other, though not venturing to express their surprise otherwise. the general walked up to john davis and stopped in front of him. "master davis," he said to him, in a harsh and snapping voice, "you are a stout-hearted and rough-spoken man. enough of this; return to the man who sent you, and tell him this: 'general don josé maria rubio will not consent to enter into any relations with you; he hates you personally, and only wishes to meet you sword in hand. no political question will be discussed between you and him until you have consented to give him the satisfaction he demands.' engrave these words well in your memory, señor, in order to repeat them exactly to the said person." "i will repeat them exactly." "very good. now, begone, we have nothing more to say to each other. colonel melendez, be good enough to give this caballero a horse, and accompany him to the outposts." "one word more, general." "speak." "in what way shall i bring you the person's answer?" "bring it yourself, if you are not afraid to enter my camp a second time." "you are well aware that i fear nothing, general. i will bring you the answer." "i wish it; good-bye." "farewell," the american answered. and bowing to the company, he withdrew, accompanied by the colonel. "you played a dangerous game," the latter said, when they had gone a few steps; "the general might very easily have had you hung." the american shrugged his shoulders. "he would not have dared," he said, disdainfully. "oh, oh! and why not, if you please?" "how does that concern you, colonel; am i not free?" "you are." "that must be sufficient for you, and prove to you that i am not mistaken." the colonel led the american to his quarters, and asked him to walk in for a moment, while a horse was being got ready. "master davis," he said to him, "be good enough to select from those weapons, whose excellence i guarantee, such as best suit you." "why so?" he remarked. "confound it! you are going to travel by night; you do not know whom you may meet. i fancy that under such circumstances it is prudent to take certain precautions." the two men exchanged a glance; they understood each other. "that is true," the american said, carelessly; "now that i come to think of it, the roads are not safe. as you permit me, i will take these pistols, this rifle, machete, and knife." "as you please, but pray take some ammunition as well; without that your firearms would be of no service." "by jove! colonel, you think of everything, you are really an excellent fellow," he added, while carelessly loading his rifle and pistols, and fastening to his belt a powder flask and bullet pouch. "you overwhelm me, master davis; i am only doing now what you would do in my place." "agreed. but you display a graciousness which confuses me." "a truce, if you please, to further compliments. here is your horse, which my assistant is bringing up." "but he is leading a second; do you intend to accompany me beyond the advanced posts?" "oh, only for a few yards, if my company does not seem to you too wearisome." "oh, colonel, i shall always be delighted to have you for a companion." all these remarks were made with an accent of excessive courtesy, in which, however, could be traced an almost imperceptible tinge of fun and biting raillery. the two men left the house and mounted their horses. the night was limpid and clear; millions of stars sparkled in the sky, which seemed studded with diamonds; the moon spread afar its white and fantastic light; the mysterious night breeze bowed the tufted crests of the trees, and softly rippled the silvery waters of the rio trinidad, as they died away amorously on the bank. the two men walked side by side, passing without being challenged by the sentinels, who, at a signal from the colonel, respectfully stepped back. they soon descended the hill, passed the main guard, and found themselves in the open country. each of them yielded to the voluptuous calmness of nature, and seemed no longer to be thinking of his comrade. they proceeded thus for more than an hour, and reached a spot where two paths, in crossing, formed a species of fork, in the centre of which stood a cross of evil omen, probably erected in memory of a murder formerly committed at this solitary spot. as if by common accord, the two horses stopped and thrust out their heads, while laying back their ears and snorting loudly. suddenly aroused from their reveries and recalled to actual life, the two riders drew themselves up in the saddle, and bent a scrutinising glance around. no human sound disturbed the silence; all around was calm and deserted as in the first days of creation. "do you intend, my dear colonel," the american asked, "to honour me with your charming society any longer?" "no," the young man answered, bluntly; "i shall stop here." "ah!" john davis continued, with feigned disappointment, "shall we part already?" "oh no," the colonel answered, "not yet." "in spite of the extreme pleasure i should feel in remaining longer in your company, i am obliged to continue my journey." "oh, you will surely grant me a few moments, master davis?" the other said, with an emphasis on each syllable. "well, a few moments, but no more; for i have a long distance to go, and whatever pleasure i feel in conversing with you--" "you alone," the colonel interrupted him, "shall decide the time we shall remain together." "it is impossible to display greater courtesy." "master davis," the colonel said, raising his voice, "have you forgotten the last conversation we had together?" "my dear colonel, you must know me well enough to be sure that i only forget those things which i ought not to remember." "which means?" "that i perfectly well remember the conversation to which you allude." "all the better. in that case your excellent memory spares me half the trouble, and we shall soon come to an understanding." "i believe so." "do you not find the spot where we are admirably adapted for what we have to do?" "i consider it delicious, my dear colonel." "then, with your consent, we will dismount?" "at your orders; there is nothing i detest so much as a lengthened conversation on horseback." they leaped to the ground and tied up their horses. "do you take your rifle?" the american inquired. "yes, if you have no objection." "not at all. then we are going to see some sport?" "oh yes, but on this occasion the game will be human." "which will add greatly to the interest of the sport." "come, you are a delightful comrade, master davis." "what would you, colonel? i never was able to refuse my friends anything." "where shall we place ourselves?" "i trust to you entirely for that." "look! on each side the road are bushes, which seem to have grown for the express purpose." "that is really singular. well, we will each hide behind one of the bushes, count ten, and then fire." "first-rate; but suppose we miss? i am perfectly well aware that we are both first-rate marksmen, and that is almost impossible; but it might happen." "in that case nothing is more simple: we will draw our machetes and charge each other." "agreed. stay, one word more; one of us must remain on the ground, i suppose?" "i should think so. if not, what would be the use of fighting?" "that is true; so promise me one thing." "what is it?" "the survivor will throw the body into the river." "hum! then you are very desirous that i should not come to life again?" "well, you can understand--" "all right, that is agreed." "thank you." the two men bowed, and then went off in opposite directions, to take up their stations. the distance between them was about seventy yards; in a few seconds a double detonation burst forth like a clap of thunder, and woke up the echoes. the two adversaries then rushed on each other, machete in hand. they met nearly half way, and not uttering a word, attacked each other furiously. the combat lasted a long time, and threatened to continue longer, without any marked advantage for either of the champions, for they were nearly of equal strength, when all at once several men appeared, and, aiming at the two adversaries, ordered them to lay down their arms immediately. each fell back a step, and waited. "stop!" the man shouted, who seemed to be the chief of the newcomers; "do you, john davis, mount your horse and be off!" "by what right do you give me that order?" the american asked, savagely. "by the right of the stronger," the leader replied. "be off, if you do not wish a misfortune to happen to you!" john davis looked around him. any resistance was impossible--for what could he have done alone, merely armed with a sabre, against twenty individuals? the american stifled an oath, and mounted again, but suddenly reflecting, he asked, "and who may you be, who thus pretend to dictate to me?" "you wish to know?" "yes." "well, i am a man to whom you and colonel melendez offered an atrocious insult. i am the monk antonio!" at this name the two adversaries felt a thrill of terror run through their veins; without doubt the monk was about to avenge himself, now that in his turn he had them in his power. chapter v. before the battle. john davis recovered almost immediately. "ah, ah!" he said, "then it is you, my master?" "it astonishes you to meet me here." "on my honour, no. your place, in my opinion, is wherever a snare is laid; hence nothing is more natural than your presence." "it is wrong, john davis, for a man to take advantage of his weakness to insult people, especially when he is ignorant of their intentions." "ah, they appear to me tolerably clear at this moment." "you might be mistaken." "i do not believe it. however, i shall soon be certain." "what are you doing?" "as you see, i am dismounting." in fact, the american leapt from his horse, drew his pistols from the holsters, and walked toward the monk with a most quiet step and thoroughly natural air. "why do you not go, as i advised you to do?" fray antonio continued. "for two reasons, my dear señor. the first is, that i have no orders or advice to receive from you; the second, because i shall not be sorry to be present at the pretty little act of scoundrelism you are of course meditating." "then your intention is--" "to defend my friend, by heaven!" the american exclaimed, warmly. "what! your friend?" the monk said, in amazement: "why, only a minute ago you were trying to take his life." "my dear señor," davis remarked, ironically, "there are certain remarks whose sense you unhappily never catch. understand me clearly: i am ready to kill this gentleman, but i will not consent to see him assassinated. that is clear enough, hang it all!" fray antonio burst into a laugh. "singular man!" he said. "am i not?" then turning to his adversary, who still stood perfectly quiet, he continued: "my dear colonel, we will resume, at a later date, the interesting interview which this worthy padre so untowardly interrupted. for the present, permit me to restore you one of the pistols you so generously lent me; it is undoubted that these scamps will kill us; but, at any rate, we shall have the pleasure of settling three or four of them first." "thank you, davis," the colonel answered, "i expected nothing less from you. i accept your proposition as frankly as you make it." and he took the pistol, and cocked it. the american took his place by his side, and bowed to the stranger with mocking courtesy. "señores," he said, "you can charge us whenever you think proper, for we are prepared to sustain your charge bravely." "ah, ah!" said fray antonio, "then you really mean it?" "what!--mean it? the question seems to me somewhat simple; i suppose you think the hour and place well chosen for a joke?" the monk shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the men who accompanied him. "be off!" he said. "in an hour i will join you again, you know where." the strangers gave a nod of assent, and disappeared almost instantaneously among the trees and shrubs. the monk then threw his weapons on the ground, and drew so near to the men as almost to touch them. "are you still afraid?" he said; "it is i now who am in your power." "halloh!" davis said, as he uncocked his pistol, "why, what is the meaning of this?" "if, instead of taking me as a bandit, as you did, you had taken the trouble to reflect, you would have understood that i had but one object, and that was, to prevent the resumption of the obstinate fight which my presence so fortunately interrupted." "but how did you arrive here so opportunely?" "accident did it all. ordered by our commander-in-chief to watch the enemy's movements, i posted myself on the two roads, in order to take prisoner all the scouts who came in this direction." "then you do not owe either the colonel or myself any grudge?" "perhaps," he said, with hesitation, "i have not quite forgotten the unworthy treatment you inflicted on me; but, at any rate, i have given up all thoughts of vengeance." john davis reflected for a moment, and then said, as he offered him his hand, "you are a worthy monk. i see that you are faithful to the pledge of amendment you made. i am sorry for what i did." "i will say the same, señor," the colonel remarked; "i was far from expecting such generosity on your part." "one word, now, señores." "speak," they said, "we are listening." "promise me not to renew that impious duel, and follow my example by forgetting your hatred." the two men stretched out their hand with a simultaneous movement. "that is well," he continued, "i am happy to see you act thus. now let us separate. you, colonel, will mount and return to camp--the road is free, and no one will try to oppose your passing. as for you, john davis, please to follow me. your long absence has caused a degree of alarm which your presence will doubtless dissipate. i had orders to try and obtain news of you." "good-bye for the present," the colonel said; "forget, señor davis, what passed between us at the outset of our meeting, and merely remember the manner in which we separate." "may we, colonel, meet again under happier auspices, when i may be permitted to express to you all the sympathy with which your frank and loyal character inspires me." after exchanging a few words more, and cordially shaking hands, the three men separated. colonel melendez set off at a gallop in the direction of the rancho, while the monk and davis started at an equal pace in exactly the opposite direction. it was about midnight when the colonel reached the main guard, where an aide-de-camp of the general was waiting for him. a certain degree of animation appeared to prevail in the rancho. instead of sleeping, as they might be expected to be doing at so late an hour, the soldiers were traversing the streets in large numbers; in short, an extreme agitation was visible everywhere. "what is the matter?" the colonel asked the aide-de-camp. "the general will tell you himself," the officer answered, "for he is impatiently expecting you, and has already asked several times for you." "oh, then, there is something new." "i believe so." the colonel pushed on ahead, and in a few minutes found himself before the house occupied by the general. the house was full of noise and light; but so soon as the general perceived the young man, he left the officers with whom he was talking, and walked quickly toward him. "here you are at last," he said; "i was impatiently expecting you." "what is the matter then?" the colonel asked, astounded at this reception, which he was far from expecting, for he had left the camp so quiet, and found it on his return so noisy. "you shall know, señores," the general added addressing the officers in the room: "be kind enough not to go away. i shall be with you in an instant. follow me, colonel." don juan bowed, and passed into an adjoining room, the door of which the general shut after him. hardly were they alone, ere the general took the young man affectionately by one of his coat buttons, and fixed on him a glance that seemed trying to read the depths of his heart. "since your departure," he said, "we have had a visit from a friend of yours." "a friend of mine?" the young man repeated. "or, at any rate, of a man who gives himself out as such." "i only know one man in this country," the colonel replied distinctly, "who, despite the opinions that divide us, can justly assume that title." "and that man is?" "the jaguar." "do you feel a friendship for him?" "yes." "but he is a bandit." "possibly he is so to you, general; from your point of sight, it is possible that you are right. i neither descry his character, nor condemn him; i am attached to him, for he saved my life." "but you fight against him, for all that." "certainly; for being hurled into two opponent camps, each of us serves the cause that appears to him the better. but, for all that, we are not the less attached to each other in our hearts." "i am not at all disposed to blame you, my friend, for our inclinations should be independent of our political opinions. but let us return to the subject which at this moment is the most interesting to us. a man, i say, presented himself during your absence at the outposts as being a friend of yours." "that is strange," the colonel muttered, searching his memory; "and did he mention his name?" "of course; do you think i would have received him else? however, he is in this very house, for i begged him to await your return." "but his name, my dear general?" "he calls himself don felix paz." "oh," the colonel exclaimed eagerly, "he spoke the truth, general, for he is really one of my dearest friends." "then we can place in him----" "full and entire confidence; i answer for him on my head," the young officer interrupted warmly. "i am the more pleased at what you tell me, because this man assured me that he held in his hands means that would enable us to give the rebels a tremendous thrashing." "if he has promised it, general, he will do so without doubt. i presume you have had a serious conversation with him?" "not at all. you understand, my friend, that i was not willing, till i had previously conversed with you, to listen to this man, who after all might have been a spy of the enemy." "capital reasoning; and what do you propose doing now?" "hearing him; he told me enough for me, in the prevision of what is happening at this moment, to have everything prepared for action at a moment's notice; hence no time will have been lost." "very good! we will listen to him then." the general clapped his hands, and an aide-de-camp came in. "request don felix to come hither, captain." five minutes later, the ex-major-domo of the larch-tree hacienda entered the room where the two officers were. "forgive me, caballero," the general said courteously as he advanced to meet him, "for the rather cold manner in which i received you; but unfortunately we live in a period when it is so difficult to distinguish friends from enemies, that a man involuntarily runs the risk of confounding one with the other, and making a mistake." "you have no occasion to apologise to me, general," don felix answered; "when i presented myself at your outposts in the way i did, i anticipated what would happen to me." the colonel pressed his friend's hand warmly. a lengthened explanation was unnecessary for men of this stamp; at the first word they understood each other. they had a lengthened conversation, which did not terminate till a late hour of the night, or rather an early hour of the morning, for it struck four at the moment when the general opened the door of the room in which they were shut up, and accompanied them, conversing in whispers, to the _saguan_ of the house. what had occurred during this lengthened interview? no one knew; not a syllable transpired as to the arrangements made by the general with the two men who had remained so long with him. the officers and soldiers were suffering from the most lively curiosity, which was only increased by the general's orders to raise the camp. don felix was conducted by the colonel to the outermost post, where they separated after shaking hands and exchanging only one sentence-- "we shall meet again soon." the colonel then returned at a gallop to his quarters, while don felix buried himself in the forest as rapidly as his horse could carry him. on returning to camp, the colonel at once ordered the boot and saddle to be sounded, and without waiting for further orders, put himself at the head of about five hundred cavalry, and left the rancho. it was nearly five in the morning, the sun was rising in floods of purple and gold, and all seemed to promise a magnificent day. the general, who had mounted to his observatory, attentively followed with a telescope the movements of the colonel, who, through the speed at which he went, not only got down the hill within a quarter of an hour, but had also crossed, without obstacle, a stream as wide as the rio trinidad itself. the general anxiously watched this operation, which is so awkward for an armed body of men; he saw the soldiers close up, and then, at a sign from the leader, this column stretched out like a serpent undoing its rings, went into the water, and cutting the rather strong current diagonally, reached the other bank in a few minutes, when, after a moment of inevitable tumult, the men formed their ranks again and entered a forest, where they were speedily lost from sight. when the last lancero had disappeared, and the landscape had become quite desolate, the general shut up his glass, and went down again, apparently plunged in serious thought. we have said that the garrison of galveston consisted of nine hundred men; but this strength had been raised to nearly fourteen hundred by calling in the numerous small posts scattered along the coast. colonel melendez had taken with him five hundred sabres the general left at the rancho, which he determined on retaining at all hazards as an important strategical point, two hundred and fifty men under the orders of a brave and experienced officer; and he had at his disposal about six hundred and fifty men, supported by a battery of four mountain howitzers. this force, small as it may appear, in spite of the smile of contempt it will doubtless produce on the lips of europeans accustomed to the shock of great masses, was more than sufficient for the country. it is true that the texan army counted nearly four thousand combatants, but the majority of these men were badly-armed peasants, unskilled in the management of the warlike weapons which a movement of revolutionary fanaticism had caused them to take up, and incapable of sustaining in the open field the attack of skilled troops. hence, in spite of his numerical inferiority, he reckoned greatly on the discipline and military education of his soldiers, to defeat this assemblage of men, who were more dangerous through their numbers than for any other reason. the start from the rancho was effected with admirable regularity; the general had ordered that the baggage should be left behind, so that nothing might impede the march of the army. each horseman, in accordance with the american fashion, which is too greatly despised in europe, took up a foot soldier behind him, so that the speed of the army was doubled. numerous spies and scouts sent out to reconnoitre in every direction, had announced that the insurrectionary army, marching in two columns, was advancing to seize the mouth of the trinidad and cover the approaches to galveston, a movement which it was of the utmost importance to prevent; for, were it successful, the insurgents would combine the movements of the vessels they had so advantageously seized with those of their army, and would be masters of a considerable extent of the seaboard, from which possibly the mexican forces would not be strong enough to dislodge them. on the other hand, general rubio had been advised that santa anna, president of the republic, had left mexico, and was coming with forced marches, at the head of twelve hundred men, to forcibly crush the insurrection. general santa anna has been very variously judged; some make him a profound politician and a thunderbolt of war; and he seems to have that opinion about himself, as he does not hesitate to say that he is the napoleon of the new world; his enemies reproach him for his turbulence and his unbounded ambition; accuse him of too often keeping aloof from danger, and consider him an agitator without valour or morality. for our part, without attempting to form any judgment of this statesman, we will merely say in two words, that we are convinced he is the scourge of mexico, whose ruin he accelerates, and one of the causes of the misfortunes which have for twenty years overwhelmed that ill-fated country. general rubio understood how important it was for him to deal a heavy blow before his junction with the president, who, while following his advice, would not fail, in the event of defeat, to attribute the reverses to him, while, if the mexicans remained masters of the field, he would keep all the honour of victory to himself. the texan insurgents had not up to this moment dared to measure themselves with the mexican troops in the open field, but the events that had succeeded each other during the last few days with lightning speed, had, by accelerating the catastrophe, completely changed the aspect of affairs. the chiefs of the revolutionary army, rendered confident by their constant advantages, and masters without a blow of one of the principal texan seaports, felt the necessity of giving up their hedge warfare, and consolidating their success by some brilliant exploit. to attain this end, a battle must be gained; but the texan chiefs did not let themselves be deceived by the successes they had hitherto met with, successes obtained by rash strokes, surprises, and unexampled audacity; they feared with reason the moment when they would have to face the veteran mexican troops with their inexperienced guerillas. hence they sought by every means to retard the hour for this supreme and decisive contest, in which a few hours might eternally overthrow their dearest hopes, and the work of regeneration they had been pursuing for the last ten years with unparalleled courage and resignation. they desired, before definitively fighting the regulars, that their volunteers should have acquired that discipline and practice without which the largest and bravest army is only an heterogeneous compound of opposing elements, an agglomeration of men, possessing no consistency or real vitality. after the capture of the fort a grand council had been held by the principal texan chiefs, in order to consult on the measures to be taken, so as not to lose, by any imprudence, results so miraculously obtained. it was then resolved that the army should occupy galveston, which its position rendered perfectly secure against a surprise; that the freebooters should alone remain out to skirmish with the mexicans and harass them; while the troops shut up in the town were being drilled, and receiving a regular and permanent organization. the first care of the chiefs, therefore, was to avoid any encounter with the enemy, and try to enter galveston without fighting the mexicans. the following was the respective position of the two armies; the texans were trying to avoid a battle, which general rubio was lodging, on the contrary, to fight. the terrain on which the adversaries would have to manoeuvre was extremely limited, for scarce four leagues separated the videttes of the two armies. from his observatory the general could clearly distinguish the camp fires of the rebels. in the meanwhile colonel melendez had continued to advance; on reaching the cross where he and john davis had fought so furiously on the previous evening, the colonel himself examined the ground with the utmost care, then, feeling convinced that none of the enemy's flankers had remained ambushed at this spot, which was so favourable for a surprise, he gave his men orders to dismount. the horses were thrown down, secured, and their heads wrapped in thick blankets to prevent their neighing, and after all these precautions had been taken, the soldiers lay down on their stomachs among the shrubs, with instructions not to stir. general rubio had himself effected a flank march, which enabled him to avoid the crossways; immediately after descending the hill, he marched rapidly upon the river bank. we have said that the rio trinidad, which is rather confined at certain spots, is bordered by magnificent forests, whose branches form on the bank grand arcades of foliage overhanging the mangroves; it was among the latter, and on the branches of the forest trees, about two gunshots from the spot where he had landed, that the general ambuscaded about one-third of his infantry. the remainder, divided into two corps, were echeloned along either side of the road the insurgents must follow, but it was done in the american fashion, that is to say, the men were so hidden in the tall grass that they were invisible. the four mountain howitzers crowned a small hill which, through its position, completely commanded the road, while the cavalry was massed in the rear of the infantry. the silence momentarily disturbed was re-established, and the desert resumed its calm and solitary aspect. general rubio had taken his measures so well that his army had suddenly become invisible. when it was resolved in the council of the texan chiefs that the insurrectionary army should proceed to galveston, a rather sharp discussion took place as to the means to be adopted in reaching it. the jaguar proposed to embark the troops aboard the corvette, the brig, and a few smaller vessels collected for the purpose. unfortunately this advice, excellent though it was, could not be followed, owing to general rubio's precaution of carrying off all the boats; collecting others would have occasioned an extreme loss of time; but as the boats the mexicans had employed were now lying high and dry on the beach, and the guard at first put over them withdrawn a few hours later, the texans thought it far more simple to set them afloat, and use them in their turn to effect the passage. by a species of fatality the council would not put faith in the assertions of john davis, who in vain assured them that general rubio, entrenched in a strong position, would not allow this movement to be carried out without an attempt to prevent it; so that the abandonment of the boats by the mexicans was only fictitious, and a trap adroitly laid to draw the revolutionists to a spot where it would be easy to conquer them. unfortunately, the mysterious man to whom we have alluded had alone the right to give orders, and the reasons urged by davis could not convince him. deceived by his spies, he persuaded himself that general rubio, far from having any intention of recapturing galveston, wished to effect his junction with santa anna before attempting any fresh offensive movement, and that the halt at the rancho had been merely a feint to embarrass the rebels. this incomprehensible error was the cause of incalculable disasters. the chiefs received orders to march forward, and were constrained to carry them out. still, when this erroneous resolution had been once formed, the means of execution were selected with extreme prudence. the corvette and brig were ordered to get as near land as they could, in order to protect, by their cross fire, the embarkation of the troops, and sweep the mexicans, if they offered any opposition. flying columns were sent off in advance and on the flanks of the army, to clear the way, by making prisoners of any small outposts the enemy might have established. four principal chiefs commanded strong detachments of mounted freebooters. the four were the jaguar, fray antonio, el alferez, and don felix paz, whom the reader assuredly did not expect to find under the flag of the rebels, and whom he saw only a few hours back enter the mexican camp, and hold a secret conference with general rubio and colonel melendez. these four chiefs were ordered by the commander-in-chief to prevent any surprise, by searching the forests and examining the tall grass. el alferez was on the right of the army, fray antonio on the left, the jaguar had the rear guard, while don felix, with six hundred sabres, formed the van. one word as to the guerillas of the ex-mayor-domo of the larch-tree hacienda. the men who composed his band, raised on lands dependent on the hacienda, had been enlisted by don felix. they were indios _mansos_, vaqueros, and peons, mostly half savages, and rogues to a certain extent, who fought like lions at the order of their leader, to whom they were thoroughly devoted, but only recognising and obeying him, while caring nothing for the other leaders of the army. don felix paz had joined the insurgents about two months previously, and rendered them eminent service with his guerillas. hence, he had in a short time gained general confidence. we shall soon see whether he was worthy of it. by a singular coincidence, the two armies left their camp at the same time, and marched one against the other, little suspecting that two hours later they would be face to face. chapter vi. the battle of cerro pardo. the battle of cerro pardo was one of those sanguinary days, whose memory a nation retains for ages as an ill-omened date. in order to explain to the reader thoroughly how the events happened which we are about to narrate, we must give a detailed account of the ground on which they took place. the spot selected by the mexicans to effect their landing after leaving galveston, had been very cleverly chosen by general rubio. the stream, which, for some distance, is enclosed by high banks, runs at that spot through an extensive plain, covered with tall grass and clumps of trees, the last relics of a virgin forest, which the claims of trade have almost destroyed. this plain is closed by a species of _cañón_, or very narrow gorge, enclosed between two lofty mils, whose scarped flanks are carpeted at all seasons with plants and flowers. these two hills are the cerro pardo and the cerro prieto,--that is to say, the red mountain and the black mountain. at the canyon begins a road, or, to speak more correctly, a rather wide track, bordered by bogs and morasses, and running to the cross we have before visited. this road is the only one that can be followed in going from the interior to the seashore. a little in advance of the two hills, whose summit is covered with dense wood and scrub, extend marshes, which are the more dangerous, because their surface is perfidiously covered with close green grass, which completely conceals from the traveller the terrible danger to which he is exposed if he venture on to this moving abyss. the cerro pardo, which is much higher than the other hill, not only commands the latter, but also the surrounding country, as well as the sea. after what we have said, the reader will easily perceive that the enterprise attempted by the texans was only possible in the event of the coast being entirely undefended; but under the present circumstances, the inconceivable obstinacy of the commander-in-chief was the more incomprehensible, because he was not only thoroughly acquainted with the country, but at the moment when the army was about to begin its forward movements, several spies came in in succession, bringing news which entirely coincided with the positive reports already made by john davis. whom the gods wish to destroy, they first blind. this wise and thoughtful man, who had ever acted with extreme prudence, and whose conceptions up to this day had been remarkable for their lucidity, was deaf to all remonstrances, and the order was given to march. the army at once set out; don felix paz went on ahead with his guerillas, while the jaguar's cuadrilla, on the contrary, remained in the rear. tranquil, in spite of the wounds he had received, would not remain in the fort; he came along lying in a cart, having at his side carmela and quoniam, who paid him the utmost attention; while lanzi, at the head of a dozen picked freebooters given him by the jaguar, escorted the cart, in the event of the army being disturbed during the march. the jaguar was sorrowful, a gloomy presentiment seemed to warn him of a misfortune. this daring man, who carried out as if in sport the maddest and most venturesome deeds, now advanced reluctantly, hesitating and constantly looking about him suspiciously, and almost timidly. assuredly, he feared no personal danger; what did he care for an attack? what alarm did he feel about dying? peril was his element; the heated atmosphere of battle, the odour of powder intoxicated him, and made him feel strange delight; but at this moment carmela was near him; carmela, whom he had so miraculously found again, and whom he feared to lose again. this strong man felt his heart soften at the thought, hence he insisted on taking the rear guard, in order to watch more closely over the maiden, and be in a position to help her if necessary. the superior commander had not dared to refuse the bold partisan this post, which he asked for as a favour. this condescension on the part of the chief had terrible consequences, and was partly the cause of the events that happened a few hours later. the texan troops, in spite of the various element of which they were composed, advanced, however, with an order and discipline that would have done honour to regulars. don felix paz had thrown out to the right and left of the road flankers ordered to investigate the chaparral, and guarantee the safety of the route; but in spite of these precautions, whether the mexicans were really ambushed in inaccessible places, or for some other reason, the flankers did not discover them, and the vanguard advanced at a pace which heightened the security of the main body, and gradually induced the chiefs to relax their previous watchfulness. the vanguard reached the cross, and nothing had as yet happened in any way to trouble the march of the army. don felix, after allowing his cuadrilla to halt for twenty minutes, resolutely entered the road that led to the spot where the mexicans had landed. from the cross to the rio trinidad was no great distance, and could be covered in less than two hours by troops marching at the ordinary pace. the road, however, after passing the cross, insensibly becomes narrower, and soon changes into a very confined track, in which three persons can scarce walk abreast. we have said that trembling prairies extend on either side of this road. we will explain, in a few sentences, what these trembling prairies are, which are met with in several parts of america, but principally in texas and louisiana. these prairies, if we may trust to the frequently false theories of science, have a similar organ to that of artesian springs, for the earth does in one case what water does in the other. through the action of geological dynamics, the earthy matter which constitutes the trembling prairies ascends to the surface of lakes and ponds, while in artesian wells the water rushes up from the depths through the pressure of the strata by which it was held down. nothing is more dangerous than those trembling prairies, covered with a perfidious vegetation that deceives the eye. the rio trinidad flows at a few hundred yards from the prairie we have just described, conveying into the gulf of mexico the sedimentary deposits which would consolidate this shifting soil. nature has already traced canals intersecting the prairie, and which run between banks formed by mysterious forces. the wild beasts, whose admirable instinct never deceives them, have for ages past formed tracks across these dangerous zones, and the path followed by the texan army was no other than one of those trails trodden by the wild beasts when they go down at night to water. i know not whether, since texas has gained its liberty and been incorporated with the united states, any attempt has been made to drain these prairies. and yet, i believe that it would require but a very slight effort to complete the work so intelligently sketched out by nature. it would be sufficient to dig a series of _colmates_, or aqueducts, which would introduce into the trembling prairie the turbid waters of the river, and convey to it the sedimentary matter; and, before all, the vegetation growing on the prairie should not be burnt, as is the unfortunate custom. with these two conditions, a firm, rich, and fertile soil would soon be attained in the line of these slimy and pestilential marshes that poison the air, produce contagious diseases, and cause the death of so many unfortunate travellers, deceived by the luxuriant appearance of these prairies, and who perish miserably, by being swallowed up in their fetid mud. but in america it is not so much land that is wanting as men. probably, the trembling prairies will remain for a long time what they are at the present day, for no one has a really personal interest in draining and getting rid of them. we will now take up our story at the point where we broke it off, begging the reader to forgive us the long digression in which we indulged, but which has its value, we think, in a work intended to make known a country which is destined ere long to assume an important part in the trade of the world. the texan vanguard passed the cross at about nine a.m. it had halted for about twenty minutes and then resumed its march. still, without any apparent motive, after crossing without obstacle the defile of the cerro pardo, instead of advancing in the direction of the river, on the bank of which the stranded boats could already be seen, don felix ordered his cuadrilla to wheel at about two hundred yards from the defile, and formed a front of fifty horses by ten deep. after commanding a halt, he dug his spurs in and returned to the gorge, but on this occasion alone. while galloping, the partisan looked searchingly around him. as far as the eye could see, the road was entirely deserted. don felix halted and bent over his horse's neck, as if wishing to arrange some buckle, but while patting his noble animal he twice repeated the croak of a rook. at once the harsh cry of the puffin rose from the bushes that bordered the right hand side of the road; the branches were then parted--a man appeared--it was colonel don juan melendez de gongora. don felix did not appear at all surprised at seeing him; on the contrary, he advanced hurriedly towards him. "return to your ambush, colonel," he said, "you know that there is an eye in every leaf. if i am seen alone on the road my presence will arouse no suspicions; but you, cuerpo de cristo! you must not be seen. we can converse equally well at a distance, as the ears able to overhear us are those of friends." "you are always prudent, don felix." "i, not at all; i merely wish to avenge myself on those bandits who have plundered so many magnificent haciendas, and hatred renders a man prudent." "whatever be the motive that impels you, it gives you good inspirations, that is the main point. but let us return to our business: what do you want with me?" "merely to know two things." "what are they?" "whether general rubio is really satisfied with the plan i submitted to him?" "you have a proof of it before you; if he were not so, should i be here?" "that is true." "now for the second." "that is of an extremely delicate nature." "ah, ah! you pique my curiosity," the colonel said, laughingly. don felix frowned and lowered his voice, as it were involuntarily. "it is very serious, don juan," he continued; "i wish, before the battle, to know if you have retained towards me that esteem and friendship with which you deigned to honour me at the larch-tree hacienda?" the colonel turned away in embarrassment. "why ask that question at this moment?" he remarked. don felix turned pale and fixed a flashing glance upon him. "answer me, i implore yon, don juan," he said, pressingly. "whatever you may think, whatever opinion you may have of me, i wish to know it; it must be so." "do not press me, i beg, don felix. what can you care for any opinion i may have, which is isolated and unimportant?" "what can i care, do you ask?" he exclaimed, hotly; "but it is, indeed, useless to press you farther, for i know all i wish to know. thank you, don juan, i ask no more. when a man of so noble a character and such a loyal heart as yours condemns the conduct of another man, it is because that conduct is really blameable." "well, be it so; since you absolutely insist, i will explain my views, don felix. yes, i blame but do not condemn you, for i cannot and will not be your judge. don felix, i am internally convinced in my soul and conscience that the man who makes himself, no matter the motive that impels him, the agent of treachery, commits worse than a crime, for he is guilty of an act of cowardice! such a man i can pity, but no longer esteem." the ex-mayor-domo listened to these harsh words with a forehead dripping with perspiration, but with head erect and eye sparkling with a gloomy fire. when the officer stopped he bowed coldly and took the hand which don juan did not attempt to draw from his grasp. "it is well," he said; "your words are rude, but they are true. i thank you for your frankness, don juan; i know now what remains for me to do." the colonel, who had involuntarily allowed his feelings of the moment to carry him away, fancied that he had gone too far, and was alarmed at the consequences of his imprudence. "don felix," he added, "forgive me; i spoke to you like a madman." "come, come, don juan," he replied, with a bitter smile, "do not attempt to recall your words, you were but the echo of my conscience; what you have said aloud my heart has often whispered to me. fear not that i shall let myself be overcome by a passing feeling of passion. no! i am one of those men who, when they have once entered a path, persevere in it at all hazards. but enough of this; i notice a dust, which probably announces our friends," he added, with a poignant irony. "farewell, don juan, farewell." and, not waiting for the answer don juan was preparing to give him, don felix spurred his horse, turned hastily round, and went off as rapidly as he had come. the colonel looked after him for a moment thoughtfully. "alas!" he muttered, "that man is now more unhappy than culpable, or i am greatly mistaken; if he be not killed today it will not be for want of seeking death." he then buried himself again in the chaparral with a melancholy shake of his head. in the meanwhile, the texan army rapidly advanced; like the mexicans, each mounted man had a foot soldier behind him. at about a gunshot from the cross roads, the texans came upon the edge of the trembling prairie; they were consequently obliged to halt in order to call in their flankers, scattered on the right and left, which naturally produced a momentary disorder, promptly repaired, however, by the activity of the chief, then they started again. the order of march was necessarily altered, the path grew narrower at every step, and the cavalry were unable to keep their ranks any longer. however, from the moment of the start, the vanguard had not announced any danger. the army, trusting in the experience of the officer detached to clear the way, marched in perfect security, which was augmented by the hope of speedily reaching the mouth of the rio trinidad, and at once embarking for galveston. the jaguar alone did not share the general confidence: accustomed for a long period to a war of ambushes, the ground he now trod seemed to him so suitable in every way for a surprise, that he could not persuade himself that they would reach the seashore without an attack. in a word, the young chief had an intuition of approaching danger. he guessed it, felt it, so to speak, though he could not tell from what quarter it would come, and suddenly burst on his comrades and himself. there is nothing so terrible as such a situation, where a man is obliged to stand on his defence against space. the desert tranquilly surrounds him on all sides, in vain does he interrogate the air and earth, to find a clue which constantly escapes him, and yet he has in his heart a certainty for which he finds it impossible to account! he can only answer questions with the enigmatical, though strictly logical phrase, "i do not know, and yet i am sure of it." the jaguar resolved, whatever the consequences might be, to avoid personally a surprise, whose results would be disastrous to those he had vowed to protect and defend, that is to say, to tranquil and carmela. gradually slackening the pace of his detachment, he succeeded in leaving a sufficiently wide distance between himself and the main body, to regain almost entirely his liberty of action. his first care was to collect round the cart the men in whom he placed most confidence. then selecting those of his comrades whom he supposed most conversant with indian tricks, he placed them under the command of john davis, with orders to force their way, as well as they could, through the chaparral that skirted both sides of the track, and enclosed it so completely, that it was impossible to see anything beyond. it could not enter the jaguar's mind that the mexicans would not profit by the opportunity offered them by the imprudence of the texans, to try and take their revenge for the defeats they had suffered. in this view he was entirely supported by davis, who, it will be remembered, had urgently, though vainly, begged the commander-in-chief to give up his plan. the two men, who had been so long acquainted, understood each other at the first word, and john davis immediately spread out his men, as a forlorn hope, on either side of the road. the jaguar proceeded to the cart after this, and addressed the hunter. "well, tranquil," he said to him, "how do you find yourself?" "better," the other answered; "i hope within a few days to be sufficiently recovered to give up this wearisome position." "and your strength?" "is rapidly returning." "all the better. would you be capable of firing in your own defence, without leaving the cart?" "i think so. but do you fear any trap? the spot where we now are, appears most favourable for it." "does it not! well, you have spoken the truth, i fear an ambuscade. here is a rifle, and if needs must, make use of it." "trust to me. thanks," he added, as he clutched the weapon with a delight he did not attempt to conceal. the jaguar then placed himself at the head of his troop, and gave orders to set out again. long before this, the main body of the army had passed the cross, the heads of the columns were already entering the defile, a movement which, owing to the narrowness, produced some disorder the leaders were trying to repress, when suddenly a shower of canister burst from the cerro pardo, and made wide gaps in the crowded ranks of the texans. at the same instant a terrible, shout was heard from the other end of the gorge, and don felix paz' cuadrilla appeared galloping at full speed toward the main body. at the first moment the texans had to make way for these horsemen, whom they supposed to be closely pursued by a still invisible enemy; but their surprise changed into terror and stupor when they saw this vanguard dash at them and mercilessly sabre them with shouts of "mejico! mejico! federación!" the texans were betrayed! suffering from a terror that almost attained to madness, unable to form in this limited spot, decimated by the canister incessantly discharged at them, and sabred by don felix' cuadrilla, they had but one thought--that of flight. but at the moment when they tried to turn, the terrible cry of "mejico! mejico! mueran los rebeldes!" resounded like a funeral knell in their rear, and colonel melendez, at the head of his five hundred horses, dashed at the texans, who were thus caught between two fires. the medley then assumed the fearful proportions of one of those mediæval butcheries in which man, having attained the paroxysm of fury, intoxicated by the sharp smell of blood, the powder, smoke, and the din of battle, kills for the sake of killing with the pleasure of a wild beast, growing excited by the massacre of every victim that falls, and far from satiating his hatred, finds it increase in proportion to the corpses piled up on the blood-stained ground. flight was impossible, and resistance seemed the same. at this supreme hour, when all appeared lost and the cause of liberty was about to be eternally buried under the pile of corpses, an irresistible movement suddenly took place in the terrified crowd, which opened like a ripe fruit through the bloody track thus made by main force. the jaguar now dashed forward, splendid in his wrath and despair, brandishing his machete above his head, and followed by his brave cuadrilla. a cry of delight saluted the arrival of the daring freebooter, who had been obliged to cut his way through colonel melendez' mexicans, as they vainly strove to stop his passage. "my lads!" the jaguar shouted, in a voice that rose above the din of battle, "we are surrounded by the enemy, and have been betrayed and led into a trap by a coward. let us show these mexicans, who believe us already conquered, and are congratulating themselves on their easy victory, what men like ourselves are capable of. follow me--forward! forward!" "forward!" the texans vociferated, electrified by these daring words. the jaguar made his horse bound, and dashed at the side of the mountain. his military instinct had not deserted him, for that was, in fact, the key of the battle. the texans rushed after him, brandishing their weapons and uttering yells of fury. but at this moment the troops of general rubio made their appearance, who had hitherto remained ambushed behind the trees and bushes; they crowned the heights, lined the sides of the road, and the fight began again more terrible and obstinate than before. the efforts were useless; the texans returned eight times to the assault of the cerro pardo, and eight times were driven back in disorder to the foot of the mountain, which they were unable to scale. in vain did the jaguar, davis, fray antonio, el alferez, and the other chiefs perform prodigies of valour; the mexican bullets decimated their soldiers, who at length growing discouraged, refused any longer to continue an impossible contest. the commander-in-chief of the army, who by his imprudence had caused this grave disaster, resolved to make a final and supreme effort. collecting around him all the willing men who still attempted resistance, he formed them into a column of attack, and dashed like a whirlwind at the mexican guns, the artillerymen of which were cut down without yielding an inch. surprised by this sudden and furious charge, the mexicans broke and abandoned the battery; this audacious attempt might change the issue of the battle. already the texans, who were almost masters of the plateau, were preparing to take advantage of this fortuitous and unhoped-for success; but unfortunately, the revolutionary army, nearly entirely demoralized, did not support with the necessary vigour the heroic effort of these few chosen braves; the mexicans had time to recover from their surprise and compare their strength with that of their foes. ashamed at the check they had suffered, they rushed upon the enemy, and after a frightful hand-to-hand fight, they succeeded in driving the texans from the plateau at the moment when the latter formed hopes of holding it. colonel melendez and don felix paz had at length effected their junction; the texans had not even the possibility of flight left them, but the jaguar did not yet despair; still, since he could no longer conquer, he would at least save carmela. but between her and him stood a human wall, through which he must clear a road. the young man did not hesitate; turning like a wounded lion, he bounded into the midst of the enemy's ranks, summoning his comrades, and waving round his head the terrible machete he had employed so well during the action. a man boldly rushed to meet him with uplifted sabre. "ah! the traitor don felix!" the jaguar shouted, on recognising him, and split his skull open. then he rushed like an avalanche down the mountain side, overthrowing every one he came across; and followed by a few of his most devoted companions, the ranks of the mexicans opened to let them pass. "thanks, brother," the jaguar shouted with considerable emotion to colonel melendez, who had given his soldiers a sign to let him pass. the colonel turned away and made no answer. the carnage lasted a long time yet, as the texans would not accept quarter. six hundred texans fell into the hands of the victors, while eight hundred found death on the field of battle. the same evening general rubio re-entered galveston at the head of his victorious army; the insurrectionists fled in terror in all directions, without hope of ever again collecting. the cause of texan liberty seemed lost for a long time, if not for ever. the jaguar, on reaching the cross roads, found the cart smashed, and most of its defenders lying dead on the ground. singular to say, they had all been scalped. tranquil, quoniam, carmela, and lanzi had disappeared. what terrible drama could have been performed at this spot? chapter vii. the atepetl. texas is intersected by two lines of continuous forests, which run from the north, near the sources of the rio trinidad to the arkansas river. these forests are called the "cross timbers;" behind them commence the immense prairies of apacheria, on which countless herds of buffaloes and wild horses wander about at liberty. in the centre of a narrow valley, enclosed on three sides by the denuded and serrated crests of the mountains--and on the banks of the rio sabina, a little above its confluence with the vermejo, where it still flows wide and transparent between undulating banks, bordered by clumps of cotton-wood trees and dwarf palms--an indian village was deliciously scattered among the trees. the latter formed a dense dome of foliage over the callis, which they sheltered from the hot beams of the southern sun, and protected from the cold gusts which at times descend from the mountains in the winter season. this village was a winter atepetl of the comanche indians, belonging to the antelope tribe. we will describe in a few words this village, where several important scenes connected with our narrative will take place. although, built to the fancy of the redskins, the callis affected a certain regularity of construction, as they all converged on a common point, which formed a species of grand square in the heart of the village. in the centre of this square could be seen a large unhooped barrel, deeply buried in the ground, and covered with lichens and stonecrop. it was the "ark of the first man." it was here that the war stake was planted before the great medicine lodge; and here, under grave circumstances, the sachems lit the council fire, and smoked the sacred calumet ordinarily placed before the entrance of the calli of the chief sachem, and supported on two forked sticks, as it must never touch the ground. the indian callis are generally constructed in a spherical shape, built on piles covered with mud, over which buffalo hides sewn together, and displaying numerous pictures of animals painted in vermilion, are thrown. on a scaffolding standing in front of the calli, indian corn, forage for the horses, and the winter provisions of each inhabitant were stored. at intervals could be seen tall poles, from which waved, at the slightest breath of air, blankets, harness, and fragments of stuffs of every description, the homage raised by the superstitious redskins to the master of life, a species of _ex voto_ torn from them by their fears, and named the "medicine of hope." the village, excepting on the side turned to the sabina river, was surrounded by a strong palisade about fifteen feet high, made of enormous trunks of trees, fastened together with strips of bark and wooden cramp hooks. at about five or, six hundred yards from the atepetl was the cemetery, the exhalations from which, by disagreeably affecting the traveller's sense of smell, advised him that he was approaching an indian tribe. the natives of america, like most of those in polynesia, have a very singular mode of burial. as a general rule, they do not inter their dead, but suspend them between earth and sky. after wrapping them carefully in blankets and buffalo robes, they place them on platforms supported on four poles some fifty feet high, and leave them exposed to the rain and sun to decompose gradually. the birds of prey incessantly hover over these strange tombs, uttering shrill and discordant cries, while making a disgusting meal on the putrefying flesh. two months after the battle of the cerro pardo, on the day when we resume our narrative, and about an hour before sunset, on a delicious afternoon of september,--which the indians call the moon of the wild oats--several riders, mounted on fiery mustangs, harnessed in the desert fashion, that is to say, painted of several colours, and adorned with plumes and bells, were following, while conversing together rather eagerly, a winding path, which runs for several leagues along the winding course of the rio sabina, and terminates at the winter atepetl of the antelope comanches, which we described at the beginning of this chapter. these horsemen, five in number, were armed with rifles, tomahawks, and machetes. they wore the cotton hunting shirt of the wood rangers fastened round the waist, _mitasses_, or trousers, in two pieces tied at the ankles, fur caps, and indian mocassins. still, although this costume was almost identical with that worn by the majority of the indian tribes, in whom constant contact with the americans has produced a sort of bastard civilization, it was easy to recognise these riders as white men, not only through the ease of their manners, but also through the clearness of their complexion, which the hot sunbeams had been impotent to render so dusky as that of the aboriginals. about two hundred yards behind the horsemen, came a sixth, mounted and dressed like them, but who was assuredly a redskin. his head, instead of being covered by a fur cap, was bare; his hair, pulled up at the top of his head, and stained with red ochre, was fastened with strips of snakeskin; a falcon feather stuck in above his right ear, near his war-scalp lock, indicated his claim to high rank among his countrymen, while the numerous wolf tails fastened to his heels, proved that he was a renowned warrior; in his right hand he held a fan made of the entire wing of an eagle, and in his left he waved the short-handled and long-lashed whip, peculiar to the comanche and sioux indians. these riders employed none of the precautions usual on the prairie to avoid surprises, or foil the enemies generally ambushed in the track of hunters. from the way in which they conversed together, and the absent glances they at times took across the country, rather through habit than any prudential motive, it might easily be guessed that these men were reaching a spot perfectly well known to them, and where they felt certain of not falling into a trap. still, had they not been absorbed in their conversation, and could their glances have pierced the dense curtain of verdure that formed a fragrant wall on their right, they would have seen amid the shrubs and lower branches of the trees an agitation not at all natural, and doubtless produced by the passage of a wild beast; at times, too, they might have noticed two eyes flashing among the leaves, which were fixed upon them with a savage expression of passion and hatred. but, we repeat, these men, who, however, were wood rangers, renowned in these parts for their almost miraculous sagacity and skill, were so completely absorbed in their conversation; they felt so sure of having no snare to apprehend, their eyes and ears were so thoroughly closed, that they appeared blind and deaf, although ordinarily not the slightest noise, or the most futile object escaped their notice, but was analyzed with the searching and investigating spirit of individuals whose life may hang on a false step or a badly calculated movement. on coming within pistol shot of the village, the horsemen stopped to give the indian behind them time to rejoin them. so soon as the latter perceived this halt, he whipped his horse, and almost immediately ranged up alongside his comrades. he stopped his horse, and waited silently and calmly till he should be addressed. "what are we to do now, chief?" one of the travellers asked. "so soon as we have passed that projecting point we shall be at the valley." "our pale brothers are brave; the antelope comanches will be happy to receive them and burn powder in their honour. a chief will go alone to the village to announce their arrival to the sachems." "go then, chief, we will await you here." "wah! my brother has spoken well." the indian vigorously lashed his horse, which bounded ahead and speedily disappeared behind the peak to which the hunter had pointed. the horsemen drew up in line and waited motionless with their hands on their weapons. in a very few minutes a noise was heard resembling the rolling of thunder, and suddenly a crowd of mounted indians appeared, coming up at full speed, brandishing their weapons, discharging their guns, howling and whistling in the long _iskochéttas_ made of human thigh bones, which they wore hanging from their necks. on their side, the hunters, at a sign from the man who appeared to be their leader, made their horses curvet, and discharged their weapons with repeated shouts and demonstrations of joy. for half an hour there was a deafening noise, augmented by the yells of the squaws and children who flocked up, blowing shells and rattling _chichikouès_, and the barking of the thousands of savage and half-tamed dogs which the indians constantly take about with them. it was plain that the strangers to whom the redskins, generally so haughty and retiring, offered so warm and friendly a reception, were great friends of the tribe; for, had it been otherwise, a deputation of chiefs would have met them at the entrance of the village to do them the honours of the atepetl, but the brave and renowned warriors would not have thought it requisite to get under arms. all at once the noise ceased as if by enchantment, and the indian horsemen ranged themselves in a semicircle in front of the white hunters. a few paces before the line, four principal chiefs, mounted on magnificent mustangs, formed a separate group. these warriors, completely armed and painted for war, wore the great cap of feathers which only renowned warriors who have raised many scalps are entitled to assume; their shoulders were decked with superb necklaces of grizzly bears' claws, five inches long and white at the tips; behind them floated the wide white buffalo robe, painted red inside, and on which their exploits were designed; in one hand they held their guns, in the other a fan made of the wing of a white-headed eagle. these indian warriors, clothed in such a magnificent costume, had something majestic and imposing about them that inspired respect. for some ten minutes the indians and hunters stood thus, motionless and silent, in presence of each other, when suddenly a fresh horseman appeared, coming at full speed from the village. he was evidently a white man; he was dressed in the garb of a wood ranger, and two magnificent _rastreros_, or greyhounds, leaped up playfully on either side of his horse. at the appearance of the newcomer the indians burst into yells of joy, and shouted-- "the great brave of the antelope comanches! loyal heart, loyal heart!" the warrior was really the mexican hunter, who has already made his appearance several times during the course of our narrative. he saluted the warriors by a wave of the hand, and took his place among the chiefs, who respectfully made way for him. "my brother black-deer has informed me of the arrival of great friends of our nation," he said, "and i have hurried up in all haste to witness their reception and bid them welcome." "why has not the black-deer accompanied our brother the great brave of the tribe?" one of the chiefs asked. "the sachem wished to remain in the village and watch the preparation of the medicine lodge." the chief bowed, but said nothing further. loyal heart then put his horse at a gallop and advanced toward the hunters, who, on their sides, made a move to meet him. "you are welcome here, tranquil," loyal heart said; "yourself and your comrades were impatiently expected." "thank you," tranquil answered, pressing the hand the hunter offered him; "many events have happened since our separation, and it certainly did not depend on us that we did not arrive sooner." the five white hunters were all old acquaintances--tranquil, lanzi, quoniam, john davis, and fray antonio. how was it that the american and the monk had joined the three wood rangers! we shall explain that to the reader in the proper place. loyal heart took tranquil's right hand, and both advanced at an amble towards the chiefs. "sachems of the antelope tribe," he said, "this pale hunter is my brother; his heart is good, his arm strong, and his tongue is not forked; he loves the red men; he is renowned as a great brave in his nation, he is wise at the council fire; love him, for the master of life sustains him and has removed the skin from his heart, in order that his blood may be pure and the words he utters such as a wise warrior ought to pronounce." "wah!" one of the sachems answered, with a graceful bow to the hunter; "the comanches are great warriors; who can tell the extent of the hunting grounds the great spirit has given them? they are the masters of the red man because they are all great braves, whose heels are adorned with numerous wolf tails. my pale brother and his warriors will enter the atepetl; they will receive callis, horses, and squaws to clean their arms and prepare their food, and the tribe of antelope comanches will count five braves more. i have spoken; have i said right, powerful chiefs?" "chief," tranquil replied, "i thank you for the hearty reception you are pleased to offer me. my brother, loyal heart, has told you the truth about my feelings towards your nation. i love the red men, and especially the comanches, who, of all the nations dwelling on the prairies, are the noblest and most courageous, and rightly call themselves the queen nation of the prairies, because their war horses and braves traverse it in all directions, and no one dares to oppose them. in my own name and that of my comrades i accept your frank and cordial hospitality, and we shall requite so great a favour by our wise and moderate conduct." the principal sachem then took off his buffalo robe, with a gesture full of dignity, and placed it on the shoulders of the hunter, while the other chiefs did the same to his comrades. "warriors and braves of the powerful antelope tribe," he said, turning to the indians, who were still motionless and silent, "these palefaces are henceforth our brothers. woe to the man who insults them!" at these words the shouts and yells recommenced with fresh vigour, and the indians displayed signs of the liveliest joy. possibly this joy was not so real as it appeared, and was not equally shared by all present. but those who might feel annoyed at the admission of the wood rangers into the tribe, carefully concealed their displeasure, and were, perhaps, the very men whose demonstrations of delight were the most vociferous. indian policy, very logical in this as in many other things, orders the natives to seek at any price an alliance with the whites, whose recognized skill in the management of arms, and profound knowledge of the manners of their countrymen, may at a given moment be of great service to the indians, either in the interminable wars they wage against each other, or to defend them against the soldiers, _civicos_, and armed colonists, whom the civilized governments surrounding them frequently send to take vengeance for incursions on the territories of the white men, incursions in which the indians indulge only too frequently, and during which they are guilty of deeds of unheard-of cruelty, and cause irreparable misfortunes. after the final ceremony we have described, the indian sachems took the white hunters in their midst, and placing themselves at the head of their warriors, started at a gallop for the village, which they reached in less than a quarter of an hour. at the entrance black-deer was waiting for them, surrounded by the most important and wisest sachems of the tribe. without uttering a syllable, he took the head of the column and led it to the centre of the village, near the ark of the first man. on reaching it the indians suddenly halted, as if the feet of their horses were imbedded in the ground. black-deer then stationed himself at the doorway of the medicine lodge, between the hachesto, who held in his hand the totem of the tribe, and the pipe bearer, who supported the sacred calumet. "who are the pale men who thus enter as friends the atepetl of the antelope comanches?" he asked, addressing loyal heart. "they are brothers, who ask leave to sit by the hearth of the red men," the latter answered. "it is well," black-deer continued; "these men are our brothers. the council fire is lighted; they will enter with us the lodge of the great medicine, sit down by the fire and smoke _morichee_ from the sacred calumet with the sachems of the nation." "let it be as my brother has decided," loyal heart responded. black-deer gave a wave of the hand, upon which the hachesto raised the curtained door of the lodge, and the chiefs entered, followed by the hunters. the medicine lodge, much larger than the other callis of the village, was also built with greater care. the buffalo skins that covered it entirely were painted red with a profusion of black designs, a species of sacred hieroglyphics, only understood by the medicine men and the most renowned sachems of the tribe, who possessed the scent of the war trail. the interior of the lodge was perfectly empty. in the centre was a round hole dug in the earth to a depth of about two feet; in this hole the requisite wood and charcoal were prepared. when all the chiefs had entered the lodge, the hachesto let the curtain fall again that formed the entrance. a band of picked warriors immediately surrounded the lodge to keep off the curious, and insure the secrecy of the deliberations. the indians are excessively strict about the laws of etiquette; with them everything is regulated with a minuteness we should be far from expecting among a semi-barbarous nation; and each is bound by the severest penalties to conform to the ceremonial. in order to make our readers thoroughly understand their strange manners, we thought it best to give them in their fullest detail. thus black-deer was perfectly well aware who the palefaces were that reached the village, since he had acted as their guide. but etiquette demanded that he should receive them as he had done, for otherwise the other chiefs might have been scandalized by such a breach of custom, and the strangers would, in all probability, have questions to discuss. in the first place, it was proposed to organise a great expedition against the buffalo apaches, a plundering tribe, who had several times stolen horses from the very villages of the comanches, and on whom the sachems desired to take exemplary revenge. secondly, tranquil, through the medium of loyal heart, whose influence was great with the tribe, requested that a band of picked braves, amounting to fifty, and placed under the command of loyal heart, should be entrusted to him for an expedition, the object of which he could not divulge at the moment, but its success would benefit his allies as much as himself. the first question was, after several speeches, unanimously resolved in the affirmative. the council was proceeding to discuss the second, when a loud noise was heard outside, the curtain of the medicine lodge was raised, and the hachesto walked in. let us shortly explain what the hachesto of an indian village is, and the nature of his duties. the hachesto is a man who must be gifted with a loud and powerful voice. he represents among the redskins the town crier, and his duty is to make news public, and convene the chiefs to council. when he made his appearance in the lodge, black-deer gave him an angry glance. "when the chiefs are assembled in the medicine lodge, they must not be disturbed," he said to him. "my father, wah-rush-a-menec, speaks well," the indian answered with a respectful bow; "his son knows it." "then, why has my son entered without the orders of the sachems?" "because five warriors of the buffalo apaches have arrived at the village." "wah! and who is the brave that has made them prisoners? why has he not taken their scalps? does he prefer fastening them to the stake of torture?" the hachesto shook his head. "my father is mistaken," he said; "these warriors have not been made prisoners by any of our braves, they are free." "ooehst!" said black-deer with a degree of surprise he could not entirely conceal; "how then did they enter the village?" "openly, in the sight of all; they call themselves ambassadors." "ambassadors! and who is the chief that marches at their head?" "blue-fox." "blue-fox is a great brave. he is a terrible warrior in fight; his arm has raised many scalps belonging to my sons; his hand has robbed them of many horses. but his presence is disagreeable to the comanches. what does he want?" "to enter the medicine lodge, and explain to the sachems the mission with which he is entrusted." "it is well," said black-deer, giving an enquiring glance to the members of the council. the latter replied by a nod of assent. loyal heart rose-- "my pale brothers, i must not be present at the deliberation that is about to take place," he remarked; "will the chief permit me to retire?" "loyal heart is a son of the comanches," black-deer answered; "his place is among us, for, if he be young in years, his experience and wisdom are great. but he can do as he pleases--the pale hunters can retire. if the chiefs require loyal heart, they will request his return." the young man bowed ceremoniously, and withdrew, followed by the hunters, who, we must confess, were delighted at getting away from the medicine lodge, for they felt the need of rest after the fatigue they had undergone in making a long journey by almost impracticable roads. chapter viii. hospitality. we have said that some callis had been got ready for the hunters. these callis, built like those of the indians, were, however, comfortable enough for men who, accustomed to desert life, despise the superfluities of towns, and are contented with what is strictly necessary. on quitting the medicine lodge, loyal heart led the travellers to two callis communicating with each other; then, making tranquil a sign to follow him, he left the four hunters to make themselves as jolly as they could. "as for you, my friend," he said to tigrero, "i hope you will accept the hospitality my modest abode permits me to offer you." "why put yourself to trouble for me?" the canadian replied, "the slightest thing suffices me. i assure you that i should be all right with my comrades." "i do not put myself out at all; on the contrary, i feel a real pleasure in giving you a place at my fireside." "as it is so, i no longer insist: do what you please with me." "thanks! come on then." without further remark, they crossed the village square, which was almost deserted at this moment, for night had fallen some time previously, and most of the indians had retired to their wigwams. still, from the interior of the callis, songs and laughter could be heard, proving that if the inhabitants had shut themselves up, they were not the less awake for all that. we will remark in passing, that many travellers who have only seen indians, and have not been in a position to study their character, represent them as gloomy, mournful men, speaking but little, and never laughing. this is a grave error; the redskins, on the contrary, are generally very jovial when together, and are specially fond of telling stories. but with the strangers, whose language they do not understand, and who do not understand theirs, they maintain a reserve, and only speak when absolutely compelled, because, as they are extremely susceptible, they fear giving their listeners an opportunity of ridiculing them. loyal heart, after walking for some minutes through the streets, stopped before a calli of sufficiently singular appearance to surprise tranquil, although he was not easily astonished. this calli, which anywhere else would have been quite commonplace, justly appeared strange in an indian village. it was a rather large rancho, built in the mexican fashion, of planks painted of a dazzling whiteness. it formed a parallelogram, the roof was flat, and in front of the door was a porch formed of six enormous trees fastened together, and covered with an azotea. on either side the door, three windows were pierced in the frontage, and these windows had glass panes, a most singular thing at a spot so remote from all towns. a man of about fifty years of age, tall and thin, and dressed in the mexican garb, was smoking a cigarette as he sat on an equipal in the porch. this man, whose hair was turning grey, had the placid though resolute look of men who have suffered greatly. on seeing him, the rastreros, which hitherto had not left loyal heart a yard, rushed toward him with a joyous bark, and leaped up at him caressingly. "ah," the man said, as he rose and bowed respectfully to the hunter, "it is you, mi amo! you return home very late." these words were uttered in that affectionate tone which is so pleasing in the mouth of an old and faithful servant. "that is true, no eusebio," the young man answered with a smile, as he squeezed the hand of the old man, whom those of our readers who have perused the "trappers of arkansas" have doubtless recognised, "i bring a friend." "he is welcome," no eusebio answered; "we will try to give him as hearty a welcome as he deserves, to the best of our ability." "oh, oh, gossip!" tranquil remarked, gaily; "i am no troublesome guest, i shall not put you out of your way much." "come in, my friend," said loyal heart; "i should not like to keep my mother waiting any longer." "the señora is so restless when you are out late." "announce us; no eusebio, we follow you." the servant turned to obey, but the rastreros had long ago announced the hunter's return to his mother, by rushing madly into the house, hence the lady appeared in the doorway at the moment when the three men prepared to enter. at the moment when we meet doña garillas again, she was no longer the young and charming woman, with such pure and soft beauty, whom we saw in the prologue of the "trappers;" eight years had pasted over her; eight long years of agony, alarm, and grief. she was still young and lovely, it is true, but this beauty had ripened beneath the burning blast of adversity. her pale forehead and calm features won that expression of crushing resignation which the old sculptor succeeded in rendering on the admirable bust of melancholy. when she saw her son her eyes sparkled, but that was all. "caballero," she said, in a gentle and melodious voice as she smiled on the canadian, "enter this modest abode, where you have been impatiently expected for a long time. although our hearth be small, we always keep a nook for a friend." "señora," the hunter replied with a bow, "your reception overcomes me with joy. i trust i shall prove deserving of the kindness you show me." they entered the rancho, whose interior corresponded exactly with the exterior. a candil, suspended from a beam, illumined a rather large room, the furniture of which consisted merely of a few equipals, two butacas, and a chiffonier, all clumsily made with the hatchet. on the white-washed walls hung four of those coloured engravings with which parisian commerce inundates both hemispheres. the first represented napoleon at the st. bernard; the second, iturbide, that mexican general who was for six months emperor, and died, like murat, shot by his own subjects; the third, our saviour on the cross between the two thieves; and the fourth, nuestra-señora-de-los-dolores. before the last two hung lamps that burned night and day. during our lengthened wanderings we have been enabled to discover a singular fact; it is, that in asia, america, africa, and the heart of polynesia, among the most savage tribes the name of napoleon the first has not only penetrated, but is venerated like a god; and i even found his portrait among the botocudos, that untameable horde hidden in the forests of brazil. what is the magic influence exerted on humanity by this extraordinary man? it is vain to seek the solution of this problem, vain to try to discover by what remarkable concourse of events the name of the great emperor penetrated beneath the grand domes of foliage, where all the rumours of civilization expire without an echo. a european rarely visits an indian tribe in which the chiefs do not ask him news of napoleon, and beg him to tell anecdotes about his reign; and strangely enough, their primitive natures will not allow that the great man is dead. when told so, the chiefs content themselves with smiling cunningly. one day, after a lengthened hunt in apacheria, i demanded hospitality of a party of opata indians. the chief, on hearing that i was a frenchman, did not fail to speak to me about the emperor. after a long conversation, i concluded by describing, in a way that the men who surrounded and listened to me with the most profound attention could understand, the death of the great man after long and painful sufferings. the chief, an old man of venerable appearance, interrupted me, and laying his left hand on my arm to attract my attention, while with the right he pointed to the sun, whose fiery disc was sinking in the horizon in clouds of vapour, asked me with a most significant smile-- "is the sun about to die?" "certainly not," i answered, not knowing what the redskin was driving at. "wah!" he continued, "if the sun never dies, how can the great pale chief be dead, who is the son of that planet?" the indians applauded this conclusion; i tried to alter their opinion in vain, and at length grew so tired, that i allowed them to be right. all my efforts had only produced the result of convincing them still more of the immortality of the hero whom they are accustomed to regard as a divinity. however, i believe that if a person would take the trouble to seek carefully, he would find in france peasants whose opinion is precisely similar. asking the reader's pardon for this long digression, we will resume our narrative at the point where we interrupted it. by the care of doña garillas and no eusebio, a frugal meal was prepared for the travellers, who now sate down to table. tranquil, especially, who had made a long journey, experienced that feeling of internal comfort which is produced after long fatigue, by finding, during a desert halt, a fugitive reflex of civilisation. the meal was most simple; it consisted of pigoles with pimento, a lump of venison, and maize tortillas, the whole washed down with smilax water and a few mouthfuls of pulque, a wonderful luxury in these regions, and among the comanches, the only indians who never drink strong liquors. no eusebio sate down with the hunter. the lady waited on them, and did the honours of her house with that kindly and graceful attention so rarely met with in our civilized countries, where everything is so expensive, even a kind reception. when the meal was ended, which was not long first, the three men rose from table and seated themselves round a copper brasero full of hot ashes, when they began smoking. the dogs, like vigilant sentries, had lain down across the door, with outstretched heads and pricked-up ears. the greatest silence prevailed in the village; the songs and laughter had gradually died out; the indians were asleep or appeared to be so. doña garillas had made in the corner of the room a bed of furs, which would seem delicious to a man accustomed, during the course of his adventurous life, to sleep most nights on the bare ground, and she was about to invite the hunter to rest his weary limbs, when the dogs raised their heads sharply and began growling; at the same instant, two slight taps were given on the door of the rancho. "tis a friend," loyal heart said; "open, no eusebio." the old servant obeyed, and an indian stalked in; it was black-deer. the chiefs face was gloomy; he bowed slightly to the company, and, without saying a syllable, sat down on an equipal placed for him near the brasero. the hunters were too conversant with the indian character to question the chief, so long as he was pleased to keep silence. tranquil, however, drew his pipe from his lips, and handed it to black-deer, who began smoking, after thanking him with one of those emphatic gestures usual with the redskins. there was a long silence, but at last the chief raised his head. "the chiefs have left the council lodge," he said. "ah!" loyal heart replied, for the sake of saying something. "no determination was formed, no answer given the envoy?" "the sachems are prudent, they wished to reflect." the sachem nodded in affirmation, "does my brother loyal heart wish to learn what happened at the council after his departure?" he asked. "my brother is thoughtful, his heart is sad; let him speak, the ears of a friend are open." "the chief will eat first," doña garillas remarked, "he remained late at the council; the squaws have not prepared his evening meal." "my mother is good," he replied with a smile, "black-deer will eat; he is here in the wigwam of the brother of his heart: the warriors have exchanged horses and weapons." who taught the indians this affecting custom, which makes them select a friend, with whom they exchange arms and horses, and who, from that moment, is dearer to them than if blood ties attached them? black-deer and loyal heart had really made the exchange referred to by the sachem. "my mother will retire to sleep," said loyal heart. "i will wait on my brother." "be it so," the redskin answered; "my mother needs rest--the night is advanced." doña garillas understood that the three men had to talk about secret affairs, so, after bidding her guests good-night, she withdrew without offering any objection. as for no eusebio, considering his presence unnecessary, he went to bed after the indian's arrival, that is to say, lay down on a hammock, suspended in the porch of the house, with the two rastreros at his feet, so that no one could enter or leave the house without awakening him. after hurriedly eating a few mouthfuls, rather through politeness than want, black-deer spoke again. "my brother loyal heart is young," he said, "but his wisdom is great; the chiefs have confidence in him, and would not decide anything till they had heard his opinion." "my brothers know that i am devoted to them. if my brother will explain, i will answer him." "blue fox arrived at the village today." "i saw him." "good; he came on the part of the chiefs of his nation; blue-fox has put on the skin of the timid asshatas, his words are gentle and his mouth distils honey; but the buffalo cannot leap like the elk, or the hawk imitate the dove. the chiefs did not put faith in his words." "then they answered him in the negative?" "no, they wished first to consult my brother." "wah! on what subject?" "my brother will listen. the palefaces on the other side of the meche-chebe dug up the war hatchet against each other some moons ago, as my brother is aware." "i know it, chief and so do you. but how does it concern us? a quarrel among the whites cannot affect us in any way. so long as they do not invade our hunting grounds, do not steal our horses or burn our villages, we can only congratulate ourselves at seeing them destroy each other." "my brother speaks like a wise man; the sachems are of the same opinion." "good; i cannot understand, then, what reason can have determined the chiefs to discuss such a subject." "wah! my brother can speedily understand if he will listen." "chief, you redskins have an unhappy knack of wrapping up your thoughts in so many words, that it is impossible to guess the point you are aiming at." black-deer broke into that silent laugh peculiar to indians. "my brother knows how to discover a trail better than anyone," he said. "certainly; but to do so i must be shown a footstep or trace, however feeble it may be." "and my brother has discovered the trail, which i merely indicated to him?" "yes." "oh! i should be curious to know my brother's thoughts." "then, listen to me in your turn, black-deer--i shall be brief. blue fox was sent by the buffalo apaches to the antelope comanches to propose to them an offensive and defensive alliance against one of the two nations of the palefaces which have dug up the hatchet against each other." in spite of all the phlegm which nature and indian training had endowed him with, the chief could not conceal the amazement he experienced on hearing these words. "it is well," he said; "my brother is not only a great, brave, and daring warrior, but is also a man inspired by the wacondah. his medicine is irresistible, he knows everything. blue fox made this proposition to the sachems." "and have they accepted it?" "no; i repeat to my brother that they would not give any answer till they heard his opinion." "very good, then. this is my opinion, and the chiefs can follow it or not, as they please. the comanches nation are the queen of the prairies; the most invincible warriors assemble beneath its totem; its hunting ground extends over the whole earth; the comanches alone are indomitable. why should they ally themselves with the apache thieves? are they desirous of exchanging their lances and guns for weavers' shuttles? are they tired of being redoubtable warriors? do they wish to put on women's petticoats? why should they league with their most obstinate enemies against men who are fighting to obtain their liberty? blue fox is a renegade from the snake-pawnees; my brother knows him, since he is his personal enemy. any peace proposed by such an ambassador must conceal a trap; sooner war than such an alliance." there was a rather lengthened silence, during which the chief reflected deeply on what he had just heard. "my brother is right," he said at last; "wisdom resides in him, his tongue is not forked, the words he utters are inspired by the wacondah! the comanches will not treat with the plundering apaches. the council has asked for three suns to reflect on this grave question; in three suns blue fox will return with a categorical refusal to those who sent him. the comanches will dig up the war hatchet sooner than ally themselves with their enemies." "my brothers, if they do that, will act like wise men." "they will do it. i have now to speak to my brother on a matter that interests me personally." "good. sleep does not yet weigh down my eyelids, so i will listen to my brother. "loyal heart is a friend of blackbird," the chief continued, with some hesitation. the hunter smiled knowingly. "blackbird is one of the most renowned braves of the tribe," he answered; "his daughter, bounding fawn, will count fourteen autumns at the fall of the leaves." "black-deer loves bounding fawn." "i know it; my brother has already confessed to me that the virgin of the first love placed, during his sleep, a four-leaved shamrock under his head. but has the chief assured himself as to bounding fawn's feelings?" "the young virgin smiles when the chief returns from an expedition with scalps hanging from his girdle; she trembles when he departs; she feeds his horse in secret, and her greatest pleasure is to clean his weapons. when the maidens of the tribe dance at night to the sound of the drum and chichikouè, bounding fawn gazes thoughtfully in the direction of black-deer's calli, and forgets to dance with her companions." "good! and does the maiden recognise the sound of my brother's war whistle, and run joyfully to the meeting the chief grants her? tonight, for instance, were the chief to call her, would she rise from her bed to obey his summons?" "she would rise," the chief answered, laconically. "good! now, what does the chief wish to ask of me? blackbird is rich." "black-deer will give six mares which have never felt a bit, two guns, and four hides of the white she-buffalo; tomorrow the chief's mother will give them to my brother." "good. and does my brother intend to carry off the woman he loves this night?" "black-deer suffers from being so long separated from her; since the death of his well-beloved wife, singing-bird, the chief's calli is solitary. bounding fawn will prepare the venison for the chief; what does my brother think of it?" "my horse is ready; if my brother say yes, i will accompany him, if it be that he desires, as i suppose." "loyal heart knows everything; nothing escapes his discernment." "let us go without loss of time. will you accompany us, tranquil? two witnesses are required, as you are aware." "i wish for nothing better, if my presence be not disagreeable to the chief." "on the contrary; the pale hunter is a great brave. i shall be pleased to know that he is by my side." the three men rose and quitted the house. no eusebio raised his head. "we shall return in an hour," loyal heart said, as he passed. the old servant made no objection, and fell back in his hammock. the chief's horse was tied up near the rancho; he leaped into the saddle and waited for the two hunters, who had gone to fetch theirs from the corral. in a few minutes they arrived. the three men slowly traversed the village, whose streets were completely deserted at this late hour of the night. at times, however, dogs got up as they passed, and barked furiously after their horses' heels. like all the winter villages, this one was carefully guarded. numerous sentries, placed at different points, watched over the common safety; but, either that they recognised the three horsemen, or for some other motive, they did not challenge, but allowed them to pass apparently unnoticed. after leaving the village, black-deer, who rode in front, made a sharp turn to the right, and the horsemen almost immediately disappeared in a thick chaparral, where men and horses concealed themselves with the utmost care. the night was magnificent, the sky studded with a profusion of glistening stars; the moon shed a pale and soft light, which, owing to the purity of the atmosphere, allowed objects to be distinguished for a great distance. a solemn silence brooded over the forest, and a gentle breeze sighed through the treetops. black-deer advanced to the edge of the covert, and, raising his fingers to his lips, imitated the cry of the raven thrice with such perfection, that the two hunters concealed in the rear looked up mechanically to discover the bird that uttered the note. a few minutes after, the cry of the blue-jay, borne on the breeze expressed like a plaintive sigh on the ears of the attentive hunters. black-deer repeated his signal. this time the note of the sparrowhawk was mingled almost instantaneously with that of the jay. the indian started, and looked in the direction where his friends were concealed. "is my brother ready?" he said. "i am," loyal heart simply answered. almost immediately, four riders could be seen leaving the village at a gallop, and advancing rapidly toward the spot where the chief stood motionless. the rider who galloped at the head of the band was a woman; she made her horse bound with feverish impatience, and compelled it to gallop in a straight line, clearing all the obstacles that were in its way. the three other riders were about a bow-shot behind her. this race had something fantastic about it in the night, amidst this grand scenery. bounding fawn, for it was she, fell panting into black-deer's arms. "here i am! here i am!" she cried in a joyous voice, choked, however, by emotion. the indian pressed her lovingly to his wide chest, and lifting her from the ground with that irresistible strength that passion produces, he leaped with her on to his horse, into whose flank he dug his spurs, and started at full speed in the direction of the desert. at the same moment, the horsemen arrived, uttering yells of anger, and brandishing their weapons; but they found before them the two hunters, who resolutely barred their passage. "stay, blackbird," loyal heart shouted; "your daughter belongs to my brother. black-deer is a great chief, his calli is lined with scalps--he is rich in horses, arms, and furs; bounding fawn will be the _cihuatl_ of a great brave, whose medicine is powerful." "does black-deer mean, then, to carry off my daughter?" blackbird asked. "he does mean it, and we his friends will defend him. your daughter pleases him, and he will have her. in defiance of you, and all who may attempt to oppose it, he will take her as his wife." "wah!" the indian said, turning to the horsemen who accompanied him, "my brothers have heard: what do they say?" "we have heard," the redskins answered; "we say that black-deer is truly a great chief, and since he is powerful enough to seize the woman he loves in spite of her father and relatives, he ought to keep her." "my brothers have spoken well," loyal heart remarked. "tomorrow i will come to blackbird's calli and pay him the purchase money for the maiden the chief has robbed him of." "good! tomorrow i shall expect loyal heart and his friend, the other paleface warrior," blackbird said with a bow. after these remarks, the three indian, warriors returned to the village, closely followed by the two hunters. as for black-deer, he had buried himself with his booty in the thickest part of the forest, where no one attempted to disturb him. the preliminaries of a comanche marriage had been strictly carried out on both sides. a strange nation this comanche, whose warriors love like wild beasts, and who think themselves obliged to carry off the woman they love, instead of obtaining her by the voluntary consent of her family! is there not something grand and noble in their haughty and indomitable character? as loyal heart told no eusebio, he was hardly an hour absent. chapter ix. the marriage. when the two hunters returned to the rancho, tranquil looked at loyal heart. "well," he said to him, "and what are you going to do?" "well," the other replied with a smile, "the same as you are going to do yourself, i suppose, sleep--for it is close on two o'clock." but noticing the canadian's anxious air, he hurriedly added--"pardon me, friend, i forget that you have made a long journey to find me here, and that, probably, you have important matters to communicate to me. well! if you do not feel too fatigued, i will rekindle the fire, we will sit down by the brasero, and i will listen to you; i do not feel at all disposed for sleep, and the present hour is admirably adapted for confidence." tranquil gently shook his head. "i thank you for your kindness, my friend," he said; "but, on reflection, i prefer deferring the conversation till tomorrow; i have no serious motive that compels me to speak at this moment, and a few hours, more or less, will have no influence in the events i have cause to fear." "you know better than i do the conduct best suited to you under the circumstances. i merely repeat that i am quite at your service whatever you may be pleased to do." "let us sleep," the canadian answered, with a smile. "tomorrow, after our visit to blackbird, we will hold a palaver." "be it so, my friend, i will not press you; here is your bed," he added, pointing to the pile of furs. "it is rare for me to have so good a one in the desert," said tranquil. the two men then lay down fraternally side by side, placed their weapons within reach, and ere long the calmness of their breathing indicated that they were asleep. nothing disturbed the repose they enjoyed, and the night passed quietly. a few minutes before sunrise loyal heart awoke; a feeble light was beginning to penetrate into the rancho, through the windows, which had no sheltering or curtains. the hunter rose, and at the moment when he was going to awake his comrade, the latter opened his eyes. "ah, ah!" loyal heart said, "you are a very light sleeper, my friend." "it is an old hunter's habit, which i think i should find it difficult to get rid of, unless i remained a long time with you." "what prevents your doing so? such a determination would cause great pleasure to my mother and myself." "do not form plans, my boy; you know that with us wood rangers we can hardly call the present moment our own, and it would be utter madness for us to enter on the future. we will revert to this subject; but now believe we have something more important to attend to." "we have to perform the commission black-deer entrusted to us; are you still of a mind to help me?" "certainly: the chiefs of the tribe received me with too much courtesy for me not to eagerly take the first opportunity that offers to testify to them the lively sympathy i feel for them." "well, as it is so, go to your comrades, get ready to mount, and wait for me; i shall join them directly at their calli." "all right," tranquil answered. the two men left the house; no eusebio had deserted his hammock, and was probably attending to household duties. the canadian went straight to the calli lent his comrades by the indians. day had by this time entirely broken; the curtains of the callis were raised one after the other, and the indian squaws were beginning to emerge to go in quest of the necessary wood and water for the preparation of breakfast. small parties of warriors were going off in different directions, some to indulge in the pleasures of the chase, others to beat the forest and be certain that there was no enemy's trail in the vicinity of the village. at the moment when the canadian passed in front of the medicine lodge, the sorcerer of the tribe came out of it. he held in his hand a calabash filled with water, in which a bunch of wormwood was dipped. the sorcerer ascended to the roof of the medicine lodge, and turned to the rising sun. at the same instant the hachesto shouted three different times in a powerful voice, "the sun! the sun! the sun!" a warrior then came out of each calli, holding in his hand, like the sorcerer, a calabash of water with a bunch of wormwood. the sorcerer began an incantation by murmuring mysterious words which he alone comprehended, and sprinkling the four cardinal points with the wormwood, an operation imitated exactly by the warriors. then, at a signal given by the sorcerer, all the men threw the contents of the calabash towards the sun, shouting at the same time, "oh, sun! thou visible representative of the invisible master of life! protect us on this commencing day! give us water, air, and fire, for the earth belongs to us, and we can defend it!" after this haughty prayer the warriors re-entered their callis, and the sorcerer descended from his elevated post. tranquil, who was perfectly conversant with indian customs, had stopped and waited, in a respectful attitude, the end of the ceremony. when the sorcerer had disappeared in the medicine lodge, the hunter resumed his walk. the inhabitants of the village, already affected to regard him as one of themselves; they saluted him with a smile and a pleasant word as he passed, and the children ran up laughing to bid him good-day. when tranquil entered the calli his comrades were still asleep, but he soon roused them. "hilloh!" john davis said, good-humouredly, "you are very early, old hunter. are we going to make any expedition?" "not that i know of, for the present, at any rate," the canadian answered; "we are merely going to accompany loyal heart, while he accomplishes a ceremony." "what is up, then?" "the marriage of our friend black-deer. i supposed it to be good policy not to refuse our aid, especially as you, davis, have an interest in getting into the good graces of the indians." "i should think so. but tell me, old hunter, have you consulted with our friend on the matter that brings me here?" "not yet: various reasons urged me to wait for a favourable moment." "as you please; but you know the matter is pressing." "i know it, and you can trust to me." "oh! i leave you to act entirely as you please. what are we to do now?" "nothing but mount our horses, and wait till loyal heart comes to fetch us. he has undertaken the management of the ceremony." "well, that is not very difficult," the american said, with a laugh. in an instant the hunters were up, performed their ablutions, and saddled their horses. they had scarce mounted, ere a great noise of shells, drums, and chichikouès, mingled with shouts of joy, shots, and the sharp barking of all the dogs in the village, announced the arrival of loyal heart. the young chief advanced at the head of a numerous procession of indian warriors, dressed in their most magnificent costumes, armed and painted for war, and mounted on superb mustangs, which they caused to curvet with marks of the most lively delight. the procession halted before the calli. "well," loyal heart asked, "are you ready?" "we are waiting for you," tranquil answered. "come on, then." the five hunters placed themselves by the side of their friend, and the procession started once more. the indians saw with a lively feeling of pleasure the strange hunters join them; the part loyal heart and tranquil took in the ceremony especially caused them great joy, and inspired them with considerable pride, by proving to them that their paleface friends, far from despising their customs, or displaying an indifference towards them, took an interest in the ceremony, and evidenced their sympathy with the comanches by accepting a place in the procession. loyal heart proceeded straight to blackbird's calli, in front of which a fire had been lighted, and the chief's family were seated silent and motionless round it. blackbird, dressed in his grand warpaint, and mounted on his battle charger, rode at the head of some twenty warriors of his family, whom it was easy to recognize as renowned warriors and great braves by the numerous wolf tails with which their heels were adorned. at the moment when the procession reached the great square, a solitary horseman, with a gloomy air and haughty demeanour, was crossing it, and proceeding toward the council lodge. it was blue-fox. at the sight of the procession a smile of undefinable meaning played round his lips, and he halted to let the comanche warriors defile before him. tranquil whispered to loyal heart-- "be on your guard against that man; if i am not greatly mistaken, his mission is only a trap, and he meditates some treachery." "that is my notion too," the hunter replied; "that gloomy face forebodes nothing good; but the council are warned, and watch him closely." "i have known him for a long time, he is a thorough-paced villain. i would not let him out of my sight, were i in your place. but we have reached our destination, so let us attend to our own business." loyal heart raised his arm; at this signal the music, if such a name can be given to the abominable row made by all these instruments, which, held by unskilful hands, produced the most discordant sounds, was silent as if by enchantment. the warriors then seized their war whistles, and produced a shrill and prolonged note thrice. a similar whistle was immediately given by blackbird's party. when the procession halted, a vacant space of about twenty yards was left between the two bands, and loyal heart and tranquil advanced alone into this space, making their horses prance and brandishing their weapons, amid the joyous applause of the crowd, which admired their skill and good countenance. blackbird and two of his comrades then left their party and rode to meet the hunters, and the five men halted at about halfway. loyal heart, after saluting the chief respectfully, was the first to speak. "i see that my father is a great chief," he said; "his head is covered by the sacred feathered cap of the band of the old dogs; numerous exploits are painted on his broad chest; the wolf tails fastened to his heels make a hole in the ground, so many are they. my father must be one of the greatest braves of the antelope comanches: he will tell us his name, that i may remember it as that of a chief of renown in the council, and brave and terrible in combat." the chief smiled proudly at this point-blank compliment; he bowed with dignity, and answered-- "my son is young, and yet wisdom dwells in him; his arm is strong in fight, and his tongue is not forked; his renown has reached me; my brothers call him loyal heart. blackbird is happy to see him. what motive brings loyal heart to blackbird with so large a party, when the heart of the chief is sad, and a cloud has spread over his mind?" "i know," loyal heart answered, "that the chief is sad, and am aware of the motive of his grief. i have come with the braves who accompany me to restore tranquillity to the mind of the chief, and change his sorrow into joy." "my son loyal heart will then explain himself without further delay; he knows that a man of heart never plays with the grief of an aged man." "i know it, and will explain myself without further delay. my father is rich, the wacondah has always regarded him with a favourable eye; his family is numerous, his sons are already brave warriors, his daughters are virtuous and lovely; one of them, the fairest, perhaps, but certainly the one most beloved, was violently carried off last night by black-deer." "yes," the chief answered, "a comanche warrior bore away my daughter bounding fawn, and fled with her into the forest." "that warrior is black-deer." "black-deer is one of the most celebrated warriors and wisest chiefs of my nation. my heart leaped toward him. why did he carry off my child?" "because black-deer loves bounding fawn; a great brave has the right to take anywhere the wife who pleases him, if he is rich enough to pay her father for her. blackbird cannot object to that." "if such be black-deer's intention, if he offer me a ransom such as a warrior like him ought to pay to a chief like myself, i will allow that he has acted in an honourable way, and that his intentions were pure; if not, i shall be an implacable enemy to him, because he will have betrayed my confidence and deceived my hopes." "blackbird must not hastily judge his friend; i am ordered by black-deer to pay for bounding fawn such a ransom as few chiefs have ever before received." "what is the ransom? where is it?" "the warriors who accompany me have brought it with them; but before delivering it to my father, i will remark, that he has not invited me to sit down by his fire, or offered me the calumet." "my son will sit down by my fire, and i will share the calumet with him when the mission he is intrusted with is finished." "be it so; my father shall be immediately satisfied." loyal heart, turning to the warriors, who during this conversation, which was sternly demanded by the laws of indian etiquette, had stood silent and motionless, raised his hand. at once several horsemen left the procession and pranced up to him, brandishing their weapons. "the ransom!" he merely said. "one moment," blackbird objected; "of what does this ransom consist?" "you shall see," loyal heart replied. "i know that, but should prefer being informed beforehand." "for what reason?" "wah! that i may be in a position to refuse it if i find it unworthy of you." "you ought not to have such a fear." "that is possible, still i adhere to what i said." "as you please," said loyal heart. we must here disclose one of the bad sides of the indian character. the redskins are extraordinarily rapacious and avaricious. with them wealth is everything--not wealth as we understand it in our country, for they know not the value of gold: that metal, so precious to us, is as nothing in their eyes; but furs, arms, and horses constitute for these warriors veritable wealth, which they appreciate at its full value. hence the transactions between the white men and natives become daily more difficult, from the fact that the indians, seeing with what ardour the peltry dealers seek furs, have attached so high a value to that merchandise, that it is almost impossible for the traders to obtain it; hence arises, to a great extent, the hatred of the whites for the redskins, who track, scalp, and kill the trappers whenever they meet with them, in order to destroy competition. blackbird was an indian of the old school, gifted with a smart dose of avarice. the worthy chief was not sorry, before pledging his word, to know what he had to depend on, and if he would make as good a bargain as was stated. this is why he had insisted on the objects comprising the ransom being shown him. loyal heart was perfectly acquainted with his man, and hence was not much affected by his demand; he merely ordered the bearers of the ransom to approach. this ransom had been prepared for a long period by black-deer, and was really magnificent; it consisted of four mares in foal, four others which had never bred, a three-year old charger, a mustang with slim legs and flashing eye, four muskets, each with twelve charges of powder; and four white female buffalo hides, a colour very rare, and greatly esteemed in this country. as the several articles were presented to the old chief, his eye dilated under the influence of joy, and flashed with a wild lustre. he required to make extraordinary efforts to preserve the decorum necessary under such circumstances, and confine in his heart the pleasure he felt. when all the presents had been given and placed by him under the immediate guard of his relatives and friends, loyal heart spoke again. "is my father satisfied?" he asked him. "wah!" the old chief shouted with delight. "my son, black-deer, is a great brave; he did right to carry off bounding fawn, for she is really his." "will my father bear witness to that?" the hunter pressed him. "this very moment," the chief answered eagerly; "and before all the warriors here present." "let my father do so, then, that all may know that black-deer is no false-tongued thief; and when he declares that bounding fawn is his squaw, no one will have the right to say that it is not true." "i will do so," blackbird answered. "good! my father will follow us." "i will follow you." blackbird then placed himself at the right of loyal heart, the band of warriors who accompanied him joined the procession, and all proceeded toward the ark of the first man, at the foot of which the hachesto was standing, holding in his hand the totem of the tribe. the sorcerer was standing in front of the totem, having on either side of him two sachems chosen from among the wisest of the nation. "what do you want here?" the sorcerer asked loyal heart, when the latter halted about two yards from him with the procession. "we demand justice," the hunter replied. "speak! we will give you that justice, whatever the consequences may be," the sorcerer said. "well reflect before speaking, lest you may presently regret your precipitation." "we shall only have to repent of one thing, and that is not having appeared before you earlier." "my ears are open." "we wish that justice should be done to a warrior, whose reputation attempts have been made to tarnish." "who is the warrior?" "black-deer." "is his medicine good?" "his medicine is good." "is he a brave?" "he is a great brave." "what has he done?" "last night he carried off bounding fawn, the daughter of blackbird here present." "good! has he paid a fine ransom?" "let blackbird himself answer." "yes," the old chief here said, "i will answer. black-deer is a great warrior, he has paid a noble ransom." "in that case," said the sorcerer, "my son is satisfied?" "i am satisfied." there was a momentary silence, during which the sorcerer consulted in a whisper with the sachems who acted as assessors. at length he spoke again. "black-deer is a great warrior," he said in a loud voice. "i, the medicine man, standing beneath the totem of the tribe, declare, that he has employed the right all renowned warriors possess of seizing their property wherever they may find it. from this moment bounding fawn is the squaw of black-deer, to prepare his food, clean his weapons, carry his burdens, and take care of his war-chargers, and whoever says the contrary speaks falsely! black-deer has the right to convey bounding fawn to his calli, and no one can prevent it; he is empowered, if she deceive him, to cut off her nose and ears. blackbird will give two female buffalo hides to be hung up in the great medicine lodge." at this final clause, known beforehand, however, for everything is strictly regulated by the code of etiquette in the matter of marriage, blackbird made a frightful grimace. it seemed to him hard to part with two of the hides he had received but a few moments previously. but loyal heart came to his assistance, and interposed in a way that brought the smile back to his lips. "black-deer," he said in a loud voice, "loves bounding fawn, and will only owe her to himself--he alone will pay the tribute to the wacondah; not two, but four female buffalo hides will be given to the medicine lodge." he made a sign, and a warrior advanced, bearing the hides across his horse's neck. loyal heart took them and offered them to the sorcerer. "my father will receive these skins," he said; "he will make such use of them as will be most agreeable to the master of life." at this unexpected generosity, the audience burst into shouts of frenzied joy. the shells, drums, and chichikouès recommenced their infernal noise, and the procession set out again for blackbird's calli. the old chief knew too well what he owed to himself, and the son-in-law he had just accepted, not to behave with proper decorum in spite of his avarice. when the procession reached the calli, he therefore said, in a loud voice-- "my brothers and friends, deign to honour with your presence the marriage banquet, and i shall be happy to see you take part in it. my son black-deer will come, i feel convinced, to give the feast that family appearance which it ought to have." he had scarce uttered the words, when a great noise was heard. the crowd parted violently, and in the space left free a horseman appeared, galloping at full speed: he held a woman on his horse's neck with one hand, while with the other he led a filly. at the sight of the horseman, the shouts and applause were redoubled, for everybody recognised black-deer. on reaching the calli he leapt to the ground without uttering a syllable; then he drew his scalping knife and buried it in the neck of the filly. the poor brute gave a plaintive whining, trembled violently, and sank to the ground. the chief then turned it on its back, ripped open its chest, and tearing out the still quivering heart, he touched bounding fawn's forehead with it, while shouting in a voice loud enough to be heard by all the spectators. "this is my squaw; woe to the man who touches her." "i am his," the young wife then said. the official ceremony was over: black-deer and bounding fawn were married according to the rites of comanche law. all dismounted, and the marriage feast began. the white men, who were not very eager to eat their portion of this indian meal, composed in great measure of dog, boiled milk, and horse's flesh, had drawn on one side and tried to escape unnoticed. unfortunately blackbird and black-deer watched them, and cut off their retreat; hence they were compelled, whether they liked it or no, to sit down to the banquet. tranquil, loyal heart, and their comrades made up their minds to the worst, and ate, or pretended to eat, with as good an appetite as the rest of the guests. the repast was prolonged till late in the day; for, though the comanches do not drink spirits, and have not to fear intoxication, still, like all indians, they are extraordinarily voracious, and eat till they can swallow no more. the whites had hard work in declining those provisions, of more or less suspicious appearance, which were constantly offered to do them honour. still, thanks to their thorough knowledge of indian habits, they managed to escape the greater part of the infliction and see out the truly homeric banquet without much annoyance. at the moment when loyal heart and tranquil rose to retire, black-deer approached them. "where are my brothers going?" he asked. "to my calli," loyal heart replied. "good! black-deer will join them there soon; he has to speak with his brothers on serious matters." "let my brother remain with his friends, tomorrow will be time enough." the chief frowned. "my brother loyal heart must be careful," he said; "i have to consult with him on matters of the utmost gravity." the hunter, struck by the chiefs anxious air, looked at him with alarm. "what is the matter?" he asked him. "my brother will know in an hour." "very good, chief; i will await you in my calli." "black-deer will come there." the chief then withdrew, laying his finger on his lip, and the hunters went off deep in thought. chapter x. return to life. we are now compelled to go a little way back, and return to one of the principal actors of our story, whom we have too long neglected; we allude to white scalper. the reader of the "freebooters" will, doubtless, remember that the terrible combat on the deck of the brig, between tranquil and the scalper, was continued in the sea, into which the ferocious old man had been hurled by the negro who followed him. quoniam had been in too great a hurry in telling the canadian of the death of his enemy; it is true, though, that the negro acted in good faith, and really believed he had killed him. the last dagger stab dealt by quoniam was buried deep in the old man's chest; the wound was so serious that the scalper immediately left off further resistance; his eyes closed, his nerves relaxed like broken springs; he loosed hold of his enemy, to whom he had hitherto clung, and remained an inert mass, tossed at the mercy of the waves. the negro, exhausted with fatigue and half suffocated, hastened back to the deck of the vessel, persuaded that his enemy was dead; but it was not so. the scalper had merely lost his senses, and his inanimate body was picked up by a mexican boat. but, when this boat reached the shore, the crew, on seeing the horrible wounds which covered the stranger's body, his pallor and corpse-like immobility, had, in their turn, fancied him dead, and taking no further trouble about him, threw him back into the sea. fortunately for the scalper, at the moment when the crew formed this determination the boat was close to land, so that his body, supported by the waves, was gently deposited on the sand, the lower part remaining submerged, while the head and chest were left dry by the retirement of the waves. either through the fresh night air or the oscillating movement the sea imparted to the lower part of his body, within an hour the old man gave a slight start; a sigh heaved his powerful chest, and a few instinctive attempts to change his position clearly showed that this vigorous organisation was struggling energetically against death, and compelling it to retire. at length the wounded man opened his eyes, but profound gloom still enveloped him like a winding sheet. on the other hand, the fatigue produced by the gigantic struggle he had sustained, and the enormous quantity of blood which had escaped through his wounds, caused him a general weakness, so great, both morally and physically, that it was impossible for the scalper, not merely to find out where he was, but to remember the circumstances that had brought him there. it was in vain that he tried to restore order in his ideas, or bring back his fugitive thoughts; the shock had been too rude; the commotion too strong; in spite of all his efforts he could not succeed in refastening the broken thread of his thoughts. he saw himself, alone, wounded, and abandoned on the seashore; he understood instinctively all the horror and desperation of his position; but no gleam of intelligence flashed across his brain to guide him in this fearful chaos. he was angry with himself at the impotence to which he found himself reduced and the impossibility of attempting anything to get only a few yards away from the sea, at the edge of which, he was lying, and which would infallibly swallow him up, if his weakness overcame his will and betrayed his courage. then took place on that desolate shore a horrible drama, filled with moving and startling incidents--the wild struggles of a half-dead man striving to reconquer the existence which was ebbing from him, and struggling with savage energy against the death whose fatal hand already pressed heavily upon him. the slightest movement the scalper attempted occasioned him unheard of sufferings, not only through the numerous wounds, whose lips were filled with sand and gravel, but also because he was compelled to confess to himself that all his efforts would lead to no result, and that, unless a miracle happened, he was infallibly lost. that miracle, which the wretch did not hope for, the very thought of which could not occur to him, providence, whose ways are impenetrable, and who often only appears to save a guilty man to inflict on him a more terrible chastisement, was preparing to perform at the moment when the wounded man, his strength and energy exhausted, was falling back conquered on the beach, resolved to await coldly that death which he could not avoid. the texans had scattered along the beach several parties of freebooters, who were intended to watch the movements of the mexican cruisers. these parties were all within hail of each other, and able to assemble at a given point with extreme rapidity. chance willed it that when the scalper's body was again thrown into the sea it touched shore not far from a rather large rancho standing close to the beach, and in which the most influential chiefs of the texan army were this night assembled, in prevision of the great events that were preparing. naturally the approaches to the rancho were carefully guarded, and numerous patrols marched around it in order to ensure the safety of the chiefs. one of these patrols had seen the mexican boats land, and hurried up to drive them off, which they easily effected, as the mexicans were not at all desirous to begin a fresh fight with enemies whose number and strength they were not acquainted with, and whom they supposed, with some appearance of reason, to be in communication with those rebels with whom they had been fighting an hour previously. when the boats got out to sea again, the texans began carefully examining the beach, in order to be certain that all their enemies had retired and left nobody behind them. the first to discover the scalper's body summoned his comrades, and soon the wounded man had twenty individuals round him. at the first moment they fancied him dead; the scalper heard all that was said around him, but was unable to make a move or utter a word. he felt terribly alarmed for a moment; it was when a freebooter, after bending over and carefully examining him, rose again with the careless remark: "the poor devil is dead, we have nothing to do but dig a hole in the sand and put him in it, so that the coyotes and vultures may not devour his corpse. some of you go and fetch the largest stones you can find while we dig a hole here with our machetes; it will soon be over." at this sentence, pronounced in a perfectly calm and careless voice, as if it were the simplest and most natural thing in the world, the scalper felt a cold perspiration beading at the root of his hair, and a shudder of terror run over his body. he made a tremendous effort to speak or shriek, but it was in vain. he was in that almost cataleptic state in which, although the intellect retains all its lucidity, the body is an inert and insensible mass which no longer obeys. "stay," said another adventurer interposing, and checking by a sign those who were preparing to pick up the stones; "let us not be in such a hurry. this poor wretch is a creature made after god's own image; although his is in a pitiable state, a breath of life may still be left in him. we shall still be in a position to bury him if we find that he is really dead; but first let us assure ourselves that any assistance is in vain." "nonsense," the first speaker continued; "fray antonio is always like that; were we to listen to him, all the dead would only be wounded, and he would make us lose precious time in giving them useless care. however, as there is nothing to hurry us at this moment, i ask no better than to try and bring this man round, although he appears to me as dead as a fellow can well be." "no matter," fray antonio answered, "let us try, at any rate." "very good," said the other with a shrug of the shoulders. "and first let us remove him from here. when, he is perfectly dry, and runs no further risk of being carried off by the waves, we will see what we have to do." the wounded man was immediately picked up by four freebooters, and gently carried some twenty yards off to an entirely dry spot, where it was impossible for the sea to reach him. the worthy monk then produced a large case bottle of rum, which he uncorked, and after explaining his duty to each, that is to say, after ordering that the temples, wrists, and pit of the stomach should be vigorously rubbed with rum, he bent over him, and opening his jaws, which were tight as a vice, with the blade of his dagger, he poured into his mouth an honest quartern of rum. the effect of this double treatment was not long delayed. in a few seconds the wounded man gave a alight start, opened his eyes feebly, and, gave vent to a sigh of relief. "ah, ah," said fray antonio with a laugh: "what do you think of that, no ruperto? i fancy your dead man is coming to life again, eh?" "on my word, it is true," the other answered with a grin; "well, that is a man who can flatter himself with having his soul screwed into his body; by bacchus! if he recover, which i did not yet assert, he can say that he has made a preciously long journey." in the meantime, the friction was continued with the same vigour; the circulation of the blood was rapidly re-established; the scalper's eyes became less haggard, his features were relaxed, and an expression of comfort spread over his countenance. "do you feel better?" the monk asked him kindly. "yes," he answered in a weak, though perfectly distinct voice. "all the better. with the help of heaven we will get you out of the scrape." by a singular accident, the monk had not yet recognised the man to whom he had himself owed his life a few months previously. the wounds were carefully washed with rum and water, and cleared from the sand and gravel adhering to them; they were then poulticed with pounded oregano leaves, an extremely effective remedy for wounds, and then carefully tied up. "there," the monk continued with an air of satisfaction, "that is finished. i will now have you carried to a spot where you will be much better able than here to enjoy that repose which is indispensable for you after so rude a shock." "do what you please with me," the wounded man answered with an effort; "i owe you too much to offer the slightest objection." "the more so," ruperto answered with a laugh, "because it would be perfectly useless; the reverend father has undertaken your cure, and, whether you like it or no, you must follow his prescriptions." at a sign from fray antonio, four powerful men raised the patient in their arms, and carried him into the rancho. it was he who colonel melendez had seen go in, when led by chance to the same rancho, he had for some minutes listened to, and surveyed what was going on inside. the rancho belonged to a rich texan haciendero, a devoted partisan of the revolution, and who was delighted to place at the disposal of the chiefs a retreat which he had built in happier times for a summer villa. this house, while agreeably situated, spacious, and well kept up, was abundantly provided, not only with everything indispensable for existence, but also with those thousand trifles and luxuries which are conventionally called comfort, and which rich persons, through lengthened habit, cannot do without. the chiefs were at first rather annoyed at the free and easy way in which fray antonio, without giving them notice, had encumbered them with a wounded stranger. but when they saw in what a pitiable state the poor fellow was, they made no further objection, but allowed the monk to instal him where he thought best. fray antonio did not allow the permission to be repeated. aided by the master of the rancho, he transported the wounded man to a spacious and airy room, whose windows looked out on the sea, and in which the scalper was placed in an admirably healthy condition. so soon as the patient was laid in a bed expressly made for him--for in these torrid climates the inhabitants are accustomed to sleep on mats, or at the most in hammocks--the monk handed him a narcotic drink, which he requested him to swallow. the effect was almost immediate; a few minutes after he had drunk it, white scalper fell into a calm and restorative sleep. the entire night passed without any incident; the wounded man slept for eight hours at a stretch, and when he awoke, he was no longer the same; he felt fresh, cheerful, and reposed. several days passed thus, during which fray antonio paid him the closest and most affectionate attention. if, at the first moment, the monk was unable to recognise the white scalper, it was not long ere he did so by daylight; after carefully examining this man, whose appearance had really something strange and remarkable about it, his recollection returned, and he recognised the hunter so greatly feared on the prairie by the redskins, and even by the whites, and to whom himself owed his life under such singular circumstances; hence, he was pleased at the opportunity chance afforded him of repaying his debt to this man. but as, on the other hand, the wounded man, either through obstinacy or defective memory, did not appear at all to remember him, the monk kept his discovery to himself, and continued his attentions to the wounded man without permitting himself the slightest allusion which might cause the other to suspect that he was recognised. things went on thus till the day of the battle of cerro pardo. in the morning, as usual, fray antonio entered his patient's room, whose cure was rapidly advancing, thanks to the efficacy of the oregano leaves. his wounds were almost cicatrized, and he felt his strength returning. "my friend," said the monk to him, "i have done all for you i morally could; you will do me the justice of saying that i nursed you like a brother." "i have only thanks to offer you," the wounded man said, stretching out his hand. "much obliged," said fray antonio, as he took this hand; "today i have bad news for you." "bad news?" the other repeated in surprise. "after all," the monk continued, "the news may be good. still, to deal frankly with you, i do not believe it; i augur no good from what we are going to do." "i must confess that i do not at all understand you, so i should feel extremely obliged if you would explain yourself more clearly." "that is true. indeed, you cannot suspect anything. in two words, this is the affair: the army has received orders to march forward this very morning." "so that----?" the wounded man asked. "i am, to my great regret," the monk said with a crafty smile, "compelled to leave you behind." "hum!" the white scalper mattered in some alarm. "unless," fray antonio continued, "as i dare not hope, we beat the mexicans, in which case you are certain to see me again." the patient seemed to grow more and more restless about the position in which he ran a risk of being left. "did you come solely to tell me that?" he asked. "no. i wished to make you a proposal." "what is it?" the other eagerly asked. "listen. i picked you up in a most desperate state." "that is true: i allow it." "although some people say," fray antonio continued, "that you received your wounds in fighting against us, and, indeed, some of our men declare themselves certain of the fact, i would not put faith in their words. i know not why, but since i have been nursing you, i have grown to take an interest in you; i should not like the cure i have carried on hitherto so successfully, to break down. this is what i propose: about one hundred miles from the spot where we now are, there is an encampment of white men and half-breeds, over whom i possessed considerable influence some time back. i believe that they have not yet quite forgotten me, and that anyone joining them as from me, would meet with a kindly reception. will you go there? it is a risk to run." "how could i perform this journey in my present state of weakness and prostration?" "that need not trouble you. four men, who are devoted to me, will conduct you to my old friends." "oh, if that be the case," the scalper exclaimed eagerly, "i gladly accept. if i perished on the road, i would prefer that to remaining here alone." "i trust that you will not perish, but reach your destination all right. so that is agreed. you will go?" "with the greatest pleasure. when do we start?" "at once, there is not a moment to lose." "good! give the necessary orders, i am ready." "i must warn you, however, that the men to whom i am sending you, are slightly of a scampish nature, and you must not assume any high moral tone with them." "what does it concern me? if they were even pirates of the prairies, believe me, i should attach no importance to the fact." "bravo! i see that we understand each other, for i believe these worthy gentlemen dabble a little in all trades." "good, good!" the scalper gaily answered; "do not trouble yourself about that." "in that case, get ready to start; i shall return in ten minutes at the latest." with these words, the monk left the room. the old man, who had not many preparations to make, was soon in a position to take the road. as he had stated, within ten minutes the monk returned, followed by four men. among them was ruperto, who, it will be remembered, offered the advice to bury the wounded man in the sand. the scalper was still very weak, and incapable of either walking or sitting a horse. the monk had remedied this inconvenience, as far as possible, by having a clumsy litter prepared for the wounded man, carried by two mules, and in which he could recline. this mode of transport was very slow, and extremely inconvenient, especially for the guides, in a country such as they had to cross; but it was the only one practicable at the moment, and so they must put up with it. the wounded man was carried to the litter, and laid on it as comfortably as was possible. "and now," said the monk, "may heaven direct you; do not feel at all alarmed, ruperto has many instructions, and i know him well enough to be convinced that he will not depart from them, whatever may happen. so you can trust to him. good bye!" and, after giving the wounded man his hand, fray antonio made a movement to retire. "one moment," said the old man, as he held the hand he had taken; "i wish to say but one word to you." "speak, but be brief. i have the weightiest reasons for desiring your immediate departure; in a few minutes some wounded men will arrive here, who have hitherto been kept in the fort, and whom you would probably not be at all pleased to meet." "i fancy i can understand to whom you allude; but that is not the question. i wish, before parting with you, and not knowing whether i shall ever see you again, to express to you the gratitude i feel for your conduct toward me, a gratitude which is the greater because i am convinced you have recognised me." "and suppose i have?" "you needed only to say one word to surrender me to my most inveterate enemies; and yet you did not utter that word." "certainly not; for even supposing, as you seem to believe, that i have recognised you, i was only discharging a debt i had incurred with you." the old man's face writhed; his eye became moist; he warmly squeezed the monk's hand, which he had till now held in his own, and it was with much emotion and tenderness that he added-- "thanks. this kindness will not be lost; the events of the last few days have greatly modified my way of looking at certain things; you shall never regret having saved my life." "i hope so; but be gone, and may heaven guard you!" "we shall meet again." "who knows?" the monk muttered, as he gave the guides a signal. the latter flogged their mules, and the litter began moving. about an hour after the start, it met a covered cart, in which lay tranquil, but they passed without seeing each other. the monk had only spoken the truth about ruperto. the worthy adventurer was most attentive to the sick man, carefully watching over him, and trying to while away the tedium of the journey. unluckily, the party had to cross an essentially primitive country, in which there were no roads, and where the guides were generally obliged to cut a path with their axes. the litter advanced but slowly, and with unheard of difficulty, along the abominable tracts, and, despite the most minute precautions, the wounded man suffered horribly from the jolting and shakes the mules gave the litter almost every moment. ruperto, to fatigue the patient as little as possible, only travelled by night, or very early in the morning, ere the sun had acquired its full strength. they marched thus for a fortnight, during which the country grew wilder, and the ground gradually ascended; the scenery became more abrupt and stern, the virgin forests closed in, and they could see that they were approaching the mountains. one evening, when the little party had established their night bivouac on the banks of a rapid stream that flowed into the arkansas, the scalper, who, in spite of the privations and fatigue to which he had been constantly exposed since his departure from the rancho, felt his strength gradually returning, asked his guide how many days their journey would still last--which as yet he had been unwilling to do, through a feeling of delicacy. at this question, ruperto smiled cunningly. "our journey has been finished for the last four days," he said. "what do you mean?" the scalper asked with a start of surprise. "the people we are going to see," the adventurer went on, "do not like to receive visits without being previously advised; surprises do not agree with them. in order to avoid any misunderstanding, which is always to be regretted between old friends, i employed the only means in my power." "and what is it?" "oh, it is very simple. just look at our camp--do people guard themselves in this way on the desert? instead of being at the top of a hill, we are at the watering place of the wild beasts; the smoke from our fire, instead of being concealed, is, on the contrary, visible for a great distance. do all these acts of imprudence committed purposely teach you nothing?" "ah, ah," the old man said, "then you wish your friends to surprise us?" "quite right. in that way the recognition will be effected without striking a blow. and stay! if i am not mistaken, we are about to receive visitors." at this moment the branches of a neighbouring thicket were roughly parted and several men rushed into the camp, with the machete in one hand, the rifle in the other. chapter xi. the pirates of the prairies. the white scalper gave an imperceptible start at the unexpected apparition of the strangers; but he had sufficient power over himself apparently to preserve that coolness and stoicism which the redskins and wood rangers make a point of honour. he did not alter the careless attitude he was in, and though he appeared to look at the newcomers absently, he, however, examined them attentively. they were at least twenty in number, for they had risen from all sides at once, and in a twinkling surrounded the travellers. these men, mostly clad in the trapper's hunting shirt and fox skin cap, had a vigorous appearance, and a ferocious look, not at all adapted to inspire confidence; moreover, they were armed to the teeth, not only having the rifle and machete, but also the scalping knife and tomahawk employed by the indians. the man who appeared to be their chief was at the most thirty-five years of age, tall, well-built and proportioned; his wide forehead, black eyes, grecian nose, and large mouth, made up a face pleasing at the first glance, though on examining it more closely, you soon perceived that his glance was false, and that a sardonic smile constantly played round his thin and pale lips. his face was framed in by thick black curls, which fell in disorder on his shoulders and mixed with a large beard, which the fatigues of a wandering and adventurous life were beginning to silver at places. the four texan adventurers had not made a move; the chief of the strangers looked at them for a moment with his hands crossed on his rifle barrel, the butt of which rested on the ground. at length, by a movement that was familiar to him, he threw back his curls, and addressed ruperto-- "halloh, gossip," he said, "you here? what has brought you into our parts?" "a wish to see you, gossip," the other answered, as he carelessly struck a light for the cigarette he had just finished rolling. "nonsense! only that?" the stranger continued. "what other motive could i have, master sandoval?"[ ] "who knows?" the other said with a shake of his head; "life has such strange changes." "this time you are mistaken. nothing disagreeable forces me to pay you a visit." "that is more and more extraordinary. then, you have come on your own accord, nothing compelling you to do so?" "i do not say that, for my visit necessarily has a motive. still, it is not at all of the nature you suppose." "canarios! i am glad to see that i am not so far from the truth as it appeared at first." "all the better!" "but why did not you come straight to our encampment, if you were seeking us, as you say?" ruperto burst into a laugh. "that would have been a fine idea, to be welcomed with a shower of slugs! no, i think i acted more wisely as i have." "we have been on your trail for three days." "why did you not show yourselves sooner?" "i was not quite certain it was you." "well, that is possible. will you not sit down?" "what for? now that we have met, i hope you will come to our camp?" "i did not like to propose it; you see we are not alone, but have a stranger with us." "what matter, if you answer for him?" "with my life." "well, then, the friends of our friends are ours, and have a claim to our attention." "i thank you, caballero," the scalper replied with a bow; "i trust you will have no cause to repent having offered me hospitality." "the company in which i find you is an excellent guarantee to me, señor," the adventurer continued with a courteous smile. "do you intend to lead us to your camp tonight?" ruperto asked. "why not? we are not more than fifteen miles from it at the most." "that is true; but this caballero is wounded, and so long a distance after a fatiguing day--" "oh, i feel very well, i assure you. my strength has almost entirely returned; i even believe that, were it absolutely necessary, i could sit a horse. hence do not put yourself out of the way for me, i beg," the old man said. "as it is so, we will start whenever you like." "all right," said sandoval; "however, i will undertake to lead you by a road which will shorten your distance one half." all being thus arranged, the horses were saddled afresh, and they started. the strangers were on foot; the scalper would not enter the litter, and even insisted on it being left behind, declaring that he did not want it, and cutting a rather long branch, he converted it into a staff. he then took his place by sandoval's side, who, delighted by his manner, gave him a glance of satisfaction. sandoval, as we have said, was the chief of the men who had so suddenly fallen on the bivouac of the adventurers. these men were pirates of the prairies. in a previous work, we have described what they are; but as it is probable that many of our readers do not know the book to which we allude, we will explain, in as few words as possible, what sort of persons these gentry are. in the united states, and most of the countries of the new world, men are encountered who, not being restrained by any species of moral obligation or family consideration, yield themselves without restraint to all the violence of their evil passions. these men, led in the first instance into debauchery by indolence, and almost certain of impunity in countries where the police are powerless to protect honest people and enforce the laws, at length grow to commit the most atrocious crimes in open daylight, though this is common enough in those countries where the strongest make the laws. this goes on until the reprobation becomes general, and public indignation at last growing stronger than the terror inspired by these villains, they are compelled to fly from town to town in order to escape the exemplary punishment of lynch-law. everywhere pursued like wild beasts, abandoned by all, even by their accomplices, they draw nearer and nearer to the indian border, which they eventually cross, and are henceforth condemned to live and die in the desert. but there, too, everything is hostile to them--white trappers, wood rangers, indian warriors, and wild beasts--they are compelled to endure a daily and hourly struggle to defend their life, which is incessantly assailed. but they have before them space, the hiding places on the mountains and in the virgin forests, and hence can sustain the combat to a certain point. still, if they remained isolated they would infallibly succumb to cold, hunger, and wretchedness, even supposing they were not surprised, scalped, and massacred by their implacable enemies. these outlaws from society, whom every man thinks he has a right to hunt down, frankly accept their position. they feel proud of the hatred and repulsion they inspire, and collect in numerous bands to requite the anathema cast upon them. taking as their rule the pitiless law of the prairies, eye for eye and tooth for tooth, they become formidable through their numbers, and repay their enemies the injuries they receive from them. woe to the trappers or indians who venture to traverse the prairies alone, for the pirates massacre them pitilessly. the emigrant trains are also attacked and pillaged by them with refined and atrocious barbarity. some of these men who have retained a little shame, put off the dress of white men to assume that of redskins, so as to make those they pillage suppose they have been attacked by indians; hence their most inveterate enemies are the indians, for whom they try to pass. still, it frequently happens that the pirates, ally themselves with redskins belonging to one nation to make war on another. all is good for them when their object is plunder; but what they prefer is raising scalps, for which the government of the united states, that patriarchal government which protects the natives, according to some heartless optimists, are not ashamed to pay fifty dollars a-piece. hence, the pirates are as skilful as the indians themselves in raising hair; but with them all scalps are good; and when they cannot come across indians, they have no scruple about scalping white men; the more so, because the united states does not look into matters very closely, and pays without bargaining or entering into details, provided that the hair be long and black. captain sandoval's band of pirates was one of the most numerous and best organised in upper arkansas; his comrades, all thorough food for the gallows, formed the most magnificent collection of bandits that could be imagined. for a long period, fray antonio, if not forming part of the band, had taken part in its operations, and derived certain though illegal profit by supplying the captain with information about the passage of caravans, their strength, and the road they intended to follow. although the worthy monk had given up this hazardous traffic, his conversion had not been of so old a date for the pirates to have completely forgotten the services he had rendered them; hence, when he was compelled to abandon white scalper he thought at once of his old friends. this idea occurred to him the more naturally, because white scalper, owing to the mode of life he had hitherto led in the desert, had in his character some points of resemblance with the pirates, who, like him, were pitiless, and recognised no other law than their caprice. in the band of freebooters the monk had organised since his reformation were some men more beaten than the others by the tempest of an adventurous life. these men fray antonio had seen at work, and set their full value upon them; but he kept them near him, through a species of intuition, in order to have them under his hand if some day fate desired that he should be compelled to have recourse to an heroic remedy to get out of a scrape, which was easy to foresee when a man entered on the life of a partisan. among these chosen comrades was naturally ruperto; hence it was to him he entrusted the choice of three sure men to escort the wounded man to the camp of captain sandoval, in upper arkansas. we have seen that the monk was not mistaken, and in what way ruperto performed the commission confided to him. it has frequently been said that honest men always recognise each other at the first glance; but the statement is far truer when applied to rogues. the white scalper and the pirate chief had not walked side by side for ten minutes ere the best possible understanding was arrived at between them. the captain admired as an amateur, and especially as a connoisseur, the athletic stature of his new companion. his rigid features, which seemed carved in granite, for they were so firm and marked, his black and sparkling eyes, and even his blunt and sharp mode of speech, attracted and aroused his sympathy. several times he proposed to have him carried on the shoulders of two of his most powerful comrades across awkward spots; but the old man, although his ill-closed wounds caused him extreme suffering, and fatigue overpowered him, constantly declined these kind offers, merely replying that physical pain was nothing, and that the man who could not conquer it by the strength of his will, ought to be despised as an old woman. there could be no reply to such a peremptory mode of reasoning, so sandoval merely contented himself with nodding an assent, and they continued their march in silence. night had fallen for some time, but it was a bright and starry night, which allowed them to march in safety, and have no fear of losing their way. after three hours of a very difficult journey, the travellers at length reached the crest of a high hill. "we have arrived," sandoval then said, as he stopped under the pretext of resting a moment, but in reality to give his companion, whom he saw to be winded, though he made no complaint, an opportunity to draw breath. "what, arrived?" the scalper said in surprise, looking round him, but not perceiving the slightest sign of an encampment. in fact, the adventurers found themselves on a species of platform about fifteen hundred yards long, entirely denuded of trees, save in the centre, where grew an immense aloe, more than sixty feet in circumference, which looked like the king of the desert, over which it soared. sandoval allowed his comrade to look around him for a moment, and then said, as he stretched out his arm to the giant tree--- "we shall be obliged to enter by the chimney. but once is not always, and you will not feel offended at it when i tell you that i only do this to shorten our journey." "you know that i did not at all understand you," the scalper answered. "i suspected it," sandoval said with a smile. "but come along, and you will soon decipher the enigma." the old man bowed without replying, and both walked toward the tree, followed by their comrades, who were smiling at the stranger's amazement. on reaching the foot of the tree, sandoval raised his head-- "ohé!" he shouted, "are you there, orson?" "where should i be if i was not?" a rough voice answered, issuing from the top of the tree. "i was obliged to wait for you here, as you have taken it, into your head to wander about the whole night through." the pirates burst into a laugh. "always amiable!" sandoval continued; "it is astonishing how funny that animal of an orson always is! come, let down the ladder, you ugly brute!" "ugly brute, ugly brute!" the voice growled, although its owner still remained invisible; "that is the way in which he thanks me." in the meanwhile, a long wooden ladder was let down through the branches. sandoval caught hold of it, secured it, and then turned to the wounded man-- "i will go first to show you the way." "do so," the scalper said resolutely; "but i swear that i will be the second." "halloh!" the captain said, turning round, "why you are a yankee." "what does it matter to you?" the other said roughly. "not at all. still, i am not sorry to know the fact." "well, you know it. what next?" "next?" sandoval answered with a laugh; "you will be among countrymen, that is all." "it makes little difference to me." "canarios, and how do you suppose it concerns me?" the captain said, still laughing, and ascended. the wounded man followed him step for step. the ladder was resting against a platform about two yards in width, completely concealed in a mass of inextricable foliage. on this platform stood the giant to whom his chief had given the name of orson, a name which was exactly suitable, so rough and savage did he appear. "any news?" the captain asked, as he stepped on the platform. "none," the other answered laconically. "have all the detachments returned?" "all except you." "are the gazelle and the american girl in the grotto?" "they are." "that is well. when all the people have come up, you will remove the ladder and join us." "all right, caray, i suppose i know what i have to do." sandoval contented himself with shrugging his shoulders. "come," he said to the scalper, who was a silent witness of this scene. they crossed the platform. the centre of the tree was entirely hollow, but it had not been rendered so by human agency; old age alone had converted the heart of the tree into dust, while the bark remained green and vigorous. the pirates, who had for many years inhabited a very large cave that ran under the hill, had one day seen the earth give way at a certain spot, in consequence of a storm; this was the way in which the chimney, as they called it, had been discovered. the pirates, like all plundering animals, are very fond of having several issues to their lairs; this new one, supplied to them by accident, caused them the greater pleasure, because by the same occasion they obtained an observatory, whence they could survey an immense extent of country, which enabled them to see any enemy who might attempt to take them by surprise. a platform was formed at a certain height to keep the bark intact; and by means of two ladders, fitted one inside and one out, a communication was established. sandoval, in his heart, enjoyed his guest's surprise. in fact, the pirate's ingenious arrangement seemed marvellous to white scalper, who, forgetting his phlegm and stoicism, allowed his surprise to be seen. "now," he said to him, pointing to a second ladder, which descended a considerable depth into the ground, "we will go down." "at your service, at your service," the stranger answered. "it is really admirable. go on, i follow you." they then began descending cautiously owing to the darkness, for the pirate placed as sentry on the _mirador_ had, either through forgetfulness or malice, neglected to bring torches, not supposing, as he said, that his comrades would return so late. white scalper alone had followed the pirates by the strange road we have indicated. this road, very agreeable for foot passengers, was, of course, completely impracticable for horsemen; hence ruperto and his three comrades quitted sandoval at the foot of the hill, and making a rather long detour, sought the real entrance of the cave, with which all four had been long acquainted. as the two men gradually descended, the light increased, and they seemed to be entering a furnace. on setting foot on the ground, the scalper found himself in an immense cavern, lighted by a profusion of torches held by pirates, who, grouped at the foot of the ladder, seemed to find an honour in waiting the arrival of their chief, and offering him a grand reception. the grotto was of an enormous size; the spot where white scalper found himself was a vast hall, whence radiated several galleries of immense length, and running in diametrically opposite directions. the scene that offered itself to the scalper in this hall, where he arrived so unexpectedly, would have been worthy of callot's pencil. here could be seen strange faces, extraordinary costumes, impossible attitudes, all of which gave a peculiar character to this multitude of bandits, who were hailing their chief with shouts of joy, and howls like those of wild beasts. captain sandoval knew too well the sort of people he had to deal with, to be affected in any way by the reception his bandits had improvised for him; instead of appearing touched by their enthusiasm, he frowned, drew up his head, and looked menacingly at the attentive crowd. "what is this, caballeros?" he said; "how comes it that you are all here waiting for me? _viva dios!_ some mistake must have occurred in the execution of my orders to make you collect so eagerly round me. well, leave me, we will clear that up on another occasion, for the present i wish to be alone: begone!" the bandits, without replying, bowed to the chief, and immediately withdrew, dispersing so promptly in the side galleries, that in less than five minutes the hall was entirely deserted. at the same moment ruperto appeared; he had left his companions with old comrades who had undertaken to do them the honours of the grotto, and now came to join the man who had been entrusted to his care. sandoval offered his hand cordially to the adventurer, but it was the cordiality of a man who feels himself at home, which the texan noticed. "halloh!" he said, "we are no longer on the prairie, it strikes me." "no," the captain answered, seriously, and he laid some stress on the words, "you are in my house, but," he added, with a pleasant smile, "that must not trouble you; you are my guests, and will be treated as you deserve to be." "good, good," ruperto said, who would not let himself be imposed on by this cavalier manner, "i know where the shoe pinches, gossip. well, i will find a remedy," and he turned to orson, who at this moment came down the ladder with his rough and savage face; "beg white gazelle to come hither; tell her particularly that captain sandoval wishes to see her." the chief of the pirates smiled and offered his hand to ruperto. "forgive me, ruperto," he said to him, "but you know how i love that girl. when i am a single day without seeing her, i fancy that i want something, and feel unhappy." "canarios! i am well aware of it," ruperto answered, with a smile; "hence, you see, that to restore you to your right temper i did not hesitate to give orson orders to fetch the only person you have ever loved." the captain sighed, but made no answer. "come," the adventurer continued, gaily, "she will come, so recover your spirits. caramba! it would be a fine thing for you to feel any longer vexed about a child who probably forgot to kiss you on your return because she was at play. remember, we are your guests, that we have the claims which hospitality gives us, and that you must not, under any pretext, look black at us." "alas, my friends," he answered, with a stifled sigh, "you know not, you cannot know, how sweet it is for a wretch like me, an outlaw, to be able to say to himself that there exists in the world a creature who loves him for himself, and without afterthought." "silence," ruperto said quickly, as he laid his hand on his arm, "here she comes." [ ] see trail-hunter, same publishers. chapter xii. in the cavern. ruperto was not mistaken: at this moment the most exquisite little creature imaginable came bounding up like a fawn. it was a girl of twelve years of age at the most, fresh, smiling, and beautifully formed. her long black hair, her rosy-lipped mouth, with its pearly teeth, her magnificent black hair floating into immense curls down to her knee, her eccentric costume, rather masculine than feminine, all concurred to give an imprint of strangeness, and render her fantastic, extraordinary, almost angelic, so striking a contrast did her lovely head appear to the vulgar and hideous bandits who surrounded her. so soon as the girl perceived the captain, a flash of delight shot from her eye, and with one bound she was in his arms, pressed to his large and powerful chest lovingly. "ah," he said, as he kissed her silken curls, and in a voice which he tried in vain to soften, "here you are at last, my darling gazelle,[ ] you have been long in coming." "father," she answered, as she repaid his caresses, and in a deliciously modulated voice, "i was not aware of your return. it was late, i did not hope to see you tonight, so i was about to sleep." "well, niña," he said, as he put her on the ground again and gave her a final kiss, "you must not remain here any longer. i have seen you, i have kissed you, and my stock of happiness is laid in till tomorrow. go and sleep. i am not egotistic, i do not wish you to lose your healthy cheeks." "oh," she said, with a little shake of her charming head, "i no longer feel inclined for sleep; i can remain a few minutes longer with you, father." white scalper gazed with growing astonishment on this admirable child, so gay, so laughing, so loving, and who appeared so beloved. he could not account for her presence among the pirates, or the affection their captain testified for her. "you love this child very dearly," he said, as he drew her gently towards him, and kissed her on the forehead. she looked at him with widely opened eyes, but did not evince the slightest fear, or try to avoid his caresses. "you ask if i love her," the pirate answered; "that child is the joy and happiness of our house. do you think, then," he added, with some bitterness, "that because we are outlawed bandits we have stifled every generous feeling in our hearts? undeceive yourself. the jaguar and panther love their cubs, the grizzly bear cherishes its whelps; should we be more ferocious than these animals, which are regarded as the most cruel in creation? yes, yes, we love our white gazelle! she is our good genius, our guardian angel; so long as she remains among us we shall succeed in everything, for good fortune accompanies her." "oh, in that case, father," she said eagerly, "you will always be fortunate, for i shall never leave you." "who can answer for the future?" he muttered in a choking voice, while a cloud of sorrow spread over his manly face. "you are a happy father," the scalper said, with a profound sigh. "yes, am i not? white gazelle is not mine alone, she belongs to us all; she is our adopted daughter." "ah!" said the scalper, without adding anything more, and letting his head drop sadly. "go, child," sandoval exclaimed, "go and sleep, for night is drawing on." the child withdrew, after saluting the three men with a soft glance, and soon disappeared in the depths of a side gallery. the captain looked after her so long as he could perceive her, then turning to his guests, who, like himself, had remained under the spell of this touching scene, he said-- "follow me, señores; it is growing late, you must be hungry, and need rest. the hospitality i am enabled to offer you will be modest, but frank and cordial." the two men bowed and followed him into a gallery, on each side of which were cells enclosed by large mats fastened to the walls in the shape of curtains; at regular distances torches of ocote wood, fixed in iron rings, spread a reddish and smoky light, sufficient, however to guide them. after walking for about ten minutes, and traversing several passages communicating with each other and forming a regular labyrinth, in which anyone else must inevitably have lost his way, the captain stopped before a cell, and raising the curtains that formed the doorway, made his companions a sign to enter. sandoval followed them, and let the mat fall again behind him. the cell into which the captain introduced his guests was vast; the walls were rather lofty, and allowed the air to penetrate through invisible fissures, which rendered it pleasant, while wooden partitions divided it into several chambers. a golden censer, probably stolen from a church, and hanging from the roof, contained a lamp of fragrant oil, which spread a brilliant light through the cavern. unfortunately, the rest of the furniture did not at all harmonize with this princely specimen, but was, on the contrary, most modest. it was composed of a large table of black oak, clumsily shaped, six equipals, and two butacas, a sort of easy chair with sloping back, and which alone had any pretensions to comfort. the walls were decorated with antlers of elks and bighorns, buffalo horns, and grizzly bear claws, the spolia opima of animals killed by the pirates during their chase on the desert. the only thing that attracted attention was a magnificent rack, containing all the weapons used in america, from the lance, arrow, and sagaie, up to the sword, the machete, the double-barrelled gun, and the holster pistol. it was evident that the pirate had given orders for the reception of his guests, for wooden plates, glasses, and silver dishes were arranged on the table among large pots of red clay containing, some water, and others mezcal and pulque, those two favourite beverages of the mexicans. orson, with his savage face and ordinary, sulky look, was ready to wait on the guests. "to table, señores," sandoval said gravely, as he drew up an equipal and sat down on it. the others followed his example, and each drawing his knife from his belt, began a general and vigorous attack on a magnificent venison pasty. the appetite of the guests, sharpened by a long day's fasting, needed such a comforter. however, we are bound to do the chief of the pirates the justice of saying that his larder appeared amply supplied, and that he did the honours of the table admirably. the first moments of the meal were passed in silence, as the mexicans thought only of eating. but when the sharpest hunger was appeased, and, according to the anglo-american fashion generally admitted on the prairies, the bottle circulated, the apparent coldness that had prevailed among the company suddenly disappeared, and each began conversing with his next neighbour; then the voices were gradually raised, and ere long everybody was talking at the same time. during the repast which threatened to degenerate into an orgy, two men alone had moderately applied themselves to the bottle; they were sandoval and white scalper. the chief of the pirates, while exciting his guests to drink, was very careful to retain his sobriety and coolness. he examined with some anxiety the singular man whom chance had given him as a guest; this gloomy face caused him a feeling of discomfort for which he could not account. still he did not dare question him, for the law of the desert prohibits the slightest inquiry being made of a stranger, so long as he thinks proper to maintain his incognito. fortunately for sandoval, whose impatience and curiosity momentarily increased, ruperto had an equal desire to explain the object of his visit to the prairies. at the moment, therefore, when the private conversations, growing more and more animated, had become general, and each seemed to be trying which could shout the loudest, the texan smote the table several times loudly with the pommel of his dagger to demand silence. the shouts stopped instantaneously, and all heads were turned towards him. "what do you want, ruperto?" sandoval asked him. "what do i want?" the other answered, whose tongue was growing dull under the influence of the numerous and copious draughts he had taken; "i want to speak." "silence!" the captain shouted in a stentorian voice; "now, go on, ruperto! no one will interrupt you, even if you spoke till sunrise." "demonios!" the texan said, with a laugh, "i have no pretence to abuse your patience so long." "act as you please, gossip: you are my guest, and more than that, an old acquaintance, which gives you the right to do whatever you please here." "thanks for your gallantry, captain; i must, in the first place, in my own name and in that of the persons who accompany me, offer you sincere thanks for your splendid hospitality." "go on, go on," the captain said, carelessly: "no, no; on the contrary, caramba! a table so well served as yours is not to be found every day on the prairie. a man must be as ungrateful as a monk not to feel thankful." "halloh!" the captain said, laughingly, "did you not tell me, when i met you this evening, that you were sent to me by fray antonio?" "i did, captain." "a worthy monk," sandoval observed; "he reminds one of the rev. john zimmers, a protestant minister, who was hung about ten years back at baton rouge, for bigamy. he was a very holy man! i remember that at the foot of the gallows he made the crowd an edifying speech, which drew tears from most of his hearers. but let us return to fray antonio; i hope that no accident has happened to him, and that he still enjoys good health." "when i left him his health was excellent. still it is possible that he may be dangerously ill at this moment, or even dead." "rayo de dios! you alarm me, gossip. explain yourself." "it is very simple: texas, wearied with the incessantly renewed exactions of mexico, has revolted to gain its liberty." "very good; i know it." "you know too, of course, that all the men of talent have arrayed themselves beneath the flag of independence. naturally fray antonio raised a cuadrilla, and offered his services to the insurgents." "that is very ingenious," the captain said, with a smile. "is it not? oh! fray antonio is a clever politician." "yes, yes, and proof of it is that at the beginning of the insurrection it often happened that he did not know himself to which party he belonged." "what would you have?" ruperto said, carelessly, "it is so difficult to find one's way in a general upset; but now it is no longer the case." "ah! it seems that he is fixed?" "completely; he forms part of the army of liberation. now, on the very day of my departure the insurgents were marching towards the mexican forces to offer them battle. that is why i said to you it was possible that fray antonio might be seriously indisposed, and perhaps even dead." "i hope that misfortune has not happened." "and so do i. a few minutes before setting out, fray antonio, who takes a great interest, as it seems, in the wounded caballero who accompanies me, not wishing to abandon him alone and helpless in the power of the mexicans, should the liberating army unfortunately be conquered, ordered me to lead him to you, for he felt certain you would take great care of his friend, and treat him well, in consideration of old friendship." "he did right to count on me; i will not deceive his confidence. caballero," he added, turning to the old man, who during the whole of this conversation had remained cold and apathetic, "you know us by this time, and are aware that we are pirates. we offer you the hospitality of the desert, a frank and unbounded hospitality, and offer it without either asking who you are or what you have done before setting foot on our territory." "on what conditions do you offer me all these advantages?" the old man asked, as he bowed, with cold politeness, to the chief of the bandits. "on none, señor," he answered; "we ask nothing of you, not even your name; we are proscribed and banished men; hence, every proscript, whatever be the motives that bring him here, has a right to a place by our fire. and now," he added, as he seized a bottle and poured out a bumper, "here is to your fortunate arrival among us, señor! pledge me!" "one moment, señor. before replying to your toast i have, if you will permit me, a few words to say to you." "we are listening to you, señor." the old man rose, drew himself up to his full height, and looked silently at the company. a deep silence prevailed; suffering from lively anxiety, all impatiently waited for the scalper to speak. at length he did so, while his face, which had hitherto been cold and stern, was animated by an expression of gentleness of which it would not have been thought capable. "señores," he said, "your frankness challenges mine; the generosity and grandeur of your reception compels me to make myself known. when a man comes to claim the support of men like yourselves he must keep nothing hidden from them. yes, i am proscribed! yes, i am banished! but i am so by my own will. i could return tomorrow, if i pleased, to the bosom of society, which has never repelled me, i make here neither allusions nor applications. i remain in the desert to accomplish a duty i have imposed on myself; i pursue a vengeance, an implacable vengeance, which nothing can completely satiate, not even the death of the last of my enemies! a vengeance which is only a wild dream, a horrible nightmare, but which i pursue, and shall pursue, at all hazards, until the supreme hour when, on the point of giving my last sigh, i shall die with regret at not having sufficiently avenged myself. such is the object of my life, the cause which made me abandon the life of civilized men to take up with that of wild beasts--vengeance! now you know what i am; when i have told you my name you will be well acquainted with me." the old man's voice, at first calm and low, had gradually mounted to the diapason of the passions that agitated him, and had become sonorous and harsh. his hearers, involuntarily overpowered by his impassioned accents, listened with panting chests and, as it were hanging on his lips, to this strange man, who, by revealing the secret of his life, had stirred up their hearts, and caused the only sensitive fibre that still existed there to vibrate painfully. for they, too, had but one object left, a sole desire--vengeance on that society which had expelled them like impure scum. these men could comprehend such a powerful and vindictive nature, admire it, and even feel jealous of it, for it was more complete and more vigorously tempered than their own. when the scalper had ceased speaking, all rose as if by common accord, and, leaning their quivering hands on the table, bent over to him, awaiting, with feverish impatience, the revelation of his name. but, by a strange revolution, the wounded man seemed to have forgotten what was taking place around him, and no longer to remember either where he was or what he had said. his head was bowed on his chest; with his forehead resting on his right hand and his eyes fixed on the ground, he tried in vain to overcome the flood of bitter recollections, the ever-bleeding wound which in a moment of excitement he had so imprudently revived. sandoval regarded him for a moment with an expression of sadness and pity, and laid his hand on his shoulder. at this touch the old man, roughly recalled to a feeling of external things, drew himself up as if he had received an electric shock, and gazed wildly round him. "what do you want with me?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "to tell you your name," the pirate answered, slowly. "ah!" he said, "then you know it?" "ten minutes back i was ignorant of it." "while now----?" "now i have guessed it." an ironical smile curled the old man's pale lips. "do you think so?" he said. "i am sure of it; there are not two men of your stamp in the desert; you are the genius of evil if you are not white scalper." at this name an electric quiver traversed the limbs of the hearers. the old man raised his head haughtily. "yes," he said, in a sharp voice, "i am white scalper." during this long conversation a number of pirates, brought up either by idleness or curiosity, had entered the dining room one after the other. on hearing this name uttered which they had been accustomed so long to admire, on seeing at length this man for whom they felt a secret terror, they burst into a formidable shout, which the resounding echoes repeated indefinitely, and which caused the roof to tremble as if agitated by an earthquake. the white scalper made a signal to ask silence. "señores," he said, "i am very grateful for the friendly demonstrations of which i am the object. up to the present i have refused every species of alliance; i obstinately resolved to live alone and accomplish, without help, the work of destruction to which i have devoted myself. but, after what has passed here, i must break the promise i made myself; he who receives is bound to give! henceforth i am one of yourselves, if you deem me worthy to form part of your cuadrilla." at this proposal the huzzas and shouts of joy were redoubled with extreme frenzy. sandoval frowned; he understood that his precarious power was menaced. but, too skilful and crafty to let the secret fears that agitated him be guessed, he resolved to outflank the difficulty, and regain, by a masterstroke, the power which he felt instinctively was slipping from his grasp. raising the glass he held in his hand, he shouted in a thundering voice: "muchachos! i drink to white scalper!" "to white scalper," the bandits joined in enthusiastically. sandoval allowed the first effervescence time to calm down. himself exciting this enthusiasm, he at length requested silence at the moment when this enthusiasm had attained its paroxysm. for a few minutes his efforts were in vain, for heads were beginning to grow hot under the influence of copious and incessant libations of mezcal, pulque, and catalonian refino. by degrees, however, and like the sea after a storm, the cries died out, a calm was re-established, and nothing was audible save a dull and confused murmur of whispered words. sandoval hastened to profit by this transient moment of silence to speak again. "señores," he said, "i have a proposal to make, which, i believe, will suit you." "speak, speak," the pirates shouted. "our association," sandoval continued, "is founded on the most entire equality of its members, who freely elect the man they consider most worthy to command them." "yes, yes," they exclaimed. "long live sandoval!" some said. "let him speak, do not interrupt him," the majority vociferated. sandoval, negligently leaning on the table, followed with an apparently indifferent glance these various manifestations, though he was suffering from lively anxiety, and his heart beat ready to burst his chest. he was playing for a heavy stake; he knew it, for he had, with the infallible glance of all ambitious men, calculated all the chances for and against. hence, it was only by the strength of his will that he succeeded in giving his face a marble rigidity which did not permit the supreme agony he was suffering internally to be divined. when silence was nearly re-established, and he might hope to be heard, he continued, in a firm voice: "you did me the honour to appoint me your chief, and i believe that hitherto i have rendered myself worthy of that honour." he paused as if to await a reply. a murmur of assent gently tickled his ear. "what is he driving at?" orson asked in a rough voice. "you shall know," said sandoval, who overheard him. and he continued: "in the common interest, i consider it my duty this night to hand you back the authority with which you entrusted me. you have at present among you a man more capable than myself of commanding you, a man whose mere name will inspire terror in the heart of your enemies. in a word, i offer you my resignation, proposing that you should elect on the spot white scalper as your chief!" it was only then that sandoval really knew the feeling of his comrades toward him. of two hundred pirates assembled at this moment in the dining hall, two thirds pronounced immediately for him, energetically refusing the resignation he offered apparently with so much self-denial; one half the remaining third gave no sign of approval or disapproval. thirty or forty of the bandits alone received the proposal with shouts of joy. still, as happens nearly always under similar circumstances, these thirty or forty individuals, by their shouts and yells, would soon have led away others, and would probably have become ere long an imposing majority, had not white scalper himself thought it high time to interfere. the old adventurer did not at all desire the disgraceful honour of being elected the chief of this band of ruffians, whom he despised in his heart, and whom the force of circumstances alone compelled him to accept as companions. he was, on the contrary, resolved to part with them so soon as his wounds were closed, and he felt capable of recommencing his wandering life. hence, at the moment when the shouts and oaths crossed each other in the air with an intensity that grew more and more menacing, when already some of the pirates, their arguments being exhausted, were beginning to lay hands on their knives and pistols, and a frightful battle was about to begin between these men, among whom a moral feeling did not exist, and who were consequently restrained by no sentiment of honour or affection; he rose, and speaking amid the vociferations of these turbulent men, he protested energetically against the proposal made by sandoval, not wishing, as he said, to accept anything but the honour of fighting by their side, and sharing their dangers, for he felt an incompetence to command. in the face of such an energetic refusal, all opposition necessarily ceased. a reaction in the contrary sense set in, and the pirates implored sandoval to retain the command, while protesting their devotion to him. sandoval, after letting himself be a long time entreated, in order to convince them thoroughly of the frankness of his conduct, at length allowed himself to be persuaded, and consented to retain that power which he had felt for a moment such fear of losing. peace was thus restored as if by enchantment, and while the pirates drank floods of mezcal to celebrate the happy conclusion of this affair, the captain led his guests to a compartment separate from the grotto, where they were at liberty at last to rest themselves. still sandoval, who, rightly or wrong, had for a moment found his power threatened by white scalper, felt a malice for him in his heart, and promised to avenge himself on the first opportunity. [ ] see pirates of the prairies, same publishers. chapter xiii. a conversation. tranquil and loyal heart, as we have seen, withdrew immediately the opportunity appeared favourable to them, and returned to the hunter's rancho, where no eusebio had made all preparations to give them a hearty reception. loyal heart was too sad by nature, the canadian too preoccupied by a fixed idea which he had hitherto; kept in his heart, for these two men to take the slightest interest in the coarse festivities of the indians. all this noise and disturbance wearied them; they felt a desire to rest themselves. doña garillas received them with that calm and radiant smile which seemed to pass over her pale and sad face like a sunbeam passing between two clouds. attentive to satisfy their slightest desires, she seemed to be thankful to them for their return, and tried, by those thousand little attentions of which women alone possess the secret, to keep them as long as possible by her side. the hunter's house, so peaceful and comfortable, although in the prejudiced sight of a european it would have seemed hardly above the most wretched labourer's cabin in this country, formed a contrast which was not without grandeur with the leather callis of the redskins, those receptacles of vermin, where the most utter neglect and complete forgetfulness, not only of comfort, but of the most simple enjoyments of life, were visible. loyal heart, after respectfully kissing his mother's forehead, shaking hands with no eusebio, and patting his dogs, which leapt up at him with joyous whines, sat down to table, making tranquil a sign to follow his example. since the previous night a singular change had taken place in the manner, and even countenance of the old hunter. he whose movements were generally so frank and steady, seemed embarrassed; his eye had lost the fire which illumined it and gave it so noble an expression; his eyebrows continually met under the effect of some secret thought; his very speech was sharper than usual. the young man watched pensively, and with a melancholy smile, the hunter's movements. when the meal was over, and the pipes were lit, after making his mother and no eusebio a sign to withdraw, he turned to the canadian-- "my guest," he said affectionately, "we are old friends, are we not? although we have known each other but a short time." "certainly! loyal heart, in the desert friendships and hatreds grow rapidly, and we have been together under circumstances when two men, side by side, can appreciate each other in a few minutes." "will you let me ask you a question?" "of course," the hunter answered. "stay," the young man continued; "do we understand each other? will you promise to answer me this question?" "why not?" tranquil said quietly. "who knows--_¿quién sabe?_ as we spanish americans say," the young man replied with a smile. "nonsense," the canadian replied carelessly; "ask your question, mine host; i cannot foresee the possibility of my being unable to answer you." "but, supposing it were so?" "i do not suppose it; you are a man of too upright sense, and too great intelligence, to fall into that error. so speak without fear." "i will do so, as you authorise me; for you do so, i think." "understood." "in that ease, listen to me. i know you too well, or, at least, i fancy i know you too well to suppose that you have come here merely to pay me a visit, as you knew you could meet me any day on the prairie. you have, therefore, undertaken this journey with some definite object; a most serious motive impelled you to wish to see me." tranquil gave a silent nod of assent. loyal heart went on after a moment's silence, during which he seemed to be awaiting a reply, which did not come. "you have been here now two days. you have already had several opportunities for a frank explanation, an explanation, by the way, which i desire with my whole heart, for i foresee that it will contain a service i can render you, and i shall be happy to prove to you the esteem i entertain for your character. still, that explanation does not come; you seem, on the contrary, to fear it; your manner toward me has completely changed; since yesterday, in a word, you are no longer the man i knew, the man who never hesitates, and always utters his thoughts loudly and boldly, whatever might be the consequences at a later date. am i mistaken? answer, old hunter." for some minutes the canadian seemed considerably embarrassed; this point-blank question troubled him singularly. at length he boldly made up his mind, and raised his head-- "on my word," he answered, looking his questioner firmly in the face, "i cannot contradict it; loyal heart, you are right--all you have said is perfectly correct." "ah!" the young man said with a smile of satisfaction, "i was not mistaken, then; i am pleased to know what i have to depend on." the canadian shrugged his shoulders philosophically, like a man who does not at all understand, but who yet experiences a certain degree of pleasure at seeing his questioner satisfied, though he is completely ignorant why. loyal heart continued-- "now, i demand in the name of that friendship that binds us--i demand, i say, that you should be frank with me, and without reservation or circumlocution, confess to me the motives which urged you to act as you have done." "these motives are only honourable, be assured, loyal heart." "i am convinced of it, my friend; but i repeat to you, i wish to know them." "after all," the old hunter continued with the accent of a man who has formed a resolution, "why should i have secrets from you when i have come to claim your assistance? you shall know all. i am only a coarse adventurer, who received all the education he has on the desert; i adore god, and am mad for liberty; i have always tried to benefit my neighbour, and requite good for evil as far as lay in my power; such, in two words, is my profession of faith." "it is rigorously true," loyal heart said, with an air of conviction. "thanks, and frankly i believe it. but, with the exception of that, i know nothing. desert life has only developed in me the instincts of the brute, without giving me any of those refinements which the civilisation of towns causes to be developed in the most savage natures." "i confess that i do not see at all what you are driving at." "you will soon comprehend me. from the first moment i saw you, with the first word you uttered, by a species of intuition, by one of those sympathies what are independent of the will, i felt myself attracted towards you. you were my friend during the few days we lived together, sharing the same couch under the vault of heaven, running the same dangers, experiencing the same joys and sorrows. i believed that i appreciated you at your true value, and my friendship only increased in consequence. hence, when i needed a sure and devoted friend, i thought of you at once, and, without further reflection, started to go in quest of you." "you did well." "i know it," said tranquil, with simple enthusiasm; "still, on entering this modest rancho, my ideas were completely modified; a doubt occurred to me--not about you, for that was impossible--but about your position, and the mysterious life you lead. i asked myself by what concourse of circumstances a man like you had confined himself to an indian village and accepted all the wretchedness of a redskin life, a wretchedness often so cruel and opposed to our manners. on seeing your mother so lovely and so kind, your old servant so devoted, and the way in which you behave within these walls, i thought, without prejudging anything, that a great misfortune had suddenly burst on you and forced you for a time into a hard exile. but i understood that i was not your equal, that between you and me there was a distinctly traced line of demarcation; then i felt oppressed in your company, for you are no longer the free hunter, having no other roof but the verdurous dome of our virgin forests, or other fortune than his rifle; in a word, you are no longer the comrade, the friend with whom i was so happy to share everything in the desert i no longer recognise the right to treat as an equal a man whom a passing misfortune has accidentally brought near me, and who would, doubtless, at a later date, regret this intimacy which has sprung from accident; while continuing to love and esteem you, i resume the place that belongs to me." "all of which means?" loyal heart said, distinctly. "that, being no longer able to be your comrade, and not wishing to be your servant, i shall retire." "you are mad, tranquil," the young man exclaimed, with an outburst of impatient grief. "what you say, i tell you, has not common sense, and the conclusions yon draw from it are absurd." "still----?" the canadian hazarded. "oh!" the other continued, with considerable animation, "i have allowed you to speak, have i not? i listened to whatever you had to say without interruption, and it is now your turn. without wishing it, you have caused me the greatest pain it is possible for me to suffer; you have caused an ever-living wound to bleed, by reminding me of things which i try in vain to forget, and which will cause the wretchedness of my whole life." "i--i?" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of terror. "yes, you! but what matter? besides, you were walking blindly, not knowing where you were going; hence, i have no right to be angry with you, and am not so. but there is one thing i value above all, which; i esteem more than life, and that is your friendship. i cannot consent to lose it. confidence for confidence! you shall know who i am and what motive brought me to the desert, where i am condemned to live and die." "no," tranquil answered, clearly, "i have no claim to your confidence. you say that i have unintentionally caused you great suffering; that suffering would only be increased by the confession you wish to make me. i swear to you, loyal heart, that i will not listen to you." "you must, my friend, both for your sake and my own, for in that way we shall learn to understand one another. besides," he added, with a melancholy smile, "this secret which crushed me, and which i have hitherto kept in my own bosom, it will be a great consolation to me, be assured, to confide to a real friend. and then, you must know this: i have no one to complain of; the terrible misfortune which suddenly fell upon me, or chastisement, if you like that term better, was just, though perhaps severe; i have, therefore, no one to reproach but myself. my life is only one long expiation; unhappily i tremble lest the present and the future will not suffice to expiate the past." "you forget god, my son," a voice said, with an accent of supreme majesty, "god, who cannot fail you and will judge you. when the expiation you have imposed on yourself is completed, that god will cause it to terminate." and doña garillas, who had for some moments been listening to the conversation of the two men, crossed the room with a majestic step, and laid her white and delicate hand on the shoulder of her son, while giving him a glance full of that powerful love which mothers alone possess. "oh! i am a wretched ingrate!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully; "in my hideous egotism i for a moment forgot you, my mother, who gave up everything for me." "raphael, you are my first-born. what i did nine years ago i would do again today. but now, let what you are about to hear be a consolation to you. i am proud of you, my son; whatever pain you once caused me, the same amount of joy and pride you cause me today. all the indian tribes that traverse the vast solitudes of the prairie have the greatest respect and deepest veneration for you; has not the name these primitive men have given you become the synonym of honour? are you not, in a word, loyal heart, that is to say, the man whose decisions have the strength of law, whom all, friends and enemies, love and esteem? what more do you want?" the young man shook his head sadly. "alas, mother," he said, in a hollow voice, "can i ever forget that i have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary?" tranquil could not restrain a start of terror. "oh, it is impossible!" he muttered. the young man heard him, and turning to him, said--? "yes, my friend, i have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary. well, now," he added, with an accent of sad and bitter raillery, "do you still fancy yourself unworthy of my friendship? do you still consider you are not my equal?" the canadian rose while the young man bent on him a searching glance; he went up to doña garillas, and bowed to her with a respect mingled with admiration. "señora," he said, "whatever crimes a man may have committed in a moment of irresistible passion, that man must be absolved by all when, in spite of his fault, he inspires a devotion so glorious, so perfect, and so noble as yours. you are a holy woman, madam! hope, as you said yourself a moment back, hope. god, who is omnipotent, will, when the moment arrives, dry your tears and make you forget your sorrow in immense joy. i am but a poor man, without talent or learning, but my instinct has never deceived me. i am convinced that if your son were ever guilty, he is now pardoned, even by the man who condemned him under the influence of an exaggerated feeling of honour, which he regretted at a later date." "thanks, my friend," loyal heart answered; "thanks for words which i feel convinced are the expression of your innermost thoughts; thanks in my mother's name and my own! yours is a frank and upright nature. you have restored me the courage which at times abandons me, and have raised me in my own sight; but this expiation to which i condemned myself, would not be complete unless i told you, in their fullest details, all the events of my life. no refusal," he added, with a sign to the hunter, "it must be so! believe me, tranquil, this story bears its own instruction. just as the traveller, after a long and painful journey, halts by the wayside, and looks with a certain degree of satisfaction at the distance he has covered, i shall feel a mournful pleasure in returning to the early and terrible events of my life." "yes," said his mother, "you are right, my son. a man must have courage to look back, in order to acquire the strength to walk worthily forward. it is only by reverting to the past that you can understand the present and have hope in the future. speak, speak, my son, and if in the course of your narrative your memory or your courage fail you, your mother will be here at your side, as i have ever been, and what you dare not or cannot say, i will say." tranquil regarded with admiration this strange woman, whose gestures and words harmonized so well with her majestic bearing; this mother, whose sweet face reflected so well her noble sentiments; he felt himself very small and wretched in the presence of this chosen nature, who, of all the passions, knew only one, maternal love. "loyal heart," he said, with an emotion he could not master, "since you insist, i will listen to the narrative of the events which brought you to the desert; but be assured of this, whatever i may hear, since you are willing still to give me the title of friend, here is my hand, take it, i will never fail you. now, whether you speak or keep your secret, is of no consequence. remember one thing, however, that i belong to you, body and soul, before and against all, today or tomorrow, tomorrow or ten years hence, and that," he added with a certain degree of solemnity, "i swear to you from my deepest soul, by the memory of my beloved mother, whose ashes now rest in quebec cemetery. now go on, i am ready to listen to you." loyal heart warmly returned the pressure of the hunter's hand, and made him sit down on his right hand, while doña garillas took her place on his left. "now, listen to me," he said. at this moment the door opened, and no eusebio appeared. "_mi amo_," he said, "the indian chief, called black-deer, wishes to speak to you." "what, black-deer?" the hunter said with surprise; "impossible! he must be engaged with his marriage festivities." "pardon me," tranquil observed; "you forget, loyal heart, that when we left the feast the chief came up to us, saying in a low voice that he had a serious communication to make to us." "that is true; in fact, i did forget it. let him enter, no eusebio. my friend," he added, addressing tranquil, "it is impossible for me at this moment to begin a story which would be interrupted almost at the first sentence; but soon, i hope, you shall know it." "i will leave you to settle your indian affairs," doña garillas said with a smile, and rising, she quitted the room. tranquil, we are bound to confess, was in his heart delighted at an interruption which saved him from listening to the narrative of painful events. the worthy hunter possessed the precious quality of not being at all curious to know the history of men he liked, for his native integrity led him to fear seeing them break down in his esteem. hence, he easily accepted the unexpected delay in loyal heart's confession, and was grateful to black-deer for arriving so opportunely. at the moment when doña garillas entered the room no eusebio introduced the indian chief by another door. forgetful of that assumed stoicism so habitual to indians, black-deer seemed suffering from a lively anxiety. the warrior's gloomy air, his frowns--nothing, in a word, recalled in him the man who had just contracted a union he had long desired, and which, fulfilled all his wishes; his countenance, on the contrary, was so grave and stern, that the two hunters noticed it at the first glance, and could not refrain from remarking on it to him. "wah!" loyal heart said good-humouredly, "you have a preciously sad face. did you, on entering the village, perceive five crows on your right, or did your scalping knife stick in the ground thrice in succession, which, as everybody knows, is a very evil omen?" the chief, before replying, bent a piercing glance around. "no," he at length said, in a low and suppressed voice, "black-deer has not seen five crows on his right; he saw a fox on his left, and a flight of owls in the bushes." "you know, chief, that i do not at all understand you," loyal heart said, laughing. "nor do i, on my honour," tranquil observed with a crafty smile. the chief bravely endured this double volley of sarcasm. not a muscle of his face stirred; on the contrary, his features seemed to grow more gloomy. "my brothers can laugh," he said, "they are palefaces; they care little whether good or evil happens to the indians." "pardon, chief," loyal heart answered, suddenly becoming serious; "my friend and myself had no intention of insulting you." "i am aware of it," the chief replied, "my brothers cannot suppose that on a day like this i should be sad." "that is true, but now our ears are open: my brother will speak, and we listen with all the attention his words deserve." the indian seemed to hesitate, but in a moment he walked up to loyal heart and tranquil, seated by his side, and bent over them, so that his head touched theirs. "the situation is grave," he said, "and i have only a few minutes to spare, so my brothers will listen seriously. i must return to the calli of blackbird, where my friends and relatives await me. are my brothers listening?" "we are listening," the two men answered with one voice. ere going on, black-deer walked round the room, inspecting the walls and opening the doors, as if fearing listeners. then, probably re-assured by this inspection that no one could hear him, he returned to the two white men, who curiously followed these singular operations, and said to them in a low voice, as an additional precaution: "a great danger menaces the antelope comanches." "how so, chief?" "the apaches are watching the neighbourhood of the village." "how do you know that?" the chief looked around him, and then continued in the same low and suppressed voice: "i have seen them." "my brother has seen the apaches?" the chief smiled proudly. "yes," he said, "black-deer is a great brave, he has the fine scent of my brother's rastreros, he has smelt the enemy; smelling is seeing, with a warrior." "yes, but my brother must take care! passion is an evil counsellor," loyal heart answered; "perhaps he is mistaken." black-deer shrugged his shoulders with disdain. "this night there was not a breath of air in the forest, yet the leaves of the trees moved, and the tall grass was agitated." "wah! that is astonishing," said loyal heart; "an envoy of the buffalo apaches is in the village at this moment, we must be threatened by fearful trickery." "blue-fox is a traitor who has sold his people," the indian continued with some animation; "what can be hoped from such a man? he has come here to count the braves, and send the warriors to sleep." "yes," said loyal heart thoughtfully, "that is possible. but what is to be done? has my brother warned the chiefs?" "yes, while blue-fox requested the hachesto to assemble the council, black-deer spoke with bounding panther, lynx, and blackbird." "very good, what have they resolved?" "blue-fox will be retained as a hostage, under various pretexts. at sunset two hundred picked warriors, under the orders of loyal heart, and guided by black-deer, will go and surprise the enemy, who, knowing their emissary to be in the village, will have no suspicion, but fall into the trap they intended to set for us." loyal heart remained silent for a moment and reflected. "let my brother hear me," he said presently; "i am ready to obey the orders of the sovereign council of the sachems of the tribe, but i will not let the warriors entrusted to me be massacred. the buffalo apaches are old chattering and crying squaws, without courage, to whom we will give petticoats, each time they find themselves face to face with us in the prairies. but here such is not the case; they are ambushed at a spot selected beforehand, and are acquainted with all its resources. however well my young men may be guided by my brothers, the apaches will come on their trail, so that will not do." "what does my brother propose?" black-deer asked with some anxiety. "the sun has run two-thirds of its course, black-deer will warn the warriors to proceed each by himself, to the mountain of the blackbear, one hour after sunset. in this way they will seem to be going hunting separately, and excite no suspicion. no one will see them depart, and if the enemy, as is probable, have spies in the camp, they cannot suppose that these hunters, starting one after the other, are sent off to surprise them. when the sun has disappeared on the horizon, in the sacred cavern of the red mountain, my brother the pale hunter and myself will mount our horses and join the redskins. have i spoken well? does what i have said please my brother?" while loyal heart was thus explaining the plan he had instantaneously conceived, the indian chief gave marks of the greatest joy, and the most lively admiration. "my brother has spoken well," he answered; "the wacondah is with him; his medicine is very powerful, though his hair is black; the wisdom of the master of life resides in him. it shall be done as he desires; black-deer will obey him; he will follow out exactly the wise instructions of his brother, loyal heart." "good; but my brother will take care: blue-fox is very clever!" "blue-fox is an apache dog, whose ears black-deer will crop. my brother the hunter need not feel alarmed; all will happen as he desires." after exchanging a few more sentences to come to a full understanding, and make their final arrangements, black-deer withdrew. "you will come with me, i suppose, tranquil?" the young man asked the canadian so soon as they were alone. "of course!" the other replied; "did you doubt it? what the deuce should i do here during your absence? i prefer accompanying you, especially as, if i am not mistaken, there will be a jolly row." "you are not mistaken. it is evident to me that the apaches would not have ventured so near the village, unless they were in considerable force." "well, in that case, two hundred men are as nothing; you should have asked for more." "why so? in a surprise the man who attacks is always the stronger; we will try to get the first blow, that is all." "that is true, by jove! i am delighted at the affair; i have not smelt powder for some time, and feel myself beginning to rust; that will restore me." at this outburst, loyal heart began laughing, tranquil formed the chorus, and they spoke about something else. chapter xiv. two enemies. in the high american latitudes, night comes on almost suddenly, and without sensible transition; there is no twilight, and when the sun has disappeared on the horizon, it is perfect night; now, at the period of the year when the events occurred which we have undertaken to describe, the sun set at seven o'clock. half an hour later, tranquil and loyal heart, mounted on excellent mustangs, left the rancho, followed by no eusebio, who insisted on joining them, and whom no entreaties or exhortations could keep back. they had only gone a few yards across the square, however, when the canadian laid his hand on the young man's bridle. "what do you want?" the latter asked. "shall we not take our comrades with us?" "do you think it necessary?" "well, with the exception of the monk, who, i fear, is not worth much, they are stout fellows, whose rifles might prove very useful to us." "that is true; warn them in a few words, and rejoin me here." "do you not think the departure of so large a party may arouse the suspicions of blue-fox, who is doubtless prowling about the neighbourhood?" "not at all, they are white men; if he saw indian warriors departing thus, i am sure his doubts would be aroused; but he will never suppose that hunters have discovered his treachery." "you may be right, but in any case it is better to run the risk; wait for me, i shall be back in ten minutes." "all right, go along." tranquil went off rapidly, while loyal heart and no eusebio halted a few yards further on. the adventurers gleefully accepted the proposal tranquil made them; for such men, a battle is a festival, especially when they have indians to fight; ten minutes scarce elapsed, therefore, ere the canadian rejoined the young man. the little band set out, and silently left the village. loyal heart was mistaken in supposing that blue-fox would not be alarmed on seeing the white hunters leave the atepetl. the redskin, like all men who meditate treachery, had his eyes constantly open to the movements of the inhabitants of the village, and his watchful mind took umbrage at the most insignificant matters. although the comanche chiefs had acted with the greatest prudence, the apache sachem speedily perceived that he was watched, and that, though honourably treated, and apparently free, he was in reality a prisoner. he pretended not to suspect what was going on, but redoubled his attention. during the past day, he had seen several warriors mount their horses one after the other, and set out in groups of two, three, and even four, to bury themselves in the forest. not one of these warriors having re-entered the atepetl by sunset, this circumstance caused the redskin chief deep thought, and he even came to the conclusion that his plans were discovered, and that the comanches were attempting a countermine, that is to say, were trying to surprise the persons who desired to lay a trap for them, and the departure of the white hunters would have removed the chief's final doubts, had any such remained. the situation was growing not only very critical, but most perilous for him; his scalp was extremely compromised; it was plain that the comanche warriors on their return would perform the scalp dance, and the finest ornament of the feast would be the apache chief who had tried to lead them into a cleverly-prepared trap. blue-fox was a warrior renowned as much for his wisdom in council as for his bravery in fight; instances of extraordinary audacity and temerity, were narrated about him, but the courage with which the chief was gifted was calm, reasoning, and ever subordinate to events; that is to say, blue-fox, like a true redskin, would never hesitate, when circumstances demanded it, to substitute craft and trickery for courage, considering it highly absurd, and very useless, to expose his life without any hope of profit. blue-fox was sitting in front of the entrance of the calli of honour the comanches had given him during the period of his stay with them, calmly smoking his pipe, when the white hunters passed before him. he displayed neither surprise nor curiosity at the sight of them, but by an almost imperceptible movement of his head and shoulders, he looked after them with a flashing glance till they disappeared in the darkness. we have said that the night was dark, the village already appeared completely deserted, the indians had withdrawn to the interior of their callis, while at lengthened intervals an isolated redskin hastily crossed the square, hurrying homewards. blue-fox still sat before his calli smoking; gradually the arm that supported the calumet fell on his knees, his head bowed on his chest, and the apache sachem seemed, as so often happens to the indians, to have yielded to the narcotic influence of the morichee; and a long time elapsed ere he made the slightest movement. was the chief really asleep? no one could have answered the question. his calm and regular breathing, and his careless attitude, led to the supposition that he had been overcome by sleep; but, if any sound suddenly smote his ear, an almost imperceptible tremor ran over his limbs, and his eyelash rose, probably through that instinct of personal prudence peculiar to the indians, but more probably through a desire of investigation, as we think, and as anyone else would have thought who was in a position to see the piercing glances he at such moments darted into the obscurity. all at once the curtain of the calli was raised, and a hand was roughly laid on the sleeper's shoulder. the chief started at this touch, which he did not at all expect, and sprang up as if a serpent had stung him. "the nights are cold," said an ironical voice, which smote unpleasantly on the ear of blue-fox; "the dew is profuse, and ices the blood; my brother is wrong to sleep thus in the open air, when he has a spacious and convenient calli." blue-fox, by a powerful effort, extinguished the fire of his glance, composed his features, and answered in the gentle voice of a man who is really waking-- "i thank my brother for his affectionate observation; in truth, the nights are very cold, and it is better to sleep in a calli than in the open air." he rose without further discussion, and re-entered the hut with the calm step of a man delighted with the warning he has received. a great fire was kindled in the interior of the calli, which, besides, was illumined by a torch of ocote wood stuck in the ground, whose ruddy and vacillating glare imparted a blood-red hue to surrounding objects. the man whose charitable advice surprised blue-fox, let the curtain fall behind him, and entered after the chief. this man was black-deer, without uttering a syllable, he sat down before the fire, and began arranging the logs with a certain degree of symmetry. blue-fox gazed on him for a moment with am undefinable expression, and then walked up and stood by his side. "my brothers, the antelope comanches," he said, with an almost imperceptible tinge of irony in his voice, "are great warriors; they understand the laws of hospitality better than any other nation." "the antelope comanches," black-deer answered, peaceably, "know that blue-fox is a renowned chief, and one of the great braves of the buffalo apaches; they are anxious to do him honour." the chief bowed. "does this honour go so far as to compel so great a warrior as my brother to watch over my sleep?" "my brother is the guest of the antelopes, and in that quality has a claim to all possible attention." like two experienced duellists the chiefs had crossed swords; having felt their blades, they perceived that they were of equal strength, and each fell back a step to continue the engagement on new ground. "then," blue-fox continued, "my brother will remain in the calli with me." the chief gave a nod of assent. "wah! i know for what reason the comanche sachems treat me thus: they are aware that black-deer and blue-fox, though each adopted by a different tribe, are yet brothers of the great and powerful nation of the snake pawnees; hence they suppose that the two chiefs would be pleased to converse together and recall their early years. my brother will thank the sachems of his nation for blue-fox; i was far from expecting so great a proof of courtesy on their part." "my brother is rightly called the fox," the comanche replied, briefly, with a bitter accent; "his craft is great." "what does my brother mean?" the apache went on with the greatest air of surprise he could assume. "i speak the truth, and my brother is well aware of it," black-deer answered; "why should we thus try to deceive each other? we have been too long acquainted. let my brother listen to me: the antelope comanches are not, as the apaches suppose them, inexperienced children, they know for what purpose my brother has come to their winter atepetl." "_ohé!_" the chief said, "i hear a mocking-bird singing in my ears, but i do not at all understand what it means." "perhaps so, but to remove my brother's doubt i will speak to him frankly." "can my brother do so?" the apache continued, ironically. "the chief shall judge:--for some moons past the buffalo apaches have been trying to take a brilliant revenge on the comanches for a defeat the warriors of my nation inflicted on them, but the apaches are chattering old women who possess no craft; the comanches will give them petticoats and send them to cut wood for them in the forests." the chief's eyebrows were almost meeting at this crushing insult; a flash of fury burst from his eyes, but still he managed to overpower his feelings. he drew himself up with supreme majesty and folded himself in his buffalo robe. "my brother, black-deer, forgets to whom he is speaking," he said; "blue-fox is the envoy of his nation to the comanches, he has sought shelter under the totem of the antelopes and smoked their sacred calumet; his person must be respected." "the apache chief is mistaken," black-deer replied, with a disdainful smile; "he is not the envoy of a brave nation, but only the spy of a pack of savage dogs. while blue-fox tries to deceive the comanche sachems, and lull them to sleep in a treacherous serenity, the apache dogs are hidden like moles in the tall grass, awaiting the signal which will surrender their defenceless enemies into their hands." blue-fox looked round the calli, and bounding like a jaguar, rushed on his foeman, brandishing his knife. "die, dog!" he shouted. since the beginning of their singular conversation black-deer had not stirred, he had remained tranquilly crouching over the fire, but his eyes had not lost one of the apache's movements, and when the latter rushed madly at him he started aside, and springing up with extreme rapidity, seized the chief in his nervous arms and both rolled on the ground, intertwined like serpents. in their fall they fell on the torch, which was extinguished; hence, the terrible and silent conflict went on between the two men by the uncertain gleam of the fire, each striving to stab his enemy. they were both of nearly the same age, their strength and skill were equal, and an implacable hatred animated them; in this horrible duel, which must evidently terminate in the death of one of them, they disdained the usual tricks employed in such fights, as they cared little about death so long as their enemy received the mortal blow simultaneously. still, blue-fox had a great advantage over his adversary, who, blinded by fury, and not calculating any of his movements, could not long sustain this deadly contest without himself becoming a victim to the insensate rage which had urged him to attack the comanche. the latter, on the contrary, completely master of himself, acted with the greatest prudence, and by the way he had seized his enemy had pinned his arms and rendered it impossible for him to employ his weapons; all the efforts of black-deer tended to roll the apache into the fire burning in the centre of the calli. they had been wrestling thus for a long time, foot against foot, chest to chest, and it was as yet impossible to guess which would gain the upper hand, when suddenly the curtain of the hut was raised, and a brilliant light inundated the interior. several men entered; they were comanche warriors. they arrived later than they should have done, for all that took place at this moment had been arranged beforehand between them and black-deer, but they had been delayed by circumstances beyond their control. five minutes later their interference would have been useless, as they would probably have found one of the two combatants killed by the other, or perhaps raised two corpses, such fury and vindictiveness were displayed in this atrocious struggle. when blue-fox saw the help that arrived for his enemy he judged the position at a glance, and felt that he was lost; still, the cunning and coolness innate with indians did not abandon him at this supreme moment; for redskins, whatever may be the hatred they feel, do not kill an enemy who openly allows that he is conquered. the apache chief, so soon as he perceived the comanches, ceased his efforts, and removed the arms which had hitherto held black-deer as in a vice; then, throwing back his head and closing his eyes, he stood motionless. blue-fox was aware that he would be regarded as a prisoner and kept for the stake of torture; but until the hour marked for his punishment arrived he retained the hope of escaping, with whatever care he might be guarded. this chance was the last left him, so he did not wish to lose it. black-deer rose, greatly shaken by the rude embrace; but, instead of striking his enemy, who lay disarmed at his feet, he returned his knife to his belt. the apache's calculations were correct: until the hour of punishment arrived he had nothing to fear from his enemy. "blue-fox is a great brave, he fought like a courageous warrior," said black-deer; "as he must be fatigued he will rise, and the comanche chief will show him all the consideration he deserves." and he offered his hand to help him in rising. the apache made no movement to pick up his weapons, but frankly accepted the offered hand and rose. "the comanche dogs will see a warrior die," he said, with an ironical smile; "blue-fox laughs at their tortures; they are not capable of making one of his muscles quiver." "good! my brother will see," and turning to the sachems, who stood motionless and silent a few paces off, the chief added; "when will this warrior die?" "tomorrow at sunset," the most aged of the indians laconically answered. "my brother has heard," black-deer continued; "has he any remark to make?" "only one." "my brother can speak, our ears are open." "blue-fox does not fear death, but ere he goes to hunt on the happy hunting grounds, beneath the powerful eye of the wacondah, he has several important matters to settle on this earth." the comanches bowed in assent. "blue-fox," the apache chief continued, "has a necessity to return among the warriors of his nation." "how long will the chief remain absent?" "one whole moon." "good! what will the chief do to insure his word, and that the comanche sachems may put faith in what he says?" "blue-fox will leave a hostage." "the sachem of the buffalo apaches is a great brave; what warrior of his nation can die in his stead, if he forget to liberate his pledge?" "i will give the flesh of my flesh, the blood of my blood, the bone of my bone. my son will take my place." the comanches exchanged a very meaning glance. there was a rather lengthened silence, during which the apache, haughtily folded in his buffalo robe, stoically waited, and it was impossible to read in his motionless features one of the emotions that agitated him. at length black-deer spoke again. "my brother has recalled to my memory," he said, "the years of our youth, when we were both children of the snake pawnees, and hunted in company the elk and the asshata in the prairies of the upper missouri. the early years are the sweetest; the words of my brother made my heart tremble with joy. i will be kind to him; his son snail be my substitute, though he is still very young; but he knows how to crawl like the serpent and fly like the eagle, and his arm is strong in fight. but blue-fox will reflect before pledging his word. if on the evening of the twenty-eighth sun my brother has not returned to take his place at the foot of the stake of torture, his son will die." "i thank my brother," the apache replied in a firm voice, "on the twenty-eighth sun i shall return: here is my open hand." "and here is mine." the two enemies clasped in cordial pressure the two hands which, a few minutes before, had been seeking so eagerly to take each other's life; then blue-fox unfastened the cascabel skin that attached his long hair in the form of a cap on the top of his head, and removed the white eagle plume fixed above his right ear. "my brother will lend me his knife," he said. "my brother's knife is at his feet," the comanche answered cautiously; "so great a warrior must not remain unarmed. he can pick it up." the chief stooped, picked up his knife, and thrust it in his girdle. "here is the plume of a chief," he said as he gave it to black-deer, cutting off a tress of the long hair, which, being no longer fastened, fell in disorder on his shoulders; he added, "my brother will keep this lock, it forms part of the scalp that belongs to him: the chief will come to ask it back on the appointed day and hour." "good!" the comanche answered, taking the hair and the plume, "my brother will follow me." the comanches, unmoved spectators of this scene, shook their torches to revive the flame, and all the indians leaving the calli, proceeded in the direction of the medicine lodge, which stood, as we have seen, in the centre of the square between the ark of the first man and the stake of torture. it was toward the latter that the chiefs proceeded with that slow and solemn step they employ in serious matters. as they passed in front of the callis, the curtains were raised, the inhabitants came out, holding torches, and followed the procession. when the chiefs reached the stake, an immense crowd filled the square, but it was silent and reflecting. there was something strange and striking in the scenes offered at this moment by the square, under the light of the torches, whose flame the wind blew in all directions. the chiefs halted at the foot of the stake and formed a semicircle, in the centre of which blue-fox stationed himself. "now that my brother has given his pledge, he can summon his son," said black-deer; "the lad is not far off, i dare say." the apache smiled cunningly. "the young of the eagle always follows the powerful flight of its parent," he replied; "the warriors will part to the right and left to grant him a passage." at a silent sign from black-deer there was a movement in the crowd, which fell back and left a passage through the centre; blue-fox then thrust his fingers in his mouth, and imitated thrice the call of the hawk. in a few minutes a similar but very faint cry answered him. the chief renewed his summons, and this time the answer was shriller and more distinct. for the third time the apache repeated his signal, which was answered close at hand; the rapid gallop of a horse became audible, and almost immediately an indian warrior dashed up at full speed. this warrior crossed the entire square without evidencing the slightest surprise. he stopped short at the foot of the stake, dismounted, and placed himself by the side of blue-fox, to whom he merely said-- "here i am." this warrior was the son of the apache chief, a tall and nobly-built lad of sixteen to seventeen. his features were handsome, his glance was haughty, his demeanour simple, and noble without boasting. "this boy is my son," blue-fox said to the comanche chiefs. "good!" they replied, bowing courteously. "does my son consent to remain as a hostage in the place of his father?" black-deer asked him. the young man bowed his head in assent. "my son knows that if his father does not come to liberate his pledge, he will die in his place?" a smile of contempt played round the boy's lips. "i know it," he said, "and my son accepts?" "i do." "good!" the chief continued, "let my son look." he then went up to the stake and fastened to it the feather and lock of hair blue-fox had given him. "this feather and this hair will remain here until the man to whom they belong returns to claim them," he said. the apache chief answered in his turn-- "i swear on my totem to come and redeem them at the appointed time." "wah! my brother is free," black-deer continued; "here is the feather of a chief; it will serve him as a recognition if the warriors of my nation were to meet him. still, my brother will remember that he is forbidden communicating in any way with the braves of his nation ambushed round the village." "blue-fox will remember it." after uttering these few words without even exchanging a look with his son, who stood motionless by his side, the chief took the feather black-deer offered him, leaped on the horse which had brought the young man, and started at a gallop, not looking back once. when he had disappeared in the darkness, the chiefs went up to the boy, bound him securely, and confined him in the medicine lodge under the guardianship of several warriors. "now," said black-deer, "for the others." and mounting his horse in his turn, he left the village. chapter xv. the ambuscade. the european traveller, accustomed to the paltry landscapes which man has carved out corresponding with his own stature and the conventional nature he has, as it were, contrived to create, can in no way figure to himself the grand and sublime aspect presented by the great american forests, where all seems to sleep, and the ever open eye of god alone broods over the world. the unknown rumours, without any apparent cause, which incessantly rise from earth to sky like the powerful breathing of sleeping nature, and mingle with the monotonous murmur of the streams, as they rustle over the pebbles of their bed; and at intervals, the mysterious breeze which passes over the tufted tops of the trees, slowly bending them with a gentle rustling of leaves and branches--all this leads the mind to reverie, and fills it with a religious respect for the sublime works of the creator. we fancy we have given a sufficiently detailed account of the village of the antelope comanches, to be able to dispense with further reference to it; we will merely add that it was built in an amphitheatrical shape, and descended with a gentle incline to the river. this position prevented the enemy surrounding the village, whose approaches were guarded from surprise by the trees having been felled for some distance. loyal heart and his comrades advanced slowly, with their rifles on their thigh, attentively watching the neighbourhood, and ready, at the slightest suspicious movement in the tall grass, to execute a vigorous charge. all, however, remained quiet round them; at times they heard a coyote baying at the moon, or the noise of an owl concealed by the foliage; but that was all, and a leaden silence fell again on the savannah. at times they saw in the bluish rays of the moon indistinct forms appear on the banks of the river; but these wandering shadows were evidently wild beasts which had left their lurking places to come down and drink. the march continued thus without encumbrance or alarm of any description, until the adventurers had reached the covert, when a dense gloom suddenly enveloped them, and did not allow them to distinguish objects ten yards ahead. loyal heart did not consider it prudent to advance further in a neighbourhood he did not know, and where he saw the risk at each step of falling into an ambuscade; consequently the little band halted. the horses were made to lie down on their side, their legs were fastened, and their nostrils drawn in with a rope, so that they could neither stir nor make a sound, and the adventurers, concealing themselves, waited while watching with the most profound attention. from time to time they saw horsemen crossing a clearing, and all going in different directions; some passed close enough to touch them without perceiving the hunters, owing to the precautions the latter had taken, and then disappeared in the forest. several hours passed thus, the hunters being quite unable to comprehend the delay, the reason for which the reader, however, knows; the moon had disappeared, and the darkness become denser. loyal heart, not knowing to what he should attribute black-deer's lengthened absence, and fearing some unforeseen misfortune had burst on the village, was about to give the order for returning, when tranquil, who, by crawling on his hands and knees, had reached the open plain where he remained for some time as scout, suddenly returned to his comrades. "what is the matter?" loyal heart whispered in his ear. "i cannot say," the hunter answered, "i do not understand it myself. about an hour back, an indian suddenly sprung up by my side as if emerging from the ground, and leaping on a horse of whose presence i was equally ignorant, started at full speed in the direction of the village." "that is strange," loyal heart muttered; "and you do not know who the indian is?" "apache." "apache, impossible!" "that is just the point that staggers me; how could an apache venture to the village alone?" "there is something up we do not know; and then the signals we heard?" "this man answered them." "what is to be done?" "find out." "but in what way?" "why, hang it, by rejoining our friends." loyal heart shook his head. "no," he said, "we must employ some other method, for i promised black-deer to help him in this expedition, and i will not break my word." "it is evident that important events have occurred among the tribe." "that is my opinion too, but you know the prudence of the indians, so we will not despair yet; stay," he added, as he tapped his forehead, "i have an idea, we shall soon know what is taking place; leave me to act." "do you require our help?" "not positively; i shall not go out of sight, but if you see me in danger, come up." "all right," loyal heart took a long rope of plaited leather, which served him as a picquet cord, and laying down his rifle, which might have impeded him in the execution of the daring plan he had formed, lay down on the ground and crawled away like a serpent. the plain was covered with dead trees and enormous stones, while there were wide trenches at certain spots. this open ground, so singularly broken up, offered, therefore, all the facilities desirable for forming an ambuscade or a post of observation. loyal heart stopped behind an enormous block of red granite, whose height enabled him to stand up, in shelter on all sides save in the direction of the forest. but he had no great risk to run from any enemies concealed in the chaparral, for the night was so dark that it would have been necessary to have followed the hunter's every movement, to discover the spot where he now was. loyal heart was a mexican; like all his countrymen, whose skill is proverbial in the management of certain weapons, from his youth he had been familiarized with the lasso, that terrible arm which renders the mexican horsemen so formidable. the lasso or reata, for this weapon has two names, is a strip of plaited leather, rendered supple by means of grease. it is ordinarily forty-five to fifty feet in length, one of the ends terminating in a running knot, the other being fastened to an iron ring riveted in the saddle; the rider whirls it round his head, sets his horse at a gallop, and on arriving within thirty or five-and-thirty yards of the man or animal he is pursuing, he lets the lasso fly, so that the running knot may fall on the shoulders of his victim. at the same time that he lets the lasso go, the rider makes his horse suddenly turn in the opposite direction, and the enemy he has lassoed is, in spite of the most strenuous resistance, hurled down and dragged after him. such is the lasso and the way in which it is employed on horseback. afoot, matters are effected much in the same fashion, save that, as the lassoer has no longer his horse to aid him, he is obliged to display great muscular strength, and is often dragged along for a considerable distance. in mexico, where this weapon is in general use, people naturally study the means to neutralize its effects, the most efficacious being to cut the lasso. this is why all horsemen carry in their boot, within arm's length, a long and sharp knife; still, as the horseman is nearly always unexpectedly lassoed, he is strangled ere he has had time to draw his knife. of one hundred riders lassoed thus in a combat or chase, seventy-five are inevitably killed, and the others only escape by a miracle, so much skill, strength, and coolness are needed to cut the fatal knot. loyal heart had the simple idea of forming a running knot at the end of his picquet rope, and lassoing the first rider who passed within reach. on getting behind the rock he unrolled the long cord he had fastened round his body; then, after making the slip knot with all the care it demands, he coiled the lasso in his hand and waited. chance seemed to favour the project of the bold hunter, for, within ten minutes at the most, he heard the gallop of a horse going at full speed. loyal heart listened attentively; the sound approached with great rapidity, and soon the black outline of a horseman stood out in the night. the direction followed by the rider compelled him to pass within a short distance of the block of granite behind which loyal heart was concealed. the latter spread out his legs to have a firmer holdfast, bent his body slightly forward, and whirled the lasso round his head. at the moment when the horseman came opposite to him, loyal heart let the lasso fly, and it fell with a whiz on the shoulders of the rider, who was roughly hurled to the ground ere he knew what was happening to him. his horse, which was at full speed, went on some distance further, but then perceiving that its rider had left it, it slackened its pace, and presently halted. in the meanwhile loyal heart bounded like a tiger on the man he had so suddenly unsaddled. the latter had not uttered a cry, but remained motionless at the spot where he had been hurled. loyal heart at first fancied him dead, but it was not so; his first care was to free the wounded man from the running knot, drawn so tightly round his neck, in order to enable him to breathe; then, without taking the trouble to look at his victim, he pinioned him securely, threw him over his shoulders, and returned to the spot where his comrades were awaiting him. the latter had seen, or at least heard, what had happened; and far from dreaming of the means employed by the young man, although they were well acquainted with it, they knew not to what they should attribute the rough way in which the rider had been hurled from his horse. "oh, oh," tranquil said, "i fancy you have made a fine capture." "i think so too," loyal heart answered, as he deposited his burden on the ground. "how on earth did you manage to unsaddle him so cleverly?" "oh! in the simplest way possible. i lassoed him." "by jove!" the hunter exclaimed, "i suspected it. but let us see the nature of the game. these confounded indians are difficult to tame when they take it into their heads not to unlock their teeth. this fellow will not speak, in all probability." "who knows? at any rate we can question him." "yes--but let us first make sure of his identity, for it would not be pleasant to have captured one of our friends." "may the lord forbid!" loyal heart said. the hunters bent over the prisoner, who was apparently motionless, and indifferent to what was said around. "oh," the canadian suddenly said, "whom have we here? on my soul, compadre, i believe it is an old acquaintance." "you are right," loyal heart answered, "it is blue-fox." "blue-fox?" the hunters exclaimed, in surprise. the adventurers were not mistaken; the indian horseman, so skilfully lassoed by loyal heart, was really the apache chief. the shock he had received though very rude, had not been sufficiently so to make him entirely lose his senses; with open eyes and disdainful countenance, but with not a word of complaint at the treatment he had suffered, he waited calmly till it should please his captors to decide his fate, not considering it consistent with his dignity to be the first to speak. after examining him attentively for a moment, loyal heart unfastened the bonds that held him, and fell back a step. "my brother can rise," he said: "only old women remain thus stretched on the ground for an insignificant fall." blue-fox reached his feet at a bound. "the chief is no old woman," he said, "his heart is large; he laughs at the anger of his enemies, and despises the fury which is impotent to affect him." "we are not your enemies, chief, we feel no hatred or anger towards you; it is you, on the contrary, who are our enemy. are you disposed to answer our questions?" "i could refrain from doing so, were it my good pleasure." "i do not think so," john davis remarked, with a grin, "for we have wonderful secrets to untie the tongue of those we cross-question." "try them on me," the indian observed, haughtily. "we shall see," said the american. "stop!" said loyal heart. "there is in all this something extraordinary, which i wish to discover, so leave it to me." "as you please," said john davis. the adventurers collected round the indian, and waited anxiously. "how is it," loyal heart presently went on, "that you, who were sent by the apaches to treat for peace with the comanches, were thus leaving the village in the middle of the night, not as a friend, but as a robber flying after the commission of a theft?" the chief smiled contemptuously, and shrugged his shoulders. "why should i tell you what has passed? it would be uselessly losing precious time; suffice it for you to know that i left the village with the general consent of the chiefs, and if i was galloping, it was probably because i was in a hurry to reach the spot i am bound for." "hum!" said the hunter; "you will permit me to remark, chief, that your answer is very vague, and anything but satisfactory." "it is the only one, however, i am enabled to give you." "and do you fancy we shall be satisfied with it?" "you must." "perhaps so, but listen; we are awaiting black-deer at every moment, and he shall decide your fate." "as it pleases the pale hunter. when the comanche chief arrives, my brother will see that the apache sachem has spoken truly, that his tongue is not forked, and that the words that from his lips are sincere." "i hope so." at this moment the signal agreed on between black-deer and the hunters was heard: the hunter said at once to his prisoner. "here is the chief." "good," the latter simply answered. five minutes later, the sachem indeed reached the spot where the adventurers were assembled. his first glance fell on the apache, standing upright with folded arms in the circle formed by the hunters. "what is blue-fox doing here?" he asked in surprise. "the chief can ask the pale warriors, they will answer," said the apache. black-deer turned to loyal heart; the latter, not waiting till he was addressed, related in the fullest detail what had occurred; how he had captured the chief, and the conversation he had had with him: black-deer seemed to reflect for a moment-- "why did not my brother show the sign of recognition i gave him?" he asked. "for what good, as my brother was coming?" the comanche frowned. "my brother will be careful to remember that he has passed his word, and the mere appearance of treachery will cost his son's life." a shudder passed over the indian's body, although his features lost none of their marble-like rigidity. "blue-fox has sworn on his totem," he replied; "that oath is sacred, and he will keep it." "ocht! my brother is free, he can start without farther delay." "i must find my horse again which has escaped." "does my brother take us for children, that he says such things to us?" black-deer replied angrily. "the horse of an indian chief never abandons its master; let him whistle, and it will come up." blue-fox made no reply; his black eye shot forth a flash of fury, but that was all; he bent forward, seemed to be listening for a few moments, and then gave a shrill whistle, almost immediately after which there was a rustling in the branches, and the chief's horse laid its fine and intelligent head on its master's shoulder. the latter patted the noble animal, leaped on its back, and digging in his spurs, started at full speed without taking further leave of the hunters, who were quite startled by this hurried departure. john davis, by an instinctive movement swift as thought, raised his rifle, with the evident intention of saluting the fugitive with a bullet, but black-deer suddenly clutched his arm. "my brother must not fire," he said; "the sound would betray our presence." "that is true," the american said, as he took down his gun. "it is unlucky, for i should have been very glad to get rid of that ill-favoured scoundrel." "my brother will find him again," said the indian with an accent impossible to describe. "i hope so, and if it should happen, i assure you that no one will be able to prevent me killing that reptile." "no one will try to do so, my brother may rest assured." "nothing less than that certainly was needed to console me for the magnificent opportunity you make me lose today, chief." the indian laughed, and continued-- "i will explain to yon at another moment how it happens that this man is free to retire in peace, when we are threatened by an ambuscade formed by him. for the present, let us not lose precious time in idle talk, for all is ready. my warriors are at their post, only awaiting the signal to begin the contest; do my pale brothers still intend to accompany us?" "certainly, chief, we are here for that purpose, you can count upon us." "good, still i must warn my brothers that they will run a great risk." "nonsense," loyal heart replied, "it will be welcome, for are we not accustomed to danger?" "then to horse, and let us start, as we have to deceive the deceivers." "but are you not afraid," loyal heart observed, "lest blue-fox has warned his comrades that their tricks are discovered?" "no, he cannot do so, he has sworn it." the hunters did not insist further, they knew with what religious exactness indians keep oaths they make to each other, and the good faith and loyalty they display in the accomplishment of this duty. the chiefs answer consequently convinced them that they had nothing to apprehend from the apache sachem, and, in truth, he had gone off in a direction diametrically opposite to that where his companions were hidden. the horses were immediately lifted on their legs, the cords removed, and the party set out. they followed a narrow path running between two ravines covered with thick grass. this path, after running for a mile and a half, debouched on a species of cross roads, where the adventurers had halted for an instant. this spot, called by the indians the elk pass, had been selected by black-deer as the gathering place of some forty picked warriors, who were to join the white men and act with them. this junction was effected as the sachem arranged. the hunters had hardly debouched at the crossroads, ere the comanches emerged from behind the thicket which had hitherto concealed them, and flocked up to black-deer. the band was formed in close column, and flankers went ahead, preceding it but a few yards, and attentively examining the thickets. for many an hour they marched on, nothing attracting their attention, when suddenly a shot was fired in the rear of the band. almost simultaneously, and as if at a given signal, the fusillade broke out on both sides of the war path, and a shower of bullets and arrows hurtled upon the comanches and white men. several men fell, and there was a momentary confusion, inseparable from an unforeseen attack. by assent of black-deer, loyal heart assumed the supreme command. by his orders, the warriors broke up into platoons, and vigorously returned the fire, while retreating to the crossroads, where the enemy could not attack them without discovering themselves; but they had committed the imprudence of marching too fast--the crossroads were still a long way off, and the fire of the apaches extended along the whole line. the bullets and arrows rained on the comanches, whose ranks were beginning to be thinned. loyal heart ordered the ranks to be broken, and the men to scatter, a manoeuvre frequently employed in europe during the vendean war, and which the chouans unconsciously obtained from the indians. the cavalry at once tried to leap the ravines and ditches that bordered the path behind which the apaches were hidden; but were repulsed by the musketry and the long barbed arrows, which the indians fired with extreme dexterity. the comanches and whites leaped off their horses, being certain of recovering them when wanted, and retreated, sheltering themselves behind trees, only giving way inch by inch, and keeping up a sustained fire with their enemies, who, feeling certain of victory, displayed in their attack a perseverance far from common among savage nations, with whom success nearly always depends on the first effort. loyal heart, so soon as his men reached the clearing, made them form a circle, and they offered an imposing front to the enemy on all sides. up to this moment, the apaches had maintained silence, not a single war yell had been uttered, not a rustling of the leaves had been heard. suddenly the firing ceased, and silence once again brooded over the desert. the hunters and comanches looked at each other with a surprise mingled with terror. they had fallen into the trap their enemies had laid for them, while fancying they could spoil it. there was a terrible moment of expectation, whose anxious expression no pen could depict. all at once the conches and chichikouès were heard sounding on the right and left, in the rear and front! at this signal, the apaches rose on all sides, blowing their war whistles to excite their courage, and uttering fearful yells. the comanches were surrounded, and nothing was left them but to die bravely at their posts! at this terrible sight, a shudder of fear involuntarily rose along those intrepid warriors, but it was almost instantaneously quelled, for they felt that their destruction was imminent and certain. loyal heart and black-deer, however, had lost none of their calmness; they hoped then, still, but what was it they expected? chapter xvi. the scalp dance. far from us the thought of making humanitarian theories with reference to a fight in the heart of the desert between two savage tribes, for it has too long been a principle among civilized nations that the indians are ferocious brutes, possessed of nothing human but the face, and who should be destroyed, like all other noxious animals, by all possible means, even by those which are too repugnant to humanity for us to attempt for a single moment to defend. still, much might be said in favour of these unhappy peoples, who have been oppressed ever since humanity decreed that a man of genius should find once more their country which had so long been lost. it would be easy for us to prove, if we thought proper, that these peruvians and mexicans, treated so haughtily and barbarously by the wretched adventurers who plundered them, enjoyed, at the period of the conquest, a civilization far more advanced than that of which their oppressors boasted, who had only one advantage over them in the knowledge of firearms, and who marched cased in steel from head to foot against men clothed in cotton and armed with inoffensive arrows. placed beyond the pale of society by the unintelligent fanaticism and the inextinguishable thirst for gold which devoured the conquerors, the wretched indians succumbed not only to the repeated assaults of their implacable conquerors, but were also destined to remain constantly beneath the oppression of a calumny which made them a stupid and ferocious race. the conquest of the new world was one of the most odious monstrosities of the middle ages, fertile though they were in atrocities. millions of men, whose blood was poured out like water, were coldly killed; empires crumbled away for ever, entire populations disappeared from the globe, and left no trace of their passage but their whitened bones. america, which had been so populous, was almost suddenly converted into an immense desert, and the proscribed relics of this unfortunate race, driven back into barbarism, buried themselves in the most remote countries, where they resumed the nomadic life of the old days, continually carrying on war against the whites, and striving to requite them in detail all the evils they had received at their hands for centuries. it is only for a few years past that public opinion has been stirred up as to the fate of the indians; and various means have been attempted--not to civilize them, though that wish has been put forward, but to put a stop to reprisals; consequently they have been placed in horrible deserts; which they have been forbidden to leave. a sanitary cordon has been formed round them, and as this method was not found sufficiently expeditious to get rid of them, they have been gorged with spirits. we will declare here the happy results obtained from these anglo-american measures: ere a century has elapsed, not a single native will be left on the territory of the union. the philanthropy of these worthy northern republicans is a very fine thing, but heaven save us from it! in every battle there are two terrible moments for the commander who has undertaken the great responsibility of victory: the one, when he gives the signal of attack and hurls his columns at the enemy; the other, when organizing the resistance, he calmly awaits the hour when the decisive blow must be dealt in accordance with his previous combinations. loyal heart was as calm and quiet as if witnessing an ordinary charge; with flashing eye and haughty lip he recommended his warriors to save their powder and arrows, to keep together, and sustain the charge of the apaches, without yielding an inch of ground. the comanches uttered their war yell twice, and then a deadly silence brooded over the clearing. "good!" the hunter said, "you are great braves; i am proud of commanding such intrepid warriors. your squaws will greet you with dances and shouts of joy on your return to the village, and proudly count the scalps you bring back at your girdle." after this brief address the hunter returned to the centre of the circle, and the whites waited with their finger on the trigger, the redskins with levelled bows. in the meanwhile, the apaches had quitted their ambuscade, had formed their ranks, and were marching in excellent order on the comanches. they had also dismounted, for a hand-to-hand fight was about to begin between these irreconcilable enemies. the night had entirely slipped away; by the first beams of day, which tinged the tops of the trees, the black and moving circle could be seen drawing closer and closer round the weak group formed by the comanches and the adventurers. it was a singular thing in prairie fashions that the apaches advanced slowly without firing, as if wishing to destroy their enemies at one blow. tranquil and loyal heart shook hands while exchanging a calm smile. "we have five minutes left," said the hunter; "we shall settle a goodly number before falling ourselves," the canadian answered. loyal heart stretched out his hand toward the north-west. "all is not over yet," he said. "do you hope to get us out of this scrape?" "i intend," the young man answered, still calm and smiling, "to destroy this collection of brigands to the last man." "may heaven grant it!" the canadian said, with a doubtful shake of the head. the apaches were now but a few yards off, and all the rifles were levelled as if by common agreement. "listen!" loyal heart muttered in tranquil's ear. at the same moment distant yells were heard, and the enemy stopped with alarmed hesitation. "what is it?" tranquil asked. "our men," the young man answered laconically. a sound of horses and firearms was heard in the enemy's rear. "the comanches! the comanches!" the apaches shouted. the line that surrounded the little band was suddenly rent asunder, and two hundred comanche horsemen were seen cutting down and crushing every foeman within reach. on perceiving their brothers the horsemen uttered a shout of joy, to which the others enthusiastically responded, for they had fancied themselves lost. loyal heart had calculated justly, he had not been a second wrong; the warriors ambuscaded by black-deer to effect a diversion and complete the victory arrived at the decisive moment. this was the secret of the young chief's calmness, although in his heart he was devoured by anxiety, for so many things might delay the arrival of the detachment. the apaches, thus taken by surprise, attempted for a few minutes a desperate resistance; but being surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers, they soon began flying in all directions. but black-deer's measures had been taken with great prudence, and a thorough knowledge of the military tactics of the prairies: the apaches were literally caught between two fires. nearly two-thirds of the apache warriors, placed under the command of blue-fox to attempt the daring stroke he had conceived, fell, and the rest had great difficulty in escaping. the victory was decisive, and for a long long time the apaches would not dare to measure themselves again with their redoubtable enemies. eight hundred horses and nearly five hundred scalps were the trophies of the battle, without counting some thirty wounded. the comanches had only lost a dozen warriors, and their enemies had been unable to scalp them, which was regarded as a great glory. the horses were collected, the dead and wounded placed on litters, and when all the scalps had been lifted from the apaches who had succumbed during the fight, their bodies were left to the wild beasts, and the comanche warriors, intoxicated with joy and pride, remounted their horses and returned to the village. the return of the expeditionary corps was a perfect triumphant march. black-deer, to do honour to loyal heart and his comrades, whose help had been so useful during the battle, insisted on their marching at the head of the column, and on loyal heart keeping by his side, as having shared the command with him. the sun rose at the moment when the comanches emerged from the forest, the day promised to be magnificent, and the birds perched on all the branches loudly saluted the advent of day. a large crowd, composed of women and children, could be seen running from the village and hurrying to meet the warriors. a large band of horsemen soon appeared, armed and painted for war, at their head marching the greatest braves and most respected sachems of the tribe. this band, formed in good order, came up to the sound of conches, drums, chichikouès, and war whistles, mingled with shouts of joy from the crowd. on coming within a certain distance of each other, the two bands halted, while the crowd fell back to the right and left. then, at a signal given by black-deer and the chief commanding the second detachment, a fearful yell burst forth like a clap of thunder, the horsemen dug in their spurs, and the two parties rushed upon one another and began a series of evolutions, of which the arab fantasias can alone convey an idea. when this performance had lasted some time, and a considerable quantity of gunpowder had been expended, the two chiefs gave a signal, and the bands, up to the present commingled, separated, as if by enchantment, and formed up about a pistol shot from each other. there was then a perfect rest, but in a few minutes, at a signal from blackbird, who commanded the band that had come out of the village, the leaders of the two detachments advanced towards each other. the salutations and congratulations then began; for, as we have already made the observation, the indians are excessively strict in matters of etiquette. black-deer was obliged to narrate in the fullest detail, to the assembled chiefs, how the action had been fought, the number of the enemy killed, how many had been scalped--in short, all that had occurred. black-deer performed this duty with the utmost nobility and modesty, giving to loyal heart, who in vain protested, all the merit of the victory, and only allowing himself credit for having punctually carried out the orders the pale warrior had given him. this modesty in a warrior so renowned as black-deer greatly pleased the comanche chiefs, and obtained him the most sincere praise. when all these preliminary ceremonies had been performed, the wives of the chiefs advanced, each leading by the bridle a magnificent steed, destined to take the place of their husband's chargers wearied in action. black-deer's young and charming squaw led two. after bowing with a gentle smile to her husband, and handing him the bridle of one of the horses, she turned gracefully to loyal heart, and offered him the bridle of the second horse: "my brother loyal heart is a great brave," she said, in a voice as melodious as a bird's song; "he will permit his sister to offer him this courser, which is intended to take the place of the one he has tired in fighting to save his brothers the antelope comanches." all the indians applauded this gift, so gracefully offered; black-deer, in spite of his assumed stoicism, could not refrain from evidencing the pleasure which his young wife's charming attention caused her. loyal heart smiled sweetly, dismounted, and walked up to her. "my sister is fair and kind," he said, as he kissed her on the forehead; "i accept the present she makes me; my brother black-deer is happy in possessing so charming a squaw to clean his arms and take care of his horses." the young wife withdrew, all confused and delighted, among her companions; the chiefs then mounted the fresh horses brought them. each returned to the head of his detachment, and the two bands advanced slowly towards the village, escorted by the crowd which incessantly filled the air with joyous shouts that mingled with the musical instruments, whose savage harmony deafened all ears. the apache prisoners, on foot and disarmed, marched at the head of the column, guarded by fifty picked warriors. these untameable indians, although perfectly aware of the fate that awaited them and the refined tortures to which they were destined, walked with head erect and haughty demeanour, as if, instead of being interested actors in the scene that was preparing, they were only indifferent spectators. however, this stoicism peculiar to the red race surprised nobody. the comanche warriors disdained to insult the misfortunes of the intrepid warriors, whose courage fortune had betrayed; the women alone, more cruel than the men, especially those whose husbands were killed in the battle, and whose bodies were now brought along in litters, rushed like furies on the unhappy prisoners, whom they overwhelmed with insults, casting stones and filth, and even at times trying to dig their sharp nails into their flesh. this was carried to such a point that the guards of the prisoners were compelled to interfere to prevent them being torn asunder alive, and get them away, at least for a while, from the fury of these megeras, who grew more and more excited, and in whom wrath had gradually attained the proportions of indescribable fury. as for the prisoners, perfectly calm and impassive, they endured the blows and insults without complaint; nothing moved them, and they continued their march as peaceably as if they had been complete strangers to what was going on. the procession, compelled to clear its way through a crowd which was momentarily augmented, only advanced slowly. the day was far spent when it reached the palisade that formed the village defences. at about ten paces from the palisade the two bands stopped; two men were standing motionless at the entrance of the village--they were the master of the great medicine and the hachesto: as if by enchantment, at the sight of these men a profound silence fell on the crowd so noisy a moment previously. the hachesto held in his hand the totem of the tribe, and when the warriors halted the sorcerer took a step forward. "who are you, and what do you want?" he asked, in a loud voice. "we are," black-deer answered, "the great braves of the powerful nation of the antelope comanches; we ask leave to enter the village with our prisoners and the horses we have captured, in order to perform the scalp dance round the stake of torture." "good," the sorcerer answered, "i recognise you; you are, indeed, the great braves of my nation, your hands are red with the blood of our enemies; but," he added, taking a gloomy glance around, "all our warriors are not present; what has become of those who are missing?" there was a moment of mournful silence at this question. "answer," the sorcerer continued imperiously; "have you abandoned your brothers?" "no," black-deer said, "they are dead, it is true, but we have brought back their bodies with us, and their scalps are untouched." "good," said the sorcerer; "how many warriors have fallen?" "only ten." "how did they die?" "like brave men, with their face turned to their foe." "good, the wacondah has received them into the happy hunting grounds; have their squaws bewailed them?" "they are doing so." the seer frowned. "brave men only weep with tears of blood," he said. black-deer fell back a step to make room for the widows, who stood motionless and gloomy behind him; they then advanced. "we are ready," they said, "if our father will permit us, we will bewail our husbands as they deserve." "do so," he answered; "the master of life sees it, and he will smile on your grief." then, a strange scene occurred, which only indian stoicism could endure without shuddering with horror; these women, arming themselves with knives, cut off several joints of their fingers without uttering a complaint; then, not contented with this sacrifice, they began scarring their faces, arms, and bosoms, so that the blood soon ran down their whole bodies, and they became horrible to look upon. the seer excited and encouraged them by his remarks to give their husbands this proof of their regret, and their exaltation soon attained such a pitch of delirium, that they would eventually have killed themselves, had not the sorcerer checked them. their companions then approached, took away their weapons, and dragged them off. when they had finally left the spot, the sorcerer addressed the warriors standing motionless and attentive before him-- "the blood shed by the apache warriors has been ransomed by the comanche squaws," he said; "the ground is saturated with it; grief can now give way to joy, and my brothers enter their village with heads erect, for the master of life is satisfied." then taking from the hands of the hachesto the totem which the latter had been waving round his head, he stationed himself on the right hand of black-deer, and entered the village with the warriors, amid the deafening shouts of the crowd, and to the sound of the instruments which had recommenced their infernal charivari. the procession marched straight to the great square where the scalp dance was to take place. loyal heart and his comrades desired most eagerly to escape this ceremony; but it would have been a great insult to the indians to do so, and they were compelled to follow the warriors, whether they liked it or not. on passing before the hunter's rancho, they noticed that all the windows were hermetically closed. doña jesuita, not at all desirous to witness the cruel sight, had shut herself up; but no eusebio, whose nerves were probably harder, was standing in the doorway, carelessly smoking his cigarette, and watching the procession defile, which, by loyal heart's orders, he had preceded by a few moments, in order to reassure doña jesuita as to the result of the engagement. when the whole tribe had assembled on the square, the scalp dance commenced. in our previous works we have had occasion to describe this ceremony, so we will say nothing of it here, except that, contrary to the other dances, it is performed by the squaws, and that on this occasion it was black-deer's newly-married wife who led the dance, in her quality of squaw of the chief who had commanded the expedition. the apache prisoners had been fastened to stakes erected expressly; and for some hours they were exposed to the ridicule, jests, and insults of their enemies without displaying the slightest emotion. when the dance at length ended, the time for torture arrived. we will not dwell on the frightful sufferings inflicted on the wretched men whom their evil destiny had delivered into the hands of their implacable foes, for we have no desire to describe horrible scenes; we have even felt a repugnance to allude to them, but are bound to be faithful historians. as we have undertaken the task of making known the manners of races hitherto almost unknown, and which are destined so shortly to disappear, we will not fail in our duty, and in order that our readers may thoroughly understand what indian torture is, we will describe the punishment inflicted on one of the prisoners, a renowned apache chief. this chief was a young man of five-and-twenty at the most, of lofty and well-proportioned stature; his features were noble, and his glance stern, and though severely wounded in the action, it was only when literally overwhelmed by numbers, that he had fallen upon the pile of his warriors who had died bravely at his side. the comanches, who are judges of courage, had admired his heroic conduct, and treated him with a certain degree of respect by the express orders of black-deer, who entertained a hope of making him renounce his nation, and consent to be adopted by the comanches, for whom so brave a warrior would have been an excellent acquisition. my readers must not feel surprised at this idea of the comanche sachem; these adoptions are frequent among the redskins, and it often happens that a warrior who has fallen into the power of his enemies, ransoms his life, and escapes torture by marrying the widow of the warrior he has killed, under the promise of bringing up the children of the defunct, and regarding them as his own. the apache chief was called running-elk. instead of fastening him to the stake like the warriors of less value made prisoners at the same time as himself, he had been left at liberty. he was leaning his shoulder against the stake with folded arms, and watched calmly and disdainfully all the incidents of the scalp dance. when it was ended, black-deer, who had previously consulted with the other chiefs of the tribe, and communicated his idea, which they warmly approved of, walked up to him. the prisoner let him come up without seeming to notice him. "my brother, running-elk, is a renowned chief and great brave," he said to him in a gentle voice; "what is he thinking of at this moment?" "i am thinking," the apache answered, "that i shall soon be on the happy hunting grounds, where i shall hunt by the side of the master of life." "my brother is still very young, his life only counts spring seasons, does he not regret losing it?" "why should i regret it? a little sooner, or a little later, but a man must die after all." "certainly; but dying thus at the stake of torture, when you have a long future of joy and happiness before you, is hard." the chief shook his head mournfully, and interrupted the speaker. "my brother need say no more," he replied; "i see his thoughts, he is indulging in a hope which will not be realised; running-elk will not be a renegade to his nation to become a comanche; i could not live among you, for the blood of your warriors i have shed would constantly cry out against me. could i marry all the squaws whom my tomahawk has rendered widows, or give you back the numerous scalps i have raised? no, i could not. when an apache and comanche meet on the war trail, one must kill the other. cease then making me proposals which are an insult to my character and courage; fasten me to the stake of torture, and do not kill me at once, but gradually, by tortures, in the indian way. invent the most atrocious torture, and i defy you to hear from me a complaint, or even a sigh." and growing more excited as he spoke, he said, "you are children who do not know how to make a man of courage suffer, you need the death of a brave to learn how to die. try it on me, i despise you; you are cowardly dogs, you can only snarl, and the mere sight of my eagle feather has ever sufficed to put you to flight." on hearing these haughty words, the comanches uttered a yell of anger, and prepared to rush on the prisoner, but black-deer checked them. "running-elk," he said, "is not a real brave, he talks too much; he is a mocking-bird, who chatters because he is afraid." the sachem shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "this is the last word you shall hear from me," he said; "you are dogs!" and biting his tongue off, he spat it into black-deer's face. the latter gave a leap of fury, and his rage no longer knew bounds. running-elk was immediately fastened to the stake; the women then tore out the nails from his fingers and toes, and drove into the wounds little spiles of wood dipped in inflammable matter, which they fired. the indian remained calm; no contraction of the muscles disturbed the harmony of his features. the punishment endured three hours; but though his body was one huge wound, the sachem remained perfectly stoical. blackbird approached in his turn. "wait," he said. room was made for him; rushing on the apache, he plucked out his eyes, which he threw away with disgust, and filled the two burning cavities with live coals. this last agony was horrible; a nervous tremor ran for a second over the wretch's body, but that was all. the comanche, exasperated by this stoicism, which he could not refrain from admiring, seized him by his long hair, and scalped him; then he lashed his face with the blood-dripping scalp. the prisoner was horrible to look on, but still remained erect and unmoved. loyal heart could no longer endure this hideous spectacle; he dashed through the people in front of him, and, putting a pistol to the prisoner's forehead, blew out his brains. the comanches, furious at seeing their vengeance slip from them, gave a start, as if about to rush on the white man, who had dared to rob them of their prey: but the latter drew himself up haughtily, folded his arms on his chest, and looked them full in the face. "well," he said, in a firm voice. this one word was enough: the wild beasts were muzzled; they fell back cursing, but did not attempt to make him account for what he had done. the hunter then made a sign to the adventurers to follow him, and they left the square, where for some hours longer the indians wreaked their fury on the hapless prisoners. chapter xvii. the meeting. we must now go back two months in our narrative, and leaving the deserts of upper arkansas for the banks of the rio trinidad, return to cerro pardo, in the vicinity of galveston, on the very day of the battle so fatal to the texans, in order to clear up certain points of our narrative, by telling the reader the fate of certain important personages, whom we have, perhaps, neglected too long. we have said that the jaguar, when he saw the battle irretrievably lost, rushed at full speed to the spot where he had left the cart, in which were tranquil and carmela; that, on reaching it, a frightful spectacle struck his sight; the cart, half broken, was lying on the ground, surrounded by the majority of his friends, who had bravely fallen in its defence; but it was empty, and the two persons to whose safety he attached such, importance had disappeared. the jaguar, crushed by this horrible catastrophe, which he was so far from anticipating, after the precautions he had taken, fell senseless to the ground, uttering a loud cry of despair. the young man remained unconscious for several hours; but his was a nature which a blow, however terrible it might be, could not destroy thus. at the moment when the sun was disappearing on the horizon in the ocean, and making way for night, the jaguar opened his eyes. he looked round haggardly, not being yet able to comprehend the position in which he found himself, and the circumstances owing to which he had fallen in such a strange state of prostration. however strong a man may be, however great the energy with which nature has endowed him, when life has been suspended in him for several hours, the recollection of past facts completely fails him for a period, more or less long, and he requires some minutes to restore order in his ideas. this was what happened to the young man; he was alone, a sorrowful silence prevailed around him, gloom was gradually invading the landscape, and the objects by which he was surrounded became with each moment less distinct. still, the atmosphere was impregnated by a warm, sickly odour of carnage, and corpses covered the ground here and there. he saw the dark outline of the wild beasts, which darkness drew from their lairs, and which, guided by their sanguinary instinct, were already prowling about the battlefield, preparing to commence their horrible repast. "oh!" the young man suddenly exclaimed, leaping up, "i remember!" we have said that the plain was deserted: nothing remained but corpses and wild beasts. "what is to be done?" the jaguar muttered; "whither shall i go? what has become of my brothers? in what direction have they fled? where shall i find carmela and tranquil again?" and the young man, crushed by the flood of desperate thoughts that rose from his heart to his brain, sank on a block of rock, and, paying no further attention to the wild beasts, whose roars increased at each second, and grew more menacing with the darkness, he buried his head in his hands, and violently pressing his temples as if to retain that reason which was ready to abandon him, he reflected. two hours passed thus--two hours, during which he was a prey to a desperation which was the more terrible, as it was silent. this man, who had set all his hopes on an idea, who had for several years fought, without truce or mercy, for the realization of his dream, whose life had been, so to speak, one long self-denial--at the moment when he was about at last to attain that object, pursued with such tenacity, had seen, by a sudden change of fortune, his projects annihilated for ever perhaps, in a few hours; he had lost everything, and found himself alone on a battlefield, seated amid corpses, and surrounded by wild beasts that watched him. for a moment he had thought of finishing with life, plunging his dagger into his heart, and not surviving the downfall of his hopes of love and ambition. but this cowardly thought did not endure longer than a flash of lightning; a sudden reaction took place in the young man's mind, and he rose again, stronger than before, for his soul, purified in the crucible of suffering, had resumed all its audacious energy. "no," he said, casting a glance of defiance around, "i will not let myself be any longer crushed, god will not permit that a cause so sacred as that to which i have devoted myself should fail; it is a trial he has wished to impose on us, and i will endure it without complaint; though conquered today, tomorrow we will be victors. to work! liberty is the daughter of heaven: she is holy, and cannot die." after uttering these words in a loud voice, with an accent of inspiration, as if desirous of giving those who had fallen a last and supreme consolation, the young man picked up his rifle, which had fallen by his side, and went off with the firm and assured step of a strong man, who has really faith in the cause he defends, and to whom obstacles, however great they may be, are incitements to persevere in the path he has traced. the jaguar then crossed the battlefield, striding over the corpses, and putting to flight the wild beasts, which eagerly got out of his way. the young man thus passed alone and in the darkness along the road he had traversed by the dazzling sunlight, in the midst of an enthusiastic army, which marched gaily into action, and believed itself sure of victory. his resolution did not break down for a moment, he no longer allowed the attacks of those sad thoughts which had so nearly crushed him: he had clutched his sorrow, struggled with it and conquered it; now, nothing more could overpower him. on reaching the end of the plain where the battle had been fought, the jaguar halted. the moon had risen, and its sickly rays sadly illumined the landscape, to which it imparted a sinister hue. the young man looked around him: in his utter ignorance of the road followed by the fugitives of his party, he hesitated about going along a path where he ran a risk of falling in with a party of mexican scouts or plunderers, who must at this moment be scouring the plain in every direction, in pursuit of those texans who had been so lucky as to escape from the battlefield. it was a long and difficult journey to the fort of the point, and in all probability the victors, if they were not already masters of the fortress, would have invested it, so as to intercept all communications of the garrison with their friends outside, and force it to surrender. nor could he dream of entering galveston, for that would be delivering himself into the hands of his enemies. the jaguar's perplexity was great; he remained thus for a long time hesitating as to what road he should follow. by a mechanical movement habitual enough to men when embarrassed, he looked vaguely around him, though not fixing his eyes more on one spot than another, when he gave a sudden start. he had seen, some distance off, a faint, almost imperceptible light gleaming among the trees. the young man tried in vain to determine the direction in which the light was; but at length, he felt certain that it came from the side where was the rancho, which, on the previous evening, had been the headquarters of the staff of the texan army. this rancho, situated on the sea shore, at a considerable distance from the battlefield, could not have been visited by the mexicans, for their horses were too tired to carry them so far: the jaguar therefore persuaded himself that the light he perceived was kindled by fugitives of his party; he believed it the more easily because he desired it, for night was advancing, and he had neither eaten nor drunk during the past day, in which he had been so actively occupied; he began to feel not only exhausted with fatigue, but his physical wants regaining the mastery over his moral apprehension, he felt a degree of hunger and thirst, that reminded him imperiously that he had been fasting for more than fourteen hours; hence he was anxious to find a place where it would be possible for him to rest and refresh himself. it is only in romances that the heroes, more or less problematical, brought on the scene, cover great distances without suffering from any of the weaknesses incidental to poor humanity. never stopping to eat or drink, they are always as fresh and well disposed as when they set out; but, unfortunately, in real life it is not, and men must, whether they like it or no, yield to the imperious claims inherent in their imperfect nature. the partisans and wood rangers, men in whom the physical instincts are extremely developed, whatever moral agony they may undergo, never forget the hours for their meals and rest. and the reason is very simple; as their life is one continual struggle to defend themselves against enemies of every description, their vigour must be equal to the obstacles they have to overcome. the jaguar, without further hesitation, marched resolutely in the direction of the light, which he continued to see gleaming among the trees like a beacon. the nearer he drew to the rancho, the firmer became his conviction that he had not deceived himself; after deep reflection it seemed to him impossible that the mexicans could have pushed on so far; still, when he was but a short distance from the house, he judged it prudent to double his precautions, not to let himself be surprised, if, contrary to his expectations, he had to deal with an enemy. on coming within five hundred paces of the rancho, he began to grow restless and have less confidence in the opinion he had formed. several dead horses, two or three corpses lying pell-mell among pieces of weapons and broken carts, led to the evident supposition that a fight had taken place near the rancho. but with whom had the advantage remained? with the mexicans or the texans? who were the persons at this moment in the house--were they friends or foes? these questions were very difficult to solve, and the jaguar felt extremely embarrassed. still he was not discouraged. the young man had too long carried on the profession of partisan and scout, not to be thoroughly acquainted with all the tricks of the wood ranger's difficult life. after reflecting for a few moments, his mind was made up. several times, while the rancho had served as headquarters of the texan army, the jaguar had gone there either to be present at councils of war, or to take the orders of the commander-in-chief. as the approach to the house was thus familiar to him, he resolved to slip up to a window, and assure himself with his own eyes of what was going on in the rancho. this enterprise was not so difficult as it appeared at the first glance; for we have already seen, in a previous chapter, another of our characters employing the same plan for a similar purpose. the young man was quick, sharp, and strong--three reasons for succeeding. the light still gleamed, though no sound was heard from the interior, or troubled the deep silence of the night; the jaguar, without quitting his rifle, which he supposed he might require at any moment, lay down on the ground, and crawling on his hands and knees, advanced towards the house, being careful to keep in the shadow thrown by the thick branches of the trees, in order not to reveal his presence, if, as it was probable, the inhabitants, whoever they might be, of the house had placed a sentry to watch over their safety. the reasoning of the young man, like all reasoning based on experience, was correct; he had scarce gone fifteen yards ere he saw, standing out from the white wall of the house, the shadow of a man leaning on a rifle, and motionless as a statue. this man was evidently a sentry placed there to watch the approaches to the rancho. the situation was growing complicated for the jaguar; the difficulties increased in such proportions, that they threatened soon to become insupportable; for in order to reach the window he wanted, he would be compelled to leave the shadow which had hitherto so fortunately protected him, and enter the white light cast by the moon with a profusion that did not at all please the young man. he mechanically raised his head, hoping, perhaps, that a cloud would pass over the face of the planet, and intercept its too brilliant light, were it but for a moment; but the sky was of a deep azure, without the smallest cloud, and studded with stars. the jaguar felt an enormous inclination to leap on the sentry and throttle him; but supposing it were a friend? it was a knotty point. the young man really did not know what to resolve on, and sought in vain how to get out of the scrape, when the sentry suddenly levelled his rifle in his direction, and aimed at him with the saucy remark:-- "halloh! my friend, when you have crawled far enough like a snake, i suppose you will get up?" at the sound of this voice, which he believed he recognised, the young man eagerly leapt to his feet. "caramba!" he answered with a laugh. "you are right, john davis; i have had enough of that crawling." "what!" the latter replied, in surprise; "who are you that you know me so well?" "a friend, _cuerpo de cristo!_ so raise your rifle." "a friend, a friend!" the american replied, without changing his position, "that is possible, and the sound of your voice is not unknown to me; but, no matter, whether friend or foe, tell me your name, for if you don't, i will keep you on the spot, as this is not the time for fishing." "viva dios!" the young man said with a laugh, "that dear john is always prudent." "i should hope so, but enough talking; your name, that i may know with whom i have to deal." "what, do you not recognise the jaguar?" the american lowered his rifle, and the butt echoed on the ground. "by heaven!" he said joyously, "i suspected it was you, but did not dare believe it." "why not?" the young man asked as he approached. "hang it! because i was assured that you were dead." "i?" "yes, you." "who the deuce could have told you that nonsense?" "it is not nonsense. fray antonio assured me that he leapt his horse over your body." the jaguar reflected for a moment. "well," he answered, "he told you the truth." "what?" the american exclaimed as he gave a start of terror, "are you dead?" "oh, oh! make your mind easy," the young man answered with a laugh; "i am as good a living man as yourself." "are you quite sure of it?" the superstitious american said dubiously. "_rayo de dios!_ i am certain of it, though it is possible that fray antonio leaped his horse over my body, for i lay for several hours senseless on the battlefield." "that is all right, then." "thanks; but what are you doing there?" "as you see, i am on guard." "yes, but why are you so? are there more of you inside?" "there are about a dozen of us." "all the better; and who are your comrades?" the american looked at him for some moments fixedly, and then took his hand, which he squeezed. "my friend," he said with emotion, "thank heaven, for it has shown you a great mercy this day." "what do you mean?" the young man exclaimed, anxiously. "i mean that those you confided to us are safe and sound, in spite of the dangers innumerable they incurred during the terrible day we have passed through." "can it be true?" he said, laying his hand on his chest, to check the beating of his heart. "i assure you." "then, they are both here?" "yes." "oh! i must see them!" he exclaimed, as he prepared to rush into the rancho. "wait a moment." "why so?" he asked in alarm. "for two reasons: the first being that before you enter, i must warn them of your arrival." "that is true; go, my friend, i will await you here." "i have not yet told you the second reason." "what do i care?" "more than you fancy; do you not wish me to tell you the name of the man who protected and eventually saved doña carmela?" "i do not understand you, my friend. i entrusted the guardianship of tranquil and doña carmela to you." "you did so." "then, was it not you who saved them?" the american shook his head in denial. "no," he said, "it was not i, i could only have died with them." "but who saved them, then? whoever the man may be, i swear----" "this man," john davis interrupted him, "is one of your dearest and most devoted friends." "his name? my friend, tell me his name." "colonel melendez." "oh! i could have sworn it," the young man said impetuously; "why cannot i thank him?" "you will soon see him." "how so?" "at this moment he is busy seeking a safe retreat for the old hunter and his daughter. for the present we shall remain at this rancho, from which he will be able to keep the mexican soldiers off; and so soon as he has found another shelter, he will himself come to tell us." "always kind and devoted! i shall never be able to pay my debt to him." "who knows?" the american said philosophically; "luck will, perhaps, turn for us, and then it will be our turn to protect our protectors of today." "you are right, my friend; may heaven grant that it is so; but how did it all happen?" "the colonel, who seemed, from what he said to me, to have foreboded the danger that doña carmela ran, arrived just at the moment, when attacked on all sides at once, and too weak to resist the enemies who overwhelmed us, we were preparing, as we had promised, to die at our post; you can guess the rest. by threats and entreaties, he drove back the soldiers who were attacking us: then, not satisfied with having freed us from our enemies, he desired to secure us against all danger, and accompanied us thus far, recommending us to wait for him here, which i believe we shall be wise in doing." "certainly, acting otherwise would be ungrateful. go, now, my friend, i will wait for you." john davis, understanding the anxiety from which the young man was suffering, did not let the invitation be repeated, but entered the rancho. the jaguar remained alone, and was not sorry for it, for he wished to restore some order in his ideas. he felt himself inundated with immense joy at finding again, safe and sound, those whom he had believed dead, and whom he so bitterly lamented; he could scarce dare believe in such happiness, and fancied he must be dreaming, so impossible did all this appear to him. in less than ten minutes john davis returned. "well?" the young man asked. "come," he answered laconically. the american led him forward through a room in which were about a dozen texans, among them being fray antonio, lanzi, and quoniam, who were sleeping on trusses of straw laid on the boards. he then pushed open a door and the two men entered a second room not quite so large, and lighted by a smoky candle, standing on a table, which diffused but a dim light. tranquil was lying on a bed of furs piled on each other, while doña carmela was sitting on an equipal by his side. on seeing the young man, she rose quickly and ran to meet him. "oh!" she cried, as she offered him her hand; "heaven be praised, you have come at last!" and bending down, she offered him her pale forehead, on which the jaguar imprinted a respectful kiss, the only answer he could find, as he was suffering from such emotion. tranquil rose with an effort on his couch, and held out his hand to the young man, who hurried up to him. "now, whatever may happen," he said timorously, "i am assured as to the fate of my poor child, since you are near me. we have been terribly alarmed, my friend." "alas!" he answered, "i have suffered more than you." "but what is the matter?" carmela exclaimed; "you turn pale and totter: are you wounded?" "no," he answered feebly; "it is the happiness, the emotion, the joy of seeing you again. it is nothing more, so reassure yourself." and while saying this, he fell back into a butaca half fainting. carmela, suffering from the most lively alarm, hurriedly attended to him, but john davis, knowing better than the maiden what the sick man wanted, seized his gourd, and made him drink a long draught of its contents. the emotion the jaguar was suffering from, combined with the want of food and the fatigue that oppressed him, had caused him this momentary weakness. tranquil was not deceived; so soon as he saw the young man return to consciousness, he ordered his daughter to get him food, and, as she did not seem to understand, he said with a laugh to the jaguar: "i fancy, my friend, that a good meal is the only remedy you need." the young man tried to smile as he confessed that, in truth, he was obliged to confess, in spite of the bad opinion doña carmela would form of him, that he was literally dying of hunger. the maiden, reassured by this prosaic confession, immediately began getting him a supper of some sort, for provisions were scanty in the rancho, and it was not an easy matter to procure them. however, in a few minutes, carmela returned with some maize tortillas and a little roast meat, a more than sufficient meal, to which the young man did the greatest honour after apologising to his charming hostess, who now completely reassured, had resumed her petulant character, and did not fail to tease the young chief, who bravely endured it. the rest of the night was passed in pleasant conversation by these three persons, who had believed they would never meet again, and now felt so delighted at being together once more. the sun had risen but an hour when the sentry suddenly challenged, and several horsemen stopped at the gate of the rancho. chapter xviii. a reaction. after the sentry's challenge, loud shouts were raised outside the rancho, and, ere long, the noise and confusion since his return to honesty, the worthy monk had resumed his monastic habits of prolixity, we will take his place and narrate the facts as briefly as possible. we have said that on entering the rancho the jaguar, while passing through the first room, had perceived, among the sleepers upon straw, lanzi, quoniam, and fray antonio. all these men were really sleeping, but with that light sleep peculiar to hunters and wood rangers, and the sound of the young man's footsteps had aroused them; so soon as they saw the door of the second room close on the american they rose noiselessly, took up their weapons, and stealthily quitted the rancho. they had done this without exchanging a syllable, and were evidently carrying out a plan arranged beforehand, and which the presence of the sentry had alone impeded. their horses were saddled in a twinkling, they leapt into their saddles, and when john davis returned to his post they were far out of reach. the american, who immediately perceived their departure, gave a start of passion, and resumed his rounds, growling between his teeth: "the deuce take them! i only hope they may get a dose of lead in their heads, provided they do not bring a cuadrilla of mexican lancers down on us." still, the plan of these bold rangers was far from meriting such an imprecation, for they were about to accomplish a work of devotion. ignorant of colonel melendez' promises, and having, moreover, no sort of confidence in the well-known punic faith of the mexicans, they proposed to beat up the country, and assembled all the fugitives of their party they came across, in order to defend tranquil and doña carmela from any insult. in the meanwhile lanzi would swim off to the brig, which would be cruising a cable's length from the beach, announce to captain johnson the result of the battle of cerro pardo, tell him the critical position in which the old hunter and his daughter were placed, and beg him to go to the rancho and remove the wounded man on board, if circumstances compelled it. fortune, which, according to a well-known proverb, always favours the brave, was far more favourable to the plans of this forlorn hope than they had any right to expect; they had hardly galloped ten miles across country in no settled direction, ere they perceived numerous bivouac fires sparkling through the night in front of a wretched fishing village, situated on the sea shore a little distance from the fort of the point. they stopped to hold a council; but at the moment they prepared to deliberate, they were suddenly surrounded by a dozen horsemen, and made prisoners, ere they had time to lay hands on their arms or make an effort at defence. only one of the three comrades succeeded in escaping, and that was lanzi; the brave half-breed slipped off his horse, and passing like a serpent between the legs of the horses, he disappeared before his flight was noticed. lanzi had reflected that by remaining with his comrades he let himself be captured without profit; while if he succeeded in escaping he might hope to accomplish the commission he had undertaken, so that he retained a chance of safety for tranquil and his daughter. it was in consequence of this reasoning, made with the rapidity that characterised the half-breed, that he attempted and accomplished his bold flight, leaving his comrades to get as they best could out of the awkward scrape they had fallen into. but a thing happened to the latter which they were far from anticipating, and which the half-breed would never have suspected. the capture of the two men was effected so rapidly; they had been so surprised that not a single word was exchanged on either side; but when they were secured the chief of the detachment ordered them to follow him in a rough voice, and then a curious fact occurred: these men, who could not see each other for the darkness, became old friends again so soon as a sentence had been exchanged. fray antonio and his comrades had fallen into the hands of texan fugitives from the battle, and were the prisoners of their own friends. after numberless mutual congratulations, explanations came on the carpet, and these horsemen proved to belong to the jaguar's cuadrilla. when their chief left them to fly to the cart they continued to fight for some time while awaiting his return; but pressed on all sides, and not seeing him return, they broke and began flying in all directions. as they were perfectly acquainted with the country, it was easy for them to escape the pursuit of the mexican cavalry; and each, with that instinct peculiar to partisans and guerillas, proceeded separately to one of the gathering places, whither the jaguar was accustomed to summon them. here they nearly all came together again, for the simple reason that as their cuadrilla formed the rearguard, it had been the last engaged, and suffered very slightly, as it was almost immediately broken up by the departure of its chief. during this flight a great number of other partisans had swelled their ranks, so that at this moment their band formed a corps of nearly six hundred resolute men, well mounted and armed, but who, unfortunately, had no leader. the capture of fray antonio, who found many of his soldiers among them, was, therefore, a piece of good luck for the partisans, who, though they had been left to their own resources for only a few hours, were already beginning to understand the difficulties of their position, and how dangerous it would become for them if fatality willed it that they should be discovered and attacked, by a mexican corps. still, they had acted with great prudence up to this moment. obliged to leave the retreat they had selected, and which offered them no resources, they had bivouacked a little distance from the fort of the point, in order to be protected both by the garrison of the fortress and the fire of their cruisers, which they knew to be close at hand. when fray antonio had picked up this information, which was precious for him, and overwhelmed him with delight, by permitting him to dispose of numerous and determined corps, instead of a few demoralized fugitives of no value, he determined to requite the soldiers who had captured him for the pleasure they caused him by telling him that the jaguar was not dead as they had falsely supposed--that he was not even wounded, but was in hiding at the rancho which had for a long time served as headquarters of the texan army, and he would conduct them thither if they pleased. at this proposal of the worthy monk's the joy of the freebooters became delirious, almost frenzied, for they adored their chief, and longed to place themselves under his orders again. consequently, the camp was immediately raised, the partisans formed in a column, fray antonio placing himself at its head, and the remains of the texan army set out joyously for the rancho. the reader knows the rest. the jaguar warmly thanked fray antonio; he then stated that the rancho would temporarily be headquarters, and ordered his men to bivouac round the house. still, there was one thing which greatly alarmed the young man: no news had been received, of lanzi. what had become of him? perhaps he had found death in accomplishing his rash enterprise, and trying to reach, by swimming, captain johnson's brig. the jaguar knew the friendship that united tranquil and the half-breed, and what deep root that friendship had taken in the heart of both, and he feared the effect on the canadian of the announcement of a calamity which, unhappily, was only too probable. hence, in spite of his promise of returning at once to the hunter, he walked anxiously up and down in front of the rancho, gazing at intervals out to sea, and not feeling the courage to be present when the canadian asked after his old friend and was told of his death. presently, carmela appeared in the doorway. the old hunter, not seeing the jaguar return, and alarmed by the noisy demonstrations he heard outside, at length resolved to send the girl on a voyage of discovery, after warning her not to commit any act of imprudence, but return to his side at the slightest appearance of danger, carmela ran off in delight to find the jaguar; a few remarks she heard while passing through the house told her what was occurring, and she had no fear about venturing outside. on seeing her the young man checked his hurried walk and waited for her, while trying to give his features an expression agreeing with the lucky situation in which he was supposed to be. "well!" she said to him, with that little pouting air which she could assume if necessary, and which suited her so well; "what has become of you, deserter? we have been waiting for you with the most lively impatience, and there you are walking quietly up and down, instead of hurrying to bring us the good news you promised us." "forgive me, carmela," he replied; "i was wrong to appear thus to forget you, and leave you in a state of anxiety; but so many extraordinary things have occurred, that i do not really yet know whether i am awake or dreaming." "everybody deserts us this morning, not excepting lanzi and quoniam, who have not yet made their appearance." "you will pardon them, señorita, for i am the sole cause of their absence. i found myself compelled to entrust them both with important duties, but i trust they will soon return, and directly they do so, i will send them to you." "but are you not coming in, jaguar? my father would be glad to talk with you." "i should like to do so, carmela, but at this moment it is impossible; remember that the army is utterly disorganized, at each moment fresh men who have escaped from the battle join us; only a few chiefs have turned up as yet, the rest are missing. i alone must undertake to restore a little order in this chaos; but be assured that so soon as i have a second to myself, i will take advantage of it to join you. alas! it is only by your side that i am happy." the maiden blushed slightly at this insinuation, and answered at once with a degree of coldness in her accent, of which she immediately repented, in seeing the impression her words caused the young man, and the cloud they brought to his forehead. "you are at liberty to remain here as long as you please, caballero; in speaking to you as i did i merely carried a message my father gave me for you; the rest concerns me but little." the young man bowed without replying, and turned away his head not to let the cruel girl see the sorrow she caused him by this harsh and so unmerited apostrophe. carmela walked a few steps toward the house, but on reaching the threshold she ran back and offered her little hand to the young chief with an exquisite smile. "forgive me, my friend," she said to him, "i am a madcap. you are not angry with me, i trust?" "i angry with you?" he replied, sadly, "why should i be so, by what right? what else am i to you than a stranger, an indifferent being, a stranger too happy to be endured without any great display of impatience on your part." the maiden bit her lips angrily. "will you not take the hand i offer you?" she said with a slight tinge of impatience. the jaguar looked at her for a moment fixedly, and then seized her hand, on which he imprinted a burning kiss. "why should the head ever do injustice to the heart?" he said, with a sigh. "am i not a woman?" she replied with a smile that filled his heart with joy; "we are waiting for you, so come soon," she added, and shaking her finger at him, she ran back into the house like a startled fawn, and laughing like a madcap. the jaguar gazed after her until she at length disappeared in the interior of the rancho. "she is but a coquettish child," he murmured in a low voice; "has she a heart?" a stifled sigh was the sole answer he found for the difficult question he asked himself, and he bent his eyes again on the sea. suddenly, he uttered a cry of joy; he had just seen, above the rocks which terminated on the right, the small bay on which the cuadrilla was encamped, the tall masts of the _libertad_ corvette, followed or rather convoyed by the brig. the two ships, impelled by a favourable breeze, soon doubled the point, and entered the bay; while the corvette made short tacks not to run ashore on the dangerous coast, the brig shortened sail and remained stationary. a boat was immediately let down, several persons seated themselves in it, and the sailors, letting their oars fall simultaneously into the water, pulled vigorously for the shore. the distance they had to row was nearly half a mile, and hence the jaguar was unable to recognise the persons who were arriving. anxious to know, however, what he had to depend on, he mounted the first horse he came across, and galloped toward the boat, followed by some twenty freebooters; who, seeing their chief set out, formed him a guard of honour. the young man reached the coast at the precise moment when the bows of the boat ran up into the sand. there were three sailors in the boat: captain johnson and the person we have met before under the name of el alferez, and lastly, lanzi. on perceiving the latter, the young chief could not restrain a shout of joy, and without thinking of even saluting the other two, he seized the half-breed's hand and pressed it cordially several times. the captain and his companion, far from being annoyed at this apparent want of politeness, seemed, on the contrary, to witness with pleasure, this frank and spontaneous manifestation of an honourable feeling. "bravo, cabellero!" said the captain; "by heaven! you do right to press that man's hand, for he is a loyal and devoted fellow; ten times during the past night he risked his life in trying to reach my ship, which at length came aboard, half drowned and dead with fatigue." "nonsense," the half-breed said negligently; "it was nothing at all; the main point was to reach you, as my poor comrades had the ill-luck to be taken prisoners." the jaguar began laughing. "don't be alarmed, my brave fellow," he said to him; "your comrades are as free as yourself, and you will soon see them; there was a mistake in all this which they will have the pleasure of explaining to you." lanzi opened his eyes in amazement at this partial revelation, which he did not at all understand, but he made no answer, contenting himself with shrugging his shoulders several times. the jaguar then offered the captain and his two companions horses on which they could proceed to the rancho, and which they accepted. the partisans who had followed their chief, on hearing this offer, hastened to dismount, and courteously presented their horses to the strangers. the latter, without stopping to make a choice, mounted the horses nearest to them, and started. while galloping along, the three newcomers looked about them with surprise, not at all comprehending what they saw; for a time, the jaguar paid no great attention to their manoeuvres, and continued to talk about indifferent topics; but their preoccupation soon became so marked that he perceived it, and could not refrain from asking them the cause of it. "on my word, caballeros," the captain said, all at once taking the ball at the rebound; "if you had not asked me that question, i was on the point of asking you one, for i frankly confess that i understand nothing of what is happening to us." "what is happening, pray?" "why, i learned last night from this worthy lad, the frightful defeat you experienced yesterday; the total loss and the utter dispersion of your army; i hurried up to offer you and yours, whom i supposed tracked like wild beasts and without shelter of any sort, an asylum aboard my vessel, and i have barely set foot on land, ere i find myself in the midst of this army which i supposed to be swept away like autumn leaves by a storm; and this army is as firm and well disciplined as before the battle. explain to me, i beg, the meaning of this riddle, for i have really given it up, as impossible to guess." "i am ready to satisfy your curiosity," the jaguar answered with a smile; "but first of all i crave some valuable news from you." "very good; but answer me this first." "go on." "has the battle really taken place?" "certainly." "and you have been whipped?" "to our heart's content." "that is strange, i understand leas than ever; well, speak, i am listening to you." "is the fort of the point still in the hands of our friends?" "yes; our ships have left it an hour at the most. ever since you so daringly surprised it, the mexicans have not come within gunshot." "may heaven be praised!" the young man exclaimed impetuously; "nothing is lost in that case, and all can be repaired. yes, captain, we have been beaten, we have suffered a frightful defeat; but, as you know, during the ten years we have been struggling against the mexican power, our oppressors have often believed us crushed, and it is the same this time, thanks be to heaven! two of our best cuadrillas have escaped almost in safety the horrible massacre of the other corps, and they are those you see assembled here. at each moment straggling fugitives join us, so that within a week we shall probably be able to resume the offensive. god is on our side, for the cause we defend is sacred; we are the soldiers of an idea, and must conquer. the defeat of yesterday will be of use to us in the future." "you are right, my friend," the captain answered warmly. "this revolution in truth resembles no other; ever conquered, and ever up in arms, you are stronger today, after your numerous defeats, than when you began the struggle. the finger of heaven is there, and a man must be mad not to perceive it. hence your losses are limited to men and arms?" "to men and arms solely; we have not lost an inch of ground. i seek in vain the reason that prevented the victorious mexicans pursuing us, for we have kept all our positions, and are scarce ten miles from the battle field." "many of our chiefs, i presume, have fallen, or are in the hands of the enemy?" "i fear so; still, several have already come in, and others will probably still join us. there is one, unfortunately, about whom we have no news--you know to whom i refer; if the day pass without his making his appearance, i shall start in search of him." the jaguar had spoken the truth; each moment soldiers who had escaped from the battlefield arrived. during the short hour that had elapsed since he left the rancho, more than two hundred had joined the camp. "you see," said the young chief, looking around him proudly, "that, in spite of our defeat, nothing has really changed for us, as we have retained our head quarters, and the banner of texan independence still floats from its azotea." the horsemen then dismounted, and entered the rancho. chapter xix. a page of history. the jaguar was mistaken, or rather flattered himself, when he said that the defeat of cerro pardo had caused but an insignificant loss to the revolutionary party; for galveston, too weak to attempt resistance to the attack of the mexican army, surrendered on the first summons, and did not even attempt a useless demonstration. still, the young chief was rightly astonished that general rubio, an old experienced soldier, and one of the best officers in the mexican army, had not attempted to complete his victory by definitively crushing his enemies, and pursuing them to the death. general rubio really intended not to give those he had beaten breathing time, but his will was suddenly paralysed by another more powerful than his own. the facts that then occurred are so strange, that they deserve to be described in their fullest details. besides; they are intimately related to the facts we have undertaken to narrate, and throw a new light on certain events connected with the revolution of texas, which are but little known. we ask our reader's pardon; but we must go back once again, and return to general rubio, at the moment when the texans, broken by colonel melendez' charge, and understanding that victory was hopelessly slipping from their grasp, began flying in every direction, without trying to defend themselves longer, or keep the ground they held. the general had stationed himself on an eminence whence he surveyed the whole battlefield, and followed the movements of the various corps engaged. so soon as he saw the disorder produced in the enemy's ranks, he understood the advantage he could derive from this precipitate flight, by closely pursuing the fugitives up to the fort of the point, where he could certainly enter pell-mell without striking a blow. but haste was needed, not to give the enemy time to re-form a little further on, which the chiefs who commanded them would not fail to attempt, if but an hour's respite were granted them. the general turned to an aide-de-camp by his side, and was just going to send colonel melendez orders to start all his cavalry in pursuit of the texans, when a platoon of a dozen lancers suddenly appeared, commanded by an officer who galloped at full speed to the spot where the general was, making signs and waving his hat. the general looked in surprise at this officer, whom he knew did not belong to his army. a minute later he gave a start of surprise and disappointment, took, a sorrowful glance at the battlefield, and stood biting his moustache and muttering, in a low voice, "confound this saloon officer and sabre clunker! why did he not remain in mexico? what does the president mean by sending us this gold plumaged springald, to make us lose all the profits of the victory?" at this moment the officer came up to the general, bowed respectfully, drew a large sealed envelope from his breast, and handed it to him. the general coldly returned the salutation, took the letter, opened it, and looked at it with a frown; but almost immediately he crumpled the letter up passionately, and addressed the officer, who was standing motionless and stiff before him. "you are the aide-de-camp of the president general of the republic?" he said, roughly. "yes, general," the officer answered, with a bow. "hum! where is the president at this moment?" "four leagues off at the most, with two thousand troops." "where has he halted?" "his excellency has not halted, general, but, on the contrary, is advancing with forced marches to join you." the general gave a start of anger. "it is well," he continued, presently. "return at full gallop to his excellency, and announce to him my speedy arrival." "pardon me, general, but it seems to me that you have not read the despatch i had the honour of handing you," the officer said, respectfully, but firmly. the general looked at him askance. "i have not time at this moment to read the despatch," he said, drily. at the period when our history takes place, general don antonio lopez de santa anna was thirty-nine to forty years of age; he was tall and finely built; he had a lofty and projecting forehead, rounded chin, and slightly aquiline nose, large black eyes, full of expression, and a flexible mouth, which gave him an air of remarkable nobility, while his black and curly hair, which formed a contrast to the yellowish tinge of his complexion, covered his temples and his high-boned cheeks. such, physically, was the man who, for thirty years, has been the evil genius of mexico, and has led it to infallible ruin by making himself the cause or pretext of all the wars and revolutions which, since his first assumption of power, have incessantly overwhelmed this unhappy country. we must now ask our reader's pardon, but we must talk a little politics, and describe cursorily the facts which preceded and led to the denouement of the too lengthy story we have undertaken to narrate. if the mexicans had gained an important advantage over the texans, in another portion of the revolted territory they had experienced a check, whose consequences must prove immense for them. the mexican general cos was besieged in the town of bejar by the texans; the latter, with that want of foresight so natural to volunteers of all countries, believing that they had only a campaign of a few days, had laid in no provisions or winter clothing, though the rainy season was at hand, hence they were beginning to grow discouraged and talk about raising the siege; when el alferez, that mysterious personage we have come across several times, went to the general in chief and pledged himself to compel the mexicans to capitulate, if three hundred men were given him. the young partizan's reputation for intrepidity had long been famed among the texans, and hence his offer was accepted with enthusiasm. el alferez performed his promise. the town was captured after four terrible assaults; but the young chief, struck by a bullet in the forehead, fell in the breach, with his triumph as his winding sheet. a fact was then ascertained which had hitherto been only vaguely suspected:--el alferez, the daring and formidable partisan, was a woman. general cos, his staff, and one thousand five hundred mexicans laid down their arms, and all filed, in the presence of the handful of insurgents who had survived the assaults and the corpse of their intrepid chieftain, which was clothed in feminine attire, and seated in a chair covered with the flags taken from the vanquished. the mexicans left the territory of the new republic, after pledging their word of honour not to oppose the recognition of independence. santa anna received news of the defeat at bejar while stationed at san luis de potosi. furious at the affront the mexican arms had received, the president, after flying into a furious passion with the generals who had hitherto directed the military operations, swore to avenge the honour of mexico, which was so disgracefully compromised, and finally finish with these rebels whom no one had yet been able to conquer. the president organized an army of six thousand men, a truly formidable army, if we take into account the resources of the country in which these events occurred. the preparations, urged on by that vigour produced by wounded pride and the hope of vengeance, were soon completed, and santa anna entered texas, after dividing his army into three corps, under the orders of filisola, cos, urrea, and garrey. after effecting his junction with general rubio, to whom he had sent an aide-de-camp with orders to remain in his quarters and not risk a battle before his arrival, an order which the general received too late, the president determined to deal a decisive blow by recapturing bejar and seizing on goliad. bejar and goliad are two spanish towns; roads run from them to a common centre, the heart of the anglo-american settlements. the capture of these two towns, as the basis of operations, was, consequently, of the highest importance to the mexicans. the texans, weakened and demoralized by their last defeat, were unable to resist so formidable an invasion as the one with which they saw themselves menaced. the mexican army carried on a true war of savages, passing like a flood over this hapless country, plundering and burning the towns. the two first months that followed santa anna's arrival in texas were an uninterrupted series of successes for the mexicans, and seemed to justify the new method inaugurated by the president, however barbarous and inhuman it might be in its results. the texans found themselves in a moment reduced to so precarious a condition, that their ruin appeared to competent men inevitable, and merely a question of time. let us describe, in a few words, the operations of the mexican army. before resuming our narrative at the point where we left it, we have said already that the mexican forces had been divided into three corps. three thousand men, that is to say, one moiety of the mexican army, commanded by generals santa anna and cos, and well supplied with artillery, proceeded to lay siege to bejar. this town had only a feeble garrison of one hundred and eighty men, but this garrison was commanded by colonel travis, one of the greatest and purest heroes of the war of independence. when completely invested, travis withdrew to the citadel, not feeling at all alarmed by the numbers he had to fight. he was summoned to surrender. "nonsense!" he answered with a smile; "we will all die, but your victory will cost you so dearly that a defeat would be better for you." and he loyally kept his word, resisting for a whole fortnight with unexampled bravery, and incessantly exhorting his comrades. thirty-two texans managed to throw themselves into the fort, after traversing the entire mexican army. "we have come to die with you," the chief of this heroic forlorn hope said to him. "thanks," was all the answer. santa anna, whose strength had been more than doubled during the siege, summoned colonel travis for the last time, saying there would be madness in risking an assault with a practicable breach. "we will fill it up with our dead bodies," the colonel nobly answered. the president ordered the assault, and the texans were killed to the last man. the mexicans then entered the citadel, not as conquerors, but with a secret apprehension, and as if ashamed of their triumph. they had lost fifteen hundred men.[ ] "oh!" santa anna exclaimed bitterly, "another such victory and we are lost!" so soon as bejar was reduced, attention was turned to goliad. but here one of those facts occurred which history is compelled to register, were it only to stigmatize and eternally brand the men who have been guilty. goliad is an open town, without walls or citadel to arrest an enemy, and colonel fanni had abandoned it, as he had only five hundred texan volunteers with him. compelled to leave his ammunition and baggage behind, in order to effect his retreat with greater speed, he was suddenly attacked on the prairie by general urrea's mexican division, nineteen hundred strong. obeying their colonel's orders, the texans formed square, and for a whole day endured the attack of the foe without flinching. the mexicans involuntarily admiring the desperate heroism of these men, who had no hope of salvation, implored them to surrender, while offering them good and honourable conditions. the texans hesitated for a long time, for, as they did not dare trust the word of their enemies, they preferred to die. still, when one hundred and forty texans had fallen, the colonel resolved to lay down his arms, on the condition that his soldiers and himself should be regarded as prisoners of war, treated as such, and that the american volunteers should be embarked for the united states at the charges of the mexican government. these conditions having been accepted by general urrea, the texans surrendered. santa anna, who was still at bejar, refused to ratify the treaty; and by his _express orders_, in spite of the prayers and supplications of all his generals, he directed the massacre of the prisoners. the three hundred and fifty prisoners were murdered in cold blood, on a prairie situated between goliad and the sea. general urrea, whom this infamous treason dishonoured, broke his sword, weeping with rage. this horrible massacre was the signal for a general upheaval, and all ran to arms; despair restored the energy of the insurgents, and a new army seemed to spring from the ground as if by enchantment. general houston was appointed commander-in-chief, and on both sides preparations were made for the supreme and decisive struggle. [ ] it was at this marvellous siege, better known as that of the alamo, that colonels crockett and bowie were killed.--l.w. chapter xx. the bivouac. as we have already said, texas had reached a decisive epoch: unfortunately, her future seemed as gloomy as that of the conquered: in spite of the heroic efforts attempted by the insurgents, the rapid progress of the invasion was watched with terror, and no possible means of resistance could be seen. still it was this moment, when all appeared desperate, which the convention, calm and moved by a love of liberty more ardent than ever, selected to hurl a last and supreme defiance at the invaders. not allowing itself to be intimidated by evil fortune, the convention replied to the menaces of the conquerors by a statement of rights, and the definitive declaration of the independence of a country which was almost entirely occupied by, and in the power of the mexicans. it improvised a constitution, created a provisional executive authority, decreed all the measures of urgency which the gravity of circumstances demanded, and finally nominated general sam houston commander-in-chief, with the most widely extended powers. unhappily the texan army no longer existed, for its previous defeats had completely annihilated it. but if military organization might be lacking, the enthusiasm was more ardent than ever. the texans had sworn to bury themselves under the smoking ruins of their plundered towns and villages, sooner than return beneath the detested yoke of their oppressors. and this oath they were not only prepared to keep, but had already kept at bejar and goliad: however low a people may appear, and is really in the sight of its tyrants, when all its acting strength is concentrated in the firm and immutable will, to live free or die, it is certain to recover from its defeats, and to rise again one day a conqueror, and regenerated by the blood of the martyrs who have succumbed in the supreme struggle of liberty against slavery. general houston had scarce been appointed ere he prepared to obey, and he reached the banks of the guadalupe three days after the capture of the alamo. the texan troops amounted to _three hundred_ men, badly armed, badly clothed, almost dying of hunger, but burning to take their revenge. general houston was a stern and sincere patriot; his name is revered in texas, like that of washington in the united states, or of lafayette in france. houston was a precursor, or one of those geniuses whom it pleases god to create when he desires to render a people free. at the sight of this army of three hundred men, houston was not discouraged; on the contrary, he felt his enthusiasm redoubled, the heroic relics of the ten thousand victims who had succumbed since the beginning of the war had not despaired of the salvation of their country: like their predecessors, they were ready to die for her. it was a sacred phalanx with which he would achieve miracles. still, it was not with these three hundred men, however brave and resolute they might be, that general houston could entertain a hope of defeating the mexicans, who, rendered presumptuous by their past successes, eagerly sought the opportunity to finish once for all with the insurgents, by crushing the last relics of their army. general houston, before risking an action on which the fate of his new country would doubtless depend, resolved to form an army once more; for this purpose, instead of marching on the enemy, he fell back on the colorado, and thence on the brazos, burning and destroying everything in his passage, in order to starve the mexicans out. these clever tactics obtained all the success the general expected from them; for a very simple reason: as he fell back on the mexican frontier, his army was daily augmented by fresh recruits, who, on the report of his approach, left their houses or farms to enlist under his banner; while the contrary happened to the mexicans, who at each march they made in pursuit of the insurgents, left a few laggards behind, who by so much diminished their strength. the texan general had a powerful motive for falling back on the american frontier; he hoped to obtain some help from general gaines, who, by the order of president jackson, had advanced on texan territory as far as the town of nagogdoches. such was the state of affairs between houston and santa anna, the one retreating, the other continually advancing; though ere long they must meet face to face, in a battle which would decide the great question of a nation's emancipation or servitude. on the day when we resume our narrative it was about eight in the evening, the heat had been stifling throughout the day, and although night had fallen long before, this heat, far from diminishing, had but increased; there was not a breath of air, the atmosphere was oppressive, and low lightning-laden clouds rolled heavily athwart the sky; all, in fact, foreboded a storm. on the banks of a rather wide stream, whose yellowish and turbid waters flowed mournfully between banks clothed with cotton-wood trees, the bivouac fires of a small detachment of cavalry might be seen glistening like stars in the darkness. this stream was a confluent of the colorado, and the men encamped on its banks were texans. they were but twenty-five in number, and composed the entire cavalry of the army of independence: they were commanded by the jaguar. while the horsemen were sadly crouching over the fires, not far from which their horses were hobbled, and conversing in a low voice; their chief, who had retired to a jacal made of branches and lighted by a smoky candil, was sitting on an equipal with his back leant against a tree trunk, with his arms folded on his chest and gazing at vacancy. the jaguar was no longer the young and ardent man we introduced to our readers; his face was pale, his features contracted, and eyes blood-shot with fever, and, though faith still dwelt in his heart, hope was dead. the truth was that death had begun to make frightful gaps around him; his dearest friends, the most devoted supporters of the cause he defended, had fallen one after the other in this implacable struggle. el alferez, captain johnson, ramirez, fray antonio, were lying in their bloody graves; of others he received no news, nor knew what had become of them; he therefore stood alone, like an oak bowed by the wind and beaten by the storm, resisting intrepidly, but foreseeing his approaching fall. general houston, in his calculated retreat, had confided the command of the rear guard, that is to say, the most honourable and dangerous post, to the jaguar; a post he had accepted with gloomy joy, as he felt sure that he would fall gloriously, while watching over the safety of all. in the meantime the night became blacker and blacker, the horizon more menacing; a white and sharp rain began piercing the grey fog; the storm was rapidly approaching, and must soon burst forth. the soldiers watched with terror the progress of the storm, and instinctively sought shelter against this convulsion of nature, which was far more terrible than the other dangers which menaced them. for no one, who has not witnessed it, can form even a remote idea of an american hurricane, which twists trees like wisps of straw, fires forests, levels mountains, drives streams from their bed, and in a few hours convulses the surface of the soil. suddenly a dazzling flash furrowed the darkness, and a crashing burst of thunder broke the majestic silence that brooded over the landscape. at the same instant the sentry stationed a few paces in front of the bivouac challenged. the jaguar sprang up as if he had received an electric shock, and bounding forward, as he mechanically seized the weapons lying within reach, listened. the dull sound of horses' hoofs could he heard on the soddened ground. "who's there?" the sentry challenged a second time. "friends," a voice replied. "_¿qué gente?_" "texas." the jaguar emerged from the jacal. "to arms!" he shouted to his men, we must not let ourselves be surprised. "come, come," the voice continued, "i see that i have not diverged from the track, since i can hear the jaguar." "halloh!" the latter said in surprise, "who are you, that you know me so well?" "by jove! a friend whose voice should be familiar to you, at any rate." "john davis!" the young man exclaimed with a joy he did not attempt to conceal. "all right!" the american continued gaily. "i thought that we should understand one another presently." "come, come; let him pass, men, he is a friend." five or six horsemen entered the camp and dismounted. at this moment the storm burst forth furiously, passing like a whirlwind over the plain, the twisted trees on which were in a second uprooted and borne away by the hurricane. the texans had made their horses lie down, and were themselves lying down by their side on the wet soil, in the hope of offering a smaller surface to the gusts that passed with a mournful howl above their heads. it was a spectacle full of wild grandeur, presented by this ravaged plain, incessantly crossed by flashes which illuminated the landscape with fantastic hues, while the thunder rolled hoarsely in the depths of the heavens, and the clouds scudded along like a routed army, dashing against each other with electric collisions. for nearly three hours the hurricane raged, levelling everything in its passage; at length, at about one in the morning, the rain became less dense, the wind gradually calmed, the thunder rolled at longer intervals, and the sky, swept clean by a final effort of the tempest, appeared again blue and star-spangled; the hurricane had gone away to vent its fury in other regions. the men and horses rose; all breathed again, and tried to restore a little order in the camp. this was no easy task, for the jacal had been carried away, the fires extinguished, and the logs dispersed in all directions; but the texans were tried men, long accustomed to the dangers and fatigues of desert life. the tempest, instead of crushing them, had, on the contrary, restored their strength and patience, though not their courage, for that had never failed them. they set gaily to work, and in two hours all the injury caused by the tempest was repaired as well as the precarious resources they had at their disposal permitted; the fires were lighted again, and the jacal reconstructed. any stranger who had entered the camp at this moment would not have supposed that so short a time previously they had been assailed by so fearful a hurricane. the jaguar was anxious to talk with john davis, whom he had only seen since his arrival, and had found it impossible to exchange a syllable. when order was restored, therefore, he went up to him and begged him to enter the jacal. "permit me," the american said, "to bring with me three of my comrades whom i am convinced you will be delighted to meet." "do so," the jaguar answered; "who are they?" "i will not deprive you," davis, said, with a smile, "of the pleasure of recognizing them yourself." the young chief did not press the matter, for he knew the ex-slave dealer too well not to place the most perfect confidence in him. a few minutes later, according to his promise, davis entered the jacal with his comrades; the jaguar gave a start of joy at seeing them, and quickly walked up to offer his hand. these three men were lanzi, quoniam, and black-deer. "oh, oh!" he exclaimed, "here you are, then. heaven be praised! i did not dare hope for your return." "why not?" lanzi asked; "as we are still alive, thanks to god! you ought to have expected us." "so many things have happened since our parting, so many misfortunes have assailed us, so many of our friends have fallen not to rise again, that, on receiving no news of you, i trembled at the thought that you might also be dead." "you know, my friend," the american said, "that we have been absent a very long time, and are consequently quite ignorant of what has happened since our departure." "well, i will tell you all. but first one word." "speak." "where is tranquil?" "only a few leagues from here, and you will soon see him; he sent me forward, indeed, to warn you of his speedy arrival." "thanks," the young man replied, pensively. "is that all you desire to know?" "nearly so, for of course you have received no news of ----?" "news of whom?" the american asked, seeing that the jaguar hesitated. "of carmela?" he at length said, with a tremendous effort. "of carmela?" john davis exclaimed, in surprise: "how could we have received any news? tranquil, on the contrary, hopes to hear some from you." "from me?" "hang it! you must know better than any of us how the dear child is." "i do not understand you." "and yet it is very clear. i will not remind you in what way we succeeded, after the capture of the larch-tree, in saving the poor girl from that villain who carried her off; i will merely remind you that on the very day when tranquil and i, by your express orders, started to join loyal heart, the maiden was confided in your presence to captain johnson, who would convey her to the house of a respectable lady at galveston, who was willing to offer her a shelter." "well?" "what do you mean by, well?" "yes, i knew all that, so it was useless to tell it me. what i ask you is, whether, since carmela went to, galveston, you have received any news of her?" "why, it is impossible, my friend; how could we have received any? remember that we proceeded to the desert." "that is true," the young man replied, disconsolately; "i am mad. forgive me." "what is the matter? why this pallor, my friend, this restlessness i see in your eyes?" "ah!" he said, with a sigh, "it is because i have received news of carmela, if you have not." "you, my friend?" "yes, i." "a long time ago, i presume?" "no--yesterday evening," he said, with a bitter smile. "i do not at all understand you." "well, listen to me. what i am going to tell you is not long, but it is important, i promise you." "i am listening." "we form, as you are doubtless aware, the extreme rear guard of the army of liberation." "yes, i know that, and it helped me in finding your trail." "very good; hence hardly a day passes in which we do not exchange musket shots and sabre cuts with the mexicans." "go on." "yesterday--you see it is not stale--we were suddenly charged by forty mexican horse; it was about three in the afternoon, when general houston was crossing the river with the main body. we had orders to offer a desperate resistance, in order to protect the retreat. this order was needless; at the sight of the mexicans we rushed madly upon them, and the action at once commenced. after a few minutes' fighting the mexicans gave way, and finally fled, leaving three or four dead on the battlefield. too weak to pursue the enemy, i had given my soldiers orders to return, and was myself preparing to do the same, when two flying mexicans, instead of continuing their flight, stopped, and fastening their handkerchiefs to their sabre blades, made me a signal that they desired to parley. i approached the two men, who bore a greater likeness to bandits than to soldiers; and one of them, a man of tall stature and furious looks, said to me at once, when i asked them what they wanted-- "'to do you a service, if you are, as i suppose, the jaguar.' "'yes, i am he,' i answered, 'but what is your name? who are you?' "'it is of little consequence who i am, provided that my intentions are good.' "'still, i must know them.' "'hum!' he said, 'you are very distrustful, comirado.' "'come, sandoval,' the other horseman said, in a voice gentle as a woman's, as he suddenly joined in the conversation, 'do not beat about thus, but finish your business.' "'i ask nothing better than to finish,' he replied, coarsely; 'it is this gentleman who compels me to swerve, when i wished to go straight ahead.' "the second rider, shrugged his shoulders with a disdainful smile, and turned to me. "'in a word, caballero, here is a paper, which a person, in whom you take great interest, requested us to deliver to you.'" "i eagerly seized the paper, and prepared to open it, for a secret foreboding warned me of misfortune. "'no,' the mexican continued eagerly arresting my hand, 'wait till you have joined your men again, to read that letter.' "'i consent,' i said, 'but i presume you do not intend to do me a gratuitous service, whatever its nature may be?' "'why so?' "'because you do not know me, and the interest you take in me must be very slight.' "'perhaps so,' the rider answered; 'still, pledge yourself to nothing, i warn you, till you know the contents of that letter.' "then he made a signal to his comrade, and after bowing slightly, they started at a gallop, and left me considerably embarrassed at the way in which this singular interview had ended, and twisting in my fingers the letter i did not dare open." "well," the american muttered, "what did you, so soon as the men left you alone?" "i looked after them a long time, and then, suddenly recalled to my duty by several carbine shots whose bullets whizzed past my ears, i bent down over my horse's neck and regained the bivouac at full gallop. on arriving, i opened the letter, for i was burning with impatience and curiosity." "and it was?" "from carmela." "by heavens!" the american said, as he slapped his thigh; "i would have wagered it." chapter xxi. sandoval. "yes," the jaguar continued presently in a broken voice; "this letter was entirely in carmela's handwriting. would you like to know the contents?" the american looked around him. "well, what matter?" the jaguar exclaimed with some violence; "are not these brave lads our friends, faithful and devoted friends? why keep secret from them a thing i should be forced to tell them, perhaps tomorrow?" john davis bowed. "you did not understand my thought," he said. "i am not afraid about them, but of those who may be possibly listening outside." the young man shook his head. "no, no," he said, "fear nothing, john davis, my old friend; no one is listening to us." "read the letter in that case, for i am anxious to know its contents." although the dawn was beginning to tinge the horizon with all the prismatic colours, the light was not sufficient yet for it to be possible to read by it. lanzi, therefore, seized the candil, whose smoky wick smouldered without spreading any great light, snuffed it intrepidly with his fingers, and held it in a line with the jaguar's face. the latter, after a moment's hesitation, drew from the pocket of his velvet jacket a dirty and crumpled piece of paper, unfolded it, and read: "_to the chief of the texan freebooters, surnamed the jaguar._" "if you really take that interest in me you have so often offered to prove to me, save me, save the daughter of your friend! having left galveston to go in search of my father, i have fallen into the hands of my most cruel enemy. i have only hope in two men in this world, yourself and colonel melendez. my father is too far for me to be allowed to hope effectual assistance from him. and besides, his life is too precious to me for me to consent to him risking it. whatever may happen, i trust in you as in god; will you fail me? "the disconsolate carmela." "hum!" the american muttered; "is that all?" "no," the young man answered, "there is a second note written below the first." "ah, ah! by carmela?" "no." "by whom, then?" "i do not know, for it is not signed." "and do you suspect nobody?" "perhaps i do--but before telling you whom i suspect, i had better read you the second letter." "for what reason?" "in order to know whether you share in my suspicions, and if they corroborate mine." "good, i understand you. read!" the jaguar took up the paper again and read: "this letter, written in duplicate, is addressed by doña carmela to two persons, señor el jaguar and colonel melendez; but the second copy has not yet been delivered, as i am awaiting the jaguar's answer ere doing so. it depends on him not only to save a young lady, interesting in every respect, but also, if he will, to secure the triumph of the cause for which he is combating so valiantly. for this purpose, he has only an easy thing to do: he will proceed, between eight and nine o'clock in the morning, to the cueva del venado; a man will issue from the grotto, and tell him on what conditions he consents to aid him in this double enterprise." the jaguar folded up the paper, and placed it in his jacket pocket. "is that all?" the american asked a second time. "this time, yes, it is all," the young man answered; "now what do you think of this epistle?" "why, i think that the man who wrote it is the same who handed you the letter." "we are agreed, for i think so too. and what, in your opinion, ought i to do?" "ah, that is a more difficult question than the first; the case is serious." "remember that it concerns carmela." "i am well aware of it. but reflect that this rendezvous may conceal a snare." "for what object?" "why, to seize you." "well, and what then?" "what do you mean?" "why, supposing that it is a trap, what will be the result of it?" "in the first place that you will be a prisoner, and texas be deprived of one of her most devoted defenders. in short, in your place i would not go, that is my brief and candid opinion. and," turning to his auditors, who had remained silent and motionless since their entrance, he asked them, "and you, señores, what do you think of it?" "it would be madness for the jaguar to trust a man he does not know, and whose intentions may be bad," said lanzi. "he must remain here," quoniam backed his friend up. "the antelope is the wildest of animals, and yet its instinct makes it escape the hunters," the comanche chief said sententiously; "my brother will remain with his friends." "the jaguar walked up and down the jacal with visible annoyance and febrile impatience, while each thus gave his opinion. "no," he said, with some violence, as he suddenly stopped; "no, i will not abandon doña carmela when she claims my assistance, for it would be an act of cowardice, which i will not commit, whatever the consequences may be: i will go to the cueva del venado." "you will reflect, my friend," john davis remarked. "my reflections are all made; i will save doña carmela, even at the risk of my life." "you will not do that, my friend," the american continued gently. "why shall i not?" "because honour forbids you; because, besides the heart, there is duty; besides private feelings, public interests. stationed at the rear-guard, you are responsible for the safety of the army; and if you are killed or made prisoner, the army is perhaps lost, or, at any rate, in danger; that is why you will not do so, my friend." the jaguar let his head droop and sank quite crushed into an equipal. "what is to be done; my god! what is to be done?" he murmured in despair. "hope!" john davis answered. and, making a signal to his friends which the latter understood, for they immediately rose and left the hut, he continued: "jaguar, my friend, my brother, is it for me to restore your courage--you, a man with a lion's heart, and so strong in battle; whom adversity has never forced to bow his head? do you dare to place your love for a woman and your devotion to the country on the same level? do you dare to lament your lost love, carmela, a prisoner, or even dead, when your native land is succumbing beneath the repeated blows of its oppressors? do you forget that if you grow weak, or even hesitate to accomplish your glorious sacrifice, tomorrow, perhaps, that country, which is so dear to you for so many reasons--which has shed its best and most precious blood in a hopeless struggle, will be buried eternally, by your fault, beneath the corpses of the last of its children? brother, brother, the hour is supreme; we must conquer or die for the salvation of all. the general welfare must put down all paltry or selfish passions. to hesitate is to act as a traitor. up, brother, and do not dishonour yourself by a cowardly weakness!" the young man started up as if a serpent had stung him on hearing these harsh words; but he suddenly subdued the wild flash of his eye, while a sad smile covered his handsome face like a winding sheet. "thanks, brother," he replied, as he seized john davis's hand, and pressed it convulsively; "thanks for having reminded me of my duty. i will die at my post." "ah, i find you again at length," the american exclaimed joyfully. "i felt certain that your heart would not remain deaf to the call of duty, and that you would carry out your glorious sacrifice to the end." the young man heaved a deep sigh; but he did not feel within him the strength to respond to the praise which in his heart he knew he did not deserve. at this moment the clang of arms and the sound of horses was audible without. "what is the matter now?" the jaguar asked. "i do not know," the american answered; "but i fancy that we shall soon be informed." in fact, the sentry had challenged; and, after an apparently satisfactory reply, a horseman entered the camp. "a flag of truce!" lanzi said, appearing in the doorway of the jacal. "a flag of truce!" the jaguar repeated, giving john davis a glance of surprise. "perhaps it is the help you expect from heaven, and which has been sent you," the american answered. the young man smiled incredulously, but turned to lanzi and said, "let him enter." "come, señor," said the half-breed, addressing a person who was still invisible; "the commandant is ready to receive you." lanzi fell back, and made room for an individual who at once entered. the jaguar started on recognising him. it was sandoval, who had delivered him the letter on the previous day. the pirate chief bowed politely to the two persons in whose presence he found himself. "you are surprised to see me, i think, caballeros," he said, with a smile to the jaguar. "i confess it," the latter said, with a bow no less polite than the one made to him. "the matter is clear enough, however. i like a plain and distinct understanding. in the letter i delivered to you myself yesterday, i gave you the meeting at the cueva del venado, to discuss grave matters; as you will remember." "i allow it." "but," sandoval continued, with the calmness and intrepid coolness that characterised him, "we had hardly separated ere i made a reflection." "ah! and would it be indiscreet to ask its nature?" "not at all. i reflected that, under the circumstances, regarding the position in which we stand to each other, and as i had not the honour of your acquaintance, it might possibly happen that you would place in me all the confidence i deserve, and that you might leave me to kick my heels in the grotto." the two insurgents exchanged a smiling glance, which sandoval intercepted. "ah, ah!" he said, with a laugh; "it appears that i guessed right. in short, as i repeat that we have serious matters to discuss, i resolved to come direct to you, and so cut this difficulty." "you did well, and i thank you for it." "it is not worth while, for i am working as much for myself as for you in this business." "be it so; but that does not render your conduct less honourable. then you are not a flag of truce?" "i; not a bit in the world. it was merely a title i thought it better to assume, in order to find my way to you more easily." "no matter; so long as you remain with us you shall be treated as such, so do not feel alarmed." "i alarmed! about what, pray? am i not under the safeguard of your honour?" "thanks for the good opinion you are kind enough to have of me, and i will justify it. now, if you think proper, we will come to the point." "i ask nothing better," sandoval answered with some hesitation, and looking dubiously at the american. "this caballero is my intimate friend," the jaguar said, understanding his meaning; "you can, speak frankly before him." "hum!" said sandoval, with a toss of the head. "my mother, who was a holy woman, repeated to me frequently, that when two are enough to settle a matter, it is useless to call in a third." "your mother was right, my fine fellow," john davis said, with a laugh; "and since you are so unwilling to have me as an auditor, i will retire." "it is perfectly indifferent to me whether you hear me or not," sandoval said, carelessly; "i only said so for the sake of the señor, who may not wish a third party to hear what i have to say." "if that be really your sole motive," the jaguar continued, "you can speak, for i repeat to you i have no secrets from this caballero." "all right then," said sandoval. he seated himself on an equipal, rolled a husk cigarette, lit it by the candil, whose light had become quite unnecessary, owing to the daylight becoming each moment brighter, and then turned easily to his two hearers. "señores," he said, puffing out a large quantity of smoke from his mouth and his nostrils, "it is as well for you to know that i am the recognised chief of a numerous and brave band of banished men, or proscripts, whichever you may call them, whom the so-called honest townsfolk fancied they branded by calling them skimmers of the savannah, or pirates of the prairies, both of which titles are equally false." at this strange revelation, made with such cool cynicism, the two men gave a start and regarded each other with considerable surprise. the pirate watched this double movement, and probably satisfied mentally by the effect he had produced, he continued: "i have reasons that you should know my social position," he said, "for you to understand what is going to follow." "good," john davis interrupted; "but what motive urged you to take the present step?" "two important reasons," sandoval answered, distinctly; "the first is, that i wish to avenge myself; the second, the desire of gaining a large sum of money by selling you in the first battle, for the highest price i can obtain, the co-operation of the cuadrilla i have the honour to command, a cuadrilla composed of thirty well armed and famously mounted men." "now go on, but be brief, for time presses." "do not be frightened, i am not fond of chattering; how much do you offer me for my cuadrilla?" "i cannot personally make a bargain with you," the jaguar said; "i must refer the matter to the general in chief." "that is perfectly true." "still, you can tell me the price you ask; i will submit it to the general and he will decide." "very good; you will give me fifty thousand piastres,[ ] half down, the rest after the battle is won. you see that i am not exorbitant in my demands." "your price is reasonable; but how can we communicate?" "nothing is easier; when you desire to speak to me you will fasten red pendants to the lances of your cavalry, and i will do the same when i have any important communication to make to you." "that is settled; now for the other matter." "it is this: one day a monk of the name of fray antonio sent me a wounded man." "the white scalper?" john davis exclaimed. "do you know him?" the pirate asked. "yes, but go on." "he is a pretty scamp, i think?" "i am quite of your opinion." "well, i greeted him as a brother and gave him the best i had; do you know what he did?" "on my word, i do not." "he tried to debauch my comrades and supplant me." "oh, oh! that was rather strong." "was it not? fortunately i was watching, and managed to parry the blow; about this time general santa anna offered to engage us as a free corps." "oh!" the jaguar uttered, in disgust. "it was not very tempting," the pirate continued, being mistaken in the young man's exclamation, "but i had an idea." "what was it?" "the one i had the honour of explaining to you a moment back." "ah! very good." "hence, i selected thirty resolute men from my band and started to join the mexican army; of course, you understand, i was paid." "of course, nothing could be more fair." "i was careful to bring this demon of a man with me, for you can understand that i did not care to leave him behind." "i should think so." "we went on very quietly till a day or two back, when, in beating up the country, i captured a girl, who, only escorted by three men, who fled like cowards at the first shot, was trying to join the texan army." "poor carmela!" the jaguar murmured. "do not pity her, but rejoice, on the contrary, that she fell into my hands; who knows what might have happened with anyone else?" "that is true, go on." "i was willing enough to let the poor girl continue her journey, but the scalper opposed it. it seemed that he knew her, for on seeing her he exclaimed--'oh, oh! this time she shall not escape me;' is that clear, eh?" the two men bowed their assent. "however, the prisoner was mine, as i had captured her." "ah!" said the jaguar, with a sigh of relief. "yes, and i would not consent to surrender her to the scalper at any price." "good, very good! you are a worthy man." the pirate smiled modestly. "yes," he said, "i am all right, but my comrade, seeing that i would not give up the girl to him, offered me a bargain." "what was its nature?" "to give me twenty-five gold onzas, on condition that i never restored my prisoner to liberty." "and did you accept?" the jaguar asked, eagerly. "hang it! business is business, and twenty ounces are a tidy sum." "villain!" the young man exclaimed, as he rose furiously. john davis restrained him, and made him sit down again. "patience," he said. "hum!" sandoval muttered, "you are deucedly quick; i allow that i promised not to set her at liberty, but not to prevent her flight; did i not tell you that i was a man of ideas?" "that is true." "the girl interested me, she wept. it is very foolish, but i do not like to see women cry since the day when----but that is not the point,"--he caught himself up--"she told me her name and story; i was affected in spite of myself, and the more so, as i saw a prospect of taking my revenge." "then you propose to me to carry her off?" "that's the very thing." "how much do you want for that?" "nothing," the pirate answered with a magnificent gesture of disinterestedness. "how, nothing?" "dear me, no." "that is impossible." "it is so, however, though i will propose two conditions." "ah! ah! there we have it." the pirate smiled in reply. "let us hear them," the young man continued. "in order not to compromise myself unnecessarily, you will carry off the girl during the first battle, when i come over to your side. do not be frightened, it will not be long first, if i may believe certain forebodings." "good, that is granted. now for the second." "the second is, that you swear to free me from the white scalper, and kill him, no matter in what way." "done again--i swear it. but now permit me one question." "out with it." "how is it that as you hate this man so deeply, you have not killed him yourself, as there could have been no lack of opportunity?" "certainly not, i could have done it a hundred times." "well, why did you not do it?" "are you desirous of knowing?" "yes." "well, it was because the man has been my guest and slept under my roof by my side, eaten and drank at my table; but what it is not permitted me to do, others can do in my place. but now good bye, señores, when will you give me a definite answer?" "this very evening; i shall have seen the general in a few hours." "this evening, then." and bowing politely to the two men, he quietly left the jacal, mounted his horse, and set out at a gallop, leaving the two men terrified at his imperturbable effrontery and profound perversity. [ ] about £ , . chapter xxii. loyal heart's history. after the scene of torture we described a few chapters back, loyal heart returned to his rancho with his friends, tranquil, lanzi, and the faithful quoniam. fray antonio had left the village the same morning to convey to the jaguar the news of the good reception given his companions by the comanches. the whites sat down sorrowfully on equipals, and remained silent for some minutes. the horrible tortures inflicted on running-elk had affected them more than they liked to say. in fact, it was a frightful and repulsive spectacle for men accustomed to fight their enemies bravely, and, when the battle was over, help the wounded without distinction of victors or vanquished. "hum!" quoniam muttered, "the red race is a brutal race." "all races are the same," tranquil answered "when abandoned without restraint to the violence of their passions." "the whites are men more cruel than the redskins," loyal heart observed, "because they act with discernment." "that is true," john davis struck in, "but that does not prevent the scene we have just witnessed being a horrible one." "yes," said tranquil, "horrible is the word." "come," loyal heart remarked, for the purpose of changing the conversation, "did you not tell me, my friend, that you were entrusted with a message for me? i fancy the moment has arrived for an explanation." "in truth, i have delayed too long in delivering it; besides, if my presentiments do not greatly deceive me, my return must be anxiously expected." "good! speak, nobody will disturb you; we have all the time necessary before us." "oh, what i have to say to you will not take long; i only wish to ask you to lay a final hand to a work for which you have already striven?" "what is it?" "i wish to claim your help in the war of texas against mexico." the young hunter frowned, and for some minutes remained silent. "will you refuse?" tranquil asked, anxiously. loyal heart shook his head. "no," he said; "i merely feel a repugnance to mingle again with white men, and--shall i confess it? to fight against my countrymen." "your countrymen?" "yes, i am a mexican, a native of sonora." "oh!" the hunter said with an air of disappointment. "listen to me," loyal heart said, resolutely, "after all, it is better i should speak frankly to you; when you have heard me, you will judge and tell me what i ought to do." "good! speak, my friend." "you have, i think, been several times surprised at seeing a white man, like myself, dwelling with his mother and an old servant among an indian tribe; you have asked yourself what reason could be powerful enough, or what crime was sufficiently great, to compel a man like myself, of gentle manners, gifted with a pleasant exterior, and possessing some degree of education, to seek a refuge among savages? this appeared to you extraordinary. well, my friend, the cause of my exile to these remote regions was a crime i committed: on the self-same day i became an incendiary and an assassin." "oh!" tranquil exclaimed, while the other hearers gave an incredulous glance; "you an incendiary and assassin, loyal heart! it is simply impossible." "i was not loyal heart then," the hunter continued with a melancholy smile; "but it is true that i was only a lad, just fourteen years of age. my father was a spaniard of the old race, with whom honour was a sacred inheritance, which he ever kept intact. he succeeded in saving me from the hands of the juez de letras, who had come to arrest me; and when the magistrate had left the house, my father assembled his tenants, formed a court, of which he constituted himself president, and tried me. my crime was evident, the proofs overwhelming, and my father himself uttered my sentence in a firm voice: i was condemned to death." "to death?" his hearers exclaimed, with a start of horror. "to death!" loyal heart repeated. "the sentence was a just one. neither the supplications of his servants, nor the tears nor entreaties of my mother, succeeded in obtaining a commutation of my punishment. my father was inexorable, his resolution was formed, and he immediately proceeded to execute the sentence. the death my father reserved for me was not that vulgar death, whose sufferings endure a few seconds; no, he had said that he had determined to punish me, and designed a long and cruel agony for me. tearing me from the arms of mother, who was half fainting with grief, he threw me across his saddle-bow, and started at a gallop in the direction of the desert. "it was a long journey, for it lasted many hours ere my father checked the speed of his horse or uttered a syllable. i felt the trembling sinews of the wearied horse give way under me; but still it went on at the same rapid and dizzy speed. at length it stopped; my father dismounted, took me in his arms, and threw me on the ground. within a moment, he removed the bandage that covered my eyes; i looked anxiously around me, but it was night, and so dark that i could see nothing. my father regarded me for a moment with an indefinable expression, and then spoke. although many long years have elapsed since that terrible night, all the words of that address are still imprinted on my mind. "'see,' he said to me in a quick voice, 'you are here more than twenty leagues from my hacienda, in which you will never set foot again, under penalty of death. from this moment you are alone--you have neither father, mother, nor family. as you are a wild beast, i condemn you to live with the wild beasts. my resolution is irrevocable, your entreaties cannot alter it, so spare me them.' "perhaps in the last sentence a hope was concealed; but i was no longer in a condition to see the road left open for me, for irritation and suffering had exasperated me. "'i do not implore you,' i replied; 'we do not offer entreaties to a hangman.' "at this insulting outrage, my father started; but almost immediately after every trace of emotion disappeared from his face, and he continued: "'in this bag,' he said, to a rather large pouch thrown down by my side, 'are provisions for two days; i leave you this rifle, which in my hands never missed its mark; i give you also these pistols, this machete, knife, and axe, and gunpowder and bullets in these buffalo horns. you will find in the provision bag a flint and steel, and everything necessary for lighting a fire; i have also placed in it a bible that belonged to your mother. you are dead to society, where you must never return; the desert is before, and it belongs to you: for my part, i have no longer a son--farewell! may the lord have mercy on you! all is finished between us on this earth; you are left alone and without family; you have a second existence to begin, and to provide for your wants. providence never abandons those who place their trust in it: henceforth it will watch over you.' "after uttering these words coldly and distinctly, to which i listened with deep attention, my father cut with his knife the bonds that held my limbs captive, and leaping info the saddle, started at a gallop without once turning his head. i was alone, abandoned in the desert in the midst of the darkness, without hope or help from anywhere. a strange revolution then took place in me, and i felt the full extent of the crime i had committed; my heart broke at the thought of the solitude to which i was condemned; i got up on my knees, watching the fatal outline that was constantly getting further from me, and listening to the hurried gallop of the horse with feverish anxiety. and then, when i could hear no more, when all noise had died out in the distance, i felt a furious grief wither my heart; my courage all at once abandoned me, and i was afraid; then, clasping my hands with an effort, i exclaimed twice in a chocking voice: "oh, my mother--my mother!" "succumbing to terror and despair, i fell back on the sand and fainted." there was a moment's silence. these men, though accustomed to the affecting incidents of their rough life, felt moved to pity at this simple and yet so striking recital. the hunter's mother and his old servant had silently joined the hearers, while the dogs, lying at his feet licked his hands. the young man had let his head sink on his chest, and hid his face in his hands, for he was suffering from terrible emotion. no one dared to risk a word of consolation, and a mournful silence prevailed in the rancho; at length loyal heart raised his head again. "how long i thus remained unconscious," he continued in a broken voice, "i never knew; a feeling of coolness i suddenly experienced, made me open my eyes; the abundant morning dew, by inundating my face, had recalled me to life. as i was frozen, my first care was to collect some dry branches, and light a fire to warm me; then i began reflecting. "when a great suffering does not kill on the spot, a reaction immediately takes place; courage and will resume their empire, and the heart is strengthened. in a few moments i regarded my position as less desperate. i was alone in the desert, it was true; but though still very young, as i was hardly fourteen, i was tall and strong, gifted with a firm character like my father, extremely tenacious in my ideas and will; i had weapons, ammunition, and provisions, and my position was, therefore, far from being desperate; frequently when i had been still living at my father's hacienda, i had gone hunting with the tigrero and vaqueros of the house, and during these hunts had slept under the open air in the woods; i was now about to begin a fresh hunt, though this time it would be much longer, and last for life. for a moment i had the thought of returning to the hacienda, and throwing myself at my father's knees; but i knew his inflexible character, and feared being ignominiously expelled a second time. my pride revolted, and i repulsed this thought, which was, perhaps, a divine inspiration. "still, being slightly comforted by the reflections i had just made, and crushed by the poignant emotions of the last few hours, i at length yielded to sleep, that imperious need of lads of my age, and fell off, after throwing wood on the fire to make it last as long as possible. the night passed without any incident, and at daybreak i awoke. it was the first time i saw the sun rise in the desert, and the majestic and grand spectacle i now had before me filled me with admiration. "this desert, which seemed to me so gloomy and desolate in the darkness, assumed an enchanting aspect in the dazzling sunbeams: the night had taken with it all its gloomy fancies. the morning breeze, and the sharp odours exhaled from the ground inflated my chest, and made me feel wondrously comforted; i fell on my knees, and with eyes and hands raised to heaven, offered up an ardent prayer. "this duty accomplished, i felt stronger, and rose with an infinite sense of confidence and hope in the future. i was young and strong; around me the birds twittered gaily, the deer and the antelopes bounded carelessly across the savannah: that god, who protected these innocent and weak creatures, would not abandon me, i felt, if by a sincere repentance i rendered myself worthy of his protection, whose goodness is infinite. after making a light meal, i put my weapons in my belt, threw my bag on one shoulder, my rifle on the other, and after looking back for the last time with a sigh of regret, i set out, murmuring the name of my mother--that name which would henceforth be my sole talisman, and serve me in good as in evil fortune. "my first march was long; for i proceeded toward a forest which i saw glistening in the horizon, and wished to reach before sunset. nothing hurried me, but i wished at once to discover my strength, and know of what i was capable. two hours before nightfall i reached the spurs of the forest, and was soon lost in the ocean of the verdure. my father's tigrero, an old wood ranger, who had left his footmarks in every american desert, had told me during the long hunting nights we have spent together, many of his adventures on the prairies, thus giving me, though neither of us suspected it at the time, lessons which the moment had now arrived for me to profit by. "i formed my bivouac on the top of a hill, lit a large fire, and after supping with good appetite, said my prayer, and fell asleep. all at once i woke up with a start: two rastreros were licking my hands with whines of joy, while my mother and my old eusebio were bending over and carefully examining me, not knowing whether i were asleep or in a fainting fit. "'heaven be praised!' my mother exclaimed, 'he is not dead.' "i could not express the happiness that suddenly flooded my soul at the sight of my mother, whom i never hoped to see again in this world, at my pressing to her heart, and hanging round her neck, as if afraid she would escape me again. i gave way to a feeling of immense joy; when our transports were somewhat calmed, my mother said to me-- "'and now, what do you intend doing? we shall return to the hacienda, shall we not? oh! if you but knew how i suffered through your absence!' "'return to the hacienda?' i repeated. "'yes; your father, i am certain, will pardon you, if he has not done so already in his heart.' and while saying this, my mother looked at me anxiously, and redoubled her caresses. "i remained silent. "'why do you not answer me, my child?' she said to me. "i made a violent effort over myself. 'mother,' i at length answered, 'the mere thought of a separation fills my heart with sorrow and bitterness. but before i inform you of my resolution, answer me frankly one thing.' "'speak, my child.' "'has my father sent you to me?' "'no,' she answered, sorrowfully. "'but, at any rate, you believe that he approves the step you are now taking?' "'i do not believe--' she said, with even greater sorrow than before, for she foresaw what was about to happen. "'well, my mother,' i answered, 'god will judge me. my father has denied me, he has abandoned me in the desert. i no longer exist for him, as he himself told me--and i am dead to all the world. i will never set foot in the hacienda again, unless god and my father forgive my crime--and i am able to forgive myself. a new existence commences for me from today. who can say whether the deity, in permitting this great expiation, may not have secret designs with me? his will be done,--my resolution is immoveable.' "my mother looked at me fixedly for a moment; she knew that once i had categorically expressed my will, i never recalled my words. two tears silently coursed down her pale cheeks. 'the will of god be done,' she said; 'we will remain, then, in the desert.' "'what!' i exclaimed, with joyous surprise, 'do you consent to remain with me?' "'am i not thy mother?' she said, with an accent of ineffable kindness, as she pressed me madly to her heart." chapter xxiii. the expiation. outside the rancho the yells of the comanches still went on. after a momentary silence, loyal heart continued his narrative, which emotion had compelled him to interrupt. "it was in vain," he said, "that i implored my mother to leave me to the care of heaven, and return to the hacienda with no eusebio. her resolution was formed--she was inflexible. "'ever since i married your father,' she said to me, 'however unjust or extraordinary his demands might be, he found in me rather a submissive and devoted slave than a wife, whose rights were equal to his. a complaint has never passed my lips; i have never attempted to oppose one of his wishes. but today the measure is full; by exiling you as he has done coldly repulsing my prayers, and despising my tears, he has at length allowed me to read his heart, and the little egotism and cruel pride by which he allows himself to be governed. this man, who coldly and deliberately had the barbarity to do what he has done to the firstborn of his children, possesses not a spark of good feeling. the condemnation he pronounced against you i pronounce, in my turn, against him. it is the law of retaliation, the law of the desert in which we are going henceforth to live. eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' "like all timid natures, accustomed to bow their heads timidly beneath the yoke, my mother, when the spirit of revolt entered her heart, assumed an obstinacy at the least equal to her ordinary docility. the way in which she uttered those words proved to me that all my prayers would be useless, and that it was better to yield to her determination. i therefore turned to no eusebio; but at the first word i addressed to him the worthy man laughed in my face, saying distinctly and peremptorily that he had seen me born, and meant to see me die. "as there was nothing to be gained on this side, i gave up the contest. i merely observed to my mother that, so soon as my father noticed her departure, he would probably start, at the head of all his tenants, in pursuit of her, and that we should be inevitably discovered, if we did not start at once. my mother and no eusebio had come on horseback, but unhappily one of the animals had foundered, and was incapable of following us; saddle and bridle were removed, and we left it to its fate; my mother mounted the other horse, no eusebio and myself following on foot, while the rastreros cleared the way. "we knew not whither we were going, and did not trouble ourselves at all about it; plains succeeded forests, streams rivers, and we continued our forward march, hunting to support life, and camping wherever night surprised us, without regret for the past or anxiety for the future. we advanced thus straight ahead for nearly a month, avoiding, as far as possible, any encounter with the wild beasts, or the savages, whom we believed to be as ferocious as them. "one day--a sunday--the march was interrupted, and we spent it in pious conversation, and my mother read the bible and explained it to no eusebio and myself. about three in the afternoon, when the great heat of the day was beginning to yield, i rose and took my gun, with the intention of killing a little game, as our provisions were nearly exhausted, and i was absolutely compelled to renew them. my mother made no objection, though, as i have stated, sundays were generally consecrated to rest: and i went off with the two rastreros. i went on for a long distance without seeing anything deserving powder and shot, and was thinking of turning back, when my two dogs, which were running on ahead, according to their wont, came to halt, while evidencing unusual signs of terror and restlessness. "although i was still a novice in the wood ranger's art, i judged it necessary to act with prudence, as i did not know what enemy i might find before me. i therefore advanced step by step, watching the neighbourhood closely, and listening to the slightest noise. my uncertainty did not last long, for terrible cries soon reached my ear. my first impulse was flight, but my curiosity restrained me, and, cocking my rifle, so as to be ready for all events, i continued to advance in the direction whence the cries came, now louder and more desperate than before. "ere long all was revealed to me; i perceived through the trees, in a rather spacious clearing, five or six indian warriors, fighting with the fury of despair, against a threefold number of enemies. these indians had doubtless been surprised in their camp, for their horses were hobbled, their fire was just going out, and several corpses, already robbed of their scalps, lay on the ground. these warriors, in spite of the numerical superiority of their foes, fought with desperate courage, not yielding an inch, and boldly replying with their war yell to that of their opponents. "the indian who appeared the chief of the weaker party, was a tall young man, of twenty, at the most, powerfully built, with a leonine face, and who, while dealing terrible blows, did not cease exciting his men to resist to the death. neither of the parties had firearms, they were fighting with axes and long barbed lances. all at once, several men rushed simultaneously on the young chief, and, despite his desperate efforts, succeeded in throwing him down, then a hand seized his long scalp lock, and i saw a knife raised above his head. "i know not what i felt on seeing this, or what dizziness seized upon me, but, by a mechanical movement, i raised my rifle and fired; then, rushing into the clearing with loud cries, i discharged my pistols at the men nearest me. an extraordinary thing occurred, which i was far from expecting, and certainly had not foreseen. the indians, terrified by my three shots, followed by my sudden apparition, believed that help was arriving to their adversaries, and without dreaming of resisting, they began flying with that intuitive rapidity peculiar to indians, at the first repulse they meet with. "i thus found myself alone with those i came to deliver. it was the first time i had been engaged in a fight, if such a name can be given to the share i took in the struggle, hence i felt that emotion inseparable from a first event of this nature; i neither saw nor heard anything. i was standing in the centre of the clearing, like a statue, not knowing whether to advance or retire, flanked by my two bloodhounds, which had not left me, but showed their teeth with hoarse growls of anger. "i know not who was the first to say that ingratitude was a white vice, and gratitude an indian virtue; but, whoever he was, he spoke the truth. the chief i had so miraculously saved, and his comrades, pressed around me, and began overwhelming me with marks of respect and gratitude. i let them do so, mechanically replying as well as i could, in spanish, to the compliments the indians lavished on me in their sonorous language, of which i did not understand a syllable. when a little while had elapsed, and their joy was beginning to grow more sedate, the chief, who had been slightly wounded in the fight, made me sit down by the fire; while his comrades conscientiously raised the scalps of their enemy who had fallen, and he began questioning me in spanish, which language he spoke clearly. "after warmly thanking me, and repeating several times that i was a great brave, he told me that his name was nocobotha, that is to say, the tempest; that he belonged to the great and powerful nation of the comanches, surnamed the queen of the prairies, and was related to a renowned sachem called black-deer. having set out with a few warriors to chase antelopes, he had been surprised by a detachment of apaches, the sworn enemies of his nation, and if the master of life had not brought me to their help, he and his comrades would infallibly have succumbed, an opinion the justice of which i was compelled to recognise. the chief then asked me who i was, saying to me that he should henceforth regard me as his brother, that he wished to conduct me to his tribe, and that he would never consent to separate from the man who had saved his life. "nocobotha's words suggested an idea to me; i was greatly alarmed about the existence i led, not for myself, for this free and unrestrained life charmed me to the highest degree, but for my poor mother, who, accustomed to all the comforts of civilization, would not, i feared, endure for long the fatigues she undertook through her affection for me. i immediately resolved to profit by the gratitude and goodwill of my new acquaintance, to obtain my mother an asylum, where, if she did not find the comfort she had lost, she would run no risk of dying of want. i therefore frankly told nocobotha the situation i was placed in, and by what accident i had providentially arrived just in time to save his scalp. the chief listened to me with the most earnest attention. "'good,' he said with a smile, when i had ended, and squeezed my hand. 'nocobotha is the brother of loyal heart. (such was the name he gave me, and i have retained ever since.) loyal heart's mother will have two sons.' "i thanked the chief, as i was bound to do, and remarked to him that, as i had now left my mother for some time, i was afraid she might feel alarmed at my lengthened absence, and that, if he permitted me, i would return to her side to reassure her, and tell her all that had happened; but the comanche shook his head. "'nocobotha will accompany his brother,' he said; 'he does not wish to leave him.' "i accepted the proposition, and we at once started to return to my encampment. we did not take long in going, for we were mounted; but on seeing me arrive with six or seven indians, my poor mother was terribly alarmed, for she fancied me a prisoner, and menaced with the most frightful punishment, i soon succeeded, however, in reassuring her, and her terror was converted into joy on hearing the good tidings i brought her. moreover, nocobotha, with that graceful politeness innate in indians, soon entirely comforted, and managed to gain her good graces. such, my dear tranquil, is the manner in which i became a wood ranger, trapper, and hunter. "on reaching the tribe, the indians received me as a friend, a brother. these simple and kind men knew not how to prove their friendship. for my part, on growing to know them better, i began to love them as if they had been my brothers. i was adopted by the sachems collected round the council fire, and from that moment regarded as a child of the nation. from this time i did not leave the comanches again. all longed to instal me into the secrets of desert life. my progress was rapid, and i was soon renowned as one of the best and bravest hunters of the tribes. in several meetings with the enemy, i had opportunities to render them signal service. my influence increased; and now i am not only a warrior but a sachem, respected and beloved by all. nocobotha, that noble lad, whom his courage ever bore to the front, at length fell in an ambuscade formed by the apaches. after an obstinate struggle, i managed to bear him home, though covered with wounds. i was myself dangerously wounded. on reaching the village, i fell senseless with my precious burden. in spite of the most devoted and assiduous care my mother lavished on my poor brother, she was unable to save him, and he died thanking me for not having left him in the hands of his foes, and having kept his scalp from being raised, which is the greatest disgrace for a comanche warrior. "in spite of the marks of friendship and sympathy the sachems did not cease to bestow on me for the manner in which i had defended my brother. i was for a long time inconsolable at his loss; and even now, though so long a period has elapsed since that frightful catastrophe, i cannot speak of him without tears coming into my eyes. poor nocobotha! kind and simple soul! noble and devoted heart! shall i ever find again a friend so certain and so devoted?" "now, my dear tranquil, you know my life as well as i do myself. my kind and revered mother, honoured by the indians, to whom she is a visible providence, is happy, or at least seems to be so. i have completely forgotten my colour, to live the life of the redskins, who, when my brethren spurned me, received me as a son, and their friendship has never failed me. i only remember my origin when i have to assist any unhappy man of my own complexion. the white trappers and hunters of these regions affect, i know not why, to regard me as their chief, and eagerly seize the opportunity to show me their respect, whenever it offers. i am therefore in a position relatively enviable; and yet, the more years slip away, the more lively does the memory of the events that brought me to the desert recur to my mind, and the more i fear never to obtain the pardon of my crimes." he was silent. the hunters looked at each other with a mingled feeling of admiration and respect for this man, who confessed so simply a crime which so many others would have regarded at the utmost as a pecadillo, and who repented of it so sincerely. "by jove!" tranquil exclaimed all at once, "heaven will be careful not to pardon you if it has not been done so long ago. men like you are somewhat rare in the desert, comrade!" loyal heart smiled gently at this simple outburst of the hunter. "come, my friend, now that you know me thoroughly, give me your advice frankly; whatever it may be, i promise you to follow it." "well, my advice is very simple; it is that you should come with us." "but i tell you i am a mexican." the canadian burst into a laugh. "eh, eh," he said; "i fancied you stronger than that, on my honour." "what do you mean?" "hang it, it is as clear as day." "i am convinced, my friend, that you can only offer me honourable advice, so i am listening to you with the most serious attention." "well, you shall judge; i shall not take long to convince you." "i ask nothing better." "well, let us proceed regularly. what is mexico?" "what do you mean?" "well; is it a kingdom or an empire?" "it is a confederation." "very good; that is to say, mexico is a republic, formed of several confederated states." "yes," loyal heart said, with a smile. "better still; then sonora and texas, for instance, are free states, and able to separate from the confederation, if they think proper?" "ah, ah," said loyal heart, "i did not expect that." "i thought you did not. well, you see, my friend, that the mexico of today, which is neither that of motecuhzoma nor that of the spaniards, since the first merely comprised the plateau of mexico, and the second, under the name of new spain, a part of central america, is only indirectly your country, since you were born neither in mexico nor veracruz, but in sonora. you said so yourself. hence, if you, a sonorian, assist the texans, you only follow the general example, and are no traitor to your country. what have you to answer to that?" "nothing; save that your reasoning, though specious, is not without a certain amount of logic." "which means that you are convinced?" "not the least in the world. still, i accept your proposition, and will do what you wish." "that is a conclusion i was far from expecting, after the beginning of your sentence." "because, under the texan idea, there is another, and it is that i wish to help you in carrying out." "ah!" the canadian remarked, in surprise. loyal heart bent over to him. "have you not a certain affair to settle with the white scalper, or have you forgotten it?" the hunter started, and warmly pressed the young man's hand. "thanks," he said. at this moment black-deer entered the rancho. "i wish to speak with my brother," he said to loyal heart. "is my brother willing to speak before my friends the pale hunters?" "the pale hunters are the guests of the comanches; black-deer will speak before them," the chief answered. chapter xxiv. in the desert. the news black-deer brought must be very important, for, in spite of that stoicism which the indians regard as a law, the chief's face was imprinted with the most lively anxiety. after sitting down at an equipal to which loyal heart pointed, instead of speaking, as he had been invited to do, he remained gloomy and silent the hunters looked at him curiously, waiting with impatience till he thought proper to explain. at length loyal heart, seeing that he obstinately remained silent, resolved to address him. "what is the matter, chief?" he asked him. "whence comes the anxiety i see on your features? what new misfortune have you to announce?" "an enormous misfortune," he answered, in a hollow voice; "the prisoner has escaped." "what prisoner?" "the son of blue-fox." the hunters gave a start of surprise. "it is impossible," loyal heart said; "did he not surrender himself as a hostage? did he not pledge his word? and an indian warrior never breaks that; only white men do so," he added, bitterly. black-deer looked down in embarrassment. "come," loyal heart went on, "let us be frank, chief; tell us clearly what things happened." "the prisoner was bound and placed in the great medicine lodge." "what!" loyal heart exclaimed, in indignation; "a hostage bound and imprisoned! you are mistaken, chief, the sachems have not done such a thing, or thus insulted a young man protected by the law of nations." "i relate things exactly as they happened, loyal heart." "and who gave the order?" "i," the chief muttered. "the hatred you feel for blue-fox led you astray, black-deer; you committed a great fault in despising the word pledged by this young man; by treating him as a prisoner you gave him the right to escape; the opportunity offered itself, he profited by it, and acted rightly." "my young men are on his trail," the chief said, with a hateful smile. "your young men will not capture him, for he has fled with the feet of the gazelle." "is the misfortune irreparable, then?" "perhaps not. listen to me: one way is left us of capturing our enemy again. the pale hunters, my brothers, have asked my help in the war the whites are carrying on at this moment against each other; ask of the council of the chiefs one hundred picked warriors, whom i will command, and you can accompany me; tomorrow at sunset we will set out; the apaches are burning to take their revenge for the defeat we inflicted on them, so be assured that ere we join our brothers the palefaces, we shall see our road barred by blue-fox and his warriors. this is the only chance left us to finish with this implacable enemy--do you accept it?" "i do accept it, loyal heart; your medicine is good, it has never deceived you, the words your chest utters are inspired by the wacondah!" the chief said, eagerly, as he rose. "i am going to the council of the chiefs, will you accompany me?" "what to do? it is better that the proposition should come from you, black-deer, for i am only an adopted son of the tribe." "good, i will do what my brother desires; i will return shortly." "you see, my friend," loyal heart said to tranquil, when the chief had left, "that i have not delayed in fulfilling my promises; perhaps, of the hundred warriors we take with us one half will remain on the way, but the survivors will not be the less of great assistance to you." "thanks, my friend," tranquil answered; "you know that i have faith in you." as loyal heart had foreseen, the indian warriors sent in pursuit of the prisoner returned to the village without him; they had beaten up the country in vain, the whole night through, without discovering any trace of his passage. the young man had disappeared from the medicine lodge, and it was impossible to find out what means he had employed to effect his escape. the only remark the comanches made--but it had considerable importance--was that, at a spot in the forest exactly opposite to that where the battle with the apaches had taken place, the soil was trampled and the bark of the trees nibbled, as if several horses had been standing there for some time, but there was no mark of human feet. the warriors, consequently, returned completely disappointed, and thus augmented the anger of their countrymen. the moment was well selected for the request black-deer wished to make of the council of sachems. he requested the expedition projected by loyal heart, not as an intervention in favour of the whites, for that was only secondary, but as an experiment he desired to attempt, not merely to recapture the fugitive, but his father, who, doubtless, would be posted in ambush at a little distance from the village. as the question thus brought before them was acceptable, the sachems authorised black-deer to select one hundred of the most renowned warriors of the nation, who would make the expedition under his orders and those of loyal heart. black-deer spoke to the hachesto, who mounted on the roof of a calli and immediately convened the members of the tribe. when the braves knew that an expedition was meditated, under the command of two such renowned chiefs, they eagerly offered to join the war party, so that the chief really had a difficulty in selection. shortly before sunset one hundred horsemen, armed with lances, guns, axes, and knives, wearing their war moccasins, from the heel of which hung numerous coyote tails, and having round their neck their long ilchochetas, or war whistles, made of a human thigh bone, formed one imposing squadron, drawn up in the finest order on the village square, in front of the ark of the first man. these savage warriors, with their symbolic paint and quaint dresses, offered a strange and terrific appearance. when the white hunters ranged themselves by their side they were greeted with shouts of joy and unanimous applause. loyal heart and black-deer placed themselves at the head of the band, the oldest sachems advanced and saluted the departing warriors, and at a signal from loyal heart the troop defiled at a walking pace before the members of the council and quitted the village. at the moment when they entered the plain the sun was setting in a mass of purple and golden clouds. once on the war trail the detachment fell into indian file, the deepest silence prevailed in the ranks, and they advanced rapidly in the direction of the forest. the indians, when they start on a dangerous expedition, always throw out as flankers intelligent men, ordered to discover the enemy and protect the detachment from any surprise. these spies are changed every day, and, though afoot, they always keep a great distance ahead and on the flanks of the body they have undertaken to lead. indian warfare in no way resembles ours; it is composed of a series of tricks and surprises, and indians must be forced by imperious circumstances to fight in the open; attacking or resisting without a complete certainty of victory is considered by them an act of madness. war, in their sight, being only an opportunity for acquiring plunder, they see no dishonour in flight when they have only blows to gain by resisting, reserving to themselves the right of taking a brilliant revenge whenever the chance may offer. during the first fortnight the march of the comanches was in no way disquieted, and the scouts, since they left the village, had discovered no human trail. the only individuals they met were peaceful hunters, travelling with their squaws, dogs, and children, and returning to their village; all agreed with the statement that they had seen no suspicious trail. two days after, the comanches entered on texan territory. this apparent tranquillity greatly perturbed the two chiefs of the detachment; they fancied themselves too well acquainted with the vindictive character of the apaches to suppose that they would let them travel thus peacefully without attempting to check them. tranquil, too, who had long known blue-fox, completely shared their opinion. one evening the comanches, after making a long day's march, bivouacked on the banks of a small stream upon the top of a wooded hill which commanded the course of the river and the surrounding country. as usual, the scouts had returned with the assertion that they had discovered no sign; when supper was over, loyal heart himself stationed the sentries, and each prepared to enjoy, during a few hours, a repose which the fatigues of the day rendered not only agreeable, but necessary. still, tranquil, agitated by a secret presentiment, felt a feverish and apparently causeless anxiety which robbed him of sleep; in vain did he close his eyes with the firm intention of sleeping, they opened again in spite of his will; wearied with this sleeplessness, for which he could find no plausible reason, the hunter rose, resolved to keep awake and take a turn in the neighbourhood. the movement he made in picking up his rifle woke loyal heart. "what is the matter?" he asked at once. "nothing, nothing," the hunter answered, "go to sleep." "then why do you get up?" "because i cannot sleep, that's all, and intend to profit by my wakefulness to take a walk round the camp." these words completely aroused loyal heart, for tranquil was not the man to do anything without powerful reasons. "come my friend," he said to him, "there is something, tell me. "i know nothing," the hunter answered, "but i am sad and restless; in a word, i know not what i fancy, but i cannot help thinking an approaching danger menaces us; what it is i cannot say, but i noticed today two flocks of flamingoes flying against the wind, several antelopes, deers, and other animals running madly in the same direction; the whole day through i have not heard a single bird sing, and as all that is not natural, i am alarmed." "alarmed?" loyal heart said with a laugh. "alarmed of a snare, and that is why i wish to make a round; i suppose i shall discover nothing, i believe and hope it, but no matter, i shall at any rate be certain that we have nothing to fear." loyal heart, without saying a word, wrapped himself in his zarapé and seized his rifle. "let us go," he said. "what do you mean?" the hunter asked. "i am going with you." "what nonsense, my undertaking is only the fancy of a sick brain; do you remain here and rest yourself." "no, no," loyal heart answered with a shake of his head, "i think exactly the same as you have just told me; i also feel anxious, i know not why, and wish to be certain." "in that case come along; perhaps, after all, it will be the better course." the two men quitted the bivouac. the night was fresh and light, the atmosphere extremely transparent, the sky studded with stars, the moon seemed floating in æther, and its light, combined with that of the stars, was so great, that objects were as visible as in open day. a profound calm brooded over the landscape, which the hunters could perfectly survey from the elevation on which they were standing; at times a mysterious breath passed over the leafy tops of the trees, which it bent with a hoarse murmur. tranquil and loyal heart carefully examined the plain which stretched an enormous distance before them. suddenly the canadian seized his friend's arms, and by a sharp and irresistible movement, drew him behind the trunk of an enormous larch tree. "what is it?" the hunter asked eagerly. "look!" his comrade answered laconically, as he stretched out his arm in the direction of the plain. "oh, oh, what does that mean?" the young man muttered a moment later. "it means that i was not mistaken, and that we shall have a fight, but fortunately this time again it will be diamond cut diamond; warn john davis, and let him take the villains in the rear, while we face them." "there is not a moment to be lost," loyal heart muttered, and he bounded toward the camp. the two experienced hunters had noticed a thing which would certainly have been passed over by the eyes of men less habituated to indian customs. we have said that at intervals a capricious breeze passed over the tops of the trees; this breeze blew from the south west over the plain for a distance of some few hundred yards, and yet the same breeze ran along the tall grass, incessantly approaching the hill where the comanches were encamped, but, extraordinary to say, it blew from the north east, or a direction diametrically opposed to the former. this was all the hunters had perceived, and yet it sufficed them to guess the stratagem of their foes, and foil it. five minutes later, sixty comanches, commanded by tranquil and loyal heart, crawled like serpents down the sides of the hill, and on reaching the plain stood motionless, as if converted into statues. john davis, with the rest of the band, turned the hill. all at once a terrible cry was heard--the comanches rose like a legion of demons, and rushed headlong on their enemies. the latter, once again surprised when they hoped to surprise, hesitated for a moment, and then, terrified by this sudden attack, they were seized by a panic terror, and turned to fly, but behind them rose suddenly the american's band. they must fight, or surrender to the mercy of an implacable foe; hence the apaches closed up shoulder to shoulder, and the butchery commenced. it was horrible, and lasted till day. these deadly enemies fought without uttering a cry, and fell without giving way to a sigh. as the apaches fell, their comrades drew closer together, while the comanches contracted the circle of steel in which they were enclosed. the sun, on rising, illuminated a horrible scene of carnage; forty comanches had fallen, while of the apaches ten men, all more or less severely wounded, alone stood upright. loyal heart turned away in sorrow from this fearful sight, for it would have been useless for him to interfere to save the last victims. the comanches, intoxicated by the smell of blood and powder, furious at the resistance their enemies had offered, did not listen to his orders, and the remaining apaches were killed and scalped. "ah!" black-deer exclaimed, pointing with a gesture of triumph to a mutilated and almost unrecognizable corpse, "the sachems will be pleased, for blue-fox is dead at last." in truth, the formidable chief lay on a pile of comanche corpses; his body was literally covered with wounds, and his son, a poor lad scarce adolescent yet, was lying at his feet. curiously enough, for the indians only take the scalps of their enemies usually, a fresh cut-off head was fastened to the chiefs girdle--it was that of fray antonio. the poor monk, who had quitted the village a few days before tranquil, had doubtless been surprised and massacred by the apaches. so soon as the carnage, for we cannot call it a battle, was over, the indians prepared to pay the last rites to those of their friends who had found death in this sanguinary struggle. deep graves were dug, and the bodies were thrown in without the usual funeral ceremonies, which circumstances prevented, still they were careful to bury their arms with them, and then stones were piled on the graves to defend them from wild beasts. as for the apaches, they were left at the spot where they had fallen. after this, the war party, diminished by nearly one-half, started again sadly for texas. the victory of the comanches was complete, it is true, but too dearly bought for the indians to think of rejoicing at it. the massacre of the apaches was far from compensating them for the death of forty comanche warriors, without counting those who, in all probability, would perish on the journey from the wounds they had received. chapter xxv. the last halt. now that we are approaching the last pages of our book, we cannot repress a feeling of regret on thinking of the scenes of blood and murder which, in order to be truthful, we were compelled to unfold before our readers. if this narrative had been a fable, and we had been able to arrange our subject at our pleasure, most assuredly many scenes would have been cut down and altered. unhappily, we have been obliged to narrate facts just as they happened, although we have frequently been careful to tone down certain details whose naked truth would have scandalized the reader. were we to be reproached with the continual combats in which our heroes are engaged, we should reply; we describe the manners of a race which is daily diminishing in the convulsive grasp of the civilization against which it struggles in vain; this race is called upon by the fatal decree of fate to disappear ere long eternally from the face of the globe; its manners and customs will then pass into the condition of a legend and being preserved by tradition, will not fail to be falsified and become incomprehensible. it is therefore our duty, who have become the unworthy historian of this unhappy race, to make it known as it was, as it is still, for acting otherwise would have been a felonious deed on our part, of which our readers would have been justified in complaining. finishing this parenthesis, which is already too long, but which we believe to be not merely necessary but indispensable, we will resume our narrative at the point where we left it. we will now lead the reader to the extreme outposts of the mexican army. this army, six thousand strong on its entrance into texas, now amounted to no more than fifteen hundred, including a reinforcement of five hundred men, which general cos had just brought up. the successive victories gained by santa anna over the texans had therefore cost him just five thousand men. this negative triumph caused the president of the mexican republic considerable reflection. he began to understand the extraordinary difficulties of this war against an exasperated people, and he speculated with terror on the terrible consequences a defeat would have for him, if those intractable enemies he had been pursuing so long resolved at last to wait for him and succeeded in defeating him. unluckily, whatever santa anna's apprehensions might be, it was too late to withdraw, and he must try his fortune to the end. a space of five leagues at the most separated the two belligerent armies, and that space was diminished nearly one-half by the position of their videttes. the vanguard of the mexican army, composed of two hundred regulars, was commanded by colonel melendez, but a league further ahead was encamped a forlorn hope, which had to clear the way for the movements of the army. these were simply the pirates of the prairies, commanded by our old acquaintance sandoval, whom we saw a short time back introduce himself to the jaguar, and make so singular a bargain with him. in spite of the extremely slight esteem in which the mexican army held the honesty of the said sandoval and his myrmidons, general santa anna found himself constrained to place a certain amount of confidence in these thorough-paced scoundrels, owing to their incontestable capability as guides, and above all, as flankers. the general, consequently, found himself obliged almost to close his eyes to the crimes they committed nearly daily, and to let them act as they pleased. let us add, that the pirates conscientiously abused the liberty conceded them, and did not hesitate to indulge in the most extraordinary caprices, which we had better pass over in silence. these worthy men, then, were bivouacked, as we have said, about a league in advance of the mexican army, and as they liked to take their ease whenever the opportunity offered, they had found nothing better than quartering themselves in a pueblo, whose inhabitants had naturally fled at their approach, and the houses of which the pirates pulled down, in order to procure wood for their campfires. still, either by accident or some other reason, one house, or rather hut, had escaped the general ruin, and alone remained standing. it was not only untouched, but shut up, and a sentry was stationed before the door. this sentry, however, did not appear to trouble himself much about the orders given him; for being probably annoyed by the sun, whose beams fell vertically on his head, he was lying cozily in the shade of a stall luckily standing opposite the house, and with his musket within reach, was smoking, sleeping, and dreaming, while waiting till his term of duty was over, and a comrade came to take his place. as this house served at this moment as the abode of doña carmela, we will ask the reader to enter it with us. the maiden, sad and pensive, was reclining in a hammock suspended before a window, open, in spite of the heat of the day, and her eyes, red with weeping, were invariably fixed on the desolate plain, which the sun parched, and whose sand flashed like diamonds. of what was the poor girl thinking, while the tears she did not dream of wiping away, coursed down her pallid cheeks, where they traced a furrow? perhaps at this age, when recollections do not go back beyond yesterday, she remembered in bitterness of spirit the happy days of the venta del potrero, where with tranquil and lanzi, those two devoted hearts to protect her, all smiled upon her, and the future appeared to her so gentle and calm. perhaps, too, she thought of the jaguar, for whom she felt such friendship, or of colonel melendez, whose respectful and profound love had made her so often dream involuntarily, in the way maidens dream. but, alas! all this had now faded away; farewell to the exquisite dreams! where were tranquil and lanzi, the jaguar and colonel melendez? she was alone, unfriended, and defenceless, in the power of a man the mere sight of whom filled her with terror. and yet, let us add, the man whom we have represented under such gloomy colours, this white scalper, seemed to have become completely metamorphosed. the tiger had become a lamb in the presence of the maiden, he offered her the most delicate attentions, and did everything she wished--not that she ever expressed a desire, for the poor girl would not have dared to have done so, but he strove to divine what might please her, and then did it with unexampled eagerness. at times he would stand for hours before her, leaning against a wall, with his eyes fixed on her with an undefinable expression, without uttering a word. then he would withdraw with a shake of the head, stifle a sigh, and murmur--"good god! if it were she!" there was something touching in the timid and humble grief of this terrible man, who made all tremble around him, and yet himself trembled before a girl; although doña carmela, unaffected by the egotism of suffering persons, did not seem to perceive the influence she exercised over this powerful and stern nature. the door opened, and white scalper entered. he was still dressed in the same garb, he was still as upright, but his face no longer wore that expression of haughty and implacable ferocity which we have seen on it. a cloud of sorrow was spread over his features, and his deep sunken eyes had lost that fire which had given his glance so strange and magnetic a fixity. the maiden did not turn at the sound of the scalper's footsteps: the latter halted, and for a long time remained motionless, waiting, doubtless, till she would notice his presence. but the girl did not stir, and hence he resolved to speak. "doña carmela!" he said in a voice whose roughness he tried to smooth. she made no reply, but continued to gaze out on the plain. the scalper sighed, and then said in a louder key: "doña carmela!" this time the maiden heard him, for a nervous tremor agitated her, and she turned quickly round. "what do you want with me?" she asked. "oh!" he exclaimed, on perceiving her face bathed in tears, "you are weeping." the maiden blushed and passed her handkerchief over her face with a feverish gesture. "what matter?" she muttered, and then, striving to recover herself, she asked, "what do you want with me, señor? heavens, since i am condemned to be your slave, could you not at any rate allow me the free enjoyment of this room?" "i thought i should cause you pleasure," he said, "by announcing to you the visit of an acquaintance." a bitter smile contracted the maiden's lips. "who cares for me?" she said with a sigh. "pardon me, señorita, my intention was kind. frequently, while you sit pensively as you are doing today, unconnected words and names have passed your lips." "ah! that is true," she answered; "not only is my person captive, but you will also like to enchain my thoughts." this sentence was uttered with such an accent of concentrated anger and bitterness, that the old man started, and a livid pallor suddenly covered his face. "it is well, señor," the girl continued, "for the future i will be on my guard." "i believed, i repeat," he replied with an accent of concentrated scorn, "that i should render you happy by bringing to you colonel melendez; but since i am mistaken, you shall not see him, señorita." "what!" she exclaimed, bounding up like a lioness; "what did you say, señor? what name did you pronounce?" "that of colonel melendez." "have you summoned him?" "yes." "is he here?" "he is awaiting your permission to enter." the maiden gazed at him for a moment with an indescribable expression of amazement. "why, you must love me!" she at length burst forth. "she asks that question!" the old man murmured sadly. "will you see the colonel?" "one moment, oh, one moment; i want to know you, to understand you, and learn what i ought to think of you." "alas, i repeat to you, señorita, that i love you, love you to adoration; oh! do not feel alarmed; that love has nothing of an insulting nature: what i love in you is an extraordinary, supernatural likeness to a woman who died, alas! on the same day that when my daughter was torn from me by the indians. the daughter i lost, whom i shall never see again, would be your age, señorita: such is the secret of my love for you, of my repeated attempts to seize your person. oh, let me love you, and deceive myself; in looking at you i fancy i see my poor dear child, and that error renders me so happy. oh señorita! if you only knew what i have suffered, what i still suffer, from this miserable wound which burns my heart--oh! you would have pity on me." while the old man spoke with an impassioned accent, his face was almost transfigured; it had assumed such an expression of tenderness and sorrow, that the maiden felt affected, and by an involuntary impulse offered him her hand. "poor father!" she said to him in a gentle and pitiful voice. "thanks for that word," he replied in a voice choking with emotion, while his face was inundated with tears; "thanks, señorita, i feel less unhappy now." then, after a moment's silence, he wiped away his tears. "do you wish him to come in?" he asked softly. she smiled: the old man rushed to the door and threw it wide open. the colonel entered and ran up to the maiden. white scalper went out and closed the door after him. "at last," the colonel exclaimed joyously, "i have found you again, dear carmela!" "alas!" she said. "yes," he exclaimed with animation, "i understand you, but now you have nothing more to fear; i will free you from the odious yoke that oppresses you, and tear you from your ravisher." the maiden softly laid her hand on his arm, and shook her head with an admirable expression of melancholy. "i am not a prisoner," she said. "what?" he exclaimed with the utmost surprise, "did not this man carry you off?" "i do not say that, my friend. i merely say that i am not a prisoner." "i do not understand you," he remarked. "alas, i do not understand myself." "then, you think that if you wished to leave this house and follow me to the camp, this man would not attempt to prevent you?" "i am convinced of it." "then we will start at once, doña carmela; i will manage to obtain you respectable shelter till your father is restored to you." "no, my friend, i shall not go, i cannot follow you." "why, what prevents you?" "did i not tell you that i do not understand myself; an hour agone i would have followed you gladly, but now i cannot." "what has happened, then, during that period?" "listen, don juan, i will be frank with you. i love you, as you know, and shall be happy to be your wife; but if my happiness depended on my leaving this room, i would not do it." "pardon what i am going to say, doña carmela, but this is madness." "no it is not, i cannot explain it to you, as i do not understand it myself; but i feel that if i left this place against the wishes of the man who retains me here, i should commit a bad action." the colonel's amazement at these strange words attained such a height that he could not find a word to reply, but he looked wildly at the maiden. the man who loves is never mistaken as to the feelings of the woman he loves. the young man felt instinctively that carmela was directed by her heart in the resolution she had formed. at this moment the door opened, and white scalper appeared. his appearance was a great relief to the pair, for they were frightfully embarrassed, and the young man especially understood that this unexpected arrival would be of great help to him. there was in the demeanour and manner of the old man a dignity which carmela had never before remarked. "pardon me disturbing you," he said, with a kindly accent, that made his hearers start. "oh," he continued, pretending to be mistaken as to the impression he produced; "excuse me, colonel, for speaking in this way, but i love doña carmela so dearly that i love all she loves; though old men are egotistic, as you are aware, i have been busy on your behalf during my absence." carmela and the colonel looked their amazement. the old man smiled. "you shall judge for yourselves," he said. "i have just heard, from a scout who has come in, that a reinforcement of indians has turned our lines, and joined the enemy, among them being a wood ranger, called tranquil." "my father!" carmela exclaimed, in delight. "yes," the scalper said, suppressing a sigh. "oh, pardon me!" the maiden said, as she offered him her hand. "poor child! how could i feel angry with you? must not your heart fly straight to your father?" the colonel was utterly astounded. "this is what i thought," the old man continued. "señor melendez will ask general santa anna's authority to go under a flag of truce to the enemy. he will see doña carmela's father, and, after reassuring him about her safety, if he desire that his daughter should be restored to him i will take her to him myself." "but that is impossible!" the maiden quickly exclaimed. "why so?" "are you not my father's enemy?" "i was the enemy of the hunter, dear child, but never your father's enemy." "señor," the colonel said, walking a step toward the old man, "forgive me; up to the present i have misunderstood you, or rather, did not know you; you are a man of heart." "no," he answered; "i am a father who has lost his daughter, and who consoles himself by a sweet error;" and he uttered a deep sigh, and added, "time presses; begone, colonel, so that you may return all the sooner." "you are right," the young man said. "farewell, carmela, for the present." and, without waiting for the maiden's reply, he rushed out. but when the colonel joined his men again, he learned that the order for the forward march had arrived. he was obliged to obey, and defer his visit to the general for the present. chapter xxvi. san jacinto. the news told white scalper by the scout was true; tranquil and his comrades, after turning the mexican lines with that craft characteristic of the indians, had effected their junction with the texan army; that is to say, with the vanguard, commanded by the jaguar. unfortunately, they only found john davis, who told them that the jaguar had gone to make an important communication to general houston. if the american had spoken to tranquil about his daughter, and given him news of her, he would have been forced to reveal the bargain proposed by the chief of the pirates, and he did not feel justified in divulging a secret of that importance which was not his own. the canadian consequently remained ignorant of what was going on, and was far from suspecting that his daughter was so near him; besides, the moment was a bad one for questioning; the march had begun again; and during a retreat the officers who command the rearguard have something else to do than talk. at sunset the jaguar rejoined his cuadrilla. he was delighted at the arrival of the comanches, and warmly pressed tranquil's hand; but as the order had been given to advance by forced marches, and the enemy was at hand, the young man had no time either to tell his old friend anything. the general had combined his movement with great cleverness, in order to draw the enemy after him by constantly refusing to fight. the mexicans, puffed up by their early successes, and burning with the desire to crush what they called a revolt, did not require to be excited to pursue their unseizable enemy. the retreat and pursuit continued thus for three days, when the texans suddenly wheeled, and advanced resolutely to meet the mexicans. the latter, surprised by this sudden return, which they were far from expecting, halted with some hesitation, and formed their line of battle. it was the twenty-first of august, , a day ever memorable in the annals of texas. the two armies were at length face to face on the plains of san jacinto, and were commanded in person by the chiefs of their respective republics, generals santa anna and houston. the mexicans numbered seventeen hundred well armed, veteran soldiers; the texans amounted to only seven hundred and eighty-three, of whom sixty-one were cavalry. general houston had been compelled, on the previous evening, to detach the jaguar's cuadrilla, which the comanches and the hunters had joined; for, contrary to sandoval's expectations, his men had refused to ratify the bargain he had made in their names with the jaguar. not that they were actuated by any patriotic feeling, we are bound to state, but merely because they had come across a hacienda, which seemed to offer them the prospect of splendid plunder. hence, without caring for either party, they had shut themselves up in the hacienda, and refused to quit it, in spite of the entreaties and threats of the chief, who, seeing that they had made up their minds, at length followed their example. the jaguar was therefore detached by the general to dislodge these dangerous visitors, and the young man obeyed, though, unwillingly, for he foresaw that he should miss the battle. general houston gave colonel lamar, who was at a later date president of texas, the command of the sixty horsemen left him, and resolutely prepared for action, in spite of the numerical disproportion of his forces. the two armies, whose struggle would decide the fate of a country, were hardly as numerous as a french regiment. at sunrise the battle commenced with extreme fury. the texans, formed in square, advanced silently, within musket shot of the enemy. "boys!" general houston suddenly shouted, as he drew his sword, "boys! remember the alamo!" a terrible fire answered him, and the texans rushed on the enemy, who were already wavering. the battle lasted eighteen minutes! at the expiration of that time, the mexicans were broken, and in full flight; their flags, their camp, with arms, baggage, provisions, and equipage, fell into the hands of the victors. considering the limited number of combatants, the carnage was immense, for six hundred mexicans, including a general and four colonels, were killed, two hundred and eighty-three wounded, and seven hundred made prisoners; only sixty men, among them being santa anna, succeeded in effecting their escape. as for the texans, owing to the impetuosity of their attack, they had only two men killed and twenty-three wounded, though six of these died afterwards--an insignificant loss, which proves once again, the superiority of resolution over hesitation, for most of the mexicans were killed during the rout. the texans slept in the field of battle. general houston, when sending off the jaguar against the pirates, had said to him:-- "finish with those villains speedily, and perhaps you will return in time for the battle." these words were sufficient to give the chief of the partisans wings; still, however great his speed might be, night surprised him, when still ten leagues from the hacienda, and he was compelled to halt, for both men and horses were utterly worn out. on the morrow, at the moment when he was about to start again, he received news of the battle of the previous day, in a very singular manner. john davis, while prowling among the chaparral according to his wont, discovered a man hidden in the tall grass, who was trembling all over. the american, taking him naturally enough for a mexican spy, ordered him to get up. the man then fell on his knees, _kissed his hands_, and implored him to let him go, offering him all the gold and jewels he had about him. these supplications and intreaties produced no other effect on the american than converting his suspicions into certainty. "come, come," he said roughly to his prisoner, as he cocked a pistol, "enough of this folly; go on before me, or i will blow out your brains." the sight of the weapon produced all the effect desired on the stranger, he bowed his head piteously, and followed his captor to the bivouac, with no further attempts to seduce him. "who the deuce have you brought us?" the jaguar asked sharply. "on my word," the american answered, "i do not know. he's a scamp i found in the tall grass, who looks to me precious like a spy." "ah, ah!" the jaguar said with an ugly smile, "his business will soon be settled: have him shot." the prisoner started, and his face assumed an earthy hue. "one moment, caballeros," he exclaimed, while struggling in the utmost terror with the men who had already seized him--"one moment; i am not what you suppose." "nonsense," the jaguar said with a grin, "you are a mexican, and that is sufficient." "i am," the prisoner exclaimed, "don antonio lopez de santa anna, president of the mexican republic." "what?" the jaguar exclaimed in amazement, "you are santa anna." "alas! yes," the president answered, piteously, for it was really he. "what were you doing concealed in the grass?" "i was trying to fly." "then you have been defeated?" "oh, yes! my army is destroyed. oh, your general is not born for common things, for he has had the glory of conquering the _napoleon of the west_."[ ] at this absurd claim, especially in the mouth of such a man, his hearers, in spite of the respect due to misfortune, could not refrain from bursting into a loud and contemptuous laugh. to this manifestation the haughty mexican was completely insensible; for, now that he was recognized, he felt sure of not being shot--he cared little for all else. the jaguar wrote to general houston, describing the facts, and sent off the prisoner to him, under the escort of twenty men, commanded by john davis, to whom this honour belonged by right, as he had been the first to discover the prisoner. "well," the jaguar muttered, as he looked after the escort along the winding road, "fortune does not favour me--i succeed in nothing." "ingrate that you are!" loyal heart said to him; "to complain when the most glorious trophy of the victory was reserved to you; through the capture of that prisoner, the war is over, and the independence of texas assured for ever." "that is true," the jaguar shouted, as he leapt with joy; "i did not think of that. viva dios! you are right, my friend, and i thank you for having put me on the track. by jove! i should not have thought of that without you. come, come," he gently exclaimed, "let us be off to the hacienda, comrades! we shall deal the last blow!" the cuadrilla started under the guidance of its chief; we will leave the adventurers to follow their road, and preceding them for a few moments, enter the hacienda. the pirates, according to the custom of people of that stamp, had immediately made themselves at home in the hacienda, whose owner had fled on seeing the approach of war, and from which sandoval and his men expelled the peons and servants. the pillage was immediately organized on a great scale, and they had naturally begun with the cellars, that is to say, with the french and spanish wines and strong liquors, so that two hours after their arrival, all the villains were as full as butts, and yells and songs rose from all sides. naturally the white scalper had been compelled to follow the pirates, and carry carmela with him. in spite of the precautions taken by the old man, the maiden heard from the chambers in which she sought shelter the cries of these raging fellows which reached her, threatening and sinister as the rolling of thunder in a tempest. sandoval had not renounced his plan of revenging himself on the man he regarded as his enemy, and the intoxication of his men seemed to him an excellent opportunity for getting rid of him. white scalper tried by all the means in his power to oppose this gigantic orgy, for he knew that these rough and rebellious men, very difficult to govern when sober, became utterly undisciplined so soon as intoxication got hold of them. but the pirates had already tasted the wines and spirits, and, excited by sandoval, they only answered the scalper's representations with murmurs and insults. the latter, despairing of making them listen to reason, and wishing to spare the maiden the odious and disgusting spectacle of an orgie, hastened to return to her, and after trying to calm her, he stationed himself before the door of the room that served as her refuge, resolved to smash the first pirate who attempted to approach her. several hours passed, and no one thought about disturbing the old man. he was beginning to hope that all would pass over quietly, when he suddenly heard a great noise, followed by yells and oaths, and a dozen pirates appeared at the entrance of the long corridor at the end of which he was standing sentry, brandishing their weapons and uttering threats. at the sight of these furious men, whom intoxication rendered deaf to all remonstrances, the old man understood that a terrible and deadly struggle was about to begin between them and him. he was alone against all, but yet he did not despair; a sinister light gleamed in his eye, his eyebrows met under the might of an implacable will; he drew himself up to his full height before the door he had sworn to defend, and in an instant became once more the ferocious and terrible demon who had so long been the terror of the western countries. however, the scalper's position was not so desperate as it might appear. foreseeing all that occurred at this moment, he had taken all the precautions in his power to save the maiden; the window of the room in which she was only a couple of feet from the ground, and opened on the yard of the hacienda, where a ready saddled horse was standing, in the event of flight becoming necessary. after giving carmela, who was kneeling in the middle of the room and praying fervently, a final hint, the old man prepared to resist his aggressors. the pirates, at the sight of this man who was awaiting them so menacingly, stopped involuntarily; the front men even took a timid glance back, as if to see whether a chance of retreat were left them; but the passage was interrupted by those who came behind them and thrust them on. sandoval, who was well aware with what sort of a man his comrades would have to deal, had prudently abstained from showing himself, and remained with some of his friends in the banqueting hall, drinking and singing. the delay in the pirates' advance had suggested to the scalper the idea of setting the door ajar, so that he might escape with greater facility when the moment arrived. but the period of hesitation did not last a second; the yells burst forth again louder than before, and the bandits prepared to rush on the old man. the latter was still calm, and cold as a marble statue; he had placed his rifle against the wall, within reach, and stood with his pistols in his hands awaiting the opportunity to deal a decisive blow. "stop, or i fire!" he shouted, in a thundering voice. the yells were doubled, and the bandits drew nearer. two shots were fired, and two men fell; the scalper discharged his rifle at the mob, then taking it by the barrel and using it like a club, he rushed on the bandits, who were startled by this sudden attack, and ere they could dream of resistance he drove them to the end of the corridor and down the stairs. out of ten pirates six were killed, and four, dangerously wounded, fled with shrieks of terror. the scalper lost no time; bounding like a wild beast, he rushed into the room, the door of which he closed after him, took in his arms carmela, who was lying senseless on the floor, leaped out of window, threw the girl across his saddle bow, and darting on the horse's back he started across country with headlong speed. all this took place in less time than we have required to describe it, and the pirates had not recovered from their terror ere the scalper had disappeared. "viva dios!" sandoval shouted, striking the table with his fist; "shall we let him escape? to horse, comrades, to horse!" "to horse!" the bandits yelled, as they rushed to the corrals, where their horses were put up. ten minutes later the pirates dashed off in pursuit of white scalper, and the hacienda was thus freed of its unwelcome guests. in the meanwhile white scalper was flying at full speed, without following any settled direction; he had only one object, thought, or desire--to save carmela. the maiden, revived by the fresh air, was setting up in the saddle, and, with her arms clasped round the old man's body, constantly repeated, in a voice choking with emotion, while looking with terror round her: "fly, fly! quicker, oh quicker!" and the horse redoubled its speed, and thus ran with the rapidity of the stag pursued by a pack of hounds. all at once the old man perceived a band of horsemen debouching from a hollow way just ahead of him. "courage, carmela!" he shouted; "we are saved." "go on, go on," the maiden replied. this band was the jaguar's; the young chief in his impatience to reach the hacienda, was galloping a long distance ahead of his men. all at once he perceived the horseman coming towards him. "oh!" he exclaimed, with a feeling of deep hatred; "white scalper." he at once stopped his horse, so suddenly that the noble animal all but fell, and raised his rifle. "stop, stop, do not fire! in heaven's name do not fire!" the canadian shouted, who was spurring his horse and coming up at full speed, followed by loyal heart and the main body. but, before the hunter could reach the jaguar, the latter, who had not heard, or, probably, had not understood him, pulled the trigger. white scalper, struck in the middle of the chest, rolled in the sand, dragging carmela down with him in his fall. "ah!" tranquil said, in despair, addressing loyal heart, "the unhappy man has killed his father!" "silence!" the latter exclaimed, placing his hand on his mouth; "silence, in heaven's name!" the scalper was not dead, however; the jaguar approached him, probably to finish him, but carmela, who was inspecting his wound, drew herself up like a lioness and repulsed him with horror. "back, assassin!" she shrieked. in spite of himself the young man recoiled, astonished and confounded. tranquil rushed toward the wounded man, while loyal heart took hold of the jaguar, and speaking gently to him, led him from the spot where white scalper was writhing in agony. the old man held the maiden's hands in his own, which were already bathed in a death sweat. "carmela, poor carmela!" he said to her, in a broken voice; "oh, heaven, what will become of you now that i am dying." "no, no, it is not possible, you will not die," the girl exclaimed, stifling her sobs. the old man smiled sadly. "alas, poor child!" he had said, "i have but a few moments to live; who will protect you when i am gone?" "i!" said the hunter, who had come up. "you!" the wounded man replied; "you, her father?" "no, her friend," the hunter remarked, with a melancholy accent, and drawing from his bosom the necklace quoniam had torn from the scalper during the fight in galveston bay, he said with supreme majesty, "james watt,[ ] embrace your daughter; carmela, embrace your father." "oh!" the wounded man exclaimed, "my heart did not deceive me, then?" "my father, my father, bless me!" the maiden murmured, falling on her knees. white scalper, or major watt, drew himself up as if he had received an electric shock, and laid his hands on the head of the kneeling girl. "bless you, my child!" he said; then after a moment of silence, he muttered in an almost indistinct voice, "i had a son too." "he is dead," the hunter answered, as he looked sorrowfully at the jaguar. "may heaven pardon him!" the old man muttered. and falling back, he breathed his last sigh. "my friend," carmela said to the hunter, "you, whom i no longer dare to call my father, what do you order me to do in the presence of this corpse?" "live!" the canadian answered hoarsely, as he pointed to a horseman who was coming up at full speed, "for you love and are beloved; life is scarce beginning for you, and you may still be happy." the rider was colonel melendez. carmela let her head fall in her hands, and burst into tears. * * * * * during my last visit to texas, i had the honour of being presented to doña carmela, then married to colonel melendez, who retired from the service after the battle of san jacinto. tranquil lived with them, but loyal heart had returned to the desert. the jaguar, after the events we have described, resumed his adventurous life, and a year had scarce elapsed ere his death was heard of. surprised by apache indians, from whom he might easily have escaped, he insisted on fighting them, and was massacred by these pitiless enemies of the white race. did the jaguar know that he had killed his father, or was it his despair at seeing his love despised by carmela, that determined him to seek death? that remained a mystery which no one was ever able to solve. let us hope that a merciful and just god pardoned this son his involuntary parricide! [ ] the sentence is literally true, but was said by santa anna to houston himself. [ ] see border rifles, same publishers. the end. texas agricultural experiment stations. bulletin no. . january -------------------------- department of entomology. college station, texas. [photograph: honey bee on horse-mint] _honey bee on horse-mint_ texas honey plants. c. e. sanborn, u. s. cooperative entomologist and acting state entomologist. e. e. scholl, assistant state entomologist and apiarist. -------------------------- postoffice, college station, brazos county, texas. * * * * * texas agricultural experiment stations -------------------------- officers. -------------------------- governing board. (board of directors a. & m. college.) k. k. leggett, president abilene t. d. rowell, vice president jefferson a. haidusek la grange j. m. green yoakum walton peteet dallas r. t. milner austin l. l. mcinnis bryan w. b. sebastian breckenridge station officers. h. h. harrington ll. d., president of the college and director j. w. carson assistant to director and state feed inspector w. g. welborn vice director and agriculturist m. francis veterinarian e. j. kyle horticulturist john c. burns animal husbandry r. l. bennett cotton specialist o. m. ball botanist g. s. fraps chemist c. e. sanborn co-operative entomologist n. c. hamner assistant chemist e. c. carlyle assistant chemist l. mclennan deputy feed inspector a. t. potts deputy feed inspector j. h. rodgers deputy peed inspector h. e. hanna deputy feed inspector c. w. crisler chief clerk w. l. boyett clerk feed control f. r. navaille stenographer a. s. ware stenographer state sub-stations. w. s. hotchkiss, superintendent troupe, smith county s. a. waschka, superintendent beeville, bee county note--the main station is located on the grounds of the agricultural and mechanical college, in brazos county. the postoffice address is college station, texas. reports and bulletins are sent free upon application to the director. preface. this preliminary bulletin on texas honey plants represents work of the department of entomology dating through the office tenures of professors mally, newell, sanderson and conradi. they each have authorized and aided in the collection of the flora and data contained in this publication. to mr. louis h. scholl, of new braunfels, texas, assistant and apiarist from until , the department is directly indebted for the material contained herein, except as is otherwise designated. mr. ernest scholl, now assistant and apiarist, has furnished material as shown herein. he is now working on a continuation of the subject. mr. d. c. milam, of uvalde, formerly foul brood inspector, has also contributed, as is shown. the main body of the work, however, has been accomplished through the services of mr. louis h. scholl, and much credit is due him, since he has done more in this department, and perhaps more than any other person in helping to build up the bee industry of texas. his data are followed by this mark * introduction. this publication treats of many of the texas honey plants in a brief technical manner. in addition, wherever possible, the common name is used in connection with the description. the sequence followed by coulter in his botany of south west texas is herein mainly followed. in some instances quotations from small's botany of texas were used, as is shown in the publication. the plants are discussed by families. not only is the honey producing qualities of the plants mentioned, but frequent mention is also made of the respective quality and yield of pollen and propolis. data are included in many instances concerning the weather conditions and its effects upon the yield of certain plants. it is hoped that this will be a great help to apiarists in selecting locations for bees, since the value of bees depends entirely on the environment under which they may be placed. again it may help in selecting certain plants to be planted that might prove to be very beneficial to an established apiary. the geographical distribution is given in a general brief way, so that one is less apt to be confused concerning the abundance in nature of certain plants. in this connection it must be remembered, however, that on account of extended cultivation in texas, some of the common wild plants are becoming less numerous than formerly, while cultivated varieties are becoming more common. two indices are contained in this bulletin. the first contains all the common or vernacular names, and the second contains the latin or technical names. the latter is complete, since some plants are known only by the technical appellation. ***** triple-leafed barberry. berberis trifoliata moric. barberry family. berberideae. "on gravelly slopes and foothills from the gulf coast to the limpia mountains." (coulter). hunter, gravelly hills; honey yield abundant, also pollen; fine for early brood rearing. january and february.* prickly poppy. argemone platyceras (link. and otto.) poppy family. papaveraceae. "abundant in valleys and along dry hillsides." (coulter). roadsides, waste fields and prairies. honey yield unimportant, but abundance of pollen during the dearth of summer. may and july.* "this plant is abundant along the brazos valley. bees work heavily on it in june, carrying heavy loads of pollen, which they store in nearly every comb, thus making it disagreeable in the honey combs sometimes." (e. scholl). poppy. papaver rhoeas l. poppy family. papaveraceae. cultivated in flower gardens. honey yield not important and plants few. may.* peppergrass. pepperwort. lepidium virginicum l. mustard family. cruciferae. "in all situations, quebec to minnesota, kansas, florida, texas and mexico. naturalized in europe." (small). found in all kinds of places; honey yield not important; some pollen. june to august.* greggia. greggia camporum gray. mustard family. cruciferae. "mountains of western texas." (coulter). honey yield early but not abundant; also pollen helps early brood rearing. hunter; waste fields and fertile prairies. honey yield early, but not abundant; also pollen; helps early brood rearing. february.* common turnip. brassica rapa l. mustard family. cruciferae. cultivated and sometimes escaped; bees work on the blossoms, honey and pollen. june and july.* black mustard. brassica nigra koch. mustard family. cruciferae. cultivated and escaped; bees sometimes busy on it. june and july.* mignonette. reseda odorata l. mignonette family. resedaceae. college: cultivated on apiary experimental plats. honey yield good; plants not plentiful enough for surplus. june and july.* portulaca. portulaca grandiflora hook. purslane family. portulaceae. cultivated in ornamental flower beds. honey yield good as it comes during time when few others in bloom; also abundance of highly colored pollen, red, orange and yellows. june until frost.* salt cedar. tamarix gallica l. tamarisc family. tamariscineae. "a common european mediterranean shrub which seems to have escaped in many places in texas." (coulter). "on roadsides, in thickets and waste places; warmer parts of southern united states, naturalized from southern europe." (small). college station; cultivated ornamental shrub bees worked well on it, but number of trees scarce. may and june.* fringed poppy mallow. callirrhoe digitata nutt. mallow family. malvaceae. "common on prairies and in valleys." (coulter). hunter; prairies and lowlands. honey yield not important; some pollen. may and june. a good pollen yielder during may at college station.* spanish apple. malvaviscus drummondii. torr & gray. mallow family. malvaceae. "from rio grande to the colorado and northeastward." (coulter). in lowlands and along streams. june and july.* "plentiful along comal and guadalupe rivers, new braunfels, texas. not important." (e. scholl). rose of sharon. shrubby althaea. hibiscus syriacus l. mallow family. malvaceae. "in various situations new jersey and pennsylvania to florida and texas." (small). cultivated ornamental, in gardens and parks; honey yield not important and plants few, but bees work busily on it; honey and pollen. may to sept.* spring sida. sida spinosa l. mallow family. malvaceae. "in cultivated grounds, waste places on roadsides, new york to iowa, florida and texas. widely distributed in the tropics." (small). waste places, fields and along roads; some honey and pollen; not important. june to august.* narrow-leafed sida. sida angustifolia lam. mallow family. malvaceae. "in dry soil texas to arizona; also in mexico and tropical america." (small). in dry soils; bees found upon it; yields pollen. june to august.* cotton. gossypium herbaceum l. mallow family. malvaceae. cultivated staple crop in the fields for fibre. honey yield good, steady flow till frost, honey white and of good quality. main source throughout cotton belt. nectar glands on ribs of leaves and on bracts of buds, blooms and bolls. june to frost.* japanese varnish tree. firmiana platinifolia (l.) r. br. chocolate family. buettneriaceae. hbk. college station: cultivated ornamental tree on campus; honey yield very heavy but of short duration some seasons longer. may and june.* basswood. american linden. tilia americana l. linden family. tiliaceae. "a large and handsome tree of the atlantic states, extending in texas to the valley of the san antonio river." (coulter). on forests of eastern texas, yields large quantities of excellent honey. may and june.* large-flowered caltrop. tribulus cistoides l. bean-caper family. zygophylleae. hunter: in fields and waste lands; honey yield good until noon when flowers close; also much pollen. april, august.* greater caltrop. kallstroemia maxima (l) t. & g. bean-caper family. zygophylleae. "tribulus maxima." (coulter). "common in dry soil throughout southern and western texas." (coulter). hunter: in fields and waste lands. honey yield good in morning, blossoms closing by noon except in cool weather; good as it comes in the dearth of summer; also abundance of pollen. april to august.* yellow wood sorrel. oxalis stricta l. geranium family. geraniaceae. "eastern and southern texas." (coulter). waste soils and open woodlands; not plentiful for bee forage. may, august.* tooth-ache tree. prickly ash. sea ash. pepperwood. xanthoxylum clava-herculis l. rue family. rutaceae. "colorado to rio grande." (coulter). "along or near the coast, virginia to florida, arkansas and texas." (small). hunter: woodland prairies; honey yield good; bees work busily on it. april, june.* hop tree. ptelea trifoliata l. rue family. rutaceae. "throughout southern and western texas." (coulter). in woodlands and along rivers and creeks. honey yield good; very good in favorable seasons where abundant. may and july.* hardy orange. citrus trifoliata l. rue family. rutaceae. college: planted for hedges, scarce; honey yield fair for early brood. bees worked on it abundantly. march.* tree of heaven. ailanthus glandulosus desf. quassia family. simarubaceae. "in waste places and along streams, more or less extensively naturalized in the united states and southern british america. native of china." (small). hunter: cultivated for shade and escaped. honey yield fair in good seasons, pollen; also nectar glands on leaf blades. april.* umbrella china tree. melia azedarach l. melia family. meliaceae. "a favorite shade tree and extensively naturalized in central and southern texas." (coulter). cultivated ornamental shade tree and escaped. honey yield helps early brood rearing. february, march.* possum haw. bear berry. ilex decidua walt. holly family. ilicineae. "a species of southern states and extending in texas to the valley of the san antonio." (coulter). college; along lowlands, creeks and streams. honey yield good but short; in warm spring early and valuable for early brood. march, may.* youpon. ilex caroliniana trelease. holly family. ilicineae. "a species of the gulf states and extending into texas. limit uncertain." (coulter). hunter: low woodland thickets; not important. march, april.* brasil wood. logwood. condalia obovata hook. buckthorn family. rhamneae. "from the guadalupe to the rio grande and west of new mexico." (coulter). hunter: in woodlands, dry soils; honey yield not very important but comes well in dearth of summer. july, august.* "abundant along carter's creek. honey yield good during may." (e. scholl). rattan vine. berchemia scandens trelease. buckthorn family. rhamneae. "a species of the southern states extending into texas where its western limit is uncertain." (coulter). along ravines and low woodlands; honey yield good, giving surplus in favorable years but dark amber colored, used in manufacturing-houses. april.* columbrina texensis. gray. buckthorn family. rhamneae. "from the colorado to the rio grande westward to new mexico." (coulter). floresville, slopes, adobe hills. honey yield good but not enough for surplus. also some pollen. april.* cultivated wine grapes. vitis (?) (varieties). vine family. ampelidaceae. cultivated in orchards; good for pollen. april, may.* mountain grape. vitis monticola buckley. vine family. ampelidaceae. "peculiar to the hilly limestone regions of western texas, not extending to the low country nor to the granite mountains." (coulter.) hunter: in woods and forests; honey yield fairly good and pollen valuable for brood rearing. march.* cow itch. cissus incisa desmoul. vine family. ampelidaceae. "in shady places from the colorado to the rio grande and westward. an ornamental vine known as "yerba del buey." (coulter). hunter: along fences and edge of thickets; honey yield keeps bees out of mischief during dearth. surplus where plentiful. april, to august.* soapberry. wild china. sapindus marginatus willd. soapberry family. sapindaceae. "common along creeks throughout texas from louisiana to new mexico and mexico. smaller west of the colorado river." (coulter). along rivers and creeks and sometimes along uplands; honey yield good, heavy flow in favorable seasons gives surplus. june.* evergreen shrub, blooms in april; yields quantities of honey and pollen where enough bushes." (milam, uvalde). common balloon vine. cardiospermum halicacabum l. soapberry family. sapindaceae. "guadalupe to rio grande." (coulter). "in thickets and waste places new jersey, missouri, florida, texas and tropical america; summer and fall." (small). hunter: in creek bottoms; honey yield fair but plants not abundant. april, july.* mexican buckeye. ungnadia speciosa endl. soapberry family. sapindaceae. "common along rocky valleys and in the mountains from the valley of the trinity through western texas to new mexico." (coulter). hunter: "mountainous woodlands. honey yield good in dearth but not plentiful. july." dwarf sumach. rhus copallina l. sumach family. anacardiaceae. "a sumach of the atlantic states extending through eastern and southern texas to the rio grande." (coulter). hunter: small shrubby tree rocky hillsides and woodland prairies. honey yield good giving surplus in favorable seasons depending upon rains. reported as a honey plant in most of the beekeepers reports received. august.* green sumach. rhus virens lindh. sumach family. anacardiaceae. "from the colorado to the rio grande and westward." (coulter). in stony, hilly woodlands. bees are some seasons busy on it. october.* blue lupine. bluebonnet. lupinus subcarnosus hook. pulse family. leguminosae. "common lupine of southern and western texas, 'covering fertile slopes with a carpet of purple blue.' (harvard), as early as march." (coulter). hunter: places in open woodlands. honey yield good; also pollen of very bright and orange colors. march, april.* alfalfa or lucerne. medicago sativa l. pulse family. leguminosae. "an extensively cultivated forage plant which has long been an introduced plant in southern and western texas." (coulter). cultivated for hay crops; honey yield fair; early summer and fall; better in irrigated regions. may, august.* "large number of bees were seen on it at new braunfels, texas. june th, . a good thing in north texas." (e. scholl). medick. burr clover. medicago denticulata willd. pulse family. leguminosae. "naturalized in western texas." (coulter). college: abundant on campus lawns. honey yield sparingly in summer, not important. february to may.* sweet clover. melilotus alba desv. pulse family. leguminosae. distribution not definite. cultivated and along fence rows; honey yield good and of fine quality; scarce and should be cultivated for honey. may to october.* "an important honey plant in north texas." (e. scholl). yellow sweet clover. melilotus officinalis (l) lam. pulse family. leguminosae. colorado along roadsides, escaped. honey yield good; claimed to be superior to and earlier than m. alba by beemen. should be cultivated on the poor soils of texas. april to september.* red clover. trifolium pratense l. pulse family. leguminosae. college station: cultivated on experimental plats. blooms in summer; not important, not much grown and deep corollas. june.* white clover. trifolium repens l. pulse family. leguminosae. "may be found wild in texas." (coulter). along roadsides and on lawns. cultivated at college, but did not grow as conditions were too dry. honey yield good and one of main sources in states north of texas. june, july.* eysenhardtia. eysenhardtia amorphoides. h b k. pulse family. leguminosae. "throughout southern and western texas, south of the colorado." (coulter). hunter: on light soils and woodlands and known as "rock brush" by beemen. honey yield abundant. blooming after heavy rains. honey fine quality. march, may.* black locust. robinia pseudacacia l. pulse family. leguminosae. "native from pennsylvania to iowa, georgia and indian territory. also naturalized in the northeastern part of north america." (small). college: cultivated on campus; honey yield good if no cold weather; bees work on it abundantly. march, april.* cassia. daubentonia longifolia (cav.) dc. pulse family. leguminosae. low and damp places; sandy soils; bees on it frequently but apparently of little value. july, september.* mexican ground-plum. astragalus mexicanus. a. dc. pulse family. leguminosae. "prairies throughout texas." (coulter). hunter: in open prairies honey yield abundant when season is favorable; drouth injures it. june.* cow pea. vigna (sp.) pulse family. leguminosae. honey yield good; fair quality, light color. cultivated for forage crops and for enriching soils. june, august.* cow pea. vigna sinensis (l) endl. (var. ?). pulse family. leguminosae. cultivated for forage crops and for enriching soils; honey yield good; fair quality, light color. june, august.* japanese delchos. dolichos lablab l. pulse family. leguminosae. cultivated in apiary experimental plats; no bees on it; other plants in bloom. june, august.* garden pea. pisum sativum l. pulse family. leguminosae. hunter: cultivated widely; honey yield unimportant, some pollen; not visited much by bees. march, april.* red bud. cercis occidentalis torr. pulse family. leguminosae. "far western and north mexican species extending into western texas." (coulter). aids early brood rearing. march.* red bud. judas tree. cercis canadensis l. pulse family. leguminosae. "in rich soil ontario to minnesota, new jersey, florida and texas." (small). hunter: in woodlands. honey yield fair, aiding in early brood rearing. march, april.* retama. parkinsonia aculeata l. pulse family. leguminosae. "throughout southern and western texas." (coulter). in sandy soils and low swamps. blooms spring and throughout summer; bees work on it more or less all summer. may, sept.* honey locust. gleditschia triacanthos l. pulse family. leguminosae. "an atlantic species extending at least to the valley of the brazos river and common in cultivation." (coulter). college station: along ravines and valleys; very heavy honey yield but of short duration. april.* mezquit tree. screw bean. prosopis juliflora dc. pulse family. leguminosae. "the chief woody plant of the wooded table-lands and high valleys throughout southern and western texas, often forming impenetrable thickets." (coulter) hunter: throughout the black land prairies; honey yield abundant, main source in state, good light honey. april, and again in june.* neptunia lutea benth. pulse family. leguminosae. "in eastern and southern texas, extending as far up the rio grande as eagle pass." (coulter). college, open prairies; not plentiful, bees rarely found on it; some pollen. may.* sensitive briar. schrankia angustata torr. and gray. pulse family. leguminosae. "found in texas as far as san diego and probably in the san antonio region." (coulter). hunter: open prairies; honey yield not important; plants scarce; pollen. april to september.* huisache. acacia farnesiana willd. pulse family. leguminosae. "from san antonio to the gulf coast and lower rio grande." (coulter). very plentiful in richer soil of southwest texas; honey yield good for stimulating early brood rearing; also pollen. february, april.* huajilli. acacia berlandiera benth. pulse family. leguminosae. "from the nueces to the rio grande and west to devil's river. common on the bluffs of the lower rio grande." (coulter). on dry and rocky hills in solid masses generally. honey yield very heavy and main surplus in southwest texas; fine quality, white; considered the best honey in texas in quality. april.* paradise flower. catsclaw. devils claws. acacia greggii gray. pulse family. leguminosae. "in dry or rocky soil, texas, new mexico." (small). floresville: all over southwest texas. honey yield very abundant, a main yielder of fine quality honey. april.* round-flowered catsclaw. acacia roemeriana schlecht. pulse family. leguminosae. "throughout texas south of the colorado and west to el paso." (coulter). hunter: in brushy woodlands; honey yield is heavy, of fine quality, but plants not abundant. april and may.* acacia amentacea dc. pulse family. leguminosae. "from the guadalupe to the lower rio grande and west to the pecos." (coulter). very plentiful throughout southwest texas, on prairies. honey yield of no importance. bees gather pollen from it occasionally in early summer.* plum. prunus domestica l. rose family. rosaceae. hunter: in orchards and escaped. honey yield good with "fruit bloom." helps to build up colonies of bees. february.* wild plum. prunus (sp.) rose family. rosaceae. college station: planted on campus. honey yield good but of short duration. march.* peach. amygdalus persica l. rose family. rosaceae. "in waste places and cultivated grounds throughout the united states." (small). cultivated in orchards; honey yield good; with "fruit bloom" builds up colonies in spring. january to april.* bridal wreath. spiraea virginiana britt. rose family. rosaceae. cultivated ornamental shrub. honey yield unimportant; bees sometimes busy on it. march.* dew-berry. rubus trivialis michx. rose family. rosaceae. "a southern blackberry, apparently common in eastern, southern and western texas." (coulter). common wild, little cultivated; bees on it busy; honey and pollen. february, april.* rose. rosa tourn. cultivated widely; honey yield unimportant; pollen gathered from it sometimes. spring, summer and fall.* apple. malus malus (l) britt. rose family. rosaceae. cultivated in orchards; honey yield early; helps in brood rearing; good where abundant. march, april.* pear. pyrus communis l. rose family. rosaceae. a much cultivated fruit tree, important for early honey and pollen. february, march.* hawthorn. white thorn. crataegus spathulata michx. rose family. rosaceae. "a species of the gulf states and extending to the lower colorado in texas." (coulter). in woodlands and creeks; good for honey and pollen. april.* hawthorn. white thorn. crataegus arborescens ell. rose family. rosaceae. "a species of the gulf states and extending to the lower colorado in texas." (coulter). college station; in woodlands and creek banks; honey yield good, bees found busily on it; also pollen. april.* crepe myrtle. lagerstroemia indica l. loose strife family. lythraceae. "in waste places in and near gardens; widely cultivated and sparingly naturalized from maryland, florida and texas." (small). cultivated ornamental on campus; honey yield occasionally good and visited much by bees. june, october.* jussiaea. jussiaea repens l. evening primrose family. onagrarieae. "in streams from the san antonio northward and eastward." (coulter). in water edge of rivers and lakes. not affected by drouth; it is important for bees during dearth. june to september.* jussiaea. jussiaea diffusa forskl. evening primrose family. onagrarieae. "in and about ponds, kentucky to kansas, florida and texas, also in tropical america and asia." (small) in water edge of pasture tanks and pools. honey yield good; important as it is not affected by drouths but better after rains. june, august.* gaura filiformis small. evening primrose family. onagrarieae. sandy soils and along creeks; honey yield good; sometimes yielding surplus in spurts when favorable season and rains prevail. june, october.* musk melon. cucumis melo l. gourd family. cucurbitaceae. hunter: cultivated. honey yield good; abundant during dewy mornings. also pollen. early summer to fall. important in melon growing sections, south texas. july and september.* cucumber. cucumis sativa. gourd family. cucurbitaceae. cultivated; honey yield very good; short duration; pollen; but plants not abundant. april, july.* watermelon. citrullus citrullus (l) small. gourd family. cucurbitaceae. cultivated; honey yield good; abundant during dewy mornings, also pollen; from early summer to frosts in late autumn. may to october.* "successful in honey plant plot at college in ." (e. scholl). wild gourd. cucurbita foetidissima hbk. gourd family. cucurbitaceae. "abundant in the valleys of southern and western texas." (coulter). hunter: in a variety of places. honey yield not important; plants scattered and few, good for pollen. april, july.* common pumpkin. cucurbita pepo l. gourd family. cucurbitaceae. cultivated: not important for honey, but much pollen. may, june.* common cactus or prickly pear. opuntia englemannii salm. & dyk. cactus family. cactaceae. "common throughout southern and western texas. this seems to be common "prickly pear" of texas, though all the flat-jointed opuntias bear that name. the joints are commonly spoken of as "leaves" and form an important food for grazing of animals, under the name of "nopal." the "nopal leaf" is also much used for poultices, etc." (coulter). hunter: over entire southwestern texas; honey yield abundant; sometimes surplus; honey of rank flavor when first stored. may, june.* dogwood. cornus asperifolia michx. dogwood family. cornaceae. "an eastern species extending to central texas where the variety drummondii is the common form." (coulter). lowlands and along banks; honey yield good and bees fairly roam over blossoms, but species not plentiful. march, april.* elder. sambucus canadensis l. honey suckle family. caprifoliaceae. "moist grounds throughout texas." (coulter). along rivers and wet places; honey yield good but not plentiful. april, may.* black haw. virburnum prunifolium l. honey suckle family. caprifoliaceae. "an atlantic species, extending westward into texas as far as the valley of the guadalupe and probably the san antonio." (coulter). hunter: in woodlands and forests. honey yield good, early, valuable for brood rearing. march, april.* coral berry. indian currant. symphoricarpos symphorlcarpos (l) macm. honey suckle family. caprifoliaceae. "an atlantic species extending into texas. near new braunfels. (lindheimer)." (coulter). in woodlands along rivers and rocky soil. honey yield good and of long duration. july, september.* bush honeysuckle. lonicera fragrantissima lindle. honey suckle family. caprifoliaceae. shrubby vine; cultivated species on campus; honey yield extremely early, valuable to stimulate bees if weather is favorable; also pollen. january.* white-flowered honeysuckle. lonicera albiflora torn. & gray. honey suckle family. caprifoliaceae. "abundant throughout western texas and especially in the mountains west of the pecos." (coulter). hunter: cultivated for ornamental purposes. honey yield good, but few plants. may, july.* houstonia. houstonia angustifolia michx. madder family. rubiaceae. "throughout texas." (coulter). college station: on dry soils and prairies. bees work on it well but plants not abundant. may, july.* button bush. cephalanthus occidentalis l. madder family. rubiaceae. "swamps and along streams throughout texas." (coulter). hunter: along rivers and creeks. bees work on it. july.* button weed. diodia teres walt. madder family. rubiaceae. "sandy soil, low grounds of texas to mouth of rio grande." (coulter). low sandy soils; honey yield good and valuable as it comes during drouth. no surplus. july, august.* broomweed. gutierrezia texana t. & g. composite family. compositae. "sterile plains throughout texas." (coulter). in open prairies; honey yield good in fall for winter stores; dark amber and strong flavor. september, october.* goldenrod. solidago sp. (?). composite family. compositae. occurs in all parts of texas. september. see a. b. c. . parthenium hysterophorus l. composite family. compositae. "throughout eastern and central texas. dr. harvard remarks that it is one of the commonest weeds about the streets of san antonio." (coulter). hunter: in waste places and open town lots of which it takes possession. honey yield good in favorable seasons when not too dry. white pollen. april, november.* roman wormwood. ambrosia artemisiaefolia l. composite family. compositae. "a common weed of waste grounds, extremely variable." (coulter). dry upland soils and waste places; probably pollen only. july, august.* tall ragweed. ambrosia aptera dc. composite family. compositae. "low grounds in southern and western texas." (coulter). hunter: along field fences and low places. some honey but more pollen of a resinous nature. july and august.* great ragweed. ambrosia trifida l. composite family. compositae. "moist river banks throughout eastern and central texas." (coulter). college: in low moist creeks and along brazos river. honey yield not important, but yields much pollen. july and august.* cockle-burr. clot burr. xanthium canadense mill. composite family. compositae. "alluvial shores and waste ground." (coulter). hunter: along creeks, in pastures and fields; not important; furnishes pollen late in the fall. september, october.* cone flower. nigger head. rudbeckia hirta l. composite family. compositae. "dry and open ground throughout texas." (coulter). waysides and prairies; of no importance; bees gather propolis from resinous heads sometimes. may, june.* cone flower. nigger head. rudbeckia bicolor nutt. composite family. compositae. "pine woods or sandy soil, eastern and southern texas." (coulter). "in woods and sandy soil, arkansas to alabama and texas." (small). waysides and prairies; of no importance; bees gather propolis from resinous heads sometimes. may, june.* common sunflower. helianthus annuus l. composite family. compositae. "abundant in all valleys." (coulter). hunter: along roadsides and in waste fields. honey yield sometimes good in the fall but strong in flavor. much propolis gathered from the large composite heads of the flower and stems and leaves of the plant. may, september.* virginian crown-beard. verbesina virginica l. composite family. compositae. "rich dry soil from the mississippi and gulf states through texas to mexico." (coulter). in rich soils, lowlands and woodlands; honey yield very abundant, depending upon seasons; fine quality of honey. october.* sneeze weed. bitter weed. helenium tenuifolium nutt. composite family. compositae. "river bottoms, etc., extending from the gulf and mississippi states to western texas." (coulter). college: abundant on open woodland prairies and plains of eastern texas. honey yield good in favorable seasons; pollen; honey golden yellow, heavy body but very bitter, as if per cent quinine and some pepper was added. june to october.* marigold. gaillardia pulchella foug. composite family. compositae. "extending from plains of arkansas and louisiana through texas to those of arizona and mexico." (coulter). hunter: waysides and prairies. honey yield of good quality, dark amber colored. a main yielder of surplus. may, june.* blue thistle. cnicus altissimus willd. composite family. compositae. "borders of woods and open ground. common in the atlantic states and extending into texas." (coulter). hunter: scattered over open prairies; honey yield unimportant; some pollen. july, august.* "bees working heavily on it in june, along guadalupe river, new braunfels, texas, where some of the pastures were literally covered with it." (e. scholl). american knapweed. centaurea americana nutt. composite family. compositae. "extending from the plains of arkansas and louisiana through texas to arizona and adjacent mexico." (coulter). hunter: open prairies and pastures. not important. july, august.* dandelion. taraxacum officinale weber. composite family. compositae. "common everywhere; an introduction from europe." (coulter). see a. b. c. of bee culture. february.* marigold. tagetes patalus l. composite family. compositae. cultivated in flower gardens; honey yield not important; bees only occasionally visiting it. july.* narrow-leafed iron wood. bumelia angustifolia nutt. appodilla family. sapotaceae. "valley of the lower rio grande." (coulter). specimen sent from the nueces river. (cotulla). june.* mexican persimmon. diospyros texana scheele. ebony family. ebenaceae. "woods along streams, matagorda bay to the concho river and southward." (coulter). "mexicans call it "chapote," also known as "black persimmon." often found on rocky mesas but thrives best in canyons and on the edges of ravines." (harvard). hunter: in woodlands: honey yield abundant, not harmed by showers on account of bell-shaped flowers. april.* persimmon (common). diospyros virginiana l. ebony family. ebenaceae. "a common tree of the atlantic states. extending into texas to the valley of the colorado." (coulter). throughout east texas; honey yield good, not long and trees not abundant. bell-shaped blossoms are protected in rain. april.* california privet. ligustrum vulgare l. olive family. oleaceae. "thickets and on roadsides, ontario to pennsylvania and north carolina." (small). ornamental shrub cultivated for hedges, etc., honey yield good; flowering trees scarce, trimmed and kept down in hedges. april, may.* "a good flow at college station in ." (e. scholl). silver berry. elaeagnus argentia, pursh. oleaster family. elaeagnaceae. college station; cultivated ornamental on campus. honey yield abundant in narrowly funnel-shaped blossoms hanging downward. nectar runs to mouth of flower. protected from rains. corolla mm. deep. long-tongue bees would be of advantage. october, november.* sweet olive. elaeagnus angustifolia l. oleaster family. elaeagnaceae. college station: cultivated ornamental shrub on campus; honey yield good; bees work on blossom. april.* silk weed. asclepias sp. milk weed family. asclepiadeae. beeville; on plains and prairies. honey yield good but pollen attaches to bee's feet and cripples them. march.* dense-flowered phacelia. phacelia congesta hook. water-leaf family. hydrophyllaceae. "throughout texas." (coulter). rich places and moist woods; honey yield sparing. april, june.* phacelia glabra nutt. water-leaf family. hydrophyllaceae. "low prairies arkansas and east texas." (coulter). on prairies eastern texas. march, april.* borage. borage officinalis l. borage family. boragineae. college: cultivated; honey yield good; bees working busily on it during june. old stalks die down in july and large lower leaves protect root stock during severe drouth and sprout out for bees to work on bloom in august. june, july.* morning glory. ipomoea caroliniana pursh. convolvulus family. convolvulaceae. most common in cultivated fields. honey yield light, pollen. june to november.* night-shade. solanum rostratum dunal. night-shade family. solanaceae. "plains throughout texas." (coulter). hunter: waste lands, prairies and roadsides. honey very little; some pollen. may, october.* trumpet creeper. trumpet flower. campsis radicans (l) seem. bigonia family. bignoniaceae. "moist soil, extending from atlantic and gulf states into texas and common in cultivation." (coulter). cultivated and along river bottoms: honey yield of little importance; external nectar glands; pollen from flowers. july to october.* large-flowered verbena. verbena urticaefolia l. vervain family. verbenaceae. "waste or open grounds, extending from the atlantic regions through texas to tropical america." (coulter). college station: in waste open ground. april, august.* blue vervain. verbena xutha lehm. vervain family. verbenaceae. "extending from louisiana through texas to southern california and mexico." (coulter). college: in sandy soils, honey yield sparing and scattering throughout its season. april, august.* spatulate-leafed fog-fruit. lippia nodiflora michx. vervain family. verbenaceae. "low ground extending from the gulf states to western texas." (coulter). in moist places, rivers and creeks; honey yield very light and of little importance. july.* white brush. lippia ligustrina britt. vervain family. verbenaceae. "common on rocky slopes throughout texas." (coulter). "foliage eaten by cattle, sheep and goats." (harvard). all over southwest texas; honey yield very heavy of fine quality but very short duration, only a few days; blooms after each rain during season. may to november.* lantana. lantana camara l. vervain family. verbenaceae. "extending from the gulf states through southeastern texas to tropical america." (coulter). on light soils of southwest texas; unimportant; bees seldom on it. april, october.* french mulberry. callicarpa americana l. vervain family. verbenaceae. "rich or moist grounds, extending from gulf states to southern texas." (coulter). brazos bottoms, college; rich soil in woods, abundant: honey yield only fair. may.* roemer's sage. salvia roemeriana scheele. mint family. labiatae. "in light fertile soils, western texas." (coulter). hunter: rich soils in forests. unimportant as a honey plant; not abundant; deep corollas. may, june.* blue sage. salvia azurea lam. mint family. labiatae. "from gulf states to extreme western texas." (coulter). hunter: dry soil and waste places; corolla deep and visited much more frequently by bumble bees than honey bees. april, october.* catnip. nepeta cataria l. mint family. labiatae. cultivated on apiary experimental plats, ; only a few plants grew and bloomed. a few bees visited it. soon died. july.* wild bergamont. monarda fistulosa l. mint family. labiatae. "dry soil throughout texas, etc." (coulter). college: along banks of ravines. honey yield good but plants not abundant. may, july.* horse-mint. monarda clinopodioides gray. mint family. labiatae. "eastern and southern texas." (coulter). prairies and waste land; honey yield abundant; one of the main yielders; honey compared to bass-wood in flavor. may, june.* horse-mint. monarda punctata l. (see frontis-piece). mint family. labiatae. "sandy ground extending from the atlantic regions to southern and western texas." (coulter). in open prairies and waste land; honey yield abundant; one of the main crop yielders; honey compared with basswood. may, july.* "a good yielder in brazos bottoms. college station, texas, in , june." (e. scholl). drummond's skull-cap. scutellaria drummondii benth. mint family. labiatae. "common throughout texas in damp rich soil." (coulter). "on prairies, kansas to texas." (small). hunter: waste places in fields and prairies. honey yield abundant in spring; much visited by bees. april, may.* common hoarhound. marrubium vulgare l. mint family. labiatae. "a common escape in waste or open ground." (coulter). hunter: most all parts of the south; fertile places; fence corners and pens; honey yield abundant; steady flow; dark amber colored. claimed bitter by some. february, july.* coleus. coleus blumei benth. mint family. labiatae. college; ornament for borders, etc. honey yield of no importance. bees gather pollen from it only occasionally. july.* common pigweed. amaranthus retroflexus l. amaranth family. amaranthaceae. "throughout texas." (coulter). waste lands and fields; honey yield of no importance; some pollen. july, september.* thorny amaranth. amaranthus spinosus l. amaranth family. amaranthaceae. "from tom green county to laredo." (coulter). annual weedy herbs. in waste places and cultivated soils presumably pollen only; not important. august.* madeira vine. anredera scandens (l). moq. goosefoot family. chenopodiaceae. "from the upper pecos to the lower rio grande, (ringgold)." (coulter). hunter. texas; cultivated for shade on verandas; honey yield fair, bees work on it industriously, but the plants are scarce. may, september.* japanese buckwheat. fagopyrum fagopyrum (l) karst. buckwheat family. polygonaceae. cultivated in fields in a small way; honey yield good on favorable moist mornings, not in dry weather. honey very dark and strong in flavor; not important for bees in texas. june, july.* "a good yielder to bridge over from early spring flower to cotton bloom at college station, texas." (e. scholl). american mistletoe. phoradendron flavescens nutt. mistletoe family. loranthaceae. "from eagle pass to central texas. reported on ulmus, prosopis, quercus, etc." (coulter). honey yield abundant and also pollen, very valuable for early brood rearing. the first source for bees in the season. december, january.* "blooms in january and february if weather is not too cold, yields pollen and honey." (milam, d. c, uvalde, texas). spurge. euphorbia marginata pursh. spurge family. euphorbiaceae. "throughout the valleys of the pecos and rio grande." (coulter). along valleys and lowlands; honey yield of no importance. june, october.* sonora croton. croton sonorae torr. spurge family. euphorbiaceae. "on rocky bluffs of the upper llano." (coulter). hunter: open places in woodland bluffs; honey yield only light, but comes in dearth and good if rains; pollen. july, august.* croton capitatus michx. spurge family. euphorbiaceae. "from the pecos to southern and central texas." (coulter). roadsides and prairies; unimportant; some pollen when no other bloom. july, september.* "plenty of pollen at college station in august, ." (e. scholl). texas croton. croton texensis muell. spurge family. euphorbiaceae. "from the staked plains to corpus christi." (coulter). hunter: roadsides and fields; honey yield very light, not important. june, august.* one-seeded croton. croton monanthogynus michx. spurge family. euphorbiaceae. "central and southern texas." (coulter). hunter: open prairies and pastures; honey yield fair, but unimportant. may, june. castor-oil plant. ricinus communis l. spurge family. euphorbiaceae. "cultivated extensively for ornament and sparingly escaped in missouri and southwestward to central mexico." (coulter). planted for ornamental purposes; honey yield good in favorable seasons; pollen; has glands at base of leaves. march, april.* american or white elm. ulmus americana l. nettle family. urticaceae. "extending westward to the streams of southern and central texas." (coulter). college: along moist creeks and streams; honey yield good but not very plentiful. august.* winged elm or wahoo. ulmus alata michx. nettle family. urticaceae. "on streams extending to the valley of the trinity." (coulter). tree with corky winged branches, along streams and low soils in woods; honey yield good sometimes giving surplus; much pollen; honey of amber color and strong characteristic aroma. august, september.* granjeno. celtis pallida torr. nettle family. urticaceae. "very common on all mesas and foot-hills of western and southern texas." (coulter). beekeepers value it as an important plant in southwest texas. march, april.* hackberry. celtis mississippiensis bosc. nettle family. urticaceae. "extending to central texas." (coulter). in woodlands; much planted for shade; honey yield fair, valuable for pollen in the spring. march, april.* hackberry. celtis occidentalis l. nettle family. urticaceae. "very common in the valleys of western and southwestern texas, 'palo blanco'" (coulter). in woods and valleys, planted for shade; honey yield fair, much pollen, valuable for early brood rearing. march, april.* osage orange. toxylon pomiferum raf. nettle family. urticaceae. "near waters from eastern to central and southern texas. extensively used for hedges." (coulter). planted for hedges and timber; honey yield not important on account of scarcity of trees. april.* pecan-nut. hicoria pecan (marsh) britt. walnut family. juglandeae. "extending from the mississippi states to the streams of central and southwestern texas as far west as fort concho." (coulter). along rivers and creeks; honey yield where plentiful; valuable for brood rearing on account of its pollen. march.* mockernut. whiteheart hickory. hicoria alba (l) britt. walnut family. juglandeae. "extending to the valley of the brazos." (coulter). college station, brazos river. abundant in the sandy valley land; some honey and pollen. march.* black walnut. juglans nigra l. walnut family. juglandeae. "extending from the east to the valley of the colorado and san antonio." (coulter). in forests, along creeks and rivers; some honey, more pollen; good to stimulate bees. march.* post oak. quercus minor (marsh) sarg. oak family. cupuliferae. "sandy or sterile soils, extending from the atlantic states to central texas." (coulter). in sandy land sections of the country; honey yield inferior but with large amount of pollen; good for early brood rearing. march, april.* live oak. quercus virginiana mill. oak family. cupuliferae. "common along water courses extending from the gulf states through southern and western texas to the mountains of new mexico." (coulter). hunter: in forests, honey yield good, poor in quality, dark; valuable for early brood rearing; much pollen. march.* red oak. quercus rubra l. oak family. cupuliferae. "extending to the valleys of the colorado and san antonio. not abundant and timber poor." (coulter). along creeks and low-lands; scarce; pollen. march, april.* swamp, spanish, or pin oak. quercus palustris du roi. oak family. cupuliferae. "low grounds extending to the valley of the colorado." (coulter). forests; good honey yield and also pollen; valuable for brood rearing, march, april.* water oak. quercus aquatica walt. oak family. cupuliferae. "wet grounds extending from the south atlantic states to the valley of the colorado." (coulter). college: along creeks and streams; scarce and scattering; pollen. march.* black jack or barren oak. quercus nigra l. oak family. cupuliferae. "extending to the valleys of the colorado and nueces." (coulter). in post oak woods in sandy sections of the country; early pollen. march, april.* black willow. salix nigra marsh. willow family. salicineae. "on banks bending over the water of most streams of western texas." (coulter). along rivers and creeks; honey yield good and valuable for brood rearing, and for abundance of pollen. february to april.* cottonwood. necklace poplar. populus monilifera ait. willow family. salicineae. "extending into the mountains of western texas." (coulter). lowlands and along streams; some honey but more pollen; valuable for early brood rearing. march.* green briar. cat briar. smilax bona-nox l. lily family. liliaceae. "abundant along the rio grande and pecos." (coulter). "in thickets massachusetts to florida and texas. stretch berry." (small). in thickets; honey yield fair; bees work on it well, but of short duration. april.* asparagus. asparagus officinalis linn. lily family. liliaceae. "in waste places and salt marshes. new brunswick to georgia and louisiana. naturalized from europe." (small). cultivated for its young shoots for food; honey yield of no importance, but good for pollen. march, april.* virginian spiderwort. commelina virginica l. spiderwort family. commelinaceae. "moist thickets and borders of rivers southern and southwestern texas." (coulter). hunter: moist fence corners and open woods; honey yield unimportant, valuable for pollen. april, may.* spiderwort. tradescantia gigantea rose. spiderwort family. commelinaceae. "on plains or prairies, texas." (small). new braunfels; in and about hedges of woodlands; honey yield unimportant but good for early pollen. march, may.* sorghum. sorghum vulgare pers. grass family. gramineae. hunter: cultivated for hay crops, etc., valuable for abundant yield of pollen; some honey. june, august.* indian corn. zea mays l. grass family. gramineae. "cultivated in fields for grain; honey yield not positively known; valuable for its pollen in abundance. may, june.* index latin or technical names. acacia amentacea acacia berlandiera acacia farnesiana acacia greggii acacia roemeriana ailanthus glandulosus amaranthaceae amaranthus retroflexus amaranthus spinosus ambrosia aptera ambrosia artemisiaefolia ambrosia trifida ampelidaceae amygdalus persica anacardiaceae anredera scandens argemone platyceras asclepiadeae asclepias sp asparagus officinalis astragalus mexicanus berberideae berberis trifoliata bignoniaceae berchemia scandens borage officinalis boragineae brassica nigra brassica rapa bumelia angustifolia callicarpa americana callirrhoe digitata cactaceae campsis radicans caprifoliaceae cardiospermum halicacabum celtis pallida celtis occidentalis celtis mississippiensis centaurea americana cephalanthus occidentalis cercis canadensis cercis occidentalis chenopodiaceae cissus incisa citrullus citrullus citrus trifoliata cnicus altissimus coleus blumei columbrina texensis commelinaceae commelina virginica compositae condalia obovata convolvulaceae cornaceae cornus asperifolia crataegus arborescens crataegus spathulata croton capitatus croton monanthogynus croton sonorae croton texensis cruciferae cucumis melo cucumis sativa cucurbitaceae cucurbita foetidissima cucurbita pepo cupuliferae daubentonia longifolia diodia teres diospyros texana diospyros virginiana dolichos lablab ebenaceae elaeagnaceae elaeagnus angustifolia elaeagnus argentia euphorbiaceae euphorbia marginata eysenhardtia amorphoides firmiana platinifolia fagopyrum fagopyrum gaillardia pulchella gaura filiformis geraniaceae gleditschia triacanthos gossypium herbaceum gramineae greggia camporum gutierrezia texana helenium tenuifolium helianthus annuus hibiscus syriacus hicoria alba hicoria pecan houstonia angustifolia hydrophyllaceae ilex caroliniana ilex decidua ilicineae ipomoea caroliniana juglandeae juglans nigra jussiaea diffusa jussiaea repens kallstroemia maxima labiatae lagerstroemia indica lantana camara leguminosae lepidium virginicum ligustrum vulgare liliaceae lippia ligustrina lippia nodiflora lonicera albiflora lonicera fragrantissima loranthaceae lupinus subcarnosus lythraceae malus malus malvaceae malvaviscus drummondii marrubium vulgare medicago denticulata medicago sativa meliaceae melia azedarach melilotus alba melilotus officinalis monarda clinopodioides monarda fistulosa monarda punctata nepeta cataria neptunia lutea oleaceae onagrarieae opuntia englemannii oxalis stricta papaveraceae papaver rhoeas parkinsonia aculeata parthenium hysterophorus phacelia congesta phacelia glabra phoradendron flavescens pisum sativum polygonaceae populus monilifera portulaceae portulaca grandiflora prosopis juliflora prunus (sp.) prunus domestica ptelea trifoliata pyrus communis quercus aquatica quercus minor quercus nigra quercus palustris quercus rubra quercus virginiana reseda odorata resedaceae rhamneae rhus copallina rhus virens ricinus communis robinia pseudacacia rosa rosaceae rudbeckia bicolor rudbeckia hirta rubiaceae rubus trivialis rutaceae salicineae salix nigra salvia azurea salvia roemeriana sambucus canadensis sapindaceae sapindus marginatus sapotaceae schrankia angustata scutellaria drummondii sida spinosa sida angustifolia simarubaceae smilax bona-nox solanaceae solanum rostratum solidago sp. (?) sorghum vulgare spiraea virginiana symphoricarpos symphorlcarpos tagetes patalus tamariscineae tamarix gallica taraxacum officinale tilia americana tiliaceae toxylon pomiferum tradescantia gigantea tribulus cistoides trifolium pratense trifolium repens ulmus americana ulmus alata ungnadia speciosa urticaceae verbenaceae verbena urticaefolia verbena xutha verbesina virginica vigna sinensis (var. ?) vigna (sp). virburnum prunifolium vitis monticola vitis (?) (varieties) xanthium canadense xanthoxylum clava-herculis zea mays zygophylleae index vernacular or common names. alfalfa or lucerne amaranth family american knapweed american mistletoe american or white elm apple appodilla family asparagus barberry family basswood. american linden bean-caper family bigonia family black haw black jack or barren oak black locust black walnut black willow blue lupine. bluebonnet blue sage blue thistle blue vervain borage borage family brasil wood bridal wreath broomweed buckthorn family buckwheat family bush honeysuckle button bush button weed cactus family california privet cassia castor-oil plant catnip catsclaw cockle-burr. clot-burr coleus common balloon vine common cactus or prickly pear common hoarhound common pigweed common pumpkin common sunflower common turnip composite family cone flower. nigger head convolvulus family coral berry. indian currant cotton cottonwood. necklace poplar cow itch crepe myrtle cucumber cultivated wine grapes cow pea dandelion dense-flowered phacelia devils claws dew-berry dogwood family drummond's skull-cap dwarf sumach ebony family elder evening primrose family eysenhardtia french mulberry fringed poppy mallow garden pea geranium family goldenrod goosefoot family gourd family grass family granjeno greater caltrop great ragweed green briar. cat briar green sumach greggia hardy orange hackberry hawthorn. white thorn holly family honey locust honey suckle family hop tree horse-mint houstonia huajilla huisache indian corn japanese buckwheat japanese delchos japanese varnish tree jussiaea lantana large-flowered caltrop large-flowered verbena lily family linden family live oak loose strife family madder family madeira vine mallow family marigold medick. burr clover melia family mezquit tree. screw bean mexican buckeye mexican ground plum mexican persimmon mignonette mignonette family milk weed family mint family mistletoe family mockernut. whiteheart hickory morning glory mountain grape musk melon mustard family narrow-leafed iron wood narrow-leafed sida nettle family night-shade night-shade family oak family oleaster family olive family one-seeded croton osage orange paradise flower peach pear pecan-nut persimmon (common) peppergrass. pepperwort plum poppy family portulaca possum haw. bear berry post oak prickly poppy pulse family purslane family quassia family rattan vine red bud red bud. judas tree red clover red oak retama roemer's sage roman wormwood rose rose family rose of sharon. shrubby althaea round-flowered catsclaw rue family salt cedar sensitive briar silk weed silver berry sneeze weed. bitter weed soapberry. wild china soapberry family sonora croton sorgum spanish apple spatulate-leafed fog-fruit spiderwort family spring sida spurge spurge family sumach family swamp, spanish, or pin oak sweet clover sweet olive tall ragweed tamarisc family texas croton thorny amaranth tooth-ache tree. prickly ash. sea ash. pepperwood tree of heaven triple-leafed barberry trumpet creeper. trumpet flower umbrella china tree vervain family vine family virginian crown-beard virginian spiderwort walnut family water-leaf family watermelon water oak white brush white clover white-flowered honey suckle willow family wild bergamont wild gourd wild plum winged elm or wahoo yellow wood sorrel yellow sweet clover youpon ---------------------------------------------------------------------- [transcriber's note: electronic version produced by frank zago - april nd, . notes about this edition: only the obvious typos were fixed; and several missing opening or closing quotes were added. otherwise no other change was made. the original book used is freely available from texas a&m university at: http://repository.tamu.edu/handle/ . / ] five years in texas; or, what you did not hear during the war from january to january . a narrative of his travels, experiences, and observations, in texas and mexico. by thomas north. cincinnati: elm street printing co., & elm street. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by thomas north, in the office of the librarian of congress. preface. to conceive the idea, and execute the purpose of making a book, is, to a modest man, not a little monstrous; and yet, modest or immodest, monstrous or not, the author makes his best bow to the reader, and holds himself subject to criticism for not making it better. but many are running to and fro in the earth, and knowledge is being increased; for the runners, are they not making books for the million? and having run somewhat with the runners ourself, we might as well tell our story of travel too. the story is not of sailing round the world with captain cook, or any other sea king. nor is it one of orient--of oriental climes or times, or of its discords or chimes, but it is one that pertains to stirring events, in stirring times, in the most stirring of all stirring climes--america, our own sweet land of liberty. the author, in justice to himself, will state that in preparing this book for publication, he has been sore pressed for time to bring it out with that degree of merit, literary and otherwise, that he would have it possess. the eulogium on hon. martin p. sweet, which we offer as our prelude, is at once an act of friendship and pleasure, as well as of justice, to one of such brilliant mental endowments and genial qualities of heart, and we believe our readers will so regard it. besides, while some may not fully appreciate the relevancy of the eulogy to the residue of the book, yet, for himself, the author sees and feels a species of mystical connection between mr. s. and himself in all his travels and experiences in texas and mexico. and so much the more because of his earnest prophetic endeavor to dissuade him from going there. with this brief preface, we submit this volume to the public eye, hoping to please and interest, promising that we will do better next time, if we ever publish another book. contents. page. chapter i. hon. martin p. sweet--interview with and eulogium - chapter ii. trip to galveston--memphis gentleman - chapter iii. social types--henry clay--general polk - chapter iv. voyage down the mississippi--poem on "varieties' theater." - chapter v. new orleans--description of--ocean view of galveston--the island, how formed--commercial importance of, etc. - chapter vi. effect of climate on tastes, appetites and temper--the enraged clergyman--"renegade americans"--morals and religion--reign of terror--the robbery - chapter vii. texas oath of office--"code of honor"--dueling spirit--judge lynch and horse thieves--the doctor of divinity--conscript law--"like people, like priest" - chapter viii. the doctor's prize ring illustration--the wealthy planteress--the doctor's dueling card--colloquy with the planteress--the doctor and the judge--he challenges the latter--shooting on sight--masonic reconciliation - chapter ix. babel of tongues--sam houston--he comes to galveston to make a speech--a committee wait on him--he makes a speech--his appearance on the balcony of tremont hotel - chapter x. houston's speech--col. moore's regiment--general houston's review of it--williamson s. oldham and judge campbell - chapter xi. arguments on secession in outline - chapter xii. texas never invaded--feeling of the people--galveston retaken--general sherman and lt. sherman--solemn scene between them--general magruder and general hebert - chapter xiii. the federal fleet--"nicaragua smith." - chapter xiv. the captured letter--mrs. e.'s exile--her companions--lewis and emma--lieutenant h. - chapter xv. lawlessness and crime--doctor o. and the overseer--doctor f. assassinated--capt. carr and mr. smythe - chapter xvi. the two days' meeting--power of prejudice--the feast at our house--brigadier general m. and staff - chapter xvii. the conscript law--how the writer beat it, and how at last it beat him--trip to mexico--matamoras--general mejia--the situation--rev. dr. l. and the writer--petitioning maximilian--preaching in varieties' theater - chapter xviii. more about texas--plot against the writer's life--pretext for the attack--prompt action of deputy sheriff hardin--fear of secret assassination--advised to leave the place--went to san antonio--thence to mexico--lost in the wilds of western texas--how we got out--the two mexican rancheros--gen. f. j. h.--extradition of don manuel g. rejon--cortinas--the writer's family flooded out in san antonio--they come to him in matamoras - chapter xix. lee's surrender--effect on texas soldiers--trip to new orleans--family ship north--writer's return to texas--he visits brenham, austin, san antonio and new braunfels--rev. josiah whipple--the old woman in austin what wouldn't hear the blue coat preach - chapter xx. governor hamilton--the thirty neros--the old german and his wife--fight with indians--a native texan's opinion of germans - chapter xxi. texas--topography, climate and products of - old letters.--poem. canto i. - canto ii. - canto iii. - five years in texas. chapter i. hon. martin p. sweet--interview with, and eulogium. in the month of november, , shortly after the election of abraham lincoln to the presidency of the united states, hon. martin p. sweet came into the circuit clerk's office of stephenson county, illinois, where the writer was acting as deputy to the regular clerk--mr. l. w. guiteau--and addressing himself to us, said: "mr. n., are you busy?" "not very," we replied. "if you can spare the time i would be glad of an interview with you at my office." laying aside the pen we went with him, and after being seated together in his private room adjoining the main office, he remarked: "mr. n., i understand you are thinking of going to texas." "i am not only _thinking_ of it, mr. s., but the purpose is already fixed to go." "i regret to hear it," he said. "why so, mr. s.?" for a few moments he was silent, his eye scanning the figures of the beautiful carpet upon the floor; then calmly raising his face and fixing his full eyes, that looked nigh unto bursting, upon us--such was their intense earnestness, indicating the struggle of soul within, the play of emotions, honest and transparent; and holding the gaze upon us, while as yet no word from his eloquent lips had broken or changed the potent spell thereof--suddenly those eyes suffused with tears incontinent, the requisite power of speech had come, and he replied fervently: "you ask why i regret to hear it; i will tell you why. we are friends, and have been friends for many a long year, and that, too, on terms of more than ordinary meaning, and sacred beyond the degrees of worldly friendship. the tie that hath bound us, you know, has been that of a deep and ardent christian faith, which, though seeming to part asunder at times under the severe strain of mutual fault and criticism, producing the while outward non-affiliation, yet the substratum of unity is there, and its brotherly elasticity is too great to be snapped in twain. and however far apart the forces of the world may swing us, on the pendulum of time, still the return movement is certain and sure." thus spake a friend. and then, laying his hand upon his heart, he proceeded to say: "mr. n., i have loved you"--and pressing his heart said--"i have loved you _here_. it was years agone we learned to love each other as brother-friends, in earnest truth. you are still in my heart, and i believe i am in yours. you know my motto--'once in grace, always in grace'--once in friendship, always in friendship--once in love, always in love. we would not change it if we could, and could not if we would. i have never turned you out of my heart, never can, and never shall. my heart knows and bows to no destroying vicissitudes. our friendship has no mere worldly cast, breathing the common atmosphere of self-interest, and putting on the offensive airs of self-righteousness; nay, it endures while witnessing the death-struggles of all such moral and social littleness in ourselves and in others. "and now," continued he, "from these considerations, permit me to state further why i regret your contemplated move. my regard for the personal welfare of yourself and yours is too warm and deep, not to regret seeing you float to the southern extreme of american society at the present juncture of our national affairs. "the loud blast of secession is already heard in the south, and i am impressed that the southern sisterhood of states will unite in a desperate effort to dissolve this union and destroy the general government. and that no renewal of compromise effort can save the tremendous shock of war, between the north and south, that portends in the political heavens. and i now feel bound to say to you, though in confidence, what for wise political reasons i have not dared to utter to any political friend, that i _more_ than _fear_--_i believe_--this government is going to ruin! presaging wrath is borne on every breeze, and tells of the coming woe! "to me, this is no chimera of an overwrought imagination, but the serious, sober tone of destiny that comes thundering along the pathway of nations, and having shattered many nations, and buried them in the dust of the sepulchral past, no better fate may await ours. god save us! if that be possible; but it seems otherwise to me. "and, friend n., if the half of my forebodings shall prove historic verity not far in the future, which side the division line do you wish to be found? to ask the question, i know is to answer it. you and i both hail from adjoining counties in the old empire state as our fatherland, and are now citizens of the empire state of the great northwest. the one gave us birth, and nursed us to the years of early manhood. the other is our adopted state, where we have reached the strength and vigor of intellectual manhood. there we knew and enjoyed the blessings of freedom--freedom of opinion and of speech. here the same, and not one degree north or south of the same latitude." here our brilliant friend drew a picture of suffering, in prospect for ourself and family, so vivid as to rival st. paul's descriptive list of his own sufferings, by land and by sea, among false brethren, among greeks and barbarians, in bonds and imprisonment, which awaited him in his journeyings from city to city. in that description the writer saw himself served with a notice from the "ticket of leave man," to quit the country in a given number of days, or hours, and in default thereof to abide the consequences--such as a free passage at sea, bound to a plank, or headed up in a barrel, companion and food for friendly sharks, or other monsters of the dark blue deep; or left, by the mob infuriate, "looking up a black jack," as the chilling parlance of the country expresses it. and he saw the secret assassins in the forest nightshade, or in some dark and unfrequented nook, plotting against his life--saw the dagger gleaming in the dark, heard the death-dealing cartridge chambered in the revolver or derringer, the trial click of the hammer, and the adjustment of the cap. and then saw them emerge from their dark hiding place, and take position near the pathway of the unsuspecting passer-by, to shoot or strike him down, just when he thinks no danger nigh. but failing here, because their victim reaches home by a course not in their plans, he saw the human bloodhounds lurking and skulking about his house, at the midnight hour, seeking quiet entrance to his chamber of rest. they enter, and there find the doomed one at rest with the loved ones, in the unconscious bliss of sleep, while the moonlight shimmers from the light breeze-waving trees, through the open lattice, in fantastic shapes of light and shade, upon the chamber wall, just o'er their pillowed heads, so soft and so silvery. the steel is in the assassin's uplifted hand. witnessing angels are moved at the fearful sight, and cry out--"stay thy hand! and hurt not the man!" but lo, 'tis not the hand of an abraham that holds the deadly knife on high, but of the cruel assassin, whose soul communes not with angels of good, but is in league with angels of evil, who in cooler mood might relent the fiendish order to strike--if that were possible with evil demons--but being now at the mighty on-rush, like lightning the fatal blow descends; the warm blood flows, a life ebbs away, and the cowardly wretches retreat under cover of night, followed by the wails of the widowed wife and her helpless children, bereft in a moment of husband and father! thus did mr. s. picture things on the southern sky, in vividness of eloquent speech, which the writer rarely ever heard equaled--not more than half a dozen times in his life, at most. his soul caught the true image, and his language made it seem to one present and real. as compared with other men he excelled in most of the qualities that constitute a successful public speaker, or private conversationalist. but comparing him with himself, it is difficult to determine in which he was the more excellent. his nature was spontaneous to an exceeding degree in every capacity and relation of life. the absorbing and evolving power of his intuitions was so remarkable that a book, heavy or light in tone of thought, was mastered by him as a mere breakfast spell. memory was ever a faithful sentinel at his mental door, and every fresh thought passing its threshold was imprisoned there for life. in the more rigid sense of the schools he was never, perhaps, a systematic student; which might be urged by some as a fault, and the conclusion is logical on general principles. but he was a student, nevertheless, after nature's own style. he was nature's own genius, and could not be confined to the plots and plans of books--not even the books of the law. his soul was too thirsty to be slaked with legal waters. it looked up to the mountains for irrigation from the gospel waters of the spirit. once on a time a young chip of the law challenged him on his inattention to the books, to whom he replied: "there are two classes of lawyers: those who make the books, or furnish the material for them, and are lawyers without them, and those who study the books to be lawyers at all." as a jury advocate, as a platform speaker, as a popular orator on political and other occasions, it is conceded by those who knew him best, professionally and otherwise, that he never had his superior, and few if any equals in the whole northwest. nature had endowed him with a voice of surpassing compass and richness for oratorical purposes, and had breathed into his great soul a spontaneity of warm impulse and thought, to back and animate it, so that, whether he spoke in tenor or baritone, or deep basso, one always heard a soul-voice from the speaker. his whole character, from top to bottom, was stratified with moral simplicity and a broad catholicity of temperament, which, under the guidance of his comprehensive intellect, brought him into rapport with truth wherever found. he thought, and felt, and spoke, in veins of enthusiasm, and hence was rather impatient of conservative restraint. he always entered his appearance against injustice and wrong, in radical pioneer style, with a directness of purpose that would see the beginning of the end at once. he never impressed one with the idea, in his public efforts before courts, or juries, or popular audiences, that he sought to produce sensational effects; nay, he was always too full of his subject for that--so full that some, in envy, or jealousy, or ignorance, might write him down a wild enthusiast, and at times a fanatic, because he believed the lions in the way, where most men feared to travel, could be slain and put aside; but we shall not so write him, for we know him better, and have a better chart of his character. from long personal intimacy with him we understand with what generous prodigality nature lavished upon him powers _sui generis_, and beyond those of most men, and above appreciation by the green-eyed few. if he were not perfect, as the religious legalist counts perfection, and had any marked faults, as all great men are said to have, the intelligent reader will not fail to appreciate the point when we say that peculiar faults, either secret or overt, seem quite inseparable from the characters of geniuses; and more, these very faults serve as foils of contrast to set off to greater advantage and glory their superior excellences, while teaching us not to fall down and worship them as gods, for they are but men in common with other men. mr. s. stood aloof the major portion of his life from the technical distinctions and peculiar customs of the religious sects, and the more strenuous and imposing they were the less real fellowship from him. he thought he saw in the tone of creeds, old or new, as managed by human fallibility, the old "yoke of bondage"--the imposition of tyranny--the reproduction of the old spirit of judaism, in a display of "the commandments of men." and yet, in default of the grander development of the coming kingdom--the one organic headship of christ, and the one all-pervading, and all-comprehending unity, under that headship--he recognized the preliminary usefulness of the sects, in keeping mankind beating the bush for religious truth, and making endeavors toward pure living. hence his motto was: "the seed of the true church is scattered among all the sects, and will be gathered into one in the fullness of time." from this standpoint he could never regard the distinctive features or claims of any existing sect as paramount to those of another, or as promising to transcend all others, absorbing them into a visible, vital oneness, in the final outcome of the conflict between modern sects. but believing, as a matter of the deepest faith with him, and the most unquestionably certain teaching of christ, and what appeared to most people utopian, that the true church on earth was intended by its divine founder to be like its counterpart in heaven--a vital, visible, organic unity--he could not, at any time in his life, long yield himself to sectarian embraces. here is the true explanation of the _ins_ and _outs_ that he practiced in this direction. when he went _in_ he was esteemed just converted. when he went _out_, backslidden and lost--so reckoned the sectarian treadmill brother in his case, who failed to penetrate below the surface of his character, and did not see him _as_ he was, and _where_ he was. the truth is, the writer never knew a man in whose subjective life the religious element was more potential. it was a profound inspiration, and the mainspring of his whole life-movements. and even when some of those movements became irregular and tangled from fractures or weakness in subordinate machinery, the mainspring was there, performing its functions, and kept him in motion. in every speech he ever made, at the bar, on the stump, or elsewhere, this inspiration was in his soul, came up to his lips, and gave them their greatest power. the most elegant and moving strains of eloquence he ever uttered came from this wellspring of the divine within him. it breathed in every breath, it toned every word, it warmed every impulse, it was the muse of every sentiment, it was the "fourfold chord" of his friendship; it was the tidal wave of his soul, hurling the shore rocks of biting sarcasm and scathing invective against evil and wrong. at such times his very lips seemed formed by nature for this kind of work, and woe betide the luckless man against whom he employed them. this divine passion gave him "cloven tongues of fire," and made him on occasion a pentecost of eloquence. congress was the ambition and disappointed hope of his life. so with webster, clay, and calhoun, in regard to the presidency of the united states. they were said to be too great for the position, which, of course, was intended as a high political compliment, meritoriously given to offset their disappointment. the compliment belongs with equal propriety to the subject of our sketch in his life-long aspirations for congressional honors. with his peculiar talents he doubtless would have shone more in the popular branch of the national legislature than in the senate. he was, by nature and education, the people's representative. but as a politician, in his own interest and for his own ends, he was a failure. there were plenty of men, with half his talent, that could and did beat him to death at the wheel of political fortune. yet he was a king among his peers, though never crowned, but a king "for a' that." he was the whig candidate for congress in ; and to show his popularity, though a whig, and his party, on a strict party vote, in the minority by several hundred votes in the congressional district, yet he swept it, and entered nauvoo with a majority of between four and five hundred votes. but there the vote was solid against him. joe smith had a revelation the day before that the mormons must vote for the democratic candidate. and so he was beaten by the mormons, who belonged to no party, but were up for bargain and for sale. mr. s. would not soil his honor by making a bid for their vote. he was candidate again, in , against the hon. thompson campbell. again he carried the district, entering jo daviess, his competitor's own county, with a majority of between three and four hundred votes. but the local feeling there for the home candidate overcame the majority, and defeated him again. when it is remembered what partisan odds he had to overcome in these two contests, amounting to a diversion of a thousand or more democratic votes, and would have been triumphantly elected in the one case but for the treachery of the mormons, and in the next but for the local feeling in his competitor's home county, preferring a home candidate, with the wholesale bid of campbell for the abolition vote in certain localities, touching the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia; we say, taking these things into the account, they exhibit the immense power and popularity of mr. s. was he too honest for a politician? aye, that was it. he reposed too much confidence in the professions of political friends. they took advantage of confidences ingenuously imparted, and slew him at the gate of triumphal entry. and some did it who had eaten bread from his professional hands. such is life in this world of strife. once when the election returns revealed their perfidious betrayal of him he cried out with a voice that could be heard from far: "three cheers for judas iscariot! hurrah! hurrah!! hurrah!!!" he was a life-long whig and republican, and did much heavy work for his party, but official recompense never came--a marked example of the proverbial ingratitude of political parties. others entered into his labors and took his reward. after months of severe suffering with malignant erysipelas, he paid the debt that all must pay, which balanced the books for this world, except that the balance sheet, if left unstruck by the hand and seal of the death-king, would show him a heavy creditor of his country. he died during the december term of the stephenson county circuit court, a. d. , his honor, benj. r. sheldon, presiding. the hon. thos. j. turner, a contemporary of the deceased at the bar, arose in court and said: "it is difficult for me to find words to express what we all feel on this solemn occasion. hon. martin p. sweet is dead. we shall not again hear from his lips the burning eloquence that in times past has thrilled the court and the bar, as he held up to view the enormities of crimes which he had been called upon to prosecute; or the melting pathos with which he captivated the sympathies of jury and people, while defending those he regarded innocent. few men ever possessed that magnetic power which chains an audience in a greater degree than did our departed friend. "it is not alone at the bar that he has left his impress as a leading mind. in the arena of politics, and in the sacred desk, he was alike conspicuous. logical in argument, terrible in invective, and quick in repartee, he carried the judgments of the jury or an audience. or failing here his quick sympathies and deep pathos led them along against the convictions of judgment. such was martin p. sweet as an orator and advocate. a self-made man, he surmounted difficulties which would discourage and defeat others, and reached a position at the bar second to none, and established a reputation as an orator of which any man among us might well feel proud. "but it is not as a public or professional man alone that we mourn him to-day. mr. sweet immigrated to winnebago county, in this state, in the year , where, with his own hands and the help of his wife, he erected a comfortable log-house, and there entered upon that chimerical course of life which, at some time or other, in the life of almost every lawyer has held out the promise of ease, self-culture and intellectual enjoyment--the life of a farmer. but he soon found that the fields would not yield a harvest without incessant toil, and that calves and pigs did not spring indigenous from the soil. and in he left his farm and removed to freeport, where he remained, with the exception of two or three years he was in the ministry, until his death. "on opening an office in freeport he soon secured a remunerative practice, and took a first rank at the bar throughout the circuit. his services were sought after wherever important cases were to be tried, or legal ability was required. among the traits of character that endeared mr. sweet to the members of the profession were his urbane manners, his nice sense of professional honor, and his kind and courteous bearing toward those who were opposed to him. in these respects he has done much to elevate the standard of professional ethics. "in private life he was generous and urbane, and had many friends, with few if any enemies. in his death the bar has lost one of its brightest ornaments, the city a good citizen and zealous friend, and the county and state an able defender of their rights. for all these we mourn him. there is still another circle that mourns him with a deeper grief--the charmed circle of home. the sorrow which reigns there is too sacred to be spoken of in this place. with closed eyes and silent lips, all that was mortal of our friend sleeps just where he desired his last sleep should be, beneath the green sods of this beautiful prairie land, which in life he loved so well; while his spirit, we trust, has entered upon higher and holier joys, and more sublime pursuits than this earth affords. "let us, my brethren of the bar, while our eyes are suffused with tears, and our hearts bowed with sorrow over his grave, resolve to emulate his virtues, to follow his example, and avoid and forget his faults--if he had any--so that when our work on earth is done, and when our names maybe mentioned, as the name of our departed friend is mentioned to-day, with bated breath and choked utterance, it may be said of us: 'our work is finished, it is well done.'" in response to mr. turner's eulogy the judge said, in substance, that "during the sixteen years he had been on the circuit bench he had known mr. sweet as a member of the bar, and as an effective speaker and legal orator he had no superior, and at times he was the leading genius, outstripping all others in his judicial circuit. that it was probable we should never look upon or hear his like again. the thrilling tones of that voice, so powerful, so charming and so eloquent, have died away forever to the natural ear, but still we hear the echoes in the chambers of the soul. and hereafter, when we think of mr. sweet, it will be in connection with some great effort we have heard him make in by-gone years, and the sensations we felt then will again rush over the soul. thus will he speak back to us from the world of the departed. and to-day, while sitting here on this accustomed bench, i seem to hear his utterances over again, as we all do, but they are more solemn and impressive because now they have the momentum of eternity added to that of time. may we emulate his virtues and be prepared when our change comes." during the delivery of the eulogy the judge appeared more deeply moved than he had ever been known to be before, on any occasion, and the members of the bar fully sympathized. it was a rare occasion for the play of solemn emotions, and for a grand uprising of the soul toward god. we offer no apology to the reader for prefacing our book with the foregoing eulogistic sketch of our departed friend, and it is presumed none is necessary. we are certain of it with the friends of mr. sweet, who knew him best. and if he had enemies that last till now, political or otherwise, to such we make our bow in passing, and say, _requiescat in pace!_ this outline sketch, containing something of an analysis of the character and gifts of mr. s., though too brief to be called a biography, is extended beyond the limits of our original purpose, but while justified in our own feelings and desires in the matter, we doubt not the glad approval of the reader will be given also; and particularly of the profession to which he belonged, and in which he was a star of the first magnitude. but aside from a desire to render this tribute of respect to the fragrant memory of departed worth and genius, the writer, with modest pretension, would wrest his name from further silence of the pen and press, and rob oblivion of a name too bright, and too dear to friends and relatives to be lost from the public eye and ear. now the reader may well conclude that the eloquent pleadings of such a friend were quite sufficient to deter one in the unpropitious situation of our country, during the winter of - , from making the rash move--"out of the world into texas." the writer can never forget that earnest private interview, in the little side office, when mr. s. employed his powers of logic and description to maintain the assertion that the "irrepressible conflict" was about to reach the shocking crisis of civil war between the north and south. a decade of years has since passed, bearing him away, but his predictions have become historic verity. the conflict culminated in the _ne plus ultra_ of human rage, in which the two greatest evils of all time met and struggled for the mastery--war and slavery. and because war was the greater slavery was wiped out in a baptism of blood! and in that baptism the grim-visaged evil plucked and sacrificed five or six hundred thousand home lilies from the "sunny south" and from the mountains and valleys of the north! chapter ii. the trip to galveston. on the th day of january, , we left freeport, illinois, with our family, for galveston, texas; making that port on the gulf of mexico the d of the same month, eleven days on the passage. galveston lies in north latitude, twenty-nine degrees, while freeport is nearly forty-three degrees north, making about fourteen degrees difference, or one thousand miles. the distance traveled by us was about eighteen hundred miles. just before leaving freeport the thermometer had registered thirty degrees below zero. in galveston it was as much above zero. a stiff norther' was blowing the day we landed, and while it was pleasant to us, just from a high northern clime, we observed that the galvestonians, as they were passing on the streets, had overcoats on, and were muffled to the ears, hurrying to their business places and homes with the same shivering rapidity that would characterize people in a climate where the cold ranged twenty to thirty degrees below zero, and a stiff wester' or nor'wester' were beating cold music out of the icy keys of the weather. we took the illinois central railroad to cairo, thence the fine steamer "champion," captain moore. she was afterward transferred to the war service of the united states. we landed at new orleans on the st of the month, which was the day before the vote on secession was to be taken in the state of louisiana. when time is not an important consideration with the traveler, we know of no more delightful voyage than by a first-class steamboat down the "father of waters" to the crescent city--a palace on the waters, in a delicious climate, through a magnificent country in the "sunny south," sweeping from thirty-seven to thirty degrees north latitude, but ten hundred and forty miles by the meandering river. but the times lent an increased and somewhat fearful enchantment to the novel voyage, in january, . standing as we did, for the first time in our life, on the ohio levee at cairo, and still on free soil, though in sight of slave territory, just across the river in old kentucky, where the great henry clay lived, and whence radiated his greatness over the world, the steamer standing at her wharf with a capacity of two thousand tons, her state-rooms taken by southern-bound travelers, and having on board eighteen thousand bushels of corn from egypt, we confess, as we stood there, at the hour of seven in the morning, ready with our company to take passage, and be borne away from all our free-soil associations, imagination stood on strained wing for a thousand miles down the river, essaying to divine the possible events of the next few days, and of that novel trip. already before committing us and ours to the atmosphere and destiny of the southern clime, did the darkness of the future pass over us and compel imagination to fold her wings. and then again, faith in progress, faith in _christian_ america, faith in providence, struck that darkness from the sky, and bid us hope for peace. up to that time, with thousands of others, we had indulged the pleasing and prominent thought that christian civilization had progressed too far in this country to allow the people to plunge themselves into a fratricidal war. but events since have demonstrated to the contrary; and one is reminded that the reasons still exist that called forth the utterance from the son of god: "think not that i am come to send peace on earth: i came not to send peace, but a sword." the steamer left the wharf at cairo, steamed down the river and passed columbus, kentucky, and the islands in the river. they had no special histories then, such as stirred the whole country a few months later, not even island number ten, where commenced the first rebel blockade of the river. nothing of special interest transpired to mar the general pleasure of the voyage. sometimes one would hear the question of secession quietly mooted; but no excited or angry discussion. there was obviously a terrible thinking going on generally, with all on board; but the passengers seemed indisposed to become much acquainted. they would not converse unless they could do so on the subject uppermost in their thoughts. and all plainly saw, and deeply felt, what that subject was. but lips were sealed, they were in the bondage of the country, and the riveted fetters of silence were upon all. we remember a southern gentleman came on board at memphis. his personal appearance was imposing, his presence commanding, and would have been more so if he could have divested himself of that peculiarly haughty air that he wore as a sort of "martial cloak wrapped round him." he probably stood six feet and two to four inches in hight, had a military build, and looked as though he was born to command, at least, as if he wanted to command, and thought he was born for that purpose. and the probability is that he enjoyed the misfortune of having been born on a plantation, the "heir apparent" to five or six hundred negroes. we were sitting near his dignity, one evening, in the gentlemen's cabin, others were sitting around, conversation was at low tide, when we made some remark about secession, at which his majesty took umbrage, and he contradicted us with an emphatic "_no sir_." he then eyed us in momentary silence, as though canvassing the question mentally, whether we were not a live yankee, and spying abolitionist, from the land toward the "north star," coming down south to steal negroes, or incite them to insurrection. and though he did not give us the benefit in words of his cogitations on the subject, we thought words were needless to convey to the mind what he thought and how he felt. we knew nothing then of the existence of the organization known as the "s. s." or "sons of the south;" but probably it was then in operation, and for aught we know our name and personal description went down on the books of that secret organization. we were probably spotted about that time. no other collision happened between the memphis gentleman and ourself, as we avoided further contact with him, observing that he was so agonized with self-importance that we judged he would be happier without intercourse with us than with it; and, _vice versa_, we felt in the same way toward him. the nearest approach to sociability afterward between us was by a mutual exchange of leering glances of the eye. if the southern man hate it is with a perfect hatred, and his wrath is more easily provoked than that of the northern man. he speaks not to his enemy except with the fiery tongue of his revolver. the man of the north hates with a mental reservation, leaving room for reconciliation; but the man of the south is as hospitable and warm-hearted to a friend or guest as he is terrible in hate of an enemy. it was when we met his memphis majesty that we began to appreciate the power of sectional prejudices, based on sectional differences--differences in institutions, customs, habits, climate and ways of thinking. it is a fact, patent to the intelligent traveler, that the temper of a people partakes largely and inevitably of the isothermal character of the climate they live in. this is seen in the southern states; and the further south one penetrates the more conspicuous the fact. like the climate the temper of the people is hot, fiery, impetuous, and, on occasions, will burst out in volcanic eruption, submerging in utter ruin what has become obnoxious to its vengeful wrath. in the northern states the temper of the people is like the climate, temperate, platonic, philosophical; they take things patiently, steadily, perseveringly, certainly, and herein may be seen--bating other modifying conditions--the causal reason for the disparity of temper between the northern man and the southern. one is steady, persevering and more reliable; the other unsteady, more easily discouraged and less reliable; can not brook contradiction or opposition without _thoughts_, at least, of his six-shooter. not so with the northern man, he would prefer sitting down with his opponent and arguing the difference out to legitimate conclusions and a good understanding. right here is one of the main reasons why the south, in the late war, was overwhelmed with defeat in four years. the commissarial department of army supplies lacked energy, integrity, perseverance. the armies, by consequence, suffered terribly the last year and a half of the war from desertion. scores of thousands of men took leave of absence during that time--we will not stigmatize them deserters--went home and managed to keep out of the way of the ubiquitous conscript officer, or, by collusion with him, secured freedom from molestation by him. with naked feet and backs, and empty stomachs, they preferred to leave the field of active operations and let fat officers "fight it out on that line." thus the impetus with which the south inaugurated the war, though tremendous in maddened enthusiasm at first, soon became exhausted, and the grand on-rush was left by the suicidal policy, or want of policy, without resources, and in four years died out and succumbed to the superior powers of the north. the general drift of past history goes to show that north men have generally been victors in all wars with south men where the mutual conditions of the contending parties otherwise were anything like equal. the northern climes are sturdy and masculine, while the southern are enervating and effeminate. the people of these respective latitudes, as it were by an inevitable law of assimilation in nature, are conformed to them in physical and mental condition. without raising a question of the possible or impossible, but simply of the probable or improbable, as touching the adaptability of white labor to the south--for the white man _can_ do anything possible to be done by human agency at all, and if challenged _will_ do it for the sake of experiment, or pride, or some pet theory, if nothing more--and by white man we mean the anglo-saxon, headship of all the human species in physical symmetry and intellectual force--it will be sufficient to say that, "judging the future by the past," which is a safe general rule, making all due allowance for exceptional cases, it is not to be expected the anglo-saxon race will ever perform the common field labor of the southern states of this country, the gulf states in particular. an appeal to their history in past ages, and other countries, will show they never have done it in such extreme latitudes. the reasons appear to be those of constitution and providence, and are inseparably dual in form and action. the constitutional make-up of the anglo-saxon is such, so fine and sensitive, and so elastic withal, as displayed in his more native northern climes that he will probably ever obey, in the main, the isothermal conditions of nature and climate, which affect and influence his activity, _pro_ and _con._, and in and to which he was born. the temperate zone is unquestionably his center of gravity, and toward this his specific race will continue in the future, as in the past, to gravitate. if we go round the globe, neither in present nor past history will be found this race doing the common out-door labor in any countries lying between the equator and thirty-five degrees north latitude; and the supposition is reasonable that they never will in the ages to come; unless in course of time a radical climatic transformation should take place, driving the south pole thirty degrees over into asia, and bringing the north pole down thirty degrees nearer the equator. we would not advise movements or investments in anticipation of such an event. the reader will please mark that we do not say the white man _can not_ do it, but simply that he _has_ not, _does_ not, and hence probably _will_ not. not that the maximum heat of those latitudes is greater or more oppressive than of the more northern latitude, or as much so, where grateful winds come in and compensate, but the heated term instead of closing at the end of one, two, or four weeks, at the most, as in the north, continues four to six months in the south, and brings upon the human system at last an enervation of body and spirit inevitable, and in the end almost constitutional. northern people would freely pronounce and denounce it as sheer laziness, not taking account of the climatic conditions of the country. now in this state of the case it is an open question if, after several generations had come and gone, the anglo-saxon type would not almost disappear, or so far change as to fail of recognition. the anglican tongue might preserve it if preserved itself. the more dusky races of mankind are the aboriginal inhabitants of those countries and latitudes, and they constitute the normal industrial agencies thereof. we noticed while in the south that the proportion of old people among the white population was small in comparison with their proportional numbers in the north; while with the blacks, despite the hardships of their enslaved condition, the proportion appeared much larger, thereby showing that the anglo-saxon's longevity there is less than in his native climate north. the violent probability is that correct tables of mortality, if they could be had, would confirm this view of the subject. chapter iii. social types. it is probable that the finest social types in this country have heretofore been found in the south. that this is true, or could be under the dark shadows of an institution so out of harmony with the progressive spirit of the age certainly seems paradoxical. the slave-holding population, it is claimed, represented more social refinement and elegance of personal manners than any other class in america. whatever barbarous proclivities were chargeable to them in other respects, they were not so chargeable in the social aspects of their characters. and this was one of the slaveholder's vantage-grounds, that he never failed to employ on occasion of entertaining travelers and visitors from other portions of the world, especially from the northern states. perhaps there was nothing the southern gentleman prided himself more upon than the prestige of his social power; and many a northern man has lost the backbone of his opposition to the peculiar institution under its seductive influence. a social insult, perhaps, more than any other, was bitterly resented and summarily punished. to attain a high degree of social culture and refinement is not unlike learning a trade, or one of the fine arts. it _is_ an art, if not the art of arts, which requires study and practice; as much so as to become a first-class tradesman or artist of any kind. one has to pass the trying ordeal of social gymnastics. the beauty of social elegance is like the "beauty of holiness." it attracts the admiration of most, excites the envy of many, the jealousy and hate of the mean, and is a ruling power in every department of church and state, and of society. this was the strong secret agency in the hands of the south--the "_suaviter in modo_" that gave them leading sway so long in congress, and with the government. there is this difference, however, in the comparison between the "beauty of holiness" and that of social perfection--the one _must_ be real, the other may have but the semblance of reality, being so much of an art, while the other is the very essence of character. in order to great social refinement one needs ample time or leisure to cultivate the art. and who in america have been so much favored in the past with leisure as the people of the south? in elegance and ease of personal manners perhaps no man in america excelled henry clay. his very style of taking snuff, and handling his snuff-box, is said to have been so elegant that, though inimitable, yet his friends and admirers, in and out of congress, who indulged the nasal habit attempted to copy him. the late rt. rev. general polk, of the confederate army, and bishop of the episcopal church, is said to have been scarcely equaled in pleasant manners. he made it a specialty of his personal improvement until he had become something wonderful in social power. he it was that, after having occupied columbus, kentucky, with his troops, went on board a federal gun-boat at island number ten, by invitation of the commander, to talk over some war question, and during the interview was invited to a social glass of wine. the federal officer led off in a toast: "to the name of george washington, the father of his country." general polk gracefully acknowledged the compliment, and then holding up his glass said: "george washington, the first rebel." perhaps no finer retort can be found in the history of the late war, or in the english language, as to that matter; so elegant, so devoid of grossness, or of anything that could give possible offense to a genteel mind. we beg the reader not to take the impression of supercilious excess in the polite manners of the southern people, or of anything bordering on affectation, for this would be great injustice to them. there was too much whole-souled magnanimity and hospitality about them for that. the play of their manners was free from the prescriptive rules and ceremony which frequently produce in one's breast an agony of anxiety, and yet it was courtly and dignified, without obsequious flattery or littleness. chapter iv. but to return to our voyage down the river. on nearing memphis we were advised by the officers of the boat that we might expect a hailing shot from the batteries just above the city. and sure enough it came right across our bows. we ran in shore, and, of course, were startled into a new and strange feeling, as yet inexplicable, because so un-american, and contrary to the hitherto free experience of american travelers on their own waters or their own soil. was it for amusement or a farcical burlesque on the governments of the old world? or was it ominous of that fearful struggle of blood which afterward rent the country for four long years? events have since shown that "coming events cast their shadows before." after a few hours' detention we passed on down the river; but as we reached vicksburg again we heard the booming of cannon as a signal to again tie up, be overhauled and show our "manifest." after that we were graciously permitted to pass all points without further molestation; for the reason, we suppose, that having passed the upper points of cannonized salutations, and thereby cleansed of all suspicion of being or carrying "contraband of war," it was unnecessary to waste any more powder on us. so we reached the crescent city in peace and safety; when, for the first time, we looked upon its six miles or more of wharves, literally piled with cotton and corn, and other products of both north and south, and merchandise from europe and the atlantic cities by the ten thousand packages, and there were scores of steamboats, flatboats, and other crafts discharging their cargoes. in the free play of imagination one was reminded of the account of the ancient provision of the egyptian monarch, made under the prophetic direction and supervising genius of the virtuous and immaculate joseph, against the seven years' famine. and as one stood there, on the hurricane-deck, or "texas," of some immense steamer, and looked up and down, over and around those crescent-laid wharves, one was moved to ask in wonder, whence and for what these immense and almost endless stores of sugar, molasses, flour, pork, corn, potatoes, fruits, etc., and what mean these dense masses of earnest-looking people, hurrying to and fro on the streets. ah! it is the st day of january, , and the next day was fraught with the momentous and grave issues of an election on the question of secession. the flags of all civilized nations were floating in all parts of the city, except the "stars and stripes;" and among them was most conspicuously displayed the "rattlesnake" flag of louisiana; and one could but feel it was a fit emblem of the occasion, and of the spirit of some of the people. one gentleman told us that though he had been a resident of the city for many years, and sympathized with southern grievances, yet when he saw the flag of the union trailed in the dust, and put out of sight, and the rattlesnake of louisiana hung up in its place on the custom house, he cried like a child, and somehow felt as though the world was being buried and he was attending the funeral. demoralized! and for a change, unseen by friend or foe, unknown among the throng where all were strange, no harm to us, to others none. thus reas'ning fancy held the sway, as did the de'l in adam's day: and so "varieties" that night we saw--and "little dot" so bright. we saw "the cricket on the hearth," and heard it sing in joyous mirth, and heard it till it sang no more, because the fire got low, and low'r, in "john's" poor heart, and on the floor, and dying embers ashes bore, and cold crept in through cracks and door, and cricket hid where 'twas before. then tyrant conscience smote the charm! but sense replied: why where's the harm? 'tis better thus to spend our time than to be caught in bigger crime. another blow! the festive craft of sense careen'd, and shipp'd a draught of drowning waters o'er the deck, but mercy came and sav'd the wreck. the conscience only knows the law; and lashes with it rough and raw, while sense plays with it, sly bo-peep, nor will its orders always keep. mandamus on mandamus comes from court by conscience kept and run, the devil serves process in tones that scare poor sense and spoil its fun. that night in sweet "varieties" were many thund'ring consciences; but still bewitching play went on, and righted misapprehension. sweet truth, but not in monkish mood, came out, and in free tresses stood; she gave the bowl of blood to law, without a kiss, the people saw, but turn'd to mercy all in tears, embrac'd and kiss'd, then fled the fears. thus shriv'd by truth and grace in one, the play grew brighter till 'twas done. with mingled hope and fear we thought that "john" might lose his "little dot," for "tackleton," both mean and dried, his jeal'sy hard to stir he tried. "the barn, dear john, she's there, she's there, with that young 'salt' from o'er the sea; he's handsome tho', it is but fair to own, but so much worse for thee. his nut-brown hair, his hazel eyes, his form, and feature, and his size, look just like hers, as near as can the charms of woman and of man. they stroll together everywhere, now 'mong the orchard trees they are, now in the deep and secret grove, beyond all eyes save one above. he plots, dear john, against thy heart, and seeks her life from thine to part. roll back the tide of coming woe! see! do! ere it's too late to do! woman's a name for falsity, a dark and deep immensity of mystery--who can explain? i trust her not--she's made in vain!" all eyes and ears were open wide, as john and tack stood side by side, one's face was written o'er with self, and one with honor's soul itself. "old tack, thou puritanic wretch!" said john, "thy neck deserves to stretch! thou lying fiend! how dar'st thou blot the honor of my little dot, with lies from out thy lying throat, each lie a mountain from a mote? i'll brain thee (raised fist) if thou don't repent and send thee where thou should'st be sent! d'ye hear!" "yes, sir, distinctly, sir, i hear, i hear," whin'd the old cur, "don't strike me, john, for i'm a priest, nor treat me as you would a beast." now john look'd out upon the lawn and spied his little dot with one in sailor jacket short, not long, come tripping on with flow'rs and song. the raven flapp'd his wings but once--that's all, the pair were in the cottage hall; the skylark rose, went up the sky, and sung: "dot's brother's home to live and die." the play was done and love remain'd; the union was preserved, tho' strained by tests of slander, malice, hate, its strength was prov'd too much, too great. and here a moral lesson came, an emblem of our country's life; and as the sequel showed, the same as harmony 'twixt man and wife. now uncle sam, like brigham young, you know, had many wives, say thirty or so, and lou'si ann would snap the fed'ral band, and let the young confed'rate take her hand. her children were frenchy, fickle and warm, and held a grand pow-wow in the wigwam; they solemnly said their mother should wed the young suitor, and leave the old man's bed. but we waited not to witness the lot of the old and the new, but left the spot, our way to pursue, tho' clouds made us rue leaving the old for the strange and the new. chapter v. new orleans and galveston. new orleans stands on the eastern bank of the mississippi river, one hundred and ten miles from the gulf of mexico, and is called the "crescent city," because of the sublime and beautiful sweep of the "father of waters" around the city in a perfect circle, striking in on the north, thence circling to the west, then south, then east, then gently north, on a bend enchanting to behold, coming up to the landing at a point due east two or three miles only, from the river on the west of the city, where it first heaves in sight to the traveler on the deck of a steamer coming down, making a distance of ten to fifteen miles in the circuit, and leaving the city stand on a grand dead level peninsula, almost an island. the magnificent bosom of the waters heaves and presses up the river sides in fresh beauty constantly, as if "old neptune's" soul stood beneath in the river's mighty depths, and throwing out broad shoulders and long arms spanning its breadth, were intent on heaving the waters over its leveed banks to deluge and drown out the inhabitants. water is taken from the river and conducted along either side of the streets, just at the edge of the sidewalks, in stone ducts, built up square a foot or so in depth and width. with such facilities for irrigating the streets new orleans may be, and is, one of the cleanest and sweetest cities in the world. the spirit of the people seems broken since the war, and doubtless many a year will pass ere the old romantic gayeties and business pluck and prosperity will come back again. the evil genius of the "peculiar institution" is gone never to return, though its corporal presence remains, to man the live industries of the olden times. but to resume our narrative of travel. we staid in new orleans during the night of the st of january, but did not remain the next day to witness the further movement of secession, but crossed the river ferry at eight o'clock in the morning, and took the train at algiers, on the west side, for berwick's bay, seventy-five miles distant, and the terminus west of the railroad. most of the route may be characterized as crocodile or alligator swamp. it was covered with water and heavy timber, and a thick undergrowth of cane, spanish daggers and dwarf palm, such as is manufactured into palm-leaf hats, with other kinds of water shrubbery. when cleared up and properly prepared these lands will make splendid rice and sugar plantations. the alligator will migrate before the hand and foot of civilization. thence we shipped by "morgan line" of steamers to galveston, two hundred and fifty miles, on the gulf of mexico. nothing occurred to mar the general pleasure of this part of the journey. neptune was unusually quiet, only showing his disposition in gentle undulations of the deep; no heaving billows, with white caps breaking on their angry crests, and dashing the iron-bound vessel up in the air, and dropping her again in cradles of the deep; no qualms and retching to make one feel he didn't care whether the vessel lived or went to the bottom, but rather preferred the latter; and the sooner the better. no, a "norther'" was blowing off mainland--now and then in sight--and laid the waters smooth so that we took regular meals and kept them down, and were not thrown from our berths by a bouncing boat. on approaching galveston at sea, twenty miles away, vision is frequently cheated by the intervention of a mirage, the effect of which is to give to the city the appearance of air-suspension--a heavenward elongation, sitting on the lap of the ocean with no _terra firma_ beneath. but on nearer approach the illusion disappears, and there stands before you, on a small piece of nature's ground-work, and as though painted by a fairy hand, in spiritual shadows, on the low extended horizon beyond, galveston, exciting the strange beholder into the romantic feeling that it is a city of fairies. and though the romance is toned down by the reality on landing, yet there she stands, one of the finest and most beautiful cities in the south of her size. she had before the war a population of twelve to fifteen thousand, and in one year after the war she had twenty-five thousand souls, and three thousand additional buildings. galveston stands on the east end of an island of the same name, running northeast and southwest, thirty miles in length, and with a varying width of two to four miles. plausible tradition has it that when the island was first occupied and settled by anglo-americans, forty to fifty years ago, they found as its lone occupant a beautiful castillian woman in male attire, supposed to have been connected with the notorious captain lafitte, who, with his band, committed piratical depredations on the gulf and in the west indies, and who had headquarters there and up the wilds of the trinity river. hence the island was first facetiously called "gal-with-a-vest-on," but afterward it was reduced to the more elegant trisyllabic of galveston. the island is a huge long sandbank, the work of the gulf waters for ages in sand deposits. the indentation of the main shore where the island lies was favorable for such deposits. but this alone does not sufficiently account for the fact that the island is at that particular place. the gulf stream, in its rebound and return movement from the shore of western texas, a hundred and fifty miles to the southwest of galveston, after having been driven there by the "trade winds" that come in from the direction of the coast of africa--from the southeast, through the channel between cuba and yucatan--passes near the island, en route to the channel between florida and cuba, and in its passage throws off inshore the sand disturbed and gathered up in its course from the bottom of the gulf. besides trinity river comes in at the head and east of the island, and passes out into the gulf stream in a southeasterly direction, throwing to the right, toward the island, deposits similar to those made to the left by the gulf stream. thus do we theorize as to the natural causes for the formation and existence of the island. these two counter forces of water co-operate, and between them have made it what it is. besides this sandbar above water there are lying between these two water forces, and a few feet beneath the surface, sand reefs running from the head of the island southeast, and circling south and west five or six miles, forming a splendid outside harbor, with a depth of water ranging from a minimum of ten to a maximum of seventy feet. the heaviest vessels can lie there and ride at anchor in perfect safety, as they are protected from the heavy "trade winds" from the southeast, and others from the south, by these reefs. nature has furnished the surface of the island with a few inches of light sandy soil, warm and quick-producing, growing corn, the largest and sweetest sweet potatoes, the largest and most delicious melons of all kinds one ever saw or ate, with garden sauce of every name and nature; even irish potatoes, if grown from seed imported from the north each year. the whole island from the city to the southwest end thereof furnishes fine grazing for cattle and other stock, and the butchers keep their beeves there a few days before they are slaughtered and sold in the market, and the beef when marketed and on the table is the sweetest and most savory the writer ever found in any country, particularly that fattened on mesquite grass. the gulf beach in low tide furnishes the finest ride or drive imaginable, and at eventide hundreds of vehicles and pedestrians may be seen enjoying themselves there. the commercial importance of galveston may be judged of by the single fact that of the four hundred thousand bales of cotton produced in texas in the year three hundred thousand bales were compressed and exported at galveston, worth at that time $ , , in gold, but would now be worth $ , , . the geographical location of galveston speaks also for its commercial importance. it is the new york of texas, and galveston island is the long island of texas. the inside harbor lies in the bay immediately in the rear of the city, between the island and the mainland, where the bay is two miles wide. the entrance to the harbor has ten feet of water over the bar in low tide, and fourteen to sixteen feet in high tide. galveston lies in twenty-nine degrees north latitude, and midway between the mouth of the mississippi river on the east, and mexico and the rio grande on the west. if you draw an imaginary line commencing at the mouth of the columbia river, in oregon, running southeast; another line commencing at lake itasca, the headwaters of the mississippi, running due south, and another commencing at portland, maine, running due southwest; all these lines will intersect at galveston. one of the driving wheels of the great commercial wagon of the united states stands at galveston, and the steam of progress is driving the mighty vehicle westward, keeping pace with the "star of empire." when that network of railroads which but for secession would now have been thrown over all texas, east, west, north and south, tapping the wheat regions of northern texas, the lumber regions of eastern texas, the stock regions of western texas, and the cotton and sugar regions of southern texas; we say, when this railroad system shall be achieved for that great country, thus developing and bringing to the markets of the world the productive resources of texas, a country six to seven hundred miles square, large enough to lay down on its surface the state of massachusetts more than thirty times, and not lap anywhere, the result will be wonderful beyond all present calculations. every variety of soil is found in texas, and all kinds of grain and fruit can be produced there, with sugar, and cotton one to four bales to the acre. texas is a country of great extremes and contradictions. it is the hottest and coldest; the driest and wettest; it has the most streams and the least water, some wet and some dry, and mostly dry at that; the best soil and the poorest, very little of the latter; the most cattle and the least milk, and butter, and cheese, and beef; the most salubrious climate and most sudden changes of weather; the least rain and heaviest rain-storms; the sunniest sky and most terrific thunder-storms; the most balmy gulf breezes and most bitter biting northers; long rivers and least navigation; the heaviest pine forests and least pine lumber; the best types of society, and the meanest the sun ever shone upon. portable saw-mills, located along projected railroads in those pine forests lying in eastern texas, hundreds of miles in extent, taking brazos river as the dividing line between eastern and western texas, would coin money for the proprietors. and the prediction is safe that the time is not far distant when the railroads will be built, those forests felled and cut up into lumber, towns spring up, and the "wilderness bud and blossom as the rose." the wet and dry seasons come in pretty regular alternations, each in a series of seven to ten years. and nature, ever faithful, with her "canny hand" has recorded these meteorological histories in trees of the forest, and the record may be traced back through a period of two hundred years. the unmistakable record is traceable in the thick and thin rings or grains of the trees, varying in thickness from that of a wafer to a quarter of an inch, in grades from thin to thick, the former representing the dry, and the latter the wet seasons. now some crops of the country are more successfully raised in the dry seasons, and others in the wet. cotton is produced in the greatest abundance in a comparatively dry season; corn the reverse. so that, by keeping and observing a critical meteorological record the planter can calculate with a good degree of certainty what crops would promise best from year to year. thus, we believe, providence has made it feasible, through science and art, for man to live and prosper in any country or climate under the sun. and further, the normal products of the different countries and climates are most suitable for the industries, health and happiness of the inhabitants thereof. if the labor question of that country is ever properly settled and harmonized--in regard to which we are more hopeful than doubtful from recent data--the leading productive interest of texas will continue to be that of cotton, particularly in the southern-central section. but we think the future will show that the strongest rival interest will be grape culture and wine making. it is now conceded and agreed by practical men in the business of grape-growing there, that the soil and climate of texas are admirably adapted to grape culture; and though in the past cotton has engrossed the attention of the people to the exclusion almost of every product except corn, now the cultivation of grapes is assuming prominent and tangible shape, and commanding the practical attention of the citizens of the state. besides, the next few years will probably bring into the state thousands of vine-growers from the south of france and germany, who will make this their principal business. if we look at the progress made with the vine in ohio and other northern states, with a less favored soil and climate, increasing from four thousand acres, ten or twelve years ago, to two millions of acres now devoted to wine-growing, yielding large profits and immense fortunes for those engaged in the business, how much greater success may be expected to accrue from an equal outlay of money and effort in the warm loamy soils of texas. the change in the labor system, resulting from the late war, is bringing the subject into more public notice. the system of forced labor no longer overshadows and oppresses the spirit of progress and improvement there. the inveterate slowness of the country must give way before the advancing step of reform, and as increasing light breaks in, bringing to public view the ponderous follies of the past industrial history of the country, new ideas will be allowed and patronized; new experiments made on scientific principles, and the present and prospective resources of the country, heretofore undiscovered or neglected, will be developed to a degree of profit and fortune that will astound the people themselves. when the people see that, in the matter of grape culture, a few acres cultivated in the vine will yield as large a profit as a cotton plantation ten times as large, and requiring ten times the labor, many more will be tempted to plant vineyards and reap the easy reward; so that after they are well planted and cared for, and by the third year have reached the profitable bearing period, instead of fifty dollars per acre, at most, net profit, as with cotton, for _wine_ only a _clear_ profit of five hundred to one thousand dollars per acre may be realized from grapes, and equally so for table use. nor is there danger of overstocking the market with so useful and healthful a delicacy. the greater the supply the greater the demand. our remarks on profits of grape culture are not imaginary guesswork, but based on well ascertained _facts_ in the experience of vine-growers in texas, with whom we have a personal acquaintance. they recommend the following varieties as doing well and being profitable there: the concord, clinton, diana, delaware, iowa, ives' seedling, herbemont, creveling, hartford prolific, perkins, black july, jacques, and rogers' hybrids numbers , , , , , , ; and they say the beginner will do well to commence with the clinton, concord, etc., which will almost take care of themselves. the diana is a fine grape for either table or wine. the delaware and isabella are fine table grapes, and the best native growers they have. but in texas the trouble is to choose, for they nearly all do well. as an indication and natural justification of the most sanguine ideas of grape culture in texas, we will state that the indigenous mustang grape grows there spontaneously in great wasteful abundance, along the water-courses, on the uplands and upland "dry runs." there are cart-loads, car-loads, yes, steamboat loads of them growing wild over the country, and in different varieties. from this kind of grape are manufactured just those claret or sour wines most grateful to the tastes of people in hot climates. it is thought by many good people in texas, and as a temperance expedient too, that providence hereby indicates what drinks, aside from water, are needful for the health and temperate habits of the country. the question is, why is the country so overstocked with this kind of grape? not by accident, or for mere ornament, certainly, nor for the use of bird or beast, for they touch them not, nor yet for table use, as no human tongue or lips would last long coming in contact with the powerful acid of the hull of this kind of grape. the pulp has a most delicious flavor, but can not be sucked from its dark inclosure without bringing with it the biting acid. there is no alternative; it was intended for man's use after being transformed into wine. chapter vi. effect of climate on tastes and appetites. it is worthy of note and may be remarked that one's tastes and appetites undergo great changes in passing from a high northern clime to a southern; so much so that to his own surprise one finds himself literally accomplishing the experience of "loving what he once hated, and hating what he once loved." for example, buttermilk and clabber are delicious to the taste there; but few people ever think of them in the north except in association with food for swine. there, for convenience of using at meals, the milk fresh from the cow is first strained into bowls and tumblers, and then set aside and left stand for the cream to rise, and the hot weather, with or without thunder-storms, to inspissate the milk into clabber. then it is brought on as the most delicious dish on the table, reserved as dessert for the last round, sprinkled with clean white sugar. the difference of feeling, taste, appetite and temper we experience in changing climates is exactly measured by the isothermal difference of our latitudes. one may have a sweet platonic temper in the north, but in changing latitude ten or fifteen degrees southward, he will be surprised to find his temper tending to a change of ten or fifteen degrees also. and if he be a christian he will be tempted at times to think divine grace not sufficient to preserve the peace between conscience and conduct. the reader will please note that we speak in these matters not from observation alone but with the authority of experience also. we knew a minister of religion there, a recent import from the virtuous and platonic north, who had not been thoroughly mad for twenty years, and who possessed no little degree of self-complacency on the score of an invincible equanimity of temper; and his feeling had the merit of fact; so much so that once on a time, before his migration southward, one of his friends, observing his uniform evenness of temper, even in the midst of great provocation, and becoming irritated at his want of irritation, said to him: "tell me, sir, why is it that you don't get mad sometimes; your want of temper seems unmanly, unnatural, and savors of effeminacy, and reminds me to quote shakespeare on you thus: you can 'smile, and smile, and be a villain still.' don't refuse to express indignation on just occasion, but blow off the pent-up stuff; a little thunder now and then purifies a sultry atmosphere." we saw this clerical specimen of "patience on a monument" one day suddenly lose his virtuous temper, and fall into a paroxysm of madness, and on slight provocation, quite fearful to behold, in which he poured out the vials of his wrath upon his friend, to the exhaustion of all decent epithets. samson was shorn of his strength and left weak like another man, self-mortified beyond measure! much we searched to know the cause of this sudden transformation, and while we wondered fancy heard a voice whisper, "the climate, the climate." from this standpoint we commenced a series of observations, and became satisfied the fancied suggestion was correct. we found by pushing inquiry far enough that church members were considered quite excusable in the use of profane language when driving ox or mule teams. the offense was not regarded as deserving severe reprimand or expulsion from the church. a more puritanic style of christian morals would not allow the excuse to be carried to such a degree of license, for it sternly insists that the christian should be master, and not subject, at the hour of trial, and will scarcely allow that circumstances may be reckoned in the moral count to palliate offenses. doubtless the standard of moral sentiment with the public in gross is lower in texas than elsewhere in the south, because, forsooth, it is a newer country; and in this respect partakes of the free and easy characteristics common to all new countries in their pioneer life. besides, it was originally settled by an anglo-american element, called in the expressive parlance of those days "renegade americans," from the "states," "refugees from justice" many of them, smart, shrewd and unscrupulous, whose sons are now on the stage of action. this was the element which, during the late war, found an opportunity for the gratification of its native instincts, and dominated everything, and inaugurated and kept alive a perfect reign of terror in the absence of the better class of citizens at the seat of war. half a dozen of these desperadoes could intimidate and plunder a town without let or hindrance; and if any one objected or offered resistance he was shot down like a dog, and nothing said or done about it. eight or ten of them entered our store one day, in the summer of , and in our presence helped themselves to suits of clothing, boots and shoes, hats and caps, taking from six to eight hundred dollars' worth, in gold. some of them duplicated and triplicated the robberies. one of them walked up to us and flourishing a six-shooter across the counter, said: "if you say a word there is what will make daylight shine through your d--d yankee carcass." the situation was not pleasant at all, but there was no relief. they walked off with their plunder, and we thought as they went, "good riddance to bad rubbish;" but no, this was not the end of the matter, for on the principle that man never forgives whom he has injured, we had to meet a personal challenge to a duel from the leader of the gang, the one who had threatened to make daylight shine in a disagreeable way. the challenge was given because we had said to a lady accomplice of theirs, who was in the store after the robbery, ostensibly to purchase goods, but really to draw us out in some unguarded remark that could be used as an excuse for an attack on us: "that in ordinary times, their conduct would be considered no less a crime than robbery." our challenger said he was ready to stake his life in vindication of his conduct, and he turned pale and trembled like an aspen leaf. while he was excited we kept cool, and suggested to him that perhaps his information about what had been said was not quite correct, and even if it were, and we should fight over the matter, and one of us should have the satisfaction of carrying the other's blood on his soul to the judgment, we did not see how that would change the character of their original conduct. that if he were reasonable the matter could be adjusted between us peaceably. and on appealing to his better judgment, he conceded we were right, and said in conclusion: "mr. north, though you are from our enemies' country i believe you are a gentleman, and hereafter i am your friend." "well," said we, "how much better such a termination to a bad matter than to make targets of ourselves in a duel. and now, my good fellow, let by-gones be by-gones, and may we have a better understanding in the future." "agreed," he said, and we parted. we met casually afterward, and he minded the treaty. chapter vii. texas oath of office the oath of office in texas is the same it is in illinois; and yet it seems to have little power to save the country from the curses of the dueling spirit. it would seem that the "code of honor," so called, is a good deal demoralized in texas, in comparison with its status in the older southern states--if such a thing can be demoralized. it assumes more the form of open and secret assassination--shooting a man down behind his back, or in the dark, or on sight, with the simple warning, "take care of yourself." a duelist can not hold office in texas, but he can defeat a good law by turning assassin, and committing a crime that eclipses the one forbidden by the oath of office. it may be that the criminal reports of texas can show that a man has been hung there for killing a man, but it is doubtful. but many a man has been hung for stealing a horse by "judge lynch." the horse thief is generally disposed of in this summary way without judge or jury; and even when tried and sentenced by the courts to the penitentiary the officer having charge of the prisoner for safe delivery there, by collusion or otherwise, reports him "escaped," by which the knowing ones understand he is rescued from the officer by a mob and hung to the nearest tree. _shame_ on such law and order, even among barbarians. but such are the issues of life and death in texas, and a man is a little nearer death there all the while than in any other country we wot of. as an example of the jeopardy of human life, and how crime against society maybe committed with impunity in that country, we will give the case of a leading business man in one of the cities of texas, and a prominent member of a leading religious body (whose name we withhold), who, some years before the war, had a personal difficulty with a citizen, who had threatened him with personal violence. he had him placed under arrest, to be bound over to keep the peace; but when so arrested, and in the hands of the officer of the law, and at a moment when he was most harmless, the meek follower of _him_ who "resisted not evil," drew a pistol and shot him dead! and would you think it, to the disgrace and outrage of religious decency, and law and order, no notice was ever taken of it by either the courts or the church. he has been an acceptable member of the same religious sect ever since, worshiped at her altars, taken her sacraments, said her prayers, and mingled in her fellowships. we have frequently seen him taking part in religious service, but could never set eyes on his reticent cast-iron face without seeing the mark of cain upon him. in the murderous act he gave the clearest evidence of both physical and moral cowardice, and hellish revenge. but after all, why should such a state of things be thought so very strange, when laymen have the example of the priest. "like people, like priest," is true in more senses than one. there is a certain doctor of divinity in texas who is said to be a man of profound learning and intellectual refinement, president, before the war, of ---- university, located at c., and named for a celebrated ecclesiastic. this divine was considered and admired by many as the leading orator of the state. he had been imported from the state called the "mother of presidents," a few years prior to the war, to push forward and build up the educational interests of the state, and especially of the religious denomination in which he was a shining light. but when secession was sprung upon the people he switched off on that, and became the most violent advocate, perhaps, in all the state, of the right and of the duty of secession. he canvassed the state in that interest. the war opened, he raised a regiment, was made its colonel, and went to the front. it was not long before reports came back that the doctor was drinking, and had been seen intoxicated more than once. meanwhile his ambition was struggling for a brigadier-generalship, which he never reached. two years passed, and the confederacy was meeting heavy reverses in the field; and now the time had come to give a few more turns to the thumb-screws of conscription, even to the extent, as general grant said, of "robbing the cradle and the grave." the doctor was just the man to send home from the army to canvass the state by way of bolstering up a sinking cause, and preparing the people--what were left of them, the old men and women and babies--for the new movements of military despotism. we heard the doctor in a labored speech of two or three hours' length, in which he attempted to show that the confederacy had never been more promising of final success. that though some appearances were unfavorable, such as the loss of new orleans, vicksburg and the command of the mississippi river, and some other _un_important points, yet the spirit of the confederacy was unbroken, the armies were withdrawing from all unimportant places, except richmond, and concentrating on important ones, located off the principal thoroughfares of the country, little towns among the by-ways and hedges, out of harm's way, where the enemy could not reach them, and where strategic movements could be planned without molestation from the enemy, and from whence dashing surprises could be executed upon him without fear of a return of the compliment with interest. a policy which, the speaker said, was quite the reverse of that of the union armies, as they were obliged to scatter in proportion as the confederates concentrated, in order to garrison the points and occupy the country thus vacated. the argument looked plausible to the green ones, didn't it, reader? it is always easy to make people believe what they want to believe. chapter viii. the doctor's prize-ring illustration. but at last the doctor gave his spell-bound audience the benefit of a prize-ring illustration, which ran on this wise: he said "that the southern champion had choice of ground, and the corner in the ring with his back to the sun, which compelled the northern pugilist to face the fiery orb, which he regarded quite an advantage, as he thought 'sam' could not long endure the hot blaze in his face. he described 'sam' as a man of giant frame and strength, but awkward movements, and questionable powers of endurance, a goliath in appearance, fearful to look upon or to hear, his voice like that of his philistine prototype. but he had not the pluck, the heroism, the chivalry of his antagonist, and, indeed, could not have, for he was descended from the roundheads of england, who in all their generations had been a pestilent and meddlesome race of fanatics wherever found, at home and abroad. not so with the southern champion. 'johnny' came down from the olympic heavens of the english cavaliers, brave, chivalrous, with small but compact frame, agile, confident, the very david of the southern house of israel." he said "the prize was the grandest ever battled for among the battling nations. the fight in the first few rounds was a regular stand-up give-and-take. the first knock-down and first blood were awarded to 'johnny' at bull run, or manassas. after that he feinted, dodged and retreated, till at richmond he got in a stunning blow on the giant, and 'sent him to grass.' after being well sponged up in the washington corner, by abraham and mac, his seconds, the giant came to time again, and a few more rounds were had, at gettysburg, fort donaldson, shiloh, perryville, new orleans and vicksburg, where the little man of the south was repeatedly knocked down and roughly handled in chancery. 'johnny' tried once to suddenly flank 'sam' and get first to the washington corner, which well-nigh proved fatal to his resources of strength and endurance. "after this the programme of the little david was changed to dodging, retreating, falling, _a la_ tom sayers; but he was to put in a telling blow when he could, tapping the wind, closing the sight, and drawing blood as much as possible, and when he couldn't, to depend mainly on avoiding blows, but keep on provoking them, thus leaving 'sam' to exhaust himself in 'beating the air,' as heavy blows given in the air are more hurtful and exhausting to the striker than when delivered upon an object. david was to make feints and dodge, which would set the northern philistine in a rage after him around the ring, the one giving prodigious blows in the air, the other keeping out of harm's way." this sort of negative policy the learned, pious and patriotic doctor claimed would "give victory to the southern champion, and he would bear the giant's head in triumph to the camp of israel." save the want of rhetorical dignity in the illustration, it was all well enough, only so it had been true to the facts, but unfortunately subsequent events went to show that the little wiry man of the south became exhausted by the dodging and retreating policy first, and went under at last, and the bloody sponge was thrown up in token of his defeat. some time before this appearance of the divine orator a card appeared in the houston press, over the doctor's name, threatening dire vengeance upon his slanderers, according to the _code duello_. in his speech he referred to the card, and then giving a randolphian angle and shake to his dexter index finger said, with bitter venom, "that card is to _stand_ till after the war, when there will be time to settle with my enemies." the moral disgust we felt at this vile utterance was simply unutterable. the next day a certain widow lady, owner of a large plantation and a hundred negroes, was in the store; she was tall and straight, with sharp angular features, a dark southern complexion, black hair and eyes in keeping, a masculine business turn of mind, and occupied perpendicular space in air, about five feet nine inches. taken undivided her presence was rather commanding. approaching us at the counter, with quizzing eye, and an air of triumph, she said: "well, sir, how did you like the speech yesterday?" generally we had to think twice before speaking once, frequently three times, and then again keep up a heavy thinking, and not speak at all. as near as we can calculate we had about three thinks: first, who was the doctor? second, who was the lady addressing us? and third, who were we? then we replied: "madam, i have no fault to find with the speech as a confederate speech; it was all well enough in that regard. as a piece of oratory i admired many portions of it; as the effort of a politician on the stump, or of a jury advocate, i thought very well of it, but i did not approve the animus of the speaker when judged from the standpoint of a christian divine." "why, sir, what do you mean?" said the lady. "i mean, madam, that the spirit of dueling is not the spirit of christ." "the doctor's remarks about the dueling card pleased me more than anything else," rejoined the lady. "that part of the doctor's remarks i disapproved most," we rejoined. "well," she continued, "i am a professing christian, and a member of the baptist church. i have several sons, and have always taught them to defend their characters according to the _code of honor_, and, sir, if your ideas are correct then i confess i know very little about christianity." "very likely, madam, and i think none of us know much about the true spirit of it, the way we are going on. but, my dear lady, what are the doctor's grievances when compared with those of christ and his apostles? and yet what would you think of the idea that they carried deadly weapons to defend their characters and persons with? preposterous, do you say? 'the servant is not above his lord.' if the master might not do so how much less the servant. and furthermore, how does the doctor's case stand in the constellated light of the master's declaration, 'my kingdom is not of this world, else my servants would fight.'" "well," said the lady again, in a half desponding tone, "if that's the true doctrine i don't know what we should do if we should undertake to carry it out in this world. but then i can't believe it, and that's all there is about it with me, i can't believe it." "there's the trouble, madam, we don't really and practically believe what we profess except when the truth conserves our self-interest, or our convenience. when otherwise we can not trust god for results, but take matters out of his hands and control them ourselves, and for ourselves. and behold what dirty, wicked work we make of it sometimes." just then the wealthy planteress left, as though with a new idea in her head and heart. but to quote the doctor a little more. he said: "after the war i intend giving myself to the legal profession, and shall not return to the pulpit. i am keeping a _spotted book_. all persons who refuse to go into the army, or evade the conscript law by any dodge or subterfuge whatever, their names shall go down in the spotted book, to receive my special attention after the war, personally, professionally, and politically, and i swear it here and now; they shall be hunted in town, in the city, through the wilderness, out of the country, and peradventure a worse fate may befall them!" he said: "if southern independence can not be achieved i would prefer to go under the english or french flag. i could bear being whipped by the mexicans, by england, by france, or by any other people under the sun--even by the hottentots--but to be subjugated by a meddlesome pusillanimous race that says _ceow_ for cow, is intolerable to the last degree." two years after this speech, when the war was over, we met the doctor at the dinner-table of the city hotel in new orleans, most slouchfully dressed, and with an equally slouchful look; at least so imagination played through our optics. he was on a pilgrimage to washington to swallow the hated "iron-clad," and obtain his pardon. we thought appearances indicated that he needed a pardon bad, both from washington and from a higher source. no man in texas had done more to promote secession. he was a violent denunciator of all who did not succumb to his way of thinking, and tacitly, at least, gave countenance to the mob spirit against them. we say, is it strange that laymen should hold human life of little value when their spiritual leaders do the same. here was a man who bore the tri-colored character of divine, educator and military captain, merging the whole in the low, despicable and intensely wicked character of duelist. it is only two years since the writer was back in texas a few months, and while there a political meeting was held at the city of h., one night. at that meeting judge ---- was one of the speakers, and in his speech made some caustic allusions to "scallawags" which the doctor construed as intended by the speaker for him, whereupon the next day he addressed a note to the judge, by the hand of his friend, demanding an explanation, which was refused because of the arrogant tone of the language in which the demand was made. a second note was dispatched, repeating the demand, and closing in case the judge again declined explanation, with a challenge to fight, conceding to him choice of weapons and place. to this he declined as before, and for similar reasons; also, declined acceptance of the challenge on the grounds that, first, he had conscientious scruples, and second, it was a violation of the laws of the land, but that if attacked he should defend himself in accordance with the law and right of self-defense. now, at this stage of the affair the doctor was reduced to the alternatives of yielding the point of honor or shooting on sight. he chose the latter. so, with divers and sundry weapons of death--a rifle, a double-barreled shot-gun, a six-shooter, and a pair of derringers, with, perhaps, a bowie-knife, meaning by the medley of arms to observe the nice point of using the same weapon the judge might have when they met--he took position on main street, where his game had to pass in going from his house to his office, and waited there two or three hours, but the judge did not appear. by this time a large crowd of the doctor's friends and neutral spectators had gathered round, and the enraged divine--or colonel, as he was then called--stepped upon a dry goods box and harangued the excited crowd, closing up with the historic and threadbare denunciation of the judge as "a scoundrel, a liar and a coward," and he would shoot him when and wherever he saw him. he then retired to private quarters, to be flattered by a few friends for his brave and chivalrous conduct. of course the judge was a scoundrel a liar and a coward, because the colonel said so, in the god-defying spirit of hate and murder. he could not be a good man, an honest man, or a brave or true man, after this; no, the colonel had said it before men and angels, and laughing devils, and the universe was bound to credit his _ipse dixit_. the parties, however, were soon reconciled by the good and pacific offices of the masonic fraternity, of which they proved to be members. the judge said he did not intend his remarks on scalawags for the colonel, and did not know the colonel was a mason. and the colonel said he did not know the judge was a mason, or he might have acted differently; that the judge was a gentleman, and he certainly felt bound to make the _amende honorable_. how changed! the furious madman would have killed him but a few hours ago, but suddenly he becomes as "gentle as a sucking dove." o, poor deluded devotee of the dueling code, thou wouldst have imbrued thy hands in the blood of thy fellow, and on thine own mistaken suspicion! well, god pity thee till thou learnest better, and ceasest thy barbarity of soul! chapter ix. babel of tongues.--sam houston. the center of attraction to all political parties in the south was slavery; and no party could expect to exist with any respectable dimensions, or to possess any organic force in public affairs that did not gravitate in that direction. it was the banquo's ghost of every occasion and emergency. it is true, however, that there was a weak, maudlin, and mawkish anti-slaveryism here and there, through the south; but it had no bowels of effective demonstration; no inherent potency of melting mercy and just indignation, to stem the counter current, and throw off the shackles self-imposed. but when the south had drifted on the shoals of secession the issues were changed, and large and respectable masses of the people preferred the union to slavery; but still the institution dominated everything in the shape of political action. the situation now was attended with schismatic sentiment and covert action against it, as witnessed in the babel of tongues on the question of secession. there were different parties in texas, representing many different views and measures, to meet the new monster now emerging from the deep waters of the nation's life. first and foremost, the old original died-in-the-wool, south carolina, john c. calhoun, nullification party, which, though fewest in numbers, yet embraced in its ranks, most of the talent, wealth, and fashion of the south. this party believed in secession _per se_, for its own sake; and had been plotting and planning for long years to make it an accomplished fact. they thought the suitable occasion had now arrived for striking the effective blow in its behalf. they could now fire the public heart, through the medium of slavery, and win the prize of southern independence. there was another party, more numerous, who accepted the doctrine of secession as the dernier condition--that the rights of the south could not otherwise be preserved inviolate. they argued, "wait till the commission of an overt act by the new administration--congressional or executive interference--then will be time enough, and better excuse in the face of the nation and of mankind, for secession." a third party believed in preserving the union at almost all hazards; even with the loss of the peculiar rights of the south. they argued and urged that southern rights could be maintained by fighting for them, if need be "in the union and under the old flag." this party was quite numerous. a fourth party said, but dare not say it very loud, "let slavery slide, if need be it is not worth shedding blood over, but let us have the union. besides, the sentiment of all mankind is against our servile system, and history will dig its grave at last." this party was in the minority of all. still a fifth party opposed secession under any circumstances, on the ground of _bad policy_, and _inexpediency_. they said, secession is suicide, the very course to pursue by which to swamp and lose our rights. secession will be a stupendous failure, and we shall lose by it the very thing we propose thereby to defend and save. prophetic words, which subsequent events literally fulfilled. this was old general sam houston's position. he led this party in texas. he spoke his mind freely anywhere, and in the face of threats, denunciations and mobs. we remember the interest and excitement manifest a few days before the vote on secession was taken in texas, on the occasion when the "old man eloquent" of the "lone star state" came down to galveston from houston, to address the people on the exciting topic. the rumor spread through the city that houston had come and would speak the next day at eleven o'clock a. m., from the second gallery of the tremont house. it was evident there was a deep undercurrent of excitement, with a glassy calmness on the surface, as in "still waters that run deep." there was an unsearchable depth in each man's eye, like the shadowy stillness preceding the bursting storm. in the morning of the day when he was to speak a self-constituted committee of several leading citizens waited on the general at his quarters, and warned him not to attempt making a speech that day, as they feared serious disturbance and personal harm to him. they said: "general, you know we are your personal friends, and have been your political supporters heretofore, but we are opposed to your views on secession; still we don't want to see you harmed." the general replied with characteristic dignity: "gentlemen, i thank you for your personal considerations, but i have seen stormy times in texas before, and i have seen my personal friends tremble for my safety before; but, gentlemen, i shall make the speech to-day at eleven o'clock a. m., as already given out, from the upper gallery of the tremont house--should be pleased to see you there, gentlemen, to hear, and if necessary to help keep order." one of the parties to the interview came into our office and reported what had passed. the writer had then never seen the general, and felt a strong desire to go and hear the "old war-horse," but concluded, being a stranger in the country, and not wishing to be caught in the presence of a mob, not to go. eleven o'clock came, and twelve, and some one came in and said: "houston is speaking, and has been for an hour, and all is quiet." we went and heard the balance of his speech. after seeing and hearing him a few minutes we did not wonder he was not disturbed by a mob. there he stood, an old man of seventy years, on the balcony ten feet above the heads of the thousands assembled to hear him, where every eye could scan his magnificent form, six feet and three inches high, straight as an arrow, with deep set and penetrating eyes, looking out from under heavy and thundering eyebrows, a high open forehead, with something of the infinite intellectual shadowed there, crowned with thin white locks, partly erect, seeming to give capillary conduction to the electric fluid used by his massive brain, and a voice of the deep basso tone, which shook and commanded the soul of the hearer. adding to all this a powerful manner, made up of deliberation, self-possession and restrained majesty of action, leaving the hearer impressed with the feeling that more of his power was hidden than revealed. thus appeared sam houston on this grand occasion, equal and superior to it, as he always was to every other. he paralyzed the arm of the mobocrat by his personal presence, and it was morally impossible for him to be mobbed in texas, and if not there then not anywhere; no, not even in that hot country which, as the boston divine said, "modesty forbids us to name," and which, in this respect, is the best synonym for it, and rival of it, we can imagine. chapter x. sam houston's speech. the drift of houston's speech was--_the inexpediency and bad policy of secession_. he told them they could secure without secession what they proposed to secure by it, and would certainly lose through it. he gave the greater force to his declarations by appealing to them to know if he had not generally been right in the past history of texas, when any great issue was at stake. told them he made texas and they knew it, and it was not immodest for him to say so; that the history of old sam houston was the history of texas, and they knew it; that he fought and won the battle of annexation, and they knew it; that he originally organized and established the republic of texas, and they knew it; that he wrested texas from the despotic sway of santa anna; that he commanded at san jacinto, where the great mexican leader was whipped and captured, and they knew it. "some of you," he continued, "opposed the annexation of texas to the united states, and i suppose have never forgiven me, even to this day, but i appeal to your sober judgments if, as it were, the very next day after annexation became history, texas did not enter upon a career of fortune she had never realized before. i appeal to you for the frank confession that you have always prospered most when you have listened to my counsels. i am an old man now. i knew you in infancy, took you and dandled you on my knee, nursed you through all your baby ailments, and with great care and solicitude watched and aided your elevation to political and commercial manhood. will you now reject these last counsels of your political father, and squander your political patrimony in riotous adventure, which i now tell you, and with something of prophetic ken, will land you in fire and rivers of blood. "some of you laugh to scorn the idea of bloodshed as a result of secession, and jocularly propose to drink all the blood that will ever flow in consequence of it! but let me tell you what is coming on the heels of secession. the time will come when your fathers and husbands, your sons and brothers, will be herded together like sheep and cattle at the point of the bayonet; and your mothers and wives, and sisters and daughters, will ask, where are they? and echo will answer, where? "you may," said he, "after the sacrifice of countless millions of treasure, and hundreds of thousands of precious lives, as a bare possibility, win southern independence, if god be not against you; but i doubt it. i tell you that, while i believe with you in the doctrines of state rights, the north is determined to preserve this union. they are not a fiery impulsive people as you are, for they live in cooler climates. but when they begin to move in a given direction, where great interests are involved, such as the present issues before the country, they move with the steady momentum and perseverance of a mighty avalanche, and what i fear is they will overwhelm the south with ignoble defeat, and i would say, amen, to the suffering and defeat i have pictured if the present difficulties could find no other solution, and that too by peaceable means. i believe they can. otherwise i would say, 'better die freemen than live slaves.' "whatever course my state shall determine to pursue my faith in state supremacy and state rights will carry my sympathies with her. and, as henry clay, my political opponent on annexation said, when asked why he allowed his son to go into the mexican war, 'my country, right or wrong,' so i say, my state, right or wrong." we noticed several times the very men applauding the speech who had opposed the speaker and the speaking in the morning. the power of general houston over a texas audience was magical to the last degree, and doubtless well understood by himself; hence he feared no mobs. during the first year of the war colonel moore had organized a splendid regiment of eleven hundred young men, volunteers mostly from galveston, finely equipped, of which sam houston, jr., was a member. they were on dress parade daily, and presented a charming appearance. it was as fine a regiment as went to the war from any section of the country. the colonel was justly proud of them, and fond of exhibiting their superior drill and "dress" to the public, and particularly to old military men. they fought their first battle at pittsburg landing, or shiloh, as the confederates called it. but before leaving the island for the seat of war the colonel invited general houston to review his regiment. now judge campbell, of one of the judicial districts of texas, and williamson s. oldham, member of the confederate congress, had been the old general's bitter enemies during the canvass on secession. they had followed him night and day through the state. on the day set for him to review and put the regiment through some military evolutions, the general was on hand at the hour and place. this called out a large concourse of people to witness the performance; the day was sunny and beautiful; the hour ten in the forenoon. the regiment was in complete uniform and perfectly armed; their arms glistened in the sunbeams as they stood in perfect dress, and at "present arms," when the "hero of san jacinto," supported by their colonel, stood in front. he was the hero of san jacinto sure enough, for there he stood, in the same military suit he had worn in , at the battle of san jacinto, when santa anna was captured; his pants tucked in the tops of military boots; suspended at his side was the same old sword, and on his head was a weather-beaten, light-colored, broad-brimmed planter hat, the left side buttoned up to the crown. there he stood, the very impersonation of the olden times. it was a sight for sensation. all eyes were now upon him, some of them dimmed with tears, and many a throat of soldier and spectator was choking down feeling unutterable--the writer with the rest. not a word had yet passed the general's lips, but now the colonel passed him his own sword and told him to proceed. then came order no. .--"shoulder arms." order no. .--"right about face." the regiment now facing the rear, the general cried out in stentorian tones of sarcasm: "do you see anything of judge campbell or williamson s. oldham there?" "no," was the emphatic reply. "well," said the general, "they are not found at the front, nor even at the rear." order no. .--"right about, front face." order no. .--"eyes right. do you see anything of judge campbell's son here?" "no, he has gone to paris to school," responded the regiment. order no. .--"eyes left. do you see anything of young sam houston here?" "yes," was the thrilling response. order no. .--"eyes front. do you see anything of old sam houston here?" by this time the climax of excitement was reached, and regiment and citizens together responded, in thunder tones, "yes!" and then united in a triple round of three times three and a tiger for the old hero. thereupon he returned the colonel his sword, with the remark, "there, colonel, that will do, i leave you to manage the rest of the maneuvering," and retired from dress parade. the old general died at huntsville, texas, a year or so before the war closed, but he lived long enough to see fulfilled what he had predicted in his speeches, and to receive the acknowledgment from some of his bitterest opponents that he was right. his lone widow followed him to the grave, by yellow fever, december , . thus ended the career of the hercules of the lone star state, and she will never do herself honor, and the name of houston justice, until she has a monument for him in granite or marble, surmounted with his statue, or an equestrian statue, in the metropolis of the state. chapter xi. arguments on secession in outline. in the platform of secession there was barely one plank on which all parties could stand in agreement, and we give it in the following words, to wit: "_resolved_, that the rights of the south are seriously threatened, and in imminent danger of actual invasion by the north." this was the solemn affirmation of the whole south. but on the question, what shall be done, what measures adopted, what course pursued, to make the most and the best out of the situation? the people were not a little divided. we will recite a few of the arguments in outline used by the different factions. the original secessionist argued from the constitution itself, that the states out of which the union was formed were independent sovereignties antecedent to the union, and all state elements and powers were reserved to the sovereignties that were not _expressly_ surrendered to the general government; that the constitution was the instrument and servant of the union, and was not intended to reflect its power back upon the reserved rights of the states. that the constitution did not _forbid_ secession in express terms, _ergo_, the right of secession was _negatively implied_ by the constitution; that its silence on the subject was, and could be, no bar to the right; that it could not take notice of the subject at all, as it is not in the nature of such an instrument _per se_ to anticipate its own repeal or dissolution. the suggestion to "wait for an overt act," was answered by saying that the union was like a business copartnership for certain purposes, and when one member of the firm declares his purpose to swindle the other whenever opportunity serves, it is the privilege, the right, the duty, of the partner thus placed in jeopardy not to wait for the "overt act" of swindling to transpire, but to forestall and prevent it by breaking up the compact at once; that the union was substantially such a copartnership, or compact, for purposes of mutual aid, and for mutual protection against foreign invasion. this sort of argument appeared plausible, and generally had the effect to silence dissenting parties. the reply to it was considered insufficient, that, though the republican party had succeeded in placing mr. lincoln in the presidential chair, yet he could do nothing inimical to the rights of the south. his oath of office would deter him, even if personally inclined to damage the south, and though he had said in his series of discussions with stephen a. douglas, in illinois--"this government and country can not remain half free and half slave." no, secession, unconditional, immediate, bore down all opposition, and texas with her ship of state and canvass spread, her sails flying, and the "lone star" floating at top-mast, and all on board except a few stanch union men, stood out for the deep sea of secession and rebellion. she foundered, and with the confederate armada of states went to the bottom; and now the union wreckers are trying to fish her up, and back into place again. chapter xii. texas never invaded. unlike the other southern states, texas was never invaded and devastated by the union armies. considered in the light of a necessary evil, as a terrible educator, or rough civilizer for the barbarian element in texas society, it might have been a good thing, perhaps, if she had been overrun, and this low element thoroughly subjugated, and made feel and understand that there was another force in the world besides texas outlawry--that of law and order. but all things considered, it is probably as well she was saved from such a scourging. the innocent would have suffered with the guilty, and many lives and much property been sacrificed. texas was never whipped in spirit, only nominally whipped, in being surrendered by the official act of general e. kirby smith. like "dog tray," she was found in bad company. indeed, so far from being whipped in spirit was she, that the proposition was seriously made and entertained, after lee's surrender, that texas could carry on the war by herself, and alone win what the whole south had failed to achieve together. general magruder issued a bombastic proclamation to this effect. but the more sensible people understood it as a shrewd blind on his part, to facilitate his escape to mexico, which he made immediately after. by no means would we leave the impression that the whole population felt this way. the intelligent and better classes plainly saw, and admitted their cause was irretrievably lost, and in justice to them we must say they were willing to accept the situation in good faith, and govern themselves accordingly. one of this class said to the writer: "i have fought the fight, been whipped, and now i submit and say, the united states government is good enough for me, and hereafter i am as good a union man as the best." but we must say of the other class that swallowed magruder's proclamation, that they did not accept the situation in good faith, have not yet, and never will so long as they can keep the waters muddy. for the benefit of this class, if they could have suffered alone, one could have desired sherman's or sheridan's army to pass through the country and give it a touch of devastation. you wish to know what class they were. we give the following description: they were a mixed class with very little of the good in the mixture. they didn't have horns on their heads, nor were they cloven-footed except in character; and in this respect they bore strong resemblance to their father, the old "cloven-foot" himself. the masses of them wore spurs on their heels, generally the immense wheel-spur, and though they were not born with them on, yet they might as well have been, for they not only rode in them, but walked in them, ate in them, and slept in them. their clanking as they walked was like a man in chains. they wore belts around the waist, suspending one or two revolvers and a bowie knife; were experts in the saddle, had a reckless dare-evil look, and were always ready for whisky and a big chew of tobacco, and the handwriting of passion and appetite was all over them. they were cow-boys from the wild woods and prairies, and sons of the low class planters, with a strong sprinkling of the low white trash, clay-eaters, so plentiful in the atlantic southern states. in such a flock the one that has killed his man or more is hero and leader. this class of desperadoes were tools of the more accomplished, genteel, oily-tongued, respectable scoundrels in society, who sat behind the screens in the green-room of iniquity, and were the wire-pulling prompters of crime--such as intimidation, robbery, assassination, and so on. especially was this the case during the war. it is impossible to understand, without experience, the situation of unmitigated horror created by such surroundings. one can talk or write about it, and the hearer or reader can imagine, but experience alone realizes the full horror. we have said that texas was never invaded, but she was pretty thoroughly blockaded on the coast; and artillery duels between land and sea frequently took place, but seldom to confederate disadvantage. general hebert was first in command of the department of texas, but he proved to be a man of no military force or practical genius, though a west pointer, and had enjoyed the advantages of military associations in europe, the reflex of which appeared rather to damage his usefulness than otherwise. he brought with him so much european red-tape-ism, and being a constitutional ape, that he preferred red-top boots, and a greased rat-tail moustache, with a fine equippage, and a suite of waiters, to the use of good, practical common sense. cannon, heavy siege guns, that had cost weeks of time, and thousands of money to transport from virginia by rivers, through floods, storm and mud, lay on the wharves at galveston, for months, waiting orders from the commandant to be placed in position on the fortifications erected at divers points on the island beach. everybody became tired and disgusted with the general and his policy. he was too much of a military coxcomb to suit the ideas and ways of a pioneer country; besides, he was suspected of cowardice. in may, , the naval fleet outside made a demand for the surrender of the city, giving four days for a decision. the demand was refused. it was believed, of course, that hebert would at least make a show of fight for the reputation of it, if for nothing more, and that a handsome artillery duel might be expected any hour. this expectation was strengthened by an order for all non-combatants to leave the island in a given time. the next few days witnessed a general stampede of people and valuables up country, the writer and his family with the multitude, to save them from the dangers of flying shot and shell. every dray and available vehicle was brought into requisition to convey people and goods away from the city. anything that could freight a thousand pounds or more, could easily command five dollars a load, four miles to the bridge, where the cars stopped. it was hurrying times. on the fourth or fifth day a gun-boat ran in and opened fire on "fort point," near the entrance to the inside harbor. according to secret order, previously given, the fort responded with one gun, and then it was abandoned. meanwhile the general and staff, with most of the troops, were making safe retreat to virginia point, four miles down the bay, on the main land side. thus the city was left to be occupied by the union forces. the naval fleet entered the bay in peaceful triumph, and no doubt they felt a contempt for the confederate general in command, who had so ignominiously fled, when they looked around and saw the facilities he had for defense. the intervening space between city and railroad bridge was neutral ground, not occupied by either party. non-combatants were freely allowed passes to and from the city. this cowardly flight so incensed the people against hebert, that they petitioned for his removal, and it was granted. in the fall of he was replaced by general magruder--the gay, dashing, and festive magruder; and this suited texas. but magruder soon saw that texas expected him to retrieve the disgraceful loss of galveston, the metropolis of the state. so in a quiet and undemonstrative way, without giving out to the expectant public either time or mode, he prepared to recapture the island city and the fleet in her bay, of which the celebrated and staunch "harriet lane" was the flagship, and stood at the wharf in central raking attitude to the city. a few miles below the city of houston, on buffalo bayou, at a point of narrows, where the huge forest trees on either bank locked arms across the waters, and the shade thereof made still deeper by the mustang vine, and the ever creeping old ivy, might have been seen three or four old steamer hulks being transformed into rams and gun-boats, whose sides were barricaded with compressed cotton bales. and this was the naval force with which to attack uncle sam's heavy iron-clads. magruder had called to his side for consultation, upon the feasibility of his daring enterprise, his predecessor in command, who laughed him to scorn, as a dreaming fanatic, with more courage than brains. but not being disheartened by hebert's wet blanket, he prosecuted his plans and purpose to completeness of preparation. hebert left, and went to some private retreat up country, where he would not be considered by any implication, of word or circumstance, to be partaker in so wild and reckless a scheme. outside it was not yet known what time magruder would make the attack. the secret was yet in his own breast, or, at most, was confined to himself and staff. but a few days prior to the event, it was rumored that magruder intended making the state a new-year's present. so on the st day of december, a. d. , the fleet weighed anchor, and proceeded, while yet daylight remained, down the bayou to red fish bar, within fifteen or twenty miles of the federal fleet, and there anchored and waited till the dark hour of morning should come, named in "special orders." the ugly-looking crafts were manned by volunteers for the occasion, and though never yet in a fight, they had even more than the determined spirit of the "veterans." they were spoiling for the fray. one fear only served to dampen their ardor. the waters might be flowing at low tide on red fish when the hour came to pass it, and they could not pass it before, for fear of discovery by the federal fleet, to whom they intended a complete surprise. the land forces were at virginia point, ready to cross the two-mile bridge, and move up the island toward the city. just at the dying of the old year, and the birth of the new, the two forces began to move; the one by water, the other by land, with flying artillery. the rolling wheels were muffled in the sand, and with silent roll and tread they moved on, and took-well chosen positions. the two forces were to co-operate. they were to strike together at the moment when the moon should be gone to rest, which was at five o'clock in the morning. the land forces were there, and ready to open fire at the time, but waited till a few minutes after, hoping to hear the signal gun from the fleet first. but not so; the fleet then was hanging on red fish in low tide, as feared. fatal detention, if not soon released, and taking part in the action now progressing. they could hear the booming cannon miles away, and in panting mood, and with desperate effort, they float once more, and steam to the scene of action, two hours late--but "better late than never." victory was trembling in the balance between the contending forces. one ram made direct for the "harriet lane," firing as she went, and struck her obliquely on the hind quarter. the rigging of the two vessels became tangled together so that they could not separate. the boarders rushed upon the deck of the "harriet lane" with cutlasses, knives, and navy shooters, and demanded her surrender. but her commander, captain wainwright, refused. and then they fought, bravely fought, hand to hand, on both sides, until wainwright fell, shot through the heart, on his own deck, saying as he expired: "tell mother i defended the 'harriet' as long as i could." sherman, his first lieutenant, was mortally wounded. by this time the deck was running with blood from the dead and dying, and the white flag was run up to the masthead, and the whole fleet in the bay thereby surrendered. meanwhile one of the confederate gun-boats had sunk, being struck by a cannon-ball below water mark. one of magruder's couriers was at this moment carrying an order to the troops to cease fighting and retreat; and another courier rushed to headquarters with the news of the surrender, and the general ordered him placed under arrest for bringing a false report. but he was soon released, for, sure enough, it was o'clock, the victory was won, and the "new-year's gift was made." touching incidents sometimes occur on such occasions. there was one deeply so on this occasion. general sherman, whose history ran back to the stirring times of the texas republic, was in command of the confederate ram that fought the "harriet lane." lieutenant sherman, just fallen on her deck, was his son. there they had met in deadly strife, father and son, the latter mortally hurt, and life fast ebbing away. but they did not recognize each other till the bloody contest was over, and then, at the moment of recognition, the son exclaims in feeble tones: "o, is that you, father? and have we been fighting each other? the day is lost, and i am dying now, father! can i not have the holy sacrament to my comfort before i die?" we will not attempt to describe the agony of that father's heart, as he bent to embrace his dying boy, and to say, "yes, my son; o, my darling son!" the sacrament was given and taken together by living father and dying son, who in one short hour afterward as each said--"forgive me, father," and "forgive me, my son"--breathed his life out sweetly, lying on his father's bosom. the next day a solemn military procession, with soft and reverent tread, passed to the cemetery, where the father himself read the sublime service of the episcopal church--of which father and son were both members--over his boy's grave. solemn salutes were fired in honor of the noble dead. the victory and the defeat were alike forgotten, and regretted for the day, under the sublime touch of a human scene so tender, so grandly holy! we know the father well, a _good_ man, though a rebel. the news of the victory passed over the state with an electric thrill, and gave the people an elevation of spirits, from which they never fully came down, even at the close of the war. this, with an easy victory obtained at sabine pass, about the same time, by an irish company of artillery in fortifications, by which a fleet was repulsed, and one or two of the largest vessels disabled and captured, gave texas somewhat of a feeling of invincibility. chapter xiii. nicaragua smith. the next day after the retaking of galveston, another sensation occurred, but of an entirely different character, showing other phases of human nature, and developing a different class of feelings. the circumstances were as follows: that day a fleet of transports hove in sight outside, just from new orleans, bringing fifteen thousand troops, to reinforce the small garrison already there--one or two regiments. these troops belonged to general banks' department, and were sent to galveston to commence operations on a larger scale than had ever been attempted before. it was an earnest purpose and part of a general plan for the subjugation of the "lone star" state. they were to make galveston the gulf base of operations, and penetrate inland to houston, and thus up the texas central railroad into the interior of the country, forming a junction with the expedition coming in from the red river way, in accordance with plans traced on military maps. this would create a diversion, and compel the texas forces to remain at home, and not be sent to fight banks' main expedition. the scheme was doubtless a good one in its conception, and looked like the scheme of grant and sherman to break that portion of the confederate backbone, lying west of the mississippi. more than this, it was a part of the grand whole devised by them for crushing every part of the monster east and west of the father of waters. the fleet knew nothing of the retaking of galveston the day before. so they sent in a small craft with a few men, to herald their coming. the forerunner suspected nothing but what all was right till they reached the landing, where they were taken in charge by confederate hands. the pilot proved to be a man who had volunteered in the confederate army at the opening of the war, and was placed on sentinel duty at bolivar point, across the bay from galveston, and one foggy night he stole a boat and deserted to the fleet outside, some months before. his name was smith, but he bore the significant and historic name by which he was familiarly known on galveston island, of "nicaragua" smith. he had been with walker in his filibustering expedition against nicaragua. he was one of the worst desperadoes ever known in all that country, though so far he had managed to escape the hands of justice. but now, at last, he was caught as a deserter, and acting as pilot to the enemy, conducting him to the place and scenes he was so familiar with. the united states flag was still flying on the custom house in plain view of the fleet. the deception at first was perfect, and the confederate authorities hoped to play the game out, and capture the whole fleet, so they sent out true and trusty men in federal uniform and equippage, to invite and conduct them in. but something raised suspicion--the want of proper salutes and signals, also credentials from the commodore of the "harriet lane" fleet, now captured. the commodore was blown up in an attempt to blow up one of the vessels after the surrender, and which was contrary to the usages of war. on being questioned at the flag ship, suspicion was confirmed. the leader in charge was detained as an exchange host for nicaragua smith. the exchange never came. smith was court-martialed, found guilty of inexcusable desertion, and sentenced to be shot to death the next day. when standing in front of the twelve messengers of death, the lieutenant having charge of the execution of the death sentence, advanced to him, and asked if he had any last word or message he desired to leave. he said "yes," and gave it, but the character of it forbids its mention here. he died as he had lived, with unmentionable wickedness on his lips--a sad spectacle of depravity, unwept and unregretted by all! the fleet steamed and sailed away, disappointed and defeated in the object of their coming. banks was moving up the red river valley, with heavy land forces, supported by gun-boats, and steele down through arkansas, to a junction with him at shreveport. but texas, now relieved by the change of situation at galveston, could spare their forces and send them to the front against banks and steele. they met them in detail, before the junction of the two lines, and both were defeated, and made disastrous retreats. everything so far under magruder seemed to favor the fortunes of texas arms, and the prestige thereof by this time had become immense, particularly at home. chapter xiv. the captured letter.--mrs. e.'s exile. soon after these several triumphs of texas arms, a vessel was shipwrecked on the gulf, and among the debris that washed upon the coast, a u. s. mail bag was picked up by the soldiers on duty there and forwarded to headquarters. it contained a large amount of letter mail, going north from texas. the letters were written in part by texans, who had fled the country to mexico on account of proscription for union sentiments, and to avoid conscription, with other reasons. and many were written by those still remaining in the country. the accident furnished an opportunity for the military authorities to discover who might be traitors in their midst. the contents of the letters were carefully examined, and indicated that some of the writers entertained sentiments more or less treasonable to the southern cause. among the writers of this class was a mrs. e., living a hundred miles from the coast, on the texas central railroad. she had emigrated years before from the central part of the old empire state of the north. she was a lady of a decidedly literary turn of mind, and this fact was strongly marked in the literary tone of the contraband letter that had, by unforeseen accident, fallen into military hands. it read, in part, as quoted below: "dear mother: it is a long time since communication was broken off between us. it seems an age. i am tired of it, and would that the unnatural struggle were over. but how and when, god only knows! i am living under a reign of terror, where dissembling is an art, and must be practiced, though self-bemeaning to an honest mind. the crushing incubus is upon us, and must be borne as best it can be. it would be comparatively easy to float with the current here if one's sympathies were with it. but dare i say it (?), mine are not. may the gods, in their own quick time, relieve the terrible suspense, and give victory to the 'stars and stripes.'" thus wrote one of the most talented ladies in texas. she was a lady of medium hight and size, delicately organized, sensitive temperament, brunette complexion, and a dark full swimming eye--a gazelle-eyed juno. unlike some literary members of the sex, she was a very queen of domestic neatness, thrift and joy, as well as a happy companion of books. more than this, she was by no means a literary or domestic recluse, but her large heart sent out its tendrils for the dews of neighborhood life, and gave out the sweet waters of friendship to such as should themselves be friendly. the beautiful climax of her character was in giving joy to others. she was most happy when making others so. without guile herself, she never looked for it in other people. yet this beauty of her character--an ingenuous frankness of heart and manner--sometimes inspired envy and jealousy in those who were her personal and social antipodes. in literary matters, the poets were as familiar to her as household words. but she paid tribute not to literature alone, but ventured into the deep waters of such authors as hugh miller on geology, humboldt's cosmos, and was able to digest metaphysics, theology, etc. and if, in the midst of it all, household cares included, exhausted in mental and physical strength, a little negro boy should come and say, "please ma'm, here is some cloth, and mother is sick, and wants you to cut me a coat; she says you are so good you will do it," she will take the cloth, and cut and baste by the hour, and then send the little black home so glad. in prose she writes heavy or light, and her muse sparkles with beautiful poetry. she is now, and has been since the war, a correspondent of first-class periodicals, weekly and monthly, at home and abroad, and is a leading poetess of the "lone star state." one morning the door-bell rang at her house. mrs. e. answered the summons in person, and on opening the door there stood a tall, handsome gentleman, in military costume. each said "good-morning," and bowed the stranger's bow. "is mrs. e. at home?" he inquired. "she is," replied that lady. "have i the pleasure of addressing that lady now?" said the officer. "i am mrs. e. will you come in, sir?" said she, in a dignified tone. "i thank you, madam, i will, if you please," and stepping in, he was seated on the sofa. "let me take your cap, sir," said the lady, reaching out her hand to relieve him of that gold-braided and spangled ornament. "no, i thank you, madam, i am in a hurry, and am under orders in calling on you this morning so unceremoniously, without previous announcement by card or courier," said the military gent, with the feeling that he was in the presence of superior intelligence and worth. at this moment he felt that it would be a gracious relief if he could be spared the chagrin of serving a military summons upon the fair lady, for whom he confessed himself inspired with unusual respect, though never having met her before. he treated her, in words and manner, with genuine politeness, and no gentleman could have done otherwise. "may i inquire, sir, speaking of being under orders, what your orders are?" said mrs. e., with evident surprise at the officer's hint. this interrogatory of the lady had the effect of producing a grip of mars at his throat, while cupid's arrow struck his heart, and the lady, all unconscious of his struggle between the two deities, waited his reply. at last regaining his speech, and having studied well the language in which he would make his errand known, with the least possible shock to mrs. e.'s sensibilities, he proceeded to say: "my dear lady, it becomes my very unpleasant duty, under imperative orders, to request you to accompany me to headquarters, at houston, where general m., the commander of the department of texas, will make known to you the reasons of this summons." "a request for me to appear at military headquarters, before the department general--for _me_, a lady! and may i know what for? strange order from the general to a lady! what can it mean, and will you, if at liberty, explain how, and why it is, that a humble lady like myself has so suddenly reached such a degree of importance with the military headship of the land?" "as i said before, he will disclose to you the reasons for this summons, madame," said the officer. "it is a very unpleasant matter to me, and the more so, as i perceive you are a lady of unusual refinement, appearance and manners." "i suppose, then, the summons is imperative and i must go?" said the lady again. "madam, i do not clothe my orders in such abrupt language, but feel bound to treat you in every respect as a gentleman should a lady, or," hesitatingly, "as if i were an old and accepted friend, paying court to your ladyship," said the man under authority, not from the war deity alone, for the last words were on the indictment of the little-winged god. a lovely carnation blush overspread the brunette cheeks of mrs. e., and reflected back the sentiment, in wordless pleasure. just then the gallant gentleman relieved her momentary embarrassment, by pleasantly inquiring: "how soon, mrs. e., may i expect the pleasure of your company by railroad to houston. the next train will be here in two hours. can you be ready in that time?" she assured him that she could. "you will then excuse me, madam, from taxing your time further, and i will return to the depot, and there wait your coming at the hour." so saying, the officer retired. on reaching the depot, he saw the two soldiers he had brought with him, armed with bayonets, and supplied with handcuffs, in anticipation of arresting some female outlaw, but now would part with the world, if his to give, sooner than mrs. e. should know of his bayonet companions, and the other preparations for depriving her of physical freedom. he ordered the soldiers to keep out of sight at the depot, and give him no word or look of recognition on the train in the lady's presence. at first they did not exactly understand the secret of such instructions, but asked no explanations, though they wanted to ask, and the officer did not condescend to enlighten them, so they were left to their wits to divine the mystery. but, meanwhile, what had been going on at the house of mrs. e.? during the interview between her and the officer no member of the household had intruded into the room where they were, but as he retired she lost no time in acquainting the family circle with what had happened. that is, she told them that she had to report herself at military headquarters; and described the good-looking and polite gentleman who had served the summons, but said never a word of the little brush of romance from cupid's wings. "but what does it mean?" said one and another, and still another. "i don't know," said she, "but i am going to see. the officer is a true gentleman, i am satisfied, and no harm will befall me in his hands. besides, he will not only give me a safe conduct, but will regard the feelings of a lady, and make it _sub rosa_. and now let me say, dear ones, that whatever developments may occur, you shall be duly informed, and i don't feel that we need fear serious harm." then she retired to make her toilet, and a few minutes before train time she was on the platform in a modest but bewitching attire. the officer gave one glance, that was all--a stranger would have given two or three--and, turning away, felt a soft sensation in his left side. he tried to appear like a stranger, with no interest in the lady, who now stood looking up the road for the train. she had divined and appreciated the public reserve of her military escort displayed at that delicate moment. soon the whistle blew, and the train was in sight. just then the officer passed her and said, "select a seat in the rear car, and i will come to you." the train moved up, bringing that car at her side. she entered by the front platform, he by the rear. they met at the center, and found one seat fully vacant only. he motioned her in, and she did not object to the stranger's occupying the seat with her. train is off, and the noise of rumbling wheels soon drowns conversation to all but the mutual talkers themselves. what, with the hope that nothing serious is to befall her at headquarters--as her conscience tells of no crime against military or civil order--and the new found pleasure of company so congenial, she almost forgets the relation of officer and prisoner. the trip of fifty miles seems less than an hour, as the train enters the city of destination. the officer and his fair prisoner are seated in an omnibus, and driven to--not headquarters, nor the common jail, nor guard-house, but to the ---- house, the best in the city, and there mrs. e. is imprisoned in a nicely furnished room for the night. the officer retires after ordering all her wants supplied, even to a special waiting-maid, saying as he goes: "mrs. e., i will call in the morning with further orders. i hope you will rest well, and not have unpleasant dreams." that night no bayonet paced the hall by her room to prevent the prisoner's escape. no, her _honor_, better felt than told, stood sentinel at her door! the next morning a gentle rap announced the officer's presence, and on opening the door he gave her a pleasant smile, with a cordial "good-morning." she looked a little pale, as if she might not have rested well the entire night, which induced him to ask: "are you quite well this morning, mrs. e.? you are looking a little pale." on assuring him that she was, he notified her that he was now ready, if she were agreed, to escort her to the presence of his dignity, general m., at his private quarters. "certainly, sir, i am ready and anxious, as well as curious, to know the meaning of this strange proceeding. is it far, sir?" "no, it is not very far, madam, but no matter about the distance, as there is a carriage at the door waiting to convey us thither." "o, there is; but this treatment seems too kind and generous toward your prisoner. i could have walked as well, sir," said mrs. e., while a tear came into her eye, which, turning her head aside, she tried to hide from his view, but which he saw, and treasured in the heart of his recollection. taking his arm they descended the stairway, and proceeding through the hall to the front door they entered a close carriage, and were driven away without meeting the stare of listless spectators. on reaching the general's quarters she was ushered into his presence with military salutations from the subordinate to his superior officer. "i have the honor, general, of returning the process served, and the prisoner, mrs. e., is before you, whom i now introduce to you," said the sub-officer. she bowed genteelly to the general, which brought the military bluff to his feet, and to make his politest reply, which would be awkward in most gentlemen. he asked her to be seated, ordering a chair. then reseating himself in his big swivel chair, and facing the lady, he proceeded to say: "mrs. e., i suppose you would first like to be informed as to the reasons for this summary proceeding against you; and though, as department commander, i am not required by military law or usage to allege the cause of action, yet, in this case, and because i am dealing with a lady, who though a stranger to me, i perceive to be intelligent and genteel, i will assign to you the reason for this peremptory summons. a letter, purporting on its face, to have been written by yourself, or some one bearing your name, by the accidents of war and providential direction, has fallen into my hands, and a portion of its contents proves to be treasonable to the confederacy." here handing her the letter, he inquired: "mrs. e., do you recognize the letter as yours?" "i do," was the brief response. "and those are your sentiments, as therein expressed, toward our cause, madam?" again said the general. "the letter reads so, general, and it would be cowardly in me to deny, now under fear, what i then said without fear. i was frank then, and will not be less so now. those were, and are, my sentiments; though little did i think, or intend harm, by the letter, to the confederacy when writing it, and in forwarding it to friends in the north; as it was strictly a private letter to private friends, disconnected with any motive to inflict injury upon the country. nor can i see or feel that the offense is a penal one in any sense, so long as i am found guilty of neither constructive nor actual treason, by aiding or abetting the enemy, furnishing him material aid or contraband information, nor of the possession of treasonable motives, expressed or implied, waiting the opportune moment to display themselves, or something more than mere feelings or convictions, which are certainly involuntary things, and hence without responsibility. feelings and convictions, permit me to suggest, general, are like birds flying over one's head, for which one is not responsible. one is only responsible for willful action, in obedience to these feelings and convictions. i will not urge, general, the further consideration, that your prisoner is a woman, without pretension, whose sphere of action is confined exclusively to the domestic circle, including some little experience in literary matters. but of all this you must and will be the judge, of course, and i must submit to your judgment and consequent orders in the premises, but i would respectfully beg to be spared from sustaining damages, either corporal or incorporal, on the plain principle of justice, that where one has neither done nor intended damage to others, he should not be damaged himself." the general replied, though not without some misgiving: "my dear madam, you defend yourself capitally well, and i perceive you are not only an intelligent lady, and hence, on this score, we fear you in our cause all the more, if disposed on seeming occasion, to do damage, which is liable to come at any time by the accidents of war, but i feel bound to say that i believe that you are a well-meaning lady, though not patriotic toward the country of your adoption. but, madam, occupying the responsible position i do, i am bound to discard personal feeling, and take notice of facts, both actual and possible, and not be a respecter of persons, but have my country's weal and prosperity before me, and remove with scrupulous care all obstacles thereto, even the least. "as you say your case is not criminal in any important sense, but imprudent, inexpedient, unfortunate, the least i can do is to remove you beyond our lines till after the war. and as most convenient to us, and probably preferable to you, i will order you, by military escort, to matamoras, in mexico, across the rio grande. and i detail lieutenant h. here, the officer who placed you under arrest, and brought you to these headquarters, to command the escort, and see the order of exile carried out. you can now return home on your parole of honor, and there await further orders." to a lady of her style and sensibilities such a proceeding would be shocking, but mrs. e. bore up under it well. she retired from the general's presence, with the pointed remark, addressed to him: "well, general, if i understand the situation then, you exile me, not so much for what i _have_ done, as for what i _might_ do?" "your case is disposed of, madam. i have nothing further to say; and you are too much of a lady to bandy words with," replied the general. she was driven to the cars as she had come, in company with lieutenant h., who saw her safe on board, and as the train moved off, he pressed her hand, and said warmly, "good-by. god bless you; be of good cheer; in a few days, two or three, you will see me again, and--" he left the sentence unfinished, as the train was getting fast, and leaped from the platform. at the hour of m. she was at home again. "in a few days, two or three," she said to the family, "i am off for the sunset side of the rio grande to matamoras. this is the order of the general, and to remain there, or outside the lines, till the 'cruel war is over.' "and now, lew, i want you and your sister emma to accompany me with the ambulance and the nice white carriage mules, and be my companions in exile. do, my dears, and don't say no, for how can i go alone, and leave my adopted darling brother and sister. we can do something for a livelihood if the purse gets low, and we'll fill it as we go." "but, dear mrs. e., you have not told us yet why you are ordered into exile. have you been committing some enormous crime that deserves the punishment of expatriation? tell us, for it may be that we may meet the fate of poor 'dog tray,' being found in bad company, which might not be quite so pleasant after all." thus responded, archly, lewis and emma. "sure enough. pardon me, dears, my mind had become so absorbed with results that i had become oblivious of the cause. ah! why so, not demented am i! and yet with all my effort at self-control, there is, i feel, a terrible strain on my nerves. but the cause, what do you suppose it is? i will tell you. do you remember that letter i wrote to my dear old mother two months ago, dying, no doubt, with the heartache for her child in this far-off country, and in these troublous times? you do. well, by a strange ordering of the fates that letter fell into the hands of the military. i see you wonder how. it was on this wise: the vessel carrying the mail was shipwrecked on the gulf, and among the things carried ashore by the tidewaters, near sabine pass, was the mail-bag containing the fatal letter, and was picked up by the soldiers on duty there, and forwarded to headquarters. and now that is how the situation is, and the procuring cause of my being in military limbo." "and is that all--is that the head and front of your offending?" exclaimed the brother and sister, and then added, "if that be all, we are not only ready to go with you into exile, but if need be to the ends of the earth. yes, we'll go, dear mrs. e.; we'll go, and glad of an opportunity for voluntary exile from a country so mean, and with one so dear." "hush, my dears; give utterance only to such feelings when we are safe beyond the lines. now we understand each other, let us to the work of preparation for the journey of four hundred miles. lew will look after the mules and ambulance. the ambulance will need two good seats, and room inside, and a rack behind for provisions and trunks. and you and i, emma, will see the trunks well filled with clothing for all around, and other things that may come in play. you know we shall be obliged to camp out the whole way through, as there are no places of entertainment in that wild country. the wolves will nightly give us howling serenades around our camp-fires. but the escort will afford us ample protection against four-legged wolves, and wolves bipedal." the next two days were busy ones of preparation, interspersed with brief respites, occasions for interesting chats and consultations on the novel trip before them, in which the ever-recurring how, when, where, and wherefore, were thoroughly canvassed and disposed of each time as well as mortals with only mortal ken could dispose of such things yet in the untried future. at last, when the clock said ten, the second night, the trunk lids were pressed down to their places, locked and strapped, and mrs. e. wearied, and half-falling into a big arm-chair, exclaimed, "there, lieutenant h., you may come as quick as you please, we are ready." just then the door-bell rang. "why, who's that," said mrs. e., in a half-startled, but suppressed tone; but a little bird told her it was the lieutenant. miss emma approached and opened the door, and sure enough it was he. "is mrs. e. in?" inquired he. "she is," replied emma; "please step in, sir." "good evening, mrs. e.," was his salutation to that lady. she replied, and rising and meeting him they shook hands warmly. he remarked, apologetically, "it is a late hour to call, but i know you will excuse me, madam. i am stopping at the hotel in town, and just came to know if you were ready to begin the pleasant journey in the morning," at the same time glancing at lew and emma, to see if they appeared to comprehend the situation. "we are ready, i thank you, lieutenant, and only wait 'further orders,' having just this moment, before you came, strapped our trunks." the lieutenant looked surprised at the plural, "_we_ are ready," and gave another glance at the brother and sister, and then at the two big trunks, and had parted his lips to speak, when mrs. e. interrupted him with, "yes, we are ready--these, my darling friends, my children almost, are going with me to be my companions in exile; and we are going in our own conveyance, and have just one vacant seat for you, lieutenant, and we all cordially invite you to occupy it, and travel with us. and whatever military cavalcade is to accompany us, let them travel by themselves and be our john baptist. what say you, sir, to this?" "well now, really, mrs. e., this is quite unexpected, and as i can have no objection, certainly, to the surprise plan, for which you alone are responsible, i can not refuse your kind invitation to make one of the number of so pleasant a traveling quartette. so being ready, i respectfully suggest the hour of eight in the morning as the time for starting. my requisition on the commander of the post here, for six men and two four-mule teams and ambulances with drivers, has been filled, but it can remain so, and i will order them out an hour ahead of us, and we four will leave together, in a quiet way, not exciting public curiosity. and now, good-night all, i will be here at eight, sharp." "what do you think of him, miss emma, and how will we be likely to fare in his charge?" said mrs. e. after he had gone. "what do i think of him? you ask. to speak, frankly, i think he is a nice gentleman, and will _do_ to travel with, either with or without a military escort. i feel assured in his presence." "it is indeed a painful thought to be driven, forced from one's home and country, even as a penalty for real crime, but when for an accident, a misfortune, which points to no criminal intent, it is a _grief_, unassuaged by aught save a conscious innocence. though in my case, so far, a halo of real romance seems to gather around to shed its sweet sadness o'er my heart, to lighten the burden that presses it. indeed it feels like the tender hand of the all-wise father, caressing my troubled spirit into quiet and confident repose. indeed, i almost feel thankful for the rod; and to bless the hand that holds and applies it. in a word, to speak directly, the trip we are about to make seems in its circumstances more like a pleasure trip than going into exile. but let us to repose; it is eleven o'clock, and we must rise early." they retired, and the travelers of to-morrow are soon lost in sweet slumbers, which are made a little sweeter by pleasant dreams, in which the name of "lieutenant h." escapes the lips of both the fair sleepers in low murmuring tones. each hears the gentle murmur from the other, but is unknowing of her own; and each buries the secret in her heart, resolved that what has passed the portals of the ear shall not command the tongue for revelation on the house-top, nor to private ears, not even their own, unless, perchance, the mischievous little deity that presides over the heart destinies of most people, shall, for the sake of diversion, so far awaken curiosity as to force out the secret. the morning light breaks in the east, and throws increasing strength upon the darkness of slumbering night. awake, yes, wide awake. they arise, and perform in thoughtful silence, and with unusual care, their morning toilet. the morning repast is hurried through. the ambulance is at the door, and lew, at seven o'clock, is loading and strapping on the trunks, with other necessary traveling equippage. the morning is beautiful, and the glorious sun has nearly reached the score of eight in the heavens, when lieutenant h. suddenly appears, with smiling politeness, as bright as the sunny morning, and exclaims, "all ready, i see, and so am i; shall we be off?" the family adieus are said. lewis is on the front seat, with lines in hand. the lieutenant hands the ladies in, emma beside her brother. just then mrs. e. remarks, "i suppose, lieutenant, you will occupy the seat beside your prisoner, to prevent her escape into the deep, tangled wild wood, when passing through the dark 'bottoms' of the brazos? we shall soon be there." "thank you, madam, that would seem entirely proper, and perhaps necessary; at least the situation is not repulsive." so saying, he became seated with a satisfied air, and emma gave a stolen glance back over her shoulder at the double situation, first of officer and prisoner, and then of friends. she denied to herself thinking she would be willing to exchange seats with mrs. e., as she caught sight of the lieutenant's handsome face smiling under the starlight of his brilliant eyes. she felt a little uneasiness on her own seat, and imagined it was not as easy as the back seat would be; still she comforted herself into a tolerable degree of contentment, though it was far from being a continual feast. she thought, and admitted to herself, that the arrangement of seats was entirely natural, and to introduce any change would be rude. so she would endure what had no cure, and bide her time. these reflections came and went in her mind, but if some invisible hand had written them down over her signature, she would have denied the authorship of them. an hour or more had passed, and lew had been giving strict attention to his handsome _mulos_, and on the level road had allowed them willing speed, and now they descend quite a hill, and enter the four-mile 'bottoms' of the brazos. the way was a narrow forest arcade. the giants locked arms one and two hundred feet above their heads, festooned with vines, mingled with the deep hanging moss, which fringed the trees here and there, and everywhere vailing from view the face of the sky, and holding back the sun's rays, which penetrate not that dark passage, for full eight months of the year. strange sounds here fall upon the ear, reminding one that half the zoological collections of noah's ark could be found here, both of bird and beast. a half shuddering fear came over the ladies in that partial night, and each one leans a little nearer her companion. they have penetrated the dark way half a mile or more, when suddenly the mules stop, affrighted, and begin to back. emma screams, and half swoons on her brother's arm. "what's the matter?" exclaim the others. lew is some excited, but keeps cool from necessity. it was indeed a startling sight. an immense panther had just leaped across the archway, from tree to tree, forty to fifty feet above, and a few rods ahead, as though preparing for a leap upon the unwary travelers. at the moment of alarm, the lieutenant had clutched his trusty rifle by his side, and the next instant all four saw the cause of alarm. the brave officer was instantly on the ground, with rifle in hand, and already drawing a bead on the gentleman in the trees. "take care of the team and ladies, lew, and i will soon make him sick," said he, but the animal was leaping from tree to tree, making off into the deeper forest, and was out of sight at two or three bounds, screaming as he went. but the lieutenant gave him a parting salute, on a shadowy glimpse of him, at the sixth bound. the animal gave an unearthly scream, that sent a million echo thrills through the dark woods, and then a heavy ground fall. "i've brought him," exclaimed the officer. reloading his gun, though he had one load yet in the other barrel, he ventured carefully into the thicket against the earnest remonstrance of the ladies, and found the game in the last muscular struggles of death, as he expected, having luckily struck him in the heart. drawing his tape on him, he measured nine feet from tip to tip. leaving his dead carcass to be food for buzzards, and returning to the ambulance, they moved on again through the dark tunnel, while the lieutenant held his finger on the trigger, keeping an eye out for further intruders. they had driven a mile farther, when the mules again pricked up their long ears, and this time a small pack of wolves crossed the road twenty rods in front, in a hurry, as if pursued or pursuing. they stopped not, nor so much as looked at the travelers, and were lost to view in an instant or so. the lieutenant here mischievously inquired, "mrs. e., is it here you would like to escape from me 'into the deep tangled wildwood?'" that lady only answered with a shudder. misfortunes, _on dit_, never come single; so with frights. they had now reached the muddy malarious brazos, and ferried across by virtue of a military pass, and had gone a full mile beyond. the pressure of fear had begun to yield as they saw open daylight through the tunnel, a quarter mile in the distance, but now again the _mulos_ suddenly halt in a fright, and this time with snorting fear, snuffing danger near! "look there ahead in the track! see that awful snake coiled there!" exclaimed emma. again the lieutenant was on the ground, gun in hand; and again the fair ones object. but he was not deterred from the purpose of bruising the serpent's head. providing himself with a dead limb that had fallen from the trees above, he went bravely to the attack; first firing a bullet at his snakeship's head as it stood raised in arched defiance over the complex coils, ready for the springing bite of death! the bullet carried away the crest of the head, which threw the reptile into fearful contortions, and then, with terrific blows from the limb of the tree, he soon brought it to a quiet quivering rattle! it was a fearfully large spotted wood rattlesnake, and by the tape measured eight feet three inches in length, and had seventeen rattles. relieving the highway of its presence, and casting it into the brush by the wayside, they passed on, querrying, "what next in the line of sensation?" and thinking, that for the first half day, and the first ten miles, the events of the morning would suffice all fancy for that class of romance. again the cruel lieutenant asks something about escaping "into the deep tangled wildwood." but mrs. e. extorts a promise from him of silence on that subject in the future; at least till they get out of the woods. no more disturbing events occurred that day, but the feast of heart and soul was rich and racy. they were out of the fearful "bottoms" and rising to the clear and balmy atmosphere of the beautiful upland prairies. how different from the humid, pestiferous breath of the low, dark regions of an hour ago! they breathed free again. it was high noon, and they saw, two or three miles ahead, a beautiful grove, where they agreed to go into midday camp. on nearing it at one o'clock, their advance guard of two ambulances and the "six in gray," were coming out. the hailing sign to halt was given by the lieutenant, and driving up, a few words were exchanged, and orders given about the route and where to camp that night, and then the advance drove on, leaving the officer and his company in the leafy grove by the cooling spring, enjoying their noon refreshments. no fire was struck, no coffee made, but a basket of native claret was opened, a bottle broke, and the nectar of the gods was sipped from silver goblets by the joyous four. two hours had flown by in happy mood, in which the stomach proved the principal organ of friendship. the hungry epicures in the woods felt the divine flow more free and warm in obeying this ordinance of the gods. their willing hearts would have staid in such a frame, and whiled away the sunny hours in that grove of bliss, but the voice of duty called from refreshment to the labor of the way. the _mulos_ were satisfied, hitched up, and on the move to the west, accomplishing twenty miles more by nightfall, where they find the advance again, in beautiful camps, with two bright camp-fires a few rods apart--one for themselves and one for the exile with her attendants. the provisions are brought out for supper, and on this occasion lieutenant h. proves himself an adept at coffee making. the ladies offer to take charge of the cooking department, but he objects, claiming that he can make the best coffee. "ladies, 'let him that would be great among you, be your servant.' i am the character referred to in the quotation, and i insist that you shall not be my competitors for distinction in the coffee-making line." when the evening repast was over, the lieutenant takes the ladies, one on each arm, and kindly gives them a bit of walking exercise by moonlight, through the grove, thus relieving the tedium of riding all day. the balm, stilly breezes creep through the open spaces with voluptuous effect, inspiring the arm-in-arm trio with soft sentiment, and their happier thoughts are mostly on themselves. "stop," says emma. "what dreadful noise is that?" as the distant screeching howl of the coyotas fell on the ear. "it is the coyotas," replied lieutenant h. "let us return to camp at once," said both the ladies, and back they went quicker than they came. it is ten o'clock at night, the guards are on duty, and all retire, the ladies behind the ambulance curtains, and the officer and lew on a blanket before the camp-fire. the wolves come in and howl an hour or two within a few rods of the fires, in search of camp offals. the eyelids of the fair ones refuse sleep. at last a charge is made on the lank, hungry creatures, and a volley fired into their ranks by the guards, and they are routed and return not for the night, and then _somnus_ commands all in quiet rest for the next six hours. at seven in the morning breakfast is over, and the advance leads out again, followed an hour later by the traveling _partie carree_. the next six days of travel furnish no great variety of scenery or excitement, except in the social department, which seemed never to cloy. otherwise, the trip, for the most part, was but a daily experience of repeated routine. all eyes and ears became familiar with sights and sounds by night and by day. immense droves of cattle and horses were seen grazing right and left over the wide-spread prairies, and occasionally lank hunger was seen sitting at the mouth of his hole, in some sand bank or mound, or at the roots of some lone veteran tree, looking wistfully at the travelers, seeming to say to them, "how i would like to feast on your starved carcasses!" a bullet from the lieutenant's rifle keeled one back into his hole, and scared another, tearing a rabbit for his breakfast so bad that he made lightning speed northward, and never slacked for the mile he was in sight, and at the brow of the hill, where his _narrative_ became invisible, its last motion seemed to speak back and say, "i never heard a rifle before." and probably it was the fact--and on he went, as if resolved on never stopping till he got to the north pole, for fear he might hear another. on the seventh day the weary travelers stood on the banks of the far famed "rio grande," at brownsville, opposite the city of matamoras, in the state of tamaulipas, mexico. the lieutenant here ordered the advance into camp to wait his return. and then he crossed the "rio" with the exiles, and remained with them till they were located in a pleasant suite of three rooms fronting on the "grand plaza," near the magnificent cathedral. he made the excuse to himself that it was necessary for him to act as special protector to the ladies, till they were sufficiently familiarized with the ways of that strange people, to be able to make their own way, till he could see them again, and perhaps in nearer and dearer relations. lieutenant h. had now had ample time to analyze and determine the character of his feelings, which he more than once had displayed in manner toward mrs. e., but had not spoken with his lips. in his self-examination he found his heart vibrating between two attractions--mrs. e. and emma. the question of preference, as tried by a purely chronological standard, stood against mrs. e. she was considerably his senior in years, that was plain, but how much, and how many years, he could only guess. he could not tell if she were older or younger than she appeared, but probably older; that is, she was young appearing for one of her years; or, _vice versa_, she was old appearing for one of her years; that is, younger than she appeared; or, making a third alternative, she was just the age she appeared to be. "but how old would that be?" he asked himself. and here again he was puzzled. sometimes, during their travels, he thought she looked younger, and then again older, than when he first saw her, and served the summons. at one time he thought he saw the signs of wrinkling age, and then again he didn't see them. "but," he said again, "one thing is certain, the general proposition is true, that she is either older or younger than she looks, or just as old as she looks. so far i am safe; and furthermore, it is safe to affirm that, judging from _mere_ appearances, she is about forty years old. she may be older, or she may be younger. yes, she may be, but i think i am not far out of the way. she certainly is, without any possible mistake, somewhere between thirty-eight and fifty. if i were sure she were only forty, i could stand that. let me see: i am thirty-five. suppose she were but forty; how would that do? a wife five years older than her husband! it would sound better the other way. i don't like it very well, but, with love, i think i could endure the disparity. endure (?), is that the word for a man seeking a companion? "there is miss emma; how old is she? from twenty to twenty-five. that certainly sounds better. but do i love her well enough to make a wife of her? well, i think i could, or do(?), if mrs. e. was out of the question; i feel her drawing me the hardest, and the orthodox people say there can be but one true love, and i suppose it must be so, either because they say so, or because it is true in fact, in nature, that is, one's experience will accord with the sentiment. but is it true in my experience? i am afraid not; therefore i am a miserable sinner. it is true, i am more or less involved in feelings toward miss emma, warmer than common friendship between a single lady and gentleman, and it is _more_ than less. now what is a man to do with an experience so in violation of the orthodox teaching and steady habits of the olden times of our ancestors? "but hold; here i am talking quite foolishly, for how do i know that either of those ladies would accept? i have not proposed, and they certainly won't. what shall i do? i can not propose to both, for i am not a mormon, and don't want to be. still i like them both, that's true, but the laws of the land are against bigamy. i wonder if nature is? certainly human selfishness is not. but hold again, there is no end to love's mystery. the only way is to be brave. 'a faint heart never won a fair lady.' the more i think, the more am i confused, in a quandary. o thou winged god, tell me what to do! i am resolved what to do. i will first ask one and then the other. but which one first? and will this be honorable to the last? stop, ye gods! confusion confused! what am i about? crazy! ho, for the insane asylum! but i must find relief. i am desperate!" evening shades appear, and lieutenant h. is seated alone with mrs. e., and after a few palpitations choked down, his sitting posture and position of hands made satisfactory, and his words well studied, his lips part to speak the word of destiny, when mrs. e. suddenly breaks the awful silence with the domestic utterance, "how i would like to see my little daughter kate and my husband to-night." horrors seize upon him. he makes no reply. "what is the matter, lieutenant, you look so pale?" inquired mrs. e. he grows paler, and she goes for the camphor, and hurrying back places the bottle to his olfactories, repeating, "what _is_ the matter, lieutenant?" recovering a little, he stammers out, "nothing, mrs. e.; nothing, only i felt a little faint, as i do sometimes. let me pass out into the open air, and i shall soon be myself again." when he stood outside in the free air, and looked up into the heavens, made beautiful by moonlight--the unrivaled silvery moonlight of mexico--he thanked his stars, most of all, for putting it into the heart of mrs. e. to speak at the instant she did, and save him from unutterable chagrin! in a few minutes he returned to the room where he had left the lady, and was once more seated in her matronly presence. she was changed, and looked older now, and more unapproachable in his eyes. surprised at his quick convalesence, he was now prepared to enter upon conversation with mrs. e. concerning miss emma. he felt settled now that his angel was calling his heart toward her. so after a few easy interrogatories, addressed to mrs. e., he was satisfied that she was neither married nor engaged. miss emma had been out walking with her brother lew, and had just returned and entered the room. for a few moments all took part in a running conversation, but being about time to retire, mrs. e. and lew withdrew from the room, thereby breaking up the congregation, and leaving the lieutenant and miss emma, each to enjoy company. "two are company, and three are a congregation," says emerson. we will say in brief, he proposed and she accepted, but on condition that she might remain with mrs. e. during the exile. "certainly, miss emma, you shall remain. i would not have you leave her, and am glad to see this evidence of your friendship and faithful devotion. and now, miss emma, as i have never been an advocate of long courtships, but deprecate them after the parties engaged are sufficiently acquainted, i would respectfully suggest, that without ceremonious preparation or invitations, which we could not have here, among strangers, and in a strange land--and without waiting till we can have them--we have the nuptials solemnized to-morrow evening, in this room, at eight o'clock, in the presence of mrs. e. and your brother. i will remain with you a few days, and then return with my squad, and report to headquarters, and by some honorable means get back to you here at an early day." at this interesting stage of proceedings, the retired portion of the congregation was called from their slumbers to hear and sanction the matrimonial terms, which, being duly done, the ladies disappeared for the night, and lieutenant h. went to repose with lew, who in twenty-four hours more would be his new brother. they were married, and in ten days duty called the bridegroom to interior texas, where he was held four months before he could come back to his bride. three months more, and the war had closed with victory for the "stars and stripes." mrs. e. and her friends were relieved from exile, and all returned home to the blessings of peace and joys of domestic life. lieutenant h. had proved a heaven-sent blessing to them all. chapter xv. lawlessness and crime. in the summer of , we were coming up the texas central railroad, from houston to hempstead, a distance of fifty miles. on reaching the latter place we had stepped from the cars to the depot platform, and in a minute heard a pistol-shot on the opposite side of the train. thought nothing strange of it till in a moment more some one remarked: "a man is shot." and even then thought nothing unusual of it. the feeling of terror was only a uniform matter of course. but stepping across the way we observed a crowd gathering at an unoccupied store building, went in and there saw a man on the counter, stretched at full length on his back, struggling in his blood, and breathing heavily, with a bullet-hole through his head and brains protruding. near by him stood his murderer, dr. o----r, with _nonchalance_ and a smile of fiendish satisfaction. the dying man had been overseer on his murderer's plantation. a difference had arisen between mrs. o----r and the overseer about the management of the plantation. and the lady, true to southern instinct, could not brook opposition from an overseer, so she writes herself "insulted" to the doctor in the army, and home he comes in a rage by the train we were on, and spying the unsuspecting offender through the car-window, leaps out and shoots him down at sight and without warning. no one looked strange or excited, or said a word. we walked back to the train in disgust, feeling it may be our turn next. went home to b----m, twenty-five miles, and the next morning a friend of ours--a druggist, dr. f----g, from paducah, kentucky, at the opening of the war--was assassinated in the public streets. the writer officiated at his funeral from his widowed mother's house, who was thus robbed of her only son and support in old age. the sheriff of washington county witnessed the transaction, and had foreknowledge of it, but did nothing officially to prevent or punish the crime. the name of the assassin was b----t, who, the writer learns, has since come to a similar end himself in the state of mississippi, thus illustrating the innate reflex, as it were, of the law of retributive justice that sleeps not nor slumbers till it has blood for blood, life for life! the murdered man's mother and only sister are since deceased, hurried out of the world by the great sorrow of his untimely and tragic end! one night after the family had retired several pistol-shots were fired back of our house, attended with boisterous talking. dressing, we went to the back window, and there saw a man in the moonlight falling to the ground. just then a voice at the front of the house called: "mr. n., mr. n., come down here, i want to see you quick!" descending the outside stairway leading from the upper to the lower gallery, we met our friend captain c., who instantly exclaimed: "mr. n., i have shot my best friend all to pieces. please go and look after him. i must leave. you will find me at dr. b.'s or about there." we went to the dying man, and found several collected around him. he had two shots through the knee and thigh, the latter cutting the big artery, and he bled to death in a few minutes. it was mr. smythe, whom we had met not three hours before in the evening, and who then took occasion to protest his innocence from having taken part, as we had been informed, in a little persecution against the writer about the purchase of a lot of cotton. we noticed he seemed somewhat excited, judging from his tone of voice in the dark, and he on horseback in the street. while conversing he remarked in a low defiant tone: "you know, mr. n., that i am not afraid of _any_ man!" just then we heard the click of a pistol in his hands, and instantly felt ourself in danger, and saying to him "it is all right," suddenly retreated to the house and did not go out again till called out to look after his corpse. it seems after we left him he fell in company with a drunken desperado, and about eleven o'clock the latter came to the gate of our backyard, on smythe's horse, and called by name for one of the colored servants to come out to him, and getting no response tore pickets from the fence and hurled them against the door of the negro quarters. soon smythe appeared and an altercation took place between them about the horse. our friend, captain c., was passing to his home, and out of kindness to the family sought to quell the disturbance. as he reached the spot the desperado was drawing his revolver on smythe, and when disarmed by the captain, then smythe in turn drew a derringer on the desperado, when the captain caught it in his left hand, holding the revolver in his right, and saying: "you shall not shoot a disarmed man." smythe responded: "let go my pistol or i'll shoot _you_," accompanying the threat with an oath. a struggle ensued in which smythe recovered the use of his pistol, and shot the captain, grazing his hip. he replied with two shots, which finished smythe's career on earth. a preliminary examination was had, and the captain was bound over, but the grand jury dismissed the case as justifiable homicide. we will now relate an incident, with which the writer was still more personally connected, to illustrate the bitter prejudices a northern man had to meet living in that country. yes, prejudice! a thing conceived in sin, born in iniquity, twin of jealousy, and equally cruel; one of the relics of barbarism still clinging to poor human nature, tormenting its waking hours and its dreams by night, lurking in the soul's deep recesses, and in the thoughts of the brain, displaying in its action all the bristling, snarling, growling, barking, and snapping suspicion of the canine race, ready to pitch on every strange dog passing the street. it may be further characterized as the blindest, most unreasonable, hateful and hating, and most desperately wicked passion of the human soul. it casts its blighting mildew over everything it touches. we can have no extensive acquaintance with its presence and power in society until we have met and felt its chafing and friction-grinding power in the strange relations and contacts of a selfish and suspicious world. our ideas and feelings are not sufficiently humanized and catholic in their sway. and when we think they are, frequently on occasion we are waked up to discover they are not. the thought is unwelcome, that in this we exhibit still, in despite our genteel and generous progress, the unconscious affinities of barbarism. but why do we thus comment? because in our five years' texas experience we met this monster of the human heart in shapes and phases, deeper, darker, and more vile than we had ever dreamed of before, or could have dreamed if we had never seen texas. there this barbarous element assumes a more lawless and criminal form than in any other country we ever saw. there it hesitates not at doing personal violence to its object. and so much the more as they value human life less than other people. comparatively, northern people can scarcely imagine what prejudice means except in milder forms, and as defined in dictionaries, pulpit theories, and so forth. a lady friend said to us on our return from that country: "mr. n., you ought to be a wiser man for what you have seen in texas." a gentleman was kind enough to say to us: "served you right, you had no business to go there in the first place." now we do not of course ask the alms of sympathy in our texas experience, particularly from such as might feel harmed by the exercise of that noble grace, but simply appear as the writer of a little personal history. perhaps no northern man was more unfortunately situated in texas than the writer. he had gone there just a few months prior to the war, which, to the eye of prejudice, was evidence, _prima facie_, that he was a spy, or something else inimical to the country's welfare. if not, why was he there at that late day? the incident we wish to relate is in the following. chapter xvi. the two days' meeting. sometime in june, , the writer had an appointment for a two-days' meeting, fourteen miles away, at a place called u---- h----, saturday and sunday. on the morning of the sixth day of the week, the splendid clay-bank saddle-horse was brought out, young and vigorous, and the preacher placing himself in the spanish saddle, was on his way to the religious meeting, reaching there two hours before the time. preached at eleven o'clock a. m. to a large week-day audience in a neat house of worship situated in a beautiful grove on a hill which was the highest land-point in the county. he was the invited guest of a local preacher, at whose instance the appointment had originally been made. in the afternoon, a self-resolved committee of three gentlemen called on the preacher to know if the report were true, which was current there, they said, that, on the th of april previous, he had held a feast at his house, to which all the yankees in the neighborhood were invited guests, and that, too, in _express_ opposition to the proclamation of president davis, making that a day of fasting and prayer, calling upon the people to resort to their places of public worship, and pray for the success of the confederacy. if not true they desired to suggest that the preacher had better notice the report in the public meeting that night. his local preacher friend opposed giving any such undue prominence to the report. but he disposed of the committee by remarking: "i will follow my best impressions at the time." the evening came on, the audience assembled, and after preliminaries he arose to announce text and subject, but before doing so said to the hearers: "i understand you have a grievous report about me here, the scene of which is laid in b----m. i heard the report myself some time ago there, but it bore such evidence of instigation by the cloven tongue of prejudice and slander that i thought little of it, and it had passed from my mind." the preacher then gave a brief recital as they had it. "but," said he, "the report in b----m had one item that you have not here. that at the close of the feast i was at the head of the table and drank off a toast to the name of abraham lincoln. furthermore," said he, "i will now give you another fact not contained in either report. it is this: the confederate brigadier-general m., with three members of his staff, were present at my table that day. one of his staff officers is a baptist clergyman, and was the only minister present at the public services that day, and officiated in his clerical capacity, coming from church to my house. this important fact was evidently left out of the report, because if included it would have damaged the plausibility of it and defeated the purpose of the intended slander, which was to injure your humble servant, and no one else." the preacher continued: "we had two meals that day at our house--breakfast at the usual hour of eight o'clock in the morning, and our bill of fare contained no extras on account of the day; nor do i remember that the bill was reduced or modified either in quality or quantity to suit any preconceived notions as to what would and would not be proper to eat or abstain from eating on that proclamation-day of fasting and prayer. we had dinner at four o'clock in the afternoon, and having fasted four hours beyond the usual hour for that meal, we thought it not a serious breach of the letter or spirit of the proclamation-text to crowd a little more into the dinner hour at four p. m. my wife is a splendid cook herself, and what with that fact, and her supervision of three or four colored assistants, and the inspiration all were under to do their best because of the coming presence of the aforesaid military dignitaries, we _did_ have about as good, and delicious, and sociable a meal as the times and the state of the market would permit. i will not so far dignify the report as to deny the evil animus of it, but call the attention of the audience to two facts, and leave you to draw your own conclusion: the _toast_ and the presence at our table of a confederate brigadier-general, with his staff, reconcile them who can." here leaving the matter, he announced his text: "but the scripture hath concluded all under sin." and as he was in the mood of a holy indignation at that hour, he evolved from his text the topic of "_sin_: wherein it consists," and "_its bitter fruits_: wherein do they consist." and he gave them, to the best of his ability, a sermon that savored of brimstone and the hot place below! sunday morning the preacher gave them "faith, hope, and charity," and felt victory his, as seen in the increasing numbers and interest of the meetings. general m. was his personal and accepted friend, and a union man at heart, and accepted the garb of a brigadier-general of state militia to hold his political popularity in the state, for he had aspirations toward the gubernatorial chair, and hoped some day to do his state better service in a civil capacity. chapter xvii. the conscript law and how the writer beat it. three years and more of war had now passed, and we had succeeded in flanking all movements to get us into the army. the conscript law had been in force a year or two, sweeping all ages from eighteen to forty-five, and all classes except ministers of religion in regular discharge of ministerial duties, state and county officers, and slaveholders owning a certain number of slaves, fifteen being the minimum. of course, it being the slaveholder's war, and the slaveholder never having been obliged to work for his rights in human chattels and things, but others made to produce and maintain them for him, his aristocratic leisure must be consulted and favored still, in the conduct of the war. _it was the slaveholder's war, but the poor man's fight._ and nothing pleased them better than to force a northern man, described in their parlance--"a d--d yankee, and a d--d abolitionist"--into the army, and get him killed off. the writer has been asked a hundred and one times: "how did you escape the army?" the question is easily answered. after the first volunteering wild-fire had swept over the land and died out, he saw what would be the next step in the war programme, conscription. "the wise man seeth the evil and fleeth," says the prince of wise men. and though he did not flee in the literal sense, yet he did in the legal sense of the coming conscript law, by changing his "base" from that of a simple private citizen to that of a minister of religion; and had his regular congregation, to whom he ministered over two years. by this _dernier_ resort, he bridged over a bad place in the road--for "jordan was a hard road to travel"--and he was on the hardest part of the road in those days. but as late as february, , a new exemption law was reported to the confederate congress, and on the eve of being passed, containing this clause: "all ministers of religion, who have, at any time during the war, bought and sold for profit, shall go into the army." this law was reported to congress by mr. miles, of south carolina, chairman of the military committee. but we were credibly informed the hon. williamson s. oldham, representative from our congressional district, drafted it, and inserted the clause relating to ministers of religion, with particular reference to the writer's case. the hon. gentleman had spent two hours or more in our store, the day before leaving the last time for richmond, virginia, to dance attendance upon the last and forlorn session of the confederate congress. and having posted himself in our case, he concluded that business clergymen were the forlorn hope of the confederacy. the animus of the law was that ministerial drones only, who would not work, but preferred starvation, or living off their broken-down congregations, were entitled to exemption from military duty. but the more enterprising class of ministers, who were willing to divide financial burdens with their congregations, by seeking business pursuits, for supporting themselves and families, and yet giving them the same amount of pulpit service, with the drones, were damaged by the virtue of business enterprise, and held to the performance of military duty. this looked like the impassable gulf which we could neither cross nor flank. but solomon's forlorn hope of "fleeing" was left us, and we made a hasty and masterly retreat out of texas into mexico. the retreat, however, like all hasty retreats, was expensive and financially disastrous. we had no time to strike tent, gather up family and material interests, and take with us. it was the occasion of finally losing thousands of dollars. but when safe on the sunset side of the rio grande, in matamoras, the confederate asthma left us, and we breathed freer. but not long after, we found that though we had escaped the confederate "frying pan," we had jumped into the mexican "fire," for the demon of war was after us there. the city was under the personal command of general mejia, the favorite general of the emperor maximilian, and who, the reader will remember, perished with his imperial master at the tragic close of the quasi empire. and at the time we speak of, the city was beleagured by generals canales and cortinas, of the liberal party, on the outside. the report was put in circulation that the foreign residents must help defend the city. this was the most dangerous ground yet, for in case of the capture of the city, the foreigners in arms, just at sunrise some fine sunday morning, would have been filed out on "boro plaza," and shot to death without "benefit of clergy." the public shooting of one or more on this plaza was generally the opening entertainment of each sunday. from shooting all went to high mass, then to carrying the host through the streets; thence to the cockfights, beer-garden dances, theaters and other amusements the balance of the day. the writer found that long familiarity with such scenes resulted in a demoralization of noble sentiment and refined feelings; so that at last one came to regard human life not much above the level of brutes, and to feel that there is no virtue except in name, and that the distinction of right and wrong is only relative and conventional, having no absolute and universal foundation in truth and equity. indeed the romish church of mexico--and no other is there--seemed to act and move on this broad assumption, as she does everywhere, when permitted to act out her nature freely, that truth and right are not absolute things as they relate to mankind, but are to be held subject to her _dictum_ and disposal. hence the same thing may be right or wrong at the same time, depending only on the circumstance of being allowed or disallowed by the church. here comes in the plausible, yet mischievous doctrine and dispensation of indulgences. there is but a step betwixt truth and error, betwixt the sublime and the ridiculous. the rev. dr. l----n, from nashville, tennessee, a cumberland presbyterian divine, and the writer, joined in a petition to his imperial majesty, maximilian, for a free permit to hold religious services as protestants in the city of matamoras. the petition was granted, and soon after it was followed by a proclamation from the emperor, decreeing religious freedom to all throughout the empire, including foreigners. this was doubtless a species of _religio coup d'etat_, intended for effect; but more abroad than at home, particularly in the united states. however we took advantage of it for a few weeks in the city; and held services in the "varieties' theater," each sunday morning, for the benefit of the anglo-american population. but after the fourth sunday we began to feel the bitterness of the native population toward us. and this, in connection with the danger that the city might fall into the hands of the liberals, who were less liberal in religion than the imperials, caused us to discontinue the religious services. and though so soon defeated, yet we felt a little wholesome pride in the fact that we were the first protestant heretics that ever bearded the romish lion in his mexican den. the city remained in imperial hands till we left. chapter xviii. a plot against the writer's life--more about texas. in july, , being in trade at b----m, and having been for two years doing a commission, receiving, and forwarding business, besides buying and selling on his own account, the writer called one day at the collector's office, in the court-house, to pay the quarter's two and a half per cent. taxes on sales. the collector being absent, he inquired of a squad of men at one of the front doors of the court-house--among whom was his honor district judge s----d--if they had seen the collector. just then a man came hurriedly pressing through the squad, and approaching us asked if our name was n----. we had no sooner said yes, than he struck us over the mouth, cutting both lips nearly through on the teeth, accompanying the blow with the denunciatory charge: "you d--d scoundrel and thief, you have stolen $ from my wife." in quick succession six or eight more blows followed the first, when, bringing into requisition the little knowledge of the "gloves" obtained in boyhood, we succeeded in warding them off. his poor success as a pugilist drove him to the use of an office chair, whose blows were received with another. then he changed to hurling the chair at us with all vengeance, which we received as before, until both chairs were demolished. by this time we were in the court-house yard, when our personal friend, deputy-sheriff hardin, came to the rescue, caught mr. t----d, our assailant, under his powerful right arm, and held him as in a vise. by this time our assailant's brother appeared on the field, and ordered the sheriff to release his brother, saying: "it is all right to whip the d--d yankee." "no, sir," replied the officer, "if you want to hurt mr. n. you must hurt me." he released him on a promise to keep the peace. meanwhile, we saw a dozen men circled around us, armed with revolvers. we could see the devil in each eye. we then began to suspect a plot. but what could the charge mean? the explanation had come to us. we remembered the clerk had said some lady had brought to the store a lot of dress goods, and requested their sale for her account at certain prices. that he had sold them for the gross amount of $ , taking out the usual ten per cent. commission of $ , and paid her the balance. we made a statement of the facts to the circle of desperadoes, and then retired to our house. the next day, from a couple of friends, leading men in times of peace, but nowhere in such times, we learned what the plot was. the low class hated our presence in their midst, and business success, and in their bitterness would drive us from the country or kill us. the $ matter was to be used as a pretext for the attack, hoping thereby to provoke retaliation as a further excuse for shooting us down, and in case of failure his confederates were to reinforce him. they seemed to calculate pretty safely that a dozen of them, at least, could dispatch _one_ unarmed yankee. a calculation very different from that which they boasted at the opening of the war, that "one southern man could whip just one dozen yankees." yes, our assailant swore vehemently that "he preferred fighting yankees at home rather than in the field." we replied, "very likely, if unarmed." the friends advised us to leave the place, as they feared secret assassination. we took their advice, and left for san antonio, one hundred and sixty-five miles west, where we took our family in a few weeks, and spent the winter of - . on the first day of march, , the writer took an ambulance stage--a sort of private irregular affair--for matamoras, having for company, beside the driver, a lady and two children, going to her husband there, and placed under our care. the driver had never been through on the route before. we got along quite well the first three or four days, having a change of mules each day. but one afternoon we took the wrong road, and brought up ten o'clock at night, lost in the middle of, so to speak, a shoreless prairie. the mules exhausted, the driver turned them out to graze for the night, with forty feet of stake rope between each pair. the lady and her children were settled for the night in the stage, and the driver and ourself took the accustomed ground bed. at break of day the writer awoke, and raised his head to look for the grazing _mulos_, but could not see nor hear them. suspecting they might have taken leave of absence, the driver was instantly awakened, and he followed the rope trail in the road we had come the night before, a half a mile back, and then it suddenly changed to the right oblique, and was lost in the trackless prairie grass. the sun was two hours high, and it was sunday morning. it felt like sunday all round. no sign of civilized life in view on that ocean prairie. here and there could be seen, forty and eighty rods off, the hungry spanish wolf seated in quiet watchfulness, and patiently longing for a human meal. our provision box was nearly empty; the children were crying for water, and we had none, and could not tell when we would have any. nine o'clock came, and no driver nor mules yet. he had gone northward, and the writer struck out toward the rising sun in search of the missing animals. we had gone about a mile, and saw a mile or two further in the distance two men on horseback, driving a large herd of cattle and horses. we followed them as rapidly as our pedestrian qualities would permit, and when on an elevation, within possible hailing distance, say half a mile, we raised an indian whoop, and imagined ourselves considerable of an indian in the whooping line just then, as there was a strange feeling of life and death about it. we succeeded in making them hear, got their attention, and by waving a white signal, succeeded in drawing them to us. they were mexicanos, not able to understand a word of english. fortunately we could make them understand the situation, in their own language, the spanish. we gave them two spanish dollars to go and hunt the mules. they were gone an hour and returned, handing back our money, saying the _umbra_ had the mules. we took but one dollar, giving them the other for their honesty. "adios, senor," and off they rode. just then we saw the driver coming with the mules, two miles off. at first they looked like one immense animal about forty feet high, mounted by a man twenty feet more. this illusive effect was produced by the prairie mirage. about noon the mules were in harness again and moving. at four in the afternoon we reached water at a mexican ranche. the children were nearly famished from thirst, as they had been twenty-four hours without water. and here we struck the lost road again, twenty-eight miles from rio grande city, on the rio grande, called ringgold barracks during the mexican war with the united states, named for major ringgold, who was killed there. we passed down the river on the texas side with a fresh team, crossing it by ferry, at edinburg, and then we took the stage on the mexican side, one hundred and fifty miles to matamoras. we made that distance on the finest road we ever saw, in just twelve hours. the next stage that came through was captured, and robbed by the cut-throat cortinas, who is dignified in the military world with the title of general. the splendid stage line was thereby compelled to haul off, to the great annoyance and detriment of the traveling public. we will here record a tragic incident to illustrate the savage character of this half-breed semi-barbarian cortinas. but it is quite enough to mantle with patriotic shame the american cheek, to know that a high federal officer was _particeps criminis_ in the foul play. don manuel g. rejon was a spanish gentleman, of fine personal appearance, in whose veins ran the pure castilian tide, an eminent lawyer, and a member of the mexican congress. in april, , owing to the political disturbances which occurred in the states of nueva leon and coahuila, he fled to brownsville, texas, and thought himself secure under the protection of the united states flag. jose m. iglesias, one of president juarez's ministers, was at this time in matamoras, and solicited the extradition of rejon. general f. j. h., commanding the federal forces on the lower rio grande, turned him over to the mexican authorities. the surrender of a political refugee like rejon, that he might be put to death by his enemies, never occurred before in the united states. the famous, or rather infamous, cortinas was then governor of the state of tamaulipas, and in obedience to the arrogant orders of minister iglesias, caused him to be shot. a father's prayers, a woe-stricken wife's tears, and the piteous wailings of his children, did not avail to save the unfortunate rejon. general h., after having surrendered rejon, applied for the extradition of a certain confederate agent, who resided at monterey; but his wishes were not gratified by the mexican authorities. we believe the name of the agent was j. a. quintero. the surrender of the fated rejon was a gross outrage upon the principles of civilized warfare, and was done with the moral foreknowledge of the bloody fate that awaited him. the act was as if surrendered to the tender mercies of indians! and though general h. might have been actuated by a desire to secure the surrender of the confederate agent quintero, yet this furnishes no palliation for the unprecedented action. the act remains a blistering stigma upon the general, as it should; and is an unvarnished disgrace to the united states service--inexcusable, inhuman, and savagely mean; showing that even a federal general, in _one_ instance at least, could hob-a-nob in cut-throatism with the infamous cortinas. in our view, it was a high-handed stroke of arrogance, unauthorized by military precedent or necessity, and should have resulted in cashiering general h., and dismissing him from the service in disgrace. in a few weeks the writer's family came to him in matamoras; five hundred miles they came alone, with a lady traveling companion, through a wilderness country, camping out fourteen nights, the spanish coyotas making night hideous with their scottish bagpipe combination of screeching, howling sounds. the country covered much of the way with mesquite and cactus "chaparral." very little water, except in puddles by the wayside. our youngest child, eighteen months old, sickened from the water, and nearly died at matamoras. the overdone condition of mrs. n., from personal exposure, mental anxiety and fear, she has never fully recovered from. we are vain enough to think that few women could have shown equal heroism under similar experience, and lived through it. doubtless the experience of previous years in the methodist itinerancy had prepared her for such emergencies. we know not, indeed, what we can endure until put to the test. only two weeks before making this journey, the family had been flooded out in san antonio by the sudden rise in the san antonio river, eighteen feet in two hours. they barely escaped with their lives, losing nearly everything in the line, of household goods--carpets, five feather beds, mattresses, a lot of elegant parlor books, and among them an elegant gold-clasp family bible, containing the family record, worth thirty dollars and otherwise valuable as a gift of former years. the flood was caused by a sudden discharge of an immense water-spout from the heavens, a few miles above the city in the san antonio valley. the water-spout had come from the gulf, a hundred and fifty miles or more, and discharged itself in the valley, throwing the river over its banks. the writer was in mexico at the time. chapter xix. lee's surrender.--effect upon texas soldiers.--writer's return to texas. we were in matamoras when lee's surrender took place in virginia. as soon as the news reached texas the confederate soldiers began to desert in squads--the desperado class--organize into predatory bands, roam at will over the country, and rob everybody and everything they could lay hands on. took special delight in robbing northern merchants in the country. they broke into the writer's store at b----m one night, and carried off three to four thousand dollars' worth of goods; and that was the end of it. there was no chance for legal redress, for the condition of the country was that of lawless disorder. it was not certainly known who the robbing parties were, but if it had been, it would have been considered guilty knowledge by them, and probably cost one his life. on the th day of june, , we took passage with our family, on a government transport, and came to new orleans. thence on july st we secured passage by the "star line" of steamers, for the family, to new york, and in a few days returned ourself to texas, to gather up, as far as possible, the fragments of business. landed at galveston just behind hamilton, military governor of the state. followed him up country, and on reaching b----m, found major curtis, from southern illinois, in command of the post, with two companies of troops. after an absence of a year, we were back again on the ground of former trials and dangers. but now, with an assurance against fear, the first thing we saw was a squad of men sunning themselves on the front gallery of our old dwelling-house. among them was the man t----d, who had made the attack on our life the year before. we walked up and saluted them, saying, "how are you, gentlemen? i see a new order of things here since i left; how do you like it?" did you ever see the downcast look of a sheep thief? then you can imagine how some of these scalawags appeared. some never looked up again after the first glance. our assailant paled, and looked as if his heart were quoting the interrogatory of the ancient devils: "hast thou come to torment me before my time?" with one or two gentlemen we passed to the court house, where major curtis had headquarters. took a birdseye view of the situation, and then went to the house of our north carolina friend, a union man, and who believed in sam houston. he could not well be otherwise, for he had been so fortunate as to secure a genuine new england lady for a wife. sunday morning we were passing the soldiers' quarters, and saw them handing a coffin into a wagon. we halted, and addressing the gentleman giving directions, found it was major curtis. he told us the deceased was a fine young man from southern illinois, whose praise was upon the lips of all his soldier comrades. the indications were, that they were burying without religious rites, and on inquiry we learned they had no chaplain, and were not inclined to ask the services of a resident clergyman. we informed the major that we sometimes acted in such a capacity, and any service we could render should be cheerfully given. on his appointment we preached a funeral discourse in the court house, at p. m., that day. they buried the christian soldier boy a thousand miles away from home, where all were strange and few were kind. the next day the major desired an interview with us at his office, to obtain information about certain parties living thereabouts. here was an opportunity to relate our grievances, and have them redressed if we desired. we related the case to him and he proposed to arrest and punish the party; but we said no, that we were willing to leave the scoundrel to the handlings of a just providence! bidding the major "farewell," and a "god bless you" one day, we took stage for austin, the capital of the state, and headquarters of the governor. passed up the valley of the colorado river, which we had frequently to ford and ferry in a distance of eighty miles, before reaching the capital. the governor was already bivouacked in the state domicile, and two regiments were encamped hard by the city. judging from appearances, his excellency meant business. here we met, and became the guest of rev. josiah whipple, elder brother of the rev. h. whipple, now of chicago. he had once been in the methodist connection in illinois as long ago as , and before that date. went to texas in a missionary capacity, in company with the rev. john clark, who died of cholera while in pastoral charge of clark street m. e. church, of chicago, some years ago. he insisted we must not take the stage for san antonio that day--saturday--but remain with him over sunday, and perform pulpit service for him. we did so. but on entering the pulpit sunday morning, we were unfortunate in a portion of our wardrobe, in having on a blue flannel sack coat instead of a "confederate gray" or black, or home-made jeans, or some other color than blue. _blue_ was as enraging to the secesh eyes of some of the fair ones in the audience as _red_ is to the eyes of a turkey gobbler. they could not endure the blue coat as they had seen the "boys in blue" that morning, on their way to church, and judged we were one of the regimental chaplains of the union troops encamped near the city. so six or eight of them, led by an elderly amazon, filed out of church while the "blue coat" was on his knees in silent devotion in the pulpit. on rising and being seated in the desk, we observed a little excitement at the door, between a couple of gentlemen and several ladies, which we afterward learned was the effort of the men to get the ladies cooled off and back into church again, which they succeeded in doing, except the old woman. she declared she would never hear a _blue coat_ preach as long as she lived, and home she went. a few days thereafter we were told that the old lady and a daughter or two were sweeping the sidewalk down town with their long dress trails, and when coming to the united states flag, suspended in front of headquarters, and over the sidewalk, they stepped to the middle of the street, and thus avoided the humiliation of passing under the hated "stars and stripes." their contemptuous conduct was noticed, and reported to the post-commandant, who sent a posse after them, had them brought back, and made them march to and fro under the flag for several minutes, while the band played the national airs of "star spangled banner" and "yankee doodle." and then they were dismissed with the wholesome admonition, "to show more respect in the future for the old flag which had done them good, and not evil, all their days." a sunday or two after we noticed the old lady in church again, where she listened respectfully to the preaching of the offensive _blue coat_, and we thought the thorough union medical treatment she had received had done her good, as her bilious or rebellious condition seemed very much reduced, and the patient rapidly convalescing toward a love of the "red, white and _blue_." we visited san antonio, and on reaching new braunfels, thirty miles from there, a fine german town of five or six thousand inhabitants, we found at the hotel a man just in from the bush, where he had been met, robbed, stripped, and tied to a tree, and there left to perish by hunger and thirst, or to be the prey of bears, wolves, and panthers from the mountains near by. judging from the cast-off clothing they left behind, the robbers appeared to be deserters from the federal camps at san antonio. fortunately some passer-by heard his cries of distress, and went and released the man from his perilous situation. the robbers had taken from him a gold watch, $ in gold, and a good suit of clothes in exchange for some rags of blue, with which the victim in part covered himself so as to get into town. in their haste the robbers left in the clothing an old silver watch, which, with the clothing, we took and turned over to the general in command at san antonio. he kindly thanked us for the interest we had taken in the matter, and said that information had been lodged that two cavalry-men were missing from camp, and presumed these were the parties; and said he should send out a detachment, and if possible capture them. we subsequently learned they were not captured. you might as well look for a needle in a haymow as to hunt for deserters in the forests, chaparral, and mountains of texas. we returned to austin the sick guest of the rev. mr. whipple, three weeks in the fellowship of the sufferings of the ancient job. chapter xx. gov. hamilton--the thirty neros--the old german and his wife--the fight with indians--a native texan's opinion of germans. before we left austin governor hamilton sent out a strong detachment to the adjoining county on the north, and had arrested sixteen members of the vigilance committee, whose whole number was thirty, and whose business had been during the war to hunt up and kill union men. the sixteen were brought to austin and lodged in prison to await trial. eight of them turned states' evidence, and testified that the thirty had killed, in their own county, exactly their own number. they showed the officers where fourteen of the victims were buried, in one place. we were invited to dine one day with a friend at the house of their legal counsel. from him we gathered the facts. he said that he considered their defense desperate to the last degree; but he was bound by his professional oath and honor to see that they had a just and impartial trial. one of the victims of the fiendish malice of these thirty neros was an old, white-haired german, eighty years of age, who was suspected of union proclivities. they went to the house where the old german and his aged wife were living together alone, in peace and quiet, and made the pretext to the old lady that they wanted her husband as an important witness in some case, which partly quieted her fears. they placed the old man in the saddle, and ordered him to ride in front. as he was passing out the gate of the front yard, the villains shot the old man in the back, and he fell to the earth dead! the old lady standing in her door-way saw it all, gave one long, wild scream, and fell forward to the ground! the wretches left, nor let the grass grow under their feet till safe in their hiding places. the thunderbolt of insanity had passed through the soul of the wretched old wife, and when we left austin she was a hopeless maniac in the insane asylum. we wish to say that these things were generally unknown outside the localities where they transpired during the war. to the northwest of austin, a hundred miles away, we heard the report that a serious fight had occurred between the state militia and two or three hundred indians, who had come down from the mountains to steal horses and cattle. that the indians fought in ambush, and made many of the whites bite the dust. but when the lying spirit of the war was over, the truth came out that these indians were a colony of german refugees fleeing from texas persecution to mexico. but few of them ever reached there. the german population of texas were generally understood to have union sympathies, avid were therefore cordially hated by original texans. we were riding one day into the country with a genuine texan, and coming to a heavy german settlement, he called our attention to their fine farms and substantial improvements, and said, "see the germans squatted everywhere on the best lands in our state. i'll tell you what i would do if in my power. i would compel them to leave the rich land and go to the sand hills and sand prairies. i don't think they have any business on these lands, and right under the noses of the better class of citizens." this was an occasion when we regarded the "discretion" of thinking without speaking "the better part of valor." but we confess that we never felt more disgraced by the company we were in. we passed out to his plantation. his house was scarcely fit for a horse-stable, and everything was in filth and confusion in and out of doors. we thought the meanest german in the settlement his king in industry, neatness and thrift. one of the most flourishing towns in texas is new braunfels. it is thoroughly german in its original settlement and growth. as already stated, it is located thirty miles east of san antonio, and probably on the shortest river in the world, the comal, two miles long. just to the north of the town, and running west, is a range of mountains. at the base of this mountain range, the comal rises from the bosom of the earth, from several large springs, which flow together within a distance of a few rods, has no tributary, descends fifty to seventy-five feet within the two miles, and then falls over a bluff, making the best water power in the state, and equal to any in the world for the quantity of water. then loses itself in a confluence with the guadalupe river, which still further north rises in the same sudden way. and on this stream are several fine water powers. the waters of the two rivers will equal in volume the rock river of illinois. the san antonio headwaters are formed from several sudden springs three miles above the city. the san marcos, still east of all of those before named, originates in the same way, and all of them furnish an abundance of water power all along their courses. and when it comes to the character of their waters, the writer must confess that he has never seen their equal in any country. they are as limpid as the finest spring water ever seen. we have thrown a five cent silver piece into one of the san antonio springs, and seen it on the pebbly bottom, fifteen feet down easily, and the depth did not seem to the eye more than five or six feet. the country, where these streams rise, is from six to eight hundred feet above the level of the sea, and only a hundred and twenty-five to one hundred and fifty miles from the ocean. the result is a clear, dry, salubrious atmosphere. so much so that if standing on a mountain top, twelve miles west of san antonio, in a clear day, one's vision can penetrate westward two hundred and fifty miles across the rio grande to the mountains of monterey, in mexico. chapter xxi. northern texas. in this closing chapter of our book, we have thought that a brief outline sketch of the topography, climate, soil, and productions of texas might not be uninteresting to the reader. and in order to this, we shall speak first of its grand geographical divisions, as characterized and distinguished by peculiar products. and first we will speak of northern texas, which is distinguished for being the wheat region of the state. the wheat region proper embraces about thirty counties, of which dallas county may be regarded as the center, containing about thirty thousand square miles. the rich black soil is especially adapted to wheat-growing. it yields in ordinary seasons, and under the imperfect cultivation that it gets as yet, twenty-one bushels to the acre as a mean average; and in occasional instances the quality is so superior as to weigh seventy-two pounds to the bushel. after the first year of the late civil war the supply of flour was principally from northern texas. its quality was superior to any flour we have ever seen in illinois. the soil is equally favorable to all the other cereals that are produced in the northern states. the soil on and near the upper brazos is reddish, and is now considered the best for wheat on account of the solution of gypsum that it holds, and which is regarded as an important quality in a wheat-producing soil. it wears better and longer than other soils. the southeastern and southern-central counties are the best cotton-growing region, the most fertile of all lands in the state, and for any thing, like an equal area, the best for cotton that can be found in the world. the cotton counties proper constitute about one-quarter of the state. the region also includes several millions of acres of sugar lands, often quite equal to those of louisiana. sugar has been produced in considerable quantities near the mouths of the brazos and colorado rivers. the topographical face of the country, in the cotton and sugar section, is quite uniform on the coast belt of it. galveston and lavaca are, respectively, ten and twenty-four feet above the level of the sea; houston, which is fifty miles from the former port, is sixty feet; columbus, which is eighty-five miles from the coast, is two hundred and fifty feet; gonzales, something over one hundred miles, is two hundred and seventy feet. this shows a very moderate rise, of only a foot or two per mile, from the coast far inland. san antonio, one hundred and forty miles from the sea, and outside of the cotton region west, is six hundred and thirty-five feet above sea-level. the table lands and the desert, called llano estacado (staked plain), in northwestern texas, are two thousand and two thousand five hundred feet, and some elevations are five thousand feet above the sea. in point of climate texas claims to be called the italy of america. the mean temperature corresponds, and is equally clear and glowing. its peculiarities over other climates of latitude are found in its unwavering summer sea breeze and winter northers. the first is a delightful alleviation of its summer heats, flowing each day from the gulf as the sun's rays become oppressive, and extending remotely inland to the furthest settlements with the same trustworthy steadiness. it continues through the evening, and has so great effect that, however hot the day may have been, the nights are always cool enough to demand a blanket, and yield invigorating rest. the severe northers occur from december to april. they come with varying durations--from a few hours to two or three days, and seldom extend beyond the general period of forty days. the rapid reduction of temperature from seventy-five to thirty-five degrees, and the driving wind, are keenly felt. when accompanied with heavy rains and sleet, as is sometimes the case, not often, the cattle suffer and die off in large numbers. these northers are not unhealthy, but invigorating, and do not cause nor aggravate pulmonary diseases. pneumonia is sometimes developed by them, but with half the caution that we exercise in the winters of the north, its attacks may be avoided. as in all new, warm, and highly fertile countries, the low rich river bottoms, especially of southern texas, which are covered with a profusion of semi-tropical vegetation, are unhealthy to unacclimated persons. the higher lands are healthy, if the emigrant make a proper disposition of himself, which is too frequently otherwise. the atmosphere of the lower brazos, at richmond and thereabouts, was particularly poisonous to the writer. three days' residence there would suffice to bring on chills and fever, and then a retreat of a week up the country seventy-five miles would suppress them. san antonio has been in former years quite a favorite resort for consumptive invalids seeking the improvement of health. the native mexicans used to tell a story of its healthfulness that has the yankee smack to it. they said some travelers, approaching san antonio, met three disconsolate-looking fellows, who were hastening away from the city. they asked them what was the matter, and where they were going. they replied that they had met with reverses, that they wished to die, and were going to some place where they _could_ die. yellow fever is imported into the coast towns as it is into new york and philadelphia, but it does not originate there. its ravages, as would be expected in such a climate, are sometimes severe, but it does not penetrate into the upland and hilly regions any more than it does into the interior of new york or pennsylvania. _times of planting and harvesting._--plowing can be done in every month of the year. this is an immense advantage by way of economizing labor. it is done in january and february for the field crops. early garden vegetables are planted in january. in february the prairies are green, corn mostly planted, and oats, barley, peas, etc., are sown. in march fresh pasturage is quite abundant, though the old has not failed during the winter, and about half the corn is planted. in april the balance. then sheep are shorn, and potatoes, peas, and wild berries appear in market early in the month. in may small fruits are gathered; apricots ripen toward its close. in june corn is ready for harvesting, and peaches are ripe. in july first cotton-picking comes. we have seen new bales of cotton for sale in galveston on the th of july. cotton-picking continues to the close of november. december is a plowing, cleaning, and picking-up month. the above statements refer to average seasons in the central and southern latitudes of the state, and to the ordinary culture of the main crops. some of them might be grown earlier, and would ripen if not planted till months later. most garden vegetables can be planted throughout the season, so as to afford a constant repetition of them for the table. _wool production._--wool husbandry is a large and important interest in texas. sheep can be grown with high profit for domestic uses on the moderately elevated dry _sound_ lands of all parts of the state. but the sheep region proper--that where the pasturage is best adapted to them, both in summer and winter, where with safety and health they can be herded in great flocks, and where the land is cheap, and wool can be most cheaply grown for exportation--lies in western texas. it is bounded on the east and west by the guadalupe and nueces rivers, and so far as yet experimented, north by the colorado river, say from bastrop upward. south of san antonio the sheep region is generally level, descending with a moderate slope to the coast. but the hilly country, commencing five or six miles north of san antonio, is regarded _par excellence_ as _the_ sheep region. the hills further north become more abrupt, with narrower valleys between, and large river bottoms are reached. the present center of the sheep region is kendall county, appropriately named after the late george wilkins kendall, the senior editor of the new orleans _picayune_, one of the best conducted and most readable newspapers in the united states. he and horace greeley served their apprenticeship together in the office of the concord (n. h.) _statesman_. in he went to new orleans and established the _picayune_, and entered on his career of success. he went to the mexican war under ben mcculloch with the texas rangers. he died october , , at his residence in kendall county, thirty miles north of san antonio. he was the great sheep-farmer and flock-master of the south, the pioneer of that branch of husbandry in texas; and he did more than all others to introduce, foster, and instruct the people in its management in a region so adapted by nature to its profitable pursuit. kendall county and a dozen counties around it are supplied with streams of water in abundance, clear, and healthful, and springs, some of them, of great volume. on the larger streams is a good supply of timber of various kinds. there are large groves of post-oak, affording _mast_ for innumerable hogs. the hills are generally bare of vegetation except grass, which consists of varieties of the _mesquite_, probably the finest grass for sheep and beeves in the world, and quite equal to the white clover of the north. it is short, fine, exceedingly palatable and nutritious--stands drouth well, and springs up like magic after every shower. it is not entirely killed down by winter, and subsists flocks throughout the year without the necessity of artificial food. it is only necessary for the emigrant to secure a homestead, including land enough to raise family supplies from, and his stock of horses, cattle, sheep, and hogs, can be pastured on the outlying ranges with no expense except for herdsmen and shepherds. no rental to any body. indeed, a single man can hire his board, and without owning or hiring a foot of land, can keep large flocks and herds. and this condition of things must continue beyond the lifetime of the present generation. texas stretches through ten and a quarter degrees of latitude, from twenty-six to thirty-six and one-fourth degrees, over seven hundred miles. and then it reaches through twelve degrees of longitude, which, on the thirty-second parallel, would make the width of the state about seven hundred miles. the state government has already laid off one hundred and fifty-seven counties, with an area in square miles of one hundred and ninety-six thousand two hundred and ninety-nine. territory not laid off in counties, over one-quarter of the state, including the mountainous part, seventy-two thousand three hundred and eighty-five square miles. total square miles in the state, two hundred and sixty-eight thousand six hundred and eighty-four. the state is between five and six times as large as the state of new york, and more than three and a half times larger than all new england. none of the noted kingdoms of europe approach its dimensions except russia. vast portions of it are still in a state of nature, and the balance of it is thinly populated. there is no grand climatic or latitudinal division of the state but offers its peculiar and special inducements to immigrants. wheat, the finest in the world, and other cereals, with fruits, etc., of all kinds, in the north, cotton and sugar in the southern-central and southeast, pine lumber and cypress in the east, and stock in the west. southwestern texas is a very peculiar portion of the state, and may be geographically described as lying between the san antonio river on the east, and the rio grande on the west, and south and southeast of the road running from san antonio to eagle pass on the rio grande, containing about thirty thousand square miles. after the establishment of san antonio, which we believe was in the year that philadelphia was settled--called bexar by the spaniards and mexicans--many years passed before any settlements were attempted between that post and the garrisons and towns west of the rio grande. the first in point of time was that of senor barrego, who in the forepart of the seventeenth century established a stock-raising hacienda at a place called "dolores," on the rio grande, twenty-five miles below the present site of loredo. he received a grant from the king of spain, of seventy leagues of land. this hacienda was afterward destroyed. in the town of laredo was founded. this place was a sort of "presidio" (fort) where the inhabitants were armed occupants of the soil. and it proved the only permanent settlement of the spaniards on the lower rio grande. after this ranches and haciendas were gradually extended over the country, between the nueces river and rio grande. and during the first quarter of the present century extensive herds of horses and cattle, and flocks of sheep, were pastured between the two rivers. the remains of the stone buildings, water tanks and wells, are still to be seen. the troubles attending the attempt of the mexicans to separate from spain invited the savage hordes from the north, which had been kept in better subjection under the system of spain than they have ever been since, to make raids upon the frontier settlements, which caused the country to be nearly vacated again. the texas revolution and subsequent border warfare gave the finishing touch to this country. and when the united states troops under general taylor marched from corpus christi to the rio grande, in , not an inhabitant was to be found between the nueces and that river. it had the appearance of an immense desert to the army, unused as they were to such treeless pampas. the immense herds of cattle and horses, left to take care of themselves, had become wild, and had greatly increased; and as "mustangs" grazed over those plains in almost countless hosts, it was entirely dangerous for a man to approach them, particularly on foot, and much more so even on horseback. the old king mustang, and his male subordinates, would first drive the herd into corral by making a rushing, neighing circuit around them, and then make a fearful dash at the human intruder, striking, kicking and biting him to death. in the _repopulation_ of that country fairly commenced. the mustangs were killed or caught and tamed, and "that _so-called_" desert has been steadily filling with a hardy and active race of stock-raisers. as the country now stands, the climate is decidedly unfavorable to agriculture. and unless some plans, on a magnificent scale, can be devised and executed, by which to irrigate that vast and rich country, the main dependence will always have to be, as heretofore, on the flocks and herds. the climate is unseasonable; but not so much for want of rain; for take the seasons through, ample supplies of rain fall for all purposes, if they only came at the right time, and in proper quantities. the planting time is from january to may, and that is the dry period of the year. it often happens that not sufficient rain falls during those months to "wet a pocket handkerchief." when it rains it rains. and during the other months of the year the torrents that fall upon the country will aggregate twenty-five to thirty inches. it is not extravagant to affirm that if the water could be utilized in some, as yet undiscovered way, that country would be the finest in the world. the desert (?) would "bud and blossom as the rose," in all temperate and semi-tropical products. the climate, on account of the dryness of the winter and spring, is as healthy as could be desired. we think something might be done by making earth tanks on a large scale, thereby creating immense artificial lakes at convenient points, and at proper distances, to be used for irrigating purposes when necessary, and thus redeem that beautiful country from agricultural waste. it can not be done, however, by private capital and enterprise, nor by small corporations, but might be by heavy ones, under the material encouragement and patronage and aid of the general and state governments, by money and land grants, as to railroad corporations. and doubtless, in time, something of the kind will be done when the public good shall demand it. the gardens in and around san antonio, and along the river for miles and miles, are irrigated from its waters, by little ditches running in all directions, from a big ditch or canal, that was originally built by the spanish government when its various missions were established along the san antonio valley. but if nothing of the kind should be done in the future, that country will forever remain the finest stock-raising section in the united states--the paradise of horses, sheep and cattle. there is little doubt that the tame cattle herds of to-day outnumber the wild ones of half a century ago. and one day southwestern texas will export half a million of beeves yearly. old letters. old letters. canto i. sometimes old letters have the strangest things recorded on the worn and sallow page: the writing, too, has neither head nor wings, but one would think that insects for an age had wip'd their tiny feet where black ink clings, regardless of the ancient scribbling sage, whose quill, one pointed and one feather'd end, had trail'd away his thoughts to absent friend. but who can be sure, they're any more queer than those we moderns hast'ly pen to-day; e'en tho' their marks so odd and strange appear, that as we read the mind doth halt and stay until the brain hath got a little clear, in order, as we let its powers play, we well can solve what all the scribblings mean, 'tis so at six, or sev'n, or at sixteen. the language, too, is no more queer and strange, as thought doth spring and file along on thought, and spirits meet in pleasant interchange of fancies told, or fancies only caught; and scarcely caught at that in his small range, as some poor scribbler has his fabric wrought, and in the wretched scraping swiftly tells what feeling urges--what his bosom swells. those who would have this sweetest priv'lege cease, must ingrate be in senses more than one; nor dwell at home, or anywhere in peace, though parent, friend, daughter, or absent son, such name 'twere well enough they should release; indeed, 'twere well it never had begun, if cold neglect in writing they do show, no matter if the mails go swift or slow. but some there are who never can be made to answer letters until ages roll almost away, or letters are mislaid, or till an absent, good, and loving soul, full well may think the friendly hand has stay'd, or that the troubled fates may have control, or illness may--or even worse, one's doubts-- our friend is gone away, or else in pouts. and yet, most happy one and all should be, if but allow'd to bring our distant friends so near that, they may feel and truly see each impulse of the heart, and as it blends, feel truly certain that we have the key which opens friendship's valve, and makes amends for many sad, unkind, and ugly things, that daily life with all its worry brings. one friend i've had for many steady years. who, though she lives a thousand miles away, comes ever with her joys, her hopes and fears; before me every feeling doth she lay, which stirs my own to mingle with her tears, and ev'ry throbbing of my heart doth stay for her, till all she feels, or thinks, or knows, takes root in my own breast, and there it grows. she lives in icy--i in southern clime: and e'en as the bright-eyed daughters of the south, she loves this land--so many years now mine; nor deems its rainy seasons, or its drouth objectionable, or so out of time, if mail sacks but unseal their widened mouth, and bring her freshly posted speedy news from me and mine, where fall the southern dews. when fierce war raged, and battle strife ran high, she o'er the horrid din and clamor came-- in spirit came--and heav'd a weary sigh! we look'd together on the bloody plain, until our crying souls no more could cry. as saw we our own braves' expiring pain; "father, forgive" this wild, this raging crew, "for" in their strife "they know not what they do!" so oft, when cynth'a pale, rode high at night, and smiled thro', or o'er a rift of clouds, she's told me of its beauty and pure light, that whitens air, like newly coffined shrouds, and makes the snows so flaky, keen and bright, while skaters skim the icy lakes in crowds, and she, with wishing, longing heart, once more would come, or bring me to the ice-bound shore. in weariness of heart, the mind so dwells on all its windings thro' the pleasant past, its smooth calm seas, and undulating swells. its earnest aims in solemn grandeur cast, leaves impress on our souls, which merely tells of evanescent things that can not last; and e'en tho' painful, held with deep regret, unwillingly would we ever forget. this is a long and quite extended reach, of that begun an hour or two ago; and looks more like a set or settled speech, than like the stream down which old letters flow: and so, dear reader, thro' the lengthen'd breach, if so you please, we'll travel rather slow, and take as we proceed--to make amends-- some letter missives from our absent friends. the first of friendly sort, we point you to, by lewis, an ally of the "lost cause," was penn'd at night, in , when subject of confed'rate army laws, and flew the show'ring deadly bullets, flew with little intermission--scarce a pause; and when men bravely fought, with might and main, to gain their independence--but in vain. the letter said--'twas not a hasty note-- "this now to you, may prove farewell, in fine; we're all equipped, and waiting for the boat, that leaves her moorings somewhere close to nine, which soon is here--and then afloat, afloat, and by the morning sun's first blushing shine, we'll wear the victor's glorious laurel wreath, or else be shrouded in the arms of death! "i know, good friend, this strain must give you pain; in carelessness i would not take a step; and taking this, if counted with the slain, poor mother's tears, her pillow oft will wet for me i know--whom she'll ne'er meet again; yet shall i hope, before the next sunset, that she, alike yourself, may gladly tell, there's one above, who doeth all things well. "there are some things to jot down here, that i would kindly ask, my dearest friend, of you. if i am _hors de combat_ plac'd, and die, or battle's lost or gained--here's my adieu, but please this letter send--or please to try-- my feelings scarcely can i now subdue, while fate obstruent says, a few hours more may transport all to an unbroken shore. "should fickle fortune frown, and leave me fall into unfriendly and blood-greedy hands, 'twill be like being--if i be at all-- in hands next like to those of savage bands. it doth not matter on this earthly ball, so much where one may be, or what breeze fans. the unhappy casualties the post will cite, ere one more sun has settled into night. "dear charley's going too--the noble boy-- _she's_ sad to see him with the warring host. his joyous look, 'tis a pity to destroy; a thousand pities more his life were lost. but she knows well, naught but the main decoy, could take him thus from her, he loves the most. god grant him life--a long and happy life, and one with blessings, free from battle's strife. "and now, kind friend, i say a sad good-by; the rolling drum doth call us to repair-- under the dull, though quiet darken'd sky, that may so soon be turn'd to lurid glare, as cannons play, and iron missels fly-- to duty--parcel'd out to each a share: but none of us can tell the sad finale: and now again i say, good-by, farewell!" and thus the letter ended--in a strain, that led beloved ones at home to think, if war should spare, that he would speak again; but give us news from which the heart would shrink, for so is all that comes from battle plain, where death holds ev'ry dear one on his brink. such is the fate of war--the olden story, where men invest their lives in search of glory. and shall i tell, how with her hand in mine, poor mary sat, and leaned upon my breast; and how her tears fell down on ev'ry line; and how, before the morning sun's first shine, her weary form was out, and loosely dress'd; and how she pac'd the room the live long day, till ev'ning light had lost its latest ray! poor child! the premonition seemed to be, that many trials were in store for her, altho' their unveil'd form she could not see; the thought brought in her eyes a fi'ry blue: o, for some hope to which her heart could flee! some healing balm the stony fates would stir! but ere the week had told its length'ning round the secret of her sick'ning fears was found. suspended hope for three long days--then came the welcome letter from our hero-friend; he was alive--unhurt, and just the same. and humbly thanked high heav'n for such an end; but ah! how many, many could he name, who would, with his, their own dear voices blend no more along the lines of coming years; and to their friends could nothing leave--but tears. "o! would, the feelings which my bosom fill'd," he said, "as still we glided down the tide, and all around in nature calm and still'd-- i could portray--i felt i could have died! no matter then, if soon i should be killed; if all i lov'd, and ev'rything beside, should leave this beautiful, enchanting world, and into death's cold, cruel arms be hurl'd!" "no sound was heard till late at night. the moon then rose, and softly also rose the wind, and swept away across the low lagoon, where battle soon would rage a very fiend, and o'er the next day's fair and glowing noon; and, raging in its lion anger, find its grim and ugly den of horrors fill'd with precious blood terrific strife had spill'd. "and charley"--thus this sad'ning part began-- "is now among the noble ones laid low; grim death will ne'er hew down a better man; and we, his friends, a better crave to know. horror! i saw his life-blood as it ran, and then i thought--for mary what a blow! 'twill rend and crush her young and grieving heart! so good--and oh, how sad that _thus_ they part! "he near the gunwale bravely--manly stood, when o'er the waters came the murd'rous shell, and with four comrades, swept him down in blood; they early in the carnage quickly fell; he rais'd his head from midst the oozing flood, and calmly listened to the changing knell; then eyeing me, he said, 'come louis, come-- my life ebbs fast--i'll soon be going home.' "will you to mary my last token bring, and promise, ere my eyes are sealed in death, to carry her this tiny diamond ring; and tell her then, that at my latest breath, i'm thinking of the songs she used to sing; and also tell her of my holy faith in her truth and her pure, undying love; which can be seal'd but in the world above? "and have my body carried back to where the brothers, in the holy mystic ties, will gather in the lodge with solemn prayer, before 'tis laid beneath the open skies. 'twill do me good to know i'm sleeping there; ah, see! grim darkness comes! the hour how flies! some other things there are, i wish'd to say, but too late now! night--home--mary--'tis day! "i promis'd all--then gently laid his head, first on a knapsack, then upon my arm; once more he op'd his eyes, and smiling, said, 'thanks, lew--i'll soon be far from war's alarm.' once more he press'd my hand, and then was dead! i laid him down--no fear of coming harm, for none could pain that cold and lifeless form; now all was past--let battles rage and storm. "of more than this, i've scarcely time to speak; you'll find reports when papers come with news; e'en yet, i seem to hear the cannon's shriek, as horrid forth their belching thunder spews, in vengeance dire and most terrific wreak, and covers friend and foe with death-damp dews! how sinks and quails the heart at the dread sight, when war turns fairest day to blackest night. "the fun'ral pageantry--the solemn toll, the cortege, like a serpent, winding through, the muffled drum's long-sounding gloomy roll, the death corrode that o'er the senses grew, or sick'ning chill which o'er one's spirit stole, the dead march tap--they all seem still in view-- 'twas thus they bore him to the silent bourne, from whence, in old earth form, he'll ne'er return. "all these and more--the measur'd tread of good, brave men, who slowly wound along with his remains, to their last resting place-- i scarce can realize that he is gone, and that his form lies mold'ring with the dead; that we're no more to hear his joyous song-- i say, all these are trooping through my mind, like ghostly phantoms of some awful kind. "i'd ask, before this missive i do close, which now has grown to an unusual size, tho' half is still unwritten, heaven knows-- that you will comfort mary, when her eyes are blinded with sore weeping o'er the woes, that will wring out her soul in deep well-cries, and rend in sorrowing weariness her breast, which now scarce anything can soothe to rest. "yet be a comfort and a friendly stay, and bid her grapple with her fate--not grieve, please try to soothe the blinding tears away, though little now can sorrow much relieve, or shed of joy or bliss a single ray. ah! tell her how my soul is _double_ brave, since't feels the spirit touch of charley's soul; but thoughts are quite beyond my word control. "a few more items yet, and i have done. i would the warmest gratitude express, and obligations deep i owe to one-- whose heart is with her friends in their distress, and when their joys come on, exceed her none, in spontaneities, to smile or bless-- to you, lottie--who disappointments share, all that your tender prompting well can bear. "and now, good friend, i feel i'm badly needing a little respite from the past few days, whose strange events have set a canker feeding within my breast, where wooing quiet stays; but now, at times, i feel it must be bleeding, my very brain is in a dizzy haze of horrid things that in succession fly before my eyes. once more, dear friend, good-by." canto ii. if there be anything that is heartrending, it is when called upon to yield our cheer to those whose joys have found a sudden ending, indeed the task's a hopeless one--that's clear-- to attempt to improve upon or save by mending. as well essay to move a planet from its sphere, as talk to any one whose real sorrow has pass'd the line where he was wont to borrow. i've tried it oft, and given o'er the task; and hopeful too as any woman that e'er tried, or man either, e'en though he wore the mask, that satan wore to set our mother eve beside herself enough to think, and curious ask, why she was ever made, or ever tied upon this curious revolving ball, and where her crazy actions brought "the fall." that was the fearful thing in nature's god-- the giving to that simple child the power to tread where his own mighty footsteps trod! the gloomy clouds o'er all mankind since low'r, and lay their stubborn heads beneath the sod! his grandchild might have bloom'd supernal flow'r, of all the grand and awful fabrication, nor need redemption nor regeneration. perhaps such questions we've no right to put, unto the framer of the universe; to our inquis'tiveneness his doors are shut, _on dit_--and recommended well of course, by the theologist in pious hut, with clearing small around--or what is worse, he lives beyond where busy thoughts do center, and so beyond the pale where gossips enter. but then theology is not the theme to claim my present labor or my time. we'll then retire to mary's broken dream; although the task is hard, in changing rhyme, to waft her smoothly down life's whirling stream, and land her safe in any pleasant clime, when knowing that her dearest hopes have pal'd, and every sweet anticipation fail'd. my muse has sung the task, a hopeless one, to offer balm to one in woe not found; or being found, it meets a chronic tone. to raise the sadden'd brow when sorrow crown'd, is near a failure ere the task's begun; 'tis throwing straws to one already drown'd; the light frail things are in a feeble clasp, and serve no other purpose than to grasp. you may try this, or that, or other thing, and find each move is not responsive met, except to prove abortive, and to fling your kindest purpose back, from efforts set in bounds of common sense--another ring, within whose compass many chafe and fret. to try to lead a moody woful mind-- 'tis but a task where blind must lead the blind. "when fate--the dark-brow'd mistress--lays her hand with heavy weight upon a mortal wight, it is as if king terror's deadly wand had swept along, and wither'd left and right; or like one's bark, left on a sullen strand, where soundless waters rise in fury's might, rock on and on, in sullen moaning clash, unmindful of the human wrecks they dash. and mary---still i hear her stifled moan, as vainly the letter she tried to read, the anguish of her low, distressful groan, would cause a heart of adamant to bleed. it seem'd her brain were like a flaming stone; her heart a torn and bent and broken reed; and such a look of wan and woeful pain! god grant me such a likeness ne'er again." next day they bore her to her city home, with life enough scarce left, her frame to bear; all had been swept away like wild sea foam, and nothing left but a fond mother's care, to nurse away the fever which had come; a fit attendant of her woes, and share-- a heated languor with sufficient breath to hold her just within the porch of death. canto iii. but turn we now to other scenes than these, at least awhile, and take a cheerful look, as trav'ler looks from sand to greenleaf trees, and 'neath the shade where runs the babbling brook, who doffs his hat to the refreshing breeze, and reading nature as a living book, he feels her smiling, in its joyous glim, has such a sweet affinity for him. life should not be all terrors--nor its charms be life-long raptures, or unending songs; when both are blended, each alike disarms; nor constant good nor ill, alone belongs to life--one only brings us moral harms, and on our poor humanity, great wrongs; for by the constant sameness would man's deeds defeat all progress that to greatness leads. so from the gloomy picture drawn above, we'll turn away and find a brighter side. let not the drooping mary die of love, as many storied ones have lov'd and died; nor _solitaire_ in heart forever rove; but bid her all life's changes firm abide; her case is hom'opathic, we discover-- _similia similibus curanter_. months came and went, and still she linger'd on, at home by the sea. its solitary shore, was travers'd often by her step alone; somehow the dark sea's surging, sullen roar, brought quietude, when elsewhere she found none; her daily lone walks there were many score. philosophy no pedagogue can teach is sometimes found upon a lonely beach. the saddest, yet the sweetest melancholy, inspires a feeble, slow reviving frame, if but allow'd to steal from heartless folly, away from all that bears the social name; and 'neath the spreading evergreen sea-holly, check down the fires of disappointment's flame; and thereby give the thoughts a purer turn, and cool the heated caldron where they burn. in such a state, the bubbles we pursue seem but the vaunt of sickly strength and pride; we're on our way, a weary wand'ring through, with fallen hopes flung losely on the tide of morbid aims--whose almost crying hue is pencil'd by dull care. nor can we hide the care-worn hues with careful toilet hands; the glass of life drops slow, but sure, the sands. the tameless passions frequent in the breast, are like the molten waves of Ã�tna's fire; knowing nor years, nor months, nor weeks of rest-- tho' some there are to better things aspire-- impulses whatsoe'er, not one repress'd; their every song's a ceaseless never tire, and no reflection in its secret springs, on what demands it 'mid a thousand things. her letters oft were fill'd with moaning words, whose sadden'd tone inspir'd one's heart with awe; e'en her description of sweet singing birds did moan--and so did all she heard and saw. home-sheltered--like the flock the shepherd herds-- where she would fain from prying eyes withdraw, there dead monotony did reign and sigh, that tells how near the fount of tears is dry. and yet me thought her grief had soften'd down more in that calm inertia--settled state-- whose features wore, nor smile, nor cheer, nor frown; a kind of understanding with dame fate, that wreathing thus her brow with sorrow's crown, were far less sad than when 'twere wrought too late to wear its jagging ugly thorns, and give a single farthing for such life to live. at length news came--how arthur wildbent had so kindly driven her along the strand; and air-improv'd, it made us all so glad. that last reunion, while the melrose band discoursed sweet music, she had been less sad; that once she gam'd croquet with cheerful hand, and beat--but beat old melancholy better, and hence she boasted of it in her letter. she frequent made the balmy ev'ning drive adown the beach, so like a sanded floor; where white-capp'd waves, that seem'd almost alive, did chase each other to the shining shore, buzzing like restless bees within the hive; or, like the porpoise, rolling by the score, tho' gathering nothing in their briny splash, except the wat'ry pearls to shore they dash. 'tis true, she always miss'd good charley when, the ev'ning throngs were wont to congregate-- the greatest press was on her spirits then-- howe'er they whirl'd in dance, or stood, or sat, not one amid the gallant crowd of men, could for _his_ absence ever compensate, unless it might be lewis--who to-day reminded her of _him_ who'd pass'd away. life had its pleasures, beauty had the world; tho' fewest of them had been brought to bear upon a destiny like hers, so furl'd; scarce naught of either could be painted there; all romance so remotely had been hurl'd, she lik'd some work of lonely quiet, where by somber daylight, or by flick'ring taper, her inburst feelings she could note on paper. life's _new_ sensations are but few and precious-- thus speaks some writer of some wondrous cave; it may be mammoth, with its caverns spacious; whose floors, obliv'ous, leth'an waters lave; and when we wander thro' them, strange refresh us; most surely do, if we but catch and save, for rarest of all rare delicious dishes, a string full of the tiny eyeless fishes. but where find we in life, sensations new? such as have never yet been told, we mean. of such, me thinks indeed, the number's few; and may not reach one even in a dream. 'tis true, we often all the _old_ renew, which to one's own sensations new may seem; and yet they but repeat--so we believe-- all those once told by adam to his eve. yes, so far told, as then it could be done, in the beginning time of this world's ways-- thro' which their course to pick, they'd just begun-- but not express'd in such poetic lays, as down the rippling tide of language run the thought and feeling of the later days; and more's the pity--since their employment seems but a very circumscribed enjoyment. "'tis now two years since charley pass'd away," she wrote, "and i have liv'd for him as true as any one who keeps her wedding day; 'till lately i have somewhat chang'd my view; 'tis not so well for one to mourn alway; the news, sweet friend, the news i'll break to you-- unless this letter meet with a miscarriage-- and own to you, again i think of marriage. "and you may guess my choice, the favor'd one; he's more like _him_ than any i have met, indeed, than any i have ever known; and this is why my heart is on him set; i can not always pass my life alone, the choice i feel that i shall ne'er regret; you know him well, and know i never can-- search o'er the earth--secure a better man. "somehow i feel myself so sadly chang'd, i'm scarce the same you knew in days of yore; my sorrow hath so much my mind derang'd, instead of twenty years, i feel fourscore. from youthful pleasures i'm so far estrang'd, myself doth seem a matron grave, and hoar with silvered front, and seems a grave surprise, that i'm not trying to repair my eyes. "i aim to do my duty as i ought, and of his life be crowning joy and bliss, that lew may realize how ev'ry thought, from wedding day to death, shall be all his; and ev'ry purpose shall be truly taught, that wifely love should point alone to this; so in our union we may find repair for all the sorrows both have had to bear." [illustration: colophon] transcriber's notes obvious punctuation errors repaired. archaic spellings unchanged: hight, vail, drouth. p. v: apppetites and temper -> appetites and temper. p. viii: the thirty neroes -> the thirty neros. p. : a cotemporary of the deceased -> a contemporary of the deceased. p. : title added "texas oath of office". p. : exeept a few stanch union men -> except a few stanch union men. p. : bowed the stanger's bow -> bowed the stranger's bow. p. : matamoros -> matamoras. p. : betwen each pair -> between each pair. p. : heathfulness -> healthfulness. p. : spontanieties -> spontaneities. p. : mighty footstops -> mighty footsteps. [transcriber's note: extensive research found no evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] kid wolf of texas a western story by ward m. stevens chelsea house seventh avenue, new york, n. y. publishers kid wolf of texas copyright, , by chelsea house printed in the u. s. a. all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian. contents chapter i. the living dead ii. a thankless task iii. the governor's answer iv. surprises v. the camp of the terror vi. on the chisholm trail vii. mccay's recruit viii. one game hombre ix. the night herd x. tucumcari's hand xi. a buckshot greeting xii. the s bar spread xiii. desperate measures xiv. at don floristo's xv. goliday's choice xvi. a game of poker xvii. pot shots xviii. on blacksnake's trail xix. the fang of the wolf xx. battle on the mesa xxi. apaches xxii. the rescue xxiii. two open graves xxiv. pursuit xxv. blizzard's charge kid wolf of texas chapter i the living dead "oh, i want to go back to the rio grande! the rio! that's where i long to be!" the words, sung in a soft and musical tenor, died away and changed to a plaintive whistle, leaving the scene more lonely than ever. for a few moments nothing was to be seen except the endless expanse of wilderness, and nothing was to be heard save the mournful warble of the singer. then a horse and rider were suddenly framed where the sparse timber opened out upon the plain. together, man and mount made a striking picture; yet it would have been hard to say which was the more picturesque--the rider or the horse. the latter was a splendid beast, and its spotless hide of snowy white glowed in the rays of the afternoon sun. with bit chains jingling, it gracefully leaped a gully, landing with all the agility of a mountain lion, in spite of its enormous size. the rider, still whistling his texas tune, swung in the concha-decorated california stock saddle as if he were a part of his horse. he was a lithe young figure, dressed in fringed buckskin, touched here and there with the gay colors of the southwest and of mexico. two six-guns, wooden-handled, were suspended from a cartridge belt of carved leather, and hung low on each hip. his even teeth showed white against the deep sunburn of his face. "reckon we-all bettah cut south, blizzahd," he murmured to his horse. "we haven't got any business on the llano." he spoke in the soft accents of the old south, and yet his speech was colored with just a trace of spanish--a musical drawl seldom heard far from that portion of texas bordering the rio bravo del norte. wheeling his mount, he searched the landscape with his keen blue eyes. behind him was broken country; ahead of him was the terrible land that men have called the llano estacado. the land rose to it in a long series of steppes with sharp ridges. queerly shaped and oddly colored buttes ascended toward it in a puzzling tangle. dim in the distance was the llano itself--a mesa with a floor as even as a table; a treeless plain without even a weed or shrub for a landmark; a plateau of peril without end. the rider was doing well to avoid the llano estacado. outlaw indian bands roamed over its desolate expanse--the only human beings who could live there. in the winter, snowstorms raced screaming across it, from texas to new mexico, for half a thousand miles. it was a country of extremes. in the summer it was a scorching griddle of heat dried out by dry desert winds. water was hard to find there, and food still harder to obtain. and it was now late summer--the season of mocking mirages and deadly sun. the horseman was just about to turn his steed's head directly to the southward when a sound came to his ears--a cry that made his eyes widen with horror. few sounds are so thrillingly terrible as the dying scream of a mangled horse, and yet this was far more awful. only the throat of a human being could emit that chilling cry. it rose in shrill crescendo, to die away in a sobbing wail that lifted the hair on the listener's head. again and again it came--a moan born of the frightful torture of mortal agony. giving his mount a touch of spur, the horseman turned the animal westward toward the llano estacado. so horrible were the sounds that he had paled under his tan. but he headed directly toward the direction of the cries. he knew that some human being was suffering frightful pain. crossing a sun-baked gully, he climbed upward and onto a flat-topped, miniature butte. here he saw a spectacle that literally froze him with horror. although accustomed to a hundred gruesome sights in that savage land, he had never seen one like this. staked on the ground, feet and arms wide-stretched, and securely bound, was a man. or rather, it was a thing that had once been a man. it was a torture that even the diabolical mind of an indian could not have invented. it was the insane creation of another race--the work of a madman. for the suffering wretch had been left on his back, face up to the sun, with his eyelids removed! ants crawled over the sufferer, apparently believing him dead. flies buzzed, and a raven flapped away, beating the air with its startled wings. the horseman dismounted, took his water bag from his horse, and approached the tortured man. the moaning man on the ground did not see him, for his eyes were shriveled. he was blind. the youth with the water bag tried to speak, but at first words failed to come. the sight was too ghastly. "heah's watah," he muttered finally. "just--just try and stand the pain fo' a little longah. i'll do all i can fo' yo'." he held the water bag at the swollen, blackened lips. then he poured a generous portion of the contents over the shriveled eyes and skeletonlike face. for a while the tortured man could not speak. but while his rescuer slashed loose the rawhide ropes that bound him, he began to stammer a few words: "heaven bless yuh! i thought i was dead, or mad! oh, how i wanted water! give me more--more!" "in a little while," said the other gently. in spite of the fact that he was now free, the sufferer could not move his limbs. groans came from his lips. "shoot me!" he cried. "put a bullet through me! end this, if yuh've got any pity for me! i'm blind--dying. i can't stand the pain. yuh must have a gun. why don't yuh kill me and finish me?" it was the living dead! the buckskin-clad youth gave him more water, his face drawn with compassion. "yo'll feel bettah afta while," he murmured. "just sit steady." "too late!" the tortured man almost screamed, "i'm dyin', i tell yuh!" "how long have yo' been like this?" "three-four days. maybe five. i lost count." "who did this thing?" was the fierce question. "'the terror'!" the reply came in a sobbing wail. "'the masked terror' and his murderin' band. i was a prospector. a wagon train was startin' across the llano, and i tried to warn 'em. i never reached 'em. the terror cut me off and left me like this! say, i don't know yore name, pard, but----" "call me 'kid wolf,'" answered the youth, "from texas." his eyes had narrowed at the mention of the name "the terror." "somethin' on my mind, kid wolf. it's that wagon train. the terror will wipe it out. promise me yuh'll try and warn 'em." "i promise, old-timah," murmured the texan. "only yo' needn't to have asked that. when yo' first mentioned it, i intended to do it. where is this wagon train, sah?" in gasps--for his strength was rapidly failing him--the prospector gave what directions he could. kid wolf listened intently, his eyes blazing-blue coals. "i'm passin' in my checks," sighed the sufferer weakly, when he had given what information he could. "i'll go easier now." "yo' can be sure that i'll do all i can," the texan assured him. "fo' yo' see, that's always been mah business. i'm just a soldier of misfohtune, goin' through life tryin' to do all i can fo' the weak and oppressed. i'll risk mah life fo' these people, and heah's mah hand on that!" the prospector groped for his hand, took it, and tried to smile. in a few moments he had breathed his last, released from his pain. kid wolf removed the bandanna from his own throat and placed it over the dead man's face. then he weighted it down with small rocks and turned to go. "just about the time i get to thinkin' the world is good, blizzahd," he sighed, addressing his white horse, "i find somethin' like this. well, seems like we hit out across the llano, aftah all. let's get a move on, amigo! we've got work to do." the texan's face, as he swung himself into the saddle, was set and hard. "oh, i'm goin' back to the rio grande! the rio! for most a yeah, i've been away, and i'm lonesome now fo' me old lone stah! the rio! wheah the gila monsters play!" it was kid wolf's second day on the llano estacado, and his usual good spirits had returned. his voice rose tunefully and cheerily above the steady drumming of blizzard's hoofs. surely the scene that lay before his eyes could not have aroused his enthusiasm. it was lonely and desolate enough, with its endless sweeps dim against each horizon. the sky, blue, hot and pitiless, came down to meet the land on every hand, making a great circle unbroken by hill or mountain. so clean-swept was the floor of the vast table-land that each mile looked exactly like another mile. there was not a tree, not a shrub, not a rock to break the weary monotony. it was no wonder that the spanish padres, who had crossed this enormous plateau long before, had named it the llano estacado--the staked plains. they had had a good reason of their own. in order to keep the trail marked, they had been compelled to drive stakes in the ground as they went along. although the stakes had gone long since, the name still stuck. the day before, the texan had climbed the natural rock steps that led upward and westward toward the terrible mesa itself, each flat-topped table bringing him nearer the staked plains. and soon after reaching the plateau he had found the trail left by a wagon train. from the ruts left in the soil, kid wolf estimated that the outfit must consist of a large number of prairie schooners, at least twenty. the texan puzzled his mind over why this wagon train was taking such a dangerous route. where were they bound for? surely for the spanish settlements of new mexico--a perilous venture, at best. even on the level plain, a wagon outfit moves slowly, and the texan gained rapidly. hourly the signs he had been following grew fresher. late in the afternoon he made out a blot on the western horizon--a blot with a hazy smudge above it. it was the wagon train. the smudge was dust, dug up by the feet of many oxen. "they must be loco," kid wolf muttered, "to try and cut across the terror's territory." the texan had heard much of the terror. and what plainsman of that day hadn't? he was the scourge of the table-lands, with his band of a hundred cutthroats, desperadoes recruited from the worst scum of the border. more than half of his hired killers, it was said, were mexican outlaws from sonora and chihuahua. some were half-breed indians, and a few were white gunmen who killed for the very joy of killing. and the terror himself? that was the mystery. nobody knew his identity. some rumors held that he was a white man; others maintained that he was a full-blooded comanche indian. nobody had ever seen his face, for he always was masked. his deeds were enough. no torture was too cruel for his insane mind. no risk was too great, if he could obtain loot. with his band behind him, no man was safe on the staked plains. many a smoldering pile of human bones testified to that. as the texan approached the outfit, he could hear the sharp crack of the bull whips and the hoarse shouts of the drivers. twenty-two wagons, and in single file! against the blue of the horizon, they made a pretty sight, with their white coverings. kid wolf, however, was not concerned with the beauty of the picture. great danger threatened them, and it was his duty to be of what assistance he could. touching his big white horse with the spur, he came upon the long train's flank. ahead of the train were the scouts, or pathfinders. in the rear was the beef herd, on which the outfit depended for food. behind that was the rear guard, armed with winchesters. the texan neared the horseman at the head of the train, raising his arm in the peace signal. to his surprise, one of the scouts threw up his rifle! there was a puff of white smoke, and a bullet whistled over kid wolf's head. "the fools!" muttered the texan. "can't they see i'm a friend?" setting his teeth, he rode ahead boldly, risking his life as he did so, for by this time several others had lifted their guns. the six men who made up the advance party, eyed him sullenly as he drew up in front of them. the texan found himself covered by half a dozen winchesters. "who are yuh, and what do yuh want?" one of them demanded. "i'm kid wolf, from texas, sah. i have impo'tant news fo' the leader of this outfit." one of the sextet separated himself from the others and came so close to the texan that their horses almost touched. "i'm in command!" he barked. "my name's modoc. i'm in charge o' this train, and takin' it to sante fe." the man, modoc, was an impressive individual, bulky and stern. his face was thinner than the rest of his body, and kid wolf was rather puzzled to read the surly eyes that gleamed at him from under the bushy black brows. he was more startled still, however, when modoc whispered in a voice just loud enough for him to hear: "what color will the moon be to-night?" kid wolf stared in astonishment. was the man insane? chapter ii a thankless task modoc waited, as if for an answer, and when it did not come, his face took on an expression of anger, in which cunning seemed to be mingled. "what's yore message?" he rasped. it took kid wolf several seconds to recover his composure. was the wagon train being led to its doom by a madman? what did modoc mean by his low-voiced, mysterious query? or did he mean anything at all? the texan put it down as the raving of a mind unbalanced by hardship and peril. "i suppose yo'-all know," he drawled loudly enough for them all to hear, "that yo're on the most dangerous paht of the llano, and that yo're off the road to santa fe." "yo're a liar!" the train commander snarled. kid wolf tried to keep his anger from mounting. this was the thanks he got for trying to help these people! "i'll prove it," sighed the kid patiently. "what rivah was that yo' crossed a few days ago?" "why, the red river; we crossed it long ago," modoc sneered. "yo're either a liar or a fool, kid! and i'd advise yuh to mind yore own business." "call me 'wolf,'" said the texan, a ring of steel in his voice. "i'm just 'the kid' to friends. others call me by mah last name. and speakin' of the trail, that wasn't the red rivah yo' crossed. it was the wichita. and yo' must have gone ovah the wichita mountains, too." "the wichita!" ejaculated one of the other men. "why, modoc, yuh told us----" "and i told yuh right!" said the leader furiously. "i've been over this route before, and i know just where we are." "yo're in the terror's territory," drawled the kid softly. "and i've heahd from a reliable source that he's planned to raid yo'." the others paled at the mention of the terror. but modoc raised his voice in fury. "who are yuh goin' to believe?" he shouted. "this upstart, or me? why, for all we know"--his voice dropped to a taunting sneer--"he might be a spy for the terror himself--probably measurin' the strength of our outfit!" the other men seemed to hesitate. then one of them spoke out: "reckon we'll believe you, modoc. we don't know this man, and we've trusted yuh so far." modoc grinned, showing a line of broken and tobacco-stained teeth. he looked at kid wolf triumphantly. "now i'll tell you a few things, my fine young fellow," he leered. "burn the wind out o' here and start pronto, before yuh get a bullet through yuh. savvy?" kid wolf decided to make one last appeal. if modoc were insane, it seemed terrible that these others should be led to their doom on that account. only the texan could fully appreciate their peril. the wagon train was loaded with valuable goods, for these men were traders. the terror would welcome such plunder, and it was his custom never to leave a man alive to carry the tale. "men," he said, "yo'-all got to believe me! yo're in terrible danger, and off the right road. one man has already given his life to save yo', and now i'm ready to give mine, if necessary. let me stay with yo' and guide yo' to safety, fo' yo' own sakes! mah two guns are at yo' service, and if the terror strikes, i'll help yo' fight." the advance guard heard him out. unbelief was written on all their faces. "i think yuh'd better take modoc's advice," one of them said finally, "and git! we can take care of ourselves." his heart heavy, kid wolf shrugged and turned away. the rebuff hurt him, not on his own account, but because these blindly trusting men were being deceived. modoc, whether purposely or not, had led them astray. he was about to ride away when his eyes fell upon the foremost of the wagons, which was now creaking up, pulled by its straining team. kid wolf gave a start. thrust out of the opening in the canvas was a child's head, crowned with golden hair. there were women and children, then, in this ill-fated outfit! the texan rode his horse over to the wagon and smiled at the youngster. it was a boy of three, chubby-faced and brown-eyed. "hello, theah," kid called. "what's yo' name?" the baby returned the smile, obviously interested in this picturesque stranger. "name's jimmy lee," was the lisped answer. "i'm goin' to santa fe. where you goin'?" kid wolf gulped. he could not reply. there was small chance that this little boy would ever reach santa fe, or anywhere else. tears came to his eyes, and he wheeled blizzard fiercely. "good-by!" came the small voice. "good-by, jimmy lee," choked the texan. when he looked back again at the wagon train, he could still see a small, golden head gleaming in the first prairie schooner. "blizzahd," muttered kid wolf, "we've just got to help those people, whethah they want it or not." he pretended to head eastward, but when he was out of sight of the wagon train, he circled back and drummed west at a furious clip. the only thing he could do, he saw now, was to go to santa fe for help. with the obstinate traders headed directly across the llano, they were sure to meet with trouble. if he could bring back a company of soldiers from that mexican settlement, he might aid them in time. "if they won't let me help 'em at this end," he murmured, "i'll have to help 'em at the othah." the town of santa fe--long rows of flat-topped adobes nestling under the mountain--was at that day under spanish rule. only a few americans then lived within its limits. it was a thriving, though sleepy, town, as it was the gateway to all chihuahua. a well-beaten trail left it southward for el paso, and its main street was lined with cantinas--saloons where mescal and tequila ran like water. there were gambling houses of ill repute, an open court for cockfighting, and other pastimes. the few gringos who were there looked, for the most part, like outlaws and fugitives from the states. it lacked a few hours until sunset when kid wolf drummed into the town. the mountains were already beginning to cast long shadows, and the sounds of guitars and singing were heard in the gay streets. galloping past the plazas, the texan at once went to the presidio--the palace of the governor. it was of adobe, like the rest of the buildings, but the thick walls were ornately decorated with stone. it was a fortress as well as a dwelling place, and it contained many rooms. several dozen rather ragged soldiers were loafing about the presidio when kid wolf reached it, for a regiment was stationed in the town. kid wolf sought an interview with the governor at once, but in spite of his pleading, he was told to return in two hours. "the most honored and respected governor manuel quiroz," it seemed, was busy. if the señor would return later, governor quiroz would be highly pleased to see him. there was nothing to do but wait, and the texan decided to be patient. he spent an hour in caring for his horse and eating his own hasty meal. then, finding some time on his hands, he walked through the plaza, watching the crowds with eyes that missed nothing. he found himself in a street where frijoles, peppers, and other foods were being offered for trade or barter. cooking was even being done in open-air booths, and the air was heavy with seasoning and spice. here and there was a drinking place, crowded with revelers. it was evidently some sort of feast day in santa fe. in front of one of the wine shops a little knot of men and soldiers had gathered. all were flushed with drink and talking loudly in their own tongue. one of them--a captain in a gaudy uniform--saw the texan and made a laughing remark to his companions. kid wolf's face flushed under its tan. his eyes snapped, but he continued his walk. he had too much on his mind just then to resent insults. but the captain had noticed his change of expression. the gringo, then, knew spanish. his remarks became louder, more offensive. more than half intoxicated, he called jeeringly: "i was just saying, señor, that many men who wear two guns do not know how to use even one. you understand, señor? or perhaps the señor does not know the spanish?" kid wolf turned quietly. "the señor knows the spanish," he said softly. the captain turned to his companions with a knowing wink. then he addressed the texan. "then, amigo, that is well," he mocked. "perhaps the señor can shoot also. perhaps the señor could do this." a peon stood near by, and the captain pulled off the fellow's straw sombrero and tossed it into the street. the wind caught it and the hat sailed for some distance. with a quick movement the spanish captain drew a pistol from his belt and fired. with a sharp report, a round, black hole appeared in the hat, low in the crown. the crowd murmured its admiration at this feat. the captain stroked his thin black mustache and smiled proudly. "perhaps the señor might find that difficult to do," he mocked. "quién sabe?" kid wolf shrugged and started to pass on. he did not care to make a public exhibition of his shooting, especially when he had graver matters on his mind. but the jeers and taunts that broke loose from the half-drunken assembly were more than any man could endure, especially a texan with fiery southern blood in his veins. he turned, smiling. his eyes, however, were as cold as ice. "why," he asked calmly, "should i mutilate this po' man's hat?" his words were spoken in perfectly accented spanish. "the hat? ah," mocked the captain, "if the señor hits it, i will pay for it with gold." kid wolf drew his left-hand colt so quickly that no man saw the motion. before they knew it, there was a sudden report that rolled out like thunder--six shots, blended into one stuttering explosion. he had emptied his gun in a breath! a gust of wind blew away the cloud of black powder smoke, and the crowd stared. then some one began to laugh. it was taken up by others. even the customers in the booths chuckled at kid wolf's discomfiture. the captain's laugh was the loudest of all. "six shots the señor took," he guffawed, "and missed with them all! ah, didn't i tell you that the americans are bluffers, like their game of poker? this one carries two guns and cannot use even one!" kid wolf smiled quietly. a faint look of amusement was in his eyes. "maybe," he drawled, "yo'-all had bettah look at that hat." curiously, and still smiling, some of the loiterers went over to examine the target. when they had done so, they cried out in amazement. it was true that just one bullet hole showed in the front of the sombrero. the captain's shot had drilled that one. naturally all had supposed that the gringo had missed. such was not the case. all of kid wolf's six bullets had passed through the captain's bullet mark! for the back of the hat was torn by the marks of seven slugs! some one held the sombrero aloft, and the excited crowd roared its approval and enthusiasm. never had such shooting been seen within the old city of santa fe. the spanish captain, after his first gasp of surprise, had nothing to say. chagrin and disgust were written over his face. if ever a man was crestfallen, the captain was. he hated to be made a fool of, and this quiet man from texas had certainly accomplished it. he was about to slink off when kid wolf drawled after him: "oh, captain! pahdon, but haven't yo' forgotten somethin'?" "what do you mean?" snapped the other. "yo' were goin' to pay for this man's sombrero, i believe," said kid wolf softly, "in gold." "bah!" snarled the officer. "that i refuse to do!" the texan's hand snapped down to his right colt. a blaze of flame leaped from the region of his hip. along with the crashing roar of the explosion came a sharp, metallic twang. the bullet had neatly clipped away the captain's belt buckle! a yell of laughter rang out on all sides. for the captain's trousers, suddenly unsupported, slipped down nearly to his knees. with a cry of dismay, the disgruntled officer seized them frantically and held them up. "reach down in those," drawled the texan, "and see if yo' can't find that piece of gold!" the officer, white with rage in which hearty fear was mingled, obeyed with alacrity, pulling out a gold coin and handing it, with an oath, to the peon whose hat he had ruined. "_muchas gracias_," murmured kid wolf, reholstering his gun. "and now, if the fun's ovah, i must bid yo' _buenas tardes_. adios!" and doffing his big hat, the texan took his departure with a sweeping bow, leaving the captain glaring furiously after him. chapter iii the governor's answer judging that it was almost time for his interview with the governor, kid wolf saddled blizzard in the public _establo_, or stable, and rode at once to the governor's palace. although it did not occur to him that quiroz would reject his plea for aid, he was filled with foreboding. he had a premonition that made him uneasy, although there seemed nothing at which to be alarmed. dismounting, he walked up the stone flags toward the presidio entrance--a huge, grated door guarded by two flashily dressed but barefooted soldiers. they nodded for him to pass, and the texan found himself in a long, half-lighted passage. another guard directed him into the office of governor quiroz, and kid wolf stepped through another carved door, hat in hand. he found that he had entered a large, cool room, lighted softly by windows of brightly colored glass and barred with wrought iron. the tiles of the floor were in black-and-white design, and the place was bare of furniture, except at one end, where a large desk stood. behind it, in a chair of rich mahogany, sat an impressive figure. it was the governor. while bowing politely, the texan searched the pale face of the man of whom he had heard so much. by looking at him, he thought he discovered why quiroz was so feared by the oppressed people of the district. iron strength showed itself in the official's aristocratic features. there was something there besides power. quiroz had eyes that were mysterious and deep. not even the texan could read the secrets they masked. cruelty might lurk there, perhaps, or friendliness--who could say? at the governor's soft-spoken invitation, kid wolf took a chair near the huge desk. "your business with me, señor?" asked the official in smoothly spoken english. kid wolf spoke respectfully, although he did not fawn over the dignitary or lose his own quiet self-assertion. he was an american. he told of finding the tortured prospector and of the plight of the approaching wagon train. "if they continue on the course they are followin', guv'nor," he concluded, "they'll nevah reach santa fe. and i have every reason to believe that the terror plans to raid them." "and what," asked the governor pleasantly, "do you expect me to do?" "i thought, sah," kid wolf replied, "that yo' would let me return to them with a company of yo' soldiers." "my dear señor," the governor said with suave courtesy, "the people you wish to rescue are not subjects of mine." kid wolf tried not to show the irritation he felt. "surely, sah, yo' are humane enough to do this thing. i thought i told yo' theah's women and children in the wagon train." quiroz rubbed his chin as if in thought. his eyes, however, seemed to smolder with an emotion of which kid wolf could only guess the nature. the spaniard's face was that of a hypnotist, with its thin, high-bridged nose and its chilling, penetrating gaze. "your name, señor?" "kid wolf, from texas, sah." spanish governors of that day had no reason to like gunmen from the lone star state. from the time of santa anna, texas fighters had been thorns in their sides. but if quiroz was thinking of this, he made no sign. he smiled with pleasure, either real or assumed. "that is good," he said. "señor wolf, to show your good faith, will you be kind enough to lay your weapons on my desk? it is a custom here not to come armed in the presence of the governor." suspicion began to burn strongly in the back of the texan's brain. was quiroz playing a crafty game? he was supposed to be friendly toward those from the states, but once before, in california, kid wolf had had dealings with a spanish governor. instantly he was on his guard, although he did not allow his face to show it. "i am an american, sah," he replied. "some have called me a soldier of misfohtune. anyway, i try and do good. what good i have done fo' the weak and oppressed, sah, i've done with these." the kid tapped his twin colts and went on: "i've twelve lead aces heah, sah, and i'm not in the habit of layin' 'em down." "we're not playing cards, señor." quiroz smiled pleasantly. "no." kid wolf's quick smile flashed. "but if a game is stahted, i want a hand to play with." his eyes were fixed on the carved front of the governor's desk. there seemed something strange about the carved design. he was seated directly in front of it, in the chair quiroz had pointed out to him, and for the last few minutes he had wondered what it was that had attracted his attention. the desk was carved with a series of squares chiseled deep into the dark wood. in one of the squares was a black circle about the size of a small silver piece. somehow kid wolf did not like the looks of it. what it could be, he could hardly guess. the texan had learned not to take chances. slowly, and with his eyes still on the official's smiling face, he edged his chair away from it, an inch at a time. his progress was slow enough not to attract quiroz's attention. "then," asked the governor slowly, "you refuse, señor?" "yo'-all are a fine guessah, sah!" snapped the texan, alert as a steel spring. the governor moved his knee. there was a sharp report, and a streak of flame leaped from the desk front, followed by a puff of blue smoke. the bullet, however, knocked a slab of plaster from the opposite wall. just in time, kid wolf had moved his chair from the range of the trap gun. quiroz's death-dealing apparatus had failed. the texan's cleverness had matched his own. concealed in the desk had been a pistol, the trigger of which had been pressed by the weight of the official's knee on a secret panel. quick as a flash, kid wolf was on his feet, hands flashing down toward his two . s! the governor, however, was not in the habit of playing a lone hand against any antagonist. behind kid wolf rang out a command in curt spanish: "hands up!" kid wolf's sixth sense warned him that he was covered with a dead drop. his mind worked rapidly. he could have drawn and taken the governor of santa fe with him to death, perhaps cutting down some of the men behind him, as well. but in that case, what would become of the wagon train, with no one to save them from the terror? a vision of the little golden-haired child crossed his mind. no, while there was life, there was hope. slowly he took his hands away from his gun handles and raised them aloft. turning, he saw six soldiers, each with a rifle aimed at his breast. in all probability they had had their eyes on him during his audience with the governor. quiroz snarled an order to them. "take away his guns!" he cried. then, while the texan was being disarmed, he took a long black cigarette from a drawer and lighted it with trembling fingers. "you are clever, señor," said the governor, recovering his composure. "i am exceedingly sorry, but i will have to deal with you in a way you will not like--the adobe wall." quiroz bowed. "i bid you adios." he turned to his soldiers. "take him to the _calabozo_!" he ordered sharply. the building that was then being used as santa fe's prison was constructed of adobe with tremendously thick walls and no windows. the only place light and air could enter the sinister building was through a grating the size of a man's hand in the huge, rusty iron door. kid wolf was marched to the prison by his sextet of guards. while the door was being opened, he glanced around him, taking what might prove to be his last look at the sky. his eyes fell upon one of the walls of the jail. it was pitted with hundreds of little holes. the texan smiled grimly. he knew what had made them--bullets. it was the execution place! the door clanged behind him, and a scene met the kid's eyes that caused him to shudder. in the big, dank room were huddled fourteen prisoners. most of them were miserable, half-naked peons. it was intolerably hot, and the air was so bad as almost to be unbreathable. the prisoners kept up a wailing chant--a hopeless prayer for mercy and deliverance. a guttering candle shed a ghastly light over their thin bodies. so this was what his audience with the governor had come to! what a tyrant quiroz had proved to be! strangely enough, the kid's thoughts were not of his own terrible plight, but of the peril that awaited the wagon train. if he could only escape this place, he might at least help them. what a mistake he had made in going to the governor for aid! his next thought was of his horse, blizzard. what would become of him, if he, kid wolf, died? the texan knew one thing for certain, that blizzard was free. nobody could touch him save his master. he was also sure that the faithful animal awaited his beck and call. the white horse was somewhere near and on the alert. kid wolf had trained it well. he soon saw that escape by ordinary means from the prison was quite hopeless. there was no guard to overpower, the walls were exceedingly thick, and the door impregnable. only one of the prisoners, kid wolf noted, was an american--a sickly faced youth of about the texan's own age. a few questions brought out the information that all the inmates of the jail were under sentence of death. the hours passed slowly in silent procession while the dying candle burned low in the poison-laden air. kid wolf paced the floor, his eyes cool and serene. his mind, however, was wide awake. when was he to be shot? in the morning? or would his execution be delayed, perhaps for days? the texan never gave up hope, and he was doing more than hoping now--he was planning carefully. kid wolf had a hole card. had the spanish soldiers known him better, they would have used more care in disarming him. but then, enemies of kid wolf had made that mistake before, to their sorrow. clearly enough, he could not help the wagon train where he was. he must get out. but the only way to get out, it seemed, was to go out with the firing squad--a rather unpleasant thing to do, to say the least. the tiny grated square in the jail door began to lighten. it grew brighter. day was breaking. "it will soon be time for the beans," muttered the american youth. "will they give us breakfast?" asked the texan. the other laughed bitterly. "we'll have beans," he said shortly, "but we won't eat them." not long afterward the iron door opened, and two soldiers entered, carrying a red earthenware olla. "fifteen men," said one of them in spanish, "counting the new one." "fifteen men," chanted the other in singsong voice. "fifteen beans." kid wolf's brows began to knit. at first he had thought that the beans meant breakfast. now he saw that something sinister was intended. some sort of lottery was about to be played with beans. "there are fourteen white beans," the young american whispered, "and one black one. we all draw. the man who gets the black bean dies this morning." the hair prickled on the texan's head. every morning these unfortunates were compelled to play a grim game with death. the prisoners were all quaking with terror, as they came up to the ugly red jug to take their chance for life. as much as these miserable men suffered in this terrible place, existence was still dear to them. one soldier shook the beans in the olla; the other stood back against the wall with leveled gun to prevent any outbreak. then the lottery began. kid wolf viewed the situation calmly, and decided that to try to wrest the weapon from the soldier would be folly. other soldiers were watching through the grated door. one by one, the prisoners drew. the opening in the olla was just large enough for a hand to be admitted. all was blind chance, and no one could see what he had drawn until his bean was out of the jug. some of the peons screamed with joy after drawing their white beans. the black one was still in the jar. the two white men were the last to draw. both took their beans and stepped to one side to look at them. it was an even break. kid wolf was smiling; the other was trembling. the eyes of kid wolf met the fear-stricken eyes of the other. they stood close together. each had looked at his bean. the sick man's face had gone even whiter. "i'll trade yo' beans," offered the texan. "mine's--black!" gasped the other. "i know," the kid whispered in reply. "trade with me!" "it means that yuh give yore life for mine," was the agonized answer. "i can't let yuh do that." "believe me or not, but i have a plan," urged the texan in a low tone. "and it might work. hurry." the color returned to the sick youth's face as the beans were cautiously exchanged. then kid wolf turned to the soldiers and displayed a black bean. "guess i'm the unlucky one." he smiled whimsically. he turned to the sick boy for a final handshake. "good luck," he whispered, "and if my plans fail, adios forever." "come!" ordered a spanish soldier. waving his hand in farewell, kid wolf stepped out to meet the doom that had been prepared for him. chapter iv surprises at the prison door, kid wolf was met by a squad of ten soldiers. it was the firing squad. the texan fell in step with them and was marched around the building to the bullet-scarred wall. kid wolf faced the rising sun. was he now seeing it for the last time? if he was afraid, he made no sign. his expression was unruffled and calm. he was smiling a little, and his arms, as he folded them on his breast, did not tremble in the slightest. the officer who was to have charge of the execution had not yet appeared on the scene, and the soldiers waited with their rifle stocks trailing in the sand. then there was a quick bustle. the officer sauntered around the corner of the building, his bright uniform making a gay sight in the early sun. he was a captain--the captain whom kid wolf had humiliated the afternoon before! the eyes of the spanish officer, when they fell upon his victim, widened with surprise which at once gave way to exultation. "ah, it is my amigo--the señor of the two guns!" he cried. it was his day of revenge! the captain could not conceal his joy at this chance to square things with his enemy for good and all. he did not try to. his laugh was sneering and amused. "and to think it will be me--captain hermosillo--who will say the word to fire!" he turned to his soldiers in high good humor and waved his sword. "at twenty paces," he ordered. "we shall soon see how bravely the señor dies. ready!" the rifle mechanisms clattered sharply. then the captain turned to his victim, an insolent smile on his cruel features. "will the señor have his eyes bandaged? blindfolded, yes?" kid wolf returned the smile. "yes," he replied quietly. "maybe yo' better blindfold me." hermosillo laughed tauntingly and turned to wink at his men. "he is brave, yes!" he mocked. "he cannot endure seeing the _carabinas_ aimed at his heart. he wants his eyes bandaged--the _muchos grande americano_! ah, the coward!" he spat contemptuously on the sand. "he does not know how to face the guns. well, we will humor him!" the captain whipped a silk handkerchief from his pocket and stepped forward. kid wolf's eyes were gleaming with icy-blue lights. this was the moment he had been waiting for! that handkerchief was a necessary cog in his carefully laid plans. captain hermosillo was soon to learn just how cowardly this young texan was. and the surprise was not going to be pleasant. kid wolf's hole card was a big bowie knife--the same weapon that had played such havoc at the alamo. he carried it in a strange hiding place--tucked into a leather sheath sewn to the inside of his shirt collar, between his shoulder blades. that knife had rescued kid wolf from many a tight situation, and he had practiced until he could draw it with all the speed of heat lightning. when the captain placed the handkerchief over his eyes, kid wolf reached back, as if pretending to assist him. like a flash, his fingers closed over the bone handle of the knife instead. hermosillo found himself with the cold point of the gleaming bowie pressed against his throat! at the same time, kid wolf whirled his body about so that the officer was between him and the firing squad. his left hand held the captain in a grip of steel; his right held the glittering blade against hermosillo's adam's apple! "throw down yo' rifles and back away from 'em!" kid wolfe called to the soldiers. "pronto! or i'll kill yo' captain!" hermosillo gave an agonized yell of fear. in a voice of quaking terror, he ordered his men to do what kid wolf had commanded them. his breath was coming in wheezing gasps. the firing squad, taken aback by this sudden development--for only a few seconds had passed since the kid had drawn the knife--hesitated, and then obeyed. at best, they were none too quick-thinking, and they saw that their leader was in a perilous plight. their _carabinas_ thudded to the sand. "_bueno!_" laughed the texan boyishly. he pushed the captain just far enough away for him to be in good hitting range. then he lashed out at him with his hard fist, catching the fear-crazed officer directly on the point of the jaw. many pounds of lean muscle were behind the blow, and hermosillo landed ten feet away in a cloud of dust. the texan lost no time in whirling on his feet and sprinting for the corner of the building. he reached it just in time to bump into another officer, who was just then arriving on the scene. kid wolf snatched the pistol from his belt and sent him up against the wall with a jar. before the disarmed spaniard knew what had happened, he was sitting on the ground, nursing a bruised jaw, and kid wolf was gone! the texan found the streets deserted at that early hour. racing across the plaza, he raised his voice in a coyote yell: "yip, yip, yipee-e-e!" it was answered by an eager whinny. it was blizzard! the horse, waiting patiently in the vicinity, knew that signal. it came running down another street like a white snowstorm. kid wolf ran to meet the horse. a sharp rattle of rifle fire rang out behind him. the soldiers had given chase! a bullet zipped the stone flags under his feet; another smacked solidly into the corner of an adobe house. the alarm had been given. two gayly uniformed officers ran into the street from the direction of the presidio. they were trying to head the texan off, attempting to get between him and his horse. but blizzard was coming at too hot a pace. the two spaniards cut in just as kid wolf leaped to the saddle. he fired the pistol's single barrel at one of the officers, and hurled the useless weapon into the other's face. "come on, blizzahd!" kid wolf sang out. "let's go from heah!" the powerful animal's hoofs thundered against the flagstones, leaped a stone wall, and charged down the street. behind them, already organized, came the pursuit. to kid wolf's ears came the whine of bullets. "from now on," he cried to his plunging horse, "it all depends on yo'-all! burn that wind!" once blizzard had hit his stride, kid wolf knew that no horse in santa fe could catch him. striking off to the eastward in the direction of the staked plains, the texan gave his animal free rein. the pursuit was dropping behind, a few yards at a time. instead of buzzing around his ears now, the bullets were falling short, kicking up spurts of dust. the cries in angry spanish grew fainter until they died into a confused hubbub. kid wolf had left the town behind him and was racing out over the level plain. looking back, he could see a score or more of brown clouds--dirt stirred by the horsemen who were now almost lost from view. these dwindled. in an hour only half a dozen riders remained on his trail. blizzard was still going strong. out on the great llano estacado, the kid managed, by superior horsemanship, to give the balance of his pursuers the slip. when he had succeeded in confusing them, he slowed his faithful mount down for a needed rest. and now where was the wagon train? where was he to find it? a chill raced down his spine. had the terror already struck? the thought of the women and children in the hapless outfit filled him with a feeling akin to panic. he must find the wagon train. it might not yet be too late. kid wolf was a plainsman. he could locate water where none appeared to exist; he could discover game when older men failed; and he could follow a course on the limitless prairie as surely as a sailor could navigate the seas by means of his compass. by day or by night, he was "trailwise." carefully kid wolf estimated the route the wagon train had been taking. then he figured out the progress it had probably made since he had left it. in this way he fixed a point in his mind--an imaginary dot that he must reach if he meant to find the prairie schooners. if modoc--the leader of the outfit--had kept to his original course, the kid could not fail to meet them. accordingly, kid wolf traveled all the rest of that day in a straight line, marking his course by the sun. he stopped only once at noon for water and a short rest, going on again until dusk. at nightfall, he made camp and lay awake, looking at the stars overhead. his thoughts were of the terror and of his intended victims. strangely enough, the face of modoc came into his reflections, also. he could not dismiss him. was he really insane, or was it just obstinacy? if the latter, what had he meant by his strange expression: "what color will the moon be to-night?" kid wolf thought for a long time and then gave it up. he did not fear any further pursuit by the spanish soldiers. the trail he had left behind was too puzzling; he had taken care of that. besides, he knew that the average spaniard feared the apache and the other indian tribes that infested portions of the staked plains. if there were any danger during the night, blizzard would give him warning. he was up with the dawn. at its first faint, pinkish glow, he was in the saddle again. the day promised to be hot. the midsummer sun had burned the grass to a crisp brown. by midday, mirages began to show in hollows. heat flickered. both horse and rider drank at a pool of yellow-brown water and pressed on. late in the afternoon, kid wolf made out a faint white line on the far horizon. it was the wagon train! he sighed with relief. the terror, then, had not yet raided it. for the terror left only destruction in his wake. had he already plundered it, he would have burned the wagons to the ground. increasing his speed, kid wolf rapidly approached it. as he came nearer, he saw that the outfit was in the center of a field of alkali and making slow and painful progress. he did not see the beef herd. plainly, something had happened during his absence. kid wolf rode in, waving his hat. would he get a bullet for his pains? he kept his eyes open as he drummed in over the alkali flat. modoc and three others were at the head of the outfit. they recognized him at once. modoc started to raise his rifle. one of the others struck the weapon down. obviously the train commander had lost some of his influence. another of the pathfinders shouted for kid wolf to come on. a dozen of the travelers left their wagons and came forward. this time they seemed glad to see kid wolf. "yuh was right, after all!" one of them cried. "modoc led us out of the way. we're lost!" "i meant all right," modoc grumbled. "i did my best--must have made a mistake somewhere. i'll find the trail, never worry. and if yuh take my advice, yuh'll drive this four-flusher away from here! he don't mean us any good. what business is it of his?" kid wolf sternly pointed back to the wagons. "those women and children theah," he snapped, "is mah business." "shut up, modoc!" ordered one of the men. "we trust this man, and we believe he's our friend." he turned to the texan. "yuh can consider yoreself in command here now," he added. modoc trembled with ungovernable anger, but, outnumbered as he was, he could say nothing. sulkily he returned to his own wagon. from the drivers, kid wolf learned a story of hardship and semi starvation. indians had driven away their beef herd, leaving them without food. all day they had had nothing to eat, and were at the point of killing and devouring prairie dogs. the water, too, was bad--so full of alkali as nearly to be undrinkable, and as bitter as gall. kid wolf lost no time in taking the situation in hand. his own provisions he turned over to the women and children of the outfit. then he changed the course of the train so that it led toward civilization. at nightfall they made camp by a pool of fair drinking water. the outfit told him that as yet they had seen no sign of the terror. "probably we won't," said one. kid wolf was not so optimistic. that night he borrowed two . colt revolvers from the wagon-train supplies. he selected them with extreme care, testing them by shooting at marks. so accurate was his shooting that the men of the outfit could not conceal their admiration. the first weapon he tried threw the shots an inch or two to one side, but he finally obtained a pair that worked perfectly. then he sanded the wooden handles of the guns to roughen them slightly. "it nevah pays to have yo' hand slip when makin' a draw," he explained. the outfit's camp fire was shielded with canvas that night, at kid's suggestion. on that wide plain a light showed for many miles, and it was poor policy to advertise one's position. tired as he was, kid wolf rose at midnight, after sleeping a few hours. he wanted to be sure that everything was well. making a tour of the wagon train, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and sniffed. there was no mistaking the delicious odor. it made kid wolf hungry. it was frying meat. the texan quietly aroused some of the men and led them to one of the wagons. "i want yo'-all to see fo' yo'selves," he explained. the wagon was modoc's own, and they entered it. the ex-wagon-train commander had a shielded lantern burning inside, and he was in the act of eating a big supper! when he saw that he had visitors, he tried to reach the gun belt he had hung up at one end of the wagon. kid wolf was too quick for him. "yo' call yo'self a man!" he murmured in a voice filled with contempt. "why, a low-down coyote is a gentleman alongside of yo'. i wondered why yo' looked so well fed, while the rest of the camp was starvin'. men, search this wagon!" while modoc swore, the search was made. it disclosed many pounds of dried beef and other provisions. it was modoc's little private supply. "we'll divide it up with everybody in the mohnin'," suggested the texan, "with a double allowance fo' the children and the women." the wagon men were so furious at modoc's selfishness that they could have torn him to pieces. kid wolf, however, prevented the trouble that was brewing. "every one to their blankets, men," he said. "we can't affohd to fight among ouahselves just now." when the camp was asleep again, he took up his lonely vigil. the night was pitch black, without moon or stars. a wind whispered softly across the great llano. suddenly the kid's attention was attracted by something on the western horizon. it seemed to be in the sky--a faint red glow, across which shadows appeared to move like phantoms. like a picture from the ghost world, it flickered for a few minutes like heat lightning, then disappeared, leaving the night as dark as before. it was a night mirage, and something more than an optical illusion. it was a rare thing on the plain. the kid knew that it meant something. that glow was the reflection in the sky of a camp fire! those shadows were men! the texan quickly told his sentinels. "i'm ridin' out to see what it is," he said. "keep a close watch while i'm gone. i'm on a little scoutin' pahty of mah own. it might be that quiroz has followed me--which i doubt. and it might be--the terror!" mounting blizzard, he was quickly swallowed up in the darkness. chapter v the camp of the terror kid wolf knew that the camp fire was many miles away. he gave his horse just a touch of the spur--that was always enough for blizzard--and they proceeded to split the wind. the horse was as sure-footed as a cat, and was not an animal to step into a prairie-dog hole, even on a black night. blizzard had ample rest and water, and was never fresher. he ran like a greyhound. kid wolf never forgot that gallop across the llano by night. it was like running full tilt against an ever-opening velvet curtain. he could hardly see his horse's head. blizzard's hoofs pounded on and on across the level plateau. miles disappeared under his flying feet, while kid's keen eyes were fastened on the horizon ahead. finally he made out an orange glow--a light that changed to a redder and redder hue until it became a point of fire. the texan approached it rapidly, more and more cautious. that was no small camp! many men were around that flickering fire. kid wolf dismounted, whispering for blizzard to remain where he was. then, like a slinking apache indian, he approached on foot, making no sound. not once did his high-heeled boots snap a weed or rustle the dried grass. he would not have been more silent had he been wearing moccasins. there were a hundred or more men in the camp. it was a small city. kid wolf could hear the champing and stamping of countless restless horses, and the men were thick around the fire. a conference of some kind was being held. the texan approached closer and closer, all eyes and ears. if he could discover the identity of this band and something of their plans---- suddenly a sentry rose up from the grass not a yard from him. his eyes fell upon the intruder, and his mouth flew open. in his hand was a short-barreled carbine. the texan seized him, dodged under the half-raised weapon and cut off the man's cry with the pressure of a muscular hand. he fought noiselessly, and the sentry--a mexican--was no match for him. throwing him to the ground, kid wolf gagged him with the man's own gayly colored scarf. then he bound him securely, using the sentry's sash and carbine strap. kid wolf exchanged his hat for the mexican's steep-crowned sombrero and picked up the carbine. in this guise he could approach the camp with comparative safety. pulling the sombrero over his eyes, he came in closer to the camp fire. as he did so, a trio of men--two white men and one half-breed--came into the camp from another direction. the kid heard one of the other sentries hail the newcomers. "what color will the moon be to-night?" was the challenge. thrills raced up kid wolf's spine. that was the question modoc had asked him! what deep plot was behind that seemingly meaningless query? then the texan heard the response. "the moon will be red!" was the countersign, and the trio passed and approached the ring around the fire. there was no doubt now that he was in the camp of the terror! the men outlined in the ruddy fire-light were desperadoes. never had the texan seen such a gathering. some were american gunmen, evil-faced and heavily armed. others were mexicans and indians. there was a tenseness in the very atmosphere. as kid wolf came closer to the fire, he was hailed in turn: "what color will the moon be to-night?" "the moon will be red," kid wolf replied softly. no one paid him any attention. all eyes were on a figure near the glowing fire. the man was talking and seemed to be in authority. he was dressed in a red mexican coat, rich silver-trimmed pantaloons, and carried a brace of gold-mounted pistols. his face was covered with a mask of black velvet. instinctively kid wolf knew that he was looking at the dread scourge of the llano estacado--the terror of the staked plains! the bandit, then, kept himself masked even in front of his own men! kid wolf, as he listened, grew tense. his eyes were shining with snapping blue fire. the terror was planning a raid upon the wagon train! his voice, cold and deadly, came to kid wolf's ears: "everything, then, caballeros, is arranged. we strike at dawn and wipe them out, sparing nobody. if a man escapes, you are all running a risk, for some of you might be identified. man, woman, and child, they must die! our man, of course, you all know. do not fire on him." kid wolf listened to that sinister voice and wondered what the face behind the mask looked like. the bandit leader had no more soul than a rattler, and one might expect more mercy from a wolf. and kid wolf already knew whom the terror meant when he spoke of "our man." anger shook the texan from head to foot. he had learned enough. the bandits were already about to mount their horses in order that they might reach the wagon train at daybreak. there was no time to lose. he must get back to the helpless outfit ahead of them. sauntering carelessly, he slipped out of the circle about the fire and made his way out of the camp without being noticed. once out of the range of the firelight, he raced into the darkness for his horse. blizzard was waiting patiently. he had not moved from his tracks. an ordinary animal might have nickered upon scenting other horses, but blizzard had been trained otherwise. kid wolf leaped into the saddle, slapped his mount gently on the neck, and was swallowed up in the night as blizzard answered the summons. the east was a pale line against the dark of the prairie night when blizzard drummed up to the sleeping wagon train with his rider. it still lacked a half hour until the dawn. the texan sent the sentries to arouse every available fighting man in the wagon train. "is it the terror?" one of them questioned, paling. "it is," replied kid wolf. "we must act quickly." in a few minutes men were pouring out of the wagons, weapons in their hands. it was just light enough now to see. modoc ran out of his wagon, strapping on his colt . as he came. he advanced toward the texan sneeringly. the others gathered about to see what would happen. something in kid wolf's eyes warned them of impending trouble. "what's the idea now?" modoc snarled, showing his stained teeth like a wolf. "has this four-flusher been up to his tricks again?" kid wolf's voice came cool and calm. "modoc," he drawled, "what color will the moon be to-night?" modoc's face went the color of putty. like a flash, the insolence had gone out of his eyes, to be replaced with fear. he moistened his lips feverishly. "i--i don't know what yo're talkin' about," he stammered. "are yo' sure," said kid wolf with deadly quietness, "that the moon won't be red?" modoc began to tremble like a leaf. his gun hand moved part way to his hip, then stopped. beads of perspiration stood out on his clammy forehead. "afraid to draw like a man?" the texan drawled. "i wouldn't doubt it. men, this man is a betrayah. he is one of the terror's bandits. that's why he led yo' off the track. he brought yo' here to die like rats." modoc's face was blue-white as kid wolf continued: "when i first showed up, modoc thought i might be one of the terror's messengahs. i didn't come through with the password, and he learned different. i didn't know what he meant, then, but i know now!" the wagon men surged around modoc threateningly. fury was written over the faces of them all. there were cries of "kill him!" "hang the traitor!" kid wolf still faced the fear-frozen modoc, smiling coolly. there was quiet menace in that easy smile. "i usually shoot the head off a rattlesnake when i see one," he said softly. "one day, yeahs ago, a rattlah killed a favorite dawg of mine. i blew that snake apart, bit by bit. modoc, that snake was a gentleman alongside of yo'. i'm givin' yo' an even chance to kill me. fill yo' hand!" modoc, with a wheezing, gasping breath, decided upon action. his hand streaked for his hip. but kid wolf had drawn a split second later and more than a split second faster. the fingers of his right hand closed upon the handle of one of his twin colts. in the same instant, fire flew! with the first explosion, modoc grunted with pain, dropping his gun. the bullet had caught him squarely in the wrist, rendering his fingers useless. but kid wolf kept firing, although he did not aim for modoc's head or body. his gun flashed and stuttered twice, three times, four--five--six! dust flew from modoc's coat sleeve as the bullets landed with a series of terrific smashes. as he had torn the rattlesnake bit by bit, kid wolf ripped modoc's gun arm. each bullet took effect, and modoc staggered from the impacts, knees slumping to the ground. the traitor would never use that gun arm again. it dangled from his body, broken and useless. the others would have literally torn modoc limb from limb had not the texan ordered otherwise. "he doesn't deserve hangin'," he said, "so let him be. we've got work to do. the terror and his gang will be here at any minute. now listen carefully to what i say." quietly he gave his orders, and just as carefully, the wagon men carried them out. under kid wolf's masterly leadership they had regained their nerve. panic left them, and they became grim and determined. the kid learned that there were thirty-four men in the outfit. thirty-four against at least a hundred! the odds were great, but the texan had faced greater ones alone. with the train in the hands of modoc--one of their own men--the marauders expected to take the outfit by surprise. thanks to the texan, all that was changed now. he gave orders that the wagons be shifted into a circle, with the children and women on the inside behind shelter. the men were posted in the wagons and behind them, kid wolf giving each man his station. "do not fiah until i give the coyote yell," he said. "and then keep yo' sights down. shoot low!" kid wolf himself took a position between two of the covered wagons, his horse blizzard within quick call. in the narrow chink, just wide enough for him to ride his horse through, he placed three loaded sharps . -caliber rifles, ready for quick use. they had not long to wait. only a few minutes had elapsed after the wagons had been shifted when kid wolf saw a body of horsemen approaching from the west. it was the terror's band! dust stirred by the hoofs of a hundred galloping horses rose in the air like brown thunderclouds. as the grim defenders watched, the band split up, divided into two rapidly moving lines, and began to surround the train in a sweeping circle. the circle formed, began to close in. kid wolf peered along the barrel of one of the sharps rifles. then, after what seemed minutes, he uttered his coyote cry: "yip, yip, yip-ee!" it was followed by a terrific burst of fire from the wagon train. the signal had been given at the opportune time. the bandits faltered. they hadn't expected this! the terror had hoped to find the wagon train still asleep and defenseless. the rolling powder smoke cleared away somewhat, and it could be seen that a dozen or more of the attackers had melted out of their saddles, like butter on a hot stove. but the raiders, outnumbering the defenders and realizing it, still came on. kid wolf threw aside the rifle and drew his twin . s. deliberately stepping out into the open, he fanned the hammers from the level of his hip. his waistline, as he swung the thundering colts from side to side, seemed to be alive with sputtering red sparks. smoke rolled around him. the bandits in front of him dropped by twos and threes. holes appeared in this side of the bandits' circle--holes that did not close up. riderless mounts dashed about frantically, their reins trailing; wounded horses added to the uproar with their death screams. it was a battle! seeing that the force of the charge had been broken on this flank, kid wolf ran across to reenforce the other sides of the circle. at one point the outlaws had already broken through the circle of wagons. kid wolf sent three screaming slugs toward them, and they fell back in disorder, leaving one desperado stretched out behind them. reloading his guns, kid wolf climbed upon one of the wagons and again opened fire; this time with such an effect that all sides of the attacking circle began to break and fall back to safety. mere force of numbers does not always count in a gun fight. not more than half a dozen of the defenders had been hit. the survivors raised a hearty cheer. kid wolf's generalship had beaten back the first outlaw charge! it was then that modoc played his final card. hoping to gain the protection of the outlaws, and fearing the wagon train's vengeance, he slipped out of the circle of covered wagons and, on foot, began running. his goal was ahead of him, but he never reached it. his late comrades--the bandits--evidently thought he had played the traitor with them, for they fired on him relentlessly. he fell, then rose again to scramble on. bullets kicked up the sod around him. others plumped into his body. again he fell, this time to stay. his body was riddled with scores of bullets. so died the traitor. kid wolf knew that a certain advantage always lies with the offensive. defenders haven't the power of attackers. the texan decided to risk a counter-charge. he knew that it might break down the courage of the bandit band. at least it would be a surprise. he called for volunteers. "i want a dozen men who can shoot straight from the back of a runnin' hoss," he said. "it'll be dangerous. who's with me?" immediately more men than he wanted spoke up. quickly choosing twelve, he gave them their orders. "at the next chahge," the texan drawled, "we'll ride out theah and give 'em somethin' to think about. if i'm right, i think they'll scattah. if i'm wrong--well, they'll probably wipe us out. are yo' game?" the men were game, as the texan soon found out. they were fighting for their families, as well as their own lives and possessions. again the attacking line of horsemen formed, and in a cloud of dust, they came at the wagon train. their bullets cut slashes in the covered-wagon tops, smashed into wheels and wagon trees, and kicked up geysers of sand. they would be hard to stop this time! but kid wolf gave the word for his own charge. he had several reasons for doing this. it amounted to folly in the eyes of some, but the texan knew the value of a countercharge. and if he could bring down the terror himself, he knew the battle was as good as won. out of the wagon circle they came, saddle leather creaking and guns blazing! the kid, on his snow-white charger, was in the lead. a lane opened in the bandit ranks as if by magic. kid wolf pressed his quick advantage. his movement had taken the outlaw band by surprise. the utter recklessness of it shook their nerve. two of the wagon men fell. the others kept on, clearing a swathe with their sputtering colts. the bandits hesitated. the defenders who had remained behind the wagons kept up their deadly barrage. they were dropping accurately placed shots where they would be sure to do the most good. then the terror's band retreated, broke formation. the retreat became a rout--a mad get-away with every man for himself. outnumbered as they were, the defenders were making more than a good account of themselves. kid wolf's eyes sought for the terror himself--and found him. his red coat and gay trappings were easy to locate, even in that mad stampede. the bandit chief was attempting to make his get-away. the texan, however, cut him off after a hard, furious ride. separated from his men, the terror turned in his saddle, wildly attempting to get the drop on kid wolf as he came in. one of his gold-mounted pistols flashed. the bullet hissed over the texan's head. he had dropped low in the saddle. the terror whirled his horse at kid wolf's. he realized that it was a fight to the end. he fired his other weapon almost in the texan's face. the kid, however, had pulled the trigger of his own gun just a fraction of a second before. the terror's aim was spoiled just enough so that the bullet whined wide. the bandit chief collapsed in his saddle. he had been hit in the shoulder. the texan closed in. there was a violent shock as blizzard thudded into the bandit's horse. the terror, eyes glittering wickedly through the openings in his velvet mask, slid from his horse, landing feet first. with a glittering knife in his unwounded hand, he made a spring toward kid wolf. the blade would have buried itself in the texan's thigh had not the kid whirled his horse just in time. "all right," said the texan coolly. "we have it out with ouah hands." holstering his guns, he leaped from his horse. he scorned even to use his bowie knife, as he advanced toward the bandit at a half crouch. the terror thought he had the advantage. the kid's hands were bare of any weapons. with a snarl, the bandit chief leaped forward, knife swishing aloft. never had kid wolf struck so hard a blow as he struck then! added to the power of his own tremendous strength and leverage was the terror's own speed as he lunged in. fist met jaw with a sickening thud. the terror was a big and heavy man. his weight was added to kid wolf's as both men came together. there was a snap as his head went back--went back at too great an angle. his neck was broken instantly. without a moan, the bandit chief dropped limply to the sand, dead before he ever reached it! kid wolf took a deep breath. then he bent over the fallen man and jerked the velvet mask from his features. he gasped in amazement. it was quiroz! for a moment the texan could not believe his eyes. then the truth began to dawn on him. the terror and the tyrannical governor of santa fe were one and the same! quiroz had led a double life for years, and had covered his tracks well. so powerful had he become that he had received the appointment as governor. no wonder he had refused kid wolf aid! and no wonder he had sought his life! "well, i guess his account is paid," said kid wolf grimly. "the terror of the staked plains is no more." he looked about him. the remainder of the bandits had made a thorough retreat, leaving a large number of their companions on the plain behind them. their defeat had been complete and decisive. "_bueno_," said kid wolf. "oh, the cows stampede on the rio grande! the rio! the sand do blow, and the winds do wail, but i want to be wheah the cactus stands! the rio! and the rattlesnake shakes his ornery tail!" the buckskin-clad singer raised his hat in happy farewell. the people of the wagon train answered his shout: "shore yo' won't go on with us?" "we shore thank yuh for what yuh done, kid!" others took up the cry. they hated to lose this smiling young texan's company. he had saved them from death--and worse. not only that, but they had learned to like him and depend on him. the texan, however, declined to stay longer. nor would he listen to any thanks. "adios," he called, "and good luck! wheahevah the weakah side needs a champion, theah yo'll find kid wolf. somehow i always find lots to do. heah's hopin' yo' won't evah need mah services again." he caught sight of a golden-haired child beaming at him from one of the wagons. "good-by, jimmy lee!" he called. he whirled in his saddle, touched blizzard with the reins, and rode away at a long lope. chapter vi on the chisholm trail from the sweeps of high country bordering close upon santa fe, it was no easy journey to the chisholm trail, even for a trail-eating horse of blizzard's caliber. but the kid had taken his time. his ultimate destination, unless fate altered his plans, was his own homeland--the sandy rio grande country. more than anything else, it was the thirst for adventure that led the buckskin-clad rider to the beaten cattle road which cut through wilderness and prairie from austin to the western kansas beef markets. and now, after following the trail for one uneventful day, kid wolf had left it--in search of water. a line of lofty cottonwoods on the eastern horizon marked the course of a meandering stream and the kid had been glad of the chance to turn blizzard's head toward it. horse and rider, framed in the intense blue of the western sky, formed a picture of beauty and grace as they drummed through the unmarked wastes. the kid, riding "light" in his saddle, his supple body rising and falling with the rhythm of his loping mount and yet firm in his seat, dominated that picture. his face was tanned to the color of the buckskin shirt he wore, and a vast experience, born of hardship and danger on desert and mountain, was in his eyes--eyes that were sometimes gray and sometimes steely blue. just now they were as carefree as the skies above. a stranger might have wondered just what kid wolf's business was. he did not appear to be a cow-puncher, or a trapper or an army scout. a reata was coiled at his saddle, and two big colts swung from a beaded indian belt. no matter how curious the stranger might be, he would have thought twice before asking questions. the horse, in color like snow with the sun on it, was splitting the breeze--and yet the stride was easy and tireless. blizzard, big and immensely strong, was as fast as the winds that swept the panhandle. the stream, kid wolf discovered, was a fairly large creek bordered with a wild tangle of bushes, vines, and creeper-infested trees. it was no easy matter to force one's way through the choked growth, especially without making a great deal of noise. but the kid never believed in advertising his presence unnecessarily. he had the uncanny apache trick of slipping silently through underbrush, even while on horseback. the country of the indian nations, at that time, was a territory infested with peril. and even now, although he seemed to be alone on the prairie, he was cautious. some distance before he reached it, he saw the creek, swollen and brown from rains above. so quiet was his approach that even a water moccasin, sunning itself on the river bank, did not see him. suddenly the white horse pricked up its ears. kid wolf, too, had heard the sound, and he pulled up his mount to watch and listen, still as a statue. splash! splash! a rider was bringing his horse down to the creek at a walk. the sounds came from above and from across the stream. the water on that side had overflowed its bank and lay across the sand in blue puddles. in a few minutes kid wolf caught sight of a man on a strawberry roan, coming at a leisurely gait. as it was a white man, and apparently a cattleman, the kid's vigilance relaxed a little. in another moment, though, his heart gave a jump. and then, even before his quick muscles could act in time to save the newcomer it had happened. from behind a bush clump, a figure had popped up, rifle leveled. a thin jet of flame spat out of the rusty gun barrel, followed by a cracking report and a little burst of steaming smoke. the man on the strawberry roan lurched wildly, groaned, and pitched headlong from his saddle, landing in the creek edge with a loud splash. one foot still stuck in a stirrup, and for a few yards the frightened pony dragged him through the muddied water. then something gave way, and the murdered man plumped into the water and disappeared. the killer stood on his feet, upright. he laughed--a chilling, mirthless rattle--and began to reload his old-pattern rifle. he was a half-breed indian. the dying sun glistened on his coppery, strongly muscled flesh, for he was stripped to the waist. he wore trousers and a hat, but his hair hung nearly to his shoulders in a coarse snarl, and his feet were shod with dirty moccasins. kid wolf's eyes crackled. he had seen deliberate murder committed, an unsuspecting man shot down from ambush. his voice rang out: "drop that rifle and put up yo' hands!" the soft drawl of the south was in his accents, but there was nothing soft about his tone. the half-breed whirled about, then slowly loosened his hold on his gun. it thudded to the grass. on a line with his bare chest was one of kid wolf's big-framed . s. the snaky eyes of the half-breed were filled with panic, but as the kid did not shoot or seem to be about to do so, they began to glitter with mockery. kid wolf dismounted, keeping his gun leveled. "why did yo' shoot that man?" he demanded. the half-breed was sullenly silent for a long moment. "what yuh do about it?" he sneered finally. kid wolf's smile was deadly. his answer took the murderer by surprise. the half-breed suddenly found his throat grasped in a grip of steel. the fingers tightened relentlessly. the indian's beady eyes began to bulge; his tongue protruded. with all his strength he struggled, but kid wolf handled him with one arm, as easily as if he had been a child! "yo're goin' to answer fo' yo' crime--that's what i'm goin' to do about it!" the kid declared. the half-breed's yell was wild and unearthly, when the grip at his throat was released. all the fight was taken out of him. kid wolf shook him until his teeth rattled, picked him up bodily and hurled him across his saddle. "i'm takin' yo' to the law," he drawled. "i might kill yo' now and be justified, too. but i believe in doin' things in the right way." at the mention of "law," the half-breed snarled contemptuously. "ain't no law," he grunted, "southwest o' dodge. yuh no take me there. too far." kid wolf knew that the killer was right. still, on the prairie, men make their own commandments. "theah's a new town, i hear, not far from heah--midway, i think they call it," he drawled. "yo're goin' theah with me, and if theah's no law in midway, i'll see that some laws are passed. and yo' won't need that, eithah!" he added suddenly. the knife that the half-breed had attempted to draw tinkled to the ground as the kid gave the treacherous wrist a quick twist. "step along, blizzahd," sang out kid wolf in his southern drawl. "back to the trail, as soon as we get a drink of watah, then no'th!" at the mention of midway, the half-breed's expression had changed to one of snakelike cunning. but if the kid noted his half-concealed smile, he paid no attention to it. they were soon on their way. always, even in the savage lands beyond civilization, kid wolf tried to take sides with the weak against the strong, with the right against the wrong. and on more than one occasion he had found himself in hot water because of it. the average man of the plains, upon seeing the murder committed, would have considered it none of his business, and would have let well enough alone. another type would have killed the half-breed on general principles. kid wolf however, determined that the murderer would be given a fair trial and then punished. again striking the chisholm trail--a well-beaten road several hundred yards wide--he veered north. thousands upon thousands of longhorns from texas and new mexico had beaten that trail. this was the halfway point. kid wolf had heard of a new settlement in the vicinity, and, judging from the landmarks, he estimated it to be only a few miles distant. in the meantime, the sun went down, creeping over the level horizon to leave the world in shadows which gradually deepened into dusk. all the while, the half-breed maintained a stoical silence. kid wolf, keeping a careful eye on him, but ignoring him otherwise, hummed a fragment of song: "oh, theah's hombres poison mean, on the rio! and theah's deadly men at dodge, no'th o' rio! and to-day, from what i've seen, theah's some bad ones in between, and i aim to keep it clean, beyond the rio!" stars began to twinkle cheerily in the black vault overhead. then the kid made out a few points of yellow light on the plain ahead of them. "that must be midway," he mused to himself. "those aren't stahs, or camp fiahs. oil lamps mean a settlement." camps of any size were few and far between on the old chisholm trail. the moon was creeping up as kid wolf and his prisoner arrived, and by its light, as well as the few lights of the town, he could see that the word "town" flattered the place known as "midway." there were a few scattered sod houses, and on the one street were two large buildings, facing each other on opposite sides of the road. the first was a saloon, brilliantly lighted in comparison to the semidarkness of the other, which seemed to be a general store. a sign above it read: the idel hour saloone below it, in similar letters, the following was spelled out, or rather misspelled: jack hardy owner and propriater as the only life of midway seemed to be centered here, kid wolf drew up his horse, blizzard, dismounted, and dragged his prisoner to the swinging green doors that opened into the idle hour saloon. pushing the half-breed through by main strength, he found himself in a big room, lighted by three oil lamps and reflectors suspended from beams in the roof. for all the haze of tobacco smoke, the place was agleam with light. for a moment kid wolf stood still in astonishment. to find such a group of men together at one place, and especially such a remote place, was surprising. a score or more of booted-and-spurred loungers were at the bar and at the gambling tables. a roulette wheel was spinning at full clip, its little ivory ball dancing merrily, and at other tables were layouts of faro and various games of chance. cards were being riffled briskly at a poker game near the door, and a little knot of men were in a corner playing california jack. kid wolf took in these details at a glance. what puzzled him was that these men did not appear to be cattlemen or followers of any calling, unless possibly it was the profession of the six-gun. all were heavily armed, and although that fact in itself was by no means unusual, the kid did not like the looks of several of the men he saw there. some were half-breeds of his prisoner's own stripe. at the kid's entrance with his still-struggling prisoner, every one stared. the bartender--a bulky fellow with a scarred face--paused in the act of pouring a drink, his eyes widening. the quiet shuffle of cards ceased, the wheel of fortune slowed to a clicking stop, and every one looked up in sudden silence. kid wolf dragged the half-breed to the center of the room, holding him by the scruff of the neck. "men," he said quietly, "this man is a murderah!" in a few more words, he told the gathering what had happened. from the very first, something seemed to warn the kid of approaching trouble. was it his imagination, or was a look flashed between the half-breed and several of the men in the room? he sensed an alert tenseness in the faces of those who were listening. one of the men, whom the kid immediately put down as the owner of the saloon--jack hardy--was staring insolently. hardy was flashily dressed, wearing fancy-stitched riding boots, a fancy vest, and a short black coat, under which peeped the butt of a silver-mounted . . kid wolf's intuition told him that he was the man he must eventually deal with. the saloon owner had been watching the faro game. now, having heard kid wolf out, he turned his back and deliberately faced the layout again. "go on with the game," he sneered to the dealer. there was a world of contempt in his silky voice, and kid wolf flushed under his tan. hardy pretended to ignore the visitor completely. the faro dealer slid one card and then another from his box; the case keeper moved a button or two on his rack. then the dealer raked in the winnings from the losers. the game was going on as usual. the gamblers, taking their cue from jack hardy, turned to their games again. it was as if kid wolf had never existed. the kid took a firmer hold on the wriggling half-breed. "do yo' know this man?" he demanded of the proprietor. hardy turned in annoyance, his black brows elevated sarcastically. "it's 'tucumcari pete,'" he mocked. "what is it to yuh?" looking at the faro lookout, perched on his high stool, he winked. the lookout returned it knowingly. kid wolf's eyes blazed. he had told his story so that all could hear. none had paid it any attention. all these men, then, were dishonest and unfriendly toward law and order. "i want yo' to understand me," he said in a voice he tried to make patient. "this hombre--tucumcari pete, yo've called him--shot and killed a man from ambush. isn't there any law heah?" with long, tapered fingers, jack hardy rolled a cigarette, placed it between his lips and leered insultingly. "there's only one law in midway," he laughed evilly, "and that law is that all strangers must attend to their own business. now i don't know who yuh are, but----" "i'm kid wolf," came the soft-spoken drawl, "from texas. my enemies usually call me by mah last name." a man brushed near the kid; his eye caught the texan's significantly. but instead of speaking, he merely thrust a wadded cigarette paper in the kid's hand as he passed by. so quickly was it done that nobody, it seemed just then, had seen the movement. kid wolf's heart gave a little leap. there was some mystery here! if he had made a friend, was that friend afraid to speak to him? was there a note in that paper ball? hardy's eyes met the texan's. they were insect eyes, beady and glittering black. "all right," he snarled. "mr. wolf, you clear out!" the texan's fiery southern temper had reached its breaking point. it snapped. in a twinkling, things were happening. using quick, almost superhuman strength, he picked up the half-breed by the neck and one leg and hurled him, like a thunderbolt, into the group at the faro table! tucumcari pete's wild yell was drowned out by the tremendous crash of splintering wood and thudding flesh, as the half-breed's body hurtled through the air to smash jack hardy down to the floor with the impact. the table went into kindling wood; chips and markers flew! a chair banged against the lookout's high perch, just as he was bringing his sawed-off shotgun to his shoulder. _br-r-r-ram, bang!_ the double charge went into the ceiling, as the lookout toppled to the floor to join his companions, now a mass of waving arms and legs. kid wolf's twin . s had come out as if by magic. he ducked low. he did not need eyes in the back of his head to know that the men at the bar would open fire at the drop of the hat! a bullet winged venomously over him. another one whined three inches from his ear. at the same instant, a bottle, hurled by the bartender, smashed to fragments against the wall. but with one quick spring, kid wolf had his back against the green-shuttered door. for the first time, his colts splattered red flame and smoke. there were three distinct reports, but they came so rapidly that they blended into one sullen, ear-shattering roar. he had aimed at the swinging lamps, and they went out so quickly that it seemed they had been extinguished by the force of one giant breath. glass tinkled on the saloon floor, and all was wrapped in darkness. the texan's voice rang out like the clang of steel on granite: "yo're goin' to have law! kid wolf law--and yo' may not like it as well as the othah kind!" a score of revolver slugs, aimed at the sound of his voice, sent showers of splinters flying from the green-shuttered doors. the texan, though, had taken care not to remain in the line of fire. when the inmates of the idle hour swarmed out, looking for vengeance, they were disappointed. kid wolf and his horse, blizzard, were nowhere to be seen! chapter vii m'cay's recruit the texan, after circling the town of midway, rode in again. it was not his way to leave a job unfinished, with only a threat behind. the cigarette-paper note had aroused his curiosity to a fever heat. he read it by the light of the moon. it consisted of three pencil-scrawled words: go cross street across the wide street from the saloon, there was but one building. was it here that he was to go? was it a trap of some kind? he dismissed the latter possibility and decided to go at once to the big frame general store, using all the caution possible. approaching the place from behind, he looked it over carefully before dismounting. as blizzard was conspicuous in the moonlight, he left him in a thick clump of bushes and slipped through the shadows on foot. as he neared the building, he discovered that it was not merely of frame, as he had at first thought. the boards in front masked a fortress of logs. it was so planned that a handful of defenders might hold it against great odds. as kid wolf knocked softly on the rear door, he wondered if it had been built merely as a security against the renegade indians, or for some other and deeper purpose. for a few minutes after he knocked, there was silence, then the door slowly opened. the texan found himself looking into the barrel of a . ! "what do yuh want here?" framed in the doorway, the kid saw a grim young face glaring at him over the sights of the six-gun. "speak quick!" said the voice again. "i will," the texan said, "if yo'll kindly take that . out of my eye. i can talk bettah when i'm not usin' yo' gun barrel fo' a telescope." "that gun," said the other sharply, "is goin' to stay just where i've got it!" but it didn't. kid wolf's left hand snapped up under the gun and rapped smartly at just the right spot the wrist that held it. it was a trick blow--one that paralyzed the nerves for a second. the colt dropped from the boy's quickly extended fingers and fell neatly into kid wolf's right hand! all had happened so quickly that the youth hadn't time to squeeze the trigger. before the amazed young man could recover himself, the texan handed over the gun, butt first. "here yo' are," he drawled humorously. "to show yo' i mean well, i'm givin' it back. i do wish, though, that yo'd kindly point it some other way while i'm talkin'." the manner of the other changed at this. after losing his gun, he had expected a quick bullet. "guess yo're all right," he grinned slowly. "come on in." passing through the door, kid wolf noted the thick loophole-pierced walls and other provisions for defense. rifles stood on their stocks at intervals, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. "oh, dad!" the youth called in a low voice, as they entered the big main room of the building. six men were in the place, and the kid took stock of them with one appraising glance. although just as heavily armed as the faction across the street in the idle hour had been, they were of a different type. they were cattlemen, some old, some young. all looked up, startled. one of them got to his feet. he was a huge man and very fat. his face was round and good-humored, although his puckered blue eyes told of force and character. "what's the matter, 'tip'?" he asked of kid wolf's escort. "who is this man?" the texan smiled and bowed courteously. "maybe i should explain, sah," he drawled. "and aftah i'm done, perhaps yo'll have some information to give me." he began his story, but was soon interrupted by an exclamation of anger and grief from the boy's father. "a man on a strawberry roan, yuh say? and murdered! why, that was hodgson--one of my best men! go on, young man! go on with yore story!" in a few words, the texan told of bringing the half-breed to the saloon across the street, and of his reception there. "they-all told me to cleah out," he finished whimsically, "so i cleahed out the idle hour. or rathah, i got the job started. some one theah," he added, "handed me this note. that's why i'm heah." the big man looked at it, and his face lighted. "a short fella gave yuh that? i thought so! that was george durham--one o' my men. he's there as a spy." "as a spy?" the texan repeated blankly. "i'm afraid this is gettin' too deep fo' me, mistah----" "mccay is the name. 'old beef mccay, they call me," he chuckled. "this lad, yuh've already met. he's tip mccay, and my son. and you?" "kid wolf, sah, from texas--just 'kid' to my friends." the five punchers, who had been listening with intense interest to the texan's story, came forward to shake hands. they were introduced as caldwell, anderson, blake, terry white, and "scotty." all were keen-eyed, resolute men. "now i'll tell yuh what this is all about," said the elder mccay. "when i spoke of a spy, i meant that durham is there to see if he can find out why jack hardy has imported those gunmen, and what he plans to do. yuh see, i'm a cattle buyer. at this halfway point i buy lots o' herds from owners who don't wish to drive 'em through to dodge. then i sell 'em there at a profit--when i can." "and jack hahdy?" drawled the texan. "hardy is nothin' more or less than a cattle rustler--a dealer in stolen herds on a large scale. he's swore to get me, at the time when it'll do him the most good. in other words, at the time when he can get the most loot. "so far," mccay went on, "there's been no bloodshed. to-day it seems he's had hodgson murdered. looks as if things are about ripe for war!" "he seems to have mo' men than yo'," murmured kid wolf. "yuh don't know the half of it. a dozen more of his hired gunmen rode south on the chisholm trail this mornin'." "what does that signify?" "plenty," mccay explained. "six o' my men are drivin' fifteen hundred steers up this way. quite a haul, yuh see, for hardy. they're due here tonight. if they don't get here----" the big man's wide mouth hardened. "but i'm afraid i'm a poor host," he added apologetically. "yuh'll have supper and stay the night with us, i'm sure. tip, you an' scotty go out and bring in the kid's hoss." the texan consented, thanking him, and all began to make preparations for the night. the big general store seemed more like a fort in time of war than anything else. some of the men slept on the counters in the main room. a place was made for kid wolf in the rear. sentries were on watch during the entire night, which passed uneventfully. in the morning, just as the dawn was glowing in the east, the texan was awakened by a horrified cry. all rushed to the front windows. across the wide street, over the idle hour saloon, a man was dangling, suspended from the roof by a rope! it was durham--the man who had given kid wolf the cigarette-paper note. some one had seen him in the act, and the fiends had lynched him. "that settles it," said kid wolf grimly, turning to mccay. "i reckon i'm throwin' in with yo'. my guns are at yo' service!" it was a situation not uncommon in that wilderness where "the law isn't, and the six-shooter is." kid wolf, however, had never seen a bolder attempt to trample on the rights of honest men. his veins beat hot at the thought of it. and jack hardy seemed to have the power to see it through to its murderous end. it was not long after the discovery of durham's murder when tip mccay brought in a new note that had been pinned to the door. "it was put there durin' the night some time, probably by one o' hardy's sneakin' half-breeds, because none o' our sentries saw any one the whole night through," tip said. the note was roughly penciled on a sheet of yellow paper, and the message it carried was significant: ef yu will all walk out of their without yore guns we promiss no harm will com to yu. ef yuh dont, we will get yu to the last man. we alreddy got yore cattel. this offer dont go fer kid wolf. we no hes their and we aim to kill him! "they don't like me." the texan laughed. "well, i don't want 'em to. what do yo' intend to do, sah?" the elder mccay's face was very red. his fingers, as he tore the insolent letter to bits, were trembling with anger. "i say let 'em hop to it!" he jerked out. "i ain't givin' in to anybody!" the others cheered. and it was a fighting group of men who gathered for a conference as to the defense of the store. it was agreed that their position was a serious one, outnumbered as they were. just how serious, they soon found out, for at the rising of the sun--as if it had been a signal--a burst of gunfire blazed out from the saloon across the street. splinters flew from the logs as bullets thudded into them. several whined through the two windows and crashed into the wall. kid wolf took an active part in quickly getting ready for a stand. the windows and the doors were heavily barricaded, at his suggestion. sacks of flour, salt, and other supplies were piled over the openings, as these were best for stopping lead. mattresses were stuffed behind the barricade for further protection, and just enough space was left clear to allow a gun to be aimed through. the volley from the idle hour had injured no one. the firing continued more or less steadily, however, and an occasional slug ripped its way between the logs. jack hardy's gang were firing at the chinks. up until this time, the defenders had not fired a shot. even now, after the preparations had been made, kid wolf advised against wasting ammunition. the rustler gang were firing from the cover of the saloon, and were well protected. "hunt up all the guns heah," the kid cried, "and load 'em. if they rush us, we'll need to shoot fast!" several rifles were hunted up--winchesters and two muzzle-loading sharps . s. there were also a powder-and-ball buffalo gun of the old pattern, and, to kid wolf's delight, a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. in the light of the early morning, each detail of the grim scene was brought out minutely. it was a picture kid wolf never forgot! across the street that formed the no man's land was the saloon, wreathed in powder smoke, as guns spat sullen flame. and swinging slightly above the splintered green-shuttered doors was the dead body of durham, neck stretched horribly, head on breast. it seemed a grotesque phantom, warning them of death to come. the horses had been run into the back of the store itself, as a protection against flying bullets. kid wolf suggested that they be saddled, so that they would be ready for use if occasion demanded it. "we might have to make a run fo' it at any time," he warned. the firing from the saloon went on for nearly an hour. then there was a sudden lull. "look out now!" the kid exclaimed. "looks like they mean to rush us!" "we'll cure 'em o' that!" old beef mccay cried grimly. he picked up the sawed-off shotgun. the texan was right. a yell went up from the saloon, and a dozen men rushed out, firing as they came. six others carried a heavy beam, evidently torn from the interior of the idle hour. it was their intention to use this as a battering-ram to smash in the door of the store. the cry from the defenders was "let 'em have it!" the terrific thunder of the shotgun and the buffalo rifle blended with the loud roar of six-guns. hammers fell with deadly regularity. fire blazed from every loophole and shooting space. when the smoke cleared away, tip mccay emitted a whoop that the others echoed. the charge had been stopped, and very effectively. the big beam lay on the ground, with the writhing bodies of four men around it. the "scatter gun" had accounted for three of them; kid wolf had put the other out of business with bullets through both legs. a little to one side were two more of the outlaws, one of whom had been brought down by tip mccay, the other by the lantern-jawed, slow-spoken plainsman known as scotty. the others had beaten a quick retreat to the shelter of the saloon. chapter viii one game hombre hardy's gang did not attempt another rush. they had learned their lesson. keeping under cover, they continued firing steadily, however, and their bullets began to do damage. every crack and chink was a target. in the afternoon, more riders arrived to swell the hardy faction. some were ugly, half-clothed indians, armed with rusty guns and bows and arrows. the odds were steadily increasing. as there was ample food and water in the storehouse to last for several days, the besieged had no worries on that score. mccay knew, though, and kid wolf realized, that nightfall would bring trouble. hardy was stung now by the loss of several men, and he would not do things by halves. he would show no mercy. the first casualty took place in midafternoon. anderson, in the act of aiming his revolver through a loophole, was hit between the eyes by a bullet and instantly killed. the number of men defending the store was now cut down to seven. toward nightfall, tragedy overtook them, full force. old beef mccay was in the act of reloading a gun when a treacherous bullet zipped spitefully through an opening between two logs and caught him low in the chest. the impact sent him staggering against the wall, his round, moonlike face white and drawn. "dad!" called out tip, in an agony of grief. he and kid wolf rushed to the wounded man, supporting his great weight as it slowly sagged. "got me--son!" the cattleman jerked out. quickly the texan tore away his shirt. he did not have to examine the wound to see how deadly it was; one glance was enough. shot a few inches under the heart, mccay was dying on his feet. "i'm done--all right," he grunted. "listen, tip. and you, kid wolf. i know yo're a true-blue friend. i want yuh to recover those cattle, if yuh ever get out of here alive. yuh promise to try?" he turned glazing eyes at the texan. "the cattle should go--to tip's mother. she's in dodge city." "believe me, sah," promised kid wolf earnestly, "if we evah get out of this trap alive, tip and i will do ouah best." the stricken man's face lighted. he grasped his son, tip, with one hand, the texan with the other. "i'll pass on easier now." suddenly he drew himself up to his full height of well over six feet, squared his enormous shoulders, and with crimson welling from his wound, walked firmly and steadily to the door and began kicking the barricade aside. "what are yuh doin'?" one of the defenders cried, thinking he was delirious from his hurt. mccay, fighting against the weakness that threatened to overcome him, turned with a smile, grim and terrible. "i'm goin' out there," he said, "to take some of those devils--with me!" in vain kid wolf and tip attempted to restrain him. the old man waved them back. "i'm done for, anyway," he said. "i haven't got ten minutes to live. what if they do fill me with lead? i'll get one or two while they're doin' it!" he seemed stronger now than ever. sheer will power was keeping him on his feet. seizing two revolvers, one in each big fist, he wabbled through the door. with horror-widened eyes, they watched his reeling progress. he faltered to the hitch rack with bullets humming all around him. he clung to it for a moment, then went on, stalking toward the idle hour like grim vengeance! his guns sputtered red fire and bursts of black powder smoke. hit time after time--they could see the dust fly from his clothing as he staggered along under the dreadful impacts--he kept going. it was glorious, terrible! tip hid his eyes, with a despairing cry. kid wolf watched, his face white under his sunburn. up to the very door of the hardy refuge, the old man walked, his guns hammering claps of thunder. hit several times in the body, he sprawled once and fell, but was on his feet again before the smoke drifted away. he plunged through the door, and the kid saw two men drop under his blazing guns. then mccay, too, fell--for the last time. "yo' dad was one game hombre, tip," murmured the texan, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "let's hope that when ouah turn comes, we can go as bravely." he had never seen such an exhibition of undaunted courage. although the tragedy had clutched at his heart, the spectacle had thrilled him, too. he knew that if he should escape, he would do his best to make good his promise to old beef mccay! the mccay store was surrounded on all sides, and its four walls were scarred and pitted with bullet holes. and night was coming on rapidly. kid wolf saw the peril of their position. he knew, only too well, that the darkness would add to their troubles. twilight was deepening into dusk. soon it became dark, and the moon would not be up for an hour. kid wolf, tip mccay, and their four companions were never more alert. but even their keen eyes could not watch everything. young mccay was very pale. his father's death had touched him deeply, and fury against his killers burned in his glance. the others, too, were grim, thinking not of their own peril, but of the murderous hardy gang. thirsty for vengeance, they kept their eyes glued to their peepholes, fingers on gun triggers. tip had found a friend in kid wolf. no words were wasted on sympathy now, or regrets, but tip knew that the drawling texan understood. there was little shooting being done now, and the suspense was telling on the nerves of all of them. what was hardy up to? would he again attempt to batter down the door and force a way in, under cover of darkness this time? but they were not left long in doubt. "i smell smoke!" cried blake. immediately afterward a sharp, crackling sound came to their ears. hardy's gang had set fire to the store! under cover of darkness, one of the slinking indians had crept up and ignited a pile of oil-soaked rags against the logs of the building. the flames rose high, licking hungrily upward. "get water!" some one shouted. a bucketful or two from their supply tossed accurately through a loophole by kid wolf extinguished the blaze before it could rise higher. it was a close call, and it showed them what to expect now. the indian's mistake had been in setting his fire where it could be reached by the defenders. "we were pretty blamed lucky," caldwell began. "if thet fire----" "not so lucky," sang out the texan. "look at _that_!" from the direction of the saloon, a half dozen streaks of flame shot up into the sky like so many rockets. fire whistled in the wind. the streaks were burning arrows, fired by hardy's red-skinned cutthroats! "that settles it!" groaned tip resignedly. "they're fallin' on the roof!" it was a wonder hardy's evil brain hadn't thought of it before. possibly some of his savage recruits had suggested it. at any rate, it was more to the rustler chief's purpose than smashing in the door. it would soon be all over for the defenders now. in a breath, the roof was afire. little jets of smoke began to spurt down from the beams over their heads, and the flames were fanned into a roar by the wind. desperately the little handful of fighters exchanged glances. things looked black indeed. they could not remain long in the burning death trap, and outside was hardy's gang, waiting in the darkness to shoot them down if they ventured to escape. "steady, boys!" encouraged the texan. "theah may be a chance fo' us yet." but one of them--blake--was overcome with terror. in spite of what the others did to restrain him, he ran outside, tearing his way through the barricade. his hands were raised wildly over his head in token of surrender. but that made no difference to hardy. there was a dull spat, and blake went sprawling, shot through the heart. "i hope nobody else tries that," drawled the kid. "when we go, let's go togethah. by the light of this fiah they can see the colah of ouah eyes. we haven't a chance in the world to escape that way." "we can't stay here and burn to death!" groaned terry white. the heat and smoke were driving them out of the main room. already flames were creeping down the walls, and the air was as hot as the breath of an oven. their faces were blistered, their exposed hands cooked. tip's coat was afire, as all five of them made a dash for the smaller room, taking the extra guns and ammunition with them. this gave them a short respite. as yet the fire had not reached this apartment, although it would not take long. the smoke was soon so thick as nearly to be blinding. stationing themselves at the loopholes, they began to work havoc with their rifles and revolvers. for the outlaws, bolder now, had ventured closer and made good targets in the glare of the burning building. suddenly there was a tremendous crash. the roof over the main room had come smashing in! instantly the fire roared louder; tongues of it began to lick through the walls. wood popped, and the heat became maddening. one side of the room became a mass of flames. the imprisoned men began to wet their clothing with the little water that was left. "the stable!" ordered kid wolf. "quick!" the stable was built against the side of the store in the rear, and a door of the smaller room opened into it. there they must make their last stand. the horses--and among them was kid wolf's white charger, blizzard--were trembling with fear. they seemed to know, as well as their masters, that they were in terrible danger. "we'll make ouah get-away with 'em, when the time comes," drawled the texan. "not a chance in the world, kid!" tip groaned. "just leave it to me," was the quiet reply. "we've got a slim chance, if mah idea works." fanned by the wind, the flames soon were eating at the stable. and once caught, it burned like tinder. the horses screamed as the fire licked at them, and all was confusion. to make matters worse, bullets ripped through continually. the hardy band had gathered about the burning buildings in a close ring, ready to shoot down any one the instant he showed himself. the situation looked hopeless. "stay in there if yuh want to!" a voice shouted outside. "burn up, or take lead! it's all the same to us!" the heat-tortured scotty staggered to his feet and groped toward one of the plunging, screaming horses. "lead is the easiest way," he choked. "they'll get me, but i'm goin' to try and ride this hoss out o' here!" "wait a minute!" kid wolf cried. "all get yo' hosses ready and make the break when i say the word. but not until!" gritting their teeth, they prepared to endure the baking heat for a few minutes more. they did not know what kid wolf was going to do, but they had faith that he would do something. and they knew, as things stood, that they could not hope for anything but death if they tried to escape now. the stable was a mass of flames. the walls were crumbling and falling in. the texan gave his final orders. "if any of us get through," he gasped, "we'll meet on the chisholm trail--below heah. ride hard, with heads low--when i say the word!" then kid wolf played his trump card. upon leaving the store itself, he had taken a small keg with him--a powder keg. until now, none of the others had noticed it. holding it in his two hands, he darted through the door into the open! bits of burning wood were all about him; flames licked at his boots as he stood upright, the keg over his head. "scattah!" he shouted at the astonished hardy gang. "i'm blowin' us all to kingdom come!" the texan made a glorious picture as he stood there, framed in red and yellow. fire was under his feet and on every side. the glow of it illuminated his face, which was stained with powder smoke and blackened by the flames. his eyes shone joyously, and a laugh of defiance and recklessness was on his lips as he swung the poised keg aloft. the hardy gang, frozen with terror for an instant, scattered. they ran like frightened jack rabbits. to shoot kid wolf would have been easy, but none of them dared to attempt it. for if the keg was dropped, one spark would set it off. overcome with panic, the ring of outlaws melted into the night. the texan gave the signal, and tip, caldwell, scotty, and white tore out of the doorway on their frightened horses, heads low, scattering as they came. kid wolf whistled sharply for blizzard and pulled himself effortlessly into the saddle as the big white horse went by at a mad gallop. he tossed away the keg as he did so. the hardy faction began shooting then, but it was too late. bullets hummed over the heads of the escaping riders, but not one found its mark. kid wolf found himself riding alongside tip mccay. the others had taken different routes. the sounds of guns behind them were rapidly growing fainter, and they were hidden by the pitch darkness. kid wolf heard tip laughing to himself--a rather high-pitched, nervous laugh. "are yo' all right, tip?" sang out the texan. "great! yore plan worked to a t! but do yuh know what was in that powder keg yuh used?" "yes, i knew all the time," chuckled the kid. "it wasn't powdah at all. it was lime. i found that out when i tried to load a sharps rifle from it. but just the same, tip, the bluff worked!" chapter ix the night herd by the time the hardy faction had given up the chase in disgust, caldwell, white, and scotty had joined tip and the texan some miles below midway on the chisholm trail. the former three were jubilant over their unexpected release from the fire trap, but they agreed with the texan's first proposal. "we've got mo' work to do, boys," he drawled. "if we wanted to, we could give that gang the slip fo' good and make ouah get-away. i think, though, that yo' feel as i do. what do yo' say we rustle back that herd o' longhorns that hardy stole from tip's dad?" it meant running into danger again, and lots of it, but none of them hesitated. kid wolf had made his promise, and the others vowed to see him through. it took them but a few moments to plan their reckless venture and get into action. the kid hated hardy now, just as heartily as did tip mccay. and even if he had not given his word to the dying cattleman, he would not have left a stone unturned to bring the rustling saloon keeper to justice. more than once before, kid wolf had used the law of the colt when other measures failed to punish. and now, even although handicapped and outnumbered, he planned to strike. the stolen herd represented a small fortune, and rightfully belonged to tip mccay and his mother. but where were the longhorns now? tip's suggestion was helpful. he thought the cattle could not be more than a few miles below. they quickly decided to ride south, and tip and the kid led the way. the moon was up now, and it lighted the open prairie with a soft glow. the five riders pounded down the old chisholm cattle road at a furious clip, eyes open for signs. presently tip cried: "we'll find 'em down there at green springs! i see a light! it's a camp fire!" on the horizon they made out the feathery tops of trees against the sky, and riding closer, they could see a dark mass bunched up around them--little dots straying out at the edges. it was the stolen mccay herd! no general on the field of battle planned more carefully than the texan. the party came closer, warily and making no noise. as they did so, they could hear the bawling of the cattle. some were milling and restless, and the cattleman could see four men on horses at different points, attempting to keep the animals quiet and soothed. at the camp fire, several hundred yards from the springs, were four other men. two of these seemed to be asleep in their blankets; the other pair were talking and smoking. "the odds," drawled kid wolf in a low tone, "are eight to five in theah favah. tip, yo' take the man on the no'th. scotty, yores is the hombre on the west, ridin' the pinto. caldwell, take the south man, and yo', white, do yo' best with the gent ovah east." "how about those four by the fire?" whispered white. "i'm takin' them myself." the texan smiled. "we must all work togethah. they won't know who we are at first, probably, and will think we're moah of hardy's men. don't shoot unless yo' have to." one of the two bearded ruffians by the camp fire clutched his companion's sleeve. two other men lay snoring on the other side of the crackling embers, and one of them stirred slightly. "bill," he muttered, "didn't yuh hear somethin'?" "i hear a lot o' cows bawlin'." the other grinned. "but what i was tryin' to say is this: if jack hardy splits reasonable with us, why we----" he was interrupted. both men glanced up, to see a tall figure sauntering toward them into the ring of red firelight. both stared, then reached for their guns. "sorry, gents," they were told in a soft and musical drawl, "but yo're a little late. will yo' kindly poke yo' hands into the atmospheah?" the two outlaws experienced a sudden wilting of their gun arms. it was quick death to attempt to draw while the round black eyes of this stranger's twin colts were on them. with a jerk, both threw up their hands. one gave a shout--a cry meant to warn his companions. a shot from the direction of the herd told them, however, that the other outlaws were already aware of something unusual. the two bandits in the blankets jumped up, rubbing their eyes in amazement. a kick from kid wolf's boot sent the . of one of them flying. the other, prodded none too gently with a revolver barrel, decided to surrender without further ado. lining them up, the kid disarmed them. he was joined in a few minutes by tip, white, caldwell, and scotty, who were driving two prisoners before them. "bueno!" said the kid. "i see yo' got the job done without much trouble. but wheah's the othah two?" scotty smiled grimly, spat in the direction of the fire and said simply: "they showed fight." in five minutes, the six outlaws were tied securely with lariat rope, in spite of their fervent and profane protests. "jack hardy will get yuh fer this, blast yuh!" snarled one. "maybe," drawled the kid sweetly, "he won't want us aftah he gets us." they planned to have the cattle moving northward by dawn. once past midway, the trail to dodge was clear. but there was plenty of work to do in the meantime. an hour after sunup, the herd of fifteen hundred steers was moving northward toward midway. kid wolf and his four riders had them well under control, and had it not been for a certain alertness in their bearing, one would have thought it an ordinary cattle drive. kid wolf was singing to the longhorns in a half-mocking, drawling tenor, as he rode slowly along: "oh, the desaht winds are blowin', on the rio! and we'd like to be a-goin', back to rio! but befo' we do, we've got to see this through, like all good hombres do, from the rio!" the prisoners had been lashed securely to their horses and brought along. already several miles had been traveled. and thus far the party had seen no signs of jack hardy's rustler gang. they were not, however, deceived. with every passing minute they were approaching closer to midway, the hardy stronghold. and not only that, but the outlaws were probably combing the country for them. reaching a place known as stone corral, they were especially vigilant. the place was a natural trap. it had been built of roughly piled stone and never entirely finished. indians sometimes camped within the inclosure. it was, however, empty of life, and the adventurers were about to push on with the herd when the keen, roving eyes of kid wolf spotted something suspicious on the north horizon. he held his hand aloft, signaling a stop. "heah they come, boys!" he cried. "we'll have to stand 'em off heah!" they had been expecting it, and they were hardly surprised or unprepared. they were favored, too, in having such a place for defense. save for the low walls of the abandoned corral, there was no cover worth mentioning for miles. among the cool-eyed five who prepared to make their stand, there was not one who hadn't faced death before and often. but never had the odds been more against them. they had slipped through the toils before, but now they were tightening again. watching the riders as they grew larger against the sky, they could count two dozen of them. there was no use to hide. they could not conceal the cattle herd, and the hardy gang would surely investigate. already they were veering in their course, riding directly toward the stone corral. "aweel," muttered scotty, lapsing into his scotch dialect for the moment, "there isn't mooch doot about how this thing will end. but i'm a-theenkin' we'll make it a wee bit hot for 'em before they get us!" "right yuh are, scotty," said tip savagely. "i'm goin' to try and pick hardy out o' that gang o' killers, and if i do, i don't care much then what happens." the prisoners had been herded within the corral, and their feet were lashed together. "yuh'll soon be listenin' to bullets," caldwell told them. "yuh'd better pray that yore pals shoot straight and don't hit you by mistake." the hardy gang had seen them! they saw the riders check their horses and then spread out in a cautious circle. "hardy ain't with 'em," sang out white, who had sharp eyes. "they seem to be all there but him!" snapped tip in disappointment. "the coward's stayed behind!" a bullet suddenly buzzed viciously over the corral and kicked up a shower of clods behind it. and as if this first shot were signal, a shattering volley rang out from the oncoming riders. bits of stone and bursts of sand flew up from the low stone breastworks. "we got yuh this time!" one of the rustlers shouted. "we're givin' yuh one chance to come out o' there!" "and we're givin' yuh all the chances yo' want," replied kid wolf, "to come and get us!" for answer, the horsemen--two dozen strong--charged! in a breath, they had struck and had been driven back. so quickly had it happened that nobody remembered afterward just how it had been done. the texan's two colts grew hot and cooled again. three riderless horses galloped about the corral in circles, and the thing was over! it had been sheer nerve and courage against odds, however. three of the attackers fell from their horses before the stone walls had been gained, and three others had met with swift trouble inside. the rest had retreated hastily, leaving six dead and wounded behind. only caldwell had been hit, and his wound was a slight one in the shoulder. the defenders cheered lustily. "come on!" tip shouted. "we're waitin'!" kid wolf, however, was not deceived. the attacking party was made up largely of half-breeds and indians. the texan knew their ways. that first charge had been only half-hearted. the next time, the outlaws would fight to a finish, angered as they were to a fever heat. and although the defenders might account for a few more of the renegades, the end was inevitable. kid wolf did not lose his cool smile. he had been in tight situations before, and had long ago resigned himself to dying, when his time came, in action. "here they come again!" barked scotty grimly. but suddenly a burst of rifle fire rang out in the distance--a sharp, crackling volley. two of the outlaw gang dropped. one horse screamed and fell heavily with its rider. the five defenders saw to their utter amazement that a large band of horsemen was riding in from the east at a hot gallop, guns spitting fire. as a rescue, it was timed perfectly. the rustlers had been about to charge the corral, and now they reined up in panic, undecided what to do. two others fell. and in the meantime, the newcomers, whoever they were, were circling so as to surround them on all sides. "it's the law!" kid wolf smiled. "the what?" caldwell demanded. "why, there ain't no law between here an'----" but the texan knew he was right. he had seen the sun glittering on the silver badge that one of the strange riders wore. the rustlers themselves were outnumbered now. the posse included a score of men, and they handled their guns in a determined way. the outlaws fired a wild shot or two, then signified their surrender by throwing up their hands. while the sullen renegades were being searched and disarmed, the leader of the posse came over to where the texan and the others were watching. "who in blazes are you?" he shot out. "that's the question i was goin' to ask yo', sheriff," returned the kid politely. "humph! how d'ye know i'm a sheriff?" grunted the leader. "yo're wearin' yore stah in plain sight." "oh!" the officer grinned. "well, i'm sheriff dawson, o' limpin buffalo county. i've brought my posse over two hundred miles to get my hands on one o' the worst gangs o' rustlers in the injun nations. i don't know who you are, but the fact that yuh were fightin' 'em is enough fer me. i know yo're all right." "thanks, sheriff," said the texan. "i'm leavin' mr. tip mccay heah to tell yo' ouah story, if yo'll excuse me fo' a while." "where yuh goin', kid?" demanded young mccay, astonished. "to midway," drawled the texan, swinging himself into blizzard's saddle. "looks like a clean sweep has been made of the hahdy gang--except hahdy himself. i reckon i'll ride in and get him, so's to make the pahty complete." "hardy!" the officer ejaculated. "i want that _malo hombre_--and mighty bad, dead or alive!" "let us go along!" burst out tip. "no," laughed the texan quietly. "yo' boys have had enough dangah and excitement fo' one day, not includin' yestahday. i'd rathah settle this little business with jack hahdy alone. yo' drive the cattle on and meet me latah." and lifting his hand in farewell, the kid touched his white charger with the spur. in a few minutes he was a tiny spot on the horizon, bound for the lair of jack hardy, the rustler king. there was one thing, however, that kid wolf was not aware of, and that was a pair of beady black eyes watching him from behind a prairie-dog hill! one of the renegade half-breeds had managed to slip away from the posse unseen. it was tucumcari pete, and in a draw a few yards away was his pony. chapter x tucumcari's hand jack hardy was annoyed. he had planned carefully, expecting to have no difficulty in wiping out the hated mccays and those who sympathized with them. his plans had only partially succeeded. the elder mccay was dead, but tip and some of the others had slipped through his clutches. to have the mccay faction wiped out of midway forever meant money and power to him. and now his job was only half finished. "they'll get 'em," he muttered to himself. he was alone in his place, the idle hour. he had sent every available man, even his bartender, out on the chase. he wanted to finish, at all costs, what he had begun. "it was all due to that blasted hombre from texas!" he groaned. "i wish i had him here, curse him! it would've all gone smooth enough if he hadn't meddled. well, he'll pay! the boys will get him. and when they do----" hardy thumped the bar with his fist in fury. he paced the floor angrily. the deserted building seemed to be getting on his nerves, for he went behind the bar several times and, with shaking fingers, poured stiff drinks of red whisky. then he walked to one of the deserted card tables and began to riffle the cards aimlessly. there were two reasons why the rustling saloon keeper had not joined in the search for his victims. one was that he hated to leave unprotected the big safe in his office, which always contained a snug sum of money. the other was that jack hardy was none too brave when it came to gun fighting. he was still seated at the card table, laying out a game of solitaire, when the swinging doors of the saloon opened quietly. the first inkling hardy had of a stranger's presence, however, was the soft drawl of a familiar voice: "good mohnin', mistah hahdy! enjoyin' a little game o' cahds?" hardy's body remained stiff and rigid for a breathless moment, frozen with surprise. then he turned his head, and his right hand moved snakelike downward. just a few inches it moved, then it stopped. hardy had thought he had a chance, and then he suddenly decided that he hadn't. at his first glance, he had seen kid wolf's hands carelessly at his sides; at his second, he saw them holding two . s! kid wolf's smile was mocking as he sauntered into the room. his thumbs were caressing the gun hammers. "no, it wouldn't be best," he drawled, "to monkey with that gun o' yo'n. they say, yo' know, that guns are dangerous because they go off. but the really dangerous guns are those that don't go off quick enough." the rustler leader rose to his feet on shaking legs. his face had paled to the color of paper, and beads of perspiration stood out on his pasty forehead. "yuh--yuh got the drop, mr. wolf," he pleaded. "don't kill me!" "nevah mind," the texan said softly. "when yo' die, it'll be on a rope. it's been waitin' fo' yo' a long time. but now i have some business with yo'. first thing, yo'd bettah let me keep that gun o' yo'n." the kid pulled hardy's . from its holster beneath the saloon man's black coat. "next thing," he drawled, "i want yo' to take that body down from in front o' yo' do'." kid wolf referred to the corpse of the unfortunate mccay spy whom hardy had hanged. it still hung outside the idle hour, blocking the door. the texan made him get a box, stand on it and loosen the rope from the dead man's neck. released from the noose, the body sagged to the ground. "just leave the noose theah," ordered the kid. "it may be that the sheriff will have some use fo' it." "the sheriff!" hardy repeated blankly. "yes, he'll be heah soon," murmured kid wolf softly. "i have some business with yo' first. maybe we'd bettah go to yo' office." jack hardy's office was a little back room, divided off from the main one of the idle hour. in spite of his protests, hardy was compelled to unlock this apartment and enter with his captor. "tip has recovahed his fathah's cattle," the kid told him pointedly, "but theah's the little mattah of the burned sto' to pay fo'. in behalf of tip and his mothah, i'm demandin'--well, i think ten thousand dollahs in cash will just about covah it." "i haven't got ten thousand!" hardy began to whine. but the kid cut him off. "open that safe," he snapped, "and we'll see!" hardy took one look at his captor and decided to obey and to lose no time in doing so. the texan's eyes were crackling gray-blue. a large sheaf of bills was in an inner drawer, along with a canvas bag of gold coins. ordering hardy to take a chair opposite, kid wolf began to count the money carefully. to allow himself the free use of his hands, he holstered both his guns. "when this little mattah is settled," the texan drawled, "i have a little personal business with yo', man to man." jack hardy moistened his lips feverishly. although he was not now covered by the kid's guns, he lacked the courage to begin a fight. he knew how quick kid wolf could be, and he was a coward. the texan was stacking the gold into neat piles. "fo'teen thousand two hundred dollahs," he announced finally. "the odd fo' thousand, two hundred will go to the families of the men yo' murdahed yestahday. and now, mistah jack hahdy, my personal business with yo' will be----" he did not finish. the door of the little office had suddenly opened, and tucumcari pete stood in the entrance! his evil face was gloating, his snaky eyes glittering with the prospect of quick revenge. in his dirty hands was a rifle, and he was raising it to cover the kid's heart! kid wolf's hands were on the table. there was no time for him to draw his colts! it seemed that the half-breed had taken a hand in the game and that he held the winning cards! in a second it would be over. the half-breed's finger was reaching for the trigger; his mouth was twisted into a gloating, vicious smile. but while the kid was seated in such a position at the table that he could not hope to reach his guns quickly enough, he had his hole card--the bowie knife in a sheath concealed inside his shirt collar. the kid could draw and hurl, if necessary, that gleaming blade as rapidly as he could pull his s. his hand darted up and back. something glittered in the air for just a breath, and there was a singing _twang_! tucumcari pete gasped. his weird cry ended in a gurgle. he lowered his rifle and teetered on his feet. the flying knife had found its mark--the half-breed's throat! the keen-pointed blade had buried itself nearly to the guard! clawing at the steel, tucumcari staggered, then dropped to the floor with his clattering rifle. his body jerked for a moment, then stiffened. justice had dealt with a murderer. "the thirteenth ace," the kid drawled softly, "is always in the deck!" but hardy had taken advantage of tucumcari's interruption. jumping up with an oath, he hurled the table over upon the kid and leaped for the door. the texan scrambled from under the heavy table and darted after him. hardy was running for his life. he raced into the main room of the idle hour with the kid at his heels. kid wolf could have drawn his guns and shot him down. but it was too easy. unless forced to do so, that was not the texan's way. snatching open a drawer in one of the gambling tables, hardy seized a large-bore derringer and whirled it up to shoot. but the kid's steel fingers closed on his wrist. the ugly little pistol exploded into the ceiling--once, and then the other barrel. "there'll be no guns used!" said the kid, with a deadly smile. "i told yo' we'd have this out man to man!" hardy's lips writhed back in a snarl of hatred. he sent a smashing right-hand jab at the texan's heart. kid wolf blocked it, stepped to one side and lashed the rustler king under the eye. hardy staggered back against the table, clutching it for support. the kid pressed closer, and hardy dodged around the table, placing it between him and his enemy. the texan hurled it to one side and smashed his way through the saloon owner's guard. hardy, head down to escape the kid's terrific blows, bucked ahead with all his power and weight advantage and seized him about the waist. it was apparent that he was trying to get his hands on one of the texan's guns. at close range, kid wolf smashed at him with both hands, his fists smacking in sharp hooks that landed on both sides of hardy's jaw. to save himself, hardy staggered back, only to receive a mighty blow in the face. "i'll kill yuh for that, blast yuh!" he cried with a snarl. hardy was strong and heavy, but the punishment he was receiving was telling on him. his breath was coming in jerky gasps. seizing the high lookout stool from the faro layout, he advanced toward the kid, his eyes glittering with fury. "i'll pound yore head to pieces!" he rasped. "pound away," kid wolf said. hardy whirled it over his head. kid wolf, however, instead of jumping backward to avoid it, darted in like a wild cat. while the stool was still at the apex of its swing, he struck, with the strength of his shoulder behind the blow. it landed full on the rustler's jaw, and hardy went crashing backward, heels over head, landing on the wreckage of the stool. for a moment he lay there, stunned. "get up!" snapped the kid crisply. "theah's still mo' comin' to yo'." staggering to his feet, hardy made a run for the front door. kid wolf, however, met him. putting all the power of his lean young muscles behind his sledgelike fists, he hit hardy twice. the first blow stopped hardy, straightened him up with a jolt and placed him in position for the second one--a right-hand uppercut. smash! it landed squarely on the point of hardy's weak chin. the blow was enough to fell an ox, and the rustler chief went hurtling through the door, carried off his feet completely. what happened then was one of those ironies of fate. the rope on which hardy had hanged the mccay spy, george durham, still hung before the door, its noose swaying in the wind some five feet from the ground. hardy hit it. his head struck the rope with terrific force--caught in the loop for an instant. there was a sharp snap, and hardy dropped to the wooden sidewalk. for a few moments, his body twitched spasmodically, then lay still and rigid. his neck had been broken by the shock! for a minute kid wolf stared in unbelief. then he smiled grimly. "guess i was right," he murmured, "when i said it was on the books fo' hahdy to die by the rope!" cattle were approaching midway on the chisholm trail--hundreds of them, bawling, milling, and pounding dust clouds into the air with their sharp hoofs. the texan, watching the dark-red mass of them, smiled. mccay cattle, those! and there was a woman in dodge city who was cared for now--tip's mother. "i guess we've got the job done, blizzard." he smiled at the big white horse that was standing at the hitch rack. "heah comes the boys!" it was a wondering group that gathered, a few minutes later, in the ill-fated idle hour. they listened in amazement to kid wolf's recital of what had taken place since he left them. "and so hardy hanged himself!" the sheriff from limping buffalo ejaculated, when he could find his voice. "well, i must say that saves me the trouble o' doin' it! but there's some reward comin' to yuh, mr. wolf." the texan smiled. "divide it between scotty, caldwell, and white," he drawled. "and, tip, heah's the ten thousand mistah hahdy donated. present it to yo' good mothah, son, with mah compliments." tip could not speak for a minute, and when he did try to talk, his voice was choked with emotion. "i can't begin to thank yuh," he said. kid wolf shook his head. "please don't thank me, tip. yo' see, i always try to make the troubles of the undah dawg, mah troubles. so long as theah are unfohtunates and downtrodden folks in this world, i'll have mah work cut out. i am, yo' might say, a soldier of misfohtune." "but yo're not goin'?" tip cried, seeing the texan swing himself into his saddle. "i'm just a rollin' stone--usually a-rollin' toward trouble," said the texan. "some time, perhaps, we'll meet again. adios!" kid wolf swung his hat aloft, and he and his white horse soon blurred into a moving dot on the far sweeps of the chisholm trail. chapter xi a buckshot greeting "oh, the cows stampede on the rio grande! the rio! the sands do blow, and the winds do wail, but i want to be wheah the cactus stands! and the rattlah shakes his ornery tail!" kid wolf sang his favorite verse to his favorite tune, and was happy. for he was on his beloved rio. he had left the chisholm trail behind him, and now "the rollin' stone" was rolling homeward, and--toward trouble. the kid, mildly curious, had been watching a certain dust cloud for half an hour. at first he had thought it only a whirling dervish--one of those restless columns of sand that continually shift over the arid lands. but it was following the course of the trail below him on the desert--rounding each bend and twist of it. the texan, astride his big white horse, had been "hitting the high places only," riding directly south at an easy clip, but scorning the trail whenever a short cut presented itself. descending from the higher ground of the mesa now, by means of an arroyo leading steeply down upon the plain, he saw what was kicking up the dust. it was a buckboard, drawn by a two-horse team, and traveling directly toward him at a hot clip. there was one person, as far as he could see, in the wagon. and across this person's knees was a shotgun. the kid saw that unless he changed his course he would meet the buckboard and its passenger face to face. kid wolf had no intention of avoiding the meeting, but something in the tenseness of the figure on the seat of the vehicle, even at that distance, caused his gray-blue eyes to pucker. the distance between him and the buckboard rapidly decreased as kid wolf's white horse drummed down between the chocolate-colored walls of the arroyo. between him and the team on the trail now was only a stretch of level white sand, dotted here and there with low burrow weeds. suddenly, the driver of the buckboard whirled the shotgun. the double barrels swung up on a line with kid wolf. quick as the movement was, the texan had learned to expect the unexpected. in the west, things happened, and one sought the reason for them afterward. his hands went lightning-fast toward the twin . s that hung at his hips. but kid wolf did not draw. a look of amazement had crossed his sun-burned face and he removed his hands from his gun butts. instead of firing on the figure in the buckboard, kid wolf wheeled his horse about quickly, and turned sidewise in his saddle in order to make as small a target as possible. the shotgun roared. spurts of sand were flecked up all around the kid and the big white horse winced and jumped as a ball smashed the saddletree a glancing blow. another slug went through the texan's hat brim. fortunately, he was not yet within effective range. even now, kid wolf did not draw his weapons. and he did not beat a retreat. instead, he rode directly toward the buckboard. the click of a gun hammer did not stop him. one barrel of the shotgun remained unfired and its muzzle had him covered. but the texan approached recklessly. he had doffed his big hat and now he made a courteous, sweeping bow. he pulled his horse to a halt not ten yards from the menacing shotgun. "pahdon me, ma'am," he drawled, "but is theah anything i can do fo' yo', aside from bein' a tahget in yo' gun practice?" the figure in the buckboard was that of a woman! there was a moment's breathless pause. "there's nine buckshot in the other barrel," said a feminine voice--a voice that for all its courage faltered a little. "please don't waste them on me," kid wolf returned, in his soft, southern speech. "i'm afraid yo' have made a mistake. i can see that yo' are in trouble. may i help yo'?" doubtfully, the woman lowered her weapon. she was middle-aged, kindly faced, and her eyes were swollen from weeping. she looked out of place with the shotgun--friendless and very much alone. "i don't know whether to trust you or not," she said wearily. "i suppose i ought to shoot you, but i can't, somehow." "well i'm glad yo' can't," drawled the kid with contagious good humor. his face sobered. "who do yo' think i am, ma'am?" "i don't know," the woman sighed, "but you're an enemy. every one in this cruel land is my enemy. you're an outlaw--and probably one of the murderers who killed my husband." "please believe that i'm not," the texan told her earnestly. "i'm a strangah to this district. won't yo' tell me yo' story? i want to help yo'." "there isn't much to tell," the driver of the buckboard said in a quavering voice. "i'm on the way to town to sell the ranch--the s bar. i have my husband's body with me on the wagon. he was murdered yesterday." not until then did kid wolf see the grim cargo of the buckboard. his face sobered and his eyes narrowed. "do yo' want to sell, ma'am?" "no, but it's all i can do now," she said tearfully. "major stover, in san felipe, offered me ten thousand for it, some time ago. it's worth more, but i guess this--this is the end. i don't know why i'm tellin' you all this, young man." "this majah stovah--is he an army officer?" the kid asked wonderingly. the woman shook her head. "no. he isn't really a major. he never was in the army, so far as any one knows. he just fancies the title and calls himself 'major stover'--though he has no right to do so." "a kind of four-flushin' hombre--a coyote in sheep's clothin', i should judge," drawled kid wolf. "thet just about describes him," the woman agreed. "but yo' sho'ly aren't alone on yo' ranch. wheah's yo' men?" asked the kid. "they quit last week." "quit?" the kid's eyebrows went up a trifle. "all of them--five in all, includin' the foreman. and soon afterward, all our cattle were chased off the ranch. gone completely--six hundred head. then yesterday"--she paused and her eyes filled with tears--"yesterday my husband was shot while he was standing at the edge of the corral. i don't know who did it." no wonder this woman felt that every hand was turned against her. kid wolf's eyes blazed. "won't the law help yo'?" he demanded. "there isn't any law," said the woman bitterly. "now you understand why i fired at you. i was desperate--nearly frantic with grief. i hardly knew what i was doing." "well, just go back home to yo' ranch, ma'am. i don't think yo' need to sell it." "but i can't run the s bar alone!" "yo' won't have to. i'll bring yo' ridahs back. will i find them in san felipe?" "i think so," said the woman, astonished. "but they won't come." "oh, yes, they will," said the kid politely. "but i can't ranch without cattle." "i'll get them back fo' yo'." "but they're over the line into old mexico by now!" "nevah yo' mind, ma'am. i'll soon have yo' place on a workin' basis again. just give me the names of yo' ridahs and i'll do the rest." "well, there's ed mullhall, dick anton, fred wise, frank lathum, and the foreman--steve stacy. but, tell me, who are you--to do this for a stranger, a woman you've never seen before? i'm mrs. thomas." the texan bowed courteously. "they call me kid wolf, ma'am," he replied. "mah business is rightin' the wrongs of the weak and oppressed, when it's in mah power. those who do the oppressin' usually learn to call me by mah last name. now don't worry any mo', but just leave yo' troubles to me." mrs. thomas smiled, too. she dried her eyes and looked at the texan gratefully. "i've known you ten minutes," she said, "and somehow it seems ten years. i do trust you. but please don't get yourself in trouble on account of ma thomas. you don't know those men. this is a hard country--terribly hard." kid wolf, however, only smiled at her warning. he remained just long enough to obtain two additional bits of information--the location of the s bar and the distance to the town of san felipe. then he turned his horse's head about, and with a cheerful wave of his hand, struck out for the latter place. the last he saw of mrs. thomas, she was turning her team. kid wolf realized that he had quite a problem on his hands. the work ahead of him promised to be difficult, but, as usual, he had gone into it impulsively--and yet coolly. "we've got a big ordah to fill, blizzahd," he murmured, as his white horse swung into a long lope. "i hope we haven't promised too much." he wondered if in his endeavor to cheer up the despondent woman he had aroused hopes that might not materialize. the plight of mrs. thomas had stirred him deeply. his pulses had raced with anger at her persecutors--whoever they were. his southern chivalry, backed up by his own code--the code of the west--prompted him to promise what he had. "a gentleman, blizzahd," he mused, "couldn't do othahwise. we've got to see this thing through!" ma thomas--he had seen at a glance--was a plains-woman. courage and character were in her kindly face. the texan's heart had gone out to her in her trouble and need. once again he found himself in his native territory, but in a country gone strange to him. ranchers and ranches had come in overnight, it seemed to him. a year or two can make a big difference in the west. two years ago, indians--to-day, cattle! twenty miles below rolled the muddy rio. it was texas--stern, vast, mighty. and, if what mrs. thomas had said was correct, law hadn't kept pace with the country's growth. there was no law. kid wolf knew what that meant. his face was very grim as he left the wagon trail behind. the town of san felipe--two dozen brown adobes, through which a solitary street threaded its way--sprawled in the bottom of a canyon near the rio grand. the cow camp had grown, in a few brief months, with all the rapidity of an agave plant, which adds five inches to its size in twenty-four hours. san felipe was noisy and wide awake. it was december. the sun, however, was warm overhead. the sky was cloudless and the distant range of low mountains stood out sharp and clear against the sky. as kid wolf rode into the town, a hard wind was blowing across the sands and it was high noon. san felipe's single street presented an interesting appearance. most of the long, flat adobes were saloons--the kid did not need to read the signs above them to see that. the loungers and hangers-on about their doors told the story. sandwiched between two of the biggest bars, however, was a small shack--the only frame building in the place. "well, this majah stover hombre must be in the business," muttered the kid to himself. his eyes had fallen on the sign over the door: major stover land office kid wolf was curious. strange to say, he had been thinking of the major before he had observed the sign, and wondering about the man's offer to buy the s bar ranch. the texan whistled softly as he dismounted. he left blizzard waiting at the hitch rack, and sauntered to the office door. he opened the door, let himself in, and found himself in a dusty, paper-littered room. a few maps hung on the walls. kid wolf's first impression was the disagreeable smell of cigar stumps. his eyes fell upon the man at the desk by the dirty window, and he experienced a sudden start--an uncomfortable feeling. the texan did not often dislike a man at first sight, but he was a keen reader of character. "do yuh have business with me?" demanded the man at the desk. major stover, if this were he, was a paunchy, disgustingly fat man. his face was moonlike, sensually thick of lip. his eyes, as they fell upon his visitor, were hoglike, nearly buried in sallow folds of skin. the thick brows above them had grown close together. "well," the kid drawled, "i don't exactly know. yo' deal in lands, i believe?" "i have some holdings," said the fat man complacently. "are yo' interested in the san felipe district?" "very much," said the kid, nodding. "i am quite attracted by rattlesnake county, and----" "this isn't rattlesnake county, young man," corrected the land agent. "this is san felipe county." "oh, excuse me," murmured the texan, "maybe i got that idea because of the lahge numbah of snakes----" "there's no more snakes here than----" the other began. "i meant the human kind," explained kid wolf mildly. major stover's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "what do yuh want with me?" he demanded. "did yo' offah ten thousand dollahs fo' the s bar ranch?" "that is none of yore business!" "no?" drawled kid wolf patiently. "yo' might say that i am heah as mrs. thomas' agent." the major looked startled. "where's yore credentials?" he snapped, after a brief pause. kid wolf merely smiled and tapped the butts of his six-guns. "heah, sah," he murmured. "i'm askin' yo'." major stover looked angry. "yes," he said sharply, "i did at one time make such an offer. however, i have reconsidered. my price is now three thousand dollars." "may i ask," spoke the kid softly, "why yo' have reduced yo' offah?" "because," said the land dealer, "she has to sell now! i've got her where i want her, and if yo're her agent, yuh can tell her that!" one stride, and kid wolf had fat major stover by the neck. for all his weight, and in spite of his bulk, the kid handled him as if he had been a child. an upward jerk dragged him from his chair. the texan held him by one muscular hand. "so yo' have her where yo' want her, have yo'?" he cried, giving the major a powerful shake. he passed his other hand over the land agent's flabby body, poking the folds of fat here and there over major stover's ribs. at each thump the major flinched. "why, yo're as soft as an ovahripe pumpkin," kid wolf drawled, deliberately insulting. "and yo' dare to tell me that! no, don't try that!" major stover had attempted to draw an ugly-looking derringer. the kid calmly took it away from him and threw it across the room. he shook the land agent until his teeth rattled like dice in a box. "mrs. thomas' ranch, sah," he said crisply, "is not in the mahket!" with that he hurled the major back into his chair. there was a crashing, rending sound as stover's huge body struck it. the wood collapsed and the dazed land agent found himself sitting on the floor. "i'll get yuh for this, blast yuh!" gasped the major, his bloated face red with rage. "yo're goin' to get yores, d'ye hear! i've got power here, and yore life ain't worth a cent!" "it's not in the mahket, eithah," the texan drawled, as he strolled toward the door. at the threshold he paused. "yo've had yo' say, majah," he snapped, "and now i'll have mine. if i find that yo' are in any way responsible fo' the tragedies that have ovahtaken mrs. thomas, yo'd bettah see to yo' guns. until then--adios!" chapter xii the s bar spread the bartender of the la plata saloon put a bottle on the bar in front of the stranger, placing, with an added flourish, a thick-bottomed whisky glass beside it. this done, he examined the newcomer with an attentive eye, pretending to polish the bar while doing so. the man he observed was enough to attract any one's notice, even in the cosmopolitan cow town of san felipe. kid wolf was worth a second glance always. the bartender saw a lean-waisted, broad-shouldered young man whose face was tanned so dark as to belie his rather long light hair. he wore a beautiful shirt of fringed buckskin, and his boots were embellished with the lone star of texas, done in silver. two single-action colts of the old pattern swung low from his beaded belt. "excuse me, sir," said the bartender, "but yore drink?" "oh, yes," murmured the kid, and placed a double eagle on the bar. "no, yuh've already paid fer it." the bartender nodded at the whisky glass, still level full of the amber liquor. "i was just wonderin' why yuh didn't down it." "oh, yes," said kid wolf again. he picked up the glass between thumb and forefinger and deliberately emptied it into a handy cuspidor. "i leave that stuff to mah enemies," he said, smiling. "by the way, can yo' tell me where i can find a mistah mullhall, a mistah anton, a mistah lathum, a mistah wise, and a mistah steve stacy?" when the bartender could recover himself, he pointed out a table near the door. "wise an' lathum an' anton is right there--playin' monte," he said. "stacy an' mullhall was here this mornin', but i don't see 'em now." thanking him, kid wolf sauntered away from the bar and approached the gambling table. the la plata saloon was fairly well patronized, even though it lacked several hours until nightfall. kid wolf had taken the measure of the loiterers at a glance. most of them were desperadoes. "outlaw" was written over their hard faces, and he wondered if ma thomas hadn't been right about the county's general lawlessness. san felipe seemed to be well supplied with gunmen. the three men at the table, although they were "heeled" with . s, were of a different type. they were cowmen first, gunmen afterward. two were in their twenties; the other was older. "i beg yo' pahdon, caballeros," said the kid softly, as he came up behind them, "but i wish to talk with yo' in private. wheah can we go?" there was something in the texan's voice and bearing that prevented questions just then. the trio faced about in surprise. plainly, they did not know whether to take kid wolf for a friend or for a foe. like true westerners, they were not averse to finding out. "we can use the back room," said one. "come on, you fellas." one of them delayed to make a final bet in the came, then he followed. at a signal to the bartender, the back room, vacant, save for a dozen bottles, likewise empty, was thrown open to them. "have chairs, gentlemen," the kid invited, as he carefully closed the door. the trio took chairs about the table, looking questioningly at the stranger. the oldest of them picked up a deck of cards and began to shuffle them absently. kid wolf quietly took his place among the trio. "boys," he asked slowly, "do yuh want jobs?" there was a pause, during which the three punchers exchanged glances. "lay yore cards face up, stranger," invited one of them. "we'll listen, anyway, but----" "i want yo' to go to work fo' the s bar," said the kid crisply. "that settles that," growled the oldest puncher, after sending a searching glance at the texan's face. the others looked amazed. "no. we've quit the s bar." "who suggested that yo' quit?" the kid shot at them. the man at the texan's right flushed angrily. "i don't see that this is any of yore business, stranger," he barked. "men," said the kid, and his voice was as chill as steel, "i'm makin' this my business! yo're comin' back to work fo' the s bar!" "and yo're backin' thet statement up--how?" demanded the oldest cow hand, suddenly ceasing to toy with the card deck. "with these," returned kid wolf mildly. the trio stared. the kid had drawn his twin . s and laid them on the table so quickly and so quietly that none of them had seen his arms move. "now, i hope," murmured the kid, "that yo' rather listen to me talk than to those. i've only a few words to say. boys, i was surprised. i didn't think yo' would be the kind to leave a po' woman like mrs. thomas in the lurch. men who would do that, would do anything--would even run cattle into mexico," he added significantly. all three men flushed to the roots of their hair. "don't think we had anything to do with thet!" exclaimed one. "we got a right to quit if we want to," put in the oldest with a defiant look. "boys, play square with me and yo' won't be sorry," kid wolf told them earnestly. "i know that all these things happened after yo' left. since then, cattle have been rustled and mr. thomas has been murdahed--yo' know that as well as i do. that woman might be yo' mothah. she needs yo'. what's yo' verdict?" there was a long silence. the three riders looked like small boys whose hands had been caught in the cooky jar. "how much did majah stovah pay yo' to quit?" added the texan suddenly. the former s bar men jumped nervously. the man at the kid's left gulped. "well," he blurted, "we was only gettin' forty-five, and when stover offered to double it, and with nothin' to do but lie around, why, we----" "things are changed now," said the kid gently. "ma thomas is alone now." "that's right," said the oldest awkwardly. "i suppose we ought to----" "ought to!" repeated one of the others, jumping to his feet. "by george, we will! i ain't the kind to go back on a woman like mrs. thomas. i don't care what yuh others do!" "that's what i say," chorused his two companions in the same breath. "i'll show yo' i aim to play fair," kid wolf approved. he took a handful of gold pieces from his pocket and placed them on the table in a little pile. "this is all i have, but mrs. thomas isn't in a position to pay right now, so heah is yo' first month's wages in advance." the three looked at him and gulped. if ever three men were ashamed, they appeared to be. the old cow-puncher pushed the pile back to the kid. "we ain't takin' it," he mumbled. "don't get us wrong, partner. we ain't thet kind. we never would've quit the s bar if it hadn't been for steve stacy--the foreman. and, of course, things was goin' all right at the ranch then. guess it's all our fault, and we're willin' to right it. we don't know yuh, but yo're o.k., son." they shook hands warmly. the kid learned that the oldest of the three was anton. wise was the bow-legged one, and lathum was freckled and tall. "stacy hadn't better know about this," lathum decided. "i was hopin' to get him back," said the kid. "no chance. he's in with the major now," spoke up wise. "so's mullhall. neither of 'em will listen--and they'll make trouble when they find we're goin' back." "if yo'-all feel the same way as i do," kid wolf drawled as they filed out of the back room, "they won't have to make trouble. it'll be theah fo' 'em." as they approached the bar, anton clutched the kid's elbow. "there's steve stacy and mullhall now," he warned in a low voice. stacy and mullhall were big men, heavily built. upon seeing the party emerge from the back room, they pushed away from the bar and came directly toward kid wolf, who was walking in the lead. "steve stacy's the hombre in front," wise whispered. "be on yore guard." the kid knew the ex-foreman's type even before he spoke. he was the loud-mouthed and overbearing kind of waddy--a gunman first and a cowman afterward. his beefy face was flushed as red as his flannel shirt. his eyes were fixed boldly on the texan. "the barkeeper tells me yuh were inquirin' fer me," he said heavily. "what's on yore mind?" mullhall was directly behind him, insolent of face and bearing. the two seemed to be paying no attention to the trio of men behind the kid. "i was just goin' to offah yo' a chance to come back to the s bar," explained kid wolf. "these three caballeros have already signed the pay roll again." it was putting up the issue squarely, with no hedging. both stacy and mullhall darkened with fury. "what's yore little game? i guess it's about time to put an extra spoke in yore wheel!" snarled mullhall, coming forward. "who in blazes are you?" sneered stacy. "just call me the wolf!" the kid barked. "i'm managin' the s bar right now, and if yo' men don't want to be friends, i'll be right glad to have yo' fo' enemies!" mullhall had pressed very close. it was as if the whole thing had been prearranged. his hands suddenly shot out and seized kid wolf's arms--pinning them tightly. it was an old and deadly trick. while mullhall pinioned the texan, steve stacy planned to draw and shoot him down. the pair had worked together like the cogwheels of a machine, and all was perfectly timed. stacy drew like a flash, cocking his . as it left the holster. the play, however, was not worked fast enough. kid wolf was not to be victimized by such a threadbare ruse. he was too fast, too strong. he whirled mullhall about, his left boot went behind mullhall's legs. with all his force he threw his weight against him, tearing his arms free. mullhall went backward like a catapult, directly at stacy. the gun exploded in the air, and as the slug buzzed into the roof, both mullhall and the exforeman went down like bags of meal--a tangled maze of legs and arms. "get up," the kid drawled. "and get out!" kid wolf had not bothered to draw his guns, but anton, wise, and lathum had reached for theirs, and they had the angry pair covered. stacy changed his mind about whirling his gun on his forefinger as he recovered it, and sullenly shoved it into its holster. "we'll get yuh!" snarled stacy, his furious eyes boring into the kid's cool gray ones. "san felipe is too small to hold both of us!" "_bueno,_" said the kid calmly. "i wish yo' luck--yo'll need it. but in the meantime--vamose pronto!" swearing angrily, the two men obeyed. it seemed the healthiest thing to do just then. they slunk out like whipped curs, but the kid knew their breed. he would see them again. "oh, the wintah's sun is shinin' on the rio, i'm ridin' in mah homeland and i find it mighty nice; life is big and fine and splendid on the rio, with just enough o' trouble fo' the spice!" if kid wolf's improvised song was wanting from a poetical standpoint, the swinging, lilting manner in which he crooned it made up for its defects. his tenor rose to the canyon walls, rich and musical. "our cake's plumb liable to be overspiced with trouble," frank lathum said with a laugh. kid wolf, with his three newly hired riders, were well on their way to the s bar. his companions knew of a short route that would take them directly to the thomas hacienda, and they were following a steep-walled canyon out of the mesa lands to the westward. "look!" cried wise. "somebody's coming after us!" they turned and saw a lone horseman riding toward them from the direction of san felipe. the rider was astride a fast-pacing indian pony and overhauling them rapidly. since leaving the town, kid wolf's party had been in no hurry, and this had enabled the rider to overtake them. "it's goliday," muttered anton, shading his weather-beaten eyes with a brown hand. "just who is he?" the kid drawled. "i think he's really the hombre behind major stover," wise spoke up. "he owns the ranch to the north o' the s bar, and from what i hear, stover has been tryin' to buy it fer him." "oh," the kid murmured, "let's wait fo' him then, and heah what he has to say." accordingly, the four men drew up to a halt and wheeled about to face the oncoming ranchman. they could see him raising his hand in a signal for them to halt. he came up in a cloud of dust, checked his pony, and surveyed the little party. his eyes at once sought out kid wolf. goliday was a man of forty, black-haired and sallow of face. he wore a black coat and vest over a light-gray shirt. beneath the former peeped the ivory handle of a . . "hello," panted the newcomer. "are you the hombre that caused all the stir back in san felipe?" "what can i do fo' yo'?" asked the texan briefly. "well," said goliday, "let's be friends. i'll be quite frank. i want the s bar. is it true yo're goin' there to run the place for the old woman?" "it is," the kid told him. "i'll pay yuh well to let the place alone," offered goliday after a pause. "i'll give five thousand cash for the ranch, and if the deal goes through, why i'm willin' to ante up another thousand to split between you four. "i'm a generous man, and it'll pay to have me for a friend. savvy? as an enemy i won't be so good. now, mr. wolf, if that's yore name, just advise mrs. thomas to sell right away. is it a bargain?" "it's mo' than that," murmured the kid softly. "it's an insult." goliday did not seem to hear this remark. he reached into his vest and drew out something that glittered in the sun. "here's a hundred and twenty to bind the bargain--six double eagles. and there's more where these came from. will yuh take 'em?" "i'll take 'em," drawled kid wolf. he reached out for the gold, and they clinked into his palm. "i'll take 'em," he repeated, "and beah's what i'll do with 'em!" with a sweeping movement, he tossed them high into the air. the sun glittered on them as they went up. then, with his other hand, the kid drew one of his guns. before the handful of coins began to drop, the kid was firing at them. he didn't waste a bullet. with each quick explosion a piece of gold flew off on a tangent. _br-r-rang, cling! br-r-rang, ting!_ there were six coins, and the kid fired six times. he never missed one! he picked the last one out of the air, three feet from the ground. goliday watched this exhibition of uncanny target practice with bulging eyes. as the echoes of the last shot died away, he turned on the kid with a bellow of wrath. "no, yo' don't!" kid wolf sang out. goliday took his hand away from the butt of his ivory-handled gun. the texan had pulled his other revolver with the bewildering speed of a magician. goliday was covered, "plumb center." "that's our answah, sah!" the kid snapped. goliday's sallow face was red with rage. "i have power here!" he rasped. "and yuh'll hear from me! there's only one law in this country, and that's six-gun law--yuh'll feel it within forty-eight hours!" "is that so?" said the kid contemptuously. "i have a couple of lawyahs heah that can talk as fast as any in san felipe county. the s bar accepts yo' challenge. come on, boys. let's don't waste any mo' time with this." grinning, the quartet struck out again westward, leaving the disgruntled ranchman behind. the last they saw of him, he was kicking about in the mesquite, looking for his gold. chapter xiii desperate measures nightfall found the quartet established in the s bar bunk house. the joyful thanks of ma thomas was enough reward for any of them. she hadn't expected to see kid wolf again, she said, and to have him return with help was a wonderful surprise. she was a woman transformed and had taken new heart and courage. the supper she prepared for them, according to kid wolf, was the best he had eaten since he had left texas. all four of them were exceedingly hungry, and they made short work of ma thomas' enchiladas, crisp chicken _tacos_, peppers stuffed, and her marvelous _menudo_--a mexican soup. "with such eats as this," sighed the kid, "i know the s bar is saved." they were gathered now in the long, whitewashed adobe bunk house, and had finished their sad task of burying thomas, victim of an assassin's bullet. the kid obtained the bullet that had taken the old rancher's life. it was a . slug, and while the others believed it useless as evidence, the kid carefully put it away in his pocket. "it's hard to say who done it," fred wise said doubtfully. "yes," the kid agreed. "i believe ma thomas was right when she said the hand of every one in san felipe seemed to be raised against her. how much do yo' suppose the s bar is wo'th, anton?" "well, with five good springs--two rock tanks and three gravel ones, she's a first-class layout. the pick of the country. i'd say twenty thousand." "the robbers!" muttered kid wolf. "what's on the program?" asked frank lathum. "we can't do much ranchin' without cattle." "no," admitted the kid. "we must get those cattle back." "but who ever heard o' gettin' cattle out o' old mexico after they've once been driven in?" anton growled. "it can't be done!" "money in cattle can't be hid like money in jewels or cash," said the kid. "theah not so easy to get rid of, even in mexico. the town of mariposa lies just over the bordah, am i right? and the only good cattle lands for a hundred miles are just south of theah, isn't that so?" "yes, but----" "men, this is a time fo' desperate measures. we must stake all on one turn of the cards. boldness might win. i want yo' hombres to be in mariposa the day _pasado_ mañana." "the day after to-morrow!" wise repeated. "what's yore plan, kid?" "i don't know exactly," kid wolf admitted. "i make mah plans as i go along. but i'm ridin' into mexico to-morrow to see what i can see. i'll try to have the six hundred head of s bar cattle in mariposa the next day, some way or anothah." bold was the word! the quartet talked until a late hour. the three riders had caught some of the kid's own enthusiasm and courage. "ma thomas sure needs us now," said anton. "hasn't she any relatives?" kid wolf asked. "a son," muttered wise in a tone of disgust. "small good he is." "where is he?" "nobody knows," growled lathum. "somewhere in mexico, i guess. he was practically run out o' san felipe. he's no _bueno_." kid wolf learned that the son--harry thomas--had nearly broken his parents' hearts. he had become wild years before, and was now nothing more or less than a gambler, suspected of being a cheat and a "short-card operator." "he was a tinhorn, all right," said wise, "and fer the life of me i don't know how a woman like ma thomas could have such a worthless rake fer a son. he was a queer-lookin' hombre--one brown eye and one black eye." "ma loves him, though. yuh can tell thet," put in lathum. "oh, yes," pointed out anton soberly. "mothers always do. great things, these mothers." he blew his nose violently on his red bandanna, and shortly afterward went to bed. soon all four were in the bunks, resting for the hard work that awaited them on the morrow--mañana--and many days after mañana. kid wolf was up very early the next morning, and saddled blizzard after a hasty breakfast. he had much to do. the three s bar men went part way with him--to a point beyond the south corral. it was here that mrs. thomas had found the body of her murdered husband. there seemed to be no clew as to who had performed the deliberate killing. before the kid left, however, he did a little scouting around. in the sand behind a mesquite, fifty yards from the spot where the body had been found, he discovered significant marks. "come ovah heah, yo' men," he sang out. distinct in the sand were the prints made by a pair of low-heeled, square-toed boots. "well," anton grunted. "know those mahks?" all shook their heads. they had certainly been made by an unusual pair of boots. in a country where high-heeled riding footgear was the thing, such boots as these were seldom seen. all three admitted that they had seen such boots somewhere, but, although they racked their brains, they were unable to say just who had worn them. "well, take a good look at them," drawled the kid. "i want yo' to be witnesses to the find. some day this info'mation might be of use. in the meantime, adios, boys!" "good luck!" they shouted after him. "we'll be on hand at mariposa mañana morning." kid wolf hit the trail for mexico at a hammer-and-tongs gallop. the mexican town of mariposa was scattered over ten blazing acres of sand just south of the rio grande. it was an older city than san felipe, and its buildings were more elaborate. one in particular, just off the plaza, attracted the eye of spanish ranchman and peon alike. it was the meeting place of the thirsty--the famed el chihuahense, a saloon and gambling house known from el paso to california. built of brown adobe originally, it had been painted a bright red. the carved stone with which it was trimmed shone in white contrast to the vivid walls. an archway was the entrance to the establishment and many a bullet hole within its shadow testified to the dark deeds that had happened there. now, as on every night, the place was ablaze with light. big oil lamps by the score, backed by polished reflectors, illumined the interior. from within came the strains of guitars and the gay scrapings of a fiddle, mingled with the hum of spanish voices, an occasional oath in english, and the rattle of chips and coins. at the hitch rack outside the saloon stood a big white horse--waiting. kid wolf was playing poker in the el chihuahense, and he had been at it for two solid hours. those who knew the kid better would have wondered at this. ordinarily, kid wolf was not a gamester. he played cards rarely, never for any personal gain, and only when there seemed to be a good reason for so doing. but the texan knew the game. a trio of mexican landowners who thought they were skilled at it had quickly found out their error--and withdrew, more or less gracefully. now a crowd of swarthy-faced men, numbering more than a score, were massed around the draw-poker table near the door. they were watching the masterful play of this slow-drawling hombre--this gringo stranger who had been seen about mariposa all day, and who now was "bucking heads" with a lone antagonist. kid wolf's opponent was also an american, but one well known to the mariposans. a stack of gold coins was piled in front of him, and he riffled the cards as he dealt in the manner of a professional. this man was young, also. he wore a green eye shade, and a diamond glittered in his fancy shirt. he was a gambler. the game seesawed for a time. first kid wolf would make a small winning, and then the man with the green eye shade. most of the bets, however, were so heavy as to make the mexicans about the table gasp with envy. but the crisis was coming. the deal passed from the gambler to the kid and back to the gambler again. the pot was already swollen from the antes. the kid opened. "i'm stayin'," said the gambler crisply. he pushed in a small pile of gold. "how many cards?" "two," murmured the kid. the gambler took one. the chances were, then, that he had two pairs, or was drawing to make a flush or a straight. carefully the two men looked at their cards. not a muscle of their faces twitched. the gambler's face was frozen--as expressionless as an indian's. kid wolf was his easy self. his usual smile was very much in evidence, unchanged. he made a bet--a large one, and the gambler called and raised heavily. the kid boosted it again. then there was a silence, broken only by the tense breathing of the onlookers, who had pushed even closer about the table. "five hundred more," said the gambler after a nerve-racking pause. "and five," the kid drawled softly, pushing most of his gold into the center of the table. the gambler's hand shook the merest trifle. again he looked at the pasteboards in his pale hands. then he quickly pushed every cent he had into the pot. "i'm seeing it, and i'm elevatin' it every coin on me. it'll cost yuh--let's see--eight hundred and sixty more!" it was more than the texan had--by four hundred dollars. he could, however, stay for his stack. the man in the green eye shade could take out four hundred to even the bet. the kid, though, did not do this. "i'll just write an i o u fo' the balance," he drawled. "but supposin' yore i o u ain't good?" "then this is good," said kid wolf. the gambler stared. the texan had placed a . on the table near his right hand. and it had been done so quickly that the onlookers exchanged glances. who was this hombre? "all right," growled the man in the green eye shade. kid wolf wrote something with a pencil stub on a bit of paper. when finished, he tossed it to the center of the gold pile, carefully folded. "that calls yo'," he said coolly. "what have yo'?" nervously, the gambler spread his hand face up on the table. his hands were shaking more than ever. "a king full," he jerked out, wetting his lips. three kings and a pair of tens--a very good layout in a two-handed game with a huge pot at stake! "beats me," said the kid. "i congratulate yo'." with a sigh of relief, the gambler began to pull the winnings toward him. "better look at the i o u," the kid drawled, "and see that it's all right and proper." as he spoke, he tossed his cards carelessly toward the gambler, face down. the youth in the green eye shade unfolded the paper and looked at the writing within. his eyes widened a little and he looked again, blinking. slowly the following words swam into his consciousness: son, you can't gamble worth a cent, but rake in the money and follow me in five minutes. i'll meet you back of the saloon. i'm your friend, harry thomas, and your mother's happiness is at stake. the gambler's face went a bit paler. only his poker face kept the astonishment out of his eyes. slowly and furtively he looked at the cards kid wolf had tossed away so carelessly. the texan had held four aces! chapter xiv at don floristo's in the moonlight, behind the el chihuahense saloon, kid wolf and the gambler met. the latter found the kid leaning silently against a ruined adobe wall in the deserted alleyway. the sound of the music from within the gambling hall could be heard faintly. there was a silence after the two men faced each other. harry thomas finally broke it: "how did yuh know me? i go by the name of phil hall here. and who are yuh?" "just call me the kid," was the soft answer. "i knew yo' by yo' one brown and one black eye." "what did yore note mean?" "harry, the s bar is in great danger. yo' father is dead, and yo' mothah----" and then kid wolf told the story in full. harry thomas listened in agitation. he was overcome with grief and remorse. his voice trembled when he spoke: "i've been a fool," he blurted, "worse than a fool. poor mother! what can i do now?" "it isn't too late to help her," the kid told him kindly. "yo' mothah needs yo' badly. findin' those stolen cattle wasn't so hahd, aftah all. theah on don floristo's ranch just below heah. i've talked to the don, and let the remahk drop that i'm interested in cattle. so i am, but the don doesn't know in what way. he thinks i'm a rich gringo wantin' to buy some." "kid, i've learned my lesson. i'll never gamble again," said harry earnestly. kid wolf took his hand warmly. "don floristo has already given orders that the six hundred head of s bar steers are to be driven to mariposa to-night. i am to ride south to his ranch and close the deal. early mañana the three loyal s bar men will seize the cattle and drive them home. yo' and i must help." "yo're riskin' yore life for strangers, kid. floristo is a dyed-in-the-wool villain. if he suspects anything, he'll cut yore throat. but i'm with yuh! yuh've brought me to myself. i didn't suppose they made hombres like you!" "thanks, harry. now listen carefully and i'll tell yo' exactly what to do." for a few minutes the kid talked earnestly to young thomas, outlining their night's work. then kid wolf took leave of the young man--slipping back through the shadows to the street again. harry thomas walked quickly to the establo--mariposa's biggest livery stable. kid wolf mounted his horse blizzard. he struck off through the town at an easy trot and headed southward through the darkness. don manuel floristo's rancho was the largest in that part of mexico. several thousand steers roamed his range--steers that for the most part bore doubtful brands. don floristo's reputation was not of the best. his rancho was suspected of being a mere trading ground for stolen herds. rustlers from both sides of the line made his land their objective. kid wolf had found the s bar cattle easily enough. the brands had been gone over, being burned to an bar j. the work had been done so recently, however, that he was not deceived. he had called on the don and told him that he was "interested in cattle," which was true. the don's lust for gold had done the rest. he supposed that kid wolf was an american who desired to go into the ranching business near the boundary. a good chance to get rid of the "hot" herd of six hundred! "just the size of herd the señor needs to start," floristo had said. "six hundred head at ten pesos--six thousand pesos. ees it not cheap, amigo?" "very cheap," the kid had told him. "now if these cattle were delivered at mariposa----" "easy to say, but no harder to do, señor," was the don's eager reply. "i will give orders now to have them driven there. do you wish to buy a ranch, señor? or have you bought? perhaps i could help." "perhaps. but i want cattle right now. i have friends just no'th of the bordah." the don had smiled cunningly. this fool gringo would have trouble with those stolen cattle if he drove them back into the states. that, however, was no concern of floristo's. "come back to-night, señor," he had begged. and now the kid was on his way to the don's hacienda. he had purposely timed his visit so that he would reach floristo's rancho at a late hour. already it was after midnight. blizzard was unusually full of spirit. the slow pace to which the kid held him was hardly an outlet for his restless energy. "steady, boy," the kid whispered. "we're savin' our strength--they'll be plenty of fast ridin' to do latah." the kid could not resist the temptation to break into song. his soft chant rose above the faint whisper of the desert wind: "oh, theah's jumpin' beans and six-guns south o' rio, and _muy malo_ hombres by the dozen, we're a-watchin' out fo' trouble south o' rio, and when it comes, some lead will be a-buzzin'." he smiled up at the stars, and turned blizzard's head to the eastward. before them loomed the low, white adobe walls of don floristo's hacienda. a dark-faced peon on guard outside, armed with a carbine, opened the door for him. late as the hour was, lights were shining inside and he heard the welcoming sound of don floristo's voice as he passed through the entrance. "ah, come in, come in, amigo. i was afraid the señor was not coming. _como esta usted?_" "_buenas noches_," returned the kid, with easy politeness. "i trust yo' are in good health?" the conversation after that was entirely in spanish, as kid wolf spoke the language like a native. his southern accent made the mexican tongue all the more musical. he followed his host into a rather large, square room with a beautifully tiled floor. the don motioned the kid to a chair. "the cattle of which we--ah--spoke, señor," said the don, as he lighted a long brown cigarette. "they are on the way to mariposa. are probably there even now, amigo." "yes?" drawled kid wolf. "you will have men there to receive them?" "without fail," replied the texan, a strange inflection in his tones. "it is well, my friend. with the cattle are four of my men. they will not turn over the herd, of course, until"--he paused significantly--"the money is paid." kid wolf smiled. he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "one does not pay for stolen cattle, don floristo," he drawled. the muscles of the don's body stiffened. kid wolf's face was a smiling mask. the show-down had come. there was a long pause. the kid's arms were folded easily on his breast. "who are you?" the don snarled suddenly. "kid wolf of texas, sah," was the quiet reply. a cold smile was on the sallow face of the don. he made no move to draw the jeweled revolver that hung at his hip. he sneered as he spoke: "you will never escape from here alive, my friend," he leered. "what you have told me is not exactly news. at this moment you are covered." "yes?" mocked the kid. "come in, major!" cried don floristo. a door at one end of the room, which had been standing half ajar, now opened. framed in the doorway was the bloated, fat figure of major stover. in his hand was a derringer. its twin black muzzles were leveled at kiel wolf's heart. the major's face twisted into an exulting grin as his piglike eyes fell on kid wolf. "we meet again," he grated. "you see, señor keed wolf," said don floristo, "that we have you. by accident, señor wolf, your plans miscarried. thinking i could sell you a ranch, as you were buying cattle, i sent a rider _al instante_ for my friend, the major stover. he came at once, and when i described you----" he laughed harshly. the don removed the kid's revolvers and threw them on the table. the major's derringer did not waver. "i see that yo' have prepared quite a surprise pahty fo' me," said the kid calmly. "remember that theah are all sorts of surprises. i didn't have to come back heah, yo' know. the cattle i want are at mariposa." "then why are you here, fool?" the don sneered. "to find out who is at the bottom of the cattle stealin'--this persecution against mrs. thomas' ranch!" kid wolf snapped. "what good is it to know?" asked stover, laughing. "yo're goin' to die!" "shoot him, major," said the don, baring his white teeth. "there's no hurry," replied the major. "i want to see him pray for mercy first. i've got a score to settle with him." the kid remained unmoved in the presence of this peril. he was still smiling. "yuh'll never live to get those cattle across the line, blast yuh!" snarled stover, trembling with rage. "it was a pretty little scheme, but it failed to work. and we've got the s bar where we want it, too. no, yuh don't! just keep yore hands over yore head." "_el lobo muchacho_," the don sneered. "_el lobo muchacho_--keed wolf. i think we have your fangs drawn now, señor wolf! the wolf is in a bad way. alas, he cannot bite." he finished with a cruel laugh. but the kid could bite--and did! one of the fangs of the wolf, and a deadly one, remained to him. he used it now! major stover did not know how it happened. kid wolf's arms were lifted. apparently he was helpless. but suddenly there was a swish--a lightning-like gleam of light. something hit stover's gun arm like a thunder smash. kid wolf has used his "ace in the hole"--had hurled the bowie knife hidden in a sheath sewn inside the back of his shirt collar. the major's hand went suddenly numb. he dropped the derringer. the blade had thudded into his forearm and sliced deeply upward. dazed, he emitted a wild cry. the don was not slow to act. he did not know exactly what had happened, but he saw the major's gun fall and heard his frightened yell. floristo reached hastily for his jewel-studded revolver. but the texan had closed in on him. kid wolf hit him full in the face and floristo went sprawling down. he was still jerking at his gun butt as he hit the floor. the major had recovered somewhat. with his left hand he scooped up the derringer and swung it up desperately to line the barrel on kid wolf's heart. "all right, harry!" sang out the kid. glass flew out of the window at the south wall and clattered to the tiled floor as an arm, holding a leveled . , broke through. it was young thomas. "put 'em up!" he cried. don floristo, however, had also raised his gun. a report shook the adobe walls and sent a puff of blue fumes ceilingward. but harry thomas had fired first. floristo collapsed with a moan, rolled over and stiffened. kid wolf sent major stover's derringer flying with a contemptuous kick, just as the fear-crazed fat man pulled the trigger. "good work, harry," the kid approved. he stepped to the table, returned his own six-guns to their holsters and then reached out and seized major stover by the collar. he shook him like a rat as he jerked him to his feet. "well, majah, as yo' calls yo'self," he drawled, "looks like the surprise worked the othah way round!" stover's flabby face was blue-gray. his knees gave way under him and his coarse lips were twitching. his eyes rolled wildly. "don't kill me," he wheezed in an agony of fright. "it wasn't my fault. i--i--goliday made me do it. he's the man behind me. d-don't kill--me." suddenly his head rolled to one side and his bulky body wilted. he sagged to the floor with a hiccupping sound. "get up!" snapped the texan. there was no response. the kid felt of stover's heart and straightened up with a low whistle. "dead," he muttered. "scared to death. weak heart--just as i thought." "did yuh shoot the big brute?" asked harry, who had pushed his body through the window and slipped into the room. "his guilty conscience killed him," explained the texan. "yo' saved my life, son, by throwin' down on don floristo. yo' got him between the shirt buttons." "i wanted to shoot long before," said harry, "but i remembered--and waited until yuh said the word. yuh shore stopped that derringer o' stover's." "wheah's the guard?" "tied up outside." "_bueno_. i rode down heah slow, so yo'd have plenty o' time to get posted. i suspected treachery of some kind to-night. but it was a surprise to see the majah heah. what time is it?" "after two. the moon's gone down. where to, now?" "to mariposa. we can get theah by dawn, and if the boys are ready we can turn the trick." "then let's go, kid!" five minutes later the two were pounding the trail northward toward the rio grande! chapter xv goliday's choice the east was streaked with pink and orange when the kid and harry thomas rode into the sleeping town of mariposa. the little mexican city, they discovered, however, was not entirely asleep. at the northern edge of the city, on the stretch of sand between the huddled adobes and the sandy waters of the rio, things had taken place. harry and the kid rode up to see a camp fire twinkling in the bottom of an arroyo just out of sight of mariposa. near it was the herd of six hundred steers, some down and resting, others milling restlessly about under the watchful eyes of three shadowy riders. "are those the don's men?" asked harry in astonishment. "too far north," chuckled the kid. "look down by the fire!" tied securely with lariat rope, four figures reclined near the smoking embers. they were not americans. the two grinning newcomers saw that, even before they made out their swarthy faces. the prisoners wore the dirty velvet jackets and big sombreros of mexico. "theah's the don's men," said the kid, laughing. "come on!" he rode toward one of the mounted shadows and whistled softly. the man turned. it was just light enough to make out his features. it was anton. "by golly, kid," he yelped out. "yo're here at last! we'd about give yuh up!" "i see that yo' didn't wait fo' me," returned the texan, smiling. wise and lathum, seeing their visitors, spurred their mounts toward them. they greeted him with an exulting yell. "we turned the trick!" wise exclaimed. "not a shot fired. did it hours ago." "yuh see, kid," said anton, "we just naturally got so impatient and nervous waitin' that we couldn't stand it any longer. o' course, it was contrary to yore plans, maybe, but we saw the s bar steers, stood it as long as we could, and swooped down. how yuh got 'em here and had 'em waitin' fer us like this is more'n i can see!" "yo' did well," approved kid wolf. "i thought maybe yo'd know what to do." "who is thet with yuh?" asked anton, coming a bit closer. "well, blamed if it ain't--harry thomas! where--how----" "yes, it's me, boys," said harry shamefacedly. "i've been a bad one, i know. but my friend, the kid, here has opened my eyes to what's right. i want to go straight, and----" his voice trailed off. "harry's played the hand of a real man to-night," kid wolf put in for him. "i'm through as a gambler," said harry. "boys, will yuh take me for a friend?" "well, i should say we will!" lathum cried, and all three shook his hand warmly. "yore mother will be mighty proud, son--and glad," old anton said. "now, men," said the kid, "get those steers movin' toward the s bar. yuh ought to have 'em across the rio by sunup. theah won't be any pursuit. don floristo isn't in any position to ordah it. i'll see yo'-all at ma thomas' dinnah table." "where are you goin', kid?" lathum asked in astonishment. "harry will help yo' get the cattle home," said the kid. "i'm ridin' like all get-out to make mistah goliday, esquiah, a social call." "but why----" wise began. "i've just remembahed," drawled the kid, "wheah i saw a pair of low-heeled, square-toed ridin' boots." anton gave a low whistle. "by golly, boys. he's right! i remember now, too." "so do i!" ejaculated lathum. "how about lettin' us go, too?" asked wise. "goliday has some hard hombres workin' for him, and----" "please leave this to me," begged the kid. "yo' duty is heah with these cattle. all mah life i've made it mah duty to right wrongs--and not only that, but to put the wrongdoers wheah they can't commit any mo' wrongs. goliday is the mastah mind in all this trouble. is theah a sho't cut to his ranch?" anton knew the trails of the district like a memorized map, and he gave the kid detailed instructions. by following the mountain chain to the westward he would reach a dry wash that would lead him to a point within sight of goliday's hacienda. "still set on it?" the kid nodded. "adios! yuh'll probably get through to the s bar in good time. good-by, harry." "good luck!" they shouted after him. at the crest of a mesquite-dotted swell of white sand, several hours later, the kid paused to look over the situation that confronted him. ahead of him, to the westward, were the buildings of the goliday ranch. strangely enough, there was no sign of life around it--save for the horses in the large corral and the cattle meandering about the water hole. was the entire ranch personnel in san felipe? impossible! and yet he had seen no one. the kid hoped that goliday was not in town. a desert wash led its twisting way to one side of him, and he saw that by following its course he could reach the trees about the water hole unobserved. "easy, blizzahd," he said softly. the sand deadened the sound of the big white horse's hoofs as it took the dry wash at a speedy clip. kid wolf crouched low, so that his body would not show above the edge of the wash. at the water hole he drew up in the shelter of a cottonwood to listen. his ears had caught a succession of steady, measured sounds. they came from one of the small adobe outbuildings. inside, some one was hammering leather. this was the ranch's saddle shop evidently. very quietly the kid dismounted. the saddle shop was not far away. he strolled toward it, wading through the sand that reached nearly to his ankles. he paused in the doorway, and the hammering sound suddenly ceased. "_buenos dias_," drawled the texan. the man in the shop was goliday! he had whirled about like a cat. the hammer slipped from his right hand and dropped to the hard-packed earth floor with a thud. kid wolf's eyes went from goliday's dark, amazed face, with its shock of black hair, down to his boots. they were low-heeled, square-toed boots, embellished with scrolls done in red thread. the kid's quiet glance traveled again back to goliday's startled countenance. dismay and fury were mingled there. kid wolf had made no movement toward his guns. his hands were relaxed easily at his sides. he was smiling. goliday's ivory-handled gun was in his pistol holster. his hand moved a few inches toward it. then it stopped. goliday hesitated. face to face with the show-down, he was afraid. "well," the ranchman's words came slowly, "what do yuh want with me?" "i want yo'," said the kid in a voice ringing like a sledge on solid steel, "fo' the murdah of the ownah of the s bar!" "bah!" sneered goliday, but a strange look crossed his dark eyes. his legs were trembling a little, either from excitement or nervousness. "yo're loco," he added. "my men are in town or i'd have yuh rode off of my place on a rail!" "goliday," snapped kid wolf crisply, "the man who shot thomas down, wore low-heeled, square-toed boots." "yuh can't convict a man on that," replied the ranchman with a forced laugh. "no?" the kid drawled. "well, that isn't all. the man who fired the death shot used a very peculiah revolvah--very peculiar. the caliber was . . wait a moment--a . with unusual riflin'." "yo're crazy," said goliday, but his face was pale. "by examinin' the cahtridge," continued the texan in a dangerous voice, "i found that the fatal gun had five grooves and five lands. the usual six-shootah has six grooves and six lands. let me see yo' gun, sah!" the command came like a whip-crack and little drops of perspiration stood out suddenly on goliday's ashen forehead. "it's a lie," he stammered. "i----" "yo' had bettah confess, goliday. the game's up. majah stovah died early this mohnin' from heart trouble. goliday, yo' can do just two things. the choice is up to yo'.'" "the choice?" repeated the rancher mechanically. "yes, yo' can surrendah--and in that case, i'll turn yo' ovah to the nearest law, if it's a thousand miles away. or--yo' can shoot it out with me heah and now. it's up to yo'." "yuh wanted to see my gun," said goliday, with a sudden, deadly laugh. "all right, i'll show yuh what's in it!" like a flash his hairy right hand shot down toward the ivory-handled colt. the ranchman's hand touched the handle before kid wolf made even a move toward his own weapons. goliday's eager, fear-accelerated fingers snapped the hammer back. the gun slid half out of its holster as he tipped it up. there was a noise in the little adobe like a thunderclap! a red pencil of flame streaked out between the two men. then the smoke rolled out, dense and choking. _thud!_ a gun dropped to the hard, dirt floor. goliday groped out with his two empty hands for support. his face was distorted. a long gasp came from his lips. a round dot had suddenly appeared two inches left of his breast bone. he dropped heavily, grunting as he struck the ground. paying no more attention to him, kid wolf holstered his own smoking . and bent over and picked up goliday's ivory-handled weapon. he smiled grimly as he peered into the muzzle. a very peculiar gun! there were five grooves and five lands, which are the spaces between the grooves, the uncut metal. goliday, with a bullet just below his heart, was not quite dead. he realized what had happened. he was done for. rapidly, as if afraid that he could not finish what he wished to say, he began to speak: "yuh--were right. i killed thomas. i wanted the s bar. i'm afraid to go like this, kid wolf. i tell yuh i'm afraid!" his voice rose to a shriek. "there's murder on my soul, and there'll--be more. quick! quick!" "is there anything i can do?" the kid asked, generous even to a fallen enemy such as goliday. "yes," goliday groaned. "all my men aren't in town. i sent steve stacy and ed mullhall--down to the s bar--a little while ago--to do away with mrs. thomas. stop 'em! stop 'em! i don't want to die with this on my soul. i--i----" his words ended in a gurgling moan. his face twitched and then relaxed. he was dead. his dying words had thrilled kid wolf with horror. steve stacy and ed mullhall on their way to murder ma thomas! perhaps they were at the s bar already! perhaps their terrible work was done! the kid went white. but he wasted no time in wringing his hands. at a dead run he left the saddle shop and the dead villain within it. he whistled for blizzard. the horse raced to meet him. with a bound the kid was in the saddle. he knew of no trail to the s bar. he must cut across country. there was no time to hunt for one. then, too, he must cut off as much as he could. in that way, if the two killers followed a more or less winding trail, he might overtake them. the country was rough and broken. and, worse still, blizzard was tired. he had been on the go for many hours. there was a limit even to the creamy-white horse's superb strength. it seemed hopeless. southeast they tore at breakneck speed. blizzard seemed to sense what was required of him. he ran like mad, clamping down on the bit, his muscles rippling under his glossy hide--a hide that was already flecked with foam. "go like yo' nevah went befo', blizzahd boy," the kid sobbed. never had he been up against a plot so ruthless, a situation more terrible. a lone woman, ma thomas, had been selected for the next victim! as they pounded along, a thousand thoughts tortured the mind of the kid. in a way, it was his fault. it was by his suggestion that mrs. thomas had returned to the ranch. already, possibly, she was dead! kid wolf had never been angrier. the emotion that gripped him was more than anger. if he could only reach that s bar in time! he rode over hills of sand, across stretches of soft, yielding sand that slowed even blizzard's furiously drumming hoofs, over treacherous fields of lava rock, through cactus forests. up and down he went, but always on, and always heading southward toward the ranch. very rarely did the kid use the spurs, but he used them now, roweling blizzard desperately. and the white horse responded like a machine. there is a limit to the endurance of any animal, however strong. blizzard could not keep up that pace forever. he had begun to pant. he was running on sheer courage now. then the kid mounted a rise. ahead of him he saw two moving dots--horsemen, bound toward the s bar! they were stacy and mullhall, without a doubt! kid wolf's heart leaped. they had not reached the ranch yet, at any rate. there was still hope. again and again he raked blizzard with the spurs. the horse was living up to his name now, running like a white snowstorm. already the distance between kid wolf and the other horsemen was lessened. but they had seen him! before, they had been riding at a leisurely pace. now they broke into a gallop! "get 'em, blizzahd," cried the kid. "we've got to get those men, boy!" suddenly before the kid a deep arroyo yawned. the walls were steep. there was no time to go around, or seek a place to make the crossing. it looked like the end. a full twenty feet! a tremendous leap, and for a tired horse---- "jump it, boy! jump it!" again blizzard was raked with the spur. they were nearly at the arroyo edge now. it was very deep. would blizzard take it, or refuse? kid wolf knew his horse. he already felt blizzard rising madly in the air. the danger now was in the fall. for if the horse failed to make it, death would be the issue. jagged rocks thirty feet below awaited horse and rider if the leap failed. but blizzard made it! he scrambled desperately on, the far edge for a breathless moment while the soft sand caked and caved. the kid threw his weight forward. safely across, blizzard was off again, galloping like a white demon. kid wolf unlimbered one of his colts. the range was almost impossible. six times the kid shot. one of the men toppled from his saddle and fell sprawling. the other rider kept on. the kid did not fire any more, for he knew that he had been lucky indeed, to get one of them at such a distance. he bent all his efforts toward heading off the other. already the s bar hacienda was within sight. there was no time to lose! as the kid pounded past he saw the face of the man who had been struck by the chance bullet. it was mullhall. stacy kept going. he was urging his horse to top speed, bent upon reaching the ranch and getting in his work before the kid could catch him. blizzard had reached his limit. his pace was faltering. little by little he began to lag behind. he was nearly spent. only an expert rider could have done what the kid did then. without slackening blizzard's speed, he slipped his saddle. with the reins in his teeth, he worked loose the latigo and cinch, taking care not to trip the speeding horse. then he swung himself backward, freed the saddle and blanket and hurled both sidewise. he was riding bareback now! relieved of forty pounds of dead weight, blizzard lengthened his stride and took new courage. he was overhauling stacy now yard by yard! stacy turned in his saddle and emptied his gun at his pursuer--six quick spats of smoke and six slugs of whining lead. all went wild, for it was difficult to aim at such a smashing gallop. "we've got him now, boy," the kid gasped. "close in!" farther south, in the distance, he saw a great dust cloud moving in slowly. it was the riders with the recovered herd! but the kid only had a glimpse. steve stacy was whirling about desperately to meet him. once again the kid was involved in a showdown to the bitter finish! kid wolf's left-hand colt sputtered from his hip. he had no more mercy for stacy than he would have had for a rattlesnake that had bitten a friend. _br-r-rang-bang! spat-spat!_ stacy, hit twice, still blazed away. a bullet ripped through the texan's sleeve. again he fired. the ex-foreman fell, part way. the stirrup caught his left foot as his head went into the sand. stacy's horse reared back, started to run, then stopped and waited patiently for its master who would never rise. there was feasting at the s bar hacienda. the table was heavily laden with dishes--once full of delicious viands but now empty. the men, five in all, had brought out their "makin's." ma thomas, bustling about with more coffee and a wonderful dessert she had mysteriously prepared, beamed down on them. "you're surely not through already, are you, boys?" she protested. "why, there's more pie and cake, and besides the----" "i've et," sighed anton, "until i'm about to bust." there was a pause during which five matches were struck and applied to the ends of five cigarettes. "well," sighed kid wolf, "i hope blizzahd has enjoyed his dinnah as much as i've enjoyed mine. he deserves it!" "what a wonderful horse!" cried ma thomas. "and to think that if he hadn't ran so fast, those terrible men----" her voice broke off. "now don't yo' worry of that any mo'," drawled the kid with a smile. "yo' troubles are ovah, i hope." the kid occupied the seat of honor, at mrs. thomas' right. her son, harry, as happy as he had ever been in his life, sat on the other. anton, wise, and lathum were grouped about the rest of the table, leaning back in their chairs. "when blizzahd is rested," said the kid, in a matter-of-fact tone, "we'll be strikin' westward. i'm kind of anxious to see what's doin' ovah in new mexico and arizona." "yo're surely not goin' to leave us so soon!" they all cried. the kid nodded. "mah work seems to be done heah," he said, smiling. "and i'm just naturally a rollin' stone, always rollin' toward new adventures. i'm sho' yo'-all are goin' to be very happy." "we owe it all to you!" ma thomas cried. "all of our good fortune. i have the ranch and the cattle, and more wonderful than everything else--my boy, harry!" kid wolf looked embarrassed. "please don't try and thank me," he murmured. "it's just mah job--to keep an eye out fo' those in need of help." "won't yuh take a half interest in the s bar, kid?" harry begged. kid wolf shook his head. "but, say," blurted harry. he leaned across the table to whisper: "how about all that money in that poker game down in mariposa? it's yores, not mine!" "i did that," said the kid, as he whispered back, "so yo' could buy ma a little present. don't forget! a nice one!" "what did i ever--ever do to deserve this happiness?" ma thomas sighed, and she interrupted the furtive conversation of the two young men by placing a big dish of shortcake between them. "by gettin' aftah me with a shotgun," said kid wolf with a laugh. chapter xvi a game of poker a whitened human skull, fastened to a post by a rusty tenpenny nail, served as a signboard and notified the passing traveler that he was about to enter the limits of skull, new mexico. "oh, we're ridin' 'way from texas, and the rio, comin' to a town with a mighty scary name, shall we turn and vamos pronto for the rio, or show some hombres how to make a wild town tame?" kid wolf, who appeared to be asking blizzard the rather poetical question, eyed the gruesome monument with a half smile. bullet holes marked it here and there, testifying that many a passer-by with more marksmanship than respect had used it for a casual target. the empty sockets seemed to glare spitefully, and the shattered upper jaw grinned in mockery at the singer. it was as if the grisly relic had heard the song and laughed. kid wolf's smile flashed white against the copper of his face. then his smile disappeared and his eyes, blue-gray, took on frosty little glints. the kid, after straightening out the troubled affairs of the thomas family, was heading northwest again. it was the age-old wanderlust that led him out of the rio country once more. "what do yo' say, blizzahd?" he drawled. his tones held just a trace of sarcasm. it was as if he had weighed the veiled threat in the town's sign and found it grimly humorous instead of sinister. the big white horse threw up its shapely head in a gesture of impatience that was almost human. "all right, blizzahd," approved its rider. "into skull, new mexico, we go!" kid wolf had heard something of skull's reputation, and although it was just accident that had turned him this way, he was filled with a mild curiosity. the texan never made trouble, but he was hardly the man to avoid it if it crossed his path. as he neared the town, he was rather surprised at its size. the budding cattle industry had boomed the surrounding country, and skull had grown like a mushroom. lights were twinkling in the twilight from a hundred windows, and as the newcomer passed the scattered adobes at the edge of it, he could hear the _clip-clop_ of many horses, the sound of men's voices, and mingled strains of music. the little city was evidently very much alive. there were two principal streets, cutting each other at right angles, each more than a hundred yards long and jammed with buildings of frame and sod. kid wolf read the signs on them as the horse trotted southward: "bar. tony's place. saloon. general merchandise. saddle shop. bar. saloon. hotel and bar. well, well, seems as if we have mo' than ouah share o' saloons heah. this seems to be the biggest one. shall we stop heah, blizzahd?" there seemed to be no choice in the matter. one could take his pick of saloons, for nothing else was open at this hour. the sign over the largest read, "the longhorn palace." kid wolf left blizzard at the hitch rack and sauntered through the open doors. a lively scene met his eyes. it interested and at the same time disgusted the kid. a long bar stretched from the front door to the end of the building, and a dozen or more men leaned against it in various stages of intoxication. in spite of the fact that the saloon interior was well lighted by suspended oil lamps, the air was thick and foul with liquor fumes and cigarette smoke. a half dozen gambling tables, all busy, stood at the far end of the room. the mirror behind the bar was chipped here and there with bullet marks, and over it were three enormous steer heads with wide-spreading horns. it was evident that drunken marksmen had taken pot shots at these ornaments, also, for they were pitted here and there with . holes. kid wolf was by no means impressed. he had been in bad towns aplenty, and he usually found that the evil of them was pure bluff and bravado. smiling, he strolled over to the gambling tables. the stud-poker table attracted his attention, first by the size of the stakes and then by the men gathered there. it was a stiff game, opening bets sometimes being as much as fifty dollars. apparently the lid was off. the hangers-on in the longhorn seemed to be of one type and resembled professional gunmen more than they did cattlemen. the men at the poker table looked like desperadoes, and one of them especially took the kid's observing eye. a huge-chested man in a checkered shirt was at the head of the table and seemed to have the game well in hand, for his chip stacks were high, and a pile of gold pieces lay behind them. his closely cropped black beard could not conceal the cruelty of his flaring nostrils and sensual mouth. he was overbearing and loud of speech, and his menacing, insolent stare seemed to have every one cowed. kid wolf was a keen student of men. he had learned to read human nature, and this gambler interested him as a thoroughly brutal specimen. "it'll cost yuh-all another hundred to stay and see this out," the bearded man announced with a sneer. "i'm out," grunted one of the players. another, with "more in sight" than the bearded gambler, turned over his cards in disgust, and with a chuckle of joy, the first speaker dragged in the pot and added the chips to his mounting stacks. he seemed to have the others buffaloed. the card players had been absorbed in their game until now. but as the new deal was begun, the bearded gambler saw the texan's eyes upon him. "are yuh starin' at me?" he rasped. "walk away, or get in--one o' the two. yuh'll kill my luck." "pahdon me, sah. i don't think i could kill such luck as yo's." the kid's voice was full of soothing politeness. the gambler made the mistake of thinking the stranger in awe of him. many a man before him had taken the texan's soft, drawling speech the wrong way. "well, are yuh gettin' in the game?" "i'm not a gamblin' man, sah." the texan smiled. the bearded man exposed his teeth in a contemptuous leer. "from yore talk, yo're nothin' but a cheap cotton picker. guess this game's too stiff fer yuh," he said. the expression of the texan's face did not change, but curious little flecks of light appeared in his steellike eyes. he laughed quietly. "i'd get in," he said, "but i'd hate to take yo' money." "don't let that worry yuh," the big-chested gambler snarled. "sit in, or shut up and get out!" if kid wolf was angered, he made no sign of it. his lips still smiled, as he drew a chair up to the table. "deal me in," he drawled. the atmosphere of the game seemed to change. it was as if all the players had united to fleece the newcomer, with the bearded desperado leading the attack. at first, kid wolf lost, and the gambler--called "blacksnake" mccoy by the other men--added to his chip stacks. then the game seesawed, after which the texan began to win small bets steadily. but the crisis was coming. sooner or later, blacksnake would try to run kid wolf out, and the texan knew it. the size of the bets increased, and a little crowd began to gather about the stud table. in spite of the fact that blacksnake was a swaggering, abusive-mouthed fellow, the sympathies of the longhorn loafers seemed to be with him. he seemed to be a sort of leader among them, and a group of sullen-eyed gunmen were looking on, expecting to see kid wolf beaten in short order. finally a tenseness in the very air testified to the fact that the time for big action had come. the pot was already large, and all had dropped out except blacksnake and the drawling stranger. "i'm raisin' yuh five hundred, 'cotton-picker,'" sneered the bearded man insolently. he had a pair of aces in sight--a formidable hand--and if his hole card was also an ace, kid wolf had not a chance in the world. the best the texan could show up was a pair of treys. "my name, sah," said kid wolf politely, "is not cotton-pickah, although that is bettah than 'bone-pickah'--an appropriate name fo' some people. i'm kid wolf, sah, from texas. and my enemies usually learn to call me by mah last name. i'm seein' yo' bet and raisin' yo' another five hundred, sah." at the name "kid wolf," a stir was felt in the crowded saloon. it was a name many of them had heard before, and most of the loungers began to look upon the stranger with more respect. others frowned darkly. blacksnake was one of them. plainly, what he had heard of the kid did not tend to make the latter popular in his estimation. "excuse me," he spat out. "i should have called yuh 'nose-sticker.' from what i hear of yuh, yuh have a habit of mindin' other folks' business. well, that ain't healthy in skull." if the texan was provoked by these insults, he did not show it. he only smiled gently. "we're playin' pokah now, i believe," he reminded. "are yuh seein' mah bet?" "that's right, bet 'em like yuh had 'em. and i hope yore hole card's another three-spot, for that'll make it easy for my buried ace. i'm seein' yuh and boostin' it--for yore pile!" quietly the kid swept all his chips into the center of the table. he had called, and it was a show-down. with an oath, blacksnake got half to his feet. he turned his hole card over. it was a nine-spot, but he had kid wolf beaten unless---- slowly the kid revealed his hole card. it was not a trey, but a four. just as good, for this made him two small pairs--threes and fours. he had won! "no," he drawled, "i wouldn't reach for my gun, if i were yo'." blacksnake took his hand away from the butt of his . . it came away faster than it had gone for it. guns had appeared suddenly in the texan's two hands. his draw had been so swift that nobody had caught the elusive movement. "this game is bein' played with cahds, even if they are crooked cahds, and not guns, sah!" "crooked!" breathed blacksnake. "are yuh hintin' that i'm a crook?" "i'm not hintin'," said the kid, with a flashing smile. "i'm sayin' it right out. the aces in that deck were marked in the cornahs with thumb-nail scratches. it might have gone hahd with me, if i hadn't mahked the othah cahds too--with thumb-nail scratches!" "yuh admit yuh marked them cards?" yelled blacksnake in fury. "what about it, men? he's a cheat and ought to be strung up!" most of the onlookers were doing their best to conceal grins, and even blacksnake's sympathizers made no move to do anything. perhaps the kid's two drawn six-shooters had something to do with it. "yuh got two thousand dollars from this game--twenty hundred even," blacksnake snarled. "are yuh goin' to return that money?" "i'll put the money wheah it belongs," the texan drawled. "gentlemen, when i said i wasn't a gamblin' man, i meant it. i nevah gamble. but when i saw that this game was not a gamble, but just a cool robbery, i sat in." he holstered one of his guns and swooped up the pile of money from the center of the table. this cleaned it, save for one pile of chips in front of the bearded bully. "it's customary," said kid wolf, "always to kick in with a chip fo' the 'kitty,' and so----" his colt suddenly blazed. there was a quick finger of orange-colored fire and a puff of smoke. the top chip of blacksnake's stack suddenly had disappeared, neatly clipped off by the kid's bullet. and the texan had shot casually from the hip, apparently without taking aim! kid wolf returned his still-smoking gun to its holster, turned his back and sauntered leisurely toward the door. halfway to it, he turned quickly. he did not draw his guns again, but only looked blacksnake steadily in the eyes. "remembah," he said, "that i can see yo' in the mirrah." with an oath, blacksnake took his hand away from his gun butt, toward which it had been furtively traveling. he had forgotten about the bullet-scarred glass over the long bar. as the texan strolled through the door, a man who had been watching the scene turned to follow him. "kid wolf," he called, "i'd like to see yuh, alone." the voice was friendly. kid wolf turned, and as he did so, he jostled the speaker, apparently by accident. "excuse me," drawled the texan. "i didn't know yo' were so close behind me." "i'm a friend," said the other earnestly. "let's walk down the street a way. i've something important to say--something that might interest yuh." the kid had appraised him at a glance, although this stranger was far from being an ordinary person either in face or dress. his garb was severe and clerical. he wore a long black coat, black trousers neatly tucked into boots, a white shirt, and a flowing dark tie. yet he was not of the gambler type. he seemed to be unarmed, for he had no gun belt. his face, seen from the reflected lights of the saloon, was clean-shaven. his eyes seemed set too close together, and the lips were very thin. "very well, i'll listen," the kid consented. the two started to walk slowly down the board sidewalk. "they call me 'gentleman john,'" said the black-clothed stranger. "have yuh been in skull long? expect to stay hereabouts for a while?" the texan answered both these questions shortly but politely. he had arrived that evening, he said, and he wasn't sure how long he would remain in the vicinity. "how would yuh like," tempted the man who had styled himself gentleman john, "to make a hundred dollars a day?" "honestly?" asked the kid. the man in black pursed his lips and spread out his palms significantly. "whoever heard of a gunman making that much honestly?" he laughed coldly. "maybe i should tell yuh somethin' about myself. they call me the 'cattle king of new mexico.' the man yuh bucked in the poker game--blacksnake mccoy--is at the head of my--ah--outfit." "oh," said the kid softly, "yo're that kind of a cattle king." "out here," gentleman john leered, "the colt is power. i've got ranches, cattle. i've managed to do well. i need gunmen--men who can shoot fast and obey orders. i can see that yo're a better man than blacksnake. i'm payin' him fifty a day. take his job, and yuh'll get a hundred." kid wolf did not seem in the least enthusiastic, and the man in black went on eagerly: "yuh won a couple o' thousand to-night, kid. but that won't last forever. think what a hundred in gold a day means. and all yuh have to do is ter----" "murdah!" snapped the texan. "yo've mistaken yo' man, sah. mah answah is 'no'! i'm not a hired killah, and the man who tries to hire me had bettah beware. why, yo're nothin' but a cheap cutthroat!" the cold eyes of the other suddenly blazed. he made a quick motion toward his waistcoat with his thin hand. kid wolf laughed quietly. "heah's yo' gun, sah," he said, handing the astonished gentleman john a small, ugly derringer. "when i bumped into yo' in the doorway, i took the liberty to remove it. i nevah trust an hombre with eyes like yo's. nevah mind tryin' to use it, fo' i've unloaded it." the face of the man in black was white with fury. his gimlet eyes had narrowed to slits, and his mouth was distorted with rage. it was the face of a killer--a murderer without conscience or pity. "i'll get yuh for this, wolf!" he bellowed. "yuh'll find out how strong i am here. this country isn't big enough to hold us both, blast yuh! when our trails meet again, take care!" the kid raised one eyebrow. "i always do take care," he drawled. "and while i'm heah in skull county, yo'd bettah keep yo' dirty work undah covah. adios!" and humming musically under his breath, the kid strolled toward the hitch rack where he had left his horse. chapter xvii pot shots there was an old mission at the outskirts of the town of skull, established many years before there were any other buildings in the vicinity. the spanish fathers had built it for the indians, and it remained a sanctuary, in spite of the roughness and badness of the new cow town. early on the morning after kid wolf's arrival in the town, the old padre was astonished to find a package of money inside his door. it was addressed simply: "for the poor." it was a windfall and a much-needed addition to the mission's meager finances. the padre considered it a gift from heaven, and where it had come from remained a mystery. the package contained two thousand dollars. needless to say, it was kid wolf's gift, and the money had been taken from the town's dishonest gamblers. the texan remained several days in skull. he was in no hurry, and the town interested him. although he heard threats, he was left alone. he saw no more of gentleman john, nor did he see blacksnake mccoy. they had disappeared from town, probably on evil business of their own. a note thrust under the kid's door at the hotel two mornings later threatened him and advised him to leave the country. the texan, however, paid no attention to the warning. the next day, he scouted about the country, sizing up the cattle situation. the honest cattlemen, he found, were very much in the minority. by force, murder, and illegal methods, gentleman john had obtained most of the land and practically all of the vast cattle herds that roamed the rich rangelands surrounding the town on all sides. yet to most of the honest element, gentleman john's true colors were not known. he shielded himself, hiring others to do his unclean work. there was no law as yet in the county. gentleman john had managed to keep it out. and even if there had been, it was doubtful if his crimes could be pinned to him, for he had covered his tracks well. many thought him honest. only the kid's keen mind could sense almost immediately what was going on. the country stretching out from skull was wild and beautiful. it was an unsettled land, and the trails that led into it were faint and difficult to follow. one morning, kid wolf saddled blizzard and rode into the southwest toward the purple mountains tipped with snow. it was a beautiful day, cool and crisp. the tang of the air in that high altitude was sharp and invigorating. the big white horse swung into a joyous lope, and the texan hummed a southern melody. crossing a wide stretch of plain, they mounted a rise, and the character of the country changed. the smell of sage gave way to the penetrating odor of small pine, as they climbed into the broken foothills that led, in a series of steps, toward the jagged peaks. splashing through a little creek of pure, cold water, the kid turned blizzard's head up a pass between two ridges of piñon-covered buttes. "a big herd's passed this way," the kid muttered, "and lately, too." they climbed steadily onward, while the texan searched the trail with keen eyes that missed nothing. suddenly he drew up his horse. blizzard had shied at something lying prone ahead of them, and the kid's eyes had seen it at the same instant. stretched out on the sandy ground, the kid saw, when he urged his horse closer, was the body of a man, face down and arms flung out. a blotch of red on the blue of the shirt told the significant story--a bullet had got in its deadly work. dismounting, the texan found that the man was dead and had met with his wound probably twenty-four hours before. there was nothing with which to identify the body. "seems to me, blizzahd," kid wolf mused, "that gentleman john is a deepah-dyed villain than we even thought." he continued on up the pass, eyes and ears open. the white horse took the climb as if it had been level ground, his hoofs ringing a brisk tattoo against the stones. nobody was in sight. the land stretched out on all sides--a vast lonesomeness of rolling green and red, broken here and there by towering rocks, grotesque in shape and twisted by erosion into a thousand fanciful sculptures. but at the bottom of a dry wash, kid wolf received a surprise. _br-r-reee! ping!_ a bullet breezed by his head, droning like a hornet, and glanced sullenly against a flat rock. immediately afterward, the kid heard the sharp bark of a . . he knew by the sound of the bullet and by the elapsed time between it and the sound of the gun that he was within dangerous range. crouching low in his saddle, he wheeled blizzard--already turned half around in mid-air--and cut up the arroyo at a hot gallop. flinging himself from his horse when he reached shelter, he touched blizzard lightly on the neck. the wise animal knew what that meant. without slackening its pace, it continued onward, its hoofs drumming a rapid _clip-clop_, while its master was running in another direction with his head low. breaking up the ambush was easy. the kid took advantage of every bit of cover and went directly toward the sounds of the shots, for guns were still barking. the men, whoever they were, were shooting in the direction of the riderless horse. squirming through a little piñon thicket, kid wolf saw three men stationed behind a low ledge of red sandstone. the guns of the trio were still curling blue smoke. "will yo' kindly stick up yo' hands, gentlemen," the texan drawled, "while yo're explainin'?" the three whirled about--to find themselves staring into the two deadly black muzzles of the kid's twin six-shooters. automatically they thrust their arms aloft. "well, i guess yuh got us! go ahead and shoot, yuh killer!" kid wolf looked at the speaker in surprise. he was a little younger, perhaps, than the texan himself--a slim, red-headed youth with a wide, determined mouth. the blue eyes, snapping angrily now, seemed frank and open. then the texan's eyes traveled to the youth's two companions. both were older men, typical cow-punchers, rough and ready, and yet hardly of the same type of the men the kid had noticed in the longhorn saloon in skull. "i'm not sure that i even want to shoot." the kid smiled slowly. "maybe yo'd like to explain why yo' were tryin' to shoot me." "i guess we won't need to explain that," snapped the redhead. "yuh know as well as we do that yo're one o' blacksnake's thievin' gunmen!" "what makes yo' think so?" the texan laughed. the other opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. he was looking the kid up and down. "come to think about it," he muttered, "we've never seen you before. and yuh don't look like one o' that rustler gang." "take my word fo' it," said the texan earnestly, "i'm not. i thought yo' were blacksnake and his gang myself." he reholstered his guns. "put yo' hands down," he said, as he came toward them, "and we'll talk this thing ovah." reassured, the trio did so with sighs of relief. a few questions by each helped to clear things up. the kid told them who he was, and in return he was told that the three were members of the diamond d outfit. "it's just half an outfit now," said the red-haired youth bitterly. "they've run off our north herd. yuh see, mr. wolf----" "just call me 'kid,'" smiled the texan, "fo' i think we'll be friends." "i hope so," said the other, flashing him a grateful look. "well, i'm 'red' morton. my brother and me own the diamond d, and we've shore been havin' one hot time. guess we're plumb beat." "wheah's yo' brother now?" "he's at the sod house with our south herd. these two men are the only punchers left me--'lefty' warren and mike train. there was one more. the rustlers shot him." red morton's eyes gleamed fiercely. "yo' know who the rustlers were?" "blacksnake mccoy's gang. he's been causin' us a lot o' trouble. until now, that bunch have just been runnin' a smooth iron and swingin' their loops wide. but yesterday they drove off every steer. half of all the longhorns on the diamond d!" red's lips tightened grimly. "excuse us," spoke up one of the cowboys, lefty warren, "for takin' yuh fer one o' them cutthroats, but we was b'ilin' mad. it's a good thing fer us yuh wasn't. yuh shore slipped in on us slick as a whistle." "i'm hopin' my bud, joe, don't think it was my fault that blacksnake got away with the herd," groaned the red-haired youth. "reckon we'll have to sell out now." "that's it," agreed the eldest of the trio--the man called mike train. "the diamond d would be on easy street now, if we had the cattle back. the mortgage----" "who would yo' sell to?" asked the kid quietly. "gentleman john, the cattle king," explained red morton. "he told my brother some time ago that he'd like to buy it, if the price was low. joe refused then, but reckon it'll be different now." kid wolf raised his brows slightly. "is this--ah--gentleman john the right sort of hombre?" he drawled. "why, i guess so," said red in surprise. "he's one o' the biggest cattlemen in three states." the texan was silent for a moment, then he smiled. "wheah are yo' headed fo' now?" he asked. "why, we're on the trail of the stolen herd," red replied, "and we intend to stop at the sod house and tell my brother, joe, what's happened--that is, if he don't already know. maybe he's had trouble, himself." "if we find any of that blacksnake gang, we'll fight," lefty warren spoke up. "the odds are mighty bad against us, but they got one o' the best punchers in the valley when they drilled sam whiteman." "i'm interested," kid wolf told them. "do yo' mind if i throw in with yo'?" "do we mind?" repeated red joyously. "say, it would shore be great! and--well, joe and i will try and make it right with yuh." "nevah mind that," the texan murmured. "just considah yo' troubles mine, too. and i'm downright curious to know what's happened to yo' steers. let's go!" he whistled for blizzard. for several hours the quartet of horsemen pressed southward, following the trail left by the stolen beef herd. the four quickly became friends. kid wolf liked them all from the first, and the diamond d men were overjoyed to have him enlisted in their cause. he learned that red morton and his older brother, joe, had worked hard to make the diamond d a success. the ranch had been left them by their father a few years before, heavily burdened with debt. now, until the catastrophe of the day before, they were at the point of clearing it. evidently the brothers did not know of gentleman john's criminal methods, and the texan said nothing. he was waiting for better proof. "the ranch is in joe's name," said red proudly, "but we're partners. he could sell it to gentleman john, all right, without my consent, but he wouldn't. i'm not quite twenty-one, but i'm a man, and joe knows it." "will yo' have to sell the diamond d now?" the texan asked. "i hope not. joe and two riders still have the south herd--at least, they have if nothin's happened. it might pull us through. eight hundred head." after a time, they swung off the trail they had been following, in order to reach the sod house. here red expected to find his brother and the other two diamond d riders. "with them, that'll make seven of us," young morton said. "then we can show that blacksnake gang a fight that is a fight! there's over a dozen of 'em, though i think lefty here wounded one, just after whiteman was killed. we saw red stains on the sagebrush for a hundred yards along the cattle trail." mounting a long rise, they began to descend again. a fertile valley stretched out beneath them, green with grass and watered by the bluest little stream that kid wolf had ever seen. it was a lovely spot; it was small wonder that gentleman john wished to add the diamond d to his holdings. "that's blue-bottle creek," announced red morton. "queer that we don't see any cattle. there's not a steer in sight. they ought to be feedin' through here." there was no sign of anything moving throughout all the basin, either human or cattle. the silence was unbroken, save for the steady drumming of the little party's pony hoofs. "there's the sod house--over there in those trees," said red, after another mile. he was worried. the two other diamond d men, too, were showing signs of nervousness. had the south herd gone the way of the other? they neared the sod house--a structure crudely built of layers of earth. it had one door and one window, and near it was a corral--empty. there was no sign of any one about, and there was no reply to red's eager shout. "oh, joe!" he hailed. his face was a shade paler, as he quickly swung himself out of his saddle. he entered the sod house at a half run. "is anything wrong?" train shouted. then they heard red morton cry out in grief and horror. without waiting for anything more, the kid and the two diamond d riders dismounted and raced toward the sod hut. none of them was prepared for the terrible thing they found there. chapter xviii on blacksnake's trail at first, they could see little, for not much light filtered through the small door and window. then details of the interior began to grow more distinct in the hut's one room. a tarp had been tacked over the dirt ceiling to keep scorpions and centipedes from dropping down on the bunks below. there was only a little furniture, and that of a crude sort. some of it was smashed, as if in a scuffle. these things, however, were not noticed until later. what the visitors saw was the form of a man with legs and arms outstretched at queer angles. kid wolf was accustomed to horrible sights, but he remembered this one ever afterward. the scene was stamped on his mind like a fragment of some wild nightmare. the body was that of a man a few years older than red morton, and the features, though set and twisted, were the same. a rope had been tied to one wrist and fastened to one wall; another rope had been knotted about his other wrist and secured to the opposite side of the hut. the legs had been served the same way at the ankles. on the body of the suspended figure rocks had been piled. they were of many sizes, varying from a few pounds to several hundred. it was easy to see how the unhappy man had met his end--by slow torture. one by one, the rocks had been placed on his chest and middle, the combined weight of them first slowly pulling his limbs from their sockets and then crushing out the life that remained. red, after his first outcry of agony, took it bravely. the kid threw his arm sympathetically around the youth's shoulders and drew him away, while the others cut the ropes that held the victim of the rustler gang's cruelty. in a few minutes, red got a grip on himself and could talk in a steady voice. "reckon i'm alone now, kid," he blurted. "joe was all i had--and they got him! i swear i'll bring those hounds to justice, or die a-tryin'!" "yo're not alone, red," said the texan grimly. "i'm takin' a hand in this game." near the body they found a piece of paper--a significant document, for it explained the motive for the crime. kid wolf read it and understood. it was written in straggling handwriting: i, joe morton, do hereby sell and turn over all interest in the diamond d ranch property, for value received. my signature is below, and testifies that i have sold said ranch to gentleman john, of skull, new mexico. there was, however, no signature at the space left at the bottom of the paper. joe morton had died game! "he refused to sign," said the kid quietly, "and that means that yo're the lawful heir to the diamond d. yo' have a man's job to do now, red." "but i don't savvy this," burst out the red-haired youth. "surely this gentleman john isn't----" "he's the man behind it all, mah boy," the texan told him. and in a few words, he related how he had been approached by the self-styled cattle king, and something of his shady dealings. "he wanted to buy me," he concluded, "not knowin' that i had nevah abused the powah of the colt fo' mah own gain. blacksnake is his chief gunman, actin' by gentleman john's ordahs." "where's the other men--the two riders on duty with joe?" lefty warren wanted to know. it did not take much of a search to find them. one had fallen near the little corral, shot through the heart. the other lay a few hundred yards away, at the river bank. he, too, was dead. "mo' murdah," snapped the texan grimly. "well, we must make ouah plans." in this sudden crisis, the other three left most of the planning to kid wolf himself. first of all, the bodies were buried. rocks were piled on the hastily made graves to keep the coyotes out, and they were ready to go again. the texan decided to follow the trails left by the stolen cattle, for both herds were gone now, driven off the diamond d range. failing in their attempt to get joe morton's signature, the outlaws had evidently decided to take what they could get. there was one big reason why gentleman john wished to get his hands on the diamond d. although land was plentiful in that early day, red's father had obtained a land grant from a spanish governor--a grant that still held good and kept other herds from the rich grazing land and ample water along blue-bottle creek. as they started down the trail again toward the broken, mountainous country to the southwest, the kid sent red a quick glance. "are yo' all right, son?" he asked. "fine," said young morton, now sole owner of the diamond d. the texan was glad to see that he had braced himself. like his brother, red was a man. "we'll soon overtake 'em," old mike train muttered, savagely twirling the cylinder of his ancient . . "blacksnake's gang can't make fast time with those steers. he's probably drivin' 'em to gentleman john's headquarters at agua frio." "why," asked kid wolf slowly, "do they call that hombre 'blacksnake'?" "because he carries one with him--that's how he got his name," spoke up lefty warren. "he's a whipper. he's beaten more'n one mex to death with it, and they say a white man or two. he can handle a blacksnake like a demon." kid wolf smiled grimly. to have blacksnake mccoy for an enemy was by no means a pleasant thing to think about, especially when the desperado was backed by all the power that his employer--gentleman john--possessed. and yet the kid was afraid of neither of them. "it's shore great of yuh to help us this way," red told him. "but i'm afraid we haven't a chance. if gentleman john is behind all this, we're buckin' mighty big odds." "i like a game like that," said the kid. "unlike pokah, it's perfectly legitimate to scratch the aces with yo' fingah nail." they were soon off the limits of the diamond d and on the casas amarillas--a ranch owned by gentleman john and taking its spanish name from two yellow houses of adobe several miles distant. they saw scattered cattle branded with a lazy j--one of gentleman john's many brands--but discovered no stragglers from the stolen morton herds. following the trail was easy, and they struck a hot pace down through and out of the grassy valley, climbing through a pass and up on a rolling mesa dotted with thirsty-looking sage. for two full hours they rode, while the sun crept toward the west. their horses were beginning to tire. a line of cedar-sprinkled hills loomed up ahead of them, but by keeping to the plateau they could circle them. "i think we'd bettah keep to the mesa," the kid advised. "but we're about on 'em," put in red. "they'll see us comin', miles away. if we cut down through those hills, we'll gain time, too, and keep hid." "it's a fine place to be trapped in," mused the texan. "well, red, yo' know this country, an' i don't, so use yo' own judgment." against the far horizon they could make out a faint yellow haze--dust from the trampling hoofs of many cattle. they could cut off a full mile by riding down into the cedars, and red decided to do so. the kid was dubious, but said nothing more. if blacksnake had a rear guard of any kind, they might have been sighted. in that case, they would run into trouble--ambushed trouble. kid wolf rode in the lead, the three others drumming along behind him. he was grimly wary. a chill gust of wind hit them, as they entered the depths of the notch between the hills. the straggling growth of cedars and stumpy evergreens loomed up ahead of them, and they crashed through. for several hundred yards they tore their way and found their pace slowed by the difficult going. the trees began to thin out. then they heard a spring tinkling down among the red rocks, and the cedars began to thicken again, as the little canyon narrowed and climbed steeply. "stick 'em up!" kid wolf fired at the sound of the voice while the loud shout was still echoing. his double draw was lightning fast. before the others knew what was taking place, his two guns had flashed. at the dull boom of the twin explosions, a crashing sound was heard in the brush, as if something was wildly threshing about. then bullets began to rip and smash their way through the undergrowth. cedar twigs flew. with a yell, mike train slumped down over his saddle pommel and rolled off his horse. at the same instant, the two others--lefty warren and red morton--reached for their guns. the thing had happened so quickly that until now they had not thought of drawing their weapons. but kid wolf stopped them. "don't pull 'em, boys!" he cried. and at the same time, he dropped both his own guns. it was a surprising thing for the texan to do, but his mind had worked quickly. his sharp eyes had taken in the situation. they were covered, and from all sides. his first quick shots had brought one man down, but there were at least six others, and all were behind shelter and had a deadly drop. if the kid had been alone, he would, no doubt, have shot it out there and then, using his own peculiar tactics. but he had the others to think of. if they touched their guns, they would be killed instantly. the texan's doubts had been well founded. they should have kept to the mesa top. they had jumped into a trap. surrender was the only thing to do now, for while there was life, there was hope. the kid had slipped from tight situations before. lefty warren, red morton, and the kid elevated their hands. a low laugh came from behind the cedar thicket, and a group of desperadoes on foot slipped through, holding drawn and leveled colts. in the lead was blacksnake mccoy. his eyes fell on kid wolf and widened with surprise. then his teeth showed through his close-cropped beard in a snarl of hate. "well, if it ain't the gamblin' cotton-picker!" he ejaculated. "i didn't know i was goin' to have such luck as this! keep yore mitts up, the three of yuh. pedro, collect their guns!" a grinning desperado disarmed lefty and red and picked up the kid's two colts. "it'd 'a' been better fer yuh if yuh'd shot it out," sneered blacksnake, "because gentleman john will have somethin' in store fer yuh that yuh won't like. wait till he sets eyes on yuh, cotton-picker! boilin' alive will seem like a picnic! i knew we'd get yuh sooner or later, if yuh kept stickin' yore nose in other folks' business." "blacksnake," said the kid softly, "yo're a cheap, fo'-flushin' bully." blacksnake's evil eyes went hard. his face reddened with anger, then paled. he was trembling with fury and deadly hate. he turned to his men. "take the others up to the yellow houses and wait for me there," he rasped. "pedro, my whip's on my pony; bring it to me. i'm havin' this out with cotton-picker, alone! when i'm through with him, i'll bring him on up. one of yuh ride up to the herd and tell slim to let gentleman john know we've got 'em. he'll finish with cotton-picker when i'm done with him. savvy?" a blacksnake was brought to mccoy, and the others roughly surrounded lefty and red, herding them through the timber and out of sight. "take the skin offn him, black!" an outlaw yelled back. the others laughed. and then kid wolf and his captor were left alone. chapter xix the fang of the wolf "well, yuh'd better get ready to take yore medicine," sneered the outlaw, his voice shaking with rage. "i'm goin' to make yuh crawl on yore hands and knees, cotton-picker!" he holstered his gun, watching kid wolf cunningly, and drew back a little to give himself leeway with his whip. then he began to roll up his sleeve. "i'll make yuh beg, cotton-picker," he taunted insultingly, as he bared his brawny right arm. "and if yuh run, i'll shoot--not to kill; that'd be too easy. i'll blow yore legs in two!" kid wolf had been pulled from his horse by the others, and the faithful snow-white animal had been taken along up the pass with the two prisoners. there seemed no way of escape. blacksnake had him, and the gang leader grinned confidently. "yo're a bully, sah," drawled the texan. it was as if he were deliberately trying to get his enemy aroused to white-hot fury. the words seemed to have that effect. with a loud oath, blacksnake cracked his whip like a pistol shot. the whip was as strong and tough as a bull whip, with a loaded stock and a long, braided lash, thick in the middle, like a snake. the outlaw had aimed for the kid's thigh, and he was an expert with it. the lash landed with such cutting force that it cut through the texan's clothing and tore into his flesh. "now take off yore shirt!" blacksnake bellowed. "i'm goin' to flay yuh alive! take it off!" there was no sign of pain in kid wolf's face. he was still smiling agreeably. blacksnake mccoy did not know what was coming. the texan was not entirely disarmed. true, his colts had been taken away, and he was apparently helpless. the kid, however, had his hole card that was always in the deck. this was his keen bowie knife, which more than once had saved his life. cleverly concealed in its sheath sewn down the back of his shirt collar, it had been overlooked in the outlaws' quick search. pretending to remove his shirt, the kid's right hand went to his throat and closed on the handle of the knife. blacksnake, showing his teeth in a laugh of hate, stood a half dozen feet away from him, swinging his cruel whip slowly from side to side, waiting. he was holding the whipstock in his right hand, and that favored the texan. for in order to draw the gun that swung at his hip, blacksnake would first have to drop his implement of torture. "heah's wheah yo' get it!" snapped the kid crisply. blacksnake's eyes bulged with sudden, startled terror, for he had a glimpse of the shining blade for one brief instant. his whip hand moved toward the butt of his gun. but he was too late. kid wolf could draw and throw his bowie as swiftly as he could pull his firearms. it flashed through the air--a streak of dazzling light! the fang of the wolf was striking! _ping!_ the steel tore its way through the outlaw's right wrist. the texan's throw had been as true as a rifle bead. blacksnake yelled and tried to reach for his colt with his left hand. then the kid leaped in. blacksnake was still squirming about and clawing for his . when the texan's first blow landed. blacksnake was burly, powerful. he weighed well over two hundred, and his shoulders were as broad as a gorilla's. but his bullet head went back with a jerk, as the texan's hard fist thudded heavily on his cheek bone. in the quick scuffle, the big colt slipped from blacksnake's holster and fell to the ground. with all his fury now, the outlaw was lashing terrific, belting swings at kid wolf's head. the texan dodged, elusive as a shadow. he leaped in, bored with his right and jolted blacksnake from top to toe with a smashing left. the big outlaw staggered, then jumped back and tried to scoop up his gun. his right hand was helpless, however, and his left clumsy. his fingers missed it, and the kid hit him again, bringing blacksnake to his knees, groggy-headed and bleary-eyed. his hand closed over the whip. the stock was heavily loaded with lead, and it was a terrible weapon when held reversed. one blow from it could crush a skull like an eggshell. "i'm a-goin' to brain yuh, cotton-picker!" blacksnake grated furiously. he reeled to his feet, shook his head to get his tangled hair out of his eyes and came in, whip swung back! kid wolf had no time to duck down for the gun. the heavy stock was humming through the air in a swish of death! _smash!_ blacksnake rocked on his feet. his teeth had come together with a click. he wabbled, swayed. his whip fell from his relaxed fingers. the kid's footwork had been as swift and cunning as a mountain cat's! he had stepped aside, rocked his body in a pivot from the hips and landed a knock-out punch full on the point of the big-chested outlaw's jaw! with a grunt, blacksnake went down, first to his knees, and then face thudding the ground. he landed with such force that he plowed the sand with his nose like a rooting hog. taking a deep breath, kid wolf walked over and picked up blacksnake's . . then he turned the outlaw face up, none too gently, by jerking his tangled hair. "all right. snap out of it," he drawled. blacksnake was out for a full two minutes. gradually consciousness began to show on his ugly, bruised face. he stared at the texan, blinking his eyes in bewilderment. "blast yuh!" he said thickly, when he could speak. "guess yuh got me, cotton-picker. i don't know yet how yuh done it." he tried to seize the gun, but the kid was too quick for him. "none o' that," he drawled. "get up! yo're takin' me to the othahs. move pronto to the yellow houses!" a cunning look mingled with the hate in blacksnake's swollen eyes. "they'll kill yuh," he sneered. "yuh ain't out o' this yet, blast yuh! my men will pull yuh to pieces." "i'm thinkin' they won't." the texan smiled. "if they do, it won't be very healthy fo' yo'. now listen to what i say." half an hour later, kid wolf strolled up the hill to the yellow houses, arm in arm with his enemy--blacksnake mccoy! the outlaw was swearing under his breath. kid wolf was chuckling. for he had his hand under blacksnake's vest, and that hand held a . ! in his left hand, the outlaw carried his whip. the other, wounded, was in his trousers pocket. the texan had ordered him to keep it there, out of sight. the two adobes, crumbling to ruins, dated from the spaniards. for many years they had been used only as occasional stopping places for passing riders. it was here that blacksnake had ordered red morton and lefty warren taken. kid wolf was free now, and had he wished, he could have made his escape. that thought, however, did not enter the texan's mind. he must rescue his friends if possible. "walk with me as if nothing had happened," he told blacksnake softly. "if they suspect anything befo' i'm ready fo' 'em to know, you'll be sorry." with the cold end of the six-gun pressing his ribs inside his shirt, the outlaw dared not disobey. the sun had set, and twilight was deepening. the faint dust haze on the far horizon had disappeared. that meant that the stolen diamond d herd had been driven on. blacksnake had been staying some distance in the rear to keep off any possible pursuit. kid wolf had five other outlaws to contend with--no, four. for blacksnake had sent one of them ahead with the herd. odds meant nothing, however, to the texan. he knew that surprise and quick action always counted more than numbers. everything now depended on boldness. as they neared the two adobes, he pretended to reel and stagger close against blacksnake for support, as if he had been beaten until he could hardly stand. this, too, allowed him to keep the gun against the outlaw's side without arousing suspicion. at tile edge of the little cleared space surrounding the two adobes, one of the bandits was saddling a horse. the others seemed to be inside with the prisoners. "hello, black!" the outlaw yelled. "did yuh tear the hide offn him? from his looks, i reckon yuh did." "tell him to go inside," murmured kid wolf softly, "and be careful how yo' tell him." blacksnake opened his lips to shout a warning, but felt the touch of steel against his ribs and quickly changed his mind. "go into the dobe with the others," he commanded gruffly. the walls of one of the mud huts had crumbled utterly. only one of them was habitable, and it was to this one that the outlaw went, with blacksnake and kid wolf following close behind. a yell greeted blacksnake's arrival with his supposed prisoner. "i thought yuh'd have to carry him back, black, or drag him by the heels," one voice shouted. "yuh must've got tired." the time for action was at hand! the kid and the outlaw stood framed for a brief second in the doorway. the texan's eyes swept the room. the four outlaws were lazing comfortably about the ruined interior. two were playing cards, and two were engaged in taking a drink from a whisky flask, one of these being the man blacksnake had sent inside. the two prisoners--lefty warren and young morton--were securely bound in lariat rope, sitting against one wall. the kid saw their eyes light up as they recognized him. evidently they had not expected to see him again alive. kid wolf jerked the revolver from blacksnake's side, tripped him suddenly and sent him headlong into the room. "up with yo' hands!" the texan sang out. the outlaws were taken entirely by surprise. only blacksnake had known what was coming, and he was unarmed. kid wolf was no longer reeling and staggering. the desperadoes looked up to stare into the sinister muzzle of a . ! "shoot him to pieces!" blacksnake yelled, picking himself up on all fours and whirling to make a jump for the kid's ankles. the texan dodged to one side, his gun sweeping the room. a jet flame darted from the barrel, and there was a crash of broken glass. he had fired at the liquor flask that one of the outlaws still held at his lips. "that's a remindah," he said crisply. "put up yo' hands!" guns blazed suddenly. two of the bandits had reached for their weapons at the same moment. the walls of the adobe shook under blended explosions, and powder smoke drifted down like a curtain, turning the figures of the men into drifting shadows. the firing was soon over. the kid's gun had roared a swift tattoo of hammering shots. dust flew from the wall near his head, but he had spoiled the aim of both outlaws by fast, hair-trigger shooting. one sank against a broken-down bunk in one corner, reamed through the upper right arm and chest. the other fired again, but his gun hand was dangling, and he missed by a foot. playing cards were scattered, as the other pair of bandits jumped up with their hands over their heads. "we got enough!" they yelped. "don't shoot!" kid wolf lashed out at blacksnake, who was rushing him again. the short, powerful blow to the jaw sent the leader down for good. he rolled over, stunned. "_bueno._" the texan smiled. "keep yo' hands right theah, please, caballeros." before the powder fumes had cleared away, he had liberated lefty and red with quick strokes of his bowie. "i reckon we've got the uppah hand now, boys." he smiled. "let's try and keep it. take their guns, red." the two diamond d men had been as surprised as the outlaws had been. they had watched the gun fight fearfully and hopefully, and it was an enthusiastic pair that shook off their severed bonds to clap the kid across the back. there was no time for conversation now, however, and they busied themselves with disarming their five prisoners and binding them with rope. "gee, kid!" red whistled. "we thought we were done, and when yuh came in and made sparks fly--whew!" "theah'll be moah spahks fly, i'm afraid," the texan drawled. "how'd yo' like to make some spahks fly yo'selves?" the others showed their eagerness. the fighting fever was in their veins, especially since the death of poor mike train. and now, with blacksnake and half the outlaw gang captured, they felt that they had a good part of the battle won. red tried to question blacksnake about his brother's death, but the outlaw was stubborn and refused to talk. had it not been for kid wolf, red would have fallen on his enemy and beaten him with his fists. and none of them could blame him. it was nearly dark, and they made quick plans the stolen herd was not far ahead, and with it were not more than seven of gentleman john's riders. "we'll take those cattle away from 'em," said red fiercely, "and head the steers back to the diamond d!" it was decided that the prisoners could be left where they were for the time being, although lefty warren was for stringing them up there and then. kid wolf shook his head at this suggestion, however, and they armed themselves, "borrowing" the guns of the blacksnake gang. then they mounted their horses and headed south through the deepening dusk. chapter xx battle on the mesa "oh, the cowboy sings so mournful on the rio! to the dark night herd, so mournful and so sad, and i'd like to be in the moonlight on the rio, wheah good men are good, and bad men are bad!" kid wolf sang the tune softly to the whispering wind, as the trio climbed under a new mexican moon to the top of a vast mesa. "guess yuh'll find some plenty bad ones here in skull county, eh, kid?" laughed red grimly. the texan, brightly outlined on his beautiful horse in the moonlight, looked like a ghost on a moving white shadow. "bad men," mused kid wolf, "aren't so plentiful. usually theah's some good in the blackest. the men we're goin' to fight to-night, fo' instance, are probably just driftahs who've drifted the wrong way. but gentleman john--well, he's one of the few really bad men i've met. he's really the one we want." the splendor of the night had a sobering effect on them. to be thinking of possible bloodshed in all that dream beauty seemed terrible. yet it was necessary. it was a hard land. a man had to be his own law. and in kid wolf's case, he had to be the law for others, in a fight for the weak against the strong. "listen!" cried lefty suddenly. "and look!" whispered red. "see those black dots against the sky over there? and there's a camp fire, too." he was right. the glow of a fire reddened the horizon and the distant bawling of uneasy cattle could be heard on the night wind. the rustlers had made a camp on the mesa until the dawn. the big herd was shifting, restless and milling. "a gun fight will stampede that herd," observed red. "then," said the kid, "we'll be sure to stampede them in the right direction. let's make a wide circle heah." they rode to the west, so that they would not be outlined against the moon. a full, curving mile slipped under their horses' pounding hoofs before the kid gave the signal for the turn. he had the outlaws spotted, every one, and all depended now on his generalship. he knew that the two riders on the far side of the night herd would be out of it--for the time, at least. when the herd started their mad stampede toward the diamond d, they would have a high time just taking care of themselves. the others, five in number, would be dealt with first. the trio slipped closer as silently as moving phantoms. the kid saw three mounted men--two blocking their path, and the other on the far wing. two other outlaws were at the fire. the texan sniffed and smiled. they were making coffee. "the two at the fiah make excellent tahgets," murmured kid wolf. "i'll leave them to yo', red. lefty, start now and ride toward the fah ridah. i'll try mah hand with these two. we'll count to fifty, lefty; that'll give yo' time to get in range of yo' man. and then i'll give the coyote yell, and we'll start ouah little row. don't kill unless necessary, but if they show fight, shoot fast." lefty grinned in the moonlight, roweled his horse lightly and drifted. red and the texan waited--ten seconds--twenty--thirty--forty---- "_yipee yip-yipee-ee!_" the coyote cry rose, mournful and lonely. then came a terrific rattle of gunfire, with the dull drum of horses' hoofs as a bass accompaniment. red spurred his horse toward the fire, shouting his battle cry and throwing down on the two startled men who leaped to their feet, reaching for their guns. kid wolf's great white charger burned the breeze at the two guards on the west wing. "throw up yo' hands!" the kid invited. but they didn't. lead began to hum viciously. bending low in their saddles, they drew and opened up a splattering fire. their guns winked red flashes. lefty's man had shown fight, lefty had bowled him over with a double trigger pull, and lefty came racing back to help red with the two rustlers at the camp fire. there were fireworks, and plenty of them! the herd, mad with fear, started moving away--a frantic rush that became a wild stampede. their plunging bodies milled about, and with uplifted tails and tossing horns, they were on the run northward toward the home range--the diamond d! although it was a case of shoot or be killed now, the kid was aiming to cripple. a leaden slug burned a flesh wound just below his left armpit, as he opened up on the two rustlers. his gun hammers stuttered down, throwing bullets on both sides of him, as he drove blizzard between his two enemies at full tilt. one, raked with lead through both shoulders, thudded from his pony to the ground. the other leaned over his saddle and dropped his colt. two bullets, a few inches apart, had nipped his gun arm. the two rustlers at the fire were giving trouble. they had dashed out of the dangerous firelight and had opened up on lefty and red. kid wolf's heart gave a little jump. red was down! lefty and one of the bandits were engaged in a hand-to-hand scuffle, for warren's horse had been shot under him. the other outlaw had lifted his gun to finish red, who was crawling along the ground. the range was a good fifty yards, but kid wolf fired three times. the rustler standing over red dropped. lefty broke away from his man, just as the kid rode up with lariat swinging. "don't shoot!" the texan sang out. "i've got him!" the rope hummed through the air, spread out and tightened. the last of the outlaws went off his feet with a jerk. "one of 'em's runnin' away!" yelled lefty, pointing to the man kid wolf had shot through the arm. he was making a hot race in the direction of skull. "let him go," said the kid. "we don't want him. see how bad red's hurt." outlined against the eastern sky were three riders now, far away and becoming rapidly smaller. the two north riders were making their get-away, also. the victory was complete. to their relief, lefty and the kid found that red had received only a flesh wound above the knee. kid wolf tied the man he had caught with his lariat, then caught red's horse and one of the loose outlaw ponies for lefty. "now yo' ought to be able to ease those diamond d cattle on home," he drawled. "i'll see how yo' are makin' it in the mo'ning." "why, where are yuh goin'?" red asked in surprise. "goin' after gentleman john." kid wolf smiled. "how far is it to his headquartahs at agua frio?" "about nine miles straight west, over the mesa. but say, yuh'd better let one of us go with yuh." the texan shook his head. "i'm playin' a lone hand, red. yo' job is to line out yo' steers and get 'em back to the diamond d feedin' grounds. adios, amigos!" and kid wolf, on his fleet white horse, swung off to the westward. gentleman john sat up suddenly in his bed and opened his eyes. the moon had gone down, and all was pitch dark. it was nearly morning. he had heard something--for gentleman john was a light sleeper. he listened intently, then sat on the edge of his bed to draw on his boots. the sound came again from the direction of the patio. had his man, josé, forgotten to lock the gate? surely he had heard the chain rattling! some horse, no doubt, or possibly a mule, had strayed into the little courtyard. perhaps it was some of his men returning. and yet hardly that, for they would not dare disturb him at such an hour, but would go to their quarters behind the house until daybreak. tiptoeing to the door, he put his ear to it. he heard faint noises, as if some one were moving about. "josé!" gentleman john called angrily. "what are yuh fumblin' at in there? what's the matter? _me oye usted?_" there was no reply, and gentleman john went to one corner of his room, scratched a sulphur match, and with its sputtering flame he lighted a small lamp by his bedside. then he slyly drew a derringer from under his pillow. again he went to the door, putting his hand on the knob. "josé! come here!" he cried, with an oath. the door swung open, and the lamplight shone on a human face--a face that was not josé's, but a stern white one with glinting blue eyes! "josé can't come," said a voice in a soft drawl. "he's tied up. but if i will do as well, i am at yo' service, sah!" the color fled from gentleman john's amazed face. "kid wolf!" he almost screamed, and at the words he whirled up his black and ugly double-barreled pistol! _span-ng-g-g-g! br-r-rang!_ both barrels of the derringer exploded in two quick roars. the leaden balls, however, went wild. a steel hand had closed lightning-swift on gentleman john's right wrist. "be careful," the texan mocked. "yo' almost put out the lamp." a terrific wrench made the bones pop in the cattle king's hand, and with a yell of pain he let go. kid wolf took the derringer, empty now, and tossed it contemptuously to one side. "i'm ashamed of yo'," he drawled, with a slow smile. "yo' ought to know bettah than to use a toy like that. sit down on the bed, sah. i have a few things to say to yo'." in his left hand the kid held a big colt . . gentleman john obeyed. "my men will kill yuh fer this!" he raged. "yo' haven't any men, sah. they're done. and now yo' are done." kid wolf rolled a cigarette and lighted it over the lamp chimney. "gentleman john," he drawled, "whoevah named yo' suah had a sense of humah. yo' are a murderah, and a cowardly one, because yo' have othahs do yo' dirty work." "kill me and get it over!" jerked gentleman john. "really, yo' shouldn't judge me by what yo' would do yo'self undah the circumstances," said the kid mildly. "i'm not heah to kill yo'. i'm heah to take yo' back to skull fo' trial and punishment." "fer trial!" repeated the cattle king. "why, there ain't any law----" "i hope yo' don't think," drawled the texan, "that i wasted the time i spent in town. theah's a new cattlemen's organization theah--and they've decided on drastic measures." "yuh can't prove a thing!" gentleman john shot at him loudly. the kid raised his eyebrows. "no?" he said softly. "yo' men slipped up a little and left evidence when they murdahed joe morton. they left the bill o' sale he wouldn't sign! it'll go hahd with yo, but i'm givin' yo' one chance." kid wolf glanced around the room, and his eyes fell on paper and pen near the lamp. placing his gun at his elbow, within easy reach, the texan wrote steadily for a full minute. then he turned and handed the cattle king the slip of paper. "yo' through in nueva mex, gentleman john," the kid drawled. "it's just a question of who falls heir to yo' holdin's. read that ovah." the cattle king read it. it was brief, but to the point: i, gentleman john, do hereby give and hand over all my estates, land, holdings, and live stock to red morton, of skull county, new mexico, for consideration received. "theah's a bill o' sale fo' yo' to sign." the texan smiled grimly. "if i sign under pressure, it won't hold good," blustered gentleman john. "yo' won't be in this country to contest it," kid wolf drawled. "this won't in any way repay red fo' the loss of his brothah, but it's something. yo' can do as yo' like about signin' it." "then of course i won't sign!" snarled the other. "the honest cattlemen at skull will probably hang yo'," reminded the kid softly. beads of sweat suddenly stood out on gentleman john's forehead. his own guilty conscience told him that what the kid said was true. his gimlet eyes grew big with fear. there was a long silence. "if--if i sign, yo'll let me go?" he quavered. the texan's face grew hard and stern. "no," he said. "i haven't any right to do that. justice demands that yo' face the ones yo' have wronged. and justice has always been my guidin' stah. i'm a soldier of misfohtune, fightin' fo' the undah dawg. i'm takin' yo' to skull, sah." gentleman john groaned in terror. all the blustering bravado had gone out of him. "i can't promise yo' yo' life," kid wolf went on. "i can, howevah, recommend banishment instead of death, and mah word carries some weight in skull, undah the new ordah of things. if yo' sign--thus doin' right by red morton, whom yo' wronged--i'll do what i can to save yo' from the rope, but i can't promise that yo'll escape it. are yo' signin'?" gentleman john moistened his lips feverishly, and his hand trembled as he reached for the pen. "i'll sign," he groaned. when he had scratched his signature, kid wolf took the paper, folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. "_bueno,_" he said softly. "now get yo' hat and coat. i hate to rob yo' of yo' sleep, but i have some othah prisonahs to round up to-night." and while binding gentleman john's wrists, kid wolf hummed a new verse to his favorite tune, "on the rio." chapter xxi apaches in the half light of the early morning, a stagecoach was rattling down a steep hill near the new mexico-arizona boundary line. the team of six bronchos fought against the weight of the lumbering vehicle behind, with stiff front legs threw themselves back against their harness. the driver, high on his box, sawed at the lines with his foot heavy on the creaking brake. "whoa!" he roared. "easy, yuh cow-faced loco-eyed broncs! steady now, or i'll beat the livin' tar outn yuh!" the ponies seemed to disregard his bellowing abuse. they had heard it before, and knew that he didn't mean a word he said. they were almost at the foot of the hill now, and the thick white dust, kicked up in choking spurts by the rumbling wheels, sifted down on the leathery mesquite and dagger plants below. "i don't like the looks o' that brush down there," said the other man on the box. he was an express guard, and across his knees was a sawed-off shotgun loaded with buckshot. "perfect place fer an ambush, ain't it?" admitted the driver. "well, if the apaches do git us, i will say they'll make a nice haul." it was a dangerous time on the great southwest frontier. law had not yet come to that savage country of flaming desert and baking mountain. even a worse peril than the operations of the renegades and bad men of the border was the threat of the apaches. behind any clump of mesquites a body of these grim and terrible fighters of the arid lands might lurk, eager for murder and robbery. and it was rumored that a chief even more cruel than geronimo, cochise, or mangus colorado was at their head. the men who operated the stage line knew the risk they were taking in that unbroken country, but they were of the type that could look danger in the face and laugh. the two steely-eyed men on the coach box, this gray morning, were samples of the breed. inside the vehicle were four passengers. three of them were men past middle life--miners and cattlemen. the third was a youth who addressed one of the older men as "father." all were armed with six-guns, and all were bound for the valley of san simon. the stage had reached the bottom of the hill now, and as the team reached the level ground, the driver lined them out and settled back in his seat with a satisfied grunt. about both sides of the trail at this point grew great thickets of brush--paloverde, the darker mesquites, and grotesque bunches of prickly pear. one of the bronchos suddenly reared backward. "steady, yuh ornery----" the driver began. he did not finish. there was a sharp twang! an arrow whistled out of the mesquites and buried itself in the side of the coach nearly to the feather! as if this were a signal, a dozen rifles cracked out from the brush. bowstrings snapped, and a shower of arrows and lead hummed around the heads of the frightened ponies. the driver cried out in pain as a bullet hit his leg. "apaches!" the express guard yelled, throwing up his sawed-off shotgun. two streaks of red fire darted through the haze of black powder smoke as he fired both barrels into the brush. the driver recovered himself, seized the reins and began to "pour leather" onto his fear-crazed team. with drawn guns, the four passengers in the coach waited for something to shoot at. they were soon to see plenty. the mesquites suddenly became alive with brown-skinned warriors, hideous with paint and screaming their hoarse death cry. some were mounted, and others were on foot. all charged the coach. there must have been fifty in the swarm, and still they came! those that were armed with rifles fired madly into the coach and at the team. others rushed up and tried to seize the bridles. "it's all up with us!" the guard cried, drawing his big . colt. "but we ain't--goin' to sell out--cheap!" the driver panted. escape was impossible now, for two of the horses went down, plunging and kicking at the harness in their death agony. the other animals--some wounded, and all of them mad with fright--overturned the old stagecoach. with a loud crash, the vehicle went over on its side! the driver and guard, teeth bared in grins of fury, raised their six-guns and prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible. the passengers inside began firing desperately. the renegade indians rushed. they nearly gained the wrecked stage, but not quite. before the straight shooting of the trapped whites, they fell back to cover again. they did not believe in taking unnecessary chances. they had their victims where they wanted them, and it would be only a question of time before they would be slaughtered. the fight became a siege. it was sixty against six--or, rather, it was sixty to five. for the redskins had increased the odds by shooting down the driver. the second bullet he received drilled him through the heart. the guard, scrambling for shelter, joined the four men in the overturned coach. the apaches, back in their refuge among the brush, began playing a waiting game. the fire, for a moment, ceased. "they'll rush again in a minute," muttered the guard. "we'll do well to stop 'em. anyways, we won't hold out long. just a question o' time." "is there any chance o' help?" asked one of the men, while loading his revolver. he was a broad-shouldered, big-chested man of fifty--the father of the youth who was now fighting beside him. the guard shook his head. "afraid not. unless one of us could get through to lost springs, six miles from here. even if we could, i don't think we'd get any help. there's not many livin' there, and they're all scared of apaches. can't say i blame 'em." bullets began to buzz again. the indians were making another charge. a dense cloud of smoke hung over the ambushed coach. white powder spurts blossomed out from the brush, and the war cry came shrilly. the rush brought a line of half-naked warriors to within a few yards of the coach. then they fell back again, leaving four of their number dead or wounded on the sand. "so far, so good," panted the guard. "but we can't do that forever!" the youngest of the party, pale of face but determined, spoke up quickly: "i'm willin' to take the chance o' gettin' to lost springs," he said. "yuh can't make it alive through that bunch o' devils," the guard told him. "it's our only chance," the other returned. "i'm goin' to try. good-by, dad!" it was a sad, heart-wrenching moment. there was small chance that the two would ever see each other alive again. but father and son shook hands and passed it over with a smile. "good luck, son!" and then the younger one slipped out of the coach and was gone. the others watched breathlessly. this movement had taken the savages by surprise. the lad darted into the mesquites, running with head low. bullets buzzed about him, kicking up clouds of dust at his feet. arrows whistled after him. a yell went up from the apaches. "will he make it?" groaned the father, in an agonized voice. "doubt it," said the guard. the messenger sprinted at top speed through the brush, then dived down into an arroyo. a score of warriors swarmed after him, firing shot after shot from their rifles. already the youth was out of arrow range. the guard shaded his eyes with his hand. "he's got a chance, anyways," he decided. the town of lost springs--if such a tiny settlement could have been called a town--sprawled in a valley of cottonwoods, a scattering of low-roofed adobes. to find such an oasis, after traveling the heat-tortured wilderness to the east or the west, was such relief to the wayfarer that few missed stopping. there was but one public building in the place--a large building of plastered earth which was at the same time a saloon, a store, a gambling hall, and a meeting place for those who cared to partake of its hospitality. the crude sign over the narrow door read: "garvey's place." it was enough. garvey was the storekeeper, the master of the gamblers, and the saloon owner. lost springs was a one-man town, and that man was gil garvey. his reputation was not of the best. dark marks had been chalked up against his record, and his past was shady, too. there were whispers, too, of even worse things. it was, however, a land where nobody asked questions. it was too dangerous. garvey was accepted in lost springs because he had power. it was a hot morning. the thermometer outside garvey's door already registered one hundred and five. heat devils chased one another across the valley. but inside the building it was comparatively cool. glasses tinkled on the long, smooth bar. the roulette wheel whirred, and even at that early hour, cards were being slapped down, faces up, at the stud-poker table. including the customers at the bar, there were perhaps a dozen men in the house besides garvey himself. garvey was tending bar, which was his habit until noon, when his bartender relieved him. gil garvey was a menacing figure of a man, massive of build and sinister of face. his jet-black eyebrows met in the center of his scowling forehead, and under them gleamed eyes cold and dangerous. a thin wisp of a dark mustache contrasted with the quick gleam of his strong, white teeth. on the rare occasions when he laughed, his mirth was like the hungry snarl of a wolf. the sprinkling of drinkers at the bar strolled over to watch the faro game, and garvey, taking off his soiled apron, joined them, lighting a black cigar. the ruler of lost springs moved lightly on his feet for so heavy a man. around his waist was a gun belt from which swung a silver-mounted . revolver in a beaded holster. suddenly a slim figure reeled through the open door, and with groping, outstretched arms, staggered forward. "apaches!" he choked. nearly every one leaped to his feet, hand on gun. some rushed to the door for a look outside. a score of questions were fired at the newcomer. "they're attackin' the stage at the foot of the pass!" explained the messenger. there were sighs of relief at this bit of news, for at first they had thought that the red warriors were about to enter the town. but six miles away! that was a different matter. "i'm dave robbins," the youth went on desperately. "i've got to go back there with help. when i left, they were holdin' 'em off. fifty or sixty indians!" some of the saloon customers began to murmur their sympathy. but it was evident that they were none too eager to go to the aid of the ambushed stagecoach. young robbins--covered with dust, his face scratched by cactus thorns, and with an arrow still hanging from his clothing--saw the indifference in their eyes. "surely yuh'll go!" he pleaded. "yuh--yuh've got to! my father's in the coach!" garvey spoke up, smiling behind his mustache. "what could we do against sixty apaches?" he demanded. "besides, the men in the stage are dead ones by this time. we couldn't do any good." robbins' face went white. with clenched fists, he advanced toward garvey. "yo're cowards, that's all!" he cried. "cowards! and yo're the biggest one of 'em all!" garvey drew back his huge arm and sent his fist crashing into the youth's face. robbins, weak and exhausted as he was, went sprawling to the floor. and at that moment the swinging doors of the saloon opened wide. the man who stood framed there, sweeping the room with cool, calm eyes, was scarcely older than the youth who had been slugged down. his rather long, fair hair was in contrast with the golden tan of his face. he wore a shirt of fringed buckskin, open at the neck. his trousers were tucked into silver-studded riding boots, weighted with spurs that jingled in tune to his swinging stride. at each trim hip was the butt of a . revolver. the newcomer's eyes held the attention of the men in garvey's place. they were blue and mild, but little glinting lights seemed to sparkle behind them. he was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, it was in a soft, deliberate southern drawl: "isn't it rathah wahm foh such violent exercise, gentlemen?" robbins, crimsoned at the mouth, raised on one elbow to look at the stranger. garvey's lips curled in a sneer. "are yuh tryin' to mind my business?" he leered. "when i mind somebody else's business," said the young stranger softly, "that somebody else isn't usually in business any moah." garvey caught the other's gaze and seemed to find something dangerous there, for he drew back a step, content with muttering oaths under his breath. "what's the trouble?" the stranger asked robbins quietly. the youth seemed to know that he had found a friend, for he at once told the story of the ambushed stage. "i came here for help," he concluded, "and was turned down. these men are afraid to go. my--my father's on that stage. won't you help me?" the stranger seemed to consider. "sho'," he drawled at length, "i'll throw in with you." he paused to face the gathered company. "and these othah men are goin' to throw in with yo', too!" the men in the saloon stood aghast, open-mouthed. but they didn't hesitate long. when the stranger spoke again, his words came like the crack of a whip: "get yo' hosses!" garvey's heavy-jawed face went purple with fury. that this young unknown dared to try such high-handed methods so boldly in lost springs--which he ruled--maddened him! his big hand slid down toward his hip with the rapidity of a lightning bolt. there was a resounding crash--a burst of red flame. garvey's hand never closed over his gun butt. the stranger had drawn and fired so quickly that nobody saw his arm move. and the reason that the amazed garvey did not touch the handle of his . was because there was no handle there! the young newcomer's bullet had struck the butt of the holstered gun and smashed it to bits. garvey stared at the handleless gun as if stupefied. then his amazed glance fell upon the stranger, who was smiling easily through the flickering powder fumes. "who--who are yuh?" he stammered. the stranger smiled. "kid wolf," he drawled, "from texas, sah. my friends simply say 'kid,' but to my enemies i'm the wolf!" chapter xxii the rescue the stranger's crisp words had their effect, since "kid wolf" was a name well known west of the chisholm trail. his reputation had been passed by word of mouth along the border until there were few who had not heard of his deeds. his very name seemed to fill the riffraff of the barroom with courage. some of them cheered, and all prepared to obey the young texan's orders. every one was soon busy loading and examining six-guns. garvey was the one exception. he was infuriated, and his malignant eyes gleamed with hate. kid wolf had made an enemy. he was, however, accustomed to that. smiling ironically, he faced garvey, who was quivering all over with helpless rage. "yo' won't need to come along," he drawled. "i'd rathah have apaches in front of me than yo' behind me." kid wolf lost no time in rounding up his hastily drafted posse. a horse was procured for robbins and the kid prepared to ride by his side. kid wolf's horse was "tied to the ground" outside, and a shout of genuine admiration went up as the men caught sight of the magnificent creature, beautiful with muscular grace. swinging into his california saddle, the texan, with robbins at his side and the posse, numbering eleven men, swept down toward the mountain pass. some of the men carried winchesters, but for the most part they were armed with six-guns. now that they were actually on the way, the men seemed eager for the battle. perhaps kid wolf's cool and determined leadership had something to do with it. young robbins reached over and clasped the texan's hand. "i'll never forget this, mr. kid wolf," he said, tears in his eyes. "if it wasn't for you----" "call me 'kid,'" said the texan, flashing him a smile. "we'll save yo' fathah and the men in the stage if we can. anyway, we'll make it hot fo' those apaches." after a few minutes of fast going, they could hear the faint crackling of gunfire ahead of them, carried on the torrid wind. robbins brightened, for this meant that some survivors still remained on their feet. kid wolf, experienced in indian warfare, understood the situation at once, and ordered his men to scatter and come in on the indians from all sides. "robbins," he said, "i want yo' with me. yo' two," he went on, singling out a couple of the posse, "ride in from the east. the rest of yo' come in from the west and south. make every shot count, fo' if we don't scattah the apaches at the first chahge, we will be at a big disadvantage!" it was a desperate situation, with the odds nearly five to one against them. reaching the pass, they could look down on the battle from the cover of the mesquites. from the overturned stage, thin jets of fire streaked steadily, and a pall of white smoke hung over it like a cloud. from the brush, other gun flashes answered the fire. occasionally a writhing brown body could be seen, crawling from point to point. the thicket seemed to be alive with them. kid wolf listened for a moment to the faint popping of the guns. then he raised his hand in a signal. "let's go!" he sang out. a second later, blizzard was pounding down the pass like a snowstorm before the wind. the leader of this band of murderous apaches was a youthful warrior named bear claw, the son of the tribal chief. peering at the coach from his post behind a clump of paloverde, his cruel face was lighted by a grin of satisfaction. from time to time he gave a hoarse order, and at his bidding, his braves would creep up or fall back as the occasion demanded. bear claw was in high good humor, for he saw that the ambushed victims in the stage could not hope to hold out much longer. only three remained alive in the coach, and some of these were wounded. the white men's fire was becoming less accurate. the young leader of the apaches was horrible to look at. he was naked save for a breechcloth and boot moccasins and his face was daubed with ocher and vermilion. across his lean chest, too, was a smear of paint just under the necklace of bear claws that gave him his name. he was armed with a . -caliber sharps single-shot rifle and with the only revolver in the tribe--an old-fashioned cap-and-ball six-shooter, taken from some murdered prospector. bear claw was about to raise his left hand--a signal for the final rush that would wipe out the white men in the overturned coach--when a terrific volley burst out like rattling thunder from all sides. bullets raked the brush in a deadly hail. an indian a few paces from bear claw jumped up with a weird yell and fell back again, pierced through the body. the young chief saw whirlwinds of dust swooping down on the scene from every direction. in those whirlwinds, he knew, were horses. bear claw had courage only when the odds were with him. how many men were in the attacking force, he did not know. but there were too many to suit him, and he took no chances. he gave the order for retreat, and the startled apaches made a rush for their ponies, hidden in an arroyo. bear claw scrambled after them, with lead kicking up dust all about him. but it did not take bear claw long to see that his band outnumbered the white posse, more than four to one. throwing himself on his horse, he decided to set his renegade warriors an example. giving the apache war whoop, he kicked his heels in his pony's flanks and led the charge. picking out the foremost of the posse--a bronzed rider on a snow-white horse--he went at him with leveled revolver. what happened then unnerved the apaches at bear claw's back. the man bear claw had charged was kid wolf! the texan did not return the indian's blaze of revolver fire. he merely ducked low in his saddle and swung his big white horse into bear claw's pony! at the same time, he swung out his left hand sharply. it caught bear claw's jaw with a terrific jolt. the weight of both speeding horses was behind the impact. something snapped. bear claw went off his pony's back like a bag of meal and landed on the sand, his head at a queer angle. his neck was broken! then kid wolf's guns began to talk. fire burst from the level of both his hips as he put spurs to blizzard and charged with head low directly into the amazed apaches. the others, too, followed the texan's example, but it was kid wolf who turned the trick. it was the deciding card, and without their chief, the redskins were panic-stricken. the only thing they thought of now was escape. the little hoofs of their ponies began to drum madly. but instead of rushing in the direction of the whites, they drummed away from them. kid wolf ordered his men not to follow. nor would he allow any more firing. "no slaughter, men," he said. "save yo' bullets till yo' need them. let's take a look at the stage." wheeling their mounts, the posse, who had lost not a man in the encounter, raced back to the overturned coach. the vehicle, riddled with bullets and arrows, resembled a butcher's shop. on the ground near it was the body of the driver, while the guard, hit in a dozen places, lay half in and half out of the coach, dead. young robbins had left four men alive when he made his escape toward lost springs. there now remained only two. and one of these, it could be seen, was dying. "dad!" robbins cried. "are yuh hurt?" "got a bullet in the shoulder and one in the knee," replied his father, crawling out with difficulty. "good thing yuh got here when yuh did! see to claymore. he's hit bad. i'm all right." kid wolf drew out the still breathing form of the other survivor. he was quick to note that the man was beyond any human aid. the frontiersman, his six-gun still emitting a curl of blue smoke, was placed in the shade of the coach, and water was given to him. "i'm all shot to pieces, boys," he gasped. "i'm goin' fast--but i'm glad the apaches won't have me to--chop up afterward. take my word for it--there's some white man--behind this. there's twenty thousand dollars in the express box----" his words trailed off, and with a moan, he breathed his last. kid wolf gently drew a blanket over his face and then turned to the others. "i think he's right," he mused, as he took off his wide-brimmed hat. "when indians murdah, theah's usually a white man's brains behind them." garvey, when kid wolf had left with his quickly gathered posse, went to the bar and took several drinks of his own liquor. it was a fiery red whisky distilled from wheat, and of the type known to the indians as "fire water." it did not put garvey in any better humor. wiping his lips, he left his saloon and crossed the road to a tiny one-room adobe. a young indian was sleeping in the shade, and garvey awakened him with a few well-directed kicks. the indian's eyes widened with fear at the sight of the white man's rage-distorted face, and when he had heard his orders, delivered in the hoarse apache tongue, he raced for his pony, tethered in the bushes near him, and drummed away. "tell 'em to meet me in the saloon pronto!" garvey shouted after him. the saloon keeper passed an impatient half hour. a quartet of mexicans entered his place demanding liquor, but garvey waved them away. something important was evidently on foot. soon the dull _clip-clop_ of horses' hoofs was heard, and he went to the door to see five riders approaching lost springs from the north. he waved his hand to them before they had left the cover of the cottonwoods. the group of sunburned, booted men who hastily entered garvey's place were individuals of the lost springs ruler's own stamp. all were gunmen, and some wore two revolvers. most of them were wanted by the law for dark deeds done elsewhere. sheriffs from the texas panhandle would have recognized two of them as al and andy arnold--brother murderers. another was a killer chased out of dodge city, kansas--a slender, quick-fingered youth known as "pick" stephenson. henry shank--a gunman from lincoln, new mexico--strode in their lead. the fifth member of the quintet was the most terrible of them all. he was a half-breed apache, dressed partly in the indian way and partly like a white. he wore a battered felt hat with a feather in the crown. he wore no shirt, but over his naked chest was buttoned a dirty vest, around which two cap-and-ball colt revolvers swung. his stride, muffled by his beaded moccasins, was as noiseless as a cat's. this man--garvey's go-between--was charley hood. he grinned continually, but his smile was like the snarl of a snapping dog. "what's up, garvey?" shank demanded. "we was just ready to start out fer a cattle clean-up." "plenty's up," snarled garvey. "help yoreselves to liquor while i tell yuh. first o' all, do any of yuh know kid wolf?" it was evident that most of them had heard of him. none had seen him, however, and garvey went on to tell what had happened. "how many men did he take with him?" stephenson wanted to know. "about a dozen." "bear claw will wipe him out, then," grinned al arnold. "somehow i don't think so," said garvey. "and if that stage deal fails us----" "a twenty-thousand-dollar job!" shank barked angrily. "and we get half!" "we get all," chuckled garvey. "the apaches will give their share to me for fire water. that's why this must go through. if bear claw and his braves slip up, we'll have to finish it. as for kid wolf----" garvey's expression changed to one of malignant fury, and he made the significant gesture of cutting a throat. "i hear that this kid wolf makes it his business to right wrongs," shank sneered. "thinks he's a law of himself. justice, he calls it." "well, one thing!" roared garvey, thumping the bar. "there ain't no law west o' the pecos! and he's west o' the pecos now! the only law here is this kind," and he tapped his . . "what's happened to yore gun?" one of them asked. garvey's face suddenly went dark red. "i dropped it this mornin' and busted the handle," he lied. "if it had been in workin' order, i'd have got this kid wolf the minute he opened his mouth." "well, if the apaches don't get him, we will," stephenson declared. "by the way, garvey, there's another deal on foot. what do yuh think o' this?" and he laid a chunk of ore on the bar under the saloon keeper's nose. "solid silver!" garvey gasped. "where's it from?" "from the valley of the san simon. it's from land owned--owned, mind yuh--by an hombre named robbins. gov'ment grant." "we'll figger a way to get it," returned garvey, then his eyes narrowed. "what name did yuh say?" "robbins. bill robbins." garvey grinned. "why, he was on the stage! it was his kid that came here and made his play fer help. looks like things is comin' our way, after all." the conference was interrupted by the sound of galloping hoofs. an indian pounded up in front of the saloon in a cloud of yellow dust. the pony was lathered and breathing hard. "it's a scout!" garvey cried. "let him in, and we'll see what he has to say." the indian runner's words, gasped in halting, broken english, brought consternation to garvey and his treacherous gunmen: "no get money box. have keel two-three, maybe more, of white men in stage wagon. then riders come. white chief on white devil horse, he break bear claw's neck. bear claw die. we ride away as fast as could do. white men fix stage wagon. hunt for horse to drive it to lost springs." garvey clenched his huge fists. "get me another gun!" he rasped. "we'll have this out with kid wolf right now!" charley hood spoke for the first time, and his bestial face with distorted with rage. "bear claw son of great chief yellow skull! yellow skull get keed wolf if he have to follow him across world! and when he get him----" charley hood, the half-breed, laughed insanely. "i never thought of that," said garvey. "maybe we'd be doin' mr. wolf from texas a favor by puttin' lead through him. bear claw was yellow skull's favorite. the old chief is an expert at torture. i'd like to be on hand to see it. but i've got an idea. shank, have josé dig a grave on boot hill--make it two of 'em. we've got to get that express money." "and the silver," chuckled the desperado, as he took a farewell drink at the bar. chapter xxiii two open graves it was some time before the overturned stagecoach could be righted. it took longer to provide a team for it. when the bodies of the unfortunate white men had been loaded into the vehicle and the ponies lined out it was late in the afternoon. kid wolf had examined the contents of the express box and found that it contained a small fortune in money. he decided to take charge of it and see that it reached proper hands. twenty miles west of lost springs, he learned, were an express-company station and agent. the texan planned to guard the money at lost springs overnight and then take it on to the express post, located at mexican tanks. the two robbinses, both father and son, were overcome with gratitude toward the man who had saved them. they at once agreed to stay with kid wolf. the posse members that the texan had drafted at revolver point were not so willing. although most of them were honest men, they feared garvey's gang and the consequences of their act. all of them suspected that garvey had a hand in the plot to rob the stagecoach. most of them made excuses and rode away in different directions. "we beat the apaches," explained one, "so i reckon i'll go back to the ranch. adios, and good luck!" kid wolf smiled. he knew that the men were leaving him for other reasons. perhaps a man with less courage would have avoided lost springs, or even abandoned the money. the young texan, however, was not to be swerved from what he believed to be the right. "look out for garvey, kid," begged dave robbins. "he hates yuh for what yuh done." "i've heard of him," the elder robbins added. "if helpin' us has got you into trouble, i'm sorry. he's a man without a heart." "then some day," kid wolf said softly, "he's liable to find a bullet in the spot wheah his heart ought to be. i don't regret comin' to yo' aid, not fo' a minute. and i guess blizzahd and i are ready to see this thing through to the end." kid wolf was riding on his white horse alongside the rumbling stage. the only member of the drafted posse who had stayed was driving the vehicle, and beside him on the box rode the two robbinses, father and son. the road to lost springs was not the direct route the indian messenger had taken. it led around steep side hills and high-banked washes in which nothing grew but tough, stunted clumps of thirsty paloverde. near the tiny settlement, the trail climbed a long slope to swing around a cactus-cluttered mound which served as lost springs' boot hill. the stage trail cut the barren little graveyard in two, and on both sides of it were headboards, some rotting with age, and others quite new, marking the last resting places of men who had died with smoke in their eyes. it was nearly sundown when kid wolf and the party with the bullet-riddled coach reached this point. they found a group of hard-eyed men waiting for them. with garvey were his five gunmen, mounted, armed to the teeth, and blocking the road! kid wolf caught the driver's eyes and nodded for him to go on. the stage rumbled up to the spot where garvey waited. "stop!" the lost springs ruler snarled. "i reckon we want some words with yuh!" "is it words yo' want," drawled the texan, drawing up his snowy mount, "or bullets?" "that depends on you!" garvey snapped. "we mean business. hand over that express money." "and the next thing?" the texan asked softly. "next thing, we got business with that man!" garvey pointed to dave robbins' father. "with me?" robbins demanded in astonishment. "the same. we want yuh to sign this paper, turnin' over yore claim in the san simon to me. now both of yuh have heard!" "but why should yuh want my claim in san simon?" "yuh might as well know," garvey sneered in reply, "there's silver on it. and i want it. hand over that express box now and sign the paper. if yuh don't----" "and if we don't?" kid wolf asked mildly. his eyebrows had risen the merest trifle. "here's the answer!" garvey rasped. he pointed at two mounds of freshly disturbed earth a few feet from the road. "read what's written over 'em, and take yore choice." kid wolf saw that two headboards had been erected near the shallow graves. one of them had the following significant epitaph written on it in neatly printed spanish: _aqui llacen restos de kid wolf._ this in english was translated: "here lies in the grave, at rest, kid wolf." the other headboard was the same, except that the name "bill robbins" had been inserted. "those graves will be filled," sneered garvey, "unless yuh both come through. now what's yore answer?" "garvey," spoke up kid wolf, "i've known of othah white men who hired the apaches to do their dirty work. they all came to a bad end. and so, if yo' want my answah--take it!" garvey's gang found themselves staring into the muzzles of two . s! the draw had been magical, so swiftly had the texan's hands snapped down at his hips. al arnold, alone of the six riders, saw the movement in time even to think about drawing his own weapon. and perhaps it would have been better if he had not seen, for his own gun pull was slow and clumsy in comparison with kid wolf's. his right hand had moved but a few inches when the texan's left-hand colt spat a wicked tongue of flame. before the thunder of the explosion could be heard, the leaden slug tore its way through arnold's wrist. before the puff of black powder smoke had drifted away, arnold's gun was thudding to the ground. the others dared not draw, as kid wolf's other six-gun still swept them. they knew that the texan could not fail to get one or more of them, and they hesitated. garvey himself remained motionless, frozen in the saddle. his lips trembled with rage. "i'm not a killah," kid wolf drawled. "i nevah take life unless it's forced on me. if i did, i'd soon make lost springs a bettah place to live in. now turn yo' backs with yo' hands in the air--and ride! the next time i shoot, it's goin' to be on sight! vamose! pronto!" muttering angrily under their breath, garvey and his gunmen obeyed the order. yet kid wolf knew that the trouble had not been averted, but merely postponed. he was not through with the lost springs bandit gang. the driver of the coach--the only member of the posse who had remained loyal in the face of peril--was a man of courage. johnson was his name, and he offered his adobe house as a place of refuge for the night. "i'm thinkin' yuh'll be needin' it," he told the texan. "we can stand 'em off there, for a while, anyway. garvey will have a hundred mexes and injuns with him before mornin'." kid wolf accepted, and the coach was deserted. they buried the bodies of the men they had brought in the stage, not in the lost springs graveyard, but in an arroyo near it. then they removed the valuable express box and took it with them to the johnson adobe. the house was a two-room affair, not more than a quarter of a mile from the springs, and still closer to boot hill. on the side next to the water hole, the grass and tulles grew nearly waist-high. on the other three sides, barren ground swept out as far as eye could reach. kid wolf placed the express box in the one living room of the hut. as a great deal might depend upon having horses ready, blizzard, along with two pinto ponies, was quartered in the other apartment. this redone, and with one of the four men standing watch at all times, they prepared a hasty meal. "one thing we lack that we got to have," stated johnson. "it's water. i'll take a bucket and go to the spring. i know the path through the tulles." they watched him proceed warily toward the water hole. the landscape was peaceful. not a moving thing could be seen. in a few moments, johnson was swallowed up in the high grass. he reappeared again, carrying a brimming bucket. they could see the setting sun sparkling on the water as he swung along. then suddenly a shot rang out sharply--the unmistakable crack of a sharps . -caliber rifle! without a cry, johnson sank into the tulles, the bucket clattering beside him. he had been shot in the back! a cry of horror burst from the lips of the watchers in the adobe. it was all that kid wolf could do to hold back the excitable younger robbins, who wanted to avenge their friend's death immediately. "no use fo' us to show ouahselves until we know how the cahds are stacked," the texan said grimly. "nevah mind, dave. they'll pay fo' it!" it was hard to tell just how many of their enemies might be lurking in the tulles or beyond them. they were soon to find that there were far too many. gunfire began to blaze out in sharp, reëchoing volleys. bullets clipped the adobe shack, sending up spurts of gray dust. "don't show yo'selves," kid wolf warned. his keen eyes lined out the sights of his own twin colts, and he fired twice, and then twice again. as far as the others could see, there was nothing in view to shoot at; but agitated threshings about in the tulles showed them that at least some of his bullets had found human lodging places. garvey had evidently succeeded in adding men to his gang, for more than a dozen gun flashes burst out at once. the attackers soon learned, however, that it wasn't healthy to attempt to rush the adobe. surrounding it was impossible, and for a while they contented themselves with sending lead humming through the small window on the exposed side of the hut. "we're in fo' a siege," kid wolf told the elder robbins. "maybe we'd better give in to 'em," said the other. kid wolf smiled and shook his head. "that wouldn't save us. they'd butchah us, anyway. nevah yuh worry. before they get us, they'll find that the wolf, from texas, has teeth!" "then we'll play out the hand," agreed robbins. "to the last cahd," kid wolf drawled. "i have two hands heah that can turn up twelve lead aces fo' a show-down. and i have anothah ace--a steel one, that's always in the deck." the texan saw as well as the others how desperate the situation had become. he knew that death would be the probable outcome for all of them. kid wolf, however, was not a type of man who gave up. if they must go out, he decided, they would go out fighting. the sun climbed the sky and disappeared over the distant blue range to the west, leaving the desert behind bathed in warm reds and soft purples. then the shadows deepened, and night fell. with it came a full moon, riding high out of the southeast--a pumpkin-colored, gigantic arizona moon that changed to shining silver. its light illuminated the scene and turned the landscape nearly as bright as day. this was a fact in favor of the three men cornered in the adobe. the attackers dared not show themselves in a rush. all night long their guns cracked, and they continued to do so when the east was beginning to lighten with the dawn. another day, and it proved to be one of torment. there was no water. before the hour of noon, the three besieged men were suffering from intense thirst. the little adobe was like an oven. the sun burned down pitilessly, distorting the air with waves of heat, and drawing mocking mirages in the sky. bullets still hummed and buzzed about them. every hissing slug seemed to whistle the mournful tune of "death--death--death!" late in the afternoon, the elder robbins could endure the torture no longer. "i'm goin' after water!" he cried. neither his son nor kid wolf could reason with him. he would not listen. he reasoned that although it was death to venture to the spring, it was also death to remain. he was nearly crazed with thirst. "let me go, then," said the texan. "no!" gasped robbins. "yuh stay with dave. i'm old, anyway. promise yuh'll stick with him, no matter what happens to me!" "i promise," said the kid, and the two men shook hands. getting to the water hole and back again was a forlorn hope, but robbins was past reasoning. lurching through the door, he ran outside the hut and toward the tulles. young robbins cried after his father, and then covered his eyes. there was a sudden crackling of revolver fire. spurts of bluish smoke blossomed out from the high grass--half a score of them! bill robbins staggered on his feet, reeled on a few steps, and then fell. his body had been riddled. kid wolf's touch was tender as he took the orphaned youth's hand in his own. but his voice, when he spoke, was like his eyes--hard as steel: "garvey will join him, dave, or we will! and if we do, let's hope we'll meet it as bravely. i have a plan. if we escape, we must do it to-night. can yo' stick it out till then?" young robbins nodded. the death of his father had been a great shock to him, but he did not flinch. in that desperate hour, kid wolf knew that he no longer had a boy at his side, but a man! how the day wore its way through to a close was ever afterward a mystery to them. their throats were parched, and their eyes bloodshot. to make matters worse, their horses, too, were suffering. blizzard nickered softly from time to time, but quieted when kid wolf called to him through the wall. night brought some relief. again the moon rose upon the tragic scene, and it grew cooler. before the twilight had quite faded, kid wolf and dave robbins saw something that made them boil inwardly--the burial of bill robbins on boot hill! out of revolver range, a group of the bandits was filling up the grave. garvey had made half of his threat good. and he was biding his time to complete his boast. the texan's grave still waited! a thin bank of clouds rolled up to obscure somewhat the light of the moon. this was what kid wolf had been waiting for. it was their only chance. "i'm goin' to try and get through on foot," he whispered. "befo' i go, i'll unloose blizzahd. he's trained to follow, and he'll find me latah, if i make it. i don't dare ride him, because he's white and too good a tahget in the moon. i'll have to crawl toward boot hill. it's the only way out. in half an houah, yo' follow. savvy?" dave nodded. then the kid added a few terse directions: "i'll show yo' the way and meet yo' on the hill. be as quiet and careful as an indian, and take yo' time. if anything should happen to me, strike fo' yo' place on the san simon. the reason i'm goin' first is so that yo' can escape in the excitement if they spot me. heah's luck! i'll turn my hoss loose now." they shook hands. then, like a lithe moving shadow, the texan crept out into the night. chapter xxiv pursuit fire flames darted occasionally from the high tulles, licking the darkness like the tongues of venomous serpents. rifles cracked, and bullets, fired at random, buzzed across the sand flats. kid wolf had an uncomfortable few minutes ahead of him. whenever the moon peeped out of its flying blanket of cloud, he was forced to lie flat and motionless on the ground. lead often spattered uncomfortably close, but foot by foot he made his way toward boot hill. this rise in ground, he believed, would be free from his enemies. after once reaching this, dave robbins and he would be on the road to safety. blizzard, well trained, would follow him if he managed to elude the bullets of the garvey gang. the texan was on boot hill now, and for the first time in many minutes, he breathed freely. the firing behind had become faint, and it was hardly likely that any watchers remained on the hill. but kid wolf received a thrill of horror and surprise. the moon drifted free of its cloud curtain for a moment. he was standing not a dozen feet from the two freshly made graves. one, with bill robbins' headboard over it, was covered with a mound of earth. standing near the other, with a cocked revolver in his hand, was the half-breed, charley hood! his cruel lips were parted in a terrible smile as he slowly raised the weapon to a level with his eyes! while kid wolf had been creeping toward boot hill, dave robbins was in the adobe hut, counting the dragging minutes. the suspense, now that the time for action was at hand, was nerve-racking. would the texan make it? robbins strained his ears for the triumphant yells that would announce the kid's death or capture. as the seconds grew to minutes, he began to breathe easier. when it seemed to him that a half hour had passed, he prepared to follow. the moon, however, was now too bright, and he had to wait fully a quarter of an hour more before the light faded to shadow again. when the moment arrived, he squirmed through the doorway and across the sands on his hands and knees. dave robbins was frontier bred, and although his progress was slower than the texan's had been, he crept along as silently as one of the redskins themselves. not a mesquite twig snapped under his body; not a pebble rattled. it seemed to take him hours to reach the hill which kid wolf had pointed out to him. as he did so, the moonlight again became so bright that it made the landscape nearly as white as day. for a time, he lay flat against the ground; then he wriggled on. where was he? would he find his friend, the texan? he waited a while, and then whistled, soft and low. there was no answer. he looked around him, trying to decide where he was and what to do. his eyes fell upon the two recently dug graves. headboards stood at each of them. both were covered. near the mounds lay a spade. the earth clinging to it was moist. with his heart in his throat, dave robbins again looked at the grave markers. one read: "bill robbins." it was the grave of his father! the other mound was marked "kid wolf"! for a few minutes, dave robbins stood numbed. something terrible had happened; just what, he did not know. it seemed the end. could his friend, the gallant texan, have met death? it didn't seem possible, and yet the evidence was before his eyes. anger against garvey and his hired killers suddenly overcame him. a hot wave seemed to sweep over him. he turned about and faced, not the distant san simon, but in the direction of his enemies. "i'll get some of 'em before i go, kid!" he cried. as if in answer, something came to his ears that brought a cry of joy to the youth. it was a stanza of a familiar song, sung in the soft, musical accents of the south: "oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-ee!" turning about, dave robbins saw kid wolf's face in the moonlight! the shock of it left the youth weak for a moment. the two wrung hands, and robbins blurted: "i thought yuh were dead! what happened? why this covered grave?" "a half-breed lookout," the texan explained in a whisper. "ugly, but slow with a gun. he had the drop, so instead of reachin' fo' mah colts, i pretended to raise mah hands. then i gave him this--mah hole cahd, the thirteenth ace." and kid wolf showed him the heavy bowie knife so carefully hidden in its sheath sewn to the inside of his shirt collar. "with this through his throat, he fell right in the grave they'd dug fo' me. then i saw the shovel, and i couldn't resist throwin' some dirt ovah him. well, that's that. i hated to take his life, but i had to do it to save mine. the thing to do now is to get out of this." "how do yuh expect yore hoss to get to us?" breathed robbins. "listen." the texan smiled. "he knows this call." he waited for a lull in the rifle-popping below, and then he gave the coyote yell--a mournful cry that seemed to echo and reëcho. the sound was so perfect an imitation that robbins could scarcely believe his ears. and it even fooled the indians. it did not, however, deceive the sagacious horse that waited patiently in the adobe. the kid clutched his young companion's arm. straining their eyes, they saw a white something moving up an arroyo. "that blizzahd hoss is smahter than i am," chuckled the texan. "he knows who his enemies are, and he knows how to keep out of their sight. watch him climb that dry wash." they held their breath until blizzard, moving so noiselessly that his hoofs seemed as cushioned as a cougar's, reached the top of the hill. then kid wolf led him over it and down again into a gully a little distance to the west of it. ahead of them now was safety, if they could make it. the texan mounted and swung up robbins behind the saddle. "too bad we had to leave that twenty thousand, kid," said robbins. the kid's white teeth flashed in a smile. "really, dave," he drawled, "do yo' think i'd let garvey get away with that? that express box was just a blind. don't yo' know what i did while the rest of yo' were tippin' back the stagecoach? no? well, i transferred the twenty thousand to blizzahd's saddlebags, so the money"--he tapped the bulges on each side of the big saddle--"is right heah!" kid wolf, ever since he had taken charge of the express money, had realized his responsibility and trust. he would protect it with his life. if he could reach mexican tanks with it, the money would be safe, for a small post of soldiers and government scouts guarded the place. they had not gone a half mile, however, when a sound of distant shouting broke out behind them. "that means they've discovahed ouah absence," said the texan, grimly. "we'll have ouah hands full befo' long!" robbins, and the texan as well, had been through the country before, and knew the lay of the land. the former had learned the location of a water hole west of them in the hills, and they decided to head for that, as they were suffering from intense thirst. blizzard, too, had not taken water for thirty-six hours. the apache is one of the best trailers in the world. they were under a terrible handicap, and both realized it. with the great white horse, strong as it was, carrying double, they could not hope to out-distance pursuit. "yuh'd better leave me, kid," robbins begged. "befo' i'd leave yo'," returned the texan, "i'd leave _me_!" dawn began to glow pink and orange behind them, and gradually the dim, star-studded vault overhead became gray with the new day. shortly afterward, they reached the water hole. it was nearly dry, but enough moisture remained to refresh both horse and riders. then they went on again. kid wolf could, tell by blizzard's actions that they were being followed. before long he himself saw signs. little dust clouds began to show behind them, scattered over a line miles long. "garvey and his apaches!" the texan jerked out. "and they're gainin' fast." "can we beat 'em to mexican tanks?" "no," the kid drawled, "but we can fight!" they soon saw the hopelessness of it all. the horizon behind them swarmed with moving dots--dots that grew larger and more distinct with every fleeting minute. garvey had obtained reënforcements, without doubt, for there seemed to be no end to the pursuing apaches. blizzard ran like the thoroughbred he was. but even his iron muscles could not stand the strain for long. the ponies behind were fresh, and the snow-white charger was tremendously handicapped with the added weight which had been placed upon it. puffs of white smoke blossomed out behind them. a bullet, spent and far short, dropped away to their left, sending up a geyser of sand. "i guess we'll fight now," kid wolf said, drawing his six-guns. the grim-faced fighter from texas knew the ways of the apaches and was prepared for what followed. it was not his first encounter with renegade red men of the southwest. he was also aware of what awaited them if they were taken captive. death with lead would be far more merciful. the line of apache warriors spread out even farther. blizzard was speeding over a flat table-land now, flanked by two ridges of iron-gray hills. a file of indians separated from the main body and raced along the left-hand ridge. another file of copper-brown, half-naked savages drummed along to the right. rifle fire crackled and flashed. bullets now began to buzz and whine like infuriated insects. arrows, falling far short, whistled an angry tune. the kid held his fire and bade dave robbins follow his example. it was no time to waste lead. "go, blizzahd, like yo' nevah went befo'!" cried the texan. the beautiful white horse seemed to realize its master's danger. it ran on courage alone. its nostrils were expanded wide, its flanks and neck foam-flecked. the steel muscles rippled under its snowy hide, until it seemed to fly like a winged thing. but it is one thing to carry a hundred and sixty pounds; another thing to bear nearly three hundred. the pace could not last. kid wolf pinned his hopes on reaching a deep arroyo ahead of them. already the range was becoming deadly. a bullet ripped through the texan's hat. another burned his side. directly behind them, garvey and his gunmen--the two arnolds, henry shank, and stephenson--pounded furiously, gaining at every jump. their mounts were better than those of the indians, and kid wolf saw that they must be stopped at all costs. for the first time, his guns belched flame. the two arnolds went down, unhorsed. even in that desperate moment, kid wolf hesitated to kill until it was necessary. the arnolds, however, were out of the chase for good and all. stephenson also felt the crippling sting of the texan's lead and toppled from his mount, drilled high in the shoulder. henry shank and gil garvey, shaken at the kid's marksmanship, drew in their horses, unwilling to press closer. that gave blizzard his chance to make the shelter of the arroyo. suddenly it yawned at their feet--a terrific jump. would blizzard take it? a reassuring pressure of a knee was all the inspiration the horse needed. they seemed to rush through the air. then they were sliding down the bank in a cloud of dust, blizzard tense and stiff-legged. by a miracle, they reached the bottom unhurt, and without losing a second, kid wolf headed his faithful mount into a thick paloverde clump. "we'll have to stand 'em off heah," he panted. the texan's eyes surveyed his exhausted horse. they seemed to light with an idea. even in that desperate plight, his mind worked rapidly. "i've got a hunch, dave," he said. "it may not help us, but----" he quickly loaded one of his . s and stuck it down in one of blizzard's stirrups in such a way that it could not jolt out. then he gave the horse a sharp pat on the neck. "go, blizzahd," he urged, "until i call!" the horse seemed to understand perfectly, for it wheeled and ran with all its speed down the arroyo. it was soon lost to sight among the mesquites. "he'll stay out of sight and within call," explained the texan. "we may need him worse than we do now. anyway, garvey will have plenty trouble gettin' that express money." they prepared to fight it out until the last, for already the indians were forcing their ponies down into the arroyo. a triumphant shout went up--a shout that became an elated, bloodthirsty war cry. the apaches saw that the two white men were almost within their grasp. "good-by, dave," said the kid. they grasped hands for a moment. there was no fear in their faces. then they confronted the renegades. it was to be their last stand! "here's hopin' we get garvey before we go!" said robbins fiercely. a storm of bullets tore through the paloverdes, sending twigs and leaves flying. kid wolf smiled coolly along the barrel of his remaining gun, and he deliberately lined the sights. the impact of the explosions kicked the heavy weapon about in his hand, but every shot brought grief to some savage. robbins' gun also blazed. a half dozen screaming apaches rushed their position in the thicket. the charge failed, stopped by lead. another came, almost in the same breath. it faltered, then came on, reënforced. there were too many of them for two men to check. kid wolf understood their guttural cries as they advanced. "they mean to take us alive!" he cried. "don't let 'em do it, son! it's better to die fightin'!" but the apaches seemed to have more than an ordinary reason for wanting to capture them. they came on, a coppery swarm, clubbing their guns. there was no time to reload! the two young white men found themselves fighting hand to hand in desperate battle. kid wolf smashed two of the indians, sending them sprawling back into their companions with broken heads. but still they came--dozens of them! robbins was down, then up again. he felt hands seize him. kid wolf felt the impact of a gun stock on his head. the world seemed to sway crazily. even while falling to the ground he still fought, his hard fists landing on the faces and chests of the red warriors in smashing blows. his feet were seized, then one arm. in vain he tried to tear himself loose. "fine! now throw some rope around 'em!" they heard garvey say. a shower of blows fell upon the texan's head. he dropped, with a half dozen red warriors clinging to him. it was the end! chapter xxv blizzard's charge kid wolf was so dazed for a time that he but dimly realized what was happening to him. half stunned, he was carried, along with dave robbins, out of the arroyo. he was light-headed from the blows he had received. that torture was in store for them, he well knew. he heard gil garvey's voice calling for yellow skull. red faces, smeared with war paint, glared at him. he was being taken on a pony's back through a thicket of brush. they were up on the mesa again, for he felt the sun burn out and a hot wind sweep the desert. what were they waiting for? yellow skull! kid wolf had heard of that terrible, insane apache chief. he could expect about as much mercy from him as he could from garvey. some one was shaking his shoulder. it was the lost springs bandit leader. kid wolf looked about him. a score or more of warriors, naked save for breechcloths, stood around in a hostile circle. garvey was chuckling and in high good humor. with him was shank, sneering and cold-eyed. "we want to know where that money is!" garvey shouted. kid wolf's brain was clearing. on the ground, a few feet away, lay dave robbins, still stunned. "i'm not sayin'," the texan returned calmly. garvey's blotched face was convulsed with rage. "yuh'll wish yuh had, blast yuh!" he snarled. "i'm turnin' yuh both over to yellow skull! he's got somethin' in store for yuh that'll make yuh wish yuh'd never been born! yo're west o' the pecos now, mr. wolf--and there's no law here but me!" the kid eyed him steadily. "theah's no law," he said, "but justice. and some of these times, sah, yo' will meet up with it!" "i suppose yuh think yuh can hand it to me yoreself," leered the bandit leader. "i may," said kid wolf quietly. garvey laughed loudly and contemptuously. "yellow skull!" he called. "come here!" the man who strode forward with snakelike, noiseless steps was horrible, if ever a man was horrible. he was the chief of the renegade apache band, and as insane as a horse that has eaten of the loco weed. sixty years or more in age, his face was wrinkled in yellow folds over his gaunt visage. above his beaked nose, his beady black eyes glittered wickedly, and his jagged fangs protruded through his animal lips. he wore a breechcloth of dirty white, and his chest was naked, save for two objects--objects terrible enough to send a thrill of horror through the beholder. suspended on a long cord around his neck were two shriveled human hands. above this was a necklace made of dried human fingers. "yellow skull," said garvey, pointing to kid wolf, "meet the man who slew yore son, bear claw!" the expression of the chief's face became ghastly. his eyes widened until they showed rings of white; his nostrils expanded. with a fierce yell, he thumped his scrawny chest until it boomed like an indian drum. then he gave a series of guttural orders to his followers. kid wolf, who knew the apache tongue, listened and understood. his sunburned face paled a bit, but his eyes remained steady. he turned his head to look at robbins, who was recovering consciousness. "keep up yo' nerve, son," he comforted. "i'm afraid this is goin' to be pretty terrible." the bonds of the two white men were loosened, and they were pulled to their feet and made to walk for some distance. garvey and shank, grinning evilly, accompanied them. kid wolf felt the comforting weight of his hidden knife at the back of his neck. it would do him little good, however, to draw it, for he was hemmed in by the apaches. he might get two or three, but in the end he would be beaten down. he was determined, at any rate, to go out fighting. if he could only bring justice to garvey before he died, he would be content. tensely he waited for the opportune time. one of the redskins carried a comb of honey. the texan knew what that meant. the most horrible torture that could have been devised by men awaited them. the torture party paused in a clear space in the middle of a high thicket of mesquite. here in the sun-baked, packed sand were two ant hills. kid wolf had heard of the method before. what yellow skull intended to do was this: the two prisoners would be staked and tied so tightly over the ant hills that neither could move a muscle. then their mouths would be propped open and honey smeared inside. the swarming colonies of red ants would do the rest. for the first time, dave robbins seemed to realize what was in store for them. he turned his face to the texan's, his eyes piteous. "kid!" he gasped, horrified. "steady, son," said kid wolf. "steady!" quick hope had suddenly begun to beat in his breast. deep within the mesquite thicket, he had caught sight of something white and moving. it was his horse! blizzard had followed his master, and stood ready to do his bidding. already the grinning apaches were coming forward with the stakes and ropes. not a second was to be lost. it was a forlorn hope, but kid wolf knew that he could depend on blizzard to do his best. sharp and clear, the texan gave the coyote yell!" "_yip-yip-ee!_" what happened took place so suddenly that the apaches never realized what it all was! crash! like a white, avenging ghost horse, the superb texas charger leaped out of the mesquite, muscles bunched. it made the distance to its master's side in two flashing leaps, bowling over a half dozen indians as it did so! the apaches fell back, overcome with astonishment. with a quick movement, kid wolf drew his knife, pulling it from his neck sheath like lightning. with it he felled the nearest warrior. another step brought him to blizzard's side. garvey and shank, acting quicker than their red allies, drew their revolvers. "get him! shoot 'em down!" they yelled. but kid wolf had seized the gun he had placed in blizzard's stirrup. he dropped to his knees to the sand, just as lead hummed over his head. dave robbins had struck one of the amazed apaches and had jerked his rifle away from him. clubbing it, he smashed two others as fast as they dived in. shank rushed, his gun winking spurts of fire. kid wolf could not spare his enemies now. his own life depended on his flashing colt. he lined the tip of his front sight and thumbed the hammer. _thr-r-r-rup!_ shank gasped, as lead tore through him. he dropped headfirst, arms outstretched. "get on the hoss!" the kid yelled at robbins. then he turned his gun on garvey. in his rage, the lost springs desperado fired too quickly. his aim was bad, and the slug sang over the texan's head. "reckon yo' are about to get the law that's west of the pecos now, garvey--justice!" with his words, the kid threw down on garvey and suddenly snapped the hammer. the bullet found its mark. if garvey had no heart, kid wolf's bullet found the spot where it ought to be. with his glazing eyes, gil garvey--wholesale murderer--saw justice at last. dropping his gun, he swayed for a moment on his feet, then fell heavily. "look out, kid!" robbins yelled. the texan whirled just in time. a pace behind him was yellow skull, his hideous face distorted with mad fury. in his thin hand was a long leather thong, to which was attached a round stone. a second more, and kid wolf's skull would have been smashed! a burst of flame stopped him. the chief sagged, dropped. the kid had fired just as the stone was whirled aloft. the indians, now that their chief and white allies had fallen, retreated. the almost miraculous appearance of the horse had dismayed them and filled them with superstitious fear. a few more shots served to scatter them and send them flying for cover. kid wolf vaulted into the saddle. robbins was already on blizzard's back. "heads low!" sang out the texan. he headed the horse for the mesquites. crashing through them, they found themselves on the mesa plain once more. kid wolf urged blizzard to greater speed. bullets buzzed around them, but it was evident that the apaches had lost heart. blizzard pounded on, and the cries behind soon grew fainter and fainter. kid wolf relaxed a little and grinned. "that's what i'd call a narrow squeak," he chuckled. "how far to mexican tanks?" "on over the mesa," panted robbins, "five or six miles." "then we'll make it," decided the kid. a quarter of an hour later, they drew rein and looked behind. whether the indians feared to approach any nearer to the government post, or whether they had given up through superstitious fear, would have been hard to tell. at any rate, there was nothing to be seen of them. two miles below the two men could see the little post known as mexican tanks, scattered out in a fertile, cottonwood-grown valley. with one accord, they shook hands. "now will yo' believe me," asked the texan, "when i tell yo' that blizzahd's a smaht hoss?" dave robbins grinned. "so's his master," he chuckled. "and speakin' o' blizzard again, i guess we owe him some water and a peck of oats. reckon we'll find it down there." his face sobered. "it won't do me any good, kid, to thank yuh." "don't try," drawled the kid. "i'm a soldier of misfohtune, and excitement's mah business. i'll leave yo' down heah, son. go to yo' claim on the san simon and make good--fo' yo' fathah's sake. and good luck!" "yuh won't come along?" kid wolf shook his head and smiled. "i'm just a rollin' stone," he confessed, "and i just naturally roll toward trouble. if yo' evah need me again, yo'll find me where the lead flies thickest. as soon as i turn this express money ovah to the authorities, i'll be on my way again. maybe it'll be the rio grande, perhaps the chisholm trail, and maybe--well, maybe i'll stay west of the pecos and see what i can see. quién sabe?" blizzard cocked his ears and turned his head to look his master in the eye. blizzard savvied. he was "in the know." the end. proofreaders the ramblin' kid by earl wayland bowman frontispiece by w.h.d. koerner contents chapter i a night letter ii a bluff called iii which one's which iv the unused plate v a duel of endurance vi you're a brute vii the greedy sands viii quick with a vengeance ix old heck's strategy x fixing fixers xi a dance and a ride xii you'll get your wish xiii the elite amusement parlor xiv the grand parade xv mocha and java xvi the sweepstakes xvii old heck goes to town xviii a shame to waste it xix the greek gets his xx mostly skinny xxi a girl like you the ramblin' kid chapter i a night letter sand and gravel slithered and slid under the heels of old pie face as skinny rawlins whirled the broncho into the open space in front of the low-built, sprawling, adobe ranch house of the quarter circle kt and reined the pinto to a sudden stop. skinny had been to eagle butte and with other things brought back the mail. it was hot, late june, the time between cutting the first crop of alfalfa and gathering, from the open range, the beef steers ready for the summer market. regardless of the heat skinny had ridden hard and his horse was a lather of sweat. a number of cowboys lounged, indolently, in the shade of the bunk-house, smoking cigarettes and contentedly enjoying the hour of rest after the noon-day dinner. another, lean-built, slender, boyish in appearance and with strangely black, inscrutable eyes, stepped from around the corner of the house as skinny jerked old pie face to a standstill. "where's old heck?" skinny asked excitedly. "i brought the mail--here, take it to him!" the other, known on the kiowa and the range of western texas and mexico only as "the ramblin' kid," strolled leisurely out through the sagging, weight-swung gate and up to the panting horse from which skinny had not yet dismounted. "asleep, i reckon," he replied in a voice peculiarly low and deliberate, "--what's your spontaneousness about? you act like a special d'livery or somethin'." "old heck's got a letter," skinny said, jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news an' he ought to have it quick," as the ramblin' kid reached for a yellow envelope held in the outstretched hand. at that instant old heck, owner and boss of the quarter circle kt cow outfit, stepped from the shadow of the open ranch-house door. he was short and stocky, red-faced, somewhere near the fifties, and a yellowish-gray mustache hung over tobacco blackened lips. overalls, a checked blue and white shirt, open at the throat, boots into which the trousers legs were loosely jammed comprised his attire. he was bareheaded and the sun glistened on a wrinkly forehead, topped by a thin sprinkling of hair. "what's the matter?" he asked drowsily, his small, gray-blue eyes blinking in the yellow sun-glare and still sluggish from the nap disturbed by the noise of skinny's arrival. "nothin'. skinny's just got a letter an' is excited about it," the ramblin' kid said, handing the envelope to him. "it's for you." "my gawd!" old heck exclaimed, "it's a telegram!" the cowboys resting in the shade of the bunk-house rose to their feet, sauntered over and surrounded old heck and the ramblin' kid, commenting meanwhile, frankly and caustically, on the fagged condition of the broncho skinny was on: "must 'a' been scared, the way you run that horse," parker, range foreman of the quarter circle kt, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned man in the forties, remarked witheringly to skinny as the cow-puncher climbed from the saddle and slid to the ground. "he's mine, i reckon," skinny retorted, "an' i figure it's nobody's darn' business how i ride him--anyhow i brought old heck a telegram!" he added triumphantly. "blamed if he didn't!" charley saunders, with a trifle of awe, pretended or real, in his tone, said. "it sure is!" "my gawd!" old heck repeated, slowly turning the envelope over in his hand, "it's a telegram! wonder what it's about?" "why don't you open it and see?" parker suggested. "yes, open th' blamed thing and find out," skinny encouraged. "i--i've a notion to," old heck whispered. "go on and do it, it won't take but a minute," charley saunders entreated. "maybe he's one of these mind-readers and can read it through the envelope," bert lilly volunteered. "aw, shut up and give him a chance!" trembling, old heck tore open the envelope and silently read the message. "my gawd!" he groaned again. "the worst has come to the worst!" "that ought to make it middlin' bad," charley remarked soberly. "ought to," bert added sententiously. parker crowded forward on sympathy bent. "tell us what's in it," he said; "if it's sorrowful we'll be plumb glad to condole!" "it's worse than sorrowful--" "melancholical?" skinny inquired. "my gawd!" old heck said again, his weatherworn features working convulsively, "it's more than a mortal man can endure and stand!" "bet somebody's dead!" bert whispered to the ramblin' kid. "probably. most everybody gets to be sooner or later," was the answer without emotion. sing pete, chinese cook for the outfit, dish-rag over his shoulder, edged out of the kitchen door and shuffled around to the group. glimpsing the yellow slip of paper held in the shaking hand of old heck and the awed interest of the cowboys gathered about the boss, he queried: "teleglam?" no answer. "teleglam? maybe alle samee somebody sickee?" he continued, cheerfully confident that questions enough would ultimately bring a reply. he was rewarded: "what do you know about 'teleglams'? you slant-eyed burner of beef-steaks!" "who's it from?" charley asked. "anybody we know--" "my gawd," old heck mourned once more, "she's comin'!" "who's she?" parker coaxed. "a female," old heck replied, "she's a female!" "the darned old cuss has had a wife sometime and run off from her and deserted her and she's pursuing him and trailing him down to earth!" chuck slithers, doubting thomas of the outfit and student of sherlock holmes, cunningly suggested. "i always imagined he was a varmint with a past--a' ex-heart breaker of innocent women or a train-robber or--" "aw, hell," the ramblin' kid rebuked, "him have a wife? don't insult th' female population!" "_carramba!_" exclaimed pedro valencia, mexican line-rider for the quarter circle kt, "perhaps she will stick him with the dagger, or shoot him with the gun when she arrive! the ladies with love kill quick when the love is--what you call him?--the jilt?" "and i'd almost forgot i ever had one!" old heck continued talking as if to himself. "what'd i tell you?" chuck exulted. "shut up! he's confessin'--let him alone an' he'll get it out of his conscience sooner or later!" "had a what?" parker urged sympathetically. "maybe you didn't have one--maybe you only imagined you did!" "had a brother--anyhow a half a one--our mothers was the same but different fathers on account of mine dyin' when i was little and his marrying our mother again; we was playmates together in our innocent childhood and infancy until i run away and went to sea and finally anchored on the kiowa and got to raisin' cattle--" "where does he come in at?" parker questioned. "he said it was a female, to start with," skinny added. "--and his name is simeon dixon on account of his father's being the same thing, and he went in the street railroad business in a place named hartville in connecticut, and he got married and had a wife--she was zithia forbes, and she's dead, and i knowed that, and he's rich i reckon and--" "an' amrak begat meshak an' meshak begat zimri an' zimri was th' founder of th' house of old heck," the ramblin' kid chanted. "what in thunder does details amount to, anyhow?" "but you was mournin' about a she!" parker insisted. "well, i reckon it ain't a wife--at least not the one i was thinking about," chuck murmured disappointedly, "but i bet he's had one somewhere in his vari'gated career and is hiding out from her in fear an' tremblin'--" "and there will not be the grand, the beautiful murder?" pedro sighed, questioningly. "wait a minute," skinny pleaded, "--give him air!" "--and he's got a female daughter--and i didn't know that--and he's--oh, gawd!--he's sending her out to the quarter circle kt!" "how big is she?" parker whispered. "she's--she's twenty-two--" "inches around or what?" charley gasped. "--and ophelia is coming with her--ophelia cobb--c-o-double-b it is--is coming with her for a chaperon--" "great guns!" skinny breathed,"--two females!" "hold still and i'll read it--no, you do it, parker--i'm too full of emotion--my voice'd quiver--" parker read: "josiah heck, eagle butte, texas: "am sending my daughter, carolyn june, out to your ranch for a while. she needs a change. she has broke all the he-human hearts in hartville--that is all of them old enough or young enough to be broke--and is what's called a love-stimulator and won't settle. she is twenty-two and it's time she was calmed. hoping six months on the kiowa range will gentle her quite a lot, i am sympathetically your / brother, simeon. "p.s.--mrs. ophelia cobb, a lady widow, is coming with her for a chaperon. beware of both of them. they will arrive at eagle butte the st.--s." "gee, it's a long one!" chuck said admiringly. "it's one of these 'night letters,'" parker explained. "i knowed it was bad news," skinny exclaimed, "--poor old heck!" "better say, 'poor we all!'" bert declared. "farewell peace and joy on the quarter circle kt!" "the lord have mercy on old heck!" charley cried with dramatic fervor. "holy smoke," parker murmured desperately, "_two of them on the twenty-first--and that's to-morrow!_" chapter ii a bluff called the quarter circle kt was a womanless ranch. came now, like a bolt from the clear sky or the sudden clang of a fire-alarm bell, the threat of violation of this eveless eden by the intrusion of a pair of strange and unknown females. the arrival of the telegram telling of the coming of carolyn june dixon, old heck's niece, and ophelia cobb, her chaperon, filled with varying emotions the hearts of old heck, parker and the cowboys. to old heck their presence meant nothing less than calamity. long years of he-man association had made him dread the petty restraints he imagined would be imposed by intimate contact with womankind. good lord, a man wouldn't be able even to cuss freely, and without embarrassment, with a couple of women in the house and prowling around the ranch! skinny, bert, chuck, pedro, charley, the ramblin' kid, even the chink cook and parker, quivered with excitement and curiosity behind thinly veiled pretense of fear and horror. secretly they rejoiced. it was marvelous news borne by the telegram skinny brought. here would be diversion ample, unusual, wholly worth while and filled with possibilities of romance as luring as the first glimpse of a strange new land shadowed with mystery and promise of thrilling adventure. sing pete paddled back to the unfinished business of the kitchen, chattering excitedly. the cowboys stood mutely and stared at old heck and the fatal slip of yellow paper. "what'll i do?" old heck asked the group despairingly. "they'll ruin everything." "can't you head 'em off, somehow?" parker suggested. "can't be done. they're already on their way and probably somewhere this side of kansas city by now." "find out which train they're on and let the ramblin' kid and me cut across to the purgatory river bridge and wreck it," skinny rawlins, always tragic, darkly advised. "i ain't particular about killin' females," the ramblin' kid objected, "besides, we ain't got no dynamite." "send them a telegram and say old heck's dead and not to come," bert lilly volunteered. "aw, you blamed idiot, they'd come anyhow then, just to attend the funeral--" "i got an idea," chuck slithers exclaimed; it's a telegram too. send them one c.o.d. in care of the train that will get to eagle butte the twenty-first and tell them we've all got the smallpox and we're sorry but everybody's dangerously sick and to please answer!" "that might work," parker said; "they'd be mighty near sure not to want to catch it." "we'll try it," old heck agreed. "chuck wants to ride over to eagle butte anyway and he can have the depot agent send it and wait for a reply." "go get your horse ready, chuck," parker said, "we'll write it while you're saddlin' up!" chuck hurried to the corral while old heck went into the house for pencil and writing-paper. parker and the cowboys moved in a group to the shade of the porch in front of the house. "what'll we tell them?" old heck asked, reappearing with writing materials. "here, parker, you write it." "dear niece carolyn june dixon and chaperon: sorry, but there's an epidemic of smallpox at the quarter circle kt and you can't come. chuck is dying with it. old heck's plumb prostrated, bert is already broke out, pedro is starting to and skinny rawlins and the ramblin' kid are just barely able to be up. i love you too much to want you to catch it. please go back to hartville and give my regards to your pa and don't expose yourself. answer by return telegram so i'll know your intentions. affectionately and absolutely your uncle josiah heck," parker read after writing a few moments. "how's that?" "sounds all right." "got it ready?" chuck called from the fence, while silver tip, the trim-built half-blood hambletonian colt he was riding, reared and pranced, eager for the road and a run. "for lord's sake hurry up, chuck," old heck yelled as the ramblin' kid handed the paper to chuck and the cowboy whirled his horse into a gallop toward eagle butte. "have the agent send it in care of whatever train they might be on and get an answer, then come back as quick as possible --waiting is agony!" it was a long afternoon for old heck and the cowboys of the quarter circle kt. a band of colts were in the circular corral to be gentled to rope, saddle and hackamore. old heck sat on the top pole of the corral and moodily watched the struggle of the men and horses in the dry, dusty enclosure as one by one each young broncho was roped, saddled and ridden. frequently he turned longing eyes toward eagle butte, anxious for sight of the cloud of dust from which chuck would emerge bringing, he hoped, word that carolyn june and ophelia cobb had heeded the misleading message. the sun crept across the western sky and dropped lower and lower until it hung at last, a blazing disk of fire, close above the highest peaks of the costejo mountain range. the poplars in front of the house flung slim black shadows across the low adobe buildings and splashed the tip of their shade in the dust-cloud that filled with haze the corral a hundred yards away. sing pete stepped from the door and beat a tattoo on the iron triangle suspended by a piece of wire from the lowest branch of a mesquit tree at the corner of the house, announcing by the metallic clamor that the work of the day was finished and supper was ready and waiting. parker swung back the heavy gate at the corral entrance and the dozen colts, sweat streaks on heads and backs and bellies where hackamore, saddle and cinches told of the lessons of the afternoon, pushing and jamming and with a clatter of hoofs, whirled out to freedom, around the stable and down a lane into an open meadow. kicking off their chaps the cowboys tossed them on the riding gear, piled already against the fence of the corral, and straggled stiffly toward the house. on the wire enclosing the back yard sing pete had hung a couple of heavy towels, coarse and long. some basins and several chunks of yellow laundry soap were on a bench beside an irrigation ditch that ran along the fence just inside the gate. old heck, parker and the cowboys stopped at the ditch, pitched their hats on the grass and dipping water from the ditch scoured the dust and sweat from their faces and hands. all were silent as if each was troubled with thoughts too solemn to be spoken aloud. at last, skinny, handing a towel to bert after drying his own sun-tanned face and hands, remarked inanely: "chuck ain't come, has he?" "slupper!" sing pete called. they filed into the kitchen and each took his regular place at the long, oilcloth covered table. the food, wholesome, plain and abundant, was already served. silently each heaped his plate with the viands before him while sing pete circled the table pouring coffee into the white porcelain cups. the quarter circle kt was famous for the excellence of its grub and the chink was an expert cook. "lordy, oh, lordy," old heck groaned, "it don't seem possible them women are coming!" "maybe they won't," parker sympathized. "when they get that telegram they ought to turn around and go back--" "chuck's coming!" bert lilly exclaimed at that moment and the sound of a horse stopping suddenly at the front of the house reached the ears of the group at the table. "go ask him if he got an answer, somebody, quick!" old heck cried. as charley saunders sprang to his feet chuck yelled, "they got it and sent an answer! i got one--" and rushed excitedly through the house and into the kitchen waving an envelope, twin to the one skinny had brought earlier in the day. "they're on train number seventeen, the agent said--" "my gawd!" old heck gasped, "what does it say? give it here!" reaching for the message the cowboy held in his hand. "good lord, it didn't work!" he groaned as he read the telegram and handed it across the table to parker. "read it out loud," several spoke at once. "'we've both had it,'" parker read, "'and are not afraid. anyhow we think you are a darned old lovable liar. will arrive according to schedule. if you are not a liar we'll nurse you back to health and happiness. if you are, watch out! your affectionate but suspicious little niece carolyn june dixon. postscript: are there any nice wild, untamed, young cowboys out there?--carolyn j.'" "hell-fire!" skinny said, "what'll we do?" no answer. chuck went moodily out to attend to his horse, and the meal was finished in silence. even sing pete seemed deeply depressed. after supper old heck straightened up and in a do-or-die tone said: "we'll all go out where it's cool and hold a caucus and figure what ought to be done." "there ain't nothing we can do but surrender, as far as i can see," parker observed gloomily as they gathered on the porch in front of the house. "they seem plumb determined to arrive--" "i've already give up hope," old heck answered, "but what will we do with them when they get here? we can't just brand 'em and turn them loose on the range." "i make a motion we elect skinny to ride herd on 'em!" bert lilly suggested. "damned if i do!" skinny exclaimed uneasily. "it's a good idea," parker said. "from all accounts the young one expects to be made love to and if she ain't she'll probably be weeping around all the time--" "well, i can't stand sobbin'!" old heck declared. "any female is hard enough to endure and one that gets to mourning is plumb distasteful! "that's probably the best thing to do," he continued, "just appoint skinny to be official love-maker to carolyn june while she's at the quarter circle kt. it will probably save confusion--" "i brought the telegram telling about them coming and i've done my share," skinny protested; "somebody else can be delegated to do the love-making!" "that's just the reason it ought to be your job," old heck argued; "you went and got the telegram in the first place and are sort of responsible for them being here." "aw, let th' ramblin' kid do it," skinny pleaded, "he's an easy talker and everything--" the ramblin' kid straightened up and started for the gate. "where you going?" "to catch capt'n jack," he drawled; "after that for a little ride down to th' pecos or over in chihuahua somewhere a couple hundred miles. i decline with enthusiasm to fall in love on th' spur of th' moment for any damned outfit!" "you come on back," parker called, "skinny'll have to do it. he can have all his time for it and just pretend he's in love and sort of entertain her. he don't need to go and do it in earnest. come on back, you darned chump, i need you on the beef hunt!" "what'll i have to do?" skinny asked cautiously. "just set on the front porch with her at night and make your eyes roll up like a calf's that's being branded and kind of sigh heart-broken once in a while," bert volunteered. "it'll be easy when you get used to it--" "if you know so much about it why don't you enlist yourself?" skinny asked irritably. "some of you fellows go on and volunteer," he pleaded dolefully. "i would in a minute," chuck chipped in, "if i was good-looking like skinny and had a white shirt--" "what's a white shirt got to do with it?" "listen to the innocent child," chuck laughed, "as if any darned fool didn't know that the first thing a professional love-maker has to have is a white shirt!" "that settles it," skinny declared with emphasis, "i won't wear a white shirt to make love to no blamed woman--" "chuck's locoed," the ramblin' kid interposed; "you don't need to have no white shirt--of course it would be better but it ain't downright necessary--women don't fall in love with shirts, it's what's inside of them." "where did you find out so much about women?" bert queried. "i didn't find out--i'm just guessin'--" "there ain't no use arguing," old heck broke in. "skinny will have to be expert love-maker for that carolyn june niece of mine--i'll allow him ten dollars a month more wages while he's doing it. i ain't going to have her writing letters to her pa and telling him she didn't have no conveniences or nothing. anyhow, she's young and i reckon it's sort of necessary." "what about th' other one--ophelia cobb or whoever she is?" bert lilly asked. "she's past the age for it, probably," parker said uneasily. "they don't pass it," the ramblin' kid interrupted laconically; "when females get too old to want to be made love to they die--" "i'd like to know where in hell a juvenile like you got your education about women!" bert insisted to the ramblin' kid. "i ain't got none--i'm just guessing i told you," the other replied, "but it's the truth, anyhow." "well, if i've got to make love to the young one old heck or parker or somebody's got to do it for the other one," skinny declared positively. "ophelia don't need it," old heck said hastily, "she's a widow and has done been--" "widows are th' worst," the ramblin' kid drawled; "they've had experience an' don't like to give it up." "th' ramblin' kid's right," chuck broke in. "i read a book once that said that's the way they are. it's up to old heck or parker to represent cupid to the widow--" "who the hell's cupid?" skinny asked curiously. "he's a dangerous little outlaw that ain't got no reg'lar range," the ramblin' kid answered for chuck. "i'll not do it--" old heck and parker spoke at once. "then i won't either," skinny declared flatly, "i'll quit the dog-goned quarter circle kt first!" "let sing pete make love to the widow," bert suggested. "no, no! me busy cookee," sing pete, who had been listening from the open doorway, jabbered and darted, frightened, back into the house. "anyhow i'd kill him if he did," the ramblin' kid said softly; "no darned chink can make love to a white woman, old, young or indifferent, in my presence an' live!" "well, old heck'll have to do it, then," skinny said; "hanged if i'm going to be the only he-love-maker on this ranch!" "let parker and old heck divide up on ophelia," chuck advised, "one of them can love her one day and the other the next--" "that's reasonable," bert declared, "she'd probably enjoy a change herself." "i tell you i ain't got time," parker protested. "neither have i," old heck added. "all right then, i ain't either!" skinny declared. "if you two ain't willing to take turn about with the widow and love her off and on between you i'll be everlastingly hell-tooted if i'm going to stand for a whole one by myself all of the time! i'll go on strike first and start right now!" "we'll stay with you, skinny," the ramblin' kid exclaimed with a laugh, "th' whole bunch will quit till parker an' old heck grants our demands." "we'll all quit!" the cowboys chorused. "oh, well, parker," old heck grumbled, "i reckon we'll have to do it!" "it won't be hard work," the ramblin' kid said consolingly, "all you got to do is set still an' leave it to ophelia. widows are expert love-makers themselves an' know how to keep things goin'!" it was settled. skinny rawlins, at an increase of ten dollars a month on his wage, protestingly, was elected official love-maker to carolyn june dixon, old heck's niece, speeding unsuspectingly toward the quarter circle kt, and old heck and parker between them were to divide the affections of ophelia cobb, widow and chaperon. in the mind of every cowboy on the ranch there was one thought unexpressed but very insistent that night, "wonder what she looks like?" thinking, of course, of carolyn june. old heck and parker also were disturbed by a common worry. as each sank into fitful sleep, thinking of ophelia cobb, the widow, and his own predestinated affinity he murmured: "what if she insists on getting married?" chapter iii which one's which eagle butte sprawled hot and thirsty under the melting sunshine of mid-forenoon. it was not a prepossessing town. all told, no more than two hundred buildings were within its corporate limits. a giant mound, capped by a crown of crumbling, weather-tinted rock, rose abruptly at the northern edge of the village and gave the place its name. cimarron river, sluggish and yellow, bounded the town on the south. the dominant note of eagle butte was a pathetic mixture of regret for glories of other days and clumsy ambition to assume the ways of a city. striving hard to be modern it succeeded only in being grotesque. the western plains are sprinkled with towns like that. towns that once, in the time of the long-horn steer and the forty-four and the nerve to handle both, were frankly unconventional. touched later by the black magic of development, bringing brick buildings, prohibition, picture shows, real-estate boosters, speculation and attendant evils or benefits as one chooses to classify them, they became neither elemental nor ethical--mere gawky mimics of both. when western texas was cow-country and nothing else eagle butte at least was picturesque. flickering lights, gay laughter--sometimes curses and the sounds of revolver shots, of battles fought close and quick and to a finish--wheezy music, click of ivory chips, the clink of glasses, from old bonanza's and similar rendezvous of hilarity lured to the dance, faro, roulette, the poker table or the hardwood polished bar. the mecca it was in those days for cowboys weary with months on the wide-flung range. to-day eagle butte is modest, mild and super-subdued. a garage, cement built, squatty and low and painfully new, its wide-mouthed entrance guarded by a gasoline pump freshly painted and exceedingly red, stands at the eastern end of the single, broad, un-paved business street. all of the stores face one way--north--and look sleepily across at the railroad track, the low-eaved, yellow, santa fe station and the sunburnt sides of the butte beyond. opposite the station the old occidental hotel with its high porch, wide steps, narrow windows, dingy weather-board sides and blackened roof, still stands to remind old-timers of the days of long ago. a city marshal, tom poole, a long, slim, sandy-mustached missourian, completes the picture of eagle butte. regularly he meets the arriving trains and by the glistening three-inch nickel star pinned to his left suspender announces to the traveling world that here, on the one time woolly kiowa, law and order at last prevail. odd times the marshal farms a ten-acre truck patch close to the river at the southern edge of the town. pending the arrival of trains he divides his time between the front steps of the old hotel and the elite amusement parlor, eagle butte's single den of iniquity where pocket pool, billiards, solo--devilish dissipations these!--along with root beer, ginger ale, nut sundaes, soda-pop, milk shakes and similar enticements are served to those, of reckless and untamed temperaments. from the open door of the pool hall the marshal saw a thin, black streak of smoke curling far out on the horizon--a dozen miles--northeast of eagle butte. "seventeen's comin'," he remarked to the trio of idlers leaning against the side of the building; "guess i'd better go over an' see who's on her," moving as he spoke out into the sizzling glare of the almost deserted street. glancing toward the east his eyes fastened on a cloud of dust whirling rapidly along the road that came from the direction of the lower cimarron. "gosh, lookey yonder," he muttered, "that must be old heck drivin' his new automobile--th' darn fool is goin' to bust something some day, runnin' that car the way he does!" walking quickly, to escape the heat, he crossed the street to the station. two minutes later the cloud of dust trailed a rakish, trim-lined, high-powered, purring clagstone "six" to a stop in front of the occidental hotel and old heck and skinny rawlins climbed glumly and stiffly from the front seat, after the thirty-minute, twenty-mile run from the quarter circle kt. old heck had his peculiarities. one of them was insistence for the best--absolutely or nothing. the first pure-bred, hot-blood stallions turned on the kiowa range carried the quarter circle kt brand on their left shoulders. he wanted quality in his stock and spent thousands of dollars importing bulls and stallions to get it. when the automobile came it was the same. no jit for the erratic owner of the last big genuine cow-ranch on the cimarron. consequently the beautiful car--a car fit for fifth avenue--standing now in front of the old hotel in eagle butte. the smoke on the northeastern sky-line was yet some miles away. the lanky marshal had reached the station. "it's a good thing there's prohibition in this town," skinny muttered as he stepped from the car and started brushing the dust from his coat; "why?" "'cause i'd go get drunk if there wasn't--. wonder if a feller could get any boot-leg liquor?" "better leave it alone," old heck warned, "that kind's worse than none. it don't make you drunk--just gives you the hysterical hydrophobia!' "well, i'd drink anything in an emergency like this if i had it," skinny declared doggedly. "train's comin'," old heck said shortly; "reckon we'd better go over to the depot--" "let's wait here till they get off first," skinny said. "we can see them from where we are and kind of size 'em up and it won't be so sudden." "maybe that would be better," old heck answered. a moment later number seventeen, west-bound santa fe passenger train, stopped at the yellow station. the rear cars were obscured from the view of skinny and old heck by freight sheds along the track. with the exception of the engine, baggage, mail and express cars, which were hidden by the depot, the rest of the train was in plain sight. a couple of men got off the day coach. these were followed by a gawky, weirdly dressed girl of uncertain age carrying an old-fashioned telescope traveling bag. at sight of the girl skinny caught his breath with a gasp. immediately following her was the tallest, homeliest woman he had ever seen. thin to the point of emaciation, a wide striped, ill-fitting dress of some cheap material accentuated the angular lines of her body. a tiny narrow-brimmed hat, bright green, with a white feather, dingy and soiled, sticking straight up at the back made her more than ever a caricature. the woman also carried a bag. the two stepped up to the marshal, standing at the cornet: of the station, apparently asking him a question. he answered, pointing as he did to old heck and skinny leaning silently against the side of their car. the woman and girl started toward them. fascinated, the cow-men watched them approach. "my gawd!" old heck hoarsely whispered, "that's them!" "let's go!" skinny exclaimed, sweat starting in unheeded beads on his forehead. "good lord, let's get in the car and go while we got a chance!" old heck made a move as if to comply, then stopped. "can't now," he said gloomily, "it's too late!" as old heck turned the woman shrieked in a rasping voice: "hey--hey you! wait a minute!" the cow-men looked around and stared dumbly, dazedly, at her. "can i get you to take me an' my daughter out to that construction camp where they're buildin' a ditch or something?" she asked; "that policeman said maybe we could get you to--" she continued. "i got a job cookin' out there an' lize here is goin' to wait on table." old heck, still looking up in her eyes, with horror written on every line of his face, his lips twitching till he could scarcely speak, finally managed to say: "ain't--ain't you ophelia?" "ophelia? ophelia who?" she asked, then before he could speak she answered his question: "ophelia--huh! no, i ain't ophelia! i'm missus jasamine swope an' a married woman an' you'd better not try to get fresh or--" simultaneous with old heck's question, skinny, his eyes riveted on the dowdy girl, asked in a voice barely audible: "are you--are you carolyn june?" "no, i ain't carolyn june," she snorted. "come on, ma; let's go! them two's crazy or white slavers or somethin'!" expressing their scorn and disdain by the angry flirt of their skirts, the woman and girl whirled and walked briskly away toward the garage at the end of the street. "praise th' heavens," old heck breathed fervently as he gazed spell-bound after the retreating pair, "it wasn't them!" "carolyn june and the widow probably went back after all," skinny said without, looking around and with the barest trace of disappointment, now that the danger seemed past, in his voice. "maybe they got to thinking about that telegram and decided not to come at last." "more than likely that was it," old heck answered. steps sounded behind them. skinny and old heck turned and again they almost fainted at what they saw. the marshal, a leather traveling bag in each hand, accompanied by two smartly dressed women, approached. "these ladies are huntin' for you," he said to old heck, dropping the bags and mopping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "guess they're some kind of kin folks," he added. concealed by the freight sheds carolyn june dixon and ophelia cobb had stepped from the pullman at the rear of the train, unseen by old heck and skinny. nor had either noticed, being engrossed with the couple that had left than a moment before, the trio coming across from the station. as the cook and her daughter by their very homeliness had appalled and overwhelmed them, these two, ophelia and carolyn june, by their exactly opposite appearance stunned old heck and skinny and rendered them speechless with embarrassment. both were silently thankful they had shaved that morning and skinny wondered if his face, like old heck's, was streaked with sweat and dust. for a moment the group studied one another. carolyn june held the eyes of skinny in mute and helpless admiration. despite the heat of the blazing sun she looked fresh and dean and pleasant--wholly unsoiled by the marks of travel. a snow-white panama hat, the brim sensibly wide, drooped over cheeks that were touched with a splash of tan that suggested much time in the open. an abundance of hair, wonderfully soft and brown, showing the slightest glint of coppery red running it in vagrant strands, fluffed from under the hat. the skirt of her traveling suit, some light substantial material, reached the span of a hand above the ankle. white shoes, silk stockings that matched and through which glowed the faint pink of firm, healthy, young flesh, lent charm to the costume she wore. her lips were red and moist and parted over teeth that were strong and white. a saucy upward tilt to the nose, hinting that carolyn june was a flirt; brown eyes that were level almost with skinny's and that held in them a laugh and yet deep below the mirth something thoughtful, honest and unafraid, finished the wreck of the cowboy's susceptible heart. trim and smooth was carolyn june, suggesting to skinny rawlins a clean-bred filly of saddle strain that has developed true to form. old heck gazed in equal awe at the more mature ophelia. somewhere near forty she may have been, cozily plump and solid. she had gray-blue eyes that were steady and frank yet clearly accustomed to being obeyed. her hair was a trifle darker in shade than the silky brown on the head of carolyn june. she was dressed with immaculate neatness and taste and carried that well-preserved assurance no woman in the world save the american of mature development acquires. there was energy in every line of her body and ophelia gave old heck, the embarrassed owner of the quarter circle kt, more thrills in that one moment of silent scrutiny than he ever before had felt in the presence of any woman. as they looked, skinny and old heck instinctively, a bit awkwardly perhaps, removed the stetsons they wore on their heads. "howdy-do!" old heck finally managed to say. skinny gulped like an echo, another "howdy-do!" in the direction of carolyn june. "i reckon you are carolyn june and missus ophelia cobb," old heck stammered "which one of you is which?" unconsciously paying tribute to the well preserved youthfulness of the widow. "oh, ophelia, beware!" carolyn june laughed, not in the least offended; "the gay old rascal is at it already!" "he didn't mean nothing" skinny interposed, sensing that old heck some way had made a blunder. "i guess you must be carolyn june?" looking questioningly at the girl. "excuse me," old heck said, "i'm your uncle, i suppose, and this is skinny rawlins--" "howdy-do; i'm glad to meet you," skinny muttered, reaching for the hand carolyn june frankly extended. "i'm glad, too," she replied candidly; "and this is mrs. ophelia cobb--just ophelia--uncle josiah," carolyn added, turning to old heck who clumsily shook hands with the widow while his weather-tanned face flushed a burning, uncomfortably red. "we was expecting you," he said, retaining life hold on her hand. "that was very kind," ophelia murmured. "i am sure we are delighted to be here." "now i guess we are all acquainted," carolyn june said with a little laugh. "it's easy for folks to get acquainted, isn't it?" turning suddenly to skinny. "seems like it after they once get started," skinny answered. "we'd better be heading for home i reckon," old heck said, releasing at last the widow's hand and lifting the bags in the car. "sing pete will have dinner ready by the time we get there." "we have some trunks," carolyn june said, "can we take them with us?" "yes," old heck replied, "get in, and we'll drive over to the depot and get them." with carolyn june and ophelia in the rear seat and skinny and himself in the front old heck drove the car across to the station and the trunks were fastened with ropes on the hood of the engine and running-boards of the car. as they started away carolyn june asked: "which way now, uncle josiah?" "out to the ranch." "hadn't we better stop at the drug store," she asked soberly, "and get some medicine?" "medicine? who for?" old heck inquired innocently. "why, the patients, of course," carolyn june answered with a mischievous chuckle. "what patients?" "out at the quarter circle kt where that epidemic of smallpox is raging!" she answered sweetly. "that's all a mistake," old heck said hastily; "we thought is was smallpox but it wasn't--" "no, everybody's got over it," skinny added nervously; "they're all cured!" "yes, they was just broke out with the heat and didn't have the smallpox at all--" old heck explained. "liars, both of them," carolyn june said laughingly to ophelia; "they just didn't want us to come!" "very likely," ophelia answered. "no, honest, we thought we had it," old heck stammered. "we were plumb uneasy for fear you wouldn't arrive," skinny declared. "after we found out it wasn't smallpox we were going to send a special delivery message and tell you it was all a misunderstanding and to come anyhow!" "shall we forgive them?" carolyn june asked the widow. "perhaps, this time--their first offense!" "i'll tell you," carolyn june said, "well suspend sentence pending good behavior!" skinny leaned close to old heck. "stop a minute at the golden rule," he whispered; "i want to do some personal trading." "if it ain't important," old heck answered, "we oughtn't to take the time. what do you want to buy?" "i want to get me a white shirt--" "gosh," old heck exclaimed, "that bad already! what'll he be in week?" "did you speak, uncle josiah?" carolyn asked. "huh--no, i--skinny just thought i was going to hit a rock!" he answered, and giving the engine more gas, he headed the car, at a thirty-mile clip, toward the east and the quarter circle kt. the party rode in silence. the speed of the car and the fan of the warm wind against their faces made conversation difficult. a mile from eagle butte they crossed the long, low, iron-railed bridge over the cimarron river and climbed out on to the bench away from the bottom lands. from that point on to the quarter circle kt the road followed the brow of the bench on the south side of the river. it was smooth and good. carolyn june thrilled at the bigness of it all as they swept quickly past the irrigated district close to the town and sped out on the open unfenced range. for miles the country was level with here and there arroyos cross-sectioning into the river valley. long stretches with the barest undulations made driving a joy and the winding road was a natural speedway. scattered over the plain were dusters of mesquit and in the low sags where moisture was near the surface patches of thorns. carolyn june loved the width and breadth of the great range, strange and new to her. here was freedom sweeping as the winds of heaven. dimly, on the southern horizon she could see the blue outline of sentinel mountain standing alone out on the plain. to the left green pasture-lands lay along the river. a narrow strip of cottonwood trees marked the curving path of the cimarron. beds of white quicksand, treacherous and fatal and dreaded by every rider of the open country could be seen, occasionally, through openings in the trees showing the bed of the river itself. in the distance behind them was eagle butte, towering above the town they had left a few brief moments before, and beyond that the costejo mountains, rugged and massive and covered in part on their lower slopes with blue-green thickets of pine. across the river was a choppy sea of sand-dunes stretching away to the north as far as sight could reach. here and there a high-flung mound, smooth and oval or capped with ledges of black, glistening rode broke the monotony of the view. engrossed in the study of the almost primitive picture carolyn june forgot the flight of time and the speed at which they were traveling. "yonder's the ranch!" skinny announced suddenly, turning half around in his seat and pointing ahead and to the left toward the river. the valley widened till it was a mile or more across. the cimarron swung sharply to the north and hugged the foot of the bench as if unwilling to spoil the meadowlands past which it flowed. in a great half-crescent--"quarter circle," old heck called it--the green basin-like area lay spread out before them. it was a half dozen miles in length, reaching from the canyon gate at the upper end of the valley where the river turned abruptly northward, to the narrow gorge at the south through which it disappeared. a blue crane lazily flapped across the valley. "seven thousand acres in the bottoms," skinny volunteered. "beautiful!" carolyn breathed. "splendid!" ophelia exclaimed. half-way down the valley, a quarter of a mile from the bench, the buildings of the quarter circle kt clustered together in a group--the low adobe house, bunk shack, stables, graineries. out in the fields were hay yards with half-built stacks of alfalfa--over the tops of the stacks white tarpaulins. in a pasture beyond the house were horses and cattle, perhaps a hundred head in all. climbing the hills north of the river were a number of moving figures, dimly seen through the haze. "are those cattle," carolyn june asked, "those things across the river?" "where?" skinny inquired. "over there, on the hills," pointing toward the objects. old heck glancing in the direction she indicated answered for skinny: "that's parker and the boys, going over to the north springs--they're checking up on some yearlings we just turned across from this side of the range." then, speaking to skinny: "they've already had their dinner and won't be in till supper-time--" "are they cowboys?" carolyn june asked. "i reckon," old heck responded. "is skinny one?" she inquired naively. "sort of, i suppose," old heck chuckled while skinny felt his face coloring up with embarrassment, "but not a wild one." "oh, who is that?" carolyn june cried suddenly as a lone rider whirled out of the corral, around the stables, and his horse sprang into a gallop straight down the valley toward the harrows at its lower end. "that," skinny said after a quick glance, "oh, that's th' ramblin' kid--where in thunder do you reckon the darned fool's going now?" he added to old heck. "can't tell nothing about where he's going," old heck said. "he's liable to be heading for anywhere. what's he riding?" he asked without looking up. "captain jack," skinny replied. "wonder if he ain't going over to battle ridge to find out if it's so about them sheep coming in over there?" "maybe," old heck grunted, "either that or else he's took a notion to hunt that gold dust maverick again"--referring to a strange, wonderfully beautiful, outlaw filly that had appeared on the kiowa range a year before and tormented the riders by her almost fiendish cunning in dodging corral or rope--"if he's riding captain jack that's probably what he's after." "who is he, what's his real name?" carolyn june asked with interest. "just th' ramblin' kid, as far as i know," old heck answered. "does he live at the quarter circle kt?" carolyn june continued curiously as she studied the slender form rising and falling with the graceful rhythm of his horse's motion--as if man and animal were a single living, pulsing creature. "off and on," old heck replied, "when he wants to he does and when he don't he don't. he's a witch with horses and knows he's always got a job if he wants it, and i reckon that makes him kind of undependable about staying in any one place long at a time. that's why they call him th' ramblin' kid--he's liable to ramble any minute." the car curled down the narrow dugway off of the bench and a moment later stopped at the gate in front of the ranch house of the quarter circle kt. "we're here," skinny said, as sing pete, the chinese cook, appeared at the open door. "they've come, sing pete," old heck called, climbing out of the car; "this is them! is dinner ready?" "all leady--waitee!" the oriental answered, shuffling out to the car to help with the luggage and twisting and squirming as he kept bowing in greeting. "this is great!" carolyn june said, as she stepped on the long cool porch in front of the house and paused a moment before entering the open door, "--it's cool and pleasant, i'm going to like it," she added, as she went into the big low-ceilinged room. the floor was bare of carpet but spotlessly clean; shades, but no curtains, were over the windows; in the center stood a large flat-topped reading table; at one end of the table was a morris chair upholstered in brown spanish leather; a wolf-skin rug was thrown on the floor before an old-fashioned mexican fire-place built into one corner of the room; in another corner was a smaller table on which was a graphophone; a rocker and several chairs were set about the room and against the north wall; between two doors, evidently opening into twin bedrooms, was an upright grand piano--. "oh, a piano!" carolyn june exclaimed delightedly noticing the instrument. "who plays?" "nobody," old heck answered foolishly, "i--i--well, what's the use of lying?--i bought it one day, before prohibition come, when i was drunk and just had it brought out because i didn't know what else to do with it--" "you funny old uncle!" carolyn june laughed, "i love you already.--ophelia plays," she added. "not so well or so much as carolyn june," ophelia said. "maybe we'll have some music then some day; that ain't canned," skinny suggested eagerly. "you women can use them rooms," old heck said, referring to the doors on each side of the piano. "parker and me did have them but we've arranged to sleep in the bunk-house while you are here." "carolyn june and i need but one," ophelia said, "it isn't fair to run you out--" "you ain't running us," old heck answered, "we've talked it over and would rather." after dinner ophelia and carolyn june spent their time in settling themselves in their rooms. a small bath closet connected the two--crude a bit and somewhat unfinished; but a hot tub, the water supplied from a tank at the kitchen range, was enjoyed by both. old heck and skinny helped with the trunks and then withdrew to the bunk-house. old heck shaved and skinny put on a clean shirt. skinny was not sure but this official love-making job was going to be interesting work and old heck himself was uncertain whether to cuss or rejoice--sometimes he was almost sorry to-morrow would be parker's day to love and entertain ophelia. chapter iv the unused plate at sundown, when parker and the cowboys rode in from the northern hills, the quarter circle kt lay under a mantle of sullen, torturing heat. not a breath of air fanned the poplars, straight and motionless, in front of the house. the sun buried itself in a solid wall of black that rose above the costejo peaks, hidden now in the shadow of the coming storm. the horses were dripping with sweat--their coats as glossy and wet as if they had swum the river. at the corral the animals wearily tossed their heads, low hung with exhaustion, seeking to shift the sticky clutch of head-stall or hackamore, while their riders dismounted and quickly removed saddle and riding gear. freed from their burdens the bronchos dragged tired heels through the dust as they whirled and trotted unsteadily away to the pasture, eager to roll and relax their aching muscles. "holy cats, but it's hot!" bert lilly exclaimed as he slipped off his chaps and started toward the house, leaving saddle and outfit lying beside the gate of the corral. "better put them things in the shed," parker advised, "looks like a whale of a storm is coming." "reckon that's right," bert answered, turning back and carrying his riding gear into the shelter where the other cowboys already had taken theirs. "wonder if them women come?" chuck slithers queried as they moved toward the gate. "more than likely--bet skinny and old heck have had a hell of a time making love to 'em," charley saunders remarked. "you want to be careful about cussin'," parker warned. "it ain't polite when women are around!" "listen at him!" bert said with a laugh, "practising already--parker is getting polite--to-morrow is his day to be affectionate to the widow, ophelia--" "which is she, parker," charley asked soberly, "a grass or natural?" "shut up, you blamed fools, they're liable to hear you," parker growled angrily. "anyhow, it ain't my fault they come!" "parker oughtn't to kick," chuck chimed in, "look at poor old skinny--he's got a steady job lovin' the other one!" "darned if i wouldn't rather love both of them at once," charley observed, "than to take another ride like that was to-day. i'm kind of anxious to see what they look like," he continued. "well, don't go and get excited at the supper table and eat your pie with a spoon!" chuck laughed. "aw, hell," charley retorted, "i guess i know how to act--" "old heck's going to buy some finger-bowls for you to wash your hands in," bert said scornfully, "him and parker--" "shut up, i told you, you darned idiots," parker snapped. "they're out on the front porch and can hear you!" "be careful about your cussin'--" bert mimicked with a snicker. notwithstanding their raillery every man in the group, including pedro, gave unusual care to scrubbing his face and smoothing his hair preparatory to entering the kitchen for supper and where they would meet, for the first time, ophelia and carolyn june. sing pete glided out of the kitchen door and hammered the triangle announcing the evening meal. at the instant parker and the cowboys filed into the kitchen from the rear, ophelia and carolyn june, followed by old heck and skinny rawlins, both looking sheepish and somewhat ashamed, stepped into the room from the front. all stood waiting and old heck, ill at ease and in a voice that trembled, gave the party formal introduction: "missus ophelia cobb and miss carolyn june dixon," motioning first at the widow and then the girl, "mister parker, mister bert lilly, mister charley saunders, mister chuck slithers, mister pedro valencia--" indicating each in turn with his hand as he called the names, "--i reckon you're already acquainted with skinny!" the cowboys mumbled greetings which carolyn june and ophelia graciously acknowledged. sing pete had laid two extra covers. "you boys can take your regular places--all except you, parker," old heck said, "--you set at that side on this end," pointing to the seat at the left next to the head of the table. "carolyn june, you can set at that end and ophelia at this end--i'll set here," taking the seat at the widow's right and directly across from parker. this placed old heck, bert lilly, pedro and skinny rawlins on the right of the table in the order named, skinny sitting at the end on carolyn's left. on the opposite side sat parker, chuck slithers and charley. next to charley, at the right of carolyn june, and opposite skinny, was a vacant chair. "who is this for?" carolyn june inquired, indicating the unoccupied seat. "that's th' ramblin' kid's place," old heck replied; "he may come in and again he mayn't--" "it was him you saw to-day," skinny added, "riding down toward the narrows when we was coming from eagle butte." "do you know; where he went, parker?" old heck asked. "no. when we started over to the springs he was here. said he reckoned we could get along without him and he wouldn't go--" "he's just got one of them lonesome spells," bert said, "and wanted to get off by himself somewhere." "he knowed we was going to have company, too," chuck observed. "more than likely that's why he went," skinny suggested. "is he afraid of women?" carolyn june laughed. "not particularly," skinny replied; "he don't bother with them, that's all." "i think he went after that gold dust maverick," charley said. "he'll probably come in when he sees how it's going to storm--" "he don't give a darn for storms," bert declared. "--pass them frijoles, pedro.--remember that time it blowed the hay derrick down and he wouldn't come to the house, just stayed out and watched the wind and lightning?" "he is funny that way," charley admitted. "well, he'll never catch that mare," parker said, "she's too--" "oh, i don't know," chuck interrupted, "look how he has tamed captain jack," referring to the ramblin' kid's own horse, one time a famous renegade. "how was that?" carolyn june inquired carelessly. "captain jack was an outlaw, too," bert explained. "he run over on the east mesa on the una de gata. charley and me and th' ramblin' kid got him to going one day when there was some ranch mares in his bunch. one of them was a hand-raised filly, was a pet and she was--well, pretty hot! we worked them over the rim of the mesa and into the canyon, it was a box-gorge from where they hit it to its head, and at the upper end there was a wing corral. the mare swung up the canyon towards the ranch and--jack wouldn't quit her! we was pounding right on their heels and before he knowed it we had them penned--" "that shows what happens when a he-thing goes locoed over a female critter," chuck whispered to parker; "you and old heck want to watch out!" "be careful, you danged fool!" parker hissed as he kicked at chuck's shins under the table. excited, he made a mistake in the foot he should have used and viciously slammed his left toe against ophelia's dainty ankle. the widow looked startled and suddenly sat up very straight in her chair. parker realized his error, turned red, choked, leaned close to chuck and breathed hoarsely, "i'll kill you some day for that!" "he sure went crazy when he found he was corraled," charley said, "and forgot all about the mare." "he sure did," bert continued, while carolyn june listened intently, "and was plumb wild to bu'st down the pen and be free again. charley nor me didn't want him and so th' ramblin' kid said he'd take him. just then tony malush--we was punchin' for him--come riding up and was going to shoot captain jack on account of wanting to clean the range of the outlaw stallions. he yanked out his gun and started to pull a drop on old jack's head. th' ramblin' kid jerked his own forty-four and told tony he'd kill him if he shot the renegade broncho. tony backed up, but it made him sore and he fired th' ramblin' kid. the darned little cuss set there a minute thinking, then slid off his horse, stripped him of riding gear, flung saddle, blanket and bridle over the bars into the corral. before we knowed what he was aiming to do he climbed up and dropped down inside, on foot, with just his rope, and faced that outlaw battin' around trying to get outside--" carolyn june leaned forward on the table listening with breathless interest. the others stopped eating and gave all their attention to the story bert was telling. "captain jack saw him, stopped for just a second, sort of surprised, then went right at th' ramblin' kid--head down, eyes blazin' like coals, mouth wide open, ears laid back and strikin' with both front feet--" "he was some wicked!" charley ejaculated. "he sure was," bert went on. "tony and charley and me just set on our horses stunned--thinkin' th' kid had gone clean loco and was flirtin' with certain and pronto death. as captain jack rushed him th' ramblin' kid give a jump sideways, his rope went true, a quick run to the snubbin' post and he throwed him dead! the broncho hit his feet, give a squeal and come straight back! th' ramblin' kid run once more, yankin' like blazes to get the slack! that time when he went down--well, before we realized it, th' ramblin' kid had him bridled and saddled and was safe on deck--" "i'm tellin' you too, captain jack went higher than a kite when he felt the rowels in his flanks!" charley interrupted. "th' ramblin' kid yelled for us to let him out," bert continued. "charley and me flung down the bars to the corral and captain jack come out sun-fishin' and hittin' the breeze like a streak of twisted lightning! that was just before dinner in the forenoon. that afternoon and night th' ramblin' kid rode the outlaw to the hundred and one--ninety miles away! we didn't see either of them any more for a month and when they hit the kiowa again captain jack was a regular baby after th' ramblin' kid and would follow him around like a dog--" "that's the way he's been ever since," charley said, "them two are just like sweethearts." "nobody else ever rides him--" bert added. "they can't," chuck said. "he's a one-man horse and th' ramblin' kid is the man. captain jack would die for th' ramblin' kid!" "yes, and kill any one else if he could!" parker exclaimed. "has no one but--but the ramblin' kid"--carolyn june hesitated queerly over the name--"ever ridden him?" "never that we know of," bert said; "several have tried it--the last one was a fellow from down on the chickasaw. guess he was trying to steal him. anyway, we was all up at eagle butte and had left our horses out in front of the occidental hotel while we was in the dining-room eating our dinners. we got outside just in time to see the stranger hit the ground and captain jack jump on him with all four feet doubled up in a bunch--he's buried in that little graveyard you might have noticed on the hill this side of the river bridge." "killed him?" carolyn june gasped. "seemed like it." bert answered, with a grin; "anyway, we buried him." "what did the--the ramblin' kid do?" she asked. "he just laughed kind of soft and scornful," skinny said, "and got on captain jack and rode away while we was picking the fellow up!" during the rest of the meal carolyn june's eyes looked frequently and curiously at the unused plate at her right. she felt, some way, that an affront had been shown her by the absence of the one for whom it was laid. the other cowboys, it was quite evident to her intuitive woman's mind, had looked forward with considerable eagerness to the arrival of herself and ophelia. the ramblin' kid, at the very moment almost of their reaching the quarter circle kt, had deliberately mounted captain jack and ridden away. it seemed like little less than an intentional snub! in addition to the half-resentment she felt, there remained in her mind an insistent and tormenting picture of the slender, subtle, young rider swaying easily to the swing of captain jack as he galloped down the valley earlier in the day. bert, charley, chuck, before the meal was finished cast frankly admiring glances at carolyn june and skinny plainly was gaining confidence at a rapid rate, while pedro, silent throughout it all, kept, almost constantly, his half-closed eyes fixed in a sidelong look at the girl at the end of the table. attention and admiration, carolyn june expected from men. they had always been hers. she was beautiful and was conscious of it. had the cowboys of the quarter circle kt not registered appreciation of her charms by their looks carolyn june would have believed something was wrong with her dress or the arrangement of her hair. her eyes--she was sure of them--without effort lured men to her feet. "it's hotter than blue blazes in here," old heck said when all had finished; "we'd better go out into the big room. maybe carolyn june will play some on the piano." "the boys and me will go on out on the porch," parker said as they reached the front room, speaking significantly to old heck, but in a tone both ophelia and carolyn june heard. "we'll leave you and skinny with the ladies and not intrude--" "you won't be intruding if you remain," ophelia said brightly. "carolyn june and i are not partial at all and want you to feel that we enjoy meeting you all." "yes, stay," carolyn june added, somewhat reluctant that of the entire group only one should be left to the wiles of her unconsciously intentional coquetry; "there is plenty of room in here and it's cool--" "we're much obliged," bert said, "but we'd better do the way parker mentioned. anyhow that was the agreement." "agreement?" ophelia spoke with a questioning lift of her brows. "yes," chuck said, evidently trying to relieve the embarrassment of old heck, parker and skinny who looked daggers at bert when he spoke of an agreement, "parker and old heck was to take turn about--" "bert meant," parker interrupted hastily, "--he meant they--they had to agree not to loaf in this room before old heck would give them jobs on the quarter circle kt!" "yes," old heck added quickly, "that was the bargain on account of--of--getting it mussed up and everything and making too much work for sing pete to clean it up!" ophelia and carolyn june looked curiously at each other as if they suspected some secret that had to do with their presence at the quarter circle kt. outside, the cowboys lounged on the porch or lay spread full length on the grass smoking their cigarettes, and silent. each was busy with thoughts of his own. carolyn june had been very impartial during the evening meal, distributing her smiles and little attentions freely among them all. now she was sitting at the piano playing snatches of random melodies as they came to her mind, while skinny sat stiffly on a high-backed chair at the corner of the instrument. a drone of voices reached the ears of parker and the cowboys as old heck, skilfully led on by ophelia, told about the ranch, the kiowa range and the traditions of western texas. "can you play _la paloma?_" skinny asked as carolyn june paused after running over a dainty and vivacious one-step, memories of which made her think of hartville and the fashionable ballrooms where she had reigned as princess at least if not as queen, and which seemed now very far away. "i'm afraid not--unless i have the music, but i'll try," she answered, and her fingers again sought the keys. the dreamy mexican air drifted seductively out on the sultry motionless night. bert looked through the window and saw skinny lean back in his chair, his eyes closed and an expression of supreme content stealing over his face. "skinny's gone--he's surrendered," he said to chuck, lying full length on the porch at his side; "look at the poor cuss with his eyes shut and grinning as if he was seeing visions of paradise!" "that combination would capture most anybody," chuck answered. "i'm starting to feel affectionate myself." bert didn't reply, chuck having expressed too nearly his own swelling emotions. "uncle josiah!" carolyn june called, suddenly whirling around on the piano stool as she finished the last bars of _la paloma_, "may i have a horse?" old heck, grown silent under the spell of the music, and, like skinny, sitting dreaming dreams that almost frightened him, started quickly. "a--a what?" he asked. "a horse--" she answered, "a broncho to ride!" "oh, uh--sure! skinny, go get her one!" he replied confusedly. "not now," carolyn june laughed, "to-morrow--any time, whenever i want to use it!" "can you ride?" skinny asked eagerly. "ever since i can remember," carolyn june said, "daddy has kept horses--i love 'em! ophelia rides, too," she added. "in automobiles--" ophelia corrected. "that's a good arrangement," skinny said; "it will make everything work out all right." "i don't understand," carolyn june said; "what arrangement?" "we'd better be going to bed, skinny," old heck interposed anxiously, "it's getting late!" "guess we had," skinny said reluctantly. "gosh, it's warm to-night!" "you can leave the door and windows open," old heck said to ophelia and carolyn june as he and skinny moved toward the door; "we don't have burglars out here." parker and the cowboys straightened up when they heard skinny and old heck preparing to leave and went around the corner of the building toward the bunk-house. ophelia and carolyn june stepped out on the porch with old heck and skinny. the air was oppressively still and hot. the black cloud bank that had hung over the costejo mountains earlier in the evening now covered the whole western half of the sky. night sounds seemed almost stifled by the suffocating heat. from the pasture below the stables the faint call of a kill-deer suddenly shrilled out, followed by intense silence. no lightning flash filled the wall-like blackness slowly creeping over the earth from the west. a pale glow on the rim of the rolling hills across the valley, herald of the moon not yet above the horizon, intensified the pall beneath the approaching cloud. a sullen roar, throbbing angrily, rising and falling in volume, could be heard coming out of the depths of the storm. "acts like it's going to be a bad one," old heck observed, studying the cloud they all were watching. "wicked," skinny said, "one of them mutterin' kind until it breaks and then all hell tears loose." "if th' ramblin' kid is out in the sand-hills to-night he'll--" a withering stream of fire poured from the cloud almost over their heads; it was accompanied by a crashing peal of thunder that rocked the earth under their feet and stopped the words on old heck's lips. the flame lighted the whole valley. they had an instant's glimpse of a writhing, overhanging curtain of dust and rain sweeping toward them. in the glare they saw a giant cottonwood that stood alone in the meadow west of the house reel and sway like a drunken thing and pitch to the earth. "it's here! it struck that tree!" old heck yelled. "run for the bunk-house, skinny, maybe we can make it! you women go inside and shut the door!" carolyn june and ophelia sprang--were blown almost--inside the house and slammed the door as another bolt fell, flooding the room with a blaze that made the light from the lamp on the reading table seem faint and dim. old heck and skinny darted around the corner as the tempest pulled and tugged at the buildings of the quarter circle kt. for an hour ophelia and carolyn june sat and listened to the storm and while it still raged went to bed. carolyn june fell asleep watching the incessant glare of the lightning as flash after flash filled the room with light and illumined the world outside, while the rain and wind lashed the trees in the garden near her window. above the tumult the words of old heck: "if the ramblin' kid is out in the sand-hills to-night"--kept repeating themselves over and over in her mind. try as she would, she could not shut out the picture of a slender young rider, alone, far out on the range in the storm-mad night, unsheltered from the fury and wrath of the elements. chapter v a duel of endurance when the storm broke over the quarter circle kt the ramblin' kid was twenty miles away following the gold dust maverick. old heck's surmise that he had gone in search of the outlaw filly was but half correct. it was not with the definite purpose of trying for the renegade mare that he had mounted captain jack and headed him toward the narrows at the moment carolyn june dixon and ophelia cobb arrived at the ranch. nor was it to escape meeting the women. their coming meant nothing to the ramblin' kid. he simply wanted to be alone. the ride with parker and the boys to the north springs meant talk. the ramblin' kid did not want to talk. he wanted to be with his thoughts, his horse and silence. should he happen on to the maverick he might give her a run. since her first appearance on the kiowa, the ramblin' kid had seen her many times. more than once, from a distance, he had watched the mare, getting a line on her habits. sooner or later he expected to test captain jack's endurance and skill against the filly's speed and cunning. without success other riders of the kiowa had tried to corral the outlaw or get within roping throw of her shapely head. so far she had proved herself faster and more clever than any horse ridden against her. the ramblin' kid believed captain jack was master of the beautiful mare, that in a battle of nerve and muscle and wind the roan stallion could run her down. some day he would prove it. at the narrows the trail forked. one branch turned sharply to the right and followed a coulée out on to the divide between the cimarron and the lower una de gata; the other swung toward the river, slipped into it, crossed the stream, and was lost in the sand-hills beyond. the broncho, of his own will, at the prongs of the road wheeled up the coulée and climbed out on the level bench south of the cimarron. a half-dozen miles away sentinel mountain rose abruptly out of the plain. toward the lone butte captain jack turned. he knew the place. on the north slope there was a tiny spring, fenced with wire to keep the stock from trampling it into a bog; near by was a duster of piñon trees; below the seep in the narrow gorge was a thin strip of willows. it was a favorite rendezvous sought by the ramblin' kid when in moods such as now possessed him. silently he rode to the group of piñons and dismounted. the ramblin' kid stretched himself under the trees while captain jack drank at the little water course. then, with his bridle off, the broncho fed contentedly on the bunch grass along the hillside. after a time captain jack quit feeding and came into the shade of the piñons. the ramblin' kid, flat on his back, stared through the scant foliage of the trees into the sky--overcast now with a dim haze, forerunner of the storm gathering above the costejo peaks. thousands of feet in the air a buzzard, merely a black speck, without motion of wings, wheeled in great, lazy, ever-widening circles. as the sun dropped into the cloud bank in the west a band of mares and colts came from that direction and rounded a spur of sentinel mountain. at their heads was the most beautiful horse ever seen on the kiowa range. in color a coppery, almost golden, chestnut sorrel; flaxen mane and tail, verging on creamy white; short-coupled in the back and with withers that marked the runner; belly smooth and round; legs trim and neat as an antelope's and muscled like a panther's; head small, carried proudly erect and eyes full and wonderfully clear and brown. "th' filly!" the ramblin' kid breathed, "with a bunch of tony malush's anchor bar mares and colts!" captain jack saw the range horses and lifted his head. "psst!" the ramblin' kid hissed and the neigh was stopped. the rangers moved toward the east and over the crest of a ridge a quarter of a mile away. on the flat beyond the rise they stopped, the colts immediately teasing the mares to suck. the filly withdrew a short distance from the herd and stood alert and watchful. for half an hour the ramblin' kid studied the gold dust maverick. he looked at the clouds climbing higher and higher in the west, then long and thoughtfully at captain jack. "let's get her, boy!" he murmured; "let's go an' get her!" his mind made up, the ramblin' kid slipped the bridle again on captain jack, removed the saddle and with the blanket wiped the sweat from the broncho's back, smoothed the blanket, reset the saddle, carefully tightened front and rear cinches and mounting the little stallion guided him slowly down the ravine in the direction of the horses on the flat. a hundred yards away the mares and colts, alarmed by the sudden half-whinny, half-snort, from the filly, discovered the approaching horse and rider. instantly the wild horses crowded closely together and galloped toward the una de gata. captain jack leaped into a run, rushing them. the maverick wheeled quickly and dashed away to the south alone. "her pet trick!" the ramblin' kid muttered as he headed captain jack after the nimble creature. "she absodamnedlutely will not bunch--seems to know a crowd means a corral, a rope and at last a rider on her shapely back!" for two miles it was a race. the ramblin' kid held captain jack to a steady run a couple of hundred yards in the rear of the speeding mare. at last he pulled the stallion down to a trot. the gold dust maverick answered by running another fifty yards and then herself settling into the slower stride. "like i thought," the ramblin' kid said to himself, "it's a case of wear her out--a case of seasoned old muscle against speedy young heels!" it became a duel of endurance between captain jack, wiry, toughened and fully matured, with heavier muscles, and the nimble, lighter-footed gold dust mare. at dark they were on the edge of the arroyo grande and captain jack had closed the distance between them until less than a hundred yards was between the heels of the filly and the head of the stallion behind her. she turned east along the arroyo, followed it a mile, seeking a crossing, then doubled straight north toward the cimarron. captain jack hung to her trail like a hound. in the blackness that preceded the storm she could not lose him. with almost uncanny sureness he picked her out--following, following, never giving the maverick a moment's rest. yet it seemed that the distance she kept ahead was measured, so alert and watchful was she always. both were dripping with sweat. try as he would, it seemed impossible for captain jack to win those few yards that would put the filly in reach of the rope the ramblin' kid held ready to cast until the inky darkness made it impossible to risk a throw. the mare splashed into the cimarron. a dazzling zigzag flash of lightning, the first of the storm, and the ramblin' kid saw the filly struggling in the yellow wind-whipped current. a moment later and captain jack was swimming close behind her. on the north side of the river the mare yielded to the drive of the tempest and turned east down the stream. a rocky gorge running at right angles toward the north offered shelter from the lashing wind and rain. up the ravine the maverick headed. a rush of muddy water down the canyon sent pursued and pursuer slipping and sliding and climbing for safety high up on the brush-covered, torrent-swept hillside. the constant blaze and tremble of lightning illumined the whole range. a wolf, terrified by the storm, seeking cover, crouched in the shelter of a black rock-cliff. the ramblin' kid saw the creature. his hand instinctively slipped under his slicker and gripped the gun at his hip. "hell! what's th' use of killin' just to kill?" he murmured. his hold on the gun relaxed. a bolt of lightning slivered the rock above the wolf; there was an acrid odor of burning hair. the next flash showed the wolf stretched dead twenty feet below the cliff. "well, i'll be damned!" the ramblin' kid whispered as he bowed his head before the gale, "that was funny! guess god himself figured it was time for that poor cuss to die!" in the last quarter of the night, at the north springs, when the storm had spent itself and the white moon looked down on a drenched and flood-washed earth, the 'ramblin' kid dropped his rope over the head of the gold dust maverick--barely twenty feet ahead of the horse he rode--conquered by the superior nerve, muscle and endurance of captain jack, still the greatest outlaw the kiowa range had ever known! the touch of the rope fired the filly to a supreme effort; she lunged forward; captain jack set himself for the shock--he threw her cold, full length, in the soft mud; instantly the little stallion sprang forward to give the mare slack, she came to her feet, squealing piteously, and plunged desperately ahead--again captain jack braced himself for the jar and put her down, "it's hell, little girl," the ramblin' kid said with a catch in his throat; "but you've got to learn!" the third time the maverick tested the rope and the third time captain jack threw her in a helpless heap. that time when she got to her feet she stood trembling in every muscle until captain jack came up to her side and the ramblin' kid reached out and laid his hand on the beautiful mane. she had learned. never again would the wonderful creature tighten a rope on her neck. trailing the filly, the ramblin' kid forced her back toward the cimarron, into its raging flood, multiplied a hundredfold by the torrential rain of the night; side by side she and captain jack swam the stream, and in the gray dawn, while the quarter circle kt still slept, he turned the mare and captain jack into the circular corral. he removed the saddle from captain jack, took the rope from the filly's neck, threw the horses some hay and on the dry ground under the shed by the corral, lay down and went to sleep. for fourteen hours, without rest, the ramblin' kid had ridden. the sun was up when sing pete electrified the quarter circle kt into life and action by the jangle of the iron triangle sending out the breakfast call. old heck stepped to the door of the bunk-house and looked out across the valley. the cimarron roared sullenly beyond the meadow. the lower field was a lake of muddy water, backed up from the gorge below. he glanced toward the circular corral. "what th'--who left horses up last night?" he asked of the cowboys dressing sleepily inside the bunk-house. "nobody," parker answered for the group. skinny rawlins came to the door. "it's captain jack," he said, "and--and darned if th' ramblin' kid ain't got the filly!" "aw, he couldn't have caught her last night," bert lilly said. "well, she's there," skinny retorted, "somebody's corraled her--that's certain!" hurriedly dressing, the cowboys crowded out of the bunk-house and down to the circular corral. the gold dust maverick leaped to the center of the enclosure as the group drew near and stood with head up, eyes flashing and nostrils quivering, a perfect picture of defiance and fear. the swim across the river had washed the mud from her mane and sides and she was as clean as if she had been brushed. "lord, she's a beauty!" chuck slithers exclaimed. "sure is--be hell to ride, though!" bert commented. "wonder where the ramblin' kid is--" "s-h-hh! yonder he is," charley saunders said, observing the figure under the shed, "--asleep. come on away and let him rest!" "breakfast's ready anyhow," old heck added. "and skinny ain't shaved or powdered his face yet--" chuck laughed; "these lovers ought to fix themselves up better!" "shut up, you blamed idiot, ain't you got no respect?" parker said as they turned toward the house. "listen at parker, he's one of them, too," chuck continued; "this is his day to be a sweetheart to the widow!" "i'd rather have skinny's job," bert said with a snicker, "i'd be afraid of ophelia--" "why?" "she acts too gentle to start with"--" "give her time," charley suggested, "she'll bu'st loose when she gets better acquainted!" "her and old heck got pretty well introduced last night, holding hands the way they did, and--" "dry up," old heck interposed with a foolish grin, "and come on to breakfast!" carolyn june and ophelia were charmingly fresh and interesting in dainty blue and lavender morning gowns. a bowl of roses, plucked by ophelia from the crimson rambler by the south window, rested in the center of the table. the cowboys saw the flowers and exchanged glances. old heck and skinny blushed. carolyn june noticed the vacant place at her right. "th' ramblin' kid ain't up yet," skinny volunteered. "then the storm did drive him to shelter, after all?" carolyn june asked with the barest trace of contempt in her voice. "i wouldn't hardly say that," bert lilly remarked, holding his cup for sing pete to fill with coffee; "--he brought in the gold dust maverick." "yes," chuck said with mock gravity, "it was quite an undertaking--he sprinkled salt on her tail--" "how clever!" ophelia exclaimed, looking interested, "and is that the way they catch--mavericks?" stumbling over the unusual word. "chuck's joking," parker said; "he always was foolish--" "uncle josiah," carolyn june asked suddenly, "can you take ophelia to eagle butte to-day?" "i--parker can," old heck answered, "if he can drive the car. still there are probably some pretty bad washouts--" ophelia looked quickly at old heck, interested by the note she detected in his voice. "i--i--got some work to do," he continued, "if you could wait till to-morrow"--addressing the widow--"i could more than likely go myself--" "i guess i can handle the car all right," parker said, looking significantly at old heck; "the roads will be dried up in a little while." "it's parker's day anyhow and he don't want to miss--" chuck started to say. "after breakfast," old heck interrupted, scowling at the cowboy, "chuck and pedro had better both ride-line on the upper pasture. the cattle probably went against the fence in the storm last night and knocked off a lot of wire. of course, skinny will have to stay here," he added, "and the rest of us, except parker, ought to look after the fences in the east bottoms--from the looks of the river this morning a lot of posts and wire must be washed out." "whoever gets up the saddle horses had better catch them in the pasture corral," parker declared, "it won't do to turn them in with that wild filly and captain jack." "i think i shall go see that wonderful filly," carolyn june said as they left the table, "she may be the particular broncho i will want to ride--" "not much," old heck objected, "these outlaws ain't exactly the kind of horses for women to fool with. you can use old blue. he's gentle." "did i tell you i wanted a 'gentle horse'?" carolyn june asked with a bit of impatience. "no, but i figured that was the kind you'd need on account of being raised back east--" "well, i am going to see the gold dust maverick," carolyn june said with emphasis, "and if she suits me i'll--i'll ride her!" "i'll go with you," skinny offered as carolyn june stepped from the kitchen door and started toward the circular corral. "never mind!" she spoke shortly, "--you can go catch 'old blue' and"--with scorn in her voice--"if he's able to walk, maybe it will be safe for me to ride him to the end of the lane and back--ugh! 'old blue!' the very name sounds as if he was dead!" "old blue's a good horse," skinny protested, "--we work him on the hay derrick--" but carolyn june was gone, walking rapidly across the open ground in the direction of the corral in which the ramblin' kid had turned captain jack and the gold dust filly. "jumpin' eats!" bert exclaimed as the cowboys started toward the stable, "didn't the young one show her teeth sudden?" "skinny's going to have his hands full if he don't look out," charley saunders remarked sagely. "still that kind ain't as dangerous as the ones that act plumb gentle like the widow has acted so far." "any female is treacherous," chuck observed grimly. "they're just like cinch-binders--you can't tell when they're going to rare up and fall over backwards!" "i'll bet ophelia turns out to be a w.c.t.u. or something," bert predicted solemnly. "if she does it's all off with the quarter circle kt, because parker and old heck are both in love already," charley said as they rounded the corner of the barn. carolyn june gave a gasp of admiration as she stepped up to the circular corral and saw the gold dust maverick closely. "oh, you beauty! you adorable beauty!" she breathed. captain jack and the filly were near the fence next to the shed. carolyn june passed in between the low building and the corral to be closer to the horses. the sky was cloudless and a wonderful liquid blue; the sun glistened on the rich, golden, brown sides of the mare and made her coat shine like delicate satin. when captain jack and the filly saw carolyn june they stood for a moment as rigid as though cast in bronze, heads held high, eyes fixed curiously yet without fear on the slender girlish figure. captain jack took a step forward in a half-challenging way. the maverick stood perfectly still. "you beauty," the girl repeated, "you wonderful golden beauty! you are going to be my horse--i'm going to ride you--_just you_--" "you'll get you're neck broke if you do!" a voice, deliberate and of peculiar softness, said behind her. carolyn june turned, startled, toward the shed from where the voice had come. she knew, even before she looked, that the speaker was the ramblin' kid. evidently he had just awakened. he had not risen and still lay stretched on the ground, his head resting on the saddle he had used for a pillow. carolyn june could not help wondering how long he had been lying there studying her back. the thought confused her. in spite of her efforts at self-control a slow flush crept over her cheeks. the ramblin' kid saw it and the faintest hint of a smile showed on his lips--or was the suggestion of amusement in the twinkling glance of his eyes? carolyn june could not tell. the subtlety and queerly humble impudence of it filled her with anger. while she looked into his eyes carolyn june appraised the physical appearance of the ramblin' kid. certainly he was not handsome, sprawling there in his rough clothing. she knew his age was somewhere near her own, perhaps he was a year, surely no more than that, older than herself. yet there was an expression about the face that suggested much experience, a sort of settled maturity and seriousness. his mouth, carolyn june thought, showed a trace of cruelty--or was it only firmness? the teeth were good. if he stood up her own eyes would have to angle upward a trifle to look into his and if hers were brown the ramblin' kid's were positively black--yes, she would say, a brutal, unfathomable black, penetrating and hard. his cheeks were smooth and almost sallow they were so dark, and she could tell there was not an ounce of flesh save tough sinewy muscle on his body. he was fully dressed except for the white weather-beaten stetson lying beside the saddle and the chaps and spurs kicked off and tossed with the bridle and rope near by on the ground. a dark woolen shirt open at the throat, blue overalls faded and somewhat dingy, black calfskin boots on a pair of feet that could not have been larger than sixes, comprised his attire. so this was the ramblin' kid, carolyn june thought. someway she had pictured him a blue-eyed, yellow-haired sort of composite skinny rawlins, chuck, bert lilly, charley saunders all in one and with the face of a boy in the teens! he was different. she wondered, and almost laughed at the absurd thought, if he was bow-legged. a glance at the straight limbs stretched in repose on the ground dispelled the doubt. the suddenness with which the ramblin' kid had spoken and the tone he used, carolyn june thought, was utterly unfair. she felt as if she had been ambushed. how could she know he was sleeping under the shed? why wasn't he in the bunk-house where he belonged? her own embarrassment made her cross. she wanted to say "damn!" and stamp her foot or throw something at him, lying there so completely self-possessed! instead, she looked steadily into the eyes of the ramblin' kid. someway as she looked they seemed not so unkind, more sorrowful they were, on closer scrutiny, than cruel. she started to speak, her cheeks began to burn-- without a word she turned and walked rapidly toward the house. as she moved away carolyn june felt something snap at her knee. she did not stop. reaching down she gathered the soft folds of the loose gown about her and hurried away from the corral. "god!" the ramblin' kid whispered as he straightened up, "she's built like th' gold dust maverick--an' just as game! they was made for each other." he went to the corral and leaned against the fence, studying the filly thoughtfully, while captain jack with a friendly whinny came and nosed at the fingers thrust through the bars. after a time the mare cautiously moved up beside the roan stallion and stretched her own velvety muzzle toward the hand the ramblin' kid held out. "you want to be loved, too, you little devil!" the ramblin' kid laughed gently, "--you thought i was mean last night, didn't you?" for a while he fooled with the horses, then started toward the kitchen. a few steps from where carolyn june had been standing he glanced down at a broad pink satin elastic band lying on the ground. it had been fastened with a silver butterfly clasp. the clasp was broken. the ramblin' kid stooped and picked it up. "i'll be--!" he chuckled as he fingered, almost reverently, the dainty thing, "it's a--a--darned pretty little jigger!" smiling whimsically the ramblin' kid slipped his find in his pocket and sought sing pete to tease him for a bite of breakfast. chapter vi you're a brute carolyn june went directly to her room when she reached the house. she wished to investigate the feeling of looseness at her knee. the satin band that belonged there was gone. she felt her cheeks grow hot. doubtless she had lost it at the corral--the ramblin' kid would pick it up! the thought tormented her. once more she wanted to swear vigorously and with extreme earnestness. instead she--laughed! it was all so absurd. the strange interest this rough cowboy inspired in her; the confusion she felt when he had spoken to her--no man among all the clever, carefully groomed, ultra-sophisticated suitors she had left in hartville ever stirred her emotions as had the ramblin' kid with a few drawling words and one long look from his black, inscrutable eyes. that look! she had the feeling, someway, that her whole soul was naked before it. she was almost afraid of him. it was silly! she detested him--or--anyway, he needed punishment! no, he wasn't worth it! he was only an ignorant rider of the range--why trouble at all about him? quickly changing her dress for a riding suit of khaki--the skirt sensibly divided--and the morning slippers for stout, tan, laced boots, she stepped into the front room. ophelia was in her own room dressing to go to town. carolyn june heard voices in the kitchen. sing pete's shrill chatter mingled with an occasional slow word from the ramblin' kid. thought of the garter she had lost flashed into her mind. perhaps the cowboy had not found it. she would run out to the corral and see. passing quickly out the front way carolyn june hastened again toward the circular corral. old heck and parker were at the garage getting the car ready for the drive to eagle butte; pedro and chuck were riding across the valley toward the upper pasture. the other cowboys saddled their horses near the barn. as she walked, carolyn june scanned the ground. at the corral she looked carefully where she had been standing. her search was fruitless. she smiled queerly. again she glanced at the gold dust maverick. "you darling," she whispered, "i am going to have you--i am--i absolutely am!" turning, her eyes rested on the saddle, chaps and riding gear lying in the shed where the ramblin' kid had slept. carolyn june stepped close to the outfit. "i have a notion to--to spit on you!" she said vehemently, "or kick--" but she didn't finish the sentence. one tan shoe had been drawn back as if to be swung viciously at the inoffensive pile of riding gear; it paused, suspended, then gently, almost caressingly, pushed the leather chaps which suddenly seemed to carolyn june to look limp and worn and pathetically tired. as carolyn june returned to the house parker drove the car around to the front; old heck joined the cowboys, already mounting their bronchos, and with them rode down the lane in the direction of the lower field. skinny came out of the barn, leading pie face and old blue. he left the horses standing and at the back-yard gate overtook carolyn june. as they stepped inside the yard the ramblin' kid appeared at the kitchen door. "there's the ramblin' kid now," skinny said as they approached. "hello, kid," he continued, "i see you got the filly--excuse me, i guess you folks ain't acquainted." haltingly he introduced them. without the flicker of an eyelid the ramblin' kid looked into the eyes of carolyn june. he had seen her coming from the corral and guessed correctly the reason for her second visit to the enclosure. indeed at that moment his hand was in his pocket toying with the delicate souvenir for which she had gone to search. yet his face was utterly without emotion as he lifted his hat and stood aside, acknowledging with formal words the introduction. "it's sure a surprisin' day an' pleasant--" he finished, emphasizing "surprisin'" and "pleasant" till carolyn june could have sworn there was a veiled taunt in the words he spoke. she was equally calm. smiling sweetly and with not a hint of a previous meeting she said: "i think i have heard of the ramblin' kid." pausing a moment: "it's always peaceful after a storm!" she added enigmatically. and the ramblin' kid, as skinny and the girl passed around to the front of the house, knew that carolyn june had hurled a lance! "a natural born heart-breaker," he said to himself as he went toward the bunk-house, "a genuine, full-grown vampire, part intentional an' part because it's in her--but she's a pure-bred--" he grew pensive and silent, a look of gentleness came to his face, followed quickly by an expression of extreme humility. "oh, hell," he exclaimed aloud, "what's th' use!" entering the building the ramblin' kid seated himself at the table at the end of the room. he pulled the pink satin elastic from his pocket and gazed at it, rubbing the soft fabric tenderly with the end of his thumb. his eyes lighted suddenly with anger and contempt. he threw the band violently across the room into a corner. "i wasn't raised to associate with luxuries like that!" he exclaimed with mingled bitterness and scorn, "--a damned ign'rant cow-puncher dreamin' dreams about an angel!" he finished with a harsh laugh. for a while he sat silent, gazing down at the table. then he got up, went over and lifted the garter from where it had fallen and replaced it in his pocket. "oh, well," he chuckled less bitterly and whimsically added, "--any idiot can smile at th' mornin' star even if th' darned thing is beyond his reach! besides, she don't need to ever know--" leaving the bunk-house he went toward the circular corral. parker climbed from the car and entered the house, asking if ophelia was ready. "in just a moment!" the widow called from her room. "what are you and me going to do?" skinny asked carolyn june as they stepped on to the porch, "take a ride?" "on 'old blue'?" carolyn june questioned scornfully, then, with resignation, as they went inside the house: "oh, well--i suppose, after a while. i have some letters to write now," and she entered her room leaving skinny standing perplexed by her varying moods. he looked foolishly at parker a moment. going to the graphophone he put on a record-- "_i'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air_!" wailed disconsolately through the house. "good heavens," carolyn june called, "do you blow bubbles this early in the morning?" "don't you like it?" skinny asked soberly. "i thought that was a pretty good tune." "i'm crazy about it!" carolyn june answered sarcastically. "there and then, but not here and now--" "where and when?" skinny queried innocently. "in the valley of the moon at the end of a perfect day!" she laughed back. "--forgive me, i couldn't help it!" "what does she mean?" skinny asked parker in a whisper. "is she making fun of me?" "no, you blamed fool," parker replied, "she feels good and is just joking--" skinny brightened up immediately. "that's a good one," he called to carolyn june with a snicker; "i never thought of it before!" a ripple of laughter came from carolyn june's room. "really, i don't mind," she said; "play _bubbles_ as much as you like--i think it's rather soothing, but truly i must write my letters now so ophelia can take them to town." half an hour later ophelia appeared dressed for the drive to eagle butte. carolyn june and skinny went out on the front porch and watched the widow and parker climb into the clagstone "six." as parker started the engine skinny suddenly called to him. parker sat with his foot on the clutch while skinny hurried out to the car. "what do you want?" he asked impatiently, "we've got to be going!" "lean over here," skinny said, his face flushing scarlet, "i want to tell you something." "well?" "stop at the golden rule and get me a white shirt size number fifteen and--a purple necktie if they've got any!" skinny whispered. ophelia heard and choked back a laugh. "thunderation, he's plumb locoed!" parker exclaimed, as he jammed the clutch into gear and the car sprang forward. "don't forget it, parker," skinny called earnestly, "i actually need it!" carolyn june and skinny stood on the porch and watched the car climb the grade and out on to the bench. the storm of the night before had washed the earth clean and cooled the air. a faint after-breeze fanned the tree-tops. the costejo peaks stood out, with stereoscopical clearness, against a cloudless sky. the day was a challenge to one who loved the open. "you may saddle 'old blue,'" carolyn june said to skinny. "--i'll see if i can 'stick on him' long enough to ride as far as the river!" "he's already saddled," skinny replied, "him and old pie face both." "man, dear," she cried in mock misunderstanding, "you surely are not expecting me to ride the two of them at once!" "no," he answered meekly, "old pie face is my horse, i'm going to ride him and go with you." "indeed!" she exclaimed, then laughing mischievously. "oh, certainly--that's a good one--i hadn't thought of it before!" "don't you want me to go?" skinny asked doubtfully. "surely. i should be utterly unhappy if you didn't--i'll get my hat." "blamed if i can figure her out," skinny said to himself as carolyn june ran lightly into the house. "she keeps a feller freezing to death and burning up all at once--sort of in heaven and hell both mixed together." a white, medium-brimmed felt hat was set jauntily on the fluffy brown hair when she reappeared. skinny's heart leaped hungrily. carolyn june was a picture of perfect physical fitness. the cowboy silently wondered how long he could keep from making "a complete, triple-expansion, darned fool of himself!" "i'm glad you want me to go," he said, renewing the conversation as they started around the house, "because i wanted to and, well, anyhow it's my job--" "what do you mean 'your job'?" carblyn june asked quickly. skinny was stricken silent. he realized he was on dangerous ground. he wasn't sure it would be wise to tell her what he meant. someway he felt carolyn june would resent it if she knew he was drawing wages for acting the lover to her. it seemed wholly impossible for him, just at that moment, to explain that, although old heck was paying him ten dollars a month extra salary to court, temporarily, his attractive niece, he, skinny rawlins, would personally be overjoyed to reverse the order and give his entire income, adding a bonus as well, for the privilege of continuing indefinitely and of his own choice the more than pleasant employment. yet this was the literal truth, so quickly had his susceptible heart yielded to the charms of the girl. but he dared not try to tell her. he knew the words would not come and if they did he would probably choke on them and she, not believing the truth, would detest him. skinny had heard of men who courted girls of wealth to win their money and with sincere contempt he despised these degenerates of his sex. now, suddenly, he felt that he himself was in their class. the thought made him sick, actually caused his stomach to quiver with a sort of nausea. "skinny rawlins," carolyn june said sternly, stopping and looking straight at the confused and mentally tortured cowboy, "tell me--and don't lie--what you meant when you said to go with me was 'your job!'" skinny raised his eyes; in them was piteous appeal. "i meant--i--" he hesitated. "tell me the truth," she ordered relentlessly, "or i'll--i'll--do something awful!" "i meant it was my job--" suddenly inspired, he blurted out, "to ride old pie face. he's--he's dangerous and has to be rode every so often to keep him from getting worse and to-day's the day to ride him!" "skinny," carolyn june spoke gently, "i feel sorry for you. i want to like you and i'm disappointed. it breaks my heart to say it but you are a liar--you're just a common double dashed liar--like uncle josiah was when he sent that telegram saying there was smallpox at the quarter circle kt--" "am i?" skinny asked humbly. "you are," she retorted impatiently, "and you know it--" "do i?" as if dazed. "you do, and did all the time--" "did i?" he felt like a parrot. "you did!" carolyn june snapped. "good heavens," she continued, "why do men think they have to lie to women? common sense and experience ought to teach them they can never fool them long--i hoped out here in the big west i would find one man who wouldn't lie--" "th' ramblin' kid won't," skinny said as if suddenly struck by a bright thought, "--he wouldn't lie to you!" carolyn june laughed scornfully. "oh, yes he would," she declared, "all of them do--every last one of the poor frail"--contemptuously--"turtles!" "but th' ramblin' kid wouldn't," skinny persisted; "he won't lie to anybody." "not even to a woman?" she questioned incredulously. "no," he answered positively, "i'm sure he wouldn't." "and why wouldn't he?" she asked. "well," skinny replied, "for one thing he don't give a darn. th' ramblin' kid don't care what anybody, man, woman or anything else thinks about him or whether they like what he says or not so there ain't any use of him lying. maybe he wouldn't tell what was in his mind unless you asked him, but if you did ask him he'd say what it was whether he thought it satisfied you or not. he's funny that way. he just naturally don't seem to be built for telling lies and he wouldn't do it--" "oh, skinny, poor simple skinny!" carolyn june laughed. "you don't know men--men when they're dealing with women! through all the unnamed years of my life i've never found one man who was absolutely truthful when talking with a 'female.' they think they have to lie to women. they do it either to keep from hurting them--or else they do it intentionally for the purpose of hurting them, one or the other! and they are so stupid! no man can hide anything long from a woman--" reaching over she jerked a spray of tiny roses from the rambler at the window near which they were standing; tapping the blossoms against her lips, beginning to smile whimsically, she continued: "why, i can almost read your own thoughts right now! if i wanted to i could tell you more about what is in your mind than you yourself could tell--" "could you?" skinny said, a guilty look coming in his eyes. "for one thing," carolyn june went on, ignoring the inane question, "you are in love--" "i ain't!" the over-hasty denial slipped from his lips unintentionally. "lie!" she laughed, "you can't help telling 'em, can you? and you are thinking--" she paused while her eyes rested demurely on the roses in her hand. "what am i thinking?" skinny asked breathlessly. before she could reply an agonized spitting, yowling and hissing, accompanied by the rattle of tin, came from behind the kitchen. "what's that?" carolyn june cried half frightened at the instant a yellow house cat, his head fastened in an old tomato can, came bouncing backward, clawing and scratching, from around the corner. "gee whiz!" skinny exclaimed, "it's that darned cat again--sing pete goes and dabs butter in the bottoms of the cans and the fool cat sticks his head in trying to lick it out and gets fastened. it looks like the blamed idiot would learn sometime. it's what i call a rotten joke anyhow!" sing pete appeared at the kitchen door cackling with fiendish joy at the success of his ruse. carolyn june stared, apparently stricken dumb by the antics of the struggling animal. "sun-fish! go to it--you poor deluded son-of-sorrow!" the ramblin' kid, who, unnoticed by carolyn june and skinny, at that moment had come from the corral and stood leaning against the fence, chuckled half pityingly, yet making no move toward the creature. "catch him and take it off," carolyn june cried, "it's hurting him!" skinny started toward the rapidly gyrating jumble of claws, can and cat. "i will if the darn' thing'll hold still a minute!" he said. carolyn june looked at the ramblin' kid, still leaning against the fence watching the cat's contortions. "why don't you help him?" she asked impatiently. "skinny can't do it alone--can't you see it's choking?" "no, he's not choking," the ramblin' kid replied without moving from where he stood, "--he's sufferin' some, but he ain't chokin'. he's got quite a lot of wind yet an' is gettin' some valuable experience. that cat's what i call a genuine acrobat!" he mused as the terrified creature leaped frantically in the air and somersaulted backward, striking and clawing desperately to free itself of the can tightly wedged on its head. carolyn june was accustomed to obedience from men creatures. the ramblin' kid's indifference to her request, together with his apparent cruelty in refusing to aid in relieving the cat from its torturing dilemma, angered and piqued the girl. "help skinny take it off, i tell you!" she repeated, "haven't you a spark of sympathy--" the ramblin' kid resented her tone and detected as well the note of wounded pride. instinctively he felt that at that instant the cat, with carolyn june, had become a secondary consideration. "well, some, i reckon," he answered, speaking deliberately, "generally a little, but right now darned little for that old yaller cat. i figure he's a plumb free moral agent," he continued as if speaking to himself; "he got his head in that can on his own hook an' it's up to him to get it out or let it stay in _this time_, just as he pleases--" "but sing pete put butter in the can!" carolyn june said, arguing. "he's done it before," the ramblin' kid answered with a glance at the chinese cook still gleefully enjoying the results of his cruel joke. "he won't no more. but that don't make no difference," he laughed, "th' darn' cat hadn't ought to have yielded to temptation!" "you're a brute!" she exclaimed passionately, "--an ignorant, savage, stupid brute--" the harsh words sprang from the lips of carolyn june before she thought. the ramblin' kid flinched involuntarily as if he had been struck full in the face. a look came in his eyes that almost made her regret what she had said. "i reckon i am," he replied, gazing steadily at her without feeling or resentment and speaking slowly, "yes, i'm an 'ign'rant, savage, stupid brute,'" deliberately accenting each word as he repeated the stinging phrase, "--but--what's the use?" he finished with a mirthless laugh. "anyhow," he added, glancing again at the cat and skinny's futile efforts to catch it, "i ain't interferin' this time, at least, with that damned cat!" carolyn june knew she had hurt with her unintentionally cruel words. for an instant there was a humane impulse to temper their severity. "i--i--didn't--" she started to say, but the ramblin' kid had turned and, ignoring the cat, skinny and herself, was leaning on the fence with his back to her, looking off across the valley, apparently lost in thought. she did not finish the sentence. the cat bucked its way to the fence. as it went under the wire the can caught on a barb of the lower strand. jerking furiously, the animal freed itself from the can, leaving splotches of hair and hide on the ragged edges of tin. still spitting and clawing, with its tail standing out like an enormous yellow plume, it dashed toward the barn, eager to put distance between itself and the thing that had been torturing it. "gosh a'mighty," skinny said, sweating with the exertion and the excitement of trying to catch the cat, "it'll be noon before we get started for that ride!" "we'll go now," carolyn june answered, "--before some other horrible thing occurs." "we're going over to the river and maybe out on the sand-hills a ways," skinny casually remarked to the ramblin' kid as carolyn june and he passed through the gate. "oh, yes," he added, "chuck said tell you he took your rope--there was a weak spot in his and he didn't get it fixed yesterday!" the ramblin' kid did not answer. skinny had been wrong about the ramblin' kid not caring what any one thought of him. he was supersensitive of his roughness, his lack of education and conscious crudeness, and the words of carolyn june were still in his mind. when skinny and the girl were going toward their horses the ramblin' kid turned and entered the gate. sing pete was still at the kitchen door. the ramblin' kid stepped up to him. "you damned yellow heathen," he said in a level voice, "if you ever play that trick on that cat again th' quarter circle kt will be shy a cook an' your ghost'll be headin' pronto for china!" without waiting for a reply he went back to the gate and watched skinny and carolyn june ride down the lane. the deftness and skill with which the girl handled the horse she rode forced a smile of admiration to the lips of the ramblin' kid. she sat close in the saddle and a glance showed she was a born master of horses. "she's a wonder," he said to himself, "a teetotal wonder--" a shade of melancholy passed over his face. "an ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" he murmured bitterly, "well, i reckon she was right--hell!" he exclaimed aloud, "i wonder if skinny'll remember about that upper crossin' bein' dang'rous with quicksand after the rain--guess he did," he finished as the two riders turned to the right toward the lower and more distant river ford and disappeared among the willows and cottonwood trees that fringed the cimarron. chapter vii the greedy sands when the ramblin' kid, working the rope-conquered and leg-weary gold dust maverick from the north springs back to the quarter circle kt, crossed the cimarron at dawn captain jack and the filly swam a raging, drift-burdened river. less than twelve hours later carolyn june and skinny, at the lower ford, rode into a stream that again was normal. old blue and pie face splashed through water barely reaching the stirrup leathers. only the fresh rubbish flung out on the meadows by the flood's quick anger or lodged in the willows, still bent by the pressure of the torrent that had rushed over them and slimy with yellow sediment left on their branches and leaves, told the story of the swift rise and fall of the cimarron the night before. on the bluff north of the river carolyn june and skinny checked their horses while the girl gazed down on the panorama of green fields, narrow lanes, corrals and low buildings of the quarter circle kt. the sight thrilled her. on all the kiowa range there was no more entrancing view. "it's kind of pretty, ain't it?" skinny ventured. "beautiful!" she breathed. "i'd--i'd like to stand here and look at it always--if you--if you'd enjoy it!" he said and was instantly appalled by his own audacity. carolyn june flashed a quick look at him. "we had better go on," she said, then added lightly: "does it always affect you so when you get this view of the valley?" "no. but, well, somehow it's different this morning--maybe it's because you are here!" he blurted out hurriedly. "please," she said, starting old blue toward the west along the crest of the ridge, "don't be sentimental. i'm afraid--" she added, intending to say it would spoil their ride. "you needn't be, with me along!" skinny interrupted hastily, misinterpreting her meaning. she laughed and without explaining urged her horse forward. skinny followed pensively on old pie face. the ramblin' kid, while going from barn to corral, glanced across the valley and saw carolyn june and skinny as they rode along the ridge. it was two miles from the ranch to the bluff on which they were riding, but so clear was the rain-washed air that the horses and riders were easily recognized. he watched them until they reached the corner of the upland pasture. there the roads from the lower and upper fords came together. the couple turned north along the fence and disappeared beyond the ridge. for a mile carolyn june and skinny rode without speaking. he felt already a reaction from his over-boldness of a while ago and silently swore at himself for his rashness. she was not eager to resume a conversation that had threatened a painfully emotional turn. she was quite content to enjoy the fresh air of the morning, the changing scenes through which they passed and the easy motion of the horse on which she was mounted. the bronchos pricked forward their ears at the sound of galloping hoofs. "somebody's coming," skinny spoke as pedro, riding rapidly toward them, rounded the point of a low hill a little distance ahead. "what's wrong?" skinny questioned, when the three met and stopped their horses. "the pasture fence is bu'sted," pedro answered; "at the northeast corner it is broke. the cattle are out. ten--fifteen maybe--are dead--the lightning strike them perhaps. the others all of them are gone. they go pronto, stampede i think, toward the purgatory. chuck and me can not get them alone--i go to tell old heck so the boys will come and help!" it was plain to skinny what had occurred. the cattle had drifted before the storm until stopped by the wire. while crowded against it a bolt of lightning had struck the fence, followed the metal strands, and killed the animals touching or nearest to it. in the fright the others plunged madly forward and had broken their way to freedom. five hundred diamond bar steers, recently bought by old heck and brought from the purgatory forty-five miles north of the quarter circle kt were out and rushing back to their former range. "you go help chuck," skinny said to pedro. "carolyn june and me will turn around and take the news to old heck and send some of the boys to help you. if them cattle ain't bunched before they hit the purgatory and get scattered over their old range it will take a month to gather them and get them back again!" "why don't you yourself go with pedro and chuck?" carolyn june asked skinny. "i can ride to the ranch alone and tell the others about it." "i'm supposed to stay with--" he begun. "with me, i presume," she interrupted. "well, this is one time you don't. go on with the boys. you are needed after those steers a lot more than you are to 'herd' me back to the ranch!" without waiting to argue she wheeled old blue toward the quarter circle kt. skinny watched her a moment, then started with pedro in the other direction. suddenly checking his horse he swung around in the saddle. "go back the way we came!" he called after the girl. "don't try the upper ford!" carolyn june looked around and threw up her hand, motioning toward the north. thinking that she understood, skinny touched old pie face with the spurs and soon overtook the mexican. he was mistaken. carolyn june had not understood the warning. the distance was too great for his words to reach her distinctly. she thought he was merely protesting against her going alone. at the fork of the road she saw that the trail that led to the upper ford was much the nearer way to the ranch. reining old blue into it she rode swiftly along the ridge and down the slope toward the dangerous crossing. * * * * * the ramblin' kid spent the morning at the circular corral. he was studying the moods and working to win the confidence of the gold dust maverick. he was watching her and thinking always a little ahead of the thought that was in the mind of the mare. his love for a horse and understanding of the wonderfully intelligent animals was as natural as were the brown eyes, the soft low voice, the gentle but strong touch, by which it was expressed. he wooed the outlaw filly thoughtfully, carefully, as a lover courts a sweetheart. the beautiful creature reminded him of carolyn june. "they was made for each other!" he repeated softly as he worked with the mare. from the corral he could see the road across the river where skinny and the girl had gone. often he turned his eyes in that direction. he was fingering the garter in his pocket and looking toward the river when carolyn june appeared on the ridge as she returned alone to the ranch. he stood and watched her. the ugly words she had spoken at the gate came into his mind and a bitter smile curled his lips. still he watched the girl, expecting skinny would ride into view. she turned down the ridge toward the upper ford. "that's funny," he thought, "wonder where skinny's at?" then it flashed through his mind that something must be wrong for the girl was riding alone. "hell!" he exclaimed aloud, "she's by herself an' headin' straight for th' upper ford!" only an instant he paused. "jack!" he cried sharply, running to the corral gate and swinging it partly open. "come--_quick_!" the roan stallion started at a trot toward the gate, then, trained to obey instantly the word of the master he loved better than life, leaped nimbly through the opening. slamming and fastening the gate the ramblin' kid ran to the shed, the broncho at his side. he threw the blanket and saddle on the little roan, cinched quickly but carefully the double gear, slipped the bit into the waiting mouth of the horse and without stopping to put on his chaps sprang on captain jack's back and whirled him in a dead run around the corner of the shed and down the lane toward the north. at the pasture corral below the barn he guided the broncho close to the fence and scarcely checking him leaned over and lifted a rope, coiled and hung on a post near the gate, from its place--the one chuck that morning had left because of the flaw. "god!" he groaned, "--an' a bad rope!" he glanced toward the ridge across the river. carolyn june had disappeared down the trail that led to the upper ford. "go, little man, go--for th' love of god, go!" the ramblin' kid whispered as he leaned forward over the neck of the horse. captain jack answered the agonized appeal as he would never have responded to the cruel cut of spurs and leaped ahead in a desperate race to beat old blue and his precious burden to the greedy sands of the cimarron. as he rode, the ramblin' kid slipped his hand around the coils of the rope till his fingers found the broken strands that told of the weakness that caused chuck to leave it behind that morning. bending over it, while his horse ran, he worked frantically to weave a rawhide saddle string into the fiber and so strengthen the dangerous spot. * * * * * thinking only to reach the ranch as quickly as possible carolyn june guided old blue down the trail and through the thin patches of willows and cottonwood trees that grew along the river. the stream looked innocent enough and the crossing perfectly safe. swift but apparently shallow water flowed close to the northern bank. beyond that was a clean, pebble strewn bar and then a smaller, narrower prong of the river. on the south side stretched a white, unbroken expanse of sand a hundred feet or more wide and ending against the low slope of the meadow land. at the brink of the stream old blue stopped short and refused to go on. "what's the matter," carolyn june laughed lightly, "--afraid of getting your 'little tootsies' wet?" the horse reared backward when she tried to urge him ahead and wheeled half around in an effort to get away from the water. "look here, old fellow," she spoke sharply, tightening the reins as she touched his flank with her spur, "we haven't time for foolishness! generally, in fact always," accenting the last word, "horses--and men--go in the direction i want them to go! why, you're as stubborn--as--as the ramblin' kid!" she finished with another laugh as old blue, with a snort of fear, yet not daring to resist further the firm hand and firmer will of his rider, stepped into the water. "gee, when you do start you go in a hurry, don't you?" carolyn june said as the broncho went rapidly forward as if eager to negotiate the crossing, seeming to know that safety lay in the quickness and lightness of his tread. as he lunged ahead the girl had the sensation that the saddle was sinking from under her. reaching the firmer footing of the gravel bar in the center of the stream old blue tried again to turn about. "go on!" carolyn june cried impatiently yet with a feeling somehow of impending danger she could not wholly define, "--you've got to do it, so you had as well quit your nonsense and go ahead!" at the same time raking the horse's sides sharply again with the spurs. crossing the shallow branch of the river the broncho reached the smooth, firm appearing beach of sand. with his head down, his muzzle almost touching the ground, as if scenting, feeling, his way, he went forward stepping rapidly, easily, as possible. at each step his foot slipped lower into the yielding, quivering mass. carolyn june felt him tremble and the sensation that the horse was being pulled from under her grew more and more pronounced. she noticed how he sank into the sand and observed also the sweat beginning to darken the hair on the neck of her mount. "pretty soft, isn't it?" she said, speaking to the broncho kindly as though to encourage him and perhaps at the same time to allay a bit the queer sense of uneasiness she felt, for even yet she did not realize the danger into which she had unknowingly ridden. half-way to the firm black soil of the southern bank of the stream old blue's front feet seemed suddenly to give way beneath him. he began to plunge desperately. then it was the truth came to carolyn june. her cheeks grew white. "the quicksand!" she exclaimed aloud, at the same time trying to help the horse with a lift of the reins. it was too late to turn back. her only salvation lay in reaching the solid ground such a few yards ahead--and yet so fearfully far away. old blue struggled madly to go forward, gaining a little but at each effort sinking deeper into the sand. carolyn june tried to encourage him with words: "come on, come on! good little horse--you can make it! keep trying--that's it--now!--you're doing it! brave old blue--don't give up--don't give up, boy!" she pleaded, pity for the horse causing her almost to forget her own terrible peril. it was useless. twenty-five feet from safety old blue's front quarters went down until his breast was against the sand. the hind legs were buried to the stifles. he wallowed and floundered helplessly. his hoofs touched nothing solid on which to stand. he stretched his head forward, straining-to lift himself away from that horrible, clinging suction. his efforts only forced him down--down--always down! carolyn june's own feet were in the sand. she threw herself from the saddle--as far to one side and ahead of the horse as she could. with her weight removed perhaps old blue could get out. anyway it was death to stay on the horse. perhaps alone she could escape--she was lighter--the sand might hold her up--by moving rapidly surely she could go that short twenty-five feet to the firm ground ahead of her. at the first step she sank half-way to her thigh. she fell forward thinking to crawl on her hands and knees. her arms went into the mass to the shoulder. silently--without a word--but with horrible fear gripping her heart she fought the sand. she sank deeper--slowly--steadily--surely. the hellish stuff closed about her body to the waist. if she only had something--anything--solid to hold to! she took off her hat, grasped the edges of the brim, reached her arms out and tried to use the frail disk of felt for a buoy. it held a moment then gradually settled below the surface of the shifting, elusive substance. again and again she lifted the hat free from the sand and sought to place it so it would bear a part at least of her weight. her efforts were vain. the insidious mass crept higher and higher on her body. she remembered reading that one caught in the quicksand by his struggles only hastened his own destruction. she tried to be perfectly still. in spite of all she was sinking--sinking--the sand was engulfing her. during all her struggles carolyn june remained silent. she had not thought to cry out. somehow she could not realize that she was to die. the sun was bright, the sky cloudless, the trees along the river-bank barely swayed in a little breeze! how beautiful the world! how queer that such a little distance away was the green grass of the meadow and the firm black earth in which it was rooted and she--she was held fast and helpless in the embrace of the deadly sand! strange thoughts rushed through her mind. she wondered what they would think at the ranch when night came and she did not return. would they know? would they guess the thing that had happened? would the sand draw her down--down--until it covered her so none would ever know where or how she died? she looked at old blue. "poor old fellow!" she whispered, "i am sorry--i didn't know--it looked so white and firm and safe!" the sand was half-way up the sides of the horse and he swayed his body in pathetic, futile efforts to free himself. a strange calm came over carolyn june. so this was the end? she was to die alone, horribly, in the treacherous sands of the cimarron? surely it could not be--god would not let her die! she was so young! she had just begun to live--she thought of hartville, her father, the old friends. how far away they seemed! how queer it was--she could not image in her mind any of the familiar scenes, the face of her father or any of the friends she had known so well! she tried to think of her uncle josiah, ophelia, skinny rawlins--poor fellow, how susceptible was his big, innocent, boyish heart! she called each one up in a mental effort to remember how they had looked, the sound of their voices--they were only names--dim shadowy names! there was nothing in the whole world but old blue--herself--and the sand--the sand--an eternity of sand pulling, dragging, sucking her down! she closed her eyes tightly, thinking to shut out the impression of utter loneliness. the face of the ramblin' kid flashed into her mind! she could see him! she saw him lying under the shed, as he had looked that morning, his head resting on the saddle, his eyes gazing steadily into her own; she saw him again as he had looked when she stung him with her harsh words at the gate. she seemed to see the agonized humility in his expression and hear the low tenseness of his voice as he repeated aloud the words she had used--"an ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" she laughed almost hysterically. "why can i see him--just him--and not the others? has he come to--to--haunt me?" she finished with a gasp. the sand had reached her breast. how long before it clutched at her throat? her mouth? her eyes? ah, would she hold up her arm as she went down--down--and reach out her hand as if to wave the world a last, long farewell? "i will--i will!" she cried, the pressure around her body almost stopping her breath, "i--i--will--and--wiggle my fingers to the end!" she added with a choking half-hysterical laugh, so tightly did she cling to life. her mood changed. "i--guess--i ought to pray!" she said, "but--i--god--god knows anyhow!" her voice trailing away to a whisper as if she had grown suddenly, utterly, tired. she stretched out her hands once more with the hat, trying to use it to buoy her up. under the weight of her arms it sank in the sand. she tossed it to one side. "it will--stay--on top by itself," she choked. "i--i--will leave it--maybe they will find it--and know--" she felt her senses were leaving her. even yet she had not called for help. it had not occurred to her that rescue was possible. as if it were an echo to her thoughts there came the throbbing tattoo of hoofs pounding the earth. she listened intently. some one was riding down the lane toward the river from the ranch! the horse was evidently running--running madly, desperately. would he cross at the upper or lower ford? her heart pulsed with heavy dull throbs. the sand was crushing her chest. a wave of weakness swept over her. she almost fainted. at that instant captain jack, carrying the ramblin' kid, leaped through an opening in the willows and stopped--his front feet plowing the firm ground at the edge of the quivering beach of sand. "pure luck!" the ramblin' kid breathed fervently, his eye quickly measuring the distance to the nearly exhausted girl; "she's close enough i can reach her with th' rope! god, if it'll only hold!" already the coils were in his hand. with a single backward fling of the noose and forward toss he dropped the loop over the head of carolyn june. "pull it up--close--under your arms!" he commanded shortly, "an' hang on with your hands to take th' strain off your body!" the girt obeyed without a word. he double half-hitched the rope to the horn of the saddle, swung captain jack around. "look out!" he called to the girl as he started away from the brink of the sand. "steady, boy, be careful--" to the broncho. the slack gradually tightened. the strain drew on carolyn june's arms till it seemed they would be pulled from the sockets. the rope cut cruelly into her body under her shoulders. she wanted to cry--to scream--to laugh. she did neither. she threw back her head and clung with all her strength to the rough lariat, stretched taut as a cable of steel. the ramblin' kid leaned forward in the saddle, his body half turned, eyes looking back along the straight line of the severely tested rope. he swore softly, steadily, under his breath. "god--if it will only hold--if it only don't break!" slowly, surely, the little stallion leaned his weight against the tensely drawn riata and carolyn june felt herself lifted, inch by inch, out of the sand that engulfed her. at last she fell forward--her body free. without stopping the horse the ramblin' kid continued away from the river-bank and dragged the girl across the yielding surface to the solid earth and safety. the instant she was where he could reach her he whirled captain jack and rode quickly back. carolyn june was trying to get to her feet when he sprang from the broncho and helped her to the firm ground on which he stood. she was panting and exhausted. "get--get--old blue out!" she gasped and dropped limply down on the grass, fingering at the rope to remove it from around her body. "danged if she ain't got more heart than i thought she had!" the ramblin' kid said to himself as he lifted the loop from over her head. "i'm goin' to," he said aloud, "if i can--but--i'm afraid he's gone. i'll try anyhow--you lay there an' rest--" at the same time remounting his horse. the sand covered the rump of old blue. the saddle, parker's it was, was nearly submerged, only the horn and cantle showing above the slimy mass. his head, neck and the top of his withers were yet exposed. he still struggled, wallowing feebly, vainly resisting the downward pull of the sand. crouching, as if fascinated by the terrible scene, carolyn june watched as the ramblin' kid, waiting his opportunity, at the instant the horse in the sand lifted his head deftly flung the rope over his neck. with a short jerk of the wrist he tightened the noose till it closed snugly about the throat of the broncho. again turning captain jack away from the bank he urged him slowly forward. the rope stiffened. the little stallion bunched himself and desperately strained against the dead weight of old blue, multiplied many times by the suction of the sand. the ramblin' kid leaned far over the neck of captain jack to give the horse the advantage of his own weight and looked back, watching the supreme efforts of the mired broncho as he fought to climb out of the sand. a moment it looked as if the little roan would drag him out. slowly he seemed to be raising and moving forward. there was a sharp snap. half-way down its length the lariat parted. at the weak spot the strain was too great. captain jack plunged forward to his knees, his nose rooting the earth, and the ramblin' kid barely saved himself from pitching over the horse's head. "that's what i was dreadin'--" he said as he turned and rode back to the edge of the sand. carolyn june gazed, wide-eyed, speechless with horror, at the horse in the sand. when the rope broke, old blue, with a groan almost human, sank back and quickly settled down until only his head and part of his neck were exposed to view. the ramblin' kid looked at the broken rope--the end fastened around the throat of old blue had whipped back and was lying far beyond the cowboy's reach. the piece half-hitched to the saddle horn was too short for another throw. old blue was doomed. carolyn june saw him sinking gradually, surely, into the sand. it seemed ages. his eyes appealed with dumb pathos to the group on the bank. they could hear his breath coming in harsh, terrible gasps. the sand seemed to be deliberately torturing him as though it were some hellish thing, alive and of fiendish cunning, that grasped its victim and then paused in his destruction to gloat over his hopeless agony. the ramblin' kid sat captain jack and watched. "why did god ever want to make that stuff anyhow!" sprang hoarsely from his lips. he was torn between blind unreasoning anger at the quicksand and pity for the struggling horse. suddenly he jerked the forty-four, always on his saddle, from its holster. as the gun swung back and then forward there was a crashing report and old blue's head dropped, with a convulsive shudder, limp on the sand. carolyn june screamed and buried her face in her hands. at the sound of the shot captain jack stiffened and stood rigid. the ramblin' kid, his face white and drawn, sat and looked dry-eyed at the red stream oozing from the round hole just below the brow-band of the bridle on the head of the horse he had killed. "i--i--would have wanted somebody to do it to me!" he said softly and rode to the side of the girl huddled on the ground. he dismounted and stood, without speaking, looking down at her shaking form. after a time she looked up, through eyes drenched with tears, into his face. then as if drawn by an irresistible impulse--one she could not deny--she turned her head and looked at the spot where old blue had fought his last battle with the quicksands of the cimarron. a crimson stain, already darkening, on the white surface; a few square feet of disturbed and broken sand, even now settling into the smooth, innocent-looking tranquillity that hid the death lurking in its depths; a short length of rope, one end drawn beneath the sand, the other lying in a sprawling coil; her hat resting a little distance to one side, were all that remained to tell the story of the grim tragedy of the morning. she shuddered and looked once more into the pain-filled eyes of the ramblin' kid. "we'd better be goin'," he said quietly, "you're wet an' them clothes must be uncomfortable. you can ride captain jack!" she stood up weak and trembling. "i--i--thought captain jack was an outlaw," she said with a faint smile. "he won't let me ride him, will he?" "he'll let you," the ramblin' kid answered dully, "no woman ever has rode him--or any other man only me--but he'll let you!" as she approached the stallion he raised his head and looked at her with a queer mixture of curiosity and antagonism, curving his neck in a challenging way. "jack!" the ramblin' kid spoke sharply but kindly to the horse, "be careful! it's all right, boy--you're goin' to carry double this one time!" the broncho stood passive while the ramblin' kid helped carolyn june to his back. "you set behind," he said, "it'll be easier to hold on an' i can handle th' horse better!" she slipped back of the saddle and he swung up on to the little roan. with one hand carolyn june grasped the cantle of the saddle, the other she reached up and laid on the arm of the ramblin' kid--the touch sent a thrill through her body and the cowboy felt a response that made his heart quiver as they turned and rode toward the quarter circle kt. for a mile neither spoke. "i--i--am sorry for what--i said this morning," carolyn june whispered at last haltingly, feeling intuitively that the cruel words--"an ignorant, savage, stupid brute"--were repeating themselves in her companion's mind. "it's all right," he answered without looking around and in a voice without emotion, "it was th' truth--" with a hopeless laugh. "i'm a damn' fool besides!" chapter viii quick with a vengeance old heck rode in advance of charley and bert as the trio returned from repairing the fences wrecked by the flood that had swept over the east bottom-lands of the quarter circle kt. all morning he had been silent and morose. only when necessary had he spoken while he directed the cowboys at their labor, helped them reset posts, or untangle twisted wires and build up again that which the rush of water had torn down. the damage had not been great and by noon the fence was as good as new. as soon as the breaks were mended the moody owner of the quarter circle kt mounted his horse and started for the house. "them women coming or something has got old heck's goat," bert remarked to charley as they climbed on their horses and followed a moment later. "something's got it," charley answered, "he ain't acted natural all day--do you reckon he's sore because parker took the widow to town?" "darned if i know," bert said doubtfully, "that might be it." "well, he's feverish and disagreeable for some reason or other and that's the way people generally get when they're jealous," charley observed sagely. "he hadn't ought to be," bert argued, "it's parker's day to keep company with ophelia, and old heck and him agreed to split." "if he's in love he won't split," charley retorted with conviction, "i never saw two men take turn about loving the same woman yet. it can't be done!" "the woman wouldn't object, would she?" bert queried. "probably not," charley replied, "at least not as long as double doses of affection was coming her way. from what i've heard most of 'em sort of enjoy having as many men make love to 'em as possible, but--" he paused. "but what?" "they kick if a man loves several women at once!" was the sophisticated reply. "but as far as that's concerned," he continued, speaking as a man wise in the ways of the world, "men and women ain't much different in that respect. when it comes to loving, both sides are plumb willing to divide up 'a-going' but want it to be clean exclusive when it comes to 'coming!'" "it's funny, ain't it?" bert commented. "no, it ain't funny," charley declared. "it's just natural--" "maybe parker and old heck will have a fight about ophelia," bert suggested hopefully. "which do you suppose would lick?" "it's hard telling," charley said thoughtfully. "old heck's the heaviest, but parker's pretty active." "well, it sure does seem like wherever women are trouble is, don't it?" bert observed meditatively. "blamed if it don't," charley agreed; "there's something about them that's plum agitating!" old heck, riding a short distance ahead of the cowboys, was troubled with similar thoughts. he was trying to analyze his own feelings. years without association with womankind had made him come to regard them with a measure of indifference and suspicion. he had developed the idea that women existed chiefly for the purpose of disorganizing the morale of the masculine members of the race. he was very sincere in this belief. yet he was forced, now, to confess that he found something interesting in having a couple of attractive females at the quarter circle kt. the situation was not so disagreeable as he had expected. already he was proud of his kinship to carolyn june. she was a niece worth while. ophelia also had proved herself a pleasant surprise. he had pictured her as a strong-minded, assertive, modernized creature who would probably discourse continuously and raspingly about the evils of smoking, profanity, poker, drinking and other natural masculine impulses. instead, she had proved herself, so far, a perfect lady. without doubt she was the most sensible widow he had ever met. the thought of parker's long, intimate ride with her to eagle butte made him uncomfortable. it was a darned fool arrangement--that agreement that he and his foreman were to divide time in the entertainment of ophelia. he could have done it alone just as well as not. anyway the dual plan was liable to cause confusion. oh, well, parker would be out on the beef hunt next week. by rights it ought not start for ten days yet, but--well, it wouldn't hurt to move it up a little. he would do that. then he remembered the frank admiration the cowboys had shown toward carolyn june. this suggested complications in that direction. "thunderation!" he said aloud, "it's a good thing we fixed it up for just skinny to make love to her--if we hadn't there'd have been a regular epidemic of bu'sted hearts on this blamed ranch! there wouldn't have been a buckaroo on the place that could have kept from mooning around sentimental--unless it was th' ramblin' kid," he added; "that blamed cuss is too independent and indifferent to fall in love with any female!" at the barn charley and bert overtook old heck. the three unsaddled and fed their horses and started toward the house for dinner. sing pete had seen them coming and immediately pounded the triangle. "th' ramblin' kid's gone somewhere again," bert observed as he noticed the gold dust maverick alone in the circular corral. "captain jack's not with the filly--" "yonder th' ramblin' kid comes now," charley said, looking toward the north; "he's been over to the river--what the devil kind of a combination is that?" he exclaimed as he got a better view of the horse coming up the lane. "him and that girl both are riding captain jack." "blamed if they ain't," bert said curiously; "it's a wonder captain jack'll let them. but how does that come, anyhow? where's skinny? i thought it was his job to ride herd on carolyn june--" "it is his job," old heck interrupted, "i don't understand--something must have gone wrong," he added excitedly as the stallion with his double burden drew near. "carolyn june's all wet and she's lost her hat." turning his horse toward the house, when he reached the end of the lane and with but a glance at the trio standing at the barn, the ramblin' kid rode straight to the back-yard gate. old heck and the cowboys hurried across the open space and reached the gate just as carolyn june rather stiffly dismounted from the little roan. her hair was disarranged, her riding suit soiled and wet from the sand and water, but her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed, and she showed only a trace of nervousness. "what's the matter?" old heck asked uneasily, "what's happened? where's skinny?" in a few words, while the ramblin' kid sat silently on the back of captain jack, carolyn june told of the ride across the river; the meeting with pedro and the message he brought that the cattle were out and some had been killed by lightning; of sending skinny with the mexican to help with the steers; of her return alone toward the ranch, the struggle in the quicksand and the death of the horse she had been riding. "poor old blue--poor old fellow!" she finished with a little catch in her voice. old heck's cheeks whitened as he listened. "good lord," he half-groaned, "you had a close call! it's lucky th' ramblin' kid saw you coming toward the upper ford--if he hadn't--you'd never got out! but go on into the house and get some dry clothes on. boys, we'll have to hurry up and eat dinner and then go help get them steers back. i wish parker was here--we'll need all the help we can get. you'd better catch up another horse," he continued, speaking to the ramblin' kid, "captain jack is probably worn out from chasing that gold dust maverick last night, and if you ain't too tired yourself, go with us--" "i ain't too tired," the ramblin' kid replied quietly, "i'll go--an' ride captain jack--he ain't done up." he took the broncho to the corral, removed the saddle and turned him in with the outlaw mare. after giving the horses fresh hay--there was water in the corral, supplied by a small ditch that was fed from the larger irrigation canal and which ran under one side of the fence--he joined the others at dinner. an hour later old heck, bert, charley and the ramblin' kid rode away from the ranch to help chuck, skinny and pedro round up and return to the big pasture the cattle that had broken out and were rushing toward their old range on the purgatory. carolyn june was left alone with sing pete, the chinese cook at the quarter circle kt. she still felt somewhat shaken from her experience of the morning, although a bath, clean dry clothing and the meal had refreshed her considerably. she carried a chair to the front porch, thinking to spend the afternoon resting. the events of the day raced in review through her mind. it did not seem possible so much could have happened in so short a time. only yesterday had ophelia and she arrived at the ranch. already she had the feeling that they both were fixtures, and had been indefinitely, at the quarter circle kt. the elemental atmosphere of the range country had completely enveloped her, seemed to have absorbed her, and made her a part of it. some way she rather delighted in this sensation of permanency. her rescue by the ramblin' kid and the close view she had been able to get of his impulses made her thrill with a queer mixture of admiration and pity for him even while his brutal answer when she had apologized for her harsh words still echoed in her mind. "gracious," she thought with a whimsical smile, "things move fast in this western country!" she had seen, already, that both her uncle josiah and parker were yielding to the charms of ophelia. the fancy made her chuckle. she remembered skinny's too rapidly developing tenderness toward herself. "poor fellow," she murmured, slowly shaking her head, "i wish he wouldn't! but i suppose he can't help it--i wonder why men are always falling in love with me, anyhow? i'm sure i don't try to make them! i never saw one yet i really wanted to care--" she stopped suddenly while a warm flush spread over her body as the ramblin' kid was imaged rather vividly in her mind. "nonsense!" she said aloud with a soft, throaty laugh. "carolyn june, you are getting silly!" she sprang up and went into the house. "sing pete," she said, stepping into the kitchen, "may i have some sugar--i'd like the lumpy kind if you have it?" "sure! you have him sugal--how muchee you want?" as he held out to her a tin containing squares of the desired article. "oh, enough to win a heart!" carolyn june answered laughing, at the same time taking a handful from the can. "you eat him?" sing pete asked with a grin. "no," she replied, "i feed it to broncho--to gold dust maverick. some folks sprinkle salt on bird's tail to catch him--i put sugar on horse's tongue to make him love me--" "lamblin' kid, he do that. allee time him gettee sugal for clap'n jack!" "feeds 'clap'n jack' sugar, does he?" carolyn june said pensively. "captain jack's a nice little broncho," she added, "he deserves sugar." she paused a moment. "'lamblin' kid's' a funny fellow, don't you think so, sing pete?" she finished idly. "not funny--him dangelous!" the chinaman replied earnestly. "he gettee velly mad 'cause i puttee butter in can so cat catchee his head in an' go lound an' lound--buckee like a bloncho--havee lots a good time! he not talkee much, lamblin' kid don't--just dangelous--that's all!" carolyn june felt sudden interest. "when did he get mad about the cat?" she asked quietly. "allee same to-day--when you an' skinny go 'way. lamblin' kid cussee me lot--tellee me not do him any more. him dangelous! i not do him next time!" sing pete explained seriously. "you are wise, sing pete," carolyn june laughed as she left the kitchen by the back door and started toward the corral where the gold dust maverick was restlessly pacing about. "don't do it any more! 'lamblin' kid' is 'dangelous'--dangerous in ways that you don't understand!" she finished softly, her eyes lit with a strange light and her heart elated and beating quickly because of what the chinese cook had told her. the outlaw filly leaped to the far side of the corral and stood trembling, her head up and breath coming in whistling snorts of defiance and fear, as carolyn june opened the gate and stepped boldly inside. apparently paying no attention to the frightened horse, the girl walked to the center of the corral and facing the mare leaned her back against the snubbing post. both stood perfectly still while the eyes of each appraised the other. after a time the filly seemed to relax and she slowly lowered her head, yet watching, alertly, the motionless figure of carolyn june. the girl talked to the horse, her words gentle, her voice soothing and low. the gold dust maverick became quieter still. presently she circled the corral, trotting swiftly and crowding closely against the fence. carolyn june turned, keeping her eyes always on the broncho, and continued the quiet pleading of her voice. it was an hour before the filly shyly and cautiously came up to the girl--before curiosity mastered her fear. carolyn june held out her hand and the outlaw nosed it timidly, ready instantly to spring away. a lump of sugar was pressed into the gold dust maverick's mouth--she drew back, working the morsel about with her tongue and lips and finally spitting it out. several times this was repeated. at last the beautiful creature tasted the sugar and greedily ate the lumps, permitting carolyn june gently to stroke the velvety muzzle. then the girl's hand crept higher and higher on the horse's neck and after a little an arm was slipped over the filly's neck. "you darling!" carolyn june breathed softly, "i love you! i wonder what the ramblin' kid would say if he knew i was stealing your heart?" she added demurely as she laid her face against the silky mane of the mare. she remained at the corral until the afternoon was nearly gone. the poplars along the front-yard fence were beginning to throw their shadows across the corral. when at last carolyn june started to return to the house the filly followed her to the gate of the corral and whinnied a little protest against her going. "i don't believe you are a bit mean," the girl said as she looked back affectionately at the nervous, high-strung animal; "you are just lonely and want to be loved--and understood--that is all, and i doubt if you'd buck a single buck if i rode you right this minute!" as she reached the gate the clagstone "six" glided quietly down the grade from the bench and a moment later ophelia and parker joined carolyn june on the porch. the widow's cheeks were glowing and parker looked embarrassed and rather upset. his arms were full of bundles. "have a good time?" carolyn june greeted them. "fine," ophelia replied, "spent oodles of money shopping, saw the minister's wife, talked with the editor of the paper and we are going to organize a chapter--i think we shall call it 'the amazons of eagle butte.'" "great," carolyn june laughed, "you are a hustler, ophelia! uncle josiah will have a fit. does parker know?" "yes," the widow answered, her eyes twinkling, as she looked at the sweating foreman of the quarter circle kt. "i told him all about it and he is going to give us his moral support." "where is skinny?" parker interrupted hastily, looking more uneasy and foolish than ever; "why ain't he here?" carolyn june told of the happenings of the morning. "my dear, my dear!" ophelia cried, shuddering when she heard of carolyn june's narrow escape from the quicksand. "you must never cross that terrible river again! it's too horrible to think about!" "it was just 'experience,'" carolyn june said lightly. "i don't mind it a bit now that it is over. of course," she added seriously, "i feel badly about old blue--and losing parker's saddle." "don't worry about the saddle, i can get new riding gear lots easier than old heck could have got another niece!" "carolyn june needs a saddle of her own," ophelia suggested. "i am going to get one; and then i'll ride the gold dust maverick!" "i doubt if th' ramblin' kid will let you ride the filly," parker said, "he's funny that way--" "i think he will," carolyn june interposed. "i'll steal her if no other way!" "maybe he will, but it's doubtful," parker continued, "but old heck is aiming to get you a saddle. he spoke about it this morning when we were getting the car out to go to town--" "dear old uncle," carolyn june said warmly, "i love him already--don't you, ophelia?" parker colored and looked quickly, with a worried expression on his face, at the widow. she flushed also. "that's personal, my dear," she answered, "and rather abrupt!" parker went out to put the clagstone "six" in the garage. "carolyn june," ophelia said when they were alone, "i have made a discovery--" "it is?" questioningly. "that western texas is the 'quickest' country in the world!" the widow answered. "please explain," carolyn june said, "although," demurely, with certain memories fresh in her mind, "i fancy i can almost guess--" "yesterday," ophelia continued rather breathlessly, "we arrived at the quarter circle kt; last night at the supper table i met mr. parker for the first time; ten minutes later he kicked me--accidentally, i think--on the shins; i saw him again at breakfast this morning; to-day we drove to eagle butte and this afternoon"--she paused and then with a quick, nervous laugh finished--"he asked me to marry him!" "good lord," carolyn june gasped, "that is--'pronto'--as these cowboys say! 'quick' with a vengeance! there must be something in this western air that makes them do it!" "it was all i could do this morning to keep skinny from--" she started to say, then shifted again to the subject of parker. "did he know that you are--" "national organizer for the 'movement,'" ophelia filled in. "yes, i had already confessed. i told him as we were driving to town--and the other--the shock--came just after we crossed the bridge when we were returning home!" "he is a bold, dangerous man!" carolyn june exclaimed, in mock seriousness, "trying to get ahead of uncle josiah!" "i inferred as much," the widow explained; "he told me that to-morrow would be your uncle's 'day'--whatever he meant by that; the next he, mr. parker himself, would be 'around' again. 'unless old heck took some fool notion or other;' before long he would be away on the beef hunt and one can never tell what might happen while one is gone and, well, that's the way he felt about it, so he just said it--" "and you?" "naturally was completely surprised, entirely non-committal, and made no definite agreement!" ophelia laughed softly. chapter ix old heck's strategy it was late when old heck and the cowboys returned to the ranch. the runaway cattle had been overtaken on the sand-hills beyond the north springs and it took the entire afternoon to bunch them and work the restless animals back to the quarter circle kt, into the big pasture, and repair the fence so it was safe to leave them for the night. ophelia, carolyn june and parker were in the front room when old heck and the hungry cowboys clattered, long after dark, into the kitchen for the supper sing pete had kept warm for them. after the meal skinny went into the room where parker and the women were. old heck followed and talked for a few moments with parker about the affairs of the ranch, then joined the cowboys at the bunk-house where they had gone directly after leaving the table. on skinny's bed parker had tossed a bundle. "what in thunder do you reckon skinny's been buying, now?" chuck questioned as he picked up the package and examined it curiously. "blamed if it don't feel like a shirt." "i'll bet that's what it is," bert said with a laugh as old heck stepped inside the door, "the darn fool has gone and got him a white shirt--" "who has?" old heck asked, hearing only the latter part of bert's remark. "skinny," charley answered for bert, "he's fixing up to make love in style--" "aw, the blamed idiot," old heck grunted, then glancing over toward parker's bed: "--did you notice whether parker got him one, too, or not?" before the question was answered parker and skinny appeared at the bunk-house door. "what's the matter?" chuck said, still holding the bundle in his hand, "--ain't it too early for lovers to bu'st up for the night? or did the widow and carolyn june blow out the lights on you--" "forget it, you danged fool!" skinny said crossly. "can't you ever get over your dog-goned craziness? they was just tired and went to bed. give me that package, it's mine and private!" reaching for the bundle. chuck, with a laugh, threw it at him. it landed on the ramblin' kid's bunk where the latter was lying, his clothing still on, his eyes staring straight up while he smoked a cigarette. "when are you going to ride the gold dust maverick?" skinny asked as he picked up the package. for a moment the ramblin' kid did not answer. then, without changing his position, replied: "i don't know as i'll ever ride her. maybe i'll turn her loose again on th' range." "what did you catch her for?" bert queried. "don't you want her?" "i caught her, 'cause i wanted to," the ramblin' kid answered, "but that ain't no sign i intend to keep her. hell, what's the use?" he finished indifferently. "if you want to sell her," old heck said, "i'll buy her." "she ain't for sale," the ramblin' kid answered shortly, "not to anybody." "she would be a thunderin' sight better off if she was used." "would she?" the ramblin' kid questioned dully. "i ain't so sure about that." "of course she would," old heck insisted, "she'd be fed regular and--" "an' be mauled around by some darned human!" the ramblin' kid interrupted with sudden vehemence. "if i was a horse," he continued, speaking passionately while his black eyes burned with the spirit of rebellion, "i'd rather be a short-grass cay-use nippin' th' scatterin' feed on th' north hills an' be free to snort an' raise hell when i blamed please than have my belly stuffed with alfalfa hay three times a day an' have to gnaw th' iron of some damned man's bit in my mouth or carry his saddle on my back!" silence followed the outburst. old heck and the cowboys knew the ramblin' kid was in one of his "moods," and experience had taught them that at such times argument was neither discreet nor safe. the thing they did not know was that his heart was torn by memory of the agony of old blue in the quicksand and his mind tortured by the picture of dumb suffering a bullet from his own gun had, that morning, mercifully ended. after a time he spoke again, more quietly and with a note of weariness in his voice: "oh, well, i reckon i'll keep th' filly. in a day of two, when she gets rested up a little, i'll ride her," "you ought to break her for carolyn june," skinny suggested. "had i?" the ramblin' kid said with a queer laugh--it was just the thought that was in his mind and against which he was struggling. "that's a bright idea! maybe i'll study about it an' take a notion to do it. if i do she can ride th' maverick when you an' her go on your honeymoon--" "what's a honeymoon?" skinny queried innocently. "it's what two people take when they first get married; go off somewhere by themselves--like they was locoed--to find out how bad they got stung!" the ramblin' kid laughingly answered. "we'd better all go to bed," old heck said; "it's late and we have to get up early in the morning. parker, you and some of the boys will have to go skin them dead steers--we've got to save the hides at least." "old heck wants to go to sleep so he can dream about the widow," chuck snickered, "it's his turn again to-morrow to love her--" "how did she act to-day, parker?" bert broke in; "was she pretty affectionate?" "aw, shut up! ain't you got any respect for anything--" "i'll bet he proposed to her and she throwed him down," chuck hazarded, not realizing how nearly he had come to guessing the truth. parker looked angrily at chuck, then his cheeks grew red, he bent over and began tugging at his boots in an effort to hide the tell-tale confusion in his eyes. old heck furtively studied the face of his foreman. "or else she confessed to being a bolshevik or local-optionist or something and the news broke his heart," charley volunteered, joining in the baiting of the range-boss. "she didn't neither confess," parker denied hastily, aggravated into a reply, "she ain't either one of them! she's an 'organizer--'" dead silence greeted this sudden announcement. every eye was turned in astonishment on parker while old heck and the boys awaited further explanation. parker offered no additional information. "she's a what?" old heck finally managed to whisper, leaning toward parker, while a look of fear and incredulity spread over his face. parker noticed the anguish in old heck's eyes and a sudden new look of cunning came into his own. "an 'organizer' i said," he repeated impressively, "she's an 'organizer' for some kind of 'movement' or other--" "a dis-organizer, you'd better say!" chuck laughed uncertainly, "judging from the way she's got you and old heck stampeding already!" "great guns!" old heck half groaned, "what--what sort of a--a--'movement' did she say it was, anyhow?" "swiss, probably!" came in a chuckling undertone from the direction of the ramblin' kid's bed. "hell, what's the difference?" "she said it was connected someway with 'feminine obligations and woman's opportunity,'" parker answered, ignoring the frivolous interruptions. "i know what she is!" charley exclaimed, "--it's just what i expected! she's one of these self-starting female suffragettes! that's what she is. i knowed she was too gentle acting to be harmless!" "she just had to break loose sooner or later," bert said in an awed voice. "my gawd!" old heck murmured hopelessly. "holy gosh a'mighty!" the owner of the quarter circle kt was really shocked and worried. he had surrendered quickly to his first impression concerning the widow. the original meeting at eagle butte, when she and carolyn june appeared as visions of feminine loveliness, as contrasted with the homely cook and her daughter whom he and skinny had mistaken for, and feared were, the quarter circle kt's prospective guests, had caused a psychic effect on his feelings toward ophelia. the sense of relief that came when he found that the cook was not ophelia, together with the widow's unexpected graciousness, had instantly disarmed his suspicions and, metaphorically speaking, hurled his heart into her lap. he had found the widow charming, interesting, very feminine, and already dreams had shaped themselves in his mind. the sudden revelation that parker had made brought tremendous disappointment. ophelia had not shown the least indication of obnoxious strong-mindedness or that disagreeable intellectuality which old heck firmly believed was a necessary attribute of all women who participated in politics or "movements." ophelia was an "organizer"! it was unbelievable! the thought gave him a sickening feeling at the pit of his stomach and actually made his head ache. old heck's first impulse, when parker made the startling announcement, was to assert his authority as boss of the outfit and annul the every-other-day arrangement whereby he and his foreman were to share and share alike in the widow's society. he would let parker do it all--have her all of the time! he wouldn't take any chances! on second thought he decided to wait at least another day. besides, it was against his principles, contrary to the ethics of the range, to back up on a bargain and he never asked an employee to do a thing he hadn't the courage to do himself. he would stick it out, come what may, and see the thing through to a finish. however, there was still a means of escape. if ophelia developed any really serious suffragette tendencies during the next day or two he would go on the beef hunt himself and let parker remain at the ranch! when finally he went to sleep ophelia was still on his mind. the first thought that came to him when he awakened the next morning was the sickening news parker had brought. old heck and the cowboys were silent and had about them an air of depression when they filed into the kitchen for breakfast. each cast furtive, curious glances at ophelia. the information that she was an "organizer"--presumably for a "movement" involving woman's political rights--caused them to view her with a kind of reverential awe and fear. the widow and carolyn june, apparently, were wholly unconscious of the thoughts in the minds of the men. both women were as innocent-looking and attractive as ever--matching with their early morning freshness the bowl of roses carolyn june, before the call to breakfast, had gathered and placed on the table. the ramblin' kid sat at the right of carolyn june. it was the first time they had met at the table. he said nothing and seemingly was lost in thought. when they had entered the kitchen carolyn june and he had spoken and for a moment he looked into her eyes with an expression that caused her own to drop and the warm blood to rush over her throat and face. she had felt that same sensation of "soul-nakedness" she experienced when she looked into his eyes that first time when she was at the circular corral and he was lying under the shed. neither spoke of the incidents of the previous day. the other cowboys and old heck studied ophelia with a sort of fascination, casting shy upward glances at her from over their plates. parker and the ramblin' kid only, were at ease and undisturbed. "you wouldn't think she was one by looking at her, would you?" chuck said in an undertone to charley. "some of them's so blamed slick they can't hide it." "i reckon that's right," chuck whispered back, "it's an awful jolt to old heck, ain't it?" "yes, he's taking it pretty hard," charley mumbled. "her forehead does bulge out a good deal in front, when you come to look at it, don't it?" chuck observed under his breath. "quite a lot," charley answered in the same tone; "that's one indication!" parker gazed at the widow with an expression undeniably adoring. old heck saw it and straightened up with a look of sudden resolution on his face. if parker wasn't afraid of ophelia, by golly, he wouldn't be! the widow had returned the foreman's look with understanding, while more than a trace of tenderness and sympathy was registered in her eyes. "to-morrow is sunday," old heck announced suddenly with startling distinctness, "and we'll get things in shape to begin the beef round-up on monday!" there was immediate interest. "i'll be darned," the ramblin' kid murmured half audibly, "old heck is goin' to 'uriah' parker!" "huh?" skinny queried across the table. "nothin'," the ramblin' kid answered with a laugh, "i was just reminded of somethin' i read in a book one time--" carolyn june caught the subtle reference to the bible story of king david's unfortunate romance with another man's "woman" and chuckled. "ain't you starting the beef hunt too early?" charley asked. "i don't know as i am," old heck answered doggedly. "aw, that'll put us right in the middle of it on the fourth of july when the rodeo is going on in eagle butte--" bert began. "and i ain't going to miss that, either," chuck interrupted, "that y-bar outfit over on the vermejo took everything in the two-mile sweepstakes last year and they've been bragging about it ever since. they think that thunderbolt horse of theirs can't be beat. i was going to put silver tip in this year. he can put that black in second place--" "no, he can't," the ramblin' kid remarked quietly, "--you'd lose your money. there's only one animal on th' kiowa range that can outrun that vermejo horse." "what animal is that?" charley asked. "she's in th' circular corral," the ramblin' kid answered laconically. "the gold dust maverick?" bert questioned. "that's the one i mean," the ramblin' kid replied in a low voice, "for two miles--or five--there ain't nothin' in western texas, or mexico either, that can catch her." "why don't you take her in when the rodeo is on and run her in the sweepstakes then?" chuck asked eagerly. "i ain't caring what kiowa horse gets the money just so that y-bar outfit is taken down a notch or two. ever since they got that thunderbolt horse and beat old heck's quicksilver with him they've been crowing over the quarter circle kt and i'm getting plumb sick of it--" "old heck lost three thousand dollars on that race!" bert interrupted rather triumphantly. "i didn't neither," old heck corrected sullenly, "it was only twenty-five hundred!" "well, that vermejo crowd has got a hundred of mine," chuck said vindictively, "but i don't give a darn for that--i'd be willing to lose twice that much again just to set that thunderbolt horse of theirs back in second place!" "why don't you run the outlaw filly?" charley asked coaxingly of the ramblin' kid. "yes, go on and put her in," skinny urged, "--you ought to!" the ramblin' kid remained silent, seemingly indifferent to the teasing of the others. carolyn june leaned over and said, in a voice audible only to him, while her eyes grew mellow with a look that tested his composure to the uttermost but which wrung no sign from him: "please, race the maverick--i--want you to--ramblin' kid!" it was the first time she had used his name in speaking directly to him and the tone in which it was spoken made him tremble in spite of himself. for a moment he returned her gaze. her words and manner were so different that by their very difference they reminded him of what she had called him yesterday--"an ignorant, savage, stupid brute"--when he had refused to interfere with the cat when its head was caught in the can. he started to make a cynical reply. then he remembered her sympathy for old blue, her apology later for the harsh words--anyhow he knew or felt in his heart they were true--and suddenly he seemed to see the pink satin garter he still carried in his pocket. the look that came into his eyes made carolyn june lower her own. he smiled a whimsical but hopeless smile, as, replying apparently to the pleading of charley and skinny, he said, softly, the single word: "maybe!" old heck had forgotten the annual rodeo held in eagle butte, for some days each summer, around the fourth of july. his sudden determination and eagerness to have the beef round-up begin earlier than usual in order to get parker away from the widow had driven all else but that one idea from his mind. the protests reminded him of his oversight. he had not intended to deprive the cowboys of the opportunity to enjoy the one big event happening yearly in the kiowa country and which temporarily turned eagle butte, for a few days each summer, into a seething metropolis of care-free humanity. "i think it's a darned shame to spring the beef hunt so it will interfere with the rodeo," bert grumbled, "--and us have to be out on the hills wrangling steers while the celebration is going on!" "i'm not-goin! to be out on th' hills then," the ramblin' kid said quietly but with unchangeable finality. "you can all go to the rodeo," old heck interposed, not feeling just right in his conscience about sending parker away in advance of the time expected, and wishing to make amends,"--parker and all of you. you can 'break' the round-up for a few days during the rodeo and what cattle you've got gathered by then can be turned into the big pasture and held there till it's over. that'll let you all get into eagle butte for the fourth--i'd like to see that blamed thunderbolt horse beat myself! but we'll start the beef hunt monday the way i said in the first place--" "who's going to cook, this year, on the round-up?" charley queried. "you can't take the chink from here this time, can you?" "i reckon sing pete'll have to go along as usual," old heck answered; "it'll make it a little unhandy at the ranch, but--" "ophelia and i can 'batch' while you are gone," carolyn june suggested. "we won't mind being alone and it will be fun to cook our own meals." "we will enjoy it," ophelia added agreeably. "you ain't going to be alone," old heck said; "skinny and me will be here. when it comes to the cooking maybe between the four of us we can get along some way!" "well, if the round-up's got to start monday," parker declared sullenly as they left the table, "i'll have to go down to town again to-day and get me a new saddle. mine was on old blue." "i'll go with you," old heck said in a conciliatory way. "charley and the other boys can be working on them dead steers till we get back. we'll go in the car and ought to make the round-trip by noon." chapter x fixing fixers the widow and carolyn june were alone at the house. old heck and parker went immediately from the breakfast table to the garage to get the car out to go to eagle butte. the cowboys were at the barn preparing to begin the day's work. skinny had excused himself, ostensibly to attend to some ranch chores, but in reality to get away to the bunk-house and "fix up" for the day's courtship of carolyn june. he planned, when the cowboys were gone, to put on the white shirt parker brought, yesterday, from eagle butte. "ophelia," carolyn june said mysteriously as they stepped out on the front porch and filled their lungs with the clean air of the morning, "you made a 'discovery' yesterday, i believe?" pausing questioningly. "yes," the widow smiled, recalling their conversation relative to parker's abrupt proposal of marriage. "to-day," carolyn june continued impressively, "it is my turn--i have made one!" "and it is?" "you and i have been 'framed!'" was the answer spoken solemnly yet scarcely louder than a whisper, while the brown eyes of carolyn june sparkled with a mixture of suppressed anger, merriment and indignation. "framed?" the widow repeated inquiringly, "just what does 'framed' mean, my dear?" "framed means," carolyn june replied wisely, "'tricked,' 'jobbed,' 'jinxed,' 'fixed,' or whatever it is people do to people when they scheme to do something to them without the ones to whom they are doing it knowing how it is done!" "exceedingly lucid, my love," the widow laughed, "but you are so agonizingly fond of suspense--" "come inside," carolyn june said as she led the way into the house, "and in a dark corner--no, that would be too near to the walls and their proverbial 'ears,' in the center of the room is better--i will expose the whole diabolical plot!" at the end of the reading table they stopped and faced each other. "and now?" ophelia said, expectantly. "and now," carolyn june repeated, her voice low and carefully guarded. "listen: before ophelia cobb and carolyn june dixon ever arrived at this quarter circle kt their 'lovers' were already picked out for them--officially chosen, delegated, appointed, foreordained and everything! the 'arrangements' had all been made--" "i don't understand," the widow said, bewildered by the rapid flow of legal-sounding words. "nor did i at first," carolyn june went on, "but i have figured it all out! i have 'discovered' what all this mysterious hinting about 'arrangements,' 'the agreement,' 'old heck's day,' 'parker's time,' 'skinny's job,' and so forth means! i have studied it out. why is skinny rawlins thrown into my lap as my 'regular' lover? it's his 'job'--that is why! and why the day-and-day-about courting of yourself by uncle josiah and parker? it is the 'agreement'--the one is to have you one day and the other the next! before we came some such arrangement was fixed up. i am sure of it--" "impossible," ophelia protested, "preposterous!" "outrageous!" carolyn june added vehemently, "but truth just the same! to start with they didn't want us to come. that telegram lying about them all having the smallpox proved as much. we were, for some reason or other, considered 'afflictions,' why, i don't know. i guess they thought we were a pair of female vampires or something and had to be disposed of in advance to prevent our stirring things up and causing a lot of murders or suicides or duels on the quarter circle kt!" "i can't believe it," ophelia muttered as if stunned. "why, that would be 'dealing' with us just as though we were cattle!" "that's it!" carolyn june exclaimed vindictively, her anger for the moment getting the better of her sense of the ridiculous, "they 'dealt' in us! more than likely they played poker to decide how to divide us up--to see who should love you and which should love me! as if the heart of a woman can be made to run in a groove cut to order by the hand of any masculine--insect!" she finished, thoughtless of the incongruous metaphor. "then skinny and your uncle josiah," the widow murmured, "and parker--are--are--pretending?" "no," carolyn june answered, "they started out 'pretending,' but they've stepped into their own trap! they are painfully serious now--they are 'intending!'" "what shall we do about it?" ophelia asked helplessly. "we ought to assassinate them!" carolyn june snapped, then laughed as the absurdity of the situation dawned upon her and her sense of humor overcame the moment of anger and indignation. "i have it--i've got it! we will vamp' them in dead earnest! we'll fix the 'fixers,' we'll frame the 'framers'!" "but how?" doubtfully. "from now on," carolyn june replied decisively, "i am going to flirt, individually and collectively--desperately and wickedly--with the whole male population of this ranch! we'll show them what premeditated love-making really is! when it comes to uncle josiah and, well, possibly parker, you will have to take care of that giddy pair yourself and, incidentally, you might work some on charley saunders," mentioning the oldest of the cowboys. "i'll just flicker an eyelid occasionally at parker, unless you object?" "not in the least," ophelia answered, blushing a trifle. "well, then, we will make it a free-for-all," carolyn june said, "and--" "how about the ramblin' kid?" the widow interrupted, "do you think he is one of the conspirators--is in on the--the--'frame-up?' is he also to be a 'victim'?" carolyn june colored the least bit, paused a moment before she replied, then said rather stiffly: "he--yes, he is probably having more fun watching us being 'officially' made love to than any other one of the entire bunch. the ramblin' kid will have to take his medicine along with the rest! every man-thing on the quarter circle kt--eliminating sing pete from that classification --is my meat!" "when does the slaughter begin?" ophelia laughed. "right now!" carolyn june answered. "war is declared--" she stopped suddenly as a step sounded on the porch and a moment later skinny entered the room. he was painfully "dressed up." the instant old heck and parker, in the clagstone "six," started for eagle butte and the cowboys disappeared down the lane in the direction of the big pasture, skinny struggled into the white shirt. he planned to try its effect on carolyn june while the others were away. if it did not produce results he would slip back to the bunk-house before they returned and change again to his normal dress. when skinny stepped into the room he was fully conscious of his unusual appearance. the morning was warm and he had not put on a coat. the shirt billowed over his shoulders, arms and chest in a snowy cloud. it seemed impossible to skinny that anything in all the world could be so vividly, persistently white as the cloth that literally enveloped the upper half of his body. it actually gleamed. the sleeves of the shirt were too long. a pair of sky-blue, rosette-fastened, satin ribbon sleeve-holders above his elbows kept the cuffs from slipping over his hands. parker had been unable to get the purple necktie and had brought, instead, one that was a solid shamrock green. skinny swore when he saw the tie, but decided to wear it anyhow. parker had explained by saying he had forgotten the errand until he was starting from town and then stepped into old leon's--a cheap general store in eagle butte--and purchased the outfit from the jew. that accounted also for the surplus length of sleeve--the shirt was a size and a half larger than skinny had ordered and for which parker declared positively he had asked. eternal hatred for all hebrews was born in skinny's heart the moment he saw the layout. but, well, it was there; he was anxious to see if a white shirt would have any effect, and he would wear it anyway. skinny knew instantly that he made an impression on carolyn june. she looked at him once and was speechless! "by gosh," he said to himself, "chuck was right! it sure does beat hell how clothes affect a woman!" carolyn june, unquestionably, was overcome. the surprise had been too much for her. he had knocked her cold! the shirt had done the work! she bit nervously at the nail of her thumb, pressed desperately against her teeth. her whole body trembled. her face flamed scarlet. skinny saw her agitation and resolved at that moment that he would never again be without a white shirt! ophelia also was visibly affected. the widow gave one look at skinny, glanced quickly at carolyn june, then, with her hands clasped tightly against her breast, she leaned weakly against the table and chewed at her underlip. she started to speak and stopped. "well, i--i--got back!" skinny said, breaking the spell while he grinned somewhat sheepishly and yet with an air of complete satisfaction. "i--i--see you--did!" carolyn june choked hysterically. "i was gone longer than i aimed to be," skinny continued, rapidly gaining confidence as he saw the confusion of the women; "after i got the chores done i concluded to fix up a little. this is the first time i ever wore this shirt," he went on, feeling that a bit of explanation was entirely proper and would probably help in restoring the composure of carolyn june and the widow. "parker just brought it out yesterday and it was a good deal of trouble to make the collar work right. it seemed like it was pretty stiff or something. generally speaking the whole outfit's bigger than it really ought to be, but maybe it'll shrink up some when it's washed," he finished in a casual matter-of-fact way. "it--it--is wonderful!" carolyn june stammered, "it is--i don't think i ever saw one that was--was--whiter--" "it looked that way to me," skinny interrupted as if glad some one else had noticed a peculiarity of the garment that already had troubled him somewhat, "i thought it was uncommonly white!" "perhaps it just seems that way because we are not used to it," ophelia suggested sympathetically. "that's it!" carolyn june exclaimed feverishly, "it is because we are not used to it--it will be perfectly all right when we have looked at it a little more!" skinny decided he would risk the gauntlet of comment from parker, old heck and the cowboys and wear the shirt the rest of the day. carolyn june was really sorry for skinny, but--she needed air--she felt she must have it. "please," she cried suddenly and with, an effort, "excuse me! i--i--have something i wish to do! you," speaking to skinny, "and ophelia stay here and visit each other a while!" without waiting for an answer she stepped quickly into the kitchen, asked sing pete for a handful of sugar and hurried out to the circular corral. "oh, skinny, skinny, you are so funny," she laughed aloud as she went through the back-yard gate. "it breaks my heart to break your heart--but you are one of the 'fixers' and you've got to be 'fixed.'" the gold dust maverick at first was shy when carolyn june opened the gate and entered the corral. after a few moments she recognized the girl and was soon eating the sugar from the hand of carolyn june. before the supply was exhausted the friendship and confidence of the two, begun yesterday, was firmly reestablished. the maverick allowed carolyn june to swing her weight from the glossy withers, to clasp her arms tightly about the trim, clean-built neck, and when, after an hour, the girl started toward the house, the outlaw mare protested so eagerly against being left alone that she turned back to the corral and leaning against the fence stroked the soft muzzle thrust between the bars. carolyn june was cooing endearing terms to the filly and playing with the quivering underlip when she heard a horse galloping swiftly up the lane and past the barn. instinctively she stepped back and turned just as the ramblin' kid, riding captain jack, wheeled around the end of the shed near the corral. his sudden appearance surprised her. she had thought he was with the cowboys over at the upland pasture helping skin the steers killed by the lightning. when they left the ranch the ramblin' kid had ridden away with charley and the others, but not with any intention of going to the big pasture. where the road turned toward the lower ford he held captain jack to the left. "ain't you going with us," charley saunders asked, "and help skin them steers?" "no," the ramblin' kid replied quietly. "i ain't. i've got something else to do. anyhow, i ain't a butcher--i work with live cattle, not dead ones!" he concluded as captain jack continued in the direction of the upper crossing. "he's the independentest darn' cuss i ever saw!" charley remarked to his companions as the ramblin' kid disappeared. "it's a wonder old heck don't fire him." "he can't," bert laughed. "th' ramblin' kid don't stay at the quarter circle kt by the grace of old heck, but by the choice of th' ramblin' kid! anyhow, he's too good with horses--" his voice trailed away to a low mutter as they turned in among the willows and cottonwood trees along the bank of the cimarron. at the upper crossing on almost the same spot where he had lifted carolyn june from the quicksand to the solid ground of the meadow land, the ramblin' kid stopped captain jack. he looked out over the placid, unbroken surface of the sand-bar and saw the end of the broken rope coiled loosely where old blue had been drawn under. a few yards away the white felt hat carolyn june had tossed to one side, to be a mute and pathetic messenger of her fate, when she thought death was certain, still rested on the smooth surface of the sand. it was to get the hat the ramblin' kid had come again to the scene of yesterday's tragedy. he had seen it lying there when carolyn june and he rode away on captain jack and thought then of trying to get it, but the part of the broken rope attached to his saddle was too short to reach it and it was impossible to secure it in any other way. chuck had returned the ramblin' kid's rope to him yesterday when they were after the runaway steers and it was now on his saddle. he lightly tossed the noose so that it fell circling the object he sought. gently flicking the rope toward him he tightened the loop about the crown of the hat and drew it to the edge of the quicksand. he picked up the hat, looked curiously at it, remounted captain jack, paused a moment and gazed at the treacherous surface beneath which the body of old blue was hidden and with a savagely muttered something about "th' damned stuff!" whirled the little stallion and rode rapidly in the direction from which he came. as captain jack galloped along the lane the ramblin' kid looked at the hat curiously, turning it first one way and then the other. with a laugh he reached into his pocket and drew out the pink satin garter. an expression of tenderness, followed by a look of deep humility that quickly changed into savage anger, came into his eyes as he looked first at the hat, soiled and dirty, and then at the dainty bit of elastic he held in his hand. "a swell pair of souvenirs," he said bitterly, "for an 'ign'rant, savage, stupid brute' of a cow-puncher to be packin' around!" before reaching the barn the ramblin' kid dropped the garter again into his pocket. rounding the end of the shed he rode captain jack directly up to carolyn june. dismounting, he left the little roan standing, not troubling to drop the reins over the broncho's head, stepped toward the girl and extended the hat, saying simply and without emotion. "here's your hat!" there was no embarrassment now or humility in his eyes as he looked steadily at carolyn june. his expression was as cold as if the one to whom he spoke was an utter stranger. "i--" carolyn june hesitated, "oh, i thank you! it was kind of you to think about it and ride back--back--there," she involuntarily shuddered when she thought of the upper crossing, "and get it!" the simple, unexpected thoughtfulness of the deed touched her. it was the natural, instinctive act of a gentleman. she had forgotten the hat. he had not. as she looked at him she felt that, someway, she might have known such a thing was exactly what he would do. "you're welcome," he said quietly, starting to turn away. a spirit of mischief suddenly flared up in her heart. she thought of the pink elastic she had lost and which she believed he was carrying now in his pocket. "is the hat all--didn't you--" she intended to say "find something else?" but quickly stopped. the ramblin' kid paused and turned again toward carolyn june. she hesitated in confusion. it had flashed to her mind that if he had the garter he would not lie about it. he would say as much and offer to return it to her. someway, she did not wish that--she wanted him to keep it, but she did not want him to know that she wanted her garter to be carried by him! his black eyes looked keenly at her, as if they would force from her lips the thing she evidently dared not say. "i--i was just getting acquainted with the gold dust maverick!" carolyn june finished lamely with a nervous laugh. "you want to be careful," the ramblin' kid said with the slightest curl of his lips at her obvious shifting of meanings, "she ain't exactly a 'lady's animal' yet. she'll fight. skinny started to go in th' corral this morning an' had to back up. th' maverick went at him to kill. she's goin' to be a 'one-man' horse th' same as captain jack." "perhaps it was because she was afraid of him," carolyn june suggested. "maybe it was because skinny was afraid of her," the ramblin' kid chuckled. "aren't you going to ride the filly in that race at eagle butte?" she asked suddenly with a hint of coquetry in her eyes and voice. "why?" he shot back at her, observing the changed inflection and look. "i--i--would like you to," carolyn june murmured demurely as she followed up the feminine method of mastering a man, "it would be fun to see her run!" "is that all?" the ramblin' kid asked gently and with a peculiar emphasis. "isn't that enough?" the girl countered in a tone bordering close to the tender. the answer was slow in coming. "th' gold dust maverick will be in th' sweepstakes," the ramblin' kid finally said, a note of contempt in his voice. "i'll ride her"--as he jerked the saddle from captain jack, turned the stallion into the corral, then started toward the bunk-house, while carolyn june moved away in the direction of the back-yard gate--"i'll ride her," he repeated, emphasizing strongly the last ten words, "_to beat that thunderbolt horse from over on th' vermejo_". chapter xi a dance and a ride old heck and parker returned from eagle butte before noon. parker climbed silently from the clagstone "six" and lifting out a new saddle went toward the stable. old heck carried another--a beautiful thing, artistically scrolled, the horn and stirrups silver trimmed--and laid it on the front porch as carolyn june, ophelia and skinny stepped out of the big room. "it's yours," he said to carolyn june. "oh, you darling old uncle!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and giving a tight squeeze while she kissed him full on the mouth. he reddened. "i ain't so darned old!" he laughed as he withdrew from her embrace and, glancing up, caught sight of skinny in the immaculate shirt. "my gawd!" he whispered under his breath. parker immediately saddled a horse and rode away to join the cowboys at their work. lunches for the party had been taken with them when they left the ranch in the morning. during the trip to eagle butte old heck and his foreman had talked but little. there was a feeling of restraint between parker and him that made each hesitate to start a conversation that would be almost certain to work around to a discussion of ophelia--a subject uppermost in the minds of both. at noon the ramblin' kid came to the house for dinner. he and skinny occupied their usual places. he looked once at skinny's shirt, murmured softly and in a tone of infinite disgust and pity, "hell!" then ate his food in silence. during the meal carolyn june ignored him, but smiled tenderly and often at skinny. old heck and the widow, at the far end of the table, carried on a low-voiced dialogue. during the afternoon the ramblin' kid remained away from the house. a couple of times, glancing out of the window, carolyn june saw him at the circular corral petting and caressing captain jack or the gold dust maverick. when sing pete hammered the iron triangle announcing supper parker and the cowboys had returned, the hides from the dead steers had been unloaded and the men were ready for the meal. as carolyn june and ophelia went into the kitchen they exchanged a look of understanding. skinny lagged behind old heck. he dreaded the shock of the white shirt on the other cowboys. when he stepped into the room his face flamed scarlet and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. he expected merciless, sarcastic chiding--thinly veiled but cruel. he was disappointed. the cowboys looked at him for a moment, exchanged winks, then sat silently and solemnly down to the table. the presence of the women had saved, for the time being, the suffering skinny. carolyn june distributed tender words and velvety looks impartially among the younger cowboys, while ophelia alternated sweet nothings between parker and old heck, with an occasional sidelong glance at charley that brought a heightened color to his sun-browned cheeks. chuck sighed dolefully. "why so sad?" carolyn june asked gently, looking with melting sympathy at the pensive cowboy. "i--i--was just thinking of a--a--funeral i saw once!" he answered, gazing steadily and with pretended awe at skinny's white shirt. "some colors always remind me of funerals or--or--weddings!" he explained. a suppressed snicker circled the table. "don't be down-hearted," carolyn june laughed, "it may not go that far. "uncle josiah," she added suddenly, "ophelia and i have a wonderful surprise for you and the boys." old heck looked at her without replying while he awaited an explanation. "we are going to give a dance!" carolyn june went on. "a dance?" he repeated incredulously, "when--" "to-night--in the front room," she hastened to explain, "not a big dance--just a little one for you and the boys. the graphophone will furnish music, there are some good one-step and waltz records--skinny and i were playing them this afternoon--and every blessed cowboy on the quarter circle kt must be there!" a short silence followed her words, then a chorus of "we'll be there!" greeted her. "in an hour," carolyn june said, smiling sweetly at the cowboys, as they left the kitchen, "everybody be back at the house. we'll fix the room and have it ready--don't any one bother to 'dress up,'" she added as an afterthought. "old heck's niece acts kind of stampedish, don't she?" bert remarked as parker and the cowboys filed out of the back-yard gate toward the bunk-house. "yes," charley answered. "i'm going to shave." "so am i," said chuck, as they hurried in the direction of their sleeping quarters. "me, too," laughed bert. "gee, didn't skinny shine in that shirt?" as they disappeared inside the building and there was a rush to hunt out razors, brushes and other toilet necessities or clean handkerchiefs and ties. the ramblin' kid alone seemed uninterested. he dropped down on his bed and idly watched the others prepare for the evening's diversion. "ain't you going?" chuck asked him, noticing his indifference. a short, half-cynical laugh with "oh, maybe i'll go set on the porch an' listen to th' music!" was the answer. when parker and the cowboys reappeared at the house it was plain that all had disobeyed carolyn june's injunction not to "dress up." each had paid tribute in some way, by a smooth-scraped face, a dean shirt, a tie or something, to the vanity of his own heart and the desire for the good opinion of either carolyn june or the widow. both women noticed it. they exchanged glances while carolyn june softly whispered to ophelia: "stir them up--it's coming to them!" the widow smiled understandingly. old heck fidgeted uncomfortably. the situation was entirely beyond his control. by right he and ophelia ought to be sitting there quietly making love, while skinny and carolyn june, in another corner of the room or out on the porch, were doing the same thing. he would just have to await developments. parker was elated. carolyn june's proposal had broken up old heck's evening alone with the widow. perhaps--the thought thrilled the foreman --ophelia herself had planned it! "skinny can keep the graphophone working," carolyn june laughed. "put on a one-step first," she said as he rather grudgingly went to the corner and started the music. "come on, bert, we'll dance this one," she cried merrily, as she stepped up to the blushing cowboy and put her hand, with a tender little pressure, on his arm. "it's 'ladies' night,' you know--ophelia, pick your pardner!" "aw--don't you reckon you ought to choose one of the others first?" bert, considerably embarrassed by the sudden attention, mumbled as he moved with pretended reluctance but secret eagerness out on to the floor. "i know who i want to dance with!" carolyn june whispered significantly with another squeeze of his arm while her warm breath fanned his cheek. for a moment ophelia stood as if undecided while old heck and parker each tried by their looks to register unconcern, their hearts meanwhile leaping with uncertain expectancy and hope. suddenly turning from both and going up to charley, she said softly and with well-feigned shyness: "i--i--please, won't you dance this one with me?" "with the most exceeding pleasure!" charley replied gallantly, arising and reaching out his hands. parker and old heck gulped their astonishment and disappointment--each swallowing as if he had something in his throat that would not go down--and glared savagely at each other. skinny next put on a waltz record. carolyn june and chuck swung through its dreamy rhythm while her hair brushed the cowboy's neck and her eyes, half closed, looked alluringly into his. "i--i--could do this forever--with you!" she breathed, accenting the last word and making chuck want to yell for joy. at the beginning of the waltz ophelia paused a moment before old heck, glanced demurely at parker, took a step toward the latter, turned quickly to the first and flooding him with a look of tenderness held out her hands while she spoke the simple entreaty: "please!" old heck leaped to his feet, hitched nervously at the belt of his trousers, ran his fingers around the inside of his collar, and, with a look of triumph at parker, led the widow through the dance. she permitted her body to relax and lean against her partner, dancing with an abandon that not only fired the emotions of old heck to fever heat, but was as well like dippers of oil on the flame of the foreman's jealousy. parker gritted his teeth and followed old heck with a look that meant nothing less than the desire to kill! as ophelia and old heck, and carolyn june with chuck circled the room skinny leaned weakly against the graphophone. he was tortured agonizingly by the strange action of carolyn june. he was her lover, her official, absolute lover! why did she want to go and get things all mixed up like this? it wasn't fair. the other boys were not supposed to make love to her! they had elected him to do it and he was getting along all right till she thought of having this blamed fool dance. he began to doubt the efficacy of the white shirt and frequently drew one of the loose, baggy sleeves--rapidly losing their snowy spotlessness--across his face to rid himself of beads of perspiration. the waltz was followed by another one-step and ophelia granted this favor to parker while old heck sat and swore steadily under his breath--regretful that he had not sent the foreman and the cowboys out on the beef hunt a week ago! outside, the ramblin' kid half-reclined on the edge of the porch. with a cigarette between his teeth, a sneering smile on his lips, he watched, through the open door, the group within. he was convinced now that carolyn june was utterly frivolous. she danced and flirted with bert, chuck, charley--and even pedro--one after the other and occasionally parker. poor skinny alone was neglected. she seemed to have forgotten that he existed save when, from time to time, she suggested that he put this or that record on the graphophone. to each of the cowboys she whispered tender little sentiments, gave soulful looks and insinuating smiles--all but caressed them openly. ophelia did like things to old heck, parker and charley. in very truth it was a "slaughter." it was hot. after an hour carolyn june stepped out on the porch for a breath of air while skinny sought in the cabinet for a record she had asked him to play. the ramblin' kid straightened up as she came out of the door. he was disgusted, angry, heart-sickened. he had seen enough and was starting to leave. carolyn june had noticed the absence of the ramblin' kid. she had believed, all evening, he was on the porch and that was the real reason she had come outside. she saw him. "oh, is--is--that you, ramblin' kid?" she exclaimed as if surprised, and went quickly to where, at the sound of her voice, he had paused. he did not answer. the light shone full on his face and he knew that she knew--and had known before she spoke--that he was there. his eyes were filled with a look queerly blending scorn, loathing, pity and pain. "why--why--don't you come in and dance?" she asked lightly, not certain of his mood. "i don't want to," he replied coldly: "anyhow--" he added with a sneer and a brutal laugh as he slowly moved away in the darkness, "when i decide to _hug_ i'll hug in private!" carolyn june started almost as though he had struck her. the taunt was an insult! a flood of anger swept over her. "the brute!" she whispered passionately and with utter contempt in her voice. she stood a moment. suddenly she remembered the reckless abandon with which she had been dancing and flirting with the cowboys inside the house. her face flamed scarlet. she looked out into the blackness toward the circular corral. her expression changed and a pitying smile crossed her lips: "poor ramblin' kid--he just--does not understand!" she murmured and stepped back into the house. as the ramblin' kid passed through the back-yard gate he muttered savagely under his breath: "playin' with their hearts like marbles--th' damned fools!" he paused a moment and added, as though tired, "oh, well, i reckon she thinks she has to do it--it's her breed--she was raised that way i guess!" the snuffling sound of a horse blowing hay-powder or other dust from its nostrils came from the direction of the circular corral. the ramblin' kid stopped in his walk and turning went thoughtfully through the darkness toward where captain jack and the gold dust maverick were quietly feeding. he leaned against the bars of the corral and looked at the shadowy forms of the two horses standing a little distance away. captain jack quit eating and came to the fence. "god! little horse"--the ramblin' kid spoke tensely and without repression--"why can't humans be as decent an' honest as you?" the black dome of night was studded with innumerable stars that gleamed like points of silver sprinkled over a canopy of somber velvet some infinite hand had flung, in a great arch, from rim to rim of a sleeping world. the call of a night bird shrilled softly from the cottonwood trees along the cimarron. a hint of a breeze swung idly from the west and rustled the leaves in the tops of the poplars in front of the house. faintly as a distant echo came the wailing strains of a waltz, drifting out from the lighted windows and the open door of the room where carolyn june and ophelia, in a spirit of sport and for revenge, juggled the hearts of men afraid of nothing in all the world but the look in a woman's eyes. the music tortured the soul of the ramblin' kid. it breathed the unfathomable strife of life--of love, longing, hope, despair--almost, yet subtly, elusively, would not tell the eternal "why?" of all things. not heeding time, he stood and listened. the crunching sound made by the gold dust maverick, munching at the pile of hay on the ground in the corral, blended with and seemed a queer accompaniment to the melody that came from the scene of revelry up at the house. the orange disk of a late-rising moon showed above the rim of the sand-hills at the lower end of the valley. the ramblin' kid watched it--until it grew into a rounded plate of burnished, glistening silver. the gold dust maverick was suddenly flooded with a glare of light as the moonbeams poured over the top of the shed and streamed through the bars of the circular corral. the filly lifted her head. an impulse to ride--ride--ride, to get away from it all--far out on the wide unpeopled plains where there was nothing above but god, and the unmeasured depths of his heavens, and nothing beneath but the earth and the rhythmic beat of his horse's feet, came over the ramblin' kid. men, and the works of men--their passions, their strifes, their foolishness--and women--women who played with love--he wanted to forget, to leave miles and miles behind. he started to open the gate, thinking to saddle captain jack and obey the impulse of the moment. carolyn june's words, spoken of the gold dust maverick: "it would be fun to see her run!" and uttered lightly and in a spirit of coquetry that morning when she teased him to enter the outlaw filly in the race against the thunderbolt horse from the vermejo, came to his mind. the selfishness of the plea maddened him. she cared nothing for the price in effort--the straining muscles, the panting breath--the agony the beautiful mare must pay to defeat the black wonder from the other part of the range. she wanted only to see the maverick run--to coax him to yield and run the filly merely to please the cheap vanity of her sex! no doubt also she counted on entertainment when, to-morrow, he would ride the outlaw for the first time. it would be a kind of show--the battle for mastery between himself and the high-bred untamed mare. the whole bunch--old heck, parker, ophelia, carolyn june, the cowboys--yes, even that damned chink--unquestionably would be crowded about the corral to watch the fear and pain of the maverick as she learned her first hard lesson of servitude to man! they would laugh at her frenzied efforts to throw him. he would fool them. he would ride the filly to-night! he went to the shed, slipped his legs into the worn leather chaps, took saddle, bridle, blanket and rope and returned to the corral. stepping inside he closed the gate behind him. captain jack came to him and nosed at his shoulder. "no, little man," the ramblin' kid said gently, "this ain't your turn. you can go with us though, if you want to!" he laughed. the gold dust maverick stood, half-afraid, at the other side of the corral. she had not yet wholly conquered her dread of him. she did not, however, offer to fight as she had done that morning when skinny entered the enclosure. the ramblin' kid spoke to the filly and, as she began to move shyly away, with one toss threw the loop over her head. the instant the mare felt the rope she stopped and stood trembling a moment, then came straight up to him. she was "rope-wise." the experience at the north springs the night he caught her, and when she had, three separate times, been cruelly thrown by this same rope; had taught the gold dust maverick the power that lay in those pliant strands. she flinched from the touch of the blanket. the ramblin' kid worked easily, carefully, but in absolute confidence, with her. as he cautiously saddled the mare he talked in a low, drawling monotone, uttering endearing phrases and occasionally slipping a lump of sugar--a supply of which he had got that night from the kitchen--into her mouth. she ate it ravenously. "darn, little one," he laughed, "you sure have got a sweet tooth--you gobble that sugar like an indian squaw eatin' choc'late candy!" at last the mare was saddled. still holding to the rope, the ramblin' kid, without trying to get the filly to follow, moved over and opened the gate, giving it a push and swinging it wide. during the performance the gold dust maverick stood perfectly still, save for a constant chewing at the iron bit between her teeth. the ramblin' kid went quietly up to her, coiling the slack of the rope as he advanced. without bothering to tighten the reins, but watching closely the look in the maverick's big brown eyes and the nervous twitching of her ears, he laid one hand on the withers of the outlaw, with the other he grasped the horn of the saddle and slipping his foot in the stirrup swung quickly and lightly on to her back. for the space of a deep breath the maverick crouched, grew tense in every muscle, slowly arched her back, gathered herself together for a great effort. a quiet smile curled the lips of the ramblin' kid as he looked down on the curving neck of the beautiful creature. with a tremendous leap the gold dust maverick sprang high into the air, lunging forward while all her hoofs were off the ground. her forefeet came down across the back of captain jack--she had all but cleared the little roan. the shock almost threw the stallion to the ground. as he surged from under her the filly slid and sprawled on her shoulder and side. instantly she was on her feet, the ramblin' kid still in the saddle. his spurs had not touched the mare--instead he had been careful not to let their steel points so much as ruffle the golden-chestnut hair of her belly or flank. only when the outlaw fell had he thrown forward his right leg and hooked the sharp rowels into the strong fiber of the forward cinch. with the left hand he loosely held the reins, giving the maverick her head--the other hand he brushed with a caressing upward movement along her glossy neck. twice the gold dust maverick circled the corral, plunging, bucking "side-winding," desperately--her nose between her knees, squealing pitifully--as she tried vainly to rid herself of the weight of the ramblin' kid. "go to it, baby girl, go to it!" he chuckled; "you've got to learn! sooner or later you'll find out it can't be done!" he rode limply, loosely, low in the saddle, and while he made no effort to urge the filly into greater frenzy he did not try in any way to prevent her bucking her hardest in, the futile attempts to hurl him off her back. the second time the outlaw mare came to the gate she whirled and dashed through the opening, out of the corral, across the open space, past the corner of the front-yard fence and along the road that led up to the bench and toward eagle butte. captain jack trotted around the corral once, then followed at a long, swinging gallop. the noise of the filly bucking inside the corral reached the ears of the dancers in the big room at the house. "what in thunderation's that commotion?" old heck exclaimed, starting up--he and ophelia had just finished a two-step and skinny was winding the graphophone to play his favorite, the alluring _la paloma_. there was an instant's pause, then a rush for the door. carolyn june reached the porch just in time to see the gold dust maverick "hitting the breeze"--careering madly, wildly pitching as she ran past the opening in front of the house and up the road out on the bench. it was almost as though a phantom horse and rider had passed before her sight. "lord! look at them go!" charley cried admiringly. at first the girl had not recognized the outlaw mare or her rider. "who--what--is it?" she asked chuck, who was standing beside her. bert answered for chuck. "it's that darn-fool ramblin' kid--he's riding the gold dust maverick!" he said. "ain't that just like the blamed idiot--to go and ride that filly to-night?" "aw, he's liable to do anything," charley commented, "he's--" before the sentence was finished the beautiful mare and her apparently careless rider, with captain jack a hundred yards behind, disappeared over the brink of the bench and in the silence that followed the group on the porch heard only the distant thudding of hoofs beating an ever fainter tattoo through the calm, moonlit night. carolyn june went back into the house with conflicting emotions surging through her heart. she believed she knew why the ramblin' kid had elected to ride the outlaw filly to-night. but her thoughts she kept to herself. for an hour longer the dance continued. but not with the spirit of earlier in the evening. the interruption took something of the eagerness to punish old heck, parker and the cowboys, out of the heart of carolyn june. a bit of doubt that the role she and ophelia were playing was worthy of true womanhood crept into her mind. when the widow and carolyn june were alone ophelia laughed. "whew!" she exclaimed, "that was a strenuous party! i've danced till my feet ache! do you think our little 'counterplot' was a success?" "entirely!" carolyn june replied with an uncertain chuckle. "uncle josiah, parker and charley will dream dreams about you and fight duels in their sleep to-night!" "i think the others--" the widow started to say, then pausing, finished: "wasn't it queer the ramblin' kid decided to ride that outlaw horse to-night instead of coming to the house to dance?" "oh, i don't know," carolyn june answered indifferently. "i guess it's as charley says," ophelia remarked: "'you can't tell what th' ramblin' kid's liable to do'--" "i suppose not," carolyn june replied wearily as she went into her room. "good night!" "good night!" ophelia echoed. chapter xii you'll get your wish it was a silent group that gathered in the bunk-house after the dance. old heck, parker, charley and the other cowboys had been unduly stimulated by the music, the laughter and the bright smiles of carolyn june and ophelia. when they stepped out of the house into the cool night these all were left behind. the cow-men quickly sobered down and by the time they reached their sleeping quarters on the faces of all were half-ashamed looks as if they had been playing at a game not quite dignified enough or proper for men of maturity and seriousness. all were thoughtful and none seemed eager to start conversation. skinny was dejected and utterly miserable. he felt that he had been cruelty treated. carolyn june had acted all evening as though his only object in living was to stand in the corner and wind up that blamed graphophone, while she openly flirted with the other cowboys. skinny was grateful to the ramblin' kid who, alone of all the cow-punchers, had decency enough to stay away and not interfere with the original agreement. the ramblin' kid had some sense and was square. he had realized that any fellow officially elected to make love--especially when he didn't want to do it in the first place--ought to be allowed to go ahead and make it without having a lot of darned buckaroos butting in on the job. the way the others had acted was a regular disgrace! chuck, bert, charley and pedro were nervously happy. in the heart of each was a thrill, caused by the memory of some secret--or what he thought was a secret--manifestation of carolyn june's interest. perhaps it was no more than the brushing of a stray whiff of odorous brown hair against a weather-tanned cheek, the pulsing of a warm breath on the side of a muscular neck, a melting look from a pair of luminous eyes, some low-spoken word or the pressure of a hand, but whatever it was, each of the cowboys was reasonably certain he had been singled out for special favors. charley was doubly blessed. in addition to carolyn june's seductive advances he had the memory, also, of ophelia's attentions. his mind was awhirl with the effort to figure out which one, by rights, he ought to consider as a permanent possibility. old heck and parker were in a quandary. neither was sure of his standing with ophelia although each had reason to believe that he was her favorite. her interest in charley added an unexpected and perplexing equation to their problem. "gosh," chuck finally exclaimed, "that dance sure was some blow out!" "i should say it was!" bert agreed emphatically and with a satisfied grin. "but didn't that widow act funny for an 'anti-he' suffragette?" old heck looked up, startled, as if he had been reminded of a disagreeable subject and one he wished to forget. "are you plumb positive that she is one, parker?" chuck asked. "i told you what she was," parker growled, "she's an 'organizer' for some sort of 'movement' or other." "well, i'll be blamed if her 'movements' to-night showed any 'anti-he' inclinations," charley interrupted. "she carried on more like a female vampire than one of these advocaters of woman's rights!" "aw, shut up and go to bed," old heck grunted. "it's too late to start any argument!" the moon crept across the heavens and was hanging above the shadowy peaks of the costejo mountains when the ramblin' kid returned to the sleeping quarter circle kt, slipped the saddle from the back of the gold dust maverick and turned the filly and captain jack into the circular corral. he had ridden the outlaw mare almost to eagle butte. she had learned her lesson. she knew, when he caressed her muzzle and pressed the last lump of sugar into her mouth, before he turned away to the bunk-house, that the ramblin' kid was not only her master but her friend as well--understanding and sympathetic. never again would she doubt his will or resist the gentle yet firm strength of his hand. from that moment the gold dust maverick, like captain jack, was a one-man horse, ready to serve, to trust and obey only the ramblin' kid. "you little beauty," he laughed tenderly as he playfully shook the underlip of the filly and started toward the gate, "--you're a runner--gee!--but you're a runner!" the others were fast asleep when the ramblin' kid noiselessly opened the door of the bunk-house, went in, and without undressing, stretched himself on his bed. old heck awakened the cowboys as the sun poured its first slanting rays through the open un-draped window. the stir aroused the ramblin' kid. he made no move to arise. "ain't you going to get up?" old heck said garrulously. "when i damn please!" was the independent reply. "skinny, tell th' chink to keep me a cup of hot coffee!" old heck snorted but said no more. parker and the cowboys dressed silently, half-moodily. they hardly knew yet how they felt after the excitement of the night before. skinny started to put on the white shirt, looked at it contemptuously a moment, and with a muttered oath threw it viciously on the bed. in a few moments the ramblin' kid was left alone in the bunk-house. he lay, hands clasped at the back of his head, studying. his eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. presently he smiled and opened his eyes. he drew the pink satin elastic from his pocket and looked at it. "that's a hell of a thing to be packin'--wonder why i keep it?" he muttered. it suddenly occurred to him that if he was not at breakfast carolyn june would think he was afraid or ashamed to meet her. he got up, straightened his disarranged clothes, went to the house and after stopping at the ditch by the fence and washing his face, walked indifferently into the kitchen and sat down at his regular place. the others already were eating. carolyn june glanced at him with a meaningless smile and acknowledged, without feeling, his quiet "good morning!" the cowboys were nervous. memory of last night was fresh in their minds. it made them cautious in their talk. ophelia and carolyn june, also, were a bit restrained. they were not sure but they had started more than it would be easy to stop. the expressions in the eyes of the cowboys paid tribute to the success of the two women's efforts at wholesale heart-wrecking. the child-like acceptance of a simple flirtation as the real thing, by these husky riders of the range, was little less than appalling. it all but frightened carolyn june and the widow. old heck saw the worship in the eyes of the cowboys. "things sure are in a devil of a mix-up!" he growled to himself. skinny was so dejected carolyn june felt half-guilty and tried to cheer him up. she began talking, in a low voice, directly to the melancholy-looking cowboy. "to-day--or some time--when the others are away," she said caressingly, "you and i will dance all the dances by ourselves!" his heart leaped joyously. he was sorry, now, that he had not put on the white shirt. he resolved, after a while, to sneak out to the bunk-house and change. the confidential talk between carolyn june and skinny galled chuck. he decided to break it up. "what was your idea in riding the gold dust maverick last night?" he said abruptly to the ramblin' kid. there was a general pause for the answer. carolyn june stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked curiously at the ramblin' kid. he took his time to reply. "because i wanted to!" was the slow unsatisfactory retort. "why didn't you wait till to-day, so the rest of us could see how she acted?" charley asked. "what do you think you are"--he started to say--"a bunch of lawyers cross-examinin' a witness?" thought better of it and with a careless laugh answered: "if you're huntin' entertainment, why don't you go up to eagle butte to th' picture show? th' maverick an' me ain't no exhibition!" "did she buck?" charley continued, ignoring the sarcastic remark. "some," the ramblin' kid drawled. "what you going to do with the filly while we're out on the beef hunt?" chuck queried, wishing to keep the conversation general. "ride her!" was the laconic reply. "ain't you afraid she'll break away from the _caballero_ and you'll lose her again?" charley asked. "when i ain't usin' her i'll 'neck' her to captain jack," the ramblin' kid answered patiently, referring to the method of fastening a wild horse to one that is gentle and prevent its running away, by attaching a short length of rope to the neck of each. "i don't believe she'd leave th' stallion anyhow!" "by golly," chuck said earnestly and half-pleadingly, "i wish you'd put her against that y-bar outfit's thunderbolt horse in the two-mile sweepstakes this year! it would be--" "fun to see her run!" the ramblin' kid interrupted, looking up quickly and straight into the eyes of carolyn june as he finished the contemptuous quotation of her words, spoken the day before at the corral. she flushed, but gazed back at him without flinching. "well," he continued, "i reckon you'll get your wish--th' maverick is goin' to run against th' vermejo horse!" "the fourth of july is a week from next wednesday," charley said calculatingly. "the rodeo starts on tuesday, the roping and bucking finals come on thursday. that makes the big race come friday--a week from next friday, ain't it?" "that's right," bert concurred. "th' ramblin' kid's got nearly two weeks to get the maverick in shape." "nothing will be in shape for anything," old heck broke in, getting up from the table, "unless we move around and get things ready to begin the beef round-up to-morrow morning. some of you boys will have to bring in those saddle horses from across the river. each one of you can ride your regular 'string' this year"--alluding to the term used to designate the group of several horses used exclusively by each individual rider working on a round-up. "skinny won't be with you, but you'd better take his horses along for extras. parker can be getting the grub-wagon in shape--i reckon you'll have to work old tom and baldy on it. sing pete ought to be able to handle them." "where do we start in?" charley asked as they went toward the barn. "over in the battle ridge country," old heck answered, "and work everything east of the big pasture first. it'll take just about a week to clean up that side--it's pretty rough riding over there. then you can finish the west end after the rodeo is over." "what all you aiming to gather?" bert queried. "everything above a three-year-old," old heck replied in a businesslike way; "pick up the dry cows, too, if they're fat enough. prices are better than usual and i want to sell pretty close on account of that storm knocking the hay the way it did the other night. there'll be three hundred and fifty or four hundred good beef critters on the east range. you ought to have them bunched and in the big pasture by saturday night. then, until the rodeo is over you can all do what you darn' please--" "i know what i'm going to do," chuck laughed. "what?" bert asked. "draw all my wages, borrow all i can, and make a clean-up on that y-bar outfit on the race between the gold dust maverick and thunderbolt!" he exclaimed vindictively. "probably there will be some of the rest of us have a little quarter circle kt money up on that race, too," charley insinuated. "i know blamed well there will be!" old heck added earnestly as they scattered to go about their respective employments. it was a busy sunday at the quarter circle kt. chuck, charley and pedro spent the morning and most of the afternoon getting the saddle horses from across the river. bert helped parker and old heck about the ranch. sing pete baked a supply of light-bread and stocked the grub-wagon with provisions. the ramblin' kid volunteered to "ride-line" on the big pasture and see that the diamond bar steers had not broken out again. he rode a sorrel colt--one that had had its "first-riding" in the circular corral the day before carolyn june and ophelia arrived at the quarter circle kt. when he came to the corner of the pasture where the bodies of the cattle, killed by lightning, lay, a flock of buzzards were tearing at the carcasses. as the gorged creatures flapped heavily into the air the young broncho wheeled, and bucking frantically, jolted away from the gruesome scene. the ramblin' kid forced the animal to turn about and made him pass, rearing and plunging, among the skinless and already decaying forms. before sundown the ramblin' kid was back at the ranch. in the afternoon skinny and carolyn june went for a ride down the valley. it was her first opportunity to try the new saddle. skinny was mounted on old pie face and carolyn june rode browny, a dependable old cow-horse. "gee," carolyn june remarked as they passed the circular corral. "i'd like to ride the gold dust maverick with this outfit!" "it would be a dandy combination," skinny said admiringly, "but i doubt if anybody but th' ramblin' kid will ever be able to ride the filly. so far, she acts like she's going to be a worse one-man horse than captain jack is. she tried to kill me yesterday when i went into the corral!" "what makes her that way?" carolyn june asked. "blamed if i know," skinny replied, "some horses are naturally like that. th' ramblin' kid says it ain't in the horse--it's in the human. if the human don't understand the horse the horse won't trust the human and where there ain't trust there's fear and where there's fear there's hate. he's got some funny ideas!" "sounds sort of sensible, though, doesn't it?" carolyn june said musingly. "maybe it does," skinny retorted, "but he goes a little too far with his fool notions sometimes, it seems to me." "how is that?" carolyn june questioned. "well, for one thing," skinny replied, "he says any man or woman a horse don't trust ain't a good man or woman for a human to depend on--says they ain't right inside! it looks to me like that's a pretty hard slam on people just because some darned idiot of a broncho won't make up with them!" carolyn june leaned back in the saddle and laughed. "some 'range philosopher'--this ramblin' kid person!" she exclaimed lightly. "where did he come from and who is he, anyway?" "nobody knows," skinny answered; "he just kind of growed up, here in the southwest. i've heard that his mother died when he was born and his father was a preacher or something doing missionary work--i reckon that's what you'd call it--among the mexicans and indians and got the smallpox while he was nursing them through an epidemic and it killed him, which left th' ramblin' kid an orphan when he wasn't much more than a baby. the mexicans or indians took care of him till he was old enough to ride and then he began to ramble around and has always kept it up just as if he was hunting for something--" "how interesting!" carolyn june exclaimed, "almost like a story!" "it is kind of unusual," skinny continued, "of course it may not all be true, but one thing is sure--th' ramblin' kid seems to have some sort of fascination for the greasers and the indians; they all worship him, and he's a witch when it comes to handling horses!" "he seems to be," carolyn june commented thoughtfully. "yes," skinny answered, "look how that gold dust maverick has made right up with him--i don't believe she ever will have anything to do with anybody else!" carolyn june laughed softly to herself. she did not tell skinny of her visits to the circular corral and that the outlaw mare already had accepted her as a good friend. she and skinny loafed idly as far down the valley as the narrows, and when sing pete sounded the supper gong they were again back at the house. after the evening meal the cowboys hung around the house for a while until a suggestive look from old heck caused them reluctantly to follow him to the bunk-house, leaving parker and skinny with ophelia and carolyn june. it was the foreman's last evening with the widow before the beef round-up. she was rather diffident and held him in safe channels of conversation. skinny and carolyn june sat on the porch until it was quite dark, then went into the house. she drummed carelessly and lightly on the keys of the piano--her thoughts evidently far away. parker and skinny left the house early. at the door the foreman whispered to the widow: "don't forget what i spoke about coming out from town!" ophelia flushed and murmured, "no, indeed, but--" she did not finish the sentence. she was about to say, "don't build false hopes!" when parker and skinny entered the bunk-house old heck and all the cowboys except the ramblin' kid were asleep. he was half-reclining on his bed, smoking. at the entrance of skinny and parker be got up and without speaking strolled outside and through the darkness toward the circular corral. the night was warm and the stuffy air of the bunk-house, together with the noisy snoring of old heck, made him restless. he stood a few moments looking at captain jack and the gold dust maverick. then, moving back into the shed, dropped down and laid with his shoulders and head on his saddle, which was thrown on the ground under the shelter. the side of the building, next to the corral, was open and the ramblin' kid could see, from where he was lying, the dark bulks of the two horses at the farther side of the corral. ophelia went directly to bed after skinny and parker left. carolyn june sat for a while in the morris chair in the large room. she seemed abstracted and in a mood for meditation. the vague history skinny had given her of the life of the ramblin' kid interested her. she thought it explained a good many of his elemental impulses and idiosyncrasies. he was a creature of the plains. in his life among the indians and mexicans he had absorbed their stoical ways and almost brutal directness, yet, sometimes he showed a sensitiveness that was utterly impossible for carolyn june to understand. her thoughts turned to the gold dust maverick. to-morrow ramblin' kid would take the filly away for the round-up. she truly loved the beautiful mare. she would slip out, while the others slept, and have one more visit with the splendid creature. rising, carolyn june passed out through the kitchen, stopped for a handful of sugar--she had learned where sing pete kept the can--and bareheaded and without a wrap walked swiftly out to the circular corral. the ramblin' kid heard carolyn june step up to the gate of the corral and from the heavy shadow in which he lay saw the light dress and instinctively recognized this late visitor to captain jack and the gold dust maverick his first impulse was to call out and warn her to keep away from the horses--that both were dangerous for men to fool with, much less was it safe for a woman to undertake familiarities with them. his next thought was that his sudden appearance would only startle the girl and--well, cause a lot of useless talk. he remained quiet. a low trill came from the throat of carolyn june. the two horses stopped feeding and looked around toward the gate. the bird-like call was repeated. the ramblin' kid was astonished to see captain jack and the outlaw mare move eagerly in the direction from whence the sound had come. he heard carolyn june talking to the bronchos in soft endearing tones. after a moment she opened the gate and stepped inside the corral. "well, i'll be--!" he breathed inaudibly. for half an hour carolyn june petted the little stallion and the gold dust maverick. both animals seemed hungry for her caresses. "oh, you darling--you wonder!" the ramblin' kid heard carolyn june say, as she gave the maverick's head a tight squeeze just before running lightly back to the house. "i hope you beat that old y-bar horse so bad he'll never want to run again! even if that ramblin' kid lover of yours," she added softly, "does think i'm nothing but a silly woman-thing and hates me with all his queer, lonesome heart!" "well, i'll be damned!" the ramblin' kid exclaimed when she was gone. he raised himself on one elbow and lay thus for a long time silently thinking. at last he got up, went to the corral gate, and he himself stepped inside with the horses. he gave captain jack's ear a loving twitch, then turned to the gold dust maverick. she permitted him, without protest, to fondle her head and neck. his hand lingered long on the silky mane in which, a little while before, carolyn june had twined her fingers. "oh, queen of th' range!" he said with a low laugh, unconsciously using the poetical phrase, as he gave the warm cheek of the filly a tender parting pinch before turning away to go to the bunk-house, "we'll whip that devil-horse of th' vermejo--we'll show that thunderbolt runner what hearts that ain't afraid an' nimble hoofs can do!" chapter xiii the elite amusement parlor an hour after breakfast, on monday morning, old heck, ophelia, skinny and carolyn june were alone at the quarter circle kt. parker and the cowboys were climbing out on the sand-hills north of the cimarron, traveling in the direction of battle ridge, where the beef hunt was to begin. the circular corral was empty. the ramblin' kid was riding the gold dust maverick. captain jack was with the saddle horses which pedro, the mexican, had wrangled on ahead of the other riders an hour before. the filly made no effort to throw the ramblin' kid on this her second riding. she seemed perfectly willing to carry the burden on her back. carolyn june watched the beautiful mare as she stepped lightly and daintily along beside the other horses, and when the group disappeared among the rolling ridges across the river the ranch someway seemed deserted and she felt strangely alone, although ophelia, old heck and skinny were standing at her side. sing pete followed the riders, jolting along in the grub-wagon, awkwardly driving, with much clucking and pidgin-english, old tom and baldy hitched to the heavy, canvas-covered vehicle with its "box-kitchen" and mess-board protruding gawkily out from the rear. old heck heaved a sigh of relief. there was a feeling of serene peace in his heart, now that parker and the cowboys were safely away on the round-up. in skinny's heart the feeling was echoed. for a week or more they would be able to love ophelia and carolyn june without the constant fear of interruption. only one thing troubled old heck. the widow had not yet exposed her hand in that suffragette movement or whatever it was. he dreaded the form in which it might, sooner or later, break out. but at that he would be glad to have it over. at present he felt as though he were sitting on the edge of a volcano, or above an unexplored blast of dynamite at the bottom of a well. meanwhile he would have to wait and watch--and hope for the best. the week that followed was heaven and hell, mixed together, for old heck and skinny. the women were lovely and lovable to the last degree, but cautious and tormentingly self-restrained when it came to loving. at the first intimation of dangerous sentimentality on the part of old heck the widow would suddenly and without an instant's warning change the subject. when skinny had been pensive and silent for half an hour or so and would then start, in a halting and quivering voice, to say something, carolyn june invariably interrupted with a remark about the weather, the gold dust maverick, the ramblin' kid, old heck, sing pete, the yellow cat, the coming rodeo, ophelia or something else. they paired on the work of preparing the meals, carolyn june and skinny and ophelia and old heck taking shift and shift about in the kitchen. in this way the work was made a joke, with friendly rivalry between the couples in the preparation of tasty dishes. old heck and skinny surprised the women with their knowledge of cooking. nor was there the least embarrassment on the part of either when, with one of sing pete's aprons tied about his waist, he worked at the range or kitchen table. as a matter of course every cow-man must know something of how to cook a meal and, also, naturally and as a matter of course, old heck and skinny, without the slightest thought that it was "womanish" or beneath the "dignity" of men, peeled potatoes, fried meat, washed dishes or did whatever there was to do. indeed each was proud of his skill. ophelia herself was clever, particularly at making biscuits and dainty salads. carolyn june's sole accomplishment in the art of preparing food was the making of coffee-jelly. this she had learned at college--taught, perhaps, by the other girls during stolen midnight frolics. probably this, also, was the reason she usually made it the last thing at night before skinny and old heck left to go to the bunk-house. coffee-jelly was the regular, inevitable, evening meal dessert for the entire week. "it ain't so very filling," skinny remarked the first time he tasted the delicate dish, "but it's tender and has a dandy flavor!" carolyn june blushed at the compliment. "it is pretty good," old heck agreed, "but these biscuits ophelia made are just what was needed to set it off!" the widow smilingly showed her pleasure. twice during the week skinny rode "line" on the big pasture to look after the diamond bar steers. carolyn june accompanied him. each time she rode browny, the old cow-horse. on these days old heck and ophelia, in the clagstone "six," drove to eagle butte. the second trip to town ophelia asked to be left at the minister's house. old heck was to call in an hour and get her. during the hour he slipped into the dentist's and had his teeth cleaned. when the tobacco-blackened tartar was scraped away they were surprisingly white and even. he stopped at the drug store and bought a tooth-brush and a tube of paste. ophelia noticed the wonderful improvement in his appearance, guessed the reason, and the thought sent a warm thrill through her body. "like a big boy," she laughed to herself, "when he begins to wash his neck and ears!" "it ain't healthy to have your teeth so dirty," old heck explained, coloring and in an apologizing manner, when skinny discovered him, after supper that evening, carefully scrubbing his molars. skinny watched the performance, saw the result, and murmured: "guess i'll get me one of them layouts!" on friday the quartette went to eagle butte, old heck driving, with ophelia beside him, and carolyn june and skinny in the rear seat of the clagstone "six." it was on this trip, while ophelia and carolyn june were in the golden rule doing some shopping, that old heck and skinny strolled into the elite amusement parlor. lafe dorsey, owner of the y-bar outfit and to whom belonged the black thunderbolt horse; newt johnson, dave stover and "flip" williams--the latter three cowboys on the big vermejo ranch--were playing a four-handed game of billiards at one of the tables near the front of the place. dorsey noticed the entrance of the pair from the quarter circle kt. all were range men and were well known to one another. the y-bar owner had been drinking. boot-leg liquor was obtainable, if one knew how and where, in eagle butte. "hello, there, old heck!" dorsey greeted them hilariously and with a half-leer. "howdy, skinny! how's the cimarron? don't reckon you've taught old quicksilver to run yet, have you?" with a boisterous laugh as he referred to the race in which thunderbolt had defeated old heck's crack stallion. the taunt stung old heck while it called out a suppressed snicker from the cowboys who were with dorsey and the loafers in the pool-room. the bull-like guffaw of mike sabota, the gorilla-built, half-greek proprietor of the amusement parlor roared out above the ripple of laughter from the others. the racing feud between the y-bar and the quarter circle kt was well known to all and sabota himself had cleaned up a neat sum when the black horse from the vermejo had outstepped the runner from the quarter circle kt. old heck reddened at dorsey's words but replied quietly: "the cimarron is middling--just middlin'. no, we ain't been paying much attention to teaching horses how to run lately. old quicksilver's pretty fair. of course he ain't the best horse in the world but he'll do for cows and general knocking around. horses are a good deal like men, you know, dorsey--there's always one that's a little bit better!" the vermejo cow-man colored at the thrust. "any of you quarter circle kt fellers going in on anything at the rodeo, this year?" one of the y-bar riders asked skinny before dorsey could reply. "charley said he might go in on the 'bull-dogging' and bert is figuring some on the bucking events--but i don't reckon they'll either one enter," skinny carelessly; "both of them got first money in them entries last year and they ain't caring much. the mexican," referring to pedro, "will probably do some roping--" "what about you and the ramblin' kid?" flip williams interrupted, "ain't neither of you going to take part?" "probably not," skinny drawled. "i ain't aiming to, and i don't know what th' ramblin? kid is figuring on. he ain't much for showing off. he only rode in the bucking contest last year because after that cyclone horse killed dick stanley everybody said there wasn't any one that could ride him and the blamed little fool just wanted to demonstrate that there was. you never can tell what he'll do, though. he may be intending to go in on something or other." "guess you people ain't got anything out there for the two-mile sweepstakes this year, have you?" dorsey broke in with a sneer. "old thunderbolt's too much for them sand-hill jumpers from the cimarron." "oh, i don't know as he is," old heck said in a voice emotionless as an indian's. "the quarter circle kt will probably be represented in the big event. it seems to me i heard chuck mention entering that silver tip colt of his and, let's see, i believe th' ramblin' kid said something about running a new filly he's been riding some, didn't he, skinny?" "since i come to think of it i believe he did," skinny answered as if it were a matter without especial interest; "if i remember right he did speak something of it a day or two ago." "well, bring 'em on!" dorsey exclaimed boastfully, "the y-bar will take all the money you kiowa fellers feel like contributing! old thunderbolt's as fit as a new rawhide rope and is just aching to rake in another three or four thousand of quarter circle kt _dinero_ if you people have got the nerve to back your judgment!" there was a dead hush as the crowd in the pool-room waited for old heck's reply to dorsey's drunken challenge. "we'll kind of remember that invitation, dorsey," old heck said in tones as hard and smooth and cold as ice, while his gray eyes narrowed and bored the boastful cow-man like points of steel, "we'll sort of bear in mind that suggestion of yours. the quarter circle kt will send a horse into the big race that will beat that thunderbolt critter of yours just three times as bad as he set old quicksilver back--and we'll give you action on any amount of money, cattle or anything else you want to name! you can put your friends here in on it too, if you want to--" with a scornful glance around the pool-room at the loafers in the place. "come on, skinny," he added as he started toward the door, "more than likely ophelia and carolyn june are through with their trading and ready to go home." all stood silent until skinny and old heck stepped out of the door, then mike sabota broke into a coarse, taunting laugh. as they turned up the street old heck and skinny heard dorsey and the crowd inside join in the merriment. "damn that fool, dorsey!" old heck exclaimed viciously, as he heard the shouts of derisive laughter. "i'm going to wipe him out on that race--if he's got the guts to come across and back up that thunderbolt horse as hard as he blows about him!" "i think i'll hook sabota for a few hundred on the sweepstakes, myself," skinny replied with a good deal of feeling, "i don't like the way that dirty cuss acts any better than i like dorsey's bragging!" carolyn june and ophelia were waiting when old heck and skinny arrived at the golden rule. when the clagstone "six" whirled past the amusement parlor a few moments later dorsey and sabota were standing in the door. carolyn june glanced at them. "heavens," she said as her eyes rested an instant on the burly, low-browed, greek proprietor of the place, "what a big brute of a looking fellow that is!" the two men stared insolently at the occupants of the car and as it passed sabota made some remark, evidently vulgar, that caused dorsey to burst into another round of coarse laughter. old heck was moody during the drive home. for nearly two years dorsey had been crowing because of the defeat of quicksilver by the black racer from the vermejo. it was becoming more than idle jesting. it looked as if, for some reason, he was trying to torment old heck until something serious was started. old heck was a good loser but he was growing tired of the persistent nagging. he had not whimpered at the loss of the twenty-five hundred dollars dorsey won from him on the race. even the humiliation of seeing his best horse put in second place by the y-bar animal had been endured philosophically and without malice because he believed the thing had been run square and the faster horse had won. but dorsey on every occasion since had, drunk or sober, boasted of thunderbolt's victory and taken a devilish delight in rubbing it in on the owner of the quarter circle kt. to-day the vermejo cattleman had been worse than usual, due, no doubt, to the rotten boot-leg whisky the brute-like proprietor of eagle butte's rather disreputable amusement parlor was supposed secretly to dispense to those who had the price and the "honor" to keep sacred the source of supply. old heck was sore and he was ready to go the limit in backing the gold dust maverick. both he and skinny had purposely refrained from mentioning the horse the ramblin' kid would enter. the fame of the outlaw filly extended throughout all of southwestern texas and if the vermejo crowd had learned that the ramblin' kid had finally caught her and was intending to put her against thunderbolt it was doubtful if the black horse would be entered at all in the sweepstakes. even if he was, dorsey and his crowd would be shy of the betting. this was one reason old heck had so played the conversation that dorsey definitely threw down the challenge and which was so coldly accepted. the vermejo cow-man would have to come in heavy on the betting or be placed in the role of a bluffer. by the time they reached the ranch old heck's good humor was restored. he thoroughly enjoyed the supper skinny and carolyn june prepared and joked the girl about her coffee-jelly. "she's learning how to make french toast, now," skinny said proudly; "it won't be long till she's a darned good cook!" "why not?" carolyn june laughed. "see who i have to teach me!" and skinny flushed while his heart hammered joyously. "well, i reckon anybody could live on fried bread and coffee-jelly in a pinch," old heck joked back, "but for my part i'd be a good deal happier to mix a biscuit or two like ophelia makes once in a while in with it"--giving the widow a worshipful look. it was ophelia's turn to register pleasurable confusion. after supper old heck and the widow washed the dishes. when they were finished ophelia went into the front room. old heck took a glass of water, stepped out of the kitchen door, and diligently scrubbed his teeth. while he was still at it skinny came out with a dipper in his hand and sheepishly drawing a tooth-brush from his hip pocket faithfully imitated the actions of the other. "i figure a man's taking a lot of chances if he don't keep his teeth clean and everything," skinny spluttered as the water splashed down his chin. "yes, that's right," old heck agreed, "there's germs and so on in them!" as he flipped the water from his own brush, dried his lips on his shirtsleeve and turned back into the kitchen. the next morning, saturday, old heck came to the breakfast table again in a pensive mood. "i was thinking about that man dorsey," skinny remarked, observing old heck's mental depression and attributing it to the meeting the day before in the pool-room at eagle butte. "do you reckon the filly can really beat that thunderbolt horse?" "of course she can," old heck answered. "th' ramblin' kid knows. all i'm afraid is that when dorsey finds out it's the gold dust maverick thunderbolt has got to go up against he won't bet much on it." "the boys ought to be in to-day," skinny said, abruptly switching the subject; "they figured on getting the battle ridge cattle gathered and in the big pasture by to-night, didn't they?" "yes," old heck replied, "that was what was in my mind. parker will be--" he stopped suddenly, "butting in again" he had started to say but caught himself and finished lamely, "--probably pretty anxious to hurry through as soon as possible and get the beef animals in the upland pasture!" "how are you going to work things when he gets back?" skinny asked with, a significant look at old heck. "blamed if i know--" old heck said uncertainly, stopping before he finished the sentence. he understood what skinny meant and just that had been worrying him. he had reached the point where he could not endure the thought of going back to the old arrangement of day and day about with parker in the enjoyment of the widow's society. yet if parker, on his return, insisted on dividing ophelia's time with him in conformity with their original agreement, old heck knew he would have to yield. he thought for a moment he would get the widow away from skinny and carolyn june after breakfast and make a full confession of the whole thing, ask her to marry him, and have it done with. but he had not yet been able to get at the bottom of ophelia's suffragette activities. what if she married him and then suddenly broke loose as a speech-maker or something for woman's rights? it wouldn't pay to take the risk. "it sure does keep a man guessing!" he murmured under his breath, the sweat starting to bead his forehead from the mental effort to solve the problem before him. carolyn june and ophelia exchanged sly winks as they guessed the thing that was in old heck's mind. skinny, himself, was a bit worried as the time drew near for the return of the cowboys. he hoped carolyn june wouldn't spring another dance or similar opportunity for indiscriminate love-making. nor had carolyn june forgotten that to-day was saturday and parker and the cowboys were expected back from the first half of the beef round-up. the week had been pleasant enough but she had missed the ramblin' kid and the gold dust maverick more than she cared to confess. she wondered if the outlaw filly would remember her. saturday was a day of considerable tension for all at the quarter circle kt. night came and parker and the cowboys had not returned. nor did they come on sunday. evidently the beef round-up had gone more slowly than was expected. it was late monday afternoon when the grub-wagon grumbled and creaked its way up the lane and stopped near the back-yard gate. sing pete climbed clumsily down from the high seat. old heck and skinny unhitched old tom and baldy while the chinese cook chattered information about parker, the cowboys and the round-up. he had left the north springs early that morning. two nights before the herd had run--it was a stampede--some sheep had been where the cattle were bedded. maybe that was it. chuck and bert were on night guard and could not hold them. the steers mixed badly with the rangers. nearly two days it took to gather them again. that was why they were late. now everything was all right the cattle were being driven to the big pasture. pedro would be along soon with the saddle cavallard. by dark maybe the others would be at the ranch. it was midnight before parker and the cowboys came in. when carolyn june stepped out on the porch tuesday morning she glanced toward the circular corral, which for more than a week had been empty. her heart gave a leap of delight. captain jack was standing at the bars of the corral and behind him the early sunlight glinted on the chestnut sides of the gold dust maverick. chapter xiv the grand parade eagle butte was a jam of humanity. it was tuesday noon. at one o'clock the grand parade would circle the mile track at the "grounds"--a hundred level acres enclosed by a high board fence lying at the west edge of eagle butte, between the cimarron river and the road that led out to the vermejo--swing down the main street of the town, return again to the enclosed area, flow once more past the grandstand, salute the judges of the coming events, and the fifth annual independence rodeo of eagle butte would be officially opened. special excursion rates had brought thousands from all parts of western texas, new mexico and colorado. hundreds of tourists, sight-seeing the west, had so arranged their itineraries that they might be present at the big exhibition of riding, roping, racing, bull-dogging and other cow-country arts,--arts rapidly becoming mere memories of a day too quickly passing. moving-picture machine operators were seeking advantageous locations for their outfits; pedestrians dodged, indiscriminately, high-powered automobiles and plunging bronchos; the old and the new were slapped together in an incongruous jumble in the streets of eagle butte. the best range men and women of the west were gathered in the western texas town. new mexico, arizona, idaho, colorado, wyoming, montana, oregon, texas herself, were represented by their most famous riders, ropers, bull-doggers, cow-experts, and noted outlaw horses. there were many masqueraders. imitation cow-people, they were, made up in fancy wild-west costumes, long-haired chaps, mammoth black sombreros, gaudy neck-cloths, silver-spangled saddles, spurs and bridles--typical moving-picture cowboys, cowgirls and rough riders. but there were, as well, hundreds of real range people. people whose business it is to work every day at the "stunts" they were, for the next five days, to play at for the pleasure of proving their skill and winning the applause of the multitude of spectators packed each day in the grandstand behind the judges' box at the eagle butte rodeo. every outfit in western texas sent its most clever riders. indians and mexicans, in picturesque attire, sprinkled the milling mass of humanity with a dash of rainbow color. dance-halls were running, fare layouts were operating, roulette wheels were spinning. for the time, with the consent of the sheriff and other reformed authorities, eagle butte tried hard to be as eagle butte was twenty--thirty--years ago. the entire quarter circle kt crowd left the ranch early tuesday morning'. parker had surprised old heck, and filled his mind with misgivings, by calling him to one side after breakfast and stammering: "i--i--reckon you'd just as well go ahead the rest of this week and--and--look after the widow by yourself--" "what's the matter?" old heck asked suspiciously; "have you found out anything dangerous about that 'movement' or whatever it is ophelia's mixed up in?" "no, it ain't that," parker assured him, "i just thought i'd kind of--well, like to be free, to knock around at the rodeo without being bothered with a woman or anything." the truth was parker was trying to hedge. when he had got away on the beef hunt and began to figure things out he had come to doubt the wisdom of his sudden infatuation for the widow. thinking it over, out on the open range, he was appalled by his rash, headlong falling in love. he had never married, nor had he, until ophelia came, been even near it. someway, the moment carolyn june and the widow arrived at the quarter circle kt some sort of devil seemed to possess him. he couldn't explain it. maybe it had been just an impulse to get ahead of old heck. whatever it was, parker was worried. what would he do with a wife if he had one? all he wanted now was to let the thing blow over. perhaps the widow would forget his impetuous proposal or fall in love with old heck. old heck, his heart filled with a queer mixture of elation and uncertainty--with a sort of joy and sinking sensation all at once--agreed to parker's suggestion. parker rode into eagle butte with the cowboys. old heck, ophelia, skinny and carolyn june went in the clagstone "six." chuck led old pie face for skinny to ride in the parade and bert took red john, old heck's most showy saddle horse--a long-legged, high-stepping, proud-headed, bay gelding--for carolyn june to use, for she, too, had declared her intention of joining in the grand promenade with which the rodeo would open. the ramblin' kid left the gold dust maverick in the circular corral and rode captain jack to eagle butte. it would be necessary for him to register the filly, with the entry judges, on the first day of the rodeo if she was to run in the two-mile sweepstakes. the rules of the rodeo required, also, that all who expected to participate in any of the events of the coming week must "show" in the grand march or parade. the animals that were to be used might also be paraded, but this was not compulsory. accompanied by chuck, the ramblin' kid went directly to the entry offices of the rodeo, which were roughly boxed-up compartments under the rear of the grandstand. a group of "hot-dog" vendors and "concession spielers" looked curiously at the two as they left captain jack and silver tip, with bridle reins dropped over their heads, standing in front of the office and stepped inside. lafe dorsey and flip williams were at the clerk's desk. the vermejo cattleman had just registered thunderbolt, with flip as rider, for the big race. they looked around as the ramblin' kid and chuck came in. "well, is the quarter circle kt getting up sand enough to go against old thunderbolt again?" dorsey asked with a curl of his lip and an ugly sneer. "oh, i reckon we've got a little nerve left," chuck answered with mock humility, "not much, but a little, maybe. i was going to put silver tip in the sweepstakes," he went on, "but i guess i won't. th' ramblin' kid's got an entry and it looks like a darned shame for one outfit to want to hog it all and grab first and second money both, so i'll stay out this time." "you talk pretty loud," dorsey snarled, catching instantly, as chuck intended he should, the covert slur at the black y-bar stallion. "maybe your money won't make so damned much noise!" "here's a couple hundred," chuck said, pulling a roll of bills from his shirt pocket. "i'll invest that much on my judgment that thunderbolt ain't as good as you think he is." "i'll take it!" dorsey snapped, jerking a wad of money from his own pocket and counting out the amount which he handed to the clerk as stake-holder. "and here's another hundred--or a thousand if you want it!" "that two hundred is about all i can handle this morning," chuck laughed. "but i understand old heck's aiming to bet a little," he drawled suggestively; "probably you'd like to see him?" "i'll see him--and raise him till he squeals!" dorsey sneered. the ramblin' kid ignored the tilt between dorsey and chuck and leaned indifferently against the counter waiting for the clerk to fill out the entry blank. "event?" the clerk questioned. "two-mile run," was the quiet answer. "rider--and horse?" glancing up. dorsey and flip paused and turned their heads to catch the names the ramblin' kid gave. "i'm the rider, i reckon," the ramblin' kid replied, "i guess you know who i am. th' name of th' horse? well, now ain't that funny?" he said with a little laugh, "i never have bothered to name that critter yet! but--oh, hell, what's the difference? we'll just call her 'ophelia' for th' time bein'--in honor of a lady-widow that's visitin' out at th' ranch!" "the quarter circle kt's getting to be quite a female institution, ain't it?" dorsey said contemptuously. "i suppose this wonder horse of yours is one of the ranch fillies and regular lightning!" for a second the ramblin' kid's eyes narrowed, then he replied coldly to the last half of dorsey's sentence: "well, th' filly's been runnin' in that neighborhood an'"--with a laugh that had in it just the hint of a sneer--"she's pretty fair--good enough, i figure, to beat hell out of old thunderbolt!" "are you backing that with money?" dorsey and flip spoke together. "no," the ramblin' kid answered slowly, "money ain't no object with me in a horse-race. i don't run 'em for that purpose. anyhow, poker is my favorite method of gamblin'!" dorsey and flip whirled angrily out of the office and walked rapidly toward the stables where they had left their horses. after reserving a box stall, which was to be occupied by captain jack and the gold dust maverick, the ramblin' kid and chuck left the entry office and mounting their bronchos rode toward the section of the grounds, over by the stables, where the parade was already forming. as they passed through the entrance to the track and the inside field which lay beyond chuck and the ramblin' kid rode within a few feet of the clagstone "six," which was parked near the east end of the grandstand. old heck and ophelia were in the front seat of the car watching the riders assemble for the parade. carolyn june was standing on the running-board waiting for skinny to come with old pie face and red john, the boys having left the horses at the stables. carolyn june looked up with a bright smile at chuck. as her eyes met the ramblin' kid's there was a question in them. she was not sure yet that she had forgiven him for the brutal rebuff the night of the dance. if there was any feeling in his heart, either of resentment or otherwise, toward the girl the ramblin' kid hid it. the look he gave her was one of unfathomable humility and indifference. chuck wheeled silver tip to the side of the car and stopped. his eyes were filled with frank admiration as he gazed at the girl. her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her white felt hat sat jauntily on the crown of brown hair, her eyes were sparkling and in the close-fitting riding suit she was the picture of youthful charm and grace. the ramblin' kid nodded to old heck, glanced at ophelia with a smile, looked steadily an instant at carolyn june and raising his hat to the two women passed on with the remark: "i reckon i'll go on over an' see what they're doin'." "has he entered the outlaw filly for the sweepstakes, yet?" old heck asked chuck as the ramblin' kid reined captain jack down the race track. "yes," chuck answered, "he signed her up." "did he name her as the gold dust maverick?" old heck inquired anxiously. "no," chuck grinned, "he called her 'ophelia!'" old heck leaned back in the seat and roared with laughter in which carolyn june and the widow joined. "dorsey was there," chuck said with another grin, "he'd just finished entering thunderbolt for the big race when th' ramblin' kid and me got to the registering office. i bet him two hundred dollars. he was bragging a good deal--" old heck's eyes flashed and the mirth left them. "he was blowing, was he?" he said with a hard laugh, "the damn--darned fool!" he corrected, remembering ophelia at his side. "well, 'egg' him on--the higher he flies the worse he'll flop when he bu'sts a wing!" in the parade skinny rode with carolyn june. parker and the quarter circle kt cowboys were in a group directly behind them. the vermejo crowd, with dorsey himself mounted on thunderbolt, had a place just ahead of skinny and carolyn june. the beautiful black y-bar stallion was really a wonderful horse. speed, strength and endurance radiated with every movement of the glossy, subtle body. without doubt he was the most handsome animal on the grounds. dorsey was a splendid rider and a man--he was in the early forties--of striking appearance. he was fully conscious of the magnificent showing he made on thunderbolt. the racer danced proudly, prancing forward in short, graceful leaps as the column swept past the grandstand and the consolidated eagle butte and vegas bands crashed out the strains of a stirring march. a ripple of applause ran over the crowd in the grandstand as dorsey, at the head of the vermejo cowboys, rode by the judges' box. he lifted his sombrero and waved it in pleased acknowledgment. the ramblin' kid was in line a little distance behind carolyn june, skinny and the quarter circle kt cowboys. he rode alone just back of a quartette of indians from down on the chickasaw. his plain rigging, the slick, smoothly worn, leather chaps, the undecorated saddle, bridle and spurs, his entire work-a-day outfit contrasted vividly with the gaudy get-up of most of the other riders. captain jack moved along easily and freely, but quietly, and with an air of utter boredom with all the show and confusion about him. the ramblin' kid's attitude, whole appearance, matched perfectly the mood of his horse. he sat loosely in the saddle and carelessly smoked a cigarette. the truth was his mind was far from the pageant of which he and the little stallion were a part. he scarcely heard the music nor did he seem to see the thousands of human beings, packed tier above tier, under the mammoth roof of the grandstand. his thoughts were at the upper crossing of the treacherous cimarron, out at the quarter circle kt; he was seeing again, carolyn june, as she looked up into his eyes when he dragged her out of the quicksand--he was hearing, once more, her cry of agony as the bullet from his gun buried itself in the brain of old blue. louder hand-clapping, stamping of feet, and calling voices, than any that had sounded before, rolled out from the grandstand as the lone rider, on the quiet, unexcited little roan, came down the stretch in front of the great crowd. carolyn june looked back, saw the waving hats and handkerchiefs, heard hundreds of voices shouting: "th' ramblin' kid! th' good old ramblin' kid!" the crowd had recognized him as the slender rider who, a year ago, after the untamable cyclone horse had killed dick stanley before their eyes and in front of where they sat, had ridden, straight-up and scotching him at every jump, that vicious, murderous-hearted outlaw. carolyn june's eyes moistened and she felt a thrill of pride. the ramblin' kid barely glanced at the sea of faces, a faint smile hung for an instant on his lips, as he jerked his hand, the one in which he held the cigarette, to the brim of his hat when he came opposite the judges' stand. when the parade swung down the wide, one-sided, main street of eagle butte, mike sabota, from the door of the elite amusement parlor, watched it pass. he was standing there, by the side of the lanky marshal and surrounded by a group of pool-room loafers and "carnival sharks" when carolyn june and skinny came by. she looked around in time to see him staring, with a vulgar leer, straight into her eyes. "there is that big, dirty, animal-looking fellow we saw the other day!" she said, with a frown of disgust, to skinny. "he's horrible--" skinny glanced at sabota. "yes, he is ornery," he said. "he runs that joint and boot-legs on the side. he's got a reputation as a slugger and keeps the crowd around him buffaloed. they say he killed a feller--beat him to death--in a fight over at sapulpa before he came to eagle butte. i don't like the filthy cuss. he's mean!" "he looks it!" carolyn june exclaimed, with the uncomfortable feeling that the big greek's look had touched her with something vile and unclean. after the parade disbanded carolyn june and skinny rode back to the car where old heck and ophelia had remained. "you made a darned good-looking cowgirl!" old heck said proudly to her as she stopped red john by the side of the clagstone "six." "she and skinny both presented a very fine appearance!" the widow added, while carolyn june playfully blew a kiss at each in acknowledgment of the compliment. skinny sat on old pie face and felt a warm glow of satisfaction at the words of old heck and ophelia. he had known all the time that carolyn june and he had shown up well, but he was glad to find that others besides himself had noticed it. dorsey, on a black stallion, cantered past. a moment later the ramblin' kid came jogging off the race course on captain jack. he threw up his hand in greeting and passed on out of the grounds. parked next to the clagstone "six" was a handsome touring car, occupied by a party consisting of a girl about carolyn june's own age, a woman a few years older and a couple of immaculately dressed young men who wore flaring brimmed black felt hats that contrasted absurdly with their expensively tailored suits. evidently all were "big town" people from a distance--very "superior" and patronizing in their attitude toward the "natives." they had been free and voluble in their comments on the various riders. dorsey, on the magnificent thunderbolt, drew a murmur of admiration from the lips of the girl. as the ramblin' kid, the next moment, rode by on captain jack one of the young fellows said loudly and with a laugh of ridicule: "look at that one, bess," addressing the girl; "there's the 'wild and woolly' west for you! i'll bet if that horse sneezed he'd fall down and the lonesome-looking little runt that's riding him would tumble off and root his nose in the dust!" a cackle of derisive laughter greeted the cheap witticism. before any of the others could speak carolyn june's eyes blazed with sudden wrath. she turned her body in the saddle and faced the speaker, her hands tightly clenched, her cheeks white with passion and her lip curling wickedly. "which shows," she said slowly, every word stinging like the bite of a whip-lash, "that you are running, true to form and there is one fool, at least, still unslaughtered! that"--she continued with a proud toss of her head--"'lonesome-looking little runt' is the ramblin' kid! not another man in texas can ride the horse he is on--and there is not a horse in texas that he can't ride!" she turned again toward the quarter circle kt group and a shamed silence settled over the swell "out-of-town" car. old heck chuckled with delight at carolyn june's show of temper. a whirlwind program of racing, roping, bull-dogging--this event is that in which a rider springs from a running horse, grasps by the horns a wild steer running at his side, twists the animal's head up and backward and so throws it down and then holds the creature on the ground--rough-riding and other rodeo sports followed immediately after the parade. pedro and charley saunders were the only quarter circle kt cowboys participating in the events of the first day of the rodeo. the mexican did a fancy roping stunt in front of the grandstand and finished his exhibition directly before the clagstone "six" in which carolyn june, ophelia, old heck and skinny were sitting. at the conclusion of his performance pedro bowed to the little audience in the car and swept his sombrero before him with all the courtly grace of a great matador. carolyn june generously applauded the dark-skinned rider from the cimarron and waved a daintily gloved hand in acknowledgment of his skill with the rope. skinny gritted his teeth while a pang of jealousy shot through his heart. charley took part in the bull-dogging event. he drew a black steer, rangey built, heavy and wicked. when he lunged from his horse on to the horns of the brute it dragged him for a hundred feet before he could check its mad flight. at last he slowly forced its nose in the air and with a quick wrench of the head to one side threw its feet from under it. man and beast went down in a heap--the neck of the steer across the cowboy's body. a groan went up from the crowd in the grandstand and carolyn june's cheeks paled with horror--it looked as if one horn of the creature had pierced charley's breast. but it had missed by the fraction of an inch. straightening himself up to a sitting posture the cowboy bent forward and sunk his teeth in the upper lip of the prostrate animal and threw up both hands as a signal to the judges that the brute was "bulldogged." but the fight had been too hard for him to win first place. buck wade, a lanky cow-puncher from montana, in three seconds less time, had thrown a brindle anchor-o steer and taken first money. * * * * * before the sun dipped into the costejo peaks the ramblin' kid left the rodeo and returned alone to the quarter circle kt. he told parker and the cowboys, all of whom intended to remain in eagle butte every night during the rodeo, that he would be back in town the next afternoon and bring with him the gold dust maverick. word had been passed among the quarter circle kt crowd to keep dorsey and his bunch in the dark as long as possible regarding the fact that the filly, ophelia, was the famous outlaw mare of the lower cimarron. after supper parker, chuck, bert and charley drifted into the elite amusement parlor. the place was crowded. mike sabota immediately singled out the quarter circle kt group and began jollying them about the coming two-mile sweepstakes. dorsey and flip williams had been in the pool-room earlier in the evening and told him of the ramblin' kid's entry of the filly against the thunderbolt horse. within ten minutes bert and charley had placed two hundred and fifty dollars each against five hundred of sabota's money that the vermejo stallion would not finish in first place in the big race. old judge ivory, who happened to be present, was agreed upon as stake-holder. "that thunderbolt horse, he is the devil," sabota laughed evilly as the money was handed over to the gray-haired judge. "and satan, he takes care of his own!" "well!" parker drawled, "if you feel inclined to send any more money to hell i might help you--" pulling a wad of bills from his pocket and throwing the certificates on the soft-drink bar at which they were standing. sabota's eyes gleamed greedily. "i think there's two thousand in this roll," parker continued, "and i'm willing to bet it all that the ramblin' kid's filly not only goes under the wire first in the two-mile run, but that she'll be kicking dirt in old thunderbolt's face--if he ain't too damned far behind--when she does it!" the greek covered the wager eagerly. as judge ivory pocketed the money dorsey and flip williams stepped into the pool-room. sabota glanced up. "these quarter circle kt _hombres_ are getting bad," he laughed sneeringly to dorsey; "they think th' ramblin' kid's got a colt that can beat thunderbolt!" "the ramblin' kid must have a hell of a fast horse!" dorsey snarled contemptuously, "a hell of a fast horse!" he repeated, "when the ramblin' kid himself declines to risk a dollar of his own money on the running qualities of the critter!" referring to the conversation a few hours before in the entry judges' office. as he finished speaking he turned and looked squarely into the cold gray eyes of old heck who, with skinny, had entered the amusement parlor while dorsey was talking and heard the vermejo cattleman's sneering insinuation. chapter xv mocha and java old heck and skinny had left ophelia and carolyn june at the occidental hotel, where a room was reserved by old heck for the use of the two women during the rodeo. they had then gone direct to mike sabota's place for the express purpose of running into dorsey and his crowd. old heck knew that if any large bets were to be laid on the two-mile sweepstakes the only chance would be to place them before the ramblin' kid brought the gold dust maverick to eagle butte and the vermejo bunch discovered the identity of the horse thunderbolt was up against. the quarter circle kt cow-men stepped into the pool-room at exactly the instant most favorable for their purpose. dorsey had made his boast in the presence of a crowd. he would hardly dare back up without covering, at least to some worth-while extent, his words with his money. for a full minute old heck drilled dorsey with a look such, as a hound dog might have in his eyes after he has cornered a coyote and pauses before he springs. instinctively the crowd stepped back from the two cattlemen while a death-like hush fell over the place. "th' ramblin' kid don't need to back the filly with his money, dorsey," old heck said slowly and in a voice audible in every part of the room; "i'm here to back her with mine! you've done a lot of talking--now, damn you, cover your chatter with coin or shut up!" the end of the sentence coming like the crack of a whip. with a nervous laugh the vermejo cattleman jerked a wallet from his pocket. "here's a thousand that says thunderbolt does the same thing to the ramblin' kid's filly that he done to quicksilver!" dorsey snapped. old heck threw back his head and laughed scornfully. "a thousand? i thought you were a sport, dorsey!" he sneered. "match this," he continued, reaching for his check-book and fountain pen and quickly filling out a check payable to "cash" for ten thousand dollars, which he laid on the hardwood bar. "match that, or admit you're a cheap, loud-howlin' bluffer!" dorsey paused just an instant as he noted the amount of the check. "i'll match it!" he exclaimed, flushing angrily, drawing his own check-book from his pocket, and then, carried away by his passion added, throwing down the bars completely as old heck had hoped he would, "and go with you to the end of the trail!" "good!" old heck laughed, "now you are talking like a sport! let's see," he added calculatingly, "how many y-bar cattle do you figure you've got running on the vermejo range--five thousand?" "there's that many," dorsey started to say. "call it fifty-five hundred!" old heck flung at him. "steer for steer, cow for cow, hoof for hoof--i'll put quarter circle kt critters against every brute you own that th' ramblin' kid lands his horse tinder the wire ahead of thunderbolt!" dorsey paled, then a purple-red of fury spread over his neck and face, and with an oath he cried: "i'll call you!" bills of sale were drawn and turned over to judge ivory, to be delivered, after the race, to the winner. "now," old heck said with a hard laugh, "maybe you'd like to own the quarter circle kt ranch, dorsey? it's worth twice as much as your vermejo holdings but i'll just give you that percentage of odds and call it an even bet that your black stallion don't outrun the little animal th' ramblin' kid has entered in the sweepstakes!" but dorsey did not answer except with a muttered: "hell, a man's crazy that--" he had gone his limit. he had suddenly come to his senses and grown suspicious. before skinny and old heck left the pool-room the former managed to get a bet of five hundred dollars with sabota. the next afternoon the ramblin' kid rode into eagle butte on captain jack. by his side he led the gold dust maverick. the noise and confusion in the streets filled the mare with nervousness and she crowded closely against the little roan stallion. before he got the outlaw filly to the stables a half dozen cowboys had recognized the cimarron maverick. within an hour dorsey and sabota knew the identity of the ramblin' kid's entry in the big race that was to be run friday afternoon and which was the big and closing event of the rodeo. the greek was furious. wednesday night he called "gyp" streetor, a carnival tout, who had one time been a jockey but was ruled off the track for crooked work and was now picking up "easies" at the eagle butte rodeo, into a side room of the amusement parlor. for half an hour the two talked earnestly and furtively. "nothin' doin'--absolutely nothin'!" the tout finally said in reply to some suggestion of sabota's. "that captain jack horse would murder any man but th' ramblin' kid that tried to get in the stall--" "well, by hell!" the greek exclaimed, clenching his hairy fists, while his mouth twitched with passion, "that filly's got to be kept out of the sweepstakes someway or other--" "you can't get to her, i tell you," gyp said sullenly, then with a look of cunning suddenly coming into his eyes: "they say she's a one-man brute like the stallion--nobody can ride her but th' ramblin' kid," significantly looking at sabota. "if you could--but he don't drink!" the greek laughed. "there are other ways!" he said. "he eats, don't he? listen: to-morrow and friday you take that 'sandwich and coffee' run at the stables--" referring to the concession to peddle lunch stuff among the horsemen who seldom left their charges, a concession which sabota, with other privileges, had purchased the right to operate. "th' ramblin' kid eats off the trays--it will be your business to see that he ain't feeling well when the sweepstakes is called! i'll get the 'pills' for you to-night--" "no killin', sabota!" gyp warned. "just enough to put him out for an hour or two!" the greek answered. wednesday night the ramblin' kid slept in the stall with the gold dust maverick and captain jack. thursday he remained close to the horses. thursday night he again slept on a pile of hay in one corner of the box-compartment. under no circumstances would he leave the animals. occasionally parker or some of the quarter circle kt cowboys came down to the stables. each night old heck and skinny, with carolyn june and ophelia, after the evening program was concluded, drove out to the ranch in the clagstone "six," returning early the following day. friday forenoon old heck drove the car down to the stall in which captain jack and the gold dust maverick were confined. the two horses were standing, side by side, with their heads out of the door, the upper half of which was swung back. the ramblin' kid leaned against the door at the side of the horses. to carolyn june he looked tired and worn. "how's the filly?" old heck asked, as the outlaw mare sprang back away from the door when the car stopped. "she's all right." "hadn't you ought to exercise her?" skinny asked. "she don't need it," the ramblin' kid replied with a note of weariness in his voice. "she'll get enough exercise this afternoon!" "you're all right, yourself, are you?" old heck asked a bit anxiously. "of course i'm all right," was the rather impatient reply. "don't be uneasy," he added with a laugh; "--th' filly'll be in th' race an' beat old thunderbolt!" "good luck!" carolyn june cried, as old heck turned the car about and started back toward the grandstand. "good luck!" the ramblin' kid muttered to himself, watching the car as it whirled away. "ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!" he repeated bitterly, then with a queer smile in which was a world of tenderness he pulled the pink satin elastic garter he had picked up at the circular corral, from his pocket and looked at it long and wistfully. "good luck?" he exclaimed again questioningly. "well, maybe that little jigger'll bring it!" and he slipped the band back in his pocket. "th' ramblin' kid acts like he's got the blues this morning," skinny said as the clagstone "six" rolled away from the stables. "he looks to me like a feller that's in just the right humor to get on a whale of a drunk--" "that's one thing about him you can depend on," old heck broke in, "--he never poisons himself with liquor. that's why when he says he'll do anything you can bet all you've got he'll do it!" "well, if he ever does break loose," skinny retorted, "it'll be sudden and wild!" "probably," old heck replied as though there wasn't the slightest danger of such an eventuality. that morning gyp purposely avoided going as far, with his stock of provisions, as the stall in which were captain jack and the gold dust maverick. nor did he come with his lunch tray and tin pot of coffee until nearly one o'clock. the ramblin' kid had no breakfast. to secure it he would have been required to leave the horses. that he would not do. of course he might have told old heck or skinny to bring or send him something, but he did not feel inclined to mention, in the presence of carolyn june and ophelia, that he was hungry. anyhow, well, they were having a good time and what was the use of bothering them? when gyp finally came with the lunch the ramblin' kid was outside the stall and had walked a little way up the stable street. captain jack and the filly were in a compartment at the end of the string of stalls. the one next to it, back toward the grandstand, was unoccupied, and adjoining that was a hay room. gyp stopped opposite the open door of the compartment in which the bales of hay and straw were piled. he paused a moment and turned as if to go back. "hold on there!" the ramblin' kid called to him. "what you tryin' to do? starve me to death?" "d' last thing i'd want to do, bo!" gyp laughed good-naturedly. "did i miss you this mornin'? here, come inside where i can set this bloomin' junk down on a bale of hay for a minute an' i'll fix you up!" the ramblin' kid followed gyp into the stall. the tout stooped over, with his back to the other, and slipped a capsule containing a white powder into a coffee cup which he filled quickly with the black liquid from the tin pot he carried. he handed the cup to the ramblin' kid. the latter took it and sat down on a bale of hay lying opposite. the coffee was just hot enough to melt, instantly, the capsule and not too warm to drink at once. the ramblin' kid was thirsty as well as hungry. lifting the cup to his lips, while gyp, fumbling for a sandwich, watched him furtively, he drained it without stopping. "that's--what was in that?'" he asked, eying the tout keenly. "it tastes like--!" "just good old mocha an' java!" gyp interrupted lightly. "maybe it's a little strong. here, take another one!" reaching for the cup. the ramblin' kid started to hand the cup to gyp to be refilled--a queer numbness swept over him--the cup fell from his hand--he swayed--tensed his body in an effort to get up--mumbled thickly: "what th'--what th'--?" the tout backed away toward the door, crouching like a cat ready to spring, his beady eyes half-frightened, watching the poison deaden the faculties of the other. he leaped through the door, glanced up and down the stable street--deserted at that hour except for a few drowsy attendants lounging in front of their stalls--jerked the door shut, hooked the open padlock through the iron fastenings, snapped its jaws together and muttered, as he hurried away: "i guess that guy won't ride the gold dust maverick in any two-mile sweepstakes to-day!" as the door slammed shut the ramblin' kid pitched forward, unconscious, on the bale of hay. chapter xvi the sweepstakes the clagstone "six" was parked, friday afternoon, in its usual place near the east end of the grandstand and close to the entrance to the track. old heck and ophelia were alone in the car. carolyn june and skinny, on pie face and red john, watched the afternoon program from the "inside field" across the race track. parker and the quarter circle kt cowboys were also mounted on their horses and in the field opposite the grandstand. never had there been such a jam at a rodeo held in eagle butte. the two-mile sweepstakes, itself the "cow-man's classic" and the great derby event of western texas, always drew record crowds the day on which it was run. this friday the grandstand creaked under its load of humanity. the racing feud between the quarter circle kt and the y-bar and the thousands of dollars old heck and dorsey were known to have bet on their respective favorites acted as tinder on the flame of public interest in the big event. thunderbolt had a great reputation. last year, and the year before, he had mastered the field of runners put against him. the gold dust maverick--named in the race "ophelia"--was a wonder horse in the minds of the people of western texas who had heard of the beautiful, almost super-creature, that had tormented, with her speed and endurance, the riders of the cimarron and now at last was caught, and to be ridden in the sweepstakes, by the ramblin' kid. at two-forty a special exhibition of "cossack riding"--participated in by lute larsen, of idaho; jack haines, from texas, and curly piper, a colorado cowboy, finished in front of the grandstand. the announcer trained his megaphone on the vast crowd: "the next event," he bellowed, "two-mile sweepstakes! purse one thousand dollars! five entries! naming them in their order from the pole: thunderbolt, black y-bar stallion, flip williams, rider; say-so, roan gelding, from the pecos river, box-v outfit, jess curtis, rider; ophelia, gold dust filly, the cimarron outlaw from the quarter circle kt, th' ramblin' kid, rider; prince john, sorrel gelding, from dallas, texas, 'snow' johnson, rider; dash-away, bay mare, from jackson hole, wyoming, slim tucker, rider. race called at three o'clock sharp! horse failing to score on the dot will be ruled out! range saddles to be used. entries for the two-mile sweepstakes will show at once on the track!" dead silence ensued during the announcer's drawling oration. it was followed by the hum of five thousand voices as they chattered in eager expectancy. the band crashed out _dixie_ and a medley of southern melodies. chuck and bert reined their bronchos up to parker. "we're going over and see how th' ramblin' kid is making it," chuck said. "he might need that filly herded a little to get her through this jam." and they galloped their horses across the track toward the stables. carolyn june and skinny decided to watch the sweepstakes from the car, with old heck and ophelia. they rode pie face and red john over to the clagstone "six." carolyn june dismounted and stepped up on the running-board of the car, holding red john loosely by the bridle rein. "gee," she laughed, "but i'm nervous!" old heck reached over and patted her hand. "wait till they start to run before you get hysterical," he chuckled. "there'll be time enough then for excitement!" one could never have told, by his actions, that within the next few moments he would lose or win fifty thousand dollars. chuck pulled silver tip to a stop in front of the stall where captain jack and the gold dust maverick were standing. "they're getting ready for the sweepstakes!" he called, thinking the ramblin' kid was in the compartment with the horses. "you'd better be putting your rigging on the filly," as he slid from his broncho and stepped to the door of the stall. there was no answer. he peered into the half-gloom of the place. it was empty save for the two horses. "that's funny as thunder," he said, puzzled, to bert. "where'd you reckon th' ramblin' kid is?" "darned if i know--ain't he there?" bert answered, riding up so he could look into the door. "look around a little," chuck said anxiously. "maybe he's just stepped away for a minute--hey!" he called to an attendant of a stall a short distance down the stable street, "have you seen anything of th' ramblin' kid--the feller that has these horses?" "naw," was the careless answer, "i ain't seen him for two hours." "something must be wrong!" chuck exclaimed. "you stay here and watch! i'll go see old heck--maybe he knows where he is." "hell, yes!" bert said as the other started silver tip in a run toward where the clagstone "six" was parked. "he's got to be found! nobody else but him can ride the maverick!" at the car, before his horse was fairly stopped, chuck leaned over and asked, tensely: "have any of you people seen th' ramblin' kid?" old heck straightened up. "ain't he at the stables?" he inquired uneasily. "he was there this morning--" "no," chuck replied hurriedly, "he's been gone two hours!" "good lord," old heck exclaimed, "he's got to be found! the race starts in ten minutes." "and nobody but him can ride the filly!" skinny interrupted. "i wonder if he's--" he started to say "drunk," but stopped as carolyn june looked quickly at him. the word was in both their minds. "it ain't natural!" old heck cried; "there must be something dirty! you boys go look for him; i'll, keep my eyes open here!" as old heck said "dirty" the picture of mike sabota flashed into carolyn june's mind. some intuition seemed to couple, in her inner consciousness, the big greek with the ramblin' kid's disappearance. the horses for the two-mile sweepstakes were already beginning to come on to the track. flip williams was walking thunderbolt up and down in front of the grandstand, trying to keep the high-spirited stallion quiet until time came to mount; the rider of say-so was doing the same thing with his entry; slim tucker was already sitting on dash-away, the trim wyoming mare standing unruffled near the starting line, while snow johnson, like tucker, already on his mount, was circling prince john in wide loops behind the others. carolyn june was stunned for a moment by the thought that had come into her mind when the picture of the burly greek flashed before her. she clenched her hands and her cheeks whitened. "come on, skinny!" she said suddenly, stepping off the running-board of the car and swinging on to red john, "we'll go help look for the ramblin' kid!" she whirled the big bay around the end of the grandstand and rode in a fast gallop straight for the box stall, skinny and chuck following close behind her. a quick resolution formed in her mind: "nobody but the ramblin' kid could ride the filly?" _she could ride the mare_! even if the ramblin' kid was not found sabota and his crowd should not be allowed to win by dirty work--if dirty work had been done! at the stall carolyn june sprang from red john. bert was nervously walking about, calling occasionally the name of the missing quarter circle kt cowboy. "have you found him?" carolyn june asked as skinny and chuck came up behind her. "no," bert answered glumly, "he ain't showed up yet! there ain't no signs of him around here." "what'll we do?" skinny asked excitedly. "the race is almost ready to start and--do you reckon you could ride the filly, bert?" he finished with a gleam of hope. "i doubt it, but, well, i'll try her--if captain jack'll let me get her out." "you boys keep back!" carolyn june interrupted, stepping to the door of the stall and opening it, "captain jack knows me and--i--i--think the filly does, too--i can handle her--" as she stepped boldly inside the compartment with the horses. "don't go in there!" skinny cried, "car--carolyn june, they'll kill you!" "you boys keep away!" she laughed. "and don't get the horses nervous! they won't hurt me!" she answered, going ahead toward the animals. captain jack looked at her suspiciously an instant "jack-boy--jack-boy!" she called with a caress in her voice. "careful! we're friends!" the attitude of the stallion changed instantly and the menace was gone from his eyes. the gold dust maverick heard the voice and with a friendly little nicker rubbed her head against the outstretched hand. in a corner was the ramblin' kid's saddle, bridle, blanket and worn leather chaps. with a light pat of the outlaw filly's cheek carolyn june turned and began quickly and deftly putting the riding gear on the beautiful mare. * * * * * for an hour and a half the ramblin' kid lay as he had fallen when he started to hand the coffee cup back to gyp. breathing heavily, his face flushed, he was as one in the deep stupor of complete intoxication. at last he stirred uneasily. an unconscious groan came from his lips. his eyes opened. in them was a dazed, puzzled look. where was he? he tried vainly to remember--the clean life, the iron constitution and youth--aided perhaps by an indomitable subconscious will protesting against this something that had happened to him--were throwing off the effects of the drug hours before an ordinary man would have regained even a hint of sensibility. he stood up--reeling unsteadily. he was deathly sick. lightning flashes of pain throbbed through his head. waves of blackness rolled before his eyes. surges of numbness swept over his legs and arms. he tried hard to remember. there was something--what was it? th'--th'--what th' hell?--_th' race_! that was it--th'--th'--th' sweepstakes! in an instant the thought was gone. it kept beating back: _th' sweepstakes--th' race_--what time was it? had it been run? he staggered to the door. it was locked! his head was bursting. if he could only get over the nausea. he felt his knees start to give way. no! no! my god, he wouldn't give up! he--oh, yes. _th' race! captain jack--no--th'--th'--maverick--he had to ride_--he must get out! there was a--a--window--sometimes they had them--in the back of the stalls. maybe the hay was over it. he climbed on the bales. behind them he could see the opening. god, he was weak! with the sweat of terrible nausea bursting from every pore of his body he pulled the bales back. he fell over the bale on which he had been lying. one hand brushed his hat which had fallen from his head. mechanically, with stiff fingers, he picked it up and jammed it on again. then he climbed--crawled--over the hay and pitched forward through the opening, in a limp heap, on the ground outside. for a moment he lost consciousness completely again: _th'--th' race--th' maverick! he mustn't forget_-- he fought his way to his feet and groped along back of the building--the stall--which way was it? down there? no--the other way-- as carolyn june tightened the rear cinch on the gold dust maverick and turned toward the door of the stall with: "look out, boys--i'm coming out!" the ramblin' kid, clutching at the side of the building, reeled around the corner of the stall. the cowboys saw him. he himself saw only black shapes where their horses were. "good god!" skinny cried, "he's drunk!" carolyn june heard skinny's exclamation at the instant the ramblin' kid, catching at the half-open door, almost fell into the stall. his eyes stared with a dull, puzzled, unrecognizing vacancy first at carolyn june and then the gold dust maverick. "_who th' hell_--" he mumbled stiffly. "what--th'--oh, yes--there's th' filly--_th'--th'--race_. it must--be--time. th' mare's saddled! that's--that's--funny! i can't remember. th' race--th' sweepstakes--that's it--" reaching over he jerked the reins from the hand of carolyn june. "who--who--get the--" came like the thick growl of a beast from his throat. "you--you--can't ride--she'll--_she'll--kill--_" carolyn june shrank back as if she had been struck. she pressed her hands against her cheeks and stepped away with a look of horror and disgust as the ramblin' kid backed out of the stall with the gold dust maverick. outside he fumbled grotesquely at the silky mane and climbed weakly into the saddle. chuck and bert started toward him. "get--the--hell--" he snarled as he saw their horses--mere shadow shapes they were to him--approach. "let him alone!" skinny said. "he's drunk! you'll just scare the filly and make her hurt him!" the boys let him go. with blanched cheeks carolyn june mounted red john and with skinny, bert and chuck, rode back to the clagstone "six." her heart was utterly sick. so this was it? it had come out--the brute--the beast that was in him! they reached the car as the ramblin' kid, at the horse entrance, at the other end of the grandstand, came on the track with the gold dust maverick. old heck looked up when the group approached. he saw the agony in carolyn june's eyes and started to speak. "th' ramblin' kid's drunk," skinny said dully. "he showed up--yonder he is--" as the beautiful copper-tinted, chestnut filly appeared behind the other horses entered for the two-mile sweepstakes. "drunk?" old heck cried incredulously. "are you sure?" "watch him!" chuck said miserably. the starter was standing with arm outstretched and flag ready to fall. the filly came down the track jumping nervously from side to side in short springing leaps. the starter paused, watch in hand. a shout of admiration and wonder went up from the crowd as the splendid creature dancing down the track was recognized. the next instant it was succeeded by a cry of horror that rolled in a great wave from a thousand throats. "th' ramblin' kid is drunk! he's drunk--the mare will kill him!" as they saw the slim rider weaving limply in the saddle, his head dropped forward as if he were utterly helpless. "rule that horse off the track!" dorsey, who was standing with mike sabota, in a box-seat just below the judges' stand, shouted as he saw the ramblin' kid, even in his half-conscious condition, reining the gold dust maverick with consummate skill into position, "her rider's drunk!" the ramblin' kid heard the voice and--by some miracle of the mind--recognized it, although his eyes, set and glassy, could not see the speaker. he turned his head in the direction from which the cry came and answered, slowly measuring each word: "go--go--t' hell--you--you--_coyote_!" the next instant the starter dropped the flag. as it went down the filly crouched and reared straight into the air. that one second gave the other horses the start. then the outlaw mare leaped forward directly behind thunderbolt, running against the inside rail. say-so, the pecos horse, jammed close to the side of the black stallion; snow johnson, rider of prince john, pushed the big sorrel ahead with his nose at the roan's tail; dash-away hugged against the heels of prince john. the gold dust maverick was "pocketed!" a breathless hush fell over the crowd in the grandstand after the first mighty roar: "they're off!" black devils of torture clutched the throat, the mind, the body of the ramblin' kid. streams of fire seemed to be flowing through his veins. he couldn't see--he was blind. "what th'--what th'--hell!" he muttered over and over. he was vaguely conscious of the thunder of hoofs around him--under him. dimly, black shadows were rushing along at his side. he fought with all his will to master his faculties. where was he? what was it? was it a--a--stampede? what? _oh, yes, th' race--th'--th'-- sweepstakes--that--that was it_--over and over the fleeting flashes of consciousness kept throwing this one supreme idea on the mirror of his mind! not a word was spoken by any of the party at the clagstone "six" as the five fastest horses ever on the eagle butte track swept past the car toward the first quarter-turn of the course. carolyn june's face was as white as marble. her breast heaved and fell as if it would burst. dry-eyed, every nerve tense, she stared at the straining racers. unconsciously she gripped into hard knots of flesh and bone, both hands, while she bit at her underlip until a red drop of blood started from the gash made in the tender skin by her teeth. "_drunk_!" she thought, "_drunk!_ beastly drunk--and throwing away the greatest race ever run on a texas track!" old heck sat impassive as though carved from stone and said nothing. ophelia nervously chewed at the finger of her glove while her eyes moistened with sympathy and pity. skinny, chuck and bert sat gloomily, moodily, on their bronchos and watched thunderbolt lead the quintette of running horses. for the life of him skinny could not keep from thinking of the five hundred dollars he had bet with sabota, on the race, and the number of white shirts and purple ties he might have bought with the money! over in the track-field parker, charley and pedro saw the start of the race and each swore softly and silently to himself. sing pete, alone of the quarter circle kt crowd, in the jam of the grandstand, stretched his neck and followed with inscrutable eyes the close-bunched racers. the start had puzzled him, yet he murmured hopefully: "maybe all samee lamblin' kid he beatee hell out of 'em yet!" the loyal chinese cook had wagered the savings of a dozen years on the speed of the gold dust maverick's nimble legs and his faith in the "lamblin' kid." a blanket might have covered the five horses as they swung around the first mile. the speed-mad animals roared down the homestretch, finishing the first half of the race in the almost identical position each had taken in the getaway. the ramblin' kid rode the mile more as an automaton than as a living, conscious human being. he had no memory of time, place, events--save for the instants of rationality he forced his will to bring. gradually, though, his mind was clearing. but which was it--the first half?--the last half? how long had they been running? how many times had they gone around the track? he could not remember! down the straight stretch the racers came in a mighty whirlwind of speed. "thunderbolt is taking it!" "the y-bar horse leads!" "th' black's got 'em!" roared from the throats of the crowd in the grandstand and the mass of humanity crushing the railing along the track. dorsey and sabota leaped to the edge of the box as the horses thundered past the judges' stand. the voice of the owner of thunderbolt shrieked out in a hoarse bellow: "hold him to it, flip! keep your lead--you've got the filly!" the ramblin' kid heard again--or thought he heard again--the voice of the vermejo cattleman. he caught, as an echo, a note of triumph in it. it was like a tonic to his drug-numbed faculties. suddenly he saw clearly. he had just a glimpse of sabota standing by the side of dorsey. he understood. in a flash it all came to him. the first half of the great sweepstakes race was behind them! once more they were to circle the track. the glistening black rump of thunderbolt rose and fell just ahead of the gold dust maverick's nose--at her side, crowding her against the rail, was another horse. which one? it didn't matter! back of it was another. he was "_pocketed_!" hell, no wonder thunderbolt was ahead of the outlaw mare! half-way around the quarter-turn he pulled the filly down. she slackened ever so little. thunderbolt--the horse at her side--all of them--shot ahead. he was behind the bunch--clear of the field! the crowd saw the filly dart to the right. it looked as though she would go over the outside rail before the ramblin' kid swung her, in a great arch, to the left clear of, but far behind, the other horses. he was crazy! the gold dust maverick was getting the better of the ramblin' kid. he had lost control of the wonderful mare! so thought the thousands watching the drama on the track before them. away over, next to the outside fence, on the far side of the track, open now before him for the long outfield stretch, the rambling kid straightened the gold dust maverick out. the other racers were still bunched against the inner rail--lengths ahead of the filly. leaning low on the neck of the maverick, the ramblin' kid began talking, for the first time, to the horse he rode. "_baby--baby! girl_!" he whispered incoherently almost. "_go--go_--damn 'em! _'ophelia'_"--he laughed thickly, reeling in the saddle. "_hell_--_no--'little--little--pink garter!--that's--that's--_what y' are! little--pink--garter_--" he repeated irrationally. "_that's it--show 'em--damn 'em--show 'em what--what runnin'--what real runnin' is!_" fumbling caressingly at the mare's neck with hands numb and stiff and chuckling pitifully, insanely, while his face was drawn with agony nearly unendurable. then the gold dust maverick ran! never had ground flowed with such swiftness under the belly of a horse on a texas track. "good god!" skinny yelled, "looky yonder! he's passin' them! th' ramblin' kid is passin' 'em!" no one answered him. his voice was drowned in the mighty roar that surged from five thousand throats and rolled in waves of echoing and re-echoing sound across the field. "he's ridin' round 'em!" "th' ramblin' kid is goin' around them!" "great heavens! look at that horse go!" "she's a-flyin'! _she's a-flyin_'!" the gold dust maverick closed the gap--she caught dash-away--she evened up with prince john--she left the big sorrel behind--she passed say-so--nose to nose for a few rods she ran opposite the black wonder--the thunderbolt horse from the vermejo. flip williams, spurs raking the flanks of dorsey's stallion, looked around. the ramblin' kid leaned toward him: "hell--why--don't you--_make that--thing run_!" he sneered at the y-bar rider. the next instant the gold dust maverick's neck and shoulders showed in the lead of the y-bar stallion. at the turn for the home stretch the outlaw filly shot ahead of the wonderful black horse from the vermejo, swung close to the inside rail, and like a flash of gold-brown darted down the track toward the wire. the grandstand was turned into a madhouse of seething humanity. the immense crowd came to its feet roaring and shrieking with frenzy. men smashed their neighbors with clenched fists--not knowing or caring how hard or whom they struck--or that they themselves were being hit. women screamed frantically, hysterically, tears streaming from thousands of eyes because of sheer joy at the wonderful thing the gold dust maverick was doing. even the stolid sing pete was jumping up and down, shouting: "_come on--come on--lamblin' kid! beat 'em--beatee hell out of 'em_!" full three lengths in the lead of the "unbeatable" thunderbolt the gold dust maverick flashed under the wire in front of the judges! dorsey, shaken in every nerve, lips blue as though he were stricken with a chill, reeled out of the box from which he had watched his whole fortune swept away by the speed of the cimarron mare. at his side, profaning horrible, obscene oaths staggered mike sabota. old heck, white-faced, but his lips drawn in a smile of satisfaction, stood up in the clagstone "six" and watched the ramblin' kid--his eyes set and staring, his body twitching convulsively, check the filly, swing her around, ride back to the judges' stand, weakly fling up a hand in salute and then, barely able to sit in the saddle, rein the gold dust maverick off the track and ride toward the box stall. skinny drew a hand across his eyes and looked at carolyn june. tears were streaming down her cheeks. chapter xvii old heck goes to town it was monday morning, clear and cloudless, with a whiff of a breeze kissing the poplars along the front-yard fence at the quarter circle kt. on the sand-hills north of the cimarron, pedro was pushing the saddle cavallard toward rock creek, where the last half of the beef round-up was to begin. parker and the cowboys were just splashing their bronchos into the water at the lower ford. sing pete, on the high seat of the grub-wagon, was once more clucking and cawing at old tom and baldy as they drew the outfit along the lane and followed the others to the open range. old heck, skinny, ophelia and carolyn june again were alone at the quarter circle kt. the eagle butte rodeo had closed, with one last riotous carnival of wildness at midnight saturday night. once more the straggling town, its pulse gradually beating back to normal, lay half-asleep at the foot of the sun-baked butte that stood silent and drowsy beyond the sante fe tracks. tom poole, the lank marshal, loafed as usual about the elite amusement parlor, over which hung a sullen quiet reflecting the morbid emotions of mike sabota, its brutish-built proprietor, resulting from his heavy losses on thunderbolt in the two-mile sweepstakes when the gold dust maverick, ridden by the drug-crazed ramblin' kid, darted under the wire lengths ahead of the black vermejo stallion. friday evening old heck had met dorsey in the pool-room. judge ivory handed over to the owner of the quarter circle kt the y-bar cattleman's check for ten thousand dollars and the bill of sale he had recklessly given and which transferred to old heck all the cattle the vermejo rancher owned. dorsey was game. "you put it on me," he said to old heck "but the ramblin' kid won square and i'm not squealing!" old heck turned the check slowly over in his hand and looked at it with a quizzical frown on his face: "i reckon this is good?" "it's my exact balance," dorsey replied; "i saw to that this morning." for a long minute old heck studied the bill of sale that made him owner of every cow-brute burnt with the y-bar brand. "my men will gather the cattle within fifteen days," dorsey said dully, noting the half-questioning look on old heck's face, "or you can send your own crew, just as you please. i suppose you'll meet me half-way and receive the stock in eagle butte?" "can thunderbolt run?" old heck asked irrelevantly. "not as fast as that imp of hell of the ramblin' kid's!" dorsey answered instantly and with a short laugh. old heck chuckled. "you say you'll turn the y-bar cattle over to me within fifteen days?" he asked again, reverting to a study of the paper he held in his hand. "yes," dorsey replied; "is that satisfactory?" "you're a pretty good sport, after all, dorsey," old heck said quietly. "i'll cash this check"--glancing at the yellow slip of paper--"and this thing, here--we'll just tear it up!" as he reduced the bill of sale to fragments. "keep your cattle, dorsey," he added, "ten thousand dollars is enough for you to pay for your lesson!" dorsey flushed a dull red. "i ain't asking--" "i know you're not," old heck interrupted, "and that's the reason i tore up that bill of sale!" "old heck," dorsey said, his voice trembling, "you're white! i'd like to shake--" the rival cattlemen gripped hands and the racing feud between the quarter circle kt and the y-bar was ended. a week later dorsey sent flip williams to the quarter circle kt. the vermejo cowboy led the beautiful black stallion that had mastered quicksilver and had in turn been whipped by the gold dust maverick. "dorsey said, tell old heck thunderbolt's a pretty good saddle horse,'" flip explained, "'and he'd do to change off with quicksilver once in a while! so he sent him over as a sort of keepsake!'" the ramblin' kid did not return to the quarter circle kt until late sunday night. after the two-mile sweepstakes he was horribly ill. all friday night he laid, in a semi-conscious condition, in the stall with captain jack and the gold dust maverick. parker and some of the cowboys visited the stall after the race, but they thought the ramblin' kid was drunk and the best thing was to allow him to sleep it off. "i can't figure it out," chuck said as they turned away, "he never did get drunk before that i knew of--" "you can't tell what he's liable to do," charley interrupted, "he sure took an awful chance getting on a tear at the time he did!" "well, he won the race," parker said admiringly, "drunk or sober, you've got to give him credit for that!" saturday the ramblin' kid got pedro to stay with the horses while he went over to the elite amusement parlor. he had nothing to say to sabota or any of the loafers in the place. he was looking for gyp streetor. until sunday afternoon he searched eagle butte, trying to find the tout. all he wanted was to locate the man who had sold him that cup of coffee--he could remember drinking the coffee; after that until the following morning all was hazy. but gyp was gone. when the gold dust maverick, with the ramblin' kid swaying uncertainly on her back, had appeared on the track for the two-mile run, the tout, his eyes like those of a harried rat, sneaked out of the crowd in front of the book-makers' booths and hurried toward the santa fe railroad yards. an hour later he slipped into an empty freight car--part of a train headed for the west--and eagle butte saw him no more. it was midnight sunday when the ramblin' kid reached the quarter circle kt, turned captain jack and the outlaw filly into the circular corral, and without disturbing old heck, parker, or the cowboys, already asleep in the bunk-house, sought his bed. monday morning he was at breakfast with the others. throughout the meal the ramblin' kid was silent. carolyn june, still shocked by what she thought was his intoxication the day of the race, and believing he had remained in eagle butte over saturday night and sunday to continue the debauch, ignored him. none of the others cared to question him and the ramblin' kid himself volunteered no information. once only, old heck mentioned the race. "that was a pretty good ride you made in the two-mile event," he said, addressing the ramblin' kid; "it looked at first like the filly--" "you won your money, didn't you?" the ramblin' kid interrupted in a tone that plainly meant there was nothing further to be said. that was the only reference to the incidents of friday afternoon. after breakfast the ramblin' kid saddled the gold dust maverick, turned captain jack with the cavallard, and with parker and the other quarter circle kt cowboys rode away to help gather the beef cattle from the west half of the cimarron range. the week that followed passed quickly. during the entire period the kiowa lay under a mantle of sunshine by day and starlit skies by night. carolyn june once more provided the evening dessert of coffee-jelly and skinny finished teaching her the art of dipping bread in milk and egg batter, frying it in hot butter, and calling the result "french toast" skinny again put on the white shirt and the shamrock tinted tie. he had not dared to wear what chuck called his "love-making rigging" during the week of the rodeo. it would have made him entirely too conspicuous among the hundreds of other cowboys gathered at eagle butte for the big celebration. situations filled with embarrassment would have been almost certain to develop. "it's getting so it needs a washing a little," skinny remarked to carolyn june the first time he reappeared in the once snowy garment. he was quite right. carolyn june herself had noticed that the shirt had lost some of its immaculateness. "it doesn't look hardly as white as it did at first!" "no, it don't," skinny answered seriously. "i guess i'll wash it to-morrow. i never did wash one but i reckon it ain't so awful hard to do--" "i'll help you," carolyn june volunteered. "i've never washed one either, but it will be fun to learn how!" the next day they washed the shirt. the ceremony was performed in the kitchen after they had finished doing the breakfast dishes. ophelia, after water for a vase of roses, came into the room while skinny was rinsing the shirt in the large tin dishpan. the garment was a sickly yellow. "darned if i know what's wrong with it," skinny said, a trifle discouraged, while carolyn june, her sleeves rolled above dimpled elbows, stood by and watched the slushy operation. "carolyn june and me both have blamed near rubbed our fingers off trying to get it to look right again but somehow or other it don't seem to work." "did you put bluing in your rinse water?" ophelia asked with a laugh. "bluing?" carolyn june and skinny questioned together. "what does that do to it?" "bleaches it--makes it white," the widow replied with another laugh as she returned to the front room. "by golly, maybe that's what it needs!" skinny exclaimed hopefully. "of course," carolyn june cried gaily. "how silly we were not to think of it! any one ought to know you put bluing in the water when you wash things. wonder if sing pete has any around anywhere?" they searched the kitchen shelves and found a pint bottle, nearly full, of the liquid indigo compound. "how much do you suppose we ought to put in?" carolyn june asked, pulling the cork from the bottle and holding it poised over the pan of water in which the shirt, a slimy, dingy mass, floated drunkenly. "darned if i know," skinny said, scratching his head. "she said it would make it white--i reckon the more you put in the whiter the blamed thing'll be. try about half of it at first and see how 'it works!" "gee, isn't it pretty?" carolyn june gurgled as she tipped the bottle and the waves of indigo spread through the water, covering the shirt with a deep crystalline blue. "you bet!" skinny exclaimed. "that ought to fix it!" it did. the shirt, when finally dried, was a wonderful thing--done in a sort of mottled, streaky, marbled sky and cloud effect. but skinny wore it, declaring he liked it better--that it more nearly matched the shamrock tie--than when it was "too darned white and everything!" to parker and the boys on the beef hunt everything was business. the days were filled with hard riding as they gathered the cattle, bunched the fat animals, cut out and turned back those unfit for the market, stood guard at night over the herd, steadily and rapidly cleaned the west half of the kiowa range of the stuff that was ready to sell. it was supper-time on one of the last days of the round-up. the outfit was camped at dry buck. bed rolls, wrapped in dingy gray tarpaulins or black rubber ponchos, were scattered about marking the places where each cowboy that night would sleep. the herd was bunched a quarter of a mile away in a little cove backed by the rim of sand-hills. captain jack and silver tip, riderless but with their saddles still on, were nipping the grass near the camp--the ramblin' kid and chuck were to take the first watch, until midnight, at "guard mount." parker and the cowboys were squatted, legs doubled under them, their knees forming a table on which to hold the white porcelain plate of "mulligan," in a circle at the back of the grub-wagon. sing pete trotted around the group and poured black, blistering-hot coffee into the unbreakable cups on the ground at the side of the hungry, dusty riders. the sun had just dipped into the ragged peaks of the costejo range and a reddish-purple crown lay on the crest of sentinel mountain forty miles to the southeast. "it looks to me like parker's sort of losing out," chuck suddenly remarked, as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand after washing down a mouthful of the savory stew with gulps of steaming coffee. "ophelia stuck closer than thunder to old heck all through the rodeo." parker reddened and growled: "aw, hell--don't start that up again!" "by criminy, she didn't stick any closer to old heck than skinny stuck to carolyn june," bert complained. "nobody else had a look-in!" "skinny's sure earning his money," charley muttered half enviously. "bet he's got on that white shirt and having a high old time right now! they're probably in the front room and she's playing _la paloma_ on the piano while old skinny's setting back rolling his eyes up like a bloated yearling!" chuck laughed. "and old heck and ophelia are out on the porch holding hands and looking affectionate while the mosquitos are chewing their necks and ankles!" bert added with a snicker. "her and old heck'll probably be married before we get back," chuck said solemnly, with a wink at the ramblin' kid and a sly glance in the direction of parker. "do you reckon there's any danger of it?" parker asked in a voice that showed anxiety, but not of the sort the cowboys thought. "they're darned near sure to," chuck replied seriously, heaving what he tried to make resemble a sigh of sympathy. "what makes you think so?" parker questioned, seeking confirmation from the lips of other, of a hope that had been rising in his heart since the first moment he had begun to regret his rash proposal of marriage to the widow. "well, for one thing"--chuck began soberly--"the way they'd look at each other--" "i saw her squeeze old heck's arm once!" bert interrupted. "aw, she's done that lots of times," chuck said airily; "that ain't nothing special! but the worst indication was them flowers she wore on her bosom every day--_old heck bought 'em_!" he finished dramatically, leaning over and speaking tensely as though it pained him immeasurably to break the news to parker while he fixed on old heck's rival a look he imagined was one of supreme pity. "yeah, he had them sent up from las vegas," bert added, picking up the cue and lying glibly. "i saw the express agent deliver a box of them to him one day. there was four dollars and eighty cents charges on 'em!" a gleam, which the cowboys misunderstood, came into parker's eyes. "why don't you and old heck fight a duel about ophelia?" bert suggested tragically and in a voice that was aimed to convey sympathy to the quarter circle kt foreman. "you could probably kill him!" "sure, that's the way they do in books," chuck urged. "yes," the ramblin' kid broke in with a slow drawl, "fight one with sour-dough biscuits at a hundred yards! that'd be sensible--then both of you'd be genuine heroes!" "gosh, th' ramblin' kid's awake!" bert laughed. "how does it happen you ain't fell in love with carolyn june?" he asked, turning toward the slender, dark-eyed, young cowboy. "so far you're the only one that's escaped. the rest of us are breaking our hearts--" for an instant the ramblin' kid flashed on bert a look of hot anger while a dull red glow spread over his sun-tanned cheeks. "there's enough damned fools loose on th' kiowa range without me bein' one, too!" he retorted slowly, getting up and going toward captain jack. "blamed if he'll stand a bit of joshing on that subject!" bert muttered, his own face flushing from the look the ramblin' kid had given him. "not a darned bit," chuck added, "but it is funny; the way he shys off from carolyn june!" "th' ramblin' kid ain't interested in women," charley said, as they pitched their plates to one side and the meal was finished. "he ain't the kind that bothers with females!" when chuck had idly suggested that old heck and ophelia might be married before parker and the quarter circle kt cowboys returned to the ranch from the beef hunt, he did not know it, but the words he spoke in jest voiced the very thought at the same instant in the mind of old heck--miles away though he was. perhaps it was mental telepathy, thought vibration, subconscious soul communication--or a mere coincident, that caused chuck, far out on the open range, to speak the thing old heck, sitting at supper with carolyn june, ophelia and skinny, at the quarter circle kt was thinking. ever since parker had voluntarily surrendered during the rodeo, his right to alternate, day and day about, with old heck in the widow's society, the owner of the quarter circle kt had been watching ophelia, covertly and carefully, for any sign of "movements" or an outbreak as a dreaded suffragette. while he watched her the widow was becoming more and more a necessity in the life of old heck. the night of the conversation between parker and the cowboys, away over at rock creek, old heck sat at the supper table in the kitchen at the ranch and debated in his mind the future relationships of parker, ophelia and himself. in a few days parker would return. almost certainly the foreman would again wish to share, fifty-fifty, in the courtship of the widow. old heck felt that if such were so those odd days, when parker was with ophelia, would be little less than hell. yet, he dreaded that suffragette business. if she would only break loose and let him see how bad she was liable to be he could easily make up his mind. he was almost ready to take a chance, to ask ophelia to marry him and settle it all at once. throughout the meal he was moody. after supper he had little to say and the next few days he brooded constantly over the matter. tuesday parker and the cowboys were expected to return with the beef cattle. monday morning, at breakfast, the widow asked old heck if he would take her to eagle butte that day. "i must see the minister's wife," she said, as old heck steered the clagstone "six" up the grade that led out to the bench and to eagle butte, "--it is very important" old heck murmured assent and drove silently on. probably she was going to start a "movement" or something to-day! to-morrow, parker would be back. it sure did put a man in a dickens of a fix! before they reached the long bridge across the cimarron a mile from eagle butte old heck's mind was made up. "you want to stop at the preacher's house?" he asked. "if you please," ophelia replied, "for some little time. there are things to discuss--" "would you mind if i drove around to the court-house first?" old heck questioned again. "not at all," she answered sweetly. a few moments later old heck stopped the clagstone "six" in front of the yellow sandstone county building. leaving ophelia in the car with the remark, "i'll be out in a minute!" he went inside and hurried along the dark corridor that led to the clerk's office. chapter xviii a shame to waste it in old heck's eyes was a set, determined look when he came out of the court-house and stepped up to the clagstone "six" in which he had left ophelia a few moments before. the end of a long yellow envelope protruded from the side pocket of his coat. his face was flushed and his hand trembled slightly as he opened the door of the car and climbed into the front seat beside the widow. he pressed his foot on the "starter," threw the clutch into gear and turning the car about drove slowly toward the home of reverend hector r. patterson, eagle butte's only resident clergyman. he did not speak until the car stopped at the gate of the little unpainted parsonage beside the white, weather-boarded church. "wait a minute," he said as ophelia started to get out of the clagstone "six," "maybe i'll go in with you!" "splendid," the widow replied, settling again against the cushions. "i'd be delighted to have you come along and i'm sure mr. and mrs. patterson would be glad to see you!" "well, it--it"--old heck stammered, not knowing how to begin what he wanted to say--"it--it all depends on you! here"--he said abruptly as a bright thought came to him--"read that and--and--tell me what you think about it!" at the same time pulling the yellow envelope from his pocket and handing it to ophelia. with a questioning lift of her eyebrows the widow drew the folded, official-looking document from the envelope. "why, it's a--it's a--" she started to say and stopped confused, her cheeks blazing crimson. "it's a marriage license--" old heck said, coming to her rescue, "--made out for you and me. i--i--didn't know what to tell the clerk when he asked me how old you was--so i just guessed at it!" the widow looked shyly down at the names written on the document. the license granted "ophelia cobb, age _twenty-three_, of hartville, connecticut, and josiah alonzo heck, age forty-eight, of kiowa county, texas," the right to marry. ophelia's actual years were thirty-nine! from under drooping lashes she glanced up suspiciously into the earnest gray eyes beside her. she saw that old heck had been sincere in his "guess." "but--but--" "i know it's kind of unexpected," old heck interrupted nervously, "--perhaps i had ought to have said something about it first, but, well, i figured i'd go on and get the license and show that my intentions was good and--and--sort of risk the whole thing on one throw! it always seemed like there was something missing at the quarter circle kt," he went on, his voice grown softer and trembling a bit, "and--and when you came i--i--found out what it was--" ophelia sat silently with downcast eyes, her pulse racing, the license unfolded on her lap, while she bit uncertainly at the tip of the finger of her glove. "i--i--know i ain't very good-looking or--or--anything," old heck continued, "but i thought maybe you--you--liked me a little--enough anyhow to get married--that is if you--. oh-h--thunder, ophelia!" he exclaimed in despair, feeling that he was hopelessly floundering, "i--i--love you! please let's use that license! let's use it right away --to-day--and get it over with!" he urged as the widow still hesitated. "but--i--i'm not suitably dressed--" she stammered. "i think that dress you've got on is the prettiest goods i ever saw in my life," he interrupted, looking adoringly at the clinging summer fabric caressing ophelia's shapely form, "i always did think it would be awful appropriate for us to--to--get married in!" he finished pleadingly. "but--carolyn june and--and--parker--" ophelia murmured. at the mention of parker, old heck started while a look of anguish came into his eyes. so she loved parker! that was why she was so backward, he thought. well, the quarter circle kt foreman was a little better-looking, maybe, and some younger! he couldn't blame her. his head dropped. for a moment old heck was silent, a dull, sickening hurt gripping his heart. a deep sigh escaped from his lips. he reached over and picked up the license. "i--i--guess i made a mistake," he said numbly. "we'll just--just--tear this thing up and forget about it!" ophelia looked demurely up at him, her mouth twitching. one small gloved hand slipped over and rested on the strong brown fingers that held the license. roses flamed over the full round throat and spread their blush to her cheeks. her eyes were like pools of liquid blue: "don't tear it--it--up!" she whispered with a little laugh--a laugh that sent the blood leaping, like fire, through old heck's veins, "it--it would be a shame to waste it!" for an instant old heck was dazed. he looked at her as if he could not believe he had heard aright. suddenly a wave of undiluted happiness swept over him. "ophelia!" he cried huskily. "oh, ophelia!" and the minister's three small sons, pausing in their play in the grassless yard at the side of the house, while they watched the beautiful car standing in front of the parsonage gate, saw the owner of the quarter circle kt, in broad daylight, on the principal residence street of eagle butte, before the eyes of the whole world--if the whole world cared to look--throw his arms around the plump lady sitting beside him and press one long, rapturous kiss on her moist, unresisting lips! a moment later ophelia and old heck, both much embarrassed but tremulously happy, stepped inside the door of the parsonage. they were driving away from the minister's house--going to the occidental hotel for a little all-by-their-ownselves "wedding luncheon"--before either thought of the matter concerning which ophelia had desired to see the clergyman's wife. "gee whiz!" old heck exclaimed, "you forgot that consultation or whatever it was with mrs. patterson to start your woman's suffrage 'movement'--" "to start my what?" "your 'woman's rights,' 'female voter's organization'--or whatever it is!" old heck explained, a new-born tolerance in his voice. "i didn't mean to interfere with your political activities--" ophelia threw back! her head, while a ripple of laughter trilled out above the purr of the clagstone "six." "why, my dear--dear--old boy!" she cried, "i am not engaged in 'political activities,' or 'suffragette movements!' of course," she continued archly, "i believe women ought to be allowed to vote--if they haven't intelligence enough for that they haven't brains enough to be good 'pardners' with their husbands--" "by gosh, you're right!" old heck agreed, "i never thought of it that way before!" "and," she continued, "naturally i shall vote whenever the opportunity comes, but i'm not an 'organizer' for anything of that kind. mrs. patterson and i are going to organize the wives, sisters and sweethearts, in eagle butte, into a club for the study of 'scientific and efficient management of the home!' we think we should be as proficient in those arts--and which we believe are peculiarly womanly functions--as the men are in the direction of the more strenuous business affairs in which they themselves are engaged." "so that's what you're an 'organizer' for?" old heck queried while a radiant contentment spread over his face. "that is it," ophelia said simply, adding with a most becoming heightening of color, "it is so we will be--will be--better wives!" "my gawd!" old heck breathed fervently. "my gawd! the lord has been good to me to-day!" while old heck and ophelia were in eagle butte getting married, skinny and carolyn june had been riding line on the upland pasture fence. they had just returned to the quarter circle kt, unsaddled their horses, turned them into the pasture, gone to the house and stopped a moment on the front porch to watch the glow in the west--the sun was dipping into a thundercap over the costejo mountains--when the clagstone "six" rolled down the grade and up to the string of poplars before the house. "gee, we thought you two had eloped!" carolyn june laughed as the couple climbed out of the car and came, rather bashfully, in at the gate. old heck and ophelia looked at each other guiltily. "we did come darn near it!" old heck chuckled, plunging at once into the task of breaking the news. "we got married--i reckon you'd call that the next thing to eloping!" "got married?" skinny and carolyn june cried together. "who--who--got married?" skinny repeated incredulously. "ophelia and me," old heck answered with a sheepish grin but proudly. "who else did you think we meant? we just thought," he continued by way of explanation, "we'd go ahead and do it kind of private and save a lot of excitement and everything!" carolyn june threw her arms around ophelia and kissed her. "good-by, chaperon," she laughed with a half-sob in her throat, "h--hello, 'aunt.'" then she strangled old heck with a hug that made him gasp. "what the devil--are you trying to do--choke me?" "well, by thunder, old heck!" skinny finally managed to ejaculate, "it was the sensiblest thing you ever done! i--i've--been"--with a sidelong look at carolyn june--"kind of figuring on doing it myself!" carolyn june saw the expression in skinny's eyes. a pained look came into her own. she had known, for a long while, that sooner or later there would have to come an understanding between this big, overgrown, juvenile-hearted cowboy and herself. she resolved then that it should come quickly. further delay would be cruel to him. besides, she was sick of flirtations. her disappointment in the character of the ramblin' kid, her realization of his weakness, when he had gotten, as she believed, beastly drunk at the moment so much depended on him the day of the two-mile sweepstakes, had hurt deeply. somehow, even his magnificent ride and the fact that, in spite of his condition, he won the race, had not taken the sting away. she had thought the ramblin' kid was real--rough and crude, perhaps, but all man, rugged-hearted and honest. sometimes she wondered if the queer unexplainable antagonism between herself and the sensitive young cowboy had not, in a measure, been responsible for his sudden moral breaking down. the thought caused her to lose some of that frivolity that inspired the dance and the wild flirtations she carried on that night with all the cowboys of the quarter circle kt. after all, these plain, simple-acting men of the range were just boys grown big in god's great out-of-doors where things are taken for what they seem to be. no wonder an artless look from sophisticated brown eyes swept them off their feet! she made up her mind to disillusion skinny at once. after supper the quartette gathered in the front room. "come on, skinny," carolyn june said with forced gaiety, "let us take a walk. that pair of cooing doves"--with a playfully tender glance at ophelia and old heck--"wish nothing so much as to be permitted to 'goo-goo' at each other all by their little lonelies!" bareheaded she and skinny strolled out the front gate and along the road that led up to the bench. at the top of the grade they sat down, side by side, on a large boulder that hung on the brink of the bench. the quarter circle kt lay before them--restful and calm in the shadows of early evening. the poplars along the front-yard fence stood limp in the silent air. across the valley the sand-hills were mellowing with the coming softness of twilight. up the river, to the west, beyond eagle butte, a summer thunder-cloud was climbing higher and higher into the sky. in the direction of dry buck, far toward the northwest, a fog of dust was creeping along the horizon, gradually approaching the upland pasture. skinny saw it. "by golly," he cried, "that's either parker and the boys coming in with the cattle--or else it's a band of sheep! it surely can't be 'woollys'--they never get over in there! if it's our outfit, though, they've got through quicker than they figured!" a few moments later the dim bulk of the "grub-wagon" appeared, miles away, slowly crawling toward the quarter circle kt. for a time skinny and carolyn june were silent. skinny's hand crept slyly across the rock and found the pink fingers of carolyn june. she did not draw away. "carolyn june," he whispered haltingly, "carolyn june--i--old heck and ophelia have got married--let's you and--and--" "please, skinny, don't say it!" she interrupted, her voice trembling. "i--i know what you mean! it hurts me. listen, skinny"--she hurried on, determined to end it quickly--"maybe you will despise me, but--i like you, truly i do--but not _that_ way! i don't want to grieve you--i wish us to be just good friends--that's why i'm telling you! let's be friends, skinny--just friends--we can't be any more than that--" skinny understood. a dull, throbbing pain tightened about his throat. his fingers gripped carolyn june's hand an instant and then relaxed. the whole world seemed suddenly blank. "can't you--won't you--ever--ca--care?" he asked in a voice filled with despair. "i do care, boy," she replied softly, "i do care--but not that way! oh, skinny," she exclaimed, wishing to make it as easy as possible for the sentimental cowboy at her side, "maybe i have done wrong to let you go ahead, but, well, i found out--i guessed the 'arrangements'--how you had been chosen to make 'love' to me and how parker and uncle josiah were to divide ophelia between them. perhaps that is why i have flirted so--just to punish you all! truly, skinny, i'm sorry. please don't hate me like--like--the ramblin' kid does!" she finished with a shaky little laugh. "he--don't hate you," skinny answered dully, "at least i don't think th' ramblin' kid hates you--or anybody. and you knowed all the time that i was getting paid to make love to you? well, i was," he added chokingly, "but i'd have done it for nothing if i'd had the chance!" "yes, skinny," she replied, "i knew--i know--and i don't blame you!" "i don't blame you, either," he said humbly, "it was a--a--excuse me, carolyn june--a damned mean trick to frame up on you and ophelia that way--but we didn't know what to do with you! i reckon," he continued in the same despairing tone, "i was a blamed fool!" for a long moment they sat silent. "carolyn june," skinny finally said, a sigh of resignation breaking from his lips, "i'll be what you said--just a good friend--i always will be that to you! but before we start in, do you mind if i--if i--go up to eagle butte and get--drunk!" in spite of herself she laughed. but in it was a tenderness almost mother-like. "poor disappointed, big boy," she answered and her eyes filled, "if it will make you happy, go ahead and get--get--drunk, 'soused,' all over--just this once!" with only a passing pang carolyn june was willing for skinny to get drunk--to do the thing she had been scarcely able to forgive in the ramblin' kid! for an instant she wondered why. a half-hour later skinny and carolyn june went silently down the grade to the ranch house. they had gone up the hill--lovers; they returned--"good friends"--and such they would always be. * * * * * it was nearly ten o'clock when sing pete stopped the grub-wagon at the bunk-house; pedro wrangled the saddle cavallard into the pasture below the barn; parker and the cowboys jogged their bronchos to the stable door and the ramblin' kid, riding the gold dust maverick--captain jack at her heels--rode to the circular corral, jerked the saddle from the filly's back and turned the little roan stallion and the outlaw mare inside the corral. old heck and skinny heard the commotion and went out to where parker and the cowboys were unsaddling their horses. "well, you got through, did you?" old hack questioned casually. "yes," parker replied, "we've got the beef critters in i guess--they're in the upland pasture. there are seven hundred and ninety, i think it is, that'll do for the market." "that's pretty good," old heck answered with satisfaction. "we'll push them right on into eagle butte to-morrow or next day and ship them. the cars will be in to-night, the agent said. i'm sending them to chicago this time. i'd like to see you, private, a minute, parker!" he finished abruptly. "what do you want?" parker asked suspiciously, as he followed old heck around the corner of the barn. "it's about ophelia--" old heck began. parker's heart leaped and then dropped with a sickening foreboding of something disagreeable. the widow, he thought instantly, had told old heck about that darned fool proposal of marriage and was going to insist on him coming across and making good! there was no way out. "i--i--reckon i'll have to do it if she's determined," parker stuttered; "but--aw, hell--i must have been crazy--" "who's determined on what?" old heck asked, puzzled by the queer jumble coming from the lips of the quarter circle kt foreman, "and how crazy?" "ophelia determined on marrying me!" parker blurted out. "ophelia marry _you_?" old heck exclaimed. "marry you! she can't! her and me have already done it. we got married to-day--that was what i wanted to tell you!" momentarily a pang of regret shot through parker's heart. it was quickly followed by a sense of relief. "you--you--and ophelia married?" he stammered. "we sure are," old heck answered positively. "we done it to-day!" suddenly parker determined to "cover up." "my, lord!" he half-groaned, pretending terrible grief, "this is awful! it--it--come so sudden--but there ain't no hard feelings, old heck! i--i--wish you both joy and happiness!" "darned if that ain't white of you, parker!" old heck exclaimed, immensely relieved. "i won't forget it! when you and the boys take them steers to chicago, stay over a week or so and have a good time and count it in on expenses!" parker turned his head and in the darkness winked solemnly at a yellow star above the peak of sentinel mountain. he and old heck started toward the house. "hey, you fellows!" old heck called, pausing and turning toward the barn where the cowboys were putting away their saddles, "when you get through all of you come on up to the house! ophelia and me's married and the bride is waiting to be congratulated!" "good lord," charley gasped, "hear that, fellers? old heck said him and the widow's married!" "gosh!" chuck laughed, "it must have been a jolt to parker! i bet his heart's plumb bu'sted!" as soon as their saddles were put away the cowboys hurried toward the house. they met the ramblin' kid, crossing from the circular corral to the bunk-house. "come on," bert called to him, "old heck and ophelia's gone and got married! we're going up to the house to sympathize with the widow!" "i ain't needed," the ramblin' kid answered with a careless laugh. "you fellers can take my 'love' to th' afflicted couple!" after the cowboys had gone to the house skinny went and got old pie face. stopping at the stable, he saddled the pinto and strolled over to the bunk-house. the ramblin' kid was lying stretched on his bed. skinny rolled the white shirt carefully into a bundle and wrapped a newspaper around it. "what you goin' to do?" the ramblin' kid asked. "i'm goin' to town!" skinny answered shortly. "i'm going up to eagle butte and get on a hell of a drunk--if i can get hold of any boot-leg whisky--carolyn june and me have bu'sted up on our love-making!" "going to get drunk, are you?" the ramblin' kid queried with a note of scorn in his voice, "an' forget your sorrows?" "yes," skinny retorted, "i'm going to get drunk as you was the day of the race!" "drunk as i was th' day of th' race?" the ramblin' kid repeated quizzically. "oh, hell, yes--now i understand--" pausing, while a smile curled his lips. "yes," skinny retorted again. "where'd you get yours that day?" "never mind," was the answer. "i guess i'll go to eagle butte with you! you'll need somebody to ride herd on you while you're snortin' around. anyhow, i feel like goin' on a tear myself--not a drunk--a man's a darned fool that'll let any woman make a whisky barrel out of him! but i got an itchin' for a little poker game or somethin'. wait till i get captain jack!" "where's skinny and th' ramblin' kid?" old heck asked after he and parker and the cowboys were at the house and the first flush of embarrassment had passed. carolyn june thought she knew where skinny was, but did not answer. "i don't know what's become of skinny," parker said. "th' ramblin' kid's probably out mopin' somewhere. i think he's getting ready to 'ramble' again--he's been acting plumb despondent ever since the rodeo in eagle butte!" carolyn june stepped to the door. dimly through the darkness she saw two riders pass up the grade that led to the bench and turn their horses to the west, toward eagle butte, and ride straight into the outflung shadow of the thunder-storm--from which now and then leaped jagged flashes of lightning--and which was rolling from the costejo mountains across the kiowa range in the direction of the quarter circle kt. silent and with a heavy heart she turned away from the door. chapter xix the greek gets his it was long after midnight when the ramblin' kid and skinny rode into eagle butte and the heels of captain jack and old pie face echoed noisily on the board floor of the livery stable as the bronchos turned into the wide, open doorway of the barn. a drowsy voice from the cubby-hole of an office called: "in just a minute--i'll be out!" "aw, thunder," skinny answered, "go on back to sleep, we'll find stalls and put 'em up!" captain jack and old pie face cared for, skinny and the ramblin' kid stepped out into the deserted street. eagle butte was sleeping. here and there a blaze of light from a store window invited belated passers to covet the bargains offered within; a half-dozen incandescent bulbs, swung on cross-wires at intervals along the street, glowed feebly as if weary with the effort to beat back the darkness clutching at the throat of the town; over the sidewalk in front of the elite amusement parlor an illuminated red and green sign told that mike sabota's place was still open; across the porch of the occidental hotel and spilling itself on the ground out in the street a stream of light guided weary travelers to the portals of that ancient, though hospitable, institution; from the sides of the butte beyond the railroad tracks a coyote yelped shrilly a jerky, wailing challenge--a dozen dogs, suddenly aroused in different parts of the town, answered. "pretty dead-lookin'," the ramblin' kid remarked. "let's go down to sabota's." "all right," skinny replied, and they moved down the street. the pool-room offered nothing of interest. a couple of traveling men, waiting for the early morning train, were playing a listless game of billiards at one of the tables; a pair of jap sugar-beet workers and a negro section hand sat half-asleep and leaned against the wall; "red" jackson, sabota's chief lieutenant, with an air of utter boredom, lounged behind the soft-drink bar. sabota was not there. "what's happened to everybody?" skinny asked; "where's mike?" "everybody's got religion, i guess," red yawned, "and gone to bed. what do you want with sabota?" looking suspiciously at the ramblin' kid; "he's over at vegas; won't be back till to-morrow--or to-day it is now, i reckon--evening sometime!" "th' ramblin' kid and me have been out in the rain," skinny said suggestively, "and thought we might take cold--" "nothing doing!" red laughed, "ain't a drop around! when mike gets back he'll fix you up, maybe--that's what he's gone after!" "we'd just as well go to bed!" skinny grumbled disgustedly to the ramblin' kid. "i reckon," was the laconic answer. they returned to the hotel, roused the clerk from his doze, secured a room and retired. it was eight o'clock when they got up. both went directly to the livery stable and saw that captain jack and old pie face were properly attended to. while at the barn skinny took the bundle he had wrapped in the bunk-house at the ranch from the saddle where he had tied it. "what's that?" the ramblin' kid queried. "it's that darned shirt!" skinny retorted. "i'm going to make old leon eat it--it wasn't the size parker asked for!" the ramblin' kid laughed, but said nothing. they returned to the hotel and had breakfast. manilla endora waited on them. before carolyn june and ophelia came to the quarter circle kt manilla's yellow hair and blue eyes were the flames that fanned the affections of skinny. he felt guilty as, sweetly as ever and without a hint of reproach, manilla took their orders and served them with their ham and eggs and coffee. after breakfast skinny and the ramblin' kid explored the town. eagle butte had come to life. the stores were open. business was brisk. the "dray" was delivering the express accumulated the night before at the depot. here and there a morning shopper was passing along the street. at the post-office there was quite a crowd. skinny carried the shirt, wrapped in the soggy, rain-soaked newspaper. as he and the ramblin' kid came near the dingy, general merchandise establishment kept by the squint-eyed jew from whom parker had bought the unfortunate garment a sudden look of cunning gleamed in the eyes of skinny. he laughed aloud. a box of eggs, ten or twelve dozen it contained, was set, with other farm produce, in a display on the sidewalk at the side of the door of the store. "hold on a minute," skinny said to the ramblin' kid, stopping in front of the jew's place of business, "i got an idea--by golly," he continued argumentatively and with apparent irrelevancy, in a loud voice, "i tell you i'm the lightest man on my feet in texas!" and he winked knowingly at the ramblin' kid. "i can walk on eggs and never bu'st a one! i've done it and"--as leon came to the door--"i'll bet four-bits i can jump in that box of eggs right there and never crack a shell!" the ramblin' kid understood. "aw, you're crazy," he laughed. "i don't want to win your money!" "what's the matter?" leon asked curiously, having heard only part of skinny's boast. "this locoed darn' fool thinks he can walk on them eggs an' not mash 'em!" the ramblin' kid laughed again. "he wants to bet me four-bits he can--" "walk on them eggs and not preak them?" leon exclaimed disdainfully. "you ought to lock him up! he iss crazy!" "by gosh," skinny argued, "you don't realize how light-footed i am--i can jump on them, i tell you, and i got money to back it up!" and he pulled a half-dollar from his pocket. "put away your money, you blamed idiot--" the ramblin' kid began. "i'll bet him four-bits he can't!" leon cried, jerking a coin from his own pocket. skinny and leon each handed the ramblin' kid fifty cents. "by thunder, i can," skinny said, pausing, "that is, i'm willing to bet my money on it--" "vhy don't you go ahead and do it, then?" leon exclaimed. "vat you standing there for? vhy don't you do it if you're so light on your feet?" "well, i can!" skinny argued, still hesitating. "den go ahead and chump--chump i told you--into the box!" leon shouted excitedly. skinny jumped. the eggs crushed under the heels of his riding boots. in an instant the box was filled with a squashy mass of whites, yolks and broken shells. skinny pawed around until there wasn't a whole egg left in the box. at the first crunch leon laughed hilariously. "i knowed you'd lose!" he cackled. "giff me the money!" "you win, leon!" the ramblin' kid laughed, handing over the wager. "skinny wasn't as delicate on his feet as he thought he was!" "thunderation, that's funny!" skinny said soberly as he stepped out of the box; "it wouldn't work that time! something must have slipped!" with a grin he calmly unwrapped the one-time white shirt and with it began to wipe the slimy mess from his boots. "the next time you won't be so smart!" leon cried, then paused in consternation, his eyes riveted on the scrambled mixture in the box. "but mine eggs!" he exclaimed, suddenly suspicious. "who pays for the eggs? there vas twelve dozen--they are worth seventy cents a dozen--that is more as eight dollars. pay me for the eggs!" "pay, hell!" skinny said. "i didn't agree to furnish no eggs! you won my fifty cents and th' ramblin' kid gave it to you--" "that's right, leon," the ramblin' kid chuckled, "you got th' four-bits--that's all you won!" "but pay me--" leon whined. "i'll pay you, you dirty crook!" skinny snapped as he slapped the soppy, egg-splattered shirt in leon's face. "i'll pay you with that! the next time," he added as he and the ramblin' kid started down the street--"anybody asks for a size fifteen shirt don't give them a sixteen and a half!" the day was spent idling about town waiting for sabota to return so skinny could get some whisky and drown his disappointment in love in intoxicated forgetfulness. after supper skinny and the ramblin' kid went to the picture show--tuesdays, thursdays and saturdays were "movie nights" in eagle butte--and saw a thrilling "wild-west" drama in which a band of holstein milk cows raced madly through an alfalfa field in a frenzied, hair-raising stampede! when the show was over the ramblin' kid started toward the livery barn. "what you going to do?" skinny queried. "i was just goin' to get captain jack," the ramblin' kid replied. "what for?" skinny asked as they moved toward the barn. "there ain't no hurry about getting back to the ranch. we won't be going out till to-morrow or next day--there ain't no use getting the horses out to-night." "i don't know," the ramblin' kid answered, without stopping, "i just got a hunch to get him in case i need him. anyhow, it won't hurt him to stand out a while--they've been eatin' all day." "then i'll get old pie face, too," skinny replied. they saddled the bronchos and rode out of the barn. "where'll we go?" skinny asked. "reckon we'd better go back down to sabota's," the ramblin' kid said as they turned their horses in the direction of the pool-room, "if you still insist on makin' a blamed fool of yourself an' gettin' drunk. maybe mike's back by now. anyhow, there might be a little poker game goin' on--i saw a couple of the fellers from over on th' purgatory come in a while ago!" they left captain jack and pie face standing, with bridle reins dropped, across the street and in the broad shaft of light streaming from the open door of the pool-room, and went into the resort. the place was well filled. sabota had returned, evidently with an ample supply of the fiery stuff he called "whisky." like vultures that unerringly seek and find the spot where a carcass has fallen the thirsty of eagle butte had gathered at the elite amusement parlor. inside the door of the pool-room and at the left, as one entered, was a hardwood bar eighteen or twenty feet long and over which at one time, in the days before eagle butte "reformed," had been dispensed real "tarantula juice." the back bar, with its big mirrors and other fixtures, was as it had been when the place was a regular saloon. at the right of the room, opposite the bar, were several round, green-topped card tables. in the rear was the billiard and pool equipment, which entitled the place to the name "pool-room." just across from the farther end of the bar and near the last card table a half-dozen hard-looking, small-town "toughs"--creatures who loafed about sabota's and aided him, as occasion required, in his boot-legging operations or other questionable enterprises--were lounging, some standing, some sitting, watching a slow poker game going on at the last table. cards, under the laws of texas, are taboo, but for some reason sabota managed to get by and games were allowed in his place. the two cowboys the ramblin' kid had mentioned, a rancher from the irrigated section near eagle butte and "jeff" henderson, one of sabota's henchmen, who was playing for the house, were sitting in at the game. half-way down the room at one side against the wall a mechanical player piano was grinding out garish, hurdy-gurdy music. "red" jackson was dispensing soft drinks from behind the bar. sabota himself, with one heel caught on the brass foot-rail, was leaning indolently but with a lordly air against the front of the polished, imitation mahogany counter. he had been drinking and was in his shirt-sleeves. as skinny and the ramblin' kid stepped into the pool-room sabota glanced around. for an instant he eyed the ramblin' kid keenly while a nasty sneer curled his lips. as they approached he turned the grin into a hypocritical smile of welcome. the ramblin' kid barely noticed the greek and passed on to where the card game was in progress. skinny paused and said something in a low tone to sabota. the two walked to the rear end of the bar where the proprietor of the place in turn spoke to red and the latter furtively handed a pint bottle to the cowboy and which he dropped into the bosom of his flannel shirt. the ramblin' kid was recognized by the cowboys from the purgatory. "come on and get into the game!" one of them invited, moving over. "yes," henderson added, hitching his own chair to one side to make room for another, "the cards are running like"--he paused--"like the gold dust maverick for everybody but the house!" there was a laugh at the subtle reference to the outlaw filly that had cost sabota so much in losses on the sweepstakes at the rodeo. the greek scowled. "in that case," the ramblin' kid drawled, "i reckon i'll ride 'em a few rounds!" dropping into the chair he had dragged forward and which placed him with his back toward the bar. "what they costin' a stack?" he questioned, reaching to the left breast pocket of his shirt for a roll of bills. in the same pocket was the pink satin garter carolyn june had lost the morning of his first meeting with her at the circular corral. "five bones!" jeff answered languidly. "well, give me a couple of piles," the ramblin' kid replied, glancing around at the cowboy sitting at his right, who had invited him into the game. "how's the purgatory?" as the bills came from the ramblin' kid's pocket the silver butterfly clasp of the garter caught in the paper currency and the elastic band was drawn out and dropped, at the side of his chair, on the floor next to sabota. the greek and skinny saw, at the same time, the dainty satin ribbon. sabota stepped quickly forward and with the toe of his shoe kicked the garter toward the bar, where all could see it. "look what th' ramblin' kid's been carrying!" he exclaimed with a coarse laugh. "some size garter, that!" and guessing at random that it had belonged to carolyn june, he added: "old heck's niece must be--damned convenient and accommodating!" a laugh started from the lips of the crowd. it was instantly checked and a dead silence followed as the ramblin' kid looked around, saw sabota leering down at the trinket and heard his vulgar insinuation. he slowly pushed his chair back from the table and with eyes half-closed--the lids tightening until there were but narrow slits through which the black pupils burned like drops of jet--he began slowly to straighten up. not a sound came from his lips save the deep, regular breathing those sitting near could hear and which was like a bellows fanning embers into a white heat. his mouth was drawn back in a smile, almost caressing in its softness, but a thousand times more menacing than the black scowl on the face of the greek. the ramblin' kid's gun was at his hip, but he made no move to draw it. sabota watched the slender young cowboy. a look of contempt and derision was in his eyes. the greek was no taller, but full eighty pounds heavier than the other. but he forgot that the other's lithe body moving with the calm, undulating grace of a panther preparing to spring was all clean youth, muscle and courage, unbroken by any debauchery! "that's a hell of a thing for a _man_ to pack," the giant bully cried nastily, "and it's a hell of a _lady_ that gives it to a man to pack!" with a sneering laugh he raised his foot and brought it down on the garter, grinding the silver clasp and the satin ribbon under the sole of his shoe. "you damned black cur!" the rambling' kid spoke scarcely louder than a whisper, yet his voice echoed throughout the tense silence of the room. "_i'll put my heel in your face for that_!" sabota threw back his head to laugh. for a second of time the ramblin' kid crouched, then shot through the air like a wire spring drawn far back and suddenly released, and with an his hundred and forty pounds of nerve and sinew behind it his right fist smashed the big greek squarely on the half-open mouth, splitting the thick lip wide and causing a red stream to spurt from the gash. sabota staggered back and, would have fallen had he not crashed against the hardwood bar. as the greek reeled away from the garter the ramblin' kid stooped quickly forward, picked up the elastic and dropped it again into his pocket. with a roar like a mad bull sabota rushed his slight antagonist. lunging forward, blind with rage, he aimed a murderous blow at the head of the ramblin' kid. the cowboy ducked, but not in time to escape the wide swing of the massive, hairy fist. the greek's knuckles raked the side of the kid's face and the blood rained down his cheek from a cruel cut under the eye. the ramblin' kid spun around like a top and for the fraction of a second stood swaying uncertainly. for a moment they faced each other, crouching, watching for an opening. sabota's great hands worked convulsively, eager to grasp and crush his wiry opponent; the ramblin' kid, with lips curled back from white teeth, like a pure-bred terrier circling a mastiff, bent forward, every muscle tense as drawn copper, his eyes cold as a rattler's as he searched for a place to strike! the crowd in the pool-room instinctively kept far back and gave the unequal combatants ample room. from sabota's lips poured a steady torrent of blasphemy. the ramblin' kid made no sound as, with body swaying slowly from side to side, his shoulders heaved with the full, heavy breaths that reached to the bottom of his lungs. suddenly, like some wild beast, sabota sprang forward. the ramblin' kid met him--in mid-air--right and left jolting, almost at the same instant, into the beefy jaws of the greek. at the impact a claw-like hand shot out and the gorilla fingers of the left hand of the brute-man the ramblin' kid fought, closed over the throat of the cowboy. sabota threw his right arm around the back of his antagonist, gripping the shoulder on the far side of his body and drew the slender form toward him--pinning the ramblin' kid's left arm and hand to his side. skinny's hand dropped to the butt of his gun and rested there. the ramblin' kid struggled desperately in the strangling grasp of the crazed greek. the two reeled back and forth, crashing chairs and tables to the floor, and lunged against the bar. the ramblin' kid's gun fell from its scabbard at the side of the brass foot-rail. sabota's eyes glared down into the face of the man he was choking to death--gleaming with the ferocity of an animal gone mad--awhile bloody foam spewed from his bleeding lips. the cowboy's face was beginning to flush a terrible purple as the breath was gradually crushed from his body. as the greek forced him back, bending him down and over, the ramblin' kid, his eyes burning like fire while a million flashes of light seemed to stab the darkness before them and needles darted through every fiber of his flesh, wrenched his right arm free and gripping the back of sabota's shirt with his left hand to give purchase to the blow, with all the strength left in his body, drove the knuckles of his right fist into the left temple of the greek. the blow went home. a film, like a veil drawn across the fiendish glare in them, spread over the eyes of sabota, his grip on the throat of the cowboy relaxed and as a bull, struck by the hammer of the butcher, he dropped to the floor. the ramblin' kid crouched, panting, over the massive bulk. sabota slowly opened his eyes and started to raise his battered head. with a laugh the cowboy swung terrible right and left blows into the greek's face. the head dropped back. again the ramblin' kid stooped low, waiting for another sign of life from the prostrate form. red jackson slipped from behind the bar, half bent forward, moved stealthily up behind the ramblin' kid; one hand drawn partly back held, by the neck, a heavy beer bottle. skinny saw his intention. instantly the quarter circle kt cowboy's forty-four was jerked from its holster and the blue-steel barrel swung against the side of the bartender's head. he pitched over in a limp heap and the bottle crushed against the brass foot-rail, breaking into a thousand fragments. a half-dozen of sabota's crowd started forward. skinny's gun whipped around in front of him. "keep back, y' sons-of-hell!" he snarled, "sabota's gettin' what's coming to him!" the greek's eyes opened. his fingers touched the butt of the ramblin' kid's revolver and began to close slowly over the handle of the weapon. "make him quit," one of the pool-room loafers whined; "he's killed him!" the ramblin' kid saw sabota reach for the gun. he answered the speaker and the greek's effort to get the forty-four at the same time: "not yet--_but now_!" he cried with a low laugh and leaped with both heels squarely on the bloody face of sabota! there was a horrible crunching sound as of bones and flesh being ground into pulp. the fingers about to close on the handle of the revolver grew limp, the greek's head, a hideous, scarcely recognizable mass, slumped to one side and lay perfectly still. an instant longer the ramblin' kid looked at him, then reached over, picked up his gun and slipped it into the holster at his hip. as he straightened up, tom poole, the marshal, rushed into the pool-room. he covered the ramblin' kid with his revolver and placed him under arrest. "you don't need to get excited, tom!" the ramblin' kid laughed. "i didn't do nothin' but kill that damned black cur layin' there! come on--i want to get out in th' air--i never like to stay around where dead skunks are!" they moved toward the door. poole dropped his gun back in its scabbard and walked at the side of the now apparently peaceful young cowboy. at the door the marshal looked around: "some of you fellers get the doctor or undertaker--whichever he needs--and take care of sabota!" he called to the group around the body of the greek. like a flash the muzzle of the ramblin' kid's gun was pressed against the side of poole. "put 'em up, tom!" he snapped, "_i_ don't want to kill you, but i will if i have to--i ain't goin' to rot in no jail just for stampin' a dirty snake-to death!" the marshal's hands shot into the air as if operated by springs. the ramblin' kid, with his left hand, jerked poole's revolver from its holster. he backed into the street toward where captain jack and old pie face were standing, still with his own gun covering the officer. "jack!" he cried sharply, "meet me!" the little stallion moved toward him. with the thumb of the hand in which he held the marshal's gun the ramblin' kid threw open the breech and flipped the shells on the ground. he tossed the empty forty-four to one side, threw the reins over captain jack's head and the next instant was in the saddle. the broncho wheeled and was gone, in a dead run, toward the west. the marshal rushed into the street and picked up his gun, jerked some cartridges from his belt, slipped them into the cylinder and fired quickly at the fleeing horse and rider. the bullets whistled past the ear of the ramblin' kid. he raised his own weapon, half-turned in the saddle, dropped the muzzle of the gun forward until it pointed at the flashes spitting from the officer's revolver. his finger started to tighten on the trigger. "hell," he muttered, "what's the use? tom's just doin' what he thinks he has to do!" and the ramblin' kid slipped the gun, unfired, back into its holster. a moment later captain jack whirled to the right across the santa fe tracks and bearing a little to the east, in the direction of capaline, the dead volcano that rises out of the lavas northwest of the quarter circle kt, between the purgatory and the cimarron, disappeared in the black starlit night. chapter xx mostly skinny it is a week to the day since the fight in the elite amusement parlor in eagle butte. since the ramblin' kid, followed by the wicked sing of the bullets from the marshal's gun, disappeared in the darkness no word has come from the fugitive cowboy, who beat to a pulp the burly greek. the gold dust maverick paces uneasily about in the circular corral and the quarter circle kt has settled into the hum-drum routine of ranch life. parker, charley, chuck and bert are gone to chicago with the train-load of beef cattle. skinny bosses a gang of "picked-up" hay hands old heck brought out from eagle butte to harvest the second cutting of alfalfa. pedro rides line daily on the upland pasture and sing pete hammers the iron triangle morning, noon and night, announcing the regular arrival of meal-time. the chinaman is careful when he throws out empty tomato-cans--turning back the tin to make it impossible for the yellow cat again to fasten his head in one of the inviting traps, and the cook would imperil the hope of the return of his soul to the flowery orient before he would put butter in the bottom of a can to entice the animal into trouble. old heck and ophelia are like a pair of nesting doves and there is a new vigor to the step of the owner of the quarter circle kt, a revived interest in affairs generally; years seem to have fallen from his shoulders. carolyn june smiles sweetly as ever at skinny, spends much time riding alone over the valley and hills; in her eyes there has come a more thoughtful--often a wistful--expression. sabota did not die. after the escape of the ramblin' kid the marshal reentered the pool-room and had the big greek removed to the hotel. a doctor was called and set as well as possible the broken jaws, the crushed nose, picked out the fragments of bone and the loosened teeth, sewed up the terrible gashes on sabota's face and left the bully groaning and profaning in half-conscious agony. the night of the fight skinny took old pie face back to the barn. the cowboy's heart was heavy with remorse. he blamed himself for all the trouble. had he not wanted to make a fool of himself and get drunk the ramblin' kid would not have come to eagle butte, the fight would not have occurred, the friend he had ridden with through storm and sunshine--whom he had stood "night guard" and fought mad stampedes into "the mill"--would not now be an outcast sought by the hand of the law. news of the beating the ramblin' kid gave sabota traveled fast. it was flashed over eagle butte that the greek was dead. "so th' ramblin' kid killed old sabota, did he?" the hostler at the livery barn asked skinny as he stepped out to care for the cowboy's horse. "what was it over? sabota having th' ramblin' kid 'doped' the day of the sweepstakes?" skinny looked keenly, searchingly, at the stableman. "what do you mean--'sabota having th' ramblin' kid doped?'" he asked sharply. "why, didn't you know?" the hostler replied. "i thought everybody knowed. gyp streetor told me about it the day of the race--i used to know gyp when he was a kid back east. i saw him as he was beating it to get out of town. he borrowed five dollars from me. said sabota hired him to put 'knock-out' in some coffee for th' ramblin' kid and he reckoned the dose wasn't big enough or something. anyhow, it didn't hold him under long as they thought it would and when he saw the gold dust maverick show up on the track he got scared--was afraid it would leak out or th' ramblin' kid would suspect him and try to 'get' him after the race, so he ducked out of town--" "you ain't lying about that?" skinny asked. "what would i want to lie about it for?" the other replied. "wasn't that what made th' ramblin' kid kill the greek?" "no, it was something else," skinny answered; "but sabota ain't dead. he's just crunched up pretty bad--th' ramblin' kid jumped on him, like captain jack did on that feller from the chickasaw that tried to steal him!" skinny's mind was in a whirl. so the ramblin' kid was not drunk the day of the race! he was drugged-- sick--yet, in spite of everything, rode the gold dust maverick and beat the black wonder-horse from the vermejo! lord! and they had all thought he was on a tear! the bottle of whisky was still in the bosom of skinny's shirt. he had not touched it. he felt a sudden revulsion for the vile stuff. "here," he said, jerking the flask from its hiding-place and handing it to the hostler, "maybe you'd like that bottle of 'rot-gut'--i've swore off!" "i ain't," the stableman laughed and took it eagerly. skinny remained in town that night and the next day, waiting for parker and the quarter circle kt cowboys to come in with the beef cattle. they arrived about noon. old heck drove in with the clagstone "six." ophelia and carolyn june came with him. skinny met them when old heck stopped the in front of the occidental hotel. he told them, while they still sat in the automobile, of the fight and the escape of the ramblin' kid. "a drunken brawl!" carolyn june thought, a wave of disgust sweeping over her. "th' ramblin' kid hadn't touched a drop," skinny said, explaining the fight and almost as if he were answering her unspoken thought. "if he'd been drinking, i reckon sabota would have killed him instead of his beating the greek blamed near to death. i know now what he used to mean when he'd say, 'a man's a fool to put whisky in him when he's facin' a tight squeeze!' the little devil sure needed everything he had--nerve and head and muscle and all--for the job he tackled last night!" skinny didn't tell them that his hand had rested on the handle of his own gun--determined that he, himself, would kill sabota if the brute succeeded in choking the ramblin' kid to death. "what was the fight about?" old heck asked. "a pink ribbon or something with a little silver do-funny on it--it looked like a sleeve-holder or a garter--dropped out of th' ramblin' kid's pocket and sabota made a nasty remark about it," skinny said. carolyn june caught her breath and her face flushed. "the greek said something about carolyn june, i didn't just hear what," skinny continued, "and then he smashed the ribbon under his foot. the next instant th' ramblin' kid was trying to kill him! "it's a pity he didn't succeed!" old heck exclaimed. "the damned filthy whelp--excuse me, ophelia, for cussing, but i just had to say it!" "it's all right," was the laughing rejoinder, "i--i--wanted to say it myself!" carolyn june's eyes glowed. her heart felt as if a weight had been lifted from it so, the ramblin' kid had kept the odd souvenir, and he cared--he cared! "go ahead," she whispered to skinny; "what then?" "i reckon that's about all," skinny answered. "th' ramblin' kid smashed sabota and as he staggered back, picked up the ribbon--then he didn't quit till he thought the greek was dead. tom poole arrested him, but th' ramblin' kid got the drop on him and got away. he was justified in beating sabota up anyhow," he added, "on account of the dirty cuss hiring a feller to 'dope' him so he couldn't ride the maverick the day of the big race--" "'dope' him?" old heck interrupted, puzzled. "yes," skinny explained, "the greek had a feller named gyp streetor put some stuff in th' ramblin? kid's coffee. he wasn't drunk at all--he was just poisoned with 'knock-out!'" "good lord!" old heck exclaimed. "and he rode that race when he was drugged! while we all thought he'd gone to pieces and was drunk!" carolyn june's cheeks suddenly turned pale. he cared, but he was gone! perhaps never to come back! it seemed as if an iron hand was clutching at her throat! she and ophelia went into the hotel and old heck and skinny drove the car over to the stock-yards where the cattle were being loaded. after parker and the cowboys were on their way east with the steers and before he returned to the ranch old heck went into the room in which sabota lay. the greek's head was a mass of white bandages. his eyes battered and swollen shut, he could not see the face of his visitor. for a moment old heck looked at him, his lips parted in a smile of contempt lightened with satisfaction. "well, sabota," he said at last, "th' ramblin' kid didn't quite do his duty, did he? if he had gone as far as he ought to you wouldn't be laying there--they'd just about now be hiding your dirty carcass under six feet of 'dobe!'" sabota mumbled some guttural, unintelligible reply. "listen, you infernal skunk," old heck went on coldly, "as quick as you're able to travel you'll find eagle butte's a right good place to get away from! you understand what i mean. if i catch you around, well, i won't use no fists!" and without waiting for an answer he turned and left the room. the owner of the quarter circle kt then hunted lip the marshal of eagle butte. "tom," he said, "i reckon you'll be looking some for th' ramblin' kid, after what happened last night, won't you?" the marshal had heard of sabota's effort to have the young cowboy drugged the day of the race and also the immediate cause for the fight. "oh, i don't know as i will," he said, "unless the greek makes some charge or other. i don't imagine he'll do that" "i know blamed well he won't!" old heck interrupted. "but how about th' ramblin' kid putting his gun in your ribs--resisting an officer and so on?" "putting his gun in my ribs? resisting an officer?" the lanky missourian answered with a sly grin; "who said he put a gun on me--or resisted an officer or anything? i ain't heard nothing about it!" two days later sabota, with the help of "red" jackson, managed to get to the santa fe station. he was able to travel and he did travel. jackson said he went to the "border." eagle butte did not know or care--the cimarron town was through with him. when old heck, carolyn june and ophelia returned to the quarter circle kt the evening of the day following the fight, the gold dust maverick whinnied lonesomely from the circular corral as the clagstone "six" stopped in front of the house. "what are we going to do with that filly?" old heck asked, looking at the beautiful creature with her head above the bars of the corral gate. "i am going to ride her!" carolyn june said softly. "until the ramblin' kid comes back and claims her she is mine! she loves me and i can handle her!" "i'm afraid--" old heck started to protest. "you need not be," carolyn june interrupted, "the gold dust maverick and i know each other--she understands me and i understand her--she will be perfectly gentle with me!" the next day carolyn june rode the wonderful outlaw mare. it was as she said. the filly was perfectly gentle with her. after that, every day, the girl saddled the gold dust maverick and, unafraid, took long rides alone. * * * * * the night the cattle were shipped skinny had supper in eagle butte. he sat alone at a small table at one side of the dining-room in the occidental hotel. the cowboy was the picture of utter misery. parker, charley, chuck, bert were gone to chicago with steers; the ramblin' kid was gone--nobody knew where; skinny's dream about carolyn june was gone--she didn't love him, she just liked him; even his whisky was gone, he had given it to the hostler at the barn; he didn't have any friends or anything. "what's the matter, skinny?" manilla endora, the yellow-haired waitress, asked softly, as she stepped up to the table and looked down a moment at the dejected cowboy. there was something in her voice that made skinny pity himself more than ever. it made him want to cry. "what's wrong?' manilla repeated almost tenderly. "everything!" skinny blurted out, dropping his head on his arms. "the whole blamed works is shot to pieces!" a little smile stole over manilla's rosy lips. "i know what it is," she said gently, unreproachfully; "it's that girl, carolyn june. yes, it is," as skinny started to interrupt. "oh, i don't blame you for falling for her!" she went on. "she is nice--but, well, skinny-boy," her voice was a caress, "old heck's niece is not the sort for you. you and her wouldn't fit at all--the way you wanted--and anyhow, there--there--are others," coloring warmly. skinny looked up into the honest blue eyes. "you ain't sore at me or anything are you, manilla?" he asked. "sore?" she answered. "of course not!" hope sprung again into his heart. "i--i--thought maybe you would be," he stammered. "forget it!" she laughed. "the old world still wobbles!" "manilla, you--you're a peach!" he cried. she chuckled. "did you hear about that dance next saturday night after the picture show?" she asked archly. "no. is there one?" with new interest in life. "yes," she replied, her lashes drooping demurely; "they say the music is going to be swell." "if i come in will you--will we--go, manilla?" he asked eagerly. they would. "poor skinny," manilla murmured to herself as she went to the kitchen to get his order, "poor cuss--he can't keep from breaking his heart over every skirt that brushes against him, but"--and she laughed softly--"darn his ugly picture, i like him anyhow!" after supper skinny hurried to the golden rule store. it was still open. "give me a white shirt--number fifteen," he said to the clerk; "and be blamed sure it's the right size--they ain't worth a cuss if they're too big!" chapter xxi a girl like you a lone rider guided his horse in the early night, among the black lavas, on the desolate desert near capaline, the dead volcano. he rode to the south, in the direction of the cimarron. silently, steadily, like a dark shadow, the broncho picked his way among the fields of fire-blistered rock and held his course, unerringly, through the starlit gloom hanging over the earth before the late moon should flash its silver disk above the sand-hills miles to the east. the rider was the ramblin' kid; the little horse--captain jack. for a week, following the fight in eagle butte, the ramblin' kid had found shelter in the hut of "indian jake"--a hermit navajo who, long ago, turned his face toward the flood of white civilization rolling over the last pitiful remnants of his tribe and drifted far toward the land of the rising sun. among the scenes of desolation around the grimly cold volcano, alone, the old indian made his last stand, and in a rude cabin, beside a tiny spring that seeped from under the black rock on the mountain-side, lived in splendid isolation--silent, brooding, desiring only to be left in peace with his few ponies, his small herd of cattle and the memories and traditions of his people. the ramblin' kid and the lonely navajo were friends since the ramblin' kid could remember. the aged indian's face was pitted with horrible scars--marks of the same disease that had cost the wandering cowboy his father and left him, years ago, an orphan, almost worshiped, because of the sacrifice his parent had made fighting the epidemic among the tribes of the southwest. often the "young whirlwind"--the name by which the indians knew the ramblin' kid and which old jake himself always called the cowboy--spent a night, sometimes days, with his stoical friend among the lavas. to him the cabin door was always open. as captain jack, followed by the bullets from the marshal's revolver, dashed madly down the street of eagle butte, instinctively the ramblin' kid had turned the stallion toward the hut of the old navajo. the fugitive cowboy believed sabota was dead. naturally the law would demand vengeance, even though the brutal greek had deserved to die. posses, undoubtedly, would scour the country, searching for his slayer. the quarter circle kt would be watched. there was no regret in the heart of the ramblin' kid. instead he felt a strange elation. with his fists and heels he had beaten the giant greek into a lifeless mass! "'ign'rant--savage--stupid--brute!" he muttered as captain jack sped from the scene of fight; "i reckon she _was pretty near right!_" at gray dawn he swung down from the back of the little stallion at the door of the indian's hut. old jake asked no questions. the ramblin' kid himself volunteered: "killed a man--sabota--got to lay low, jake--some three, four, five days! then i go--south--mexico!" "the young whirlwind had cause?" the navajo grunted sententiously. "sure--plenty!" the ramblin' kid laughed, slipping his hand to his breast pocket and caressing the pink satin garter. "it is good," the indian said. "the navajo will watch!" for seven days the ramblin' kid rested, securely, in the lonely hut among the lavas and "pot-holes" of the desert. then he saddled captain jack and when the full shadow of night had settled over the desolation about him mounted the little broncho and turned him to the south, in the direction of the cimarron, toward the quarter circle kt, where the gold dust maverick waited, alone, in the corral. carolyn june could not sleep. the night was more than half gone and still she sat on the front porch and watched the gradual spread of a misty, silvery sheen over the brow of the bench and the distant peaks of the shadowy costejo range as the pale moon, in its last half, lifted itself above the sand-hills at the gap through which the cimarron tumbled out of the valley. old heck and ophelia had retired hours ago. the quarter circle kt was sleeping. from the meadows the heavy odor of wilted alfalfa hung on the night air as the dew sprinkled the windrows of new-cut hay. a strange restlessness filled the heart of the girl. something seemed to be holding her in a tense, relentless grip. she had no desire to seek her room. indeed, she felt that the air of the house would stifle her. she arose and strolled idly through the gate, past the bunk-house where skinny, pedro and the hay hands snored peacefully, as she wandered aimlessly through the slanting moonlight down to the circular corral. the gold dust maverick seemed to reflect the girl's own uneasy mood. the filly moved with quick nervous strides about the corral. as carolyn june leaned against the bars and stretched out her hand the mare whinnied softly, tossed her head, nosed an instant the white fingers and trotted in a circle around the enclosure. "what's the matter, heart o' gold?" carolyn june laughed sympathetically, "can't you either?" in the shed at the side of the corral, on the spot where, that first morning, the ramblin' kid's saddle had rested and the cowboy slept, carolyn june's own riding gear was lying. she glanced at the outfit for a second she fancied she saw again the slender form stretched in the shadow upon the ground while a pair of black inscrutable eyes looked with unfathomable melancholy up into her own. "seein' things!" she laughed jerkily, with a little catch in her throat. "i'll ride it off!" quickly she stepped over, picked up the saddle, bridle and blanket, returned to the corral gate, swung it open and entered. the gold dust maverick came to her, as if eager, herself, to get out into the night. a moment later carolyn june was in the saddle and the mare, dancing lightly, pranced out of the gate. she turned swiftly toward the grade that led out to the bench and to eagle butte. they had almost reached the foot of the grade, when some impulse caused carolyn june to whirl the filly about and gallop back past the barn and down the lane toward the cimarron. as the feet of the outlaw mare splashed into the water at the lower ford the ramblin' kid rode past the corner of the upland pasture fence and stopped captain jack on the brink of the ridge looking down at the crossing. below him the river whirled in dark eddies under the overhanging curtains of cottonwoods and willows; the quarter circle kt lay in the hollow of the valley, like a faint etching of silent restfulness; through the tops of the trees a white splash of moonlight struck on the smooth level surface of the treacherous quicksand bar that had drawn old blue down to an agonizing death and from which, scarcely a month ago, the ramblin' kid had dragged carolyn june. this, the ramblin' kid believed, was his last long look at the quarter circle kt. he would ride down to the circular corral, turn out the gold dust maverick--give her again to the range and freedom--and while the unconscious sleepers at the ranch dreamed he would pass on, silently, toward the south and mexico should throw about him her black arms of mystery! for a while he sat and gazed down on the shadowy scene while his mind throbbed with memory of the incidents of the last few weeks. he drew the pink satin garter from his pocket, looked at it a long moment--suddenly crushed it tightly in his hand while his eyes closed as if renouncing a vision that had come before them--then carefully, that the dainty thing might not be lost, replaced it in the pocket that was over his heart. at last he swung to the ground and tightened the front cinch of his saddle. as he pulled the leather into place the sound of nervous hoofs kicking the gravel on the grade that led to the ridge on which he stood shattered the silence around him. the ramblin' kid whirled and faced the direction in which the approaching horse, would appear. his hand dropped to his gun and without raising the weapon from his hip he leveled it to cover the turn in the road a few feet away. the waxy mane of the outlaw filly rocked into view as she sprang up and around the turn on to the ridge. on the maverick's back, bareheaded, her brown hair tumbled about her neck, was carolyn june. captain jack pricked forward his ears at the sound of hoofs and as the beautiful mare leaped around the turn and appeared above the bank of the grade the little roan squealed a nicker of recognition. the filly sprang forward, swerved to the side of the stallion, and with an answering whinny stopped. "oh!" carolyn june gasped, as the horses met and she saw the ramblin' kid, his gun still in his hand, standing beside captain jack. there was a brief, questioning silence. "what th' hell!" he breathed. "what the--'_hell_--yourself!" she laughed nervously. "is--this--is this a hold-up?" "what are _you_ doin' here--this time of night--an' on that filly?" he asked without heeding her question. "i'm riding that--this--filly!" carolyn june shot back independently. "and what are _you_ doing here--at this time of--oh," she added, before he could answer, "i--i--believe my saddle's slipping!" and she swung lightly from the back of the outlaw mare. "that filly'll kill you," he began. "she will not!" carolyn june interrupted with a pout. "i--i--guess you're not the only one, mister 'nighthawk,' that knows the way to the heart of a horse! if you were just as wise about--" but she stopped, her blush hidden as she turned her back to the rising moon. "they was made for each other!" the ramblin' kid muttered to himself. then he spoke aloud: "i reckon you know," he said slowly, "why i'm ridin' at night--about me killin' sabota--i'm leavin'--" "but sabota isn't dead," she interrupted again. "you don't need to go away!" "sabota ain't dead!" the ramblin' kid exclaimed. "then i'll go back to eagle butte instead of--mexico!" "why?" carolyn june asked. "to finish th' job!" and his voice was dangerously soft. "you can't finish it," she laughed. "he isn't in eagle butte! the greek has gone away and--well, it--it--was a good 'job'--good enough the way you did it! i--i--don't want you 'teetotally' to kill him--clear, all the way dead," she stammered. "the way it is you--you--won't have to--leave!" "what's th' difference?" he said dully. "it's time i was ramblin' anyhow!" "is it?" "yes." "listen, ramblin' kid," she broke in, "i--i--know all about everything--about what started the fight--" "you do?" looking quickly and keenly at her. "who told you?" "skinny," she answered; "he saw it. said it was a pale pink ribbon or something with a little silver 'do-funny' on it!" she finished with a laugh. "i--i--reckon you want it back, then?" the ramblin' kid said, reaching to his left breast. "you wouldn't want--" "did i say i wanted it?" carolyn june questioned naively. "and i know," she hurried on, "about you being drugged the day of the race! why didn't you say you were sick? we--we--thought you were drunk!" "nobody asked me," he answered without interest. "does everybody have to--to--ask you everything?" she questioned suggestively. "don't you ever--ever--'ask' anybody anything yourself?" "what are you tryin' to do?" he said almost brutally, "play with me like you played with them other blamed idiots th' night of th' dance?" "you're mean--" she started to say. "am i?" he interrupted, and spoke with sudden intenseness. "maybe you think i am. maybe you think a lot of things. maybe you think god put them brown eyes in your face just so you could coax men, with a look out of them, to love you an' then laugh because th' damned fools do it!" "you're unfair!" she replied. "i was just paying the boys back the night of the dance for--for--'framing' up on ophelia and me the way they did!" for a moment they looked squarely into each other's eyes. captain jack and the gold dust maverick nosed each other over the shoulders of their dismounted riders. "oh, well, it don't matter," the ramblin' kid finally said, wearily; "it don't matter, you're what you are an' i reckon you can't help it!" carolyn june said nothing. "i--i--was goin' to turn th' filly back to th' range," he continued in the same emotionless voice, "but--well, you can have her--i'll trade her to you for--for--th' thing that started th' fight. you can ride th' maverick till you go back east--" "i'm not going back east," she said in a hurt tone, "at least not for a long time. dad is going to--to--get me a stepmother! he's going to marry some female person and he doesn't need me so i'm going to live--most of the time--with uncle josiah and ophelia! anyhow i--i--like it out west--or that is--i did like it--" there was another little period of silence between them. "ramblin' kid," carolyn june spoke suddenly very softly, "ramblin' kid--why--why do you hate me?" "me hate you?" he answered slowly. "i don't hate _you_--i hate myself!" "yourself?" with a questioning lift of her voice. "yes, myself!" he replied with a short, bitter laugh. "why shouldn't i--bein' an 'ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!'" carolyn june flinched as he repeated the cruel words she herself had spoken, it seemed, now so long ago. "you are right!" she said, after a pause, while a ripple of quivering, mischievous laughter leaped from her lips and she laid her hand lightly on his arm. "oh, ramblin' kid, you are indeed an 'ign'rant, savage, stupid brute!' you are 'ign'rant,'" she continued while he looked at her with a puzzled expression in his eyes, "of the ways of a woman's heart; you are 'savage'--in the defense of a woman's honor; you are 'stupid'--not to see that it is the _man_ a woman wants and not the thin social veneer; you are a 'brute'--an utter brute, ramblin' kid-- to--to--make a girl almost tell you--tell you--that she--she--" the sentence was not finished. the ramblin' kid caught her by both shoulders. he pushed her back--arm's length--and held her while the clean moonlight poured down on her upturned face and his black eyes searched her own as though to read her very soul. an instant she was almost frightened by the agony that was in his face. then she opened her mouth and laughed--such a laugh as comes only from the throat of a woman when love is having its way! "by god!" he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion, his hot breath fanning the brown hair on her forehead; "this has gone far enough! i'll tell you what you want me to say--i'll say it! and it's the truth--i love you--love you--_love you_! yes!" and he shook her toward him. "do you hear me? i love you--love you--so much it hurts! now laugh! now make fun of me! i know i'm a fool. i know where i stand! i know i don't belong in your crowd--i ain't fit to mix with 'em! i ain't been raised like you was raised. you don't need to tell me that! i know it already! i know there's somethin' a man has to have besides what he gets on th' open range among th' cattle--an' th' bronchos--an' th' rattlesnakes--he's got to be ground in th' mill of schoolin'--of books; he's got to be hammered into shape under th' heels of 'civilization'; he's got to be trained to jump through and roll over an' know which fork to eat with before a girl like you--" his hands relaxed, but before his fingers loosened their grip on her shoulders carolyn june's own soft palms reached up and caught the man's sun-tanned cheeks between them. her eyes burned back into its own. once more the laugh rippled from the full pulsing throat. "ramblin' kid, oh, ramblin' kid," she murmured, while the long lashes lifted over brown pools tenderness, "a man--my man--does not need to be or to know all of those things, any of those things, before a girl like me--" he crushed her to him and stopped the words on her lips. "my god--don't fool me--be sure you know!" he cried, his whole body quivering with the intensity of his feelings; "don't tell me you love me--unless you mean it! i can stand to love you--without hope--in silence--alone! but i can't--an' i swear i wont, be lifted up to paradise just to be dropped again into the depths of hell! don't say you love me unless you know it is _all_ love! half love ain't love--it's a lie! an' love ain't to play with! don't insult god by makin' a joke of th' thing he made an' planted in th' hearts of all creation to hold th' universe together." "ramblin' kid," she whispered softly, "god himself is looking down into my heart!" he smothered her mouth with his own--they drank each other in, their souls mingled in a mad-sense-reeling, time-defying pressure of lips! it was their hour, as was the next and yet the one that followed that. when the old-rose of dawn melted the gray above the sand-hills behind them and the white moon was fading in the zenith above the kiowa; when the cottonwoods beside the cimarron began to shake their leaves in the morning breeze that tripped across the valley; when the low buildings of the quarter circle kt silhouetted against the bench beyond the meadows; when the smooth surface of the beach of quicksand under which the body of old blue was hidden began to look smoother yet and still more firm, the ramblin' kid and carolyn june parted. "i'm goin' away," he said; "i'm goin' away, carolyn june, but i'm goin' for another reason now. i'm goin' away an' make myself so you'll never have a chance to be ashamed of me! i'm goin' away an' learn how to talk without cussin' 'most every other word--i'm goin' away an' get that polish i know; women love in men th' same as they love their own shoes to be shiny an' their own dresses to be soft an' dainty! when i've got that i'll come back! i ain't goin' to mexico. i'm going to ride into that world that you come out of an' when i'm so you'll be proud to walk in that world with me--when i'm so you won't need to apologize for me in hartville or any other place, i'm comin' back an' a preacher can o.k. th' bargain you an' me have made! will you keep faith an' be true, carolyn june? will you keep faith an' be true--? will you be waitin'?" "i'll be waiting," she whispered, "--and keep faith and be true!" and he rode away into the face of the red glow rising above the sand-hills. he rode away--to meet the morning sun--hidden yet behind the eastern horizon--to conquer himself, to master the ways of men, in the world that lay beyond! carolyn june watched him go. then she guided the outlaw filly down the grade, across the cimarron and along the lane, in the gently stirring dawn, back to the still sleeping quarter circle kt. in her heart was a song; in her eyes a new light; in her soul a great peace--on her lips, a smile. she carried in her bosom their secret--hers and the ramblin' kid's--and she knew he would return, for he would not lie. the end in memory of the dead at galveston sept. th . the complete story of the galveston horror. written by the survivors. incidents of the awful tornado, flood and cyclone disaster; personal experiences of survivors; horrible looting of dead bodies and the robbing of empty homes; pestilence from so many decaying bodies unburied; barge captains compelled by armed men to tow dead bodies to sea; millions of dollars raised to aid the suffering survivors; president mckinley orders army rations and army tents issued to survivors and orders u. s. troops to protect the people and property; tales of the survivors from galveston; adrift all night on rafts; acts of valor; united states soldiers drowned; great heroism; great vandalism; great horror; a second johnstown flood, but worse: hundreds of men, women and children drowned; no way of escape, only death! death! everywhere! edited by john coulter, formerly of the n. y. herald. fully illustrated with photographs. united publishers of america. copyright, , by e. e. sprague. preface. in presenting to the people of this country and the world a chronicle of the frightful visitation of hurricane and flood upon the beautiful and enterprising city of galveston, which unparalleled calamity occurred on september , , the publishers wish to say that the utmost care has been taken to make the record of the catastrophe complete in every particular. no expense has been spared to obtain the facts; the illustrations contained in the work are from photographs taken by artists on the spot; the experiences of survivors were obtained from the victims themselves, their language being faithfully reported, while what they wrote is reproduced without a single change being made. the situation in the stricken city of galveston is portrayed day by day exactly as it existed, and is not the product of imaginings of writers who put down what the conditions should have been; the storm has been followed from its inception, just south of the island of san domingo, to galveston, through texas and then along its course until it disappeared in the broad atlantic off the eastern coast; the horrors of the gale, the cruel killing of thousands by the winds and waters, the wrecking of thousands of buildings and the drowning of helpless men, women and children, are all given in graphic and picturesque language. the fearful mutilation of the dead by the ghouls and vandals who afterward despoiled the corpses of their valuables and the swift vengeance which followed these unutterable crimes when the troops shot the vampires and harpies by the score, are told in the most vivid way; the disposal of the dead by casting their bodies into the sea, burying them hastily in the sands along the beach or cremating them by burning upon vast funeral pyres erected in the principal streets of the city are painted in the ghastly colors of truth; the wave of insanity which swept over the city and claimed hundreds who had escaped the perils of the deluge and the hurricane is set forth most graphically. what caused the mighty elemental disturbance, the possibilities of its recurrence and the danger which constantly hangs over other seacoast cities are given in detail; the pestilential conditions set up in galveston by the catastrophe, the panic-stricken people flying from the scene of death and desolation, the horrible spectacle of hundreds of dead bodies floating in galveston bay and the gulf of mexico, the generous response of the people of the united states to the appeal for help--these are pictured with minuteness. nothing is wanting to make this work reliable and correct; it contains a full list of the identified dead, which is a feature no other publication has been able to do; in short, it is the story, well and accurately told, of a disaster which has not its like since the world began. the publishers are confident this volume will meet the approval of the country. the publishers. table of contents. preface chapter i. west indian hurricane descends upon galveston, causing immense losses of life and property--catastrophe unparalleled in the history of the world--a night of horrors and suffering chapter ii. sad scenes in all parts of the ruined city--corpses everywhere-- a sombre, solemn sunday--people apathetic, dejected and heartbroken chapter iii. crowds of refugees at houston--fed and housed in tents--regular soldiers drowned--government property lost--fears for galveston's future chapter iv. thrilling experiences of people during the great storm-- eighty-five persons perish by being blown from a train-- adventures of survivors at galveston chapter v. relief sent from all parts of the world as soon as the true situation of affairs was made known--millions of dollars subscribed and thousands of carloads of supplies forwarded to the desolated city chapter vi. cremating bodies by the hundreds in the streets of galveston-- negroes faint while handling the decayed corpses--how some of those rescued escaped with their lives chapter vii. lives lost and property damage sustained outside of galveston-- one thousand victims and millions of value in crops swept away--estimates made chapter viii. business resumed at galveston in a small way on the sixth day after the catastrophe--"galveston shall rise again"--how the city looked on saturday, one week after the flood chapter ix. galveston nine days after--great changes apparent--life in a business exhibited--systematic efforts to obtain names of the dead chapter x. magnitude of the relief necessary--twenty thousand persons to be clothed and fed--system of relief organization--how the storm effected trade chapter xi. insanity follows frightful sufferings of the poor victims-- five hundred demented ones--indifferent to the loss of relatives chapter xii. serious danger from fire--scarcity of boats to carry people to the main land--laborers imported into galveston--untold sufferings on bolivar island--experience of a chicago man chapter xiii. two women tell how they were affected at galveston--one arrived after the catastrophe, while the other was in the storm from beginning to end chapter xiv. twenty thousand people fed every day at a cost of $ , -- incidents at the relief stations--applicants and their peculiarities--great mortality among the negroes chapter xv. total dead and missing at galveston and vicinity , --five million dollars in relief necessary to carry the survivors through the fall and winter to spring chapter xvi. galveston's inhabitants refuse to heed the lessons taught by their experiences--carelessness in failing to provide against the recurrence of catastrophes chapter xvii. galveston's storm flies over the united states and does great damage--many lives lost--it finally disappears in the atlantic ocean chapter xviii. the world not so heartless as supposed--people give generously to aid the suffering--a social phenomenon--value of the united states weather bureau chapter xix. galveston island directly in the path of storms, with no way of escape--what is the city's future?--all coast cities in danger--new york will be flooded--hurricane foretold-- galveston's settlement--storm will recur chapter xx. comparisons between the galveston and johnstown disasters--the latter not so horrible in its features--frightful plight of the texas victims chapter xxi. great calamities caused by flood and gale during past century-- millions of lives lost through the fury of the elements chapter xxii. overwhelming of johnston, pa., by the waters from conemaugh lake--one of the most peculiar happenings in history--actual number of deaths will never be known--about twenty-five hundred bodies found chapter xxiii. not more than half the bodies of victims identified--hundreds of corpses of the unknown and nameless cast into the sea-- others buried in the sand and cremated--list of identifications [illustration: the galveston storm raging] [illustration: sisters of mercy found tied to the little children whom they tried to save] [illustration: blown out into the gulf] [illustration: when the waters reached the orphan asylum] [illustration: a race with the wind and tide at galveston] [illustration: some were saved in the galveston disaster by floating on box cars] [illustration: vandals robbing the dead] [illustration: gathering the killed and injured after the storm] [illustration: drowning of galveston sufferers by the tidal wave] [illustration: death on the galveston shore after the storm] [illustration: the storm dealing death and destruction in its path] [illustration: fury of the storm and desperate predicament of residents] [illustration: at death's door in the galveston storm] [illustration: survivors, nearly starved, ransacking a grocery store for food] the galveston horror. chapter i. west indian hurricane descends upon galveston, causing immense losses of life and property--catastrophe unparalleled in the history of the world--a night of horrors and suffering. the frightful west indian hurricane which descended upon the beautiful, prosperous and progressive, but ill-fated, city of galveston, on saturday, september , , causing the loss of many thousands of lives and the destruction of millions of dollars' worth of property, and then ravaged central and western texas, killing several hundred people and inflicting damage which cost millions to repair, has had no parallel in history. when the gale approached the island upon which galveston it situated, it lashed the waves of the gulf of mexico into a tremendous fury, causing them to rise to all but mountain height, and then it was that, combining their forces, the wind and water pounced upon their prey. in the short space of four hours the entire site of the city was covered by angry waters, while the gale blew at the rate of one hundred miles an hour; business houses, public buildings, churches, residences, charitable institutions, and all other structures gave way before the pressure of the wind and the fierce onslaught of the raging flood, and those which did not crumble altogether were so injured, in the majority of cases, that they were torn down. such a night of horror as the unfortunate inhabitants were compelled to pass has fallen to the lot of few since the records of history were first opened. in the early evening, when the water first began to invade galveston island, the people residing along the beach and near it fled in fear from their homes and sought the highest points in the city as places of refuge, taking nothing but the smaller articles in their houses with them. on and on crawled the flood, until darkness had set in, and then, as though possessed of a fiendish vindictiveness, hastened its speed and poured over the surface of the town, completely submerging it--covering the most elevated ground to a depth of five feet and the lower portions ten and twelve feet. the hurricane was equally malignant, if not more fiendish and cruel, and tore great buildings and beautiful homes to pieces with evident delight, scattering the debris far and wide; telegraph and telephone lines were thrown down, railway tracks and bridges--the latter connecting the island and city with the mainland--torn up, and the mighty, tangled mass of wires, bricks, sections of roofs, sidewalks, fences and other things hurled into the main thoroughfares and cross streets, rendering it impossible for pedestrians to make their way along for many days after the waters and gale had subsided. forty thousand people--men, women and children--cowered in terror for eight long hours, the intense blackness of the night, the swishing and lapping of the waves, the demoniac howling and shrieking of the wind and the indescribable and awful crashing, tearing and rending as the houses, hundreds at a time, were wrecked and shattered, ever sounding in their ears. often, too, the friendly shelter where families had taken refuge would be swept away, plunging scores and scores of helpless ones into the mad current which flowed through every street of the town, and fathers and mothers were compelled to undergo the agony of seeing their children drown, with no possibility of rescue; husbands lost their wives and wives their husbands, and the elements were only merciful when they destroyed an entire family at once. all during that fearful night of saturday until the gray and gloomy dawn of sunday broke upon the sorrow-stricken city, the entire population of galveston stood face to face with grim death in its most horrible shapes; they could not hope for anything more than the vengeance of the hurricane, and as they realized that with every passing moment souls were being hurried into eternity, is it at all wonderful that, after the strain was over and all danger gone, reason should finally be unseated and men and women break into the unmeaning gayety of the maniac? not one inhabitant of galveston old enough to realize the situation had any idea other than that death was to be the fate of all before another day appeared, and when this long and weary suspense, to which was added the chill of the night and the growing pangs of hunger, was at last broken by the first gleams of the light of the sabbath morn, the latter was not entirely welcome, for the face of the sun was hidden by morose and ugly clouds, from which dripped, at dreary intervals, cold and gusty showers. thousands were swallowed up during the darkness and their bodies either mangled and mutilated by the wreckage which had been tossed everywhere, left to decompose in the slimy ooze deposited by the flood or forced to follow the waves in their sullen retirement to the waters of the gulf. dejection and despondency succeeded fright; the majority of the business men of the city had suffered such losses that they were overcome by apathy; nearly all the homes of the people were in ruins; the streets were impassable, and the dead lay thickly on every side; all telegraph and telephone wires were down, and as miles and miles of railroad track had disappeared and the bridges carried away, there was absolutely no means of communication with the outer world, except by boat. the strange spectacle was then presented of the richest city of its size in the richest country in the world lying prostrate, helpless and hopeless, a prey to ghouls, vultures, harpies, thieves, thugs and outlaws of every sort; its people starving, and the putrid bodies of its dead breeding pestilence. sketch of the city of galveston. the city of galveston is situated on the extreme east end of the island of galveston. it is six square miles in area, its present limits being the limits of the original corporation and the boundaries of the land purchased from the republic of texas by colonel menard in for the sum of $ , . colonel menard associated with himself several others, who formed a town site company with a capital of $ , , . the city of galveston was platted on april , , and seven days later the lots were put on the market. the streets of galveston are numbered from one to fifty-seven across the island from north to south, and the avenues are known by the letters of the alphabet, extending east and west lengthwise of the island. the founders of the city donated to the public every tenth block through the center of the city from east to west for public parks. they also gave three sites for public markets and set aside one entire block for a college, three blocks for a girls' seminary, and gave to every christian denomination a valuable site for a church. the growth of the city in population was slow until after the war of the rebellion. it is a remarkable fact that for the population galveston does double the amount of business of any city in america. the population in was , , showing an increase of over per cent in thirty years. at the time of the disaster the population was estimated at , . galveston has over two miles of completed wharfs along the bay front and others under construction, all of which are equipped with modern appliances. the galveston wharf company, which owns practically all the wharfage, has expended millions during the last five years for improvements in the way of elevators and facilities for handling grain and cotton. during the cotton season, sept. to march inclusive, large ocean-going craft line the wharves, often thirty or more steamers and as many large sailing vessels being accommodated at one time, besides the numerous smaller vessels and sailing craft doing a coastwise trade. manufacturing is one of the chief supports of the city. in this branch of industry galveston leads any city in the state of texas by per cent in number and more than per cent in capital employed and product turned out. of factories the city has , employing a capital aggregating $ , , , with an output of $ , , a year. the jetty construction forms one of the chief features of its commercial advantages. the construction began in , progressing slowly for five years, when the desire of the citizens for a first-class harbor led to the formation of a permanent committee, which succeeded in getting a bill through congress authorizing an expenditure of $ , , on the harbor. the bill provided that there should be two parallel stone jetties extending nearly six miles out into the gulf, one from the east point of galveston island, the other from the west point of bolivar peninsula. the jetties are fifty feet wide at the bottom and slope gradually to five feet above mean low tide, and are thirty-five feet wide at the top, with a railroad track running their entire length, which railroad is the property of the federal government. the immediate effect of early construction of the jetties was to remove the inner bar, which formerly had thirteen feet of water over it, and which now has over twenty-one feet of water. the principal business street of galveston is the strand, which is of made land feet from the water of the bay, in the extreme northern end of the city. besides being the principal port of texas, galveston is the financial center of the state, and some of the largest business houses in texas have their offices in the strand. among the business houses on this street are the following: sealy, hutchins & co., bankers; most modern banking building in texas; four-story structure, in which is also located the office of the mallory steamship line, and also the offices of congressman r. b. hawley, one of the republican leaders in the state. h. kempner, cotton broker; four-story brick building. first national bank, j. runge, president. mr. runge is also president of the cotton exchange, president of the galveston cotton mills, and president of the city railway company. w. l. moody & co., bankers and cotton factors; four-story brick. mr. moody is an intimate friend of w. j. bryan and periodically entertains him at lake surprise, a duck hunting ground fifteen miles inland from galveston; a famous hunting ground. general offices gulf, colorado and santa fe railway and the galveston, henderson and houston railway, which is the gulf terminus of the international and great northern railway. adoue & lobit, bankers; four-story brick. island city savings bank and gulf city trust company, m. lasker, president; four-story brick. texas loan and trust company and flint & rogers, cotton factors; four-story brick building. mensing bros., wholesale grocers; four-story brick. western union telegraph company and mexican cable company; four-story brick building. galveston dry goods company; four-story brick. hullman, owen & co., wholesale grocers; four-story brick building. wallace, landis & co., wholesale grocers; five-story brick. l. w. levy & co., wholesale liquor dealers; four-story brick. schneider bros., wholesale liquor dealers; four-story brick. beers, kennison & co., general insurance agents in texas for several large companies; four-story brick. concisely put and with no waste of words, the following facts comprise the history of the unfortunate city: . it is the richest city of its size in the united states. . is the largest and most extensively commercial city of texas. . is the gateway of an enormous trade, situated as it is between the great west granaries and europe. . lies two miles from the northeast corner of the island of galveston. . is a port of entry and the principal seaport of the state. . its harbor is the best, not only on the coast line of texas, but also on the entire gulf coast from the mouth of the mississippi to the rio grande. . is the nearest and most accessible first-class seaport for the states of texas, kansas, new mexico and colorado, the indian territory and the territory of arizona and parts of the states and territories adjoining those just mentioned. . is to-day the gulf terminus of most of the great railway systems entering texas. . ranks third among the cotton ports of the united states. . its port charges are as low as or lower than any other port in the united states. . is the only seaport on the gulf coast west of the mississippi into which a vessel drawing more than feet of water can enter. . has steamship lines to liverpool, new york, new orleans and the ports of texas as far as the mexican boundary. . has harbor area of feet depth and over , acres; of feet depth and over acres (the next largest harbor on the texas coast has only acres of feet depth of water). . has the lowest maximum temperature of any city in texas. . has the finest beach in america and is a famous summer and winter resort. . has public free school system unexcelled in the united states. . has never been visited by any epidemic disease since the yellow fever scourge of . . has forty miles of street railways in operation. . has electric lights throughout the city (plant owned by city). . it has millions invested in docks, warehouses, grain elevators, flouring mills, marine ways, manufactories and mercantile houses. the most promising town in the south. "galveston was the most promising town in the south, so far as shipping is concerned," said thomas b. bryan, the founder of north galveston, the day after the disaster occurred. "there has been persistent opposition to it on the part of a railroad that wished the transportation of cotton and other produce farther east, but finally the geographical position of galveston triumphed. even collis p. huntington, the railroad magnate, succumbed, and later he inaugurated improvements in galveston on the most colossal scale, involving an expenditure of many millions of dollars. one of the last announcements mr. huntington made before his death was that galveston would become the greatest shipping port in america if money could accomplish it. at the time i was in galveston, a few weeks ago, there was an army of workmen employed by the southern pacific railroad constructing great docks and wharves, which were to eclipse any on the globe. "some conception of galveston can be formed by supposing the business district of chicago--say from lake to twenty-second street--were to extend out into the lake on a pier for a distance of three miles and at a height above the water varying from three to seven, and possibly, in some places, nine feet. my own observation of galveston induced my taking hold of the nearest eligible elevated locality for residences, which is north galveston, sixteen miles from the city proper. it has an elevation above the water of fifteen to twenty feet more than galveston, and is free from inundation. no news has reached me from north galveston, and, though damage may have been done by wind, i am confident none can be done by water or waves." how the hurricane originated. storms which move with the velocity of that which swept galveston and which are common to the southern and southeastern coasts of the united states invariably originate, according to weather forecaster h. j. cox, of the united states weather bureau at chicago, in "the doldrums," or that region in the ocean where calms abound. in this particular instance the place was south of the west indies and north of the equator. the region of the doldrums varies in breadth from sixty to several hundred miles, and at different seasons shifts its extreme limits between degrees south and degrees north. it is always overhung by a belt of clouds which is gathered by opposing currents of the trade winds. "the storm which swept galveston and the surrounding country, i should say, originated at a considerable distance south of the west indies, in this belt of calms," said forecaster cox the monday night following the catastrophe. "it was caused by two strong currents meeting at an angle, and this caused the whirling motion which finally spent its force on the coast of texas. it is seldom that a storm originating in the doldrums moves so far inland as did this one, but it is not, however, unprecedented. the reason this storm reached so far as galveston was that the northwesterly wind moved about twice as fast as it usually does before reaching land. usually the force of these winds are spent on the coast of florida and sometimes they reach as far north as north carolina. when they strike the land at these points they are given a northeasterly direction. "this storm missed the eastern coast of the united states, and consequently was deflected to the west. thunderstorms are prevailing in kansas and all of the district just north of the course of the storm, which is the natural result after such commotion of the elements. the conditions of the land are such about galveston that when the storm reached that far it had no possible means of escape, and hence the dire results. if there had been a chance for the wind to move further west along the coast it would in all probability have passed galveston, giving the place no more than a severe shaking up. in this event the worst effect would in all probability have been felt on the eastern coast of mexico." it was an absolute impossibility for anyone to form an idea of the extent and magnitude of the disaster within a week of its occurrence. the morning of sunday, when the wind and the waves had subsided, the streets of the city were found clogged with debris of all sorts. the people of galveston could not realize for several days what had happened. four thousand houses had been entirely demolished and hardly a building in the city was fit for habitation. the people were apathetic; they wandered around the streets in an aimless sort of way, unable to do anything or make preparations to repair the great damage done. the monday following the catastrophe, galveston was practically in the hands of thieves, thugs, ghouls, vampires, and bandits, some of them women, who robbed the dead, mutilated the corpses which were lying everywhere, ransacked business houses and residences and created a reign of terror, which lasted until the officers in command of the force of regulars stationed at the beach barracks sent a company of men to patrol the streets. the governor of the state ordered out all the regiments of the national guard and various associations of business men also supplied men, who assisted the soldiers in doing patrol duty in the city and suburbs. the depredations of the lawless element were of an inconceivably brutal character. unprotected women, whether found upon the streets or in their houses, were subjected to outrage or assault and robbed of their clothing and jewelry. pedestrians were held up on the public thoroughfare in broad daylight and compelled to give up all valuables in their possession. the bodies of the dead were despoiled of everything and in their haste to secure valuables the ghouls would mutilate the corpses, cutting off fingers to obtain the rings thereon and amputating the ears of the women to get the earrings worn therein. the majority of the thieves and vampires belonged in the city of galveston and were reinforced by desperadoes from outside towns, like houston, austin, and new orleans, who took advantage of the rush to the city immediately after the disaster, obtaining free transportation on the railroad and steamers upon a pretense that they were going to galveston for the purpose of working with relief parties and the gangs assigned for burial of the dead. their outrages became so flagrant and the people of the city became so terrified in consequence of their depredations that the city authorities unable to cope with them, most of the officers of the police department having been victims of the flood, that an appeal was made to the governor to send state troops and procure the preservation of order. captain rafferty, commanding battery o of the first regiment of artillery, u. s. a., was also implored to lend his aid in putting down the lawless bands, and he accordingly sent all the men in his command who had not met death in the gale. there was some delay in getting the state troops to galveston because so many miles of railroad had been washed away, the adjutant general being compelled to notify some companies of militia by courier, but captain rafferty ordered his men on duty at once, with instructions to promptly shoot all persons found despoiling the dead. most of the vampires were negroes, some of them, however, being white women, the latter being as savage and merciless in their treatment of the dead as the most abandoned of their male companions. the regulars were put on duty on tuesday night and before morning had shot several of the thugs, who were executed on the spot when found in the act of robbery. in every instance the pockets of the harpies slain by the united states troops were found filled with jewelry and other valuables, and in some cases, notably that of one negro, fingers were found in their possession which had been cut from the hands of the dead, the vampires being in such a hurry that they could not wait to tear the rings off. on wednesday evening the government troops came across a gang of fifty desperadoes, who were despoiling the bodies of the dead found enmeshed in the debris of a large apartment house. with commendable promptness the regulars put the ghouls under arrest and finding the proceeds of their robberies in their possession lined them up against a brick wall and without ceremony shot every one of them. in cases where the villains were not killed at the first fire, the sergeant administered coup de grace. many of the thugs begged piteously for mercy, but no attention was paid to their feelings and they suffered the same stern fate as the rest. when the state troops arrived in the city they took the same severe measures and the result was that within forty-eight hours the city was as safe as it had ever been. the police arrested every suspicious character and the jail and cells at the police station were filled to overflowing. these people were deported as soon as possible and notified that if they returned they would be shot without warning. the temper of the citizens of galveston was such that they would not temporize in any case with those who were neither criminals or inclined to work. every able-bodied man in town was impressed for duty in relief and burial parties and whenever an individual refused to do the work required he was promptly shot. by thursday morning all the men required had been obtained and relief and burial parties were filled to the quota deemed necessary and the work of disposing of the bodies of the dead, administering to the wants of the wounded and the clearing of the streets of the debris was proceeding satisfactorily. the dead lay in the streets and vacant places in hundreds and the heat of the sun began to have its natural effect. decomposition set in and the stench became unbearable. at first an effort was made to identify the corpses, but it was soon found that work could not be proceeded with, as any delay imperilled the living. fears entertained in regard to pestilence were speedily verified and the people of the city were taken ill by scores. it was difficult to obtain men to perform the duty of burying the bloated corpses of the victims of the catastrophe and consequently the city authorities ordered that the dead be loaded on barges, taken a few miles out to sea, weighted and thrown into the water. the ground had become so watersoaked that it was impossible to dig graves or trenches for the reception of the bodies, although in many instances people buried relatives and friends in their yards and the ground surrounding their residence. along the beach hundreds of corpses were buried in the sand, but the majority of the burials were at sea. by wednesday night , bodies had been cast into the water, while about had been interred within the city limits. precautions were taken, however, to mark the graves and when the ground had dried sufficiently the bodies were disinterred and taken to the various cemeteries where, after burial, suitable memorials were erected to mark their last resting place. no attempts were made at identification after wednesday, lists being simply made of the number of victims. the graves of those buried in the sand were marked by headboards with the inscriptions, "white man, aged forty;" "white woman, aged twenty-five," and "male" or "female" child, as the case might be. so accustomed did the burial parties become to the handling of the dead that they treated the bodies as though they were merely carcasses of animals and not bodies of human beings and they were dumped into the trenches prepared for their reception without ceremony of any kind. the excavations were then filled up as hurriedly as possible, the sand being packed down tightly. this might have seemed inhuman, unfeeling, and brutal, but the exigencies of the situation demanded that the corpses be put out of the way as speedily as possible. great difficulty was experienced in securing men to transport bodies to the wharves where the barges lay, and it was practically an impossibility to get anyone to touch the bodies of the negro victims, decomposition having set in earlier than in the cases of the whites, and had it not been that the members of the fire department volunteered their services the remains of the negroes would have remained unburied for a longer time than they were. finally, however, patience ceased to be a virtue and orders were given the guards to shoot any man who refused to do his duty under the circumstances. the result of this was that the beginning of wednesday there was less delay in the matter of disposing of the dead. however, in spite of the activity of the burial parties, the work of clearing the streets of corpses was a most tedious one. forecast official's report on the storm. the forecast official of the united states weather bureau at galveston made the following report, september , on the storm: "the local office of the united states weather bureau received the first message in regard to this storm at p. m., september . it was then moving northward over cuba. each day thereafter until the west india hurricane struck galveston bulletins were posted by the united states weather bureau officials giving the progressive movements of the disturbance. "september the tropical storm had moved up over southern florida, thence it changed its course and moved westward in the gulf and was central off the louisiana coast the morning of the th, when northwest storm warnings were ordered up for galveston. the morning of the th the storm had increased in energy and was still moving westward, and at : a. m. the northwest storm warnings were changed to northeast. then was when the entire island was in apparent danger. the telephone at the united states weather bureau office was busy until the wires went down; many could not get the use of the telephone on account of the line being busy. people came to the office in droves inquiring about the weather. about the same time the following information was given to all alike: "'the tropical storm is now in the gulf, south or southwest of us; the winds will shift to the northeast-east and probably to the southeast by morning, increasing in energy. if you reside in low parts of the city, move to higher grounds.'" "prepare for the worst, which is yet to come," were the only consoling words of the weather bureau officials at galveston from morning until night of the th, when no information further could be given out. the local forecast official and one observer stayed at the office throughout the entire storm, although the building was wrecked. the forecast official and one observer were out taking tide observations about a. m., september . another observer left after he had sent the last telegram which could be gotten off, it being filed at houston over the telephone wires about p. m. of the th. over half the city was covered with tide water by p. m. one of the observers left for home at about p. m., after he had done all he could, as telephone wires were then going down. the entire city was then covered with water from one to five feet deep. on his way home he saw hundreds of people and he informed all he could that the worst was still to come, and people who could not hear his voice on account of the distance he motioned them to go downtown. the lowest barometer by observation was . inches at : p. m., september , but the barometer went slightly lower than this, according to the barograph. the tide at about p. m. stood from six to fifteen feet deep throughout the city, with the wind blowing slightly over a hundred miles an hour. the highest wind velocity by the anemometer was ninety-six miles from the northeast at : p. m., and the extreme velocity was a hundred miles an hour at about that time. the anemometer blew down at this time and the wind was still higher later, when it shifted to the east and southeast, when the observer estimated that it blew a gale of between and miles. there was an apparent tidal wave of from four to six feet about p. m., when the wind shifted to the east and southeast, that carried off many houses which had stood the tide up to that time. the observer believed from the records he managed to save that the hurricane moved inland near galveston, going up the brazos valley. the warnings of the united states weather bureau were the means of thousands of lives being saved through the hurricane. it was so severe, however, that it was impossible to prepare for such destruction. the observer of the united states weather bureau at galveston, to relieve apprehension, stated on september that the barometer had gone up to about the normal, and there were no indications of another storm following. chapter ii. sad scenes in all parts of the ruined city--corpses everywhere--a sombre, solemn sunday--people apathetic, dejected and heartbroken. the surviving people of galveston did not awaken from sleep on sunday morning, for they had not slept the night before. for many weary hours they had stood face to face with death, and knew that thousands had yielded up their lives and that millions of dollars worth of property had been destroyed. there was not a building in galveston which was not either entirely destroyed or damaged, and the people of the city lived in the valley of the shadow of death, helpless and hopeless, deprived of all hope and ambition--merely waiting for the appearance of the official death roll. confusion and chaos reigned everywhere; death and desolation were on all sides; wreck and ruin were the only things visible wherever the eye might rest; and with business entirely suspended and no other occupation than the search for and burial of the dead it was strange that the thoroughfares and residence streets were not filled with insane victims of the hurricane's frightful visit. for days the people of galveston knew there was danger ahead; they were warned repeatedly, but they laughed at all fears, business went on as usual, and when the blow came it found the city unprepared and without safeguards. owing to the stupefaction following the awful catastrophe, the people were in no condition, either physical or mental, to provide for themselves, and therefore depended upon the outside world for food and clothing. the inhabitants of galveston needed immediate relief, but how they were to get it was a mystery, for galveston was not yet in touch with the outside world by rail or sea. the city was sorely stricken, and appealed to the country at large to send food, clothing and water. the waterworks were in ruins and the cisterns all blown away, so that the lack of water was one of the most serious of the troubles. never did a storm work more cruelly. all the electric light and telegraph poles were prostrated and the streets were littered with timbers, slate, glass and every conceivable character of debris. there was hardly a habitable house in the entire city, and nearly every business house was either wrecked entirely or badly damaged. on monday there were deaths from hunger and exposure, and the list swelled rapidly. people were living as best they could--in the ruins of their homes, in hotels, in schoolhouses, in railway stations, in churches, in the streets by the side of their beloved dead. so great was the desolation one could not imagine a more sorrowful place. street cars were not running; no trains could reach the town; only sad-eyed men and women walked about the streets; the dead and wounded monopolized the attention of those capable of doing anything whatever, and the city was at the mercy of thieves and ruffians. all the fine churches were in ruins. from tremont to p street, thence to the beach, not a vestige of a residence was to be seen. in the business section of the city the water was from three to ten feet deep in stores, and stocks of all kinds, including foodstuffs, were total losses. it was a common spectacle--that of inhabitants of the fated city wandering around in a forsaken and forlorn way, indifferent to everything around them and paying no attention to inquiries of friends and relatives. god forbid that such scenes are enacted again in this country. it was thought the vengeance of the fates had been visited in its most appalling shape upon the place which had unwittingly incurred its wrath. it was fortunate after all, however, that those compelled to endure such trials were temporarily deprived of their understanding; were so stunned that they could not appreciate the enormity of the punishment. the first loss of life reported was at rietter's saloon, in the strand, where three of the most prominent citizens of the town--stanley g. spencer, charles kellner and richard lord--lost their lives and many others were maimed and imprisoned. these three were sitting at a table on the first floor saturday night, making light of the danger, when the roof suddenly caved in and came down with a crash, killing them. those in the lower part of the building escaped with their lives in a miraculous manner, as the falling roof and flooring caught on the bar, enabling the people standing near it to crawl under the debris. it required several hours of hard work to get them out. the negro waiter who was sent for a doctor was drowned at strand and twenty-first streets, his body being found a short time afterward. fully people were congregated at the city hall, most of them more or less injured in various ways. one man from lucas terrace reported the loss of fifty lives in the building from which he escaped. he himself was severely injured about the head. passing along tremont street, out as far as avenue p, climbing over the piles of lumber which had once been residences, four bodies were observed in one yard and seven in one room in another place, while as many as sixty corpses were seen lying singly and in groups in the space of one block. a majority of the drowned, however, were under the ruined houses. the body of miss sarah summers was found near her home, corner of tremont street and avenue f, her lips smiling, but her features set in death, her hands grasping her diamonds tightly. the remains of her sister, mrs. claude fordtran, were never found. the report from st. mary's infirmary showed that only eight persons escaped from that hospital. the number of patients and nurses was one hundred. rosenberg schoolhouse, chosen as a place of refuge by the people of that locality, collapsed. few of those who had taken refuge there escaped--how many cannot be told, and will never be known. never before had the sabbath sun risen upon such a sight, and as though unable to endure it, the god of the day soon veiled his face behind dull and leaden clouds, and refused to shine. surely it was enough to draw tears even from inanimate things. at the union depot baggagemaster harding picked up the lifeless form of a baby girl within a few feet of the station. its parents were among the lost. the station building was selected as a place of refuge by hundreds of people, and although all the windows and a portion of the south wall at the top were blown in, and the occupants expected every moment to be their last, escape was impossible, for about the building the water was fully twelve feet deep. a couple of small shanties were floating about, but there was no means of making a raft or getting a boat. every available building in the city was used as a hospital. as for the dead, they were being put away anywhere. in one large grocery store on tremont street all the space that could be cleared was occupied by the wounded. it was nothing strange to see the dead and crippled everywhere, and the living were so fascinated by the dead they could hardly be dragged away from the spots where the corpses were piled. there were dead by the score, by the hundreds and by the thousands. it was a city of the dead; a vast battlefield, the slain being victims of flood and gale. the dead were at rest, but the living had to suffer, for no aid was at hand. in the business portion of the town the damage could not be even approximately estimated. the wholesale houses along the strand had about seven feet of water on their ground floors, and all window panes and glass protectors of all kinds were demolished. on mechanic street the water was almost as deep as on the strand. all provisions in the wholesale groceries and goods on the lower floors were saturated and rendered valueless. in clearing away the ruins of the catholic orphans' home heartrending evidence of the heroism and love of the sisters was discovered. bodies of the little folks were found which indicated by their position that heroic measures were taken to keep them together so that all might be saved. the sisters had tied them together in bunches of eight and then tied the cords around their own waists. in this way they probably hoped to quiet the children's fears and lead them to safety. the storm struck the home with such terrific force that the structure fell, carrying the inmates with it and burying them under tons of debris. two crowds of children, tied and attached to sisters, have been found. in one heap the children were piled on the sisters, and the arms of one little girl were clasped around a sister's neck. in the wreck of the home over ninety children and sisters were killed. it was first believed that they had been washed out to sea, but the discovery of the little groups in the ruins indicates that all were killed and buried under the wreckage. sunday and monday were days of the greatest suffering, although the population had hardly sufficiently recovered from the shock of the mighty calamity to realize that they were hungry and cold. on monday all relief trains sent from other cities toward galveston were forced to turn back, the tracks being washed away. on tuesday mayor jones of galveston sent out the following appeal to the country: "it is my opinion, based on personal information, that , people have lost their lives here. approximately one-third of the residence portion of the city has been swept away. there are several thousand people who are homeless and destitute--how many there is no way of finding out. arrangements are now being made to have the women and children sent to houston and other places, but the means of transportation are limited. thousands are still to be cared for here. we appeal to you for immediate aid. "walter j. jones, "mayor of galveston." some relief had been sent in, the railroad to texas city, six miles away, having been repaired, boats taking the supplies from that point into galveston. food and women's clothing were the things most needed just then. while the men could get along with the clothes they had on and what they had secured since sunday, the women suffered considerably, and there was much sickness among them in consequence. it was noticeable, however, that the women of the city had, by their example, been instrumental in reviving the drooping spirits of the men. there was a better feeling prevalent tuesday among the inhabitants, as news had been received that within a few days the acute distress would be over, except in the matter of shelter. every house standing was damp and unhealthy, and some of the wounded were not getting along as well as hoped. many of the injured had been sent out of town to texas city, houston and other places, but hundreds still remained. it would have endangered their lives to move them. tuesday night ninety negro looters were shot in their tracks by citizen guards. one of them was searched and $ found, together with four diamond rings and two water-soaked gold watches. the finger of a white woman with a gold band around it was clutched in his hands. in the afternoon, at the suggestion of colonel hawley, a mounted squad of nineteen men, under adjutant brokridge, was detailed by major faylings to search a house where negro looters were known to have secreted plunder. "shoot them in their tracks, boys! we want no prisoners," said the major. the plunderers changed their location before the arrival of the detachment, however, and the raiders came back empty-handed. twenty cases of looting were reported between and in the evening. at o'clock a report reached major faylings that twenty negroes were robbing a house at nineteenth and beach streets. "plant them," commanded the young major, as a half dozen citizen soldiers, led by a corporal, mustered before him for orders. "i want every one of those twenty negroes, dead or alive," said the major. the squad left on the double quick. half an hour later they reported ten of the plunderers killed. the following order was posted on the streets at noon of tuesday: "to the public: the city of galveston being under martial law, and all good citizens being now enrolled in some branch of the public service, it becomes necessary, to preserve the peace, that all arms in this city be placed in the hands of the military. all good citizens are forbidden to carry arms, except by written permission from the mayor or chief of police or the major commanding. all good citizens are hereby commanded to deliver all arms and ammunition to the city and take major faylings' receipt. "walter c. jones, mayor." what a relief party saw sunday morning. starting as soon as the water began to recede sunday morning, a relief party began the work of rescuing the wounded and dying from the ruins of their homes. the scenes presented were almost beyond description. screaming women, bruised and bleeding, some of them bearing the lifeless forms of children in their arms; men, broken-hearted and sobbing, bewailing the loss of their wives and children; streets filled with floating rubbish, among which there were many bodies of the victims of the storm, constituted part of the awful picture. in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, the scene of desolation and destruction continued. it was certainly enough to cause the stoutest heart to quail and grow sick, and yet the searchers well knew they could not unveil one-hundredth part of the misery the destructive elements had brought about. they knew, also, that the full import and heaviness of the blow could not be realized for days to come. although those in the relief party were prepared to see the natural evidences following upon the heels of the mighty storm, they did not anticipate such frightful revelations. it was a butchery, without precedent; a gathering of victims that was so ghastly as to be beyond the power of any man to picture. as the party went on the members met others who made reports of things that had come under their notice. there were fifty killed or drowned in one section of town; one hundred in another; five hundred in another. the list grew larger with each report. it was a matter of wonder, and increasing wonder too, that a single soul escaped to tell the tale. no one seemed entirely sane, for there was madness in the very air. all moved in an atmosphere of gloom; it was difficult to move and breathe with so much death on all sides. yet no one could keep his eyes off of those horrible, fascinating corpses. they riveted the gaze. life and death were often so closely intermingled they could not be told apart. it was the apotheosis of the frightful. those who had escaped the hurricane and flood were searching for missing dear ones in such a listless way as to irresistibly convey the idea that they did not care whether they found them or not. it was the languor of hopelessness and despair. some of those who had lost their all were even merry, but it was the glee of insanity. as sunday morning dawned the streets were lined with people, half-clad, crippled in every conceivable manner, hobbling as best they could to where they could receive attention of physicians for themselves and summon aid for friends and relatives who could not move. police officer john bowie, who had recently been awarded a prize as the most popular officer in the city, was in a pitiable condition; the toes on both of his feet were broken, two ribs caved in, and his head badly bruised, but his own condition, he said, was nothing. "my house, with wife and children, is in the gulf. i have not a thing on earth for which to live." the houses of all prominent citizens which escaped destruction were turned into hospitals, as were also the leading hotels. there was scarcely one of the houses left standing which did not contain one or more of the dead as well as many injured. the rain began to pour down in torrents and the party went back down tremont street toward the city. the misery of the poor people, all mangled and hurt, pressing to the city for medical attention, was greatly augmented by this rain. stopping at a small grocery store to avoid the rain, the party found it packed with injured. the provisions in the store had been ruined and there was nothing for the numerous customers who came hungry and tired. the place was a hospital, no longer a store. further down the street a restaurant, which had been submerged by water, was serving out soggy crackers and cheese to the hungry crowd. that was all that was left. the food was soaked full of water, and the people who were fortunate enough to get those sandwiches were hungry and made no complaint. it was hard to determine what section of the city suffered the greatest damage and loss of life. information from both the extreme eastern and extreme western portions of the city was difficult to obtain at that time. in fact, it was nearly impossible, but the reports received indicated that those two sections had suffered the same fate as the rest of the city and to a greater degree. thus the relief party wended its way through streets which, but a few hours before, were teeming with life. now they were the thoroughfares of death. it did not seem as if they could ever resound to the throb of quickened vitality again. it seemed as though it would take years to even remove the wreckage. as to rebuilding, it appeared as the work of ages. annihilation was everywhere. galveston people refused to heed the warning--disaster was predicted. as marked out on the charts of the united states weather bureau at washington the storm which struck galveston had a peculiar course. it was first definitely located south by east of san domingo, and the last day of august the center of the disturbance was approximately at a point fixed at degrees north latitude and degrees west longitude. from there it made a course almost due northeast, passing through kingston, jamaica, and if it had continued on this same line it would have struck galveston just the same, but somewhat earlier than it did. the storm apparently was headed for galveston all the time, but on tuesday of last week, when almost due south of cienfuegos, cuba, it changed its course so as to go almost due north, across the island of cuba, through the toe of the florida peninsula, and up the coast to the vicinity of tampa. here the storm made another sharp turn to the westward and headed again almost straight for galveston. it was this sharp turn to the westward which could not be anticipated, so the weather bureau sent out its hurricane signals both for the atlantic and the gulf coast, well understanding that the prediction as to one of these coasts would certainly fail. as soon as the storm turned westward from below tampa the weather bureau knew the atlantic coast was safe, and turned its attention toward the gulf. the people of galveston had abundant warning of the coming of the hurricane, but, of course, could not anticipate the destructive energy it would gain on the way across the gulf of mexico. the weather bureau was informed that the first sign of the disturbance was noticed on aug. near the windward islands. on aug. it still was in the same neighborhood. the storm did not develop any hurricane features during its slow passage through the caribbean sea and across cuba, but was accompanied by tremendous rains. during the first twelve hours of sept. , in santiago, cuba, . inches rain fell and . inches fell in the next twelve. on sept. the rainfall during twelve hours in santiago was . inches, or a total fall in thirty-six hours of . inches. there were some high winds in cuba the night of sept. . by the morning of the th the storm center was a short distance northwest of key west, fla., and the high winds had commenced over southern florida, forty-eight miles an hour from the east being reported from jupiter and forty miles from the northeast from key west. during the th barometric conditions over the eastern portion of the united states so far changed as to prevent the movement of the storm along the atlantic coast, and it, therefore, continued northwest over the gulf of mexico. on the morning of the th it apparently was central south of the louisiana coast, about longitude , latitude . at this time storm signals were ordered up on the north texas coast, and during the day were extended along the entire coast. on the morning of the th the storm was nearing the texas coast and was apparently central at about latitude , longitude . galveston's disastrous storm was predicted with startling accuracy by the weather prophet, prof. andrew jackson devoe. in the "ladies' birthday almanac," issued from chattanooga, tenn., in january, , prof. devoe forecasts the weather for the following month of september as follows: "this will be a hot dry month over the northern states, but plenty of rain over the atlantic coast states. first and second days hot and sultry. third and fourth heavy storms over the extreme northwestern states, causing thunderstorms over the missouri valley and showery, rainy weather over the whole country from th to th. "on the th a great cyclone will form over the gulf of mexico and move up the atlantic coast, causing very heavy rains from florida to maine from th to th." chapter iii. crowds of refugees at houston--fed and housed in tents--regular soldiers drowned--government property lost--fears for galveston's future. houston was the great rendezvous for supplies sent to galveston, and they poured in there by the carload, beginning with tuesday. the response to the appeal for aid by the people of galveston, on the part of the united states, and, in fact, every country in the world, was prompt and generous. that relief was an absolute necessity was made apparent from the appearance of the refugees who began to flock into houston as soon as the boats began to run to galveston after the catastrophe. in addition to these, thousands of strangers arrived also, and the houston authorities were at a loss as to what to do with them. some of these visitors were from points far distant, who had relatives in the storm-stricken district, and had come to learn the worst regarding them; others there were who had come to volunteer their services in the relief work, but the greatest number consisted of curious sight-seers, almost frantic in their efforts to get to the stricken city and feed their eyes on the sickening, repulsive and disease-breeding scenes. in addition there were hundreds of the sufferers themselves, who had been brought out of their misery to be cared for here. the question of caring for these crowds came up at a mass meeting of the houston general relief committee held monday. every incoming train brought scores more of people, and immediate action was necessary. it was decided finally to pitch tents in emancipation park, and there as many of the strangers as possible were cared for. the hotels could not accommodate one-tenth of them. first attention, naturally, was given the survivors of the storm. mayor brashear sent word to mayor jones of galveston that all persons, no matter who they were, rich or poor, ill or well, should be sent to houston as soon as possible. they would be well provided for, he said. the urgency of his message for the depopulation of galveston, he explained, was that until sanitation could be restored in the wrecked city everybody possible should be sent away. it was estimated that nearly , of the unfortunate survivors were sent to houston on tuesday from galveston in response to mayor brashear's request. every building in houston at all habitable was opened to them, and all the seriously ill comfortably housed. the others were made as comfortable as possible, but it was not only food and clothing that was wanted; the only relief some of them sought could not be furnished. they were grieving for lost ones left behind--fathers, mothers, sisters, wives and children. nearly everybody had some relative missing, but few of them were certain whether they were dead or alive. all, however, were satisfied that they were dead. men, bareheaded and barefooted, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes; women and children with tattered clothing and bruised arms and faces, and mere infants with bare feet bruised and swollen, were among the crowds seen on the streets of houston. women of wealth and refinement, with hatless heads and gowns of rich material torn into shreds, were among the refugees. at times a man and his wife, and sometimes with one or two children, could be seen together, but such sights were infrequent, for nearly all who went to houston had suffered the loss of one or more of their loved ones. but with all this suffering there was a marvelous amount of heroism shown. a week before most of these people had happy homes and their families were around them. the tuesday following the disaster they were homeless, penniless and with nothing to look forward to. yet there was scarcely any whimpering or complaining. they walked about the streets as if in a trance; they accepted the assistance offered them with heartfelt thanks, and apparently were greatly relieved at being away from the scenes of sorrow and woe at home. they were all made to feel at home in houston, that they were welcome and that everything in the power of the people of houston would be done for their comfort and welfare, and yet they seemed not to understand half that was said to them. john j. moody, a member of the committee sent from houston to take charge of the relief station at texas city, reported to the mayor of houston on tuesday as follows: "to the mayor--sir: on arriving at lamarque this morning i was informed that the largest number of bodies was along the coast of texas city. fifty-six were buried yesterday and to-day within less than two miles, extending opposite this place and toward virginia city. it is yet six miles farther to virginia city, and the bodies are thicker where we are now than where they have been buried. a citizen inspecting in the opposite direction reports dead bodies thick for twenty miles. "the residents of this place have lost all--not a habitable building left, and they have been too busy disposing of the dead to look after personal affairs. those who have anything left are giving it to the others, and yet there is real suffering. i have given away nearly all the bread i brought for our own use to hungry children. "a number of helpless women and beggared children were landed here from galveston this afternoon and no place to go and not a bite to eat. to-morrow others are expected from the same place. every ten feet along the wreck-lined coast tells of acts of vandalism; not a trunk, valise or tool chest but what has been rifled. we buried a woman this afternoon whose finger bore the mark of a recently removed ring." the united states government furnished several thousand tents for the houston camp, which was under the supervision of the united states marine hospital authorities. twenty-eight regulars drowned. general mckibbin, who was sent to galveston by the war department to investigate the conditions prevailing there, made the following official report on wednesday, september : "houston, texas, september , .--adjutant-general, washington.--arrived at galveston at p. m., having been ferried across bay in a yawl boat. it is impossible to adequately describe the condition existing. the storm began about a. m. saturday and continued with constantly increasing violence until after midnight. the island was inundated; the height of the tide was from eleven to thirteen feet. the wind was a cyclone. with few exceptions, every building in the city is injured. hundreds are entirely destroyed. "all the fortifications except the rapid-fire battery at san jacinto are practically destroyed. at san jacinto every building except the quarantine station has been swept away. battery o, first artillery, united states army, lost twenty-eight men. the officers and their families were all saved. three members of the hospital corps lost. names will be sent as soon as possible. loss of life on the island is possibly more than , . all bridges are gone, waterworks destroyed and all telegraph lines are down. "colonel roberts was in the city and made every effort to get telegrams through. city under control of committee of citizens and perfectly quiet. "every article of equipment or property pertaining to battery o was lost. not a record of any kind is left. the men saved had nothing but the clothing on their persons. nearly all are without shoes or clothing other than their shirts and trousers. clothing necessary has been purchased and temporary arrangements made for food and shelter. there are probably , citizens homeless and absolutely destitute, who must be clothed, sheltered and fed. have ordered , rations and tents for , people from sam houston. have wired commissary-general to ship , rations by express. lieutenant perry will make his way back to houston and send this telegram. "mckibbin." condition of the government works. captain charles s. riche, u. s. a., corps of engineers, when seen after he had completed a tour of inspection of the government works around galveston, made the following statement: "the jetties are sunk nearly to mean low tide level, but not seriously breached. the channel is as good as before, perhaps better, twenty-five feet certainly. "fort crockett, fifteen-pounder implacements, concrete all right, standing on filling; water underneath. battery for eight mortars about like preceding, and mortars and carriages on hand unmounted and in good shape. shore line at fort crockett has moved back about feet. at fort san jacinto the battery for eight twelve-inch mortars is badly wrecked, and magazines reported fallen in. the mortars are reported safe. no piling was under this battery. some of the sand parapet is left. the battery for two ten-inch guns badly wrecked. both gun platforms are down and guns leaning. the battery for two . -inch rapid-fire guns, concrete standing upon piling, both guns apparently all right. the battery for two fifteen-pounder guns, concrete apparently all right, standing on piling. "fort travis, bolivar point--battery for three fifteen-pounder guns, concrete intact, standing on piling. east gun down. western gun probably all right. the shore line has moved back about , feet on the line of the rear of these batteries." under the engineers' corps are the fortifications, built at a considerable expense; also the harbor improvements, upon which more than $ , , had been expended. feared the city was beyond repair. "i fear galveston is destroyed beyond its ability to recover," is the manner in which quartermaster baxter concluded his report, made september , to the war department at washington. he recommended the continuance of his office only long enough to recover the office safes and close up accounts, and declared all government works were wrecked so restoration was impossible. this gloomy prophecy for the city's future was reflected in an official report to governor sayers, of texas, by ex-state treasurer wortham, who spent a day at galveston, investigating the situation. his statement claimed that per cent of the city was demolished and gives little hope for rebuilding. mr. wortham, who acted as aid to adjutant-general scurry, texas national guard, during the inquiry, said in his report: "the situation at galveston beggars description. i am convinced that the city is practically wrecked for all time to come. "fully per cent of the business of the town is irreparably wrecked, and the same per cent of damage is to be found in the residence district. along the wharf front great ocean steamers have bodily bumped themselves on the big piers and lie there, great masses of iron and wood, that even fire cannot totally destroy. the great warehouses along the water front are smashed in on one side, unroofed and gutted throughout their length, their contents either piled in heaps on the wharves or along the streets. small tugs and sailboats have jammed themselves half into the buildings, where they were landed by the incoming waves, and left by the receding waters. houses are packed and jammed in great confusing masses in all of the streets. "great piles of human bodies, dead animals, rotting vegetation, household furniture, and fragments of the houses themselves are piled in confused heaps right in the main streets of the city. along the gulf front human bodies are floating around like cordwood. intermingled with them are to be found the carcasses of horses, chickens, dogs, and rotting vegetable matter. above all arises the foulest stench that ever emanated from any cesspool, absolutely sickening in its intensity and most dangerous to health in its effects. "along the strand adjacent to the gulf front, where are located all the big wholesale warehouses and stores, the situation is even worse. great stores of fresh vegetation have been invaded by the incoming waters, and are now turned into garbage piles of most befouling odors. the gulf waters while on the land played at will with everything, smashing in doors of stores, depositing bodies of humans where they pleased, and then receded, leaving the wreckage to tell its own tale of how the work had been done. as a result, the great warehouses are tombs, wherein are to be found the dead bodies of human beings and carcasses, almost defying the efforts of relief parties. "in the pile of debris along the street, in the water, and scattered throughout the residence portion of the city, are to be found masses of wreckage, and in these great piles are to be found more human bodies and household furniture of every description. "handsome pictures are seen lying alongside of the ice-cream freezers and resting beside the nude figure of some man or woman. these great masses of debris are not confined to any one particular section of the city. "the waters of the gulf and the winds spared no one who was exposed. whirling houses around in its grasp, the wind piled their shattered frames high in confusing masses and dumped their contents on top. "men and women were thrown around like so many logs of wood and left to rot in the withering sun. "i believe that with the best exertions of the men it will require weeks to secure some semblance of physical order in the city, and it is doubtful even then if all the debris will be disposed of. "i never saw such a wreck in my life. from the gulf front to the center of the island, from the ocean back, the storm wave left death and destruction in its wake. "there is hardly a family on the island whose household is not short a member or more, and in some instances entire families have been washed away or killed. hundreds who escaped from the waves did so only to become victims of a worse death by being crushed by falling buildings. "down in the business portion of the city the foundations of great buildings have given way, carrying towering structures to their ruin. these ruins, falling across the streets, formed barricades on which gathered all the floating debris and many human bodies. many of these bodies were stripped of their clothing by the force of the water and the wind, and there was nothing to protect them from the scorching sun, the millions of flies, and the rapid invasion of decomposition that set in. "many of the bodies have decayed so rapidly that they could not be handled for burial. "some of the most conservative men on the island place the loss of human beings at not less than , and possibly , , while others say it will not exceed , ." coast cities not properly constructed. chief willis l. moore, of the united states weather bureau at washington, being asked his opinion of the idea of rebuilding galveston on some other site, replied as follows: "weather bureau, u. s., washington, d. c., september , . "i should not advise the abandonment of the city of galveston. it is true that tropical hurricanes sometimes move westward across the gulf and strike the texas coast, but such movement is infrequent. within the last thirty years no storm of like severity has touched any part of the coast of the united states. there are many points on both the atlantic and gulf coasts, some of them occupied by cities the size of galveston, that are equally exposed to the force of both wind and water, should a hurricane move in from the ocean or gulf and obtain the proper position relative to them. it would not be advisable to abandon these towns and cities merely because there is a remote probability that at some future time a hurricane may be the cause of great loss of life and property. "we have just passed through a summer that for sustained high temperature has no parallel within the last thirty years. records of low temperature, torrential rains, and other meteorological phenomena that have stood for twenty and thirty years are not infrequently broken. there does not appear to be, so far as we know, any law governing the occurrence or recurrence of storms. the vortex of a hurricane is comparatively narrow, at most not more than twenty or thirty miles in width. it is only within the vortex that such a great calamity as has befallen galveston can occur. "it would seem that, rather than abandon the city, means should be adopted at galveston and other similarly exposed cities on the atlantic and gulf coasts to erect buildings only on heavy stone foundations that should have solid interiors of masonry to a height of ten feet above mean sea level. rigid building regulations should allow no other structures erected for habitations in the future in any city located at sea level and that is exposed to the direct sweep of the sea. "but galveston should take heart, as the chances are that not once in a thousand years would she be so terribly stricken, and high, solid foundations would doubtless make her impregnable to loss of life by all future storms. "willis l. moore, "chief u. s. weather bureau." courage of galveston's business men. the courage of galveston's business men under the distressing conditions was shown by the utterances of mr. eustace taylor, one of the best-known residents of that city, a cotton buyer known to the trade in all parts of the country. mr. taylor was asked on thursday succeeding the flood for an opinion as to the future of galveston. "i think," he said, "that what we have done here for the four days which have passed since the storm has been wonderful. it will take us two weeks before we can ascertain the actual commercial loss. but we are going to straighten out everything. we are going to stay here and work it out. we will have a temporary wharf within thirty days, and with that we can resume business and handle the traffic through galveston. "i think that within thirty or forty days business will be carried on in no less volume than before. i am going to stand right up to galveston. "if it costs me the last cent, i will stand up for galveston. with our temporary wharf we shall put from , to , men at work loading vessels while we are waiting for the railroads to restore bridges and terminals on the island. we shall bring business by barges from virginia point and load in midstream. in this way we shall not only resume our commercial relations, but we shall be able to put the labor of the city at work. "this port holds the advantage over every other port of this country for accommodating , , producers, and will accommodate millions of tons, and in inviting these millions, as we have, to continue their business through this port we must in our construction do it on the same lines employed by the communities of boston, new york, buffalo and chicago, the stability of which was plainly illustrated in some structures recently erected in our community. "the port is all right. the ever-alert engineers in charge of the harbor here have already taken their soundings. the fullest depth of water remains. the jetties, with slight repair, are intact, and because of these conditions, which exist nowhere else for the territory and people it serves, the restoration will be more rapid than may be thought, and the flow of commerce will be as great, and for the courage and fortitude and foresight to look beyond the unhappy events of to-day, as prosperous and secure as in any part of our prosperous country." elevators and grain not badly damaged. j. c. stewart, a well-known grain elevator builder, arrived at galveston on thursday, in response to a telegram from general manager m. e. bailey, of the galveston wharf company. he at once made an inspection of the grain elevators and their contents, and then said not per cent of the elevators had been damaged. the spouts were intact, and elevator "a" would be ready to deliver grain to ships the following sunday. the wheat in elevator "a" was loaded into vessels just as rapidly as they arrived at the elevator to take it. as soon as the elevator was emptied of its grain the wheat from elevator "q" was transferred to it and loaded into ships. very little of the wheat in elevator "b" had been injured, but the conveyors were swept away, and it was necessary to transfer the grain to elevator "a" in order to get it to the ships. mr. bailey put a large force of men to work clearing up each of the wharves, and the company was ready for new business all along the line within eight days. burning bodies by the hundreds. pestilence could only be avoided here by cremation. that was the order of the day. human corpses, dead animals and all debris were therefore to be submitted to the flames. on thursday upwards of bodies, mostly women and children, were cremated, and the work went rapidly on. they were gathered in heaps of twenty and forty bodies, saturated with kerosene and the torch applied. conflict of authority breeds trouble. a conflict of authority, due to a misunderstanding, precipitated a temporary disorganization of the policing of the city of galveston on thursday. when general scurry, adjutant-general of the texas national guard, arrived at galveston on tuesday night, with about militia, from houston, he at once conferred with the chief of police as to the plans for guarding property, protecting the lives of citizens and preserving law and order. an order was then issued by the chief of police to the effect that the soldiers should arrest all persons found carrying arms, unless they showed a written order, signed by the chief of police or mayor of the city, giving them permission to go armed. sheriff thomas had, meantime, appointed and sworn in special deputy sheriffs. these deputies were supplied with a ribboned badge of authority, but were not given any written or printed commission. acting under the order issued by the chief of police, major hunt mccaleb, of galveston, who was appointed as aide to general scurry, issued an order to the militia to arrest all persons carrying arms without the proper authority. the result was that about fifty citizens wearing deputy sheriff badges were taken into custody by the soldiers and taken to police headquarters. the soldiers had no way of knowing by what authority the men were acting with these badges, and would listen to no excuses. general scurry and sheriff thomas, hearing of the wholesale arrests, called at police headquarters and consulted with acting chief amundsen. the latter referred general scurry to mayor jones. then general scurry and sheriff thomas held a conference at the city hall. these two officers soon arrived at an understanding, and an agreement was decided upon to the effect that all persons deputized as deputy sheriffs and all persons appointed as special officers should be permitted to carry arms and pass in and out of the guard lines. general scurry suggested that the deputy sheriffs and special police--and the regular police, for that matter--guard the city during the daytime and that the militia take charge of the city at night. general scurry was acting for and by authority granted by mayor jones, and promptly said he was there to work in harmony with the city and county authorities, and that there would be no conflict. when general scurry and sheriff thomas called upon the mayor, the mayor said that he knew that if the adjutant-general, the chief of police and the sheriff would get together they could take care of the police work. it was known that people were coming to galveston by the score; that many of them had no business there, and that the city had enough to do to watch the lawless element of galveston, without being burdened with the care of outsiders. all deputy sheriffs wearing the badge issued by the sheriff carried arms thereafter and made arrests, and were not interfered with in any way by the military guards. inadequate transportation prevents supplies from reaching the famine-stricken people. on thursday, september , train load after train load of provisions, clothing, disinfectants and medicines were lined up at texas city, six miles from galveston, all sent to the suffering survivors of the storm-swept city. across the bay were thousands of people, friends of the dead and living, waiting for news of the missing ones and an opportunity to help, but only a meager amount of relief had at that time reached the stricken town. two telegraph wires had been put up and partial communication restored to let the outside world know that conditions there were far more horrible than was at first supposed. that was about all. it was not that which was needed; it was a more practicable connection with the mainland. true, more boats had been pressed into service to carry succor to the suffering and the suffering to succor, but they were few and small, and although working diligently night and day the service was inadequate in the extreme. and the people were still suffering--the sick dying for want of medicine and care; the well growing desperate and in many cases gradually losing their reason. while there were many who could not be provided for because the necessary articles for them could not be carried in, there were hundreds who were being benefited. those supplies which had arrived had been of great assistance, but they were far from ample to provide for even a small percentage of the sufferers, estimated at , . even the rich were hungry. an effort was being made on the part of the authorities to provide for those in the greatest need, but this was found to be difficult work, so many were there in sad condition. a rigid system of issuing supplies was established, and the regular soldiers and a number of citizens were sworn in as policemen. these attended to the issuing of rations as soon as the boats arrived. every effort was put forth to reach the dying first, but all sorts of obstacles were encountered, because many of them were so badly maimed and wounded that they were unable to apply to the relief committees, and the latter were so burdened by the great number of direct applications that they were unable to send out messengers. the situation grew worse every minute; everything was needed for man and beast--disinfectants, prepared foods, hay, grain, and especially water and ice. scores more of people died that day as a result of inattention and many more were on the verge of dissolution, for at best it was to be many days before a train could be run into the city, and the only hope was the arrival of more boats to transport the goods. the relief committee held a meeting and decided that armed men were needed to assist in burying the dead and clear the wreckage, and arrangements were made to fill this demand. there were plenty of volunteers for this work but an insufficiency of arms. the proposition of trying to pay for work was rejected by the committee, and it was decided to go ahead impressing men into service, issuing orders for rations only to those who worked or were unable to work. word was received that refugees would be carried from the city to houston free of charge. an effort was made to induce all who are able to leave to go, because the danger of pestilence was frightfully apparent. there was any number willing to depart, and each outgoing boat, after having unloaded its provisions, was filled with people. the safety of the living was a paramount consideration, and the action of the railroads in offering to carry refugees free of charge greatly relieved the situation. the workers had their hands full in any event, and the nurses and physicians also, for neglect, although unavoidable, often resulted in the death of many. it was estimated $ , , would be needed for the relief work. the banks of galveston subscribed $ , , but personal losses of the citizens of galveston had been so large that very few were able to subscribe anything. the confiscation of all foodstuffs held by wholesale grocers and others was decided upon early in the day by the relief committee. starvation would inevitably ensue unless the supply was dealt out with great care. all kerosene oil was gone, and the gas works and electric lights were destroyed. the committee asked for a shipload of kerosene oil, a shipload of drinking water and tons of disinfectants, such as lime and formaldehyde, for immediate use, and money and food next. not a tallow candle could be bought for gold, or light of any kind procured. no baker was making bread, and milk was remembered as a past luxury only. what was there to do with? everything was gone in the way of ovens and utensils. it was absolutely necessary to let the outside world know the true state of things. the city was unable to help itself. in fact, a great part of the mighty, noble state of texas was prostrate. even the country at large was paralyzed at the sense of the magnitude of the disaster, and was for the time being powerless to do anything. the entire world was thrilled with alarm, it being instinctively felt that the worst had not yet been made known. twenty-five thousand people had to be clothed and fed for many weeks, and many thousands supplied with household goods as well. much money was required to make their residences even fit to live in. during the first few days after the disaster it was almost beyond possibility to make any estimate of the amount of money necessary to even temporarily relieve the sufferings of the unfortunate people. as a means of enlightenment, major r. g. lowe, business manager of the galveston news, was asked to send out a statement to the associated press, for dissemination throughout the globe, and he accordingly dispatched the following to colonel charles s. diehl, general manager of the associated press at the headquarters in chicago: "galveston, texas, sept. .--charles s. diehl, general manager the associated press, chicago: a summary of the conditions prevailing at galveston is more than human intellect can master. briefly stated, the damage to property is anywhere between $ , , and $ , , . the loss of life cannot be computed. no lists could be kept and all is simply guesswork. those thrown out to sea and buried on the ground wherever found will reach the horrible total of at least , souls. "my estimate of the loss on the island of the city of galveston and the immediate surrounding district is between , and , deaths. i do not make this statement in fright or excitement. the whole story will never be told, because it cannot be told. the necessities of those living are total. not a single individual escaped property loss. the property on the island is wrecked; fully one-half totally swept out of existence. what our needs are can be computed by the world at large by the statement herewith submitted much better than i could possibly summarize them. the help must be immediate. "r. g. lowe, "manager galveston news." thursday evening at the tremont hotel, in galveston, occurred a wedding that was not attended with music and flowers and a gathering of merrymaking friends and relatives. on the contrary, it was peculiarly sad. mrs. brice roberts expected some day to marry earnest mayo; the storm which desolated so many homes deprived her of almost everything on earth--father, mother, sister and brother. she was left destitute. her sweetheart, too, was a sufferer. he lost much of his possessions in dickinson, but he stepped bravely forward and took his sweetheart to his home. galveston began, september , to emerge from the valley of the shadow of death into which she had been plunged for nearly a week, and on that day, for the first time, actual progress was made toward clearing up the city. the bodies of those killed and drowned in the storm had for the most part been disposed of. a large number was found when the debris was removed from wrecked buildings, but on that date there were no corpses to be seen save those occasionally cast up by the sea. as far as sight, at least, was concerned, the city was cleared of its dead. they had been burned, thrown into the water, buried--anything to get them quickly out of sight. the chief danger of pestilence was due almost entirely to the large number of unburied cattle lying upon the island, whose decomposing carcasses polluted the air to an almost unbearable extent. this, however, was not in the city proper, but was a condition prevailing on the outskirts of galveston. one great trouble heretofore had been the inability to organize gangs of laborers for the purpose of clearing the streets. the sad situation four days after the catastrophe. the situation in the stricken city on wednesday, september , was horrible indeed. men, women and children were dying for want of food and scores went insane from the terrible strain to which they had been subjected. in his appeal to the country for aid, issued on tuesday, september , mayor walter j. jones said fully , people had lost their lives during the hurricane, this estimate being based upon personal information. captain charles clarke, a vessel-owner of galveston, and a reliable man, said the death list would be even greater than that, and he was backed in his opinion by several other conservative men who had no desire to exaggerate the losses, but felt that they are justified in letting the country know the full extent of the disaster in order that the necessary relief might be supplied. it was the general opinion that to hide any of the facts would be criminal. captain clarke was not a sensationalist, but he well knew that the truth was what the people of the united states wanted at that time. if the people of the country at large felt they were being deceived in anything they would be apt to close their pocketbooks and refuse to give anything. if told the truth they would respond to the appeal for aid generously. when relief finally began to pour in it was remarkable how soon the women of the city plucked up courage, and went to work with the men. they had suffered frightfully, but they refused to give up hope. many called upon the mayor and offered their services as nurses. others prepared bandages for the wounded and aided the physicians in procuring medicines for the sick. they went among the men who were engaged in burying and otherwise disposing of the dead and cheered them with bright faces and soothing words. they were everywhere, and their presence was as rays of sunshine after the black clouds of the storm. a regular fleet of steamers and barges was plying between galveston and texas city, only six miles distant, and which had railway communication with all parts of the united states. as the railroad line to texas city had been repaired, trains were sent in there as close together as possible, but this did not prevent many hundreds in galveston from dying of starvation and lack of medical attendance. a city official's version of the reign of terror a leading city official of galveston gave the following version of the reign of terror, as the regime of the thugs and ghouls was called: "galveston suffered in every conceivable way since the catastrophe of saturday. hurricane and flood came first; then famine, and then vandalism. scores of reckless criminals flocked to the city by the first boats that landed there, and were unchecked in their work of robbery of the helpless dead monday and tuesday. "wednesday, however, captain rafferty, commanding the regulars at the beach barracks, sent seventy men of an artillery company there to do guard duty in the streets, and, being ordered to promptly shoot all those found looting, carried out their instructions to the letter. "over ghouls were shot wednesday afternoon and evening, and no mercy was shown vandals. if they were not killed at the first volley the troops--regulars of the united states army and those of the texas national guard--saw that the coup de grace was administered. "most of the robbers were negroes, and when executed were found loaded with spoil--jewelry wrenched from the bodies of women, money and watches and silverware and other articles taken from residences and business houses. "not only had these fiends robbed the dead, but they mutilated the bodies as well, in many instances fingers and ears of dead women being amputated in order to secure the jewelry. some of the business organizations of the city also furnished guards to assist in patroling the streets, and fully , men are now on duty. wednesday evening the regulars shot forty-nine ghouls after they had been tried by court-martial, having found them in possession of large quantities of plunder. the vandals begged for mercy, but none was shown them and they were speedily put out of the way. the bandits, as a rule, obtained transportation to the city by representing themselves as having been engaged to do relief work and to aid in burying the dead. shortly after the first bunch of thieves was executed another party of twenty was shot. the outlaws were afterward put out of the way by twos and threes, it being their habit to travel in gangs and never alone. in every instance the pockets of these bandits were found filled with plunder. more than , bodies had been thrown into the sea up to wednesday night, this having been decided upon by the authorities as the only way of preventing a visitation of pestilence, which, they felt, should not be added to the horrors the city had already experienced. tuesday evening, shortly before darkness set in, three barges, containing bodies, were sent out to sea, the corpses being thrown into the water after being heavily weighted to prevent the possibility of their afterwards coming to the surface. as there were few volunteers for this ghastly work, troops and police officers were sent out to impress men for the service, but while these unwilling laborers, after being filled with liquor, agreed to handle the bodies of white men, women and children, nothing could induce them to touch the negro dead. finally city firemen came forward and attended to the disposal of the corpses of the colored victims. these were badly decomposed, and it was absolutely necessary to get them out of the way to prevent infection. no attempt had been made so far to gather up the dead at night because the gas and electric light plants were so badly damaged that they could furnish no illumination whatever. by thursday night, however, some of the arc lights were ready for use. since wednesday morning no efforts at identification were made by the searchers after the dead, it being imperative that the bodies be disposed of as soon as possible. while the barges containing the bodies were on their way out to sea lists were made, but that was the only care taken in regard to the victims, many of whom were among the most prominent people of the city. of the hundreds buried at virginia point and other places along the coast not per cent were identified, the stakes at the heads of the hastily dug graves simply being marked, "white woman, aged ," "white man, aged ," or "male" or "female child." ninety-six bodies were buried at texas city, all but eight of which floated to that place from galveston. some were identified, but the great majority were not. state troops were stationed at texas city and virginia point to prevent those who could not give a satisfactory account of themselves from boarding boats bound for galveston. in burying the dead along the shore of the gulf no coffins were used, the supply being exhausted. there was no time to knock even an ordinary pine box together. cases were known where people have buried their dead in their yards. as soon as possible the work of cremating the bodies of the dead began. vast funeral pyres were erected and the corpses placed thereon, the incineration being under the supervision of the fire department. matters had come to such a pass that even the casting of bodies into the sea was not only dangerous to those who handled them, but there was the utmost danger in carrying the decomposed, putrefying masses of human flesh through the streets to the barges on the beach. the cemeteries were not fit for burial purposes, and no attempt whatever was made to reach them until the ground was thoroughly dried out. then the bodies of those buried in private grounds, yards and in the sands along the beach, not only on galveston island, but at virginia point and texas city, were removed to the public places of interment, where suitable memorials were set up to mark their last resting places. it might have been deemed unfeeling and even brutal, but the fact was that the bodies of the unidentified victims received small consideration, being handled roughly by the workmen, and thrown into the temporary graves along the beach as though they were animals and not the remains of human beings. no prayers were uttered save in isolated instances, and the poor mangled bodies were consigned to the trench as hurriedly as possible. the burying parties had no time for sentiment, and so accustomed had the workers in the "dead gangs," as they were named, become to their grewsome task that they even laughed and joked when laying away the corpses. special attention was given the wounded. physicians were on duty all the time, some of them not having been to bed since friday night longer than an hour at a time. victims not badly hurt were put aside for those suffering and actually requiring the services of surgeons. there were thousands of them. there were few in galveston who did not bear the marks of wounds of some sort. chapter iv. thrilling experiences of people during the great storm--eighty-five persons perish by being blown from a train--adventures of survivors at galveston. the experiences and adventures of those who were in the great and disastrous storm and escaped only after undergoing frightful anxiety, make interesting reading. those who emerged in safety from the fearful vortex were unusually fortunate, when it is considered that possibly , persons in galveston lost their lives and hundreds fell victims to the fury of the hurricane in the territory adjacent to the ill-fated city. hon. john h. poe, member of the louisiana state board of education, and residing at lake charles, la., was present when eighty-five passengers on the gulf & interstate train which left beaumont early saturday morning from bolivar point lost their lives. mr. poe was one of the passengers on this train and fortunately, together with a few others, sought safety in the lighthouse at bolivar point and was saved. the train reached bolivar about noon and all preparations were made to run the train on the ferryboat preparatory to crossing the bay. but the wind blew so swiftly that the ferry could not make a landing and the conductor of the train, after allowing it to stand on the tracks for a few minutes, started to back it back toward beaumont. the wind increased so rapidly, coming in from the open sea, that soon the water had reached a level with the bottom of the seats within the cars. it was then that some of the passengers sought safety in the nearby lighthouse, but in spite of all efforts eighty-five passengers were blown away or drowned. the train was entirely wrecked. some of the killed were from new orleans, as the train made direct connections with the southern pacific train which left new orleans friday night. those who were saved had to spend over fifty hours in the dismal lighthouse on almost no rations. the experience was one they will remember as one of the most terrible of their whole lives. commercial traveler's experience in galveston. a graphic description of one man's experience was given by a commercial traveler--william van eaton. he reached galveston saturday morning. his narrative is especially interesting, because it shows with what suddenness the storm assumed a dangerous character. "there was high wind and rain," said he, "but so little was thought of it, however, that myself and some acquaintances started down to the beach. the water came up so rapidly that we turned and hurried toward the tremont hotel. before we reached it we had to wade in water waist deep. "within a few minutes," he went on to say, "women and children began to flock to the hotel for refuge. all were panic-stricken. i saw two women, one with a child, trying to get to the hotel. they were drowned not yards from us." mr. van eaton was one of the first to cross from galveston to the mainland after the storm subsided. he paid $ to a boatman to make the crossing. when he reached the point he found an engine and a caboose chained together, with the water several feet deep around them. while he waited in the caboose for the water to go down the bodies of two men and a boy floated against it, and the trainmen tied them to one end of the car. mr. van eaton counted fourteen bodies that had drifted in from the bay, all showing that they had been dashed against wreckage. only one out of fifty people saved. patrick joyce, a railroad man, who passed through the storm at galveston in , suffered such hardships in that city saturday morning that he was convinced that the storm at that time was only a "mild little blow" in comparison. he was one of the refugees picked up at lamarque. "it began raining in galveston early saturday morning," he said. "about o'clock work was discontinued by the company, and i left for home. i got there about o'clock and found about three feet of water in the yard. it began to get worse and worse, the water getting higher and the wind stronger, until it was almost as bad as the gulf itself with its raging torrents. finally the house was taken off its foundation and demolished. "there were nine families in the house, which was a large two-story frame, and of the fifty people residing there myself and niece were the only ones who could get away. i managed to find a raft of driftwood or wreckage and got on it, going with the tide. i had not got far before i was struck with some wreckage and my niece knocked out of my arms. i could not save her, and had to see her drown. "i was carried on and on with the tide, sometimes on a raft, and again i was thrown from it by coming in contact with some pieces of timber, parts of houses, logs, cisterns and other things which were floating around in the gulf and bay. many and many a knock i got on my head and body, until i was black and blue all over. the wind was blowing at a terrific rate of speed and the waves were away up. "i drifted and swam all night, not knowing where i was going or in what direction. about o'clock in the morning i began to feel the hard ground, and then i knew i was on the mainland. i wandered around until i came to a house, and there a person gave me some clothes. i had lost most of mine soon after i started, and only wore a coat. "i was in the water about seven hours, and this sensation, together with the feeling of all these bruises i have on my head and body, is not a pleasant one. i managed to save my own life through the hardest kind of a struggle, but i thought more than once i was done for, and i lost all i had in this world--relatives who were dear to me, home and all." heroism of a hotel-keeper in saving lives. james black, a well-known merchant at morgan's point, saved nine lives during the storm. the story of his heroism was told by w. s. wall of houston, tex., who has a summer home at morgan's point. "my wife was taking supper at the black hotel," said mr. wall, "when mr. black rushed into the dining-room and called upon all to fly for their lives. the tidal wave was on them in an instant, and almost before they could leave the hotel to go to a higher point where the vincent residence stood, some five or six blocks away, the rushing waters were all about them more than three feet deep. "mr. black, struggling against the elements, bore my wife in safety to the vincent home, miraculously escaping being crushed by a heavy log which the rushing waters carried along the pathway of escape. returning immediately to the hotel, mr. black in like manner brought safely to the vincent home his aged father and mother, mr. and mrs. james black, sr. his next act of heroism was to rescue mrs. rushmore, her two daughters, two grandchildren and another woman whose name i cannot recall. the vincent home withstood the storm, but the black hotel was wrecked. "louis braquet, manager of the black hotel, was engulfed in the waves and gave up his life in the successful rescue of his wife and a colored servant girl." spent a most thrilling night. f. t. woodward, who was a passenger on the first train to arrive at dallas, tex., from houston, the monday night succeeding the catastrophe, spent a thrilling saturday night in the grand central station in the latter city. one hundred and fifty other persons shared his memorable experiences. "the depot, standing as it does isolated and alone," said mr. woodward, "was exposed to the full force of the hurricane, and the first strong gust at o'clock was followed by a sound of shattering glass. several of the windows of the general offices overhead had given away under the almost irresistible pressure. this was the beginning of seven hours of mortal dread. "the storm continued to rage with unabated fury and the roar of the wind was accompanied by the sound of crashing glass, as one after another of the many windows was torn from its fastenings and shattered against the brick walls of the building or upon the sidewalk below. women clasped their children in their arms, as though they expected to be torn asunder the next moment. men began to scan the pillars and partition walls supporting the floor above and to take up such positions as seemed to be most conducive to safety in the event the huge building was razed by the storm. "the crashing of glass was soon followed by a sound of ripping and tearing. section after section of the tin roof was rolled up like sheets of parchment and hurled hundreds of feet away. to add to the terror and confusion, the electric lights suddenly went out and the building was left in darkness, except where the trainmen with their lanterns stood. "then many moved toward the main entrance of the building, with the evident intention of seeking other quarters, but they were checked at the door by the blinding sheet of water which was being driven by the wind with mighty force, and which lay between them and any place of refuge. they appeared to hesitate between a choice of being drenched by water and possibly struck by a flying section of roof and of remaining in the depot until the end. "the question was soon settled. even as they looked the roof of the grand central hotel was torn off, many of its inmates rushing into the street. almost simultaneously a wail went up from the people in the lawlor hotel as the big skylight on top was torn loose and fell crashing down the shaft, causing pandemonium. this seemed to satisfy those in the depot that no haven of safety could be found, and they determined to make the best of the situation. "just then, above the roar of the wind, the crashing of glass and the flapping and pounding and tearing of tin, a new sound was heard. it was that of falling brick. every one stood crouched, prepared to leap to either side as the occasion might require. every one realized the gravity of the situation, but, there was no shrieking, no fainting. every woman stood the ordeal with such fortitude as to lend courage to even the faintest-hearted man. even the babies were mute and clung to their mothers' necks in breathless despair. "nearer and nearer came that awful rumbling. a shower of brick and mortar fell in the rear of the women's waiting-room. nothing remained of the tin-covered awning. few if any doubted that the end had come and that in another moment all would be buried beneath the ruins. "suddenly the sound ceased. the brick had fallen and the lower story of the building remained intact. it was soon learned that the entire wall stood unbroken and that the fall of brick and mortar was but the collapse of several large chimneys surmounting the top of the building. "as soon as this became known the effect upon the awe-stricken mass was electrical. men lighted cigars, women cheered and laughed, and, though more chimneys fell, more glass was shivered and the loosened tin on the roof continued to pound furiously until nearly o'clock in the morning, there was no more panic, and all felt that the building would withstand the fury of the storm. and it did." how he got into and out of galveston. a. v. kellogg, civil engineer in the employ of the houston and texas central railroad, with headquarters at houston, told an interesting story of how he got into and out of galveston during and after the great storm, and of his observations in the stricken city. he went to galveston saturday morning, over the galveston, houston and henderson road, arriving a few hours after the storm began. "when we crossed the bridge over galveston bay, going into galveston," said mr. kellogg, "the water had reached an elevation equal to the bottom caps of the pile bents, or two feet below the level of the track. after crossing the bridge and reaching a point some two miles beyond, we were stopped by reason of a washout of the track ahead, and were compelled to wait one hour for a relief train to come over the galveston, houston and henderson track. during this period of one hour the water rose a foot and a half, running over the rails of the track. "the relief train signaled us to return half a mile to higher ground, where the passengers were transferred, the train crew leaving with the passengers and going on the relief train. the water had reached an elevation of eight or ten inches above the galveston, houston and henderson track, and was flowing in a westward direction at a terrific speed. the train crew was compelled to wade ahead of the engine and dislodge driftwood from the track. "at : we arrived at the santa fe union depot. at that period of the day the wind was increasing and had then reached a velocity of about thirty-five miles an hour. "after arriving at galveston i immediately went to the tremont hotel, where i remained the balance of the day and during the night. at : the water had begun to creep into the rotunda of the hotel, and by o'clock it was twenty-six inches above the floor of the hotel, or about six and one-half feet above the street level. "the front windows of the hotel were blown out, the roof was torn off and the skylights over the rotunda fell crashing on the floor below. the refugees began to come into the hotel between : and o'clock, until at least or , persons had sought safety there. the floors were strewn with people all during the night. "manager george korst did everything in his power to help the sufferers from the effects of the storm and to give them shelter. when the wind was blowing from the northeast it was at a velocity of about forty-five miles an hour, but at o'clock it had reached the climax, the speed then being fully miles. the vibration of the hotel was not unlike that of a box car in motion. i tried to sleep that night, but there was so much noise and confusion from the crashing of buildings that i could not get any rest. "i arose early sunday morning. the sights in the streets were simply appalling. the water on tremont street had lowered some eight feet from the high-water mark, leaving the pavement clear for two blocks north and seven blocks south of the tremont hotel. the streets were full of debris, the wires were all down and the buildings were in a very much damaged condition. every building in the business district was damaged to some extent, with but one or two exceptions, noticeably the levy building and union depot, both of which remain intact and went through the storm without a scratch. "the refugees came pouring into the heart of the city, many of them having but little clothing, and scores were almost naked. they were homeless and without food or drink, and many had lost their all and were really in destitute circumstances. "mayor jones issued a call for a mass meeting, which was held sunday morning at o'clock, and was attended by a large number of prominent citizens. steps were taken to furnish provisions and relieve the suffering of the refugees and bury the dead. "a conservative estimate of the number of people killed or drowned is from , to , . "early in the morning it was learned that the water supply had been cut off from some unknown reason. i presume that it was caused by the english ship which was blown up against the bridges, cutting the pipes. at all events the city was without water, and something had to be done by the citizens of houston to relieve the situation. people who had depended on cisterns, of course, had their resources swept away, and there were but few large reservoirs to be found in the business district. "the scene on the docks was a terrible one. the small working fleet and the larger schooners were washed up over the docks and railroad tracks in frightful confusion. the mallory docks were demolished. the elevators were torn in shreds. three ocean liners were anchored off the docks and seemed to be in good condition. the damage to the shipping interests is something immense, the huntington improvements being entirely swept away. "i tried to get out of the town as quick as i could, and succeeded in securing passage on the first sloop which sailed, the annie k., captain willoughby. we sailed from the twenty-second slip at o'clock, with seven people aboard. when we got outside of the harbor we found a terrible gale blowing and the sea running very high. under three reefs and the peak down, we set our course for north galveston. "as we passed pelican flats we could see the english steamer anchored off over toward where the railroad bridge should be, and came to the conclusion that she had evidently broken the water mains and cut the supply off from the city. another ocean liner could be seen off the shore of texas city, in what would seem to have been about two feet of water in a normal tide. "we passed within a few hundred yards of where the half-moon lighthouse once stood, but could see no evidence of the lighthouse, it being completely washed away. "the waters of the bay were strewn with hundreds of carcasses of dead animals. we had a very hazardous passage, running against a five-mile tide, but managed to reach north galveston at : o'clock. "at north galveston we found that a tidal wave had crossed the peninsula, carrying destruction in its path. the factory building and the opera-house were completely blown down and other buildings destroyed. while there were no deaths reported at north galveston, there were many hardships endured during the battle with the elements." newspaper man's graphic description of the flood. "it was one of the most awful tragedies of modern times which has visited galveston. the city is in ruins and the dead will number probably , ." so says richard spillane, a well-known galveston newspaper man, the first of his profession to come from the stricken city after the hurricane, and who arrived at houston, after a perilous trip. he continued: "i am just from the city, having been commissioned by the mayor and citizens' committee to get in touch with the outside world and appeal for help. houston was the nearest point at which working telegraph instruments could be found, the wires, as well as nearly all the buildings, between here and the gulf of mexico being wrecked. "when i left galveston, shortly before noon yesterday, the people were organizing for the prompt burial of the dead, the distribution of food and all necessary work after a period of disaster. "the wreck of galveston was brought about by a tempest so terrible that no words can adequately describe its intensity, and by a flood which turned the city into a raging sea. the weather bureau records show that the wind attained a velocity of eighty-four miles an hour, when the measuring instruments blew away, so it is impossible to tell what was the maximum. "the storm began at o'clock saturday morning. previous to that a great storm had been raging in the gulf, and the tide was very high. the wind at first came from the north and was in direct opposition to the force from the gulf. while the storm in the gulf piled the water upon the beach side of the city, the north wind piled the water from the bay onto the bay part of the city. "about noon it became evident that the city was going to be visited with disaster. hundreds of residences along the beach front were hurriedly abandoned, the families fleeing to dwellings in higher portions of the city. every home was opened to the refugees, black or white. the winds were rising constantly, and it rained in torrents. the wind was so fierce that the rain cut like a knife. "by o'clock the waters of the gulf and bay met, and by dark the entire city was submerged. the flooding of the electric light plant and the gas plants left the city in darkness. to go upon the streets was to court death. the wind was then at cyclonic velocity. roofs, cisterns, portions of buildings, telegraph poles and walls were falling, and the noise of the wind and the crashing of the buildings were terrifying in the extreme. "the wind and waters rose steadily from dark until : o'clock sunday morning. during all this time the people of galveston were like rats in traps. the highest portion of the city was four to five feet under water, while in the great majority of cases the streets were submerged to a depth of ten feet. to leave a house was to drown. to remain was to court death in the wreckage. such a night of agony has seldom been equaled. "without apparent reason, the waters suddenly began to subside at : a. m. within twenty minutes they had gone down two feet, and before daylight the streets were practically freed of the flood waters. in the meantime the wind had veered to the southeast. "very few if any buildings escaped injury. there is hardly a habitable dry house in the city. when the people who had escaped death went out at daylight to view the work of the tempest and the floods they saw the most horrible sights imaginable. "in the three blocks from avenue n to avenue p, in tremont street, i saw eight bodies. four corpses were in one yard. the whole of the business front for three blocks in from the gulf was stripped of every vestige of habitation, the dwellings, the great bathing establishments, the olympia and every structure having been either carried out to sea or its ruins piled in a pyramid far into the town, according to the vagaries of the tempest. "the first hurried glance over the city showed that the largest structures, supposed to be the most substantially built, suffered the greatest. the orphans' home, twenty-first street and avenue m, fell like a house of cards. how many dead children and refugees are in the ruins could not be ascertained. "of the sick in st. mary's infirmary, together with the attendants, only eight are understood to have been saved. "the old woman's home, on rosenberg avenue, collapsed, and the rosenberg schoolhouse is a mass of wreckage. the ball high school is but an empty shell, crushed and broken. every church in the city, with possibly one or two exceptions, is in ruins. "at the forts nearly all the soldiers are reported dead, they having been in temporary quarters, which gave them no protection against the tempest or the flood. "the bay front from end to end is in ruins. nothing but piling and the wreck of great warehouses remains. the elevators lost all their superworks and their stocks are damaged by water. "the life-saving station at fort point was carried away, the crew being swept across the bay fourteen miles to texas city. i saw captain haines yesterday and he told me that his wife and one of his crew were drowned. "the shore at texas city contains enough wreckage to rebuild a city. eight persons who were swept across the bay during the storm were picked up there alive. five corpses were also picked up. in addition to the living and the dead which the storm cast up at texas city, caskets and coffins from one of the cemeteries at galveston were fished out of the water there. "the cotton mills, the bagging factory, the gas works, the electric light works and nearly all the industrial establishments of the city are either wrecked or crippled. the flood left a slime about one inch deep over the whole city, and unless fast progress is made in burying corpses and carcasses of animals there is danger of pestilence. "some of the stories of the escapes are miraculous. william nisbett, a cotton man, was buried in the ruins of the cotton exchange saloon, and when dug out in the morning had no further injury than a few bruised fingers. "dr. s. o. young, secretary of the cotton exchange, was knocked senseless when his house collapsed, but was revived by the water and carried ten blocks by the hurricane. "a woman who had just given birth to a child was carried from her home to a house a block distant, the men who were carrying her having to hold her high above their heads, as the water was five feet deep when she was moved. "many stories were current of houses falling and inmates escaping. clarence n. ousley, editor of the galveston evening tribune, had his family and the families of two neighbors in his house when the lower half crumbled and the upper part slipped down into the water. not one in the house was hurt. "of the lavine family, six out of seven are reported dead. of the burnett family only one is known to have been saved. the family of stanley g. spencer, who met death in the cotton exchange saloon, is reported to be dead. "the mistrot house, in the west end, was turned into a hospital. all of the regular hospitals of the city were unavailable. "of the new southern pacific works little remains but the piling. half a million feet of lumber was carried away, and engineer boschke says, as far as the company is concerned, it might as well start over again. "eight ocean steamers were torn from their moorings and stranded in the bay. the kendall castle was carried over the flats from the thirty-third street wharf to texas city and lies in the wreckage of the inman pier. the norwegian steamer gyller is stranded between texas city and virginia point. an ocean liner was swirled around through the west bay, crashed through the bay bridges and is now lying in a few feet of water near the wreckage of the railroad bridges. the steamship taunton was carried across pelican point and is stranded about ten miles up toward east bay. the mallory steamer alamo was torn from her wharf and dashed upon pelican flats and the bow of the british steamer red cross, which had previously been hurled there. the stern of the alamo is stove in and the bow of the red cross is crushed. "down the channel to the jetties two other ocean steamships lie grounded. some schooners, barges and smaller craft are strewn bottom side up along the slips of the piers. the tug louise of the houston direct navigation company is also a wreck. "it will take a week to tabulate the dead and the missing and to get anything near an approximate idea of the monetary loss. it is safe to assume that one-half of the property of the city is wiped out and that one-half of the residents have to face absolute poverty. "at texas city three of the residents were drowned. one man stepped into a well by a mischance and his corpse was found there. two other men ventured along the bay front during the height of the storm and were killed. there are but few buildings at texas city that do not tell the story of the storm. the hotel is a complete ruin. "for ten miles inland from the shore it is a common sight to see small craft, such as steam launches, schooners and oyster sloops. the life boat of the life-saving station was carried half a mile inland, while a vessel that was anchored in moses bayou lies high and dry five miles up from lamarque." went through the storm of . "the great storm which has just devastated galveston reminds me of the terrible equinoctial storm that swept over that city in september, ," said dr. henry stanhope bunting of room , washington street, chicago. "at that time i was a resident of galveston, and my experience was similar to that of many others who escaped. the loss of life and property was great. "the situation of galveston exposes the city to the waves whenever there is a severe windstorm. the island is thirty miles long and quite narrow. it is really only a great sand bar, rising four to five feet above the surface of the gulf. at their highest point the sand banks are not more than ten feet above the normal surface of the water. "the city is built at the northern end of the island at the entrance to galveston bay. the opening to the bay between the end of the island and the mainland gives the water a free sweep over the jetties when a heavy wind is blowing. in this way waves running several feet high pour immense volumes of water into the bay, causing its waters to rise many feet and flood the lowlands. in the rush of the waters back toward the gulf the narrow channel entrance to the bay is not a sufficient outlet and the flood sweeps into the city. "it is seldom that the equinoctial storms are so severe that the back flow of the water inundates the island. in very heavy storms, however, as in the latest hurricane, the great waves might sweep across the island from the gulf and add to the work of destruction in rushing back to the gulf from the bay. "the houses have no cellars. they are built on pillars of brick several feet above the ground. when the water is high it washes up to the first floor and sometimes drives the occupants of the building to the second story. "when the storm struck in we were at a house near the water's edge five miles down the island from galveston. the waves lifted the house off its brick pillars and dropped it in the water and sand tilted at an angle of degrees. with other families we took refuge at a house on much higher ground, but even there we were driven to the second story." awful experiences during the flood. fifty-two families meet death in one huge building--rescuers' loved ones perish. john davis, having apartments in a huge flat building, whose wife was killed, and for whose body he was searching in the debris of the structure, said there were fifty-two families there when the house collapsed, and he was the only survivor. policemen joseph bird and john rowan rescued about people saturday from the fury of the storm. they returned to the police station only when the high water floated the patrol wagon and threatened to drown their team. they had no idea that the waters of the gulf had invaded the western portion of the city where they lived until they returned to the police station. they started immediately for their homes, but their families had been swept away. policeman bird lost his wife and five children and rowan his wife and three children. many refugees were picked up at hitchcock and taken to the jacquard hotel, where they were given every possible attention. many of these refugees were suffering from injuries and had been in the water for some time. most of these persons had floated in on drift and rafts, and one of the party came ashore on a piano. one hundred ammunition boxes from camp hawley were found near hitchcock, and a pile-driver from huntington wharf was driven inland to within a few hundred yards of the town. the prairie was covered with drift of all kinds, dead cattle, water craft of all sizes, buggies, wagons and such like. searching parties found dozens of bodies in hall's bayou and buried them. sees family swept away. one of the refugees who arrived at houston on the first relief train from texas city, just out of galveston, and who had a sad experience in the hurricane, was s. w. clinton, an engineer at the fertilizing plant at the galveston stock yards. mr. clinton's family consisted of his wife and six children. when his house was washed away he managed to get two of his little boys safely to a raft, and with them he drifted helplessly about. his raft collided with wreckage of every description and was split in two and he was forced to witness the drowning of his sons, being unable to help them in any way. mr. clinton says parts of the city are seething masses of water. escaped, but lost his wife. mr. jennings, a slater, who resided at thirty-eighth street and avenue m / , galveston, got to the mainland in about the same manner as clinton. after losing his wife, he set out, and by swimming and drifting around reached the mainland. william smith, a boy about years old, whose home is in west texas, had a narrow escape. young smith was blown off the docks and came ashore in the driftwood. despite the difficulty he experienced in keeping afloat he held out to the end and reached the shore safe and sound. a. l. forbes, a united states postal clerk, whose car was attached to a train which passed through the territory not far from galveston on sunday, said that at oyster creek the train crew and passengers heard cries coming out of a mass of debris. several persons answered the cries and found a negro woman fastened under a roof. they pulled her out and she informed her rescuers there were others under the roof. a further search resulted in the finding of nine dead bodies, all colored persons. when the train arrived at angleton, the jail, all the churches and a number of houses had been blown down. a genuine hell upon earth. joseph johnson, a prominent citizen of austin, tex., who was among the list of missing, arrived at home wednesday evening, direct from galveston, and was received with joy by his family. mr. johnson went to galveston on friday, the day before the disaster, and was there during all the terrible storm and until tuesday night, where he aided in the work of rescue and saw some sorrowing sights. he said many of the survivors got through the flood almost by miracle. he saw young men who were black-haired on saturday come out of the ordeal with hair turned completely white on sunday. "it would take , men one year," he says, "to clear the streets and town of galveston, so complete is the ruin. the biggest liar in america could not do justice to the existing condition of affairs there. i was in the tremont hotel during the storm. the building was thronged with refugees; women were praying throughout the night, and above the roar of the wind could be heard crash of buildings and splash of the waves against the building. we expected the hotel to go down any minute. at daylight sunday morning i and four others started out to view the ruins. we passed eight bodies within a block, and when we reached the beach, where the waters were still running high, we stayed some time, and while there about one body per minute passed us, floating with the tide. homes that were formerly elegant are a mass of wreckage. "when i left the city the stench from decaying human bodies was simply terrible and almost unbearable. it is with difficulty that they can be handled at all, and the only ones who can now do the work are negroes. the sight is sickening. it is impossible to make any effort at identification, except to keep a record of the jewels and valuables taken from them. all pretense at holding inquests was abandoned yesterday. the bodies are piled on drays and hauled to the wharf, where they are lowered into the water. they are piled one on the other like so many animals, it being impossible to give them any attention. the bodies of poor and rich alike are treated in this manner. hundreds of men and women who are seeking friends or relatives who are among the missing surround the places where the bodies are handled, and their cries of distress are almost unbearable. "there was not a living animal on the island so far as i could see. thousands of head of cattle and horses were drowned and killed. no cats or dogs survived the storm and not a bird is to be seen. no one can make anything like a reliable estimate of the number of deaths. i had to walk for twelve miles from the place where i landed on the mainland before i got out of the wreckage. the water swept the coast for a distance of twenty miles inland, and dead bodies are to be seen all over this territory. i passed a large number on my walk to get a train. the stench in this storm-swept part of the mainland is awful. it is estimated that over , head of cattle were drowned by the gulf waters in that section." strange death of a wealthy englishman. one of the most pathetic stories of suffering in galveston was brought to light friday morning when the southern pacific train arrived at new orleans from houston. among the passengers were mrs. mary quayle of liverpool, england, and mr. jonathan hale of gloversville, n. y. mrs. quayle came from new york to galveston, arriving there on the thursday before the storm, accompanied by her husband, edward quayle, a tabulater on the liverpool cotton exchange. mrs. quayle and her husband took apartments in the lucas terrace, a fashionable place in the eastern end of galveston island. all day saturday, the day of the storm, her husband was not feeling well and remained in his room most of the time, lying down on a couch. when the storm became very bad after o'clock he arose and went to the window to look out in the darkness, hoping to see, by an occasional flash of lightning, whether or not there was danger of destruction, as was greatly feared. suddenly there came an unusually violent fit of wind and the window out of which mr. quayle was peering was literally sucked out as if by a mighty air-pump, and he was taken along with it. mrs. quayle, so far as she was able to explain, instead of being drawn along in the direction of the storm, was thrown in the opposite direction against the door of her room. when she came to her senses she found she was not severely hurt, and began to call for her husband. there was no reply, and in her fright she fairly shrieked out his name. mr. hale, who occupied the adjoining room, came to her assistance and cared for her until dawn of sunday morning. then they went out together and searched the adjacent portion of the city for her missing husband. but not a trace of him was to be found. the search was kept up until monday night, by which time all the wounded had been cared for in the best possible way and all the unburied dead had become putrid. then mr. hale brought mrs. quayle via houston to new orleans and they immediately took the through louisville & nashville train for new york. mr. quayle had on his person some very valuable jewelry and quite a large sum of money at the time he disappeared. luckily, however, mrs. quayle had enough money on her to pay her way back to england. she was completely overcome by fright and although having not yet reached the middle age, had all the appearance of being a frail, decrepit old woman, so terrible had been her recent and trying ordeal. she was compelled to remain in her berth while traveling. unnerved by what he saw. michael b. hancock, dearborn street, chicago, unnerved by the scenes of horror he witnessed among the ruins of galveston on tuesday, hastened to leave the stricken city, and arrived in chicago thursday afternoon. sights of the dead bodies constantly before him, and, according to his statements, he had been practically without sleep since he first set foot on the island. hancock, who is a pullman car porter, had a run from chicago to austin, tex., but when he reached the end of his trip monday he heard of the disaster at galveston and decided to go with a relief party leaving austin that night. the relief train was able to proceed only as far as houston, and from there the goods were transported to the coast and put aboard a small excursion steamer. hancock was accompanied by his conductor, frank alphons. although they were with the relief party, they were stopped several times by the pickets at the steamer landings. after much difficulty they gained a view of the city and the dead. while in the midst of their sightseeing they were accosted by united states soldiers and commanded to assist in the recovery and burning of the dead bodies. feigning to acquiesce, they managed to draw away from the soldiers, and then made a run for the beach. a small boat carried them to the mainland, and they made a forced march of twelve miles before they were able to obtain a vehicle to take them to houston. reaching houston late at night, they started at once for austin and the north. alphons stopped at st. louis and hancock came straight through. when seen at his residence thursday night hancock said: "the sights in the wrecked city of galveston were the most horrible that i have ever witnessed. dead bodies were everywhere. part of the city had been blotted out. for a distance of two miles along the bay houses had been washed away and only the foundations left. the water had not yet entirely receded, and where business blocks and fine residences had once stood were simply holes marking the foundations. these were filled with floating debris and bodies of the drowned. "the sight was ghastly in the extreme, as the working parties would arrive at one of these holes and start to drag the bodies of the dead from the pools of dirty water. every one was expected to work at recovering the dead, and the soldiers corralled alphons and me and told us that we would have to assist in the work. at that time we were standing watching a party of five men working under a guard. they were lassoing the bodies and pulling them out on the higher places, and then piling them on boards preparatory to burning them. [illustration: wreck of shoe store, market street, galveston.] [illustration: south side power house, complete wreck.] [illustration: where twelve men and women were miraculously saved.] [illustration: y. m. c. a. building. showing complete wreck of surrounding buildings.] [illustration: view of wreckage one-half mile from beach] [illustration: appearance of avenue k school building.] [illustration: the work of the storm in galveston.] [illustration: removal of the bodies of storm victims.] "just as some of the regulars were guarding us a terrible outcry arose from the men engaged in the rescue work. running quickly to the scene of trouble, we saw one of the workers was in the grasp of one of the soldiers. another soldier was covering him with his rifle. the man, a mexican, dressed in shabby clothes and wearing a drooping sombrero, was standing sullenly eying the crowd, with one hand in his pocket. his captor grasped his arm suddenly and dragged his hand from the pocket, and five mutilated fingers which he had hacked from corpses dropped to the ground. each had one or more rings on it. "with the sight of these evidences of crime before then the workers seemed to go mad, and with cries of 'lynch him!' 'burn him!' made for the unfortunate wretch. before that he had been standing stolid and unmoved, but the approaching danger shook his courage, and he sunk to the ground pleading for mercy. but there was no mercy for the monster, and the men were only prevented from killing him then and there by the interference of the soldiers. "'leave him to us,' said the corporal in charge of the party as he ranged his men around the prisoner. 'we will attend to his case,' and with that he had the mexican marched over and placed against a post not more than fifteen feet from the bodies he had mutilated. selecting four soldiers as a firing party, he lined them up ten feet from the doomed man, and with the word 'fire!' four bullets pierced the ghoul's body and he fell dead. such was a measure of the speedy justice which is being meted out to vandals in galveston. besides this case, i heard of several more where the guilty men were given the benefit of a short court-martial, then sentenced to death and shot. "i told alphons that i did not want any of that kind of work, and that i never could stand the notion of handling the bodies, and suggested that we escape. he agreed with me, and we gradually edged away from the soldiers and finally made a run and reached the beach. here we hired a small boy to row us to the mainland, and from there we had to walk twelve miles before we could get a rig to take us back to houston. "it will be a long time before i will want to return to galveston, or before i can forget the terrible scenes witnessed there. since i left there i have been seeing the dead bodies all day, lying stark and stiff, with looks of terror on their faces, as though they had realized that a sure death was before them, and at night i have dreamed of having to help handle them. i tell you such things wear on a man, and i will bless the time when i can forget that i was ever in galveston. "the ruins show that the tidal wave must have struck the city broadside, as the buildings are washed away in almost a straight line back from the shore. the wave swept away buildings as far as twelve blocks inland for a space of nearly two miles. this ruined part comprised all the best part of the city. all the city buildings and the entire business portion of the city were swept away, and nothing remains to mark the spots where business blocks stood except half-submerged foundations filled with boards and dead bodies. "the inhabitants who were rendered homeless and were not able to leave the city are now living in tents furnished by the united states government. several distributing stations had been established and forces of men were busy issuing food and clothing to the unfortunate people. there appeared to be no lack of provisions, but water is scarce and there is no ice. while we were there the heat was almost unendurable, and the stench from the bodies made the task of the relief party anything but pleasant. water has to be hauled for several miles. the electric-light plant was destroyed and the city is without light, but the moon has shone brightly, and the work of finding the bodies has been carried on day and night. "conservative estimates of the number drowned made by persons familiar with the city place the loss of life at , . no one knows just how many were killed, and it will be difficult for an accurate statement to be ever made, as the authorities are making no attempt at identifying the dead, but are bending all their efforts toward getting the city cleaned up in order to prevent a pestilence. at first relatives of those killed were allowed to accompany the searching parties, but this was found to be too slow a method, and now the pickets are instructed to prevent any one not connected with relief parties from entering the city. "for the first two days the bodies were carried out to sea in steamers and dumped overboard, but now the officials are piling up the slain in heaps with boards and pieces of timber among them, and, after saturating the pile with oil, set fire to them. "it hardly seems probable that they will rebuild galveston, at least not on its present location. the city stood but little above the sea level, and the soil is sandy, which accounts for the complete destruction of most of the buildings even to the foundations. "many refugees came north with us, and all seemed to be in a hurry to leave the scene of desolation. they acted as though dazed, and many were unable to talk intelligently regarding their escape. all along the line we were besieged with questions regarding the safety of different people, but of course were unable to give our questioners any reliable information. "smaller towns through texas that were struck by the hurricane had buildings blown down and a few casualties resulting. however, galveston was the only city to suffer from the tidal wave, and that accounts for the large loss of life. most of the dead in galveston were drowned, and but few were killed by falling timbers. in houston several buildings were blown down and about ten persons killed." chapter v. relief sent from all parts of the world as soon as the true situation of affairs was made known--millions of dollars subscribed and thousands of carloads of supplies forwarded to the desolated city. mayor jones, of galveston, issued his appeal to the united states for help on the th inst., and the response was prompt and liberal. the mayor was not afraid the people of the united states and the world would call him sensational, for no one was better qualified to judge of the situation than he. he had spent almost every hour after the flood in working for the good of the city and had accomplished wonders. he organized the citizens, giving of his own money, induced others--more unwilling than he--to open their hearts and pocketbooks, and, in fact, took no rest for days after the calamity. as he had been around the city several times before the appeal was issued, he knew the condition of things thoroughly. therefore, the general public had confidence in what he said: the same day the general relief committee of galveston issued the following: "galveston, tex., sept. .--to the public of america: "a conservative estimate of the loss of life is that it will reach , ; at least , families are shelterless and wholly destitute. the entire remainder of the population is suffering in greater or less degree. "not a single church, school or charitable institution, of which galveston had so many, is left intact. not a building escaped damage and half the whole number were entirely obliterated. "there is immediate need for food, clothing and household goods of all kinds. if near by cities will open asylums for women and children the situation will be greatly relieved. "coast cities should send us water as well as provisions, including kerosene oil, gasoline and candles. "w. c. jones, "mayor. "m. lasker, "president island city savings bank. "j. d. skinner, "president cotton exchange. "c. h. mcmaster, "for chamber of commerce. "r. g. lowe, "manager galveston news. "clarence owsley, "manager galveston tribune. "members of the galveston local relief committee." the secretary of the treasury at washington received a joint telegram from postmaster griffen and special deputy collector rosenthal, at galveston. this described the destruction caused by the storm and said: "thousands homeless and destitute. five hundred sheltered in custom house, which is practically roofless. old custom house roofless and windows blown out. need tents and , rations. citizens' relief committee doing all in their power, but stock of undamaged provisions exhausted. with all the people housed, need extra force six men to keep building in sanitary condition. relief urgently requested." the secretary sent the government revenue cutter onondaga from norfolk to mobile, ala., to carry supplies to galveston. the day the appeal was made acting secretary of war meiklejohn at washington authorized the chartering of a special train from st. louis to carry quartermasters' and commissary supplies to the relief of the destitute at galveston. orders were also issued by the war department for the immediate shipment to galveston of tents and , rations. these stores and supplies were divided between st. louis and san antonio. september governor sayers issued the following statement: "austin, tex., sept. .--conditions at galveston are fully as bad as reported. communication, however, has been re-established between the island and the mainland, and hereafter transportation of supplies will be less difficult. "the work of clearing the city is progressing fairly well, and adjutant-general scurry, under direction of the mayor, is patrolling the city for the purpose of preventing depredations. "the most conservative estimate as to the number of deaths places them at , . "contributions from citizens of this state, and also from other states, are coming in rapidly and liberally, and it is confidently expected that within the next ten days the work of restoration by the people of galveston will have begun in good earnest and with energy and success. "of course, the destruction of property has been very great, not less than $ , , , but it is hoped and believed that even this great loss will be overcome through the energy and self-reliance of the people. "joseph d. sayers, governor." on the same day the galveston general relief committee sent out this statement of the condition of affairs: "we are receiving numerous telegrams of condolence and offers of assistance. near-by cities are supplying and will supply sufficient food, clothing, etc., for immediate needs. cities farther away can serve us best by sending money. checks should be made payable to john sealy, chairman of the finance committee. all supplies should come to w. a. mcvitie, chairman relief committee. "we have , people to clothe and feed for many weeks and to furnish with household goods. most of these are homeless, and the others will require money to make their wrecked residences habitable. from this the world may understand how much money we will need. this committee will from time to time report our needs with more particularity. we refer to dispatch of this date of major r. g. lowe, which the committee fully endorses. all communicants will please accept this answer in lieu of direct response and be assured of the heartfelt gratitude of the entire population. "w. c. jones, mayor. "m. lasker, "j. d. skinner, "c. h. mcmaster, "r. g. lowe, "clarence owsley." colonel amos. s. kimball, assistant quartermaster general, stationed at new york, was informed by army contractors on tuesday, the day the appeal was sent out, that miss helen gould had purchased , army rations for the galveston sufferers. the rations were started from the pennsylvania railroad station in jersey city at p. m. the same day. miss gould went directly to the contractors who supply the army with provisions and ordered rations identical with those furnished for soldiers, consisting of bacon, canned meats, beans, hard bread, and coffee. chicago sent $ , to the governor of texas; andrew carnegie gave $ , in cash; sir thomas lipton cabled from london to his manager at new york to send $ , at once, which was done; davenport, ia., sent $ , immediately; philadelphia wired governor sayers $ , without delay; the american steel hoop company, american tin plate company and american sheet steel company gave $ , each, and the southern pacific railway company, $ , ; chicago started a trainload of supplies southward, as also did the state of california; the railroads hauling the cars free of charge; several newspapers in chicago, new york and kansas city either gave money or started relief trains with doctors, nurses and medical supplies, with orders to beat the best record time to galveston; cincinnati began with $ , and subscribed that amount daily for many days; cleveland, o., telegraphed $ , , and then made it $ , ; , rations and united states army tents were sent from st. louis from the office of the united states quartermaster; the mayor of colorado springs, colo., was told by the citizens to send $ , at once and he did so; nearly all the theatres of the united states gave benefits; the state of kansas, having $ left in its indian famine relief fund, sent that; people of the state of texas sent $ , to the governor at austin; houston, tex., raised $ , in cash; the governors of nearly all the states issued proclamations calling upon their people to subscribe to the relief fund, the mayors of most of the cities doing the same--the consequence being that governor sayers had about $ , in hand in cash that very (tuesday) night, with several hundreds of thousands more in sight and within call. by thursday he had $ , in hand and on saturday had $ , , , in addition to which were several thousand cars loaded with supplies of all sorts--provisions, medicines, disinfectants, fruits, clothing, wines for the sick, tents, bandages, stoves, oil--everything that could possibly be needed. it was estimated that fully $ , , would be necessary to carry the sufferers through the fall and winter and into the following spring, for thousands of them were ill and unable to provide in any way for themselves. there were fully , men, women and children in galveston and central and southern texas who were dependent upon charity. on friday night governor sayers decided upon two important plans of action. the first was that he would allow all food and clothing shipped from the east and west to be concentrated in galveston for the use of that city and that he would also grant that city the use of , laborers for a period of thirty days, the same to be paid $ . per man per day for that time out of the relief fund. in addition thereto all requests for money from the galveston relief committee were to be granted. his second decision was that he personally would look after the needs of the , destitute along the gulf coast on the mainland, provide them with flour and bacon and keep them going until they get on their feet again. chairman sealy of the galveston committee was to keep track of the galveston situation while the governor looked out for the outside points. that night a local committee from galveston was sent to houston and virginia point to take charge of the receiving and distribution of supplies that arrived there for the galveston people. a serious matter confronting the authorities not only at the coast points, but in the cities near galveston, was the rapid gathering of toughs, gamblers and rough characters generally, which after the flood were forced to leave galveston island as they would not work. others drifted into the mainland opposite galveston and on to the neighboring towns by the hundreds in the hope of pickpocketing and the like among the crowds. all this gathering of disorderly characters made the peace officers rather uneasy as to the future. the police and troops in galveston and the special officers on the mainland were constantly on the alert to keep down trouble and prevent all possible thieving and they did not get the upper hand of this element until they had shot a score or more. these fellows would steal the provisions and supplies sent by the generous people from the outside, and whenever caught were shot without delay. the following was sent out from galveston on saturday, sept. , which showed how serious the situation was: "galveston, texas, sept. .--hon. joseph d. sayers, governor: after the fullest possible investigation here we feel justified in saying to you and through you to the american people that no such disaster has ever overtaken any community or section in the history of our country. the loss of life is appalling and can never be accurately determined. it is estimated at , to , people. "there is not a home in galveston that has not been injured, while thousands have been destroyed. the property loss represents accumulations of sixty years and more millions than can be safely stated. under these conditions, with ten thousand people homeless and destitute, with the entire population under a stress and strain difficult to realize, we appeal directly in the hour of our great emergency to the sympathy and aid of mankind. "walter jones, "mayor. "r. b. hawley, congressman. "mckibbin, "commander department of texas." general mckibbin, when he looked over the city three days before, had wired the war department at washington that perhaps , people had perished. he was a conservative man, as army officers usually are, and when he signed a statement saying probably , persons had lost their lives his signature carried weight with it. not only did the people of the united states sympathize deeply with the texas sufferers, but those of other nations as well. president loubet, of france, sent the following kind message to president mckinley at washington: "rambouillet presidence, sept. .--to his excellency, the president of the united states of america: "the news of the disaster which has just devastated the state of texas has deeply moved me. the sentiments of traditional friendship which unite the two republics can leave no doubt in your mind concerning the very sincere share that the president, the government of the republic, and the whole nation take in the calamity that has proved such a cruel ordeal for so many families in the united states. "it is natural that france should participate in the sadness, as well as in the joy, of the american people. i take it to heart to tender to your excellency our most heartfelt condolences, and to send to the families of the victims the expression of our afflicted sympathy. "emile loubet." president mckinley sent this answer the next day: "executive mansion, washington, d. c., sept. .--his excellency, emile loubet, president of the french republic, rambouillet, france: "i hasten to express, in the name of the thousands who have suffered by the disaster in texas, as well as in behalf of the whole american people, heartfelt thanks for your touching message of sympathy and condolence. "william mckinley." school children gave their pennies. even the school children of the country helped the sufferers with their pennies. miss ethel donelson, a pupil at the grant school, chicago, wrote a letter to a chicago daily paper suggesting that the school children give some of their pennies to the victims of the great hurricane. the idea was carried out and several thousand dollars was raised in this way in chicago. the plan was adopted also in several other cities. when the suggestion was first made united states postoffice inspector walter s. mayor wrote as follows: "i was reared in galveston; lived there from my infancy until appointed to the government service nineteen years ago, and my mother and brother still live there. "when chicago had its great fire in the people of galveston sent a generous subscription, and with it was one made up by the boys of the school i attended. our teacher, e. e. crawford, gave us a holiday for the purpose, and the fifty-odd boys organized themselves into a number of soliciting committees. i was on the committee with charles fowler, now one of galveston's leading business men, and we two succeeded in collecting $ . in all, for our day's work we got together $ , which was turned into the general fund raised by the citizens' committee. "in the twenty-nine years that have followed since then chicago has pulled itself out of the ashes and risen to a high place among the world cities. many forces have been brought to bear to accomplish this great end, but possibly the most potent one was the helping hand of the neighbor when help was needed. among those who helped with their little mite may the school children of galveston now be remembered. "i most heartily second miss donelson's suggestion that the school children of chicago be given an opportunity to aid their little brothers and sisters in galveston, many of whom are naked and orphaned by the terrible disaster that has come to them. "walter s. mayer, "postoffice inspector." on thursday, sept. , american residents and visitors in paris, france, together with frenchmen whose sympathies were aroused by the storm disaster in texas, contributed , francs in twenty minutes for the relief of the sufferers. the americans held a meeting in the chamber of commerce, which was largely attended. united states ambassador porter was a leader among those who proposed to organize for the work of aiding in the relief. the americans perfected an organization and elected general porter president, george munroe, the banker, treasurer, and francis kimball secretary. the subscription list was then opened and the , francs raised. the mayor of galveston was informed by cable of the result. the same day p. p. w. houston, member of parliament for the west toxteth division of liverpool, england, and head of the houston line of steamers, cabled £ , to galveston for the relief of the sufferers. members of the american colony in berlin, germany, held a meeting sunday, september , at the united states embassy and raised $ , . americans in london subscribed $ , and many london theatres gave benefits. the marquis of salisbury, premier of england, the emperor william of germany, the emperor of austria, the king of italy, the czar of russia--in fact, nearly all the heads of state in the world cabled condolences, and the legislative bodies of foreign nations then in session passed resolutions of sympathy. by saturday new york had raised $ , ; chicago, $ , , together with many carloads of supplies which were sent as special trains, and the following cities had contributed the amounts named: st. louis $ , boston , philadelphia , new orleans , cincinnati , cleveland , colorado springs , minneapolis , denver , pittsburg , kansas city , portland, oregon , peoria, ill. , memphis , san francisco , louisville , baltimore , milwaukee , springfield, ill. , st. paul , topeka, kan. , charleston, s. c. , los angeles , detroit , indianapolis , helena, mont. , johnstown, pa. , as stated before, the total for the four and a half days ensuing from the time the appeal was issued--$ , , was contributed, while an additional $ , , was not long in following. both chicago and new york increased their subscriptions largely. in no case did the railroads charge for carrying the cars over their lines. their penalties were remitted. navigation and other laws were set at naught by the united states authorities in order to help the galveston and other flood sufferers. on friday, september , the following telegram was referred to general spaulding by president mckinley: "galveston, tex., sept. , .--to president of the united states: in consequence of calamity and fear of sickness numerous people wish to leave the city. all our rail communication is cut off. the revenue cutter of this district is disabled and no american steamer immediately available. we therefore respectfully request you to instruct the proper authorities to allow british steamers caledonia and whitehall and any other foreign vessels now here, but compelled to proceed to new orleans for cargo, to carry passengers from galveston to new orleans. "w. c. jones, mayor, "clarence ousley, "j. d. skinner, "c. h. mcmaster, "r. g. lowe, "committee." general spaulding at once sent the following telegram: "w. c. jones, mayor, galveston, tex.: replying to your telegram of the th inst. addressed to president: if british steamships caledonia, whitehall, or other foreign vessels now in your port carry passengers in distress from galveston to new orleans or other american ports during present conditions this department will consider favorably applications for remission of penalties which may be incurred under the law. advise masters. "o. l. spaulding, acting secretary." on friday night governor sayers stated that the work of relieving the flood sufferers was making excellent progress. he said: "most generous contributions are coming in from all parts of the country sufficiently large to relieve the immediate wants as to food and clothing, and in the meantime the people of galveston are recovering themselves, and i have no hesitancy in expressing the firm conviction that a strong reaction from an almost mortal blow to the city has already set in, and that in a short while the city will be in a condition to resume its normal and progressive position in commercial life. after a full conference to-day with an authorized committee from galveston, i am more than convinced that the people there will be able, with the assistance already given, to handle the situation successfully." how galveston's business men were helped along. as a rule there is no sentiment in business, but the retail merchants of galveston whose business and fortunes were swept away were not forgotten in the hour of need by the wholesale houses of chicago, which announced just after the disaster that stocks of goods would be shipped promptly and willingly, any time and terms being accorded to the business of the gulf city. the regular way of determining credits was ignored, as was the credit man also. his cold judgment was not asked for, but instead sympathy and compassion for the unfortunate position of the merchants of the stricken city determined largely the stand the wholesalers announced they would take. in doing this the houses of chicago had the precedent established by the outside world in its treatment of them in the days following the great chicago fire. chicago men said they will do as they were done by, and the galveston merchant had but to ask for the help he needed. many chicago houses wrote their galveston customers at once advising them that they could have credit, time, and terms to suit themselves. this favor was also given to all business men who had lost all but names and prestige, whether they had been customers or not. firms that never had had any business with galveston or texas firms stated that they stood ready to ship goods on the same terms. no business man in the damaged district, they said, whose misfortunes were due to the catastrophe could come to chicago for supplies and go away without them even if he had not a dollar's worth of assets in the world, as long as he could show a former good business standing and repute. "we will take any and all risks," said one after another of the representatives of chicago wholesale houses. "in the present emergency credits cannot be measured by the regular business standards. humanity must dictate the terms on which the merchants of galveston who have bought from us, or who may want to buy from us, are to have goods and supplies." firm after firm of the wholesale district, whether or not they now have trade in the afflicted territory, made the same statement. "we already have written to former customers who are scattered along the coast, asking them how they came out of the disaster and offering them any terms of settlement their losses may warrant," said the credit man of one of the largest houses in the west, on the friday following the flood. "we will view the facts in their cases not from a business but from a sympathetic standpoint." "we are making our former customers time, terms and credits of their own asking," said the vice-president of a great wholesale dry goods house. "we will make the same terms to new customers who have been good business men." "we have advised former customers that their orders will be filled promptly for complete stocks," said the manager of a music and musical instrument house. "we have told them to make their own time and terms. we charge no interest." "we are looking at the men of galveston and not at their present assets," said the managing partner of a wholesale clothing house having a large texas trade. "we have sent word to fifty of our customers in galveston to draw on us for new stocks without asking them if they have saved a penny from the catastrophe," said the president of one of the largest cigar and tobacco concerns in the city. "the conditions are so distressing as to shame a chicagoan asking what any galveston business man has to-day," said the manager of a grocery house. "we have never reached into texas after trade, but shall do so immediately. any business man wanting our goods can have them on his own terms." "our customers in galveston can send in their orders for new stocks and have them filled as quickly as if they forwarded double prices," said a furnishing goods wholesaler. "we are not asking them what their assets are." chapter vi. cremating bodies by the hundred in the streets of galveston--negroes faint while handling the decomposed corpses--how some of those rescued escaped with their lives. fully , bodies were cremated at galveston after it became apparent that the time necessary to bury them or cast them into the sea could not be taken, owing to their advanced state of decomposition. many of the negroes who handled the bodies fell from fright and nausea. white volunteers took their places and the work went on. the volunteers bandaged their mouths and noses with cotton cloths saturated with disinfectants and were relieved by other volunteers every hour. fires could not be started every place where bodies were found. the usual plan was to collect all bodies within two blocks in one spot and then build the funeral pyre. on the remains of many women were valuable rings and jewelry, but the men did not attempt to remove the jewelry. it was burned with the owners. officers mass and woodward reported that their two gangs burned bodies, the majority women and children. the percentage of deaths among children was frightful. sheriff thomas and his negroes burned forty bodies on the beach near tremont street. catholic priests in charge of gangs reported bodies burned. the sanitary experts pushed the work of burning the dead. no other disposition was considered. people who had lost relatives and friends made no objection and looked on the plan with favor. disinfectants were used as never before in the world. the smell of the charnel house was driven away and the whole city was filled with the fumes of carbolic acid and lime in solution. this is general order no. , issued by brigadier general thomas scurry, commanding the city forces: "guards, foreman of gangs, and working parties or others acting under the authorities of this department will use diligence toward preventing any hardships on private individuals or impressing men for service. the conditions, however, are so critical, and it is so necessary that sanitary precautions be taken to preserve the lives and health of the people of this stricken city, that individual interests must give way to the general good of all. if it is found feasible to secure volunteers, general impressment will be avoided, but, the medical fraternity being a unit in the opinion that further delay or procrastination will bring pestilence to finish the dire work of the hurricane, the interests of no individual, firm, or corporation will for one instant be spared to secure volunteers for work, but, failing this, every able-bodied man is to be put to work to clear the wreckage, burn the hundreds of bodies under it, and save, if possible, the lives of those who yet remain. i trust this position may be thoroughly appreciated and understood, so that all people will govern themselves accordingly." boy floats miles on a trunk. the miracles of galveston were many. some of them will not be received with full credit by readers. in the infirmary at houston was a boy whose name is rutter. he was found on monday morning lying behind a trunk on the land near the town of hitchcock, which is twenty miles to the northward of galveston. the boy was only years old. his story was that his father, mother, and two children remained in the house. there was a crash. the house went to pieces. the boy said he caught hold of a trunk when he found himself in the water and floated off with it. he was sure the others were drowned. he had no idea of where it took him, but when daylight came he was across the bay and out upon the still partially submerged mainland. escaped in bathing suits. the wife of manager bergman of the houston opera house saw more of the storm than fell to the lot of most women who live to tell of it. she had been spending the heated term at a rosenberg avenue cottage only a short distance from the beach. on saturday morning the water had risen there three feet. putting on a bathing suit, mrs. bergman went to the olympia to talk over the long distance telephone with her husband in houston. this was about a. m. at the olympia she had to wade waist deep in the water. at o'clock mrs. bergman became alarmed, and with her sister she left the summer cottage and started toward the more thickly settled part of the city. neighbors laughed at the fear of the women. out of a family of fifteen in the next house only three were saved. mrs. bergman and her sister waded and swam alternately several blocks until they reached the higher streets. then they hired a negro with a dray and told him to take them to the telephone exchange. within two blocks from where the start was made in this way the mule got into deep water and was drowned. the women reached the telephone building, but when the firemen began to bring in the dead bodies they left and went to balton's livery stable. this was only yards away, but mrs. bergman says it was the hardest part of the trip, with the air full of flying bits of glass, slate, and wood. in the stable they remained until morning. when the sun had risen the water had so far receded that they went out to the site of their cottage. a hitching post was all that served to locate the place. no houses were left standing for many blocks around. a dead baby lay in the yard. the two women returned down-town. passing a store with plate glass windows and doors blown out, they went in and helped themselves to the black cloth from which they made the gowns they still wore when they reached houston three days later. during the storm they wore their bathing suits. strange incidents of the flood. many instances of devotion of husband to wife, of wife to husband, of child to parent and parent to child could be mentioned. one poor woman with her child and her father was cast out into the raging waters. they were separated. both were in drift and both believed they went out in the gulf and returned. the mother was finally cast upon the drift and there she was pounded by the waves and debris until she was pulled into a house against which the drift had lodged, and during all that frightful ride she held to her eight months' old boy and when she was on the drift pile she lay upon the infant and covered it with her body that it might escape the blows of the planks. she came out of the ordeal cut and maimed, but the infant had not a scratch. statues on altar not harmed. st. joseph's catholic church presents a strange contrast, with the roof and rear wall back of the altar being carried away. the wall collapsed, but the altar was not damaged and the frail lifesize statues of st. joseph and the virgin on the altar were not harmed or moved. when their home went to pieces the members of the stubbs family--husband, wife, and two children--climbed upon the roof of a house floating by. they felt tolerably secure. without warning the roof parted in two pieces. mr. and mrs. stubbs were separated. each had a child. the parts of the raft went different ways in the darkness. one of the children fell off and disappeared. not until some time sunday was the family reunited. even the child was saved, having caught a table and clung to it until it reached a place of safety. another man took his wife from one house to another by swimming until he had occupied three. each fell in its turn and then he took to the waves and they were separated and each, as the persons above mentioned, believed they were carried to sea. after three hours in the water he heard her call and finally rescued her. threw $ , worth of diamonds into the water. edward zeigler, thomas farley and alexander mccarthy arrived at mobile, ala., thursday evening from galveston. they left galveston that morning on the tug robinson with other refugees and were taken to houston. until they arrived at new orleans they were clad in undergarments and were coatless. they escaped at : on sunday morning from a house on the exposed beach by clinging to a log and floating to high ground. zeigler was struck by floating wreckage, but was assisted by his companions to safety. an old negress, who gave the sleeping men warning, was drowned. zeigler was naked and the other men were in their night garments when they reached the crowd gathered near the tremont house, but their appearance was similar to that of hundreds, many women being rescued for whom clothing had to be at once obtained. at noon sunday they had sufficient space to move around with comfort, although filled with anxiety and penned in on all sides by the rapidly rising water. four hours later the few thoroughfares above water were congested with crowds of hysterical women, crying children and frantic men. the separation of families produced pathetic scenes when mothers mourned their offspring and men lamented the loss of all dear to them. there was no confusion, only a clinging closer together without discrimination of class or sex as the waters advanced foot by foot. at dark the misery deepened and the women occupied the hotel and approaches, the highest point in the city, and the water continuing to advance, buildings and stores were thrown wide open to provide refuge in the upper stories. the men gave the better positions to the women. as midnight approached conditions became worse; several women became demented and one woman, a member of the demi-monde, threw $ , worth of diamonds into the flood. in the hotel the women kissed each other and said good-by. they prayed and sang hymns in turn. with each announcement that the waters were rising many men and women gave up to the terrible mental strain and fainted. the survivors paid a high tribute to the bravery in the face of death of the women of galveston, and stated that, although abject melancholy had fallen over all, that the spirit of fortitude displayed by the women nerved the men. the horrors of that night were equaled on the succeeding days as the water receded. dared everything for wife and son. of all the heroism and dogged tenacity of purpose noted in connection with the galveston storm none was greater than that of w. l. love of houston. mr. love was a compositor on the houston post, and his wife and little son were visiting mrs. love's mother in galveston when the storm struck the city. early sunday morning when the first news of the galveston disaster began to drift in, mr. love announced to the foreman of the composing-room, under whom he was working, that he intended starting immediately for galveston. he went to one of the depots and fortunately found a train leaving toward galveston. he boarded it, but the train was forced to stop eight miles before it reached galveston bay. he walked eight miles, arriving at the bay in about two hours. there was no boat in sight, not even a skiff or canoe. he found a large cypress railroad-tie near the water's edge and, procuring a coal hook from a locomotive that had blown from the track, he got astride the tie after having placed it in the water, and set out on a difficult and perilous journey across the three miles of salt water. thus he labored for six trying hours, the sun beating down on him and with his body half submerged in the brine of the bay. at last the goal was reached and he pulled himself out of the water and stepped on the once fair island. after having passed on his way more than a hundred decaying bodies of the storm victims, the heroic young man set about finding his wife and little boy. this he did after a lengthy search. his wife had lost her mother, father, brothers and sisters, numbering eight in all. the little boy had been utterly stripped of his clothing by the wind and both he and his mother had an experience that rarely comes to a mother and son. pitiful tales of some of the survivors. the story of thomas klee was indeed most pitiful. klee lived near eleventh and n streets. when the storm burst he was alone in his home with his two infant children. he seized one under each arm and rushed from the frail structure in time to cheat death among the falling timbers of his home. once in the open, with his babies under his arms, he was swept into the bay among hundreds of others. he held to his precious burden and by skillful maneuvering managed to get close to a tree which was sweeping along with the tide. he saw a haven in the branches of the tree and raised his two-year-old daughter to place her in the branches. as he did so the little one was torn from his arm and carried away to her death. the awful blow stunned but did not render him senseless. klee retained his hold on the other child, aged four years, and was whirled along among the dying and dead victims of the storm's fury, hoping to effect a landing somewhere. an hour in the water brought the desired end. he was thrown ashore, with wreckage and corpses, and, stumbling to a footing, lifted his son to a level with his face. the boy was dead. klee remembered nothing until thursday night, when he was put ashore in texas city. he had a slight recollection of helping to bury dead, clear away debris and obey the command of soldiers. his brain, however, did not execute its functions until friday morning. george boyer's experience was a sad one. he was thrown into the rushing waters, and while being carried with frightful velocity down the bay saw the dead face of his wife in the branches of a tree. the woman had been wedged firmly between two branches. margaret lees' life was saved at the expense of her brother's. the woman was in her twelfth street home when the hurricane struck. her brother seized her and guided her to st. mary's university, a short distance away. he returned to search for his son, and was killed by a falling house. horrible condition of the city after the flood. i. j. jones, sent to galveston by governor sayers, of texas, the day after the storm to investigate the condition of the texas state quarantine there, reported to the governor at austin on september , said, among other things, in his report: "the sanitary condition of the city is very bad. large quantities of lime have been ordered to the place, but i doubt if any one will be found to unload it from the vessels and attend its systematic distribution when it arrives. the stench is almost unbearable. it arises from piles of debris containing the carcasses of human beings and animals. these carcasses are being burned whenever it can be done with safety, but little of the wreckage can be destroyed. there is no water protection, and should a fire break out the destruction of the city would soon be complete. when searching parties come across a human body it is taken into an open space and wreckage piled over it. this is set on fire and the body slowly consumed. the odor of the burning bodies is horrible. "the chairman of the finance relief committee at galveston wanted me to make the announcement that the city wants all the skilled mechanics and contractors with their tools that can be brought to galveston. there is some repair work now going on, but it is impossible to find men who will work at that kind of business. those now in galveston not engaged in the relief work have their own private business to look after and mechanics are not to be had. all mechanics will be paid regular wages and will be given employment by private parties who desire to get their wrecked homes in a habitable condition as rapidly as possible. there are many houses which have only the roof gone. these residences are finely furnished, and it is desired that the necessary repairs be made quickly. "the relief work is fairly well organized. nothing has been accomplished except the distribution of food among the needy. about one-half of the city is totally wrecked and many people are living in houses that are badly wrecked. the destitute are being removed from the city as rapidly as possible. it will take three or four days yet before all who want to go have been removed from the island and city. a remarkably large number of horses survived the storm, but there is no feed for them and many of them will soon die of starvation. "i am thoroughly satisfied after spending two days in galveston that the estimate of , dead is too conservative. it will exceed that number. nobody can ever estimate or will ever know within , of how many lives were lost. in the city the dead bodies are being got rid of in whatever manner possible. they are burying the dead found on mainland. at one place were found and buried on wednesday. there must be hundreds of dead bodies back on the prairies that have not been found. it is impracticable to make a search. bodies have been found as far back as seven miles from the mainland shore. it would take an army to search that territory on the mainland. "the waters of the gulf and bay are still full of dead bodies and they are being constantly cast upon the beach. on my trip to and from the quarantine i passed a procession of bodies going seaward. i counted fourteen of them on my trip in from the station, and this procession is kept up day and night. the captain of a ship who had just reached quarantine informed me that he began to meet floating bodies fifty miles from port. "as an illustration of how high the water got in the gulf, a vessel which was in port tried to get into the open sea when the storm came on. it got out some distance and had to put back. it was dark and all the landmarks had been obliterated. the course of the vessel could not be determined and she was being furiously driven in toward the island by the wind. before her course could be established she had actually run over the top of the north jetty. as the vessel draws twenty-five feet of water, some idea can be obtained as to the height of the water in the gulf." thrilling experience of a dallas girl. one of the most thrilling descriptions of personal experience with the fearful flood ever written was that of miss maud hall, of dallas, tex., who was spending her school vacation with friends at galveston. she wrote an account of her adventures to her parents, mr. and mrs. emory hall: "dear papa and mamma: i suppose before this you will have received my telegram and know i am safe. this has been a terrible experience. i hope i will be spared any more such. i am just a nervous wreck--fever blisters over my mouth, eyes with hollows under them, and shaking all over. when i close my eyes i can't see anything but piles of naked dead and wild-eyed men and women. i suppose i had better begin at the beginning, but i don't know if i can write with any sense. saturday at about o'clock it began raining, and the wind rose a little. sidney spann and two young lady boarders could not get home to dinner. after the dinner the men left and we sat around in dressing sacks watching the storm. all at once birdie duff (mrs. spann's married daughter) said: 'look at the water in the street; it must be the gulf.' "there was water from curb to curb. it rose rapidly as we watched it, and mrs. spann sent us all to dress. it rose to the sidewalk, and the men began to come home. the wind and rain rose to a furious whirlwind and all the time the water crept higher and higher. we all crowded into the hall of the house--a big, two-story one--and it rocked like a cradle. about o'clock the roof was gone, all the blinds torn off, and all the windows blown in. glass was flying in all directions and the water had risen to a level with the gallery. "then the men told us we would have to leave and go to a house across the street at the end of the block, a big one. mrs. spann was wild about her daughter sidney, who had not been home, and the telephone wires were down. the men told us we must not wear heavy skirts, and could only take a few things in a little bundle. i took my watch and ticket and what money i had and pinned them in my corset; took off everything from my waist down but an underskirt and my linen skirt; no shoes and stockings. i put what clothes i could find in my trunk and locked it. tell mamma the last thing i put in was her gray skirt, for i thought it might be injured. "it took two men to each woman to get her across the street and down to the end of the block. trees thicker than any in our yard were whirled down the street; pine logs, boxes and driftwood of all sorts swept past, and the water looked like a whirlpool. birdie and i went across on the second trip. the wind and rain cut like a knife and the water was icy cold. it was like going down into the grave, and i was never so near death, unless it was once before, since i have been here. i came near drowning with another girl. it was dark by this time, and the men put their arms around us and down into the water we went. birdie was crying about her baby that she had to leave behind until the next trip, and i was begging mr. mitchell and the other man not to turn me loose. "mrs. spann came last. the water was over her chin. it was up to my shoulders when i went over. one man brought a bundle of clothing, such as he could find for us to put on, wrapped up in his mackintosh. he had to swim over. i spent the night, such a horrible one, wet from shoulder to my waist and from my knees down, and barefoot. nobody had any shoes and stockings. mrs. spann did not have anything but a thin lawn dress and blanket wrapped around her from her waist down. nellie had a lawn wrapper and blanket, and fannie had a skirt and winter jacket. mr. mitchell had a pair of trousers and a light shirt and was barefooted. the house was packed with people just like us. "the house had a basement and was of stone. the windows were blown out, and it rocked from top to bottom, and the water came into the first floor. of course no one slept. about o'clock in the morning the wind had changed and blew the water back to the gulf, and as we stood at the windows watching it fall we saw two men and two girls wading the street and heard sidney calling for her mother. she and the young lady with her spent the night crowded into an office with nine men in total darkness, sitting on boxes, with their feet up off the floor. it was an immense brick building four stories high. they were on the second floor. the roof and one story was blown away and the water came up to the second floor. it was down toward the wharf. "as soon as we could we waded home. such a home! the water had risen three feet in the house and the roof being gone the rain poured in. i had not a dry rag but a dirty skirt which was hanging in the wardrobe and an underskirt with it. my trunk had floated and everything in it was stained except the gray skirt. we had not had anything to eat since noon the day before, and we lived on whisky. every time the men would see us they would poke a bottle of whisky at us, and make us drink some. all we had all day sunday was crackers at cents a small box and whisky. "we were all so weak we knew we could not get any more, so miss decker and i went down about o'clock. it was awful. dead animals everywhere, and the streets filled with fallen telegraph poles and brick stores blown over. hundreds of women and children and men sitting on steps crying for lost ones, and half of them, nearly, injured. wild-eyed, ghastly-looking men hurried by and told of whole families killed. "i could not stand any more and made them bring me home, and fell on the bed with hysterics. they poured whisky down me, but the only effect it had was to make my head ache worse. i had about got straightened out when a girl and a woman came to the house--relatives of mrs. spann--who had lost their mother and friends and house, and all they had. they had hysterics, and everybody cried, and i had another spell. all day wagon after wagon passed filled with dead--most of them without a thing on them--and men with stretchers with dead bodies with just a sheet thrown over them, some of them little children. "we waited, every minute expecting to have the two bodies brought here. but they had not been found up to now, and all hope is lost. there is a little boy in the house that spent the night in the water clinging to a log, and his father and mother and four sisters were drowned. he is all alone. last night mr. mitchell took miss decker and i to another boarding house to find a dry bed. we slept on a folding bed, with nothing under us but a rug and sheet, and i had to borrow something dry to sleep in. the husband of the lady who lost her mother has just come from houston. he walked and swam all the way. he is nearly wild, and she is just screaming. i cannot write any more. am coming home soon as i can." saved as by a miracle. the stubbs family, consisting of father, mother and two children, was in its home when it collapsed. they found refuge on a floating roof. this parted and father and one child were swept in one direction, while the mother and the other child drifted in another. one of the children was washed off, but sunday evening all four were reunited. mrs. p. watkins became a raving maniac as the result of her experiences. with her two children and her mother she was drifting on a roof, when her mother and one child were swept away. mrs. watkins mistakes attendants in the hospital for her lost relatives and clutches wildly for them. harry steele, a cotton man, and his wife sought safety in three successive houses which were demolished. they eventually climbed on a floating door and were saved. w. r. jones, with fifteen other men, finding the building they were in about to fall, made their way to the water tower and, clapping hands, encircled the standpipe to keep from being washed or blown away. mrs. chapman bailey, wife of the southern manager of the galveston wharf company, and miss blanche kennedy floated in the waters ten to twenty feet deep all night and day by catching wreckage. finally they got into a wooden bath tub and were driven into the gulf overnight. the incoming tide drove them back to galveston and they were rescued the next day. they were fearfully bruised. all their relatives were drowned. a pathetic incident in the search for the dead occurred friday. a squad of men discovered in a wrecked building five bodies. among these bodies was one which a member of the burial party recognized as his own brother. the bodies were all in an advanced state of decomposition. they were removed and a funeral pyre was built, at which the brother assisted and, with spartan-like firmness, stood by and saw the bodies of the dead reduced to ashes. on monday a brakeman of the galveston, houston and northern left virginia point and started to walk toward texas city. he found a little child, which he picked up and carried for miles. on his way he discovered the bodies of nine women. these he covered with grass to protect them from the vultures until some arrangements could be made for their interment. chapter vii. lives lost and property damage sustained outside of galveston--one thousand victims and millions of value in crops swept away--estimates made. galveston's property loss by the hurricane was hardly less than $ , , ; outside of that city, in houston and other points in central and southern texas, together with the agricultural and stock-raising districts, the property damage was nearly half that amount, or in the neighborhood of $ , , . probably seventy-five villages and towns were swept by the storm, and in most of these places there was loss of life. it was reliably estimated from reports received at austin, the capital city of texas, from these places that the loss of life, exclusive of the death list of galveston island and city of galveston, would aggregate , people. in many towns the percentage of killed or drowned exceeded that in the city of galveston. several towns were swept completely out of existence. the scene of desolation in the devastated district was terrible to witness. the storm was over miles wide and extended as far inland as temple, a distance of over miles from the gulf. the cotton crop in the lower counties was completely ruined. the same was true of the rice crop. the distress was keenly felt by the planters and small farmers throughout the storm-swept region. in houston the damage was not figured at over $ , ; at alvin, $ , , the town being virtually destroyed and , people in that section deprived not only of shelter and food for the time being but all prospect for crops in the year to come. on the th of september, r. w. king sent out the following statement and appeal from houston after a thorough investigation of the situation in and around alvin: "i arrived in alvin from dallas and was astonished and bewildered by the sight of devastation on every side. ninety-five per cent of the houses in this vicinity are in ruins, leaving , people without adequate shelter and destitute of the necessaries of life, and with no means whatever to procure them. everything in the way of crops is destroyed, and unless there is speedy relief there will be exceedingly great suffering. "the people need and must have assistance. need money to rebuild their homes and buy stock and implements. they need food--flour, bacon, corn. they must have seeds for their gardens so as to be able to do something for themselves very soon. clothing is badly needed. hundreds of women and children are without a change and are already suffering. some better idea may be had of the distress when it is known that box cars are being improvised as houses and hay as bedding. only fourteen houses in the town of alvin are standing, and they are badly damaged." the damage at hitchcock was not less than $ , , but the news from there was disheartening. a bulletin from a reliable source, dated september , said: "country districts are strewn with corpses. the prairies around hitchcock are dotted with the bodies of the dead. scores are unburied, as the bodies are too badly decomposed to handle and the water too deep to admit of burial. "a pestilence is feared from the decomposing animal matter lying everywhere. the stench is something awful. disinfecting material is badly needed." other outside losses were: property. richmond $ , fort bend county , wharton , wharton county , colorado county , angleton , velasco , other points, brazoria county , sabine , paton , rollover , winnie , belleville , hempstead , brookshire , waller county , arcola , sartartia , dickinson , texas city , columbia , sandy point , near brazoria (convicts killed) , other points , damage to railroads outside of galveston, $ , . damage to telegraph and telephone wires outside of galveston, $ , . damage to cotton crop, estimated on average crop of counties affected, , bales, at $ a bale, $ , , . damage to stock was great, thousands of horses and cattle having perished during the storm. in brazoria and other counties of that section there was hardly a plantation building left standing. all fences were also gone and the devastation was complete. many large and expensive sugar refineries were wrecked. the negro cabins were blown down and many negroes killed. on one plantation, a short distance from the ill-fated town of angleton, three families of negroes were killed. the villages of needville and basley in fort bend county were completely destroyed. over twenty people were killed, most of the bodies having been recovered. every house in that part of the country was destroyed and there was great suffering among the homeless people. there was much destitution among the people of richmond in the same county. richmond was one of the most prosperous towns in south texas. it was wholly destroyed and the homeless ones were without shelter. their food supplies were provided by their more fortunate neighbors until other assistance could be had. the state authorities heard from the sartaria plantation, where several hundred state convicts were employed. every building on the plantation was blown down and the loss to property aggregated $ , . fifteen convicts were caught under the timbers of a falling building and all killed. over a score of others were injured. in addition to the loss on buildings the entire cane crop was destroyed on this as well as other plantations in that section. seven people were killed in the town of angleton, which was almost completely destroyed. in the neighborhood of angleton five more persons were killed and their bodies have been recovered. the loss of life in that immediate section far exceeded the estimates given in the earlier reports. the search for victims of the flood at seabrook resulted in fifty bodies being recovered. seabrook was a favorite summer resort with many texas people, and its hotels were filled with guests. many were out on pleasure jaunts when the storm came upon them. there were many guests in the private houses which were swept away. the casualties at texas city were five. velasco, situated near the mouth of the brazos river, asked for help. over one-half of the town was destroyed and eleven people lost their lives. reports from the adjacent country showed that many negroes were killed. eleven negro convicts employed on a plantation in matagorda county were killed by the collapse of a building in which they had sought refuge from the storm. the town of matagorda, situated on the coast, was in the brunt of the storm. several people were killed in the towns of caney and elliott, in the same county. the new buildings on the clemmons convict farm, owned and operated by the state, were destroyed and several convicts injured. the crops were also ruined. over fifty negroes were killed in wharton county, ten being killed on one plantation near the town of wharton. bay city suffered a loss of nearly all of its buildings and three were killed there. there were many homeless people in missouri city, every house in the town but two being destroyed. the destitute people were living out of doors and camping on the wet ground. outside of the cities of galveston and houston, the greatest suffering was between houston and east lake, inland, and on the coast to the brazos river. there was no damage at corpus christi, rockport, or in that immediate section of the coast. people in immediate need of relief were those of the colorado and brazos river bottoms. the planters in that section had everything swept away last year, and the flood this year devastated their crops, leaving the tenants in a state bordering on starvation. an enormous acreage was planted in rice and the crop was ready for harvesting when the furious winds laid everything low. at wharton, sugarland, quintana, waller, prairie view and many other smaller places barely a house was left standing. many of the farm hands had been brought into that section to assist at cotton picking and other farming. the people were huddled in small cabins when the first signs of a storm began brewing. but few escaped. their clothing and everything was gone. they were absolutely devoid of even the necessities with which to sustain life. to begin over again the owners of plantations had to rebuild houses, purchase new machinery and new draft animals. the loss of horses and mules in the stricken district was a severe blow. live stock interests were also greatly harmed. in the opinion of railway men several years must elapse before the farming districts can be restored to their former conditions. the advanced prices of building material was a hard blow for the smaller farmers, who in most instances were owners of farms. appeals for relief were received from everywhere in the storm center. the season had given promise of producing the best harvest in the previous fifteen years. five houston people were drowned at morgan's point--mrs. c. h. lucy and her two children, haven mcilhenny and the five-year-old son of david rice. mr. michael mcilhenny was rescued alive, exhausted and in a state of terrible nervousness. mcilhenny said the water came up so rapidly that he and his family sought safety upon the roof. he had haven in his arms and the other children were strapped together. a heavy piece of timber struck haven, killing him. mcilhenny then took up young rice, and while he had him in his arms he was twice washed off the roof and in this way young rice was drowned. mrs. lucy's oldest child was next killed by a piece of timber and the younger one was drowned, and next mrs. lucy was washed off and drowned, thus leaving mr. and mrs. mcilhenny the only occupants on the roof. finally the roof blew off the house and as it fell into the water it was broken in twain, mrs. mcilhenny remaining on one half and mcilhenny on the other. the portion of the roof to which mrs. mcilhenny clung turned over and this was the last seen of her. mcilhenny held to his side of the roof so distracted in mind as to care little where or how it drifted. he finally landed about p. m. sunday. at surfside, a summer resort opposite quintana, there were seventy-five persons in the hotel. the water was about it, and the danger was from the heavy logs floating from above. only a few men worked in the village, so a number of women went into the water to their waists and assisted in keeping the logs away from the hotel, and no one was lost. at belleville every house in the place was damaged, and several were demolished, including two churches. one girl was killed near there. not a house was left at patterson in a habitable condition. two boarding cars were blown out on the main line and whirled along by the wind sixteen miles to sandy point, where they collided with a number of other boarding cars, killing two and injuring thirteen occupants. a dead child, the destruction of all houses except one and the destitution of some fifty families is the record of the work of the hurricane at arcadia. from fifty other towns came reports that buildings were wrecked or demolished. most of them reported several dead and injured. j. d. dillon, commercial agent of the santa fe railway company, made a trip over the line of his road from hitchcock to virginia point on foot, september , and gave a graphic account of his journey, which was made under many difficulties. "twelve miles of track and bridges are gone south of hitchcock," said he. "i walked, waded and swam from hitchcock to virginia point, and nothing could be seen in all of that country but death and desolation. the prairies are covered with water, and i do not think i exaggerate when i say that not less than , horses and cattle are to be seen along the line of the tracks south of hitchcock. "the little towns along the railway are all swept away, and the sight is the most terrible that i have ever witnessed. when i reached a point about two miles north of virginia point i saw some bodies floating on the prairie, and from that point until virginia point was reached dead bodies could be seen from the railroad track, floating about the prairie. "at virginia point nothing is left. about cars of loaded merchandise that reached virginia point on the international and great northern and the missouri, kansas and texas on the night of the storm are scattered over the prairie, and their contents will no doubt prove a total loss." on friday, september , from early morning until far into the afternoon governor sayers was in conference with relief committees from various points along the storm-swept coast. among the first committees to arrive was one from galveston. these men consulted at length with the governor, and as a result of this conference it was decided that the state adjutant general, general scurry, should be left in command of the city, which was to be considered under military rule, and that he was to have the exclusive control not only of the patrolling of the city, but of the sanitary forces engaged in cleaning the city. it was decided also that instead of looking to the laboring people of galveston for work in the emergency an importation of outside laborers to the number of , should be made to conduct the sanitary work while the people of galveston were given an opportunity of looking after their own losses and rebuilding their own property without giving any time to the city at large. it was believed that with the work of these , outside laborers it would require about four weeks to clean the city of debris, and in the meantime the citizens could be working on their own property and repairing damage there. another relief committee from velasco reported that , persons were in destitute circumstances, without food, clothing, or homes. crops had been totally destroyed, all farming implements were washed away, and the people had nothing at hand with which to work the fields. a relief committee from the columbia precinct reported , destitute. other sections sent in committees during the day, and as a result of all governor sayers ordered posthaste shipments of supplies. the text of the message of sympathy received by president mckinley from the emperor of germany was as follows: "stettin, sept. , .--president of the united states of america, washington:--i wish to convey to your excellency the expression of my deep-felt sympathy with the misfortune that has befallen the town and harbor of galveston and many other ports of the coast, and i mourn with you and the people of the united states over the terrible loss of life and property caused by the hurricane, but the magnitude of the disaster is equaled by the indomitable spirit of the citizens of the new world, who, in their long and continued struggle with the adverse forces of nature, have proved themselves to be victorious. "i sincerely hope that galveston will rise again to new prosperity. "william, i. r." the president replied: "executive mansion, september , .--his imperial and royal majesty wilhelm ii., stettin, germany:--your majesty's message of condolence and sympathy is very grateful to the american government and people, and in their name, as well as on behalf of the many thousands who have suffered bereavement and irreparable loss in the galveston disaster, i thank you most earnestly. "william mckinley." chapter viii. business resumed at galveston in a small way on the sixth day after the catastrophe--"galveston shall rise again"--how the city looked on saturday, one week after the flood. by the time friday--practically the sixth day after the flood, although the waters did not subside nor the wind go down until about o'clock on sunday morning--had arrived many of the business men of the stricken city had recovered their courage and two or three banks and a few business houses were opened, although most of the streets were still choked with debris and practically impassable. on every corner was this sign: clean up. some women even ventured out shopping, picking their way over great masses of wreckage. tremont street was by that time opened from the bay to the beach, and mechanic street, the strand and winnie and church streets were being rapidly cleared. however, the stench from the putrefying bodies of the victims of the calamity still in the ruins of scores and hundreds of buildings was all but unbearable. "galveston shall rise again." "galveston must rise again," said the galveston news in an editorial on thursday. "at the first meeting of galveston citizens sunday afternoon after the great hurricane, for the purpose of bringing order out of chaos, the only sentiment expressed," the editorial says, "was that galveston had received an awful blow. the loss of life and property is appalling--so great that it required several days to form anything like a correct estimate. with sad and aching hearts, but with resolute faces, the sentiment of the meeting was that out of the awful chaos of wrecked homes and wrecked business, galveston must rise again. "the sentiment was not that of bury the dead and give up the ship; but, rather, bury the dead, succor the needy, appeal for aid from a charitable world, and then start resolutely to work to mend the broken chains. in many cases the work of upbuilding must begin over. in other cases the destruction is only partial. "the sentiment was, galveston will, galveston must, survive, and fulfill her glorious destiny. galveston shall rise again. * * * "if we have lost all else, we still have life and the future, and it is toward the future that we must devote the energies of our lives. we can never forget what we have suffered; we cannot forget the thousands of our friends and loved ones who found in the angry billows that destroyed them a final resting place. but tears and grief must not make us forget our present duties. the blight and ruin which have destroyed galveston are not beyond repair; we must not for a moment think galveston is to be abandoned because of one disaster, however horrible that disaster has been. "it is a time for courage of the highest order. it is a time when men and women show the stuff that is in them, and we can make no loftier acknowledgment of the material sympathy which the world is extending to us than to answer back that after we shall have buried our dead, relieved the sufferings of the sick and destitute, we will bravely undertake the vast work of restoration and recuperation which lies before us in a manner which shall convince the world that we have spirit to overcome misfortune and rebuild our homes. in this way we shall prove ourselves worthy of the boundless tenderness which is being showered upon us in the hour of desolation and sorrow." this sentiment voiced the feeling of the people of the prostrate city pretty accurately, for they had begun to look around them and make plans for rebuilding, although it was many days after that before the streets were cleaned and the ground was dry enough to begin work. the situation a week afterwards. a newspaper correspondent who had unusual facilities for getting at the true state of affairs summed up the situation on saturday, september , just a week after the awful visitation, as follows: "the first week of galveston's suffering has passed away, and the extent of the disaster which wind and flood brought to the city seems greater than it did even when the blow had just been struck. "that , or more of the , men, women and children who made up the population of the city seven days ago are dead is almost certain. and the money value of the damage to the property of the citizens is so great that no one can attempt to estimate it within $ , , of the real amount. "in one thing the effects of the flood are irreparable. water now covers , , square feet of ground that was formerly a part of the city, but which now can never be reclaimed from the gulf. "a strip of land three miles long and from to feet wide along the south side of the city, where the finest residences stood, is now covered by the waves even at low tide. the beach hotel now has its foundations in the gulf, although before the hurricane it had a fine beach feet wide in front of it. this land is gone forever. "like men stunned and dazed, the survivors of the flood have worked and struggled to bury their dead and to make the city habitable for the living, but it may be doubted whether they even yet realize to the full extent what they have lost, or guess the suffering that is in store for them when their moments of leisure come and they begin to miss their friends and loved ones who are dead. "it is certain now that, however much galveston has suffered, the city will be rebuilt and be the scene of as great a business as before. but few of the men of the city can pay any attention yet to the work that is necessary for this restoration. to-day they are busy with the roughest work of cleaning the city, of clearing away the debris, of burying the bodies which still are being discovered under ruins each day and of providing for their simplest necessities. "the woman who a few days ago was the mistress of a splendid mansion, with every want provided for, may now be seen half-clad making her way through the streets in search of a little food, and esteeming herself fortunate if her family is still intact to gather in the wreckage of the former home. the man who a few days ago was the owner of a great business and the master of many servants may to-day be seen working in the trying tasks of removing wreckage and hauling away to burial the decayed and unrecognizable bodies of the dead, under the direction of armed soldiers and deputy sheriffs, who are there to see that the work is not slighted. "and around every one is ruin. the broken and shattered houses, the scattered articles of furniture, above all the burning funeral pyres on which the bodies of many of the dead are being consumed, make the city a place of horror even to those whose personal wants are best provided for. "the peril from the wind and waves was followed for those who survived by a peril of hunger and a peril of disease. there came also a peril to life and property from the great horde of robbers and inhuman outlaws who were attracted by the helpless condition of the city to seek their prey. "the splendid response of the country to galveston's appeal for help has removed all danger of further suffering from hunger, and the prompt action of governor sayers, through adjutant general scurry, and of mayor jones and the citizens' relief committee have re-established order and made the horrible scenes of the stripping of corpses and the assaults on persons no longer possible. the city is still under martial law, and it will remain so, nominally at least, until normal conditions otherwise have been restored. "the danger of pestilence is still great, however, and indeed the fear that other thousands may fall victims to a scourge of disease is gaining in strength and leading to an exodus of all the women and children and of many of the men of the city, who are crowding the boats to get away to the mainland. "added to the danger from the thousands of decomposing bodies both of men and of beasts, which still lie under ruined houses and along the gulf shore, is the danger from the unflushed sewers and closets in the city. until yesterday it was practically impossible to flush the sewers in any part of the city on account of the lack of water, and although the condition is now much better there is much of evil still. "fevers and other diseases which may be bred under these conditions will not show themselves for ten days or longer, at the earliest. some of the physicians in the city have issued statements to-day calculated to calm the apprehensions of the citizens in this matter. among them is dr. w. h. blount, state health officer, who says that there is no great danger. he refers to the cyclone of , which covered the city with slimy mud, and instead of breeding disease served practically to put an end to the yellow fever then prevalent. "the work of clearing away the debris in the streets has been carried on with a fair degree of vigor, and it is expected that it will be pushed much faster from now on. the , laborers whom it has been decided to bring in from outside the city for the work will be able to take up the task without having to worry about the safety of the remnants of their own property which they may have left unprotected. "the most important need is, however, for money to pay the men. adjutant general scurry said to-day: 'i have not a dollar to pay the men who are working in the streets all day long. i am not able to say to a single one of these men, "you shall be paid for your work." i have not the money to make good the promise and i hope and believe that the country will relieve the situation. "'we must have this city cleaned up at any cost, and with the greatest speed possible. if it is not done with all haste, and at the same time done well, there may be a pestilence, and if it once breaks out here it will not be galveston alone that will suffer. such things spread, and it is not only for the sake of this city, but for others outside of this place that i urge that above all things we want money. "'the nation has been most kind in its response to the appeal of galveston, and from what i hear, food and disinfectants sufficient for temporary purposes at least, are here or on the way. the country does not understand, it cannot understand, unless it visit galveston, the awful destitution prevailing here. of all the poor people here, not one has anything. a majority of them could not furnish a single room in which to commence housekeeping even though they had the money to rebuild the room. "'these people have absolutely nothing except what is given them by the relief committee. they are in a condition of absolute want, they lack everything, and save for the splendid generosity of the nation they would be utterly without hope.' "the gangs of men in the streets are still finding every now and then badly decomposed bodies. few of these relics of human life can be recognized, and many of them are naked and without anything about them which would lead to identification. they are disposed of as rapidly as possible, but the work is very offensive and the men engaged in it cannot endure it steadily for any great length of time. "'pull them out of the water as soon as seen and throw them into the flames as soon as taken from the water,' is the order, and it is effectually carried out. "the best work in this direction was done along the shore line of the gulf on the south side of the city. during the day bodies were found at frequent intervals, and just at sunset seven were found in the ruins of one house. it is expected that more will be found to-morrow, as the work gang that to-day found seven bodies will clear up the debris where it is known that fifteen people were killed. "the soldiers from dallas and houston who have been here providing for order and helping in the work of cleaning up the city have become exhausted and it has been necessary to relieve them. the craddock light infantry of terrell arrived to-day to take up the work. "the exodus to houston and other neighboring cities is still going on. the sailboats across the bay are crowded to their fullest capacity, and they make as many round trips each day as they can." nothing like it in the history of the united states. "no calamity in the history of the united states approaches the horror of galveston." such was the declaration of col. walter hudnall of the united states treasury department, saturday, after filing a secret report to the government in which he outlined the damage sustained by the government and made confidential suggestions concerning the advisability of continuing the expenditures that have been made there annually. "galveston needs no more physicians or nurses," he continued. "those who would rush to the aid of the stricken island should send quicklime, chloride of lime, carbolic acid and other disinfectants and stay away themselves. to-day galveston is a gigantic funeral pyre. from the wreckage ascend numerous pillars of smoke and the air is filled with the sickening odor of burning human flesh. but above all, making one forget even the presence of the uncounted dead, is the stench of decaying coffee, rice and other vegetable products that lie swelling with the heat and putrefying. powerful chemicals and disinfectants are required to prevent what this is sure to produce--disease. "in the face of these conditions galveston is burying her dead, burning her wreckage, attempting to restore order and bring about a resumption of business. "no words of complaint are heard. the woe which has come upon the island city is too great for tears and the afflictions of individuals in the loss of dear ones is entirely forgotten in the heroic fight that is being made for self-preservation for the community. women of wealth steal through the streets without clothing, save for a bit of torn and grimy cloth wrapped about them. men of means are in the same sorry plight and go about their grewsome task of cleaning up in so stolid a manner that it is obvious that galveston has not awakened to the full horror of the situation. there has not been time to think. "it is not uncommon to hear worn and haggard men refer to the loss of their families and their all with so little evidence of concern that it would attract wonder were not the senses of the visitor numbed by the terror of the situation. it is the reaction that is feared most by those who are leading the effort to make the city habitable. when this work is completed and there is time to think a heartrending wail of woe will go up from the twenty-odd thousand mourning survivors and gloomy desperation is expected to succeed the energy that is now manifested. "the spirit of the people is aptly illustrated by capt. john delaney, chief customs inspector of the port. delaney, years of age, lost his entire family, wife, son and daughters. the bodies of the son and daughters were recovered, but no trace of mrs. delaney has been found. whether her body was cast into the sea from one of the dread funeral barges or buried may never be known. terrible as was the blow, delaney was at his post the day following the disaster, attired in a pair of overalls, all that he managed to save. yesterday a butcher, fortunate in saving a portion of two suits, loaned delaney a pair of trousers. clad in them he boarded a big german tramp steamer that arrived in port, inspected her and sent her back to new orleans, as she was unable to discharge her cargo at galveston." in his report to washington col. hudnall placed the loss of life at from , to , and ridiculed the idea that any person could estimate the property loss at that time. he predicted that it would be impossible to estimate within $ , , of the correct figures. his estimate was based upon what was said to be better information than that of any other visitor in galveston, as he had made a thorough canvass of the city on horseback, visiting every locality where it was possible to travel, instructions from the treasury department being to thoroughly investigate in every detail. no one else had made such a canvass. vice-president and general manager trice of the international and great northern railroad, after looking over the situation in galveston, said the railroad losses would aggregate $ , , or $ , , in that city alone. at galveston their wharves, warehouses, depots and tracks were ruined. the costly bridges which connected the island with the mainland were in ruins and must be entirely rebuilt. the international and great northern and santa fe had considerable track washed out, while the galveston, houston and northern suffered heavily. all track between seabrooke and virginia point, with all of the bridges, was washed away, and section foreman scanlan and all his crew at nadeau had been lost. how the insurance companies fared. naturally the question of insurance carried on the lives and property of people of galveston was one much discussed after the first feeling of horror occasioned by the catastrophe had worn away, and the fact was developed that while the life insurance companies were somewhat badly hit--although in not so great a degree as would naturally be supposed when the heavy death list was taken into consideration--very little property insurance was carried by the business men and property owners of the desolated city. although the loss of life was over , , a large proportion of the victims was composed of women and children, a class which rarely if ever carries insurance; again, the majority of the men drowned and crushed were residents of the poorer districts of the town, the wealthier men having abandoned their homes at the first alarm and fled to the elevated places. these victims were caught in their houses, together with their families, and husbands, wives and children died together. as a matter of fact, the men who work for a living at trades and in the various branches of employment where skilled labor is not demanded, do not carry life insurance as a general thing, except in benevolent or fraternal societies of which they may be members, and this is the main reason why the "straight" life insurance companies, as they are called, did not suffer more than they did. one of the most prominent insurance managers in the united states said three days after the catastrophe: "life insurance companies will feel the blow of the galveston storm. how much insurance was carried by the victims of the storm is not known, but it must have been great in the aggregate. the large proportion of women and children among the dead will lighten the burden, as they do not often carry insurance. "the rule requiring the body of the insured to be identified will have to be waived, because of the number of bodies buried at sea and otherwise without identification. unless the rigor of this rule is relaxed by the insurers litigation will be boundless. "practically no property insurance was carried at galveston." galveston and houston representatives of the largest eastern insurance companies when seen concurred in the opinion that the insurance policies against storm losses carried by galvestonians would not aggregate $ , . they said there was absolutely no demand for such insurance at galveston. the head of one of the leading insurance firms in galveston which represented many large eastern companies said: "we did not carry a dollar of storm insurance at galveston, and while my information on that point is limited, i feel sure the storm insurance was very small. we never had a request for storm insurance policies. if there had been any demand at galveston for insurance of this kind we would have heard of it. "we held $ , storm insurance on two big oil mills at houston and our loss will probably be $ , to $ , on these two structures. we held $ , storm insurance at port arthur and about $ , at alvin. the insurance situation at galveston is very quiet. there was no loss by fire, and i think the insurance against storms was trivial." more than , houses were destroyed; millions of dollars' worth of property in dry goods, grocery and other business houses--wholesale and retail--was ruined; there was hardly a house in the city which did not suffer damage, the total property losses aggregating about $ , , ; and yet, living in a section where storms were liable to occur at any time, little or no insurance was carried. the first message by wire was sent out of galveston thursday at : p. m. over the wire of the western union company. the company laid a cable across the channel, and through it they transmitted the message. the cable was brought from chicago on a passenger train. the postal telegraph company had several wires in good working order by saturday night, as also had the western union company. the mexican cable company secured both ends of its cable and established communication from galveston with the outside world via the city of mexico friday evening. chapter ix. galveston nine days after--great changes apparent--life in a business exhibited--systematic efforts to obtain names of the dead. monday, september , galveston presented a far different appearance than the monday previous. street cars were in operation in the business part of the city and the electric line and water service had been partly resumed. the progress made under the circumstances was little short of remarkable. it must not be understood by any means that the remaining portion of the city had been put in anything like its normal condition, but so very great a change had been wrought, so much order and system prevailed where formerly chaos reigned, that galveston and the people who had been giving her such noble assistance had good reason to be satisfied with what had been accomplished in the face of such fearful odds. according to statements made by general scurry, mayor jones, alderman perry and others, there was equally good reason to believe that the progress of the work from that time on would be even more satisfactory. on that morning the board of health began a systematic effort to obtain the names of the dead, so that the information could be used for legal purposes and for life insurance settlements. an agent was stationed at the headquarters of the central relief committee to receive and file sworn statements in lieu of coroner's certificates. persons who had left the city but were in possession of information concerning the dead were notified to send sworn statements to mr. doherty. the steady stream of refugees from galveston was kept up. there was not a departing train from across the bay which was not packed to its platforms. refugees continued to leave for many days thereafter. no sadder sight could be imagined than the picture presented by a boat load of refugees, when the ropes were cast off and the craft swung out into the bay and away from the desolate city. there was not a face that was not turned toward the ruin. there was not an eye that was not moistened by tears. so great had been the rush to leave behind the scene of the storm that the lawrence, the boat which connected with trains at texas city, had not left her wharf a single day without denying passage to a portion of those who wanted to get away. the partings at the waterside were pitiful. husbands came to the gangplank and kissed their weeping wives good-by, turning back to the hard work of reconstruction which confronted them, with breaking hearts. scores of women, overcome at the last moment, were cared for by strange hands, while those who loved them, bound to galveston by necessity, could do no more than watch from afar and pray. instead of waiting until galveston was reached to begin work, steps were taken to care for refugees at the bay terminal of the galveston, houston and henderson road, and during saturday night and sunday hundreds of hungry refugees were fed, while numbers of sick and wounded were cared for. there was plenty of work on hand for ten times the force of laborers employed. the area which had not yet been touched embraced four and a half miles of frontage on the beach and bay. there were enough provisions on hand ahead to feed everybody in galveston for a week. there was a great deal of trouble in properly distributing supplies, the rush at the depots being as great as at any time since they were opened. it was indeed a mercy that the weather since the storm had been clear and dry. had it rained a single day the suffering would have been terrible, for there was not a whole roof in galveston. there were about soldiers in galveston doing guard and police duty. the camp on the wharf, between the galveston red snapper company and the foot of tremont street had been put into shape and the soldiers comfortably housed. there were five militia commands--the dallas rough riders, captain ormonde paget, with forty-five men; the houston light guards, captain george mccormick, with forty-five men; the galveston sharpshooters, captain a. bunschell, with thirty-five men; battery d of houston, captain g. a. adams, with fifteen men, and troop a. houston cavalry, commanded by lieutenant breedlove, with twenty men. the fact that no money was available to pay the men who were engaged in cleaning the streets was a great detriment to preparing the way not only for rebuilding the city but in the efforts to prevent the spread of plague and pestilence. general scurry, general in charge of the operations at galveston, made the following statement on sunday, september : "i have not a dollar to pay the men who are working in the streets all day long. i am not able to say to a single one of them 'you'll be paid for your work.' i have not the money to make good the promise. i hope and believe that the country will understand the situation. we must have this city cleaned up at any cost and with the greatest speed possible. if it is not done with all haste, and at the same time done well, there may be a pestilence, and if it breaks out here it will not be galveston alone that will suffer. "such things spread, and it is not only for the sake of this city, but for others outside that i urge that above all things we want money. the nation has been most kind in its response to appeals from galveston. from what i hear food and disinfectants sufficient for temporary purposes at least are here or on the way. the country does not understand. it cannot understand unless it could visit galveston, the situation prevailing here. "scurry, "adjutant-general state of texas." as to the probability of a pestilence, general chambers mckibbin, u. s. a., commanding the military department of texas, said: "i am personally in favor of burning as much rubbish as possible, and of burning it as quickly as permissible. i do not predict a pestilence, but i think the things are coming to that point where a pestilence may be possible unless prompt measures are taken, and there is nothing so effective as fire. burn everything and burn it at once." all the churches in galveston either being wrecked or ruined, with but one or two exceptions, divine services on sunday, september , were in most cases suspended. mass was celebrated at st. mary's cathedral in the morning and was largely attended. father kirwin preached an eloquent and feeling sermon, in which he spoke of the awful calamity that had befallen the people. after expressing sympathy with the afflicted and distressed he advised all to go to work in burying the dead. the next day a census of the catholic population was begun to ascertain the number of widows and orphans caused by the storm and the exact number of catholics who perished. bishop gallagher, who had been active in his efforts to mitigate suffering at galveston, received a telegram from archbishop corrigan of new york, stating the diocese of that city would see that all catholic orphan children sent to his care were kindly provided for. houston was the center of relief distribution, and also the key to galveston. it was practically the only way in or out for weeks. hundreds of refugees passed through every day. houston was well filled with them, but the larger number went right through to points farther north. free transportation was furnished to any point in texas, provided they had relatives who would take care of them. many of the refugees arrived at houston scantily clothed and in a pitiful condition. "vast as the work is, all are being provided for," said edward watkins, chairman of the transportation division of the relief committee. "we have not let anybody go through uncared for." mere curiosity was at a discount here. people who had urgent business in galveston found it hard to get permits to go there, and those who were simply curious could not get there at all. camera fiends were absolutely barred. one man was shot for taking a picture of a nude woman on the beach, and three newspaper men who were taking views of the ruins were rounded up, their cameras smashed and themselves forced to go to work gathering up decomposed corpses. even houston was in a similar state of martial law. guards surrounded the depot of the international & great northern, the only road running south, and would not even allow curious crowds to gather to see the refugees come in. this was in enforcement of a proclamation issued by mayor brashear, copies of which, printed on large red cards, were posted conspicuously all over the city. the catastrophe all but paralyzed shipping business in the storm-visited section. at fort worth all purchasing stopped. cotton was just beginning to move, but it had to go by way of new orleans, the additional freights eating up the apparent profit of the cent a pound advance in price. had the storm struck a few weeks later the loss would have been greatly increased, as the cotton would then have been upon the wharves. heavy financial losers were the fraternal societies. one known as the united moderns, with headquarters at denver, lost out of a lodge of . policies ranged from $ , to $ , . insurance matters create a big bother. one hundred and fifty odd million dollars represented the value of the life insurance policies carried by the old-line companies in the state of texas at the time of the flood. it was estimated that $ , , represented the life risks carried in galveston by the regular companies, and that over $ , , was carried by assessment and fraternal organizations. insurance men said it was probable that of the persons killed in the recent disaster were men, and that, according to statistics, half of them had life policies of an average value of $ , . on this basis $ , approximated the losses to be met in galveston by the life insurance companies. eighteen old-line companies and a great many assessment and fraternal companies divided the losses, and no reputable organization was crippled thereby. accurate figures of the losses were not made, but the above figures represented the calculations hastily made by george t. dexter, superintendent of the domestic agencies of the mutual life insurance company of new york. in regard to this mr. dexter said: "the most striking feature of the insurance situation at galveston is the difficulty that will arise when the adjustment of claims is taken up. hundreds of bodies have been buried without identification, hundreds more have been taken out into the gulf and many have been cremated. whole families have been destroyed in many instances, and insurance papers have suffered in the general destruction of property. this state of affairs will make it difficult for the beneficiaries to establish their claims and will enable the organizations so disposed to escape payment. i have no doubt the level premium companies will adjust claims, in a large measure, on circumstantial evidence. "our agency property at san antonio was destroyed, and we have no accurate reports of our texas losses, so it is impossible to give other than general estimates of what they may be. the class of people insuring in the regular companies are in general surrounded by conditions that render them better risks in the event of such a calamity as this, but if my information is correct the better portion of the residence district suffered most, and we may hear of heavy losses. i think we carried between $ , and $ , insurance in galveston. the insurance business in that part of the south has been exceptionally good of late because of the cotton values." h. h. knowles, southern manager of the equitable life of new york, said: "we have two $ , risks in galveston, and we are hoping that they are not among the lost. our reports from texas are not in, but i should think that our company will be fortunate if it gets off with less than a loss of $ , . i believe that the assessment and fraternal insurance concerns will have the most losses because of the fact that in such a disaster the loss of life is greater among the poorer classes." the accident insurance companies had heavy losses to meet. chapter x. magnitude of the relief necessary--twenty thousand persons to be clothed and fed--system of relief organization--how the storm affected trade. the situation at galveston on saturday night, just a week after the calamity, was thus described by a competent authority who arrived in the city the day after the flood: "it must be possible by this time to give some idea of the magnitude which relief must assume. there were , persons in the city when the census was taken a few weeks ago. after the storm , remained. this latter statement is made after careful inquiry from the best sources of information. about , have left the island, most of them women and children, to go to friends temporarily. "of the , remaining how many must be helped and how long? "the question is a hard one. the men who knew most of the situation, who have labored day and night since sunday, hesitate to answer. "mr. mcvittie, the executive head of the relief work, said it was possible there were , persons in the city who did not require any assistance whatever. mr. lowe of the galveston news, a most careful and conservative man, said he believed fully two-thirds of the surviving and remaining population were dependent to-day. others familiar with the situation were asked for their opinions, and they estimated variously the number that must be helped temporarily at from two-thirds to three-fourths. "the conclusion is forced that there are to-day in galveston , persons who must be fed and clothed. the proportion of those who were in fair circumstances and lost all is astonishing. relief cannot be limited to those who formed the poor class before the storm. "an intelligent man left galveston to-day, taking his wife and children to relatives. he said: 'a week ago i had a good home and a business which paid me between $ and $ a month. to-day i have nothing. my house was swept away and my business is gone. i see no way of re-establishing it in the near future.' "this man had a real estate and house-renting agency. "at the military headquarters, one of the principal officials doing temporary service for the city, said: 'before the storm i had a good home and good income. i felt rich. my house is gone and my business. the fact is i don't even own the clothes i stand before you in. i borrowed them.' "now these are not exceptional cases. they are fairly typical. men who worked for salaries, who rented or owned good houses and considered themselves fairly well provided for, as the world goes, are to-day, by thousands, not only penniless, but without food, without clothes, and without employment. "there must be fed and clothed these , until they can work out their temporal salvation. and then something ought to be done to help the worthy get on their feet and make a fresh start. some people will leave galveston. it is plain, however, that nothing like the number expected will go. galveston is still home to the great majority. it was a city of fine local pride. it was one of the most beautiful of american cities, and with its surrounding of gulf and bay was a pleasant place to live in, even in summer. those who can stay and live here will do so. "if the country responds to the needs in anything like the measure given to johnstown, chicago, charleston and other stricken cities and sections, galveston as a community will not only be restored but will enter upon a greater future than was expected before the storm. "this seems rather an extraordinary thing to say. it has been the experience, wherefore it is expected here. since tuesday there has been no doubt of galveston's restoration. if in the future this city celebrates a flood anniversary the day upon which the community's courage was reborn ought to be remembered. "from a central organization the relief work has been divided by wards. a depot and a subcommittee were established in each ward of the city. 'they who will not work should not eat' was the principle adopted when the organization was perfected. few idle mouths are now being fed in galveston. there are fatherless, and there are widows, and there are sick who must have charity. "but the able-bodied are working in parties under the direction of bosses. they are paid in food and clothing. in this way the relief committee is, within the first week, meeting the needs of the survivors and at the same time gradually clearing the streets and burning the ruins and refuse. "a single report made by a ward committeeman to mr. mcvittie will serve to show on what scale this plan is being carried out. 'in my ward,' said the committeeman, 'i have men employed and i am feeding , persons.' "the system of the galveston relief organization is admirable. perhaps never before was economy practiced so rigidly in the distribution of the nation's largess. 'our aim,' mr. mcvittie said, 'is to distribute no money at this time, but to employ with relief funds all of the labor in the clearing of the city and the cremation of the dead until we have removed to that extent the ravages of the storm. "'we employ all who can work and we give food and clothing as remuneration. we scrutinize most carefully applications for charity and grant none if the applicant is able to render service. we adopted this plan in the beginning and we are going to continue it. most of our people responded to the rule and went to work. to those who were unwilling to work we applied the authority of martial law. "'all galveston is now at work and the contributions which we are receiving from the sympathizing nation are going to pay for the most urgent work the storm imposed on us.' "six days have wrought surprising changes in conditions at galveston. each day has been a chapter in itself. sunday was paralysis. on monday came the beginning of realization. tuesday might be called the crisis period. and the crisis was passed safely. what has been accomplished since the turning point on tuesday is amazing. it is almost as incredible as some of the effects of this visitation are without precedent. "on sunday the people did little but go about dazed and bewildered, gathering a few hundred of the bodies which were in their way. on monday the born leaders who are usually not discovered in a community until some great emergency arises began to forge in front. they were not men from one rank in point of wealth or intelligence. they came from all classes. for example there was hughes, the 'longshoreman. "bodies which lay exposed in the streets and which were necessary to remove somewhere lest they be stepped on were carried into a temporary morgue until lay in rows on the floor. then a problem in mortality, such as no other american community ever faced, was presented. pestilence, which stalked forth by monday, seemed about to take possession of what the storm had left. immediate disposition of those bodies was absolutely necessary to save the living. then it was that lowe and mcvittie and sealy and the others, who by common impulse had come together to deal with the problem, found hughes. "the 'longshoreman took up the most grewsome task ever seen away from a battlefield. he had to have helpers. some volunteered, others were pressed into the service at the point of the bayonet. whisky by the bucketful was carried to these men and they were drenched with it. the stimulant was kept at hand and applied continuously. only in this way was it possible for the stoutest-hearted to work in such surroundings. under the direction of hughes these hundreds of bodies already collected and others brought from the central part of the city--those which were quickest found--were loaded on to an ocean barge and taken far off into the gulf to be cast into the sea." how the storm affected trade. the following trade statement, issued from new york on saturday, september , showed the effect of the great storm in commercial circles: "the tropical storm that devastated the gulf coast, almost wiping out the city of galveston and doing damage in other parts of the country, caused reduction in the volume of business at the south, and railroads in the gulf region have probably not shown their maximum losses of earnings as yet, but even after such a catastrophe a recuperative power is shown. "from many quarters of the west and southeast a better distribution of merchandise is reported in jobbing and retail circles. the weather has continued favorable for the maturing corn crop, with cutting progressing and the crop generally beyond danger, but damage to cotton by the storm is still an unknown quantity. prices of staple commodities are higher for the week, hoisted by the sharp rise in cotton, but in manufactured products there is little change, though steady increases of business at the current level is satisfactory. "cotton closed last week at the highest price in ten years, and a large short interest was awaiting reaction. instead, there came news of the disaster in texas and sensational reports that , , bales had been destroyed. at the new york exchange trading was far in excess of all previous records, and prices rose by bounds. subsequently there were less exaggerated reports from the south, but the market failed to respond and middling uplands advanced cents. "the rise in the raw material caused sharp advances in cotton goods. in one week standard brown sheetings rose from . to cents, wide bleached sheetings from to cents, standard brown drills from . to . , and staple ginghams from to . cents. buyers who have been delaying for weeks are anxious to secure liberal supplies, both instant and distant." two appeals which brought much money. two appeals for aid which brought in much money were the following, the first one being by the g. a. r. and women's relief corps, department of texas: "the appalling calamity that has befallen galveston and the coast country has smitten hundreds of our comrades in the city, villages and on farms. in many instances, portions of whole families are lost; in a hundred others, houses are wrecked, live stock killed and crops destroyed. "george b. mcclellan post of this city is doing what it can, but its efforts are all inadequate. systematic organized assistance alone can avert distress, and we therefore appeal to the members of this department in behalf of these comrades. they had made their last stand and effort to secure for themselves and families homes on the coast country of texas. their all is involved. far along in the evening of their life they cannot recuperate. "if there was time to make another crop they have nothing with which to make it. unless we help them they must abandon their homes, their all. if the principles of our order--fraternity, charity and loyalty--are of any avail, it is time to show it. fraternity means organization--charity means everything and is the 'greatest of all.' loyalty means standing by our comrades as well as the flag. they were our brothers in arms, they are our kindred in adversity. "we confidently expect every post, every member of every corps to contribute something. remittances and supplies from the g. a. r. should be made to colonel e. g. rust, assistant quartermaster general, and from the women's relief corps to mrs. mina metcalf, both of houston, texas. "charles b. peck, "department commander. "annette van horn, "department commander." the other was by president michaux of the travelers' protective association, addressed to the members of the organization throughout the united states: "whereas, a great calamity has befallen the city of galveston, thousands of dead, dying and wounded to be cared for by our united and benevolent people; and "whereas, numbers of traveling men are reported seriously wounded; therefore, to care for immediate wants, i deem it necessary to call on the traveling men to contribute as much as in their power to help, aid and assist our stricken companions. "our association is able and will take care of all its unfortunate members, and i appeal to you in the name of charity and love to assist us in caring for them not so fortunate. remit what you can afford by postoffice, express money order to james e. ludlow, san antonio, texas. secretaries of all local t. p. a. posts will receive and remit your subscriptions. i trust that this appeal to the traveling men will be met by a quick response. sincerely and fraternally, "d. w. michaux, president. "texas t. p. a. of america, houston, texas." chapter xi. insanity follows frightful sufferings of the poor victims--five hundred demented ones--indifferent to the loss of relatives. hundreds of people became insane during the week succeeding the flood. they had bravely borne the loss of relatives, the hunger and fatigue, had apparently been unmindful of the horrors of the catastrophe, and had, as a rule, given no indications of mental aberration while the disaster was on, but when the danger was passed and relief from the great strain came, the overburdened mind gave way. j. a. fernandez, a prominent citizen of galveston, who was connected with the relief work, told of many cases which came under his observation. the second sunday following the storm, september , he said, in recounting his experiences: "there are at least persons there whose minds have become unbalanced, and some have lost every vestige of their mental faculties, there being some raving maniacs among them; one of whom came under my personal observation. his name is charles thompson, a gardener. he occupied a room above me at the hotel, and during the night he kept raving and pacing the floor and kept calling on god to witness his action, continually invoking the mercy of the deity. he has lost his family and home, and by a miracle saved himself. "as soon as he was out of personal danger on that awful night he commenced rescuing women and children and saved seventy people, according to a gentleman who knew the circumstances. he then lost his mind. he created so much excitement at the hotel that two policemen were detailed to capture him. he heard them approaching and leaped out of a three-story window to an adjoining building. his fall was somewhat broken, but his body struck a bay window in my room. he was badly injured, but continued his mad flight. he baffled his pursuers and escaped. this occurred at o'clock this morning. this is only one illustration of the conditions that prevail there. "a man whose wife was drowned in the flood had been searching in vain for her remains for several days, and yesterday located the body in the water near thirty-third street and avenue g. soldiers had also seen the body, and they took it in charge. he protested and rushed to take possession of the body. the soldiers were stern and had to discharge their duty, and the husband, practically demented, was bound while the body was thrown in the flames and soon burned to a crisp. the man made frantic efforts to get away from the soldiers, but to no avail. "in the course of my rounds i saw a family of six half-naked, and they appeared crazy, and would look into the face of every stranger with a vacant stare that was pitiable in the extreme. they were hurrying in the direction of the places where provisions were being distributed. they had lost their homes, and had only the clothing on their backs. there were thousands in a similar condition." i. thompson, a young man who was very active in saving life during the night of the storm, became insane because of the awful scenes he witnessed. thompson's friends first noticed his condition when he told them that one of the persons he rescued had deposited $ , in one of the galveston banks to his credit and that he was going to live in luxury the rest of his life. thompson retired to his room on the third floor of the washington hotel saturday night seemingly sane. soon afterward he became violent. the person engaged to watch him was compelled to leave the room for a short time, and when he returned found thompson had wrenched the shutters off his window and leaped out upon an awning and thence to the street. he was seen running toward the bay, and in all probability threw himself in and was drowned. another case was that of a young woman who was caught in the storm, and with two other women and about fifty men and boys found refuge in an office. as the storm gradually subsided the young woman started for her home quite reassured. she found a wild waste of waters sweeping over the site of her home. among the first victims carried into the temporary morgue were the young woman's mother, brother and two children. these were quickly followed by her brother's wife and her two sisters. the shock overthrew the girl's reason, and she became a nervous wreck, without a relative in the world. storm refugees precipitate a panic in a convent. the ursuline convent and academy, in charge of the sisters of st. angelo, proved a haven of refuge for nearly , homeless and storm-driven unfortunates. no one was refused admittance to the sheltering institution. negroes and whites were taken in without question and the asylum was thrown open to all who sought its protecting wings. in the midst of the storm the hundreds or more negroes grew wild and shouted and sang in true camp-meeting style until the nerves of the other refugees were shattered and a panic seemed imminent. it was then that mother superioress joseph rang the chancel bell and caused a hush of the pandemonium. when quiet had been restored the mother addressed the negroes and told them that it was no time nor place for such scenes; that if they wanted to pray they should do so from their hearts, and the creator of all things would hear their offerings above the roar of the hurricane, which raged with increased fury as she spoke to the awe-stricken assemblage. the negroes listened attentively and when the mother told them that all those who wished to be baptized and resign themselves to god could do so nearly every one asked that the sacrament be administered. the panic had been precipitated by the falling of the north wall of that section of the building in which the negroes had sought refuge. order and silent prayer were brought about by the nun's determination and presence of mind. families that had been separated by the conflict of elements were united by the waters of the gulf tossing them into this haven of refuge. heart-moving scenes were presented by these unions as the half-dead, mangled and bruised unfortunates were rescued and dragged from the waters by the more fortunate members of their families. the academy was to have opened for the fall session on tuesday and forty-two boarding scholars from all parts of the state had arrived at the convent, preparatory to resuming their studies on that date. the community of nuns comprised forty sisters, and they, too, were there administering cheer and mercy to the sufferers, many of whom were more dead than alive when brought into the shelter. within this religious home and in the cells of the nuns four babies came into this world during that dark night. mother joseph, in speaking of the incidents of the night within the convent walls, said that she believed it was the first time in the history of the world that a baby had been born in the nuns' cell of a convent. they were christened, for no one expected to live to see the light of day, and it was voted that these babes should not leave the world they had just entered without baptism, and, regardless of the religious belief of the parents, the little ones were baptized. washed up in a trunk. mrs. william henry haldeman was one of the mothers and whose new-born babe was christened william henry. the experiences of this mother were horrible. only a chapter was learned by a reporter, as told by mother joseph. mrs. haldeman was thrown on the mercies of the storm when her home went down and was swept away. the family had separated when they started to abandon their home to the greed of the storm. when mrs. haldeman was carried away on the roof of the wrecked cottage she lost all trace of the other members of the family, but never lost faith and courage. the roof struck some obstruction and the next instant mrs. haldeman was hurled from her improvised raft and landed in a trunk which was rocked on the waves. cramped up in the trunk, the poor woman, suffering agonies, was protected to a limited extent and was afforded some warmth. on went the trunk, tossed high on the sea, bumping against driftwood until the crude bark was hurled against the ursuline convent walls and was pulled into the building. the little babe was born a few hours later, and while the good sisters and some of the women in the building were attending to the mother and child another chapter in this family's history was being enacted just without the convent walls. in a tree in the convent yard a young man, a brother of mrs. haldeman, battled with the wind and waters while clinging fast to the limb of the tree which swayed and bowed to the wind. he knew not where he was. he could but merely discern the outlines of the academy building. while not knowing his chance of life or death he heard the plaintive cry of a child near by. reaching out with one hand he caught the dress of a little tot, who, child-like, cried out, "me swimming." the child had run the mill race buoyed by the force of the storm and had not had time to realize her peril. the young man in the tree was mrs. haldeman's brother, and the child which had come to him on the waves was mrs. haldeman's little girl. a few minutes afterward a rescuing party was sent out from the convent in response to cries for help and found the young man and his niece and brought him to the sheltering institution. the reunion of at least a part of the family followed a few minutes later. dr. truhart, chairman of the organization of physicians for the relief of the wounded and sick, states that there is absolutely no further necessity for trained nurses and physicians. saved as by a miracle. destitute save for a few personal effects carried in a small valise, and with nerves shattered by a week of horror, mr. and mrs. c. a. prutsman, with their two daughters, and years old, reached chicago sunday morning, september , from the flood-swept district of texas. "yes, we were fortunate," said mrs. prutsman, as she leaned wearily back in a rocking chair and tenderly contemplated the two children at her side. "it seems to me just like an awful dream, and when i think of the hundreds and hundreds of children who were killed right before our very eyes, i feel as though i always ought to be satisfied no matter what comes." mr. prutsman said: "the reports from galveston are not half as appalling as the situation really is. we left the fated city wednesday afternoon, going by boat to texas city, and by rail to houston. the condition of galveston at that time, while showing an improvement, was awful, and never shall i forget the terrible scenes that met our eyes as the boat on which we left steamed out of the harbor. there were bodies on all sides of us. in some places they were piled six and seven deep, and the stench was horrible. "i resided with my family at nineteenth street. this is fourteen blocks away from the beach, yet my house was swept away at p. m. saturday, and with it went everything we had in the world. fifteen minutes before i took my wife and children to the courthouse and we were saved, along with about , others who sought refuge there. when we went through the streets the water was up to our arms and we carried the children on our heads. "i assisted for several days in the work of rescue. in one pile of debris we found a woman who seemed to have escaped the flood, but who was injured and pinned down so she could not escape. a guard came along, and, after failing to rescue her, deliberately shot her to end her misery. "the streets present a grewsome appearance. every available wagon and vehicle in the city is being used to transport the dead, and it is no uncommon thing to see a load of bodies ten deep. the stench in the city is nauseating. since the flood the only water that could be used for drinking purposes was in cisterns, and it has become tainted with the slime and filth that covers the city until it is little better than no water at all. "since the city was placed under martial law conditions have been much better and there is little lawlessness. the soldiers have shown no quarter and have orders to shoot on sight. this has had a wonderful effect on the disreputable characters who have flocked into the city. "everybody who remains in galveston is made to work, and the punishment for a refusal is about the same as that meted out to ghouls. i saw four colored men shot in one day. there were confined in the hold of a steamer in the harbor six colored men who were found by the soldiers with a flour sack almost filled with fingers and ears on which were jewels. these men probably have been publicly executed before this time. "in the work of rescue we found whole families tied together with ropes, and in several instances mothers had their babes clasped in their arms. "scores of unfortunates straggle into houston every day and their condition is pitiable. several have lost their reason. the citizens of houston are doing all in their power to meet the demands of the sufferers, and every available building in the city has been converted into a hospital. when we arrived in houston we scarcely had clothes enough to cover us and the citizens fitted us out and started us north. the fear of fever or some awful plague drove us from galveston. "already speculators are flocking into the city, and there is some activity among them over tax-title real estate. in several instances whole families were wiped out of existence, and the opportunities in this line seem to be great." chapter xii. serious danger from fire--scarcity of boats to carry people to the mainland--laborers imported into galveston--untold sufferings on bolivar island--experience of a chicago man. one of the serious dangers which galveston faced for many days was fire. not a drop of rain had fallen during the two weeks succeeding the hurricane, and the hot winds and blistering suns made the wrecked houses and buildings so much tinder, piled mountain high in every direction. in nearly all parts of the city the fire hydrants were buried fifty feet, in some places a hundred feet deep under the wreckage, and as yet the water supply at best was only of the most meager kind. galveston's fire department was small and badly crippled and would have been utterly powerless to stay the flames should they once start. there was no relief nearer than houston, and that was hours away. in view of all the then existing conditions it was no wonder that the cry was: "get the women and children to the mainland; anywhere off the island," nor was it a wonder that with one small boat carrying only passengers and making only two trips a day people fairly fought to be taken aboard. all during sunday, september , fears were entertained by the authorities that even this service would be cut off and galveston left without any means of getting to the mainland owing to the trouble with the owner of the boat. the sanitary conditions did not improve to any great extent. dr. trueheart, chairman of the committee in charge of caring for the sick and injured, was proceeding with dispatch. more physicians were needed, and he requested that about thirty outside physicians come to galveston and work for at least a month, and, if needed, longer. the city's electric light service was completely destroyed and the city electrician said it would be sixty days before the business portion of the city could be lighted. a glorious and modern galveston to be rebuilt in place of the old one, was the cry raised by the citizens, but it seemed a task beyond human power to ever remove the wreckage of the old city. the total number of people fed in the ten wards saturday was , . sunday the number increased slightly. no accurate statement of the amount of supplies could be obtained as they were put in the general stock as soon as received. galveston scared by a fire. galveston received another scare sunday night, the th, when it became rumored that houston, where all the relief trains were side-tracked, was burning with its precious supplies of food and clothing. the scare grew out of a $ , fire in houston, which destroyed the merchants and planters' oil mill, the largest in the world. the fire broke out at noon, but was not observable until nightfall, when the glow in the sky could be seen for a great distance. galveston was reassured by telegraph that a second southern texas calamity was out of the question and that the relief supplies were safe. one feature of the efforts to relieve the people of galveston was the delay in getting supplies to the island city. trainload after trainload was in houston, which would have assisted materially in the work of relief, but on account of the limited transportation facilities they could not be hurried there. there was but one track and it was of light rails and was used only for terminal business. even if the supplies were at texas city they could not be moved fast, as there were not enough boats of light draft at galveston. buffalo bayou could be used from houston, but it was impossible to get the boats for the purpose. laborers imported into galveston. the general committee of public safety at galveston decided, on september , to import laborers. this action was taken with the consent of the local unions. skilled mechanics had been busy burying the dead without pay, but were relieved of this work and replaced by imported unskilled labor. according to dr. william w. meloy of chicago, who has investigated the health situation, there was no fever in galveston september . "the water supply has been adequate," he said, "and is not liable to contamination. nervous prostration, hysteria and mild dementia occur among the wealthy class, due to shock, exhaustion and grief. among the poorer classes the use of spoiled food during the earlier part of the week has led to intestinal troubles. several cases of heat prostration have occurred among the workmen. the danger from the unburied dead is mostly to the people who handle them." major frank m. spencer arrived at galveston on september with $ , cash from governor sayers, to be expended in hastening the disposal of the debris and the burial of bodies. major spencer arrived too late to bank the money and for twenty-four hours it rested in the safe of the tremont house, guarded by soldiers. galveston passed the first sunday following the disaster burying the dead and clearing away debris. general scurry's order that all men able to work should labor to the limit of their strength was carried out to the letter. "we're thankful," said mayor jones on monday, when told of the arrival of the chicago relief train at houston. "you can't make that statement too strong to the people of chicago. we are thankful and thankful again. chicago people are among the staunchest friends in the world in times like these. yes, we'll build galveston up again, and, like chicago, we'll make it a better city than it was. we shall never forget the kindness of the people of chicago in coming so generously to our relief, and we all thank them from the bottom of our hearts." a help in getting relief supplies to the needy. arrangements were completed by the santa fe road september whereby it established a barge line to galveston from virginia point. this helped somewhat in getting relief supplies from the mainland. clara barton, head of the red cross league, arrived at galveston that day. captain w. a. hutchins, superintendent of the galveston life-saving station, returned from a trip along the island and reported that he saw a great many bodies. he said the life-saving crew at san luis had taken from the beach bodies and buried them at different points along the island. untold sufferings of a family on bolivar island. after suffering untold privations for over a week on bolivar peninsula, an isolated neck of land extending into galveston bay a few miles from the east end of galveston island, the rev. l. p. davis, wife and five young children reached houston september famished, penniless and nearly naked, but overcome with amazement and joy at their miraculous delivery from what seemed to them certain death. wind and water wrecked their home, annihilated their neighbors and destroyed every particle of food for miles around, yet they passed through the terrible days and nights raising their voices above the shriek of the wind in singing hymns and in prayer. and through it all not one member of the family was injured to the extent of even a scratch. when the hurricane struck the rev. mr. davis' home at patton beach the water rose so fast that it was pouring into the windows before the members of the family realized their danger. rushing out mr. davis hitched his team and placing his wife and children into a wagon started for a place of safety. before they had left his yard another family of refugees drove up to ask assistance, only to be upset by the waves before his very eyes. with difficulty the party was saved from drowning, and when safe in the davis wagon were half floated, half drawn by the team to a grove. with clotheslines mr. davis lashed his and year old boys in a tree. one younger child he secured with the chain of his wagon, and lifting his wife into another tree he climbed beside her. while the hurricane raged above and a sea of water dashed wildly below, mrs. davis clung to her -month-old babe with one arm, while with the other she held fast to her precarious haven of refuge. the minister held a baby of months in the same manner, and while the little one cried for food he prayed. in other trees the family he had rescued from drowning found a precarious footing. when the night had passed and the water receded, wreckage, dead animals and the corpses of parishioners surrounded the devoted party. there was nothing to eat, and, nearly dead with exhaustion, the preacher and his little flock set out on foot to seek assistance. they were too weak to continue far and sank down on the plain, while mr. davis pushed on alone. five miles away a farmhouse was found, partially intact, and securing a team davis returned for his half-dead party. for two days they remained at the home of the hospitable farmer and then set out afoot to find a hamlet or make their way over the desert-like peninsula to bolivar point. in the heat of the burning sun they plodded on along the water front, subsisting upon a steer which they killed and devoured raw, until finally they came upon an abandoned and overturned sailboat high on the beach. with a united effort they succeeded in launching the boat and with improvised distress signals displayed managed to sail to galveston. there, because of red tape, they were unable to secure clothing, although they were given a little food and transportation to houston. clad in an old pair of trousers, a tattered shirt and torn shoes, with his family in even worse plight, the circuit rider of the patton beach, johnston's bethel, bolivar point and high island methodist churches rode into houston, dirty, weak and half-starved. here the family were sent to a hospital and cared for. they were sent to dickinson, tex., where they had relatives, who aided them until the methodist church came to their relief. bolivar reported that up to september , bodies had been found and buried and many were still lying on the sands. assistance was needed. it was a fact generally commented upon and merely emphasized by the clergyman's experience, that while succor was being rushed to galveston other sufferers were neglected. the relief trains en route from houston to galveston traversed a storm-swept section where famishing and nearly naked survivors sat on the wrecks of their homes and hungrily watched tons of provisions whirling past them while there was little prospect of aid reaching them. man had his broken neck set. one of the most difficult operations known to medical history, and a rarity, was performed by drs. johnson, lucas and ryon monday morning, september , at a hospital in houston. f. h. wigzell, of alvin, a suburban town not far from galveston, was blown half a mile in his house and suffered dislocation of the cervical vertebræ. his head fell forward on his chest and he had no power to raise it. it was a plain case of broken neck and the physicians operated successfully. they placed the neck in a plaster cast and the man will live for years to come. most terrible week of his life. l. f. menage of chicago, who returned from galveston the friday night succeeding the disaster, reached the tremont hotel, galveston, the friday evening before the terrible storm began. he said it had been the most terrible week in his experience; the most awful two days a man could imagine were the sunday and monday succeeding the hurricane. "one man would ask another how his family had come out," said mr. menage, "and the answer would be indifferent and hard--almost offish: 'oh, all gone.' 'all gone' was the phrase on all sides. "the night before the disaster, when i reached the hotel, it was blowing rather hard, and the clerk said we were in for a storm, and i asked him if his roof was firmly fixed, and he said, 'well, it won't be quite as bad as that,' but by the next night at the same time there was three feet of water in the rotunda and the skylight had fallen in and the servants' annex had been blown to pieces, and the place was crowded with refugees who arrived from all points of the city in boats. saturday night there was little sleep, yet no one realized the extent of the disaster. "on sunday morning one could walk on the higher streets, so quickly had the water gone down. i took a walk along the beach, and the place was one great litter of overturned houses, debris of all kinds and corpses. i met one woman who burst into tears at sight of a small rocker, her property mixed in among the wreckage. she had lost all her family in the flood. "people were for the most part bereft of their senses from the horror, and a single funeral would have seemed more terrible--more solemn--than a pile of cremated bodies. "the tales of looting are only too true, and as i passed northward in a sailboat on tuesday i heard the shots ring out which told some ghoul was paying the penalty. galveston will rise again on the old site, and without as much difficulty as is at present anticipated. most of the people will, however, try and live on the mainland. at least , persons perished." the flood horrors drove them crazy. three-fourths of the people who applied for relief were mentally dull. the physicians said with proper care most of them might be cured. a young girl was brought into the general relief station in galveston on friday night. the relief corps found her huddled up in an empty freight car, laughing and singing to amuse herself. the doctors said food and care were all she needed to restore her to reason. it was over a week after the flood before those from the outside really began to find out what the awful calamity was to the people in the desolated city. the first shock was wearing off, the long lists of dead and missing were getting to be an old story, and the sick and suffering were crawling into places of refuge. some of them had been sleeping on the open prairies ever since the storm, most of them, in fact, men with broken arms and legs, sick women and ailing children. they would crawl out of the wreck of their homes and lie down on the bare ground to die. relief parties found such as these every day and brought them into the hospitals as fast as possible. one relief party found , people in the vicinity of galveston homeless, helpless, hopeless and tearless. it was a sight to cause a stone statue to weep. monday, september , a man rode up to a hospital at houston, and told the doctors he had just come from the brazos bottoms. said he: "the folks there are starving. there is not a pound of flour left and the children are crying for milk. there are so many sick people there that we don't know what to do. can you send some one down?" the physician in charge said he would go at once. the man on horseback leaned over his saddle and tried to speak. something in his face frightened me. i called to two doctors. they ran out and caught him. he was in a dead faint. when we had brought him to he laughed sheepishly. "i don't know what's the matter with me," he said. "ain't never been taken this way before." the doctors looked at each other and smiled, but the nurses' eyes were full of tears. the man had not tasted food for thirty-six hours, and he had ridden fifty miles in the broiling texas sun. more troops were called for on september by governor sayers of texas to relieve those on duty at galveston who were worn out by their hard work. the response was prompt and hearty. chapter xiii. two women tell how they were affected at galveston--one arrived after the catastrophe, while the other was in the storm from beginning to end. a woman--a newspaper correspondent, and the first of the fair sex from the outside to gain admittance to the sealed city of galveston--wrote a description of what she saw and heard there. she arrived in galveston on friday, and although she was on a relief train carrying doctors, nurses and medical supplies, she had hard work to get past the file of soldiers at the wharf, but she at last succeeded. said she: "the engineer who brought our train down from houston spent the night before groping around in the wrecks on the beach looking for his wife and three children. he found them, dug a rude grave in the sand and set up a little board marked with his name. "the man in front of me on the car had floated all monday night with his wife and mother on a part of the roof of his little home. he told me that he kissed his wife good-by at midnight and told her that he could not hold on any longer; but he did hold on, dazed and half-conscious, until the day broke and showed him that he was alone on his piece of driftwood. he did not even know when the woman that he loved had died. "every man on the train--there were no women there--had lost some one that he loved in the terrible disaster, and was going across the bay to try and find some trace of his family." as the train neared texas city, near galveston, a great flame leaped up, and she said to one of four men near her, "what a terrible fire! some of the large buildings must be burning." she then went on to say: "a man who was passing on the deck behind my chair heard me. he stopped, put his hand on the bulwark and turned down and looked into my face, his face like the face of a dead man; but he laughed. "'buildings!' he said. 'don't you know what is burning over there? it is my wife and children--such little children! why, the tallest was not as high as this'--he laid his hand on the bulwark--'and the little one was just learning to talk. "'she called my name the other day, and now they are burning over there--they and the mother who bore them. she was such a little, tender, delicate thing, always so easily frightened, and now she's out there all alone with the two babies, and they're burning.' "the man laughed again and began again to walk up and down the deck. "'that's right,' said the marshal of the state of texas, taking off his broad hat and letting the starlight shine on his strong face. 'that's right. we had to do it. we've burned over , people to-day, and to-morrow we shall burn as many more. "'yesterday we stopped burying the bodies at sea; we had to give the men on the barges whisky to give them courage to do the work. they carried out hundreds of the dead at one time, men and women, negroes and white people, all piled up as high as the barge could stand it, and the men did not go out far enough to sea, and the bodies have begun drifting back again.' "'look!' said the man who was walking the deck, touching my shoulder with his shaking hand. 'look there!' "before i had time to think i had to look, and saw floating in the water the body of an old woman, whose hair was shining in the starlight, a little farther on we saw a group of strange driftwood. "we looked closer and found it to be a mass of wooden slabs, with names and dates cut upon them, and floating on top of them were marble stones, two of them. "the graveyard, which has held the sleeping citizens of galveston for many, many years, was giving up its dead. we pulled up at a little wharf in the hush of the starlight; there were no lights anywhere in the city except a few scattered lamps shining from a few desolate, half-destroyed houses. we picked our way up the street. the ground was slimy with the debris of the sea. "we climbed over wreckage and picked our way through heaps of rubbish. the terrible, sickening odor almost overcame us, and it was all that i could do to shut my teeth and get through the streets somehow. the soldiers were camping on the wharf front, lying stretched out on the wet sand, the hideous, hideous sand, stained and streaked in the starlight with dark and cruel blotches. they challenged us, but the marshal took us through under his protection. at every street corner there was a guard, and every guard wore a six-shooter strapped around his waist. "i went toward the heart of the city. i do not know what the names of the streets were or where i was going. i simply picked my way through masses of slime and rubbish which scar the beautiful wide streets of the once beautiful city. "they won't bear looking at, those piles of rubbish. there are things there that gripe the heart to see--a baby's shoe, for instance, a little red shoe, with a jaunty tasseled lace--a bit of a woman's dress and letters. "the stench from these piles of rubbish is almost overpowering. down in the very heart of the city most of the dead bodies have been removed, but it will not do to walk far out. to-day i came upon a group of people in a by-street, a man and two women, colored. the man was big and muscular, one of the women was old and one was young. "they were dipping in a heap of rubbish and when they heard my footsteps the man turned an evil, glowering face upon me and the young woman hid something in the folds of her dress. human ghouls, these, prowling in search of prey. "a moment later there was noise and excitement in the little narrow street, and i looked back and saw the negro running, with a crowd at his heels. the crowd caught him and would have killed him, but a policeman came up. "they tied his hands and took him through the streets with a whooping rabble at his heels. it goes hard with a man in galveston caught looting the dead in these days. "a young man well known in the city shot and killed a negro who was cutting the ears from a living woman's head to get her ear rings out. the negro lay in the streets like a dead dog, and not even the members of his own race would give him the tribute of a kindly look. "the abomination of desolation reigns on every side. the big houses are dismantled, their roofs gone, windows broken, and the high water mark showing inconceivably high on the paint. the little houses are gone--either completely gone as if they were made of cards and a giant hand which was tired of playing with them had swept them all off the board and put them away, or they are lying in heaps of kindling wood covering no one knows what horrors beneath. "the main streets of the city are pitiful. here and there a shop of some sort is left standing. south fifth street looks like an old man's jaw, with one or two straggling teeth protruding. the merchants are taking their little stores of goods that have been left them and are spreading them out in the bright sunshine, trying to make some little husbanding of their small capital. the water rushed through the stores as it did through the houses, in an irresistible avalanche that carried all before it. the wonder is not that so little of galveston is left standing, but that there is any of it at all. "every street corner has its story, in its history of misery and human agony bravely endured. the eye-witnesses of a hundred deaths have talked to me and told me their heart-rendering stories, and not one of them has told of a cowardly death. "the women met their fate as did the men, bravely and for the most part with astonishing calmness. a woman told me that she and her husband went into the kitchen and climbed upon the kitchen table to get away from the waves, and that she knelt there and prayed. "as she prayed, the storm came in and carried the whole house away, and her husband with it, and yesterday she went out to the place where her husband had been, and there was nothing there but a little hole in the ground. "her husband's body was found twisted in the branches of a tree, half a mile from the place where she last saw him. she recognized him by a locket he had around his neck--the locket she gave him before they were married. it had her picture and a lock of the baby's hair in it. the woman told me all this without a tear or a trace of emotion. no one cries here. "they will stand and tell the most hideous stories, stories that would turn the blood in the veins of a human machine cold with horror, without the quiver of an eyelid. a man sat in the telegraph office and told me how he had lost two jersey cows and some chickens. "he went into minute particulars, told how his house was built and what it cost, and how it was strengthened and made firm against the weather. he told me how the storm had come and swept it all away, and how he had climbed over a mass of wabbling roofs and found a friend lying in the curve of a big roof, in the stoutest part of the tide, and how they two had grasped each other and what they said. "he told me just how much his cows cost and why he was so fond of them, and how hard he had tried to save them, but i said: 'you have saved yourself and your family; you ought not to complain.' "the man stared at me with blank, unseeing eyes. "'why, i did not save my family,' he said. 'they were all drowned. i thought you knew that; i don't talk very much about it.' "the hideous horror of the whole thing has benumbed every one who saw it." illinois girl has a trying time in the ruined city. miss alice pixley, of elgin, ill., arrived at her home on sunday, september , from galveston, where she had a most trying time during the storm. she told her story in a wonderfully graphic way. "i had been in galveston for about six weeks, visiting miss lulu george, who lives on thirty-fifth street between n and n / streets. it was not until after the noon hour of monday that we were frightened. buildings had gone down as mere egg shells before that death-dealing wind. "about : o'clock i told miss george that we must make our way to another building about half a block away. the water had risen over five feet in two hours, and as i hurried to the front door the wind tore down my hair and i was blinded for a time. "i turned my eyes to the west and for three long miles there was not a building standing, everything had been swept away. how we ever reached the two-story building a hundred yards away i do not know. we waded through the water and every few minutes we were carried off our feet and dashed against the floating debris. "the building we were trying to reach was a store and the foundation kept out the water. we hurried to the cellar and stayed there for several hours. at last the wind-swept waves found an opening and broke through the foundation and we had a mad run to escape the rushing, swirling waters. "we reached the first floor and i shrank into a corner, expecting every second to be carried out to my death. how it happened i can never tell, but this and one other building were the only ones left for blocks around. "as it was several people were killed in the building we occupied and the other house that was left standing. "after a time i felt faint from hunger and, while too weak from fright to seek food, i told miss george that i would go into another room. i staggered along the floor until i reached a window, and fell, half fainting, through it. as i leaned there i witnessed sights that i pray god will never make another see. "whirling by me, bodies, more than i could dare count, were crushed and mangled between a jumble of timbers and debris. men, women and children went by, sinking, floating, dashing on i know not where. i wanted to close my eyes, but i could not. i cried aloud and made an attempt to go to my friends, but i was exhausted and all i could do was to watch the terrible scenes. "babies, oh, such pretty little ones, too, were carried on and on, gowned in dainty clothing, their eyes open, staring in mute terror above. thank providence they were dead. "i was partly blinded by tears, but i could still see through the mist. little arms seemed to stretch toward me asking assistance and there i lay, half prostrated, too weak to lend assistance. "how it all ended i know not. i must have fainted for i awakened with 'we are saved, alice,' ringing in my ears. "when i found we could get out of the city i declared i would go at all costs. i thought of home and my parents and i wanted to telegraph, just like thousands of others, that i was safe. "it was days before we could get away, however, and then it was in a most terrible confusion. eighty-eight persons crowded on a small boat and started for houston. "the day we left the militia was out in all its force. i could hear the sharp report of a rifle and the wail of some soul as he paid the penalty for his thieving operations. "later i saw the soldiers with their glistening rifles leveled at scores of men and saw them topple forward dead. oh, they had to shoot those terrible beasts, for they were robbing the dead. they groveled in blood, it seemed. "i saw with my own eyes the fingers of women cut off by regular demons in the search for jewels. the soldiers came and killed them and it was well. human bodies in fire heap. "as we made our way toward the boat that was to take us from the city of death i saw great clouds of smoke rising in the air. upon the top of flaming boards thousands of bodies were being reduced to ashes. "it was best, for the odor that arose from the dead bodies was awful. still it made one's heart ache with a sorrow never to be equaled as one witnessed little children tossed into the midst of the hissing flames. do you wonder i cry? "before me, no matter which way i turned, i could see dead bodies, their cold eyes gazing at me with staring intentness. i closed my eyes and stumbled forward, hoping i might escape for a moment the sight of dead bodies, but no; the moment i would open them again, right at my feet i would find the form of some poor creature. fully , are dead. "coming to chicago on the train i read the papers. they are mistaken, away wrong. they only say , dead. it will be more than , . "i know i am right; every one in galveston talks of , , , and , dead, but it will be , at the very least. "i believe the worst sight i witnessed was the , bodies being carried out to sea and buried in the gulf. huge barges were tied at the wharves and loaded with the unknown dead. as fast as one barge was filled it made its way out from the shore, and weighting the bodies, men cast them into the water. "oh, those eyes," she cried, "that i might put them from my mind. i can see those little children, mere babies go floating by my place of refuge, dead, dead! god alone knows the suffering i went through. thousands, yes thousands of poor souls were carried over the brink of death in the twinkling of an eye, and i saw it all." chapter xiv. twenty thousand people fed every day at a cost of $ , --incidents at the relief stations--applicants and their peculiarities--great mortality among the negroes. twenty thousand people were fed and cared for daily in galveston for many days with the supplies which poured in from all parts of the country. this number was cut at least one-half about october . the estimated cost of the aid extended after the first week of suffering was $ , a day. the great bulk of the aid went to the , men at work cleaning up the wreckage, digging for bodies and cleaning the streets. through them it went to their families. no able-bodied laboring man was allowed to escape the work, whether he needed aid or not, though most of them did. the business men in position to resume were allowed to attend to their stores, and their clerical forces were not interfered with. on tuesday, september , the debris-hunting and street-cleaning work was put upon a cash basis, the wages being $ . . time had been kept from the beginning, though the records were not complete. all were paid for the full time they worked. this applied to those who had to be made to work at the point of a bayonet as well as those who volunteered their services. this aid was given in the form of orders for tools for mechanics, lumber for those who had homes they wished to repair, etc. heretofore practically every able-bodied man had been made to work, and unless he worked he got no supplies. the first few days' wages consisted entirely of rations, which were given according to the number and needs of the laborer's family, regardless of the amount of work he accomplished. since other supplies began coming in they had been added. the work of distribution was conducted systematically and with an apparent minimum of imposition and fraud. there was a central committee, of which w. a. mcvitie, a prominent business man, was chairman. then there was a committee for each one of the twelve wards. as fast as goods or provisions arrived from the mainland they were placed in the central warehouse, from which the different ward chairmen requisitioned them, and they were taken to supply depots in the different wards. all day long there was a motley crowd around every one of these depots, negroes predominating at least two to one. every applicant passed in review before the ward chairman. "ah want a dress foh ma sistah," said a big negress. "you're 'manda jones, and you haven't any sister living here," replied the chairman. "foh de lord, ah has; ah ain't 'mandy jones at all; we done live on avenue n before de storm, and we los' everything." "go out with this woman and find out if she has a sister who needs a dress," ordered the chairman to a committeeman. in this way check was kept on all the applicants for aid. at the fifth ward distributing station clothing was given away the evening of the th. a negro woman, who had been refused a supply, went outside and by way of revenge pointed out different ones of her friends and neighbors whom she alleged were similarly unentitled. "dat woman done los' nuthin' at all," she shrieked. "ah did not los' nuthin' mahself and doan wan' nuthin'." "what's the trouble?" asked a bystander. an old negress who was lined up waiting her turn replied. "oh, she's mad 'cause de white folks won't give her nuthin'." so far no woman had been required to work, but a strong feeling developed to compel negro women to work cleaning up the houses. there were plenty of people who were willing to hire them, but as long as free food and clothing could be secured it was hard to get colored women to go in and clean up the partially ruined homes. "our supply of foodstuffs is adequate," said chairman mcvitie, "but just now we are a little short of clothing. we have no idea of the contents of the cars on the road to us. frequently we don't know anything is coming until the cars reach texas city. with the money which has been coming in we have been augmenting our supplies by purchasing of local merchants in lines where there was a shortage. what do we need most? money. if we have money we can order just what we need and probably get better value than the people who are buying it. many people have made the mistake of sending money to houston and dallas and asking committees there to buy for us. they do not know just what we need, and if we had the money we could do better for ourselves. money should be sent to us." one of the most remarkable things attending the galveston disaster was the fortitude of the people. their loss in relatives, friends and property had been so overwhelming that it seemed too much to be expressed with outward grief. two men who had not seen each other since the disaster met in the street. "how many did you lose?" they asked by common impulse. "i lost all my property, but my wife and i came through all right." "i was not so fortunate. my wife and my little boy were both drowned." there was an expression of sympathy from the other, but nothing approaching a tear from either. "they are making good progress cleaning up," remarked the one whose losses were heaviest, with a pleasant smile. the other one made a light answer and they passed on. the people of galveston had seen so much death that they were temporarily hardened to it. the announcement of the loss of another friend meant little to a man who had seen the dead bodies of his neighbors and towns-people hauled to the wharf by the drayload. no services were attempted for the dead until nearly a month had passed. neither were there memorial services. the rev. j. m. k. kerwin, priest in charge of st. mary's catholic cathedral, said: "it was impossible. priest and layman had to join in the work of cleaning the city of dead bodies. i don't expect there will be memorial services for a month." father kerwin's church was among the few which was comparatively little damaged. he set the value of catholic property destroyed in the city at $ , . included in this loss was the ursula convent and academy, which was badly damaged. it covered four blocks between twenty-fifth and twenty-seventh streets and avenues n and o. it was the finest in the south. the city rapidly improved in its sanitary conditions. the smell from the ooze and mud with which most of the streets were filled was stronger ten days after the tragedy than that which came from the debris heaps containing undiscovered bodies. when these heaps were being burned and the wind carried the smoke over the city the odor was very similar to that which afflicts chicago at night when refuse is being burned at the stock yards, and no worse. soon even the odor of the slime was gone. every dumpcart in the city was at work. every galveston business man talked confidently of the future of the city, though many of the clerks announced their intention of going away as soon as they can accumulate money enough. "i am not afraid of another storm," said a clerk in one of the principal stores. "but i'm sick and tired of the whole business." the southwestern telephone and telegraph company, which is a branch of the erie system, early began to rebuild its telephone system there. "this will take us three months, and in the meantime we will give no service save long-distance," said d. mcreynolds, superintendent of construction. "we will install a central emergency system the same as that in chicago and put all wires under ground. we will employ men if necessary to do the work in ninety days. the company's losses in texas are $ , --$ , here, $ , at houston and the rest at other points." residents were greatly pleased at this announcement, as it showed the confidence of a foreign company in the future of galveston. fifteen hundred negroes perished at galveston. william guest, a pullman car porter, returned to chicago from the storm-stricken district monday, september . he said: "i left harrisburg night before last, and things then in the neighborhood were in a dreadful state. galveston is about twenty miles distant, and the refugees were pouring in the direction of houston in great numbers. many well-to-do colored people have lost all they had. the rev. w. h. cain, a colored episcopal minister, and his entire family were killed, and it was reported to me that mrs. cuney, the widow of wright cuney, was also lost, as well as a number of colored teachers employed in the public schools. at houston relief committees have been organized." the rev. mr. cain was well known in chicago, having preached several times from the pulpit of the st. thomas episcopal church on dearborn near thirtieth street. cyrus field adams, publisher of the appeal, chicago, received a letter from galveston from w. h. noble, jr., saying that about , afro-americans lost their lives in the storm, and that fully , were homeless. cooped up in a house that collapsed after being carried along by a deluge of water, john elford, brother of a. b. elford, no. south lincoln street, chicago, his wife and little grandson, met death in the flood during the galveston storm. milton, son of john elford, was in the building with the family at the time, and was the only one of the many occupants including fifteen women known to have escaped. a. b. elford, bookkeeper for a. m. foster & co., no. lake street, was dumfounded when he received the first information of the disaster, for he had no idea of his brother being in texas. john elford was a retired farmer and merchant of langdon, n. d. he had taken his family on a trip to old and new mexico. on september mr. elford received the following letter from langdon, n. d.: "we have just received a letter from milton. father, mother, dwight and milton went to galveston from mineral springs, tex., where they had previously been stopping. they were so delighted with galveston on reaching there that they sold their return tickets and decided to remain about two months. they were at first in a house near the beach, but moved farther away and to a larger and stronger house when the water began to rise. "all at once the water came down the street bringing houses and debris. they started to build a raft, but before it could be got together the house started to float. it had gone but a short distance when it went to pieces. milton was struck with something and knocked out into the water. he came up, caught a timber and climbed to a roof, and thus managed to make his escape. he saw no one escape from the building as it collapsed. we do not believe the bodies have yet been recovered. "we have wired for more definite news regarding the bodies, but have heard nothing more. "edgar elford." dwight elford, one of the drowned, was only five years old. he was the son of george elford of langdon. the tail-end of the west indian hurricane. on september a tropical cyclone was central near these islands. the storm set in monday morning, september , and was raging with increased severity the next day. heavy cyclone rollers were sweeping in upon the coast and a strong northeast gale was blowing. all of the telegraph wires were blown down. southeast rollers began to wash the shores sunday, but the barometer continued high. during the night, however, it commenced falling, showing . inches. at o'clock in the morning the wind was rising. by noon it had reached gale force from the northeast and rain was falling. the barometer then recorded . inches. the storm continued to increase during the afternoon, and at o'clock the wind was blowing more than sixty miles an hour, carrying away the telegraph wires. heavy seas were rushing in upon the coast. the barometer continued to fall, recording only . inches, but the wind veered to the north, although it was still blowing with some violence. a correspondent at st. john's, n. f., telegraphed as follows the same day: "from all quarters of newfoundland come reports of devastation wrought by the gale of last wednesday and thursday, the outcome of the texas hurricane sweeping north. so far sixty-five schooners are reported ashore or foundered, over more being damaged. "thirty-one lives have been reported lost so far. this small list of fatalities is due to the fact that most of the vessels have been in harbor latterly, as the fishing was poor. several vessels are still missing, however, and it is feared the death roll may be enlarged. labrador has suffered severely, fishing craft having been driven on the rocks by the shore, which fact, added to the bad fishing season, makes the condition of the coast folk pitiable in the extreme. "in belle isle strait the whole of the fishing premises has been destroyed. on the french shore over fifty vessels have been battered, ten being a total loss. the steamer francis has been wrecked at st. george's. the bark mary hendry anthracite laden from new york is dismasted and derelict off st. mary's. "on the grand banks the gale raged with the greatest fury. "twenty-four men from provincetown fishing schooner willie mckay were landed at bay bulls monday morning, their ship having foundered from buffeting in the storm wednesday, thursday and friday. the men drifted about on the sinking hulk, without food, water or shelter, and only by incessant pumping kept her afloat. "the seas were constantly sweeping the decks and the entire crew were lashed about the rigging or bulwarks. they were ultimately rescued by the schooner talisman of gloucester, which landed them. one man perished from the exposure. the crew say the storm must have done awful damage on the banks. it seems certain many vessels could not escape the disaster when theirs, the finest of the fleet, succumbed." clara barton's view of the situation. miss clara barton, head of the red cross society, wrote of the situation at galveston on september : "it would be difficult to exaggerate the awful scene that meets the visitors everywhere. the situation could not be exaggerated. probably the loss of life will exceed any estimate that has been made. "in those parts of the city where destruction was the greatest there still must be hundreds of bodies under the debris. at the end of the island first struck by the storm, and which was swept clean of every vestige of the splendid residences that covered it, the ruin is inclosed by a towering wall of debris, under which many bodies are buried. the removal of this has scarcely even begun. "the story that will be told when this mountain of ruins is removed may multiply the horrors of the fearful situation. as usual in great calamities, the people are dazed and speak of their losses with an unnatural calmness that would astonish those who do not understand it. [illustration: destruction of homes by the galveston storm] [illustration: galveston sufferers afloat all night] [illustration: bodies of the dead along the shore after the galveston storm] [illustration: a desperate struggle for life in the galveston storm] [illustration: a hero saving his wife and mother in the storm] [illustration: the water from the gulf destroying galveston] [illustration: galveston new court house, built ] [illustration: locomotive and train dashed into fragments by texas storm, galveston] [illustration: children that were not hurt by the storm] [illustration: burning the bodies of galveston victims] [illustration: jesuit college and church, galveston] [illustration: shooting vandals at work on the dead bodies in galveston after the disaster] [illustration: exodus from galveston] [illustration: a survivor's dream of the awful galveston night] [illustration: heroic men trying to save women and children in the galveston storm] [illustration: survivors insane over the loss of homes and dear ones] "i do believe there is danger of an epidemic. but the nervous strain upon the people, as they come to realize their condition, may be nearly as fatal. they talk of friends that are gone with tearless eyes, making no allusion to the loss of property. "a professional gentleman who called upon me this afternoon, a gentleman of splendid human sympathies and refinement, wore a soiled black flannel shirt, without a coat, and in apologizing for his appearance said in the most casual, light-hearted way: 'excuse my appearance; i have just come in from burying the dead.' "but these people will break down under this strain, and the red cross is glad of the force of strong, competent workers which it has brought to their relief. "portions of the business part of the city escaped the greatest severity of the storm and are left partially intact. thus it is possible to purchase here nearly all the supplies that may be wanting. still, the galveston merchants should be given the benefit of home demands. "mayor jones has offered to the red cross as headquarters the best building at his disposal. "relief is coming as rapidly as the crippled transportation facilities will admit. no one need fear, after seeing the brave and manly way in which these people are helping themselves, that too much outside aid will be given. "in reply to the question, 'what is most needed?' i would say: the most immediate needs are surgical dressings, the ordinary medical remedies, and delicacies for the sick." they read their own obituaries. reported dead several times, their obituaries printed in galveston and houston papers, peter boss, wife and son, formerly of chicago, were found on the afternoon of september , after having passed through a most thrilling experience. mr. and mrs. boss were the persons in search of whom mrs. m. c. mcdonald, no. drexel boulevard, chicago, went to houston. mrs. boss' story of her experience in the disaster was a thrilling one. with her husband and son she was seated at supper in her home on twelfth street when the storm broke. she seized a handkerchief containing $ , from a bureau, and, placing it in her bosom, went with her husband and son to the second story. there they remained until the water reached them and they leaped into the darkness and the storm. they alighted on a wooden cistern upon which they rode the entire night, clinging with one hand to the top of the cistern. several times mrs. boss lost her hold, and fell backward into the water only to be drawn up again by her son. timbers crashed against their queer boat, people on all sides of them were crushed to death or drawn into the whirling waters, but with grim perseverance the boss family held on and rode the night out. mrs. boss was pushed off the cistern several times by her excited husband, but young boss' presence of mind always saved her. with her feet crushed and bleeding, her clothing torn from her body and nearly exhausted, the woman was finally taken from her perilous position several hours after the hurricane started. her companions were without clothing and were delirious. they were the only persons saved in the entire block in which they lived. they were taken to emergency hospitals, where they all tossed in delirium until sunday. mrs. boss lost her money, and the family, wealthy a week before, was penniless. they had to appeal to the city authorities for aid, and got but little. terrible scenes witnessed at houston. the terrible scenes and happenings in houston, tex., the great amount of damage done and the intense suffering of the people there as a result of the recent storm were vividly portrayed in a letter from walter scott of that city to his sister in chicago, received september . "much has been written about the damage done to galveston," mr. scott wrote, "and i suppose things there are so terrible that little thought is given to other places. but right here in this city the damage is so great that one would not believe even time could repair it. furthermore, the suffering here is indeed the greatest i ever heard of. thousands of refugees are here from galveston and other places and the city is being taxed to the limit to find places for all of them. "wednesday morning the first contingent arrived. there were about eight hundred, and a more forlorn, dejected and suffering lot of people never were brought together. the sick were cared for in hospitals and private homes, and the greater number of the others were assigned to places. but they apparently could not quiet themselves unless so fatigued and weak from loss of sleep and want of food that they practically fell down exhausted. "they roamed the streets with scarcely any clothing on them, men, women and children; all were hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked and on the verge of despair. it is terrible to realize how many families have been broken up. "i have listened to harrowing tales until i am actually sick. the newspaper reports have not been exaggerated one iota. there is really nothing one can say which will express the situation. when i arrived at home from new orleans at : o'clock sunday night there wasn't a light in the city. everything was in total darkness. it had been reported on the train that , lives had been lost at galveston, but this we believed to be a gross exaggeration. "but i have changed my mind. i think now it is a conservative figure. i groped my way through the darkness, stumbling over piles of debris, to my boarding place, and after no little difficulty succeeded in reaching my room. upon lighting a match i found the place denuded of everything; the paper was stripped from the ceiling and was hanging in shreds from the walls. it was damp and cold. my landlady, hearing me, soon came in, and standing there in the darkness she gave me a harrowing account of what they passed through, the details of which the newspapers already have described. all the other people in the house had gone elsewhere, and she, her husband and myself were alone in the house. "that night i slept in a fairly dry bed in a tolerably dry room, but all the windows in the house had been blown out, and the building was so damp and cold that we were almost afraid to sleep there. some of the rooms in the lower part of the building were still flooded. there wasn't a room in the entire house that had not been damaged, and the servants' house in the yard was almost completely wrecked. the ruins were toppled over and leaning against our next-door neighbor's house. "there is scarcely a structure in houston which escaped the fury of the storm. with the exception of the first presbyterian, every church lost its steeple, and all were damaged to some extent. the streets for two or three days and even longer afterward were filled with debris--telephone and telegraph poles and wires, huge piles of bricks and timber, tin roofs and all kinds of miscellaneous things, such as furniture, trees, etc. "at seabrook, a little seaside resort near here, only two homes were left standing." walter s. keenan, general passenger agent of the gulf, colorado and santa fe railroad, arrived in chicago september from galveston. he was in the general office, which is connected with the union station at galveston, during the great storm and escaped without injury. he said the accounts of the galveston disaster were in no way exaggerated. the debris, in some of the streets, he declared, was thirty feet high. he went to his office in the station saturday morning and was compelled to remain there until sunday afternoon without a bite to eat. chapter xv. total dead and missing at galveston and vicinity, , --five million dollars in relief necessary to carry the survivors through the fall and winter to spring. it was given out from galveston on tuesday, september , that so far as could be ascertained on that date, the loss of life in the great catastrophe was as follows: identified , unidentified (recovered) missing , ------ total , dead in central and southern texas , high island ------ total , this makes the grand total of dead , . the horrifying news reached dallas late on the afternoon of september that high island, a seaside resort thirty miles northeast of galveston, near the gulf shore and in the southwestern corner of jefferson county, tex., was entirely destroyed by the hurricane of the th inst. the place had about , residents, many of them visitors. not a house was left standing and more than dead bodies were found by relief and exploring parties. general manager spangler, of the gulf and interstate railway, also received information on that date that more than thirty miles of that road had been entirely destroyed between bolivar point and high island. after looking over the situation carefully, the decision was arrived at, ten days succeeding the tragedy, that to put galveston on her feet would require $ , , . such was the opinion of congressman hawley, one of the city's representative business men. this did not mean that the sum mentioned would come anywhere near restoring the city to the condition before the storm. far from it. mr. hawley did not so intend to be understood. he was asked: "what measure of relief will burn your dead, clean and purify your streets and public places, feed and clothe the living, and place your people where they can be self-sustaining and on the way to regain what has been lost?" his reply was: "it will take $ , , to relieve galveston from the distress of the storm. at least that sum will be needed to dispose of the dead, to remove the ruins, and to do what is right for the living. i think that we should not only feed and clothe, but that we ought to have some means to help people who have lost everything to make a start toward the restoration of their homes. to do this will require every dollar of $ , , ." there were then on the scene more nurses and physicians than required. the injured were recovering rapidly from their hurts, which were largely superficial. many men and women were suffering from severe nervous shock and found it impossible to sleep. food was coming in by boatload and carload faster than it could be handled, in such generous quantities that no further doubts were entertained about supplies. estimates of the number dependent upon the relief committees varied. mayor jones made it about , , while other authorities put the number as high as , . in the business center the streets had been cleaned and opened. all buildings still showed marks of wind and water, but goods were displayed and business was being transacted. the city was gradually assuming the bustling ante-flood appearance. the principal streets were electrically lighted. stenches no longer assailed the nostrils, except in the outside circle of destruction, where much debris still remained untouched. cremation of the dead was being pushed, but it was many days before the working parties got out the last of the bodies. the whole twenty-two miles' length of the island was submerged. the horrors of the western portion beyond the city limits were just being learned at san luis. one hundred and eighty-one bodies were buried on september . between twenty and thirty bodies were counted among the piles of the railroad bridge between the island and virginia point. in kinkead's addition about were lost, eighteen in one house. the farther the men worked in the denver reservoir section the more numerous were the dead. fires were burning every feet on the beach and along many of the streets. mayor walter c. jones made a statement on that day of conditions and needs of galveston people, basing his conclusions on the most reliable information which has come to him. mayor jones' statement was as follows: "it is almost impossible to speak definitely as yet of the needs of our people. we are broke, the majority of us. galveston must have suffered, in my estimation, based upon all of the reports i have, $ , , . we now need money more than anything. "from the advices i have received i believe the shipments of disinfectants and food supplies now on the way will be sufficient to meet the immediate wants. by the time these are used we shall have regained our transportation facilities and stocks of everything, so that we can use money more advantageously. "it is impossible to state just how much money has reached us. we have received from the governor, at austin, $ , in cash. that is from the general fund. special contributions have come through the chamber of commerce, the cotton exchange and several other channels. we have between , and , men at work searching for bodies, clearing the streets and burning debris. of this work, which ought to be done as fast as possible in the interest of the living, there is enough to keep , employed for forty days, although i believe we shall have the principal streets clear in ten days or two weeks. "i hesitate to say how much it will take to put galveston where her people can care for themselves. certainly $ , , will be a moderate estimate. there is not a building but is damaged, not a house of those left standing but will have to be re-roofed, and few that will not need to be straightened on their foundations. if galveston could get $ , , it would be used judiciously to enable the people to become self-sustaining. "it is true galveston is represented as being one of the wealthiest cities of the country. but our rich people had everything here and are crippled. the people of moderate means, who had homes and worked on salaries are, with scarcely an exception, ruined. the class dependent upon labor must be furnished something to do for wages or must suffer. "dr. lord and others, who have been among the people more than i have, say there are , helpless who must be fed and clothed and carried along for some time to come, even after what might be called immediate needs have been met. "there is no contagious disease and we do not anticipate any. but many are suffering from shock and exposure and from injuries received among the ruins. the city of galveston, i am convinced, lost fully , persons. down the island, outside of the city limits, were scattered between , and , persons. from the reports slowly coming in it appears that most of these people lost their lives. the island in the sparsely settled parts seems to have been swept clean of habitations." the most motley crowd of united states regulars ever seen at attention lined up before captain rafferty the second monday after the calamity. battery o, first united states artillery, the organization, was battered battery o. no two men were dressed alike. parts of uniforms and clothes which bore no semblance to any uniform were barely sufficient to cover nakedness, and in some cases there were bad rents, which showed the bare anatomy on dress parade. battery o came out of the storm with a loss of out of men, a loss seldom sustained in battle. one of these regulars floated fifty-two miles on a door, another was carried on an outhouse across the island and then across galveston bay. the survivors had been barracked in a shattered church since the sunday after the storm. they were sent to san antonio to be outfitted and armed. the officers and men lost everything and had to get clothes to cover them. james stewart, of st. louis, had undertaken to see that captain benton kennedy's boys did not suffer. it was believed the grain men of st. louis would take a personal interest in this case. captain kennedy came to galveston from st. louis, mo., where he was well known. he was superintendent of elevator a. his family consisted of his wife, three boys and two girls. in august captain kennedy bought a nice home and moved into it. when the storm made the house no longer safe he placed henry and edwin, little fellows of and , on a raft at the door and went back for the others. the raft was carried half a mile and the boys were rescued. captain kennedy and mrs. kennedy and the sisters and one brother were lost. adjutant-general thomas scurry said monday evening, september : "in my opinion the situation is rapidly growing better; the people found themselves dazed and shattered as a result of the storm. while there was an abundance of energy remaining, as might have been naturally expected, a vast amount of it was not concentrated. it has been the policy of this office to concentrate energies. these efforts have been most gratifying. we have a large number of men, possibly , , at work. "what is most needed for galveston now is money. thousands of persons who owned their little homes have had them destroyed. they are now dependent upon the generosity of the outside world and upon the relief committee to prepare for the rigors of winter and to refurnish their homes with necessities. no man who has not been an eye-witness to the desolation which has swept over this city can have the faintest conception of what it means. "galveston lies on an island about a mile wide from north to south, the city covering about six miles of this east and west. along the southern side for a distance of two to five blocks every house has been absolutely demolished. such of these unfortunates as were not drowned are now penniless." an eye-witness tells of the storm. a graphic description of the storm was that given by r. l. johnson, a prominent citizen of galveston. he said: "i reached home after wading in water to my neck and made immediate preparations to take my wife and three children where i felt their safety would be assured. the water began to rise so rapidly that in fifteen minutes we were driven to the second floor, and it was then impossible to leave the house. at this time neighbor kell's house, adjoining mine, went down with husband, wife and children. then down avenue s came two small cottages, which struck a telegraph pole and stopped directly in front of my house. i heard children crying and women screaming. the words, 'o god, save me,' i can still hear ringing in my ears. "another cottage came sweeping by and carried away the gallery of my house. the artigan, henman and pennings houses, carrying eighteen persons, floated by and i could see the struggling forms in the water. "i was expecting it was our turn next. i kissed my wife and children good-by, and as i did so my eldest boy, a lad of , said: 'father, it is not our time to die.' then came the piercing scream of a woman, followed by a crash, and another house turned over on its side and was driven past by the wind and flood. "the current was running like a mill race. the water was already on our second floor, and the waves kept knocking us about until we were completely exhausted. then the wind went, and the water began to fall. i looked about and could not see a house for two blocks; there was nothing but a flood of water in every direction. in the morning we found our house had been moved about ten feet and deposited upon the sand." galveston again made a port. "issue bills of lading to galveston and through galveston to other points." on september , up and down the international and great northern, the missouri, kansas and texas, the santa fe and their connections the wires were carrying the official information that galveston would be a terminal, a sure enough port, as soon as the traffic could reach there. the vice-presidents and general managers and general agents had mastered the railroad wreck, they had set the time for the running of the first train into galveston, and that time was friday, september . by that date, according to the engineers, the temporary bridge would be ready for use. it was ready to the minute. the news that the roads had declared readiness to accept freight for galveston and through galveston was received by business men as tidings of great joy. it added greatly to the improvement of spirit. for several days after the storm the prediction was that no trains would enter galveston under thirty days and that the time might be sixty days. equally exhilarating with the action of the railroad men was the action taken by secretary bailey, of the wharf company, that exportation of wheat would be resumed to-morrow morning. the machinery of elevator a was started up and was successful. monday afternoon the wharf was cleared. a steamship was brought under the spout and loaded. james stewart, mr. orthwein and other st. louis grain men said almost the entire stock of wheat would be saved. the number of persons who left galveston up to september , it was stated at relief headquarters, was over , , of whom about , were then in houston being cared for. others had gone on into the interior of the state or to other states. the number coming up on the trains showed no falling off. new arrangements made at galveston enabled people to get out without so much red tape and they took advantage of the opportunity to do so. governor sayers had now taken charge of the relief work here at all points, and money was being given out where needed, more than provisions and clothing. swelling the relief fund. on september chicago had raised over $ , for the galveston sufferers; new york nearly $ , ; st. louis nearly $ , , and other cities the following amounts: boston $ , philadelphia , pittsburg , new orleans , san francisco , kansas city , louisville , milwaukee , baltimore , denver , minneapolis , newark, n. j. , cleveland , memphis , cincinnati , colorado springs , st. paul , topeka, kan. , charleston, s. c. , omaha, neb. , los angeles , detroit, mich. , indianapolis , helena, mont. , johnstown, pa. , columbus, ohio , south bend, ind. , springfield, ill. , portland, ore. , lexington, ky. , the united states embassy at berlin, germany, cabled $ to governor sayers on september . general j. b. vinet, president of the red cross society, state of louisiana, new orleans, received on tuesday morning, september , a telegram from miss clara barton, who was at galveston, as follows: "find greatest immediate needs here are surgical dressings, usual medicines and delicacies for the sick. no epidemic, but many people are worn out with suffering and exertion who need tender care and proper food. "clara barton." building material was needed at galveston but its delivery was necessarily slow, owing to the lack of rail communication with the mainland. there were still many pitiable cases of destitution. many half-demented persons positively refused to leave their wrecked homes and as persistently refused to accept offers of relief extended them. in several instances parents who had lost children still occupied ruins of their former home and the surroundings had brought them to a state of mental and physical collapse. the number who had gone insane as a result of their experiences will probably never be known. in every lot of refugees sent out of the stricken city there were many insane men and women. the victims first made light of their losses, and laughed immoderately when telling of the death of relatives in the flood. it was a very short step from this to uncontrollable madness. the state militia companies did splendid work in patrolling the city after the storm, and many of the men were of the belief that they should be allowed to return to their homes and troops sent from other parts of the state to fill their places. the fears of an epidemic were allayed by the presence and the distribution of medicines and disinfectants and therefore a feature which would undoubtedly have had the effect of causing many to seek succor elsewhere, was eliminated from the situation. governor sayers sends his thanks. governor sayers, of texas, sent out the following expression of thanks on behalf of the sufferers in galveston and as the representative of the people of his state: "in behalf of the people of texas i desire to express my acknowledgment to the people of the united states for the ready and generous response they have made in coming to the aid of our afflicted people. the number of deaths, the amount of destitution, and the loss of property is far greater than had been anticipated. "the secretary of the navy has placed the revenue cutter galveston at my disposal, and i have in turn placed it at the disposal of the mayor of galveston. the addition of this cutter to the boats already loaned by the federal government will give us five boats at galveston to handle supplies and passengers to and from the mainland, and i anticipate that their presence there will relieve the situation materially. "the city authorities at galveston are in full control, and every effort is being made to bury the dead, to remove the debris, and to sanitate the city. contributions of the most liberal character are reaching me, and i shall see that the money is used to the best advantage for the sufferers and that there shall be no waste of the magnificent contributions coming from the free hands and generous hearts of a sympathetic people." no idea could possibly be formed as to the frightful crush of railroad trains bearing relief supplies in and around houston and texas city, the latter being but six miles from galveston, but separated from it by a stretch of water. owing to the small number of vessels plying between texas city and galveston the shipment of supplies to the latter was necessarily aggravatingly slow. grewsome scenes and harrowing incidents. grewsome scenes and soul-harrowing incidents of the time immediately following the great gale in galveston were graphically portrayed in a letter from a young woman caught on the island in the awful storm. it was written by miss nellie cary to her parents, who live at lake avenue, chicago. miss cary had been home on a vacation for several weeks and left chicago for galveston the tuesday evening before the hurricane, reaching the doomed city just in time to participate in the terrible experience. her letter follows: "galveston, wednesday, september .--dearest parents: have not had a minute to write and cannot collect my thoughts to tell you of the horrible disaster down here. thousands of dead in the streets--the gulf and bay strewn with dead bodies. the whole island demolished. not a drop of water--food scarce. if help does not reach us soon there will be great starvation for everybody. "the dead are not being identified at all--they throw them on drays and take them to barges, where they are loaded like cordwood, and taken out to sea to be cast into the waves, now peaceful, which were so hungry for them in their anger. "i was at the wharf this morning for a short time and saw three barges loaded with their grewsome freight. the bodies are frightful, every one nearly nude. god alone knows who they are. "the bay is full of dead cattle and horses, together with human corpses, blistering in the hot sun. it will be impossible to remove the dead from the debris for weeks--the whole island is frightful. i saw thirty-eight bodies taken from one house. every one is striving to get the bodies buried for fear of the plague. "i never expected to get out alive, but thank god, not one of us was killed. we were driven back to the stairs, and up, stair by stair, by the great waves. the wind was blowing over a hundred miles an hour, and the rain fell in torrents. never shall i forget the sight as darkness settled upon us. i thought of you, papa and mamma, and prayed that you might be comforted. our roof is now gone, the walls have fallen around us, but we still have a floor and--i can't tell you, it is too horrible. "i was nearly drowned getting home from the office at o'clock saturday afternoon. mrs. whitman is almost crazy and is in a dangerous condition. i have lost everything; am now wearing clothes borrowed from those who were more fortunate. the stench is terrible. "thousands of horses and cattle without owners are in the most pitiable condition imaginable; not a drop of water for them to drink since saturday morning. and the people--i wonder that everybody is not mad at the horrors. no account can exaggerate it. it is absolutely necessary that everybody in the united states do what they can. "nearly all our help at clark & courts are drowned--mr. hansinger, his whole family, our other bookkeeper and a number of the girls. the town is under martial law to protect it from the mob. last night a negro was arrested with ten fingers in his pockets, with valuable rings on them. mr. fayling, at our house, is in command of the protective force. they have had to shoot many to keep the horrible ghouls in control. eddie rogers is next in command, and is doing noble work. i have done what i could to help the dying and wounded. complete ruin for miles. "we were on the highest point of ground in galveston. that is all that saved us. for blocks and blocks, reaching into miles, not a house remains; not a building but is completely demolished--houses just torn board from board and piled up. i have climbed over wreckage forty feet high in the streets to get to places. i think we were more fortunate than any one else in town. i think not one was killed, though our escape was narrow. with the exception of mrs. whitman all were calm, though i reckon everybody quaked inside--i know i did. "thursday.--am well. had something to eat this morning, and a little rainwater. coffee is plenty, but water scarce. to-day the flesh slips off the bodies as they take hold to drag them from the ruins. they are piling them in great heaps now and burning them. the horrors multiply. i have seen men shot down in the streets by the soldiers. the stench is untold. last night the awful smell kept us awake although we were utterly exhausted. it fills your throat and mouth, and makes your head ache so. comparatively few children left. "the horrible experiences it will take years to tell and more than a lifetime to forget. if you could be here you would feel that your anxiety was nothing. it is so pitiable to see husbands, with a look of despair in their eyes, searching for their wives and children; wives for their loved ones; and, most pitiable of all, the comparatively few children--although they are enough, god knows, to be left orphans and homeless--looking into every one's face with frightened, appealing eyes. it is heartrending. "now i am much better off. i am safe, so please don't worry. i hope to hear from you soon. "best love and kisses to both from "nellie." chapter xvi. galveston's inhabitants refuse to heed the lessons taught by their experiences--carelessness in failing to provide against the recurrence of catastrophes. although galveston had been struck three times with floods and hurricanes even this experience was not enough to convince the residents that it might happen again. only a few of the more cautious had any idea after the last disaster of taking steps to prevent its repetition. asked if anything would be done to make future floods impossible they might probably quote the old saw: "lightning never strikes in the same place twice," and seem to think that settled it. in the next sentence they would compare the damage done in the floods of and with this latest disaster. "no," said e. m. hartrick, assistant united states engineer, "the people of galveston will go on living in fancied security just as they did before. the plan to put a dike around the city is perfectly feasible and so is a series of jetties. i think the good old holland plan is the best. the city doesn't need to be raised. i was six years city engineer of galveston, and following the storm of drew plans for a dike ten feet high and extending all around the island except on the north side. there the wharves were to be raised and form the dike. "galveston gave this plan consideration, and there is a map of the city in existence which shows it with a dike surrounding it. the legislature gave authority to bond the city, but it was some months after the flood when this had been secured, and the people said, 'oh, we'll never get another one,' and they didn't build." the construction by the government of two jetties, one eight miles long extending out southeast for the purpose of making a narrower and deeper channel for boats coming into galveston harbor, made the necessity of remedial work more apparent, but nothing was done. in the last storm, the southwesterly one of the jetties pocketed the water and carried it up over the southeastern end of the island. this was the place where whole blocks of buildings were literally washed away, leaving hardly enough of the foundations to indicate that buildings ever stood there. in that part of the city the water rose to a depth of fifteen feet in the streets. had the houses demolished by waves and swept away by wind not formed into a great jam similar to a log jam, but extending along the south shore of the island for seven miles, this enormous body of water would have swept over the entire island and the number of dead would have been quadrupled. "it formed a dike," said engineer hartrick, in calling attention to this feature of the flood, "and had it not been for that dike we might not any of us be here now." according to mr. hartrick, galveston had the wrong style of architecture for a gulf town. its newer buildings were built on the northern plan with balloon frames, and poorly adapted to stand a blow. "this storm was a hurricane," he said, "just such as they have in the west indies every summer, but which we have here perhaps once in a hundred years. still we never know when one may come again, and we should build our houses accordingly." colonel davidson, a member of the relief committee, had given some time in the past to consideration of projects to prevent inundations. he favored the jetty system, but, like engineer hartrick, said nothing would ever be done. "you never heard of a man wanting an umbrella when it wasn't raining, did you?" he asked. "what we want is not to keep all the water out. we want the waves to break their force before they rise on to the island. it was the force of the great waves which wrecked the houses." the work of extracting bodies from the mass of wreckage continued. tuesday, september , over bodies were taken out of the debris which lined the beach front. with all that had been done to recover bodies buried beneath or pinned to the immense drift, the work had scarcely started. there was no time to dig graves and the putrefying flesh, beaten and bruised beyond identification, was consigned to the flames. volunteers for this grewsome work came in fast. men who had avoided the dead under ordinary conditions were working with a vigorous will and energy in putting them away. under one pile of wreckage tuesday afternoon twenty bodies were taken out and cremated. in another pile a man pulled out the remains of two children and for a moment gazed upon them, then mechanically cast them into the fire. they were his own flesh and blood. as they slowly burned he watched them until they were consumed, then resumed his work assisting others in removing other bodies. a large force of men was still engaged in removing the dead from hurd's lane, located about four miles west of the city. at this point the water ran to a height of fourteen feet, and hung up in trees and fences were the bodies of men, women and children, which were being collected and cremated as fast as possible. on the mainland the searching for and cremating of bodies that either perished or found lodgment there was being prosecuted vigorously. the situation throughout the country extending from bolivar to high island was possibly worse than in any other section of the mainland. clara barton, president of the red cross society, issued an appeal on september to the american people for money and supplies for the sick and wounded. her idea was to spend some of the money with local merchants wherever practicable. chairman davidson of the relief committee stated that the greatest sufferers from the storm were the people of limited means who owned homes near the beach. there were hundreds of these people who owned mortgaged lots and had homes constructed by the loan companies and though their property was swept away the loan companies were protected by liens. mr. davidson advised that a fund be raised for people who had suffered in this way, that they might be able to restore what took them years to accumulate and was taken from them in a single night. the resources of the numerous sub-relief stations scattered throughout the city were taxed to their utmost capacity, and long lines of people awaited their turns for provisions and clothing. at texas city a force of deputy united states marshals under marshal grant was guarding the entrance to galveston and keeping back all people who could show no good reason for desiring to go there. people were daily leaving the city, a majority being women and children. the city was still under martial law, and remained so for weeks. idlers and sight-seers who eluded the guards on the mainland upon their arrival were pressed into the street service. there was no place for a man who would not work. it was work or go to jail, and they generally went to jail. governor sayers in a hopeful mood. "i look for the rebuilding of galveston to be well under way by the latter part of this week," said governor sayers, of texas, on september , at austin, the state capital. "the work of cleaning the city of unhealthful refuse and burying the dead will have been completed by that time, and all the available labor in the city can be applied to its rebuilding. "if the laboring people of galveston will only get to work in earnest prosperity will soon again smile on the city. arrangements have been made to pay all the laborers working under the direction of the military authorities $ . and rations for every day they have worked or will work. an account has been kept of all work done and no laborer will lose one day's pay. "the money and food contributions coming from a generous people have been a great help to the people of galveston, as it has relieved them of the necessity of spending their money to support the needy, and it can now be applied to the improvement of their own property and putting again on foot their business enterprises. "five dollars a day is being offered to the mechanics who will come to galveston, and, with the assurance from reputable physicians that there is no extraordinary danger of sickness, outside laborers will flock to galveston and before many days a new city will rise on the storm-swept island. "the telegraph and telephone companies and railroads have been exceedingly generous since the great calamity. they have not only given money, but everything has been transported to that city free of charge, while those desiring to get away from the harrowing scenes of galveston have been transported free. the people of texas will long remember with grateful hearts the kindness of these companies. "it is now an assured fact that trains will be running into galveston this week, and with uninterrupted communication with the outside world galveston should soon assume her normal condition." sad sights at virginia point. when the relief train reached virginia point, which is on the mainland, opposite galveston, it was found that of those who survived the flood and hurricane the majority was severely injured. most of them were bruised and maimed, presenting a pitiful sight, their limbs lacerated and bleeding. all bemoaned the fate of those dear to them. many of the dead--and the beach was strewn with corpses--had their faces and heads mutilated so that it was almost impossible to learn the names of those who found their last resting-place in the crude graves hurriedly dug. a headboard was placed on the grave in every instance, giving as nearly as possible age and accurate description. it was found necessary in many instances to bury three and four in one grave. those who survived the wreck were homeless and had had nothing to eat since saturday. as most of them were injured it was not possible for them to organize a movement on their part. life sustenance was furnished these survivors in order that they might not swell the list of dead. most of the bodies found in and around the vicinity of virginia point were supposed to have been washed inland from galveston. chapter xvii. galveston's storm flies over the united states and does great damage--many lives lost--it finally disappears in the atlantic ocean. when the hurricane was through with galveston and central and southern texas it sped north through missouri, kansas and nebraska--its path being miles in width--and then turning toward the east, or slightly northeast, crossed northern iowa, southern minnesota, southern wisconsin, southern michigan, northern illinois, northern indiana, northern ohio, northern new york and southern canada, finally disappearing in the atlantic ocean, creating wreck and havoc wherever it went. it caused great losses of life and property in newfoundland and destroyed many vessels off the eastern coast of the united states. the following dispatches show how widespread was its fury: buffalo, september .--immense damage was done here and at other lake ports by the texas storm which traveled with great violence down lake erie last night. reports from crystal beach, a summer resort on the canadian side of lake erie, say that every dock has been destroyed, and all the boats of the buffalo canoe club, together with several large seagoing yachts anchored there, were completely wrecked. in this city the wind attained a velocity of seventy-two miles an hour, and seemed to regain some of the power which it exhibited in wrecking southern cities. reports of property loss and fatalities have come in. st. joseph, mich., september .--the steamer lawrence arrived here at o'clock this afternoon from milwaukee. she left that place at o'clock yesterday morning, and the captain reports a fearful voyage. the captain's wife was here from milwaukee and was on the dock waiting to meet her husband when the boat touched the dock. the meeting between the two was affecting. all this morning anxious watchers waited on the bluffs at the mouth of the river for a glimpse of the missing boat. many people had friends among the passengers and crew, and as the morning hours wore on their anxiety became intense. cleveland, september .--as a result of the furious gale which swept over the lake region last night telegraph and telephone lines were prostrated in all directions from this city to-day. during the height of the storm the wind reached a velocity of sixty miles an hour. to-day the storm is subsiding, the wind having dropped to twenty-six miles an hour. up to noon to-day the big passenger steamers city of erie and the northwest, which left buffalo last evening for this port, have not been heard from. they were due here at o'clock this morning. the passenger steamer state of ohio, due here about the same hour from toledo, had not arrived at noon. the wind blew sixty miles an hour across lake erie, but the warnings had been so thorough that few vessels were caught unprepared. the steamer cornell of the pittsburg steamship company's fleet lost her smokestack off fairport. her barge anchored, but both came into port later. the buffalo passenger boat has not yet arrived, having been in shelter at long point during the worst of the blow. detour, mich., september .--in the storm yesterday the schooner narragansett, stranded near cockburn island, was washed off the rocks, and shipping suffered greatly. sault ste. marie, mich., september .--the wind reached a velocity of thirty miles an hour from the northwest at midnight, the storm being accompanied by considerable rain. many vessels were lost. amhertsburg, ont., september .--the tail end of the galveston storm struck this section with great force about o'clock last night and continued until early this morning. the loss to shipping is heavy. kingston, ont., september .--the canadian steamer albacore was driven ashore at o'clock this morning, east of the life-saving station. the crew was saved. the wind is blowing a gale from the west, and shipping on lake ontario suffered seriously, many sailors being drowned. south haven, mich., september .--the storm did much damage to the docks here last night. several vessels are reported lost. port huron, mich., september .--the wind blew a gale until : last night. three small schooners which left here bound for sand beach were wrecked. the gale passed over chicago september and attained a velocity early in the afternoon of seventy-two miles an hour, destroyed many lives in the city and neighborhood, did great damage to property on the land and wrecked several vessels on the lakes. the wind was fitful and blew in gusts. its advance was met with frequent lulls and interruptions. an embankment of dark, ominous clouds rose steadily in the west. at first it was broken by an occasional rift which revealed the blue sky. but as the cloud bank rose it darkened and rolled over the plains toward chicago with increasing speed. at o'clock all the blue patches of sky had disappeared, the heavens had assumed a forbidding look and the lake rolled. the increased violence of the storm carried everything before it. no one disputed its rights to the streets, and it blew down wires innumerable, badly crippling the telegraph and telephone service. the western union's fifty-two new york lines were all down. from chicago the storm continued its progress across lake huron, but was steadily diminishing in intensity. the storm's velocity diminished after leaving texas, but increased with wonderful rapidity after reaching the lake region. the wind reached the greatest velocity at chicago it had attained since leaving galveston. chapter xviii. the world not so heartless as supposed--people give generously to aid the suffering--a social phenomenon--value of united states weather bureau. perhaps the world is not so bad as it has been painted, or so heartless and indifferent as some pessimists would have us believe. ordinarily men and women have enough to do in attending to their own affairs, expecting others, of course, to do the same, and consequently they pay small attention to what is going on around them; but when their hearts are really touched they drop everything and rush to the rescue of the afflicted. so it was in the case of galveston. the catastrophe at galveston served to bring conspicuously into notice the best and worst sides of human nature, which is always the common result of all appalling disasters. the people of that afflicted city were suddenly overwhelmed by the almost unprecedented fury of the elements. thousands were killed and injured. thousands more lost their homes and places of business. they were suffering with hunger and menaced with pestilence. all were brought to a common level by dangers of every description, death in its most awful forms, and an outlook of terrible uncertainty. and yet in the midst of all this ruin and suffering they were harassed by thugs and thieves and ghouls in human shape, who looted property, assaulted citizens who resisted them, and despoiled and disfigured the dead in a shockingly savage manner to secure rings and other jewels. devoid of any feeling of sympathy or pity, they seized upon this awful disaster as an opportunity to enrich themselves. as soon, however, as the authorities could recover from the first shock of the disaster the city was placed under martial law, and the troops patrolling the island did not hesitate to kill every one of the vandals caught in the commission of his infamous work. public opinion sustained this prompt style of punishment. it was a species of southern lynching to which no objection was ever raised. the disaster also brought into prominence the greed and mercenary passion of human nature. a clique of ravenous wretches, taking advantage of the fact that the city of galveston was cut off from bridge communication with the mainland, conspired to secure control of the transportation facilities by water, and charged extortionate prices even to those who were seeking to carry relief to the suffering people. never was a more inhuman trust organized. again, all the fresh provisions in the city were ruined, leaving only a few canned and dried articles which were available for food. the owners of these, bent upon making personal profit out of the necessities of their fellow-citizens, pushed up the prices, raising bread to cents a loaf and bacon to cents a pound. the mayor of galveston, however, proved himself equal to the emergency, confiscated the food supply, reduced the prices to a reasonable rate, and compelled the owners of schooners and small craft to put down their prices also. this was the dark side of human nature, but the picture had its bright side also. the news of the awful disaster had hardly appeared in the public prints before tens of thousands of helping hands were busy collecting relief. the chief executive of the nation, the governors of states, and the mayors of cities issued their appeals to the people, whose sympathies were already aroused and whose hearts and hands were enlisted generously and enthusiastically in the work of relief. far-off countries sent their offerings; every city and town in the world where americans live contributed; and crowned heads hastened to cable sympathy, together with more substantial evidences of their kindly feeling. without delay of any kind, instantly and spontaneously, the machinery of charity began its work. the people of the north might differ radically from the people of the south in many ways, but in the presence of such a dreadful visitation of nature, involving suffering and death, the brotherhood of man asserted itself and all things else were forgotten. only the higher and nobler attributes of human nature assert themselves. private individuals, business houses, great corporations, municipal, state and national government vied with each other, as they did when fire swept over chicago and the flood overwhelmed johnstown, in expediting relief to the storm-ruined people of texas. day by day trains sped to galveston from every part of the country, loaded with supplies, and the telegraph wires carried orders for money, testifying to the unanimity of the great work of relief, and to the higher and nobler instincts of human nature when it is appealed to by the claims of humanity. the ghouls of galveston were comparatively few in number. its generous sympathizers were to be counted by scores of millions. the convicts in the texas state penitentiary at rusk were moved by the sufferings of the galveston victims to contribute $ to the relief fund. are men who go to prison totally bad? the scope and rapidity of the galveston relief work all over the country afforded a spectacle at once gratifying and noteworthy. trains laden with food and comforts for the sufferers were rushed towards the stricken city from every quarter of the united states. from boston to san francisco nearly every city, regardless of size, contributed its quota to the generous cause. even from across the atlantic the liverpool and paris funds came, being on the list for $ , each. within a week after the disaster galveston was in possession of a magnificent relief fund that went far toward alleviating the physical sufferings of its homeless thousands. here is a social phenomenon that may well give pause to all critics who are wont to inveigh against our commercial and industrial age. these exhibitions of liberality are not rare in the united states. a long series of them might be compiled within the period between the chicago fire and the porto rican hurricane. singly and in the aggregate they are a striking negative to the charge of sordid commercialism in our individual and national life. the modern american is making more money than ever before, but he has a heart as well as a business head, and he is giving larger sums to noble causes than were ever given before. probably the increased willingness of the people to help stricken communities like galveston is due more to the railroads and telegraph lines than to anything else. modern charity is the child of modern conditions. these indispensable adjuncts to commercial enterprise alone make widespread relief work possible. if the telegraph and the newspaper had not placed the sad picture of galveston's misfortunes at once before the eyes of americans from ocean to ocean there could have been no such national impulse of generosity. about ninety years ago an earthquake in southern missouri brought calamity to many settlers, but it was a month before the news reached the east, and another month would have had to elapse before relief could have been carried to the sufferers. the impulse to give cannot thrive under such circumstances. there have been tender hearts in all ages, but only in our time have the means of quick communication made human sympathy effective across continents. the railroad, the telegraph and the newspaper have lengthened the arm of charity quite as much as that of business. the galveston incident is also a fine example of the way in which these agencies bind all sections of the nation together in increasing solidarity. great value of the united states weather bureau. the great value of the united states weather bureau and the remarkable correctness of its observations, all things considered, was demonstrated by the events preceding and succeeding the west indian hurricane. it gave warning of the hurricane days before it manifested itself on the texas coast. it anticipated its course from the vicinity of san domingo until it reached cuban waters, where it made a deflection no human skill could have foreseen. the bureau was not caught napping, however. it sent out its hurricane signals both for the atlantic coast and the gulf coast, and when the storm turned from the north of cuba westward the bureau turned its attention to texas, and on the morning of september , nearly thirty-six hours before the disaster, warned the people of galveston of its coming, and during that day extended its signals all along the texas coast, thus preventing vessels from leaving. of course the observers could not know what terrible energy it would gain crossing the gulf of mexico. perhaps still greater accuracy in forecasting was displayed by the bureau in the warnings given out to mariners on the great lakes on tuesday morning, september . though nearly all lines of communication in texas were cut off, the bureau kept track of the storm as it swept through oklahoma into kansas, and gave timely warning that it would turn northeast, moving across northern illinois and southern wisconsin, and thence across lake michigan and the northern end of the southern peninsula of michigan to canada. it further predicted the furious winds which prevailed the next day, their maximum velocity, the change caused by the northwest current from lake superior, and the fall of temperature yesterday to the nicety of a degree. every vessel captain on the lakes had ample warning given him. in times gone by it was the habit to jeer at old probabilities, and whenever a prediction failed of verification to condemn the weather bureau as unreliable and not worth the expense of its maintenance. during the last few years, however, its operators have gained in skill and its record now is of a character of which its officials have every reason to be proud and which amply justifies whatever expense it may entail by its great saving of life and property. why should not galveston be rebuilt? the appalling nature of the wreck to which galveston was reduced naturally led to some talk of abandoning the old site altogether and rebuilding the city somewhere on the mainland. an army officer concluded his report to washington headquarters by expressing the opinion that galveston was destroyed beyond the ability to recover, and the southern pacific railway was said to be in favor of leaving the flat island to the sport of the treacherous waves and heading a movement to rebuild the city at the mouth of the brazos river. it is natural that non-residents of galveston should consider the advisability of abandoning such a perilous site, especially as there can never be any complete security against a disaster like that of saturday, september . but it is safe to say that galveston will be rebuilt on its sand island. mankind is not wont to desert any spot of the earth's surface because of a sudden and rare convulsion of nature. lisbon was not abandoned because of the disastrous earthquake that killed , people in . similar earthquake disasters in central and south america have not induced the survivors to abandon a single city. when , chinamen were swallowed up at peking in the last century it did not change the site of the city, nor have the still more disastrous floods along the yellow river ever caused the survivors to change their habitat. history shows europeans and americans to be quite as tenacious in this regard as any other races. italian peasants continue to cultivate the slopes of vesuvius in spite of all past disasters, and the inhabitants of the sea islands along the carolina coast were not disheartened when the elements committed fearful ravages. the leading business men of galveston emphasized a point when they began to talk of rebuilding which had escaped general attention until that time. they were exceedingly anxious that commercial bodies, steamship owners, brokers and those interested in the commerce of galveston should be as considerate as possible in their treatment of the city, that is to say, there should be liberality in the commercial relations. these men urged that the extent of the calamity should be taken into account when adjustment of contracts took place and in all business arrangements until the city could regain its footing. charters provide by special mention for "visitations of providence," for the "acts of god." the galveston business men hoped that their business connections would apply a like spirit to all commerce affected by the storm. they were not disappointed, as the result showed. galveston was just entering upon the busy season. there were from to ships under sailing contracts with that port for the months of september, november and december. some of these ships were, when the storm came, on the high seas. even a temporary paralysis of thirty days meant much loss and the derangement of many contracts. it was a time which called for the generous policy, not for strict enforcements of the letter of agreements. galveston only asked what her business men thought was just, that thereby the shock to commerce might be mitigated. when the time came galveston found that she had not asked too much, as she received all the consideration she could wish. representatives of the railroad systems which connected galveston with the outside world before the occurrence of the disaster agreed in saying, in a meeting held at new york, that her residents would rebuild on the same sand island in spite of the terrible experiences. they believed that galveston, injured financially though her citizens had been, would be rebuilt by her citizens without the aid of outside capital. a. f. walker, chairman of the board of directors of the atchison, topeka and santa fe, said he felt certain that galveston would be rebuilt. the new energy and courage displayed by the people of galveston is what was to be expected in a city so full of american pluck. though stunned and prostrate under the most fatal disaster that had ever overtaken an american community, galveston took only a few days to regain its breath. it has simply reasserted the same indomitable courage and will power by which americans in times past built up a great nation where there was a wilderness a century ago. the terse motto stuck up on every street corner of the wrecked city is "clean up." behind its grim humor there lies a stern determination that is one of the proudest attributes of our race. there is no reason why a greater galveston, should not speedily rise on the site of the present ruins. the report of an army officer that the city was ruined beyond recovery and the suggestions of other persons that galveston should be rebuilt on another site find no sympathy among the citizens. galveston will be rebuilt upon its former site. carpenters, masons and artisans are being called for by thousands, and, with the generous aid contributed by people all over the country, there will be a rapid transformation. the city has thrust its sorrow behind it and has its face set toward the future. since the danger of flood cannot be removed so long as the city stands at its present level, it is to be hoped its builders will begin a new era of security by raising the grade of the streets. a few feet will materially decrease the danger from tidal waves. it will also be wise to construct the foundations of all permanent large buildings of stone to a height above the level reached by the recent inundation. in resolving to defy an untoward fate galveston should begin by adopting all practical means for defying wind and waves. even though the expense and delay will be greater, it will pay to give the new buildings all possible safeguards of solidity. galveston will be rebuilt, as it was after the disaster of fourteen years previously. its inhabitants will reason that the city had existed for two-thirds of a century in comparative safety, and that such a tidal wave is not likely to be repeated in a hundred years. the same commercial advantages that first tempted settlers to the island, and that made galveston one of the most thriving cities on the gulf coast, are still present. men who own real estate on the island will not abandon it, even though the improvements thereon have been reduced to a wreck. they know that even if they did abandon it there would be plenty of others to take it--risks and all--and rebuild the city. the federal government may hesitate about rebuilding its structures on so precarious a site, but private interests are not likely to abandon a city even for so terrible a disaster as that at galveston. chapter xix. galveston island directly in the path of storms, with no way of escape--what is the city's future--all coast cities in danger--new york will be flooded--hurricane foretold--galveston's settlement--storm will recur. galveston island, with a stretch of thirty-five miles, rises only five feet above the level of high tide. to the south is an unbroken sweep of sea for miles. twelve hundred miles away is the nesting place of storms--storms that rise out of the dead calm of the doldrums and sweep northward, sometimes with a fury that nothing can withstand. most of these storms describe a parabola, with the westward arch touching the atlantic coast, after which the track is northeastward, finally disappearing with the storm itself in the north atlantic. but every little while one of these west indian hurricanes starts northwestward from its island nest, moving steadily on its course and entering the gulf itself. september and october are the months of these storms, and of the two months september is worse. in the ten years between and , inclusive, fifty-seven hurricanes arose in the warm, moist conditions of the west indian doldrums. most of these passed out to sea and to the st. lawrence river country, where they disappeared. but the hurricane of october , , came ashore at new orleans on october , and wrought havoc as it passed up the eastern states to new brunswick. the storm of october , , reached louisiana on the th, curving again toward galveston on the texas coast. it was in this storm that galveston was flooded with loss of life and property while indianola was destroyed beyond recovery. with these non-recurring storms two conditions favor their passage into the gulf. a high barometric area lies over the atlantic coast states, while a trough of low pressure leads into the gulf and northward into the region of the dakotas. the hurricane takes the path of least resistance always, and it must pass far northward before it can work its natural way around the tardy high area that hangs over the central coast states. it was this condition exactly which diverted the recent storm to galveston and the texas coast. the origin of a hurricane is not fully settled. its accompanying phenomena, however, are significant to even the casual observer. a long swell on the ocean usually precedes it. this swell may be forced to great distances in advance of the storm and be observed two or three days before the storm strikes. a faint rise in the barometer may be noticed before the sharp fall follows. wisps of thin, cirrus cloud float for miles around the storm center. the air is calm and sultry until a gentle breeze springs from the southeast. this breeze becomes a wind, a gale, and, finally, a tempest, with matted clouds overhead, precipitating rain and a churning sea below throwing clouds of spume into the air. here are all the terrible phenomena of the west indian hurricane--the tremendous wind, the thrashing sea, the lightning, the bellowing thunder, and the drowning rain that seems to be dashed from mighty tanks with the force of titans. but almost in an instant all these may cease. the wind dies, the lightning goes out, the rain ceases, and the thunder bellows only in the distance. the core of the storm is overhead. only the waves of the sea are churning. there may be twenty miles of this central core, a diameter of only one-thirtieth that of the storm. it passes quickly, and with as little warning as preceded its stoppage the storm closes in again, but with the wind from the opposite direction, and the whole phenomena suggesting a reversal of all that has gone before. no storm possible in the elements presents the terrors that accompany the hurricane. the twisting tornado is confined to a narrow track and it has no long-drawn-out horrors. its climax is reached in a moment. the hurricane, however, grows and grows, and when it has reached to or miles an hour nothing can withstand it. it is this terrible besom of the southern seas that so nearly has taken galveston off the map. the great storm of frightened the city. the fate of indianola in and the loss of ten lives and $ , worth of property on galveston island has kept galveston uneasy ever since. to-day, for it to suggest rebuilding, will meet with the disapprobation of many of the sympathizing americans who are giving freely to the stricken people. but the abandonment of galveston could not be without a struggle. for fourteen years its old citizens had been admitting that twice in their memory the sea had come in on the island, causing death and destruction, but as sturdily as their conservatism prompted they had insisted that it never could do so again. they gave no consistent reason for their belief. the island was no higher; the force of the sea was as boundless as before; the doldrums of the west indies still hung over the archipelago in storm-brooding calm. but their belief spread and the island city grew and developed as the old settler never had hoped to see it grow when he squatted there in the sand more than sixty years ago. this settler stock of galveston island was of queer characteristics. the island settlement was of a sort of captain streeter origin. the only variation was that the colonel menard who founded it bought the island and established a town-site company to attract immigration. the mainland, as flat and desolate almost as the island, was three miles away. but deep water was there and to the north was an agricultural country that one day would have cotton to export. so the settlers waited. they held to their sand lots and traded with the "mosquito fleet" which sailed up and down the coast from corpus christi to new orleans. this mosquito fleet was the only means for bringing outside traders to the town. as it grew it developed that the city's export trade was all it had. it did a wholesale business that was to its retail business in the proportion of to ! in this way galveston developed in-growing propensities. it scoffed at the mainland for years after the gulf shore began to be peopled. it was satisfied with its railroad "bridges," which were mere trestlework mounted on piling driven into the shallow water of the bay. if the mainland wished to reach the city let it row out or sail out; the city would not go to the expense of a wagon bridge. as a result, galveston was the most somnolent city in texas, save on the wharves where tramp and coastwise ships and steamers loaded. when the market house closed by law at o'clock in the morning, and when galveston's own local population had laid in its supplies for a midday dinner and for supper and breakfast, strand street took a nap. in the ' s, however, a new element had been attracted, which was dissatisfied with the mossback order of things. it was not satisfied to make change with a stranger and give or take bits of yellow pasteboard, representing street car rides, in lieu of nickels. but these young immigrants were frowned upon by galveston conservatism. they were a disturbing element. they kept the staid, mossback citizen awake in the afternoons and he did not like it. they were clamoring for sewers and artesian water in mains, whereas the conservative was content to build his rain water cistern above ground out of doors and strain the baby mosquitoes out of the water through a cloth. when a new waterworks and standpipe had been completed in , and when some new mills had been established under difficulties, affairs had come to a pass when the new galvestonian and the old found a great gap between. the visiting stranger was the confidant of both sides. "this town isn't what it used to be," sighed the conservative. "as a matter of fact," the young business man would say, "galveston needs to bury about of its 'old citizens' before it can get awake." this was the situation when the government began to expend money upon the harbor. this was the situation, slightly altered by time, when the wagon bridge was built to the main land, when the government appropriated $ , , for the deepening of the harbor, and when export trade from galveston approached the mark of $ , , annually. and this, virtually, was the galveston now in ruins. in rebuilding galveston, it has been suggested that the bay be dredged of sand and the island raised to a uniform level of fifteen feet above the tide. the plan is feasible in every sense, and it is contended that the value of the city as a port would more than justify the cost. however the island city may decide, it will have departed from several notable instances of water-swept cities in rebuilding. in addition to the abandonment of indianola, on the mainland of texas, are the stories of last island in the gulf of mexico and of cobb's island, a great fishing resort in chesapeake bay. last island was overwhelmed in . three hundred lives were lost in the hurricane. lafcadio hearn has put the legend of "l'isle derniere" into print and his description of the hurricane that swept in upon it is a description of the storm that has laid galveston waste: "one great noon, when the blue abyss of day seemed to yawn over the world more deeply than ever before, a sudden change touched the quicksilver smoothness of the waters--the swaying shadow of a vast motion. first the whole sea circle appeared to rise up bodily at the sky; the horizon curve lifted to a straight line; the line darkened and approached--a monstrous wrinkle, an immeasurable fold of green water moving swift as a cloud shadow pursued by sunlight. but it had looked formidable only by startling contrast with the previous placidity of the open; it was scarcely two feet high; it curled slowly as it neared the beach and combed itself out in sheets of woolly foam with a low, rich roll of thunder. swift in pursuit another followed--a third, a feebler fourth; then the sea only swayed a little and stilled again. "irregularly the phenomenon continued to repeat itself, each time with heavier billowings and briefer intervals of quiet, until at last the whole sea grew restless and shifted color and flickered green--the swells became shorter and changed form. * * * "the pleasure-seekers of last island knew there must have been a 'great blow' somewhere that day. still the sea swelled, and a splendid surf made the evening bath delightful. then just at sundown a beautiful cloud bridge grew up and arched the sky with a single span of cottony, pink vapor that changed and deepened color with the dying of the iridescent day. and the cloud bridge approached, strained and swung round at last to make way for the coming of the gale--even as the light bridges that traverse the dreamy teche swing open when the luggermen sound through their conch shells the long, bellowing signal of approach. "then the wind began to blow from the northeast, clear, cool. * * * clouds came, flew as in a panic against the face of the sun, and passed. all that day, through the night, and into the morning again the breeze continued from the northeast, blowing like an equinoctial gale. * * * "cottages began to rock. some slid away from the solid props upon which they rested. a chimney tumbled. shutters were wrenched off; verandas demolished. light roofs lifted, dropped again, and flapped into ruin. trees bent their heads to earth. and still the storm grew louder and blacker with every passing hour. * * * work of the storm. "so the hurricane passed, tearing off the heads of prodigious waves to hurl them a hundred feet in air--heaping up the ocean against the land--upturning the woods. bays and passes were swollen to abysses; rivers regorged; the sea marshes changed to roaring wastes of water. before new orleans the flood of the mile-broad mississippi rose six feet above highest water mark. one hundred and ten miles away donaldsonville trembled at the towering tide of the lafourche. lakes strove to burst their boundaries. far-off river steamers tugged wildly at their cables--shivering like tethered creatures that hear by night the approaching howl of destroyers. * * * "and swift in the wake of gull and frigate bird the wreckers come, the spoilers of the dead--savage skimmers of the sea--hurricane-riders wont to spread their canvas pinions in the face of storms. * * * there is plunder for all--birds and men. * * * her betrothal ring will not come off, guiseppe; but the delicate bone snaps easily; your oyster-knife can sever the tendon. * * * over her heart you will find it, valentio--the locket held by that fine, swiss chain of woven hair * * * juan, the fastenings of those diamond eardrops are much too complicated for your peon fingers; tear them out. * * * "suddenly a long, mighty silver trilling fills the ears of all; there is a wild hurrying and scurrying; swiftly, one after another, the overburdened luggers spread wings and flutter away. thrice the great cry rings through the gray air and over the green sea, and over the far-flooded shell reefs where the huge white flashes are--sheet lightning of breakers--and over the weird wash of corpses coming in. "it is the steam-call of the relief boat, hastening to rescue the living, to gather in the dead. "the tremendous tragedy is over." galveston built upon the sand. galveston is built upon the sand. according to professor willis l. moore, chief of the united states weather bureau at washington, not only galveston was insecurely built upon the flat sands of the island, but other cities on the gulf and atlantic coasts, lying at tide, are subject to the same dangers. the west indian hurricane may strike almost anywhere from the southern line of north carolina, on down the coast, around the peninsula of florida, and anywhere within the great arc described by the western shores of the gulf of mexico. these storms, perhaps miles wide, have a vortex of twenty to thirty miles in diameter. it is in this vortex that the land is laid waste. it is this fact that will lead more strongly than any other to the rebuilding of galveston. with an export business of $ , , annually, the great west will bring pressure to bear upon the maintenance of the port. there is an island type of man in its population that will not be driven from that little ridge of sand three miles out in the gulf. there are , miles of gulf coast on which the vortex of such a storm may waste itself without touching galveston, and both conservatism and commercialism will take the risk that a score of other cities at the tide level are taking. at the same time there are those who see for galveston only a commercial existence. it never can grow as it has grown; it never can be the home of people whose fortunes are not tied up in the island. for fourteen years the city has had to contend with the fears of the incomer. the growth between and shows that these fears had been allayed in great measure, following the destruction in . but years will not wipe out the black record of the last week. hundreds will leave the island as a place of residence; thousands have been killed there and cremated in the sands or buried in the treacherous sea. a death rate of in a population of , drove indianola from the map of texas. five thousand or more deaths of the , population of galveston must have its influence upon the living. for with the assurances of the united states weather bureau, it is recognized that in natural phenomena there are cycle periods in which extremes are repeated from nature's great laboratory. observation has put this period of repetition at twenty years. according to this, in the case of hurricanes, the range of maximum and minimum will be within such a period. without question galveston is in the track of a certain abnormal but not infrequent west indian hurricane which fails to be deflected from the georgia and florida coasts. it keeps to its northwestward course and strikes the louisiana, texas or mexico coasts, according to its impulse. in the galveston storm a new maximum seems to have been established, yet its repetition may be looked for within the next twenty-year period. as a matter of fact, indeed, the average period between the recurrence of these maximum storms has been less than fifteen years. lyman e. cooley, one of the original engineers in marking the route of the drainage canal, is an observer of periodic natural phenomena, and his theory holds in great measure with the observations of the united states weather service. "it is a general proposition," said mr. cooley. "it means just this much: suppose that chicago has a snow storm on june . within a twenty-year period we may expect another phenomenon of the kind in the same calendar month. it may not snow in chicago itself; the storm may be ten, twenty or thirty miles away, on any side of it. but in the same general territory, about the same time of the phenomenon, it will be repeated. "suppose a terrible rain or wind storm develops, its repetition may be looked for in the same period. so with extremes of temperature, influences on lake levels, and all the other phenomena of nature's forces. they have their cycles, and the twenty-year period covers most of them." but in the case of galveston, one of its great hurricanes was experienced in , another in , and the last only fourteen years later. these historic facts tend to confirm mr. cooley's observations. galveston's destruction and that of other towns similarly situated had been predicted. writing in the arena in , professor joseph rodes buchanan said: "every seaboard city south of new england that is not more than fifty feet above the sea level of the atlantic coast is destined to a destructive convulsion. galveston, new orleans, mobile, st. augustine, savannah and charleston are doomed. richmond, baltimore, washington, philadelphia, newark, jersey city and new york will suffer in various degrees in proportion as they approximate the sea level. brooklyn will suffer less, but the destruction at new york and jersey city will be the grandest horror. "the convulsion will probably begin on the pacific coast, and perhaps extend in the pacific toward the sandwich islands. the shock will be terrible, with great loss of life, extending from british columbia down along the coast of mexico, but the conformation of the pacific coast will make its grand tidal wave far less destructive than on the atlantic shore. nevertheless, it will be calamitous. lower california will suffer severely along the coast. san diego and coronado will suffer severely, especially the latter. "it may seem rash to anticipate the limits of the destructive force of a foreseen earthquake, but there is no harm in testing the prophetic power of science in the complex relations of nature and man. "the destruction of cities which i anticipate will be twenty-four years ahead--it may be twenty-three. it will be sudden and brief--all within an hour and not far from noon. starting from the pacific coast, as already described, it will strike southward--a mighty tidal wave and earthquake shock that will develop in the gulf of mexico and caribbean sea. it will strike the western coast of cuba and severely injure havana. our sister republic, venezuela, bound to us in destiny, by the law of periodicity will be assailed by the encroaching waves and terribly shaken by the earthquake. the destruction of her chief city, caraccas, will be greater than in , when , were said to be destroyed. the coming shock will be near total destruction. "from south america back to the united states, all central america and mexico are severely shaken; vera cruz suffers with great severity, but the city of mexico realizes only a severe shock. tampico and matamoras suffer severely; galveston is overwhelmed; new orleans is in a dangerous condition--the question arises between total and partial destruction. i will only say it will be an awful calamity. if the tidal wave runs southward new orleans may have only its rebound. the shock and flood pass up the mississippi from to miles and strike baton rouge with destructive force. "as it travels along the gulf shore mobile will probably suffer most severely and be more than half destroyed; pensacola somewhat less. southern florida is probably entirely submerged and lost; st. augustine severely injured; charleston will probably be half submerged, and newbern suffer more severely; port royal will probably be wiped out; norfolk will suffer about as much as pensacola; petersburg and richmond will suffer, but not disastrously; washington will suffer in its low grounds, baltimore and annapolis much more severely on its water front, its spires will topple, and its large buildings be injured, but i do not think its grand city hall will be destroyed. probably the injury will not affect more than one-fourth. but along the new jersey coast the damage will be great. atlantic city and cape may may be destroyed, but long branch will be protected by its bluff from any severe calamity. the rising waters will affect newark, and jersey city will be the most unfortunate of large cities, everything below its heights being overwhelmed. new york below the postoffice and trinity church will be flooded and all its water margins will suffer." chapter xx. comparisons between the galveston and johnstown disasters--the latter not so horrible in its features--frightful plight of the texas victims. until the elements wreaked their vengeance upon the fair city of galveston and vented their wrath upon its unoffending population, the awful disaster at johnstown, pa., which occurred on the st of may, , was the most frightful calamity known in the history of the united states. johnstown was almost literally wiped from the face of the earth, the suddenness of the flood which created the havoc precluding the escape of anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path. unlike the galveston catastrophe, the flood at johnstown poured its waters upon the devoted inhabitants without warning and the slaughter was over within the space of a comparatively few minutes. the victims, that is to say, the majority of them, were drowned or dashed to pieces before they had time to realize the horror of it all. at galveston the people knew for hours before the angry waters submerged the island and the resistless gale tore the business buildings and residences to pieces what their fate was to be. they looked death squarely in the face hour after hour, suffering all the terrors dire certainty could inflict, their knowledge that they were absolutely powerless and beyond the reach of aid adding to their agonies. death was merciful to the people of johnstown; he was cruel to his prey at galveston, and delighted in the tortures he was enabled to impose before he placed his icy hand upon them and bade them come. perhaps the only parallel in history to the galveston visitation was the destruction, in a. d., of pompeii and herculaneum. the frightened pleasure-seekers of those doomed cities could see the red lava stream bearing down upon them as it was vomited up from the bowels of vesuvius and thrown out from the mighty maw of the crater, but even then they were mercifully stifled by the tremendous, never-ending shower of ashes which soon enveloped them and completely covered their homes. they did not stand for hours, with the blackness of the night around them, listening to the roar of the volcano's eruption and hear their death knell sounded long before they were compelled to undergo the actual pain of an awful death; they were caught as they sought safety in flight and stricken down while endeavoring to get beyond the reach of the sickle of the grim reaper; they could move and act in accordance with their impulses which prompted them to make a flight for life, and they succumbed only after a desperate struggle. it was different at galveston. the men, women and children were not permitted even the small but precious boon of falling while battling with the grim destroyer; they were caught and imprisoned, even as those who were done to death during the time when the inquisition reigned, and, on the way to execution, were, it might be said, compelled to bear the very cross upon which they were to be impaled. there is no record since time began of such a long-drawn-out agony as that which the devoted people of galveston endured during the period intervening between the advent of the hurricane in the gulf of mexico and the final imposition of the death penalty. fathers saw their wives and babes crushed by the wreckage flung aloft and around by the fury of the gale, or drowned in the swift running current; wives saw their husbands and children torn from them and swept from their sight forever; children saw their parents disappear in the murky, turbid waters of the flood. men saw the dead faces of their loved ones they would have deemed it a joy to save as they were borne along upon the bosom of the waters. men invited destruction in their efforts at rescue, only to realize how weak and utterly futile was their strength in comparison to the irresistible power of the enraged elements. men died desponding because they could not save those they had cherished and heretofore protected, and went down in despair and gloom. at johnstown the released waters tore their way through the beautiful valley of the conemagh with the rush and speed of a giant avalanche and enfolded their victims in their merciless embrace; the inhabitants were, in the twinkling of an eye, borne from the sunshine of life to the gloom of the valley of the shadow; they may have felt a momentary terror before they succumbed, but it was all over in an instant. at galveston, the condemned simply waited for the inevitable; they clung to the brief remaining supports and died a thousand deaths before death claimed them; they stood upon the brink of eternity and cried in vain for the succor they well knew would not come; they prayed for mercy, but there was none. when the waters of the gulf leaped upon the island where the beautiful city sat in all her glory the people fled to the high places and saw the flood creep higher and higher until it overcame them. although it was not until the darkness of the night had long since settled upon them they had known in the afternoon that galveston was doomed. the hurricane would not permit them to escape, but sundered all communication with the mainland and then laughed at their puny efforts at preservation. the death roster in and around galveston was fully , ; at johnstown the known number of victims was a score less than , . many died at johnstown of whom nothing was ever heard, and there were possibly , persons engulfed in the stream which all but destroyed the town, but at the same time the probabilities are that , people died at galveston and in the immediate vicinity. bodies were washed up and thrown upon the shore by hundreds for days after the disaster; how many were burned upon the many funeral pyres no accurate record was kept. in one respect the two calamities were alike--the destruction of millions of dollars' worth of property, but the losses were not so great at johnstown during those fearful two minutes as those occasioned by the beating of the winds and waves which for hours had galveston at their mercy. johnstown was a city of , , teeming with the industry of a manufacturing town. with not even a warning shout to apprise the inhabitants the dam of a lake high above the town broke and the flood sweeping down the conemagh valley engulfed the city and its inhabitants before they even knew of the danger. the whole place was a mass of debris and dead when the deluge subsided. galveston was a city of nearly , people, and had within its gates hundreds of strangers, and the fact that telegrams of inquiry from all parts of the united states poured into the mayor's office in a perfect stream for days after the flood indicated that scores were killed of whom the searchers knew nothing. but johnstown was not alone in its misery. in the southwest a tragedy was enacted a few years later which claimed hundreds of victims. a tornado, immeasurable in its force and fury, blotted out a section of st. louis late in the afternoon of may , . nearly a thousand lives and tens of millions in property were sacrificed. until the disaster at galveston the st. louis catastrophe was the second greatest disaster of its kind in the history of the nation. the tornado destroyed dozens of the finest buildings in the city. it leveled massive structures to the ground. it tossed railroad locomotives about and crushed the eastern span of the eads bridge, one of the strongest structures in the world. it made st. louis a city of mourning for weeks and impoverished numberless families. yet galveston surpassed these cities in the frightful nature of its calamity. hundreds of insane people are being cared for, their reason having been overthrown by their great sufferings. this was one of the saddest features of the shocking visitation. these poor creatures, first bereft of home, family and property, are now living legacies of the most stupendous catastrophe this country has ever known. chapter xxi. great calamities caused by flood and gale during past centuries--millions of lives lost through the fury of the elements. since the great flood which covered the earth, and of which noah and his family were the only survivors, the world has seen many calamities of this nature, and millions of lives have been lost through gales and rushing waters. at dort, in holland, seventy-two villages and over , people were destroyed on april , . at a general inundation of nearly the whole of holland in , upward of , people lost their lives. in catalonia, in , , persons perished by flood. six thousand perished by the floods in silesia in , and , in poland in the same year. the loss of life during the recent floods in austria-hungary and in china have never been fully reckoned, and though , persons are said to have perished in the chinese inundations, the figures are not regarded as trustworthy. these are the only floods on record where the loss of human life has been estimated at over , . the list of smaller similar disasters is almost an endless one. holland, the little lowland country "redeemed from the seas," has suffered worst, from the nature of its situation. protected, as it is, by dikes, which separate the land from the water by artificial means, a constant vigilance has been required of its people to prevent the ocean from claiming its own. in both the deluges of and the immediate cause was a breaking down of the dikes. the records of both are meager, although the mere lists of the drowned suffice to show how awful the havoc must have been. the inundation at dort began at dordrecht, where a heavy storm caused the dikes at that point to give way. in that territory alone , people were overwhelmed and perished, while over , were drowned in and around dullart in friesland and zealand. the subsequent inundation of was the most frightful on record. it nearly annihilated the netherlands, and only to the indomitable pluck and industry which have ever characterized the inhabitants of that country was its subsequent recovery due. in flanders was inundated by the sea. the submerged districts comprised an enormous area, and the harbor and town of ostend were completely covered by water. the present city was built above a league from the channel, where the old one still lies beneath the waves. an awful inundation occurred at dantzig on april , , occasioned by the vistula breaking through some of its dikes. numerous lives were lost, and, the records state, , houses and , head of cattle were destroyed. a large part of zealand was overflowed in , and , of the inhabitants were lost in the floods. hamburg, while her citizens with but few exceptions were saved, sustained an almost incalculable loss to property. the same city was again half flooded on january , , and enormous damage suffered. in the silesian flood spoken of above the ruin of the french army under macdonald, which was in that country at the time, was materially accelerated by the forces of nature. one of the worst floods germany ever had occurred in march, ; villages were laid under water and a great loss of life and property followed the inundation. the floods in china and that portion of the eastern hemisphere, from time immemorial peculiarly subject to such calamities, have always entailed losses about which little has been known. no definite statistics of loss of life and damages have ever been obtainable. in recent years there have been floods there which are known to have been very disastrous, but that is practically all that can be said. in october, , occurred one of the worst floods in the empire. ten thousand houses were swept away and , persons perished in canton alone, while equal or perhaps greater calamity was produced in other sections of the country. at vienna the dwellings of , inhabitants were laid under water in february, . two thousand persons perished in navarre in september, , from torrents from the mountains produced by excessive rains. the beautiful danube of poetry and song has, on numerous occasions, risen in its might, and brought disaster and distress to the inhabitants of the countries through which it winds. pesth, near presburg, suffered to an enormous extent from its overflow in april, . twenty-four villages were swept away, and a large number of their inhabitants perished. on the occasion of another overflow of this river, on september , , a turkish corps of , men, who were encamped on a small island near widdin, were surprised and met instant death to a man. a catastrophe, which in some respects brings to mind that at johnstown, occurred in spain in . lorca, a city in murcia, was overwhelmed by the bursting of a reservoir, and upwards of , people were destroyed. france has on numerous occasions suffered severely from floods. its rivers have overflowed their banks at intervals for centuries back, causing great loss of life and damage to property. the loire flooded the center and southwest of france by an unprecedented rise in october, , and, while the people succeeded in escaping to a great extent, damages aggregating over $ , , were sustained. ten years later the south of france was again subjected to an inundation and an immense loss sustained. a large part of toulouse was destroyed by a rising of the garonne in june, . so sudden and disastrous was the flood that the inhabitants were taken unawares and over , lost their lives. awful inundations occurred in france from october to november , . the saone poured its waters into the rhone, broke through its banks and covered , acres. lyons was almost entirely submerged; in avignon houses were swept away, houses were carried away at la guillotiere and upward of at voise, marseilles and nismes. it was the greatest height the saone had attained for years. at besseges, in the south of france, a waterspout in destroyed the machinery of the mines and sent a torrent over the edge of the pit like a cataract. the gas exploded and hundreds of men and boys were buried below. very few of the bodies of the dead were recovered. a thousand lives were lost in murcia, spain, by inundations in . india has been the scene of numerous floods. in a deluge overwhelmed the fertile districts of bengal, killing hundreds and plunging the survivors into the direst poverty. famine and pestilence followed, carrying thousands away like cattle. italy has not been exempt from the devastation of the waters. on december and , , rome suffered great loss, and in october, , the northern portions of the kingdom were visited by great floods. there have been innumerable smaller inundations. great britain has a long list of inundations. it is recorded that in the year the sea swept over lincolnshire and submerged thousands of acres. in the year over , persons were drowned in cheshire from the same cause. four hundred families were destroyed in glasgow in the year by a great flood. the coast of kent was similarly afflicted in , and the immense bank still known as the goodwin sands was formed by the action of the sea. while the record as given above is by no means complete, it will serve for all purposes of comparison. it embraces the most important disasters of the rushing waters on record, and shows what a destructive force the same element has proven which babbles in noisy brooks and sings merrily as it courses down the mountain sides. death-dealing storms in other countries in forty years. --calcutta, india; , lives and ships lost. --haifong, china; , lives lost. --england; great destruction of life and property and many lives lost. --manila, philippine islands; , families rendered homeless and lives lost. --madrid, spain; killed, injured. --australian coast; pearl fishers perished. --cuba; , lives lost. --apia, samoan islands; german and american warships wrecked and many lives lost. --muscat, arabia; lives lost. --martinique; lives lost and $ , , worth of property destroyed. --ravigo, northern italy; several hundred lives lost. --tonnatay, madagascar; several hundred lives lost. --great storm on the northwest coast of europe; lives lost off english coast and fishermen off jutland. historic devastating storms in the southern states. --adams county, mississippi; killed, injured; loss $ , , . --adams county, mississippi; killed; great property loss. --barry, stone, webster and christian counties, missouri; killed, injured; buildings destroyed; loss $ , , . --noxubee county, mississippi; killed, injured; buildings destroyed; loss $ , . --fannin county, texas; killed, injured; buildings destroyed. --henry and saline counties, missouri; killed, injured; buildings destroyed; loss $ , . --kemper, copiah, simpson, newton and lauderdale counties, mississippi; killed, injured; buildings destroyed; loss $ , . --izard, sharp and clay counties, arkansas; killed, injured; buildings destroyed; loss $ , . --north and south carolina, mississippi, georgia, tennessee, virginia, kentucky and illinois; killed, , injured; , buildings destroyed. [illustration: homes ruined and families killed] [illustration: ruin caused by the flood] [illustration: a street after the flood] [illustration: after the disaster] [illustration: ruined homes] [illustration: a street of stores in ruins] [illustration: a typical scene after the disaster] [illustration: houses destroyed by the flood] [illustration: soldiers encamped in the stricken city] [illustration: destruction along the wharfs] [illustration: the destruction by the water] [illustration: a street after the disaster] [illustration: exodus from galveston the next day] [illustration: cremation of bodies hauled to the wharf front] [illustration: bodies of victims of the hurricane being carted to scows for burial in the gulf] chapter xxii. overwhelming of johnstown, pa., by the waters from conemaugh lake--one of the most peculiar happenings in history--actual number of deaths will never be known--about twenty-five hundred bodies found. on friday, may , , at : p. m., the stones in the center of the dam which confined the waters of conemaugh lake began to sink because of leaks in the masonry; at o'clock the dam broke and the flood rushed fiercely down the beautiful conemaugh valley to johnstown, two and a half miles directly to the southwest--but thirteen miles by way of the winding valley--and within a few minutes nearly , men, women and children (this many, it is known, perished, although it is probable the loss of life was much greater) were lying dead in the wreckage of the city; millions of dollars' worth of property were destroyed and thousands of people beggared--and all because the members of the fishing club which controlled the lake were too penurious to have the leaks in the dam repaired. the coroner's verdict was to the effect that the club was to blame for the disaster. hundreds of business buildings and residences were destroyed, and less than a score of the structures composing the town were uninjured; complete paralysis followed, and many said, as in the case of galveston, the city would not be rebuilt; hundreds were crazed by their sufferings and never regained their reason; thieves swarmed to the place and looted the bodies of the dead until the arrival of several thousand state troops put an end to the carnival of crime; the impoverished survivors were cared for until they could get upon their feet again, relief pouring in from everywhere in the shape of hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash and thousands of carloads of supplies of all sorts; the business men plucked up courage and went to work with a will when the apathy succeeding the calamity had worn off, and to-day johnstown is greater than ever, and has added to both her wealth and population. conemaugh lake is three and one-half miles in length, one and one-quarter miles in width, and in some places one hundred feet in depth, located on a mountain three hundred feet above the level of johnstown, its waters being held within bounds by a huge earth dam nearly one thousand feet long, ninety feet thick and one hundred and twenty feet in height, the top having a breadth of over twenty feet. it was once a reservoir and a feeder for the pennsylvania canal. it had been widened and deepened and was the property of the south fork fishing and hunting club, an organization of rich and influential citizens of pittsburg. it was a constant menace to the residents of the conemaugh valley, but engineers of the pennsylvania railroad regularly inspected it once a month and pronounced it safe. the club leased the lake in from the pennsylvania railroad company. it paid no attention to the fears of the people of johnstown, but merely quoted the opinions of experts to the effect that nothing short of an extraordinary convulsion of nature could affect the protecting dam. johnstown's geographical situation is one that renders it peculiarly liable to terrible loss of life in the event of such a casualty as that reported. it is a town built in a basin of the mountains and girt about by streams, all of which finally find their way into the allegheny river, and thence into the ohio. on one side of the town flows the conemaugh river, a stream which during the dry periods of the summer drought can be readily crossed in many places by stepping from stone to stone, but which speedily becomes a raging mountain torrent, when swollen by the spring freshets or heavy summer rains. on the other side of the town is the stony creek, which gathers up its own share of the mountain rains and whirls them along toward pittsburg. the awful flood caused by the sudden outpouring of the contents of the reservoir, together with the torrents of rain that had already swollen these streams to triple their usual violence, is supposed to be the cause of the sudden submersion of johnstown and the drowning of so many of its citizens. the water, unable to find its way rapidly enough through its usual channels, piled up in overwhelming masses, carrying before it everything that obstructed its onward rush upon the town. johnstown, the center of the great disaster, is on the main line of the pennsylvania railroad, miles from philadelphia. it is the headquarters of the great cambria iron company, and its acres of ironworks fill the narrow basin in which the city is situated. the rolling mill and bessemer steel works employ , men. the mountains rise quite abruptly almost on all sides, and the railroad track, which follows the turbulent course of the conemaugh river, is above the level of the iron works. the summit of the allegheny mountains is reached at gallatizin, about twenty-four miles east of johnstown. the people of johnstown had been warned of the impending flood as early as o'clock in the afternoon, but not a person living near the reservoir knew that the dam had given way until the flood swept the houses off their foundations and tore the timbers apart. escape from the torrent was impossible. the pennsylvania railroad hastily made up trains to get as many people away as possible, and thus saved many lives. four miles below the dam lay the town of south fork, where the south fork itself empties into the conemaugh river. the town contained about , inhabitants. it has not been heard from, but it is said that four-fifths of it has been swept away. four miles further down, on the conemaugh river, which runs parallel with the main line of the pennsylvania railroad, was the town of mineral point. it had inhabitants, per cent of the houses being on a flat and close to the river. few of them escaped. six miles further down was the town of conemaugh, and here alone was there a topographical possibility of the spreading of the flood and the breaking of its force. it contained , inhabitants and was wholly devastated. woodvale, with , people, lay a mile below conemaugh, in the flat, and one mile further down were johnstown and its cluster of sister towns, cambria city, conemaugh borough, with a total population of , . on made ground, and stretching along right at the river verge, were the immense iron works of the cambria iron and steel company, which had $ , , invested in the plant. the great damage to johnstown was largely due to the rebound of the flood after it swept across. the wave spread against the stream of stony creek and passed over kernsville to a depth of thirty feet in some places. it was related that the lumber boom had broken on stony creek, and the rush of tide down stream, coming in contact with the spreading wave, increased the extent of the disaster in this section. in kernsville, as well as in hornerstown, across the river, the opinion was expressed that so many lives would not have been lost had the people not believed from their experience with former floods that there was positively no danger beyond the filling of cellars or the overflow of the shores of the river. after rushing down the mountains from the south fork dam, the pressure of water was so great that it forced its way against the natural channel not only over kernsville and hornerstown, but all the way up to grubbtown, on stony creek. by the terrible flood communication by rail and wire was nearly all cut off. the exact number of the victims of this dreadful disaster probably will never be known. bodies were found beyond pittsburg, which in all probability were carried to that place from johnstown and its suburbs. the terrible holocaust at the barricade of wrecks at the bridge of the pennsylvania railroad below johnstown, where hundreds of men, women and children who were saved from the waves were burned to death, caused a terrible loss of life. the loss of property was about $ , , . knew the dam was weak. on the monday after the catastrophe there came to johnstown a man who had scarcely more than a dozen rags to cover his nakedness. his name was herbert webber, and he was employed by the south fork club as a sort of guard. he supported himself mostly by hunting and fishing on the club's preserves. by almost super-human efforts he succeeded in working his way through the forest and across flood, in order to ascertain for himself the terrible results of the deluge which he saw start from the sportsman's club's lake. webber said that he had been employed in various capacities about the preserve for a considerable time. he had repeatedly, he declared, called the attention of the members of the club to the various leakages at the dam, but he received the stereotyped reply that the masonry was all right; that it had been "built to stand for centuries," and that such a thing as its giving way was among the impossibilities. but webber did not hesitate to continue his warnings. finally, according to his own statement, he was instructed to "shut up or he would be bounced." he was given to understand that the officers of the club were tired of his croakings and that the less he said about the dam from thence on the better it would be for him. webber then laid his complaint before the mayor of johnstown, not more than a month before the catastrophe. he told him that the spring freshets were due, and that, if they should be very heavy, the dam would certainly give way. webber says the mayor promised to send an expert to examine the dam then, and if necessary to appeal to the state. somehow the expert was not chosen, the appeal was not made at harrisburg, and the calamity ensued. for three days previous to the final outburst, webber said, the water of the lake forced itself through the interstices of the masonry, so that the front of the dam resembled a large watering pot. the force of the water was so great that one of these jets squirted full thirty feet horizontally from the stone wall. all this time, too, the feeders of the lake, particularly three of them, more nearly resembled torrents than mountain streams and were supplying the dammed up body of water with quite , , gallons of water hourly. at o'clock friday morning, may , webber said he was attending to a camp about a mile back from the dam, when he noticed that the surface of the lake seemed to be lowering. he doubted his eyes, and made a mark on the shore, and then found that his suspicions were undoubtedly well founded. he ran across the country to the dam, and there he saw the water of the lake welling out from beneath the foundation stones of the dam. absolutely helpless, he was compelled to stand there and watch the gradual development of what was to be the most disastrous flood of this continent. according to his reckoning it was : when the stones in the centre of the dam began to sink because of the undermining, and within eight minutes a gap of twenty feet was made in the lower half of the wall face, through which the water poured as though forced by machinery of stupendous power. by o'clock the toppling masonry, which before had partaken somewhat of the form of an arch, fell in, and then the remainder of the wall opened outward like twin-gates, and the great storage lake was foaming and thundering down the valley of the conemaugh. webber became so awestruck at the catastrophe that he was unable to leave the spot until the lake had fallen so low that it showed bottom fifty feet below him. how long a time elapsed he did not know before he recovered sufficient power of observation to notice this, but he did not think more than five minutes passed. webber said that had the dam been repaired after the spring freshet of the disaster would not have occurred. had it been given ordinary attention in the spring of the probabilities are thousands of lives would not have been lost. to have put the dam in excellent condition would not have cost $ , . expert said the dam was not strong. a. m. wellington, one of the most noted engineering experts in the united states, said of the dam after the flood: "no engineer of known and good standing could possibly have been engaged in the reconstruction of the old dam after it had been neglected in disuse for twenty odd years, and the old dam was a very inferior piece of work, and of a kind wholly unwarranted by good engineering practices of its day, thirty years ago. "both the original dam and the reconstructed one were built of earth only, with no heart wall and rip-rapped only, on the slopes. true, the earth is of a sticky, clayey quality; the best of earth for adhesiveness, and the old dam was made in watered layers, well rammed down, as is still shown in the wrecked dam. but the new end was probably not rammed down at all; the earth was simply dumped in like an ordinary railway filling. much of the old dam still stands, while the new work contiguous to it was carried away. "it has been an acknowledged principle of dam building for forty years, and the invariable practice to build a central wall either of puddle or solid masonry, but there was neither in the old nor in the new dam. it is doubtful if there is another dam of the height of fifty feet in the united states which lacks this central wall. "ignorance or carelessness is shown in the reconstruction, for the middle of the new dam was nearly two feet lower in the middle than at the ends. it should have been crowned in the middle by all the rules and practice of engineering. "had the break begun at the ends, the cut of the water would have been gradual and little or no harm would have resulted. and had the dam been cut at once at the ends when the water began running over the center, the suddenness of the break might have been checked, the wall crumbling away at least more slowly and gradually and possibly prolonged so that little harm would have been done. "there was an overflow through the rocks in the old dam, which provided that the water must rise seven feet above the ordinary level before it would pass over the crest of the dam. but, owing to the raising of the ends of the dam in , without raising the crest, only five and a half feet of water was necessary to run water over the middle of the dam. and this spillway, narrow at best, had been further contracted by a close grating to prevent the fish from escaping from the lake, while the original discharge pipe at the foot of the dam was permanently closed when the dam was constructed. indeed, the maximum discharge was reduced in all directions. the safety valve to that dangerous dam was almost screwed down tight. "there seems to have been no leakage through the dam, its destruction resulting from its running over at the top. the estimates for the original dam call for half earth and rock, but there is no indication of it in the broken dam. the riprap was merely a skin on each face, with loose spawls mixed with the earth. the dam was feet high, inches slope to a foot inside, - / inches to a foot outside slope and feet thick at the top. the fact that the dam was a reconstructed one, after twenty years disuse, made it especially hard on the old dam to withstand the pressure of the water." everything over in a few minutes. all was over in a few moments' time. the flood rushed down the valley when released from its prison, swept earth, trees, houses and human beings before it, depositing the vast debris in front of the railroad bridge, which formed an impassable barrier to the passage of everything except the vast agent of destruction--the flood--which overflowed it and passed on to wreak fresh vengeance below. one of the most terrible sights was the gorge at the railroad bridge. this gorge consisted of debris of all kinds welded into an almost solid mass. here were the charred timbers of houses and the charred and mutilated remains of human beings. the fire at this point, which lasted until june and had still some of its vitality left on the th, was one of the incidents of the johnstown disaster that will become historic. the story has not been and cannot be fully told. one could not look at it without a shock to his sensibilities. so tangled and unyielding was the mass that even dynamite had little effect upon it. one deplorable effect, however, was to dismember the few parts of human bodies wedged in the mass that the ruthless flood left whole. from the western end of the railroad bridge the view was but a prelude to the views that were to follow. looking across the gorge the first object the eye caught in the ruined town is the melville school, standing as a guardian over the dead--a solitary sentinel left on the field after the battle. still further on and near the center of the town were the offices and stores of the cambria iron company. beyond and around both buildings were sand flats, mud flats until the th of may, the almost navigable water of the flood itself until the d of june, the most populous and busy part of the city until the st of may. part of the ground was covered by a part of the shops of the cambria company. not a vestige of these remained. when the great storm of friday came, the dam was again a source of uneasiness, and early in the morning the people of johnstown were warned that the dam was weakening. they had heard the same warning too often, however, to be impressed, and many jeered at their informants. some of those that jeered were before nightfall scattered along the banks of the conemaugh, cold in death, or met their fate in the blazing pile of wrecked houses wedged together at the big stone bridge. only a few heeded the warning, and these made their way to the hillside, where they were safe. early in the day the flood caused by the heavy rains swept through the streets of johnstown. every little mountain stream was swollen by the rains; rivulets became creeks and creeks were turned into rivers. the conemaugh, with a bed too narrow to hold its greatly increased body of water, overflowed its banks, and the damage caused by this overflow alone would have been large. but there was more to come, and the results were so appalling that there lived not a human being who was likely to anticipate them. at o'clock in the afternoon the resistless flood tore away the huge lumber boom on stony creek. this was the real beginning of the end. the enormous mass of logs was hurled down upon the doomed town. the lines of the two water courses were by this time obliterated, and stony creek and the conemaugh river were raging seas. the great logs levelled everything before them, crushing frame houses like eggshells and going on unchecked until the big seven-arch stone bridge over the conemaugh river just below johnstown was reached. had the logs passed this bridge johnstown might have been spared much of its horror. there were already dead and dying, and homes had already been swept away, but the dead could only be counted by dozens and not yet by thousands. wedged fast at the bridge, the logs formed an impenetrable barrier. people had moved to the second floor of their houses and hoped that the flood might subside. there was no longer a chance to get away, and had they known what was in store for them the contemplation of their fate would have been enough to make them stark mad. only a few hours had elapsed from the time of the breaking of the lumber boom when the waters of conemaugh lake rushed down upon them. the scoffers realized their folly. the dam had given way, and the immense body of water which had rested in a basin five miles long, two miles wide and seventy feet deep was let loose to begin its work of destruction. the towering wall of water swooped down upon johnstown with a force that carried everything before it. had it been able to pass through the big stone bridge a portion of johnstown might have been saved. the rampart of logs, however, checked the torrent and half the houses of the town were lifted from their foundations and hurled against it. this backed the water up into the town, and as there had to be an outlet somewhere, the river made a new channel through the heart of the lower part of the city. again and again did the flood hurl itself against the bridge, and each wave carried with it houses, furniture and human beings. the bridge stood firm, but the railway embankment gave way, and some fifty people were carried down to their deaths in the new break. through this new outlet the waters were diverted in the direction of the cambria iron works, a mile below, and in a moment the great buildings of a plant valued at $ , , were engulfed and laid low. here had gathered a number of iron workers, who felt that they were out of the reach of the flood, and almost before they realized their peril they were swept away into the seething torrent. it was now night, and darkness added to the terror of the situation. then came flames to make the calamity all the more appalling. hundreds of buildings had been piled up against the stone bridge. the inmates of but few of them had had time to escape. just how many people were imprisoned in that mass of wreckage may never be known, but the number was estimated at between , and , . the wreckage was piled to a height of fifty feet, and suddenly flames began leaping up from the summit. a stove had set fire to that part of the wreck above the water, and the scene that was then witnessed is beyond description. shrieks and prayers from the unhappy beings imprisoned in the wrecked houses pierced the air, but little could be done. men, women and children, held down by timbers, watched with indescribable agony the flames creep slowly toward them until the heat scorched their faces, and then they were slowly roasted to death. those who were held fast in the wreck by an arm or a leg begged piteously that the imprisoned limb be cut off. some succeeded in getting loose with mangled limbs, and one man cut off his arm that he might get away. those who were able worked like demons to save the unfortunates from the flames, but hundreds were burned to death. meanwhile johnstown had been literally wiped from the face of the earth, cambria city was swept away and conemaugh borough was a thing of the past. the little village of millville, with a population of one thousand, had nothing left of it but the school-house and the stone buildings of the cambria iron company. woodvale was gone and south fork wrecked. hundreds of people were drowned in their homes, hundreds were swept away in their dwellings and met death in the debris that was whirled madly about on the surface of the flood; hundreds, as has been said, were burned, and hundreds who sought safety on floating driftwood were overwhelmed by the flood or washed to death against obstructions. the instances of heroism and self-sacrifice were never excelled, perhaps not equalled, on a battle-field. men rather than save themselves alone died nobly with their families, and mothers willingly gave up their lives rather than abandon their children. "at o'clock in the afternoon," said electrician bender, of the western union at pittsburg, "the girl operator at johnstown was cheerfully ticking away; she soon had to abandon the office on the first floor because the water was three feet deep there. she said she was wiring from the second story and the water was gaining steadily. she was frightened, and said that many houses around were flooded. this was evidently before the dam broke, for our man here said something encouraging to her, and she was talking back as only a cheerful girl operator can when the receiver's skilled ears caught a sound of the wire made by no human hand. the wires had grounded or the house had been swept away in the flood, no one knows which now. at o'clock the girl was there and at : we might as well have asked the grave to answer us." edward deck, a young railroad man of lockport, saw an old man floating down the river on a tree trunk, with agonized face and streaming gray hair. deck plunged into the torrent and brought the old man safely ashore. scarcely had he done so, when the upper story of a house floated by on which mrs. adams, of cambria, and her two children were both seen. deck plunged in again, and while breaking through the tin roof of the house cut an artery in his left wrist, but though weakened with loss of blood, he succeeded in saving both mother and children. j. w. esch, a brave railroad employe, saved sixteen lives at nineveh. at bolivar a man, woman and child were seen floating down in a lot of drift. the mass of debris commenced to part, and by desperate efforts the husband and father succeeded in getting his wife and little one on a floating tree. just then the tree washed under the bridge and a rope was thrown out. it fell upon the man's shoulders. he saw at a glance that he could not save his dear ones, so he threw the means of safety to one side and gripped in his arms those who were with him. a moment later the tree struck a floating house. it turned over, and in a second the three persons were in the seething waters, being carried to their death. c. w. hoppenstall, of lincoln avenue, east end, pittsburg, distinguished himself by his bravery. he was a messenger on the mail train which had to turn back at sang hollow. as the train passed a point where the water was full of struggling persons, a woman and child floated in near shore. the train was stopped and hoppenstall undressed, jumped into the water, and in two trips saved both mother and child. the special train pulled in at bolivar at . o'clock and trainmen were notified that further progress was impossible. the greatest excitement prevailed at this place, and parties of citizens were all the time endeavoring to save the poor unfortunates that were being hurled to eternity on the rushing torrent. the tidal wave struck bolivar just after dark and in five minutes the conemaugh rose from six to forty feet and the waters spread out over the whole country. soon houses began floating down, and clinging to the debris were men, women and children, shrieking for aid. a large number of citizens at once gathered on the county bridge and they were reinforced by a number from garfield, a town on the opposite side of the river. they brought a number of ropes and these were thrown into the boiling waters as persons drifted by in efforts to save some poor beings. for half an hour all efforts were fruitless until at last, when the rescuers were about giving up all hope, a little boy astride a shingle roof managed to catch hold of one of the ropes. he caught it under his left arm and was thrown violently against an abutment, but managed to keep hold and was successfully pulled on to the bridge, amid the cheers of the onlookers. his name was hessler and his rescuer was a train hand named carney. the lad was taken to the town of garfield and cared for in the home of j. p. robinson. the boy was about years old. his story of the frightful calamity is as follows: "with my father, i was spending the day at my grandfather's house in cambria city. in the house at the time were theodore, edward and john kintz, and john kintz, jr., miss mary kintz, mrs. mary kintz, wife of john kintz, jr., miss tracy kintz, miss rachel smith, john hirsch, four children, my father and myself. shortly after o'clock there was a noise of roaring waters and screams of people. we looked out the door and saw persons running. my father told us not to mind, as the waters would not rise further. but soon we saw houses being swept away and then we ran to the floor above. the house was three stories, and we were at last forced to the top one. in my fright i jumped on the bed. it was an old-fashioned one with heavy posts. the water kept rising and my bed was soon afloat. gradually it was lifted up. the air in the room grew close and the house was moving. still the bed kept rising and pressed the ceiling. at last the post pushed the plaster. it yielded and a section of the roof gave way. then suddenly i found myself on the roof and was being carried down stream. after a little this roof commenced to part and i was afraid i was going to be drowned, but just then another house with a single roof floated by and i managed to crawl on it and floated down until nearly dead with cold, when i was saved. after i was freed from the house i did not see my father. my grandfather was on a tree, but he must have been drowned, as the waters were rising fast. john kintz, jr., was also on a tree. miss mary kintz and mrs. mary kintz i saw drowned. miss smith was also drowned. john hirsch was in a tree, but the four children were drowned. the scenes were terrible. live bodies and corpses were floating down with me and away from me. i would hear persons shriek and then they would disappear. all along the line were people who were trying to save us, but they could do nothing and only a few were caught." the boy's story is but one incident and shows what happened to one family. god only knows what has happened to the hundreds who were in the path of the rushing water. it is impossible to get anything in the way of news, save meagre details. an eye-witness at bolivar block station tells a story of unparalleled horror which occurred at the lower bridge which crosses the conemaugh at this point. a young man and two women were seen coming down the river on a part of a floor. at the upper bridge a rope was thrown them. this they all failed to catch. between the two bridges the man was noticed to point towards the elder woman, who, it is supposed, was his mother. he was then seen to instruct the women how to catch the rope which, was being lowered from the other bridge. down came the raft with a rush. the brave man stood with his arms around the two women. as they swept under the bridge he reached up and seized the rope. he was jerked violently away from the two women, who failed to get a hold on the life line. seeing that they would not be rescued he dropped the rope and fell back on the raft, which floated on down. the current washed the frail craft in towards the bank. the young man was enabled to seize hold of a branch of a tree. the young man aided the two women to get up into the tree. he held on with his hands and rested his feet on a pile of driftwood. a piece of floating debris struck the drift, sweeping it away. the man hung with his body immersed in the water. a pile of drift soon collected and he was enabled to get another secure footing. up the river there was a sudden crash and a section of the bridge was swept away and floated down the stream, striking the tree and washing it away. all three were thrown into the water and were drowned before the eyes of the horrified spectators just opposite the town of bolivar. early in the evening a woman with her two children were seen to pass under the bridge at bolivar, clinging to the roof of a coalhouse. a rope was lowered to her, but she shook her head and refused to desert the children. it was rumored that all three were saved at cokeville, a few miles below bolivar. a later report from lockport says that the residents succeeded in rescuing five people from the flood, two women and three men. one man succeeded in getting out of the water unaided. they were kindly taken care of by the people of the town. a little girl passed under the bridge just before dark. she was kneeling on a part of a floor and had her hands clasped as if in prayer. every effort was made to save her, but they all proved futile. a railroader who was standing by remarked that the piteous appearance of the little waif brought tears to his eyes. all night long the crowd stood about the ruins of the bridge, which had been swept away at bolivar. the water rushed past with a roar, carrying with it parts of houses, furniture and trees. the flood had evidently spent its force up the valley. no more living persons were being carried past. watchers with lanterns remained along the banks until day-break, when the first view of the awful devastation of the flood was witnessed. crazed by their sufferings. when the great waves of death swept through johnstown, the people who had any chance of escape ran hither and thither in every direction. they did not have any definite idea where they were going, only that a crest of foaming waters as high as the housetops was roaring down upon them through the conemaugh, and that they must get out of the way of that. some in their terror dived into the cellars of their houses, though this was certain death. others got up on the roofs of their houses and clambered over the adjoining roofs to places of safety. but the majority made for the hills, which girt the town like giants. of the people who went to the hills the water caught some in its whirl. the others clung to trees and roots and pieces of debris which had temporarily lodged near the banks, and managed to save themselves. these people either stayed out on the hills wet and in many instances naked, all night, or they managed to find farmhouses which sheltered them. there was a fear of going back to the vicinity of the town. even the people whose houses the water did not reach abandoned their homes and began to think of all of johnstown as a city buried beneath the water. when these people came back to johnstown on the day after the wreck of the town they had to put up in sheds, barns, and in houses which had been but partially ruined. they had to sleep without any covering in their wet clothes, and it took the liveliest kind of skirmishing to get anything to eat. pretty soon a citizens' committee was established, and nearly all the male survivors of the flood were immediately sworn in as deputy sheriffs. they adorned themselves with tin stars, which they cut out of pieces of sheet metal in the ruins, and sheets of tin with stars cut out of them are turning up continually, to the surprise of the pittsburg workmen who are endeavoring to get the town in shape. the women and children were housed, as far as possible, in the few houses still standing, and some idea of the extent of the wreck of the town may be gathered from the fact that of prominent buildings only sixteen were uninjured. for the first day or so people were dazed by what had happened, and for that matter they are dazed still. they went about helpless, making vague inquiries for their friends and hardly feeling the desire to eat anything. finally the need of creature comforts overpowered them, and they woke up to the fact that they were faint and sick. this was to some extent changed by the arrival of tents and by the systematic military care for the suffering. the bridge where hundreds lost their lives. the "fatal bridge," as it is now called, and which wreaked such awful destruction, is described by a writer in this way: "the bridge whose 'resistance of the torrent' was the matter of so much talk, was a noble four-track structure, just completed, fifty feet wide on top, feet high above the water line, consisting of seven skew spans of fifty-eight feet each. it still remains wholly uninjured, except that it is badly spalled on the upper side by blows from the wreckage, but that it so remains is due solely to the accident of its position, and not to its strength, although it was and is still the embodiment of solidity. "had the torrent struck it, it would have swept it away as if it had been built of card-board, leaving no track behind; but fortunately (or unfortunately) its axis was exactly parallel with the path of the flood, which hence struck the face of the mountain full, and compressed the whole of its spoils gathered in a fourteen-mile course into one inextricable mass, with the force of tens of thousands of tons moving at nearly sixty miles per hour. "its spoils consisted of ( ) every tree the flood had touched in its whole course, with trifling exceptions, including hundreds of large trees, all of which were stripped of their bark and small limbs almost at once; ( ) all the houses in a thickly settled town three miles long and one-fourth to one-half mile wide; ( ) half the human beings and all the horses, cows, cats, dogs, and rats that were in the houses; ( ) many hundreds of miles of telegraph wire that was on strong poles in use, and many times more than this that was in stock in the mills; ( ) perhaps miles of track and track material, rails and all; ( ) locomotives, pig-iron, brick, stone, boilers, steam engines, heavy machinery, and other spoil of a large manufacturing town. "all this was accumulated in one inextricable mass, which almost immediately caught fire from some stove which the waters had not touched. hundreds if not thousands of human beings, dead and alive, were caught in it, many by the lower part of the body only. eye-witnesses describe the groans and cries which came from that vast holocaust for nearly the whole night as something almost unbearable to listen to, yet which could not be escaped. hundreds, undoubtedly, suffered a slow death by fire; yet we cannot doubt that the vast majority of the men, women, and children in that fearful jam, which covered fully thirty acres, and perhaps more, were already dead when the fire began. "johnstown proper is in a large basin formed by the junction of the conemaugh and the almost equally large stony creek, flowing into the conemaugh from the south, just above the bridge. the bridge being hermetically sealed, it and the adjacent embankment formed a second dam about thirty feet high, johnstown serving as a bed of a reservoir which we should judge to be nearly large enough to hold the entire contents of the reservoir above, except that it was already filled knee-deep or more by an unusually heavy but annual spring flood. "one offshoot of the main torrent was deflected southward by the gautier works, and went tearing through the heart of the more southerly portion of the town, and still another similar branch was split off from the main torrent further down; but in the main, the direct force of the torrent did not strike this southerly portion of the town. "it struck first against the jam, and thus lost most of its fierce energy, flowing thence southward in a heavy stream, which tossed about houses in the most fantastic way, so that this part of the town looks much like a child's toy-village poured out of a box hap-hazard; the houses are not torn to pieces generally. "about half the loss of life was in this district, for all johnstown became speedily a lake twenty or more feet deep, and stayed so all night; and it was here, and not in the direct path of the flood, that all the 'rescuing' of people from roofs and floating timbers occurred. "nothing of the kind was possible in the flood itself. likewise, after the break in the embankment had occurred, and the flood began to recede from johnstown, it was from this district chiefly that people were carried off down stream on floating wreckage. all that came within the direct path of the flood was fast within the jam. "the existence of this temporary johnstown reservoir naturally broke the continuity of the flood discharge, and transformed it into something not greatly different from an ordinary but very heavy freshet. cambria city, just below the bridge, was badly wrecked, with the loss of hundreds of lives; but in the main, from johnstown down, the flood ceased to be very destructive. it took out almost every bridge it came to, for fifty miles, and washed away tracks, and did other minor damage, but the johnstown 'reservoir' saved hundreds of lives below it by equalizing the flow." the day express disaster. john barr, the conductor in charge of the pullman parlor car on the first section of the day express, which was caught in the flood at conemaugh, told a thrilling story of his experience. his train, with two others, had been run onto a siding on high ground at conemaugh station, opposite the big round-house. he saw the water coming and describes it as having the appearance of a mountain moving toward him. he immediately ran to his car and shouted to his passengers to run for their lives. john davis, connected with a large rolling mill near lancaster, was traveling from colorado with his invalid wife and two children, aged and . mr. davis was engaged in getting his wife off the car, and conductor barr grabbed up the two children, and, with one under each arm, started for the hills, with the water right at his heels. he ran a distance of about yards and barely managed to deposit his precious burden on safe ground before the flood swept past him. mr. barr said it would never be known how many persons lost their lives from the ill-fated train. the one passenger coach which was carried away had some people in it; how many nobody knows. at least twenty were drowned. a freight train was between the day express and the flood on an adjoining track, and this served to in a measure protect his train. some idea of the terrible force of the flood may be gained from mr. barr's statement that the engines in the round-house, thirty-seven in number, swept past him standing half way out of the water, their forty tons of weight not being sufficient to take them beneath the surface. the baggage car was lifted clear out of the water and landed on the other side of the river. a miss wayne, who was traveling from pittsburg to altoona, had a wonderful escape. she was caught in the swirl and almost all of her clothing torn from her person, and she was providentially thrown by the angry waters clear of the rushing flood. miss wayne said that while she lay more dead than alive on the river bank, she saw the hungarians rifle the bodies of dead passengers and cut off their fingers for the purpose of obtaining the rings on the hands of the corpses. miss wayne was provided with a suit of men's clothing and rode into altoona thus arrayed. miss maloney, of woodbury, n. j., a passenger on the parlor car, started to leave the car, and then, fearing to venture out into the flood, returned to the inside of the car. when the water subsided the crew rushed to the car, expecting to find miss maloney dead, but the water had not gone high enough to drown her and she was all right, though greatly frightened. she displayed a rare amount of forethought in the face of danger, having tied securely around her waist a piece of her clothing on which her name was written in indelible ink. she fully expected that she would be drowned, and did this in order that her body, if found, might be identified. when the water was still high conductor barr made an attempt to get back to his car from the hill, but after wading up to his arm-pits in the water he was forced to return to safe ground. the pennsylvania railroad's last train. the last train to which the susquehanna river permitted the use of the tracks of the pennsylvania railroad between harrisburg and lancaster rolled into broad street station, at philadelphia, at : p. m. on saturday, june . it was a nondescript train. the last car was a vestibule pullman which had never stopped at so many way stations before in its aristocratic life, and which had been cut off the stalled chicago limited at harrisburg to be taken back to new york. the rest of the train had started from harrisburg at : as the day express and at lancaster had been changed into the york and columbia "tub." no train's name ever fitted it better. the tub had swam through seven miles of water on its way, water differing in depth from three inches to three feet. the seven miles of water covered the track between harrisburg and highspire. when the newspaper train touched with the morning dailies and to some extent with the men who make them, dashed drippingly into harrisburg at half-past in the morning it had only encountered three-fourths of a mile of water. no reports of a great increase in the susquehanna's output had reached beleaguered harrisburg during the day, and the express started out with two engines, and , towing it and a fair chance of reaching philadelphia on time. the original three-quarters of a mile of overflow--caused by the back water of paxton creek--was passed without incident. the water was about up to the bottom steps of the car platforms and the pilot of the leading engine threw to each side a fine billow of yellow water, sending a swell like that of a tramp steamer passing gloucester, in among the floating outhouses and submerged slag heaps of the suburbs of harrisburg and bringing cheers from thousands who watched the train's advance from their second-story windows and forgot the condition of their first-floor furniture in the excitement of watching the amphibious prowess of the day express. "we've seen the worst of it," said the elderly, kindly conductor to a couple of excited women passengers as the last of the three-fourths of a mile of billows was thrown from the pilot of . "we've seen the worst of it, but the train will have to wait here a little while--the fires are almost out." so and stood puffing and panting for a while on the high track while the afternoon sunlight dried their dripping flanks and the baffled susquehanna rolled its burden of driftwood sullenly southward on their right. then the day express rolled on again. the dry ground was just about long enough to give the train an impetus for another header into the susquehanna's overflow. it was into the susquehanna itself that the header seemed to be taken this time. it was no longer a question of an overflow creek in a railroad cut. the billows from the prow of swept not in among overturned outhouses and submerged slag heaps, but out on the broad coffee-colored bosom of the river to be broken into a thousand chop waves among the churning driftwood. the people in the second-story windows forgot to cheer. the people in the coaches forgot to joke on the men's part and to fret on the women's. it was curious and it was ticklish. the train was running slowly, very slowly. the wheels were out of sight. the water was swirling among the trucks and lapping at the platforms. the only sign of land locomotion about the day express was an audible one, a watery pounding and rumbling of the wheels on the hidden tracks. the day express looked like a long broad river serpent wriggling on its belly down along the green river bank. gradually there was a simultaneous though not concerted movement among the passengers. they began crowding toward the platforms and looking toward the land side. suddenly a brakeman broke the queer silence, in a voice which had just the least crescendo of excitement in it. "if you people don't keep quiet we can't do anything!" he shouted. the demand was a little absurd, the direction of a land coxswain to "trim ship." still, it had its uses. it relieved the tension which everybody felt and nobody acknowledged. the passengers retired from the platforms. joking began again among the men and fretting among the women. there hadn't been much fun in looking toward the land side anyway. what had appeared to be a recession of the waters when looked at from above was merely a swelling of the stream from the overflow of the canal which parallels the road for several miles at that point. all at once the train, which had been moving more slowly for each of a good ten minutes, stopped short. it seemed as if 's sharp nose had scented danger like a sensitive horse, and, panting, refused to go further. then the engine crews were seen by the passengers to leap from their cabs thigh deep in the water and begin hauling at some sub-aquean obstacle. "driftwood," said the same brakeman who had commanded quiet. so it was. a train stopped by driftwood! it was floating all about and threatened to impede the progress of the day express altogether. fence rails from far up country farms, planks from dismantled signal stations, platforms along the line, railroad ties innumerable, branches and even small trunks of trees floated against the wheels with disjected stacks of green wheat and other ruined crops upon the ever-rising flood of the river. there had been high dry land in sight just beyond highspire station, but as sure as guns were iron and floods were floods the land was disappearing. the river's rise was steady. the inhabitants of the drowned lands who appeared to take the drowning easily, though no such a drowning had been known to them in a quarter of a century, had been in large numbers keeping company of the train for the last two miles in skiffs and punts. they rowed close to the cars and towed away the larger drift. they were not entirely on life-saving service. there was a bit of the wreckage in their composition. they towed the trunk and ties into their front yards and anchored them to their window-blinds. finally the straining backs of the engine crews gave one mighty tug at the hidden obstacle. a huge platform plank floated loose from , and shrieked triumph. the wheels began to churn the brown water with yellowish white and and ran up on the dry ground like the eagle in the sun, to whom the irish poet compared the irish troops at fontenoy. as they did so the clatter of a light advancing train was heard from the east, and a sound of cheering. a single engine drawing two crowded cars shot around the bend, and ran with a light heart into the torrent out of which the day express had just emerged. "they'll never get through," was the unanimous comment of the day express passengers, and their verdict seemed to be confirmed officially by the brakeman who had been excited. he stood in the door of the car and shouted: "this train will stop at all stations between lancaster and bryn mawr. there will be no more trains between harrisburg and lancaster to-night." afterwards he added: "as this is the last train it will have to take the place of the 'tub.'" the first rush of the death wave. a man who was above the danger line on the right bluff above the town, and who saw the first rush of the death wave, says that it was preceded by a peculiar phenomena, which he thinks was the explosion of the gas mains. he says that a few minutes before the wall of the water had reached the city there was a tremendous explosion somewhere in the upper part of the place. he said that he saw the fragments of the buildings rise in the air, and the next moment saw two lines of flame down through the city in different directions, and frame buildings were apparently being torn to pieces and wrecked. the next minute the water came, and he remembers nothing further. there really was an explosion of gas that wrecked a church in the upper part of the city just at the time of the flood. if there was also an explosion of the gas main, the cause of the fire at the bridge is explained. light frame buildings set on fire by the explosion were picked up bodily and tossed on top of the water into the wreck at the bridge without the fire being extinguished. mrs. fredericks, an aged woman, was rescued alive from the attic in her house. the house had floated from what was formerly vine street to the foot of the mountains. mrs. fredericks says her experience was terrible. she said she saw hundreds of men, women and children floating down the torrent to meet their death, some praying, while others had actually become raving maniacs. the real horrors of the disaster. "no one will ever know the real horrors of this accident unless he saw the burning people and debris beside the stone bridge," remarked the rev. father trautwein. "the horrible nature of the affair cannot be realized by any person who did not witness the scene. as soon as possible after the first great crash occurred i hastened to the bridge. "a thousand persons were struggling in the ruins and imploring for god's sake to release them. frantic husbands and fathers stood at the edge of the furnace that was slowly heating to a cherry heat and incinerating human victims. every one was anxious to save his own relatives, and raved, cursed, and blasphemed until the air appeared to tremble. no system, no organized effort to release the pent-up persons was made by those related to them. "shrieking they would command: 'go to that place, go get her out, for god's sake get her out,' referring to some beloved one they wanted saved. "under the circumstances it was necessary to secure organization, and thinking i was trying to thwart their efforts when i ordered another point to be attacked by the rescuers, they advanced upon me, threatened to shoot me or dash me into the raging river. "one man who was trying to steer a float upon which his wife sat on a mattress lost his hold, and in a moment the craft swept into a sea of flame and never again appeared. the agony of that man was simply heartrending. he raised his arms to heaven and screamed in his mental anguish and only ceased that to tear his hair and moan like one distracted. every effort was made to save every person accessible, and we have the satisfaction of knowing that fully were saved from cremation. one young woman was found under the dead body of a relative. "a force of men attempted to extricate her and succeeded in releasing every limb but one leg. for three hours they labored, and every moment the flames crept nearer and nearer. i was on the point several times of ordering the men to chop her leg off. it would have been much better to save her life even at that loss than have her burn to death. fortunately it was not necessary; but the young lady's escape from mutilation or death she will never realize." the flood and fire claimed among its victims not only the living, but the dead. a handsome coffin was found half burned in some charred wreckage down near the point. inside was found the body of a man shrouded for burial, but so scorched about the head and face as to be unrecognizable. the supposition is that the house in which the dead man had lain had been crushed and the debris partly consumed by fire. the body is still at the fourth ward school house, and unless reclaimed it will be buried in the unknown field. the clock stopped at : . one of the queerest sights in the center of the town was a three-story brick residence standing with one wall, the others having disappeared completely, leaving the floors supported by the partitions. in one of the upper rooms could be seen a mantel with a lambrequin on it and a clock stopped at twenty minutes after five. in front of the clock was a lady's fan, though from the marks on the wall paper the water had been over all these things. in the upper part of the town, where the back water from the flood went into the valley with diminished force, there were many strange scenes. there the houses were toppled over one after another in a row, and left where they lay. one of them was turned completely over and stood with its roof on the foundations of another house and its base in the air. the owner came back, and getting into his house through the windows, walked about on his ceiling. out of this house a woman and her two children escaped safely and were but little hurt, although they were stood on their heads in the whirl. every house had its own story. from one a woman sent up in her garret escaped by chopping a hole in the roof. from another a hungarian named grevins leaped to the shore as it went whirling past and fell twenty-five feet upon a pile of metal and escaped with a broken leg. another is said to have come all the way from very near the start of the flood and to have circled around with the back water and finally landed on the flats at the city site, where it is still pointed out. the situation nine days after. a correspondent described the situation at johnstown nine days after the disaster in this way: "so vast is the field of destruction that to get an adequate idea from any point level with the town is simply impossible. it must be viewed from a height. from the top of kernsville mountain, just at the east of the town, the whole strange panorama can be seen. "looking down from the height many things about the flood that appear inexplicable from below are perfectly plain. how so many houses happened to be so queerly twisted, for instance, as if the water had a twirling instead of a straight motion, was made perfectly clear. "the town was built in an almost equilateral triangle, with one angle pointed squarely up the conemaugh valley to the east, from which the flood came. at the northerly angle was the junction of the conemaugh and stony creeks. the southern angle pointed up the stony creek valley. now about one-half of the triangle, formerly densely covered with buildings, is swept as clear as a platter, except for three or four big brick buildings that stand near the angle which points up the conemaugh. "the course of the flood, from the exact point where it issued from the conemaugh valley to where it disappeared below in a turn in the river and above by spreading itself over the flat district of five or six miles, is clearly defined. the whole body of water issued straight from the valley in a solid wave and tore across the village of woodvale and so on to the business part of johnstown at the lower part of the triangle. here a cluster of solid brick blocks, aided by the conformation of the land evidently divided the stream. "the greater part turned to the north, swept up the brick block and then mixed with the ruins of the villages above down to the stone arch bridge. the other stream shot across the triangle, was turned southward by the bluffs and went up the valley of stony creek. the stone arch bridge in the meantime acted as a dam and turned part of the current back toward the south, where it finished the work of the triangle, turning again to the northward and back to the stone arch bridge. "the stream that went up stony creek was turned back by the rising ground and then was reinforced by the back water from the bridge again and started south, where it reached a mile and a half and spent its force on a little settlement called grubbtown. "the frequent turning of this stream, forced against the buildings and then the bluffs, gave it a regular whirling motion from right to left, and made a tremendous eddy, whose centrifugal force twisted everything it touched. this accounts for the comparatively narrow path of the flood through the southern part of the town, where its course through the thickly clustered frame dwelling houses is as plain as a highway. "the force of the stream diminished gradually as it went south, for at the place where the currents separated every building is ground to pieces and carried away, and at the end the houses were only turned a little on their foundations. in the middle of the course they are turned over on their sides or upside down. further down they are not single, but great heaps of ground lumber that look like nothing so much as enormous pith balls. "to the north the work of the waters is of a different sort. it picked up everything except the big buildings that divided the current and piled the fragments down upon the stone bridge or swept them over and so on down the river for miles. "this left the great yellow, sandy and barren plain, so often spoken of in the dispatches where stood the best buildings in johnstown--the opera house, the big hotel, many wholesale warehouses, shops and the finest residences. "in this plain there are now only the baltimore & ohio railroad train, a school house, the morrell company's store and an adjoining warehouse and the few buildings of the triangle. one brick residence, badly shattered, is also standing. "these structures do not relieve the shocking picture of ruin spread out below the mountains, but by contrast making it more striking. that part of the town to the south where the flood tore the narrow path there used to be a separate village which was called kernsville. it is now known as the south side. some of the queerest sights of the wreck are there, though few persons have gone to see them. "many of the houses that are left, there scattered helter skelter, thrown on their sides and standing on their roofs, were never in that neighborhood nor anywhere near it before. they came down on the breast of the wave from as far up as franklin, were carried safely by the factories and the bridges, by the big buildings at the dividing line, up and down on the flood and finally settled in their new resting places little injured. "a row of them, packed closely together and every one tipped over at about the same angle, is only one of the queer freaks the water played. "i got into one of these houses in my walk through the town to-day. the lower story had been filled with water and everything in it had been torn out. the carpet had been split into strips on the floor by the sheer force of the rushing tide. heaps of mud stood in the corners. there was no vestige of furniture. the walls dripped with moisture. "the ceiling was gone, the windows were out and the cold rain blew in and the only thing that was left intact was one of those worked worsted mottoes that you always expect to find in the homes of working people. it still hung to the wall, and though much awry the glass and frame were unbroken. the motto looked grimly and sadly sarcastic. it was:-- 'there is no place like home.' "a melancholy wreck of a home that motto looked down upon. "i saw a wagon in the middle of a side street sticking tongue and all straight up into the air, resting on its tail board, with the hind wheels almost completely buried in the mud. i saw a house standing exactly in the middle of napoleon street, the side stove in by crashing against some other house and in the hole the coffin of its owner was placed. "some scholar's library had been strewn over the street in the last stage of the flood, for there was a trail of good books left half sticking in the mud and reaching for over a block. one house had been lifted over two others in some mysterious way and then had settled down between them and there it stuck, high up in the air, so its former occupants might have got into it again with ladders. "down at the lower end of the course of the stream, where its force was greater, there was a house lying on one corner and held there by being fastened in the deep mud. through its side the trunk of a tree had been driven like a lance, and there it stayed sticking out straight in the air. "in the muck was the case and key board of a square piano, and far down the river, near the debris about the stone bridge, were its legs. an upright piano, with all its inside apparatus cleanly taken out, stood straight up a little way off. what was once a set of costly furniture was strewn all about it, and the house that had contained it was nowhere. "the remarkable stories that have been told about people floating a mile up the river and then back two or three times are easily credible after seeing the evidences of the strange course the flood took in this part of the town. people who stood near the ruins of poplar bridge saw four women on a roof float up on the stream, turn a short distance above and come back and go past again and once more return. then they were seen to go far down on the current to the lower part of the town and were rescued as they passed the second-story window of a school house. a man who was imprisoned in the attic of his house put his wife and two children on a roof that was eddying past and stayed behind to die alone. they floated up the stream and then came back and got upon the roof of the very house they had left, and the whole family were saved. "at grubbtown there is a house which came all the way from woodvale. on it was a man who lived near grubbtown, but was working at woodvale when the flood came. he was carried right past his own home, and coolly told the people at the bridge to bid his wife good-bye for him. the house passed the bridge three times, the man carrying on a conversation with the people on the shore and giving directions for his burial if his body should be found. "the third time the house went up it grounded at grubbtown, and in an hour or two the man was safe at home. three girls who went by on a roof crawled into the branches of a tree, and had to stay there all night before they could make anyone understand where they were. at one time scores of floating houses were wedged in together near the ruins of poplar street bridge. four brave men went out from the shore, and stepping from house-roof to house-roof brought in twelve women and children. "some women crawled from roofs into the attics of houses. in their struggles with the flood most of their clothes had been torn from them, and rather than appear on the streets they stayed where they were until hunger forced them to shout out of the window for help. at this stage of the flood more persons were lost by being crushed to death than by drowning. as they floated by on roofs or doors the toppling houses fell over upon them and killed them. "the workers began on the wreck on main street just opposite the first national bank, one of the busiest parts of the city. a large number of people were lost here, the houses being crushed on one side of the street and being almost untouched on the other, a most remarkable thing considering the terrific force of the flood. twenty-one bodies were taken out in the early morning and taken to the morgue. they were not much injured, considering the weight of lumber above them. "in many instances they were wedged in crevices. they were all in a good state of preservation, and when they were embalmed they looked almost lifelike. in this central part of the city examination is sure to result in the unearthing of bodies in every corner. cottages which are still standing are banked up with lumber and driftwood, and it is like mining to make any kind of a clear space. "thirteen bodies were taken from the burning debris at the stone bridge at one time yesterday afternoon. none of the bodies were recognizable, and they were put in coffins and buried immediately. they were so badly decomposed that it was impossible to keep them until they could be identified. during a blast at the bridge yesterday afternoon two bodies were almost blown to pieces. the blasting has had the effect of opening the channel under the central portion of the bridge. "the order that was issued that all unidentified dead be buried is being rapidly carried out. the rev. mr. beall, who has charge of the morgue at the fourth ward school house, which is the chief place, says that a large force of men has been put at work digging graves, and at the close of the afternoon the remains will be laid away as rapidly as it can be done. "william flynn has taken charge of the army of eleven hundred laborers who are doing a wonderful amount of work. in an interview he told of the work that has to be done, and the contractors' estimates show more than anything the chaotic condition of this city. 'it will take ten thousand men thirty days to clear the ground so that the streets are passable and the work of rebuilding can be commenced,' said he, 'and i am at a loss to know how the work is to be done. this enthusiasm will soon die out and the volunteers will want to return home. "'it would take all summer for my men alone to do what work is necessary. steps must be taken at once to furnish gangs of workmen, and i shall send a communication to the pittsburg chamber of commerce asking the different manufacturers of the ohio valley to take turns for a month or so in furnishing reliefs of workmen. "'i shall ask that each establishment stop work for a week at a time and send all hands in the charge of a foreman and timekeeper. we will board and care for them here. these gangs should come for a week at a time, as no organization can be affected if workmen arrive and leave when they please.' "a meeting was held here in the afternoon which resulted in the appointment of james b. scott, of pittsburg, generalissimo. "mr. scott in an interview said that he proposed to clear the town of all wreckage and debris of all descriptions and turn the town site over to the citizens when he has completed his work clean and free from obstructions of all kinds. "i was here when the gang came across one of the upper stories of a house. it was merely a pile of boards apparently, but small pieces of a bureau and a bed spring from which the clothes had been burned showed the nature of the find. a faint odor of burned flesh prevailed exactly at this spot. "'dig here,' said the physician to the men. 'there is one body at least quite close to the surface.' the men started in with a will. a large pile of underclothes and household linen was brought up first. it was of fine quality and evidently such as would be stored in the bedroom of a house occupied by people quite well to do. "presently one of the men exposed a charred lump of flesh and lifted it up on the end of a pitchfork. it was all that remained of some poor creature who had met an awful death between water and fire. "the trunk was put on a cloth, the ends were looped up, making a bag of it, and the thing was taken to the river bank. it weighed probably thirty pounds. a stake was driven in the ground to which a tag was attached giving a description of the remains. this is done in many cases to the burned bodies, and they lay covered with cloths upon the bank until men came with coffins to remove them." chapter xxiii. not more than half the bodies of victims identified--hundreds of corpses of the unknown and nameless cast into the sea--others buried in the sand and cremated--list of identifications. the actual number of lives lost at galveston will never be known, but over , bodies of victims of the frightful catastrophe were identified; and these, together with the hundreds of identified and unidentified corpses which were buried at sea, in the sands along the beach, in the yards and grounds of private residences; those bodies which must have been carried out into the gulf when the waters receded from the island sunday morning; those cremated; the hundreds found on the gulf coast, on the shores of galveston bay, and those taken from the water; and, finally, those discovered in all sorts of places inland (the bodies found outside galveston island being buried where picked up)--all these served to swell the galveston death list to possibly , , which was the figure named by mayor jones the fifth day after the flood. he had every opportunity for obtaining information on this point. until the cremation of bodies began the foremen of the various burial gangs made lists of the bodies disposed of by their men, but when it became necessary to burn the corpses, the danger of pestilence being so great that they had to be put out of the way at the earliest possible moment, the compilation of these lists was abandoned and a mere general estimate made. the work of clearing the business and residence streets proceeded but slowly, the men in the gangs assigned to this being enervated by the intense heat of the sun, sickened by the effluvia from the decomposing bodies of dead human beings and animals, and depressed by the gloomy character of their surroundings. most of the men thus employed were citizens of galveston, many of whom were in comfortable circumstances before the storm swept away their belongings. in the majority of cases these workers had lost not only their earthly possessions, but members of their immediate families as well, and were heartsore and crushed in spirit. in the main, they engaged in this work because they wanted to help the city out in its desperate straits, and for the further reason that if not busied in mind and body they might possibly go mad. the first of the lists of the identified dead was made out and made public on tuesday following the disaster, and the lists compiled the succeeding days were given out as soon as completed. the lists printed below comprise the first and only complete roster of the dead which has appeared anywhere: first list of identified victims--tuesday, september . aguilo, joseph b., chairman of the democratic county executive committee. allen, charlotte m., seventeenth street and avenue a. allen, e., and wife. amundsen, mother of deputy chief of police amundsen. burrows, mrs. m. bross, mrs. kate, twenty-second street, near beach. burnett, mrs. george, and child, twenty-fourth street and avenue p. barbon, mrs. baxter, mrs., and child, lost in magia store. bell, mrs. dudley, wife of galveston news compositor, and child. beveridge, mrs., and two children. betts, walter, cotton broker, and wife. bird, the family of police officer bird. broecker, john f., wife and two children. bowe, mrs. john, and three children. police officer john bowe attempted to save his family on a raft, but they were swept away and drowned. burnett, gary, and wife and mrs. burnett. caddom, alex., and four children. clark, mrs. c. t., and infant. compton, a. j., and wife. correll, mrs. j. r., and family. collins, daughter of mrs. collins. cline, mrs., wife of dr. l. m. cline, local forecast official of the united states weather bureau. coryell, patti rosa. coates, mrs. william, wife of william a. coates, of galveston news. cramer, miss bessie. daly, w. l., grain exporter and steamship agent for charles f. ortwein & co. day, alfred. davies, john r., and wife. delaney, mrs. jack, wife of united states bridge officer of the port, with two children. delyea, paul, ex-sergeant police. davenport, w., wife and three children. davis, lessie. dorin, mrs. dorrian, mrs., and five children; had taken refuge with nine other persons on the roof of a house which was destroyed and all lost. the dorian house withstood the elements. ellison, two children of captain ellison, one of them drowning in its mother's arms. engelke, john, wife and child. evans, mrs. kate, and two daughters. eichter, edward, thirteenth street and avenue n. ewing, miss. fordtran, mrs. claude j., tremont street. fix, c. h. fisher, w. f., wife and two children. flash, william, and daughter, twenty-fifth street and p avenue; mrs. flash was saved. foster, harry, wife and three children. frederickson, violet. frederickson, mrs., and baby. gernand, mrs. john f., and two children. guest, mamie. gordon, mrs. abe, and five children. gernaud, john h., wife and two children. hansinger, h. a., daughter and mother-in-law. harris, mrs. (colored.) harris, mrs. rebecca. hobeck, ----, and boy. howe, ----, police officer, and family. howth, mrs. clarence. hughes, joe. hawkins, mattie lea. hesse, mrs. irene, broadway and sixth street. hunn, f., street-car motorman. hunter, albert, and wife. hamburg, mrs. peter, and four children. harris, mrs. j. h. jones, mr., and wife. johnson, richard, struck by flying timber and instantly killed. jones, mrs. w. r., and child. kelly, willie. keller, charles a., prominent cotton man. kelly, barney. lackey, wife and two children of leon j. lackey, telegraph operator. longnecker, mrs. a. lord, richard, traffic manager george h. mcfaden brothers, cotton exporters. lynch, john. lassocco, mrs., twenty-first street and avenue p. twenty-five persons are reported to have been lost in the store building of mrs. lassocco. lisbony, w. h. labbat, joe. lafayette, mrs., and two children. magia, mr., two daughters and son, grocery. eleventh street and avenue a. masterson, b. t., and family. motter, mrs., and two daughters. munn, mrs. j. w., sr. mckenna, five members of the p. j. and j. p. mckenna families. monroe, mrs., colored, and three children. mordon, miss. mccauley, miss annie. morton, mrs., and two babies. nolly, mrs. sam and four children, with ten other women and children, in the nolly house on fortieth street and avenue t. mr. nolly and another man were saved after a bitter struggle. o'keefe, mrs. michael, and brother. o'harrow, william. o'dell, miss nellie, and brother, daughter and son of james o'dell. peck, captain r. h., city engineer, wife and five children. peek, captain; house was seen to overturn while he was in it, and he has not been found. porette; thirteen persons killed in a house at eighth street and broadway. dominick porette is the only one of the party who lives to tell the tale. parker; an entire family living at thirty-ninth and q streets, consisting of angeline parker and grandchild, tommy lesker; si sullivan parker and wife and three children. parker, mrs. frank, avenue q and thirty-first street. porfree, henry, a tailor. palmer, j. b., and baby. plitt, harmon. parker, mrs. mollie. ptolmey, paul. quester, mrs. w., little son and daughter. quester, bessie. rice, proof reader on the galveston news, and child. richards, ----, police officer. roll, j. f., wife and four children. rowan, ----, police officer, and family. rust, charles, knocked from a dray while attempting to carry his family to a place of safety; instantly killed. rose, mrs., wife of commissary sergeant franklin rose of the united states army. ripley, henry, son of h. s. ripley. rhymes, thomas, wife and two children. regan, mike, wife and mother-in-law, lost at the porette house. roudaux, murray. sailor, spanish, of the steamship telesfora, which drifted against the whitehall at pier . schofield, miss ida, lost in magia store. schroeder, mrs. george m., and four children. schuler, mr., wife and five children. schwartzback, joseph. shaw, nephew of m. m. shaw. somers, miss helen. spencer, stanley g., local representative of demster & co.'s steamship lines and the north german lloyd steamship lines. stickloch, miss mabel, mechanic street. swain, richard d. sweil, george, mother and sister. schultz, mr. and wife. sharp, miss annie. summers, sarah. sharp, mr. and wife. schaler, mrs. charles, and four children. sylvester, mrs. smith, mrs. mamie. sherwood, charles. thompson, mother-in-law and sister-in-law of william thompson of the fire department. tovrea, ----, police officer. treadwell, mrs. j. b., and infant. taylor, mrs., colored. toothacker, wife and daughter of jesse w. toothacker, contractor and builder. trebosius, mrs. george, wife of george trebosius of the galveston news, and two sisters of mr. trebosius, at their home, fortieth street and avenue r. unidentified--two sisters-in-law and a niece. unidentified--white girls, years old, found in the yard of j. paul jones. unidentified--four white and seven colored persons found in the first story of w. j. reitmeyer's residence. reitmeyer family, in the second story, escaped. unidentified--a lady and her daughter from st. louis. unidentified--thirteen inmates and three matrons at the home for the homeless. wakelee, mrs. davis. webster, edward, and two sisters. webster, thomas, sr., secretary of the grain inspector of the port, with family of four. wensmor, several members of the family residing in the east end; one of the family, an old man, was saved. wenman, mrs. j. w., and two children. wolfe, charles, police officer, and family. wood, mrs., mother of united states deputy marshal wood. wilson, mrs. mary ann and baby. wallace, ----, and four children. watkins, s. w., avenue q and thirty-first street. mr. watkins was drowned and it was reported that about twenty other persons in the same house met a similar fate. wren, james, wife and six children; drowned at the porette house. wootam, ----. woodward, miss hattie. wollam, c., drowned after saving several women and while trying to save others. walter, mrs. charles, and three children. twenty-two persons--francois, a well-known waiter, reported the loss of twenty-two persons who had taken refuge in his house. at hitchcock, tex., thirty lives were lost. two italian families of thirteen people met death by drowning. the following were killed by falling timbers: robinson, william. dominic, a child. johnson, hiram, and wife. pietze, mrs., and three children. the family of c. w. young, wife, two sons and two daughters. montelona, mary. palmero, ----, wife and seven children. o'connor, t. w. members of two families of alvin, who were visiting the young family. seven unidentified found on prairie, supposed to be from galveston. five houston people perished at seabrook in the hurricane. they were: lucy, mrs. c. h., and two small children. m'ilhenny, haven, and the -year-old son of david rice. at alvin the dead were: johnson, j. m. johnston, mrs. j. s. appelle, miss. lewis, mrs. o. s. glaspy, john s. richardson, b. collins, mrs. j. w., killed by falling timbers. collins, mrs. hawley, w. p. mebam, w. c., and wife. at rosenburg the following death list was reported: watson, rev. a. ontrall, mrs. i. j. herman, b. s. at oyster creek the reported dead were: carlton, h. smith, s. jones, tom. arnold, a. smith, connie. marshall, lucy. stephens, tom, colored. at arcola: wofford, mrs. a., aged white woman. at alto loma: twenty-seven--(no list given). at richmond eighteen persons were killed. at wharton, sixteen negroes were drowned. at morgan's point: vincent, mrs., and two children. the death list for wednesday, september . almers, mrs. p. anderson, m., and family. andrew, mr., and three children. annudsen, louis. armstrong, mrs. dora, and four children. bell, mrs. a. c. bell, guy. berger, w. l., wife and child. bodden, mrs., and mrs. j. f. brockelman, three children of j. t. brockelman. bures, ----, wife and sister. burge, william, wife and child. burnett, mrs. mary. burnett, mrs. gary, and two children. carigan, joseph. childs, k. t. cleveland, george, and family. cornett, charles, and wife. connett, mr. and mrs. william, and two children. craig, george. dailey, k. dilz, m., and two sons. dorian, george, and wife. ducos, ----, two children. delcie, mrs. henry r., and child. darby, charles. dowell, mrs. sam. edmunsen, mrs. edwards, miss eliza. eggerett, william, and son charles. ellis, mrs., and family. english, john, wife and child. eideman, h. e. everhart, j. h., wife and daughter. fabey, sumptey. falke, joseph, and three children. farmer, mrs. i. p. faucett, robert. faucett, mrs. belle. fegue, lillie, and esther and laura may, children of mrs. lillie fegue. fox, thomas. fritz, ----. floehr, mrs. gaulters, j. grathcar, mrs. john, and child. harrah, martin. harris, mrs. john, and three children. heck, mrs., and son. herman, martin, and two children. hinke, august, richard and johanna. holbeck, mrs. l. l. homburg, peter. hock, mrs., and son. hayman, mrs. john a., and five children. johnson, a. s., wife and three children. jones, robert. junemann, charles, wife and daughter. junter, william, and six children. kampe, charles. kauffman, h., wife and children. kelso, munson, jr. kelso, roy, baby boy of j. c. kelso. kirby, mrs. j. h., and three children. klein, mrs. e. v. kleincke, h., and wife. koepler, mrs. fred., and family. kraus, mr. and mrs. j. j. krauss, fred. krauss, joseph j., wife and daughters. krausse, l., wife and two daughters. louis, poland, carrier news. lorance, mrs. t. a. lucas, mrs. h., and two children and white nurse. malrs, o. m., wife and child. maree, ----, employed by james fascher. malter, j. martin, mrs., wife of policeman martin. masterson, b. t., and family. miles, colson. miller, william, and family (partner of childs). mitchell, mrs. w. h., and child. mongon, john. morro, dotlo, wife and seven children. muttie, a. m'manus, mrs. william. miner, lucia. neill, ----, and family. nolan, mrs. olson, mrs. mattie, and two children. opperman, miss may, and marguerite and gussie of palestine. odelle, o. olsen, mrs. matilda, and two children. parler, mrs. d., and two children. pasker, miss ethel. pauls, nellie and cecilia. pix, c. h. palmer, j. b., and baby. plitt, harmon. peters, mrs. park, mrs. m. l. park, miss alice. park, miss lucy. roberts, ----, watchman g. h. and n. r. r. rattizan, mrs. leon, and four children. ratissa, mrs. w. l., and three children. raymond, mr. and mrs., and two children. reagan, j. n. rhaes, t. f., wife and two children. roan, mrs., and three children. rudger, c., wife and child. runter, a., and mother and father. schoabel, george, wife and daughter. severet, j., and wife. sherwood, thomas, wife and three children. shilke, mrs., son and infant. siegler, mrs. fred. sommers, f., wife and three daughters and his son joseph, wife and child. stetgel, mr., and family. stockfelt, peter, wife and six children. swanson, mrs. stockfletch, peter, wife and six children. schwotsel, george, wife and daughter lulu. sayers, dr. john b. sayers, tom. smith, jacob. stowinsky, mr., and wife. seixas, e., and two daughters, anna and lucile. tarpey, joseph. toveca, sam, policeman, wife and four children. tow, t. c., wife and five children. thomsen, mrs. w. d., and two children. tovrea, sam, wife and child. toothacker, miss jennie. tillebach, charles, wife, mother-in-law and two children. villeneve, mrs., and child of hitchcock. vogel, mrs. henry, and three children. vondenbaden, mrs., and two children. walden, mr. warmarvosky, adolph, mother and sister reported missing. warneke, mrs. a. w., and five children. warren, james, wife and six children. webber, mr., family missing. wedges, judge, justice of the peace, and wife. wilsh, joseph, wife and two children. wincott, mrs. windman, mrs. webster, edward, sr. webster, mrs. julia. webster, mrs. sarah. webster, george. webster, joe. yeats, ----, child. youngblood, l. j., wife and child. zipp, mrs. and daughter. thursday's (september ) awful roster of identified dead. the official list of those identified on thursday was as follows: adams, toby. adams, mrs. agin, george. allen, mrs. alex. anderson, mrs. s. albertson, a. albertson, mrs. alpin, george. alpin, mrs. anderson, mrs. jack. ashe, george, sr. ashe, george, jr. bell, alexander. berger, mrs. lucy. bell, henry. bland, mrs. bland, mrs. florence. bodecker, charles. boss, charles. boss, d. brooks, j. r. cain, rev. thomas w. cain, mrs. calhoun, mrs. thomas. carter, corinne. casey, mrs. annie. clark, c. y. chaffee, mrs. cuney, r. c. davis, gabe. day, alfred. day, willie. dempsey, mr. and mrs. davis, henry t. dorrfe, mr. dorrfe, mrs. dunton, mrs. annie. dammel, mrs. dammell, w. d. direkes, henry. dowell, mrs. samuel. dunning, mrs. h. c. dunning, richard. evans, mrs. falkenhagen, mr. and mrs. freitag, harry. frank, mrs. aug. frieman, mr. and mrs. feither, mrs. f. ferget, julius. gibson, professor. goth, a. e. goth, mrs. green, mrs. lucy. gentry, charlotte. gottleib, mrs. homes, florence. harris, effie. higgins, mrs. hoffman family. holland, mrs. james. hughes, robert. jefferbrook, august. jefferbrook, mrs. johnson, mrs. johnson, mrs. w. j. jones, w. r. jasters, perry. king, mrs. knowles, mrs. w. t. kuhn, mrs. h. clem. kuhnel, mrs. lawson, charles. lawson, mrs. lewis, agnes. lewis, maria. lewis, mrs. maria. levin, p. lindquist, mrs. o. lockman, mr. and mrs. h. ludwig, alfred. lyle, william. lemmon, virgie. lloyd, buck. lloyd, mrs. ludwig, albert. manley, joe. moore, mrs. n. moore, mrs. nathan. martin, herman. menzel, john. menzel, mrs. morse, arthur p. morse, mrs. mcguire, john. mcpherson, robert. mcdade, ed. nelson, mrs. park, miss lucy. piney, mrs. patrick, cora. patrick, ida. pierson, mrs. mary. pierson, alice. pierson, frank. piner, mrs. ella. powers, mrs. randolph, edith. ravey family. roehm, mrs. roehm, william. roehle, john. roehle, mrs. ruehrmond, professor. ruehrmond, mrs. roukes, mrs. charles. reuter, otto. reuter, henry. rowe, ada. rowe, hattie. rowe, george. shaw, frank. seidenstricker, henry. schultze, charles. schulz, fred. schulz, mrs. schulz, charles c. schwotsel, george. scott, annie. scull, mrs. mary. seixas, miss arma. seixas, miss lucille. sexalis, sella. schutte, e. r. schutte, mrs. shilhe, mrs. tix, herman. torr, t. c. torr, mrs. t. c. thurman, mrs. tresvant, jordan. trostman, mrs. turner, mrs. turner, mr. turner, mrs. uleridge, adelaide. van liew, mollie. van buren, herman. waring, mrs. (chicago). warren, celia. washington, mrs. weiss, professor. weidemann, fritz. wilke, assistant city electrician. wilke, mrs. williams, mrs. e. c. williams, sam. williams, mrs. woodrow, matilda. yeager, william. zweigel, mrs. identifications made on friday, september . aberhart, t., and wife. ackermann, herman, wife and daughter. adams, m., and mrs. tobey (colored). adameit, mrs. g. and seven children. akers, c. b., wife and three children. albertson, a., wife and two children. allardico, r. l., wife and three children. allen, cornelia. allen, daisy. allen, elve. allen, zerena. alphonse, john, wife and family. anderson, oscar, wife and children. anderson, andrew, wife and children. armitage, miss vivian. armour, mrs., and five children. artisan, john, wife and nine children. andrew, mrs. a., and family. bell, alexander, wife, two sons and daughter. boedecker, charles. bercer, mrs. lucy. brooks, j. t. bland, mrs., and seven children (colored). bell, henry. bankers, mrs. charles. beach, miss nina of victoria. boedenker, h., father, brother and sister-in-law. barnard, mrs. becker, john, wife and daughters, mae and vida. brown, winnie m. bellew, mr. and mrs. j., and daughter. bass, john, wife and four children (colored). baulch, will, wife and two children. beal, mrs. dudley, and child. bedford, cushman (colored). bohn, dixie. boss, peter, and wife. bowen, ----. bradley, miss mannie. bradley, miss ethel. bentley, and family. briscoll, a. m. bockelman, c. j. brown, joe, and family. buckley, selma. buckley, blanche. buckley, mother and father. buckley, mrs. and daughter. burgee, william, wife and child. burrell, mrs. (colored). bittell, mrs. christian, john. campbell, will. curry, mrs. martha j., and miss louisa. campbell, miss edna. carter, adeline. ninety people at catholic orphan home. cato, william (colored). childs, william, and wife. clark, tom. corbett, james j., and four children. caddoe, alex., and five children. colsen, ----. connor, captain d. e. connor, edward j. cowen, ----. crouse, j. j., wife and children. credo, will. cromwell, mrs., and three children. crook, ashby. crowley, miss nellie, and brother. cuneo, mrs. joseph, new orleans. curry, mrs. e. h., and child. carven, mrs., and daughter. carnett, ----, and wife, of orange. crawford, rayburn. carson, frank c. clinton, mrs. mary, and children--george a., horace, lee w., joseph b., willie b. and freddie. darrell, ----, and five children. davis, mrs. t. f. deltz, m., and two sons. dinter, mrs., and daughter. donahue, ellen, utica, n. y. donahue, mary, utica, n. y. doll, george and wife. doll, frank, and family. doty, john. doyle, jim. dunningham, richard e. dunnin, mrs. howard c., and three children. dirke, henry, and family. darfee, mr. and mrs., and two daughters. dammill, w. d., and wife (colored). dunham, george r., and wife. dunham, george r., jr., and two children. donnelly, nick. ducos, madeline and octavia. davis, miss emma. drewa, h. a. demesie, mrs., and two sons. dowles, samuel, wife and one child. davis, mrs. mary, and children--carrie, alice, lizzie and eddie. eckett, fred. eckett, charles. edward, james, and family. eismann, ----, wife and child. eismann, howard. elias, james, and two children. english, john, wife and child. emmanuel, joe. eppendorf, mr. and mrs. eads, sumpter. forget, julius. pfeither, mrs. fritz. frau, mrs. august, and daughter. faby, c. s., wife and two children. foster, mrs. august. freise, mr. and mrs. charles m. forbush, john, and freddie. fretwell, j. b., mrs. and boy. foster, mrs. s. f. farrer, miss nannie of sullivan's island. frank, anton, wife and two daughters. fanchon family. fedo, joe. ferwedert, peter. fickett, mrs., and four children. fiegel, john. figge, mrs., and four children. franks, mr., and daughter. fornkesell, t. c. foster, mr. and mrs. harry, and three children. fox, thomas, wife and four children. frankovich, charles and john. fredericks, corinne. furst family. gait, a. e., and wife. gibson, professor, and family. gentry, charlotte (colored). gonzales, andrew, wife and daughter pauline. graham, mrs. h., and baby. garnett, robert f. gibson, mary c. guilett, colonel, of victoria. george, h. k., and family. grey, h. k., and family. grey, randolph, four children and sister-in-law. garbaldi, august. gabel, mr. and mrs. (colored). gallishaw, and five children. gaires, mrs. lillie, and two daughters. ganth, ----. garrigan, joe. gecan, matt. gordon, oscar. clausen, charles, and family of four. gregg, ----, and four children. grief, john, wife and three children. grosscup, mrs. goodwin, two girls. genning, tim, and wife. gruetsmicher, louis, wife and two daughters. gaines, captain edward, and wife. hildebrand, fred. harris, miss rebecca. hubbell, misses maggie and emma. haines, sister of mrs. captain haines. huebener, mrs. a., and boy. haughton, willie o. hunter, george. hausinger, george. hall, charles (colored). hannamann, mrs. august. harris, l. harris, thomas, wife and three children. harris, mrs. w. d., and son. harrison, tom, and wife. hassler, charles, and wife. hasselmeyer family. haughton, mrs. w. w. heidmann, william, jr. helfenstein, sophie and willie. hennessy, mrs. m. p., and two nieces. herman, martin, and two children. hersey, mrs. john. holmes, mrs. (colored). hoskins, t. d., wife and three children (colored). hubbell, emma and maggie. hull, william (colored). hull, charles (colored). humberg, mrs. peter, and four children. jackman, ada, and two children. jaeger, william h. jaeger, john, and wife. jaecke, mrs. curt, and three children. jennings, james a., and wife. jennssen, mrs. and mr., and five children. johnson, asa, wife and son. johnson, julian. johnson, child. johnston, j. b., wife and two children. johnston, mrs. alice. johnston, mrs. e. e., and four children. junkf, martha. junka, mrs. paulina. junker, mrs. colina. johnston, mrs. johnston, mrs. w. j. johnson, mrs. c. s. jones, j. h., and wife. jaeger, walter h. johnson, v. s. johnson, odin, wife and child. johnston, j. a., and wife. keats, tom, and wife. keeton, j. c., wife and three children. kelmer, charles l., sr. kely, ----, wife and three children. keiffer, wife and daughter. kennelly, mrs. annie. kester, fred, and daughter. kirby, james, and three men. kirby, mrs. george, and two children. kleinicke, mrs., and family. klenmann, fred and wife. knowles, mrs. w. t., and three children. kuder, ed., and wife. kuhn, oscar, wife and three children. kleinmann, henry, and wife. klindlund, newton and carl. kemp, tom and wife. kemp, w. c., and wife. kotte, william. kimlo, mrs. john, and two children. kelly, thomas, wife and two children. kreckrecek, joe, wife and three children. king, mrs. karvel, mrs. jack, and four children. konstantopolos, f. kreywell, david, and daughter. keis, l., wife and four children. lawson, charles, wife and child. ludwig, alfred, mother and sister-in-law. lackey, mrs., father and mother. lyle, william, grandmother and sister. labatt, h. j. labatt, louisa c., and sister, nellie e. lackey and children, leon and pearl. lane, rev. mr., and family. lane, f., and family. lang, five children. lapeyre, james, wife and four children. larson, h., and two children. laukhuffe, genevieve. lawson, mrs. w., and one child. learman, h. l. leverman, professor. lemier, joe, and four children. leon, ----, and two children. leslie, mrs. gracie. lettermann, w., wife and two children. levine, mrs. p. a., daughter and two sons. levy, w. t. lewis, mrs. j., and six children. londer, john, wife and seven children. livingston, mrs. lloyd, charles h., wife and one child. locke, mrs. mary. lockstadt, albert, wife and three children. loasberg, miss maggie. lorance, mrs. e. a. love, ed. g. ludeke, henry, wife and son. luddeker, ----. little, mrs. j. a. lepehear, j. h., wife and three children. lanahan, laura, francis, terrence, and claud, children of john lanahan. luca, mrs. j. leibe, mrs. mary. lang, f. a., four sons and daughter and colored nurse. levy, miss, of houston. legate, louis, wife and son. legate, mrs. peticles, two sons and two daughters. legate, christian. manley, joe, mother and two nieces. manley, mrs. s. r. miller, mrs., and five children (colored). m'neill, miss j., and miss ruby. maybrook, wife and five children. morris, harry, wife and three children. muri, annie and murine. marcotte, miss pauline. m'avay, mrs. e. c. mulsburger, tony, and wife. martin, miss annie. marlo, alex. massey, e., wife and child. mati, amendio. m'camish, r., wife and two daughters. m'cluskey, mrs. charles, and two daughters. m'cormick, mrs. b., and four children. m'millan, mrs. e., and family. m'peters, wife and children. mealy, mrs. joseph. mealy, joseph. mielhulan, mrs. medzel, john, wife and five children. mesley, charles (colored). milan, wife and four children. miller, leslie. mitchell, louis r. (colored). mitchell, mrs. annie and son. moffett, ----, wife and two children. mongan, john. monoghan, mike and family. monoghan, john, and wife. morrow, mrs., and four children. moore, miss maggie. moore, mrs. nathan (colored). moore. e. w. moore, two children. moore, ----. moore, o., wife and seven children. morley, d., and wife. morton, hammond, and four children. morse, albert t., wife and three children. mulcahey, two children. munn, mrs. j. w., sr. murrie, mrs. annie, and daughter. myer, hermann, wife and son. myers, mrs. c. j., and one child. neimann, mrs., and daughter. north, miss archie. oakley, f. o'connor, mamie. olds, charlotte (colored). ormond, george, and five children. ohlsen, mr. and mrs. opperman, albert l., and wife. o'connolly, miss mamie. pett, mrs. park, mrs., and two daughters. powers, mrs., and child. palmer, mrs. mae, and son lee, years old. patterson, florence. pruesmith, mrs. f., and three children. paisley, william. park, mrs. m. l. pellins, mrs. m. penny, mrs. a., and two sons. perry, jasper, jr., wife and two children. peterson, charles, wife and two children. peterson, mrs. j., and children. phelps, miss ruth. quinn, john. raab, george w., and wife. raphael, nick. reader, ----, and family. richardson, william (colored). ricke, tony, and wife. riley, solomon, and wife. ring, j., proof reader galveston news, and two children. riordan, thomas. reagan, mrs. patrick, and son. rhea, mrs. and miss mamie of giles county, tennessee. roach, annie. roberts, ----, watchman. robbins, mrs. h. b., of smith's point. rodefeld, william, jr. rohl, john, wife and five children. roll, mrs. a., and four children. ross, daughter of mrs. ross of houston. roth, mrs. kate, and three children. roe, ada (colored). rowe, hattie (colored). rotter, a. j., wife and two children. rudder, robert, wife and four children. rudger, c., wife and child. rughter, lena. ruce, ida (colored). rice, fisher (colored). redello, angelo, wife and four children. randolph, edith. rosenberg, ----, and baby. roe, k. (colored). riser, henry, wife and three children. riesel, mrs. lula, and children--ray and edna. roberts, herbert n. rhodes, miss ella, trained nurse. rose, c. m. ruhler, frank, mrs. k., leon and albert. reagan, john p. rutter, h., wife and five children. sandford, s., and family. sawyer, dr. john b. sawyer, tom. sawyer, mrs. robert, and three children. schadermantle, maud and randle. scheirholz, w., wife and five children. schoolfield, d. (colored). schrader, mary. schuler, mr. and mrs., and five children. schook, mr. and mrs. robert, jr. skarke, charles f., and son. smith, mary. smith, charles l. smith, professor f. c., wife and five children. smith, jacob. smith, wiley, wife and children (colored). sodiche, l. solomon, frank, and family of six. solomon, julius, and wife. stacker, mrs. sophie. stacker, miss alfreda. stacker, george. stackpole, dr., and family. steding, wife and children (seven in family). stenzel, wife and three children. stewart, captain t., and family. stewart, miss lester. stiglitz, miss mamie. strabo, nick, and family, except one. strickhausen, mrs. sweigel, george, mother and sister. symms, two children of h. c. smith, mrs. mary and baby (colored). scull, mrs. mary. schutte, r., wife and two children. simpson, w. r., and two children, james and berry. sargent, thomas, arthur and allen. sladeyce, r. l., wife and three children. stanford, mrs. emma. schwartz, marie, maggie and willie. seidenstucker, john. schrader, mary. summers, miss sarah, of cading, ky. smith, jacob (unaccounted for.) spann, j. c., wife and daughter. turner, mrs. trizevant, jordan. thurman, mrs. taylor, mrs. j. w. thomas, nolan and nathan. thomason, mrs. w. b., and two children. thomas, ----, wife and six children. thornton, two children of leigh. tickel, mrs. james, sr. trahan, mrs. h. v., and child. travers, mrs. h. c., and son, sheldon. turner, mr. and mrs. trostman, mrs. e., and three children. tayer, verma, and m. c. unger, mrs. e., and five children. ulridge, adelaide (colored). van buren, ethel. vaught, edna, child of w. j. vaught. vitocitch, john, and family. van buren, herman, wife and three children. wallace, scott. wallace, earl. walden, son of henry. walsh, j., wife and child. warner, mrs. a. s. warner, mrs. flora. warren, martha. weber, mrs. charles t. weber, mrs. anna. webber, mrs. f., and family. windberg, otto, wife and child. weiss, oscar, wife and child. wenderman, mrs. westway, mrs. george. wharton, ----. white, family of walter. whittle, tom. wilde, mrs., and miss freida. williams, frank, wife and child. wilson, annie. winscoatte, mrs. w. d. white, ----. williams, alex. windmann, mrs. winmoore, james, wife and two children. winn, mrs., and child. withey, h. m. wood, william (colored). woods, miss, from joliet, ill. woods, mrs. julia and miss nannie, of joliet. wright, lulu and john. wurzlow, mrs. williams, mrs. e. c. (colored). woodrow, matilda. wisrodt, august, jr., and wife and two children. weinberg, otto, wife and five children. walker, louis d. watkins, mrs. f., stanley, arthur and berna. wallis, lee, wife, mother, four children and a little orphan girl who formerly lived at palestine. weight, jennie t., and lula. walker, joe. williams, rosanna (colored). winberg, mrs. f. a., and fritz. yeager, william. yuenz, lillie and henry george. younger, evelia, and two children (colored). zeigler, mrs., and two daughters. zwigel mrs., and two daughters. at the catholic orphanage: sister camillus, superior. mary vincent. mary elizabeth. raphael. catherina. genevieve. felicitus. mary finbar. evangeline. ranignus. additions to the dead roster for saturday, september . allison, s. b. antonovitch, p. augustial, p. allen, e. b. bowles, samuel. bowles, mrs. s. bellew, j. bellew, mrs. j. bourdon, mrs. l. a. blum, mrs. isaac. blum, mrs. sylvan. barry, mrs. m. e. bereckman, edw. bell, clarence. buckner, mr. benston, t. bergeron, mrs. banneval, mrs. a. bearman, t. brown, adolph. clupp, mrs. c. p. cook, william. cook, mrs. scott. copps, charles. cowan, mr. carlton, charles. cratz, jack. cleary, dan. coddard, alex. duett, miss m. dawler, mrs. samuel. davis, mrs. thomas. dorrin, mrs. c. demsie, john. demsie, mrs. john. edwards, a. r. c. esteman, paul. falk, mrs. fuger, frank. goldman, theo. garbaldi, august. hoffman, h. h. hegman, edward. herr, leonard. hayman, john a. holland, mrs. j. higgins, mrs. irvin, joseph. johnson, h. p. jefferbrook, august. jefferbrook, mrs. aug. jones, j. h. jones, mrs. j. h. kinds, joseph. kimpan, paul. keefe, t. j. kalb, august. kalif, mrs. john. kaiser, louis. kinsfader, joe. kelly, florence. kirky, george. king, mrs. karvel, mrs. jack. lindner, mrs. l. levy, major w. t. lossing, mrs. h. m'ewan, john h., jr. massey, tom. martyn, mrs. r. mott, mrs. frank. martin, jim. marcoburro. miller, joe. meyer, joe. mcgovern, james. mchale, john. menard, miss mary. mellor, robert. morton, mrs. a. morton, henry. miller, mrs. martin, herman. mcguire, john. mcpherson, robert. marcotte, miss p. mcvay, mrs. e. c. nick, oysterman. nelson, mrs. opiliz, anita. o'keefe, mrs. c. j. olsen, steve. olson, thomas h. provost, james. plotomey. plitt, hermann. potoff, charles. phelps, ruth. peklinge, mrs. pinto, mrs. tony. peco, leon. pierson, miss mary. pierson, alice. pierson, frank. quarrovich, ----. rummelin, ed. reagan, h. j. raleigh, miss nellie. reamann, mrs. redford, mattie. ritter, mrs. w. m. roehm, w. w. f. ravey, ----. randolph, edith. rosenberg, ----. rurehmond, professor. rurehmond, mrs. riser, hy. riser, mrs. hy. riesel, mrs. lulu. schuler, a. steager, j. smith, o. p. senott, maggie. schultz, charles. schultz, charles c. schultz, fred. schultz, mrs. f. scull, mrs. mary. simpson, w. r. sargent, thomas. sargent, arthur. sargent, allen. stanford, mrs. e. tuckett, walter. tayer, verma. tayer, m. c. williams, mrs. e. c. woodrow, matilda. waring, mrs. wisrodt, august, jr. wisrodt, mrs. a., jr. walker, l. d. watkins, mrs. f. watkins, stanley. watkins, arthur. watkins, berna. wallis, lee. wallis, mrs. l. c. weight, jennie t. weight, lula. williams, r. woodward, e. c., jr. williams, rosanna. walters, f. a. wicke, mrs. wegner, fritz. zippi, j. m. zumberg, gus. the members of battery o, first artillery, u. s. a., lost in the storm were: andrews, george f., private. andrews, william l., private. cantner, james w., cook. delaney, william a., private. downey, peter, private. george, hugh r., first sergeant. glaffey, john, private. hess, fred, private. hunt, frank w., private. kelly, john, private. lewis, everett a., private. link, george, mechanic. marsh, james a., sergeant. mitchell, benjamin d., private. mcarthur, malcolm, mechanic. peterson, george, private. rander, leopold, private. roberts, samuel, corporal. sauerber, william s., private. seffers, otto, private. vantilbruch, benjamin, private. wheeler, wadsworth b., private. white, herbert r., private. wilhite, carvan m., private. wright, sidney, private. hospital corps: forrest, samuel, private. gossage, joseph, private. mcilvene, elright, private. few of the bodies of the dead regulars were ever found. twelve miles down galveston island the following were killed: john schneider's whole family. henry schneider's whole family. fritz opper's whole family. william schroeder's wife and seven children. sam kemp (colored) lost all his family. fritz boehle's wife. ansie boehl lost wife and three daughters. ostermayer and wife. only about six houses remained between south galveston and the city limits. following is a revised list of dead outside of galveston: at arcadia. james, bodecker and son. james wofford. eleven lives were lost here. at alvin. misses m. and s. m. johnson. mrs. wilhelm, sister of the misses johnson. mrs. hawley, killed by being blown against a post. on chocolate creek. mr. gilaspey. mrs. j. w. collins. mrs. s. o. lewis. mrs. proctor, of rosenburg, killed in santa fe wreck. at marvil. mr. bumpass. h. h. richardson, jr. mrs. jules a. tix, of galveston county. on mustang creek. j. mclain. twelve were lost altogether. at angleton. feklin williams. e. j. duff and son. three unknown. at brookside. w. b. smith's daughter, aged . alice leonard (colored). at columbia. perry campbell and three unknown negroes. at dickinson. three ladies, mother and two daughters and seven unknown men. at hitchcock. william johnson and wife. william and robinson linnie. mrs. pietze. mary monenla. mr. palmero, wife and five children. unknown woman, aged . unknown boy, aged . george young, wife and four children. t. w. o'connor and wife of alvin, miss. mrs. j. w. collins. w. p. hawley. son of joseph bodecker. son of james bodecker. hiram johnson and wife. william robinson. domenio child. mrs. "joe" meyer. several unknown found on the prairie. three unknown found on a fence. at league city. w. a. williams. miss letitia schultz and mrs. sophia schultz. at morgan point. louis bracquail. "billy" jones. at patton. b. landrum, wife and five children. ---- aikins, wife and child. mrs. slatom and child. traney lenton, wife and five daughters. a. vinson, wife and child, of liverpool, texas. john gluspey. at quintana. fifteen convicts. six bodies picked up on beach, believed to have floated over from galveston. at rosenberg. j. l. cantrell. rev. mr. watson. coleman norman, of needville. mrs. robert dawson's infant. child of mrs. graggiss. child of mrs. kirkpatrick. child of mrs. palmer. charles scott. mary hughes. at richmond. eighteen unknown. at sandy point. eight negroes, names unknown. at seabrooke. mrs. fred may. mrs. p. pflinger. mrs. vincent and three children. mrs. s. k. milhenny. haven milhenny. child of rice davids. mrs. dr. nicholson. mrs. jane woodlock. two unknown. at virginia point. two children of mrs. wright. mrs. leon cleary and three children. james sylvester. three negro men. two unknown negro women. louis domengeux. at mossing section. foreman kirby, with fourteen white men. at velasco. rev. father keene. l. w. perry. "sam" bliss. mrs. parker and granddaughter. at waller. mrs. mary proctor, of rosenberg, killed in santa fe wreck. the number of those known to have met death outside of galveston aggregated , . those identified saturday and sunday, september and . augustine, pasquila and wife. anderson, nelson. agin, george and child. anderson, henry. alexander, annie and christian. almeras, children of thomas. alpin, geo., and wife. amundsen, emil, wife and child. anderson, ned, wife and two children. anderson, amanda, colored. anderson, mrs. carl, and four children. anizen, mrs. frank, and two children. armstrong, mrs. dora, and four children. azteanza, captain sylvester. alaway, fred, and family. bradford, f. h., and family. boygoyne, mrs. francis, and son. burke, j. g., and wife. burns, marco, wife and four children. bernerville, mrs. antonio, and two children. badger, otto. balliman, gus, irene and john. balseman, mrs. barns, mrs. louise. barry, mrs., and six children. balje, otto. batteste, horace. baubch, william, wife and two children. bell, george, wife and four children. bell, miss mattie. bell, henry (colored). berger, theodore, wife and child. bergman, mrs. e. j., and daughter. bierman, frederick. blackson, baby of william. block, son of charles. blum, isaac. borden, j. m., and wife. blum, sarah and jennie. bornkessel, t. c. of united states weather bureau, wife and child. boske, mrs. charles and two sons. bowen, ----. branch, allen (colored). brandies, fritz, wife and four children. brandon, lottie. britton, james (colored). brooks, j. t. brown, adolph, wife and two children. bryan, mrs. l. w. and daughter. buckley, selma and blanche. burgoyne, douglas. bourke, j. k. burrell, elivie and two children (colored). bureel, mrs. c. (colored). baxter, mrs. george and two children. chambers, ada. curtis, jane, two children and her mother-in-law (colored). cleary, mrs. dan and five children. chenivere, mrs. christian, paul and wife. clancy, pat, wife and three children. clauson, katie. cleary, mrs. leon and one child. cleveland, george and wife. cleveland, roy and seneca. close, j. m. coleman, mandy and child (colored). connell, william. cook, w. s., wife and six children. cornell, mrs. porter and two daughters (colored). cort, infant of e. l. (colored). cramer, miss bessie. credo, child of anthony. cromwell, mrs. and three daughters. curtis, mrs. j. c. and one child (colored). curtis, lula (colored). cushman, john henry. daniels, mrs. e., three girls, one son, two grandchildren. davis, annie n. davis, henry t. (colored). daley, nicholas. darby, charles. davis, irene. deegan, haddy. delaney, joe. delano, asa p., wife and children. deltz, m. and two sons. dempsey, mr. and mrs. robert. dixon, mrs. louisa and children. dinsdale, wife and two children. dittman, mrs. f., and son. dore, ----, an old frenchman. dore, deo, jr., wife and two children. garrene, mr. and mrs., and two children. dorsett, b., and family of five. dotto, mike, wife and six children. doyle, jim. drecksmith, d. dreckschmidt, h. drew, h. a. duffard, a. duffy, mrs. dunant, frank, sr. dunton, mrs. adelaide. dunkins, mrs. duntonovitch, john and pinckey. darkey, john and wife and daughter belle. edmonds, mrs. eberhard, f., and wife. eberg, mrs. kate. eckel, william, wife and son. edmondson, fred and father. eichler, w. eichler, mrs. a. eismann, howard. ellis, john. and family of four. ello, joseph, wife and two children. englehart, louis. englehart, mrs. ludwig. englehart, g. c. evans, mrs. katy and two daughters. everhart, j. h., wife and miss lena and guy. ferrell, mrs., wife of rev., and three children. falke, joseph, and three children. faucette, mrs. robert. feigle, john, sr., and wife. feigle, mabel. flanagan, mrs. martin, and child. foreman, mrs. mamie, cassie, thomas, amos, webster. franklin, george. franck, mrs. augusta. freidolf, ----, wife and son. freilag, ----, and son harry. frohne, mrs. charles and two children. frye, mrs. w. h. fryer, bessie bell. gwynn, mrs. d. gordon, sol and two children. gabell, mr. and mrs. (colored). gaines, mrs. tillie j. and two daughters. gallishaw, five children. garrett, ed. garrigan, james. garrigan, joseph. garth, johnnie and gussie. genter, robert. gensen, four children. george, first sergeant of battery o. george, charles and wife. gillis, dan. gordon, asker and baby. grant, fred (colored). grant, mamie e. (colored). gother, mrs. fred. grumberg, alex, supposed to belong to life-saving station. haag, three children of mrs. b. hagen, george w. hall, joe and family (colored). hansel, dick, wife and three children. harris, tim. harris, thomas, wife and three children. harris, robert, wife and one child. harris, george. harry, mrs. (colored). harris, mrs. w. r. and son. hayes, child of mrs. eva of taylor, texas. helfstein, john, jr., (child). helfstein, sophie and lily, children of w. hemann, mrs. r. m. and child. hess, bugler. hester, charlie. hoarer, martin, wife and son. hoch, mrs. and three sons, mike, willie and louis. holland, james h., wife and son willie and grandson otis. holland, ---- (colored). holland, mrs. james. holmes, child of laura (colored). hubner, edward and antoinette. hudson, mrs. hughes, mrs. mattie. hughes, stuart c. hughes, john. hull, charlie (colored). huzza, charles, wife and four children. hyman, anthony. hybach, charles and son. jaeger, mr. and mrs. and two children. jackson, mrs. j. w. and two children. jamoneck, ed., wife and two children, all of dallas. jasper, two children of perry (colored). jefferbock, mr. and mrs. augusta. jerrel, j., wife and four children and mother-in-law. jones, frank, son and fred (colored). jones, mrs. matilda and daughter. johnson, peter, wife and five children. johnson, mrs. p. and children. johnson, r. d., wife and two children. johnson, mrs. genevive and daughter. johnson, w. j., wife and two children. johnson, mrs. ben and three children. johnson, mike, wife, child and mother-in-law. johnson, harry. johnson, mrs. h. b. johnson, a. s., wife and six children. junemann, charles, wife and daughter. kunker, william, wife and child. kace, mrs. john and four children. kennedy, benton, wife and three children. kemp, pearl c. (colored). kemp, mrs. (colored). kerpan, mr. and mrs. paul. king, mrs. (colored). king, rosa j. (colored). kindlund, edgar. knowles, mrs. w. t. and three children. kimley, mrs. john and family. kinsell, e. kreza, joseph, wife and three sons. kurpan, paul and wife. kaiser, louie, wife and three children. kehler, mrs. fred and two sons. keiss, mrs. john. keiss, miss judie. keiss, mrs. louise and four children. keiffer, wife and daughter. kelsy, james. lackey, miss pearl. lackey, alma. lackey, robert. lackey, mrs., four children and daughter-in-law. lafayette, mrs., and two children. lapierce, james, wife and five children. larson, h. and two children. laukhuff, genevieve. lashley, mrs. dave. lausen, august and three children. lawson, mrs. w., and miss oralie. lawson, mr. and mrs. and child. legue, three children of mrs. lillie. lee, captain g. a. and wife. lenker, tom. lennard, fred. lemira, joseph, wife and four children. leon, ---- and two children. leslie, miss gracie. lewis, mrs. c. a. (colored). lewis, mrs. jake and six children. lewis, agnes (colored). lindgren, john, wife and seven children. (miss lillie, eldest, saved). lloyd, buck and wife. locke, mrs. mary. lockhart, mrs. charles, and two children. losica, mrs. f., daughter, three children and son-in-law. lucas, mrs. william and two sons. lucas, two children of mrs. david. lucas, john and two children. ludke, henry, wife and son. ludewig, e. a. and mother. lumberg, will and lena. lumber, gus, wife and nine children. lynch, a. lynch, james and wife. lynch, ed and family. lyster, w. w. miller, joe and children. munn, mrs. s. s. mccauley. j. b. and wife. macklin, w. l., wife and three children. mandy, mrs. and daughter (colored). matson, grace and three children (colored). martin, frank, wife and son. maquelte, mrs. pauline. maxwell, mrs. mcamish, s. a., wife and two daughters. mcaughlar, ira (colored). mcculloch, a. r. (colored). mcmanus, mrs. w. h. mcmillan, mrs. m. j. mcneill, mrs. and baby. mcneal, mrs. james and child. mcpeters, wife and two children. mcpherson, robert (colored). mealey, mrs. john. mealy, joseph. megna, mrs. joe. megna, child of mike. menzella, john, wife and five children. merle, eugene and mother. merle, john, wife and children. mestry, charlotte (colored). meyer, chris, missing. miller, wife and six children. moran, james and wife. morrow, mrs. and four children. moore, mrs. nathan. moore, estelle (colored). moore, ----. morley, d. and wife. morris, harry, wife and three children. morton, hammond and four children. mott, b. f. mulcahey, two children of j., of houston. mulholland, mrs. louise. mullock, henry, wife and child. mundyne, mrs. meria. murie, mrs. annie and daughter. meyer, herman, wife and son willie. myers, mrs. c. j. and one child. napoleon, henry, wife and sister (colored). otis, charlotte (colored). o'dowd, d. j. o'keefe, c. j. and wife. olsen, ed. oterson, a. a. and wife. ostermayer, henry and wife. o'shaughnessy, pauline. perry, mrs. h. m. and son clayton, houston. puesnutt, mrs. fred and three children. paetz, mrs. lena. paskall, august and wife. pashelag, miss louisa. pashelag, mrs. e. and three children. paysee, mrs. henry and two children. pauly, mr. and mrs. peetz, mrs. captain j. j. and eldest and youngest daughters. pellenze, mrs. and mother. perkins, albert (colored). perkins, arthur (colored). perkins, wife and grandson (colored). peterson, mrs. j. and children. peterson, k. c., wife and child. pettit, w. b. pettingill, w. h. and wife and three sons, walter w., james and norman (missing). pilford, w., mexican cable company, and children, madele, jack and georgianna. quowvich, john and four others unknown. quester, bessie. quinn, thomas. quinn, john, engineer (missing). rockford, william and wife. ryan, joseph, wife and child. raleigh, miss lelia. rayburn, crawford. rattisseau, a. and wife and three children. rattisseau, mrs. w. l. and three children. reagan, mrs. john j. reagan, w. j., wife and three children. rein, wife and daughter. reinhart, agnes and helen, daughters of john. rhone, lulu l. (colored). richardson, s. w. and wife. richamderes, mrs. irene and baby. riley, mrs. w. and two children. rimmelin, edward h. and wife. riordan, thomas. ritzeler, mrs. rhymes, thomas, wife and two children. roach, annie. roberts, "shorty." ritchford, ben and wife. roemer, c. c. and wife. roemer, elizabeth, wife of a. c. roehm, mr. and mrs. william and two children. rogers, blanche donald, niece of d. b. ross, -year-old child of mrs. ross, of houston. rosse, mrs. l. and three children. rossalee, b., wife and three children. roth, mrs. kate and three children. rowe, mrs. and three children. rudder, robert, wife and four children. rudger, c., wife and child. ruenbuhl, johnnie. ruther, a., mother and father. ruhrmond, prof., wife and two children. rust, henry and three children. redelli, angelo, wife and four children. sanford, southwick, wife and child. schmidt, mrs. f. and son richard. schmidt, richard j. schneider, j. f., wife and six children. schoolfield, ---- (colored). schoolfield, isaac. schutte, ----, wife and two children. schutze, mr. and mrs. scott, hugh (colored). seals, wallace d. (colored). seats, sarah n. (colored). sedgwick, child. seibel, mrs. julius. seibel, lizzie. seibel, mrs. jacob and son julius. seixas, mrs. e., arma, lucille, cecilia. severt, john and wife. shaper, henry, wife and two sons. sherman, albert. skelton, mrs. emma and two children. sharke, charles f. smith, jim, prize fighter. simerville, s. b. and wife (colored). sourbien, battery o. slayton, mrs. carey b. (colored). steeb, j. and wife and two children. stevens, frank, leo, jerold and edward, sons of t. j. stewart, captain p. and family. stilkolitch, mannie. stimman, robert, wife and child. strabe, nick and family, except one. strickhausen, mrs. strunk, william, wife and six children. sudden, clara (colored). swartsbach, child of a. swickel, mother and three sisters of john. sylvester, miss. simms, two children of h. g. thomas, miss daisy. tavinette, antoinet. terrell, mrs. q. v. and four children (colored). thomas, newell and nathaniel. thompson, mr., wife and three children. thurman, mrs. (colored). tiggs, lavina and daughter (colored). tilsman, robert, wife and five children. tinbush, and family. trickhausen, mrs. trostman, mrs. and three children. tucker, mr. and mrs. and one child. turner, mr. and mrs. udell, oliver, wife and child. uhl, mrs. christopher and six children. ulridge, val, mrs. and six children. van, miss mary. vining, mrs. annie and four children. viscavitch, magdelena, daughter of mrs. wemberg, o. m., wife and five children. winn, mrs. and grandchild. wallace, scott and earl. wade, mrs. hillie (colored). wade, hettie and husband (colored). walden, samuel, son of w. h. (colored). waldgren, mr. walker, mrs. h. v. walter, mrs. charles and three children. walsh, joseph, wife and three children. walters, gus. waring, mr. (colored). warrah, martin. waters, three nephews of james. watkins, child of p. watson, judge, wife and two children. webber, mrs. and family. weber, w. j., wife and two children. wester, george and joe. weidmang, fritz and wife, paul and mother. weiss, prof. walsh, mrs. westaway, mrs. george. westerman, mrs. a. westman, mrs. white, james, wife and babe. wicke, lena. wilke, c. o. wilcox, child. wilde, miss freda. williams, mrs. mary. wilson, bertha (colored). withey, h. witt, c. h., wife and two children. wood, mrs. r. n. wood, eddie and burley (colored). wood, mrs. caroline and two daughters, mary and kate. wuchnach, m., wife and two children. young, mrs., two daughters and one son. the following, previously reported dead, were saved: coddou, alex, jr., ray and eugene, whose father and three brothers were lost. cato, william. hunter, mrs. j. j. sommer, miss helen t. list of identifications for monday, sept. . allen, mrs. kate. allen, mrs. alex and five children. anderson, mrs. dora. anderson, mrs. sam (colored). anderson, nick and two sons. andrel, mrs. and three children. anlonovich, eddie. baker, florence (colored). baker, mrs. and three children (colored). baldwin, sallie (colored). bastor, mrs. clara. bostford, edwin and wife. bostford, kate. brady, ---- and wife. brandus, fritz and wife and four children. burns, mrs. bushon, hisom. boyd, andy and family, on beach. brophey, m., and mother of peter. calvert, george w., wife and daughter. campbell, mrs. emma. caroline, mrs. alice and three children. cheles, william and wife. chester, paul and wife. christian, john. crain, anna m. crain, charles. crain, maggie mccree. crain, mrs. c. d. carter, a. j. carter, mrs. celeste. davis, e. debner, william, wife and three children. doherty, mrs. dagert, mrs. and children. floehr, mrs. hoesington, h. a. hurt, walter, wife, two children and two servants. iwan, mrs. a. jones, john a. and wife. johnson, leonard, wife and four children. joughin, tony. jones, e. b. kaufman, mrs. eliza. keller and family. kolbe, infant of c. b. kleiman, joe, wife and two workmen. kroener, will, sophie and florie. kupper, ----. larson, h. and two children. luckenbell, b. e. and wife. lott, walker c., wife and two children. martin, miss annie. manly, joen, sr., mother and two nieces. mccauley, j. and wife. neuwiller, william, wife and three children. newton, mrs. j. m. and child. oakley, f. poland, ed. and sister. pryor, ed., wife and four children, of st. joseph, mo. patrick, mariah. powers, carrie v. patter, c. h. and baby. quinn, mrs. frank and son claude. ripley, henry. roberts, john t. scholea, richard, wife, son frank and adopted daughter, tilla meyer. sommer, joe, wife and child. spaeter, mrs. fred. spaeter, otilla. slayton, mrs. carrie (colored). steeb, ----, wife and child. steinbunk, edward, george and arthur. sweikel, mother and three sisters of john. steinforth, mrs. emma. stillman, lily. stevens, frankie and lee, two boys of t. j. stewart, miss lester. swenson, mrs. mary k. simons, two children of h. g. tavenett, anton. thompson, milton. thompson, wife and four children. tickle, h. p., wife and two children. told, subie. torr, t. c. toothacre, miss etta. tozen, mrs. g. m. and miss bella. washington, john and five children. wiede, wife and five children. white, willie. white, family of walter. williams, ed. zickler, mrs. fred and two children. zinkie, august and two children. zwansig, adolph. sr., richard, herman and three daughters of adolph. roll for tuesday, september . andrews, mrs. allen, william, wife and three children. allardyce, mrs. r. l., and three children. allen, claude. allen, herbert. allen, lucy. bradfoot and wife. brown, william. briscal, alfred, and two children. burkhead, mrs., and daughter. burns, mrs. p., and daughter mary. byman, mr. and mrs. george. clancy, pat, wife and five children. colsberg, frank g., wife and baby. chester, frank, ellen and mary (colored). christianson, miss annie, of shreveport (who was visiting george dorian). costly, sanders, and wife and child of alexander costly (colored). cowan, isabella, and daughter. calloum, antona, wife and four children. cornell, mrs. eliza. "dago joe" and wife mary. dearing, william, wife and six children. devoti, joe, and three children. devoti, mrs. julia, and two children. devoti, louis. devoti, "doc." durrant, frank. dumond, joseph, and wife. dazet, mrs. leon, and child. eaton, f. b. fachan, family gone; he is alive. falk, mrs. julius, and five children. falk, gustavo. felsmann, richard (blacksmith), wife and five children. fritz, wife and two children. graus, wife and two children. hall, chase (colored). harris, john, wife and two children. haucius, mrs., and one child. hermann, w. j. herman, mrs., and five children. hylenberg, jacob, wife and child. jerrel, j., wife and four children. jordan, charles. james and children. jackson, wife and daughter, mabel. kaper, august, wife and one child. keogh, john, wife and four children. keogh, mrs., and three children. koch, william, sr. kothe, william q. leagett, mrs., and three children. leaget, mrs. celia, and family of six. letts, captain, wife and two children and sister. lynch, peter. mackey, mrs. w. g., and four children. maclin, j. d., wife and seven children. mccann, billy, wife and four children. maupin, joseph. mcdonald, mrs. mary, and son. mcewen, john. mcgraw, peter, and wife. mcneil, hugh, and baby and miss jennie mcneil. mcpeters, mrs., and two children. mcveigh, miss lorena. miller, frank. miller, wife and four children. midlegge, august, wife and five children. mellor (better known as miller), robert. meyer, henry, and four children. moore, cecelia, loraine, vera and mildred, children of mr. and mrs. louis moore. morseburger, antonia, and wife. moserger, ----. middleburger, george, wife and three children. middleberger, john, wife and three children. miller, e. o. moore, mrs. dock. neal, a fisherman. o'neill, james and frank, sons of james. o'neill, lawrence. o'neill, wife and five children, an oysterman, with four hired men. platt, mrs. s. peterson, george, soldier, wife and four children. peters, robert. peters, rudolph. potter, c. h., and little daughter. praker, william. preussner, mrs., and three children. pischos, mr. and mrs. quinn, robert, wife and six children. rattiseau, p. a. rattiseau, j. b., wife and four children. rattiseau, c. a., wife and seven children. rattisseau, mrs. j. l., and three children. raw, mr. ray, miss susie. roberts, herbert m. mrs. rose's baby. rosen, mrs., and four children. rudireker, and three women. ryan, mrs. mary. scarborough, harry, a fisherman. scott, hughie (colored). ricker, john. speck, captain. summers, mrs. m. s. tian, mrs. clement, and three children. tripo, an oysterman. turner, angeline (colored). wallace, and wife. warnke, mr. and mrs., and three children. washington, johnnie, and family, colored. weit, mr., and three children. walker, l. d., stepson and w. j. hughes. weeden, lou, wife and four children. wurzlow, mrs. annie. one laborer at dr. fry's dairy. anderson, c. l., wife, and children. burns, mrs. m. e., and daughter. boening, william, wife and three children. burwell, t. m. buren, larzen, wife and five children. bernardoni, john. chouke, mrs. charles and child. connolly, mrs. ellen. cook, mrs. ida (colored). cook, henry (colored). deboer, p. g., and wife. doyle, james. dickinson, mrs. mary, and children (colored). ellis, mrs. henry (colored). edwards, mrs. jane, and daughter (colored). falco, j. a. c. fagan, frank. fager, mrs. frances. frank, miss anna. galmer, h. h., and wife. geist, wife and daughter. colmer, h. h., wife and five children. heusse, w. a., and wife. hoch, mike. heare, l., wife and twelve children. homburg, joe, wife and four children. homburg, william, wife and five children. hurlbert, mrs. victoria, miss minnie, walter and hattie (all colored). hass, professor carl, and family. johnson, a., and wife. johnson, dan (colored). jay, j. j. kessner, august, lena, emma and james h. keats, miss tillie. lemere, t., and wife. lisbony, mrs. w. h., jr., and miss eunice, daughter of c. p. lehman, charles and son. mitchell, w. p. mcconnelly, h., and wife. mcgown, jim. mcveagh, mrs. j. m. manning, mark. mead, james. neimeier, henry, wife and five children. patterson, h. j. patterson, miss s. (colored). perkins, lucy and lotta (colored). perkins, mrs. l., and two children (colored). parobich, michael, wife and four children. pruessne, henry. panleick, matthew. rose, h., and wife. radeker, mrs. herman, and child. rehm, william, wife and two children. reymanscott, louis. richardson, william. ruther, robert, wife and six children. steerholz, w., and wife. seible, o. j., jr. schroeder, mrs. lottie a. swan, george, wife and four children. terrell, g., and wife. varnell, james, wife and six children. vuletach, andrew, wife and daughter. warren, mrs. flora. wilkinson, george, wife and son. wilson, mrs. julia anna (colored). zurapanin, mrs. n., and eight children. transcriber's notes: punctuation has been corrected without note. on page , " " is presented as in the original text. the series of paragraphs beginning on page has no closing quotation mark. the following misprints have been corrected: "botton" corrected to "bottom" (page ) "quale" corrected to "quayle" (page ) "thusday" corrected to "thursday" (page ) "yets" corrected to "yet" (page ) "beople" corrected to "people" (page ) "though" corrected to "through" (page ) "diminshed" corrected to "diminished" (page ) "kedso" corrected to "kelso" (page ) other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. on the trail of deserters _a phenomenal capture_ _by_ captain robert goldthwaite carter u. s. army washington, d. c. gibson bros., printers, on the trail of deserters. the year of had been so full of incidents and far reaching results for the fourth cavalry and its new colonel, ranald s. mackenzie, that it is somewhat difficult to go back into the dim vistas of that period and select the one incident, or absorbing event which would be either of greatest magnitude or afford the most thrilling interest-- this capture of ten deserters, however, under circumstances of more than ordinary importance, since it is believed to be the record capture ever made in the military department of texas, or, perhaps for that matter, of any military department in the united states--came about as closely in touch with the writer's life as almost any other experience he ever had while serving as an officer of that regiment--including, as it did, terrible exposure, and unavoidable hardships and privations-- like all of the other cavalry regiments in our army, which were then doing about three fourths of all the active, effective work--the work that disables or kills--in the subjugation of the savage tribes in the united states, driving them into indian reservations, and rendering it possible for the frontier border to be settled, and civilization to be advanced to a point where it could feel safe from raids and bloody incursions, the fourth u. s. cavalry, notwithstanding its high morale and almost perfect state of discipline--had its share of desertions-- was mackenzie a "martinet" mackenzie was not a west point "martinet", as that term is generally understood in our army--but, from four wounds he had received, three in the civil war, and one that year in the campaign against quan-ah parker, the una-ha-da comanche chief--and almost criminal neglect of his own health, in his intensity of nature and purpose in prosecuting these arduous indian campaigns--he had become more or less irritable, irascible, exacting--sometimes erratic, and frequently explosive-- this much may be said, however, it is certain that notwithstanding his physical condition, and his mental temperament resulting therefrom, he never sought to inflict an injury or punishment upon anybody unnecessarily--never became a petty or malicious persecutor, hounding a man into his grave--and when it became evident to him as well as to others that he had done any of his officers or men an act of injustice, nobody could have been more open, free and frank in his disavowal of that act, or quicker to apologize and render all the reparation possible in his power-- this applied to any and all down to the last second lieutenant and private soldier in the regiment-- one man never knows another so well, even intimately--as when he is thrown closely in contact with or lives and sleeps and eats with him-- the writer had done all with mackenzie during a greater part of this period of --having been his post adjutant twice--during gen. sherman's inspection in may, at the time of the massacre of salt creek prairie, and prior to our expedition of that year, and his field adjutant on his entire campaign in his abortive attempt to strike kicking bird's band of ki-o-was before he could be stampeded into the fort sill reservation--from may st until oct. --i had got to know him very well-- causes for desertion both officers and men had been under a terrific high-keyed pressure--a very great mental and physical strain, almost to the breaking point; were tired and dispirited because the results and the hard work performed, had not justified their expectations and because they could not then see any immediate relief from the performance of such exacting duty-- the pace had been a little too fast even for the fourth cavalry-- much of the spirit and enthusiasm for such unremunerative work was at a very low ebb-- while it had not yet approached a complete discouragement, it was a condition of supreme disgust and contempt at the methods employed-- they felt that with the government at washington nullifying and rendering most of their hard labor abortive, that success in those long, weary and extremely exhausting indian campaigns was not so much dependent upon their absolute loyalty to duty and perfect willingness to sacrifice themselves when necessary in achieving results, as upon the paralyzing acts and influence of the "indian ring" in washington and the ever changing political cesspools of a politically ridden country-- they wanted to see the tangible results or fruits of such terribly hard service and to feel that such hardships, privations and sacrifices as they had experienced, had not been in vain or wasted by a gang of cold blooded, unscrupulous plunderers and grafters remote from the scene of these border activities. we have but recently passed through a similar experience with the same class--in fact are doing it now. like "_death_ and _taxes_," we have them with us always, especially in time of wars-- it is then the vultures abound-- it is then we have the jelly-fish, spineless slackers, the pussy-foot pacifists--conscientious objectors, chicken hearted shirkers--and--"let george do it" fighters--coming down to the secret renegades--traitors, and bolshevist anarchists and bomb throwers-- they have always been the curse of this nation--the natural result,--as a rule--of the "melting pot" that does not melt--breeding a lot of mongrel curs and hybrids that should no longer be a part of our american life. it is feared they will always be with us-- thus they reasoned--and the propaganda poison spread. these were some of the contributing, but not all of the real causes that led to what soon became almost an epidemic of desertions in the regiment-- the last snow storm in which they had floundered and wallowed into fort richardson, seemed to have destroyed the last atom of patriotic ardor and martial enthusiasm among even some of the best of our indian scrappers-- the loss of quan-ah parker's village in the snow, sleet and hail of that black, awful night on the solitary plateau of the "staked plains", when the entire command came so near perishing, and the swiftly moving mass of fleeing panic-stricken indians was "so near, and yet so far"--had taken nearly all of the gimp, snap, and live-wire spirit out of our hitherto bold fourth cavalry warriors-- following this--the terrible monotony of the life--without amusements or recreations of any kind--no athletics or competitions; no libraries--infrequent mails; no hunting except a few men selected on account of their being expert shots (no ammunition then being issued by the government for that purpose); no theaters or concerts; nothing but the dreary monotonous grind of guard and police duty--detached service, and the rather questionable pleasure they got out of some saloons and gambling hells which generally landed them "broke" and subjects for the guard house and disciplinary measures and more forfeiture of pay, hard labor or other punishment-- these were the causes for the desertion epidemic. during this period of unrest and discontent, however, on account of the conditions described, there were few courts martial, nearly all corrective or disciplinary measures being applied by the troop commanders through the first sergeants, under proper restrictions or limitations by the colonel-- "knock downs" and "drag outs" were not infrequent, and at no extra expense to the government-- sometimes the victim of an unfortunate "jag" was got under control by a hours sojourn in the "orderly room", a "dip" in a water hole near by, the "boozer" being thrown in a few times "by order", or, if he became too obstreperous, abusive or insubordinate--a "sweat box"--a " pound log on a ring", or a "spread eagle on the spare wheel of a caisson" was resorted to to fully control the habitual drunk, shirker or malingerer, all with the knowledge of and under the direct or indirect supervision of the commanding officer-- on the th of november it was reported that ten ( ) men had deserted from one troop ("b"), and mackenzie, thoroughly aroused now by the frequency of these wholesale desertions--took immediate and decisive action. rock-ribbed orders vs. elastic verbal instructions about dark on this day mackenzie sent in great haste for lawton and the writer and told us the situation; that he was going to send us out on this special trip in pursuit of deserters and to get ready as soon as possible. he would have a written order for us in a few minutes-- we were generously informed that while it was not our turn on the detached duty roster for this service, yet--so and so was too sick--another had a cold--still a third was inefficient, and would never get results--and a fourth could not stand the gaff of a "norther"--etc., etc.--_all so comforting and soothing_ (?)-- we were, therefore, "it"-- we were to report to him in minutes. we were each to select any corporal in the regiment to accompany us-- a black, and ominous "norther" was brewing and it was then beginning to be bitter cold-- we reported within the time given with our corporals--and the following official order was placed in the writer's hands. headquarters fort richardson, texas, _november th, ._ special orders no. (_extract_) * * * * * v. second lieutenant _r. g. carter_, th cavalry, with a detail consisting of two non commissioned officers and eleven privates of that regiment, mounted, fully armed and equipped, furnished one day's rations and sixty rounds of ammunition per man, will proceed at retreat this day, in pursuit of deserters under the _verbal instructions_ of the commanding officer of the post. the a. c. s. will turn over to _lieut carter_, the sum of ($ ) two hundred and fifty dollars, subsistence funds, for the purchase of subsistence for the men of his detail-- the a. a. q. m. will turn over to _lieut carter_, the sum of ($ ) three hundred dollars, quartermaster's funds, for the purchase of forage for the public animals. by command of colonel ranald s. mackenzie, (signed) w. j. kyle, st lieut. th infantry, post adjutant. lieut r. g. carter, th cavalry-- the money was turned over to us by the post adjutant--lawton receiving the same amount--and then turning to both of us--mackenzie said: "in addition to those orders, i wish to give you special instructions for your guidance in this most important duty you are going on-- i shall not expect you to follow them implicitly but to be guided by circumstances arising at the moment--and which, being on the spot, you will know how to deal with better than anybody else--and to use your best judgment and wisest discretion at all times-- you are to keep one corporal with you all the time, taking him into your confidence so far as you may deem it necessary for your success. you are to go in different directions-- lawton is to go on the decatur road--while you (the writer) are to follow the weatherford road-- you are to cover all of the intermediate settlements near and beyond those towns, seeking at all times the assistance of the civil authorities and holding out to them the prospect of the government reward ($ ) for the apprehension and delivery to you of each deserter-- the towns should only be entered at night and then with a deputy sheriff or other civil officer-- it should be systematically and thoroughly searched-- should you find that these deserters have headed for the railroads, and you have traced them that far--and it becomes necessary, drop your detachment, leaving it in charge of one non-commissioned officer, while you take the other with you, continuing the pursuit, even if it leads to galveston and new orleans, or, even to new york"--and then, hesitating somewhat--he added--pitching his voice to a high key, and as was his habit--snapping the stumps of his amputated fingers--"_i don't want either of you to come back until you have accomplished results-- i want these men brought back and punished_-- obey the _civil laws_ and if they are not violated and you stick to the spirit of your instructions, i will cover all of your acts with a '_blanket order_.'" the writer suggested that lawton and himself, and the corporals whom we might select to remain with us wherever we went--should go in citizens clothes, since, if we had to "cut loose" from our detachments, we would be able to co-operate more effectively with the civil authorities when we might be acting as detectives about the large towns, especially at night-- to this mackenzie readily agreed, saying that it was an excellent and practical suggestion-- he included this idea in his instructions-- the writer had been at an immense conscript and draft rendezvous during the civil war--among the worst classes of "substitutes" and "bounty jumpers"--ever known in the history of our army-- they were deserters from every army and navy of the world; had come over here for the huge bounties paid under our vicious conscript laws--only to desert--re-enlist and repeat the method again and again-- we frequently mingled with them in citizens clothes--got their plans, and either thwarted them or caused their arrest and punishment; on one occasion the execution of two for desertion. we thought that these instructions were very lucid and certainly were very wide sweeping--enough so to satisfy the most exacting soldier-- it looked like a winter's job had been cut out for us--and secretly in our hearts--we wished the trail might lead through the places he named. visions of galveston, new orleans and "little old new york" loomed up very large--and alluring, for neither of us had visited those attractive "burgs" and elysiums of pleasure--for a long time--but the conditional, or "_if_" clause in this interview caused us to dubiously shake our heads--with feeling of hope, it is true, but not of elation--and not unmixed with some dread and apprehension for the future, hardly knowing what was before us in this, to us, most novel frontier adventure-- it was now nearly dark, and wishing mackenzie "good night", and stepping out into the gloom of approaching night to face the drizzle of a gathering "norther," we (lawton and the writer) shook hands and separated, both busily chewing the cud of reflection, inwardly cursing our reputed civil war efficiency that had led to our selection for such "beastly" service, and industriously trying to digest and assimilate these most elaborate and elastic, carte blanche instructions the "old man" had given us-- while we felt that in a measure, we were free lances--all freebooters, with nobody to say "yea or nay", our own commanding officers with no one to disturb our independence of thought and action (and with such limited means of communication at that period and under such conditions, one can easily see that no such limitations could be imposed as are placed to-day), we also realized the terrible responsibility so suddenly thrust upon us, and the great risks we ran in dealing with determined men wrought up to such a desperate pitch as they were by alleged acts of injustice--and hard and fast conditions under which they were serving-- all this aided, as we felt these men might be, by other equally bad gun-men--all over and down through that country wherever we might trail them. i had selected corporal john b. charlton of troop "f" for my _civilian_ companion-- i considered him one of the best non-commissioned officers in the regiment-- while he had a free, rollicking, reckless, dare devil spirit about him--he was easily controlled, and perfectly amenable to discipline-- he was a very handsome, intelligent, active, energetic man of about years of age--and was on his second years enlistment--his first having been in the fifth artillery-- he was fully six feet--spare, sinewy, straight as an arrow--an athlete--one of the best riders, shots and hunters, and all round soldiers in the regiment-- he had a straight nose--strong chin and steel-blue eyes, the glint of which, when he was aroused--looked dangerous when squinting down the sights of our old spencer carbines-- he reminded me of that free, rollicksome--"devil-may-care" d'artagnan, one of the "three musketeers"-- he probably had a past like many other enlisted men who entered the regular army after the civil war-- if so, for obvious reasons, we never pried into that past. he entered into the spirit and novelty of this new adventure with commendable zeal, energy, spirit and enthusiasm-- i felt that i knew my man perfectly, and that, under all circumstances, he would prove absolutely loyal to all duty and be faithful to whatever trust i reposed in him-- we were all well mounted, well armed, and had one good, well trained pack mule to carry our grub-- we both had guides, the one assigned to the writer being william rhodes, a rancher, who had been driven in to the shelter of the post by indians, a very quiet, sturdy, honest and reliable man who knew the country fairly well within a radius of miles, but beyond that his knowledge was no better than my own or any other man in the detachment, besides being one more man to feed and care for after he had got beyond his bailiwick as a post guide-- i never took another guide beyond a mile radius. the pursuit--a howling "norther" at : we made the start--the writer taking the weatherford stage road across the prairie, a mere trail-- the "norther" broke with full force, with alternate snow, rain, hail and sleet--a heavy gale driving it into our faces-- we left the trail and rode into several freighters' camps, where they had sought shelter in the timber, at great risk to our lives--to search for the missing men but without learning anything-- they had immense roaring fires which could be seen for a long distance, but so great was their fear of indians, that we found them up and ready, rifle in hand--and behind their wagon bodies--determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible-- it was hard to tear ourselves away from these huge fires--and plunge across the interminable prairies in the teeth of the increasing gale-- we were none too warmly clothed-- the men and horses--hardly recovered from their year's hard work--were beginning to show the effects and wear and tear of such a frightful storm. believing that we should all perish if we continued the ride all night, and rhodes, the guide, agreeing with me--upon his informing me that his brother had a ranch only a mile or two off the road, directions were given to him to head for the ranch by the shortest line so that we could secure the needed shelter-- after a fearful struggle over several miles of an open stretch of prairie, breasting into the teeth of one of the worst blizzards ever recorded in texas, we reached the ranch, the men and horses almost exhausted, and completely coated with ice-- the ranch proved to be a low, one story log house, with several out-buildings--a ramshackly horse shed and corn crib-- it was midnight-- several dogs announced our approach, and rhodes aroused his brother-- ordering the men to unsaddle, blanket the horses with their saddle blankets, and to "tie in" under the "lee" of the buildings, the men to occupy the horse shed--rhodes, the corporals and the writer stalked into the shelter of the "shack"-- there was but one room with a large stone fire place-- rhodes piled on the logs-- the room had two beds in it-- he and the writer, stripping off our outer frozen clothes, and hanging them up to dry in front of the blaze--occupied one bed--his brother, wife and infant child were in the other, while the two corporals, with several large ranch dogs, curled up in their blankets on the open hearth-- it was a "wild and wooly" night--when the baby wasn't crying the dogs were sniffing, growling, whining or whimpering over being disturbed by such an influx of strangers-- we wore out the night with little or no sleep-- when day broke it was found that the storm was still raging although the wind had somewhat abated-- feeding the horses liberally from rhodes' corn cribs, for which we paid him generously--and after a hasty breakfast, we saddled up and started across the prairie to find the road-- the country was one sheet of glare ice-- our horses were smooth shod-- at the road we met sergeant faber of troop "a" with a small detachment returning from some duty and going into fort r. we learned from him that the deserters had been seen the night before in weatherford, which was but a few miles away-- we skated, slid and floundered along through the ice crust, a horse going down now and then until we reached a creek about one-half mile from w---- when the command halted and was placed in bivouac, concealed by heavy chaparral-- corporal charlton was directed to get ready to accompany the writer at dark and afoot for a thorough search of the town and to begin to assume his role-- the search--amateur army detectives--the corporal's joke we struck the town under cover of darkness, and proceeded to "comb" it, both heavily armed and with no insignia of rank on or about our citizens clothes or any indication that we were of the army-- "now, corporal, you are to preserve your incognito-- you are to deal with your commanding officer as though we are simply two friends or acquaintances on a night's drive through the 'slums'; there are to be no--'yes, sir!' or--'no, sir!'-- no deference is to be paid--him-- don't forget your part! you are to be simply--'green',--and the other party is to be plain 'brown'-- have your guns handy, and at a given signal be prepared for a quick pull on the trigger-- these are all the instructions necessary, except that you are under no circumstances to be separated from me for a moment--and watch me all the time for signals"-- charlton straightened up--saluted--replied--"yes, sir"! and that was the last recognition of rank the writer got during this adventure-- all night long we plied our trade of amateur detectives-- no stone was left unturned-- we worked the "dives", faro banks--brothels, saloons and questionable resorts, but without avail-- the deserters had been seen but everybody seemed mum and blind or deaf and dumb-- they had been paid off for several months--had scattered it--their money--liberally and had left the town-- nobody knew where-- at one _gilded dive_ "green", becoming bold and watching his chance, assuming the detective role with some slight show of experience and with a most startling blasé air said to the bespangled proprietress--"didn't you have a place at one time in jacksboro"? "yes"!-- "well, then, you must remember brown, here", pointing a finger at me-- "oh, yes!" was the reply-- "i remember him well, and that he came often and i have often wondered what became of him"-- anger came to the front at this joke--but it had to be choked back--the instructions had been given-- no frowns or even scowls or anything but a _positive order_ would have disturbed the imperturbable musketeer corporal--the d'artagnan of our adventure at this point. the writer was married and had left his wife and child in the howling gale at fort r----; and had never seen this "jezabel"-- his outraged dignity sustained a distinct shock-- the corporal was mildly rebuked later and it was passed by as part of the duality of character which mackenzie had forced me to assume if success was to be assured-- nothing was accomplished by our night's work-- at day break, sending the corporal back to the bivouac of the command, it was ordered to meet me in town at once-- just as we were deliberating what the next move was to be--sergt. miles varily of troop "e" with a mounted detachment rode into town-- he had been to huntsville, texas, where he had conveyed satanta and big tree, the ki-o-wa indian chiefs--who had been in confinement at fort r---- under sentence since july --to the state penitentiary where they were to be confined for life for the massacre of henry warren's teamsters on salt creek prairie-- varily had met and talked with the deserters on the bear creek road to cleburne-- he said they were all well armed--and had declared that they would not be taken alive-- this--he gave as his reason for not arresting them with his small force-- he knew all of them and had identified them as men of troop "b"-- they were in a two-mule freighter's wagon, with a low canvas top drawn down tight for concealment-- it was driven by a medium sized, but stocky built--civilian-- at last there seemed to be a definite clue-- they were evidently heading for cleburne and waxahatchie-- i must overtake and capture them before they reached cleburne--which was miles distant, an all day ride-- there was no time to lose--placing charlton in the road--and the other corporal with his men on both sides fanned out or deployed for a mile or more, and combing all of the ranches and small settlements, the writer pushed and directed the search all of the way without any further developments-- occasionally the detachments were signalled in to the road-- cleburne was reached at dark after a terribly hard ride, the storm still continuing, with a lull in the wind but growing colder-- securing the services of the deputy sheriff--we made a thorough search up to one o'clock but with no results. a sleepless night--the gettysburg "johnny" at o'clock a. m. having sent the corporal to bed and placed the men in bivouac in the edge of the town, the writer, having secured a small map of texas, was seated in front of a log fire diligently studying the situation-- the deserters must surely be somewhere in the near vicinity-- they were certainly not in cleburne-- where had they disappeared to after leaving weatherford? many roads and trails led out of cleburne--some towards the railroads-- no mistake must be made-- a sudden inspiration seized me-- i woke up the corporal-- "corporal, find me a two seated carriage or conveyance of some kind with driver--'rake' the town--and get it here as soon as possible; rout out the detachment--and report yourself mounted to me at the same time"-- "never mind the expense"! in about minutes charlton was there with a closely curtained-in two-seated carriage, carry-all, or texas "hack", with two mules, and a _one-legged driver_; also the entire detachment mounted-- amazement was on the faces of all-- what was the play?-- what was the game being "pulled off" by the "old man"? "corporal charlton, take your carbine and pistol and get in the front seat with the driver"--and turning to the other corporal--(jones)--"you will take our two led horses--and follow this 'hack'--never losing touch with it--but always remaining as much as possible out of sight--about a mile or two in the rear--concealing yourself as much as possible by the timber-- keep your eyes on this 'hack'--_one flash_ of my handkerchief and you will drop further back out of sight if it is open country; two flashes, and you are to come up with your detachment and our led horses at a run--remember, and always keep out of sight as much as possible"-- we moved out on the hillsboro road--inquiries were made all along but with no satisfactory results-- we scoured the settlements, ranches and side trails but without avail-- we had had a description given us, however, of a certain two-horse team--with a number of men in it, which partially filled the bill-- feeling perfectly sure that they were breaking for the railroad, either at corsicana or waxahatchie--yet it was feared that we were on the wrong road-- the driver of our conveyance, or "dug out", it seemed, had been a confederate soldier, and had lost a leg at gettysburg in the desperate charge of longstreet's corps on july --upon the "round tops" and the "peach orchard"-- he had belonged to the fifth texas, robertson's "texas brigade", hood's division, and strange to record had confronted the first brigade--first division, fifth corps, in which the writer had served on that fateful day, and in that death-strewn spot. he immediately _recognised an old enemy_, became extremely voluble, and insisted upon fighting the battle "o'er again", with many a story and reminiscence of his many campaigns, until, at length, he, not having been let into the secret of our plans, was so inclined to put in his time telling stories that we were in great danger of losing the object of an entire night's hard work-- he even wanted to stop his mules to emphasize his points, when much to the "johnny's" chagrin and to the intense amusement of charlton, my d'artagnan musketeer, the "lines" "by order", were turned over to the latter, while the writer having no whip--prodded the mules along with a sharp stick--_time_--and then _time_--was our one objective-- we were not so sure of our direction-- it was getting late--and with our delays we were still some miles from hillsboro-- all was working well in our plans; the detachment was out of sight well to the rear-- we emerged from the cover of the timber upon a "hog wallow" prairie--and from this high, rolling hill or divide, when descending to the valley of a small creek, saw ahead--two miles or more--a small train of wagons in the hollow, moving to head this small "branch"-- talk about the thumping of one's heart!! some intuition told me that my deserters were there; my pulse quickened perceptibly, and i almost shouted to the "jehu"--who had been allowed to resume the "lines" but was slacking up--to "keep busy,"--and to gather his animals for a rallying burst of magnificent speed-- now the train was seen to split--some going around--while _one low canvas-topped two-horse wagon_ kept on the road for the "branch"-- then i saw a number of men-- _or_ --get out and try to wade across the stream. _they were the deserters!_ of this i now felt sure-- i said nothing--but sharply touched the corporal's elbow, jumped from the "hack" and running back a few yards gave the handkerchief signal "two flashes"-- the _detachment was in full view_ on the high ground silhouetted against the sky. the corporal had closed up too much while we were in the timber, and when emerging--exposed himself to the view of the men in the valley as i had feared-- they had seen him, and scenting danger made a wild break-- the detachment came forward with our led horses at a gallop--but the deserters, having crossed the stream and scattered, were now heading for the fringe of timber, chaparral and brush which either skirted, or was near, the creek-- the capture once mounted i shouted for one corporal to head off the main wagon train on the road--and detain it and _hold it at all hazards_ until my return. taking charlton we dashed for the stream. my powerful horse bogged;--dismounting in water up to my waist, by careful management he was soon out on dry land. charlton led-- "get after them now, corporal--open fire! shoot over their heads and close to them, but not to kill"-- finely mounted--and one of the crack shots in the regiment, with carbine advanced, he was in his element and "swung out" at a gallop for the men who were trying to gain the bushes or chaparral in the distance-- he was an absolutely true type of the handsome, graceful soldier and rider, with the close seat and the american or cow-boy stirrup, and the resourceful, masterful, trained cavalryman of the days closely following the civil war-- bang! crack!! crack!!! went his carbine-- as i followed him i could see the dirt and dust sprayed over the fleeing deserters-- as the shots whistled and struck about them, they instantly dropped to the ground for safety--and lay there until some men, whom i had recalled from the detachment, had followed me and gathered them up as prisoners-- none were to be shot unless they resisted. i gained the road to the brow of a hill overlooking the country. after securing five with no resistance, and being told by them that there were two more--a little darkey near by shouted--"oh, golly massa, dere dey go ober de hill, way yonder"-- at least two miles away they could be seen running, fairly flying. the corporal and writer dashed after them, and after a long ride and a diligent search in the bushes, together with a few warning shots--we secured them. with these men and the driver of their team we returned to the train-- i had not fully trusted the other corporal, on account of his seeming indifference, and he had somewhat hampered my plans and movements--so i felt anxious as to whether my orders to hold the train fast had been obeyed. he had, however, stopped the train and held the wagon master, and the whole "outfit" at the point of his carbine, as in a vise. the wagon master was a cool and determined fellow with cold, grey eyes, and a pugnacious nose and chin; he and his teamsters were well armed, their guns showing conspicuously in their holsters--or open belt scabbards-- he had been threatening the corporal, and now, seeing no insignia of rank on my citizen's clothes, he began to threaten me with criminal prosecution as soon as he reached hillsboro for illegally holding up his train-- visions of mackenzie's instructions relating to a "violation of the civil laws", began to loom up large before my eyes. he saw my hesitation and becoming abusive began to be more insistent for the release of himself and men-- sizing up the situation at a glance, the bluff was made-- "look here, my man! we have found a wagon in your train filled with deserters from the united states army-- i am an officer of the army--and if you don't stop your abuse i will put you in irons and take you along to the civil authorities and turn you over on a charge of assisting them to escape"-- that quieted him-- "are these all of the teamsters in your train? produce every man who was with you when it was first sighted, or i will order my men to search it before you can go! never mind your threats! _we are out for deserters_". he replied: "these are two men who joined my train a few days ago; they are citizens-- i know nothing about them-- they can tell their own story." the two men stepped forward in citizen's clothes unarmed and with no "set up" or the slightest appearance or sign of the soldier about them. the larger and older, told with a strong irish brogue a very straight story; how they had "been working" their way along; had sought the train for "shelter"--had "not been in the country very long", etc. the other was a mere boy. i was about to let them go with the train, none of the detachment or the deserters whom i had already secured being able to recognize or identify them, when my attention was suddenly attracted to the older man's face-- it showed distinctly that a heavy beard _had but recently been shaved off_--and this as winter was coming on-- i gave no signs, however, of having made this discovery, but said: "you teamsters can go--but i shall hold these men-- if they are not deserters, they can easily clear themselves, and will be released". as i watched the older man's face, i saw him change color, but he maintained his nerve--replying that he would "prosecute me for false arrest and imprisonment," probably taking his cue from the wagon master--who, after more bluster and more threats of what he would do, disappeared in the distance and we never saw or heard of him again. it was a chance on the bluff-- loading the nine men thus accumulated into the old man's wagon, upon reaching hillsboro, a few miles away, and securing the services of deputy sheriff, h. a. macomber, we and the prisoners were given a good meal at the house of the jailer, j. a. purnell, the first any had had since leaving fort r---- and shortly after dark, the jailer leading with a lantern, the prisoners closely guarded, and the three citizens (?) loudly protesting in chimmie fadden's vernacular: "wot 'tell"!--and then adding: "what's the use"! etc., the astounded ranchers of h---- saw this strange procession proceeding to the county jail to give them protection from the howling, icy gale--still blowing-- all jails in texas were then made of huge, square-hewn, green logs--built up solid, and the outside thickly studded with sharp nails-- upon the outside a flight of rickety steps led up to a door heavily padlocked and barred. we entered by file, a sort of chamber or loft, about or feet square. in the centre of the floor was a large trap door with a ring in it-- this trap being lifted a ladder was lowered down to the ground floor inside, and the prisoners were ordered to descend into this ground cell in which was but one small grated window, high up--for air only. the ladder then being drawn up and the trap door secured, they were supposed to be safe, as it was eight or ten feet from the floor of the cell to the floor of the loft-- in this hillsboro jail, however, the ladders had been broken and had disappeared, so that the deserters had to be let down by hand, the little short old wagoner coming last-- it was most amusing to hear this well paid old scoundrel's squeals and whining, and his piteous appeals for mercy as he hung dangling in mid-air through the "man hole" before dropping him the four or five feet to the ground. he kicked, squirmed and wriggled in his agony of fright; he moaned, groaned--grunted and sighed; begged, implored and prayed--in the most ridiculous manner-- all the time the deserters below him, realizing how fortunate they were in being sheltered from the icy blast of the "norther" now howling around the corners of the old log jail, were mocking--"_booing_" and sarcastically commenting on the little man's lack of sand--grit and courage-- having heard much and seen little of these texas jails, except the outside, and at a distance, my curiosity was aroused to more closely examine one-- the jailer tried to persuade me not to take the risk-- but after assuring him that i had nothing to fear from these men in going down among them as i knew every one--and handing him my pistols--he lowered me down--passing the lantern down after me. after carefully examining this uninteresting hole very carefully, however, i felt that my curiosity had been amply satisfied--and cheering up the "old man" much to the amusement of the prisoners, all of whom seemed to be contented with their blankets and a comparatively warm shelter from the storm--telling one of the men to give me a "leg up"-- i was pulled up by the jailer--all of the prisoners assisting and bidding me a most cheerful "good-night". the next morning after "turning out" the deserters and filling them with a hot breakfast at the jailer's where charlton and the rest of the detachment with myself had spent the night, they opened up with a long and very strange story-- peters, the spokesman for the deserters, declared that two detectives (?) or, as they called themselves--"_constables_"--had followed them from near weatherford, on the bear creek road, and arrested them. instead of being armed as sergeant varily had informed the writer, they (the deserters) had parted with all of their carbines before reaching w---- for a good round sum. the pseudo detectives, therefore, found it a comparatively easy matter, with their double barrel shot guns to persuade the unarmed soldiers to "throw up their hands"-- they had even started to turn back to weatherford, when at the suggestion of one of their number negotiations were opened by which they were released by the fake constables--but, at the sacrifice of all the "greenbacks" the entire party possessed-- after this compulsory squeeze, the detectives (?) and their plucked friends parted company. the writer resolved, upon his return, to investigate this matter and if the deserter's story proved true--and they had all corroborated peters' statement--to secure the arrest and indictment of these border sharks. the march back was cold and bitter-- we were more than miles from fort r---- no handcuffs or irons could be obtained--and it was decided not to "rope them"-- thick ice was in all the streams-- calling peters, the most intelligent of the prisoners, to me, the writer laid down the law: "peters, i am going to march you to fort r---- and i want no trouble; tell the men they shall be well fed and they shall have shelter whenever it is possible to obtain it-- corporal charlton will be placed in direct charge of you--'fall in'--the men in the middle of the road in column of twos"-- then turning to the men--so that all could hear me--i added: "you men must keep the middle of the road and obey all orders issued through corporal c---- by me, without any question or discussion; any movement by you to bolt the trail, or to escape into the chaparral will only result in your being shot down-- you can talk and smoke and have freedom of movement--but you know both of us well enough to understand that there will be no trifling"-- at a. m. we started and camped at the widow jewell's ranch, miles from hillsboro-- placing the men in an open corn crib--assigning each a sleeping place and posting a man at the log door--he was ordered to "shoot the first man who left that position without authority from me". this was said loudly in the hearing of every man, and he was then asked if he understood it. for the first time we now ascertained from the prisoners why they had so mysteriously disappeared from the map after leaving weatherford and after being seen and talked to by sergt. varily on the bear creek road--and why we got no trace of them the next night in cleburne. it seems that just before reaching the town, upon the advice of the wily driver of their get-away wagon--they had turned off the bear creek road and following a blind trail to the right had reached the little settlement of buchanan--and bivouacking there that night--had come into the cleburne-hillsboro road again the next morning--shortly before i sighted them at the small creek or "branch" near h. during all of that miserable night while we were searching the slums and dives of cleburne, they were at a comfortable, blazing bivouac fire not more than three or four miles away, debating the probabilities of their being followed. at the first opportunity i proved the two citizens--who had been "kidnapped" from the train near hillsboro--to be deserters-- while giving them the "third degree" in camp the first night after leaving h---- they were thrown off their guard by my suddenly shouting-- "stand attention, sir! when talking to an officer"! which he did _instantly_. i then had them stripped and found government shirts and socks on both of them-- they then made a "clean breast" of it, declaring that they were recruits of troop "k" and had been enlisted but two or three months; all of which accounted for their non-military appearance when it was decided to hold them on suspicion-- it also accounted for the inability of any one, either in the detachment, or among the old deserters of troop "b", to identify them. turning out the prisoners in the morning they were placed in column and the order was repeated-- "shoot dead instantly any man who starts to leave the road without my permission". it had the desired effect. wherever i could find one they were placed in jail. in passing through cleburne and stopping off to pay some bills--suspicion having been attracted to another man, i "rounded him up"--and after some strenuous "third degree" questioning--he proved to be a deserter from "troop f" who had preceded the others by a few days-- i had now ten deserters, and the "old man" driver of the freight wagon. as we approached weatherford--i began to give some thought to the two alleged detectives or constables (?), and ransacked my brain as to the method for their capture. the rascally old driver had, after much diplomatic persuasion, informed me that these men were really constables and acting detectives, and one was even then acting as deputy sheriff of the county, and lived just outside of w---- while i was doubtful as to my power to arrest either, i determined to make a show of frightening them, and to report their case to the civil authorities for their disposal-- i commenced a vigorous search-- riding into a ranch, pointed out by the prisoners, i inquired--"does mr. ---- live here"? being in citizen's clothes and alone, my mission was not suspected-- "that is my name", said a man sitting in a chair on the porch-- "i arrest you then in the name of the united states government for accepting bribes of deserters from our army, and allowing them to escape-- my men are outside in the road--don't waste any words, but come right along"-- to my astonishment, the man was so frightened that mounting his horse, which stood outside, and surrendering his gun--he preceded me to the road--where he came face to face with all of his accusers, who now seeing him under arrest, made bold to unmercifully taunt him with his rascality--shouting--"hey, johnnie, where's my $ . ?" "how much of a pile did you pull out of me at bear creek (?)" etc., etc., much to the bogus detective's discomfiture and chagrin. they had now the "whip hand". he rode like a little kitten under charge of corporal charlton into w---- when a complaint was entered and sworn to by all of the deserters, and he was placed under bonds for his appearance at the spring term of the u. s. district court at tyler, texas, where, some months later, the writer was ordered from department headquarters to appear as a witness against him, and the second constable whom i captured in much the same manner as the first, but nearer weatherford. the old wagoner pleaded hard, saying that he had never been in such a scrape. it would "kill him to have to go to prison", etc.--but, knowing that mackenzie was anxious and determined to break up these wholesale desertions that were then taking place in the regiment--many of them with the secret connivance and assistance of citizens, although it was never discovered that any of them were _constables_--and would endorse the most extreme measures i might make to accomplish it, i promptly placed him under bonds--and left him in w---- in charge of the civil authorities. the discovery--the deserter "squeals" the streams were all frozen up-- the weather was still icy cold-- so far i had been unable to get any trace, or sure clue of the missing carbines which the men had carried with them when deserting, and sold. the deserters refused to divulge their whereabouts except to hint that they were somewhere between crawford's ranch and fort r---- at last i determined to use heroic methods-- at that date such methods were recognized as _legitimate_, if not _legal_ in bringing recalcitrants to their senses, instead of resorting to the slow and laborious, as well as questionable methods of court martial. these methods were legacies of the civil war, and in the field, away from the complicated machinery of post administration--and on such duty--and under such _wide open instructions_ as mackenzie had given us, i considered it absolutely necessary to employ-- i resolved to select the weakest minded man in the group of deserters, and, in the presence of them, the two corporals and the entire detachment, "_tie him up by the thumbs_", until he "squealed"-- such punishment was of almost daily occurrence at the great draft rendezvous-- this was done with the desired result--and i located the missing arms, the property of the united states which i was out after, without further trouble. this man was crafts-- placing the deserters in mrs. crawford's corn bins, the ground still being covered with snow and ice and the weather bitter cold--i determined to send in a mounted courier or runner to mackenzie. writing a hasty message--a personal note on a piece of soiled brown paper--a brief announcement of the capture was made, but reciting no details--also the condition of both the men and horses--"all nearly exhausted from cold and loss of sleep--the prisoners nearly barefooted, and with sore and blistered feet, chafed legs, etc.--but plenty to eat; horses unshod." he was urged to "send a wagon, some handcuffs--ropes--rations, etc., to meet me somewhere on the road--and without delay--between crawford's ranch and fort r---- i was proceeding slowly", etc.-- the wagon met me, but not until i was within a few miles of the post--and just as the prisoners were emphatically exclaiming that they "_could go no further._" they were bundled into the wagon, much to their and my relief, for these footsore and chafed cavalrymen, as i had seen them in october after being dismounted in the stampede near cañon blancho, were now in the same demoralized condition, and it is extremely doubtful if they could have been pushed any further afoot. hardin's ranch--two viragos--the search--the threat when hardin's ranch, miles from fort r----, was reached, i bivouacked my men and taking charlton proceeded to reconnoitre-- i found two tall, gaunt, leathery, bony, unprepossessing, sour-looking females-- with some hesitation, i approached my delicate mission or undertaking and began to interview them, using all of the engaging manners and suave (?) diplomacy i was capable of--which, as a soldier--so i have been told--has never been of a very pronounced character. it availed me nothing-- to the inquiry as to whether any of the men were at home, and if any carbines had been left at the ranch by these soldiers when going down the country, the reply was curtly snapped out--"no"!-- they 'lowed they hadn't never seen no carbines; the "old man" wasn't home-- i _politely_ asked if i might "look about the ranch and premises"-- that stirred the gall of these specimens of the gentle, tender sex-- "no! you can't"!-- then i began a mild form of the "third degree"--and bringing up the man who had--under pressure--"squealed"--to identify the women--and to make an even stronger statement as to the disposal of their carbines--we were met with nothing but repulses, followed by foul abuse--such as: "you blue-bellied yankees better go away from here--if the "old man" was here he would lick you uns outen yer boots", etc.-- i was not, at this point, inclined to spoil the reputation i had already acquired or sacrifice my good name, or make any slip by any "violation of the civil law" now in full force in all parts of texas--in view of mackenzie's explicit instructions on that point-- neither did i feel inclined to be beaten just at this stage of the game--the end of this frightfully exhausting and most momentous trip, or to be balked and bluffed by these two raw bone, belligerent termagants, and lose the fruits of my thus far assured success-- i wanted to make a clean "sweep up" of my trip, and, in order to do so--_i must have those carbines_, now that i felt i was so close to them-- so i swung around to other tactics--or, rather _grand strategy_-- "if you don't produce those carbines from their places of concealment, which i know to be here or about your premises, i shall be compelled to search your ranch"-- this last shot hit hard-- more and more abuse, coupled with more threats of what the "old man" would do to me. the climax had now come-- i could not see my way clear to bluff any longer-- i felt that i must act at once and decisively-- "corporal charlton, call the men at once-- search this ranch thoroughly-- if necessary rip up the floors, and turn over the "_loft_"; ransack all of the out buildings, but be careful that you do not injure these _ladies_" (?) "if they resist or try to use any guns, treat them as you would 'he' _men_; jump on them, and securely rope them--and don't let them get 'the drop' on you-- you take charge of the job and see that it is well done"-- his steel-blue eyes flashed-- my musketeer corporal--"d'artagnon"--sprang at it with a relish-- he had heard, and been the object--of much of the abuse of these scolding viragos-- the ranch was thoroughly searched--the "rough-neck" women offering no resistance except with their bitter tongues which shot off the vilest sort of "_billings gate_"-- it was without avail. the carbines were evidently concealed at some point distant from the house-- as we were about to leave--the women, unconquered--again spat out-- "if the 'old man' wuz heah he would lick you uns out o' yer boots". here was a fine chance for another bluff. i walked up to them, and in my most impressive manner gave here this decisive coup d'etat-- "_if your old man doesn't deliver those carbines into fort richardson by o'clock to-morrow morning--i will bring this same detachment out here with a raw hide lariat and hang him to that oak tree_"-- they had seen me ransack the ranch, they had known what that threat of hanging meant in the reconstruction days among the "bad men"--the "gun men" and desperadoes of the far south west-- they showed signs of wilting--and i departed, inwardly cursing the luck which had deserted me at the last moment and compelled me to make a raw bluff which i knew full well i could not carry out or enforce in view of mackenzie's _most strenuous official objections_-- land the prisoners--the "old man" makes good reaching fort r---- in a few hours and reporting to mackenzie the prisoners were "turned over"--and i was just seeking a shave, a hot bath--some good grub and a rest from the dreadful "wear and tear" of one of the most wearing and completely exhaustive duties i had ever performed, either during the civil war or later, when mackenzie sent for me-- i was still in a very dirty and bedraggled suit of citizen clothes-- i needed complete relaxation and rest from my week's gruelling trip--during which, with the exception of two nights, i had slept, or tried to sleep--"out in the open" in this howling icy "norther"--and with much responsibility pressing upon me. "ask the general to please excuse me until i shave, wash, and change my clothes"-- word came back at once-- "tell him that gen. hardie is here and wishes to see him particularly. never mind his personal appearance--come now just as he is"! it was virtually an order-- so i went but in a condition of wilted militarism. mackenzie opened up with a most cordial introduction to gen. h---- and the remark: "gen. hardie, i want you to see what my officers of _civil war record_" (i inwardly grew profane) "can accomplish when they are sent out in weather like this to get results under merely '_verbal instructions_', and acting alone under their own initiative, good judgment and discretion-- he has done far more than i expected of him and i am extremely gratified". he continued with profuse congratulations, thanks and personal commendations. "congratulations"--"thanks"--"special commendations," etc.--a soothing balm (?) gen. james a. hardie, then an assistant inspector general u. s. army--the one time friend and confidential military adviser of abraham lincoln, whom he selected to send on that delicate mission to frederick city, md., to relieve gen. hooker from command of the army of the potomac just prior to the battle of gettysburg--appointing gen. meade to succeed him--happened to be at fort r---- on his annual tour of inspection of the frontier posts. after such an introduction from mackenzie--gen. hardie was very informal-- he was a very handsome man, then about years of age-- he was very courteous and had an exceedingly attractive personality-- with the disparity in our ages, he seemed, at that period, to be a very "old man". he had served in the mexican war, and died as a brevet maj. general, dec. , -- placing both hands on my shoulders he said: "young man, i am proud of you-- general mackenzie ought to be proud of having such an officer in his regiment." "i want to personally congratulate and warmly thank you for the fine work you have done-- it was a duty of very great responsibility, and you should be commended not only by the department, but by the entire army. i believe it is a record that you should be very proud of." in rehearsing my adventures to them, i came to the incident at hardin's ranch, and my encounter with the two "jezabels"-- mackenzie flared up-- "didn't i particularly impress upon you in my '_verbal instructions_' that you must not '_violate the civil law_' in any way--i----" without waiting for him to finish his sentence, i replied: "well, sir! i have violated no civil law. i have hung nobody as yet, only made a huge bluff. you will see those carbines here to-morrow morning". the "old man" who was going to "lick me out of my boots"--promptly at o'clock--rolled into fort r---- _with all of the carbines_. i happened to be at the adjutant's office-- "is the gineral in"? "he is"!-- "i've brought in them guns"!-- after making a statement more or less satisfactory of how they happened to come into his possession, and after mackenzie had "hauled him over the coals" for a "send off"--the rancher departed--"a sadder but a wiser" man. i never got any _sweet looks_ from the "ladies" after that when duty called me past that ranch. lawton came in a day or two later. he certainly was "out of luck"-- the deserters had not headed his way. he had gone farther than the writer-- way up into the indian nation (now oklahoma), and not only had not succeeded in "bagging" anybody, but, most unfortunately, one of the best men in his detachment deserted, taking his horse, arms and entire equipment with him. after ascertaining what had come my way, he seemed to be much crest fallen. a few days afterwards mackenzie, upon hearing that another man of troop "f" was known to be a deserter, and had been located rather vaguely as being in the "keechi valley"--sent for me, and, after smilingly giving me as well as he was able, the location of the ranch--and announcing that as i had been proved the "_champeen_" catcher of deserters, he was going to send me out after him-- he trusted that i would not belie my "reputation"-- after a day's trip in fine weather i was able to definitely place him, and after watching the ranch all day--surrounded it, and, without any trouble, captured him as he came in from his work in the field-- my record now was: deserters and citizens, two of them constables--with all the arms carried away from the post. corporal charlton had proved himself a very invaluable man. as a soldier he was wonderfully resourceful and active; in action he was intense, energetic and decisive. with his intelligence and good, horse sense, he would, even without the complete education which some men have _without sense_--have made a good all round commissioned officer--a credit to the regiment and to the army-- it is a pity that we did not have more of his type with which to build up the army with practical men of his caliber--instead of having so much over educated material. i had gained much valuable experience in the methods of unearthing rascality, and in accomplishing results, under dreadful exposure and hardships; many trials and difficulties. shortly after this the writer received a letter of thanks from the department. as it is the only one that he ever received, and as he never expects to receive another--it is esteemed as a rare curiosity--and it is modestly added to complete the record and round out the story. headquarters department of texas, office of ass't adjutant general, _san antonio, texas, jan. , _. second lieutenant robert g. carter, th cavalry, (through headquarters, fort richardson, texas)-- sir:-- i have the honor to acknowledge receipt of your report of the th ultimo, relative to your pursuit of deserters under special orders no. , fort richardson, texas, dated november , ,--which resulted in the capture of ten deserters. the department commander desires me to express to you his _gratification at your success_, and his _special commendation for the zeal and ability displayed by you_. the good conduct and faithful services of the enlisted men composing the detachment, and mr. rhodes, citizen guide, is deemed a proper subject for a letter of commendation to the post commander. i am sir, very respectfully, your ob't servant, (signed) h. clay wood, _assistant adjutant gen_ military experience and common sense vs. military education and "intensive training" if a man is not endowed with good common sense, or it is not an inherent trait--no amount of training he might receive at west point or any other military institution for the purpose of educating that sense into him, or cultivating what little sense he possesses--especially the military or fighting sense--or, any effort to convert him into a practical soldier, could make him one, and the time and effort will have been worse than wasted-- it is simply impossible to supply in him by mere education what he is lacking through nature's gift--and this truth--absolutely axiomatic--applies to all walks of life-- good sense, combined with a liberal education well directed along right lines, makes for success in all pursuits, whether as president, lawyer, doctor, minister, the business man or the professional soldier-- but all the education in the wide universe, unaccompanied by good sense, spells defeat for any class--and would not rescue a man from common mediocrity-- the world's trail is strewn with such senseless wrecks-- they are mere human derelicts on the ocean of life--and the more a man of that type is educated or over educated the worse it is; and the more accentuated does his failure become--the more apparent his lack of common sense, and the more liability there is to wreckage-- in no other profession does this become so painfully apparent or more pronounced than in that of the professional soldier, when some desperate effort is being made to create--manufacture, or transform a little man in uniform, a parvenue or a man of mediocre caliber--into a great commander of men--one whose horse sense is particularly lacking--or which cannot by any amount of education or training be developed--and worse still when he himself through an over supply of egotism or conceit is not, nor can he be made aware of his failing, but bungles along until disaster overtakes him and his command, and every thing connected with him and them-- the writer claims that there has not been, nor is there now sufficient care taken in the selection of candidates for entrance to the military academy. little or no heed is taken of their aptitude or fitness for a military career--and that there are in the service to-day many officers who, from this lack of fitness and deficiency in common sense, are an incubus to the army--and should be "canned"-- competitive examinations in congressional districts develop a class of bright students--some honor men ranking high in their class studies and highly specialized along certain lines, but who, from lack of inherent qualities, fail in the essentials that go to make up an alert, well-balanced, clear-headed, resourceful, decisive, "cracker-jack"--rough and tumble soldier in the field-- it is not in them-- those who have had campaign and battle-field experience--have all seen this-- entrance to west point on certificates or diplomas from high schools do not altogether fill the bill either--for they are apt to be guided by political favoritism or congressional pull rather than a selection on general merit and fitness for a military life[a]--based generally upon good health--a sound body and a clear, receptive mind--"mens sana in corpore sano" but, above all things the one dominating desire to adopt the army as a life career alone--combined with plenty of good, sound--horse sense--west point will do the rest in the way of preparation and training-- many of the college and school systems are not uniform or in any way co-ordinated with the class instructions at west point--and much that these students have gone over in freshmen--sophomore--junior or even senior courses have to be undone--gone over again--or entirely reversed-- the writer has seen a college junior utterly fail or "fall down" at his preliminary examination for lack of thoroughness and drill in the _three "r's"_-- all this is a waste of time-- if then, the student's bent is not inclined to an army life--and his heart is not in it--but to the law, medicine or the ministry--there is more waste and loss of time--in trying to convert a good minister, lawyer, doctor or grocer into a mighty poor soldier-- all of these qualifications, and predilections--the individual tastes and preferences of the young candidates should be considered, looked into and carefully weighed in selecting, educating and launching men into a career where they, by rapid promotion, are bound to become the future ranking officers and commanders of our armies-- many a slip and disaster have occurred in an army by misplaced judgment--slowness of decision and lack of common sense in trying to fit a "square peg into a round hole" or by educating a man for the service and permitting him to attain high rank and high command before it shall have been discovered that he not only does not possess the necessary qualifications for the same but is absolutely deficient in good sense--good judgment, decisive action, or even the ordinary military instincts to maintain the high standard of efficiency and success pertaining thereto--and upon which all depends-- in a garrison of troops of cavalry and three companies of infantry--mackenzie had not only carefully gone over the entire roster from which to select two officers upon whose experience and good judgment he could absolutely depend for the performance of a duty in which he not only wanted but expected and demanded decisive results, but he had revolved all the possibilities and probabilities of dismal failure had he selected any other than lawton and myself. [a] theodore roosevelt in his "letters to his children"--pp. - , referring to his son "ted" entering west point, says: "it would be a great misfortune for you to start into the army or navy as a career and find that _you had mistaken your desires_ and had gone in without fully weighing the matter. you ought not to enter _unless you feel genuinely drawn to the life as a life-work_. if so, go in, but not otherwise." * * "mr. loeb (secretary to president roosevelt) says he wished to enter the army _because he did not know what to do_, could not foresee whether he would succeed or fail in life, and felt that the army _would give him a living and a career_. now, if this is at bottom of your feeling i should advise you not to go in. i should say _yes_ to _some boys, but not to you_." if all fathers had given as good advice to their sons who have been aspirants to that kind of military glory which would give them "_a living and a career_", we would have been saved the mortification of "canning" some of our graduates of west point during this world war, who having acquired the "_career_" were not worth the powder with which to blow them out of their o. d. (olive drab) uniforms. it is hoped that the writer will neither be charged with petty conceit, undue egotism nor personal vanity in making these simple declarations of facts the absolute truth of which never was, nor ever could be gainsayed by any officer of that period in the fourth cavalry. in this entire campaign after these deserters, success was dependent, not upon any study or knowledge of tactics, strategy, or any game of war, but largely upon good, common sense, sound judgment--almost intuition--a ready resourcefulness and quick, decisive action-- it was practically outside of a theoretical conception of any war problem--as we understand it, but included within the scope of its practical activities. no book has ever been written, or ever will be, which could begin to lay down any cut and dried plan of action, rules, or any fundamental principles in a case like this, or hundreds of other cases similar to the performance of such special duties, any more than a text book could have been written prior to on how to deal with the german methods of conducting a war for the subjugation of the world by trench, barbed wire and dug-out systems along the hindenberg lines, etc. all the study of a life time involving such problems, or military knowledge, would be of no avail to some men,--whether civilians or soldiers--unless they possessed, at the same time, plenty of resourcefulness and horse sense and could readily adjust themselves to the ever changing conditions of those same problems. the factors never remain fixed or constant. it is the same in battle and with the factors controlling it--which accounts for the lack of success of many so called soldiers by their failure to get away from fixed rules. there is one word that seems to involve the main spring of a soldier's action in all such emergencies--and that is--_experience_--and the practical application of that experience to all of the problems of life whether great or small, but especially in puzzling situations like this, where the factors are dependent on no fixed rules--are never constant--and therefore events so shape themselves in such rapid succession that without quick, decisive action based upon one's resources and sound judgment gained by experience--the dependence upon study of any books which might bear in any way upon such conditions would, not only prove a most ridiculous farce, but would be offering a premium on commonplace student soldiers--obtuseness and asinine stupidity. there is such a thing in the development of a soldier along certain lines for practical work, as _over education_, as well as _over training_-- in the one case he thinks he knows so much that he cannot be taught any more, and is apt, therefore, to eliminate entirely the element of common sense--the one factor for success upon which he must largely depend--and to neglect to apply some of the most simple and practical principles in his earlier education--and, in the other case he may go stale, and lose much of his spirit, enthusiasm and energy while waiting to test out his knowledge in the real field of endeavor and practical experience. soldiers not born it has been said that "artists and poets are born"--and "_soldiers are made_". true it is, however, that soldiers are not born. there is not, and there never will be such a thing as a born soldier, not even in a hereditary sense. they must be trained. but--to educate and train a man to be a soldier certain basic elements are absolutely necessary. ever since the world began, and hero worship and the cheers, applause and adulations were first bestowed on such warriors as cæsar, hannibal, alexander and frederick the great, napoleon, and on numerous other returning conquerors, it has become well known that certain elements or basic principles have been necessary upon which to build in order to develop and produce the really great soldier. taking the raw material to educate and train, it has been found essential that a man should possess one or more of the following requisites. military bent, instinct or intuition-- military aptitude and spirit--and any one or all of these must necessarily be combined with good, sound, common sense. all, or any one of these elements must either be inherent or latent and ready for development--for it is--and has been found--absolutely impossible to develop these essentials in any one man by a mere process of military education or intensive training-- unless a man possesses one or more of these necessary requisites or material to work on, such education or training is so much wasted effort or labor lost. it has frequently happened that men, without possessing any of these basic elements, not even military sense--or instinct, or the military spirit--have undergone a military education and severe intensive training to fit them for what they have been led to believe through their theoretical instruction are the problems of battle which they have got to face up to and overcome. sometimes it has been found necessary that this initiatory effort shall be made on a real (not a sham) battle-field. the shock--the rude awakening, the stress, strain and disillusionment of real battle has then come with such a startling surprise to some men not physically up to a soldier's standard as to throw them off their feet--break them down before it is discovered that lack of physical strength alone debars them from the military profession, and so destroys their morale and esprit de corps as to render them unfit for further field service. the ever changing and rapid developments of battle are so great and constantly pressing that they call for all there is in any man--and in the twinkling of an eye; his cool courage--his level-headed judgment--his every ounce of resourcefulness--and instant decision is called into such rapid action and it is so quickly drawn upon as to afford no opportunity for much study, long deliberation, or the privilege of consulting with others. during this sudden trying out process--the most strenuous that can be applied to any human being as a complete test of the would be and so called professional soldier--he may develop just this lack of stamina and courage-- of what possible use then is the swivel chair soldier who, without military bent, instinct or spirit--the military coup d'oeuil or sense--rushes into battle only to find that it is not what has been described to him--that the spectacular and moving picture feature of it is all lacking--and that he is, in every sense out of place in command of battle service soldiers and an entire "misfit." could anything be more pitiful or pathetic than to see an over educated, over trained soldier of twenty or thirty years' service who has never been "tried out" when he first makes this discovery? the writer has seen it! these men when faced up with responsibility, and an emergency, exigency or crisis arises--always "fall down". they are soon led to recognize their absolute unfitness for the military profession, for a military command or to handle any problem growing out of a military position requiring ripe experience along the lines of ready judgment, rapid action and quick decision. it is generally too late then, however, few having the good sense to recognize their failure and leave the service in time to avoid the disaster that is sure to overtake either themselves or the unfortunate men under their command and subject to their blunders and almost criminal short comings. this disposes of an officer's going into battle before he is ripe--or has been given the battle instinct and battle sense to try out his theoretical battle knowledge in the presence of any enemy on the assumption that the book knowledge he has gained has fitted him for such a test out. sometimes--all this effort to make a man a soldier who does not possess the necessary elements, is attempted through the "plattsburg system" of intensive training with the same result-- again it may be tried through numerous service schools--the general staff--the war college course, etc. but--eventually and inevitably without some one or all of these basic elements to build on--to unfold, develop and train whatever of the military spirit that there is in him, it will become necessary, sooner or later to eliminate him from the game--i. e., to "can" him. the writer has scarcely ever seen it fail-- and when there has been any exception to the rule through political pull or favoritism--and this incompetent, would-be professional soldier is retained, disaster has been written all over the pages of his unfortunate military career. all of our wars--the civil war--spanish-american--and now our great world war have clearly demonstrated this. it is pitiful therefore to see men struggling along in uniform--absolutely incapable of acquiring battle instinct or battle sense (simply because they cannot be taught) and the requisites for a rough and tumble soldier in the field, capable of commanding men under all circumstances of the emergencies and crises continually arising to test out a man's military resources--and his ready adaptation to the problems before him, etc.--because of the lack of just those elements that go to make up the ever ready soldier. the education of such men along military--but, more especially along the line of battle problems is an offense to the nostrils and a clear violation of common sense, besides giving most battle-service soldiers an indescribable weariness. courage alone not effective courage, either in the army or civil life, is a cheap commodity. almost every soldier should and does possess it to a certain degree. all combative animals have it more or less. it certainly is not a rare virtue in our service. the man who does not possess it is an exception to the rule-- the point is, however, whether he has that amount of physical and moral courage to a degree which, without common sense and the military spirit--would make his acts a military success. the writer thinks not-- too much stress has been laid on the mere physical brute courage of the soldier. without it is combined with good military sense--it is doubtful if possessing courage alone could ever make a success of anything in which any of the military elements cited enter as a factor. nothing so surprises a man of mediocre caliber--one who has been mistakenly or wrongfully steered into a military career without there being the slightest evidence of his fitness for it--one who has been stuffed full of the theory of war and of battle conditions, as to--suddenly butt up against the real article--a genuine wild-cat battle with all of its quickly varying conditions and phases. and by such a battle i do not mean one afar off; at some observation or listening post within sound of the guns--or in some bomb proof or sheltered dug out--where he can talk over the telephone; or look upon it as he would a moving picture--but directly on, or right in rear of an infantry battle-line under direct rifle, shrapnel, canister, or machine-gun fire--a bullet-swept field--such as many of us civil war men saw on the battle-field of fredericksburg, va., dec. - , . one hundred and fifty yards from the "sunken road"--at the foot of "maryes heights". with no cover except the shell-mangled, disemboweled bodies which we rolled up in front of us and used for breast works, behind which we sought the only shelter we had for long winter hours in the half frozen mud--the plane of fire just grazing our heads on that bullet-swept terrain--and the bodies being whipped, frazzled and torn to pieces in front of our noses by terrific rifle and shrapnel fire as we vainly endeavored to relieve our weary frames by turning over from right to left or on our backs and stomachs. that was a battle-field where the soldier not only had to use his courage, his wits and common sense, but all of his resources. he will doubtless discover in a few minutes that this situation and this crisis was not included in what he has studied and booked up as theoretical battle knowledge and does not apply or fit in to any battle scheme that has been--without consulting him--staged on his front--and particularly to such a frightful and perilous situation. right here will come in his aptitude and true merit as a soldier--and his real practical test out. it applies to any other military problem where the element of common sense must enter as a determining factor. it enters into all walks of business where business sense is so absolutely necessary. it entered into this problem of the pursuit of deserters. all of our varied campaign and battle service, and experience and knowledge gained during that great civil war--and our practical activities in scouting and campaigning after wild, hostile indians subsequent to that war entered into this chase and capture, as _military factors_--without which we would have been as helpless as two children. who could look ahead into that long, trackless, desolate hundred miles of thinly settled country--almost a wilderness--with small towns more than miles apart--in the midst of a bitter cold tempest of rain, snow, sleet and ice--and rely upon any service school scheme of study, or war college papers and compositions upon obsolete campaigns and battles--or any extended use of war games--annual maneuvers or sham battles, etc., things that many of our young officers have been fed upon for years to fit them for great wars, emergencies, crises, etc.--and predicted any success for either lawton or the writer? any experience (?) gained in such theoretical military knowledge as would fit into such a case--would have been about as effective for lawton and myself as our study of the sanskrit and chinese languages. it was a problem based purely upon military experience gained by hard knocks and campaigns and in battles--seasoned up with plenty of good, sound horse sense--combined with our battle discipline and morale; courage, resourcefulness and powers of endurance entered, of course, as factors. these were our guides. one's complete education, and years of the most violent intensive training ever devised by any military machine of west point manufacture would have accomplished absolutely nothing along the lines we worked to secure the unqualified success--that was expected and demanded of us by such an exacting soldier as mackenzie. there was nothing the writer had so laboriously studied and learned in his course at west point that could by any construction or stretch of the imagination, have fitted in, or been of the slightest use in this problem. no mathematics--no algebra with its "binomial theorem;" no plane geometry with its fascinating "pons asinorum"; no trigonometry with its sines and co-sines; no descriptive or analytical geometry with planes of reference, etc. no calculus with its integrations and differentiations; or equations "a" and "b". no spherical astronomy with its "polaris"--or projections of the eclipse; no optics or acoustics. no spectral analysis. no trays of minerals--with the blow pipe and testing acids to determine "fools gold" or iron pyrites from the real article, would have fitted one for the real acid test when the most critical stage of the game--confronted him. neither would the perfect tactical drills--magnificent parades and inspections which have so delighted foreign visitors and the american people who have a right to be so proud--as the writer is himself--of our great national military academy--probably the finest academy in the world-- but--and here comes the crux of one's best endeavors along military lines where complete success is the goal--the education the writer gained during that civil war--the daily experience--the frequent campaign and battle tests--the self control--the patience--the confidence--the discipline and morale, tried out as in a crucible--the strength, steadiness and tenacity of purpose under battle conditions--with rifle, shrapnel and canister fire--for there were no machine guns or grenades in those days--in such battles as bull run--antietam, fredericksburg--chancellorsville, gettysburg, etc., and the influences which they wrought upon one's character in later years to deal with things that to some men would appear to be simply impossible--all these combined with the true military spirit--and good, common sense were the determining factors in that strange adventure so far as they are able to guide us in this mysterious and complex game of life--or can enter into the human problems in which we engage and are ever attempting to solve to our satisfaction and credit. such was the philosophy and logical reasoning of we two "hold overs" of the civil war, as we plodded our weary way across the black prairies--in the howling "norther"--in our pursuit of these deserters. little or no thought was given to the training received at the military academy beyond a well nourished pride in its motto of "honor--duty--country"--the balance was in our pride as battle-service soldiers of the civil war--and all of our knowledge and experience gained thereby--but especially so far as the writer was concerned to a short period of service at a huge conscript and "substitute" camp[b] where he acted as a provost guard--and as a young detective among many deserters from every army and navy in the world--hardened and desperate criminals of the worst description--intent on receiving a large bounty only to desert at the first opportunity and enlisting at another rendezvous--repeating this trick ad libitum. here was real human character depicted in its worst forms of iniquity--depravity--greed--selfishness--low cunning--trickery, treachery--atrocity--and the most desperate crimes--not stopping short of black-jacking--garroting--sand-bagging--robbery and frequent murders. to mingle with them was to know their types--their methods--habits, resources, etc. all this knowledge was of incalculable value to the writer when the plunge was made into darkness and the depths of an uncertainty--of an adventure the outcome of which could be but problematical or only to be guessed at. [b] note--men who had been paid large bounties during the draft period to take the place of men who were _long_ on money, but were _short on gall_--and who had no stomach for a fight of any kind. all this applied to lawton, who, although he was not a graduate of west point, had had the same campaign and battle experience as the writer--and as lieut. colonel commanding the th indian volunteer infantry had developed in him all of the necessary elements at chickamauga--missionary ridge--dalton--resaca--kenesaw mountain and in his march with sherman "from atlanta to the sea"--which, as essential factors would fit into our problem--and which, many years later, he fully exemplified in the philippines by his push, energy, iron will, resourcefulness, well-balanced judgment and quick, decisive action which strongly marked every movement in his campaigns, and characterized him as the personification of an ever ready and perfectly trained--although not _intensively_ trained--soldier--the magnificent soldier without frills, furbelows, fuss or feathers--that he was-- training of the "rough riders" too much stress has been given to a long, intensive training as absolutely necessary to fit men to become good, reliable battle-service soldiers, or to enable them to tackle either purely military problems, or such problems as confronted us in our long, exhaustive pursuit of those deserters. perfection of drill and military training is one thing through a continuous and harassing barrack or field training. to fit men to become alert, resourceful, obedient soldiers for quick and ready service through discipline and a minimum of tactical drill is altogether another thing when a war is fully on. theodore roosevelt in his autobiography (p. ) says: "the reason why it takes so long to turn the average citizen, etc., into a good infantryman or cavalryman is because it takes a long while to teach the average untrained man how to shoot, to march, to take care of himself in the open, to be alert, resourceful, cool, daring and resolute, and to fit himself to act on his own responsibility (individual initiative). if he already possesses these qualities there is very little difficulty in making him a good soldier (nor should it take a long time). all the drill necessary to enable him to march and to fight is of a simple character. _parade ground and barrack square maneuvers are of no earthly consequence in real war._ when men can readily change from line to column, and column to line, can form front in any direction, and assemble and _scatter_ (deploy), and can do other things with speed and precision they have got a fairly good grasp on the essentials." no amount of long drawn out drill will give him battle instinct or battle sense; not until he goes in under fire and faces up to what he sooner or later has got to encounter,--drill or no drill--does he acquire it. leaving out the non-essentials and endless repetitions of drill during a war crisis (and by the non-essentials the writer means a cut and dried program from . a. m. to p. m., with "manual of arms by the count"--all dress parades, reviews and other ceremonies, marching or "hiking" with a full infantry pack in a temperature of ° in the shade, to see how men can _intensively_ endure such heat, or, in other words, a persistent effort to break these men down and determine whether they have any courage, endurance or guts)--it should take less than three months to make an alert, steadfast, reliable and efficient battle soldier in time of war, and not more than six months in time of peace if more perfection is arrived at, unless it is desired to specialize in artillery, engineering and the scientific corps. much less time was taken during the civil war. most of these intensive training sharps and cranks harp incessantly about the absolute necessity for a long period of "_discipline_". the writer is nearly a crank on that subject, for discipline is the real, true and vital basis on which to build for a battle soldier. then employ most of the few weeks, taken as a limit for training, in discipline alone--making that the one objective upon which to concentrate the intensive effort, devoting the balance of the time to sufficient tactical drill to readily handle them under fire, and no more, or until the first deployment and the shrapnel or machine gun fire of battle demonstrates the fact that any and all tactical formations whether perfect or more loosely co-ordinated are soon broken up. any more tactical drill than is sufficient for such a purpose in time of war--when all preparation must necessarily be hastened--is simply a mere repetition looking to more perfect formations and movements and therefore a sheer waste of time and effort. both theodore roosevelt and general leonard wood were then right in their grasp of the situation and summing up of five weeks of _training_ and _battle activities_ of the "rough riders". neither had had any military training, either theoretical or practical--one having been a college student, writer, ranchman, police commissioner, secretary of the navy, etc., while the other had been a medical officer. both, however, had been out in the open under the stars, were alert, self-reliant, versatile, many-sided, broad-guaged, tense, strenuous, level-headed, far-sighted, sagacious, but withal, endowed with a large stock of good judgment and plenty of good, sound horse sense. neither had drilled a troop of cavalry--much less a regiment--but they had had some good regular officers and old non-commissioned officers assigned to start them off, and furthermore, in the face of a war, then on, and quick preparation for immediate battle service absolutely necessary, both saw at a glance what every good soldier--whether theoretical or otherwise--should see, that there was no time to waste in the mere niceties of a perfect tactical drill; that all of the non-essentials would have to be cut out--and the one essential, which they kept steadily in view, in dealing with and licking into shape such a body of men as the "rough riders" were, and which they were so suddenly called upon to organize and put into battle--was _discipline_, more _discipline_, and then _some_; to control the unruly elements, eliminate the really vicious, and administer the severest punishment, tempered with justice and mercy, for any and every infraction of the disciplinary laws governing any large bodies of men trying to adjust themselves to the novelty of control by superior authority appointed by the government to hold them in check, and to give them just sufficient tactical drill to get them into and out of a battle mess, in a fairly orderly fashion. the "rough riders" had been gathered from the "four corners of the earth." what good could six months or a year, or even longer, of hard drill or long drawn out intensive training have done these men with war already on? they would soon have "bucked"--grown disgusted--gone stale--lost their spirit and enthusiasm--their morale and force, and given their officers no end of trouble by their restlessness and eagerness to try out their mettle and "get in". they needed plenty of hard discipline and proper guidance daily, and theodore roosevelt says they _got it_. they already possessed most of the other qualifications which he so clearly enumerates. they needed to be taught prompt obedience to lawful authority, and they soon found that out and who were their leaders. what more did they need to fit them for battle than what he so concisely states in the way of tactical drill, to enable them to get on and off a battle-field, and the courage-born stimulus of good competent officers and non-commissioned officers? most of them already knew the use of arms, and nobody ever stands up on a battle line and exercises in the manual of arms, either "by the count" or "at will". there was no time to put them into large cantonments with other troops and intensively train them according to a war college prescribed schedule. _everything had to be sacrificed to time._ the late col. arthur wagner, u. s. army, is reported to have said shortly after the spanish-american war, when asked what his experience had been at santiago--"there was nothing i saw there that fitted into my text books in any way." no cut and dried plans such as might be worked out in a staff war college to fit into every program could be used, unless, perchance, the conditions which we were constantly meeting fitted into such plans--which they seldom do--and we could not afford to fall back on any "perchances", necessitating, as they would, the rapid changing of such plans, in the face of a situation or crisis which might and did demand immediate and decisive action. the query then naturally arises--of what vital or practical use is much of these enforced student theoretical courses at leavenworth and the staff war college, especially in feeding up officers--who have no special aptitude for the profession--on sham battles and sham war maneuvers, if, after stacking up hundreds of these worked out war problems, such as four or five different plans for the invasion of mexico, and the same number for the invasion of canada, it shall be found that just at that particular time the conditions bear no relation whatever to, or fit into these carefully worked out and elaborate plans, all of which may, and probably will have to be hurriedly changed, when there is little or no time to do so, just as the crisis of a sudden campaign is forced upon us or is quickly culminating. any commanding officer of our army who cannot then quickly change that cut and dried plan thrust into his hands by the war department, and in the face of sudden and almost insurmountable obstacles, and all of these conditions entirely foreign to such plans, to work out in front of an enemy already mobilized for battle--why--his name is--_mud_!! in all measures of this kind we felt compelled to take relating to these deserters, the exigencies we had to face at any moment and the plan we hastily made to fit into them, proved to be the deciding factor. such a thing as pursuing those deserters under any cut and dried programme would have been not only ridiculous, but a blithering farce. that is why, with a man of mackenzie's horse sense, we were left to perfect freedom of action, and our own independence or individual initiative. therefore, while it may seem almost treason for a graduate of west point to declare it, nothing that the writer had ever learned there was of the slightest value to him in trailing these men. it was a problem absolutely separate from the ordinary military processes, and governed entirely by other factors than those to which an education at the military academy had any relation. intensive training as a fine art (?) the writer's son, a major of infantry (a temporary lieut-colonel), took over to france a training battalion of the sixteenth u. s. infantry from syracuse, n. y., in november, . he was trained in the toul sector by a major rasmussen of the canadian infantry (later killed by an h. e. shell). he says that a few weeks of practical trench training and hand grenade work, etc., was of more value to him than months of such training as he had had in the syracuse camp. the writer had a son-in-law who had had fifteen years' experience in the field as a civil engineer with the largest company in st. louis--surveying, platting, laying out suburban tracts, including road building, sewer and culvert construction, etc. he lacked the elements of military engineering, pontoon bridge building, military trenches, with barbed wire placing, hand grenade work, etc. he entered the fort riley training camp in may, , was transferred to leavenworth, thence to camp meade, washington barracks, laurel, md., and then to camp lee, va., where he was employed digging trenches for the third or fourth time, and building pontoon _land bridges_, when he had made a record throwing bridges again and again with his company across the eastern branch of the potomac river. his skin was almost trained off his body. he lost his spirit and enthusiasm, became absolutely disgusted, but finally, through a "_pull_" at headquarters, a. e. f., he got "over" in march, . was immediately assigned as a captain of the st pioneer regiment, th n. e. ("yankee") division, and after some more _sector training_ was in the chateau thierry and st. mihiel drives and "made good" under colonel george bunnel (a graduate of west point, who was a practical soldier,) as a pioneer engineer on the battle line, opening the roads for the infantry and artillery, cutting barbed wire, etc. _no more army for him!_ but for my earnest protest and advice he would have resigned in disgust several times. when the word goes forth from our intensive trainers and sham battle heroes that it takes nearly a year to make of such a man an efficient engineer in the field, when for practical road building, rough pioneer work under fire, and all round resourcefulness he could give many of our west point graduates "cards and spades", most of such enforced training, which the writer has knowledge of, is a disgrace, and the would-be trainers should be "canned" before they reach a battle line. the writer was credibly informed that some of the so called intensive training took this form. a lot of condemned rifle cartridges from one of the arsenals was sent to camp meade, maryland, and, on the score of economy, it is presumed, they were issued for target practice on the range. some of the officers knew of the danger in their use and protested--as it was "slow fire" ammunition-- but they were directed to instruct their men to "_hold on_" to the target so many seconds ( more or less) to compensate for the time lost. several men were badly injured (burned) by the "back fire" upon throwing the bolt. the ammunition was still used under protest-- _fine training for sharpshooters_. any battle soldier knows that these officers would have been fully justified in refusing to obey such orders--when it had become known what risks were involved--even life itself. these cartridges were not only absolutely useless for such training--but it was little less than a crime for any officer to compel his subordinates to expend such dangerous ammunition. it was reported that the men seized the balance and either buried or otherwise destroyed it. what a travesty on preparing men for battle! if _such intensive training_ was employed in these cantonments to fit men for fighting, with a war already on, what could be expected of the instructors, employed in that kind of work, who had got to taste the joy of battle? this matter was not made public, but was either concealed, camouflaged or treated so lightly as to suggest a case of "whitewash." men were sent on "hikes" over hard, frozen roads, covered with snow and ice--in old, worn out shoes--their feet nearly bare; all under protest from their new, untried officers--who naturally wondered at such training and the necessity for it,--also the risk in the face of an epidemic of "_flu_"-- the true test-out--acquiring the fighting sense the writer, the youngest of four brothers, was mustered into the volunteer service, aug. , , at the age of years, having been rejected the year before on account of age and an over supply of men. his regiment, the twenty-second mass. vol. infantry (henry wilson regiment), was a fighting regiment from boston and vicinity. only union infantry regiments lost and upwards in killed and died of wounds on the field during the civil war. the twenty-second lost and stands in that list. in a list of all union infantry regiments that lost over per cent in killed on the field, it stands number --with a percentage of . per cent--and, based upon a maximum percentage of enrollment ( men), it stands number --("fox's regimental losses")-- its service was in the first brigade--first division--fifth corps, army of the potomac. we recruits arrived on arlington heights to join this fighting regiment, en route (whereabouts not located) from the "seven days' battles" on the peninsula. the officer in charge of us had given us no drills--no training of any kind. he was returning from leave, and spent most of his time _rusticating_ around the "old willard". we joined the regiment at halls hill, va. (near falls church), bivouacked in a battle line as it was marching into the defences of w---- from the second battle of bull run. the noise of battle was on; a spluttering picket firing was in evidence a few hundred yards from us. during our stay here of two days--a first class drill sergeant gave us an hour each day in the "facings" and the use of our guns, which had been issued to us at midnight of aug. --in a terrific thunder storm, during which we were soaked--and in a bivouac without shelter. this consisted of instructions in taking them apart, cleaning, assembling, rapid loading and sighting. we remained in reserve in the fortifications of washington, marching hither and thither until sept. --when we started, in a temperature of °, after a drenching night's storm, on the antietam campaign-- there was no time for further training. we were put on the battle line--sandwiched between our peninsula veterans of seven battles. the lines were so close that our range was practically point blank. there was no adjustment of sights--no wind guages--none of the usual methods for work on a target range. it made little difference whether the trajectory was flat or otherwise. any boy who had ever used a shot gun could load and blaze away into the close lines. the line officers and file closers were veterans. the battle discipline was flawless-- we touched elbows with men who had acquired the battle sense and instinct in the hell of rifle fire--shell--shrapnel and close up canister guns of the pdr napoleon type. a few days after a bloody reconnoissance across the river, in which one of our regiments lost men killed, wounded and missing in minutes, we had a few days' drill--and that _was all we ever got_. we were as good soldiers as ever marched the roads or ever went in under our battle flags--at fredericksburg--chancellorsville, gettysburg--and on to the seige of petersburg. we needed no long, drawn-out intensive training--because there was no time to give it to us-- our superb officers all recognized that--and, as soon as we had got our _balance_, and recovered from the battle shock--we fitted into the bloody game of war without any waste of time, effort or lost motion. our manual of arms would not have undergone the critical scrutiny of a "_yearling corporal_" at west point--or a "color man" "throwing up" for colors at guard mount--nor would our crude attempts have excited much pride in the tactical officers at a perfect west point dress parade. our shooting in the open at from to yards might also have aroused the merry laugh of a target range sharpshooter with all of his implements for making a record score. but we were _not striving_ for a _record score_--just shooting into massed formations and closed up battle lines to kill--and we got there just the same with the official record as cited. that record tells the story-- at midnight on may , , near spottsylvania c. h., in a hand to hand fight with the sixth alabama, the regiment captured their colors and more prisoners than were in the ranks of the twenty-second massachusetts. two of these brothers, on account of their youth, refused commissions, although their father, who had spent two years at the mil. academy in the class of , was then chairman of the mil. com. of the mass. senate; was in daily conference with john a. andrew, the great war governor--and could, by a "pull" have easily secured them. one was "specially commended" for good conduct at the battle of fredericksburg, va., while the other untrained brother, (walter carter) as sergeant major of the regiment, was specially mentioned in the report of the commanding officer of the regiment for "_coolness under fire_, and _personal bravery in all battles of the campaign_"; (reb. rec--ser--i-- : ) this campaign, may to june -- --from the wilderness--laurel hill--spottsylvania c. h. (may - --under fire day and night), jericho mills--north anna, totopotomoy creek, bethesda church--cold harbor--jerusalem plank road (norfolk and petersburg r r--later, the spot where the battle of the "_crater_" was fought). if there was ever any better soldier than this untrained but not _world-advertised_ sergeant-major of one of the best fighting regiments in the army of the potomac--the writer, in nearly years since those old days, has not met him. on may , , while acting as liaison officer for the major--commanding the left wing of the regiment, which was cut off from the right wing and in a cul de sac swept by a frightful cross fire--he was directed to cross the brock road (about a mile or more from spottsylvania c. h.) and communicate to the colonel the perilous position of the left wing. he crossed this sunken road--swept by rifle and canister fire, at close range. his blanket roll was cut in several places; his eye was burned and closed by a _hot bullet_--for several days-- the next morning he took in on his back, from a rifle pit to save his life, a wounded comrade and friend under fire. being a non-commissioned officer, he received no brevets--no medal of honor--no legion of honor, or croix de guerre--etc. so much for this battle-trained, but not _intensively_ trained--volunteer sergeant-major of an infantry fighting regiment in the old battle swept army of our youth. and he wears nothing to indicate his record of valor--not even the "little bronze button" of the g. a. r.; nothing more than the satisfaction or consciousness of having done well his part in helping to preserve the union and making it possible for the present generation of soldiers to have a country in which to exist, and looking on with a certain degree of smug complacency at the smiling assurance with which these present day trainers of men declare that it takes from six months to a year, or even more, to fit the average american boy to be an effective battle-service soldier-- so much for this so called "_intensive training_" as a fine art. the writer trained for three boat races at west point in the ' s, rowing as "stroke" in one. he was urged to take up "_intensive training_" in the gymnasium. he did nothing of the kind, but simply used the dumb bells and indian clubs in his room to limber up and harden the muscles, and after a morning plunge, took a brisk walk and run of about two miles every morning for wind. there was no "training table", and he simply took care not to take on any extra flesh when eating the "hash" and "slumgullion" of our plainest of plain mess hall fare. we consulted the famous ward brothers of cornwall-on-hudson--"hank", "josh" and "ellis" (who has been a famous coach for years) as to our style and effectiveness of stroke. they were simple hudson river shad fishermen--long, lean, lank and spare as greyhounds, sinewy as whip cord--and as hard as steel nails-- every muscle was taut and tense as a racing oarsman's should be. i doubt if they ever saw the inside of a gymnasium--and laughed to scorn the idea that they had got to train in one. rowing all day, for months, had, without developing their muscles into sandow monstrosities--hardened them like steel--and they were, after pulling a long, swinging stroke, with quick recover, ready at all times to row for their lives. i do not recall of their ever being defeated--either abroad or in our own waters. _they were our trainers._ they were the finest oarsmen america ever produced. the writer saw them row the harvard "varsity" crew on the charles river, and after passing them as though they were almost standing still, play with them and "_loaf home_". william blaikie, harvard's famous stroke, and later their professional "coach," wrote after graduation, a book, "how to get strong". he advocated the gymnasium--the fatal trainer's paradise that has killed so many men. he died, when he had just passed his th year, of dilation of the heart superinduced by _intensive training_. he believed in enormous muscles and brute strength, rather than skill, endurance, and good form. he had overtrained and had an overworked heart. the writer was pitted against a man who was almost a duplicate of sandow. he could have pitched me over his head. he could, with a twist of his immense arms, break a spruce oar in a racing shell. when the last few boat lengths of the long three miles loomed up--and victory for him was almost in sight--his sand gave out--his heart was almost broken and he lay down and threw up the sponge in defeat. he was "pumped out"; he had overtrained and "gone stale". he pulled "too much beef", and lacked the courage--sand--nerve and guts that wins at the most critical moment. he weighed pounds. he could have been better utilized as a battering ram on a foot ball team to fall down upon some smaller player and break his back or neck. our stroke weighed pounds. some men may train for a prize fight until they can run miles without breathing hard, and then, inside of three or four minutes after entering the ring begin wheezing like an old wind-broken horse. this is due to a _nervous contraction_ of the pulmonary region, caused generally by nervous fright. they are too tense and rigid to fight effectively. the writer has seen the same thing in battle with over trained men--perfectly tense, dazed--almost speechless--from fright and nerve shock alone before they could get it under control. this does not imply that they were cowards-- a man's supreme or best mental and physical efforts does not depend upon his size, his huge muscles abnormally developed by a long period of intensive training, or through his intellectuality acquired by years of school, college and university education, but, largely through the _spirit_, _force_, _courage_, _discipline_ and _morale_ which are behind his purpose--that purpose which must furnish the mainspring of his action. this refers particularly to the soldier in his _intelligent_ (and by this the writer does not mean the intellectual) application of that power and those resources to the actual conditions of the problem with which he is hourly, even momentarily, confronted when on a battle line under the hell of fire. this he has got to face, not as a highly organized or perfectly educated human being, trained, or over trained to the last limit for a specific purpose, but, on his _individual initiative_, and his _combative instincts_ or _fighting senses_--without which no highly educated or purely intellectual human machine could long withstand the strain, for, until a man goes in under fire he cannot know, or even guess at his power and resources--his balance and morale which iron discipline combined with moderate, common sense training alone has inspired. many a soldier has gone into battle, and proved his bravery and battle efficiency under fire, without being a highly intellectual or even an educated man, and with no previous training that approaches any where near perfection, or that was given in these cantonments, or, with any other feeling or inspiration than the patriotic motive which has led him to fight for a great principle, or the incentive in the performance of a duty in strict obedience to the orders of his superior officers who, if they are true, and loyal leaders, with the right stuff in them, will supply all the deficiencies that any long drawn-out intensive training so often fails in. it is now that his _real intensive training_ has begun without his spirit and enthusiasm having become impaired, and he is better able to fully grasp its meaning than he would had it been daily, weekly and monthly crammed down his throat by rule, and by some theoretical trainer who had never seen a battle field--never been on one--or under fire, and who would scarcely know one if he should see it. our intensive training in most of these cantonments was begun backwards. teaching men to shoot--and to shoot straight, preferably under conditions of noise, after a few days--closely simulating a real battleracket--is much more effectual as a starter--after he has been taught to knock down, clean, assemble and quickly load his rifle--and the proper use of it, than a manual of arms "by the count" (as the writer saw it) or any attempt at a perfect knowledge of the intricacies of the school of the company, etc. a man, unless he has been designated as a sharpshooter, or for "sniping"--or, has been ordered to remain under permanent or semi-permanent trench cover--is not satisfied to fight at from to yards--the range of a high power rifle,--for, under most atmospheric conditions and when in the smoke and confusion of battle, he cannot pick up his target, or see the object aimed at, or determine whether his fire is effective, therefore he is going to push forward to from to _yards_--the range of our old muzzle loading springfield rifles. there, _in the open_ he can see the enemy he is fighting--almost the whites of his eyes--and how effective his fire should be. _there is the place to fight_--and that was where our american lads after the hindenberg lines were destroyed--or turned--and the huns were driven out into open ground--in their forward rushes--were so effective in cleaning and mopping up the best troops germany had. they could not resist close fighting. they had not been trained that way, and we ought not to dream even of training our men in _long range_--_trench cover fighting_--except under certain conditions which are clearly indicated. circumstances will govern those conditions. a brief summary--a record "round-up" while this was not the concluding chapter, or the end of my dealings, either by way of experience or adventure with these deserters, or all that was likely to grow out of it, i felt that much of the burden had been lifted. the long chase in the howling "norther". the novelty of our night at "rhodes ranch"--with seven people, including the crying baby, and the three dogs in a one room "shack" to keep us from perishing; sliding and skating over the desolate solitude, wind-swept and ice crusted; the two long, weary nights among the dens, dives and slums of weatherford and cleburne with my optimistic, jovial, joking--musketeer corporal; the all night study of the map--the one-legged, "_johnny driver_" with his friendly gettysburg battle-field reminiscing that came so near losing me the fruits of a night's hard labor--and uncertainty of plans in the early morning at the latter town;--the exciting, thrilling--almost spectacular capture of the men in the brush near hillsboro; the bluff and threat of the wagon master; the novelty of a texas log jail with its forbidding exterior and interior, but sheltering walls; the little, panic-stricken wagoner; the indictment of all the citizens implicated in their escape and temporary release under the stimulus of "blood money"; the "squealing" of crafts on the concealment of the arms; the identification of the raw recruits;--the encounter with the fighting termagants at hardin's ranch; the hasty return of the carbines by the "old man" who would "lick you uns outen yer boots"; the commendations and warm personal thanks of generals mackenzie and hardie; the letter of thanks and congratulations from the major-general commanding the department of texas; all were now over, and i could at last, heave a great sigh of relief--and for a few days, at least, indulge in a brief period of well earned rest. it is believed that this march of over miles in the dead of winter, during an unprecedented severe "norther" ( ° below zero) with sleet, snow, hail and ice almost thick enough to bear the weight of our horses, and for a part of the time in jeopardy of our lives--the capture of these ten ( ) men with all of their arms and safe delivery into a military post, and the apprehension and indictment of the three ( ) civilians for their share in the adventure--stands on record as the most complete and wide-sweeping "round up" of deserters, under all of the circumstances, ever known in the official military annals of the department of texas, if not in the entire united states army-- at all events, in any way it may be summed up, it was a most remarkable and "phenomenal capture". transcriber's notes . several typos have been corrected. the exception to this is when the same word was misspelled more than once (e. g. "guage"). . the word "coup d'oeuil" uses an oe ligature in the original. [illustration: map to illustrate the story of philip of texas] philip of texas a story of sheep raising in texas by james otis [illustration] new york -:- cincinnati -:- chicago american book company * * * * * copyright, , by mrs. a. l. kaler. copyright, , in great britain. philip of texas. w. p. i. * * * * * foreword the author of this series of stories for children has endeavored simply to show why and how the descendants of the early colonists fought their way through the wilderness in search of new homes. the several narratives deal with the struggles of those adventurous people who forced their way westward, ever westward, whether in hope of gain or in answer to "the call of the wild," and who, in so doing, wrote their names with their blood across this country of ours from the ohio to the columbia. to excite in the hearts of the young people of this land a desire to know more regarding the building up of this great nation, and at the same time to entertain in such a manner as may stimulate to noble deeds, is the real aim of these stories. in them there is nothing of romance, but only a careful, truthful record of the part played by children in the great battles with those forces, human as well as natural, which, for so long a time, held a vast portion of this broad land against the advance of home seekers. with the knowledge of what has been done by our own people in our own land, surely there is no reason why one should resort to fiction in order to depict scenes of heroism, daring, and sublime disregard of suffering in nearly every form. james otis. * * * * * contents page my dreams of a sheep ranch sheep raising herding sheep something about texas land grants the "texas fever" why i wanted to go into texas hunting in texas father goes to spy out the land our plantation in mississippi father comes home the bigness of texas where we were going what i hoped to do cattle driving how we set out a laborious journey comanche indians father comes to my rescue the arrival at fort towson preparing for a storm a dry "norther" two kinds of "northers" how turkeys kill rattlesnakes deer and rattlesnakes making a corral of wagons on the trail once more mesquite a texas sheep ranch the profits from sheep raising father's land claim spanish measurements the chaparral cock our first night on the trinity standing guard a turkey buzzard plans for building a house the cook shanty a storm of rain a day of discomfort thinking of the old home waiting for the sun too much water the stream rising trying to save the stock the animals stampeded saving our own lives a raging torrent a time of disaster the flood subsiding a jack rabbit repairing damages rounding up the live stock the first meal after the flood waiting for father recovering our goods setting to work in good earnest sawing out lumber laboring in the saw pit wild cattle a disagreeable intruder odd hunting a supply of fresh meat "jerking" beef searching for the cattle again our new home planting, and building corrals bar-o ranch an odd cart the visitors zeba's curiosity possible treachery suspicious behavior gyp's fight with a cougar in a dangerous position hunting wild hogs treed by peccaries gyp's obedience my carelessness vicious little animals father comes to the rescue the increase in my flock unrest of the indians texas joins the union war with mexico selling wool peace on the trinity my dream fulfilled * * * * * philip of texas my dreams of a sheep ranch the day i was twelve years old, father gave me twelve ewes out of his flock of seventy-two, counting these sheep as payment for the work i had done in tending them. even at that time i thought myself a good shepherd, for i was able to keep a small flock well together. [illustration] with gyp, our dog, i could have herded five hundred as readily as i did seventy-two, because on our plantation in mississippi the pastures were fenced. therefore when father began to talk of moving to texas and there making a venture in the cattle business, i decided at once that if he did so, it should be my aim to raise sheep. with this idea i gathered from the neighbors roundabout, who had larger flocks than ours, all the possible information about the business in our own state. [illustration] sheep raising a sheep in order to thrive should have not less than two acres of fairly good pasturage in which to roam. much less than that amount of land would provide a sheep with food in case it was inclosed; but on the range, where the flock is turned out to feed over a large extent of country, the animals are inclined to "bunch," as the herders call it; that is, to keep in close company and wander here or there trampling down the grass without eating it. a sheep will yield about five pounds of wool each year, and you can count that each animal in a herd will give you one dollar's worth of its fleece annually. of course there is considerable expense, if one is obliged to pay for shearing, or for dipping, in case that disease known as "scab" comes among the flock. i have known a sheep raiser to pay four cents a head to the mexican shepherds simply for dipping the flock; that is to say, for giving each animal a bath in a certain mixture in order to drive out distemper which, in sheep, is like the mange that comes upon dogs. then it is pretty certain that during the year there will be as many lambs born as there are sheep in the flock, and if a sheep is worth five dollars, you can reckon the lamb at three, for it will be a yearling in twelve months, and a full-grown sheep a year later. so one can say that every sheep worth five dollars will bring in a profit of four dollars each year, less the expense of keeping. herding sheep suppose you have a flock of five hundred sheep. they will "herd," as sheepmen say, which means, keep nearly together, within a space around which a man can ordinarily walk two or three times a day, to prevent the wilder ones from straying. when the flock is driven out on the range from the pens, they are kept moving a mile or two, while the shepherd walks around the flock, talking to them, so that they may hear his voice; the animals pick up mouthfuls of grass now and then, even while being driven. in rainy or cold weather, sheep walk much more rapidly than they do when it is warm; therefore the shepherd has more work to do. in very hot, dry weather, they will often not feed in the daytime, but continue eating until late in the night, and then the herder has his work cut out, for those are long days from sunrise until nine or ten o'clock. but think of the profit of five hundred sheep in one year! suppose they cost you for herding, shearing, and dipping, in case you cannot manage the flock yourself, three hundred dollars. you get two thousand dollars for the wool and the increase in the flock, and pay out three hundred. this leaves seventeen hundred dollars clear profit in one year from five hundred sheep, and that is not a large flock. of course if the scab gets among the sheep, or the indians kill many, or the wolves can't be kept away, there will be more or less loss which must come out of the seventeen hundred dollars; but take it all in all, unless one has very hard luck, it seems to me he should be able to count on at least a thousand dollars profit from five hundred sheep. [illustration] now it might seem as if this matter of raising sheep, and the profit to be had from them, could have no influence in deciding my going from the state of mississippi to the republic of texas, and yet if it had not been for my hope of one day owning a big sheep ranch, i would not have been so delighted when father began to talk of making a new home in that country which had so lately separated from mexico. something about texas one might suppose that my father was a shiftless sort of man to make a change of homes after he had a boy twelve years old; but that is not the fact, as you will understand when i tell you why we sold the plantation in mississippi, where we were raising fairly good crops of cotton, to embark in the cattle business in texas. of course, it is not necessary for me to relate that the people in texas declared themselves independent of mexico in the year , as in the colonists determined to be free men in a free country, and so broke away from england and england's king. no doubt you already know that it was on the twenty-second day of april in the year , the day after the battle of san jacinto, that general houston captured the mexican general, santa anna; a treaty was then made between texas and mexico, which allowed the texans to become an independent nation. you are also acquainted with the troubles in texas, when, in the year , the comanches overran the country, and you have heard of the capture of the town of san antonio by the mexicans in september of the year . land grants all this has little to do with what i am going to tell in regard to my going into the sheep business; yet if all those things had not happened, then president lamar and president houston might not have been able to make grants of land to people who were willing to come into the country and build homes. there were a number of men who succeeded in getting so-called grants from the texan government. among these there was a certain mr. peters,--i never knew his first name,--who had obtained a grant of an exceedingly large tract of land in the northern part. it was, so father had been told, the best land in texas; and in order to gain settlers, mr. peters agreed to give outright to the head of every family six hundred and forty acres of land, and to each single man three hundred and twenty acres. now, of course, my father was the head of a family, although mother and i were the only other members of it; nevertheless he would receive just as many acres of land as though he had a dozen children. when the matter was first talked about among our neighbors in mississippi, i hoped i might be counted as a single man; but i was very soon made to understand that a lad of twelve years was mistaken when he reckoned himself of sufficient age to have given him three hundred and twenty acres of land simply for going into a country and living there. the "texas fever" because of this offer by mr. peters, the people around us, whose plantations were not particularly valuable, were highly excited, for all had heard how rich was the land in the republic of texas, and how well it was adapted for cattle raising. [illustration] while mother and father were talking the matter over, trying to decide whether they would go into peters's colony, i heard him tell her that already a great many people from missouri, illinois, indiana, and kentucky, as well as from our state, had gone there and had sent back the most cheering words regarding the possibility of making money in that new country. perhaps i should say that this grant was made to the peters colony early in the year , but it was not until the spring of the next year that father began to have what some of our neighbors laughingly called the "texas fever"; and i took it because of the possibilities of raising sheep. it was just about this time that the texans began to talk of being annexed to the united states, for their republic was not so flourishing as many would have liked to see it. the country was in debt to the amount of nearly seven million dollars, so i heard father say, and the people stood in fear of the mexicans on the one side, who were ever ready to make trouble, and of the indians on the other, to say nothing of the wild beasts everywhere. such a thinly settled country could not raise large armies to fight off their enemies, and those people who had been living for some time in texas believed that if their republic could become a part of the united states, they would have all the soldiers that were needed to keep peace in the land. why i wanted to go into texas [illustration] of all this i knew very little at the time father was talking about making a new home, and i cared less, for my mind was filled entirely with the idea of one day owning a large sheep ranch. from the time i began to take care of father's flock i had heard people, lately come from texas, declare that that was the one spot in all the wide world where sheep could be raised easily and at small cost. there were other reasons besides this which caused me to hope that my father would decide to make a change of homes. i had heard that the ponies, which the texans called mustangs, could be bought for from eight to twenty dollars each, and that they cost no more to keep than ordinary cows, for they did not require grain. now, in all my life, i had never owned either horse or pony, for the only driving animals on our mississippi plantation had been mules. hunting in texas [illustration] i had also read that there was much good hunting in texas, and that one need not go very far afield in order to find plenty of bears; in fact, that there were too many for the comfort of the sheep raisers. i knew also that deer were to be found in large numbers and that there were cougars, which are called mexican lions, and panthers, together with wildcats and wolves. fancy such a list of game as that for a fellow who was as fond of shooting as i was! [illustration] then again, one of our neighbors who had been in texas told me of the wild hogs, or peccaries, as they are sometimes called, that go in droves of from half a dozen to twenty or thirty, and are very fierce when stirred up. the wolves concerned me most just then, for you know that these animals are exceedingly fond of sheep, and he who herds a flock on the range must keep his eyes wide open for those four-footed enemies. three kinds of wolves were to be found in texas: the black wolf which was rare, the coyote, and the lobo or gray wolf. the last two were great sheep stealers and many in number. it seemed to me then, as it has many times since, that it would be great sport to hunt those sheep eaters and lay up a goodly stock of their pelts, for a wolf hide, when taken in the proper season, makes an excellent bed covering, whether it be in a house or on the open prairie. from the time that father began to talk of joining peters's colony, i spent a good portion of my time learning all that was possible concerning this republic, the people of which were eager to come into the united states. i found, as any one can who will make diligent search, the most interesting stories not only about hunting, but about the early troubles between texas and mexico, the texans' fight for independence, and the many indian raids. father goes to spy out the land it seemed to me that father and mother spent a great deal of unnecessary time in discussing whether they would change their home from mississippi to texas. in fact i was beginning to despair of ever becoming a sheep raiser in the peters colony, when father suddenly declared that he would go to see the country for himself, and if it was half as good as people said it was, he would lay out his claim of six hundred and forty acres and come back to sell the plantation and move the live stock. i begged hard to be allowed to go with him, but my request was not to be granted, for although we owned two slaves, john and zeba, neither of them could be trusted to look after the cattle, the sheep, and the mules. [illustration] therefore it was decided that i should be the head of the family while father was away, and so proud was i over being given such a position of trust, that i failed to grieve, as i otherwise might have done, at not being allowed to go with him. he set out with a pair of our best mules hitched to a light wagon, intending to drive to little rock in arkansas, and from there to fort towson, after which he would make his way across what is now grayson county, spying out the land. our plantation in mississippi it was not a very long journey, although he would probably travel two or three hundred miles before turning back. we lived in bolivar county, in mississippi, near indian point, where, as you know, the arkansas river joins with the mississippi. our plantation was not well suited to cotton raising, and perhaps for this reason father was all the more willing to listen to those people who had so much to say about texas, that one could almost believe it to be a veritable promised land. father had set out to raise cattle, although our plantation was no better adapted for such a purpose, perhaps, than it was for cotton raising. we had about seventy head of oxen, and twenty mules, together with the seventy-two sheep which made up my own and my father's flocks. i did not realize that the profits from sheep raising in texas might not be the same as in mississippi. i counted the days while father was away, thinking with each sunrise that i would see him again before nightfall. after he had been gone two or three weeks i was foolish enough to wander up the road now and then, hoping to meet him on his return, and be the first to hear the good news. father comes home he had been absent nearly six weeks, and my heart had almost grown sick with waiting, when late one night, after i had gone to bed, i heard a commotion downstairs, followed by shouts for john or zeba, and then i recognized my father's voice. there is little need for me to say that i tumbled, rather than ran, down the stairs, so great was my eagerness to learn the result of his visit into texas, and even before he had had time to take me in his arms i insisted on knowing whether he had staked out his claim. in a few words he quieted my impatience by telling me we would set off for the new country as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made. so far as the details were concerned i was willing to wait, for the matter had been settled as i hoped it would be. later, i learned that our new home was to be on the west fork of the trinity river, where, so father said, the land was better suited for cattle or sheep raising than any other he had ever seen. as a matter of fact he was even more delighted with the prospect of going to texas than i was, and at once mother fell in with the plan heartily. she knew he would not have been so pleased at taking up a claim, unless it seemed certain we could better our position very greatly, for he was a home-loving man, and would not have moved from our plantation had he not felt reasonably sure of making a change for the better. [illustration] he told us that people from the united states, and even from across the sea in france, were going in great numbers to texas, and he had no doubt but that as soon as it was made one of the states of the union, it would prosper beyond any land of which we had ever heard. the bigness of texas then he began to tell us how large the republic of texas was, and before he had finished i was filled with astonishment, for, without having given any great thought to the matter, i had fancied it might, perhaps, be somewhere near the size of our state of mississippi. he told us that texas was much larger than the countries of sweden and norway together, three times the size of great britain and ireland, and nearly twice as large as france. he also said that the area of all the new england and middle states was considerably less than that of texas. imagine such an extent of territory open to new settlers! a republic nearly eight times as large as the state of new york, nine times as large as the state of ohio, and six times as large as all new england put together! there was no longer any surprise in my mind that the people who made up the government of texas would be willing to give six hundred and forty acres to every man with a family who would settle there, when, within their boundaries, they had more than two hundred million acres. where we were going talk of sheep raising, and giving two acres to each sheep! if, before father went away, i had been eager to own a sheep ranch in texas, then certainly i was nearly wild with the idea after he returned, for from his stories i began to understand that one could own thousands upon thousands, and yet find ample room to feed them all. we were not going, so it seemed, into the best portion of the republic for sheep raising, but rather into the northern part, while the finest grazing lands were on the western side, or in that oddly shaped piece which is called the "panhandle." however, i was well satisfied if we could not have the best of the sheep-raising business, if only we might embark in it anywhere. again i was contented because we were going into the northern part, rather than to the westward, owing to the stories father told of an enormous colony of frenchmen which was being brought over the sea by a gentleman whose name was castro. mr. henry castro was a very wealthy frenchman, who had been appointed by the texan government as consul general to france. having been given a grant of land by the government, he agreed to bring over a large number of people from his native country, paying all their expenses of traveling, and lending each man sufficient money to set himself up as a ranchman. already, it was said, he had seven hundred people on seven different ships which he had hired at his own cost, and these colonists would soon be set down in texas to make their way as best they might with his assistance. what i hoped to do i was only twelve years old, and already owned twelve ewes. now i well knew from what i had heard sheep raisers say, that if i attended to my little flock properly, and if they met with no accident, it would be nothing marvelous if, at the end of nine years, when i should be twenty-one, my flock had increased to five thousand, or even more. [illustration] father had hardly finished telling mother and me of what he had seen during his journey, before we began to make preparations for moving. surely it seemed to me we were likely to have good luck, for within eight and forty hours after he returned, a man came up from baton rouge to buy our plantation, having heard that father was suffering with the texas fever. within two hours after he showed his willingness to buy our land the bargain was made, a fairly large portion of the money paid over, and mother and i knew that within twenty days we should leave the home where i was born. cattle driving perhaps my heart grew just a bit faint when i learned that it would be necessary to drive all our cattle and sheep from bolivar county into texas, and that i was expected to do a large share of the work. father thought that john, zeba, and i should be able to keep the cattle on the road, for we were to follow the highway the entire distance, and he intended to hire three slaves from our neighbors to drive the mules which would haul all our household belongings. there was no question in my mind but that we would get along easily with the oxen and the cows. father decided to harness most of the mules to three wagons, so they could be handled by the hired negroes; but the question of how we would be able to get the sheep along worried me much. whoever has had charge of such animals knows well that it is not a simple task to drive them over a strange country, however quiet they may have been on feeding grounds with which they are acquainted. but no good could come from my worrying as to how we might get into texas. i would soon know by experience. in fact, i had little time to concern myself about anything whatsoever save the work on hand, because in order to be ready to leave the plantation within twenty days, all of us found plenty with which to occupy our hands. [illustration] it really seemed to me as if gyp knew exactly what we were planning to do, for he walked around at my heels day after day, with his tail hanging between his legs, as though ashamed that he was about to leave the united states for a new country, where he would see a flag which bore but a single star. how we set out there was so much bustle and confusion on the plantation during the short time left to us that i hardly remember how we made ready; but i do know that we were finally prepared for the journey, and that john and zeba set off with the cattle twenty-four hours before father, mother, and i left home, in order that the creatures might become somewhat accustomed to traveling by the time we overtook them. we had three wagons covered with heavy cloth, each drawn by six mules, and loaded with all our provisions, clothing, and such farming tools as we wanted to take with us. the other two mules were harnessed to the wagon in which father had made the journey to texas, and in this mother was to travel, father riding with her when he was not needed elsewhere. my mother was a good horsewoman, and the handling of two, or even four, mules would not have troubled her in the slightest. therefore she said to me laughingly when gyp and i had gathered the sheep into one corner of the stable yard, ready to set off just behind the mule teams, that her part of the journey would be much like a pleasure trip, while to my share must come a goodly portion of dust and toil. father had hired from one of the neighbors three of his best negroes, who were to drive the mule teams, and who could be trusted to come back alone from texas as soon as their work had been finished. [illustration] so it was that we had in our party two grown white people, one boy, five negroes, and gyp. i am counting the dog as a member of the company, for before we arrived at the west fork of the trinity river he showed himself to be of quite as much importance, and of even more service, than either the white or the colored men. a laborious journey john and zeba managed to get along with the cattle very well; but the drivers of the mule teams were not so skillful in handling the animals as father had expected, and the result was that he found it necessary to take the place of one or the other nearly all the time, thus leaving mother alone. sometimes i led the procession; at other times i trudged on in the rear where the dust was thickest, running first on one side of the road and then on the other, to keep the sheep from straying, and succeeded in holding them to the true course only by the aid of my dog, who had more sound common sense in that shaggy body of his than the brightest lad i have ever come across. gyp was a willing worker, and a cheery companion at all times. he would run here and there regardless of the heat, and when the sheep were partly straightened up as they should be, come back panting, his red tongue lolling out, and looking up at me with a world of love in his big brown eyes, as if to ask why i was so solemn, or why i could not find, as he did, some sport in thus driving a flock of silly sheep to texas. during the journey we halted wherever night over-took us, sometimes camping in the open and finding our beds in one of the wagons, or again herding our cattle in the stable yard of a tavern. as for food, we got it as best we could. when fortune favored us and we came upon a tavern, we had enough to satisfy our hunger, and in very many places as good as we could have had at the old home in bolivar county. at other times we ate from the store of provisions we carried, cooking the food by the roadside, while the sheep and the cattle, too tired to stray very far after so many miles of plodding, fed eagerly on whatever grass they were lucky enough to find. [illustration] gyp was my bedfellow, whether i slept in one of the wagons or at a tavern, and before we had crossed the red river i found myself treating him as i would have treated a lad of my own age, and time and time again i thought to myself that he understood all i said to him. comanche indians [illustration] before we left the old home i firmly believed we would meet with strange adventures on our long journey, and each morning when we set out, i driving the sheep, with gyp running to and fro to make certain my work was done properly, i felt convinced that before night came something out of the ordinary would take place. yet until we came near to fort towson i saw nothing more strange or entertaining than i might have seen on the banks of the mississippi river, but when we were within two miles or more of the fort, and the sheep and i were leading the way, we suddenly came upon a band of seven comanche indians, the first of the tribe i had ever seen. they were all mounted, no one of them wearing more clothing than the breech-cloth around his waist, and at least two of them armed with what i believed to be serviceable rifles. it was as if the fellows had come up out of the very ground, so suddenly did they appear. although i could not have understood their language if any attempt had been made to open a conversation, it was plain to me that they intended to take possession of my sheep as well as of those belonging to father, while i did not doubt but that they would make quick work of me. father comes to my rescue it is more than likely that all my fears might have been realized had the remainder of our party been very far in the rear, for i believe the savages thought i was alone on the road, driving the flock to fort towson where it could be slaughtered; but at the very moment when two of the most villainous of the party dismounted and came toward me with their rifles in hand, father and mother drove up in the two-mule team. immediately the savages drew back until they had regained their horses, which were being held meanwhile by the other members of the party. father was out of the wagon in a twinkling, with a pistol in each hand and coming rapidly toward me, shouting for those in the rear to hurry on, as if he had a large company at his back. [illustration] the indians did not wait to learn how strong we were in numbers, and more than likely they saw the cloud of dust in the distance which told of the coming of the cattle and the loaded wagons; perhaps they believed it was raised by a troop of men, for without parley, and before one could have counted ten, they had wheeled about and were riding at their best pace in the opposite direction. so great was my relief of mind that i felt inclined to make light of the adventure, but was straightway sobered when father said gravely:-- "there is much to be feared from those rascally comanches. the only reason i have not already cautioned you often and very strongly is because i feared to alarm your mother. do not take any chances if, when you are alone, you come upon such as those who have just fled, but seek safety in flight if possible. if you cannot escape, make ready for a desperate defense, and even when you are on our claim, have your weapons always ready for use." so intent had i been in planning what might be done in raising sheep, that the possibility of having trouble with the indians never came into my mind; but now that father had spoken as he did, i knew that beyond a doubt there was good reason for caution, if not for alarm. straightway my thoughts went out into the future, as i asked myself how it would be possible, while herding sheep, to defend myself, for i well understood that only gyp and i could be spared to play the part of shepherds. all the others would be attending to the regular work of the ranch, and could not be expected to give heed to me. the arrival at fort towson [illustration] i was still turning this unpleasant prospect over in my mind when we arrived at fort towson, and then i began to believe the country of texas was not all i had fancied. it was only reasonable for a lad like me to expect that at this fort i would find something which resembled a fortification, and yet, so far as could be judged from the outside, it was no more than the ordinary buildings of a ranchman, except that walls of sun-dried bricks connected the several structures, forming a square. on the side facing the south were two heavy gates of logs, which now swung wide open, but it was plain to be seen that they could be closed quickly if need arose. there were in charge of this ranchlike fort no more than six or seven men, and of these, two were mexicans, while all wore the same gaudy costumes that may be seen in every spanish settlement. preparing for a storm it was yet early in the afternoon when we came to this halting place. we had no reason to complain of our reception, for the man who appeared to be the leader of the company came out even before we were ready to enter the inclosure, and said, while john and zeba were driving the cattle to what seemed good pasturage, that it would be better for us if we herded the stock inside the fort. this caused me some surprise, for since early morning the air had been so calm that a feather would not have been blown from a tree top, and the weather was warm and sultry, giving promise of discomfort if one were shut within the four walls of the fort. i fancy even father was astonished because the man invited us inside when it was almost suffocatingly hot on the open prairie. seeing that we hesitated, the leader of the small garrison pointed toward the west, where could be seen a few low-hanging, sluggish clouds drifting slowly here and there, while at the same time i thought i saw a yellow smudge low down on the northern horizon. [illustration] "it's a norther," the man said as if believing he had explained matters sufficiently. when father still hesitated, he added, "your cattle will be stampeded when the wind comes, unless you have them corralled, and there is not time for you to get the wagons in position." i did not understand even then, for i had never been told anything whatsoever regarding these strange storms which are called "northers" by texans, but i noticed that father ran at full speed to give orders for john and zeba to turn the cattle into the fort, and as he went he shouted for me to herd the sheep within the inclosure. the man who had bidden us welcome aided me in the task, and more than that, for when the sheep were snugly inside, he ran back to tell the drivers of the wagons to get their mules unhooked and in a safe place before the wind came. a dry "norther" we were hardly more than thus housed before a distant roaring could be heard, not unlike thunder, and in a short time the wind was upon us in a perfect hurricane, cold as icy water. [illustration] at one instant the perspiration had been running down my face because of the exertion of hurrying the sheep and mules into the fort, and in the next i felt as if i had taken a plunge into a bank of snow. my teeth chattered as i followed the mexicans, who were running into one of the buildings, and i noticed, as i went at full speed, that the mules and the cattle had turned tail to the storm of wind, standing with lowered heads, as such beasts are wont to do during a tempest. there was no rain, but a sort of mist hung in the air, which soon gave way to a blue haze, and i fancied it had a peculiar odor, like the smoke from burning straw. i paid no great attention to it at the time, however, so eager was i to come to the heat of the fire, which had been speedily built in that hut to which the mexicans fled for refuge. it was while i stood there striving to get some comfort from the cheery blaze, that the leader of the company came into the room. joining me at the fireplace, and knowing of course by this time that i was having my first experience with a texan "norther," he explained to me the peculiarity of these storms, which, as i found out later, are frequent in these regions. two kinds of "northers" the texans divide the storms into what they call a wet, and a dry, norther. wet northers are those which bring rain or sleet, and usually last twelve or fourteen hours without doing any particular damage, ending with a mild north or northwest wind. but the stock is likely to suffer from the storms, because of being wet with the sleet or rain, and then thoroughly chilled by that ice-cold wind. the dry norther i have already told about. our host explained to me that it might continue fiercely for from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, then gradually die away in from twelve to eighteen hours, during all of which time that penetrating cold would continue. i soon came to understand that the man had told no more than the truth, for father said, when he finally came where i was, that we should probably have to remain penned up in fort towson two or three days, and advised me to make myself as comfortable as possible, for we were welcome to the use of any of the buildings. the only way in which i could follow this advice was to hug the fire as closely as possible, for whenever i moved a short distance away, that chilling air would envelop me as if with a mantle of ice, and i thought to myself more than once, that if i were to be caught out on the prairie herding a flock of sheep when one of these northers came up, i might freeze to death. i did, however, venture away from the heat long enough to make certain that my mother was comfortable. there were two other women in the fort, one a mexican who appeared to be a sort of servant, and the other the wife of that man who had extended to us the hospitality of the place. with these two my mother remained nearly forty hours, when the wind subsided and the air grew balmy once more. [illustration] i remained the greater portion of that time in the hut where i first sought refuge. the hours were not wasted, for i had a strong desire to learn something regarding this country in which we were to make our new home. how turkeys kill rattlesnakes [illustration] one of the mexicans was a most talkative kind of person, and seeing that i was a tenderfoot from the cotton country, who had never before ventured away from home, undertook to amuse me by telling stories, some of which i believed to be true, while others appeared extremely doubtful. when he made the statement that wild turkeys killed rattlesnakes, i set it down that he was drawing the long bow for my especial benefit; but before i had lived in texas six months i saw it done, and truly it was interesting. he said that he had seen, more than once, twelve or fifteen big gobblers dancing around in a circle, as if they were fighting. they gave no attention to him when he crept up quite near to them, and there saw in the midst of this circle a large rattlesnake, actually struggling for his life. the gobblers, one after the other, as if it had all been arranged beforehand, would spring high into the air and come down upon the snake, taking care not to get too near his head, and would strike him with one of their wings such a blow that the noise could be heard some distance away. near by, as if they had no interest in what was going on, a flock of turkey hens might be feeding. as i have said, at that time i set it down as a fable, but more than once since then i have witnessed almost exactly such a fight, and never have i failed to see the rattlesnake killed. deer and rattlesnakes another way of killing rattlesnakes, which the mexican told about, was employed by deer, which, as we all know, will attack a snake whenever they come across one. he said that whenever a rattlesnake sees a deer coming, he seems to have a pretty good idea of what is in store for him, and at once loses courage. the snake coils himself up tightly, hiding his head beneath his body, as if understanding that it is of no use to struggle, and that he might better submit to martyrdom. [illustration] the deer jumps up into the air, bringing all four feet together, and comes down with his sharp hoofs upon the coiled snake, cutting and mangling him until there is no longer any life in his long body. i have never seen anything of the kind; but father says that he has heard of such killings again and again, and has no doubt whatsoever as to the truth of the story. before the storm cleared away, but when the wind had so far subsided that one might venture out without fear of freezing to death, a big wagon train came up toward the fort, evidently expecting to pass the night there. then for the first time i saw those people who freight goods from the missouri river down into texas and mexico form with their wagons what they call a corral. it was to me something well worth watching, even though i might have been more comfortable inside the building in front of a blazing fire. making a corral of wagons the train was made up of heavy wagons, each drawn by four yoke of cattle. when the first came up in front of the fort, the driver turned his team at an angle with the trail, bringing the oxen away from the fort and the rear end of the wagon toward it. the second wagon was wheeled around within a short distance of the first, the intention of the teamsters being to halt the heavy carts in such positions that when all had arrived a circle would be formed, within which the cattle could be kept. on that side nearest the fort a passage between two of the wagons, five or six feet in width, was left open through which the oxen could be driven after they had been unyoked. as soon as the cattle had been taken to where they might feed, heavy ropes were stretched across the opening, so that the four mules which had been driven by the owners of the train were actually fenced in, and there was no need either to hobble or to make them fast with a picket line, for they could not make their way out between the wagons. [illustration] it was all done in a way which showed that these people had been accustomed to making camp quickly so that they would have a place where they might corral the stock, and stand some chance of defending themselves against indians. it was this precaution on the part of the teamsters which gave me yet more reason than i had on meeting the comanches to understand that in this country there were many chances that we might be called upon to battle for our lives. one of the drivers told me that, on the march, when a norther springs up, they always make a corral in this fashion, forming it sufficiently large to herd all the cattle within the circle. if they are not sharply looked after, the animals will take to their heels as if frightened out of their wits. therefore people who are accustomed to such sudden changes in the weather are ever on the lookout lest their cattle be left where they may not readily be bunched. oxen will become wilder through fear of a norther than they can be made through the shrieking and yelling of indians who are trying to stampede them. on the trail once more on the second morning after our arrival at fort towson we set off once more, father and mother leading the way in the small mule cart, and i following behind the three wagons, while john and zeba brought up the rear with the cattle, which, having had a welcome rest at the fort, were now traveling at a reasonably rapid pace, so fast, in fact, that gyp and i had to urge the sheep along at their best speed lest we be overrun. at the end of the first day's journey father told me that we had crossed over the border line of the republic, and were then in texas. this was pleasing news, because the long journey had become decidedly wearisome. mesquite during the day we had been traveling over rolling land, which was covered with rich grass and looked not unlike what i have heard about the ocean, for we climbed over billow after billow and saw the same sea of undulating green stretched out before us, with here and there a small clump of oak or pecan trees, or thickets of mesquite. [illustration] mesquite, of which there is so much in texas, sometimes grows to the height of thirty or forty feet, but as a rule it is found as bushes no more than five or six feet high. it bears a pod something like a bean, which, before ripening is soft and exceedingly sweet, and so very pleasant to the taste that white people as well as indians gather it as fruit. the wood of the mesquite, which may be found reasonably large in size, and which is of a brown or red color when polished, but exceedingly hard to work, is valuable for the underpinnings of houses, for fence posts, and even for furniture. [illustration] the next morning after we had crossed the texas line we came upon the very thing in which i had the greatest interest, a sheep ranch, and i urged father to halt there for an hour or more that i might see how the animals were cared for here in this country, as compared with our manner of feeding and housing them in mississippi. a texas sheep ranch save for the house in which the shepherds live, i saw very little in the way of buildings for sheltering the stock. there were immediately around the dwelling (which, by the way was made partly of sun-dried brick and partly of mesquite wood) twenty or thirty small sheep pens, with cribs inside formed of rails loosely laid together, the whole looking as if some indolent person had decided to start in the sheep-raising business with as little labor as possible. the only person we could see on the ranch was a man who acted as cook. fortunately for me, he appeared more than willing to answer the many questions i was eager to ask. in the first place, he told me, as others had, that the northern part of texas was not adapted to sheep raising in comparison with the western, or the panhandle, section, but that the owners of the ranch were making a very profitable business out of it just at that time. they had four herders for about five thousand sheep. each herder had a dog, and with his dog he remained out on the range month after month, being allowed so many lambs or sheep every thirty days for his own food. the two were supplied by the cook with the other things they might need, such as flour, a bit of bacon, and salt. the wages paid at that time were only twenty dollars a month. the profits from sheep raising the cook had some marvelous stories to tell of the money that might be made in texas by sheep raising, and among them was this:-- [illustration] a man for whom he worked had a flock of fifteen hundred sheep, which he let out to a herder on shares. he gave the herder one quarter of the wool, and one quarter of the increase in lambs; he also furnished the salt, the sheep dip, and, of course, the herder's food. here are the figures which the cook showed me set down in a greasy pocket book of his, and which he declared were absolutely true. the owner received for the wool, after the herder had taken his share, eight hundred dollars; the increase in lambs was eight hundred, which at even a dollar and a half amounted to twelve hundred dollars. of this last one fourth went to the herder, leaving nine hundred dollars for the increase. thus the owner of the sheep received as a net profit from a flock of only fifteen hundred sheep seventeen hundred dollars, which is almost as well as he could have done in mississippi. even though i had not been bent on sheep raising before we entered texas, that story alone would have been sufficient to excite my desire to engage in it. it is true my twelve sheep would make a sorry showing by the side of fifteen hundred, but yet i was only twelve years old, and, as i had said to myself again and again, fortune must go against me exceedingly hard if by the time i had come to manhood i could not show more than fifteen hundred, even though the beginning had been so small. father's land claim after seeing that sheep ranch and hearing the stories told of the money that might be made in the business, i was more eager than ever to come to that claim which father had staked out, so i might get my share of the flock in good condition while we were building our home, and there was no portion of the journey that seemed so long and so wearisome to me as the eight and forty hours after we left the ranch. then we came to the location of our new home, and had it not been for that experience with the dry norther, i would have said that in such a spot a lad might live until he was gray-headed, with never a desire to leave. spanish measurements the claim was located, as i have said, on the west fork of the trinity river, but it must not be supposed that our land ran any very great distance along the stream, for the laws of texas regarding the taking up of a homestead claim prohibited a man from occupying on the river bank more than a certain distance, that is to say, he could have one spanish vara to each acre in a survey of three hundred and twenty acres, and three fourths of a vara per acre for all other surveys. you may be certain my father had taken all the land adjoining the stream which the law allowed him, and i was well pleased that we had such a large share of river frontage. i was wholly ignorant about spanish measurements at the time we arrived, but since then i have fixed the tables in my head fairly well. a vara is a little over thirty-three inches; a labor is about one hundred and seventy-seven acres. of course we reckoned our boundaries in american measurements, but in all our relations with the mexicans it was necessary to know of what we were speaking. the chaparral cock father's claim was in a valley where was a large motte, or grove, of pecan trees. as we came up to the place a bird called a chaparral cock looked down on me with what i fancied was a note of welcome. it seemed to me a happy omen that the little fellow should have uttered his cry at the very moment my eyes rested upon him. [illustration] his head was cocked on one side, and his black, beady eyes twinkled in a most kindly fashion, so that i hailed him as a friend and vowed that neither he nor any of his family should come to harm through me unless it might be that we were sorely pressed for food. but it did not appear to me probable we should ever be put to such straits as that of killing a bird who thus made us welcome. father had already decided upon the location of the house, which was to be just south of the pecan trees, which would shelter us from those icy northers. the three wagons and the two-mule cart were therefore drawn up side by side at the very spot where he intended to build the dwelling, so that we might use them for lodgings until we had a better place. our first night on the trinity the live stock were turned out that night to wander as they would. we had no fear of their straying, for since leaving fort towson all the animals had been pushed forward at their best pace, and every one was sufficiently weary to remain near at hand. [illustration] before darkness had come we learned that the little chaparral cock was not the only neighbor we were to have in our new home, for there came from the distance what sounded like screams of pain, and sharp, yelping barks. the hair stood up on gyp's back, and he bared his teeth as if ready for a most desperate struggle, while i took good care to keep him close beside me as i tumbled into the two-mule cart for my rifle, not knowing what danger threatened us. then father laughed heartily and told me that the dismal, blood-curdling noises which i heard came from a pack of coyotes, or wolves, howling, perhaps in expectation of getting supper. he predicted that we would soon become accustomed to such disagreeable noises, for there was little doubt but that these beasts would remain our neighbors until we could kill them off, or, at least, make them afraid of venturing near our clearing. a large part of the goods was thrown out of the wagons that we might spread our beds in comfort, for it was expected that we should live under the canvas coverings until we had built our house; the first work necessary was the setting up of some kind of shanty to serve as a cook room. that night, however, a fire was built in the open, and over it mother prepared the evening meal while father and i milked the cows. with smoking hot corn bread, fried bacon, bacon fat in which to dip the bread, and plenty of fresh milk, we had such a meal as tired emigrants could fully appreciate. standing guard if i imagined that all of us were to lie down in the wagons and take our rest on this first night after arriving at the trinity, i was very much mistaken. father made me forget all about sleep and rest, when he said that unless we kept sharp watch against the coyotes we were likely to lose several sheep before morning, and that it was necessary that at least two of us stand guard throughout the night. [illustration] if only the oxen or the mules had been in danger, perhaps i would not have been so eager to shoulder my rifle and, in company with zeba, tramp around and around the animals until midnight. as it was, however, i did my duty faithfully, and when the night was half spent, father came out with john to relieve us. i was so weary that when i crawled into one of the wagons on to the soft feather bed, it seemed to me as if my legs would drop from my body, and my eyes were so heavy with slumber that it was only by the greatest exertion i could keep them open. [illustration] when next i was conscious of my surroundings, the rising sun was sending long yellow shafts of light beneath the canvas covering of the wagon; the little chaparral cock was calling out from the pecan motte near at hand, as if to assure me he still stood my friend; while far away could be heard the shrieks, yelps, and barks of the cowardly wolves which had been sneaking around our flock of sheep all night. a turkey buzzard i came out of the wagon with a bound, determined that from this on until i had my flock of five thousand sheep, there should be no dallying on my part. [illustration] as i started toward the stream for a morning bath, a big black shadow came between me and the sun. looking up, i saw for the first time a turkey buzzard, his black coat and red crest showing vividly against the sky as he flapped lazily in front of me to alight in the near vicinity of the chaparral cock. i was so superstitious as to believe for the moment that the sudden appearance of this disagreeable-looking bird at the very moment when the little cock was bidding me good morning, threatened disaster to our scheme of making a home and to my plan of raising sheep. with the air fresh and bracing, the sunlight flooding everything with gold, and even with the dismal shrieks and yelps in the distance, it would have been a pretty poor kind of fellow who could have remained long disheartened, simply because a grumbling old turkey buzzard chanced to fly in front of him. the stream by the side of which i hoped to live for many a long year was not deep at this season, but clear as crystal, and just cool enough to give me the sensation of being keenly alive when i plunged in head foremost. i floundered about until i heard mother calling for me to hurry while the corn bread was hot, lest i lose my share, for both she and father were ravenously hungry. while we ate we decided where the cook camp should be put up and how we would care for the cattle, the sheep, and the mules while we were building our house. in fact, very many plans were laid during those ten or fifteen minutes, some of which were carried out at once. plans for building a house as for the cook shanty, we were not inclined to spend very much time over it. simply a shelter from the dew and the sun, where mother might be screened from the wind, so she could use the cookstove we had brought with us, was all we needed. [illustration] father intended to build a house of lumber, even though at that time he knew that he would be forced to pay anywhere from twenty to thirty dollars a thousand feet for cheap boards, and then haul them no less than two hundred miles. after he had told me about the lumber i asked in wonder and surprise if he counted on spending so much money, when we might build a house as the mexicans do, of adobe brick, with no more timber in it than would serve to hold up a roof of mud. he laughingly replied that when we had made a saw pit, he would show me how we might get out our own building material, and said that i was to have a hand in the manufacture, for he thought i could do my share of the sawing when i was not looking after the cattle or the sheep. before leaving home he had made arrangements to keep with us the three negroes whom we had hired in bolivar county, until we were fairly settled. therefore we had seven pairs of hands in this house building, which should put the work along in reasonably rapid fashion, even though five of the laborers were not skilled. we spent no more time at breakfast than was necessary for eating and for roughly sketching out the plans for the day's work. after this each set about his task. i drove the sheep a short distance away toward the farther end of the valley, where they could conveniently get at the water and yet find rich pasturage; john and zeba picketed out the mules; and father with the three negroes rounded up the cattle. the cook shanty this done, we set about making a shanty by digging to the depth of two or three feet a space about three yards wide and four yards long, around the sides of which we set branches of pecan trees. we planted poles at the four corners so that we could use the wagon covers for walls and roof. when this rudest kind of rude building was so far finished that it would screen us from the wind, we set up the cookstove, and mother began what in bolivar county she would have called her regular saturday's baking. after this we put on a roof of canvas, pinning the whole down as best we might with mesquite bushes, until we had a shed which would serve, but which was most crude looking. although there was nothing on which we could pride ourselves in this first building, it had occupied us nearly the entire day, and i had no more than an hour in which to rest my weary limbs before it was necessary to stand guard over the sheep, lest the wolves carry off the beginnings of my flock. it was during this night, when it cost not only great effort, but real pain, to keep continually on the move lest i fall asleep, that i decided that at the very first opportunity i would build a corral. while our flock was so small, it would not be a very great task to build a pen sufficiently large to hold the animals together, and at the same time shut out the wolves. there were enough mesquite bushes, or trees, to provide me with the necessary material, and i decided upon the place where i would build a pen, figuring in my mind how the work could be best done. [illustration] therefore, when father relieved me at midnight, i had in my mind's eye the first sheep pen put up on the west fork of the trinity, and already in imagination was on the high road to prosperity. a storm of rain when another morning came, my dreams of what the future might bring me had become decidedly cloudy, for the rain was falling, not furiously, as in the case of a norther or a short-lived tempest, but with a steady downfall which told of a long spell of disagreeable weather, and i was not the only member of our party to come out from the beds in the wagons looking disheartened, and uncomfortably damp. [illustration] at our old home in bolivar county the first sound in the morning which usually broke upon my ear was that of mother's singing as she prepared breakfast. on this day she was in our cook house, but working in silence. so, forgetting my own discomfort in the fear that something might have gone wrong with her, i asked why i had not heard her morning song. in reply she pointed first to the heavens, and then to our stock of household belongings, which were strewn here and there where they had been taken from the wagons. to give her cheer, i tried to laugh, saying there was little among our goods which would come to harm because of the rain, and such as might be injured i would quickly get under cover. she replied in an injured tone that father had told her there were few rainstorms in texas during the year, save when a norther raged. a day of discomfort i ventured to jest with her, by saying most likely it had been arranged for our especial benefit, as we were newcomers in the country and needed to be introduced to all varieties of climate. the light words failed to bring a smile to her lips. so, without loss of time, i set about carrying such of our belongings as might be injured by the rain to the shelter of the wagons, and had hardly more than begun the task when father returned, his face quite as gloomy as mother's. he tried to apologize for this sort of weather, and began by saying that from all he had learned during his first visit there was little danger that we should be visited by a very long storm. even the negroes were out of humor, and although the morning was not cold, all were shivering, and looked as if they had been taking a bath in the stream. i asked zeba what had happened. in sulky tones he told me that while he had been rounding up the cattle and bunching them at the upper end of the valley, so that they would not stray too far on the prairie, he had been treated to a veritable shower bath from the moisture on the mesquite bushes and the pecan trees. [illustration] thinking of the old home the chaparral cock was silent. even the turkey buzzard had forsaken the pecan motte. the mules, which i could see in the distance, were hanging their long ears dejectedly, and the cattle in a most forlorn manner stood humped up with their heads away from the wind. only the sheep grazed with seeming contentment. [illustration] when i went into the cook camp, in order to get my breakfast, i was thinking of the old plantation in bolivar county, where, when it rained, we had good shelter instead of being homeless in the wilderness, as one might say. and surely we were in a wilderness, there on the banks of the trinity, exposed to all the downpour, save when we crawled into one of the wagons to shelter ourselves while mother continued her work. there is no need that i should say the breakfast was inviting, for my mother could cook the meanest of food in such a manner that it would appeal to one's appetite, yet we ate as if it were a duty rather than a pleasure to break our fast after so much watching. when the meal was ended, father set the negroes to gathering up the remainder of our goods that might be injured by dampness, and i, rather than remain idle when there was so much work to be done, took part in the task, until we had nearly everything sheltered. the only places of refuge against the storm were the miserable shanty we had put up so hastily and the small two-mule wagon in which father and mother had ridden. we were a mournful-looking company of emigrants, when, the last of the goods having been stowed away, we sat under one of the wagon bodies, while mother continued to work in the shanty regardless of the rain which came in through a hundred crevices. waiting for the sun the negroes gathered about father and me, in order to take advantage of the shelter afforded by the wagon. we remained silent a full ten minutes before father strove to cheer our spirits by suggesting that a storm at this season of the year could not last very many hours, and that by the following morning we should be rejoicing in the heat and the brightness of the sun. [illustration] he was at fault in this prediction, however. during the remainder of the day we came out from the shelter now and then to make certain that the cattle, the mules, and the sheep yet remained within the valley, and then crept back once more to keep mournful silence, seldom breaking it, save when the meals were ready. the rain continued to fall steadily, and yet it was necessary we stand guard against the coyotes, who began to howl, and scream, and bark as soon as night came. no longer dreaming of making my fortune at sheep raising, i went off with zeba just before darkness covered the earth, to begin the weary march around and around our herd of cattle and flock of sheep. i was soon drenched to the skin, and wished that father had never been attacked by the texas fever. i wondered during that long, wet, disagreeable time of watching where the other newly arrived settlers had begun to make homes in texas. i knew that hundreds of families near us in bolivar county, and from kentucky and missouri, had come into this republic of texas, and it seemed, as i thought it over, most singular that we had failed to meet with any of them. the storm, the darkness, and the irritating calls of the coyotes had so worked upon my mind that i came to believe that all the stories we had heard of people who were to make homes in this new country had been false. it seemed to me that we were the only persons in the united states who had been so foolish as to venture across the red river with wild dreams of fertile ranches and rapidly increasing herds of cattle or flocks of sheep. too much water three days passed before we again rejoiced in the light of the sun. during that time so much discomfort and actual danger had been met that i was sick at heart at the very sound of the name of texas. before the end of the second day we had succeeded in making the cook shanty nearly waterproof, by stripping all the wagons of their covers, and pinning the canvas down over the pecan branches. this left our goods exposed to the rain, and many of our belongings were necessarily ruined, although we took little heed of that fact, if only it was possible to give mother some degree of comfort. [illustration] on the morning of the third day the valley was dotted here and there with pools of water, showing that the soil had drunk its fill and refused to take in more. in order to move about in the valley, it was necessary at times to wade ankle-deep. the result was that father and i, as well as the negroes, were forced to wear garments saturated with water, since it would have been useless to put on dry clothes, for after an hour of tramping to and fro they would have been in the same wet condition. yet we had no thought of real danger. there was in our minds simply the painful idea that we must endure what could not be avoided; we never dreamed that worse was to come. the stream rising just before time for dinner on the third day i noticed that the sheep were making their way rapidly up out of the valley, and, fearing lest they might stray so far that it would be impossible to herd them before nightfall, i followed, leaving father and the negroes crouching under one of the wagon bodies. [illustration] to my surprise, when i had walked a few yards from where we were encamped, i found the water in many of the pools nearly ankle-deep, and saw that the western side of the valley, that part farthest from the stream, was literally flooded. strange as it may seem, neither father nor i had given any particular heed to the rising of the stream. there was in our minds, dimly perhaps, an idea that the amount of water had increased during this long storm, and we were not disquieted on seeing it come up to the height of the banks; but now, being warned by the depth of water in the valley, i quite forgot the sheep for an instant, and ran back to where i could have a full view of the river. the flood was already overlapping the banks at the northern end of the valley, a fact which accounted for the quantity of water i had found while going toward the sheep, and i fancied it was possible to hear, far away in the distance, a roaring noise such as a waterfall might produce. trying to save the stock heedless of the fact that my twelve sheep were stampeded, i ran swiftly along the edge of the stream toward the wagons, shouting wildly that a flood was upon us. i was yet twenty or thirty yards distant when father came out to learn why i was raising such an alarm. it needed but one glance for him to understand that we were in the gravest danger. even while i ran, it was possible for me to see the river rising, rising, until what, at the moment i set off to herd the sheep, had been comparatively dry land, was being flooded so rapidly that before i had gained the wagons, they were standing a full inch deep in the water. [illustration] father ran hurriedly, with a look of alarm on his face, toward the cook shanty and shouted for mother to make all haste, to leave everything behind her, and to clamber into one of the wagons. then, turning to the negroes, he literally drove them out from their shelter, ordering them to round up the mules without delay so we might hitch them to the wagons. it was not necessary that i should be told to obey this command on the instant, even though it was not directed to me. i wheeled about, intending to turn the mules in the direction of the wagons, leaving the slaves to bring up the harness, but while doing so, i saw that we were too late by at least three or four minutes, for the mules, having already taken alarm by the rising of the water, were making their way at a quick pace up the incline which led to the higher land, following directly behind the sheep. the animals stampeded probably, if i had moved more cautiously, i might have circled around them, and thus checked their flight until the negroes could come up; but i was so thoroughly alarmed by the rapid rise of the water and the ominous roaring in the distance, that i set off at full speed directly toward the animals, and in a twinkling they broke into a gallop, stampeding the sheep by plunging among them. as if this was not sufficient disaster, the cattle, which had been feeding fully a mile farther down the valley, now wheeled suddenly about in alarm, and set off over the ridge, bellowing with fear, their tails swinging high in the air. so unreasoning was i in the sudden fright which had come upon me, that i failed to realize it would be useless to pursue any of our live stock, until father shouted for me to turn back without loss of time. his voice, even though he was no more than two hundred yards away, came dimly to my ears because of the increasing roar in the distance, which sounded more and more threatening each instant. [illustration] when i gathered my wits about me sufficiently to obey the command, i saw that he, with the negroes, was striving desperately to haul one of the heavy wagons from the bank of the stream; but so sodden with water was the earth that the wheels sank into the soft surface to the depth of two or three inches, and, struggle as they might, it could not be moved a single pace. saving our own lives [illustration] "gather up the spare clothing, and take your mother with you!" father shouted as i came up to where the black men were standing dumbly by the side of the wagon they had so vainly attempted to haul. i cried out dully, grown stupid with fear, asking where i should go with mother; but even while speaking, i had sufficient common sense remaining to pull out from among our belongings as many water-soaked garments as i could get my hands on. "go to the high land!" father shouted, and literally dragged mother out from her seat in the wagon, where she had been crouching since the water flooded the cook camp. she had her wits about her sufficiently to understand what father would have us do. calling on me to follow, she took from my arms a portion of the burden and set off straight across that increasing flood of water in the direction taken by the animals. she realized that they, prompted by instinct, would lead the way to the highest point of land. thus we two, mother and i, abandoned father and all our belongings, and it surely seemed as if we were leaving him to a terrible fate. i would have come to a full stop in order to urge him to follow us, but mother called out that i should not slacken pace. she said that he knew better than we what should be done, and that he would follow without loss of time. it seemed to me that we had no sooner gained the top of the bank, and from there the highest point of one of the prairie hills, when, looking around, i saw father and the negroes coming at full speed, as if fleeing from death itself. and this really was the case, as i saw a few seconds later. i would have run toward the edge of the valley in the hope of helping them, but mother held me back. a raging torrent [illustration] the roar of the coming flood was deafening. father and the slaves were yet clambering up the side of the valley when i saw, coming down the channel of the river, a raging torrent which bore on its surface trunks of trees such as would have dealt death to any one who might have been in their line of advance. on the waters were fragments of wood, bunches of mesquite bushes, and i fancied now and then the body of an ox; but it was all a scene of confusion, of noise, and of menace. during perhaps ten seconds i felt certain father would be swept away by the raging stream which was filling the valley. the torrent swelled until the crest of the muddy waves swept against zeba's legs, for he was the last of that little company struggling to save his life. not one moment too soon did father and the negroes gain the high land. they were hardly in safety when all our valley was filled with water, and i knew that beneath the flood was everything we owned in the world save the live stock. father came swiftly on until he stood by mother's side, clasping both her hands. but he spoke not a word, and i realized that we had come from bolivar county with all our belongings only to have them swept away, and that we were destitute. as i saw a huge pecan tree, tossing and rolling on the brown waves, i asked myself if such a monster could be thrown about like a straw, what must become of our wagons in the valley? a time of disaster it was much like mockery to see the clouds breaking away immediately after all the mischief had been done. before we had been upon the high land ten minutes the clouds gave way here and there, until we could see a glint of the sun. the rain ceased falling, and he would have been a poor weather prophet indeed who could not have foretold that the long storm had come to an end; but, as i said bitterly to myself, it had brought with it the end of all our dreams. [illustration] the cattle, mules, and sheep had stampeded. far away in the distance i could see that little flock of mine, and yet farther beyond them, barely to be distinguished by the naked eye, were the cattle. the mules had disappeared entirely, and i, who was ignorant of a ranchman's work, believed for the moment that we had seen the last of every head of stock and that we could never round them up again. i looked to see father overwhelmed with sorrow, and, therefore, great was my surprise when i heard him say cheerily:-- "it is well that we had this experience early in our texan life, else the disaster might have been greater. now we know it would be in the highest degree unwise to build our home in the valley, for if the stream rises in flood once, it will again, and we might lose our lives. it will not require any great length of time for us to make good the damage that has been done." it almost vexed me that he should speak so lightly of what seemed to me a disaster which could not be repaired. when i asked how matters might possibly be worse, he replied laughingly that we were still alive, our stock would not stray so far but that we could soon herd them up, and there were many things in the wagons which would not be seriously harmed by the wetting. to this day i am inclined to believe he put the best face possible upon the matter, so that mother might not grieve, and certainly his cheery words helped us all. what was more to the purpose, the fact that he set each one some task to perform prevented us from dwelling upon the possibilities of the future. the flood subsiding the storm had cleared away like magic; within half an hour from the time our valley was flooded and the rain had ceased falling, the sun was shining brightly. the waters were no longer rising, and i did not need father to tell me they must, as a matter of course, subside quite as quickly as they had come. [illustration] already i fancied that the tide was falling and that the torrent swept past with less force. i would have stood idly watching it, but that father insisted i should go with him and the negroes to a motte of pecans a short distance away, there to set about putting up a shelter for mother's comfort. it was well we were forced to work to the utmost of our power, and so we did. when night came, mother at least had a shelter over her head. the black men and i were content to lie down anywhere beneath the mesquite bushes, and there we slept soundly as if no disaster had overtaken us. there was no need of standing guard against the wolves, for we no longer had anything save ourselves to watch over. when i expressed my fear that the wolves might kill the greater number of our sheep, father insisted that there was more than a possibility that all the flock would be found; and he promised that if any were killed during the night, he would make my loss good from his own share of the flock. a jack rabbit when i awoke the first rays of the sun were falling through the mesquite bushes fairly upon my face. a jack rabbit, his long ears flapping comically as he humped across the prairie, stopped when he was nearly opposite the motte of pecans to wonder who these people were, who had come to disturb him. this was the first object to meet my gaze, and however great might have been the sorrow in my heart, i could not have kept from laughing long and loud at the ridiculous creature. i soon saw, however, that his clownish appearance was not to be counted strongly against him, for, startled by my rising quickly, he darted away with the fleetness of a deer. i question whether, if my rifle had been at that moment in my hands ready for use, i could have done more than take aim before he was out of sight among the bushes. [illustration] then came a cheery good morning, as i interpreted it, from a chaparral cock, and i fancied it was the same fellow who had welcomed us to the valley. following this friendly morning greeting came the screaming of a bird which i afterward knew was called a killdeer. i was wondrously cheered by the sight and sounds of life around. repairing damages [illustration] then came the work of the day, the first for me being to build a fire, even though there was nothing to be cooked. it had been my duty at home in bolivar county to perform this service, and unwittingly i did it then, not remembering the fact that all our provisions were at the bottom of that brown flood. mother asked, as she came out from her poor shelter, why i thought it necessary to start a blaze. i looked dumbly back at the valley which we had left in such haste, and to my surprise saw the tops of the wagons just appearing above the surface of the water, so rapidly had the torrent subsided. father said laughingly, as if it was a matter which amused him exceedingly:-- "we will wait for breakfast until we can get a side of bacon from one of the wagons, unless you, philip, are inclined to dive beneath the water for one." it was evident we were to have little to eat during that day if we depended upon rescuing anything eatable from the flood. so i suddenly determined that i would not be outdone by father in cheerfulness and proposed that john go with me in search of the cattle. "i am thinking all of us must take a hand in that work," father said. then turning to mother, he asked if she would be willing to remain there among the pecan trees alone while we roamed the prairie in search of the cattle. it was a useless question, for my mother was a woman who always stood ready to do that which came to her hand, regardless of her own pleasure or inclination. rounding up the live stock we set off at once, hungry as we were, on what i thought would be a useless journey. i was prepared to tramp all day, if necessary, without getting sight of a single animal belonging to us, and yet, greatly to my surprise, an hour before noon we came upon the entire flock of sheep with never a one missing. they were feeding as peacefully as if they had been herded by a better shepherd than i ever claimed to be. gyp, who had kept close to my heels from the time the waters first came down upon us, now seemed to recover his spirits. for the first time since we had been forced to flee for our lives he gave vent to a series of joyful barks, running around and around the flock as if he had been ordered to do so. father proposed that gyp and i return with the flock to where mother was waiting, while he and the negroes continued in search of the cattle and mules. against this i was not inclined to make any protest, for it had worried me not a little because she was alone, although i failed to understand how any harm could come to her. [illustration] when the afternoon was about half spent, the negroes that father had hired as mule drivers came in with all our herd of oxen and cows. they reported that father, with john and zeba, had kept on having seen the mules far away in the distance, and it was reasonable to suppose they would return to us before night had set in. this they did not do, however, and mother and i were troubled because of their absence, yet we could do nothing but sit there, idly watching the sheep and gazing down now and then into the valley to mark the ebb of the waters. [illustration] the first meal after the flood half an hour before sunset, when the wagons stood out plainly in view, with the flood hardly more than up to their axles, i called upon the negroes to follow me, and we set out to look among our belongings for something to eat. after searching about we came upon a side of bacon, which looked but little the worse for its long bath, save that it was coated in a most unpleasant fashion with mud. thinking it impossible for us to find any other thing in condition for eating until after it had been well dried, we turned to the grove of pecans with our small prize. i built a fire near where mother's shelter of branches and leaves had been set up. then from the mesquite bushes i cut twigs which would serve as forks to hold the meat in front of the blaze. after this i carved the bacon with the knife from my belt, and mother broiled slice after slice, the savory odor causing me to realize how exceedingly hungry i was. we ate heartily, almost greedily. when our hunger had been partly satisfied, we sat down to await the coming of father, speculating upon his prolonged absence, until we had imagined that all sorts of evil had befallen him. waiting for father he who crosses a bridge before he comes to it, or, in other words, the man or the lad who looks into the future for trouble, proves himself to be foolish, for all the worry of mind one may suffer will not change events by so much as a hair's breadth. [illustration] if mother and i had remained there talking of this thing or of that which had happened in bolivar county, and not looking out across the prairie with the idea that harm had befallen father, then the evening might have been a pleasant one; but instead, we were almost distracted with fear, until about midnight, when the trampling of hoofs in the distance told us that the mules had been rounded up. it seemed strange to me, when father and the negroes came into camp, bringing the mules with them, that in the stampede we had not lost a single animal. every ox, cow, mule, and sheep that had been with us in the valley before the flood was now returned and herded in front of the pecan motte as peacefully as though nothing had occurred. but not far away we could hear the snarling, shrieking, and barking of the coyotes which served almost to make it seem as if that flood had been no more than a disagreeable dream. that night the hired negroes and i stood watch. father, john, and zeba had traveled so far afoot, and were so weary that i could not have the heart to rouse them when it came time for our relief from duty, and so we paced around the herds and flock until daylight. when the first rays of the sun glinted all the foliage around us with gold, it was possible for me to look down into the valley from which we had fled, and get some slight idea of the misfortune that had overtaken us. because of the weight of the wagons, and owing to the fact that they were heavily laden with farming tools and such things as would not float, they had hardly been disturbed. also, owing, i suppose, in a great degree, to their being sunk so far in the mud after the first onrush of the torrent, they had not been knocked about to any extent. recovering our goods as a matter of course everything, including the grass, was covered with mud; but the water, except here and there where it stood in small pools on the surface, had retreated to its proper place between the banks, and there was nothing to prevent us from caring for our goods. [illustration] mother cooked all that was left of the bacon, after which, with hunger still gnawing at our stomachs, we went down to set our belongings to rights, and a wearisome day it was. the harness of the mules had been swept downstream so far that we did not come upon any portion of it until the day was nearly done. therefore, we could not make any effort toward dragging the wagons to the hard ground, but were forced to carry in our hands every article which it was necessary to spread out upon the clean grass to dry. about nightfall, after having found enough harness for one team of mules, we succeeded in getting a single cart up to where mother's camp had been made. then it began to look as if we had really taken possession of this portion of texas, for all around were spread clothing, bedding, household furniture, farming tools, and this thing and that which went to make up the cargo we had brought from bolivar county. the wagon covers which had been spread over our cook camp had floated down the stream beyond the possibility of our finding them before another day. therefore, that night, my mother slept once more in her shelter of branches and leaves; father and i made a bed for ourselves in the water-soaked wagon; and the negroes, or such of them as were not on duty guarding the cattle, lay down on the ground beneath it. setting to work in good earnest from this on we had plenty with which to occupy our hands as well as our minds. there was ever the necessity of keeping the cattle rounded up, the sheep herded, and the mules from straying, and all this was the more difficult because they were now on the prairie instead of in the valley. [illustration] father was determined that his first work in this new country should be the building of a house, and very shortly after the flood subsided, i understood what he meant, when he spoke of my taking a hand in getting out the lumber. first, as a matter of course, we hauled the other wagons out of the valley, making a small corral with them near the pecan motte where we had decided to build a home. then we hunted during a full day along the banks of the river for such of our belongings as had been carried away by the flood, and found everything of value before the search was ended. two of the negroes were told off to guard the flock and the herd, either father or i keeping a sharp eye on them meanwhile, lest they should neglect their duties. after the ground plan of our house was staked out, father blazed such of the trees as he decided must be felled in order to provide us with lumber. the negroes were set at work cutting these down, while father made his preparations for that sawmill which amused me before it was finished, and caused my back and arms to ache sorely before it had fully served its purpose. sawing out lumber perhaps you may not be able to understand how we could convert the trunks of trees into lumber without a sawmill, nor did i at first; but, as i have said, i soon came to have a very clear and painful idea of how it might be done. first a deep trench eight or ten feet long, and perhaps four feet wide, was dug in the prairie near where the trees had been felled. at either end of this trench, standing perhaps three feet above the surface, was a scaffolding of small timbers. when the first tree was down and had been trimmed of its branches, all hands were called to raise it up on these two scaffolds, and there it lay, each end projecting four or five feet beyond the uprights. [illustration] directly over this, at one end, was a small, movable platform, as i may call it, constructed of the trees which could not be used for building purposes, and of such a height that he who stood upon it would be no less than three feet above the log which lay upon the scaffolding. when this was done, father brought out from our belongings a long saw, such as we of bolivar county called a crosscut. it had long teeth which were set up at wide angles, so that it would make a broad cut without being in danger of binding between the sides of the log. this saw was perhaps six feet long, and provided with a handle at each end projecting out on both sides of the blade in such a manner that one could seize it with both his hands. then i began to have a very good idea of how timber might be produced without a mill, for father, directing me to stand in the pit while he took his station on the platform above, made the first cut with the saw. after it had fairly been started in the groove i was called upon to work at the lower end of it, alternately pushing and pulling, while father did the same. thus the sharp teeth were forced through the wood, slowly to be sure, but none the less steadily, and as we cut board after board the log was pushed forward or pulled back on the scaffolding so that we might not cut into the scaffolds. you may well fancy that i was not much pleased at thus being forced to do my share in getting out material for the house. laboring in the saw pit sheep herding is none too pleasant a task; but as compared with this hand sawmill of ours it seemed like positive pleasure. i said to myself that i would never again complain of the hardships of herding a flock on no matter how large a range, because the memory of this method of working out lumber would always remain fresh in my mind. [illustration] i was not in the pit very many hours during the day. one of the negroes was called to take my place at intervals; but we could not well trust this work, rough and arduous though it was, to the black men because of their carelessness. once, when we left two of them alone while father and i helped mother with the family washing at the bank of the creek, we found that the stupid fellows, instead of sawing the board the same thickness all the way along, had made it thin in one place and thick in another, until it was practically useless for building purposes. wild cattle before we had worked out by this slow process all the lumber that would be necessary for making our home, we were surprised to find that our herd of cattle had been increased by three handsome beasts, two cows and a bull, black as coals, with glistening, long, white horns. [illustration] they suddenly appeared among our herd, causing me, who first discovered them, the greatest possible surprise. it seemed almost like some work of magic that we should have gained these fellows without raising a hand. thinking that they might be branded, as is the custom in texas, i tried to come near enough to find out, but i soon understood that i might as well have tried to make close acquaintance with the shiest antelope that ever crossed the prairie. these cattle were so wild that at the first sight of a man they would toss up their horns, bellow, and set off across the country with their tails raised high as a signal of danger, putting the very spirit of mischief into our cattle. after making two or three vain attempts to come up with them, i realized that unless i would take the chances of stampeding our whole herd, i must leave them alone. when i told father of the wonderful discovery that we had grown the richer by three cattle, he treated the matter very calmly and explained the seeming mystery by saying that we were not the only persons who had found additions to their live stock, for during his first visit to texas he had heard much concerning such cattle. during the years from to , when the mexican army was retreating, the indians ravaged the country between the nueces and the rio grande to such extent that the mexicans, owners and herdsmen, abandoned their stock ranches, leaving behind them large herds of cattle which could not be carried away save at great risk, and these beasts had since then multiplied rapidly. a disagreeable intruder the officers of the texan army had been accustomed to send mounted men into the abandoned country, driving out the cattle for the use of the army and thus supplying the troops with meat at no other expense than that of searching for it, until there were no longer large herds to be seen. now and then, however, as in our case, a ranchman would suddenly find three or four, or possibly a dozen, among his own herd. [illustration] father was not much pleased at this addition to his stock, for those black fellows were so wild, having ranged the country as they willed during eight or ten years, that they played the mischief with the tame cattle, as i had already seen. at the slightest cause of alarm, they would set off in mad flight, and thus stampede the quietest herd that was ever rounded up. "to-morrow we will shoot that bull," father said, "if it can be done without making too much trouble among our own cattle. then perhaps the cows will quiet down a bit, and find it more agreeable to behave themselves than to run races across the prairie without cause." half an hour before daylight next morning father and i, with plenty of ammunition, set off alone to do our best at cutting the wild bull out from the herd, and ending his career with a rifle ball. we left our camp, without waiting for breakfast, believing in our ignorance that the hunt would not be long; but very shortly after it began we understood that we had more of a task on our hands than had been anticipated. to get within rifle shot of the herd seemed for a long time an impossibility. no sooner would we come in sight of the animals than up would go their tails and away across the prairie all the cattle would dash as if suddenly grown wild. odd hunting then it was necessary to creep up on them, stalking the huge creatures as carefully as we might have hunted deer; but so wild were they that the least incautious movement when we were creeping through the grass, wriggling along like snakes, would provoke a snort of terror, and away the whole herd would go again. more than once i urged father to turn back, saying we might drive our own cattle entirely across the republic of texas, and finally lose them, if we continued our efforts. i pointed out to him that already we were at least five or six miles from home and had not had our breakfast; but he replied grimly that if we would save our own stock, it was necessary to put an end to the career of that black bull, who seemed possessed by the spirit of mischief, or the tame cattle might grow so wild it would be impossible to herd them. [illustration] we made our way slowly at times, and again we ran swiftly if there was no danger of being seen by the beasts, for not less than fifteen miles, when we came to a pecan grove in which we hid ourselves, with the idea of resting from the exertion of the chase. while we sat there concealed by the foliage, the very animal we were so eager to kill led the herd directly toward us. he kept on feeding leisurely twenty or thirty paces in advance of the others, and sniffing the air with each mouthful. fortunately for us the wind was blowing directly from him toward the pecan motte, and therefore he failed to scent any danger. on he came, slowly at first, as handsome a beast as i ever saw. when he had ventured thus unsuspiciously within perhaps half a rifle shot, father whispered to me that i should take careful aim, either at the bull's neck or just behind the fore shoulder, and when he gave the signal, i was to fire. it seemed to me that the two shots rang out at the same instant, for they sounded like one, and the black bull pitched forward on his knees as if struck by lightning. a second later he had rolled over dead, and the work was finished, save the walk of fifteen miles before it would be possible to satisfy our hunger. a supply of fresh meat we covered the carcass with the branches of the pecan trees as well as possible, in order to keep the wolves and the turkey buzzards away, for even though we had been here but a short time, i had learned that anything eatable left exposed on the prairie, particularly fresh meat, would soon be devoured by the noisy coyotes or those unwholesome-looking birds. then we set out on our return to the home camp, leaving the cattle to recover from the fright caused by the report of our rifles as best they might. [illustration] when we arrived, at about three o'clock in the afternoon, father set one of the negroes to harnessing two mules to the small wagon, and announced that i was to go back with a couple of the men to bring in our game, for we could not well afford to lose so much fresh meat. the day had been a long one before i found opportunity to crawl into my bed, for it was near midnight when we got back with the carcass of the bull. when i opened my eyes next morning, i remembered the saw pit, believing i must spend another day at the slow task of making boards and joists from green wood, but father was at work cutting the carcass of the bull into thin strips, while john and zeba were building a little scaffold on the prairie a short distance from mother's shelter. "jerking" beef this was the first process towards "jerking" beef, or, in other words, drying it in the sun, a method of preserving meat which i fancy has come down to us from the indians. before the morning was spent i discovered that there are more disagreeable tasks than that of pushing a crosscut saw up and then pulling it down. before all the meat had been cut into thin ribbons and hung on the scaffolding, we were covered with blood, and on the topmost branches of the pecans sat a dozen or more of those miserable turkey buzzards, awaiting an opportunity to come down and eat what was left of the carcass. it was necessary to keep as close a watch over those birds as we did over the wolves, else all our labor would have been speedily devoured. when there was an opportunity for a much-needed bath, father allowed no more than two of us to go into the stream at a time, obliging the others to remain where they might stand guard over the meat. [illustration] when night came, the ribbons of flesh were not wholly cured and we found it necessary to gather them up and store them in one of the wagons lest the dew spoil the flesh; in the morning we hung all the thin strips out again, standing over them jealously. it seemed to me just then as if all our days and nights in texas were to be spent standing guard over something. during the night we were forced to watch lest the wolves devour our sheep, and during the day we had to keep a careful eye over the turkey buzzards who seemed on the verge of starvation all the time. in addition to this labor, it was necessary to perform the regular work on the ranch, and thus it may be seen that we did not have much time for idling. searching for the cattle again the next day father sent out two of the negroes to search for our cattle, believing it would be useless for us to make any attempt at herding them until after they had had ample time to quiet down from the alarm caused by the chase and the killing of the bull. the black men were absent from the camp twenty hours before coming back with all the herd, and to have heard these negroes complain, one might have thought that they had walked a full hundred miles. according to their story they traveled a long, long distance before coming upon the herd, and then they found it extremely difficult to drive the beasts in toward the trinity river, because the two wild cows made every effort to stampede the herd whenever the negroes came in sight. perhaps i do not need to set down in detail all that we did during this first season on the trinity, but i will tell what we accomplished. our new home [illustration] first, and next to the raising of sheep, the most important matter to me was the building of the house. this we did, working at odd times when not engaged in planting, and seeing to it that never an hour was wasted, either by ourselves or by the negroes. when the work was finished, truly we had a building of which to be proud, for this new home seemed quite as fine as the one we had left in bolivar county. it was built throughout of sawed lumber; the roof was made of a double thickness of boards, and the crevices on the sides of the house covered with the first strips taken from the trunks of the trees, with the bark still remaining; but this did not, in my eyes, detract from the general appearance of the whole. perhaps it was because i had labored so hard and so long on this home of ours, that it appeared so beautiful in my sight. at all events, it was most convenient, as even mother admitted. we had one room on the front, overlooking the river, and back of that a storeroom and a kitchen, which, if not exactly fit for a king, served our purposes very well. in the loft, which of course was directly under the roof, we had our beds, mother, father, and i. just behind the building, or, i should say, on the other side of the pecan motte, was a small hut built of round logs for the two negroes. we had sent back on foot those men whom father hired to drive the teams; therefore when our house was finished and the season at an end, only john and zeba remained to aid in the labor of the ranch. planting, and building corrals we had planted no less than three acres of corn and potatoes, all of which promised a bountiful harvest, and gave token of yielding two or three times as much as we could have hoped for on the richest of the mississippi bottoms. in addition to the dwellings, we had built a large pen for the sheep, made of mesquite bushes stuck so firmly into the ground that the coyotes would not dare attempt to force a passage through. [illustration] we also had smaller pens for the sheep with lambs, perhaps a dozen or more of them; for, as you know, the mother sheep very often will not take kindly to her young, and it is necessary either to tie her up, or put her in some small inclosure with the little fellow, during two or three days, until she becomes acquainted with him and is willing to admit that he belongs to her. during the season the last work done by the negroes was the splitting of rails. with these and with the wagons, we made a corral for the mules, where they could be inclosed at night, or whenever there was promise of a norther which might stampede them. for those fierce storms came, as it seemed to me, very often. bar-o ranch as for the oxen and cows, they were still allowed to roam over the prairie. we could not well provide them with a corral, because cattle often feed at night, and must have plenty of room in which to roam; but we took good care that they were branded, father using as his mark a big letter o with a line drawn across the middle. [illustration] because of this brand i decided we would call our new home the bar-o ranch, and to-day i venture to say it is as well known in the state of texas as any other, even though we may not number our cattle by the thousands, as do the more wealthy cattle raisers. during all that season we had but two visitors, and how they chanced to stray down our way so far off the trail i was curious to learn. they were mexicans, each driving a cart of home manufacture, which was the oddest contrivance i had ever seen. an odd cart the wheels are about seven feet high, made of three pieces of plank perhaps three inches thick, the middle one being the widest, and the two outsides quite narrow, the whole being rounded into the shape of a wheel. the axle on which it is hung, for the carts are built somewhat after the fashion of a gig, is nothing more than a straight stick of timber with the ends rounded off to fit into holes cut through the center of the wheels. on this axle, fastened to it by wooden pins and strips of rawhide, is the body of the cart, formed of timbers no less than three or four inches square. the tongue, to which the oxen are yoked, is only a straight piece of heavy hickory bound to the axle with thongs and pins in the most awkward manner possible. take it all in all, it is as heavy, as ill-contrived, and as odd a vehicle as one can imagine. because of its exceeding great weight, the mexicans cannot carry very heavy loads, and, because there are no hubs to the wheels and because the owners of the carts use little or no grease, it is possible at times to hear the creaking of the huge wheels a mile or more away. [illustration] if a mexican cart is an ill-looking contrivance, then surely the yoke for the oxen fully matches it, for it is nothing more than a piece of timber, the edges rounded somewhat so they may not chafe the animals' necks, laid directly behind the horns, and lashed there firmly with thongs of rawhide. it is made fast to the tongue of the cart in the same awkward manner. it must cause the beasts much discomfort, and certainly the strongest oxen are unable to pull half as much of a load as when a yoke with a smooth bow is properly adjusted around the necks. the visitors [illustration] these mexicans, who were driving two oxen to each cart, claimed to be going to fort towson after certain goods which were to be left there for them; but i doubted the statements made, as did father, for they had their unwieldy vehicles partly filled with packages five or six feet long, wrapped in what looked like tow cloth, and we afterward learned that these were probably muskets being sent to the northern border to be sold to the indians. these strangers were decked out in most fanciful costumes, with scarf-like blankets of gaudy colors thrown over their shoulders, simply by way of ornament. they could speak only a few words of english, making their wants known mostly by gestures. they asked if they might make camp near our house. such a request was not to be refused, for they might have done as they pleased. father would not have had the heart to drive them away, for the prairie, even though staked out as a homestead, is free to all travelers. zeba's curiosity that evening zeba's curiosity, like my own, was aroused by the sight of those bundles in the carts, which seemed heavy, as could be told when the mexicans unyoked the oxen. he therefore loitered around trying to find an opportunity of learning what was inside the wrappings of tow; but before he succeeded in getting his hands on one of the packages, the mexican drove him away with threats that i fancy would have been blood-curdling had we understood the spanish language. their behavior toward zeba, who thus far had done no more than stand idly by the side of one of the carts looking in, as a negro will when his curiosity is aroused, caused father to suspect that there was something wrong with the men, and that their approaching fort towson by way of the west fork of the trinity was not an accident, but rather done by design, that they might avoid the beaten lines of travel. [illustration] therefore during the night that they remained in camp near us, both he and i stood guard, for while we had not heard very much concerning the troubles with mexicans and indians which the settlers on the western border were having, we knew the people of mexico had no good will toward us who came from the states; although why that should have been the case i have never succeeded in learning. possible treachery on thinking it over, there appears to be good reason why the natives should be the enemies of those who have settled in texas, for this republic was forcibly taken from the mexican government at the cost of much bloodshed, and it would be strange indeed if they looked upon us in a friendly manner after that. even if they had not had so much territory taken from them, the mexicans surely had good reason for unfriendliness when they remembered the battle of san jacinto, to say nothing of the other engagements which gave independence to the republic of texas. father has always held that when the comanche indians overran texas in , they were urged on by the mexicans, who hoped to get back their territory, and perhaps believed that the savages would work such ruin to the republic as to make it easily conquered. suspicious behavior under pretense of guarding against the coyotes, and preventing the cattle from straying, father and i moved here and there in the vicinity of the house during the entire night, and i took note that one or the other of those teamsters was on the alert whenever we came near them, which fact caused father's suspicions to increase rather than diminish, and we were thankful indeed when, at an early hour next morning, they took their departure. [illustration] five or six weeks later, however, when we had fairly good proof that they were carrying muskets and, perhaps, ammunition to the indians in order that an attack might be made on us settlers, father regretted that he had not demanded to know what the fellows had in their carts. when i asked him what he would have done if he had discovered that they were carrying weapons, he said most emphatically that, knowing the indians on the border were in a state of unrest, he would have taken it upon himself to stop the fellows at the point of the rifle, and would have sent me to fort towson, even though i might have been forced to go alone, in order to learn what disposition should be made of them. mother said that it was fortunate for us that we had not done any such wild thing, for if the fellows had resisted our attempts to search their carts, and resorted to weapons, then we might have come out second best, for no dependence could be put in john and zeba in event of a downright fight, for they were more cowardly than any other slaves i had ever seen. gyp's fight with a cougar gyp and i thoroughly enjoyed ourselves hunting. he was not a dog trained for game, but he had so much good sound common sense that immediately after we had treed and killed our first wildcat, he entered into the sport as if he had been always accustomed to it. gyp was more like a comrade than like a brute. with the game as abundant as it then was on the west fork of the trinity, you can be assured that he and i, after the hardest of the work had been done, and when the sheep were not needing care, had some rare sport. it was my ambition to kill what is called a mexican lion, or cougar. i knew there were several prowling around, having seen their tracks; once i came in full view of one when he was making a dash for a sheep and a lamb which had strayed some distance from the flock. [illustration] gyp and i hunted, day in and day out, without success, until one morning by accident we almost stumbled over one of the fellows. in a twinkling the cougar and the dog were fighting desperately, while i ran around and around them, fearing to shoot lest i should kill gyp, but knowing it was necessary to do something without delay. the two were rolling and leaping about, each with his teeth fastened upon the other, as you have seen two bulldogs fight, but for the life of me i could not get a fair chance to press the muzzle of my rifle against the brute's head. finding gyp was getting the worst of the battle, and forgetting the danger, i whipped out the knife which always hung at my belt. holding it between my teeth and taking advantage of the first opportunity, i seized that villainous cougar by the neck, and held him in such a grip that he was half choked and forced to loosen his hold upon the dog. this gave gyp the opportunity he wanted to fasten upon the animal's throat. in a dangerous position gyp, however, was not sufficiently strong to win the battle unaided, and i had all i could do to retain my hold upon the beast's neck, not daring for a single instant to let go with one hand in order to use the knife. consequently there i stood, clutching the back of the cougar, while gyp snarled and tore at his throat without doing much execution. it was just when i said to myself i could not retain my hold many seconds longer, and the beast might turn upon me, once my grip was slackened, that father came in sight. then, as you can fancy, the battle was speedily ended. he picked up my rifle from the ground where i had dropped it, and holding the muzzle against the brute's ear, fired with such effect that on the instant the cougar ceased to struggle. [illustration] but it was not always necessary that some other should interfere when gyp and i were waging war against the beasts that would have done injury to the flock. we killed so many coyotes before the season had come to an end that we ceased to think of it as any very great feat, and save for the fact that we always took the wolf's hide, made no more of slaying one than we did of knocking over a jack rabbit. hunting wild hogs having killed a cougar and scores upon scores of wolves, it was my desire to come across a drove of peccaries, as the wild hogs of texas and mexico are called. one day, when zeba told me he had seen a drove of fifteen or twenty near the river, i set off without delay, gyp at my heels, intending to bring back one or more that we might have a store of salt pork for the winter. little did i dream what kind of animals i was going against! we set off early in the morning, gyp and i, and it seemed as if i had traveled at least seven miles before i came upon any signs of the wild hogs. when i knew that a large number were close at hand, i began stalking them as i would a herd of deer. if i had known a little more about those vicious animals, i would have understood that at any show of enmity on my part i would bring them down upon me. in fact, this was what i really did, although unwittingly. i supposed that such game, like others, would take to their heels at the first report of the rifle, and all i might succeed in getting would be at the first shot. therefore i stole up toward the herd with the greatest caution, spending no less than an hour crawling through the mesquite bushes toward where i heard the little fellows grunting and squealing as they rooted among the decaying leaves for food. no hunter could have asked for a better shot than i had. with a single ball i killed one of the peccaries, and wounded two others in such a manner that i had no doubt but that i could quickly bring them down. i began to reload the rifle, ordering gyp to remain at my heels so he might not unduly alarm the drove. hardly had i poured in the powder and rammed it home, when like a whirlwind all that drove of hogs charged through the mesquite bushes, and in the instant i was fleeing for my life. now it may seem odd that a fellow nearly thirteen years old should run away from a drove of hogs: but let me tell you that these were no ordinary animals, as my experience taught me. they were about half the size of a full-grown hog with very sharp snouts, wicked-looking tusks protruding from either side of the mouth, and long, slim legs, which told that they were fitted for a race. treed by peccaries it is not to be supposed i gave particular heed to those characteristics while the peccaries were charging upon me, it was afterward, when i had an opportunity of seeing the dead animals at my leisure, that i noted their size and shape. [illustration] when they came at full speed toward me, with gnashing of teeth and grunts of anger, i said to myself that i would sooner be confronted by two cougars than by such a drove, and, realizing on the instant that there was little chance for me to escape by flight, i sought refuge in a small pecan tree which stood near at hand. [illustration] it was well i moved quickly, for the foremost of the drove thrust at me viciously with his tusks, tearing off the bottom of my moccasin as i climbed up the tree and strove to take my rifle with me. in an instant the hair on gyp's back stood straight up, and he braced himself as if for a battle. now despite the fact that i had had no acquaintance with peccaries, i understood at a single glance that he would have little show against their tusks, and therefore i shouted for him to go home. the last of the hogs were charging down upon us when i repeated the order, and it was fortunate indeed for gyp that he had learned to obey instantly any command i gave, although it was plain to be seen that he did not do so willingly. gyp's obedience despite my sharp words gyp stood irresolute half a minute perhaps, and i thought he was about to spring upon the foe. i shouted yet more sternly, and the good dog wheeled about in a manner which told that he highly disapproved of my forcing him to turn his back upon an enemy, and trotted away. the peccaries turned to follow him, whereupon i broke one of the stoutest branches within my reach and flung it among the drove as a challenge for them to turn their attention upon me and to give gyp an opportunity to escape. it seemed to me then that you need no more than a tone of defiance to provoke a row with peccaries, for when the branch hit the leader of the drove, he turned, with an angry grunt and snort, to face me. following his example, the remainder of the drove saw me plainly as i leaned over in full view. [illustration] if, before we left bolivar county, any one had told me i would flee for my life before a drove of hogs, and then allow myself to be held prisoner by them, i would have laughed heartily, and yet such was the case now. the vicious little animals crowded against the trunk of the tree, leaping up as if hoping to get a hold upon me, and tearing off huge pieces of the bark in their efforts. at first i was not inclined to believe the situation very serious, and said to myself that it was an opportunity to lay in as much fresh pork as we could use during the winter season. i therefore loaded my rifle leisurely and prepared to slaughter the entire drove. my carelessness i fired two shots, bringing down a hog with each bullet. then, through clumsiness or the difficulty of holding myself securely upon the small limb of the tree, the powder horn slipped from my fingers, and in an instant they had ground it to fragments. it was useless to blame myself for such a blunder, and for the moment it did not seem to be very serious, since i expected that my enemies would soon go away after learning that it was impossible to get at me. i had killed three outright, and wounded two so severely that they were lying on the ground; but of these the remainder of the drove appeared to take no notice whatsoever. their only object was to get hold of me, and before ten minutes had passed i began to understand that i was not only regularly treed, but likely to remain a prisoner until they were forced to leave me in order to seek food. [illustration] they leaped, and grunted, and snarled, at the foot of the tree until, as time wore on, i became absolutely afraid that, growing exhausted, i might fall among them and be torn to pieces. after a time i lost all desire to look at that ring of sharp tusks protruding from the red mouths which rose and swayed before me like some unearthly thing made up of many parts, and was actually grown so cowardly that i closed my eyes to shut out the sight. vicious little animals [illustration] hour after hour passed, yet those vicious little brutes at the foot of the tree seemed as excited as when they first saw me, and i made up my mind that i was in for many hours of this odd imprisonment, because it was not reasonable to suppose the hogs would soon grow so hungry as to leave me free. but for the fact that gyp was a dog who obeyed my every command, and had the good sense to understand that something serious had happened, i might have come to the end of my days there among the mesquite bushes, murdered by the peccaries i had counted on for pork. fortunately father was about two miles down the river when he saw gyp coming toward him apparently in great fright. at once he understood the situation to be extremely grave, else the dog would never have returned home without me. seizing his rifle, for we on the banks of the trinity took good care to go well armed even while working on the ranch, father ordered gyp to lead the way to where he had left me. half an hour before sunset he came so near that it was possible to hear the angry grunting of the peccaries, and understood in a twinkling what had happened. father comes to the rescue his first care was to lift gyp into a pecan twenty or thirty yards away from where i was roosting, and there the dog struggled to hold himself in the crotch of a limb while father clambered up beside him. all this while the hogs which were holding me prisoner gave no heed to the noise made by father and gyp, but continued their efforts to reach me by leaping up against the trunk of the tree until father opened fire, shouting to me as he sent a bullet among them:-- "are you safe, lad? have you been hurt?" "i am all right; but i have dropped my powder horn." then father began firing as rapidly as the rifle could be reloaded. there were seventeen in the drove i came upon; three i had killed and two i had wounded, leaving twelve very much alive and very active. father killed nine before the survivors decided that the time had come for them to beat a retreat, and when the last of the three trotted off, grunting and gnashing his teeth, i literally dropped from my perch in the pecan, as limp as though i had been ill for some time. so far as getting a supply of pork was concerned, to say nothing of the saving of my life, it was well father took a hand in the fight, for i, who knew nothing of the peculiarity of these wild hogs, would have allowed the meat to spoil. there is a gland on the back, filled with a certain disagreeable substance which will make its way through all the meat of the wild hog unless it is removed within a short time after the killing. father's first act, even before waiting to congratulate me upon my escape, or to ask how i had happened to fall into such a predicament, was to remove these glands, and not until this work had been performed did he give any attention to me. we dressed the carcasses and hung up the meat on the branches of the trees to save it from being devoured by the wolves; after which, each of us carrying a peccary on his back, we set out for the long tramp home, i promising myself sorrowfully that never again would i go out hog hunting without taking due precautions against being worsted. [illustration] i shall spend no more time telling of the hunting which gyp and i did, even though i am strongly tempted to do so; for we often had rare sport, both on the prairie and in the woods, in search of all kinds of game. and there was game in great abundance, if we cared to go sufficiently far from home. one year after our arrival, however, there came to the banks of the trinity four other families who staked out land and thus somewhat interfered with the freedom of our sport. it seemed to me, then, that the country was becoming too thickly settled, for i had to walk no more than five miles in order to reach the house of a man who had been our neighbor in bolivar county. the increase in my flock in the spring of , one year after our coming into the republic, father decided to give me all his sheep as payment for the work i had performed on the ranch. by this time our flock of seventy-two had increased to a hundred and fourteen, and we had good reason to hope that it would be doubled in numbers before another season had passed. i then turned all my attention to herding sheep, driving them far out over the prairie where the grass was richest. there, day after day, gyp and i remained, with no other covering than the sky above us, save when we spent our idle time putting up a temporary shelter here or there where we might be shielded from the too strong rays of the sun, or from the blasts of the norther. all the while my flock throve famously. it seemed to me fortunate, so far as my own enterprise was concerned, that the new settlers on the banks of the trinity had not brought with them any sheep, for they did not expect to raise such animals, having heard that the western part of the state was better adapted for the purpose. [illustration] therefore i had no fear that the scab would come among my flock, because we were not in that section where strange sheep were likely to be driven from one point to another, and just so that i kept away from where the cattle were grazing, i had the entire northern portion of texas for my own range, with no person to interfere. unrest of the indians we had heard rumors of an uprising among the indians when we came to fort towson, on our way from bolivar county. again, when the new settlers arrived, they told us that the comanches were in a state of unrest. all this promised evil for us who were living so far from a town or fortification. we had still further reason to believe that some trouble might be expected, when those two mexicans stopped at our ranch with cartloads of what were unquestionably rifles. yet we gave little heed to the news. it seemed to us that we were so far in the wilderness, beyond reach of either redskins or whites, that we would not be molested, whatever might take place, and all our efforts were bent toward improving the ranch and increasing our herds and flocks. so far as i was concerned, i thought only of the sheep. i could not understand why the savages should come where we were, because we had nothing to tempt them save our live stock. we prospered exceedingly as time wore on, and lived contentedly, hearing little or nothing from the outer world. it was as if we were in a country by ourselves, for during the two years we had been on the trinity we had had no visitors, except the two mexicans and those settlers of whom i have spoken. texas joins the union before coming into texas to live we had heard it said that the citizens of the republic were making efforts to be annexed to the united states; but father had given little heed to such talk, believing that the people of the states would hesitate lest difficulties with mexico be brought about. we knew nothing of what was going on outside our ranch, and were not counting on hearing important news. in the spring of , while i was rejoicing over the wondrous increase in my flock, and father was priding himself upon the fact that his land was growing each day more and more valuable, two mounted men drove up just at night-fall and asked for food and shelter. as we had not had any visitors for nearly two years, you cannot imagine how eager we were to grant their request, and how earnestly we strove to make them welcome. in so doing we were well repaid, for then we learned that the republic of texas had ceased to exist. the visitors told us we were living in one of the states of the union, for the act of annexation had been signed by president john tyler on the first day of march in the year , and a convention had been held later at austin to ratify the resolution. [illustration] i had brought with me from bolivar county a small american flag, but had not hoisted it because of being a citizen of the republic whose ensign contained but a single star. within five minutes after learning that texas was really a part of the union, i brought out the stars and stripes and fastened it to the topmost branches of the largest pecan tree in the motte. then i saluted it with as many charges of powder as i could afford to spend, for you must know that on the trinity at that time powder and ball were not only scarce but expensive. [illustration] my store of ammunition was nearly exhausted by such a celebration; but father promised that very soon we would drive some of the cattle and a few of the sheep to dallas, and there sell them to get sufficient money to buy the supplies which we were needing. these visitors of ours had come to spy out the land with an idea of making a settlement near our ranch, and while it was pleasant to look forward to having near neighbors, i was not pleased with the idea of being forced to take my flocks farther afield in order to find fresh pasturage, as must happen in case many people took up land in our vicinity. for mother's sake, however, i was pleased, because she was filled with delight at the idea of having someone near with whom she could visit. war with mexico with the coming of strangers, and the building of new homes near us, we began to hear more of what was being done in the outer world, and when father and zeba went down to dallas to sell a few cattle and sheep, they brought back the surprising news that the united states was at war with mexico. [illustration] we were told that the younger men of texas were volunteering as soldiers, and that much blood might be shed. by this time i was fifteen years old, and it seemed to me that it was my duty to leave home, and to abandon my plans of getting rich through sheep raising, in order to do what i could in defense of the state of which i claimed to be a citizen. [illustration] father soon gave me to understand, however, that i was not yet old enough to take up arms. he insisted that duty called me to remain where i was, and that we were doing our duty by the state so long as we remained on the ranch raising live stock, for if war was continued any length of time, cattle and sheep would be required in order to supply the army with food. i therefore gave up all thoughts of enlisting. perhaps i was the more willing to do this because of the sorrow that i should feel if forced to leave my flock, which now numbered nearly five hundred. but whenever john or zeba was at liberty to herd my flock, i frequently walked many miles in order to learn what was going on in the war. [illustration] selling wool i was the one who brought to our ranch the news that the mexicans had bombarded fort brown, may , , when major brown was killed; also word from dallas of the battle of palo alto. then we heard from monterey, and but for the fact that i had three years' shearing of wool to sell, i believe i might have enlisted despite all father could have said. it was necessary, however, that i sell this wool at a time when the prices were high, and during the two months which followed the battle of monterey i spent all my time freighting the fleeces from the ranch to dallas, using one of the big wagons with eight mules, and taking zeba with me as assistant. [illustration] when i had in my pocket the money which had been paid for the wool, it seemed as if i might really call myself a ranchman. i was so proud of my success that i almost lost sight of the fact that other young fellows, most likely some of them no older than i, were putting on the uniforms of enlisted men, and taking their places in the ranks to defend the state in which were their homes. once we heard that the comanches were on the warpath, and there were times when it seemed certain we might be attacked at any moment. then father put bar-o ranch in a state of defense. he brought from dallas a good supply of weapons, and we fitted to the windows of our house heavy shutters in which were loopholes. peace on the trinity but the lord was good to us settlers on the trinity; for he permitted no blood-craving indian to come our way. it seemed at times almost as if it was a crime for us to prosper so wondrously well, while in other parts of the state the settlers were struggling against the savages, or standing in battle array before the mexicans. indeed, i was very nearly ashamed because no harm came to us on the trinity, because our worldly goods were increasing day by day, and because bar-o ranch was rapidly becoming one of the best in the state. but for the fact that many others have told the story of how texas won her independence, how she flourished or decayed as a free republic during ten years, and how she was finally annexed to the united states, i would be glad to tell more of these things to you. they could not fail to be entertaining as well as instructive, for they show how a people with a true purpose before them overcame the many obstacles which confronted them and finally made texas what she is to-day, one of the brightest stars in the blue field of old glory. my dream fulfilled i may not have done all i might toward the settlement of this grand state, but the dream which was mine in bolivar county has at last been fulfilled. the flock which numbered twelve when i left the old home has increased to more than five thousand, and my sale of wool each year amounts to as much as that of any other ranchman within two hundred miles of us. furthermore, in addition to my sheep, i claim a full interest with father in bar-o ranch, which is in itself no mean property, and am duly thankful for all the good things of this life which have come to me. yet there is in my heart at this moment, and ever will be, a keen regret, that i entirely forgot one admonition from the bible which has in these past years stood out so boldly in my mind. how much better is it to get wisdom than gold! and to get understanding is rather to be chosen than silver. it is true there were no opportunities for me when we first settled on the banks of the trinity, but if i had struggled half as hard to get wisdom as i have struggled to hold my flocks prosperous, then i could now look back with real pride upon what i have accomplished. if i had done this, there would now be no happier person in this great state than philip of texas. * * * * * books consulted in writing philip of texas baker, d. w. c.: a texas scrap book. a. s. barnes & co. bolton & barker: makers of texas. american book co. bond, octavia zollicoffer: old tales retold. smith & lamar. braman, d. e. e.: information about texas. j. b. lippincott & co. brown, john henry: history of texas. daniell, st. louis. dewees, w. b.: letter from an early settler of texas. compiled by cara cardelle. hull, . foot, henry stuart: texas and the texans. thomas cowperthwait & co. garrison, george p.: texas. houghton, mifflin and company. lubbock, francis richard: six decades in texas. gammel book co. maillard, n. doran: the history of the republic of texas. smith, elder & co. santleben, august: a texas pioneer. neale publishing co. smith, ashbel: reminiscences of the texas republic. historical society of galveston. yoakum, henderson: history of texas. redfield, new york. * * * * * james otis's colonial series calvert of maryland mary of plymouth peter of new amsterdam richard of jamestown ruth of boston stephen of philadelphia price, each, cents. for grades - don't you remember the "toby tyler" stories, which appeared some years ago in "harper's young people"? and don't you remember how impatiently boys and girls looked forward to the next issue merely because of those tales? stories like those mean something to children and make an impression. ¶ here are six new stories by the same author, james otis, the first he has ever written for schools. they are just as fascinating as his earlier ones. they are stories and yet they are histories. their viewpoint is entirely original, the story of each settlement being told by one of the children living in the colony. for this reason only such incidents as a child might notice, or learn by hearsay, are introduced--but all such incidents are, as far as possible, historical facts and together they present a delightfully graphic and comprehensive description of the daily life of the early colonists. ¶ the style in which the children tell the stories reads as charmingly as that of a fairy tale, and abounds in quaint humor and in wholesome, old-fashioned philosophy. ¶ each book is profusely illustrated with pen and ink drawings that not only add to its artistic attractiveness, but will be found a genuine aid to the child's imagination in reproducing for him realistic glimpses into a home-life of long ago. ¶ there is no better way for your pupils to learn about the beginning of our country. the books are just as well suited to libraries and home use. write us about them. american book company * * * * * historical readers by h. a. guerber story of the thirteen colonies $ . story of the great republic . story of the english . story of old france . story of modern france . story of the chosen people . story of the greeks . story of the romans . although these popular books are intended primarily for supplementary reading, they will be found quite as valuable in adding life and interest to the formal study of history. beginning with the fifth school year, they can be used with profit in any of the upper grammar grades. ¶ in these volumes the history of some of the world's peoples has taken the form of stories in which the principal events are centered about the lives of great men of all times. throughout the attempt has been made to give in simple, forceful language an authentic account of famous deeds, and to present a stirring and lifelike picture of life and customs. strictly military and political history have never been emphasized. ¶ no pains have been spared to interest boys and girls, to impart useful information, and to provide valuable lessons of patriotism, truthfulness, courage, patience, honesty, and industry, which will make them good men and women. many incidents and anecdotes, not included in larger works, are interspersed among the stories, because they are so frequently used in art and literature that familiarity with them is indispensable. the illustrations are unusually good. ¶ the author's myths of greece and rome, myths of northern lands, and legends of the middle ages, each, price $ . , present a fascinating account of those wonderful legends and tales of mythology which should be known to everyone. seventh and eighth year pupils will delight in them. american book company * * * * * james otis's pioneer series =antoine of oregon=: a story of the oregon trail. =benjamin of ohio=: a story of the settlement of marietta. =hannah of kentucky=: a story of the wilderness road. =martha of california=: a story of the california trail. =philip of texas=: a story of sheep raising in texas. =seth of colorado=: a story of the settlement of denver. * * * * * the headless horseman a strange tale of texas by captain mayne reid published by george routledge and sons, london, glasgow and new york.. this edition dated . the headless horseman, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the headless horseman, by captain mayne reid. prologue. the stag of texas, reclining in midnight lair, is startled from his slumbers by the hoofstroke of a horse. he does not forsake his covert, nor yet rise to his feet. his domain is shared by the wild steeds of the savannah, given to nocturnal straying. he only uprears his head; and, with antlers o'ertopping the tall grass, listens for a repetition of the sound. again is the hoofstroke heard, but with altered intonation. there is a ring of metal--the clinking of steel against stone. the sound, significant to the ear of the stag, causes a quick change in his air and attitude. springing clear of his couch, and bounding a score of yards across the prairie, he pauses to look back upon the disturber of his dreams. in the clear moonlight of a southern sky, he recognises the most ruthless of his enemies--man. one is approaching upon horseback. yielding to instinctive dread, he is about to resume his flight: when something in the appearance of the horseman--some unnatural seeming-- holds him transfixed to the spot. with haunches in quivering contact with the sward, and frontlet faced to the rear, he continues to gaze--his large brown eyes straining upon the intruder in a mingled expression of fear and bewilderment. what has challenged the stag to such protracted scrutiny? the horse is perfect in all its parts--a splendid steed, saddled, bridled, and otherwise completely caparisoned. in it there appears nothing amiss--nothing to produce either wonder or alarm. but the man-- the rider? ah! about him there _is_ something to cause both--something weird--something _wanting_! by heavens! it is the head! even the unreasoning animal can perceive this; and, after gazing a moment with wildered eyes--wondering what abnormal monster thus mocks its cervine intelligence--terror-stricken it continues its retreat; nor again pauses, till it has plunged through the waters of the leona, and placed the current of the stream between itself and the ghastly intruder. heedless of the affrighted deer--either of its presence, or precipitate flight--the headless horseman rides on. he, too, is going in the direction of the river. unlike the stag, he does not seem pressed for time; but advances in a slow, tranquil pace: so silent as to seem ceremonious. apparently absorbed in solemn thought, he gives free rein to his steed: permitting the animal, at intervals, to snatch a mouthful of the herbage growing by the way. nor does he, by voice or gesture, urge it impatiently onward, when the howl-bark of the prairie-wolf causes it to fling its head on high, and stand snorting in its tracks. he appears to be under the influence of some all-absorbing emotion, from which no common incident can awake him. there is no speech--not a whisper--to betray its nature. the startled stag, his own horse, the wolf, and the midnight moon, are the sole witnesses of his silent abstraction. his shoulders shrouded under a _serape_, one edge of which, flirted up by the wind, displays a portion of his figure: his limbs encased in "water-guards" of jaguar-skin: thus sufficiently sheltered against the dews of the night, or the showers of a tropical sky, he rides on--silent as the stars shining above, unconcerned as the cicada that chirrups in the grass beneath, or the prairie breeze playing with the drapery of his dress. something at length appears to rouse from his reverie, and stimulate him to greater speed--his steed, at the same time. the latter, tossing up its head, gives utterance to a joyous neigh; and, with outstretched neck, and spread nostrils, advances in a gait gradually increasing to a canter. the proximity of the river explains the altered pace. the horse halts not again, till the crystal current is surging against his flanks, and the legs of his rider are submerged knee-deep under the surface. the animal eagerly assuages its thirst; crosses to the opposite side; and, with vigorous stride, ascends the sloping bank. upon the crest occurs a pause: as if the rider tarried till his steed should shake the water from its flanks. there is a rattling of saddle-flaps, and stirrup-leathers, resembling thunder, amidst a cloud of vapour, white as the spray of a cataract. out of this self-constituted _nimbus_, the headless horseman emerges; and moves onward, as before. apparently pricked by the spur, and guided by the rein, of his rider, the horse no longer strays from the track; but steps briskly forward, as if upon a path already trodden. a treeless savannah stretches before--selvedged by the sky. outlined against the azure is seen the imperfect centaurean shape gradually dissolving in the distance, till it becomes lost to view, under the mystic gloaming of the moonlight! chapter one. the burnt prairie. on the great plain of texas, about a hundred miles southward from the old spanish town of san antonio de bejar, the noonday sun is shedding his beams from a sky of cerulean brightness. under the golden light appears a group of objects, but little in unison with the landscape around them: since they betoken the presence of human beings, in a spot where there is no sign of human habitation. the objects in question are easily identified--even at a great distance. they are waggons; each covered with its ribbed and rounded tilt of snow-white "osnaburgh." there are ten of them--scarce enough to constitute a "caravan" of traders, nor yet a "government train." they are more likely the individual property of an emigrant; who has landed upon the coast, and is wending his way to one of the late-formed settlements on the leona. slowly crawling across the savannah, it could scarce be told that they are in motion; but for their relative-position, in long serried line, indicating the order of march. the dark bodies between each two declare that the teams are attached; and that they are making progress is proved, by the retreating antelope, scared from its noonday _siesta_, and the long-shanked curlew, rising with a screech from the sward--both bird and beast wondering at the string of strange _behemoths_, thus invading their wilderness domain. elsewhere upon the prairie, no movement may be detected--either of bird or quadruped. it is the time of day when all tropical life becomes torpid, or seeks repose in the shade; man alone, stimulated by the love of gain, or the promptings of ambition, disregarding the laws of nature, and defying the fervour of the sun. so seems it with the owner of the tilted train; who, despite the relaxing influence of the fierce mid-day heat, keeps moving on. that he is an emigrant--and not one of the ordinary class--is evidenced in a variety of ways. the ten large waggons of pittsburgh build, each hauled by eight able-bodied mules; their miscellaneous contents: plenteous provisions, articles of costly furniture, even of _luxe_, live stock in the shape of coloured women and children; the groups of black and yellow bondsmen, walking alongside, or straggling foot-sore in the rear; the light travelling carriage in the lead, drawn by a span of sleek-coated kentucky mules, and driven by a black jehu, sweltering in a suit of livery; all bespeak, not a poor northern-states settler in search of a new home, but a rich southerner who has already purchased one, and is on his way to take possession of it. and this is the exact story of the train. it is the property of a planter who has landed at indianola, on the gulf of matagorda; and is now travelling overland--_en route_ for his destination. in the _cortege_ that accompanies it, riding habitually at its head, is the planter himself--woodley poindexter--a tall thin man of fifty, with a slightly sallowish complexion, and aspect proudly severe. he is simply though not inexpensively clad: in a loosely fitting frock of alpaca cloth, a waistcoat of black satin, and trousers of nankin. a shirt of finest linen shows its plaits through the opening of his vest-- its collar embraced by a piece of black ribbon; while the shoe, resting in his stirrup, is of finest tanned leather. his features are shaded by a broad-brimmed leghorn hat. two horsemen are riding alongside--one on his right, the other on the left--a stripling scarce twenty, and a young man six or seven years older. the former is his son--a youth, whose open cheerful countenance contrasts, not only with the severe aspect of his father, but with the somewhat sinister features on the other side, and which belong to his cousin. the youth is dressed in a french blouse of sky-coloured "cottonade," with trousers of the same material; a most appropriate costume for a southern climate, and which, with the panama hat upon his head, is equally becoming. the cousin, an ex-officer of volunteers, affects a military undress of dark blue cloth, with a forage cap to correspond. there is another horseman riding near, who, only on account of having a white skin--not white for all that--is entitled to description. his coarser features, and cheaper habiliments; the keel-coloured "cowhide" clutched in his right hand, and flirted with such evident skill, proclaim him the overseer--and whipper up--of the swarthy pedestrians composing the _entourage_ of the train. the travelling carriage, which is a "carriole"--a sort of cross between a jersey waggon and a barouche--has two occupants. one is a young lady of the whitest skin; the other a girl of the blackest. the former is the daughter of woodley poindexter--his only daughter. she of the sable complexion is the young lady's handmaid. the emigrating party is from the "coast" of the mississippi--from louisiana. the planter is not himself a native of this state--in other words a _creole_; but the type is exhibited in the countenance of his son--still more in that fair face, seen occasionally through the curtains of the carriole, and whose delicate features declare descent from one of those endorsed damsels--_filles a la casette_--who, more than a hundred years ago, came across the atlantic provided with proofs of their virtue--in the _casket_! a grand sugar planter of the south is woodley poindexter; one of the highest and haughtiest of his class; one of the most profuse in aristocratic hospitalities: hence the necessity of forsaking his mississippian home, and transferring himself and his "penates,"--with only a remnant of his "niggers,"--to the wilds of south-western texas. the sun is upon the meridian line, and almost in the zenith. the travellers tread upon their own shadows. enervated by the excessive heat, the white horsemen sit silently in their saddles. even the dusky pedestrians, less sensible to its influence, have ceased their garrulous "gumbo;" and, in straggling groups, shamble listlessly along in the rear of the waggons. the silence--solemn as that of a funereal procession--is interrupted only at intervals by the pistol-like crack of a whip, or the loud "wo-ha," delivered in deep baritone from the thick lips of some sable teamster. slowly the train moves on, as if groping its way. there is no regular road. the route is indicated by the wheel-marks of some vehicles that have passed before--barely conspicuous, by having crushed the culms of the shot grass. notwithstanding the slow progress, the teams are doing their best. the planter believes himself within less than twenty miles of the end of his journey. he hopes to reach it before night: hence the march continued through the mid-day heat. unexpectedly the drivers are directed to pull up, by a sign from the overseer; who has been riding a hundred yards in the advance, and who is seen to make a sudden stop--as if some obstruction had presented itself. he comes trotting back towards the train. his gestures tell of something amiss. what is it? there has been much talk about indians--of a probability of their being encountered in this quarter. can it be the red-skinned marauders? scarcely: the gestures of the overseer do not betray actual alarm. "what is it, mr sansom?" asked the planter, as the man rode up. "the grass air burnt. the prairy's been afire." "_been_ on fire! is it on fire _now_?" hurriedly inquired the owner of the waggons, with an apprehensive glance towards the travelling carriage. "where? i see no smoke!" "no, sir--no," stammered the overseer, becoming conscious that he had caused unnecessary alarm; "i didn't say it air afire now: only thet it hez been, an the hul ground air as black as the ten o' spades." "ta--tat! what of that? i suppose we can travel over a black prairie, as safely as a green one? "what nonsense of you, josh sansom, to raise such a row about nothing-- frightening people out of their senses! ho! there, you niggers! lay the leather to your teams, and let the train proceed. whip up!--whip up!" "but, captain calhoun," protested the overseer, in response to the gentleman who had reproached him in such chaste terms; "how air we to find the way?" "find the way! what are you raving about? we haven't lost it--have we?" "i'm afeerd we hev, though. the wheel-tracks ain't no longer to be seen. they're burnt out, along wi' the grass." "what matters that? i reckon we can cross a piece of scorched prairie, without wheel-marks to guide us? we'll find them again on the other side." "ye-es," naively responded the overseer, who, although a "down-easter," had been far enough west to have learnt something of frontier life; "if theer air any other side. i kedn't see it out o' the seddle--ne'er a sign o' it." "whip up, niggers! whip up!" shouted calhoun, without heeding the remark; and spurring onwards, as a sign that the order was to be obeyed. the teams are again set in motion; and, after advancing to the edge of the burnt tract, without instructions from any one, are once more brought to a stand. the white men on horseback draw together for a consultation. there is need: as all are satisfied by a single glance directed to the ground before them. far as the eye can reach the country is of one uniform colour--black as erebus. there is nothing green--not a blade of grass--not a reed nor weed! it is after the summer solstice. the ripened culms of the _gramineae_, and the stalks of the prairie flowers, have alike crumbled into dust under the devastating breath of fire. in front--on the right and left--to the utmost verge of vision extends the scene of desolation. over it the cerulean sky is changed to a darker blue; the sun, though clear of clouds, seems to scowl rather than shine--as if reciprocating the frown of the earth. the overseer has made a correct report--there is no trail visible. the action of the fire, as it raged among the ripe grass, has eliminated the impression of the wheels hitherto indicating the route. "what are we to do?" the planter himself put this inquiry, in a tone that told of a vacillating spirit. "do, uncle woodley! what else but keep straight on? the river must be on the other side? if we don't hit the crossing, to a half mile or so, we can go up, or down the bank--as the case may require." "but, cassius: if we should lose our way?" "we can't. there's but a patch of this, i suppose? if we do go a little astray, we must come out somewhere--on one side, or the other." "well, nephew, you know best: i shall be guided by you." "no fear, uncle. i've made my way out of a worse fix than this. drive on, niggers! keep straight after _me_." the ex-officer of volunteers, casting a conceited glance towards the travelling carriage--through the curtains of which appears a fair face, slightly shadowed with anxiety--gives the spur to his horse; and with confident air trots onward. a chorus of whipcracks is succeeded by the trampling of fourscore mules, mingled with the clanking of wheels against their hubs. the waggon-train is once more in motion. the mules step out with greater rapidity. the sable surface, strange to their eyes, excites them to brisker action--causing them to raise the hoof, as soon as it touches the turf. the younger animals show fear-- snorting, as they advance. in time their apprehensions become allayed; and, taking the cue from their older associates, they move on steadily as before. a mile or more is made, apparently in a direct line from the point of starting. then there is a halt. the self-appointed guide has ordered it. he has reined up his horse; and is sitting in the saddle with less show of confidence. he appears to be puzzled about the direction. the landscape--if such it may be called--has assumed a change; though not for the better. it is still sable as ever, to the verge of the horizon. but the surface is no longer a plain: it _rolls_. there are ridges--gentle undulations--with valleys between. they are not entirely treeless--though nothing that may be termed a tree is in sight. there have been such, before the fire--_algarobias, mezquites_, and others of the acacia family--standing solitary, or in copses. their light pinnate foliage has disappeared like flax before the flame. their existence is only evidenced by charred trunks, and blackened boughs. "you've lost the way, nephew?" said the planter, riding rapidly up. "no uncle--not yet. i've only stopped to have a look. it must lie in this direction--down that valley. let them drive on. we're going all right--i'll answer for it." once more in motion--adown the slope--then along the valley--then up the acclivity of another ridge--and then there is a second stoppage upon its crest. "you've lost the way, cash?" said the planter, coming up and repeating his former observation. "damned if i don't believe i have, uncle!" responded the nephew, in a tone of not very respectful mistrust. "anyhow; who the devil could find his way out of an ashpit like this? no, no!" he continued, reluctant to betray his embarrassment as the carriole came up. "i see now. we're all right yet. the river must be in this direction. come on!" on goes the guide, evidently irresolute. on follow the sable teamsters, who, despite their stolidity, do not fail to note some signs of vacillation. they can tell that they are no longer advancing in a direct line; but circuitously among the copses, and across the glades that stretch between. all are gratified by a shout from the conductor, announcing recovered confidence. in response there is a universal explosion of whipcord, with joyous exclamations. once more they are stretching their teams along a travelled road--where a half-score of wheeled vehicles must have passed before them. and not long before: the wheel-tracks are of recent impress--the hoof-prints of the animals fresh as if made within the hour. a train of waggons, not unlike their own, must have passed over the burnt prairie! like themselves, it could only be going towards the leona: perhaps some government convoy on its way to fort inge? in that case they have only to keep in the same track. the fort is on the line of their march--but a short distance beyond the point where their journey is to terminate. nothing could be more opportune. the guide, hitherto perplexed--though without acknowledging it--is at once relieved of all anxiety; and with a fresh exhibition of conceit, orders the route to be resumed. for a mile or more the waggon-tracks are followed--not in a direct line, but bending about among the skeleton copses. the countenance of cassius calhoun, for a while wearing a confident look, gradually becomes clouded. it assumes the profoundest expression of despondency, on discovering that the four-and-forty wheel-tracks he is following, have been made by ten pittsburgh waggons, and a carriole--the same that are now following him, and in whose company he has been travelling _all the way from the gulf of matagorda_! chapter two. the trail of the lazo. beyond doubt, the waggons of woodley poindexter were going over ground already traced by the tiring of their wheels. "our own tracks!" muttered calhoun on making the discovery, adding a fierce oath as he reined up. "our own tracks! what mean you, cassius? you don't say we've been travelling--" "on our own tracks. i do, uncle; that very thing. we must have made a complete circumbendibus of it. see! here's the hind hoof of my own horse, with half a shoe off; and there's the foot of the niggers. besides, i can tell the ground. that's the very hill we went down as we left our last stopping place. hang the crooked luck! we've made a couple of miles for nothing." embarrassment is no longer the only expression upon the face of the speaker. it has deepened to chagrin, with an admixture of shame. it is through him that the train is without a regular guide. one, engaged at indianola, had piloted them to their last camping place. there, in consequence of some dispute, due to the surly temper of the ex-captain of volunteers, the man had demanded his dismissal, and gone back. for this--as also for an ill-timed display of confidence in his power to conduct the march--is the planter's nephew now suffering under a sense of shame. he feels it keenly as the carriole comes up, and bright eyes become witnesses of his discomfiture. poindexter does not repeat his inquiry. that the road is lost is a fact evident to all. even the barefooted or "broganned" pedestrians have recognised their long-heeled footprints, and become aware that they are for the second time treading upon the same ground. there is a general halt, succeeded by an animated conversation among the white men. the situation is serious: the planter himself believes it to be so. he cannot that day reach the end of his journey--a thing upon which he had set his mind. that is the very least misfortune that can befall them. there are others possible, and probable. there are perils upon the burnt plain. they may be compelled to spend the night upon it, with no water for their animals. perhaps a second day and night--or longer--who can tell how long? how are they to find their way? the sun is beginning to descend; though still too high in heaven to indicate his line of declination. by waiting a while they may discover the quarters of the compass. but to what purpose? the knowledge of east, west, north, and south can avail nothing now: they have lost their _line of march_. calhoun has become cautious. he no longer volunteers to point out the path. he hesitates to repeat his pioneering experiments--after such manifest and shameful failure. a ten minutes' discussion terminates in nothing. no one can suggest a feasible plan of proceeding. no one knows how to escape from the embrace of that dark desert, which appears to cloud not only the sun and sky, but the countenances of all who enter within its limits. a flock of black vultures is seen flying afar off. they come nearer, and nearer. some alight upon the ground--others hover above the heads of the strayed travellers. is there a boding in the behaviour of the birds? another ten minutes is spent in the midst of moral and physical gloom. then, as if by a benignant mandate from heaven, does cheerfulness re-assume its sway. the cause? a horseman riding in the direction of the train! an unexpected sight: who could have looked for human being in such a place? all eyes simultaneously sparkle with joy; as if, in the approach of the horseman, they beheld the advent of a saviour! "he's coming this way, is he not?" inquired the planter, scarce confident in his failing sight. "yes, father; straight as he can ride," replied henry, lifting the hat from his head, and waving it on high: the action accompanied by a shout intended to attract the horseman. the signal was superfluous. the stranger had already sighted the halted waggons; and, riding towards them at a gallop, was soon within speaking distance. he did not draw bridle, until he had passed the train; and arrived upon the spot occupied by the planter and his party. "a mexican!" whispered henry, drawing his deduction from the habiliments of the horseman. "so much the better," replied poindexter, in the same tone of voice; "he'll be all the more likely to know the road." "not a bit of mexican about him," muttered calhoun, "excepting the rig. i'll soon see. _buenos dias, cavallero! esta v. mexicano_?" (good day, sir! are you a mexican?) "no, indeed," replied the stranger, with a protesting smile. "anything but that. i can speak to you in spanish, if you prefer it; but i dare say you will understand me better in english: which, i presume, is your native tongue?" calhoun, suspecting that he had spoken indifferent spanish, or indifferently pronounced it, refrains from making rejoinder. "_american_, sir," replied poindexter, his national pride feeling slightly piqued. then, as if fearing to offend the man from whom he intended asking a favour, he added: "yes, sir; we are all americans-- from the _southern states_." "that i can perceive by your following." an expression of contempt-- scarce perceptible--showed itself upon the countenance of the speaker, as his eye rested upon the groups of black bondsmen. "i can perceive, too," he added, "that you are strangers to prairie travelling. you have lost your way?" "we have, sir; and have very little prospect of recovering it, unless we may count upon your kindness to direct us." "not much kindness in that. by the merest chance i came upon your trail, as i was crossing the prairie. i saw you were going astray; and have ridden this way to set you right." "it is very good of you. we shall be most thankful, sir. my name is poindexter--woodley poindexter, of louisiana. i have purchased a property on the leona river, near fort inge. we were in hopes of reaching it before nightfall. can we do so?" "there is nothing to hinder you: if you follow the instructions i shall give." on saying this, the stranger rode a few paces apart; and appeared to scrutinise the country--as if to determine the direction which the travellers should take. poised conspicuously upon the crest of the ridge, horse and man presented a picture worthy of skilful delineation. a steed, such as might have been ridden by an arab sheik--blood-bay in colour--broad in counter--with limbs clean as culms of cane, and hips of elliptical outline, continued into a magnificent tail sweeping rearward like a rainbow: on his back a rider--a young man of not more than five-and-twenty--of noble form and features; habited in the picturesque costume of a mexican _ranchero_--spencer jacket of velveteen--_calzoneros_ laced along the seams--_calzoncillos_ of snow-white lawn--_botas_ of buff leather, heavily spurred at the heels-- around the waist a scarf of scarlet crape; and on his head a hat of black glaze, banded with gold bullion. picture to yourself a horseman thus habited; seated in a deep tree-saddle, of moorish shape and mexican manufacture, with housings of leather stamped in antique patterns, such as were worn by the caparisoned steeds of the conquistadores; picture to yourself such a _cavallero_, and you will have before your mind's eye a counterpart of him, upon whom the planter and his people were gazing. through the curtains of the travelling carriage he was regarded with glances that spoke of a singular sentiment. for the first time in her life, louise poindexter looked upon that--hitherto known only to her imagination--a man of heroic mould. proud might he have been, could he have guessed the interest which his presence was exciting in the breast of the young creole. he could not, and did not. he was not even aware of her existence. he had only glanced at the dust-bedaubed vehicle in passing--as one might look upon the rude incrustation of an oyster, without suspecting that a precious pearl may lie gleaming inside. "by my faith!" he declared, facing round to the owner of the waggons, "i can discover no landmarks for you to steer by. for all that, i can find the way myself. you will have to cross the leona five miles below the fort; and, as i have to go by the crossing myself, _you_ can follow the tracks of my horse. good day, gentlemen!" thus abruptly bidding adieu, he pressed the spur against the side of his steed; and started off at a gallop. an unexpected--almost uncourteous departure! so thought the planter and his people. they had no time to make observations upon it, before the stranger was seen returning towards them! in ten seconds he was again in their presence--all listening to learn what had brought him back. "i fear the tracks of my horse may prove of little service to you. the _mustangs_ have been this way, since the fire. they have made hoof-marks by the thousand. mine are shod; but, as you are not accustomed to trailing, you may not be able to distinguish them--the more so, that in these dry ashes all horse-tracks are so nearly alike." "what are we to do?" despairingly asked the planter. "i am sorry, mr poindexter, i cannot stay to conduct you, i am riding express, with a despatch for the fort. if you _should_ lose my trail, keep the sun on your right shoulders: so that your shadows may fall to the left, at an angle of about fifteen degrees to your line of march. go straight forward for about five miles. you will then come in sight of the top of a tall tree--a _cypress_. you will know it by its leaves being _in the red_. head direct for this tree. it stands on the bank of the river; and close by is the crossing." the young horseman, once more drawing up his reins, was about to ride off; when something caused him to linger. it was a pair of dark lustrous eyes--observed by him for the first time--glancing through the curtains of the travelling carriage. their owner was in shadow; but there was light enough to show that they were set in a countenance of surpassing loveliness. he perceived, moreover, that they were turned upon himself--fixed, as he fancied, in an expression that betokened interest--almost tenderness! he returned it with an involuntary glance of admiration, which he made but an awkward attempt to conceal. lest it might be mistaken for rudeness, he suddenly faced round; and once more addressed himself to the planter--who had just finished thanking him for his civility. "i am but ill deserving thanks," was his rejoinder, "thus to leave you with a chance of losing your way. but, as i've told you, my time is measured." the despatch-bearer consulted his watch--as though not a little reluctant to travel alone. "you are very kind, sir," said poindexter; "but with the directions you have given us, i think we shall be able to manage. the sun will surely show us--" "no: now i look at the sky, it will not. there are clouds looming up on the north. in an hour, the sun may be obscured--at all events, before you can get within sight of the cypress. it will not do. stay!" he continued, after a reflective pause, "i have a better plan still: _follow the trail of my lazo_!" while speaking, he had lifted the coiled rope from his saddlebow, and flung the loose end to the earth--the other being secured to a ring in the pommel. then raising his hat in graceful salutation--more than half directed towards the travelling carriage--he gave the spur to his steed; and once more bounded off over the prairie. the lazo, lengthening out, tightened over the hips of his horse; and, dragging a dozen yards behind, left a line upon the cinereous surface-- as if some slender serpent had been making its passage across the plain. "an exceedingly curious fellow!" remarked the planter, as they stood gazing after the horseman, fast becoming hidden behind a cloud of sable dust. "i ought to have asked him his name?" "an exceedingly conceited fellow, i should say," muttered calhoun; who had not failed to notice the glance sent by the stranger in the direction of the carriole, nor that which had challenged it. "as to his name, i don't think it matters much. it mightn't be his own he would give you. texas is full of such swells, who take new names when they get here--by way of improvement, if for no better reason." "come, cousin cash," protested young poindexter; "you are unjust to the stranger. he appears to be educated--in fact, a gentleman--worthy of bearing the best of names, i should say." "a gentleman! deuced unlikely: rigged out in that fanfaron fashion. i never saw a man yet, that took to a mexican dress, who wasn't a _jack_. he's one, i'll be bound." during this brief conversation, the fair occupant of the carriole was seen to bend forward; and direct a look of evident interest, after the form of the horseman fast receding from her view. to this, perhaps, might have been traced the acrimony observable in the speech of calhoun. "what is it, loo?" he inquired, riding close up to the carriage, and speaking in a voice not loud enough to be heard by the others. "you appear impatient to go forward? perhaps you'd like to ride off along with that swaggering fellow? it isn't too late: i'll lend you my horse." the young girl threw herself back upon the seat--evidently displeased, both by the speech and the tone in which it was delivered. but her displeasure, instead of expressing itself in a frown, or in the shape of an indignant rejoinder, was concealed under a guise far more galling to him who had caused it. a clear ringing laugh was the only reply vouchsafed to him. "so, so! i thought there must be something--by the way you behaved yourself in his presence. you looked as if you would have relished a _tete-a-tete_ with this showy despatch-bearer. taken with his stylish dress, i suppose? fine feathers make fine birds. his are borrowed. i may strip them off some day, along with a little of the skin that's under them." "for shame, cassius! your words are a scandal!" "'tis you should think of scandal, loo! to let your thoughts turn on a common scamp--a masquerading fellow like that! no doubt the letter carrier, employed by the officers at the fort!" "a letter carrier, you think? oh, how i should like to get love letters by such a postman!" "you had better hasten on, and tell him so. my horse is at your service." "ha! ha! ha! what a simpleton you show yourself! suppose, for jesting's sake, i _did_ have a fancy to overtake this prairie postman! it couldn't be done upon that dull steed of yours: not a bit of it! at the rate he is going, he and his blood-bay will be out of sight before you could change saddles for me. oh, no! he's not to be overtaken by me, however much i might like it; and perhaps i _might like it_!" "don't let your father hear you talk in that way." "don't let him hear _you_ talk in that way," retorted the young lady, for the first time speaking in a serious strain. "though you _are_ my cousin, and papa may think you the pink of perfection, i don't--not i! i never told you i did--did i?" a frown, evidently called forth by some unsatisfactory reflection, was the only reply to this tantalising interrogative. "you _are_ my cousin," she continued, in a tone that contrasted strangely with the levity she had already exhibited, "but you are nothing more--nothing more--captain cassius calhoun! you have no claim to be my counsellor. there is but one from whom i am in duty bound to take advice, or bear reproach. i therefore beg of you, master cash, that you will not again presume to repeat such sentiments--as those you have just favoured me with. i shall remain mistress of my own thoughts--and actions, too--till i have found a master who can control them. it is not you!" having delivered this speech, with eyes flashing--half angrily, half contemptuously--upon her cousin, the young creole once more threw herself back upon the cushions of the carriole. the closing curtains admonished the ex-officer, that further conversation was not desired. quailing under the lash of indignant innocence, he was only too happy to hear the loud "gee-on" of the teamsters, as the waggons commenced moving over the sombre surface--not more sombre than his own thoughts. chapter three. the prairie finger-post. the travellers felt no further uneasiness about the route. the snake-like trail was continuous; and so plain that a child might have followed it. it did not run in a right line, but meandering among the thickets; at times turning out of the way, in places where the ground was clear of timber. this had evidently been done with an intent to avoid obstruction to the waggons: since at each of these windings the travellers could perceive that there were breaks, or other inequalities, in the surface. "how very thoughtful of the young fellow!" remarked poindexter. "i really feel regret at not having asked for his name. if he belong to the fort, we shall see him again." "no doubt of it," assented his son. "i hope we shall." his daughter, reclining in shadow, overheard the conjectural speech, as well as the rejoinder. she said nothing; but her glance towards henry seemed to declare that her heart fondly echoed the hope. cheered by the prospect of soon terminating a toilsome journey--as also by the pleasant anticipation of beholding, before sunset, his new purchase--the planter was in one of his happiest moods. his aristocratic bosom was moved by an unusual amount of condescension, to all around him. he chatted familiarly with his overseer; stopped to crack a joke with "uncle" scipio, hobbling along on blistered heels; and encouraged "aunt" chloe in the transport of her piccaninny. "marvellous!" might the observer exclaim--misled by such exceptional interludes, so pathetically described by the scribblers in lucifer's pay--"what a fine patriarchal institution is slavery, after all! after all we have said and done to abolish it! a waste of sympathy--sheer philanthropic folly to attempt the destruction of this ancient edifice-- worthy corner-stone to a `chivalric' nation! oh, ye abolition fanatics! why do ye clamour against it? know ye not that some must suffer--must work and starve--that others may enjoy the luxury of idleness? that some must be slaves, that others may be free?" such arguments--at which a world might weep--have been of late but too often urged. woe to the man who speaks, and the nation that gives ear to them! the planter's high spirits were shared by his party, calhoun alone excepted. they were reflected in the faces of his black bondsmen, who regarded him as the source, and dispenser, of their happiness, or misery--omnipotent--next to god. they loved him less than god, and feared him more; though he was by no means a bad master--that is, _by comparison_. he did not absolutely take delight in torturing them. he liked to see them well fed and clad--their epidermis shining with the exudation of its own oil. these signs bespoke the importance of their proprietor--himself. he was satisfied to let them off with an occasional "cow-hiding"--salutary, he would assure you; and in all his "stock" there was not one black skin marked with the mutilations of vengeance--a proud boast for a mississippian slave-owner, and more than most could truthfully lay claim to. in the presence of such an exemplary owner, no wonder that the cheerfulness was universal--or that the slaves should partake of their master's joy, and give way to their garrulity. it was not destined that this joyfulness should continue to the end of their journey. it was after a time interrupted--not suddenly, nor by any fault on the part of those indulging in it, but by causes and circumstances over which they had not the slightest control. as the stranger had predicted: the sun ceased to be visible, before the cypress came in sight. there was nothing in this to cause apprehension. the line of the lazo was conspicuous as ever; and they needed no guidance from the sun: only that his cloud-eclipse produced a corresponding effect upon their spirits. "one might suppose it close upon nightfall," observed the planter, drawing out his gold repeater, and glancing at its dial; "and yet it's only three o'clock! lucky the young fellow has left us such a sure guide. but for him, we might have floundered among these ashes till sundown; perhaps have been compelled to sleep upon them." "a black bed it would be," jokingly rejoined henry, with the design of rendering the conversation more cheerful. "ugh! i should have such ugly dreams, were i to sleep upon it." "and i, too," added his sister, protruding her pretty face through the curtains, and taking a survey of the surrounding scene: "i'm sure i should dream of tartarus, and pluto, and proserpine, and--" "hya! hya! hya!" grinned the black jehu, on the box--enrolled in the plantation books as _pluto poindexter_--"de young missa dream 'bout _me_ in de mids' ob dis brack praira! golly! dat am a good joke--berry! hya! hya! hya!" "don't be too sure, all of ye," said the surly nephew, at this moment coming up, and taking part in the conversation--"don't be too sure that you won't have to make your beds upon it yet. i hope it may be no worse." "what mean you, cash?" inquired the uncle. "i mean, uncle, that that fellow's been misleading us. i won't say it for certain; but it looks ugly. we've come more than five miles--six, i should say--and where's the tree? i've examined the horizon, with a pair of as good eyes as most have got, i reckon; and there isn't such a thing in sight." "but why should the stranger have deceived us?" "ah--why? that's just it. there may be more reasons than one." "give us one, then!" challenged a silvery voice from the carriole. "we're all ears to hear it!" "you're all ears to take in everything that's told you by a stranger," sneeringly replied calhoun. "i suppose if i gave my reason, you'd be so charitable as to call it a false alarm!" "that depends on its character, master cassius. i think you might venture to try us. we scarcely expect a false alarm from a soldier, as well as traveller, of your experience." calhoun felt the taunt; and would probably have withheld the communication he had intended to make, but for poindexter himself. "come, cassius, explain yourself!" demanded the planter, in a tone of respectful authority. "you have said enough to excite something more than curiosity. for what reason should the young fellow be leading us astray?" "well, uncle," answered the ex-officer, retreating a little from his original accusation, "i haven't said for certain that he _is_; only that it looks like it." "in what way?" "well, one don't know what may happen. travelling parties as strong, and stronger than we, have been attacked on these plains, and plundered of every thing--murdered." "mercy!" exclaimed louise, in a tone of terror, more affected than real. "by indians," replied poindexter. "ah--indians, indeed! sometimes it may be; and sometimes, too, they may be whites who play at that game--not all mexican whites, neither. it only needs a bit of brown paint; a horsehair wig, with half a dozen feathers stuck into it; that, and plenty of hullabalooing. if we were to be robbed by a party of _white_ indians, it wouldn't be the first time the thing's been done. we as good as half deserve it--for our greenness, in trusting too much to a stranger." "good heavens, nephew! this is a serious accusation. do you mean to say that the despatch-rider--if he be one--is leading us into--into an ambuscade?" "no, uncle; i don't say that. i only say that such things have been done; and it's possible he _may_." "but not _probable_," emphatically interposed the voice from the carriole, in a tone tauntingly quizzical. "no!" exclaimed the stripling henry, who, although riding a few paces ahead, had overheard the conversation. "your suspicions are unjust, cousin cassius. i pronounce them a calumny. what's more, i can prove them so. look there!" the youth had reined up his horse, and was pointing to an object placed conspicuously by the side of the path; which, before speaking, he had closely scrutinised. it was a tall plant of the _columnar cactus_, whose green succulent stem had escaped scathing by the fire. it was not to the plant itself that henry poindexter directed the attention of his companions; but to a small white disc, of the form of a parallelogram, impaled upon one of its spines. no one accustomed to the usages of civilised life could mistake the "card." it was one. "hear what's written upon it!" continued the young man, riding nearer, and reading aloud the directions pencilled upon the bit of pasteboard. "the cypress in sight!" "where?" inquired poindexter. "there's a hand," rejoined henry, "with a finger pointing--no doubt in the direction of the tree." all eyes were instantly turned towards the quarter of the compass, indicated by the cipher on the card. had the sun been shining, the cypress might have been seen at the first glance. as it was, the sky--late of cerulean hue--was now of a leaden grey; and no straining of the eyes could detect anything along the horizon resembling the top of a tree. "there's nothing of the kind," asserted calhoun, with restored confidence, at the same time returning to his unworthy accusation. "it's only a dodge--another link in the chain of tricks the scamp is playing us." "you mistake, cousin cassius," replied that same voice that had so often contradicted him. "look through this lorgnette! if you haven't lost the sight of those superior eyes of yours, you'll see something _very like a tree_--a tall tree--and a cypress, too, if ever there was one in the swamps of louisiana." calhoun disdained to take the opera glass from the hands of his cousin. he knew it would convict him: for he could not suppose she was telling an untruth. poindexter availed himself of its aid; and, adjusting the focus to his failing sight, was enabled to distinguish the red-leafed cypress, topping up over the edge of the prairie. "it's true," he said: "the tree is there. the young fellow is honest: you've been wronging him, cash. i didn't think it likely he should have taken such a queer plan to make fools of us. he there! mr sansom! direct your teamsters to drive on!" calhoun, not caring to continue the conversation, nor yet remain longer in company, spitefully spurred his horse, and trotted off over the prairie. "let me look at that card, henry?" said louise, speaking to her brother in a restrained voice. "i'm curious to see the cipher that has been of such service to us. bring it away, brother: it can be of no further use where it is--now that we have sighted the tree." henry, without the slightest suspicion of his sister's motive for making the request, yielded obedience to it. releasing the piece of pasteboard from its impalement, he "chucked" it into her lap. "_maurice gerald_!" muttered the young creole, after deciphering the name upon the card. "maurice gerald!" she repeated, in apostrophic thought, as she deposited the piece of pasteboard in her bosom. "whoever you are--whence you have come--whither you are going--what you may be--_henceforth there is a fate between us_! i feel it--i know it-- sure as there's a sky above! oh! how that sky lowers! am i to take it as a type of this still untraced destiny?" chapter four. the black norther. for some seconds, after surrendering herself to the sybilline thoughts thus expressed, the young lady sate in silence--her white hands clasped across her temples, as if her whole soul was absorbed in an attempt, either to explain the past, or penetrate the future. her reverie--whatever might be its cause--was not of long duration. she was awakened from it, on hearing exclamations without--mingled with words that declared some object of apprehension. she recognised her brother's voice, speaking in tones that betokened alarm. "look, father! don't you see them?" "where, henry--where?" "yonder--behind the waggons. you see them now?" "i do--though i can't say what they are. they look like--like--" poindexter was puzzled for a simile--"i really don't know what." "waterspouts?" suggested the ex-captain, who, at sight of the strange objects, had condescended to rejoin the party around the carriole. "surely it can't be that? it's too far from the sea. i never heard of their occurring on the prairies." "they are in motion, whatever they be," said henry. "see! they keep closing, and then going apart. but for that, one might mistake them for huge obelisks of black marble!" "giants, or ghouls!" jokingly suggested calhoun; "ogres from some other world, who've taken a fancy to have a promenade on this abominable prairie!" the ex-officer was only humorous with an effort. as well as the others, he was under the influence of an uneasy feeling. and no wonder. against the northern horizon had suddenly become upreared a number of ink-coloured columns--half a score of them--unlike anything ever seen before. they were not of regular columnar form, nor fixed in any way; but constantly changing size, shape, and place--now steadfast for a time--now gliding over the charred surface like giants upon skates--anon, bending and balancing towards one another in the most fantastic figurings! it required no great effort of imagination, to fancy the titans of old, resuscitated on the prairies of texas, leading a measure after some wild carousal in the company of bacchus! in the proximity of phenomena never observed before--unearthly in their aspect--unknown to every individual of the party--it was but natural these should be inspired with alarm. and such was the fact. a sense of danger pervaded every bosom. all were impressed with a belief: that they were in the presence of some _peril of the prairies_. a general halt had been made on first observing the strange objects: the negroes on foot, as well as the teamsters, giving utterance to shouts of terror. the animals--mules as well as horses, had come instinctively to a stand--the latter neighing and trembling--the former filling the air with their shrill screams. these were not the only sounds. from the sable towers could be heard a hoarse swishing noise, that resembled the sough of a waterfall--at intervals breaking into reverberations like the roll of musketry, or the detonations of distant thunder! these noises were gradually growing louder and more distinct. the danger, whatever it might be, was drawing nearer! consternation became depicted on the countenances of the travellers, calhoun's forming no exception. the ex-officer no longer pretended levity. the eyes of all were turned towards the lowering sky, and the band of black columns that appeared coming on to crush them! at this crisis a shout, reaching their ears from the opposite side, was a source of relief--despite the unmistakable accent of alarm in which it was uttered. turning, they beheld a horseman in full gallop--riding direct towards them. the horse was black as coal: the rider of like hue, even to the skin of his face. for all that he was recognised: as the stranger, upon the trail of whose lazo they had been travelling. the perceptions of woman are quicker than those of man: the young lady within the carriole was the first to identify him. "onward!" he cried, as soon as within speaking distance. "on--on! as fast as you can drive!" "what is it?" demanded the planter, in bewildered alarm. "is there a danger?" "there is. i did not anticipate it, as i passed you. it was only after reaching the river, i saw the sure signs of it." "of what, sir?" "the _norther_." "you mean the storm of that name?" "i do." "i never heard of its being dangerous," interposed calhoun, "except to vessels at sea. it's precious cold, i know; but--" "you'll find it worse than cold, sir," interrupted the young horseman, "if you're not quick in getting out of its way. mr poindexter," he continued, turning to the planter, and speaking with impatient emphasis, "i tell you, that you and your party are in peril. a norther is not always to be dreaded; but this one--look yonder! you see those black pillars?" "we've been wondering--didn't know what to make of them." "they're nothing--only the precursors of the storm. look beyond! don't you see a coal-black cloud spreading over the sky? that's what you have to dread. i don't wish to cause you unnecessary alarm: but i tell you, there's death in yonder shadow! it's in motion, and coming this way. you have no chance to escape it, except by speed. if you do not make haste, it will be too late. in ten minutes' time you may be enveloped, and then--quick, sir, i entreat you! order your drivers to hurry forward as fast as they can! the sky--heaven itself--commands you!" the planter did not think of refusing compliance, with an appeal urged in such energetic terms. the order was given for the teams to be set in motion, and driven at top speed. terror, that inspired the animals equally with their drivers, rendered superfluous the use of the whip. the travelling carriage, with the mounted men, moved in front, as before. the stranger alone threw himself in the rear--as if to act as a guard against the threatening danger. at intervals he was observed to rein up his horse, and look back: each time by his glances betraying increased apprehension. perceiving it, the planter approached, and accosted him with the inquiry: "is there still a danger?" "i am sorry to answer you in the affirmative," said he: "i had hopes that the wind might be the other way." "wind, sir? there is none--that i can perceive." "not here. yonder it is blowing a hurricane, and this way too--direct. by heavens! it is nearing us rapidly! i doubt if we shall be able to clear the burnt track." "what is to be done?" exclaimed the planter, terrified by the announcement. "are your mules doing their best?" "they are: they could not be driven faster." "i fear we shall _be too late, then_!" as the speaker gave utterance to this gloomy conjecture, he reined round once more; and sate regarding the cloud columns--as if calculating the rate at which they were advancing. the lines, contracting around his lips, told of something more than dissatisfaction. "yes: too late!" he exclaimed, suddenly terminating his scrutiny. "they are moving faster than we--far faster. there is no hope of our escaping them!" "good god, sir! is the danger so great? can we do nothing to avoid it?" the stranger did not make immediate reply. for some seconds he remained silent, as if reflecting--his glance no longer turned towards the sky, but wandering among the waggons. "is there no chance of escape?" urged the planter, with the impatience of a man in presence of a great peril. "there is!" joyfully responded the horseman, as if some hopeful thought had at length suggested itself. "there _is a chance_. i did not think of it before. we cannot shun the storm--the danger we may. quick, mr poindexter! order your men to muffle the mules--the horses too-- otherwise the animals will be blinded, and go mad. blankets--cloaks-- anything will do. when that's done, let all seek shelter within the waggons. let the tilts be closed at the ends. i shall myself look to the travelling carriage." having delivered this chapter of instructions--which poindexter, assisted by the overseer, hastened to direct the execution of--the young horseman galloped towards the front. "madame!" said he, reining up alongside the carriole, and speaking with as much suavity as the circumstances would admit of, "you must close the curtains all round. your coachman will have to get inside; and you, gentlemen!" he continued, addressing himself to henry and calhoun--"and you, sir;" to poindexter, who had just come up. "there will be room for all. inside, i beseech you! lose no time. in a few seconds the storm will be upon us!" "and you, sir?" inquired the planter, with a show of interest in the man who was making such exertions to secure them against some yet unascertained danger. "what of yourself?" "don't waste a moment upon me. i know what's coming. it isn't the first time i have encountered it. in--in, i entreat you! you haven't a second to spare. listen to that shriek! quick, or the dust-cloud will be around us!" the planter and his son sprang together to the ground; and retreated into the travelling carriage. calhoun, refusing to dismount, remained stiffly seated in his saddle. why should _he_ skulk from a visionary danger, that did not deter a man in mexican garb? the latter turned away; as he did so, directing the overseer to get inside the nearest waggon--a direction which was obeyed with alacrity-- and, for the first time, the stranger was left free to take care of himself. quickly unfolding his _serape_--hitherto strapped across the cantle of his saddle--he flung it over the head of his horse. then, drawing the edges back, he fastened it, bag-fashion, around the animal's neck. with equal alertness he undid his scarf of china crape; and stretched it around his sombrero--fixing it in such a way, that one edge was held under the bullion band, while the other dropped down over the brim--thus forming a silken visor for his face. before finally closing it, he turned once more towards the carriole; and, to his surprise, saw calhoun still in the saddle. humanity triumphed over a feeling of incipient aversion. "once again, sir, i adjure you to get inside! if you do not you'll have cause to repent it. within ten minutes' time, you may be a dead man!" the positive emphasis with which the caution was delivered produced its effect. in the presence of mortal foeman, cassius calhoun was no coward. but there was an enemy approaching that was not mortal--not in any way understood. it was already making itself manifest, in tones that resembled thunder--in shadows that mocked the darkness of midnight. who would not have felt fear at the approach of a destroyer so declaring itself? the ex-officer was unable to resist the united warnings of earth and heaven; and, slipping out of his saddle with a show of reluctance-- intended to save appearances--he clambered into the carriage, and ensconced himself behind the closely-drawn curtains. to describe what followed is beyond the power of the pen. no eye beheld the spectacle: for none dared look upon it. even had this been possible, nothing could have been seen. in five minutes after the muffling of the mules, the train was enveloped in worse than cimmerian darkness. the opening scene can alone be depicted: for that only was observed by the travellers. one of the sable columns, moving in the advance, broke as it came in collision with the waggon-tilts. down came a shower of black dust, as if the sky had commenced raining gunpowder! it was a foretaste of what was to follow. there was a short interval of open atmosphere--hot as the inside of an oven. then succeeded puffs, and whirling gusts, of wind--cold as if projected from caves of ice, and accompanied by a noise as though all the trumpets of aeolus were announcing the advent of the storm-king! in another instant the _norther_ was around them; and the waggon train, halted on a subtropical plain, was enveloped in an atmosphere, akin to that which congeals the icebergs of the arctic ocean! nothing more was seen--nothing heard, save the whistling of the wind, or its hoarse roaring, as it thundered against the tilts of the waggons. the mules having instinctively turned stern towards it, stood silent in their traces; and the voices of the travellers, in solemn converse inside, could not be distinguished amid the howling of the hurricane. every aperture had been closed: for it was soon discovered, that to show a face from under the sheltering canvas was to court suffocation. the air was surcharged with ashes, lifted aloft from the burnt plain, and reduced, by the whirling of the wind, to an impalpable but poisonous powder. for over an hour did the atmosphere carry this cinereous cloud; during which period lasted the imprisonment of the travellers. at length a voice, speaking close by the curtains of the carriole, announced their release. "you can come forth!" said the stranger, the crape scarf thrown back above the brim of his hat. "you will still have the storm to contend against. it will last to the end of your journey; and, perhaps, for three days longer. but you have nothing further to fear. the ashes are all swept off. they've gone before you; and you're not likely to overtake them this side the rio grande." "sir!" said the planter, hastily descending the steps of the carriage, "we have to thank you for--for--" "our lives, father!" cried henry, supplying the proper words. "i hope, sir, you will favour us with your name?" "_maurice gerald_!" returned the stranger; "though, at the fort, you will find me better known as _maurice the mustanger_." "a mustanger!" scornfully muttered calhoun, but only loud enough to be heard by louise. "only a mustanger!" reflected the aristocratic poindexter, the fervour of his gratitude becoming sensibly chilled. "for guide, you will no longer need either myself, or my lazo," said the hunter of wild horses. "the cypress is in sight: keep straight towards it. after crossing, you will see the flag over the fort. you may yet reach your journey's end before night. i have no time to tarry; and must say adieu." satan himself, astride a tartarean steed, could not have looked more like the devil than did maurice the mustanger, as he separated for the second time from the planter and his party. but neither his ashy envelope, nor the announcement of his humble calling, did aught to damage him in the estimation of one, whose thoughts were already predisposed in his favour--louise poindexter. on hearing him declare his name--by presumption already known to her-- she but more tenderly cherished the bit of cardboard, chafing against her snow-white bosom; at the same time muttering in soft pensive soliloquy, heard only by herself:-- "maurice the mustanger! despite your sooty covering--despite your modest pretence--you have touched the heart of a creole maiden. _mon dieu_--_mon dieu! he is too like lucifer for me to despise him_!" chapter five. the home of the horse-hunter. where the _rio de nueces_ (river of nuts) collects its waters from a hundred tributary streams--lining the map like the limbs of a grand genealogical tree--you may look upon a land of surpassing fairness. its surface is "rolling prairie," interspersed with clumps of post-oak and pecan, here and there along the banks of the watercourses uniting into continuous groves. in some places these timbered tracts assume the aspect of the true _chapparal_--a thicket, rather than a forest--its principal growth being various kinds of acacia, associated with copaiva and creosote trees, with wild aloes, with eccentric shapes of cereus, cactus, and arborescent yucca. these spinous forms of vegetation, though repulsive to the eye of the agriculturist--as proving the utter sterility of the soil--present an attractive aspect to the botanist, or the lover of nature; especially when the cereus unfolds its huge wax-like blossoms, or the _fouquiera splendens_ overtops the surrounding shrubbery with its spike of resplendent flowers, like a red flag hanging unfolded along its staff. the whole region, however, is not of this character. there are stretches of greater fertility; where a black calcareous earth gives nourishment to trees of taller growth, and more luxuriant foliage. the "wild china"--a true _sapindal_--the pecan, the elm, the hackberry, and the oak of several species--with here and there a cypress or cottonwood--form the components of many a sylvan scene, which, from the blending of their leaves of various shades of green, and the ever changing contour of their clumps, deserves to be denominated fair. the streams of this region are of crystal purity--their waters tinted only by the reflection of sapphire skies. its sun, moon, and stars are scarcely ever concealed behind a cloud. the demon of disease has not found his way into this salubrious spot: no epidemic can dwell within its borders. despite these advantages, civilised man has not yet made it his home. its paths are trodden only by the red-skinned rovers of the prairie-- lipano or comanche--and these only when mounted, and upon the _maraud_ towards the settlements of the lower nueces, or leona. it may be on this account--though it would almost seem as if they were actuated by a love of the beautiful and picturesque--that the true children of nature, the wild animals, have selected this spot as their favourite habitat and home. in no part of texas does the stag bound up so often before you; and nowhere is the timid antelope so frequently seen. the rabbit, and his gigantic cousin, the mule-rabbit, are scarcely ever out of sight; while the polecat, the opossum, and the curious peccary, are encountered at frequent intervals. birds, too, of beautiful forms and colours, enliven the landscape. the quail whirrs up from the path; the king vulture wheels in the ambient air; the wild turkey, of gigantic stature, suns his resplendent gorget by the side of the pecan copse, and the singular tailor-bird--known among the rude rangers as the "bird of paradise"--flouts his long scissors-like tail among the feathery fronds of the acacia. beautiful butterflies spread their wide wings in flapping flight; or, perched upon some gay corolla, look as if they formed part of the flower. huge bees (_meliponae_), clad in velvet liveries, buzz amid the blossoming bushes, disputing possession with hawkmoths and humming-birds not much larger than themselves. they are not all innocent, the denizens of this lovely land. here the rattlesnake attains to larger dimensions than in any other part of north america, and shares the covert with the more dangerous _moccasin_. here, too, the tarantula inflicts its venomous sting; the scorpion poisons with its bite; and the centipede, by simply crawling over the skin, causes a fever that may prove fatal! along the wooded banks of the streams may be encountered the spotted ocelot, the puma, and their more powerful congener, the jaguar; the last of these _felidae_ being here upon the northern limit of its geographical range. along the edges of the chapparal skulks the gaunt texan wolf--solitarily and in silence; while a kindred and more cowardly species, the _coyote_, may be observed, far out upon the open plain, hunting in packs. sharing the same range with these, the most truculent of quadrupeds, may be seen the noblest and most beautiful of animals--perhaps nobler and more beautiful than man--certainly the most distinguished of man's companions--the horse! here--independent of man's caprice, his jaw unchecked by bit or curb, his back unscathed by pack or saddle--he roams unrestrained; giving way to all the wildness of his nature. but even in this, his favourite haunt, he is not always left alone. man presumes to be his pursuer and tamer: for here was he sought, captured, and conquered, by _maurice the mustanger_. on the banks of the _alamo_--one of the most sparkling streamlets that pay tribute to the nueces--stood a dwelling, unpretentious as any to be found within the limits of texas, and certainly as picturesque. its walls were composed of split trunk of the arborescent yucca, set stockade-fashion in the ground; while its roof was a thatch furnished by the long bayonet-shaped loaves of the same gigantic lily. the interstices between the uprights, instead of being "chinked" with clay--as is common in the cabins of western texas--were covered by a sheeting of horse-skins; attached, not by iron tacks, but with the sharp spines that terminate the leaves of the _pita_ plant. on the bluffs, that on both sides overlooked the rivulet--and which were but the termination of the escarpment of the higher plain--grew in abundance the material out of which the hut had been constructed: tree yuccas and _magueys_, amidst other rugged types of sterile vegetation; whereas the fertile valley below was covered with a growth of heavy timber--consisting chiefly of red-mulberry, post-oak, and pecan, that formed a forest of several leagues in length. the timbered tract was, in fact, conterminous with the bottom lands; the tops of the trees scarce rising to a level with the escarpment of the cliff. it was not continuous. along the edge of the streamlet were breaks-- forming little meads, or savannahs, covered with that most nutritious of grasses, known among mexicans as _grama_. in the concavity of one of these, of semicircular shape--which served as a natural lawn--stood the primitive dwelling above described; the streamlet representing the chord; while the curve was traced by the trunks of the trees, that resembled a series of columns supporting the roof of some sylvan coliseum. the structure was in shadow, a little retired among the trees; as if the site had been chosen with a view to concealment. it could have been seen but by one passing along the bank of the stream; and then only with the observer directly in front of it. its rude style of architecture, and russet hue, contributed still further to its _inconspicuousness_. the house was a mere cabin--not larger than a marquee tent--with only a single aperture, the door--if we except the flue of a slender clay chimney, erected at one end against the upright posts. the doorway had a door, a light framework of wood, with a horse-skin stretched over it, and hung upon hinges cut from the same hide. in the rear was an open shed, thatched with yucca leaves, and supported by half a dozen posts. around this was a small enclosure, obtained by tying cross poles to the trunks of the adjacent trees. a still more extensive enclosure, containing within its circumference more than an acre of the timbered tract, and fenced in a similar manner, extended rearward from the cabin, terminating against the bluff. its turf tracked and torn by numerous hoof-prints--in some places trampled into a hard surface--told of its use: a "corral" for wild horses--_mustangs_. this was made still more manifest by the presence of a dozen or more of these animals within the enclosure; whose glaring eyeballs, and excited actions, gave evidence of their recent capture, and how ill they brooked the imprisonment of that shadowy paddock. the interior of the hut was not without some show of neatness and comfort. the sheeting of mustang-skins that covered the walls, with the hairy side turned inward, presented no mean appearance. the smooth shining coats of all colours--black, bay, snow-white, sorrel, and skewbald--offered to the eye a surface pleasantly variegated; and there had evidently been some taste displayed in their arrangement. the furniture was of the scantiest kind. it consisted of a counterfeit camp bedstead, formed by stretching a horse-hide over a framework of trestles; a couple of stools--diminutive specimens on the same model; and a rude table, shaped out of hewn slabs of the yucca-tree. something like a second sleeping place appeared in a remote corner--a "shakedown," or "spread," of the universal mustang-skin. what was least to be expected in such a place, was a shelf containing about a score of books, with pens, ink, and _papeterie_; also a newspaper lying upon the slab table. further proofs of civilisation, if not refinement, presented themselves in the shape of a large leathern portmanteau, a double-barrelled gun, with "westley richards" upon the breech; a drinking cup of chased silver, a huntsman's horn, and a dog-call. upon the floor were a few culinary utensils, mostly of tin; while in one corner stood a demijohn, covered with wicker, and evidently containing something stronger than the water of the alamo. other "chattels" in the cabin were perhaps more in keeping with the place. there was a high-peaked mexican saddle; a bridle, with headstall of plaited horsehair, and reins to correspond; two or three spare _serapes_, and some odds and ends of raw-hide rope. such was the structure of the mustanger's dwelling--such its surroundings--such its interior and contents, with the exception of its living occupants--two in number. on one of the stools standing in the centre of the floor was seated a man, who could not be the mustanger himself. in no way did he present the semblance of a proprietor. on the contrary, the air of the servitor--the mien of habitual obedience--was impressed upon him beyond the chance of misconstruction. rude as was the cabin that sheltered him, no one entering under its roof would have mistaken him for its master. not that he appeared ill clad or fed, or in any way stinted in his requirements. he was a round plump specimen, with a shock of carrot-coloured hair and a bright ruddy skin, habited in a suit of stout stuff--half corduroy, half cotton-velvet. the corduroy was in the shape of a pair of knee-breeches, with gaiters to correspond; the velveteen, once bottle green, now faded to a brownish hue, exhibited itself in a sort of shooting coat, with ample pockets in the breast and skirts. a "wide-awake" hat, cocked over a pair of eyes equally deserving the appellation, completed the costume of the individual in question--if we except a shirt of coarse calico, a red cotton kerchief loosely knotted around his neck, and a pair of irish _brogues_ upon his feet. it needed neither the brogues, nor the corduroy breeches, to proclaim his nationality. his lips, nose, eyes, air, and attitude, were all unmistakably milesian. had there been any ambiguity about this, it would have been dispelled as he opened his mouth for the emission of speech; and this he at intervals did, in an accent that could only have been acquired in the shire of galway. as he was the sole human occupant of the cabin, it might be supposed that he spoke only in soliloquy. not so, however. couched upon a piece of horse-skin, in front of the fire, with snout half buried among the ashes, was a canine companion, whose appearance bespoke a countryman--a huge irish staghound, that looked as if he too understood the speech of connemara. whether he did so or not, it was addressed to him, as if he was expected to comprehend every word. "och, tara, me jewel!" exclaimed he in the corduroys, fraternally interrogating the hound; "hadn't yez weesh now to be back in ballyballagh? wadn't yez loike to be wance more in the coortyard av the owld castle, friskin' over the clane stones, an bein' tripe-fed till there wasn't a rib to be seen in your sides--so different from what they are now--when i kyan count ivery wan av them? sowl! it's meself that ud loike to be there, anyhow! but there's no knowin' when the young masther 'll go back, an take us along wid him. niver mind, tara! he's goin' to the sittlements soon, ye owld dog; an he's promised to take us thare; that's some consolashun. be japers! it's over three months since i've been to the fort, meself. maybe i'll find some owld acquaintance among them irish sodgers that's come lately; an be me sowl, av i do, won't there be a dhrap betwane us--won't there, tara?" the staghound, raising his head at hearing the mention of his name, gave a slight sniff, as if saying "yes" in answer to the droll interrogatory. "i'd like a dhrap now," continued the speaker, casting a covetous glance towards the wickered jar; "mightily i wud that same; but the dimmyjan is too near bein' empty, an the young masther might miss it. besides, it wudn't be raal honest av me to take it widout lave--wud it, tara?" the dog again raised his head above the ashes, and sneezed as before. "why, that was _yis_, the last time ye spoke! div yez mane is for the same now? till me, tara!" once more the hound gave utterance to the sound--that appeared to be caused either by a slight touch of influenza, or the ashes having entered his nostrils. "`yis' again? in trath that's just fwhat the dumb crayther manes! don't timpt me, ye owld thief! no--no; i won't touch the whisky. i'll only draw the cork out av the dimmyjan, an take a smell at it. shure the masther won't know anything about that; an if he did, he wudn't mind it! smellin' kyant do the pothyeen any harm." during the concluding portion of this utterance, the speaker had forsaken his seat, and approached the corner where stood the jar. notwithstanding the professed innocence of his intent, there was a stealthiness about his movements, that seemed to argue either a want of confidence in his own integrity, or in his power to resist temptation. he stood for a short while listening--his eyes turned towards the open doorway; and then, taking up the demijohn, he drew out the stopper, and held the neck to his nose. for some seconds he remained in this attitude: giving out no other sign than an occasional "sniff," similar to that uttered by the hound, and which he had been fain to interpret as an affirmative answer to his interrogatory. it expressed the enjoyment he was deriving from the _bouquet_ of the potent spirit. but this only satisfied him for a very short time; and gradually the bottom of the jar was seen going upwards, while the reverse end descended in like ratio in the direction of his protruding lips. "be japers!" he exclaimed, once more glancing stealthily towards the door, "flesh and blood cudn't stand the smell av that bewtiful whisky, widout tastin' it. trath! i'll chance it--jist the smallest thrifle to wet the tap av my tongue. maybe it'll burn the skin av it; but no matther--here goes!" without further ado the neck of the demijohn was brought in contact with his lips; but instead of the "smallest thrifle" to wet the top of his tongue, the "gluck--gluck" of the escaping fluid told that he was administering a copious saturation to the whole lining of his larynx, and something more. after half a dozen "smacks" of the mouth, with other exclamations denoting supreme satisfaction, he hastily restored the stopper; returned the demijohn to its place; and glided back to his seat upon the stool. "tara, ye owld thief!" said he, addressing himself once more to his canine companion, "it was you that timpted me! no matther, man: the masther 'll niver miss it; besides, he's goin' soon to the fort, an can lay in a fresh supply." for a time the pilferer remained silent; either reflecting on the act he had committed, or enjoying the effects which the "potheen" had produced upon his spirits. his silence was of short duration; and was terminated by a soliloquy. "i wondher," muttered he, "fwhat makes masther maurice so anxious to get back to the sittlements. he says he'll go wheniver he catches that spotty mustang he has seen lately. sowl! isn't he bad afther that baste! i suppose it must be somethin' beyant the common--the more be token, as he has chased the crayther three times widout bein' able to throw his rope over it--an mounted on the blood-bay, too. he sez he won't give it up, till he gets howlt of it. trath! i hope it'll be grupped soon, or wez may stay here till the marnin' av doomsday. hush! fwhat's that?" tara springing up from his couch of skin, and rushing out with a low growl, had caused the exclamation. "phelim!" hailed a voice from the outside. "phelim!" "it's the masther," muttered phelim, as he jumped from his stool, and followed the dog through the doorway. chapter six. the spotted mustang. phelim was not mistaken as to the voice that had hailed him. it was that of his master, maurice gerald. on getting outside, he saw the mustanger at a short distance from the door, and advancing towards it. as the servant should have expected, his master was mounted upon his horse--no longer of a reddish colour, but appearing almost black. the animal's coat was darkened with sweat; its counter and flanks speckled with foam. the blood-bay was not alone. at the end of the lazo--drawn taut from the saddle tree--was a companion, or, to speak more accurately, a captive. with a leathern thong looped around its under jaw, and firmly embracing the bars of its mouth, kept in place by another passing over its neck immediately behind the ears, was the captive secured. it was a mustang of peculiar appearance, as regarded its markings; which were of a kind rarely seen--even among the largest "gangs" that roam over the prairie pastures, where colours of the most eccentric patterns are not uncommon. that of the animal in question was a ground of dark chocolate in places approaching to black--with white spots distributed over it, as regularly as the contrary colours upon the skin of the jaguar. as if to give effect to this pleasing arrangement of hues, the creature was of perfect shape--broad chested, full in the flank, and clean limbed--with a hoof showing half a score of concentric rings, and a head that might have been taken as a type of equine beauty. it was of large size for a mustang, though much smaller than the ordinary english horse; even smaller than the blood-bay--himself a mustang--that had assisted in its capture. the beautiful captive was a mare--one of a _manada_ that frequented the plains near the source of the alamo; and where, for the third time, the mustanger had unsuccessfully chased it. in his case the proverb had proved untrue. in the third time he had not found the "charm"; though it favoured him in the fourth. by the fascination of a long rope, with a running noose at its end, he had secured the creature that, for some reason known only to himself, he so ardently wished to possess. phelim had never seen his master return from a horse-hunting excursion in such a state of excitement; even when coming back--as he often did-- with half a dozen mustangs led loosely at the end of his lazo. but never before at the end of that implement had phelim beheld such a beauty as the spotted mare. she was a thing to excite the admiration of one less a connoisseur in horse-flesh than the _ci-devant_ stable-boy of castle ballagh. "hooch--hoop--hoora!" cried he, as he set eyes upon the captive, at the same time tossing his hat high into the air. "thanks to the howly vargin, an saint pathrick to boot, masther maurice, yez have cotched the spotty at last! it's a mare, be japers! och! the purthy crayther! i don't wondher yez hiv been so bad about gettin' howlt av her. sowl! if yez had her in ballinasloe fair, yez might ask your own price, and get it too, widout givin' sixpence av luckpenny. oh! the purty crayther! where will yez hiv her phut, masther? into the corral, wid the others?" "no, she might get kicked among them. we shall tie her in the shed. castro must pass his night outside among the trees. if he's got any gallantry in him he won't mind that. did you ever see anything so beautiful as she is, phelim--i mean in the way of horseflesh?" "niver, masther maurice; niver, in all me life! an' i've seen some nice bits av blood about ballyballagh. oh, the purty crayther! she looks as if a body cud ate her; and yit, in trath, she looks like she wud ate you. yez haven't given her the schoolin' lesson, have yez?" "no, phelim: i don't want to break her just yet--not till i have time, and can do it properly. it would never do to spoil such perfection as that. i shall tame her, after we've taken her to the settlements." "yez be goin' there, masther maurice? when?" "to-morrow. we shall start by daybreak, so as to make only one day between here and the fort." "sowl! i'm glad to hear it. not on me own account, but yours, masther maurice. maybe yez don't know that the whisky's on the idge of bein' out? from the rattle av the jar, i don't think there's more than three naggins left. them sutlers at the fort aren't honest. they chate ye in the mizyure; besides watherin' the whisky, so that it won't bear a dhrap more out av the strame hare. trath! a gallon av innishowen wud last ayqual to three av this amerikin _rotgut_, as the yankees themselves christen it." "never mind about the whisky, phelim--i suppose there's enough to last us for this night, and fill our flasks for the journey of to-morrow. look alive, old ballyballagh! let us stable the spotted mare; and then i shall have time to talk about a fresh supply of `potheen,' which i know you like better than anything else--except yourself!" "and you, masther maurice!" retorted the galwegian, with a comical twinkle of the eye, that caused his master to leap laughingly out of the saddle. the spotted mare was soon stabled in the shed, castro being temporarily attached to a tree; where phelim proceeded to groom him after the most approved prairie fashion. the mustanger threw himself on his horse-skin couch, wearied with the work of the day. the capture of the "yegua pinta" had cost him a long and arduous chase--such as he had never ridden before in pursuit of a mustang. there was a motive that had urged him on, unknown to phelim--unknown to castro who carried him--unknown to living creature, save himself. notwithstanding that he had spent several days in the saddle--the last three in constant pursuit of the spotted mare--despite the weariness thus occasioned, he was unable to obtain repose. at intervals he rose to his feet, and paced the floor of his hut, as if stirred by some exciting emotion. for several nights he had slept uneasily--at intervals tossing upon his _catre_--till not only his henchman phelim, but his hound tara, wondered what could be the meaning of his _unrest_. the former might have attributed it to his desire to possess the spotted mare; had he not known that his master's feverish feeling antedated his knowledge of the existence of this peculiar quadruped. it was several days after his last return from the fort that the "yegua pinta" had first presented herself to the eye of the mustanger. that therefore could not be the cause of his altered demeanour. his success in having secured the animal, instead of tranquillising his spirit, seemed to have produced the contrary effect. at least, so thought phelim: who--with the freedom of that relationship known as "foster-brother"--had at length determined on questioning his master as to the cause of his inquietude. as the latter lay shifting from side to side, he was saluted with the interrogatory-- "masther maurice, fwhat, in the name of the howly vargin, is the matther wid ye?" "nothing, phelim--nothing, _mabohil_! what makes you think there is?" "_alannah_! how kyan i help thinkin' it! yez kyant get a wink av sleep; niver since ye returned the last time from the sittlement. och! yez hiv seen somethin' there that kapes ye awake? shure now, it isn't wan av them mixikin girls--_mowchachas_, as they call them? no, i won't believe it. you wudn't be wan av the owld geralds to care for such trash as them." "nonsense, my good fellow! there's nothing the matter with me. it's all your own imagination." "trath, masther, yez arr mistaken. if there's anything asthray wid me imaginashun, fhwat is it that's gone wrong wid your own? that is, whin yez arr aslape--which aren't often av late." "when i'm asleep! what do you mean, phelim?" "what div i mane? fwhy, that wheniver yez close your eyes an think yez are sleepin', ye begin palaverin', as if a preast was confessin' ye!" "ah! is that so? what have you heard me say?" "not much, masther, that i cud make sinse out av. yez be always tryin' to pronounce a big name that appares to have no indin', though it begins wid a _point_!" "a name! what name?" "sowl! i kyan't till ye exakly. it's too long for me to remimber, seein' that my edicashun was intirely neglicted. but there's another name that yez phut before it; an that i kyan tell ye. it's a wuman's name, though it's not common in the owld counthry. it's looaze that ye say, masther maurice; an then comes _the point_." "ah!" interrupted the young irishman, evidently not caring to converse longer on the subject. "some name i may have heard--somewhere, accidentally. one does have such strange ideas in dreams!" "trath! yez spake the truth there; for in your drames, masther, ye talk about a purty girl lookin' out av a carriage wid curtains to it, an tellin' her to close them agaynst some danger that yez are going to save her from." "i wonder what puts such nonsense into my head?" "i wondher meself," rejoined phelim, fixing his eyes upon his young master with a stealthy but scrutinising look. "shure," he continued, "if i may make bowld to axe the quistyun--shure, masther maurice, yez haven't been makin' a judy fitzsummon's mother av yerself, an fallin' in love wid wan of these yankee weemen out hare? och an-an-ee! that wud be a misforthune; an thwat wud she say--the purty colleen wid the goodlen hair an blue eyes, that lives not twinty miles from ballyballagh?" "poh, poh! phelim! you're taking leave of your senses, i fear." "trath, masther, i aren't; but i know somethin' i wud like to take lave av." "what is that? not me, i hope?" "you, _alannah_? niver! it's tixas i mane. i'd like to take lave of that; an you goin' along wid me back to the owld sad. arrah, now, fhwat's the use av yer stayin' here, wastin' the best part av yer days in doin' nothin'? shure yez don't make more than a bare livin' by the horse-catchin'; an if yez did, what mathers it? yer owld aunt at castle ballagh can't howld out much longer; an when she's did, the bewtiful demane 'll be yours, spite av the dhirty way she's thratin' ye. shure the property's got a tail to it; an not a mother's son av them can kape ye out av it!" "ha! ha! ha!" laughed the young irishman: "you're quite a lawyer, phelim. what a first-rate attorney you'd have made! but come! you forget that i haven't tasted food since morning. what have you got in the larder?" "trath! there's no great stock, masther. yez haven't laid in anythin' for the three days yez hiv been afther spotty. there's only the cowld venison an the corn-bread. if yez like i'll phut the venison in the pat, an make a hash av it." "yes, do so. i can wait." "won't yez wait betther afther tastin' a dhrap av the crayther?" "true--let me have it." "will yez take it nate, or with a little wather? trath! it won't carry much av that same." "a glass of grog--draw the water fresh from the stream." phelim took hold of the silver drinking-cup, and was about stepping outside, when a growl from tara, accompanied by a start, and followed by a rush across the floor, caused the servitor to approach the door with a certain degree of caution. the barking of the dog soon subsided into a series of joyful whimperings, which told that he had been gratified by the sight of some old acquaintance. "it's owld zeb stump," said phelim, first peeping out, and then stepping boldly forth--with the double design of greeting the new-comer, and executing the order he had received from his master. the individual, who had thus freely presented himself in front of the mustanger's cabin, was as unlike either of its occupants, as one from the other. he stood fall six feet high, in a pair of tall boots, fabricated out of tanned alligator skin; into the ample tops of which were thrust the bottoms of his pantaloons--the latter being of woollen homespun, that had been dyed with "dog-wood ooze," but was now of a simple dirt colour. a deerskin under shirt, without any other, covered his breast and shoulders; over which was a "blanket coat," that had once been green, long since gone to a greenish yellow, with most of the wool worn off. there was no other garment to be seen: a slouch felt hat, of greyish colour, badly battered, completing the simple, and somewhat scant, collection of his wardrobe. he was equipped in the style of a backwoods hunter, of the true daniel boone breed: bullet-pouch, and large crescent-shaped powder-horn, both suspended by shoulder-straps, hanging under the right arm; a waist-belt of thick leather keeping his coat closed and sustaining a skin sheath, from which protruded the rough stag-horn handle of a long-bladed knife. he did not affect either mocassins, leggings, nor the caped and fringed tunic shirt of dressed deerskin worn by most texan hunters. there was no embroidery upon his coarse clothing, no carving upon his accoutrements or weapons, nothing in his _tout ensemble_ intended as ornamental. everything was plain almost to rudeness: as if dictated by a spirit that despised "fanfaron." even the rifle, his reliable weapon--the chief tool of his trade--looked like a rounded bar of iron, with a piece of brown unpolished wood at the end, forming its stock; stock and barrel, when the butt rested on the ground, reaching up to the level of his shoulder. the individual thus clothed and equipped was apparently about fifty years of age, with a complexion inclining to dark, and features that, at first sight, exhibited a grave aspect. on close scrutiny, however, could be detected an underlying stratum of quiet humour; and in the twinkle of a small greyish eye there was evidence that its owner could keenly relish a joke, or, at times, perpetrate one. the irishman had pronounced his name: it was zebulon stump, or "old zeb stump," as he was better known to the very limited circle of his acquaintances. "kaintuck, by birth an raisin',"--as he would have described himself, if asked the country of his nativity--he had passed the early part of his life among the primeval forests of the lower mississippi--his sole calling that of a hunter; and now, at a later period, he was performing the same _metier_ in the wilds of south-western texas. the behaviour of the staghound, as it bounded before him, exhibiting a series of canine welcomes, told of a friendly acquaintance between zeb stump and maurice the mustanger. "evenin'!" laconically saluted zeb, as his tail figure shadowed the cabin door. "good evening', mr stump!" rejoined the owner of the hut, rising to receive him. "step inside, and take a seat!" the hunter accepted the invitation; and, making a single stride across the floor, after some awkward manoeuvring, succeeded in planting himself on the stool lately occupied by phelim. the lowness of the seat brought his knees upon a level with his chin, the tall rifle rising like a pikestaff several feet above his head. "durn stools, anyhow!" muttered he, evidently dissatisfied with the posture; "an' churs, too, for thet matter. i likes to plant my starn upon a log: thur ye've got somethin' under ye as ain't like to guv way." "try that," said his host, pointing to the leathern portmanteau in the corner: "you'll find it a firmer seat." old zeb, adopting the suggestion, unfolded the zigzag of his colossal carcase, and transferred it to the trunk. "on foot, mr stump, as usual?" "no: i got my old critter out thur, tied to a saplin'. i wa'n't a huntin'." "you never hunt on horseback, i believe?" "i shed be a greenhorn if i dud. anybody as goes huntin' a hossback must be a durnation fool!" "but it's the universal fashion in texas!" "univarsal or no, it air a fool's fashion--a durned lazy fool's fashion! i kill more meat in one day afut, then i ked in a hul week wi' a hoss atween my legs. i don't misdoubt that a hoss air the best thing for you--bein' as yur game's entire different. but when ye go arter baar, or deer, or turkey eyther, ye won't see much o' them, trampin' about through the timmer a hossback, an scarrin' everythin' es hes got ears 'ithin the circuit o' a mile. as for hosses, i shodn't be bothered wi' ne'er a one no how, ef twa'n't for packin' the meat: thet's why i keep my ole maar." "she's outside, you say? let phelim take her round to the shed. you'll stay all night?" "i kim for that purpiss. but ye needn't trouble about the maar: she air hitched safe enuf. i'll let her out on the laryitt, afore i take to grass." "you'll have something to eat? phelim was just getting supper ready. i'm sorry i can't offer you anything very dainty--some hash of venison." "nothin' better 'n good deermeat, 'ceptin it be baar; but i like both done over the coals. maybe i can help ye to some'at thet'll make a roast. mister pheelum, ef ye don't mind steppin' to whar my critter air hitched, ye'll find a gobbler hangin' over the horn o' the seddle. i shot the bird as i war comin' up the crik." "oh, that is rare good fortune! our larder has got very low--quite out, in truth. i've been so occupied, for the last three days, in chasing a very curious mustang, that i never thought of taking my gun with me. phelim and i, and tara, too, had got to the edge of starvation." "whet sort o' a mustang?" inquired the hunter, in a tone that betrayed interest, and without appearing to notice the final remark. "a mare; with white spots on a dark chocolate ground--a splendid creature!" "durn it, young fellur! thet air's the very bizness thet's brung me over to ye." "indeed!" "i've seed that mustang--maar, ye say it air, though i kedn't tell, as she'd niver let me 'ithin hef a mile o' her. i've seed her several times out on the purayra, an i jest wanted ye to go arter her. i'll tell ye why. i've been to the leeona settlements since i seed you last, and since i seed her too. wal, theer hev kum thur a man as i knowed on the mississippi. he air a rich planter, as used to keep up the tallest kind o' doin's, 'specially in the feestin' way. many's the jeint o' deermeat, and many's the turkey-gobbler this hyur coon hes surplied for his table. his name air peintdexter." "poindexter?" "thet air the name--one o' the best known on the mississippi from orleens to saint looey. he war rich then; an, i reck'n, ain't poor now--seein' as he's brought about a hunderd niggers along wi' him. beside, thur's a nephew o' hisn, by name calhoun. he's got the dollars, an nothin' to do wi' 'em but lend 'em to his uncle--the which, for a sartin reezun, i think he _will_. now, young fellur, i'll tell ye why i wanted to see _you_. thet 'ere planter hev got a darter, as air dead bent upon hossflesh. she used to ride the skittishest kind o' cattle in loozeyanner, whar they lived. she heern me tellin' the old 'un 'bout the spotted mustang; and nothin' would content her thur and then, till he promised he'd offer a big price for catchin' the critter. he sayed he'd give a kupple o' hunderd dollars for the anymal, ef 'twur anythin like what i sayed it wur. in coorse, i knowed thet 'ud send all the mustangers in the settlement straight custrut arter it; so, sayin' nuthin' to nobody, i kim over hyur, fast as my ole maar 'ud fetch me. you grup thet 'ere spotty, an zeb stump 'll go yur bail ye'll grab them two hunderd dollars." "will you step this way, mr stump?" said the young irishman, rising from his stool, and proceeding in the direction of the door. the hunter followed, not without showing some surprise at the abrupt invitation. maurice conducted his visitor round to the rear of the cabin; and, pointing into the shed, inquired-- "does that look anything like the mustang you've been speaking of?" "dog-gone my cats, ef 'taint the eyedenticul same! grupped already! two hunderd dollars, easy as slidin' down a barked saplin'! young fellur, yur in luck: two hunderd, slick sure!--and durn me, ef the anymal ain't worth every cent o' the money! geehosofat! what a putty beest it air! won't miss peintdexter be pleezed! it'll turn that young critter 'most crazy!" chapter seven. nocturnal annoyances. the unexpected discovery, that his purpose had been already anticipated by the capture of the spotted mustang, raised the spirits of the old hunter to a high pitch of excitement. they were further elevated by a portion of the contents of the demijohn, which held out beyond phelim's expectations: giving all hands an appetising "nip" before attacking the roast turkey, with another go each to wash it down, and several more to accompany the post-cenal pipe. while this was being indulged in, a conversation was carried on; the themes being those that all prairie men delight to talk about: indian and hunter lore. as zeb stump was a sort of living encyclopaedia of the latter, he was allowed to do most of the talking; and he did it in such a fashion as to draw many a wondering ejaculation, from the tongue of the astonished galwegian. long before midnight, however, the conversation was brought to a close. perhaps the empty demijohn was, as much as anything else, the monitor that urged their retiring to rest; though there was another and more creditable reason. on the morrow, the mustanger intended to start for the settlements; and it was necessary that all should be astir at an early hour, to make preparation for the journey. the wild horses, as yet but slightly tamed, had to be strung together, to secure against their escaping by the way; and many other matters required attending to previous to departure. the hunter had already tethered out his "ole maar"--as he designated the sorry specimen of horseflesh he was occasionally accustomed to bestride--and had brought back with him an old yellowish blanket, which was all he ever used for a bed. "you may take my bedstead," said his courteous host; "i can lay myself on a skin along the floor." "no," responded the guest; "none o' yer shelves for zeb stump to sleep on. i prefer the solid groun'. i kin sleep sounder on it; an bus-sides, thur's no fear o' fallin' over." "if you prefer it, then, take the floor. here's the best place. i'll spread a hide for you." "young fellur, don't you do anythin' o' the sort; ye'll only be wastin' yur time. this child don't sleep on no floors. his bed air the green grass o' the purayra." "what! you're not going to sleep outside?" inquired the mustanger in some surprise--seeing that his guest, with the old blanket over his arm, was making for the door. "i ain't agoin' to do anythin' else." "why, the night is freezing cold--almost as chilly as a norther!" "durn that! it air better to stan' a leetle chillishness, than a feelin' o' suffercation--which last i wud sartintly hev to go through ef i slep inside o' a house." "surely you are jesting, mr stump?" "young fellur!" emphatically rejoined the hunter, without making direct reply to the question. "it air now nigh all o' six yeer since zeb stump hev stretched his ole karkiss under a roof. i oncest used to hev a sort o' a house in the hollow o' a sycamore-tree. that wur on the massissippi, when my ole ooman wur alive, an i kep up the 'stablishment to 'commerdate her. arter she went under, i moved into loozeyanny; an then arterward kim out hyur. since then the blue sky o' texas hev been my only kiver, eyther wakin' or sleepin'." "if you prefer to lie outside--" "i prefar it," laconically rejoined the hunter, at the same time stalking over the threshold, and gliding out upon the little lawn that lay between the cabin and the creek. his old blanket was not the only thing he carried along with him. beside it, hanging over his arm, could be seen some six or seven yards of a horsehair rope. it was a piece of a _cabriesto_--usually employed for tethering horses--though it was not for this purpose it was now to be used. having carefully scrutinised the grass within a circumference of several feet in diameter--which a shining moon enabled him to do--he laid the rope with like care around the spot examined, shaping it into a sort of irregular ellipse. stepping inside this, and wrapping the old blanket around him, he quietly let himself down into a recumbent position. in an instant after he appeared to be asleep. and he was asleep, as his strong breathing testified: for zeb stump, with a hale constitution and a quiet conscience, had only to summon sleep, and it came. he was not permitted long to indulge his repose without interruption. a pair of wondering eyes had watched his every movement--the eyes of phelim o'neal. "mother av mozis!" muttered the galwegian; "fwhat can be the manin' av the owld chap's surroundin' himself wid the rope?" the irishman's curiosity for a while struggled with his courtesy, but at length overcame it; and just as the slumberer delivered his third snore, he stole towards him, shook him out of his sleep, and propounded a question based upon the one he had already put to himself. "durn ye for a irish donkey!" exclaimed stump, in evident displeasure at being disturbed; "ye made me think it war mornin'! what do i put the rope roun' me for? what else wud it be for, but to keep off the varmints!" "what varmints, misther stump? snakes, div yez mane?" "snakes in coorse. durn ye, go to your bed!" notwithstanding the sharp rebuke, phelim returned to the cabin apparently in high glee. if there was anything in texas, "barrin' an above the indyins themselves," as he used to say, "that kept him from slapin', it was them vinamous sarpints. he hadn't had a good night's rest, iver since he'd been in the counthry for thinkin' av the ugly vipers, or dhramin' about thim. what a pity saint pathrick hadn't paid tixas a visit before goin' to grace!" phelim in his remote residence, isolated as he had been from all intercourse, had never before witnessed the trick of the _cabriesto_. he was not slow to avail himself of the knowledge thus acquired. returning to the cabin, and creeping stealthily inside--as if not wishing to wake his master, already asleep--he was seen to take a _cabriesto_ from its peg; and then going forth again, he carried the long rope around the stockade walls--paying it out as he proceeded. having completed the circumvallation, he re-entered the hut; as he stepped over the threshold, muttering to himself-- "sowl! phalim o'nale, you'll slape sound for this night, spite ov all the snakes in tixas!" for some minutes after phelim's soliloquy, a profound stillness reigned around the hut of the mustanger. there was like silence inside; for the countryman of saint patrick, no longer apprehensive on the score of reptile intruders, had fallen asleep, almost on the moment of his sinking down upon his spread horse-skin. for a while it seemed as if everybody was in the enjoyment of perfect repose, tara and the captive steeds included. the only sound heard was that made by zeb stump's "maar," close by cropping the sweet _grama_ grass. presently, however, it might have been perceived that the old hunter was himself stirring. instead of lying still in the recumbent attitude to which he had consigned himself, he could be seen shifting from side to side, as if some feverish thought was keeping him awake. after repeating this movement some half-score of times, he at length raised himself into a sitting posture, and looked discontentedly around. "dod-rot his ignorance and imperence--the irish cuss!" were the words that came hissing through his teeth. "he's spoilt my night's rest, durn him! 'twould sarve him 'bout right to drag him out, an giv him a duckin' in the crik. dog-goned ef i don't feel 'clined torst doin' it; only i don't like to displeeze the other irish, who air a somebody. possible i don't git a wink o' sleep till mornin'." having delivered himself of this peevish soliloquy, the hunter once more drew the blanket around his body, and returned to the horizontal position. not to sleep, however; as was testified by the tossing and fidgeting that followed--terminated by his again raising himself into a sitting posture. a soliloquy, very similar to his former one, once more proceeded from his lips; this time the threat of ducking phelim in the creek being expressed with a more emphatic accent of determination. he appeared to be wavering, as to whether he should carry the design into execution, when an object coming under his eye gave a new turn to his thoughts. on the ground, not twenty feet from where he sate, a long thin body was seen gliding over the grass. its serpent shape, and smooth lubricated skin--reflecting the silvery light of the moon--rendered the reptile easy of identification. "snake!" mutteringly exclaimed he, as his eye rested upon the reptilian form. "wonder what sort it air, slickerin' aboout hyur at this time o' the night? it air too large for a _rattle_; though thur air some in these parts most as big as it. but it air too clur i' the colour, an thin about the belly, for ole rattle-tail! no; 'tain't one o' them. hah--now i ree-cog-nise the varmint! it air a _chicken_, out on the sarch arter eggs, i reck'n! durn the thing! it air comin' torst me, straight as it kin crawl!" the tone in which the speaker delivered himself told that he was in no fear of the reptile--even after discovering that it was making approach. he knew that the snake would not cross the _cabriesto_; but on touching it would turn away: as if the horsehair rope was a line of living fire. secure within his magic circle, he could have looked tranquilly at the intruder, though it had been the most poisonous of prairie serpents. but it was not. on the contrary, it was one of the most innocuous-- harmless as the "chicken," from which the species takes its trivial title--at the same time that it is one of the largest in the list of north-american _reptilia_. the expression on zeb's face, as he sat regarding it, was simply one of curiosity, and not very keen. to a hunter in the constant habit of couching himself upon the grass, there was nothing in the sight either strange or terrifying; not even when the creature came close up to the _cabriesto_, and, with head slightly elevated, rubbed its snout against the rope! after that there was less reason to be afraid; for the snake, on doing so, instantly turned round and commenced retreating over the sward. for a second or two the hunter watched it moving away, without making any movement himself. he seemed undecided as to whether he should follow and destroy it, or leave it to go as it had come--unscathed. had it been a rattlesnake, "copperhead," or "mocassin," he would have acted up to the curse delivered in the garden of eden, and planted the heel of his heavy alligator-skin boot upon its head. but a harmless chicken-snake did not come within the limits of zeb stump's antipathy: as was evidenced by some words muttered by him as it slowly receded from the spot. "poor crawlin' critter; let it go! it ain't no enemy o' mine; though it do suck a turkey's egg now an then, an in coorse scarcities the breed o' the birds. thet air only its nater, an no reezun why i shed be angry wi' it. but thur's a durned good reezun why i shed be wi' thet irish-- the dog-goned, stinkin' fool, to ha' woke me es he dud! i feel dod-rotted like sarvin' him out, ef i ked only think o' some way as wudn't diskermode the young fellur. stay! by geehosofat, i've got the idee--the very thing--sure es my name air zeb stump!" on giving utterance to the last words, the hunter--whose countenance had suddenly assumed an expression of quizzical cheerfulness--sprang to his feet; and, with bent body, hastened in pursuit of the retreating reptile. a few strides brought him alongside of it; when he pounced upon it with all his ten digits extended. in another moment its long glittering body was uplifted from the ground, and writhing in his grasp. "now, mister pheelum," exclaimed he, as if apostrophising the serpent, "ef i don't gi'e yur irish soul a scare thet 'll keep ye awake till mornin', i don't know buzzart from turkey. hyur goes to purvide ye wi' a bedfellur!" on saying this, he advanced towards the hut; and, silently skulking under its shadow, released the serpent from his gripe--letting it fall within the circle of the _cabriesto_, with which phelim had so craftily surrounded his sleeping-place. then returning to his grassy couch, and once more pulling the old blanket over his shoulders, he muttered-- "the varmint won't come out acrost the rope--thet air sartin; an it ain't agoin' to leave a yurd o' the groun' 'ithout explorin' for a place to git clur--thet's eequally sartin. ef it don't crawl over thet irish greenhorn 'ithin the hef o' an hour, then ole zeb stump air a greenhorn hisself. hi! what's thet? dog-goned of 'taint on him arready!" if the hunter had any further reflections to give tongue to, they could not have been heard: for at that moment there arose a confusion of noises that must have startled every living creature on the alamo, and for miles up and down the stream. it was a human voice that had given the cue--or rather, a human howl, such as could proceed only from the throat of a galwegian. phelim o'neal was the originator of the infernal _fracas_. his voice, however, was soon drowned by a chorus of barkings, snortings, and neighings, that continued without interruption for a period of several minutes. "what is it?" demanded his master, as he leaped from the _catre_, and groped his way towards his terrified servitor. "what the devil has got into you, phelim? have you seen a ghost?" "oh, masther!--by jaysus! worse than that: i've been murdhered by a snake. it's bit me all over the body. blessed saint pathrick! i'm a poor lost sinner! i'll be shure to die!" "bitten you, you say--where?" asked maurice, hastily striking a light, and proceeding to examine the skin of his henchman, assisted by the old hunter--who had by this time arrived within the cabin. "i see no sign of bite," continued the mustanger, after having turned phelim round and round, and closely scrutinised his epidermis. "ne'er a scratch," laconically interpolated stump. "sowl! then, if i'm not bit, so much the better; but it crawled all over me. i can feel it now, as cowld as charity, on me skin." "was there a snake at all?" demanded maurice, inclined to doubt the statement of his follower. "you've been dreaming of one, phelim-- nothing more." "not a bit of a dhrame, masther: it was a raal sarpint. be me sowl, i'm shure of it!" "i reck'n thur's been snake," drily remarked the hunter. "let's see if we kin track it up. kewrious it air, too. thur's a hair rope all roun' the house. wonder how the varmint could ha' crossed thet? thur--thur it is!" the hunter, as he spoke, pointed to a corner of the cabin, where the serpent was seen spirally coiled. "only a chicken!" he continued: "no more harm in it than in a suckin' dove. it kedn't ha' bit ye, mister pheelum; but we'll put it past bitin', anyhow." saying this, the hunter seized the snake in his hands; and, raising it aloft, brought it down upon the floor of the cabin with a "thwank" that almost deprived it of the power of motion. "thru now, mister pheelum!" he exclaimed, giving it the finishing touch with the heel of his heavy boot, "ye may go back to yur bed agin, an sleep 'ithout fear o' bein' disturbed till the mornin'--leastwise, by snakes." kicking the defunct reptile before him, zeb stump strode out of the hut, gleefully chuckling to himself, as, for the third time, he extended his colossal carcase along the sward. chapter eight. the crawl of the alacran. the killing of the snake appeared to be the cue for a general return to quiescence. the howlings of the hound ceased with those of the henchman. the mustangs once more stood silent under the shadowy trees. inside the cabin the only noise heard was an occasional shuffling, when phelim, no longer feeling confidence in the protection of his _cabriesto_, turned restlessly on his horseskin. outside also there was but one sound, to disturb the stillness though its intonation was in striking contrast with that heard within. it might have been likened to a cross between the grunt of an alligator and the croaking of a bull-frog; but proceeding, as it did, from the nostrils of zeb stump, it could only be the snore of the slumbering hunter. its sonorous fulness proved him to be soundly asleep. he was--had been, almost from the moment of re-establishing himself within the circle of his _cabriesto_. the _revanche_ obtained over his late disturber had acted as a settler to his nerves; and once more was he enjoying the relaxation of perfect repose. for nearly an hour did this contrasting duet continue, varied only by an occasional _recitative_ in the hoot of the great horned owl, or a _cantata penserosa_ in the lugubrious wail of the prairie wolf. at the end of this interval, however, the chorus recommenced, breaking out abruptly as before, and as before led by the vociferous voice of the connemara man. "meliah murdher!" cried he, his first exclamation not only startling the host of the hut, but the guest so soundly sleeping outside. "howly mother! vargin av unpurticted innocence! save me--save me!" "save you from what?" demanded his master, once more springing from his couch and hastening to strike a light. "what is it, you confounded fellow?" "another snake, yer hanner! och! be me sowl! a far wickeder sarpent than the wan misther stump killed. it's bit me all over the breast. i feel the place burnin' where it crawled across me, just as if the horse-shoer at ballyballagh had scorched me wid a rid-hot iron!" "durn ye for a stinkin' skunk!" shouted zeb stump, with his blanket about his shoulder, quite filling the doorway. "ye've twicest spiled my night's sleep, ye irish fool! 'scuse me, mister gerald! thur air fools in all countries, i reck'n, 'merican as well as irish--but this hyur follerer o' yourn air the durndest o' the kind iver i kim acrost. dog-goned if i see how we air to get any sleep the night, 'less we drownd _him_ in the crik fust!" "och! misther stump dear, don't talk that way. i sware to yez both there's another snake. i'm shure it's in the kyabin yit. it's only a minute since i feeled it creepin' over me." "you must ha' been dreemin?" rejoined the hunter, in a more complacent tone, and speaking half interrogatively. "i tell ye no snake in texas will cross a hosshair rope. the tother 'un must ha' been inside the house afore ye laid the laryitt roun' it. 'taint likely there keel ha' been two on 'em. we kin soon settle that by sarchin'." "oh, murdher! luk hare!" cried the galwegian, pulling off his shirt and laying bare his breast. "thare's the riptoile's track, right acrass over me ribs! didn't i tell yez there was another snake? o blissed mother, what will become av me? it feels like a strake av fire!" "snake!" exclaimed stump, stepping up to the affrighted irishman, and holding the candle close to his skin. "snake i'deed! by the 'tarnal airthquake, it air no snake! it air wuss than that!" "worse than a snake?" shouted phelim in dismay. "worse, yez say, misther stump? div yez mane that it's dangerous?" "wal, it mout be, an it moutn't. thet ere 'll depend on whether i kin find somethin' 'bout hyur, an find it soon. ef i don't, then, mister pheelum, i won't answer--" "oh, misther stump, don't say thare's danger!" "what is it?" demanded maurice, as his eyes rested upon a reddish line running diagonally across the breast of his follower, and which looked as if traced by the point of a hot spindle. "what is it, anyhow?" he repeated with increasing anxiety, as he observed the serious look with which the hunter regarded the strange marking. "i never saw the like before. is it something to be alarmed about?" "all o' thet, mister gerald," replied stump, motioning maurice outside the hut, and speaking to him in a whisper, so as not to be overheard by phelim. "but what is it?" eagerly asked the mustanger. "_it air the crawl o' the pisen centipede_." "the poison centipede! has it bitten him?" "no, i hardly think it hez. but it don't need thet. the _crawl_ o' itself air enuf to kill him!" "merciful heaven! you don't mean that?" "i do, mister gerald. i've seed more 'an one good fellur go under wi' that same sort o' a stripe acrost his skin. if thur ain't somethin' done, an thet soon, he'll fust get into a ragin' fever, an then he'll go out o' his senses, jest as if the bite o' a mad dog had gin him the hydrophoby. it air no use frightenin' him howsomdever, till i sees what i kin do. thur's a yarb, or rayther it air a plant, as grows in these parts. ef i kin find it handy, there'll be no defeequilty in curin' o' him. but as the cussed lack wud hev it, the moon hez sneaked out o' sight; an i kin only get the yarb by gropin'. i know there air plenty o' it up on the bluff; an ef you'll go back inside, an keep the fellur quiet, i'll see what kin be done. i won't be gone but a minute." the whispered colloquy, and the fact of the speakers having gone outside to carry it on, instead of tranquillising the fears of phelim, had by this time augmented them to an extreme degree: and just as the old hunter, bent upon his herborising errand, disappeared in the darkness, he came rushing forth from the hut, howling more piteously than ever. it was some time before his master could get him tranquillised, and then only by assuring him--on a faith not very firm--that there was not the slightest danger. a few seconds after this had been accomplished, zeb stump reappeared in the doorway, with a countenance that produced a pleasant change in the feelings of those inside. his confident air and attitude proclaimed, as plainly as words could have done, that he had discovered that of which he had gone in search--the "yarb." in his right hand he held a number of oval shaped objects of dark green colour--all of them bristling with sharp spines, set over the surface in equidistant clusters. maurice recognised the leaves of a plant well known to him--the _oregano_ cactus. "don't be skeeart, mister pheelum!" said the old hunter, in a consolatory tone, as he stepped across the threshold. "thur's nothin' to fear now. i hev got the bolsum as 'll draw the burnin' out o' yur blood, quicker 'an flame ud scorch a feather. stop yur yellin', man! ye've rousted every bird an beast, an creepin' thing too, i reckon, out o' thar slumbers, for more an twenty mile up an down the crik. ef you go on at that grist much longer, ye'll bring the kumanchees out o' thur mountains, an that 'ud be wuss mayhap than the crawl o' this hunderd-legged critter. mister gerald, you git riddy a bandige, whiles i purpares the powltiss." drawing his knife from its sheath, the hunter first lopped off the spines; and then, removing the outside skin, he split the thick succulent leaves of the cactus into slices of about an eighth of an inch in thickness. these he spread contiguously upon a strip of clean cotton stuff already prepared by the mustanger; and then, with the ability of a hunter, laid the "powltiss," as he termed it, along the inflamed line, which he declared to have been made by the claws of the centipede, but which in reality was caused by the injection of venom from its poison-charged mandibles, a thousand times inserted into the flesh of the sleeper! the application of the _oregano_ was almost instantaneous in its effect. the acrid juice of the plant, producing a counter poison, killed that which had been secreted by the animal; and the patient, relieved from further apprehension, and soothed by the sweet confidence of security-- stronger from reaction--soon fell off into a profound and restorative slumber. after searching for the centipede and failing to find it--for this hideous reptile, known in mexico as the _alacran_, unlike the rattlesnake, has no fear of crossing a _cabriesto_--the improvised physician strode silently out of the cabin; and, once more committing himself to his grassy couch, slept undisturbed till the morning. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ at the earliest hour of daybreak all three were astir--phelim having recovered both from his fright and his fever. having made their matutinal meal upon the _debris_ of the roast turkey, they hastened to take their departure from the hut. the quondam stable-boy of ballyballagh, assisted by the texan hunter, prepared the wild steeds for transport across the plains--by stringing them securely together--while maurice looked after his own horse and the spotted mare. more especially did he expend his time upon the beautiful captive--carefully combing out her mane and tail, and removing from her glossy coat the stains that told of the severe chase she had cost him before her proud neck yielded to the constraint of his lazo. "durn it, man!" exclaimed zeb, as, with some surprise, he stood watching the movements of the mustanger, "ye needn't ha' been hef so purtickler! wudley pointdexter ain't the man as 'll go back from a barg'in. ye'll git the two hunderd dollars, sure as my name air zeblun stump; an dog-gone my cats, ef the maar ain't worth every red cent o' the money!" maurice heard the remarks without making reply; but the half suppressed smile playing around his lips told that the kentuckian had altogether misconstrued the motive for his assiduous grooming. in less than an hour after, the mustanger was on the march, mounted on his blood-bay, and leading the spotted mare at the end of his lazo; while the captive _cavallada_, under the guidance of the galwegian groom, went trooping at a brisk pace over the plain. zeb stump, astride his "ole maar," could only keep up by a constant hammering with his heels; and tara, picking his steps through the spinous _mezquite_ grass, trotted listlessly in the rear. the hut, with its skin-door closed against animal intruders, was left to take care of itself; its silent solitude, for a time, to be disturbed only by the hooting of the horned owl, the scream of the cougar, or the howl-bark of the hungering coyote. chapter nine. the frontier fort. the "star-spangled banner" suspended above fort inge, as it flouts forth from its tall staff, flings its fitful shadow over a scene of strange and original interest. it is a picture of pure frontier life--which perhaps only the pencil of the younger vernet could truthfully portray--half military, half civilian--half savage, half civilised--mottled with figures of men whose complexions, costumes, and callings, proclaim them appertaining to the extremes of both, and every possible gradation between. even the _mise-en-scene_--the fort itself--is of this _miscegenous_ character. that star-spangled banner waves not over bastions and battlements; it flings no shadow over casemate or covered way, fosse, scarpment, or glacis--scarce anything that appertains to a fortress. a rude stockade, constructed out of trunks of _algarobia_, enclosing shed-stabling for two hundred horses; outside this a half-score of buildings of the plainest architectural style--some of them mere huts of "wattle and daub"--_jacales_--the biggest a barrack; behind it the hospital, the stores of the commissary, and quartermaster; on one side the guardhouse; and on the other, more pretentiously placed, the messroom and officers' quarters; all plain in their appearance-- plastered and whitewashed with the lime plentifully found on the leona-- all neat and clean, as becomes a cantonment of troops wearing the uniform of a great civilised nation. such is fort inge. at a short distance off another group of houses meets the eye--nearly, if not quite, as imposing as the cluster above described bearing the name of "the fort." they are just outside the shadow of the flag, though under its protection--for to it are they indebted for their origin and existence. they are the germ of the village that universally springs up in the proximity of an american military post--in all probability, and at no very remote period, to become a town--perhaps a great city. at present their occupants are a sutler, whose store contains "knick-knacks" not classed among commissariat rations; an hotel-keeper whose bar-room, with white sanded floor and shelves sparkling with prismatic glass, tempts the idler to step in; a brace of gamblers whose rival tables of _faro_ and _monte_ extract from the pockets of the soldiers most part of their pay; a score of dark-eyed senoritas of questionable reputation; a like number of hunters, teamsters, _mustangers_, and nondescripts--such as constitute in all countries the hangers-on of a military cantonment, or the followers of a camp. the houses in the occupancy of this motley corporation have been "sited" with some design. perhaps they are the property of a single speculator. they stand around a "square," where, instead of lamp-posts or statues, may be seen the decaying trunk of a cypress, or the bushy form of a hackberry rising out of a _tapis_ of trodden grass. the leona--at this point a mere rivulet--glides past in the rear both of fort and village. to the front extends a level plain, green as verdure can make it--in the distance darkened by a bordering of woods, in which post-oaks and pecans, live oaks and elms, struggle for existence with spinous plants of cactus and anona; with scores of creepers, climbers, and parasites almost unknown to the botanist. to the south and east along the banks of the stream, you see scattered houses: the homesteads of plantations; some of them rude and of recent construction, with a few of more pretentious style, and evidently of older origin. one of these last particularly attracts the attention: a structure of superior size-- with flat roof, surmounted by a crenelled parapet--whose white walls show conspicuously against the green background of forest with which it is half encircled. it is the hacienda of _casa del corvo_. turning your eye northward, you behold a curious isolated eminence--a gigantic cone of rocks--rising several hundred feet above the level of the plain; and beyond, in dim distance, a waving horizontal line indicating the outlines of the guadalupe mountains--the outstanding spurs of that elevated and almost untrodden plateau, the _llano estacado_. look aloft! you behold a sky, half sapphire, half turquoise; by day, showing no other spot than the orb of its golden god; by night, studded with stars that appear clipped from clear steel, and a moon whose well-defined disc outshines the effulgence of silver. look below--at that hour when moon and stars have disappeared, and the land-wind arrives from matagorda bay, laden with the fragrance of flowers; when it strikes the starry flag, unfolding it to the eye of the morn--then look below, and behold the picture that should have been painted by the pencil of vernet--too varied and vivid, too plentiful in shapes, costumes, and colouring, to be sketched by the pen. in the tableau you distinguish soldiers in uniform--the light blue of the united states infantry, the darker cloth of the dragoons, and the almost invisible green of the mounted riflemen. you will see but few in full uniform--only the officer of the day, the captain of the guard, and the guard itself. their comrades off duty lounge about the barracks, or within the stockade enclosure, in red flannel shirts, slouch hats, and boots innocent of blacking. they mingle with men whose costumes make no pretence to a military character: tall hunters in tunics of dressed deerskin, with leggings to correspond--herdsmen and mustangers, habited _a la mexicaine_--mexicans themselves, in wide _calzoneros_, _serapes_ on their shoulders, _botas_ on their legs, huge spurs upon their heels, and glazed _sombreros_ set jauntily on their crowns. they palaver with indians on a friendly visit to the fort, for trade or treaty; whose tents stand at some distance, and from whose shoulders hang blankets of red, and green, and blue-- giving them a picturesque, even classical, appearance, in spite of the hideous paint with which they have bedaubed their skins, and the dirt that renders sticky their long black hair, lengthened by tresses taken from the tails of their horses. picture to the eye of your imagination this jumble of mixed nationalities--in their varied costumes of race, condition, and calling; jot in here and there a black-skinned scion of ethiopia, the body servant of some officer, or the emissary of a planter from the adjacent settlements; imagine them standing in gossiping groups, or stalking over the level plain, amidst some half-dozen halted waggons; a couple of six-pounders upon their carriages, with caissons close by; a square tent or two, with its surmounting fly--occupied by some eccentric officer who prefers sleeping under canvas; a stack of bayoneted rifles belonging to the soldiers on guard,--imagine all these component parts, and you will have before your mind's eye a truthful picture of a military fort upon the frontier of texas, and the extreme selvedge of civilisation. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ about a week after the arrival of the louisiana planter at his new home, three officers were seen standing upon the parade ground in front of fort inge, with their eyes turned towards the hacienda of casa del corvo. they were all young men: the oldest not over thirty years of age. his shoulder-straps with the double bar proclaimed him a captain; the second, with a single cross bar, was a first lieutenant; while the youngest of the two, with an empty chevron, was either a second lieutenant or "brevet." they were off duty; engaged in conversation--their theme, the "new people" in casa del corvo--by which was meant the louisiana planter and his family. "a sort of housewarming it's to be," said the infantry captain, alluding to an invitation that had reached the fort, extending to all the commissioned officers of the garrison. "dinner first, and dancing afterwards--a regular field day, where i suppose we shall see paraded the aristocracy and beauty of the settlement." "aristocracy?" laughingly rejoined the lieutenant of dragoons. "not much of that here, i fancy; and of beauty still less." "you mistake, hancock. there are both upon the banks of the leona. some good states families have strayed out this way. we'll meet them at poindexter's party, no doubt. on the question of aristocracy, the host himself, if you'll pardon a poor joke, is himself a host. he has enough of it to inoculate all the company that may be present; and as for beauty, i'll back his daughter against anything this side the sabine. the commissary's niece will be no longer belle about here." "oh, indeed!" drawled the lieutenant of rifles, in a tone that told of his being chafed by this representation. "miss poindexter must be deuced good-looking, then." "she's all that, i tell you, if she be anything like what she was when i last saw her, which was at a bayou lafourche ball. there were half a dozen young creoles there, who came nigh crossing swords about her." "a coquette, i suppose?" insinuated the rifleman. "nothing of the kind, crossman. quite the contrary, i assure you. she's a girl of spirit, though--likely enough to snub any fellow who might try to be too familiar. she's not without some of the father's pride. it's a family trait of the poindexters." "just the girl i should cotton to," jocosely remarked the young dragoon. "and if she's as good-looking as you say, captain sloman, i shall certainly go in for her. unlike crossman here, i'm clear of all entanglements of the heart. thank the lord for it!" "well, mr hancock," rejoined the infantry officer, a gentleman of sober inclinings, "i'm not given to betting; but i'd lay a big wager you won't say that, after you have seen louise poindexter--that is, if you speak your mind." "pshaw, sloman! don't you be alarmed about me. i've been too often under the fire of bright eyes to have any fear of them." "none so bright as hers." "deuce take it! you make a fellow fall in love with this lady without having set eyes upon her. she must be something extraordinary-- incomparable." "she was both, when i last saw her." "how long ago was that?" "the lafourche ball? let me see--about eighteen months. just after we got back from mexico. she was then `coming out' as society styles it:-- "a new star in the firmament, to light and glory born!" "eighteen months is a long time," sagely remarked crossman--"a long time for an unmarried maiden--especially among creoles, where they often get spliced at twelve, instead of `sweet sixteen.' her beauty may have lost some of its bloom?" "i believe not a bit. i should have called to see; only i knew they were in the middle of their `plenishing,' and mightn't desire to be visited. but the major has been to casa del corvo, and brought back such a report about miss poindexter's beauty as almost got him into a scrape with the lady commanding the post." "upon my soul, captain sloman!" asseverated the lieutenant of dragoons, "you've excited my curiosity to such a degree, i feel already half in love with louise poindexter!" "before you get altogether into it," rejoined the officer of infantry, in a serious tone, "let me recommend a little caution. there's a _bete noir_ in the background." "a brother, i suppose? that is the individual usually so regarded." "there is a brother, but it's not he. a free noble young fellow he is-- the only poindexter i ever knew not eaten up with pride, he's quite the reverse." "the aristocratic father, then? surely he wouldn't object to a quartering with the hancocks?" "i'm not so sure of that; seeing that the hancocks are yankees, and he's a _chivalric southerner_! but it's not old poindexter i mean." "who, then, is the black beast, or what is it--if not a human?" "it is human, after a fashion. a male cousin--a queer card he is--by name cassius calhoun." "i think i've heard the name." "so have i," said the lieutenant of rifles. "so has almost everybody who had anything to do with the mexican war-- that is, who took part in scott's campaign. he figured there extensively, and not very creditably either. he was captain in a volunteer regiment of mississippians--for he hails from that state; but he was oftener met with at the _monte-table_ than in the quarters of his regiment. he had one or two affairs, that gave him the reputation of a bully. but that notoriety was not of mexican-war origin. he had earned it before going there; and was well known among the desperadoes of new orleans as a _dangerous man_." "what of all that?" asked the young dragoon, in a tone slightly savouring of defiance. "who cares whether mr cassius calhoun be a dangerous man, or a harmless one? not i. he's only the girl's cousin, you say?" "something more, perhaps. i have reason to think he's her lover." "accepted, do you suppose?" "that i can't tell. i only know, or suspect, that he's the favourite of the father. i have heard reasons why; given only in whispers, it is true, but too probable to be scouted. the old story--influence springing from mortgage money. poindexter's not so rich as he has been--else we'd never have seen him out here." "if the lady be as attractive as you say, i suppose we'll have captain cassius out here also, before long?" "before long! is that all you know about it? he _is_ here; came along with the family, and is now residing with them. some say he's a partner in the planting speculation. i saw him this very morning--down in the hotel bar-room--`liquoring up,' and swaggering in his old way." "a swarthy-complexioned man, of about thirty, with dark hair and moustaches; wearing a blue cloth frock, half military cut, and a colt's revolver strapped over his thigh?" "ay, and a bowie knife, if you had looked for it, under the breast of his coat. that's the man." "he's rather a formidable-looking fellow," remarked the young rifleman. "if a bully, his looks don't belie him." "damn his looks!" half angrily exclaimed the dragoon. "we don't hold commissions in uncle sam's army to be scared by looks, nor bullies either. if he comes any of his bullying over me, he'll find i'm as quick with a trigger as he." at that moment the bugle brayed out the call for morning parade--a ceremony observed at the little frontier fort as regularly as if a whole _corps-d'armee_ had been present--and the three officers separating, betook themselves to their quarters to prepare their several companies for the inspection of the major in command of the cantonment. chapter ten. casa del corvo. the estate, or "hacienda," known as casa del corvo, extended along the wooded bottom of the leona river for more than a league, and twice that distance southwards across the contiguous prairie. the house itself--usually, though not correctly, styled the _hacienda_-- stood within long cannon range of fort inge; from which its white walls were partially visible; the remaining portion being shadowed by tall forest trees that skirted the banks of the stream. its site was peculiar, and no doubt chosen with a view to defence: for its foundations had been laid at a time when indian assailants might be expected; as indeed they might be, and often are, at the present hour. there was a curve of the river closing upon itself, like the shoe of a racehorse, or the arc of a circle, three parts complete; the chord of which, or a parallelogram traced upon it, might be taken as the ground-plan of the dwelling. hence the name--casa del corvo--"the house of the curve" (curved river). the facade, or entrance side, fronted towards the prairie--the latter forming a noble lawn that extended to the edge of the horizon--in comparison with which an imperial park would have shrunk into the dimensions of a paddock. the architecture of casa del corvo, like that of other large country mansions in mexico, was of a style that might be termed morisco-mexican: being a single story in height, with a flat roof--_azotea_--spouted and parapeted all round; having a courtyard inside the walls, termed _patio_, open to the sky, with a flagged floor, a fountain, and a stone stairway leading up to the roof; a grand entrance gateway--the _saguan_--with a massive wooden door, thickly studded with bolt-heads; and two or three windows on each side, defended by a _grille_ of strong iron bars, called _reja_. these are the chief characteristics of a mexican hacienda; and casa del corvo differed but little from the type almost universal throughout the vast territories of spanish america. such was the homestead that adorned the newly acquired estate of the louisiana planter--that had become his property by purchase. as yet no change had taken place in the exterior of the dwelling; nor much in its interior, if we except the _personnel_ of its occupants. a physiognomy, half anglo-saxon, half franco-american, presented itself in courtyard and corridor, where formerly were seen only faces of pure spanish type; and instead of the rich sonorous language of andalusia, was now heard the harsher guttural of a semi-teutonic tongue-- occasionally diversified by the sweeter accentuation of creolian french. outside the walls of the mansion--in the village-like cluster of yucca-thatched huts which formerly gave housing to the _peons_ and other dependants of the hacienda--the transformation was more striking. where the tall thin _vaquero_, in broad-brimmed hat of black glaze, and chequered _serape_, strode proudly over the sward--his spurs tinkling at every step--was now met the authoritative "overseer," in blue jersey, or blanket coat--his whip cracking at every corner; where the red children of azteca and anahuac, scantily clad in tanned sheepskin, could be seen, with sad solemn aspect, lounging listlessly by their _jacales_, or trotting silently along, were now heard the black sons and daughters of ethiopia, from morn till night chattering their gay "gumbo," or with song and dance seemingly contradicting the idea: that slavery is a heritage of unhappiness! was it a change for the better upon the estate of casa del corvo? there was a time when the people of england would have answered--no; with a unanimity and emphasis calculated to drown all disbelief in their sincerity. alas, for human weakness and hypocrisy! our long cherished sympathy with the slave proves to have been only a tissue of sheer dissembling. led by an oligarchy--not the true aristocracy of our country: for these are too noble to have yielded to such, deep designings--but an oligarchy composed of conspiring plebs, who have smuggled themselves into the first places of power in all the four estates--guided by these prurient conspirators against the people's rights--england has proved untrue to her creed so loudly proclaimed--truculent to the trust reposed in her by the universal acclaim, of the nations. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ on a theme altogether different dwelt the thoughts of louise poindexter, as she flung herself into a chair in front of her dressing-glass, and directed her maid florinda to prepare her for the reception of guests-- expected soon to arrive at the hacienda. it was the day fixed for the "house-warming," and about an hour before the time appointed for dinner to be on the table. this might have explained a certain restlessness observable in the air of the young creole--especially observed by florinda; but it did not. the maid had her own thoughts about the cause of her mistress's disquietude--as was proved by the conversation that ensued between them. scarce could it be called a conversation. it was more as if the young lady were thinking aloud, with her attendant acting as an echo. during all her life, the creole had been accustomed to look upon her sable handmaid as a thing from whom it was not worth while concealing her thoughts, any more than she would from the chairs, the table, the sofa, or any other article of furniture in the apartment. there was but the difference of florinda being a little more animated and companionable, and the advantage of her being able to give a vocal response to the observations addressed to her. for the first ten minutes after entering the chamber, florinda had sustained the brunt of the dialogue on indifferent topics--her mistress only interfering with an occasional ejaculation. "oh, miss looey!" pursued the negress, as her fingers fondly played among the lustrous tresses of her young mistress's hair, "how bewful you hair am! like de long 'panish moss dat hang from de cyprus-tree; only dat it am ob a diff'rent colour, an shine like the sugar-house 'lasses." as already stated, louise poindexter was a creole. after that, it is scarce necessary to say that her hair was of a dark colour; and--as the sable maid in rude speech had expressed it--luxuriant as spanish moss. it was not black; but of a rich glowing brown--such as may be observed in the tinting of a tortoise-shell, or the coat of a winter-trapped sable. "ah!" continued florinda, spreading out an immense "hank" of the hair, that glistened like a chestnut against her dark palm, "if i had dat lubbly hair on ma head, in'tead ob dis cuss'd cully wool, i fotch em all to ma feet--ebbry one oh dem." "what do you mean, girl?" inquired the young lady, as if just aroused from some dreamy reverie. "what's that you've been saying? fetch them to your feet? fetch whom?" "na, now; you know what dis chile mean?" "'pon honour, i do not." "make em lub me. dat's what i should hab say." "but whom?" "all de white gen'l'm. de young planter, de officer ob de fort--all ob dem. wif you hair, miss looey, i could dem all make conquess." "ha--ha--ha!" laughed the young lady, amused at the idea of florinda figuring under that magnificent chevelure. "you think, with my hair upon your head, you would be invincible among the men?" "no, missa--not you hair alone--but wif you sweet face--you skin, white as de alumbaster--you tall figga--you grand look. oh, miss looey, you am so 'plendidly bewful! i hear de white gen'l'm say so. i no need hear em say it. i see dat for masef." "you're learning to flatter, florinda." "no, 'deed, missa--ne'er a word ob flattery--ne'er a word, i swa it. by de 'postles, i swa it." to one who looked upon her mistress, the earnest asseveration of the maid was not necessary to prove the sincerity of her speech, however hyperbolical it might appear. to say that louise poindexter was beautiful, would only be to repeat the universal verdict of the society that surrounded her. a single glance was sufficient to satisfy any one upon this point--strangers as well as acquaintances. it was a kind of beauty that needed no _discovering_--and yet it is difficult to describe it. the pen cannot portray swell a face. even the pencil could convey but a faint idea of it: for no painter, however skilled, could represent upon cold canvas the glowing ethereal light that emanated from her eyes, and appeared to radiate over her countenance. her features were purely classic: resembling those types of female beauty chosen by phidias or praxiteles. and yet in all the grecian pantheon there is no face to which it could have been likened: for it was not the countenance of a goddess; but, something more attractive to the eye of man, the face of a woman. a suspicion of sensuality, apparent in the voluptuous curving of the lower lip--still more pronounced in the prominent rounding beneath the cheeks--while depriving the countenance of its pure spiritualism, did not perhaps detract from its beauty. there are men, who, in this departure from the divine type, would have perceived a superior charm: since in louise poindexter they would have seen not a divinity to be worshipped, but a woman to be loved. her only reply vouchsafed to florinda's earnest asseveration was a laugh--careless, though not incredulous. the young creole did not need to be reminded of her beauty. she was not unconscious of it: as could be told by her taking more than one long look into the mirror before which her toilet was being made. the flattery of the negress scarce called up an emotion; certainly not more than she might have felt at the fawning of a pet spaniel; and she soon after surrendered herself to the reverie from which the speech had aroused her. florinda was not silenced by observing her mistress's air of abstraction. the girl had evidently something on her mind--some mystery, of which she desired the _eclaircissement_--and was determined to have it. "ah!" she continued, as if talking to herself; "if florinda had half de charm ob young missa, she for nobody care--she for nobody heave do deep sigh!" "sigh!" repeated her mistress, suddenly startled by the speech. "what do you mean by that?" "pa' dieu, miss looey, florinda no so blind you tink; nor so deaf neider. she you see long time sit in de same place; you nebber 'peak no word--you only heave de sigh--de long deep sigh. you nebba do dat in de ole plantashun in loozyanny." "florinda! i fear you are taking leave of your senses, or have left them behind you in louisiana? perhaps there's something in the climate here that affects you. is that so, girl?" "pa' dieu, miss looey, dat question ob youself ask. you no be angry case i 'peak so plain. florinda you slave--she you lub like brack sisser. she no happy hear you sigh. dat why she hab take de freedom. you no be angry wif me?" "certainly not. why should i be angry with you, child? i'm not. i didn't say i was; only you are quite mistaken in your ideas. what you've seen, or heard, could be only a fancy of your own. as for sighing, heigho! i have something else to think of just now. i have to entertain about a hundred guests--nearly all strangers, too; among them the young planters and officers whom you would entangle if you had my hair. ha! ha! ha! _i_ don't desire to enmesh them--not one of them! so twist it up as you like--without the semblance of a snare in it." "oh! miss looey, you so 'peak?" inquired the negress with an air of evident interest. "you say none ob dem gen'l'm you care for? dere am two, tree, berry, berry, berry han'som'. one planter dar be, and two ob de officer--all young gen'l'm. you know de tree i mean. all ob dem hab been 'tentive to you. you sure, missa, tain't one ob dem dat you make sigh?" "sigh again! ha! ha! ha! but come, florinda, we're losing time. recollect i've got to be in the drawing-room to receive a hundred guests. i must have at least half an hour to compose myself into an attitude befitting such an extensive reception." "no fear, miss looey--no fear. i you toilette make in time--plenty ob time. no much trouble you dress. pa' dieu, in any dress you look 'plendid. you be de belle if you dress like one ob de fiel' hand ob de plantashun." "what a flatterer you are grown, florinda! i shall begin to suspect that you are after some favour. do you wish me to intercede, and make up your quarrel with pluto?" "no, missa. i be friend nebber more wid pluto. he show hisseff such great coward when come dat storm on de brack prairee. ah, miss looey! what we boaf do if dat young white gen'l'm on de red hoss no come ridin' dat way?" "if he had not, cher florinde, it is highly probable neither of us should now have been here." "oh, missa! wasn't he real fancy man, dat 'ere? you see him bewful face. you see him thick hair, jess de colour ob you own--only curled leetle bit like mine. talk ob de young planter, or dem officer at de fort! de brack folk say he no good for nuffin, like dem--he only poor white trash. who care fo' dat? he am de sort ob man could dis chile make sigh. ah! de berry, berry sort!" up to this point the young creole had preserved a certain tranquillity of countenance. she tried to continue it; but the effort failed her. whether by accident or design, florinda had touched the most sensitive chord in the spirit of her mistress. she would have been loth to confess it, even to her slave; and it was a relief to her, when loud voices heard in the courtyard gave a colourable excuse for terminating her toilette, along with the delicate dialogue upon which she might have been constrained to enter. chapter eleven. an unexpected arrival. "say, ye durnationed nigger! whar's yur master?" "mass poindex'er, sar? de ole massr, or de young 'un?" "young 'un be durned! i mean mister peintdexter. who else shed i? whar air he?" "ho--ho! sar! dey am boaf at home--dat is, dey am boaf away from de house--de ole massr an de young massr henry. dey am down de ribber, wha de folk am makin' de new fence. ho! ho! you find 'em dar." "down the river! how fur d'ye reck'n?" "ho! ho! sar. dis nigga reck'n it be 'bout tree or four mile--dat at de berry leas'." "three or four mile? ye must be a durnationed fool, nigger. mister peintdexter's plantation don't go thet fur; an i reck'n he ain't the man to be makin' a fence on some'dy else's clarin'. lookee hyur! what time air he expected hum? ye've got a straighter idee o' thet, i hope?" "dey boaf 'pected home berry soon, de young massr and de ole massr, and mass ca'houn too. ho! ho! dar's agwine to be big dooin's 'bout dis yar shanty--yer see dat fo' yeseff by de smell ob de kitchen. ho! ho! all sorts o' gran' feassin'--do roas' an de bile, an de barbecue; de pot-pies, an de chicken fixins. ho! ho! ain't thar agwine to go it hyar jess like de ole times on de coass ob de massippy! hoora fo' ole mass poindex'er! he de right sort. ho! ho! 'tranger! why you no holla too: you no friend ob de massr?" "durn you, nigger, don't ye remember me? now i look into yur ugly mug, i recollex you." "gorramighty! 'tain't mass 'tump--'t use to fotch de ven'son an de turkey gobbla to de ole plantashun? by de jumbo, it am, tho'. law, mass 'tump, dis nigga 'members you like it wa de day afore yesserday. ise heern you called de odder day; but i war away from 'bout de place. i'm de coachman now--dribes de carriage dat carries de lady ob de 'tablishment--de bewful missy loo. lor, massr, she berry fine gal. dey do say she beat florinday into fits. nebba mind, mass 'tump, you better wait till ole massr come home. he am _a bound to be hya_, in de shortess poss'ble time." "wal, if thet's so, i'll wait upon him," rejoined the hunter, leisurely lifting his leg over the saddle--in which up to this time he had retained his seat. "now, ole fellur," he added, passing the bridle into the hands of the negro, "you gi'e the maar half a dozen yeers o' corn out o' the crib. i've rid the critter better 'n a score o' miles like a streak o' lightnin'--all to do yur master a sarvice." "oh, mr zebulon stump, is it you?" exclaimed a silvery voice, followed by the appearance of louise poindexter upon the verandah. "i thought it was," continued the young lady, coming up to the railings, "though i didn't expect to see you so soon. you said you were going upon a long journey. well--i am pleased that you are here; and so will papa and henry be. pluto! go instantly to chloe, the cook, and see what she can give you for mr stump's dinner. you have not dined, i know. you are dusty--you've been travelling? here, morinda! haste you to the sideboard, and pour out some drink. mr stump will be thirsty, i'm sure, this hot day. what would you prefer--port, sherry, claret? ah, now, if i recollect, you used to be partial to monongahela whisky. i think there is some. morinda, see if there be! step into the verandah, dear mr stump, and take a seat. you were inquiring for papa? i expect him home every minute. i shall try to entertain you till he come." had the young lady paused sooner in her speech, she would not have received an immediate reply. even as it was, some seconds elapsed before zeb made rejoinder. he stood gazing upon her, as if struck speechless by the sheer intensity of his admiration. "lord o' marcy, miss lewaze!" he at length gasped forth, "i thort when i used to see you on the massissippi, ye war the puttiest critter on the airth; but now, i think ye the puttiest thing eyther on airth or in hewing. geehosofat!" the old hunter's praise was scarce exaggerated. fresh from the toilette, the gloss of her luxuriant hair untarnished by the notion of the atmosphere; her cheeks glowing with a carmine tint, produced by the application of cold water; her fine figure, gracefully draped in a robe of india muslin--white and semi-translucent--certainly did louise poindexter appear as pretty as anything upon earth--if not in heaven. "geehosofat!" again exclaimed the hunter, following up his complimentary speech, "i hev in my time seed what i thort war some putty critters o' the sheemale kind--my ole 'ooman herself warn't so bad-lookin' when i fast kim acrost her in kaintuck--thet she warn't. but i will say this, miss lewaze: ef the puttiest bits o' all o' them war clipped out an then jeined thegither agin, they wudn't make up the thousanth part o' a angel sech as you." "oh--oh--oh! mr stump--mr stump! i'm astonished to hear _you_ talk in this manner. texas has quite turned you into a courtier. if you go on so, i fear you will lose your character for plain speaking! after that i am sure you will stand in need of a very big drink. haste, morinda! i think you said you would prefer whisky?" "ef i didn't say it, i thunk it; an that air about the same. yur right, miss, i prefar the corn afore any o' them thur furrin lickers; an i sticks to it whuriver i kin git it. texas hain't made no alterashun in me in the matter o' lickerin'." "mass 'tump, you it hab mix wif water?" inquired florinda, coming forward with a tumbler about one-half full of "monongahela." "no, gurl. durn yur water! i hev hed enuf o' thet since i started this mornin'. i hain't hed a taste o' licker the hul day--ne'er as much as the smell o' it." "dear mr stump! surely you can't drink it that way? why, it will burn your throat! have a little sugar, or honey, along with it?" "speil it, miss. it air sweet enuf 'ithout that sort o' docterin'; 'specially arter you hev looked inter the glass. yu'll see ef i can't drink it. hyur goes to try!" the old hunter raised the tumbler to his chin; and after giving three gulps, and the fraction of a fourth, returned it empty into the hands of florinda. a loud smacking of the lips almost drowned the simultaneous exclamations of astonishment uttered by the young lady and her maid. "burn my throat, ye say? ne'er a bit. it hez jest eiled thet ere jugewlar, an put it in order for a bit o' a palaver i wants to hev wi' yur father--'bout thet ere spotty mow-stang." "oh, true! i had forgotten. no, i hadn't either; but i did not suppose you had time to have news of it. have you heard anything of the pretty creature?" "putty critter ye may well pernounce it. it ur all o' thet. besides, it ur a maar." "a ma-a-r! what is that, mr stump? i don't understand." "a maar i sayed. shurly ye know what a maar is?" "ma-a-r--ma-a-r! why, no, not exactly. is it a mexican word? _mar_ in spanish signifies the sea." "in coorse it air a mexikin maar--all mowstangs air. they air all on 'em o' a breed as wur oncest brought over from some european country by the fust o' them as settled in these hyur parts--leesewise i hev heern so." "still, mr stump, i do not comprehend you. what makes this mustang a ma-a-r?" "what makes her a _maar_? 'case she ain't a _hoss_; thet's what make it, miss peintdexter." "oh--now--i--i think i comprehend. but did you say you have heard of the animal--i mean since you left us?" "heern o' her, seed her, an feeled her." "indeed!" "she air grupped." "ah, caught! what capital news! i shall be so delighted to see the beautiful thing; and ride it too. i haven't had a horse worth a piece of orange-peel since i've been in texas. papa has promised to purchase this one for me at any price. but who is the lucky individual who accomplished the capture?" "ye mean who grupped the maar?" "yes--yes--who?" "why, in coorse it wur a mowstanger." "a mustanger?" "ye-es--an such a one as thur ain't another on all these purayras-- eyther to ride a hoss, or throw a laryitt over one. yo may talk about yur mexikins! i never seed neery mexikin ked manage hoss-doin's like that young fellur; an thur ain't a drop o' thur pisen blood in his veins. he ur es white es i am myself." "his name?" "wal, es to the name o' his family, that i niver heern. his christyun name air maurice. he's knowed up thur 'bout the fort as maurice the mowstanger." the old hunter was not sufficiently observant to take note of the tone of eager interest in which the question had been asked, nor the sudden deepening of colour upon the cheeks of the questioner as she heard the answer. neither had escaped the observation of florinda. "la, miss looey!" exclaimed the latter, "shoo dat de name ob de brave young white gen'l'm--he dat us save from being smodered on de brack prairee?" "geehosofat, yes!" resumed the hunter, relieving the young lady from the necessity of making reply. "now i think o't, he told me o' thet suckumstance this very mornin', afore we started. he air the same. thet's the very fellur es hev trapped spotty; an he air toatin' the critter along at this eyedentical minnit, in kump'ny wi' about a dozen others o' the same cavyurd. he oughter be hyur afore sundown. i pushed my ole maar ahead, so 's to tell yur father the spotty war comin', and let him git the fust chance o' buyin'. i know'd as how thet ere bit o' hosdoin's don't get druv fur into the settlements efore someb'dy snaps her up. i thort o' _you_, miss lewaze, and how ye tuk on so when i tolt ye 'bout the critter. wal, make yur mind eezy; ye shell hev the fast chance. ole zeb stump 'll be yur bail for thet." "oh, mr stump, it is so kind of you! i am very, very grateful. you will now excuse me for a moment. father will soon be back. we have a dinner-party to-day; and i have to prepare for receiving a great many people. florinda, see that mr stump's luncheon is set out for him. go, girl--go at once about it!" "and, mr stump," continued the young lady, drawing nearer to the hunter, and speaking in a more subdued tone of voice, "if the young-- young gentleman should arrive while the other people are here--perhaps he don't know them--will you see that he is not neglected? there is wine yonder, in the verandah, and other things. you know what i mean, dear mr stump?" "durned if i do, miss lewaze; that air, not adzackly. i kin unnerstan' all thet ere 'bout the licker' an other fixins. but who air the young gen'leman yur speakin' o'? thet's the thing as bamboozles me." "surely you know who i mean! the young gentleman--the young man--who, you say, is bringing in the horses." "oh! ah! maurice the mowstanger! that's it, is it? wal, i reck'n yur not a hundred mile astray in calling _him_ a gen'leman; tho' it ain't offen es a mowstanger gits thet entitlement, or desarves it eyther. _he air one_, every inch o' him--a gen'leman by barth, breed, an raisin'-- tho' he air a hoss-hunter, an irish at thet." the eyes of louise poindexter sparkled with delight as she listened to opinions so perfectly in unison with her own. "i must tell ye, howsomdiver," continued the hunter, as some doubt had come across his mind, "it won't do to show that 'ere young fellur any sort o' second-hand hospertality. as they used to say on the massissippi, he air `as proud as a peintdexter.' excuse me, miss lewaze, for lettin' the word slip. i did think o't thet i war talkin' to a peintdexter--not the proudest, but the puttiest o' the name." "oh, mr stump! you can say what you please to me. you know that i could not be offended with you, you dear old giant!" "he'd be meaner than a dwurf es ked eyther say or do anythin' to offend you, miss." "thanks! thanks! i know your honest heart--i know your devotion. perhaps some time--some time, mr stump,"--she spoke hesitatingly, but apparently without any definite meaning--"i might stand in need of your friendship." "ye won't need it long afore ye git it, then; thet ole zeb stump kin promise ye, miss peintdexter. he'd be stinkiner than a skunk, an a bigger coward than a coyoat, es wouldn't stan' by sech as you, while there wur a bottle-full o' breath left in the inside o' his body." "a thousand thanks--again and again! but what were you going to say? you spoke of second-hand hospitality?" "i dud." "you meant--?" "i meaned thet it 'ud be no use o' my inviting maurice the mowstanger eyther to eat or drink unner this hyur roof. unless yur father do that, the young fellur 'll go 'ithout tastin'. you unnerstan, miss lewaze, he ain't one o' thet sort o' poor whites as kin be sent roun' to the kitchen." the young creole stood for a second or two, without making rejoinder. she appeared to be occupied with some abstruse calculation, that engrossed the whole of her thoughts. "never mind about it," she at length said, in a tone that told the calculation completed. "never mind, mr stump. you need not invite him. only let _me_ know when he arrives--unless we be at dinner, and then, of course, he would not expect any one to appear. but if he _should_ come at that time, _you_ detain him--won't you?" "boun' to do it, ef you bid me." "you will, then; and let me know he is here. _i_ shall ask him to eat." "ef ye do, miss, i reck'n ye'll speil his appetite. the sight o' you, to say nothin' o' listenin' to your melodyus voice, ud cure a starvin' wolf o' bein' hungry. when i kim in hyur i war peckish enuf to swaller a raw buzzart. neow i don't care a durn about eatin'. i ked go 'ithout chawin' meat for month." as this exaggerated chapter of euphemism was responded to by a peal of clear ringing laughter, the young lady pointed to the other side of the patio; where her maid was seer emerging from the "cocina," carrying a light tray--followed by pluto with one of broader dimensions, more heavily weighted. "you great giant!" was the reply, given in a tone of sham reproach; "i won't believe you have lost your appetite, until you have eaten jack. yonder come pluto and morinda. they bring something that will prove more cheerful company than i; so i shall leave you to enjoy it. good bye, zeb--good bye, or, as the natives say here, _hasta luego_!" gaily were these words spoken--lightly did louise poindexter trip back across the covered corridor. only after entering her chamber, and finding herself _chez soi-meme_, did she give way to a reflection of a more serious character, that found expression in words low murmured, but full of mystic meaning:-- "it is my destiny: i feel--i know that it is! i dare not meet, and yet i cannot shun it--i may not--i would not--i _will not_!" chapter twelve. taming a wild mare. the pleasantest _apartment_ in a mexican house is that which has the roof for its floor, and the sky for its ceiling--the _azotea_. in fine weather--ever fine in that sunny clime--it is preferred to the drawing-room; especially after dinner, when the sun begins to cast rose-coloured rays upon the snow-clad summits of orizava, popocatepec, toluca, and the "twin sister;" when the rich wines of xeres and madeira have warmed the imaginations of andalusia's sons and daughters-- descendants of the conquistadores--who mount up to their house-tops to look upon a land of world-wide renown, rendered famous by the heroic achievements of their ancestors. then does the mexican "cavallero," clad in embroidered habiliments, exhibit his splendid exterior to the eyes of some senorita--at the same time puffing the smoke of his paper cigarito against her cheeks. then does the dark-eyed doncella favourably listen to soft whisperings; or perhaps only pretends to listen, while, with heart distraught, and eye wandering away, she sends stealthy glances over the plain towards some distant hacienda--the home of him she truly loves. so enjoyable a fashion, as that of spending the twilight hours upon the housetop, could not fail to be followed by any one who chanced to be the occupant of a mexican dwelling; and the family of the louisiana planter had adopted it, as a matter of course. on that same evening, after the dining-hall had been deserted, the roof, instead of the drawing-room, was chosen as the place of re-assemblage; and as the sun descended towards the horizon, his slanting rays fell upon a throng as gay, as cheerful, and perhaps as resplendent, as ever trod the azotea of casa del corvo. moving about over its tessellated tiles, standing in scattered groups, or lined along the parapet with faces turned towards the plain, were women as fair and men as brave as had ever assembled on that same spot--even when its ancient owner used to distribute hospitality to the _hidalgos_ of the land--the _bluest_ blood in coahuila and texas. the company now collected to welcome the advent of woodley poindexter on his texan estate, could also boast of this last distinction. they were the _elite_ of the settlements--not only of the leona, but of others more distant. there were guests from gonzales, from castroville, and even from san antonio--old friends of the planter, who, like him, had sought a home in south-western texas, and who had ridden--some of them over a hundred miles--to be present at this, his first grand "reception." the planter had spared neither pains nor expense to give it _eclat_. what with the sprinkling of uniforms and epaulettes, supplied by the fort--what with the brass band borrowed from the same convenient repository--what with the choice wines found in the cellars of casa del corvo, and which had formed part of the purchase--there could be little lacking to make poindexter's party the most brilliant ever given upon the banks of the leona. and to insure this effect, his lovely daughter louise, late belle of louisiana--the fame of whose beauty had been before her, even in texas-- acted as mistress of the ceremonies--moving about among the admiring guests with the smile of a queen, and the grace of a goddess. on that occasion was she the cynosure of a hundred pairs of eyes, the happiness of a score of hearts, and perhaps the torture of as many more: for not all were blessed who beheld her beauty. was she herself happy? the interrogatory may appear singular--almost absurd. surrounded by friends--admirers--one, at least, who adored her--a dozen whose incipient love could but end in adoration--young planters, lawyers, embryo statesmen, and some with reputation already achieved--sons of mars in armour, or with armour late laid aside--how could she be otherwise than proudly, supremely happy? a stranger might have asked the question; one superficially acquainted with creole character--more especially the character of the lady in question. but mingling in that splendid throng was a man who was no stranger to either; and who, perhaps, more than any one present, watched her every movement; and endeavoured more than any other to interpret its meaning. cassius calhoun was the individual thus occupied. she went not hither, nor thither, without his following her--not close, like a shadow; but by stealth, flitting from place to place; upstairs, and downstairs; standing in corners, with an air of apparent abstraction; but all the while with eyes turned askant upon his cousin's face, like a plain-clothes policeman employed on detective duty. strangely enough he did not seem to pay much regard to her speeches, made in reply to the compliments showered upon her by several would-be winners of a smile--not even when these were conspicuous and respectable, as in the case of young hancock of the dragoons. to all such he listened without visible emotion, as one listens to a conversation in no way affecting the affairs either of self or friends. it was only after ascending to the azotea, on observing his cousin near the parapet, with her eye turned interrogatively towards the plain, that his detective zeal became conspicuous--so much so as to attract the notice of others. more than once was it noticed by those standing near: for more than once was repeated the act which gave cause to it. at intervals, not very wide apart, the young mistress of casa del corvo might have been seen to approach the parapet, and look across the plain, with a glance that seemed to interrogate the horizon of the sky. why she did so no one could tell. no one presumed to conjecture, except cassius calhoun. he had thoughts upon the subject--thoughts that were torturing him. when a group of moving forms appeared upon the prairie, emerging from the garish light of the setting sun--when the spectators upon the azotea pronounced it a drove of horses in charge of some mounted men--the ex-officer of volunteers had a suspicion as to who was conducting that _cavallada_. another appeared to feel an equal interest in its advent, though perhaps from a different motive. long before the horse-drove had attracted the observation of poindexter's guests, his daughter had noted its approach--from the time that a cloud of dust soared up against the horizon, so slight and filmy as to have escaped detection by any eye not bent expressly on discovering it. from that moment the young creole, under cover of a conversation carried on amid a circle of fair companions, had been slyly scanning the dust-cloud as it drew nearer; forming conjectures as to what was causing it, upon knowledge already, and as she supposed, exclusively her own. "wild horses!" announced the major commandant of fort inge, after a short inspection through his pocket telescope. "some one bringing them in," he added, a second time raising the glass to his eye. "oh! i see now--it's maurice the mustanger, who occasionally helps our men to a remount. he appears to be coming this way--direct to your place, mr poindexter." "if it be the young fellow you have named, that's not unlikely," replied the owner of casa del corvo. "i bargained with him to catch me a score or two; and maybe this is the first instalment he's bringing me." "yes, i think it is," he added, after a look through the telescope. "i am sure of it," said the planter's son. "i can tell the horseman yonder to be maurice gerald." the planter's daughter could have done the same; though she made no display of her knowledge. she did not appear to be much interested in the matter--indeed, rather indifferent. she had become aware of being watched by that evil eye, constantly burning upon her. the _cavallada_ came up, maurice sitting handsomely on his horse, with the spotted mare at the end of his lazo. "what a beautiful creature!" exclaimed several voices, as the captured mustang was led up in front of the house, quivering with excitement at a scene so new to it. "it's worth a journey to the ground to look at such an animal!" suggested the major's wife, a lady of enthusiastic inclinings. "i propose we all go down! what say you, miss poindexter?" "oh, certainly," answered the mistress of the mansion, amidst a chorus of other voices crying out-- "let us go down! let us go down!" led by the majoress, the ladies filed down the stone stairway--the gentlemen after; and in a score of seconds the horse-hunter, still seated in his saddle, became, with his captive, the centre of the distinguished circle. henry poindexter had hurried down before the rest, and already, in the frankest manner, bidden the stranger welcome. between the latter and louise only a slight salutation could be exchanged. familiarity with a horse-dealer--even supposing him to have had the honour of an introduction--would scarce have been tolerated by the "society." of the ladies, the major's wife alone addressed him in a familiar way; but that was in a tone that told of superior position, coupled with condescension. he was more gratified by a glance--quick and silent-- when his eye changed intelligence with that of the young creole. hers was not the only one that rested approvingly upon him. in truth, the mustanger looked splendid, despite his travel-stained habiliments. his journey of over twenty miles had done little to fatigue him. the prairie breeze had freshened the colour upon his cheeks; and his full round throat, naked to the breast-bone, and slightly bronzed with the sun, contributed to the manliness of his mien. even the dust clinging to his curled hair could not altogether conceal its natural gloss, nor the luxuriance of its growth; while a figure tersely knit told of strength and endurance beyond the ordinary endowment of man. there were stolen glances, endeavouring to catch his, sent by more than one of the fair circle. the pretty niece of the commissary smiled admiringly upon him. some said the commissary's wife; but this could be only a slander, to be traced, perhaps, to the doctor's better half--the lady teazle of the cantonment. "surely," said poindexter, after making an examination of the captured mustang, "this must be the animal of which old zeb stump has been telling me?" "it ur thet eyedenticul same," answered the individual so described, making his way towards maurice with the design of assisting him. "ye-es, mister peintdexter; the eyedenticul critter--a maar, es ye kin all see for yurselves--" "yes, yes," hurriedly interposed the planter, not desiring any further elucidation. "the young fellur hed grupped her afore i got thur; so i wur jess in the nick o' time 'bout it. she mout a been tuck elswhar, an then miss lewaze thur mout a missed hevin' her." "it is true indeed, mr stump! it was very thoughtful of you. i know not how i shall ever be able to reciprocate your kindness?" "reciperkate! wal, i spose thet air means to do suthin in return. ye kin do thet, miss, 'ithout much difeequilty. i han't dud nothin' for you, ceptin' make a bit o' a journey acrost the purayra. to see yur bewtyful self mounted on thet maar, wi' yur ploomed het upon yur head, an yur long-tailed pettykote streakin' it ahint you, 'ud pay old zeb stump to go clur to the rockies, and back agin." "oh, mr stump! you are an incorrigible flatterer! look around you! you will see many here more deserving of your compliments than i." "wal, wal!" rejoined zeb, casting a look of careless scrutiny towards the ladies, "i ain't a goin' to deny thet thur air gobs o' putty critters hyur--dog-goned putty critters; but es they used to say in ole loozyanney, thur air but one lewaze peintdexter." a burst of laughter--in which only a few feminine voices bore part--was the reply to zeb's gallant speech. "i shall owe you two hundred dollars for this," said the planter, addressing himself to maurice, and pointing to the spotted mare. "i think that was the sum stipulated for by mr stump." "i was not a party to the stipulation," replied the mustanger, with a significant but well-intentioned smile. "i cannot take your money. _she_ is not for sale." "oh, indeed!" said the planter, drawing back with an air of proud disappointment; while his brother planters, as well as the officers of the fort, looked astonished at the refusal of such a munificent price. two hundred dollars for an untamed mustang, when the usual rate of price was from ten to twenty! the mustanger must be mad? he gave them no time to descant upon his sanity. "mr poindexter," he continued, speaking in the same good-humoured strain, "you have given me such a generous price for my other captives-- and before they were taken too--that i can afford to make a present-- what we over in ireland call a `luckpenny.' it is our custom there also, when a horse-trade takes place at the house, to give the _douceur_, not to the purchaser himself, but to one of the fair members of his family. may i have your permission to introduce this hibernian fashion into the settlements of texas?" "certainly, by all means!" responded several voices, two or three of them unmistakably with an irish accentuation. "oh, certainly, mr gerald!" replied the planter, his conservatism giving way to the popular will--"as you please about that." "thanks, gentlemen--thanks!" said the mustanger, with a patronising look towards men who believed themselves to be his masters. "this mustang is my luckpenny; and if miss poindexter will condescend to accept of it, i shall feel more than repaid for the three days' chase which the creature has cost me. had she been the most cruel of coquettes, she could scarce have been more difficult to subdue." "i accept your gift, sir; and with gratitude," responded the young creole--for the first time prominently proclaiming herself, and stepping freely forth as she spoke. "but i have a fancy," she continued, pointing to the mustang--at the same time that her eye rested inquiringly on the countenance of the mustanger--"a fancy that your captive is not yet _tamed_? she but trembles in fear of the unknown future. she may yet kick against the traces, if she find the harness not to her liking; and then what am i to do--poor i?" "true, maurice!" said the major, widely mistaken as to the meaning of the mysterious speech, and addressing the only man on the ground who could possibly have comprehended it; "miss poindexter speaks very sensibly. that mustang has not been tamed yet--any one may see it. come, my good fellow! give her the lesson. "ladies and gentlemen!" continued the major, turning towards the company, "this is something worth your seeing--those of you who have not witnessed the spectacle before. come, maurice; mount, and show us a specimen of prairie horsemanship. she looks as though she would put your skill to the test." "you are right, major: she does!" replied the mustanger, with a quick glance, directed not towards the captive quadruped, but to the young creole; who, with all her assumed courage, retired tremblingly behind the circle of spectators. "no matter, my man," pursued the major, in a tone intended for encouragement. "in spite of that devil sparkling in her eye, i'll lay ten to one you'll take the conceit out of her. try!" without losing credit, the mustanger could not have declined acceding to the major's request. it was a challenge to skill--to equestrian prowess--a thing not lightly esteemed upon the prairies of texas. he proclaimed his acceptance of it by leaping lightly out of his saddle, resigning his own steed to zeb stump, and exclusively giving his attention to the captive. the only preliminary called for was the clearing of the ground. this was effected in an instant--the greater part of the company--with all the ladies--returning to the azotea. with only a piece of raw-hide rope looped around the under jaw, and carried headstall fashion behind the ears--with only one rein in hand-- maurice sprang to the back of the wild mare. it was the first time she had ever been mounted by man--the first insult of the kind offered to her. a shrill spiteful scream spoke plainly her appreciation of and determination to resent it. it proclaimed defiance of the attempt to degrade her to the condition of a slave! with equine instinct, she reared upon her hind legs, for some seconds balancing her body in an erect position. her rider, anticipating the trick, had thrown his arms around her neck; and, close clasping her throat, appeared part of herself. but for this she might have poised over upon her back, and crushed him beneath her. the uprearing of the hind quarters was the next "trick" of the mustang-- sure of being tried, and most difficult for the rider to meet without being thrown. from sheer conceit in his skill, he had declined saddle and stirrup, that would now have stood him in stead; but with these he could not have claimed accomplishment of the boasted feat of the prairies--_to tame the naked steed_. he performed it without them. as the mare raised her hind quarters aloft, he turned quickly upon her back, threw his arms around the barrel of her body, and resting his toes upon the angular points of her fore shoulders, successfully resisted her efforts to unhorse him. twice or three times was the endeavour repeated by the mustang, and as often foiled by the skill of the mustanger; and then, as if conscious that such efforts were idle, the enraged animal plunged no longer; but, springing away from the spot, entered upon a gallop that appeared to have no goal this side the ending of the earth. it must have come to an end somewhere; though not within sight of the spectators, who kept their places, waiting for the horse-tamer's return. conjectures that he might be killed, or, at the least, badly "crippled," were freely ventured during his absence; and there was one who wished it so. but there was also one upon whom such an event would have produced a painful impression--almost as painful as if her own life depended upon his safe return. why louise poindexter, daughter of the proud louisiana sugar-planter--a belle--a beauty of more than provincial repute--who could, by simply saying yes, have had for a husband the richest and noblest in the land--why she should have fixed her fancy, or even permitted her thoughts to stray, upon a poor horse-hunter of texas, was a mystery that even her own intellect--by no means a weak one--was unable to fathom. perhaps she had not yet gone so far as to fix her fancy upon him. she did not think so herself. had she thought so, and reflected upon it, perhaps she would have recoiled from the contemplation of certain consequences, that could not have failed to present themselves to her mind. she was but conscious of having conceived some strange interest in a strange individual--one who had presented himself in a fashion that favoured fanciful reflections--one who differed essentially from the common-place types introduced to her in the world of social distinctions. she was conscious, too, that this interest--originating in a word, a glance, a gesture--listened to, or observed, amid the ashes of a burnt prairie--instead of subsiding, had ever since been upon the increase! it was not diminished when maurice the mustanger came riding back across the plain, with the wild mare between his legs--no more wild--no longer desiring to destroy him--but with lowered crest and mien submissive, acknowledging to all the world that she had found her master! without acknowledging it to the world, or even to herself, the young creole was inspired with a similar reflection. "miss poindexter!" said the mustanger, gliding to the ground, and without making any acknowledgment to the plaudits that were showered upon him--"may i ask you to step up to her, throw this lazo over her neck, and lead her to the stable? by so doing, she will regard you as her tamer; and ever after submit to your will, if you but exhibit the sign that first deprived her of her liberty." a prude would have paltered with the proposal--a coquette would have declined it--a timid girl have shrunk back. not so louise poindexter--a descendant of one of the _filles-a-la-casette_. without a moment's hesitation--without the slightest show of prudery or fear--she stepped forth from the aristocratic circle; as instructed, took hold of the horsehair rope; whisked it across the neck of the tamed mustang; and led the captive off towards the _caballeriza_ of casa del corvo. as she did so, the mustanger's words were ringing in her ears, and echoing through her heart with a strange foreboding weird signification. "_she will regard you as her tamer; and ever after submit to your will, if you but exhibit the sign that first deprived her of her liberty_." chapter thirteen. a prairie pic-nic. the first rays from a rosy aurora, saluting the flag of fort inge, fell with a more subdued light upon an assemblage of objects occupying the parade-ground below--in front of the "officers' quarters." a small sumpter-waggon stood in the centre of the group; having attached to it a double span of tight little mexican mules, whose quick impatient "stomping," tails spitefully whisked, and ears at intervals turning awry, told that they had been for some time in harness, and were impatient to move off--warning the bystanders, as well, against a too close approximation to their heels. literally speaking, there were no bystanders--if we except a man of colossal size, in blanket coat, and slouch felt hat; who, despite the obscure light straggling around his shoulders, could be identified as zeb stump, the hunter. he was not standing either, but seated astride his "ole maar," that showed less anxiety to be off than either the mexican mules or her own master. the other forms around the vehicle were all in motion--quick, hurried, occasionally confused--hither and thither, from the waggon to the door of the quarters, and back again from the house to the vehicle. there were half a score of them, or thereabouts; varied in costume as in the colour of their skins. most were soldiers, in fatigue dress, though of different arms of the service. two would be taken to be mess-cooks; and two or three more, officers' servants, who had been detailed from the ranks. a more legitimate specimen of this profession appeared in the person of a well-dressed darkie, who moved about the ground in a very authoritative manner; deriving his importance, from his office of _valet de tout_ to the major in command of the cantonment. a sergeant, as shown by his three-barred chevron, was in charge of the mixed party, directing their movements; the object of which was to load the waggon with eatables and drinkables--in short, the paraphernalia of a pic-nic. that it was intended to be upon a grand scale, was testified by the amplitude and variety of the _impedimenta_. there were hampers and baskets of all shapes and sizes, including the well known parallelopipedon, enclosing its twelve necks of shining silver-lead; while the tin canisters, painted spanish brown, along with the universal sardine-case, proclaimed the presence of many luxuries not indigenous to texas. however delicate and extensive the stock of provisions, there was one in the party of purveyors who did not appear to think it complete. the dissatisfied lucullus was zeb stump. "lookee hyur, surgint," said he, addressing himself confidentially to the individual in charge, "i hain't seed neery smell o' corn put inter the veehicle as yit; an', i reck'n, thet out on the purayra, thur'll be some folks ud prefar a leetle corn to any o' thet theer furrin french stuff. sham-pain, ye call it, i b'lieve." "prefer corn to champagne! the horses you mean?" "hosses be durned. i ain't talkin' 'bout hoss corn. i mean m'nongaheela." "oh--ah--i comprehend. you're right about that, mr stump. the whisky mustn't be forgotten, pomp. i think i saw a jar inside, that's intended to go?" "yaw--yaw, sagint," responded the dark-skinned domestic; "dar am dat same wesicle. hya it is!" he added, lugging a large jar into the light, and swinging it up into the waggon. old zeb appearing to think the packing now complete, showed signs of impatience to be off. "ain't ye riddy, surgint?" he inquired, shifting restlessly in his stirrups. "not quite, mr stump. the cook tells me the chickens want another turn upon the spit, before we can take 'em along." "durn the chickens, an the cook too! what air any dung-hill fowl to compare wi' a wild turkey o' the purayra; an how am i to shoot one, arter the sun hev clomb ten mile up the sky? the major sayed i war to git him a gobbler, whativer shed happen. 'tain't so durnation eezy to kill turkey gobbler arter sun-up, wi' a clamjamferry like this comin' clost upon a fellur's heels? ye mustn't surpose, surgint, that thet ere bird air as big a fool as the sodger o' a fort. of all the cunnin' critters as ferquents these hyur purayras, a turkey air the cunninest; an to git helf way roun' one o' 'em, ye must be up along wi' the sun; and preehap a leetle urlier." "true, mr stump. i know the major wants a wild turkey. he told me so; and expects you to procure one on the way." "no doubt he do; an preehap expex me likeways to purvid him wi' a baffler's tongue, an hump--seein' as thur ain't sech a anymal on the purayras o' south texas--nor hain't a been for good twenty yurs past-- noterthstandin' what eur-op-ean writers o' books hev said to the contrary, an 'specially french 'uns, as i've heern. thur ain't no burner 'bout hyur. thur's baar, an deer, an goats, an plenty o' gobblers; but to hev one o' these critters for yur dinner, ye must git it urly enuf for yur breakfist. unless i hev my own time, i won't promise to guide yur party, an git gobbler both. so, surgint, ef ye expex yur grand kumpny to chaw turkey-meat this day, ye'll do well to be makin' tracks for the purayra." stirred by the hunter's representation, the sergeant did all that was possible to hasten the departure of himself and his parti-coloured company; and, shortly after, the provision train, with zeb stump as its guide, was wending its way across the extensive plain that lies between the leona and the "river of nuts." the parade-ground had been cleared of the waggon and its escort scarce twenty minutes, when a party of somewhat different appearance commenced assembling upon the same spot. there were ladies on horseback; attended, not by grooms, as at the "meet" in an english hunting-field, but by the gentlemen who were to accompany them--their friends and acquaintances--fathers, brothers, lovers, and husbands. most, if not all, who had figured at poindexter's dinner party, were soon upon the ground. the planter himself was present; as also his son henry, his nephew cassius calhoun, and his daughter louise--the young lady mounted upon the spotted mustang, that had figured so conspicuously on the occasion of the entertainment at casa del corvo. the affair was a reciprocal treat--a simple return of hospitality; the major and his officers being the hosts, the planter and his friends the invited guests. the entertainment about to be provided, if less pretentious in luxurious appointments, was equally appropriate to the time and place. the guests of the cantonment were to be gratified by witnessing a spectacle--grand as rare--a chase of wild steeds! the arena of the sport could only be upon the wild-horse prairies--some twenty miles to the southward of fort inge. hence the necessity for an early start, and being preceded by a vehicle laden with an ample _commissariat_. just as the sunbeams began to dance upon the crystal waters of the leona, the excursionists were ready to take their departure from the parade-ground--with an escort of two-score dragoons that had been ordered to ride in the rear. like the party that preceded them, they too were provided with a guide--not an old backwoodsman in battered felt hat, and faded blanket coat, astride a scraggy roadster; but a horseman completely costumed and equipped, mounted upon a splendid steed, in every way worthy to be the chaperone of such a distinguished expedition. "come, maurice!" cried the major, on seeing that all had assembled, "we're ready to be conducted to the game. ladies and gentlemen! this young fellow is thoroughly acquainted with the haunts and habits of the wild horses. if there's a man in texas, who can show us how to hunt them, 'tis maurice the mustanger." "faith, you flatter me, major!" rejoined the young irishman, turning with a courteous air towards the company; "i have not said so much as that. i can only promise to show you where you may _find_ them." "modest fellow!" soliloquised one, who trembled, as she gave thought to what she more than half suspected to be an untruth. "lead on, then!" commanded the major; and, at the word, the gay cavalcade, with the mustanger in the lead, commenced moving across the parade-ground--while the star-spangled banner, unfurled by the morning breeze, fluttered upon its staff as if waving them an elegant adieu! a twenty-mile ride upon prairie turf is a mere bagatelle--before breakfast, an airing. in texas it is so regarded by man, woman, and horse. it was accomplished in less than three hours--without further inconvenience than that which arose from performing the last few miles of it with appetites uncomfortably keen. fortunately the provision waggon, passed upon the road, came close upon their heels; and, long before the sun had attained the meridian line, the excursionists were in full pic-nic under the shade of a gigantic pecan tree, that stood near the banks of the nueces. no incident had occurred on the way--worth recording. the mustanger, as guide, had ridden habitually in the advance; the company, with one or two exceptions, thinking of him only in his official capacity--unless when startled by some feat of horsemanship--such as leaping clear over a prairie stream, or dry arroyo, which others were fain to ford, or cross by the crooked path. there may have been a suspicion of bravado in this behaviour--a desire to exhibit. cassius calhoun told the company there was. perhaps the ex-captain spoke the truth--for once. if so, there was also some excuse. have you ever been in a hunting-field, at home, with riding habits trailing the sward, and plumed hats proudly nodding around you? you have: and then what? be cautious how you condemn the texan mustanger. reflect, that he, too, was under the artillery of bright eyes--a score pair of them--some as bright as ever looked love out of a lady's saddle. think, that louise poindexter's were among the number--think of that, and you will scarce feel surprised at the ambition to "shine." there were others equally demonstrative of personal accomplishments--of prowess that might prove manhood. the young dragoon, hancock, frequently essayed to show that he was not new to the saddle; and the lieutenant of mounted rifles, at intervals, strayed from the side of the commissary's niece for the performance of some equestrian feat, without looking exclusively to her, his reputed sweetheart, as he listened to the whisperings of applause. ah, daughter of poindexter! whether in the _salons_ of civilised louisiana, or the prairies of savage texas, peace could not reign in thy presence! go where thou wilt, romantic thoughts must spring up--wild passions be engendered around thee! chapter fourteen. the manada. had their guide held the prairies in complete control--its denizens subject to his secret will--responsible to time and place--he could not have conducted the excursionists to a spot more likely to furnish the sport that had summoned them forth. just as the sparkling johannisberger--obtained from the german wine-stores of san antonio--had imparted a brighter blue to the sky, and a more vivid green to the grass, the cry "mustenos!" was heard above the hum of conversation, interrupting the half-spoken sentiment, with the peal of merry laughter. it came from a mexican _vaquero_, who had been stationed as a vidette on an eminence near at hand. maurice--at the moment partaking of the hospitality of his employers, freely extended to him--suddenly quaffed off the cup; and springing to his saddle, cried out-- "_cavallada_?" "no," answered the mexican; "_manada_." "what do the fellows mean by their gibberish?" inquired captain calhoun. "_mustenos_ is only the mexican for mustangs," replied the major; "and by `manada' he means they are wild mares--a drove of them. at this season they herd together, and keep apart from the horses; unless when--" "when what?" impatiently asked the ex-officer of volunteers, interrupting the explanation. "when they are attacked by asses," innocently answered the major. a general peal of laughter rendered doubtful the _naivete_ of the major's response--imparting to it the suspicion of a personality not intended. for a moment calhoun writhed under the awkward misconception of the auditory; but only for a moment. he was not the man to succumb to an unlucky accident of speech. on the contrary, he perceived the chance of a triumphant reply; and took advantage of it. "indeed!" he drawled out, without appearing to address himself to any one in particular. "i was not aware that mustangs were so dangerous in these parts." as calhoun said this, he was not looking at louise poindexter or he might have detected in her eye a glance to gratify him. the young creole, despite an apparent coolness towards him, could not withhold admiration at anything that showed cleverness. his case might not be so hopeless? the young dragoon, hancock, did not think it so; nor yet the lieutenant of rifles. both observed the approving look, and both became imbued with the belief that cassius calhoun had--or might have--in his keeping, the happiness of his cousin. the conjecture gave a secret chagrin to both, but especially to the dragoon. there was but short time for him to reflect upon it; the manada was drawing near. "to the saddle!" was the thought upon every mind, and the cry upon every tongue. the bit was rudely inserted between teeth still industriously grinding the yellow corn; the bridle drawn over shoulders yet smoking after the quick skurry of twenty miles through the close atmosphere of a tropical morn; and, before a hundred could have been deliberately counted, every one, ladies and gentlemen alike, was in the stirrup, ready to ply whip and spur. by this time the wild mares appeared coming over the crest of the ridge upon which the vidette had been stationed. he, himself a horse-catcher by trade, was already mounted, and in their midst--endeavouring to fling his lazo over one of the herd. they were going at mad gallop, as if fleeing from a pursuer--some dreaded creature that was causing them to "whigher" and snort! with their eyes strained to the rear, they saw neither the sumpter waggon, nor the equestrians clustering around it, but were continuing onward to the spot; which chanced to lie directly in the line of their flight. "they are chased!" remarked maurice, observing the excited action of the animals. "what is it, crespino?" he cried out to the mexican, who, from his position, must have seen any pursuer that might be after them. there was a momentary pause, as the party awaited the response. in the crowd were countenances that betrayed uneasiness, some even alarm. it might be indians who were in pursuit of the mustangs! "_un asino cimmaron_!" was the phrase that came from the mouth of the mexican, though by no means terminating the suspense of the picknickers. "_un macho_!" he added. "oh! that's it! i thought it was!" muttered maurice. "the rascal must be stopped, or he'll spoil our sport. so long as he's after them, they'll not make halt this side the sky line. is the macho coming on?" "close at hand, don mauricio. making straight for myself." "fling your rope over him, if you can. if not, cripple him with a shot--anything to put an end to his capers." the character of the pursuer was still a mystery to most, if not all, upon the ground: for only the mustanger knew the exact signification of the phrases--"un asino cimmaron," "un macho." "explain, maurice!" commanded the major. "look yonder!" replied the young irishman, pointing to the top of the hill. the two words were sufficient. all eyes became directed towards the crest of the ridge, where an animal, usually regarded as the type of slowness and stupidity, was seen advancing with the swiftness of a bird upon the wing. but very different is the "asino cimmaron" from the ass of civilisation--the donkey be-cudgelled into stolidity. the one now in sight was a male, almost as large as any of the mustangs it was chasing; and if not fleet as the fleetest, still able to keep up with them by the sheer pertinacity of its pursuit! the tableau of nature, thus presented on the green surface of the prairie, was as promptly produced as it could have been upon the stage of a theatre, or the arena of a hippodrome. scarce a score of words had passed among the spectators, before the wild mares were close up to them; and then, as if for the first time, perceiving the mounted party, they seemed to forget their dreaded pursuer, and shied off in a slanting direction. "ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the guide to a score of people, endeavouring to restrain their steeds; "keep your places, if you can. i know where the herd has its haunt. they are heading towards it now; and we shall find them again, with a better chance of a chase. if you pursue them at this moment, they'll scatter into yonder chapparal; and ten to one if we ever more get sight of them. "hola, senor crespino! send your bullet through that brute. he's near enough for your _escopette_, is he not?" the mexican, detaching a short gun--"escopeta"--from his saddle-flap, and hastily bringing its butt to his shoulder, fired at the wild ass. the animal brayed on hearing the report; but only as if in defiance. he was evidently untouched. crespino's bullet had not been truly aimed. "i must stop him!" exclaimed maurice, "or the mares will run on till the end of daylight." as the mustanger spoke, he struck the spur sharply into the flanks of his horse. like an arrow projected from its bow, castro shot off in pursuit of the jackass, now galloping regardlessly past. half a dozen springs of the blood bay, guided in a diagonal direction, brought his rider within casting distance; and like a flash of lightning, the loop of the lazo was seen descending over the long ears. on launching it, the mustanger halted, and made a half-wheel--the horse going round as upon a pivot; and with like mechanical obedience to the will of his rider, bracing himself for the expected pluck. there was a short interval of intense expectation, as the wild ass, careering onward, took up the slack of the rope. then the animal was seen to rise erect on its hind legs, and fall heavily backward upon the sward--where it lay motionless, and apparently as dead, as if shot through the heart! it was only stunned, however, by the shock, and the quick tightening of the loop causing temporary strangulation; which the mexican mustanger prolonged to eternity, by drawing his sharp-edged _machete_ across its throat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the incident caused a postponement of the chase. all awaited the action of the guide; who, after "throwing" the macho, had dismounted to recover his lazo. he had succeeded in releasing the rope from the neck of the prostrate animal, when he was seen to coil it up with a quickness that betokened some new cause of excitement--at the same time that he ran to regain his saddle. only a few of the others--most being fully occupied with their own excited steeds--observed this show of haste on the part of the mustanger. those who did, saw it with surprise. he had counselled patience in the pursuit. they could perceive no cause for the eccentric change of tactics, unless it was that louise poindexter, mounted on the spotted mustang, had suddenly separated from the company, and was galloping off after the wild mares, as if resolved on being foremost of the field! but the hunter of wild horses had not construed her conduct in this sense. that uncourteous start could scarce be an intention--except on the part of the spotted mustang? maurice had recognised the manada, as the same from which he had himself captured it: and, no doubt, with the design of rejoining its old associates, it was running away with its rider! so believed the guide; and the belief became instantly universal. stirred by gallantry, half the field spurred off in pursuit. calhoun, hancock, and crossman leading, with half a score of young planters, lawyers, and legislators close following--each as he rode off reflecting to himself, what a bit of luck it would be to bring up the runaway. but few, if any, of the gentlemen felt actual alarm. all knew that louise poindexter was a splendid equestrian; a spacious plain lay before her, smooth as a race-track; the mustang might gallop till it tired itself down; it could not throw her; there could be little chance of her receiving any serious injury? there was one who did not entertain this confident view. it was he who had been the first to show anxiety--the mustanger himself. he was the last to leave the ground. delayed in the rearrangement of his lazo--a moment more in remounting--he was a hundred paces behind every competitor, as his horse sprang forward upon the pursuit. calhoun was a like distance in the lead, pressing on with all the desperate energy of his nature, and all the speed he could extract from the heels of his horse. the dragoon and rifleman were a little in his rear; and then came the "ruck." maurice soon passed through the thick of the field, overlapped the leaders one by one; and forging still further ahead, showed cassius calhoun the heels of his horse. a muttered curse was sent hissing through the teeth of the ex-officer of volunteers, as the blood bay, bounding past, concealed from his sight the receding form of the spotted mustang. the sun, looking down from the zenith, gave light to a singular tableau. a herd of wild mares going at reckless speed across the prairie; one of their own kind, with a lady upon its back, following about four hundred yards behind; at a like distance after the lady, a steed of red bay colour, bestridden by a cavalier picturesquely attired, and apparently intent upon overtaking her; still further to the rear a string of mounted men--some in civil, some in military, garb; behind these a troop of dragoons going at full gallop, having just parted from a mixed group of ladies and gentlemen--also mounted, but motionless, on the plain, or only stirring around the same spot with excited gesticulations! in twenty minutes the tableau was changed. the same personages were upon the stage--the grand _tapis vert_ of the prairie--but the grouping was different, or, at all events, the groups were more widely apart. the manada had gained distance upon the spotted mustang; the mustang upon the blood bay; and the blood bay--ah! his competitors were no longer in sight, or could only have been seen by the far-piercing eye of the _caracara_, soaring high in the sapphire heavens. the wild mares--the mustang and its rider--the red horse, and his--had the savanna to themselves! chapter fifteen. the runaway overtaken. for another mile the chase continued, without much change. the mares still swept on in full flight, though no longer screaming or in fear. the mustang still uttered an occasional neigh, which its old associates seemed not to notice; while its rider held her seat in the saddle unshaken, and without any apparent alarm. the blood bay appeared more excited, though not so much as his master; who was beginning to show signs either of despondency or chagrin. "come, castro!" he exclaimed, with a certain spitefulness of tone. "what the deuce is the matter with your heels--to-day of all others? remember, you overtook her before--though not so easily, i admit. but now she's weighted. look yonder, you dull brute! weighted with that which is worth more than gold--worth every drop of your blood, and mine too. the yegua pinta seems to have improved her paces. is it from training; or does a horse run faster when ridden? "what if i lose sight of her? in truth, it begins to look queer! it would be an awkward situation for the young lady. worse than that-- there's danger in it--real danger. if i should lose sight of her, she'd be in trouble to a certainty!" thus muttering, maurice rode on: his eyes now fixed upon the form still flitting away before him; at intervals interrogating, with uneasy glances, the space that separated him from it. up to this time he had not thought of hailing the rider of the runaway. his shouts might have been heard; but no words of warning, or instruction. he had refrained: partly on this account; partly because he was in momentary expectation of overtaking her; and partly because he knew that acts, not words, were wanted to bring the mustang to a stand. all along he had been flattering himself that he would soon be near enough to fling his lazo over the creature's neck, and control it at discretion. he was gradually becoming relieved of this hallucination. the chase now entered among copses that thickly studded the plain, fast closing into a continuous chapparal. this was a new source of uneasiness to the pursuer. the runaway might take to the thicket, or become lost to his view amid the windings of the wood. the wild mares were already invisible--at intervals. they would soon be out of sight altogether. there seemed no chance of their old associate overtaking them. "what mattered that? a lady lost on a prairie, or in a chapparal-- alone, or in the midst of a manada--either contingency pointed to certain danger." a still more startling peril suggested itself to the mind of the mustanger--so startling as to find expression in excited speech. "by heavens!" he ejaculated, his brow becoming more clouded than it had been from his first entering upon the chase. "_if the stallions should chance this way_! 'tis their favourite stamping ground among these mottos. they were here but a week ago; and this--yes--'tis the month of their madness!" the spur of the mustanger again drew blood, till its rowels were red; and castro, galloping at his utmost speed, glanced back upbraidingly over his shoulder. at this crisis the manada disappeared from, the sight both of the blood-bay and his master; and most probably at the same time from that of the spotted mustang and its rider. there was nothing mysterious in it. the mares had entered between the closing of two copses, where the shrubbery hid them from view. the effect produced upon the runaway appeared to proceed from some magical influence. as if their disappearance was a signal for discontinuing the chase, it suddenly slackened pace; and the instant after came to a standstill! maurice, continuing his gallop, came up with it in the middle of a meadow-like glade--standing motionless as marble--its rider, reins in hand, sitting silent in the saddle, in an attitude of easy elegance, as if waiting for him to ride up! "miss poindexter!" he gasped out, as he spurred his steed within speaking distance: "i am glad that you have recovered command of that wild creature. i was beginning to be alarmed about--" "about what, sir?" was the question that startled the mustanger. "your safety--of course," he replied, somewhat stammeringly. "oh, thank you, mr gerald; but i was not aware of having been in any danger. was i really so?" "any danger!" echoed the irishman, with increased astonishment. "on the back of a runaway mustang--in the middle of a pathless prairie!" "and what of that? the thing couldn't throw me. i'm too clever in the saddle, sir." "i know it, madame; but that accomplishment would have availed you very little had you lost yourself, a thing you were like enough to have done among these chapparal copses, where the oldest texan can scarce find his way." "oh--_lost myself_! that was the danger to be dreaded?" "there are others, besides. suppose you had fallen in with--" "indians!" interrupted the lady, without waiting for the mustanger to finish his hypothetical speech. "and if i had, what would it have mattered? are not the comanches _en paz_ at present? surely they wouldn't have molested me, gallant fellows as they are? so the major told us, as we came along. 'pon my word, sir, i should seek, rather than shun, such an encounter. i wish to see the noble savage on his native prairie, and on horseback; not, as i've hitherto beheld him, reeling around the settlements in a state of debasement from too freely partaking of our fire-water." "i admire your courage, miss; but if i had the honour of being one of your friends, i should take the liberty of counselling a little caution. the `noble savage' you speak of, is not always sober upon the prairies; and perhaps not so very gallant as you've been led to believe. if you had met him--" "if i had met him, and he had attempted to misbehave himself, i would have given him the go-by, and ridden, straight back to my friends. on such a swift creature as this, he must have been well mounted to have overtaken me. you found some difficulty--did you not?" the eyes of the young irishman, already showing astonishment, became expanded to increased dimensions--surprise and incredulity being equally blended in their glance. "but," said he, after a speechless pause, "you don't mean to say that you could have controlled--that the mustang was not running away with you? am i to understand--" "no--no--no!" hastily rejoined the fair equestrian, showing some slight embarrassment. "the mare certainly made off with me--that is, at the first--but i--i found, that is--at the last--i found i could easily pull her up. in fact i did so: you saw it?" "and could you have done it sooner?" a strange thought had suggested the interrogatory; and with more than ordinary interest the questioner awaited the reply. "perhaps--perhaps--i might; no doubt, if i had dragged a little harder upon the rein. but you see, sir, i like a good gallop--especially upon a prairie, where there's no fear of running over pigs, poultry, or people." maurice looked amaze. in all his experience--even in his own native land, famed for feminine _braverie_--above all in the way of bold riding--he had met no match for the clever equestrian before him. his astonishment, mixed with admiration, hindered him from making a ready rejoinder. "to speak truth," continued the young lady, with an air of charming simplicity, "i was not sorry at being run off with. one sometimes gets tired of too much talk--of the kind called complimentary. i wanted fresh air, and to be alone. so you _see_, mr gerald, it was rather a bit of good fortune: since it saved explanations and adieus." "you wanted to be alone?" responded the mustanger, with a disappointed look. "i am sorry i should have made the mistake to have intruded upon you. i assure you, miss poindexter, i followed, because i believed you to be in danger." "most gallant of you, sir; and now that i know there _was_ danger, i am truly grateful. i presume i have guessed aright: you meant the indians?" "no; not indians exactly--at least, it was not of them i was thinking." "some other danger? what is it, sir? you will tell me, so that i may be more cautious for the future?" maurice did not make immediate answer. a sound striking upon his ear had caused him to turn away--as if inattentive to the interrogatory. the creole, perceiving there was some cause for his abstraction, likewise assumed a listening attitude. she heard a shrill scream, succeeded by another and another, close followed by a loud hammering of hoofs--the conjunction of sounds causing the still atmosphere to vibrate around her. it was no mystery to the hunter of horses. the words that came quick from his lips--though not designed--were a direct answer to the question she had put. "_the wild stallions_!" he exclaimed, in a tone that betokened alarm. "i knew they must be among those mottes; and they are!" "is that the danger of which you have been speaking?" "it is." "what fear of them? they are only mustangs!" "true, and at other times there is no cause to fear them. but just now, at this season of the year, they become as savage as tigers, and equally as vindictive. ah! the wild steed in his rage is an enemy more to be dreaded than wolf, panther, or bear." "what are we to do?" inquired the young lady, now, for the first time, giving proof that she felt fear--by riding close up to the man who had once before rescued her from a situation of peril, and gazing anxiously in his face, as she awaited the answer. "if they should charge upon us," answered maurice, "there are but two ways of escape. one, by ascending a tree, and abandoning our horses to their fury." "the other?" asked the creole, with a _sang froid_ that showed a presence of mind likely to stand the test of the most exciting crisis. "anything but abandon our animals! 'twould be but a shabby way of making our escape!" "we shall not have an opportunity of trying it, i perceive it is impracticable. there's not a tree within sight large enough to afford us security. if attacked, we have no alternative but to trust to the fleetness of our horses. unfortunately," continued he, with a glance of inspection towards the spotted mare, and then at his own horse, "they've had too much work this morning. both are badly blown. that will be our greatest source of danger. the wild steeds are sure to be fresh." "do you intend us to start now?" "not yet. the longer we can breathe our animals the better. the stallions may not come this way; or if so, may not molest us. it will depend on their mood at the moment. if battling among themselves, we may look out for their attack. then they have lost their reason--if i may so speak--and will recklessly rush upon one of their own kind--even with a man upon his back. ha! 'tis as i expected: they are in conflict. i can tell by their cries! and driving this way, too!" "but, mr gerald; why should we not ride off at once, in the opposite direction?" "'twould be of no use. there's no cover to conceal us, on that side-- nothing but open plain. they'll be out upon it before we could get a sufficient start, and would soon overtake us. the place we must make for--the only safe one i can think of--lies the other way. they are now upon the direct path to it, if i can judge by what i hear; and, if we start too soon, we may ride into their teeth. we must wait, and try to steal away behind them. if we succeed in getting past, and can keep our distance for a two-mile gallop, i know a spot, where we shall be as safe as if inside the corrals of casa del corvo. you are sure you can control the mustang?" "quite sure," was the prompt reply: all idea of deception being abandoned in presence of the threatening peril. chapter sixteen. chased by wild stallions. the two sat expectant in their saddles--she, apparently, with more confidence than he: for she confided in him. still but imperfectly comprehending it, she knew there must be some great danger. when such a man showed sign of fear, it could not be otherwise. she had a secret happiness in thinking: that a portion of this fear was for her own safety. "i think we may venture now;" said her companion, after a short period spent in listening; "they appear to have passed the opening by which we must make our retreat. look well to your riding, i entreat you! keep a firm seat in the saddle, and a sure hold of the rein. gallop by my side, where the ground will admit of it; but in no case let more than the length of my horse's tail be between us. i must perforce go ahead to guide the way. ha! they are coming direct for the glade. they're already close to its edge. our time is up!" the profound stillness that but a short while before pervaded the prairie, no longer reigned over it. in its stead had arisen a fracas that resembled the outpouring of some overcrowded asylum; for in the shrill neighing of the steeds might have been fancied the screams of maniacs--only ten times more vociferous. they were mingled with a thunder-like hammering of hoofs--a swishing and crashing of branches-- savage snorts, accompanied by the sharp snapping of teeth--the dull "thud" of heels coming in contact with ribs and rounded hips--squealing that betokened spite or pain--all forming a combination of sounds that jarred harshly upon the ear, and caused the earth to quake, as if oscillating upon its orbit! it told of a terrible conflict carried on by the wild stallions; who, still unseen, were fighting indiscriminately among themselves, as they held their way among the mottes. not much longer unseen. as maurice gave the signal to start, the speckled crowd showed itself in an opening between two copses. in a moment more it filled the gangway-like gap, and commenced disgorging into the glade, with the impetus of an avalanche! it was composed of living forms--the most beautiful known in nature: for in this man must give way to the horse. not the unsexed horse of civilisation, with hunched shoulders, bandied limbs, and bowed frontlet--scarce one in a thousand of true equine shape--and this, still further, mutilated by the shears of the coper and gentleman jockey--but the wild steed of the savannas, foaled upon the green grass, his form left free to develop as the flowers that shed their fragrance around him. eye never beheld a more splendid sight than a _cavallada_ of wild stallions, prancing upon a prairie; especially at that season when, stirred by strong passions, they seek to destroy one another. the spectacle is more than splendid--it is fearful--too fearful to be enjoyed by man, much less by timid woman. still more when the spectator views it from an exposed position, liable to become the object of their attack. in such situation were the riders of the blood bay and spotted mustang. the former knew it by past experience--the latter could not fail to perceive it by the evidence before her. "this way!" cried maurice, lancing his horse's flanks with the spur, and bending so as to oblique to the rear of the cavallada. "by heaven--they've discovered us! on--on! miss poindexter! remember you are riding for your life!" the stimulus of speech was not needed. the behaviour of the stallions was of itself sufficient to show, that speed alone could save the spotted mustang and its rider. on coming out into the open ground, and getting sight of the ridden horses, they had suddenly desisted from their internecine strife; and, as if acting under the orders of some skilled leader, come to a halt. in line, too, like cavalry checked up in the middle of a charge! for a time their mutual hostility seemed to be laid aside--as if they felt called upon to attack a common enemy, or resist some common danger! the pause may have proceeded from surprise; but, whether or no, it was favourable to the fugitives. during the twenty seconds it continued, the latter had made good use of their time, and accomplished the circuit required to put them on the path of safety. only on the path, however. their escape was still problematical: for the steeds, perceiving their intention, wheeled suddenly into the line of pursuit, and went galloping after, with snorts and screams that betrayed a spiteful determination to overtake them. from that moment it became a straight unchanging chase across country--a trial of speed between the horses without riders, and the horses that were ridden. at intervals did maurice carry his chin to his shoulder; and though still preserving the distance gained at the start, his look was not the less one of apprehension. alone he would have laughed to scorn his pursuers. he knew that the blood-bay--himself a prairie steed--could surpass any competitor of his race. but the mare was delaying him. she was galloping slower than he had ever seen her--as if unwilling, or not coveting escape--like a horse with his head turned away from home! "what can it mean?" muttered the mustanger, as he checked his pace, to accommodate it to that of his companion. "if there should be any baulk at the crossing, we're lost! a score of seconds will make the difference." "we keep our distance, don't we?" inquired his fellow-fugitive, noticing his troubled look. "so far, yes. unfortunately there's an obstruction ahead. it remains to be seen how we shall get over it. i know you are a clever rider, and can take a long leap. but your mount? i'm not so sure of the mare. you know her better than i. do you think she can carry you over--" "over what, sir?" "you'll see in a second. we should be near the place now." the conversation thus carried on was between two individuals riding side by side, and going at a gallop of nearly a mile to the minute! as the guide had predicted, they soon came within sight of the obstruction; which proved to be an arroyo--a yawning fissure in the plain full fifteen feet in width, as many in depth, and trending on each side to the verge of vision. to turn aside, either to the right or left, would be to give the pursuers the advantage of the diagonal; which the fugitives could no longer afford. the chasm must be crossed, or the stallions would overtake them. it could only be crossed by a leap--fifteen feet at the least. maurice knew that his own horse could go over it--he had done it before. but the mare? "do you think she can do it?" he eagerly asked, as, in slackened pace, they approached the edge of the barranca. "i am sure she can," was the confident reply. "but are you sure you can sit her over it?" "ha! ha! ha!" scornfully laughed the creole. "what a question for an irishman to ask! i'm sure, sir, one of your own countrywomen would be offended at your speech. even i, a native of swampy louisiana, don't regard it as at all gallant. sit her over it! sit her anywhere she can carry me." "but, miss poindexter," stammered the guide, still doubting the powers of the spotted mustang, "suppose she cannot? if you have any doubts, had you not better abandon her? i know that my horse can bear us both to the other side, and with safety. if the mustang be left behind, in all likelihood we shall escape further pursuit. the wild steeds--" "leave luna behind! leave her to be trampled to death, or torn to pieces--as you say she would! no--no, mr gerald. i prize the spotted mare too much for that. she goes with me: over the chasm, if we can. if not, we both break our necks at the bottom. come, my pretty pet! this is he who chased, captured, and conquered you. show him you're not yet so _subdued_, but that you can escape, when close pressed, from the toils of either friend or enemy. show him one of those leaps, of which you've done a dozen within the week. now for a flight in the air!" without even waiting for the stimulus of example, the courageous creole rode recklessly at the arroyo; and cleared it by one of those leaps of which she had "done a dozen within the week." there were three thoughts in the mind of the mustanger--rather might they be called emotions--as he sate watching that leap. the first was simple astonishment; the second, intense admiration. the third was not so easily defined. it had its origin in the words--"_i prize the spotted mare too much for that_." "why?" reflected he, as he drove his spur-rowels into the flanks of the blood bay; and the reflection lasted as long as castro was suspended in mid-air over the yawning abysm. cleverly as the chasm was crossed, it did not ensure the safety of the fugitives. it would be no obstruction to the steeds. maurice knew it, and looked back with undiminished apprehension. rather was it increased. the delay, short as it was, had given the pursuers an advantage. they were nearer than ever! they would not be likely to make a moment's pause, but clear the crevasse at a single bound of their sure-footed gallop. and then--what then? the mustanger put the question to himself. he grew paler, as the reply puzzled him. on alighting from the leap, he had not paused for a second, but gone galloping on--as before, close followed by his fugitive companion. his pace, however, was less impetuous. he seemed to ride with irresolution, or as if some half-formed resolve was restraining him. when about a score lengths from the edge of the arroyo, he reined up and wheeled round--as if he had suddenly formed the determination to ride back! "miss poindexter!" he called out to the young lady, at that moment just up with him. "you must ride on alone." "but why, sir?" asked she, as she jerked the muzzle of the mustang close up to its counter, bringing it almost instantaneously to a stand. "if we keep together we shall be overtaken. i must do something to stay those savage brutes. here there is a chance--nowhere else. for heaven's sake don't question me! ten seconds of lost time, and 'twill be too late. look ahead yonder. you perceive the sheen of water. 'tis a prairie pond. ride straight towards it. you will find yourself between two high fences. they come together at the pond. you'll see a gap, with bars. if i'm not up in time, gallop through, dismount, and put the bars up behind you." "and you, sir? you are going to undergo some great danger?" "have no fear for me! alone, i shall run but little risk. 'tis the mustang.--for mercy's sake, gallop forward! keep the water under your eyes. let it guide you like a beacon fire. remember to close the gap behind you. away--away!" for a second or two the young lady appeared irresolute--as if reluctant to part company with the man who was making such efforts to ensure her safety--perhaps at the peril of his own. by good fortune she was not one of those timid maidens who turn frantic at a crisis, and drag to the bottom the swimmer who would save them. she had faith in the capability of her counsellor--believed that he knew what he was about--and, once more spurring the mare into a gallop, she rode off in a direct line for the prairie pond. at the same instant, maurice had given the rein to his horse, and was riding in the opposite direction--back to the place where they had leaped the arroyo! on parting from his companion, he had drawn from his saddle holster the finest weapon ever wielded upon the prairies--either for attack or defence, against indian, buffalo, or bear. it was the six-chambered revolver of colonel colt--not the spurious _improvement_ of deane, adams, and a host of retrograde imitators--but the genuine article from the "land of wooden nutmegs," with the hartford brand upon its breech. "they must get over the narrow place where we crossed," muttered he, as he faced towards the stallions, still advancing on the other side of the arroyo. "if i can but fling one of them in his tracks, it may hinder the others from attempting the leap; or delay them--long enough for the mustang to make its escape. the big sorrel is leading. he will make the spring first. the pistol's good for a hundred paces. he's within range now!" simultaneous with the last words came the crack of the six-shooter. the largest of the stallions--a sorrel in colour--rolled headlong upon the sward; his carcass falling transversely across the line that led to the leap. half-a-dozen others, close following, were instantly brought to a stand; and then the whole cavallada! the mustanger stayed not to note their movements. taking advantage of the confusion caused by the fall of their leader, he reserved the fire of the other five chambers; and, wheeling to the west, spurred on after the spotted mustang, now far on its way towards the glistening pond. whether dismayed by the fall of their chief--or whether it was that his dead body had hindered them from approaching the only place where the chasm could have been cleared at a leap--the stallions abandoned the pursuit; and maurice had the prairie to himself as he swept on after his fellow fugitive. he overtook her beyond the convergence of the fences on the shore of the pond. she had obeyed him in everything--except as to the closing of the gap. he found it open--the bars lying scattered over the ground. he found her still seated in the saddle, relieved from all apprehension for his safety, and only trembling with a gratitude that longed to find expression in speech. the peril was passed. chapter seventeen. the mustang trap. no longer in dread of any danger, the young creole looked interrogatively around her. there was a small lake--in texan phraseology a "pond"--with countless horse-tracks visible along its shores, proving that the place was frequented by wild horses--their excessive number showing it to be a favourite watering place. there was a high rail fence--constructed so as to enclose the pond, and a portion of the contiguous prairie, with two diverging wings, carried far across the plain, forming a funnel-shaped approach to a gap; which, when its bars were up, completed an enclosure that no horse could either enter or escape from. "what is it for?" inquired the lady, indicating the construction of split rails. "a mustang trap," said maurice. "a mustang trap?" "a contrivance for catching wild horses. they stray between the _wings_; which, as you perceive, are carried far out upon the plain. the water attracts them; or they are driven towards it by a band of mustangers who follow, and force them on through the gap. once within the _corral_, there is no trouble in taking them. they are then lazoed at leisure." "poor things! is it yours? you are a mustanger? you told us so?" "i am; but i do not hunt the wild horse in this way. i prefer being alone, and rarely consort with men of my calling. therefore i could not make use of this contrivance, which requires at least a score of drivers. my weapon, if i may dignify it by the name, is this--the lazo." "you use it with great skill? i've heard that you do; besides having myself witnessed the proof." "it is complimentary of you to say so. but you are mistaken. there are men on these prairies `to the manner born'--mexicans--who regard, what you are pleased to call skill, as sheer clumsiness." "are you sure, mr gerald, that your modesty is not prompting _you_ to overrate your rivals? i have been told the very opposite." "by whom?" "your friend, mr zebulon stump." "ha--ha! old zeb is but indifferent authority on the subject of the lazo." "i wish i could throw the lazo," said the young creole. "they tell me 'tis not a lady-like accomplishment. what matters--so long as it is innocent, and gives one a gratification?" "not lady-like! surely 'tis as much so as archery, or skating? i know a lady who is very expert at it." "an american lady?" "no; she's mexican, and lives on the rio grande; but sometimes comes across to the leona--where she has relatives." "a young lady?" "yes. about your own age, i should think, miss poindexter." "size?" "not so tall as you." "but much prettier, of course? the mexican ladies, i've heard, in the matter of good looks, far surpass us plain _americanos_." "i think creoles are not included in that category," was the reply, worthy of one whose lips had been in contact with the famed boulder of blarney. "i wonder if i could ever learn to fling it?" pursued the young creole, pretending not to have been affected by the complimentary remark. "am i too old? i've been told that the mexicans commence almost in childhood; that that is why they attain to such wonderful skill?" "not at all," replied maurice, encouragingly. "'tis possible, with a year or two's practice, to become a proficient lazoer. i, myself, have only been three years at; and--" he paused, perceiving he was about to commit himself to a little boasting. "and you are now the most skilled in all texas?" said his companion, supplying the presumed finale of his speech. "no, no!" laughingly rejoined he. "that is but a mistaken belief on the part of zeb stump, who judges my skill by comparison, making use of his own as a standard." "is it modesty?" reflected the creole. "or is this man mocking me? if i thought so, i should go mad!" "perhaps you are anxious to get back to your party?" said maurice, observing her abstracted air. "your father may be alarmed by your long absence? your brother--your cousin--" "ah, true!" she hurriedly rejoined, in a tone that betrayed either pique, or compunction. "i was not thinking of that. thanks, sir, for reminding me of my duty. let us go back!" again in the saddle, she gathered up her reins, and plied her tiny spur--both acts being performed with an air of languid reluctance, as if she would have preferred lingering a little longer in the "mustang trap." once more upon the prairie, maurice conducted his protegee by the most direct route towards the spot where they had parted from the picnic party. their backward way led them across a peculiar tract of country--what in texas is called a "weed prairie," an appellation bestowed by the early pioneers, who were not very choice in their titles. the louisianian saw around her a vast garden of gay flowers, laid out in one grand parterre, whose borders were the blue circle of the horizon--a garden designed, planted, nurtured, by the hand of nature. the most plebeian spirit cannot pass through such a scene without receiving an impression calculated to refine it. i've known the illiterate trapper--habitually blind to the beautiful--pause in the midst of his "weed prairie," with the flowers rising breast high around him, gaze for a while upon their gaudy corollas waving beyond the verge of his vision; then continue his silent stride with a gentler feeling towards his fellow-man, and a firmer faith in the grandeur of his god. "_pardieu_! 'tis very beautiful!" exclaimed the enthusiastic creole, reining up as if by an involuntary instinct. "you admire these wild scenes, miss poindexter?" "admire them? something more, sir! i see around me all that is bright and beautiful in nature: verdant turf, trees, flowers, all that we take such pains to plant or cultivate; and such, too, as we never succeed in equalling. there seems nothing wanting to make this picture complete--'tis a park perfect in everything!" "except the mansion?" "that would spoil it for me. give me the landscape where there is not a house in sight--slate, chimney, or tile--to interfere with the outlines of the trees. under their shadow could i live; under their shadow let me--" the word: "love" uppermost in her thoughts--was upon the tip of her tongue. she dexterously restrained herself from pronouncing it--changing it to one of very different signification--"die." it was cruel of the young irishman not to tell her that she was speaking his own sentiments--repeating them to the very echo. to this was the prairie indebted for his presence. but for a kindred inclination-- amounting almost to a passion--he might never have been known as _maurice the mustanger_. the romantic sentiment is not satisfied with a "sham." it will soon consume itself, unless supported by the consciousness of reality. the mustanger would have been humiliated by the thought, that he chased the wild horse as a mere pastime--a pretext to keep him upon the prairies. at first, he might have condescended to make such an acknowledgment--but he had of late become thoroughly imbued with the pride of the professional hunter. his reply might have appeared chillingly prosaic. "i fear, miss, you would soon tire of such a rude life--no roof to shelter you--no society--no--" "and you, sir; how is it _you_ have not grown tired of it? if i have been correctly informed--your friend, mr stump, is my authority--you've been leading this life for several years. is it so?" "quite true: i have no other calling." "indeed! i wish i could say the same. i envy you your lot. i'm sure i could enjoy existence amid these beautiful scene for ever and ever!" "alone? without companions? without even a roof to shelter you?" "i did not say that. but, you've not told me. how do you live? have _you_ a house?" "it does not deserve such a high-sounding appellation," laughingly replied the mustanger. "shed would more correctly serve for the description of my _jacale_, which may be classed among the lowliest in the land." "where is it? anywhere near where we've been to-day?" "it is not very far from where we are now. a mile, perhaps. you see those tree-tops to the west? they shade my hovel from the sun, and shelter it from the storm." "indeed! how i should like to have a look at it! a real rude hut, you say?" "in that i have but spoken the truth." "standing solitary?" "i know of no other within ten miles of it." "among trees, and picturesque?" "that depends upon the eye that beholds it." "i should like to see it, and judge. only a mile you say?" "a mile there--the same to return--would be two." "that's nothing. it would not take us a score of minutes." "should we not be trespassing on the patience of your people?" "on your hospitality, perhaps? excuse me, mr gerald!" continued the young lady, a slight shadow suddenly overcasting her countenance. "i did not think of it! perhaps you do not live _alone_? some other shares your--jacale--as you call it?" "oh, yes, i have a companion--one who has been with me ever since i--" the shadow became sensibly darker. before the mustanger could finish his speech, his listener had pictured to herself a certain image, that might answer to the description of his companion: a girl of her own age--perhaps more inclining to _embonpoint_--with a skin of chestnut brown; eyes of almond shade, set piquantly oblique to the lines of the nose; teeth of more than pearly purity; a tinge of crimson upon the cheeks; hair like castro's tail; beads and bangles around neck, arms, and ankles; a short kirtle elaborately embroidered; mocassins covering small feet; and fringed leggings, laced upon limbs of large development. such were the style and equipments of the supposed companion, who had suddenly become outlined in the imagination of louise poindexter. "your fellow tenant of the jacale might not like being intruded upon by visitors--more especially a stranger?" "on the contrary, he's but too glad to see visitors at any time--whether strangers or acquaintances. my foster-brother is the last man to shun society; of which, poor fellow! he sees precious little on the alamo." "your foster-brother?" "yes. phelim o'neal by name--like myself a native of the emerald isle, and shire of galway; only perhaps speaking a little better brogue than mine." "oh! the irish brogue. i should so like to hear it spoken by a native of galway. i am told that theirs is the richest. is it so, mr gerald?" "being a galwegian myself, my judgment might not be reliable; but if you will condescend to accept phelim's hospitality for half-an-hour, he will, no doubt, give you an opportunity of judging for yourself." "i should be delighted. 'tis something so new. let papa and the rest of them wait. there are plenty of ladies without me; or the gentlemen may amuse themselves by tracing up our tracks. 'twill be as good a horse hunt as they are likely to have. now, sir, i'm ready to accept your hospitality." "there's not much to offer you, i fear. phelim has been several days by himself, and as he's but an indifferent hunter, his larder is likely to be low. 'tis fortunate you had finished luncheon before the _stampede_." it was not phelim's larder that was leading louise poindexter out of her way, nor yet the desire to listen to his connemara pronunciation. it was not curiosity to look at the jacale of the mustanger; but a feeling of a far more irresistible kind, to which she was yielding, as if she believed it to be her fate! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ she paid a visit to the lone hut, on the alamo; she entered under its roof; she scanned with seeming interest its singular _penates_; and noted, with pleased surprise, the books, writing materials, and other chattels that betokened the refinement of its owner; she listened with apparent delight to the _palthogue_ of the connemara man, who called her a "coleen bawn;" she partook of phelim's hospitality--condescendingly tasting of everything offered, except that which was most urgently pressed upon her, "a dhrap of the crayther, drawn fresh from the dimmyjan;" and finally made her departure from the spot, apparently in the highest spirits. alas! her delight was short-lived: lasting only so long as it was sustained by the excitement of the novel adventure. as she recrossed the flower prairie, she found time for making a variety of reflections; and there was one that chilled her to the very core of her heart. was it the thought that she had been acting wrongly in keeping her father, her brother, and friends in suspense about her safety? or had she become conscious of playing a part open to the suspicion of being unfeminine? not either. the cloud that darkened her brow in the midst of that blossoming brightness, was caused by a different, and far more distressing, reflection. during all that day, in the journey from the fort, after overtaking her in the chase, in the pursuit while protecting her, lingering by her side on the shore of the lake, returning across the prairie, under his own humble roof--in short everywhere--her companion had only been polite--_had only behaved as a gentleman_! chapter eighteen. jealousy upon the trail. of the two-score rescuers, who had started in pursuit of the runaway, but few followed far. having lost sight of the wild mares, the mustang, and the mustanger, they began to lose sight of one another; and before long became dispersed upon the prairie--going single, in couples, or in groups of three and four together. most of them, unused to tracking up a trail, soon strayed from that taken by the manada; branching off upon others, made, perhaps, by the same drove upon some previous stampede. the dragoon escort, in charge of a young officer--a fresh fledgling from west point--ran astray upon one of these ramifications, carrying the hindmost of the field along with it. it was a rolling prairie through which the pursuit was conducted, here and there intersected by straggling belts of brushwood. these, with the inequalities of the surface, soon hid the various pursuing parties from one another; and in twenty minutes after the start, a bird looking from the heavens above, might have beheld half a hundred horsemen, distributed into half a score of groups--apparently having started from a common centre--spurring at full speed towards every quarter of the compass! but one was going in the right direction--a solitary individual, mounted upon a large strong-limbed chestnut horse; that, without any claim to elegance of shape, was proving the possession both of speed and bottom. the blue frock-coat of half military cut, and forage cap of corresponding colour, were distinctive articles of dress habitually worn by the ex-captain of volunteer cavalry--cassius calhoun. he it was who directed the chestnut on the true trail; while with whip and spur he was stimulating the animal to extraordinary efforts. he was himself stimulated by a thought--sharp as his own spurs--that caused him to concentrate all his energies upon the abject in hand. like a hungry hound he was laying his head along the trail, in hopes of an issue that might reward him for his exertions. what that issue was he had but vaguely conceived; but on occasional glance towards his holsters--from which protruded the butts of a brace of pistols--told of some sinister design that was shaping itself in his soul. but for a circumstance that assisted him, he might, like the others, have gone astray. he had the advantage of them, however, in being guided by two shoe-tracks he had seen before. one, the larger, he recollected with a painful distinctness. he had seen it stamped upon a charred surface, amid the ashes of a burnt prairie. yielding to an undefined instinct, he had made a note of it in his memory, and now remembered it. thus directed, the _ci-devant_ captain arrived among the copses, and rode into the glade where the spotted mustang had been pulled up in such a mysterious manner. hitherto his analysis had been easy enough. at this point it became conjecture. among the hoof-prints of the wild mares, the shoe-tracks were still seen, but no longer going at a gallop. the two animals thus distinguished must have been halted, and standing in juxtaposition. whither next? along the trail of the manada, there was no imprint of iron; nor elsewhere! the surface on all sides was hard, and strewn with pebbles. a horse going in rude gallop, might have indented it; but not one passing over it at a tranquil pace. and thus had the spotted mustang and blood bay parted from that spot. they had gone at a walk for some score yards, before starting on their final gallop towards the mustang trap. the impatient pursuer was puzzled. he rode round and round, and along the trail of the wild mares, and back again, without discovering the direction that had been taken by either of the ridden horses. he was beginning to feel something more than surprise, when the sight of a solitary horseman advancing along the trail interrupted his uncomfortable conjectures. it was no stranger who was drawing near. the colossal figure, clad in coarse habiliments, bearded to the buttons of his blanket coat, and bestriding the most contemptible looking steed that could have been found within a hundred miles of the spot, was an old acquaintance. cassius calhoun knew zebulon stump, and zeb stump knew cash calhoun, long before either had set foot upon the prairies of texas. "you hain't seed nuthin' o' the young lady, hev ye, mister calhoun?" inquired the hunter, as he rode up, with an unusual impressiveness of manner. "no, ye hain't," he continued, as if deducing his inference from the blank looks of the other. "dog-gone my cats! i wonder what the hell hev becomed o' her! kewrious, too; sech a rider as she air, ter let the durned goat o' a thing run away wi' her. wal! thur's not much danger to be reeprehended. the mowstanger air putty sartin to throw his rope aroun' the critter, an that 'll put an eend to its capers. why hev ye stopped hyur?" "i'm puzzled about the direction they've taken. their tracks show they've been halted here; but i can see the shod hoofs no farther." "whoo! whoo! yur right, mister cashus! they hev been halted hyur; an been clost thegither too. they hain't gone no further on the trail o' the wild maars. sartin they hain't. what then?" the speaker scanned the surface of the plain with an interrogative glance; as if there, and not from cassius calhoun, expecting an answer to his question. "i cannot see their tracks anywhere," replied the ex-captain. "no, kan't ye? i kin though. lookee hyur! don't ye see them thur bruises on the grass?" "no." "durn it! thur plain es the nose on a jew's face. thur's a big shoe, an a little un clost aside o' it. thet's the way they've rud off, which show that they hain't follered the wild maars no further than hyur. we'd better keep on arter them?" "by all means!" without further parley, zeb started along the new trail; which, though still undiscernible to the eye of the other, was to him as conspicuous as he had figuratively declared it. in a little while it became visible to his companion--on their arrival at the place where the fugitives had once more urged their horses into a gallop to escape from the cavallada, and where the shod tracks deeply indented the turf. shortly after their trail was again lost--or would have been to a scrutiny less keen than that of zeb stump--among the hundreds of other hoof-marks seen now upon the sward. "hilloo!" exclaimed the old hunter, in some surprise at the new sign. "what's been a doin' hyur? this air some 'at kewrious." "only the tracks of the wild mares!" suggested calhoun. "they appear to have made a circuit, and come round again?" "if they hev it's been arter the others rud past them. the chase must a changed sides, i reck'n." "what do you mean, mr stump?" "that i'stead o' them gallupin' arter the maars, the maars hev been gallupin' arter them." "how can you tell that?" "don't ye see that the shod tracks air kivered by them o' the maars? maars--no! by the 'turnal airthquake!--them's not maar-tracks. they air a inch bigger. thur's been _studs_ this way--a hul cavayurd o' them. geehosofat! i hope they hain't--" "haven't what?" "gone arter spotty. if they hev, then thur will be danger to miss peintdexter. come on!" without waiting for a rejoinder, the hunter started off at a shambling trot, followed by calhoun, who kept calling to him for an explanation of his ambiguous words. zeb did not deign to offer any--excusing himself by a backward sweep of the hand, which seemed to say, "do not bother me now: i am busy." for a time he appeared absorbed in taking up the trail of the shod horses--not so easily done, as it was in places entirely obliterated by the thick trampling of the stallions. he succeeded in making it out by piecemeal--still going on at a trot. it was not till he had arrived within a hundred yards of the arroyo that the serious shadow disappeared from his face; and, checking the pace of his mare, he vouchsafed the explanation once more demanded from him. "oh! that was the danger," said calhoun, on hearing the explanation. "how do you know they have escaped it?" "look thur!" "a dead horse! freshly killed, he appears? what does that prove?" "that the mowstanger hes killed him." "it frightened the others off, you think, and they followed no further?" "they follered no further; but it wa'n't adzackly thet as scared 'em off. thur's the thing as kep them from follerin'. ole hickory, what a jump!" the speaker pointed to the arroyo, on the edge of which both riders had now arrived. "you don't suppose they leaped it?" said calhoun. "impossible." "leaped it clur as the crack o' a rifle. don't ye see thur toe-marks, both on this side an the t'other? an' miss peintdexter fust, too! by the jumpin' geehosofat, what a gurl she air sure enuf! they must both a jumped afore the stellyun war shot; else they kedn't a got at it. thur's no other place whar a hoss ked go over. geeroozalem! wa'n't it cunnin' o' the mowstanger to throw the stud in his tracks, jest in the very gap?" "you think that he and my cousin crossed here together?" "not adzackly thegither," explained zeb, without suspecting the motive of the interrogatory. "as i've sayed, spotty went fust. you see the critter's tracks yonner on t'other side?" "i do." "wal--don't ye see they air kivered wi' them o' the mowstanger's hoss?" "true--true." "as for the stellyuns, they hain't got over--ne'er a one o' the hul cavayurd. i kin see how it hez been. the young fellur pulled up on t'other side, an sent a bullet back inter this brute's karkidge. 'twar jest like closin' the gap ahint him; an the pursooers, seein' it shet, guv up the chase, an scampered off in a different direckshun. thur's the way they hev gone--up the side o' the gully!" "they may have crossed at some other place, and continued the pursuit?" "if they dud, they'd hev ten mile to go, afore they ked git back hyur-- five up, an five back agin. not a bit o' that, mister calhoun. to needn't be uneezy 'bout miss lewaze bein' pursooed by _them_ any further. arter the jump, she's rud off along wi' the mowstanger--both on 'em as quiet as a kupple o' lambs. thur wa'n't no danger then; an by this time, they oughter be dog-goned well on torst rejoinin' the people as stayed by the purvision waggon." "come on!" cried calhoun, exhibiting as much impatience as when he believed his cousin to be in serious peril. "come on, mr stump! let us get back as speedily as possible!" "not so fast, if you pleeze," rejoined zeb, permitting himself to slide leisurely out of his saddle, and then drawing his knife from his sheath. "i'll only want ye to wait for a matter o' ten minutes, or thereabout." "wait! for what?" peevishly inquired calhoun. "till i kin strip the hide off o' this hyur sorrel. it appear to be a skin o' the fust qualerty; an oughter fetch a five-dollar bill in the settlements. five-dollar bills ain't picked up every day on these hyur purayras." "damn the skin!" angrily ejaculated the impatient southerner. "come on, an leave it!" "ain't a goin' to do anythin' o' the sort," coolly responded the hunter, as he drew the sharp edge of his blade along the belly of the prostrate steed. "you kin go on if ye like, mister calhoun; but zeb stump don't start till he packs the hide of this hyur stellyun on the krupper o' his old maar. thet he don't." "come, zeb; what's the use of talking about my going back by myself? you know i can't find my way?" "that air like enough. i didn't say ye ked." "look here, you obstinate old case! time's precious to me just at this minute. it 'll take you a full half-hour to skin the horse." "not twenty minutes." "well, say twenty minutes. now, twenty minutes are of more importance to me than a five-dollar bill. you say that's the value of the skin? leave it behind; and i agree to make good the amount." "wal--that air durned gin'rous, i admit--dog-goned gin'rous. but i mussent except yur offer. it 'ud be a mean trick o' me--mean enuf for a yeller-bellied mexikin--to take yur money for sech a sarvice as thet: the more so es i ain't no stranger to ye, an myself a goin' the same road. on the t'other hand, i kan't afford to lose the five dollars' worth o' hoss-hide which ud be rotten as punk--to say nuthin' o' it's bein' tored into skreeds by the buzzarts and coyoats--afore i mout find a chance to kum this way agin." "'tis very provoking! what am i to do?" "you _air_ in a hurry? wal--i'm sorry to discommerdate ye. but--stay! thur's no reezun for yur waitin' on me. thur's nuthin' to hinder ye from findin' yur way to the waggon. ye see that tree stannin' up agin the sky-line--the tall poplar yonner?" "i do." "wal; do you remember ever to hev seed it afore? it air a queery lookin' plant, appearin' more like a church steeple than a tree." "yes--yes!" said calhoun. "now you've pointed it out, i do remember it. we rode close past it while in pursuit of the wild mares?" "you dud that very thing. an' now, as ye know it, what air to hinder you from ridin' past it agin; and follering the trail o' the maars back'ard? that ud bring ye to yur startin'-peint; where, ef i ain't out o' my reck'nin', ye'll find yur cousin, miss peintdexter, an the hul o' yur party enjoying themselves wi' that 'ere french stuff, they call shampain. i hope they'll stick to it, and spare the monongaheela--of which licker i shed like to hev a triflin' suck arter i git back myself." calhoun had not waited for the wind-up of this characteristic speech. on the instant after recognising the tree, he had struck the spurs into the sides of his chestnut, and gone off at a gallop, leaving old zeb at liberty to secure the coveted skin. "geeroozalem!" ejaculated the hunter, glancing up, and noticing the quick unceremonious departure. "it don't take much o' a head-piece to tell why he air in sech a durned hurry. i ain't myself much guv torst guessin'; but if i ain't doggonedly mistaken it air a clur case o' jellacy on the trail!" zeb stump was not astray in his conjecture. it _was_ jealousy that urged cassius calhoun to take that hasty departure--black jealousy, that had first assumed shape in a kindred spot--in the midst of a charred prairie; that had been every day growing stronger from circumstances observed, and others imagined; that was now intensified so as to have become his prevailing passion. the presentation and taming of the spotted mustang; the acceptance of that gift, characteristic of the giver, and gratifying to the receiver, who had made no effort to conceal her gratification; these, and other circumstances, acting upon the already excited fancy of cassius calhoun, had conducted him to the belief: that in maurice the mustanger he would find his most powerful rival. the inferior social position of the horse-hunter should have hindered him from having such belief, or even a suspicion. perhaps it might have done so, had he been less intimately acquainted with the character of louise poindexter. but, knowing her as he did-- associating with her from the hour of childhood--thoroughly understanding her independence of spirit--the _braverie_ of her disposition, bordering upon very recklessness--he could place no reliance on the mere idea of gentility. with most women this may be depended upon as a barrier, if not to _mesalliance_, at least to absolute imprudence; but in the impure mind of cassius calhoun, while contemplating the probable conduct of his cousin, there was not even this feeble support to lean upon! chafing at the occurrences of the day--to him crookedly inauspicious--he hurried back towards the spot where the pic-nic had been held. the steeple-like tree guided him back to the trail of the manada; and beyond that there was no danger of straying. he had only to return along the path already trodden by him. he rode at a rapid pace--faster than was relished by his now tired steed--stimulated by bitter thoughts, which for more than an hour were his sole companions--their bitterness more keenly felt in the tranquil solitude that surrounded him. he was but little consoled by a sight that promised other companionship: that of two persons on horseback, riding in advance, and going in the same direction as himself, upon the same path. though he saw but their backs--and at a long distance ahead--there was no mistaking the identity of either. they were the two individuals that had brought that bitterness upon his spirit. like himself they were returning upon the trail of the wild mares; which, when first seen, they had just struck, arriving upon it from a lateral path. side by side--their saddles almost chafing against each other--to all appearance absorbed in a conversation of intense interest to both, they saw not the solitary horseman approaching them in a diagonal direction. apparently less anxious than he to rejoin the party of picknickers, they were advancing at a slow pace--the lady a little inclining to the rear. their proximity to one another--their attitudes in the saddle--their obvious inattention to outward objects--the snail-like pace at which they were proceeding--these, along with one or two other slighter circumstances observed by calhoun, combined to make an impression on his mind--or rather to strengthen one already made--that almost drove him mad. to gallop rapidly up, and rudely terminate the _tete-a-tete_, was but the natural instinct of the _chivalric_ southerner. in obedience to it he spitefully plied the spur; and once more forced his jaded chestnut into an unwilling canter. in a few seconds, however, he slackened pace--as if changing his determination. the sound of his horse's hoofs had not yet warned the others of his proximity--though he was now less than two hundred yards behind them! he could hear the silvery tones of his cousin's voice bearing the better part of the conversation. how interesting it must be to both to have hindered them from perceiving his approach! if he could but overhear what they were saying? it seemed a most unpropitious place for playing eavesdropper; and yet there might be a chance? the seeming interest of the dialogue to the individuals engaged in it gave promise of such opportunity. the turf of the savannah was soft as velvet. the hoof gliding slowly over it gave forth not the slightest sound. calhoun was still too impatient to confine himself to a walk; but his chestnut was accustomed to that gait, peculiar to the horse of the south-western states--the "pace"; and into this was he pressed. with hoofs horizontally striking the sward--elevated scarce an inch above the ground--he advanced swiftly and noiselessly; so quick withal, that in a few seconds he was close upon the heels of the spotted mustang, and the red steed of the mustanger! he was then checked to a pace corresponding to theirs; while his rider, leaning forward, listened with an eagerness that evinced some terrible determination. his attitude proclaimed him in the vein for vituperation of the rudest kind--ready with ribald tongue; or, if need be, with knife and pistol! his behaviour depended on a contingency--on what might be overheard. as chance, or fate, willed it, there was nothing. if the _two_ equestrians were insensible to external sounds, their steeds were not so absorbed. in a walk the chestnut stepped heavily--the more so from being fatigued. his footfall proclaimed his proximity to the sharp ears, both of the blood-bay and spotted mustang; that simultaneously flung up their heads, neighing as they did so. calhoun was discovered. "ha! cousin cash!" cried the lady, betraying more of pique than surprise; "you there? where's father, and harry, and the rest of the people?" "why do you ask that, loo? i reckon you know as well as i." "what! haven't you come out to meet us? and they too--ah! your chestnut is all in a sweat! he looks as if you had been riding a long race--like ourselves?" "of coarse he has. i followed you from the first--in hopes of being of some service to you." "indeed! i did not know that you were after us. thank you, cousin! i've just been saying thanks to this gallant gentleman, who also came after, and has been good enough to rescue both luna and myself from a very unpleasant dilemma--a dreadful danger i should rather call it. do you know that we've been chased by a drove of wild steeds, and had actually to ride for our lives?" "i am aware of it." "you saw the chase then?" "no. i only knew it by the tracks." "the tracks! and were you able to tell by that?" "yes--thanks to the interpretation of zeb stump." "oh! he was with you? but did you follow them to--to--how far did you follow them?" "to a crevasse in the prairie. you leaped over it, zeb said. did you?" "luna did." "with you on her back?" "i _wasn't anywhere else_! what a question, cousin cash! where would you expect me to have been? clinging to her tail? ha! ha! ha!" "did _you_ leap it?" inquired the laugher, suddenly changing tone. "did you follow us any farther?" "no, loo. from the crevasse i came direct here, thinking you had got back before me. that's how i've chanced to come up with you." the answer appeared to give satisfaction. "ah! i'm glad you've overtaken us. we've been riding slowly. luna is so tired. poor thing! i don't know how i shall ever get her back to the leona." since the moment of being joined by calhoun, the mustanger had not spoken a word. however pleasant may have been his previous intercourse with the young creole, he had relinquished it, without any apparent reluctance; and was now riding silently in the advance, as if by tacit understanding he had returned to the performance of the part for which he had been originally engaged. for all that, the eye of the ex-captain was bent blightingly upon him-- at times in a demoniac glare--when he saw--or fancied--that another eye was turned admiringly in the same direction. a long journey performed by that trio of travellers might have led to a tragical termination. such finale was prevented by the appearance of the picknickers; who soon after surrounding the returned runaway, put to flight every other thought by the chorus of their congratulations. chapter nineteen. whisky and water. in the embryo city springing up under the protection of fort inge, the "hotel" was the most conspicuous building. this is but the normal condition of every texan town--whether new or founded forty years ago; and none are older, except the sparse cities of hispano-mexican origin-- where the _presidio_ and convent took precedence, now surpassed by, and in some instances transformed into, the "tavern." the fort inge establishment, though the largest building in the place, was, nevertheless, neither very grand nor imposing. its exterior had but little pretence to architectural style. it was a structure of hewn logs, having for ground-plan the letter t according to the grotesque alphabet--the shank being used for eating and sleeping rooms, while the head was a single apartment entirely devoted to drinking--smoking and _expectorating_ included. this last was the bar-room, or "saloon." the sign outside, swinging from the trunk of a post-oak, that had been _pollarded_ some ten feet above the ground, exhibited on both sides the likeness of a well known military celebrity--the hero of that quarter of the globe--general zachariah taylor. it did not need looking at the lettering beneath to ascertain the name of the hotel. under the patronage of such a portrait it could only be called "rough and ready." there was a touch of the apropos about this designation. outside things appeared rough enough; while inside, especially if you entered by the "saloon," there was a readiness to meet you half way, with a mint julep, a sherry cobbler, a gin sling, or any other _mixed_ drink known to trans-mississippian tipplers--provided always that you were ready with the _picayunes_ to pay for them. the saloon in question would not call for description, had you ever travelled in the southern, or south-western, states of america. if so, no lethean draught could ever efface from your memory the "bar-room" of the hotel or _tavern_ in which you have had the unhappiness to sojourn. the counter extending longitudinally by the side; the shelved wall behind, with its rows of decanters and bottles, containing liquors, of not only all the colours of the prism, but every possible combination of them; the elegant young fellow, standing or sidling between counter and shelves, ycleped "clerk"--don't call him a "barkeeper," or you may get a decanter in your teeth--this elegant young gentleman, in blouse of blue _cottonade_, or white linen coat, or maybe in his shirt sleeves--the latter of finest linen and lace--ruffled, in the year of our lord eighteen hundred and fifty--this elegant young gentleman, who, in mixing you a sherry cobbler, can look you straight in the face, talk to you the politics of the day, while the ice, and the wine, and the water, are passing from glass to glass, like an iris sparkling behind his shoulders, or an aureole surrounding his perfumed head! traveller through the southern states of america you; cannot fail to remember him? if so, my words will recall him, along with his surroundings--the saloon in which he is the presiding administrator, with its shelves and coloured decanters; its counter; its floor sprinkled with white sand, at times littered with cigar stumps, and the brown asterisks produced by _expectoration_--its odour of mint, absinthe, and lemon-peel, in which luxuriate the common black fly, the blue-bottle, and the sharp-tongued mosquito. all these must be sharply outlined on the retina of your memory. the hotel, or tavern, "rough and ready," though differing but little from other texan houses of entertainment, had some points in particular. its proprietor, instead of being a speculative yankee, was a german--in this part of the world, as elsewhere, found to be the best purveyors of food. he kept his own bar; so that on entering the saloon, instead of the elegant young gentleman with ruffled shirt and odorous chevelure, your "liquor" was mixed for you by a staid teuton, who looked as sober as if he never tasted--notwithstanding the temptation of wholesale price--the delicious drinks served out to his customers. oberdoffer was the name he had imported with him from his fatherland; transformed by his texan customers into "old duffer." there was one other peculiarity about the bar-room of the "rough and ready," though it scarce deserved to be so designated; since it was not uncommon elsewhere. as already stated, the building was shaped like a capital t; the saloon representing the head of the letter. the counter extended along one side, that contiguous to the shank; while at each end was a door that opened outward into the public square of the incipient city. this arrangement had been designed to promote the circulation of the air--a matter of primary importance in an atmosphere where the thermometer for half the year stands at degrees in the shade. the hotels of texas or the south-western states--i may say every part of the american union--serve the double purpose of exchange and club-house. indeed, it is owing to the cheap accommodation thus afforded--often of the most convenient kind--that the latter can scarce be said to exist. even in the larger cities of the atlantic states the "club" is by no means a necessity. the moderate charges of the hotels, along with their excellent _cuisine_ and elegant accommodations, circumscribe the prosperity of this institution; which in america is, and ever must be, an unhealthy exotic. the remark is still more true of the southern and south-western cities; where the "saloon" and "bar-room" are the chief places of resort and rendezvous. the company, too, is there of a more miscellaneous character. the proud planter does not disdain--for he does not dare--to drink in the same room with the "poor white trash;" often as proud as himself. there is no _peasant_ in that part of the world--least of all in the state called texas; and in the saloon of "rough and ready" might often be seen assembled representatives of every class and calling to be met with among the settlements. perhaps not upon any occasion since "old duffer" had hung out the sign of his tavern, was he favoured with a larger company, or served more customers across his counter, than upon that night, after the return of the horse-hunting party to fort inge. with the exception of the ladies, almost every one who had taken part in the expedition seemed to think that a half-hour spent at the "rough and ready" was necessary as a "nightcap" before retiring to rest; and as the dutch clock, quaintly ticking among the coloured decanters, indicated the hour of eleven, one after another--officers of the fort--planters living near along the river--sutlers--commissariat contractors--"sportsmen"--and others who might be called nondescripts-- came dropping in; each as he entered marching straight up to the counter, calling for his favourite drink, and then falling back to converse with some group already occupying the floor. one of these groups was conspicuous. it consisted of some eight or ten individuals, half of them in uniform. among the latter were the three officers already introduced; the captain of infantry, and the two lieutenants--hancock of the dragoons, and crossman of the mounted rifles. along with these was an officer older than any of them, also higher in authority, as could be told by the embroidery on his shoulder-strap, that proclaimed him of the rank of major. as he was the only "field officer" at fort inge, it is unnecessary to say he was the commandant of the cantonment. these gentlemen were conversing as freely as if all were subalterns of equal rank--the subject of the discourse being the incidents of the day. "now tell us, major!" said hancock: "you must know. where did the girl gallop to?" "how should i know?" answered the officer appealed to. "ask her cousin, mr cassius calhoun." "we have asked him, but without getting any satisfaction. it's clear he knows no more than we. he only met them on the return--and not very far from the place where we had our bivouac. they were gone a precious long time; and judging by the sweat of their horses they must have had a hard ride of it. they might have been to the rio grande, for that matter, and beyond it." "did you notice calhoun as he came back?" inquired the captain of infantry. "there was a scowl upon his face that betokened some very unpleasant emotion within his mind, i should say." "he did look rather unhappy," replied the major; "but surely, captain sloman, you don't attribute it to--?" "jealousy. i do, and nothing else." "what! of maurice the mustanger? poh--poh! impossible--at least, very improbable." "and why, major?" "my dear sloman, louise poindexter is a lady, and maurice gerald--" "may be a gentleman for aught that is known to the contrary." "pshaw!" scornfully exclaimed crossman; "a trader in horses! the major is right--the thing's improbable--impossible." "ah, gentlemen!" pursued the officer of infantry, with a significant shake of the head. "you don't know miss poindexter, so well as i. an eccentric young lady--to say the least of her. you may have already observed that for yourselves." "come, come, sloman!" said the major, in a bantering way; "you are inclined to be talking scandal, i fear. that would be a scandal. perhaps you are yourself interested in miss poindexter, notwithstanding your pretensions to be considered a joseph? now, i could understand your being jealous if it were handsome hancock here, or crossman-- supposing him to be disengaged. but as for a common mustanger--poh-- poh!" "he's an irishman, major, this mustanger; and if he be what i have some reason to suspect--" "whatever he be," interrupted the major, casting a side glance towards the door, "he's there to answer for himself; and as he's a sufficiently plain-spoken fellow, you may learn from him all about the matter that seems to be of so much interest to you." "i don't think you will," muttered sloman, as hancock and two or three others turned towards the new-comer, with the design of carrying out the major's suggestion. silently advancing across the sanded floor, the mustanger had taken his stand at an unoccupied space in front of the counter. "a glass of whisky and water, if you please?" was the modest request with which to saluted the landlord. "visky und vachter!" echoed the latter, without any show of eagerness to wait upon his new guest. "ya, woe, visky und vachter! it ish two picayunsh the glass." "i was not inquiring the price," replied the mustanger, "i asked to be served with a glass of whisky and water. have you got any?" "yesh--yesh," responded the german, rendered obsequious by the sharp rejoinder. "plenty--plenty of visky und vachter. here it ish." while his simple potation was being served out to him, maurice received nods of recognition from the officers, returning them with a free, but modest air. most of them knew him personally, on account of his business relations with the fort. they were on the eve of interrogating him--as the major had suggested-- when the entrance of still another individual caused them to suspend their design. the new-comer was cassius calhoun. in his presence it would scarce have been delicacy to investigate the subject any further. advancing with his customary swagger towards the mixed group of military men and civilians, calhoun saluted them as one who had spent the day in their company, and had been absent only for a short interval. if not absolutely intoxicated, it could be seen that the ex-officer of volunteers was under the influence of drink. the unsteady sparkle of his eyes, the unnatural pallor upon his forehead--still further clouded by two or three tossed tresses that fell over it--with the somewhat grotesque set of his forage cap--told that he had been taking one beyond the limits of wisdom. "come, gentlemen!" cried he, addressing himself to the major's party, at the same time stepping up to the counter; "let's hit the waggon a crack, or old dunder-und-blitzen behind the bar will say we're wasting his lights. drinks all round. what say you?" "agreed--agreed!" replied several voices. "you, major?" "with pleasure, captain calhoun." according to universal custom, the intended imbibers fell into line along the counter, each calling out the name of the drink most to his liking at the moment. of these were ordered almost as many kinds as there were individuals in the party; calhoun himself shouting out--"brown sherry for me;" and immediately adding--"with a dash of bitters." "prandy und pitters, you calls for, mishter calhoun?" said the landlord, as he leant obsequiously across the counter towards the reputed partner of an extensive estate. "certainly, you stupid dutchman! i said brown sherry, didn't i?" "all rights, mein herr; all rights! prandy und pitters--prandy und pitters," repeated the german boniface, as he hastened to place the decanter before his ill-mannered guest. with the large accession of the major's party, to several others already in the act of imbibing, the whole front of the long counter became occupied--with scarce an inch to spare. apparently by accident--though it may have been design on the part of calhoun--he was the outermost man on the extreme right of those who had responded to his invitation. this brought him in juxtaposition with maurice gerald, who alone--as regarded boon companionship--was quietly drinking his whisky and water, and smoking a cigar he had just lighted. the two were back to back--neither having taken any notice of the other. "a toast!" cried calhoun, taking his glass from the counter. "let us have it!" responded several voices. "america for the americans, and confusion to all foreign interlopers-- especially the damned irish!" on delivering the obnoxious sentiment, he staggered back a pace; which brought his body in contact with that of the mustanger--at the moment standing with the glass raised to his lips. the collision caused the spilling of a portion of the whisky and water; which fell over the mustanger's breast. was it an accident? no one believed it was--even for a moment. accompanied by such a sentiment the act could only have been an affront intended and premeditated. all present expected to see the insulted man spring instantly upon his insulter. they were disappointed, as well as surprised, at the manner in which the mustanger seemed to take it. there were some who even fancied he was about to submit to it. "if he does," whispered hancock in sloman's ear, "he ought to be kicked out of the room." "don't you be alarmed about that," responded the infantry officer, in the same _sotto voce_. "you'll find it different. i'm not given to betting, as you know; but i'd lay a month's pay upon it the mustanger don't back out; and another, that mr cassius calhoun will find him an ugly customer to deal with, although just now he seems more concerned about his fine shirt, than the insult put upon him. odd devil he is!" while this whispering was being carried on, the man to whom it related was still standing by the bar--to use a hackneyed phrase, "the observed of all observers." having deposited his glass upon the counter, he had drawn a silk handkerchief from his pocket, and was wiping from his embroidered shirt bosom the defilement of the spilt whisky. there was an imperturbable coolness about the action, scarce compatible with the idea of cowardice; and those who had doubted him perceived that they had made a mistake, and that there was something to come. in silence they awaited the development. they had not long to wait. the whole affair--speculations and whisperings included--did not occupy twenty seconds of time; and then did the action proceed, or the speech which was likely to usher it in. "_i_ am an irishman," said the mustanger, as he returned his handkerchief to the place from which he had taken it. simple as the rejoinder may have appeared, and long delayed as it had been, there was no one present who mistook its meaning. if the hunter of wild horses had tweaked the nose of cassius calhoun, it would not have added emphasis to that acceptance of his challenge. its simplicity but proclaimed the serious determination of the acceptor. "you?" scornfully retorted calhoun, turning round, and standing with his arms _akimbo_. "you?" he continued, with his eye measuring the mustanger from head to foot, "you an irishman? great god, sir, i should never have thought so! i should have taken you for a mexican, judging by your rig, and the elaborate stitching of your shirt." "i can't perceive how my rig should concern you, mr cassius calhoun; and as you've done my shirt no service by spilling half my liquor upon it, i shall take the liberty of unstarching yours in a similar fashion." so saying, the mustanger took up his glass; and, before the ex-captain of volunteers could duck his head, or get out of the way, the remains of the mixed monongahela were "swilled" into his face, sending him off into a fit of alternate sneezing and coughing that appeared to afford satisfaction to more than a majority of the bystanders. the murmur of approbation was soon suppressed. the circumstances were not such as to call for speech; and the exclamations that accompanied the act were succeeded by a hush of silence. all saw that the quarrel could not be otherwise than a serious one. the affair must end in a fight. no power on earth could prevent it from coming to that conclusion. chapter twenty. an unsafe position. on receiving the alcoholic douche, calhoun had clutched his six-shooter, and drawn it from its holster. he only waited to get the whisky out of his eyes before advancing upon his adversary. the mustanger, anticipating this action, had armed himself with a similar weapon, and stood ready to return the fire of his antagonist-- shot for shot. the more timid of the spectators had already commenced making their escape out of doors tumbling over one another, in their haste to get out of harm's way. a few stayed in the saloon from sheer irresolution; a few others, of cooler courage, from choice; or, perhaps, actuated by a more astute instinct, which told them that in attempting to escape they might get a bullet in the back. there was an interval--some six seconds--of silence, during which a pin might have been heard falling upon the floor. it was but the interlude that often occurs between resolution and action; when the mind has completed its task, and the body has yet to begin. it might have been more brief with other actors on the scene. two ordinary men would have blazed away at once, and without reflection. but the two now confronting each other were not of the common kind. both had seen _street fighting_ before--had taken part in it--and knew the disadvantage of an idle shot. each was determined to take sure aim on the other. it was this that prolonged the interval of inaction. to those outside, who dared not even look through the doors, the suspense was almost painful. the cracking of the pistols, which they expected every moment to hear, would have been a relief. it was almost a disappointment when, instead, they heard the voice of the major--who was among the few who had stayed inside--raised in a loud authoritative tone. "hold!" commanded he, in the accent of one accustomed to be obeyed, at the same time whisking his sabre out of its scabbard, and interposing its long blade between the disputants. "hold your fire--i command you both. drop your muzzles; or by the almighty i'll take the arm off the first of you that touches trigger! hold, i say!" "why?" shouted calhoun, purple with angry passion. "why, major ringwood? after an insult like that, and from a low fellow--" "you were the first to offer it, captain calhoun." "damn me if i care! i shall be the last to let it pass unpunished. stand out of the way, major. the quarrel is not yours--you have no right to interfere!" "indeed! ha! ha! sloman! hancock! crossman! hear that? i have no right to interfere! hark ye, mr cassius calhoun, ex-captain of volunteers! know you where you are, sir? don't fancy yourself in the state of mississippi--among your slave-whipping chivalry. this, sir, is a military post--under military law--my humble self its present administrator. i therefore command you to return your six-shooter to the holster from which you have taken it. this instant too, or you shall go to the guard-house, like the humblest soldier in the cantonment!" "indeed!" sneeringly replied the mississippian. "what a fine country you intend texas to become! i suppose a man mustn't fight, however much aggrieved, without first obtaining a licence from major ringwood? is that to be the law of the land?" "not a bit of it," retorted the major. "i'm not the man--never was--to stand in the way of the honest adjustment of a quarrel. you shall be quite at liberty--you and your antagonist--to kill one another, if it so please you. but not just now. you must perceive, mr calhoun, that your sport endangers the lives of other people, who have not the slightest interest in it. i've no idea of being bored by a bullet not intended for me. wait till the rest of us can withdraw to a safe distance; and you may crack away to your heart's content. now, sir, will that be agreeable to you?" had the major been a man of ordinary character his commands might have been disregarded. but to his official weight, as chief officer of the post, was added a certain reverence due to seniority in age--along with respect for one who was himself known to wield a weapon with dangerous skill, and who allowed no trilling with his authority. his sabre had not been unsheathed by way of empty gesticulation. the disputants knew it; and by simultaneous consent lowered the muzzles of their pistols--still holding them in hand. calhoun stood, with sullen brow, gritting his teeth, like a beast of prey momentarily withheld from making attack upon its victim; while the mustanger appeared to take things as coolly as if neither angry, nor an irishman. "i suppose you are determined upon fighting?" said the major, knowing that, there was not much chance of adjusting the quarrel. "i have no particular wish for it," modestly responded maurice. "if mr calhoun will apologise for what he has said, and also what he has done--" "he ought to do it: he began the quarrel!" suggested several of the bystanders. "never!" scornfully responded the ex-captain. "cash calhoun ain't accustomed to that sort of thing. apologise indeed! and to a masquerading monkey like that!" "enough!" cried the young irishman, for the first time showing serious anger; "i gave him a chance for his life. he refuses to accept it: and now, by the mother of god, we don't both leave this room alive! major! i insist that you and your friends withdraw. i can stand his insolence no longer!" "ha--ha--ha!" responded the southerner, with a yell of derisive laughter; "a chance for my life! clear out, all of ye--clear out; and let me at him!" "stay!" cried the major, hesitating to turn his back upon the duellist. "it's not quite safe. you may fancy to begin your game of touch-trigger a second too soon. we must get out of doors before you do. besides, gentlemen!" he continued, addressing himself to those around him, "there should be some system about this. if they are to fight, let it be fair for both sides. let them be armed alike; and go at it on the square!" "by all means!" chorused the half-score of spectators, turning their eyes towards the disputants, to see if they accepted the proposal. "neither of you can object?" continued the major, interrogatively. "i sha'n't object to anything that's fair," assented the irishman--"devil a bit!" "i shall fight with the weapon i hold in my hand," doggedly declared calhoun. "agreed! the very weapon for me!" was the rejoinder of his adversary. "i see you both carry colt's six-shooter number ," said the major, scanning the pistols held in hand. "so far all right! you're armed exactly alike." "have they any other weapons?" inquired young hancock, suspecting that under the cover of his coat the ex-captain had a knife. "i have none," answered the mustanger, with a frankness that left no doubt as to his speaking the truth. all eyes were turned upon calhoun, who appeared to hesitate about making a reply. he saw he must declare himself. "of course," he said, "i have my toothpick as well. you don't want me to give up that? a man ought to be allowed to use whatever weapon he has got." "but, captain calhoun," pursued hancock, "your adversary has no knife. if you are not afraid to meet him on equal terms you should surrender yours." "certainly he should!" cried several of the bystanders. "he must! he must!" "come, mr calhoun!" said the major, in a soothing tone. "six shots ought to satisfy any reasonable man; without having recourse to the steel. before you finish firing, one or the other of you--" "damn the knife!" interrupted calhoun, unbuttoning his coat. then drawing forth the proscribed weapon, and flinging it to the farthest corner of the saloon, he added, in a tone of bravado, intended to encowardice his adversary. "i sha'n't want it for such a spangled jay-bird as that. i'll fetch him out of his boots at the first shot." "time enough to talk when you've done something to justify it. cry boo to a goose; but don't fancy your big words are going to frighten me, mr calhoun! quick, gentlemen! i'm impatient to put an end to his boasting and blasphemy!" "hound!" frantically hissed out the chivalric southerner. "low dog of an irish dam! i'll send you howling to your kennel! i'll--" "shame, captain calhoun!" interrupted the major, seconded by other voices. "this talk is idle, as it is unpolite in the presence of respectable company. have patience a minute longer; and you may then say what you like. now, gentlemen!" he continued, addressing himself to the surrounding, "there is only one more preliminary to be arranged. they must engage not to begin firing till we have got out of their way?" a difficulty here presented itself. how was the engagement to be given? a simple promise would scarce be sufficient in a crisis like that? the combatants--one of them at least--would not be over scrupulous as to the time of pulling trigger. "there must be a signal," pursued the major. "neither should fire till that be given. can any one suggest what it is to be?" "i think. i can," said the quiet captain sloman, advancing as he spoke. "let the gentlemen go outside, along with us. there is--as you perceive--a door at each end of the room. i see no difference between them. let them enter again--one at each door, with the understanding that neither is to fire before setting foot across the threshold." "capital! the very thing!" replied several voices. "and what for a signal?" demanded the major. "a shot?" "no. ring the tavern bell!" "nothing could be better--nothing fairer," conclusively declared the major, making for one of the doors, that led outward into the square. "mein gott, major!" screamed the german boniface, rushing out from behind his bar; where, up to this time, he had been standing transfixed with fear. "mein gott--surely the shentlemens pe not going to shoot their pisthols inside the shaloon: ach! they'll preak all my pottles, and my shplendid looking-glashes, an my crystal clock, that hash cost me von--two hundred dollars. they'll shpill my pesht liquors--ach! major, it'll ruin me--mein gott--it will!" "never fear, oberdoffer!" rejoined the major, pausing to reply. "no doubt you'll be paid for the damage. at all events, you had better betake yourself to some place of safety. if you stay in your saloon you'll stand a good chance of getting a bullet through your body, and that would be worse than the preaking of your pottles." without further parley the major parted from the unfortunate landlord, and hurried across the threshold into the street, whither the combatants, who had gone out by separate doors, had already preceded him. "old duffer," left standing in the middle of his sanded floor, did not remain long in that perilous position. in six seconds after the major's coat-tail had disappeared through the outer door, an inner one closed upon his own skirts; and the bar-room, with its camphine lamps, its sparkling decanters, and its costly mirrors, was left in untenanted silence--no other sound being heard save the ticking of its crystal clock. chapter twenty one. a duel within doors. once outside, the major took no further part in the affair. as the commanding officer of the post, it would have been out of place for him to have given encouragement to a fight--even by his interfering to see that it should be a fair one. this, however, was attended to by the younger officers; who at once set about arranging the conditions of the duel. there was not much time consumed. the terms had been expressed already; and it only remained to appoint some one of the party to superintend the ringing of the bell, which was to be the signal for the combat to commence. this was an easy matter, since it made no difference who might be entrusted with the duty. a child might have sounded the summons for the terrible conflict that was to follow. a stranger, chancing at that moment to ride into the rude square of which the hotel "rough and ready" formed nearly a side, would have been sorely puzzled to comprehend what was coming to pass. the night was rather dark, though there was still light enough to make known the presence of a conglomeration of human beings, assembled in the proximity of the hotel. most were in military garb: since, in addition to the officers who had lately figured inside the saloon, others, along with such soldiers as were permitted to pass the sentries, had hastened down from the fort on receiving intelligence that something unusual was going on within the "square." women, too, but scantily robed--soldiers' wives, washerwomen, and "senoritas" of more questionable calling--had found their way into the street, and were endeavouring to extract from those who had forestalled them an explanation of the _fracas_. the conversation was carried on in low tones. it was known that the commandant of the post was present, as well as others in authority; and this checked any propensity there might have been for noisy demonstration. the crowd, thus promiscuously collected, was not in close proximity with the hotel; but standing well out in the open ground, about a dozen yards from the building. towards it, however, the eyes of all were directed, with that steady stare which tells of the attention being fixed on some engrossing spectacle. they were watching the movements of two men, whose positions were apart--one at each end of the heavy blockhouse, known to be the bar-room of the hotel; and where, as already stated, there was a door. though separated by the interposition of two thick log walls, and mutually invisible, these men were manoeuvring as if actuated by a common impulse. they stood contiguous to the entrance doors, at opposite ends of the bar-room, through both of which glared the light of the camphine lamps--falling in broad divergent bands upon the rough gravel outside. neither was in front of the contiguous entrance; but a little to one side, just clear of the light. neither was in an upright attitude, but crouching--not as if from fear, but like a runner about to make a start, and straining upon the spring. both were looking inwards--into the saloon, where no sound could be heard save the ticking of a clock. their attitudes told of their readiness to enter it, and that they were only restrained by waiting for some preconcerted signal. that their purpose was a serious one could be deduced from several circumstances. both were in their shirt sleeves, hatless, and stripped of every rag that might form an impediment to action; while on their faces was the stamp of stern determination--alike legible in the attitudes they had assumed. but there was no fine reflection needed to discover their design. the stranger, chancing to come into the square, could have seen at a glance that it was deadly. the pistols in their hands, cocked and tightly clutched; the nervous energy of their attitudes; the silence of the crowd of spectators; and the concentrated interest with which the two men were regarded, proclaimed more emphatically than words, that there was danger in what they were doing--in short, that they were engaged in some sort of a strife, with death for its probable consummation! so it was at that moment when the crisis had come. the duellists stood, each with eye intent upon the door, by which he was to make entrance-- perhaps into eternity! they only waited for a signal to cross the threshold; and engage in a combat that must terminate the existence of one or the other--perhaps both. were they listening for that fatal formulary:--one--two--fire? no. another signal had been agreed upon; and it was given. a stentorian voice was heard calling out the simple monosyllable-- "ring!" three or four dark figures could be seen standing by the shorn trunk on which swung the tavern bell. the command instantly set them in motion; and, along with the oscillation of their arms--dimly seen through the darkness--could be heard the sonorous tones of a bell. that bell, whose sounds had been hitherto heard only as symbols of joy--calling men together to partake of that which perpetuates life--was now listened to as a summons of death! the "ringing in" was of short duration. the bell had made less than a score of vibrations, when the men engaged at the rope saw that their services were no longer required. the disappearance of the duellists, who had rushed inside the saloon, the quick, sharp cracking of pistols; the shivering of broken glass, admonished the ringers that theirs was but a superfluous noise; and, dropping the rope, they stood like the rest of the crowd, listening to the conflict inside. no eyes--save those of the combatants themselves--were witnesses to that strange duel. at the first dong of the bell both combatants had re-entered the room. neither made an attempt to skulk outside. to have done so would have been a ruin to reputation. a hundred eyes were upon them; and the spectators understood the conditions of the duel--that neither was to fire before crossing the threshold. once inside, the conflict commenced, the first shots filling the room with smoke. both kept their feet, though both were wounded--their blood spurting out over the sanded floor. the second shots were also fired simultaneously, but at random, the smoke hindering the aim. then came a single shot, quickly followed by another, and succeeded by an interval of quiet. previous to this the combatants had been heard rushing about through the room. this noise was no longer being made. instead there was profound silence. had they killed one another? were both dead? no! once more the double detonation announced that both still lived. the suspension had been caused as they stood peering through the smoke in the endeavour to distinguish one another. neither spoke or stirred in fear of betraying his position. again there was a period of tranquillity similar to the former, but more prolonged. it ended by another exchange of shots, almost instantly succeeded by the falling of two heavy bodies upon the floor. there was the sound of sprawling--the overturning of chairs--then a single shot--the eleventh--and this was the last that was fired! the spectators outside saw only a cloud of sulphurous smoke oozing out of both doors, and dimming the light of the camphine lamps. this, with an occasional flash of brighter effulgence, close followed by a crack, was all that occurred to give satisfaction to the eye. but the ear--that was gratified by a greater variety. there were heard shots--after the bell had become silent, other sounds: the sharp shivering of broken glass, the duller crash of falling furniture, rudely overturned in earnest struggle--the trampling of feet upon the boarded floor--at intervals the clear ringing crack of the revolvers; but neither of the voices of the men whose insensate passions were the cause of all this commotion! the crowd in the street heard the confused noises, and noted the intervals of silence, without being exactly able to interpret them. the reports of the pistols were all they had to proclaim the progress of the duel. eleven had been counted; and in breathless silence they were listening for the twelfth. instead of a pistol report their ears were gratified by the sound of a voice, recognised as that of the mustanger. "my pistol is at your head! i have one shot left--an apology, or you die!" by this the crowd had become convinced that the fight was approaching its termination. some of the more fearless, looking in, beheld a strange scene. they saw two men lying prostrate on the plank floor; both with bloodstained habiliments, both evidently disabled; the white sand around them reddened with their gore, tracked with tortuous trails, where they had crawled closer to get a last shot at each other--one of them, in scarlet scarf and slashed velvet trousers, slightly surmounting the other, and holding a pistol to his head that threatened to deprive him of life. such was the tableau that presented itself to the spectators, as the sulphurous smoke, drifted out by the current between the two doors, gave them a chance of distinguishing objects within the saloon. at the same instant was heard a different voice from the one which had already spoken. it was calhoun's--no longer in roistering bravado, but in low whining accents, almost a whisper. "enough, damn it! drop your shooting-iron--i apologise." chapter twenty two. an unknown donor. in texas a duel is not even a nine days' wonder. it oftener ceases to be talked about by the end of the third day; and, at the expiration of a week, is no longer thought of, except by the principals themselves, or their immediate friends and relatives. this is so, even when the parties are well known, and of respectable standing in society. when the duellists are of humble position--or, as is often the case, strangers in the place--a single day may suffice to doom their achievement to oblivion; to dwell only in the memory of the combatant who has survived it--oftener one than both--and perhaps some ill-starred spectator, who has been bored by a bullet, or received the slash of a knife, not designed for him. more than once have i been witness to a "street fight"--improvised upon the pavement--where some innocuous citizen, sauntering carelessly along, has become the victim--even unto death--of this irregular method of seeking "satisfaction." i have never heard of any punishment awarded, or damages demanded, in such cases. they are regarded as belonging to the "chapter of accidents!" though cassius calhoun and maurice gerald were both comparatively strangers in the settlement--the latter being only seen on occasional visits to the fort--the affair between them caused something more than the usual interest; and was talked about for the full period of the nine days, the character of the former as a noted bully, and that of the latter as a man of singular habitudes, gave to their duello a certain sort of distinction; and the merits and demerits of the two men were freely discussed for days after the affair had taken place nowhere with more earnestness than upon the spot where they had shed each other's blood--in the bar-room of the hotel. the conqueror had gained credit and friends. there were few who favoured his adversary; and not a few who were gratified at the result for, short as had been the time since calhoun's arrival, there was more than one saloon lounger who had felt the smart of his insolence. for this it was presumed the young irishman had administered a cure; and there was almost universal satisfaction at the result. how the ex-captain carried his discomfiture no one could tell. he was no longer to be seen swaggering in the saloon of the "rough and ready;" though the cause of his absence was well understood. it was not chagrin, but his couch; to which he was confined by wounds, that, if not skilfully treated, might consign him to his coffin. maurice was in like manner compelled to stay within doors. the injuries he had received, though not so severe as those of his antagonist, were nevertheless of such a character as to make it necessary for him to keep to his chamber--a small, and scantily furnished bedroom in "old duffer's" hotel; where, notwithstanding the _eclat_ derived from his conquest, he was somewhat scurvily treated. in the hour of his triumph, he had fainted from loss of blood. he could not be taken elsewhere; though, in the shabby apartment to which he had been consigned, he might have thought of the luxurious care that surrounded the couch of his wounded antagonist. fortunately phelim was by his side, or he might have been still worse attended to. "be saint pathrick! it's a shame," half soliloquised this faithful follower. "a burnin' shame to squeeze a gintleman into a hole like this, not bigger than a pig-stoy! a gintleman like you, masther maurice. an' thin such aytin' and drinkin'. och! a well fid oirish pig wud turn up its nose at such traytment. an' fwhat div yez think i've heerd owld duffer talkin' about below?" "i hav'n't the slightest idea, my dear phelim; nor do i care straw to know what you've heard mr oberdoffer saying below; but if you don't want him to hear what you are saying above, you'll moderate your voice a little. remember, _ma bohil_, that the partitions in this place are only lath and plaster." "divil take the partitions; and divil burn them, av he loikes. av yez don't care fur fwhat's sed, i don't care far fwhat's heeurd--not the snappin' av me fingers. the dutchman can't trate us any worse than he's been doin' already. for all that, masther maurice, i thought it bist to lit you know." "let me know then. what is it he has been saying?" "will, thin; i heerd him tellin' wan av his croneys that besoides the mate an the dhrink, an the washin', an lodgin', he intinded to make you pay for the bottles, and glasses, an other things, that was broke on the night av the shindy." "me pay?" "yis, yerself, masther maurice; an not a pinny charged to the yankee. now i call that downright rascally mane; an nobody but a dhirty dutchman wud iver hiv thought av it. av there be anythin' to pay, the man that's bate should be made to showldor the damage, an that wasn't a discindant av the owld geralds av ballyballagh. hoo--hooch! wudn't i loike to shake a shaylaylah about duffer's head for the matther of two minutes? wudn't i?" "what reason did he give for saying that i should pay? did you hear him state any?" "i did, masther--the dhirtiest av all raisuns. he sid that you were the bird in the hand; an he wud kape ye till yez sittled the score." "he'll find himself slightly mistaken about that; and would perhaps do better by presenting his bill to the bird in the bush. i shall be willing to pay for half the damage done; but no more. you may tell him so, if he speak to you about it. and, in troth, phelim, i don't know how i am to do even that. there must have been a good many breakages. i remember a great deal of jingling while we were at it. if i don't mistake there was a smashed mirror, or clock dial, or something of the kind." "a big lookin'-glass, masther; an a crystal somethin', that was set over the clock. they say two hunderd dollars. i don't belave they were worth wan half av the money." "even so, it is a serious matter to me--just at this crisis. i fear, phelim, you will have to make a journey to the alamo, and fetch away some of the household gods we have hidden there. to get clear of this scrape i shall have to sacrifice my spurs, my silver cup, and perhaps my gun!" "don't say that, masther! how are we to live, if the gun goes?" "as we best can, _ma bohil_. on horseflesh, i suppose: and the lazo will supply that." "be japers! it wudn't be much worse than the mate owld duffer sits afore us. it gives me the bellyache ivery time i ate it." the conversation was here interrupted by the opening of the chamber door; which was done without knocking. a slatternly servant--whose sex it would have been difficult to determine from outward indices--appeared in the doorway, with a basket of palm sinnet held extended at the termination of a long sinewy arm. "fwhat is it, gertrude?" asked phelim, who, from some previous information, appeared to be acquainted with the feminine character of the intruder. "a shentlemans prot this." "a gentleman! who, gertrude?" "not know, mein herr; he wash a stranger shentlemans." "brought by a gentleman. who can he be? see what it in, phelim." phelim undid the fastenings of the lid, and exposed the interior of the basket. it was one of considerable bulk: since inside were discovered several bottles, apparently containing wines and cordials, packed among a paraphernalia of sweetmeats, and other delicacies--both of the confectionery and the kitchen. there was no note accompanying the present--not even a direction--but the trim and elegant style in which it was done up, proved that it had proceeded from the hands of a lady. maurice turned over the various articles, examining each, as phelim supposed, to take note of its value. little was he thinking of this, while searching for the "invoice." there proved to be none--not a scrap of paper--not so much as a _card_! the generosity of the supply--well-timed as it was--bespoke the donor to be some person in affluent circumstances. who could it be? as maurice reflected, a fair image came uppermost in his mind; which he could not help connecting with that of his unknown benefactor. could it be louise poindexter? in spite of certain improbabilities, he was fain to believe it might; and, so long as the belief lasted, his heart was quivering with a sweet beatitude. as he continued to reflect, the improbabilities appeared too strong for this pleasant supposition; his faith became overturned; and there remained only a vague unsubstantial hope. "a gintleman lift it," spoke the connemara man, in semi-soliloquy. "a gintleman, she sez; a kind gintleman, i say! who div yez think he was, masther?" "i haven't the slightest idea; unless it may have been some of the officers of the port; though i could hardly expect one of them to think of me in this fashion." "nayther yez need. it wasn't wan av them. no officer, or gintleman ayther, phut them things in the basket." "why do you think that?" "pwhy div i think it! och, masther! is it yerself to ask the quistyun? isn't there the smell av swate fingers about it? jist look at the nate way them papers is tied up. that purty kreel was niver packed by the hand av a man. it was done by a wuman; and i'll warrant a raal lady at that." "nonsense, phelim! i know no lady who should take so much interest in me." "aw, murdher! what a thumpin' big fib! i know won that shud. it wud be black ungratytude av she didn't--afther what yez did for her. didn't yez save her life into the bargain?" "of whom are you speaking?" "now, don't be desateful, masther. yez know that i mane the purty crayther that come to the hut ridin' spotty that you presinted her, widout resavin' a dollar for the mare. if it wasn't her that sint ye this hamper, thin phaylim onale is the biggest numskull that was iver born about ballyballagh. be the vargin, masther, speakin' of the owld place phuts me in mind of its paple. pwhat wud the blue-eyed colleen say, if she knew yez were in such danger heeur?" "danger! it's all over. the doctor has said so; and that i may go out of doors in a week from this time. don't distress yourself about that." "troth, masther, yez be only talkin'. that isn't the danger i was drhamin' av. yez know will enough what i mane. maybe yez have resaved a wound from bright eyes, worse than that from lid bullets. or, maybe, somebody ilse has; an that's why ye've had the things sint ye." "you're all wrong, phelim. the thing must have come from the fort; but whether it did, or not, there's no reason why we should stand upon ceremony with its contents. so, here goes to make trial of them!" notwithstanding the apparent relish with which the invalid partook of the products--both of collar and _cuisine_--while eating and drinking, his thoughts were occupied with a still more agreeable theme; with a string of dreamy conjectures, as to whom he was indebted for the princely present. could it be the young creole--the cousin of his direst enemy as well as his reputed sweetheart? the thing appeared improbable. if not she, who else could it be? the mustanger would have given a horse--a whole drove--to have been assured that louise poindexter was the provider of that luxurious refection. two days elapsed, and the donor still remained unknown. then the invalid was once more agreeably surprised, by a second present--very similar to the first--another basket, containing other bottles, and crammed with fresh "confections." the bavarian wench was again questioned; but with no better result. a "shentlemans" had "prot" it--the same "stranger shentlemans" as before. she could only add that "the shentlemans" was very "_schwartz_," wore a glazed hat, and came to the tavern mounted upon a mule. maurice did not appear to be gratified with this description of the unknown donor; though no one--not even phelim--was made the confidant of his thoughts. in two days afterwards they were toned down to their former sobriety--on the receipt of a third basket, "prot by the schwartz gentleman" in the glazed hat, who came mounted upon a mule. the change could not be explained by the belongings in the basket-- almost the counterpart of what had been sent before. it might be accounted for by the contents of a _billet doux_, that accompanied the gift--attached by a ribbon to the wickerwork of palm-sinnet. "'tis only isidora!" muttered the mustanger, as he glanced at the superscription upon the note. then opening it with an air of indifference, he read:-- "_querido senor_! "_soy quedando por una semana en la casa del tio silvio. de questra desfortuna he oido--tambien que v. esta mal ciudado en la fonda. he mandado algunas cositas. sea graciosa usarlos, coma una chiquitita memoria del servicio grande de que vuestra deudor estoy. en la silla soy escribando, con las espuelas preparadas sacar sangre de las ijadas del mio cavallo. en un momento mas, partira por el rio grande_. "_bienhichor_--_de mi vida salvador_--_y de que a una mujer esa mas querida, la honra_--_adios_--_adios_! "isidora covarubio de los llanos. "_al senor don mauricio gerald_." literally translated, and in the idiom of the spanish language, the note ran thus:-- "dear sir,--i have been staying for a week at the house of uncle silvio. of your mischance i have heard--also, that you are indifferently cared for at the hotel. i have sent you some little things. be good enough to make use of them, as a slight souvenir of the great service for which i am your debtor. i write in the saddle, with my spurs ready to draw blood from the flanks of my horse. in another moment i am off for the rio grande! "benefactor--preserver of my life--of what to a woman is dearer--my honour--adieu! adieu! "isidora covarubio de los llanos." "thanks--thanks, sweet isidora!" muttered the mustanger, as he refolded the note, and threw it carelessly upon the coverlet of his couch. "ever grateful--considerate--kind! but for louise poindexter, i might have loved you!" chapter twenty three. vows of vengeance. calhoun, chafing in his chamber, was not the object of such assiduous solicitude. notwithstanding the luxurious appointments that surrounded him, he could not comfort himself with the reflection: that he was cared for by living creature. truly selfish in his own heart, he had no faith in friendships; and while confined to his couch--not without some fears that it might be his death-bed--he experienced the misery of a man believing that no human being cared a straw whether he should live or die. any sympathy shown to him, was upon the score of relationship. it could scarce have been otherwise. his conduct towards his cousins had not been such as to secure their esteem; while his uncle, the proud woodley poindexter, felt towards him something akin to aversion, mingled with a subdued fear. it is true that this feeling was only of recent origin; and rose out of certain relations that existed between uncle and nephew. as already hinted, they stood to one another in the relationship of debtor and creditor--or mortgagor and mortgagee--the nephew being the latter. to such an extent had this indebtedness been carried, that cassius calhoun was in effect the real owner of casa del corvo; and could at any moment have proclaimed himself its master. conscious of his power, he had of late been using it to effect a particular purpose: that is, the securing for his wife, the woman he had long fiercely loved--his cousin louise. he had come to know that he stood but little chance of obtaining her consent: for she had taken but slight pains to conceal her indifference to his suit. trusting to the peculiar influence established over her father, he had determined on taking no slight denial. these circumstances considered, it was not strange that the ex-officer of volunteers, when stretched upon a sick bed, received less sympathy from his relatives than might otherwise have been extended to him. while dreading, death--which for a length of time he actually did--he had become a little more amiable to those around him. the agreeable mood, however, was of short continuance; and, once assured of recovery, all the natural savageness of his disposition was restored, along with the additional bitterness arising from his recent discomfiture. it had been the pride of his life to exhibit himself as a successful bully--the master of every crowd that might gather around him. he could no longer claim this credit in texas; and the thought harrowed his heart to its very core. to figure as a defeated man before all the women of the settlement-- above all in the eyes of her he adored, defeated by one whom he suspected of being his rival in her affections--a more nameless adventurer--was too much to be endured with equanimity. even an ordinary man would have been pained by the infliction. calhoun writhed under it. he had no idea of enduring it, as an ordinary man would have done. if he could not escape from the disgrace, he was determined to revenge himself upon its author; and as soon as he had recovered from the apprehensions entertained about the safety of his life, he commenced reflecting upon this very subject. maurice, the mustanger, must die! if not by his (calhoun's) own hand, then by the hand of another, if such an one was to be found in the settlement. there could not be much difficulty in procuring a confederate. there are _bravoes_ upon the broad prairies of texas, as well as within the walls of italian cities. alas! there is no spot upon earth where gold cannot command the steel of the assassin. calhoun possessed gold--more than sufficient for such a purpose; and to such purpose did he determine upon devoting at least a portion of it. in the solitude of his sick chamber he set about maturing his plans; which comprehended the assassination of the mustanger. he did not purpose doing the deed himself. his late defeat had rendered him fearful of chancing a second encounter with the same adversary--even under the advantageous circumstances of a surprise. he had become too much encowardised to play the assassin. he wanted an accomplice--an arm to strike for him. where was he to find it? unluckily he knew, or fancied he knew, the very man. there was a mexican at the time making abode in the village--like maurice himself--a mustanger; but one of those with whom the young irishman had shown a disinclination to associate. as a general rule, the men of this peculiar calling are amongst the greatest reprobates, who have their home in the land of the "lone star." by birth and breed they are mostly mexicans, or mongrel indians; though, not unfrequently, a frenchman, or american, finds it a congenial calling. they are usually the outcasts of civilised society--oftener its outlaws--who, in the excitement of the chase, and its concomitant dangers, find, perhaps, some sort of _salvo_ for a conscience that has been severely tried. while dwelling within the settlements, these men are not unfrequently the pests of the society that surrounds them--ever engaged in broil and debauch; and when abroad in the exercise of their calling, they are not always to be encountered with safety. more than once is it recorded in the history of texas how a company of mustangers has, for the nonce, converted itself into a band of _cuadrilla_ of _salteadores_; or, disguised as indians, levied black mail upon the train of the prairie traveller. one of this kidney was the individual who had become recalled to the memory of cassius calhoun. the latter remembered having met the man in the bar-room of the hotel; upon several occasions, but more especially on the night of the duel. he remembered that he had been one of those who had carried him home on the stretcher; and from some extravagant expressions he had made use of, when speaking of his antagonist, calhoun had drawn the deduction, that the mexican was no friend to maurice the mustanger. since then he had learnt that he was maurice's deadliest enemy--himself excepted. with these data to proceed upon the ex-captain had called the mexican to his counsels, and the two were often closeted together in the chamber of the invalid. there was nothing in all this to excite suspicion--even had calhoun cared for that. his visitor was a dealer in horses and horned cattle. some transaction in horseflesh might be going on between them. so any one would have supposed. and so for a time thought the mexican himself: for in their first interview, but little other business was transacted between them. the astute mississippian knew better than to declare his ultimate designs to a stranger; who, after completing an advantageous horse-trade, was well supplied with whatever he chose to drink, and cunningly cross-questioned as to the relations in which he stood towards maurice the mustanger. in that first interview, the ex-officer volunteers learnt enough, to know that he might depend upon his man for any service he might require--even to the committal of murder. the mexican made no secret of his heartfelt hostility to the young mustanger. he did not declare the exact cause of it; but calhoun could guess, by certain innuendos introduced during the conversation, that it was the same as that by which he was himself actuated--the same to which may be traced almost every quarrel that has occurred among men, from troy to texas--a woman! the helen in this case appeared to be some dark-eyed _doncella_ dwelling upon the rio grande, where maurice had been in the habit of making an occasional visit, in whose eyes he had found favour, to the disadvantage of her own _conpaisano_. the mexican did not give the name; and calhoun, as he listened to his explanations, only hoped in his heart that the damsel who had slighted him might have won the heart of his rival. during his days of convalescence, several interviews had taken place between the ex-captain and the intended accomplice in his purposes of vengeance--enough, one might suppose, to have rendered them complete. whether they were so, or not, and what the nature of their hellish designs, were things known only to the brace of kindred confederates. the outside world but knew that captain cassius calhoun and miguel diaz--known by the nickname "el coyote," appeared to have taken a fancy for keeping each other's company; while the more respectable portion of it wondered at such an ill-starred association. chapter twenty four. on the azotea. there are no sluggards on a texan plantation. the daybreak begins the day; and the bell, conch, or cow-horn, that summons the dark-skinned proletarians to their toil, is alike the signal for their master to forsake his more luxurious couch. such was the custom of casa del corvo under its original owners: and the fashion was followed by the family of the american planter--not from any idea of precedent, but simply in obedience to the suggestions of nature. in a climate of almost perpetual spring, the sweet matutinal moments are not to be wasted in sleep. the _siesta_ belongs to the hours of noon; when all nature appears to shrink under the smiles of the solar luminary--as if surfeited with their superabundance. on his reappearance at morn the sun is greeted with renewed joy. then do the tropical birds spread their resplendent plumage--the flowers their dew-besprinkled petals--to receive his fervent kisses. all nature again seems glad, to acknowledge him as its god. resplendent as any bird that flutters among the foliage of south-western texas--fair as any flower that blooms within it--gladdest was she who appeared upon the housetop of casa del corvo. aurora herself, rising from her roseate couch, looked not fresher than the young creole, as she stood contemplating the curtains of that very couch, from which a texan sun was slowly uplifting his globe of burning gold. she was standing upon the edge of the azotea that fronted towards the east; her white hand resting upon the copestone of the parapet still wet with the dews of the night, under her eyes was the garden, enclosed within a curve of the river; beyond the bluff formed by the opposite bank; and further still, the wide-spreading plateau of the prairie. was she looking at a landscape, that could scarce fail to challenge admiration? no. equally was she unconscious of the ascending sun; though, like some fair pagan, did she appear to be in prayer at its apprising! listened she to the voices of the birds, from garden and grove swelling harmoniously around her? on the contrary, her ear was not bent to catch any sound, nor her eye intent upon any object. her glance was wandering, as if her thoughts went not with it, but were dwelling upon some theme, neither present nor near. in contrast with the cheerful brightness of the sky, there was a shadow upon her brow; despite the joyous warbling of the birds, there was the sign of sadness on her cheek. she was alone. there was no one to take note of this melancholy mood, nor inquire into its cause. the cause was declared in a few low murmured words, that fell, as if involuntarily, from her lips. "he may be dangerously wounded--perhaps even to death?" who was the object of this solicitude so hypothetically expressed? the invalid that lay below, almost under her feet, in a chamber of the hacienda--her cousin cassius calhoun? it could scarce be he. the doctor had the day before pronounced him out of danger, and on the way to quick recovery. any one listening to her soliloquy--after a time continued in the same sad tone--would have been convinced it was not he. "i may not send to inquire. i dare not even ask after him. i fear to trust any of our people. he may be in some poor place--perhaps uncourteously treated--perhaps neglected? would that i could convey to him a message--something more--without any one being the wiser! i wonder what has become of zeb stump?" as if some instinct whispered her, that there was a possibility of zeb making his appearance, she turned her eyes towards the plain on the opposite side of the river--where a road led up and down. it was the common highway between fort inge and the plantations on the lower leona. it traversed the prairie at some distance from the river bank; approaching it only at one point, where the channel curved in to the base of the bluffs. a reach of the road, of half a mile in length, was visible in the direction of the fort; as also a cross-path that led to a ford; thence running on to the hacienda. in the opposite direction-- down the stream--the view was open for a like length, until the chapparal on both sides closing in, terminated the savanna. the young lady scanned the road leading towards fort inge. zeb stump should come that way. he was not in sight; nor was any one else. she could not feel disappointment. she had no reason to expect him. she had but raised her eyes in obedience to an instinct. something more than instinct caused her, after a time, to turn round, and scrutinise the plain in the opposite quarter. if expecting some one to appear that way, she was not disappointed. a horse was just stepping out from among the trees, where the road debouched from the chapparal. he was ridden by one, who, at first sight, appeared to be a man, clad in a sort of arab costume; but who, on closer scrutiny, and despite the style of equitation--_a la duchesse de berri_--was unquestionably of the other sex--a lady. there was not much of her face to be seen; but through the shadowy opening of the _rebozo_--rather carelessly _tapado_--could be traced an oval facial outline, somewhat brownly "complected," but with a carmine tinting upon the cheeks, and above this a pair of eyes whose sparkle appeared to challenge comparison with the brightest object either on the earth, or in the sky. neither did the loosely falling folds of the lady's scarf, nor her somewhat _outre_ attitude in the saddle, hinder the observer from coming to the conclusion, that her figure was quite as attractive as her face. the man following upon the mule, six lengths of his animal in the rear, by his costume--as well as the respectful distance observed--was evidently only an attendant. "who can that woman be?" was the muttered interrogatory of louise poindexter, as with quick action she raised the lorgnette to her eyes, and directed it upon the oddly apparelled figure. "who _can_ she be?" was repeated in a tone of greater deliberation, as the glass came down, and the naked eye was entrusted to complete the scrutiny. "a mexican, of course; the man on the mule her servant. some grand senora, i suppose? i thought they had all gone to the other side of the rio grande. a basket carried by the attendant. i wonder what it contains; and what errand she can have to the port--it may be the village. 'tis the third time i've seen her passing within this week? she must be from some of the plantations below!" what an outlandish style of riding! _par dieu_! i'm told it's not uncommon among the daughters of anahuac. what if i were to take to it myself? no doubt it's much the easiest way; though if such a spectacle were seen in the states it would be styled unfeminine. how our puritan mammas would scream out against it! i think i hear them. ha, ha, ha! the mirth thus begotten was but of momentary duration. there came a change over the countenance of the creole, quick as a drifting cloud darkens the disc of the sun. it was not a return to that melancholy so late shadowing it; though something equally serious--as might be told by the sudden blanching of her cheeks. the cause could only be looked for in the movements of the scarfed equestrian on the other side of the river. an antelope had sprung up, out of some low shrubbery growing by the roadside. the creature appeared to have made its first bound from under the counter of the horse--a splendid animal, that, in a moment after, was going at full gallop in pursuit of the affrighted "pronghorn;" while his rider, with her rebozo suddenly flung from her face, its fringed ends streaming behind her back, was seen describing, with her right arm, a series of circular sweeps in the air! "what is the woman going to do?" was the muttered interrogatory of the spectator upon the house-top. "ha! as i live, 'tis a lazo!" the senora was not long in giving proof of skill in the use of the national implement:--by flinging its noose around the antelope's neck, and throwing the creature in its tracks! the attendant rode up to the place where it lay struggling; dismounted from his mule; and, stooping over the prostrate pronghorn, appeared to administer the _coup de grace_. then, flinging the carcass over the croup of his saddle, he climbed back upon his mule, and spurred after his mistress--who had already recovered her lazo, readjusted her scarf, and was riding onward, as if nothing had occurred worth waiting for! it was at that moment--when the noose was seen circling in the air--that the shadow had reappeared upon the countenance or the creole. it was not surprise that caused it, but an emotion of a different character--a thought far more unpleasant. nor did it pass speedily away. it was still there--though a white hand holding the lorgnette to her eye might have hindered it from being seen--still there, as long as the mounted figures were visible upon the open road; and even after they had passed out of sight behind the screening of the acacias. "i wonder--oh, i wonder if it be she! my own age, he said--not quite so tall. the description suits--so far as one may judge at this distance. has her home on the rio grande. comes occasionally to the leona, to visit some relatives. who are they? why did i not ask him the name? _i wonder--oh, i wonder if it be she_!" chapter twenty five. a gift ungiven. for some minutes after the lady of the lazo and her attendant had passed out of sight, louise poindexter pursued the train of reflection--started by the somewhat singular episode of which she had been spectator. her attitude, and air, of continued dejection told that her thoughts had not been directed into a more cheerful channel. rather the reverse. once or twice before had her mind given way to imaginings, connected with that accomplished _equestrienne_; and more than once had she speculated upon her purpose in riding up the road. the incident just witnessed had suddenly changed her conjectures into suspicions of an exceedingly unpleasant nature. it was a relief to her, when a horseman appeared coming out of the chapparal, at the point where the others had ridden in; a still greater relief, when he was seen to swerve into the cross path that conducted to the hacienda, and was recognised, through the lorgnette, as zeb stump the hunter. the face of the creole became bright again--almost to gaiety. there was something ominous of good in the opportune appearance of the honest backwoodsman. "the man i was wanting to see!" she exclaimed in joyous accents. "_he_ can bear me a message; and perhaps tell who _she_ is. he must have met her on the road. that will enable me to introduce the subject, without zeb having any suspicion of my object. even with him i must be circumspect--after what has happened. ah, me! not much should i care, if i were sure of _his_ caring for me. how provoking his indifference! and to me--louise poindexter! _par dieu_! let it proceed much further, and i shall try to escape from the toils if--if--i should crush my poor heart in the attempt!" it need scarce be said that the individual, whose esteem was so coveted, was not zeb stump. her next speech, however, was addressed to zeb, as he reined up in front of the hacienda. "dear mr stump!" hailed a voice, to which the old hunter delighted to listen. "i'm so glad to see you. dismount, and come up here! i know you're a famous climber, and won't mind a flight of stone stairs. there's a view from this housetop that will reward you for your trouble." "thur's suthin' on the house-top theear," rejoined the hunter, "the view o' which 'ud reward zeb stump for climbin' to the top o' a steamboat chimbly; 'an thet's yurself, miss lewaze. i'll kum up, soon as i ha' stabled the ole maar, which shall be dud in the shakin' o' a goat's tail. gee-up, ole gal!" he continued, addressing himself to the mare, after he had dismounted, "hold up yur head, an may be plute hyur 'll gie ye a wheen o' corn shucks for yur breakfist." "ho--ho! mass 'tump," interposed the sable coachman, making his appearance in the _patio_. "dat same do dis nigga--gub um de shucks wi' de yaller corn inside ob dem. ho--ho! you gwup 'tairs to de young missa; an plute he no 'gleck yar ole mar." "yur a dod-rotted good sample o' a nigger, plute; an the nix occashun i shows about hyur, i'll fetch you a 'possum--wi' the meat on it as tender as a two-year old chicken. thet's what i'm boun' ter do." after delivering himself of this promise, zeb commenced ascending the stone stairway; not by single steps, but by two, and sometimes three, at a stride. he was soon upon the housetop; where he was once more welcomed by the young mistress of the mansion. her excited manner, and the eagerness with which she conducted him to a remote part of the azotea, told the astute hunter, that he had been summoned thither for some other purpose than enjoying the prospect. "tell me, mr stump!" said she, as she clutched the sleeve of the blanket coat in her delicate fingers, and looked inquiringly into zeb's grey eye--"you must know all. how is he? are his wounds of a dangerous nature?" "if you refar to mister cal-hoon--" "no--no--no. i know all about him. it's not of mr calhoun i'm speaking." "wall, miss lewasse; thur air only one other as i know of in these parts thet hev got wownds; an thet air's maurice the mowstanger. mout it be thet ere individooal yur inquirin' abeout?" "it is--it is! you know i cannot be indifferent to his welfare, notwithstanding the misfortune of his having quarrelled with my cousin. you are aware that he rescued me--twice i may say--from imminent peril. tell me--is he in great danger?" such earnestness could no longer be trifled with. zeb without further parley, made reply:-- "ne'er a morsel o' danger. thur's a bullet-hole jest above the ankle-jeint. it don't signerfy more'n the scratch o' a kitting. thur's another hev goed through the flesh o' the young fellur's left arm. it don't signerfy neyther--only thet it drawed a good sup o' the red out o' him. howsomdever, he's all right now; an expecks to be out o' doors in a kupple o' days, or tharabout. he sez that an hour in the seddle, an a skoot acrosst the purayra, 'ud do him more good than all the docters in texas. i reckon it wud; but the docter--it's the surgint o' the fort as attends on him--he won't let him git to grass yit a bit." "where is he?" "he air stayin' at the hotel--whar the skrimmage tuk place." "perhaps he is not well waited upon? it's a rough place, i've heard. he may not have any delicacies--such as an invalid stands in need of? stay here, mr stump, till i come up to you again. i have something i wish to send to him. i know i can trust you to deliver it. won't you? i'm sure you will. i shall be with you in six seconds." without waiting to note the effect of her speech, the young lady tripped lightly along the passage, and as lightly descended the stone stairway. presently she reappeared--bringing with her a good-sized hamper; which was evidently filled with eatables, with something to send them down. "now dear old zeb, you will take this to mr gerald? it's only some little things that florinda has put up; some cordials and jellies and the like, such as sick people at times have a craving for. they are not likely to be kept in the hotel. don't tell _him_ where they come from--_neither him, nor any one else_. you won't? i know you won't, you dear good giant." "he may depend on zeb stump for thet, miss lewaze. nobody air a goin' to be a bit the wiser about who sent these hyur delekissies; though, for the matter o' cakes an kickshaws, an all that sort o' thing, the mowstanger hain't had much reezun to complain. he hev been serplied wi' enuf o' them to hev filled the bellies o' a hul school o' shugar-babbies." "ha! supplied already! by whom?" "wal, thet theer this chile can't inform ye, miss lewaze; not be-knowin' it hisself. i on'y hyurd they wur fetched to the tavern in baskets, by some sort o' a sarving-man as air a mexikin. i've seed the man myself. fact, i've jest this minnit met him, ridin' arter a wuman sot stridy legs in her seddle, as most o' these mexikin weemen ride. i reck'n he be her sarvingt, as he war keepin' a good ways ahint, and toatin' a basket jest like one o' them maurice hed got arready. like enuf it air another lot o' rickshaws they wur takin' to the tavern." there was no need to trouble zeb stump with further cross-questioning. a whole history was supplied by that single speech. the case was painfully clear. in the regard of maurice gerald, louise poindexter had a rival--perhaps something more. the lady of the lazo was either his _fiancee_, or his mistress! it was not by accident--though to zeb stump it may have seemed so--that the hamper, steadied for a time, upon the coping of the balustrade, and still retained in the hand of the young creole, escaped from her clutch, and fell with a crash upon the stones below. the bottles were broken, and their contents spilled into the stream that surged along the basement of the wall. the action of the arm that produced this effect, apparently springing from a spasmodic and involuntary effort, was nevertheless due to design; and louise poindexter, as she leant over the parapet, and contemplated the ruin she had caused, felt as if her heart was shattered like the glass that lay glistening below! "how unfortunate!" said she, making a feint to conceal her chagrin. "the dainties are destroyed, i declare! what will florinda say? after all, if mr gerald be so well attended to, as you say he is, he'll not stand in need of them. i'm glad to hear he hasn't been neglected--one who has done me a service. but, mr stump, you needn't say anything of this, or that i inquired after him. you know his late antagonist is our near relative; and it might cause scandal in the settlement. dear zeb, you promise me?" "swa-ar it ef ye like. neery word, miss lewaze, neery word; ye kin depend on ole zeb." "i know it. come! the sun is growing hot up here. let as go down, and see whether we can find you such a thing as a glass of your favourite monongahela. come!" with an assumed air of cheerfulness, the young creole glided across the azotea; and, trilling the "new orleans waltz," once more commenced descending the _escalera_. in eager acceptance of the invitation, the old hunter followed close upon her skirts; and although, by habit, stoically indifferent to feminine charms--and with his thoughts at that moment chiefly bent upon the promised monongahela--he could not help admiring those ivory shoulders brought so conspicuously under his eyes. but for a short while was he permitted to indulge in the luxurious spectacle. on reaching the bottom of the stair his fair hostess bade him a somewhat abrupt adieu. after the revelations he had so unwittingly made, his conversation seemed no longer agreeable; and she, late desirous of interrogating, was now contented to leave him alone with the monongahela, as she hastened to hide her chagrin in the solitude of her chamber. for the first time in her life louise poindexter felt the pangs of jealousy. it was her first real love: for she was in love with maurice gerald. a solicitude like that shown for him by the mexican senora, could scarce spring from simple friendship? some closer tie must have been established between them? so ran the reflections of the now suffering creole. from what maurice had said--from what she had herself seen--the lady of the lazo was just such a woman as should win the affections of such a man. hers were accomplishments he might naturally be expected to admire. her figure had appeared perfect under the magnifying effect of the lens. the face had not been so fairly viewed, and was still undetermined. was it in correspondence with the form? was it such as to secure the love of a man so much master of his passions, as the mustanger appeared to be? the mistress of casa del corvo could not rest, till she had satisfied herself on this score. as soon as zeb stump had taken his departure, she ordered the spotted mare to be saddled; and, riding out alone, she sought the crossing of the river; and thence proceeded to the highway on the opposite side. advancing in the direction of the fort, as she expected, she soon encountered the mexican senora on her return; no _senora_ according to the exact signification of the term, but a _senorita_--a young lady, not older than herself. at the place of their meeting, the road ran under the shadow of the trees. there was no sun to require the coifing of the rebozo upon the crown of the mexican equestrian. the scarf had fallen upon her shoulders, laying bare a head of hair, in luxuriance rivalling the tail of a wild steed, in colour the plumage of a crow. it formed the framing of a face, that, despite a certain darkness of complexion, was charmingly attractive. good breeding permitted only a glance at it in passing; which was returned by a like courtesy on the part of the stranger. but as the two rode on, back to back, going in opposite directions, neither could restrain herself from turning round in the saddle, and snatching a second glance at the other. their reflections were not very dissimilar: if louise poindexter had already learnt something of the individual thus encountered, the latter was not altogether ignorant of _her_ existence. we shall not attempt to portray the thoughts of the senorita consequent on that encounter. suffice it to say, that those of the creole were even more sombre than when she sallied forth on that errand of inspection; and that the young mistress of casa del corvo rode back to the mansion, all the way seated in her saddle in an attitude that betokened the deepest dejection. "beautiful!" said she, after passing her supposed rival upon the road. "yes; too beautiful to be his friend!" louise was speaking to her own conscience; or she might have been more chary of her praise. "i cannot have any doubt," continued she, "of the relationship that exists between them--he loves her!--he loves her! it accounts for his cold indifference to me? i've been mad to risk my heart's happiness in such an ill-starred entanglement! "and now to disentangle it! now to banish him from my thoughts! ah! 'tis easily said! can i?" "i shall see him no more. that, at least, is possible. after what has occurred, he will not come to our house. we can only meet by accident; and that accident i must be careful to avoid. oh, maurice gerald! tamer of wild steeds! you have subdued a spirit that may suffer long--perhaps never recover from the lesson!" chapter twenty six. still on the azotea. to banish from the thoughts one who has been passionately loved is a simple impossibility. time may do much to subdue the pain of an unreciprocated passion, and absence more. but neither time, nor absence, can hinder the continued recurrence of that longing for the lost loved one--or quiet the heart aching with that void that has never been satisfactorily filled. louise poindexter had imbibed a passion that could not be easily stifled. though of brief existence, it had been of rapid growth-- vigorously overriding all obstacles to its indulgence. it was already strong enough to overcome such ordinary scruples as parental consent, or the inequality of rank; and, had it been reciprocated, neither would have stood in the way, so far as she herself was concerned. for the former, she was of age; and felt--as most of her countrywomen do-- capable of taking care of herself. for the latter, who ever really loved that cared a straw for class, or caste? love has no such meanness in its composition. at all events, there was none such in the passion of louise poindexter. it could scarce be called the first illusion of her life. it was, however, the first, where disappointment was likely to prove dangerous to the tranquillity of her spirit. she was not unaware of this. she anticipated unhappiness for a while-- hoping that time would enable her to subdue the expected pain. at first, she fancied she would find a friend in her own strong will; and another in the natural buoyancy of her spirit. but as the days passed, she found reason to distrust both: for in spite of both, she could not erase from her thoughts the image of the man who had so completely captivated her imagination. there were times when she hated him, or tried to do so--when she could have killed him, or seen him killed, without making an effort to save him! they were but moments; each succeeded by an interval of more righteous reflection, when she felt that the fault was hers alone, as hers only the misfortune. _no_ matter for this. it mattered not if he had been her enemy--the enemy of all mankind. if lucifer himself--to whom in her wild fancy she had once likened him--she would have loved him all the same! and it would have proved nothing abnormal in her disposition--nothing to separate her from the rest of womankind, all the world over. in the mind of man, or woman either, there is no connection between the _moral_ and the _passional_. they are as different from each other as fire from water. they may chance to run in the same channel; but they may go diametrically opposite. in other words, we may love the very being we hate--ay, the one we despise! louise poindexter could neither hate, nor despise, maurice gerald. she could only endeavour to feel indifference. it was a vain effort, and ended in failure. she could not restrain herself from ascending to the azotea, and scrutinising the road where she had first beheld the cause of her jealousy. each day, and almost every hour of the day, was the ascent repeated. still more. notwithstanding her resolve, to avoid the accident of an encounter with the man who had made her miserable, she was oft in the saddle and abroad, scouring the country around--riding through the streets of the village--with no other object than to meet him. during the three days that followed that unpleasant discovery, once again had she seen--from the housetop as before--the lady of the lazo _en route_ up the road, as before accompanied by her attendant with the pannier across his arm--that pandora's box that had bred such mischief in her mind--while she herself stood trembling with jealousy--envious of the other's errand. she knew more now, though not much. only had she learnt the name and social standing of her rival. the dona isidora covarubio de los llanos--daughter of a wealthy haciendado, who lived upon the rio grande, and niece to another whose estate lay upon the leona, a mile beyond the boundaries of her father's new purchase. an eccentric young lady, as some thought, who could throw a lazo, tame a wild steed, or anything else excepting her own caprices. such was the character of the mexican senorita, as known to the american settlers on the leona. a knowledge of it did not remove the jealous suspicions of the creole. on the contrary, it tended to confirm them. such practices were her own predilections. she had been created with an instinct to admire them. she supposed that others must do the same. the young irishman was not likely to be an exception. there was an interval of several days--during which the lady of the lazo was not seen again. "he has recovered from his wounds?" reflected the creole. "he no longer needs such unremitting attention." she was upon the azotea at the moment of making this reflection-- lorgnette in hand, as she had often been before. it was in the morning, shortly after sunrise: the hour when the mexican had been wont to make her appearance. louise had been looking towards the quarter whence the senorita might have been expected to come. on turning her eyes in the opposite direction, she beheld--that which caused her something more than surprise. she saw maurice gerald, mounted on horseback, and riding down the road! though seated somewhat stiffly in the saddle, and going at a slow pace, it was certainly he. the glass declared his identity; at the same time disclosing the fact, that his left arm was suspended in a sling. on recognising him, she shrank behind the parapet--as she did so, giving utterance to a suppressed cry. why that anguished utterance? was it the sight of the disabled arm, or the pallid face: for the glass had enabled her to distinguish both? neither one nor the other. neither could be a cause of surprise. besides, it was an exclamation far differently intoned to those of either pity or astonishment. it was an expression of sorrow, that had for its origin some heartfelt chagrin. the invalid was convalescent. he no longer needed to be visited by his nurse. he was on the way to visit _her_! cowering behind the parapet--screened by the flower-spike of the _yucca_--louise poindexter watched the passing horseman. the lorgnette enabled her to note every movement made by him--almost to the play of his features. she felt some slight gratification on observing that he turned his face at intervals and fixed his regard upon casa del corvo. it was increased, when on reaching a copse, that stood by the side of the road, and nearly opposite the house, he reined up behind the trees, and for a long time remained in the same spot, as if reconnoitring the mansion. she almost conceived a hope, that he might be thinking of its mistress! it was but a gleam of joy, departing like the sunlight under the certain shadow of an eclipse. it was succeeded by a sadness that might be appropriately compared to such shadow: for to her the world at that moment seemed filled with gloom. maurice gerald had ridden on. he had entered the chapparal; and become lost to view with the road upon which he was riding. whither was he bound? whither, but to visit dona isidora covarubio de los llanos? it mattered not that he returned within less than an hour. they might have met in the woods--within eyeshot of that jealous spectator--but for the screening of the trees. an hour was sufficient interview--for lovers, who could every day claim unrestricted indulgence. it mattered not, that in passing upwards he again cast regards towards casa del corvo; again halted behind the copse, and passed some time in apparent scrutiny of the mansion. it was but mockery--or exultation. he might well feel triumphant; but why should he be cruel, with kisses upon his lips--the kisses he had received from the dona isidora covarubio de los llanos? chapter twenty seven. i love you!--i love you! louise poindexter upon the azotea again--again to be subjected to a fresh chagrin! that broad stone stairway trending up to the housetop, seemed to lead only to spectacles that gave her pain. she had mentally vowed no more to ascend it--at least for a long time. something stronger than her strong will combatted--and successfully--the keeping of that vow. it was broken ere the sun of another day had dried the dew from the grass of the prairie. as on the day before, she stood by the parapet scanning the road on the opposite side of the river; as before, she saw the horseman with the slung arm ride past; as before, she crouched to screen herself from observation. he was going downwards, as on the day preceding. in like manner did he cast long glances towards the hacienda, and made halt behind the clump of trees that grew opposite. her heart fluttered between hope and fear. there was an instant when she felt half inclined to show herself. fear prevailed; and in the next instant he was gone. whither? the self-asked interrogatory was but the same as of yesterday. it met with a similar response. whither, if not to meet dona isidora covarubio de los llanos? could there be a doubt of it? if so, it was soon to be determined. in less than twenty minutes after, a parded steed was seen upon the same road--and in the same direction-- with a lady upon its back. the jealous heart of the creole could hold out no longer. no truth could cause greater torture than she was already suffering through suspicion. she had resolved on assuring herself, though the knowledge should prove fatal to the last faint remnant of her hopes. she entered the chapparal where the mustanger had ridden in scarce twenty minutes before. she rode on beneath the flitting shadows of the acacias. she rode in silence upon the soft turf--keeping close to the side of the path, so that the hoof might not strike against stones. the long pinnate fronds, drooping down to the level of her eyes, mingled with the plumes in her hat. she sate her saddle crouchingly, as if to avoid being observed--all the while with earnest glance scanning the open space before her. she reached the crest of a hill which commanded a view beyond. there was a house in sight surrounded by tall trees. it might have been termed a mansion. it was the residence of don silvio martinez, the uncle of dona isidora. so much had she learnt already. there were other houses to be seen upon the plain below; but on this one, and the road leading to it, the eyes of the creole became fixed in a glance of uneasy interrogation. for a time she continued her scrutiny without satisfaction. no one appeared either at the house, or near it. the private road leading to the residence of the haciendado, and the public highway, were alike without living forms. some horses were straying over the pastures; but not one with a rider upon his back. could the lady have ridden out to meet him, or maurice gone in? were they at that moment in the woods, or within the walls of the house? if the former, was don silvio aware of it? if the latter, was he at home--an approving party to the assignation? with such questions was the creole afflicting herself, when the neigh of a horse broke abruptly on her ear, followed by the chinking of a shod hoof against the stones of the causeway. she looked below: for she had halted upon the crest, a steep acclivity. the mustanger was ascending it--riding directly towards her. she might have seen him sooner, had she not been occupied with the more distant view. he was alone, as he had ridden past casa del corvo. there was nothing to show that he had recently been in company--much less in the company of an _inamorata_. it was too late for louise to shun him. the spotted mustang had replied to the salutation of an old acquaintance. its rider was constrained to keep her ground, till the mustanger came up. "good day, miss poindexter?" said he--for upon the prairies it is _not_ etiquette for the lady to speak first. "alone?" "alone, sir. and why not?" "'tis a solitary ride among the chapparals. but true: i think i've heard you say you prefer that sort of thing?" "you appear to like it yourself, mr gerald. to you, however, it is not so solitary, i presume?" "in faith i do like it; and just for that very reason. i have the misfortune to live at a tavern, or `hotel,' as mine host is pleased to call it; and one gets so tired of the noises--especially an invalid, as i have the bad luck to be--that a ride along this quiet road is something akin to luxury. the cool shade of these acacias--which the mexicans have vulgarised by the name of _mezquites_--with the breeze that keeps constantly circulating through their fan-like foliage, would invigorate the feeblest of frames. don't you think so, miss poindexter?" "you should know best, sir," was the reply vouchsafed, after some seconds of embarrassment. "you, who have so often tried it." "often! i have been only twice down this road since i have been able to sit in my saddle. but, miss poindexter, may i ask how you knew that i have been this way at all?" "oh!" rejoined louise, her colour going and coming as she spoke, "how could i help knowing it? i am in the habit of spending much time on the housetop. the view, the breeze, the music of the birds, ascending from the garden below, makes it a delightful spot--especially in the cool of the morning. our roof commands a view of this road. being up there, how could i avoid seeing you as you passed--that is, so long as you were not under _the shade of the acacias_?" "you saw me, then?" said maurice, with an embarrassed air, which was not caused by the innuendo conveyed in her last words--which he could not have comprehended--but by a remembrance of how he had himself behaved while riding along the reach of open road. "how could i help it?" was the ready reply. "the distance is scarce six hundred yards. even a lady, mounted upon a steed much smaller than yours, was sufficiently conspicuous to be identified. when i saw her display her wonderful skill, by strangling a poor little antelope with her lazo, i knew it could be no other than she whose accomplishments you were so good as to give me an account of." "isidora?" "isidora!" "ah; true! she has been here for some time." "and has been very kind to mr maurice gerald?" "indeed, it is true. she has been very kind; though i have had no chance of thanking her. with all her friendship for poor me, she is a great hater of us foreign invaders; and would not condescend to step over the threshold of mr oberdoffer's hotel." "indeed! i suppose she preferred meeting you under the _shade of the acacias_!" "i have not met her at all; at least, not for many months; and may not for months to come--now that she has gone back to her home on the rio grande." "are you speaking the truth, sir? you have not seen her since--she is gone away from the house of her uncle?" "she has," replied maurice, exhibiting surprise. "of course, i have not seen her. i only knew she was here by her sending me some delicacies while i was ill. in truth, i stood in need of them. the hotel _cuisine_ is none of the nicest; nor was i the most welcome of mr oberdoffer's guests. the dona isidora has been but too grateful for the slight service i once did her." "a service! may i ask what it was, mr gerald?" "oh, certainly. it was merely a chance. i had the opportunity of being useful to the young lady, in once rescuing her from some rude indians-- wild oat and his seminoles--into whose hands she had fallen, while making a journey from the rio grande to visit her uncle on the leona-- don silvio martinez, whose house you can see from here. the brutes had got drunk; and were threatening--not exactly her life--though that was in some danger, but--well, the poor girl was in trouble with them, and might have had some difficulty in getting away, had i not chanced to ride up." "a slight service, you call it? you are modest in your estimate, mr gerald. a man who should do that much for _me_!" "what would you do for _him_?" asked the mustanger, placing a significant emphasis on the final word. "i should _love_ him," was the prompt reply. "then," said maurice, spurring his horse close up to the side of the spotted mustang, and whispering into the ear of its rider, with an earnestness strangely contrasting to his late reticence, "i would give half my life to see you in the hands of wild cat and his drunken comrades--the other half to deliver you from the danger." "do you mean this, maurice gerald? do not trifle with me: i am not a child. speak the truth! do you mean it?" "i do! as heaven is above me, i do!" the sweetest kiss i ever had in my life, was when a woman--a fair creature, in the hunting field--leant over in her saddle and kissed me as i sate in mine. the fondest embrace ever received by maurice gerald, was that given by louise poindexter; when, standing up in her stirrup, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, she cried in an agony of earnest passion-- "_do with me as thou wilt: i love you, i love you_!" chapter twenty eight. a pleasure forbidden. ever since texas became the scene of an anglo-saxon immigration--i might go a century farther back and say, from the time of its colonisation by the descendants of the conquistadores--the subject of primary importance has been the disposition of its aborigines. whether these, the lawful lords of the soil, chanced to be in a state of open war--or whether, by some treaty with the settlers they were consenting to a temporary peace--made but slight difference, so far as they were talked about. in either case they were a topic of daily discourse. in the former it related to the dangers to be hourly apprehended from them; in the latter, to the probable duration of such treaty as might for the moment be binding them to hold their tomahawks entombed. in mexican times these questions formed the staple of conversation, at _desayuno, almuerzo, comida, y cena_; in american times, up to this present hour, they have been the themes of discussion at the breakfast, dinner, and supper tables. in the planter's piazza, as in the hunter's camp, bear, deer, cougar, and peccary, are not named with half the frequency, or half the fear-inspiring emphasis, allotted to the word "indian." it is this that scares the texan child instead of the stereotyped nursery ghost, keeping it awake upon its moss-stuffed mattress--disturbing almost as much the repose of its parent. despite the surrounding of strong walls--more resembling those of a fortress than a gentleman's dwelling--the inmates of casa del corvo were not excepted from this feeling of apprehension, universal along the frontier. as yet they knew little of the indians, and that little only from report; but, day by day, they were becoming better acquainted with the character of this natural "terror" that interfered with the slumbers of their fellow settlers. that it was no mere "bogie" they had begun to believe; but if any of them remained incredulous, a note received from the major commanding the fort--about two weeks after the horse-hunting expedition--was calculated to cure them of their incredulity. it came in the early morning, carried by a mounted rifleman. it was put into the hands of the planter just as he was about sitting down to the breakfast-table, around which were assembled the three individuals who composed his household--his daughter louise, his son henry, and his nephew cassius calhoun. "startling news!" he exclaimed, after hastily reading, the note. "not very pleasant if true; and i suppose there can be no doubt of that, since the major appears convinced." "unpleasant news, papa?" asked his daughter, a spot of red springing to her cheek as she put the question. the spoken interrogatory was continued by others, not uttered aloud. "what can the major have written to him? i met him yesterday while riding in the chapparal. he saw me in company with--can it be that? _mon dieu_! if father should hear it--" "`the comanches on the war trail'--so writes the major." "oh, that's all!" said louise, involuntarily giving voice to the phrase, as if the news had nothing so very fearful in it. "you frightened us, sir. i thought it was something worse." "worse! what trifling, child, to talk so! there is nothing worse, in texas, than comanches on the war trail--nothing half so dangerous." louise might have thought there was--a danger at least as difficult to be avoided. perhaps she was reflecting upon a pursuit of wild steeds-- or thinking of the _trail of a lazo_. she made no reply. calhoun continued the conversation. "is the major sure of the indians being up? what does he say, uncle?" "that there have been rumours of it for some days past, though not reliable. now it is certain. last night wild cat, the seminole chief, came to the fort with a party of his tribe; bringing the news that the painted pole has been erected in the camps of the comanches all over texas, and that the war dance has been going on for more than a month. that several parties are already out upon the maraud, and may be looked for among the settlements at any moment." "and wild cat himself--what of him?" asked louise, an unpleasant reminiscence suggesting the inquiry. "is that renegade indian to be trusted, who appears to be as much an enemy to the whites as to the people of his own race?" "quite true, my daughter. you have described the chief of the seminoles almost in the same terms as i find him spoken of, in a postscript to the major's letter. he counsels us to beware of the two-faced old rascal, who will be sure to take sides with the comanches, whenever it may suit his convenience to do so." "well," continued the planter, laying aside the note, and betaking himself to his coffee and waffles, "i trust we sha'n't see any redskins here--either seminoles or comanches. in making their marauds, let us hope they will not like the look of the crenelled parapets of casa del corvo, but give the hacienda a wide berth." before any one could respond, a sable face appearing at the door of the dining-room--which was the apartment in which breakfast was being eaten--caused a complete change in the character of the conversation. the countenance belonged to pluto, the coachman. "what do you want, pluto?" inquired his owner. "ho, ho! massr woodley, dis chile want nuffin 't all. only look in t' tell missa looey dat soon's she done eat her brekfass de spotty am unner de saddle, all ready for chuck de bit into him mouf. ho! ho! dat critter do dance 'bout on de pave stone as ef it wa' mad to 'treak it back to de smoove tuff ob de praira." "going out for a ride, louise?" asked the planter with a shadow upon his brow, which he made but little effort to conceal. "yes, papa; i was thinking of it." "you must not." "indeed!" "i mean, that you must not ride out _alone_. it is not proper." "why do you think so, papa? i have often ridden out alone." "yes; perhaps too often." this last remark brought the slightest tinge of colour to the cheeks of the young creole; though she seemed uncertain what construction she was to put upon it. notwithstanding its ambiguity, she did not press for an explanation. on the contrary, she preferred shunning it; as was shown by her reply. "if you think so, papa, i shall not go out again. though to be cooped up here, in this dismal dwelling, while you gentlemen are all abroad upon business--is that the life you intend me to lead in texas?" "nothing of the sort, my daughter. i have no objection to your riding out as much as you please; but henry must be with you, or your cousin cassius. i only lay an embargo on your going alone. i have my reasons." "reasons! what are they?" the question came involuntarily to her lips. it had scarce passed them, ere she regretted having asked it. by her uneasy air it was evident she had apprehensions as to the answer. the reply appeared partially to relieve her. "what other reasons do you want," said the planter, evidently endeavouring to escape from the suspicion of duplicity by the statement of a convenient fact--"what better, than the contents of this letter from the major? remember, my child, you are not in louisiana, where a lady may travel anywhere without fear of either insult or outrage; but in texas, where she may dread both--where even her life may be in danger. here there are indians." "my excursions don't extend so far from the house, that i need have any fear of indians. i never go more than five miles at the most." "five miles!" exclaimed the ex-officer of volunteers, with a sardonic smile; "you would be as safe at fifty, cousin loo. you are just as likely to encounter the redskins within a hundred yards of the door, as at the distance of a hundred miles. when they are on the war trail they may be looked for anywhere, and at any time. in my opinion, uncle woodley is rights you are very foolish to ride out alone." "oh! _you_ say so?" sharply retorted the young creole, turning disdainfully towards her cousin. "and pray, sir, may i ask of what service your company would be to me in the event of my encountering the comanches, which i don't believe there's the slightest danger of my doing? a pretty figure we'd cut--the pair of us--in the midst of a war-party of painted savages! ha! ha! the danger would be yours, not mine: since i should certainly ride away, and leave you to your own devices. danger, indeed, within five miles of the house! if there's a horseman in texas--savages not excepted--who can catch up with my little luna in a five mile stretch, he must ride a swift steed; which is more than you do, mr cash!" "silence, daughter!" commanded poindexter. "don't let me hear you talk in that absurd strain. take no notice of it, nephew. even if there were no danger from indians, there are other outlaws in these parts quite as much to be shunned as they. enough that i forbid you to ride abroad, as you have of late been accustomed to do." "be it as you will, papa," rejoined louise, rising from the breakfast-table, and with an air of resignation preparing to leave the room. "of course i shall obey you--at the risk of losing my health for want of exercise. go, pluto!" she added, addressing herself to the darkey, who still stood grinning in the doorway, "turn luna loose into the corral--the pastures--anywhere. let her stray back to her native prairies, if the creature be so inclined; she's no longer needed here." with this speech, the young lady swept out of the _sala_, leaving the three gentlemen, who still retained their seats by the table, to reflect upon the satire intended to be conveyed by her words. they were not the last to which she gave utterance in that same series. as she glided along the corridor leading to her own chamber, others, low murmured, mechanically escaped from her lips. they were in the shape of interrogatories--a string of them self-asked, and only to be answered by conjecture. "what can papa have heard? is it but his suspicions? can any one have told him? does he knew that we have met?" chapter twenty nine. el coyote at home. calhoun took his departure from the breakfast-table, almost as abruptly as his cousin; but, on leaving the _sala_ instead of returning to his own chamber, he sallied forth from the house. still suffering from wounds but half healed, he was nevertheless sufficiently convalescent to go abroad--into the garden, to the stables, the corrals--anywhere around the house. on the present occasion, his excursion was intended to conduct him to a more distant point. as if under the stimulus of what had turned up in the conversation--or perhaps by the contents of the letter that had been read--his feebleness seemed for the time to have forsaken him; and, vigorously plying his crutch, he proceeded up the river in the direction of fort inge. in a barren tract of land, that lay about half way between the hacienda and the fort--and that did not appear to belong to any one--he arrived at the terminus of his limping expedition. there was a grove of _mezquit_, with, some larger trees shading it; and in the midst of this, a rude hovel of "wattle and dab," known in south-western texas as a _jacale_. it was the domicile of miguel diaz, the mexican mustanger--a lair appropriate to the semi-savage who had earned for himself the distinctive appellation of _el coyote_ ("prairie wolf.") it was not always that the wolf could be found in his den--for his _jacale_ deserved no better description. it was but his occasional sleeping-place; during those intervals of inactivity when, by the disposal of a drove of captured mustangs, he could afford to stay for a time within the limits of the settlement, indulging in such gross pleasures as its proximity afforded. calhoun was fortunate in finding him at home; though not quite so fortunate as to find him in a state of sobriety. he was not exactly intoxicated--having, after a prolonged spell of sleep, partially recovered from this, the habitual condition of his existence. "_h'la nor_!" he exclaimed in his provincial patois, slurring the salutation, as his visitor darkened the door of the _jacale_. "_p'r dios_! who'd have expected to see you? _sientese_! be seated. take a chair. there's one. a chair! ha! ha! ha!" the laugh was called up at contemplation of that which he had facetiously termed a chair. it was the skull of a mustang, intended to serve as such; and which, with another similar piece, a rude table of cleft yucca-tree, and a couch of cane reeds, upon which the owner of the _jacale_ was reclining, constituted the sole furniture of miguel diaz's dwelling. calhoun, fatigued with his halting promenade, accepted the invitation of his host, and sate down upon the horse-skull. he did not permit much time to pass, before entering upon the object of his errand. "senor diaz!" said he, "i have come for--" "senor americano!" exclaimed the half-drunken horse-hunter, cutting short the explanation, "why waste words upon that? _carrambo_! i know well enough for what you've come. you want me to _wipe out_ that devilish _irlandes_!" "well!" "well; i promised you i would do it, for five hundred _pesos_--at the proper time and opportunity. i will. miguel diaz never played false to his promise. but the time's not come, _nor capitan_; nor yet the opportunity, _carajo_! to kill a man outright requires skill. it can't be done--even on the prairies--without danger of detection; and if detected, ha! what chance for me? you forget, _nor capitan_, that i'm a mexican. if i were of your people, i might slay don mauricio; and get clear on the score of its being a quarrel. _maldita_! with us mexicans it is different. if we stick our machete into a man so as to let out his life's blood, it is called murder; and you americanos, with your stupid juries of twelve _honest_ men, would pronounce it so: ay, and hang a poor fellow for it. _chingaro_! i can't risk that. i hate the irlandes as much as you; but i'm not going to chop off my nose to spite my own face. i must wait for the time, and the chance--_carrai_, the time and the chance." "both are come!" exclaimed the tempter, bending earnestly towards the bravo. "you said you could easily do it, if there was any indian trouble going on?" "of course i said so. if there was that--" "you have not heard the news, then?" "what news?" "that the comanches are starting on the war trail." "_carajo_!" exclaimed el coyote, springing up from his couch of reeds, and exhibiting all the activity of his namesake, when roused by the scent of prey. "_santissima virgen_! do you speak the truth, _nor capitan_?" "neither more nor less. the news has just reached the fort. i have it on the best authority--the officer in command." "in that case," answered the mexican reflecting!--"in that case, don mauricio may die. the comanches can kill him. ha! ha! ha!" "you are sure of it?" "i should be surer, if his scalp were worth a thousand dollars, instead of five hundred." "it _is_ worth that sum." "what sum?" "a thousand dollars." "you promise it?" "i do." "then the comanches _shall_ scalp him, _nor capitan_. you may return to casa del corvo, and go to sleep with confidence that whenever the opportunity arrives, your enemy will lose his hair. you understand?" "i do." "get ready your thousand _pesos_." "they wait your acceptance." "_carajo_! i shall earn them in a trice. adios! adios!" "_santissima virgen_!" exclaimed the profane ruffian, as his visitor limped out of sight. "what a magnificent fluke of fortune! a perfect _chiripe_. a thousand dollars for killing the man i intended to kill on my own account, without charging anybody a single _claco_ for the deed! "the comanches upon the war trail! _chingaro_! can it be true? if so, i must look up my old disguise--gone to neglect through these three long years of accursed peace. _viva la guerra de los indios_! success to the pantomime of the prairies!" chapter thirty. a sagittary correspondence. louise poindexter, passionately addicted to the sports termed "manly," could scarce have overlooked archery. she had not. the how, and its adjunct the arrow, were in her hands as toys which she could control to her will. she had been instructed in their _manege_ by the houma indians; a remnant of whom--the last descendants of a once powerful tribe--may still be encountered upon the "coast" of the mississippi, in the proximity of point coupe and the _bayou_ atchafalaya. for a long time her bow had lain unbent--unpacked, indeed, ever since it had formed part of the paraphernalia brought overland in the waggon train. since her arrival at casa del corvo she had found no occasion to use the weapon of diana; and her beautiful bow of osage-orange wood, and quiver of plumed arrows, had lain neglected in the lumber-room. there came a time when they were taken forth, and honoured with some attention. it was shortly after that scene at the breakfast table; when she had received the paternal command to discontinue her equestrian excursions. to this she had yielded implicit obedience, even beyond what was intended: since not only had she given up riding out alone, but declined to do so in company. the spotted mustang stood listless in its stall, or pranced frantically around the corral; wondering why its spine was no longer crossed, or its ribs compressed, by that strange caparison, that more than aught else reminded it of its captivity. it was not neglected, however. though no more mounted by its fair mistress, it was the object of her daily--almost hourly--solicitude. the best corn in the _granaderias_ of casa del corvo was selected, the most nutritions grass that grows upon the lavanna--the _gramma_-- furnished for its manger; while for drink it had the cool crystal water from the current of the leona. pluto took delight in grooming it; and, under his currycomb and brushes, its coat had attained a gloss which rivalled that upon pluto's own sable skin. while not engaged attending upon her pet, miss poindexter divided the residue of her time between indoor duties and archery. the latter she appeared to have selected as the substitute for that pastime of which she was so passionately fond, and in which she was now denied indulgence. the scene of her sagittary performances was the garden, with its adjacent shrubbery--an extensive enclosure, three sides of which were fenced in by the river itself, curving round it like the shoe of a racehorse, the fourth being a straight line traced by the rearward wall of the hacienda. within this circumference a garden, with ornamental grounds, had been laid out, in times long gone by--as might have been told by many ancient exotics seen standing over it. even the statues spoke of a past age-- not only in their decay, but in the personages they were intended to represent. equally did they betray the chisel of the spanish sculptor. among them you might see commemorated the figure and features of the great conde; of the campeador; of ferdinand and his energetic queen; of the discoverer of the american world; of its two chief _conquistadores_--cortez and pizarro; and of her, alike famous for her beauty and devotion, the mexican malinche. it was not amidst these sculptured stones that louise poindexter practised her feats of archery; though more than once might she have been seen standing before the statue of malinche, and scanning the voluptuous outline of the indian maiden's form; not with any severe thought of scorn, that this dark-skinned daughter of eve had succumbed to such a conqueror as cortez. the young creole felt, in her secret heart, that she had no right to throw a stone at that statue. to one less famed than cortez--though in her estimation equally deserving of fame--she had surrendered what the great conquistador had won from marina--her heart of hearts. in her excursions with the bow, which were of diurnal occurrence, she strayed not among the statues. her game was not there to be found; but under the shadow of tall trees that, keeping the curve of the river, formed a semicircular grove between it and the garden. most of these trees were of indigenous growth--wild chinas, mulberries, and pecans-- that in the laying out of the grounds had been permitted to remain where nature, perhaps some centuries ago, had scattered their seed. it was under the leafy canopy of these fair forest trees the young creole delighted to sit--or stray along the edge of the pellucid river, that rolled dreamily by. here she was free to be alone; which of late appeared to be her preference. her father, in his sternest mood, could not have denied her so slight a privilege. if there was danger upon the outside prairie, there could be none within the garden--enclosed, as it was, by a river broad and deep, and a wall that could not have been scaled without the aid of a thirty-round ladder. so far from objecting to this solitary strolling, the planter appeared something more than satisfied that his daughter had taken to these tranquil habits; and the suspicions which he had conceived--not altogether without a cause--were becoming gradually dismissed from his mind. after all he might have been misinformed? the tongue of scandal takes delight in torturing; and he may have been chosen as one of its victims? or, perhaps, it was but a casual thing--the encounter of which he had been told, between his daughter and maurice the mustanger? they may have met by accident in the chapparal? she could not well pass, without speaking to, the man who had twice rescued her from a dread danger. there might have been nothing in it, beyond the simple acknowledgment of her gratitude? it looked well that she had, with such willingness, consented to relinquish her rides. it was but little in keeping with her usual custom, when crossed. obedience to that particular command could not have been irksome; and argued innocence uncontaminated, virtue still intact. so reasoned the fond father; who, beyond conjecture, was not permitted to scrutinise too closely the character of his child. in other lands, or in a different class of society, he might possibly have asked direct questions, and required direct answers to them. this is not the method upon the mississippi; where a son of ten years old--a daughter of less than fifteen--would rebel against such scrutiny, and call it inquisition. still less might woodley poindexter strain the statutes of parental authority--the father of a creole belle--for years used to that proud homage whose incense often stills, or altogether destroys, the simpler affections of the heart. though her father, and by law her controller, he knew to what a short length his power might extend, if exerted in opposition to her will. he was, therefore, satisfied with her late act of obedience--rejoiced to find that instead of continuing her reckless rides upon the prairie, she now contented herself within the range of the garden--with bow and arrow slaying the small birds that were so unlucky as to come under her aim. father of fifty years old, why reason in this foolish fashion? have you forgotten your own youth--the thoughts that then inspired you--the deceits you practised under such inspiration--the counterfeits you assumed--the "stories" you told to cloak what, after all, may have been the noblest impulse of your nature? the father of the fair louise appeared to have become oblivious to recollections of this kind: for his early life was not without facts to have furnished them. they must have been forgotten, else he would have taken occasion to follow his daughter into the garden, and observe her-- himself unobserved--while disporting herself in the shrubbery that bordered the river bank. by doing so, he would have discovered that her disposition was not so cruel as may have been supposed. instead of transfixing the innocent birds that fluttered in such foolish confidence around her, her greatest feat in archery appeared to be the impaling of a piece of paper upon the point of her arrow, and sending the shaft thus charged across the river, to fall harmlessly into a thicket on the opposite side. he would have witnessed an exhibition still more singular. he would have seen the arrow thus spent--after a short interval, as if dissatisfied with the place into which it had been shot, and desirous of returning to the fair hand whence it had taken its departure--come back into the garden with the same, or a similar piece of paper, transfixed upon its shaft! the thing might have appeared mysterious--even supernatural--to an observer unacquainted with the spirit and mechanism of that abnormal phenomenon. there was no observer of it save the two individuals who alternately bent the bow, shooting with a single arrow; and by them it was understood. "love laughs at locksmiths." the old adage is scarce suited to texas, where lock-making is an unknown trade. "where there's a will, there's a way," expresses pretty much the same sentiment, appropriate to all time and every place. never was it more correctly illustrated than in that exchange of bow-shots across the channel of the leona. louise poindexter had the will; maurice gerald had suggested the way. chapter thirty one. a stream cleverly crossed. the sagittary correspondence could not last for long. they are but lukewarm lovers who can content themselves with a dialogue carried on at bowshot distance. hearts brimful of passion must beat and burn together--in close proximity--each feeling the pulsation of the other. "if there be an elysium on earth, it is this!" maurice gerald was not the man--nor louise poindexter the woman--to shun such a consummation. it came to pass: not under the tell-tale light of the sun, but in the lone hour of midnight, when but the stars could have been witnesses of their social dereliction. twice had they stood together in that garden grove--twice had they exchanged love vows--under the steel-grey light of the stars; and a third interview had been arranged between them. little suspected the proud planter--perhaps prouder of his daughter than anything else he possessed--that she was daily engaged in an act of rebellion--the wildest against which parental authority may pronounce itself. his own daughter--his only daughter--of the best blood of southern aristocracy; beautiful, accomplished, everything to secure him a splendid alliance--holding nightly assignation with a horse-hunter! could he have but dreamt it when slumbering upon his soft couch, the dream would have startled him from his sleep like the call of the eternal trumpet! he had no suspicion--not the slightest. the thing was too improbable-- too monstrous, to have given cause for one. its very monstrosity would have disarmed him, had the thought been suggested. he had been pleased at his daughter's compliance with his late injunctions; though he would have preferred her obeying them to the letter, and riding out in company with her brother or cousin--which she still declined to do. this, however, he did not insist upon. he could well concede so much to her caprice: since her staying at home could be no disadvantage to the cause that had prompted him to the stern counsel. her ready obedience had almost influenced him to regret the prohibition. walking in confidence by day, and sleeping in security by night, he fancied, it might be recalled. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was one of those nights known only to a southern sky, when the full round moon rolls clear across a canopy of sapphire; when the mountains have no mist, and look as though you could lay your hand upon them; when the wind is hushed, and the broad leaves of the tropical trees droop motionless from their boughs; themselves silent as if listening to the concert of singular sounds carried on in their midst, and in which mingle the voices of living creatures belonging to every department of animated nature--beast, bird, reptile, and insect. such a night was it, as you would select for a stroll in company with the being--the one and only being--who, by the mysterious dictation of nature, has entwined herself around your heart--a night upon which you feel a wayward longing to have white arms entwined around your neck, and bright eyes before your face, with that voluptuous gleaming that can only be felt to perfection under the mystic light of the moon. it was long after the infantry drum had beaten tattoo, and the cavalry bugle sounded the signal for the garrison of fort inge to go to bed--in fact it was much nearer the hour of midnight--when a horseman rode away from the door of oberdoffer's hotel; and, taking the down-river road, was soon lost to the sight of the latest loiterer who might have been strolling through the streets of the village. it is already known, that this road passed the hacienda of casa del corvo, at some distance from the house, and on the opposite side of the river. it is also known that at the same place it traversed a stretch of open prairie, with only a piece of copsewood midway between two extensive tracts of chapparal. this clump of isolated timber, known in prairie parlance as a "motte" or "island" of timber, stood by the side of the road, along which the horseman had continued, after taking his departure from the village. on reaching the copse he dismounted; led his horse in among the underwood; "hitched" him, by looping his bridle rein around the topmost twigs of an elastic bough; then detaching a long rope of twisted horsehair from the "horn" of his saddle, and inserting his arm into its coil, he glided out to the edge of the "island," on that side that lay towards the hacienda. before forsaking the shadow of the copse, he cast a glance towards the sky, and at the moon sailing supremely over it. it was a glance of inquiry, ending in a look of chagrin, with some muttered phrases that rendered it more emphatic. "no use waiting for that beauty to go to bed? she's made up her mind, she won't go home till morning--ha! ha!" the droll conceit, which has so oft amused the nocturnal inebriate of great cities, appeared to produce a like affect upon the night patroller of the prairie; and for a moment the shadow, late darkening his brow, disappeared. it returned anon; as he stood gazing across the open space that separated him from the river bottom--beyond which lay the hacienda of casa del corvo, clearly outlined upon the opposite bluff, "if there _should_ be any one stirring about the place? it's not likely at this hour; unless it be the owner of a bad conscience who can't sleep. troth! there's one such within those walls. if he be abroad there's a good chance of his seeing me on the open ground; not that i should care a straw, if it were only myself to be compromised. by saint patrick, i see no alternative but risk it! it's no use waiting upon the moon, deuce take her! she don't go down for hours; and there's not the sign of a cloud. it won't do to keep _her_ waiting. no; i must chance it in the clear light. here goes?" saying this, with a swift but stealthy step, the dismounted horseman glided across the treeless tract, and soon readied the escarpment of the cliff, that formed the second height of land rising above the channel of the leona. he did not stay ten seconds in this conspicuous situation; but by a path that zigzagged down the bluff--and with which he appeared familiar--he descended to the river "bottom." in an instant after he stood upon the bank; at the convexity of the river's bend, and directly opposite the spot where a skiff was moored, under the sombre shadow of a gigantic cotton-tree. for a short while he stood gazing across the stream, with a glance that told of scrutiny. he was scanning the shrubbery on the other side; in the endeavour to make out, whether any one was concealed beneath its shadow. becoming satisfied that no one was there, he raised the loop-end of his lazo--for it was this he carried over his arm--and giving it half a dozen whirls in the air, cast it across the stream. the noose settled over the cutwater of the skiff; and closing around the stem, enabled him to tow the tiny craft to the side on which he stood. stepping in, he took hold of a pair of oars that lay along the planking at the bottom; and, placing them between the thole-pins, pulled the boat back to its moorings. leaping out, he secured it as it had been before, against the drift of the current; and then, taking stand under the shadow of the cotton-tree, he appeared to await either a signal, or the appearance of some one, expected by appointment. his manoeuvres up to this moment, had they been observed, might have rendered him amenable to the suspicion that he was a housebreaker, about to "crack the crib" of casa del corvo. the phrases that fell from his lips, however, could they have been heard, would have absolved him of any such vile or vulgar intention. it is true he had designs upon the hacienda; but these did not contemplate either its cash, plate, or jewellery--if we except the most precious jewel it contained--the mistress of the mansion herself. it is scarce necessary to say, that the man who had hidden his horse in the "motte," and so cleverly effected the crossing of the stream, was maurice the mustanger. chapter thirty two. light and shade. he had not long to chafe under the trysting-tree, if such it were. at the very moment when he was stepping into the skiff, a casement window that looked to the rear of the hacienda commenced turning upon its hinges, and was then for a time held slightly ajar; as if some one inside was intending to issue forth, and only hesitated in order to be assured that the "coast was clear." a small white hand--decorated with jewels that glistened under the light of the moon--grasping the sash told that the individual who had opened the window was of the gentler sex; the tapering fingers, with their costly garniture, proclaimed her a lady; while the majestic figure--soon after exhibited outside, on the top of the stairway that led down to the garden--could be no other than that of louise poindexter. it was she. for a second or two the lady stood listening. she heard, or fancied she heard, the dip of an oar. she might be mistaken; for the stridulation of the cicadas filled the atmosphere with confused sound. no matter. the hour of assignation had arrived; and she was not the one to stand upon punctilios as to time--especially after spending two hours of solitary expectation in her chamber, that had appeared like as many. with noiseless tread descending the stone stairway, she glided sylph-like among the statues and shrubs; until, arriving under the shadow of the cotton-wood, she flung herself into arms eagerly outstretched to receive her. who can describe the sweetness of such embrace--strange to say, sweeter from being stolen? who can paint the delicious emotions experienced at such a moment--too sacred to be touched by the pen? it is only after long throes of pleasure had passed, and the lovers had begun to converse in the more sober language of life, that it becomes proper, or even possible to report them. thus did they speak to each other, the lady taking the initiative:-- "to-morrow night you will meet me again--to-morrow night, dearest maurice?" "to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,--if i were free to say the word." "and why not? why are you not free to say it?" "to-morrow, by break of day, i am off for the alamo." "indeed! is it imperative you should go?" the interrogatory was put in a tone that betrayed displeasure. a vision of a sinister kind always came before the mind of louise poindexter at mention of the lone hut on the alamo. and why? it had afforded her hospitality. one would suppose that her visit to it could scarce fail to be one of the pleasantest recollections of her life. and yet it was not! "i have excellent reasons for going," was the reply she received. "excellent reasons! do you expect to meet any one there?" "my follower phelim--no one else. i hope the poor fellow is still above the grass. i sent him out about ten days ago--before there was any tidings of these indian troubles." "only phelim you expect to meet? is it true, gerald? dearest! do not deceive me! only him?" "why do you ask the question, louise?" "i cannot tell you why. i should die of shame to speak my secret thoughts." "do not fear to speak them! i could keep no secret from you--in truth i could not. so tell me what it is, love!" "do you wish me, maurice?" "i do--of course i do. i feel sure that whatever it may be, i shall be able to explain it. i know that my relations with you are of a questionable character; or might be so deemed, if the world knew of them. it is for that very reason i am going back to the alamo." "and to stay there?" "only for a single day, or two at most. only to gather up my household gods, and bid a last adieu to my prairie life." "indeed!" "you appear surprised." "no! only mystified. i cannot comprehend you. perhaps i never shall!" "'tis very simple--the resolve i have taken. i know you will forgive me, when i make it known to you." "forgive you, maurice! for what do you ask forgiveness?" "for keeping it a secret from you, that--that i am not what i seem." "god forbid you should be otherwise than what you seem to me--noble, grand, beautiful, rare among men! oh, maurice! you know not how i esteem--how i love you!" "not more than i esteem and love you. it is that very esteem that now counsels me to a separation." "a separation?" "yes, love; but it is to be hoped only for a short time." "how long?" "while a steamer can cross the atlantic, and return." "an age! and why this?" "i am called to my native country--ireland, so much despised, as you already know. 'tis only within the last twenty hours i received the summons. i obey it the more eagerly, that it tells me i shall be able soon to return, and prove to your proud father that the poor horse-hunter who won his daughter's heart--have i won it, louise?" "idle questioner! won it? you know you have more than won it-- conquered it to a subjection from which it can never escape. mock me not, maurice, nor my stricken heart--henceforth, and for evermore, your slave!" during the rapturous embrace that followed this passionate speech, by which a high-born and beautiful maiden confessed to have surrendered herself--heart, soul, and body--to the man who had made conquest of her affections, there was silence perfect and profound. the grasshopper amid the green herbage, the cicada on the tree-leaf, the mock-bird on the top of the tall cotton-wood, and the nightjar soaring still higher in the moonlit air, apparently actuated by a simultaneous instinct, ceased to give utterance to their peculiar cries: as though one and all, by their silence, designed to do honour to the sacred ceremony transpiring in their presence! but that temporary cessation of sounds was due to a different cause. a footstep grating upon the gravelled walk of the garden--and yet touching it so lightly, that only an acute ear could have perceived the contact-- was the real cause why the nocturnal voices had suddenly become stilled. the lovers, absorbed in the sweet interchange of a mutual affection, heard it not. they saw not that dark shadow, in the shape of man or devil, flitting among the flowers; now standing by a statue; now cowering under cover of the shrubbery, until at length it became stationary behind the trunk of a tree, scarce ten paces from the spot where they were kissing each other! little did they suspect, in that moment of celestial happiness when all nature was hushed around them, that the silence was exposing their passionate speeches, and the treacherous moon, at the same time, betraying their excited actions. that shadowy listener, crouching guilty-like behind the tree, was a witness to both. within easy earshot, he could hear every word--even the sighs and soft low murmurings of their love; while under the silvery light of the moon, with scarce a sprig coming between, he could detect their slightest gestures. it is scarce necessary to give the name of the dastardly eavesdropper. that of cassius calhoun will have suggested itself. it was he. chapter thirty three. a torturing discovery. how came the cousin of louise poindexter to be astir at that late hour of the night, or, as it was now, the earliest of the morning? had he been forewarned of this interview of the lovers; or was it merely some instinctive suspicion that had caused him to forsake his sleeping-chamber, and make a tour of inspection within the precincts of the garden? in other words, was he an eavesdropper by accident, or a spy acting upon information previously communicated to him? the former was the fact. chance alone, or chance aided by a clear night, had given him the clue to a discovery that now filled his soul with the fires of hell. standing upon the housetop at the hour of midnight--what had taken him up there cannot be guessed--breathing vile tobacco-smoke into an atmosphere before perfumed with the scent of the night-blooming _cereus_; the ex-captain of cavalry did not appear distressed by any particular anxiety. he had recovered from the injuries received in his encounter with the mustanger; and although that bit of evil fortune did not fail to excite within him the blackest chagrin, whenever it came up before his mind, its bitterness had been, to some extent, counteracted by hopes of revenge--towards a plan for which he had already made some progress. equally with her father, he had been gratified that louise was contented of late to stay within doors: for it was himself who had secretly suggested the prohibition to her going abroad. equally had he remained ignorant as to the motive of that garden archery, and in a similar manner had misconceived it. in fact, he had begun to flatter himself, that, after all, her indifference to himself might be only a feint on the part of his cousin, or an illusion upon his. she had been less cynical for some days; and this had produced upon him the pleasant impression, that he might have been mistaken in his jealous fears. he had as yet discovered no positive proof that she entertained a partiality for the young irishman; and as the days passed without any renewed cause for disquiet, he began to believe that in reality there was none. under the soothing influence of this restored confidence, had he mounted up to the azotea; and, although it was the hour of midnight, the careless _insouciance_ with which he applied the light to his cigar, and afterwards stood smoking it, showed that he could not have come there for any very important purpose. it may have been to exchange the sultry atmosphere of his sleeping-room for the fresher air outside; or he may have been tempted forth by the magnificent moon--though he was not much given to such romantic contemplation. whatever it was, he had lighted his cigar, and was apparently enjoying it, with his arms crossed upon the coping of the parapet, and his face turned towards the river. it did not disturb his tranquillity to see a horseman ride out from the chapparal on the opposite side, and proceed onward across the open plain. he knew of the road that was there. some traveller, he supposed, who preferred taking advantage of the cool hours of the night--a night, too, that would have tempted the weariest wayfarer to continue his journey. it might be a planter who lived below, returning home from the village, after lounging an hour too long in the tavern saloon. in daytime, the individual might have been identified; by the moonlight, it could only be made out that there was a man on horseback. the eyes of the ex-officer accompanied him as he trotted along the road; but simply with mechanical movement, as one musingly contemplates some common waif drifting down the current of a river. it was only after the horseman had arrived opposite the island of timber, and was seen to pull up, and then ride into it, that the spectator upon the housetop became stirred to take an interest in his movements. "what the devil can that mean?" muttered calhoun to himself, as he hastily plucked the cigar stump from between his teeth. "damn the man, he's dismounted!" continued he, as the stranger re-appeared, on foot, by the inner edge of the copse. "and coming this way--towards the bend of the river--straight as he can streak it! "down the bluff--into the bottom--and with a stride that shows him well acquainted with the way. surely to god he don't intend making his way across into the garden? he'd have to swim for that; and anything he could get there would scarce pay him for his pains. what the old scratch can be his intention? a thief?" this was calhoun's first idea--rejected almost as soon as conceived. it is true that in spanish-american countries even the beggar goes on horseback. much more might the thief? for all this, it was scarce probable, that a man would make a midnight expedition to steal fruit, or vegetables, in such cavalier style. what else could he be after? the odd manoeuvre of leaving his horse under cover of the copse, and coming forward on foot, and apparently with caution, as far as could be seen in the uncertain light, was of itself evidence that the man's errand could scarce be honest and that he was approaching the premises of casa del corvo with some evil design. what could it be? since leaving the upper plain he had been no longer visible to calhoun upon the housetop. the underwood skirting the stream on the opposite side, and into which he had entered, was concealing him. "what can the man be after?" after putting this interrogatory to himself, and for about the tenth time--each with increasing emphasis--the composure of the ex-captain was still further disturbed by a sound that reached his ear, exceedingly like a plunge in the river. it was slight, but clearly the concussion of some hard substance brought in contact with water. "the stroke of an oar," muttered he, on hearing it. "is, by the holy jehovah! he's got hold of the skiff, and's crossing over to the garden. what on earth can he be after?" the questioner did not intend staying on the housetop to determine. his thought was to slip silently downstairs--rouse the male members of the family, along with some of the servants; and attempt to capture the intruder by a clever ambuscade. he had raised his arm from the copestone, and was in the act of stepping back from the parapet, when his ear was saluted by another sound, that caused him again to lean forward and look into the garden below. this new noise bore no resemblance to the stroke of an oar; nor did it proceed from the direction of the river. it was the creaking of a door as it turned upon its hinge, or, what is much the same, a casement window; while it came from below--almost directly underneath the spot where the listener stood. on craning over to ascertain the cause, he saw, what blanched his cheeks to the whiteness of the moonlight that shone upon them--what sent the blood curdling through every corner of his heart. the casement that had been opened was that which belonged to the bed-chamber of his cousin louise. he knew it. the lady herself was standing outside upon the steps that led to the level of the garden, her face turned downward, as if she was meditating a descent. loosely attired in white, as though in the neglige of a _robe de chambre_, with only a small kerchief coifed over her crown, she resembled some fair nymph of the night, some daughter of the moon, whom luna delighted to surround with a silvery effulgence! calhoun reasoned rapidly. he could not do otherwise than connect her appearance outside the casement with the advent of the man who was making his way across the river. and who could this man be? who but maurice the mustanger? a clandestine meeting! and by appointment! there could be no doubt of it; and if there had, it would have been dissolved, at seeing the white-robed figure glide noiselessly down the stone steps, and along the gravelled walks, till it at length disappeared among the trees that shadowed the mooring-place of the skiff. like one paralysed with a powerful stroke, the ex-captain continued for some time upon the azotea--speechless and without motion. it was only after the white drapery had disappeared, and he heard the low murmur of voices rising from among the trees, that he was stimulated to resolve upon some course of proceeding. he thought no longer of awaking the inmates of the house--at least not then. better first to be himself the sole witness of his cousin's disgrace; and then--and then-- in short, he was not in a state of mind to form any definite plan; and, acting solely under the blind stimulus of a fell instinct, he hurried down the _escalera_, and made his way through the house, and out into the garden. he felt feeble as he pressed forward. his legs had tottered under him while descending the stone steps. they did the same as he glided along the gravelled walk. they continued to tremble as he crouched behind the tree trunk that hindered him from being seen--while playing spectator of a scene that afflicted him to the utmost depths of his soul. he heard their vows; their mutual confessions of love; the determination of the mustanger to be gone by the break of the morrow's day; as also his promise to return, and the revelation to which that promise led. with bitter chagrin, he heard how this determination was combated by louise, and the reasons why she at length appeared to consent to it. he was witness to that final and rapturous embrace, that caused him to strike his foot nervously against the pebbles, and make that noise that had scared the cicadas into silence. why at that moment did he not spring forward--put a termination to the intolerable _tete-a-tete_--and with a blow of his bowie-knife lay his rival low--at his own feet and that of his mistress? why had he not done this at the beginning--for to him there needed no further evidence, than the interview itself, to prove that his cousin had been dishonoured? there was a time when he would not have been so patient. what, then, was the _punctilio_ that restrained him? was it the presence of that piece of perfect mechanism, that, with a sheen of steel, glistened upon the person of his rival, and which under the bright moonbeams, could be distinguished as a "colt's six-shooter?" perhaps it may have been. at all events, despite the terrible temptation to which his soul was submitted, something not only hindered him from taking an immediate vengeance, but in the mid-moments of that maddening spectacle--the final embrace--prompted him to turn away from the spot, and with an earnestness, even keener than he had yet exhibited, hurry back in the direction of the house: leaving the lovers, still unconscious of having been observed, to bring their sweet interview to an ending--sure to be procrastinated. chapter thirty four. a chivalrous dictation. where went cassius calhoun? certainly not to his own sleeping-room. there was no sleep for a spirit suffering like his. he went not there; but to the chamber of his cousin. not hers--now untenanted, with its couch unoccupied, its coverlet undisturbed--but to that of her brother, young henry poindexter. he went direct as crooked corridors would permit him--in haste, without waiting to avail himself of the assistance of a candle. it was not needed. the moonbeams penetrating through the open bars of the _reja_, filled the chamber with light--sufficient for his purpose. they disclosed the outlines of the apartment, with its simple furniture--a washstand, a dressing-table, a couple of chairs, and a bed with "mosquito curtains." under those last was the youth reclining; in that sweet silent slumber experienced only by the innocent. his finely formed head rested calmly upon the pillow, over which lay scattered a profusion of shining curls. as calhoun lifted the muslin "bar," the moonbeams fell upon his face, displaying its outlines of the manliest aristocratic type. what a contrast between those two sets of features, brought into such close proximity! both physically handsome; but morally, as hyperion to the satyr. "awake, harry! awake!" was the abrupt salutation extended to the sleeper, accompanied by a violent shaking of his shoulder. "oh! ah! you, cousin cash? what is it? not the indiana, i hope?" "worse than that--worse! worse! quick! rouse yourself, and see! quick, or it will be too late! quick, and be the witness of your own disgrace--the dishonour of your house. quick, or the name of poindexter will be the laughing-stock of texas!" after such summons there could be no inclination for sleep--at least on the part of a poindexter; and at a single bound, the youngest representative of the family cleared the mosquito curtains, and stood upon his feet in the middle of the floor--in an attitude of speechless astonishment. "don't wait to dress," cried his excited counsellor, "stay, you may put on your pants. damn the clothes! there's no time for standing upon trifles. quick! quick!" the simple costume the young planter was accustomed to wear, consisting of trousers and creole blouse of attakapas _cottonade_, were adjusted to his person in less than twenty seconds of time; and in twenty more, obedient to the command of his cousin--without understanding why he had been so unceremoniously summoned forth--he was hurrying along the gravelled walks of the garden. "what is it, cash?" he inquired, as soon as the latter showed signs of coming to a stop. "what does it all mean?" "see for yourself! stand close to me! look through yonder opening in the trees that leads down to the place where your skiff is kept. do you see anything there?" "something white. it looks like a woman's dress. it is that. it's a woman!" "it _is_ a woman. who do you suppose she is?" "i can't tell. who do you say she is?" "there's another figure--a dark one--by her side." "it appears to be a man? it is a man!" "and who do you suppose _he_ is?" "how should i know, cousin cash? do you?" "i do. that man is maurice the mustanger!" "and the woman?" "_is louise--your sister--in his arms_!" as if a shot had struck him through the heart, the brother bounded upward, and then onward, along the path. "stay!" said calhoun, catching hold of, and restraining him. "you forget that you are unarmed! the fellow, i know, has weapons upon him. take this, and this," continued he, passing his own knife and pistol into the hands of his cousin. "i should have used them myself, long ere this; but i thought it better that you--her brother--should be the avenger of your sister's wrongs. on, my boy! see that you don't hurt _her_; but take care not to lose the chance at him. don't give him a word of warning. as soon as they are separated, send a bullet into his belly; and if all six should fail, go at him with the knife. i'll stay near, and take care of you, if you should get into danger. now! steal upon him, and give the scoundrel hell!" it needed not this blasphemous injunction to inspire henry poindexter to hasty action. the brother of a sister--a beautiful sister--erring, undone! in six seconds he was by her side, confronting her supposed seducer. "low villain!" he cried, "unclasp your loathsome arm from the waist of my sister. louise! stand aside, and give me a chance of killing him! aside, sister! aside, i say!" had the command been obeyed, it is probable that maurice gerald would at that moment have ceased to exist--unless he had found heart to kill henry poindexter; which, experienced as he was in the use of his six-shooter, and prompt in its manipulation, he might have done. instead of drawing the pistol from its holster, or taking any steps for defence, he appeared only desirous of disengaging himself from the fair arms still clinging around him, and for whose owner he alone felt alarm. for henry to fire at the supposed betrayer, was to risk taking his sister's life; and, restrained by the fear of this, he paused before pulling trigger. that pause produced a crisis favourable to the safety of all three. the creole girl, with a quick perception of the circumstances, suddenly released her lover from the protecting embrace; and, almost in the same instant, threw her arms around those of her brother. she knew there was nothing to be apprehended from the pistol of maurice. henry alone had to be held doing mischief. "go, go!" she shouted to the former, while struggling to restrain the infuriated youth. "my brother is deceived by appearances. leave me to explain. away, maurice! away!" "henry poindexter," said the young irishman, as he turned to obey the friendly command, "i am not the sort of villain you have been pleased to pronounce me. give me but time, and i shall prove, that your sister has formed a truer estimate of my character than either her father, brother, or cousin. i claim but six months. if at the end of that time i do not show myself worthy of her confidence--her love--then shall i make you welcome to shoot me at sight, as you would the cowardly coyote, that chanced to cross your track. till then, i bid you adieu." henry's struggle to escape from his sister's arms--perhaps stronger than his own--grew less energetic as he listened to these words. they became feebler and feebler--at length ceasing--when a plunge in the river announced that the midnight intruder into the enclosed grounds of casa del corvo was on his way back to the wild prairies he had chosen for his home. it was the first time he had recrossed the river in that primitive fashion. on the two previous occasions he had passed over in the skiff; which had been drawn back to its moorings by a delicate hand, the tow-rope consisting of that tiny lazo that had formed part of the caparison presented along with the spotted mustang. "brother! you are wronging him! indeed you are wronging him!" were the words of expostulation that followed close upon his departure. "oh, henry--dearest hal, if you but knew how noble he is! so far from desiring to do me an injury, 'tis only this moment he has been disclosing a plan to--to--prevent--scandal--i mean to make me happy. believe me, brother, he is a gentleman; and if he were not--if only the common man you take him for--i could not help what i have done--i could not, for _i love him_!" "louise! tell me the truth! speak to me, not as to your brother, but as to your own self. from what i have this night seen, more than from your own words, i know that you love this man. has he taken advantage of your--your--unfortunate passion?" "no--no--no. as i live he has not. he is too noble for that--even had i--henry! he is innocent! if there be cause for regret, i alone am to blame. why--oh! brother! why did you insult him?" "have i done so?" "you have, henry--rudely, grossly." "i shall go after, and apologise. if you speak truly, sister, i owe him that much. i shall go this instant. i liked him from the first--you know i did? i could not believe him capable of a cowardly act. i can't now. sister! come back into the house with me. and now, dearest loo! you had better go to bed. as for me, i shall be off _instanter_ to the hotel, where i may still hope to overtake him. i cannot rest till i have made reparation for my rudeness." so spoke the forgiving brother; and gently leading his sister by the hand, with thoughts of compassion, but not the slightest trace of anger, he hastily returned to the hacienda--intending to go after the young irishman, and apologise for the use of words that, under the circumstances, might have been deemed excusable. as the two disappeared within the doorway, a third figure, hitherto crouching among the shrubbery, was seen to rise erect, and follow them up the stone steps. this last was their cousin, cassius calhoun. he, too, had thoughts of _going after_ the mustanger. chapter thirty five. an uncourteous host. "the chicken-hearted fool! fool myself, to have trusted to such a hope! i might have known she'd cajole the young calf, and let the scoundrel escape. i could have shot him from behind the tree--dead as a drowned rat! and without risking anything--even disgrace! not a particle of risk. uncle woodley would have thanked me--the whole settlement would have said i had done right. my cousin, a young lady, betrayed by a common scamp--a horse, trader--who would have said a word against it? such a chance! why have i missed it? death and the devil--it may not trump up again!" such were the reflections of the ex-captain of cavalry, while at some paces distance following his two cousins on their return to the hacienda. "i wonder," muttered he, on re-entering the _patio_, "whether the blubbering baby be in earnest? going after to apologise to the man who has made a fool of his sister! ha--ha! it would be a good joke were it not too serious to be laughed at. he _is_ in earnest, else why that row in the stable? 'tis he bringing but his horse! it is, by the almighty!" the door of the stable, as is customary in mexican haciendas opened upon the paved _patio_. it was standing ajar; but just as calhoun turned his eye upon it, a man coming from the inside pushed it wide open; and then stepped over the threshold, with a saddled horse following close after him. the man had a panama hat upon his head, and a cloak thrown loosely around his shoulders. this did not hinder calhoun from recognising his cousin henry, as also the dark brown horse that belonged to him. "fool! so--you've let him off?" spitefully muttered the ex-captain, as the other came within whispering distance. "give me back my bowie and pistol. they're not toys suited to such delicate fingers as yours! bah! why did you not use them as i told you? you've made a mess of it!" "i have," tranquilly responded the young planter. "i know it. i've insulted--and grossly too--a noble fellow." "insulted a noble fellow! ha--ha--ha! you're mad--by heavens, you're mad!" "i should have been had i followed your counsel, cousin cash. fortunately i did not go so far. i have done enough to deserve being called worse than fool; though perhaps, under the circumstances, i may obtain forgiveness for my fault. at all events, i intend to try for it, and without losing time." "where are you going?" "after maurice the mustanger--to apologise to him for my misconduct." "misconduct! ha--ha--ha! surely you are joking?" "no. i'm in earnest. if you come along with me, you shall see!" "then i say again you are mad! not only mad, but a damned natural-born idiot! you are, by jesus christ and general jackson!" "you're not very polite, cousin cash; though, after the language i've been lately using myself, i might excuse you. perhaps you will, one day imitate me, and make amends for your rudeness." without adding another word, the young gentleman--one of the somewhat rare types of southern chivalry--sprang to his saddle; gave the word, to his horse; and rode hurriedly through the _saguan_. calhoun stood upon the stones, till the footfall of the horse became but faintly distinguishable in the distance. then, as if acting under some sudden impulse, he hurried along the verandah to his own room; entered it; reappeared in a rough overcoat; crossed back to the stable; went in; came out again with his own horse saddled and bridled; led the animal along the pavement, as gently as if he was stealing him; and once outside upon the turf, sprang upon his back, and rode rapidly away. for a mile or more he followed the same road, that had been taken by henry poindexter. it could not have been with any idea of overtaking the latter: since, long before, the hoofstrokes of henry's horse had ceased to be heard; and proceeding at a slower pace, calhoun did not ride as if he cared about catching up with his cousin. he had taken the up-river road. when about midway between casa del corvo and the fort, he reined up; and, after scrutinising the chapparal around him, struck off by a bridle-path leading back toward the bank of the river. as he turned into it he might have been heard muttering to himself-- "a chance still left; a good one, though not so cheap as the other. it will cost me a thousand dollars. what of that, so long as i get rid of this irish curse, who has poisoned every hour of my existence! if true to his promise, he takes the route to his home by an early hour in the morning. what time, i wonder. these men of the prairies call it late rising, if they be abed till daybreak! never mind. there's yet time for the coyote to get before him on the road! i know that. it must be the same as we followed to the wild horse prairies. he spoke of his hut upon the alamo. that's the name of the creek where we had our pic-nic. the hovel cannot be far from there! the mexican must know the place, or the trail leading to it; which last will be sufficient for his purpose and mine. a fig for the shanty itself! the owner may never reach it. there may be indians upon the road! there _must_ be, before daybreak in the morning!" as calhoun concluded this string of strange reflections, he had arrived at the door of another "shanty"--that of the mexican mustanger. the _jacale_ was the goal of his journey. having slipped out of his saddle, and knotted his bridle to a branch, he set foot upon the threshold. the door was standing wide open. from the inside proceeded a sound, easily identified as the snore of a slumberer. it was not as of one who sleeps either tranquilly, or continuously. at short intervals it was interrupted--now by silent pauses--anon by hog-like gruntings, interspersed with profane words, not perfectly pronounced, but slurred from a thick tongue, over which, but a short while before, must have passed a stupendous quantity of alcohol. "_carrambo! carrai! carajo--chingara! mil diablos_!" mingled with more-- perhaps less--reverential exclamations of "_sangre de cristo! jesus! santissima virgen! santa maria! dios! madre de dios_!" and the like, were uttered inside the _jacale_, as if the speaker was engaged in an apostrophic conversation with all the principal characters of the popish pantheon. calhoun paused upon the threshold, and listened. "_mal--dit--dit--o_!" muttered the sleeper, concluding the exclamation with a hiccup. "_buen--buenos nove-dad-es_! good news, _por sangre chrees--chreest--o! si s'nor merican--cano! nove--dad--es s'perbos! los indyos co--co--manchees_ on the war-trail--_el rastro de guerra_. god bless the co--co--manchees!" "the brute's drunk!" said his visitor, mechanically speaking aloud. "_h'la s'nor_!" exclaimed the owner of the _jacale_, aroused to a state of semi-consciousness by the sound of a human voice. "_quien llama_! who has the honour--that is, have i the happiness--i, miguel diaz--el co--coyote, as the _leperos_ call me. ha, ha! coyo--coyot. bah! what's in a name? yours, s'nor? _mil demonios_! who are you?" partially raising himself from his reed couch, the inebriate remained for a short time in a sitting attitude--glaring, half interrogatively, half unconsciously, at the individual whose voice had intruded itself into his drunken dreams. the unsteady examination lasted only for a score of seconds. then the owner of the _jacale_, with an unintelligible speech, subsided into a recumbent position; when a savage grunt, succeeded by a prolonged snore, proved him to have become oblivious to the fact that his domicile contained a guest. "another chance lost!" said the latter, hissing the words through his teeth, as he turned disappointedly from the door. "a sober fool and a drunken knave--two precious tools wherewith, to accomplish a purpose like mine! curse the luck! all this night it's been against me! it maybe three long hours before this pig sleeps off the swill that has stupefied him. three long hours, and then what would be the use of him? 'twould be too late--too late!" as he said this, he caught the rein of his bridle, and stood by the head of his horse, as if uncertain what course to pursue. "no use my staying here! it might be daybreak before the damned liquor gets out of his skull. i may as well go back to the hacienda and wait there; or else--or else--" the alternative, that at this crisis presented itself, was nor, spoken aloud. whatever it may have been, it had the effect of terminating the hesitancy that living over him, and stirring him to immediate action. roughly tearing his rein from the branch, and passing it over his horse's head, he sprang into the saddle, and rode off from the _jacale_ in a direction the very opposite to that in which he had approached it. chapter thirty six. three travellers on the same track. no one can deny, that a ride upon a smooth-turfed prairie is one of the most positive pleasures of sublunary existence. no one _will_ deny it, who has had the good fortune to experience the delightful sensation. with a spirited horse between your thighs, a well-stocked valise strapped to the cantle of your saddle, a flask of french brandy slung handy over the "horn," and a plethoric cigar-case protruding from under the flap of your pistol holster, you may set forth upon a day's journey, without much fear of feeling weary by the way. a friend riding by your side--like yourself alive to the beauties of nature, and sensitive to its sublimities--will make the ride, though long, and otherwise arduous, a pleasure to be remembered for many, many years. if that friend chance to be some fair creature, upon whom you have fixed your affections, then will you experience a delight to remain in your memory for ever. ah! if all prairie-travellers were to be favoured with such companionship, the wilderness of western texas would soon become crowded with tourists; the great plains would cease to be "pathless,"--the savannas would swarm with snobs. it is better as it is. as it is, you may launch yourself upon the prairie: and once beyond the precincts of the settlement from which you have started--unless you keep to the customary "road," indicated only by the hoof-prints of half a dozen horsemen who have preceded you--you may ride on for hours, days, weeks, months, perhaps a whole year, without encountering aught that bears the slightest resemblance to yourself, or the image in which you have been made. only those who have traversed the great plain of texas can form a true estimate of its illimitable vastness; impressing the mind with sensations similar to those we feel in the contemplation of infinity. in some sense may the mariner comprehend my meaning. just as a ship may cross the atlantic ocean--and in tracks most frequented by sailing craft--without sighting a single sail, so upon the prairies of south-western texas, the traveller may journey on for months, amid a solitude that seems eternal! even the ocean itself does not give such an impression of endless space. moving in its midst you perceive no change--no sign to tell you you are progressing. the broad circular surface of azure blue, with the concave hemisphere of a tint but a few shades lighter, are always around and above you, seeming ever the same. you think they _are_ so; and fancy yourself at rest in the centre of a sphere and a circle. you are thus to some extent hindered from having a clear conception of "magnificent distances." on the prairie it is different. the "landmarks"--there are such, in the shape of "mottes," mounds, trees, ridges, and rocks--constantly changing before your view, admonish you that you are passing through space; and this very knowledge imbues you with the idea of vastness. it is rare for the prairie traveller to contemplate such scenes alone-- rarer still upon the plains of south-western texas. in twos at least-- but oftener in companies of ten or a score--go they, whose need it is to tempt the perils of that wilderness claimed by the comanches as ancestral soil. for all this, a solitary traveller may at times be encountered: for on the same night that witnessed the tender and stormy scenes in the garden of casa del corvo, no less than three such made the crossing of the plain that stretches south-westward from the banks of the leona river. just at the time that calhoun was making his discontented departure from the _jacale_ of the mexican mustanger, the foremost of these nocturnal travellers was clearing the outskirts of the village--going in a direction which, if followed far enough, would conduct him to the nueces river, or one of its tributary streams. it is scarcely necessary to say, that he was on horseback. in texas there are no pedestrians, beyond the precincts of the town or plantation. the traveller in question bestrode a strong steed; whose tread, at once vigorous and elastic, proclaimed it capable of carrying its rider through a long journey, without danger of breaking down. whether such a journey was intended, could not have been told by the bearing of the traveller himself. he was equipped, as any texan cavalier might have been, for a ten-mile ride--perhaps to his own house. the lateness of the hour forbade the supposition, that he could be going from it. the serape on his shoulders--somewhat carelessly hanging--might have been only put on to protect them against the dews of the night. but as there was no dew on that particular night--nor any outlying settlement in the direction he was heading to--the horseman was more like to have been a real traveller--_en route_ for some distant point upon the prairies. for all this he did not appear to be in haste; or uneasy as to the hour at which he might reach his destination. on the contrary, he seemed absorbed in some thought, that linked itself with the past; sufficiently engrossing to render him unobservant of outward objects, and negligent in the management of his horse. the latter, with the rein lying loosely upon his neck, was left to take his own way; though instead of stopping, or straying, he kept steadily on, as if over ground oft trodden before. thus leaving the animal to its own guidance, and pressing it neither with whip nor spur, the traveller rode tranquilly over the prairie, till lost to view--not by the intervention of any object, but solely through the dimness of the light, where the moon became misty in the far distance. almost on the instant of his disappearance--and as if the latter had been taken for a cue--a second horseman spurred out from the suburbs of the village; and proceeded along the same path. from the fact of his being habited in a fashion to defend him against the chill air of the night, he too might have been taken for a traveller. a cloak clasped across his breast hung over his shoulders, its ample skirts draping backward to the hips of his horse. unlike the horseman who had preceded him, he showed signs of haste-- plying both whip and spur as he pressed on. he appeared intent on overtaking some one. it might be the individual whose form had just faded out of sight? this was all the more probable from the style of his equitation--at short intervals bending forward in his saddle, and scanning the horizon before him, as if expecting to see some form outlined above the line of the sky. continuing to advance in this peculiar fashion, he also disappeared from view--exactly at the same point, where his precursor had ceased to be visible--to any one whose gaze might have been following him from the fort or village. an odd contingency--if such it were--that just at that very instant a third horseman rode forth from the outskirts of the little texan town, and, like the other two, continued advancing in a direct line across the prairie. he, also, was costumed as if for a journey. a "blanket-coat" of scarlet colour shrouded most of his person from sight--its ample skirts spread over his thighs, half concealing a short jager rifle, strapped aslant along the flap of his saddle. like the foremost of the three, he exhibited no signs of a desire to move rapidly along the road. he was proceeding at a slow pace--even for a traveller. for all that, his manner betokened a state of mind far from tranquil; and in this respect he might be likened to the horseman who had more immediately preceded him. but there was an essential difference between the actions of the two men. whereas the cloaked cavalier appeared desirous of overtaking some one in advance, he in the red blanket coat seemed altogether to occupy himself in reconnoitring towards his rear. at intervals he would slue himself round in the stirrups--sometimes half turn his horse--and scan the track over which he had passed; all the while listening, as though he expected to hear some one who should be coming after him. still keeping up this singular surveillance, he likewise in due time reached the point of disappearance, without having overtaken any one, or been himself overtaken. though at nearly equal distances apart while making the passage of the prairie, not one of the three horsemen was within sight of either of the others. the second, half-way between the other two, was beyond reach of the vision of either, as they were beyond his. at the same glance no eye could have taken in all three, or any two of them; unless it had been that of the great texan owl perched upon the summit of some high eminence, or the "whip-poor-will" soaring still higher in pursuit of the moon-loving moth. an hour later, and at a point of the prairie ten miles farther from fort inge, the relative positions of the three travellers had undergone a considerable change. the foremost was just entering into a sort of alley or gap in the chapparal forest; which here extended right and left across the plain, far as the eye could trace it. the alley might have been likened to a strait in the sea: its smooth turfed surface contrasting with the darker foliage of the bordering thickets; as water with dry land. it was illumined throughout a part of its length--a half mile or so--the moon showing at its opposite extremity. beyond this the dark tree line closed it in, where it angled round into sombre shadow. before entering the alley the foremost of the trio of travellers, and for the first time, exhibited signs of hesitation. he reined up; and for a second or two sate in his saddle regarding the ground before him. his attention was altogether directed to the opening through the trees in his front. he made no attempt at reconnoitring his rear. his scrutiny, from whatever cause, was of short continuance. seemingly satisfied, he muttered an injunction to his horse, and rode onward into the gap. though he saw not him, he was seen by the cavalier in the cloak, following upon the same track, and now scarce half a mile behind. the latter, on beholding him, gave utterance to a slight exclamation. it was joyful, nevertheless; as if he was gratified by the prospect of at length overtaking the individual whom he had been for ten miles so earnestly pursuing. spurring his horse to a still more rapid pace, he also entered the opening; but only in time to get a glimpse of the other, just passing under the shadow of the trees, at the point where the avenue angled. without hesitation, he rode after; soon disappearing at the same place, and in a similar manner. it was a longer interval before the third and hindmost of the horsemen approached the pass that led through the chapparal. he did approach it, however; but instead of riding into it, as the others had done, he turned off at an angle towards the edge of the timber; and, after leaving his horse among the trees, crossed a corner of the thicket, and came out into the opening on foot. keeping along it--to all appearance still more solicitous about something that might be in his rear than anything that was in front of him--he at length arrived at the shadowy turning; where, like the two others, he abruptly disappeared in the darkness. an hour elapsed, during which the nocturnal voices of the chapparal-- that had been twice temporarily silenced by the hoofstroke of a horse, and once by the footsteps of a man--had kept up their choral cries by a thousand stereotyped repetitions. then there came a further interruption; more abrupt in its commencement, and of longer continuance. it was caused by a sound, very different from that made by the passage of either horseman or pedestrian over the prairie turf. it was the report of a gun, quick, sharp, and clear--the "spang" that denotes the discharge of a rifle. as to the authoritative wave of the conductor's baton the orchestra yields instant obedience, so did the prairie minstrels simultaneously take their cue from that abrupt detonation, that inspired one and all of them with a peculiar awe. the tiger cat miaulling in the midst of the chapparal, the coyote howling along its skirts; even the jaguar who need not fear any forest foe that might approach him, acknowledged his dread of that quick, sharp explosion--to him unexplainable--by instantly discontinuing his cries. as no other sound succeeded the shot--neither the groan of a wounded man, nor the scream of a stricken animal--the jaguar soon recovered confidence, and once more essayed to frighten the denizens of the thicket with his hoarse growling. friends and enemies--birds, beasts, insects, and reptiles--disregarding his voice in the distance, reassumed the thread of their choral strain; until the chapparal was restored to its normal noisy condition, when two individuals standing close together, can only hold converse by speaking in the highest pitch of their voices! chapter thirty seven. a man missing. the breakfast bell of casa del corvo had sounded its second and last summons--preceded by a still earlier signal from a horn, intended to call in the stragglers from remote parts of the plantation. the "field hands" labouring near had collected around the "quarter;" and in groups, squatted upon the grass, or seated upon stray logs, were discussing their diet--by no means spare--of "hog and hominy" corn-bread and "corn-coffee," with a jocosity that proclaimed a keen relish of these, their ordinary comestibles. the planter's family assembled in the _sala_ were about to begin breakfast, when it was discovered that one of its members was missing. henry was the absent one. at first there was but little notice taken of the circumstance. only the conjecture: that he would shortly make his appearance. as several minutes passed without his coming in, the planter quietly observed that it was rather strange of henry to be behind time, and wonder where he could be. the breakfast of the south-western american is usually a well appointed meal. it is eaten at a fixed hour, and _table-d'hote_ fashion--all the members of the family meeting at the table. this habit is exacted by a sort of necessity, arising out of the nature of some of the viands peculiar to the country; many of which, as "virginia biscuit," "buckwheat cakes," and "waffles," are only relished coming fresh from, the fire: so that the hour when breakfast is being eaten in the dining-room, is that in which the cook is broiling her skin in the kitchen. as the laggard, or late riser, may have to put up with cold biscuit, and no waffles or buckwheat cakes, there are few such on a southern plantation. considering this custom, it _was_ somewhat strange, that henry poindexter had not yet put in an appearance. "where can the boy be?" asked his father, for the fourth time, in that tone of mild conjecture that scarce calls for reply. none was made by either of the other two guests at the table. louise only gave expression to a similar conjecture. for all that, there was a strangeness in her glance--as in the tone of her voice--that might have been observed by one closely scrutinising her features. it could scarce be caused by the absence of her brother from the breakfast-table? the circumstance was too trifling to call up an emotion; and clearly at that moment was she subject to one. what was it? no one put the inquiry. her father did not notice anything odd in her look. much less calhoun, who was himself markedly labouring to conceal some disagreeable thought under the guise of an assumed _naivete_. ever since entering the room he had maintained a studied silence; keeping his eyes averted, instead of, according to his usual custom, constantly straying towards his cousin. he sate nervously in his chair; and once or twice might have been seen to start, as a servant entered the room. beyond doubt he was under the influence of some extraordinary agitation. "very strange henry not being here to his breakfast!" remarked the planter, for about the tenth time. "surely he is not abed till this hour? no--no--he never lies so late. and yet if abroad, he couldn't be at such a distance as not to have heard the horn. he _may_ be in his room? it is just possible. pluto!" "ho--ho! d'ye call me, mass' woodley? i'se hya." the sable coachee, acting as table waiter, was in the _sala_, hovering around the chairs. "go to henry's sleeping-room. if he's there, tell him we're at breakfast--half through with it." "he no dar, mass' woodley." "you have been to his room?" "ho--ho! yas. dat am i'se no been to de room itseff; but i'se been to de 'table, to look atter massa henry hoss; an gib um him fodder an corn. ho--ho! dat same ole hoss he ain't dar; nor han't a been all ob dis mornin'. i war up by de fuss skreek ob day. no hoss dar, no saddle, no bridle; and ob coass no massa henry. ho--ho! he been an gone out 'fore anb'dy wor 'tirrin' 'bout de place." "are you sure?" asked the planter, seriously stirred by the intelligence. "satin, shoo, mass' woodley. dar's no hoss doins in dat ere 'table, ceppin de sorrel ob massa cahoon. spotty am in de 'closure outside. massa henry hoss ain't nowha." "it don't follow that master henry himself is not in his room. go instantly, and see!" "ho--ho! i'se go on de instum, massr; but f'r all dat dis chile no speck find de young genl'um dar. ho! ho! wha'ebber de ole hoss am, darr massr henry am too." "there's something strange in all this," pursued the planter, as pluto shuffled out of the sala. "henry from home; and at night too. where can he have gone? i can't think of any one he would be visiting at such unseasonable hours! he must have been out all night, or very early, according to the nigger's account! at the port, i suppose, with those young fellows. not at the tavern, i hope?" "oh, no! he wouldn't go there," interposed calhoun, who appeared as much mystified by the absence of henry as was poindexter himself. he refrained, however, from suggesting any explanation, or saying aught of the scenes to which he had been witness on the preceding night. "it is to be hoped _he_ knows nothing of it," reflected the young creole. "if not, it may still remain a secret between brother and myself. i think i can manage henry. but why is he still absent? i've sate up all night waiting for him. he must have overtaken maurice, and they have fraternised. i hope so; even though the tavern may have been the scene of their reconciliation. henry is not much given to dissipation; but after such a burst of passion, followed by his sudden repentance, he may have strayed from his usual habits? who could blame him if he has? there can be little harm in it: since he has gone astray in good company?" how far the string of reflections might have extended it is not easy to say: since it did not reach its natural ending. it was interrupted by the reappearance of pluto; whose important air, as he re-entered the room, proclaimed him the bearer of eventful tidings. "well!" cried his master, without waiting for him to speak, "is he there?" "no, mass' woodley," replied the black, in a voice that betrayed a large measure of emotion, "he are not dar--massa henry am not. but--but," he hesitatingly continued, "dis chile grieb to say dat--dat--_him hoss am dar_." "his horse there! not in his sleeping-room, i suppose?" "no, massa; nor in de 'table neider; but out da, by de big gate." "his horse at the gate? and why, pray, do you grieve about that?" "'ecause, mass' woodley, 'ecause de hoss--dat am massa henry hoss--'ecause de anymal--" "speak out, you stammering nigger! what because? i suppose the horse has his head upon him? or is it his tail that is missing?" "ah, mass' woodley, dis nigga fear dat am missin' wuss dan eider him head or him tail. i'se feer'd dat de ole hoss hab loss him rider!" "what! henry thrown from his horse? nonsense, pluto! my son is too good a rider for that. impossible that _he_ should have been pitched out of the saddle--impossible!" "ho! ho! i doan say he war frown out ob de saddle. gorramity! i fear de trouble wuss dan dat. o! dear ole massa, i tell you no mo'. come to de gate ob do hashashanty, and see fo youseff." by this time the impression conveyed by pluto's speech--much more by his manner--notwithstanding its ambiguity, had become sufficiently alarming; and not only the planter himself, but his daughter and nephew, hastily forsaking their seats, and preceded by the sable coachman, made their way to the outside gate of the hacienda. a sight was there awaiting them, calculated to inspire all three with the most terrible apprehensions. a negro man--one of the field slaves of the plantation--stood holding a horse, that was saddled and bridled. the animal wet with the dews of the night, and having been evidently uncared for in any stable, was snorting and stamping the ground, as if but lately escaped from some scene of excitement, in which he had been compelled to take part. he was speckled with a colour darker than that of the dewdrops--darker than his own coat of bay-brown. the spots scattered over his shoulders--the streaks that ran parallel with the downward direction of his limbs, the blotches showing conspicuously on the saddle-flaps, were all of the colour of coagulated blood. blood had caused them--spots, streaks, and blotches! whence came that horse? from the prairies. the negro had caught him, on the outside plain, as, with the bridle trailing among his feet, he was instinctively straying towards the hacienda. to whom did he belong? the question was not asked. all present knew him to be the horse of henry poindexter. nor did any one ask whose blood bedaubed the saddle-flaps. the three individuals most interested could think only of that one, who stood to them in the triple relationship of son, brother, and cousin. the dark red spots on which they were distractedly gazing had spurted from the veins of henry poindexter. they had no other thought. chapter thirty eight. the avengers. hastily--perhaps too truly--construing the sinister evidence, the half-frantic father leaped into the bloody saddle, and galloped direct for the fort. calhoun, upon his own horse, followed close after. the hue and cry soon spread abroad. rapid riders carried it up and down the river, to the remotest plantations of the settlement. the indians were out, and near at hand, reaping their harvest of scalps! that of young poindexter was the firstfruits of their sanguinary gleaning! henry poindexter--the noble generous youth who had not an enemy in all texas! who but indians could have spilled such innocent blood? only the comanches could have been so cruel? among the horsemen, who came quickly together on the parade ground of port inge, no one doubted that the comanches had done the deed. it was simply a question of how, when, and where. the blood drops pretty clearly, proclaimed the first. he who had shed them must have been shot, or speared, while sitting in his saddle. they were mostly on the off side; where they presented an appearance, as if something had been slaked over them. this was seen both on the shoulders of the horse, and the flap of the saddle. of course it was the body of the rider as it slipped lifeless to the earth. there were some who spoke with equal certainty as to the time--old frontiersmen experienced in such matters. according to them the blood was scarce "ten hours old:" in other words, must have been shed about ten hours before. it was now noon. the murder must have been committed at _two_ o'clock in the morning. the third query was, perhaps, the most important--at least now that the deed was done. _where_ had it been done? where was the body to be found? after that, where should the assassins be sought for? these were the questions discussed by the mixed council of settlers and soldiers, hastily assembled at port inge, and presided over by the commandant of the fort--the afflicted father standing speechless by his side. the last was of special importance. there are thirty-two points in the compass of the prairies, as well as in that which guides the ocean wanderer; and, therefore, in any expedition going in search of a war-party of comanches, there would be thirty-two chances to one against its taking the right track. it mattered not that the home of these nomadic savages was in the west. that was a wide word; and signified anywhere within a semicircle of some hundreds of miles. besides, the indians were now upon the _war-trail_; and, in an isolated settlement such as that of the leona, as likely to make their appearance from the east. more likely, indeed, since such is a common strategic trick of these astute warriors. to have ridden forth at random would have been sheer folly; with such odds against going the right way, as thirty-two to one. a proposal to separate the command into several parties, and proceed in different directions, met with little favour from any one. it was directly negatived by the major himself. the murderers might be a thousand, the avengers were but the tenth of that number: consisting of some fifty dragoons who chanced to be in garrison, with about as many mounted civilians. the party must be kept together, or run the risk of being attacked, and perhaps cut off, in detail! the argument was deemed conclusive. even, the bereaved father--and cousin, who appeared equally the victim of a voiceless grief--consented to shape their course according to the counsels of the more prudent majority, backed by the authority of the major himself. it was decided that the searchers should proceed in a body. in what direction? this still remained the subject of discussion. the thoughtful captain of infantry now became a conspicuous figure, by suggesting that some inquiry should be made, as to what direction had been last taken by the man who was supposed to be murdered. who last saw henry poindexter? his father and cousin were first appealed to. the former had last seen his son at the supper table; and supposed him to have gone thence to his bed. the answer of calhoun was less direct, and, perhaps, less satisfactory. he had conversed with his cousin at a later hour, and had bidden him good night, under the impression that he was retiring to his room. why was calhoun concealing what had really occurred? why did he refrain from giving a narration of that garden scene to which he had been witness? was it, that he feared humiliation by disclosing the part he had himself played? whatever was the reason, the truth was shunned; and an answer given, the sincerity of which was suspected by more than one who listened to it. the evasiveness might have been more apparent, had there been any reason for suspicion, or had the bystanders been allowed longer time to reflect upon it. while the inquiry was going on, light came in from a quartet hitherto unthought of. the landlord of the rough and ready, who had come uncalled to the council, after forcing his way through the crowd, proclaimed himself willing to communicate some facts worth their hearing--in short, the very facts they were endeavouring to find out: when henry poindexter had been last seen, and what the direction he had taken. oberdoffer's testimony, delivered in a semi-teutonic tongue, was to the effect: that maurice the mustanger--who had been staying at his hotel ever since his fight with captain calhoun--had that night ridden out at a late hour, as he had done for several nights before. he had returned to the hotel at a still later hour; and finding it open--on account of a party of _bons vivants_ who had supped there--had done that which he had not done for a long time before--demanded his bill, and to old duffer's astonishment--as the latter naively confessed--settled every cent of it! where he had procured the money "gott" only knew, or why he left the hotel in such a hurry. oberdoffer himself only knew that he had left it, and taken all his `trapsh' along with him--just as he was in the habit of doing, whenever he went off upon one of his horse-catching expeditions. on one of these the village boniface supposed him to have gone. what had all this to do with the question before the council? much indeed; though it did not appear till the last moment of his examination, when the witness revealed the more pertinent facts:--that about twenty minutes after the mustanger had taken his departure from the hotel, "heinrich poindexter" knocked at the door, and inquired after mr maurice gerald;--that on being told the latter was gone, as also the time, and probable direction he had taken, the "young gentlemans" rode off a a quick pace, as if with the intention of overtaking him. this was all mr oberdoffer knew of the matter; and all he could be expected to tell. the intelligence, though containing several points but ill understood, was nevertheless a guide to the expeditionary party. it furnished a sort of clue to the direction they ought to take. if the missing man had gone off with maurice the mustanger, or after him, he should be looked for on the road the latter himself would be likely to have taken. did any one know where the horse-hunter had his home? no one could state the exact locality; though there were several who believed it was somewhere among the head-waters of the nueces, on a creek called the "alamo." to the alamo, then, did they determine upon proceeding in quest of the missing man, or his dead body--perhaps, also, to find that of maurice the mustanger; and, at the same time, avenge upon the savage assassins two murders instead of one. chapter thirty nine. the pool of blood. notwithstanding its number--larger than usual for a party of borderers merely in search of a strayed neighbour--the expedition pursued its way with, considerable caution. there was reason. the indians were upon the war-trail. scouts were sent out in advance; and professed "trackers" employed to pick up, and interpret the "sign." on the prairie, extending nearly ten miles to the westward of the leona, no trail was discovered. the turf, hard and dry, only showed the tracks of a horse when going in a gallop. none such were seen along the route. at ten miles' distance from the fort the plain is traversed by a tract of chapparal, running north-west and south-east. it is a true texan jungle, laced by llianas, and almost impenetrable for man and horse. through this jungle, directly opposite the fort, there is an opening, through which passes a path--the shortest that leads to the head waters of the nueces. it is a sort of natural avenue among the trees that stand closely crowded on each side, but refrain from meeting. it may be artificial: some old "war-trail" of the comanches, erst trodden by their expeditionary parties on the maraud to tamaulipas, coahuila, or new leon. the trackers knew that it conducted to the alamo; and, therefore, guided the expedition into it. shortly after entering among the trees, one of the latter, who had gone afoot in the advance, was seen standing by the edge of the thicket, as if waiting to announce some recently discovered fact. "what is it?" demanded the major, spurring ahead of the others, and riding up to the tracker. "sign?" "ay, that there is, major; and plenty of it. look there! in that bit of sottish ground you see--" "the tracks of a horse." "of two horses, major," said the man, correcting the officer with an air of deference. "true. there are two." "farther on they become four; though they're all made by the same two horses. they have gone up this openin' a bit, and come back again." "well, spangler, my good fellow; what do you make of it?" "not much," replied spangler, who was one of the paid scouts of the cantonment; "not much of _that_; i hav'n't been far enough up the openin' to make out what it means--only far enough to know that _a man has been murdered_." "what proof have you of what you say? is there a dead body?" "no. not as much as the little finger; not even a hair of the head, so fur as i can see." "what then?" "blood, a regular pool of it--enough to have cleared out the carcass of a hull buffalo. come and see for yourself. but," continued the scout in a muttered undertone, "if you wish me to follow up the sign as it ought to be done, you'll order the others to stay back--'specially them as are now nearest you." this observation appeared to be more particularly pointed at the planter and his nephew; as the tracker, on making it, glanced furtively towards both. "by all means," replied the major. "yes, spangler, you shall have every facility for your work. gentlemen! may i request you to remain where you are for a few minutes. my tracker, here, has to go through a performance that requires him to have the ground to himself. he can only take me along with him." of course the major's request was a command, courteously conveyed, to men who were not exactly his subordinates. it was obeyed, however, just as if they had been; and one and all kept their places, while the officer, following his scout, rode away from the ground. about fifty yards further on, spangler came to a stand. "you see that, major?" said he, pointing to the ground. "i should be blind if i didn't," replied the officer. "a pool of blood--as you say, big enough to have emptied the veins of a buffalo. if it has come from those of a man, i should say that whoever shed it is no longer in the land of the living." "dead!" pronounced the tracker. "dead before that blood had turned purple--as it is now." "whose do you think it is, spangler?" "that of the man we're in search of--the son of the old gentleman down there. that's why i didn't wish him to come forward." "he may as well know the worst. he must find it out in time." "true what you say, major; but we had better first find out how the young fellow has come to be thrown in his tracks. that's what is puzzling me." "how! by the indians, of course? the comanches have done it?" "not a bit of it," rejoined the scout, with an air of confidence. "hu! why do you say that, spangler?" "because, you see, if the indyins had a been here, there would be forty horse-tracks instead of four, and them made by only two horses." "there's truth in that. it isn't likely a single comanch would have had the daring, even to assassinate--" "no comanche, major, no indyin of any kind committed this murder. there are two horse-tracks along the opening. as you see, both are shod; and they're the same that have come back again. comanches don't ride shod horses, except when they've stolen them. both these were ridden by white men. one set of the tracks has been made by a mustang, though it it was a big 'un. the other is the hoof of an american horse. goin' west the mustang was foremost; you can tell that by the overlap. comin' back the states horse was in the lead, the other followin' him; though it's hard to say how fur behind. i may be able to tell better, if we keep on to the place whar both must have turned back. it can't be a great ways off." "let us proceed thither, then," said the major. "i shall command the people to stay where they are." having issued the command, in a voice loud enough to be heard by his following, the major rode away from the bloodstained spot, preceded by the tracker. for about four hundred yards further on, the two sets of tracks were traceable; but by the eye of the major, only where the turf was softer under the shadow of the trees. so far--the scout said the horses had passed and returned in the order already declared by him:--that is, the mustang in the lead while proceeding westward, and in the rear while going in the opposite direction. at this point the trail ended--both horses, as was already known, having returned on their own tracks. before taking the back track, however, they had halted, and stayed some time in the same place--under the branches of a spreading cottonwood. the turf, much trampled around the trunk of the tree, was evidence of this. the tracker got off his horse to examine it; and, stooping to the earth, carefully scrutinised the sign. "they've been here thegither," said he, after several minutes spent in his analysis, "and for some time; though neither's been out of the saddle. they've been on friendly terms, too; which makes it all the more unexplainable. they must have quarrelled afterwards." "if you are speaking the truth, spangler, you must be a witch. how on earth can you know all that?" "by the sign, major; by the sign. it's simple enough. i see the shoes of both horses lapping over each other a score of times; and in such a way that shows they must have been thegither--the animals, it might be, restless and movin' about. as for the time, they've taken long enough to smoke a cigar apiece--close to the teeth too. here are the stumps; not enough left to fill a fellow's pipe." the tracker, stooping as he spoke, picked up a brace of cigar stumps, and handed them to the major. "by the same token," he continued, "i conclude that the two horsemen, whoever they were, while under this tree could not have had any very hostile feelins, the one to the tother. men don't smoke in company with the design of cutting each other's throats, or blowing out one another's brains, the instant afterwards. the trouble between them must have come on after the cigars were smoked out. that it did come there can be no doubt. as sure, major, as you're sittin' in your saddle, one of them has wiped out the other. i can only guess which has been wiped out, by the errand we're on. poor mr poindexter will niver more see his son alive." "'tis very mysterious," remarked the major. "it is, by jingo!" "and the body, too; where can _it_ be?" "that's what purplexes me most of all. if 't had been indyins, i wouldn't a thought much o' its being missin'. they might a carried the man off wi them to make a target of him, if only wounded; and if dead, to eat him, maybe. but there's been no indyins here--not a redskin. take my word for it, major, one o' the two men who rid these horses has wiped out the other; and sartinly he _have_ wiped him out in the litterlest sense o' the word. what he's done wi' the body beats me; and perhaps only hisself can tell." "most strange!" exclaimed the major, pronouncing the words with emphasis--"most mysterious!" "it's possible we may yet unravel some o' the mystery," pursued spangler. "we must follow up the tracks of the horses, after they started from this--that is, from where the deed was done. we may make something out of that. there's nothing more to be learnt here. we may as well go back, major. am i to tell _him_?" "mr poindexter, you mean?" "yes. you are convinced that his son is the man who has been murdered?" "oh, no; not so much as that comes to. only convinced that the horse the old gentleman is now riding is one of the two that's been over this ground last night--the states horse i feel sure. i have compared the tracks; and if young poindexter was the man who was on _his back_, i fear there's not much chance for the poor fellow. it looks ugly that the other _rid after_ him." "spangler! have you any suspicion as to who the other may be?" "not a spark, major. if't hadn't been for the tale of old duffer i'd never have thought of maurice the mustanger. true, it's the track o' a shod mustang; but i don't know it to be hisn. surely it can't be? the young irishman aint the man to stand nonsense from nobody; but as little air he the one to do a deed like this--that is, if it's been cold-blooded killin'." "i think as you about that." "and you may think so, major. if young poindexter's been killed, and by maurice gerald, there's been a fair stand-up fight atween them, and the planter's son has gone under. that's how i shed reckon it up. as to the disappearance o' the dead body--for them two quarts o' blood could only have come out o' a body that's now dead--that _trees me_. we must follow the trail, howsoever; and maybe it'll fetch us to some sensible concloosion. am i to tell the old gentleman what i think o't?" "perhaps better not. he knows enough already. it will at least fall lighter upon him if he find things out by piecemeal. say nothing of what we've seen. if you can take up the trail of the two horses after going off from the place where the blood is, i shall manage to bring the command after you without any one suspecting what we've seen." "all right, major," said the scout, "i think i can guess where the off trail goes. give me ten minutes upon it, and then come on to my signal." so saying the tracker rode back to the "place of blood;" and after what appeared a very cursory examination, turned off into a lateral opening in the chapparal. within the promised time his shrill whistle announced that he was nearly a mile distant, and in a direction altogether different from the spot that had been profaned by some sanguinary scene. on hearing the signal, the commander of the expedition--who had in the meantime returned to his party--gave orders to advance; while he himself, with poindexter and the other principal men, moved ahead, without his revealing to any one of his retinue the chapter of strange disclosures for which he was indebted to the "instincts" of his tracker. chapter forty. the marked bullet. before coming up with the scout, an incident occurred to vary the monotony of the march. instead of keeping along the avenue, the major had conducted his command in a diagonal direction through the chapparal. he had done this to avoid giving unnecessary pain to the afflicted father; who would otherwise have looked upon the life-blood of his son, or at least what the major believed to be so. the gory spot was shunned, and as the discovery was not yet known to any other save the major himself, and the tracker who had made it, the party moved on in ignorance of the existence of such a dread sign. the path they were now pursuing was a mere cattle-track, scarce broad enough for two to ride abreast. here and there were glades where it widened out for a few yards, again running into the thorny chapparal. on entering one of these glades, an animal sprang out of the bushes, and bounded off over the sward. a beautiful creature it was, with its fulvous coat ocellated with rows of shining rosettes; its strong lithe limbs supporting a smooth cylindrical body, continued into a long tapering tail; the very type of agility; a creature rare even in these remote solitudes--the jaguar. its very rarity rendered it the more desirable as an object to test the skill of the marksman; and, notwithstanding the serious nature of the expedition, two of the party were tempted to discharge their rifles at the retreating animal. they were cassius calhoun, and a young planter who was riding by his side. the jaguar dropped dead in its tracks: a bullet having entered its body, and traversed the spine in a longitudinal direction. which of the two was entitled to the credit of the successful shot? calhoun claimed it, and so did the young planter. the shots had been fired simultaneously, and only one of them had hit. "i shall show you," confidently asserted the ex-officer, dismounting beside the dead jaguar, and unsheathing his knife. "you see, gentlemen, the ball is still in the animal's body? if it's mine, you'll find my initials on it--c.c.--with a crescent. i mould my bullets so that i can always tell when i've killed my game." the swaggering air with which he held up the leaden missile after extracting it told that he had spoken the truth. a few of the more curious drew near and examined the bullet. sure enough it was moulded as calhoun had declared, and the dispute ended in the discomfiture of the young planter. the party soon after came up with the tracker, waiting to conduct them along a fresh trail. it was no longer a track made by two horses, with shod hooves. the turf showed only the hoof-marks of one; and so indistinctly, that at times they were undiscernible to all eyes save those of the tracker himself. the trace carried them through the thicket, from glade to glade--after a circuitous march--bringing them back into the lane-like opening, at a point still further to the west. spangler--though far from being the most accomplished of his calling-- took it; up as fast as the people could ride after him. in his own mind he had determined the character of the animal whose footmarks he was following. he knew it to be a mustang--the same that had stood under the cottonwood whilst its rider was smoking a cigar--the same whose hoof-mark he had seen deeply indented in a sod saturated with human blood. the track of the states horse he had also followed for a short distance--in the interval, when he was left alone. he saw that it would conduct him back to the prairie through which they had passed; and thence, in all likelihood, to the settlements on the leona. he had forsaken it to trace the footsteps of the shod mustang; more likely to lead him to an explanation of that red mystery of murder-- perhaps to the den of the assassin. hitherto perplexed by the hoof-prints of two horses alternately overlapping each other, he was not less puzzled now, while scrutinising the tracks of but one. they went not direct, as those of an animal urged onwards upon a journey; but here and there zigzagging; occasionally turning upon themselves in short curves; then forward for a stretch; and then circling again, as if the mustang was either not mounted, or its rider was asleep in the saddle! could these be the hoof-prints of a horse with a man upon his back--an assassin skulking away from the scene of assassination, his conscience freshly excited by the crime? spangler did not think so. he knew not what to think. he was mystified more than ever. so confessed he to the major, when being questioned as to the character of the trail. a spectacle that soon afterwards came under his eyes--simultaneously seen by every individual of the party--so far from solving the mystery, had the effect of rendering it yet more inexplicable. more than this. what had hitherto been but an ambiguous affair--a subject for guess and speculation--was suddenly transformed into a horror; of that intense kind that can only spring from thoughts of the supernatural. no one could say that this feeling of horror had arisen without reason. when a man is seen mounted on a horse's back, seated firmly in the saddle, with limbs astride in the stirrups, body erect, and hand holding the rein--in short, everything in air and attitude required of a rider; when, on closer scrutiny, it is observed: that there is something wanting to complete the idea of a perfect equestrian; and, on still closer scrutiny, that this something is the _head_, it would be strange if the spectacle did not startle the beholder, terrifying him to the very core of his heart. and this very sight came before their eyes; causing them simultaneously to rein up, and with as much suddenness, as if each had rashly ridden within less than his horse's length of the brink of an abyss! the sun was low down, almost on a level with the sward. facing westward, his disc was directly before them. his rays, glaring redly in their eyes, hindered them from having a very accurate view, towards the quarter of the west. still could they see that strange shape above described--a horseman without a head! had only one of the party declared himself to have seen it, he would have been laughed at by his companions as a lunatic. even two might have been stigmatised in a similar manner. but what everybody saw at the same time, could not be questioned; and only he would have been thought crazed, who should have expressed incredulity about the presence of the abnormal phenomenon. no one did. the eyes of all were turned in the same direction, their gaze intently fixed on what was either a horseman without the head, or the best counterfeit that could have been contrived. was it this? if not, what was it? these interrogatories passed simultaneously through the minds of all. as no one could answer them, even to himself, no answer was vouchsafed. soldiers and civilians sate silent in their saddles--each expecting an explanation, which the other was unable to supply. there could be heard only mutterings, expressive of surprise and terror. no one even offered a conjecture. the headless horseman, whether phantom or real, when first seen, was about entering the avenue--near the debouchure of which the searchers had arrived. had he continued his course, he must have met them in the teeth--supposing their courage to have been equal to the encounter. as it was, he had halted at the same instant as themselves; and stood regarding them with a mistrust that may have been mutual. there was an interval of silence on both sides, during which a cigar stump might have been heard falling upon the sward. it was then the strange apparition was most closely scrutinised by those who had the courage: for the majority of the men sate shivering in their stirrups-- through sheer terror, incapable even of thought! the few who dared face the mystery, with any thought of accounting for it, were baffled in their investigation by the glare of the setting sun. they could only see that there was a horse of large size and noble shape, with a man upon his back. the figure of the man was less easily determined, on account of the limbs being inserted into overalls, while his shoulders were enveloped in an ample cloak-like covering. what signified his shape, so long as it wanted that portion most essential to existence? a man without a head--on horseback, sitting erect in the saddle, in an attitude of ease and grace--with spurs sparkling upon his heels--the bridle-rein held in one hand--the other where it should be, resting lightly upon his thigh! great god! what could it mean? was it a phantom? surely it could not be human? they who viewed it were not the men to have faith either in phantoms, or phantasmagoria. many of them had met nature in her remotest solitudes, and wrestled with her in her roughest moods. they were not given to a belief in ghosts. but the confidence of the most incredulous was shaken by a sight so strange--so absolutely unnatural--and to such an extent, that the stoutest hearted of the party was forced mentally to repeat the words:-- "_is it a phantom? surely it cannot be human_?" its size favoured the idea of the supernatural. it appeared double that of an ordinary man upon an ordinary horse. it was more like a giant on a gigantic steed; though this might have been owing to the illusory light under which it was seen--the refraction of the sun's rays passing horizontally through the tremulous atmosphere of the parched plain. there was but little time to philosophise--not enough to complete a careful scrutiny of the unearthly apparition, which every one present, with hand spread over his eyes to shade them from the dazzling glare, was endeavouring to make. nothing of colour could be noted--neither the garments of the man, nor the hairy coat of the horse. only the shape could be traced, outlined in sable silhouette against the golden background of the sky; and this in every change of attitude, whether fronting the spectators, or turned stern towards them, was still the same--still that inexplicable phenomenon: _a horseman without a head_! was it a phantom? surely it could not be human? "'tis old nick upon horseback!" cried a fearless frontiersman, who would scarce have quailed to encounter his satanic majesty even in that guise. "by the 'tarnal almighty, it's the devil himself." the boisterous laugh which succeeded the profane utterance of the reckless speaker, while it only added to the awe of his less courageous comrades, appeared to produce an effect on the headless horseman. wheeling suddenly round--his horse at the same time sending forth a scream that caused either the earth or the atmosphere to tremble--he commenced galloping away. he went direct towards the sun; and continued this course, until only by his motion could he be distinguished from one of those spots that have puzzled the philosopher--at length altogether disappearing, as though he had ridden into the dazzling disc! chapter forty one. cuatro cavalleros. the party of searchers, under the command of the major, was not the only one that went forth from fort inge on that eventful morning. nor was it the earliest to take saddle. long before--in fact close following the dawn of day--a much smaller party, consisting of only four horsemen, was seen setting out from the suburbs of the village, and heading their horses in the direction of the nueces. these could not be going in search of the dead body of henry poindexter. at that hour no one suspected that the young man was dead, or even that he was missing. the riderless horse had not yet come in to tell the tale of woe. the settlement was still slumbering, unconscious that innocent blood had been spilt. though setting out from nearly the same point, and proceeding in a like direction, there was not the slightest similarity between the two parties of mounted men. those earliest a-start were all of pure iberian blood; or this commingled with aztecan. in other words they were mexicans. it required neither skill nor close scrutiny to discover this. a glance at themselves and their horses, their style of equitation, the slight muscular development of their thighs and hips--more strikingly observable in their deep-tree saddles--the gaily coloured serapes shrouding their shoulders, the wide velveteen calzoneros on their legs, the big spurs on their boots, and broad-brimmed sombreros on their heads, declared them either mexicans, or men who had adopted the mexican costume. that they were the former there was not a question. the sallow hue; the pointed vandyke beard, covering the chin, sparsely--though not from any thinning by the shears--the black, close-cropped _chevelure_; the regular facial outline, were all indisputable characteristics of the hispano-moro-aztecan race, who now occupy the ancient territory of the moctezumas. one of the four was a man of larger frame than any of his companions. he rode a better horse; was more richly apparelled; carried upon his person arms and equipments of a superior finish; and was otherwise distinguished, so as to leave no doubt about his being the leader of the _cuartilla_. he was a man of between thirty and forty years of age, nearer to the latter than the former; though a smooth, rounded cheek--furnished with a short and carefully trimmed whisker--gave him the appearance of being younger than he was. but for a cold animal eye, and a heaviness of feature that betrayed a tendency to behave with brutality--if not with positive cruelty--the individual in question might have been described as handsome. a well formed mouth, with twin rows of white teeth between the lips, even when these were exhibited in a smile, did not remove this unpleasant impression. it but reminded the beholder of the sardonic grin that may have been given by satan, when, after the temptation had succeeded, he gazed contemptuously back upon the mother of mankind. it was not his looks that had led to his having become known among his comrades by a peculiar nick-name; that of an animal well known upon the plains of texas. his deeds and disposition had earned for him the unenviable soubriquet "el coyote." how came he to be crossing the prairie at this early hour of the morning--apparently sober, and acting as the leader of others--when on the same morning, but a few hours before, he was seen drunk in his jacale--so drunk as to be unconscious of having a visitor, or, at all events, incapable of giving that visitor a civil reception? the change of situation though sudden--and to some extent strange--is not so difficult of explanation. it will be understood after an account has been given of his movements, from the time of calhoun's leaving him, till the moment of meeting him in the saddle, in company with his three _conpaisanos_. on riding away from his hut, calhoun had left the door, as he had found it, ajar; and in this way did it remain until the morning--el coyote all the time continuing his sonorous slumber. at daybreak he was aroused by the raw air that came drifting over him in the shape of a chilly fog. this to some extent sobered him; and, springing up from his skin-covered truck, he commenced staggering over the floor--all the while uttering anathemas against the cold, and the door for letting it in. it might be expected that he would have shut to the latter on the instant; but he did not. it was the only aperture, excepting some holes arising from dilapidation, by which light was admitted into the interior of the jacale; and light he wanted, to enable him to carry out the design that had summoned him to his feet. the grey dawn, just commencing to creep in through the open doorway, scarce sufficed for his purpose; and it was only after a good while spent in groping about, interspersed with a series of stumblings, and accompanied by a string of profane exclamations, that he succeeded in finding that he was searching for: a large two-headed gourd, with a strap around its middle, used as a canteen for carrying water, or more frequently _mezcal_. the odour escaping from its uncorked end told that it had recently contained this potent spirit; but that it was now empty, was announced by another profane ejaculation that came from the lips of its owner, as he made the discovery. "_sangre de cristo_!" he cried, in an accent of angry disappointment, giving the gourd a shake to assure himself of its emptiness. "not a drop--not enough to drown a chiga! and my tongue sticking to my teeth. my throat feels as if i had bolted a _brazero_ of red-hot charcoal. por dios! i can't stand it. what's to be done? daylight? it is. i must up to the _pueblita_. it's possible that senor doffer may have his trap open by this time to catch the early birds. if so, he'll find a customer in the coyote. ha, ha, ha!" slinging the gourd strap around his neck, and thrusting his head through the slit of his serape, he set forth for the village. the tavern was but a few hundred yards from his hut, on the same side of the river, and approachable by a path, that he could have travelled with his eyes under "tapojos." in twenty minutes after, he was staggering past the sign-post of the "rough and ready." he chanced to be in luck. oberdoffer was in his bar-room, serving some early customers--a party of soldiers who had stolen out of quarters to swallow their morning dram. "mein gott, mishter dees!" said the landlord, saluting the newly arrived guest, and without ceremony forsaking six _credit_ customers, for one that he knew to be _cash_. "mein gott! is it you i sees so early ashtir? i knowsh vat you vant. you vant your pig coord fill mit ze mexican spirits--ag--ag--vat you call it?" "_aguardiente_! you've guessed it, cavallero. that's just what i want." "a tollar--von tollar ish the price." "_carrambo_! i've paid it often enough to know that. here's the coin, and there's the canteen. fill, and be quick about it!" "ha! you ish in a hurry, mein herr. fel--i von't keeps you waitin'; i suppose you ish off for the wild horsh prairish. if there's anything goot among the droves, i'm afeart that the irishmans will pick it up before you. he went off lasht night. he left my housh at a late hour-- after midnight it wash--a very late hour, to go a shourney! but he's a queer cushtomer is that mushtanger, mister maurish sherralt. nobody knows his ways. i shouldn't say anythings againsht him. he hash been a goot cushtomer to me. he has paid his bill like a rich man, and he hash plenty peside. mein gott! his pockets wash cramm mit tollars!" on hearing that the irishman had gone off to the "horsh prairish," as oberdoffer termed them, the mexican by his demeanour betrayed more than an ordinary interest in the announcement. it was proclaimed, first by a slight start of surprise, and then by an impatience of manner that continued to mark his movements, while listening to the long rigmarole that followed. it was clear that he did not desire anything of this to be observed. instead of questioning his informant upon the subject thus started, or voluntarily displaying any interest in it, he rejoined in a careless drawl-- "it don't concern me, cavallero. there are plenty of _mustenos_ on the plains--enough to give employment to all the horse-catchers in texas. look alive, senor, and let's have the aguardiente!" a little chagrined at being thus rudely checked in his attempt at a gossip, the german boniface hastily filled the gourd canteen; and, without essaying farther speech, handed it across the counter, took the dollar in exchange, chucked the coin into his till, and then moved back to his military customers, more amiable because drinking _upon the score_. diaz, notwithstanding the eagerness he had lately exhibited to obtain the liquor, walked out of the bar-room, and away from the hotel, without taking the stopper from his canteen, or even appearing to think of it! his excited air was no longer that of a man merely longing for a glass of ardent spirits. there was something stronger stirring within, that for the time rendered him oblivious of the appetite. whatever it may have been it did not drive him direct to his home: for not until he had paid a visit to three other hovels somewhat similar to his own--all situated in the suburbs of the _pueblita_, and inhabited by men like himself--not till then, did he return to his jacale. it was on getting back, that he noticed for the first time the tracks of a shod horse; and saw where the animal had been tied to a tree that stood near the hut. "_carrambo_!" he exclaimed, on perceiving this sign, "_the capitan americano_ has been here in the night. por dios! i remember something--i thought i had dreamt it. i can guess his errand. he has heard of don mauricio's departure. perhaps he'll repeat his visit, when he thinks i'm in a proper state to receive him? ha! ha! it don't matter now. the thing's all understood; and i sha'n't need any further instructions from him, till i've earned his thousand dollars. _mil pesos_! what a splendid fortune! once gained, i shall go back to the rio grande, and see what can be done with isidora." after delivering the above soliloquy, he remained at his hut only long enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of roasted _tasajo_, washing them down with as many gulps of mezcal. then having caught and caparisoned his horse, buckled on his huge heavy spurs, strapped his short carbine to the saddle, thrust a pair of pistols into their holsters, and belted the leathern sheathed machete on his hip, he sprang into the stirrups, and rode rapidly away. the short interval that elapsed, before making his appearance on the open plain, was spent in the suburbs of the village--waiting for the three horsemen who accompanied him, and who had been forewarned of their being wanted to act as his coadjutors, in some secret exploit that required their assistance. whatever it was, his trio of _confreres_ appeared to have been made acquainted with the scheme; or at all events that the scene of the exploit was to be on the alamo. when a short distance out upon the plain, seeing diaz strike off in a diagonal direction, they called out to warn him, that he was not going the right way. "i know the alamo well," said one of them, himself a mustanger. "i've hunted horses there many a time. it's southwest from here. the nearest way to it is through an opening in the chapparal you see out yonder. you are heading too much to the west, don miguel!" "indeed!" contemptuously retorted the leader of the cuartilla. "you're a _gringo_, senor vicente barajo! you forget the errand we're upon; and that we are riding shod horses? indians don't go out from port inge and then direct to the alamo to do--no matter what. i suppose you understand me?" "oh true!" answered senor vicente barajo, "i beg your pardon, don miguel. _carrambo_! i did not think of that." and without further protest, the three coadjutors of el coyote fell into his tracks, and followed him in silence--scarce another word passing between him and them, till they had struck the chapparal, at a point several miles above the opening of which barajo had made mention. once under cover of the thicket, the four men dismounted; and, after tying their horses to the trees, commenced a performance that could only be compared to a scene in the gentlemen's dressing-room of a suburban theatre, preliminary to the representation of some savage and sanguinary drama. chapter forty two. vultures on the wing. he who has travelled across the plains of southern texas cannot fail to have witnessed a spectacle of common occurrence--a flock of black vultures upon the wing. an hundred or more in the flock, swooping in circles, or wide spiral gyrations--now descending almost to touch the prairie award, or the spray of the chapparal--anon soaring upward by a power in which the wing bears no part--their pointed pinions sharply cutting against the clear sky--they constitute a picture of rare interest, one truly characteristic of a tropical clime. the traveller who sees it for the first time will not fail to rein up his horse, and sit in his saddle, viewing it with feelings of curious interest. even he who is accustomed to the spectacle will not pass on without indulging in a certain train of thought which it is calculated to call forth. there is a tale told by the assemblage of base birds. on the ground beneath them, whether seen by the traveller or not, is stretched some stricken creature--quadruped, or it may be _man_--dead, or it may be _dying_. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ on the morning that succeeded that sombre night, when the three solitary horsemen made the crossing of the plain, a spectacle similar to that described might have been witnessed above the chapparal into which they had ridden. a flock of black vultures, of both species, was disporting above the tops of the trees, near the point where the avenue angled. at daybreak not one could have been seen. in less than an hour after, hundreds were hovering above the spot, on widespread wings, their shadows sailing darkly over the green spray of the chapparal. a texan traveller entering the avenue, and observing the ominous assemblage, would at once have concluded, that there was death upon his track. going farther, he would have found confirmatory evidence, in a pool of blood trampled by the hooves of horses. not exactly over this were the vultures engaged in their aerial evolutions. the centre of their swoopings appeared to be a point some distance off among the trees; and there, no doubt, would be discovered the quarry that had called them together. at that early hour there was no traveller--texan, or stranger--to test the truth of the conjecture; but, for all that, it was true. at a point in the chapparal, about a quarter of a mile from the blood-stained path, lay stretched upon the ground the object that was engaging the attention of the vultures. it was not carrion, nor yet a quadruped; but a human being--a man! a young man, too, of noble lineaments and graceful shape--so far as could be seen under the cloak that shrouded his recumbent form--with a face fair to look upon, even in death. was he dead? at first sight any one would have said so, and the black birds believed it. his attitude and countenance seemed to proclaim it beyond question. he was lying upon his back, with face upturned to the sky--no care being taken to shelter it from the sun. his limbs, too, were not in a natural posture; but extended stiffly along the stony surface, as if he had lost the power to control them. a colossal tree was near, a live oak, but it did not shadow him. he was outside the canopy of its frondage; and the sun's beams, just beginning to penetrate the chapparal, were slanting down upon his pale face--paler by reflection from a white panama hat that but partially shaded it. his features did not seem set in death: and as little was it like sleep. it had more the look of death than sleep. the eyes were but half closed; and the pupils could be seen glancing through the lashes, glassy and dilated. was the man dead? beyond doubt, the black birds believed that he was. but the black birds were judging only by appearances. their wish was parent to the thought. they were mistaken. whether it was the glint of the sun striking into his half-screened orbs, or nature becoming restored after a period of repose, the eyes of the prostrate man were seen to open to their full extent, while a movement was perceptible throughout his whole frame. soon after he raised himself a little; and, resting upon his elbow, stared confusedly around him. the vultures soared upward into the air, and for the time maintained a higher flight. "am i dead, or living?" muttered he to himself. "dreaming, or awake? which is it? where am i?" the sunlight was blinding him. he could see nothing, till he had shaded his eyes with his hand; then only indistinctly. "trees above--around me! stones underneath! that i can tell by the aching of my bones. a chapparal forest! how came i into it? "now i have it," continued he, after a short spell of reflection. "my head was dashed against a tree. there it is--the very limb that lifted me out of the saddle. my left leg pains me. ah! i remember; it came in contact with the trunk. by heavens, i believe it is broken!" as he said this, he made an effort to raise himself into an erect attitude. it proved a failure. his sinister limb would lend him no assistance: it was swollen at the knee-joint--either shattered or dislocated. "where is the horse? gone off, of course. by this time, in the stables of casa del corvo. i need not care now. i could not mount him, if he were standing by my side. "the other?" he added, after a pause. "good heavens! what a spectacle it was! no wonder it scared the one i was riding! "what am i to do? my leg may be broken. i can't stir from this spot, without some one to help me. ten chances to one--a hundred--a thousand--against any one coming this way; at least not till i've become food for those filthy birds. ugh! the hideous brutes; they stretch out their beaks, as if already sure of making a meal upon me! "how long have i been lying here? the surf don't seem very high. it was just daybreak, as i climbed into the saddle. i suppose i've been unconscious about an hour. by my faith, i'm in a serious scrape? in all likelihood a broken limb--it feels broken--with no surgeon to set it; a stony couch in the heart of a texan chapparal--the thicket around me, perhaps for miles--no chance to escape from it of myself--no hope of human creature coming to help me--wolves on the earth, and vultures in the air! great god! why did i mount, without making sure of the rein? i may have ridden my last ride!" the countenance of the young man became clouded; and the cloud grew darker, and deeper, as he continued to reflect upon the perilous position in which a simple accident had placed him. once more he essayed to rise to his feet, and succeeded; only to find, that he had but one leg on which he could rely! it was no use, standing upon it; and he lay down again. two hours were passed without any change in his situation; during which he had caused the chapparal to ring with a loud hallooing. he only desisted from this, under the conviction: that there was no one at all likely to hear him. the shouting caused thirst; or at all events hastened the advent of this appetite--surely coming on as the concomitant of the injuries he had received. the sensation was soon experienced to such an extent that everything else--even the pain of his wounds--became of trifling consideration. "it will kill me, if i stay here?" reflected the sufferer. "i must make an effort to reach water. if i remember aright there's a stream somewhere in this chapparal, and not such a great way off. i must get to it, if i have to crawl upon my hands and knees. knees! and only one in a condition to support me! there's no help for it but try. the longer i stay here, the worse it will be. the sun grows hotter. it already burns into my brain. i may lose my senses, and then--the wolves--the vultures--" the horrid apprehension caused silence and shuddering. after a time he continued: "if i but knew the right way to go. i remember the stream well enough. it runs towards the chalk prairie. it should be south-east, from here. i shall try that way. by good luck the sun guides me. if i find water all may yet be well. god give me strength to reach it!" with this prayer upon his lips, he commenced making his way through the thicket--creeping over the stony ground, and dragging after him his disabled leg, like some huge saurian whose vertebrae have been disjointed by a blow! lizard-like, he continued his crawl. the effort was painful in the extreme; but the apprehension from which he suffered was still more painful, and urged him to continue it. he well knew there was a chance of his falling a victim to thirst-- almost a certainty, if he did not succeed in finding water. stimulated by this knowledge he crept on. at short intervals he was compelled to pause, and recruit his strength by a little rest. a man does not travel far, on his hands and knees, without feeling fatigued. much more, when one of the four members cannot be employed in the effort. his progress was slow and irksome. besides, it was being made under the most discouraging circumstances. he might not be going in the right direction? nothing but the dread of death could have induced him to keep on. he had made about a quarter of a mile from the point of starting, when it occurred to him that a better plan of locomotion might be adopted-- one that would, at all events, vary the monotony of his march. "perhaps," said he, "i might manage to hobble a bit, if i only had a crutch? ho! my knife is still here. thank fortune for that! and there's a sapling of the right size--a bit of blackjack. it will do." drawing the knife--a "bowie"--from his belt, he cut down the dwarf-oak; and soon reduced it to a rude kind of crutch; a fork in the tree serving for the head. then rising erect, and fitting the fork into his armpit, he proceeded with his exploration. he knew the necessity of keeping to one course; and, as he had chosen the south-east, he continued in this direction. it was not so easy. the sun was his only compass; but this had now reached the meridian, and, in the latitude of southern texas, at that season of the year, the midday sun is almost in the zenith. moreover, he had the chapparal to contend with, requiring constant detours to take advantage of its openings. he had a sort of guide in the sloping of the ground: for he knew that downward he was more likely to find the stream. after proceeding about a mile--not in one continued march, but by short stages, with intervals of rest between--he came upon a track made by the wild animals that frequent the chapparal. it was slight, but running in a direct line--a proof that it led to some point of peculiar consideration--in all likelihood a watering-place--stream, pond, or spring. any of these three would serve his purpose; and, without longer looking to the sun, or the slope of the ground, he advanced along the trail--now hobbling upon his crutch, and at times, when tired of this mode, dropping down upon his hands and crawling as before. the cheerful anticipations he had indulged in, on discovering the trail, soon, came to a termination. it became _blind_. in other words it ran out--ending in a glade surrounded by impervious masses of underwood. he saw, to his dismay, that it led _from_ the glade, instead of _towards_ it. he had been following it the wrong way! unpleasant as was the alternative, there was no other than to return upon his track. to stay in the glade would have been to die there. he retraced the trodden path--going on beyond the point where he had first struck it. nothing but the torture of thirst could have endowed him with strength or spirit to proceed. and this was every moment becoming more unendurable. the trees through which he was making way were mostly acacias, interspersed with cactus and wild agave. they afforded scarce any shelter from the sun, that now in mid-heaven glared down through their gossamer foliage with the fervour of fire itself. the perspiration, oozing through every pore of his skin, increased the tendency to thirst--until the appetite became an agony! within reach of his hand were the glutinous legumes of the _mezquites_, filled with mellifluous moisture. the agaves and cactus plants, if tapped, would have exuded an abundance of juice. the former was too sweet, the latter too acrid to tempt him. he was acquainted with the character of both. he knew that, instead of allaying his thirst, they would only have added to its intensity. he passed the depending pods, without plucking them. he passed the succulent stalks, without tapping thorn. to augment his anguish, he now discovered that the wounded limb was, every moment, becoming more unmanageable. it had swollen to enormous dimensions. every step caused him a spasm of pain. even if going in the direction of the doubtful streamlet, he might never succeed in reaching it? if not, there was no hope for him. he could but lie down in the thicket, and die! death would not be immediate. although suffering acute pain in his head, neither the shock it had received, nor the damage done to his knee, were like to prove speedily fatal. he might dread a more painful way of dying than from wounds. thirst would be his destroyer--of all shapes of death perhaps the most agonising. the thought stimulated him to renewed efforts; and despite the slow progress he was able to make--despite the pain experienced in making it--he toiled on. the black birds hovering above, kept pace with his halting step and laborious crawl. now more than a mile from the point of their first segregation, they were all of them still there--their numbers even augmented by fresh detachments that had become warned of the expected prey. though aware that the quarry still lived and moved, they saw that it was stricken. instinct--perhaps rather experience--told them it must soon succumb. their shadows crossed and recrossed the track upon which he advanced-- filling him with ominous fears for the end. there was no noise: for these birds are silent in their flight--even when excited by the prospect of a repast. the hot sun had stilled the voices of the crickets and tree-toads. even the hideous "horned frog" reclined listless along the earth, sheltering its tuberculated body under the stones. the only sounds to disturb the solitude of the chapparal were those made by the sufferer himself--the swishing of his garments, as they brushed against the hirsute plants that beset the path; and occasionally his cries, sent forth in the faint hope of their being heard. by this time, blood was mingling with the sweat upon his skin. the spines of the cactus, and the clawlike thorns of the agave, had been doing their work; and scarce an inch of the epidermis upon his face, hands, and limbs, that was not rent with a laceration. he was near to the point of despondence--in real truth, he had reached it: for after a spell of shouting he had flung himself prostrate along the earth, despairingly indifferent about proceeding farther. in all likelihood it was the attitude that saved him. lying with his ear close to the surface, he heard a sound--so slight, that it would not have been otherwise discernible. slight as it was, he could distinguish it, as the very sound for which his senses were sharpened. it was the murmur of moving water! with an ejaculation of joy, he sprang to his feet, as if nothing were amiss; and made direct towards the point whence proceeded the sound. he plied his improvised crutch with redoubled energy. even the disabled leg appeared to sustain him. it was strength and the love of life, struggling against decrepitude and the fear of death. the former proved victorious; and, in ten minutes after, he lay stretched along the sward, on the banks of a crystal streamlet-- wondering why the want of water could have caused him such indescribable agony! chapter forty three. the cup and the jar. once more the mustanger's hut! once more his henchman, astride of a stool in the middle of the floor! once more his hound lying astretch upon the skin-covered hearth, with snout half buried in the cinders! the relative positions of the man and the dog are essentially the same-- as when seen on a former occasion--their attitudes almost identical. otherwise there is a change in the picture since last painted--a transformation at once striking and significant. the horse-hide door, standing ajar, still hangs upon its hinges; and the smooth coats of the wild steeds shine lustrously along the walls. the slab table, too, is there, the trestle bedstead, the two stools, and the "shake down" of the servitor. but the other "chattels" wont to be displayed against the skin tapestry are either out of sight, or displaced. the double gun has been removed from its rack; the silver cup, hunting horn, and dog-call, are no longer suspended from their respective pegs; the saddle, bridles, ropes, and serapes are unslung; and the books, ink, pens, and _papeterie_ have entirely disappeared. at first sight it might be supposed that indians have paid a visit to the jacale, and pillaged it of its _penates_. but no. had this been the case, phelim would not be sitting so unconcernedly on the stool, with his carroty scalp still upon his head. though the walls are stripped nothing has been carried away. the articles are still there, only with a change of place; and the presence of several corded packages, lying irregularly over the floor--among which is the leathern portmanteau--proclaims the purpose of the transposition. though a clearing out has not been made, it is evident that one is intended. in the midst of the general displacement, one piece of plenishing was still seen in its accustomed corner--the demijohn. it was seen by phelim, oftener than any other article in the room: for no matter in what direction he might turn his eyes, they were sure to come round again to that wicker-covered vessel that stood so temptingly in the angle. "ach! me jewel, it's there yez are!" said he, apostrophising the demijohn for about the twentieth time, "wid more than two quarts av the crayther inside yer bewtifull belly, and not doin' ye a bit av good, nayther. if the tinth part av it was inside av me, it wud be a moighty binnefit to me intistines. trath wud it that same. wudn't it, tara?" on hearing his name pronounced, the dog raised his head and looked inquiringly around, to see what was wanted of him. perceiving that his human companion was but talking to himself, he resumed his attitude of repose. "faix! i don't want any answer to that, owld boy. it's meself that knows it, widout tillin'. a hape av good a glass of that same potyeen would do me; and i dar'n't touch a dhrap, afther fwhat the masther sid to me about it. afther all that packin', too, till me throat is stickin' to me tongue, as if i had been thryin' to swallow a pitch plaster. sowl! it's a shame av masther maurice to make me promise agaynst touchin' the dhrink--espacially when it's not goin' to be wanted. didn't he say he wudn't stay more than wan night, whin he come back heeur; an shure he won't conshume two quarts in wan night--unless that owld sinner stump comes along wid him. bad luck to his greedy gut! he gets more av the manongahayla than the masther himsilf. "there's wan consolashun, an thank the lord for it, we're goin' back to the owld _sad_, an the owld place at ballyballagh. won't i have a skinful when i get thare--av the raal stuff too, instid of this amerikyan rotgut! hooch--hoop--horoo! the thought av it's enough to sit a man mad wid deloight. hooch--hoop--horoo!" tossing his wide-awake up among the rafters, and catching it as it came down again, the excited galwegian several times repeated his ludicrous shibboleth. then becoming tranquil he sate for awhile in silence--his thoughts dwelling with pleasant anticipation on the joys that awaited him at ballyballagh. they soon reverted to the objects around him--more especially to the demijohn in the corner. on this once more his eyes became fixed in a gaze, in which increasing covetousness was manifestly visible. "arrah, me jewel!" said he, again apostrophising the vessel, "ye're extramely bewtifull to look at--that same ye arr. shure now, yez wudn't till upon me, if i gave yez a thrifle av a kiss? ye wudn't be the thraiter to bethray me? wan smack only. thare can be no harum in that. trath, i don't think the masther 'ud mind it--when he thinks av the throuble i've had wid this packin', an the dhry dust gettin' down me throat. shure he didn't mane me to kape that promise for this time-- which differs intirely from all the rest, by razon av our goin' away. a dhry flittin', they say, makes a short sittin'. i'll tell the masther that, whin he comes back; an shure it 'll pacify him. besoides, there's another ixcuse. he's all av tin hours beyant his time; an i'll say i took a thriflin' dhrap to kape me from thinkin' long for him. shure he won't say a word about it. be sant pathrick! i'll take a smell at the dimmyjan, an trust to good luck for the rist. loy down, tara, i'm not agoin' out." the staghound had risen, seeing the speaker step towards the door. but the dumb creature had misinterpreted the purpose--which was simply to take a survey of the path by which the jacale was approached, and make sure, that, his master was not likely to interrupt him in his intended dealings with the demijohn. becoming satisfied that the coast was clear, he glided back across the floor; uncorked the jar; and, raising it to his lips, swallowed something more than a "thriflin' dhrap av its contints." then putting it back in its place, he returned to his seat on the stool. after remaining quiescent for a considerable time, he once more proceeded to soliloquise--now and then changing his speech to the apostrophic form--tara and the demijohn being the individuals honoured by his discourse. "in the name av all the angels, an the divils to boot, i wondher what's kapin' the masther! he sid he wud be heeur by eight av the clock in the marnin', and it's now good six in the afthernoon, if thare's any truth in a tixas sun. shure thare's somethin' detainin' him? don't yez think so, tara?" this time tara did vouchsafe the affirmative "sniff"--having poked his nose too far into the ashes. "be the powers! then, i hope it's no harum that's befallen him! if there has, owld dog, fwhat 'ud become av you an me? thare might be no ballyballagh for miny a month to come; unliss we cowld pay our passage wid these thraps av the masther's. the drinkin' cup--raal silver it is--wud cover the whole expinse av the voyage. be japers! now that it stroikes me, i niver had a dhrink out av that purty little vessel. i'm shure the liquor must taste swater that way. does it, i wondher--trath, now's just the time to thry." saying this, he took the cup out of the portmanteau, in which he had packed it; and, once more uncorking the demijohn, poured out a portion of its contents--of about the measure of a wineglassful. quaffing it off at a single gulp, he stood smacking his lips--as if to assure himself of the quality of the liquor. "sowl! i don't know that it _does_ taste betther," said he, still holding the cup in one hand, and the jar in the other. "afther all, i think, it's swater out av the dimmyjan itself, that is, as far as i cyan remimber. but it isn't givin' the gawblet fair play. it's so long since i had the jar to me mouth, that i a'most forget how it tasted that way. i cowld till betther if i thryed thim thegither. i'll do that, before i decoide." the demijohn was now raised to his lips; and, after several "glucks" was again taken away. then succeeded a second series of smacking, in true connoisseur fashion, with the head held reflectingly steadfast. "trath! an i'm wrong agane!" said he, accompanying the remark with another doubtful shake of the head. "althegither asthray. it's swater from the silver. or, is it only me imaginayshin that's desavin' me? it's worth while to make shure, an i can only do that by tastin' another thrifle out av the cup. that wud be givin' fair play to both av the vessels; for i've dhrunk twice from the jar, an only wanst from the silver. fair play's a jewil all the world over; and thare's no raison why this bewtiful little mug showldn't be trated as dacently as that big basket av a jar. be japers! but it shall tho'!" the cup was again called into requisition; and once more a portion of the contents of the demijohn were transferred to it--to be poured immediately after down the insatiable throat of the unsatisfied connoisseur. whether he eventually decided in favour of the cup, or whether he retained his preference for the jar, is not known. after the fourth potation, which was also the final one, he appeared to think he had tasted sufficiently for the time, and laid both vessels aside. instead of returning to his stool, however, a new idea came across his mind; which was to go forth from the hut, and see whether there was any sign to indicate the advent of his master. "come, tara!" cried he, striding towards the door. "let us stip up to the bluff beyant, and take a look over the big plain. if masther's comin' at all, he shud be in sight by this. come along, ye owld dog! masther maurice 'll think all the betther av us, for bein' a little unazy about his gettin' back." taking the path through the wooded bottom--with the staghound close at his heels--the galwegian ascended the bluff, by one of its sloping ravines, and stood upon the edge of the upper plateau. from this point he commanded a view of a somewhat sterile plain; that stretched away eastward, more than a mile, from the spot where he was standing. the sun was on his back, low down on the horizon, but shining from a cloudless sky. there was nothing to interrupt his view. here and there, a stray cactus plant, or a solitary stem of the arborescent yucca, raised its hirsute form above the level of the plain. otherwise the surface was smooth; and a coyote could not have crossed it without being seen. beyond, in the far distance, could be traced the darker outline of trees--where a tract of chapparal, or the wooded selvedge of a stream stretched transversely across the _llano_. the galwegian bent his gaze over the ground, in the direction in which he expected his master should appear; and stood silently watching for him. ere long his vigil was rewarded. a horseman was seen coming out from among the trees upon the other side, and heading towards the alamo. he was still more than a mile distant; but, even at that distance, the faithful servant could identify his master. the striped serape of brilliant hues--a true navajo blanket, which maurice was accustomed to take with him when travelling--was not to be mistaken. it gleamed gaudily under the glare of the setting sun--its bands of red, white, and blue, contrasting with the sombre tints of the sterile plain. phelim only wondered, that his master should have it spread over his shoulders on such a sultry evening instead of folded up, and strapped to the cantle of his saddle! "trath, tara! it looks quare, doesn't it? it's hot enough to roast a stake upon these stones; an yit the masther don't seem to think so. i hope he hasn't caught a cowld from stayin' in that close crib at owld duffer's tavern. it wasn't fit for a pig to dwill in. our own shanty's a splindid parlour to it." the speaker was for a time silent, watching the movements of the approaching horseman--by this time about half a mile distant, and still drawing nearer. when his voice was put forth again it was in a tone altogether changed. it was still that of surprise, with an approach towards merriment. but it was mirth that doubted of the ludicrous; and seemed to struggle under restraint. "mother av moses!" cried he. "what can the masther mane? not contint with havin' the blankyet upon his showldhers, be japers, he's got it over his head! "he's playin' us a thrick, tara. he wants to give you an me a surproise. he wants to have a joke agaynst us! "sowl! but it's quare anyhow. it looks as if he _had_ no head. in faix does it! ach! what cyan it mane? be the howly virgin! it's enough to frighten wan, av they didn't know it was the masther! "_is_ it the masther? be the powers, it's too short for him! the head? saint patrick presarve us, whare is it? it cyan't be smothered up in the blankyet? thare's no shape thare! be jaysus, thare's somethin' wrong! what does it mane, tara?" the tone of the speaker had again undergone a change. it was now close bordering upon terror--as was also the expression of his countenance. the look and attitude of the staghound were not very different. he stood a little in advance--half cowering, half inclined to spring forward--with eyes glaring wildly, while fixed upon the approaching horseman--now scarce two hundred yards from the spot! as phelim put the question that terminated his last soliloquy, the hound gave out a lugubrious howl, that seemed intended for an answer. then, as if urged by some canine instinct, he bounded off towards the strange object, which puzzled his human companion, and was equally puzzling him. rushing straight on, he gave utterance to a series of shrill yelps; far different from the soft sonorous baying, with which he was accustomed to welcome the coming home of the mustanger. if phelim was surprised at what he had already seen, he was still further astonished by what now appeared to him. as the dog drew near, still yelping as he ran, the blood-bay--which the ex-groom had long before identified as his master's horse--turned sharply round, and commenced galloping back across the plain! while performing the wheel, phelim saw--or fancied he saw--that, which not only astounded him, but caused the blood to run chill through his veins, and his frame to tremble to the very tips of his toes. it was a head--that of the man on horseback; but, instead of being in its proper place, upon his shoulders, it was held in the rider's hand, just behind the pommel of the saddle! as the horse turned side towards him, phelim saw, or fancied he saw, the face--ghastly and covered with gore--half hidden behind the shaggy hair of the holster! he saw no more. in another instant his back was turned towards the plain; and, in another, he was rushing down the ravine, as fast as his enfeebled limbs would carry him! chapter forty four. a quartette of comanches. with his flame-coloured curls bristling upward--almost raising the hat from his head--the galwegian continued his retreat--pausing not--scarce looking back, till he had re-entered the jacale, closed the skin door behind him, and barricaded it with several large packages that lay near. even then he did not feel secure. what protection could there be in a shut door, barred and bolted besides, against that which was not earthly? and surely what he had seen was not of the earth--not of this world! who on earth had ever witnessed such a spectacle--a man mounted upon horseback, and carrying his head in his hand? who had ever heard of a phenomenon so unnatural? certainly not "phaylim onale." his horror still continuing, he rushed to and fro across the floor of the hut; now dropping down upon the stool, anon rising up, and gliding to the door; but without daring either to open it, or look out through the chinks. at intervals he tore the hair out of his head, striking his clenched hand against his temples, and roughly rubbing his eyes--as if to make sure that he was not asleep, but had really seen the shape that was horrifying him. one thing alone gave him a moiety of comfort; though it was of the slightest. while retreating down the ravine, before his head had sunk below the level of the plain, he had given a glance backward. he had derived some gratification from that glance; as it showed the headless rider afar off on the prairie, and with back turned toward the alamo, going on at a gallop. but for the remembrance of this, the galwegian might have been still more terrified--if that were possible--while striding back and forth upon the floor of the jacale. for a long time he was speechless--not knowing what to say--and only giving utterance to such exclamations as came mechanically to his lips. as the time passed, and he began to feel, not so much a return of confidence, as of the power of ratiocination, his tongue became restored to him; and a continuous fire of questions and exclamations succeeded. they were all addressed to himself. tara was no longer there, to take part in the conversation. they were put, moreover, in a low whispered tone, as if in fear that his voice might be heard outside the jacale. "ochone! ochone! it cyan't av been him! sant pathrick protict me, but fwhat was it thin? "thare was iverything av his--the horse--the sthriped blankyet--them spotted wather guards upon his legs--an the head itself--all except the faytures. thim i saw too, but wasn't shure about eyedintifycashin; for who kud till a face all covered over wid rid blood? "ach! it cudn't be masther maurice at all, at all! "it's all a dhrame. i must have been aslape, an dhramin? or, was it the whisky that did it? "shure, i wasn't dhrunk enough for that. two goes out av the little cup, an two more from the dimmyjan--not over a kupple av naggins in all! that wudn't make me dhrunk. i've taken twice that, widout as much as thrippin in my spache. trath have i. besoides, if i had been the worse for the liquor, why am i not so still? "thare's not half an hour passed since i saw it; an i'm as sober as a judge upon the binch av magistrates. "sowl! a dhrap 'ud do me a power av good just now. if i don't take wan, i'll not get a wink av slape. i'll be shure to kape awake all the night long thinkin' about it. ochone! ochone! what cyan it be anyhow? an' where cyan the masther be, if it wasn't him? howly sant pathrick! look down an watch over a miserable sinner, that's lift all alone be himself, wid nothin' but ghosts an goblins around him!" after this appeal to the catholic saint, the connemara man addressed himself with still more zealous devotion to the worship of a very different divinity, known among the ancients as bacchus. his suit in this quarter proved perfectly successful; for in less than an hour after he had entered upon his genuflexions at the shrine of the pagan god--represented by the demijohn of monongahela whisky--he was shrived of all his sufferings--if not of his sins--and lay stretched along the floor of the jacale, not only oblivious of the spectacle that had so late terrified him to the very centre of his soul, but utterly unconscious of his soul's existence. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ there is no sound within the hut of maurice the mustanger--not even a clock, to tell, by its continuous ticking, that the hours are passing into eternity, and that another midnight is mantling over the earth. there are sounds outside; but only as usual. the rippling of the stream close by, the whispering of the leaves stirred by the night wind, the chirrup of cicadas, the occasional cry of some wild creature, are but the natural voices of the nocturnal forest. midnight has arrived, with a moon that assimilates it to morning. her light illumines the earth; here and there penetrating through the shadowy trees, and flinging broad silvery lists between them. passing through these alternations of light and shadow--apparently avoiding the former, as much as possible--goes a group of mounted men. though few in number--as there are only four of them--they are formidable to look upon. the vermilion glaring redly over their naked skins, the striped and spotted tatooing upon their cheeks, the scarlet feathers standing stiffly upright above their heads, and the gleaming of weapons held in their hands, all bespeak strength of a savage and dangerous kind. whence come they? they are in the war costume of the comanche. their paint proclaims it. there is the skin fillet around the temples, with the eagle plumes stuck behind it. the bare breasts and arms; the buckskin breech-clouts-- everything in the shape of sign by which these ishmaelites of texas may be recognised, when out upon the _maraud_. they must be comanches: and, therefore, have come from the west. whither go they? this is a question more easily answered. they are closing in upon the hut, where lies the unconscious inebriate. the jacale of maurice gerald is evidently the _butt_ of their expedition. that their intentions are hostile, is to be inferred from the fact of their wearing the war costume. it is also apparent from their manner of making approach. still further, by their dismounting at some distance from the hut, securing their horses in the underwood, and continuing their advance on foot. their stealthy tread--taking care to plant the foot lightly upon the fallen leaves--the precaution to keep inside the shadow--the frequent pauses, spent in looking ahead and listening--the silent gestures with which these movements are directed by him who appears to be the leader-- all proclaim design, to reach the jacale unperceived by whoever may chance to be inside it. in this they are successful--so far as may be judged by appearances. they stand by the stockade walls, without any sign being given to show that they have been seen. the silence inside is complete, as that they are themselves observing. there is nothing heard--not so much as the screech of a hearth-cricket. and yet the hut is inhabited. but a man may get drunk beyond the power of speech, snoring, or even audibly breathing; and in this condition is the tenant of the jacale. the four comanches steal up to the door; and in skulking attitudes scrutinise it. it is shut; but there are chinks at the sides. to these the savages set their ears--all at the same time--and stand silently listening. no snoring, no breathing, no noise of any kind! "it is possible," says their chief to the follower nearest him--speaking in a whisper, but in good grammatical castilian, "just possible he has not yet got home; though by the time of his starting he should have reached here long before this. he may have ridden out again? now i remember: there's a horse-shed at the back. if the man be inside the house, the beast should be found in the shed. stay here, _camarados_, till i go round and see." six seconds suffice to examine the substitute for a stable. no horse in it. as many more are spent in scrutinising the path that leads to it. no horse has been there--at least not lately. these points determined, the chief returns to his followers--still standing by the doorway in front. "_maldito_!" he exclaims, giving freer scope to his voice, "he's _not_ here, nor has he been this day." "we had better go inside, and make sure?" suggests one of the common warriors, in spanish fairly pronounced. "there can be no harm in our seeing how the _irlandes_ has housed himself out here?" "certainly not!" answers a third, equally well versed in the language of cervantes. "let's have a look at his larder too. i'm hungry enough to eat raw tasajo." "_por dios_!" adds the fourth and last of the quartette, in the same sonorous tongue. "i've heard that he keeps a cellar. if so--" the chief does not wait for his follower to finish the hypothetical speech. the thought of a cellar appears to produce a powerful effect upon him--stimulating to immediate action. he sets his heel upon the skin door, with the intention of pushing it open. it resists the effort. "_carrambo_! it's barred inside! done to keep out intruders in his absence! lions, tigers, bears, buffaloes--perhaps indians. ha! ha! ha!" another kick is given with greater force. the door still keeps its place. "barricaded with something--something heavy too. it won't yield to kicking. no matter. i'll soon see what's inside." the machete is drawn from its sheath; and a large hole cut through the stretched skin, that covers the light framework of wood. into this the indian thrusts his arm; and groping about, discovers the nature of the obstruction. the packages are soon displaced, and the door thrown open. the savages enter, preceded by a broad moonbeam, that lights them on their way, and enables them to observe the condition of the interior. a man lying in the middle of the floor! "_carajo_!" "is he asleep?" "he must be dead not to have heard us?" "neither," says the chief, after stooping to examine him, "only dead drunk--_boracho--embriaguado_! he's the servitor of the irlandes. i've seen this fellow before. from his manner one may safely conclude, that his master is not at home, nor has been lately. i hope the brute hasn't used up the cellar in getting himself into this comfortable condition. ah! a jar. and smelling like a rose! there's a rattle among these rods. there's stuff inside. thank the lady guadaloupe for this!" a few seconds suffice for distributing what remains of the contents of the demijohn. there is enough to give each of the four a drink, with two to their chief; who, notwithstanding his high rank, has not the superior politeness to protest against this unequal distribution. in a trice the jar is empty. what next? the master of the house must come home, some time or other. an interview with him is desired by the men, who have made a call upon him--particularly desired, as may be told by the unseasonable hour of their visit. the chief is especially anxious to see him. what can four comanche indians want with maurice the mustanger? their talk discloses their intentions: for among themselves they make no secret of their object in being there. _they have come to murder him_! their chief is the instigator; the others are only his instruments and assistants. the business is too important to permit of his trifling. he will gain a thousand dollars by the deed--besides a certain gratification independent of the money motive. his three braves will earn a hundred each--a sum sufficient to tempt the cupidity of a comanche, and purchase him for any purpose. the travesty need not be carried any further. by this time the mask must have fallen off. our comanches are mere mexicans; their chief, miguel diaz, the mustanger. "we must lie in wait for him." this is the counsel of el coyote. "he cannot be much longer now, whatever may have detained him. you, barajo, go up to the bluff, and keep a look-out over the plain. the rest remain here with me. he must come that way from the leona. we can meet him at the bottom of the gorge under the big cypress tree. 'tis the best place for our purpose." "had we not better silence _him_?" hints the bloodthirsty barajo, pointing to the galwegian--fortunately unconscious of what is transpiring around him. "dead men tell no tales!" adds another of the conspirators, repeating the proverb in its original language. "it would tell a worse tale were we to kill him," rejoins diaz. "besides, it's of no use. he's silent enough as it is, the droll devil. let the dog have his day. i've only bargained for the life of his master. come, barajo! _vayate! vayate_! up to the cliff. we can't tell the moment don mauricio may drop in upon us. a miscarriage must not be made. we may never have such a chance again. take your stand at the top of the gorge. from that point you have a view of the whole plain. he cannot come near without your seeing him, in such a moonlight as this. as soon as you've set eyes on him, hasten down and let us know. be sure you give us time to get under the cypress." barajo is proceeding to yield obedience to this chapter of instructions, but with evident reluctance. he has, the night before, been in ill luck, having lost to el coyote a large sum at the game of _monte_. he is desirous of having his _revanche_: for he well knows how his _confreres_ will spend the time in his absence. "quick. senor vicente!" commands diaz, observing his dislike to the duty imposed upon him; "if we fail in this business, you will lose more than you can gain at an _albur_ of monte. go, man!" continues el coyote, in an encouraging way. "if he come not within the hour, some one will relieve you. go!" barajo obeys, and, stepping out of the jacale, proceeds to his post upon the top of the cliff. the others seat themselves inside the hut--having already established a light. men of their class and calling generally go provided with the means of killing time, or, at all events, hindering it from hanging on their hands. the slab table is between them, upon which is soon displayed, not their supper, but a pack of spanish cards, which every mexican _vagabondo_ carries under his serape. _cavallo_ and _soto_ (queen and knave) are laid face upward; a monte table is established; the cards are shuffled; and the play proceeds. absorbed in calculating the chances of the game, an hour passes without note being taken of the time. el coyote is banker, and also croupier. the cries "_cavallo en la puerta_!" "_soto mozo_!" "the queen in the gate!" "the knave winner!"--at intervals announced in set phrase--echo from the skin-covered walls. the silver dollars are raked along the rough table, their sharp chink contrasting with the soft shuffle of the cards. all at once a more stentorous sound interrupts the play, causing a cessation of the game. it is the screech of the inebriate, who, awaking from his trance of intoxication, perceives for the first time the queer company that share with him the shelter of the jacale. the players spring to their feet, and draw their machetes. phelim stands a fair chance of being skewered on three long toledos. he is only saved by a contingency--another interruption that has the effect of staying the intent. barajo appears in the doorway panting for breath. it is scarce necessary for him to announce his errand, though he contrives to gasp out-- "he is _coming_--on the bluff already--at the head of the _canada_-- quick, comrades, quick!" the galwegian is saved. there is scarce time to kill him--even were it worth while. but it is not--at least so think the masqueraders; who leave him to resume his disturbed slumber, and rush forth to accomplish the more profitable assassination. in a score of seconds they are under the cliff, at the bottom of the sloping gorge by which it must be descended. they take stand under the branches of a spreading cypress; and await the approach of their victim. they listen for the hoofstrokes that should announce it. these are soon heard. there is the clinking of a shod hoof--not in regular strokes, but as if a horse was passing over an uneven surface. one is descending the slope! he is not yet visible to the eyes of the ambuscaders. even the gorge is in gloom--like the valley below, shadowed by tall trees. there is but one spot where the moon throws light upon the turf--a narrow space outside the sombre shadow that conceals the assassins. unfortunately this does not lie in the path of their intended victim. he must pass under the canopy of the cypress! "don't kill him!" mutters miguel diaz to his men, speaking in an earnest tone. "there's no need for that just yet. i want to have him alive-- for the matter of an hour or so. i have my reasons. lay hold of him and his horse. there can be no danger, as he will be taken by surprise, and unprepared. if there be resistance, we must shoot him down; but let me fire first." the confederates promise compliance. they have soon an opportunity of proving the sincerity of their promise. he for whom they are waiting has accomplished the descent of the slope, and is passing under the shadow of the cypress. "_abajo las armas! a tierra_!" ("down with your weapons. to the ground!") cries el coyote, rushing forward and seizing the bridle, while the other three fling themselves upon the man who is seated in the saddle. there is no resistance, either by struggle or blow; no blade drawn; no shot discharged: not even a word spoken in protest! they see a man standing upright in the stirrups; they lay their hands upon limbs that feel solid flesh and bone, and yet seem insensible to the touch! the horse alone shows resistance. he rears upon his hind legs, makes ground backward, and draws his captors after him. he carries them into the light, where the moon is shining outside the shadow. merciful heaven! what does it mean? his captors let go their hold, and fall back with a simultaneous shout. it is a scream of wild terror! not another instant do they stay under the cypress; but commence retreating at top speed towards the thicket where their own steeds have been left tied. mounting in mad haste, they ride rapidly away. they have seen that which has already stricken terror into hearts more courageous than theirs--_a horseman without a head_! chapter forty five. a trail gone blind. was it a phantom? surely it could not be human? so questioned el coyote and his terrified companions. so, too, had the scared galwegian interrogated himself, until his mind, clouded by repeated appeals to the demijohn, became temporarily relieved of the terror. in a similar strain had run the thoughts of more than a hundred others, to whom the headless horseman had shown himself--the party of searchers who accompanied the major. it was at an earlier hour, and a point in the prairie five miles farther east, that to these the weird figure had made itself manifest. looking westward, with the sun-glare in their eyes, they had seen only its shape, and nothing more--at least nothing to connect it with maurice the mustanger. viewing it from the west, with the sun at his back, the galwegian had seen enough to make out a resemblance to his master--if not an absolute identification. under the light of the moon the four mexicans, who knew maurice gerald by sight, had arrived at a similar conclusion. if the impression made upon the servant was one of the wildest awe, equally had it stricken the conspirators. the searchers, though less frightened by the strange phenomenon, were none the less puzzled to explain it. up to the instant of its disappearance no explanation had been attempted--save that jocularly conveyed in the bizarre speech of the borderer. "what _do_ you make of it, gentlemen?" said the major, addressing those that had clustered around him: "i confess it mystifies me." "an indian trick?" suggested one. "some decoy to draw us into an ambuscade?" "a most unlikely lure, then;" remarked another; "certainly the last that would attract me." "i don't think it's indian," said the major; "i don't know what to think. what's your opinion of it, spangler?" the tracker shook his head, as if equally uncertain. "do you think it's an indian in disguise?" urged the officer, pressing him for an answer. "i know no more than yourself, major," replied he. "it _should_ be somethin' of that kind: for what else _can_ it be? it must eyther be a man, or a dummy!" "that's it--a dummy!" cried several, evidently relieved by his hypothesis. "whatsomever it is--man, dummy, or devil," said the frontiersman, who had already pronounced upon it, "thar's no reason why we should be frightened from followin' its trail. has it left any, i wonder?" "if it has," replied spangler, "we'll soon see. ours goes the same way--so fur as can be judged from here. shall we move forr'ad, major?" "by all means. we must not be turned from our purpose by a trifle like that. forward!" the horsemen again advanced--some of them not without a show of reluctance. there were among them men, who, if left to themselves, would have taken the back track. of this number was calhoun, who, from the first moment of sighting the strange apparition, had shown signs of affright even beyond the rest of his companions. his eyes had suddenly assumed an unnatural glassiness; his lips were white as ashes; while his drooping jaw laid bare two rows of teeth, which he appeared with difficulty to restrain from chattering! but for the universal confusion, his wild manner might have been observed. so long as the singular form was in sight, there were eyes only for it; and when it had at length disappeared, and the party advanced along the trail, the ex-captain hung back, riding unobserved among the rearmost. the tracker had guessed aright. the spot upon which the ghostly shape had for the moment stood still, lay direct upon the trail they were already taking up. but, as if to prove the apparition a spirit, on reaching the place there were no tracks to be seen! the explanation, however, was altogether natural. where the horse had wheeled round, and for miles beyond, the plain was thickly strewn with white shingle. it was, in trapper parlance, a "chalk prairie." the stones showed displacement; and here and there an abrasion that appeared to have been made by the hoof of a horse. but these marks were scarce discernible, and only to the eyes of the skilled tracker. it was the case with the trail they had been taking up--that of the shod mustang; and as the surface had lately been disturbed by a wild herd, the particular hoof-marks could no longer be distinguished. they might have gone further in the direction taken by the headless rider. the sun would have been their guide, and after that the evening star. but it was the rider of the shod mustang they were desirous to overtake; and the half hour of daylight that followed was spent in fruitless search for his trail--gone blind among the shingle. spangler proclaimed himself at fault, as the sun disappeared over the horizon. they had no alternative but to ride back to the chapparal, and bivouac among the bushes. the intention was to make a fresh trial for the recovery of the trail, at the earliest hour of the morning. it was not fulfilled, at least as regarded time. the trial was postponed by an unexpected circumstance. scarce had they formed camp, when a courier arrived, bringing a despatch for the major. it was from the commanding officer of the district, whose head-quarters were at san antonio do bexar. it had been sent to fort inge, and thence forwarded. the major made known its tenor by ordering "boots and saddles" to be sounded; and before the sweat had become dry upon the horses, the dragoons were once more upon their backs. the despatch had conveyed the intelligence, that the comanches were committing outrage, not upon the leona, but fifty miles farther to the eastward, close to the town of san antonio itself. it was no longer a mere rumour. the maraud had commenced by the murder of men, women, and children, with the firing of their houses. the major was commanded to lose no time, but bring what troops he could spare to the scene of operations. hence his hurried decampment. the civilians might have stayed; but friendship--even parental affection--must yield to the necessities of nature. most of them had set forth without further preparation than the saddling of their horses, and shouldering their guns; and hunger now called them home. there was no intention to abandon the search. that was to be resumed as soon as they could change horses, and establish a better system of commissariat. then would it be continued--as one and all declared, to the "bitter end." a small party was left with spangler to take up the trail of the american horse, which according to the tracker's forecast would lead back to the leona. the rest returned along with the dragoons. before parting with poindexter and his friends, the major made known to them--what he had hitherto kept back--the facts relating to the bloody sign, and the tracker's interpretation of it. as he was no longer to take part in the search, he thought it better to communicate to those who should, a circumstance so important. it pained him to direct suspicion upon the young irishman, with whom in the way of his calling he had held some pleasant intercourse. but duty was paramount; and, notwithstanding his disbelief in the mustanger's guilt, or rather his belief in its improbability, he could not help acknowledging that appearances were against him. with the planter and his party it was no longer a suspicion. now that the question of indians was disposed of, men boldly proclaimed maurice gerald a murderer. that the deed had been done no one thought of doubting. oberdoffer's story had furnished the first chapter of the evidence. henry's horse returning with the blood-stained saddle the last. the intermediate links were readily supplied--partly by the interpretations of the tracker, and partly by conjecture. no one paused to investigate the motive--at least with any degree of closeness. the hostility of gerald was accounted for by his quarrel with calhoun; on the supposition that it might have extended to the whole family of the poindexters! it was very absurd reasoning; but men upon the track of a supposed murderer rarely reason at all. they think only of destroying him. with this thought did they separate; intending to start afresh on the following morning, throw themselves once more upon the trail of the two men who were missing, and follow it up, till one or both should be found--one or both, living or dead. the party left with spangler remained upon the spot which the major had chosen as a camping ground. they were in all less than a dozen. a larger number was deemed unnecessary. comanches, in that quarter, were no longer to be looked for; nor was there any other danger that called for a strength of men. two or three would have been sufficient for the duty required of them. nine or ten stayed--some out of curiosity, others for the sake of companionship. they were chiefly young men--sons of planters and the like. calhoun was among them--the acknowledged chief of the party; though spangler, acting as guide, was tacitly understood to be the man to whom obedience should be given. instead of going to sleep, after the others had ridden away, they gathered around a roaring fire, already kindled within the thicket glade. among them was no stint for supper--either of eatables or drinkables. the many who had gone back--knowing they would not need them--had surrendered their haversacks, and the "heel-taps" of their canteens, to the few who remained. there was liquor enough to last through the night--even if spent in continuous carousing. despite their knowledge of this--despite the cheerful crackling of the logs, as they took their seats around the fire--they were not in high spirits. one and all appeared to be under some influence, that, like a spell, prevented them from enjoying a pleasure perhaps not surpassed upon earth. you may talk of the tranquil joys of the domestic hearth. at times, upon the prairie, i have myself thought of, and longed to return to them. but now, looking back upon both, and calmly comparing them, one with the other, i cannot help exclaiming: "give me the circle of the camp-fire, with half-a-dozen of my hunter comrades around it--once again give me that, and be welcome to the wealth i have accumulated, and the trivial honours i have gained--thrice welcome to the care and the toil that must still be exerted in retaining them." the sombre abstraction of their spirits was easily explained. the weird shape was fresh in their thoughts. they were yet under the influence of an indefinable awe. account for the apparition as they best could, and laugh at it--as they at intervals affected to do--they could not clear their minds of this unaccountable incubus, nor feel satisfied with any explanation that had been offered. the guide spangler partook of the general sentiment, as did their leader calhoun. the latter appeared more affected by it than any of the party! seated, with moody brow, under the shadow of the trees, at some distance from the fire, he had not spoken a word since the departure of the dragoons. nor did he seem disposed to join the circle of those who were basking in the blaze; but kept himself apart, as if not caring to come under the scrutiny of his companions. there was still the same wild look in his eyes--the same scared expression upon his features--that had shown itself before sunset. "i say, cash calhoun!" cried one of the young fellows by the fire, who was beginning to talk "tall," under the influence of the oft-repeated potations--"come up, old fellow, and join us in a drink! we all respect your sorrow; and will do what we can to get satisfaction, for you and yours. but a man mustn't always mope, as you're doing. come along here, and take a `smile' of the monongaheela! it'll do you a power of good, i promise you." whether it was that he was pleased at the interpretation put upon his silent attitude--which the speech told him had been observed--or whether he had become suddenly inclined towards a feeling of good fellowship, calhoun accepted the invitation; and stepping up to the fire, fell into line with the rest of the roysterers. before seating himself, he took a pull at the proffered flask. from that moment his air changed, as if by enchantment. instead of showing sombre, he became eminently hilarious--so much so as to cause surprise to more than one of the party. the behaviour seemed odd for a man, whose cousin was supposed to have been murdered that very morning. though commencing in the character of an invited guest, he soon exhibited himself as the host of the occasion. after the others had emptied their respective flasks, he proved himself possessed of a supply that seemed inexhaustible. canteen after canteen came forth, from his capacious saddle-bags--the legacy left by many departed friends, who had gone back with the major. partaking of these at the invitation of their leader--encouraged by his example--the young planter "bloods" who encircled the camp fire, talked, sang, danced, roared, and even rolled around it, until the alcohol could no longer keep them awake. then, yielding to exhausted nature, they sank back upon the sward, some perhaps to experience the dread slumber of a first intoxication. the ex-officer of volunteers was the last of the number who laid himself along the grass. if the last to lie down, he was the first to get up. scarce had the carousal ceased--scarce had the sonorous breathing of his companions proclaimed them asleep--when he rose into an erect attitude, and with cautious steps stole out from among them. with like stealthy tread he kept on to the confines of the camp--to the spot where his horse stood "hitched" to a tree. releasing the rein from its knot, and throwing it over the neck of the animal, he clambered into the saddle, and rode noiselessly away. in all these actions there was no evidence that he was intoxicated. on the contrary, they proclaimed a clear brain, bent upon some purpose previously determined. what could it be? urged by affection, was he going forth to trace the mystery of the murder, by finding the body of the murdered man? did he wish to show his zeal by going alone? some such design might have been interpreted from a series of speeches that fell carelessly from his lips, as he rode through the chapparal. "thank god, there's a clear moon, and six good hours before those youngsters will think of getting to their feet! i'll have time to search every corner of the thicket, for a couple of miles around the place; and if the body be there i cannot fail to find it. but what could that thing have meant? if i'd been the only one to see it, i might have believed myself mad. but they all saw it--every one of them. almighty heavens! what could it have been?" the closing speech ended in an exclamation of terrified surprise-- elicited by a spectacle that at the moment presented itself to the eyes of the ex-officer--causing him to rein up his horse, as if some dread danger was before him. coming in by a side path, he had arrived on the edge of the opening already described. he was just turning into it, when he saw, that he was not the only horseman, who at that late hour was traversing the chapparal. another, to all appearance as well mounted as himself, was approaching along the avenue--not slowly as he, but in a quick trot. long before the strange rider had come near, the moonlight, shining fall upon him, enabled calhoun to see that he was _headless_! there could be no mistake about the observation. though quickly made, it was complete. the white moon beams, silvering his shoulders, were reflected from no face, above or between them! it could be no illusion of the moon's light. calhoun had seen that same shape under the glare of the sun. he now saw more--the missing head, ghastly and gory, half shrouded behind the hairy holsters! more still--he recognised the horse--the striped serape upon the shoulders of the rider--the water-guards upon his legs--the complete caparison--all the belongings of maurice the mustanger! he had ample time to take in these details. at a stand in the embouchure of the side path, terror held him transfixed to the spot. his horse appeared to share the feeling. trembling in its tracks, the animal made no effort to escape; even when the headless rider pulled up in front, and, with a snorting, rearing steed, remained for a moment confronting the frightened party. it was only after the blood bay had given utterance to a wild "whigher"--responded to by the howl of a hound close following at his heels--and turned into the avenue to continue his interrupted trot--only then that calhoun became sufficiently released from the spell of horror to find speech. "god of heaven!" he cried, in a quivering voice, "what can it mean? is it man, or demon, that mocks me? has the whole day been a dream? or am i mad--mad--mad?" the scarce coherent speech was succeeded by action, instantaneous but determined. whatever the purpose of his exploration, it was evidently abandoned: for, turning his horse with a wrench upon the rein, he rode back by the way he had come--only at a far faster pace,--pausing not till he had re-entered the encampment. then stealing up to the edge of the fire, he lay down among the slumbering inebriates--not to sleep, but to stay trembling in their midst, till daylight disclosed a haggard pallor upon his cheeks, and ghastly glances sent forth from his sunken eyes. chapter forty six. a secret confided. the first dawn of day witnessed an unusual stir in and around the hacienda of casa del corvo. the courtyard was crowded with men--armed, though not in the regular fashion. they carried long hunting rifles, having a calibre of sixty to the pound; double-barrelled shot guns; single-barrelled pistols; revolvers; knives with long blades; and even tomahawks! in their varied attire of red flannel shirts, coats of coloured blanket, and "kentucky jeans," trowsers of brown "homespun," and blue "cottonade," hats of felt and caps of skin, tall boots of tanned leather, and leggings of buck--these stalwart men furnished a faithful picture of an assemblage, such as may be often seen in the frontier settlements of texas. despite the _bizarrerie_ of their appearance, and the fact of their carrying weapons, there was nothing in either to proclaim their object in thus coming together. had it been for the most pacific purpose, they would have been armed and apparelled just the same. but their object is known. a number of the men so met, had been out on the day before, along with the dragoons. others had now joined the assemblage--settlers who lived farther away, and hunters who had been from home. the muster on this morning was greater than on the preceding day--even exceeding the strength of the searching party when supplemented by the soldiers. though all were civilians, there was one portion of the assembled crowd that could boast of an organisation. irregular it may be deemed, notwithstanding the name by which its members were distinguished. these were the "_regulators_." there was nothing distinctive about them, either in their dress, arms, or equipments. a stranger would not have known a regulator from any other individual. they knew one another. their talk was of murder--of the murder of henry poindexter--coupled with the name of maurice the mustanger. another subject was discussed of a somewhat cognate character. those who had seen it, were telling those who had not--of the strange spectacle that had appeared to them the evening before on the prairie. some were at first incredulous, and treated the thing as a joke. but the wholesale testimony--and the serious manner in which it was given-- could not long be resisted; and the existence of the _headless horseman_ became a universal belief. of course there was an attempt to account for the odd phenomenon, and many forms of explanation were suggested. the only one, that seemed to give even the semblance of satisfaction, was that already set forward by the frontiersman--that the horse was real enough, but the rider was a counterfeit. for what purpose such a trick should be contrived, or who should be its contriver, no one pretended to explain. for the business that had brought them togther, there was but little time wasted in preparation. all were prepared already. their horses were outside--some of them held in hand by the servants of the establishment, but most "hitched" to whatever would hold them. they had come warned of their work, and only waited for woodley poindexter--on this occasion their chief--to give the signal for setting forth. he only waited in the hope of procuring a guide; one who could conduct them to the alamo--who could take them to the domicile of maurice the mustanger. there was no such person present. planters, merchants, shopkeepers, lawyers, hunters, horse and slave-dealers, were all alike ignorant of the alamo. there was but one man belonging to the settlement supposed to be capable of performing the required service--old zeb stump. but zeb could not be found. he was absent on one of his stalking expeditions; and the messengers sent to summon him were returning, one after another, to announce a bootless errand. there was a _woman_, in the hacienda itself, who could have guided the searchers upon their track--to the very hearthstone of the supposed assassin. woodley poindexter knew it not; and perhaps well for him it was so. had the proud planter suspected that in the person of his own child, there was a guide who could have conducted kim to the lone hut on the alamo, his sorrow for a lost son would have been stifled by anguish for an erring daughter. the last messenger sent in search of stump came back to the hacienda without him. the thirst for vengeance could be no longer stayed, and the avengers went forth. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ they were scarce out of sight of casa del corvo, when the two individuals, who could have done them such signal service, became engaged in conversation within the walls of the hacienda itself. there was nothing clandestine in the meeting, nothing designed. it was a simple contingency, zeb stump having just come in from his stalking excursion, bringing to the hacienda a portion of the "plunder"--as he was wont to term it--procured by his unerring rifle. of course to zeb stump, louise poindexter was at home. she was even eager for the interview--so eager, as to have kep almost a continual watch along the river road, all the day before, from the rising to the setting of the sun. her vigil, resumed on the departure of the noisy crowd, was soon after rewarded by the sight of the hunter, mounted on his old mare--the latter laden with the spoils of the chase--slowly moving along the road on the opposite side of the river, and manifestly making for the hacienda. a glad sight to her--that rude, but grand shape of colossal manhood. she recognised in it the form of a true friend--to whose keeping she could safely entrust her most secret confidence. and she had now such a secret to confide to him; that for a night and a day had been painfully pent up within her bosom. long before zeb had set foot upon the flagged pavement of the patio, she had gone out into the verandah to receive him. the air of smiling nonchalance with which he approached, proclaimed him still ignorant of the event which had cast its melancholy shadow over the house. there was just perceptible the slightest expression of surprise, at finding the outer gate shut, chained, and barred. it had not been the custom of the hacienda--at least during its present proprietary. the sombre countenance of the black, encountered within the shadow of the saguan, strengthened zeb's surprise--sufficiently to call forth an inquiry. "why, pluto, ole fellur! whatsomdiver air the matter wi' ye? yur lookin' like a 'coon wi' his tail chopped off--clost to the stump at thet! an' why air the big gate shet an barred--in the middle o' breakfist time? i hope thur hain't nuthin' gone astray?" "ho! ho! mass 'tump, dat's jess what dar hab goed stray--dat's preecise de ting, dis chile sorry t' say--berry much goed stray. ho! berry, berry much!" "heigh!" exclaimed the hunter, startled at the lugubrious tone. "thur air sommeat amiss? what is't, nigger? tell me sharp quick. it can't be no wuss than yur face shows it. nothin' happened to yur young mistress, i hope? miss lewaze--" "ho--ho! nuffin' happen to de young missa looey. ho--ho! bad enuf 'thout dat. ho! de young missa inside de house yar, 'tep in, mass' 'tump. she tell you de drefful news herseff." "ain't yur master inside, too? he's at home, ain't he?" "golly, no. dis time no. massa ain't 'bout de house at all nowhar. he wa' hya a'most a quarrer ob an hour ago. he no hya now. he off to de hoss prairas--wha de hab de big hunt 'bout a momf ago. you know, mass' zeb?" "the hoss purayras! what's tuk him thur? who's along wi' him?" "ho! ho! dar's mass cahoon, and gobs o' odder white genlum. ho! ho! dar's a mighty big crowd ob dem, dis nigga tell you." "an' yur young master henry--air he gone too?" "o mass' 'tump! dat's wha am be trubble. dat's de whole ob it. mass' hen' he gone too. he nebber mo' come back. de hoss he been brought home all kibbered over wif blood. ho! ho! de folks say massa henry he gone dead." "dead! yur jokin'? air ye in airnest, nigger?" "oh! i is, mass' 'tump. sorry dis chile am to hab say dat am too troo. dey all gone to sarch atter de body." "hyur! take these things to the kitchen. thur's a gobbler, an some purayra chickens. whar kin i find miss lewaze?" "here, mr stump. come this way!" replied a sweet voice well known to him, but now speaking in accents so sad he would scarce have recognised it. "alas! it is too true what pluto has been telling you. my brother is missing. he has not been seen since the night before last. his horse came home, with spots of blood upon the saddle. o zeb! it's fearful to think of it!" "sure enuf that _air_ ugly news. he rud out somewhar, and the hoss kim back 'ithout him? i don't weesh to gie ye unneedcessary pain, miss lewaze; but, as they air still sarchin' i mout be some help at that ere bizness; and maybe ye won't mind tellin' me the particklers?" these were imparted, as far as known to her. the gardes scene and its antecedents were alone kept back. oberdoffer was given as authority for the belief, that henry had gone off after the mustanger. the narrative was interrupted by bursts of grief, changing to indignation, when she came to tell zeb of the suspicion entertained by the people--that maurice was the murderer. "it air a lie!" cried the hunter, partaking of the same sentiment: "a false, parjured lie! an he air a stinkin' skunk that invented it. the thing's impossible. the mowstanger ain't the man to a dud sech a deed as that. an' why shed he have dud it? if thur hed been an ill-feelin' atween them. but thur wa'n't. i kin answer for the mowstanger--for more'n oncest i've heern him talk o' your brother in the tallest kind o' tarms. in coorse he hated yur cousin cash--an who doesn't, i shed like to know? excuse me for sayin' it. as for the other, it air different. ef thar hed been a quarrel an hot blood atween them--" "no--no!" cried the young creole, forgetting herself in the agony of her grief. "it was all over. henry was reconciled. he said so; and maurice--" the astounded look of the listener brought a period to her speech. covering her face with her hands, she buried her confusion in a flood of tears. "hoh--oh!" muttered zeb; "thur _hev_ been somethin'? d'ye say, miss lewaze, thur war a--a--quarrel atween yur brother--" "dear, dear zeb!" cried she, removing her hands, and confronting the stalwart hunter with an air of earnest entreaty, "promise me, you will keep my secret? promise it, as a friend--as a brave true-hearted man! you will--you will?" the pledge was given by the hunter raising his broad palm, and extending it with a sonorous slap over the region of his heart. in five minutes more he was in possession of a secret which woman rarely confides to man--except to him who can profoundly appreciate the confidence. the hunter showed less surprise than might have been expected; merely muttering to himself:-- "i thort it wild come to somethin' o' the sort--specially arter thet ere chase acrost the purayra." "wal, miss lewaze," he continued, speaking in a tone of kindly approval, "zeb stump don't see anythin' to be ashamed o' in all thet. weemen will be weemen all the world over--on the purayras or off o' them; an ef ye have lost yur young heart to the mowstanger, it wud be the tallest kind o' a mistake to serpose ye hev displaced yur affeckshuns, as they calls it. though he air irish, he aint none o' the common sort; thet he aint. as for the rest ye've been tellin' me, it only sarves to substantify what i've been sayin'--that it air parfickly unpossible for the mowstanger to hev dud the dark deed; that is, ef thur's been one dud at all. let's hope thur's nothin' o' the kind. what proof hez been found? only the hoss comin' home wi' some rid spots on the seddle?" "alas! there is more. the people were all out yesterday. they followed a trail, and saw something, they would not tell me what. father did not appear as if he wished me to know what they had seen; and i--i feared, for reasons, to ask the others. they've gone off again--only a short while--just as you came in sight on the other side." "but the mowstanger? what do it say for hisself?" "oh, i thought you knew. he has not been found either. _mon dieu! mon dieu_! he, too, may have fallen by the same hand that has struck down my brother!" "ye say they war on a trail? his'n i serpose? if he be livin' he oughter be foun' at his shanty on the crik. why didn't they go thar? ah! now i think o't, thur's nobody knows the adzack sittavashun o' that ere domycile 'ceptin' myself i reckon: an if it war that greenhorn spangler as war guidin' o' them he'd niver be able to lift a trail acrost the chalk purayra. hev they gone that way agin?" "they have. i heard some of them say so." "wal, if they're gone in sarch o' the mowstanger i reck'n i mout as well go too. i'll gie tall odds i find him afore they do." "it is for that i've been so anxious to see you. there am many rough men along with papa. as they went away i heard them use wild words. there were some of those called `regulators.' they talked of lynching and the like. some of them swore terrible oaths of vengeance. o my god! if they should find _him_, and he cannot make clear his innocence, in the height of their angry passions--cousin cassius among the number-- you understand what i mean--who knows what may be done to him? dear zeb, for my sake--for his, whom you call friend--go--go! reach the alamo before them, and warn him of the danger! your horse is slow. take mine--any one you can find in the stable--" "thur's some truth in what ye say," interrupted the hunter, preparing to move off. "thur mout be a smell o' danger for the young fellur; an i'll do what i kin to avart it. don't be uneezay, miss lewaze. thur's not sech a partickler hurry. thet ere shanty ain't agoin' ter be foun' 'ithout a spell o' sarchin'. as to ridin' yur spotty i'll manage better on my ole maar. beside, the critter air reddy now if plute hain't tuk off the saddle. don't be greetin' yur eyes out--thet's a good chile! maybe it'll be all right yit 'bout yur brother; and as to the mowstanger, i hain't no more surspishun o' his innersense than a unborn babby." the interview ended by zeb making obeisance in backwoodsman style, and striding out of the verandah; while the young creole glided off to her chamber, to soothe her troubled spirit in supplications for his success. chapter forty seven. an intercepted epistle. urged by the most abject fear, had el coyote and his three comrades rushed back to their horses, and scrambled confusedly into the saddle. they had no idea of returning to the jacale of maurice gerald. on the contrary, their only thought was to put space between themselves and that solitary dwelling--whose owner they had encountered riding towards it in such strange guise. that it was "don mauricio" not one of them doubted. all four knew him by sight--diaz better than any--but all well enough to be sure it was the _irlandes_. there was his horse, known to them; his _armas de agua_ of jaguar-skin; his _navajo_ blanket, in shape differing from the ordinary serape of saltillo;--and his _head_! they had not stayed to scrutinise the features; but the hat was still in its place--the sombrero of black glaze which maurice was accustomed to wear. it had glanced in their eyes, as it came under the light of the moon. besides, they had seen the great dog, which diaz remembered to be his. the staghound had sprung forward in the midst of the struggle, and with a fierce growl attacked the assailant--though it had not needed this to accelerate their retreat. fast as their horses could carry them, they rode through the bottom timber; and, ascending the bluff by one of its ravines--not that where they had meant to commit murder--they reached the level of the upper plateau. nor did they halt there for a single second; but, galloping across the plain, re-entered the chapparal, and spurred on to the place where they had so skilfully transformed themselves into comanches. the reverse metamorphosis, if not so carefully, was more quickly accomplished. in haste they washed the war-paint from their skins-- availing themselves of some water carried in their canteens;--in haste they dragged their civilised habiliments from the hollow tree, in which they had hidden them; and, putting them on in like haste, they once more mounted their horses, and rode towards the leona. on their homeward way they conversed only of the headless horseman: but, with their thoughts under the influence of a supernatural terror, they could not satisfactorily account for an appearance so unprecedented; and they were still undecided as they parted company on the outskirts of the village--each going to his own jacale. "_carrai_!" exclaimed the coyote, as he stepped across the threshold of his, and dropped down upon his cane couch. "not much chance of sleeping after that. _santos dios_! such a sight! it has chilled the blood to the very bottom of my veins. and nothing here to warm me. the canteen empty; the posada shut up; everybody in bed! "_madre de dios_! what can it have been? ghost it could not be; flesh and bones i grasped myself; so did vicente on the other side? i felt that, or something very like it, under the tiger-skin. _santissima_! it could not be a cheat! "if a contrivance, why and to what end? who cares to play carnival on the prairies--except myself, and my camarados? _mil demonios_! what a grim masquerader! "_carajo_! am i forestalled? has some other had the offer, and earned the thousand dollars? was it the irlandes himself, dead, decapitated, carrying his head in his hand? "bah! it could not be--ridiculous, unlikely, altogether improbable! "but what then? "ha! i have it! a hundred to one i have it! he may have got warning of our visit, or, at least, had suspicions of it. 'twas a trick got up to try us!--perhaps himself in sight, a witness of our disgraceful flight? _maldito_! "but who could have betrayed us? no one. of course no one could tell of _that_ intent. how then should he have prepared such an infernal surprise? "ah! i forget. it was broad daylight as we made the crossing of the long prairie. we may have been seen, and our purpose suspected? just so--just so. and then, while we were making our toilet in the chapparal, the other could have been contrived and effected. that, and that only, can be the explanation! "fools! to have been frightened at a scarecrow! "_carrambo_! it shan't long delay the event. to-morrow i go back to the alamo. i'll touch that thousand yet, if i should have to spend twelve months in earning it; and, whether or not, the _deed_ shall be done all the same. enough to have lost isidora. it may not be true; but the very suspicion of it puts me beside myself. if i but find out that she loves him--that they have met since--since--mother of god! i shall go mad; and in my madness destroy not only the man i hate, but the woman i love! o dona isidora covarubio de los llanos! angel of beauty, and demon of mischief! i could kill you with my caresses--i can kill you with my steel! one or other shall be your fate. it is for you to choose between them!" his spirit becoming a little tranquillised, partly through being relieved by this conditional threat--and partly from the explanation he had been able to arrive at concerning the other thought that had been troubling it--he soon after fell asleep. nor did he awake until daylight looked in at his door, and along with it a visitor. "jose!" he cried out in a tone of surprise in which pleasure was perceptible--"you here?" "_si, senor; yo estoy_." "glad to see you, good jose. the dona isidora here?--on the leona, i mean?" "_si, senor_." "so soon again! she was here scarce two weeks ago, was she not? i was away from the settlement, but had word of it. i was expecting to hear from you, good jose. why did you not write?" "only, senor don miguel, for want of a messenger that could be relied upon. i had something to communicate, that could not with safety be entrusted to a stranger. something, i am sorry to say, you won't thank me for telling you; but my life is yours, and i promised you should know all." the "prairie wolf" sprang to his feet, as if pricked with a sharp-pointed thorn. "of her, and him? i know it by your looks. your mistress has met him?" "no, senor, she hasn't--not that i know of--not since the first time." "what, then?" inquired diaz, evidently a little relieved, "she was here while he was at the posada. something passed between them?" "true, don miguel--something did pass, as i well know, being myself the bearer of it. three times i carried him a basket of _dulces_, sent by the dona isidora--the last time also a letter." "a letter! you know the contents? you read it?" "thanks to your kindness to the poor _peon_ boy, i was able to do that; more still--to make a copy of it." "you have one?" "i have. you see, don miguel, you did not have me sent to school for nothing. this is what the dona isidora wrote to him." diaz reached out eagerly, and, taking hold of the piece of paper, proceeded to devour its contents. it was a copy of the note that had been sent among the sweetmeats. instead of further exciting, it seemed rather to tranquillise him. "_carrambo_!" he carelessly exclaimed, as he folded up the epistle. "there's not much in this, good jose. it only proves that your mistress is grateful to one who has done her a service. if that's all--" "but it is not all, senor don miguel; and that's why i've come to see you now. i'm on an errand to the _pueblita_. this will explain it." "ha! another letter?" "_si, senor_! this time the original itself, and not a poor copy scribbled by me." with a shaking hand diaz took hold of the paper, spread it out, and read:-- al senor don mauricio gerald. _querido amigo_! _otra vez aqui estoy--con tio silvio quedando! sin novedades de v. no puedo mas tiempo existir. la incertitud me malaba. digame que es v. convalescente! ojala, que estuviera asi! suspiro en vuestros ojos mirar, estos ojos tan lindos y tan espresivos--a ver, si es restablecido vuestra salud. sea graciosa darme este favor. hay--opportunidad. en una cortita media de hora, estuviera quedando en la cima de loma, sobre la cosa del tio. ven, cavallero, ven_! isidora covarubio de los llanos. with a curse el coyote concluded the reading of the letter. its sense could scarce be mistaken. literally translated it read thus:-- "dear friend,--i am once more here, staying with uncle silvio. without hearing of you i could not longer exist. the uncertainty was killing me. tell me if you are convalescent. oh! that it may be so. i long to look into your eyes--those eyes so beautiful, so expressive--to make sure that your health is perfectly restored. be good enough to grant me this favour. there is an opportunity. in a short half hour from this time, i shall be on the top of the hill, above my uncle's house. come, sir, come! "isidora covarubio de los llanos." "_carajo_! an assignation!" half shrieked the indignant diaz. "that and nothing else! she, too, the proposer. ha! her invitation shall be answered; though not by him for whom it is so cunningly intended. kept to the hour--to the very minute; and by the divinity of vengeance-- "here, jose! this note's of no use. the man to whom it is addressed isn't any longer in the pueblita, nor anywhere about here. god knows where he is! there's some mystery about it. no matter. you go on to the posada, and make your inquiries all the same. you must do that to fulfil your errand. never mind the _papelcito_; leave it with me. you can have it to take to your mistress, as you come back this way. here's a dollar to get you a drink at the inn. senor doffer keeps the best kind of aguardiente. _hasta luejo_!" without staying to question the motive for these directions given to him, jose, after accepting the _douceur_, yielded tacit obedience to them, and took his departure from the jacale. he was scarce out of sight before diaz also stepped over its threshold. hastily setting the saddle upon his horse, he sprang into it, and rode off in the opposite direction. chapter forty eight. isidora. the sun has just risen clear above the prairie horizon, his round disc still resting upon the sward, like a buckler of burnished gold. his rays are struggling into the chapparal, that here and there diversifies the savanna. the dew-beads yet cling upon the acacias, weighting their feathery fronds, and causing them to droop earthward, as if grieving at the departure of the night, whose cool breeze and moist atmosphere are more congenial to them than the fiery sirocco of day. though the birds are stirring--for what bird could sleep under the shine of such glorious sunrise?--it is almost too early to expect human being abroad--elsewhere than upon the prairies of texas. there, however, the hour of the sun's rising is the most enjoyable of the day; and few there are who spend it upon the unconscious couch, or in the solitude of the chamber. by the banks of the leona, some three miles below fort inge, there is one who has forsaken both, to stray through the chapparal. this early wanderer is not afoot, but astride a strong, spirited horse, that seems impatient at being checked in his paces. by this description, you may suppose the rider to be a man; but, remembering that the scene is in southern texas still sparsely inhabited by a spano-mexican population-- you are equally at liberty to conjecture that the equestrian is a woman. and this, too, despite the round hat upon the head--despite the serape upon the shoulders, worn as a protection against the chill morning air-- despite the style of equitation, so _outre_ to european ideas, since the days of la duchesse de berri; and still further, despite the crayon-like colouring on the upper lip, displayed in the shape of a pair of silken moustaches. more especially may this last mislead; and you may fancy yourself looking upon some spanish youth, whose dark but delicate features bespeak the _hijo de algo_, with a descent traceable to the times of the cid. if acquainted with the character of the spano-mexican physiognomy, this last sign of virility does not decide you as to the sex. it may be that the rider in the texan chapparal, so distinguished, is, after all, a woman! on closer scrutiny, this proves to be the case. it is proved by the small hand clasping the bridle-rein; by the little foot, whose tiny toes just touch the "estribo"--looking less in contrast with the huge wooden block that serves as a stirrup; by a certain softness of shape, and pleasing rotundity of outline, perceptible even through the thick serape of saltillo; and lastly, by the grand luxuriance of hair coiled up at the back of the head, and standing out in shining clump beyond the rim of the sombrero. after noting these points, you become convinced that you are looking upon a woman, though it may be one distinguished by certain idiosyncrasies. you are looking upon the dona isidora covarubio de los llanos. you are struck by the strangeness of her costume--still more by the way she sits her horse. in your eyes, unaccustomed to mexican modes, both may appear odd--unfeminine--perhaps indecorous. the dona isidora has no thought--not even a suspicion--of there being anything odd in either. why should she? she is but following the fashion of her country and her kindred. in neither respect is she peculiar. she is young, but yet a woman. she has seen twenty summers, and perhaps one more. passed under the sun of a southern sky, it is needless to say that her girlhood is long since gone by. in her beauty there is no sign of decadence. she is fair to look upon, as in her "buen quince" (beautiful fifteen), perhaps fairer. do not suppose that the dark lining on her lip damages the feminine expression of her face. rather does it add to its attractiveness. accustomed to the glowing complexion of the saxon blonde, you may at first sight deem it a deformity. do not so pronounce, till you have looked again. a second glance, and--my word for it--you will modify your opinion. a third will do away with your indifference; a fourth change it to admiration! continue the scrutiny, and it will end in your becoming convinced: that a woman wearing a moustache--young, beautiful, and brunette--is one of the grandest sights which a beneficent nature offers to the eye of man. it is presented in the person of isidora covarubio de los llanos. if there is anything unfeminine in her face, it is not this; though it may strengthen a wild, almost fierce, expression, at times discernible, when her white teeth gleam conspicuously under the sable shadow of the "bigotite." even then is she beautiful; but, like that of the female jaguar, 'tis a beauty that inspires fear rather than affection. at all times it is a countenance that bespeaks for its owner the possession of mental attributes not ordinarily bestowed upon her sex. firmness, determination, courage--carried to the extreme of reckless daring--are all legible in its lines. in those cunningly-carved features, slight, sweet, and delicate, there is no sign of fainting or fear. the crimson that has struggled through the brown skin of her cheeks would scarce forsake them in the teeth of the deadliest danger. she is riding alone, through the timbered bottom of the leona. there is a house not far off; but she is leaving it behind her. it is the hacienda of her uncle, don silvio martinez, from the portals of which she has late issued forth. she sits in her saddle as firmly as the skin that covers it. it is a spirited horse, and has the habit of showing it by his prancing paces. but you have no fear for the rider: you are satisfied of her power to control him. a light lazo, suited to her strength, is suspended from the saddle-bow. its careful coiling shows that it is never neglected. this almost assures you, that she understands how to use it. she does--can throw it, with the skill of a mustanger. the accomplishment is one of her conceits; a part of the idiosyncrasy already acknowledged. she is riding along a road--not the public one that follows the direction of the river. it is a private way leading from the hacienda of her uncle, running into the former near the summit of a hill--the hill itself being only the bluff that abuts upon the bottom lands of the leona. she ascends the sloping path--steep enough to try the breathing of her steed. she reaches the crest of the ridge, along which trends the road belonging to everybody. she reins up; though not to give her horse an opportunity of resting. she has halted, because of having reached the point where her excursion is to terminate. there is an opening on one side of the road, of circular shape, and having a superficies of some two or three acres. it is grass-covered and treeless--a prairie in _petto_. it is surrounded by the chapparal forest--very different from the bottom timber out of which she has just emerged. on all sides is the enclosing thicket of spinous plants, broken only by the embouchures of three paths, their triple openings scarce perceptible from the middle of the glade. near its centre she has pulled up, patting her horse upon the neck to keep him quiet. it is not much needed. the scaling of the "cuesta" has done that for him. he has no inclination either to go on, or tramp impatiently in his place. "i am before the hour of appointment," mutters she, drawing a gold watch from under her serape, "if, indeed, i should expect him at all. he may not come? god grant that he be able! "i am trembling! or is it the breathing of the horse? _valga me dios_, no! 'tis my own poor nerves! "i never felt so before! is it fear? i suppose it is. "'tis strange though--to fear the man i love--the only one i over have loved: for it could not have been love i had for don miguel. a girl's fancy. fortunate for me to have got cured of it! fortunate my discovering him to be a coward. that disenchanted me--quite dispelled the romantic dream in which he was the foremost figure. thank my good stars, for the disenchantment; for now i hate him, now that i hear he has grown--_santissima_! can it be true that he has become--a--a _salteador_? "and yet i should have no fear of meeting him--not even in this lone spot! "_ay de mi_! fearing the man i love, whom i believe to be of kind, noble nature--and having no dread of him i hate, and know to be cruel and remorseless! 'tis strange--incomprehensible! "no--there is nothing strange in it. i tremble not from any thought of danger--only the danger of not being beloved. that is why i now shiver in my saddle--why i have not had one night of tranquil sleep since my deliverance from those drunken savages. "i have never told _him_ of this; nor do i know how he may receive the confession. it must, and shall be made. i can endure the uncertainty no longer. in preference i choose despair--death, if my hopes deceive me! "ha! there is a hoof stroke! a horse comes down the road! it is his? yes. i see glancing through the trees the bright hues of our national costume. he delights to wear it. no wonder; it so becomes him! "_santa virgin_! i'm under a serape, with a sombrero on my head. he'll mistake me for a man! off, ye ugly disguises, and let me seem what i am--a woman." scarce quicker could be the transformation in a pantomime. the casting off the serape reveals a form that hebe might have envied; the removal of the hat, a head that would have inspired the chisel of canova! a splendid picture is exhibited in that solitary glade; worthy of being framed, by its bordering of spinous trees, whose hirsute arms seem stretched out to protect it. a horse of symmetrical shape, half backed upon his haunches, with nostrils spread to the sky, and tail sweeping the ground; on his back one whose aspect and attitude suggest a commingling of grand, though somewhat incongruous ideas, uniting to form a picture, statuesque as beautiful. the _pose_ of the rider is perfect. half sitting in the saddle, half standing upon the stirrup, every undulation of her form is displayed-- the limbs just enough relaxed to show that she is a woman. notwithstanding what she has said, on her face there is no fear--at least no sign to betray it. there is no quivering lip--no blanching of the cheeks. the expression is altogether different. it is a look of love--couched under a proud confidence, such as that with which the she-eagle awaits the wooing of her mate. you may deem the picture overdrawn--perhaps pronounce it unfeminine. and yet it is a copy from real life--true as i can remember it; and more than once had i the opportunity to fix it in my memory. the attitude is altered, and with the suddenness of a _coup d'eclair_; the change being caused by recognition of the horseman who comes galloping into the glade. the shine of the gold-laced vestments had misled her. they are worn not by maurice gerald, but by miguel diaz! bright looks become black. from her firm seat in the saddle she subsides into an attitude of listlessness--despairing rather than indifferent; and the sound that escapes her lips, as for an instant they part over her pearl-like teeth, is less a sigh than an exclamation of chagrin. there is no sign of fear in the altered attitude--only disappointment, dashed with defiance. el coyote speaks first. "_h'la! s'norita_, who'd have expected to find your ladyship in this lonely place--wasting your sweetness on the thorny chapparal?" "in what way can it concern you, don miguel diaz?" "absurd question, s'norita! you know it can, and does; and the reason why. you well know how madly i love you. fool was i to confess it, and acknowledge myself your slave. 'twas that that cooled you so quickly." "you are mistaken, senor. i never told you i loved you. if i did admire your feats of horsemanship, and said so, you had no right to construe it as you've done. i meant no more than that i admired _them_--not you. 'tis three years ago. i was a girl then, of an age when such things have a fascination for our sex--when we are foolish enough to be caught by personal accomplishments rather than moral attributes. i am now a woman. all that is changed, as--it ought to be." "_carrai_! why did you fill me with false hopes? on the day of the _herradero_, when i conquered the fiercest bull and tamed the wildest horse in your father's herds--a horse not one of his _vaqueros_ dared so much as lay hands upon--on that day you smiled--ay, looked love upon me. you need not deny it, dona isidora! i had experience, and could read the expression--could tell your thoughts, as they were then. they are changed, and why? because i was conquered by your charms, or rather because i was the silly fool to acknowledge it; and you, like all women, once you had won and knew it, no longer cared for your conquest. it is true, s'norita; it is true." "it is not, don miguel diaz. i never gave you word or sign to say that i loved, or thought of you otherwise than as an accomplished cavalier. you appeared so then--perhaps were so. what are you now? you know what's said of you, both here and on the rio grande!" "i scorn to reply to calumny--whether it proceeds from false friends or lying enemies. i have come here to seek explanations, not to give them." "prom whom?" "prom your sweet self, dona isidora." "you are presumptive, don miguel diaz! think, senor, to whom you are addressing yourself. remember, i am the daughter of--" "one of the proudest _haciendados_ in tamaulipas, and niece to one of the proudest in texas. i have thought of all that; and thought too that i was once a haciendado myself and am now only a hunter of horses. _carrambo_! what of that? you're not the woman to despise a man for the inferiority of his rank. a poor mustanger stands as good a chance in your eyes as the owner of a hundred herds. in that respect, _i have proof of your generous spirit_!" "what proof?" asked she, in a quick, entreating tone, and for the first time showing signs of uneasiness. "what evidence of the generosity you are so good as to ascribe to me?" "this pretty epistle i hold in my hand, indited by the dona isidora covarubio de los llanos, to one who, like myself, is but a dealer in horseflesh. i need not submit it to very close inspection. no doubt you can identify it at some distance?" she could, and did; as was evinced by her starting in the saddle--by her look of angry surprise directed upon diaz. "senor! how came you in possession of this?" she asked, without any attempt to disguise her indignation. "it matters not. i am in possession of it, and of what for many a day i have been seeking; a proof, not that you had ceased to care for me--for this i had good reason to know--but that you had begun to care for him. this tells that you love him--words could not speak plainer. you long to look into his beautiful eyes. _mil demonios_! you shall never see them again!" "what means this, don miguel diaz?" the question was put not without a slight quivering of the voice that seemed to betray fear. no wonder it should. there was something in the aspect of el coyote at that moment well calculated to inspire the sentiment. observing it, he responded, "you may well show fear: you have reason. if i have lost you, my lady, no other shall enjoy you. i have made up my mind about that." "about what?" "what i have said--that no other shall call you his, and least of all maurice the mustanger." "indeed!" "ay, indeed! give me a promise that you and he shall never meet again, or you depart not from this place!" "you are jesting, don miguel?" "i am in earnest, dona isidora." the manner of the man too truly betrayed the sincerity of his speech. coward as he was, there was a cold cruel determination in his looks, whilst his hand was seen straying towards the hilt of his machete. despite her amazonian courage, the woman could not help a feeling of uneasiness. she saw there was a danger, with but slight chance of averting it. something of this she had felt from the first moment of the encounter; but she had been sustained by the hope, that the unpleasant interview might be interrupted by one who would soon change its character. during the early part of the dialogue she had been eagerly listening for the sound of a horse's hoof--casting occasional and furtive glances through the chapparal, in the direction where she hoped to hear it. this hope was no more. the sight of her own letter told its tale: it had not reached its destination. deprived of this hope--hitherto sustaining her--she next thought of retreating from the spot. but this too presented both difficulties and dangers. it was possible for her to wheel round and gallop off; but it was equally possible for her retreat to be intercepted by a bullet. the butt of el coyote's pistol was as near to his hand as the hilt of his machete. she was fully aware of the danger. almost any other woman would have given way to it. not so isidora covarubio de los llanos. she did not even show signs of being affected by it. "nonsense!" she exclaimed, answering his protestation with an air of well dissembled incredulity. "you are making sport of me, senor. you wish to frighten me. ha! ha! ha! why should i fear _you_? i can ride as well--fling my lazo as sure and far as you, look at this i see how skilfully i can handle it!" while so speaking--smiling as she spoke--she had lifted the lazo from her saddle-bow and was winding it round her head, as if to illustrate her observations. the act had a very different intent, though it was not perceived by diaz; who, puzzled by her behaviour, sate speechless in his saddle. not till he felt the noose closing around his elbows did he suspect her design; and then too late to hinder its execution. in another instant his arms were pinioned to his sides--both the butt of his pistol and the hilt of his machete beyond the grasp of his fingers! he had not even time to attempt releasing himself from the loop. before he could lay hand upon the rope, it tightened around his body, and with a violent pluck jerked him out of his saddle--throwing him stunned and senseless to the ground. "now, don miguel diaz!" cried she who had caused this change of situation, and who was now seen upon her horse, with head turned homeward, the lazo strained taut from the saddle-tree. "menace me no more! make no attempt to release yourself. stir but a finger, and i spur on! cruel villain! coward as you are, you would have killed me--i saw it in your eye. ha! the tables are turned, and now--" perceiving that there was no rejoinder, she interrupted her speech, still keeping the lazo at a stretch, with her eyes fixed upon the fallen man. el coyote lay upon the ground, his arms enlaced in the loop, without stirring, and silent as a stick of wood. the fall from his horse had deprived him of speech, and consciousness at the same time. to all appearance he was dead--his steed alone showing life by its loud neighing, as it reared back among the bushes. "holy virgin! have i killed him?" she exclaimed, reining her horse slightly backward, though still keeping him headed away, and ready to spring to the spur. "mother of god! i did not intend it--though i should be justified in doing even that: for too surely did he intend to kill _me_! is he dead, or is it a _ruse_ to get me near? by our good guadaloupe! i shall leave others to decide. there's not much fear of his overtaking me, before i can reach home; and if he's in any danger the people of the hacienda will get back soon enough to release him. good day, don miguel diaz! _hasta luego_!" with these words upon her lips--the levity of which proclaimed her conscience clear of having committed a crime she drew a small sharp-bladed knife from beneath the bodice of her dress; severed the rope short off from her saddle-bow; and, driving the spur deep into the flanks of her horse, galloped off out of the glade--leaving diaz upon the ground, still encircled by the loop of the lazo! chapter forty nine. the lazo unloosed. an eagle, scared from its perch on a scathed cottonwood, with a scream, soars upward into the air. startled by the outbreak of angry passions, it has risen to reconnoitre. a single sweep of its majestic wing brings it above the glade. there, poised on tremulous pinions, with eye turned to earth, it scans both the open space and the chapparal that surrounds it. in the former it beholds that which may, perhaps, be gratifying to its glance--a man thrown from his horse, that runs neighing around him--prostrate-- apparently dead. in the latter two singular equestrians: one a woman, with bare head and chevelure spread to the breeze, astride a strong steed, going away from the glade in quick earnest gallop; the other, also a woman, mounted on a spotted horse, in more feminine fashion, riding towards it: attired in hat and habit, advancing at a slower pace, but with equal earnestness in her looks. such is the _coup d'oeil_ presented to the eye of the eagle. of these fair equestrians both are already known. she galloping away is isidora covarubio de los llanos; she who approaches, louise poindexter. it is known why the first has gone out of the glade. it remains to be told for what purpose the second is coming into it. after her interview with zeb stump, the young creole re-entered her chamber, and kneeling before an image of the madonna, surrendered her spirit to prayer. it is needless to say that, as a creole, she was a catholic, and therefore a firm believer in the efficacy of saintly intercession. strange and sad was the theme of her supplication--the man who had been marked as the murderer of her brother! she had not the slightest idea that he was guilty of the horrid crime. it could not be. the very suspicion of it would have lacerated her heart. her prayer was not for pardon, but protection. she supplicated the virgin to save him from his enemies--her own friends! tears and choking sobs were mingled with her words, low murmured in the ear of heaven. she had loved her brother with the fondest sisterly affection. she sorrowed sorely; but her sorrow could not stifle that other affection, stronger than the ties of blood. while mourning her brother's loss she prayed for her lover's safety. as she rose from her knees, her eye fell upon the bow--that implement so cunningly employed to despatch sweet messages to the man she loved. "oh! that i could send one of its arrows to warn him of his danger! i may never use it again!" the reflection was followed by a thought of cognate character. might there not remain some trace of that clandestine correspondence in the place where it had been carried on? she remembered that maurice swam the stream, instead of recrossing in the skiff, to be drawn back again by her own lazo. he must have been left in the boat! on the day before, in the confusion of her grief, she had not thought of this. it might become evidence of their midnight meeting; of which, as she supposed, no tongue but theirs--and that for ever silent--could tell the tale. the sun was now fairly up, and gleaming garishly through the glass. she threw open the casement and stepped out, with the design of proceeding towards the skiff. in the _balcon_ her steps were arrested, on hearing voices above. two persons were conversing. they were her maid florinde, and the sable groom, who, in the absence of his master, was taking the air of the _azotea_. their words could be heard below, though their young mistress did not intentionally listen to them. it was only on their pronouncing a name, that she permitted their patois to make an impression upon her ear. "dey calls de young fella jerrad. mors jerrad am de name. dey do say he irish, but if folks 'peak de troof, he an't bit like dem irish dat works on de lebee at new orlean. ho, ho! he more like bos gen'lum planter. dat's what he like." "you don't tink, pluto, he been gone kill massa henry?" "i doan't tink nuffin ob de kind. ho, ho! he kill massa henry! no more dan dis chile hab done dat same. goramity--goramity! 'peak ob de debbil and he dar--de berry individible we talkin' 'bout. ho, ho! look florinde; look yonner!" "whar?" "dar--out dar, on todder side ob de ribber. you see man on horseback. dat's mors jerrad, de berry man we meet on de brack praira. de same dat gub missa loode 'potted hoss; de same dey've all gone to sarch for. ho, ho! dey gone dey wrong way. dey no find him out on dem prairas dis day." "o, pluto! an't you glad? i'm sure he innocent--dat brave bewful young gen'lum. he nebba could been de man--" the listener below stayed to hear no more. gliding back into her chamber she made her way towards the _azotea_. the beating of her heart was almost as loud as the fall of her footsteps while ascending the _escalera_. it was with difficulty she could conceal her emotion from the two individuals whose conversation had caused it. "what have you seen, that you talk so loudly?" said she, trying to hide her agitation under a pretended air of severity, "ho, ho! missa looey--look ober dar. de young fella!" "what young fellow?" "him as dey be gone sarch for--him dat--" "i see no one." "ho, ho! he jess gone in 'mong de tree. see yonner--yonner! you see de black glaze hat, de shinin' jacket ob velvet, an de glancin' silver buttons--dat's him. i sartin sure dat's de same young fella." "you may be mistaken for all that, master pluto. there are many here who dress in that fashion. the distance is too great for you to distinguish; and now that he's almost out of sight--never mind, florinde. hasten below--get out my hat and habit. i'm going out for a ride. you, pluto! have the saddle on luna in the shortest time. i must not let the sun get too high. haste! haste!" as the servants disappeared down the stairway, she turned once more towards the parapet, her bosom heaving under the revulsion of thoughts. unobserved she could now freely scan the prairie and chapparal. she was too late. the horseman had ridden entirely out of sight. "it was very like him, and yet it was not. it can scarce be possible. if it be he, why should he be going that way?" a new pang passed through her bosom. she remembered once before having asked herself the same question. she no longer stayed upon the _azotea_ to watch the road. in ten minutes' time she was across the river, entering the chapparal where the horseman had disappeared. she rode rapidly on, scanning the causeway far in the advance. suddenly she reined up, on nearing the crest of the hill that overlooked the leona. the act was consequent on the hearing of voices. she listened. though still distant, and but faintly heard, the voices could be distinguished as those of a man and woman. what man? what woman? another pang passed through her heart at these put questions. she rode nearer; again halted; again listened. the conversation was carried on in spanish. there was no relief to her in this. maurice gerald would have talked in that tongue to isidora covarubio de los llanos. the creole was acquainted with it sufficiently to have understood what was said, had she been near enough to distinguish the words. the tone was animated on both sides, as if both speakers were in a passion. the listener was scarce displeased at this. she rode nearer; once more pulled up; and once more sate listening. the man's voice was heard no longer. the woman's sounded dear and firm, as if in menace! there was an interval of silence, succeeded by a quick trampling of horses--another pause--another speech on the part of the woman, at first loud like a threat, and then subdued as in a soliloquy--then another interval of silence, again broken by the sound of hoofs, as if a single horse was galloping away from the ground. only this, and the scream of an eagle, that, startled by the angry tones, had swooped aloft, and was now soaring above the glade. the listener knew of the opening--to her a hallowed spot. the voices had come out of it. she had made her last halt a little way from its edge. she had been restrained from advancing by a fear--the fear of finding out a bitter truth. her indecision ending, she spurred on into the glade. a horse saddled and bridled rushing to and fro--a man prostrate upon the ground, with a lazo looped around his arms, to all appearance dead--a _sombrero_ and _serape_ lying near, evidently not the man's! what could be the interpretation of such a tableau? the man was dressed in the rich costume of the mexican _ranchero_--the horse also caparisoned in this elaborate and costly fashion. at sight of both, the heart of the louisianian leaped with joy. whether dead or living, the man was the same she had seen from the _azotea_; and he was _not_ maurice gerald. she had doubted before--had hoped that it was not he; and her hopes were now sweetly confirmed. she drew near and examined the prostrate form. she scanned the face, which was turned up--the man lying upon his back. she fancied she had seen it before, but was not certain. it was plain that he was a mexican. not only his dress but his countenance--every line of it betrayed the spanish-american physiognomy. he was far from being ill-featured. on the contrary, he might have been pronounced handsome. it was not this that induced louise poindexter to leap down from her saddle, and stoop over him with a kind pitying look. the joy caused by his presence--by the discovery that he was not somebody else--found gratification in performing an act of humanity. "he does not seem dead. surely he is breathing?" the cord appeared to hinder his respiration. it was loosened on the instant--the noose giving way to a woman's strength. "now, he can breathe more freely. pardieu! what can have caused it? lazoed in his saddle and dragged to the earth? that is most probable. but who could have done it? it was a woman's voice. surely it was? i could not be mistaken about that. "and yet there is a man's hat, and a _serape_, not this man's! was there another, who has gone away with the woman? only one horse went off. "ah! he is coming to himself! thank heaven for that! he will be able to explain all. you are recovering, sir?" "s'norita! who are you?" asked don miguel diaz, raising his head, and looking apprehensively around. "where is she?" he continued. "of whom do you speak? i have seen no one but yourself." "_carrambo_! that's queer. haven't you met a woman astride a grey horse?" "i heard a woman's voice, as i rode up." "say rather a she-devil's voice: for that, sure, is isidora covarubio de los llanos." "was it she who has done this?" "maldito, yes! where is she now? tell me that, s'norita." "i cannot. by the sound of the hoofs i fancy she has gone down the hill. she must have done so, as i came the other way myself." "ah--gone down the hill--home, then, to --. you've been very kind, s'norita, in loosening this lazo--as i make no doubt you've done. perhaps you will still further assist me by helping me into the saddle? once in it, i think i can stay there. at all events, i must not stay here. i have enemies, not far off. come, carlito!" he cried to his horse, at the same time summoning the animal by a peculiar whistle. "come near! don't be frightened at the presence of this fair lady. she's not the same that parted you and me so rudely--_en verdad_, almost for ever! come on, _cavallo_! come on!" the horse, on hearing the whistle, came trotting up, and permitted his master--now upon his feet--to lay hold of the bridle-rein. "a little help from you, kind s'norita, and i think i can climb into my saddle. once there, i shall be safe from their pursuit." "you expect to be pursued?" "_quien sale_? i have enemies, as i told you. never mind that. i feel very feeble. you will not refuse to help me?" "why should i? you are welcome, sir, to any assistance i can give you." "_mil gracias, s'norita! mil, mil gracias_!" the creole, exerting all her strength, succeeded in helping the disabled horseman into his saddle; where, after some balancing, he appeared to obtain a tolerably firm seat. gathering up his reins, he prepared to depart. "adios, s'norita!" said he, "i know not who you are. i see you are not one of our people. americano, i take it. never mind that. you are good as you are fair; and if ever it should chance to be in his power, miguel diaz will not be unmindful of the service you have this day done him." saying this el coyote rode off, not rapidly, but in a slow walk, as if he felt some difficulty in preserving his equilibrium. notwithstanding the slowness of the pace--he was soon out of sight,--the trees screening him as he passed the glade. he went not by any of the three roads, but by a narrow track, scarce discernible where it entered the underwood. to the young creole the whole thing appeared like a dream--strange, rather than disagreeable. it was changed to a frightful reality, when, after picking up a sheet of paper left by diaz where he had been lying, she read what was written upon it. the address was "don mauricio gerald;" the signature, "isidora covarubio de los llanos." to regain her saddle, louise poindexter was almost as much in need of a helping hand as the man who had ridden away. as she forded the leona, in returning to casa del corvo, she halted her horse in the middle of the stream; and for some time sate gazing into the flood that foamed up to her stirrup. there was a wild expression upon her features that betokened deep despair. one degree deeper, and the waters would have covered as fair a form as was ever sacrificed to their spirit! chapter fifty. a conflict with coyotes. the purple shadows of a texan twilight were descending upon the earth, when the wounded man, whose toilsome journey through the chapparal has been recorded, arrived upon the banks of the streamlet. after quenching his thirst to a surfeit, he stretched himself along the grass, his thoughts relieved from the terrible strain so long and continuously acting upon them. his limb for the time pained him but little; and his spirit was too much worn to be keenly apprehensive as to the future. he only desired repose; and the cool evening breeze, sighing through the feathery fronds of the acacias, favoured his chances of obtaining it. the vultures had dispersed to their roosts in the thicket; and, no longer disturbed by their boding presence, he soon after fell asleep. his slumber was of short continuance. the pain of his wounds, once more returning, awoke him. it was this--and not the cry of the coyote--that kept him from sleeping throughout the remainder of the night. little did he regard the sneaking wolf of the prairies--a true jackal-- that attacks but the dead; the living, only when dying. he did not believe that he was dying. it was a long dismal night to the sufferer; it seemed as if day would never dawn. the light came at length, but revealed nothing to cheer him. along with it came the birds, and the beasts went not away. over him, in the shine of another sun the vultures once more extended their shadowy wings. around him he heard the howl-bark of the coyote, in a hundred hideous repetitions. crawling down to the stream, he once more quenched his thirst. he now hungered; and looked round for something to eat. a pecan tree stood, near. there were nuts upon its branches, within six feet of the ground. he was able to reach the pecan upon his hands and knees; though the effort caused agony. with his crutch he succeeded in detaching some of the nuts; and on these broke his fast. what was the next step to be taken? to stir away from the spot was simply impossible. the slightest movement gave him pain; at the same time assuring him of his utter inability to go anywhere. he was still uncertain as to the nature of the injuries he had sustained--more especially that in his leg, which was so swollen that he could not well examine it. he supposed it to be either a fracture of the knee-cap, or a dislocation of the joint. in either case, it might be days before he could use the limb; and what, meanwhile, was he to do? he had but little expectation of any one coming that way. he had shouted himself hoarse; and though, at intervals, he still continued to send forth a feeble cry, it was but the intermittent effort of hope struggling against despair. there was no alternative but stay where he was; and, satisfied of this, he stretched himself along the sward, with the resolve to be as patient as possible. it required all the stoicism of his nature to bear up against the acute agony he was enduring. nor did he endure it altogether in silence. at intervals it elicited a groan. engrossed by his sufferings, he was for a while unconscious of what was going on around him. still above him wheeled the black birds; but he had become accustomed to their presence, and no longer regarded it--not even when, at intervals, some of them swooped so near, that he could hear the "wheep" of their wings close to his ears. ha! what was that--that sound of different import? it resembled the pattering of little feet upon the sandy channel of the stream, accompanied by quick breathings, as of animal in a state of excitement. he looked around for an explanation. "only the coyotes!" was his reflection, on seeing a score of these animals flitting to and fro, skulking along both banks of the stream, and "squatting" upon the grass. hitherto he had felt no fear--only contempt--for these cowardly creatures. but his sentiments underwent a change, on his noticing their looks and attitudes. the former were fierce; the latter earnest and threatening. clearly did the coyotes mean mischief. he now remembered having heard, that these animals--ordinarily innocuous, from sheer cowardice--will attack man when disabled beyond the capability of defending himself. especially will they do so when stimulated by the smell of blood. his had flowed freely, and from many veins--punctured by the spines of the cactus. his garments were saturated with it, still but half dry. on the sultry atmosphere it was sending forth its peculiar odour. the coyotes could not help scenting it. was it this that was stirring them to such excited action--apparently making them mad? whether or not, he no longer doubted that it was their intention to attack him. he had no weapon but a bowie knife, which fortunately had kept its place in his belt. his rifle and pistols, attached to the saddle, had been carried off by his horse. he drew the knife; and, resting upon his right knee, prepared to defend himself. he did not perform the action a second too soon. emboldened by having been so long left to make their menaces unmolested--excited to courage by the smell of blood, stronger as they drew nearer--stimulated by their fierce natural appetites--the wolves had by this time reached the turning point of their determination: which was, to spring forward upon the wounded man. they did so--half a dozen of them simultaneously--fastening their teeth upon his arms, limbs, and body, as they made their impetuous onset. with a vigorous effort he shook them off, striking out with his knife. one or two were gashed by the shining blade, and went howling away. but a fresh band had by this time entered into the fray, others coming up, till the assailants counted a score. the conflict became desperate, deadly. several of the animals were slain. but the fate of their fallen comrades did not deter the survivors from continuing the strife. on the contrary, it but maddened them the more. the struggle became more and more confused--the coyotes crowding over one another to lay hold of their victim. the knife was wielded at random; the arm wielding it every moment becoming weaker, and striking with less fatal effect. the disabled man was soon further disabled. he felt fear for his life. no wonder--death was staring him in the face. at this crisis a cry escaped his lips. strange it was not one of terror, but joy! and stranger still that, on hearing it, the coyotes for an instant desisted from their attack! there was a suspension of the strife--a short interval of silence. it was not the cry of their victim that had caused it, but that which had elicited the exclamation. there was the sound of a horse's hoofs going at a gallop, followed by the loud baying of a hound. the wounded man continued to exclaim,--in shouts calling for help. the horse appeared to be close by. a man upon his back could not fail to hear them. but there was no response. the horse, or horseman, had passed on. the hoof-strokes became less distinct. despair once more returned to the antagonist of the coyotes. at the same time his skulking assailants felt a renewal of their courage, and hastened to renew the conflict. once more it commenced, and was soon raging fiercely as before--the wretched man believing himself doomed, and only continuing the strife through sheer desperation. once more was it interrupted, this time by an intruder whose presence inspired him with fresh courage and hope. if the horseman had proved indifferent to his calls for help, not so the hound. a grand creature of the staghound species--of its rarest and finest breed--was seen approaching the spot, uttering a deep sonorous bay, as with impetuous bound it broke through the bushes. "_a friend! thank heaven, a friend_!" the baying ceased, as the hound cleared the selvage of the chapparal, and rushed open-mouthed among the cowed coyotes--already retreating at his approach! one was instantly seized between the huge jaws; jerked upward from the earth; shaken as if it had been only a rat; and let go again, to writhe over the ground with a shattered spine! another was served in a similar manner; but ere a third could be attacked, the terrified survivors dropped their tails to the sward, and went yelping away; one and all retreating whence they had come--into the silent solitudes of the chapparal. the rescued man saw no more. his strength was completely spent. he had just enough left to stretch forth his arms, and with a smile close them around the neck of his deliverer. then, murmuring some soft words, he fainted gradually away. his syncope was soon over, and consciousness once more assumed away. supporting himself on his elbow, he looked inquiringly around. it was a strange, sanguinary spectacle that met his eyes. but for his swoon, he would have seen a still stranger one. during its continuance a horseman had ridden into the glade, and gone out again. he was the same whose hoofstroke had been heard, and who had lent a deaf ear to the cries for help. he had arrived too late, and then without any idea of offering assistance. his design appeared to be the watering of his horse. the animal plunged straight into the streamlet, drank to its satisfaction, climbed out on the opposite bank, trotted across the open ground, and disappeared in the thicket beyond. the rider had taken no notice of the prostrate form; the horse only by snorting, as he saw it, and springing from side to side, as he trod amidst the carcases of the coyotes. the horse was a magnificent animal, not large, but perfect in all his parts. the man was the very reverse--having no head! there was a head, but not in its proper place. it rested against the holster, seemingly held in the rider's hand! a fearful apparition. the dog barked, as it passed through the glade, and followed it to the edge of the underwood. he had been with it for a long time, straying where it strayed, and going where it went. he now desisted from this fruitless fellowship; and, returning to the sleeper, lay down by his side. it was then that the latter was restored to consciousness, and remembered what had made him for the moment oblivious. after caressing the dog he again sank into a prostrate position; and, drawing the skirt of the cloak over his face to shade it from the glare of the sun, he fell asleep. the staghound lay down at his feet, and also slumbered; but only in short spells. at intervals it raised its head, and uttered an angry growl, as the wings of the vultures came switching too close to its ears. the young man muttered in his sleep. they were wild words that came from his unconscious lips, and betokened a strange commingling of thoughts: now passionate appeals of love--now disjointed speeches, that pointed to the committal of murder! chapter fifty one. twice intoxicated. our story takes us back to the lone hut on the alamo, so suddenly forsaken by the gambling guests, who had made themselves welcome in the absence of its owner. it is near noon of the following day, and he has not yet come home. the _ci-devant_ stable-boy of bally-ballagh is once more sole occupant of the _jacale_--once more stretched along the floor, in a state of inebriety; though not the same from which we have seen him already aroused. he has been sober since, and the spell now upon him has been produced by a subsequent appeal to the divinity of drink. to explain, we must go back to that hour between midnight and morning, when the monte players made their abrupt departure. the sight of three red savages, seated around the slab table, and industriously engaged in a game of cards, had done more to restore phelim to a state of sobriety than all the sleep he had obtained. despite a certain grotesqueness in the spectacle, he had not seen such a ludicrous sight, as was proved by the terrific screech with which he saluted them. there was nothing laughable in what followed. he had no very clear comprehension of what _did_ follow. he only remembered that the trio of painted warriors suddenly gave up their game, flung their cards upon the floor, stood over him for a time with naked blades, threatening his life; and then, along with a fourth who had joined them, turned their backs abruptly, and rushed pellmell out of the place! all this occupied scarce twenty seconds of time; and when he had recovered from his terrified surprise, he found himself once more alone in the _jacale_! was the sleeping, or awake? drunk, or dreaming? was the scene real? or was it another chapter of incongruous impossibilities, like that still fresh before his mind? but no. the thing was no fancy. it could not be. he had seen the savages too near to be mistaken as to their reality. he had heard them talking in a tongue unknown to him. what could it be but indian jargon? besides, there were the pieces of pasteboard strewn over the floor! he did not think of picking one up to satisfy himself of _their_ reality. he was sober enough, but not sufficiently courageous for that. he could not be sure of their not burning his fingers--those queer cards? they might belong to the devil? despite the confusion of his senses, it occurred to him that the hut was no longer a safe place to stay in. the painted players might return to finish their game. they had left behind not only their cards, but everything else the _jacale_ contained; and though some powerful motive seemed to have caused their abrupt departure, they might re-appear with equal abruptness. the thought prompted the galwegian to immediate action; and, blowing out the candle, so as to conceal his movements, he stole softly out of the hut. he did not go by the door. the moon was shining on the grass-plat in front. the savages might still be there. he found means of exit at the back, by pulling one of the horse hides from its place, and squeezing himself through the stockade wall. once outside, he skulked off under the shadow of the trees. he had not gone far when a clump of dark objects appeared before him. there was a sound, as of horses champing their bitts, and the occasional striking of a hoof. he paused in his steps, screening his body behind the trunk of a cypress. a short observation convinced him, that what he saw was a group of horses. there appeared to be four of them; no doubt belonging to the four warriors, who had turned the mustanger's hut into a gaming-house. the animals appeared to be tied to a tree, but for all that, their owners might be beside them. having made this reflection, he was about to turn back and go the other way; but just at that moment he heard voices in the opposite direction-- the voices of several men speaking in tones of menace and command. then came short, quick cries of affright, followed by the baying of a hound, and succeeded by silence, at intervals interrupted by a swishing noise, or the snapping of a branch--as if several men were retreating through the underwood in scared confusion! as he continued to listen, the noises sounded nearer. the men who made them were advancing towards the cypress tree. the tree was furnished with buttresses all around its base, with shadowy intervals between. into one of these he stepped hastily; and, crouching close, was completely screened by the shadow. he had scarce effected his concealment, when four men came rushing up; and, without stopping, hastened on towards the horses. as they passed by him, they were exchanging speeches which the irishman could not understand; but their tone betrayed terror. the excited action of the men confirmed it. they were evidently retreating from some enemy that had filled them with fear. there was a glade where the moon-beams fell upon the grass. it was just outside the shadow of the cypress. to reach the horses they had to cross it; and, as they did so, the vermilion upon their naked skins flashed red under the moonlight. phelim identified the four gentlemen who had made so free with the hospitality of the hut. he kept his place till they had mounted, and rode off--till he could tell by the tramp of their horses that they had ascended the upper plain, and gone off in a gallop--as men who were not likely to come back again. "doesn't that bate banagher?" muttered he, stepping out from his hiding-place, and throwing up his arms in astonishment. "be japers! it diz. mother av moses! fwhat cyan it mane anyhow? what are them divvils afther? an fwhat's afther them? shure somethin' has given them a scare--that's plain as a pikestaff. i wondher now if it's been that same. be me sowl it's jist it they've encounthered. i heerd the hound gowlin, an didn't he go afther it. o lard! what cyan _it_ be? may be it'll be comin' this way in purshoot av them?" the dread of again beholding the unexplained apparition, or being beheld by it, caused him to shrink once more under the shadow of the tree; where he remained for some time longer in a state of trembling suspense. "afther all, _it_ must be some thrick av masther maurice. maybe to give me a scare; an comin' back he's jist been in time to frighten off these ridskins that intinded to rub an beloike to murther us too. sowl! i hope it is that. how long since i saw it first? trath! it must be some considerable time. i remimber having four full naggins, an that's all gone off. i wondher now if them indyins has come acrass av the dimmyjan? i've heerd that they're as fond of the crayther as if their skins was white. sowl! if they've smelt the jar there won't be a dhrap in it by this time. i'll jist slip back to the hut an see. if thare's any danger now it won't be from them. by that tarin' gallop, i cyan tell they've gone for good." once more emerging from the shadowy stall, he made his way back towards the _jacale_. he approached it with caption, stopping at intervals to assure himself that no one was near. notwithstanding the plausible hypothesis he had shaped out for himself, he was still in dread of another encounter with the headless horseman-- who twice on his way to the hut might now be inside of it. but for the hope of finding a "dhrap" in the demijohn, he would not have ventured back that night. as it was, the desire to obtain a drink was a trifle stronger than his fears; and yielding to it, he stepped doubtfully into the darkness. he made no attempt to rekindle the light. every inch of the floor was familiar to him; and especially that corner where he expected to find the demijohn. he tried for it. an exclamation uttered in a tone of disappointment told that it was not there. "be dad!" muttered he, as he grumblingly groped about; "it looks as if they'd been at it. av coorse they hav, else fwhy is it not in its place? i lift it thare--shure i lift it thare." "ach, me jewel! an it's thare yez are yet," he continued, as his hand came in contact with the wickerwork; "an' bad luck to their imperence-- impty as an eggshill! ach! ye greedy gutted bastes! if i'd a known yez were goin' to do that, i'd av slipped a thrifle av shumach juice into the jar, an made raal firewater av it for ye--jist fwhat yez wants. divil burn ye for a set av rid-skinned thieves, stalin' a man's liquor when he's aslape! och-an-anee! fwhat am i to do now? go to slape agane? i don't belave i cyan, thinkin' av tham an the tother, widout a thrifle av the crayther to comfort me. an' thare isn't a dhrap widin twenty--fwhat--fwhat! howly mary! mother av moses! sant pathrick and all the others to boot, fwhat am i talkin' about? the pewther flask-- the pewther flask! be japers! it's in the thrunk--full to the very neck! didn't i fill it for masther maurice to take wid him the last time he went to the sittlements? and didn't he forget to take it? lard have mercy on me! if the indyins have laid their dhirty claws upon _that_ i shall be afther takin' lave at me sinses." "hoo--hoop--hoorro!" he cried, after an interval of silence, during which he could be heard fumbling among the contents of the portmanteau. "hoo--hoop--hoorro! thanks to the lord for all his mercies. the rid-skins haven't been cunnin' enough to look thare. the flask as full as a tick--not wan av them has had a finger on it. hoo--hoop--hoorro!" for some seconds the discoverer of the spirituous treasure, giving way to a joyous excitement, could be heard in the darkness, dancing over the floor of the _jacale_. then there was an interval of silence, succeeded by the screwing of a stopper, and after that a succession of "glucks," that proclaimed the rapid emptying of a narrow-necked vessel. after a time this sound was suspended, to be replaced by a repeated, smacking of lips, interlarded with grotesque ejaculations. again came the gluck-gluck, again the smackings, and so on alternately, till an empty flask was heard falling upon the floor. after that there were wild shouts--scraps of song intermingled with cheers and laughter--incoherent ravings about red indians and headless horsemen, repeated over and over again, each time in more subdued tones, till the maudlin gibberish at length ended in loud continuous snoring! chapter fifty two. an awakener. phelim's second slumber was destined to endure for a more protracted term than his first. it was nearly noon when he awoke from it; and then only on receiving a bucket of cold water full in his face, that sobered him almost as quickly as the sight of the savages. it was zeb stump who administered the _douche_. after parting from the precincts of casa del corvo, the old hunter had taken the road, or rather _trail_, which he knew to be the most direct one leading to the head waters of the nueces. without staying to notice tracks or other "sign," he rode straight across the prairie, and into the avenue already mentioned. prom what louise poindexter had told him--from a knowledge of the people who composed the party of searchers--he knew that maurice gerald was in danger. hence his haste to reach the alamo before them--coupled with caution to keep out of their way. he knew that if he came up with the regulators, equivocation would be a dangerous game; and, _nolens volens_, he should be compelled to guide them to the dwelling of the suspected murderer. on turning the angle of the avenue, he had the chagrin to see the searchers directly before him, clumped up in a crowd, and apparently engaged in the examination of "sign." at the same time he had the satisfaction to know that his caution was rewarded, by himself remaining unseen. "durn them!" he muttered, with bitter emphasis. "i mout a know'd they'd a bin hyur. i must go back an roun' the tother way. it'll deelay me better'n a hour. come, ole maar! this air an obstruckshun _you_, won't like. it'll gi'e ye the edition o' six more mile to yur journey. ee-up, ole gal! roun' an back we go!" with a strong pull upon the rein, he brought the mare short round, and rode back towards the embouchure of the avenue. once outside, he turned along the edge of the chapparal, again entering it by the path which on the day before had been taken by diaz and his trio of confederates. from this point he proceeded without pause or adventure until he had descended to the alamo bottom-land, and arrived within a short distance, though still out of sight of the mustanger's dwelling. instead of riding boldly up to it, he dismounted from his mare; and leaving her behind him, approached the _jacale_ with his customary caution. the horse-hide door was closed; but there was a large aperture in the middle of it, where a portion of the skin had been cut out. what was the meaning of that? zeb could not answer the question, even by conjecture. it increased his caution; and he continued his approach with as much stealth, as if he had been stalking an antelope. he kept round by the rear--so as to avail himself of the cover afforded by the trees; and at length, having crouched into the horse-shed at the back, he knelt down and listened. there was an opening before his eyes; where one of the split posts had been pushed out of place, and the skin tapestry torn off. he saw this with some surprise; but, before he could shape any conjecture as to its cause, his ears were saluted with a sonorous breathing, that came out through the aperture. there was also a snore, which he fancied he could recognise, as proceeding from irish nostrils. a glance through the opening settled the point. the sleeper was phelim. there was an end to the necessity for stealthy manoeuvring. the hunter rose to his feet, and stepping round to the front, entered by the door-- which he found unbolted. he made no attempt to rouse the sleeper, until after he had taken stock of the paraphernalia upon the floor. "thur's been packin' up for some purpiss," he observed, after a cursory glance. "ah! now i reccollex. the young fellur sayed he war goin' to make a move from hyur some o' these days. thet ere anymal air not only soun' asleep, but dead drunk. sartin he air--drunk as backis. i kin tell that by the smell o' him. i wonder if he hev left any o' the licker? it air dewbious. not a drop, dog-gone him! thur's the jar, wi' the stop plug out o' it, lyin' on its side; an thur's the flask, too, in the same preedikamint--both on 'em fall o' empiness. durn him for a drunken cuss! he kin suck up as much moister as a chalk purayra. "spanish curds! a hul pack on 'em scattered abeout the place. what kin he ha' been doin' wi' them? s'pose he's been havin' a game o' sollatury along wi' his licker." "but what's cut the hole in the door, an why's the tother broken out at the back? i reckon he kin tell. i'll roust him, an see. pheelum! pheelum!" phelim made no reply. "pheelum, i say! pheelum!" still no reply. although the last summons was delivered in a shout loud enough to have been heard half a mile off, there was no sign made by the slumberer to show that he even heard it. a rude shaking administered by zeb had no better effect. it only produced a grunt, immediately succeeded by a return to the same stentorous respiration. "if 'twa'n't for his snorin' i mout b'lieve him to be dead. he _air_ dead drunk, an no mistake; intoxerkated to the very eends o' his toe-nails. kickin' him 'ud be no use. dog-goned, ef i don't try _this_." the old hunter's eye, as he spoke, was resting upon a pail that stood in a corner of the cabin. it was full of water, which phelim, for some purpose, had fetched from the creek. unfortunately for himself, he had not wasted it. with a comical expression in his eye, zeb took up the pail; and swilled the whole of its contents right down upon the countenance of the sleeper. it had the effect intended. if not quite sobered, the inebriate was thoroughly awakened; and the string of terrified ejaculations that came from his lips formed a contrasting accompaniment to the loud cachinnations of the hunter. it was some time before sufficient tranquillity was restored, to admit of the two men entering upon a serious conversation. phelim, however, despite his chronic inebriety, was still under the influence of his late fears, and was only too glad to see zeb stump, notwithstanding the unceremonious manner in which he had announced himself. as soon as an understanding was established between them, and without waiting to be questioned, he proceeded to relate in detail, as concisely as an unsteady tongue and disordered brain would permit, the series of strange sights and incidents that had almost deprived him of his senses. it was the first that zeb stump had heard of the _headless horseman_. although the report concerning this imperfect personage was that morning broadly scattered around fort inge, and along the leona, zeb, having passed through the settlement at an early hour, and stopped only at casa del corvo, had not chanced upon any one who could have communicated such a startling item of intelligence. in fact, he had exchanged speech only with pluto and louise poindexter; neither of whom had at that time heard anything of the strange creature encountered, on the evening before, by the party of searchers. the planter, for some reason or another, had been but little communicative, and his daughter had not held converse with any of the others. at first zeb was disposed to ridicule the idea of a man without a head. he called it "a fantassy of pheelum's brain, owin' to his havin' tuk too much of the corn-juice." he was puzzled, however, by phelim's persistence in declaring it to be a fact--more especially when he reflected on the other circumstances known to him. "arrah, now, how could i be mistaken?" argued the irishman. "didn't i see masther maurice, as plain as i see yourself at this minnit? all except the hid, and that i had a peep at as he turned to gallop away. besides, thare was the mexican blanket, an the saddle wid the rid cloth, and the wather guards av spotted skin; and who could mistake that purty horse? an' havn't i towld yez that tara went away afther him, an thin i heerd the dog gowlin', jist afore the indyins--" "injuns!" exclaimed the hunter, with a contemptuous toss of the head. "injuns playin' wi' spanish curds! white injuns, i reck'n." "div yez think they waren't indyins, afther all?" "ne'er a matter what i think. thur's no time to talk o' that now. go on, an tell me o' all ye seed an heern." when phelim had at length unburdened his mind, zeb ceased to question him; and, striding out of the hut, squatted down, indian fashion, upon the grass. his object was, as he said himself, to have "a good think;" which, he had often declared, he could not obtain while "hampered wi' a house abeout him." it is scarcely necessary to say, that the story told by the galwegian groom only added to the perplexity he already experienced. hitherto there was but the disappearance of henry poindexter to be accounted for; now there was the additional circumstance of the non-return of the mustanger to his hut--when it was known that he had started for it, and should, according to a notice given to his servant, have been there at an early hour on the day before. far more mystifying was the remarkable story of his being seen riding about the prairie without a head, or with one carried in his hands! this last might be a trick. what else could it be? still was it a strange time for tricks--when a man had been murdered, and half the population of the settlement wore out upon the track of the murderer--more especially improbable, that the supposed assassin should be playing them! zeb stump had to deal with, a difficult concatenation--or rather conglomeration of circumstances--events without causes--causes without sequence--crimes committed without any probable motive--mysteries that could only be explained by an appeal to the supernatural. a midnight meeting between maurice gerald and louise poindexter--a quarrel with her brother, occasioned by the discovery--maurice having departed for the prairies--henry having followed to sue for forgiveness--in all this the sequence was natural and complete. beyond began the chapter of confusions and contradictions. zeb stump knew the disposition of maurice gerald in regard to henry poindexter. more than once he had heard the mustanger speak of the young planter. instead of having a hostility towards him, he had frequently expressed admiration of his ingenuous and generous character. that he could have changed from being his friend to become his assassin, was too improbable for belief. only by the evidence of his eyes could zeb stump have been brought to believe it. after spending a full half hour at his "think," he had made but little progress towards unravelling the network of cognate, yet unconnected, circumstances. despite an intellect unusually clear, and the possession of strong powers of analysis, he was unable to reach any rational solution of this mysterious drama of many acts. the only thing clear to him was, that four mounted men--he did not believe them to be indians--had been making free with the mustanger's hut; and that it was most probable that these had something to do with the murder that had been committed. but the presence of these men at the _jacale_, coupled with the protracted absence of its owner, conducted his conjectures to a still more melancholy conclusion: that more than one man had fallen a sacrifice to the assassin, and that the thicket might be searched for two bodies, instead of one! a groan escaped from the bosom of the backwoodsman as this conviction forced itself upon his mind. he entertained for the young irishman a peculiar affection--strong almost as that felt by a father for his son; and the thought that he had been foully assassinated in some obscure corner of the chapparal, his flesh to be torn by the beak of the buzzard and the teeth of the coyote, stirred the old hunter to the very core of his heart. he groaned again, as he reflected upon it; until, without action, he could no longer bear the agonising thought, and, springing to his feet, he strode to and fro over the ground, proclaiming, in loud tones, his purpose of vengeance. so absorbed was he with his sorrowful indignation, that he saw not the staghound as it came skulking up to the hut. it was not until he heard phelim caressing the hound in his grotesque irish fashion, that he became aware of the creature's presence. and then he remained indifferent to it, until a shout of surprise, coupled with his own name, attracted his attention. "what is it, pheelum? what's wrong? hes a snake bit ye?" "oh, misther stump, luk at tara! see! thare's somethin' tied about his neck. it wasn't there when he lift. what do yez think it is?" the hunter's eyes turned immediately upon the hound. sure enough there was something around the animal's neck: a piece of buckskin thong. but there was something besides--a tiny packet attached to the thong, and hanging underneath the throat! zeb drawing his knife, glided towards the dog. the creature recoiled in fear. a little coaxing convinced him that there was no hostile intent; and he came up again. the thong was severed, the packet laid open; it contained a _card_! there was a name upon the card, and writing--writing in what appeared to be red ink; but it was _blood_! the rudest backwoodsman knows how to read. even zeb stump was no exception; and he soon deciphered the characters traced upon the bit of pasteboard. as he finished, a cry rose from his lips, in strange contrast with the groans he had been just uttering. it was a shout of gladness, of joy! "thank the almighty for this!" he added; "and thank my ole katinuck schoolmaster for puttin' me clar through my webster's spellin'-book. he lives, pheelum! he lives! look at this. oh, _you_ can't read. no matter. he lives! he lives!" "who? masther maurice? thin the lord be thanked--" "wagh! thur's no time to thank him now. get a blanket an some pieces o' horse-hide thong. ye kin do it while i catch up the ole maar. quick! helf an hour lost, an we may be too late!" chapter fifty three. just in time. "half-an-hour lost, and we may be too late!" they were the last words of the hunter, as he hurried away from the hut. they were true, except as to the time. had he said half-a-minute, he would have been nearer the mark. even at the moment of their utterance, the man, whose red writing had summoned assistance, was once more in dread danger--once more surrounded by the coyotes. but it was not these he had need to fear. a far more formidable foe was threatening his destruction. maurice gerald--by this time recognised as the man in the cloak and panama hat--after doing battle with the wolves, as already described, and being rescued by his faithful tara, had fought repose in sleep. with full confidence in the ability of his canine companion to protect him against the black birds, or the more dangerous quadrupeds, with which he had been in conflict, he soon found, and for several hours enjoyed it. he awoke of his own accord. finding his strength much restored, he once more turned his attention to the perils that surrounded him. the dog had rescued him from the jackals, and would still protect him against their attacks, should they see fit to renew it. but to what end? the faithful creature could not transport him from the spot; and to stay there would be to die of hunger--perhaps of the wounds he had received? he rose to his feet, but found that he could not stand upright. feebleness was now added to his other infirmity; and after struggling a pace or two, he was glad to return to a recumbent position. at this crisis a happy thought occurred to him. tara might take a message to the hut! "if i could but get him to go," said he, as he turned inquiringly towards the dog. "come hither, old fellow!" he continued, addressing himself to the dumb animal; "i want you to play postman for me--to carry a letter. you understand? wait till i've got it written. i shall then explain myself more fully." "by good luck i've got a card," he added, feeling for his case. "no pencil! that don't matter. there's plenty of ink around; and for a pen i can use the thorn of yonder maguey." he crept up to the plant thus designated; broke off one of the long spines terminating its great leaves; dipped it in the blood of a coyote that lay near; and drawing forth a card, traced some characters upon it. with a strip of thong, the card was then attached to the neck of the staghound, after being wrapped up in a piece of oilcloth torn from the lining of the panama hat. it only remained to despatch the canine post upon his errand. this proved a somewhat difficult task. the dumb creature, despite a wondrous intelligence, could not comprehend why he should forsake the side of one he had so faithfully befriended; and for a long time resisted the coaxings and chidings, meant to warn him away. it was only after being scolded in a tone of assumed anger, and beaten by the black-jack crutch--stricken by the man whose life he had so lately saved, that he had consented to leave the spot. even canine affection could not endure this; and with repeated looks of reproach, cast backwards as he was chased off, he trotted reluctantly into the chapparal. "poor fellow!" soliloquised maurice, as the dog disappeared from his view. "'tis like boating one's self, or one's dearest friend! well, i shall make up for it in extra kindness if i have the good fortune to see him again. "and now, that he is gone, i must provide against the coming back of these villainous coyotes. they will be sure to come, once they discover that i'm alone." a scheme had been already considered. a tree stood near--the pecan already alluded to--having two stout branches that extended horizontally and together, at six or seven feet from the ground. taking off his cloak, and spreading it out upon the grass, with his knife he cut a row of holes along each edge. then unwinding from his waist the sash of china crape, he tore it up the middle, so as to make two strips, each several yards long. the cloak was now extended between the branches, and fast tied by the strips of crape--thus forming a sort of hammock capable of containing the body of a man laid out at full length. the maker of it knew that the coyotes are not tree climbers; and, reclining on his suspended couch, he could observe with indifference their efforts to assail him. he took all this trouble, feeling certain they would return. if he had any doubt, it was soon set at rest, by seeing them, one after the other, come skulking out of the chapparal, lopping a pace or two, at intervals, pausing to reconnoitre, and then advancing towards the scene of their late conflict. emboldened by the absence of the enemy most dreaded by them, the pack was soon reassembled, once more exhibiting the truculent ferocity for which these cowardly creatures are celebrated. it was first displayed in a very unnatural manner--by the devouring of their own dead--which was done in less time than it would have taken the spectator in the tree to have counted a score. to him their attention was next directed. in swinging his hammock, he had taken no pains to conceal it. he had suspended it high enough to be out of their reach; and that he deemed sufficient for his purpose. the cloak of dark cloth was conspicuous, as well as the figure outlined within it. the coyotes clustered underneath--their appetites whetted by the taste of blood. it was a sight to see them lick their red lips after their unnatural repast--a fearful sight! he who saw it scarce regarded them--not even when they were springing up to lay hold of his limbs, or at times attempting to ascend by the trunk of the tree! he supposed there was no danger. there _was_ danger, however, on which he had not reckoned; and not till the coyotes have desisted from their idle attempts, and stretched themselves, panting, under the tree, did he begin to perceive it. of all the wild denizens, either of prairie or chapparal, the coyote is that possessed of the greatest cunning. the trapper will tell you it is the "cunningest varmint in creation." it is a fox in astuteness--a wolf in ferocity. it may be tamed, but it will turn at any time to tear the hand that caresses it. a child can scare it with a stick, but a disabled man may dread its attack. alone it has the habit of a hare; but in packs--and it hunts only in packs--its poltroonery is less observable; sometimes under the influence of extreme hunger giving place to a savageness of disposition that assumes the semblance of courage. it is the coyotes' cunning that is most to be feared; and it was this that had begun to excite fresh apprehension in the mind of the mustanger. on discovering that they could not reach him--a discovery they were not long in making--instead of scattering off from the spot, the wolves, one and all, squatted down upon the grass; while others, stragglers from the original troop, were still coming into the glade. he saw that they intended a siege. this should not have troubled him, seeing that he was secure in his suspended couch. nor would it, but for another source of trouble, every moment making itself more manifest--that from which he had so lately had such a narrow escape. he was once more on the eve of being tortured by thirst. he blamed himself for having been so simple, as not to think of this before climbing up to the tree. he might easily have carried up a supply of water. the stream was there; and for want of a better vessel, the concave blades of the maguey would have served as a cistern. his self-reproaches came too late. the water was under his eyes, only to tantalise him; and by so doing increase his eagerness to obtain it. he could not return to the stream, without running the gauntlet of the coyotes, and that would be certain death. he had but faint hopes that the hound would return and rescue him a second time--fainter still that his message would reach the man for whom it was intended. a hundred to one against that. thirst is quick in coming to a man whose veins are half-emptied of their blood. the torture proclaimed itself apace. how long was it to continue? this time it was accompanied by a straying of the senses. the wolves, from being a hundred, seemed suddenly to have increased their number tenfold. a thousand appeared to encompass the tree, filling the whole ground of the glade! they came nearer and nearer. their eyes gave out a lurid light. their red tongues lapped the hanging cloth; they tore it with their teeth. he could feel their fetid breath, as they sprang up among the branches! a lucid interval told him that it was all fancy. the wolves were still there; but only a hundred of them--as before, reclining upon the grass, pitiably awaiting a crisis! it came before the period of lucidity had departed; to the spectator unexpected as inexplicable. he saw the coyotes suddenly spring to their feet, and rush off into the thicket, until not one remained within the glade. was this, too, a fancy? he doubted the correctness of his vision. he had begun to believe that his brain was distempered. but it was clear enough now. there were no coyotes. what could have frightened them off? a cry of joy was sent forth from his lips, as he conjectured a cause. tara had returned? perhaps phelim along with him? there had been time enough for the delivery of the message. for two hours he had been besieged by the coyotes. he turned upon his knee, and bending over the branch, scanned the circle around him. neither hound nor henchman was in sight. nothing but branches and bushes! he listened. no sound, save an occasional howl, sent back by the coyotes that still seemed to continue their retreat! more than ever was it like an illusion. what could have caused their scampering? no matter. the coast was clear. the streamlet could now be approached without danger. its water sparkled under his eyes--its rippling sounded sweet to his ears. descending from the tree, he staggered towards its bank, and reached it. before stooping to drink, he once more looked around him. even the agony of thirst could not stifle the surprise, still fresh in his thoughts. to what was he indebted for his strange deliverance? despite his hope that it might be the hound, he had an apprehension of danger. one glance, and he was certain of it. the spotted yellow skin shining among the leaves--the long, lithe form crawling like a snake out of the underwood was not to be mistaken. it was the tiger of the new world-- scarce less dreaded than his congener of the old--the dangerous jaguar. its presence accounted for the retreat of the coyotes. neither could its intent be mistaken. it, too, had scented blood, and was hastening to the spot where blood had been sprinkled, with that determined air that told it would not be satisfied till after partaking of the banquet. its eyes were upon him, who had descended from the tree--its steps were towards him--now in slow, crouching gait; but quicker and quicker, as if preparing for a spring. to retreat to the tree would have been sheer folly. the jaguar can climb like a cat. the mustanger knew this. but even had he been ignorant of it, it would have been all the same, as the thing was no longer possible. the animal had already passed that tree, upon which he had found refuge, and there was t'other near that could be reached in time. he had no thought of climbing to a tree--no thought of any thing, so confused were his senses--partly from present surprise, partly from the bewilderment already within his brain. it was a simple act of unreasoning impulse that led him to rush on into the stream, until he stood up to his waist in the water. had he reasoned, he would have known that this would do nothing to secure his safety. if the jaguar climbs like a cat, it also swims with the ease of an otter; and is as much to be dreaded in the water as upon the land. maurice made no such reflection. he suspected that the little pool, towards the centre of which he had waded, would prove but poor protection. he was sure of it when the jaguar, arriving upon the bank above him, set itself in that cowering attitude that told of its intention to spring. in despair he steadied himself to receive the onset of the fierce animal. he had nought wherewith to repel it--no knife--no pistol--no weapon of any kind--not even his crutch! a struggle with his bare arms could but end in his destruction. a wild cry went forth from his lips, as the tawny form was about launching itself for the leap. there was a simultaneous scream from the jaguar. something appeared suddenly to impede it; and instead of alighting on the body of its victim, it fell short, with a dead plash upon the water! like an echo of his own, a cry came from the chapparal, close following a sound that had preceded it--the sharp "spang" of a rifle. a huge dog broke through the bushes, and sprang with a plunge into the pool where the jaguar had sunk below the surface. a man of colossal size advanced rapidly towards the bank; another of lesser stature treading close upon his heels, and uttering joyful shouts of triumph. to the wounded man these sights and sounds were more like a vision than the perception of real phenomena. they were the last thoughts of that day that remained in his memory. his reason, kept too long upon the rack, had given way. he tried to strangle the faithful hound that swam fawningly around him and struggled against the strong arms that, raising him out of the water, bore him in friendly embrace to the bank! his mind had passed from a horrid reality, to a still more horrid dream--the dream of delirium. chapter fifty four. a prairie palanquin. the friendly arms, flung around maurice gerald, were those of zeb stump. guided by the instructions written upon the card, the hunter had made all haste towards the rendezvous there given. he had arrived within sight, and fortunately within rifle-range of the spot, at that critical moment when the jaguar was preparing to spring. his bullet did not prevent the fierce brute from making the bound--the last of its life--though it had passed right through the animal's heart. this was a thing thought of afterwards--there was no opportunity then. on rushing into the water, to make sure that his shot had proved fatal, the hunter was himself attacked; not by the claws of the jaguar, but the hands of the man just rescued from them. fortunate for zeb, that the mustanger's knife had been left upon land. as it was, he came near being throttled; and only after throwing aside his rifle, and employing all his strength, was he able to protect himself against the unlooked-for assault. a struggle ensued, which ended in zeb flinging his colossal arms around the young irishman, and bearing him bodily to the bank. it was not all over. as soon as the latter was relieved from the embrace, he broke away and made for the pecan tree;--as rapidly as if the injured limb no longer impeded him. the hunter suspected his intent. standing over six feet, he saw the bloody knife-blade lying along the cloak. it was for that the mustanger was making! zeb bounded after; and once more enfolding the madman in his bear-like embrace, drew him back from the tree. "speel up thur, pheelum!" shouted he. "git that thing out o' sight. the young fellur hev tuck leeve o' his seven senses. thur's fever in the feel o' him. he air gone dullerious!" phelim instantly obeyed; and, scrambling up the tree-trunk took possession of the knife. still the struggle was not over. the delirious man wrestled with his rescuer--not in silence, but with shouts and threatening speeches--his eyes all the time rolling and glaring with a fierce, demoniac light. for full ten minutes did he continue the mad wrestling match. at length from sheer exhaustion he sank back upon the grass; and after a few tremulous shiverings, accompanied by sighs heaved from the very bottom of his breast, he lay still, as if the last spark of life had departed from his body! the galwegian, believing it so, began uttering a series of lugubrious cries--the "keen" of connemara. "stop yur gowlin, ye durned cuss!" cried zeb. "it air enuf to scare the breath out o' his karkidge. he's no more dead than you air--only fented. by the way he hev fit me, i reck'n there ain't much the matter wi' him. no," he continued, after stooping down and giving a short examination, "i kin see no wound worth makin' a muss about. thur's a consid'able swellin' o' the knee; but the leg ain't fructered, else he kudn't a stud up on it. as for them scratches, they ain't much. what kin they be? 'twarnt the jegwur that gin them. they air more like the claws o' a tom cat. ho, ho! i sees now. thur's been a bit o' a skrimmage afore the spotted beest kim up. the young fellur's been attakted by coyoats! who'd a surposed that the cowardly varmints would a had the owdacity to attakt a human critter? but they _will_, when they gits the chance o' one krippled as he air--durn 'em!" the hunter had all the talking to himself. phelim, now overjoyed to know that his master still lived--and furthermore was in no danger of dying--suddenly changed his melancholy whine to a jubilant hullaballoo, and commenced dancing over the ground, all the while snapping his fingers in the most approved connemara fashion. his frenzied action provoked the hound to a like pitch of excitement; and the two became engaged in a sort of wild irish jig. zeb took no notice of these grotesque demonstrations; but, once more bending over the prostrate form, proceeded to complete the examination already begun. becoming satisfied that there was no serious wound, he rose to his feet, and commenced taking stock of the odd articles around him. he had already noticed the panama hat, that still adhered to the head of the mustanger; and a strange thought at seeing it there, had passed through his mind. hats of guayaquil grass--erroneously called panama--were not uncommon. scores of southerners wore them, in texas as elsewhere. but he knew that the young irishman was accustomed to carry a mexican _sombrero_--a very different kind of head-gear. it was possible he might have seen fit to change the fashion. still, as zeb continued to gaze upon it, he fancied he had seen _that_ hat before, and on some other head. it was not from any suspicion of its being honestly in possession of him now wearing it that the hunter stooped down, and took it off with the design to examine it. his object was simply to obtain some explanation of the mystery, or series of mysteries, hitherto baffling his brain. on looking inside the hat he read two names; first, that of a new orleans hatter, whose card was pasted in the crown; and then, in writing, another well known to him:-- "henry poindexter." the cloak now came under his notice. it, too, carried marks, by which he was able to identify it as belonging to the same owner. "dog-goned kewrious, all this!" muttered the backwoodsman, as he stood with his eyes turned upon the ground, and apparently buried in a profound reflection. "hats, heads, an everythin'. hats on the wrong head; heads i' the wrong place! by the 'tarnal thur's somethin' goed astray! ef 'twa'nt that i feel a putty consid'able smartin' whar the young fellur gin me a lick over the left eye, i mout be arter believin' my own skull-case wa'nt any longer atween my shoulders!" "it air no use lookin' to him," he added, glancing towards maurice, "for an explanation; leastwise till he's slep' off this dullerium thet's on him. when that'll be, ole nick only knows. "wal," he continued after another interval spent in silent reflection, "it won't do no good our stayin' hyur. we must git him to the shanty, an that kin only be did by toatin' him. he sayed on the curd, he cudn't make neer a track. it war only the anger kep' him up a bit. that leg looks wusser and wusser. he's boun to be toated." the hunter seemed to cogitate on how he was to effect this purpose. "'taint no good expektin' _him_ to help think it out," he continued looking at the galwegian, who was busy talking to tara. "the dumb brute hev more sense than he. neer a mind. i'd make him take his full share o' the carryin' when it kum to thet. how air it to be done? we must git him on a streetcher. that i reck'n we kin make out o' a kupple o' poles an the cloak; or wi' the blanket pheelum fetch'd from the shanty. ye-es! a streetcher. that's the eydentikul eyedee." the connemara man was now summoned to lend assistance. two saplings of at least ten feet in length were cut from the chapparal, and trimmed clear of twigs. two shorter ones were also selected, and lashed crosswise over the first; and upon these there spread, first the serape, and afterwards the cloak, to give greater strength. in this way a rude stretcher was constructed, capable of carrying either an invalid or an inebriate. in the mode of using it, it more resembled the latter than the former: since he who was to be borne upon it, again deliriously raging, had to be strapped to the trestles! unlike the ordinary stretcher, it was not carried between two men; but a man and a mare--the mare at the head, the man bearing behind. it was he of connemara who completed the ill-matched team. the old hunter had kept his promise, that phelim should "take his full share o' the carryin', when it kum to thet." he was taking it, or rather getting it--zeb having appointed himself to the easier post of conductor. the idea was not altogether original. it was a rude copy from the mexican _litera_, which in southern texas zeb may have seen--differing from the latter only in being without screen, and instead of two mules, having for its _atelage_ a mare and a man! in this improvised palanquin was maurice gerald transported to his dwelling. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was night when the grotesque-looking group arrived at the _locale_. in strong but tender arms the wounded man was transferred from the stretcher to the skin couch, on which he had been accustomed to repose. he was unconscious of where he was, and knew not the friendly faces bending over him. his thoughts were still astray, though no longer exciting him to violent action. he was experiencing an interval of calm. he was not silent; though he made no reply to the kind questions addressed to him, or only answered them with an inconsequence that might have provoked mirth. but there were wild words upon his lips that forbade it--suggesting only serious thoughts. his wounds received such rude dressing as his companions were capable of administering to them; and nothing more could be done but await the return of day. phelim went to sleep upon his shake-down; while the other sate up to keep watch by the bedside of the sufferer. it was not from any unfaithfulness on the part of the foster-brother, that he seemed thus to disregard his duty; but simply because zeb had requested him to lie down--telling him there was no occasion for both to remain awake. the old hunter had his reasons. he did not desire that those wild words should be heard even by phelim. better he should listen to them alone. and alone he sate listening to them--throughout the live-long night. he heard speeches that surprised him, and names that did not. he was not surprised to hear the name "louise" often repeated, and coupled with fervent protestations of love. but there was another name also often pronounced--with speeches less pleasant to his ear. it was the name of louise's brother. the speeches were disjointed--incongruous, and almost unintelligible. comparing one with the other, however, and assisted by the circumstances already known to him, before the morning light had entered the _jacale_, zeb stump had come to the conclusion: that henry poindexter was no longer a living man! chapter fifty five. un dia de novedades. don silvio martinez was one of the few mexican _ricos_, who had chosen to remain in texas, after the conquest of that country by the stalwart colonisers from the north. a man of more than mature age, of peaceful habits, and taking no part in politics, he accepted the new situation without any great regret. he was the more easily reconciled to it, from a knowledge, that his loss of nationality was better than counterbalanced by his gain of security against comanche incursions; which, previous to the coming of the new colonists, had threatened the complete depopulation of the country. the savage was not yet entirely subdued; but his maraud was now intermittent, and occurred only at long intervals. even this was an improvement on the old _regime_. don silvio was a _ganadero_,--a grazier, on a grand scale. so grand that his _ganaderia_ was leagues in length and breadth, and contained within its limits many thousands of horses and horned cattle. he lived in a large rectangular one-storied house--more resembling a jail than a dwelling--surrounded by extensive enclosures--_corrales_. it was usually a quiet place; except during the time of the _herradero_, or cattle-branding; when for days it became the scene of a festivity almost homeric. these occasions were only of annual occurrence. at all other times the old haciendado--who was a bachelor to boot--led a tranquil and somewhat solitary life; a sister older than himself being his only companion. there were occasional exceptions to this rule: when his charming _sobrina_ rode across from the rio grande to pay him and his sister a visit. then the domicile of don silvio became a little more lively. isidora was welcome whenever she came; welcome to come and go when she pleased; and do as she pleased, while under her uncle's roof. the sprightliness of her character was anything but displeasing to the old haciendado; who was himself far from being of a sombre disposition. those traits, that might have appeared masculine in many other lands, were not so remarkable in one, where life is held by such precarious tenure; where the country house is oft transformed into a fortress, and the domestic hearth occasionally bedewed with the blood of its inmates! is it surprising that in such a land women should be found, endowed with those qualities that have been ascribed to isidora? if so, it is not the less true that they exist. as a general thing the mexican woman is a creature of the most amiable disposition; _douce_--if we may be allowed to borrow from a language that deals more frequently with feminine traits--to such an extent, as to have become a national characteristic. it is to the denizens of the great cities, secure from indian incursion, that this character more especially applies. on the frontiers, harried for the last half century by the aboriginal freebooter, the case is somewhat different. the amiability still exists; but often combined with a _bravourie_ and hardihood masculine in seeming, but in reality heroic. since malinche, more than one fair heroine has figured in the history of anahuac. don silvio martinez had himself assisted at many a wild scene and ceremony. his youth had been passed amid perils; and the courage of isidora--at times degenerating into absolute recklessness--so far from offending, rather gave him gratification. the old gentleman loved his darling _sobrina_, as if she had been his own child; and had she been so, she would not have been more certain of succeeding to his possessions. every one knew, that, when don silvio martinez should take leave of life, isidora covarubio de los llanos would be the owner of--not his broad acres, but--his _leagues_ of land, as also his thousands of horses and horned cattle. with this understanding, it is needless to say, that the senorita carried respect with her wherever she went, or that the vassals of the hacienda martinez honoured her as their future mistress. independently of this was she regarded. hers were just the qualities to win the esteem of the dashing _rancheros_; and there was not one upon the estate, but would have drawn his _machete_ at her nod, and used it to the shedding of blood. miguel diaz spoke the truth, when he said he was in danger. well might he believe it. had it pleased isidora to call together her uncle's _vaqueros_, and send them to chastise him, it would have been speedily done--even to hanging him upon the nearest tree! no wonder he had made such haste to get away from the glade. as already stated, the real home of isidora was upon the other side of the rio grande--separated by some three-score miles from the hacienda martinez. but this did not hinder her from paying frequent visits to her relations upon the leona. there was no selfishness in the motive. the prospect of the rich inheritance had nothing to do with it. she was an expectant heiress without that: for her own father was a _rico_. but she liked the company of her uncle and aunt. she also enjoyed the ride from river to river--oft made by her between morning and night, and not unfrequently alone! of late these visits had become of much more frequent occurrence. had she grown fonder of the society of her texan relatives--fonder as they grew older? if not, what was her motive? imitating her own frankness of character, it may at once be declared. she came oftener to the leona, in the hope of meeting with maurice gerald. with like frankness may it be told, that she _loved_ him. beyond doubt, the young irishman was in possession of her heart. as already known, he had won it by an act of friendship; though it may have been less the service he had done, than the gallantry displayed in doing it, that had put the love-spell on the daring isidora. perhaps, too, she saw in him other captivating qualities, less easily defined. whether these had been undesignedly exhibited, or with the intention to effect a conquest, he alone can tell. he has himself said, no; and respect is due to his declaration. but it is difficult to believe, that mortal man could have gazed into the eyes of isidora de los llanos without wishing them to look longingly upon him. maurice may have spoken the truth; but we could better believe him, had he seen louise poindexter before becoming acquainted with isidora. the episode of the burnt prairie was several weeks subsequent to the adventure with the intoxicated indians. certainly something appears to have occurred between him and the mexican maiden, that leads her to believe she has a hope--if not a claim--upon his affections. it has come to that crisis, that she can no longer rest satisfied. her impulsive spirit cannot brook ambiguity. she knows that she loves _him_. she has determined to make frank confession of it; and to ask with like frankness whether her passion be reciprocated. hence her having made an appointment that could not be kept. for that day don miguel diaz had interfered between her and her purpose. so thought she, as she galloped out of the glade, and hastened back to the hacienda of her uncle. astride her grey steed she goes at a gallop. her head is bare; her coiffure disarranged; her rich black tresses streaming back beyond her shoulders, no longer covered by scarf or serape. the last she has left behind her, and along with it her _vicuna_ hat. her eyes are flashing with excitement; her cheeks flushed to the colour of carmine. the cause is known. and also why she is riding in such hot haste. she has herself declared it. on nearing the house, she is seen to tighten her rein. the horse is pulled in to a slower pace--a trot; slower still--a walk; and, soon after, he is halted in the middle of the road. his rider has changed her intention; or stops to reflect whether she should. she sits reflecting. "on second thoughts--perhaps--better not have him taken? it would create a terrible scandal, everywhere. so far, no one knows of --. besides, what can i say myself--the only witness? ah! were i to tell these gallant texans the story, my own testimony would be enough to have him punished with a harsh hand. no! let him live. _ladron_ as he is, i do not fear him. after what's happened he will not care to come near me. _santa virgen_! to think that i could have felt a fancy for this man--short-lived as it was! "i must send some one back to release him. one who can keep my secret-- who? benito, the mayor-domo--faithful and brave. _gracias a dios_! yonder's my man--as usual busied in counting his cattle. benito! benito!" "at your orders, s'norita?" "good benito, i want you to do me a kindness. you consent?" "at your orders, s'norita?" repeats the mayor-domo, bowing low. "not _orders_, good benito. i wish you to do me a _favour_." "command me, s'norita!" "you know the spot of open ground at the top of the hill--where the three roads meet?" "as well as the corral of your uncle's hacienda." "good! go there. you will find a man lying upon the ground, his arms entangled in a lazo. release, and let him go free. if he be hurt--by a harsh fall he has had--do what you can to restore him; but don't tell him who sent you. you may know the man--i think you do. no matter for that. ask him no questions, nor answer his, if he should put any. once you have seen him on his legs, let him make use of them after his own fashion. you understand?" "_perfectamente, s'norita_. your orders shall be obeyed to the letter." "thanks, good benito. uncle silvio will like you all the better for it; though _you_ mustn't tell him of it. leave that to me. if he shouldn't--if he shouldn't--well! one of these days there may be an estate on the rio grande that will stand in need of a brave, faithful steward--such an one as i know you to be." "every one knows that the dona isidora is gracious as she is fair." "thanks--thanks! one more request. the service i ask you to do for me must be known to only three individuals. the third is he whom you are sent to succour. you know the other two?" "s'norita, i comprehend. it shall be as you wish it." the mayor-domo is moving off on horseback, it need scarce be said. men of his calling rarely set foot to the earth--never upon a journey of half a league in length. "stay! i had forgotten!" calls out the lady, arresting him. "you will find a hat and serape. they are mine. bring them, and i shall wait for you here, or meet you somewhere along the way." bowing, he again rides away. again is he summoned to stop. "on second thoughts, senor benito, i've made up my mind to go along with you. _vamos_!" the steward of don silvio is not surprised at caprice, when exhibited by the niece of his employer. without questioning, he obeys her command, and once more heads his horse for the hill. the lady follows. she has told him to ride in the advance. she has her reason for departing from the aristocratic custom. benito is astray in his conjecture. it is not to caprice that he is indebted for the companionship of the senorita. a serious motive takes her back along the road. she has forgotten something more than her wrapper and hat--that little letter that has caused her so much annoyance. the "good benito" has not had _all_ her confidence; nor can he be entrusted with this. _it_ might prove a scandal, graver than the quarrel with don miguel diaz. she rides back in hopes of repossessing herself of the epistle. how stupid not to have thought of it before! how had el coyote got hold of it? he must have had it from jose! was her servant a traitor? or had diaz met him on the way, and forced the letter from him? to either of these questions an affirmative answer might be surmised. on the part of diaz such an act would have been natural enough; and as for jose, it is not the first time she has had reason for suspecting his fidelity. so run her thoughts as she re-ascends the slope, leading up from the river bottom. the summit is gained, and the opening entered; isidora now riding side by side with the mayor-domo. no miguel diaz there--no man of any kind; and what gives her far greater chagrin, not a scrap of paper! there is her hat of vicuna wool--her seraph of saltillo, and the loop end of her lazo--nothing more. "you may go home again, senor benito! the man thrown from his horse must have recovered his senses--and, i suppose, his saddle too. blessed be the virgin! but remember, good benito _secrecy all the same. entiende, v_?" "_yo entiendo, dona isidora_." the mayor-domo moves away, and is soon lost to sight behind the crest of the hill. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the lady of the lazo is once more alone in the glade. she springs out of her saddle; dons serape and sombrero; and is again the _beau-ideal_ of a youthful hidalgo. she remounts slowly, mechanically--as if her thoughts do not company the action. languidly she lifts her limb over the horse. the pretty foot is for a second or two poised in the air. her ankle, escaping from the skirt of her _enagua_, displays a tournure to have crazed praxiteles. as it descends on the opposite side of the horse, a cloud seems to overshadow the sun. simon stylites could scarce have closed his eyes on the spectacle. but there is no spectator of this interesting episode; not even the wretched jose; who, the moment after, comes skulking into the glade. he is questioned, without circumlocution, upon the subject of the strayed letter. "what have you done with it, sirrah?" "delivered it, my lady." "to whom?" "i left it at--at--the _posada_," he replies, stammering and turning pale. "don mauricio had gone out." "a lie, _lepero_! you gave it to don miguel diaz. no denial, sir! i've seen it since." "o senora, pardon! pardon! i am not guilty--indeed i am not." "stupid, you should have told your story better. you have committed yourself. how much did don miguel pay you for your treason?" "as i live, lady, it was not treason. he--he--forced it from me--by threats--blows. i--i--was not paid." "you shall be, then! i discharge you from my service; and for wages take that, and that, and that--" for at least ten times are the words repeated--the riding whip at each repetition descending upon the shoulders of the dishonest messenger. he essays to escape by running off. in vain. he is brought up again by the dread of being ridden over, and trampled under the hoofs of the excited horse. not till the blue wheals appear upon his brown skin, does the chastisement cease. "now, sirrah; from my sight! and let me see you no more. _al monte! al monte_!" with ludicrous alacrity the command is obeyed. like a scared cat the discharged servitor rushes out of the glade; only too happy to hide himself, and his shame, under the shadows of the thorny thicket. but a little while longer does isidora remain upon the spot--her anger giving place to a profound chagrin. not only has she been baffled from carrying out her design; but her heart's secret is now in the keeping of traitors! once more she heads her horse homeward. she arrives in time to be present at a singular spectacle. the people--peons, vaqueros, and employes of every kind--are hurrying to and fro, from field to corral, from corral to courtyard one and all giving tongue to terrified ejaculations. the men are on their feet arming in confused haste; the woman on their knees, praying pitifully to heaven--through the intercession of a score of those saints, profusely furnished by the mexican hierarchy to suit all times and occasions. "what is causing the commotion?" this is the question asked by isidora. the mayor-domo--who chances to be the first to present himself--is the individual thus interrogated. a man has been murdered somewhere out upon the prairie. the victim is one of the new people who have lately taken possession of caso del corvo--the son of the american haciendado himself. indians are reported to have done the deed. indians! in this word is the key to the excitement among don silvio's servitors. it explains both the praying and the hurried rushing to arms. the fact that a man has been murdered--a slight circumstance in that land of unbridled emotions--would have produced no such response--more especially when the man was a stranger, an "americano." but the report that indians are abroad, is altogether a different affair. in it there is an idea of danger. the effect produced on isidora is different. it is not fear of the savages. the name of the "asesinado" recalls thoughts that have already given her pain. she knows that there is a sister, spoken of as being wonderfully beautiful. she has herself looked upon this beauty, and cannot help believing in it. a keener pang proceeds from something else she has heard: that this peerless maiden has been seen in the company of maurice gerald. there is no fresh jealousy inspired by the news of the brother's death--only the old unpleasantness for the moment revived. the feeling soon gives place to the ordinary indifference felt for the fate of those with whom we have no acquaintance. some hours later, and this indifference becomes changed to a painful interest; in short, an apprehension. there are fresh reports about the murder. it has been committed, not by comanches; but by a white man--by _maurice the mustanger_! there are no indians near. this later edition of "novedades," while tranquilising don silvio's servants, has the contrary effect upon his niece. she cannot rest under the rumour; and half-an-hour afterwards, she is seen reining up her horse in front of the village hotel. for some weeks, with motive unknown, she has been devoting herself to the study of _la lengua americana_. her vocabulary of english words, still scanty, is sufficient for her present purpose; which is to acquire information, not about the murder, but the man accused of committing it. the landlord, knowing who she is, answers her inquiries with obsequious politeness. she learns that maurice gerald is no longer his guest, with "full particulars of the murder," so far as known. with a sad heart she rides back to the hacienda martinez. on reaching the house, she finds its tranquillity again disturbed. the new cause of excitement might have been deemed ludicrous; though it is not so regarded by the superstitious _peons_. a rare rumour has reached the place. a man without a head--_un hombre descabezado_--has been seen riding about the plains, somewhere near the rio nueces! despite its apparent absurdity, there can be no doubting the correctness of the report. it is rife throughout the settlement. but there is still surer confirmation of it. a party of don silvio's own people-- herdsmen out in search of strayed cattle--have seen the _cavallero descabezado_; and, desisting from their search, had ridden away from him, as they would have done from the devil! the _vaqueros_--there are three of them--are all ready to swear to the account given. but their scared looks furnish a more trustworthy evidence of its truthfulness. the sun goes down upon a _congeries_ of frightful rumours. neither these nor the protestations of don silvio and his sister can prevent their capricious niece from carrying out a resolution she seems suddenly to have formed--which is, to ride back to the rio grande. it makes no difference to her, that a murder has been committed on the road she will have to take; much less that near it has been seen the ghastly apparition of a headless horseman! what to any other traveller should cause dismay, seems only to attract isidora. she even proposes making the journey _alone_! don silvio offers an escort--half a score of his _vaqueros_, armed to the teeth. the offer is rejected. will she take benito? no. she prefers journeying alone. in short, she is determined upon it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ next morning she carries out this determination. by day-break she is in the saddle; and, in less than two hours after, riding, not upon the direct road to the rio grande, but along the banks of the alamo! why has she thus deviated from her route? is she straying? she looks not like one who has lost her way. there is a sad expression upon her countenance, but not one of inquiry. besides, her horse steps confidently forward, as if under his rider's direction, and guided by the rein. isidora is not straying. she has not lost her way. happier for her, if she had. chapter fifty six. a shot at the devil. all night long the invalid lay awake; at times tranquil, at times giving way to a paroxysm of unconscious passion. all night long the hunter sate by his bedside, and listened to his incoherent utterances. they but confirmed two points of belief already impressed upon zeb's mind: that louise poindexter was beloved; that her brother had been murdered! the last was a belief that, under any circumstances, would have been painful to the backwoodsman. coupled with the facts already known, it was agonising. he thought of the quarrel--the hat--the cloak. he writhed as he contemplated the labyrinth of dark ambiguities that presented itself to his mind. never in his life had his analytical powers been so completely baffled. he groaned as he felt their impotence. he kept no watch upon the door. he knew that if _they_ came, it would not be in the night. once only he went out; but that was near morning, when the light of the moon was beginning to mingle with that of the day. he had been summoned by a sound. tara, straying among the trees, had given utterance to a long dismal "gowl," and come running scared-like into the hut. extinguishing the light, zeb stole forth, and stood listening. there was an interruption to the nocturnal chorus; but that might have been caused by the howling of the hound? what had caused _it_? the hunter directed his glance first upon the open lawn; then around its edge, and under the shadow of the trees. there was nothing to be seen there, except what should be. he raised his eyes to the cliff, that in a dark line trended along the horizon of the sky--broken at both ends by the tops of some tall trees that rose above its crest. there were about fifty paces of clear space, which he knew to be the edge of the upper plain terminating at the brow of the precipice. the line separating the _chiaro_ from the _oscuro_ could be traced distinctly as in the day. a brilliant moon was beyond it. a snake could have been seen crawling along the top of the cliff. there was nothing to be seen there. but there was something to be heard. as zeb stood listening there came a sound from the upper plain, that seemed to have been produced not far back from the summit of the cliff. it resembled the clinking of a horse's shoe struck against a loose stone. so conjectured zeb, as with open ears he listened to catch its repetition. it was not repeated; but he soon saw what told him his conjecture was correct--a horse, stepping out from behind the treetops, and advancing along the line of the bluff. there was a man upon his back--both horse and man distinctly seen in dark _silhouette_ against the clear sapphire sky. the figure of the horse was perfect, as in the outlines of a skilfully cast medallion. that of the man could be traced--only from the saddle to the shoulders. below, the limbs were lost in the shadow of the animal though the sparkle of spur and stirrup told that they were there. above, there was nothing--not even the semblance of a head! zeb stump rubbed his eyes and looked; and rubbed them and looked again. it did not change the character of the apparition. if he had rubbed them fourscore times, he would have seen the same--a horseman without a head. this very sight he saw, beyond the possibility of disbelieving--saw the horse advancing along the level line in a slow but steady pace--without footfall--without sound of any kind--as if gliding rather than walking-- like the shifting scene of a cosmorama! not for a mere instant had he the opportunity of observing the spectral apparition; but a period long enough to enable him to note every detail--long enough to satisfy him that it could be no illusion of the eye, or in any way a deception of his senses. nor did it vanish abruptly from his view; but slowly and gradually: first the head of the horse; then the neck and shoulders; then the shape, half ghastly, half grotesque, of the rider; then the hind-quarters of the animal; the hips; and last of all the long tapering tail! "geehosophat!" it was not surprise at the disappearance of the headless horseman that extorted this exclamation from the lips of zeb stump. there was nothing strange about this. the spectacle had simply passed behind the proscenium--represented by the tope of tree tops rising above the bluff. "geehosophat!" twice did the backwoodsman give utterance to this, his favourite expression of surprise; both times with an emphasis that told of an unlimited astonishment. his looks betrayed it. despite his undoubted courage, a shiver passed through his colossal frame; while the pallor upon his lips was perceptible through their brown priming of tobacco juice. for some time he stood speechless, as if unable to follow up his double ejaculation. his tongue at length returned to him. "dog-gone my cats!" he muttered, but in a very low tone, and with eyes still fixed upon the point where the horse's tail had been last seen. "if that ere don't whip the hul united creashun, my name ain't zeb'lon stump! the irish hev been right arter all. i tho't he hed dreemt o' it in his drink. but no. he hev seed somethin'; and so hev i meself. no wonner the cuss war skeeart. i feel jest a spell shaky in my own narves beout this time. geehosophat! what kin the durned thing be?" "what _kin_ it be?" he continued, after a period spent in silent reflection. "dog-goned, ef i kin detarmine one way or the tother. ef 't hed been only i' the daylight, an i ked a got a good sight on't; or eft hed been a leetle bit cloaster! ha! why moutn't i git cloaster to _it_? dog-goned, ef i don't hev a try! i reck'n it won't eet me--not ef it air ole nick; an ef it _air_ him, i'll jest satersfy meself whether a bullet kin go custrut thro' his infernal karkidge 'ithout throwin' him out o' the seddle. hyur go for a cloaster akwaintance wi' the varmint, whatsomiver it be." so saying, the hunter stalked off through the trees--upon the path that led up to the bluff. he had not needed to go inside for his rifle--having brought that weapon out with him, on hearing the howl of the hound. if the headless rider was real flesh and blood--earthly and not of the other world--zeb stump might confidently count upon seeing him again. when viewed from the door of the _jacale_, he was going direct towards the ravine, that permitted passage from the higher level to the bottom lands of the alamo. as zeb had started to avail himself of the same path, unless the other should meantime change direction, or his tranquil pace to a trot or gallop, the backwoodsman would be at the head of the pass as soon as he. before starting, zeb had made a calculation of the distance to be done, and the time to do it in. his estimate proved correct--to a second, and an inch. as his head was brought nearly on a level with the upland plain, he saw the _shoulders_ of the horseman rising above it. another step upward, and the body was in view. another, and the horse was outlined against the sky, from hoof to forelock. he stood at a halt. he was standing, as zeb first came in sight of him. he was fronting towards the cliff, evidently intending to go down into the gorge. his rider appeared to have pulled him up as a measure of precaution; or he may have heard the hunter scrambling up the ravine; or, what was more likely, scented him. for whatever reason, he was standing, front face to the spectator. on seeing him thus, zeb stump also came to a stand. had it been many another man, the same might have been said of his hair; and it is not to be denied, that the old hunter was at that moment, as he acknowledged himself, "a spell shaky 'beout the narves." he was firm enough, however, to carry out the purpose that had prompted him to seek that singular interview; which was, to discover whether he had to deal with a human being, or the devil! in an instant his rifle was at his shoulder, his eye glancing along the barrel; the sights, by the help of a brilliant moonlight, bearing upon the heart of the headless horseman. in another, a bullet would have been through it; but for a thought that just then flashed across the brain of the backwoodsman. maybe he was about to commit _murder_? at the thought he lowered the muzzle of his piece, and remained for a time undecided. "it mout be a man?" muttered he, "though it don't look like it air. thur ain't room enuf for a head under that ere mexikin blanket, no how. ef it be a human critter he hev got a tongue i reck'n, though he ain't much o' a head to hold it in. hilloo stronger! ye're out for a putty lateish ride, ain't ye? hain't yo forgot to fetch yur head wi ye?" there was no reply. the horse snorted, on hearing the voice. that was all. "lookee hyur, strenger! ole zeb stump from the state o' kintucky, air the individooal who's now speakin' to ye. he ain't one o' thet sort ter be trifled wi'. don't try to kum none o' yer damfoolery over this hyur coon. i warn ye to declur yur game. if ye're playin possum, ye'd better throw up yur hand; or by the jumpin' geehosophat, ye may lose both yur stake an yur curds! speak out now, afore ye gits plugged wi' a piece o' lead!" less response than before. this time the horse, becoming accustomed to the voice, only tossed up his head. "then dog-gone ye!" shouted the hunter, exasperated by what he deemed an insulting silence. "six seconds more--i'll gie ye six more; an ef ye don't show speech by that time, i'll let drive at yur guts. ef ye're but a dummy it won't do ye any harm. no more will it, i reckun, ef ye _air_ the devil. but ef ye're a man playin' possum, durn me ef ye don't desarve to be shot for bein' sech a damned fool. sing out!" he continued with increasing anger, "sing out, i tell ye! ye won't? then hyur goes! one--two--three--four--five--six!" where "seven" should have come in, had the count been continued, was heard the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by the sibillation of a spinning bullet; then the dull "thud" as the deadly missile buried itself in some solid body. the only effect produced by the shot, appeared to be the frightening of the horse. the rider still kept his seat in the saddle! it was not even certain the horse was scared. the clear neigh that responded to the detonation of the rifle, had something in it that sounded derisive! for all that, the animal went off at a tearing gallop; leaving zeb stump a prey to the profoundest surprise he had ever experienced. after discharging his rifle, he remained upon his knees, for a period of several seconds. if his nerves were unsteady before the shot, they had become doubly so now. he was not only surprised at the result, but terrified. he was certain that his bullet had passed through the man's heart--or where it should be--as sure as if his muzzle had been held close to the ribs. it could not be a man? he did not believe it to be one; and this thought might have reassured him, but for the behaviour of the horse. it was that wild unearthly neigh, that was now chilling his blood, and causing his limbs to shake, as if under an ague. he would have retreated; but, for a time, he felt absolutely unable to rise to his feet; and he remained kneeling, in a sort of stupefied terror--watching the weird form till it receded out of sight far off over the moonlit plain. not till then did he recover sufficient courage, to enable him to glide back down the gorge, and on towards the _jacale_. and not till he was under its roof, did he feel sufficiently himself, to reflect with any calmness on the odd encounter that had occurred to him. it was some time before his mind became disabused of the idea that he had been dealing with the devil. reflection, however, convinced him of the improbability of this; though it gave him no clue as to what the thing really was. "shurly," muttered he, his conjectural form of speech showing that he was still undecided, "shurly arter all it can't be a thing o' the tother world--else i kedn't a heern the _cothug_ o' my bullet? sartin the lead struck agin somethin' solid; an i reck'n thur's nothin' solid in the karkidge o' a ghost?" "wagh!" he concluded, apparently resigning the attempt to obtain a solution of the strange physical phenomenon. "let the durned thing slide! one o' two things it air boun' to be: eyther a bunnel o' rags, or ole harry from hell?" as he re-entered the hut, the blue light of morning stole in along with him. it was time to awaken phelim, that he might take his turn by the bedside of the invalid. the connemara man, now thoroughly restored to sobriety, and under the impression of having been a little derelict in his duty, was ready to undertake the task. the old hunter, before consigning his charge to the care of his unskilled successor, made a fresh dressing of the scratches--availing himself of the knowledge that a long experience had given him in the pharmacopoeia of the forest. the _nopal_ was near; and its juice inspissated into the fresh wounds would not fail to effect their speedy cure. zeb knew that in twenty-four hours after its application, they would be in process of healing; and in three days, entirely cicatrised. with this confidence--common to every denizen of the cactus-covered land of mexico--he felt defiant as to doctors; and if a score of them could have been procured upon the instant, he would not have summoned one. he was convinced that maurice gerald was in no danger--at least not from his wounds. there was a danger; but that was of a different kind. "an' now, mister pheelum," said he, on making a finish of his surgical operations; "we hev dud all thet kin be dud for the outard man, an it air full time to look arter the innard. ye say thur ain't nuthin to eet?" "not so much as a purtaty, misther stump. an' what's worse thare's nothin' to dhrink--not a dhrap lift in the whole cyabin." "durn ye, that's _yur_ fault," cried stump, turning upon the irishman with a savage scowl that showed equal regret at the announcement. "eft hadn't a been for you, thur war licker enough to a lasted till the young fellur got roun' agin. what's to be dud now?" "sowl, misther stump! yez be wrongin' _me_ althegither intirely. that same yez are. i hadn't a taste exciptin what came out av the little flask. it wus thim indyins that imptied the dimmyjan. trath was it." "wagh! ye cudn't a got drunk on what wur contained i' the flask. i know yur durned guts too well for thet. ye must a had a good pull at the tother, too." "be all the saints--" "durn yur stinkin' saints! d'you s'pose any man o' sense believes in sech varmint as them? "wal; 'tain't no use talkin' any more beout it. ye've sucked up the corn juice, an thur's an end o't. thur ain't no more to be hed 'ithin twenty mile, an we must go 'ithout." "be jaysus, but it's bad!" "shet up yur head, durn ye, an hear what i've got to say. we'll hev to go 'ithout drinkin'; but thet air no reezun for sturvin' ourselves for want o' somethin' to eet. the young fellur, i don't misdoubt, air by this time half starved hisself. thur's not much on his stummuk, i reck'n, though thur may be on his mind. as for meself, i'm jest hungry enough to eat coyoat; an i ain't very sure i'd turn away from turkey buzzart; which, as i reck'n, wud be a wusser victual than coyoat. but we ain't obleeged to eet turkey buzzart, whar thur's a chance o' gettin' turkey; an thet ain't so dewbious along the alamo. you stay hyur, an take care o' the young fellur, whiles i try up the crik, an see if i kin kum acrosst a gobbler." "i'll do that, misther stump, an no mistake. be me trath--" "keep yur palaver to yurself, till i've finished talkin' to ye." "sowl! i won't say a word." "then don't, but lissen! thur's somethin 'bout which i don't wait ye to make any mistake. it air this. ef there shed anybody stray this way dyurin my absince, ye'll let me know. you musn't lose a minnit o' time, but let me know." "shure i will--sowl, yis." "wal, i'll depend on ye." "trath, yez may;--but how misther stump? how am i to lit yez know, if you're beyant hearin' av me voice? how thin?" "wal, i reck'n, i shan't need to go so fur as thet. thur ought to be gobblers cloast by--at this time o' the mornin'. "an yit there moutent," continued zeb, after reflecting a while. "ye ain't got sech a thing as a gun in the shanty? a pistol 'ud do." "nayther wan nor the tother. the masther tuk both away wid him, when he went last time to the sittlements. he must have lift them thare." "it air awk'ard. i mout _not_ heer yur shout." zeb, who had by this time passed through the doorway, again stopped to reflect. "heigh!" he exclaimed, after a pause of six seconds. "i've got it. i've treed the eydee. ye see my ole maar, tethered out thur on the grass?" "shure i do, misther stump. av coorse i do." "wal, ye see thet ere prickly cacktis plant growin' cloast to the edge o' the openin'?" "faith, yis." "wal, that's sensible o' ye. now lissen to what i say. ye must keep a look out at the door; an ef anybody kums up whiles i'm gone, run straight custrut for the cacktis, cut off one o' its branches--the thorniest ye kin see--an stick it unner the maar's tail." "mother av moses! for what div yez want me to do that?" "wal, i reck'n i'd better explain," said zeb, reflectingly; "otherwise ye'll be makin' a mess o' it." "ye see, pheelum, ef anybody interlopes durin' my absince i hed better be hyur. i ain't a goin' fur off. but howsomediver near, i moutn't hear yur screech; thurfore the maar's 'll do better. you clap the cacktis under her tail, cloast up to the fundament; and ef she don't squeal loud enuf to be heern by me, then ye may konklude that this coon air eyther rubbed out, or hev both his lugs plugged wi picket pins. so, pheelum; do you adzactly as i've tolt ye." "i'll do it, be japers!" "be sure now. yur master's life may depend upon it." after delivering this last caution, the hunter shouldered his long rifle, and walked away from the hut. "he's a cute owld chap that same," said phelim as soon as zeb was out of hearing. "i wonder what he manes by the master bein' in danger from any wan comin' to the cyabin. he sed, that his life moight depend upon it? yis--he sed that." "he towlt me to kape a luk out. i suppose he maned me to begin at wance. i must go to the inthrance thin." so saying, he stepped outside the door; and proceeded to make an ocular inspection of the paths by which the _jacale_ might be approached. after completing this, he returned to the threshold; and there took stand, in the attitude of one upon the watch. chapter fifty seven. sounding the signal. phelim's vigil was of short duration. scarce ten minutes had he been keeping it, when he became warned by the sound of a horse's hoof, that some one was coming up the creek in the direction of the hut. his heart commenced hammering against his ribs. the trees, standing thickly, hindered him from having a view of the approaching horseman; and he could not tell what sort of guest was about to present himself at the _jacale_. but the hoofstroke told him there was only _one_; and this it was that excited his apprehension. he would have been less alarmed to hear the trampling of a troop. though well assured it could no longer be his master, he had no stomach for a second interview with the cavalier who so closely resembled him--in everything except the head. his first impulse was to rush across the lawn, and carry out the scheme entrusted to him by zeb. but the indecision springing from his fears kept him to his place--long enough to show him that they were groundless. the strange horseman had a head. "shure an that same he hez," said phelim, as the latter rode out from among the trees, and halted on the edge of the opening; "a raal hid, an a purty face in front av it. an' yit it don't show so plazed nayther. he luks as if he'd jist buried his grandmother. sowl! what a quare young chap he is, wid them toiny mowstacks loike the down upon a two days' goslin'! o lard! luk at his little fut! _be jaysus, he's a woman_!" while the irishman was making these observations--partly in thought, partly in muttered speech--the equestrian advanced a pace or two, and again paused. on a nearer view of his visitor, phelim saw that he had correctly guessed the sex; though the moustache, the manner of the mount, the hat, and serape, might for the moment have misled a keener intellect than his of connemara. it _was_ a woman. it was isidora. it was the first time that phelim had set eyes on the mexican maiden-- the first that hers had ever rested upon him. they were equally unknown to one another. he had spoken the truth, when he said that her countenance did not display pleasure. on the contrary, the expression upon it was sad-- almost disconsolate. it had shown distrust, as she was riding under the shadow of the trees. instead of brightening as she came out into the open ground, the look only changed to one of mingled surprise and disappointment. neither could have been caused by her coming within sight of the _jacale_. she knew of its existence. it was the goal of her journey. it must have been the singular personage standing in the doorway. he was not the man she expected to see there. in doubt she advanced to address him: "i may have made a mistake?" said she, speaking in the best "americana" she could command. "pardon me, but--i--i thought--that don mauricio lived here." "dan marryshow, yez say? trath, no. thare's nobody av that name lives heeur. dan marryshow? thare was a man they called marrish had a dwillin' not far out av ballyballagh. i remimber the chap will, bekase he chated me wanst in a horse thrade. but his name wasn't dan. no; it was pat. pat marrish was the name--divil burn him for a desaver!" "don mauricio--mor-rees--mor-ees." "oh! maurice! maybe ye'd be after spakin' av the masther--misther gerrald!" "si--si! senor zyerral." "shure, thin, an if that's fwhat ye're afther, misther gerrald diz dwill in this very cyabin--that is, whin he comes to divart hisself, by chasin' the wild horses. he only kapes it for a huntin' box, ye know. arrah, now; if yez cud only see the great big cyastle he lives in whin he's at home, in owld ireland; an thy bewtiful crayther that's now cryin' her swate blue eyes out, bekase he won't go back thare. sowl, if yez saw _her_!" despite its _patois_, phelim's talk was too well understood by her to whom it was addressed. jealousy is an apt translator. something like a sigh escaped from isidora, as he pronounced that little word "her." "i don't wish to see _her_," was the quick rejoinder; "but him you mention. is he at home? is he inside?" "is he at home? thare now, that's comin' to the point--straight as a poike staff. an' supposin' i wuz to say yis, fwhat ud yez be afther wantin' wid him?" "i wish to see him." "div yez? maybe now ye'll wait till yez be asked. ye're a purty crayther, notwithstandin' that black strake upon yer lip. but the masther isn't in a condishun jist at this time to see any wan--unless it was the praste or a docthur. yez cyant see him." "but i wish very much to see him, senor." "trath div yez. ye've sayed that alriddy. but yez cyant, i till ye. it isn't phaylim onale ud deny wan av the fair six--espacially a purty black-eyed colleen loike yerself. but for all that yez cyant see the masther now." "why can i not?" "why cyant yez not? will--thare's more than wan rayzon why yez cyant. in the first place, as i've towlt you, he's not in a condishun to resave company--the liss so av its bein' a lady." "but why, senor? why?" "bekase he's not dacently drissed. he's got nothin' on him but his shirt--exceptin' the rags that misther stump's jist tied all roun' him. be japers! thare's enough av them to make him a whole shoot--coat, waiscoat, and throwsers--trath is thare." "senor, i don't understand you." "yez don't? shure an i've spoke plain enough! don't i till ye that the masther's in bid?" "in bed! at this hour? i hope there's nothing--" "the matther wid him, yez wur goin' to say? alannah, that same is there--a powerful dale the matther wid him--enough to kape him betwane the blankets for weeks to come." "oh, senor! do not tell me that he is ill?" "don't i till ye! arrah now me honey; fwhat ud be the use av consalin' it? it ud do it no good; nayther cyan it do him any harm to spake about it? yez moight say it afore his face, an he won't conthradict ye." "he _is_ ill, then. o, sir, tell me, what is the nature of his illness--what has caused it?" "shure an i cyant answer only wan av thim interrogataries--the first yez hiv phut. his disaze pursades from some ugly tratement he's been resavin--the lord only knows what, or who administhered it. he's got a bad lig; an his skin luks as if he'd been tied up in a sack along wid a score av angry cats. sowl! thare's not the brenth av yer purty little hand widout a scratch upon it. worse than all, he's besoide hisself." "beside himself?" "yis, that same. he's ravin' loike wan that had a dhrap too much overnight, an thinks thare's the man wid the poker afther him. be me trath, i belave the very bist thing for him now ud be a thrifle av potheen--if wan cud only lay hands upon that same. but thare's not the smell av it in the cyabin. both the dimmy-jan an flask. arrah, now; _you_ wouldn't be afther havin' a little flask upon yer sweet silf? some av that agwardinty, as yer people call it. trath, i've tasted worse stuff than it. i'm shure a dhrink av it ud do the masther good. spake the truth, misthress! hiv yez any about ye?" "no, senor. i have nothing of the kind. i am sorry i have not." "faugh! the more's the pity for poor masther maurice. it ud a done him a dale av good. well; he must put up widout it." "but, senor; surely i can see him?" "divil a bit. besides fwhat ud be the use? he wudn't know ye from his great grandmother. i till yez agane, he's been badly thrated, an 's now besoide hisself!" "all the more reason why i should see him. i may be of service. i owe him a debt--of--of--" "oh! yez be owin' him somethin? yez want to pay it? faith, that makes it intirely different. but yez needn't see _him_ for that. i'm his head man, an thransact all that sort av bizness for him. i cyant write myself, but i'll give ye a resate on the crass wid me mark--which is jist as good, among the lawyers. yis, misthress; yez may pay the money over to me, an i promise ye the masther 'll niver axe ye for it agane. trath! it'll come handy jist now, as we're upon the ave av a flittin, an may want it. so if yez have the pewther along wid ye, thare's pins, ink, an paper insoide the cyabin. say the word, an i'll giv ye the resate!" "no--no--no! i did not mean money. a debt of--of--gratitude." "faugh! only that. sowl, it's eezy paid, an don't want a resate. but yez needn't return that sort av money now: for the masther woudn't be sinsible av fwhat ye wur sayin. whin he comes to his sinses, i'll till him yez hiv been heeur, and wiped out the score." "surely i can see him?" "shurely now yez cyant." "but i must, senor!" "divil a must about it. i've been lift on guard, wid sthrict ordhers to lit no wan go inside." "they couldn't have been meant for me. i am his friend--the friend of don mauricio." "how is phaylum onale to know that? for all yer purty face, yez moight be his didliest innemy. be japers! its loike enough, now that i take a second luk at ye." "i must see him--i must--i will--i shall!" as isidora pronounced these words, she flung herself out of the saddle, and advanced in the direction of the door. her air of earnest determination combined with the fierce--scarce feminine--expression upon her countenance, convinced the galwegian, that the contingency had arrived for carrying out the instructions left by zeb stump, and that he had been too long neglecting his cue. turning hurriedly into the hut, he came out again, armed with a tomahawk; and was about to rush past, when he was brought to a sudden stand, by seeing a pistol in the hands of his lady visitor, pointed straight at his head! "_abajo la hacha_!" (down with the hatchet), cried she. "_lepero_! lift your arm to strike me, and it will be for the last time!" "stroike ye, misthress! stroike _you_!" blubbered the _ci-devant_ stable-boy, as soon as his terror permitted him to speak. "mother av the lard! i didn't mane the waypon for you at all, at all! i'll sware it on the crass--or a whole stack av bibles if yez say so. in trath misthress; i didn't mane the tammyhauk for you!" "why have you brought it forth?" inquired the lady, half suspecting that she had made a mistake, and lowering her pistol as she became convinced of it. "why have you thus armed yourself?" "as i live, only to ixecute the ordhers, i've resaved--only to cut a branch off av the cyacktus yez see over yander, an phut it undher the tail av the owld mare. shure yez won't object to my doin' that?" in her turn, the lady became silent--surprised at the singular proposition. the odd individual she saw before her, could not mean mischief. his looks, attitude, and gestures were grotesque, rather than threatening; provocative of mirth--not fear, or indignation. "silince gives consint. thank ye," said phelim, as, no longer in fear of being shot down in his tracks, he ran straight across the lawn, and carried out to the letter, the parting injunctions of zeb stump. the mexican maiden hitherto held silent by surprise, remained so, on perceiving the absolute idleness of speech. further conversation was out of the question. what with the screaming of the mare--continuous from the moment the spinous crupper was inserted under her tail--the loud trampling of her hoofs as she "cavorted" over the turf--the dismal howling of the hound--and the responsive cries of the wild forest denizens--birds, beasts, insects, and reptiles--only the voice of a stentor could have been heard! what could be the purpose of the strange proceeding? how was it to terminate? isidora looked on in silent astonishment. she could do nothing else. so long as the infernal fracas continued, there was no chance to elicit an explanation from the queer creature who had caused it. he had returned to the door of the jacale; and once more taken his stand upon the threshold; where he stood, with the tranquil satisfied air of an actor who has completed the performance of his part in the play, and feels free to range himself among the spectator. chapter fifty eight. recoiling from a kiss. for full ten minutes was the wild chorus kept up, the mare all the time squealing like a stuck pig; while the dog responded in a series of lugubrious howls, that reverberated along the cliffs on both sides of the creek. to the distance of a mile might the sounds have been heard; and as zeb stump was not likely to be so far from the hut, he would be certain to hear them. convinced of this, and that the hunter would soon respond to the signal he had himself arranged, phelim stood square upon the threshold, in hopes that the lady visitor would stay outside--at least, until he should be relieved of the responsibility of admitting her. notwithstanding her earnest protestations of amity, he was still suspicious of some treasonable intention towards his master; else why should zeb have been so particular about being summoned back? of himself, he had abandoned the idea of offering resistance. that shining pistol, still before his eyes, had cured him of all inclination for a quarrel with the strange equestrian; and so far as the connemara man was concerned, she might have gone unresisted inside. but there was another from connemara, who appeared more determined to dispute her passage to the hut--one whom a whole battery of great guns would not have deterred from protecting its owner. this was tara. the staghound was not acting as if under the excitement of a mere senseless alarm. mingling with his prolonged sonorous "gowl" could be heard in repeated interruptions a quick sharp bark, that denoted anger. he had witnessed the attitude of the intruder--its apparent hostility-- and drawing his deductions, had taken stand directly in front of phelim and the door, with the evident determination that neither should be reached except over his own body, and after running the gauntlet of his formidable incisors. isidora showed no intention of undertaking the risk. she had none. astonishment was, for the time, the sole feeling that possessed her. she remained transfixed to the spot, without attempting to say a word. she stood expectingly. to such an eccentric prelude there should be a corresponding _finale_. perplexed, but patiently, she awaited it. of her late alarm there was nothing left. what she saw was too ludicrous to allow of apprehension; though it was also too incomprehensible to elicit laughter. in the mien of the man, who had so oddly comported himself, there was no sign of mirth. if anything, a show of seriousness, oddly contrasting with the comical act he had committed; and which plainly proclaimed that he had not been treating her to a joke. the expression of helpless perplexity that had become fixed upon her features, continued there; until a tall man, wearing a faded blanket coat, and carrying a six-foot rifle, was seen striding among the tree-trunks, at the rate of ten miles to the hour. he was making direct for the _jacale_. at sight of the new-comer her countenance underwent a change. there was now perceptible upon it a shade of apprehension; and the little pistol was clutched with renewed nerve by the delicate hand that still continued to hold it. the act was partly precautionary, partly mechanical. nor was it unnatural, in view of the formidable-looking personage who was approaching, and the earnest excited manner with which he was hurrying forward to the hut. all this became altered, as he advanced into the open ground, and suddenly stopped on its edge; a look of surprise quite as great as that upon the countenance of the lady, supplanting his earnest glances. some exclamatory phrases were sent through his teeth, unintelligible in the tumult still continuing, though the gesture that accompanied them seemed to proclaim them of a character anything but gentle. on giving utterance to them, he turned to one side; strode rapidly towards the screaming mare; and, laying hold of her tail--which no living man save himself would have dared to do--he released her from the torments she had been so long enduring. silence was instantly restored; since the mare, abandoned by her fellow choristers, as they became accustomed to her wild neighs, had been, for some time, keeping up the solo by herself. the lady was not yet enlightened. her astonishment continued; though a side glance given to the droll individual in the doorway told her, that he had successfully accomplished some scheme with which he had been entrusted. phelim's look of satisfaction was of short continuance. it vanished, as zeb stump, having effected the deliverance of the tortured quadruped, faced round to the hut--as he did so, showing a cloud upon the corrugations of his countenance, darkly ominous of an angry storm. even the presence of beauty did not hinder it from bursting. "durn, an dog-gone ye, for a irish eedyit! air this what ye've brought me back for! an' jest as i wur takin' sight on a turkey, not less 'n thirty poun' weight, i reck'n; skeeart afore he ked touch trigger, wi' the skreek o' thet cussed critter o' a maar. damned little chance for breakfust now." "but, misther stump, didn't yez till me to do it? ye sid if any wan showld come to the cyabin--" "bah! ye fool! ye don't serpose i meened weemen, did ye?" "trath! i didn't think it wus wan, whin she furst presented hersilf. yez showld a seen the way she rid up--sittin' astraddle on her horse." "what matter it, how she wur sittin'! hain't ye seed thet afore, ye greenhorn? it's thur usooal way 'mong these hyur mexikin sheemales. ye're more o' a woman than she air, i guess; an twenty times more o' a fool. thet i'm sartint o'. i know _her_ a leetle by sight, an somethin' more by reeport. what hev fetched the critter hyur ain't so difeequilt to comprehend; tho' it may be to git it out o' her, seein' as she kin only talk thet thur mexikin lingo; the which this chile can't, nor wudn't ef he kud." "sowl, misther stump! yez be mistaken. she spakes english too. don't yez, misthress?" "little inglees," returned the mexican, who up to this time had remained listening. "inglees _poco pocito_." "o--ah!" exclaimed zeb, slightly abashed at what he had been saying. "i beg your pardin, saynoritta. ye kin _habla_ a bit o' amerikin, kin ye? _moocho bono_--so much the betterer. ye'll be able to tell me what ye mout be a wantin' out hyur. ye hain't lost yur way, hev ye?" "no, senor," was the reply, after a pause. "in that case, ye know whar ye air?" "_si, senor--si_--yes, of don mauricio zyerral, this the--house?" "thet air the name, near as a mexikin mouth kin make it, i reck'n. 'tain't much o' a house; but it air his'n. preehaps ye want to see the master o't?" "o, senor--yees--that is for why i here am--_por esta yo soy aqui_." "wal; i reck'n, thur kin be no objecshun to yur seein' him. yur intenshuns ain't noways hostile to the young fellur, i kalklate. but thur ain't much good in yur talkin' to him now. he won't know yo from a side o' sole-leather." "he is ill? has met with some misfortune? _el guero_ has said so." "yis. i towlt her that," interposed phelim, whose carroty hair had earned for him the appellation "el guero." "sartin," answered zeb. "he air wounded a bit; an jest now a leetle dulleerious. i reck'n it ain't o' much consekwence. he'll be hisself agin soon's the ravin' fit's gone off o' him." "o, sir! can i be his nurse till then? _por amor dios_! let me enter, and watch over him? i am his friend--_un amigo muy afficionado_." "wal; i don't see as thur's any harm in it. weemen makes the best o' nusses i've heern say; tho', for meself, i hain't hed much chance o' tryin' 'em, sincst i kivered up my ole gurl unner the sods o' massissipi. ef ye want to take a spell by the side o' the young fellur, ye're wilkim--seein' ye're his friend. ye kin look arter him, till we git back, an see thet he don't tummel out o' the bed, or claw off them thur bandidges, i've tied roun him." "trust me, good sir, i shall take every care of him. but tell me what has caused it? the indians? no, they are not near? has there been a quarrel with any one?" "in thet, saynoritta; ye're beout as wise as i air meself. thur's been a quarrel wi' coyeats; but that ain't what's gin him the ugly knee. i foun' him yesterday, clost upon sun-down, in the chapparal beyont. when we kim upon him, he war up to his waist in the water o' a crik as runs through thur, jest beout to be attakted by one o' them spotty critters yur people call tigers. wal, i relieved him o' that bit o' danger; but what happened afore air a mystery to me. the young fellur had tuk leeve o' his senses, an ked gie no account o' hisself. he hain't rekivered them yet; an', thurfore, we must wait till he do." "but you are sure, sir, he is not badly injured? his wounds--they are not dangerous?" "no danger whatsomediver. nuthin' beyont a bit o' a fever, or maybe a touch o' the agey, when that goes off o' him. as for the wounds, they're only a wheen o' scratches. when the wanderin' hev gone out o' his senses, he'll soon kum roun, i reck'n. in a week's time, ye'll see him as strong as a buck." "oh! i shall nurse him tenderly!" "wal, that's very kind o' you; but--but--" zeb hesitated, as a queer thought came before his mind. it led to a train of reflections kept to himself. they were these: "this air the same she, as sent them kickshaws to the tavern o' rough an ready. thet she air in love wi' the young fellur is clur as massissipi mud--in love wi' him to the eends o' her toe nails. so's the tother. but it air equally clur that he's thinkin' o' the tother, an not o' her. now ef she hears him talk about tother, as he hev been a doin' all o' the night, thur'll be a putty consid'able rumpus riz inside o' her busom. poor thing! i pity her. she ain't a bad sort. but the irish-- irish tho' he be--can't belong to both; an i _know_ he freezes to the critter from the states. it air durned awkurd--better ef i ked pursuade her not to go near him--leastwise till he gets over ravin' about lewaze. "but, miss," he continued, addressing himself to the mexican, who during his long string of reflections had stood impatiently silent, "don't ye think ye'd better ride home agin; an kum back to see him arter he gits well. he won't know ye, as i've sayed; an it would be no use yur stayin', since he ain't in any danger o' makin' a die of it." "no matter, that he may not know me. i should tend him all the same. he may need some things--which i can send, and procure for him." "ef ye're boun' to stay then," rejoined zeb, relentingly, as if some new thought was causing him to consent, "i won't interfere to say, no. but don't you mind what he'll be palaverin' about. ye may hear some queer talk out o' him, beout a man bein' murdered, an the like. that's natral for any one as is dulleerious. don't be skeeart at it. beside, ye may hear him talkin' a deal about a woman, as he's got upon his mind." "a woman!" "jest so. ye'll hear him make mention o' her name." "her name! senor, what name?" "wal, it air the name o' his sister, i reck'n. fact, i'm sure o' it bein' his sister." "oh! misther stump. if yez be spakin' av masther maurice--" "shut up, ye durned fool! what is't to you what i'm speakin' beout? you can't unnerstan sech things. kum along!" he continued, moving off, and motioning the connemara man to follow him. "i want ye a leetle way wi' me. i killed a rattle as i wur goin' up the crik, an left it thur. kum you, an toat it back to the shanty hyur, lest some varmint may make away wi' it; an lest, arter all, i moutn't strike turkey agin." "a rattle. div yez mane a rattle-snake?" "an' what shed i mean?" "shure, misther stump, yez wudn't ate a snake. lard! wudn't it poison yez?" "pisen be durned! didn't i cut the pisen out, soon 's i killed the critter, by cuttin' off o' its head?" "trath! an for all that, i wudn't ate a morsel av it, if i was starvin'." "sturve, an be durned to ye! who axes ye to eet it. i only want ye to toat it home. kum then, an do as i tell ye; or dog-goned, ef i don't make ye eet the head o' the reptile,--pisen, fangs an all!" "be japers, misther stump, i didn't mane to disobey you at all--at all. shure it's phaylim o'nale that's reddy to do your biddin' anyhow. i'm wid ye for fwhativer yez want; aven to swallowin the snake whole. saint pathrick forgive me!" "saint patrick be durned! kum along!" phelim made no farther remonstrance; but, striking into the tracks of the backwoodsman, followed him through the wood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ isidora entered the hut; advanced towards the invalid reclining upon his couch; with fierce fondness kissed his fevered brow, fonder and fiercer kissed his unconscious lips; and then recoiled from them, as if she had been stung by a scorpion! worse than scorpion's sting was that which had caused her to spring back. and yet 'twas but a word--a little word--of only two syllables! there was nothing strange in this. oft, on one word--that soft short syllabic "yes"--rests the happiness of a life; while oft, too oft, the harsher negative is the prelude to a world of war! chapter fifty nine. another who cannot rest. a dark day for louise poindexter--perhaps the darkest in the calendar of her life--was that in which she released don miguel diaz from the lazo. sorrow for a brother's loss, with fears for a lover's safety, were yesterday commingled in the cup. to-day it was further embittered by the blackest passion of all--jealousy. grief--fear--jealousy--what must be the state of the soul in which these emotions are co-existent? a tumult of terrible imaginings. so was it in the bosom of louise poindexter after deciphering the epistle which contained written evidence of her lover's disloyalty. true, the writing came not from him; nor was the proof conclusive. but in the first burst of her frenzied rage, the young creole did not reason thus. in the wording of the letter there was strong presumption, that the relationship between maurice gerald and the mexican was of a more affectionate character than he had represented it to be--that he had, in fact, been practising a deception. why should _that_ woman write to him in such free strain--giving bold, almost unfeminine, licence to her admiration of his eyes: "_essos ojos tan lindos y tan espresivos_?" these were no phrases of friendship; but the expressions of a prurient passion. as such only could the creole understand them: since they were but a paraphrase of her own feelings. and then there was the appointment itself--solicited, it is true, in the shape of a request. but this was mere courtesy--the coquetry of an accomplished _maitresse_. moreover, the tone of solicitation was abandoned towards the close of the epistle; which terminated in a positive command: "come, sir! come!" something more than jealousy was aroused by the reading of this. a spirit of revenge seemed to dictate the gesture that followed,--and the stray sheet was crushed between the aristocratic fingers into which it had fallen. "ah, me!" reflected she, in the acerbity of her soul, "i see it all now. 'tis not the first time he has answered a similar summons; not the first they have met on that same ground, `the hill above my uncle's house'--slightly described, but well understood--oft visited before." soon the spirit of vengeance gave place to a profound despair. her heart had its emblem in the piece of paper that lay at her feet upon the floor--like it, crushed and ruined. for a time she surrendered herself to sad meditation. wild emotions passed through her mind, suggesting wild resolves. among others she thought of her beloved louisiana--of going back there to bury her secret sorrow in the cloisters of the _sacre coeur_. had the creole convent been near, in that hour of deep despondency, she would, in all probability, have forsaken the paternal home, and sought an asylum within its sacred walls. in very truth was it the darkest day of her existence. after long hours of wretchedness her spirit became calmer, while her thoughts returned to a more rational tone. the letter was re-read; its contents submitted to careful consideration. there was still a hope--the hope that, after all, maurice gerald might _not_ be in the settlement. it was at best but a faint ray. surely _she_ should know--she who had penned the appointment, and spoken so confidently of his keeping it? still, as promised, he might have gone away; and upon this supposition hinged that hope, now scintillating like a star through the obscurity of the hour. it was a delicate matter to make direct inquiries about--to one in the position of louise poindexter. but no other course appeared open to her; and as the shadows of twilight shrouded the grass-covered square of the village, she was seen upon her spotted palfrey, riding silently through the streets, and reining up in front of the hotel--on the same spot occupied but a few hours before by the grey steed of isidora! as the men of the place were all absent--some on the track of the assassin, others upon the trail of the comanche, oberdoffer was the only witness of her indiscretion. but he knew it not as such. it was but natural that the sister of the murdered man should be anxious to obtain news; and so did he construe the motive for the interrogatories addressed to him. little did the stolid german suspect the satisfaction which his answers at first gave to his fair questioner; much less the chagrin afterwards caused by that bit of information volunteered by himself, and which abruptly terminated the dialogue between him and his visitor. on hearing she was not the first of her sex who had that day made inquiries respecting maurice the mustanger, louise poindexter rode back to casa del corvo, with a heart writhing under fresh laceration. a night was spent in the agony of unrest--sleep only obtained in short snatches, and amidst the phantasmagoria of dreamland. though the morning restored not her tranquillity, it brought with it a resolve, stern, daring, almost reckless. it was, at least, daring, for louise poindexter to ride to the alamo alone; and this was her determination. there was no one to stay her--none to say nay. the searchers out all night had not yet returned. no report had come back to casa del corvo. she was sole mistress of the mansion, as of her actions--sole possessor of the motive that was impelling her to this bold step. but it may be easily guessed. hers was not a spirit to put up with mere suspicion. even love, that tames the strongest, had not yet reduced it to that state of helpless submission. unsatisfied it could no longer exist; and hence her resolve to seek satisfaction. she might find peace--she might chance upon ruin. even the last appeared preferable to the agony of uncertainty. how like to the reasoning of her rival! it would have been idle to dissuade her, had there been any one to do it. it is doubtful even if parental authority could at that moment have prevented her from carrying out her purpose. talk to the tigress when frenzied by a similar feeling. with a love unhallowed, the will of the egyptian queen was not more imperious than is that of the american creole, when stirred by its holiest passion. it acknowledges no right of contradiction--regards no obstruction save death. it is a spirit rare upon earth. in its tranquil state, soft as the rays of the aurora--pure as the prayer of a child; but when stirred by love,--or rather by its too constant concomitant--it becomes proud and perilous as the light of lucifer! of this spirit louise poindexter was the truest type. where love was the lure, to wish was to have, or perish in the attempt to obtain. jealousy resting upon doubt was neither possible to her nature, or compatible with her existence. she must find proofs to destroy, or confirm it--proofs stronger than those already supplied by the contents of the strayed epistle, which, after all, were only presumptive. armed with this, she was in a position to seek them; and they were to be sought upon the alamo. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the first hour of sunrise saw her in the saddle, riding out from the enclosures of casa del corvo, and taking a trail across the prairie already known to her. on passing many a spot, endeared to her--sacred by some of the sweetest souvenirs of her life--her thoughts experienced more than one revulsion. these were moments when she forgot the motive that originally impelled her to the journey--when she thought only of reaching the man she loved, to rescue him from enemies that might be around him! ah! these moments--despite the apprehension for her lover's safety--were happy, when compared with those devoted to the far more painful contemplation of his treachery. from the point of starting to that of her destination, it was twenty miles. it might seem a journey, to one used to european travelling-- that is in the saddle. to the prairie equestrian it is a ride of scarce two hours--quick as a scurry across country, after a stag or fox. even with an unwilling steed it is not tedious; but with that lithe-limbed, ocellated creature, luna, who went willingly towards her prairie home, it was soon over--too soon, perhaps, for the happiness of her rider. wretched as louise poindexter may have felt before, her misery had scarce reached the point of despair. through her sadness there still shone a scintillation of hope. it was extinguished as she set foot upon the threshold of the _jacale_; and the quick suppressed scream that came from her lips, was like the last utterance of a heart parting in twain. _there was a woman within the hut_! from the lips of this woman an exclamation had already escaped, to which her own might have appeared an echo--so closely did the one follow the other--so alike were they in anguish. like a second echo, still more intensified, was the cry from isidora; as turning, she saw in the doorway that woman, whose name had just been pronounced--the "louise" so fervently praised, so fondly remembered, amidst the vagaries of a distempered brain. to the young creole the case was clear--painfully clear. she saw before her the writer of that letter of appointment--which, after all, _had been kept_. in the strife, whose sounds had indistinctly reached her, there may have been a third party--maurice gerald? that would account for the condition in which she now saw him; for she was far enough inside the hut to have a view of the invalid upon his couch. yes; it was the writer of that bold epistle, who had called maurice gerald "querido;"--who had praised his eyes--who had commanded him to come to her side; and who was now by his side, tending him with a solicitude that proclaimed her his! ah! the thought was too painful to be symbolised in speech. equally clear were the conclusions of isidora--equally agonising. she already knew that she was supplanted. she had been listening too long to the involuntary speeches that told her so, to have any doubt as to their sincerity. on the door-step stood the woman who had succeeded her! face to face, with flashing eyes, their bosoms rising and falling as if under one impulse--both distraught with the same dire thought--the two stood eyeing each other. alike in love with the same man--alike jealous--they were alongside the object of their burning passion unconscious of the presence of either! each believed the other successful: for louise had not heard the words, that would have given her comfort--those words yet ringing in the ears, and torturing the soul, of isidora! it was an attitude of silent hostility--all the more terrible for its silence. not a word was exchanged between them. neither deigned to ask explanation of the other; neither needed it. there are occasions when speech is superfluous, and both intuitively felt that this was one. it was a mutual encounter of fell passions; that found expression only in the flashing of eyes, and the scornful curling of lips. only for an instant was the attitude kept up. in fact, the whole scene, inside, scarce occupied a score of seconds. it ended by louise poindexter turning round upon the doorstep, and gliding off to regain her saddle. the hut of maurice gerald was no place for her! isidora too came out, almost treading upon the skirt of the other's dress. the same thought was in her heart--perhaps more emphatically felt. the hut of maurice gerald was no place for her! both seemed equally intent on departure--alike resolved on forsaking the spot, that had witnessed the desolation of their hearts. the grey horse stood nearest--the mustang farther out. isidora was the first to mount--the first to move off; but as she passed, her rival had also got into the saddle, and was holding the ready rein. glances were again interchanged--neither triumphant, but neither expressing forgiveness. that of the creole was a strange mixture of sadness, anger, and surprise; while the last look of isidora, that accompanied a spiteful "_carajo_!"--a fearful phrase from female lips-- was such as the ephesian goddess may have given to athenaia, after the award of the apple. chapter sixty. a fair informer. if things physical may be compared with things moral, no greater contrast could have been found, than the bright heavens beaming over the alamo, and the black thoughts in the bosom of isidora, as she hastened away from the _jacale_. her heart was a focus of fiery passions, revenge predominating over all. in this there was a sort of demoniac pleasure, that hindered her from giving way to despair; otherwise she might have sunk under the weight of her woe. with gloomy thoughts she rides under the shadow of the trees. they are not less gloomy, as she gazes up the gorge, and sees the blue sky smiling cheerfully above her. its cheerfulness seems meant but to mock her! she pauses before making the ascent. she has reined up under the umbrageous cypress--fit canopy for a sorrowing heart. its sombre shade appears more desirable than the sunlight above. it is not this that has caused her to pull up. there is a thought in her soul darker than the shadow of the cypress. it is evinced by her clouded brow; by her black eyebrows contracted over her black flashing eyes; above all, by an expression of fierceness in the contrast of her white teeth gleaming under the moustached lip. all that is good of woman, except beauty, seems to have forsaken--all that is bad, except ugliness, to have taken possession of her! she has paused at the prompting of a demon--with an infernal purpose half formed in her mind. her muttered speeches proclaim it. "i should have killed her upon the spot! shall i go back, and dare her to deadly strife?" "if i killed her, what would it avail? it could not win me back _his_ heart--lost, lost, without hope! yes; those words were from the secret depths of his soul; where her image alone has found an abiding place! oh! there is no hope for me! "'tis he who should die; he who has caused my ruin. if i kill him? ah, then; what would life be to me? prom that hour an endless anguish! "oh! it is anguish now! i cannot endure it. i can think of no solace-- if not in revenge. not only she, he also--both must die! "but not yet--not till he know, by whose hand it is done. oh! he shall feel his punishment, and know whence it comes. mother of god, strengthen me to take vengeance!" she lances the flank of her horse, and spurs him, up the slope of the ravine. on reaching the upper plain, she does not stop--even for the animal to breathe itself--but goes on at a reckless gait, and in a direction that appears undetermined. neither hand nor voice are exerted in the guidance of her steed--only the spur to urge him on. left to himself, he returns in the track by which he came. it leads to the leona. is it the way he is wanted to go? his rider seems neither to know nor care. she sits in the saddle, as though she were part of it; with head bent down, in the attitude of one absorbed in a profound reverie, unconscious of outward things--even of the rude pace at which she is riding! she does not observe that black cohort close by; until warned of its proximity by the snorting of her steed, that suddenly comes to a stand. she sees a _caballada_ out upon the open prairie! indians? no. white men--less by their colour, than the caparison of their horses, and their style of equitation. their beards, too, show it; but not their skins, discoloured by the "stoor" of the parched plain. "_los tejanos_!" is the muttered exclamation, as she becomes confirmed in regard to their nationality. "a troop of their _rangers_ scouring the country for comanches, i suppose? the indians are not here? if i've heard aright at the settlement, they should be far on the other side." without any strong reason for shunning them, the mexican maiden has no desire to encounter "los tejanos." they are nothing to her, or her purposes; and, at any other time, she would not go out of their way. but in this hour of her wretchedness, she does not wish to run the gauntlet of their questionings, nor become the butt of their curiosity. it is possible to avoid them. she is yet among the bushes. they do not appear to have observed her. by turning short round, and diving back into the chapparal, she may yet shun being seen. she is about to do so, when the design is frustrated by the neighing of her horse. a score of theirs respond to him; and he is seen, along with his rider. it might be still possible for her to escape the encounter, if so inclined. she would be certain of being pursued, but not so sure of being overtaken--especially among the winding ways of the chapparal, well known to her. at first she _is_ so inclined; and completes the turning of her steed. almost in the same instant, she reins round again; and faces the phalanx of horsemen, already in full gallop towards her. her muttered words proclaim a purpose in this sudden change of tactics. "rangers--no! too well dressed for those ragged _vagabundos_? must be the party of `searchers,' of which i've heard--led by the father of-- yes--yes it is they. _ay dios_! here is a chance of revenge, and without my seeking it; god wills it to be so!" instead of turning back among the bushes, she rides out into the open ground; and with an air of bold determination advances towards the horsemen, now near. she pulls up, and awaits their approach; a black thought in her bosom. in another minute she is in their midst--the mounted circle close drawn around her. there are a hundred horsemen, oddly armed, grotesquely attired--uniform only in the coating of clay-coloured dust which adheres to their habiliments, and the stern seriousness observable in the bearing of all; scarce relieved by a slight show of curiosity. though it is an _entourage_ to cause trembling--especially in a woman-- isidora does not betray it. she is not in the least alarmed. she anticipates no danger from those who have so unceremoniously surrounded her. some of them she knows by sight; though not the man of more than middle age, who appears to be their leader, and who confronts, to question her. but she knows him otherwise. instinct tells her he is the father of the murdered man--of the woman, she may wish to gee slain, but assuredly, shamed. oh! what an opportunity! "can you speak french, mademoiselle?" asks woodley poindexter, addressing her in this tongue--in the belief that it may give him a better chance of being understood. "speak better inglees--very little, sir." "oh! english. so much the better for us. tell me, miss; have you seen anybody out here--that is--have you met any one, riding about, or camped, or halted anywhere?" isidora appears to reflect, or hesitate, before making reply. the planter pursues the interrogative, with such politeness as the circumstances admit. "may i ask where you live?" "on the rio grande, senor?" "have you come direct from there?" "no; from the leona." "from the leona!" "it's the niece of old martinez," interposes one of the party. "his plantation joins yours, mister poindexter." "si--yes--true that. _sobrina_--niece of don silvio martinez. _yo soy_." "then you've come from his place, direct? pardon me for appearing rude. i assure you, miss, we are not questioning you out of any idle curiosity, or impertinence. we have serious reasons--more than serious: they are solemn." "from the hacienda martinez direct," answers isidora, without appearing to notice the last remark. "two hours ago--_un pocito mas_--my uncle's house i leave." "then, no doubt, you have heard that there has been a--murder-- committed?" "si, senor. yesterday at uncle silvio's it was told." "but to-day--when you left--was there any fresh news in the settlement? we've had word from there; but not so late as you may bring. have you heard anything, miss?" "that people were gone after the _asesinado_. your party, senor?" "yes--yes--it meant us, no doubt. you heard nothing more?" "oh, yes; something very strange, senores; so strange, you may think i am jesting." "what is it?" inquire a score of voices in quick simultaneity; while the eyes of all turn with eager interest towards the fair equestrian. "there is a story of one being seen without a head--on horseback--out here too. _valga me dios_! we must now be near the place? it was by the nueces--not far from the ford--where the road crosses for the rio grande. so the vaqueros said." "oh; some vaqueros have seen it?" "si, senores; three of them will swear to having witnessed the spectacle." isidora is a little surprised at the moderate excitement which such a strange story causes among the "tejanos." there is an exhibition of interest, but no astonishment. a voice explains: "we've seen it too--that headless horseman--at a distance. did your vaqueros get close enough to know what it was?" "_santissima_! no." "can _you_ tell us, miss?" "i? not i. i only heard of it, as i've said. what it may be, _quien sabe_?" there is an interval of silence, during which all appear to reflect on what they have heard. the planter interrupts it, by a recurrence to his original interrogatory. "have you met, or seen, any one, miss--out here, i mean?" "si--yes--i have." "you have! what sort of person? be good enough to describe--" "a lady." "lady!" echo several voices. "si, senores." "what sort of a lady?" "una americana." "an american lady!--out here? alone?" "si, senores." "who?" "_quien sabe_?" "you don't know her? what was she like?" "like?--like?" "yes; how was she dressed?" "_vestido de caballo_." "on horseback, then?" "on horseback." "where did you meet the lady you speak of?" "not far from this; only on the other side of the chapparal." "which way was she going? is there any house on the other side?" "a _jacale_. i only know of that." poindexter to one of the party, who understands spanish: "_a jacale_?" "they give that name to their shanties." "to whom does it belong--this _jacale_?" "_don mauricio, el mustenero_." "maurice the mustanger!" translates the ready interpreter. a murmur of mutual congratulation runs through the crowd. after two days of searching--fruitless, as earnest--they have struck a trail,--the trail of the murderer! those who have alighted spring back into their saddles. all take up their reins, ready to ride on. "we don't wish to be rude, miss martinez--if that be your name; but you must guide us to this place you speak of." "it takes me a little out of my way--though not far. come on, cavalleros! i shall show you, if you are determined on going there." isidora re-crosses the belt of chapparal--followed by the hundred horsemen, who ride stragglingly after her. she halts on its western edge; between which and the alamo there is a stretch of open prairie. "yonder!" says she, pointing over the plain; "you see that black spot on the horizon? it is the top of an _alhuehuete_. its roots are in the bottom lands of the alamo. go there! there is a canon leading down the cliff. descend. you will find, a little beyond, the _jacale_ of which i've told you." the searchers are too much in earnest to stay for further directions. almost forgetting her who has given them, they spur off across the plain, riding straight for the cypress. one of the party alone lingers--not the leader, but a man equally interested in all that has transpired. perhaps more so, in what has been said in relation to the lady seen by isidora. he is one who knows isidora's language, as well as his own native tongue. "tell me, _nina_," says he, bringing his horse alongside hers, and speaking in a tone of solicitude--almost of entreaty--"did you take notice of the horse ridden by this lady?" "_carrambo_! yes. what a question, cavallero! who could help noticing it?" "the colour?" gasps the inquirer. "_un musteno pintojo_." "a spotted mustang! holy heaven!" exclaims cassius calhoun, in a half shriek, half groan, as he gallops after the searchers--leaving isidora in the belief, that, besides her own, there is one other heart burning with that fierce fire which only death can extinguish! chapter sixty one. angels on earth. the retreat of her rival--quick and unexpected--held louise poindexter, as if spell-bound. she had climbed into the saddle, and was seated, with spur ready to pierce the flanks of the fair luna. but the stroke was suspended, and she remained in a state of indecision--bewildered by what she saw. but the moment before she had looked into the _jacale_--had seen her rival there, apparently at home; mistress both of the mansion and its owner. what was she to think of that sudden desertion? why that took of spiteful hatred? why not the imperious confidence, that should spring from a knowledge of possession? in place of giving displeasure, isidora's looks and actions had caused her a secret gratification. instead of galloping after, or going in any direction, louise poindexter once more slipped down from her saddle, and re-entered the hut. at sight of the pallid cheeks and wild rolling eyes, the young creole for the moment forgot her wrongs. "_mon dieu! mon dieu_!" she cried, gliding up to the _catre_. "maurice--wounded--dying! who has done this?" there was no reply: only the mutterings of a madman. "maurice! maurice! speak to me! do you not know me? louise! your louise! you have called me so? say it--o say it again!" "ah! you are very beautiful, you angels here in heaven! very beautiful. yes, yes; you look so--to the eyes--to the eyes. but don't say there are none like you upon the earth; for there are--there are. i know one--ah! more--but one that excels you all, you angels in heaven! i mean in beauty--in goodness, that's another thing. i'm not thinking of goodness--no; no." "maurice, dear maurice! why do you talk thus? you are not in heaven; you are here with me--with louise." "i _am_ in heaven; yes, in heaven! i don't wish it, for all they say; that is, unless i can have _her_ with me. it may be a pleasant place. not without her. if she were here, i could be content. hear it, ye angels, that come hovering around me! very beautiful, you are, i admit; but none of you like her--her--my angel. oh! there's a devil, too; a beautiful devil--i don't mean that. i'm thinking only of the angel of the prairies." "do you remember her name?" perhaps never was question put to a delirious man, where the questioner showed so much interest in the answer. she bent over him with ears upon the strain--with eyes that marked every movement of his lips. "name? name? did some one say, name? have you any names here? oh! i remember--michael, gabriel, azrael--men, all men. angels, not like my angel--who is a woman. her name is--" "is?" "louise--louise--louise. why should i conceal it from you--you up here, who know everything that's down there? surely you know her--louise? you should: you could not help loving her--ah! with all your hearts, as i with all mine--all--all!" not when these last words were once before spoken--first spoken under the shade of the acacia trees--the speaker in full consciousness of intellect--in the full fervour of his soul--not then were they listened to with such delight. o, happy hour for her who heard them! again were soft kisses lavished upon that fevered brow--upon those wan lips; but this time by one who had no need to recoil after the contact. she only stood up erect--triumphant;--her hand pressing upon her heart, to stay its wild pulsations. it was pleasure too complete, too ecstatic: for there was pain in the thought that it cannot be felt for ever--in the fear of its being too soon interrupted. the last was but the shadow thrown before, and in such shape it appeared--a shadow that camp darkling through the doorway. the substance that followed was a man; who, the moment after, was seen standing upon the stoup. there was nothing terrible in the aspect of the new-comer. on the contrary, his countenance and costume were types of the comical, heightened by contrast with the wild associations of the time and place. still further, from juxtaposition with the odd objects carried in his hands; in one a tomahawk; in the other a huge snake; with its tail terminating in a string of bead-like rattles, that betrayed its species. if anything could have added to his air of grotesque drollery, it was the expression of puzzled surprise that came over his countenance; as, stepping upon the threshold, he discovered the change that had taken place in the occupancy of the hut. "mother av moses!" he exclaimed, dropping both snake and tomahawk, and opening his eyes as wide as the lids would allow them; "shure i must be dhramin? trath must i! it cyant be yersilf, miss pointdixther? shure now it cyant?" "but it is, mr o'neal. how very ungallant in you to have forgotten me, and so soon!" "forgotten yez! trath, miss, yez needn't accuse me of doin' chat which is intirely impossible. the oirishman that hiz wance looked in yer swate face will be undher the necissity iver afther to remimber it. sowl! thare's wan that cyant forgit it, even in his dhrames!" the speaker glanced significantly towards the couch. a delicious thrill passed through the bosom of the listener. "but fwhat diz it all mane?" continued phelim, returning to the unexplained puzzle of the transformation. "fwhare's the tother--the young chap, or lady, or wuman--whichsomiver she art? didn't yez see nothin' av a wuman, miss pointdixther?" "yes--yes." "oh! yez did. an fwhere is she now?" "gone away, i believe." "gone away! be japers, thin, she hasn't remained long in the wan mind. i lift her heeur in the cyabin not tin minnits ago, takin' aff her bonnit--that was only a man's hat--an sittlin' hersilf down for a stay. gone, yez say? sowl! i'm not sorry to hear it. that's a young lady whose room's betther than her company, any day in the twilmonth. she's a dale too handy wid her shootin'-iron. wud yez belave it, miss pointdixther; she prisinted a pistol widin six inches av me nose?" "_pardieu_! for what reason?" "fwhat rayzun? only that i thried to hindher her from inthrudin' into the cyabin. she got in for all that; for whin owld zeb come back, he made no objecshun to it. she sayed she was a frind av the masther, an wanted to nurse him." "indeed! oh! it is strange--very strange!" muttered the creole, reflectingly. "trath, is it. and so is iverything in these times, exciptin' yez own swate silf; that i hope will niver be sthrange in a cyabin frequinted by phaylim onale. shure, now, i'm glad to see yez, miss; an shure so wud the masther, if--" "dear phelim! tell me all that has happened." "trath! thin miss, if i'm to till all, ye'll hiv to take off your bonnet, and make up your moind for a long stay--seein' as it 'ut take the big ind av a whole day to relate all the quare things that's happened since the day afore yesthirday." "who has been here since then?" "who has been heeur?" "except the--the--" "exceptin' the man-wuman, ye mane?" "yes. has any one else been to this place?" "trath has thare--plinty besoides. an av all sorts, an colours too. first an foremost there was wan comin' this way, though he didn't git all the way to the cyabin. but i daren't tell you about him, for it moight frighten ye, miss." "tell me. i have no fear." "be dad! and i can't make it out meself quite intirely. it was a man upon horseback widout a hid." "without a head!" "divil a bit av that same on his body." the statement caused phelim to be suspected of having lost his. "an' what's more, miss, he was for all the world like masther maurice himself. wid his horse undher him, an his mexikin blanket about his showlders, an everything just as the young masther looks, when he's mounted, sowl! wasn't i scared, whin i sit my eyes on him." "but where did you see this, mr o'neal?" "up thare on the top av the bluff. i was out lookin' for the masther to come back from the sittlement, as he'd promised he wud that mornin', an who showld i see but hisself, as i supposed it to be. an' thin he comes ridin' up, widout his hid, an' stops a bit, an thin goes off at a tarin' gallop, wid tara gowlin' at his horse's heels, away acrass the big plain, till i saw no more av him. thin i made back for the cyabin heeur, an shut meself up, and wint to slape; and just in the middle av me dhrames, whin i was dhramin' of--but trath, miss, yez'll be toired standin' on yer feet all this time. won't yez take aff yer purty little ridin' hat, an sit down on the thrunk thare?--it's asier than the stool. do plaze take a sate; for if i'm to tell yez all--" "never mind me--go on. please tell me who else has been here besides this strange cavalier; who must have been some one playing a trick upon you, i suppose." "a thrick, miss! trath that's just what owld zeb sayed." "he has been here, then?" "yis--yis--but not till long afther the others." "the others?" "yis, miss. zeb only arroived yestherday marnin'. the others paid their visit the night afore, an at a very unsayzonable hour too, wakin' me out av the middle av my slape." "but who?--what others?" "why the indyens, to be shure." "there have been indians, then?" "trath was there--a whole tribe av thim. well, as i've been tillin' yez, miss, jest as i wus in a soun' slape, i heerd talkin' in the cyabin heern, right over my hid, an the shufflin' av paper, as if somebody was dalin' a pack av cards, an--mother av moses! fwhat's that?" "what?" "didn't yez heear somethin'? wheesht! thare it is agane! trath, it's the trampin' av horses! they're jist outside." phelim rushed towards the door. "be sant pathrick! the place is surrounded wid men on horseback. thare's a thousand av them! an more comin' behind! be japers! them's the chaps owld zeb--now for a frish spell av squeelin! o lard! i'll be too late!" seizing the cactus-branch--that for convenience he had brought inside the hut--he dashed out through the doorway. "_mon dieu_!" cried the creole, "'tis they! my father, and i here! how shall i explain it? holy virgin, save me from shame!" instinctively she sprang towards the door, closing it, as she did so. but a moment's reflection showed her how idle was the act. they who were outside would make light of such obstruction. already she recognised the voices of the regulators! the opening in the skin wall came under her eye. should she make a retreat through that, undignified as it might be? it was no longer possible. the sound of hoofs also in the rear! there were horsemen behind the hut! besides, her own steed was in front--that ocellated creature not to be mistaken. by this time they must have identified it! but there was another thought that restrained her from attempting to retreat--one more generous. _he_ was in danger--from which even the unconsciousness of it might not shield him! who but she could protect him? "let my good name go!" thought she. "father--friends--all--all but him, if god so wills it! shame, or no shame, to him will i be true!" as these noble thoughts passed through her mind, she took her stand by the bedside of the invalid, like a second dido, resolved to risk all-- even death itself--for the hero of her heart. chapter sixty two. waiting for the cue. never, since its erection, was there such a trampling of hoofs around the hut of the horse-catcher--not even when its corral was filled with fresh-taken mustangs. phelim, rushing out from the door, is saluted by a score of voices that summon him to stop. one is heard louder than the rest, and in tones of command that proclaim the speaker to be chief of the party. "pull up, damn you! it's no use--your trying to escape. another step, and ye'll go tumbling in your tracks. pull up, i say!" the command takes effect upon the connemara man, who has been making direct for zeb stump's mare, tethered on the other side of the opening. he stops upon the instant. "shure, gintlemen, i don't want to escyape," asseverates he, shivering at the sight of a score of angry faces, and the same number of gun-barrels bearing upon his person; "i had no such intinshuns. i was only goin' to--" "run off, if ye'd got the chance. ye'd made a good beginning. here, dick tracey! half-a-dozen turns of your trail-rope round him. lend a hand, shelton! damned queer-looking curse he is! surely, gentlemen, this can't be the man we're in search of?" "no, no! it isn't. only his man john." "ho! hilloa, you round there at the back! keep your eyes skinned. we havn't got him yet. don't let as much as a cat creep past you. now, sirree! who's inside?" "who's insoide? the cyabin div yez mane?" "damn ye! answer the question that's put to ye!" says tracey, giving his prisoner a touch of the trail-rope. "who's inside the shanty?" "o lard! needs must whin the divvel dhrives. wil, then, thare's the masther for wan--" "ho! what's this?" inquires woodley poindexter, at this moment, riding up, and seeing the spotted mare. "why--it--it's looey's mustang!" "it is, uncle," answers cassius calhoun, who has ridden up along with him. "i wonder who's brought the beast here?" "loo herself, i reckon." "nonsense! you're jesting, cash?" "no, uncle; i'm in earnest." "you mean to say my daughter has been here?" "has been--still is, i take it." "impossible?" "look yonder, then!" the door has just been opened. a female form is seen inside. "good god, it is my daughter!" poindexter drops from his saddle, and hastens up to the hut--close followed by calhoun. both go inside. "louises what means this? a wounded man! is it he--henry?" before an answer can be given, his eye falls upon a cloak and hat-- henry's! "it is; he's alive! thank heaven!" he strides towards the couch. the joy of an instant is in an instant gone. the pale face upon the pillow is not that of his son. the father staggers back with a groan. calhoun seems equally affected. but the cry from him is an exclamation of horror; after which he slinks cowed-like out of the cabin. "great god!" gasps the planter; "what is it? can you explain, louise?" "i cannot, father. i've been here but a few minutes. i found him as you see. he is delirious." "and--and--henry?" "they have told me nothing. mr gerald was alone when i entered. the man outside was absent, and has just returned. i have not had time to question him." "but--but, how came _you_ to be here?" "i could not stay at home. i could not endure the uncertainty any longer. it was terrible--alone, with no one at the house; and the thought that my poor brother--_mon dieu_! _mon dieu_!" poindexter regards his daughter with a perplexed, but still inquiring, look. "i thought i might find henry here." "here! but how did you know of this place? who guided you? you are by yourself!" "oh, father! i knew the way. you remember the day of the hunt--when the mustang ran away with me. it was beyond this place i was carried. on returning with mr gerald, he told me he lived here. i fancied i could find the way back." poindexter's look of perplexity does not leave him, though another expression becomes blended with it. his brow contracts; the shadow deepens upon it; though whatever the dark thought, he does not declare it. "a strange thing for you to have done, my daughter. imprudent--indeed dangerous. you have acted like a silly girl. come--come away! this is no place for a lady--for you. get to your horse, and ride home again. some one will go with you. there may be a scene here, you should not be present at. come, come!" the father strides forth from the hut, the daughter following with reluctance scarce concealed; and, with like unwillingness, is conducted to her saddle. the searchers, now dismounted, are upon the open ground in front. they are all there. calhoun has made known the condition of things inside; and there is no need for them to keep up their vigilance. they stand in groups--some silent, some conversing. a larger crowd is around the connemara man; who lies upon the grass, last tied in the trail-rope. his tongue is allowed liberty; and they question him, but without giving much credit to his answers. on the re-appearance of the father and daughter, they face towards them, but stand silent. for all this, they are burning with eagerness to have an explanation of what is passing. their looks proclaim it. most of them know the young lady by sight--all by fame, or name. they feel surprise--almost wonder--at seeing her there. the sister of the murdered man under the roof of his murderer! more than ever are they convinced that this is the state of the case. calhoun, coming forth from the hut, has spread fresh intelligence among them--facts that seem to confirm it. he has told them of the hat, the cloak--of the murderer himself, injured in the death-struggle! but why is louise poindexter there--alone--unaccompanied by white or black, by relative or slave? a guest, too: for in this character does she appear! her cousin does not explain it--perhaps he cannot. her father--can he? judging by his embarrassed air, it is doubtful. whispers pass from lip to ear--from group to group. there are surmises--many, but none spoken aloud. even the rude frontiersmen respect the feelings--filial as parental--and patiently await the _eclaircissement_. "mount, louise! mr yancey will ride home with you." the young planter thus pledged was never more ready to redeem himself. he is the one who most envies the supposed happiness of cassius calhoun. in his soul he thanks poindexter for the opportunity. "but, father!" protests the young lady, "why should i no wait for you? you are not going to stay here?" yancey experiences a shock of apprehension. "it is my wish, daughter, that you do as i tell you. let that be sufficient." yancey's confidence returns. not quite. he knows enough of that proud spirit to be in doubt whether it may yield obedience--even to the parental command. it gives way; but with an unwillingness ill disguised, even in the presence of that crowd of attentive spectators. the two ride off; the young planter taking the lead, his charge slowly following--the former scarce able to conceal his exultation, the latter her chagrin. yancey is more distressed than displeased, at the melancholy mood of his companion. how could it be otherwise, with such a sorrow at her heart? of course he ascribes it to that. he but half interprets the cause. were he to look steadfastly into the eye of louise poindexter, he might there detect an expression, in which sorrow for the past is less marked, than fear for the future. they ride on through the trees--but not beyond ear-shot of the people they have left behind them. suddenly a change comes over the countenance of the creole--her features lighting up, as if some thought of joy, or at least of hope, had entered her soul. she stops reflectingly--her escort constrained to do the same. "mr yancey," says she, after a short pause, "my saddle has got loose. i cannot sit comfortably in it. have the goodness to look to the girths!" yancey leaps to the ground, delighted with the duty thus imposed upon him. he examines the girths. in his opinion they do not want tightening. he does not say so; but, undoing the buckle, pulls upon the strap with all his strength. "stay!" says the fair equestrian, "let me alight. you will get better at it then." without waiting for his assistance, she springs from her stirrup, and stands by the side of the mustang. the young man continues to tug at the straps, pulling with all the power of his arms. after a prolonged struggle, that turns him red in the face, he succeeds in shortening them by a single hole. "now, miss poindexter; i think it will do." "perhaps it will," rejoins the lady, placing her hand upon the horn of her saddle, and giving it a slight shake. "no doubt it will do now. after all 'tis a pity to start back so soon. i've just arrived here after a fast gallop; and my poor luna has scarce had time to breathe herself. what if we stop here a while, and let her have a little rest? 'tis cruel to take her back without it." "but your father? he seemed desirous you should--" "that i should go home at once. that's nothing. 'twas only to get me out of the way of these rough men--that was all. he won't care; so long as i'm out of sight. 'tis a sweet place, this; so cool, under the shade of these fine trees--just now that the sun is blazing down upon the prairie. let us stay a while, and give luna a rest! we can amuse ourselves by watching the gambols of these beautiful silver fish in the stream. look there, mr yancey! what pretty creatures they are!" the young planter begins to feel flattered. why should his fair companion wish to linger there with him? why wish to watch the _iodons_, engaged in their aquatic cotillon--amorous at that time of the year? he conjectures a reply conformable to his own inclinations. his compliance is easily obtained. "miss poindexter," says he, "it is for you to command me. i am but too happy to stay here, as long as you wish it." "only till luna be rested. to say the truth, sir, i had scarce got out of the saddle, as the people came up. see! the poor thing is still panting after our long gallop." yancey does not take notice whether the spotted mustang is panting or no. he is but too pleased to comply with the wishes of its rider. they stay by the side of the stream. he is a little surprised to perceive that his companion gives but slight heed, either to the silver fish, or the spotted mustang. he would have liked this all the better, had her attentions been transferred to himself. but they are not. he can arrest neither her eye nor her ear. the former seems straying upon vacancy; the latter eagerly bent to catch every sound that comes from the clearing. despite his inclinations towards her, he cannot help listening himself. he suspects that a serious scene is there being enacted--a trial before judge lynch, with a jury of "regulators." excited talk comes echoing through the tree-trunks. there is an earnestness in its accents that tells of some terrible determination. both listen; the lady like some tragic actress, by the side-scene of a theatre, waiting for her cue. there are speeches in more than one voice; as if made by different men; then one longer than the rest--a harangue. louise recognises the voice. it is that of her cousin cassius. it is urgent--at times angry, at times argumentative: as if persuading his audience to something they are not willing to do. his speech comes to an end; and immediately after it, there are quick sharp exclamations--cries of assent--one louder than the rest, of fearful import. while listening, yancey has forgotten the fair creature by his side. he is reminded of her presence, by seeing her spring away from the spot, and, with a wild but resolute air, glide towards the _jacale_! chapter sixty three. a jury of regulators. the cry, that had called the young creole so suddenly from the side of her companion, was the verdict of a jury--in whose rude phrase was also included the pronouncing of the sentence. the word "hang" was ringing in her ears, as she started away from the spot. while pretending to take an interest in the play of the silver fish, her thoughts were upon that scene, of less gentle character, transpiring in front of the jacale. though the trees hindered her from having a view of the stage, she knew the actors that were on it; and could tell by their speeches how the play was progressing. about the time of her dismounting, a tableau had been formed that merits a minute description. the men, she had left behind, were no longer in scattered groups; but drawn together into a crowd, in shape roughly resembling the circumference of a circle. inside it, some half-score figures were conspicuous--among them the tall form of the regulator chief, with three or four of his "marshals." woodley poindexter was there, and by his side cassius calhoun. these no longer appeared to act with authority, but rather as spectators, or witnesses, in the judicial drama about being enacted. such in reality was the nature of the scene. it was a trial for murder--a trial before _justice lynch_--this grim dignitary being typified in the person of the regulator chief--with a jury composed of all the people upon the ground--all except the prisoners. of these there are two--maurice gerald and his man phelim. they are inside the ring, both prostrate upon the grass; both fast bound in raw-hide ropes, that hinder them from moving hand or foot. even their tongues are not free. phelim has been cursed and scared into silence; while to his master speech is rendered impossible by a piece of stick fastened bitt-like between his teeth. it has been done to prevent interruption by the insane ravings, that would otherwise issue from his lips. even the tight-drawn thongs cannot keep him in place. two men, one at each shoulder, with a third seated upon his knees, hold him to the ground. his eyes alone are free to move; and these rolling in their sockets glare upon his guards with wild unnatural glances, fearful to encounter. only one of the prisoners is arraigned on the capital charge; the other is but doubtfully regarded as an accomplice. the servant alone has been examined--asked to confess all he knows, and what he has to say for himself. it is no use putting questions to his master. phelim has told his tale--too strange to be credited; though the strangest part of it--that relating to his having seen a horseman without ahead--is looked upon as the least improbable! he cannot explain it; and his story but strengthens the suspicion already aroused--that the spectral apparition is a part of the scheme of murder! "all stuff his tales about tiger-fights and indians!" say those to whom he has been imparting them. "a pack of lies, contrived to mislead us-- nothing else." the trial has lasted scarce ten minutes; and yet the jury have come to their conclusion. in the minds of most--already predisposed to it--there is a full conviction that henry poindexter is a dead man, and that maurice gerald is answerable for his death. every circumstance already known has been reconsidered; while to these have been added the new facts discovered at the jacale--the ugliest of which is the finding of the cloak and hat. the explanations given by the galwegian, confused and incongruous, carry no credit. why should they? they are the inventions of an accomplice. there are some who will scarce stay to hear them--some who impatiently cry out, "let the murderer be hanged!" as if this verdict had been anticipated, a rope lies ready upon the ground, with a noose at its end. it is only a lazo; but for the purpose calcraft could not produce a more perfect piece of cord. a sycamore standing near offers a horizontal limb--good enough for a gallows. the vote is taken _viva voce_. eighty out of the hundred jurors express their opinion: that maurice gerald must die. his hour appears to have come. and yet the sentence is not carried into execution. the rope is suffered to lie guileless on the grass. no one seems willing to lay hold of it! why that hanging back, as if the thong of horse-hide was a venomous snake, that none dares to touch? the majority--the _plurality_, to use a true western word--has pronounced the sentence of death; some strengthening it with rude, even blasphemous, speech. why is it not carried out? why? for want of that unanimity, that stimulates to immediate action-- for want of the proofs to produce it. there is a minority not satisfied--that with less noise, but equally earnest emphasis, have answered "no." it is this that has caused a suspension of the violent proceedings. among this minority is judge lynch himself--sam manly, the chief of the regulators. he has not yet passed sentence; or even signified his acceptance of the acclamatory verdict. "fellow citizens!" cries he, as soon as he has an opportunity of making himself heard, "i'm of the opinion, that there's a doubt in this case; and i reckon we ought to give the accused the benefit of it--that is, till he be able to say his own say about it. it's no use questioning him now, as ye all see. we have him tight and fast; and there's not much chance of his getting clear--_if_ guilty. therefore, i move we postpone the trial, till--" "what's the use of postponing it?" interrupts a voice already loud for the prosecution, and which can be distinguished as that of cassius calhoun. "what's the use, sam manly? it's all very well for you to talk that way; but if _you_ had a friend foully murdered--i won't say cousin, but a son, a brother--you might not be so soft about it. what more do you want to show that the skunk's guilty? further proofs?" "that's just what we want, captain calhoun." "cyan _you_ give them, misther cashius calhoun?" inquires a voice from the outside circle, with a strong irish accent. "perhaps i can." "let's have them, then!" "god knows you've had evidence enough. a jury of his own stupid countrymen--" "bar that appellashun!" shouts the man, who has demanded the additional evidence. "just remember, misther calhoun, ye're in texas, and not mississippi. bear that in mind; or ye may run your tongue into trouble, sharp as it is." "i don't mean to offend any one," says calhoun, backing out of the dilemma into which his irish antipathies had led him; "even an englishman, if there's one here." "thare ye're welcome--go on!" cries the mollified milesian. "well, then, as i was saying, there's been evidence enough--and more than enough, in my opinion. but if you want more, i can give it." "give it--give it!" cry a score of responding voices; that keep up the demand, while calhoun seems to hesitate. "gentlemen!" says he, squaring himself to the crowd, as if for a speech, "what i've got to say now i could have told you long ago. but i didn't think it was needed. you all know what's happened between this man and myself; and i had no wish to be thought revengeful. i'm not; and if it wasn't that i'm sure he has done the deed--sure as the head's on my body--" calhoun speaks stammeringly, seeing that the phrase, involuntarily escaping from his lips, has produced a strange effect upon his auditory--as it has upon himself. "if not sure--i--i should still say nothing of what i've seen, or rather heard: for it was in the night, and i saw nothing." "what did you hear, mr calhoun?" demands the regulator chief, resuming his judicial demeanour, for a time forgotten in the confusion of voting the verdict. "your quarrel with the prisoner, of which i believe everybody has heard, can have nothing to do with your testimony here. nobody's going to accuse you of false swearing on that account. please proceed, sir. what did you hear? and where, and when, did you hear it?" "to begin, then, with the time. it was the night my cousin was missing; though, of course, we didn't miss him till the morning. last tuesday night." "tuesday night. well?" "i'd turned in myself; and thought henry had done the same. but what with the heat, and the infernal musquitoes, i couldn't get any sleep. "i started up again; lit a cigar; and, after smoking it awhile in the room, i thought of taking a turn upon the top of the house. "you know the old hacienda has a flat roof, i suppose? well, i went up there to get cool; and continued to pull away at the weed. "it must have been then about midnight, or maybe a little earlier. i can't tell: for i'd been tossing about on my bed, and took no note of the time. "just as i had smoked to the end of my cigar, and was about to take a second out of my case, i heard voices. there were two of them. "they were up the river, as i thought on the other side. they were a good way off, in the direction of the town. "i mightn't have been able to distinguish them, or tell one from 'tother, if they'd been talking in the ordinary way. but they weren't. there was loud angry talk; and i could tell that two men were quarrelling. "i supposed it was some drunken rowdies, going home from oberdoffer's tavern, and i should have thought no more about it. but as i listened, i recognised one of the voices; and then the other. the first was my cousin henry's--the second that of the man who is there--the man who has murdered him." "please proceed, mr calhoun! let us hear the whole of the evidence you have promised to produce. it will be time enough then to state your opinions." "well, gentlemen; as you may imagine, i was no little surprised at hearing my cousin's voice--supposing him asleep in his bed. so sure was i of its being him, that i didn't think of going to his room, to see if he was there. i knew it was his voice; and i was quite as sure that the other was that of the horse-catcher. "i thought it uncommonly queer, in henry being out at such a late hour: as he was never much given to that sort of thing. but out he was. i couldn't be mistaken about that. "i listened to catch what the quarrel was about; but though i could distinguish the voices, i couldn't make out anything that was said on either side. what i did hear was henry calling _him_ by some strong names, as if my cousin had been first insulted; and then i heard the irishman threatening to make him rue it. each loudly pronounced the other's name; and that convinced me about its being them. "i should have gone out to see what the trouble was; but i was in my slippers; and before i could draw on a pair of boots, it appeared to be all over. "i waited for half an hour, for henry to come home. he didn't come; but, as i supposed he had gone back to oberdoffer's and fallen in with some of the fellows from the fort, i concluded he might stay there a spell, and i went back to my bed. "now, gentlemen, i've told you all i know. my poor cousin never came back to casa del corvo--never more laid his side on a bed,--for that we found by going to his room next morning. his bed that night must have been somewhere upon the prairie, or in the chapparal; and there's the only man who knows where." with a wave of his hand the speaker triumphantly indicated the accused-- whose wild straining eyes told how unconscious he was of the terrible accusation, or of the vengeful looks with which, from all sides, he was now regarded. calhoun's story was told with a circumstantiality, that went far to produce conviction of the prisoner's guilt. the concluding speech appeared eloquent of truth, and was followed by a clamourous demand for the execution to proceed. "hang! hang!" is the cry from fourscore voices. the judge himself seems to waver. the minority has been diminished--no longer eighty, out of the hundred, but ninety repeat the cry. the more moderate are overborne by the inundation of vengeful voices. the crowd sways to and fro--resembling a storm fast increasing to a tempest. it soon comes to its height. a ruffian rushes towards the rope. though none seem to have noticed it, he has parted from the side of calhoun-- with whom he has been holding a whispered conversation. one of those "border ruffians" of southern descent, ever ready by the stake of the philanthropist, or the martyr--such as have been late typified in the _military murderers_ of jamaica, who have disgraced the english name to the limits of all time. he lays hold of the lazo, and quickly arranges its loop around the neck of the condemned man--alike unconscious of trial and condemnation. no one steps forward to oppose the act. the ruffian, bristling with bowie-knife and pistols, has it all to himself or, rather, is he assisted by a scoundrel of the same kidney--one of the _ci-devant_ guards of the prisoner. the spectators stand aside, or look tranquilly upon the proceedings. most express a mute approval--some encouraging the executioners with earnest vociferations of "up with him! hang him!" a few seem stupefied by surprise; a less number show sympathy; but not one dares to give proof of it, by taking part with the prisoner. the rope is around his neck--the end with the noose upon it. the other is being swung over the sycamore. "soon must the soul of maurice gerald go back to its god!" chapter sixty four. a series of interludes. "soon the soul of maurice gerald must go back to its god!" it was the thought of every actor in that tragedy among the trees. no one doubted that, in another moment, they would see his body hoisted into the air, and swinging from the branch of the sycamore. there was an interlude, not provided for in the programme. a farce was being performed simultaneously; and, it might be said, on the same stage. for once the tragedy was more attractive, and the comedy was progressing without spectators. not the less earnest were the actors in it. there were only two--a man and a mare. phelim was once more re-enacting the scenes that had caused surprise to isidora. engrossed by the arguments of calhoun--by the purposes of vengeance which his story was producing--the regulators only turned their attention to the chief criminal. no one thought of his companion-- whether he was, or was not, an accomplice. his presence was scarce perceived--all eyes being directed with angry intent upon the other. still less was it noticed, when the ruffians sprang forward, and commenced adjusting the rope. the galwegian was then altogether neglected. there appeared an opportunity of escape, and phelim was not slow to take advantage of it. wriggling himself clear of his fastenings, he crawled off among the legs of the surging crowd. no one seemed to see, or care about, his movements. mad with excitement, they were pressing upon each other--the eyes of all turned upward to the gallows tree. to have seen phelim skulking off, it might have been supposed, that he was profiting by the chance offered for escape--saving his own life, without thinking of his master. it is true he could have done nothing, and he knew it. he had exhausted his advocacy; and any further interference on his part would have been an idle effort, or only to aggravate the accusers. it was but slight disloyalty that he should think of saving himself--a mere instinct of self-preservation--to which he seemed yielding, as he stole off among the trees. so one would have conjectured. but the conjecture would not have done justice to him of connemara. in his flight the faithful servant had no design to forsake his master-- much less leave him to his fate, without making one more effort to effect his delivery from the human bloodhounds who had hold of him. he knew he could do nothing of himself. his hope lay in summoning zeb stump, and it was to sound that signal--which had proved so effective before--that he was now stealing off from the scene, alike of trial and execution. on getting beyond the selvedge of the throng, he had glided in among the trees; and keeping these between him and the angry crowd, he ran on toward the spot where the old mare still grazed upon her tether. the other horses standing "hitched" to the twigs, formed a tolerably compact tier all round the edge of the timber. this aided in screening his movements from observation, so that he had arrived by the side of the mare, without being seen by any one. just then he discovered that he had come without the apparatus necessary to carry out his design. the cactus branch had been dropped where he was first captured, and was still kicking about among the feet of his captors. he could not get hold of it, without exposing himself to a fresh seizure, and this would hinder him from effecting the desired end. he had no knife--no weapon of any kind--wherewith he might procure another _nopal_. he paused, in painful uncertainty as to what he should do. only for an instant. there was no time to be lost. his master's life was in imminent peril, menaced at every moment. no sacrifice would be too great to save him; and with this thought the faithful phelim rushed towards the cactus-plant; and, seizing one of its spinous branches in his naked hands, wrenched it from the stem. his fingers were fearfully lacerated in the act; but what mattered that, when weighed against the life of his beloved master? with equal recklessness he ran up to the mare; and, at the risk of being kicked back again, took hold of her tail, and once more applied the instrument of torture! by this time the noose had been adjusted around the mustanger's neck, carefully adjusted to avoid fluke or failure. the other end, leading over the limb of the tree, was held in hand by the brace of bearded bullies--whose fingers appeared itching to pull upon it. in their eyes and attitudes was an air of deadly determination. they only waited for the word. not that any one had the right to pronounce it. and just for this reason was it delayed. no one seemed willing to take the responsibility of giving that signal, which was to send a fellow-creature to his long account. criminal as they might regard him--murderer as they believed him to be--all shied from doing the sheriff's duty. even calhoun instinctively held back. it was not for the want of will. there was no lack of that on the part of the ex-officer, or among the regulators. they showed no sign of retreating from the step they had taken. the pause was simply owing to the informality of the proceedings. it was but the lull in the storm that precedes the grand crash. it was a moment of deep solemnity--every one silent as the tomb. they were in the presence of death, and knew it,--death in its most hideous shape, and darkest guise. most of them felt that they were abetting it. all believed it to be nigh. with hushed voice, and hindered gesture, they stood rigid as the tree-trunks around them. surely the crisis had come? it had; but not that crisis by everybody expected, by themselves decreed. instead of seeing maurice gerald jerked into the air, far different was the spectacle they were called upon to witness,--one so ludicrous as for a time to interrupt the solemnity of the scene, and cause a suspension of the harsh proceedings. the old mare--that they knew to be zeb stump's--appeared to have gone suddenly mad. she had commenced dancing over the sward, flinging her heels high into the air, and screaming with all her might. she had given the cue to the hundred horses that stood tied to the trees; and all of them had commenced imitating: her wild capers, while loudly responding to her screams! enchantment could scarce have produced a quicker transformation than occurred in the tableau formed in front of the jacale hut. not only was the execution suspended, but all other proceedings that regarded the condemned captive. nor was the change of a comical character. on the contrary, it was accompanied by looks of alarm, and cries of consternation! the regulators rushed to their arms--some towards their horses. "indians!" was the exclamation upon every lip, though unheard through the din. nought but the coming of comanches could have caused such a commotion--threatening to result in a _stampede_ of the troop! for a time men ran shouting over the little lawn, or stood silent with scared countenances. most having secured their horses, cowered behind them--using them by way of shield against the chances of an indian arrow. there were but few upon the ground accustomed to such prairie escapades; and the fears of the many were exaggerated by their inexperience to the extreme of terror. it continued, till their steeds, all caught up, had ceased their wild whighering; and only one was heard--the wretched creature that had given them the cue. then was discovered the true cause of the alarm; as also that the connemara man had stolen off. fortunate for phelim he had shown the good sense to betake himself to the bushes. only by concealment had he saved his skin: for his life was now worth scarce so much as that of his master. a score of rifles were clutched with angry energy,--their muzzles brought to bear upon the old mare. but before any of them could be discharged, a man standing near threw his lazo around her neck, and choked her into silence. tranquillity is restored, and along with it a resumption of the deadly design. the regulators are still in the same temper. the ludicrous incident, whilst perplexing, has not provoked their mirth; but the contrary. some feel shame at the sorry figure they have cut, in the face of a false alarm; while others are chafed at the interruption of the solemn ceremonial. they return to it with increased vindictiveness--as proved by their oaths, and angry exclamations. once more the vengeful circle closes around the condemned--the terrible tableau is reconstructed. once more the ruffians lay hold of the rope; and for the second time every one is impressed with the solemn thought: "soon must the soul of maurice gerald go back to its god!" thank heaven, there is another interruption to that stern ceremonial of death. how unlike to death is that bright form flitting under the shadows,-- flashing out into the open sunlight. "a woman! a beautiful woman!" 'tis only a silent thought; for no one essays to speak. they stand rigid as ever, but with strangely altered looks. even the rudest of them respect the presence of that fair intruder. there is submission in their attitude, as if from a consciousness of guilt. like a meteor she pauses through their midst--glides on without giving a glance on either side--without speech, without halt--till she stoops over the condemned man, still lying gagged the grass. with a quick clutch she lays hold of the lazo; which the two hangmen, taken by surprise, have let loose. grasping it with both her hands, she jerks it from theirs. "texans! cowards!" she cries, casting a scornful look upon the crowd. "shame! shame!" they cower under the stinging reproach. she continues:-- "a trial indeed! a fair trial! the accused without counsel--condemned without being heard! and this you call justice? texan justice? my scorn upon you--not men, but murderers!" "what means this?" shouts poindexter, rushing up, and seizing his daughter by the arm. "you are mad--loo--mad! how come you to be here? did i not tell you to go home? away--this instant away; and do not interfere with what does not concern you!" "father, it does concern me!" "how?--how?--oh true--as a sister! this man is the murderer of your brother." "i will not--_cannot_ believe it. never--never! there was no motive. o men! if you be men, do not act like savages. give him a fair trial, and then--then--" "he's had a fair trial," calls one from the crowd, who seems to speak from instigation; "ne'er a doubt about his being guilty. it's him that's killed your brother, and nobody else. and it don't look well, miss poindexter--excuse me for saying it;--but it don't look just the thing, that _you_ should be trying to screen him from his deserving." "no, that it don't," chime in several voices. "justice must take its course!" shouts one, in the hackneyed phrase of the law courts. "it must!--it must!" echoes the chorus. "we are sorry to disoblige you, miss; but we must request you to leave. mr poindexter, you'd do well to take your daughter away." "come, loo! 'tis not the place you must come away. you refuse! good god! my daughter; do you mean to disobey me? here, cash; take hold of her arm, and conduct her from the spot. if you refuse to go willingly, we must use force, loo. a good girl now. do as i tell you. go! go!" "no, father, i will not--i shall not--till you have promised--till these men promise--" "we can't promise you anything, miss--however much we might like it. it ain't a question for women, no how. there's been a crime committed--a murder, as ye yourself know. there must be no cheating of justice. there's no mercy for a murderer!" "no mercy!" echo a score of angry voices. "let him be hanged--hanged-- hanged!" the regulators are no longer restrained by the fair presence. perhaps it has but hastened the fatal moment. the soul of cassius calhoun is not the only one in that crowd stirred by the spirit of envy. the horse hunter is now hated for his supposed good fortune. in the tumult of revengeful passion, all gallantry is forgotten,--that very virtue for which the texan is distinguished. the lady is led aside--dragged rather than led--by her cousin, and at the command of her father. she struggles in the hated arms that hold her--wildly weeping, loudly protesting against the act of inhumanity. "monsters! murderers!" are the phrases that fall from her lips. her struggles are resisted; her speeches unheeded. she is borne back beyond the confines of the crowd--beyond the hope of giving help to him, for whom she is willing to lay down her life! bitter are the speeches calhoun is constrained to hear--heartbreaking the words now showered upon him. better for him he had not taken hold of her. it scarce consoles him--that certainty of revenge. his rival will soon be no more; but what matters it? the fair form writhing in his grasp can never be consentingly embraced. he may kill the hero of her heart, but not conquer for himself its most feeble affection! chapter sixty five. still another interlude. for a third time is the tableau reconstructed--spectators and actors in the dread drama taking their places as before. the lazo is once more passed over the limb; the same two scoundrels taking hold of its loose end--this time drawing it towards them till it becomes taut. for the third time arises the reflection: "soon must the soul of maurice gerald go back to its god!" now nearer than ever does the unfortunate man seem to his end. even love has proved powerless to save him! wha power on earth can be appealed to after this? none likely to avail. but there appears no chance of succour--no time for it. there is no mercy in the stern looks of the regulators--only impatience. the hangmen, too, appear in a hurry--as if they were in dread of another interruption. they manipulate the rope with the ability of experienced executioners. the physiognomy of either would give colour to the assumption, that they had been accustomed to the calling. in less than sixty seconds they shall have finished the "job." "now then, bill! are ye ready?" shouts one to the other--by the question proclaiming, that they no longer intend to wait for the word. "all right!" responds bill. "up with the son of a skunk! up with him!" there is a pull upon the rope, but not sufficient to raise the body into an erect position. it tightens around the neck; lifts the head a little from the ground, but nothing more! only one of the hangmen has given his strength to the pull. "haul, damn you!" cries bill, astonished at the inaction of his assistant. "why the hell don't you haul?" bill's back is turned towards an intruder, that, seen by the other, has hindered him from lending a hand. he stands as if suddenly transformed into stone! "come!" continues the chief executioner. "let's go at it again--both together. yee--up! up with him!" "_no ye don't_!" calls out a voice in the tones of a stentor; while a man of colossal frame, carrying a six-foot rifle, is seen rushing out from among the trees, in strides that bring him almost instantly into the thick of the crowd. "no ye don't!" he repeats, stopping over the prostrate body, and bringing his long rifle to bear upon the ruffians of the rope. "not yet a bit, as this coon kalkerlates. you, bill griffin; pull that piece o' pleeted hoss-hair but the eighth o' an inch tighter, and ye'll git a blue pill in yer stummuk as won't agree wi' ye. drop the rope, durn ye! drop it!" the screaming of zeb stump's mare scarce created a more sudden diversion than the appearance of zeb himself--for it was he who had hurried upon the ground. he was known to nearly all present; respected by most; and feared by many. among the last were bill griffin, and his fellow rope-holder. no longer holding it: for at the command to drop it, yielding to a quick perception of danger, both had let go; and the lazo lay loose along the sward. "what durned tom-foolery's this, boys?" continues the colossus, addressing himself to the crowd, still speechless from surprise. "ye don't mean hangin', do ye?" "we do," answers a stern voice. "and why not?" asks another. "why not! ye'd hang a fellur-citizen 'ithout trial, wud ye?" "not much of a fellow-citizen--so far as that goes. besides, he's had a trial--a fair trial." "i'deed. a human critter to be condemned wi' his brain in a state o' dulleerium! sent out o' the world 'ithout knowin' that he's in it! ye call that a fair trial, do ye?" "what matters it, if we know he's guilty? we're all satisfied about that." "the hell ye air! wagh! i aint goin' to waste words wi' sech as you, jim stoddars. but for _you_, sam manly, an yerself, mister peintdexter--shurly ye aint agreed to this hyur proceeding which, in my opeenyun, 'ud be neyther more nor less 'n murder?" "you haven't heard all, zeb stump," interposes the regulator chief, with the design to justify his acquiescence in the act. "there are facts--!" "facts be durned! an' fancies, too! i don't want to hear 'em. it'll be time enuf for thet, when the thing kum to a reg'lar trial; the which shurly nob'dy hyur'll objeck to--seein' as thur aint the ghost o' a chance for _him_ to git off. who air the individooal that objecks?" "you take too much upon you, zeb stump. what is it your business, we'd like to know? the man that's been murdered wasn't _your_ son; nor your brother, nor your cousin neither! if he had been, you'd be of a different way of thinking, i take it." it is calhoun who has made this interpolation--spoken before with so much success to his scheme. "i don't see that it concerns you," he continues, "what course we take in this matter." "but _i do_. it consarns me--fust, because this young fellur's a friend o' mine, though he air irish, an a strenger; an secondly, because zeb stump aint a goin' to stan' by, an see foul play--even tho' it be on the purayras o' texas." "foul play be damned! there's nothing of the sort. and as for standing by, we'll see about that. boys! you're not going to be scared from your duty by such swagger as this? let's make a finish of what we've begun. the blood of a murdered man cries out to us. lay hold of the rope!" "do; an by the eturnal! the fust that do 'll drop it a leetle quicker than he grups it. lay a claw on it--one o' ye--if ye darr. ye may hang this poor critter as high's ye like; but _not_ till ye've laid zeb'lon stump streetched dead upon the grass, wi' some o' ye alongside o' him. now then! let me see the skunk thet's goin' to tech thet rope!" zeb's speech is followed by a profound silence. the people keep their places--partly from the danger of accepting his challenge, and partly from the respect due to his courage and generosity. also, because there is still some doubt in the minds of the regulators, both as to the expediency, and fairness, of the course which calhoun is inciting them to take. with a quick instinct the old hunter perceives the advantage he has gained, and presses it. "gie the young fellur a fair trial," urges he. "let's take him to the settlement, an hev' him tried thur. ye've got no clur proof, that he's had any hand in the black bizness; and durn me! if i'd believe it unless i seed it wi' my own eyes. i know how he feeled torst young peintdexter. instead o' bein' his enemy, thur aint a man on this ground hed more o' a likin' for him--tho' he did hev a bit o' shindy wi' his precious cousin thur." "you are perhaps not aware, mr stump," rejoins the regulator chief, in a calm voice, "of what we've just been hearing?" "what hev ye been hearin'?" "evidence to the contrary of what you assert. we have proof, not only that there was bad blood between gerald and young poindexter, but that a quarrel took place on the very night--" "who sez thet, sam manly?" "i say it," answers calhoun, stepping a little forward, so as to be seen by stump. "o, you it air, mister cash calhoun! you know thur war bad blood atween 'em? you seed the quarrel ye speak o'?" "i haven't said that i saw it, zeb stump. and what's more i'm not going to stand any cross-questioning by you. i have given my evidence, to those who have the right to hear it; and that's enough. i think, gentlemen, you're satisfied as to the verdict. i don't see why this old fool should interrupt--" "ole fool!" echoes the hunter, with a screech; "ole fool! hell an herrikins! ye call me an ole fool? by the eturnal god! ye'll live to take back that speech, or my name aint zeblun stump, o' kaintucky. ne'er a mind now; thur's a time for everythin', an yur time may come, mister cash calhoun, sooner than ye surspecks it." "as for a quarrel atween henry peintdexter an the young fellur hyur," continues zeb, addressing himself to the regulator chief, "i don't believe a word on't; nor won't, so long's thur's no better proof than _his_ palaverin'. from what this chile knows, it don't stan' to reezun. ye say ye've got new facks? so've i too. facks i reck'n thet'll go a good way torst explicatin o' this mysteerus bizness, twisted up as it air." "what facts?" demands the regulator chief. "let's hear them, stump." "thur's more than one. fust place what do ye make o' the young fellur bein' wownded hisself? i don't talk o' them scratches ye see; i believe them's done by coyoats that attackted him, arter they see'd he wur wownded. but look at his knee somethin' else than coyoats did _that_. what do _you_ make o' it, sam manly?" "well, that--some of the boys here think there's been a struggle between him and--" "atween him an who?" sharply interrogates zeb. "why, the man that's missing." "yes, that's he who we mean," speaks one of the "boys" referred to. "we all know that harry poindexter wouldn't a stood to be shot down like a calf. they've had a tussle, and a fall among the rocks. that's what's given him the swellin' in the knee. besides, there's the mark of a blow upon his head--looks like it had been the butt of a pistol. as for the scratches, we can't tell what's made them. thorns may be; or wolves if you like. that foolish fellow of his has a story about a tiger; but it won't do for us." "what fellur air ye talkin' o'? ye mean irish pheelum? where air _he_?" "stole away to save his carcass. we'll find him, as soon as we've settled this business; and i guess a little hanging will draw the truth out of him." "if ye mean abeout the tiger, ye'll draw no other truth out o' him than hat ye've got a'ready. i see'd thet varmint myself, an war jest in time to save the young fellur from its claws. but thet aint the peint. ye've had holt o' the irish, i 'spose. did he tell ye o' nothin' else he seed hyur?" "he had a yarn about indians. who believes it?" "wal; he tolt me the same story, and that looks like some truth in't. besides, he declurs they wur playin' curds, an hyur's the things themselves. i found 'em lying scattered about the floor o' the shanty. spanish curds they air." zeb draws the pack out of his pocket, and hands it over to the regulator chief. the cards, on examination, prove to be of mexican manufacture--such as are used in the universal game of _monte_--the queen upon horseback "cavallo"--the spade represented by a sword "espada"--and the club "baston" symbolised by the huge paviour-like implement, seen in picture-books in the grasp of hairy orson. "who ever heard of comanches playing cards?" demands he, who has scouted the evidence about the indians. "damned ridiculous!" "ridiklus ye say!" interposes an old trapper who had been twelve months a prisoner among the comanches. "ridiklus it may be; but it's true f'r all that. many's the game this coon's seed them play, on a dressed burner hide for their table. that same mexikin _montay_ too. i reckon they've larned it from thar mexikin captives; of the which they've got as good as three thousand in thar different tribes. yes, sirree!" concludes the trapper. "the keymanchees _do_ play cards--sure as shootin'." zeb stump is rejoiced at this bit of evidence, which is more than he could have given himself. it strengthens the case for the accused. the fact, of there having been indians in the neighbourhood, tends to alter the aspect of the affair in the minds of the regulators--hitherto under the belief that the comanches were marauding only on the other side of the settlement. "sartin sure," continues zeb, pressing the point in favour of an adjournment of the trial, "thur's been injuns hyur, or some thin' durned like--geesus geehosofat! whar's _she_ comin' from?" the clattering of hoofs, borne down from the bluff, salutes the ear of everybody at the same instant of time. no one needs to inquire, what has caused stump to give utterance to that abrupt interrogatory. along the top of the cliff, and close to its edge, a horse is seen, going at a gallop. there is a woman--a lady-- upon his back, with hat and hair streaming loosely behind her--the string hindering the hat from being carried altogether away! so wild is the gallop--so perilous from its proximity to the precipice-- you might suppose the horse to have run away with his rider. but no. you may tell that he has not, by the actions of the equestrian herself. she seems not satisfied with the pace; but with whip, spur, and voice keeps urging him to increase it! this is plain to the spectators below; though they are puzzled and confused by her riding so close to the cliff. they stand in silent astonishment. not that they are ignorant of who it is. it would be strange if they were. that woman equestrian-- man-seated in the saddle--once seen was never more to be forgotten. she is recognised at the first glance. one and all know the reckless galloper to be the guide--from whom, scarce half-an-hour ago, they had parted upon the prairie. chapter sixty six. chased by comanches. it was isidora who had thus strangely and suddenly shown herself. what was bringing her back? and why was she riding at such a perilous pace? to explain it, we must return to that dark reverie, from which she was startled by her encounter with the "tejanos." while galloping away from the alamo, she had not thought of looking back, to ascertain whether she was followed. absorbed in schemes of vengeance, she had gone on--without even giving a glance behind. it was but slight comfort to her to reflect: that louise poindexter had appeared equally determined upon parting from the jacale. with a woman's intuitive quickness, she suspected the cause; though she knew, too well, it was groundless. still, there was some pleasure in the thought: that her rival, ignorant of her happy fortune, was suffering like herself. there was a hope, too, that the incident might produce estrangement in the heart of this proud creole lady towards the man so condescendingly beloved; though it was faint, vague, scarce believed in by her who conceived it. taking her own heart as a standard, she was not one to lay much stress on the condescension of love: her own history was proof of its levelling power. still was there the thought that her presence at the jacale had given pain, and might result in disaster to the happiness of her hated rival. isidora had begun to dwell upon this with a sort of subdued pleasure; that continued unchecked, till the time of her rencontre with the texans. on turning back with these, her spirits underwent a change. the road to be taken by louise, should have been the same as that, by which she had herself come. but no lady was upon it. the creole must have changed her mind, and stayed by the jacale--was, perhaps, at that very moment performing the _metier_ isidora had so fondly traced out for herself? the belief that she was about to bring shame upon the woman who had brought ruin upon her, was the thought that now consoled her. the questions put by poindexter, and his companions, sufficiently disclosed the situation. still clearer was it made by the final interrogations of calhoun; and, after her interrogators had passed away, she remained by the side of the thicket--half in doubt whether to ride on to the leona, or go back and be the spectator of a scene, that, by her own contrivance, could scarce fail to be exciting. she is upon the edge of the chapparal, just inside the shadow of the timber. she is astride her grey steed, that stands with spread nostril and dilated eye, gazing after the _cavallada_ that has late parted from the spot--a single horseman in the rear of the rest. her horse might wonder why he is being thus ridden about; but he is used to sudden changes in the will of his capricious rider. she is looking in the same direction--towards the _alhuehuete_;--whose dark summit towers above the bluffs of the alamo. she sees the searchers descend; and, after them, the man who has so minutely questioned her. as his head sinks below the level of the plain, she fancies herself alone upon it. in this fancy she is mistaken. she remains irresolute for a time--ten--fifteen--twenty minutes. her thoughts are not to be envied. there is not much sweetness in the revenge, she believes herself instrumental in having accomplished. if she has caused humiliation to the woman she hates, along with it she may have brought ruin upon the man whom she loves? despite all that has passed, she cannot help loving him! "_santissima virgen_!" she mutters with a fervent earnestness. "what have i done? if these _men_--_los reguladores_--the dreaded judges i've heard of--if they should find him guilty, where may it end? in his death! mother of god! i do not desire that. not by their hands--no! no! how wild their looks and gestures--stern--determined! and when i pointed out the way, how quickly they rode off, without further thought of me! oh, they have made up their minds. don mauricio is to die! and he a stranger among them--so have i heard. not of their country, or kindred; only of the same race. alone, friendless, with many enemies. _santissima_! what am i thinking of? is not he, who has just left me, that cousin of whom i've heard speak! _ay de mi_! now do i understand the cause of his questioning. his heart, like mine own--like mine own!" she sits with her gaze bent over the open plain. the grey steed still frets under restraint, though the _cavallada_ has long since passed out of sight. he but responds to the spirit of his rider; which he knows to be vacillating--chafing under some irresolution. 'tis the horse that first discovers a danger, or something that scents of it. he proclaims it by a low tremulous neigh, as if to attract her attention; while his head, tossed back towards the chapparal, shows that the enemy is to be looked for in that direction. who, or what is it? warned by the behaviour of her steed, isidora faces to the thicket, and scans the path by which she has lately passed through it. it is the road, or trail, leading to the leona. 'tis only open to the eye for a straight stretch of about two hundred yards. beyond, it becomes screened by the bushes, through which it goes circuitously. no one is seen upon it--nothing save two or three lean coyotes, that skulk under the shadow of the trees--scenting the shod tracks, in the hope of finding some scrap, that may have fallen from the hurrying horsemen. it is not these that have caused the grey to show such excitement. he sees them; but what of that? the prairie-wolf is a sight to him neither startling, nor rare. there is something else--something he has either scented, or heard. isidora listens: for a time without hearing aught to alarm her. the howl-bark of the jackal does not beget fear at any time; much less in the joy of the daylight. she hears only this. her thoughts again return to the "tejanos"--especially to him who has last parted from her side. she is speculating on the purpose of his earnest interrogation; when once more she is interrupted by the action of her horse. the animal shows impatience at being kept upon the spot; snuffs the air; snorts; and, at length, gives utterance to a neigh, far louder than before! this time it is answered by several others, from horses that appear to be going along the road--though still hidden behind the trees. their hoof-strokes are heard at the same time. but not after. the strange horses have either stopped short, or gone off at a gentle pace, making no noise! isidora conjectures the former. she believes the horses to be ridden; and that their riders have checked them up, on hearing the neigh of her own. she quiets him, and listens. a humming is heard through the trees. though indistinct, it can be told to be the sound of men's voices--holding a conversation in a low muttered tone. presently it becomes hushed, and the chapparal is again silent. the horsemen, whoever they are, continue halted--perhaps hesitating to advance. isidora is scarce astonished at this, and not much alarmed. some travellers, perhaps, _en route_ for the rio grande--or, it may be, some stragglers from the texan troop--who, on hearing a horse neigh, have stopped from an instinct of precaution. it is only natural--at a time, when indians are known to be on the war-path. equally natural, that she should be cautious about encountering the strangers--whoever they may be; and, with this thought, she rides softly to one side--placing herself and her horse under cover of a mezquit tree; where she again sits listening. not long, before discovering that the horsemen have commenced advancing towards her--not along the travelled trail, but through the thicket! and not all together, but as if they had separated, and were endeavouring to accomplish a surround! she can tell this, by hearing the hoof-strokes in different directions: all going gently, but evidently diverging from each other; while the riders are preserving a profound silence, ominous either of cunning or caution--perhaps of evil intent? they may have discovered her position? the neighing of her steed has betrayed it? they may be riding to get round her--in order to advance from different sides, and make sure of her capture? how is she to know that their intent is not hostile? she has enemies-- one well remembered--don miguel diaz. besides, there are the comanches--to be distrusted at all times, and now no longer _en paz_. she begins to feel alarm. it has been long in arising; but the behaviour of the unseen horsemen is at least suspicious. ordinary travellers would have continued along the trail. these are sneaking through the chapparal! she looks around her, scanning her place of concealment. she examines, only to distrust it. the thin, feathery frondage of the mezquit will not screen her from an eye passing near. the hoof-strokes tell, that more than one cavalier is coming that way. she must soon be discovered. at the thought, she strikes the spur into her horse's side, and rides out from the thicket. then, turning along the trail, she trots on into the open plain, that extends towards the alamo. her intention is to go two or three hundred yards--beyond range of arrow, or bullet--then halt, until she can discover the character of those who are advancing--whether friends, or to be feared. if the latter, she will trust to the speed of her gallant grey to carry her on to the protection of the "tejanos." she does not make the intended halt. she is hindered by the horsemen, at that moment seen bursting forth from among the bushes, simultaneously with each other, and almost as soon as herself! they spring out at different points; and, in converging lines, ride rapidly towards her! a glance shows them to be men of bronze-coloured skins, and half naked bodies--with red paint on their faces, and scarlet feathers sticking up out of their hair. "_los indios_!" mechanically mutters the mexican, as, driving the rowels against the ribs of her steed, she goes off at full gallop for the _alhuehuete_. a quick glance behind shows her she is pursued; though she knows it without that. the glance tells her more,--that the pursuit is close and earnest--so earnest that the indians, contrary to their usual custom, _do not yell_! their silence speaks of a determination to capture her; and as if by a plan already preconcerted! hitherto she has had but little fear of an encounter with the red rovers of the prairie. for years have they been _en paz_--both with texans and mexicans; and the only danger to be dreaded from them was a little rudeness when under the influence of drink--just as a lady, in civilised life, may dislike upon a lonely road, to meet a crowd of "navigators," who have been spending their day at the beer-house. isidora has passed through a peril of this kind, and remembers it--with less pain from the thought of the peril itself, than the ruin it has led to. but her danger is different now. the peace is past. there is war upon the wind. her pursuers are no longer intoxicated with the fire-water of their foes. they are thirsting for blood; and she flies to escape not only dishonour, but it may be death! on over that open plain, with all the speed she can take out of her horse,--all that whip, and spur, and voice can accomplish! she alone speaks. her pursuers are voiceless--silent as spectres! only once does she glance behind. there are still but four of them; but four is too many against one--and that one a woman! there is no hope, unless she can get within hail of the texans. she presses on for the _alhuehuete_. chapter sixty seven. los indios! the chased equestrian is within three hundred yards of the bluff, over which the tree towers. she once more glances behind her. "_dios me ampare_!" (god preserve me.) god preserve her! she will be too late! the foremost of her pursuers has lifted the lazo from his saddle horn: he is winding it over his head! before she can reach the head of the pass, the noose will be around her neck, and then-- and then, a sudden thought flashes into her mind--thought that promises escape from the threatened strangulation. the cliff that overlooks the alamo is nearer than the gorge, by which the creek bottom must be reached. she remembers that its crest is visible from the jacale. with a quick jerk upon the rein, she diverges from her course; and, instead of going on for the _alhuehuete_, she rides directly towards the bluff. the change puzzles her pursuers--at the same time giving them gratification. they well know the "lay" of the land. they understand the trending of the cliff; and are now confident of a capture. the leader takes a fresh hold of his lazo, to make more sure of the throw. he is only restrained from launching it, by the certainty she cannot escape. "_chingaro_!" mutters he to himself, "if she go much farther, she'll be over the precipice!" his reflection is false. she goes farther, but not over the precipice. with another quick pull upon the rein she has changed her course, and rides along the edge of it--so close as to attract the attention of the "tejanos" below, and elicit from zeb stump that quaint exclamation--only heard upon extraordinary occasions-- "geesus geehosofat!" as if in answer to the exclamation of the old hunter--or rather to the interrogatory with which he has followed it up--comes the cry of the strange equestrian who has shown herself on the cliff. "_los indios! los indios_!" no one who has spent three days in southern texas could mistake the meaning of that phrase--whatever his native tongue. it is the alarm cry which, for three hundred years, has been heard along three thousand miles of frontier, in three different languages--"les indiens! los indios! the indians!" dull would be the ear, slow the intellect, that did not at once comprehend it, along with the sense of its associated danger. to those who hear it at the jacale it needs no translation. they know that she, who has given utterance to it, is pursued by indians--as certain as if the fact had been announced in their own saxon vernacular. they have scarce time to translate it into this--even in thought--when the same voice a second time salutes their ears:--"tejanos! cavalleros! save me! save me! los indios! i am chased by a troop. they are behind me--close--close--" her speech, though continued, is no longer heard distinctly. it is no longer required to explain what is passing upon the plain above. she has cleared the first clump of tree tops by scarce twenty yards, when the leading savage shoots out from the same cover, and is seen, going in full gallop, against the clear sky. like a sling he spins the lazo loop around his head. so eager is he to throw it with sure aim, that he does not appear to take heed of what the fugitive has said--spoken as she went at full speed: for she made no stop, while calling out to the "tejanos." he may fancy it has been addressed to himself--a final appeal for mercy, uttered in a language he does not understand: for isidora had spoken in english. he is only undeceived, as the sharp crack of a rifle comes echoing out of the glen,--or perhaps a little sooner, as a stinging sensation in his wrist causes him to let go his lazo, and look wonderingly for the why! he perceives a puff of sulphureous smoke rising from below. a single glance is sufficient to cause a change in his tactics. in that glance he beholds a hundred men, with the gleam of a hundred gun barrels! his three followers see them at the same time; and as if moved by the same impulse, all four turn in their tracks, and gallop away from the cliff--quite as quickly as they have been approaching it. "'tur a pity too," says zeb stump, proceeding to reload his rifle. "if 't hedn't a been for the savin' o' her, i'd a let 'em come on down the gully. ef we ked a captered them, we mout a got somethin' out o' 'em consarnin' this queer case o' ourn. thur aint the smell o' a chance now. it's clur they've goed off; an by the time we git up yander, they'll be hellurd." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the sight of the savages has produced another quick change in the tableau formed in front of the mustanger's hut--a change squally sudden in the thoughts of those who compose it. the majority who deemed maurice gerald a murderer has become transformed into a minority; while those who believed him innocent are now the men whose opinions are respected. calhoun and his bullies are no longer masters of the situation; and on the motion of their chief the regulator jury is adjourned. the new programme is cast in double quick time. a score of words suffice to describe it. the accused is to be carried to the settlement--there to be tried according to the law of the land. and now for the indians--whose opportune appearance has caused this sudden change, both of sentiment and design. are they to be pursued? that of course. but when? upon the instant? prudence says, no. only four have been seen. but these are not likely to be alone. they may be the rear-guard of four hundred? "let us wait till the woman comes down," counsels one of the timid. "they have not followed her any farther. i think i can hear her riding this way through the gulley. of course she knows it--as it was she who directed us." the suggestion appears sensible to most upon the ground. they are not cowards. still there are but few of them, who have encountered the wild indian in actual strife; and many only know his more debased brethren in the way of trade. the advice is adopted. they stand waiting for the approach of isidora. all are now by their horses; and some have sought shelter among the trees. there are those who have an apprehension: that along with the mexican, or close after her, may still come a troop of comanches. a few are otherwise occupied--zeb stump among the number. he takes the gag from between the teeth of the respited prisoner, and unties the thongs hitherto holding him too fast. there is one who watches him with a strange interest, but takes no part in the proceeding. her part has been already played--perhaps too prominently. she shuns the risk of appearing farther conspicuous. where is the niece of don silvio mortimez? she has not yet come upon the ground! the stroke of her horse's hoof is no longer heard! there has been time--more than time--for her to have reached the jacale! her non-appearance creates surprise--apprehension--alarm. there are men there who admire the mexican maiden--it is not strange they should--some who have seen her before, and some who never saw her until that day. can it be, that she has been overtaken and captured? the interrogatory passes round. no one can answer it; though all are interested in the answer. the texans begin to feel something like shame. their gallantry was appealed to, in that speech sent them from the cliff, "tejanos! cavalleros!" has she who addressed it succumbed to the pursuer? is that beauteous form in the embrace of a paint-bedaubed savage? they listen with ears intent,--many with pulses that beat high, and hearts throbbing with a keen anxiety. they listen in vain. there is no sound of hoof--no voice of woman--nothing, except the champing of bitts heard close by their side! can it be that she is taken? now that the darker design is stifled within their breasts, the hostility against one of their own race is suddenly changed into a more congenial channel. their vengeance, rekindled, burns fiercer than ever--since it is directed against the hereditary foe. the younger and more ardent--among whom are the admirers of the mexican maiden--can bear the uncertainty no longer. they spring into their saddles, loudly declaring their determination to seek her--to save her, or perish in the attempt. who is to gainsay them? her pursuers--her captors perhaps--may be the very men they have been in search of--the murderers of henry poindexter! no one opposes their intent. they go off in search of isidora--in pursuit of the prairie pirates. those who remain are but few in number; though zeb stump is among them. the old hunter is silent, as to the expediency of pursuing the indians. he keeps his thoughts to himself: his only seeming care is to look after the invalid prisoner--still unconscious--still guarded by the regulators. zeb is not the only friend who remains true to the mustanger in his hour of distress. there are two others equally faithful. one a fair creature, who watches at a distance, carefully concealing the eager interest that consumes her. the other, a rude, almost ludicrous individual, who, close by his side, addresses the respited man as his "masther." the last is phelim, who has just descended from his perch among the parasites of an umbrageous oak--where he has for some time stayed--a silent spectator of all that has been transpiring. the change of situation has tempted him back to earth, and the performance of that duty for which he came across the atlantic. no longer lies our scene upon the alamo. in another hour the jacale is deserted--perhaps never more to extend its protecting roof over maurice the mustanger. chapter sixty eight. the disappointed campaigners. the campaign against the comanches proved one of the shortest--lasting only three or four days. it was discovered that these ishmaelites of the west did not mean war--at least, on a grand scale. their descent upon the settlements was only the freak of some young fellows, about to take out their degree as _braves_, desirous of signalising the event by "raising" a few scalps, and capturing some horses and horned cattle. forays of this kind are not unfrequent among the texan indians. they are made on private account--often without the knowledge of the chief, or elders of the tribe--just as an ambitious young mid, or ensign, may steal off with a score of companions from squadron or camp, to cut out an enemy's craft, or capture his picket guard. these _marauds_ are usually made by young indians out on a hunting party, who wish to return home with something to show besides the spoils of the chase; and the majority of the tribe is often ignorant of them till long after the event. otherwise, they might be interdicted by the elders; who, as a general thing, are averse to such _filibustering_ expeditions--deeming them not only imprudent, but often injurious to the interests of the community. only when successful are they applauded. on the present occasion several young comanches had taken out their war-diploma, by carrying back with them the scalps of a number of white women and boys. the horses and horned cattle were also collected; but these, being less convenient of transport than the light scalp-locks, had been recaptured. the red-skinned filibusters, overtaken by a detachment of mounted rifles, among the hills of the san saba, were compelled to abandon their four-footed booty, and only saved their own skins by a forced retreat into the fastnesses of the "llano estacado." to follow them beyond the borders of this sterile tract would have required a _commissariat_ less hastily established than that with which the troops had sallied forth; and, although the relatives of the scalped settlers clamoured loudly for retaliation, it could only be promised them after due time and preparation. on discovering that the comanches had retreated beyond their neutral ground, the soldiers of uncle sam had no choice but to return to their ordinary duties--each detachment to its own fort--to await further commands from the head-quarters of the "department." the troops belonging to port inge--entrusted with the guardianship of the country as far as the rio nueces--were surprised on getting back to their cantonment to discover that they had been riding in the wrong direction for an encounter with the indians! some of them were half mad with disappointment: for there were several--young hancock among the number--who had not yet run their swords through a red-skin, though keenly desirous of doing so! no doubt there is inhumanity in the idea. but it must be remembered, that these ruthless savages have given to the white man peculiar provocation, by a thousand repetitions of three diabolical crimes--rape, rapine, and murder. to talk of their being the aborigines of the country--the real, but dispossessed, owners of the soil--is simple nonsense. this sophism, of the most spurious kind, has too long held dominion over the minds of men. the whole human race has an inherent right to the whole surface of the earth: and if any infinitesimal fraction of the former by chance finds itself idly roaming over an extended portion of the latter, their exclusive claim to it is almost too absurd for argument--even with the narrowest-minded disciple of an aborigines society. admit it--give the _hunter_ his half-dozen square miles--for he will require that much to maintain him--leave him in undisputed possession to all eternity--and millions of fertile acres must remain untilled, to accommodate this whimsical theory of _national_ right. nay, i will go further, and risk reproach, by asserting:--that not only the savage, so called, but civilised people should be unreservedly dispossessed-- whenever they show themselves incapable of turning to a good account the resources which nature has placed within their limits. the _exploitation_ of earth's treasures is a question not confined to nations. it concerns the whole family of mankind. in all this there is not one iota of agrarian doctrine--not a thought of it. he who makes these remarks is the last man to lend countenance to _communism_. it is true that, at the time spoken of, there were ruffians in texas who held the life of a red-skin at no higher value than an english gamekeeper does that of a stoat, or any other vermin, that trespasses on his preserves. no doubt these ruffians are there still: for ten years cannot have effected much change in the morality of the texan frontier. but, alas! we must now be a little cautious about calling names. our own story of jamaica--by heaven! the blackest that has blotted the pages of history--has whitewashed these border _filibusteros_ to the seeming purity of snow! if things are to be judged by comparison, not so fiendish, then, need appear the fact, that the young officers of fort inge were some little chagrined at not having an opportunity to slay a score or so of red-skins. on learning that, during their absence, indians had been seen on the other side, they were inspired by a new hope. they might yet find the opportunity of fleshing their swords, transported without stain--without sharpening, too--from the military school of west point. it was a fresh disappointment to them, when a party came in on the same day--civilians who had gone in pursuit of the savages seen on the alamo--and reported: that no indians had been there! they came provided with proofs of their statement, which otherwise would have been received with incredulity--considering what had occurred. the proofs consisted in a collection of miscellaneous articles--an odd lot, as an auctioneer would describe it--wigs of horse-hair, cocks' feathers stained blue, green, or scarlet, breech-clouts of buckskin, mocassins of the same material, and several packages of paint, all which they had found concealed in the cavity of a cottonwood tree! there could be no new campaign against indians; and the aspiring spirits of fort inge were, for the time, forced to content themselves with such incidents as the situation afforded. notwithstanding its remoteness from any centre of civilised life, these were at the time neither tame nor uninteresting. there were several subjects worth thinking and talking about. there was the arrival, still of recent date, of the most beautiful woman ever seen upon the alamo; the mysterious disappearance and supposed assassination of her brother; the yet more mysterious appearance of a horseman without a head; the trite story of a party of white men "playing indian"; and last, though not of least interest, the news that the suspected murderer had been caught, and was now inside the walls of their own guardhouse--mad as a maniac! there were other tales told to the disappointed campaigners--of sufficient interest to hinder them from thinking: that at fort inge they had returned to dull quarters. the name of isidora covarubio do los llanos--with her masculine, but magnificent, beauty--had become a theme of conversation, and something was also said, or surmised, about her connection with the mystery that occupied all minds. the details of the strange scenes upon the alamo--the discovery of the mustanger upon his couch--the determination to hang him--the act delayed by the intervention of louise poindexter--the respite due to the courage of zeb stump--were all points of the most piquant interest--suggestive of the wildest conjectures. each became in turn the subject of converse and commentary, but none was discussed with more earnestness than that which related to the innocence, or guilt, of the man accused of murder. "murder," said the philosophic captain sloman, "is a crime which, in my opinion, maurice the mustanger is incapable of committing. i think, i know the fellow well enough to be sure about that." "you'll admit," rejoined crossman, of the rifles, "that the circumstances are strong against him? almost conclusive, i should say." crossman had never felt friendly towards the young irishman. he had an idea, that on one occasion the commissary's niece--the belle of the fort--had looked too smilingly on the unknown adventurer. "i consider it anything but conclusive," replied sloman. "there's no doubt about young poindexter being dead, and having been murdered. every one believes that. well; who else was likely to have done it? the cousin swears to having overheard a quarrel between him and gerald." "that precious cousin would swear to anything that suited his purpose," interposed hancock, of the dragoons. "besides, his own shindy with the same man is suggestive of suspicion--is it not?" "and if there _was_ a quarrel," argued the officer of infantry, "what then? it don't follow there was a murder." "then you think the fellow may have killed poindexter in a fair fight?" "something of the sort is possible, and even probable. i will admit that much." "but what did they have a difficulty about?" asked hancock. "i heard that young poindexter was on friendly terms with the horse-hunter-- notwithstanding what had happened between him and calhoun. what could they have quarrelled about?" "a singular interrogation on _your_ part, lieutenant hancock!" answered the infantry officer, with a significant emphasis on the pronoun. "as if men ever quarrelled about anything except--" "except women," interrupted the dragoon with a laugh. "but which woman, i wonder? it could not be anything relating to young poindexter's sister?" "_quien sabe_?" answered sloman, repeating the spanish phrase with an ambiguous shrug of the shoulders. "preposterous!" exclaimed crossman. "a horse-catcher daring to set his thoughts on miss poindexter! preposterous!" "what a frightful aristocrat you are, crossman! don't you know that love is a natural democrat; and mocks your artificial ideas of distinction. i don't say that in this case there's been anything of the kind. miss poindexter's not the only woman that might have caused a quarrel between the two individuals in question. there are other damsels in the settlement worth getting angry about--to say nothing of our own fair following in the fort; and why not--" "captain sloman," petulantly interrupted the lieutenant of rifles. "i must say that, for a man of your sense, you talk very inconsiderately. the ladies of the garrison ought to be grateful to you for the insinuation." "what insinuation, sir?" "do you suppose it likely that there's one of them would condescend to speak to the person you've named?" "which? i've named two." "you understand me well enough, sloman; and i you. our ladies will, no doubt, feel highly complimented at having their names connected with that of a low adventurer, a horse-thief, and suspected assassin!" "maurice the mustanger may be the last--suspected, and that is all. he is neither of the two first; and as for our ladies being above speech with him, in that as in many other things, you may be mistaken, mr crossman. i've seen more of this young irishman than you--enough to satisfy me that, so far as _breeding_ goes, he may compare notes with the best of us. our grand dames needn't be scared at the thought of his acquaintance; and, since you have raised the question, i don't think they would shy from it--some of them at least--if it were offered them. it never has. so far as i have observed, the young fellow has behaved with a modesty that betokens the true gentleman. i have seen him in their presence more than once, and he has conducted himself towards them as if fully sensible of his position. for that matter, i don't think he cares a straw about one or other of them." "indeed! how fortunate for those, who might otherwise have been his rivals!" "perhaps it is," quietly remarked the captain of infantry. "who knows?" asked hancock, intentionally giving a turn to the ticklish conversation. "who knows but the cause of quarrel--if there's been one--might not be this splendid senorita so much talked about? i haven't seen her myself; but, by all accounts, she's just the sort to make two fellows as jealous as a pair of tiger-cats." "it might be--who knows?" drawled crossman, who found contentment in the thought that the handsome irishman might have his amorous thoughts turned in any other direction than towards the commissary's quarters. "they've got him in the guard-house," remarked hancock, stating a fact that had just been made known to him: for the conversation above detailed occurred shortly after their return from the comanche campaign. "his droll devil of a serving man is along with him. what's more; the major has just issued an order to double the guard! what does it mean, captain sloman--you who know so much of this fellow and his affairs? surely there's no danger of his making an attempt to steal out of his prison?" "not likely," replied the infantry officer, "seeing that he hasn't the slightest idea that he's inside of one. i've just been to the guard-house to have a look at him. he's mad as a march hare; and wouldn't know his own face in a looking-glass." "mad! in what way?" asked hancock and the others, who were yet but half enlightened about the circumstances of the mustanger's capture. "a brain fever upon him--delirious?" "is that why the guards have been doubled? devilish queer if it is. the major himself must have gone mad!" "maybe it's the suggestion--command i should rather say--of the majoress. ha! ha! ha!" "but what _does_ it mean? is the old maje really afraid of his getting out of the guard-house?" "no--not that, i fancy. more likely an apprehension of somebody else getting into it." "ah! you mean, that--" "i mean that for maurice the mustanger there's more safety inside than out. some queer characters are about; and there's been talk of another lynch trial. the regulators either repent of having allowed him a respite; or there's somebody hard at work in bringing about this state of public opinion. it's lucky for him that the old hunter has stood his friend; and it's but a continuation of his good luck that we've returned so opportunely. another day, and we might have found the guardhouse empty--so far as its present occupants are concerned. now, thank god! the poor fellow shall have a fair trial." "when is it to take place?" "whenever he has recovered his senses, sufficiently to know that he's being tried!" "it may be weeks before that." "and it may be only days--hours. he don't appear to be very bad--that is, bodily. it's his mind that's out of order--more, perhaps, from some strange trouble that has come over him, than any serious hurt he has received. a day may make all the difference; and, from what i've just heard, the regulators will insist on his being tried as soon as he shows a return to consciousness. they say, they won't wait for him to recover from his wounds!" "maybe he'll be able to tell a story that'll clear him. i hope so." this was said by hancock. "i doubt it," rejoined crossman, with an incredulous shake of the head. "_nous verrons_!" "i'm sure of it," said sloman. "_nos veremos_!" he added, speaking in a tone that seemed founded less upon confidence than a wish that was father to the thought. chapter sixty nine. mystery and mourning. there is mourning in the mansion of casa del corvo, and mystery among the members of woodley poindexter's family. though now only three in number, their intercourse is less frequent than before, and marked by a degree of reserve that must spring from some deep-seated cause. they meet only at the hour of meals--then conversing only on such topics as cannot well be shunned. there is ample explanation of the sorrow, and much of the solemnity. the death--no longer doubted--of an only son--an only brother-- unexpected and still unexplained--should account for the melancholy mien both of father and daughter. it might also explain the shadow seated constantly on the brow of the cousin. but there is something beyond this. each appears to act with an irksome restraint in the presence of the others--even during the rare occasions, on which it becomes necessary to converse on the family misfortune! beside the sorrow common to all three, they appear to have separate griefs that do not, and cannot, commingle. the once proud planter stays within doors--pacing from room to room, or around, the enclosed corridor--bending beneath a weight of woe, that has broken down his pride, and threatens to break his heart. even strong paternal affection, cruelly bereaved, can scarce account for the groans, oft accompanied by muttered curses, that are heard to issue from his lips! calhoun rides abroad as of yore; making his appearance only at the hours of eating and sleeping, and not regularly then. for a whole day, and part of a night, he has been absent from the place. no one knows where; no one has the right to inquire. louise confines herself to her own room, though not continuously. there are times when she may be seen ascending to the azotea--alone and in silent meditation. there, nearer to heaven, she seeks solace for the sorrows that have assailed her upon earth--the loss of a beloved brother--the fear of losing one far more beloved, though in a different sense--perhaps, a little also, the thought of a scandal already attaching to her name. of these three sorrows the second is the strongest. the last but little troubles her; and the first, for a while keenly felt, is gradually growing calmer. but the second--the supreme pain of all--is but strengthened and intensified by time! she knows that maurice gerald is shut up within the walls of a prison-- the strong walls of a military guard-house. it is not their strength that dismays her. on the contrary, she has fears for their weakness! she has reasons for her apprehension. she has heard of the rumours that are abroad; rumours of sinister significance. she has heard talk of a second trial, under the presidency of judge lynch and his rude coadjutors--not the same judge lynch who officiated in the alamo, nor all of the same jury; but a court still less scrupulous than that of the regulators; composed of the ruffianism, that at any hour can be collected within the bounds of a border settlement--especially when proximate to a military post. the reports that have thus gone abroad are to some a subject of surprise. moderate people see no reason why the prisoner should be again brought to trial in that irregular way. the facts, that have late come to light, do not alter the case--at least, in any way to strengthen the testimony against him. if the four horsemen seen were not indians--and this has been clearly shown by the discovery of the disguises--it is not the less likely that they have had to do with the death of young poindexter. besides, there is nothing to connect _them_ with the mustanger, any more than if they had been real comanches. why, then, this antipathy against the respited prisoner, for the second time surging up? there is a strangeness about the thing that perplexes a good many people. there are a few that understand, or suspect, the cause. a very few: perhaps only three individuals. two of them are zeb stump and louise poindexter; the third captain cassius calhoun. the old hunter, with instinct keenly on the alert, has discovered some underhanded action--the actors being miguel diaz and his men, associated with a half-score of like characters of a different race--the "rowdies" of the settlement. zeb has traced the action to its instigator--the ex-captain of volunteer cavalry. he has communicated his discovery to the young creole, who is equal to the understanding of it. it is the too clear comprehension of its truth that now inspires her with a keen solicitude. anxiously she awaits every word of news--watches the road leading from the fort to casa del corvo, as if the sentence of her own death, or the security of her life, hung upon the lips of some courier to come that way! she dares not show herself at the prison. there are soldiers on guard, and spectators around it--a crowd of the idle curious, who, in all countries, seem to feel some sort of sombre enjoyment in the proximity of those who have committed great crimes. there is an additional piquancy in the circumstances of this one. the criminal is insane; or, at all events, for the time out of his senses. the guard-house doors are at all hours besieged--to the great discomfort of the sentries--by people eager to listen to the mutterings of the delirious man. a lady could not pass in without having scores of eyes turned inquiringly upon her. louise poindexter cannot run the gauntlet of those looks without risk to her reputation. left to herself, perhaps she would have attempted it. watched by a father whose suspicions are already awakened; by a near relation, equally interested in preserving her spotless, before the eyes of the world--she has no opportunity for the act of imprudence. she can only stay at home; now shut up in her solitary chamber, solaced by the remembrance of those ravings to which she had listened upon the alamo; now upon the azotea, cheered by the recollection of that sweet time spent among the _mezquite_ trees, the spot itself almost discernible, where she had surrendered the proudest passion of her heart; but saddened by the thought that he to whom she surrendered it is now humiliated--disgraced--shut up within the walls of a gaol--perchance to be delivered from it only unto death! to her it was happy tidings, when, upon the morning of the fourth day, zeb stump made his appearance at casa del corro, bringing the intelligence; that the "hoss-sogers hed kum back to the fort." there was significance in the news thus ungrammatically imparted. there was no longer a danger of the perpetration of that foul act hitherto apprehended: a prisoner taken from his guards, not for rescue, but ruin! "ee needn't be uneezy 'beout thet ere ewent," said zeb, speaking with a confidence he had not shown for some time. "thur's no longer a danger o' it comin' to pass, miss lewaze. i've tuk preecaushins agin it." "precautions! how, zeb?" "wal; fust place, i've seed the major clost arter his comin' back, an gied him a bit o' my mind. i tolt him the hul story, as fur's i know it myself. by good luck he ain't agin the young fellur, but the tother way i reck'n. wal, i tolt him o' the goin's on o' the hul crew--amerikins, mexikins, an all o' them--not forgettin' thet ugly spanyard o' the name o' dee-ez, thet's been one o' the sarciest o' the lot. the ree-sult's been thet the major hez doubled the sentries roun' the prison, an's goin' to keep 'em doubled." "i am so glad! you think there is no longer any fear from that quarter?" "if you mean the quarter o' mister migooel dee-ez, i kin swar to it. afore he thinks o' gittin' any b'dy else out o' a prison, he's got to git hisself out." "what; diaz in prison! how? when? where?" "you've asked three seprit questyuns, miss lewaze, all o' a heep. wal; i reck'n the conveenientest way to answer 'em 'll be to take 'em backurds. an' fust as to the _whar_. as to thet, thur's but one prison in these parts, as 'ud be likely to hold him. thet is the guard-house at the fort. he's thur." "along with--" "i know who ye're goin' to name--the young fellur. jest so. they're in the same buildin', tho' not 'zackly in the same room. thur's a purtition atween 'em; tho' for thet matter they kin convarse, ef they're so inclined. thur's three others shet up along wi' the mexikin--his own cussed cummarades. the three 'll have somethin' to talk 'beout 'mong themselves, i reck'n." "this is good news, zeb. you told me yesterday that diaz was active in--" "gittin' hisself into a scrape, which he hev been successful in effectuatin'. he's got hisself into the jug, or someb'y else hev did thet bizness for him." "but how--when--you've not told me?" "geehosophat! miss lewaze. gi' me a leetle time. i hain't drew breath yit, since i kim in. yur second questyun war _when_. it air eezy answered. 'beout a hour agone thet ere varmint wur trapped an locked up. i war at the shettin' o' the door ahint him, an kum straight custrut hyur arter it war done." "but you have not yet said why he is arrested." "i hain't hed a chance. it air a longish story, an 'll take a leetle time in the tellin'. will ye listen to it now, or arter--?" "after what, mr stump?" "wal, miss lewaze, i only meened arter--arter--i git the ole mare put up. she air stannin' thur, as if she'd like to chaw a yeer o' corn, an somethin' to wet it down. both she 'nd me's been on a longish tramp afore we got back to the fort; which we did scace a hour ago." "pardon me, dear mr stump, for not thinking of it. pluto; take mr stump's horse to the stable, and see that it is fed. florinde! florinde! what will you eat, mr stump?" "wal, as for thet, miss lewaze, thank ye all the same, but i ain't so partikler sharp set. i war only thinkin' o' the maar. for myself, i ked go a kupple o' hours longer 'ithout eetin', but ef thur's sech a thing as a smell o' monongaheely 'beout the place, it 'ud do this ole karkidge o' mine a power o' good." "monongahela? plenty of it. surely you will allow me to give you something better?" "better 'n monongaheely!" "yes. some sherry--champagne--brandy if you prefer it." "let them drink brandy as like it, and kin' git it drinkable. thur may be some o' it good enuf; an ef thur air, i'm shor it'll be foun' in the house o' a peintdexter. i only knows o' the sort the sutler keeps up at the fort. ef thur ever wur a medicine, thet's one. it 'ud rot the guts out o' a alleygatur. no; darn thur french lickers; an specially thur brandy. gi' me the pure corn juice; an the best o' all, thet as comes from pittsburgh on the monongaheely." "florinde! florinde!" it was not necessary to tell the waiting-maid for what she was wanted. the presence of zeb stump indicated the service for which she had been summoned. without waiting to receive the order she went off, and the moment after returned, carrying a decanter half-filled with what zeb called the "pure corn juice," but which was in reality the essence of rye--for from this grain is distilled the celebrated "monongahela." zeb was not slow to refresh himself. a full third of the contents of the decanter were soon put out of sight--the other two-thirds remaining for future potations that might be required in the course of the narration upon which he was about to enter. chapter seventy. go, zeb, and god speed you! the old hunter never did things in a hurry. even his style of drinking was not an exception; and although there was no time wasted, he quaffed the monongahela in a formal leisurely manner. the creole, impatient to hear what he had to relate, did not wait for him to resume speech. "tell me, dear zeb," said she, after directing her maid to withdraw, "why have they arrested this mexican--miguel diaz i mean? i think i know something of the man. i have reasons." "an' you ain't the only purson may hev reezuns for knowin' him, miss lewaze. yur brother--but never mind 'beout that--leastwise not now. what zeb stump _do_ know, or strongly surspect, air, thet this same-mentioned migooel dee-ez hev had somethin' to do wi'--you know what i'm refarrin' to?" "go on, mr stump!" "wal, the story air this. arter we kim from the alamo crik, the fellurs that went in sarch o' them injuns, foun' out they wan't injuns at all. ye hev heern that yurself. from the fixins that war diskevered in the holler tree, it air clur that what we seed on the bluff war a party o' whites. i hed a surspishun o't myself--soon as i seed them curds they'd left ahint 'em in the shanty." "it was the same, then, who visited the jacale at night--the same phalim saw?" "ne'er a doubt o' it. them same mexikins." "what reason have you to think they were mexicans?" "the best o' all reezuns. i foun' 'em out to be; traced the hul kit o' 'em to thur _cache_." the young creole made no rejoinder. zeb's story promised a revelation that might be favourable to her hopes. she stood resignedly waiting for him to continue. "ye see, the curds, an also some words, the which the irish war able to sort o' pernounce, arter a fashun o' his own, tolt me they must a been o' the yeller-belly breed; an sartint 'bout that much, i war able to gie a tol'able guess as to whar they hed kim from. i know'd enuf o' the mexikins o' these parts to think o' four as answered thar descripshun to a t. as to the injun duds, thar warn't nuthin' in them to bamboozle me. arter this, i ked a gone straight to the hul four fellurs, an pinted 'em out for sartin. one o' 'em, for sure sartin. on him i'd made my mark. i war confident o' havin' did thet." "your mark! how, zeb?" "ye remimber the shot i fired from the door o' the shanty?" "oh, certainly! i did not see the indians. i was under the trees at the time. i saw you discharge your rifle at something." "wal, miss lewaze; this hyur coon don't often dischurge thet thur weepun 'ithout drawin' blood. i know'd i hut the skunk; but it war rayther fur for the carry o' the piece, an i reckon'd the ball war a bit spent. f'r all that, i know'd it must a stung him. i seed him squirm to the shot, an i says to myself: ef ther ain't a hole through his hide somewhar, this coon won't mind changin' skins wi' him. wal, arter they kim home wi' the story o' whites instead o' red-skins, i hed a tol'able clur idee o' who the sham injuns wur, an ked a laid my claws on 'em at any minnit. but i didn't." "and why not, mr stump? surely you haven't allowed them to get away? they might be the very men who are guilty of my poor brother's--" "that's jest what this coon thort, an it war for that reezun i let 'em slide. there war another reezun besides. i didn't much like goin' fur from the port, leest somethin' ugly mout turn up in my absince. you unnerstan'? there war another reezun still for not prospectin' arter them jest then. i wanted to make shur o' my game." "and you have?" "shur as shootin'. i guessed thur wan't goin' to be any rain, an thurfor thur war no immeedyit hurry as to what i intended doin'. so i waited till the sogers shed get back, an i ked safely leave him in the guard-house. soon as they kim in, i tuk the ole maar and rud out to the place whar our fellurs had struck upon the fixing. i eezy foun' it by thur descripshun. wal; as they'd only got that greenhorn, spangler, to guide 'em, i war putty sure the sign hedn't been more'n helf read; an that _i'd_ get somethin' out o' it, beside what they'd brought away." "i wan't disappinted. the durndest fool as ever set fut upon a purayra, mout a follered the back track o' them make-believe kimanchees. a storekeeper ked a traced it acrost the purayra, though it appears neyther mister spangler nor any o' the others did. i foun' it eezy as fallin' off o' a log, not 'ithstandin' thet the sarchers had rud all over it. i tracked every hoss o' the four counterfits to his own stable." "after that?" "arter doin' thet i hed a word wi' the major; an in helf an hour at the most the four beauties wur safe shot up in the guardhouse--the chief o' 'em bein' jugged fust, leest he mout get wind o' what wur goin' forrard, an sneak out o' the way. i wan't fur astray 'beout mister migooel dee-ez bearin' my mark. we foun' the tar o' a bullet through the fleshy part o' his dexter wing; an thet explained why he wur so quick at lettin' go his laryette." "it was he, then!" mechanically remarked louise, as she stood reflecting. "very strange!" she continued, still muttering the words to herself. "he it was i saw in the chapparal glade! yes, it must have been! and the woman--this mexican--isidora? ah! there is some deep mystery in all this--some dark design! who can unravel it?" "tell me, dear zeb," she asked, stepping closer to the old hunter, and speaking with a cartain degree of hesitancy. "that woman--the mexican lady i mean--who--who was out there. do you know if she has often visited him?" "him! which him, miss lewaze?" "mr gerald, i mean." "she mout, an she moutn't--'ithout my knowin' eyther one or the tother. i ain't often thur myself. the place air out o' my usooal huntin' ground, an i only go now an then for the sake o' a change. the crik's fust rate for both deer an gobbler. if ye ask my opeenyun, i'd say that thet ere gurl heven't never been thur afore. leestwise, i hain't heern o' it; an eft hed been so, i reckun irish pheelum ud a hed somethin' to say abeout it. besides, i hev other reezuns for thinkin' so. i've only heern o' one o' the shemale sex bein' on a visit to thet shanty." "who?" quickly interrogated the creole, the instant after regretting that she had asked the question--the colour coming to her cheeks, as she noticed the significant glance with which zeb had accompanied his concluding remark. "no matter," she continued, without waiting for the answer. "so, zeb," she went on, giving a quick turn to the conversation, "you think that these men have had to do with that which is causing sorrow to all of us,--these mexicans?" "to tell ye the truth, miss lewaze, i don't know zackly what to think. it air the most musteeriousest consarn as iver kim to pass on these hyur purayras. sometimes i hev the idea that the mexikins must a did it; while at others, i'm in the opposite way o' thinkin', an thet some'dy else hev hed a han' in the black bizness. i won't say who." "not _him_, zeb; not _him_!" "not the mowstanger. no, neer a bit o' thet. spite o' all that's sayed agin him, i hain't the leest surspishun o' his innersense." "oh! how is he to prove it? it is said, that the testimony is all against him! no one to speak a word in his behalf!" "wal, it ain't so sartint as to thet. keepin' my eye upon the others, an his prison; i hain't hed much chance o' gettin' abeout. thur's a opportunity now; an i mean to make use o' it. the purayra's a big book, miss peintdexter--a wonderful big book--for them as knows how to read the print o't. if not much o' a scholar otherways, zeb'lon stump hev larnt to do thet. thur may be some testymoney that mout help him, scattered over the musquit grass--jest as i've heern a methody preecher say, thur `war sarmints in stones, an books in runnin' brutes.' eft air so, thur oughter be somethin' o' the kind scared up on the alamo crik." "you think you might discover some traces?" "wal; i'm goin' out to hev a look 'roun' me--speecially at the place whur i foun' the young fellur in the claws o' the spotted painter. i oughter gone afore now, but for the reezun i've tolt ye. thank the awlmighty! thur's been no wet--neer y drop; an whatsomiver sign's been made for a week past, kin be understood as well, as if it war did yisterday--that is by them as knows how to read it. i must start straight away, miss lewaze. i jest runned down to tell ye what hed been done at the fort. thur's no time to be throwed away. they let me in this mornin' to see the young fellur; an i'm sartin his head air gettin' clurrer. soon as it air all right, the reg'lators say, they'll insist on the trial takin' place. it may be in less'n three days; an i must git back afore it begins." "go, zeb, and god speed you on your generous errand! come back with proofs of _his_ innocence, and ever after i shall feel indebted to you for--for--more than life!" chapter seventy one. the sorell horse. inspired by this passionate appeal, the hunter hastened towards the stable, where he had stalled his unique specimen of horseflesh. he found the "critter" sonorously shelling some corn-cobs, which pluto had placed liberally before her. pluto himself was standing by her side. contrary to his usual habit, the sable groom was silent: though with an air anything but tranquil. he looked rather _triste_ than excited. it might be easily explained. the loss of his young master--by pluto much beloved--the sorrow of his young mistress, equally estimated-- perhaps some scornful speeches which he had lately been treated to from the lips of morinda--and still more likely a kick he had received from the boot-toe of captain cassius--for several days assuming sole mastery over the mansion--amply accounted for the unquiet expression observable on his countenance. zeb was too much occupied with his own thoughts to notice the sorrowful mien of the domestic. he was even in too great a hurry to let the old mare finish her meal of maize, which she stood greatly in need of. grasping her by the snout, he stuck the rusty snaffle between her teeth; pulled her long ears through the cracked leathern headstraps; and, turning her in the stall, was about to lead her out. it was a reluctant movement on the part of the mare--to be dragged away from such provender as she rarely chanced to get between her jaws. she did not turn without a struggle; and zeb was obliged to pull vigorously on the bridle-rein before he could detach her muzzle from the manger. "ho! ho! mass' tump!" interposed pluto. "why you be go 'way in dat big hurry? de poor ole ma' she no half got u'm feed. why you no let her fill her belly wif de corn? ha! ha! it do her power o' good." "han't got time, nigger. goin' off on a bit o' a jurney. got abeout a hunderd mile to make in less 'an a kupple o' hours." "ho! ho! dat ere de fassest kind o' trabbelin'. you 'm jokin', mass' tump?" "no, i ain't." "gorramity! wa--dey do make won'full journey on dese hyur prairas. i reck'n dat ere hoss must a trabbled _two_ hunner mile de odder night." "what hoss?" "de ole sorrel dere--in dat furrest 'tand from de doos--massa cahoon hoss." "what makes ye think he travelled two hunder mile?" "kase he turn home all kibbered ober wif de froff. beside, he wa _so_ done up he scace able walk, when dis chile lead um down to de ribba fo' gib um drink. hee 'tagger like new-drop calf. ho! ho! he wa broke down--he wa!" "o' what night air ye palaverin', plute?" "wha night? le'ss see! why, ob coas de night massa henry wa missed from de plantashun. dat same night in de mornin', 'bout an hour atter de sun git up into de hebbings. i no see de ole sorrel afore den, kase i no out ob my skeeta-bar till after daylight. den i kum 'cross to de 'table hya, an den i see dat quadrumpid all kibbered ober wif sweet an froff--lookin' like he'd swimmed through de big ribba, an pantin' 's if he jes finish a fo' mile race on de metairie course at new orlean." "who had him out thet night?" "doan know, mass' tump. only dat nobody 'lowed to ride de sorrel 'cept massa cahoon hisself. ho! ho! ne'er a body 'lowed lay leg ober dat critter." "why, wan't it himself that tuk the anymal out?" "doan know, massa tump; doan know de why nor de whafor. dis chile neider see de cap'n take um out nor fotch um in." "if yur statement air true 'beout his bein' in sech a sweat, someb'dy must a hed him out, an been ridin' o' him." "ha! ha! someb'dy muss, dat am certing." "looke hyur, plute! ye ain't a bad sort o' a darkie, though your skin air o' a sut colour. i reck'n you're tellin' the truth; an ye don't know who rud out the sorrel that night. but who do ye _think_ it war? i'm only axin' because, as ye know, mr peintdexter air a friend o' mine, an i don't want his property to be abused--no more what belongs to capen calhoun. some o' the field niggers, i reck'n, hev stole the anymal out o' the stable, an hev been ridin' it all roun' the country. that's it, ain't it?" "well, no, mass' tump. dis chile doan believe dat am it. de fiel' hands not 'lowed inside hyur. _dey_ darn't kum in to de 'table no how. 'twan't any nigger upon dis plantashun as tooked out de sorrel dat night." "durn it, then, who ked a tuk him out? maybe the overseer? war it him d'ye think?" "'twan't him needer." "who then ked it be; unless it war the owner o' the hoss hisself? if so, thur's an end o' it. he hed the right to ride his critter wharever he pleased, an gallop it to hell ef thet war agreeable to him. it ain't no bizness o' myen." "ho! ho! nor myen, needer, mass' tump. wish i'd thought dat way dis mornin'." "why do ye weesh that? what happened this mornin' to change yur tune?" "ho! what happen dis mornin'? dar happen to dis nigga a great misfortin'. ho!--ho! berry great misfortin'." "what war it?" "golly, massa tump, i'se got kicked--dis berry mornin', jes 'bout an hour arter twelve o'clock in de day." "kicked?" "dat i did shoo--all round de 'table." "oh! by the hosses! which o' the brutes kicked ye?" "ho!--ho! you mistaken! not any ob de hosses, but de massa ob dem all--'cept little spotty da, de which he doan't own. i wa kicked by mass' cahoon." "the hell ye wur! for what reezun? ye must hev _been_ misbehavin' yurself, nigger?" "dis nigga wan't mis-b'avin' 't all; not as he knows on. i only ask de cap'n what put de ole sorrel in such a dreful condishin dat ere night, an what make 'im be tired down. he say it not my bizness; an den he kick me; an den he larrup me wif de cow-hide; an den he threaten; an den he tell me, if i ebber 'peak bout dat same ting odder time, he gib me hunder lashes ob de wagon whip. he swa; oh! how he swa! dis chile nebba see mass cahoon so mad--nebba, in all 'im life!" "but whar's he now? i don't see him nowhar' beout the premises; an i reck'n he ain't rud out, seein' as the sorrel's hyur?" "golly, yes, mass tump; he jess am rode out at dis time. he ob late go berry much away from de house an tay long time." "a hossback?" "jess so. he go on de steel grey. ha!--ha! he doan' ride de sorrel much now. he hain't mount 'im once since de night de ole hoss wa out-- dat night we been 'peakin' 'bout. maybe he tink he hab enuf hard ridin' den, an need long 'pell ob ress." "look'ee hyur, plute," said zeb, after standing silent for a second or two, apparently engaged in some abstruse calculation. "arter all, i reck'n i'd better let the ole maar hev another yeer or two o' the corn. she's got a long spell o' travellin' afore her; an she mout break down on the jurney. the more haste air sometimes the wusser speed; an thurfor, i kalkerlate, i'd better gie the critter her time. while she's munchin' a mouthful, i ked do the same myself. 'spose, then, you skoot acrosst to the kitchen, an see ef thur ain't some chawin' stuff thur--a bit o' cold meat an a pone o' corn bread 'll do. yur young mistress wanted me to hev somethin' to eet; but i war skeert abeout delayin', an refused. now, while i'm waitin' on the maar, i reck'n i ked pick a bone,--jest to pass the time." "sartin' ye cud, mass tump. i go fotch 'im in de hundreth part ob an instant." so saying the black-skinned jehu started off across the _patio_, leaving zeb stump sole "master of the stole." the air of indifference with which he had concluded his dialogue with pluto disappeared, the moment the latter was outside the door. it had been altogether assumed: as was proved by the earnest attitude that instantly replaced it. striding across the paved causeway, that separated the two rows of stalls, he entered that occupied by the sorrel. the animal shied off, and stood trembling against the wall--perhaps awed by the look of resolution with which the hunter had approached it. "stan' still, ye brute!" chided zeb. "i don't mean no harm to _you_, tho' by yur looks i reck'n ye're as vicious as yur master. stan' still, i say, an let's hev a look at yur fut-gear!" so saying, he stooped forward, and made an attempt to lay hold of one of the fore-legs. it was unsuccessful. the horse suddenly drew up his hoof; and commenced hammering the flags with it, snorting--as if in fear that some trick was about to be played upon him. "durn your ugly karkidge!" cried zeb, angrily venting the words. "why don't ye stan' still? who's goin' to hurt ye? come, ole critter!" he continued coaxingly, "i only want to see how youv'e been shod." again he attempted to lift the hoof, but was prevented by the restive behaviour of the horse. "wal, this air a difeequilty i didn't expeck," muttered he, glancing round to see how it might be overcome. "what's to be did? it'll never do to hev the nigger help me--nor yet see what i'm abeout--the which he will ef i don't get quick through wi' it. dog-gone the hoss! how am i to git his feet up?" for a short while he stood considering, his countenance showing a peevish impatience. "cuss the critter!" he again exclaimed. "i feel like knockin' him over whar he stan's. ha! now i hev it, if the nigger will only gie time. i hope the wench will keep him waitin'. durn ye! i'll make ye stan' still, or choke ye dead ef ye don't. wi' this roun' yur jugewlar, i reck'n ye won't be so skittish." while speaking he had lifted the trail-rope from his own saddle; and, throwing its noose over the head of the sorrel, he shook it down till it encircled the animal's neck. then hauling upon the other end, he drew it taut as a bowstring. the horse for a time kept starting about the stall, and snorting with rage. but his snorts were soon changed into a hissing sound, that with difficulty escaped through his nostrils; and his wrath resolved itself into terror. the rope tightly compressing his throat was the cause of the change. zeb now approached him without fear; and, after making the slip fast, commenced lifting his feet one after the other--scrutinising each, in great haste, but at the same time with sufficient care. he appeared to take note of the shape, the shoeing, the number and relative position of the nails--in short, everything that might suggest an idiosyncrasy, or assist in a future identification. on coming to the off hind foot--which he did last of the four--an exclamation escaped him that proclaimed some satisfactory surprise. it was caused by the sight of a broken shoe--nearly a quarter of which was missing from the hoof, the fracture having occurred at the second nail from the canker. "ef i'd know'd o' _you_," he muttered in apostrophe to the imperfect shoe, "i mout a' saved myself the trouble o' examinin' the tothers. thur ain't much chance o' mistakin' the print you'd be likely to leave ahint ye. to make shur, i'll jest take ye along wi me." in conformity with this resolve, he drew out his huge hunting knife--the blade of which, near the hilt, was a quarter of an inch thick--and, inserting it under the piece of iron, he wrenched it from the hoof. taking care to have the nails along, he transferred it to the capacious pocket of his coat. then nimbly gliding back to the trail-rope, he undid the knot; and restored the interrupted respiration of the sorrel. pluto came in the moment after, bringing a plentiful supply of refreshments--including a tumbler of the monongahela; and to these zeb instantly applied himself, without saying a word about the interlude that had occurred during the darkey's absence. the latter, however, did not fail to perceive that the sorrel was out of sorts: for the animal, on finding itself released, stood shivering in the stall, gazing around in a sort of woe-begone wonder after the rough treatment, to which he had been submitted. "gorramity!" exclaimed the black, "what am de matter wif de ole hoss? ho! ho! he look like he wa afeerd ob you, mass tump!" "oh, ye-es!" drawled zeb, with seeming carelessness. "i reck'n he air a bit afeerd. he war makin' to get at my ole maar, so i gied him a larrup or two wi' the eend o' my trail rope. thet's what has rousted him." pluto was perfectly satisfied with the explanation, and the subject was permitted to drop. "look hyur, plute!" said zeb, starting another. "who does the shoein' o' yur cattle? thars some o' the hands air a smith, i reck'n?" "ho! ho! dat dere am. yella jake he do shoein'. fo what you ask, mass tump?" "wal; i war thinkin' o' havin' a kupple o' shoes put on the hind feet o' the maar. i reck'n jake ud do it for me." "ho! ho! he do it wif a thousan' welkim--dat he will, i'se shoo." "questyun is, kin i spare the time to wait. how long do it take him to put on a kupple?" "lor, mass tamp, berry short while. jake fust-rate han' lit de bizness. ebberybody say so." "he moutn't have the mateerils riddy? it depends on whether he's been shoein' lately. how long's it since he shod any o' yourn?" "more'n a week i blieb, mass' zeb. ho--ho! do last war missa looey hoss--de beautiful 'potty dar. but dat won't make no differens. i know he hab de fixins all ready. i knows it, kase he go for shoe de sorrel. de ole hoss hab one ob de hind shoe broke. he hab it so de lass ten day; an mass cahoon, he gib orders for it be remove. ho--ho! dis berry mornin' i hear um tell jake." "arter all," rejoined zeb, as if suddenly changing his mind, "i moutn't hev the time to spare. i reck'n i'll let the ole critter do 'ithout till i kum back. the tramp i'm goin' on--most part o' it--lies over grass purayra; an won't hurt her." "no, i hevn't time," he added, after stepping outside and glancing up towards the sky. "i must be off from hyur in the shakin' o' a goat's tail. now, ole gal! you've got to stop yur munchin' an take this bit o' iron atwixt yur teeth. open yur corn trap for it. that's the putty pet!" and so continuing to talk--now to pluto, now to the mare--he once more adjusted the headstall; led the animal out; and, clambering into the saddle, rode thoughtfully away. chapter seventy two. zeb stump on the trail. after getting clear of the enclosures of casa del corvo, the hunter headed his animal up stream--in the direction of the port and town. it was the former he intended to reach--which he did in a ride of less than a quarter of an hour. commonly it took him three to accomplish this distance; but on this occasion he was in an unusual state of excitement, and he made speed to correspond. the old mare could go fast enough when required--that is when zeb required her and he had a mode of quickening her speed--known only to himself, and only employed upon extraordinary occasions. it simply consisted in drawing the bowie knife from his belt, and inserting about in inch of its blade into the mare's hip, close to the termination of the spine. the effect was like magic; or, if you prefer the figure--electricity. so spurred, zeb's "critter" could accomplish a mile in three minutes; and more than once had she been called upon to show this capability, when her owner was chased by comanches. on the present occasion there was no necessity for such excessive speed; and the fort was reached after fifteen minutes' sharp trotting. on reaching it, zeb slipped out of the saddle, and made his way to the quarters of the commandant; while the mare was left panting upon the parade ground. the old hunter had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with the military chief of fort inge. looked upon by the officers as a sort of privileged character, he had the entree at all times, and could go in without countersign, or any of the other formalities usually demanded from a stranger. the sentry passed him, as a matter of course--the officer of the guard only exchanged with him a word of welcome; and the adjutant at once announced his name to the major commanding the cantonment. from his first words, the latter appeared to have been expecting him. "ah! mr stump! glad to see you so soon. have you made any discovery in this queer affair? from your quick return, i can almost say you have. something, i hope, in favour of this unfortunate young fellow. notwithstanding that appearances are strongly against him, i still adhere to my old opinion--that he's innocent. what have you learnt?" "wal, maje," answered zeb, without making other obeisance than the simple politeness of removing his hat; "what i've larnt aint much, tho' enough to fetch me back to the fort; where i didn't intend to come, till i'd gone a bit o' a jurney acrosst the purayras. i kim back hyur to hev a word wi' yurself." "in welcome. what is it you have to say?" "that ye'll keep back this trial as long's ye kin raisonably do so. i know thur's a pressyur from the outside; but i know, too, that ye've got the power to resist it, an what's more, maje--yo've got the will." "i have. you speak quite truly about that, mr stump. and as to the power, i have that, too, in a certain sense. but, as you are aware, in our great republic, the military power must always be subservient to the civil--unless under martial-law, which god forbid should ever be required among us--even here in texas. i can go so far as to hinder any open violation of the law; but i cannot go against the law itself." "t'ant the law i want ye to go agin. nothin' o' the sort, maje. only them as air like to take it into thur own hands, an twist it abeout to squar it wi' thur own purpisses. thur's them in this settlement as 'ud do thet, ef they ain't rustrained. one in espeecial 'ud like to do it; an i knows who thet one air--leestwise i hev a tolable clur guess o' him." "who?" "yur good to keep a seecret, maje? i know ye air." "mr stump, what passes here is in confidence. you may speak your mind freely." "then my mind air: thet the man who hez dud this murder ain't maurice the mowstanger." "that's my own belief. you know it already. have you nothing more to communicate?" "wal, maje, preehaps i ked communerkate a leetle more ef you insist upon it. but the time ain't ripe for tellin' ye what i've larnt--the which, arter all, only mounts to surspishuns. i may be wrong; an i'd rayther you'd let me keep 'em to myself till i hev made a short exkurshun acrost to the nooeces. arter thet, ye'll be welkum to what i know now, besides what i may be able to gather off o' the parayras." "so far as i am concerned, i'm quite contented to wait for your return; the more willingly that i know you are acting on the side of justice. but what would you have me do?" "keep back the trial, maje--only that. the rest will be all right." "how long? you know that it must come on according to the usual process in the criminal court. the judge of this circuit will not be ruled by me, though he may yield a little to my advice. but there is a party, who are crying out for vengeance; and he may be ruled by them." "i know the party ye speak o'. i know their leader; an maybe, afore the trial air over, _he_ may be the kriminal afore the bar." "ah! you do not believe, then, that these mexicans are the _men_!" "can't tell, maje, whether they air or ain't. i do b'lieve thet they've hed a hand in the bizness; but i don't b'lieve thet they've been the prime movers in't. it's _him_ i want to diskiver. kin ye promise me three days?" "three days! for what?" "afore the trial kims on." "oh! i think there will be no difficulty about that. he is now a prisoner under military law. even if the judge of the supreme court should require him to be delivered up inside that time, i can make objections that will delay his being taken from the guard-house. i shall undertake to do that." "maje! ye'd make a man a'most contented to live under marshul law. no doubt thur air times when it air the best, tho' we independent citizens don't much like it. all i've got to say air, thet ef ye stop this trial for three days, or tharahout, preehaps the prisoner to kim afore the bar may be someb'y else than him who's now in the guard-house--someb'y who jest at this mom't hain't the smallest serspishun o' bein' hisself surspected. don't ask me who. only say ye'll streetch a pint, an gi' me three days?" "i promise it, mr stump. though i may risk my commission as an officer in the american army, i give you an officer's promise, that for three days maurice the mustanger shall not go out of my guard-house. innocent or guilty, for that time he shall be protected." "yur the true grit, maje; an dog-gone me, ef i don't do my beest to show ye some day, thet i'm sensible o't. i've nuthin' more to say now, 'ceptin' to axe thet ye'll not tell out o' doors what i've been tellin' you. thur's them outside who, ef they only knew what this coon air arter, 'ud move both heving an airth to circumwent his intenshuns." "they'll have no help from me--whoever it is you are speaking of. mr stump, you may rely upon my pledged word." "i know't, maje, i know't. god bless ye for a good 'un. _yer_ the right sort for texas!" with this complimentary leave-taking the hunter strode out of head-quarters, and made his way back to the place where he had left his old mare. once more mounting her, he rode rapidly away. having cleared the parade ground, and afterwards the outskirts of the village, he returned on the same path that had conducted him from casa del corvo. on reaching the outskirts of poindexter's plantation, he left the low lands of the leona bottom, and spurred his old mare 'gainst the steep slope ascending to the upper plain. he reached it, at a point where the chapparal impinged upon the prairie, and there reined up under the shade of a mezquit tree. he did not alight, nor show any sign of an intention to do so; but sate in the saddle, stooped forward, his eyes turned upon the ground, in that vacant gaze which denotes reflection. "dog-gone my cats!" he drawled out in slow soliloquy. "thet ere sarkimstance are full o' signiferkince. calhoun's hoss out the same night, an fetched home a' sweetin' all over. what ked that mean? durn me, ef i don't surspect the foul play hev kum from that quarter. i've thort so all along; only it air so ridiklous to serpose thet he shed a killed his own cousin. he'd do that, or any other villinous thing, ef there war a reezun for it. there ain't--none as i kin think o'. ef the property hed been a goin' to the young un, then the thing mout a been intellygible enuf. but it want. ole peintdexter don't own a acre o' this hyur groun'; nor a nigger thet's upon it. thet i'm sartin' 'beout. they all belong to that cuss arready; an why shed he want to get shot o' the cousin? thet's whar this coon gets flummixed in his kalkerlations. thar want no ill will atween 'em, as ever i heerd o'. thur's a state o' feelin' twixt him an the gurl, thet _he_ don't like, i know. but why shed it temp him to the killin' o' her brother? "an' then thur's the mowstanger mixed in wi' it, an that shindy 'beout which she tolt me herself; an the sham injuns, an the mexikin shemale wi' the har upon her lip; an the hossman 'ithout a head, an hell knows what beside! geesus geehosofat! it 'ud puzzle the brain pan o' a looeyville lawyer! "wal--there's no time to stan' speklatin' hyur. wi' this bit o' iron to assiss me, i may chance upon somethin' thet'll gie a clue to a part o' the bloody bizness, ef not to the hul o' it; an fust, as to the direcshun in which i shed steer?" he looked round, as if in search of some one to answer the interrogatory. "it air no use beginnin' neer the fort or the town. the groun' abeout both on 'em air paddled wi' hoss tracks like a cattle pen. i'd best strike out into the purayra at onst, an take a track crossways o' the rio grande route. by doin' thet i may fluke on the futmark i'm in search o'. yes--ye-es! thet's the most sensiblest idee." as if fully satisfied on this score, he took up his bridle-rein, muttered some words to his mare, and commenced moving off along the edge of the chapparal. having advanced about a mile in the direction of the nueces river, he abruptly changed his course; but with a coolness that told of a predetermined purpose. it was now nearly due west, and at right angles to the different trails going towards the rio grande. there was a simultaneous change in his bearing--in the expression of his features--and his attitude in the saddle. no longer looking listlessly around, he sate stooping forward, his eye carefully scanning the sward, over a wide space on both sides of the path he was pursuing. he had ridden about a mile in the new direction, when something seen upon the ground caused him to start, and simultaneously pull upon the bridle-rein. nothing loth, the "critter" came to a stand; zeb, at the same time, flinging himself out of the saddle. leaving the old mare to ruminate upon this eccentric proceeding, he advanced a pace or two, and dropped down upon his knees. then drawing the piece of curved iron out of his capacious pocket, he applied it to a hoof-print conspicuously outlined in the turf. it fitted. "fits!" he exclaimed, with a triumphant gesticulation, "dog-goned if it don't!" "tight as the skin o' a tick!" he continued, after adjusting the broken shoe to the imperfect hoof-print, and taking it up again. "by the eturnal! that ere's _the track o' a creetur--mayhap a murderer_!" chapter seventy three. the prairie island. a herd of a hundred horses--or three times the number--pasturing upon a prairie, although a spectacle of the grandest kind furnished by the animal kingdom, is not one that would strike a texan frontiersman as either strange, or curious. he would think it stranger to see a _single_ horse in the same situation. the former would simply be followed by the reflection: "a drove of mustangs." the latter conducts to a different train of thought, in which there is an ambiguity. the solitary steed might be one of two things: either an exiled stallion, kicked out of his own _cavallada_, or a roadster strayed from some encampment of travellers. the practised eye of the prairie-man would soon decide which. if the horse browsed with a bit in his mouth, and a saddle on his shoulders, there would be no ambiguity--only the conjecture, as to how he had escaped from his rider. if the rider were upon his back, and the horse still browsing, there would be no room for conjecture--only the reflection, that the former must be a lazy thick-headed fellow, not to alight and let his animal graze in a more commodious fashion. if, however, the rider, instead of being suspected of having a thick head, was seen to have _no head at all_, then would there be cue for a thousand conjectures, not one of which might come within a thousand miles of the truth. such a horse; and just such a rider, were seen upon the prairies of south-western texas in the year of our lord something. i am not certain as to the exact year--the unit of it--though i can with unquestionable certainty record the decade. i can speak more precisely as to the place; though in this i must be allowed latitude. a circumference of twenty miles will include the different points where the spectral apparition made itself manifest to the eyes of men--both on prairie and in chapparal--in a district of country traversed by several northern tributaries of the rio de nueces, and some southern branches of the rio leona. it was seen not only by many people; but at many different times. first, by the searchers for henry poindexter and his supposed murderer; second, by the servant of maurice the mustanger; thirdly, by cassius calhoun, on his midnight exploration of the chapparal; fourthly, by the sham indians on that same night: and, fifthly, by zeb stump on the night following. but there were others who saw it elsewhere and on different occasions-- hunters, herdsmen, and travellers--all alike awed, alike perplexed, by the apparition. it had become the talk not only of the leona settlement, but of others more distant. its fame already reached on one side to the rio grande, and on the other was rapidly extending to the sabine. no one doubted that such a thing had been seen. to have done so would have been to ignore the evidence of two hundred pairs of eyes, all belonging to men willing to make affidavit of the fact--for it could not be pronounced a fancy. no one denied that it had been seen. the only question was, how to account for a spectacle so peculiar, as to give the lie to all the known laws of creation. at least half a score of theories were started--more or less feasible-- more or less absurd. some called it an "indian dodge;" others believed it a "lay figure;" others that it was not that, but a real rider, only so disguised as to have his head under the serape that shrouded his shoulders, with perhaps a pair of eye-holes through which he could see to guide his horse; while not a few pertinaciously adhered to the conjecture, started at a very early period, that the headless horseman was lucifer himself! in addition to the direct attempts at interpreting the abnormal phenomenon, there was a crowd of indirect conjectures relating to it. some fancied that they could see the head, or the shape of it, down upon the breast, and under the blanket; others affirmed to having actually seen it carried in the rider's hand; while others went still further, and alleged: that upon the head thus seen there was a hat--a black-glaze sombrero of the mexican sort, with a band of gold bullion above the brim! there were still further speculations, that related less to the apparition itself than to its connection with the other grand topic of the time--the murder of young poindexter. most people believed there was some connection between the two mysteries; though no one could explain it. he, whom everybody believed, could have thrown some light upon the subject, was still ridden by the night-mare of delirium. and for a whole week the guessing continued; during which the spectral rider was repeatedly seen; now going at a quick gallop, now moving in slow, tranquil pace, across the treeless prairie: his horse at one time halted and vaguely gazing around him; at another with teeth to the ground, industriously cropping the sweet _gramma_ grass, that makes the pasturage of south-western texas (in my opinion) the finest in the world. rejecting many tales told of the headless horseman--most of them too grotesque to be recorded--one truthful episode must needs be given-- since it forms an essential chapter of this strange history. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ in the midst of the open, prairie there is a "motte"--a coppice, or clump of trees--of perhaps three or four acres in superficial extent. a prairie-man would call it an "island," and with your eyes upon the vast verdant sea that surrounds it, you could not help being struck with the resemblance. the aboriginal of america might not perceive it. it is a thought of the colonist transmitted to his descendants; who, although they may never have looked upon the great ocean, are nevertheless _au fait_ to its phraseology. by the timber island in question--about two hundred yards from its edge--a horse is quietly pasturing. he is the same that carries the headless rider; and this weird equestrian is still bestriding him, with but little appearance of change, either in apparel or attitude, since first seen by the searchers. the striped blanket still hangs over his shoulders, cloaking the upper half of his person; while the _armas-de-agua_, strapped over his limbs, cover them from thigh to spur, concealing all but their outlines. his body is bent a little forward, as if to ease the horse in getting his snout to the sward; which the long bridle-rein, surrendered to its full length, enables him to do, though still retained in hand, or resting over the "horn" of the saddle. those who asserted that they saw a head, only told the truth. there is a head; and, as also stated, with a hat upon it--a black sombrero, with bullion band as described. the head rests against the left thigh, the chin being nearly down on a level with the rider's knee. being on the near side it _can_ only be seen, when the spectator is on the same; and not always then, as it is at times concealed by a corner of the serape. at times too can a glimpse be obtained of the face. its features are well formed, but wearing a sad expression; the lips of livid colour, slightly parted, showing a double row of white teeth, set in a grim ghastly smile. though there is no perceptible change in the _personnel_ of the headless horseman there is something new to be noted. hitherto he has been seen going alone. now he is in company. it cannot be called agreeable;--consisting as it does of wolves--half a score of them squatting closely upon the plain, and at intervals loping around him. by the horse they are certainly not liked; as is proved by the snorting and stamping of his hoof, when one of them ventures upon a too close proximity to his heels. the rider seems more indifferent to a score of birds--large dark birds-- that swoop in shadowy circles around his shoulders. even when one bolder than the rest has the audacity to alight upon him, he has made no attempt to disturb it, raising neither hand nor arm to drive it away! three times one of the birds has alighted thus--first upon the right shoulder, then upon the left, and then midway between--upon the spot where the head should be! the bird does not stay upon its singular perch, or only for an instant. if the rider does not feel the indignity the steed does; and resists it by rearing upward, with a fierce neighing, that frights the vultures off--to return again only after a short interval of shyness. his steed thus browsing, now in quiet, now disturbed by the too near approach of the wolves--anon by the bold behaviour of the birds--goes the headless horseman, step by step, and with long pauses of pasturing, around the prairie island. chapter seventy four. a solitary stalker. the singular spectacle described--extraordinary it might be termed--was too grave to appear grotesque. there was some thing about it that savoured of the _outre-monde_. human eyes could not have beholden it, without the shivering of a human frame, and the chilling of human blood. was it seen by human eyes in this fresh phase--with the wolves below, and the vultures above? it was. by one pair; and they belonging to the only man in all texas who had arrived at something like a comprehension of the all-perplexing mystery. it was not yet altogether clear to him. there were points that still puzzled him. he but know it was neither a dummy, nor the devil. his knowledge did not except him from the universal feeling of dread. despite the understanding of what the thing was, he shuddered as he gazed upon it. he gazed upon it from the "shore" of the prairie-island; himself unseen under its shadows, and apparently endeavouring to remain so. and yet, with all his trembling and the desire to keep concealed, he was following it round and round, on the circumference of an inner circle, as if some magnetic power was constraining him to keep on the same radius, of which the point occupied by the headless horseman was a prolongation! more than this. he had seen the latter before entering the island. he had seen him far off, and might easily have shunned him. but instead of doing so, he had immediately commenced making approach towards him! he had continued it--using the timber as a screen, and acting as one who stalks the timid stag, with the difference of a heart-dread which no deer-stalker could ever know. he had continued it; until the shelter of the _motte_ gave him a momentary respite, not from fear, but the apprehension of a failure. he had not ridden ten miles across the prairie without a design; and it was this that caused him to go so cautiously--guiding his horse over the softest turf, and through the selvedge of the chapparal--in such a way as neither to expose his person to view, nor cause a rustle among the branches, that might be heard to the distance of ten yards. no one observing his manoeuvres as he moved amid the timber island, could have mistaken their meaning--at least so far as related to the object for which they were being made. his eye was upon the headless horseman, his whole soul absorbed in watching the movements of the latter--by which he appeared to regulate his own. at first, fear seemed to be his prevailing thought. after a time, it was succeeded by an impatience that partially emboldened him. the latter plainly sprang from his perceiving, that the headless horseman, instead of approaching the timber, still kept at a regular distance of two hundred yards from its edge. that this chafed him was evident from a string of soliloquies, muttered half aloud. they were not free from blasphemy; but that was characteristic of the man who pronounced them. "damn the infernal brute! if he'd only come twenty yards nearer, i could fetch him. my gun won't carry that distance. i'd miss him for sure, and then it'll be all up. i may never get the chance again. confound him! he's all of twenty yards too far off." as if the last was an ambiguity rather than a conviction, the speaker appeared to measure with his eye the space that separated him from the headless rider--all the while holding in hand a short yager rifle, capped and cocked--ready for instant discharge. "no use," he continued, after a process of silent computation. "i might hit the beast with a spent ball, but only to scare without crippling him. i must have patience, and wait till he gets a little nearer. damn them wolves! he might come in, if it wasn't for them. so long as they're about him, he'll give the timber a wide berth. it's the nature of these texas howes--devil skin them! "i wonder if coaxing would do any good?" he proceeded, after a pause. "maybe the sound of a man's voice would bring the animal to a stand? doubtful. he's not likely to 've heard much of that lately. i suppose it would only frighten him! the sight of my horse would be sure to do it, as it did before; though that was in the moonlight. besides, he was chased by the howling staghound. no wonder his being wild, then, ridden as he is by hell knows what; for it can't be--bah! after all, there must be some trick in it; some damned infernal trick!" for a while the speaker checked his horse with a tight rein. and, leaning forward, so as to get a good view through the trees, continued to scan the strange shape that was slowly skirting the timber. "it's _his_ horse--sure as shootin'! his saddle, serape, and all. how the hell could they have come into the possession of the other?" another pause of reflection. "trick, or no trick, it's an ugly business. whoever's planned it, must know all that happened that night; and by god, if that thing lodged there, i've got to get it back. what a fool; to have bragged about it as i did! curse the crooked luck! "he _won't_ come nearer. he's provokingly shy of the timber. like all his breed, he knows he's safest in the open ground. "what's to be done? see if i can call him up. may be he may like to hear a human voice. if it'll only fetch him twenty yards nearer, i'll be satisfied. hanged if i don't try." drawing a little closer to the edge of the thicket, the speaker pronounced that call usually employed by texans to summon a straying horse. "proh--proh--proshow! come kindly! come, old horse!" the invitation was extended to no purpose. the texan steed did not seem to understand it; at all events, as an invitation to friendly companionship. on the contrary, it had the effect of frightening him; for no sooner fell the "proh" upon his ear, than letting go the mouthful of grass already gathered, he tossed his head aloft with a snort that proclaimed far greater fear than that felt for either wolf or vulture! a mustang, he knew that his greatest enemy was man--a man mounted upon a horse; and by this time his scent had disclosed to him the proximity of such a foe. he stayed not to see what sort of man, or what kind of horse. his first instinct had told him that both were enemies. as his rider by this time appeared to have arrived at the same conclusion, there was no tightening of the rein; and he was left free to follow his own course--which carried him straight off over the prairie. a bitter curse escaped from the lips of the unsuccessful stalker as he spurred out into the open ground. still more bitter was his oath, as he beheld the headless horseman passing rapidly beyond reach--unscathed by the bullet he had sent to earnestly after him. chapter seventy five. on the trail. zeb stump stayed but a short while on the spot, where he had discovered the hoof-print with the broken shoe. six seconds sufficed for its identification; after which he rose to his feet, and continued along the trail of the horse that had made it. he did not re-mount, but strode forward on foot; the old mare, obedient to a signal he had given her, keeping at a respectful distance behind him. for more than a mile he moved on in this original fashion--now slowly, as the trail became indistinct--quickening his pace where the print of the imperfect shoe could be seen without difficulty. like an archaeologist engaged upon a tablet of hieroglyphic history, long entombed beneath the ruins of a lost metropolis--whose characters appear grotesque to all except himself--so was it with zeb stump, as he strode on, translating the "sign" of the prairie. absorbed in the act, and the conjectures that accompanied it, he had no eyes for aught else. he glanced neither to the green savannah that stretched inimitably around, nor to the blue sky that spread specklessly above him. alone to the turf beneath his feet was his eye and attention directed. a sound--not a sight--startled him from his all-engrossing occupation. it was the report of a rifle; but so distant, as to appear but the detonation of a percussion-cap that had missed fire. instinctively he stopped; at the same time raising his eyes, but without unbending his body. with a quick glance the horizon was swept, along the half dozen points whence the sound should have proceeded. a spot of bluish smoke--still preserving its balloon shape--was slowly rolling up against the sky. a dark blotch beneath indicated the outlines of an "island" of timber. so distant was the "motte," the smoke, and the sound, that only the eye of an experienced prairie-man would have seen the first, or his ear heard the last, from the spot where zeb stump was standing. but zeb saw the one, and heard the other. "durned queery!" he muttered, still stooped in the attitude of a gardener dibbing in his young cabbage-plants. "dog-goned queery, to say the leest on't. who in ole nick's name kin be huntin' out thur--whar theer ain't game enuf to pay for the powder an shet? i've been to thet ere purayra island; an i know there ain't nothin' thur 'ceptin' coyoats. what _they_ get to live on, only the eturnal kin tell!" "wagh!" he went on, after a short silence. "some storekeeper from the town, out on a exkurshun, as he'd call it, who's proud o' poppin' away at them stinkin' varmints, an 'll go hum wi' a story he's been a huntin' _wolves_! wal. 'tain't no bizness o' myen. let yurd-stick hev his belly-ful o' sport. heigh! thur's somethin' comin' this way. a hoss an somebody on his back--streakin' it as if hell war arter him, wi' a pitchfork o' red-het lightnin'! what! as i live, it air the headless! it is, by the jumpin' geehosophat!" the observation of the old hunter was quite correct. there could be no mistake about the character of the cavalier, who, just clearing himself from the cloud of sulphureous smoke--now falling, dispersed over the prairie--came galloping on towards the spot where zeb stood. it was the horseman without a head. nor could there be any doubt as to the direction he was taking--as straight towards zeb as if he already saw, and was determined on coming up with him! a braver man than the backwoodsman could not have been found within the confines of texas. cougar, or jaguar--bear, buffalo, or red indian--he could have encountered without quailing. even a troop of comanches might have come charging on, without causing him half the apprehension felt at sight of that solitary equestrian. with all his experience of nature in her most secret haunts--despite the stoicism derived from that experience--zeb stump was not altogether free from superstitious fancies. who is? with the courage to scorn a human foe--any enemy that might show itself in a natural shape, either of biped or quadruped--still was he not stern enough to defy the _abnormal_; and bayard himself would have quailed at sight of the cavalier who was advancing to the encounter--apparently determined upon its being deadly! zeb stump not only quailed; but, trembling in his tall boots of alligator leather, sought concealment. he did so, long before the headless horseman had got within hailing distance; or, as he supposed, within _sight_ of him. some bushes growing close by gave him the chance of a hiding place; of which, with instinctive quickness, he availed himself. the mare, standing saddled by his side, might still have betrayed him? but, no. he had not gone to his knees, without thinking of that. "hunker down!" he cried, addressing himself to his dumb companion, who, if wanting speech, proved herself perfect in understanding. "squat, ye ole critter; or by the eturnal ye'll be switched off into hell!" as if dreading some such terrible catastrophe, the scraggy quadruped dropped down upon her fore knees; and then, lowering her hind quarters, laid herself along the grass, as though thinking her day's work done-- she was free to indulge in a fiesta. scarce had zeb and his roadster composed themselves their new position, when the headless horseman came charging up. he was going at full speed; and zeb was but too well pleased to perceive that he was likely to continue it. it was sheer chance that had conducted him that way; and not from having seen either the hunter or his sorry steed. the former--if not the latter--was satisfied at being treated in that cavalier style; but, long before the headless horseman had passed out of sight, zeb had taken his dimensions, and made himself acquainted with his character. though he might be a mystery to all the world beside, he was no longer so to zebulon stump. as the horse shot past in fleet career, the skirt of the serape, flouted up by the wind, displayed to stump's optics a form well known to him--in a dress he had seen before. it was a blouse of blue cottonade, box-plaited over the breast; and though its vivid colour was dashed with spots of garish red, the hunter was able to recognise it. he was not so sure about the face seen low down upon the saddle, and resting against the rider's leg. there was nothing strange in his inability to recognise it. the mother, who had oft looked fondly on that once fair countenance, would not have recognised it now. zeb stump only did so by deduction. the horse, the saddle, the holsters, the striped blanket, the sky-blue coat and trousers--even the hat upon the head--were all known to him. so, too, was the figure that stood almost upright in the stirrups. the head and face must belong to the same--notwithstanding their unaccountable displacement. zeb saw it by no uncertain glance. he was permitted a full, fair view of the ghastly spectacle. the steed, though going at a gallop, passed within ten paces of him. he made no attempt to interrupt the retreating rider--either by word or gesture. only, as the form became unmasked before his eyes, and its real meaning flashed across his mind, he muttered, in a slow, sad tone: "gee-hos-o-phat! it air true, then! _poor young fellur--dead--dead_!" chapter seventy six. lost in the chalk. still continuing his fleet career, the headless horseman galloped on over the prairie--zeb stump following only with his eyes; and not until he had passed out of sight, behind some straggling groves of mezquite, did the backwoodsman abandon his kneeling position. then only for a second or two did he stand erect--taking council with himself as to what course he should pursue. the episode--strange as unexpected--had caused some disarrangement in his ideas, and seemed to call for a change in his plans. should he continue along the trail he was already deciphering; or forsake it for that of the steed that had just swept by? by keeping to the former, he might find out much; but by changing to the latter he might learn more? he might capture the headless horseman, and ascertain from _him_ the why and wherefore of his wild wanderings? while thus absorbed, in considering what course he had best take, he had forgotten the puff of smoke, and the report heard far off over the prairie. only for a moment, however. they were things to be remembered; and he soon remembered them. turning his eyes to the quarter where the smoke had appeared, he saw that which caused him to squat down again; and place himself, with more _impressement_ than ever, under cover of the mezquites. the old mare, relishing the recumbent attitude, had still kept to it; and there was no necessity for re-disposing of her. what zeb now saw was a man on horseback--a real horseman, with a head upon his shoulders. he was still a long way off; and it was not likely he had seen the tall form of the hunter, standing shored up among the bushes--much less the mare, lying beneath them. he showed no signs of having done so. on the contrary, he was sitting stooped in the saddle, his breast bent down to the pommel, and his eyes actively engaged in reading the ground, over which he was guiding his horse. there could be no difficulty in ascertaining his occupation. zeb stump guessed it at a glance. he was tracking the headless rider. "ho, ho!" muttered zeb, on making this discovery; "i ain't the only one who's got a reezun for solvin' this hyur myst'ry! who the hell kin _he_ be? i shed jest like to know that." zeb had not long to wait for the gratification of his wish. as the trail was fresh, the strange horseman could take it up at a trot--in which pace he was approaching. he was soon within identifying distance. "gee--hosophat!" muttered the backwoodsman; "i mout a know'd it wud be him; an ef i'm not mistook about it, hyurs goin' to be a other chapter out o' the same book--a other link as 'll help me to kumplete the chain o' evydince i'm in sarch for. lay clost, ye critter! ef ye make ere a stir--even to the shakin' o' them long lugs o' yourn--i'll cut yur darned throat." the last speech was an apostrophe to the "maar"--after which zeb waxed silent, with his head among the spray of the acacias, and his eyes peering through the branches in acute scrutiny of him who was coming along. this was a man, who, once seen, was not likely to be soon forgotten. scarce thirty years old, he showed a countenance, scathed, less with care than the play of evil passions. but there was care upon it now--a care that seemed to speak of apprehension--keen, prolonged, yet looking forward with a hope of being relieved from it. withal it was a handsome face: such as a gentleman need not have been ashamed of, but for that sinister expression that told of its belonging to a blackguard. the dress--but why need we describe it? the blue cloth frock of semi-military cut--the forage cap--the belt sustaining a bowie-knife, with a brace of revolving pistols--all have been mentioned before as enveloping and equipping the person of captain cassius calhoun. it was he. it was not the _batterie_ of small arms that kept zeb stump from showing himself. he had no dread of an encounter with the ex-officer of volunteers. though he instinctively felt hostility, he had as yet given no reason to the latter for regarding him as an enemy. he remained in shadow, to have a better view of what was passing under the sunlight. still closely scrutinising the trail of the headless horseman, calhoun trotted past. still closely keeping among the acacias, zeb stump looked after, till the same grove, that had concealed the former, interposed its verdant veil between him and the ex-captain of cavalry. the backwoodsman's brain having become the recipient of new thoughts, required a fresh exercise of its ingenuity. if there was reason before for taking the trail of the headless horseman, it was redoubled now. with but short time spent in consideration, so zeb concluded; and commenced making preparations for a stalk after cassius calhoun. these consisted in taking hold of the bridle, and giving the old mare a kick; that caused her to start instantaneously to her feet. zeb stood by her side, intending to climb into the saddle and ride out into the open plain--as soon as calhoun should be out of sight. he had no thoughts of keeping the latter in view. he needed no such guidance. the two fresh trails would be sufficient for him; and he felt as sure of finding the direction in which both would lead, as if he had ridden alongside the horseman without a head, or him without a heart. with this confidence he cleared out from among the acacias, and took the path just trodden by calhoun. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ for once in his life, zeb stump had made a mistake. on rounding the mezquite grove, behind which both had made disappearance, he discovered he had done so. beyond, extended a tract of chalk prairie; over which one of the horsemen appeared to have passed--him without the head. zeb guessed so, by seeing the other, at some distance before him, riding to and fro, in transverse stretches, like a pointer quartering the stubble in search of a partridge. he too had lost the trail, and was endeavouring to recover it. crouching under cover of the mezquites, the hunter remained a silent spectator of his movements. the attempt terminated in a failure. the chalk surface defied interpretation--at least by skill such as that of cassius calhoun. after repeated quarterings he appeared to surrender his design; and, angrily plying the spur, galloped off in the direction of the leona. as soon as he was out of sight, zeb also made an effort to take up the lost trail. but despite his superior attainments in the tracking craft, he was compelled to relinquish it. a fervid sun was glaring down upon the chalk; and only the eye of a salamander could have withstood the reflection of its rays. dazed almost to blindness, the backwoodsman determined upon turning late back; and once more devoting his attention to the trail from which he had been for a time seduced. he had learnt enough to know that this last promised a rich reward for its exploration. it took him but a short time to regain it. nor did he lose any in following it up. he was too keenly impressed with its value; and with this idea urging him, he strode rapidly on, the mare following as before. once only did he make pause; at a point where the tracks of two horses converged with that he was following. from this point the three coincided--at times parting and running parallel, for a score of yards or so, but again coming together and overlapping one another. the horses were all shod--like that which carried the broken shoe--and the hunter only stopped to see what he could make out of the hoof marks. one was a "states horse;" the other a mustang--though a stallion of great size, and with a hoof almost as large as that of the american. zeb had his conjectures about both. he did not stay to inquire which had gone first over the ground. that was as clear to him, as if he had been a spectator at their passing. the stallion had been in the lead,--how far zeb could not exactly tell; but certainly some distance beyond that of companionship. the states horse had followed; and behind him, the roadster with the broken shoe-- also an american. all three had gone over the same ground, at separate times, and each by himself. this zeb stump could tell with as much ease and certainty, as one might read the index of a dial, or thermometer. whatever may have been in his thoughts, he said nothing, beyond giving utterance to the simple exclamation "good!" and, with satisfaction stamped upon his features, he moved on, the old mare appearing to mock him by an imitative stride! "hyur they've seppurated," he said, once again coming to a stop, and regarding the ground at his feet. "the stellyun an states hoss hev goed thegither--thet air they've tuk the same way. broken-shoe hev strayed in a diffrent direkshun." "wonder now what thet's for?" he continued, after standing awhile to consider. "durn me ef i iver seed sech perplexin' sign! it ud puzzle ole dan'l boone hisself." "which on 'em shed i foller fust? ef i go arter the two i know whar they'll lead. they're boun' to kim up in thet puddle o' blood. let's track up tother, and see whether he hev rud into the same procksimmuty! to the right abeout, ole gal, and keep clost ahint me--else ye may get lost in the chapparal, an the coyoats may make thur supper on yur tallow. ho! ho! ho!" with this apostrophe to his "critter," ending in a laugh at the conceit of her "tallow," the hunter turned off on the track of the third horse. it led him along the edge of an extended tract of chapparal; which, following all three, he had approached at a point well known to him, as to the reader,--where it was parted by the open space already described. the new trail skirted the timber only for a short distance. two hundred yards from the embouchure of the avenue, it ran into it; and fifty paces further on zeb came to a spot where the horse had stood tied to a tree. zeb saw that the animal had proceeded no further: for there was another set of tracks showing where it had returned to the prairie--though not by the same path. the rider had gone beyond. the foot-marks of a man could be seen beyond--in the mud of a half-dry _arroyo_--beside which the horse had been "hitched." leaving his critter to occupy the "stall" where broken-shoe had for some time fretted himself, the old hunter glided off upon the footmarks of the dismounted rider. he soon discovered two sets of them--one going--another coming back. he followed the former. he was not surprised at their bringing him out into the avenue--close to the pool of blood--by the coyotes long since licked dry. he might have traced them right up to it, but for the hundreds of horse tracks that had trodden the ground like a sheep-pen. but before going so far, he was stayed by the discovery of some fresh "sign"--too interesting to be carelessly examined. in a place where the underwood grew thick, he came upon a spot where a man had remained for some time. there was no turf, and the loose mould was baked hard and smooth, evidently by the sole of a boot or shoe. there were prints of the same sole leading out towards the place of blood, and similar ones coming back again. but upon the branches of a tree between, zeb stump saw something that had escaped the eyes not only of the searchers, but of their guide spangler--a scrap of paper, blackened and half-burnt--evidently the wadding of a discharged gun! it was clinging to the twig of a locust-tree, impaled upon one of its spines! the old hunter took it from the thorn to which, through rain and wind, it had adhered; spread it carefully across the palm of his horny hand; and read upon its smouched surface a name well known to him; which, with its concomitant title, bore the initials, "c.c.c." chapter seventy seven. another link. it was less surprise, than gratification, that showed itself on the countenance of zeb stump, as he deciphered the writing on the paper. "that ere's the backin' o' a letter," muttered he. "tells a goodish grist o' story; more'n war wrote inside, i reck'n. been used for the wad' o' a gun! wal; sarves the cuss right, for rammin' down a rifle ball wi' a patchin' o' scurvy paper, i'stead o' the proper an bessest thing, which air a bit o' greased buckskin." "the writin' air in a sheemale hand," he continued, looking anew at the piece of paper. "don't signerfy for thet. it's been sent to _him_ all the same; an he's hed it in purzeshun. it air somethin' to be tuk care o'." so saying, he drew out a small skin wallet, which contained his tinder of "punk," along with his flint and steel; and, after carefully stowing away the scrap of paper, he returned the sack to his pocket. "wal!" he went on in soliloquy, as he stood silently considering, "i kalkerlate as how this ole coon 'll be able to unwind a good grist o' this clue o' mystery, tho' thur be a bit o' the thread broken hyur an thur, an a bit o' a puzzle i can't clurly understan'. the man who hev been murdered, whosomdiver _he_ may be, war out thur by thet puddle o' blood, an the man as did the deed, whosomdiver _he_ be, war a stannin' behint this locust-tree. but for them greenhorns, i mout a got more out o' the sign. now thur ain't the ghost o' a chance. they've tramped the hul place into a durnationed mess, cuvortin' and caperin' abeout. "wal, 'tair no use goin' furrer thet way. the bessest thing now air to take the back track, if it air possable, an diskiver whar the hoss wi' the broke shoe toted his rider arter he went back from this leetle bit o' still-huntin'. thurfor, ole zeb'lon stump, back ye go on the boot tracks!" with this grotesque apostrophe to himself, he commenced retracing the footmarks that had guided him to the edge of the opening. only in one or two places were the footprints at all distinct. but zeb scarce cared for their guidance. having already noted that the man who made them had returned to the place where the horse had been left, he knew the back track would lead him there. there was one place, however, where the two trails did not go over the same ground. there was a forking in the open list, through which the supposed murderer had made his way. it was caused by an obstruction,--a patch of impenetrable thicket. they met again, but not till that on which the hunter was returning straggled off into an open glade of considerable size. having become satisfied of this, zeb looked around into the glade--for a time forsaking the footsteps of the pedestrian. after a short examination, he observed a trail altogether distinct, and of a different character. it was a well-marked path entering the opening on one side, and going out on the other: in short, a cattle-track. zeb saw that several shod horses had passed along it, some days before: and it was this that caused him to come back and examine it. he could tell to a day--to an hour--_when_ the horses had passed; and from the sign itself. but the exercise of his ingenuity was not needed on this occasion. he knew that the hoof-prints were those of the horses ridden by spangler and his party--after being detached from the main body of searchers who had gone home with the major. he had heard the whole story of that collateral investigation--how spangler and his comrades had traced henry poindexter's horse to the place where the negro had caught it--on the outskirts of the plantation. to an ordinary intellect this might have appeared satisfactory. nothing more could be learnt by any one going over the ground again. zeb stump did not seem to think so. as he stood looking along it, his attitude showed indecision. "if i ked make shur o' havin' time," he muttered, "i'd foller it fust. jest as like as not i'll find a _fluke_ thur too. but thur's no sartinty 'beout the time, an i'd better purceed to settle wi' the anymal as cast the quarter shoe." he had turned to go out of the glade, when a thought once more stayed him. "arter all, it kin be eezy foun' at any time. i kin guess whar it'll lead, as sartint, as if i'd rud 'longside the skunk thet made it-- straight custrut to the stable o' caser corver. "it's a durned pity to drop this un,--now whiles i'm hyur upon the spot. it'll gie me the makin' o' another ten-mile jurney, an thur moutn't be time. dog-goned ef i don't try a leetle way along it. the ole maar kin wait till i kum back." bracing himself for a new investigation, he started off upon the cattle-track, trodden by the horses of spangler and his party. to the hoof-marks of these he paid but slight attention; at times, none whatever. his eye only sought those of henry poindexter's horse. though the others were of an after time, and often destroyed the traces he was most anxious to examine, he had no difficulty in identifying the latter. as he would have himself said, any greenhorn could do that. the young planter's horse had gone over the ground at a gallop. the trackers had ridden slowly. as far as zeb stump could perceive, the latter had made neither halt nor deviation. the former had. it was about three-quarters of a mile from the edge of the venue. it was not a halt the galloping horse had made, but only a slight departure from his direct course; as if something he had seen--wolf, jaguar, cougar, or other beast of prey--had caused him to shy. beyond he had continued his career; rapid and reckless as ever. beyond the party along with spangler had proceeded--without staying to inquire why the horse had shied from his track. zeb stump was more inquisitive, and paused upon this spot. it was a sterile tract, without herbage, and covered with shingle and sand. a huge tree overshadowed it, with limbs extending horizontally. one of these ran transversely to the path over which the horses had passed--so low that a horseman, to shun contact with it, would have to lower his head. at this branch zeb stump stood gazing. he observed an abrasion upon the bark; that, though very slight, must have been caused by contact with some substance, as hard, if not sounder, than itself. "thet's been done by the skull o' a human critter," reasoned he--"a human critter, that must a been on the back o' a hoss--this side the branch, an off on the t'other. no livin' man ked a stud sech a cullizyun as thet, an kep his seat i' the seddle. "hooraw!" he triumphantly exclaimed, after a cursory examination of the ground underneath the tree. "i thort so. thur's the impreshun o' the throwed rider. an' thur's whar he hez creeped away. now i've got a explication o' thet big bump as hez been puzzlin' me. i know'd it wan't did by the claws o' any varmint; an it didn't look like the blow eyther o' a stone or a stick. thet ere's the stick that hez gi'n it." with an elastic step--his countenance radiant of triumph--the old hunter strode away from the tree, no longer upon the cattle path, but that taken by the man who had been so violently dismounted. to one unaccustomed to the chapparal, he might have appeared going without a guide, and upon a path never before pressed by human foot. a portion of it perhaps had not. but zeb was conducted by signs which, although obscure to the ordinary eye, were to him intelligible as the painted lettering upon a finger-post. the branch contorted to afford passage for a human form--the displaced tendrils of a creeping plant-- the scratched surface of the earth--all told that a man had passed that way. the sign signified more--that the man was disabled--had been crawling--a cripple! zeb stump continued on, till he had traced this cripple to the banks of a running stream. it was not necessary for him to go further. he had made one more splice of the broken thread. another, and his clue would be complete! chapter seventy eight. a horse-swop. with an oath, a sullen look, and a brow black as disappointment could make it, calhoun turned away from the edge of the chalk prairie, where he had lost the traces of the headless horseman. "no use following further! no knowing where he's gone now! no hope of finding him except by a _fluke_! if i go back to the creek i might see him again; but unless i get within range, it'll end as it's done before. the mustang stallion won't let me come near him--as if the brute knows what i'm wanting! "he's even cunninger than the wild sort--trained to it, i suppose, by the mustanger himself. one fair shot--if i could only get that, i'd settle his courses. "there appears no chance of stealing upon him; and as to riding him down, it can't be done with a slow mule like this. "the sorrel's not much better as to speed, though he beats this brute in bottom. i'll try him to-morrow, with the new shoe. "if i could only get hold of something that's fast enough to overtake the mustang! i'd put down handsomely for a horse that could do it. "there must be one of the sort in the settlement. i'll see when i get back. if there be, a couple of hundred, ay or three, won't hinder me from having him." after he had made these mutterings calhoun rode away from the chalk prairie, his dark countenance strangely contrasting with its snowy sheen. he went at a rapid rate; not sparing his horse, already jaded with a protracted journey--as could be told by his sweating coat, and the clots of half-coagulated blood, where the spur had been freely plied upon his flanks. fresh drops soon appeared as he cantered somewhat heavily on--his head set for the hacienda of casa del corvo. in less than an hour after, his rider was guiding him among the mezquites that skirted the plantation. it was a path known to calhoun. he had ridden over it before, though not upon the same horse. on crossing the bed of an arroyo--dry from a long continuance of drought--he was startled at beholding in the mud the tracks of another horse. one of them showed a broken shoe, an old hoof-print, nearly eight days old. he made no examination to ascertain the time. he knew it to an hour. he bent over it, with a different thought--a feeling of surprise commingled with a touch of superstition. the track looked recent, as if made on the day before. there had been wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. not one of these had wasted it. even the angry elements appeared to have passed over without destroying it--as if to spare it for a testimony against the outraged laws of nature--their god. calhoun dismounted, with the design to obliterate the track of the three-quarter shoe. better for him to have spared himself the pains. the crease of his boot-heel crushing in the stiff mud was only an additional evidence as to who had ridden the broken-shoed horse. there was one coming close behind capable of collecting it. once more in his saddle, the ex-officer rode on--reflecting on his own astuteness. his reflections had scarce reached the point of reverie, when the hoof-stroke of a horse--not his own--came suddenly within hearing. not within sight: for the animal making them was still screened by the chapparal. plainly was it approaching; and, although at a slow pace, the measured tread told of its being guided, and not straying. it was a horse with a rider upon his back. in another instant both were in view; and calhoun saw before him isidora covarubio de los llanos; she at the same instant catching sight of him! it was a strange circumstance that these two should thus encounter one another--apparently by chance, though perhaps controlled by destiny. stranger still the thought summoned up in the bosoms of both. in calhoun, isidora saw the man who loved the woman she herself hated. in isidora, calhoun saw the woman who loved him he both hated and had determined to destroy. this mutual knowledge they had derived partly from report, partly from observation, and partly from the suspicious circumstances under which more than once they had met. they were equally convinced of its truth. each felt certain of the sinister entanglement of the other; while both believed their own to be unsuspected. the situation was not calculated to create a friendly feeling between them. it is not natural that man, or woman, should like the admirer of a rival. they can only be friends at that point where jealousy prompts to the deadliest vengeance; and then it is but a sinister sympathy. as yet no such had arisen between cassius calhoun and isidora covarubio de los llanos. if it had been possible, both might have been willing to avoid the encounter. isidora certainly was. she had no predilection for the ex-officer of dragoons; and besides the knowledge that he was the lover of her rival, there was another thought that now rendered his presence, if not disagreeable, at least not desirable. she remembered the chase of the sham indians, and its ending. she knew that among the texans there had been much conjecture as to her abrupt disappearance, after appealing to them for protection. she had her own motive for that, which she did not intend to declare; and the man about meeting her might be inclined to ask questions on the subject. she would have passed with a simple salutation--she could not give less than that. and perhaps he might have done the same; but for a thought which at that moment came into his mind, entirely unconnected with the reflections already there engendered. it was not the lady herself who suggested the thought. despite her splendid beauty, he had no admiration for her. in his breast, ruthless as it might have been, there was no space left for a second passion--not even a sensual one--for her thus encountered in the solitude of the chapparal, with nature whispering wild, wicked suggestions. it was no idea of this that caused him to rein up in the middle of the path; remove the cap from his crown; and, by a courtly salutation, invite a dialogue with isidora. so challenged, she could not avoid the conversation; that commenced upon the instant--calhoun taking the initiative. "excuse me, senorita," said he, his glance directed more upon her steed than herself; "i know it's very rude thus to interrupt your ride; especially on the part of a stranger, as with sorrow i am compelled to call myself." "it needs no apology, senor. if i'm not mistaken, we have met before-- upon the prairie, out near the nueces." "true--true!" stammered calhoun, not caring to dwell upon the remembrance. "it was not of that encounter i wished to speak; but what i saw afterwards, as you came galloping along the cliff. we all wondered what became of you." "there was not much cause for wonder, cavallero. the shot which some of your people fired from below, disembarrassed me of my pursuers. i saw that they had turned back, and simply continued my journey." calhoun exhibited no chagrin at being thus baffled. the theme upon which he designed to direct his discourse had not yet turned up; and in it he might be more successful. what it was might have been divined from his glance--half _connoisseur_, half horse-jockey--still directed toward the steed of isidora. "i do not say, senorita, that i was one of those who wondered at your sudden disappearance. i presumed you had your own reasons for not coming on to us; and, seeing you ride as you did, i felt no fear for your safety. it was your riding that astonished me, as it did all of my companions. such a horse you had! he appeared to glide, rather than gallop! if i mistake not, it's the same you are now _astride of_. am i right, senora? pardon me for asking such an insignificant question." "the same? let me see? i make use of so many. i think i was riding this horse upon that day. yes, yes; i am sure of it. i remember how the brute betrayed me." "betrayed you! how?" "twice he did it. once as you and your people were approaching. the second time, when the indians--_ay dios_! not indians, as i've since heard--were coming through the chapparal." "but how?" "by neighing. he should not have done it. he's had training enough to know better than that. no matter. once i get him back to the rio grande he shall stay there. i shan't ride _him_ again. he shall return to his pastures." "pardon me, senorita, for speaking to you on such a subject; but i can't help thinking that it's a pity." "what's a pity?" "that a steed so splendid as that should be so lightly discarded. i would give much to possess him." "you are jesting, cavallero. he is nothing beyond the common; perhaps a little pretty, and quick in his paces. my father has five thousand of his sort--many of them prettier, and, no doubt, some faster than he. he's a good roadster; and that's why i'm riding him now. if it weren't that i'm on my way home to the rio grande, and the journey is still before me, you'd be welcome to have him, or anybody else who cared for him, as you seem to do. be still, _musteno mio_! you see there's somebody likes you better than i do." the last speech was addressed to the mustang, who, like its rider, appeared impatient for the conversation to come to a close. calhoun, however, seemed equally desirous of prolonging, or, at all events, bringing it to a different termination. "excuse me, senorita," said he, assuming an air of businesslike earnestness, at the same time speaking apologetically; "if that be all the value you set upon the grey mustang, i should be only too glad to make an exchange with you. my horse, if not handsome, is estimated by our texan dealers as a valuable animal. though somewhat slow in his paces, i can promise that he will carry you safely to your home, and will serve you well afterwards." "what, senor!" exclaimed the lady, in evident astonishment, "exchange your grand american _frison_ for a mexican mustang! the offer is too generous to appear other than a jest. you know that on the rio grande one of your horses equals in value at least three, sometimes six, of ours?" calhoun knew this well enough; but he knew also that the mustang ridden by isidora would be to him worth a whole stableful of such brutes as that he was bestriding. he had been an eye-witness to its speed, besides having heard of it from others. it was the thing he stood in need of--the very thing. he would have given, not only his "grand _frison_" in exchange, but the full price of the mustang by way of "boot." fortunately for him, there was no attempt at extortion. in the composition of the mexican maiden, however much she might be given to equestrian tastes, there was not much of the "coper." with five thousand horses in the paternal stables, or rather straying over the patrimonial plains, there was but slight motive for sharp practice; and why should she deny such trifling gratification, even though the man seeking it was a stranger--perhaps an enemy? she did not. "if you are in earnest, senor," was her response, "you are welcome to what you want." "i am in earnest, senorita." "take him, then!" said she, leaping out of her saddle, and commencing to undo the girths, "we cannot exchange saddles: yours would be a mile too big for me!" calhoun was too happy to find words for a rejoinder. he hastened to assist her in removing the saddle; after which he took off his own. in less than five minutes the horses were exchanged--the saddles and bridles being retained by their respective owners. to isidora there was something ludicrous in the transference. she almost laughed while it was being carried on. calhoun looked upon it in a different light. there was a purpose present before his mind--one of the utmost importance. they parted without much further speech--only the usual greetings of adieu--isidora going off on the _frison_; while the ex-officer, mounted on the grey mustang, continued his course in the direction of casa del corvo. chapter seventy nine. an untiring tracker. zeb was not long in arriving at the spot where he had "hitched" his mare. the topography of the chapparal was familiar to him; and he crossed it by a less circuitous route than that taken by the cripple. he once more threw himself upon the trail of the broken shoe, in full belief that it would fetch out not a hundred miles from casa del corvo. it led him along a road running almost direct from one of the crossings of the rio grande to fort inge. the road was a half-mile in width--a thing not uncommon in texas, where every traveller selects his own path, alone looking to the general direction. along one edge of it had gone the horse with the damaged shoe. not all the way to fort inge. when within four or five miles of the post, the trail struck off from the road, at an angle of just such degree as followed in a straight line would bring out by poindexter's plantation. so confident was zeb of this, that he scarce deigned to keep his eye upon the ground; but rode forwards, as if a finger-post was constantly by his side. he had long before given up following the trail afoot. despite his professed contempt for "horse-fixings"--as he called riding--he had no objection to finish his journey in the saddle--fashed as he now was with the fatigue of protracted trailing over prairie and through chapparal. now and then only did he cast a glance upon the ground--less to assure himself he was on the track of the broken shoe, than to notice whether something else might not be learnt from the sign, besides its mere direction. there were stretches of the prairie where the turf, hard and dry, had taken no impression. an ordinary traveller might have supposed himself the first to pass over the ground. but zeb stump was not of this class; and although he could not always distinguish the hoof marks, he knew within an inch where they would again become visible--on the more moist and softer patches of the prairie. if at any place conjecture misled him, it was only for a short distance, and he soon corrected himself by a traverse. in this half-careless, half-cautious way, he had approached within a mile of poindexter's plantation. over the tops of the mezquite trees the crenelled parapet was in sight; when something he saw upon the ground caused a sudden change in his demeanour. a change, too, in his attitude; for instead of remaining on the back of his mare, he flung himself out of the saddle; threw the bridle upon her neck; and, rapidly passing in front of her, commenced taking up the trail afoot. the mare made no stop, but continued on after him--with an air of resignation, as though she was used to such eccentricities. to an inexperienced eye there was nothing to account for this sudden dismounting. it occurred at a place where the turf appeared untrodden by man, or beast. alone might it be inferred from zeb's speech, as he flung himself out of the saddle: "his track! goin' to hum!" were the words muttered in a slow, measured tone; after which, at a slower pace, the dismounted hunter kept on along the trail. in a little time after it conducted him into the chapparal; and in less to a stop--sudden, as if the thorny thicket had been transformed into a _chevaux-de-frise_, impenetrable both to him and his "critter." it was not this. the path was still open before him--more open than ever. it was its openness that had furnished him with a cause for discontinuing his advance. the path sloped down into a valley below--a depression in the prairie, along the concavity of which, at times, ran a tiny stream--ran arroyo. it was now dry, or only occupied by stagnant pools, at long distances apart. in the mud-covered channel was a man, with a horse close behind him--the latter led by the bridle. there was nothing remarkable in the behaviour of the horse; he was simply following the lead of his dismounted rider. but the man--what was he doing? in his movements there was something peculiar--something that would have puzzled an uninitiated spectator. it did not puzzle zeb stump; or but for a second of time. almost the instant his eye fell upon it, he read the meaning of the manoeuvre, and mutteringly pronounced it to himself. "oblitturatin' the print o' the broken shoe, or tryin' to do thet same! 'taint no use, mister cash calhoun--no manner o' use. ye've made yur fut marks too deep to deceive _me_; an by the eturnal i'll foller them, though they shed conduck me into the fires o' hell?" as the backwoodsman terminated his blasphemous apostrophe, the man to whom it pointed, having finished his task of obscuration, once more leaped into his saddle, and hurried on. on foot the tracker followed; though without showing any anxiety about keeping him in sight. there was no need for that. the sleuth hound on a fresh slot could not be more sure of again viewing his victim, than was zeb stump of coming up with his. no chicanery of the chapparal--no twistings or doublings-- could save calhoun now. the tracker advanced freely; not expecting to make halt again, till he should come within sight of casa del corvo. little blame to him that his reckoning proved wrong. who could have foretold such an interruption as that occasioned by the encounter between cassius calhoun and isidora covarubio de los llanos? though at sight of it, taken by surprise--perhaps something more--zeb did not allow his feelings to betray his presence near the spot. on the contrary, it seemed to stimulate him to increased caution. turning noiselessly round, he whispered some cabalistic words into the care of his "critter;" and then stole silently forward under cover of the acacias. without remonstrance, or remark, the mare followed. he soon came to a fall stop--his animal doing the same, in imitation so exact as to appear its counterpart. a thick growth of mezquite trees separated him from the two individuals, by this time engaged in a lively interchange of speech. he could not see them, without exposing himself to the danger of being detected in his eaves-dropping; but he heard what they said all the same. he kept his place--listening till the _horse trade_ was concluded, and for some time after. only when they had separated, and both taken departure did he venture to come forth from his cover. standing upon the spot lately occupied by the "swoppers," and looking "both ways at once," he exclaimed-- "geehosophat! thur's a compack atween a _he_ an' _she_-devil; an' durn'd ef i kin tell, which hez got the bessest o' the bargin!" chapter eighty. a doorway well watched. it was some time before zeb stump sallied forth from the covert where he had been witness to the "horse swop." not till both the bargainers had ridden entirely out of sight. then he went not after either; but stayed upon the spot, as if undecided which he should follow. it was not exactly this that kept him to the place; but the necessity of taking what he was in the habit of calling a "good think." his thoughts were about the exchange of the horses: for he had heard the whole dialogue relating thereto, and the proposal coming from calhoun. it was this that puzzled, or rather gave him reason for reflection. what could be the motive? zeb knew to be true what the mexican had said: that the states horse was, in market value, worth far more than the mustang. he knew, moreover, that cassius calhoun was the last man to be "coped" in a horse trade. why, then, had he done the "deal?" the old hunter pulled off his felt hat; gave his hand a twist or two through his unkempt hair; transferred the caress to the grizzled beard upon his chin--all the while gazing upon the ground, as if the answer to his mental interrogatory was to spring out of the grass. "thur air but one explication o't," he at length muttered: "the grey's the faster critter o' the two--ne'er a doubt 'beout thet; an mister cash wants him for his fastness: else why the durnation shed he a gin a hoss thet 'ud sell for four o' his sort in any part o' texas, an twicet thet number in mexiko? i reck'n he's bargained for the heels. why? durn me, ef i don't suspect why. he wants--he--heigh--i hev it--somethin' as kin kum up wi' the headless! "thet's the very thing he's arter--sure as my name's zeb'lon stump. he's tried the states hoss an foun' him slow. thet much i knowd myself. now he thinks, wi' the mowstang, he may hev a chance to overhaul the tother, ef he kin only find him agin; an for sartin he'll go in sarch o' him. "he's rad on now to casser corver--maybe to git a pick o' somethin' to eat. he won't stay thur long. 'fore many hours hev passed, somebody 'll see him out hyur on the purayra; an thet somebody air boun' to be zeb'lon stump. "come, ye critter!" he continued, turning to the mare, "ye thort ye wur a goin' hum, did ye? yur mistaken 'beout that. ye've got to squat hyur for another hour or two--if not the hul o' the night. never mind, ole gurl! the grass don't look so had; an ye shell hev a chance to git yur snout to it. thur now--eet your durned gut-full!" while pronouncing this apostrophe, he drew the head-stall over the ears of his mare; and, chucking the bridle across the projecting tree of the saddle, permitted her to graze at will. having secured her in the chapparal where he had halted, he walked on-- along the track taken by calhoun. two hundred yards farther on, and the jungle terminated. beyond stretched an open plain; and on its opposite side could be seen the hacienda of casa del corvo. the figure of a horseman could be distinguished against its whitewashed facade--in another moment lost within the dark outline of the entrance. zeb knew who went in. "from this place," he muttered, "i kin see him kum out; an durn me, ef i don't watch till he do kum out--ef it shed be till this time o' the morrow. so hyur goes for a spell o' patience." he first lowered himself to his knees. then, "squirming" round till his back came in contact with the trunk of a honey-locust, he arranged himself into a sitting posture. this done, he drew from his capacious pocket a wallet, containing a "pone" of corn-bread, a large "hunk" of fried "hog-meat," and a flask of liquor, whose perfume proclaimed it "monongahela." having eaten about half the bread, and a like quantity of the meat, he returned the remaining moieties to the wallet; which he suspended over head upon a branch. then taking a satisfactory swig from the whiskey-flask, and igniting his pipe, he leant back against the locust-- with arms folded over his breast, and eyes bent upon the gateway of casa del corvo. in this way he kept watch for a period of full two hours; never changing the direction of his glance; or not long enough for any one to pass out unseen by him. forms came out, and went in--several of them--men and women. but even in the distance their scant light-coloured garments, and dusky complexions, told them to be only the domestics of the mansion. besides, they were all on foot; and he, for whom zeb was watching, should come on horseback--if at all. his vigil was only interrupted by the going down of the sun; and then only to cause a change in his post of observation. when twilight began to fling its purple shadows over the plain, he rose to his feet; and, leisurely unfolding his tall figure, stood upright by the stem of the tree--as if this attitude was more favourable for "considering." "thur's jest a posserbillity the skunk mout sneak out i' the night?" was his reflection. "leastways afore the light o' the mornin'; an i must make sure which way he takes purayra. "'taint no use my toatin' the maar after me," he continued, glancing in the direction where the animal had been left. "she'd only bother me. beside, thur's goin' to be a clurrish sort o' moonlight; an she mout be seen from the nigger quarter. she'll be better hyur--both for grass and kiver." he went back to the mare; took off the saddle; fastened the trail-rope round her neck, tying the other end to a tree; and then, unstrapping his old blanket from the cantle, he threw it across his left arm, and walked off in the direction of casa del corvo. he did not proceed _pari passu_; but now quicker, and now more hesitatingly--timing himself, by the twilight--so that his approach might not be observed from the hacienda. he had need of this caution: for the ground which he had to pass was like a level lawn, without copse or cover of any kind. here and there stood a solitary tree--dwarf-oak or _algarobia_, but not close enough to shelter him from being seen through the windows--much less from the azotea. now and then he stopped altogether--to wait for the deepening of the twilight. working his way in this stealthy manner, he arrived within less than two hundred yards of the walls--just as the last trace of sunlight disappeared from the sky. he had reached the goal of his journey--for that day--and the spot on which he was likely to pass the night. a low stemless bush grew near; and, laying himself down behind it, he resumed the espionage, that could scarce be said to have been interrupted. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ throughout the live-long night zeb stump never closed both eyes at the same time. one was always on the watch; and the unflagging earnestness, with which he maintained it, proclaimed him to be acting under the influence of some motive beyond the common. during the earlier hours he was not without sounds to cheer, or at least relieve, the monotony of his lonely vigil. there was the hum of voices from the slave cabins; with now and then a peal of laughter. but this was more suppressed than customary; nor was it accompanied by the clear strain of the violin, or the lively tink-a-tink of the banjo--sounds almost characteristic of the "negro-quarter," at night. the sombre silence that hung over the "big house" extended to the hearths of its sable retainers. before midnight the voices became hushed, and stillness reigned everywhere; broken only at intervals by the howl of a straying hound-- uttered in response to the howl-bark of a coyote taking care to keep far out upon the plain. the watcher had spent a wearisome day, and could have slept--but for his thoughts. once when these threatened to forsake him, and he was in danger of dozing, he started suddenly to his feet; took a turn or two over the sward; and, then lying down again, re-lit his pipe; stuck his head into the heart of the bush; and smoked away till the bowl was burnt empty. during all this time, he kept his eyes upon the great gateway of the mansion; whose massive door--he could tell by the moonlight shining upon it--remained shut. again did he change his post of observation; the sun's rising--as its setting had done--seeming to give him the cue. as the first tint of dawn displayed itself on the horizon, he rose gently to his feet; clutched the blanket so as to bring its edges in contact across his breast; and, turning his back upon casa del corvo, walked slowly away--taking the same track by which he had approached it on the preceding night. and again with unequal steps: at short intervals stopping and looking back--under his arm, or over his shoulder. nowhere did he make a prolonged pause; until reaching the locust-tree, under whose shade he had made his evening meal; and there, in the same identical attitude, he proceeded to break his fast. the second half of the "pone" and the remaining moiety of the pork, soon disappeared between his teeth; after which followed the liquor that had been left in his flask. he had refilled his pipe, and was about relighting it, when an object came before his eyes, that caused him hastily to return his flint and steel to the pouch from which he had taken them. through the blue mist of the morning the entrance of casa del corvo showed a darker disc. the door had been drawn open. almost at the same instant a horseman was seen to sally forth, mounted upon a small grey horse; and the door was at once closed behind him. zeb stump made no note of this. he only looked to see what direction the early traveller would take. less than a score of seconds sufficed to satisfy him. the horse's head and the face of the rider were turned towards himself. he lost no time in trying to identify either. he did not doubt of its being the same man and horse, that had passed that spot on the evening before; and he was equally confident they were going to pass it again. what he did was to shamble up to his mare; in some haste get her saddled and bridled; and then, having taken up his trail rope, lead her off into a cover--from which he could command a view of the chapparal path, without danger of being himself seen. this done, he awaited the arrival of the traveller on the grey steed-- whom he knew to be captain cassius calhoun. he waited still longer--until the latter had trotted past; until he had gone quite through the belt of chapparal, and in the hazy light of the morning gradually disappeared on the prairie beyond. not till then did zeb stump clamber into his saddle; and, "prodding" his solitary spur against the ribs of his roadster, cause the latter to move on. he went after cassius calhoun; but without showing the slightest concern about keeping the latter in sight! he needed not this to guide him. the dew upon the grass was to him a spotless page--the tracks of the grey mustang a type, as legible as the lines of a printed book. he could read them at a trot; ay, going at a gallop! chapter eighty one. heads down--heels up! without suspicion that he had been seen leaving the house--except by pluto, who had saddled the grey mustang--calhoun rode on across the prairie. equally unsuspicious was he, in passing the point where zeb stump stood crouching in concealment. in the dim light of the morning he supposed himself unseen by human eye; and he recked not of any other. after parting from the timbered border, he struck off towards the nueces; riding at a brisk trot--now and then increasing to a canter. por the first six or eight miles he took but little note of aught that was around. an occasional glance along the horizon seemed to satisfy him; and this extended only to that portion of the vast circle before his face. he looked neither to the right nor the left; and only once behind--after getting some distance from the skirt of the chapparal. before him was the object--still unseen--upon which his thoughts were straying. what that object was he and only one other knew--that other zeb stump-- though little did calhoun imagine that mortal man could have a suspicion of the nature of his early errand. the old hunter had only conjectured it; but it was a conjecture of the truth of which he was as certain, as if the ex-captain had made him his confidant. he knew that the latter had gone off in search of the headless horseman--in hopes of renewing the chase of yesterday, with a better chance of effecting a capture. though bestriding a steed fleet as a texan stag, calhoun was by no means sanguine of success. there were many chances against his getting sight of the game he intended to take: at least two to one; and this it was that formed the theme of his reflections as he rode onward. the uncertainty troubled him; but he was solaced by a hope founded upon some late experiences. there was a particular place where he had twice encountered the thing he was in search of. it might be there again? this was an embayment of green sward, where the savannah was bordered by the chapparal, and close to the embouchure of that opening--where it was supposed the murder had been committed! "odd he should always make back there?" reflected calhoun, as he pondered upon the circumstance. "damned ugly odd it is! looks as if he knew--. bah! it's only because the grass is better, and that pond by the side of it. well! i hope he's been thinking that way this morning. if so, there'll be a chance of finding him. if not, i must go on through the chapparal; and hang me if i like it--though it be in the daylight. ugh! "pish! what's there to fear--now that he's safe in limbo? nothing but the _bit of lead_; and _it_ i must have, if i should ride this thing till it drops dead in its tracks. holy heaven! what's that out yonder?" these last six words were spoken aloud. all the rest had been a soliloquy in thought. the speaker, on pronouncing them, pulled up, almost dragging the mustang on its haunches; and with eyes that seemed ready to start from their sockets, sate gazing across the plain. there was something more than surprise in that stedfast glance--there was horror. and no wonder: for the spectacle upon which it rested was one to terrify the stoutest heart. the sun had stolen up above the horizon of the prairie, and was behind the rider's back, in the direct line of the course he had been pursuing. before him, along the heaven's edge, extended a belt of bluish mist-- the exhalation arising out of the chapparal--now not far distant. the trees themselves were unseen--concealed under the film floating over them, that like a veil of purple gauze, rose to a considerable height above their tops--gradually merging into the deeper azure of the sky. on this veil, or moving behind it--as in the transparencies of a stage scene--appeared a form strange enough to have left the spectator incredulous, had he not beheld it before. it was that of the headless horseman. but not as seen before--either by calhoun himself, or any of the others. no. it was now altogether different. in shape the same; but in size it was increased to tenfold its original dimensions! no longer a man, but a colossus--a giant. no longer a horse, but an animal of equine shape, with the towering height and huge massive bulk of a mastodon! nor was this all of the new to be noted about the headless horseman. a still greater change was presented in his appearance; one yet more inexplicable, if that could possibly be. he was no longer walking upon the ground, but against the sky; both horse and rider moving in an inverted position! the hoofs of the former were distinctly perceptible upon the upper edge of the film; while the shoulders--i had almost said _head_--of the latter were close down to the line of the horizon! the serape shrouding them hung in the right direction--not as regarded the laws of gravity, but the attitude of the wearer. so, too, the bridle reins, the mane, and sweeping tail of the horse. all draped _upwards_! when first seen, the spectral form--now more spectre-like than ever--was going at a slow, leisurely walk. in this pace it for some time continued--calhoun gazing upon it with a heart brimful of horror. all of a sudden it assumed a change. its regular outlines became confused by a quick transformation; the horse having turned, and gone off at a trot in the opposite direction, though still with his heels against the sky! the spectre had become alarmed, and was retreating! calhoun, half palsied with fear, would have kept his ground, and permitted it to depart, but for his own horse; that, just then shying suddenly round, placed him face to face with the explanation. as he turned, the tap of a shod hoof upon the prairie turf admonished him that a real horseman was near--if that could be called real, which had thrown such a frightful shadow. "it's the _mirage_!" he exclaimed, with the addition of an oath to give vent to his chagrin. "what a fool i've been to let it humbug me! there's the damned thing that did it: the very thing i'm in search of. and so close too! if i'd known, i might have got hold of him before he saw me. now for a chase; and, by god, i'll _grup_ him, if i have to gallop to the other end of texas!" voice, spur, and whip were simultaneously exerted to prove the speaker's earnestness; and in five minutes after, two horsemen were going at full stretch across the prairie--their horses both to the prairie born--one closely pursuing the other--the pursued without a head; the pursuer with a heart that throbbed under a desperate determination. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the chase was not a long one--at least, so far as it led over the open prairie; and calhoun had begun to congratulate himself on the prospect of a capture. his horse appeared the swifter; but this may have arisen from his being more earnestly urged; or that the other was not sufficiently scared to care for escaping. certainly the grey steed gained ground--at length getting so close, that calhoun made ready his rifle. his intention was to shoot the horse down, and so put an end to the pursuit. he would have fired on the instant, but for the fear of a miss. but having made more than one already, he restrained himself from pulling trigger, till he could ride close enough to secure killing shot. while thus hesitating, the chase veered suddenly from off the treeless plain, and dashed into the opening of the timber. this movement, unexpected by the pursuer, caused him to lose ground; and in the endeavour to regain it, more than a half mile of distance was left behind him. he was approaching a spot well, too well, known to him--the place where blood had been spilt. on any other occasion he would have shunned it; but there was in his heart a thought that hindered him from dwelling upon memories of the past--steeling it against all reflection, except a cold fear for the future. the capture of the strange equestrian could alone allay this fear--by removing the danger he dreaded. once more he had gained ground in the chase. the spread nostrils of his steed were almost on a line with the sweeping tail of that pursued. his rifle lay ready in his left hand, its trigger guard covered by the fingers of his right. he was searching for a spot to take aim at. in another second the shot would have been fired, and a bullet sent between the ribs of the retreating horse, when the latter, as if becoming aware of the danger, made a quick curvet to the off side; and then, aiming a kick at the snout of his pursuer, bounded on in a different direction! the suddenness of the demonstration, with the sharp, spiteful "squeal" that accompanied it--appearing almost to speak of an unearthly intelligence--for the moment disconcerted calhoun; as it did the horse he was riding. the latter came to a stop; and refused to go farther; till the spur, plunged deep between his ribs, once more forced him to the gallop. and now more earnestly than ever did his rider urge him on; for the pursued, no longer keeping to the path, was heading direct for the thicket. the chase might there terminate, without the chased animal being either killed or captured. hitherto calhoun had only been thinking of a trial of speed. he had not anticipated such an ending, as was now both possible and probable; and with a more reckless resolve, he once more raised his rifle for the shot. by this time both were close in to the bushes--the headless horseman already half-screened by the leafy branches that swept swishing along his sides. only the hips of his horse could be aimed at; and upon these was the gun levelled. the sulphureous smoke spurted forth from its muzzle; the crack was heard simultaneously; and, as if caused by the discharge, a dark object came whirling through the cloud, and fell with a dull "thud" upon the turf. with a bound and a roll--that brought it among the feet of calhoun's horse--it became stationary. stationary, but not still. it continued to oscillate from side to side, like a top before ceasing to spin. the grey steed snorted, and reared back. his rider uttered a cry of intensified alarm. and no wonder. if read in shakespearean lore, he might have appropriately repeated the words "shake not those gory locks": for, on the ground beneath, was the head of a man--still sticking in its hat-- whose stiff orbicular brim hindered it from staying still. the face was toward calhoun--upturned at just such an angle as to bring it full before him. the features were bloodstained, wan, and shrivelled; the eyes open, but cold and dim, like balls of blown glass; the teeth gleaming white between livid lips, yet seemingly set in an expression of careless contentment. all this saw cassius calhoun. he saw it with fear and trembling. not for the supernatural or unknown, but for the real and truly comprehended. short was his interview with that silent, but speaking head. ere it had ceased to oscillate on the smooth sward, he wrenched his horse around; struck the rowels deep; and galloped away from the ground! no farther went he in pursuit of the headless horseman--still heard breaking through the bushes--but back--back to the prairie; and on, on, to casa del corvo! chapter eighty two. a queer parcel. the backwoodsman, after emerging from the thicket, proceeded as leisurely along the trail, as if he had the whole day before him, and no particular motive for making haste. and yet, one closely scrutinising his features, might there have observed an expression of intense eagerness; that accorded with his nervous twitching in the saddle, and the sharp glances from time to time cast before him. he scarce deigned to look upon the "sign" left by calhoun. it he could read out of the corner of his eye. as to following it, the old mare could have done that without him! it was not this knowledge that caused him to hang back; for he would have preferred keeping calhoun in sight. but by doing this, the latter might see _him_; and so frustrate the end he desired to attain. this end was of more importance than any acts that might occur between; and, to make himself acquainted with the latter, zeb stump trusted to the craft of his intellect, rather than the skill of his senses. advancing slowly and with caution--but with that constancy that ensures good speed--he arrived at length on the spot where the _mirage_ had made itself manifest to calhoun. zeb saw nothing of this. it was gone; and the sky stretched down to the prairie--the blue meeting the green in a straight unbroken line. he saw, however, what excited him almost as much as the spectre would have done: two sets of horse-tracks going together--those that went after being the hoof-marks of calhoun's new horse--of which zeb had already taken the measure. about the tracks _underneath_ he had no conjecture--at least as regarded their identification. these he knew, as well as if his own mare had made them. "the skunk's hed a find!" were the words that escaped him, as he sate gazing upon the double trail. "it don't foller from thet," he continued, in the same careless drawl, "thet he hez made a catch. an' yit, who knows? durn me, ef he moutn't! thur's lots o' chances for his doin' it. the mowstang may a let him come clost up--seein' as he's ridin' one o' its own sort; an ef it dud--ay, ef it dud-- "what the durnation am i stannin' hyur for? thur ain't no time to be wasted in shiller-shallerin'. ef he shed grup thet critter, an git what he wants from it, then i mout whissel for what i want, 'ithout the ghost o' a chance for gettin' it. "i must make a better rate o' speed. gee-up, ole gurl; an see ef ye can't overtake that ere grey hoss, as scuttled past half-a-hour agone. now for a spell o' yur swiftness, the which you kin show along wi' any o' them, i reckon--thet air when ye're pressed. gee-up!" instead of using the cruel means employed by him when wanting his mare to make her best speed, he only drove the old spur against her ribs, and started her into a trot. he had no desire to travel more rapidly than was consistent with caution; and while trotting he kept his eyes sharply ranging along the skyline in front of him. "from the way his track runs," was his reflection, "i kin tell pretty nigh whar it's goin' to fetch out. everything seems to go that way; an so did he, poor young fellur--never more to come back. ah, wal! ef t'aint possible to ree-vive him agin, may be it air to squar the yards wi' the skunk as destroyed him. the scripter sez, `a eye for a eye, an a tooth for a tooth,' an i reckin i'll shet up somebody's daylights, an spoil the use o' thur ivories afore i hev done wi' him. somebody as don't suspeeshun it neyther, an that same--. heigh! yonner he goes! an' yonner too the headless, by geehosophat! full gallup both; an durn me, if the grey aint a overtakin' him! "they aint comin' this way, so 'tain't no use in our squattin', ole gurl. stan' steady for all that. he _mout_ see us movin'. "no fear. he's too full o' his frolic to look anywhar else, than straight custrut afore him. ha! jest as i expected--into the openin'! right down it, fast as heels kin carry 'em! "now, my maar, on we go agin!" another stage of trotting--with his eyes kept steadfastly fixed upon the chapparal gap--brought zeb to the timber. although the chase had long since turned the angle of the avenue, and was now out of sight, he did not go along the open ground; but among the bushes that bordered it. he went so as to command a view of the clear track for some distance ahead; at the same time taking care that neither himself, nor his mare, might be seen by any one advancing from the opposite direction. he did not anticipate meeting any one--much less the man who soon after came in sight. he was not greatly surprised at hearing a shot: for he had been listening for it, ever since he had set eyes on the chase. he was rather in surprise at not hearing it sooner; and when the crack did come, he recognised the report of a yager rifle, and knew whose gun had been discharged. he was more astonished to see its owner returning along the lane--in less than five minutes after the shot had been fired--returning, too, with a rapidity that told of retreat! "comin' back agin--an so soon!" he muttered, on perceiving calhoun. "dog-goned queery thet air! thur's somethin' amiss, more'n a miss, i reck'n. ho, ho, ho! goin', too, as if hell war arter him! maybe it's the headless hisself, and thur's been a changin' about in the chase--tit for tat! darn me, ef it don't look like it! i'd gie a silver dollar to see thet sort o' a thing. he, he, he, ho, ho, hoo!" long before this, the hunter had slipped out of his saddle, and taken the precaution to screen both himself and his animal from the chance of being seen by the retreating rider--who promise soon to pass the spot. and soon did he pass it, going at such a gait, and with such a wild abstracted air, that zeb would scarce have been perceived had he been standing uncovered in the avenue! "geehosophat!" mentally ejaculated the backwoodsman, as the passion-scathed countenance came near enough to be scrutinised. "if hell ain't _arter_, it's _inside_ o' him! durn me, ef thet face ain't the ugliest picter this coon ever clapped eyes on. i shed pity the wife as gets him. poor miss peintdexter! i hope she'll be able to steer clur o' havin' sech a cut-throat as him to be her lord an master. "what's up anyhow? thar don't 'pear to be anythin' arter him? an' he still keeps on! whar's he boun' for now? i must foller an see. "to hum agin!" exclaimed the hunter, after going on to the edge of the chapparal, and observed calhoun still going at a gallop, with head turned homeward. "hum agin, for sartin! "now, ole gurl!" he continued, having remained silent till the grey horse was nearly out of sight, "you an me goes t'other way. we must find out what thet shot wur fired for." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ in ten minutes after, zeb had alighted from his mare, and lifted up from the ground an object, the stoutest heart might have felt horror in taking hold of--disgust, even, in touching! not so the old hunter. in that object he beheld the lineaments of a face well known to him--despite the shrivelling of the skin, and the blood streaks that so fearfully falsified its expression--still dear to him, despite death and a merciless mutilation. he had loved that face, when it belonged to a boy; he now cherished it, belonging not to anybody! clasping the rim of the hat that fitted tightly to the temples--zeb endeavoured to take it off. he did not succeed. the head was swollen so as almost to burst the bullion band twisted around it! holding it in its natural position, zeb stood for a time gazing tenderly on the face. "lord, o lordy!" he drawlingly exclaimed, "what a present to take back to _his_ father, to say nothin' o' the sister! i don't think i'll take it. it air better to bury the thing out hyur, an say no more abeout it. "no; durn me ef i do! what am i thinkin' o'? tho' i don't exackly see how it may help to sarcumstantiate the chain o' evvydince, it may do somethin' torst it. durned queery witness _it_ 'll be to purduce in a coort o' justis!" saying this, he unstrapped his old blanket; and, using it as a wrapper, carefully packed within it head, hat, and all. then, hanging the strange bundle over the horn of his saddle, he remounted his mare, and rode reflectingly away. chapter eighty three. limbs of the law. on the third day after maurice gerald became an inmate of the military prison the fever had forsaken him, and he no longer talked incoherently. on the fourth he was almost restored to his health and strength. the fifth was appointed for his trial! this haste--that elsewhere would have been considered indecent--was thought nothing of in texas; where a man may commit a capital offence, be tried, and hanged within the short space of four-and-twenty hours! his enemies, who were numerous, for some reason of their own, insisted upon despatch: while his friends, who were few, could urge no good reason against it. among the populace there was the usual clamouring for prompt and speedy justice; fortified by that exciting phrase, old as the creation itself: "that the blood of the murdered man was calling from the ground for vengeance." the advocates of an early trial were favoured by a fortuitous circumstance. the judge of the supreme court chanced just then to be going his circuit; and the days devoted to clearing the calendar at fort inge, had been appointed for that very week. there was, therefore, a sort of necessity, that the case of maurice gerald, as of the other suspected murderers, should be tried within a limited time. as no one objected, there was no one to ask for a postponement; and it stood upon the docket for the day in question--the fifteenth of the month. the accused might require the services of a legal adviser. there was no regular practitioner in the place: as in these frontier districts the gentlemen of the long robe usually travel in company with the court; and the court had not yet arrived. for all that, a lawyer had appeared: a "counsellor" of distinction; who had come all the way from san antonio, to conduct the case. as a volunteer he had presented himself! it may have been generosity on the part of this gentleman, or an eye to congress, though it was said that gold, presented by fair fingers, had induced him to make the journey. when it rains, it rains. the adage is true in texas as regards the elements; and on this occasion it was true of the lawyers. the day before that appointed for the trial of the mustanger, a second presented himself at fort inge, who put forward his claim to be upon the side of the prisoner. this gentleman had made a still longer journey than he of san antonio; a voyage, in fact: since he had crossed the great atlantic, starting from the metropolis of the emerald isle. he had come for no other purpose than to hold communication with the man accused of having committed a murder! it is true, the errand that had brought him did not anticipate this; and the dublin solicitor was no little astonished when, after depositing his travelling traps under the roof of mr oberdoffer's hostelry, and making inquiry about maurice gerald, he was told that the young irishman was shut up in the guard-house. still greater the attorney's astonishment on learning the cause of his incarceration. "fwhat! the son of a munsther gerald accused of murdher! the heir of castle ballagh, wid its bewtiful park and demesne. fwy, i've got the papers in my portmantyee here. faugh-a-ballagh! show me the way to him!" though the "texan" boniface was inclined to consider his recently arrived guest entitled to a suspicion of lunacy, he assented to his request; and furnished him with a guide to the guard-house. if the irish attorney was mad, there appeared to be method in his madness. instead of being denied admittance to the accused criminal, he was made welcome to go in and out of the military prison--as often as it seemed good to him. some document he had laid before the eyes of the major-commandant, had procured him this privilege; at the same time placing him _en rapport_, in a friendly way, with the texan "counsellor." the advent of the irish attorney at such a crisis gave rise to much speculation at the port, the village, and throughout the settlement. the bar-room of the "rough and ready" was rife with conjecturers--_quidnuncs_ they could scarcely be called: since in texas the genus does not exist. a certain grotesqueness about the man added to the national instinct for guessing--which had been rendered excruciatingly keen through some revelations, contributed by "old duffer." for all that, the transatlantic limb of the law proved himself tolerably true to the traditions of his craft. with the exception of the trifling imprudences already detailed--drawn from him in the first moments of surprise--he never afterwards committed himself; but kept his lips close as an oyster at ebb tide. there was not much time for him to use his tongue. on the day after his arrival the trial was to take place; and during most of the interval he was either in the guard-house along with the prisoner, or closeted with the san antonio counsel. the rumour became rife that maurice gerald had told them a tale--a strange weird story--but of its details the world outside remained in itching ignorance. there was one who knew it--one able to confirm it--zeb stump the hunter. there may have been another; but this other was not in the confidence either of the accused or his counsel. zeb himself did not appear in their company. only once had he been seen conferring with them. after that he was gone--both from the guard-house and the settlement, as everybody supposed, about his ordinary business-- in search of deer, "baar," or "gobbler." everybody was in error. zeb for the time had forsaken his usual pursuits, or, at all events, the game he was accustomed to chase, capture, and kill. it is true he was out upon a stalking expedition; but instead of birds or beasts, he was after an animal of neither sort; one that could not be classed with creatures either of the earth or the air--a horseman without a head! chapter eighty four. an affectionate nephew. "tried to-morrow--to-morrow, thank god! not likely that anybody 'll catch that cursed thing before then--to be hoped, never. "_it_ is all i've got to fear. i defy them to tell what's happened without that. hang me if i know myself! enough only to--. "queer, the coming of this irish pettifogger! "queer, too, the fellow from san antonio! wonder who and what's brought him? somebody's promised him his costs? "damn 'em! i don't care, not the value of a red cent. they can make nothing out of it, but that gerald did the deed. everything points that way; and everybody thinks so. they're bound to convict him. "zeb stump don't think it, the suspicious old snake! he's nowhere to be found. wonder where he has gone? on a hunt, they say. 'tain't likely, such time as this. what if he be hunting it? what if he should catch it? "i'd try again myself, if there was time. there ain't. before to-morrow night it'll be all over; and afterwards if there should turn up--. damn afterwards! the thing is to make sure now. let the future look to itself. with one man hung for the murder, 'tain't likely they'd care to accuse another. even if something suspicious _did_ turn up! they'd be shy to take hold of it. it would be like condemning themselves! "i reckon, i've got all right with the regulators. sam manley himself appears pretty well convinced. i knocked his doubts upon the head, when i told him what i'd heard that night. a little more than i did hear; though that was enough to make a man stark, staring mad. damn! "it's no use crying over spilt milk. she's met the man, and there's an end of it. she'll never meet him again, and that's another end of it-- except she meet him in heaven. well; that will depend upon herself. "i don't think _anything has happened between them_. she's not the sort for that, with all her wildness; and it may be what that yellow wench tells me--only _gratitude_. no, no, no! it can't be. gratitude don't get out of its bed in the middle of the night--to keep appointments at the bottom of a garden? she loves him--she loves him! let her love and be damned! she shall never have him. she shall never see him again, unless she prove obstinate; and then it will be but to condemn him. a word from her, and he's a hanged man. "she shall speak it, if she don't say that other word, i've twice asked her for. the third time will be the last. one more refusal, and i show my hand. not only shall this irish adventurer meet his doom; but she shall be his condemner; and the plantation, house, niggers, everything--. ah! uncle woodley; i wanted to see you." the soliloquy above reported took place in a chamber, tenanted only by cassius calhoun. it was woodley poindexter who interrupted it. sad, silent, straying through the corridors of casa del corvo, he had entered the apartment usually occupied by his nephew--more by chance than from any premeditated purpose. "want me! for what, nephew?" there was a tone of humility, almost obeisance, in the speech of the broken man. the once proud poindexter--before whom two hundred slaves had trembled every day, every hour of their lives, now stood in the presence of his master! true, it was his own nephew, who had the power to humiliate him--his sister's son. but there was not much in that, considering the character of the man. "i want to talk to you about loo," was the rejoinder of calhoun. it was the very subject woodley poindexter would have shunned. it was something he dreaded to think about, much less make the topic of discourse; and less still with him who now challenged it. nevertheless, he did not betray surprise. he scarce felt it. something said or done on the day before had led him to anticipate this request for a conversation--as also the nature of the subject. the manner in which calhoun introduced it, did not diminish his uneasiness. it sounded more like a demand than a request. "about loo? what of her?" he inquired, with assumed calmness. "well," said calhoun, apparently in reluctant utterance, as if shy about entering upon the subject, or pretending to be so, "i--i--wanted--" "i'd rather," put in the planter, taking advantage of the other's hesitancy, "i'd rather not speak of _her_ now." this was said almost supplicatingly. "and why not now, uncle?" asked calhoun, emboldened by the show of opposition. "you know my reasons, nephew?" "well, i know the time is not pleasant. poor henry missing--supposed to be--after all, he may turn up yet, and everything be right again." "never! we shall never see him again--living or dead. i have no longer a son?" "you have a daughter; and she--" "has disgraced me!" "i don't believe it, uncle--no." "what means those things i've heard--myself seen? what could have taken her there--twenty miles across the country--alone--in the hut of a common horse-trader--standing by his bedside? o god! and why should she have interposed to save him--him, the murderer of my son--her own brother? o god!" "her own story explains the first--satisfactorily, as i think." calhoun did _not_ think so. "the second is simple enough. any woman would have done the same--a woman like loo." "there is _none_ like her. i, her father, say so. oh! that i could think it is, as you say! my poor daughter! who should now be dearer to me than ever--now that i have no son!" "it is for her to find you a son--one already related to you; and who can promise to play the part--with perhaps not so much affection as him you have lost, but with all he has the power to give. i won't talk to you in riddles, uncle woodley. you know what i mean; and how my mind's made up about this matter. _i want loo_!" the planter showed no surprise at the laconic declaration. he expected it. for all that, the shadow became darker on his brow. it was evident he did not relish the proposed alliance. this may seem strange. up to a late period, he had been its advocate-- in his own mind--and more than once, delicately, in the ear of his daughter. previous to the migration into texas, he had known comparatively little of his nephew. since coming to manhood, calhoun had been a citizen of the state of mississippi--more frequently a dweller in the dissipated city of new orleans. an occasional visit to the louisiana plantation was all his uncle had seen of him; until the developing beauty of his cousin louise gave him the inducement to make these visits at shorter intervals--each time protracting them to a longer stay. there was then twelve months of campaigning in mexico; where he rose to the rank of captain; and, after his conquests in war, he had returned home with the full determination to make a conquest in love--the heart of his creole cousin. from that time his residence under his uncle's roof had been more permanent. if not altogether liked by the young lady, he had made himself welcome to her father, by means seldom known to fail. the planter, once rich, was now poor. extravagance had reduced his estate to a hopeless indebtedness. with his nephew, the order was reversed: once poor, he was now rich. chance had made him so. under the circumstances, it was not surprising, that money had passed between them. in his native place, and among his old neighbours, woodley poindexter still commanded sufficient homage to shield him from the suspicion of being _under_ his nephew; as also to restrain the latter from exhibiting the customary arrogance of the creditor. it was only after the move into texas, that their relations began to assume that peculiar character observable between mortgagor and mortgagee. it grew more patent, after several attempts at love-making on the part of calhoun, with corresponding repulses on the part of louise. the planter had now a better opportunity of becoming acquainted with the true character of his nephew; and almost every day; since their arrival at casa del corvo, had this been developing itself to his discredit. calhoun's quarrel with the mustanger, and its ending, had not strengthened his uncle's respect for him; though, as a kinsman, he was under the necessity of taking sides with him. there had occurred other circumstances to cause a change in his feelings--to make him, notwithstanding its many advantages, _dislike_ the connection. alas! there was much also to render it, if not agreeable, at least not to be slightingly set aside. indecision--perhaps more than the sorrow for his son's loss dictated the character of his reply. "if i understand you aright, nephew, you mean _marriage_! surely it is not the time to talk of it now--while death is in our house! to think of such a thing would cause a scandal throughout the settlement." "you mistake me, uncle. i do not mean marriage--that is, not _now_. only something that will secure it--when the proper time arrives." "i do not understand you, cash." "you'll do that, if you only listen to me a minute." "go on." "well; what i want to say is this. i've made up my mind to get married. i'm now close upon thirty--as you know; and at that time a man begins to get tired of running about the world. i'm damnably tired of it; and don't intend to keep single any longer. _i'm willing to have loo for my wife_. there need be no hurry about it. all i want now is her promise; signed and sealed, that there may be no _fluke_, or uncertainty. i want the thing settled. when these _bothers_ blow past, it will be time enough to talk of the wedding business, and that sort of thing." the word "bothers," with the speech of which it formed part, grated harshly on the ear of a father, mourning for his murdered son! the spirit of woodley poindexter was aroused--almost to the resumption of its old pride, and the indignation that had oft accompanied it. it soon cowered again. on one side he saw land, slaves, wealth, position; on the other, penury that seemed perdition. he did not yield altogether; as may be guessed by the character of his reply. "well, nephew; you have certainly spoken plain enough. but i know not my daughter's disposition towards you. you say you are willing to have her for your wife. is she willing to have you? i suppose there is a question about that?" "i think, uncle, it will depend a good deal upon yourself. you are her father. surely you can _convince_ her?" "i'm not so sure of that. she's not of the kind to be convinced-- against her will. you, cash, know that as well as i." "well, i only know that i intend getting `spliced,' as the sailors say; and i'd like loo for the _mistress of casa del corvo_, better than any other woman in the settlement--in all texas, for that matter." woodley poindexter recoiled at the ungracious speech. it was the first time he had been told, that he was not the _master_ of casa del corvo! indirectly as the information had been conveyed, he understood it. once more rose before his mind the reality of lands, slaves, wealth, and social status--alongside, the apparition of poverty and social abasement. the last looked hideous; though not more so than the man who stood before him--his own nephew--soliciting to become his son! for purposes impossible to comprehend, god often suffers himself to be defeated by the devil. in this instance was it so. the good in poindexter's heart succumbed to the evil. he promised to assist his nephew, in destroying the happiness of his daughter. "loo!" "father!" "i come to ask a favour from you." "what is it, father?" "you know that your cousin cash loves you. he is ready to die for--more and better still, to marry you." "but i am not ready to marry _him_. no, father; _i_ shall die first. the presumptuous wretch! i know what it means. and he has sent _you_ to make this proposal! tell him in return, that, sooner than consent to become his wife, i'd go upon the prairies--and seek my living by lassoing wild horses! tell him that!" "reflect, daughter! you are, perhaps, not aware that--" "that my cousin is your creditor. i know all that, dear father. but i know also that you are woodley poindexter, and i your daughter." delicately as the hint was given, it produced the desired effect. the spirit of the planter surged up to its ancient pride, his reply was:-- "dearest louise! image of your mother! i had doubted you. forgive me, my noble girl! let the past be forgotten. i shall leave it to yourself. you are free to refuse him!" chapter eighty five. a kind cousin. louise poindexter made fall use of the liberty allowed by her father. in less than an hour after, calhoun was flatly refused. it was his third time of asking. twice before had the same suit been preferred; informally, and rather by a figure of speech than in the shape of a direct declaration. it was the third time; and the answer told it would be the last. it was a simple "no," emphatically followed by the equally simple "never!" there was no prevarication about the speech--no apology for having made it. calhoun listened to his rejection, without much show of surprise. possibly--in all probability--he expected it. but instead of the blank look of despair usually observable under the circumstances, his features remained firm, and his cheeks free from blanching. as he stood confronting his fair cousin, a spectator might have been reminded of the jaguar, as it pauses before springing on its prey. there was that in his eye which seemed to say:-- "in less than sixty seconds, you'll change your tune." what he did say was:-- "you're not in earnest, loo?" "i am, sir. have i spoken like one who jests?" "you've spoken like one, who hasn't taken pains to reflect." "upon what?" "many things." "name them!" "well, for one--the way i love you." she made no rejoinder. "a love," he continued, in a tone half explanatory, half pleading; "a love, loo, that no man can feel for a woman, and survive it. it can end only with my life. it could not end with _yours_." there was a pause, but still no reply. "'tis no use my telling you its history. it began on the same day--ay, the same hour--i first saw you. "i won't say it grew stronger as time passed. it could not. on my first visit to your father's house--now six years ago--you may remember that, after alighting from my horse, you asked me to take a walk with you round the garden--while dinner was being got ready. "you were but a stripling of a girl; but oh, loo, you were a woman in beauty--as beautiful as you are at this moment. "no doubt you little thought, as you took me by the hand, and led me along the gravelled walk, under the shade of the china trees, that the touch of your fingers was sending a thrill into my soul; your pretty prattle making an impression upon my heart, that neither time, nor distance, nor yet _dissipation_, has been able to efface." the creole continued to listen, though not without showing sign. words so eloquent, so earnest, so full of sweet flattery, could scarce fail to have effect upon a woman. by such speech had lucifer succeeded in the accomplishment of his purpose. there was pity, if not approval, in her look! still did she keep silence. calhoun continued:-- "yes, loo; it's true as i tell you. i've tried all three. six years may fairly be called time. from mississippi to mexico was the distance: for i went there with no other purpose than to forget you. it proved of no avail; and, returning, i entered upon a course of dissipation. new orleans knows that. "i won't say, that my passion grew stronger by these attempts to stifle it. i've already told you, it could not. from the hour you first caught hold of my hand, and called me cousin--ah! you called me _handsome_ cousin, loo--from that hour i can remember no change, no degrees, in the fervour of my affection; except when jealousy has made me hate--ay, so much, that i could have _killed_ you!" "good gracious, captain calhoun! this is wild talk of yours. it is even silly!" "'tis serious, nevertheless. i've been so jealous with you at times, that it was a task to control myself. my temper i could not--as you have reason to know." "alas, cousin, i cannot help what has happened. i never gave you cause, to think--" "i know what you are going to say; and you may leave it unspoken. i'll say it for you: `to think that you ever loved me.' those were the words upon your lips. "i don't say you did," he continued, with deepening despair: "i don't accuse you of tempting me. something did. god, who gave you such beauty; or the devil, who led me to look upon it." "what you say only causes me pain. i do not suppose you are trying to flatter me. you talk too earnestly for that. but oh, cousin cassius, 'tis a fancy from which you will easily recover. there are others, far fairer than i; and many, who would feel complimented by such speeches. why not address yourself to them?" "why not?" he echoed, with bitter emphasis. "what an idle question!" "i repeat it. it is not idle. far more so is your affection for me: for i must be candid with you, cassius. i do not--i _cannot_, love you." "you will not marry me then?" "that, at least, is an idle question. i've said i do not love you. surely that is sufficient." "and i've said i love _you_. i gave it as one reason why i wish you for my wife: but there are _others_. are you desirous of hearing them?" as calhoun asked this question the suppliant air forsook him. the spirit of the jaguar was once more in his eye. "you said there were other reasons. state them! do not be backward. i'm not afraid to listen." "indeed!" he rejoined, sneeringly. "you're not afraid, ain't you?" "not that i know of. what have i to fear?" "i won't say what _you_ have; but what your father has." "let me hear it? what concerns him, equally affects me. i am his daughter; and now, alas, his only--. go on, cousin calhoun! what is this shadow hanging over him?" "no shadow, loo; but something serious, and substantial. a trouble he's no longer able to contend with. you force me to speak of things you shouldn't know anything about." "oh! don't i? you're mistaken, cousin cash. i know them already. i'm aware that my father's in debt; and that you are his creditor. how could i have remained in ignorance of it? your arrogance about the house--your presumption, shown every hour, and in presence of the domestics--has been evidence sufficient to satisfy even them, that there is something amiss. you are master of casa del corvo. i know it. you are not master of _me_!" calhoun quailed before the defiant speech. the card, upon which he had been counting, was not likely to gain the trick. he declined playing it. he held a still stronger _in_ his hand; which was exhibited without farther delay. "indeed!" he retorted, sneeringly. "well; if i'm not master of your heart, i am of your happiness--or shall be. i know the worthless wretch that's driven you to this denial--" "who?" "how innocent you are!" "of that at least i am; unless by worthless wretch you mean yourself. in that sense i can understand you, sir. the description is too true to be mistaken." "be it so!" he replied, turning livid with rage, though still keeping himself under a certain restraint. "well; since you think me so worthless, it won't, i suppose, better your opinion of me, when i tell you what i'm going to do with you?" "do with me! you are presumptuous, cousin cash! you talk as if i were your _protegee_, or slave! i'm neither one, nor the other!" calhoun, cowering under the outburst of her indignation, remained silent. "_pardieu_!" she continued, "what is this threat? tell me what you are _going to do with me_! i should like to know that." "you shall." "let me hear it! am i to be turned adrift upon the prairie, or shut up in a convent? perhaps it may be a prison?" "you would like the last, no doubt--provided your incarceration was to be in the company of--" "go on, sir! what is to be my destiny? i'm impatient to have it declared." "don't be in a hurry. the first act shall be rehearsed tomorrow." "so soon? and where, may i ask?" "in a court of justice." "how, sir?" "by your standing before a judge, and in presence of a jury." "you are pleased to be facetious, captain calhoun. let me tell you that i don't like such pleasantries--" "pleasantries indeed! i'm stating plain facts. to-morrow is the day of trial. mr maurice gerald, or mcsweeney, or o'hogerty, or whatever's his name, will stand before the bar--accused of murdering your brother." "'tis false! maurice gerald never--" "did the deed, you are going to say? well, that remains to be proved. it _will_ be; and from your own lips will come the words that'll prove it--to the satisfaction of every man upon the jury." the great gazelle-eyes of the creole were opened to their fullest extent. they gazed upon the speaker with a look such as is oft given by the gazelle itself--a commingling of fear, wonder, and inquiry. it was some seconds before she essayed to speak. thoughts, conjectures, fears, fancies, and suspicions, all had to do in keeping her silent. "i know not what you mean," she at length rejoined. "you talk of my being called into court. for what purpose? though i am the sister of him, who--i know nothing--can tell no more than is in the mouth of everybody." "yes can you; a great deal more. it's not in the mouth of everybody: that on the night of the murder, you gave gerald a meeting at the bottom of the garden. no more does all the world know what occurred at that stolen interview. how henry intruded upon it; how, maddened, as he might well be, by the thought of such a disgrace--not only to his sister, but his family--he threatened to kill the man who had caused it; and was only hindered from carrying out that threat, by the intercession of the woman so damnably deluded! "all the world don't know what followed: how henry, like a fool, went after the low hound, and with what intent. besides themselves, there were but two others who chanced to be spectators of that parting." "two--who were they?" the question was asked mechanically--almost with a tranquil coolness. it was answered with equal _sang froid_. "one was cassius calhoun--the other louise poindexter." she did not start. she did not even show sign of being surprised. what was spoken already had prepared her for the revelation. her rejoinder was a single word, pronounced in a tone of defiance. "well!" "well!" echoed calhoun, chagrined at the slight effect his speeches had produced; "i suppose you understand me?" "not any more than ever." "you wish me to speak further?" "as you please, sir." "i shall then. i say to you, loo, there's but one way to save your father from ruin--yourself from shame. you know what i mean?" "yes; i know that much." "you will not refuse me now?" "_now_ more than _ever_!" "be it so! before this time to-morrow--and, by heaven! i mean it-- before this time _to-morrow_, you shall stand in the witness-box?" "vile spy! anywhere but in your presence! out of my sight! this instant, or i call my father!" "you needn't put yourself to the trouble. i'm not going to embarrass you any longer with my company--so disagreeable to you. i leave you to reflect. perhaps before the trial comes on, you'll see fit to change your mind. if so, i hope you'll give notice of it--in time to stay the summons. good night, loo! i'll sleep thinking of you." with these words of mockery upon his lips--almost as bitter to himself as to her who heard them--calhoun strode out of the apartment, with an air less of triumph than of guilt. louise listened, until his footsteps died away in the distant corridor. then, as if the proud angry thoughts hitherto sustaining her had become suddenly relaxed, she sank into a chair; and, with both hands pressing upon her bosom, tried to still the dread throbbings that now, more than ever, distracted it. chapter eighty six. a texan court. it is the dawn of another day. the aurora, rising rose-coloured from the waves of a west indian sea, flings its sweetest smile athwart the savannas of texas. almost on the same instant that the rosy light kisses the white sand-dunes of the mexican gulf, does it salute the flag on fort inge, nearly a hundred leagues distant: since there is just this much of an upward inclination between the coast at matagorda and the spurs of the guadalupe mountains, near which stand this frontier post. the aurora has just lighted up the flag, that at the same time flouting out from its staff spreads its broad field of red, white, and blue to the gentle zephyrs of the morning. perhaps never since that staff went up, has the star-spangled banner waved over a scene of more intense interest than is expected to occur on this very day. even at the early hour of dawn, the spectacle may be said to have commenced. along with the first rays of the aurora, horsemen may be seen approaching the military post from all quarters of the compass. they ride up in squads of two, three, or half a dozen; dismount as they arrive; fasten their horses to the stockade fences, or picket them upon the open prairie. this done, they gather into groups on the parade-ground; stand conversing or stray down to the village; all, at one time or another, taking a turn into the tavern, and paying their respects to boniface behind the bar. the men thus assembling are of many distinct types and nationalities. almost every country in europe has furnished its quota; though the majority are of that stalwart race whose ancestors expelled the indians from the "bloody ground;" built log cabins on the sites of their wigwams; and spent the remainder of their lives in felling the forests of the mississippi. some of them have been brought up to the cultivation of corn; others understand better the culture of cotton; while a large number, from homes further south, have migrated into texas to speculate in the growth and manufacture of sugar and tobacco. most are planters by calling and inclination; though there are graziers and cattle-dealers, hunters and horse-dealers, storekeepers, and traders of other kinds--not a few of them traffickers in human flesh! there are lawyers, land-surveyors, and land-speculators, and other speculators of no proclaimed calling--adventurers ready to take a hand in whatever may turn up--whether it be the branding of cattle, a scout against comanches, or a spell of filibustering across the rio grande. their costumes are as varied as their callings. they have been already described: for the men now gathering around fort inge are the same we have seen before assembled in the courtyard of casa del corvo--the same with an augmentation of numbers. the present assemblage differs in another respect from that composing the expedition of searchers. it is graced by the presence of women--the wives, sisters, and daughters of the men. some are on horseback; and remain in the saddle--their curtained cotton-bonnets shading their fair faces from the glare of the sun; others are still more commodiously placed for the spectacle--seated under white waggon-tilts, or beneath the more elegant coverings of "carrioles" and "jerseys." there is a spectacle--at least there is one looked for. it is a trial long talked of in the settlement. superfluous to say that it is the trial of maurice gerald--known as _maurice the mustanger_. equally idle to add, that it is for the murder of henry poindexter. it is not the high nature of the offence that has attracted such a crowd, nor yet the characters of either the accused or his victim-- neither much known in the neighbourhood. the same court--it is the supreme court of the district, uvalde--has been in session there before--has tried all sorts of cases, and all kinds of men--thieves, swindlers, homicides, and even murderers--with scarce fourscore people caring to be spectators of the trial, or staying to hear the sentence! it is not this which has brought so many settlers together; but a series of strange circumstances, mysterious and melodramatic; which seem in some way to be connected with the crime, and have been for days the sole talk of the settlement. it is not necessary to name these circumstances: they are already known. all present at fort inge have come there anticipating: that the trial about to take place will throw light on the strange problem that has hitherto defied solution. of course there are some who, independent of this, have a feeling of interest in the fate of the prisoner. there are others inspired with a still sadder interest--friends and relatives of the man _supposed to have been_ murdered: for it must be remembered, that there is yet no evidence of the actuality of the crime. but there is little doubt entertained of it. several circumstances-- independent of each other--have united to confirm it; and all believe that the foul deed has been done--as firmly as if they had been eye-witnesses of the act. they only wait to be told the details; to learn the how, and the when, and the wherefore. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ten o'clock, and the court is in session. there is not much change in the composition of the crowd; only that a sprinkling of military uniforms has become mixed with the more sober dresses of the citizens. the soldiers of the garrison have been dismissed from morning parade; and, free to take their recreation for the day, have sought it among the ranks of the civilian spectators. there stand they side by side--soldiers and citizens--dragoons, riflemen, infantry, and artillery, interspersed among planters, hunters, horse-dealers, and desperate adventurers, having just heard the "oyez!" of the court crier--grotesquely pronounced "o yes!"--determined to stand there till they hear the last solemn formulary from the lips of the judge: "may god have mercy on your soul!" there is scarce one present who does not expect ere night to listen to this terrible final phrase, spoken from under the shadow of that sable cap, that denotes the death doom of a fellow creature. there may be only a few who wish it. but there are many who feel certain, that the trial will end in a conviction; and that ere the sun has set, the soul of maurice gerald will go back to its god! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the court is in session. you have before your mind's eye a large hall, with a raised dais at one side; a space enclosed between panelled partitions; a table inside it; and on its edge a box-like structure, resembling the rostrum of a lecture-room, or the reading-desk in a church. you see judges in ermine robes; barristers in wigs of grey, and gowns of black, with solicitors attending on them; clerks, ushers, and reporters; blue policemen with bright buttons standing here and there; and at the back a sea of heads and faces, not always kempt or clean. you observe, moreover, a certain subdued look on the countenances of the spectators--not so much an air of decorum, as a fear of infringing the regulations of the court. you must get all this out of your mind, if you wish to form an idea of a court of justice on the frontiers of texas--as unlike its homonym in england as a bond of guerillas to a brigade of guardsmen. there is no court-house, although there is a sort of public room used for this and other purposes. but the day promises to be hot, and the court has decided to _sit under a tree_! and under a tree has it established itself--a gigantic live-oak, festooned with spanish moss--standing by the edge of the parade-ground, and extending its shadow afar over the verdant prairie. a large deal table is placed underneath, with half a score of skin-bottomed chairs set around it, and on its top a few scattered sheets of foolscap paper, an inkstand with goose-quill pens, a well-thumbed law-book or two, a blown-glass decanter containing peach-brandy, a couple of common tumblers, a box of havannah cigars, and another of lucifer-matches. behind these _paraphernalia_ sits the judge, not only un-robed in ermine, but actually un-coated--the temperature of the day having decided him to try the case in his _shirt-sleeves_! instead of a wig, he wears his panama hat, set slouchingly over one cheek, to balance the half-smoked, half-chewed havannah projecting from the other. the remaining chairs are occupied by men whose costume gives no indication of their calling. there are lawyers among them--attorneys, and _counsellors_, there called--with no difference either in social or legal status; the sheriff and his "deputy"; the military commandant of the fort; the chaplain; the doctor; several officers; with one or two men of undeclared occupations. a little apart are twelve individuals grouped together; about half of them seated on a rough slab bench, the other half "squatted" or reclining along the grass. it is the _jury_--an "institution" as germane to texas as to england; and in texas ten times more true to its trust; scorning to submit to the dictation of the judge--in england but too freely admitted. around the texan judge and jury--close pressing upon the precincts of the court--is a crowd that may well be called nondescript. buckskin hunting-shirts; blanket-coats--even under the oppressive heat; frocks of "copperas stripe" and kentucky jeans; blouses of white linen, or sky-blue _cottonade_; shirts of red flannel or unbleached "domestic"; dragoon, rifle, infantry, and artillery uniforms, blend and mingle in that motley assemblage. here and there is seen a more regular costume--one more native to the country--the _jaqueta_ and _calzoneros_ of the mexican, with the broad _sombrero_ shading his swarthy face of _picaresque_ expression. time was--and that not very long ago--when men assembled in this same spot would all have been so attired. but then there was no jury of twelve, and the judge--_juez de letras_-- was a far more important personage, with death in his nod, and pardon easily obtained by those who could put _onzas_ in his pocket. with all its rude irregularity--despite the absence of effete forms--of white ermine, and black silk--of uniformed _alguazils_, or bright-buttoned policemen--despite the presence of men that, to the civilised eye, may appear uncouth--even savage i hesitate not to say, that among these red flannel-shirts and coats of kentucky jean, the innocent man is as safe--ay far safer--to obtain justice, and the guilty to get punished, than amidst the formalities and hair-splitting chicaneries of our so-called civilisation. do not mistake those men assembled under the texan tree--however rough their exterior may seem to your hypercritical eye--do not mistake them for a mob of your own "masses," brutalised from their very birth by the curse of over-taxation. do not mistake them, either, for things like yourselves--filled to the throat with a spirit of flunkeyism--would that it choked you!--scorning all that is grand and progressive--revering only the effete, the superficial, and the selfish. i am talking to you, my middle-class friend, who fancy yourself a _citizen_ of this our english country. a citizen, forsooth; without even the first and scantiest right of citizenship--that of choosing your parliamentary representative. you fancy you _have_ this right. i have scarce patience to tell you, you are mistaken. ay, grandly mistaken, when you imagine yourself standing on the same political platform with those quasi-rude frontiersmen of texas. nothing of the kind. _they_ are "sovereign citizens"--the peers of your superiors, or of those who assume so to call themselves, and whose assumption you are base enough to permit without struggle--almost without protest! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ in most assemblies the inner circle is the more select. the gem is to be found in the centre at port inge. in that now mustered the order is reversed. outside is the elegance. the fair feminine forms, bedecked in their best dresses, stand up in spring waggons, or sit in more elegant equipages, sufficiently elevated to see over the heads of the male spectators. it is not upon the judge that their eyes are bent, or only at intervals. the glances are given to a group of three men, placed near the jury, and not very far from the stem of the tree. one is seated, and two standing. the former is the prisoner at the bar; the latter the sheriff's officers in charge of him. it was originally intended to try several other men for the murder; miguel diaz and his associates, as also phelim o'neal. but in the course of a preliminary investigation the mexican mustanger succeeded in proving an _alibi_, as did also his trio of companions. all four have been consequently discharged. they acknowledged having disguised themselves as indians: for the fact being proved home to them, they could not do less. but they pretended it to have been a joke--a _travestie_; and as there was proof of the others being at home--and diaz dead drunk--on the night of henry poindexter's disappearance, their statement satisfied those who had been entrusted with the inquiry. as to the connemara man, it was not thought necessary to put him upon trial. if an accomplice, he could only have acted at the instigation of his master; and he might prove more serviceable in the witness-box than in the dock. before the bar, then--if we may be permitted the figure of speech--there stands but one prisoner, maurice gerald--known to those gazing upon him as _maurice the mustanger_. chapter eighty seven. a false witness. there are but few present who have any personal acquaintance with the accused; though there are also but a few who have never before heard his name. perhaps not any. it is only of late that this has become generally known: for previous to the six-shot duel with calhoun, he had no other reputation than that of an accomplished horse-catcher. all admitted him to be a fine young fellow--handsome, dashing, devoted to a fine horse, and deeming it no sin to look fondly on a fair woman-- free of heart, as most irishmen are, and also of speech, as will be more readily believed. but neither his good, nor evil, qualities were carried to excess. his daring rarely exhibited itself in reckless rashness; while as rarely did his speech degenerate into "small talk." in his actions there was observable a certain _juste milieu_. his words were alike well-balanced; displaying, even over his cups, a reticence somewhat rare among his countrymen. no one seemed to know whence he came; for what reason he had settled in texas; or why he had taken to such a queer "trade," as that of catching wild horses--a calling not deemed the most reputable. it seemed all the more strange to those who knew: that he was not only educated, but evidently a "born gentleman"--a phrase, however, of but slight significance upon the frontiers of texas. there, too, was the thing itself regarded with no great wonder; where "born noblemen," both of france and the "faderland," may oft be encountered seeking an honest livelihood by the sweat of their brow. a fig for all patents of nobility--save those stamped by the true die of nature! such is the sentiment of this far free land. and this sort of impress the young irishman carries about him--blazoned like the broad arrow. there is no one likely to mistake him for either fool or villain. and yet he stands in the presence of an assembly, called upon to regard him as an assassin--one who in the dead hour of night has spilled innocent blood, and taken away the life of a fellow-creature! can the charge be true? if so, may god have mercy on his soul! some such reflection passes through the minds of the spectators, as they stand with eyes fixed upon him, waiting for his trial to begin. some regard him with glances of simple curiosity; others with interrogation; but most with a look that speaks of anger and revenge. there is one pair of eyes dwelling upon him with an expression altogether unlike the rest--a gaze soft, but steadfast--in which fear and fondness seem strangely commingled. there are many who notice that look of the lady spectator, whose pale face, half hid behind the curtains of a _caleche_, is too fair to escape observation. there are few who can interpret it. but among these, is the prisoner himself; who, observing both the lady and the look, feels a proud thrill passing through his soul, that almost compensates for the humiliation he is called upon to undergo. it is enough to make him, for the time, forget the fearful position in which he is placed. for the moment, it is one of pleasure. he has been told of much that transpired during those dark oblivious hours. he now knows that what he had fancied to be only a sweet, heavenly vision, was a far sweeter reality of earth. that woman's face, shining dream-like over his couch, was the same now seen through the curtains of the _caleche_; and the expression upon it tells him: that among the frowning spectators he has one friend who will be true to the end--even though it be death! the trial begins. there is not much ceremony in its inception. the judge takes off his hat strikes a lucifer-match; and freshly ignites his cigar. after half a dozen draws, he takes the "weed" from between his teeth, lays it still smoking along the table, and says-- "gentlemen of the jury! we are here assembled to try a case, the particulars of which are, i believe, known to all of you. a man has been murdered,--the son of one of our most respected citizens; and the prisoner at the bar is accused of having committed the crime. it is my duty to direct you as to the legal formalities of the trial. it is yours to decide--after hearing the evidence to be laid before you-- whether or not the accusation be sustained." the prisoner is asked, according to the usual formality,--"_guilty, or not guilty_?" "not guilty," is the reply; delivered in a firm, but modest tone. cassius calhoun, and some "rowdies" around him, affect an incredulous sneer. the judge resumes his cigar, and remains silent. the counsel for the state, after some introductory remarks, proceeds to introduce the witnesses for the prosecution. first called is franz oberdoffer. after a few unimportant interrogatories about his calling, and the like, he is requested to state what he knows of the affair. this is the common routine of a texan trial. oberdoffer's evidence coincides with the tale already told by him: how on the night that young poindexter was missed, maurice gerald had left his house at a late hour--after midnight. he had settled his account before leaving; and appeared to have plenty of money. it was not often oberdoffer had known him so well supplied with cash. he had started for his home on the nueces; or wherever it was. he had not said where he was going. he was not on the most friendly terms with witness. witness only supposed he was going there, because his man had gone the day before, taking all his traps upon a pack-mule--everything, except what the mustanger himself carried off on his horse. what had he carried off? witness could not remember much in particular. he was not certain of his having a gun. he rather believed that he had one--strapped, mexican fashion, along the side of his saddle. he could speak with certainty of having seen pistols in the holsters, with a bowie-knife in the mustanger's belt. gerald was dressed as he always went--in mexican costume, and with a striped mexican blanket. he had the last over his shoulders as he rode off. the witness thought it strange, his leaving at that late hour of the night. still stranger, that he had told witness of his intention to start the next morning. he had been out all the early part of the night, but without his horse-- which he kept in the tavern stable. he had started off immediately after returning. he stayed only long enough to settle his account. he appeared excited, and in a hurry. it was not with drink. he filled his flask with _kirschenwasser_; but did not drink of it before leaving the hotel. witness could swear to his being sober. he knew that he was excited by his manner. while he was saddling his horse--which he did for himself--he was all the time talking, as if angry. witness didn't think it was at the animal. he believed he had been crossed by somebody, and was angry at something that had happened to him, before coming back to the hotel. had no idea where gerald had been to; but heard afterwards that he had been seen going out of the village, and down the river, in the direction of mr poindexter's plantation. he had been seen going that way often for the last three or four days of his sojourn at the hotel--both by day and night--on foot as well as horseback--several times both ways. such are the main points of oberdoffer's evidence relating to the movements of the prisoner. he is questioned about henry poindexter. knew the young gentleman but slightly, as he came very seldom to the hotel. he was there on the night when last seen. witness was surprised to see him there--partly because he was not in the habit of coming, and partly on account of the lateness of the hour. young poindexter did not enter the house. only looked inside the saloon; and called witness to the door. he asked after mr gerald. he too appeared sober, but excited; and, upon being told that the mustanger was gone away, became very much more excited. said he wished very much to see gerald that very night; and asked which way he had gone. witness directed him along the rio grande trace--thinking the mustanger had taken it. said he knew the road, and went off, as if intending to overtake the mustanger. a few desultory questions, and oberdoffer's evidence is exhausted. on the whole it is unfavourable to the accused; especially the circumstance of gerald's having changed his intention as to his time of starting. his manner, described as excited and angry,--perhaps somewhat exaggerated by the man who naively confesses to a grudge against him. that is especially unfavourable. a murmur through the court tells that it has made this impression. but why should henry poindexter have been excited too? why should he have been following after gerald in such hot haste, and at such an unusual hour--unusual for the young planter, both as regarded his haunts and habits? had the order been reversed, and gerald inquiring about and going after him, the case would have been clearer. but even then there would have been an absence of motive. who can show this, to satisfy the jury? several witnesses are called; but their testimony rather favours the reverse view. some of them testify to the friendly feeling that existed between the prisoner and the man he stands charged with having murdered. one is at length called up who gives evidence of the opposite. it is captain cassius calhoun. his story produces a complete change in the character of the trial. it not only discloses a motive for the murder, but darkens the deed tenfold. after a craftily worded preface, in which he declares his reluctance to make the exposure, he ends by telling all: the scene in the garden; the quarrel; the departure of gerald, which he describes as having been accompanied by a threat; his being followed by henry; everything but the true motive for this following, and his own course of action throughout. these two facts he keeps carefully to himself. the scandalous revelation causes a universal surprise--alike shared by judge, jury, and spectators. it exhibits itself in an unmistakable manner--here in ominous whisperings, there in ejaculations of anger. these are not directed towards the man who has testified; but against him who stands before them, now presumptively charged with a double crime: the assassination of a son--the defilement of a daughter! a groan had been heard as the terrible testimony proceeded. it came from a man of more than middle age--of sad subdued aspect--whom all knew to be the father of both these unfortunates. but the eyes of the spectators dwell not on him. they look beyond, to a curtained _caleche_, in which is seen seated a lady: so fair, as long before to have fixed their attention. strange are the glances turned upon her; strange, though not inexplicable: for it is louise poindexter who occupies the carriage. is she there of her own accord--by her own free will? so runs the inquiry around, and the whispered reflections that follow it. there is not much time allowed them for speculation. they have their answer in the crier's voice, heard pronouncing the name-- "louise poindexter!" calhoun has kept his word. chapter eighty eight. an unwilling witness. before the monotonous summons has been three times repeated, the lady is seen descending the steps of her carriage. conducted by an officer of the court, she takes her stand on the spot set apart for the witnesses. without flinching--apparently without fear--she faces towards the court. all eyes are upon her: some interrogatively; a few, perhaps, in scorn: but many in admiration--that secret approval which female loveliness exacts, even when allied with guilt! one regards her with an expression different from the rest: a look of tenderest passion, dashed with an almost imperceptible distrust. it is the prisoner himself. from him her eyes are averted as from everybody else. only one man she appears to think worthy of her attention--he who has just forsaken the stand she occupies. she looks at calhoun, her own cousin--as though with her eyes she would kill him. cowering under the glance, he slinks back, until the crowd conceals him from her sight. "where were you, miss poindexter, on the night when your brother was last seen?" the question is put by the state counsellor. "at home,--in my father's house." "may i ask, if on that night you went into the garden?" "i did." "perhaps you will be good enough to inform the court at what hour?" "at the hour of midnight--if i rightly remember." "were you alone?" "not all the time." "part of it there was some one with you?" "there was." "judging by your frankness, miss poindexter, you will not refuse to inform the court who that person was?" "certainly not." "may i ask the name of the individual?" "there was more than one. my brother was there." "but before your brother came upon the ground, was there not some one else in your company?" "there was." "it is _his_ name we wish you to give. i hope you will not withhold it." "why should i? you are welcome to know that the gentleman, who was with me, was mr maurice gerald." the answer causes surprise, and something more. there is a show of scorn, not unmixed with indignation. there is one on whom it produces a very different effect--the prisoner at the bar--who looks more triumphant than any of his accusers! "may i ask if this meeting was accidental, or by appointment?" "by appointment." "it is a delicate question, miss poindexter; you will pardon me for putting it--in the execution of my duty:--what was the nature--the object i should rather term it--of this appointment?" the witness hesitates to make answer. only for an instant. braising herself from the stooping attitude she has hitherto held, and casting a careless glance upon the faces around her, she replies-- "motive, or object, it is all the same. i have no intention to conceal it. i went into the garden to meet the man i loved--whom i still love, though he stands before you an accused criminal! now, sir, i hope you are satisfied?" "not quite," continues the prosecuting counsel, unmoved by the murmurs heard around him; "i must ask you another question, miss poindexter. the course i am about to take, though a little irregular, will save the time of the court; and i think no one will object to it. you have heard what has been said by the witness who preceded you. is it true that your brother parted in anger with the prisoner at the bar?" "quite true." the answer sends a thrill through the crowd--a thrill of indignation. it confirms the story of calhoun. it establishes the _motive_ of the murder! the bystanders do not wait for the explanation the witness designs to give. there is a cry of "hang--hang him!" and, along with it, a demonstration for this to be done without staying for the verdict of the jury, "order in the court!" cries the judge, taking the cigar from between his teeth, and looking authoritatively around him. "my brother did not _follow him in anger_," pursues the witness, without being further questioned. "he had forgiven mr gerald; and went after to apologise." "_i_ have something to say about that," interposes calhoun, disregarding the irregularity of the act; "they quarrelled _afterwards_. i heard them, from where i was standing on the top of the house." "mr calhoun!" cries the judge rebukingly; "if the counsel for the prosecution desire it, you can be put in the box again. meanwhile, sir, you will please not interrupt the proceedings." after a few more questions, eliciting answers explanatory of what she has last alleged, the lady is relieved from her embarrassing situation. she goes back to her carriage with a cold heaviness at her heart: for she has become conscious that, by telling the truth, she has damaged the cause of him she intended to serve. her own too: for in passing through the crowd she does not fail to perceive eyes turned upon her, that regard her with an expression too closely resembling contempt! the "chivalry" is offended by her condescension; the morality shocked by her free confession of that midnight meeting; to say nought of the envy felt for the _bonne fortune_ of him who has been so daringly endorsed. calhoun is once more called to the stand; and by some additional perjury, strengthens the antipathy already felt for the accused. every word is a lie; but his statements appear too plausible to be fabrications. again breaks forth the clamour of the crowd. again is heard the cry, "hang!"--this time more vociferous, more earnest, than ever. this time, too, the action is more violent. men strip off their coats, and fling their hats into the air. the women in the waggons--and even those of gentle strain in the carriages--seem, to share the frenzied spite against the prisoner--all save that one, who sits screened behind the curtain. she too shows indignation; but from a different cause. if she trembles at the commotion, it is not through fear; but from the bitter consciousness that she has herself assisted in stirring it up. in this dark hour she remembers the significant speech of calhoun: that from her own lips were to come the words that would prove maurice gerald a murderer! the clamour continues, increasing in earnestness. there are things said aloud--insinuations against the accused--designed to inflame the passions of the assembly; and each moment the outcry grows fiercer and more virulent. judge roberts--the name of him who presides--is in peril of being deposed; to be succeeded by the lawless lynch! and then what must follow? for maurice gerald no more trial; no condemnation: for that has been done already. no shrift neither; but a quick execution, occupying only the time it will take half a score of expert rope-men to throw a noose around his neck, and jerk him up to the limb of the live-oak stretching horizontally over his head! this is the thought of almost everybody on the ground, as they stand waiting for some one to say the word--some bad, bold borderer daring enough to take the initiative. thanks be to god, the spectators are not _all_ of this mind. a few have determined on bringing the affair to a different finale. there is a group of men in uniform, seen in excited consultation. they are the officers of the fort, with the commandant in their midst. only for a score of seconds does their council continue. it ends with the braying of a bugle. it is a signal sounded by command of the major. almost at the same instant a troop of two-score dragoons, with a like number of mounted riflemen, is seen filing out from the stockade enclosure that extends rearward from the fort. having cleared the gateway, they advance over the open ground in the direction of the live-oak. silently, and as though acting under an instinct, they deploy into an alignment--forming three sides of a square, that partially encloses the court! the crowd has ceased its clamouring; and stands gazing at a spectacle, which might be taken for a _coup de theatre_. it produces not only silence, but submission: for plainly do they perceive its design, and that the movement is a precautionary measure due to the skill of the commanding officer of the post. equally plain is it, that the presidency of justice lynch is no longer possible; and that the law of the land is once more in the ascendant. without further opposition judge roberts is permitted to resume his functions, so rudely interrupted. "fellow citizens!" he cries, with a glance towards his auditory, now more reproachful than appealing, "the law is bound to take its course-- just the same in texas as in the states. i need not tell you that, since most of you, i reckon, have seen corn growing on the other side of the mississippi. well, taking this for granted, you wouldn't hang a man without first hearing what he's got to say for himself? that would neither be law, nor justice, but downright murder!" "and hasn't he done murder?" asks one of the rowdies standing near calhoun. "it's only sarvin' him, as he sarved young poindexter." "there is no certainty about that. you've not yet heard all the testimony. wait till we've examined the witnesses on the other side. crier!" continues he, turning to the official; "call the witnesses for the defence." the crier obeys; and phelim o'neal is conducted to the stand. the story of the _ci-devant_ stable-boy, confusedly told, full of incongruities--and in many parts altogether improbable--rather injures the chances of his master being thought innocent. the san antonio counsel is but too anxious for his testimony to be cut short--having a firmer reliance on the tale to be told by another. that other is next announced. "zebulon stump!" before the voice of the summoning officer has ceased to reverberate among the branches of the live-oak, a tall stalwart specimen of humanity is seen making his way through the throng--whom all recognise as zeb stump, the most noted hunter of the settlement. taking three or four strides forward, the backwoodsman comes to a stand upon the spot set apart for the witnesses. the sacred volume is presented to him in due form; which, after repeating the well-known words of the "affidavit," zeb is directed to kiss. he performs this operation with a smack sufficiently sonorous to be heard to the extreme outside circle of the assemblage. despite the solemnity of the scene, there is an audible tittering, instantly checked by the judge; a little, perhaps, by zeb himself, whose glance, cast inquiringly around, seems to search for some one, that may be seen with a sneer upon his face. the character of the man is too well known, for any one to suppose he might make merry at his expense; and before his searching glance the crowd resumes, or affects to resume, its composure. after a few preliminary questions, zeb is invited to give his version of the strange circumstances, which, have been keeping the settlement in a state of unwonted agitation. the spectators prick up their ears, and stand in expectant silence. there is a general impression that zeb holds the key to the whole mystery. "wal, mister judge!" says he, looking straight in the face of that cigar-smoking functionary; "i've no objection to tell what i know 'beout the bizness; but ef it be all the same to yurself, an the jewry hyur, i'd preefar that the young fellur shed gie his varsion fust. i kud then foller wi' mine, the which mout sartify and confirm him." "of what young fellow do you speak?" inquires the judge. "the mowstanger thur, in coorse. him as stan's 'cused o' killin' young peintdexter." "it would be somewhat irregular," rejoins the judge--"after all, our object is to get at the truth. for my part, i haven't much faith in old-fashioned forms; and if the jury don't object, let it be as you say." the "twelve," speaking through their foreman, profess themselves of the same way of thinking. frontiersmen are not noted for strict adherence to ceremonious forms; and zeb's request is conceded _nemine dissentiente_. chapter eighty nine. the confession of the accused. acting under the advice of his counsel, the accused prepares to avail himself of the advantage thus conceded. directed by the judge, he stands forward; the sheriff's officers in charge falling a step or two into the rear. it is superfluous to say that there is universal silence. even the tree crickets, hitherto "chirping" among the leaves of the live-oak, desist from their shrill stridulation--as if awed by the stillness underneath. every eye is fixed upon the prisoner; every ear bent to catch the first words of, what may be termed, his _confession_. "judge, and gentlemen of the jury!" says he, commencing his speech in true texan style; "you are good enough to let me speak for myself; and in availing myself of the privilege, i shall not long detain you. "first, have i to say: that, notwithstanding the many circumstances mentioned during the course of this trial--which to you appear not only odd, but inexplicable--my story is simple enough; and will explain some of them. "not all of the statements you have heard are true. some of them are false as the lips from which they have fallen." the speaker's glance, directed upon cassius calhoun, causes the latter to quail, as if standing before the muzzle of a six-shooter. "it is true that i met miss poindexter, as stated. that noble lady, by her own generous confession, has saved me from the sin of perjuring myself--which otherwise i might have done. in all else i entreat you to believe me. "it is also true that our interview was a stolen one; and that it was interrupted by him who is not here to speak to what occurred after. "it is true that angry words passed between us, or rather from him to me: for they were all on his side. "but it is _not_ true that the quarrel was afterwards renewed; and the man who has so sworn dared not say it, were i free to contradict him as he deserves." again are the eyes of the accused turned towards calhoun, still cowering behind the crowd. "on the contrary," continues he, "the next meeting between henry poindexter and myself, was one of apology on his part, and friendship--i might say affection--on mine. "who could have helped liking him? as to forgiving him for the few words he had rashly spoken, i need hardly tell you how grateful i felt for that reconciliation." "there was a reconciliation, then?" asks the judge, taking advantage of a pause in the narration. "where did it take place?" "about four hundred yards from the spot _where the murder was committed_." the judge starts to his feet. the jury do the same. the spectators, already standing, show signs of a like exciting surprise. it is the first time any one has spoken positively of the spot where the murder was committed; or even that a murder has been committed at all! "you mean the place where some blood was found?" doubtingly interrogates the judge. "i mean the place where _henry poindexter was assassinated_." there is a fresh exhibition of astonishment in the court--expressed in muttered speeches and low exclamations. one louder than the rest is a groan. it is given by woodley poindexter; now for the first time made certain he has no longer a son! in the heart of the father has still lingered a hope that his son may be alive: that he might be only missing--kept out of the way by accident, illness, indians, or some other circumstance. as yet there has been no positive proof of his death--only a thread of circumstantial evidence, and it of the slightest. this hope, by the testimony of the accused himself, is no longer tenable. "you are sure he is dead, then?" is the question put to the prisoner by the prosecuting counsel. "quite sure," responds the accused. "had you seen him as i did, you would think the interrogatory a very idle one." "you saw the body?" "i must take exception to this course of examination," interposes the counsel for the accused. "it is quite irregular." "faith! in an owld country court it wouldn't be allowed," adds the cis-atlantic attorney. "the counsel for the prosecution wouldn't be permitted to spake, till it came to the cross-examination." "that's the law here, too," says the judge, with a severe gesture towards him who has erred. "prisoner at the bar! you can continue your story. your own counsel may ask you what question he pleases; but nobody else, till you have done. go on! let us hear all you have to say." "i have spoken of a reconciliation," resumes the accused, "and have told you where it took place. i must explain how it came to be there. "it has been made known to you how we parted--miss poindexter, her brother, and myself. "on leaving them i swam across the river; partly because i was too excited to care how i went off, and partly that i did not wish _him_ to know how i had got into the garden. i had my reasons for that. i walked on up stream, towards the village. it was a very warm night--as may be remembered by many of you--and my clothes had got nearly dry by the time i reached the hotel. "the house was still open, and the landlord behind his bar; but as up to that day i had no reason to thank him for any extra hospitality, and as there was nothing to detain me any longer under his roof, i took it into my head to set out at once for the alamo, and make the journey during the cool hours of the night. "i had sent my servant before, and intended to follow in the morning; but what happened at casa del corvo made me desirous of getting away as soon as possible; and i started off, after settling my account with mr oberdoffer." "and the money with which you paid him?" asks the state prosecutor, "where did you get--?" "i protest against this!" interrupts the counsel for the accused. "bedarrah!" exclaims the milesian lawyer, looking daggers, or rather _duelling pistols_, at the state counsellor; "if yez were to go on at that rate in a galway assize, ye'd stand a nate chance of gettin' conthradicted in a different style altogether!" "silence, gentlemen!" commands the judge, in an authoritative tone. "let the accused continue his statement." "i travelled slowly. there was no reason for being in a hurry. i was in no mood for going to sleep that night; and it mattered little to me where i should spend it--on the prairie, or under the roof of my _jacale_. i knew i could reach the alamo before daybreak; and that would be as soon as i desired. "i never thought of looking behind me. i had no suspicion that any one was coming after; until i had got about half a mile into the chapparal-- where the rio grande trace runs through it. "then i heard the stroke of a horse's hoof, that appeared hurrying up behind. "i had got round the corner--where the trace makes a sharp turn--and was hindered from seeing the horseman. but i could tell that he was coming on at a trot. "it might be somebody i wouldn't care to encounter? "that was the reflection i made; though i wasn't much caring who. it was more from habit--by living in the neighbourhood of the indians--that i drew in among the trees, and waited until the stranger should show himself. "he did so shortly after. "you may judge of my surprise when, instead of a stranger, i saw the man from whom i had so lately parted in anger. when i say anger, i don't speak of myself--only him. "was he still in the same temper? had he been only restrained by the presence of his sister from attacking me? relieved of this, had he come after me to demand satisfaction for the injury he supposed her to have sustained? "gentlemen of the jury! i shall not deny, that this was the impression on my mind when i saw who it was. "i was determined there should be no concealment--no cowardly shrinking on my part. i was not conscious of having committed crime. true i had met his sister clandestinely; but that was the fault of others--not mine--not hers. i loved her with a pure honest passion, and with my whole heart. i am not afraid to confess it. in the same way i love her still!" louise poindexter, seated in her carriage behind the outer circle of spectators, is not so distant from the speaker, nor are the curtains so closely drawn, but that she can hear every word passing from his lips. despite the sadness of her heart, a gleam of joy irradiates her countenance, as she listens to the daring declaration. it is but the echo of her own; and the glow that comes quickly to her cheeks is not shame, but the expression of a proud triumph. she makes no attempt to conceal it. rather does she appear ready to spring up from her seat, rush towards the man who is being tried for the murder of her brother, and with the _abandon_ that love alone can impart, bid defiance to the boldest of his accusers! if the signs of sorrow soon reappear, they are no longer to be traced to jealousy. those sweet ravings are well remembered, and can now be trusted as truth. they are confirmed by the confession of restored reason--by the avowal of a man who may be standing on the stoup of death, and can have no earthly motive for a deception such as that! chapter ninety. a court quickly cleared. if the last speech has given satisfaction to louise poindexter, there are few who share it with her. upon most of the spectators it has produced an impression of a totally different character. it is one of the saddest traits of our ignoble nature; to feel pain in contemplating a love we cannot share--more especially when exhibited in the shape of a grand absorbing passion. the thing is not so difficult of explanation. _we_ know that he, or she, thus sweetly possessed, can feel no interest in ourselves. it is but the old story of self-esteem, stung by the thought of indifference. even some of the spectators unaffected by the charms of the beautiful creole, cannot restrain themselves from a certain feeling of envy; while others more deeply interested feel chagrined to the heart's core, by what they are pleased to designate an impudent avowal! if the story of the accused contains no better proofs of his innocence it were better untold. so far, it has but helped his accusers by exciting the antipathy of those who would have been otherwise neutral. once more there is a murmuring among the men, and a movement among the rowdies who stand near calhoun. again seems maurice gerald in danger of being seized by a lawless mob, and hanged without farther hearing! the danger exists only in seeming. once more the major glances significantly towards his well-trained troop; the judge in an authoritative voice commands "silence in the court!" the clamouring is subdued; and the prisoner is permitted to proceed. he continues his recital:-- "on seeing who it was, i rode out from among the trees, and reined up before him. "there was light enough for him to see who i was; and he at once recognised me. "instead of the angry scene i expected--perhaps had reason to expect--i was joyfully surprised by his reception of me. his first words were to ask if i would forgive him for what he had said to me--at the same time holding out his hand in the most frank and friendly manner. "need i tell you that i took that hand? or how heartily i pressed it? i knew it to be a true one; more than that, i had a hope it might one day be the hand of a brother. "it was the last time, but one, i ever grasped it alive. the last was shortly after--when we bade each other good night, and parted upon the path. i had no thought it was to be for ever. "gentlemen of the jury! you do not wish me to take up your time with the conversation that occurred between us? it was upon matters that have nothing to do with this trial. "we rode together for a short distance; and then drew up under the shadow of a tree. "cigars were exchanged, and smoked; and there was another exchange--the more closely to cement the good understanding established between us. it consisted of our hats and cloaks. "it was a whim of the moment suggested by myself--from a fashion i had been accustomed to among the comanches. i gave henry poindexter my mexican sombrero and striped blanket--taking his cloth cloak and panama hat. "we then parted--he riding away, myself remaining. "i can give no reason why i stayed upon the spot; unless that i liked it, from being the scene of our reconciliation--by me so little looked for and so much desired. "i no longer cared for going on to the alamo that night. i was happy enough to stay under the tree; and, dismounting, i staked out my horse; wrapped myself up in the cloak; and with the hat upon my head, lay down upon the grass. "in three seconds i was asleep. "it was rare for sleep to come on me so readily. half an hour before, and the thing would have been impossible. i can only account for the change by the feeling of contentment that was upon me--after the unpleasant excitement through which i had passed. "my slumbers could not have been very sound; nor were they long undisturbed. "i could not have been unconscious for more than two minutes, when a sound awoke me. it was the report of a gun. "i was not quite sure of its being this. i only fancied that it was. "my horse seemed to know better than i. as i looked up, he was standing with ears erect, snorting, as if he had been fired at! "i sprang to my feet, and stood listening. "but as i could hear nothing more, and the mustang soon quieted down, i came to the conclusion that we had both been mistaken. the horse had heard the footsteps of some straying animal; and that which struck upon my ear might have been the snapping of a branch broken by its passage through the thicket; or perhaps one of the many mysterious sounds-- mysterious, because unexplained--often heard in the recesses of the chapparal. "dismissing the thing from my mind, i again lay down along the grass; and once more fell asleep. "this time i was not awakened until the raw air of the morning began to chill me through the cloak. "it was not pleasant to stay longer under the tree; and, recovering my horse, i was about to continue my journey. "but the shot seemed still ringing in my ears--even louder than i had heard it while half asleep! "it appeared, too, to be in the direction in which henry poindexter had gone. "fancy or no fancy, i could not help connecting it with him; nor yet resist the temptation to go back that way and seek for an explanation of it. "i did not go far till i found it. oh, heavens! what a sight! "i saw--" "_the headless horseman_!" exclaims a voice from the outer circle of the spectators, causing one and all to turn suddenly in that direction. "_the headless horseman_!" respond fifty others, in a simultaneous shout. is it mockery, this seeming contempt of court? there is no one who takes it in this sense; for by this time every individual in the assemblage has become acquainted with the cause of the interruption. it is the headless horseman himself seen out upon the open plain, in all his fearful shape! "yonder he goes--yonder! yonder!" "no, he's coming this way! see! he's making straight for the fort!" the latest assertion seems the truer; but only for an instant. as if to contradict it, the strange equestrian makes a sudden pause upon the prairie, and stands eyeing the crowd gathered around the tree. then, apparently not liking the looks of what is before him, the horse gives utterance to his dislike with a loud snort, followed by a still louder neighing. the intense interest excited by the confession of the accused is for the time eclipsed. there is a universal impression that, in the spectral form thus opportunely presenting itself, will be found the explanation of all that has occurred. three-fourths of the spectators forsake the spot, and rush towards their horses. even the jurymen are not exempt from taking part in the general _debandade_, and at least six out of the twelve go scattering off to join in the chase of the headless horseman. the latter has paused only for an instant--just long enough to scan the crowd of men and horses now moving towards him. then repeating his wild "whigher," he wheels round, and goes off at full speed--followed by a thick clump of shouting pursuers! chapter ninety one. a chase through a thicket. the chase leads straight across the prairie--towards the tract of chapparal, ten miles distant. before reaching it, the ruck of riders becomes thinned to a straggling line--one after another falling off,--as their horses become blown by the long sweltering gallop. but few get within sight of the thicket; and only two enter it, in anything like close proximity to the escaping horseman; who, without making halt, plunges into the timber. the pursuer nearest him is mounted upon a grey mustang; which is being urged to its utmost speed by whip, spur, and voice. the one coming after--but with a long interval between--is a tall man in a slouched hat and blanket coat, bestriding a rawboned roadster, that no one would suspect to be capable of such speed. it is procured not by whip, spur, and voice; but by the more cruel prompting of a knife-blade held in the rider's hand, and at intervals silently applied to the animal's spine, just behind the croup. the two men, thus leading the chase, are cassius calhoun and zeb stump. the swiftness of the grey mustang has given calhoun the advantage; aided by a determination to be in at the death--as if some desperate necessity required it. the old hunter appears equally determined. instead of being contented to proceed at his usual gait, and trusting to his skill as a tracker, he seems aiming to keep the other in sight--as if a like stern necessity was prompting him to do so. in a short time both have entered the chapparal, and are lost to the eyes of those riding less resolutely behind. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ on through the thicket rush the three horsemen; not in a straight line, but along the lists and cattle tracks--now direct, now in sweeping curves, now sharply zigzagging to avoid the obstructions of the timber. on go they, regardless of bush or brake--fearlessly, buffeted by the sharp spines of the cactus, and the stinging thorns of the mezquites. the branches snap and crackle, as they cleave their way between; while the birds, scared by the rude intrusion, fly screaming to some safer roost. a brace of black vultures, who have risen with a croak from their perch upon a scathed branch, soar up into the air. instinct tells them, that a pursuit so impetuous can end only in death. on broad shadowy wings they keep pace with it. it is now a chase in which the pursued has the advantage of the pursuers. he can choose his path; while they have no choice but to follow him. less from having increased the distance, than by the interposition of the trees, he is soon out of sight of both; as each is of the other. no one of the three can see either of the other two; though all are under the eyes of the vultures. out of sight of his pursuers, the advantage of the pursued is greater than ever. he is free to keep on at full speed; while they must submit to the delay of riding along a trail. he can still be followed by the sound of his hoofstrokes ahead, and the swishing of the branches as he breaks through between them; but for all that the foremost of his two pursuers begins to despair. at every turning of the track, he appears to have gained distance; until at length his footfall ceases to be heard. "curse the damned thing!" cries calhoun, with a gesture of chagrin. "it's going to escape me again! not so much matter, if there were nobody after it but myself. but there _is_ this time. that old hell-hound's coming on through the thicket. i saw him as i entered it-- not three hundred yards behind me. "is there no chance of shaking him off? no. he's too good a tracker for that. "by god! _but there is a chance_!" at the profane utterance, the speaker reins up; wrenches his horse half round; and scans the path over which he has just passed. he examines it with the look of one who has conceived a scheme, and is reconnoitring the _terrain_, to see if it will suit. at the same time, his fingers close nervously around his rifle, which he manipulates with a feverish impatience. still is there irresolution in his looks; and he hesitates about throwing himself into a fixed attitude. on reflection the scheme is abandoned. "it won't do!" he mutters. "there's too many of them fellows coming after--some that can track, too? they'd find his carcase, sure,--maybe hear the shot? "no--no. it won't do!" he stays a while longer, listening. there is no sound heard either before or behind--only that overhead made by the soft waving of the vulturine wings. strange, the birds should keep above _him_! "yes--he must be coming on? damn the crooked luck, that the others should be so close after him! but for that, it would have been just the time to put an end to his spying on me! and so easy, too!" not so easy as you think, cassius calhoun; and the birds above--were they gifted with the power of speech--could tell you so. they see zeb stump coming on; but in a fashion to frustrate any scheme for his assassination. it is this that hinders him from being heard. "i'll be in luck, if he should lose the trail!" reflects calhoun, once more turning away. "in any case, i must keep on till it's lost to me: else some of those fools may be more fortunate. "what a fool _i've_ been in wasting so much time. if i don't look sharp, the old hound will be up with me; and then it would be no use if i did get the chance of a shot. hell! that would be worse than all!" freshly spurring the grey mustang, he rides forward--fast as the circuitous track will allow him. two hundred paces further on, and he again comes to a halt--surprise and pleasure simultaneously lighting up his countenance. the headless horseman is in sight, at less than twenty paces' distance! he is not advancing either; but standing among some low bushes that rise only to the flaps of the saddle. his horse's head is down. the animal appears to be browsing upon the bean-pods of the mezquites. at first sight, so thinks calhoun. his rifle is carried quickly to his shoulder, and as quickly brought down again. the horse he intends firing at is no longer at rest, nor is he browsing upon the beans. he has become engaged in a sort of spasmodic struggle--with his head half buried among the bushes! calhoun sees that it is _held_ there, and by the bridle-rein,--that, dragged over the pommel of the saddle, has become entangled around the stem of a mezquite! "caught at last! thank god--thank god!" he can scarce restrain himself from shout of triumph, as he spurs forward to the spot. he is only withheld by the fear of being heard from behind. in another instant, he is by the side of the headless horseman--that spectral shape he has so long vainly pursued! chapter ninety two. a reluctant return. calhoun clutches at the trailing bridle. the horse tries to avoid him, but cannot. his head is secured by the tangled rein; and he can only bound about in a circle, of which his nose is the centre. the rider takes no heed, nor makes any attempt to elude the capture; but sits stiff and mute in the saddle, leaving the horse to continue his "cavortings." after a brief struggle the animal is secured. the captor utters an exclamation of joy. it is suddenly checked, and by a thought. he has not yet fully accomplished his purpose. what is this purpose? it is a secret known only to himself; and the stealthy glance cast around tells, that he has no wish to share it with another. after scanning the selvedge of the thicket, and listening a second or two, he resumes action. a singular action it might appear, to one ignorant of its object. he draws his knife from its sheath; clutches a corner of the serape; raises it above the breast of the headless rider; and then bends towards him, as if intending to plunge the blade into his heart! the arm is uplifted. the blow is not likely to be warded off. for all that it is not struck. it is stayed by a shout sent forth from the chapparal--by the edge of which a man has just made his appearance. the man is zeb stump. "stop that game!" cries the hunter, riding out from the underwood and advancing rapidly through the low bushes; "stop it, durn ye!" "what game?" rejoins the ex-officer with a dismayed look, at the same time stealthily returning his knife to its sheath. "what the devil are you talking about? this brute's got caught by the bridle. i was afraid he might get away again. i was going to cut his damned throat--so as to make sure of him." "ah, thet's what ye're arter. wal, i reck'n thur's no need to cut the critter's throat. we kin skewer it 'ithout thet sort o' bloody bizness. it air the hoss's throat ye mean, i s'pose?" "of course i mean the horse." "in coorse. as for the man, someb'y's dud thet for him arready--_if it be a man_. what do _you_ make o' it, mister cash calhoun?" "damned if i know what to make of it. i haven't had time to get a good look at it. i've just this minute come up. by heaven!" he continues, feigning a grand surprise, "i believe it's the body of a man; and dead!" "thet last air probibble enuf. 'tain't likely he'd be alive wi' no head on his shoulders. thar's none under the blanket, is thar?" "no; i think not. there cannot be?" "lift it a leetle, an see." "i don't like touching it. it's such a cursed queer-looking thing." "durn it, ye wan't so partickler a minnit ago. what's kim over ye now?" "ah!" stammers calhoun, "i was excited with chasing it. i'd got angry at the damned thing, and was determined to put an end to its capers." "never mind then," interposes zeb,--"i'll make a inspecshun o' it. ye-es," he continues, riding nearer, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the strange shape. "ye-es, it's the body o' a man, an no mistake! dead as a buck, an stiff as a hunch o' ven'son in a hard frost!" "hullo!" he exclaims, on raising the skirt of the serape, "it's the body o' the man whose murder's bein' tried--yur own cousin--young peintdexter! it is, by the eturnal god!" "i believe you are right. by heaven it is he!" "geehosophat!" proceeds zeb, after counterfeiting surprise at the discovery, "this air the mysteeriousest thing o' all. wal; i reck'n thur's no use in our stayin' hyur to spek'late upon it. bessest thing we kin do 's to take the body back, jest as it's sot in the seddle-- which it appears putty firm. i know the hoss too; an i reck'n, when he smell my ole maar a bit, he'll kum along 'ithout much coaxin'. gee up, ole gurl! an make yurself know'd to him. thur now! don't ye see it's a preevious acquaintance o' yourn; though sarting the poor critter appears to hev hed rough usage o' late; an ye mout well be excused for not reconisin' him. 'tair some time since he's hed a curry to his skin." while the hunter is speaking, the horse bestridden by the dead body, and the old mare, place their snouts in contact--then withdraw them with a sniff of recognition. "i thort so," exclaims zeb, taking hold of the strayed bridle, and detaching it from the mezquite; "the stellyun's boun to lead quietly enuf--so long as he's in kumpny with the maar. 't all events, 'twon't be needcessary to cut his throat to keep him from runnin' away. now, mister calhoun," he continues, glancing stealthily at the other, to witness the effect produced by his speeches; "don't ye think we'd better start right away? the trial may still be goin' on; an', ef so, we may be wanted to take a part in it. i reck'n thet we've got a witness hyur, as 'll do somethin' torst illoocidatin' the case--either to the hangin' the mowstanger, or, what air more likely, clurrin' him althogither o' the churge. wal, air ye riddy to take the back track?" "oh, certainly. as you say, there's no reason for our remaining here." zeb moves off first, leading the captive alongside of him. the latter makes no resistance; but rather seems satisfied at being conducted in company. calhoun rides slowly--a close observer might say reluctantly in the rear. at a point where the path angles abruptly round a clump of trees, he reins up, and appears to consider whether he should go on, or gallop back. his countenance betrays terrible agitation. zeb stump, admonished by the interrupted footfall, becomes aware that his travelling companion has stopped. he pulls up his mare; and facing round, regards the loiterer with a look of interrogation. he observes the agitated air, and perfectly comprehends its cause. without saying a word, he lowers his long rifle from its rest upon his left shoulder; lays it across the hollow of his arm, ready at an instant's notice to be carried to his cheek. in this attitude he sits eyeing the ex-captain of cavalry. there is no remark made. none is needed. zeb's gesture is sufficient. it plainly says:--"go back if ye dare!" the latter, without appearing to notice it, takes the hint; and moves silently on. but no longer is he permitted to ride in the rear. without saying it, the old hunter has grown suspicious, and makes an excuse for keeping behind--with which his _compagnon du voyage_ is compelled to put up. the cavalcade advances slowly through the chapparal. it approaches the open prairie. at length the sky line comes in sight. something seen upon the distant horizon appears to impress calhoun with a fresh feeling of fear; and, once more reining up, he sits considering. dread is the alternative that occupies his mind. shall he plunge back into the thicket, and hide himself from the eyes of men? or go on and brave the dark storm that is fast gathering around him? he would give all he owns in the world--all that he ever hopes to own-- even louise poindexter herself--to be relieved of the hated presence of zeb stump--to be left for ten minutes alone with the headless horseman! it is not to be. the sleuth-hound, that has followed him thus far, seems more than ever inexorable. though loth to believe it, instinct tells him: that the old hunter regards _him_ as the real captive, and any attempt on his part to steal away, will but end in his receiving a bullet in the back! after all, what can zeb stump say, or do? there is no certainty that the backwoodsman knows anything of the circumstance that is troubling him? and after all, there may be nothing to be known? it is evident that zeb is suspicious. but what of that? only the friendless need fear suspicion; and the ex-officer is not one of these. unless that little tell-tale be discovered, he has nothing to fear; and what chance of its being discovered? one against ten. in all likelihood it stayed not where it was sent, but was lost in the secret recesses of the chapparal? influenced by this hope, calhoun regains courage; and with an air of indifference, more assumed than real, he rides out into the open prairie--close followed by zeb stump on his critter--the dead body of henry poindexter bringing up the rear! chapter ninety three. a body beheaded. forsaken by two-thirds of its spectators--abandoned, by one-half of the jury--the trial taking place under the tree is of necessity interrupted. there is no adjournment of the court--only an interregnum, unavoidable, and therefore tacitly agreed to. the interlude occupies about an hour; during which the judge smokes a couple of cigars; takes about twice that number of drinks from the bottle of peach brandy; chats familiarly with the counsel, the fragment of a jury, and such spectators as, not having horses, or not caring to give them a gallop, have stayed by the tree. there is no difficulty in finding a subject of conversation. that is furnished by the incident that has just transpired--strange enough to be talked about not only for an hour, but an age. the spectators converse of it, while with excited feelings they await the return of those who have started on the chase. they are in hopes that the headless horseman will be captured. they believe that his capture will not only supply a clue to the mystery of his being, but will also throw light on that of the murder. there is one among them who could explain the first--though ignorant of the last. the accused could do this; and will, when called upon to continue his confession. under the direction of the judge, and by the advice of his counsel, he is for the time preserving silence. after a while the pursuers return; not all together, but in straggling squads--as they have despairingly abandoned the pursuit. all bring back the same story. none of them has been near enough to the headless rider to add one iota to what is already known of him. his entity remains mythical as ever! it is soon discovered that two who started in the chase have not reappeared. they are the old hunter and the ex-captain of volunteers. the latter has been last seen heading the field, the former following not far behind him. no one saw either of them afterward. are they still continuing on? perhaps they may have been successful? all eyes turn towards the prairie, and scan it with inquiring glances. there is an expectation that the missing men may be seen on their way back--with a hope that the headless horseman may be along with them. an hour elapses, and there is no sign of them--either with or without the wished-for captive. is the trial to be further postponed? the counsel for the prosecution urges its continuance; while he for the accused is equally desirous of its being delayed. the latter moves an adjournment till to-morrow; his plea the absence of an important witness in the person of zeb stump, who has not yet been examined. there are voices that clamour for the case to be completed. there are paid _claquers_ in the crowd composing a texan court, as in the pit of a parisian theatre. the real tragedy has its supporters, as well as the sham! the clamourers succeed in carrying their point. it is decided to go on with the trial--as much of it as can be got through without the witness who is absent. he may be back before the time comes for calling him. if not, the court can then talk about adjournment. so rules the judge; and the jury signify their assent. the spectators do the same. the prisoner is once more directed to stand up, and continue the confession so unexpectedly interrupted. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "you were about to tell us what you saw," proceeds the counsel for the accused, addressing himself to his client. "go on, and complete your statement. what was it you saw?" "a man lying at full length upon the grass." "asleep?" "yes; in the sleep of death." "dead?" "more than dead; if that were possible. on bending over him, i saw that he had been beheaded!" "what! his head cut off?" "just so. i did not know it, till i knelt down beside him. he was upon his face--with the head in its natural position. even the hat was still on it! "i was in hopes he might be asleep; though i had a presentiment there was something amiss. the arms were extended too stiffly for a sleeping man. so were the legs. besides, there was something red upon the grass, that in the dim light i had not at first seen. "as i stooped low to look at it, i perceived a strange odour--the salt smell that proceeds from human blood. "i no longer doubted that it was a dead body i was bending over; and i set about examining it. "i saw there was a gash at the back of the neck, filled with red, half-coagulated blood. i saw that the head was severed from the shoulders!" a sensation of horror runs through the auditory--accompanied by the exclamatory cries heard on such occasions. "did you know the man?" "alas! yes." "without seeing his face?" "it did not need that. the dress told who it was--too truly." "what dress?" "the striped blanket covering his shoulders and the hat upon his head. they were my own. but for the exchange we had made, i might have fancied it was myself. it was henry poindexter." a groan is again heard--rising above the hum of the excited hearers. "proceed, sir!" directs the examining counsel. "state what other circumstances came under your observation." "on touching the body, i found it cold and stiff. i could see that it had been dead for some length of time. the blood was frozen nearly dry; and had turned black. at least, so it appeared in the grey light: for the sun was not yet up. "i might have mistaken the cause of death, and supposed it to have been by the _beheading_. but, remembering the shot i had heard in the night, it occurred to me that another wound would be found somewhere--in addition to that made by the knife. "it proved that i was right. on turning the body breast upward, i perceived a hole in the serape; that all around the place was saturated with blood. "on lifting it up, and looking underneath, i saw a livid spot just over the breast-bone. i could tell that a bullet had entered there; and as there was no corresponding wound at the back, i knew it must be still inside the body." "in your opinion, was the shot sufficient to have caused death, without the mutilation that, you think, must have been done afterwards?" "most certainly it was. if not instantaneous, in a few minutes--perhaps seconds." "the head was cut off, you say. was it quite severed from the body?" "quite; though it was lying close up--as if neither head nor body had moved after the dismemberment." "was it a clean out--as if done by a sharp-edged weapon?" "it was." "what sort of weapon would you say?" "it looked like the cut of a broad axe; but it might have been done with a bowie-knife; one heavily weighted at the back of the blade." "did you notice whether repeated strokes had been given? or had the severance been effected by a single cut?" "there might have been more than one. but there was no appearance of chopping. the first cut was a clean slash; and must have gone nearly, if not quite, through. it was made from the back of the neck; and at right angles to the spine. from that i knew that the poor fellow must have been down on his face when the stroke was delivered." "had you any suspicion why, or by whom, the foul deed had been done?" "not then, not the slightest. i was so horrified, i could not reflect. i could scarce think it real. "when i became calmer, and saw for certain that a murder had been committed, i could only account for it by supposing that there had been comanches upon the ground, and that, meeting young poindexter, they had killed him out of sheer wantonness. "but then there was his scalp untouched--even the hat still upon his head!" "you changed your mind about its being indians?" "i did." "who did you then think it might be?" "at the time i did not think of any one. i had never heard of henry poindexter having an enemy--either here or elsewhere. i have since had my suspicions. i have them now." "state them." "i object to the line of examination," interposes the prosecuting counsel. "we don't want to be made acquainted with, the prisoner's suspicions. surely it is sufficient if he be allowed to proceed with his _very plausible tale_?" "let him proceed, then," directs the judge, igniting a fresh havannah. "state how you yourself acted," pursues the examiner. "what did you do, after making the observations you have described?" "for some time i scarce knew what to do--i was so perplexed by what i saw beside me. i felt convinced that there had been a murder; and equally so that it had been done by the shot--the same i had heard. "but who could have fired it? not indians. of that i felt sure. "i thought of some _prairie-pirate_, who might have intended plunder. but this was equally improbable. my mexican blanket was worth a hundred dollars. that would have been taken. it was not, nor anything else that poindexter had carried about him. nothing appeared to have been touched. even the watch was still in his waistcoat pocket, with the chain around his neck glistening through the gore that had spurted over it! "i came to the conclusion: that the deed must have been done for the satisfaction of some spite or revenge; and i tried to remember whether i had ever heard of any one having a quarrel with young poindexter, or a grudge against him. "i never had. "besides, why had the head been cut off? "it was this that filled me with astonishment--with horror. "without attempting to explain it, i bethought me of what was best to be done. "to stay by the dead body could serve no purpose. to bury it would have been equally idle. "then i thought of galloping back to the fort, and getting assistance to carry it to casa del corvo. "but if i left it in the chapparal, the coyotes might discover it; and both they and the buzzards would be at it before we could get back. already the vultures were above--taking their early flight. they appeared to have espied it. "mutilated as was the young man's form, i could not think of leaving it, to be made still more so. i thought of the tender eyes that must soon behold it--in tears." chapter ninety four. the mystery made clear. the accused pauses in his recital. no one offers any observation-- either to interrupt, or hurry him on. there is a reluctance to disturb the chain of a narrative, all know to be unfinished; and every link of which has been binding them to a closer and more earnest attention. judge, jury, and spectators remain breathlessly silent; while their eyes--many with mouths agape--are attentively turned upon the prisoner. amidst solemn stillness he is permitted to proceed. "my next idea was to cover the body with the cloak--as well as the serape still around the shoulders. by so doing it would be protected from both wolves and buzzards--at least till we could get back to fetch it away. "i had taken off the cloak for this purpose; when a different plan suggested itself--one that appeared in every way better. "instead of returning to the port alone, i should take the body along with me. i fancied i could do this, by laying it across the croup, and lashing it to the saddle with my lazo. "i led my horse up to the spot, and was preparing to put the body upon him, when i perceived that there was another horse upon the ground. it was that lately ridden by him who was now no more. "the animal was near by, browsing upon the grass--as tranquilly as if nothing had happened to disturb it. "as the bridle trailed upon the ground, i had no difficulty in catching hold of it. there was more in getting the horse to stand still-- especially when brought alongside what lay upon the ground. "holding the reins between my teeth, i lifted the body up, and endeavoured to place it crosswise in the saddle. "i succeeded in getting it there, but it would not remain. it was too stiff to bend over, and there was no way to steady it. "besides, the _horse_ became _greatly excited_, at sight of the strange load he was being called upon to carry. "after several attempts, i saw i could not succeed. "i was about to give up the idea, when another occurred to me--one that promised better. it was suggested by a remembrance of something i had read, relating to the gauchos of south america. when one dies, or is killed by accident, in some remote station of the pampas, his comrades carry his corpse to their distant home--strapped in the saddle, and seated in the same attitude, as though he were still alive. "why should i not do the same with the body of henry poindexter? "i made the attempt--first trying to set him on his own horse. "but the saddle being a flat one, and the animal still remaining restive, i did not succeed. "there was but one other chance of our making the home journey together: by exchanging horses. "i knew that my own would not object. besides, my mexican saddle, with its deep tree, would answer admirably for the purpose. "in a short while i had the body in it, seated erect,--in the natural position. its stiffness, that had obstructed me before, now served to keep it in its place. the rigid limbs were easily drawn into the proper stride; and with the feet inserted into the stirrups, and the water-guards buckled tightly over the thighs, there was little chance of the body slipping off. "to make it thoroughly secure, i cut a length from my lazo; and, warping it round the waist, fastened one end to the pommel in front, the other to the cantle behind. "a separate piece tied to the stirrups, and passing under the belly of the horse, kept the feet from swinging about. "the head still remained to be dealt with. it too must be taken along. "on lifting it from the ground, and endeavouring to detach it from the hat, i found that this could not be done. it was swollen to enormous dimensions; and the sombrero adhered to it--close as the skin itself. "having no fear that they would fall apart, i tied a piece of string to the buckle of the band; and hung both hat and head over the horn of the saddle. "this completed my preparations for the journey. "i mounted the horse of the murdered man; and, calling upon my own to follow me--he was accustomed to do so without leading--i started to ride back to the settlement. "in less than five minutes after, i was knocked out of my saddle--and my senses at the same time. "but for that circumstance i should not be standing here,--at all events, not in the unpleasant position i now hold." "knocked out of your saddle!" exclaims the judge. "how was that?" "a simple accident; or rather was it due to my own carelessness. on mounting the strange horse i neglected to take hold of the bridle. accustomed to guide my own--often with only my voice and knees--i had grown regardless of the reins. i did not anticipate an occurrence of the kind that followed. "the horse i was on, had only stopped three lengths of itself, from the place where i had bestridden him, when something caused him to shy to one side, and break into a gallop. "i need not say _something_; for i knew what it was. he had looked round, and seen the other coming on behind, with that strange shape upon his back, that now in the broad light of day was enough to frighten horse or man. "i clutched at the bridle; but, before i could lay my hand upon it, the horse was at his full speed. "at first i was but little alarmed; indeed not at all. i supposed i should soon recover the reins, and bring the runaway to a stand. "but i soon found this could not be so easily done. they had strayed forward, almost to the animal's ears; and i could not reach them, without laying myself flat along the neck. "while endeavouring to secure the bridle, i took no heed of the direction in which the horse was taking me. it was only when i felt a sharp twitching against my cheeks, that i discovered he had forsaken the open tract, and was carrying me through the chapparal. "after that i had no time to make observations--no chance even to look after the lost reins. i was enough occupied in dodging the branches of the mezquites, that stretched out their spinous arms as if desiring to drag me from the saddle. "i managed to steer clear of them, though not without getting scratches. "but there was one i could not avoid--the limb of a large tree that projected across the path. it was low down--on a level with my breast-- and the brute, shying from something that had given him a fresh start, shot right under it. "where he went afterwards i do not attempt to say. you all know that--i believe, better than i. i can only tell you, that, after unhorsing, he left me under the limb, with a lump upon my forehead and a painful swelling in the knee; neither of which i knew anything about till two hours afterwards. "when my senses came back to me, i saw the sun high up in the heavens, and some scores of turkey buzzards wheeling in circles above me. i could tell by the craning of their necks what was the prey they were expecting. "the sight of them, as well as my thirst--that was beginning to grow painful--prompted me to move away from the place. "on rising to my feet, i discovered that i could not walk. worse still, i was scarce able to stand. "to stay on that spot was to perish--at least i so thought at the time. "urged by the thought, i exerted all the strength left me, in an effort to reach water. "i knew there was a stream near by; and partly by crawling,--partly by the help of a rude crutch procured in the thicket--i succeeded in reaching it. "having satisfied my thirst, i felt refreshed; and soon after fell asleep. "i awoke to find myself surrounded by coyotes. "there were at least two score of them; and although at first i had no fear--knowing their cowardly nature--i was soon brought to a different way of thinking. "they saw that i was disabled; and for this reason had determined upon attacking me. "after a time they did so--clustering around and springing upon me in a simultaneous onslaught. "i had no weapon but my knife; and it was fortunate i had that. altogether unarmed, i must have been torn to pieces, and devoured. "with the knife i was able to keep them off, stabbing as many as i could get a fair stroke at. half-a-dozen, i should think, were killed in this way. "for all that it would have ended ill for me. i was becoming enfeebled by the blood fast pouring from my veins, and must soon have succumbed, but for an unexpected chance that turned up in my favour. "i can scarce call it chance. i am more satisfied, to think it was the hand of god." on pronouncing this speech the young irishman turns his eyes towards heaven, and stands for a time as if reflecting reverentially. solemn silence around tells that the attitude is respected. the hearts of all, even the rudest of his listeners, seem touched with the confidence so expressed. "it showed itself," he continues, "in the shape of an old comrade--one ofttimes more faithful than man himself--my staghound, tara. "the dog had been straying--perhaps in search of me--though i've since heard a different explanation of it, with which i need not trouble you. at all events, he found me; and just in time to be my rescuer. "the coyotes scattered at his approach; and i was saved from a fearful fate--i may say, out of the jaws of death. "i had another spell of sleep, or unconsciousness--whichever it may have been. "on awaking i was able to reflect. i knew that the dog must have come from my jacale; which i also knew to be several miles distant. he had been taken thither, the day before, by my servant, phelim. "the man should still be there; and i bethought me of sending him a message--the staghound to be its bearer. "i wrote some words on a card, which i chanced to have about me. "i was aware that my servant could not read; but on seeing the card he would recognise it as mine, and seek some one who could decipher what i had written upon it. "there would be the more likelihood of his doing so, seeing that the characters were traced in blood. "wrapping the card in a piece of buckskin, to secure it against being destroyed, i attached it to tara's neck. "with some difficulty i succeeded in getting the animal to leave me. but he did so at length; and, as i had hoped, to go home to the hut. "it appears that my message was duly carried; though it was only yesterday i was made acquainted with the result. "shortly after the dog took his departure, i once more fell asleep-- again awaking to find myself in the presence of an enemy--one more terrible than i had yet encountered. "it was a jaguar. "a conflict came off between us; but how it ended, or after what time, i am unable to tell. i leave that to my brave rescuer, zeb stump; who, i hope, will soon return to give an account of it--with much besides that is yet mysterious to me, as to yourselves. "all i can remember since then is a series of incongruous dreams-- painful phantasmagoria--mingled with pleasant visions--ah! some that were celestial--until the day before yesterday, when i awoke to find myself the inmate of a prison--with a charge of murder hanging over my head! "gentlemen of the jury! i have done." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "_si non vero e ben trovato_," is the reflection of judge, jury, and spectators, as the prisoner completes his recital. they may not express it in such well-turned phrase; but they feel it-- one and all of them. and not a few believe in the truth, and reject the thought of contrivance. the tale is too simple--too circumstantial--to have been contrived, and by a man whose brain is but just recovered from the confusion of fevered fancies. it is altogether improbable he should have concocted such a story. so think the majority of those to whom it has been told. his confession--irregular as it may have been--has done more for his defence than the most eloquent speech his counsel could have delivered. still it is but his own tale; and other testimony will be required to clear him. where is the witness upon whom so much is supposed to depend. where is zeb stump? five hundred pairs of eyes turn towards the prairie, and scan the horizon with inquiring gaze. five hundred hearts throb with a mad impatience for the return of the old hunter--with or without cassius calhoun--with or without the headless horse, man--now no longer either myth or mystery, but a natural phenomenon, explained and comprehended. it is not necessary to say to that assemblage, that the thing is an improbability--much less to pronounce it impossible. they are texans of the south-west--denizens of the high upland plateau, bordering upon the "staked plain," from which springs the lovely leona, and where the river of nuts heads in a hundred crystal streams. they are dwellers in a land, where death can scarce be said to have its successor in decay; where the stag struck down in its tracks--or the wild steed succumbing to some hapless chance--unless by wild beasts devoured, will, after a time, bid defiance both to the laws of corruption and the teeth of the coyote; where the corpse of mortal man himself, left uncoffined and uncovered, will, in the short period of eight-and-forty hours, exhibit the signs, and partake of the qualities, of a mummy freshly exhumed from the catacombs of egypt! but few upon the ground who are not acquainted with this peculiarity of the texan climate--that section of it close to the sierra madro--and more especially among the spurs of the llano estacado. should the headless horseman be led back under the live oak, there is not one who will be surprised to see the dead body of henry poindexter scarce showing the incipient signs of decomposition. if there be any incredulity about the story just told them, it is not on this account; and they stand in impatient expectation, not because they require it to be confirmed. their impatience may be traced to a different cause--a suspicion, awakened at an early period of the trial, and which, during its progress, has been gradually growing stronger; until it has at length assumed almost the shape of a belief. it is to confirm, or dissipate this, that nearly every man upon the ground--every woman as well--chafes at the absence of that witness, whose testimony is expected to restore the accused to his liberty, or consign him to the gallows tree. under such an impression, they stand interrogating the level line--where sky and savannah mingle the soft blue of the sapphire with the vivid green of the emerald. chapter ninety five. the last witness. the watchful air is kept up for a period of full ten minutes, and along with it the solemn silence. the latter is at intervals interrupted by a word or exclamation--when some one sees, or fancies, a spot upon the prairie. then there is a buzz of excitement; and men stand on tiptoe to obtain a better view. thrice is the crowd stirred by warnings that have proved false. its patience is becoming exhausted, when a fourth salutes the ear, spoken in a louder voice and more confident tone. this time the tale is true. there are shadows upon the skyline--shadows fast assuming shape, substance, and motion. a wild shout--the old saxon "huzza," swells up among the branches of the live oak, as the figures of three horsemen emerging from the film of the sun-parched prairie are seen coming in the direction of the tree! two of them are easily recognised, as zeb stump and cassius calhoun. the third still more easily: for far as eye can see, that fantastic form cannot be mistaken. the first cry of the crowd, which but signalled the return of the two men, is followed by another, yet more significant--when it is seen that they are accompanied by a creature, so long the theme of weird thoughts, and strange conjecturings. though its nature is now known, and its cause understood still is it regarded with feelings akin to awe. the shout is succeeded by an interregnum of silence--unbroken, till the three horsemen have come close up; and then only by a hum of whisperings, as if the thoughts of the spectators are too solemn to be spoken aloud. many go forward to meet the approaching cortege; and with wondering gaze accompany it back upon the ground. the trio of equestrians comes to a halt outside the circle of spectators; which soon changes centre, closing excitedly around them. two of them dismount; the third remains seated in the saddle. calhoun, leading his horse to one side, becomes commingled with the crowd. in the presence of such a companion, he is no longer thought of. all eyes, as well as thoughts, dwell upon the headless horseman. zeb stump, abandoning the old mare, takes hold of his bridle-rein, and conducts him under the tree--into the presence of the court. "now, judge!" says he, speaking as one who has command of the situation, "an' you twelve o' the jury! hyur's a witness as air likely to let a glimp o' daylight into yur dulliberashuns. what say ye to examinin' _him_?" an exclamation is heard, followed by the words, "o god, it is he!" a tall man staggers forward, and stands by the side of the headless horseman. _it is his father_! a cry proceeds from a more distant point--a scream suddenly suppressed, as if uttered by a woman before swooning. _it is his sister_! after a time, woodley poindexter is led away--unresisting,--apparently unconscious of what is going on around him. he is conducted to a carriage drawn up at a distance, and placed upon a seat beside its only occupant--his daughter. but the carriage keeps its place. she who commands the check-string intends to stay there, till the court has declared its sentence--ay, till the hour of execution, if that is to be the end! zeb stump is officially directed to take his place in the "witness-box." by order of the judge, the examination proceeds--under direction of the counsel for the accused. many formalities are dispensed with. the old hunter, who has been already sworn, is simply called to tell what he knows of the affair; and left to take his own way in the telling it; which he does in curt phrases--as if under the belief that such is required by the technicalities of the law! after the following fashion does zeb proceed:-- "fust heerd o' this ugly bizness on the second day arter young peint war missin'. heerd on it as i war reeturnin' from a huntin' spell down the river. heerd thar wur a suspeeshun 'beout the mowstanger hevin' kermitted the murder. knowd he wan't the man to do sech; but, to be saterfied, rud out to his shanty to see him. he wan't at home, though his man pheelum war; so skeeart 'beout one thing an the tother he ked gie no clur account o' anythin'. "wal, whiles we war palaverin', in kim the dog, wi' somethin' tied roun' his neck--the which, on bein' 'zamined, proved to be the mowstanger's curd. thur war words on it; wrote in red ink, which i seed to be blood. "them words tolt to whosomedever shed read 'em, whar the young fellur war to be foun'. "i went thar, takin' the other two--thet air pheelum an the houn'--along wi' me. "we got to the groun' jest in time to save the mowstanger from hevin' his guts clawed out by one o' them ere spotted painters--the mexikins call tigers--tho' i've heern the young fellur hisself gie 'em the name o' jug-wars. "i put a bullet through the brute; an thet wur the eend o' it. "wal, we tuk the mowstanger to his shanty. we hed to toat him thar on a sort o' streetcher; seein' as he wan't able to make trades o' hisself. beside, he wur as much out o' his senses as a turkey gobber at treadin' time. "we got him hum; an thur he stayed, till the sarchers kim to the shanty an foun' him." the witness makes pause: as if pondering within himself, whether he should relate the series of extraordinary incidents that took place during his stay at the jacale. would it be for the benefit of the accused to leave them untold? he resolves to be reticent. this does not suit the counsel for the prosecution, who proceeds to cross-examine him. it results in his having to give a full and particular account of everything that occurred--up to the time of the prisoner being taken out of his hands, and incarcerated in the guard-house. "now," says he, as soon as the cross-questioning comes to a close, "since ye've made me tell all i know 'beout thet part o' the bizness, thur's somethin' ye haint thought o' askin', an the which this child's boun' to make a clean breast o'." "proceed, mr stump!" says he of san antonio, entrusted with the direct examination. "wal, what i'm goin' to say now haint so much to do wi' the prisoner at the bar, as wi' a man thet in my opeenyun oughter be stannin' in his place. i won't say who thet man air. i'll tell ye what i know, an hev foun' out, an then you o' the jury may reckon it up for yurselves." the old hunter makes pause, drawing a long breath--as if to prepare himself for a full spell of confession. no one attempts either to interrupt or urge him on. there is an impression that he can unravel the mystery of the murder. that of the headless horseman no longer needs unravelling. "wal, fellur citizens!" continues zeb, assuming a changed style of apostrophe, "arter what i heerd, an more especially what i seed, i knowd that poor young peint wur gone under--struck down in his tracks--wiped out o' the world. "i knowd equally well thet he who did the cowardly deed wan't, an kedn't be, the mowstanger--maurice gerald. "who war it, then? thet war the questyun thet bamboozled me, as it's done the rest o' ye--them as haint made up thur minds 'ithout reflekshun. "wal; thinkin' as i did that the irish wur innocent, i bekim detarmined to diskiver the truth. i ain't goin' to say thet appearances wan't agin him. they wur dog-gonedly agin him. "for all thet, i wan't goin' to rely on them; an so i tuk purayra to hev a squint at the sign. "i knowd thur must be hoss-tracks leadin' to the place, an hoss tracks goin' from it; an damn 'em! thur wur too many o' 'em, goin' everywhur-- else the thing mout a been eezy enough. "but thar wur one partickler set i'd got a _down_ upon; an them i detarmined to foller up to the eend o' creashun. "they war the footmarks o' an amerikin hoss, hevin' three shoes to the good, an a fourth wi' a bit broken off the eend o' it. this hyur's the eyedentikul piece o' iron!" the witness draws his hand from the pocket of his blanket coat, in which it has been some time buried. in the fingers are seen the shoe of a horse, only three quarters complete. he holds it on high--enough for judge, jury, and spectators to see what it is. "now, mr judge," he continues, "an' you o' the jury, the hoss that carried this shoe went acrosst the purayra the same night thet the murder war committed. he went arter the man thet air murdered, as well as him thet stans thar accused o' it. he went right upon the track o' both, an stopped short o' the place whur the crime wur committed. "but the man that rud him didn't stop short. he kep on till he war clost up to the bloody spot; an it war through him it arterwards bekim bloody. it war the third hoss--him wi' the broken shoe--thet carried the murderer!" "go on, mr stump!" directs the judge. "explain what you mean by this extraordinary statement." "what i mean, judge, air jest this. the man i'm speakin' o' tuk stan' in the thicket, from which stan' he fired the shet thet killed poor young peintdexter." "what man? who was it? his name! give his name!" simultaneously interrogate twenty voices. "i reckon yu'll find it thar." "where?" "whar! in thet thur body as sits 'ithout a head, lookin' dumbly down on ye! "ye kin all see," continues the witness, pointing to the silent shape, "ye kin all see a red patch on the breast o' the striped blanket. thur's a hole in the centre o' it. ahint that hole i reck'n thur'll be another, in the young fellur's karkidge. thar don't appear any to match it at the back. thurfor i konklude, thet the bullet as did his bizness air still inside o' him. s'posin' we strip off his duds, an see!" there is a tacit consent to this proposition of the witness. two or three of the spectators--sam manly one of them--step forward; and with due solemnity proceed to remove the serape. as at the inauguration of a statue--whose once living original has won the right of such commemoration--the spectators stand in respectful silence at its uncovering, so stand they under the texan tree, while the serape is being raised from the shoulders of the headless horseman. it is a silence solemn, profound, unbroken even by whispers. these are heard only after the unrobing is complete, and the dead body becomes revealed to the gaze of the assemblage. it is dressed in a blouse of sky-blue _cottonade_--box plaited at the breast, and close buttoned to the throat. the limbs are encased in a cloth of the like colour, with a lighter stripe along the seams. but only the thighs can be seen--the lower extremities being concealed by the "water-guards" of spotted skin tightly stretched over them. around the waist--twice twined around it--is a piece of plaited rope, the strands of horse's hair. before and behind, it is fastened to the projections of the high-peaked saddle. by it is the body retained in its upright attitude. it is further stayed by a section of the same rope, attached to the stirrups, and traversing--surcingle fashion--under the belly of the horse. everything as the accused has stated--all except the head. where is this? the spectators do not stay to inquire. guided by the speech of zeb stump, their eyes are directed towards the body, carefully scrutinising it. two bullet holes are seen; one over the region of the heart; the other piercing the breast-bone just above the abdomen. it is upon this last that the gaze becomes concentrated: since around its orifice appears a circle of blood with streams straying downward. these have saturated the soft _cottonade_--now seemingly desiccated. the other shot-hole shows no similar signs. it is a clear round cut in the cloth--about big enough for a pea to have passed through, and scarce discernible at the distance. there is no blood stain around it. "_it_," says zeb stump, pointing to the smaller, "it signifies nothin'. it's the bullet i fired myself out o' the gully; the same i've ben tellin' ye o'. ye obsarve thar's no blood abeout it: which prove thet it wur a dead body when it penetrated. the other air different. it wur the shot as settled him; an ef i ain't dog-gonedly mistaken, ye'll find the bit o' lead still inside o' the corp. suppose ye make a incizyun, an see!" the proposal meets with no opposition. on the contrary, the judge directs it to be done as zeb has suggested. the stays, both fore and back, are unloosed; the water-guards unbuckled; and the body is lifted out of the saddle. it feels stark and stiff to those who take part in the unpacking,--the arms and limbs as rigid as if they had become fossilised. the lightness tells of desiccation: for its specific gravity scarce exceeds that of a mummy! with respectful carefulness it is laid at full length along the grass. the operators stoop silently over it--sam manly acting as the chief. directed by the judge, he makes an incision around the wound--that with the circle of extravasated blood. the dissection is carried through the ribs, to the lungs underneath. in the left lobe is discovered the thing searched for. something firmer than flesh is touched by the probe--the point of a bowie-knife. it has the feel of a leaden bullet. it is one! it is extracted; rubbed clean of its crimson coating; and submitted to the examination of the jury. despite the abrasion caused by the spirally-grooved bore of the barrel-- despite an indentation where it came in contact with a creased rib-- there is still discernible the outlines of a stamped crescent, and the letters c.c. oh! those tell-tale initials! there are some looking on who remember to have heard of them before. some who can testify to that boast about a marked bullet--when the killing of the jaguar was contested! he who made that boast has now reason to regret it! "but where is he?" the question is beginning to be asked. "what's your explanation, mr stump?" is another question put by the counsel for the accused. "don't need much, i reck'n," is the reply. "he'd be a durnationed greenhorn as can't see, clur as the light o' day, thet young peint war plugged by thet ere bullet." "by whom fired, do you think?" "wal; thet appear to be eeqully clur. when a man signs his name to a message, thar's no chance o' mistakin' who it kums from. thar's only the ineeshuls thur; but they're plain enuf, i reck'n, an speak for theirselves." "i see nothing in all this," interposes the prosecuting counsel. "there's a marked bullet, it is true--with a symbol and certain letters, which may, or may not, belong to a gentleman well known in the settlement. for the sake of argument, let us suppose them to be his--as also the ball before us. what of that? it wouldn't be the first time that a murder has been committed--by one who has first stolen his weapon, and then used it to accomplish the deed. it is but a piece of ordinary cunning--a common trick. who can say that this is not something of the same sort?" "besides," continues the specious pleader, "where is the motive for a murder such as this would be--supposing it to have been committed by the man you are now called upon to suspect? without mentioning names, we all know to whom these initials belong. i don't suppose the gentleman will deny that they are his. but that signifies nothing: since there is no other circumstance to connect him in any way with the committal of the crime." "ain't thar though?" asks stump, who has been impatiently awaiting the wind up of the lawyer's speech. "what do ye call this?" zeb, on delivering himself, takes from his tinder-pouch a piece of paper--crumpled--scorched along the edges--and blackened as with gunpowder. "this i foun'," says he, surrendering it to the jury, "stuck fast on the thorn o' a muskeet tree, whar it hed been blowed out o' the barrel o' a gun. it kim out o' the same gun as discharged thet bullet--to which it hed served for waddin'. as this chile takes it, it's bin the backin' o' a letter. thur's a name on it, which hev a kewrious correspondings wi' the ineeshuls on the bit o' lead. the jury kin read the name for tharselves." the foreman takes the scrap of paper; and, smoothing out the creases, reads aloud:-- captain cassius calhoun! chapter ninety six. stole away! the announcement of the name produces a vivid impression upon the court. it is accompanied by a cry--sent up by the spectators, with a simultaneity that proclaims them animated by a common sentiment. it is not a cry of surprise; but one of far different augury. it has a double meaning, too: at once proclaiming the innocence of the accused, and the guilt of him who has been the most zealous amongst the accusers. against the latter, the testimony of zeb stump has done more than direct suspicion. it confirms that already aroused; and which has been growing stronger, as fact after fact has been unfolded: until the belief becomes universal: that maurice gerald is not the man who should be on trial for the murder of henry poindexter. equally is it believed that calhoun is the man. the scrap of smeared paper has furnished the last link in the chain of evidence; and, though this is but circumstantial, and the motive an inconceivable mystery, there is now scarce any one who has a doubt about the doer of the deed. after a short time spent in examining the envelope--passed from hand to hand among the jurymen--the witness who has hinted at having something more to tell, is directed to continue his narration. he proceeds to give an account of his suspicions--those that originally prompted him to seek for "sign" upon the prairie. he tells of the shot fired by calhoun from the copse; of the chase that succeeded; and the horse trade that came after. last of all, he describes the scene in the chapparal, where the headless horseman has been caught--giving this latest episode in all its details, with his own interpretation of it. this done, he makes a pause, and stands silent, as if awaiting the court to question him. but the eyes of the auditory are no longer fixed upon him. they know that his tale is completed; or, if not so, they need no further testimony to guide their conclusions. they do not even stay for the deliberations of the court, now proceeding to sift the evidence. its action is too slow for men who have seen justice so near being duped--themselves along with it; and--swayed by a bitter reactionary spirit--revenge, proceeding from self-reproach--they call loudly for a change in the programme. the court is assailed with the cries:-- "let the irishman go--he is innocent! we don't want any farther evidence. we're convinced of it. let him go free!" such is the talk that proceeds from the excited spectators. it is followed by other speeches equally earnest:-- "let cassius calhoun be arrested, and put upon his trial! it's he that's done the deed! that's why he's shown so bitter against the other! if he's innocent, he'll be able to prove it. he shall have a fair trial; but tried he shall be. come, judge; we're waiting upon you! order mr calhoun to be brought before the court. an innocent man's been there long enough. let the guilty take his place!" the demand, at first made by some half dozen voices, soon becomes a clamour, universally endorsed by the assemblage. the judge dares not refuse compliance with a proposal so energetically urged: and, despite the informality, cassius calhoun is called upon to come before the court. the summons of the crier, thrice loudly pronounced, receives no response; and all eyes go in search of calhoun. there is only one pair that looks in the right direction--those of zeb stump. the _ci-devant_ witness is seen suddenly to forsake the spot on which he has been giving his testimony, and glide towards his old mare--still alongside the horse late relieved of his ghastly rider. with an agility that surprises every one, the old hunter springs upon the mare's back, and spurs her from under the tree. at the same instant the spectators catch sight of a man, moving among the horses that stand picketed over the plain. though proceeding stealthily, as if to avoid being observed, he moves at a rapid rate--making for a particular quarter of the _cavallada_. "'tis he! 'tis calhoun!" cries the voice of one who has recognised him. "trying to steal off!" proclaims another. "follow him!" shouts the judge, in a tone of stern command. "follow, and bring him back!" there is no need for the order to be repeated. ere the words are well out, it is in the act of being obeyed--by scores of men who rush simultaneously towards their horses. before reaching them, calhoun has reached his--a grey mustang, standing on the outskirts of the _cavallada_. it is the same he has lately ridden in chase of the headless horseman. the saddle is still upon its back, and the bitt between its teeth. from the commotion observable under the tree, and the shouting that accompanies it, he has become cognisant of that terrible signal--the "hue and cry." concealment is no longer possible; and, changing from the stealthy pace to a quick earnest run, he bounds upon the animal's back. giving a wild glance backward, he heads it towards the prairie--going off at a gallop. fifty horses are soon laid along his track--their riders roused to the wildest excitement by some words pronounced at their parting. "bring him back--dead or alive!" was the solemn phrase,--supposed to have been spoken by the major. no matter by whom. it needs not the stamp of official warrant to stimulate the pursuers. their horror of the foul deed is sufficient for this--coupled with the high respect in which the victim of it had been held. each man spurs onward, as if riding to avenge the death of a relative--a brother; as if each was himself eager to become an instrument in the execution of justice! never before has the ex-captain of cavalry been in such danger of his life; not while charging over the red battle-field of buena vista; not while stretched upon the sanded floor of oberdoffer's bar-room, with the muzzle of the mustanger's pistol pointed at his head! he knows as much; and, knowing it, spurs on at a fearful pace--at intervals casting behind a glance, quick, furtive, and fierce. it is not a look of despair. it has not yet come to this; though at sight of such a following--within hearing of their harsh vengeful cries--one might wonder he could entertain the shadow of a hope. he has. he knows that he is mounted on a fleet horse, and that there is a tract of timber before him. true, it is nearly ten miles distant. but what signify ten miles? he is riding at the rate of twenty to the hour; and in half an hour he may find shelter in the chapparal? is this the thought that sustains him? it can scarce be. concealment in the thicket--with half a score of skilled trackers in pursuit--zeb stump at their head! no: it cannot be this. there is no hiding-place for him; and he knows it. what, then, hinders him from sinking under despair, and at once resigning himself to what must be his ultimate destiny? is it the mere instinct of the animal, giving way to a blind unreasoning effort at impossible escape? nothing of the kind. the murderer of henry poindexter is not mad. in his attempt to elude the justice he now dreads, he is not trusting to such slender chances as either a quick gallop across the prairie, or a possible concealment in the timber beyond. there is a still farther beyond--a _border_. upon this his thoughts are dwelling, and his hopes have become fixed. there are, indeed, two _borders_. one that separates two nations termed civilised. there is a law of extradition between them. for all this the red-handed assassin may cheat justice--often does--by an adroit migration from one to the other--a mere change of residence and nationality. but it is not this course calhoun intends to take. however ill observed the statute between texas and mexico, he has no intention to take advantage of its loose observance. he dreads to risk such a danger. with the consciousness of his great crime, he has reason. though riding toward the rio grande, it is not with the design of crossing it. he has bethought him of the _other border_--that beyond which roams the savage comanche--the ishmaelite of the prairies--whose hand is against every man with a white skin; but will be lifted lightly against him, who has spilled the white man's blood! in his tent, the murderer may not only find a home, but hope for hospitality--perhaps promotion, in the red career of his adoption! it is from an understanding of these circumstances, that calhoun sees a chance of escape, that support him against despair; and, though he has started in a direct line for the rio grande, he intends, under cover of the chapparal, to flee towards the _llano estacado_. he does not dread the dangers of this frightful desert; nor any others that may lie before him. they can be but light compared with those threatening behind. he might feel regret at the terrible expatriation forced upon him--the loss of wealth, friends, social status, and civilisation--more than all, the severance from one too wildly, wickedly loved--perhaps never to be seen again! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ but he has no time to think even of _her_. to his ignoble nature life is dearer than love. he fancies that life is still before him; but it is no fancy that tells him, death is behind--fast travelling upon his tracks! the murderer makes haste--all the haste that can be taken out of a mexican mustang--swift as the steeds of arabia, from which it can claim descent. ere this the creature should be tired. since the morning it has made more than a score miles--most of them going at a gallop. but it shows no signs of fatigue. like all its race--tough as terriers--it will go fifty--if need be a hundred--without staggering in its tracks. what a stroke of good fortune--that exchange of horses with the mexican maiden! so reflects its rider. but for it he might now be standing under the sombre shadow of the live oak, in the stern presence of a judge and jury, abetted and urged on to convict him, by the less scrupulous lynch and his cohort of regulators. he is no longer in dread of such a destiny. he begins to fancy himself clear of all danger. he glances back over the plain, and sees his pursuers still far behind him. he looks forward, and, in the dark line looming above the bright green of the savannah, descries the chapparal. he has no doubt of being able to reach it, and then his chance of escape will be almost certain. even if he should not succeed in concealing himself within the thicket, who is there to overtake him? he believes himself to be mounted on the fastest horse that is making the passage of the prairie. who, then, can come up with him? he congratulates himself on the _chance_ that has given him such a steed. he may ascribe it to the devil. he cannot attribute it to god! and will god permit this red-handed ruffian to escape? will he not stretch forth his almighty arm, and stay the assassin in his flight? chapter ninety seven. the chase of the assassin. will god permit the red-handed ruffian to escape? will he not stretch forth his almighty arm, and stay the assassin in his flight? these interrogatories are put by those who have remained under the tree. they are answered by an instinct of justice--the first negatively, the second in the affirmative. he will not, and he will. the answers are but conjectural; doubtfully so, as calhoun goes galloping off; a little less doubtful as zeb stump is descried starting after him; and still less, when a hundred horsemen--soldiers and civilians--spring forward in the pursuit. the doubt diminishes as the last of the pursuers is seen leaving the ground. all seem to believe that the last at starting will be first in the chase: for they perceive that it is maurice the mustanger mounted on a horse whose fleetness is now far famed. the exclamations late ringing through the court have proclaimed not only a fresh postponement of his trial, but its indefinite adjournment. by the consent of the assemblage, vociferously expressed, or tacitly admitted, he feels that he is free. the first use he makes of his liberty is to rush towards the horse late ridden by the headless rider--as all know--his own. at his approach the animal recognises its master; proclaims it by trotting towards him, and giving utterance to a glad "whigher!" despite the long severance, there is scarce time to exchange congratulations. a single word passes the lips of the mustanger, in response to the neigh of recognition; and in the next instant he is on the back of the blood-bay, with the bridle in his grasp. he looks round for a lazo; asks for it appealingly, in speech directed to the bystanders. after a little delay one is thrown to him, and he is off. the spectators stand gazing after. there is no longer a doubt as to the result. the wish, almost universal, has become a universal belief. god has decreed that the assassin shall not escape; but that he will be overtaken, captured, and brought back before that same tribunal, where he so late stood a too willing witness! and the man, so near suffering death through his perjured testimony, is the instrument chosen to carry out the divine decree! even the rude regulators--with their practical habitudes of life, but little regarding the idea of divine interference--cannot help having the impression of this poetical justice. one and all give way to it, as the red stallion springs off over the prairie, carrying maurice gerald upon his back. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ after his departure, an episode occurs under the shadow of the live oak. it is not this that hinders it from being observed; but because every one has turned face towards the plain, and watches the chase, fast receding from view. there is one scanning it with a look unlike the others. a lady strains her eyes through the curtains of a _caleche_--her glance telling of a thought within dissimilar to that felt by the common spectators. it is no mere curiosity that causes her twin breasts to sink and swell in quick spasmodic breathing. in her eye, still showing sadness, there is a gleam of triumph as it follows the pursuer--tempered with mercy, as it falls upon the pursued; while from her lips, slightly parted, escapes the prayer: "_god have mercy on the guilty man_!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ delayed a little at mounting--and more in procuring the lazo--maurice gerald is the very latest to leave the ground. on clearing the skirt of the crowd, now dispersed over the parade, he sees the others far ahead-- a distance of several hundred yards separating him from the rearmost. he thinks nothing of this. confident in the qualities of his steed, he knows he will not long ride in the rear. and the blood-bay answers his expectations. as if joyed at being relieved from his inert load--to him an incubus inexplicable--and inspired by the pressure of his master's knees, the noble horse springs off over the prairie turf--in long sinewy strides, showing that his body still retains its strength, and his limbs their elasticity. he soon closes upon the hindmost; overtakes one; then another, and another, till he has surged far ahead of the "field." still on, over the rolling ridges--across the stream-beds between--on, over soft turf, and sharp shingle, till at length his competitors lose sight of him--as they have already done of the grey mustang and its rider. there is but one of the pursuing party who continues to keep him in view--a tall man, mounted upon what might be taken for the sorriest of steeds--an old mustang mare. her speed tells a different tale; produced though it be by the strangest of spurs--the keen blade of a bowie-knife. it is zeb stump who makes use of this quaint, but cruel, means of persuasion. still the old mare cannot keep pace with the magnificent stallion of the mustanger. nor does zeb expect it. he but aims at holding the latter in sight; and in this he is so far successful. there is yet another who beholds the blood-bay making his vigorous bounds. he beholds him with "beard upon the shoulder." it is he who is pursued. just as he has begun to feel hopeful of escape, calhoun, looking back, catches sight of the red stallion; no longer with that strange shape upon his back, but one as well recognised, and to him even more terrible. he perceives it to be maurice, the mustanger--the man he would have devoted--was so near devoting--to the most disgraceful of deaths! he sees this man coming after--his own conscience tells him--as an avenger! is it the hand of god that directs this enemy on his track? he trembles as he asks himself the question. from any other pursuer there might have been a chance of escaping. there is none from maurice gerald! a cold shiver runs through the frame of the fugitive. he feels as if he were fighting against fate; and that it is idle to continue the contest! he sits despairingly in his saddle; scarce caring to ply the spur; no longer believing that speed can avail him! his flight is now merely mechanical--his mind taking no part in the performance. his soul is absorbed with the horror of a dread death--not less dread, from his knowing that he deserves it. the sight of the chapparal, close at hand, inspires him with a fresh hope; and, forcing the fatigued horse into a last feeble effort, he struggles on towards it. an opening presents itself. he enters it; and continues his gallop for a half mile further. he arrives at a point, where the path turns sharply round some heavy timber. beyond that, he might enter the underwood, and get out of sight of his pursuer. he knows the place, but too well. it has been fatal to him before. is it to prove so again? it is. he feels that it is, and rides irresolutely. he hears the hoofstroke of the red horse close upon the heels of his own; and along with it the voice of the avenging rider, summoning him to stop! he is too late for turning the corner,--too late to seek concealment in the thicket,--and with a cry he reins up. it is a cry partly of despair, partly of fierce defiance--like the scream of a chased jaguar under bay of the bloodhounds. it is accompanied by a gesture; quick followed by a flash, a puff of white smoke, and a sharp detonation, that tell of the discharge of a revolver. but the bullet whistles harmlessly through the air; while in the opposite direction is heard a hishing sound--as from the winding of a sling--and a long serpent seems to uncoil itself in the air! calhoun sees it through the thinning smoke. it is darting straight towards him! he has no time to draw trigger for a second shot--no time even to avoid the lazo's loop. before he can do either, he feels it settling over his shoulders; he hears the dread summons, "_surrender, you assassin_!" he sees the red stallion turn tail towards him; and, in the next instant, experiences the sensation of one who has been kicked from a scaffold! beyond this he feels, hears, and sees nothing more. he has been jerked out of his saddle; and the shock received in his collision with the hard turf has knocked the breath out of his body, as well as the sense out of his soul! chapter ninety eight. not dead yet. the assassin lies stretched along the earth--his arms embraced by the raw-hide rope--to all appearance dead. but his captor does not trust to this. he believes it to be only a faint--it may be a feint--and to make sure it is not the latter, he remains in his saddle, keeping his lazo upon the strain. the blood-bay, obedient to his will, stands firm as the trunk of a tree--ready to rear back, or bound forward, on receiving the slightest sign. it is a terrible tableau; though far from being strange in that region of red-handed strife, that lies along the far-stretching frontier of tamaulipas and texas. oft--too oft--has the soaring vulture looked down upon such a scene-- with joy beholding it, as promising a banquet for its filthy beak! even now half a score of these ravenous birds, attracted by the report of the pistol, are hovering in the air--their naked necks elongated in eager anticipation of a feast! one touch of the spur, on the part of him seated in the saddle, would give them what they want. "it would serve the scoundrel right," mutters the mustanger to himself. "great god, to think of the crime he has committed! killed his own cousin, and then cut off his head! there can be no doubt that he has done both; though from what motive, god only can tell,--or himself, if he be still alive. "i have my own thoughts about it. i know that he loves _her_; and it may be that the brother stood in his way. "but how, and why? that is the question that requires an answer. perhaps it can only be answered by god and himself?" "yur mistaken beout thet, young fellur," interposes a voice breaking in on the soliloquy. "thur's one who kin tell the how and the why, jest as well as eyther o' them ye've made mention o'; and thet individooal air ole zeb stump, at your sarvice. but 'taint the time to talk o' sech things now; not hyur ain't the place neythur. we must take _him_ back unner the live oak, whar he'll git treated accordin' to his desarvins. durn his ugly picter! it would sarve him right to make it uglier by draggin' him a spell at the eend o' yur trail-rope. "never mind beout that. we needn't volunteer to be henry peintdexter's 'vengers. from what they know now, i reck'n that kin be trusted to the regulators." "how are we to get him back? his horse has galloped away!" "no difeequilty beout that, mister gerald. he's only fainted a bit; or maybe, playin' possum. in eyther case, i'll soon roust him. if he ain't able to make tracks on the hoof he kin go a hossback, and hyur's the critter as 'll carry him. i'm sick o' the seddle myself, an i reck'n the ole gal's a leetle bit sick o' me--leestwise o' the spur i've been a prickin' into her. i've made up my mind to go back on shanks's maar, an as for mister cash calhoun, he's welkim to hev my seat for the reeturn jerney. ef he don't stop shammin an sit upright, we kin pack him acrost the crupper, like a side o' dead buck-meat. yo-ho! he begins to show sign! he'll soon rekiver his senses--all seven o' 'em, i reck'n--an then he kin mount the maar o' hisself. "yee-up, ole hoss!" continues zeb, grasping calhoun by the collar of his coat, and giving him a vigorous shake. "yee-up, i say; an kum along wi' us! ye're wanted. thar's somebody desirin' to have a talk wi' you!" "who? where?" inquires the captive, slowly recovering consciousness, and staring unsteadily around him. "who wants me?" "wal; i do for one; an--" "ah! you it is, zeb stump! and--and--?" "an' that air's mister maurice gerald the mowstanger. you've seed him afore, i reck'n? he wants ye for two. beside, thar's a good grist o' others as ud like to see ye agin--back thar by the port. so ye'd best get upon yur legs, an' go along wi' us." the wretched man rises to his feet. in so doing, he discovers that his arms are encircled by a lazo. "my horse?" he exclaims, looking inquiringly around. "where is my horse?" "ole nick only knows whar _he_ air by this time. like enuf gone back to the grand, whar he kim from. arter the gallupin ye've gi'n him, i reck'n he air sick o' the swop; an's goed off to take a spell o' rest on his native pasters." calhoun gazes on the old hunter with something more than astonishment. the swop! even this, too, is known to him! "now, then," pursues zeb, with a gesture of impatience. "'twon't do to keep the court a-waitin'. are ye riddy?" "ready for what?" "fust an foremost, to go back along wi' me an mister gerald. second an second-most, to stan' yur trial." "trial! i stand trial!" "you, mister cash calhoun." "on what charge?" "the churge o' killin' henry peintdexter--yur own cousin." "it's a lie! a damned slanderous lie; and whoever says it--!" "shet up yur head!" cries zeb, with an authoritative gesture. "ye're only wastin' breath. ef this chile ain't mistook about it, ye'll need all ye've got afore long. kum, now! make riddy to reeturn wi' us! the judge air awaitin'; the jury air awaitin'; an _justice_ air waitin', too--in the shape o' three score reg'lators." "i'm not going back," doggedly responds calhoun. "by what authority do you command me? you have no warrant?" "hain't i, though?" interrupts zeb. "what d'ye call this?" he adds, pointing to his rifle. "thur's my warrant, by the grace o' god; an by thet same, this chile air a goin' to execute it. so no more o' yur durned palaver: for i ain't the sort to stan' it. take yur choice, mister cash calhoun. mount thet old maar o' mine, an kum along quickly; or try the toother dodge, an git toated like a packidge o' merchandice: for back yur boun' to go--i swar it by the eturnal!" calhoun makes no reply. he glances at stump--at gerald--despairingly around him; then stealthily towards a six-shooter, protruding from the breast-pocket of his coat--the counterpart of that shaken out of his hand, as the rope settled around him. he makes an effort to reach the pistol--feeble, because only half resolved. he is restrained by the lazo; perhaps more by a movement on the part of zeb; who, with a significant gesture, brings his long gun to the level. "quick!" exclaims the hunter. "mount, mister calhoun! thur's the maar awaitin' for ye. inter the seddle, i say!" like a puppet worked by the wires of the showman, the ex-captain of cavalry yields compliance with the commands of the backwoodsman. he does so, from a consciousness that there is death--certain death--in disobeying them. mechanically he mounts the mare; and, without resistance, suffers her to be led away from the spot. zeb, afoot, strides on in advance. the mare, at bridle-length, follows upon his tracks. the mustanger rides reflectingly behind; thinking less of him held at the end of his lazo, than of her, who by a generous self-sacrifice, has that day riveted around his heart a golden chain--only by death to be undone! chapter ninety nine. attempted murder and suicide. after its second involuntary recess--less prolonged than the first--the court has once more resumed its functions under the great evergreen oak. it is now evening; and the sunbeams, falling aslant, intrude upon the space canopied by the tree. from the golden brightness, displayed by them at noon, they have changed to a lurid red--as if there was anger in the sky! it is but an accident of the atmosphere--the portent of an approaching storm. for all this, it is remarked as singular, that a storm should be coming at the time: since it symbolises the sentiment of the spectators, who look on with sullenness in their hearts, and gloom in their glances. it would seem as if heaven's wrath was acting in concert with the passions of earth! maurice gerald is no longer the cynosure of those scowling eyes. he has been clamorously acquitted, and is henceforth only one of the witnesses. in the place late occupied by him another stands. cassius calhoun is now the prisoner at the bar! this is the only change observable. the judge is the same, the jury the same, and the spectators as before; though with very different feelings in regard to the criminality of the accused. his guilt is no longer the question that is being considered. it has been established beyond the shadow of a doubt. the evidence is already before them; and though entirely circumstantial--as in most cases of murder--the circumstances form a chain irresistibly conclusive and complete. there is but one missing link--if link it may be called--the _motive_. the motive both for the murder and the mutilation: for the testimony of gerald has been confirmed by a subsequent examination of the dead body. the surgeon of the cantonment has pronounced the two distinct, and that henry poindexter's death must have ensued, almost instantaneously after his receiving the shot. why should cassius calhoun have killed his own cousin? _why_ cut off his head? no one can answer these questions, save the murderer himself. no one expects him to do so--save to his maker. before him he must soon stand: for a knowledge of the motive is not deemed essential to his condemnation, and he has been condemned. the trial has come to a close; the verdict _guilty_ has been given; and the judge, laying aside his panama hat, is about to put on the black cap--that dread emblem of death--preparatory to pronouncing the sentence. in the usual solemn manner the condemned man is invited to make his final speech; to avail himself, as it were, of the last forlorn hope for sentence. he starts at the invitation--falling, as it does, like a death-knell upon his ear. he looks wildly around. despairingly: when on the faces that encircle him he sees not one wearing an expression of sympathy. there is not even pity. all appear to frown upon him. his confederates--those payed ruffians who have hitherto supported him-- are of no use now, and their sympathy of no consequence. they have shrunk out of sight--before the majesty of the law, and the damning evidence of his guilt. despite his social standing--and the wealth to sustain it--he sees himself alone; without friend or sympathiser: for so stands the assassin in texas! his demeanour is completely changed. in place of that high haughty air--oft exhibited in bold brutal bullyism--he looks cowed and craven. and not strange that he should. he feels that there is no chance of escape; that he is standing by the side of his coffin--on the edge of an eternity too terrible to contemplate. to a conscience like his, it cannot be otherwise than appalling. all at once a light is seen to flask into his eyes--sunken as they are in the midst of two livid circles. he has the air of one on the eve of making confession. is it to be an acknowledgment of guilt? is he about to unburden his conscience of the weight that must be on it? the spectators, guessing his intention, stand breathlessly observing him. there is silence even among the cicadas. it is broken by the formalised interrogatory of the judge? "_have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced upon you_?" "no!" he replies, "i have not. the jury has given a just verdict. i acknowledge that i have forfeited my life, and deserve to lose it." not during all the day--despite its many strange incidents and startling surprises--have the spectators been so astonished. they are confounded beyond the power of speech; and in silence permit the condemned man to proceed, with what they now perceive to be his confession. "it is quite true," continues he, "that i killed henry poindexter--shot him dead in the chapparal." the declaration is answered by a cry from the crowd. it is altogether involuntary, and expresses horror rather than indignation. alike involuntary is the groan that goes with it--proceeding from a single individual, whom all know to be the father of the murdered man-- once more in their midst. beyond these sounds, soon ceasing, there is nothing to hinder the confession from being continued. "i know that i've got to die," proceeds the prisoner, with an air of seeming recklessness. "you have decreed it; and i can tell by your looks you have no intention to change your minds. "after what i've confessed, it would be folly in me to expect pardon; and i don't. i've been a bad fellow; and no doubt have done enough to deserve my fate. but, bad as i may have been, i'm not vile enough to be sent out of the world, and leave behind me the horrid imputation of having _murdered_ my own cousin. i did take his life, as i've told you. you are all asking why, and conjecturing about the motive. there was none." a new "sensation" makes itself manifest among the spectators. it partakes of surprise, curiosity, and incredulity. no one speaks, or in any way attempts interruption. "you wonder at that. it's easily explained. _i killed him by mistake_!" the surprise culminates in a shout; suppressed as the speaker proceeds. "yes, by mistake; and god knows i was sorry enough, on discovering that i had made it. i didn't know myself till long after." the condemned man looks up, as if in hopes that he has touched a chord of mercy. there is no sign of it, on the faces that surround him--still solemnly austere. "i don't deny," continues he; "i needn't--that i intended to kill some one. i did. nor am i going to deny who it was. it was the cur i _see_ standing before me." in a glance of concentrated hatred, the speaker rests his eye upon gerald; who only answers with a look, so calm as almost to betray indifference. "yes. i intended to kill _him_. i had my reasons. i'm not going to say what they were. it's no use now. "i thought i _had_ killed him; but, as hell's luck would have it, the irish hound had changed cloaks with my cousin. "you know the rest. by mistake i fired the shot--meant for an enemy, and fatal to a friend. it was sure enough; and poor henry dropped from his horse. but to make more sure, i drew out my knife; and the cursed serape still deceiving me, i hacked off his head." the "sensation" again expresses itself in shuddering and shouts--the latter prolonged into cries of retribution--mingled with that murmuring which proclaims a story told. there is no more mystery, either about the murder or its motive; and the prisoner is spared further description of that fiendish deed, that left the dead body of henry poindexter without a head. "now!" cries he, as the shouting subsides, and the spectators stand glaring upon him, "you know all that's passed; but not what's to come. there's another scene yet. you see me standing on my grave; but i don't go into it, till i've sent _him_ to _his_. i don't, by god!" there is no need to guess at the meaning of this profane speech--the last of calhoun's life. its meaning is made clear by the act that accompanies it. while speaking he has kept his right hand under the left breast of his coat. along with the oath it comes forth, holding a revolver. the spectators have just time to see the pistol--as it glints under the slanting sunbeams--when two shots are heard in quick succession. with a like interval between, two men fall forward upon their faces; and lie with their heads closely contiguous! one is maurice gerald, the mustanger,--the other cassius calhoun, ex-captain of volunteer cavalry. the crowd closes around, believing both to be dead; while through the stillness that succeeds is heard a female voice, in those wild plaintive tones that tell of a heart nigh parting in twain! chapter one hundred. joy. joy! there was this under the evergreen oak, when it was discovered that only the suicide was a success, and the attempt at assassination a failure. there was this in the heart of louise poindexter, on learning that her lover still lived. though saddened by the series of tragedies so quickly transpiring, she was but human; and, being woman, who can blame her for giving way to the subdued happiness that succeeded? not i. not you, if you speak truly. the passion that controlled her may not be popular under a strictly puritan standard. still is it according to the dictates of nature-- universal and irresistible--telling us that father, mother, sister, and brother, are all to be forsaken for that love illimitable; on earth only exceeded--sometimes scarce equalled--by the love of self. do not reproach the young creole, because this passion was paramount in her soul. do not blame her for feeling pleasure amidst moments that should otherwise have been devoted to sadness. nor, that her happiness was heightened, on learning from the astonished spectators, how her lover's life had been preserved--as it might seem miraculously. the aim of the assassin had been true enough. he must have felt sure of it, before turning the muzzle towards his own temples, and firing the bullet that had lodged in his brain. right over the heart he had hit his intended victim, and through the heart would the leaden missile have made its way, but that a _gage d'amour_--the gift of her who alone could have secured it such a place--turned aside the shot, causing it to _ricochet_! not harmlessly, however: since it struck one of the spectators standing too close to the spot. not quite harmless, either, was it to him for whom it had been intended. the stunning shock--with the mental and corporeal excitement--long sustained--did not fail to produce its effect; and the mind of maurice gerald once more returned to its delirious dreaming. but no longer lay his body in danger--in the chapparal, surrounded by wolves, and shadowed by soaring vultures,--in a hut, where he was but ill attended--in a jail, where he was scarce cared for at all. when again restored to consciousness, it was to discover that the fair vision of his dreams was no vision at all, but a lovely woman--the loveliest on the leona, or in all texas if you like--by name louise poindexter. there was now no one to object to her nursing him; not even her own father. the spirit of the aristocratic planter--steeped in sorrow, and humiliated by misfortune--had become purged of its false pride; though it needed not this to make him willingly acquiesce in an alliance, which, instead of a "nobody," gave him a nobleman for his son. such, in reality, was sir maurice gerald--erst known as maurice the mustanger! in texas the title would have counted for little; nor did its owner care to carry it. but, by a bit of good fortune--not always attendant on an irish baronetcy--it carried along with it an endowment--ample enough to clear casa del corvo of the mortgage held by the late cassius calhoun, and claimed by his nearest of kin. this was not woodley poindexter: for after calhoun's death, it was discovered that the ex-captain had once been a benedict; and there was a young scion of his stock--living in new orleans--who had the legal right to say he was his son! it mattered not to maurice gerald; who, now clear of every entanglement, became the husband of the fair creole. after a visit to his native land--including the european tour--which was also that of his honeymoon--sir maurice, swayed by his inclinations, once more returned to texas, and made casa del corvo his permanent home. the "blue-eyed colleen" of castle ballagh must have been a myth--having existence only in the erratic fancy of phelim. or it may have been the bud of a young love, blighted ere it reached blooming--by absence, oft fatal to such tender plants of passion? whether or no, louise poindexter--lady gerald she must now be called-- during her sojourn in the emerald isle saw nothing to excite her to jealousy. only once again did this fell passion take possession of her spirit; and then only in the shape of a shadow soon to pass away. it was one day when her husband came home to the hacienda--bearing in his arms the body of a beautiful woman! not yet dead; though the blood streaming from a wound in her bared bosom showed she had not long to live. to the question, "who has done this?" she was only able to answer, "diaz--diaz!" it was the last utterance of isidora covarubio de los llanos! as the spirit of the unhappy _senorita_ passed into eternity, along with it went all rancour from that of her more fortunate rival. there can be no jealousy of the dead. that of lady gerald was at rest, and for ever. it was succeeded by a strong sympathy for the ill-fated isidora; whose story she now better comprehended. she even assisted her lord in the saddling of his red-bay steed, and encouraged him in the pursuit of the assassin. she joyed to see the latter led back at the end of a lazo--held in the hand of her husband; and refused to interfere, when a band of regulators, called hastily together, dealt out summary chastisement--by hanging him to a tree! it was not cruelty--only a crude kind of justice:--"an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth." and what a poor compensation it seemed, to those who had taken part in exacting it! as they stood gazing upon the remains of the villain, and his victim-- the swarth ruffian dangling from the branch above, and the fair form lying underneath--the hearts of the texans were touched--as perhaps they had never been before. there was a strange thought passing through their minds; a sadness independent of that caused by the spectacle of a murder. it was regret at having so hastily despatched the assassin! beautiful, even in death, was isidora. such features as she possessed, owe not everything to the light of life. that voluptuous shape--the true form divine--may be admired in the cold statue. men stood gazing upon her dead body--long gazing--loth to go away--at length going with thoughts not altogether sacred! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ in the physical world time is accounted the destroyer; though in the moral, it is oft the restorer. nowhere has it effected greater changes than in texas--during the last decade--and especially in the settlements of the nueces and leona. plantations have sprung up, where late the _chapparal_ thickly covered the earth; and cities stand, where the wild steed once roamed over a pathless prairie. there are new names for men, places, and things. for all this, there are those who could conduct you to an ancient hacienda--still known as casa del corvo. once there, you would become the recipient of a hospitality, unequalled in european lands. you would have for your host one of the handsomest men in texas; for your hostess one of its most beautiful women--both still this side of middle life. residing under their roof you would find an old gentleman, of aristocratic air and venerable aspect--withal chatty and cheerful--who would conduct you around the _corrales_, show you the stock, and never tire of talking about the hundreds--ay thousands--of horses and horned cattle, seen roaming over the pastures of the plantation. you would find this old gentleman very proud upon many points: but more especially of his beautiful daughter--the mistress of the mansion--and the half-dozen pretty prattlers who cling to his skirts, and call him their "dear grandpa." leaving him for a time, you would come in contact with two other individuals attached to the establishment. one is the _groom_ of the "stole,"--by name phelim o'neal--who has full charge of the horses. the other a coachman of sable skin, yclept pluto poindexter; who would scorn to look at a horse except when perched upon the "box," and after having the "ribbons" deftly delivered into his hands. since we last saw him, the gay pluto has become tamed down to a staid and sober benedict--black though he be. florinda--now the better half of his life--has effected the transformation. there is one other name known at casa del corvo, with which you cannot fail to become acquainted. you will hear it mentioned, almost every time you sit down to dinner: for you will be told that the turkey at the head of the table, or the venison at its opposite end, is the produce of a rifle that rarely misses its aim. during the course of the meal--but much more over the wine--you will hear talk of "zeb stump the hunter." you may not often see him. he will be gone from the hacienda, before you are out of your bed; and back only after you have retired. but the huge gobbler seen in the "smoke-house," and the haunch of venison hanging by its side, are evidence he has been there. while sojourning at casa del corvo, you may get hints of a strange story connected with the place--now almost reduced to a legend. the domestics will tell it you, but only in whispers: since they know that it is a theme _tabooed_ by the master and mistress of the mansion, in whom it excites sad souvenirs. it is the story of the headless horseman. [illustration: cover art] the sheriff of pecos by h. bedford-jones garden city new york doubleday, page & company copyright, , by doubleday, page & company all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian copyright, , by street & smith corporation printed in the united states at the country life press, garden city, n. y. _first edition_ contents chapter i. jack robinson ii. exit matt brady iii. robinson's partner iv. buck lays plans v. buck's lucky day vi. proof vii. masks off viii. exit mr. p. brady ix. fisher rides north x. the last stake xi. the trap is sprung xii. the clean-up xiii. finis the sheriff of pecos chapter i jack robinson besides "galway" mike, who was reading the pahrump county _news_ behind the bar, there were three men in mike's place. one of the three was a stranger. he sat drowsily at the corner table, hat pulled over his eyes, whisky untasted. the other two stood at the bar. the tall, dangerous man who had a rattler skin about his white stetson was speaking: "it's like this, murphy. right after the old man died, young shumway went to the pen. he was caught dead to rights with a runnin' iron, y' understand----" "so i heard." the large, red-faced man chuckled. "so i heard, buck." buck grunted. "well, frank shumway went to the pen; i was sorry, too----" "oh, sure!" commented murphy sarcastically. "made you weep a lot, huh?" "shut your blamed mouth!" retorted buck, acid in his voice. "here's the point: young shumway had mortgaged the hull place to some cussed bank over in laredo county--some bank the ol' man had knowed. well, he give estella the money, y' understand, and went to the pen. estella, she's run the place since, but it ain't paid her." "she's his sister, eh?" mr. murphy's red, aggressive features spread into a greasy grin. "well, i reckon it ain't paid her, with you fer a neighbor! but go on, go on." "don't let your brain git too agile, murphy," said buck, tossing down his whisky and pouring another drink. "the place has run down. all she's got there now is miguel cervantes and his woman, helpin' her. not a head o' stock left." "you done well, then," put in murphy, who stood in no awe of his companion evidently. "you sure done well! ol' shumway had a powerful lot o' cattle. least, he had when i was down here, time the boy got caught and sent over the road----" "times have changed since then," said buck hastily. "as i say, stella can't make the place pay, in spite of everything. cervantes----" "done heard of him in the panhandle. ain't he the greaser with a big rep----" buck emitted a lurid oath. "he's the one, all right--the cussed greaser! got a rep, and everybody's scared to lay into him. well, they lost stock, y' understand; the place is run down; and now it's near time for the mortgage to be paid--which it won't." murphy touched his companion's arm cautiously, and glanced at the bartender. "him?" buck grinned, then leaned across the bar. "hey, mike! tell my friend murphy here who owns a half interest in this joint, you understand?" galway mike looked up from his newspaper, grinning. his broad, flat face was unspeakably brutal, its brutality much aided by wide nostrils which at some previous date had been crushed flat and had never entirely recovered their beauty. he looked at buck, roughly elegant in his corduroys, fine boots, and handsome gun belt; then he looked at murphy, whose elegance was more pronounced, but equally rough and ready. "same gent that owns the runnin' dawg outfit, yer honor," he responded. "more by token, he's the only wan, barrin' yourself, who does be wearin' a coat these days." buck, taking a handful of cigars from his corduroy coat pocket, laid them on the bar. "c'rect, mike," he assented proudly. "smoke. and give us that new bottle." the bartender obeyed. he cocked an eye at the stranger at the table, but the latter had allowed his head to droop. his mouth hung open. he was palpably asleep--dusty, worn out by hard riding, unkempt save for the gun at his hip, which was excellently cared for. "now, as i was sayin'," pursued buck, who was no other than templeton buck, owner of the running dog and a big man in pahrump county, "that there mortgage is due. i been keepin' tabs on things, y' understand? the place ain't even able to pay the mortgage interest, and i hear it's been advertised for sale likewise. all of which don't bother me none, because when i got your denver wire that you'd come, i done bought in the mortgage in your name." "oh!" said murphy, and nodded heavily. "i s'pose you got reason for being so roundabout?" "plenty. the reason's stella, savvy? i ain't aiming to figger none in this, except as the rescue party. y' understand, the shumway place controls all the water supply on my east section, and i got to have it; but i got to have stella, too." "oh, i savvy plenty," and murphy nodded again. "but s'pose anybody with money buys in the place and pays off the mortgage?" "he won't," said buck, his thin, high-boned features showing a slight grimace. "i'm havin' it well understood that the place is mine. nobody in these here parts is goin' to start buckin' my hand, y' understand? there's only one feller might try it; sam fisher, a guy who was a powerful friend of the shumways in other times. but he's clear down to the other end the state, and i'm havin' him watched." murphy had straightened up a trifle. "you don't mean young fisher, the deputy sheriff o' pecos county--him that's goin' to be sheriff there next election? i'll tell the world you'd better watch him. buck! that gent is one hell ringer. yes, sir, i've heard of him." buck grinned and lifted his glass. "don't worry. he ain't goin' to butt into this here show, none whatever! that mortgage comes due the first of the month--two weeks. i figger to run her slow until then, watch fisher so's he can't hear from the girl----" "don't monkey with the mails, buck!" murphy frowned uneasily. "i ain't," and the tall rancher chuckled. "i got plenty friends, y' understand. say, you take it easy here until i see about them hosses, and we'll ride out. mike, you 'tend to makin' murphy plumb comfortable, and i'll see you in short order." buck left the place. murphy leaned over the bar and engaged galway mike in low-toned conversation. of this talk, a few scattered fragments might have reached the ear of the stranger in the corner, had not the latter been utterly relaxed in shameless slumber. "----that's the gent to be watchin', yer honor--ain't a bad greaser--divil wid a gun, they do be sayin'--some o' the byes ought to be layin' fer him some night----" the swinging doors opened abruptly, silently. a man stood in the entrance, stepped swiftly to one side, and stood there with his dark-glinting eyes, looking about the interior. he was tall, rangy, his skin swarthy of hue; he was coated with dust and perspiration. despite the high, sharp lines of his features, they were much given to smiling. the hair at his temples was gray, and deep lines were chiseled about lips and eyes. galway mike grabbed a towel and began to mop the bar. "the top o' the mornin' to ye, miguel cervantes!" he exclaimed. "what'll it be now?" murphy started slightly, turned, and surveyed the new arrival with insolent eyes. "thanks, nothing," said cervantes, speaking perfect english--as indeed he ought to, since his ancestors had lived in the county for a hundred years. "i was looking for someone." his eyes met those of murphy. the latter spoke challengingly: "meaning me, maybe?" "no, not you," and cervantes smiled, seeming to take no heed of the tone and look. "another gentleman." he turned away as though to leave. the hand of murphy dropped like a flash. at this instant there was a crash from the corner where the stranger had been sitting, followed by a low yell. murphy abandoned his gun, quick as lightning, and turned. cervantes also turned. the stranger was standing there, rocking unsteadily on his feet, before his overturned chair. "thunderation!" the stranger cried with a perplexed air. "blamed if i didn't have the worst nightmare you ever heard of, gents; i'm a terrible person for them things! sure's my name's jack robinson, i was goin' through a reg'lar gun fight, and me the most peaceable man ever stepped! ain't it awful what can happen in your sleep?" with his hat off and standing erect, he was revealed as a tall, slim young man, garbed in usual puncher style. beneath his close-clipped reddish hair beamed a brown, laughing face which compelled smiles from those who met the steady eyes. that is, sometimes; behind the smile of those eyes there lurked something deeper. his gaze met the scowl of murphy, and forced the scowl into a half smile. then his eyes went to cervantes, who was staring open-mouthed. "hope i didn't disturb you none, gents," he said apologetically. then he looked again at murphy. the smile vanished from his face, which assumed a look of malicious recognition. "well, well!" he said briskly. "if here ain't my old friend 'pincher' brady, what was asked to leave montana for his health's sake five years ago----" "look out you don't make a mistake, mister," said the voice of murphy, biting and deadly. "what'd you say your name was?" "sure's my name's jack robinson, i done made a mistake," said the other at once, and shook his head. "i'm right sorry about it, pardner. you looked a heap like a gent named brady who was up in montana one time, but now i see you ain't him a-tall." "no, he ain't," said murphy, steadily observing him. "now you've seen the mistake, let's have a drink, hey?" "cigar for mine, thanks." jack robinson stepped to the bar, picking up his hat as he came, and his genial smile brought a nod from mike. he picked up one of the cigars laid down by buck and pocketed it. miguel cervantes unobtrusively left. "i'm a stranger here, and mighty lonesome," said robinson with an air of confidential inquiry. "i don't s'pose you gents could direct me?" galway mike looked at murphy, who made, answer: "we might. where to?" robinson leaned one elbow on the bar, and surveyed murphy with piercing, laughing, reckless eyes. "upon my word," he drawled, "your voice sounds a heap like pincher brady's, pardner!" the two men looked at each other. the red face of murphy became redder. with a laugh, robinson flung about as though to face the bar--and the hand of murphy darted down. crack! the bursting report of a revolver filled the place. "i was looking for that," robinson said coolly. "no, mike, you leave that gun alone; i'd be right sorry to have to hurt you." mike straightened up. clinging to the bar with his left hand, murphy looked down at his right, which was wounded. "you got quite a reputation for workin' that play," said robinson, backing away toward the swinging doors. "you're lucky i didn't make it worse, brady, but bein's i'm a stranger here i ain't taking chances on local prejudices----" the swinging doors were burst inward as a group of men rushed into the place, holding the doors open. robinson calmly stood behind the inner door, which had opened against him and held him concealed from sight. "who's shootin' here?" demanded the foremost man. "i am," said robinson, stepping out. "got any objections?" they faced around to meet his weapon. over it his eyes held them; no longer smiling, those eyes were keen and bitter blue. "objections overruled," he went on coolly. "you gents oughtn't come busting into a place o' business like this. it ain't proper. here i was just showin' mike how the draw was done where i come from, and i get interrupted----" "we ain't strong on learning things, stranger," said the foremost man. "i'm sheriff of pahrump county-- tracy. these deputies of mine were in next door with me----" "right convenient, weren't you?" asked robinson coolly. "keep 'em up--up! that's right. right convenient, as i said. and you come in a-runnin', gents. lookin' for something special, were you?" the sheriff changed countenance. "why," he stammered, "i understood a greaser was makin' trouble here----" "and who might have gave you to understand such?" shot in robinson. the sheriff made no answer, but bit his mustache. "turned dumb, have you? it does beat all how things happen, don't it? here i come in, plumb peaceable and lovin' my neighbors, and, first thing i know, a ruckus gets started. now, you gents look at mr. murphy, over yonder, who done got his hand ripped a little. ain't even busted, is she?" murphy was not hurt to any great extent, and proved it by his voluble cursing. "ease off steam; that's right," said robinson soothingly. "satisfied, sheriff?" "plenty," said the officer. robinson put away his weapon. "glad to meet you, sheriff tracy. mike, give the gentlemen a drink and charge it to mr. murphy. guess i'll be on my way, gents. got to be in laredo in two days, and i sure have lost time here. so long." he was gone. the sheriff and his two deputies looked at each other irresolutely, glanced at galway mike, and then retired likewise, without their drink. mike gave murphy a glance of scorn. "you sure bungled it!" he said raspingly. murphy swore appropriately. "bungled it!" he repeated. "i was a cussed fool ever to try it on with that gent, i can tell you! next time it'll be a winchester and a hilltop!" a sneer curled the bartender's lip. "foine sort of a killer, you are!" he returned. "oh, ye needn't to be scowlin' at me; i ain't bein' scart o' no man, and i got me fist on a gun to boot, mister murphy! niver mind the scowl now. have a drink an' forget it." the doors were flung open again, and buck strode into the place. "the greaser!" he exclaimed sharply. "did you get him?" mr. murphy cursed. chapter ii exit matt brady two men were riding away from the town of pahrump together. one was miguel cervantes, the other was jack robinson. "you ran mighty close back there, cervantes," said the younger man soberly. "that fellow was pincher brady--a killer. only, he always kills in the back, savvy? he was going for you when i jumped up." cervantes nodded and flashed white teeth in a smile. "i was not watching him," he confessed. "i was looking for someone, as i said. every day i have come, but no luck." "maybe you drew a little luck to-day," and robinson chuckled. "i don't suppose, by any chance, you were looking for sam fisher?" cervantes started. his dark eyes centered upon his companion. "you know him?" "pretty well," said robinson in an offhand way. "he was being watched and couldn't get away. so he deputized me to come along, as it were. you're the lazy s foreman?" "i used to be," said cervantes bitterly. they talked. cervantes spoke quietly, changing swiftly between smiles and anger. three years previously young shumway had been railroaded to the penitentiary. estella, his sister, had run the ranch since then--and it had gone to ruin. not her fault or that of cervantes, who was devotion personified. "cattle have vanished," cervantes said in a hopeless tone. "we have gone steadily down--let the men go one by one to cut expenses. last year what remained of the stock was sold off to pay the mortgage interest." "i shouldn't think your friends would let things go that way," said robinson. "friends? we have none. there is only old jake harper, who has the circle bar up beyond us. none of the others help us or know us. new people have come into the country; times have changed. besides----" "templeton buck?" suggested robinson. "yes. they have tried often to get me," was the statement, simply given, "but for the sake of miss estella i have avoided offense. the running dog punchers make what use they like of our place; their foreman, matt brady, has even dared to fence in the springs adjoining the buck ranch." "brady?" said robinson suddenly, his eyes narrowing. "matt brady?" "yes." cervantes gave him a questioning glance. "uh-huh--thought so! pincher brady's brother. that explains how they came to hire pincher for their dirty work. but they wouldn't bring pincher here simply to get you, would they? no. quite a nice, nifty little scheme on foot, miguel. by the way, i don't suppose this jake harper is a decrepit old party who was a scout for reno during the indian wars?" "you know him, then?" "know of him, more or less." robinson chuckled silently. "think i'll go over to his place and have a chat. what's that crossroads ahead?" "straight on to the running dog and harper's," responded cervantes. "we turn off to the left. you don't mean you're not going with me?" "cross my heart and hope to die--i'm not," and robinson grinned. "but i'll be along in a day or two if i don't meet bad luck. by the way, who had anything to do with frank's being sent to the pen?" a black frown settled on the face of cervantes. "nobody," he answered. "we don't know a thing against any one. two detectives----" "oh, i see," said robinson airily. "well, i guess i'll be moving straight ahead, so don't sit up for me to-night. see you later." they parted at the crossroads. cervantes swung off to the left, plainly failing to comprehend this queer young man of strange impulses, and waved his hand in farewell. jack robinson jogged along reflectively, thinking of the man who had just left him. "a faithful soul," he observed to his pinto. "absolutely devoted boy, isn't he? quick tempered, a wonder with his gun, and yet backing water all the time because he's afraid estella would be left alone in the world if they wiped him out. some man, miguel! but none too bright. give the devil his due, johnny boy; a good man, only not quite good enough. he couldn't prevent the ranch going to the dogs, although he's ready to die with it. no, they wouldn't bring pincher just to rub him out. matt brady could do that. and they wouldn't bring pincher just to handle that mortgage affair. there's a nigger in the woodpile, and that nigger is----" his meditations were interrupted by sight of a rolling train of dust in the road ahead. he eyed it sharply and made out the forms of two riders coming toward him. they met, and drew rein with casual nods of greeting, searching looks, and frank curiosity. robinson beheld two rangy punchers who rode with winchesters booted. their mounts bore the long sear of the running dog. one of them was a ratty individual with protruding teeth, the other was a large man, red-faced, of aggressive aspect. "must be a heap o' war in this country," opined robinson with a friendly grin as he rolled a smoke. "more rifles'n i ever seen before at one stretch!" "you must ha' come from quiet parts, then," said the big man. "that cayuse bears a brand strange hereabouts." "that's true. sure's my name's jack robinson, friend, that's true! still the old sf has been supportin' me for two years or so--down in the south country." "i'm matt brady, foreman; this here's 'lias knute," introduced brady. "if you've come out lookin' for a job at the runnin' dawg, we'd be right glad to have you turn in, robinson. need a few extry hands right now." robinson blew a cloud of smoke and shook his head regretfully. "later, mebbe. me, i got business over to laredo." "laredo?" the foreman stared. "this ain't the laredo road, ye numskull!" "ain't it, now?" said the other sweetly. "i never 'lowed it was, did i?" brady scowled. "where ye headin' for?" he demanded bluntly. "did i say? guess i forgot to mention it." robinson's slow grin was irritating in the extreme. ratty little knute edged his cayuse a trifle to one side. "better remember it pronto." brady's tone was significant. his eyes were stormy. "well," said robinson gayly, "i done voted twice already, i ain't roped to any brand, and, far's i can see, my skin's white. this here ain't no private road, is it?" brady stared at him murderously. knute edged a trifle farther to the side. robinson appeared quite unruffled and innocent of offense. "stranger, are you jest plain fool, or ignerant?" demanded brady. "both," robinson said with a grin. "by the way, i s'pose you ain't related to pincher brady? he was havin' considerable excitement in town when i come through." the big foreman settled into a deadly calm. "yes? how come?" "bein' a stranger and peaceable, i didn't stop to ask," returned robinson idly. "seems like some feller named buck sent him to get a gent. he got the wrong gent, and him and buck were shootin' it out." from the two men broke startled oaths. the ratty little knute saw the twinkle in robinson's eye, and cried out shrilly: "he's stringin' us, matt! somethin' fishy about this guy----" robinson was in the center of the road, brady before him, knute off to his left. he appeared entirely careless and off guard, cigarette between his fingers. "tryin' to ride me, are ye?" brady queried. "want trouble, do ye?" "i'd welcome it," said robinson. "then take it----" brady's gun flashed up. the miracle happened; robinson's six-shooter seemed to leap out of itself, jump into his hand, spit fire. the two guns spoke almost together. brady swayed in the saddle, clutched at the pommel, and rolled down. but it had been a murder trap. robinson had no chance whatever. even as he fired, he saw from, the corner of his eye that knute, to the left, was tugging at a gun. he saw the gun come up, and tried to swing himself around in time. too late! the gun in the hand of ratty little knute belched once. incredulously, bewildered, deeming himself already a dead man---robinson found himself unharmed. nor was he given any chance to shoot. the whole affair had passed in the fraction of a second; matt brady's vicious attack and death, the third shot echoing treacherously from the side, almost with the first two. as he turned to the assassin, robinson was amazed to see knute sink forward, the weapon falling from his hand. knute said no word, but followed his gun to the dirt. he lay motionless, one spur in the stirrup; a splotch of red grew upon his chest. he had been shot---how? not by himself; nor by robinson. as the fraction of a second passed robinson's head jerked up to a sound. he heard the crack of a rifle lifting to him--so swiftly had the whole affair passed! it was the shot which killed knute; the rifle crack that followed the bullet. robinson stared around. the country appeared empty, the rolling hills desolate, the brown strip of road quite bare of any person. whence had come that shot? "somebody quite a distance off had the pleasure of saving my life," said robinson reflectively. "well, if he doesn't want to show himself--i'm satisfied! i wasted a good lie on matt brady; too bad he didn't get to go to town and investigate his brother's trouble. murder trap? not the first these two gentlemen have laid, i'll bet! they sure caught me, all right. would have had me, except for the unknown friend. friend, i thank you!" he swept off his black stetson, waved it to the nearest hill, and rode on his way. "here's hoping the verdict will be that knute and brady killed each other," he thought. "maybe it won't and maybe it will, depending on who the jury are and how well they can read tracks. chances are that i won't be mentioned; this country seems to favor direct action rather than legal inquiry. ho, hum! matt came near to spoiling my nice new black hat by putting his bullet through it. that's what happens to a slow man. i'd sure hate to be slow around here, you bet! but i'd admire to know who handled that rifle in the brush. couldn't even make out where it was, what direction. interesting country, pahrump! i certainly think the geological formations are fine." two men dead--well, it was a serious matter enough, and promised to grow darker with time. matt brady and knute were evidently used to working together; their trap had been well prepared, well sprung. only the presence of some unknown watcher had saved robinson from that side bullet. who was the person? not miguel cervantes, for the native had carried no rifle. robinson jogged along, his mind busy with the situation of estella shumway. there were some things he did not understand, but comprehension would come in course of time. templeton buck seemed to be the big power in the county, to judge from that conversation in galway mike's place, and buck apparently had it all fixed to take over the shumway ranch in the near future--and estella likewise. upon passing the turnout that led to the running dog, robinson drew rein and studied the ground in some surprise. he had followed the back trail of brady and knute, but to his astonishment saw that they had not come from the running dog at all. they had come from some point beyond it--and the only point beyond it that robinson knew of was jake harper's ranch. this looked queer. robinson passed on, wondering why these running dog men had come from the circle bar, particularly as jake harper and templeton buck were not friends. that would mean bad blood between the two outfits. "time will tell that, too, and the afternoon's drawing along," thought robinson. "we'd better travel along, little doggies! hit her up, johnny boy, and we'll feast to-night with the injun fighter and frontier guardian. oh, shucks! here's another guy coming with a rifle and looks like business in his eye, too!" he drew up at sight of a horseman who had suddenly appeared in the road ahead, riding toward him. on closer sight, this man appeared to be a young fellow, whose right leg had been freshly bandaged above the knee; chaps and trousers were bundled behind him on the saddle, and from waist to boots his costume consisted of red flannel. he reined in before robinson and nodded greeting, his eye running over the stranger critically. "howdy, pilgrim! jest out from town?" "c'rect the first shot, sure's my name's jack robinson!" was the cheerful response. "and i'd admire to know who's settin' the new range styles this-away! i never did see such fine red color in all my days. i'll have to get me some underwear that same shade." the young fellow chuckled. "my name's arnold," he offered. "by that brand, you must ha' come up from the south, robinson? used to be down in pecos county my ownself, last year; was ridin' for ol' man zimmer." "then," drawled robinson, "i reckon you done heard of pete hendricks?" "friend of yours?" queried arnold. "yep." "shake." arnold suddenly beamed in a wide grin and extended his hand. the two shook vigorously. "me and pete was sure some bunkies. say, i most forgot! did you meet a couple of riders back a ways?" robinson inspected him quizzically. "friends of yours?" he retorted. arnold flushed violently and pointed to his underwear. "does that look like it?" robinson began to roll a cigarette. "if i was you, cowboy, i'd waste no more time lookin' farther for them two gents. no, sir, it'd be an awful waste of time, and, accordin' to looks, you got no time to waste." "meaning what, pardner?" arnold inspected him, narrow-eyed, cautious. "just this." robinson finished his cigarette and tucked it between his lips. "feller named buck was in pahrump to-day, meetin' a friend on the stage. friend called himself murphy, but his real handle was pincher brady, savvy? them two gents was due to leave town shortly behind me, riding thisa-way. now, when they get to where i got, back apiece, they're going to meet up with them same two gents you made mention of--same being matt brady and a little rat name o' knute. do you foller?" "right behind," said arnold, thin-lipped, watchful. "elucidate!" "why, that's about all of it, i reckon!" robinson touched a match to his cigarette. "only, when the first two meet up with the last two, there's going to be a heap of grief spilled. i don't guess pincher brady has much fraternal affection to spoil; same time, it's bound to be a shock, meetin' his brother like that." "oh!" said arnold. "by gosh, d'you mean to say----" "i ain't sayin' at all," and robinson smiled whimsically. "only i darned near got this new hat ruined. somebody's goin' to get blamed for what happened. maybe it'll be me, and maybe you, accordin' to which one buck sees first. by the way, ain't that a circle bar brand on your hoss?" "so taken and accepted." arnold was staring at him hard now. "s'pose you and me ride back a ways, robinson--same way you was heading." "how come?" robinson surveyed him with lifted brows. "i got orders to keep with you, that's all." arnold did not appear hostile--quite the contrary, in fact--but his attitude was determined. "you ain't been using your eyes real good, have you?" "seems not." robinson frowned. "orders to meet me? how in thunder did you get 'em?" arnold grinned. "smoke signal. do you agree? i'd sure hate to have any trouble with a red-headed gent that had knowed pete hendricks, but at the same time i aims to obey orders----" "no apologies necessary." robinson laughed softly. "arnold, i guess you and i will hitch without any trouble. so jake is using injun smoke signals, is he? same old boy as ever. where is he?" "comin' behind you, i reckon," said arnold dryly. robinson uttered a low whistle. "the darned old fox! so that's who it was! let's ride, cowboy; let's ride." arnold turned his horse, and they rode stirrup to stirrup. chapter iii robinson's partner jake harper had once been a very large man. now he was a little bowed with age, a bit heavy with superfluous flesh, his hair quite white, his face seamed with heavy lines. the old eyes were keen as ever; the heavy mustache, fresh dyed a lustrous black, gave the beholder a decided shock when contrasted with white hair and brows. he rode a huge, rawboned beast whose eye was roving and vicious--a brute named celestine. no man but jake had ever ridden her, and no man wanted to. celestine had a reputation. when he came upon arnold and robinson waiting in the road, jake harper drew rein very abruptly. at sight of robinson's laughing gaze, a shock of surprise crossed his seamed features. his eyes opened wide. "for the love of mike!" he uttered. "_you!_" "c'rect the first shot as usual, jake. sure's my name's jack robinson, it's me! i been having quite a bit o' talk with arnold; friendly and peaceable. how're you, jake?" they shook hands warmly. suddenly old jake broke into a storm of affectionate curses. his huge paw pounded robinson on the back again and again. "boy, i'm glad to see ye!" he cried, lustily roaring the words. "dog-gone it, i'm the happiest man in the territory--state, i mean. hurray! by gosh, if i'd knowed it was you under that black hat----" "uh-huh." robinson's eyes crinkled. "i thought you was layin' up there in the brush, most likely. right here and now, jake, i utters heartfelt thanks. sure's my name's jack robinson, i ain't a bit scart to explore the other world, but i don't aim to do it any sooner than i have to. if you hadn't attended to mr. knute, i'd certain sure be wandering lonesome and lonely the other side jordan this minute. that's what comes of bein' a stranger, now. say, sam fisher said to tell you he couldn't get away, so i come instead." "huh?" jake harper puffed out his cheeks. "oh, he did, did he? durned fool, that sam fisher! got a big repytation and ain't got the nerve to live up to it! hey, arnold! what in time are you exposin' your flannels for thataway?" arnold grinned. "i got swiped by a long-distance bee, thirty-thirty caliber," he said. "if you ain't got no objections, jake, where's matt brady and knute?" jake harper twirled his vivid black mustache. "i dunno," he responded thoughtfully. "i could make a blamed good guess where they ain't, though; they ain't reposin' on no fleecy clouds with a harp in each hand! this here jack robinson is severeal seconds faster'n matt brady was, arnold; yes, sir, severeal! guess i'd better give him a job, hadn't i?" arnold put out his hand to robinson again, and they shook. "guess you had, jake," he responded. "they tried the old game on the stranger, eh? knute off to one side?" "uh-huh--blamed near got him, too, only i was watchin' the trail. let's travel, gents. we got to git home 'fore dark." "you seem to have met before," observed arnold. "once or twice," said robinson, and chuckled. a huge billow of laughter shook the big frame of jake harper, as though there were some unuttered joke. after this they rode on in silence. jake harper, old indian fighter, ex-scout, plainsman, and borderer, was plainly in high fettle over the day's events. every now and again his eye rested upon the slim figure of jack robinson, and a vast good humor rolled into his features. the presence of this young man appeared hugely gratifying to him. "ain't been so happy," he blurted, breaking the silence only once, "since me and ol' john parker met up with gen'ral reno one day in san francisco, all three of us plumb lonesome, and not knowin' they was a friend in ten miles. sure is good to see ye, boy." robinson nodded, but did not respond. it was dusk when they reached the harper ranch. robinson left his pinto at the corral, shook hands with half a dozen punchers whom he could scarcely see, and followed jake harper to the big house on the knoll. as soon as he set foot in the porch, jake turned. "the house is yourn!" he said emphatically. "set an' talk! we eats with the boys when supper's ready. meantime, talk!" "suits me." robinson dropped into a chair. "you weren't in town to-day?" "nope." jake harper lowered his bulk into a groaning rocker. "i got so danged much rheumatiz lately it's knocked me up. you didn't meet mig cervantes?" "uh-huh. met him and buck and mike and a man calling himself murphy, only he was matt brady's brother--pincher. maybe you remember him? bad to the backbone." "you met 'em?" asked jake harper. "all of 'em?" robinson laughed softly. "yep. also sheriff tracy. i left town in a hurry. pincher brady has a sore hand, but no one was hurt. by the way, i had quite a long talk with frank shumway last week." "my lord! you did?" jake harper was eager, incredulous, astonished. "how come? thought buck was keeping a close watch on things." "sam fisher sent me up to the pen," robinson chuckled. "frank gets out next spring. he's in pretty fair shape, but badly worried. i bucked him up and promised we'd take care of everything here. by the way, jake, templeton buck has a fine scheme lined out. he got pincher brady here to handle it. he bought the shumway mortgage in pincher's name--assumed name, i should say, of murphy. he aims to let murphy foreclose, then to step up and rescue estella. i don't understand it all myself. isn't estella wise to him?" jake harper tugged at his mustache. "she is, and she ain't," he returned, rumbling his words. "buck, he's played his cards mighty cute with her, allowing he's done all in his power to git frank out of jail and so forth. between you and me, i suspicions that buck has got a friend in the post office, and that he ain't above monkeying with letters." "that's old stuff," said robinson calmly. "you folks up here have a fine county organization, looks like." the insistent banging of a tin pan interrupted them, and they hastily departed. seated about the chuck table with the half-dozen circle bar boys, robinson sized up things without much trouble. except for arnold, the circle bar had no young blood at all. an old swede and his wife took care of the place. the foreman was a grizzled, crippled person who had helped to run down geronimo--and held his job on the strength of it. the other men were much of the same stamp, all of them elderly, one or two efficient, but working for jake harper because they had appealed to his soft side, not because they were first-class range men. jake introduced robinson as a new hand who was going to do some special work for him, and let it go at that. few of the men paid much attention or seemed interested. to robinson the meal was tragic. he had looked for help here, and found none. when it was over, he pushed back his chair and left. out in the open air, he found arnold at his elbow, with a quiet chuckle. "live bunch, ain't it?" opined arnold. "looks to me, red, like you was some disappointed." "what at?" queried robinson. "ain't my business." arnold rolled a cigarette with elaborate carelessness. "only, i ain't seen you throw no war bag into a bunk. i been thinkin' more or less about quittin' here anyhow, and applying for a job over to the lazy s." "oh!" said robinson. "call you mister arnold over there, would they?" "it's always been steve around home." "oh! all right, steve. you and me, what say we go ridin' for a change?" "your hoss look plumb wore out, red." "maybe we can get jake to lend us a bit o' flesh. what about it, jake?" robinson turned, as jake harper joined them under the stars. "steve, here, he allows there's too much excitement around these parts to suit him. i agrees with him plenty. can i put my rope on a couple of your broncs and get steve to take me out and show me the country?" jake harper inspected the two slender figures, hands on his hips. "dog-gone it!" he broke out plaintively. "here i been ridin' and crawlin' in the bresh all day, and now you-all aims to go away, and figgers i'm too blamed wore out to trail along! why don't you stick around and talk a while, robinson?" "what you want to go for, jake?" queried robinson softly. "s'pose buck and pincher brady, or murphy, comes ridin' along here in about half an hour to inquire about the red-headed stranger what took the wrong road to laredo and met up with matt brady and knute--huh? if you wasn't here, where'd i be? that's a conundrum." "and what's the answer to the durned thing?" asked the old plainsman. "that you're the fanciest liar ever i did see, jake, when it's plumb necessary. also, that you don't give a hoot for buck--and if you was setting on your front porch with the lights out and a winchester handy, buck and his friends would be mighty slow about startin' any ructions with you." "oh!" said jake, fingering his very black mustache. "i see! you think i'd lie to save your worthless neck?" "you seen matt brady draw first, didn't you?" "uh-huh, now i think about it--he done so." jake harper chuckled. "that's all right, boy; i know what's stirrin' in your fool brain, too. ye think the circle bar bunch is too old an' helpless to stir much, huh? well, jest you go along. take anything you fancy in the corral, boys, and remember me to estella. i'll be over myself in a day or two." arnold and robinson started away together, and lost themselves in the shadows near the corral. robinson touched his companion's arm. "steve, any time you think old jake is slow, guess again! friend buck is coming along here pretty soon, and he'll run into a surprise party. meantime, we'll be elsewhere." steve arnold grunted. "what you want to run for, then?" "me? i ain't running," and robinson laughed. "i'm off to see the country, that's all. maybe miss shumway will sort of take to me more, if you introduce me." arnold glanced at him suspiciously. "you tryin' to run some joke on me, red?" "none a-tall, steve; cross my heart! sure's my name's jack robinson, i'm a quiet and peaceable stranger what always gets took in. when jake harper gets done orating to buck, that affluent gentleman will give up lookin' for me, except by accident. he won't be real sure whether i'm workin' for jake or not, and the circle bar boys won't be sure neither. in fact, nobody will be sure of anything, except you and me. that's the best way to play her, ain't it?" "looks all right," vouchsafed arnold. "got your saddle handy?" ten minutes later the two were quietly drawing away from the circle bar without making any effusive farewells. they had been riding for perhaps five minutes more, when both pulled up their horses suddenly. across the night lifted the faint bang of a shotgun. "that's jake's old brown bess," said steve. "trouble back of us!" robinson held up a hand for silence. they sat motionless, listening. no further shot came, and robinson relaxed with a soft laugh. "nope, no trouble. we slid out just in time, steve. buck comes riding up, and old jake salutes him out of the darkness, then apologizes for the mistake. savvy? buck accepts the apology--otherwise we'd have heard real trouble a-starting. let's go, cowboy!" they merged into the darkness. the moon would not be up until midnight. chapter iv buck lays plans templeton buck did not particularly enjoy his call at the circle bar, nor did he find its occupants very slow in their reception. he did not see any one, in fact, nor did the dozen riders behind him. the buildings were dark and apparently deserted, until the blast of a shotgun ripped the night and jake harper's voice accosted the arrivals boomingly. the ominous darkness, the more ominous silence, held the running dog men bunched up and nervous. harper's words made them more nervous, when it became evident that jake had witnessed the shooting on the road and was perfectly willing to testify to the fact. buck made up his mind to go home and went. with him went pincher brady, alias murphy, and the dozen riders. murphy displayed no great grief for his defunct relative, but he was savagely disposed toward one jack robinson. once at the rangy, rather unkempt buildings which served the running dog as headquarters, buck called murphy into consultation. he also summoned the newly promoted foreman, one "sandy" davitt, a sour individual marred by a cast in one eye. "we've made a mess of things since this morning, y' understand," buck said glumly. "murphy failed in town, and this here robinson gent ran into a heap of luck headfirst. he's a flash gunman from somewhere, and harper has put him in the bunk house." "old jake has got his back up sudden," observed sandy davitt with a sneer. "hope you ain't lost any nerve lately, buck? he sure handed you a mouthful to-night." buck swore under his breath. his thin, raw-boned features were etched with red. "he pays for that," he responded. "you hear me tell it! they's two things to be done 'fore murphy can foreclose on that mortgage. first, the greaser cervantes has got to be 'tended to. next, jake harper." "jake ain't what you'd exactly call a social favrite," said davitt dryly. "same time, buck, he's considerable well known as an old boy and crippled up some. public opinion ain't goin' to favor his sudden demise, none whatever." "oh, that's all right," grunted buck. "you and slim and doggy take some grub about to-morrow afternoon, and lay up the trail a ways. jake will be ridin' over to the lazy s to-morrow night or next morning. you boys rope him, fetch him over here, and we'll let him cool off a spell while we run that outfit of hisn off the range, savvy?" "that's good as she lays, buck." sandy davitt looked relieved. "i thought you was goin' to remark that i might go wrastle with cervantes, which same i ain't got no longin' for. me, i got a wide sense of my limitations. any gent what undertakes the greaser in sober earnest has got to be born real lucky, and i wasn't." "who'd you suggest?" asked buck, a lurking devil in his eye. "you," said the foreman, grinning sourly. "looks a whole lot like whoever wants the work done had ought to be able to handle some part of it his ownself, don't it?" buck was lounging in his chair as this veiled insinuation was uttered. like a streak of light, he was up and in the air. powerful as sandy davitt obviously was, he was taken by the throat and laid back across the table, gasping and strangled. holding the man's lean throttle in one hand, buck glared down at him. "some stuck up over sudden promotion, ain't you, sandy?" inquired buck's voice. "feelin' your oats a heap, eh? that's twice you got sassy--ain't goin' to be no third time, sandy. or is they?" "n-no," gasped the half-choked man. murphy looked on the scene with interest, his red features quite calm, a cigar between nis teeth. "lemme up, buck!" buck released his hold suddenly, and stepped back, smiling nastily. "sure. git up, boy, and beat it. you can tell the others that cervantes is my meat--quick meat, likewise. you and slim and doggy light out of here to-morrow, and if you miss bringin' in jake harper, i'll skin the three of you one-handed! git!" sandy davitt departed hurriedly. "i see," observed murphy, shifting the cigar in his mouth, "i see you ain't backward when it comes to action, buck. what's the program?" "you ride over to the lazy s in the morning," buck ordered, who was indeed suddenly displaying a new and alert manner. "pull the mortgage stuff on estella, polite but firm, savvy? i know about where cervantes will be. when i'm done with him i'll drop along to the house and fire you off the premises. now set still till i get a drink." buck departed. murphy glanced after him, then lighted his cigar thoughtfully. "humph!" he growled. "i've heard biggity talk 'fore this, mister buck! if i knows you, which i'd ought to, you ain't ridin' up to that greaser and pullin' no gun on him--no, sir! if you git him, it'll be 'cause he ain't armed, maybe. well, let her ride! all i want is to git another chance at that smart aleck, robinson, who recognized me for pincher brady, cuss him! he's run up a big day's score, and i aim to pay him. by godfrey, i'd come close to givin' him an even break, i would!" with this admirable sentiment, mr. murphy inspected his right hand, whose back was crossed by a big piece of sticking-plaster. he was not really injured--the bullet had only scraped his hand slightly. his black scowl was perhaps induced by memory of the fate which had overtaken matt brady that same day. buck was uneasy, and remained uneasy. he had gone to great lengths to stage his final play for the shumway girl and ranch, and saw himself verging on disaster. it was all due to that fool robinson. he had met murphy and had drawn him into mike's place for conference. he had taken the snoring stranger for granted--and the stranger had wakened in sudden nightmare, according to the story told by mike and by murphy. what did it mean? had robinson overheard much of the talk? how had he chanced to recognize murphy as pincher brady?-- the fellow had not gone to laredo at all, but to jake harper's. that was suspicious. where had robinson come from? the south, beyond a doubt; but buck was unable to discover anything about the man. being thus uneasy, buck issued stringent orders to his men, and regarded robinson's fate as settled. upon the following morning, mr. murphy mounted and rode away from the running dog by his lonely. a little later buck and two of his riders departed in company. later still sandy davitt, slim, and doggy rode away together. the day was clear, brilliant, fairly warm. buck and his two men did not follow the road, but made their way by easy stages to the rolling and wooded section of the running dog which adjoined the fine water springs on the shumway ranch. they knew about what they would find there; it had been the same story day after day since matt brady had undertaken to fence in the shumway water. every morning miguel cervantes rode over that way and spent an hour cutting fence. if any of the running dog men showed up, cervantes would smile and take all that was said and would allow himself to be ordered away. if they did not show up, he would finish cutting the fence and then depart. later, matt brady would repair the fence. by this mute and inglorious scheme of tactics, cervantes caused the running dog some irritation, avoided a row, and registered protest against high-handed work. it gained very little, but it was at least a protest. it was about all cervantes had to do on the place, since the remnant of the lazy s stock was safely rebranded and herded with the running dog cattle. upon this particular morning, miguel cervantes was busily cutting wires while his pony cropped the lush grass about the springs, when he observed a single horseman approaching from the hills. at the same time his pony lifted its head and whinnied--in another direction where nothing appeared. cervantes was puzzled, but, centering his gaze on the rider, he recognized the figure of jack robinson. he ceased work, lolled against a fence post, and began to roll a cigarette. he looked up with a flashing smile as robinson drew rein. "_buenos dias!_" cried the rider gayly. "how goes it this morning, miguel?" "well, señor. i am glad to see you again." "the gladness is all mine," said robinson cheerfully. "if you knew how close i came not to seeing you again you'd get me. how is the señorita?" "frying doughnuts." cervantes chuckled. his keen eyes darted over the other's figure. "you slept out last night, yes?" "c'rect, sure's my name's jack robinson! look rumpled, do i? oh, i've been taking a squint at the country, mig. need any help here?" the other shrugged. "no, thanks. it would be better if you rode on to the ranch." robinson gathered up his reins. "then, _hasta la vista_! see you at dinner time." cervantes gestured assent, and watched the slender figure go riding off. once more his pony lifted its head, cocking its ears toward another quarter. cervantes glanced at the hills, saw nothing, and returned to his labor. the figure of robinson rode out of sight. for a space cervantes worked on, rolling up the wire with painstaking care. for the third time his pony looked up, and flung a whinny of greeting into the sunlight. cervantes halted, straightened up, and surveyed the empty landscape with one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. as he stood thus, motionless, a tiny puff of white spat out from a hillside to his right; a second puff became visible to his left. two rolling reports followed. cervantes, dropping his shielding hand, stood for an instant and then quietly fell on his face. jack robinson meantime rode up to the old adobe house beneath wide cottonwoods that view the shumway domain from its rounded knoll, and dismounted. the house had been built mexican style, even to the flat, stone-rolled adobe roof; it was cool and restful, with its vines and flowers. since no one came forth to greet him, robinson unsaddled, took his horse to the corral to one side, and then tramped around the house to the rear. he turned the corner and paused. before him portly señora cervantes was pinning clothes to a line, while from the near-by doorway of the kitchen issued a voice that made robinson turn a trifle red. "i do hope he'll come soon!" was saying estella shumway. "i don't see why he went on to harper's, when he must have known we were dying to see him. well, that's the last of the batch; i'd better bring them outside to cool." the señora turned, beheld robinson, and stood with open mouth. he made a gesture of silence, and stepped forward to the doorway. in this, a moment later, appeared a young lady who held a great platter of new-sugared doughnuts in both arms. as she came out, robinson stepped forward and took the platter from her. something happened swiftly. "oh!" cried the girl, surprise and indignation in her voice. her freed hand slapped robinson's cheek smartly; then she stared at him with widening eyes and flushed cheeks. "oh!" her voice was suddenly different, vibrant with eager welcome. "oh, it's you! my goodness, is that the way you show up?" holding the platter, robinson surveyed her with twinkling eyes. "that's sure the way to show up, isn't it?" he drawled. "i was afraid you might not give me the right kind of welcome, so i took it. sort of forgot what i look like, since you and jake were down in pecos county last fall, haven't you? who'd you think was kissing you, anyway?" the girl's cheeks reddened again, then she broke into a glad laugh. "if i'd known it was you," she cried, "why----" hastily robinson set down the doughnuts and turned to the doorway--but estella had changed her position and now stood outside, laughing at him. "too late!" she exclaimed, and then held out her hand. "goodness, but i'm glad to see you. i knew from what miguel said that----" "you see, stella," broke in robinson, "there was a lot o' trouble down below. the sheriff had been killed and sam fisher was filling out the job; he'll prob'ly be elected anyhow. so sam being sheriff, he couldn't get away, and sent me up instead." estella frowned sharply at him for a moment, studying his face. she was brown-haired, hazel-eyed, healthily brown of cheek and arm. robinson returned her gaze innocently. "i always did admire the way those tendrils of brown hair sort of break loose and curl down around your ears," he said, cocking his head to one side and surveying her with critical stare. "yes, ma'am, i always did, sure's my name's jack robinson! i met miguel back yonder, where he's powerful busy with some wire, and he allowed you would be glad to see me----" "you met miguel this morning?" repeated the girl. "yes. stopped for a chat, then came on. i've been doing considerable running around since yesterday." señora cervantes came up, and robinson was introduced. then, grabbing doughnuts in each, hand, robinson followed stella around to the wide veranda and with a sigh of relaxation settled down in a comfortable chair at her side. "sam was right worried over not hearing from you," he observed. "not hearing?" estella regarded him with wide eyes. "why, i wrote only two weeks ago--wrote a long letter and begged him to come up at once if he could! he knew all about the mortgage, and had promised to try and sell the ranch if he could----" robinson's eyes narrowed. "who posted that letter for you?" "i gave it to mr. buck to mail, as he was going to town." "oh! well, i guess it got lost in the shuffle somewhere," said robinson. "anyhow, sam hasn't heard from you in a month. anyhow, he sold the ranch." "sold it! sold this ranch?" the girl stiffened. "for how much? who to?" robinson shook his head. "i dunno, ma'am. sam, he made me promise not to say a word about it until he could get up here his ownself." "oh!" a trace of anger flamed in the girl's eyes. "i'd like to shake you----" "i'd sure like to have you," robinson said with a grin. "go ahead, ma'am!" instead, stella settled back in her chair and regarded him narrowly. "what kind of a game are you playing, anyway?" she demanded. "none whatever. me, i'm a innercent pilgrim, a stranger, plumb peaceable," and his grin was more exasperating than ever. "as i remember it, sam fisher sold an option on the place, and the feller was coming up to look it over. he had your power of attorney to sell, but seemed like you had to consent to the deal." "i had!" repeated the astonished girl. "why, nothing of the sort! i wrote sam that he had full power----" "sure, sure, but this was different. seems like this feller wanted you to go with the ranch," averred robinson innocently. stella looked at him a moment, then sprang to her feet. "what do you mean? how dare you! oh, i wish i knew when you were serious! who bought the place? tell me!" "feller name of robinson--jack robinson. got any objections?" they looked at each other for half a minute, a slow tide of color sweeping over the face of the girl. as she was about to speak, there came an interruption: "hello the house! anybody home?" both turned. there, sitting upon his borrowed horse, was mr. murphy, whose approach had been unobserved. robinson hastily dropped out of sight, concluding that he had been unseen. "oh, lord!" he murmured. "stella, bring in this gent quick; i'm going to slaughter him. friend of mine, sure. bring him in and give him a doughnut." "good morning," said the girl, somewhat perplexed at the whole affair. "weren't you looking for me?" "lookin' for miss shumway, if you're her," returned murphy. he dismounted and came forward toward the veranda. "my name's murphy, ma'am. i done bought a mortgage over to laredo city las' week, coverin' this place, and, bein', in the vicinity, thought i'd drop in and ask about it comin' due the first of the month." the girl's face whitened a trifle. "the--mortgage?" she stammered. "why--why, i thought the bank held it----" "yes'm." murphy took a paper from his pocket as he mounted the steps. "but i done bought her in. maybe you'd like to look over this----" he broke off suddenly, for his eyes had fallen upon robinson. the latter grinned at him cheerfully. "step right up, mr. murphy; step right up. we're a whole lot glad to see you. try a doughnut? finest you ever seen, i'll bet." murphy looked paralyzed, and in this case looks did not lie. chapter v buck's lucky day murphy really looked as though about to have a stroke. his red face purpled deeply, and his plastered right hand gave a slight, spasmodic jerk. "you want to watch that there hand real careful," said robinson with a solicitous air. "real careful! don't let it jerk thataway; it's a right bad sign, mr. murphy! step up and have a seat, won't you? hello--you must ha' scratched that hand or hurt it somehow; all plastered up, ain't it?" "i--i didn't expect to be findin' you here," said murphy, glaring viciously. "don't doubt it," was the cheerful response, while stella shumway looked from one to the other with suspicious scrutiny. "that's my specialty, bein' where i ain't expected. but don't let me interrupt your business talk none whatever. i'll just set quiet and be a good feller. mr. murphy's an old friend of mine, stella; known him since yesterday afternoon. set and rest yourself, murphy. no ceremony here." murphy compressed his thick lips, removed his hat, and finally shook his head. "i ain't settin', thanks," he returned, then faced the girl. "you don't mind if i look over the place a bit, ma'am? ain't aiming to make myself obnoxious none, if----" "why, certainly," faltered estella, handing back the paper she had taken. "since you bought the mortgage, you have a right to look over the property." "wait a minute," broke in robinson. "it's awful to have a tongue like mine; just can't keep quiet two minutes. you started in a while ago, murphy, to say something, then you switched off and started to look over the place. let's finish and get cleaned up all fine. what was it you started to orate about the mortgage?" murphy gave him a savage glance. "i was goin' to say," he said sullenly, "that we could make arrangements about it's bein' paid off at the pahrump bank." "oh!" robinson stretched out comfortably. his hand caressed the gun at his belt, and murphy watched that hand with attention. "oh! but s'pose it can't be paid off? was you about to offer to renew the note?" "i'm right sorry," and murphy ignored his questioner, addressing himself to estella shumway. "right sorry, ma'am, but i can't very well renew. ye see----" "never mind goin' into the matter, feller," said robinson. his voice had a sting to it. "you turn around and address them remarks to me. it looks mighty funny about you bein' so anxious to look around the place, after you got a glimpse o' me settin' here. what's your rush to look at land, huh? what you tryin' to kill time for? expectin' to meet somebody else here?" murphy regarded him with veiled hatred. "i dunno what you're talkin' about, robinson," he said. "i rode over here square and open to transact business. that business ain't with you----" "oh, ain't it?" jeered robinson. "look here, you! i don't like your looks, and i don't like the name you're sailin' under, savvy? if i'd known as much yesterday as i know now, i wouldn't ha' scratched that hand of yours, not a bit of it! i was a blamed fool. now, if you expect me to turn my back on you any more, you got another guess coming. you're the one that's going to turn your back, and do it pronto!" "are you threatening me?" demanded murphy belligerently. "threaten you? my gosh, no!" robinson chuckled. "you ain't worth it, you red hawg! i want to see you ridin' away from here in a hurry. oh, never you mind, stella! this gent isn't going to act as mad as he looks. that isn't his style. murphy, go grab for your gun if you want; i'll give you till you grab it. hurry up! grab for it!" murphy looked down into those deadly blue eyes and made no move for his gun. his fat red features were perspiring a trifle. robinson mocked at him. "oh, you ain't reachin' for it, huh? s'pose ye'd like me to turn my back, would ye? nope, not no more, feller. besides, they's ladies present, and i sure hate to expose my back and start you to shootin'." "two men coming up the road," intervened estella quickly. at these words a flash crossed the face of murphy--a flash of untold relief. robinson did not miss the look. then he glanced at the road, and saw the corduroy-clad figure of buck, followed by another rider. "don't mind if i smoke, stella?" he drawled. "thanks. set down, murphy. i'm real anxious to hear what buck has to say to you." murphy did not sit down, but eyed the approaching riders uneasily. buck slid from his horse, looking visibly excited, and strode toward the veranda. he glanced at robinson without surprise, then his gaze fell on murphy. he doffed his hat to estella. "morning, ma'am! you sure look fresh as ever. got visitors, i see." a smile on her lips, estella stepped forward and shook hands. "just in time for lunch, mr. buck. yes, we have visitors. my friend, mr. robinson, from the south, and this is mr. murphy----" buck glanced at robinson, then turned to murphy suddenly. a look of recognition came into his eyes. he was acting his part well. "murphy!" he said slowly. "that ain't the name you went under when i seen you before. what you doin' here?" at this challenge, the girl started in astonishment. robinson smiled thinly. "me?" murphy faced the rancher aggressively. "none of your business, is it? but if you want to know, i done bought a mortgage on this place, and i aim to foreclose if she ain't cleared off first of the month." "oh, you do!" buck's hand flashed down and his gun looked at mr. murphy. "all i got to say to you is--git, and git quick! the mortgage'll be paid. i'll lend miss shumway the money my ownself. git, you varmint!" murphy turned and strode down the steps, passed to his horse, and rode away. buck gazed after him with narrowed eyes until he was well away. then, without a bit of warning, he whirled and threw down his gun at robinson. "hands up, you! quick!" there was deadly intent in his voice. robinson, absolutely surprised, put up his hands. buck leaned forward and jerked away his gun. "here! how dare you, mr. buck!" exclaimed stella, darting forward. "what do you mean by this----" "miss stella," said buck gravely, "i got mighty bad news for you. me and two of my riders was comin' here this morning by way of the spring. we were up on that knoll behind it when we crossed the track of a horseman, and a moment later we seen this gent," he motioned toward robinson with his ready gun, "ridin' up to the spring. cervantes was standin' there smokin' a cigarette. what passed we dunno. all we heard was two shots, and then this gent rode away quick. when we got up, cervantes was dead. we come on here quick." horror filled the eyes of the girl, and a terrible grief. "dead--miguel dead?" "shot twice, miss stella," answered the latter, regret in his tone. "we seen the whole thing. i left 'chuck' hansom to bring miguel in, then i come on. ye see, ma'am, we'd been lookin' for this gent since yesterday. seems like he met my foreman, matt brady, and shot him down, out o' pure cussedness." "don't forget knute," intervened robinson, smiling a thin smile. "don't forget him, buck." "oh!" estella turned to the speaker swiftly. "tell me--tell him, you must! this isn't true!" "sho, of course it ain't true," said robinson calmly. "sure's my name's jack robinson, it ain't got a word of truth--except maybe that poor miguel's dead. that's liable to be true." the girl shrank away from him; then, with a burst of tears, ran from the veranda. instantly the manner of robinson changed. he looked at buck from narrowed steely eyes that burned. "buck," he said softly, "i'm tellin' you here and now--you'd better shoot while you got me, for you ain't goin' to have me long. you'd better shoot, buck. i'm warnin' you, it's your best chance. after this, you and me----" "none of your big talk, robinson," sneered the rancher. "we have you dead to rights, and we'll see that the law attends to you. hey, there! come up and rope this gent! we'll take him in to the sheriff right off." buck's companion swung from the saddle, took his lariat, and came to the veranda. from inside the house came a shrill high scream of grief; the señora had learned the news. then estella appeared again, and saw the puncher with the rope. "oh, you mustn't!" she cried out, running forward. "he didn't do it; he couldn't have done it, mr. buck! why----" "ma'am, we seen the whole thing," said buck regretfully. "and this gent is mighty slick, but we'll turn him in to the law to be dealt with. that's all we aim to do." "oh, tell them, tell them!" estella turned her tear-stained eyes to robinson. "you can make them believe when----" "i'm afraid mr. buck is right stubborn and set in his ways," sighed robinson. "nope, they ain't a bit o' use in me spillin' any talk to him, stella! sure's my name's jack robinson, there ain't. i met miguel on the way here, as i said, but----" buck nodded to his rider, who approached robinson and deftly knotted his wrists behind his back. "put him on my horse," said buck quietly, "and take him into town. hand him over to sheriff tracy--and see that nothing happens to him. don't tell any one but the sheriff what's happened, savvy? we don't want to rouse up any necktie party in town. this is a matter for the law--open-and-shut case." "quite so," observed robinson ironically. "quite so! we'll get to town all right, buck--won't we, cowboy? lead on, and don't pull too hard on that cord. my wrists is real tender lately. see you later, stella; don't you worry none whatever about this deal. trust jake harper to see that the cards are dealt honest." the girl stared after him, stricken in her grief. without attempt at protest, robinson mounted into the saddle of buck, and allowed the puncher to tie his ankles beneath the horse. then the puncher mounted, and started for town. the two figures rode away from the ranch, and lessened in the distance. buck, meantime, was speaking to estella shumway. "this is a terrible thing, stella," he said, his voice soft and pleading. "poor miguel and my boys has had some trouble, but it wa'n't nothing to mention. gosh, this is pretty bad! and then this feller murphy comin' along. "now look-a-here, stella! you got to let me handle things for you a spell. i'll get rid o' this cuss murphy in a hurry. don't let the money part of it bother you a mite. i'll send in to town to-day and git the preacher, and we'll attend to a real funeral for poor miguel, savvy? there ain't nothin' i wouldn't do for you, li'l girl, and you know it." "oh!" the girl turned to him desperately. "are you sure--are you sure about what you saw? it isn't possible, i tell you!" her vehemence shook buck despite himself. "why, stella! you ain't friends with this gunman robinson? he's a stranger up here--sure, you don't know him?" the girl shivered slightly and turned away. she was silent for a moment; then: "no," she said. "i never saw robinson before to-day, mr. buck--only he seemed such a nice man! and he knew some friends of ours----" a flash of relief crossed the features of buck. "well, looks is deceivin'," he averred stoutly. "now, stella, you leave things to me. chuck will be in pretty quick with the body, and i'll take care of it. poor miguel! this here news will be a mighty big shock to everybody who knowed him. want me to send for jake harper? him and me ain't overly friendly, but he's mighty true to you, i guess. we'll overlook our differences and 'tend to your affairs." "it's--it's good of you, mr. buck," and the girl glanced at him quickly, then turned to the doorway. "yes, send for him, please. you--you must excuse me now; i'll have to be with poor tia maria----" she vanished into the house. for a moment buck stood motionless. his gaze followed the tiny dots that were the figures of his puncher and robinson, and a smile curved his wide lips. then he glanced down and picked up one of the doughnuts that robinson had dropped. he regarded it, then bit strongly into it. "gosh, these is sure fine doughnuts!" he observed. "i'll sure be playin' in luck when stella comes to cook for me. lucky catchin' robinson thataway, too, y' understand. and darned lucky stella didn't think to look if his gun'd been fired twice. plumb lucky!" chapter vi proof after leaving the lazy s behind, robinson rode in silence for some time. he was in the lead. the puncher behind held the lariat which bound robinson to his horse. "you got that gun of mine with you?" asked robinson. no answer from behind. "well, i seen buck hand her to you. be mighty careful with her; she's got a special easy pull. i'd be right sorry to have you point her my way." no answer. the puncher was a sullen brute of a man. "you fellers made one real mistake," went on robinson, undaunted by the silence, his voice cheerful as ever. "you should ha' fixed that gun o' mine. miguel was killed by two bullets, wasn't he? but that gun ain't been fired, cowboy. you'd better set that right 'fore turning me in to the sheriff. otherwise tracy would have to fix the gun his ownself, and he might forget it." an oath from the rider behind apprised robinson that his words had taken full effect. he grinned slightly. a moment later his horse started as a gun was fired in the air. looking over his shoulder, robinson saw the puncher in the act of firing the second time. "two shots is plenty," he observed. "that's real friendly of you, cowboy. i'd hate to spoil everything by not havin' fired that there weapon." the sullen rider gave him a malevolent glance and motioned ahead. robinson turned and made no further overtures. they jogged on in silence, the hoofs raising a slow cloud of dust that followed and drifted over them with the breeze of noonday. for half an hour neither man spoke a word, and then robinson again ventured an effort: "you three gents must ha' been planted when i rode by and spoke with cervantes. ain't that the way of it now?" no response at all. robinson chuckled. "i guess that's it, feller. buck seen me, and got a great idea. looks like he was dead right about it, too. only thing that worries me is this: who fired the two shots? each o' these hosses has a rifle, but they was a third puncher along with you. however, that don't matter right now. the three of you was planted, seen me, and let me go past. that was actin' real clever toward me, as they say down south. ever been down thataway, feller? you come down some day and get you a job on the sf ranch below pecos city. i'll help you get it any old time. sam fisher owns her. he's a smart young feller, they do say, only he don't justify his reputation much. least, that's what jake harper says." "hold your jaw!" came the savage command from behind. robinson glanced over his shoulder and beheld another cloud of dust far behind them. his captor jerked on the lariat, and continued: "robinson, you start any talkin' and you'll never reach town alive. i means it. when that gent comes up, if he ain't buck you lay low." "conceded," returned robinson. "i'll not say a word, providin' you tell me where murphy went to." "what you so dummed curious about murphy for?" "born that way and can't help it. tell me, and i won't say a word." "well, murphy he went to town, i guess. satisfied?" "plenty." robinson looked straight ahead at the road, and grinned to himself. behind the two the cloud of dust moved rapidly closer. the running dog rider turned often in his saddle with uneasy scrutiny, but to make out the figure of the rider was impossible, for the breeze was stiffly behind them and blew the dust ahead. thus it was not until the drum of hoofs behind was distinctly audible that robinson heard a low oath issue from his captor. "it's that fool arnold from the circle bar! you, robinson, keep your trap shut!" robinson grinned and made no response. but a moment later he looked over his shoulder, and remained looking. arnold was spurring his cayuse after the pair. now he sent a hoarse yell ahead--a yell which caused the running dog man to jerk up his mount and turn, hand on gun. "put 'em up!" yelled arnold again. "take it, if ye want it," growled the puncher, and drew. before his gun spoke, steve arnold fired--and fired again. then arnold came riding up to the plunging horse and fallen man, swearing huge oaths as he did so; the vivid flame of hatred in his face was terrible to see. "steve, i'm right s'prised in you," said robinson calmly. arnold whirled on him. "you didn't see it!" he cried, his voice cracking. "you didn't see it--i did! this here guy was one of the two--him and buck done it. they shot down miguel, murdered him, never said a word, jest let drive from the brush! by gosh, it was all i could do not to let drive on 'em--not a mite of warning, but two shots!" the face of robinson was grave, sternly set, ten years older. "was it as bad as that?" he queried. "turn me loose, steve!" arnold came up and fumbled at the knots. tears of excitement were on his dusty cheeks. "the dirty skunks!" he cried. "it was low down, red--the worst i ever dreamed of. this guy was one of the two. but i give him warning; you heard me? i warned him 'fore i shot him down." "you done so, steve," affirmed robinson, rubbing his freed wrists. "what happened after they shot cervantes?" "they left chuck hansom with him, and follered you. i snuck past chuck and follered them, lay up and circled around the lazy s house. seen murphy go, then seen you put into the saddle. after that i follered along until i heard the two shots, and that was all." robinson reached for the rifle that was booted at the saddle before him. "this is buck's horse, steve," he said gravely. "and buck's rifle. now, lookin' down the barrel, you'll agree with me that she's been fired real lately--and there's a trace o' fumes to prove it. that's proof aplenty for buck. let's look at this gent's rifle." the rifle from the other saddle had also been fired recently. robinson looked down at the dead man and shook his head sadly. "you fellows," he observed, "have been sowing the wind up in this county--and now you're going to reap the whirlwind. you'll reap it good and plenty, and she'll strike sudden; she always does. steve! can you swear to it that buck fired one of the shots?" "i seen him rise up with his gun a-smokin'," averred steve arnold. "then let's you and me lay off of buck entirely." robinson smiled harshly at the dead man. "we'll get him when the time comes--and let the law deal with him." "law?" arnold swore scornfully. "lot o' law in this county! you'd never get tracy to arrest buck even!" robinson regarded him a moment, the blue eyes keen and hard. "c'rect the first shot, sure's my name's jack robinson! but i don't aim to have tracy do any arrestin'. the main thing right now is that buck is back at the lazy s fillin' stella full o' fancy lies, and she thinkin' i'm in jail for the murder of poor cervantes." "oh! so that's why they had you tied up?" queried steve arnold. "somethin' like that." robinson smiled. "steve, can i trust you to turn in back there and say nothin'--keep your head level--just be nice and polite to buck and his man chuck hansom? can ye do it, cowboy?" "can if i got to. why?" "then go do it, and stick around till you gets a chance to wise up stella to the facts of the case. take buck's rifle; we may need a real gun 'fore we get through. i'll ride this feller's hoss and take his winchester. buck's hoss we'll send home by his ownself." suiting action to words, robinson took the bridle of the dead man's mount, then with a slap and a wave of his hat sent buck's beast careering down the road. arnold sat looking down at him darkly. "where you goin', red?" robinson's old quizzical smile broke forth. "me? i got to get to town in time to call for some mail----" "to town, ye durned fool! ridin' a runnin' dog cayuse? here, you take this hoss o' mine and i'll take--" "and give our game away to buck? not on your young life, cowboy! i want mr. buck to think i'm safe behind the bars--until he gets home and finds his own hoss, anyhow. nope, you amble along and don't waste worry over me. your job is to take the worry off stella's mind, savvy?" "you've got mighty well acquainted, red. callin' her stella, huh?" "that's my specialty." with a laugh, robinson was in the saddle and turning his horse toward town. "see you later. if you take a notion, i'll prob'ly be in town until about eight o'clock to-night. and mind, you leave buck be! he'll hang for that murder!" with this he put spurs to his cayuse and careered down the road in a cloud of dust. steve arnold looked after him, scowled down at the dead man, then reined about and started on the back trail. he was quivering, tremulous with a stern excitement. "my first man!" he looked back at the motionless figure, then straightened in the saddle. "well, i s'pose it had to come some time--and i'm glad i paid out the cuss for what he done at the spring. question is, can i git to town 'fore eight o'clock to-night? red, he's sure aimin' to raise cain with somebody there." when at length he dismounted at the lazy s, he was met by buck and chuck hansom, the latter a cheerful scoundrel who sported an indian beadwork vest and was credited with an aptitude for any deviltry. "howdy, steve!" greeted buck. "jest come from town? meet anybody?" "uh-huh." arnold busied himself unsaddling. "done heard the news. met that hombre of yourn with his pris'ner in tow. brought in cervantes, have you?" buck nodded gravely. "where's jake harper, d'you know?" "home, i reckon. his rheumatiz was right bad this mornin'," said arnold coolly. "miss stella inside? i got a letter for her." "i'll take it in," proffered jake. "she's right cut up about miguel. i don't guess you'd better bother her now, steve----" arnold's hand fell to his gun. so deadly was his face in that moment that buck instinctively took a step backward. "i'm carryin' my own mail," said arnold. "you fellers object?" "of course not," said buck hastily. "what ye tryin' to do--stir up trouble a time like this? miss stella wants to git jake here. goin' over to the ranch real soon?" "i don't aim to." arnold gave him look for look. "if she's done asked you to fetch jake, you fetch him. i got business of my own; i ain't ridin' for jake no more." "you ain't!" exclaimed buck, staring. "listen! i got room for you----" "not for me, you ain't!" and with a slow laugh steve arnold went into the house. the other two looked after him, then glanced at each other. chuck hansom uttered a chuckle, and touched buck's arm. "i guess you 'n' me had better go find jake ourselves, buck. what say?" buck nodded. his work here was done for the moment. he was well satisfied with it. chapter vii masks off it was late afternoon when jack robinson rode into the town of pahrump, county seat of the county of the same name. the town was deserted apparently; somnolent and sleepy. the afternoon stage was not yet in with the mail. the courthouse square, with its long hitching rail, seemed abandoned to flies and sunlight. even the jail and sheriff's office looked desolate; across the street from this last, mike's place showed not a sign of life. robinson went to the hotel and turned his horse into the corral there, leaving his saddle and bridle in the hotel office for safe-keeping. he then made his way to main street and sought the telegraph office. there was no line in pahrump, but the telephone exchange handled messages. at the exchange, robinson smiled at the young woman in charge. "i left a message here yesterday, ma'am, askin' you to hold up any answer. name of fisher." without comment the young woman handed him a message. robinson pocketed it, returned to the street, glanced at the message, and chuckled. "what i need is grub, a bath, and a shave," he reflected. "fresh shirt wouldn't hurt anything, not to mention a clean handkerchief. grub can come last." the stage and express office, an integral unit with the johnson merchandise company, lay across the street. robinson betook himself thither and confronted a listless clerk. "what's all the excitement about in town?" he demanded. the clerk saw no humor in the question, but answered it seriously: "two men shot up yesterday; sheriff's gone out with a posse. dunno why." "i don't know why, either," said robinson cheerfully. "you ought to have a pair of saddlebags sent up by express from pecos city. name of fisher." "come in last night," was the response. the saddlebags over his arm, robinson went to the barber shop. there he obtained a shave, followed by a bath, and from the saddlebags he spruced up with a clean shirt and handkerchief--also a second gun. his pilgrimage now took him to the nearest and only restaurant, where he put away a huge order of ham and eggs, with other things. this done, he dropped his saddlebags at the hotel, loosened his belt, bought a cigar, and sauntered down the street again. thus far he had seen no signs of mr. murphy, and he rightly concluded that the gentleman was sequestered in or about mike's place. these errands had taken up considerable time. the stage was nearly due, and the town showed some symptoms of animation. horses fringed the long hitching rail in the square. a number of loungers about the sheriff's office showed that the posse had returned. unhurried, robinson sauntered to the post office and presented a smiling face at the window. "mail for fisher, please," he requested. the postmaster fished several long envelopes from a box, glanced at them, then gave robinson a hard look. "nothin' fer you, i guess." "your mistake, mister," and robinson smiled. "those letters are for me, i believe." "these here is for sheriff sam fisher o' pecos county." robinson drew a flat metal object from his pocket and laid it on the shelf. "does that satisfy you? if not, i'll come around and get my own mail." the postmaster glanced at the sheriff's badge, silently shoved out the letters, and stared at robinson as that young man departed. without looking at his mail, robinson took his easy way to the sheriff's office. he nodded to the loungers outside, and passed in. at the door which bore the sheriff's name he paused. turning the handle, he walked in. sheriff tracy was seated at a desk, alone in the room. he looked up, saw who his visitor was, and gasped. then his hand slid across the desk. "don't!" said robinson, and tracy looked into a gun. "set back; i dropped in for a quiet talk. also, i aim to use your office a spell." "you impudent scoundrel!" gasped the sheriff. "look here! what d'you know about that shooting on the north road yesterday?" "know all about it," responded robinson coolly, closing the door and drawing up a chair opposite the sheriff. he sat down and laid the gun before him. "in fact, i done it. now, set still and don't call in anybody just yet. we got to have a talk. first, i want to look at this here mail, if you don't object." he put the letters on the desk and spread them out. tracy's glance fell to them. a start of surprise, and his gaze returned to robinson's face. "whose mail you got there, robinson?" "my own." robinson smiled thinly, knowing that tracy had read the name on that mail. there was a moment of silence. tracy surveyed his cool visitor with frightful uneasiness, licked his lips, tugged at his mustache. then: "well, what you want here?" "several things, sheriff. i'll be real busy to-morrow, so i thought we'd better get all fixed up to-day. got to go out to the lazy s to-night with the preacher and attend to the funerals to-morrow." "funerals? at the lazy s? what in time d'you mean?" "shootin'; somebody murdered miguel cervantes this mornin'. shot him twice in the back." the sheriff leaped from his chair. robinson's hand went to his gun, and tracy sat down again, breathing hard. "who done it?" "now, sheriff, don't go to askin' me unpleasant questions. one of the gents that done it is real dead. the other gent is going over the road for it--in my care." tracy bristled. "you may be sam fisher and you may not," he said aggressively, "but you ain't walkin' into my county and givin' no orders, stranger. that's plumb final. you got no authority here; not a mite." "i know it," said robinson sweetly. "but i aim to get that authority real sudden. now don't go to causing any trouble, sheriff tracy. in about ten minutes from now you got to saddle up and take quite a journey, and i'd hate to make you take a longer journey than is necessary." "saddle up! me?" queried tracy, red-faced. "yep. first thing, you look over this here telegram. it's about a gent named murphy, which same is sojournin' in our midst. since somebody wants him bad enough to offer three hundred dollars for him, you'd ought to be interested in picking up the money." he laid his telegram on the desk. tracy read it. his face was a study in mingled emotions. finally he looked up at fisher with a complete change of front. "i guess you're sam fisher, all right," he observed. "they say he's got the devil's own nerve, and you sure show it. but you're making a terrible mistake butting into things like this, fisher. you don't know this here county----" "here's my badge for proof, and my mail," said robinson. "i'm sam fisher--fact is, i never said right out that i was robinson. folks just took that for granted. you and the old gang are plumb out of luck, tracy. i got no hard feelings against you, and i'm going to give you the chance to slide out of town, avoid trouble, and pick up three hundred iron men. in other words, take mr. murphy to the railroad and go away with him. by the time you get back the trouble will be all over and you'll have a clean slate." tracy, breathing hard, surveyed his visitor with anxious eyes. "don't get hasty now," warned robinson--or, to use his real name, sam fisher. "and don't get to thinking about templeton buck and how much power he has. he ain't going to have much left when i get through with him, tracy. i s'pose he's given out orders that poor jack robinson has got to be eliminated. fact is, he thought he had me eliminated a few hours ago. that's all right; we'll leave jack robinson out of it. sam fisher has drawn cards in this game, and he's going to stick for the pot." "why don't you take murphy, if you want him, and go?" demanded the sheriff. "i don't want him. three hundred bones means nothin' in my young life. also, and moreover, i don't aim to go in that direction." fisher's smile was cherubic. "you are gettin' off mighty easy, tracy. all you got to do is to swear me in as a deputy and turn over the jail keys to me, then start travelin' with murphy. i'll even go so far as to help you arrest him." tracy reddened again. "leave you here?" he said. "not much! i ain't going to do no such thing----" "i said not to get hasty, didn't i?" fisher's eyes hardened into blue steel. "you can't run no riffle on me, fisher!" blustered tracy. "if i don't do it, then what?" fisher surveyed him a moment with that bitterly cold gaze: "if you don't do it," he returned slowly, "then you got to make a heap big war talk, and do it sudden. balance her up now, and make your play. i'm talkin' turkey." in those tense features tracy read the truth--this man was in to play the limit. and tracy dared not back his hand; he could not trust his own cards. there was too much he did not know. he had been unable to find buck that afternoon, and he was facing this crisis on his own backbone--which did not amount to much. he had heard of sam fisher often and often. the sheriff of pecos had a reputation, and stood behind it hard. tracy could not tell just what this man would dare do, and he did not care to take chances on finding out. on the other hand, he was offered a trip with a prisoner which would net him three hundred dollars reward money. he would be safely away while fisher was playing his game. it would be certainly all right to leave fisher, the sheriff of the next county, in charge of pahrump while he was gone. and if fisher got killed, what loss? none. if he did not get killed, he was apt to kill off several people who were behind tracy. that would be no great loss either. a grim smile curved the lips of tracy. "sam, your arguments are powerful good," he said. "there's a couple o' deputies outside. if you want to have the ceremony over right away----" fisher nodded, rose, and went to the door. "hey, fellers!" he called to the group outside. "come inside; sheriff wants you." five men trooped in, eyeing fisher with uneasy glances. sheriff tracy, having made his decision, lost no time in putting the job through. "this here," he said, motioning to his visitor, "is sam fisher, sheriff o' pecos county. i'm about to swear him in as deputy and leave him in charge of things here. fisher, you want these deputies to work with you?" sam fisher eyed the group and smiled. "nope, i'm satisfied to play a lone hand, tracy. much obliged for the offer." "very well. you boys can bear witness to this here affair, then you're free. hold up your hand, fisher--" sam fisher was duly sworn as deputy sheriff, and tracy handed him a badge. fisher put it in his pocket with a grin. the startled, staring men behind him were dumfounded. tracy then shoved over the jail keys. "they's four brand-new cells," he said, "just installed, all the latest fittin's. the others ain't worth much 'cept for looks. four will be plenty, i guess?" "one," said fisher significantly, "is all i figger on using. i'd hate to cause the county a lot of expense, tracy, when you're treatin' me so wide and handsome." "you want to move into the office here while i'm gone?" "nope, thanks. i'll just lock her up; i expect to be plumb busy for a few days. now what say to you and me going after that bad guy? i reckon we'll find him down to mike's place. boys," and he turned to the ex-deputies, "sheriff tracy has discovered that there's a feller here badly wanted for a holdup and murder--and he aims to light out with him right off. that is, providin' we gather him in without any gunplay, which we hope to do. you might spread the news, so folks won't think it funny that tracy is out o' town." "what about that killin' up on the north road?" asked somebody. "matt brady?" fisher looked at the speaker. "oh, him?" he asked in surprise. "why, i done that myself. no objections?" "gosh, no!" was the response, hastily rendered. sam fisher smiled grimly as he left the office with tracy at his elbow. "any of the running dog outfit in town?" he asked when they were crossing the street. "not that i know of," said tracy, jingling the handcuffs in his pocket. "but if i was you, fisher, i'd sort of keep my eye skinned for buck." "thanks." fisher chuckled. "that's the best little thing to do, tracy. well, here goes for the big show! bet you a dollar we don't even have a rumpus." he pushed open the swinging doors of mike's place. chapter viii exit mr. p. brady the saloon was deserted, except for galway mike and mr. murphy, who were closely engaged in conversation across the bar. in another half hour the place would be rushed; the stage would be in, and the usual evening's business would be opened up. sam fisher wasted no time on preliminaries. when he stepped inside the place it was with a drawn gun. "hands up, gents!" he said quietly. "move quick, mike!" two pairs of hands were swiftly elevated. murphy saw in the bar mirror who had come in, and he stood petrified. mike grimaced angrily. "this ain't a holdup, is it?" he uttered. "sure an all----" "nope, and you aren't in it, mike," responded fisher. "so long as you keep out of it, you're not in it; get the idea? all right. better iron this gent, sheriff." tracy appeared, to the amazement of mike. he produced handcuffs and stepped forward. from murphy broke a string of oaths. "shut up!" ordered fisher. "one more word out of you, pincher brady, and i'll drill your hand--should ha' done it yesterday. you're going to the capital for robbery and murder. guess i'll take a look at his pockets, tracy, if you don't mind." gyved and backed against the bar by tracy, the prisoner was helpless. sam fisher stepped forward, removed his gun, and then swiftly searched him. he took from murphy's breast pocket a number of papers, and hurriedly glanced over them. "most of these have bearings on my case, tracy," he announced. "you'll have no objections if i take charge of 'em?" "none whatever, fisher," said the sheriff amiably. at this response murphy gave a violent start. galway mike, behind the bar, opened his mouth and started with a drooping jaw. "fisher!" stammered murphy. "who you callin' fisher, sheriff? this here gent----" "is the sheriff o' pecos county," said sheriff tracy. "and he's takin' my place here for a few days, gents. now, brady, march along!" "i'll run along and see you off," said sam fisher languidly. tracy grinned. he was beginning to feel that he had chosen the wiser way out of a very bad dilemma, and was fully as anxious to depart from pahrump as sam fisher was to have him gone. he had nothing to gain by staying, and much to lose. "if i'd knowed you was sam fisher," said murphy ruefully as they went out, "i wouldn't have monkeyed with you no ways." "but you didn't, and you did," returned fisher cheerfully. "and now you're in the soup, pincher. but cheer up; you'll meet some friends of yours before long, as soon as i get time to round 'em up and send 'em along. where are your hosses, tracy?" "i got a couple in the hotel corral." sight of the two men with their obvious prisoner quickly assembled a small crowd, which drifted along to the hotel. on the porch sam fisher seated mr. murphy in a chair and stood guard over him while tracy went for the horses. the crowd eyed the two men and offered many comments and questions, to which sam fisher only replied with a smile. news of his identity having been spread by the ex-deputies of the posse, he was at length confronted by a direct question. "are you fisher o' pecos county?" demanded one of the crowd about the porch. "c'rect the first shot, pardner," responded sam fisher. "what ye doin' here?" "workin'," was the laconic retort. "any objections?" "you wait till buck hears about this!" came in quick response. "him and the runnin' dawg will certainly take down your hide. hey, fellers! let's run this pecos sheriff out o' town! we don't want him here!" there was a general, although by no means hearty, assent to the proposal. at this moment tracy rode up with a spare horse. he grinned at fisher and addressed the crowd. "gents, i've swore in sheriff fisher as special deputy and am leavin' him in charge of things here. adios! gimme the prisoner, sam." fisher led the wilted mr. murphy to the waiting horse and assisted him into the saddle rather energetically. he waved the pair an ironic farewell. "hearty travelin' to you gents! see you later, tracy." the two rode down the street. sam fisher turned to the crowd surrounding him, and all the laughing geniality had fled out of his face. "boys," he said gravely, "i don't blame you for not wanting strangers butting into your affairs. i'm not going to do it for long--but while i'm doing it i aim to do it thorough and proper. miguel cervantes was murdered this morning; shot from ambush. i'm going to get the man who did it, and i'm going to send him to the pen. that's all. now will some gent kindly direct me to where the nearest or next preacher resides?" dumfounded by this information, the crowd split before him. somebody volunteered the desired direction, and sam fisher strode off to arrange for the funeral at the lazy s on the following day, also for a coroner's jury. the latter gave him some trouble, but mention of his name and present position proved sufficient to obtain what he desired. also, tale of the murder of cervantes and the manner thereof was a tremendous shock. sam fisher was careful to make no mention of the murder, and merely shook his head to all queries. it was seven o'clock that evening when chuck hansom, rider for the running dog, came into town from the north alone. before he had ridden a block he was hailed eagerly and brought to a halt, where a small crowd gave him the astounding information about sam fisher. now chuck was a quick-witted rascal. he readily saw the general sentiment of puzzled wonder and resentment against fisher's intrusion into pahrump, and inside of two minutes he took prompt advantage of it. "listen here!" he cried out hotly. "this here guy ain't sam fisher at all. he's a feller named robinson, pretending to be fisher. he's the guy that murdered mig cervantes. me and buck seen him do it--seen him! you boys go git your guns and we'll 'tend to him." there was a howl as his words became understood. meantime, from the south, two other men came riding into town on jaded, staggering beasts. they were two running dog riders who had been absent from the community for some weeks; so unkempt, so dust covered and weary were they that they arrived at mike's place without recognition. sliding out of the saddle with groans of relief, they staggered into mike's place, which was comfortably crowded. they were too fearfully tired with hard riding to note the startled silence which fell on the crowd as they were recognized. "liquor, mike!" croaked the foremost, wiping his dust-rimmed eyes. "a drink! buck been in town to-day?" galway mike set out a bottle and made a grimace, but neither man noticed it. both seized for the bottle at once, pouring drinks with shaking hands. "nope," said mike at last. "ain't been in." "gosh, that feels good goin' down!" rejoined the foremost man. "say, you got to get word out to buck to-night; we can't ride another mile. done killed two hosses on the way up. tell buck we done lost our man----" at length the dead stillness of the place struck home. the two riders glanced at each other, then turned to survey the crowd. despite the fact that the general sympathy was with them, nobody could keep back a grin at their perturbed wonder. then, from the end of the bar, a voice spoke up--a drawling, whimsical voice: "you ain't lost him, cowboy. you just follered him. ain't it the truth?" there, thumbs in his vest and leaning back in his chair, was fisher. the two stared at him, petrified. fisher sat at a table just beyond the lower end of the bar, where he was practically hidden from view of any one at the door, yet had a clear field of vision. "sheriff fisher!" exclaimed the two astounded riders in unison, as though they were staring at a ghost. there was dead silence for a moment. every one in the room sensed the peculiar tenseness of that moment--a moment of crisis, of taut nerves, of impending disaster, as the two riders stared at sam fisher and he smiled back at them. perhaps he saw how their fingers stiffened, yet he did not move. if he did not see it, galway mike did. mike's hand fell, inch by inch, below the edge of the bar on which he leaned. these were the two men who had been keeping watch on fisher down in pecos city. they knew without telling that the presence of sam fisher here meant danger to the running dog. perhaps they had been too closely in touch with fisher down below to retain much awe of him, and, besides, they were dead tired, nerves on edge, and reckless. as with one accord they reached for their guns. sam fisher came to his feet, gun in hand. he had no intention of shooting unless so compelled, but he was watching the two riders and not mike. before any shot sounded mike's hand had completed its motion--a swift, underhand fling of deadly accuracy that sent his bung-starter down behind the bar unseen. it crashed into fisher's forehead and sent him down like a felled steer. two shots came. that bung-starter saved fisher's life, for it dropped him beneath the bullets. he lay quiet, momentarily stunned. in another five seconds the crowd had fallen upon him; he was trussed hand and food and bound in a chair. amid the pandemonium that ensued, with wild yells for ropes and much loud cursing, galway mike mounted the bar with a gun in each fist, fired into the ceiling, and evoked comparative silence. "byes, this gent is my meat!" he roared. "'twas me dropped him, and it's me that'll have the say, moind that! there'll be no lynchin' party yet a while. two of yez carry him into the storeroom behint and lave him rest a bit. we'll be talkin' this over, and maybe buck will be in town to-night." the mention of buck's name carried weight. besides, sam fisher had opened his eyes and was looking around. it was one thing to tie up a man--it was another thing to murder a bound and helpless prisoner. the crowd hesitated. "take him into the back room wid ye now," repeated mike, flourishing his guns. the gaze of sam fisher dwelt upon him for a moment. "mike," said the prisoner calmly, "you're interfering with justice, and you know it. inside of an hour i'll get you for this. be ready." that was all. the brutal features of galway mike reddened, then turned deathly pale under the intent gaze of fisher. one of his hands jerked up; for an instant it looked as though he would shoot the bound man. perhaps he would have done so but for the crowd. instead, he motioned to the back room with his weapon, and jumped down from the bar. two men picked up sam fisher, still bound to his chair, and carried him into the storeroom behind the main room of the saloon. it was a good-sized room, stacked with barrels and cases of liquor, with a single window. a lantern, hung to a peg, illumined the place dimly. stowing the prisoner here, the men closed the door again and joined the clamorous throng around the bar. the two arrivals from the south were hurriedly apprised of events--the departure of sheriff tracy, the killing of matt brady and 'lias knute, the rumored murder of miguel cervantes. in the midst steve arnold pushed open the doors and entered. at sight of him everyone pressed forward eagerly. "here's arnold of the lazy s now! hey, steve, is it true cervantes was shot to-day?" arnold swept the place with his eyes, nodding curtly. he saw nothing of robinson. "yes," he said. "not shot--murdered." "who done it?" went up a mad clamor of voices. "how? where?" "ain't for me to say," returned arnold. his attitude would have provoked instant hostility had not two men rushed into the saloon at this moment with a loud shout. "hey! chuck hansom of the runnin' dawg is comin' a-smokin' with a crowd; he says this feller ain't fisher at all; says he's a feller named robinson; murdered cervantes! chuck says him an' buck seen it done----" uproar filled the place, and mad confusion. for two minutes pandemonium reigned supreme. then somebody thought of appealing to steve arnold to confirm the tidings, but when things quieted down arnold proved to have vanished. hot upon the heels of this arrived chuck hansom and a yelling crowd. standing in the entrance, chuck showed a gun in each hand. "where's the feller calls himself sam fisher? i'm lookin' for him." finding no prey awaiting him, chuck strode forward, greeted his two brethren, and found himself confronted by galway mike, who held a sawed-off shotgun across the bar. "far enough, chuck! we got fisher in the back room, tied up. hold on, you byes in the doorway! l'ave us be, will ye?" silence was obtained, leaving the center of the floor to mike, chuck hansom, and the two running dog riders. "now, me lad," pursued mike over his shotgun, "what's this tale ye been tellin'?" "it was robinson murdered cervantes, and we're aiming to 'tend to him," returned chuck. "he ain't sam fisher at all, ye numskull irisher! his name is robinson----" "it ain't!" spoke up one of the two returned men. "he's sam fisher, all right. ain't we been follerin' him for two weeks? you're locoed, chuck!" this staggered chuck for a moment, then he recovered. "you durned fools!" he cried wrathfully. "let him be fisher, for all i care. anyhow, we seen him shoot down miguel cervantes. shot him in the back, i'm tellin' ye. you, mike! lay down that gun!" from behind hansom went up a low, surging growl. every man there saw red at the tale he heard; the story of miguel cervantes shot in the back. for only an instant did galway mike hesitate; then his shotgun fell. "you win, byes," he cried. "if he done that, go git him and have a party!" there was a swelling roar as the crowd surged to the doorway of the storeroom. chapter ix fisher rides north mike's place was lighted into the semblance of day by two huge acetylene lamps in the center of the ceiling. as the foremost of the crowd entered the storeroom there came to the others a howl of baffled rage. the entire rear of the long room was a surging mass of men, all fighting to be first. the front of the place was quite deserted, except for the figure of mike, who stood behind the bar, hand still on his shotgun. about the rear doorway centered a wild struggle. nobody knew just what was taking place until chuck hansom leaped to a chair and dominated the mob. "he's gone!" roared the cowboy with the gay beaded vest. "gone! somebody's cut him loose. got out the windy----" "c'rect the first shot, chuck," drawled a quiet voice from the front. every man there turned, to behold steve arnold in the doorway, a gun in each hand. to one side of the swinging doors, thumbs in his vest, was negligently posed sam fisher. "i've come for you, mike," he said in the moment of dead silence. "chuck, you and your friends will be attended to by mr. arnold, here, so be careful. mike, go for your gun----" mike had already gone for it, merely switching around the shotgun atop the bar. it burst into a shattering, deafening roar that drowned the words of sam fisher. under the roar came the whiplike crack of a revolver. there was a crash and crackle of falling glass; the double load of buckshot took out the front window with admirable unanimity. silence fell, dread and ominous. galway mike had fallen over his bar, and lay there motionless. sam fisher jerked his gun into its holster again, his face hard and flinty, his eyes burning. "sorry about this, boys," he said, "but it's time that mr. buck and his friends were put out of business." "who killed cervantes?" yelled somebody. sam fisher held up his hand. "i'll tell you," he said, and there was silence. "three men hid in the brush and shot cervantes, ambushed him, murdered him without a chance. two of those men did the shooting. the third man was chuck hansom, yonder. one of the actual murderers is dead. the other was templeton buck--and i'm going to send him to the pen for it." "you lie!" cried the shrill voice of chuck hansom. "you lie! you done it yourself----" "you devil, i seen the whole thing!" shouted steve arnold, breaking loose. "i seen it all----" chuck hansom flung up his gun. arnold shot him before the hammer fell. two shots echoed--fisher fired twice at the ceiling, blew out the lights, and was gone through the doorway, dragging the raging arnold with him. behind them the crowd began to mill in wild confusion, not realizing what had happened, engulfed in darkness, fearing more shots from the doorway. "confound you!" exclaimed sam fisher as he dragged his companion along. "what'd you drop him for? we'd have had a confession out of him later." "i seen red," panted steve. "i jest couldn't help it, thinkin' of the way they'd downed miguel. he was one o' the three." "duck in back o' the hotel, steve; hurry up! we got to make those horses; there's going to be a string of hornets on our trail in a hurry." five minutes later the two had ridden out of town. behind them the lights and confusion died down, but both knew that parties of riders would be on their trail ere long. for a space they pushed their horses in silence, then fisher reined in. "long trail ahead, steve; no use overdoin' it," he said. "i got to thank you for snaking me out of that storeroom. how'd you find out?" "heard 'em talk in the front." arnold drew in at his stirrup. "listen! why in thunder didn't you tell me you was sam fisher?" "i was aiming to keep it dark a while, steve," returned the other apologetically, "only things got to moving too lively and i had to make the play. did you see stella?" "yep! and say! i ain't had a chance to tell you yet; things have busted loose aplenty! buck must ha' got jake harper." "what!" the word broke from fisher like an explosion. "what? how come?" "i ain't certain." steve became calmer as he spoke. "right after i got back to the lazy s, buck and this feller chuck rode home, savvy? i aimed to come right to town, only stella was badly broken up about miguel, so i had to stick around a while. finally i had a chance to tell her the rights of the whole business, so she up and tells me that you was sam fisher himself. it took us quite a spell gettin' straightened out. then the poor ol' señora took to throwin' fits and i had to give stella a hand with her, which ate up considerable time. "well, i was gettin' saddled up, when in rode one of our veterans from the circle bar, seekin' jake. seems like jake had started for the shumway place early this mornin' alone. must ha' clear dropped out o' sight. stella told me to ride in and git you, which i done. that's all we know." sam fisher studied over this information for a time, gravely perturbed. "steve, we're in for it, up to our necks!" he said at last. "buck is makin' a great play for the shumway place and stella; at least, he started that way. "he knows nothing of what's happened in town. he thinks that i'm in jail, safe to be put away for the murder of cervantes. cervantes is dead and out of his way. the only other obstacle in his path was jake harper, and he must have arranged to handle the old man. if he has, by heaven, i'll get him! no--i won't get him. i'll still send him over the road." "a bullet would simplify things a heap," and arnold sighed. "no, steve." fisher's voice was grave, heavy, stern. "buck is the prime mover behind all the deviltry up here. it was buck who sent frank shumway to the pen--and that fellow murphy, or pincher brady, framed the deal from the capital. i found a letter in murphy's pocket from buck referring to it--clear enough evidence to free shumway." "glory be!" ejaculated arnold with a sudden yell of delight. "is that the truth?" "it's the truth. that letter is locked in the sheriff's desk--and nobody knows about it. now, murphy is safe out of the way, and we'll get frank loose from the pen in no time. but buck--give him a quick, hot bullet? not much! that devil is going behind the bars for life, if i can send him!" "i'm right sorry about chuck hansom, red," steve said slowly. "don't worry. i don't believe chuck would have squealed, anyhow. now, i have to be at the shumway place to-morrow to handle that coroner's jury; so do you with your evidence. if we're going to clean up this county, we have to do one thing at a time. this affair to-night has mussed up everything pretty badly. if that gang from town is allowed to come after us, it means a lot of shooting and killing--which i want to avoid if possible. chuck and mike deserved what they got, but we can't shoot up a lot of hysterical fools who think they're chasing a murderer. with buck and his gang it's different. where buck made his mistake was in murdering cervantes; that murder is going to cost a lot of blood." "what about jake harper?" exclaimed steve suddenly. "i'm thinkin' about jake right now--but if he's dead i can't help him. if he ain't, he's all right. that coroner will be out to-morrow morning with his jury; so will the preacher. until noon to-morrow, i'm tied up. and we've got to stop that mob. here, steve, let's tie the hosses and have a smoke." fisher dismounted abruptly and began to lead his horse off the road. arnold reined in and stared at the darkness. "my gosh, have you gone crazy or what, feller? we got no time to smoke----" "all the time in the world, cowboy!" came the whimsical, laughing response. "get down and roll me one, will you? done lost my makin's in the confusion back yonder." with a sigh of resignation to what he considered utter folly, steve dismounted and joined his friend. fisher said nothing until a cigarette was rolled and lighted; then: "steve, i've been thinking about those boys who are behind us. who's leading them? nobody. they'll cool off mighty quick after leaving town. they ain't sure just what has happened or who i am. when they strike trouble in the darkness they'll be all confused and imagining things. now, all we got to do is like this----" he spoke for a moment, low-voiced. the crowd of men who rode out from town on the north road was headed by the two running dog riders, who now had chuck hansom to avenge. only their savage spurrings had availed to rouse the crowd, in fact; nobody was quite certain whether miguel cervantes had been murdered by fisher or by templeton buck. the fall of galway mike and chuck hansom had considerably cooled the enthusiasm of the mob, and by this time many tales of sam fisher were being circulated. thus, by the time the crowd of riders came toward the crossroads, not a few of them had trailed off back to town. under the starlight the men rode in a clump at a steady jog. hereabouts the road was edged by a dense thicket of manzanita. from this thicket came a drawling voice that caused every rein to jerk sharply at the bit. "that's far enough, boys; halt! you fellers from the circle bar--got the front ones covered? we'll attend to the rear." "we got 'em, sheriff," came a deep bass voice. "leave 'em to us!" said a sharp falsetto. steve arnold laughed from somewhere. "sure, fisher; sure! go ahead with your palaver." the crowd halted as one man. their imaginations painted a dozen voices from the clumps of brush. they saw themselves trapped, surrounded. men cursed and drew rein. "i want a little talk, boys," said the invisible sheriff of pecos. "we don't aim to have any more bloodshed than we got to, and you fellers are honest enough in your convictions. willing to listen a minute?" "sure," said a nervous voice from the crowd. "that's sensible." fisher's tone was grave, steady, holding them spellbound. "i'll be at the lazy s to-morrow to meet the coroner and the preacher. this cervantes murder is going to be handled by the law. you may think i did it; all right. to-morrow the coroner's jury will decide that little matter, and i'm spilling no secret when i say their verdict is going to be hard on templeton buck. "but i don't want a mob of you out there, messing things up and starting trouble. i want to propose a fair and square deal all around. you boys elect a committee of three to accompany the coroner; the rest of you stick around town and wait. if that suits you, go on back home. if it don't, then ride ahead--and take your medicine. "you two running dog men! come on alone a dozen steps. i want a personal word with you boys, and i'd advise you not to pull for any guns. come on!" there was a moment of hesitation. then the two punchers urged their horses forward. into the road ahead came the figure of sam fisher on foot. cowed, startled, fearful, the crowd watched to see what would happen. "if you two boys want to go on to the running dog," fisher said quietly, "you're free to go ahead. but i warn you here and now that your boss is facing trouble. every man with him will become an accessory. you know me, boys, and you know i mean what i say. i'm giving you fair warning. buck, it appears, got jake harper to-day, and the circle bar outfit is behind me to the limit. you know what that means--every man of 'em a sharpshooter, out to kill! the roads are watched; your outfit will be shot down the minute you reach the running dog buildings. ride on if you want to--but you can't come back, boys." the two riders sat motionless, drinking in his words. most of those words had reached the crowd. news that buck had "got" jake harper was paralyzing; it meant war to the finish with the circle bar. few in the crowd doubted any longer that it was buck who had murdered cervantes. this sheriff of pecos was too steady, too composed, too certain of his position. he was no murderer. the two running dog men glanced at each other. a word passed between them; they knew full well what it meant if they rode forward. but they were men, unafraid. "much obliged, sheriff," said the foremost coolly. "you're sure actin' white. jest the same, we're workin' for the runnin' dawg and we don't aim to lay down on the job." "all right, boys; i'm sorry." fisher stood aside. "the road's yours! let these two boys pass, fellers--and plug the first to follow." "all right, sam," came the voice of arnold. the two cowboys rode on. not a man followed them. when they had vanished into the darkness, fisher stepped up and addressed the crowd. "well, gents? going to break through, or take my advice about sending that committee?" there was un uneasy laugh from the crowd. "guess we'll send the committee, sheriff." with a surging of turned horses, the crowd headed about and started back for town. fisher gazed after them until the darkness had swallowed up the mob; then he turned, and found steve arnold at his elbow. "red, you're sure a wonder!" exclaimed steve admiringly. "you done it. what next?" "riding," replied fisher. "hard riding, steve. you know the country better than i do. you have to go ahead to the circle bar and get every last one of jake harper's boys out around buck's place; no fighting, understand, but the running dog outfit must be cooped up. tell 'em to drop any man that rides out." "ain't enough of 'em," objected arnold dubiously. "sure there is." fisher laughed. "those old fellows are dead shots, steve; you don't know 'em. they'll circle out around the running dog buildings and close up things tighter than a drum. anyhow, they have to do it. tell them i'll be over to-morrow, after getting cleaned up at the lazy s. and tell them to wait, understand? wait! no foolishness. then you come ahead to the lazy s yourself. i'm going there now." "s'pose jake's all right?" suggested arnold. "we ain't certain that buck got him----" "the orders stand. if jake's there, tell him it's a clean-up of the running dog." "suits me, feller. adios!" arnold climbed into the saddle and was gone. chapter x the last stake templeton buck might have a dirty streak in him, but he was no coward. if the man's make-up held a large amount of deliberate criminality, of cold and unscrupulous evil, it also held a large amount of strength and resolute purpose. otherwise, buck could never have remained the leader of such men as followed him. and on this bright and sunny morning templeton buck was facing the hardest battle he had ever faced--a battle with himself. on the previous night he had learned of the disaster which had overwhelmed all his craftily laid plans. true, he had jake harper a prisoner, tied into the big chair before the fireplace. but robinson had turned out to be sam fisher--and the roads were watched by the circle bar men. the story told by the two men on the previous night had been utterly incredible, but with daylight it had been backed up when sandy davitt undertook to ride forth. sandy's horse had been killed under him. no one else tried to leave the running dog buildings. here in the living room of the ranch house, alone with the old man tied into the chair, buck paced up and down, fighting out his battle. would he lie to his men, or tell them the truth? that was it. from the chair old jake harper watched him with terrible, intent eyes. "give me your word to act gentle, and i'll loose you, jake," said buck. "i'll give you my word," said jake, his voice deadly, "that all i want is to git my hands on a gun, and i'll fill ye full o' lead, ye mis'able coyote!" so jake harper remained where he was. buck continued his steady pacing back and forth, then suddenly came to a pause before his captive and shot out a remark: "where i made a mistake was in killing cervantes. i should have given him a chance." jake harper swore at him angrily. "where you done made your mistake, buck, was in tryin' to covet the shumway place. you stole the lazy s cattle, and you should ha' stopped there." silence again. buck went on with his uneasy stride. it was a difficult decision which faced him. at this moment, while he stood on the brink of disaster, templeton buck for the first time saw clearly how things had come to this pass. he was rich in money and land. he did not need the shumway land added to his own. he was powerful. being rich and powerful, he had thought himself secure, had determined to get both stella and the lazy s, and had been careless as to his methods. back in the old days, when frank shumway had knocked him down, he had revenged himself by sending young shumway to the penitentiary--deliberately framing him. he had not stopped there. one thing had led to another--little things, most of them. like a rolling snowball, the affair had gained impetus. the one man buck had feared was sam fisher, the sheriff of pecos, and he had tried desperately to keep fisher out of the way. even now, he perceived, fisher was the one man who threatened him. if he could only be rid of fisher! with fisher out of the way all would yet be well. the murder of cervantes could be met and faced down; with sheriff tracy handling the affair, no jury in the county would dare to convict buck. jake harper could be held a prisoner until the mortgage was foreclosed. lies and false witnesses would still serve to smooth the way. buck strode from the room, left the building, and passed over to the corrals. here his entire outfit was lounging about as though waiting for his coming. not until he met their nods and greetings did buck come to a full decision as to what he would do. for, as yet, these punchers knew nothing of the cervantes killing beyond what had been reported from town. none of them had witnessed it. all of them, beyond a doubt, held strong suspicions. it had been a despicable act, even in their eyes. buck came to a halt, beckoned to the men, and met their curious stares with a flame of resolution in his eyes. "boys," he said quietly, "the story that sam fisher told in town was true. steve arnold must have seen the killing of cervantes. we could have made it stick on fisher, at that, if he hadn't been too smart for me." every man there appreciated what this confession meant to buck. "now, boys," went on the rancher, "sam fisher is no fool. as things stand right now, he's playin' a strong game and a winnin' game. he's got us blockaded here, and the only thing left for me is to take my med'cine without a whine. i aim to do it. still, that's no reason for draggin' you boys into the same noose, so i'm here to give each of you his time. you ain't workin' for me no more." an outburst of protest was quieted by buck's uplifted hand, in which was a roll of bills. "sandy davitt! come an' git it, puncher." davitt stepped up, started to speak, reddened, and checked the words. he took the money placed in his hand, and waited. one by one the other running dog men stepped up to buck and received their wages. when it was finished buck smiled thinly. "now, i reckon, you-all can git past the circle bar men." nobody moved. of the eleven men who stood there in the sunlight around the tall figure of templeton buck, none budged. sandy davitt glanced around, hitched up his belt, and grinned at the rancher. his cast eye gave the grin a baleful aspect. "buck," he said, "i opine we ain't workin' for you no more. is that c'rect?" "you said it, sandy." "then, far as i'm concerned, i don't give a durn about cervantes. you've spoke out to us like a man, buck, and by thunder i'm stickin' right here!" "and me!" chimed in a voice. then a chorus: "me, too! we stays here, buck!" buck stood in silence a long moment, his thin, high-boned features flushed darkly. it was a magnificent tribute these men paid him--a tribute of which he was unworthy. to the last one they were men; reckless, scoundrelly if you like, but men unafraid. "ain't none of you ridin' to town?" asked buck. "nary one, i guess," sandy davitt made response. a growl of assent backed him up. "i appreciate this, boys; i sure do!" buck's tall figure straightened up. "well, i give you the worst end of the talk on the start. it's true that sam fisher is playin' a winning hand so far, but he ain't raked in the pot by a long sight! he's bluffed out tracy, and he's got pahrump buffaloed--but all he's got behind him is the circle bar, and we've got jake harper here. that means we got to wipe out sam fisher to win the pot!" "and steve arnold," corrected davitt. buck nodded. "yep. them two, y' understand. they're over to the lazy s, as i get it, while harper's bunch has us held up here. also, we can't afford to drop fisher when, he comes to arrest me; it'd look too much like he was killed in the performance of his duty, y' understand? we want to fix it so nobody won't know jest what happened. do you foller me?" "you bet!" came the admiring response. "how ye goin' to work it?" buck was silent for a moment, his eyes searching the surrounding country. not a sign of the circle bar men was in evidence, but well he knew that they were waiting, grimly hidden. almost any man, given the opportunity, will shoot rather than be sent to the penitentiary, and buck was now perfectly cool and steady in his resolute air. he had everything to gain and nothing to lose, and a single bold, well-planned stroke might yet save him from the brink of disaster. "twelve of us," he murmured. "we might work it! how many horses in the corral, sandy?" "close to thirty," returned davitt at once. "and the circle bar lays right up the valley from the lazy s. anybody at shumway's would be sure to see the circle bar if she was burnin', i guess?" davitt straightened up in surprise. "certain, buck, certain! they'd see the smoke sure. but how ye goin' to reach the circle bar to fire her?" buck smiled weakly. "that's the easiest part of it, sandy. this here sam fisher, he never wants no crowd; it's always a lone-hand play with him. if him and arnold seen the smoke from the circle bar, what'd they do?" "light out to investigate where we were," was the response. "they'd know we'd got away from here and was busy. and they'd come a-smokin'." "exactly, sandy," was buck's triumphant return. "jest what i figger my ownself." "but how in time are we goin' to git away from here?" buck laughed and clapped his ex-foreman on the shoulder. "jest ride, cowboy, ride!" he exclaimed. "all right, boys; rustle up some grub and git saddled. bring out every hoss in the corral, rope 'em together, and wait. saddle an extry hoss for jake harper. sandy, come along and give me a hand with jake." comprehending, at least in part, the bold scheme which buck planned, the men leaped into action. thirteen of the horses were saddled, the others were hastily strung together; rifles were booted, packets of grub made up, canteens filled. by the time the punchers were mounted they had not long to wait; sandy davitt and buck appeared, shoving forward the figure of old jake harper, hands firmly bound behind his back. they could not bind his tongue, however, and he cursed the entire gang with vitriolic emphasis as he came. the hearers smiled and grinned, making no response. "climb or we boosts you, jake," said buck, reaching the spare saddle. the boost was necessary, and was given; following which the old scout was firmly lashed in the saddle. at buck's orders a reata was put about his neck, the loose end of which buck took over when he had mounted. then, revolver in hand, buck gave the word to ride north. "take it easy, boys," he ordered. "no hurry." his strategy became only too apparent to friend and foe alike. any shots from ambush would draw an instant bullet into the body of jake harper; the menace of the rope and buck's drawn revolver were entirely obvious. buck himself rode in the van, jake harper a little in front. behind, the running dog men spread out, the extra horses crowding up in the rear. as they wound out on the way, jake harper perceived how he was being used, and he sent a booming roar of command at the empty spaces around, where he knew his men were hidden. "fire into 'em, boys! shoot! don't ye mind me! shoot!" no response was made. none could be made; the circle bar outfit dared not call the silent bluff that buck was running. well they knew that the bluff would be backed up. without a shot being fired, without an enemy being sighted, the running dog men rode off in peace. after them, undoubtedly, would trail harper's men, but it would take some time for the latter to collect and follow. immediately upon reaching the highway, buck halted and lifted a hand. "i want two of you boys to take all the spare hosses and ride on to the circle bar. fire her, barns and all, and kill your beasts gettin' there. it's got to be done quick. harper's outfit will likely foller your trail. four stays here to hold 'em up half an hour, no more. the rest goes with me." two of the men at once gathered in the lines of the spare horses, waved an adios, and went north at a gallop. to the four who announced themselves as ready to hold up the pursuit, buck gave a few brief words. "no killin' if ye can help it. shoot the hosses. then make your get-away to town and wait for news. if i win i'll join ye there to-night. if not, then beat it into laredo county and lay low. good luck to ye, boys!" "same to you!" they rejoined, and scattered out to take position. five men with him, besides their captive, buck turned from the road and led the way toward the hills. old jake harper cursed luridly as he perceived the really admirable strategy that was under way, although its object was hidden from him. when the circle bar came up, they would be delayed appreciably by the four men. when at last left free to take the trail, they would naturally follow that left by the largest number of horses, leading toward their home ranch. and in the meantime buck would be somewhere else. "what's the big idea, buck?" asked sandy davitt, riding at the rancher's stirrup. "where we off for?" "git through the hills, hit the valley trail beyond, and lay up," said buck with a grin. "sam fisher and arnold are bound to come that way from the lazy s when they see the smoke, ain't they?" sandy davitt slapped his thigh with a loud guffaw. "whoop-ee! buck, you sure wins the deal! and while we gathers in the sheriff o' pecos and his pal, the circle bar outfit is millin' around tryin' to find out what's done happened, eh?" "somethin' like that, sandy," and buck grinned confidently. jake harper fell silent from sheer desperation. chapter xi the trap is sprung in less than an hour buck and his party were assured that they had nothing to fear from any trailing circle bar riders. they rode through the hills and gained the farther slopes of the divide, with the rolling river flat beyond. here buck drew rein, pointing. there was no need for words, although jake harper, with recovered vocabulary, spilled pardonable curses upon the air. to the-north was ascending a stream of heavy smoke that rose straight into the windless sky. "they done it," said sandy davitt briefly. "two of you boys stay here with jake," ordered buck to his five. "if you don't get no word from me by dark, turn jake loose and make your getaway. if i win, i'll send word to ye 'fore dark." nobody wanted to remain, so straws were pulled. the losers, disgruntled, took over the prisoner's bridle and sat their horses while buck, sandy davitt, and the remaining two men rode on. "good luck!" they called. buck responded with a wave of his white stetson. the four men who were left in company now pushed their horses ahead at a good clip. two miles away was the river trail, which arnold and sam fisher would follow, provided they did the expected thing. "gosh, she's sure a-smoking!" observed sandy davitt, his squint gaze flitting to the smoke in the north. "they done it, all right. fired everything in sight! i'll bet jake will curse over losin' his first cuttin' of alfalfa. he only laid it in last week." buck smiled weakly, but made no response. if he lost his stake, he would lose more than alfalfa. knowing to what manner of work they rode, the four pressed on warily, eyes searching the landscape ahead. they were unlikely to meet any one here. the lazy s and circle bar lands ran together at a short distance, and the river road was only a trail used by the few riders of the two ranches. they came upon it at last, and simultaneously drew rein. the trail told them a plain story; no one had passed this way within the past few hours, at least. "what you aim to do?" asked one of the punchers as they sat motionless. "rope him?" "rope him?" buck spat a vicious oath. "we'd look fine ropin' that gent--and arnold! what would we want to rope 'em for?" sandy davitt laughed harshly. he swung up his arm to a bend in the road fifty yards to their left. "stick right here, buck, and drop 'em as they come around that bend. don't need the rifles to do it. better hobble the cayuses in this bresh." buck nodded assent. a better place for the ambush could not be found. the four men dismounted. one of the punchers led off the animals. the other three went to the river bank, here a scant hundred yards distant, and slaked their thirst. upon rising, buck gave his orders. "we'd better spread out jest far enough to keep an eye out in both directions. i'll watch the south for 'em, sandy, attend to the circle bar end; ain't likely any one will come, but we'd better watch that way, too." sandy davitt swung off, followed by his companion. buck sought a position whence he could obtain a fair view of the valley in the direction of the shumway ranch. he did not need to have the winding road in view. even this slightly used trail was deep in dust, and any rider would leave a brown smudge that would rise into a trailing wedge to be discerned afar. the horses were hidden away from sight among the trees that fringed the river. to the north the great splotch of smoke had lessened into a thin trail; harper's place was burned out. it could not be long now before fisher would come--if he came at all. "hey, buck!" rose the cautious voice of davitt. "rider from the north!" "comin'," responded buck hastily, and ran to join his men. the north trail was nearly hidden from them, but they could make out a trail of dust, and presently the swiftly moving object which had drawn the attention of davitt. as this object came closer davitt uttered an impatient exclamation. "ain't no rider at all! by gosh, it's a hoss!" "it's jake harper's hoss, celestine," added buck, watching the approaching beast. "he got away from us when we nabbed jake yestiddy," said sandy davitt. "git a rope, boys----" "stop!" ordered buck. "git off the trail, quick; leave the brute go through! it'll fetch sam fisher jest that much quicker." they hastened to clear the way. a moment more and the pound of hoofs came to them, and along the trail dashed the rawboned brute at a mad gallop, his vicious eyes rolling wildly, panic driving him. he was past them like a whirlwind, and went pounding away to the south. "fire scart him," said davitt, emerging into the road again. "good idee to let him go, buck. scatter out, everybody! keep yer eyes skinned!" it was only a moment later that buck's voice rose warningly: "dust a-comin', boys! git together!" excitement spurred them as they ran in to the place of ambush. from here they had a view of the road farther down the river; they stood motionless, guns drawn, tense with expectation. davitt and buck were together on one side of the road, the other two men opposite them. into the patch of road down the river crept a moving object, dust trailing it. from davitt broke one astounded oath. "look out thar, boys! it's stella shumway comin'; out o' sight, quick! duck, you devils, duck! let her go through; likely they'll be behind her." davitt and buck plunged down into the brush, the others following suit. hoofs came pounding; around the bend just ahead plunged stella shumway, wildly spurring her horse forward. the circle bar smoke had drawn her as well as others. her strained and drawn face showed the girl's inward anxiety. "hurry, boy, hurry!" she cried to her mount. "we're ahead of them yet; we've got to find uncle jake! hurry, hurry----" her voice died into the distance. almost before she had gone, davitt was out in the road, then swinging himself into a tree for a swifter view of the lower valley. "they're comin' behind her," said buck, his voice steady. "now the only question is--who's a-comin'? if it's a hull blamed crowd, we got to lay low. if it's them two----" "hey, buck!" davitt came sliding down, plunged into the dust, sprang eagerly to his feet again. "two comin'--no more that i can see. likely they stopped to halt harper's hoss, or try to, and the gal went on ahead. them two'll be our meat; couldn't be no others. watch the road now----" the four craned forward, intent. into the patch of road down the river slid the forms of two horses, galloping neck and neck. "got 'em!" cried buck triumphantly. "git set, boys; let 'em have it as they come around this here bend." they scurried to their places, eager with the trembling thrill of the man hunt, fired out of themselves by the hot lust for blood, careless of the thing they were about to do. hidden, they waited, guns at the level, bloodshot eyes trained on the bend of the trail. came a furious drive of hoofs pounding the dusty trail. through it lifted the voice of steve arnold gayly, boyishly: "whoop-ee! out o' my way, cowboy! i'm crowdin' you for room; gimme air! go git a good hoss if ye want to ride with me----" buck's lips curved cruelly; they were coming together, racing neck and neck! and then--they came. plunging around the bend together, sam fisher and arnold, low in the saddle, driving their white-flecked horses, racing to catch up with the girl ahead and reach the cause of that smoke reek in the sky. _crack_! pistols roared from either side the road. the two riders caromed together, a horse sent up its horrible scream, men and beasts went flinging down in a terrible crash. mad with the killing, buck's two punchers leaped into sight across the road, ran forward. from the great cloud of dust cracked a shot, and another. the foremost man fell on his face; the second coughed, spun around, and dropped. "got you!" yelled arnold. at the same instant buck shot, davitt close behind him. arnold, dimly visible amid the dust, fell back and straightened out. but, as though in echo to those two shots, came another from the dust. buck's hat jerked from his head. "by gosh, fisher's still klckin'!" cried sandy davitt in stark amazement. an oath burst from buck. he fired into the dust again and again, frenzied. one shot answered him, and one only; the bullet seared across his face, sent him down into the grass wiping at his cheeks, swearing, death frightened. yet he was unhurt. both davitt and buck crouched low, peering forward, waiting for the dust to settle. it seemed impossible that fisher could have gone down in that awful welter of death and yet have remained alive; but he was not dead. the shot had shown that. little by little the dust subsided. arnold's horse, its shoulder smashed by a bullet, raised a shaking head and emitted another frightful scream, then fell back. the other horse lay behind, kicking feebly, trying to grip the ground with its fore hoofs; the poor beast's back was broken. midway between the two animals lay the body or steve arnold, face to the sky. but of sam fisher there was no sign. "my gosh!" breathed davitt incredulously. "he ain't there. ah, behind his hoss, buck! there he is!" buck fired, and swore at the miss as he ducked to escape an answering shot. none came. sandy davitt, unable to bear the sight of what had been done, deliberately leaned forward and shot the two horses. he, too, ducked low, but no shot answered. "the son of a gun!" muttered buck hoarsely. "he's playing possum, sandy. watch out! he wants a good shot at us." "i'll bet he does," assented davitt fervently. for long moments the two men crouched there, peering forward, seeking any sign of movement. none came. the sun beat down on the scene, flooding with pitiless light each terrible detail on the shot-up steve arnold, the two horses, the two running dog men who had paid the price. and still sam fisher remained silent. at last buck, unable to stand the strain, went suddenly to his feet. "all right, you can have your chance!" he cried, and flung himself forward. davitt watched, ready to fire at fisher's shot. but, to his amazement, he saw buck check his rush, lower his pistol, and turn. "all right, sandy." buck's voice was hoarse. "it's all over. we got 'em." davitt slowly rose, still half fearful of a trap. then he put up his gun and stared at his work in silence. "we win," said buck softly, and there was none to say him nay. chapter xii the clean-up a little later buck and sandy davitt sat in the dust, cigarettes in their still tremulous hands, and watched their victims. "after all, we bungled it a heap," said davitt morosely. "now there'll be hell to pay and no pitch hot! buck, we'd ought to finish it." before them lay steve arnold, shot through the leg and with an ugly scalp wound; unconscious, but far from dead. the sheriff of pecos lay beside arnold, and was equally unconscious. his right knee had been dislocated in the fall, he had a bullet through the right shoulder, another had broken his right wrist. "we'd ought to finish 'em for our own sake now," repeated sandy davitt. buck shook his head. he was white to the lips. "do it if you can, sandy. i can't." sandy davitt picked up his gun, compressed his lips, then with an oath thrust the weapon away. it was more than he could do. buck smiled ironically. "it ain't so bad, at that," he observed. "they're both put out o' business and in our hands; anyhow, it's better'n if we'd killed them, sandy. here's the story. they come on us and started shooting; downed them two boys yonder 'fore we could git into action. savvy? so we let 'em have it in self-defense. how you goin' to prove otherwise?" davitt nodded, and his face cleared. "all right. but i see plain how come sam fisher missed us with them two shots; he done the work with his left hand." "he didn't miss far at that." buck shivered a little. "thanks," said sam fisher, opening his eyes. "so it ain't a dream after all, buck? say, i'd appreciate it a lot if you gents would do somethin' to my right knee." buck looked at his companion. by tacit consent they rose and approached their victims, who had been thoroughly disarmed. fisher turned his head and inspected steve arnold. "well, this ain't so bad!" he observed. "look after steve first, buck. his leg is sure pumping out a lot o' blood. tie him up good." "you shut up," said buck roughly. "catch on here, sandy." they rudely bandaged arnold's leg, found that his scalp wound was not serious, and turned to sam fisher. investigation confirmed his previous schedule of injuries. "she's dislocated," announced sandy. "buck, catch hold of the ankle; i got the thigh. go to it." sam fisher lay back, his fingers gripping at the dirt, a sweat of agony beading his brow. it was done. he said no word as the two men effected a hasty bandaging of his broken right wrist and wounded shoulder. then they stood erect above him. "sandy," said buck, steady and calm once more, "you got to ride on the back trail in a hurry. find the boys we left with jake harper and bring 'em on." "you can't stay here with 'em," said sandy davitt roughly. "i don't aim to. we got two extra hosses. tie arnold in one saddle; fisher can ride without bein' tied, i reckon. anyway, he's got to! you help me with 'em, then ride on hard for the boys. we'll put these two with jake and hold 'em safe for a spell, then i'll clean up everything here and light out. a week will do it." "you aim to light out, do you?" asked davitt in surprise. buck nodded. "yep. it's that or kill sam fisher, and i guess i've gone my limit to-day, sandy. we've done a-plenty." "suit yourself." sandy davitt shrugged. "besides, tracy will be back soon. we'll lay charges o' this murder," and buck pointed to the two dead men, "against 'em both and lock 'em up. we'll git clear off 'fore they are able to travel. dog-gone it! if fisher was whole, i'd say shoot, but he's too much shot up, sandy. dogged if i can do it now!" they led out the horses. into one saddle they lifted the unconscious arnold, and then lashed him firmly in place. with an effort, sam fisher gained his feet, his right hand dangling in its bandage. the ghost of his old whimsical smile touched his lips. "put me up, gents, and i guess i can ride," he said quietly. "and i still got one good hand for the reins----" "the reins ain't goin' to trouble you none," intervened buck. "ready, sandy!" once he was placed in the saddle, fisher clung to the pommel, his face livid; the pain of the operation was intense. however, he would be able to ride fairly well. "all right, sandy," said buck as he strung together the reins of the two horses. "git off and on your way, cowboy! and use them spurs." sandy davitt leaped to his saddle, yelled at his cayuse, and was gone in a mad rush. for a little sam fisher could only cling to his pommel, faint with pain, his head swirling. when he came to himself he found himself riding beside the still senseless steve arnold. buck rode in front, their reins fastened to his saddle, his rifle across the pommel. he glanced back and glinted a hard smile at the sheriff of pecos. "you're luckier than most, fisher. yes, sir, you sure are. if it'd been anybody else you'd be dead this minute." sam fisher tried to smile. "i don't see, buck, why in thunder you didn't finish the job. it isn't like you to weaken at killing a man." "i may yet." buck eyed him morosely. "reckon i got sentimental for a spell." "then you'd better do it quick," said fisher, "for i'll sure get you, buck. yes, sir, i'll sure----" his words ended in a groan of anguish and he clutched at the pommel. buck smiled. "i reckon you won't do no gettin' for some while to come, sheriff; you with a bum laig, a busted arm, and a bullet through the shoulder!" "i've still got one good arm." fisher tried to smile, but his lips twisted in pain. a groan was torn from him again. "this knee! i can't ride with it, buck." "you got to," said buck shortly. at this time, from the wooded hills ahead of them, came a single rifle shot that echoed and died away. buck frowned and vainly searched the hills with his eyes. nothing was in sight. for ten minutes the three pursued their slow course. fisher clung to his saddle; every movement of his horse caused him torture. at last a cry burst from his lips--a cry so bitter, so desperate in its suffering that buck drew rein. "buck! i can't do it! i can't do it! you got to put your coat or somethin' under my knee; it's more'n i can bear." the man reeled in the saddle as he spoke; he was bent, broken, all his iron nerve shattered by the agony of his tortured body. his blue eyes, dulled with pain, stared horribly at buck. the rancher, a trace of pity in his harsh features, silently nodded. he put the rifle in its boot and took off his corduroy coat. this he rolled loosely, then edged his horse beside that of the swaying fisher. "ease up on your laig now while i shove her underneath." fisher reeled, caught at the shoulder of buck as the latter stooped. another groan broke from his lips when buck thrust the rolled corduroy beneath his leg. then suddenly---- fisher's left hand caught the revolver from the holster of the stooping rancher. swift as light he slashed the front sight across the head of buck. "still got one hand, buck!" lifted his voice. buck hardly knew what had hit him. that front-sight blow stunned him, raked his skull almost to the bone, left a grisly wound. blindly putting one hand to his head, buck uttered a hoarse cry, plunged forward, and rolled to the earth senseless. for a moment fisher sat gazing down, the revolver in his hand. "good work, sam!" lifted a roaring voice from the trees. "good work! i was jest gettin' a bead on the skunk when you riz up." jake harper urged a horse into sight, uncocking his rifle as he came. fisher stared at him weakly, hardly realizing what the man's appearance here meant. "you got away?" he murmured. "you bet! any time i can't git out o' buckskin thongs when they's water handy to stretch 'em---- good gosh, sam! what's happened?" sam fisher reeled a little. jake looked at the limp figure of arnold, perceived that fisher himself was swaying in the saddle. "me, i'm about all in, jake," said the whimsical voice. "you got to do the rest. don't hurt buck, mind; he's got to go to the pen. i have the goods on him. you have to take us back to the lazy s--but look out! look out for that man sandy----" jake harper dismounted, rushed to fisher's side, and caught the sheriff of pecos as he went limp. "don't you worry none about sandy davitt," he said grimly. "that's his hoss i'm ridin' now. didn't ye hear a shot a while back?" but sam fisher could make no response. chapter xii finis in a room of the lazy s ranch house sam fisher lay upon a cot; another held steve arnold, both men bandaged, splinted, and smoking cheerfully. beside the sheriff of pecos sat estella shumway, in her eyes a glow of happiness such as they had not known for months. jake harper, caressing his glossy black mustache, stood in the center of the room. he was just leaving for town. behind him stood his half-crippled foreman, surveying sam fisher with a wolfish smile on his ancient features. jake clapped his foreman on the shoulder. "listen, sam!" he said earnestly. "this here old relic, which same has fit more injuns than kids like you ever seen, is agoin' to camp outside the door of that there cell we puts mr. buck into. three more of my outfit camps in the jail likewise, until you gits there in person. if you figger buck gittin' away from them four you guess again." "c'rect; jake," and sam fisher laughed softly. "hold buck there until i can reach town, that's all. you don't think any one will try to rescue him?" jake harper pursed up his lips. "rescue him? not much. the coroner's verdict will guarantee him a quick trial for the murder of miguel, won't it? and i'm goin' to stick around town my ownself. don't you worry none about any rescue. them decrepit injun fighters of mine is runnin' his whole outfit, or what's left of it, out the county." "all right," said fisher, nodding. "you take the keys to the sheriff's office--they're with the others i gave you--and look inside the sheriff's desk for those papers about buck and murphy. they must go to the governor at once; i'll have to go with 'em, i guess, so that puts it off a few days. those papers are more important than anything else, buck; they prove that frank shumway was framed and that it was done through murphy. we'll get a full confession out of murphy, beyond a doubt. so we want to get the matter up to the governor and get a pardon for frank at the earliest moment." "i'll attend to them," promised jake. he stepped forward and held out his hand. "so long! _hasta la vista!_" "say, jake!" over their clasped hands fisher looked up, a twinkle in his eye. "one thing more! send that preacher out here to-morrow, will you?" "what for?" demanded jake in surprise. "never mind. you send him." "all right. so long, stella; see you later!" jake and his foreman stamped out. stella shumway looked at the sheriff of pecos, her face very red. "sam, what do you want that preacher for?" "wait a minute." fisher lifted himself on his good elbow, and looked at the adjoining cot. he met the grinning features of steve arnold, and made a fierce grimace. "you, steve! if i was you, cowboy, i'd look the other way--right at that wall. it's a heap interesting." with a chuckle steve obeyed and turned his head. fisher dropped on his pillows, and reaching out, seized the hand of the girl. "stella, i done bought the ranch, and i'll pay that mortgage, too--but you ain't told me yet if it's done with your consent. you know, stella----" the girl's eyes met his in a smiling glory. "i don't aim to leave the old place, sam," she said softly, and bent her lips to his. the end transcriber's notes: punctuation errors have been repaired by the transcriber. text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by plus signs is in small caps (+small caps+). the following changes have been made by the transcriber: steal replaced with steel trongs replaced with strong ordours replaced with odours delated replaced with dilated nigh replaced with neigh jackson's novels. the silent rifleman! a tale of the texan prairies. chapter i. the horse and the rider. it wanted an hour or two of sunset on a lovely evening in the latter part of september, when a single horseman might have been seen making his way to the westward, across the high dry prairie land, which lies between the upper portion of the river nueces and the bravo del norte. he was a small, spare man, of no great personal power, but of a figure which gave promise of great agility and capability of enduring fatigue, the most remarkable feature of which was the extraordinary length of his arms. his countenance, without being in the least degree handsome, was pleasing and expressive. a short, heavy english rifle, carrying a ball of twelve to the pound, was slung by a black leather belt across his shoulder, the braided strap which supported his large buffalo-horn powder flask and bullet pouch of otter skin crossing it on his breast. from a leather girdle, which was buckled about his waist, he had hung a long, straight, two-edged sword in a steel scabbard with a silver basket hilt on the left side, which was counterbalanced by a long, broad-bladed hunting knife with a buck-horn hilt, resting upon his right hip. there were holsters at the bow of his large mexican saddle, containing a pair of fine duelling pistols with ten inch barrels; and in addition to these, there was suspended from the pummel a formidable hatchet with a bright steel head and a spike at the back, like an indian tomahawk, but in all respects a more ponderous and superior instrument. on the croupe of his horse, and attached to the cantle of the saddle, he carried a small valise of untanned leather, with a superb mexican blanket of blue and scarlet strapped upon it, and a large leathern bottle with a horn drinking-cup swinging from it on one side; while to the other was fastened a portion of the loin of a fat buck, which had fallen in the course of the morning by the rifle of the traveller. the horse which carried this well-appointed rider was a dark-brown thorough-bred. at length, when the sun was no longer above three times the width of his own disc from the level line of the lowest plain, he set his spurs to his horse, and put him from the high slashing trot which he had hitherto maintained, into a long slinging gallop, which carried him over the ground at the rate of some sixteen miles the hour. after he had ridden at this rate for thirty or forty minutes, he reached the brow of one of the low rolling waves of earth, which constitute the surface of the prairie, and thence saw the land falling away in a long gentle slope for some six miles toward the west, at which distance it was bounded by a long continuous line of hills, whose range seemed interminable. at the base of this range appeared a dense line, looking sombre enough at that distance, but which the experienced eye of the horseman well knew indicated a heavy growth of timber--perhaps a deep forest, and, within its shadowy depths, a wide and never-failing stream. a short half-hour brought them to the forest just as the sun was setting. through this wild paradise the mighty river rolled its pellucid waves, rapid, and deep, and strong, and as transparent as the purest crystal. galloping his horse joyously over the rich green turf, the traveller soon reached the river, at a spot where it was bordered by a little beach or margin of pure white sand, as firm, and almost as hard as marble; and springing into the cool clear water till it laved the heaving flanks of his charger he suffered it to drink long and deep of the pure beverage, which had not touched its thirsty lips since the early morning. this duty done, he returned to the shore, and, selecting an oak tree about two feet in girth, around which the grass grew unusually tall and luxuriant, tied his companion to its stem by the lasso, or cord of plaited hide which was coiled at his saddle-bow. then, after polishing his accoutrements, as if for parade, he hung his rifle and his broad-sword from the fork of a stunted oak tree, collecting some dry leaves and branches, and, striking a light from the ready flint and steel, soon had a clear bright fire glancing and flashing in a sheltered nook surrounded on all sides but one, that where his horse was tethered, by a dense and impenetrable thicket of bays, prickly pear and holly. within a few minutes, half a dozen twigs, fixed in the ground about the blazing fire, supported as many steaks of fat venison, each with a biscuit under it imbibing the delicious gravy, and a second with salt and pepper, all of which unusual dainties were supplied from the small valise of the provident and epicurean frontiers-man. while his supper was cooking thus, and sending forth rich and unwonted odours through the forest, our traveller had prepared his simple couch, spreading his handsome poncho on the deep herbage, with his saddle arranged for his pillow. if, however, he had hoped to enjoy his coming meal and his night's repose without interruption, he had reckoned without his host; for, at the same instant in which his charger ceased from feeding, snuffed the air eagerly, and uttered a low whining; the traveller started to his feet and listened anxiously for a moment, although there were so sounds which could have been distinguished by any human ear unsharpened by the necessities and habits of a woodman's life. satisfied apparently that something was at hand which might mean mischief, he quietly took up his pistols and thrust them into his girdle, reached down his rifle from the branch on which it hung, loosened his wood-knife in its scabbard, and passed the handle of the hatchet through a loop in his sword-belt, so that the head rested in a sort of fold or pocket in the leather, evidently prepared for its reception, and the haft lay close on his left thigh. these preparations made silently, promptly, yet deliberately, he stooped and laid his ear to the ground; nor did he raise himself to his full height for several minutes. "two, four, six, eight," he muttered to himself at intervals. "yes, there are eight of them." again he laid his ear to the ground and listened. "yes, there are eight of them, sure enough," he again muttered; and then, after a pause, he added: "but two of them are mules, i think; and they are coming right down hitherward." then he looked to his rifle lock, and cocked his piece. "unless they turn aside when they reach the timber, they will be on me in five minutes; and if they know the forest, they will not turn, that's certain; for here's the only place where you can find hard bottom to ride in and out of the old bravo, for ten miles up and down." he paused from his soliloquy, listened again, and then a smile crept across his intelligent face. "bah!" he said, "i have been disquieting myself for nothing--they are dragoon horses; i can tell their managed pace; though, what the devil brings dragoons hither, the devil himself best knows." then he hung up his arms as before, again removed saddle and bridle from his horse, threw down his pistols and his hatchet on the grass, and, instead of concealing himself in ambush, unarmed, except his wood-knife, stepped quite at his ease forth from the cover of his thicket, and strode boldly forward to meet the new-comers. he had not advanced above a hundred yards from the spot where his horse was tethered and his fire burning, before he discovered the little band of travellers just entering the belt of timber, at not above a hundred yards distance from the point where he himself had ridden into it from the open prairie. that, however, which instantly caught the eye of the rover, was the form of a female--and a female, evidently, of the superior classes, forming one of the party, which, beside herself, consisted, as he saw at half a glance, of an officer and four privates of dragoons, or mounted riflemen. "precious lads, truly, these," he muttered through his teeth, "to be travelling the prairies, and not see my trail at a short hundred yards. by jove! i believe they will cross it without notice. however, i'll give them a fright anyhow--so here goes," and with the words, he clapped his hand to his mouth, and uttered a long-drawn indian yell, which made the arches of the forest echo and re-echo its cadences, till it died quavering in the far distance. the rifles of the little party were cocked in an instant, and two or three were instinctively cast up, and levelled in the direction whence the sound proceeded. but the woodman did not wait for any further demonstrations of hostility, but stepped calmly forth from his covert, calling out, as he did so, in a loud, clear voice: "whither, and whence, friends, so carelessly this bright evening?" but ere his words were half out of his lips, he was interrupted by the sharp crack of a rifle, discharged at him within twenty paces, the ball of which sang past his head, perhaps at a foot's distance. but, entirely unmoved by the assault or by the peril he had run, he finished his sentence quietly, and then added: "a miserably bad shot that, my lad; and a most unsoldierly act to fire a shot at all, without waiting orders. do not you say so, lieutenant?" "you are very much to blame yourself, fellow; first, for yelling in that wild fashion, for the purpose of creating an alarm, and then for approaching a command so rashly. who are you, fellow, speak?" "fellow! fellow!" replied the other, half soliloquizing, "and a command, hey! command, truly; a couple of camaudus, or one of jack hays' men would make an end of such a command, before it had seen where to throw away one bullet." "well, sir, and who are you, then, i pray?" "pierre delacroix, at your service." "what! he who is commonly known as pierre--" "the partisan, lieutenant," interrupted the other, quietly. "yes, i am the man, and my horse, emperor, of whom you have heard, since you have heard of me, is down in the brake yonder; and, what is the better thing just now, there is a good fire burning, and some venison steaks ready by this time, if they be not over done, and a flask of good sherry wine and some cool water; and if you and your fair lady will share the supper of the partisan, i shall be happy to think that i am pardoned for the slight alarm i gave you; and after supper, we will hear what has brought you hither, and what i can do to serve you. is it a bargain?" "surely it is; and very thankful shall we be for your hospitality, and yet more for your advice. this is the famous soldier, julia," he continued turning to the lady who accompanied him, "of whom you have heard so much, and whom we had hoped to meet at san antonio." no more words were spoken until they reached the spot which delacroix had selected for his bivouac; but, as they did so, an exclamation of pleasure burst from julia's lips at the romantic beauty of the scene. the travellers immediately dismounted. now, as julia stood erect before the partisan, with the clear light of the blazing wood-fire falling full on her face, and revealing all the charms of a figure, tall as the tallest of her sex, voluptuous and fully rounded, yet slight withal, and delicate and slender as the fairest ideal of a poet's dream, he thought that he had never looked upon anything so perfectly and femininely lovely. for some moments he stood gazing at her, mute, and positively breathless with admiration; then, suddenly recollecting himself, he called to the nearest of the dragoons, bidding him lead the lady's horse down to the river, and water him; and then conducted her respectfully to the place where he had spread his poncho on the grass, and with the aid of that and his large saddle, arranged for her an extemporaneous arm-chair near the fire, which the fresh coolness of the woods rendered not wholly needless, even at that season; while the thin smoke that rose from the wood embers, kept the mosquitoes at a distance. meanwhile, some of the dragoons applied themselves to clean the horses and accoutrements, while others unloaded the pack mules, and unbuckling the bags and cases which they carried, produced camp-kettles and canteens, and a small india-rubber tent and camp-bed, which was speedily set up and prepared in the methodical manner of the old soldier, and promised better accommodation for the lady. "my cooking is ready, lady, such as it is," said the partisan, "and i fancy you have the spartan sauce, which even makes the black broth palatable." julia started a little at the classical allusion, and cast a quick glance toward her young husband, whose attention had been fixed on another portion of the roving soldier's speech, and said quickly, repeating the partisan's word: "lady! indeed i have been strangely remiss and discourteous, major delacroix. in the first hurry of our introduction, i forgot to name ourselves to you, though yankee like; yet, i assure you, i am not a yankee; i by no means forgot to exhort from you all that i wished to know. i should have imagined, jule, that you would have found tongue enough by this time to make yourself known to major delacroix, but since it seems you have not done so, better late than never. allow me, major delacroix, to present you to mrs. arthur gordon, six weeks ago miss julia forester, of new orleans; and that done, to call your attention to my very humble and unworthy self, arthur gordon, first lieutenant of the second dragoons." when arthur gordon pronounced the words, julia forester, he started forward, and exclaimed: "what--what! it cannot be--the daughter of my best and oldest friend, colonel john forester? i recollect his wife's name, whom i never saw, was julia." julia gordon blushed crimson as he spoke, and then in an instant turned as pale as ashes. "my mother!" she gasped out, with a great exertion of the will compelling herself to speak at all. "my poor mother, i never saw her either, at least not within my recollection. yes, major delacroix, i am colonel john forester's wild and wilful daughter. god bless him," she continued, a big tear swelling to her eye, "as he deserves a better child." "not so, not so, young lady. i am certain that it is not so. a brighter or more beautiful, he could not have, and it will be hard to convince me he could have a better, lieutenant gordon, allow me to shake your hand, and congratulate you; your father-in-law, and your sweet lady's father, was, i may say, to me more than a father; for, when nature robbed me of both my parents, he supplied both their places. god bless john forester, and all who love and honour him." so thoroughly was the partisan engrossed by his own warm and generous feelings, that he did not perceive at all, what would at any other time have been sufficiently apparent to a man of his keen and intuitive sagacity, that there was something of evident discomposure in the manner of the young officer as he spoke to him of his father-in-law. the green carpet of the meadow was spread with their simple fair, and the partisan did the honours of his camp with a singular blending of the frontiers-man's bluntness, and the easy manners of the gentleman and soldier. there was, however, an inexplicable gloom hanging over the little party, and scarcely was the frugal meal ended before, on the pretext of weariness, the lady retired to her tent, and the husband went away for a few minutes, as he said, to inspect his sentries, while pierre delacroix filled his indian pipe with kinnekinnink, and, stretching himself at full length on his blanket, in the warmth of the fire, rested his head on his elbow, and mused more deeply than he had done for many a year, rolling out all the time great volumes of the odoriferous smoke of that indian mixture, which he had learned to prefer to the havana. chapter ii. the lieutenant's story. the partisan had not sat long alone, ere the young officer returned and joined him; yet, in that brief space, almost all the actions and adventures of a not uneventful life had passed through his mind; so strongly had his imagination been excited by the occurrences of the evening. "come, mr. gordon," said the partisan, "i fancy that by this time you have got your men settled for the night. had you not better take your pipe, and sit down with me, that we may talk matters over. by something you let fall a while ago, it seems that you have been expecting to meet me at san antonio, although i knew it not, nor have been there these two months. now, you must have had some end in seeking me; and, until i know what end that is, i am at a loss to see how i can aid you." "to make you understand that, major delacroix--" "pardon me, sir," replied the partisan, hastily, "i have no great respect for titles of any kind, least of all for military titles, when not backed by military rank and command. so, if you please, you will call me pierre, or delacroix, or partisan." "very well," replied gordon. "it is on you that we have counted all along for taking us safely to our journey's end." "well, we have gained something at least. now where may that very definite place, which you call your journey's end, be? and, as the next question, what made you count upon me?" "our journey's end--taylor's camp, of course--where else _should_ it be?" "anywhere else, i should think, considering the means you have of getting thither, and the company you have with you. you do not really mean to say that you contemplate carrying that beautiful and delicate young woman with you to head-quarters?--the thing is utter madness." "and yet my destination is headquarters; and she has no home, save my tent." "julia forester--john forester's daughter no home!" cried the partisan, in far louder tones than he was wont to use, and starting to his feet, half indignant and half astonished. "did i understand you aright, young sir? did you say julia forester has no home save in the tent of a second lieutenant of dragoons?" "i did say precisely that, pierre delacroix," answered the soldier, nettled a little by the manner of the questioner, and shaking off his momentary embarrassment the instant he was put upon his mettle. "when i knew colonel john forester, he was reputed to be worth a million of dollars," said pierre. "when i knew him," replied arthur gordon, "he was reputed to be worth two, at the lowest figure." "and has he become a bankrupt since then, or a beggar?" asked the other, sharply. "neither, that i ever heard. _au contraire_, he is, all but one or two, the richest man they say in louisiana." "and why the devil, then, did he give you his daughter for a wife, and not give you the means to sustain her." "i never said that he did give her to me," said the other, steadily. "you said she was your wife." "i did say so, and do. but i will substitute a short story for a long debate." "pray let us do so." "it is six years since i first visited new orleans; and being the bearer of letters to colonel forester was received hospitably and entertained in his house, where he then lived nominally alone, with the exception of his only daughter, julia, at that time a beautiful girl of fourteen. being very young myself, we were thrown much together, a sort of childish affection, half-liking and half love, grew up between us--not altogether childish either; for it constantly increased during the three years which i spent in the city, until it became a powerful passion. when i entered the army, on the first raising of the second dragoon regiment, and before leaving the city for the north-west, i had an explanation with the colonel; and it was understood, and agreed, that at some future period, which was left undecided, julia should be my wife. we were permitted to correspond, and i mounted my horse and rode away with my regiment, as light-hearted and as happy a soldier as ever set jack boot in steel stirrup. i received letters from my betrothed, of which i shall only say that they were all that the most sanguine lover could desire. "after a while, however, a difference in their tone became apparent. not, indeed, in the manifestation of affection, but of hope. at length her letters ceased altogether; and i was months without receiving any tidings from her. when the present war broke out i was eastward to recruit and had no opportunity of visiting new orleans, although my brain and my heart were both on fire to do so. three months since i received, the first time for nearly a year, a short, hurried, agonizing note from julia, entreating me to come near her, without an instant's delay, as her mistress was too great to be endured, and one way or other she must release herself from it. for once, fortune favoured me; for the same post which brought her letter brought orders to the captain of my company to send me forward instantly with the men we had raised, to the very city in which i most desired to be. a fortnight afterward i was on the spot, and learned all the infamous and horrid truth. "your friend, the high and honoured soldier, whom i had known of old--the very pattern and impersonation of uprightness, and chivalry, and true nobility of soul--had so far lapsed in the decline of his intellectual powers from his once glorious standard, as to have made a coloured woman--his own emancipated slave, and formerly his mistress--his lawful wife and the partner of his fortunes; placing her openly at the head of his table, and bringing his illegitimate daughters, the offspring of his foul concubinage, into equality of station and society with his own beautiful, and pure, and noble child--with my julia!" "great god!" exclaimed the partisan, bounding to his feet almost in fury; "great god! can this be so? would that i had been near to him; for, by the lord that liveth, if neither argument nor entreaty should have been power to prevail over such low and beast-like passion, my hand--my own hand, which has caressed his cheeks and played with his grey hairs so often--my own hand should have spared him the infamy, and slain him in his untainted honour." "but this was not all, nor half of all, that poor julia suffered; for the incarnate devil, whom i must call mrs. forester, not content with forcing the deluded old man into the rescinding of his will, and bequeathing all but a mere pittance to herself and base-born children, never ceased persecuting him day or night, till she procured his promise to send julia secretly away to europe, there to be immured in a convent; fearing unquestionably that if she should be married to an american gentleman and soldier, her husband would find some means to frustrate the enormities she had planned so artfully, and secure a share at least of the partial old man's fortunes. i had an interview with him, though not without much difficulty; i offered to forego all--to sign away all claim on her behalf and my own, provided he would give me her hand, portionless and alone. for a while i thought i had prevailed; but the fiend entered the room, and i saw the old man quail before the gaze of her fierce, snake-like eye, and all was lost. then, i, too, lost my temper; and i swore by the god who made me, and by the hell to which that woman's deeds were leading her, that her plans should be frustrated, and that julia should be my wife in spite of man or devil. i got brief leave of absence on the promise to join at head-quarters before the last day of the present month--embarked my recruits with my second lieutenant; and on the third day after, forester's garden wall was scaled, his daughter's window broken, and before the day dawned she was my bride. "still flight was needful, and we fled; for by his wrath, and the unscrupulous wickedness of her who prompted him, we might still have been separated for a while, if not for ever. we fled, i say, to natchez, and thence to natchitoches, where by good fortune i found the little squad of dragoons who escort me, making their way down the river to join my party, which they had been detailed to enter as a veteran nucleus. with them, and this letter to yourself from an old friend of mine, who has, i believe, lived with you, frank arrowsmith of ours, i have made my way thus far safely. "he gave me a letter to you, commending us to your care. he told me that if you would undertake it, you could guide us in safety into taylor's camp, through all the guerrillas in mexico." "he did me too little and too much justice. too little, in supposing that there was any _if_ about it. the idea of pierre delacroix refusing to guide or assist a lady in the midst of danger. as to my being _able_ to carry you safely into taylor's camp, that's quite another thing." "is there so much danger?" "the country is alive with horse. every village is in arms, every rancho has turned out its riders; and keen riders they are, i assure you. why, between us and the fences, and all the way towards encinos, there are not less than a thousand men scattered about in little bands, from six to fifty and upward. and now, you go and bid your men to put no more wood on the fires, and lie down one and all, and get all the sleep they can. they will need it before we reach monterey." "what! will you have no sentinel?" "i would rather have my brown horse, emperor, for a sentinel, than all the dragoons in the united states, or out of it. do what i bid you, and then get to your bed yourself. i will wake you before the morning star is up to-morrow." gordon arose, well satisfied that the partisan knew his business far better than he, and went away to do his bidding, much to the delight of the unfortunate dragoon, who was pacing up and down with his carbine in the hollow of his arm, envying his more lucky comrades their sound and healthy slumbers. this duty done, the young officer hurried back to his tent and his fair bride; and, in doing so, passed close to the bivouac of the partisan. he had wrapped himself close in the handsome blanket, with his knife drawn in one hand, and his pistol in the other, ready for instant defense on the least alarm; and, with his head resting in the hollow of his large spanish saddle, was already buried in deep and dreamless sleep. in ten minutes more there was not an eyelid open, of man or animal, in the encampment; and the broad, lustrous, northern moon, sailing in a flood of silver glory through the azure firmament, alone watched over them, like the unsleeping eye of an all-seeing providence. chapter iii. the passage of the bravo. the stars were beginning to grow pale in the heavens, and a faint greyish tint was creeping gradually upward from the eastern horizon, and usurping the dark azure of the cloudless sky, when the light sleep of the partisan was interrupted by the long, tremulous, low, whining of his favourite horse. he started to his feet in an instant, and listening eagerly, and again laying his ear to the ground, as on the previous evening, speedily became aware that a large body of horse was passing along the hard prairie, not far from the skirts of the timber. instantly awakening the young lieutenant, and his dragoons, he bade them strike tent, load the mules, and saddle the chargers with the possible speed and silence, keeping their arms ready, for that danger was at hand. this done, he took up his trusty rifle, and stole away with a noiseless step to reconnoiter the party, which had now come so near that the clank of the steel scabbards against the stirrup irons was distinctly audible above the hollow sound of the horses' tramps. the noise, however, gradually died away, the troopers having evidently ridden down the outer edge of the forest to the southward, without noticing the track left by the horses of our company. within ten minutes, pierre returned with a very serious countenance. "there are above a hundred of them," he said; "regular lancers of carrera's band. they have gone southward for the present; but we may expect them back within an hour, for they are evidently on the look-out for our trail, which they must have followed from the last bottom, and lost at night on the dry prairie; had the morning been one hour advanced, they must have seen it, and we should have been all killed before this time; for they make no prisoners." "there is no time to lose, then," said gordon, hastily, looking with an anxious eye to the face of his wife, who was already equipped and ready to mount. "let us get to horse at once, and put the river between them and us." "that is soon done, so far as we men are concerned," replied the partisan; "but how do you get _her_ across rivers such as this?" "we have an india-rubber pontoon here," he answered, pointing to a sort of oval bag of that material, depending from two air cylinders of the same stuff, which, when inflated, and distended by two or three short staves, form a rude boat. "let her get in, in god's name!" replied the partisan, "for all this takes time, and we have little enough of that to spare." and, with the words, he led his own horse, now fully accoutered, down to the shore, at the spot where he had watered the animal on the previous evening, followed by the dragoons, three of whom led the beasts, while one carried the light pontoon. gordon brought up the rear, with his fair, delicate wife hanging upon his arm, and smiling with serene and beautiful confidence in the protection of her gallant husband. arrived on the bank, all the dragoons mounted and entered the broad and rapid river, which could not at this spot have been less than five hundred yards in width. three of them leading the pack mules and the lady's jinnet, and the fourth carrying in his hand the reel on which was wound the tough cord of twisted hide, by which the frail bark was to be drawn across the whirling current. so strong was the stream that, although the horses swam well and stoutly, and although the dragoons were as well trained to the management of their horses in the water as on dry land, they were carried a great distance down the river before they were enabled to make the opposite bank. then with a bright eye and a cheerful smile on her lovely face, the soft and delicate young woman entered the frail vessel, which sunk so deeply in the water, even under her slight burthen, that the extreme edges only of the cylinders which supported it were visible above the surface of the swift glancing waters. scarce was she landed, ere she was seated on the back of her beautiful and docile palfrey, which, recruited by its night's rest and plentiful pasture, pawed the earth, eager to be once more in motion. gordon had already ridden a yard or two into the river, when he was attracted by the singular aspect and expression of the partisan. both horse and man stood like statues. the charger's fine limbs positively trembled with excitement; his small, thin ears were pricked acutely forward; his large eyes dilated; and his nostrils distorted to the utmost, and as red as blood. pierre sat erect in his saddle; gazing with his keen dark eye into the recesses of the forest, his left hand raised to his ear, for he had let fall his reins on the disciplined charger's neck, and his cocked rifle ready in the right. the next instant, a single mexican came into view, wheeling his small but fiery horse round the thicket, which had sheltered their encampment, at full gallop. the rifle of the partisan rose slowly, and, with a steady motion, to his shoulder, and there remained as still and firm as though it and the extended arm which supported it, had been wrought in bronze or iron. and now the ranchero--for such he seemed to be--was within forty yards of pierre, when he saw the horse, the man, the levelled rifle--when he recognized the being he most feared on earth--the far-famed partisan. wheeling his horse in an instant, by dint of his cruel massive bit, which threw him on his haunches, as if by magic, the terrified wretch turned to fly in the direction of the troopers, who had gone down to the southward, and were not probably even now more than a mile distant. satisfied by the man's flight that he was unsupported, pierre rapidly uncocked his rifle, and threw it to the ground, turning as he did so to forbid gordon--who had unslung his carbine, and now half suspecting treachery in his guide, was raising it to his eye--from firing. "not for your life!" he cried--"not for your life! cross the river, and ride westward. i will deal with this dog." and, with the word, gathering up the reins in his left hand, he gave emperor the spur so suddenly that he bounded six feet into the air, with all his feet together, and dashed at once into his tearing gallop. meanwhile the rider had uncoiled the lasso, which hung from the pummel of his saddle, and whirling it around his head in the true spanish fashion, thundered along in pursuit of the fugitive at a tremendous pace. the mexican had, it is true, some fifty yards the start of his pursuer, and knowing that he was riding for his life, or at least for his liberty, plied his long-roweled spurs with desperate energy. on drove the emperor, covering sixteen feet at every stroke, and gaining every second upon the trembling fugitive. now he was within twenty yards distance, when the ranchero, turning in his saddle, deliberately levelled his escopeta at the partisan. in another moment his carbine would have been discharged, and the alarm communicated to the other troopers; but ere he could pull the trigger, the partisan wheeled emperor by a quick movement of his hand and thigh, and hurled the tremendous missile as sure and almost as swift as his own unerring bullet. aimed by an eagle eye, and launched by a master hand, the terrible noose of the lasso encircled both the forelegs of the mexican horse as he sprang forward, was drawn taut on the instant by the very speed of the trammelled captive, and hurled horse and rider headlong to the earth, with a violence which left both for an instant senseless. the next moment pierre leaped from his saddle and sprang upon his captive. "life!" he cried, piteously, in spanish, "life, for the love of god, and the most holy virgin! for charity, give me my life, senor american!" "mount your horse, fool!" replied the partisan, sternly, "who the devil do you think would trouble himself to take such a miserable life as yours." admonished thus, the man climbed awkwardly to his saddle, and when once there was secured in his seat by pierre, who, cutting the lasso from the mexican saddle, fastened his feet with it under his horse's belly, though not so tightly as to deprive him of the necessary command of the animal. this done, he released his arms, and bidding him in a stern, quiet voice followed him close and silently, if he did not desire to be strangled, he leaped lightly into his own saddle, and cantered back toward the river, followed by his captive, who took admirable care to keep so nigh to his conqueror that the strain of the harsh cord about his neck should not be drawn any tighter. in the meantime, lieutenant gordon, who had first watched the chase with some apprehension, and very great anxiety lest the fugitive should escape, had no sooner seen the lasso hurled, and the downfall of man and horse, than, perfectly content to trust all to the skill and judgment of a man who had exhibited such readiness of thought and action, he addressed himself to obey his directions; and, putting his horse steadily down the bank into the river, swam it gallantly, holding his pistols above his head in his right hand, in order to keep the powder dry in case of future emergency. before he was half way across, the partisan came up at a brisk, hard canter, with his trembling prisoner in tow, whose sword, pistols, and escopeta he threw into the river, and then taking his own pistols from the holsters, and holding them aloft, like gordon, plunged in himself and swam stoutly over, dragging the unfortunate ranchero in mortal terror after him. chapter iv. the double traitor. there was no need of discussion or debate, so evidently correct was the plan of the partisan; nor, had his views been much more questionable than they were, is it at all probable that any opposition would have been made, so completely had he gained the confidence of the whole party, by his promptitude, his gallantry, and his extraordinary coolness in danger. the heads of all the horses, therefore, were turned westward, and away they rode at as rapid a rate as the nature of the ground permitted. in the present order of the march, the most danger being anticipated from the rear, the oldest and most intelligent of the dragoons was detached to a hundred yards in front, followed by the three others; two leading the pack mules, and the third having charge of the prisoner, about whose neck one end of the lasso was still secured, while the other was made fast to the pummel of the soldier's saddle. after these, gordon and his fair bride rode together, conversing at times in a low voice, but yet oftener keeping silence. in the rear of all rode the partisan, alone, at nearly a hundred yards distance from the little group which preceded him. as they galloped onward, however, through the belt of timber which bordered the western as well as the eastern marge of the bravo del norte, time slipped away and brought no sounds of pursuit from the rear. just as they were approaching so nearly to the margin of the open ground, that the dragoon, who acted as vidette, was looking round for orders, pierre uttered a shrill, long-drawn whistle, which was the preconcerted signal for a halt; and, after the rest of the party had pulled up their horses, galloped forward himself till he reached the extreme verge of the covert, where, without speaking a single word, he dismounted, fastening his charger to a tree, and advanced stealthily into the open prairie. after being absent about twenty minutes, during which the remainder of his party had lost sight of him altogether, he returned with a thoughtful expression on his strongly-marked features, and walked through the little group of dragoons and pack mules, until he reached gordon and his fair bride, who sat on their panting horses, eagerly awaiting his approach. "have you heard anything," he asked, quietly, "from the forest in our rear?" "not a sound," replied the young officer. "there are three smokes, one hereaway, some six miles to the southward. now there are three plans, of which we must choose one, and then act on it for life or death. we must work twenty miles due north, up this forest land, and so get above their posts--which were the safest plan of all, if it would not carry us so far out of our route, and bring us far too soon into the settled country, quite out of the line of our communications--or we must strike due southward for that extinguished fire, and so strive to make our way down to our posts at mier and camargo, which would do well enough did not the whole of that country swarm with guerilleros--or, again, we must drive right onward, and take the chance of falling on the party at the little fire unawares, and finding them as few that we can master them. if we succeed in doing so, we have the best chance of reaching monterey in safety. for, once through these frontier parties, we shall, it is likely, find the country clear until we reach our outposts." "the risk of the three, then, is nearly equal," said gordon, musing deeply. "the immediate risk of the last is greatest; the ultimate risk the least; but, in truth, it is chance, anyhow." gordon desired him to help the lady to mount, replaced his slender baggage on the back of the good horse emperor, and then, without setting a foot in the stirrup, laid his hand lightly on the pummel, and vaulted into the saddle. after this, miles and miles vanished beneath the feet of their horses, as they pressed onward steadily and swiftly; pierre, once again in the van, leading them on, rifle unslung and ready, at emperor's fast slashing trot. now they were within a mile or less of the digy brow, steeper and more abrupt than any which they had yet passed, from the other side of which the smoke rose in grey volumes, having been fed with recent fuel. here, then, pierre halted, and caused the pack-mules to be securely tethered to stakes driven into the moist earth of the prairie bottom, together with the horse of the mexican. the prisoner--after being once more interrogated, and persisting in his tale that there were but six men; that there was a large stream at the base of the descent; and that the fire was on this side of the stream--was dismounted, gagged, bound hand and foot, and laid on his back upon the grass. this done, gordon arranged his handful of men, himself leading on the right, while pierre rode forward some six horse-lengths in advance, and julia, who had refused positively to remain behind the pack-mules, followed a length or two behind. now they were within twenty paces of the extreme brow of the ridge, which alone separated them from their enemy--three paces more would have brought their heads into relief against the sky above the summit of the hill, and discovered them to the sentinel, if there were one, on duty. at this moment, pierre pulled his horse short up, dismounted silently, and with a gesture to the well-trained and gallant animal, which, it was evident, he understood--for he stood stock still on the instant, with ears erect, expanded nostril, straining eye, quivering in every limb with fiery eagerness--cast himself down, rifle in hand, among the shorter herbage which clothed the steep ascent. there were, as the prisoner had stated, six men only; two of whom were awake, the one a sentinel stalking to and fro with the escopeta in his hand, the other, a non-commissioned officer, who sat smoking his cigarillo by the fire, over which a camp kettle, filled with some savory mess, was simmering. the death-shot, which sped its bullet crashing through the brain of the hapless sentinel, aroused them all, and brought them to their feet, amazed and terrified, and unprepared for action. meantime, the dragoons crossed the bridge and poured down all abreast, receiving as they came, a straggling volley from the escopetas of the lancers, who seeing that flight was hopeless, stood to their arms like men, and making a desperate defense. then came a desperate race, for life or death, across the firm dry prairie, which echoed under the thundering horse-tramps firm, solid, and elastic. the mexican had, perhaps, gained a start of some fifty yards before his foe was across the brook, and his small but high-bred horse, being the fresher of the two, held his own for a little way, and even widened the gap at first, between himself and his pursuer. ere long, however, the tremendous stride and power of the anglo-american thorough-bred horse began to tell; and, at every stroke, the partisan closed on him. nor was the other slow to perceive the disadvantage. he stood up in his stirrups, looked quietly behind him, and seeing that none of the dragoons had passed the brook, but had dismounted and were now grouped about the fire, deliberately pulled his horse up, and, unslinging his escopeta, took a deliberate aim at pierre delacroix. he fired. the ball whizzed through the air, so close to the head of the partisan, that it severed one of his long, dark locks; but it passed onward harmless. then, seeing the failure of his missile, the mexican couched his long lance and rode at the frontiers-man with a savage yell. silently pierre charged right upon him; but, when he was within a horse's length of the spear's point, he wheeled suddenly to the left, and as the mexican was borne past him, delivered a straight lounge, _en carte_, which emptied his saddle in an instant, and left him but a minute's life to wrestle out on the greensward. the partisan had no time to give mercy, and he rode away to join gordon and the lady; but, ere he did so, he met the prisoner in charge of the two soldiers who had brought up the mules, and the fellow, looking at him half askance, asked him in spanish, with a sullen and almost savage intonation, whether he had not told him truly. pierre replied only by two words--"very truly." but he noted the accent and half-sneering smile; and the first words he spoke as he joined the lieutenant, were: "confound that scoundrel! i have half a mind to reward him with one ounce of lead instead of two of gold." "that were scarce worthy of you, partisan," said gordon, "and scarce worth the time. what harm can one poor devil like that do to six stout, well-armed fellows, such as we?" "i do not know," answered pierre, "i do not know; but right sure i am, that he is a double traitor." chapter v. the night alarm. all day they rode across the open plains, presenting still the same invariable aspect of rich prairie land, for the most part nearly level, but now very rich and fertile, and becoming more and more so, with every mile our party traversed. at noon, they halted for three hours under the shelter of a clump of magnificent oaks over-canopying a little pool, the well-head of as clear a streamlet as ever was the haunt of grecian woodnymph. the sylvan meal was spread with all the simple luxury of a frontiers-man's fare. after the meal was over, the partisan said: "now try to sleep for an hour or so, while i go and take a round on the prairie. i see a flock of buzzards yonder, whose motives i don't exactly understand, and i would have a nearer look at them." and with the word, he took up his rifle, tried it with the ramrod to see that the ball had not fallen out, from the speed at which he had ridden, as the gun hung muzzle downward at his back; renewed the copper caps, loosened his wood-knife in its sheath, and walked off unaccompanied toward the spot in the plain above which a flight of the black vultures, commonly known as turkey buzzards, were hovering and swooping, at a distance so great that they looked no larger than flies, and that no ordinary eye could have distinguished what they were. as he moved away slowly, julia's eyes followed his departing figure, and her face wore a very thoughtful expression, as she turned round to her husband. "there goes an extraordinary man," she said, with an expression of deep feeling. "a very singular, and very noble character. i never have seen and very seldom read of anything like him." "by heaven! i believe he is in love with you, julia," replied frank gordon, half laughing, half in earnest. "i have thought so all the morning." "silly, silly, frank!" she answered, slapping his hand playfully. "do you know that they say jealous husbands make false wives? and that you should not imagine that i could like any man but you." about an hour elapsed before the partisan returned, bearing on his shoulders the saddle of a fat buck, which he had shot during his reconnaissance, wrapped in his own hide, and in his right hand, together with his rifle, a long comanche arrow reddened with dry gore. he found the whole party sleeping so soundly that he walked into the very midst of them without disturbing one of the number. for many hours, not a sound was heard in the neighbourhood of the little encampment. the moon rose and soared above it in her silver beauty, and bathed everything for miles and miles around in soft lustre--the stars rose and set--and the first grey ray of morning was just beginning to pale the eastern horizon, when a deep, continuous, hollow sound, like the roar of the distant surf, aroused every one in an instant. "indians! it is indians!" exclaimed gordon. "stand to the horses, lads. strike the tent like lightning. if one of the beasts neigh or stir, we are lost." three of the dragoons, who had risen to their feet on the first alarm, obeyed his orders in an instant, as regarded the horses; gordon himself struck the tent, and in deep silence, speechless and almost breathless, they awaited the result. nearer and nearer drew the din. gordon was right; it was the fast falling tramp of unshodden horse hoofs. five minutes, or less, after the first alarm, the mounted horde swept by the mouth of the gorge, so near that the travellers could see their shaven and plumed scalps, their easy martial seats on their wild horses, and their long lances in relief against the sky. but the darkness which brooded over the little basin protected them, and almost as soon as it was there, the danger had passed over. but as it ended, and the men had time to look around them, it was perceived at once that one of their number--pierre, the partisan--was missing, and that the sergeant, although that din might have aroused the dead, still lay asleep on the greensward. asleep, indeed! in that sleep which knows no waking. three deep knife-wounds in his bosom, his throat cut from ear to ear, the cords severed which had bound him to the prisoner--these sufficed to tell the tale. but the mexican and the sergeant's charger had vanished, and the partisan and brown emperor were absent. horror, and a sense near akin to despair, fell on the party thus abandoned. for a little while they gazed in each other's faces, mute and white with surprise, if not with terror. gordon was the first to recover from his consternation, and he spoke cheeringly. "the prisoner has escaped, and the partisan has gone in pursuit of him, that is clear," he said. "we have nothing to do but to wait here until he returns. we have food in abundance; and water and forage for the horses, and we can keep this pass against all the indians in the universe, so long as our ammunition lasts--and we can fire five hundred rounds, if the comanches find us out, which i think they will not. keep good heart, therefore, men, and, trust me, pierre delacroix will be back here before sunset." "but the comanches! have not they cut him off?" whispered julia, who had not spoken one word since the first alarm, but had behaved with the cool, passive fortitude of a brave, noble woman, awaiting the end in silent resignation. "surely not," replied gordon, confidently. "had they fallen in with him, his brave horse would surely have outstripped them, and in his flight he would surely have led them in a contrary direction from this, our stronghold." "sure he would. you are right! you are right!" said the quick-witted girl--"god's name be praised; you are right, frank; he is safe." chapter vi. the beleaguered camp. "now i will post a sentinel on yon hillock, and then we will pass the day as easily as we can. i and my fellows will lay poor sergeant davis in the earth, which, if it be not consecrated, will at least shield him from the ravening wolf and the loathsome vulture." the sabres of his dragoons, and an axe or two, which had been brought with them as part of the camp equipments, sufficed to scoop out a little hollow in the rich soil of the moist basin, hard by the streamlet's bed, and in it, wrapped in his watch-cloak, with his plumed shako on his head, and his good sword on his thigh, all that was earthly of the gallant veteran was laid to take its long sleep. gordon secured his telescope, and, mounting a steep hill, surveyed the country, expecting to see the partisan. all at once he exclaimed in a full, manly, and clear tone: "julia, huzza! huzza! he is here--come forth and greet him. the partisan is here already." and just as the highly-bred brown horse bore him up the low bank from the rivulet's bed, she came out quickly from the little tent with a warm flush on her soft cheeks and a bright light in her clear blue eye, and a fleet step, and an out-stretched hand, which showed that the joy which she manifested at his coming was from the heart, sincere and earnest. "oh!" she cried, "major delacroix!" and her sweet low voice faltered as she spoke, as if she were on the point of bursting into tears, "how glad, how very glad i am to see you." "too glad, i am afraid, dear lady," answered the gallant soldier, bowing almost to the saddle bow, "too glad, i am afraid; for your pleasure almost looks as if you thought i had deserted you." "oh! no, indeed--indeed!" she answered, clapping her hands together in the intensity of her earnestness; "i knew that you would die a thousand deaths before you would desert me--before you would desert, i mean," she added, with some slight embarrassment, "any woman in distress or danger." "you need not have modified your first expression, lady," replied the partisan, quietly; "as for dying a thousand deaths, i cannot say for that, but certainly so far as risking the one life i do possess, i would do that for _you_, willingly." julia gordon was a high-minded, artless, innocent woman, if ever such an one breathed the breath of life; but still she was a woman. she perceived at once that she had struck and fascinated the wild partisan at first sight, and though she would not for the universe have intentionally caused him a single pang, she did unconsciously encourage him, and lead him on to wilder and more wandering fancies than he had ever entertained before. "you flatter me, fair lady," he replied, with a smile, as he dismounted from his good horse; "and flattery from such lips as yours were perillous, indeed, to a younger man than i, and to one alienated from the hopes, the wishes, the delights of civilized society. but let us go in to your tent," he continued, "and you shall bestow upon me your hospitality to-day, in requital of the poor meal i set before you on the other side of the bravo." when the repast was ended, and coffee set before them, he produced his pipe, and filling it with his favourite mixture of tobacco, applied himself for a few minutes to smoking silently, gordon following his example, and julia awaiting patiently the relation, which, with the true woman's instinct, she foresaw to be close at hand. "now then, lieutenant, since we are about to start, it were, perhaps, as well that we should determine whither." "whither," exclaimed gordon, starting, and looking very anxiously in the old soldier's face. "i thought that had been determined long ago. i thought we were in full route for taylor's camp before monterey." "it is impossible," replied the partisan. "i did hope at first to effect it, but the hope was delusive--the thing is a sheer impossibility. we are in the midst of out-laying parties of regulars and, what is worse yet, of guerrillas; and, worst of all, of these accursed comanches." "and to return?" asked gordon. "is equally impossible." "what then? for the love of heaven, speak," cried the young husband, actually trembling with the violence of his anxiety and apprehension. "it is impossible for a party, at once too strong to avoid discovery, and too weak to resist an enemy, to push on to monterey, even if we had not a lady with us. i could, myself, run the gauntlet thither, and arrive in safety, though even that is doubtful. you, or she, at least, must remain in concealment until i can bring you such succour as will suffice to her safety." "remain in concealment, here?" "not here, exactly, nor yet very far distant." "can it be done?" "i think it can, with safety--else had not named it." "and whence will you seek succour?" "when god and the fortunes of war shall send it. perhaps not higher than the general's camp--perhaps i may stumble on jack hays, or walker, or mcculloch, or gillespie's rangers. they are on the scout almost all the time, either in the van or rear of the army; and now i think it likely they will be down here away, with the intent to open our communication. god send that they may." "god send it so, indeed," replied arthur gordon, earnestly. "but what has led you so completely to alter your views and intentions?" "that which i have seen with my own eyes, or heard with my own ears, last night." "and what may that have been?" "listen. i was awakened last night by the sound of a scuffle and a faint groan. before i could get on my feet, however, i had the pleasure of seeing that scoundrel, whose life we spared in the morning--and a stupid thing we did in sparing it--lead his horse out of the circle and leap on his back. there was no use in awakening you, so i untethered emperor as quickly as i could, and out in pursuit of him. for all the speed i could make, he had got full a half mile away on the open prairie before i was in the saddle; but i cared little enough for that, seeing that in a five miles' race, i knew well enough that i could make up such a gap as that, and overhaul him, too, without much trouble. but what _did_ vex me, and set me to thinking, was, that instead of making the best of his way back over the ground we had traversed in the morning, he struck off here to the north-west, riding as straight as if he had been following a beaten track, without a sign of hesitation, or so much as looking behind him." "that was strange," said gordon. "i soon found out whither he was bound, and i was thinking of taking a straight course for the rancho, at which i saw he was aiming, when all at once i heard a yell in the forest, scarcely three hundred yards ahead of me, and before i had time to think, out galloped forty or fifty red skins from the forest, and drove right across the open ground right down upon our runaway. he felt that he was lost, i think, as soon as he saw them, for he made but a very sorry race of it, wheeling and turning to and fro, as if he knew not whither to fly, and the consequence was that they ran him down in less than ten minutes, and that within less than a hundred yards of the brake which hid me. if i had just then had ten rangers with me, armed with good western rifles, they never would have served him as they did, nor would one of them got off scot free. but what could i do? i was but one against fifty, and i knew not how soon my own turn might come: so i had only to stand by and look on while they--" "murdered him!" exclaimed julia, covering both her eyes with her fair hands; "good god! how terrible!" "burnt him alive, lady," said the partisan, coolly. "burnt him alive!" exclaimed julia, whose hands had dropped from before her eyes into her lap at the first words of his reply. "burnt him alive, and before your eyes!" "before my eyes, lady. not a prayer, not a shriek, not a groan of the wretched devil escaped my ears, and the smell of his roasting flesh sickened and almost choked me," cried the partisan. "and why, why did you hold back?" exclaimed julia, wildly catching him by the arm, "why did you not rush upon them?" "i could but have died with him." "then should you have died with him," she cried, scarce knowing what she said. "not to have done so, is not like the man i have heard you called--not like the man i took you for." "hush, julia, hush!" cried her husband, springing to his feet. "be silent, child, if you cannot speak reason--" but delacroix interrupted him, speaking very slowly, and with an inexpressibly mournful intonation of voice. "let her go on," he said. "it was for _her_ sake i did it, and most meet it is that she should pay me for it with ingratitude. who ever served or loved a woman and met with other guerdon for his services? i was a fool--i am a fool, but i did not expect this at her hands." he hung down his bold head as he spoke, and one or two big tears, the first he had shed for years, rolled down his swarthy cheeks. "and now bid your men strike the tent, and pack just what baggage your lady cannot spare. pack it on the dragoon horse, whose saddle is left empty by that murderer's deed, who has dearly rued it. the rest with the tent and pontoon must be abandoned, and the mules that bore them must be slain. let them hide everything in the chaparral; the sun will have set within an hour. meanwhile, i will go forth and see that the coast is clear." "but whither, whither are you about to lead us?" inquired gordon, anxiously. "if you trust me you will follow me, lieutenant, whithersoever i lead you. if not, you will not follow me at all, for if it be my intent to deceive you, i can do so by words as well as by actions. "oh, major delacroix!" exclaimed julia, who had recovered from her bewilderment, and was sensible of the error she had committed, "you are offended, you are angry with me, and justly--i have been most ungrateful." "not angry, lady--not offended. a man cannot be angry with such a one as you, do what you will with him. i _am_ disappointed, perhaps hurt, but certainly neither angry nor offended." "you must forgive me," she exclaimed, springing passionately forward, and catching his hand in both her own, "you must--you must forgive me. i knew not _then_, i know not even now, what it was i said--will you but forgive me?" "surely i would, had i anything to forgive, sweet lady," he replied, with a grave, sad smile. "but i have nothing, unless it be," he added, with a low sigh, "my own folly. but a truce to this, we have indeed no time for parleying. will you trust me and follow me? as we ride onward i will tell you whither." "to the world's end," answered the beautiful girl, clasping her hands and blushing crimson with the violence of her own emotions. "to the world's end, if you will not forgive me." "now will you be so kind as to issue your orders to your men, lieutenant, and you, madam, to make your preparations for a ride which may extend through the night until day-break to-morrow?" he spoke so decidedly that there was no excuse for attempting to prolong the conversation, and gordon left the little tent immediately in order to give his directions, while the partisan lifted his rifle from the ground where he had deposited it on entering, and turned to follow the young officer without saying another word. but ere he had reached the entrance, julia, who had been standing with down-cast eyes and a strange expression, half sad, half passionate on her beautiful features, sprang forward to intercept him, and again caught him by the arm. "what have i done," she cried, passionately, "what have i done that you thus spurn me--thus despise me?" "i, lady!" and he gazed at her in blank astonishment; "i despise you?" "yes, yes, miserable _me_, and i deserve it all, aye, more than all. oh, god! oh, god! i shall go mad. what shall i do to win your forgiveness?" "i have said, madam," he replied, mastering himself and retaining his self-composure with a mighty effort, "that i had nothing to forgive. but now it is my turn to ask," and his voice assumed a deeper tone of feeling, and his whole manner showed an intenser meaning, "will _you_ spare _me_? you know what i mean, lady--all women _know_ their power, and, i suppose, all _abuse it_. but as i have endeavoured to serve you truly, as i intend to do to the end--as i am resolved to die for you--will you spare _me_, i say? spare me my self-respect, my consciousness of right, nay manhood, my repose of soul, my honour. if you will, lady, i forgive, i bless you. if not--if not, tremble, i say, tremble, not at the thought of my vengeance, but of your own remorse. think of this, lady, and fare you well. we speak no more alone together--no more, forever!" and he flung her hand, which he had held tightly clasped in his own while he spoke, away from him contemptuously, half indignantly, turned on his heel and left her. she gazed on him for a moment wistfully, and then sank down upon the bearskin on which he had been sitting, buried her face in the fur, and wept bitterly, as might be seen from the convulsive sobs which shook her whole frame as she lay prostrate in her desperate sorrow. within an hour the partisan returned to the camp which had been the scene of so much mental suffering and excitement to all the parties who had passed the last weary, long hours within its guarded precincts. but when he did return, he had fully mastered his composure, for he now fully understood his own feelings, and perceived the peril of indulging them. and he found all his comrades collected and self-possessed, at least in appearance, and prepared to set forth at a moment's notice. the horse of the unhappy sergeant had been equipped, instead of his own demipique, with the pack-saddle of the poor predestined mule, and stood, seemingly conscious of his degradation, loaded with such necessary baggage as could in no way be dispensed with. the appearance of the partisan, and the first quick gesture of his hand, gave the signal; and all the men vaulted at once into their saddles. "all is safe!" he exclaimed, cheerfully. "to horse, to horse, and away!" and with the word, he laid his hand on the pummel of the brown charger's demipique, and, without setting his foot into the stirrup, sprang at one bound to his back. then, after saying a few words in a low voice to arthur, who communicated them in turn to one of the dragoons, he bowed to the lady, saying: "and now, if you are ready, we will proceed at once," and rode at an easy gait out of the gorge, followed by all the party. the heart of julia sank as she gazed around; and she felt that the least addition to the sense of dread and half superstitious awe which now beset her, would be too much for her powers of endurance. yet, while she thought thus, another item _was_ added--it was the sharp and sudden crack of two rifles, discharged, almost simultaneously, in the small amphitheatre from which they had just departed. she started in her saddle as if she had received a blow, and would have fallen from her seat had not her husband thrown his powerful arm around her, and supported her frame on the back of her palfrey. "it is nothing," he whispered; "it is nothing only the poor mules which we were compelled to shoot, as we could not bring them with us, and dared not leave them to follow, and, by following, betray us." "more blood!" cried julia, bursting into a paroxysm of tears; "more blood! my god! when will this have an end?" "you should have thought of that julia," replied the young soldier, sharply and bitterly, "before you married a soldier. that done, such thoughts are too late." "alas, alas! they are, indeed, too late." "and do you cry alas! for that, false girl?" exclaimed gordon, in so loud a tone that his words reached the ears of the partisan, who instantly reined back his horse, and laying his hand kindly on the young man's arm, said, in a low voice: "oh, peace, peace, for shame! consider what she has borne, what she has yet to bear--and all for you." "i wish i were in my grave," she answered, raising her mild, soft eyes to meet his. "i never shall be happy more till i lie in it." "nay, lady, speak not thus," returned the veteran, warmly. "death, at the best, is a dread mystery. in god's good time, we must all come to that; to his good wisdom, therefore, let us leave it. and, oh, by no levity or petulance of ours, let us call down his anger on our heads. but, i assure you, it is no gloomy place, no fearful or dark abiding-place, that i hope to conduct you, but to a sort of fairy bower, inhabited," he added, assuming a tone of gayety which he perhaps scarcely felt "by what i thought, till i met your blue eyes, mistress gordon, the loveliest woman i e'er looked upon." despite herself, julia gordon was interested and amused, and yielding, womanlike to the immediate impulse, she cried: "what! a fairy bower, and a fair woman, in this howling wilderness?" "aye, lady, even so! and thereby hangs a tale, which, as you will be thrown, i think, upon her hospitality, and as it may beguile the tediousness of our night-march, i will relate to you, if you choose to hear it." "oh, tell it, by all means, partisan," cried gordon, eager to atone for his late petulance, and to divert his wife's apprehension; "i hope it is a love tale." "'cato's a proper person'" answered delacroix, laughing. "you see i quote, lieutenant. but here goes my story. "it was a little better than a year ago," he began, "that i first visited this part of the country, which i know--every pass, glen, and pond, and rivulet of it--as if it were my own garden. all then was violence, and fierce, irregular strife, and vengeful indiscriminate warfare and confusion. "i was alone on this good horse which i now ride, and armed as you now see me. at times i would join this or that band of rangers, when on some actual service which promised excitement and the chance of action, i for the most part scouted by myself. "on this occasion, however, i had a special duty to perform, being charged with dispatches from the general to the chief of the band, which will not name, nor otherwise designate, except as being ever the most daring and successful in the onslaught, although too often the most merciless in the moment of victory." "well, it was a lovely summer's evening, as ever shone out of heaven, when i passed through this belt of forest; not exactly here, or in this direction, for i came in farther to the southeastward, and approached the clearing which surrounds the plantation, whither we now are bound. when suddenly, as i rode along, following the track of the horse hoofs, which i could easily distinguish in the mossy greensward, and judging by many certain indications that i could not now be far behind them, though i heard nothing to denote their vicinity; when suddenly--i say, i caught the distant sounds of merriment, and revelry; the light cadences of the guitar, the merry laugh of girls, the deep rich voices of the male singers, in the harmonious spanish tongue, and all the glee and anxiety of fandango. "i felt a momentary sense of pleasure, for i knew that i was in time, which i had feared might not be the case; and that the attack, which it was my mission to prevent or at least to render bloodless, had not as yet taken place. the next instant a sudden doubt, a great fear fell upon me. how could it be that i should be so close to the rancho and the band, of which i was in pursuit, yet closer, but unseen, unheard and unsuspected. i knew that not a moment must be lost. that even now the rangers must be stealing with ready arms upon their victims; that even now the doom of the gay lancers must be sealed, unless my presence should arrest it. i gave my good horse the spur, and throwing the rein upon his neck, galloped at the top of his speed along the intricate and mazy wood-track. "never, in all my life, did i spur so hard; and never did a road seem so long, or so devious; nor was this the effect of imagination only; for i have since ascertained by actual inspection although the distance, as the bird flies from the spot, where i first heard the music, to the rancho whence it proceeded, is but a short mile, the road by which alone you can reach it, measures three at the least, winding it to and fro to avoid pathless brakes and deep barrancas, and is exceedingly deep and miry. "the sound of my horse's tramp, splashing through the deep clay, was already heard by the lancers, and heard, alas! by their ambushed foes, when i fear it spurred to accelerated action; when suddenly from the wood to my left, the shrill blast of the bugle rose piercingly upon the night air, and was answered by a second at a little distance. there was an instant's pause, breathless and awful as the lull that precedes the burst of a thunderstorm; and then a long loud shout burst out on all sides, and the quick running rattle of a hundred rifle-shots fired in quick succession. god! what a shriek succeeded! and then the clash of blades, and the blasphemies and yells of the charging texans, and the deep oaths and dying groans of the slaughtered spaniards and the howling of hounds and mastiffs; and, above all, piercing my very brain, the maddening screams of women pealed up in horrid dissonance to the peaceful heavens, which, in a moment afterward, were crimsoned with the glare of the rushing flames, making the twilight scenery of the calm forest lurid and ruddy as the fabulous groves of hell! "when i heard that tremendous uproar, and saw the outburst of that furious conflagration, i spurred my horse the faster, and at last, issuing from the forest, came upon such a scene of horror, blood and devastation, as i trust it may never be my fate to look upon again. "the rancho or country dwelling-house which had been attacked was of unusually large dimensions, consisting of many buildings, with barns, stables, cattle-folds, and out-houses of every kind. "suddenly a pistol shot or two startled me, followed by a shout and the clashing of swords from a distant quarter of the garden. "i was still mounted, and with the speed of light i galloped toward the spot whence those sole sounds of human life proceeded. across the smoothly-shaven lawn and luxuriant flowerbeds i drove my charger recklessly. i came up. i was yet in time! it was a small, low building of two rooms only, the inmost of which had windows reaching to the ground, secured with jalousies, and perfectly embowered by the rich leaves and vagrant tendrils of a hundred climbing parasites. "and this lone bower, evidently the abode of some spanish beauty, was now the last citadel of the hapless inhabitants, mercilessly attacked and desperately defended. it was fortunate for those within it that the texans had discovered it from the court-yard, with which it communicated only by one door in a massive wall of stone--all its windows opening into the secluded quarter of the garden, which they had not as yet discovered. "from the court-yard, separated from the garden in which i stood by the high and massive wall i have named, the shouts and rush of armed men came clearly to my ears; and, by the english tongue, the wild oaths, and the bitter denunciating, i readily perceived that it was the band of whom i was in pursuit, and that they were forcing their way into the building, in despite of all opposition. still it was evident to me, by the silence which prevailed in the inner room--opposite to the casements of which i stood--that this last sanctum was yet unforced, though the rapid discharge of pistol and rifle shots, and the clash of rapier and bowie-knife at the door, announced that its security was menaced, and could not certainly be maintained many minutes longer. "there was not a second to be lost. springing down from my horse, with one pistol in my left hand, a second in my belt, my good broad-sword in my right hand, and my wood-knife between my teeth, i drove the frail jalousies asunder with one blow of my foot, and stood the next moment in the scene of terror. and god of mercy! what a scene that was! should i live centuries i never can forget it. it was but a second that i gazed around me; yet in that fleeting second i took in more minute details than i could recount to you in an hour. "the chamber was the sleeping-room of some young female. yet this spot was already the abode of death--might even be the scene of outrage worse than death. "on the low, virgin bed was stretched--where it had been hastily deposited by the alarmed bearers--the lifeless corpse of an old man--an old spanish gentleman. a small, round, livid hole in the centre of his forehead, surrounded by a discoloured spot, and the blood which had flowed from the back of his head and deluged all the cambric pillow-covers, showed plainly that he had fallen by the unerring missile of a texan rifle. i learned afterward that he was killed, in the very act of offering hospitality, by the first shot discharged that day, on his own threshold; and i do not regret that the perpetrator of the atrocious deed fell, that same day, by my hand and this good weapon. "but to proceed. on the floor, close to the window by which i made my entrance, lay stretched an aged woman, the wife apparently of him who slept unconscious--happy that he was unconscious--of the horrors which surrounded him. she, too, had been struck down as i judged, not a moment before i entered, by a chance bullet; for she still breathed a little, although life was fast ebbing from her veins in spite of the efforts of the loveliest girl my eyes had then looked upon, who knelt beside her, seemingly unaware of the fierce uproar which was raging, nearer and nearer every moment, in the adjoining apartment; the door of which stood wide open, allowing the horrid din, the hideous imprecations, and the blue sulphurous smoke of the death-shots, which rang incessantly without, to force their way, unhindered, into that quiet chamber. "i said that one quick glance showed me all this, and, to truth, i had not leisure for a second, for i was not well within the chamber when a tall young spaniard staggered back to the threshold of the door, and, discharging a pistol at the texans while in the very act of dropping, fell headlong on the floor upon his back, his left hand, which still grasped the yet smoking pistol, striking the ground within a few inches of the feet of that fair girl. she started at the dreadful interruption, and, for the first time becoming aware of my presence, uttered a long wild shriek; and, believing that her hour had come, arose to her feet with an effort, and laying her hand on her bosom, said, in a low, sweet voice, in the spanish tongue, 'strike, if you will; but, in the name of the most holy virgin, harm not an orphaned virgin!' "alarmed by her cry, a young gentleman richly dressed, who was defending the door, with rapier and dagger, with all the valour of despair, and whose back had been turned toward us, looked around quickly, and as he did so received a sharp wound in the breast from a texan knife. the murderous weapon was raised to repeat the blow, when i seized him violently by the shoulder, cast him back into the middle of the room, crying, 'amigo,' and thrust myself into his place, confronting alone the infuriate assailants. "the men knew me in an instant, but their blood was up, moreover; and several of them to the intoxication of heated passions and unbridled license had added the intoxication of wine; quantities of which had been found on the premises, and had been drunk without stint. "it was in vain that i called on them to hold, and demanded their captain. my answer was, that they were all captains there alike, and would take no command from any, coupled to an insolent warning to take myself out of harm's way if i were wise, before worse should come of it. "a moment or two before he reached the spot, he was informed of my coming, and of the resistance i had met from his men. there was blood on his face, on his hands, on the blade of his sabre, which he bore still unsheathed. but so soon as his eye fell upon the group opposing me, and saw that i was fighting on the defensive, it seemed positively to flash fire--his white cheek gleamed with a red unnatural hectic--and he actually gnashed his teeth with rage. 'rascals! dogs! mutineers!' he shouted. 'do you dare to resist an officer? down with them, pierre; down with the dogs! spare them no longer! give them the steel,' and suiting the action to the word, as the hindmost man of the party, turned aghast at finding himself as it were between two fires, he threw himself upon him, and ran his sword through his body. the rest flung down their arms, and with some difficulty i obtained their grace, for he would hear at first of nothing but drum-head, court-martial, and immediate execution. "and now, my tale is told. that bower is the sole relic of a once rich and noble residence--that fair, pale girl is, with the sole exception of her brother, who was the wounded youth i mentioned, the last scion of a race as noble as ever came from the shores of old castile." "but, tell me," exclaimed julia, who had listened rather impatiently to the late discussion--"her brother!--what became of her brother who was wounded--whom you saved?" "what could become of him? he pulled his sombrero over his eyes, buckled his father's sword to his side, and his good spurs to his heel, took lance and lasso, backed his best horse, and never since has given quarter to a man who speaks with an english tongue. i would not bet a dollar that he would spare my life, if i fell into his hands in action." "and where is he now, or how engaged?" asked gordon. "since romano fallon's troop has been broken up, he is padre taranta's right hand man. he is the most dangerous enemy america now has in all mexico." "and it is to his sister's dwelling that you are leading _me_?" asked julia, in astonishment. "even so, lady. if once you cross her threshold, you are safe against all the force of mexico, until such time as we can bring you succour, or a flag under which you may enter the lines." chapter vii. the ruined rancho. the moon by this time had risen, and already far above the horizon was beginning to pour her light into the shadowy recesses of the forest. along the road they travelled, and although advancing only at an easy ambling canter, had traversed something better than twenty miles, when the distant barking of a large dog was distinctly heard by all the party, and within a few minutes after that sound became audible, the advanced dragoon, who was a hundred or two yards ahead of the party, reined up and informed the partisan that a heavy body of horse were coming down the road rapidly toward them. pierre halted, and telling julia that there was no danger, and desiring the men not to stir from the spot, or speak, or call out, whatever they might hear or see, dismounted from his horse, cast the rein to a dragoon, and then hurried back on foot, as fast as he could, directly toward the track which they had just left. "just as i thought, guerillas," muttered the partisan to himself. "it is juan de alava's squadron, for a thousand." the squadron was perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour passing him, for there were, as he had conjectured by the sound, while they were yet at a distance, above a hundred of them--in fact, he reckoned about a score beyond that number--and they rode in very open order, and not much faster than a foot pace. pierre listened to every word that fell from their lips. the next glance showed him that his life had not been worth a dollar's purchase had he fully arisen to his feet, for he needed nothing to tell him that the eyes of the two who now passed him--eyes wandering suspiciously at every step of their horses through the forest about them--were very different to encounter from those of the mere troopers who had hitherto passed by him. these two men were of a widely different aspect from the rest, and from each other also, though one of them was clad, except that the materials were richer, in the same costume with the men who preceded him. the other, who rode a little the foremost of the two, and the nearest to the partisan, was a little old shrivelled man. yet within that frail and meagre frame, hardened as it was, and exercised into a mere mass of compact bone and sinew, it was easy to perceive that there resided a world of untamed youthful spirit, and all the strength of manhood. "now, padre," exclaimed the younger, "for the love of god, let us set spurs to our horses and get the troop forward at a quicker pace. at this rate, we shall not reach the open ground before day-break; and, in that case, they will have the start of us." "not so, not so, juan," replied the old man, in a clear, hard voice. "if our information be correct, and there be a lady with them, as i doubt not it is, they will have halted for the night, and the later we come upon the ground, the more chance of finding them." they continued speaking as they rode along; but these were all the words that reached the ears of the partisan. no more did he require, however, to inform him of all that he wished to know. so soon as the clatter of their passage had died away into the ordinary silence of the woods, the partisan hurried back to join his friends, who were awaiting his return in no small anxiety, at least, not to say trepidation. "all is well," he exclaimed, as soon as he came into ear-shot of the little party; "all is well. it is padre taranta and young juan de alava, and troop. they are in search of us, too." they then all hastened back to the main road, and cantered forward at a better pace than they had as yet ventured on trying. half an hour's ride brought them to the banks of the rivulet which divided the clear grounds that surrounded the once splendid estate from the wild forest. a minute or two afterward, however, as the hoofs of their horses began to clatter on the pavement, a fierce baying broke upon the stillness of the night, and two huge sheep-dogs, of the far-famed mexican breed, came bounding out, furious, as if to attack the intruders. but the partisan soon quieted them; and then, as if aroused by the uproar, some one was heard to stir within the rancho, a light flashed through one of the casements, which was immediately thrown open--a loud voice hailing to inquire who came so late. "friends, friends!" cried the partisan, in the spanish tongue. "it is i, sanchez; it is pedro, the forester." "thanks be to god!" shouted the old man, who had spoken from within; "welcome, senor. wait till i open the door for you." the lattice was pulled to, as he ceased speaking; but they could hear him hallooing within to arouse his mistress and the scanty household. "ho! senorita, senorita marguerita; he, pedro the forester, pedro el salvador!" a moment afterward, the bolts were withdrawn and the gate thrown open, and the lady, with her conductors, entered the ruined rancho. the first sight which met the eyes of julia gordon, as she crossed the threshold of the door, and stood within the hall of that lonely dwelling, was the figure of a young, delicate, tall girl, who struck her, at the first glance, as being the very loveliest creature she had ever looked upon. and indeed she was exceedingly lovely. in her left hand she carried a small lamp, which was the only light in the large apartment. it seemed that she had not distinguished the words of old sanchez, when he shouted to arouse her from her slumbers; for, as the partisan advanced, who had stood hitherto in the back-ground, and had been concealed by the darkness which pervaded the whole room. marguerita sprang eagerly forward to greet him. "you! you!" she cried, fervently; "do my eyes tell me truly? is it, indeed, you? lord of my life! friend of my soul! preserver of my honour! is it, indeed, you, pedro el salvador. oh, i am happy--oh, very, very happy." and, as she spoke, in the intensity of her passionate feeling, she clasped her snowy arms about the rough soldier's neck, and letting fall her madonna-like head on his iron shoulders, burst into a flood of tears. "nay, nay!" exclaimed the gallant rover, gently disengaging himself from the innocent girl's embrace; "nay, nay! weep not, sweet senorita, this is no time for tears, for i have come to ask a favour--a favour as great as the lives of us all." "ask for _my_ life, rather," she answered, emphatically, suffering the tears to trickle down her cheeks unheeded, "for it is yours; ask for my soul, you should have it, were it mine to bestow." "impossible, indeed, marguerita," replied the partisan; "impossible, indeed, that either i should ask, or you grant, were it to save a world. but, listen to me, and first look upon this beautiful young woman." "add one word more, don pedro; say that she is _your_ wife," said the girl in a singular tone of half-resentful vehemence, which pierre did not then comprehend. "she is the wife of my friend, lieutenant gordon, lady," he replied; "no volunteer, i assure you, but one of may's dragoons." "pardon me," she said, turning to julia, "pardon me, dear lady; but at times i am half distraught, and my mind wanders, i know not how or whither, since--since that day--but _he_ has told you, doubtless. in one word, you are welcome. you are safe as if you were within the temple of your god. you are alone, you are in danger, _he_ loves you, and i doubt not _you_ love him; and i, marguerita de alava, swears it, by all the saints of heaven, that i will die before one hair of your head, one nail of your finger, be injured. but this," she continued, after a moment's pause, "this is poor hospitality. without there! sanchez, estefania, bring lights, and wine, and pile up the fire; the nights are chilly here among our forests." the old shepherd, who had been awaiting her commands without, marvelling evidently at the long delay ere he was summoned, appeared instantly, bearing a pair of tall waxen candles, almost torches in size, in two massive silver candle sticks of different patterns, but of great value. the partisan then left the room for a minute or two, in order to give some instructions to the dragoons; for, in the present crisis gordon had delegated the command to him; while the young husband drew near to the stove, unwilling to quit julia, and more than half suspicious of the spanish lady's motives. so soon, however, as the girl's eye fell upon her own scanty attire, revealed as it was now by the bright lustre of the candles, she started, as if she had but that instant remembered how slenderly she was clad; blushed crimson, and raising both her hands to conceal her half-uncovered bosom, turned quickly, and fled with a swift step into the inner chamber. "she is jealous of you, julia," said gordon. "jealous of me, arthur?" she exclaimed, blushing deeply as she said the words; and he observed the blush, but observed not the indignant tone in which she spoke. "is that a blush of consciousness, or of shame, julia?" he said, after a moment's pause, gazing at her sternly. "of indignation!" she answered, vehemently, her soft blue eyes flashing fire as she answered him. "of indignation, sir, that any man should dare use such words, entertain such thoughts of me. yes, arthur gordon, she is both in love and jealous. i saw that at a glance; and i will tell you something more; she is _not_ jealous without a cause. is your glance answered? for the man whom she loves, does _not_ love her, and _does_ love me." the young man spoke not, stirred not, answered not. he stood abashed, crest-fallen, dumb before her. conviction was borne in upon his soul by every word she uttered. "now listen to me, arthur gordon. i trust, i know, i thank my god! i am too proud, if not too pure, ever to do the thing that should make me know what shame is. but, mark me: if there be aught on earth which alienates love, it is to be suspected of not loving. if there be aught on earth that engenders evil thoughts in the heart, it is to be suspected capable of evil thinking. if there be aught on earth that makes a woman doubt herself, it is to be doubted by him who should sustain her; if once she doubt herself, others will soon have cause to doubt, to despise her. if i were not so proud, i should say to you, therefore, 'make me not that which you would not have me!' i _am_ too proud, too strong, too confident in the right to say so. but i _do_ say, 'make me not scorn you, cast you away from me, _hate_ you.' i could do all these things, arthur gordon, and, though they kill me, i _will_ do them, if ever more i hear from your tongue or see in your eye a doubt of my honour--of my love. i have said enough--should have said too much had i not seen in you aforetime the germs of this folly, which, if not nipped in the bud, will make you, will make both of us indeed wretched. now i will go and join our hostess; and do you seek the partisan and decide upon our future movements." he raised his eyes slowly to meet her glance, and as he met it no longer fiery or indignant, but full of confidence and love, a faint smile played over his lips, and he stretched out his arms half timidly toward her, with this one word: "julia!" and she refused not the proffered embrace, but fell on his bosom and kissed him tenderly; and then withdrawing herself gently from his arms, said, with her own bright, beaming smile: "now go--go your way, silly boy--and beware how you let that noble man perceive your folly." "he should not, for my life!" answered the young dragoon, as with a light heart, a firm step, and a mind perfectly re-assured and easy he went forth by one door into the court-yard as she passed by the other into marguerita's boudoir. chapter viii. the parting supper. when arthur gordon issued out into the quiet court-yard, he found the partisan tranquilly superintending the preparations of the dragoons, who had already lighted a fire near the fountain and having rubbed down their chargers which were busy about better provender than they had enjoyed for many a day, were now making their arrangements for the night. the partisan, having seen the baggage all packed securely, went back and entered the rancho, and crossing over to marguerita asked her to guard julia as she would a sister. "i will guard her as my sister; as my life," she answered. "no harm shall come to her, save through my life. you shall find her safe when you return, or you shall find us together." "i know it," he said, gloomily. "i know it, marguerita. yet, i think we shall never meet again," he added, in a whisper. "we shall--we shall meet again!" she exclaimed, almost triumphantly. "if not on earth--there, there, where there are no wars, and no enemies--where we shall part no more forever!" "amen!" replied pierrie. two hours later, and the horse-tramps of the dragoons had died away in the distance, and julia had wept herself into forgetfulness of her sorrows on the bosom of marguerita. * * * * * the morning which followed the departure of pierre delacroix and his companions from the ruined rancho, dawned as serene and gentle as the waking of a new-born child. the song of birds and the distant water-fall hailed julia, as she awoke from her slumbers; and the soft, melancholy singing of marguerita suddenly reminded her where she was. a moment afterwards the song ceased, the door flew open, and marguerita entered, leaving several choice and dainty eatables, and addressed her guest: "you must pardon me, lady, if i perform these little offices myself, and intrude my services upon you, for the fortunes of war have imposed the task of such light labours on me, happier than many of my sisters, who are reduced to utter penury and ruin." "pardon me, rather, dear marguerita--for so you must let me call you--that i permit you thus to wait on one, who is so far in every way beneath you. except," she added, with a winning smile, "that in all times and countries the character of a suppliant has been invested with a sort of mournful dignity." "is it so, lady?--is it so, indeed?" cried marguerita, half eagerly, half-sorrowfully. "julia! julia!" she cried, imploringly, "will you call me julia? i called you marguerita, dear, dear marguerita." "julia--dear julia, then," replied the spanish girl, soothingly; "believe me, i thought not to wound you, but my heart bleeds, my heart burns when i think of my country and her wrongs. hark!" she exclaimed in a low whisper, "heard you that?" "heard i what?" cried julia, terrified beyond expression at the sudden change in her tone, manner, and countenance; "i hear nothing but the wind, the birds, the water!" "there--there again!" said the other, standing erect and motionless, with her finger upraised, her head thrown a little backward, her lips apart, her nostrils dilated, her eyes fixed on vacancy. "there--there it is again--they are coming!" an instant afterwards the jingling of spurs and the clang of a steel scabbard on the stone pavement of the outer room was heard approaching the door quickly. then marguerita's face lightened for a moment as she sprang to meet the new comer. "it is juan!" she cried, "it is my brother, and thanks be to god, alone!" the door flew open, and on the threshold stood the young guerilla. it was the form of the antinuous, without his effeminacy--it was the head of the conquering bacchus, without the sensuality. a specimen more perfect of young manhood never walked the earth. "_madre de dios_, who is this?" he asked. "brother! juan! brother!" exclaimed marguerita, seizing him in her arms, and striving to embrace him. "what have you done, mad girl? who is this, i say, who is this, marguerita?" "a suppliant, a fugitive, a friend, a sister, a sister of the partisan--of pedro, my brother, pedro el salvador." "an american," he said, slowly, his brow gradually uniting into a black frown, as he uttered the word, and his eye growing lurid with a concentrated fire, then laying his hand on the hilt of his stiletto, he murmured through his set teeth, "she must die." "never, no! for your life! for your soul! for the name of god! for the most holy virgin! no, brother, no; not while i live! he brought her here. he that preserved your life and my honour. he asked me to protect her! and i swore by my mother's soul; and now i swear it!" "fool!" he almost shouted in his rage, as he thrust her aside violently, "carrera will be here within ten minutes, and all our lives are forfeit by your treason." "we can conceal her. in the niche, you know, in the niche. sanchez and estefania and francisco need but a hint to make them mute as statues. we can conceal her, brother, and be saved." "he knows that they came hither. we have traced their hoof-tracks to the very gate. a wounded soldier saw them leave their hiding-place, and we met carrera on their track. i know not how we failed to meet them." "where is estefania?" "in arrest." "and francisco?" "and he likewise." "then we are saved." "how saved?" "go! tell them, you, to swear that the dragoons forced our hospitality by menace, which we could not resist. they were five strong--young men, well armed. what could we do?" "it may save us--who knows?" "it will save us! do it. away! every moment is a life!" then, as he left the room in haste, she sprang up on the bed, touched a spring in the wall, and the back of the shallow niche in which the crucifix stood flew open, turning outward on a hinge, disclosing a small circular closet, lighted by a small air-hole, and containing a low stone bench, wrought in the wall. "up, up!" she exclaimed, shaking julia sharply by the arm. and aroused from her prostration by the dreadful emergency, and nerved by the firmness of the spanish maiden, julia did rise, pale as a ghost, but calm and firm, and kissed and blessed her hostess, and mounted into the small hiding place, and drew the secret door close after her. nearer and nearer came the bugle horn, and then the clang of hoofs, the orders of the officers, the din of the men dismounting, and the clash and clatter of their arms. hurriedly, in the meantime, had marguerita thrust aside the few articles of julia's clothing which were scattered about the room, but when she thought that all was safe, and the steps of the officers were heard in the outer hall, she sat down quietly to her embroidery, and took up again her mournful song, and was singing tranquilly and unconcernedly, when her brother again entered the apartment. chapter ix. spanish honour. "marguerita, come forth. the general carrera and his staff request your hospitality." marguerita immediately came forward, and was admired by all. "i regret deeply," the general said, after a few moments spent in ordinary compliments, "that we were unable to arrive hither a few hours sooner, as our presence would have, i hear, relieved you of unpleasant visitors, of whom we have been in pursuit some days." "we had _unexpected_ visitors indeed, if not unwelcome," she replied. "but to say the truth, they were not uncivil, and though we had not the power to refuse them what they asked of us, they behaved courteously, and made but a short stay." "be sure of that," answered carrerra, twisting his moustache; "they knew that i was at their heels. but, however, we will take a little refreshment, and then to horse again." after they had partaken of refreshment, he arose from his chair, and, again bowing, was on the point of leaving the apartment, and the poor girl thought that the crisis was past and the danger over. when in the very midst of the bustle and hurry of leave-taking, an aid-de-camp rushed in hastily and announced that the riding-horse of the american lady had been found in the stable of the rancho, well groomed, and feeding at a well-filled manger. "who groomed him?" asked carrera, sternly. "a boy called francisco." "bring him in." and immediately the shepherd boy was led in between two dismounted lancers, with escopetas trailed in their hands. "how came the lady's horse in the stable?" "it was tired, lame, who knows?--they left it behind." "now, mark me, if you speak one lie, you shall be shot to death within five minutes. if you speak truth, the republic will reward you. where is that lady?" "who knows?" was the evasive answer; but as he uttered it his eyes wandered to his master's face, as if to consult his eyes before replying further. he met their steadfast gaze, and continued, firmly: "she went with the rest." a dragoon entered at this moment, bearing a lady's side-saddle and bridle, with girths and hangings all complete, and cast them down at the general's feet; and then said, as he saluted: "we have found a dragoon horse dead--shot within a few hours, general--in the corral, with all his accoutrements upon him." the general's cold, hard eye turned silently and sternly on the miserable boy. "speak," he said, "or die. take your choice. where is the lady?" "quien sabe?" "away with him." two stout dragoons seized him, and despite his cries, his struggles and entreaties, dragged him away as if he had been a mere infant. there were five minutes' dreadful, death-like silence. marguerita stood cold and impassive as a pillar of stone, with her teeth set and her hands clenched. but for the heaving of her bosom and the quivering of her eyelid, she gave no signs of life. juan de alava preserved his soldier's mien and aspect, but his eye wandered wildly. the next moment the sharp rattle of a volley, succeeded by one death groan, rang through the hall, and the thin blue smoke drifted in through the open door, and half filled the apartment. "_fiel hasta la muerte_," muttered he between his hard set teeth. "bring out the other servants," roared the general, furious at being frustrated. "give them five minutes, also, to confess; if they speak not, shoot them." after another short pause an orderly entered, and announced that they had fled into the woods. "ha! this lies deeper than i thought for, lady," he added, turning to marguerita; "we must have your presence in an inner chamber. valdez, call in our major and six captains, a court-martial. senor de alava, follow us." and without more words, he stalked into marguerita's private chamber, seated himself in her own arm-chair, and ordering his officers to form a half circle round him, proceeded to arraign her as a culprit. "you know," he said, sternly, but not uncourteously, "you know, senorita, the doom which our laws have pronounced against all traitors who comfort, protect, or harbour an american?" "senor, i know it." "it is?" "death." "you are very young to die." "i am young, senor; but when god calls us hence it is never early." a slight murmur of admiration ran through the circle at her calm and dauntless resolution, but found no echo from the cold lips of the general. "where is the lady gone who was here last night?" "the boy whom you murdered told you that she went with the rest." "he lied, and lost his life by his lie." "on your honour, do you know where the lady is at this moment?" "i do know." "where is she?" "i have sworn to be silent." "that oath was treason to your country." "by your proclamation." "you know it? you have read it?" "i do--i have." "enough. one question more--will you reveal it?" "i will not." "and you know the alternative?" "death!" "and you are prepared to die--so young, so beautiful, to die a traitress?" "god will forgive me." "colonel don juan de alava, on your honour, as a soldier and a gentleman, do you know where this american woman now is?" "i do know." "where is she?" "do you think me less firm than a woman?" "have you sworn secrecy?" "i have not sworn." "speak, i command you." he was silent. the general cast his eyes sternly round the circle, reading the judgment of each man by his face, as he asked: "are they guilty of high treason?" and each man nodded in silence as the question came to him in turn. "and your sentence?" "death!" replied valdez, standing up and uncovering, and all the others arose in their order, and bowed in assent. "never!" exclaimed two voices in one cry, and, as if by one movement, brother and sister drew, and raised on high, a sheathless blade. "brother--sister--adieu!" and the blades rose as if to strike--but ere the blow was dealt, a calm, sweet voice cried "hold! i am here." and at the words, there in the niche, disclosed by the removal of that holiest emblem, the christian's dying god--there with her golden tresses floating disheveled like a halo of glory round her, with her blue eyes filled with the ineffable lustre--the lustre of a martyred saint, her innocent, artless features glowing with strange exultation, her lovely lips apart, madonna-like, stood julia gordon. "i am here, man of blood. spare them. but with me do your pleasure; i am in the hands of my god, now as ever." at the command of his general, valdez arose to assist julia down; but as he took the first step, he stopped short as if thunder-stricken. nor was it wonderful, for as he took that step, one short crack came echoing from without, the well-known death-shot of the certain rifle--then pealed a bugle, high and shrill--the terrified alarm--and then crack! crack! went the deadly rifle of the west. and high above all other sounds, and high arose the cry of the texans--"remember the alama, the alamo?" and gordon's name was mingled with the din; and the fierce cheer of the partisan, "pierre, pierre! charge for pierre and glory!" completed the dismay of the surprised and baffled murderers. as the first din of that surprise fell on the startled ears of the mexican commander, he sprang to his feet, unsheathed his sword, and the other officers following his example, they dashed forward gallantly to find their men, and lead them to the charge--all save one, valdez. "and why does the gallant colonel valdez loiter in the rear, when his men are in action?" asked juan de alava, sneeringly. "i might retort the question, sirrah, were it becoming me to reply to a prisoner and a traitor." "and did you so retort, sirrah," answered alava quietly, "i might reply that a prisoner has no right to be in action, did it become me to reply to a liar." "now mark me. before these ladies whom you _have_ insulted, _would_ have outraged, i strike you thus. i spurn you with my foot thus and thus!" and as he spoke he suited the action to the word, giving him a severe blow with the flat of his sword across the shoulders, and actually kicking him twice with his foot. both men were in the prime of life, young, active, sinewy, and skilful to a wonder in the use of their weapons. juan was as brave as his own steel, and valdez, a base coward, was forced to fight for his life. "kill him! kill him!" cried marguerita. "for my sake kill him! by no hand but yours must the villain die!" they both fought desperately and determinedly, one fighting for life, and the other for vengeance. hopeless of directing marguerita from her appalling object, julia turned, sick at heart, toward the window--the same window which had given entrance to the partisan, when he arrived but in time to save marguerita--and at the very moment she did so, it was driven inward with a loud crash, and she was clasped in the arms of arthur gordon. the sound of the forceful entrance, the clanking steps of his men, for the three dragoons were at his heels, and the clatter of his accoutrements, had well nigh proved fatal to alava; for at the sudden uproar in his rear, he turned his head quickly, and was admonished by a sharp wound in his side for his imprudence. and, like a wounded lion, juan de alava charged him home so fiercely that he had not a second's breathing time. three triple feints, each followed by a home lunge, valdez had parried in succession, when he lunged in return. his foot slipped a little on the marble floor; his blade was struck aside by alava's dagger, at the same instant in which his chest was pierced and his heart cleft asunder by his home-driven blade. scarce was that fearful death-struggle completed, when two of the dragoons advanced their carbines and called on juan to yield him on good quarters. juan had already lost much blood, and staggered sickly, and would have fallen but for the sword on which he leaned. "where is your officer?" he asked, in spanish. "i am a gentleman, and will not yield but to an officer." "i am an officer," cried gordon, springing forward, having learned by one word from julia who he was. "i am your friend, too, senor don juan--your friend forever." gordon, having seen juan in safe hands, he went forth in search of a surgeon. utterly dispirited and broken, the mexicans rushed in a body to the window, by which their comrades were pouring out; and, the two currents meeting, jostled and reeled together like tides conflicting in a narrow channel. but the terror and the numbers of those without were the greater; and gradually they forced their way inward, actually using their weapons, one against the other, in the madness of their despair. and still on the rear of that confused and weltering route raged the fierce broadswords of the texan riders. "ha, mason," exclaimed gordon, as the rangers swept past him in their charge, recognizing a young officer of his acquaintance. "this work is over now. for god's sake send one of your fellows for a surgeon. a friend of mine lies badly wounded, yonder, in the orange thicket, by the stream." "aye, aye!" cried he whom he addressed, reining up his horse. "you, grayson, gallop to the rear, and bring up surgeon maxwell." "yes, sir," answered the man, and dashed away to the rear. "but i wish you would send a dozen men down yonder to that thicket, to mount guard over julia," said gordon. "she is almost alone." "i'll go myself," answered mason, "or the devil a soul will i get to stir, so long as they can shoot or stick a mexican. halt! dress--halt! or i'll scewer some of you. that is it. now steady. gordon, i'll see to that--never fear. but i wish you would gallop down, and stop firing. all resistance is at an end, and it is now mere butchery." "i will, i will," replied the young dragoon; "there has, indeed, been enough of it." and putting his spurs to a charger, which he caught as it ran by him masterless, he galloped forward, shouting to the men to cease firing. but eager as he was to check the carnage, he was preceded in the work of charity by the bold partisan, whom he could see mounted among the crowd of dismounted rangers, close to the often-mentioned window, actually cutting at his own men with his broadsword to enforce obedience, and shouting till he was hoarse, in spanish and english alternately: "cease firing, and give quarter." suddenly a shot flashed from a loop above, and he reeled in his stirrups and fell headlong. a fierce roar followed from the soldiery; and, in an instant they forced their way bodily into the building, and woe to the mexican whom they met when the word was given--"pierre!" "my god! they have murdered him!" cried gordon; and forgetful of all else, he drove madly to the spot, sprang from his horse, and raised him from the bloody greensward. "they have done for me at last," cried the gallant soldier, as gordon raised his head upon his lap, as he knelt behind him. "i trust not, indeed." "they have. i am a dead man, gordon. but come, my time is short; have me borne to the ladies--unless," he added, "you fear to let them see me." "you are right. maxwell is there, tending the hurt of young alava." they had conversed alone, with no witness but the beautiful brown horse of the partisan, which, bleeding himself, from many wounds, stood close beside them, not having moved a yard since the fatal shot was fired, gazing upon his fallen master with an eye that seemed full of human intelligence and sympathy. "emperor knows that i am dying. soh! emperor, good horse. soh! emperor!" he added, raising his head a little to gaze on his favourite. and the beautiful brown horse whinnied as he heard the long-loved voice, and advanced a yard or two, and rubbed his muzzle gently and fondly over the face of his dying master. "good horse, good emperor," said the partisan, patting the face of his horse with his failing hand. "i never shall back you again, good emperor. he is yours, gordon, when i am gone. you will be kind to him, i know." the young dragoon wrung the hand of the dying man hard, and the big tears burst in volumes from his eyes, and fell down like rain upon the face of the veteran. "go forward," he said, faintly; "go forward, gordon, and apprise the ladies. women are tender plants, and this, i think, will shock them." and slowly they did bear him, with the beautiful brown horse following them step by step with his head bent almost to the dust, and trailing his long, thin mane on the ground, in the depth of animal sorrow. when gordon reached the bower the surgeon was fastening up his case, having dressed young alava's wound, and was on the point of going to offer his services, he said, where they might be more seriously required. the young soldier caught his last words as he entered, and arresting him by the arm, said, earnestly, in a low voice, even before he replied to the congratulations of the women: "that is here, maxwell; nowhere can they be more required than they will be here. god send that they may avail." though uttered in a whisper, julia heard his words, and judging from the expression of his face, clasped her hands, and cried, earnestly: "not the partisan, arthur--oh, say it is not the partisan." "would that i could." "not severely--not fatally, at least?" "i fear mortally." "my god! my god!" and she burst into a paroxysm of almost hysterical weeping. the conversation had all passed in the english tongue, yet, as it were, instinctively, marguerita caught their meaning, and she uttered one long, piercing shriek, and fell lifeless to all appearance. the surgeon and julia hastened to raise her up, but pierre said quietly: "let her be--let her be if there is no danger. it is better she should be senseless until all is over." "there is no danger," said maxwell, with an air of wonder. "god bless you, then, good maxwell; betake you where you may do more good--my days are numbered. commend me to mcculloch and gillespie. my rifle to the first, my pistols to the latter, and this, doctor," he added, as he handed him his knife. "yourself, gordon, will keep my horse. bury me in my blanket with my sword by my side. fare you well. now, lady," he added, turning his eyes to julia gordon, "in your ear. you will permit me gordon?" "surely--most surely." then julia knelt down by his side, and clasped his cold hand in her own, and listened with her whole soul in her ears, watering his face with her tears. "that poor thing," he said, turning his eyes toward the motionless form of marguerita, "you will be kind to her--you will care for her--you will love her?" "as my own sister," faltered julia through her sobs, "as my own sister." "then i die happy. gordon," he added, raising his head a little for the last time, "this agony is well nigh over. she has promised to be a sister to poor marguerita; will you do likewise?" "she shall be my sister." "god's blessing on you now friends. i am going, fare-you-well. weep not for me, for i have lived happily, and i hope not altogether uselessly, and i die happily, for i die with my duty done, in the arms of those i love the most dearly, and in the faith of a christian." then he closed his eyes, quite exhausted with his efforts, and lay for a long time speechless so that they believed him dead. but he opened them again after a while, and said, very faintly: "brown emperor; good horse. you will be good to him, gordon?" then one of those strange things occurred which at times almost make us think that brutes have souls and reason. for, before the young soldier could reply, the brown horse, which had followed the bearers of his master to the entrance of the arbour, and paused there, as if conscious that he must not enter, no sooner heard his own name uttered in those feeble accents, than he thrust his head through the foliage and uttered a long, low, plaintive neigh, utterly unlike any sound he had ever before been heard to utter. "ah! thou art there, old friend. god bless thee, too, if it be no sin so to pray. thou wilt be cared for; will he not, gordon--julia?" but neither could reply for sobbing. he understood the reason, and said once again: "bless you all--may god bless you. remember that i die a chris--a christian. i am go--going. gordon, gordon, let her--let her kiss--kiss me, julia." "kiss him, quick; kiss him, kiss him, julia." she knelt beside him, bent her beautiful form over his bosom, and pressed her cold lips to his, and the pure spirit of the noble and high-minded soldier passed away in that last--that first embrace of the woman he had loved so chastely, so devotedly, so nobly. happy who so die, in the arms of love, religion, honour. * * * * * more words are almost needless. julia and gordon, under the guidance of the gallant rangers, reached the lines at monterey in safety. long did they mourn over that true and noble friend, who, though the friend but of a day, had stamped himself on their souls forever. poor marguerita never ceased to weep for the man she loved so madly and so vainly, till, in the convent which she entered within a month of his death, her sorrows and sufferings were ended. one thing alone remains to be recorded. the brown horse, which had followed his master's body to the grave, and watched his interment with an almost human eye, was forced almost by violence from the spot when the last ceremony was ended. but in the afternoon, when the column was formed to march, and the bugles sounded the advance, he reared furiously, broke the leading rein by which a dragoon was guiding him, and galloped to the spot where they had laid his master. they followed him, and found him lying on the grave, rooting up the fresh laid sods with his muzzle. but when he saw them drawing near, he rose to his feet with a weak, staggering action, stood for a moment gazing at them proudly, then uttered the same long, shrill, plaintive neigh, and in the sound expired. they scooped a little hollow--it was no sacrilege--beside the grave of him whom he had borne so truly, whom he would not survive, and laid him by those honoured ashes, with this motto rudely carved on a low headstone close by the simple monument, which love erected to the memory of the gallant partisan: +fiel hasta la muerte.+ +marguerita.+ they sleep together. never was better horse or nobler rider. the end. printed by james jackson, and published by him at his publishing office, , +red lion court+, fleet street, london, e.c. +read+ boys of london and boys of new york. [illustration] one penny weekly. published by james jackson. transcriber's note: the index (contents) and the list of illustrations have been moved from the end of the text to beginning of the text. minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. words printed in italics are noted with underscores: _italics_. [illustration: _the fight at adobe walls._ (from an oil painting by miss gwynfred jones, hansford, texas.--copyrighted.)] life and adventures of "billy" dixon of adobe walls, texas panhandle a narrative in which is described many things relating to the early southwest, with an account of the fight between indians and buffalo hunters at adobe walls, and the desperate engagement at buffalo wallow, for which congress voted the medal of honor to the survivors. compiled by frederick s. barde guthrie, oklahoma copyright, by mrs. olive dixon printed by the co-operative publishing co. guthrie, oklahoma index page. chapter i. preface--introductory--what "bat" masterson said of "billy" dixon--how the story of his life was written--mrs. dixon's devoted industry in setting down the facts of her husband's life--fascination of the plains country chapter ii. dixon's birth and boyhood--death of his parents--from west virginia to home of uncle in missouri--lured by romance of plains, the boy starts in search of adventure--reaches leavenworth, kas., and becomes a bull-whacker--across the plains--hires to farmer mccall chapter iii. to fort harker with a drove of "shave-tails"--kills his first buffalo--the medicine lodge treaty--approaching indians--stirring scenes--general harney--satanta and his horse--back to fort harker--prairie fires chapter iv. to baxter springs, kas., in --hauling munitions of war to camp supply for the custer expedition--all the mules stampede in harness--now eighteen years old and as hard as nails--begins hunting buffaloes for their hides--establishes a road ranch south of hays city--lost at night chapter v. dodge city in --dixon never danced or gambled--"cranky" mccabe--dangerous country south of the arkansas--indian scare--name at boiling spring on the south pawnee--sham duel--on the cimarron in --prowling cheyennes--company m and the al frio--history of buffalo spring chapter vi. down in the texas panhandle--ruins of original adobe walls --back to dodge city--fitting out of big expedition to hunt buffaloes--the tempestuous and spectacular fairchild --night camp in the plains country--dancing on a dry buffalo hide--floods and quicksands--meets jim and bob cator--fun with fairchild chapter vii. the buffalo-hunters establish themselves at adobe walls and erect buildings--origin of old adobe walls--a long circle in search of the best hunting grounds--roaring of the vast herd --business begins in earnest--caught in canadian quicksands --news at adobe walls of indian outbreaks--dixon forms hunting partnership with hanrahan--location of buildings at adobe walls--fancied security chapter viii. a thousand indians attack adobe walls at dawn--dixon tries to save his horse--escape of billy ogg--the first mighty warwhoop--the battle begins--indians charge to the sound of a bugle--bugler shot--dixon's marksmanship--indians no match for hunters--running for supply of ammunition--the shadlers and billy tyler killed chapter ix. dixon's fall in rath's store--companions fear he is shot --dead warrior's lance--dismal cawing of pet crow--wounded horses--killing an indian at yards--henry lease goes for help--old man bellfield and the black flag--death of william olds--lost relics chapter x. depredations of indians--quanah parker--buffalo-hunting abandoned--departure for dodge city--dixon becomes a scout under general miles--back to adobe walls with lieutenant frank baldwin--indians kill george huffman in sight of soldiers--terror of the negro cook--pleasing story of dixon's dog--fannie and her pups chapter xi. dixon's most perilous adventure--buffalo wallow fight-- terrible suffering of wounded companions--rescues amos chapman--indians charging upon all sides--saved by a cold september rain--the long, dreary night--death of smith--dixon starts for aid--meets wagon train escorted by major price--heartless indifference to wounded men--help comes from general miles--the medal of honor awarded chapter xii. blizzard experience--shooting at jack stilwell's ear-- indignation and horror of old army officer--rescue of the germain captives--finding of julia and adelaide in gray beard's deserted camp--pitiable objects--catherine and sophia carried to the staked plains--restored by chief stone calf--with captain nolan on the staked plains--no water--finds double lakes and saves command chapter xiii. back to civilian life--builds his home at old adobe walls --plants first alfalfa in panhandle--the dixon orchard-- appointed postmaster--candy and chewing gum for the cowboys--married in --serves as justice-of-the-peace and sheriff--panhandle pioneers--changing conditions--breaking up of big cattle ranches--dixon goes further west to cimarron county--would live it all over again--helped build an empire in the west. list of illustrations. page. _the fight at adobe walls_ _frontispiece_ from an oil painting by miss gwynfred jones, hansford, texas, from her sketches of the battleground, as corrected by "billy" dixon. _buffaloes--"just as they looked in the old days."_ _satank, the old tiger of the kiowas_ _indian ration day at fort sill, oklahoma_ _wood-hauler found scalped near fort dodge_ there are few photographs of this kind in existence. _"billy" dixon in his prime as a scout and plainsman_ _indian camp of buffalo hide tepees_ in this camp chief kicking bird, kiowa, was poisoned by his enemies, because of his unwillingness to sanction the indian warfare against the united states government. _james h. cator, zulu, texas, panhandle pioneer_ _"billy" dixon's log homestead on site of original adobe walls_ _chief quanah parker of the comanches_ _high bluff east of adobe walls on which dixon killed indian at yards_ _ermoke and his band of murderous kiowa raiders_ these indians are typical of the kind that roamed the plains country. _drew dixon, son of "billy" dixon--"a sure shot, like his father"_ _"billy" dixon, as he appeared in recent years_ _dixon orchard at adobe walls_ _adobe corral built by "billy" dixon_ preface after many years, the solicitation of friends and early associates moved the subject of this volume to consent to the publication of such of his experiences on the frontier as he believed might be of interest to those persons who find pleasure in reading of the perils and hardships encountered in those far-off days by men and women who forsook the comforts of more civilized surroundings to risk their lives in making habitable the wilderness. the pioneers themselves were not inclined to feel that their exploits were so extraordinary as to be of use in the making of books. their long abode in silent places made them taciturn; and their lack of liberal knowledge of the rules of writing and their unwillingness to risk the appearance of conceit left them reluctant to relate their adventures for the printed page. posterity, however, has a claim upon these fore-runners that may not be lightly thrust aside. the history of this struggle to subdue the wild places should be preserved and can be gathered only from the lips of the records of participants. in a few years the latter will have all vanished, as the frontier itself has faded into a memory. from camp fire tales have grown the legends of heroes. "i fear," said "billy" dixon, half humorously, "that the conquest of savagery in the southwest was due more often to love of adventure than to any wish that cities should arise in the desert, or that the highways of civilization should take the place of the trails of the indian and the buffalo. in fact, many of us believed and hoped that the wilderness would remain forever. life there was to our liking. its freedom, its dangers, its tax upon strength and courage, gave a zest to living especially to young men, unapproached by anything to be found in civilized communities. therefore, let it be said that if there was bravery and heroism, it came less by design than it did from the emergencies of accident and surroundings, and that usually it was spontaneous." though a taciturn man, mr. dixon made strong friendships and entertained the warmest affection for the men with whom he had been associated in pioneer days. mr. w. b. ("bat") masterson, writing lately from new york city, said in an appreciative letter: "i first became acquainted with billy dixon on the buffalo range in the fall of and continued to know him well and intimately for several years thereafter. the last time i saw him was at sweetwater, a small hamlet just off the military reservation at fort elliott, texas, then called cantonment, in the spring of . "billy dixon was a typical frontiersman of the highest order. the perils and hardships of border life were exactly suited to his stoical and imperturbable nature. this does not mean that billy was not a kind-hearted, generous and hospitable man, for he possessed all these admirable qualities to a high degree but he was cool, calculating and uncommunicative at all times. "i was with billy in the fight at adobe walls in june, , between the buffalo-hunters and that fierce band of warriors composed of the best fighting men of the cheyenne, arapahoe, comanche and kiowa tribes, numbering fully one thousand braves. billy and i occupied the same window the first day of the battle and i hope we did our share in the fight. billy was an extraordinary fine shot with a buffalo-gun and he never overlooked an opportunity that first day to demonstrate his unerring aim whenever and wherever an indian showed his head. we were scouts together afterwards in general miles' command which left fort dodge, kansas in the early part of august, the same year, for the panhandle country where the hostiles were assembled in great numbers. while i was not with him, i am quite familiar with all the details of the fight in the buffalo wallow on the north bank of the washita river in which billy and amos chapman and four soldiers stood off a large band of hostiles for an entire day. it was largely due to billy's heroism on that occasion that the party was saved from complete annihilation." the publication of this volume was decided upon in the fall of . mr. dixon was in vigorous health, and became greatly interested in the undertaking. his memory was remarkable for its tenacity, which enabled him to recall the past with ease and accuracy. at our home on our claim in cimarron county, i took down from his dictation the greater and the essential part of the present narrative. i kept note-books in every room, and sometimes carried them to the corral, that i might be in readiness to set down what my husband might say as he was moved by reflection or inquiry to talk of the past. many of his pioneer friends learned of his plans, and encouraged him to persevere until the work should be accomplished. the material grew until there was an armful of manuscript, and the ground had been fairly covered. little did we suspect that death--the enemy from whom he had escaped so many times in the old days--was at hand, and that the arrow was set to the bow. during a winter storm early in he was suddenly stricken. he went unwillingly and complainingly to his bed, regretting that what he believed was a trivial illness should pull down a man who never before had known a day's sickness. pneumonia developed, and he expired march , , insisting with his last breath that he would recover. interment took place in the cemetery at texline, texas, under the auspices of the local masonic lodge. mr. dixon for many years had been a consistent member of that order. in the publication of this volume, i wish to acknowledge my obligations to mr. frederick s. barde, of guthrie, oklahoma, who compiled the manuscript and carried the book through the press, and also to those pioneers of the panhandle, mr. chas. goodnight and mr. james h. cator, friends of many years, whose counsel and suggestions were helpful in many ways. mrs. olive dixon. life of "billy" dixon chapter i. in no other country could there have been found a region so inviting, so alluring, so fascinating, to the spirit of adventure as the great plains. how it gripped the imagination of young men, sons of pioneers, between the mississippi and the alleghanies, in those early days! how it called to them, and beckoned to them to forsake their homes and journey westward into the unknown! vast and undisturbed, it stretched from the british possession to the rio grande. it was a natural stage on which was enacted the most picturesque and romantic drama of the nineteenth century. its background was the rocky mountains, from whose towering ramparts the plains swept down toward the east, giving an unobstructed view of the stirring panorama that for more than half a century was unrivalled for its scenes of daring and conquest. the plains were marvelously adapted to the needs of uncivilized people, who derived their sustenance from the bounty of the wilderness and to the heavy increase and perpetuation of the animal life upon which they subsisted. upon its level floors, enemies or game could be seen from afar, an advantage in both warfare and hunting. the natural grasses were almost miraculously disposed to the peculiarities of soil and climate, affording the richest pasturage in the green of summer and becoming even more nutritious as the seasons advanced toward the snows of winter. this insured the presence of enormous numbers of herbivorous animals, such as the buffalo, the antelope and the deer, from which the indian derived his principal food and fashioned his garments and his shelter. his only toil was the chase with its splendid excitement, and his only danger the onslaught of tribal enemies. the climate was healthful and invigorating. in all the world could not have been found a more delightful home for primitive men. that the indian should have resisted with relentless and increasing ferocity every effort to drive him from this paradise was natural and justifiable from his point of view. in those days, he felt that to go elsewhere meant starvation and death for his family and tribe. above all, he firmly believed that the country was his, as it had been from the beginning, and that the white man was cruel, merciless and wrong in depriving him of his old home--a home that the white man did not need and would not use. north and south across this gigantic stage the teeming animal life of the plains, especially the buffaloes moved regularly with the procession of the equinoxes. the first grass of spring to which the cheyennes gave the poetic name, _mah-nah-see-tah_--had scarcely made green the landscape before it was darkened with moving herds northward bound, in obedience to the primal instinct that pulses more deeply with the coming of spring. the pastures were endless, and the moist earth vibrant with the sounds of the fresh season. everywhere wild flowers were springing from the sod. the water-holes were full, and the sandy rivers flashing in the sunshine. clouds of water-fowl swirled and descended upon the bars, to rest in their flight to their nesting grounds. the eagle in the sky and the lark in the grass were alike free to raise their young, far from the intrusion of man. the indians, with their women, children, dogs and ponies, moving dimly on the far-off plains, were native to the scene, and passed unnoticed by the other denizens of the solitude. once more the pageant of the wilderness moved on its mysterious way, this time from north to south. the storms of spring and summer had rolled their thunder through the solitude and reddened the sky with their lightning. the rains had spent themselves. the season of creation and growth had passed. the plains were shaggy with brown grass. soon frost would sharpen the air, and snow come on the cold winds and whiten the earth. the buffaloes, the deer and the antelope had thicker and warmer coats; the bear was growing drowsy, and hunting his winter cave; the wild turkey flashing a finer bronze; the prairie chicken, the crane, the mallard and the goose were fat and succulent beyond other days. of all this domain the indian was lord and master. there was none to dispute his sway. the stars in the sky were his night companions, and the sun his supreme benefactor by day. all were his servants. his race multiplied and was happy. food and shelter were to be found upon every hand. the white man had not come, bringing disease and poverty. in savagery, a more delightful existence could not be found. what joy of physical living, with strength, health and contentment in every village. there were wars, to be sure, but feats of daring appealed to the brave, and there was love of fame and honor, just as there was inside the walled cities beyond the atlantic, where, from a comparative standpoint, men were less civilized than their western brothers who fought with bow and arrow, war club and tomahawk. the fruitful summers were given over to idling in pleasant places--in a village beside a stream, or in the foothills of the mountains. there was singing and dancing and the telling of old tales. the women looked after the household, ever watchful of the little girls and the young women of marriageable age. the plaintive notes of the love-flute could be heard in the dusk of twilight. the warriors trained the boys and the young men in horsemanship and the use of arms, subjecting them to tests of physical endurance, even pain, that they might grow to be strong, invincible men. there is something beyond description that clutches a man's heart and imagination in the plains country. whether it is the long sweep of the horizon, with its suggestion of infinity, touching upon melancholy, or that wide-arching expanse of sky, glittering by night and glorious by day, may not be determined, yet no man is ever quite his former self after he has felt deeply the bigness, the silence and the mystery of that region. trackless and boundless, the great plains at first offered to the adventurous traveler the many dangers that come from losing one's way in the wilderness. the sun and the stars were guides for direction, but not for water, wood and pasture. travel was not made certain and continuous until countless feet and hoofs and wheels had worn trails. the making of trails is one of the most primitive acts of man, and it seems incredible that this should have been done within such recent times in this country. the most noted of all these trails was the santa fe road or trail that led to santa fe, new mexico, from westport, mo., where it was joined by smaller highways from points in the surrounding country. the heart swells with emotion at remembrance of the wild, free life along those old trails, and knowledge that they have vanished forever brings a feeling of deep regret. railroads, to be sure, meet modern needs, and have changed the wilderness into gardens, but, nevertheless, beyond and above all these demands of a higher civilization, with its commerce and its feverish haste, remains the thought that something worth while has been lost, at least to those who found joy in braving dangers and in overcoming the obstacles of primitive conditions. what a living, moving, thrilling panorama stretched along the old trails! how vast the wealth that rolled past! the end came when the santa fe railroad reached raton in . thenceforward, wind and rain and the encroaching grass began their work of obliteration. only gashed river banks and scarred hillsides guard from the destroying years the last vestiges of what once were a nation's highways. the snow-swept summits of the spanish peaks look down no more upon the crawling ox-trains, nor does the swart apache watch stealthily on rabbit ear mountain to see if a weakly guarded train is coming down the santa fe road. there are two pretty spanish names for spanish peaks--"las cumbres espanolas" and "las dos hermanas," (the two sisters). the ute name is "wahtoya" (the twins). chapter ii. i was born in ohio county, west virginia, september , , the oldest of three children. my mother died when her third child was born. i was then ten years old. i believe that the earliest remembrances of one's mother make the deepest impression. in the few years that i received my mother's care, my character was given a certain trend that it never lost. my mother told me that i should always be kind to dumb animals, and especially to birds. in all my after life i never forgot her words. often on the plains and in the wilderness did i turn my horse or wagon aside rather than injure a road lizard or a terrapin that was unable to get out of the way. when i was twelve years old my father died, and with my sister i went to live with my uncle, thomas dixon, who lived in ray county, missouri. in those days travel was difficult, and missouri seemed a long way from our home in west virginia. we had been with our uncle only a few months when my sister was stricken with typhoid fever, and died after an illness of about two weeks. this left me alone in the world. my uncle was kind and good to me, but i stayed with him only a year. i was a strong, rugged boy, unwilling to be dependent upon even a kinsman for my living, and with much resolution i decided to seek my own fortune. while at my uncle's home i had often met men who had been to the far west, and their marvelous tales of adventure fired my imagination, and filled me with eagerness to do what they had done. my dreams were filled with beautiful pictures of that dim region that lay toward the rocky mountains. in those days no traveler undertook this westward journey without a horse and a gun. i was penniless, and the purchase of these necessities seemed utterly beyond my resources. i had formed the acquaintance of a boy named dan keller, several years older than myself, and also without father or mother. many times had we talked of the wild country where game abounded and indian warriors rode as free as the wind. that we should go was as inevitable as the coming of the grass in spring or the falling of leaves in autumn. my uncle would have been greatly opposed to our enterprise had we told him of it, so i went away without telling him good bye. having no horses, dan and i started on foot, and in place of guns we had only courage and our chubby fists. in a sack on my back i carried my one extra shirt and my mother's photograph. the latter i treasured beyond all my other possessions. making our way to the missouri river we fell in with some wood choppers who were supplying with fuel the steamboats that in those days plied that river. the camps of these wood choppers were found at frequent intervals along the shore. the men were rough but generous and hospitable, and we were welcomed at their camps, many of which we reached at night-fall. we hunted and trapped up and down the river for several months, often staying in one camp for a couple of weeks. we were beginning to see the world and to find adventure. around the campfires at night the wood choppers told of their exploits in the west--of how they had hunted the grizzly bear, the buffalo, the panther, the deer and the antelope, of how they had been caught in the howling blizzards, of their narrow escapes from drowning in swollen rivers, and of the battles they had fought with hostile indians. many times we sat and listened until midnight, the rush of the river sounding in our ears, and then after we had gone to bed we lay looking at the stars and wondering if it would ever be possible for us to lead such a delightful life. following the wood cutters' camps up the great river we finally reached westport, missouri, near where kansas city now stands. we arrived there on sunday, october , , just as a big battle was being fought between the union army under general alfred s. pleasanton and the confederate army under general stirling price. we could hear the roar and boom of the cannon and see the clouds of smoke rising in the sky. dan and i would have enlisted on the spot had we not been too young. but the smoke of battle got into our nostrils, and we were more determined than ever to reach the far west and fight indians. proceeding northwest, we crossed the kaw river and found ourselves in kansas. at that time there were a few warehouses along the banks of the missouri river where the kansas city stock yards are now situated. we halted a day or two at the little town of wyandotte. i remember how the surrounding country was filled with mink, raccoon, rabbits, opossums, squirrels, quail and prairie chickens. this was greatly to our liking, so dan and i hired to an old farmer near wyandotte, and remained with him a couple of months. the first signs of spring were now in the air, and like the wild geese that were passing northward, we resumed our migration. at the end of many weary miles we reached leavenworth, kansas, and after forming the acquaintance of an old plainsman named tom hare, fire and brimstone could not have turned us back, so determined did we become to plunge deep into the wild country that lay beyond us. hare was a driver in a government bull train. drifting into town hungry and foot-sore, i will never forget this old man's kindness. he took us to a railroad mess house--the kansas pacific grading camp was then at leavenworth--and gave us our breakfast. while we were eating the old man watched us attentively and seemed pleased with our appearance. in a moment he was telling us of some of his trips in the west, which was like setting out fire in dry stubble. he said that the outfit or bull train to which he belonged was in camp about four miles from town. it was in need of hands, and if we wanted to go on the next trip he would help us get employment, advising us to remain with him until the bull train was ready to start. the outfit was waiting for winter to break up. we immediately became the old man's staunch friends and ardent admirers. we went out to the camp and when we were taken to the boss, he eyed us carefully and said: "you boys are pretty young, and bill looks like he ought to be at home with his mother, but i'll give you a chance." so he hired us then and there at $ a month, with everything furnished, including guns and ammunition. dan and i were immensely proud of ourselves, and looked forward to the journey with eager expectancy. i was only fourteen years old, but delighted with the prospect that at last i should begin the journey across the plains. we got orders about april to pull out for fort scott, kansas. we moved by easy marches and reported to the quartermaster when we reached fort scott. he ordered the outfit to go into camp a few miles from town on a small stream where there was good grass and water for the stock. there we were to await further orders. we were in camp for two weeks, and all we had to do was to look after the stock, which we did in turns. the stream abounded in fish, and everywhere there was lots of small game. these were among the happiest days of my life. because of my youth, the men favored me in many ways. i hunted and fished to my heart's content. i was disappointed that the bull train had been sent south instead of west, but still hoped the order would soon come for us to move toward the plains. this was in april, , and in southern kansas the news of president lincoln's assassination had just been received. i recall that on our way to fort scott a black flag of mourning hung on every settler's farmhouse. one morning about the first of may there was shouting among the men, the rattling of chains, the creaking of heavy wagons, and the lowing of oxen, as we assembled under orders to proceed to fort leavenworth. we moved away in high spirits across the beautiful country, bright and fragrant with the wild flowers of spring. lawrence was the first town of importance that we reached. it was the custom of the bull-whackers to make a lively demonstration whenever they passed through a town. with their big sixteen foot whips they could make a sound like the crack of a rifle, and as rapidly as possible the whips were cracked, the drivers shouting to their oxen, while men, women and children ran into the street to witness the spectacle. it was a performance that everybody thoroughly enjoyed, and which never again will be seen in this western country. in two days from lawrence we came to leavenworth city, about three or four miles south of fort leavenworth. here we made the same uproar. liquor was more plentiful than water at leavenworth in those days, and many of the bull-whackers "tanked up." there was a big noise all the way to the fort. between lawrence and leavenworth the country was well settled, and every farm-yard was filled with chickens, turkeys, ducks and geese, many of which disappeared about the time we passed that way. of course i would not be willing to admit that i helped steal any of them, but it would be useless for me to say that i did not help eat from many a well-filled pot. a fat pig that strayed near our camp rarely ever got back home. it is but just to say, however, that this taking of private property was done largely in a spirit of mischief, as these rough bull-whackers could not have been induced to engage in what would have been regarded as actual stealing. this outfit was made up of men of various ages and occupations. some had been soldiers, and several had been sailors. i reveled in the stories told by the old gray haired men. i believe that i liked best of all their stories about fighting indians. like all frontier towns, leavenworth city was well supplied with saloons. it is not surprising that in the west most men drank, as the saloon was the main starting place for an outfit like ours, and a man who did not take at least one drink was considered unfriendly. i wish to emphasize this last word, for my statement is literally true. inviting a man to drink was about the only way civility could be shown, and to refuse an invitation bordered upon an insult. again, the saloon was the place where all trails crossed, and there we might be sure of meeting men from the north, from the west and the south, and gaining information that was so essential to those who were journeying into far off places. the outfit was ordered into camp near the fort, with everybody planning for the westward trip. our chagrin and disappointment may be imagined when we learned that the whole train was to be sold by the government, to which it belonged. the country was now green with growing grass, and the cattle were getting sleek and fat. the orderly came and told us to assemble the train in front of the quartermaster's office. the wagons were strung out one after the other until they formed a line half a mile in length. an auctioneer stood in front of the building and cried the sale; as soon as one wagon and team was sold another took its place. the teams were bought in at from $ to $ each, wagons included, and the twenty-five wagons and three hundred bulls were bought by one man; his name was kirkendall. he had been master of transportation at fort leavenworth. kirkendall hired our train-master, and he in turn hired all the men who wanted to remain with the outfit. about half the men quit, and their places were filled with fresh bull-whackers. some of the latter had never seen a bull train, and had lots to learn. by this time i had begun feeling that i was an old hand. when i was first employed i found it difficult to yoke my oxen, but my small size appealed to the men, and there was always somebody willing to help me. i was now able to yoke my own oxen. we lay in camp wondering where kirkendall would send us. in a few days orders came for us to pull out for fort collins, colorado, with government supplies. i bubbled over with joy, for now i was headed for the plains. kirkendall received twenty-five cents a pound for the freight he took out. each wagon was loaded with about seven hundred pounds of freight, consisting of flour, bacon, sugar, coffee, ammunition, etc. this outfit was made up of twenty-five teamsters, one wagon master, one assistant wagon master, one night herder, and one extra man to take the place of any man that might fall sick. each man was provided with a gun and ammunition. before hiring to kirkendall, we had been paid off, and i had more money than i had ever dreamed i would possess at one time. according to the custom of the country, and not without some inclination and vanity of my own, i began investing in good clothes, notably a big sombrero, a colt's revolver, a butcher knife, a belt, and a bull whip. for the latter i paid $ . his whip was the bull-whacker's pride, and around it circles all his ambition and prowess. dan bought a similar outfit. i doubt if two boys ever felt more important. i am sure that the older men must have smiled at the two youngsters, each buried beneath his big hat and leaning to one side under the weight of his "shooting irons." how impatient we were for the start! the days seemed to stretch into months. at last, however, we were ready, and whooping farewells, we pulled out. [illustration: _buffaloes--just as they looked in the old days._] little did we dream of the hardships ahead of us. in the comfort of our winter camp we had seen ourselves traveling across the plains in the bright sunshine of spring, the grass green, the birds singing, and the streams flashing along the way. the winter rains and frosts had made the roads miry and seemingly without bottom. we had gone along without serious trouble until we reached salt creek valley. here we had to pass through a long lane where the mud was hub deep. we did not realize how bad it was until we were well into the lane. often we were compelled to put twenty-four oxen to one wagon to pull through some of the bad places. this valley was three or four miles wide, and it took us all day to get across. a man's patience was thoroughly tried, and that day i heard more different kinds of swearing than could be put into a dictionary. after getting out we laid over all next day resting and making repairs. one wagon was sent back to leavenworth city for material to repair things that had been broken. in salt creek valley was pointed out to me a small road in which was said to be buffalo bill's old home. the road grew better in the neighborhood of maysville, kansas, on the big blue, where there were a good many settlers. we were making between eight and ten miles a day. the big blue is a swift stream, and at the time was in flood, which caused us much trouble in crossing, as cattle do not take well to water, especially when pulling loaded wagons. we doubled our teams, cracked our whips, and forced the reluctant oxen into the torrent with a man on horseback swimming on each side of them, and in this way they swam and struggled to the further shore. often the oxen were in danger of drowning, but the whole outfit was crossed without the loss of a single animal. at this crossing the river made a bend, and the road took the direction of what was called the "dry" route. so we filled our canteens with water and left the river about three o'clock in the afternoon, driving until late that night, and making a dry camp. next day brought us to the little blue, a tributary of the big blue. from there our route bore more to the north, going upstream, and in about three days we were in sight of fort kearney, nebraska, and from there by making a long drive, we got to the platte river in one day. all the while since leaving fort leavenworth i had been tense with the expectation of seeing a war party of painted indians, or a herd of buffaloes sweeping over the plains. neither had come to pass, and i was keenly disappointed. when we got to the platte, we struck a main traveled road leading out from omaha, nebraska, st. joseph, missouri, and atchison, kansas. these three towns were the main shipping points on the missouri river at that time. here we could see trains moving along or in camp on the road. our route led straight up the valley, and in two days we reached a stage station called plum creek, where in later years hostile indians committed many depredations. there seemed to be something in the very air at plum creek that was different from what we had left behind. a feeling of danger, invisible but present, all of which was manifested when an escort of united states soldiers moved out ahead of us when the bull train started. this meant that we were in a dangerous locality. in my boyish enthusiasm i was delighted instead of being fearful, for it looked as if we were going into the enemies' country, and from all indications we were, for we could see where the indians had raided the settlements the previous year. at different places where there had been a road ranch or a small store, their ruins told the tale of fire and rapine by savage indians. these buildings were built mostly of sod, as there was no timber in the country. here and there we passed a grave at the side of the road. the raiding had been done by the sioux. practically the only buildings in this part of the country were the way stations and home stations of the overland stage company which ran from the missouri river to california. after leaving julesburg, nebraska, the country became much wilder. we saw great herds of antelope and many deer. i was impatient for the sight of buffaloes, and it seemed strange to me that none had appeared. as a matter of fact they had not worked that far north, but were coming later. all along the road after we got on the overland stage route, the stage drivers, who always drove in a gallop as they passed us, would cry out "indians on ahead! better look out!" this we found was done jokingly, to alarm such tenderfeet as might be among us, and we soon paid no attention to it, when we encountered no indians. julesburg consisted of a couple of stores and two or three saloons. here we got a fresh escort of soldiers. between plum creek and julesburg we passed a big square stone on which was inscribed "daniel boone" and other inscriptions, one saying that further information could be found on the other side, meaning the bottom. this stone was so big that twelve men could not move it. we saw where teams had been hitched to it and the stone overturned. we did the same thing, and found the same inscription on the bottom. i doubt if ever a bull train passed that way without turning that big boulder to satisfy its curiosity. three days out from julesburg we left the platte, and struck a trail called the dry route, at what was known as freeman's orchard. there was no sign of an orchard, however. the south platte had to be forded, and it was a different stream from any we had crossed. we stood in dread of it, as the current was swift and its shores rocky. it took us a whole day to get over, and some wagons had to be partly unloaded. there were only three horses in the outfit, used by the wagon master, his assistant, and the night herder. they were a great help to us in crossing these streams, as the cattle would follow the horses when no amount of whipping could make them take the bad place. traveling north, we came to the "cash la poole," a beautiful mountain stream in colorado, beyond which was fort collins, which we reached in august, being on the road two and one-half months. i now saw mountains for the first time. fort collins was situated on the "cash la poole" in the foothills. long before we got there they seemed to hang in the sky like clouds. the population of fort collins was mostly post traders and soldiers. we remained there about a week, unloading supplies and resting the stock. while there i visited an indian camp and saw my first indians. they were utes, and greatly interested me. the squaws were drying wild cherries for winter, pounding them in a stone mortar. the day before we left fort collins a fight took place in our camp between two bull-whackers, edward ray and jim lynch, over a game of cards. ray shot lynch, and the latter was left in the hospital at fort collins. our trip back to fort leavenworth was over the same route. my journey had fascinated me, but i was disappointed in not having engaged in a fight with indians, and in not having seen a single buffalo. going back we were trailing three or four wagons together, and drove the rest of the oxen, taking turns with the teams. between julesburg and plum creek we met a party of women on their way to salt lake city, utah, to join the mormons. there was not a man among them, and they could not speak a word of english. i was told that they were danes. all the women wore wooden shoes. they drove ox-wagons and had the appearance of being very poor. the sight of these women so excited our curiosity that the trainmaster called a halt until they passed us. their camp was not a great distance from ours, and that night some of the boys wanted to go and pay them a visit, but the trainmaster told them that if they did not want to get left they had better not go. there were small stores or road ranches, as they were called, all along the route, generally every ten miles, and often we bought at our own expense such luxuries as sweet-meats and canned goods which were not to be found in our commissary. tomatoes sold at fifty cents a can, and everything else was in proportion. when we got back as far as maysville we could buy fresh vegetables and geese and chickens by paying a big price for them; but in those days no price was too great to be paid by hungry men. money was plentiful and if we could get what we wanted, we bought it, regardless of what it cost. as we approached leavenworth city, we were met by men soliciting trade for the hotels, stores and saloons, who came out eight or ten miles to meet us. at the fort our wagons were parked, or formed in a square, to be left there for the winter, and the oxen were taken to the country to be fed. by the time we were ready to break camp, hacks and wagons were coming out to take us down town, each business house being represented. we had drawn practically none of our wages during the trip, and when we were paid, many of us felt rich, and had enough to carry us through the winter if we were not extravagant. november had arrived and the weather was getting cold. there are few sights more chilling and somber than the plains in winter, stretching brown and dead under a leaden sky, with the wind moaning and roaring from the north. we could have found jobs with other outfits, as trains were being fitted out for western forts, to both fort lyon and fort riley. dan and i would have gone as bull-whackers with these, but were advised by older men not to go, as it would be a hard trip in winter storms and blizzards. dan and i remained together for a week, enjoying the sights. he decided to go back to his old home in indiana, where he could be with his parents during the winter. strangely, i never afterwards heard of or saw him. in returning from fort collins, i had become strongly attached to another young fellow named johnny baldwin. we were together in the street one day when we met up with the master of a bull-train that was getting ready to start to fort larned. he was a gruff old codger, and looked as rusty as a six-shooter that had lain all winter in the snow. he asked us to go with him, and we would have gone if we had not struck a better job that very day. after we had told him that we would decide by next day, we wandered into the street. there we met a man who caught our fancy beyond all others we had seen. he was a jolly, good natured fellow, who joked with us, and said that he would like to hire us to go with a government mule train that was outfitting. he said that we would get to see "lots of corn-fed country girls" out in the country where the mules were being fed for the winter. he offered us each $ a month, and we hired to him on the spot. this proved to be a much easier job than the one we had just left. the outfit consisted of about head of mules that had been driven to a farm on soldiers' creek, about miles from leavenworth, near where holden, kas., now stands. here we remained all winter. about all i had to do was to help the cook and round in the mules at night. we had an abundance of good things to eat, and grew fat and "sassy." when the men discovered that i was a good shot, i was given a job that was wholly to my liking--hunting game for the mess. there were plenty of quails, rabbits, squirrels and prairie chickens, and i was in my glory. i ranged the country, a youthful daniel boone, enjoying every moment of the time. i seemed to have a natural aptitude in the handling of fire-arms. it was my greatest ambition to become a good shot. in later years i was counted an expert marksman in any company, regardless of how proficient my rivals might be. i always attributed my skill with the rifle to my natural love for the sport, to steady nerves, and to constant, unremitting practice. where other men found pleasure in cards, horse-racing and other similar amusements, i was happiest when ranging the open country with my gun on my shoulder and a dog at my heels, far out among the wild birds and the wild animals. in the neighborhood of our camp were a good many settlers, sturdy, strong people, who lived in the style of the frontier, and, i dare say, got much more contentment out of life than many who came after them and lived under more civilized conditions. during the winter, dances and parties were frequent, and we were hospitably invited to attend them. i went with the men, but was entirely too bashful to take part. i sat beside the fiddlers and looked at the pretty girls, rosy and blushing, and would have given a fortune--had i possessed one--for courage enough to walk boldly up to the handsomest, ask her to dance with me, and be able to dance without making blunders as the figures were called. alas, such courage and assurance was quite beyond my strongest resolves. i remember, particularly, one black-eyed girl who observed my embarrassment, and would always speak to me and invite me to take part. i adored her for this, but would have fled like an antelope had she approached me. along about the first of march we got orders to take the mules to leavenworth. we were elated at the prospect of change. where were we going? how long would we be gone? what would be our adventures? these were questions that came to us thick and fast. this was one of the splendid things of life in frontier days--this eagerness to be off and away after a season of hibernation. many a hunter, many a scout, many a cowboy, returning from a long and arduous expedition, would swear that never again would he endure misery and hardships such as he had encountered. all winter he would stay close to the cook and roast his shins beside the fire, dead sure that he was forever done with the roving life. then, one day, came the honking of wild geese flying northward; the sun grew warmer; the grass was springing green around the buffalo chips in the prairie, and in the draws the redbud was lifting itself in little pink clouds. farewell to all firm resolves! a span of oxen could not have held the plainsman in the quarters which he had believed to be the most delightful place in the world, when he arrived there in the fall. something was calling him--something in the wind, the sky and the dashing rain--and he went, went like a bird from its cage. the day we broke camp a "norther" began blowing, and i froze two of my fingers rather badly. we traveled or miles the first day, the mules going at a gallop part of the time. we reached fort leavenworth next day, and delivered our mules to the corral-master, after which we went to the government mess house, where our appetites attracted considerable attention and caused no less comment. the quartermaster paid us our accumulated wages. we were now without a job. a friendship had grown up between myself and a man named bill gladden. the two of us went from the fort to the city, and remained there about three weeks, attracted by the curious sights to be seen daily in the coming and going of the brawny multitudes of men who gave to that town a historic interest. the manager of the farm where i had spent the winter was named mccall. his family seemed to feel much affection for me. his son, charley, and i became fast friends. mccall offered me a job, which gladden advised me to accept, as he felt that i was rather young to be fighting my way against the odds that often overthrew strong men in the plains country. this, however, was not what i wanted to do. i had made up my mind to go west--and to keep on going west until i could say that i had seen it all, and had hunted buffaloes and fought indians to my complete satisfaction. little did i dream of how much of this sort of thing was in store for me in later years. the mccalls were so persuasive however, that i could not resist their kind offers, and i remained on the farm about a year. during all this time mrs. mccall was a mother to me, and the family treated me as if i were a son and a brother. i am sure that the good influences of this home were helpful to me in after life. i worked for the mccalls until the fall of . in july a number of horses were stolen from the barn, and my employer gave me the place of night watchman, a responsible position for a boy of my age. i had the greatest confidence, however, in my ability to use my rifle in a way that would be disastrous to thieves. i did not lose a single horse. the mccalls had two girls and one boy, charley. the latter was wild and reckless, but good-hearted and eager for any kind of adventure. once he had run away from home and gone west with a government mule train. old man mccall was a great hand to hunt, and often took me with him on his hunting trips. i always thought that he felt a bit provoked at me when his folks teased him about my killing the most game, but he laughed it off, and would brag on me himself. that fall the mccalls told me that if i wished to remain and go to school during the winter, my board would not cost me a cent. i was glad to take advantage of this offer, so charley and i walked to town every day to school--the two girls attended a catholic boarding school. prior to this, i had attended school only two terms. plainly, my school days were limited. i did my best to keep charley out of trouble, and am sure that i exerted a good influence over him, as he would nearly always listen to me. despite my utmost endeavors, he engaged in a number of fights at school, which caused his parents more or less trouble. during all our acquaintance charley and i never spoke a harsh word to each other. while i was living with the mccalls a shocking tragedy took place at their home--the suicide of united states senator james lane of kansas. he was visiting there at the time he killed himself. mrs. lane and mrs. mccall were sisters. the senator was in poor health. while riding with his wife and children, he thrust the muzzle of a six-shooter into his mouth, and pulled the trigger. the bullet came out at the top of his head. strange to say, he lived three days. i was with the ambulance that was sent out to convey him to leavenworth, where he could receive medical aid. senator lane was a kansas pioneer, and took an active and leading part in the conduct of its early affairs. leavenworth city was a tough place in those days, filled with all kinds of rough characters. i saw three men lying dead in the street one day, as the result of an extraordinary occurrence. four men were sitting under a tree playing cards, as a severe electric storm formed and swept over the city. one man suggested that the game should be postponed until after the storm had passed, to which another replied, "d----n the lightning." at that moment a bolt struck the tree with a blinding flash, killing all of the men save the one that had asked that there be no card-playing while the storm was raging. the bodies of the dead men were laid on the floor of the fire station. their deaths caused much comment, as many persons felt that they had provoked the wrath that fell upon them. shootings were as common as the arrival of a bull-train, and excited little comment. the man who was quickest on trigger usually came out ahead--the other fellow was buried, and no questions asked. chapter iii. when the spring of came around, i was offered my old job on the farm, and mrs. mccall, a kind, good woman, used all her influence to get me to accept it. but my head was filled with dreams of adventure in the far west. always, i could see the west holding its hands toward me, and beckoning and smiling. meeting a government train-master named simpson, who was hiring men to go out with a train that was to be shipped by railroad as far as fort harker, i forgot all that mrs. mccall had said to me about staying on the farm, and hired to simpson. returning to the farm, i told my good friends good-bye. the kansas pacific railroad had now been built as far west as fort harker. all our wagons and harness were new and these, together with the mules, were loaded into cars and shipped to fort harker. we went into camp close to the fort. in this outfit were a good many raw men, while the mules were known as "shave-tails," which meant wild, unbroken mules; only a few had been harnessed and driven. by this time i could handle a team with as much ease as a man could. in my lot were two or three gentle mules--i have cause to remember one old fellow in particular, upon whose back i afterwards had one of the most exciting rides of my life. we put in ten days breaking the "shave-tails." it was a scene of hilarious excitement, and not without danger, as often mules would be kicking and bucking in harness with might and main, while others would be running away. at such times the drivers had no time to pay attention to other things. while in this camp, cholera began raging at fort harker, which struck terror to many who stood in no fear of other dangers to life. many of our men deserted, and two died of the dread disease. i witnessed the death of one of our men, frinkum, and shall never forget his agony. men who were apparently in the full vigor of health at sunrise lay dead by night. the authorities kept the number of dead secret as much as possible. the burials were usually at night. this epidemic of death extended from fort harker, kansas, to fort union, new mexico. its origin was said to have been in the tenth cavalry, a negro command, which had shipped from the east to the western frontier. now, all this excitement did not bother me a bit--i did not think much about it. the doctors made regular calls at our camp every day, and we were placed on a strict diet. we were forbidden to eat any kind of vegetable or fresh meat. the disease ran its course in about three weeks. alas, and again alas, up to this time i had never seen a buffalo! i could almost taste buffalo, so keen was i to behold one of these shaggy monsters, pawing the sandy plain, throwing dust high in air, and shaking his ponderous head at his enemies, defying them to battle. the government here issued a new lot of arms and ammunition to us. this looked warlike, and was greatly to my liking. the guns were the sharpe's carbine, carrying a linen cartridge, with which was used the "army hat" cap. in addition, we were given a six-shooter remington, cap and ball pistol. these were the very latest arms. now came an eventful, a momentous morning, i had just crawled from under my blankets and was feeding my mules. glancing to the northwest, i saw a lone object on the plains. at the moment the object apparently failed to make an impression upon my mind, and i turned toward my mules. then i jumped as if i had been stung by a hornet. with eyes distended, i whirled and looked again at the lone object on the plains. my body was vibrating as if touched by a dynamo. a buffalo! no mistake about it. there he stood, rather far off and dim. maybe he had been waiting for me all these years, waiting for me to see him. that was my buffalo. i determined that i should get him, even if i had to twist my fingers in his shaggy mane and drag him alive into camp. seizing a blind-bridle, i slipped it onto the gentle old mule to which i referred in an earlier page, made a dash for my rifle and rode away bareback and at top speed after the buffalo. the buffalo had turned and was moving away from camp when he caught sight of the boy on the mule riding wildly toward him. with a flip of his tail, the buffalo struck his rocking-chair gait and went lumbering away. up and down hills and across gullies he galloped. i was hot behind him, and at times was just at the point of getting range, only to see the buffalo increase his speed and spoil my shot. we had consumed about eight miles in this sort of thing, when we came to a smooth flat. my old mule was panting and pretty well winded by this time, but i was able to make him take another spurt in speed. this brought me within range. the buffalo fell dead at the first shot. the explosion scared the mule into hysteria, but his was no worse than mine. i had not only killed a buffalo, but had killed, unaided, the first buffalo i ever saw. by this time three or four men from the outfit had arrived. they were jubilant over my success, and were kind enough to exaggerate the distance of the shot. the buffalo was a hard animal to kill instantly, as a vital spot had to be struck. we skinned the carcass, and each man cut off a chunk of meat and took it back to camp. greatly to our disgust, not a mouthful were we allowed to cook or eat, because of the cholera quarantine. a few days later orders were given to load the wagons with government supplies for fort hayes, kansas, odd miles west of fort harker. by this time our "shave-tail" mules were under fairly good control, and we got under headway without much trouble. on this trip, at a distance, we saw a bunch of indian warriors, but did not come in contact with them. in my lack of experience i was eager for the fray, and was disappointed when i saw the war party disappear over a long ridge, without my having been able to test my marksmanship and my new sharpe's rifle. buffaloes were seen in numbers, and i was lucky enough to kill several "on my own hook." we reached fort hayes in about four days, and returned to fort harker in about the same time. fort hayes was garrisoned mostly with negro soldiers. no buildings had been erected at that time, and we unloaded our supplies in the open prairie, where guards had been stationed to protect them. the timber for the buildings was being hauled from fort harker. our next trip was to fort wallace, with government supplies, the distance being considerably greater than from fort harker to fort hayes. we always had an escort of soldiers, as there was constant danger of meeting an indian war party. in august, , we were sent to fort lyon, and on this trip we saw thousands of buffaloes. the breeding season was now approaching its close, and at night and early morning could be heard the constant, low thunder of the bulls, their grunting rising into a roar that was one of the most striking of the natural phenomena of the plains country. the calves, by this time, were alert, active little fellows, closely guarded by their mothers. later in the season, all the bulls would segregate themselves from the cows, to range apart until the next breeding season. west of fort dodge we saw indians in war paint, and expected to be attacked, but the rascals veered round us and went on their way. fort hayes was on a tributary of the smoky hill river; old fort zarah, on walnut creek; fort larned on pawnee fork, and fort harker on big creek. all these forts were being remodeled and improved. in this way we put in all that summer, hauling supplies to one fort or the other, and when not engaged in this, we hauled rock for the foundations of the buildings. along in october, , while several government trains were at fort harker, waiting for orders, we were notified to make ready to accompany a party of peace commissioners that had been authorized to treat with several of the main plains tribes of indians in the southwest, at medicine lodge, kas. these negotiations were afterwards known as the medicine lodge treaty. like most other treaties with these tribes, it was soon broken. several trains, with a part of ours, were to accompany this expedition. i was eager to go, but as no orders had been given to my outfit, i was fearful that i might be left behind. here was the opportunity i had long looked for--to see a big gathering of indians close at hand, without danger of getting scalped. i had almost given up in despair, when an orderly galloped up from headquarters, saying that two more wagons must be sent forward at once. it was now o'clock in the evening. simpson, our wagon-master, approached me and said: "billy, you and frickie (frickie drove the wagon next to mine) get ready at once and go into fort harker." as a rule, nothing ever greatly excited me in my frontier days, but i am bound to admit that i was now going round and round, so overjoyed was i at my good luck. my agitation came near causing me to be left behind. i ran as quickly as possible to where my mules were eating their grain, and without halting jerked the harness from the rack to throw it onto the lead mule. with both feet this mule kicked me squarely in the small of the back. i dropped as if i had been struck with an axe, and found myself partly paralyzed, and scarcely able to move. recovering slightly, i regained my feet, but found that i could not straighten my body. i was game, however. calling frickie, i told him what had happened, and asked him to help me harness my mules, and not to say a word to anybody about my being hurt. were it known that i had been kicked, i might be sent to the hospital. frickie was a good fellow, and i was soon on my way to the fort. by next morning i was in fairly good shape. night had come by the time we reached fort harker. we had to load and then drive about three miles to camp, on the smoky hill. the last two wagons were loaded with ammunition for a small gatling gun, not an undesirable equipment on indian peace expeditions in those days. we pulled out bright and early next morning for plum creek, where there was a small road-ranch. next day we reached fort zarah on walnut creek and on the third day we went on up the arkansas and crossed it about seven miles below fort larned. we reached medicine lodge on the fourth day, where the treaty was to be held. all along the way on this trip we were traveling through countless numbers of buffaloes. i remember seeing a wounded buffalo cow followed by six big lobo wolves. no hoofed animal could withstand these savage beasts--they were a terror to other wild life on the plains. wantonly, several buffaloes had been shot, and left lying to rot on the ground. an orderly came riding down the line with strict orders, that if another man in the outfit fired another shot at a buffalo he would be placed in irons. between the arkansas river and medicine lodge we were met by a number of noted indian chiefs, mounted upon their finest horses and arrayed in their most splendid costumes. they carried themselves with dignity and in every feature was revealed their racial pride and their haughty contempt of the white man. among them i recall satanta, kicking bird, and black kettle. satanta, chief of the kiowas, rode a big black horse, and presented a magnificent appearance. it was because of his complaint that the order had been issued against the killing of buffaloes--a complaint that lay at the very heart of the grievances of the indian against the white man in frontier days. he declared that the buffaloes were the property of himself and his people, and to destroy the buffalo meant the destruction of the indian. leading a nomadic life, which prevented his tilling the soil, even if he had wished to engage in agriculture, which he did not, the indian saw that he would be deprived of his principal and most necessary food--buffalo meat--if the buffaloes were killed. at a later day general phil. sheridan, to subdue and conquer the plains tribes for all time, urged and practiced the very thing that satanta was fearful might happen. in the early 's, the state legislatures of kansas and colorado, listening to the appeal of the indians, through sympathetic white persons, enacted laws to stop the slaughtering of the buffaloes, general sheridan at that time was in command of the military department of the southwest, with headquarters at san antonio. the texas legislature, in session at austin, was at the point of declaring against the merciless slaughter of buffaloes that was then under way in the staked plains and panhandle regions. general sheridan is said to have told the legislators that the state should give to every buffalo-hunter a bronze medal, on one side of which should be a dead buffalo, and on the other, a discouraged indian, adding: "these men have done more in the last year to settle the vexed indian question than the entire regular army has done in the last thirty years. they are destroying the indians' commissary; and it is a well-known fact that an army losing its base of supplies is placed at a great disadvantage. send them powder and lead, if you will; but, for the sake of a lasting peace, let them kill, skin, and sell until the buffaloes are exterminated. then your prairies can be covered with speckled cattle, and the festive cowboy, who follows the hunter as a second fore-runner of an advanced civilization." the texas legislature accepted general sheridan's advice. the texans as a people were readily disposed to agree with that point of view, for in no state did the plains indians commit crimes more cruel and horrible than in texas. on our way to medicine lodge our train of sixty wagons was strung out for a distance of about two miles, accompanied by a strong escort of soldiers. the members of this indian peace commission were: n. g. taylor, commissioner of indian affairs; john b. henderson, united states senator; general william tecumseh sherman; general w. l. harney; john b. sanborn; general a. h. terry; s. f. tappan, and general c. c. augur. [illustration: _satank, the old tiger of the kiowas._] among the notable chiefs were: satanta, kicking bird, black kettle, medicine arrow, and lone wolf. black kettle was then at the height of his power, but soon to meet the death he had so often inflicted. he led the cheyenne raid in the valley of the solomon river in august, , and had been in the sand creek fight in colorado, november, , where colonel chivington, commanding a regiment of colorado troops massacred a lot of cheyennes. i camped on that battleground in while hunting buffaloes. the spot was still strewn with bones of the dead, and the trees were yet scarred by the hail of bullets that had come from the guns of the soldiers, who killed old and young, women and children, without mercy, and atrociously mutilated the bodies of the dead. in , at fort harker, black kettle had made a speech of great eloquence, asking the government not to permit the building of railroads through the indian country, as it would drive away the buffaloes and leave the indians to starve. this fear of the change that would follow the building of railroads across the plains was night and day in the heart of the indian. no chief made a speech in which he did not refer to it. in june, , little raven, powder face, and bird chief, arapahoes; little robe and stone calf, cheyennes, and buffalo good, wichita, were taken to washington and boston, that they might be impressed with the white man's strength, and futility of the indians' further resistance the government. stone calf, in a speech at tremont temple, boston, handled the railroad question in this manner. "they (the government) said they would teach our people to plant and raise corn, and to build our habitations from trees. but before they ever ploughed or planted an acre of corn for us they commenced to build railroads through our country. what use have we for railroads in our country? what have we to transport from our nations? nothing. we are living wild, really living on the prairies as we have in former times. i do not see that we have been benefitted in the least by all the treaties that we have made with the united states government." we went into camp on medicine lodge creek, to wait until the gathering indians had come in. near us was a small village of indians, to whom a runner came on the third day to notify them that some of their livestock had been stolen by the kaws, a neighboring tribe. we could see the wave of excitement run over the village, and the bucks running to and fro, getting ready for the pursuit. the squaws were no less active. they helped saddle the ponies, etc., and jabbered and screamed to each other in a way that would have made it hard for the marauders had they been captives in the custody of the squaws. as each buck got ready, he rode away without waiting for his companions. they returned later in the day with their ponies, but had been unable to overtake the thieves. i shall never forget the morning of october , . at a distance of about two miles from our camp was the crest of a low swell in the plains. the background was blue sky--a blue curtain that touched the brown plains. for a moment i was dumbfounded at sight of what was rising over that crest and flowing with vivid commotion toward us. it was a glittering, fluttering, gaily colored mass of barbarism, the flower and perfection of the war strength of the plains indian tribes. the resplendent warriors, armed with all their equipment and adorned with all the regalia of battle, seemed to be rising out of the earth. their number was estimated at , , but i cannot vouch for its accuracy. as they came into plainer view, the indians spread their ranks wider and wider, to create as profound an impression as possible, and inspire us deeply with their power. now they could be heard chanting and singing. having arrived within a quarter of a mile of our camp, the indians charged like a whirlwind, firing their guns and brandishing them above their heads. the charge was abruptly halted, and the indians stood at rest, waiting for the negotiations to begin. the tribes represented were the cheyenne, arapahoe, kiowa, apache, and comanche. while the indians were advancing, and were about half a mile distant, orders were given in camp that every man should retire at once to his tent, and there hold himself in readiness to resist an attack, which might be made at any moment. my boyish curiosity got the better of me, and i was standing just outside the door of my tent, gazing with open mouth at the oncoming indians. general harney was walking up and down the line between the tents, encouraging the men, telling them not to be afraid, as we had enough men to whip all the indians in sight. he saw me as he was passing my tent. tapping me on the shoulder with his riding whip, he said, "get back into your tent, young man." i lost no time in obeying him. this fine old warrior made a lasting impression upon me, and i can see him now, as if it were only yesterday, passing back and forth in the camp street, with the fire of valor burning in his eyes. he felt the responsibility of this critical moment, and knew that the slightest break on either side would precipitate war on the spot. he made an imposing appearance that memorable fall morning. he was gray-haired, straight, broad-shouldered, and towered to the commanding height of six feet and six inches. general harney was an experienced indian fighter, and exerted a powerful influence among the plains tribes. they knew him and respected him, believing that he had always told them the truth. the indians drew up their horses at a distance of about yards. general harney had motioned to them to stop, and for their principal chiefs to come into camp. the latter were obedient to his request and after dismounting, sat down with the peace commissioners. at the end of about an hour's conference, the main body of indians was permitted to enter camp. there were many indian boys not more than ten years old among the warriors, which probably was an artifice to create among us the belief that there were more fighting men than were actually in the ranks. [illustration: _indian ration issue at fort sill._] bringing up the rear were the squaws and children and dogs. the squaws pitched their tepees on the creek in sight of our camp. the young bucks spurned all friendly overtures, refusing to shake hands, and conducting themselves in a sullen manner. after riding through our camp many times, evidently to examine it carefully and gain an accurate knowledge of our strength, they withdrew and remained at a distance. during this time the troops were intently watching every movement of the indians, suspecting treachery at every turn. the commission and the chiefs finally agreed upon the terms of the treaty, the main point of which was that the indians should keep south of the arkansas river. i had reason to remember this particular provision in subsequent years, as did many another buffalo-hunter. to venture south of the arkansas for buffalo was to risk falling into the very jaws of the lion, as the indians fought jealously for the preservation of the right which they declared had been given to them at medicine lodge. the making of treaties with the plains tribes was followed by the breaking of these treaties whenever the indians saw fit to do so. conditions generally made it difficult for the indians to do otherwise. they were beset on all sides by a frontier population that was as hostile to the indians as the indian was to the whites. lack of permanency and continuity in the arrangements made by the federal government were largely responsible for the unrest and frequent outbreaks. the situation was clearly described by general w. b. hazen in , when most of the southwestern tribes had gone on the warpath. he said: "as one example of this very point, i will call attention to successive treaties made with the kiowas, satanta at the head, by five separate and successive commissions, each ignorant of what the other had done, and believing that they alone were receiving the fresh faith of these people. several solemn treaties were made, by which these people were to cease war, and especially raiding into texas, previous to the medicine lodge treaty of , all to be broken within thirty days thereafter. then comes that of medicine lodge, terms of which you know. then one was made with general sheridan and myself, at fort larned, in the autumn of , to be quickly broken. then, again, in , with general sheridan, to be broken not less than twenty times, until he was imprisoned in texas. then a new farce with the commissioners, by which he was released, and he is now leading the war party of the tribe. this would have been impossible had there not been men ignorant of the situation, at each successive occasion to deal with these people, nor could it have taken place had the army, with its persistent organization, control of indian affairs. such is the case all through the administration of indian matters. one civil administration, or one set of civil officers, in good faith undertakes an experimental policy, good enough of itself, but as soon as anything is done on the new plan, with all its invariable pledges, and its flattering promises are fully conceived and begun, a new administration begins, with equally good intent, an entirely new policy, unintentionally disregarding all the promises and efforts of its predecessors and their agents. the savage cannot comprehend this, and naturally calls it a lie, the white people a nation of liars, and as evidence relates a half dozen cases like that just described. i am giving no fictitious imaginings, but what i know. this thoroughly destroys any faith or interest that otherwise may be nourished in an indian community; nor can this be changed only by giving them a consecutive policy, which is impractical only through some branch of government that is in itself perpetual." the "peace policy" of the government actually encouraged a number of the more daring chiefs to become defiant in their dealings with washington. when they saw that the government did not strike back, or strike back quickly, they did not hesitate to go on raids and commit depredations. shortly after satanta and big tree, kiowas, had been paroled by the texas authorities, in , the commissioner of indian affairs, then at fort sill, demanded the surrender and arrest of certain comanche warriors who had been raiding in texas, saying that if this order should not be obeyed within ten days, it would be inforced by military power. a portion of the comanche warriors immediately left for the plains, and it being evident that an attempt to compel compliance by military force could only be successful after a long campaign, the order was suspended and no arrests were made. the effect of this wavering policy was bad. the same hostile warriors of the comanches and kiowas considering themselves victorious, became more and more open in their hostile demonstrations, and during the winter and spring frequent consultations were held by them, sometimes including the neighboring cheyennes, looking to the marauding expeditions upon a larger scale than for the many years before. some time in may, at the annual "medicine" dance of the comanches, near the mouth of the sweetwater, one of their young men, making his first appearance as a "medicine" man or prophet, professed to have a revelation from the great spirit, to the effect that the caddoes, wichitas, and other friendly indians who were following in the way of the whites, would soon go out of existence, and this would be the fate of the comanches if they followed the same road; that the only way for them to become the great and powerful nation they once were, was to go to war and kill all the white people they could. the indians said that he predicted the great drouth that occurred that year; and that he told them that the bullets would drop harmlessly from the guns of the white men; that he appealed to them for the truth of his revelation by predicting that the comet, then attracting general attention, would disappear in five days, and made other demonstrations which to them appeared miraculous and obtained for him entire credence for all his words. the hearts of all the young comanche warriors were at once fired. another "medicine" dance was soon after appointed, to which all kiowas and cheyennes were invited, when the comanche "medicine" man again appeared, and at which plans were discussed and determined on for a campaign of murder and rapine. from this period murders and depredations became so frequent as to excite general alarm. war parties were soon ranging through what is now western oklahoma, the texas panhandle, western kansas, and eastern colorado. the war plans of the kiowas, comanches and cheyennes were consolidated by an exciting occurrence at wichita agency, august , , which inflamed them to outbreaks on a larger scale. a number of kiowas and the noconee band of comanches with their squaws and children went to the agency and began raiding the fields and gardens of the friendly wichitas. general j. w. davidson, in command at fort sill, was notified, and he sent lieutenant woodward with a detail of forty men of the tenth cavalry to disarm the hostiles and compel their return to fort sill. big red food, the chief, turned over a few guns and pistols, but declared that he would not surrender his bows and arrows. in the latter he was supported by the terms of a recent agreement in which it was held that only guns should be classed as arms. with a whoop big red food and his warriors dashed away. the soldiers fired a volley at the indians. the latter destroyed much property and committed several murders in the neighborhood of the agency. the war party quickly grew in numbers, and prospect of peace in the plains country was vanishing. wagon loads of supplies and presents had been brought for the indians, all of which were now distributed. the supplies were mostly blankets, clothing, hats, sugar, coffee and flour, which were issued to the head men, and these in turn made distribution among the families. the indians now seemed in much better humor. the day was warm, though fall was at hand, and the heat brought much discomfort to some of the indians--those, for instance, who put on every article of clothing that had been given to them. it was a comical sight to see some of the old bucks wearing two or three heavy coats and two high-crowned army hats, one on top of the other. others were attired in army uniforms, but without trousers. the latter was a garment which no wild indian could be induced to wear. in a short time there was much trading going on between the soldiers and the indians, but on the sly, as strict orders had been issued against it, especially the trading of any kind of fire-arms to the indians. the temptation was too strong, however, and i traded my old cap-and-ball six-shooter to an old indian for three buffalo robes and other trinkets. about o'clock in the afternoon of the day the indians came in we got orders to be ready to pull out in an hour. it was nearly sundown when we broke camp. we traveled until late that night to reach the arkansas river crossing, where we went over and made camp. we pulled into fort harker about november , and drove on out to where the rest of the train was in camp. while unloading our wagons at the post, a rumor spread that gave us some uneasiness--a rumor about what might happen to the fellows who traded fire-arms to the indians at medicine lodge. the fine for a man who had sold a six-shooter would be fifty dollars, which was enough money to buy a whole lot of fun in those days. these arms were the property of the united states government, and proof that a man had sold a gun meant serious trouble. an order came to the men to turn in all their arms. it looked as if i was in bad shape. in my predicament frickie again came to my aid, and just in the nick of time, by offering to lend me his six-shooter--a six-shooter which he personally owned. i turned in frickie's gun, and later received another, which i gave to him. we had grown rather tired of the job of telling the boys that had stayed behind all about the medicine lodge treaty by the time orders came for us to hitch up for a trip to fort leavenworth. at fort harker was a lot of artillery that had been assembled there in by general hancock for an indian campaign. he found that dragging cannons here and there over the plains in pursuit of hostile indians was about as feasible as hitting a hummingbird with a brickbat. the indians moved like the wind or like shadows, and were too wary to come within range of artillery. so the cannons were parked at fort harker as useless. all of them were to be hauled back by wagon to fort leavenworth. our trail led along the railway for miles, and it seemed ridiculous that the cannons should not be transported by train. the cost of shipment would have been excessive, however, and inasmuch as the government owned the teams and wagons and was paying us by the month there was no good reason why we should not be hauling cannon to fort leavenworth. we made our first camp near salina, kas., and narrowly escaped losing our wagons by fire. in the early morning, a spark blew from a camp-fire into the tall, dry grass. instantly, the fire began running with the speed of a race horse. all hands turned out to save tents, bedding, wagons, etc. by back-firing, and by beating out the flames near our tents, we were able to get the fire under control. at best, however, we would have lost our wagons had it not been for our good luck in having the teams hitched before the fire broke out. this enabled us to shift the position of the wagons as necessity required. the fires on the plains in fall and winter, after frost had cured the grass, were often a magnificent spectacle, especially at night when their radiance reddened the sky for many miles. the sky would be luminous, even though the fire was too far beyond the horizon to be seen. once under strong headway, with the fire spread over a wide area, it was difficult to arrest its progress. to the experienced plainsman, equipped with a flint or matches, there was no imminent danger, as he knew how to set out protective fires, and thus insure his safety. these big fires were rather terrifying, nevertheless, especially to the "tenderfoot." carried forward in the teeth of a high, boisterous wind, the fire was appalling, and there was something sinister and somber in the low roar that sent terror to the heart of wild animals. vast clouds of smoke were carried into the heavens, until the sun lost its radiance and hung red and dull, like a copper shield, in the opaque depths. the ashes of burned vegetation sifted down hour after hour, as if a volcano were throwing out fine lava dust. at night, when the wind was still, a fire on the plains was a beautiful sight. in the far distance, the tongues of flame appeared so small that they looked like a red line of countless fingers, pointing with trembling motion toward the sky. the danger of these fires to life in the plains country has commonly exaggerated. the grass that grew in the plains did not have the height to produce a sweeping, high-rolling fire, such as was often seen in the regions of the tall bluestem in eastern kansas. upon reaching fort leavenworth, the wagons were unloaded, the outfits turned over to the government, and the "shave-tail drivers" paid off. i had a comfortable stake for a young fellow, and spent the winter in leavenworth and kansas city, mingling with the hardy frontiersmen and listening delightedly to their incomparable tales of adventure. i went frequently to the home of my friends, the mccall's, where i always found a hospitable welcome. several times i went out from both leavenworth and kansas city with hunting parties. in those days, railroad companies used to promote "personally conducted" hunting parties to the buffalo range, hunters coming from such distances as cincinnati, chicago, and st. louis. chapter iv. in the spring of i obtained employment with a man named powell who owned a store at baxter springs, kas. powell owned a train of six wagons, all drawn by four-mule teams, which he kept on the road hauling lumber and supplies from leavenworth to baxter. much has been written about dodge city, caldwell and abilene as wild and woolly towns in frontier days. none of them was livelier than baxter springs, especially after the completion of the railroad to that point. baxter was the northern terminus of a trail from texas across indian territory, indian territory was infested by the most desperate class of men i ever saw, most of whom were citizens of that lawless country. baxter springs supplied in abundance all that the most dissipated character could wish for in the way of whisky, women, gambling and fighting. the story of the early days at baxter would make a fascinating book. at baxter i saw the battleground where quantrell, the guerrilla, captured general blunt's supply train in . the capture was virtually a horrible massacre by this blood-thirsty "partisan ranger" and his men. i was told that quantrell got general blunt's uniform, and afterwards wore it. i could still see the bullet marks on the trees where the fight took place. i remember with powell most of that summer, hauling from kansas city part of the time. i was still bent upon getting further west. i thirsted for adventure, but as yet had seen only the mere fringe of it. at the end of several months, i went to leavenworth with a lot of freighters, and there met up with a man named cox who was hiring men to go with a mule train to fort hays. i hired to cox, as did sam harkness, a companion with whom i had worked all summer. to our great satisfaction, we found that the mules, which had been shipped from missouri and kentucky, were all broke, and by no means the desperate "shave-tails" that confronted me when i started from leavenworth for the first time. these were exciting times. the very air buzzed with news of indian depredations. the government was rushing troops and supplies to the front, as if the world were coming to an end. the indians had broke out again, and were leaving a trail of blood and ashes in the valley of the solomon, where settlements were in abject terror, not knowing at what moment a swiftly moving war party might descend and murder the inhabitants, burn the buildings and drive off the livestock. worst of all was the nature of the cruelties inflicted by the indians upon all who fell into their clutches. the outrages upon women were too horrible to be described. the forays extended into the saline valley. the indians had kept the treaty that had been made at medicine lodge the previous year only until the moment the grass was green enough to feed their ponies and bring back the buffaloes. the indian was able to live and flourish solely upon buffalo meat, and so long as he had buffalo meat he would eat no other, not even venison, antelope or wild turkey. cox loaded his six hundred mules and his drivers aboard train and we started over the kansas pacific for fort hays. this railroad now extended as far west as denver. we reached fort hays october , . the fall was cold and disagreeable with lots of rain. to add to our discomfort, really our misery, we found that all the mules, big fellows from missouri and kentucky, were as wild as wolves, not one of them having been broke. worst of all there was no time to break them. the government wanted supplies rushed forward with all possible haste to what was known as camp of supply, afterwards camp supply, a military garrison, at the junction of beaver and wolf creek in what is now woodward county, oklahoma. the "wild west" performances in recent years were tame affairs compared with the handling of those mules. it was with a feeling of desperation that each man crawled out of his warm bed in the half light of early morning, ate his breakfast and then went out into the raw, drizzly cold to harness his mules. kicking, squealing and bucking, they wore out a man's patience, and he was tempted to use his six-shooter on the devilish animals. to get them harnessed and hitched and the wagons strung out was a napoleonic job. once on the road, however, there was little to do beyond holding the mules in line, as the wagons were too heavily loaded for the mules to run away. when everything was moving, there were one hundred wagons and six hundred mules going down the trail. our discomfort was increased by the fact that much of the time the ground was covered with snow. our supplies were to equip custer's command that later was to fight the battle of the washita and wipe out black kettle and his band, to be followed still later by general sheridan's going south and whipping the hostiles so badly that they never fully recovered their courage. the indians were subdued mostly by the fact that the government made a winter campaign, something that the indians had never experienced. they were caught between the guns of the soldiers and the necessity of having food, shelter and warmth for their families and feed for their ponies. defeat was inevitable under such dire circumstances. the first day out we got to smoky hill river and camped for the night. we then pulled to walnut creek, and the third day brought us to pawnee fork. between this place and what is now the town of buckner, kas., we had a stampede that for real excitement beat anything i had ever seen. the mules ran in every possible direction, overturning wagons, and outfit colliding with outfit until it looked as if there would never be a pound of freight delivered at supply. many of the wagons were so badly demolished that they had to be abandoned and left behind. their loads were piled on other wagons and carried forward. our route carried us past saw log creek, fort dodge--there was no dodge city at that time--mulberry creek, and thence to bluff creek. here we sighted buffalo, the first we had seen on the trip. as we advanced further from the border of civilization buffalo grew more plentiful, so plentiful that between bluff creek and the cimarron a big herd of stampeding buffaloes bore squarely down upon our train. things looked squally, as there was danger, not only of being run over by the buffaloes but of our mules running away, a disaster that would have been costly. a troop of cavalry was deployed to drive back or turn the oncoming herd. every man in the outfit got out his gun, and we were able to give the buffaloes a reception that brought many of them to the ground, saved the mule train, and filled our pots and skillets with fine meat. we reached camp supply at the end of a twelve days' journey. the supplies were unloaded on the ground and covered with tarpaulins. the site had been chosen by general sully, upon the recommendation of an old scout, "uncle john" smith, who had been on the frontier about thirty years, and is said to have been the first white man that ever visited the country bordering the two canadians. we did not see a single indian during the trip to supply. [illustration: _wood-hauler found scalped near fort dodge._] returning to fort hays, we made a second trip down without mishap. but trouble was in store for us on our way back. the unloaded wagons were comparatively light, and the mules could easily pull them. we were driving two wagons abreast. nobody ever knew what scared one of the rear teams, but it certainly got scared, and that particular outfit was soon going in the direction of missouri and kentucky at the rate of about thirty miles an hour. the rattling and banging and jolting of the wagon, and the shouting and swearing of the driver caused a tumult that spread panic among other teams and the stampede quickly reached the lead teams. so here we went, in every possible direction. it was impossible to hold the mules. wagons were overturned, broken and scattered over the prairie for miles, and some of the mules were so badly crippled that they had to be shot. some tore themselves loose from their harness and ran so far away that they were never found. the spectacle of those six hundred mules running away with their one hundred wagons was the most remarkable i ever witnessed. one outfit, including both the wagon and the six mules, disappeared completely. i found them in when i was hunting buffaloes on that range. the wagon and the carcasses of the mules were in a draw or small canyon, about miles from where the stampede began. in their headlong course, the mules could not stop when they came to the brink of the draw, so in they went, with the wagon piling on top of them. they were still hitched to the wagon, but badly tangled in the harness. in the wagon was an army needle-gun, which showed that i was the first person to reach the spot. after this experience, the mules were harder than ever to control, and would "run at the drop of the hat" or the flip of a prairie dog's tail. fort hays, at this time was the supply point for all the government forts to the south, and remained as such until the santa fe railroad came through in the fall of . i remained at fort hays until the fall of , and this was my last work for the government until , when i was employed as a scout and guide under general miles. during the five years i had been making my own way in the world, i had worked for the government most of the time. i was now eighteen years old, in perfect health, strong and muscular, with keen eyesight, a natural aptitude for outdoor life, an excellent shot, and had a burning desire to experience every phase of adventure to be found on the plains. i had worked all the summer of with george smith and tom campbell, and liked them so well that we had planned fitting up an outfit to hunt and trap that winter. so along in november the three of us bought a good team and wagon, traps and provisions, and guns and ammunition and started north along the saline river. campbell was an old trapper and knew how to take beaver, which were fairly plentiful along the streams. my happiness now seemed complete, and i enjoyed to the fullest every moment of my life. storm nor darkness nor hunger nor toil cooled my ardor in the slightest degree. we caught not only beaver, but several otter. wolves abounded everywhere, and we trapped a large number. their pelts were worth from $ . to $ each. in this way we put in the winter, and made good money. we had a warm, comfortable dugout, with plenty of wood and water. i had no wish to return to a city. at intervals we would take a load of game to hays city, where there was a ready market. once we took in a load of elk, and got twenty dollars apiece for the carcasses. the hunting of buffaloes for their hides began in the spring of . that was also the beginning of the destruction of the buffalo. as i remember, the hunting was started by a firm of eastern hide-buyers whose agents came to hays city and other towns near the buffalo range and offered prices, that made hide-hunting a profitable occupation. we were in the very heart of the best buffalo country between the dominion of canada and the rio grande, and quickly abandoned trapping for buffalo hunting. the first offers were $ each for cowhides and $ each for bull hides, which enabled us to make money rapidly. as the slaughter increased, and the buffaloes grew scarcer prices were advanced, until $ was being paid for bull hides by the fall of . during the winter of we ranged all over western kansas, but principally along the republican river and its tributaries. generally, there were three or four men in an outfit, each having contributed his share for necessary expenses. they went where the range was best, and buffaloes most plentiful. a dugout was built and occupied as permanent headquarters camp, the hunters ranging for miles through the surrounding country. the only kind of dugout worth having was one with a big, open fire-place, near the edge of a stream of good water, with plenty of wood along its banks. we often occupied the same dugout for a month or more. then, as the buffaloes grew less plentiful, we shifted our camp and built a new dugout, which was easily and quickly done. from where the buffaloes were killed in the range, we hauled the hides to camp, where we dried them and hauled them to market. though i was not quite eighteen years of age, there were very few men who could excel me in marksmanship, which possibly was a natural gift supplemented by more or less constant practice. i always did my own killing, and generally had two experienced men to do the skinning. a capable man could skin fifty buffaloes a day, and usually was paid $ a month. i have paid as much as twenty-five cents a hide to a good skinner. we often killed the buffaloes the day before they were to be skinned. during the fall, smith and campbell grew tired of the business and wanted to quit. i bought the outfit, and straightway hired two men to work for me, and started out killing buffaloes more energetically than ever. one of my skinners was a mexican and the other a man named perkins. up to this time i had hunted north of the kansas pacific railroad, and as far west as fort wallace. as the fall advanced, i began ranging further south, as the buffaloes were becoming somewhat scarce. i was moving toward a country of future trouble--trouble with indians--and to a region where in time i should meet with more adventure than i had ever dreamed of. we moved south of hays city about ten miles and came to a boiling spring that flowed from an opening in solid rock. here we decided to make our permanent camp for the winter, so we built a picket house and a big dugout, expecting to dry a lot of buffalo meat for market, but finally abandoned this scheme. our camp was on a main-traveled road leading to hays city. freighters and hunters urged me to establish a road ranch or store, where such supplies as were used in that country could be purchased in reasonable quantities. having some spare money, i stocked up with tobacco, whisky and a general line of groceries, and employed a man named billy reynolds to run the place for me, while i devoted my time to killing buffaloes. many a jolly company gathered at the road ranch at the boiling spring. the sale of whisky was a common practice in those days, as whisky was freely used by frontiersmen, and its sale was expected as a matter of course. other conditions were too hard and too pressing for the question of the morals of the traffic to be raised as it was in later years, when the country became more thickly settled, and an entirely new order of things was established. i was well acquainted with reynolds, and liked him, having formed his acquaintance on the custer expedition to camp supply in when he was a mule-driver. he was a friendly, whole-souled kind of fellow, and knew just how to treat men to get their trade. i made good money out of this venture until when the income abruptly and permanently ceased--during my absence reynolds sold the whole outfit and skipped the country, without even telling me good bye. i had been absent two weeks when i returned one day to find only the empty building. i never again heard of billy reynolds. i doubt that his robbing me was ever to his final advantage. money obtained in that way never brought good luck, even in the plains country, where men were judged by rougher standards than prevailed further east. i formed another partnership with a man named finn, who was square and honest, and sold him an interest in the business. i had known him a number of years. he added another good team to the outfit. he had been a government teamster and had served in the civil war. he was a good story-teller, and when the day's work was done, and we were comfortably seated around the fire, nothing pleased me more than to get finn started telling stories. he was a native of ireland, which gave a fine spice to his tales. finn and i hunted together about a year. during this time i had for a skinner another irishman, a man named mike mccabe. mike had red hair, and a fiery temper. but he was a fine fellow, and i thought a great deal of him. he was one of the best workers i ever saw. mike would fight at the drop of the hat, and again would sulk for weeks at a time over a fancied wrong. the men nicknamed him "cranky" or "fighting" mccabe. when he was in good humor a livelier fellow could not be found, but the moment he got a grouch he clouded up like a panhandle thunderstorm. the only thing in the world mccabe was afraid of was an indian, of which i shall write later. though small in size, mccabe would fight a man twice his size, and always give a good account of himself. his consuming passion was gambling, and when he struck town he invariably lost everything he had at the card table. he worked for me, off and on, for three years, and was with me at the fight at adobe walls. during the time mccabe was with my outfit the two of us got along amicably, save when he would imagine that the world was against him, whereupon in a great huff he would quit, draw all his pay, and strike out for the nearest town--and its first gambling house within his reach. there he would remain until his last dollar was gone. some fine morning mccabe would show up with beaming face and good-natured blarney, take his old job, and work even better than before. once he had been sulking for almost a week and had not spoken to a man in camp. when we started hunting, we decided to pull out and leave him at the ranch alone, which we did. after making our kill of buffaloes, we started back. when we got in sight of the ranch we were astonished at seeing mccabe dancing on a dry buffalo robe stretched on the ground. he was giving all the fancy steps and dancing as if a full orchestra were playing. upon seeing us, he stopped dancing, and seemed chagrined. he had been entertaining himself. his conduct was rather laughable. i rarely ever made a full settlement with mccabe, as he preferred to draw his pay in installments. i paid him fifty dollars a month. sometimes he would have several hundred dollars ahead, and again he would be considerably overdrawn. finally, he decided he would quit for good. getting down to the job of a settlement, i carefully figured each item and found that just two dollars were due him, whereupon he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "it beats the devil that a man should work three long years and get just two dollars." he went away in good humor, and we were always warm friends. finn and i were together until the next fall. he then took a notion to go back east and visit his folks, whom he had not seen since the civil war. he was a frugal man, and did not smoke, chew tobacco nor drink whisky. his share of the year's work amounted to $ , , which gave him a pretty good stake. he went to rochester, new york, invested his money and was soon doing a profitable business. several years afterwards he wrote to me saying that he longed to come back to the plains country and its free life, but he never came. before finn went away we had taken into partnership a man named jack callahan, who had been a government wagonmaster at fort hays. jack never saw the dark side of things, and was a delightful companion. during the winter of jack and i were hunting on the headwaters of pawnee fork, drifting back and forth from there to smoky hill and walnut creek and their tributaries. our permanent camp was on hackberry creek, a branch of pawnee fork. along in november we had one of the worst blizzards i ever saw. it was this terrible storm that caught a wagon train loaded with cordwood for hays city. this was snuffer's bull train. all the cattle froze to death. the men were in a frightful condition when found. the outfit had been to camp supply with freight, and on the return trip had loaded up with cordwood on walnut creek. the storm struck them just as they went into camp for the night, after the stock had been turned loose to graze. when the storm broke, every man turned out to help hold the stock, and many of them were soon lost in the blinding swirl. one man, the cook, managed to find his way back to camp; he was found dead in his wagon, frozen stiff. where he had tried to make a fire in the bottom of the wagon could be plainly seen. he had burned the endgate in his vain efforts. the wind blew with such terrific force that the fire was blown away in all directions. though surrounded with enormous quantities of wood, all within easy reach, the poor fellow perished for want of fire. there was hardly a man in this ill-fated, outfit who did not suffer the loss of a hand, a foot, or a limb. the men were camped in five mile hollow, five miles from hays city, and when news of the affair reached town next day, all the citizens turned out to search for the missing men, gathering them up and taking them to the hospital at hays city. some of the bewildered men wandered to my road-ranch, where billy reynolds was in charge, and there found shelter and protection from the storm. a few days after the storm had abated i decided to make a trip to hays city, and bring back supplies for the outfit, so i hooked four mules to a wagon and hitched my saddle horse to the side. i rarely ever went out on the road without my saddle horse. the mules seemed to be more contented when accompanied by a horse, and in case of trouble i stood a better show of getting away on horseback. our camp was on hackberry, and i went prepared to stay all night with reynolds at the road-ranch, the first night out. when i got there i found the place deserted. i could not imagine why reynolds was not there and did not learn the reason until i reached hays, driving there that night. i saw snuffer's wagons corralled at five mile hollow when i passed that place, but heard nothing of what had happened until i got to hays. here i learned the no less surprising news that reynolds had sold everything at the road-ranch and had skipped the country. the day after i reached town the express agent came into the hotel office where i was stopping and asked if a man could be found who would take a load of express to fort dodge or camp supply, saying that there was a lot of express for both places. as i had a good team, and there was no great need of my hurrying back to headquarters, i told him i would go. i also wanted to look that country over for buffaloes. i loaded and started for fort dodge with fifteen hundred pounds of express, making walnut creek the first night and staying at a road-ranch run by johnny quinn, afterwards killed at that place. the weather was bitter cold when i started next morning, and by o'clock it was spitting snow and getting colder every minute. i walked part of the time to keep warm. my load was bulky rather than heavy. i felt the cold driving into my very bones, and realized my danger. i was determined that i would not permit myself to sink into drowsiness, as this meant death. reaching a long divide, i dropped down the slope with my mules in a gallop, and luckily was soon in sight of a road-ranch kept by john o'loughlin. i was scarcely able to speak when i drove up and found half a dozen men coming to meet me, all eager to hear the news from town, whatever it might be. in answer to their questions i merely shook my head. my jaws were set like a vice. i could not speak a word. they saw instantly my condition. running into the dugout they began piling wood into the fireplace, and the room was soon as hot as an oven. i thawed gradually, burning like a live coal one moment and shivering the next as if i had a fit of ague. this was my first experience with killing cold. in later days, after i became a government scout, i had many similar experiences. i once made a ride with dispatches, and became so stiff with cold by the time i had reached the end of my journey that i could not dismount from my horse--i simply let go and fell off. in the pawnee fork and saw log country i had seen lots of buffaloes, a sight which always held me with endless fascination. when i got to fort dodge the third night out i heard that the buffaloes had drifted in by thousands during the blizzard, and that the garrisons had to fire a piece of artillery to keep them from breaking down the buildings and corrals. next day i mounted my horse and struck off up the arkansas to look over the country, traveling up the valley for about thirty-five miles. there had certainly been an enormous number of buffaloes in the country. i could see where the grass had been flattened and the willow thickets cropped close by the tired and hungry animals. in every direction could be seen the spots where the buffaloes had bedded down for the night. but now there was not a buffalo in sight. lured on by the hope of catching sight of the vast multitude that had passed that way, i kept on up the valley, but without success. then i determined to proceed to the plains, which i did. riding to a high point i turned my eyes across the plains. i held my breath in my astonishment at the wonderful sight. as far as i could see there was a solid mass of buffalo, quietly grazing on the curly mesquite, now brown with winter. at no other time in my life did i ever see such a vast number of buffaloes. for miles in every direction the country was alive with them. at this point i want to say that in all my experience in the buffalo country i never saw one die of old age and exhaustion, and can remember seeing only one "on the lift"--that is, in a situation where he could go no further. this one, an old bull, had got fast in a bog on the canadian, and was unable to get out. riding up to him, i threw my lariat over his head, after i had given my lariat a hitch over the horn of my saddle, and pulled the old fellow to firm ground. i left him grazing contentedly on the bank. the buffalo was a hardy animal, and though they often got very thin during a hard winter, yet they never became so thin and starved as to go off their feet like cattle. i returned to fort dodge fully satisfied with my day's ride, and next day started on my return trip to fort hays. by the time i reached fort hays, a considerable number of hunters had been driven in by the storm. i told them of the black ocean of buffaloes i had seen northwest of fort dodge, which was good news to them, and set every man to overhauling his outfit. i was impatient to reach my camp, so i loaded up with supplies and pulled out. i found the boys in good shape and glad to see me. next day we made a scout out west of hackberry, and found thousands of buffaloes. it was plain that the big herd had drifted a long way during the blizzard, and had been as far south as the arkansas. when the weather moderated they worked back to their old range. along in may, , we moved our camp from hackberry to a point north of the kansas pacific railroad. while in camp on hackberry i met with an experience which rarely ever happened to me--i got completely lost, so badly that i had no idea of direction. perkins and i had been out all day killing and skinning buffaloes. we had worked late, and it had grown cloudy and dark when we started for camp. both were afoot. in moving from each fallen buffalo to another we had wandered further than we suspected. each thought camp was in a different direction. so positive was perkins that he was right that i followed him for a time. i was relying mostly upon the direction of the buffalo trails and when i found that we were crossing them instead of following them, i was convinced that we had lost our bearings. i called perkin's attention to the trails. he insisted that he was going in the right direction. perkins was a windy story-teller, and was relating a war tale. i disliked to interrupt him. finally, however, i said that unless the wind had changed we were certainly going in the wrong direction. "oh, the wind has changed," he replied: "i knew it would this morning." about this time we reached the head of a draw, on which we thought our camp was situated. at that moment the clouds drifted from the face of the moon, and we saw a bunch of buffaloes that had bedded down for the night. this convinced me that perkins was "going it wild," as i was sure that buffalo would not stay that close to our camp. rovers that we were, with sails turned for every wind, we decided to kill some of the buffaloes, as they would be conveniently at hand, for skinning next morning, and we shot five or six. pursuing our way down the draw, i was soon positive that we were lost. perkins put up a lively argument to prove that he was not mistaken. when we reached another bunch of buffaloes that had bedded, perkins threw up the sponge. four bulls were lying together. we blazed into them, made a warm bed of two hides, with the hair turned inside, and made a dry camp for the night. we slept as warm as if we were in a feather bed, though the night was cold. in after years i thought many times of that night on the plains. of how tired we were, of how the wind whistled past us, of how the cold seemed to come down out of the sky, heavy and chill, and of how icily the moon shone as she sailed westward. save for the occasional howling of wolves and coyotes, the night was supernaturally silent. it was the stillness of the primeval solitude. it was the stuff that makes a man in a warm bed under a roof feel like getting up to saddle his horse and ride away to this land of nowhere. once in the blood, it can never be lost. home-sickness for the plains and their free, open life stings like a hornet. perkins and i slept late next morning. the sun was shining in my face when i heard something scratching and clawing on the hide with which we were covered. there were lots of skunks in the country, and lately several men had been bitten by them. i thought of skunks, of which i stood in dread, as i would have preferred being bitten by a rattlesnake. bracing myself, i kicked the hide with all my might, to throw it as far as possible from both of us. instead of a skunk, i was astonished to see a big eagle that had been trying to get his breakfast by picking the meat off the fresh hide. that eagle was so badly scared that i am sure he must have had an attack of heart failure. he flopped around before he could get up enough steam to take wing, and even then he hovered in the air as if uncertain which way to fly. i could have killed him with the butt of my gun. i had no wish to do this, however, and watched him recover his wits and soar away. i do not believe that i exaggerate when i say that perkins jumped five feet into the air when i kicked off the buffalo hide. he told me that he was sure indians had nailed us, and that his scalp-lock twitched all day. coming out of the draw where we had made our bed, we ascended a high point and scanned the surrounding country, hoping to locate our camp. nothing looked familiar to us. we struck out in the direction we thought camp ought to be. we walked until nearly night before we got back to camp. by noon i was growing ravenously hungry. i suggested to perkins that we kill a buffalo and broil some of the meat. we shot a -year-old heifer, and soon had a hump steak sizzling on the fire. no meal ever gave me greater satisfaction, though we had no salt or bread. we were fagged and footsore when we reached camp. james donnelly, the man we had left in camp, had given us up as dead, confident that we had been killed by indians. he had packed the outfit, harnessed the mules and was just at the point of pulling out for hays city when we hailed him. we would have been left in bad shape had he gone. during the morning a band of twelve or fifteen indians had passed in sight of camp, and as we had been missing two days and one night, donnelly naturally concluded that the indians had killed us. after he saw the indians he made up his mind that the best thing for him to do was to leave as quickly as possible for the fort. during the summer of we hunted along the saline and solomon, frequently encountering small bands of indians. generally, they were going north or south, and though they were supposed to be friendly, we watched them closely. occasionally, we heard of a hunter being killed, but this did not bother us, so long as we were not molested. sometimes, indians came into our camp. they were always hungry. we always fed them. they love sugar and coffee, and for either were willing to trade anything they had. the kiowas were especially fond of sugar. the liking for sweet things was not peculiar to the white man. chapter v. we started south to the arkansas river in the fall of , and when we got to where dodge city now stands, we found the first buildings under construction. none of us dreamed of the reputation that was to come to that town through its gun men. there were only a few houses at dodge. i remember that the cox house, the first hotel, was open. deciding to "put on airs," we went to the hotel for dinner. our bill of fare was pork and beans, black coffee, bread and pepper sauce, especially pepper sauce, for which we paid seventy-five cents. we could have beat it, hands down, in our own camp. i can recall the names of a number of the first business establishments: wright & company ("bob" wright), general supply store. zimmerman's hardware, gun and ammunition store. mccart & fringer, drug store. fringer afterwards was judge of ford county court. kelly & beaty, saloon. kelly was a jolly, good-natured man, and was always popular. he was always called "dog" kelly. murray & waters, saloon. beeson & harris, saloon. hoover's saloon. the buildings were mostly box affairs, and built in the quickest possible way. but a palace does not make happiness, and i am sure that in the rough, frontier towns of those days there was lots of contentment and good cheer in the rudest shacks. the wind and the snow came in at the cracks in winter, and in summer the rain beat through and the red dust swirled along the floor, but we paid little attention to such things. our skin was tough and we had many things to occupy our time. we were constantly in the open air, which hardened us until we suffered scarcely any annoyance from wind or weather, such as would have been looked upon as hardships not to be endured, by men living cooped up in cities, where there is rarely a chance to fill one's lungs with fresh air, and where heaviest clothing cannot compensate for lack of physical exercise. it is possible by exposure for men to toughen their skin and their bodies, just as they can toughen their hands. the indian is a good example of this fact. [illustration: _"billy" dixon, in his prime as a scout and plainsman._] at this time dodge city was the terminus of the santa fe railroad. the railroad company was still grading, and had moved as far west as the state line, at granada, kas., where building stopped for about a year. dodge city sprang up like a mushroom. buildings went up day and night, and in a month's time the first dozen houses had been increased to a small town. like moths drawn by the flame of a lamp, a picturesque lot of men gathered at dodge. practically all of them were looking for adventure and excitement, rather than for opportunities to become preachers, lawyers or merchants. they came from the border towns that dotted like beads that western fringe of civilization. dodge city belonged mostly to the under-world in those days, and its ways were the ways of men and women who stayed up all night and slept all day. buffalo-hunters, railroad graders, gamblers, dance hall actors and dancers and that nondescript class that lived without doing any kind of work predominated. but there were good men and women in dodge, and as in most genuine american communities, they finally won out, despite its revelries and dissipations. the professional gun man that gave dodge most of its reputation, especially in eastern states, did not ply his business as a business until later years. money was plentiful in those days. anybody could get money, and there was no excuse for being "broke." business thrived, and some of the stores could supply a man with practically anything he needed. the men of dodge city spent their money as quickly as they made it, so lots of money was constantly in circulation. whisky-drinking was a pastime or diversion in which few men did not indulge. it was true, however, that some of dodge city's most famous characters never drank a drop of intoxicating liquors. they did not dare do it. they belonged to the class known as "killers." to get drunk or to drink enough whisky to make the nerves unsteady meant death for such men, as the enemy was always lying in wait for them. i cannot boast of having been an altogether perfect man in my conduct in those wild, free days, but there was two popular forms of amusement in which i did not indulge--dancing and gambling. i never bet a nickel on cards nor gambled in any form in my life though i saw all these things going on every night when i was in a border town, especially at dodge. why i did not, rather than the mere fact that i did not dance or gamble, always seemed to me to be of most interest. my only answer would be that this sort of thing did not appeal to me, and this was sufficient beyond any moral reason for my conduct. as a class, the early population of dodge was free-hearted and would divide the last dollar with a friend or a stranger in distress. the people stood by each other in all emergencies. nobody thought of locking his door at night. when the santa fe's construction was stopped at granada, hundreds of men were thrown out of employment, and found it necessary to make some kind of shift for work, or leave the country. right here is where the rapid extermination of the buffalo began. all of these men who could rustle a team and a wagon and get hold of an outfit went out on the plains to kill buffalo. during the fall and winter of and there were more hunters in the country than ever before or afterwards. this was the beginning of the high tide of buffalo-hunting, and buffalo fell by thousands. more were killed that season than in all subsequent seasons combined. i feel safe in saying that , buffaloes were killed within or miles of dodge city during that time. the noise of the guns of the hunters could be heard on all sides, rumbling and booming hour after hour, as if a heavy battle were being fought. there was a line of camps all the way from dodge city to granada. during all this time, and since jack callahan and i had worked together. perkins and donnelly were still with us. "cranky" mccabe, his good humor having revived, came back to work for me. a single night at the card table in dodge city generally wound up mccabe's ball of yarn, and at once he was ready to return to the buffalo range and without complaint. apparently, there was something he had to get out of his system, and after he had been purged he was ready to resume his old ways. there was not a lazy bone in his body, and i never had a better hand. i was very much attached to jack callahan. he was always in good humor, which is a fine quality for a man to have in a hunting camp. a bad temper can spoil the pleasure of an entire camp. some mornings we would sleep late. when the sun got in his eyes, jack would jump up, exclaiming "by george, this will never do! it will never buy my girl a dress nor pay for the one she has." after we had been at dodge city a few days, taking in the sights, we grew tired of loafing, and decided to strike out and go to new hunting grounds. so we went up the arkansas river, along the north side, to what was known as nine mile ridge, where we crossed to the south side of the river. the increasing numbers and destructiveness of the buffalo-hunters had been making the plains indians more and more hostile. the danger to hunters was increasing day by day. all that region south of the arkansas was forbidden ground, the indians insisting that the white men should obey the terms of the medicine lodge treaty. if the killing of the buffaloes should continue unabated, the indians would soon be facing starvation; at least, their old freedom would be at an end, as they could no longer roam the country at will, confident of finding meat in abundance wherever they might go. the arkansas was called the "dead line," south of which no hunter should go. the river was patrolled at intervals by government troops, as a feeble indication that the medicine lodge treaty had not been forgotten, but their vigilance was so lax that there was no difficulty in crossing back and forth without detection. the danger of attack by indians was a far more potent obstacle to the buffalo-hunter, but as buffaloes grew fewer in number and the price of hides advanced, even this did not deter hardy hunters from undertaking forays into the forbidden country. the troops were supposed to prevent the passing of the indians to the north side of the river. this was another scheme that failed to work. we gazed longingly across the sandy wastes that marked the course of the arkansas. the oftener we looked the more eager we became to tempt fate. even the sky looked more inviting in that direction, and often after a flurry of cold weather the wind from the south was mild, balmy and inviting. as a matter of fact, the possible danger of encountering hostile indians added spice to the temptation. so we crossed over. finding a pleasant stretch of bottom land, where the grass grew tall and thick, we cut and stacked a lot of prairie hay for our teams and saddle horses. the grass waved above our horses' backs as we rode along. later, we found indians too numerous in this vicinity for us to devote much time to hunting and we abandoned this camp. before we made the change, however, callahan and i, both well mounted, and followed by one man in a light wagon, started southward on a scouting trip, intending to be gone several days. we wanted to feel out the country and locate the buffalo herds. when we reached crooked creek, we ran smack into a bunch of indians, and had a skirmish with them. the indians could not speak english. this did not prevent our understanding them. their old chief motioned to us to go northward. that was a long time ago, yet i remember clearly the appearance of this old warrior. noticeably, fastened under the skin of his left cheek he wore a long, brilliant feather. all the warriors were painted red and yellow. we believed, however, that we were able to take care of ourselves, and continued on our way. further down the creek, we struck another band of hostiles. this was rather too much of the same thing, and we decided that if we valued our scalps we had better pull out. we turned round and headed for camp, missing it about three miles in the darkness, and going into camp for the night in the enemy's country. next morning we got back in safety, and called all hands round to discuss the situation. plainly, to stay south of the arkansas meant putting in more time fighting indians than in hunting buffaloes. but buffaloes had begun coming in by thousands, so we agreed to remain two or three days and make as big a kill as possible. hunting was good, and a week had slipped by. the hides were green, which forced us to linger until they were dry. not only were hides more easily handled when dry, but they made lighter loads. about the ninth day, we found ourselves running short of meat. a bunch of buffaloes were grazing about two miles distant. mounting my horse, i told the boys that i would ride out and kill two good ones for meat. i was so well acquainted with the ways of buffaloes that i could judge quickly by their actions whether they would run or stand when approached. i saw that these were getting ready to run. this fact was a plausible hint that indians were moving through the country. my own experience and the testimony of other hunters convinced me that nothing causes greater alarm among buffaloes than the scent or odor of indians, a peculiarity easily distinguished by a white man's nostrils. when indian hunting parties went on the buffalo grounds to get their winter's supply of meat, the herds were soon in great commotion, making it difficult for the white hunter to do his killing at a "stand." strange as it may seem, if there were no indians moving among the buffaloes, the latter would pay scarcely any attention to white hunters, even though the big buffalo guns were booming from sunrise to sunset. upon nearing the buffaloes as closely as i thought expedient, i dismounted and began crawling. picking out a young bull, i turned loose with my big " " gun. the herd stampeded at the first crack, and raised such a dust that i could distinguish nothing. i fired as rapidly as i could pull the trigger at the indistinguishable mass, and was lucky enough to bring down six or seven before the herd was out of range. this fusillade from my gun set things moving in camp, where the boys jumped to the conclusion that i had been attacked by indians. to add to the excitement a herd of about fifty antelopes appeared on a hill perhaps half a mile from camp. the swiftly running animals would traverse a wide circle and dash again to the top of the hill, where they would stand rigidly attentive gazing in my direction. the excited imagination of the boys in camp soon transformed these harmless creatures into mounted indians. they had not the slightest doubt of my having been killed and scalped, my body left weltering in its own blood, and speared and arrowed until it resembled a sieve. when i rode into camp a few minutes later, i found everything ready for flight and battle. all the fighting guns were conveniently at hand, and all the camp equipment was loaded on the wagon. the boys were just at the point of pulling out, but had lingered a moment to debate whether they should try to recover my dead body or whoop her up for dodge city. jack callahan was declaring that it would be wrong to go away without being sure that i was dead. while this discussion was under way each man was as busy as a coon in a hen roost. mccabe had been set at work priming a lot of shells, which were already loaded. in his excitement he held the primers in his left hand, asking all the while, "where in thunder are those primers? i can't find a single one, yet i saw a lot of them only a moment ago. unless we get these shells primed, we'll be in bad shape!" mccabe was so nervous that the primers rattled in his shaking hand, without his seeing them. mccabe lived in mortal terror of indians, though as brave as a lion under all other emergencies, a peculiarity i have seen in other men on the plains. the scent or odor of the indian affected some men as it did certain animals other than the buffalo. all kinds of game seemed to know when an indian was around. a horse could be safely depended upon to give warning of the near approach of an indian. i have had my horse run to and fro on his picket rope, manifesting the greatest alarm, apparently without cause, as i could see nothing. i never failed, however, to find later that an indian had been close by. the boys gazed at me in utmost astonishment as i rode into camp, safe and sound. they could not believe that i had really returned, and began asking me a thousand questions. we laughed over what had happened, each teasing the other about having been "scared out of a year's growth." all save mccabe took the joking in good nature. when the boys began poking fun at him about losing the primers, mccabe slashed on his war paint, and squared off to fight. he shouted that he would fight with bare fists, with a butcher knife or with a gun whoever repeated the story. he would have done as he threatened, but all of us liked him and only laughed at him the more. we loaded up with hides next day and pulled out for dodge city, where we were lucky enough to strike a good market. we had to make three trips to get all the hides, for which we received from $ . to $ a piece, the highest price we ever received. the full amount was $ , , but the buyer wrote us a check for the even sum of $ , , a little matter like $ being of no moment in those days at dodge city. the weather was now growing much colder, warning us that we should prepare for snow, sleet and howling blizzards. each man bought himself a supply of warm winter clothing, and with lots of supplies and ammunition, we again went in search of the shaggy buffalo. we went up the arkansas as far west as the next railroad station, where we hunted a few days, finding buffaloes so scarce that we moved over on the head of south pawnee. i had been over this country the previous winter, and knew where there was a splendid spring of water, which i discovered in an unusual manner. on a hot, sultry august day i had left my horse down in the valley, and wandered off on foot after a bunch of buffaloes, going much further than i suspected at the time. growing very thirsty, i began casting about for signs of water. crossing the head of a small "draw," i saw a patch of green about a quarter of a mile distant. i hastened toward the spot, and there, to my astonishment, found a spring of clear, sweet water that boiled from a crevice in the rock. in after years i thought many times of the delightful sensation of lying beside that spring and drinking until i could drink no more. while resting, i carved in full my name, "william dixon," in the soft sandstone rock at the head of the spring. many years later, when i was living at plemons, the county seat of hutchinson county, texas, i met a land agent who told me that he had seen my name on a rock at the head of a spring in western kansas. he had no idea that he was talking to the man who carved the name. this man said that the country was thickly settled by prosperous farmers, which seemed incredible when i recalled the days when its principal inhabitants were buffaloes, mustangs, indians and buffalo hunters. we shifted camp as soon as the buffaloes began thinning in numbers. reaching north pawnee, we went up as far as walnut creek, changing our camp as the buffaloes shifted, and finally going back south to silver lake, ten miles north of the arkansas river. this lake was out on the open plains. here we were struck by another blizzard. there were two outfits camped at silver lake. the "norther" struck us with terrific fury, and caught us short of fuel, other than buffalo "chips." i wish here to say something in honor of the buffalo chip. in later years, as the fortunes of the settlers in western kansas improved and their social aspirations grew stronger, there were those who looked askance upon the humble buffalo chip, though they had seen the time when they were devoutly grateful for the genial warmth that spread from its glowing fire. it was the friend and benefactor of countless hunters and settlers in hours of need and extremity. the buffalo chip was simply the dry dung of the buffalo, purely vegetable, and made an excellent fire, over which coffee could be boiled and meat fried to a turn. when dry the buffalo chip caught the flame easily, and soon burned to a dull red. many a dark night have i looked with gladness at the distant buffalo chip fire, knowing that around it i would find hospitable companions and lots of warmth. there was a big scramble to make snug when the norther hit us. as soon as it broke, we tied buffalo hides to the wagons to form a shelter for our horses, but the wind was so strong that it tore down the hides and carried them rattling and bounding across the plains. worst of all, the gale blew all the fire out of our camp stoves. we were forced to go to bed to keep from freezing to death, and we remained wrapped in our blankets under our buffalo robes until next day. i am sure that in these later years we do not have the sudden blizzards, such as swept howling from the north in those early days, which is fortunate, as they would cause untold suffering to people and livestock. the weather had moderated by next day, and we went in search of our stock, which we found at john o'loughlin's road-ranch, twelve miles south of silver lake. as there was snow on the ground and it was difficult to find fuel, even buffalo chips, we decided to stay at o'loughlin's place until the weather settled. other hunters were in the same plight as ourselves, and they too came drifting in to o'loughlin's. we were a jolly crowd. what sport we had, telling stories of our hunts, drinking whisky, playing cards and shooting at targets. i was especially fond of the latter. in such a gathering there were always mischievous fellows forever scheming to play jokes and pranks upon their companions. while at o'loughlin's a sham duel, one of the funniest things i ever saw, was pulled off. among the hunters was a young fellow who was continually stirring up trouble by quarreling. at o'loughlin's he began imposing upon a quiet, peaceable man who never bothered anybody. the boys persuaded him to challenge the bully to fight a duel, telling him they would load the bully's gun with blank cartridges. the arrangements were soon made. the bully was willing to fight--at least he seemed to be. he was the only man in camp that did not know that the affair was a "frame up." the seconds were chosen, and the time and place of the meeting fixed. the weapons were to be six-shooters, at fifteen steps. the buffalo hunters lined up to see the fight. the quiet fellow was to shoot over the bully's head, but close enough for him to hear the whistle of the bullet. at the command of "fire" both pistols cracked, but nobody was hit. the bully winced a bit at the sound of the bullet as it passed over his head. he soon went locoed, and became so badly frightened that he could hardly stand. his knees knocked together, and he trembled like a wet dog on a cold day. before the second encounter could take place, the bully squawked, saying that he had enough. he was teased and rawhided until he left camp, and pulled out for pleasanter surroundings. as soon as the weather grew warmer, the hunters went to their camps. we returned to silver lake, but not finding buffaloes plentiful enough to make hunting profitable, we went over on what was known as white woman's fork, usually a dry stream, with water only in the rainy season. at this time the melting snow had formed pools. white woman's fork is between the arkansas and the smoky hill. buffaloes were so scarce that we followed white woman's fork to its head and there went over to the brakes of the smoky hill, and from there we pulled to sand creek, in colorado. while on sand creek we camped one night where the chivington massacre of cheyenne indians took place in the 's. chivington was in command of a force of colorado troops, and took the indians wholly by surprise. among the indians was black kettle's band of cheyennes, afterwards destroyed by general custer on the washita in southwestern oklahoma. chivington gave orders to kill everything that looked like an indian--women and children, old and young--and his command was obeyed with utmost cruelty. we could see bones still scattered over the battleground. our hunt for buffaloes was proving to be a kind of wild goose chase. we had made a complete circle, without finding them in sufficient numbers to warrant our hunting in any one place. we went back down the arkansas until we reached lakin, kansas, where we stayed eight or ten days gathering up the hides we had left at different places. we hauled them to dodge city. by this time the spring of was at hand. callahan and i dissolved partnership, as callahan wanted to go into the saloon business at granada, colorado. he lived there until general miles started from fort dodge in on his campaign against the southwest plains indians. callahan went along as wagon master. i did not have enough of the buffalo game, however, and after going back to my old camp on pawnee fork, i crossed the arkansas in may, , and went up the river to what was known as allberry crossing, on the old santa fe trail. here we camped and explored the country, but failed to find many buffaloes, and began working south toward the cimarron--toward the forbidden and dangerous land. we struck the cimarron at what was known as wagonbed springs, southwest of dodge. at that time the cimarron river was called the dead line. few hunters had gone south of the arkansas. many who had been hunting around dodge in and had abandoned the hide business, because of the diminishing number of buffaloes, and for the better reason that they did not wish to follow the main herd into the indian country. ranging between the arkansas and the cimarron in the summer of , we worked west as far as the beaver, in stanton county, kansas. we prospered, as buffaloes were plentiful. our hides were hauled to granada, on the colorado line. along in the fall we went to dodge and loaded up with supplies for an expedition even further south. we struck crooked creek and finally the cimarron, ten miles below wagonbed springs, where we planned to stay during the winter, and built a dugout. buffaloes were everywhere, but like the leaves of the winter forest--disappearing never to return. while in camp at this place we saw a spectacular sight. a big war party of cheyennes passed on their way to fight the utes. the latter lived in colorado. the cheyennes were out for blood. their horses were in fine shape, and each warrior was fully equipped with weapons. we learned that the utes had long been in the habit of coming down to the buffalo country every fall to kill their winter's supply of meat. the cheyennes, proud and arrogant, were opposed to this invasion of their hunting grounds by the mountain indians and had decided to make an end of it if possible. much has been written about the desperate warfare and the bloody battles between indians and white men. i am rather of the opinion that war between indian tribes was even worse. they fought to exterminate each other if possible. this expedition of cheyennes was divided into many small parties--three or four warriors traveling together. we had heard of their attacking other buffalo hunters, and running off their stock. we kept both eyes open, day and night. frequently, these indians would stop at our camp, to which we offered no objection if there were only a few in the party, but if fifteen or twenty came in sight, heading toward our camp, we signalled for them to pass around without stopping. we did not dare run the risk of letting a superior force of indians get at close quarters under the guise of friendship, as soon every hunter's scalp would have been dangling on the cheyenne bridles. occasionally, upon approaching, the cheyennes would lay down their guns, and advance unarmed, to show that they did not intend to offer us injury. we always fed them well. about fifteen warriors came into camp one day, and were soon greatly interested in a pair of field glasses that i used in looking over the country for landmarks, buffaloes and indians. after letting our visitors look through them, i laid the glasses on a pile of bedding and thought no more about them. after the indians had ridden away, i reached for the glasses to look over a bunch of indians that had assembled on a hill a mile or so distant. the glasses had disappeared. i was fighting mad, and determined to get my glasses or kill an indian or two. seizing my buffalo gun and mounting my best horse, i started in pursuit of the thieves. the rascals suspected my purpose, and long before i got within shooting range they scattered like quail and hid themselves. the country was rough and broken and i found it decidedly too dangerous to attempt to hunt them out. in approaching our camp, it had been the practice of the cheyennes to come with their horses running at headlong speed, possibly to "throw a scare" into the white men. we at once set our heads against this sort of thing, and soon convinced the indians that we would fire into them if the practice were repeated. [illustration: _indian camp of buffalo hide tepees._] all these cheyennes were rigged out in full war style. each had a led horse, his war horse, which was the indian's pride, and which he loved above his other possessions. he gave his war horse the best of care, and kept him expressly for battle. the detachments of this big cheyenne war party were about three days passing our camp, and during that time we remained close at home. one of us constantly stood guard on a high point close by. there was smell of indian in the air. our horses were picketed during the day, and at night we tied them to the wagons. there were only four of us, and we could not afford to make the slightest mistake. after the country was clear of indians, we made a trip over on sharpe's creek, but found no buffaloes--the passing of the indians had scared the buffaloes out of their wits. if the buffaloes would not come to us, we would go to the buffaloes, so we shifted camp from the cimarron down to the beaver, in "no man's land." making short drives each day, to spy out the country, we got as far west as the present town of guymon, okla., where we camped several days to clean up several scattering bunches of buffaloes, all bulls. these old bulls were easily killed, and their hides brought the best prices. here we met some of the same cheyennes that had passed our camp on the cimarron. they were on their way back home to indian territory. they recognized us. i had acquired some knowledge of the cheyenne language, and questioned them about their trip to the ute country. it was funny to hear them tell how they had "run the utes clean over the mountains." they claimed they had killed stacks and stacks of utes, going through the motions of how the utes ran in getting away from the cheyennes. after making a kill of buffaloes, the hides were always left on the ground to dry, before hauling them to market. we had left a big lot of hides and provisions at our cimarron camp. the passing of the indians on their way back home made us feel that it might be well to see what the situation was in our old camp. we expected to find all our hides gone and our provisions stolen; to our great surprise we found everything just as we had left it. the plains indians were highly suspicious, and it is possible that they feared the provisions might be poisoned. the thinning out of the buffaloes made hunting laborious. riding out early one morning, i managed to kill about thirty during the day's hunt, all of them cows. it was a strange fact that buffalo cows and bulls ranged together only during the breeding season; at other times they went in separate bunches. next morning we went out to do our skinning. having run short of meat, i had drawn several of the carcasses, and was so busily engaged that i did not notice what was going on around me. the day was warm, with the wind in the south. then the wind died until there was perfect calm for about fifteen minutes. suddenly, our attention was drawn to the unusual appearance of the sandhills to the north of us, along the river. we could see a fog of dust and sand, which struck us in a shorter time than it takes to tell it. we were caught in the jaws of a norther, the terror of the plainsman. all animals seem to know instinctively when a norther is coming, and grow nervous and restless. it is difficult to see or to breathe when a norther is at its height, and unless good shelter is near at hand there is danger of quickly freezing to death. we were wise enough to know that the best thing for us to do would be to get back to camp as quickly as possible. tossing our meat into the wagon, we jumped in and headed for camp with our mules at a gallop. on my horse i rode beside the mules, urging them along with my quirt. despite our instant flight and our speed, we were nearly frozen when we arrived at camp. these winter storms usually exhausted themselves at the end of two or three days, but while they are raging it is impossible to leave camp with safety. after we had thawed out, we decided to tackle the beaver country again, and went up that stream to a place then known as company m, where we struck off in a southwesterly direction and came to the coldwater, which further toward its source is known as the al frio, which means "cold water," and undoubtedly was named by the mexicans who used to hunt in that region. the favorite weapon of these mexicans was the lance, which necessarily brought them at close quarters with the buffaloes, and required swift horses. the coldwater takes its rise from a number of springs which form a series of remarkable pools of water. at this place afterwards was built one of the headquarters of the old xit ranch outfit. the buildings stand today as they did in earlier years, but the phase of life that dwelt there has vanished forever. when the xit established itself in the texas panhandle, the cowboy was typical, genuine and picturesque. he was the cock of the walk, who could eat centipedes for breakfast and barbed wire for supper without injuring his digestion, and dance all night and ride all day without missing a step. his like will never be seen again. he had a rough hide and a tender heart, and an ear that was inclined to every hard luck story that passed his way. buffalo springs stands in the open plains south of the beaver and just south of the line that divides the texas panhandle from cimarron county, oklahoma. here is a considerable growth of timber, consisting of cottonwoods, elms and willows. the traveler will go many, many weary miles south before he again sees a clump of timber or finds living water. the beginning of the al frio is a spring near a lone cottonwood tree about a mile west of the ranch house. the water rises in a fissure in the rock. some rather fabulous stories have been told about its depth. now follow a chain of deep pools of dark and steely clearness, chillingly cold even in hottest midsummer, with steep, precipitous banks, along which waves a dense and almost impenetrable growth of reeds and tall, wiry grass. here abound bass in such size and numbers as to tempt the most expert angler. buffalo springs is a veritable garden in the dry and dusty plains, an oasis in the desert. countless birds not found elsewhere on the plains assemble here in summer, beautifying with song and bright plumage all the green, cool places. flowers of exquisite fragrance and great brilliancy of color are found. there are many varieties. in fall and spring, migratory water-fowl descend to disport themselves in the pools. the ranch house, which still remains in excellent condition, was such a house as appealed to a man seeking shelter from winter storms or summer heat. its original walls of adobe were boxed and plastered, giving them a thickness of nearly two feet. on its dirt floors jangled many a spur. at the kitchen door hangs the triangle gong with which the cook called the "woollies" to meals. struck with its heavy bar of iron, this old gong booms and rumbles until it can be heard far out on the plains. each of its sides measured more than two feet. when this region was wild and uninhabited, these springs were frequented by buffaloes in enormous numbers, crowding and fighting their way to water. in the neighborhood of the pools were treacherous bogs which at this day are a menace to live stock. in the old days buffaloes must have mired there by hundreds. here the indians encountered this noble game to their liking. a mile or two east of the springs, there is a slight swell in the plains where the comanches are said to have maintained their hunting camp when in that vicinity. from this camp the plains could be surveyed for miles in every direction. mounting their horses, the indian hunters descended like thunderbolts upon the buffaloes massed at the springs, and slaughtered them at will. the hides were pegged down and dried in camp and the meat hung on poles and cured in the dry, pure air for winter use. a kill could be made as often as the red hunters wished to rush to the attack. this account of the history of buffalo springs has been given by mr. john skelley, one of the rugged and reliable pioneers of cimarron county; he lives at the postoffice of wheeless: "i was at buffalo springs as early as , when i was a boy years old. at that time there were no buildings. there had been some adobes made, either by bill hall, of kansas city, or dan taylor of trinidad, or both, in order to build a house to shelter their winter line-riders, as a line-camp was kept at the springs every winter. my father was a freighter at trinidad, where i was raised, and he hauled the lumber down to buffalo springs from trinidad, to cover and floor the house. i made the trip with him. this was in . "the house was never built, as the fall and winter of ' were so cold and severe that the line-riders burned all the lumber for wood. the nearest timber was on the currumpaw or beaver, about eight or ten miles northwest of the springs, where there are still a few stunted cedars and a growth of cottonwoods. "in the capitol freehold land & cattle syndicate established a ranch at buffalo springs. this company is the one that built the capitol at austin, texas, for which it was paid in millions of acres of land. this ranch was stocked with cattle. i worked for the man who had the fence contract. we finished the contract in december, . "during that year the owners had put in about , head of cattle, brought from the south. better grass could not be found anywhere. a few mustangs and buffaloes were still left in the country, but disappeared from that vicinity in . stragglers could be found around company m water as late as . this water was six or eight miles southeast of the present town of boise city, the county seat of cimarron county, oklahoma. "in the fall of a big prairie fire broke out and swept the country bare from the beaver south almost to the south canadian. we fought it with all our strength, but there were not men enough in the country to get it under control. this misfortune was followed by an early and severe winter. the company at buffalo springs drifted its herds out to the canadian and to the south plains, yet despite every precaution the loss was tremendous. i was told that only , head of the , were gathered the following spring. "the company did not jump the game, but went ahead next year. old man boise, who was killed by sneed, was general manager of the company for a good many years, and built up a fine ranch. a man named campbell was the first manager at buffalo springs, followed by an englishman named maud. after these came boise, who took the outfit about . "the timber that is growing at buffalo springs was planted by the company, and is not a natural growth. i know of no natural timber south of there until the canadian is reached, though the company has set out several tracts in timber, and there is now lots of water in wells on their holdings between buffalo springs and the canadian. "in the old days when we left buffalo springs and traveled southeast we found no live water until we got to the head of the rio blanco, about fifty miles distant, and ten or twelve miles southeast of the present town of delhart. there was and still is water at what we used to call the perico water-holes, some or miles south of the ranch, but this water has neither source nor outlet, as it rises and then sinks again, the perico gradually vanishing in the plains. "the springs was a great hunting ground for buffaloes. in the fall of the valley was alive with buffaloes and mustangs, and when i was there in that year i saw several hunters' camps. a long time ago i talked to old mexicans who told me that they hunted buffaloes at the springs when they were boys. they said that expeditions of both mexicans and navajoes came from the settlements on the rio grande, in new mexico, to procure their winter's meat. "there was an old trail leading to the springs from new mexico, thence to agua frio, and on down through the country to the eastward. we used to call this the 'old buffalo trail.' i have not seen it in more than twenty-five years, but am told that it has become so overgrown with grass that it has almost disappeared. when i was there as a boy there were thousands of antelope on the plains; now most of them are gone. the fort worth & denver city railroad company began running its trains through the company's big estate in the spring of , which hastened the disappearance of the game." we camped over night at buffalo springs, and next day followed the al frio or coldwater, which is a dry stream with occasional water holes. after proceeding about thirty miles, we saw that the stream was bearing too far to the north, so we turned south and struck the brakes of the big blue, a tributary of the south canadian. this was a new country to all of us, and as strange to us as if we were its first visitors. we came to a pool that was alive with all kinds of fish, and in all directions deer and wild turkeys seemed as thick as grasshoppers. with a whoop, everybody voted unanimously to go into camp at this place. as a fisherman i never had any luck. leaving this sport to the rest of the outfit, i mounted my horse, and set out to explore the surrounding country. in roaming around, i reached an abandoned mexican camp on one of the prongs of the blue. it had been untenanted for years. i was told by older hunters that the mexicans used to come here every fall to kill buffaloes, bringing pack trains. they remained until they got a winter's supply of meat, drying the meat and rendering the tallow. i rejoined the outfit and we kept moving until we reached the south canadian, crossing this stream at a point near where the lx ranch was afterwards located. further south, we struck palo duro canyon below the waterfalls. this was a dry stream, and we were compelled to rely upon melted snow for ourselves and stock. we crossed mulberry creek at its head waters, and camped there several days. after crossing the canadian, we began seeing signs of mexican hunters, the spots where they had camped the preceding fall being plainly visible. shifting our course more to the northeast, we crossed the head tributaries of salt fork and north fork of red river, coming back to the canadian about twenty miles above where canadian city, texas, now stands. during all this wandering we had not seen a white man, nor a human being of any kind--only a vast wilderness, inhabited by game--truly the hunter's paradise. when we saw red river we thought that it certainly must be the south canadian, being misled by the fact that both were sandy streams and both dry at that time. we could see a difference between the two, however, when we got to the canadian. chapter vi. hugging the south side of the canadian, we followed an old trail, called the fort smith and fort bascom trail, up to white deer creek, a beautiful, clear-running stream, fringed abundantly with timber. right opposite the mouth of this stream, on the north side of the canadian, are the old ruins of the original adobe walls, though at the time we were ignorant of this fact, and passed without halting at this historic place. crossing to the north side of the canadian, we reached moore's creek, and were delighted to find that all along the canadian, every four or five miles, were running streams of fine water. all the streams were timbered, some more heavily than others, and in the branches of the tall cottonwoods wild turkeys roosted by thousands, while deer and antelopes in great herds grazed in the grassy bottoms. on bugbee creek we passed a camp where a white man named wheeler had been killed that fall ( ) by indians. the brush along the creeks was alive with quail, and we could see signs of fur animals, such as beaver, mink and otter. i was now going over ground that i should see again, but little did i dream of what the future would be. we left the river at moore's creek, and went north until we struck the palo duro again, below where we had crossed it on our way down. here we found quite a number of buffalo hunters camped for the winter. our object in making this trip was to locate a good buffalo range for the following summer. our reason for going at this time of year was that there would be less danger of being molested by indians, as the latter did not travel in winter, if they could avoid it, preferring the idleness and pleasure of a warm winter camp, well supplied with buffalo meat. occasionally, however, a party of young bucks, thirsty for glory in taking scalps, would brave the cold weather and make a raid. after lying around camp with the boys on the palo duro for several days, we headed for our old camp on the cimarron, where we found ourselves short of supplies, and continued on to dodge city. in making this big circle to buffalo springs, red river, the ruins of adobe walls and back to dodge city, we saw very few buffaloes; only now and then would we run across a bunch of old bulls. however, there were signs everywhere showing where thousands had been herding together, and we felt certain that they would come back to their old range in the spring. it was sometime in february, , when we got back to dodge. we had seen enough to satisfy us that the thing to do would be to go down on the canadian as soon as the weather settled. while waiting, we went out northwest of dodge on my old hunting grounds. this was the last hunting i ever did north of the arkansas. my face was set toward the forbidden country, where the indians were looking for the scalps of white men. in the latter part of march, , i went into dodge city, and there i met up with a lot of buffalo hunters who had come to town to get away from the lonesomeness, and have good time. there was lots of talk about the increasing scarcity of buffaloes on the old range, and all of us agreed that we would have to drift further south to make buffalo-hunting a paying business. those of us who had been venturing down in the panhandle country described what we had seen, and gave our opinion of the region as a buffalo range, which, of course, was favorable. in dodge city at this time was a man named a. c. myers, in the general merchandise business, who had once been a buffalo-hunter, and had built a smoke-house on pawnee fork, where he cured buffalo hams for eastern markets. the meat was prepared for smoking by taking the two hind quarters and dividing each into three chunks, which made six pieces of boneless meat, about the size of an ordinary pork ham. myers sugar-cured each piece, smoked it, and sewed it in canvas. this kind of buffalo meat was the choicest, and commanded a high price on the market. only a few dealers cured their meat in this way. all the hunters assembled at dodge were convinced that never again would there be a big run of buffaloes that far north, because of the enormous slaughter on that part of their range in and . our determination to drift south was opposed some by the handicap of being so far from a hide market. myers solved this question by deciding to take his outfit and stock of merchandise and pull down into the good buffalo country, somewhere on the canadian. we had no definite point in view, expecting to locate our camp where grass, timber, water and buffaloes most abounded. myers was quick to see that a big decline in the buffalo trade at dodge was at hand, and was willing to take the risk of going with us to get our trade. we did not think much about it at the time, but had we calmly discussed what was ahead of us, all would have seen that the undertaking was not without peril to life. we were leaving such protection as there was in the garrisoned country and plunging into a solitude through which we would have to fight our way, if attacked, or die at the hands of hostile indians, an enemy that inflicted the most horrible forms of death imaginable, should the victim be captured alive. there would be no getting away by making a fast run to fort dodge or fort hays; it meant fighting to the last ditch, and victory to the strong. myers' plan was that every hunter that wanted to go should load his wagons with supplies, such as were used on the buffalo range, for which myers would pay a liberal freight rate, and upon establishing permanent camp myers would sell the supplies to the hunters at dodge city prices. this seemed fair enough. myers owned two teams and wagons. the organizing of this expedition caused much enthusiasm among the hunters at dodge, and many wanted to go along. about this time james hanrahan, a typical frontiersman, who hunted buffaloes on a large scale, came to town. hearing of the trip we were planning, hanrahan decided to take his whole outfit and go with us. this was a good boost, as we were delighted to welcome every new-comer, especially a man like hanrahan, who had lots of nerve and knew all the ins and outs of frontier life. soon every man was busily engaged in gathering his equipment for the long trip to the new country. there were many things to do, and forgot any necessary part of an outfit would cause annoyance and trouble, as we would be far from a railroad. we had no idea when we would get back to civilization. a lot of fellows at dodge thought that maybe we might never get back. they narrowly missed making a good guess. three or four days before we were ready to bid farewell to dodge, there came from the east a stranger named fairchild--his first trip to this rendezvous of the buffalo-hunter, the bull-whacker and the "bad" man. naturally, fairchild was regarded as a "tenderfoot." fairchild was wildly ambitious to plunge head over heels into the stormy life of the frontier. when he heard of our expedition, he shouted for joy, and made arrangements to go along. my first glimpse of fairchild made me finger my sights, for he certainly looked like game. he was arrayed in a shining broadcloth suit, a "plug" hat, a flower-bed vest, and a cravat that resembled a rocky mountain sunset. that he might behold the sights of dodge in proper fashion, he had hired a livery horse, equipped with a "muley" saddle, and was riding up and down the streets, as if he owned the whole town. his get-up was so unusual in dodge that it caused much talk and laughter. if the raiment of the east was imposing and spectacular, that of the west was far more overpowering when assembled by a man like fairchild. the day before we pulled out i saw him again, but hardly knew him. he had jumped from the extreme east to the extreme west, and at a single bound. he was attired in a bangup brown ducking suit, high-heeled boots, and spurs that rolled along like cart-wheels. his white sombrero was wide enough for an umbrella. round his neck was a bandana more brilliant than a cheyenne pony painted for the warpath. his belt was full of cartridges, and sticking from holster and scabbard were a six-shooter and a butcher knife, fearful and murderous-looking weapons. in his hands, with the air of a gay cavalier, he bore a big " " rifle, for which he had paid the considerable sum of $ . the boys had primed him to buy the butcher knife in the belief that he needed something of the kind to scalp indians when he slew them far, far from their homes in the forest. there was every indication that fairchild was well supplied with money. he came from illinois and belonged to a good family, was well educated, and had been admitted to the bar. but he yearned for western adventure, and abandoned his profession to satisfy his chief and burning ambition. it was impossible that such a man could escape ceaseless banter in a crowd like ours. however, fairchild was not more delighted than myself when the day of departure came. in scouting the country, i had seen that big money could be made by a good hunter. i was not without confidence in my marksmanship. when we moved out of dodge there were about fifty men and thirty wagons. each man had provided himself with a saddle horse. i was never without one--the best that money could buy in that country. all the wagons were heavily loaded, which compelled us to drive at easy stages. we got to crooked creek the first day out of dodge. there was never a happier lot of men in the world. all were in rugged health, none in need, most of them inured to the hardships of life in the wilderness, each confident that he could take care of himself, sure of the help of his comrades in any emergency, and everybody as merry and jolly as could be. if there was care of any kind, it was too light to be felt. we ate like wolves, and could have digested a dry buffalo hide with the hair on. spring was on the way, and the air was light and buoyant, making the days and nights an endless delight. the youngest of our party was "bat" masterson, who was to win a reputation not only as a member of this expedition, but in many other places in later years. it seems remarkable that finally masterson should wander as far east as new york city and become a newspaper writer. he was a chunk of steel, and anything that struck him in those days always drew fire. in age, i was perhaps next to masterson, being now in my twenty-fourth year. best of all was when we camped at night, when there would be singing, dancing, music and telling of tales. in the party were a number of veterans of the civil war, with endless stories of desperate battles that were greatly to our liking. after we had eaten heartily, and the camp-fire was aglow and crackling under the stars, some fellow would stretch and peg down a dry buffalo hide on which the men would dance turn about or in couples. the hide gave a much better footing for dancing than might be supposed, and was stiff enough and hard enough to respond in the liveliest way to jigging. there were always fiddlers in a crowd like ours, perhaps an accordion, and a dozen fellows who could play the french harp. the scene was picturesque and pleasing. round us rolled the interminable plains, arched by the glittering sky, and in the fire-light the rollicking buffalo hunters sang and danced. there were no night sounds in this vast silence, save those of our camp or the yelping of coyotes and howling of wolves, disturbed by this strange invasion of their prowling ground. it was agreed that every man in the party should do something for the entertainment of his companions at these gatherings round the camp-fire--dance, sing a song or tell a story. there was no dodging, we had to come across. as i never danced, wasn't much of a talker, and couldn't possibly sing, all this was hard on me. i did my best, however, even trying to learn to play a fiddle, which had been given to me by a friend at hays city. but there was no music in me--i couldn't scratch out "dan tucker." long afterwards, when i was married and my oldest daughter developed a talent for music, i was greatly pleased, though aware of the fact that she had inherited none of it from me. drinking in the pure fresh air of the plains, we rolled from our blankets every morning, clear-headed and ready for any enterprise. just to feel one's self living in that country was a joy. we heard nothing and cared nothing about politics; it made little difference to us who was president of the united states; we worked hard, had enough money for our common needs, and were happy, happier perhaps that we ever were in later years. youth probably had much to do with our contentment. the second day's travel brought us to the cimarron river, and here we stopped at one of my old camp-grounds. we had reached the "dead line"--beyond was hostile indian country. i am moved here to say something about the cimarron. this stream rises in new mexico, and after passing through the northeastern corner of that state, it nips off a small part of the southeast corner of colorado and passes into the state of kansas. after a bend to northward, it flows south into that part of oklahoma once known as "neutral strip" or "no man's land," jogs back into kansas between clark and comanche counties, and then turns for the last time into oklahoma, where it pursues a generally southeast course until it meets the arkansas river in the central part of the state. cimarron is a spanish word, meaning "outcast, outlaw, or wanderer," a name sometimes applied in spanish-speaking countries to a steer that wanders away from the herd and ranges alone, wild and intractable. the cimarron is true to its name. though born of white mountain snows, its waters soon become red and turbid. in oklahoma the cimarron crosses several large expanses of salt, making its water undrinkable; in fact, so much salt is held in solution that a large swallow of the water is sufficient to produce nausea. the bed of the cimarron in the plains or prairie country is flat and sandy, though at rare intervals it has rugged shores. throughout a greater portion of the year, the volume of water to be seen by the eye is small, the current crawling snake-like along its sandy waste. rarely, however, is the cimarron without a perceptible current, and usually this current has a rapid flow. the cimarron is commonly regarded as one of the most dangerous streams in the southwest. its width often is three or four hundred yards. if there were no sand, the stream would be rather imposing in size. it is filled to the brim with sand, however, and through the sand is an underflow. the quicksands of the cimarron are notorious. no crossing is ever permanently safe. the sand grips like a vise, and the river sucks down and buries all that it touches--trees, wagons, horses, cattle and men alike, if the latter should be too weak to extricate themselves. in the old days countless buffaloes bogged down and disappeared beneath the sands of the cimarron. their dismembered skeletons are frequently uncovered at this day when the river is in flood. after a rise, the cimarron is peculiarly dangerous. as it boils and rolls along, the river loosens and hurls forward an astonishing quantity of sand. unless naked a man quickly finds himself pulled down by the increasing weight of sand that lodges in his clothes, and swimming becomes difficult, and finally impossible, save without tremendous exertion. stripped bare, a swimmer can sustain himself in the cimarron with greater ease than in most other streams, as the salt and sand give the water extraordinary buoyancy. no man should ever tackle the cimarron in flood until after he has stripped to the skin and kicked off his boots. the experienced cow-pony seems to realize its danger when crossing the cimarron, taking short, quick steps, and moving forward without the slightest pause. to stop would be to sink in the quicksand. the cimarron is subject to sudden and dangerous floods, floods that seem to come from nowhere. in central oklahoma, for example, weeks may pass without a drop of rain. a settler crosses the river at noon, blinded by the clouds of sand that have been whipped up by the wind, and finding the water scarcely reaching his horses' knees. fifteen minutes later he returns to the crossing, and finds the river roaring and thundering from bank to bank. what is known as a "head rise," formed by a cloud-burst far out in the plains country, has come down, a solid wall of water often four or five feet in height. sometimes two or more of these "head rises" follow each other in succession. the sand is torn loose and brought up from the very bottom of the river. to venture into the cimarron at such times would be folly. if it must be crossed, the safest way is to ride a horse that knows how to handle himself in a flood of this kind. if the rider can swim it is usually best for him to seize his horse's tail, and follow behind. the safest thing to do is to stay on dry land until the flood has passed, and then sound the crossing. the latter can be made firm by driving a herd of cattle back and forth, which causes the sand to precipitate and begin packing, soon forming a bar. the salt fork of the arkansas and the south canadian are counterparts of the cimarron in the dangers they oppose to travelers and live stock. after crossing the cimarron, which we accomplished without difficulty, we held a conference to discuss how we should meet the indian problem, as discretion and prudence now impelled us to proceed with caution. it was agreed that if we should encounter indians and find them manifesting friendship we would do likewise. this was their country, we argued, and if they would leave us alone, we would be willing to do an even better job than the indians in this particular. ever since we had left dodge city fairchild had been eager to get into an indian fight, and had bragged about what he would do when the time came. he said that he would not allow an indian to do or say the least thing to him without his killing the indian. he was bad medicine from the forks of the creek, a wolf with hydrophobia, a blizzard in july. we fully understood the fact the fairchild did not realize how much trouble a break on his part might bring to the whole outfit. we really feared that he might fire upon a peaceable indian, and cause all of us to be massacred. so it was thought best by several practical jokers among us to take time by the forelock in the particular case of the bloodthirsty fairchild. we waited until we had reached the south canadian before dosing out the medicine to him. fairchild loved to hunt, and would ride away from the outfit nearly every day, after deer and antelope. some of the men had made fairchild believe that he could kill an antelope at a distance of two miles, and he would blaze away as far as he could see them. by "scratch" shots, fairchild managed to kill several antelope and he swelled up with pride until he was almost unrecognizable. what finally happened to him will be told later. after leaving the cimarron, we crossed "no man's land." in the brakes of the cimarron we had the hardest kind of pulling, as there was lots of sand and the country rough. the fourth day brought us to the beaver, the main prong of the north canadian, its other branch being wolf creek. both the beaver and wolf creek unite at camp supply, the point to which i had helped haul supplies for the custer expedition, with the outfit of mules that stampeded in harness as we were returning to fort hays. this time we struck the palo duro at its mouth, where there was plenty of water. here we camped and then moved into the panhandle of texas. now we began striking camps of buffalo-hunters who had prepared to stay on the plains during the winter. they were as glad to see us as we were to find them. the coming of more hunters made everybody feel more secure, if there should be an outbreak by the indians. in one of these camps were fred singer, who now lives in dodge city, and two englishmen, jim and bob gator, both of whom i had met at hays city, kansas, in , when they had just arrived from england, and were still wearing knee breeches and buckles. their togs attracted a great deal of attention. the gators became close friends of mine in later years. bob went to oregon, and jim settled on palo duro, in hansford county, where he now runs a cow ranch close to where he was camped at the time of which i write. bob cator was the first postmaster in hansford county, and when the latter was organized he was elected county judge, holding the office a number of years. jim and bob cator named dixon creek, in hutchinson county, in remembrance of the fact that i built a dugout and was the first man to camp on this creek in . after i went away, they occupied the dugout. this creek still bears my name. [illustration: _james h. cator, zulu, texas, panhandle pioneer._] after the cators had settled on palo duro, two brothers, a sister and jim cator's sweetheart came out from england and joined them. they could scarcely have gone to a more remote place, and the change between england and the panhandle country, as they found it at that time, must have been startling. jim married his sweetheart at dodge city. having business at granada, he took his bride along; the boys teased him about his "wedding" trip. both the young women were refined and highly educated. miss gator was an accomplished horsewoman, one of the best i ever saw. she taught school for several years and then married clate mccrea. she is still living in hansford county. determined that we would keep moving until we found the best buffalo country, we went south from palo duro and struck moore's creek at its source, following this stream to the south canadian river, where we camped about two miles below the present town of plemons. here we were disappointed at not finding the grass better; there was hardly enough grass for our stock. i am convinced that a number of the panhandle streams are gradually changing. i easily recall the fact that moore's creek then was a narrow, swift-running stream, and at almost any point a man could jump across it. since that day, moore's creek has been frequented by great herds of cattle which trample its sandy shores until wind and rain have flattened its once steep banks and given the stream a width of several hundred yards. this is true of a majority of the smaller streams that flow into the south canadian in the panhandle country. in this camp on the south canadian we paid our respects to fairchild. all liked him, but he was so bent upon killing an indian that we felt something must be done, as we were not down in that country to hunt indians. though severe, the dose had to be administered. of course, everybody save fairchild knew what was going on. in a large grove of cottonwoods just above our camp hundreds upon hundreds of wild turkeys roosted every night. when a turkey hunt was proposed, to take place at night, fairchild grew so eager and excited to go that he could scarcely control himself. three men were selected to slip quietly out of camp and at a certain place in the timber have a fire burning when the hunting party got there. one of them came back to serve as guide. ostensibly he was to lead the hunters to the best and biggest roost, but actually he was to pilot them to the immediate vicinity of the fire. fairchild was so impatient to start that it was difficult to persuade him to wait until darkness had fallen and the turkeys had settled to roost. i do not believe it would have been possible to find a man who loved practical joking more than did "bat" masterson. he was in his glory at that sort of thing, and was forever pulling off something of the kind. "bat" was one of the three that had gone out to build the fire. he now came to camp, ready to pilot the hunters where they would "sure find a million turkeys"--and the camp-fire. it was arranged that "bat" should start out, with fairchild close at his heels, and myers bringing up the rear. "bat" cautioned fairchild to keep both eyes wide open and to move softly, as the turkeys must not be frightened. rounding a bend of the creek, where the timber was dark and dense, the hunters suddenly found themselves slap-bang against a camp-fire in full blaze. "bat" motioned to fairchild to move back into the timber. the three then held a consultation to discover, if possible, who had built the fire. "bat" was dead sure that it was an indian camp; he had been dreaming about indians two or three nights he said, and was now fearful that the worst was at hand. myers tried to argue that "bat" was mistaken and rattled, if not actually showing a streak of yellow; anyway, he was willing to bet that fairchild could whip all the indians in the panhandle if given a fair show. bang! bang! bang! half a dozen shots were fired in the direction of the hunters. the bullets whistled and ripped through the branches close above their heads. myers took the lead back to camp, yelling bloody murder at every step, to terrify fairchild. "bat" came last, gradually dropping behind and firing his six-shooter until fairchild was confident that the most desperate fight with indians imaginable was at hand. "run, fairchild; run for your life!" shouted masterson. at a bound fairchild had passed myers, and tore into camp like a tornado coming through a forest. he was half a mile ahead of "bat" and myers. they had led him far enough away to give him a long, hard run. fairchild stumbled and fell exhausted on a pile of bedding, gasping for breath, his eyes distended and his teeth chattering. we crowded round, seemingly in great alarm, asking him a thousand questions about the cause of his fright. for several minutes he was unable to speak, and acted as if he were suffocating. finally, he managed to say in a hoarse whisper: "injuns." "oh, men, he must be shot," exclaimed a mischievous hunter. thereupon, another joker seized a butcher knife and ripped fairchild's shirt down the back from collar to tail. another, frantically calling for water, and finding none, emptied the contents of the camp coffee pot down fairchild's bare back, which alarmed fairchild with the fear that he had been wounded. fairchild was recovering by the time myers and masterson and the men who had been at the camp-fire, closely approaching camp, bounded in with a great rush, panting for breath, and began upbraiding fairchild for abandoning them to the mercy of the indians. we had asked fairchild what had become of "bat" and myers, and he feebly replied: "killed, i guess." "how many indians were there, and did you see them?" he answered that he did not know how many there were, because of the way they shot, but he was sure that the timber was full of them. once he heard something whiz past his head which he knew was not a bullet, but an arrow. masterson now stepped forward and tremblingly declared that the whole turkey roost country was alive with indians. instantly, there was rushing to and fro in preparation for defense. serious, perhaps fatal trouble for everybody, was at hand; the devil was to pay and no pitch hot. all kinds of suggestions were offered as to what was best to do. some of the boys were in favor of starting at once for dodge city, as the indians would be unable to follow our trail at night, and we might get far enough away by daylight to escape. fairchild was firmly committed to the dodge city plan. more resolute men were in favor of fighting it out, if every man bit the dust, and proposed that a strong guard be thrown round the camp, and that the men take turns standing guard until morning. this plan was adopted, and the guards were stationed at regular intervals everywhere round camp, save on the river side, where a high bank offered protection against sudden surprise. fairchild was placed on guard nearest the river, and warned to maintain a vigilant lookout along the edge of the bank, as the indians might swim up the river, and plug him when he wasn't looking, after which they could kill everybody in camp. as a matter of fact, it would have been impossible for the enemy to approach in this manner, because of the swiftness of the water, and the banks were too high and steep to be scaled. by this time fairchild was ready to believe anything he heard and was so badly rattled that he failed to see that we had left our camp fire burning, something that we would never have done had we actually felt that indians were in the vicinity, as fires would have exposed us to a broadside from the darkness. fairchild was in no frame of mind to think of trifles, and obeyed all orders without asking why. the guards were stationed, and shortly afterwards, one by one, they came in, all save fairchild, who stood at his post. there was much noisy laughter over the trick we had played on him. when fairchild failed to meet the next guard, he became suspicious, and drew near camp, where he overheard what we were saying. then he came in, with blood in his eye. i have often thought that he was the angriest man i ever saw in my life. we were too many for him, or else he would have crippled somebody. he refused to eat breakfast, and sulked for several days. this cured him, however, of wanting to kill an indian, and ever afterwards he was a good hunter and a good fellow. the last time i saw fairchild he had his sleeves rolled up, skinning buffaloes, and on his face was a coat of tan half an inch thick. he bore little resemblance to the tenderfoot i had first seen at dodge city. fairchild was not the only fellow we treated in this manner. the boys delighted in playing jokes upon each other. the worst scare i ever got was in when i was working for a man near fort hays. he owned a herd of beef cattle which he had sold to the government. one day three of us were out with the herd. the cattle had been stampeding practically every day, and we were having lots of trouble with them. we were riding along the saline river, looking for strays. campbell, a member of the outfit, was a quarter of a mile behind thompson and myself. campbell suddenly emptied his six-shooter and dashed toward us, shouting "indians!" at the top of his voice. he knew that he was mounted upon a much swifter horse than either of ours, and passed us like the wind. thompson and i looked back, but could see no signs of indians. we were certain, nevertheless, that campbell was in earnest. we put both spurs to our horses and rode after him at top speed. the country was very rough, and we supposed that after campbell and the indians fired at each other, the indians had dropped behind a ridge. we felt that we were making a run for our lives. campbell was going so fast that we could not overtake him. occasionally, he would stop long enough for us to come within speaking distance, whereupon he would shout, "hurry up; there they come!" and dash away. he kept this up for about six miles. our objective point was a wood-choppers' camp, where we expected to make a stand against the indians. if we were killed, we could at least die among men of our own race. we were hopeful, however, of being able to beat the indians off. our horses were now in a lather, and rapidly breaking down. rounding a little knoll, we saw campbell lying on the ground and rolling from side to side, as if in acute pain. perhaps he had been shot. upon reaching him, we found to our inexpressible rage and disgust that his paroxysms were caused by laughter--he said that he had not seen an indian all that day; just wanted to play a trick on us. we made campbell swear not to tell the other boys; he kept his word. chapter vii. we had lots of fun sky-larking in our camp on moore's creek, but spring was coming on, and it was our wish to establish a permanent camp at the best possible place. unconsciously, we were drawn to that place as other men, long, long before us, had been drawn, and which we reached by pulling right down the river bottom about twelve miles to what was then called west adobe walls creek but which is now called bent creek. the latter is a beautiful stream, clear and swift. about a mile from its mouth stood the old ruins of the original adobe walls. here we stopped and camped for the night. we had heard of these ruins ever since we had been in the plains country. they were of great interest to us, and we carefully examined them, wondering what men in such a far-off day had ventured to establish themselves here, and why they had done so. we were not acquainted with the history of the place. we thought of mexicans and different indian tribes of the southwest. as a matter of fact, there are the remains of villages and old burial grounds on wolf creek in the panhandle which men who claim to know about such things declare are the remains of the easternmost extension of the pueblo civilization. i have no opinion in the matter. [illustration: _"billy" dixon's log homestead on site of original adobe walls._] when we first saw adobe walls, there were parts of walls still standing, some being four or five feet high. the adobe bricks were in an excellent state of preservation. many different stories have been told about this place and its origin. while i was hunting buffaloes in southern kansas i met up with a man named charley powell who had been a soldier in the third cavalry. he told me that in , when they were going from fort smith, arkansas, to fort bascom, new mexico, the trail lay on the south of the canadian, opposite adobe walls. the soldiers crossed over and looked at the ruins. even at that time none of the buildings was standing. later, when i was serving as scout at fort elliott, texas, i was talking with general hatch one day, and we fell to discussing the adobe walls country. he told me that he passed up the canadian in with a regiment of dragoons, going out west, and stopped to examine these ruins. he said that only the broken walls were to be seen and that there was much to indicate that the place long since had been abandoned. on this expedition he was a second lieutenant; at the time i talked with him he was lieutenant colonel of the fourth united states cavalry, and in command at fort elliott, an old, gray-haired man. he was shrewd and very industrious. he took pride in improving fort elliott, and had a mania for using adobe bricks in the erection of buildings. employing mexicans, who were past masters in the making of these bricks, colonel hatch built stables large enough to hold horses for three troops of cavalry. he put up so many adobe buildings at fort elliott that finally he was called "doby" hatch. it is probable that old adobe walls was built by major william bent, in the first 's or earlier, the year being possible. major bent's son, george bent, now living at colony, okla., made this statement: "bent & company built adobe walls, as it is called. i cannot find out when it was built. it was a trading post to trade with the comanches, kiowas and prairie apaches. bent & company traded for horses and mules from the indians. they sent their traders in summer time to trade for this stock. the post was not occupied in winter, as the company did not trade for buffalo robes, as the trading post was too far from bent's fort on the arkansas river to haul the hides. these horses and mules were driven to missouri and sold; also, to the platte rivers, to be sold to the emigrants. the comanches, kiowas and apaches were rich in horses and mules. they stole many in old mexico and traded off the wild ones very cheap. bent & company employed many mexicans to break these wild animals, after which the latter were sold to the whites." the noted plainsman and indian trader, john smith, told george bent that together with five or six companions he made his escape from old adobe walls, after it had been attacked by comanches and kiowas. even though it be true that old adobe walls was established by major william bent and his associates, a tradition remains that they merely seized upon a site that had been occupied at an even earlier day by men of whom nothing is known, save that they are believed to have come from the spanish settlements in new mexico. there are traditions of buried treasure at adobe walls, and strangers have appeared there in search of it. one of these treasure-hunters was an old gray-haired man who came after the country had been settled. his story was that a pack train loaded with gold and silver bullion had been attacked at this place by indians. in its extremity, the besieged party buried the bullion. only one or two members of the expedition escaped massacre, among the slain being a catholic priest. the old man in search of the treasure was too feeble to do the physical work of digging, and tried to hire men to work for him. he was looked upon as slightly demented, and could get no assistance. he departed without finding the buried fortune. subsequently, his story was revived, and men living in the locality made numerous excavations, but found nothing. the day after we camped on bent creek, several of the boys rode northeast, to look over the country. upon their return, they reported that there was an excellent site for a permanent camp on the next creek, about a mile and a half further on, so we pulled up the valley and began unloading our wagons on the bare ground in a broad valley where there was a pretty stream called east adobe walls creek. this was to become a spot memorable to all of us. myers & leonard built a picket house twenty by sixty feet in size. james hanrahan put up a sod house, twenty-five by sixty, in which he opened a saloon. thomas o'keefe built a blacksmith's shop of pickets, fifteen feet square. thus, a little town was sprouting in the wilderness--a place where we could buy something to eat and wear, something to drink, ammunition for our guns, and a place where our wagons, so necessary in expeditions like ours, could be repaired. while all this hammering and pounding and digging was going on, i started with three companions and rode the country as far down as where the present town of clarendon, texas, now stands. we were absent about fifteen days, and upon our return we found the buildings about finished. we did not see many buffaloes on this trip. maybe the buffaloes had scented indians. we ranged as far east as cantonment creek, and on its east prong encountered a few scattering bulls. the season was too early for the cows and bulls to begin mating and running together. on cantonment creek we stopped at some seeping springs. a lone cottonwood stood tall and gaunt among a few hackberries. i cut my name on this lone tree. one of the men who was with me at that time was a frenchman, for whom we had no other name than "frenchy," just as we had single names for many other men in the plains country. he was an excellent cook, and i always thought he could broil buffalo steak better than any other man i ever saw. in returning to camp, we crossed red deer about where miami, texas, now is, and camped at some water-holes. heading northward we soon struck the brakes of tallahone, and followed the tallahone down to its mouth. this was a timbered creek with an abundance of running water. perch and catfish were so plentiful that enough to feed the whole camp could be caught in a few minutes. deer and wild turkeys were in sight all along tallahone, and there were numerous signs of beaver and otter. here we crossed the canadian at what for many years was the main crossing in this part of the country, and followed along the north side of the river to adobe walls. during our absence from camp, wright & langton came down from dodge city with another outfit and built a sod house sixteen by twenty feet. this firm bought buffalo hides and was engaged in general merchandising. the business was in charge of james langton. the buildings were finished as rapidly as possible, and every man at adobe walls who could be induced to engage in this kind of manual labor was given a job and paid well for his services. each building had a big cottonwood ridge log, paralleled with smaller poles running down the roof. the poles were covered with dirt and sod. for safety and convenience in handling their stock, myers & leonard built a stockade corral. this inclosure was made by setting big cottonwood logs in the ground. the logs were hauled across the canadian, from reynolds creek, a distance of about six miles, and was a laborious undertaking. i had no liking for the monotony and restraint of camp life and was impatient to be about my own business, which was to find a good buffalo range and begin hunting. after remaining in camp two days, we saddled and mounted again, to go up the canadian as far west as hill's creek. we crossed the river and followed the old fort bascom trail to antelope creek, where we crossed over to the arroya bonita, on which the lx ranch afterwards established headquarters. the arroya bonita is one of the prettiest streams in the panhandle country, with a good flow of water and lots of timber. here i struck the trail i had made during the previous winter, and which i now followed back across the canadian and thence north to grapevine creek, where i camped two or three days. this was at the edge of the plains. at intervals we struck small bands of bulls as we did all the way. buffaloes were surprisingly scarce. sometimes we killed them, and at other times did not molest them. generally, there were from four to ten in a bunch. the scarcity of buffaloes rather discouraged us, and we redoubled our efforts to locate a big herd. we held to the east, keeping along the edge of the plains and coming down to the canadian between bugbee canyon and big creek. bugbee canyon received its name from the fact that thomas bugbee settled there in . his was one of the first cow ranches established in the panhandle of texas. charles goodnight, whom i met first in the fall of , brought his cattle that year from colorado to palo duro canyon. mrs. goodnight joined her husband in . we were in the bugbee canyon country in may, . the season was delightful. the air was fresh and invigorating, the grass was green, flowers were blooming, the sky was clear, the sunshine pleasant, and a feeling of joy and happiness everywhere. those were splendid nights, out there under the stars. the mornings came with dazzling splendor. at this season sunrise on the plains presented a scene of magnificence. i always had the feeling that it came with a thunderous sound. when we struck big creek i noticed a patch of lamb's quarter (wild greens), and i told the boys we would go into camp and cook a pot of green, which we did. we ate greens to our hearts' content. searching out every point in the country, next day we followed an old trail down to the canadian valley, striking it at a high point, afterwards known as dixon's point, on account of its being opposite dixon's creek. we soon reached adobe walls. all the buildings had been finished, and everybody was doing a good business. quite a number of hunters had come down from the north, and a plain trail had been opened between adobe walls and dodge city, a hundred and fifty miles away. freight outfits were making regular trips between the two places. all of us hunters acquainted with the habits of the buffalo knew that the herds would soon be coming north from the staked plains region where they had spent the winter. the spring had been unusually late, which held back the buffaloes in their migration. there was nothing for us to do but wait until the buffaloes were moved by that strange impulse that twice annually caused them to change their home and blacken the plains with their countless, moving forms. we could lie around camp or vary the monotony by going to adobe walls and joining in the fun that was rampant at that place. our amusements were mostly card-playing, running horse-races, drinking whisky and shooting at targets, the latter to improve our marksmanship. all this soon got old to me, and about the last of may i pulled out again. crossing the canadian at the mouth of white deer creek, i followed the latter to its head and went out on the plains, keeping along their edge until i came to dixon creek. here i found an ideal camping place, with plenty of wood, grass and water. i decided to build our permanent camp, and was soon industriously at work. i knew by the signs that buffaloes had been through here, and it was certain that they would soon be coming back. i had two men with me, "frenchy," whom i employed as a skinner, and charley armitage, an agreeable fellow who had come from england. those englishmen certainly loved the life of the frontier. we had been here two or three days, when the expected happened. getting up one morning earlier than my companions, i chunked the fire for breakfast, and stood waiting for it to begin blazing. then a familiar sound come rolling toward me from the plains--a sound deep and moving, not unlike the rumbling of a distant train passing over a bridge. in an instant i knew what was at hand. i had often heard it. i had been listening for it for days, even weeks. walking out on a high point near camp, i gazed eagerly toward the horizon. i could see nothing save the vast undulating landscape. my ears, however, had revealed to me what my eyes could not see. the buffaloes were coming! hurrying back to camp, i shouted the good news to armitage and "frenchy," rousing them from their sleep and telling them to hurry breakfast. they lost no time in making coffee, frying meat and browning a cake of bread. i saddled my horse by the time breakfast was ready, and after eating hurriedly i sprang into my saddle and went south at a gallop. after i had ridden about five miles, i began striking small bunches of buffalo bulls, all headed north and all moving. a further ride of eight miles carried me out on the plains. my muscles hardened and grew warm at the sight. as far as the eye could reach, south, east and west of me there was a solid mass of buffaloes--thousands upon thousands of them--slowly moving toward the north. the noise i had heard at early day-break was the bellowing of the bulls. at this time of year--the breeding season--the bellowing of the countless bulls was continuous, a deep, steady roar, that seemed to reach to the clouds. it was kept up night and day, but seemed to be deepest and plainest at early morning. i was happy beyond measure, and turned my horse toward camp, hastening at full speed to let my men know what i had found. already, the buffaloes were approaching the vicinity of my camp, and in sight of it i shot thirty-five or forty, all bulls; the boys were soon busily at work with their skinning knives. by night buffaloes were passing within gunshot of our camp. business had now begun in earnest, and we would soon be enjoying a steady income, to offset our winter's expenses. where buffaloes were as plentiful as they were here i could easily kill enough in a day to keep ten skinners busily at work. i killed enough next day to keep "frenchy" and armitage employed for several days, and went down to adobe walls in a light wagon, to see if i could hire more skinners. i found one man who would go with me, but for only a few days, until his partner should return with a load of hides. all the other hunters had heard the good news, and had pulled out for the buffalo range. adobe walls was deserted, save for the merchants and their clerks. by offering this man twenty-five cents a hide for skinning, i induced him to go with me for a week or ten days. on my way i had undertaken to pick out the most direct route from my camp to adobe walls. keeping on the divide between dixon creek and short creek, i came to a stretch of very rough country late in the evening, and finally reached a place where it was impossible to travel further in a wagon. as darkness was falling, i unhooked my mules, tobe and joe, and jumped astride old tobe, followed some buffalo trails down to dixon creek, near its mouth where grass and water were abundant. as this particular locality was new to me and darkness at hand, i decided that i would camp there for the night. picketing one of the mules, i turned the other one loose. with a single blanket for my bed and my coat for a pillow, i lay down for the night, and was soon sound asleep. no mercy was shown the buffaloes when i got back to camp from adobe walls. i killed as many as my three men could handle, working them as hard as they were willing to work. this was deadly business, without sentiment; it was dollars against tenderheartedness, and dollars won. when the man i had hired at adobe walls had worked his full time, i hitched up and started back with him. when we reached the canadian we found her with her back up, smashing and banging things from side to side--so deep and swollen that it would have been the height of foolishness to attempt a crossing. we went on to white deer creek, hoping to find a wider crossing, and by reason of it a shallower bottom. i waded the river in my search for a good footing, and decided finally that we could cross by swimming the mules fifty or sixty yards. it was our purpose to unhitch the mules and leave the wagon on the south side of the river until the water had run down. our plans were quickly changed. at that moment two men from adobe walls rode up and told us that two hunters had been killed by indians twenty-five miles down the river, on chicken creek, several days past. our informants were greatly excited, and were hurrying back to their camp at the head of white deer. if the indians were on the warpath, we knew it would be foolish to leave our wagon, as they would destroy it beyond doubt, so we decided to risk trying to take it across the river regardless of the wide stretch of rolling water. while men experienced in the trials of travel in the wilderness may grow indifferent to danger, yet they never quite forget that danger exists. this is especially true in crossing such streams as the south canadian and the cimarron. these streams make the odds in their own way and in their own favor. the man that ventures into them must rely solely upon his own nerve, strength and horse sense. choosing a point on the opposite side of the river where we wished to land, we drove in, hoping for the best. in a moment the swift current caught us, and both mules were swimming. in water a mule has less sense than a horse, and the ginger is soon knocked out of him if he gets his ears full of water. having smaller feet, the mule cannot equal a horse in traversing quicksand. after the mules had taken a few plunges, the current caught up our wagon and whirled it over and over like a top. when i saw that the mules would have to swim for it, i sprang into the water to help the frightened animals, getting on their upper side and seizing the mule nearest me by his bridle. in this way i was able to keep his head above water. the other mule, terrified by its surroundings, alternately rose and sank. we saw that if the wagon kept turning over, the team might get drowned, so we cut the harness, and after the greatest exertion got the mules ashore. the near mule lay down on the sand and died without a struggle. it seemed ridiculous that the mule should succumb after being taken from the water, yet there he lay. old tobe was saved. the wagon drifted down stream about sixty yards and lodged against the bank. we pulled it out of the river next day. our greatest misfortune was the loss of our guns. when we lined up on the north side of the river we were a sorry lot--two bedraggled, unarmed men and a water-logged mule three miles from adobe walls, in danger of attack by indians at any moment. ordinarily, i was not easily discouraged. this, however, was a jolt from the shoulder. i stood in greatest need of my gun, a big " ." we could dig out the wagon, but not the guns, and somewhere in the depths of the canadian they are rusting this very day. we were a sorrowful pair as we started up the valley for adobe walls, leading old tobe and leaving old joe to bleach on the canadian sands. unwilling to let the other walk, neither of us would ride. i had lost my hat in the river, and my clothing was plastered with mud and sand. upon coming in sight of adobe walls, we were quickly discovered, and our disordered appearance convinced the men that we had been attacked by indians--possibly we were the only survivors of a desperate encounter. we found adobe walls buzzing with talk about indians. the particulars of the killing of the men on chicken creek were now learned. their names were dudley and wallace. they were camped on the south side of the creek near where the ledrick brothers now have a ranch. dudley, wallace and joe plummer were hunting together from this camp. plummer went to adobe walls for supplies. upon his return he was horrified to find the dead bodies of his two companions. through the breast of one had been driven a heavy wooden stake, pinning him to the ground. both were scalped, and otherwise mutilated in a shocking manner. looking away from his camp, plummer said he saw objects at a distance which he felt sure were indians. realizing that the next thing for him to do was to try to save his life, he cut the harness from one of his horses, mounted and dashed away toward adobe walls. the news he brought caused much excitement, as these were the first men that had been killed since the building of adobe walls. when plummer reached the walls there were only a few men there, but he managed to get two buffalo-hunters to go back with him to bury the dead. a party of fifteen surveyors, employed by the state of texas, and in charge of a man named maddox, had just arrived in that section. i am told that this was the first surveying ever done in the panhandle, and that the maddox survey still holds good. the surveyors' camp was on johns' creek. plummer had halted there on his way to adobe walls, to warn the men against the indians. when plummer returned, the members of the surveying party joined him to help bury the dead. no further indignities had been offered the bodies, which were buried on the spot. the horses, still in their harness were found grazing in the valley. plummer gathered up the outfit and went to adobe walls--the surveyors kept going straight south, fully satisfied that soldiers, not surveyors, were what the country most needed. hearing all this, i was impatient to return to my own camp as quickly as possible, but was detained by the necessity of buying a mate for my mule, which was beset with difficulties. finally, i managed to buy a horse. my next obstacle to overcome was to replace the gun i had lost in the canadian. the best i was able to do was to buy what was called a round-barrel sharp's. i had left camp in such a hurry that i failed to take my six-shooter, an oversight of which i was rarely guilty in those days. i had been absent three days when i got back to my camp. the evening before i left adobe walls, another hunter came in with indian news. his name was moore. he said that two days previously two men had been killed by indians in his camp on a tributary of salt fork of red river, north of where clarendon, texas, is now situated. the names of the dead men were john jones, nicknamed "cheyenne jack," a young englishman, and "blue billy," a german. the camp was destroyed and all the stock run off. "cheyenne jack" belonged to an influential family in england. his relatives, several years later, made inquiry through the british diplomatic service, in communication to the commanding officer at fort elliott, texas, as to the whereabouts of the unfortunate man's remains. i was directed to find where the body had been buried. it was a week after moore reported these murders before a party went from adobe walls to bury the dead men. jones and his companion had fallen in the bed of a creek in a grove of timber, right in camp. while moore was absent, a flood came down the creek and carried the bodies and the whole camp away. the bodies could not be found. before leaving the walls to go to my camp, i got "brick" bond, now living at dodge city, kansas, to accompany me. i was fearful that the indians had attacked my camp and possibly killed albright and "frenchy." happily, i found them alive and ignorant of what had been going on in the country south of the walls. all of us agreed that a blind man could see that it was entirely too risky to stay in camp with indians all around us, so we lost no time in loading our outfit and pulling into adobe walls, arriving there by noon the next day. the story of the indian depredations had spread to all the hunting camps, and by the time we reached the walls a large crowd had gathered in from the surrounding country. we remained here for about a week. an odd thing about this indian excitement was that none of the hunters had seen an indian nor a sign of one. the indians evidently had carefully picked their time, watching closely and waiting until only two or three men were in camp, whereupon they attacked and then slipped stealthily away. all of us felt that these murders had been perpetrated as a warning to the buffalo-hunters to leave the country--to go north of the "dead line." every man of us was dead set against abandoning the buffalo range. the herds were now at hand, and we were in a fair way to make a pile of money. furthermore, the buffaloes were becoming scarcer and scarcer each year, and it was expedient that we make hay while the sun shone, for soon the sun would be no longer shining in the buffalo business. its night was close at hand. we decided that the best and safest plan would be for three or four outfits to throw in together and all occupy the same camp. after all, it was not unusual to hear of two or three buffalo-hunters being killed and scalped every year, and perhaps there would be no further outbreaks by the indians. it was agreed, however, that everybody should be very careful and take every precaution against surprise and attack. when we started back to the range, most of us went west and north of the walls, as the indians were supposed to be camped on the headwaters of the washita and the sweetwater, south of us, their main summer camp grounds. but i was so in love with my location on dixon creek, southwest of the walls, that i resolved to take the risk and establish myself at that point, and went there with three skinners i had hired. we had left a lot of hides at this camp, and began hauling them to adobe walls, which took several days. i felt uneasy all the time. something seemed to be wrong. there was indian in the air, and i could not shake myself loose from thinking about the possible danger, so i told my men that it might be well for us to get over on the north side of the canadian. we broke camp and went to adobe walls, to increase our stock of supplies for a stay near the head of moore's creek. we were buying supplies to last us two months, and were ready to start next day. late in the evening james hanrahan came to me and said: "billy, where are you going?" "northwest," i answered. hanrahan then asked me how it would suit me for the two of us to throw in together. he said he had been having trouble in getting a man who could hunt fast enough to keep his skinners busy. hanrahan owned a big outfit, and usually had seven skinners. i told him that nothing would please me more than to go into partnership with him, and that i could easily kill enough buffaloes to keep twenty skinners hard at work every day. hanrahan offered to give me half of all the profits, which was as liberal as any man could wish for. our wagons were all assembled and loaded, in readiness for us to pull out next morning, june , . it might be well to describe the exact location of the buildings and the nature of their surroundings. all the buildings at adobe walls faced to the east, the main ones standing in a row. on the south was the store of rath & wright, with a great pile of buffalo hides at the rear. then came hanrahan's saloon, and fifty yards or so north of the latter was the store of leonard & myers, the building forming the northeast corner of the big picket stockade. in the southwest corner of the stockade was a mess house, and between the mess house and the store was a well. the blacksmith's shop was located just north of hanrahan's saloon. the adobe walls of the main buildings were about two feet thick. the door of rath & wright's store opened to the west, while that of leonard & myers looked to the east. bent's creek, west of the walls, flowed from the northwest in a southeasterly direction to the canadian, passing close to the ruins of old adobe walls, about a mile and a quarter south of the new adobe walls. on the north side of bent's creek, southwest of the buildings, was a hill, north of which the land was smoother and afterwards a part of the turkey track ranch pasture. east of adobe walls lay the open valley of adobe walls creek, terminating in a growth of willows, cottonwoods, hackberry, chinaberry, and stunted elms that fringed this stream, on the other side of which, at a distance of about twelve hundred yards from leonard & myer's store stood a butte-like hill of considerable height, with a more or less level bench near the summit, caused by the sliding and falling of debris from the crest. several hundred yards southeast were the low sandhills of the canadian, whose wide expanse of level sand was more than a mile away. the season had advanced so slowly, and the buffaloes had been so long coming north, that we had done comparatively little hunting, and all of us were impatient to be up and gone. o'keefe was doing a big business at his blacksmith's shop, pounding away hour after hour, repairing the wagons on which the buffalo hides were to be hauled from the hunting grounds to the traders at adobe walls. my wagon was in front of the shop, o'keefe having finished repairing it. i had been unable to replace my big " ," lost in the canadian, with a gun that suited me in every way, but it was highly important that i should be well-armed if i expected to fulfill my promises to hanrahan. the only gun at the walls that was not in use was a new " " sharp's, which was next best to a " ." this gun had been spoken for by a hunter who was still out in camp; he was to pay $ for it, buying it from langton who was in charge of rath & wright's store. langton told me that if necessary he would let me have the gun, as he had ordered a case of guns and was expecting them to arrive any day on the freight train from dodge city, and he probably would have them in stock before the owner of the gun came in from the buffalo range. news came in that night, the evening of june , , that the freight wagons were camped on the flats north of the walls and, of course, would show up in a day or two. langton also heard that the man to whom he had promised the gun was not coming for several days, so he hunted me up and told me i might have the gun. i went right over to his store and got the " ," together with a full case of ammunition. i was so tickled over my good luck, that i took the gun over to hanrahan's saloon, to show it to him. after we had looked the gun over, i set it down in the corner for the night, intending to get it when we said good bye to the walls next morning, headed for our camp on the buffalo range. for some reason which i can not explain, even to myself, i left the case of ammunition with langton, little dreaming how greatly i would regret my carelessness. by this time the excitement and talk about the fate of the four men who had been killed by indians had subsided, and we paid no further attention to the matter, so busily were we engaged in our preparations for departure. several hunters had come in that day, and we planned to stay up late that night, celebrating our return to the range, telling stories of past experiences and joking about how much money we would have when the hunt was over. the night was sultry and we sat with open doors. in all that vast wilderness, ours were the only lights save the stars that glittered above us. there was just a handful of us out there on the plains, each bound to the other by the common tie of standing together in the face of any danger that threatened us. it was a simple code, but about the best i know of. outside could be heard at intervals the muffled sounds of the stock moving and stumbling around, or a picketed horse shaking himself as he paused in his hunt for the young grass. in the timber along adobe walls creek to the east owls were hooting. we paid no attention to these things, however, and in our fancied security against all foes frolicked and had a general good time. hanrahan did a thriving trade. chapter viii. on that memorable night, june , , there were men and one woman at the walls. the woman was the wife of william olds. she had come from dodge city with her husband to open a restaurant in the rear of rath & wright's store. only eight or nine of the men lived at the walls, the others being buffalo-hunters who by chance happened to be there. there was not the slightest feeling of impending danger. as was the custom in the buffalo country, most of the men made their beds outside on the ground. i spread my blankets near the blacksmith's shop, close to my wagon. i placed my gun by my side between my blankets, as usual, to protect it from dew and rain. a man's gun and his horse were his two most valuable possessions, next to life, in that country in those days. every door was left wide open, such a thing as locking a door being unheard of at the walls. one by one the lights were turned out, the tired buffalo-hunters fell asleep, and the walls were soon wrapped in the stillness of night. late that evening i had gone down on the creek and caught my saddle horse--a better one could not be found--and tied him with a long picket rope to a stake pin near my wagon. about o'clock in the morning shepherd and mike welch, who were sleeping in hanrahan's saloon, were awakened by a report that sounded like the crack of a rifle. they sprang up and discovered that the noise was caused by the big cottonwood ridge pole. this ridge pole sustained the weight of the dirt roof, and if the pole should break the roof would collapse and fall in, to the injury or death of those inside. welch and shepherd woke up a number of their companions to help them repair the roof. some climbed on top and began throwing off the dirt, while others went down to the creek to cut a prop for the ridge pole. this commotion woke up others, and in a little while about fifteen men were helping repair the roof. providential things usually are mysterious; there has always been something mysterious to me in the loud report that came from that ridge pole in hanrahan's saloon. it seems strange that it should have happened at the very time it did, instead of at noon or some other hour, and, above all, that it should have been loud enough to wake men who were fast asleep. twenty-eight men and one woman would have been slaughtered if the ridge pole in hanrahan's saloon had not cracked like a rifle shot. [illustration: _chief quanah parker of the comanches._] by the time we had put the prop in place, the sky was growing red in the east, and hanrahan asked me if i did not think we might as well stay up and get an early start. i agreed, and he sent billy ogg down on the creek to get the horses. some of the men, however, crawled back into bed. the horses were grazing southeast of the buildings, along adobe walls creek, a quarter of a mile off. turning to my bed, i rolled it up and threw it on the front of my wagon. as i turned to pick up my gun, which lay on the ground, i looked in the direction of our horses. they were in sight. something else caught my eye. just beyond the horses, at the edge of some timber, was a large body of objects advancing vaguely in the dusky dawn toward our stock and in the direction of adobe walls. though keen of vision, i could not make out what the objects were, even by straining my eyes. then i was thunderstruck. the black body of moving object suddenly spread out like a fan, and from it went up one single, solid yell--a warwhoop that seemed to shake the very air of the early morning. then came the thudding roar of running horses, and the hideous cries of the individual warriors, each embarked in the onslaught. i could see that hundreds of indians were coming. had it not been for the ridge pole, all of us would have been asleep. in such desperate emergencies, men exert themselves almost automatically to do the needful thing. there is no time to make conscious effort, and if a man lose his head, he shakes hands with death. i made a dash for my saddle horse, my first thought being to save him. i never thought for an instant that the oncoming indians were intending an attack upon the buildings, their purpose being, as i thought, to run off our stock, which they could easily have done by driving it ahead of them. i overlooked the number of indians, however, or else i might have formed a different opinion. the first mighty warwhoop had frightened my horse until he was frantic. he was running and lunging on his rope so violently that in one more run he would have pulled up the stake pin and gone to the land of stampeded horses. i managed to grab the rope, and tie my horse to my wagon. i then rushed for my gun, and turned to get a few good shots before the indians could turn to run away. i started to run forward a few steps. indians running away! they were coming as straight as a bullet toward the buildings, whipping their horses at every jump. there was never a more splendidly barbaric sight. in after years i was glad that i had seen it. hundreds of warriors, the flower of the fighting men of the southwestern plains tribes, mounted upon their finest horses, armed with guns and lances, and carrying heavy shields of thick buffalo hide, were coming like the wind. over all was splashed the rich colors of red, vermillion and ochre, on the bodies of the men, on the bodies of the running horses. scalps dangled from bridles, gorgeous war-bonnets fluttered their plumes, bright feathers dangled from the tails and manes of the horses, and the bronzed, half-naked bodies of the riders glittered with ornaments of silver and brass. behind this head-long charging host stretched the plains, on whose horizon the rising sun was lifting its morning fires. the warriors seemed to emerge from this glowing background. i must confess, however, that the landscape possessed little interest for me when i saw that the indians were coming to attack us, and that they would be at hand in a few moments. war-whooping had a very appreciable effect upon the roots of a man's hair. i fired one shot, but had no desire to wait and see where the bullet went. i turned and ran as quickly as possible to the nearest building, which happened to be hanrahan's saloon. i found it closed. i certainly felt lonesome. the alarm had spread and the boys were preparing to defend themselves. i shouted to them to let me in. an age seemed to pass before they opened the door and i sprang inside. bullets were whistling and knocking up the dust all around me. just as the door was opened for me, billy ogg ran up and fell inside, so exhausted that he could no longer stand. i am confident that if billy had been timed, his would have been forever the world's record. billy had made a desperate race, and that he should escape seemed incredible. we were scarcely inside before the indians had surrounded all the buildings and shot out every window pane. when our men saw the indians coming, they broke for the nearest building at hand, and in this way split up into three parties. they were gathered in the different buildings, as follows: hanrahan's saloon--james hanrahan, "bat" masterson, mike welch, shepherd, hiram watson, billy ogg, james mckinley, "bermuda" carlisle, and william dixon. myers & leonard's store--fred leonard, james campbell, edward trevor, frank brown, harry armitage, "dutch henry," billy tyler, old man keeler, mike mccabe, henry lease, and "frenchy." rath & wright's store--james longton, george eddy, thomas o'keefe, william olds and his wife; sam smith, and andy johnson. some of the men were still undressed, but nobody wasted any time hunting their clothes, and many of them fought for their lives all that summer day barefoot and in their night clothes. the men in hanrahan's saloon had a little the best of the others because of the fact that they were awake and up when the alarm was given. in the other buildings some of the boys were sound asleep and it took time for them to barricade the doors and windows before they began fighting. barricades were built by piling up sacks of flour and grain, at which some of the men worked while others seized their guns and began shooting at the indians. the number of indians in this attack has been variously estimated at from to , . i believe that would be a safe guess. the warriors were mostly kiowas, cheyennes and comanches. the latter were led by their chief quanah, whose mother was a white woman, cynthia ann parker, captured during a raid by the comanches in texas. big bow was another formidable comanche chieftain; lone wolf was a leader of the kiowas, and little robe and white shield, of the cheyennes. for the first half hour the indians were reckless and daring enough to ride up and strike the doors with the butts of their guns. finally, the buffalo-hunters all got straightened out and were firing with deadly effect. the indians stood up against this for awhile, but gradually began falling back, as we were emptying buckskin saddles entirely too fast for indian safety. our guns had longer range than theirs. furthermore, the hostiles were having little success--they had killed only two of our men, the shadler brothers who were caught asleep in their wagon. both were scalped. their big newfoundland dog, which always slept at their feet, evidently showed fight, as the indians killed him, and "scalped" him by cutting a piece of hide off his side. the indians ransacked the wagon and took all the provisions. the shadlers were freighters. at our first volleys, a good many of the indians jumped off their horses and prepared for a fight on foot. they soon abandoned this plan; and for good reason. they were the targets of expert rough-and-ready marksmen, and for the indians to stand in the open meant death. they fell back. the indians exhibited one of their characteristic traits. numbers of them fell, dead or wounded, close to the buildings. in almost every instance a determined effort was made to rescue the bodies, at the imminent risk of the life of every warrior that attempted this feat in front of the booming buffalo-guns. an indian in those days would quickly endanger his own life to carry a dead or helpless comrade beyond reach of the enemy. i have been told that their zeal was due to some religious belief concerning the scalp-lock--that if a warrior should lose his scalp-lock his spirit would fail to reach the happy hunting grounds. perhaps for the same reason the indian always tried to scalp his fallen enemy. time and again, with the fury of a whirlwind, the indians charged upon the building, only to sustain greater losses than they were able to inflict. this was a losing game, and if the indians kept it up we stood a fair chance of killing most of them. i am sure that we surprised the indians as badly as they surprised us. they expected to find us asleep, unprepared for an attack. their "medicine" man had told them that all they would have to do would be to come to adobe walls and knock us on the head with sticks, and that our bullets would not be strong enough to break an indian's skin. the old man was a bad prophet. almost at the beginning of the attack, we were surprised at the sound of a bugle. this bugler was with the indians, and could blow the different calls as cleverly as the bugler on the parade ground at fort dodge. the story was told that he was a negro deserter from the tenth cavalry, which i never believed. it is more probable that he was a captive halfbreed mexican that was known to be living among the kiowas and comanches in the 's. he had been captured in his boyhood when these indians were raiding in the rio grande country, and grew up among them, as savage and cruel as any of their warriors. how he learned to blow the bugle is unknown. a frontiersman who went with an expedition to the kiowas in tells of having found a bugler among them at that time. the kiowas, he said, were able to maneuver to the sound of the bugle. this bugler never approached the white men closely enough to be recognized. in the fight at adobe walls, the fact was discovered that the indian warriors were charging to the sound of the bugle. in this they "tipped" their hand, for the calls were understood, and the buffalo-hunters were "loaded for bear" by the time the indians were within range. "bat" masterson, recalling this incident long after the fight, said: "we had in the building i was in (hanrahan's saloon), two men who had served in the united states army, and understood all the bugle calls. the first call blown was a rally, which our men instantly understood. the next was a charge, and that also was understood, and immediately the indians come rushing forward to a fresh attack. every bugle call he blew was understood by the ex-soldiers and were carried out to the letter by the indians, showing that the bugler had the indians thoroughly drilled. "the bugler was killed late in the afternoon of the first day's fighting as he was running away from a wagon owned by the shadler brothers, both of whom were killed in this same wagon. the bugler had his bugle with him at the time he was shot by harry armitage. also he was carrying a tin can filled with sugar and another filled with ground coffee, one under each arm. armitage shot him through the back with a -caliber sharp's rifle, as he was making his escape." billy tyler and fred leonard went into the stockade, but were compelled to retreat, the indians firing at them through the openings between the stockade pickets. just as tyler was entering the door of the adobe store, he turned to fire, and was struck by a bullet that penetrated his lungs. he lived about half an hour after he was dragged into the store. the indians were not without military tactics in trying to recover their dead and wounded. while one band would pour a hot fire into the buildings, other indians on horseback would run forward under the protection of this fusillade. they succeeded in dragging away a good many of the fallen. once during a charge i noticed an indian riding a white horse toward where another indian had gone down in the tall grass. the latter jumped up behind the indian on the horse, and both started at full speed for safety. a rifle cracked and a bullet struck the horse, breaking one of its hind legs. we could see the blood streaming down the horse's leg. both indians began whipping the poor brute and, lurching and staggering on three legs, he carried them away. by noon the indians had ceased charging, and had stationed themselves in groups in different places, maintaining a more or less steady fire all day on the buildings. sometimes the indians would fire especially heavy volleys, whereupon wounded indians would leap from the grass and run as far as they could and then drop down in the grass again. in this manner a number escaped. along about o'clock, the indians having fallen back at a safer distance from the buffalo-guns, some of us noticed a pony standing near the corner of a big stack of buffalo hides at the rear of rath's building. we could see that an indian behind the hides was holding the pony by the bridle, so we shot the pony and it fell dead. the pony was gaily decorated with red calico plaited in its mane. the falling of the pony left the indian somewhat exposed to our fire, and the boys at hanrahan's and rath's opened upon him full blast. they certainly "fogged" him. no indian ever danced a livelier jig. we kept him jumping like a flea back and forth behind the pile of hides. i had got possession of a big " " gun early in the fight, and was making considerable noise with it. i sized up what was going on behind the pile of buffalo hides, and took careful aim at the place where i thought the indian was crouched. i shot through one corner of the hides. it looked to me as if that indian jumped six feet straight up into the air, howling with pain. evidently i had hit him. he ran zig-zag fashion for thirty or forty yards, howling at every jump, and dropped down in the tall grass. indians commonly ran in this manner when under fire, to prevent our getting a bead on them. i managed to get hold of the " " gun in this manner. the ammunition for mine was in rath's store, which none of us was in the habit of visiting at that particular moment. i had noticed that shepherd, hanrahan's bartender, was banging around with hanrahan's big " ," but not making much use of it, as he was badly excited. "here, jim," i said to hanrahan, "i see you are without a gun; take this one." i gave him mine. i then told "shep." to give me the " ." he was so glad to turn loose of it, and handed it to me so quickly that he almost dropped it. i had the reputation of being a good shot and it was rather to the interest of all of us that i should have a powerful gun. we had no way of telling what was happening to the men in the other buildings, and they were equally ignorant of what was happening to us. not a man in our building had been hit: i could never see how we escaped, for at times the bullets poured in like hail and made us hug the sod walls like gophers when a hawk was swooping past. by this time there were a large number of wounded horses standing near the buildings. a horse gives up quickly when in pain, and these made no effort to get away. even those that were at a considerable distance from the buildings when they received their wounds came to us, as if seeking our help and sympathy. it was a pitiable sight, and touched our hearts, for the boys loved their horses. i noticed that horses that had been wounded while grazing in the valley also came to the buildings, where they stood helpless and bleeding or dropped down and died. we had been pouring a pile of bullets from our stronghold, and about noon were running short of ammunition. hanrahan and i decided that it was time to replenish our supply, and that we would have to make a run for rath's store, where there were thousands of rounds which had been brought from dodge city for the buffalo-hunters. we peered cautiously outside to see if any indians were ambushed where they could get a pot shot at us. the coast looked clear, so we crawled out of a window and hit the ground running, running like jack-rabbits, and made it to rath's in the fastest kind of time. the indians saw us, however, before the boys could open the door, and opened at long range. the door framed a good target. i have no idea how many guns were cracking away at us, but i do know that bullets rattled round us like hail. providence seemed to be looking after the boys at adobe walls that day, and we got inside without a scratch, though badly winded. we found everybody at rath's in good shape. we remained here some time. naturally, hanrahan wanted to return to his own building, and he proposed that we try to make our way back. there were fewer men at rath's than at any other place, and their anxiety was increased by the presence of a woman, mrs. olds. if the latter fact should be learned by the indians there was no telling what they might attempt, and a determined attack by the indians would have meant death for everybody in the store, for none would have suffered themselves to be taken alive nor permitted mrs. olds to be captured. the boys begged me to stay with them. hanrahan finally said that he was going back to his own place, telling me that i could do as i thought best. putting most of his ammunition into a sack, we opened the door quickly for him, and away he went, doing his level best all the way to his saloon, which he reached without mishap. chapter ix. in the restaurant part of rath's store, a transom had been cut over the west door; this transom was open, as no glass had even been put in. this door had been strongly barricaded with sacks of flour and grain, one of the best breastworks imaginable, the indians having no guns that could shoot through it. climbing to the top of this barricade, to take a good look over the ground west of the building, i saw an object crawling along in the edge of the tall grass. levelling my gun, and taking aim with my body resting on one knee, i fired. the recoil was so great that i lost my balance and tumbled backward from the top of the barricade. as i went down i struck and dislodged a washtub and a bushel or two of cooking utensils which made a terrific crash as they struck the floor around me. i fell heavily myself, and the tumbling down of my big " " did not lessen the uproar. the commotion startled everybody. the boys rushed forward believing that i had been shot, even killed. i found it quite difficult to convince them that i had not been shot, and that most of the noise had been caused by the tub and the tin pans. i was greatly interested in the object i had shot at, so i crawled up on the sacks again. by looking closely, i was able to see the object move. i now fired a second time, and was provoked at seeing the bullet kick up the dirt just beyond the object. i tried the third time and made a center shot. by o'clock the indians had fallen back to the foot of the hills and were firing only at intervals. they had divided their force, putting part on the west side and part on the east side of the buildings. warriors were riding more or less constantly across the valley from one side to the other, which exposed them to our fire. so we began picking them off. they were soon riding in a much bigger circle, and out of range. this lull in the fighting was filled with a kind of disturbing uncertainty. since early morning, we had been able to hold the enemy at bay. we were confident that we could continue to do so as long as we had ammunition. we thanked our stars that we were behind thick adobe walls, instead of thin pine boards. we could not have saved ourselves had the buildings been frame, such as were commonly built in frontier towns in those days. still, there was no telling how desperate the indians might become, rather than abandon the fight; it was easily possible for them to overwhelm us with the brute force of superior numbers by pressing the attack until they had broken down the doors, and which probably would have been attempted, however great the individual sacrifice, had the enemy been white men. luckily, it was impossible to set the adobes on fire, or else we should have been burned alive. though we did not relax in watchfulness when the indians withdrew, yet we were able to throw off some of the high tension that had kept our nerves and muscles as taut as bowstrings since daybreak. a man's mouth gets dry and his saliva thick and sticky when he fights hour after hour, knowing that if he goes down his death will be one of torture, unless he should be instantly killed. all forenoon the indians had been descending upon us like a storm, taunting us in every imaginable way, even pounding upon the doors with their guns and lances, and vying with each other in feats of martial horsemanship. they had flaunted the bloody scalps of the poor shadlers with devilish glee. time and again, however, we had ripped into them with our guns and brought down horses and warriors until in many places the grass around adobe walls was wet with blood. about o'clock in the afternoon a young fellow at hanrahan's, "bermuda" carlisle, ventured out to pick up an indian trinket which he could see from the window. as he was not shot at, he went out a second time, whereupon others began going out, all eager to find relics. for the first time, we now heard of the death of billy tyler at leonard & myer's. tyler had been killed at the beginning of the fight, as had the shadlers. when i saw that it was possible to leave the buildings with reasonable safety, i determined to satisfy my curiosity about three things. an iron-gray horse had been standing for hours not far from the south window of hanrahan's saloon. i could not understand what had held him so long, before he was finally shot by the indians themselves. when i reached the carcass, the mystery was clear--there lay a dead warrior who had fallen in such a way as to make fast the rope that held the horse. the horse wore a silver-mounted bridle. with a buffalo bone i pried open the stiffened jaws and removed the bridle, also taking the rawhide lariat. on one of the reins, about ten inches from the bit, was fastened a scalp, which evidently had been taken from the head of a white woman, the hair being dark brown in color and about fifteen inches in length. the scalp was lined with cloth and edged with beads. several other scalps were found that day. one was on a war shield. my attention likewise had been attracted by an object at the rear of the little sod house west of rath's store. we had fired at it over and over until we had cut a gap in the corner of the sod house. the object finally had disappeared from sight. for a considerable time we had seen feathers whipping round the corner in the wind, and had thought that probably three or four indians were concealed there. every time i had turned loose my big " " i had torn out a chunk of sod. when i reached the sod house, i was startled at what i saw. there sat a painted and feathered warrior in a perfectly upright position with his legs crossed and his head turned to one side in the most natural way imaginable. his neck was broken and he was as dead as they ever made 'em. i am bound to admit that i jumped back, fearful that he was alive and would bore me through and through before i could pull down on him. what we had been shooting at so frequently was the dead warrior's lance, which was covered with webbing and adorned with black feathers at intervals of every five or six inches. the lance had been stuck upright in the ground, and had been shot in two, which caused the feathers to disappear--the upper part had doubled over across the dead indian's legs. i added the lance to my "prizes of war." the object that i had seen crawling along the edge of the tall grass was the third that demanded my attention. i found a dead indian lying flat on his stomach. he was naked, save for a white cloth wrapped round his hips. his six-shooter was in his belt. the indian had been shot through the body, and one knee had been shattered. i could plainly see the trail he had made by the blood on the grass. a short distance away lay a shot pouch and a powder horn; there were about fifteen army cartridges in the pouch. a few steps further, was his -caliber needle gun, an army springfield. next, were his bow and his quiver. i confiscated the whole outfit. one of the noisiest and most active spectators of the fight was a young crow which some of the hunters had captured shortly after our arrival at adobe walls. the crow had been petted by every man in camp. all of us were acquainted with the old superstition that the crow is an omen of death. during the worst of the fight this crow flew from one building to another, in and out of the open windows, calling "caw! caw! caw!" in the most dismal way. it would alight on some object in the room, and sit there calling and cawing until somebody, tiring of the noise, would shout, "get out of here, you black rascal!" and then chase him from the building. the crow would fly to another building and repeat his performance. despite the bullets, this crow was never injured and, save our horses, was the only thing left outside. there were several dogs at the walls, but all of them cut for tall timber when the fighting began and did not show up for several days. all our horses were killed or run off. the five horses that had been left in the stockade were quickly shot down, the indians poking their guns between the cottonwood pickets. four head tied to a wagon near rath's were cruelly killed. i saw the indians when they first rode up and tried to cut the rope with a butcher knife. one was a gray mare that was notorious for her vicious kicking. she would not let the indians approach her, so all were shot. my own saddle horse, which i had owned for years and highly prized, was among the first to be shot, and still lay tied to the wagon when i found him. the indians were not without military strategy. they had planned to put every man of us afoot, thereby leaving us without means of escape and powerless to send for aid save as some messenger might steal away in the darkness, to traverse on foot the weary distance and the dangerous and inhospitable region that lay between us and dodge city. by holding us constantly at bay and keeping fresh detachments of warriors rallying to the attack they probably thought it possible to exhaust our strength, and then overwhelm us. it should be remembered that adobe walls was scarcely more than a lone island in the vast sea of the plains, a solitary refuge uncharted and practically unknown. for the time we were at the end of the world, our desperate extremity pressing heavily upon us, and our friends and comrades to the north ignorant of what was taking place. at the first dash, the indians had driven off all the horses they had found grazing in the little valley, and which billy ogg had gone in the dusk of dawn to round up preparatory to our departure for the hunting grounds. we counted fifty-six dead horses scattered in the immediate vicinity of the buildings, some with arrows sticking in their bodies, and others bored with bullets. of these ten head belonged to the hunters. added to this slaughter were the twenty-eight head of oxen that belonged to the shadler brothers. in nearly every instance, a horse that had been wounded far from the buildings would stagger in our direction, apparently to get as close as possible to his friends. there they would stand in agony until the indians shot them down, which happened in every instance. the last victim of their cruelty was a mustang colt owned by mrs. olds. this colt had been captured by some of the hunters among a bunch of wild mustangs, and given as a present to mrs. olds who had petted the graceful, affectionate little creature until it followed her from place to place like a dog. some rather romantic stories have been written about this mustang colt and the part it played in the fight at adobe walls. the truth, however, unadorned, is the colt remained near the buildings throughout the fight, and when i saw it a feathered arrow was sticking in its back. i never knew whether the colt died of this wound or was afterwards shot to put the poor little thing out of its misery. when we found that we could move around outside the buildings without danger of immediate attack, we blanketed the bodies of tyler and the shadlers and dug a single grave near the north side of the corral. there they lie to this day, without a stone to mark the spot. many a spring and many a summer have come and gone, and many a winter has sent its blinding snows across the panhandle since that far-off day. the indians and the buffaloes have vanished from the scene, and the plow is running over the land where they ranged. after all, the boys are sleeping as quietly and as restfully as if they had been buried in the village churchyard back at their old homes. despite the utmost efforts of our savage foes to carry away their dead and wounded, thirteen dead indians were left on the ground near the buildings, so closely under the muzzles of our guns that it would have been suicide for their comrades to have attempted their recovery. by the time we had buried our three comrades, darkness had come, and we abandoned further outside work and returned to the protection of the buildings, completely exhausted by the strain and excitement of the day's fighting. what we had experienced ate into a man's nerves. i doubt if any of us slept soundly that june night. somewhere out there in the darkness our enemies were watching to see that nobody escaped from the beleaguered adobe buildings. inasmuch as indians rarely, if ever, attack at night, preferring the shadows of early morning when sleep is soundest, and when there is less chance of their being ambushed, we felt reasonably certain of not being attacked before daybreak. as for myself i dreamed all night, the bloody scenes of the day passing in endless procession through my mind--i could see the indians charging across the valley, hear the roar of the guns and the blood-curdling war-whoops, until everything was a bewildering swirl of fantastic colors and movements. all my comrades at adobe walls that day showed much courage. it is with pride that i can recall its many incidents without the feeling that there was the slightest inclination on the part of any man to show the "white feather." to be nervous or fearful of death is no sign of weakness--sticking at one's post and doing the thing that is to be done is what counts. "bat" masterson should be remembered for the valor that marked his conduct. he was a good shot, and not afraid. he has worked his way up in the world, and has long been a successful writer for a new york newspaper. he was sheriff of ford county, kansas, at dodge city, in - . it has always seemed strange to me that finally he should prefer life in a big city, after having lived in the west. i have been told that he has said that he had no wish again to live over those old days, that they no longer appealed to him, but i never believed it. such a thing is contrary to human nature. all that long night after the first day's fighting not a sound was heard nor did an indian come near. next morning the pet crow was the only living object to be seen in the valley, where he was holding high carnival on the dead horses, flying from one carcass to another. by this time such an awful stench was rising from the dead indians and dead horses that we were forced to get rid of them. as we had no teams with which to drag them away, we rigged up several buffalo hides and tied ropes to them, then rolled the bodies onto the hides and pulled them far enough away to prevent the evil smell from reaching the buildings. in this way three or four men could move a horse. at one place, between rath's and hanrahan's, twelve horses lay piled together. we dug a pit close at hand and rolled them in. the other horses and the indians were dragged off on the prairie and left to the coyotes and buzzards. on the second day we saw only one bunch of indians. they were on a bluff across the valley east of us. some of our men opened up on them at long range; the indians returned the fire and disappeared. it was plain to them that there was still a lot of fight left in us. our situation looked rather gloomy. with every horse dead or captured, we felt pretty sore all round. the indians were somewhere close at hand, watching our every movement. we were depressed with the melancholy feeling that probably all the hunters out in the camps had been killed. late that afternoon our spirits leaped up when we saw a team coming up the valley from the direction of the canadian. this outfit belonged to george bellfield, a german who had been a soldier in the civil war. a black flag was flying from one of the buildings, and when bellfield and his companions saw it they thought we were playing some kind of joke on them. in broken english bellfield remarked to his men, "dem fellers tink day's damn smart, alretty." but when he drew nearer and began seeing the dead horses, he put the whip to his team and came in at a dead run. when asked if they had been attacked by indians, bellfield and his men said that they had not seen a sign of one. that same day jim and bob cator came in from their camp north of adobe walls. [illustration: _high bluff east of adobe walls on which dixon killed indian at yards._] it was of greatest importance that somebody should go to dodge city for help. henry lease, a buffalo hunter, volunteered to undertake this dangerous journey, bellfield furnishing a horse. lease started after dark on the second day. he carefully examined his pistols and his big " ." filled his belts with plenty of ammunition, shook hands with us and rode away in the night. i doubt if there was a man who believed that lease would get through alive. it was a certainty, however, that there would be a pile of dead indians where he fell, if he were given a fighting chance for his life. at the same time we sent out two men to visit the different camps, and warn the hunters that the indians were on the war path. they were to bring back the news if the hunters were dead. on the third day a party of about fifteen indians appeared on the side of the bluff, east of adobe walls creek, and some of the boys suggested that i try my big " " on them. the distance was not far from three-fourths of a mile. a number of exaggerated accounts have been written about this incident. i took careful aim and pulled the trigger. we saw an indian fall from his horse. the others dashed out of sight behind a clump of timber. a few moments later two indians ran quickly on foot to where the dead indian lay, seized his body and scurried to cover. they had risked their lives, as we had frequently observed, to rescue a comrade who might be not only wounded but dead. i was admittedly a good marksman, yet this was what might be called a "scratch" shot. more hunters came in on the third day, and as news of the indian outbreak spread from camp to camp the boys were soon coming in like blackbirds from all directions--and they lost no time making the trip. by the sixth day there were fully a hundred men at the walls, which may have given rise to the statement so frequently made in after years that all these men were in the fight. the lone woman who was at adobe walls, mrs. olds, was as brave as the bravest. she knew only too well how horrible her fate would be if she should fall into the hands of the indians, and under such circumstances it would have caused no surprise had she gone into the wildest hysterics. but all that first day, when the hand of death seemed to be reaching from every direction, this pioneer woman was cool and composed and lent a helping hand in every emergency. by the fifth day enough hunters had arrived to make us feel comparatively safe, yet it was expedient that we should protect ourselves as fully as possible, so the men began fortifying the buildings. none of them had been finished, nor had any port-holes been cut in the walls. our shooting was done from the windows and transoms. with port-holes we could have killed many more indians. a little inclosure with sod walls was now built on top of rath's store, and another on top of myer's for lookouts. a ladder led from the inside to these lookouts. on the fifth day william olds was stationed in the lookout on rath's store, to watch for indians while the other men were at work. the lookout on the other buildings shouted that indians were coming, and all of us ran for our guns and for shelter inside the buildings. just as i entered rath's store i saw olds coming down the ladder with his gun in his hand. a moment later his gun went off accidentally, tearing off the top of old's head. at the same instant mrs. olds rushed from an adjoining room--in time to see the body of her husband roll from the ladder and crumple at her feet, a torrent of blood gushing from the terrible wound. olds died instantly. gladly would i have faced all the indians from the cimarron to red river, rather than have witnessed this terrible scene. it seemed to me that it would have been better for any other man there to have been taken than the husband of the only woman among us. her grief was intense and pitiable. a rough lot of men, such as we were, did not know how to comfort a woman in such distress. we did the best we could, and if we did it awkwardly, it should not be set down against us. had we been called upon to fight for her, we would not have asked about the odds, but would have sailed in, tooth and toe-nail. when we tried to speak to her we just choked up and stood still. we buried olds that same evening, about sixty feet from the spot where he was killed, just southeast of rath's store. the indians that had caused the alarm numbered between twenty-five and thirty, and were up the valley of adobe walls creek headed east. finally, they disappeared, and we did not see them again. they may not have belonged to the attacking party, and were merely passing through the country. i always regretted that i did not keep the relics i picked up at adobe walls. mrs. olds asked me for the lance when i returned to the building, and i gave it to her. the other relics i took to dodge city, and gave them away to first one person and then another. chapter x. the warriors that attacked adobe walls made an extensive raid. writing from cheyenne agency, at darlington, in september, , a government employee gave this information to the commissioner of indian affairs: "we are informed by little robe, white shield, and other cheyennes that lone wolf, a kiowa chief, was the first to commence the present indian trouble, by going with a band of his warriors on a raid into texas. big bow, a comanche, soon followed. after these parties returned the kiowas, comanches, and cheyennes made the attack upon adobe walls. after that fight the combined forces separated into a number of war parties; some went into texas, others into new mexico and colorado, and still others along the fort sill and wichita railroad and the kansas border. we have had well-authenticated accounts from indians and from other sources that the number of individuals killed in new mexico amounted to ; colorado, ; lone wolf's first raid into texas, ; big bow's first raid into texas, ; the adobe walls fight, ; southwest from camp supply, buffalo-hunters, ; between camp supply and dodge, buffalo-hunters, ; in the vicinity of medicine lodge and sun city, ; on crooked creek, ; on the trail north from cheyenne agency, ; on the atchison, topeka & santa fe railroad, ; washita and fort sill agencies and vicinity, ; dr. holloway's son, cheyenne agency, ; mr. dougherty, beef contractor for these three agencies reports at least thirty persons recently killed in texas, ; total, . "white shield this day informed me that the kiowa chief, white horse, on his last raid into texas killed eleven persons and captured three children. the children, he states, are now in the kiowa camps. white shield says he has heard of several other captives with the comanches and kiowas, but these three mentioned are all he has seen." it has been said that the indians abandoned the fight because of the wounding of quanah parker, the comanche chief, and again because the "medicine" man found that his "medicine" was bad. to be more exact, the indians probably came to the conclusion that if they remained long enough, charged often enough and got close enough, all of them would be killed, as they were unable to dislodge us from the buildings. in the fall of , many of the comanches became dissatisfied with their life on the military reservation at fort sill and fled to their old home on the staked plains. chas. goodnight was running his cattle in the lower end of palo duro, and the comanches were soon killing beef. when he heard of it, he mounted his horse and rode down to where they were and made a private peace treaty with them, agreeing to give them two beeves a day as long as they remained, if they would not raid his herd. his proposal was accepted, and the compact was kept until the soldiers arrived and compelled the comanches to return to their reservation. i met quanah at that time, having gone out with the troops. as we were riding along one day, he began talking about the fight at the walls. when i told him that i was one of the men that had fought against him, he leaned over on his horse and shook my hand. we became good friends. a number of different stories have been related about quanah's mishaps in the fight. a man who knew him well in later years said that quanah told him that early in the fight on the first day his horse was shot and killed at a distance of between and yards from the buildings. the horse fell suddenly, pitching quanah headlong to the ground his gun falling from his grasp and bounding away. when quanah saw that his horse was dead, he took shelter behind an old buffalo carcass over which wood-rats had piled weeds and grass, making a heap about waist high. then something happened that quanah was never able to explain. he was struck a terrific blow between his shoulder blade and his neck. he was badly stunned but managed to gain his feet and ran and hid himself in a plum thicket. at first he thought somebody had hit him with a heavy stone, but as only his own men could have done this, he abandoned this notion and concluded that he had been hit by a spent or deflected bullet. his right shoulder was useless most of the day, and he could raise his gun with difficulty. he left the battleground by riding behind another indian. had it not been for the cracking of the cottonwood ridge pole in hanrahan's saloon, the indians would have come upon us unawares and all of us would have been killed, yet we never could find a single thing wrong with the log. every hunter that came in after the fight, as well as every man at the walls, examined that cottonwood ridge log over and over to find the break, but it could not be found. the two men who were sleeping in the building declared that the noise sounded like the report of a rifle. the fight at adobe walls broke up buffalo-hunting in that section just as the indians had planned. this was the last buffalo-hunting i ever did as a business. hanrahan owned a big outfit and lost everything. we were now so strong in numbers and so many days had passed without the coming of relief from dodge that we organized a party of about twenty-five men to go up there and find out why help was not coming. jim hanrahan, the oldest man among us, was placed in command. it had now been about a week since the fight. a serious row was barely averted the night before we pulled out for dodge. guns were scarce, and after the death of olds "bat" masterson had borrowed the olds gun, a better gun than the one used by masterson who had lent his gun to another man. when it was learned that we were going to dodge, mrs. olds sent for her husband's gun. "bat" sent back word that he wanted to keep the gun until morning, promising that he would promptly return it at that time. this was not agreeable to mrs. olds, and she sent a man named brown to hanrahan's to get the gun without further talk, as she feared that she might lose the gun. brown made a few mistakes in his language in discussing the matter with hanrahan, the latter having said several times that he would be personally responsible for the gun and would guarantee that it was returned to mrs. olds. brown crowded matters until hanrahan grabbed him by the neck, shook him as a bulldog would a rabbit, and then threw brown out of the saloon, saying, "get out of my building, you ----, ----"! hanrahan drew his own gun and had brown covered, ready to pull the trigger, which i believe he would have done, if several of us had not disarmed him, and then reasoned with him not to go any further, because if shooting began there was no telling what might happen, as both men had friends. next morning "bat" returned the gun to mrs. olds. the row spread ill feeling among a number of the men, and though blood that had been spilt in fighting for each other was scarcely dry on the ground, yet some were now ready to begin fighting each other. this was the way of the west in those times--every tub had to stand on its own bottom every minute of the day. it was the code that every able-bodied man had to live by. if, however, a man should fall sick or be in bad luck or crippled, the boys stuck to him until he was able to take care of himself. the quarrel caused a little embarrassment to me, for as we rode away next morning and were passing leonard & myers store, the men there yelled out, "goodbye, we don't care for any of you leaving, except billy dixon." we went up short creek until we got out on the plains, where we left the main-traveled freight road and bore more to the west, as we felt that the indians might be watching this main road. we made it to the head of the palo duro the first day and went into camp. by making a long ride our next camp was san francisco creek. here we found where buffalo-hunters had built a camp, and the body of charley sharp, who had been killed by the indians. he had been dead about a week, and the body was shockingly mutilated. sharp was a partner of henry lease, and had remained in camp while lease went to adobe walls for supplies. sharp bore the nickname "dublin." sharp's creek in beaver county, oklahoma, bears his name. we buried the body where we found it. bearing to the northeast, we came into the dodge city and adobe walls road at the cimarron river. another day's ride brought us to crooked creek. we were now out of dangerous country, and reached dodge city safe and sound. ours was the first crowd to reach dodge city after the fight at adobe walls, and the whole town turned out to see us. everybody was anxious to learn the particulars, and we were asked thousands of questions. news of what had happened at the walls had driven most of the buffalo-hunters to dodge city, their camps stretching up and down the arkansas near town. we learned that a relief party, composed of buffalo-hunters and residents of dodge, had started south in command of tom nixon. there were about forty men in the party. nixon was killed a year or two later by "mysterious dave" mathews. he was a well-known frontiersman. we did not take life nor ourselves very seriously those days, and were soon entering into the fun at dodge with the greatest enthusiasm, forgetful of the perils and hardships that so lately beset us. things at dodge were run for the fullest enjoyment of the present--there was not much material to occupy students of ancient history. the town had changed little since we had gone away. several of the men who had come north from the walls went straight to the depot and bought tickets for their homes in the east. they had enough of the indians to last them several years, and were not ashamed to stand up and say so. most of us were "locoed" with the sports and pastimes of the land where the wool was long and the customs wild. drouth, scarcity of water-holes, "northers," rattlesnakes, indians, even the united states army, could not have driven us east of the ninety-ninth meridian of longitude. the details of the fight at adobe walls were telegraphed to fort leavenworth. troops were not despatched at once to the scene of the uprising, the government taking the view that it would be best not to move until an expedition large enough to whip the indians to a standstill could be sent into the field, general miles reached dodge city about august, going south about ten days later. my old friend jack callahan, of whom i have frequently spoken, had just been employed as wagonmaster to go with the expedition. meeting me in the street, he offered to make me his assistant. i had made up my mind to accept the position, but further down the street i came across john curley, whom i had known at hays city in , when he was corral-master. curley said that he believed he could get me placed as scout and guide with general miles, which exactly suited me. we went at once to general miles headquarters, where curley introduced and recommended me. after asking me a few questions, general miles turned to his adjutant and told him to put my name down. i held this position from august , , to february , , a period of nine years. the troops moved out of dodge city to the arkansas and camped. general miles assembled his scouts and tested their marksmanship by having them shoot at a snag in the river, calling our names as he pointed out the objects each was to shoot at. i never missed a single time. lieutenant frank d. baldwin, now a brigadier-general, was sent to adobe walls with two scouts, six delaware trailers and a troop of cavalry to ascertain the situation of those who had remained at the walls. we got there in five days. baldwin had not recently seen much mounted service, and was very tired and saddle-worn by the time we reached adobe walls creek. about o'clock in the afternoon of the day in to the walls, seeing that night would come before we arrived, baldwin ordered "bat" masterson and myself to ride ahead and tell the boys that the troops were coming. this precaution was taken lest the buffalo-hunters might mistake us for indians and fire into us. i rode up within speaking distance and hollowed to the men and waved my hat, to let them know who i was. recognizing me, they gave me a hearty reception. there were a dozen or more men in the buildings, where they had been shut up for about two months. at no time had they ventured far away. they had kept their horses in the stockade, fearful of an attack by indians; hay for the horses had been cut in the creek bottom. when tom nixon and his men came down from dodge, mrs. olds and the greater part of the men went back with him. a number, however, preferred to remain at the walls, however great the risk, and did so. the boys cooked me a hot supper and i was telling them stories of the outside world when the soldiers arrived about o'clock. the water in adobe walls creek was now so low that there was not enough for the horses, so we pulled over on bent's creek, and camped on a mesquite flat, just north of the old adobe walls ruins. next morning lieutenant baldwin asked me to walk over the battleground with him. practically all the men went with us, the distance being about a mile. the coming of the soldiers had given a feeling of security to the men at the walls, who now turned out their horses to graze. everybody was laughing and talking and telling jokes, without the slightest thought of danger. some mischievous fellow had stuck an indian's skull on each post of the corral gate. tobe robinson and george huffman, civilians, rode down the valley toward the canadian river to hunt wild plums which at that time were ripe and plentiful. they had been gone only a short time when our attention was drawn to two horsemen riding at top speed from the direction of the river toward the walls. behind them came ten or fifteen indians quirting their ponies at every jump. the two men were robinson and huffman. they had unexpectedly run into this band of indians who were doing their best to circle and cut off the two white men. there we stood a mile from camp where our arms lay, unable to render these men any assistance in their desperate straits. robinson and huffman were riding side by side and were able to maintain this position until they were rounding a little knoll just beyond the old ruins. here an indian managed to ride up near enough to run his lance through huffman's body. huffman fell dead from his horse. the riderless horse continued running beside robinson's, the indian still pursuing, grabbing again and again at the rein of huffman's horse. finally, he seized the rein, checked the horse, and rode back at full speed toward his companions. all the indians now galloped away and disappeared among the sand hills. the tragedy had happened so quickly that we could hardly believe our eyes. the indians made no effort to mutilate or carry off huffman's body. robinson reached us in safety, though shaking with excitement. from the indian standpoint, the warrior who had killed huffman and escaped with his horse had covered himself with glory. sight of the tents in the mesquite flat doubtless caused the other indians to give up the chase, or else both huffman and robinson would have been lanced to death. considerable time was lost in rounding up our horses, which were grazing in the valley, and getting into our saddles, to go in pursuit of the indians. before we could reach the canadian the indians had vanished in the sandhills of white deer creek. we found two fagged ponies which the indians had abandoned. we carried huffman's body to the walls and dug a grave close beside the others. this made five graves. some day i hope a stone will be erected to mark the spot. these men gave all they had--their lives--to help make this a civilized country. next day the soldiers and the men we found at the walls started south to join the main command on cantonment creek. we crossed the canadian near the mouth of tallahone, where j. a. king now has a cow ranch. on chicken creek we found two indians who had stopped for noon, and had built a small fire. their ponies were near at hand, tied to some sagebrush, and their blankets had been spread out on the ground to dry. we succeeded in killing one of them, but the other warrior certainly had a fine quality of stuff in his "medicine" bag, for he mounted his pony and got away, despite the bullets that split the air around him. he was too hard-pressed to get his blanket and a butcher knife which he left sticking in the ground. the noise of our guns stampeded a big bunch of buffaloes further up the creek. they kicked up such a cloud of dust that we thought a war party of indians, possibly the same that had attacked adobe walls, was coming for us, and that we had stirred up the worst kind of trouble. happily, we were soon able to see the buffaloes, and the world looked brighter. "old nigger" clark, our cook, driving a six-mule team, with bedding, provisions and cooking outfit, was a long way behind when the shooting began. he raised a welt every time he hit a mule, and by the time he drew near us he was making the fastest kind of time, his eyes sticking out like white china saucers. when almost upon us, his mules took fright and ran away, and could not be stopped until men rode to his assistance. ours was the last party of white men ever to leave adobe walls. when i passed that way the following fall with united states troops the indians had been there and burned the place to the ground. the walls were still smoking. general miles was with us on this trip. we camped in sight of the battleground. he asked hundreds of questions about the fight appearing curious about every detail. the soldiers picked up everything they could find in their hunt for souvenirs, even bones, which i am sure were mostly horse bones. the indians had gathered up all the bones of their dead and wrapped them in new blankets, depositing them at the foot of the hills on the east side of the valley of adobe walls creek. the soldiers threw away the bones and carried off the blankets. this was in october. the indians had not taken any of the provisions which had been left in the buildings. they were a suspicious people, and were fearful that the provisions might be poisoned. while we were at adobe walls on this last trip, a dog that i had owned at the time of the fight came into camp. her appearance affected me greatly, as i was fond of her and loved all dumb animals. she was a highly intelligent setter bitch, named fannie. she had disappeared with the other dogs the day of the fight, and i was sure that she had been killed by the indians or had wandered away and starved. seven months had passed since i had seen her. after we had petted her and fed her, fannie disappeared. but her absence was brief. she came back with something in her mouth and stood wagging her tail, to attract attention. when we saw what she had brought to us every man grinned and was as tickled as if he were a boy. fannie had brought a fat, bright-eyed little puppy in her mouth. dropping the little fellow gently on a pile of bedding, she frisked about with delight as each of us tried to get hold of the pup and fondle it. fannie bounded away while we were "fussing" among ourselves to see who should play with pup. she came with another pup in her mouth, laying it beside the other one. she made two more trips, until finally her family of four little ones were playing with each other on our bedding. the father of these pups was the big newfoundland that belonged to the shadler brothers, which the indians killed while he was trying to defend his masters at the very beginning of the adobe walls fight. when we pulled out, fannie and her babies were given a snug place in the mess wagon. chapter xi. the most perilous adventure of my life occurred september , , in what was known as the buffalo wallow fight. my escape from death was miraculous. the year , as the reader doubtless may have observed, brought me full measure of things i had dreamed of doing when a boy. i came in contact with hostile indians as frequently as the most devoted warrior might wish, and found that it was serious business. on september , , general nelson a. miles, in command of the troops campaigning against the indians in the southwest, was on mcclellan creek, in the panhandle, when he ordered amos chapman and myself, scouts, and four enlisted men to carry dispatches to fort supply. the enlisted men were sergeant z. t. woodhull, troop i; private peter rath, troop a; private john harrington, troop h; and private george w. smith, troop m, sixth cavalry. when general miles handed us the dispatches, he told us that we could have all the soldiers we thought necessary. his command was short of rations. we preferred the smallest possible number. leaving camp, we traveled mostly at night, resting in secluded places during the day. war parties were moving in every direction, and there was danger of attack at every turn. on the second day, just as the sun was rising, we were nearing a divide between the washita river and gageby creek. riding to the top of a little knoll, we found ourselves almost face to face with a large band of kiowa and comanche warriors. the indians saw us at the same instant and, circling quickly, surrounded us. we were in a trap. we knew that the best thing to do was to make a stand and fight for our lives, as there would be great danger of our becoming separated in the excitement of a running fight, after which the indians could the more easily kill us one by one. we also realized that we could do better work on foot, so we dismounted and placed our horses in the care of george smith. in a moment or two poor smith was shot down, and the horses stampeded. when smith was shot, he fell flat on his stomach, and his gun fell from his hand, far beyond his reach. but no indian was ever able to capture that gun; if one ventured near smith, we never failed to bring him down. we thought smith was dead when he fell, but he survived until about o'clock that night. [illustration: _ermoke and his band of murderous kiowa raiders._] i realized at once that i was in closer quarters than i had ever been in my life, and i have always felt that i did some good work that day. i was fortunate enough not to become disabled at any stage of the fight, which left me free to do my best under the circumstances. i received one wound--a bullet in the calf of my leg. i was wearing a thin cashmere shirt, slightly bloused. this shirt was literally riddled with bullets. how a man could be shot at so many times at close range and not be hit i could never understand. the indians seemed to feel absolutely sure of getting us, so sure, in fact, that they delayed riding us down and killing us at once, which they could easily have done, and prolonged the early stages of the fight merely to satisfy their desire to toy with an enemy at bay, as a cat would play with a mouse before taking its life. we saw that there was no show for us to survive on this little hillside, and decided that our best fighting ground was a small mesquite flat several hundred yards distant. before we undertook to shift our position a bullet struck amos chapman. i was looking at him when he was shot. amos said, "billy, i am hit at last," and eased himself down. the fight was so hot that i did not have time to ask him how badly he was hurt. every man, save rath and myself, had been wounded. our situation was growing more desperate every minute. i knew that something had to be done, and quickly, or else all of us in a short while would be dead or in the hands of the indians, who would torture us in the most inhuman manner before taking our lives. i could see where the buffaloes had pawed and wallowed a depression, commonly called a buffalo "wallow," and i ran for it at top speed. it seemed as if a bullet whizzed past me at every jump, but i got through unharmed. the wallow was about ten feet in diameter. i found that its depth, though slight, afforded some protection. i shouted to my comrades to try to come to me, which all of them save smith and chapman, commenced trying to do. as each man reached the wallow, he drew his butcher knife and began digging desperately with knife and hands to throw up the dirt round the sides. the land happened to be sandy, and we made good headway, though constantly interrupted by the necessity of firing at the indians as they dashed within range. it was probably about noon before we reached the wallow. many times that terrible day did i think that my last moment was at hand. once, when the indians were crowding us awfully hard, one of the boys raised up and yelled, "no use, boys, no use; we might as well give it up." we answered by shouting to him to lie down. at that moment a bullet struck in the soft bank near him and completely filled his mouth with dirt. i was so amused that i laughed, though in a rather sickly way, for none of us felt much like laughing. by this time, however, i had recovered from the first excitement of battle, and was perfectly cool, as were the rest of the men. we were keenly aware that the only thing to do was to sell our lives as dearly as possible. we fired deliberately, taking good aim, and were picking off an indian at almost every round. the wounded men conducted themselves admirably, and greatly assisted in concealing our crippled condition by sitting upright, as if unhurt, after they reached the wallow. this made it impossible for the indians accurately to guess what plight we were in. had they known so many of us were wounded undoubtedly they would have rode in and finished us. after all had reached the wallow, with the exception of chapman and smith, all of us thinking that smith was dead, somebody called to chapman to come on in. we now learned for the first time that chapman's leg was broken. he called back that he could not walk, as his left knee was shattered. i made several efforts to reach him before i succeeded. every time the indians saw me start, they would fire such a volley that i was forced to retreat, until finally i made a run and got to chapman. i told him to climb on my back, my plan being to carry him as i would a little child. drawing both his legs in front of me, and laying the broken one over the sound one, to support it, i carried him to the wallow, though not without difficulty, as he was a larger man than myself, and his body a dead weight. it taxed my strength to carry him. we were now all in the wallow, except smith, and we felt that it would be foolish and useless to risk our lives in attempting to bring in his dead body. we had not seen him move since the moment he went down. we began digging like gophers with our hands and knives to make our little wall of earth higher, and shortly had heaped up quite a little wall of dirt around us. its protection was quickly felt, even though our danger was hardly lessened. when i look back and recall our situation, i always find myself thinking of how my wounded companions never complained nor faltered, but fought as bravely as if a bullet had not touched them. sometimes the indians would ride toward us at headlong speed with lances uplifted and poised, undoubtedly bent upon spearing us. such moments made a man brace himself and grip his gun. fortunately, we were able to keep our heads and to bring down or disable the leader. such charges proved highly dangerous to the indians, and gradually grew less frequent. thus, all that long, hot september day the indians circled round us or dashed past, yelling and cutting all kinds of capers. all morning we had been without water, and the wounded were sorely in need of it. in the stress and excitement of such an encounter, even a man who has not been hurt grows painfully thirsty, and his tongue and lips are soon as dry as a whetstone. ours was the courage of despair. we knew what would befall us if we should be captured alive--we had seen too many naked and mangled bodies of white men who had been spread-eagled and tortured with steel and fire to forget what our own fate would be. so we were determined to fight to the end, not unmindful of the fact that every once in a while there was another dead or wounded indian. about o'clock a black cloud came up in the west, and in a short time the sky shook and blazed with thunder and lightning. rain fell in blinding sheets, drenching us to the skin. water gathered quickly in the buffalo wallow, and our wounded men eagerly bent forward and drank from the muddy pool. it was more than muddy--that water was red with their own blood that had flowed from their wounds and lay clotting and dry in the hot september sun. the storm and the rain proved our salvation. the wind had shifted to the north and was now drearily chilling us to the bone. an indian dislikes rain, especially a cold rain, and these kiowas and comanches were no exception to the rule. we could see them in groups out of rifle range sitting on their horses with their blankets drawn tightly around them. the plains country beats the world for quick changes in weather, and in less than an hour after the rain had fallen, the wind was bitterly cold. not a man in our crowd had a coat, and our thin shirts were scant protection. our coats were tied behind our saddles when our horses stampeded, and were lost beyond recovery. i was heart-sick over the loss of my coat, for in the inside pocket was my dearest treasure, my mother's picture, which my father had given me shortly before his death. i was never able to recover it. the water was gathering rapidly in the wallow and soon had reached a depth of two inches. not a man murmured. not one thought of surrender. the wounded were shivering as if they had ague. we now found that our ammunition was running low. this fact rather appalled us, as bullets, and plenty of them, were our only protection. at the fight at the walls, not only was there plenty of ammunition, but the buildings themselves gave confidence. necessity compelled us to save every cartridge as long as possible, and not to fire at an indian unless we could see that he meant business and was coming right into us. late in the afternoon somebody suggested that we go out and get smith's belt and six-shooter, as he had been shot early in the fight and his belt undoubtedly was loaded with cartridges. rath offered to go, and soon returned and said that smith was still alive, which astonished us greatly, as well as causing us to regret that we had not known it earlier in the day. rath and i at once got ready to bring smith to the buffalo wallow. by supporting the poor wounded fellow between us, he managed to walk. we could see that there was no chance for him. he was shot through the left lung and when he breathed the wind sobbed out of his back under the shoulder blade. near the wallow an indian had dropped a stout willow switch with which he had been whipping his pony. with this switch a silk handkerchief was stuffed into the gaping bullet hole in smith's back. night was approaching, and it looked blacker to me than any night i had ever seen. ours was a forlorn and disheartening situation. the indians were still all around us. the nearest relief was seventy-five miles away. of the six men in the wallow, four were badly wounded, and without anything to relieve their suffering. we were cold and hungry, with nothing to eat, and without a blanket, coat or hat to protect us from the rain and the biting wind. it was impossible to rest or sleep in the two inches of water in wallow. i remember that i threw my hat, a wide-brimmed sombrero, as far from me as i could when our horses stampeded--the hat was in my way and too good a target for the indians to shoot at. we were unable to get grass for bedding, as the whole country had been burnt off by the indians. it was absolutely necessary, however, that the men should have some kind of bed to keep them off the cold, damp ground. rath and i solved the problem by gathering tumble-weeds which in that country the wind would drive for miles and miles, until the weeds lodged and became fast. many of them were bigger than a bushel basket, and their twigs so tough that the weeds had the "spring" of a wire mattress. we crushed the weeds, and lay down on them for the night, though not a man dared close his eyes in sleep. by the time heavy darkness had fallen every indian had disappeared. happily, they did not return to molest us during the night. there was a new moon, but so small and slender that in the clouded sky there was little light. while there was still light, i took the willow switch and sat down on the edge of the bank and carefully cleaned every gun. while i was cleaning the guns, we held a consultation to decide what would be best for us to do. we agreed that somebody should go for help. no journey could have been beset with greater danger. rath and i both offered to go. the task was squarely up to us, as all the other men were injured. i insisted that i should go, as i knew the country, and felt confident that i could find the trail that led to camp supply. i was sure that we were not far from this trail. my insistence at once caused protest from the wounded. they were willing that rath should go, but would not listen to my leaving them. once i put my hand on my gun with the intention of going anyway, then yielded to their wishes against my better judgment, and decided to remain through the night. the wounded men relied greatly upon my skill as a marksman. bidding us goodbye, rath disappeared in the darkness. after he had been gone about two hours he came back, saying that he could not find the trail. by this time smith had grown much worse and was begging us in piteous tones to shoot him and put an end to his terrible sufferings. we found it necessary to watch him closely to prevent his committing suicide. there was not a man among us who had not thought of that same melancholy fate. when the fight was at its worst, with the indians closing in on all sides, and when it seemed that every minute would be our last, i was strongly tempted to take my butcher knife, which i kept at razor edge, and cut off my hair. in those days my hair was black and heavy and brushed my shoulders. as a matter of fact, i was rather proud of my hair. its luxuriance would have tempted any indian to scalp me at the first opportunity. i had a further and final plan--to save my last bullet for self destruction. poor smith endured his agony like a brave soldier. our hearts ached but we could do nothing to relieve his pain. about o'clock that night he fell asleep and we were glad of it, for in sleep he could forget his sufferings. later in the night one of the boys felt of him, to see how he was getting along. he was cold in death. men commonly think of death as something to be shunned. there are times, however, when its hand falls as tenderly as the touch of a mother's hand, and when its coming is welcomed by those to whom hopeless suffering has brought the last bitter dregs of life. we lifted the body of our dead comrade and gently laid it outside the buffalo wallow on the mesquite grass, covering the white face with a silk handkerchief. then the rest of us huddled together on the damp ground, and thought of the morrow. that night is indelibly stamped in my memory; many a time have its perils filled my dreams, until i awoke startled and thrilled by a feeling of imminent danger. every night the same stars are shining way out there in the panhandle, the winds sigh as mournfully as they did then, and i often wonder if a single settler who passes the lonely spot knows how desperately six men once battled for their lives where now may be plowed fields, and safety and the comforts of civilization. like everything else, the long night finally came to an end, and the sun rose clear and warm next morning. by this time all the men were willing that i should go for help, and i at once started. daylight exposed me to many dangers from which the night shielded me. by moving cautiously at night, it was possible to avoid the enemy, but if surprised, to stand a good chance of escape. in the daytime, however, the enemy could lie in hiding and scan the country in every direction. on the plains, especially in the fall when the grass is brown, the smallest moving object may be perceived by the trained eye at an astonishingly long distance. i knew that i must proceed with utmost caution, lest i fall into an ambush or be attacked in the open by superior numbers. i had traveled scarcely more than half a mile when i struck the plain trail leading to camp supply. hurrying along as rapidly as possible and keeping a constant lookout for indians, i checked myself at the sudden sight of an outfit that seemed to cover about an acre of ground, two miles or so to the northwest. the outfit at first did not appear to be moving and i could not tell whether it was made up of white men or indians. i skulked to a growth of tall grass and hid for a while. my nerves were too keen to endure hiding and waiting, so i stole back and took another look. the outfit was moving toward me. shortly i was able to see that they were troops--indians always traveled strung out in a line, while these were traveling abreast. i never felt happier in my life. i whanged loose with my old " " to attract the attention of the soldiers, and saw the whole command come to a halt. i fired my gun a second time, which brought two soldiers to me. i told them of our condition, and they rode rapidly back to the command and reported. the commanding officer was major price, with a troop, accompanying general miles' supply train which was on its way with supplies from fort supply to field headquarters. the same indians that we had been fighting had been holding this supply train corralled for four days near the washita river. major price, luckily for the outfit, happened along and raised the siege. the indians had just given up the attack when we ran into them. major price rode over to where i was waiting, bringing his army surgeon with him. i described the condition of my comrades, after which major price sent the surgeon and two soldiers to see what could be done for the wounded. i pointed out the place, which was about a mile distant, and asked the surgeon if he thought he could find it without my going along, as major price wanted me to tell him about the fight. the surgeon said that he could and rode away. i was describing in detail all that had happened when i looked up and saw that the relief party was bearing too far south. i fired my gun to attract their attention, and then waved it in the direction which they were to go. by this time they were within gunshot of my comrades in the buffalo wallow. to my utter astonishment, i heard the roar of a gun and saw a puff of smoke rise from the wallow--one of the men had fired at the approaching strangers, killing a horse ridden by one of the soldiers. i ran forward as rapidly as possible, not knowing what the men would do next. they were soon able to recognize me, and lowered their guns. when we got to them the men said that they had heard shooting--the shots i had fired to attract the attention of the troops--and supposed that the indians had killed me and were coming for them. they were determined to take no chances, and shot at the surgeon and the two soldiers the moment they got within range. despite the sad plight of the wounded men, about all the surgeon did was to examine their injuries. the soldiers turned over a few pieces of hardtack and some dried beef, which happened to be tied behind their saddles. major price refused to leave any men with us. for this he was afterwards severely censured, and justly. he would not even provide us with firearms. our own ammunition was exhausted and the soldiers carried guns of different make and caliber from ours. however, they said they would let general miles know of our condition. we were sure that help would come the moment general miles heard the news. at the time we were glad just to have seen these men and did not think much about how they treated us. we watched and waited until midnight of the second day after the troops had passed before help came. a long way off in the dark we heard the faint sound of a bugle. it made us swallow a big lump in our throats and bite our lips. nearer and clearer came the bugle notes. our nerves were getting "jumpy," so strong was our emotion. we fired our guns, to let them know where we were, and soon the soldiers came riding out of the darkness. as soon as the wounded could be turned over to the surgeon, we placed the body of our dead comrade in the wallow where we had all fought and suffered together, and covered it with the dirt which we had ridged up with our hands and butcher knives for breastworks. then we went down on the creek where the soldiers had built a big fire and cooked a meal for us. next day the wounded were sent to camp supply where they were given humane and careful treatment. amos chapman's leg was amputated above the knee. amos was as tough as second growth hickory and was soon out of the hospital and in the saddle. all the men recovered and went right on with the army. chapman could handle a gun and ride as well as ever, the only difference being that he had to mount his horse from the right side, indian fashion. i should like once more to meet the men with whom i fought in the buffalo wallow fight, but i seldom hear from them. when i last heard of amos chapman he was living at seiling, oklahoma. my last letter from sergeant woodhull was dated fort wingate, new mexico, . this was shortly after colonel dodge had published his book, "our wild indians," in which he attempted to give a circumstantial account of the buffalo wallow fight. sergeant woodhull was displeased with the statement of facts, and resented the inaccuracies. [illustration: _drew dixon, son of "billy" dixon._ like his father, a sure shot.] i guess i am partly to blame in the matter. when colonel dodge was writing his book, he wrote and asked me to send him an account of the fight. i neglected to do so, and he obtained his information from other sources. if my present narrative differs from that of colonel dodge, all i can say is that i have described the fight as i saw it. in saying this i do not wish to place myself in the attitude of censuring colonel dodge. however, it should be reasonably apparent that a man with a broken leg cannot carry another man on his back. in correcting this bit of border history i repeat that every one of my comrades in that fight conducted himself in the most heroic manner, bravely doing his part in every emergency. below will be found the text of the report which general miles sent to washington: headquarters indian territory expedition, camp on washita river, texas, september , . adjutant general, u.s.a., thro offices asst. adjt. gen., headquarters department and military division of the missouri and of the army. general: i deem it but a duty to brave men and faithful soldiers to bring to the notice of the highest military authority, an instance of indomitable courage, skill and true heroism on the part of a detachment from this command, with the request that the actors may be rewarded, and their faithfulness and bravery recognized, by pensions, medals of honor, or in such way as may be deemed most fitting. on the night of the th inst. a party consisting of sergt. z. t. woodhull, co. i; privates peter rath, co. a; john harrington, co. h. and george w. smith, co. m, sixth cavalry; scouts amos chapman and william dixon, were sent as bearers of despatches from the camp of this command on mcclellan creek to camp supply, i.t. at a.m., of the th, when approaching the washita river, they were met and surrounded by a band of kiowa and comanches, who had scarcely left their agency; at the first attack all were struck, private smith mortally, and three others severely wounded. although enclosed on all sides and by overwhelming numbers, one of them succeeded, while they were under a heavy fire at short range, and while the others, with their rifles, were keeping the indians at bay in digging with his knife and hands a slight cover. after this had been secured, they placed themselves within it, the wounded walking with brave and painful efforts, and private smith, though he had received a mortal wound, sitting upright within the trench, to conceal the crippled condition of their party from the indians. from early morning till dark, outnumbered to , under an almost constant fire and at such short range that they sometimes used their pistols, retaining the last charge to prevent capture and torture, this little party of five defended their lives and the person of their dying comrade, without food, and their only drink the rain water that collected in a pool mingled with their own blood. there is no doubt but that they killed more than double their number, besides those that were wounded. the indians abandoned the attack on the th at dark. the exposure and distance from the command which were necessary incidents of their duty, were such, that for thirty-six hours from the first attack, their condition could not be known, and not till midnight of the th could they receive medical attendance and food, exposed during this time to an incessant cold storm. sergt. woodhull, private harrington and scout chapman were seriously wounded. private smith died of his wounds on the morning of the th. private rath and scout dixon were struck but not disabled. the simple recital of their deeds, and the mention of the odds against which they fought, how the wounded defended the dying, and the dying aided the wounded by exposure to fresh wounds after the power of action was gone, these alone present a scene of cool courage, heroism and self-sacrifice which duty, as well as inclination prompts us to recognize, but which we cannot fully honor. very respectfully, your obedient servant, (signed) nelson a. miles, col. and bvt. maj. gen'l. u.s.a., commanding. headquarters indian territory expedition, camp on oasis creek, i.t., oct. , . official copy respectfully furnished william dixon. by command of bvt. maj. gen'l. miles. g. w. baird, asst. adjt. th inf., a.a.a. gen'l. general miles had both the heart and the accomplishments of a soldier, and congress voted to each of us the medal of honor. he was delighted when the medals came from washington. with his own hands he pinned mine on my coat when we were in camp on carson creek, five or six miles west of the ruins of the original adobe walls. the text of the official correspondence concerning the award of the medals of honor is appended: headquarters indian territory expedition, camp near fort sill, i.t., january th, . general order no. : the commanding officer takes pleasure in announcing to the troops of this expedition that his recommendation that the distinguished heroism displayed on the th of september, , by sergeant z. t. woodhull of co. i, private john harrington, co. h, and peter rath co. a, th cavalry, and scouts amos chapman and william dixon be recognized, has been approved by the highest military authority, and that the congress has bestowed upon each of these men a medal of honor. it is now his pleasing duty to bestow upon men who can worthily wear them, these tokens of the recognition and approval of their government. by command of bvt. maj. gen'l. n. a. miles. (signed) g. w. baird, st lieut. and adjutant th infty., a.a.a. general. headquarters ind. ter. expedition. camp on canadian, texas. december , . mr. william dixon, sir: i take pleasure in presenting to you a medal of honor, as a recognition by the government of your skill, courage and determined fortitude, displayed in an engagement with ( ) others, on the th of september, , against hostile indians, in overwhelming numbers. this mark of honor, i trust, will be long worn by you, and though it in a small degree compensates for the hardships endured, yet it is a lasting emblem of distinguished services, well earned in a noble cause. it will ever recall the fact to you and yours, of having materially aided in clearing this fair country of ruthless savages, and freeing it from all time to civil settlements. this must be an ever increasing gratification to you. this badge of honor is most worthily bestowed. respectfully, &c., nelson a. miles, bvt. maj. gen'l. u.s. army, commanding. it was always my intention to go back and mark the spot where the buffalo wallow fight took place and where george smith still lies buried. procrastination and the remoteness of the spot have prevented my going. chapter xii. in civilized surroundings a plains blizzard is bad enough; in a wild country, a blizzard is more appalling than a tornado, for the latter may be dodged, but the blizzard is everywhere and sets its teeth into a man's vitals, wherever he may be. a blizzard brings a feeling of terror that even the strongest man can hardly resist. i have seen men moaning and trembling in a blizzard, as if the last drop of courage had oozed from their bodies. they were not cowards. their distress was due to an instinctive, animal-like feeling that death was everywhere about them, invisible, dread and mysterious. in time, however, this fearfulness wears away, but not until death itself has begun fastening upon the freezing body. as in drowning, death by freezing is comparatively painless. in their last hours, natural death usually is kind to all creatures. in going from the canadian river to camp supply, march , , with a company of soldiers, i met with an experience in a blizzard that i never forgot. the snow had drifted so deep that the horses soon grew exhausted. my own horse was badly jaded. the men were suffering with the cold so intensely that they were unruly and hard to control. it was my duty to keep the lead. i was sure that i was going in the right direction, though it was impossible to see more than ten steps ahead. occasionally, one of the men would ride ahead of me, contrary to orders, and finally i told the lieutenant who was in command that the men would have to keep back or we would lose our way. he forced them to stay behind. my horse became so fatigued that he began staggering, and i knew that it was no longer safe to ride him, as he could not be trusted to hold his course, so i dismounted and led him. a soldier, compelled to remain in his saddle, said that he was afraid he was freezing, and asked me to mount his horse that he might have an excuse for walking. i then turned my horse loose. pretty soon we came to the forks of a draw. i took the one that i thought led to camp and, luckily, was right. had we turned up the other prong we would have frozen to death. we had gone only a short distance from the forking when i noticed that the soldier on foot was not in sight. i asked the lieutenant if it might not be well to go back and look for the straggler. the lieutenant merely shook his head and motioned for me to keep going. his manner displeased me, until i learned that he was so cold that he could not open his mouth--his jaws were set and practically locked. after riding a few miles, we struck camp. there was plenty of timber, and we soon had a roaring fire, and thawed out. the soldier on foot was not with us. three or four of us went back to where the draw pronged, and by the light of a lantern could plainly see his tracks in the snow, and where he had taken the wrong route, going off down the east prong, instead of following us. we hunted and hunted for him, but could not find him. to our amazement, he came into camp next morning, more dead than alive. his feet were frozen solid, and had to be amputated. panhandle weather in the very early spring is the most unreliable in the world. we crawled into our blankets that night, numb and shivering, the wind howling in the timber, and the snow drifting and drifting around our tents. how about next morning? well, the sun came up next morning, smiling and warm; a soft wind was whispering from the south, and by noon the hills were running with water from the melted snow. when the snow melted from the wild plum bushes we saw that they were in full bloom, and there was not a prettier sight in the panhandle. there were worlds of plums that year. in two weeks the grass was green everywhere on the plains, and spring came with a rush. all old-timers in the southwest remember jack stilwell, scout, guide and good fellow. one of his exploits was to escape at night from the island where major forsythe, in the battle of the arickaree, was surrounded by indians, and go to fort wallace for relief. once jack and i were out on the staked plains with nothing to eat. jack persuaded me to kill a wild horse for meat. a large herd was grazing at the edge of a lake, and i shot a two-year-old filly. we built a fire and cooked some of the meat. doing my level best, i was never able to swallow a single mouthful--always it stuck in my throat. i preferred to go hungry rather than try to eat it. the meat looked good, but the name was too much for me. stilwell was a frolicsome fellow and played many pranks. one time we were going from camp supply to dodge city. just to make fun on the trip, jack told me that when we stopped for dinner he would dare me to shoot at his ears, to see what the army officers would do. noon came and while the officer in charge was looking in our direction, jack said: "billy, i'll bet you can't hit my ear with your ' ' rifle." "all right," i answered, "stand out there where you will not be in the way of the other gentlemen, and i'll see what i can do." the old army officer looked at us with disgust and later with horror. i was a crack shot, and jack knew he was safe. taking careful aim, i fired just as close to his ear as i dared with safety. jack dodged and scratched his ear as if a hornet had stung him. "you come pretty close. try again," he said. i shot a second time, and jack repeated his scratching performance, declaring that he was sure i barely missed breaking the skin. the old army officer scowled at us as if we were devils. he told the men at the next station that we were the toughest bunch he was ever with, and that we had been shooting at each other all day. when the corral master wanted the old officer to ride the rest of the way with us, he positively and emphatically, even profanely refused, saying that we were the wrong kind of roosters for him to be with. the rescue of the four germain sisters who had been captured by the indians was a romantic incident of the miles expedition to subdue the hostile tribes in . the circumstances surrounding their capture by the indians shocked the whole country and inflamed the border settlements with a spirit of vengeance that would have wrought the destruction of every indian west of the mississippi had it been possible to attack the marauders at close quarters. from time to time news came from the indian country that the girls were still alive, and mothers everywhere were praying for the restoration of the captives to their friends. the fate of the germain family was not unlike that of others in those troubulous times. john germain was a poverty-stricken farmer at blue ridge, fannin county, georgia, when he returned from service in the confederate army in the civil war. contending armies had pillaged and devastated his neighborhood. germain decided that he would recruit his broken fortune by moving west. with a yoke of oxen and his wife and children, he set out in april, , halting for a time in central tennessee, where he remained until the following september. southern missouri invited him further westward, and he moved to that state, where he took a homestead and lived three years. he was sick and discouraged, and continued his way to elgin, kansas. unrelenting misfortune met him at every turn. his children, as he believed, were predisposed to tuberculosis. on the other side of the plains was colorado with its mountain air and its pure water. germain yoked his oxen and once more started for the promised land. catherine germain, the oldest of the four captured sisters, has related the incidents of that journey and its final catastrophe in these words: "we left elgin august , . we journeyed along till we came to the smoky hill river. here we were told by the people living along the line that we had better keep along the river, so we could get water. they said we could not get water if we went along the railroad. and if we took the old trail by the river we would not see a house for over a hundred miles. we took the river road and everything seemed perfectly quiet. we met several persons on our several days' journey up the river. "father said we would start early and make fort wallace the last day. i knew that he felt uneasy all that lonely way, but we had no indications of danger, and now we were so near to the settlement he seemed more at ease. "it was september . we were just starting as the sun began to peep over the hills. father took his gun and started on ahead of the wagon. my brother and i had gone to drive the cows along. we were driving two cows and two yearlings. we had just turned them toward the moving wagon when we heard yells. "on looking we saw indians dashing down upon the wagon and father. we were about a hundred yards off and we started to run in a northeastern direction. we got something like a half mile but we were followed by the indians. brother was killed and i was taken back to the wagon, only to see that father, mother and my oldest sister had been killed. then they killed my sister younger than me. they thought they were taking the four youngest because i was smaller than my sister they killed last. this was all done in a very short time. "leaving the wreck behind, they then started south, and took the cattle along some distance; then they killed them, ate what they wanted and left the carcasses lay. that afternoon a thunderstorm came up and the rain poured down, but we had no shelter. when they stopped for the night they tried to fix blankets up for shelter, but made a poor attempt at it. there were nineteen indians, seventeen men and two squaws. the little squaw (we called her) seemed very sorry for us and would try to prepare something for us to eat, but the big one was of a different nature and not much inclined to do anything for our benefit. if anything was done to make our distress greater, she seemed to enjoy it hugely. "these indians had left their main tribe on the plains of texas and come on a raiding tour. there was a raiding party of about a hundred in the country at that time. we did not see the big party." when an indian war party moves rapidly over long distances in dangerous country, they become fagged just as do white men. when this band reached the arkansas, a halt was made to forage for meat. cattle were killed wherever they could be found, and the carcasses abandoned to wolves after the indians had eaten their fill. the party seemed fearful that soldiers were following them. "we travelled at a lively gait and i know they were expecting to be followed," wrote catherine. "they scarcely spoke above a whisper. we travelled speedily till toward morning, then stopped till daylight. we were pretty hungry some days, for we did not have our meals very regular; once a day and sometimes not that often. julia and addie, the little ones, were kept together. sophia and i were not allowed to be together, only now and then we got together for a while. when we came to the canadian river the indians seemed very uneasy, and hid in the hills, hollows and brush for three days. the troops had been that way only a short time before we got there. the wagon trails were fresh yet. they left the canadian on the third night and travelled nearly all night. then for several days we travelled across the highland between the canadian and red rivers. "when we came to the hills of the red river they took to traveling at night again. we had been traveling on this night about two hours, and i should think it was somewhere about o'clock, when all of a sudden they became confused and held a whispered consultation. whatever their fright was, they went around it, and travelled at a very lively rate for a while. when they stopped to rest a little i was given permission to get off my horse. i was so tired i threw myself on the ground. when i lay there i thought i heard the distant barking of a dog and it made me feel glad to think that there might soon be a chance for the deliverance of us four helpless girls. we resumed our traveling till nearly day and stopped in a canyon. when i awoke the sun was shining around. they went up the canyon some distance, then came out on the prairie where thousands of buffaloes were feeding. the buffaloes did not seem to be very much afraid of any one. we were probably a mile from where we came out of the canyon. the indians became greatly alarmed, saddled fresh horses and started in the direction we came, only a little more northwest. "my little sisters were sitting on the ground. two indian men were there. these two indians often carried them on their horses, and i thought that was what they would do now; but i wanted to see, so i held my horse back. they saw me lagging behind, so they came up and drove me on, but blamed the horse because he was lame and they thought he stayed of his own accord. after a while i saw those two indians who were last with julia and addie, and also that my little sisters were not with them. i felt that we would all be better off if we were out of our misery, but i did not like to think of their little bodies being left out there for the buffaloes to tramp over and the wolves to eat. as soon as i got a chance i told sophia that they had killed julia and addie, and all she said was, 'they are better off than we are.' but god had a hand in that work, and i believe you will agree with me when i say he wrought a miracle and those little girls were taken care of. i never saw the little ones any more till june, , when i met them at fort leavenworth." after abandoning these two little girls, each of whom was less than ten years old, the indians began pressing forward more rapidly than ever, to reach the vast solitudes of the panhandle plains country, where the main body of cheyennes had gone, and which the raiders reached after a three days' flight. the cheyennes now divided into small parties, each going in different direction, to confuse the trails, and make pursuit by the soldiers laborious and difficult. sophia and catherine became separated, each going with a different band. sophia was first in discovering that her two little sisters were alive--they had been found by other indians. julia said that she and adelaide cried when they saw the indians ride away, because they were afraid to be alone in such a strange wild place, and did not know where to find water or anything to eat. they stood in dread of the buffaloes, hundreds of which were near at hand. as the indians rode away, they motioned to the little girls to follow them. this they tried to do, but finally lost the trail. they were abandoned september . sophia scarcely had time to embrace the little ones before she was carried away by the band that held her captive. julia and addie were with chief gray beard's band of cheyennes. general miles was pressing the indians upon all sides. his command was superior to the combined forces of all the hostiles in the southwest and the latter could have been annihilated in a single engagement had it been possible to attack them in a position where their only alternative would have been to fight their way out. but the indians were too shrewd to be caught in a trap, and were running and dodging in every direction--their trails crossed and re-crossed and doubled back and turned aside until they were a confused jumble. the indians knew the country as accurately as a stream follows its own windings. the only fact plain to the scouts was that the hostiles were trying to escape to the staked plains. in this uninhabited and practically waterless region a large body of troops would have been badly handicapped in its pursuit of small bands of the enemy, as the latter could move more rapidly and with greater comfort, and in time exhaust the endurance of troops traveling in more or less compact formation. general miles embraced every opportunity to employ the tactics of the indians, and it was the result of this kind of strategy that brought lieutenant baldwin and his scouts within striking distance of gray bear's band on mcclellan creek. the indians were so hard-pressed that they were forced to abandon julia and adelaide and much camp equipment. i remember vividly the appearance of the deserted camp. we had ridden almost past it when somebody noticed that a pile of buffalo hides seemed to be moving up and down. pulling the hides aside, we were astonished at finding two little white girls, who proved to be julia and adelaide. they were pitiable objects. hunger and privation had reduced them to mere skeletons, and their little hands and fingers were so thin that they resembled bird's claws. the children were trembling with fright, but upon seeing that we were white men their terror changed to a frenzy of joy, and their sobs and tears made hardened frontiersmen turn away to hide their own emotion. the children said that they had not been mis-treated by the men. the squaws, however, had forced them to work beyond their strength. the little girls were sent to fort leavenworth. their rescue took place november , . catherine and sophia germain were now far out on the staked plains. we had fought the indians--principally cheyennes, with a few kiowas--at tule canyon on red river, but without capturing them. general miles, fearful that the two captives might be wantonly killed by the indians, when the latter found themselves in increasing danger of attack or capture, employed a mexican mixed-blood at fort sill to go to the hostile camp in the staked plains with a secret message to the germain girls telling them julia and adelaide were safe and in the hands of friends, and not to become discouraged. this message fell into the hands of catherine. it was written on the back of a photograph of julia and adelaide that had been made by w. p. bliss, shortly after they were found by lieutenant baldwin's command. the cheyennes that had fled to the staked plains were under the redoubtable chief stone calf. general miles sent a formal demand for surrender to stone calf, with the specific provision that catherine and sophia germain should be brought back alive. stone calf and his followers surrendered march , , about seventy-five miles west of the darlington indian agency. "just before the sun set," wrote catherine germain, "we came to the soldiers' camp. they stood at the side of the trail cheering. we stopped, but i could hardly say anything, and when i think of it now a lump rises in my throat. oh, i was so glad. i thought i had never seen such white people. they looked as white as snow, but of course they were no whiter than the average people, but my being accustomed to the red people was why they seemed so white and pretty. i just lacked a few days of being years old when we were re-captured, and sophia was past twelve. we were at the cheyenne agency (darlington) three months." the warriors who surrendered with stone calf were stood in a row by general miles, and the germain girls asked to point out those who had engaged in the murder of the other members of the germain family, or who had mistreated the captives. they pointed out seventy-five indians, all of whom afterwards were sent to florida as prisoners of war. general miles induced the united states government to appropriate the sum of $ , for the benefit of the four girls. he was their guardian for two or three years. they were educated at the expense of the military branch of the government. all the girls married, and some of them are still living. the miles campaign demonstrated that if there should be further indian outbreaks it would be well to move a garrison within easy striking distance of the route that led to the staked plains. fort elliott was established as a permanent garrison in the spring of . i was with the party that selected the site. i was attached as scout at fort elliott, and remained in service at that place until . i was the last scout to be relieved of duty at that post, and when i went away the buffalo was becoming a rare animal on the plains and the indian was down and out. cattlemen began going into the panhandle as the indians went out. i remember how greatly i was surprised when i arrived at the goodnight ranch one day in , and found two white ladies--mrs. goodnight, who had joined her husband the previous year, and mrs. willingham, whose husband was afterwards superintendent of the turkey track outfit. both were refined, educated women. i often think how helpful such women as mrs. goodnight and mrs. willingham have been to panhandle communities. it required some grit for men to live there in those days, and for women the trials and burdens must have been disheartening. the staked plains, by reason of the scarcity of water in summer, opposed great danger to troops in moving through that part of the country. i was with captain nicholas nolan, in command of troop a, tenth united states cavalry, in that memorable experience in august, , in which the detachment barely escaped death from thirst. captain nolan was in pursuit of the quohada band of comanches, who had slipped away from their reservation at fort sill, indian territory. far out on the staked plains we joined forces with a party of buffalo-hunters who had organized to fight the indians. captain nolan told the buffalo-hunters that if they would help him find the indians he would agree to do all the fighting, and assured them that he would do the work to their satisfaction. reports were brought in that the indians were only a short distance away, and that it might be possible to overtake them by moving quickly. in the excitement, many of the soldiers as well as the buffalo-hunters forgot to fill their canteens with water. the indians eluded us, the men were soon out of water, and a difference of opinion arose as to where the nearest water could be found. some were in favor of trying for the double lakes and some for the laguna plata. i had been over this country from the north, not from the direction we were traveling. the men and horses were in a deplorable condition. captain nolan told lieutenant cooper to take the course with his compass, which was set east by south ten degrees. the buffalo-hunters feared the distance was too great, and started in another direction, for laguna plata. captain nolan thought the double lakes were further west than i did. we argued over the route until about o'clock in the morning, when he told me to go the way i thought was right. i at once turned more to the northeast. about o'clock i waived my hat to attract the attention of the command, and an orderly came forward. i sent word to captain nolan that i thought i saw the double lakes. happily, i was not mistaken. we had to dig for water, and o'clock had passed before the horses were able to quench their thirst. the sufferings of both men and horses were terrible, and all the way to the double lakes our trail was strewn with cast-off clothing and equipment. the buffalo-hunters were in no less desperate straits, many of them, like the soldiers, dropping down to die along the way. horses were killed that their blood might be drank to assuage the fever of burning throats and tongues. the buffalo-hunters finally reached water at the casa amarilla. both outfits carried water back to fallen comrades and revived them. chapter xiii. returning to civilian life in , i struck north from fort elliott and went over on the canadian river, in what is now hutchinson county, texas, and hired to a big cow outfit that became widely known as the turkey track ranch, owned by a scotch syndicate, and then managed by c. b. willingham. that same year i filed on two sections of land on bent creek, taking in the site of the original adobe walls ruins. i built my house right at the west edge of the old sod building which by that time stock had rubbed to the ground. in the front yard, however, when the south wind swept the dirt clear, could still be seen the foundations of the old ruins. whoever built those walls certainly built them well. when i homesteaded my two sections of school land and built my house at adobe walls, i expected to live there the balance of my days, contented and happy. everything was to my liking--pure air, good water, fruitful soil, game, and room enough for a man to turn round without stepping on some fellows toes. it was the land of my boyhood dreams, and i was satisfied. [illustration: _"billy" dixon, as he appeared in recent years._] i improved my ranch in many ways. i diverted the course of bent creek until its clear, swift waters flowed almost at my doorstep, and was able to undertake extensive irrigation. i planted an orchard of carefully selected trees, consisting of apples, peaches, pears, plums, apricots and cherries, together with a small vineyard. i am confident that this was the first orchard ever planted in hutchinson county, perhaps in the northern panhandle. it was well irrigated, and the orchard thrived astonishingly. there was not a better orchard in the southwest, and some of the trees are still standing. in my yard i set out a number of cottonwoods which grew rapidly and became big, strong trees, affording generous shade in hot summer. i am sure that my thirty acres of alfalfa was the first ever seen in that section. for many years it produced an unfailing and profitable crop. in those days our nearest postoffice was zulu, on palo duro, twenty-five or thirty miles distant. one day l. b. miller, then district attorney, now practicing law at allenreed, texas, was at the turkey track ranch. he heard about the way we had to go for mail, and said that he would have a postoffice established at the ranch and make me postmaster. i received my commission and was postmaster at adobe walls for nearly twenty years, first at the ranch and later at my home. when i moved down to my own place i opened a little store, carrying in stock such simple things as would supply cowboy trade. it may cause a smile when i say that my two most important articles of merchandise were candy and chewing gum. no schoolgirl could be as foolish as a cowboy about candy and chewing gum. the boys seemed to crave such things, and bought more candy and chewing gum than they did tobacco. the little log house, to be seen in an accompanying illustration, stands on the ruins of the first adobe walls. i built the house in , shortly after i filed on my claim. it is fourteen feet square, and stands a mile south of where the fight took place. the illustration showing the bluff on the east side of adobe walls creek is a excellent view of the landscape. in coming to attack adobe walls in the early morning, the indians rode up the valley from the right, and were first discovered near the grove of trees. mine was a happy life in my cabin at adobe walls, without fret or worry, and with abundance of everything for my simple needs. during a greater part of the year wild ducks and geese frequented the canadian and its tributaries, literally by thousands, and deer and turkey were commonly found along the creeks. the meat of the buffalo, in my opinion, had a much better taste than beef, and was more easily digested. i was always a big meat eater, and often long for a good fat buffalo steak broiled over a camp-fire in the way "frenchie," my old cook, used to broil it. when we were camped on a creek where wild turkeys were plentiful, we would kill fifteen or twenty and stew a potful of gizzards, hearts and livers. this was best of all, a dish fit for a king, and a man who never ate it can have no idea how good it was. i lived here as a bachelor until i married in , after which i continued at adobe walls until about , when i sold my ranch and moved to plemons, texas. there i lived two years, and found living in town worse than it could have been in jail. i decided to go still further west, and in homesteaded a claim in what was then known as beaver county, oklahoma, once called "no man's land." my place was in sight of buffalo springs, and on the north line of the panhandle. a change in local conditions began in . in that year a good many "nesters," small farmers began coming in and taking up the land. they were bitterly opposed by the big cow outfits, none of which wanted to see the country fenced, and felt that the settlers were intruding into a country where they did not belong and where they certainly were not wanted. i rather think that the cow outfits felt that they had won the country from the indians and were entitled to it by right of conquest and occupancy. but the "nesters" forced the cow outfits to leave, just as the buffalo-hunters and the soldiers had made the indians depart. today the despised "nester" is the bone and sinew of the panhandle country, and whatever social and material advancement the country had made should be credited mostly to those who built homes and school houses and churches, and tamed the wild land to the crops of civilization. i do not wish to say anything against the cow-men. they were big-hearted, generous fellows, who followed their own way as they saw it. between the two classes there was much conflict; time, however, solves its problems, and solved them in the panhandle. among the small stockmen who moved their families to the panhandle in were the lards, ledricks and walstads, all coming down from kansas. the lard and ledrick families located on chicken creek. the walstad family lived first on wolf creek, moving later to the "flats" in ochiltree county. the walstads were sturdy norwegians and not afraid to work. to improve their place on the "flats", they cut cedar pickets in government canyon, ten miles away, and "snaked" them up the steep bluffs with a horse--the place was too rough for a team to descend. nevertheless, they constructed a good-sized, comfortable dwelling out of these pickets, and covered it with dirt. water was scarce on the "flats," the walstads hauling it ten or fifteen miles the first year. mr. walstad undertook to dig a well by hand, something that no man before nor since has ever tried in that country. he was not financially able to bore a well, and did not know that it was anywhere from to feet to water. he got down about feet and threw up the sponge--the sponge was dry. the girls in the walstad family were all splendid riders, as good as could be found in the panhandle, and could rope a cow or a horse as easily as a man. they rode long distances after stock in all kinds of weather. the lards and ledricks prospered on chicken creek. henry ledrick had been a post-trader in kansas, and had lost all his property as the result of indian raids. the government afterwards compensated him for his losses. by intermarriage these families have established themselves in many of the panhandle counties. [illustration: _dixon orchard at adobe walls._] for years i was justice of the peace in hutchinson county. the hardest job i ever tackled was to perform a marriage ceremony, though i married many couples. ministers were as scarce as buffaloes, and when a couple decided to get "spliced" they went to the nearest justice of the peace or county judge. my usual embarrassment in marrying a couple was once increased beyond measure. i had grown to be very fond of a young lady who lived with mrs. willingham on the turkey track, but had never been able to muster courage to tell her how much i thought of her and to ask her to marry me. well, a pesky cowboy did what i had not been able to do, and the two came to have me tie the conjugal knot. i thought that it was hard enough to lose the girl, but to be asked to marry her to another fellow was certainly tough. some of the large outfits controlled entire counties for range purposes--and the panhandle counties were big counties. the hansford land & cattle company (the "turkey track" outfit) run , head of cattle at one time, and ranged over thousands of acres of land. the turkey track outfit tried to escape the inevitable by buying out "nester" who came into the country in the late 's, and in this way held all the land, save mine at abode walls. the texas legislature opened up the land to purchase and settlement, and in the 's the settlers began coming and could not be stopped. they settled first along the creeks and then spread to the uplands. i was state land commissioner for hutchinson county and did a thriving business. the people petitioned the legislature that hutchinson county be detached from roberts county, and given a separate organization. their petition was granted. an election was called for the election of county officers. much ill feeling had grown up between the settlers and the cow outfits, especially the turkey track people who had opposed the making of a new county. the election was bitterly contested, the turkey track outfit taking an active part, to control the results. i was elected sheriff, not because i sought the office, but because i had lived in the country so long that i was widely known. i was ignorant of politics and the ways of politicians. i became disgusted and resigned my office, rather than be forced into strife that was not to my liking, and went back to the quietude of abode walls. the county judge also resigned. when a man gets mixed up in politics he is soon traveling a rocky road. however, i do not hold enmity against anybody. many changes have taken place in hutchinson county since that time, and today it is settled with law-abiding, prosperous stock-men and farmers. the turkey track sold out to a kansas company, who also bought my place at abode walls. i married miss olive king in . she had come from virginia to visit her brothers, albert and archie king, and the winter before we were married she had taught school on the south side of the canadian, between reynolds and tallahone creeks. this school house was built of round cottonwood logs, covered with dirt, and was about ten feet square. i had always been rather bashful in the presence of women, rarely having had opportunity to meet them in a social way. merely the sight of a good-looking woman coming in my direction made me feel like leaving the trail. how i ever managed to ask my wife to marry me has always been a mystery, made even more remarkable by the fact that she consented. i have always insisted that she did the proposing, but could say no more when she reminded me of the time we were riding together and watered our horses at garden springs one september afternoon, and of the promise i made her at that time. we were married october , , on reynolds creek at the home of a portuguese family named lewis, where my wife had boarded during the winter. the lewis's were running about head of cattle and had a comfortable home. mrs. lewis was a cultivated woman. she spoke english brokenly, and to make herself more familiar with the language had induced my wife to live with her. mrs. lewis had been a good friend of mine for several years, and i suspect that it was largely through her influence that i got the girl i so greatly admired. [illustration: _an adobe corral built by "billy" dixon._] we have been living together nearly nineteen years. she has borne me a family of which i feel that i am justly proud, and has stood by me in all my ups and downs. it is largely through her efforts that these reminiscences are published. i never took the interest that i should in setting down these matters, and realize that the work should have been done years ago, in obedience to the requests of life-long friends. we were married by a methodist minister, the rev. c. v. bailey, who drove seventy-five miles from mobeetie to perform the ceremony. after our marriage, my wife for a period of three years, was the only woman who actually lived in hutchinson county. she may have grown a bit lonesome, but if she did she never said anything about it. i had the advantage of being able to say, without making any other man angry, that i had the best looking woman in the county. it was not every woman who had lived in a thickly settled community all her life that would have been willing to settle down at abode walls. when patten, price & hyde, the kansas cattlemen, bought the turkey track range and stock, i sold my place at abode walls to them. my older children by this time were in need of schooling. the settlers were so few that there was no neighborhood school, so we moved to plemons and lived there for two years before locating in cimarron county, then beaver county, which is settled by the best type of rugged american citizenship. they are temperate, law-abiding, industrious people. most of them were poor at the beginning, and many have had a hard time getting started. all have the true western spirit. if a settler is in trouble, caused by sickness, death or other unavoidable misfortune, his neighbors are always ready to help him, even putting in his crops for him. i am often questioned about my experiences on the frontier, as if the life had been filled with unbearable hardships, to be shunned and forgotten. gladly would i live it all over again, such is my cast of mind and my hunger for the freedom of the big wide places. i would run the risks and endure all the hardships that were naturally ours just for the contentment and freedom to be found in such an outdoor life. i should be unspeakably happy once more to feast on buffalo meat and other wild game cooked on a camp-fire, sour dough biscuit and black coffee, that latter drank from a quart cup. but those days are gone and forever, and we must content ourselves with the present and make the best of our opportunities. coming generation will never know the trials and hardships we endured. we helped build a great empire in the west. let it be governed justly and made to serve the needs of humanity. the end. treasure of the brasada peril and intrigue on the border by les savage, jr. dell publishing company, inc. george t. delacorte, jr. _president_ albert p. delacorte _vice-president_ helen meyer _vice-president_ fifth avenue new york , n. y. printed in u.s.a. designed and produced by western printing & lithographing company copyright, , by les savage, jr. reprinted by arrangement with simon and schuster, inc., new york, n. y. [transcriber's note: extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] persons this _story_ is about-- glenn crawford, whose pallor and feverishly glowing eyes mark the three months he has just spent in a hospital as the result of an accident he suspects was planned, has the restless animal lines of body and negligible hips of one who has been much in the saddle. hotheaded, once fearless, he is presently trying to overcome an unreasoning panic and pain which rack his body whenever he goes near a horse. merida lopez, whose presence at the big o ranch is surrounded by mystery, has a faintly exotic beauty and slumberous, provocative eyes which both irritate crawford and stir something primal in him. he isn't sure of her game, but he knows a woman like merida doesn't trail through the wild brush country just for the scenery. dr. feliz huerta, who looks as though he's in the process of disintegration, has strongly arched brows and a graying peak of hair which gives him a satanic cast. his eyes hold a dull, jaded lackluster, and even the slightest movement seems to cost him infinite effort. for his own reasons, he is extremely interested in crawford's symptoms. quartel, come to wind up affairs at the big o, is a huge hunk of thick brown flesh with sensual lips and shoulders like sides of beef. he boasts he can rope better, ride farther, drink more and cuss dirtier than any hombre between texas and mexico city. otis rockland, whom crawford makes no bones about hating, is the owner of the big o. as crawford looks at it, rockland's dealings with crawford's pal, old delcazar, were no less dirty for being legal. delcazar, who fears his friend crawford is mixed up in the most dangerous thing that ever hit the wild brush country, is an aged, gnarled, and skinny mexican who lives alone in the back country. he has rheumy eyes in a face seamed as an old satchel. cabezablanca, so-called for his head of pure white hair, is one of the big o crew. he has a reputation for being deadly dangerous, but for some reason huerta seems to have him under his thumb. jacinto (little hyacinth) del rio, the big, fat, grumbling cook, listened to his father when he told him there were two sins in the world, working and fighting, and if he avoided both of them he would surely go to heaven. bueno bailey, a tough bronc-buster, gaunt as an alley cat, has milky eyes, and parts his long yellow hair in the middle, slicking it down with bacon grease. crawford suspects him of being responsible for his "accident." aforismo, who has a sinister proverb for every occasion, is a thin, stooped man whose eyebrows, slanting toward the middle of his forehead, give him a mournful expression. his favorite motto, cut into his razor-sharp knife, is _tripe is sweet but bowels are better_. wallace tarant, otis rockland's lawyer, has a broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped frame, a square brow and a wide, thin-lipped mouth which should have held a palpable strength. but his eyes won't meet crawford's, and his voice is small for such a large man. sheriff ed kenmare, weary lawman of san antonio, whose duties hang heavy upon him, has a bulbous nose prominent among heavy, weathered features. ford innes, cabezablanca's saddlemate, is a red-bearded redhead with shrewd little eyes and a short square body which holds all the lethal threat of a snub-nosed derringer. africano, a big black devil of a horse, is a killer nobody has been able to break. just the thought of him drives crawford into a trembling frenzy of fear, but he knows he must conquer africano or go crazy. what this _story_ is about-- being caught, bloody gun in hand, leaning over the body of the man he had threatened to kill forces bronc-buster glenn crawford to turn up at the big o ranch, a weary, footsore fugitive with more than one score to settle. even the murder of the ranch owner in san antonio had not prepared crawford for the state of affairs he finds at the ranch. his sudden presence there seems to scare some of the crew half to death and lead others to try to kill him every chance they get. for the moment, however, crawford is more interested in the state of affairs in his own body than in those of the big o and the murderer he is sure the ranch harbors. a veteran of the saddle, crawford discovers that since an accident which he suspects was planned, he goes into a frenzy of pain and trembling panic whenever he gets near a horse. but in spite of the torture it costs him, crawford stays on at the ranch. he knows he cannot be a free man until he finds the murderer of otis rockland. nor can he be a whole man until he conquers the black devil of a killer horse, africano. after he meets merida lopez, an exotic beauty whose presence at the big o is surrounded by mystery, he has a third motive for staying around, although he stands to lose his reason if not his life. trapped by forces which he cannot understand, and half-crazed by the torturing pain and panic which he tries desperately both to overcome and to hide, crawford gets himself more and more hopelessly entangled in what, as old delcazar points out, looks like the most dangerous thing that ever hit the wild brush country. crawford is offered a strange proposition by sinister dr. huerta; he listens to merida's spellbinding tale of santa anna's chests--and as he listens, the jagged third of a map he possesses, plus a dying man's painfully gasped out words, take on a new and important meaning; he waits, trapped, weaponless, for a killer to come nearer, nearer--and he delivers to his other pursuers the body of one sent out to kill him--only to become more deeply enmeshed in new and still more terrifying trouble. crawford's irritation at being stirred by merida, whom he alternately respects and suspects of playing him for a fool, doesn't prevent him from riding secretly with her in the night in search of a place so malicious few men have ever stepped foot in it. nor does it later prevent him from risking an agonizing death to follow her into it. before the true murderer reveals himself, and before crawford can again call himself a whole man, much violent action takes place. set against the exciting background of the untamed texas border country, this is a thrilling brew of suspense, quick death, adventure, and love. [illustration: map] list of chapters-- i. circumstantial evidence ii. santa anna's chests iii. huerta was right! iv. unreasoning fear v. huerta makes a proposition vi. "tell us what happened." vii. sunday celebration viii. best roper in the world ix. still in the throes of fear x. flight from snake thickets xi. old friends reunited xii. conqueror and conquered xiii. violence in the bunkhouse xiv. challenging snake thickets xv. treasure hunt climax treasure of the brasada _chapter one_ circumstantial evidence crossing alamo plaza, glenn crawford was almost to the manger hotel when he became aware of sheriff ed kenmare standing in the entrance to the patio. crawford felt the hesitant break to his stride. then, deliberately, he went on, feeling for the first time the sweat glistening on his unshaven upper lip and forming dark blue spots in the armpits of his faded ducking jacket. it might have been the sun. it was a hot spring for san antonio. "how about the riding, glenn?" asked the sheriff, casually. "my legs are all right, ed," said crawford, halting momentarily. "i noticed you still limped a bit," kenmare told him. "you got off easy, i guess. horse mashed my cousin's legs rolling on him that way up in deaf smith. he never did heal so he could ride any more." "my legs are all right," said crawford, turning to go past him and through the patio gate. "you got other things to heal besides your legs," said kenmare, shifting his dusty, tobacco-odored bulk in front of crawford. "why don't you think things out a bit longer before you see otis rockland again?" "this isn't my idea," said crawford. "otis sent me word he was here and wanted to talk." kenmare's watery gray eyes met crawford's, and he put a gnarled hand on the younger man's arm. "then give me your gun, glenn, before you go up." a strange, defiant withdrawal drew crawford's body up, accentuating for the first time its restless, animal lines. in his brass-studded levis, he had the lean catty legs and negligible hips of a man whose work had been much in the saddle, and though his shoulders were narrow, their muscularity was apparent beneath the denim jacket. his forehead was high and bony and pale below the short curling black hair; and, set deep within their sockets, his eyes held a sunken, almost feverish glow, which could have come from the recent sickness, or something else. his rope-marked fingers tightened about the brass receiver of his old henry. "i'll keep the rifle, ed," he said. "now let me by." kenmare did not release crawford's arm. he dropped his gaze to one side, reaching up to rub the sweat exuding from the large, greasy pores of his rather bulbous nose. "something i never did get straight, glenn," he said, looking at the worn boot he was scuffing in the earth. "this whole thing between you and rockland seems to have started with the way rockland got hold of delcazar's land." "del was--" "i know, glenn, i know." kenmare's fingers tightened momentarily on crawford's arm. "you and delcazar was pretty close friends. and you think rockland gave delcazar a raw deal." "you know he did," said crawford. "del had a small spread, but it had the best water in that section of the brush. rockland had to have that water. and he got it." "but he did it all legal, glenn." "legal." crawford's voice was bitter. "he knew del only held his spread with one of those old spanish grants they call a _sitio_. his lawyers found out that this one was so mixed up through the years that del couldn't prove ownership. he petitioned the state, had it declared public domain, and got it for a song. yes, it was legal all right." "those things happen," said kenmare wearily. "it wasn't your spread, glenn." "no. but del was my friend. i was busting broncs for otis rockland at the time. i went to him and told--" that hand tightened again. "i know what you told him, glenn. maybe you were right. maybe rockland even had that cinch cut on the black killer so it would roll you. but listen, glenn--" kenmare took a weary, wheezing breath--"this ain't the way." "what isn't the way?" said crawford with growing heat. "i told you rockland sent for me, ed." "there must have been half a dozen big o hands heard you threaten to kill rockland after that bronc rolled you under," kenmare told him heavily. "don't you think three months in the hospital cools a man off some, ed?" said crawford. "now get out of my way. it's too hot for an argument. i'll buy you a beer on the way out." he shoved past the sheriff and into the tiled patio. the alamo tree dropped its deep, dappled shade over the cattlemen sitting tilted back in the line of peeling cane chairs against the adobe wall. their lazy, sporadic conversation died abruptly, and the only sound was the hard beat of crawford's heels against the tiles. his lips formed a thin, bitter line against his teeth as he passed the speculation in their lifted gazes and entered the foyer. the cool, inner chill struck him with a distinct physical force, after the stifling heat of the day without, and caused him to draw in a quick breath. he skirted a potted palm and went up the broad, carpeted stairs to , the room otis rockland always took when he came to san antonio. he had lifted his hand to knock, when the sound came from inside. it was muffled and dim at first, rising to a thumping crescendo, with someone calling something, the whole thing ceasing then, abruptly. after a moment of silence, crawford seemed to hear heavy breathing. he let his knuckles strike the pine panel of the door. it rattled mutedly. that was his only answer. "otis?" he called. he waited a moment longer, then turned the knob. the door opened into the sumptuous parlor of the suite. the wine overhangings were drawn across the windows against the sun, casting into semi-gloom the spidery pattern of white and gilt furniture in the room. he heard a shutter clack in the bedroom and knocked his knee against a low marquetry table in front of the sofa as he headed for the door. he took his henry in both hands and shoved open the door with its tip. the first thing he saw was a pile of blue chintz on the floor. it was the hanging, torn off the tester of the four-poster, and otis rockland must have clutched it when falling, for his hand was still gripping it in terrifying desperation. the portieres had been pulled back by an opened shutter, and the avenue of bright light, splashing across the rich brussels carpet, touched rockland's feet and led crawford to turn momentarily toward the window. "no--crawford--" he wheeled back to see rockland's eyes open. the man made some feeble effort to rise. crawford dropped to one knee beside him, laying the rifle down. "delcazar?" he said. rockland's lips twisted in what could have been a smile. "like you, to think of that." "i guess more than one has good cause to want you dead, otis," said crawford. "yes." it came out of the man in a hoarse, strained way. but there was a look of macabre humor or malice, or both, in his face as he spoke. "they'll think it was delcazar, won't they? or you, glenn." "i'll get someone--" "no. no." rockland reached up to grab at his shirt as crawford started to rise. "won't do any good. too late." he fought for breath for a moment, then went on, slowly. "reach--inside--coat." crawford could see the thick, viscid blood forming beneath the back of rockland's iron-gray head now. there was a brutal slash across the man's face, slicing deep into the bridge of his dominating, avaricious nose. even as crawford watched, the eyes closed and the breathing grew stertorous. the man was obviously beyond help. with a swift movement crawford reached beneath rockland's expensive steel pen, drawing a wallet from the inner pocket. he was starting to go through it, when rockland's eyes opened. "rip lining, glenn," he whispered. "what he was after--you scared him off--'fore he could find it." crawford fumbled with the soft doeskin flap of the wallet, finally managing to rip it out, revealing a piece of faded, yellowed paper. he pulled this out. unfolded, it formed a triangle, the bottom straight, the other two sides jagged and torn. "looks like some kind of a map," he said. "yes," said rockland, feebly. "_derrotero._ santa anna's chests." "whose chests? what are you talking about, otis?" rockland's lip drew back over his teeth, more a grimace than a smile. "don't lie, crawford," he murmured. "why else were you so het-up when i got delcazar's spread? you knew about this _derrotero_ then." "about what?" said crawford hotly, clutching him. "how is del mixed up in this?" but rockland's head had fallen back once more; and for a moment crawford thought he was gone. suddenly he found himself shaking rockland in a fever of impatience. "otis," he cried, "otis, did del give you this? where did you get this map?" once more rockland's eyes opened, but a glaze was on them. "mexico," he whispered. "mexico city." suddenly crawford knew. the delcazars had come from mexico city originally. and their family papers must have been in the hands of a lawyer there. when rockland got delcazar's spread, he had sent his own lawyer down there to make sure there was nothing to obscure his title to the land. evidently tarant had found this part of the _derrotero_ among the papers. but this was only a third of it. where was the rest of it? the light grew brighter. so this was why rockland had sent for him. he thought that he, crawford, knew about the map--knew, perhaps, who held the missing pieces. santa anna's chests, rockland had said, santa anna's chests. all at once he found himself muttering the words aloud, "santa anna's chests--" as though the words were a magic sesame, rockland opened his eyes. drawing on some hidden reservoir of strength, he pulled himself to a sitting position. "where's the rest of it, glenn?" he gasped. "does delcazar know? glenn, glenn, where's the rest--" crawford caught at the man as rockland sank back. "otis?" it was the muted footsteps, then, coming across the brussels carpet in the outer room. crawford had allowed rockland to drop back when ed kenmare's bulk filled the doorway. a vague pain moved over the sheriff's heavy weathered features. "the manager heard a ruckus up here," he said. "i guess he was right. no, glenn--" "yes, ed," said glenn, violently, scooping up his henry and whirling back toward the man. kenmare had his own six-shooter only half out of its holster. he stopped that way, staring at the . . there were other men behind the sheriff now, several of the cowmen from the patio and lobby, the hotel manager in a white morning coat. "i guess there's no use denying it, is there?" said crawford, through his teeth. kenmare let his eyes drop to the henry's wooden butt. crawford felt it then, sticky against his fingers, and realized the wood must have been lying in the blood from rockland's head. a nausea swept him. "ed," he said, unable to keep from it, "i didn't, i didn't--" his bitter voice trailed off as he saw resignation in kenmare's faded eyes. "listen, son," the man told him. "it won't do you no good this way. give me that gun now." "no." the finger lever made a sharp click, cocking, and with his hand holding it down, crawford started backing toward the window. "think i'd have a chance? it's all here, isn't it? all right here, cinched up tighter'n a bucking rig. no loose lashings even. everything to hang me. i'm not going to be taken for that, ed." "glenn," said kenmare, with that same weighty reluctance, "for once, don't be a hothead. you go off half-cocked like this and bugger your bronc every time. this just won't do you any good--" "don't do it, jason," crawford shouted, turning his gun toward one of the cattlemen behind kenmare. harry jason stopped trying to shift back of kenmare where crawford wouldn't see him draw his gun, and moved his hand carefully away from the wooden butt of the weapon. there was no intelligent reasoning in crawford now. only a terrible consciousness of that dead body on the floor, and a blind, animal urge to escape this. he lifted his leg over the iron railing of the balcony onto the ledge outside. there was the first violent movement among the men in the room as he crouched down to drop off the ledge, and he heard someone shout. then he jumped. it was not a long fall, and he broke it by catching the edge of the balcony with his free hand and hanging there till his arm was stretched out with his weight, then letting go. one of his high heels turned under him as he struck the flagstones below, and he let himself go down on his knees and then roll it off to keep from spraining an ankle. as he leaped to his feet, kenmare appeared on the balcony, gun out. crawford was already running toward the front entrance, past the line of cane chairs. there were still half a dozen cattlemen sitting there, and two of them were standing at the end, and kenmare was apparently fearful of hitting them if he shot. "stop him," shouted the lawman. "crawford. he killed rockland. get him, you fools--" the men standing made an abortive shift to block crawford's passage, but he was already opposite them, and surprise held the other men in their chairs till he was almost to the door. he saw several pulling at their guns, but mexicans and cowhands were passing by outside in the street, or stopping farther beyond in the plaza to gape curiously, and a bullet might have struck one of them. there were half a dozen cow ponies at a cottonwood rack in front of the manger, and as crawford reached them he noticed that the reins of the first were tied in a hitch that could be knocked free. he did it with the tip of his gun, throwing the ribbons over the animal's neck. excited by crawford's running up like that, the hairy little black started to whirl inward. crawford jumped for the stirrup with one foot, letting the centrifugal force slap him into the saddle as the horse whirled on around. "hey," shouted one of the cattlemen, streaming out of the patio behind him. "get off that horse, crawford, he's mine--" but crawford was already turning the animal into blum street. halfway down the block he cut through an alley onto commerce and turned at the corner of commerce and alamo, wheeling into another alley that led directly down to the river. he crashed through a line of washing hung behind a squalid mexican hovel and scattered a bunch of cackling hens, tearing a white _camisa_ off his head, his hat going with it. a mexican woman ran from the hut, waving her arms and squealing at him, and behind that he could hear the dim sounds of running horses. he had gone down blum to make them think he was heading west out of town, and hoped they would not discover his true direction till he had left by the south. he slid the pony down the stone coping banking the river, letting the current carry him beneath the market street bridge before trying to reach the opposite bank. he got out of town following back alleys and side streets, and then broke into south flores street. and now, as he pushed the laboring pony toward the twin spires of mission concepción, it began to come. there had been no room for it in the violent excitement of those first few minutes, with all his concentration on escape. but now, with the steady beat of running hoofs beneath him, it began to grow in him. first, perhaps, it was a consciousness of that steady shuddering pound of hoofs beneath him. then, the constant, heated movement of the horse's muscles, the dim sense of its flanks, rising and falling with the heavy breathing, the feel of its shoulders beneath the saddle moving back and forth. and finally, more than the movement and the sound outside him. something within. he did not know where it started. in his legs, perhaps. or his groin. somewhere down there. a strange, thin, hollow sensation. "no--" he didn't know whether it had been in his mind or whether he had said it. he turned in the saddle, staring down the road behind, trying to blot it from his consciousness. he was past the fields of white niggerheads about concepción, and was approaching the second mission, san josé de aguayo, which had been established by the spaniards here in . but it was growing in him. he was sweating beneath the armpits now. it was recognizable now. pain. more than that--hollow, nebulous sickness at the pit of his stomach. pain. pinpricks of it, shooting up his legs. a hoarse, strained sob escaped him. how could it be? they had told him, no. he was healed. how can it be? _i'm healed, damn you, i'm healed._ the roof of san aguayo had fallen in, and only a few windows were left in the south wall, protected by the remains of delicate iron _rejas_, their tarnished panes flashing dully in the sun as crawford passed by. he was barely conscious of this. he was sweating now, his fists gripping the reins so desperately the knuckles gleamed translucently through the skin. the pain seemed to have sound now. his head was roaring with it. he was shaking violently now, and the horse felt it and began reflecting his lack of control, breaking its stride, shifting from side to side down the road. the stepped belfries of san francisco de la espade rose into view. the last ruins of the _baluarte_ built for the defense of the mission ran parallel to the road, sections of this bastion crumbling off into the ruts of the highway. the horse changed leads to side-step some of the adobe fallen onto the road, and crawford lurched out of the saddle, barely recovering himself. he heard someone making hoarse, guttural sounds, and realized it was himself. and now, more than the pain, something else was rising in him. the hot, sweaty fetor of the horse filled him with a violent nausea. he had a wild impulse to escape it. he caught himself actually stiffening up to throw himself free of the running horse. "no!" again, he did not know if it was in his head, or if he had shouted it. the very sound of the running horse seemed to fill his brain now. each thundering hoofbeat was a separate note of agony. and more than the agony which filled him, that other something he could not define, or would not, so confused with the pain now he could not tell the two apart. finally he could stand it no longer. brutally, he reined in the horse. the animal brought himself to a series of stiff-legged halts that almost jolted him over its head. he swung off the lathered, heaving animal, and then, standing with his face toward its hairy wet hide, he was filled with that nausea again. he wheeled away from the horse, stumbling across the road to a pile of rubble that marked the remains of the aqueduct. with a hoarse exhalation, he lowered himself weakly to the adobe, dropping his head forward into his hands, so that the black hair fell through his grimy fingers in dank, sweaty tendrils. "i _can_ ride," he said aloud, in a desperate voice, "i _can_ ride!" _chapter two_ santa anna's chests it had a million faces. at dawn it was a dim, foggy mask. at noon it leered in brassy, burning malignance. at night it was a cunning visage, sometimes filled with bizarre mutations by the caprice of moonlight, sometimes cloaked in the unrelieved sin of utter blackness. this was the _brasada_. glenn crawford did not know how many weeks of weary travel lay behind him since he had left that cow pony by the mission and had struck out on foot for this borderland which had provided sanctuary for so many fugitives. now, crouched in a thicket of black chaparral, with the late afternoon sun falling through the branches to cast a weird shadow pattern across his back, crawford was filled with an oppressive sense of its infinite mystery. it was a spanish word, _brasada_, and there was no english equivalent. for it was not brushland in the ordinary sense. not scattered clumps of mesquite dotting an arid prairie, or small thickets of sage in a sandy plain. it was a jungle. a dry jungle, as vast and unexplored as the amazon jungles, stretching through southern texas between the nueces river and the rio grande for uncounted miles, in many places so thick as to be impossible of penetration. until he had reached its safety, crawford's primary instinct had been the simple animal urge of escape. but once within its borders, a desire to get at the root of this thing, and to clear himself, began to grow in him. and though he knew the dangers involved, it had inevitably drawn him to the big o, where the whole thing had started. otis rockland's father had established the spread here in the _brasada_ just before the texas revolution, shipping lumber for his house from new orleans. it was a strange building, in a land where most structures were low adobe hovels. its two stories rose gaunt and lonely against the dark horizon of brush, the flat gambrel roof supporting a pair of glassed-in cupolas over the front. crawford had been here since noon, watching it, not yet knowing what he had meant to do when he reached the spread. the sun had burned bronze streaks through his shaggy mane of black hair, and a scrubby, matted beard grew up into the hungry hollows beneath his high cheek-bones, rendering his face gaunt and wolfish. his whole body jerked with the sudden crackle of brush behind him, and he started to whirl and rise from his hunkers and pull his gun around all in the same violent movement. "never mind, glenn, you'd never do it in time," said the man standing there. he waited a moment, grinning, and then spoke again with a deliberate, slow irony. "if you'll drop that henry, we'll be able to talk comfortably." crawford let the rifle slip reluctantly from stiff fingers, and then straightened his legs out until he was standing, faced toward the man they called cabezablanca for his head of pure white hair. his face was as smooth and unlined as a coffee bean, and he wore a pair of tight buckskin leggings they called _chivarras_ this near the border, and a blue cotton shirt, and crawford had never seen him without the winchester he carried now. "it's been a long time since you busted broncs for the big o, glenn," said cabezablanca. "ain't you going to say something? _buenos días_, for an old _amigo_, or how are things?" he waited a moment, the smile slipping from his thin, beardless lips. "you better be civil to me, glenn. i'm a very dangerous man." he halted again, and when he realized crawford would not answer, a sullen anger tightened his lips. "very well, let us go and see what they want to do with you." crawford turned around, moving from the screen of brush in stiff, catty steps, the tense forward thrust of his shoulders giving them that narrow appearance. he was aware that cabezablanca stooped to pick up the henry as he followed. crawford had been watching the crew working a bunch of horses in the corrals, and now, as he drew near, he saw that they had pulled a new animal into the tight chute between the smaller pen where the animals were held and the larger one where they were worked. it was a big black animal the mexicans called a _puro negro_, throwing itself crazily against the bars of the chute, the whole structure shuddering with its violent struggles. crawford was not aware that he had stopped till cabezablanca came up beside him. "yeah, crawford," said the white-headed man, watching him narrowly. "africano. sort of brings back things, doesn't it? that black devil's still rolling them, and nobody's broke it yet." a man threw a dally rope over the top of the chute, noosing the black animal's neck and pulling it tight against the bars. the beast fought wildly a moment, banging its skull against the cedar poles. the corrals shook again, and yellow dust rose about that section, obscuring the horse. when the dust settled, the _puro negro_ had quit battling, and stood with its forelegs stiff, breathing heavily through its nose. a tall, slat-limbed mexican climbed to the top of the chute, and the men below handed him up a double-rigged porter. he dropped the heavy saddle on the horse, and a man below reached through the bars to get the front girth, pulling the latigo through the cinch rings and yanking the girth tight. africano squealed shrilly, trying to jerk away again. then another mexican climbed up the bars of the chute and stood at the top, pulling his belt up. he was so broad he appeared short, his close-cropped hair beginning to gray at the temples. his great shoulders bunched like sides of beef beneath the strained wool of a faded _charro_ jacket with a few tattered remnants of what might have been gold embroidery on its lapels. he wore a pair of tight rawhide leggings, and the rolling muscles of his thighs had burst the seams in several places between hip and knee. crawford licked dry lips. "who is it?" "quartel," said cabezablanca. "when you killed rockland in san antonio, a lot of the big o crew drifted. bueno bailey and me are about the only ones left of the old bunch. rockland didn't have no heirs. so his lawyer was given the job of cleaning up the estate. there's a lot of cattle to be choused out of that brush and tarant had to get a new ramrod. and quartel's him." "but--" crawford moved his hand vaguely toward the horse--"africano--" "the nigger sort of fascinates quartel, i guess," grinned the other. "he's been trying to break it ever since he got here. that black devil almost stove him up a couple of times." quartel was straddling the bars of the chute with his feet, leaning down to tug at the saddle a couple of times and test the cinches. they finally got the bit in and pulled the rawhide reins up to where quartel could take hold of them. he waved his free hand, and the man below pulled out the drop bar which held the door of the chute closed. then they untied the rope from the black's neck and swung open the door. as the beast lunged forward, quartel dropped into the saddle. africano was larger than most brush horses, though not any taller, standing maybe fifteen hands, with a prodigiously muscled rump that indicated more than a little quarter blood, and a savage, vicious action to its every movement. the animal boiled over almost before it had left the chute. quartel had not found his right stirrup as the beast erupted, but by the time africano hit the top of its first buck, the man's foot was in the oxbow, and when the black stiff-legged down into the ground, quartel was set for it. even then, his broad, heavy body trembled to the awful jar of it. crawford's face twisted, and his hands were gripping the bars of the corral with a strange desperation. the black raced down the corral with a high, collected action and then stopped abruptly with its forelegs jamming the ground like ramrods, pin-wheeling in its own billow of dust. it was all balance with quartel. crawford did not think he had ever seen such a relaxed seat on a bucker. the man shifted his weight back and forth almost delicately, gauging each violent movement of the horse to perfection. "there it goes," said cabezablanca. crawford rose up on his toes against the bars. africano had started to roll. quartel stepped off with an incredibly lithe movement for his heavy body, as the horse went down. the black rolled completely over, and quartel was there ready to swing onto its back again as the animal came up, jamming his feet into the stirrups and raking the animal's dusty, lathered flanks with great mexican cart-wheel spurs. the black screamed in a frenzied, crazy way as it realized the man was still on its back. with a shrill whinny, it began rolling again, madly, cleverly, devilishly, watching quartel out of its glassy eyes, heavy chest briny with lather. crawford watched with a terrible fascination, unaware of how tightly he was hanging onto the bars or how loud and harsh his heavy, labored breathing was. on its fourth roll, africano twisted while still on its back and switched ends before coming up, kicking at quartel with its hind feet. quartel dodged the kick, shouting something, and slapped the animal's rump to come up over the legs as they struck the ground, hitting the saddle with a jar that drew a gasp from crawford. africano raced forward, halted abruptly, pivoted on one hind foot. quartel was thrown off balance by the spin, and while his weight was still on the off side, the black reared up and fell back deliberately. quartel had to kick free and jump to keep from being mashed beneath twelve hundred pounds of vicious black demon, and he lost control completely. the animal came up with a triumphant whinny, whirling toward quartel. the dust billowed up about the dim shouting movement filling the corral then, and crawford could see only dimly what happened. a red-bearded hand was galloping in on one of the cutting horses to try and reach the black before it trampled quartel. but the rider spun the big loop over his head once before throwing it, and the wily black saw it coming and wheeled away. "damn you, innes, why don't you go back to snagging fence posts," shouted quartel, stumbling to his feet and lurching for the rope. he caught that end and jerked it violently, almost unhorsing innes as the rope was torn from his hands. then quartel whirled around, snaking in the rope with quick, skillful flirts until he had the other end. the red-bearded rider had wheeled and was trying to run into africano broadside now to force it away from quartel. but africano leaped ahead, dodging the man, and wheeled toward quartel again, that maniacal intent plain in its bloodshot eyes. "get out of the way," quartel roared hoarsely at innes. "i swear you don't know any more about handling horses than a woman. get out of the way----" the mexicans called it a _mangana_, and not many men could have done it in such a position. the black horse had outmaneuvered innes, and was racing a dead run at quartel. quartel stood there with the rope in both hands, not even spinning it, a confident grin on his face. when the black was so near it looked certain to run quartel down, the man made his toss. it was a california throw, down low without a spin so the horse could not spot it until the loop was actually in the air. quartel snapped the rope behind him at his hip, then dragged it forward with a swift flirt of his wrist, hand pointed down and the loop swinging out so that it practically stood on edge. it was timed perfectly. quartel took one step away like a bullfighter, and the _puro negro_ thundered past him, so close its lathered shoulder twitched his _charro_ jacket, and ran headlong into that loop standing there. quartel turned away with the rope across his hip, and his thick body jerked hard as the horse snapped the rope taut and fell headlong. then he casually dropped the rope to the ground and walked away, while other hands ran in with the short tie ropes they called peales, to hog-tie the vicious beast while it was still down. crawford realized only then how his fingers ached. he released them from the cedar-post bar. his shirt was sticking to his back with sweat, and he heard that heavy, labored breathing. him? and something else. the same thing he had known on that cow pony up by san antonio. not pain exactly, though there were those little spasms twitching at his legs. but something more insidious than that, down in his belly somewhere, a thin, nauseating consciousness. his eyes went to the black horse, still kicking and squealing as they hog-tied it within the corral, and a new wave of it swept him. he turned away, clenching his teeth, trying to drown it with anger. then he became aware of how cabezablanca was looking at him. "what's the matter, crawford? you look like it was you riding the african instead of quartel." the white-headed man waited, that sly grin fading as he saw crawford was not going to speak. he indicated the house, finally, with the tip of his winchester. "let's go. maybe huerta will want to see you." "but i've already seen him," said a heavy, jaded voice from behind them. "i've been watching him for some time now." * * * * * the overdrapes of green striped satin had been pulled aside from the front windows of the dining-room to let the last shafts of afternoon sunlight cross the dark empire aubusson and gleam brazenly on the brass-headed nails which studded the green morocco upholstering of the chairs. the man who had stood behind crawford and cabezablanca at the corrals was doctor feliz huerta, and he followed crawford into the dining-room now. crawford did not think he had ever seen such infinite dissolution in a face. the minute pattern of blood vessels was faintly visible in huerta's heavy lids, giving them a bluish cast. his eyes, when they were visible behind these lids, held a dull, jaded lackluster in their black pupils, and his flesh was smooth and soft-looking, lined about the mouth and eyes like an old satchel. his black hair was parted in the middle, graying at the temples and receding there to form a peak down his forehead which, added to the strong arch of his brows, gave his features a satanic cast. "you may go now, whitehead," he said. cabezablanca shifted uncomfortably. "listen, you don't seem to understand. this is glenn crawford----" it seemed to cause huerta infinite effort to turn toward the man. for a moment, their eyes met. whitehead's mouth was still open from his words, and he drew a small, surprised breath through it. then he began to back out of the room. huerta moved his glance around to crawford when cabezablanca had left. "they say he is a very dangerous man," he murmured, moving languidly to the old english sideboard. lifting one of the brass rings on the top drawer, he pulled it open, taking a silver plate out and putting it on top. there was a small pile of reddish beans, and he selected one from this, popping it into his mouth. "you'll excuse me. an old complaint." crawford could retain it no longer. "what kind of horse you on?" huerta's face revealed some small surprise. "i thought you might like to have dinner with us. jacinto will bring it in a few moments." "no," said crawford, moving his hand viciously. "something else. what is it, huerta? what are you doing here?" one of huerta's sardonic black brows lifted quizzically. "you are such a suspicious man, crawford. i have known otis rockland for some time. he invited me to visit him. i arrived to find him murdered in san antonio. it was quite a shock. ah--" his glance had passed crawford and was focused on the doorway--"merida, wallace, i'm glad you've come. we have a dinner guest." crawford turned around. wallace tarant had been otis rockland's lawyer a long time, and crawford knew him well enough. but it was the woman who commanded his attention. her beauty struck him with such an impact that he felt a distinct physical reaction pass through his body. not many women could have worn their hair in such a severe coif without detracting from their allure. it was so black it looked blue, parted in the center and drawn back to a shimmering bun at the nape of her neck. it gave accent to the faintly exotic planes of her face. her only jewelry was a large cabochon emerald in an onyx brooch that rode the mature swell of her breasts just below the low-cut top of her black silk dress. her slightly oblique eyes held a candid interest, meeting his. the blood thickened in his throat. a vague irritation swept crawford that she should affect him so strongly. "this is merida lopez, crawford," said huerta. "she came with me from mexico city." "crawford." it escaped her on a throaty breath, and those large black eyes took in the tense line of his body, and a faint smile stirred her rich lips. "i imagined you, somewhat--like this." wallace tarant took a step that placed him at the woman's side. he had a broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped frame that looked good in his tailored town coat. his face, with its square brow and wide, thin-lipped mouth, should have held a palpable strength. but his eyes would not meet crawford's. his voice was small for such a large man. "what's the idea, huerta?" he said. "whitehead found him in the brush watching the house," said huerta. "i thought perhaps we might like a little talk with him. you, as rockland's lawyer, should appreciate the value of that." "isn't it a little dangerous," said tarant. "i think crawford knows how little chance there is of escape," said huerta. "by whatever door a man leaves this house, he has to cross several hundred yards of open compound before reaching the protection of the brush. at the present moment, there are half a dozen men out there, just waiting for the chance. as for his presence among us, you aren't afraid of him, are you, wallace?" tarant flushed, moved stiffly to pull out a chair for merida. crawford could not tell if it was deliberate, but in passing him the woman's body touched his hip. his whole frame stiffened with the momentary, warm, silken pressure, and he could not help the sharp breath he drew. then she was by, and he saw the faint, ironic smile twitch at huerta's lips. crawford turned angrily toward the table, but before he could reach a chair, the whole room began to tremble. he knew who was coming before the man appeared. jacinto del rio had cooked for the rocklands as long as anyone in the brush could remember. the three dominating factors of his life were apparent enough as he rumbled into the doorway from the entrance hall. his prodigious belly was a remarkable edifice to _tortillas_ and frijoles. the blue network of broken veins patterning his flushed jowls indicated a singular capacity for tequila and pulque. the reluctance of his every movement reflected his veritable passion for the national pastime of siesta. he held a great silver tureen of soup on a tray high before his face, and it prevented him from seeing crawford at first. "_trabajo, trabajo_," he grumbled, "always work. first it's breakfast in the bunkhouse. 'hyacinth cook some more eggs.' 'hyacinth this coffee tastes like alkali.' hyacinth this, hyacinth that. then breakfast for the big house. 'hyacinth you're late.' 'hyacinth you didn't put enough clabber in the biscuits.' hyacinth this, hyacinth that. me, who was made for nothing but wassail and song and laughter, sweating like an _esclavo_ all my life. you know what my father he tell me?" "yes, yes," said huerta wearily. "if you don't set that tray down soon we'll be eating breakfast instead of dinner." "he tell me, 'hyacinth, there are two sins in the world--working and fighting, working and fighting--and if you avoid both of them, you will surely go to heaven.'" jacinto set the tray down, his eyes rolling upward in a fat face. "por dios! it looks like i'll never get there now. my poor _padre_ must be turning over in his grave to see how i have desecrated his wishes. to think of me, little hyacinth of the river, meant for nothing but----" his eyes had focused on crawford for the first time, and his words ended in a bleat. he held up a fat hand, trying to say something, but nothing would come out. he turned toward huerta, sweat rolling down his face with his effort to speak. he whirled back to crawford, his whole body twitching. then he looked to huerta again. "_por dios!_" he croaked. "doctor. please. crawford. that's him. i was born for laughter and wassail and song. you aren't going to do anything. how did he get here? no _violencia_. please. my delicate sensibilities would revolt. you won't--" "my dear hyacinth," said huerta. "there won't, i assure you, be any violence. now please go and bring the rest of the meal." jacinto backed out of the room, sputtering, and huerta's sardonic glance slipped around to crawford. "won't you sit down? you make me nervous." crawford moved across to pull out a chair across from the woman, feeling her eyes on him, and lowered his tense body onto the green morocco leather. they were all watching him now. "would you serve, wallace?" said huerta, leaning back in his chair. he surveyed crawford for a moment. "you know," he said finally, "most people think your motive for killing otis rockland was revenge. but somehow, that doesn't satisfy us." "doesn't it?" said crawford. the woman's laugh was as throaty as her voice. it caused his glance to shift to her face with a jerk. she sat there with that smile, making no effort to explain her amusement. it drew a reasonless anger from him. he gripped his knees with his hands, beneath the linen cloth. "did you ever hear the story of santa anna's chests, mr. crawford?" merida lopez asked, finally, a strange, obscure mockery coloring her voice. "no," answered crawford stiffly. she tasted her soup, eyes still on him. "in april of , at the close of the texas revolution, general santa anna had led his mexican army halfway across texas after general houston's forces, finally catching him at san jacinto. there were two major political parties in mexico at that time, the federalists and the centralists. the centralists had been trying for some time to break santa anna's growing power in politics. for four or five months they had managed to have the army pay withheld, but santa anna finally got a pay train sent from mexico city. the battle of san jacinto was in progress when this mule train arrived, and a party of texans cut it off before it could reach the mexican army, chasing it westward into the brush somewhere south of the nueces. the texans finally caught the mexicans, and in the battle that followed the greater part of the mexicans were killed. but the mules had disappeared. they have not been found since." "neither has the lost nigger mine, or steinheimer's millions," said crawford. "i been listening to windies like that since i was a button." "ah, a skeptic." again that mockery, more palpable this time. she toyed with her soupspoon. the faint movement of her wrist drew his glance, and he found himself wondering how the soft white skin would feel. "and still, crawford, doesn't it intrigue you?" her voice penetrated his attention, and he raised his gaze self-consciously. just her hand. just the movement of her hand like that. what the hell? "five months' pay for an army, crawford. does a man like you have any conception of that kind of money? men would kill for it. even governments. and there is more than just the story. there is what the mexicans call a _derrotero_." she let her eyes lift momentarily from the spoon, but he had kept his face carefully blank. he was beginning to notice her enunciation now. the accent was discernible sometimes. her careful precision seemed an effort to hide it. "this _derrotero_," she said. "literally a map, a chart. it was made by the captain of the mule train. when he realized the texans would inevitably catch him, he secreted the pay chests somewhere in the brush, making the chart. fearing that, if he entrusted the whole of the chart to one man, that man might be captured, he divided it into three portions. thus, if one or even two of the men were caught, the chests would still be safe, for the hiding place could not be located without all three portions. one section he sent with an indian to santa anna himself at san jacinto. the second part he gave to his lieutenant, to carry to the federalists in mexico city. the third he kept himself." "yeah?" said crawford. "yes," she said, smiling in dim amusement at his acrid reticence. for a moment, her eyes were half-closed, studying him, and they held a slumberous, provocative temptation. it stirred something primal within him. he had felt it before. but not this way. not just looking in a woman's eyes. "the captain of that mule train was the uncle of your friend pio delcazar!" it went through him with a palpable shock, and it was not till after she had finished speaking that crawford realized what she had been doing, with those eyes. they had turned hard and speculative, now, and with the spell broken, crawford felt the twisted expression her words had drawn to his face. he tried to regain that inscrutability, but knew it was too late. there was a certain triumphant satisfaction in the way merida allowed her gaze to drop to the table as she began eating the soup again. and now the two men were watching him. he felt the sweat break out on his palms. "_carne adobada, carne adobada?_" said jacinto, waddling in. "you don't know how long i pickled it in brine. i fry the spices and chile till the juices stream out of the pork, and--" he trailed off, seeing how they were all watching crawford. he turned to huerta, wringing his fingers. "doctor, please, i beseech you--" "the coffee, hyacinth, the coffee," murmured huerta, waving a languid hand at the cook without looking away from crawford. jacinto almost choked on the breath he took, and backed out, staring wide-eyed at crawford. "_sí._ the _café_. _sí._" tarant began to serve the meat dish jacinto had brought. "when you had that ruckus with rockland in the living-room here, bueno bailey said it was over delcazar," he said. "you know what it was over," said crawford. "you got del's land for rockland that way." huerta leaned forward slightly. "was it just the land?" "del's my _compadre_," said crawford. "you're mexican. you know what the word is." "crawford," said huerta, bending farther forward, "we should, of course, send you back to san antonio. but there are other things which could be done." "you're riding a muddy creek." "a colloquialism," murmured the woman. "how quaint." crawford's narrow, dark head turned toward her with an angry jerk. she was watching him from beneath her brows in that mocking way, chin tucked in, and it formed a small crease in the rich flesh beneath her jaw. there was something concupiscent about it. "we think your quarrel with rockland was over more than the way he acquired delcazar's land," said huerta. crawford found it difficult to take his eyes off merida. "do you?" "oh, huerta," the woman muttered petulantly, "can't you see you'll never get anywhere beating about the bush with him--" "you'll never get anywhere with him anyway," said wallace tarant. "i know glenn crawford, huerta. we'd better send him back to san antonio right now." "oh, no," said huerta, leaning back. "not at all. i think if we kept him here long enough, we would find a way of convincing him that it is to his advantage to--ah--" he moved his hand, as if seeking the word--"cooperate, with us. yes. co-operate. don't you, merida?" the woman's laugh held a husky sensuality. "perhaps. even if not--it would be interesting." wallace tarant put down his fork angrily. "don't be a fool, huerta. having crawford here is like sitting on a keg of powder with a lighted match. what would kenmare do if he found we'd caught crawford and hadn't notified the authorities?" "kenmare won't find out," said huerta, turning toward the man, "unless someone tells him. ah, our coffee." jacinto set the urn down hesitantly, glaring about at them. he started to speak, then caught huerta's eye, and backed out of the room, muttering to himself. smiling faintly, huerta indicated that tarant should pour. then he held out a cup. "mexican style, crawford. perhaps you'll like it. boiled in milk and water and sweetened in the pot with _poloncillo_, our brown sugar. i was surprised to find how few of the hands here drank it like this. i know quartel sweetens it with molasses sometimes." his eyes dropped to his own cup, and he stirred it absently. "speaking of quartel, that was quite an exhibition this afternoon, wasn't it? i don't think i've ever seen such a vicious horse. and what a magnificent beast a man would have if he could break it." he looked up abruptly. "oh, excuse me, crawford, i--" he moved his hand in an apologetic gesture--"i wasn't thinking--" the woman frowned at him. "hm?" "the horse," said huerta, looking at merida, "the horse." "what about the horse?" she said. "i don't mean that," said huerta. "i--" "never mind," said crawford. "my legs are all right." "oh?" huerta's arched brows rose. "i got a different impression. you weren't riding." "i lost my horse on the flores road." "it was hit?" "i lost it, that's all," said crawford. "oh." huerta took out a jade cigarette holder, fitting a smoke into it. he leaned back, looking at crawford. "you were watching africano out in the corral, that way." "what about the way i was watching it?" huerta's eyes dropped meditatively to the coffee cup, and he allowed twin streamers of smoke to leave his nostrils. "i guess i got the wrong impression, crawford. you'll have to pardon me." "impression about what, huerta?" said tarant. huerta seemed to rouse himself with an effort. "ah, nothing. nothing, tarant. you're not drinking your coffee, crawford. is it too sweet for you? pour him another cup, tarant." the woman was watching him narrowly now, and huerta let his eyes meet hers momentarily before he leaned forward to put his elbows on the table. he took a sip of his own coffee, looking down the middle of the table in that meditation again. "they say a man is getting old when he starts reminiscing, but i can't help being reminded of an instance i ran across in monterrey some years ago. after the war i chanced to be employed by a mexican firm with interests in a mine north of the city. i had been company doctor some months when one of the lower shafts caved in, killing half a dozen of the men. i managed to patch up most of those who escaped with minor injuries. there was one miner, a huge giant of a fellow, whose legs had been crushed somewhat beneath the slide. my operations were singularly successful, and within five or six months he was as good as new, the bones knit perfectly and the muscles gave no sign of the damage. during his convalescence, there had been no pain. yet, the very first day he went back to work, he experienced the most acute agony in his legs." the little muscles jumped out all along crawford's jaw suddenly. huerta looked up, smiled faintly. "yes--the most acute agony. i could find nothing organically wrong with him, absolutely nothing. in my office, he did not feel the pain. i took him back to the mine. as he approached the mouth of the shaft in which he had worked, the agony returned. all the symptoms of genuine pain. sweating, trembling, tears in the eyes. i could not account for it. there was utterly no reason for him to feel the pain. i administered drugs, enough to deaden the greatest agony. it had no effect. then i took him away from the mine. as soon as it was out of sight, the pain receded, disappeared." merida's face had lifted as he spoke, a tight furrow appearing between her brows. "you mean--his mind--" "_sí_," said huerta. he was adjusting a fresh cigarette carefully in its holder. "i came to that conclusion finally. the mind plays funny tricks on us sometimes. that cave-in had been such a ghastly experience that he actually felt pain when he returned to the scene. and worse than the pain. fear. he could never work at his trade again; he could never get near a mine without feeling that pain. and that fear. he tried to fight it. he had been a brave man once. he tried to force himself back into the mines. but in the shaft he became a sniveling, gibbering coward, crying and puking like a baby, unable to speak coherently even. yes, the mind does play funny tricks on us--" huerta held his cigarette holder out abruptly. "crawford, you've spilled your coffee!" _chapter three_ huerta was right! the bunkhouse and cookshack stood a few hundred yards south of the house, two adobe structures connected by a covered dog-run. rockland's father had put them up to live in while his large dwelling was being built, constructing their walls not with mud bricks but by the older indian method of making forms out of willow shoots and cotton sheeting, pouring the mud into these forms, and peeling off the cotton after the adobe had dried. unless these walls were replastered every six months or so, they began to crack, and the inside of the cookshack was already beginning to show a network of minute fissures across its whitewashed surface. it was here crawford had spent the night, an oppressive sense of the hostility which surrounded him keeping him from much sleep. after breakfast, all the crew had left the bunkhouse but bueno bailey. he was gaunt as an alley cat, and he parted his long yellow hair in the middle and slicked it down with bacon grease, and he sat in the stilling morning heat of the shack, idly spinning the cylinder of his six-shooter. "will you stop that, bueno?" snapped crawford. bailey looked up at crawford, who had been standing against the doorpost, staring outside. "i've seen cattle look out between the bars of a pen that same way, glenn," he said, putting his long forefinger against the cylinder of his gun to give it another, deliberate whirl. "you don't need to get ideas. why do you think they left me here?" "i'll bite," said crawford. "why?" "they haven't decided what to do with you yet," murmured bailey. "tarant was for taking you right back to san antonio, but huerta didn't want that, for some reason. either way, it's a cinch they don't want you to get away. _sabe?_" "what's huerta got to say about it?" said crawford. "he's some friend of rockland's," bueno told him. "that doesn't seem to me enough reason for the way he assumes authority around here," crawford muttered. "i thought quartel was the ramrod." "there's some kind of deal between huerta and tarant," bailey answered, giving the cylinder another spin. "quartel's tried to buck huerta a couple of times and tarant stood behind the doctor. quartel almost lost his job the second time. tarant gave us the idea we'd better do what huerta liked if we wanted to keep on working here." crawford glanced at the gun. "i asked you to stop that." bueno leaned forward on the three-legged stool, placing his elbows on his knees to look up at crawford. "so you had to come back, glenn," he said. "why?" "maybe i came back to pay a few debts," said crawford thinly. the oily click of the cylinder stopped abruptly. "you owe somebody something?" "still snipping cinches, bueno?" the stool crashed to the floor, and crawford whirled from where he had been standing in the doorway to meet bailey as the man came up against him. the only thing that prevented their bodies from meeting was the gun bailey held against crawford's body. the man's milky eyes were slitted, and the smell of that bacon grease in his hair nauseated crawford. "chew that a little finer," said bueno, through his teeth. "africano never could have rolled me under if that rigging hadn't come apart," crawford said thinly. "i saw the cinch on that saddle afterward. it hadn't pulled loose by itself." "glenn--" bailey let it out on a hissing breath--"i think you better change your mind about that." "i know who did rockland's stable jobs for him," said crawford. the gun dug into his belly. "glenn--" "yes?" said crawford. "make it a better job than that first time, bueno." bueno stood there a moment longer, his breath hot and fetid against crawford's face. then his weight settled back onto his heels. he turned around and set the stool upright and lowered himself onto it once more. he began twirling the cylinder again with his forefinger. crawford saw it tremble against the blued steel. "when the time comes, crawford," said bueno, not looking up, "i will make it a better job, you can depend on that. i'll finish the job." the harsh laugh from the doorway caused crawford to turn back that way. he wondered how long quartel had stood there. the man moved on into the room, a pawky smile on his sensuous lips. the pores of his cheeks and nostrils were large enough to be clearly discernible, and they exuded a heavy sweat, lending a greasy look to the thick brown flesh of his face. he stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his dirty _chivarras_, leaning back slightly. "it seems that you haven't got one friend left on the rockland _estancia_, doesn't it, _señor_ crawford?" he said. "_en la cárcel y en la cama se conocen los amigos_," said the man who had come in with quartel. "did i ask for any of your stupid proverbs, aforismo?" said quartel. "it is just a saying they have in durango," said aforismo. "in jail and in bed we know our friends." he was a thin, stooped man, aforismo, his white cotton shirt soiled with dirt and horse-droppings, his eyebrows slanting upward toward the middle of his forehead to give him a habitual expression of mournful complaint. "maybe you got a proverb that tells how to find out where a man pins his badge," said quartel, looking at crawford. "i know one about a stitch in time--" "knew a texas ranger once who pinned it to his undershirt," said quartel. bueno bailey had looked up. "what saddle you in now?" "it would be a good reason," said quartel. "he had to have some reason." "listen," said bueno. "that's glenn crawford. sure he had some reason. a lot of reasons. but not that. he's--" "i know who he is," said quartel. "then why--" "innes took tarant back to san antonio last night," said quartel. "innes heard a lot of talk. there's rumor of a government marshal in the _brasada_." "if that's so, it's because of crawford," said bueno. "kenmare couldn't get him. i wouldn't doubt they'd send a marshal after him." "maybe you got it inside your boot," said quartel. "what makes you so touchy about a badge-packer?" said crawford. bailey had stood up. "listen, quartel, can't you get it through your thick skull, whatever crawford is, he ain't a lawman." "isn't he?" quartel studied crawford a moment. then he threw back his head to emit that short, harsh laugh, so loud it seemed to rock the room. it died as swiftly as it had come. his glance dropped to crawford's legs. "so you got reasons to come back. africano, maybe?" "_you_ haven't broken him," said crawford. quartel flushed. "i will. there isn't any horse i can't break." "he would have rolled you if you'd been a second later with that _mangana_ yesterday." "well, i wasn't a second later," said quartel. "did you see that _mangana_? nobody else could have done it so close." he thumped his barrel chest with a hairy fist. "i'm the best damn roper in the world, crawford. i can rope better and ride farther and drink more and cuss dirtier than any _hombre_ from here to mexico city. now let's go. i got a lot of cattle to clean out of that brush and i'm not wasting a man here to guard you." jacinto had come through the covered dog-run from the kitchen in time to hear quartel. "the _señorita_ will not like that," he said. quartel turned angrily toward him. "you in merida's _corrida_ or mine." "yours, quartel, _madre de dios_, yours," said jacinto. "still she won't like that. only last night i heard her say--" "_punta en boca_," said quartel. "shut your mouth. all right, crawford. we got the horses saddled." crawford's boots made a hesitant scrape on the hard-packed adobe floor; then he took a breath, and walked toward the door. jacinto waddled after him, sweat glistening in the wrinkles between the rolls of fat forming his face. he caught crawford's arm, trying to stop him. "listen, _señor_," he said breathlessly. "don't let them take you out there. merida is against it. i heard her and huerta arguing about it. just wait till i tell her and she'll stop quartel. don't let them get you out there." quartel had moved outside to let crawford through the door. the heat of the sun struck him like a blow on the face as he stepped out with jacinto still tugging at him. "i'm telling you, _señor_, don't be a fool. if they get you--" "dammittohell!" screamed quartel, and stepped in to spin around with his arm held out. the backhand blow caught jacinto squarely in the face. jacinto's hand clutched crawford's arm spasmodically as the blow knocked him backward, jerking crawford off balance. then jacinto's three hundred pounds of sweating brown flesh struck the wall of the bunkhouse. the building shuddered, and a shower of pale adobe flakes descended on the huge mexican as he slid to the ground. quartel stood there a moment, his face diffused with blood till it looked positively negroid, his whole body shaking with rage. for the first time, the utter, primal violence of the man struck crawford. without a word, quartel turned and walked across the compound. the true suffocation in all this heat seemed to close in on crawford as he moved to follow quartel. he found himself breathing with a heavy effort. cabezablanca was standing by the group of horses near the corral. the white-headed man held his winchester tenderly. "how are you, crawford?" he said softly. crawford glanced at him without answering, and cabezablanca's eyes narrowed and he ran one finger up and down the gleaming barrel of his carbine. "you still refuse to be civil with me. that is unfortunate. i am a very dangerous man, crawford." "that's your horse." quartel nodded at a ewe-necked old paint standing near the corral fence. it had rheumy eyes and rope scars all over its gaunt shoulders and a saddleback the shape of hickory bow and the weediest legs crawford had ever laid eyes on. yet, standing even this near the animal, crawford could feel that nebulous excitation begin to rise in him. or was it excitation? the sweat broke out on his palms. in a sudden burst of anger, he clamped his fists shut. "what kind of crowbait is this?" he said. quartel shrugged. "i thought--i mean your legs--" "i told you that was over." crawford did not know whether the anger was at himself or at quartel. he might not have said it under more control. "i can ride anything you can!" "africano?" said quartel. he saw crawford stiffen and grow pale, and his laugh had a scraping sound. "never mind, crawford, never mind. you won't have to fork the _puro negro_. he ain't broke yet. you saw that yesterday." then the laughter left quartel. he jerked a thumb at the paint. "get on." "the hell." crawford had bent forward slightly, his whole body rigid. that bitter intensity had drawn the flesh taut across his cheeks beneath his scrubby beard. he turned abruptly toward the corral. "where you going?" shouted quartel. "to get a decent horse," said crawford, without turning back. "you want to try and stop me?" * * * * * he was sweating again. it was a little sorrel pony with a running walk so relaxed crawford could hear the teeth pop at every step like a tennessee walker, and a rocking-chair would have been harder on a man. yet he was sweating again. "they say the _hombres_ who curse the _brasada_ most love it the best," said aforismo. "you must love it like a woman." crawford turned his head sharply toward the man. he hadn't realized he had been swearing out loud. it hadn't been at the brush. it was so confused now, inside and out. it was hard to breathe, and the muscles across his stomach were tight as a stretched dally, and he could feel the pain spreading from his hips. _all the symptoms of genuine pain._ was that what huerta had said? _sweating, trembling, tears in the eyes._ the doctor's voice was in his ears, suave, insidious. _the mind plays funny tricks sometimes._ it couldn't be. not his mind. not _my_ mind, huerta, not _my_ mind. "yeah," grinned bueno bailey, forking a big dun on crawford's other side. "there never was a man could cuss the brush like crawford. i'd rather listen to him talking his way through a _mogote_ of chaparral than hear music." crawford hardly heard him. the perspiration was sticky beneath his armpits, his shirt clung to his back with it. and now it was that other, stirring in him, so confused with the pain at first he could not define it, or would not--the same thing he had felt there at the corral, watching africano. _and worse than the pain._ no. he wasn't afraid. _i'm not afraid, huerta._ how could he be? _how could i be? living with horses all my life. how could i be?_ "take it easy," snapped bueno. "what's the matter?" crawford jerked the reins against his horse, realizing he had allowed it to sidle into the dun. the sorrel shifted uncertainly the other way, thumping into aforismo's animal. this time crawford's reining was even more violent and it caused the sorrel to shy. crawford was clenching his teeth now with the effort at control. his knees were like vises against the animal's sides. just a trot, and his knees were like vises. _oh, damn you, crawford. just a trot, and you're bouncing like a satchel in a spring buggy._ he felt a desperate relief sweep him as quartel drew up ahead of them, running a finger around the inside of the red bandanna he wore. "god, it's like a furnace," he said. "the drier the spring the more mesquite beans in the summer," said aforismo. quartel glanced keenly at crawford, then waved his hand at a big thicket of black chaparral starting a few yards away. "that _mogote_ covers two or three miles. we been through once, but it's so thick a lot of the _cimarrónes_ got away from us. crawford is riding with bailey and me. whitehead, you take a line through the north flank of the _mogote_. meet us at rio diablo about sundown." cabezablanca looked at crawford before he wheeled his horse and trotted off into the brush, followed by aforismo. quartel forked a big brown animal with white hairs in its tail; they called it a _pelicano_. he reined the horse violently around, flapping his stirrups out wide. he did not have to kick the animal. as soon as the _pelicano_ saw those feet fly out, it bolted into a wild gallop straight for the thicket. crawford nudged the sorrel with a heel and followed, stiffening in the saddle as he broke into a trot. quartel made a great ripping sound tearing through the first thin fringe of mesquite. then they were in the dry heat of the thicket. there was no more wily animal in the world than the _ladino_ of the _brasada_. these outlaw cattle made nests for themselves in the thickest _mogoles_, lying there for days at a time when hunted, their food the very thicket that surrounded them. they ate off the prickly pear and other brush within the _mogote_ until it formed a veritable room, with the walls and roof of entangled chaparral and mesquite so dense that they were invisible from without. this larger thicket the men rode through was in reality formed by many smaller thickets, with game trails and open patches throughout the thinner brush surrounding the minor _mogotes_. quartel followed one of these game trails for some time without any apparent effort to find sign. then, abruptly, he pulled up on his reins. the heavy _pelicano_ reared to an instant's stop, head jerking up to the brutal jerk on its cruel spade bit. quartel leaned toward the _mogote_ of black chaparral and crawford was close enough now to see the man's thick nostrils flutter. "_cimarrónes_ in here," whispered the mexican, finally. "outlaws. you go around to the other side, bueno. you'll get the first chance at whatever crawford and i scare out from here." bailey pulled his dun around and cut through an opening between this smaller _mogote_ and another, disappearing. quartel wiped sweat off his face with the back of his hand. he grinned pawkily at crawford. "how's the sorrel?" he said. "good enough," said crawford. he tried to relax. but he knew what was coming. it would be fast now. if there were _ladinos_ in there, it would be fast. "hola!" quartel's hoarse shout startled the sorrel so much it almost pitched crawford off. grabbing wildly with his legs, crawford saw the mexican's stirrups flapped out that way. the _pelicano_ bolted into a headlong gallop and crashed bodily into that dense mass of chaparral, ripping a great hole in the _mogote_. crawford knew a moment's painful hesitation, fighting his spooked sorrel, then he gave the animal its head and booted it in the flanks. the horse went through the hole quartel had left. the brush formed but a thin wall, and the sorrel burst into the opening beyond with a startling abruptness. in these first few moments crawford felt nothing but a blurred impression of externals. he saw quartel's _pelicano_ ahead, trailing white brush from its scarred hide and dripping mesquite berries in its wake. he had a vivid picture of three gaunt cattle leaping to their feet beyond, and knew a faint, transitory surprise that he should notice such an insignificant detail as the hair rubbed off the knees of the white heifer, showing that she had been crawling the brush instead of walking, in order to remain hidden from the recent roundup. then the trio of _cimarrónes_ had wheeled away from quartel's horse and crashed through the opposite wall. the deafening sound and the swift, blinding movement stunned crawford's senses as he went through after quartel. "_bueno!_" screamed bailey, appearing from somewhere beyond with his dally rope spinning in a california throw, coming up from underneath so it would not catch on the overhanging brush, "_bueno_," the loop snaking about the forefeet of the lead steer. the ground shook as the steer went down and bailey's horse was stiff-legging to a stop, bailey swinging down to run for the kicking steer with a peal. he had done the whole thing with such incredible speed that before crawford had passed, bailey had the steer's hind legs hog-tied with the short rawhide peal and was dragging him to a coma tree, where he would leave him hitched until they were ready to take him back to the spread. then bailey was behind, and quartel and crawford were smashing through a thin stretch of mesquite after the other two. no riding in the world could compare with popping the brush. a _brasadero_ might easily take a job on a spread outside the brush and make good, but a hand used to the prairies seldom succeeded in becoming a brush hand. it took consummate skill to ride at a dead run through the brush after cattle like this. and quartel had that skill. ahead of crawford, he made a bobbing swaying figure on that big _pelicano_, rarely holding his seat on top of the saddle, incessantly swinging off to the side or ducking down forward or jerking back and forth. the two _ladinos_ raced beneath a post oak branch so low it scraped hide off their backs, and crawford expected to see quartel rein violently around it. but the mexican merely swung one leg off and hung down the side of his horse like an indian, his thick right arm hooked over the _pelicano's_ neck. the oak branch knocked quartel's sombrero off his head--he would have lost it but for the tie-thong--and tore at the cantle of the saddle so violently the whole rigging shrieked. there was a great mass of thorny junco just beyond the tree, growing as high as the _pelicano's_ head, and a less skillful man would have been ripped to bloody shreds before he got back onto the saddle. crawford could hear quartel's violent grunt and thought sure the man was swinging up too soon and would be knocked back down by that branch. but quartel had gauged it to a nicety. his spasmodic lurch upward took him back into the saddle just in time. the junco merely scraped his left leg as he thundered by. "hola," he shouted wildly, "hola, you crazy _cimarrónes_, i'm right on your tail, hola!" something within crawford rebelled as he neared that spot quartel had passed through. he felt his hands tugging on the reins, and the sorrel lost all its collection, thrown off balance as it tried to pull out of its mad gallop into a trot. crawford was panting in a heavy, frustrated way as he shifted through the spot beneath the post oak branch and past the junco bush. and now it was strong enough in him to have a palpable grip, like a great hand squeezing his vitals. the first action had been violent enough to carry him along with it, but now that was over, and slowing like that had been the final error. the muscles across his stomach were knotting with nervous tension, and his legs quivered against the side of the sorrel. he leaned forward, and the horse gathered itself to break into a gallop ahead. but somehow he could not move his feet against the animal's side. somehow his hands would not relax their hold on the reins. "what's the matter, crawford?" it was bueno bailey, tearing in from behind, and crawford realized he had been sobbing to himself, huddled over his horse that way. "nothing, damn you, nothing," he shouted and booted the sorrel so hard it whinnied in surprise and pain, rearing up and then bolting headlong after quartel. crawford had one more glimpse of the mexican before he disappeared from sight, chousing after those two animals. a malignant branch of chaparral reached out for quartel's head, and he dodged that and then swayed back the other way in time to miss being blinded by a clump of mesquite berries. then he reined his horse around a growth of prickly pear and swung down off the flank as the animal burst through a last dense growth of chaparral with branches so low the _ladinos_ had found trouble going through, and then he was out of sight. _keep your eyes open, keep your eyes open._ it kept spinning through crawford's head like that, the fundamental dictum of brush-popping. if a man closed his eyes once he was lost. crawford had seen more than one hand knocked from his horse because a branch appearing suddenly out of nowhere had caused him to shut his eyes and dodge blindly. the sorrel was going at a frenzied, headlong pace now, caught up in the wild excitement of the chase, with the drumming pound of bueno bailey's dun off to the flank and the deafening crash of mesquite and chaparral echoing about them. all he could do was dodge and duck. he found himself gripping the horn with one white-knuckled hand. cursing bitterly, he tore it off, jerking violently aside just in time to miss being raked by a thick mat of mesquite. and all the time it was going through him, _keep your eyes open_, and he couldn't. a branch of chaparro _prieto_ loomed before his face and he jerked aside and blackness blotted out sight. he heard someone yelling and did not know it was himself till he had opened his eyes again. it could not have been from pain because he had missed the chaparro. but the instant he opened his eyes, leaning off to one side that way, junco and retama were clawing at his face. with his eyes open he would have been able to see them in time to dodge. as it was, the myriad claws of the allthorn raked his flesh like the stroke of a jaguar's paw. again his eyes clamped shut, and he tore himself out of the tangle. if it had been a post oak it would have knocked him off. he did not know whether the screams were inside his head now or whether he actually voiced them. he felt his hands jerking desperately on the reins, but the sorrel was running wild, and he had lost control of the horse as well as himself. he was swept with violent, spasmodic waves of virulent anger at himself and pain that grew more knifing each time it struck from his loins and fear that turned his mind to a kaleidoscope of uncontrolled sensations. he was clinging with both hands to the horn now, his eyes closed, sobbing and screaming. the sorrel sideswiped a post oak. a low branch knocked crawford backward with the blow. he reeled back to an upright position, swimming in a stunned agony. somewhere, dimly, in what was left of his consciousness he realized there was only one thing to do. if he tried to keep on the horse any longer this way he would be battered into pulp. yet, knowing it, there was no will left in him to act. even that swift thought of it caused a new spasm of awful fear. reeling, swaying, his eyes clamped shut, his ducking jacket ripped and torn, he rode on madly through the thicket. he crashed through a mesquite thicket, and the brush clawed his cheeks to shreds. chaparral beat him aside time and time again. his screams were hoarse and incoherent now, hardly human. the lathered, frothing wild-eyed horse was in a frenzy, its hoofs drumming the ground in a dim tattoo beneath the deafening, incessant crash of brush. then that last blow caught him, square across the belly. it must have been a low branch. his desperate grip was torn from the saddle horn, and he was swept over the cantle and off the sorrel's rump, doubled over. he had one lucid thought before his head struck the ground, blotting out all thought. huerta was right! _chapter four_ unreasoning fear dusk held its own singular aspect. there was something hushed about the brush at this time. not the dead oppressive silence of noon. there were many small sounds, but the bizarre, velvety clutch of twilight seemed to subdue them. a hooty owl called tentatively from a hackberry down in some yonder draw. an invisible jack rabbit made a dim, staccato thump hopping through a distant clearing, then halted. nearer by a lizard rustled sibilantly through the foot-deep layer of decaying brush, which for eons had been dropping from the bushes to pile up on the ground. it was these sounds, one by one, which impinged on glenn crawford's consciousness. then the fetid odor of the mold beneath him. his face felt stiff and painful. it caused him a great effort to reach up to his cheek. the rips and tears made great gaps in his beard and his whole face was covered with dried blood. finally he sat up, shaking his head dully. three hours? four hours? what time had it been? it was hard to think. he shook his head again. early afternoon anyway. and this was-- that brought him up straight. they hadn't found him? it was strange. it was wrong, somehow. they hadn't found him. wrong. they were better trackers than that. all of them. if quartel could ride like that he could track like that. he got up with great difficulty and fell down again. his head was spinning. when he got to his knees once more, the shreds of his ducking jacket bound his arms, and when he fell that second time, he went full on his face, unable to get his hands in front of him. in a fit of anger he tore the remains of the jacket off. the third time he managed to remain upright. as he stood there, the first thought of the horse came to him. he felt that pain begin in his loins. just the thought of it! with a sobbing curse he broke into a stumbling run at the first thicket of brush. he halted himself before he had reached the _mogote_. he was breathing heavily and his lips were pinched. he held out his hand before him. it shook visibly. he closed his eyes a moment, face twisted. then he took a deep breath and opened them again, staring about the clearing. there was a great torn place in one thicket on the other side. he moved over there at a deliberate walk. the hole in the brush was big enough to walk through; beyond that was another open patch and then a second small thicket torn asunder by the passage of a heavy body. it was full night by the time he found the sorrel that way, following the trail it had made bursting through the brush. the animal stood in a clearing, head hanging wearily, dried lather forming dirty yellow patterns on its freshly scarred hide. crawford was about to step into the open when he caught himself. there was a dim rustling in the brush to his left. his face turned that way sharply. the noise ceased after a moment. he shook his head and went out to get the horse. "stand still, you crazy fool," he said, "stand still now, i'm not going to hurt you, just stand still, that's it, hold it." the animal had started to shift away, but his soothing voice quieted it. he moved in close and ran his hand reassuringly along its rump and down its side. then, as he stood with his face toward it that way, close enough so that the heat of its body reached his belly, it began to come again. that insidious, stirring, prickling sensation deep in his loins. that hollow sickness growing in his stomach till it approached nausea; the sweat breaking out on his face and beneath his armpits. the curse had a strangled sound in his throat, as he bent to get the trailing reins. he wouldn't walk back to the spread. no matter what else, he wouldn't give them that satisfaction. he stopped, with his hand not yet touching the end of the reins. even in the dark, bending over like that, he could see the footprints. the sorrel's hoofs had made their dim impression all over the decaying vegetation covering the gound. but here and there, where the horse had not blotted it out, was a smaller, deeper imprint, like that of a boot heel. he remained stooped over it for a moment that way. then, slowly, he started to lift the reins. they were caught on something. he reached down and found the ends tied about a long stake of wood embedded deeply beneath the rotting brush. crawford slipped the reins off the stick and rose beside the horse. slowly he put his weight against its neck. his breath had a small, swift sound. the horse gradually shifted around under that pressure until it stood broadside between crawford and the direction that small rustling had come from when he first entered the thicket. "now." he spoke to the horse softly, sliding his hands up the reins till they were directly beneath the bit, and pulling gently forward. "let's go. let's go. take it easy. let's go." the animal moved toward the fringe of brush surrounding the clearing. crawford walked close in by its side, tugging incessantly forward on the reins, talking in that soft low tone. the animal's hoofs crackled in the brush underfoot. it snorted once, pulling peevishly at his tight grip on the shanks of the bit. he twisted them upward slightly and the horse responded to the bit against its roof, quieting. they had almost reached the edge of the _mogote_ when the shot crashed. the horse was jerked over against crawford by the force of the bullet going through its body. then it reared into the air, screaming. desperately crawford tried to retain his hold on the reins, yanking the horse on ahead, throwing the whole weight of his body into it. he managed to fight the plunging, rearing animal a couple more steps toward the brush. then the beast's violent spasms tore his grip loose of the reins. with the animal still forming a shield in that last instant, he threw himself in a headlong dive for the thicket. another shot roared behind him, and the horse screamed again, and then crawford was rolling into the crackling, tearing mesquite thicket. he came to his feet, pawing a cluster of berries out of his face, and plunged blindly on into the _mogote_. for a long, blind run, the only sound was that incessant deafening crash of brush all about him. he burst through that first thicket and crossed a game trail and clattered into another _mogote_. black chaparral this time, and stabbing junco and maddening prickly pear. then an open patch. and another _ramadero_. white brush and golden huisache that filled the air with a vague, viscid odor of honey. then that was gone and the spines of the agarita tore at his face. he broke through the agarita into a game trail that wound its secretive way through the _mogotes_, and he stumbled down that till it petered out into more mesquite. halfway through, the spread of mesquite became entwined with chaparro _prieto_ and spanish dagger that met his every movement with a vicious stab of its dirklike growth. he found himself fighting a frantic, useless battle to penetrate this thicket farther; it had brought him to a complete stop and, standing there, chest heaving, face dripping sweat, he could see that the impenetrable _mogote_ was on the rim of a draw, and that it grew on down into the bottom of the draw, choking it full. even if he could manage to fight his way through the thicket, he would be exposed, crossing that draw. the realization came to him in a dim, spasmodic way, with no true reasoning behind it, for he was still filled with that animal panic. he whirled back and fought his way out of the mesquite. and then, crossing the comparatively open space of the game trail, it came to him. he stopped there. tears squeezed from his eyes with the effort it caused him to control his breath so he could hear more clearly. it came again, small, distant, yet distinct enough. the faint rattle of mesquite berries, brushed by a passing body. the soft snap of decaying vegetation beneath a careless foot. again it was no reasoning process. just a wave of instinctive, animal realization of how he was trapped. face twisting with frustrated rage, crawford backed slowly, almost involuntarily, across the game trail into the mesquite thicket again. he moved as far back as he could, upright, and then he got down on his belly and crawled in until the roots and trunks and foliage became too thick even for that, and then he stopped. his shirt was drenched with sweat and the perspiration dripped into his eyes, blinding and stinging. gnats began to float in, attracted by the sweat and the blood of his scratches. at first he fought them. he rubbed his palms viciously against his face, mashing the maddening insects. he slapped wildly, gasping virulent curses. it only seemed to draw more. with a myriad of the gnats mashed wetly against the cut, bleeding, stinging, itching flesh of his face, and with a veritable cloud of them buzzing about his upper body, he put his head at last into his arms, and a bitter, hoarse sobbing arose mutedly from him. at last he stopped even that. he lay there in utter, hopeless defeat. his crashing passage through the brush had frightened all the small animals into silence, but now the sounds of them began again. a hooty owl started to call, somewhere far out in the brush. then, a coyote mourning in some distant draw. the singing of a mockingbird that had stayed awake to welcome the rising moon. the rustle of lizards through the decay. and that other sound. that desultory, intermittent sound of someone moving out there. a thin scream rang out with terrifying abruptness, jerking crawford's head up. he lay that way a moment, up on his hands, rigid, trembling with strain. then he lowered himself again. only an ocelot, somewhere, out there, a big cat down from the mountains across the rio maybe. and now, lying there, with the first awful sense of defeat losing its edge, the other began to come. they thought they had him? damn them. whoever it was, damn them. the anger grew in him till it struggled with the defeat. it thickened the blood in his throat till he almost choked. had him trapped? the hell. kill him like that? without a gun, without anything. think he'd just wait? _try it. come on, try it. i'm here. try it._ it was going through his head while he squirmed about beneath the low overhanging branches of chaparral, scratching his face and hands anew on barbed nopal and the harsh mesquite. finally he found a maguey plant, close to the trail. he had no knife, and he had to tear at it with his fingers. they were ripped and bleeding by the time he had torn the first strip of the leathery plant. the mexicans cured the strips in brine and in the sun to supple it for their ropes. crawford could do nothing but braid the stiff lengths together. and all the time, out there, approaching with the deliberateness of a man knowing the confidence of complete advantage, those sounds, rising with deadly intermittence over the other sounds. the soft crunch of a boot heel driving through the layer of rotting vegetation that covered the ground. the sibilant harshness of mesquite scraping leather. crawford worked with swift desperation till he had a line long enough; then he knotted a hondo into one end and formed a loop. it took him half a dozen throws across the game trail to snag one of the low chaparral branches in a _mogote_ over there. then he hooked the line beneath a root on the opposite side of the trail so that it crossed the trail itself on the ground. he moved back into his own thicket as far as the line would permit. then it was the waiting. working with the rope that way, there had been no time to think. but now it had begun to come. _en la cárcel y en la cama se conocen los amigos._ crawford felt his whole body grow rigid with a palpable jerk. he almost turned his head to see who had spoken. a muffled sound escaped him as he realized it had only been in his mind. the _brasada_ could do that to a man, this way. in bed and in jail we know our friends? sure. maybe it was aforismo. what did it matter. the hooty owl stopped for a while, and there were only small rustlings in the underbrush. then the sound again, returning. a sibilant, crushed, snapping sound. _i am a very dangerous man, crawford._ this time he did not stiffen. it jumped through his brain so vividly he could have sworn it was spoken. yet he did not stiffen. all right. so maybe it was whitehead. all right. moonlight spilled through his thicket suddenly, and he realized how long he had lain there. the rising moon made skeletal monsters of the chaparral bushes across the yellow river of the game trail, only adding to the haunted tension filling crawford. thoughts moved uncontrollably through his head now. _please, no violence. i was born for laughter and wassail and song--_ no. not jacinto. anybody else. even wallace tarant. but not big, fat, grumbling hyacinth of the river. the gnats had found crawford again. he dared not move as they buzzed fitfully about his face, stinging, maddening. he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. then he opened them again. that would not do. he thought he would go crazy. his hands twitched with the impulse to slap at them. his body cried out for movement to escape their insane buzzing. each sting made him jerk spasmodically. _bueno--_ sure, bailey. sure. crawford could imagine bailey doing that sort of thing. all right, bailey. come on, bailey. let's get it over with, bailey. he tried to stop thinking like that. there were so many possibilities. he tried to stop considering them. a man could go loco that way. he could go loco and jump right up out of the thicket and run screaming down the game trail right into the arms of that bushwhacker, whoever it was. a man could go loco anyway. the ocelot screamed out there again, filling the night with a thin feral madness. it was all madness. the gnats and the screaming cat and the howling coyote and the crackling mesquite and the thoughts crawford couldn't stop whirling faster and faster through his head till he wanted to beat it against the ground. _you'll excuse me. an old complaint._ huerta? sure, why not? it could be him. it could be any of them. _i knew a ranger once that pinned it to his undershirt._ yeah. even quartel. the ocelot or quartel or the hooty owl or any of them. he lay there, wanting to cry, his fists clenched around the rope till they hurt, his eyes squeezed tight with the terrible effort he made to control himself. finally he opened them again, staring down the trail. it would be getting him, too, out there. if it was getting crawford it would get the other man just as much. the _brasada_. that's what it was. the _brasada_. enough to drive any man loco like this. and it would be getting him, too, out there. the ocelot screamed. crawford's lips pulled off his teeth in a wolfish grin. that get you, bailey? that get you, whitehead? like it got me? the hooty owl began to talk. crawford's grin spread. that get you? huerta? sort of scary, isn't it? jacinto? stop maybe, and look around. sweat maybe. like me. aforismo? sure. sure it got them. they were as nervous as hell. whoever it was, he was as nervous as hell. crawford wanted to laugh suddenly. he was bathed suddenly in a cold sweat. then heat flooded up from his loins. it was like a fever. or was it the waiting? or the _brasada_. sure, the _brasada_. he'd felt this way before out in it. at night. not so much, maybe. but then he hadn't been waiting for a man with a gun to come and kill him either. the decay was damp from his sweat beneath his belly and legs. his eyes ached from peering into the brush all about him. the gnats kept clouding his vision. but now the man was closer. each minute sibilance crashed through crawford's head like thunder. he could tell when the man's clothing brushed a clump of mesquite berries and knocked some to the ground. there was a peculiar rattling quality to that. he could tell when the man stepped on a prickly pear. it had a squashing sound. and when he shoved aside some chaparral. that held a hollow thump. and pulled aside some huisache. sighing, like the wind. _i'm a very dangerous man, crawford._ sure. sure you are, whitehead. come on. i'll show you who's dangerous. i knew a man once who pinned it to his undershirt. all right. one more time, quartel. one more time around and i'll show you who's dangerous. made for laughter and wassail and song? come on. i'm waiting. an old complaint? you'll have a complaint, huerta. in bed and in jail-- then it was the shadowy figure moving out of the darkness down the trail, and crawford yanked on the maguey and it slipped off the branch and the branch snapped up with a soft crackle and caused the figure to whirl that way, his gun crashing, his back toward the thicket in which crawford lay. "maybe you're a dangerous man," screamed crawford in a terrible release, leaping to his feet and throwing himself bodily at the man, who was still firing wildly into the opposite thicket, "but this is one bronc you'll wish to hell you never climbed on." _chapter five_ huerta makes a proposition at dawn, it was the birds, mostly, during the spring months, like this. they filled the dim undulations of brush with a constant, shrill twittering. bobwhites shrieked from a draw full of white brush, and blue quail cooed beneath the _cejas_ of green brazil, and turkeys gobbled down in a dry creek bed where they were fattening on elm mast. through all this treble cacophony, glenn crawford walked heavily up the road leading the shaggy black cow pony. it was jacinto who saw him first. though the sun had not yet risen, smoke curled from the kitchen, and the gross mexican was just outside the door filling the coffeepot from the water butt. it cost him some effort to straighten up when he caught sight of crawford. he stared blankly. then he dropped the big coffeepot with a clang and began running his way, grunting as each foot struck the ground, his short, bandy legs looking as if they would collapse every time the prodigious weight of his torso descended on them in a step. "_dios_, crawford," he shouted. "_válgame dios._ what happened? _que hace?_ who is it? are you all right? what happened?" he was halfway to crawford by the time aforismo stumbled into view at the bunkhouse door, pulling bare brown legs into his stiff, greasy _chivarras_ and blinking sleepily. someone must have asked him what it was, for he grunted something over his shoulder and came on out. jacinto had reached crawford by the time he got to the front of the house, and it was there crawford halted the horse. the tremendous mexican stood with his great belly heaving from the run, staring blankly at whitehead. he started to reach out and touch the man, then dropped his hand. "is--is he--" "yes," said crawford, watching aforismo come from the bunkhouse and quartel step out the door now, yawning and cursing. the shutter on an upstairs window clattered against the dilapidated weatherboarding, and huerta leaned out to look down a moment. then he withdrew his head, and crawford could hear movement from within his room. quartel came across the compound after aforismo, slipping a dirty cotton shirt over his head. "what happened?" he said. he looked at the body slung across the horse without much expression in his face. what lay in his eyes was not apparent till he got closer. they were narrowed, and the pupils held a strange oblong felinity. "_es muerto_," said jacinto stupidly. "i know he's dead," said quartel. "what happened?" "out in the brush," said crawford, watching quartel. the mexican looked at him, then glanced at the horse. he reached out to pull the winchester from beneath the stirrup leather, opening the front end of the magazine and tilting the gun down. two copper rim-fires clinked into his calloused palm. "looks like he did a lot of shooting," said quartel. "he always carried that gun in one hand when he rode," said jacinto. "i told him he'd fall and break his neck sometime." "did you?" said quartel. he was studying crawford, shaking the two . shells up and down in his closed hand. "you still haven't told us what happened." "his neck's broken," said jacinto hopefully. quartel allowed his narrowed eyes to observe the odd way cabezablanca's head hung, twisted around from the line of his shoulders. "that's what it looks like. where did you find him?" "yes," said doctor huerta, from the door. "where did you find him, crawford?" he had on a gaudy black-and-gold dressing-gown with satin lapels and slippers of red leather. his face had never looked more dissolute. the dim light seemed to draw out the singular, jaundiced corruption of his sallow flesh. his heavy lids were almost closed over his eyes, veined and pouched, and one of them twitched visibly. he had both hands in the pockets of his bathrobe, and they were visibly closed into fists. merida stood behind him. she had on a house gown of blue cashmere, evidently donned hurriedly. there was something indian about her dark, aquiline face; her black hair hanging long and straight about her shoulders. "i told you," said crawford. "out in the brush." "you didn't tell me," said huerta. "i told quartel," said crawford. "he didn't tell me what happened," said quartel. "to crawford," said merida, "or whitehead?" "yes," said doctor huerta, moving tiredly across the porch. "what did happen to you, crawford?" "we ain't interested in that now," said quartel. "i'd like to know what happened to whitehead first." "you seemed interested yesterday," said merida. "you were quite upset that you had lost crawford in the brush." "what have you got in your hand?" said huerta. "a gun," quartel told him. "don't be obtuse," said huerta. "i mean the other hand." quartel opened his fingers. the two shells glinted dully in the growing light. somewhere out back of the bunkhouse a rooster crowed. both huerta and merida looked for a long moment at the two cartridges. slowly, huerta's jaded eyes moved to crawford, and the heavy, blue lids were lifted farther open. "you say his neck is broken?" huerta asked nobody in particular. "jacinto said his neck was broken," said quartel. "well," said the woman impatiently, "is it?" huerta drew a weary breath and came slowly down the sagging steps and around the horse. "yes," he nodded, without taking his hands from his pockets. "broken." "like in a fall?" that pathetic hope was in jacinto's voice again. huerta took one of his hands out. his long, pale fingers moved slightly across cabezablanca's head and face, sifting the dense white hair and testing the skull with a professional casualness. "no contusions about the head or face." huerta was running his forefinger delicately across the back of cabezablanca's shirt now, flattening it over the resilient planes of the man's back. then he moved around to the other side of the shaggy horse, tugging at the man's pants legs. "no other wounds either," he said at last. his head turned slowly till he was looking at crawford. something had begun to dissipate the jaded glaze from those eyes, something that grew in them as he watched crawford. he spoke, however, to quartel. "how many shots does that winchester hold?" "it's an with king's improvements," said quartel. "thirteen." "oh." it was a soft, hissing intonation. then huerta motioned toward the bunkhouse with the hand he had out. "better take him down and bury him out back of the bunkhouse." quartel jerked the winchester at crawford. "let's go." "no," said huerta, putting that hand back in his pocket and walking up the steps to the porch. "i think crawford had better stay here at the house for breakfast. you did such a poor job of keeping tabs on him yesterday." quartel's face darkened and he took a quick breath before he spoke the word. "huerta--" "yes?" said huerta, turning around at the top of the steps to face quartel. he leaned forward slightly, his satanic brows arched upward, those heavy lids slipping down across his eyes. there was a faint, inquiring smile on his thin, bloodless lips. for a moment quartel stood there staring at him, mouth still open a little. the rooster crowed again. a chachalaca started scolding his mate out in the thicket. with an abrupt jerk, quartel turned to catch up the trailing reins of the pony and started off toward the bunkhouse in that stiff-legged walk of his, wooden boot heels thumping in a swift, hard tattoo against the ground. aforismo watched him go a moment, scratching his bare stomach absently. "you can't tell a man's been picking tunas just because he has nopal thorns all over his coat," he said. * * * * * crawford's boots made a soft muffled sound across the aubusson rug of the living-room. he lowered himself heavily into the turkish toweling which upholstered the movable cushions of the willow chairs by the front windows. for the first time he felt fully the toll the preceding night had exacted from him. his black beard failed to hide the gaunt, driven hollows beneath his cheeks, and there was something feverish in the glow of his eyes. he stared absently about the spacious, cool room. rockland had refurnished this chamber not two years ago, and as many times as crawford had been in it, he could never get used to such luxury in this harsh, barren land. huerta had followed him into the house, halting in the entrance hall for a word with merida, and now the doctor stepped into the living-room, closing the door behind him. he stood there a moment, studying crawford. "merida will dress and be down for breakfast," he said, absently. he moved to the pier table of rich, figured british oak at one side of the room, opening one of the doors to lift out a cut-glass decanter. "perhaps you would like a drink--after what happened, no?" his face managed to convey the effort the slightest physical exertion seemed to cause him, as he poured the liquor. then his red chinese slippers slid over the aubusson's thick nap to crawford. as he bent forward to hand crawford the drink, their glances met. perhaps it was a trick of the illumination from the window. the pupils of huerta's eyes seemed to dilate and contract and dilate again, small pin points of glittering light flaring and dying and flaring once more beneath the jet-black surface. it filled crawford with a vague dizziness. "why did you bring whitehead back, crawford?" murmured the doctor. "it seems to me you were rather in a position to escape, out there." he waited a moment, but crawford did not answer. "when you first came, i considered it necessary to guard you," said huerta, finally. "perhaps i was taking undue precautions. it seems you would have stayed anyway. why, crawford? do you still maintain you didn't murder rockland?" "that's right." it came from crawford in a flat defiance. "then the only way you could prove your innocence would be to find who really did murder rockland," said huerta. "do you think the murderer is here?" "i have no doubt of it," said crawford. "just what did happen out there?" huerta said softly, bending toward crawford with the liquor. crawford took the drink, downed it neat before answering. "what do you think?" "i think you surprised a lot of people," said huerta. "and gave them a different estimation of you than they had possessed before." he leaned backward slightly. "why should whitehead want to kill you?" "who said he did?" "i never knew such a secretive man," said huerta. "you refuse to give one inch, don't you? very well. let us assume that whitehead wanted to kill you. why should he?" "whitehead was quartel's man?" said crawford. "quartel is the foreman here," huerta's agile mind had connected that even while he spoke, and his head tilted forward in a faint acquiescence. "all right. why should quartel want you killed?" "he seemed to think i was a lawman," crawford muttered. "is that sufficient reason?" "you haven't been in the _brasada_ long, have you?" said crawford. "it's a good form of suicide for a lawman to show up in here." huerta nodded that way again, studying crawford. "it is interesting," he murmured, "to watch it." that took crawford off guard. "what?" "the way it works in you," said huerta. "you're conscious of it all the time, crawford, whether in the proximity of horses or not." "i don't know what you're talking about," said crawford, getting up from the chair with such violence that he pulled one of the rich blue pillows off with him. he paced across the room in swift, inhibited strides. huerta watched him a moment, putting the jade holder languidly to his lips. he did not smile, but the heavy blue lids, narrowing across his eyes with a feline torpidity, managed to convey a certain condescending amusement. his pale, pinched nostrils fluttered, emitting twin streamers of smoke. "did it ever occur to you," he said, "that the legs might not really be completely healed?" crawford turned to look at him a moment. "sure," he said, finally. "sure it occurred to me. i went to more than one doctor. they all said i was okay." "it's not like an ordinary fracture, you realize," said huerta. "not like you'd take a stick and snap it, or a leg. mashed. not a clean severance. crushed, crawford, like you'd take a handful of meal and grind it beneath--" "all right. mashed. crushed. all right." huerta allowed him to finish, then inclined his head apologetically. "it does things to the nerves. physically, i mean. they get crushed too. displaced. pinched. all manner of derangement. your bones may knit--the flesh, the skin. but the nerves. that's different. it would, ah, take a man skilled in that type of work, now, a man with experience in such things--" "you've had a vast experience, i suppose." huerta shrugged. "why don't you let me look at them. maybe we do you an injustice. perhaps you have sound reason for feeling the pain." crawford studied the man's dissolute face, trying to read what lay in the ironic twist of the lips, the narrow occultation of the eyes, wondering if this was just another variation in the game. yet, the possibility of sincerity-- "shall we go into the kitchen?" said huerta. "the parlor is not exactly the place for such an examination." crawford knew a hesitation. then, with a decisive abruptness he turned out into the entrance way and down the hall past the stairs. the fireplace was of stone rather than the adobe found in the mexican dwellings; it ran almost the length of one wall. jacinto had left a pot of soup simmering over one of the smaller pot fires to one side of the main spit. there was a plain gothic dining-set, and huerta pulled one of the butternut chairs from beneath the bare table, indicating that crawford should remove his pants. that wary inhibition was in crawford's movements. "you might sit on the table," said huerta. when crawford was seated, the doctor moved closer and bent slightly, reaching out one pale hand. it was like a woman's hand, satiny, boneless. "can't you relax, crawford? what's the matter? feel any pain?" crawford stared in a strange fascination at the slender, spatulated fingers spidering his hairy calves. "no. no pain." "then why so stiff?" huerta pressed a spot just below his knee. the strength of his grip was surprising. then, still holding the kneecap between thumb and forefinger, he looked up. it was the same thing, again, those eyes. the pupils took on an oblique felinity, and the odd little lights flaring beneath the surface. and he began to talk, in that soft, bored, insinuating tone. "nerve ends, you understand. pressures. as i said, deranged. nucleus. so on. hm? pain?" "no--no--" perhaps it was the gusty vehemence in crawford's voice which caused huerta to look up. for a moment their glances met. huerta's pupils seemed to dilate slightly. _sure_, thought crawford, _go ahead, make it good_, and he tried to feel the sarcasm, but somehow he couldn't, because the effect of those eyes was real, distinct, eerie. "no pain? "no. no pain. no!" those eyes again. contracting. little lights flaring and dying. just for an instant. the probing fingers. that sibilant, insistent voice. "here, perhaps? the flesh looks rather badly healed. feel that? pain?" "no!" "take it easy, crawford. i'm trying to help. here?" "no. i told you. i don't feel pain, damn it, i told you--" "here then. pain?" "no--" "here?" "no, damn you, no, i--" "pain?" huerta's head raised abruptly. "what's the matter, crawford?" crawford stood where he had stepped off the table, pulling on his faded old levis with swift, tense jerks. "nothing. forget it." huerta leaned back against the table, studying crawford through the twin streamers of smoke he emitted. "why does it disturb you so much, crawford, if you feel no pain?" he asked softly. crawford stood there facing him, breathing heavily. "what are you trying to do, huerta?" "give you, shall we say, an illustration," said huerta. "don't you think i know what is the matter with you, crawford? ever since i first saw you watching africano out in the corral. perhaps the others are still groping. they sense something not quite right in you, crawford. but they don't know for sure, yet. i know, crawford." he said the last softly, positively, watching crawford. he took a drag on the cigarette. "it must be a terrible thing to live with constantly. it makes two personalities out of you, really, crawford. in these flashes of bitter defiance, i see what you must have been before. the strength. the courage. but the other is always there, isn't it, working beneath, stirring in you, weakening you, tearing at you. the pain that comes whenever you get near a horse. and the fear, crawford. and more and more, not just when you're near a horse. all the time. that lack of confidence, that constant indecision. it won't lessen. it will grow, crawford, until you are that way completely, until these flashes of your former self cease to come. i told you about that miner in monterrey--" "you told me!" crawford choked off the shout, staring sullenly at huerta. he spoke finally, again, controlling it with hoarse effort. "think i don't know." "you _do_ know," said huerta. "however, it is not hopeless. for most diseases, there is a cure, even for those of the mind. doctors are only human beings. they can only cure what they have the knowledge to cure. if the men you went to were not experienced in this type of thing, it does not mean there is no hope." "are you suggesting--that you--" "why not?" shrugged huerta. "i've had experience in such cases. is it inconceivable to you?" "why?" said crawford. huerta studied his cigarette. "i don't quite understand." "i mean why should you do it," said crawford. "i am no altruist," said huerta. "a doctor usually gets paid." "you know i haven't got any money," crawford said. huerta did not answer, leaning against the table and studying crawford through narrowed eyes. "you're offering me some kind of proposition?" crawford asked him. "you might call it that," said huerta. "as i said before, we think your quarrel with rockland was over more than the way he acquired delcazar's land." "was it?" "you know what i mean," said huerta. "maybe i haven't got what you want." "i think you have," said huerta. "have you got a license?" said crawford. it was the first time he had ever seen huerta taken off guard. there was no change of expression in the doctor's face. just that moment's hesitation. it was enough to give crawford a certain satisfaction. "license?" "m.d.," said crawford. "every doctor i've seen had it pinned on his wall. two or three, some of them. how about yours?" huerta drew a heavy breath. "i won't dignify that with an answer." "i didn't think so," said crawford. "that's one reason i won't take your proposition. i don't think you could cure me of the stomach-ache. i don't think you're a doctor. i don't think you ever were." "my dear fellow, i spent fourteen years in the mexican army--" "so did a lot of butchers. if you operated on anybody, i'll bet a pink cow to a blind hoot owl it was with a machete right up in the ranks." "crawford, my medical reputation has never been ques--" it had come out of huerta involuntarily, and he stopped himself with a distinct effort. he stood there a moment, the anger flushing his sallow face dully as he must have realized how far he had let himself go. deliberately, he allowed himself to settle back against the table. he closed his eyes when he took a drag on the cigarette, did not open them as he exhaled, and spoke. "let us consider the negative side of my proposition, then. your condition can be used against you, crawford. you could be driven quite mad. not obvious crudities. not the type of thing quartel would use. not making you ride a horse or letting you watch africano. not anything as simple to get away from. merely suggestion, crawford. your mind will do the rest. little things. insidious things. "like the story of a miner who got crushed in a cave-in down at monterrey. did that stay with you a long time, crawford? at night, perhaps, you'd wake up. remembering. wondering. innuendoes, crawford. insinuations. things for the mind to retain and savor. because it _is_ your mind. i showed you that with the examination. it isn't your legs. that doesn't give you the fear. it's what a man could work with, crawford, a doctor, who knew every stimulus, every reaction." he took the butt of his cigarette from the jade holder, tossing it absently into the fireplace. then, still watching the holder, he spoke again, sibilantly. "do you doubt my ability to do it, crawford, if necessary?" crawford had been watching the doctor with a taut, bleak expression on his gaunt face, and he answered in a hollow, resigned way. "no." "then perhaps you will reconsider my proposition." "no," said crawford, in that same hollow tone. huerta reached beneath his coat for his silver cigarette case, taking a smoke from this to fit it in the holder. he did not raise his eyes to crawford again as he moved across the room toward the door. he pulled open the portal, and only then, turning toward crawford, did his glance rise. again crawford was swept with that strange, hypnotic dizziness, as he stared into the man's eyes. it struck him as childishly melodramatic, and he wanted to laugh, and could not. "i think you will regret coming back this morning," said huerta, in a barely audible voice, before he turned to go out. "i think you will regret it exceedingly." _chapter six_ "tell us what happened." an adobe banco ran down one side of the cookshack on the inside, forming a bench, and it was upon this that jacinto had deposited his generous bulk. he was bent in childish concentration over a block of wax from which he carefully peeled thin strips, depositing these with much care into a clay bowl. small, intimate mutters rumbled up from him with each process. "ah, so," he mumbled, slicing off a piece, "ah _sí_," and sliced off another, and then jumped erect in startled surprise, dropping the block of wax. "ah, crawford!" crawford stepped on in through the door, sniffing. "smells like bayberry." "how--how did you get out?" quavered jacinto, grunting painfully with the effort it cost him to stoop over and retrieve the wax. "nobody stopped me," said crawford. "they gave me that upstairs bedroom, but i couldn't sleep." "you better not come in here, crawford," said the gross cook. "maybe they're not watching you like they did, but you better get out of here. why do you think huerta kept you up at the house this morning? didn't you see how quartel looked at you? you're just lucky he didn't get you down here." there was a dish of cracklings on the table, and crawford took one, pulling a three-legged stool out to sit on it. "quartel and the others are out chousing cattle. making candles?" "_sí_," mumbled jacinto, lowering himself back on the bench. "nobody can make them like me. that was bayberry you smelled all right. i didn't have enough sheep tallow. first i make it into blocks and then cut it into small scraps so it melts quick without burning. i put the wax in hot water and scoop the grease off as it comes to the top. then i strain it through a horsehair cloth to remove whatever dirt i missed in skimming. i am now heating the wax to pour in the molds. did you ever see such fine molds? my father owned that brass one in el paso. it holds two dozen candles at one pouring. if you came here to find out what's going on, i can't tell you." the abrupt transition brought crawford's head up in surprise. jacinto set the mold end up in a dishpan, chuckling. "i am not as stupid as i am corpulent, crawford. you didn't come here just to eat my cracklings." his great bloodshot eyes slid upward in their pouches till they met crawford's. "but i can't tell you anything, crawford. i know something is going on. huerta and that woman. something not quite right. tarant too, somehow. maybe you can tell me." "hyacinth, what did you think of that story about santa anna's chests?" "i--santa maria, that wax is hot." jacinto sat shaking his finger a moment. then he put it into his mouth. "if santa anna lost some chests up here, i guess he lost them, that's all. mm, you ought to taste that bayberry. i think i'll season my _chiles rollenos_ with it some time." "you heard the one about the map?" said crawford. "the _derrotero_? _sí_, i guess there was supposed to be a map. isn't there always, with something like that?" "ever stop to think of santa anna's full name?" "_ciertamente._ everybody knows it. antonio lopez de san--" jacinto stopped, staring at crawford. wax dripped from the tin ladle onto the floor. crawford popped a last crackling into his mouth. "would that give her a connection?" he said. "lopez is a common name," said jacinto, almost defensively. "a woman like that don't trail through this kind of country just for the scenery," said crawford. he closed his eyes, rolling the name meditatively off his tongue. "merida lopez." it must have been about then the first sound floated in from outside, the creak of saddle leather, a man's hoarse cough. jacinto jumped across the room, jerking crawford up out of the chair. "they're back, crawford, you got to go, you got to get out of here, if quartel ever gets you alone after whitehead, he'll--" he stopped shoving crawford toward the doorway, and his voice faded into a series of small, choked sounds. aforismo stood there, sweat streaking the dust in his smooth brown face, holding a belduque in his hands. "_el amante fiel_," he said, running his finger down the keen edge, "the loyal lover. did you ever see my knife, crawford? truly a remarkable weapon. handed down in my family for generations. the hilt was once studded with precious stones, but they have long since been picked out by various members of my illustrious house who were in temporary financial destitution." he took a shuffling step toward them. "look at the _bravos_ on the blade. see this one. _nothing compares with my kiss._ isn't that a delectable motto?" jacinto shrank back, staring in fascinated horror at the words cut into that side of the gleaming blade. through the dog-run, crawford could hear the thump of a chair in the bunkhouse, the clatter of spoons on the table. "please, aforismo, please," quavered jacinto. "let him go. _madre de dios!_ let him go out the door before they find him in here. you know what will happen. quartel would--" "and this one," aforismo said, turning the blade over and pointing to another motto cut into that side. "this is my favorite _bravo_ i think. _tripe is sweet but bowels are better._ don't you like that one, jacinto?" he took another shuffling step toward them with the point almost touching crawford's belly. "don't you like that _bravo_, crawford? tell me you like it. it is my favorite, i think." "please, please." jacinto was cringing behind crawford, wringing his hands, sweat dribbling down his coarse face. "_en el nombre de dios_, aforismo, let him go, he never did anything to you, he never harmed one little hair of your head, i hate violence so, oh, i do hate violence so, my father he always tell me there are two sins in the world, work and fighting, and--oh, _por dios_, aforismo, _santa maria, nombre de mi madre_, let him go, let him go--" "they say down in durango a coyote always howls loudest in the trap," said aforismo, nudging crawford gently back with that needle point. "i think maybe we better all go in the bunkhouse, eh? the hands are getting hungry. tripe is sweet but bowels are better, eh?" crawford did not step back quickly enough, and that needle point went through his shirt with a soft ripping sound. the stinging bite of steel in the hard muscle of his belly caused his move back to be involuntary. his breath left him in a hoarse gust and he bent forward with the impulse driving through him. that was as far as it went. aforismo's boots made that bland shuffle on the hard-packed earth, moving forward. his face twisted with frustrated anger, crawford shifted back into the dog-run, shoving the cringing cook behind him. "_dios_, aforismo, _por dios_, no violence, please, i could not stand the sight of blood, it would make me regurgitate, please--" jacinto knocked over a chair backing from the dog-run into the bunkhouse. it made a loud clatter. then crawford was in the bunkhouse, still bent forward that way, his breath coming out harsh and swift, and he could see them. bueno bailey was seated at the table. "i was just showing crawford the _bravos_ on my belduque," said aforismo. "in durango they say it is an ignorant man who cannot tell his sons at least one _bravo_." "_bueno._" bailey trailed the word out in a pleased, nasal twang, shoving the bench back from the table. "siddown, crawford. we was just about to eat." "i guess you never met ford innes, did you, crawford," said quartel. "this is crawford, ford. he is the one who brought your _amigo_ back this morning." the redheaded man in the doorway emitted a flat, harsh grunt. he must have just stepped in, for he held his saddle under one arm. the short, square lines of his body held all the lethal threat of a snub-nosed derringer. he had a flat-topped hat set squarely on his head. the bottom of his red beard was dirty from rubbing against the grease daubs on the chest of a buckskin ducking jacket with square tails that hung outside his _chivarras_ and which were caught up on one side by the wooden handle of his remington. "ford just got back from taking wallace tarant into san antonio," said quartel. "as many times as that shyster's been back and forth between here and town, he still can't find his way through the brush himself." the leather rigging clattered against the hard earthen floor when innes dropped his pack. his bushy bleached brows formed a reddish dominance above shrewd little eyes that had not left crawford's face since he entered. he moved over and sat down across from bailey. "so you brought whitehead back." his voice held the same lack of intonation as his grunt. "ford had been whitehead's saddle mate for a long time," said quartel. "i guess he'd like to know how it happened to whitehead." "get us some grub, jacinto," said aforismo. with his belduque he indicated a place beside bailey. "an empty seat there, crawford. sit down." crawford looked at the knife. he sat down. the table groaned as aforismo lowered himself onto it and put his feet on the bench, running a finger up and down his belduque. ford innes began playing with his spoon on the table. jacinto came from the dog-run with a dish of beans. he fumbled the plate at the last moment and almost tipped it onto the table. his fat jowls were trembling with his chin. "please, please, let's not have any--" "so whitehead broke his neck out in the thicket," said innes. "have some beans, glenn," said bailey, ladling them onto a plate he had shoved before crawford. "they call them _nacionales_ down in durango, because so many mexicans eat them," said aforismo. "it is said of one who is weak that he lacks _nacionales_." "how did it happen to whitehead?" said innes. "we don't know," said bailey, helping the man to beans. "crawford just brought him back over his horse with his neck broke and said he found him out in the brush that way." "how did it happen?" innes asked crawford. "there was eleven shots gone from whitehead's carbine," said quartel. innes began eating in a slow, mechanical way, his jaws working steadily beneath his red beard, looking at crawford. "where's your iron?" "whitehead took away crawford's rifle when he first came," said aforismo. innes's bleached eyebrows raised, and he ceased chewing for a moment. quartel was standing behind crawford to one side, and crawford caught the sly grin spreading the man's pawky lips. "there was no other marks on whitehead's body," quartel said. "well," said innes, still looking at crawford that way. finally he went back to spooning up the beans, his eyes never leaving crawford's face. "what happened?" he said again, around a mouthful. "yeah." bailey nudged crawford on the shoulder with his spoon. "what happened?" crawford could hear his own breathing now. it held a harsh, driven sound. he looked from innes to bailey, from bailey to quartel, from quartel to aforismo. there was a patent brutal intent in all their faces. he was hunched over so far now the heat of the beans in his plate penetrated his shirt and warmed his chest. "where's the sorrel?" said bailey. "what sorrel?" said innes. "the horse he took out," said quartel. "he never brought him back." "coffee?" it was jacinto again, waddling in with a big pot. he set it down, looking around at the men. he wrung his great fat hands together, speaking in a small, strained voice. "please, _señores_, please. violence. i cannot stand it. you won't do this. tell me you won't do this. my father, he say--" aforismo turned toward him, lifting the belduque. "would you like my loyal lover to see inside the sack?" "no." jacinto backed out, lugubrious tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "no, _lástima de dios_, tears of god, no--" "you ain't told us what happened yet," said innes, still eating. "yeah." quartel shoved crawford from behind. "how did you lose the sorrel? you could ride any horse i could, remember?" crawford's hands were clasped desperately between his knees. there was a taut, set expression to his features. sweat had begun trickling down his cheeks into his beard. his whole body was trembling. "so you brought whitehead in with a broken neck," said innes. "yeah." bueno poked crawford with the spoon again. "how did it get broke?" "yeah." aforismo pricked him from the other side with the knife. "what happened?" "how did it get broke?" "how did you lose the sorrel?" "what happened?" crawford jerked away as aforismo bent forward with that belduque again. it carried him against bueno, sitting on his other side. bueno pushed him back roughly. quartel shoved him from behind so hard his chest struck the table. a small, strangled sound escaped him. "tell us what happened." "_sí_, tell us, crawford." "what happened, crawford?" "talk, damn you." bueno's shove was harder. "tell us, crawford." the knife prick was deeper. he jerked away from it. bailey caught him and shoved him back brutally. he made a spasmodic effort to rise. quartel put both hands on his shoulders and forced him back down. he tried to twist around. aforismo's belduque was in his face. he jerked back the other way into bailey. his hands knotted and writhed between his knees underneath the table. his whole body was shuddering now. "where's the sorrel?" "how'd he break his neck?" "talk, damn you!" "tell us, crawford." "what happened?" "gentlemen!" it came from the doorway, and it stopped them abruptly. huerta stood there, bent forward slightly, and those bluish lids were almost closed over his eyes. "i think we all know what happened to whitehead," he said, "don't you?" he stood there a moment, but no one answered. he dropped his eyes to the jade cigarette holder he held in one hand, tapping it to knock the ash from the cigarette, and still looking down that way, spoke again. "i think it would be wise, now, crawford, for you to come with me, up to the house, don't you?" _chapter seven_ sunday celebration it was the odor at first. crawford lay there, staring up at the ceiling, groping up through the remnants of a sleep so heavy it left him filled with an oppressive nausea. the hangings had been removed from the bed and the four reeded mahogany posts reached up through the semi-gloom to support the bare tester frame above him. he realized where he was, then. huerta had stopped them? yes, huerta had stopped them last night, and brought him to the big house to sleep. strange, the influence huerta had over them. without actually doing anything. those eyes? maybe that was it. crawford sat up abruptly, the heavy chintz coverlet falling away from him. he held out his hand, staring at the fingers. they were trembling. he sniffed the air. he pulled the coverlet completely off, swinging his bare feet out of the bed. his levis were on the russet wing chair and he grabbed them up and stepped into the legs. it was that sensation again, stirring within him. it was hard for him to breathe. he sat on the bed a moment, hands clutching the covers, staring at the wall. why? here. why? he turned his head from side to side, searching the room. it was day, but the overdrapes had been pulled across the window, and he could make out the furniture only dimly in the semi-gloom. and still, down inside him, rising, growing. he bent down to pull on his boots with swift, desperate tugs, then rose. he looked like a hounded animal, the forward thrust of his rigid body imparting that narrowness to his shoulders, his eyes shifting furtively in a gaunt face. then, on one of those shallow, indrawn breaths, it came to him, unmistakable. slowly, his whole body so tense it was trembling now, he turned about, sniffing. he stepped away from the bed, toward the windows, and it faded. he moved back toward the bed, and he could smell it again. with a muttered curse he bent down and tore the coverlet off. the dirty, fetid horse blanket had been laid out flat beneath the chintz spread. "huerta!" it came out of him in a strangled, guttural rage, and he bent to clutch the horse blanket. he had it lifted off the bed before he released it, throwing it back down and whirling to the door. his boots made a hard thump down the stairway and into the entrance hall. he had almost passed the living-room when, through the open door, he caught sight of huerta, seated in one of the willow chairs by the window. the doctor had been reading, and he lowered the book, leaning forward in the chair. "you must have slept well, crawford," he said. "it's nearly noon." crawford started to take a step forward, opening his mouth to speak. then he closed it again, his fists clenched tight. there was a faint, waiting mockery on huerta's face. crawford whirled and stamped on out the front door. as he went down the front steps, he saw the crowd out by the corrals, and was drawn toward it. he made out bueno bailey and innes among the men, but the others were new faces to him. there were half a dozen riders cavorting their horses around in the open flats, and a big chihuahua cart was creaking out of the brush, piled high with onions and apricots and baskets of blue corn meal and squealing mexican children and a fat mexican peon driving. crawford was part way across the compound when he saw the woman coming toward him. he had a momentary impulse to turn away, and stifled that. she held her heavy green satin skirt up out of the dust with one hand, and the wind ruffled the throat of her white antoinette fichu. her eyes, big and dark and searching, were held to his face until she reached him, and it did something to crawford. "they said it was a bull-tailing," she told him, coming to a stop. "i don't exactly understand." "about the only celebration the _brasaderos_ get," he said, watching her warily. "a bunch of them gather almost every sunday somewhere to eat and drink and tail the bull. i think they're celebrating cinco de mayo today. commemorating some battle at puebla--" he trailed off, because he could see it in her face, and he didn't particularly want to talk about the bull-tailing either. when she spoke again, her voice was husky and strained, and it must have been what was really on her mind, from the first. "they were trying to kill you," she said. "jacinto told me. they got you in there, and started in on you, and they meant to drive you till you cracked and fought back, and then they were going to kill you. how did you stand it so long, crawford? jacinto said no other man could have. pushing you and shoving you and beating you like that. how did you stand it?" "i'm still here, ain't i?" he said. she drew in a breath, staring up at him. "why did you come back with whitehead?" she said finally. "you could have escaped." "maybe a man gets tired running," he said. she caught his arm, coming in close enough for him to catch a hint of her perfume. "crawford, i want to help you." his whole body was rigid now, with that wariness. "i never saw a cow yet that wanted to get back inside a corral when it was outside." "you're so suspicious," she flamed. then she leaned toward him farther, looking up into his face. "i guess you have a right to be. you've been fighting all of them, haven't you, ever since this started. i don't blame you, crawford. i know how you feel. i'm in the same position. i need your help as much as you need mine." it had been a long time since a woman stood this close to him, with her hair shining like that, and her eyes. he felt a weakness seep through him. he stared at the soft red curve of her lip, and his voice was hardly audible. "what are you talking about?" "have you ever heard of mogotes serpientes?" she said. "snake thickets? i guess so. it's supposed to be somewhere west of rio diablo in that stretch of bad brush." "you've never actually been there?" her voice was tense. "i don't know who has," he said. "there's a lot of the _brasada_ nobody's ever seen, white man _or_ indian. there's a stretch due south from here just above the rio grande called resaca espantosa. nobody's ever been through it. i don't know why they call it haunted swamp." "but there is a good reason for the name mogotes serpientes?" "so they say. it's supposed to be so full of snakes no man could stay alive in there more than a few--" he trailed off as he realized how far he had let her allure carry him, and pulled roughly away from her, his mouth twisting down at one corner. "crawford," she said, trying to get in close again. "please. don't. i mean it. you've got to believe me. if you believe in anything, you've got to--" "huerta made me a proposition too," said crawford. "it didn't pack such a wallop, but it was along the same lines." she flushed, stepping back from him violently. "you fool," she said, in a bitter, intense whisper. "you fool." they were still standing that way, staring at each other, when huerta came out on the porch. the woman saw him and turned away, moving back toward the corrals. "hola, quartel," someone over by the pens shouted. "when are you letting the _toros_ out? i got a twenty-dollar pot for the first man to tail a bull." "it's mine." quartel's bellow came from somewhere in the crowd, and then he appeared, running in that stiff, saddle-bound stride of his toward the horses. "aforismo, let that blue out. he ought to give us a good run." * * * * * used to working the wild, savage cattle of the brushland, the mexicans trained their horses to spin away from the side on which a man mounted as soon as he lifted a foot to the stirrup. though this saved many a _vaquero_ from being gored by a ringy bull which he had just released after throwing and branding the beast, it took a good man to get on one of these horses. each rider had a string of animals, and from his bunch quartel had saddled a brown horse they called a _trigueño_. he knocked the reins loose of the corral post and snapped them over the _trigueño's_ head. then he checked the animal, pulling the nigh rein in till it twisted the _trigueño's_ head down toward its shoulder so that the horse's action would be inhibited long enough for him to mount. as soon as quartel raised his left foot, the _trigueño_ tried to whirl, but that checking action held him long enough for quartel to jam his foot in the stirrup and swing aboard in one violent movement. then he released the tight rein and allowed the animal to spin toward the right. from outside the cedar-post corral, aforismo and several other _vaqueros_ had goaded and prodded a blue bull until it was separated from the other bulls within the enclosure. as it neared the gate, aforismo let down the drop bar. in their natural state, running the brush, these cows were among the wildest animals of the world, and the several days this cut of bulls had spent penned up had put them in a frenzied rage. the blue stood there a moment, glaring suspiciously at the opening, pawing the ground. his great long curving horns had been scored and ripped and punched by the brush until it looked as if someone had hacked them over with a knife, and a pattern of scars formed a network across the gleaming lathered hide of his forequarters. from the side, he looked deceptively heavy, his length so extended that his back swayed, but as he lashed his tail and shifted around to display a rear view, his narrow hips and cat hams and ridgepole back became apparent. abruptly, with a hoarse bellow, he lowered his head, and swinging it from side to side, galloped out of the gate. quartel yelled something, dug in with his chihuahuas and whacked his quirt against the _trigueño's_ rump at the same time. the brown horse burst into a headlong run, followed by most of the other _vaqueros_, shouting and yelling and snapping their quirts against leather _chivarras_ and fancy _charro_ pants. the blue bull had spotted an opening in the brush across the compound, and he shook the ground tearing for it. but the horsemen swiftly closed up on the animal. quartel and another _vaquero_ were bunched together in the lead. quartel raked his _trigueño_ with those huge chihuahua guthooks, and the horse spurted ahead, drawing up beside the bull. quartel leaned out of the saddle and made a grab for that lashing tail. but the blue bull jammed its forefeet into the ground and came to a jarring halt, plowing twin furrows in the earth. quartel was several lengths on by before he could swing back in the saddle and pull his horse around; by that time the bull had turned in a half circle and cut for the brush. the other _vaquero_ had pulled up shorter than quartel, and was in a position to run down the bull on its quarter. he was a tall, supple youth on a short-coupled horse they called a _bayo coyote_, its coat a buckskin color with a black line running down the spine, with a black mane and tail. quartel spurred and quirted his _trigueño_ in a last desperate effort to reach the bull first, but just at the edge of brush, the other _vaquero_ pulled up beside the blue and leaned out to grab for that tail. he caught its hairy end, and dallied it around his saddle horn, clapping the guthooks to his _bayo coyote_ at the same time. the buckskin gave a spurt that pulled it ahead of the blue bull, and just as the horse smashed into the first thicket, the tail of the bull snapped taut, yanking its hind feet from beneath it. the _vaquero_ tore the tail off his horn and hunched forward with his arm before his face all at the same time, and as he disappeared into the thicket the ground shook with the bull's falling. huerta had come down from the house, and he moved in behind crawford. "i understand a good man can break the bull's neck every time," he said. "why don't you try it, crawford?" crawford's hands closed tightly, and he did not look at huerta. the inside of his mouth was dry and cottony as he watched the _vaquero_ come back through the mesquite into the open, prancing his _bayo coyote_ proudly. "you better go back to herding dogies, quartel," the _vaquero_ grinned, "and leave the grown ones to men." "if you're a man, let's see your _reata_," roared quartel, wheeling his _trigueño_ toward the man and unlashing his -foot rope from his saddle. the rider fought his excited buckskin around in a circle as he tore his own rope from the saddle, and when he had completed the circle, the rope was free and the two riders were facing each other about a hundred yards apart. "_vamanos, indita_," shouted quartel, his huge cart-wheel spurs gouging the brown into a headlong run toward the other man. "are they crazy?" said huerta. "stay around the border much and you'll get used to it," merida told him. "the _vaqueros_ used to do the same thing on the rancho where i was born. they'd rather rope than eat." "duello," said crawford. "with ropes?" it caused huerta distinct effort to evince even the dim incredulity. "lot of 'em would rather fight with ropes than guns," crawford told him. "more than one lawman has been dragged to death here in the brush." it had taken that long for the two riders to meet, passing one another not feet apart. at the last moment quartel made a pass with his rope arm. indita's own throw caused him a hoarse exhalation that turned into a shout of triumph as he saw his loop settling over quartel's head. then it happened. as much as he had handled horses, crawford did not think he had ever seen one turn so fast. one instant the _trigueño_ was racing past the _bayo coyote_, the next it was facing in the opposite direction, quartel's own involuntary grunt still hanging in the air to tell what a vicious effort he had put into the reining. the motion had carried quartel from beneath indita's loop in that last moment, and now he sat the _trigueño_ perfectly still, facing after indita's retreating buckskin. quartel's first pass had been a feint, and he still retained his rope. it was so slight a flirt of his hand that crawford barely caught it. he did not spin the loop above his head. he tossed it underhand, the way he had thrown it with africano in the corral. it was a hooley-ann, spinning flatly out above indita, seeming to hover above him an instant, no bigger than the brim of his sombrero; then it was taut about his shoulders, and he was pulled over the back of his horse with a resounding thump. "i ought to drag you for your presumption," said quartel, shifting his horse forward so he could get enough slack in his rope to flirt it off indita as the man rose. then, pulling the rawhide clothesline in with a series of quick, skillful snaps, he turned the _trigueño_ to prance it over toward them, grinning at merida. "how do you like that, _señorita_?" "i have seen it done before," said merida. quartel's face darkened. "you don't think i am any good?" "i didn't say that." "listen," he shouted, thumping his chest, "i am the best goddam roper in the world. i am the best goddam rider in the world. i am--" "don't be a boor," said huerta, in faint disgust. "a what?" quartel wheeled the horse around in a growing rage, the sweat greasing his coarse face. "i'll show you." he started pounding his chest again. "i'll show you who's good. i'll make you a bet. i'll bet you a _talega_ full of gold pesos that i can, blindfolded, with one end of the _reata_ tied to my own neck and not to be touched by my hands, riding a bareback horse of your own choosing, forefoot each of any ten bulls we got in a pen, and break their necks." huerta shrugged, smiling in a faint, vague dismissal. quartel reined the _trigueño_ in closer. "i mean it," he bellowed. "are you afraid to make the bet? could anybody where you come from do it?" "frankly, i don't think anyone can do it," said huerta, disinterestedly. "i can," yelled quartel. "i'm the best--" "don't be a fool, quartel," the woman told him. "you'll kill yourself. one mistake with that rope around your neck and you'll be dead." that was the final impetus. "_hijo de la chingada_," shouted quartel, whirling his _trigueño_ away from them. "how many bulls you got in that corral, aforismo? seven? get me three more. get me three more from that holding pen across the arroyo. i'll show you what roping really is, merida. you're going to see a performance tonight you'll never forget!" _chapter eight_ best roper in the world the throng about the large cedar-post corral was oddly subdued. some of the _vaqueros_ had dragged the blue bull over to the cooking fire for jacinto to spit, but the gross cook had left the carcass lying on the ground. he stood with the middle bar of the fence making a deep indentation in the incredible protuberance of his stomach as the crowding _vaqueros_ pressed in from behind. "_madre de dios_, crawford, why do you let him do this thing?" wailed the cook, running his fat hands nervously up and down the rail. "i don't want to see a man die." "then why watch?" said crawford. "please, crawford, you take such a brutal attitude. don't you know this is the way oro peso died down in mexico? he was the greatest roper in the world, quartel's boasting to the contrary. oro peso used to go around making this same bet. then somebody took him up on it. the third bull pulled him from his horse. his neck was broken like you'd snap a switch of mesquite. please--" "hola, _compadres_!" shouted quartel, from outside the corral, and they saw that he had stripped his _trigueño_ of its saddle. indita dropped the bar and quartel trotted the animal in, laughing as the bulls bunched up on the other side, bawling. "you see, already they are afraid of me. who is going to put the blindfold on? merida, will you honor me?" "why not?" the woman's voice held a savage undertone that surprised crawford. she caught his eyes on her and turned toward crawford. when she saw the look on his face, she threw her head back that way, to laugh. it held a rich, wild mockery. "what's the matter, crawford? don't you like that in a woman? maybe you haven't known the right women." still laughing, she reached through the bars to tie the bandanna behind quartet's head as the man slipped off the _trigueño_ and turned his back to her. then he swung aboard again, and tied one end of the rope he was carrying about his thick neck in a noose, too small to slip over his head. merida's face was flushed excitedly as she watched him prance the _trigueño_ away, and her eyes flashed in frank anticipation. huerta pulled out his cigarette case and put a smoke into his jade holder. his motions were as languid as ever, but crawford thought his fingers pinched the holder more tightly than was necessary. "hola!" shouted quartel, wheeling his _trigueño_ in the middle of the corral and kicking its flanks with his heels. the horse charged toward the bulls, and the animals strung out along the fence. quartel was an uncanny judge of distance; when his horse was but half a length from the fence, he made a quarter turn and raced along the bars after the last bull in the running bunch. "_andale!_" yelled the man, and made his toss. the loop snaked about the forefeet of that last bull as it turned at the corner of the corral, and as quartel felt the rope snap taut, he let go completely with his hands, pulling his thick neck down into his shoulders to set it and jerking back with his torso at the last moment. the bull turned a flip, its shoulder striking the rump of the running animal in front, and as the falling bull struck, quartel shoved his reins hard against the _trigueño's_ neck to wheel inward and give himself slack on the rope. he clutched for the slackening rawhide and sent a flirt down the rope that lifted the loop off the bull's forelegs, and when he turned away, he was pulling the line in. "_viva quartel, viva!_" shouted the _vaqueros_, shoving crawford up against the fence with their shifting press and deafening him with their cheers. grinning, quartel kicked the _trigueño_ after the bulls again. it started them off once more, bawling and running. quartel's hearing was as uncanny as his judgment of distance; he rode with his head lifted, and when a scarred brindle bull broke from the others, running along the fence and cutting across the middle of the corral, crawford could see quartel's head turn after the animal. the mexican reined his _trigueño_ over that way, kicking it into a dead run that closed the space between himself and the bull in a swift instant. "_ahora_," he shouted, "now," and tossed. his rope caught the bull's hind feet instead of its forefeet, and as a strange sighing sound rose from the crowd, quartel must have sensed something was wrong, for he spurred the _trigueño_ brutally, and its frenzied leap into a headlong run gave him slack enough in the rope for that last moment to send a flirt down its length that carried the loop off the bull's hind feet before it could draw closed. the bull stumbled into the other animals as they turned the corner and milled down this side of the corral. by that time quartel had his rope coiled, and he maneuvered the bawling, excited animals so that they strung out down the fence once more, and then ran his horse up behind the last one. this time it was the forefeet, and he dropped the animal, breaking its neck as before. the end of the rope about quartel's neck was not a slip noose, but crawford could see the rawhide dig into the thick brown flesh of quartel's neck as he jerked back, till the skin showed a white ridge above and below the lasso. he watched in undeniable fascination as the mexican flirted in the rope and turned his horse after them once more. shouting, quartel closed the gap between himself and another bull and made his toss. he released the lasso with his hand as soon as it was in the air. the instant that loop caught on the running bull's forefeet, quartel reined his _trigueño_ in a quarter turn that wheeled it away from the running bull. the bull's own forward motion would draw the noose tight about its legs, and the turning maneuver of the horse would stretch the rope taut between them as soon as that noose was completely closed. in that instant, with the bull hitting the end of the rope and flipping, quartel had to wheel his horse back or be pulled off. he had already turned the _trigueño_ away from the bull, and the noose was making its singing sound closing on those churning forefeet, when a big _hosco golondrino_ cut away from the other animals running along the fence and turned out into the corral, directly across the head of the _trigueño_. quartel's huge neck sank into his shoulders, and he put the reins against the _trigueño's_ neck to swerve it back as he felt the rope snapping taut. but the turn would have run the horse head-on into the _hosco golondrino_. it was the first time crawford had seen that _trigueño_ fight the bit; its head turned in and its neck arched, it lurched in the opposite direction from quartel's reining. "crawford," screamed merida, and then the full weight of the falling bull hit the end of that rope with quartel going in the wrong direction to take the shock. he made a small, choked sound as he was snapped off the _trigueño's_ rump. crawford was not conscious of going through the bars. he found himself on the inside of the corral, with someone climbing through the rails on his left. he did not realize who it was till he had started running toward quartel where he was rolling across the ground. then from the corner of his eye, crawford caught the white flutter of merida's fichu. "get back, you crazy fool," he screamed at her, diving headlong at her as a couple of crazed bulls charged by. he struck her with his arms around her waist and carried her back against the bars as a third animal crashed past where she had been standing. he rolled to his feet, leaving her there huddled up against the fence, and dodged through another pair of the bawling, frenzied animals, coughing in the dust. the bull quartel had thrown was scrambling to its feet, the _reata_ still caught around one foreleg. crawford saw the slack rope hiss taut as the animal broke into a stumbling gallop, and knew he could never reach it in time. if quartel's neck were not already broken, his head would be pulled from his body now. another bull went past behind crawford, its shoulder sending him spinning, and he threw himself bodily toward the rope where it lay tautening across the ground, in a last desperate effort to try and get it before the bull had stretched it completely. but even as he did so, he saw quartel had risen to his hands and knees. still blindfolded, the man must have heard the sing of the rope and known what was occurring. he gave his head one dazed shake and jumped to his feet, sinking his neck in that way and throwing himself backward. his body was at a three-quarter angle when the rope snapped taut; he would have fallen completely if the line had not caught him. the impetus of his jerking back that way and the weight of his body combined to upset the bull once more. the ground shuddered to the falling animal. crawford heard the crack of its broken neck. "how's that, huerta?" laughed quartel, running forward to slacken the rope so he could flirt the loop free. "i told you i wouldn't pull on it by hand. did you see that? i didn't touch it with my hands, did i? i'll bet you never saw a roper could do that down around mexico city. even oro peso. did you think i was finished? not with a neck like that. i could throw ten bulls all at once. where's my horse? bring me that _trigueño_. i'm not through yet. not with a neck like that." in a daze, crawford picked himself off the ground, seeing indita run out to corner the _trigueño_ and lead him over to the sweating, roaring quartel. stumbling back to the fence, crawford watched the whole crazy performance begin once more. it was a nightmare of shouting _vaqueros_ and bawling bulls and singing ropes and clouds of acrid russet dust obscuring the whole pattern every time the animals broke into a run. quartel took three casts to nail the seventh bull, and it was obvious he was tiring. "three more," crawford heard jacinto mumbling beside him. "three more. oh, _madre de dios_, let him get over with this, will you, and i'll never forget to say my rosary again. three more, three more--" two more. one more. "hola!" shouted the mexican, "_ahora_," and the rope spun, and caught, and tautened, and the ground shook as the last bull broke its neck. coiling in the rope, quartel spurred the _trigueño_ to the gate, ripping off his blindfold. they were all running that way, aforismo catching the man as he slid off the lathered, quivering horse, pounding him on the back. even merida had lifted her skirts to run that way, drawn by the excitement. quartel came through the crowd, sweating and grinning and pounding himself on the chest with his hairy fist. "i told you. the best roper in the world. what do you think of it, huerta? have you ever seen better? was oro peso better?" then a thought seemed to strike him, and he sobered, looking around at the _vaqueros_. "when i was pulled off the horse. someone was in the corral. i heard them." the hubbub sank until there was only the muffled sound of stirring bodies, and quartel saw the direction their glances had taken, one after another. he stared at crawford in disbelief. "you--" crawford shrugged, sullenly. "it was automatic, i guess. i didn't think." "yes." huerta allowed twin streamers of gray smoke to escape his nostrils. "i wonder what would have happened if you had stopped to think." crawford flushed, turning toward him, but quartel came forward, clapping his hand on crawford's shoulder. "huerta, i'm surprised at you. after all, he saved my life. and how about you. a _talega_ of pesos." "i made no wager," said huerta, tapping ash from his cigarette. the blood swept into quartel's face, and he stepped forward to grab the lapels of huerta's coat with one huge hand, jerking the man toward him. "huerta, i bet you a _talega_ of pesos--" "i made no wager." huerta had not moved his hands. one of them still held the cigarette holder at his side; the other rested in the pocket of his coat. but he was looking into quartel's eyes, and his own eyes had opened wider. the veined dissolution of his heavy bluish lids had lifted until the whole pupil was visible. "that's right, that's right," said jacinto nervously. "huerta didn't take up your bet, quartel. you was so busy shouting and all you didn't wait to see if he'd made the bet with you." "if he had, he'd pay me," said quartel, still looking into huerta's eyes, an indefinable puzzlement drawing a faint furrow through his brow, and something else. abruptly he turned around, raising his voice. "_caramba_, if i ain't going to get a _talega_ of pesos, i should get some kind of reward. you don't see a rodeo like that every day. how about it, merida? i want a reward--" he had shoved through the crowd toward her, catching her around the waist. apparently not divining his intent at first, she had been smiling, her face still flushed with that excitement. but as he caught her and bent his face to hers, the smile twisted into a grimace. she threw her forearm across his neck and tried to lever him away. "_vayase con la música a otra parte_," she cried, anger causing her to break into spanish. "_tu barrachon, largo de aqui, tu chile, no puedo sufrir su insolencia--_" "my insolence?" laughed quartel, grasping her wrist and tearing it from between them. the force of it drew a gasp of pain from merida; she began writhing more violently in his embrace, and tried to scratch his face with the other hand. but he caught that too, and forced both her hands behind her until he had her wrists crossed with his arms about her waist. in that last moment, he quit grinning. crawford had seen the same expression in the man's face before, when he looked at merida, but never so palpable, never so clearly recognizable. his voice came from deep in his throat, husky and sensual and demanding. "_besame, querida_," he said, and lowered his sweating face to hers. "let her go, quartel!" the mexican stopped, with his lips not quite touching merida. the woman's body ceased to writhe; she stood there in his arms, bent backward like a bow, looking up at him. without releasing her, quartel raised his head and turned it over his shoulder till he could see crawford. it had taken crawford that long to get through the laughing, shouting crowd; they were no longer making any noise, and they had spread away from him. he stood there with his boots spread a little on the hard-packed dirt and the weight of his shoulders thrown forward, the bitter intensity of his face only accentuating its gauntness. "oh." the word came out softly, slyly on quartel's breath. "maybe you'd rather be the one to kiss her. first he saves my life, then he wants to take my woman away." "your woman?" gasped merida. "take your hands off, damn you--" "don't swear at me, crawford." the hurt tone of quartel's voice held that pawky mockery. "i thought we were _amigos_. i thought you saved my life in the corrals." "quartel--" "_sí?_" the man had released merida and wheeled to face crawford. for a moment he stood there, his heavy chest rising and falling gently with his breathing. the mockery faded from his face, leaving a heavy, deliberate intent. his shift to the side was unhurried, but crawford's effort to keep facing the man came in a swift, spasmodic reaction. then quartel stood there again. "nobody swears at me, crawford," he said, and then, moving with incredible speed for such a bulky man, he leaped forward. crawford had been waiting for something, but it came so fast his move to block it was aborted. quartel had him by the shoulders, knocking him off balance, and crawford had to stumble backward to keep from falling. "do you understand that?" quartel was shouting it now, hoarsely, allowing his ebullience to escape finally. "i'm _amansador_, here, i'm foreman, and nobody swears at me or tries to stop me whatever i'm doing. i rod this outfit and i can do anything i want and nobody can stop me, do you hear?" it was then crawford realized what he had brought up against. stumbling backward, he had lurched into the _trigueño_ and it had kept him from falling. he was held against it now by quartel's hands gripping his shoulders. the animal heat of it penetrated through his shirt, and something else clawed at him, somewhere way down in his vitals. in a new spasm, crawford tried to lurch free of quartel's grip; but the man had still managed to keep him off balance, and he was held there, with his knees bent and his body pushed off to one side so that he had no leverage. he was shoved back hard against the horse again, and the hot, living, hairy, animal resilience of it against his back intensified that vague alarm inside him. "do you hear me, crawford, do you hear me--" quartel's voice came through to him as if the man were far away. crawford was writhing from side to side, trying to escape, but he was still held at that disadvantage. he had his hands on the man's arms, tearing at them. the effort rocked quartel from side to side, but failed to loosen his grip. crawford's face was twisted, and he was gasping hoarsely, because it was growing in him now, raking at him insistently with its subtle, insidious nails. his legs were beginning to tremble and the muscles across his belly were twisting up into little involuntary knots. "let go, let go--" the violent movement and their shouting had excited the horse, and it began to shift around behind crawford. it had been standing there against the fence where quartel left it when he slid off. crawford had it pinned up against the bars, and the animal whinnied nervously, trying to get from between him and the fence. aforismo moved from the crowd to grab the _trigueño's_ reins and pull its head down. "what's the matter, juarez?" he said. "crawford, don't do that, you're spooking this horse." "yeah, quit shouting!" roared quartel. "can't you see what you're doing to my _trigueño_? hasn't he been through enough today? quit jumping around like that." he realized what they were doing. that had been the intent in quartel's face. it didn't help him now to understand. nothing helped him now. it had its grip on him. his struggles had become a blind, frenetic effort to escape. not from quartel, now. it was the horse. the shrill sound of the _trigueño's_ whinny and the rising turbulence of the beast's nervous movement against him drove crawford to a new violence in his attempts at escape. it was no longer small or vague in him. it filled his whole consciousness. it spread through his legs and lower body in a clutching, stabbing pain that caused his knees to tremble and jerk. it filled his chest with a terrible constriction. and as before, the pain was rapidly turning to something else. "let go, damn you, let go--" he was screaming it now, in animal panic, his face contorted, his whole body writhing and struggling in a blind frenzy that only excited the horse further. he felt it rear up, and would have fallen backward beneath it had not aforismo yanked it down hard with his grip on the reins. the hot hide was wet with nervous sweat against crawford's back, and he could feel the ripple of its muscle with every movement it made, and every ripple sent a new wave of panic through him. all reason was gone from his mind and he was sinking into a dark vortex of that terrible panic like a cow sinking into a black bog. "what's the matter, crawford? are you afraid of the horse?" "let go, please, for god's sake, let go." "what's the matter, crawford?" "leggo, leggo, leggo--" he stopped screaming. it took him a long time to comprehend he was no longer being held against the horse. he crouched there on his knees where he had fallen when quartel had stepped back, releasing him. the movement of the animal behind him raised a flurry of dirty brown dust. coughing in it, crawford stared up at quartel. the rage had disappeared from quartel's face. his lips were spread in that pawky smile. "sure," he said, "i'll let you go. what will you do if i let you go?" aforismo had pulled the _trigueño_ out from behind him now, and crawford crouched there on his hands and knees, black hair falling dankly over his feverish eyes. he looked like a trapped animal, his breath escaping him in hoarse gasps, his head turning in quick jerks as his wild glance leaped from one person to another. first it was merida. there was a desperate plea in the way she bent toward him, her bosom rising and falling, her red lower lip dropped away from the shadowed white line of her teeth, glistening damply. then huerta, managing to convey a bored amusement without actually expressing anything in his face, as he studied crawford distantly. and jacinto, great, lugubrious globules of sweat sliding down his brown face, wringing his fat hands, making small, unintelligible sounds of pain. a vagrant anger swept crawford and he tried to collect it and hold it in him, bitter and acrid and violent. but it held no strength, and a shift of the wind swept the fetor of the _trigueño_ to him once more, and the anger disappeared. there was none of the spasm of panic now. it was heavy and oppressive in him, holding him down like a physical weight, robbing him of all resolve, dominating all other emotion. he was still shaking violently, and the salty tears blinded him. he felt a dim impulse to move twitch at his legs, and he knew a moment there when he thought he could rise. then he heard the guttural, frustrated sound he made, and knew he was still on the ground, and felt an overpowering impulse to give way and cry. "i thought so," said quartel, and turned to take the reins from aforismo. he checked the animal to prevent its whirling away from him, and jumped onto its back. he released the rein, and the _trigueño's_ head came around with a snap as it spun to trot off toward the fires. the other _vaqueros_ followed one by one, in an uncomfortable silence. huerta patted a yawn. "they've got some cane chairs over under those coma trees," he said. "i think i'll watch the proceedings from there. coming, merida?" she did not answer. she was looking at crawford, her face pale. huerta shrugged, moved languidly across the dusty compound. then it was just the two of them, with crawford finally gaining his feet, unable to meet her eyes. merida's weight had settled back onto her high heels slowly. that ripe lower lip had contracted against her teeth till her mouth was twisted across them faintly. her husky voice was barely audible. "i had hoped huerta was wrong." he stared at her, wanting to turn and run, unable to, somehow, and finally it came from him, guttural, hardly recognizable. "whadda you mean?" "about that fellow in the mine," she said. "whaddaya mean?" had that been him? shrill, and cracked, like that? "you know what i mean," she said. "not only pain. fear. and not only fear of what originally caused the pain." "no--" "yes!" she said thinly. "yes! it's not just the horses any more. it's everything. you're a coward, crawford. you're a coward!" _chapter nine_ still in the throes of fear the girandole candelabra on the mantel looked like a brooding ghoul in the evening gloom which shrouded the living-room of otis rockland's house. the french windows at the front extended completely to the floor, double-hung sashes forming the upper half, paneled gates of unpolished oak being the lower section. the damask hangings had been pulled across during the afternoon to shut out the sun, but the windows themselves were partly ajar, allowing the sounds from the corrals to enter the room. someone was playing a guitar over there where they were still roasting the bulls that had been killed. a woman's laugh came dimly. crawford raised his head a moment where he sat in a willow chair by the window; then he lowered it once more into his hands. his face was bleak and empty. he did not know how long it was since he had come here, unable to face them out there. when the creak of the porch came mutedly to him, he gave no sign. then there was more sound, louder, more recognizable. his head lifted as the noise terminated with a muffled crash. "crawford!" just once like that, shrill and cracked. he got to his feet and ran to the door, tearing it open. it was the side table in the entrance hall which had made the crash. merida must have pulled it over, falling. the marble top had smashed, and a piece of it lay on the floor beside her. the front door stood open wide. "merida?" he said, dropping to one knee. "you fell?" "no." she stirred feebly, rising to one elbow with his help, hanging her head over against his knee a moment. the kitchen door opened, and her maid padded down the hall in bare feet, a small, wizened indian, so dark she looked negroid, dressed in nothing more than a white cotton shift. "it's all right, nexpa," merida told her. "a little accident. crawford will help me to my room." she allowed him to help her up the stairs, leaning heavily on his arm. the warmth of her body flowed through crawford, and when they reached the second floor he was breathing heavily. beyond the last step, merida pulled away from him, her eyes meeting his in a swift, unreadable way. she turned and moved toward her room, halting a moment outside huerta's closed door, as if listening. then she opened the door of her bedroom. he had kept from asking by an effort, but now he followed her in hesitantly, speaking. "huerta came up?" she closed her door softly. "he wasn't at the corrals when i left." "maybe he got hungry for his red beans." her face lifted to him, eyes widening, and he shrugged. "jacinto said something about dope." she pursed her lips, moving around him toward the table. "couldn't you see it? opium when we were in mexico city. peyote now." "those beans." "yes. you've heard it. the indians call it _raíz diabólica_. devil weed. they've been using it for centuries in mexico. even the aztecs knew of it. they called it peyotl. it's effect isn't as marked as opium. he seems capable of eating those beans all day. they make a drink of it that's more potent." "he said something about a complaint," crawford told her. her mouth twisted somewhat. "maybe he has an old wound. he's been around. he'd take dope anyway. that's just the kind he is. you saw the kind. dissolute? i don't know. whatever you want." she had got a punk off the table and was lighting the candles in the porcelain candelabra supported by oak wall brackets. then she saw how he was looking at her, and turned part way. "what is it?" he looked away. "nothing." she caught his arm, turning him back. "no," she said. "it is something. huerta?" crawford pulled away from her hand, uncomfortable, somehow. "i just can't see you with him. you're not the type." "what type do you think i am?" he started to answer. then he moved his shoulders again, letting out a muted, rueful sound. "i guess i don't know, really, do i?" "don't you?" she was meeting his glance with a wide, candid demand in her eyes. "santa anna's chests?" he said. she drew in a long, slow breath, and nodded, finally. "you do know, then," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "you have known, all along." she hesitated, studying him. when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "that's inconceivable to you, isn't it?" "no--" "yes!" she blew out the punk with the word. "you've lived in the _brasada_ most of your life. money to you represents no more than a barren, lonely ranch like this and a herd of cattle to support it. you have no conception of what riches can really mean. not just the horses, the servants, the jewels. the grace, crawford, the ease, the beauty, the way of life." an intensity had gripped her voice, and her face was flushed. "do you know what it is to be a peon in mexico? no. you've never seen it, have you? you've seen the women in the brush here, living like animals in a one-room mud house with nothing but a cotton sheet for a dress. that's nothing. they're rich. they're hidalgos compared with a real peon. i should know. i was one, crawford. i won't be one again. i'd rather steal and lie and cheat. i'd rather murder. can you understand that? i will, if it's necessary. i--" she broke off, breathing deeply, looking wide-eyed up at him. then a short bitter laugh escaped her, and she turned away, the line of her shoulders bowing faintly. light drew a soft glow from the rich black hair drawn tightly across the back of her head. with a new understanding of the woman, he stepped in behind her. "all right," he said. the simple acceptance of that drew her around. they were standing so close her breast touched his when it stirred faintly to her breathing. "you were going to tell me what happened downstairs," he murmured. "_derrotero?_" she said, watching his face narrowly. it was an effort to keep it expressionless. "the map?" "it's why huerta wanted to keep you here in the first place," she said. "quartel and tarant were against it, but huerta thought you had some reason for coming here. he was right, crawford. nothing else could make you take what they've been doing. you've got part of the _derrotero_, and you think one of us has the rest. well, one of us has!" she turned around and did something with the waist of her dress, beneath the fichu. when she turned back, she held a piece of torn, yellowed paper in her hand. "there are three pieces to the map," she said. "this is one of them." "lopez?" he asked. "yes," she muttered. "santa anna had many wives. my mother was one. you will recall that the captain of the mule train sent one third of the map to santa anna himself. it was about all my mother got out of santa anna's estate when he died." "who was it downstairs?" he asked. "he came from behind. it was dark. i did not see." he stared at the section of paper a long time, scratching his dirty beard with a thumbnail. "huerta's been trying to find out all along if i have the _derrotero_. the fact that he doesn't know for sure has kept him from making any definite move, one way or another. what would he do if he found out, for sure, one way or another?" "why should he find out?" she said. "you're with huerta." "am i?" she said, moving in close again. "maybe i _was_." "you tried that before," he said. "no," she said hotly. "will you never trust me, crawford? i want to help you. not just the map. that doesn't matter, now. out there, with the _trigueño_. i'm sorry for what i called you." "maybe you were right," he said, bitterly. "no! you're not a coward, intrinsically. can't you see what they were doing? maybe huerta was the first to see how it was--about your legs. now they all know. they're using it, crawford. quartel used it today. he shoved you up against the horse and held you there till you were half-crazy with panic. he knew you wouldn't fight him in that state. it wasn't fear of him that demoralized you. it was horrible to watch." she reached up to grasp his elbows with her hands, lifting her weight toward him. "but i've seen what you used to be, too. when you brought whitehead back. no coward could have done that. come back, with whitehead that way, knowing what you would have to face, here. do you realize what it did to me? to come out on the porch that morning and see you standing there beside whitehead's body, knowing what it meant. it doesn't happen to a person often in her life, crawford. that sort of feeling. let me help you, crawford. i want to. i can't if you don't trust me." she was up against him now, almost sobbing it, and his hands had slid around her waist, the flesh hot and silken against his palm through her gown. for one last moment he tried to fight it. but he had fought so long, so alone, without anyone, and the warm resilience of her body against him filled crawford with a giddy weakness. "merida," he muttered thickly, bending her back, "merida--" she pulled away, her face flushed. "i can't--if you don't trust me--" he held her that way, breathing heavily, her back arched away from him by the pressure of her hands against his chest. he searched her wide, dark eyes, and found no guile there. still filled with that desire and driven by it, he made a guttural, inarticulate sound, releasing her, and took one step to the bed, lowering himself on the embroidered muslin coverlet. he bent to take off his right justin. the fancy stitching across the top of the boot unknotted, and he pulled it away from half a dozen eyelets in the leather, revealing a double thickness which formed a pocket. "used to keep my money here," he said, pulling out the piece of parchment rockland had given him. the woman's hand trembled as she took it from him, laying it on the bed beside her piece, fitting them together. then her pale finger crossed the map until it reached a word printed on his section. her voice was no more than a whisper. "mogotes serpientes." "yeah," he said, watching her. "yeah. i never got around to using the map. kenmare was on my tail a lot since i left san antonio. i didn't take too much stock in the story anyway. del never told me anything about it, and it was his uncle supposed to have been captain of that mule train. how did rockland get hold of this portion?" "delcazar's uncle escaped to mexico city, where he died, his effects being turned over to the family lawyer down there," she said. "rockland originally wanted the delcazar land up here for the water. he sent tarant down to mexico city to make sure there was nothing in the delcazar papers which would prevent having clear title to the land when he got hold of it. tarant found this part of the chart when he was going through those papers." she straightened slowly, allowing her gaze to reach his face. "do you know who has the other piece, crawford?" "no," he said. her eyes grew blank; and he stood swiftly, grasping her hand. "i've trusted you, merida. now you've got to trust me. i don't know." "it's got to be more than trust now," she said. "we're in it together, crawford. if i'm to help you, you've got to help me. will you?" "haven't i proved that?" he said, trying to pull her toward him with that hand. "anything, merida--" she held back, calculation hardening the planes of her face. "perhaps i should have said, _can_ you?" just the feel of her wrist in his fingers that way, soft and satiny, started it up again in him, and he quit trying to pull her in, and took a step in toward her. "what horse you on now?" "i mean, maybe you can't. maybe you're incapable of it. you can't do much the way you are now, crawford. you're only half a man. it's not just the horses any more. it's your whole life. everything you do is affected by it. i've thought of trying to get you a gun. a dozen times. it would be hard, but i might be able to do it. to stay unarmed here, like this--" she put her free hand against his chest to stop him. "what good would it do, crawford? if you'd had a gun, would you have used it today? quartel carries one. would you have pulled yours on him?" no woman had ever affected him so violently before. hardly aware of what she was saying, the blood pounding through his head, he sought to force her hand aside and bend his face to hers, wanting only to feel her against him again. "merida," he said, the blood so thick in his throat it made him sound strangled, "i told you--anything--" she took a deep, ragged breath, and he could not tell whether she was fighting him or herself, now. "no, crawford. it wouldn't be any different with a gun. not the way you are now. a gun wouldn't do you any more good than your bare hands. quartel wanted you to fight him with your hands. you wouldn't even do that. nothing will do you any good until you can step on a horse again without feeling that pain in your legs--that fear." she forced herself away, saying it in a cold tone, "africano?" it was like throwing ice water on a fire. all his ardor disappeared before the abrupt clutch of fear that word engendered in him. he stiffened for a moment, still holding that one hand. then he dropped it and stepped back, his mouth twisted. just the word, like that. just the name. "yes." the heavy rise and fall of merida's breast abated as she studied him, the candor gone from her face now, a cold, critical speculation filling her eyes as she studied him. "perhaps i was wrong, crawford. perhaps you can't help me. perhaps i can't help you." "no? let me show you," he said desperately. _chapter ten_ flight from snake thickets this time of night did strange things to the brush. the moon had not yet risen enough to light fully the trails winding their secretive way through the jealous chaparral, and what vague dim light did seep through the gloom held a reflected, synthetic quality. most of the _vaqueros_ were in a drunken stupor when crawford and the woman left the house, getting one of rockland's prized copperbottoms and a pinto mare from the corrals without being detected. they rode north from the spread, following one of the ancient game traces which the _vaqueros_ used when working the cattle. in the eerie illumination, the berries ripening on the granjeno bushes formed yellow shadow patches against the velvet backdrop of darkness farther back, and the white filament of the horse-maimer was turned to a sick erubescence where it crouched on a stony ridge. crawford caught the dim glow of the cactus's silky blossoms, and pulled his reins in a hard jerk against the pinto's neck. the animal shied to the right, away from the horse-maimer. "crawford!" the woman said it softly from behind him, a controlled anger in her voice. she moved the copperbottom up beside him, peering at his face. "it's all right," he said impatiently. "crawford," she said again, in that low, insistent tone. he tried to relax his legs against the pinto. just a walk, and they were like that. he felt his shirt sticking to his armpits and knew the sweat was showing on his face. that terrible frustration was biting at him. "i told you it was all right," he said harshly. a savagery entered her voice, struggling with that restraint. "will you quit trying to hide it, crawford. from me. from yourself. i know all about it now. i've seen it. there's no use being ashamed of it with me. it's there. we both recognize it. admit it. that's the first thing you've got to do." "all right. i'm afraid. every time it moves. every time it bats an eyelash. every time it--" he stopped, realizing how violent the release had been, and it seemed the mocking echoes of his voice were dying down the sombrous lanes of the brush. he turned away from her, feeling a new wave of shame. "that's better than nothing," she said. the tone of merida's voice made him turn back to her. she must have been waiting for that, because the movement brought his eyes around to hers. "when you wouldn't meet quartel back at the bull-tailing," she said, "i condemned you for being a coward. i'll never do it again. you may be afraid, but i'll never condemn you for it. the only thing i'll condemn you for is refusing to face your fear." he felt his legs relaxing slightly, and for a moment the beat of his heart diminished. he had never talked with anyone about it like this before. he had kept it locked within himself, refusing to look at it, refusing to admit it even to himself. "do your legs hurt now?" she said. "a little." his voice was tight. "crawford--" "all right. a lot. they hurt like hell. i hurt all over. does that satisfy you?" "this the river?" she said. he pulled the pinto to a stop and stepped off stiffly. he stood there a moment with his face into the horse, trembling faintly. when he moved away from the animal, the nebulous pain subsided somewhat in his loins. yet the animal's very proximity kept the irritation in his consciousness. when he pulled the map from his shirt, his hand twitched spasmodically, and he almost tore the paper. she took the paper from his uncertain hands, moving into the best of the bizarre light. they had ridden north in order to strike the nueces river where the route on his portion of the _derrotero_ started. the woman hunkered down on the ground, spreading the paper out. there was something wild about her figure, crouching there like that, her dark head brooding over the chart. she looked up abruptly. it caused him to make a small, involuntary movement, realizing how he had been watching her. he squatted down beside her, seeing the scarlet tip of her finger descend to the words printed in spanish at one end of the chart. "montezuma embrujada?" "yeah," he said. "you can see them right across the river. i don't know why they're called the haunted ruins. it's just an old spanish fort they had here to guard the gold trains coming from the san saba mines." her finger moved down the line on the paper to the next spot. "chapotes platas." "silver persimmons. a bunch of persimmon trees growing about five miles south of here that look silver in the moonlight. i been by there sometimes chousing cattle with delcazar." "tinaja de la tortuga." her finger had passed on to the third spot marked on the upper portion of the map. "turtle sink, we call it," he said. "there's the biggest old granddaddy turtle you ever saw living there, but i never saw any water." "veredas coloradas--" "you got me now," he said. "i told you nobody's seen all of the _brasada_. delcazar knows more about it than anybody else i ever knew, but he can't tell me where snake thickets are, or what's in lost swamp." "this is still on the portion of the map you had," she said. he nodded. "it's new brush to me and thicker'n heel flies in spring. it takes a machete to get through." her finger was trailing on down the line, crossing the jagged tear in the paper, marking the spots noted on the second portion of the _derrotero_. "llano sacaguista, puenta piedra, resaca perdida--you don't know any of these?" he shook his head. "i told you. i've never been down that way. i've heard of some. puenta piedra, for instance. there's supposed to be a natural stone bridge somewhere along the rio diablo. and most everybody in the brush has heard the tales about lost swamp." "puenta piedra is beyond that thick brush," she said. "why not skirt that section of the _brasada_ until we strike rio diablo? if puenta piedra is somewhere along rio diablo, we should find it by following the river's course. then maybe we can follow the chart from puenta piedra on down to the snake thickets." "we won't get back before daylight," he said. "i don't care." she rose with a toss of her head. "let them know we've been hunting the chest. i told you there wasn't any time left to beat about the bush." "and what have we got when we do reach snake thickets?" he said. "don't ask me!" she seemed to allow herself full release for the first time. her face was flushed and she swung aboard the copperbottom viciously. "all i know is i can't sit around that house and wait for something to happen. the only way to find something is to go out and hunt for it--" she stopped, as she saw him standing there staring at the pinto. it had a little roan in its black coloring which caused the dark spots to run over into the white patches, giving a sloppy, splotched effect. it stirred faintly, snorting. merida saw what that did to him. "crawford--" there was a plea in her voice. she sat quiescent, waiting. his lips flattened against his teeth. he moved slowly to the pinto, standing there, staring at the sweaty saddle. the smell of it grew in his nostrils. he was filled with the impulse to turn and run. his body twitched with it. "crawford--" he put his foot in the stirrup and stepped aboard. silver persimmons, turtle sink, rio diablo. they were names on the chart. they were spots in the brasada. they were names in his head and their reality blended with black letters on faded parchment. he lost all sense of time. his only consciousness was of movement. no telling how long it took them from haunted ruins to silver persimmons. the weird brush floated past in a sea of mingled pain and trembling and sweating. the stark arms of chaparral supplicated the night on every side. the _cenizo's_ ashen hue had turned a sick lavender from recent rain, and it reeled biliously into vision and out again. then chapotes platas were gleaming like newly minted coin beneath the risen moon. the woman talked sometimes, watching crawford, in a low, insistent way. "my mother was the _curandera_ of the village. you have no idea how many plants those herb-women can make medicine from. on saturday we would go to the river a mile away and gather herbs. i used to enjoy that. it was as far away from home as i got. the rest was mostly work. nothing very nice to remember. choking to death in the fumes of the herbs my mother had cooking constantly in the big brass kettle in our jacal. rubbing my eyes all day in the smoke. she was stone blind from that. grinding corn on the metate. i must have spent half my waking hours with that metate. do you blame me for marrying capitán mendoza when he asked? i didn't love him. he was brutal and ugly. but he was stationed in mexico city. i was fourteen at the time--" turtle sink ceased to be inked words on yellowed paper and rose abruptly from the shadowed depths of the brush--a stony water hole with sand white as bleached bones covering its bottom and the scarred, mottled shell of a huge turtle barely visible in the black shadow beneath one end. they were beyond that when the sound of his breathing slid momentarily across the uppermost reaches of his consciousness. it was not as labored, or as harsh. then it was her voice, floating in again. "after mendoza died, riding with diaz, i got a job entertaining in a cafe near collegio militar. it was there i first met huerta. he taught me to speak english, gave me my first taste of what money can do. tarant had known huerta before, and when rockland sent him down to look into the delcazar papers, tarant contacted huerta to help him. huerta was there when tarant came across the portion of the _derrotero_ delcazar's uncle had possessed. that's how huerta knew rockland would have it. when huerta told me about it, i showed him the portion of the map i had--" now it was his legs. first it had been his breath, now it was his legs. he realized they were hanging free against the stirrup leathers. he was sitting a horse without tension for the first time since africano had rolled him. he turned toward merida. maybe it was in his face. "your legs don't hurt now, do they?" he was almost afraid to speak. "no," he said, with a strange, husky wonder in his voice. "no." he had never seen her smile with such rich sincerity, and her voice trembled with a strange, joyful excitation. "then we can, crawford, we can!" he stared at her, unable to answer. then he averted his head, lips thin against his teeth. could they? he was afraid to answer it. yet the pain was gone. he could sit there with the movement of the horse beneath him and its sweaty fetor reaching his nostrils in vagrant waves and feel no pain. and with the cessation of his pain, the other things became more vivid in his consciousness. he caught the faint honeyed odor of white brush from a draw to his right, and drank in its full sweetness for the first time in months. the woman saw that, and her lips lifted faintly. they reached rio diablo and turned northward on its banks. it was the best water between the nueces and the rio grande, yet it was no more than a stream, its mucky course following a sandy bottom that wandered in lazy loops through the _brasada_. "we're crossing delcazar's old spread now," crawford told her. "you can see how much better watering you'd get here than where rio diablo turns into rockland's holdings. that's why rockland wanted to get hold of this stretch. when rockland's dad first got the big o, they say the river was bank full from one end of his pastures to the other. couple more years and it will be completely dry there." they passed the borders of what had once belonged to pio delcazar and came across a grass-grown pile of stones on a clay bank while it was still dark, a broken, hand-hewn timber thrusting its jagged end skyward from the rubble. crawford dismounted and moved about the area, bending now and then to squint at certain spots. then he stared across the river to where another heap of stones stood on the far bank. "puenta piedra," he mused, tugging idly at his scraggly black beard. "i wonder if those stories about a natural stone bridge could have started from one the spaniards built on the route south from san antonio." "how does this line up with tinaja de la tortuga?" he looked upward, turning his head till he found lucero, and raised his hand to it. "there's the shepherd's star. and the one the mexicans call la guía. they're always fixed in relation to each other. that leaves us almost due south of turtle sink." "that tallies with the map," she said, spreading the parchment out against her horse's neck. "red trails must be right in the middle of that thicket we skirted. and this is the puenta piedra they mean. we have to turn east a little now to strike llano sacaguista." he got onto the pinto without hesitation this time, and led down into the brown muck of the shallow water and up the other bank. llano sacaguista proved to be a vast open flat covered with greening sacaguista grass. he had never traversed these particular flats, and beyond this was a stretch of brush entirely foreign to him. they left rio diablo for a mile or so and then struck it again. a block in the river caused by some ancient upheaval rendered the land boggy here. the hollow boom of bullfrogs mingled with the other night sounds. a 'gator bellowed somewhere from the depths of the exotic brush. "looks more like east texas," crawford muttered. "i wonder if this could be lost swamp." he could see the glow of excitement in the woman's eyes now. they pushed on southward with the false dawn dropping an eerie light through the brush. the boggy section fell behind, and the natural aridity of the _brasada_ returned. they were still following the river, though it was nothing but a dry bed now, the trickle of water having ceased where it ran into lost swamp. a true dawn was bringing light to the sky in the east when they heard the first sound. it was a thin sibilation, reminiscent of the mesquite sighing in a light breeze. crawford moved his pinto over beside merida's copperbottom, halting both horses, to sit there, listening. then he touched a heel to the pinto's flank, moving it carefully down into the very center of the river bed. the brush on either bank grew more dense as they moved on up the dry bed, and began to gather here in the bottoms now. the sound increased, too. the faint hissing was veritably ceaseless now, rising and falling in a sibilant tide. finally the brush was so thick in the river bed they were having to force their way through. the pinto was beginning to fiddle nervously. it shied, finally, and crawford jerked it to a stop, a vagrant wave of the old panic gripping him. he sat there a moment, trying to control his breathing. "you wanted to know where snake thickets was," he said. "it looks like we're sitting right on the edge of it." there was a vague awe in her voice. "it sounds as if all the snakes in texas had gathered here. crawford--" "don't be loco," he said, seeing it in her eyes. "we wouldn't last two minutes beyond this spot. if those mexicans cached anything, it sure couldn't have been inside here." "if?" her tone was sharp; the excited glow fled her eyes, leaving them narrow and speculative as she looked at him. "you still don't believe there is any money." "i told you i was skeptical to begin with," said crawford. "but the part of the _derrotero_ you had--" she moved her hand in a vague, defensive way--"coming all this way, putting up with all that back there--quartel, huerta, whitehead--surely--" she stopped as it must have struck her. a reserve crossed her face, tightening the planes of her cheek, and that speculation deepened in her eyes, accentuating, somehow, the oblique tilt of her brow. "maybe i was right the first time," she said finally. she leaned toward him slightly. "i guess i should have seen it before this. you're hardly the type, are you? money wouldn't mean enough to you to put up with that." she stopped again, studying him, and then a faint smile stirred her lips. "which one of us do you think murdered otis rockland?" he met her eyes for a moment, almost sullenly. then a vague unrest seeped through him. his saddle creaked as he shifted on the pinto, and he turned his head upward, sniffing. she must have taken it for a discomfort arising from her scrutiny, for that smile on her lips spread perceptibly. "i didn't think you were that righteous," she said. he brought his eyes back to hers with an effort, staring a moment before he comprehended. "look," he said, then, with a careful deliberateness. "i don't give a damn about rockland being killed. it's me, see. it's purely a selfish motive. i told you. a man gets tired after a while. he gets tired jumping like a jack rabbit every time a tree toad chirps. he gets tired running the brush all day and all night to keep one jump ahead of those badge-packers. he gets tired living on raw meat because he's afraid to build a fire, and sleeping in a bunch of mesquite because he can't get near enough a house to get a blanket, and scratching his face off because he hasn't even got so much as a knife to shave with." "then why didn't you leave?" he opened his mouth to say it. then he closed it again, staring at her. finally he shrugged sullenly. "it's my country, that's all." "is it?" she said. "or maybe i'm wrong again. maybe quartel was closer to the truth than any of us. where do you pin the badge? on your undershirt?" "i didn't think you'd understand," he said. "it would be the most logical reason for your staying, through all that," she said, studying him. "if you really are hoping to find rockland's murderer, that would be the most logical reason." "let's close the poke," he said. "and maybe that about your legs is wrong, too," her voice probed relentlessly. "that would be a pretty good blind. who would suspect them of sending in a lawman who couldn't even sit a horse?" she must have meant it to sting him. he saw some strange satisfaction in her face as he stiffened perceptibly. "no--merida--" he held out his hand, losing for a moment all sense of the heavy antipathy which had fallen between them. then it was that restlessness, coming again, through the consciousness of her mocking eyes on him. the pinto began to fiddle around in the sand, and the woman's copperbottom raised its head, delicate nostrils fluttering. merida looked at the animals, frowning. "what is it?" she said. a puff of wind ruffled crawford's ducking jacket against his ribs. he turned in the saddle, staring northward. it was light enough with dawn now for him to discern the blackening clouds on the horizon, above the pattern of brush. the breeze whipped through the _brasada_ anew, strong enough now to drown out the incessant hissing which emanated from mogotes serpientes. mesquite rattled mournfully to the wind. a mule deer broke from chaparral with a clatter behind the horses, bounding across the river bed in frightened leaps. the pinto snorted and began fighting the bit, whirling in the sand. the woman shivered with the sudden chill, calling again, a vague fear tinging her voice. "what is it?" he could hardly answer. the plunging, rearing pinto had filled him again with that panic, and he was gripping frantically with his legs, blood thickening in his throat, choking him up, sweat breaking out on his face. "norther." he finally got it out. "hits like this sometimes in the spring. better get to shelter quick as we can. it looks like hell is going to pop its shutters. delcazar used to have an old jacal on the diablo. it's south of us somewhere along the bottoms. he and i used to hole up there when we were hunting--" he was fighting the pinto all the time he shouted, and he could hold it no longer. frothing at the mouth from battling the bit, the horse wheeled wildly, tossing its head, and bolted up the bank of the river. the wind had risen to a veritable gale already, and the ducking jacket whipped about his torso with a dull slapping sound as the pinto burst through the first growth of chaparral. a hackberry rose ahead. crawford reined the horse aside desperately, sliding off on one flank to get beneath the branches. he was shaking with panic now, and the pain was in his tense, quivering legs. "crawford, crawford--" it was merida's voice behind him. her animal made a hellish clatter going through a _mogote_. then that was drowned in the howl of the rising gale. crawford was dimly aware of his own choked sobbing as he fought to stay on the frenzied pinto and turn it southward toward delcazar's jacal. his consciousness of the norther was only secondary to the terrible animal panic in him. the black clouds had risen like a pyre of smoke over the northern horizon and were descending on the near brush like an awesome, clutching hand. already rain was beginning to pelt the thickets. the howling wind tore a pendent bunch of mesquite berries off its bush as crawford raced by, carrying it into his face. he shouted aloud at it, clawing wildly at the blinding mass. but mostly it was the horse beneath him. the writhing heat of its frenetic movement beating against his legs. the dank smell of its wet body sweeping him. the coarse black hair of its mane whipping into his face. the awful demoralizing consciousness of its uncontrollable run carrying him along. he could hear his own choked, incoherent cries. the fear held him in a shaking, writhing vise now. nopal clawed his face. a post-oak branch struck his head with stunning force. he clung to the horse, bawling insanely, no longer trying to rein it, torn off one side by raking chaparral, beaten at by the trunk of a hackberry, scratched and ripped by mesquite. "let go, crawford." it was merida, calling shrilly from behind him somewhere. "jump, crawford, please, let go, oh please--" "no! no!" had he screamed it? someone was screaming. his head rocked backward to a blow. sensations spun in a kaleidoscope about him. the towering dominance of a cottonwood reeled around its orbit above him. mesquite swept into his vision and out again. sound and sight and feel became a confused pattern. red-topped nopal swam past. the crash of chaparral dinned in his ears. the gnarled curve of a post oak reeled up and blotted out his vision with a stunning blow in the face. his own hoarse scream of agony. the drum of hoofs somewhere beneath him. the shrieking wind. white brush. green toboso grass. brown hackberries. agony in his legs. the horse whinnying. white brush. pain. grass. screaming. trees. shouting. blood. nopal-- "crawford!" he did not know he had left the horse till he found himself crouched there in a thicket of mesquite, his face against the wet, earthy smell of dampened grama grass, making small, incoherent sounds. he seemed in a void, only dimly aware of sound sweeping around him, his awesome fear the only real thing to him. it clutched his loins and knotted the muscles across his belly. his legs were still rigid and trembling with that pain. he was sobbing in a hoarse, choked way. he heard the creak behind him but didn't know what it was till the woman's voice came through the haze of primal panic. "crawford--" "there. that's it. you've seen it now. all of it. can we? hell. how do you like it? isn't it pretty?" "you should have jumped." she had dropped to her knees before him and pulled his face up off the ground. the rain had soaked her clothes and when she drew his head into her arms he felt the soft, wet contour of her breast through the damp silk shirt. he was still shaken with that animal fright, and he had no control over his choked, guttural sobbing, or his words. "i couldn't jump. it's always like that. i'm so scared i want to puke and the only thing i want to do is leave the horse and i can't." his voice sounded muffled against the supple heat of her body. he had never let it out like this before, and with the panic and pain and fear robbing him of all control, he heard all the agony and anguish and frustration of the last months flooding from him in a wild release. he was still crouched on the ground, bent into her lap, his face against her breast, his fingers clutching spasmodically at the grass on either side of her. she soothed him like a child, stroking his head. finally, the pain began to die in his legs. the knotted muscles across his belly began to twitch spasmodically, and then relaxed. it was no longer his hoarse, sobbing words against her body. it was only his labored breathing. the full realization of what had happened struck him, and he forced his head back in her arms till he was far enough away to see her face. the flush of a sudden shame swept darkly into his cheeks. she saw it, and her eyes widened with a tortured compassion. "no, crawford, no, please," she said, in a husky voice, and put her palms against his cheeks and pulled his head to one side. her position gave weight to the leverage of her hands, and he found himself lying with his back on the ground, with his knees twisted beneath him and merida bending over from her sitting position. he had thought about it, before, enough times. a man did, with such a woman. but none of it had equaled this. all the shame was swept away. the sounds of the storm were blotted out. his whole consciousness was of the straining tension of her body against him and the moist resilience of her lips meeting his. finally she lifted her head, and he could see that her eyes were closed. she sat that way a moment, without opening them, her blouse caught wetly across the curving rise and fall of her breast. he lay staring up at her, and it was not the fear or the pain or the shame any longer in him, or even the passion which had swept him in that brief, violent moment. opening her eyes, she must have seen it in his twisted, wet face. "crawford," she said in a strained voice. "crawford, what is it? what do you want?" _chapter eleven_ old friends reunited the mexicans constructed the roofs of their jacals by laying willow shoots in a herringbone pattern across the bare vigas which formed the rafters, and then piling a foot or so of earth atop the shoots. it was this pattern crawford saw when he first opened his eyes. then it was the estufa, built of adobe, in one corner of the room, with a raised hearth and a cone-shaped opening in front, the hood rounding from the center to each wall with two mantels terraced back toward the chimney. it was over this oven that the old man stood. "delcazar!" crawford's voice turned the aged mexican, a rusty black frying pan still held in one gnarled fist. his face was seamed like an ancient satchel, and he squinted with the effort of focusing his rheumy eyes on crawford. his soiled white cotton shirt hung slack from stooped, bony shoulders, and the inevitable _chivarras_ were on his skinny legs, glistening with daubs of grease. they gazed at each other in an uncomfortable silence, and finally delcazar made a vague movement with the frying pan. "hard to know what to say," he mumbled. "after such a long time, and all that's happened." "yeah." crawford put the rotting bayeta blanket off him, moving his arms and legs tentatively, grimacing with the pain it caused him. hail had come after that first downpour of rain, and the white skin of his shoulders was marked with small purple bruises. he sat up, swinging his legs off, watching the mexican. "i remember we had a terrible time in that storm. last i recollect is trying to build a fire beneath some coma trees." "that must have been a long time before i find you," said delcazar. "i was in my jacal here when i hear somebody yelling my name. you was carrying merida across your shoulder. both near froze to death. i put you to bed like that time in austin when the red-eye got you." he saw how crawford was looking around the dim room, and delcazar grinned hesitantly. "she's out getting water for the coffee." they were still watching one another that way, waiting, and crawford waved his hand around the room. "i didn't think you'd hide out here." delcazar bent toward him, squinting. "hide out? how do you mean?" "a lot of people know about it," said crawford. "i should think it would be the first place they'd look." "they?" then delcazar seemed to understand. he pointed at himself with a thumb. "you think--that i--i--" he halted with a confused grunt, staring at crawford. "then--you didn't?" "don't you know?" said crawford. "_dios_, no," said delcazar. "how could i know? bueno told me how you threaten rockland after africano rolled you. i thought--" he gave a short, rueful laugh--"i guess i even hoped--" he trailed off, shrugging hopelessly again, and crawford bent toward him. "del, are you trying to tell me you didn't kill rockland?" "trying!" the old man bristled. "trying to tell you? you doubt my--" he broke off, staring at crawford. when he spoke again, it was simply, without vehemence. "no, crawford. i didn't. i thought you did. you're on bible two. there was a couple of rangers in the brush. torbirio spoke with them. he tell me they had you on the fugitive list." his face darkened, and he turned away from crawford, setting the frying pan down. from one of the terraced shelves he took a grease-soaked paper, unwrapping it from about the piece of bacon, rubbing the meat sparingly across the frying pan. "isn't that the same piece of side meat you had when we were here last?" said crawford. delcazar tried to smile. "almost, i guess. some day i have a hog of my own and we grease the pan with a fresh piece every morning." "you said you hoped i had killed rockland," crawford murmured, watching delcazar's back. "why?" "_nada_," said delcazar. "_nada._" crawford's levis had been drying over the fire, and he rose to get them. "because if i had done it, the whole thing could have been nothing more than the quarrel between me and rockland?" the old man pulled a pot of boiled beans out and dumped them into the frying pan. "frijoles _fritos_, crawford. you always like them." "but if it wasn't me who did it," said crawford, pulling on his damp levis, "there would have to be some other reason for rockland being murdered. santa anna's chests, for instance." he saw delcazar's whole body stiffen. the beans started to hiss as the flames licked at the bottom of the frying pan. "what do you know, del?" said crawford. "_nada, nada._" the old man turned around, rising with effort. "i don't know nothing." "your uncle was the _capitán_ of that mule train," said crawford. "my mother tell me that," said delcazar. "i never seen him. he died in mexico city when i was a little _niño_." "then why are you so het-up if you don't know anything about it?" "it's dangerous, crawford," said delcazar, catching at his arm. "it's the most dangerous thing ever hit this brush. you better get out of it while you're still alive. it's got the whole _brasada_ going now. no telling how many are mixed up in it now. the mexican government has an agent up here somewhere." "huerta?" "the man at rockland's?" said delcazar. "i don't think so." "huerta was the one who told me about your uncle," said crawford. "funny nobody has come hunting you. you're a logical link." "they have," said delcazar. "i wasn't here to greet them." "who?" "that ramrod tarant hired to clean out the brush," said delcazar. "him and his whole _corrida_." "quartel?" crawford's eyes narrowed, staring past delcazar. "i hadn't thought of him." "you better think of him. you better think about everybody, glenn. no telling who's in it, now, and who ain't. no telling who's going to come up behind you next. i hear they take your henry away--" he turned and squatted by the mess of saddle rigging and blankets in the corner, rummaging around till he came up with a wooden-handled bowie--"here, it's all i have. i know it seems silly, but you got to have something. i wish i had a gun. that old remington i owned blew up." he stopped again, clutching crawford's arm. "glenn, you ain't going back?" "why else did you give me the knife?" the old man let his hand slide off. "i guess so. i know you." he sniffled, rubbing peevishly at his coffee-colored nose with a calloused index finger. "i guess there ain't any use trying to keep you from it. they couldn't keep you from it with whitehead. what are you after there, glenn?" _puntales_ of peeled cedar formed the doorframe. crawford hefted the bowie in his hand, flipped it into the cedar post with a deft twist of his hand. he walked across the room and pulled it free. "we found snake thickets before the norther hit, del," he said. the old man grunted. "you're doing it wrong for a short throw like that. let me show you." crawford had been holding the bowie by the tip of its blade and throwing it from back over his shoulder, allowing it to flip over once in the air before it struck. delcazar palmed the heavy knife with the hilt against his wrist and the blade on his fingers. he threw it from his hip, point foremost. it struck with a dull thud. crawford went over to the post. the blade was embedded half an inch deeper than his throws had sent it in. standing there in the doorway, he turned back to the old man, squinting at him. delcazar sniffled that way again, rubbing his nose, not meeting crawford's eyes. "i told you, glenn, i never even seen mogotes serpientes. if you find it, okay. but i never even seen it. i thought it was just a story, like resaca perdida." "we saw lost swamp too," said crawford. "snake thickets was the most interesting, though. you should have heard it. sounded like those beans, only ten times as much. must be a million snakes in those _mogotes_." he paced back to delcazar, palming the knife as the old man had this time, throwing it with a grunt. with the blade quivering in the cedar post, he turned part way to the mexican. "i guess you know what the woman came from mexico for. she thinks it's somewhere in snake thickets." delcazar was shorter than crawford, and he had to turn his head up to meet the younger man's eyes. "listen, glenn," he said soberly, "i don't know what you're in this for. i've heard a lot of reasons. quartel thinks you got a badge tacked on you somewhere. that might be. a man can get a new job in the time you been away from the brush. bueno bailey said something about trying to clear yourself of rockland's murder. that may be, too. if you didn't kill rockland, maybe the man who did is at the big o spread. personally, i no care whether you killed rockland or not or why you're here. i just no want to see you messed up in it, that's all. i know you before, and i no want to see you messed up in it. take my advice as an _amigo_. forget mogotes serpientes. forget the whole thing. get out of it. get out of it right now." crawford scratched his beard, squinting into the old man's eyes thoughtfully. "you know, del, it just strikes me. two men can be friends for a long time, and not really know each other very well." "ah, _carajo_," growled delcazar, shuffling back to hunker over the fire. crawford watched him stir the steaming beans. "is there a way into snake thickets, del?" "_nada_," grumbled the old man. "i don't know. i don't know nothing." there was a muffled sound from outside, and then merida was standing silhouetted in the doorway, staring at crawford. all his weight lay in his chest and shoulders, and below the line of dark sunburn that covered his face and neck, the skin was pale and white and so thin as to gleam almost translucently over the musculature lying quilted across his upper back. he became aware of how long merida had gazed at him like that, without speaking, and turned farther toward her. the myriad striations that formed the heavy roll of muscle capping his shoulders were clearly defined, and the abrupt movement caused a faint ripple beneath the skin, like the stir of a sleepy snake. merida smiled strangely as she entered with a big clay jug of water. "_cimarrón_," she said. "what?" he asked. "_cimarrón_," she said. "_ladino._ i never could quite think of what you reminded me of. now i know. one of those wild outlaw cattle quartel brings in from the brush. sullen, like them. bitter. even built like them. their weight all up in their shoulders, running the brush so constantly they melt the beef off till--" she stopped short, a strange, indulgent smile catching at her mouth as she saw the puzzled expression in his face. he turned to pull his shirt off the estufa. merida moved after him, till she stood close behind. delcazar was across the room, pulling a twist of chili from where he had hung it on a viga. merida spoke in a low tone that the old man would not hear. "what was it out there, glenn?" "when do you mean?" he said, without turning around. "you know when i mean," she said. "after i'd kissed you. the way you looked. that expression on your face." "nothing," he said stiffly. he couldn't tell her, somehow, if she didn't know. it just wasn't in him to express his own terrible incapacity again, to her. for that was what it had been, out there, after the kiss. the bitter, unutterable realization that no matter how much he wanted her, he was completely unworthy of such a woman, and could never have her. "it was something," said merida, tensely, trying to turn him around, "tell me, crawford, tell me--" "hola, delcazar!" shouted someone, from outside, halting merida. the old man whirled about, dropping the chili. quartel had come into view, outside, across the clearing from the doorway, moving into the open from the brush in stiff, tentative steps, his chihuahuas tinkling softly. he was leading his own _trigueño_ and the copperbottom merida had ridden. crawford made an abortive move toward the door, but delcazar caught him. "_buenos días_," said delcazar, stepping then into view. "i found merida's horse down in the bottoms," quartel told him. "i thought they might--ah, the flash rider himself." he must have seen them behind delcazar. crawford pushed past the old man into the open, and saw the morning sunlight catch quartel's white teeth in that pawky grin. the brush held a torn, rended look after the norther, great holes ripped in the mesquite thicket behind quartel, mesquite berries littering the ground. the copperbottom shifted wearily, rattling its bridle. "how did you find us?" said crawford. "i trailed you," said quartel. "that's some trailing." quartel shrugged. "believe it or not. i don't care. there was someone at the big o looking for you." "yeah?" "_sí._ i misjudged you, crawford. let me apologize for thinking you were a lawman." merida made a small strained sound from behind crawford, and quartel grinned at her. "_sí_, merida. this man looking for crawford don't pin it on his undershirt, either. he has it right out where everybody can see. he's hunting crawford all right. he says he's got orders to shoot him on sight." _chapter twelve_ conqueror and conquered it was twilight of the same day that quartel had found them at delcazar's jacal. crawford and merida had ridden double on the copperbottom back to the big o, where merida had gone up to her room to change, while crawford washed up in the kitchen. no one was in evidence when crawford returned to the living-room for a drink, feeling exhausted and battered from that night in the storm and the long ride back. he was no connoisseur, his experience with good liquor limited to the few times he had drunk rockland's potables here, and he was at a loss to choose from the array of glittering bottles and decanters in the sideboard. he sampled one labeled _curaçao_ and found it too sweet for his taste. finally he settled on some armagnac, pouring himself a stiff jolt and moving toward the french windows. he had meant to sit down in one of the willow chairs, but the strange silence outside caught his attention. it was unnatural for this time of day. there was no wind, and the mesquite berries hung in motionless clusters from drooping trees. dusk clouded farther thickets, and only the nearest growths took form. the low mats of chaparral crouched like waiting cats in the gloom. the warped dead hackberry by the wagon road thrust skeleton arms skyward. it seemed to be waiting for something too. that oppressive sense of expectancy bore in on crawford, and he emptied half the glass at one gulp, squinting his eyes as the brandy burned his throat. it did not help. waiting. the sickish sweet scent of the _lluvia de oro_ twining itself through the lattice of the front porch was so oppressive in the hot, still air that it nauseated him. waiting-- the sound of someone rushing down the stairs caused him to turn toward the door. it was merida, and he was surprised to see she had not changed from the torn, dirty leggings she had ridden in. then he saw the expression on her face. "where's quartel?" she cried. "he went down to the bunkhouse i guess," crawford told her, frowning. "what is it?" "he was right." "who was right?" "quartel," she said, coming across the room in still, tense steps, her eyes fixed to his face. "nexpa saw him." "quartel?" "no," she said. "crawford, don't you understand? nexpa saw him from an upstairs bedroom. he's out in the brush and he's coming back." it struck him, then, whom she meant, and his fingers tightened involuntarily around the glass. "the lawman?" she stared at him without answering, her mouth working faintly. he realized his fingers ached, and he eased his grip on the glass. "that's crazy, merida. no badge-packer would come in here like that. even sheriff kenmare was afraid to follow me this far. nexpa must be mistaken." she shook her head, the planes of her face taut and strained-looking, her eyes glued in that wide, frightened way to his. he made a small, frustrated motion with the glass, his voice growing hoarse. "she must be, merida. no lawman. not even a texas ranger." she shook her head again, emitting a small, sobbing sound. he bent toward her tensely, his chest moving perceptibly with the breath passing through it. he was remembering what delcazar had said. bible two? "it _is_ a ranger?" crawford almost whispered. she caught his arm, the words torn from her. "you've got to get out, crawford. before he reaches here." "ranger," he muttered, almost to himself, turning to get past her toward the door. "it can't be--" "too much time, crawford," she said swiftly, blocking him from that direction. "can't you understand? he's coming back. you won't even be able to cross the compound before he's here. you won't even be able to reach the brush. you'll never make it on foot, crawford." he stared down at her twisted face. "what are you saying?" "there's one in the small corral," she said. "nexpa told me. it's one of jacinto's, so it won't be spooky." it took him a moment to comprehend what she meant, and then it escaped him in a strangled way. "think i can do it that way?" "you've got to." she was close to crying now, the tears glistening in her eyes. "there isn't any other way, crawford. can't you understand? you've got to. right now. you'll never make it to the brush. it's twice as far as the corral. you'd be out there in the open, and you'd be a clay pigeon. your only chance is the corral." "no!" he tried to break free of her grip on his arm. "i can't. you know i can't. you saw, out there in the storm, with that pinto." "you can!" she cried. "you've got to, crawford, you've got to." he stared down into her twisted, pale face. then, with a guttural, inarticulate sound, he whirled to the french windows, opening one farther, and stepped out onto the porch. he stood a moment behind the screen of yellow _lluvia de oro_ covering the lattice. the silence lay across the compound so thick it almost gagged him. waiting. there it was again. his shoulders hunched forward, and his whole tense body had taken on the look of a hunted animal. he stared furtively down the length of the porch. his shirt was wringing wet with sweat now. "crawford--" it came from merida, standing in the window behind him. without turning around, he moved down the steps, his boots making a clatter in the silence. then he was moving across the ground in an urgent, shuffling gait, his narrow, dark head turning ceaselessly from side to side. he realized he was still holding the glass, and threw it from him with a muffled curse. with every step nearer the corral, something seemed to be contracting about his heart. he was fighting for breath, and sweat had turned his beard soggy when he reached the fence. in the semi-gloom, he could barely make out the shape of the horse. this was the corral they broke broncs in, built in three sections, the largest section on this side, with a chute at the other end, and beyond that, a small, tight holding corral not much bigger than a stall, where they held the animals before putting them into the chute to be saddled. it had been otis rockland's boast that this smaller section was built so hog-tight and bull-tight it would hold the wildest bronc that ever double-shuffled. the heavy, reinforced cedar bars were so close together a man could not crawl between them but had to go through the gate. this gate itself was built so that it would close automatically, a rawhide rope run from its frame through a pulley on the overhead structure with a bucket of sand hanging at its end. whenever the gate was open the weight of the sand bucket pulled it closed again, and the drop bar fell automatically into its sockets on the outside. crawford stopped at this gate, glancing from one side to another at the brush. there was a small crackle behind the bunkhouse. with a startled abruptness, he pulled the rope that hoisted the drop bar from its sockets and lifted it above the top of the gate, allowing the portal to swing open. the bar would not drop back into position as long as the gate was ajar. holding the gate open, crawford found a rock large enough to wedge beneath the bottom bar and keep the sand bucket's weight from pulling the gate closed when he let go. the horse inside snorted softly. crawford stiffened by the gate post. then, his whole body so tense the muscles ached, he took a forced, jerky step toward the animal. the horse snorted again, louder. it had been hitched to the corral and, as crawford drew near, the animal began tugging at the reins nervously. "easy, boy, easy." crawford tried to make his voice soft and reassuring, but it came out tight, harsh. "you're going to break your headstall. easy, you jughead." but as he drew near, the horse's efforts to get free became wilder. it whinnied shrilly and reared up. the sound halted crawford in the middle of the corral, his whole body a rigid line. the reins pulled free of their half hitch on the cedar-post bar, and the animal wheeled away from crawford toward the far corner of the small corral. crawford's movements were forced, now, as he moved to catch the animal in that corner. he bent forward slightly to peer at the lines of the beast. the darkness revealed only a hazy impression of broad rump and viciously churning hind legs and a roached mane. the stirrup leathers flapped loosely as the animal moved down the fence, trapped in the corner now by crawford's advance. he was close to it when the horse wheeled with a strangled, screaming sound and broke toward him in a rush. "no!" it escaped crawford in a hoarse shout. he stood there a moment longer, staring at the horse, his whole face contorted. then he threw himself to one side, and the animal galloped past. it saw the partly open gate and was in a dead run by the time it reached that side. but in its frantic rush, the beast struck the opening partly broadside, rump crashing against the gate, head slamming into the fence post. the horse reeled back, screaming in rage, and wheeled to go through headfirst. but the blow of its body had jarred loose the rock crawford had wedged beneath the gate, and the heavy bucket of sand descended with a rush to the ground, slamming the gate shut before the horse reached it. the drop bar outside fell into its sockets with a thud, about the same time the charging horse struck the gate once more. the whole corral shuddered with the impact, but the gate held firm. the dazed horse staggered away from the fence, making thwarted, guttural sounds of pain. crawford realized he was trembling now. pain swept up his legs, and the muscles across his belly began to jump and knot. still dazed, the horse wheeled about wildly. it caught sight of him again, and all its enraged bestial instincts must have pinned the cause of its pain on crawford, for the animal screamed once more and rushed him. "no," shouted crawford, again, his voice choked with the terrible reasonless fear that inundated him. he whirled and leaped to the high fence, trying to climb it. but he heard the pound of the animal's hoofs behind, and realized he would never make the top in time, and threw himself off. as he rolled to the ground, the animal crashed into the fence where he had been a moment before. crawford stumbled to his feet, starting in a wild run for the gate which led into the chute. but he saw before he reached it that it was shut tight too. he turned to the other gate, his whole consciousness filled with the sound of the panting, whinnying, snorting animal behind him. at the portal, he tried to reach through and lift the drop bar from its sockets, but the cedar-post log was too heavy. he grabbed the gate, heaving at it madly. the horse was trotting back and forth on the other side of the small corral in a dazed way, shaking its head, snorting. crouched weakly on his knees by the gate, trembling and shuddering, crawford tried to keep his voice down, hoping he would not arouse the horse again. "jacinto," he called. "i'm in the corral. the bar's dropped on this gate in the corral and i'm trapped inside with africano. jacinto, come and get me out--" there was no sound from outside. he sagged there, panting, the pain clutching at him spasmodically, clenching his teeth in a desperate battle against the fear. "merida! can't you hear me? somebody. jacinto! come and let me out. the bar's dropped and africano's in here. that killer's in here and i can't get out. merida." his voice rose and he began shaking at the gate again. "someone hear me! merida! jacinto! i'm locked in with that black killer--" he was screaming now, throwing himself bodily at the door like a frenzied animal--"damn you, come and get me out, damn you, merida, you put that _puro negro_ in here, you knew i'd be trapped in here with africano, someone, come and let me out, for god's sake, jacinto, let me out, aforismo, can't you hear me, you can hear me, damn you, oh, god damn you--" he stopped, huddled against the door, sobbing uncontrollably, realizing his own screams had set the black off again. crawford jumped away as the horse came at him, stumbling and rolling in the dirt, bawling like a baby, too far gone to realize clearly what he was doing. he tried to claw up the fence again. but that pain in his legs and his terrible fear robbed him of much control. his boots beat a futile tattoo on the bars, seeking the openings in between. his bloody hands clawed blindly for holds. and the fence was too high for him to reach the top before the horse crossed the small corral. over his shoulder he could see the animal coming. "no! no! no--" his wild bellow was cut off as the animal spun broadside against him. he heard his own crushed roar of pain, and he fell off into the dirt, his arms instinctively going over his head to protect them from flailing hoofs as he rolled away. the horse was as wild and frenzied as crawford now. two beasts filled the narrow confines of the corral with their crazed screams, forming shadowy, thundering, pounding, running shapes back and forth between the fences, the whole structure shuddering as one or the other smashed into the sides. crawford did not try again to climb the fence. hands bloody, clothes covered with dirt, shirt torn, all his wild concentration was on avoiding the mad, blind rushes of the killer horse. he found himself backed up against the door leading into the chute, facing the charging horse. he threw himself bodily aside, and the animal crashed into the door. panels cracked and splintered, and corral posts groaned with the strain. the _puro negro_ stumbled back, blood streaming from its head, eyes showing their whites in the gathering darkness, foam dripping from its jaw. crawford had rolled across the short space to the side fence. and crouching there now, watching the horse wheeling and circling, seeking him, a terrible blinding anger swept him, blotting out for a moment the awful fear and pain. they thought they could do this to him? they thought they could lock him in a stall with a killer? the hell-- he dove aside again as the horse rushed, feeling no pain in his legs as he landed, feeling no panic, feeling only that utter rage, scalding, vitriolic, cleansing. "you think you can do this to me?" he found himself shouting. "merida? you think you can lock me in here like this? damn you, merida!" he moved in front of the door to the chute, yelling crazily at the animal. "come on, africano, here i am, you bastard, here i am, come on, see me, damn you, come on--" dirt spurted beneath the churning hoofs as the horse charged and reared above the man. crawford waited till the last moment, jumped aside. panels cracked and split again as twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh crashed against the gate. the horse staggered off, whirled back to crawford. gasping, crawford pawed sweat from his eyes, dodged aside. the _puro negro_ caught itself before plunging into the fence there, whirling on one hind foot and changing its lead in mid-air to rush crawford again with a frenzied scream. he put himself in front of the chute door again. once more it was the horse's wild scream and the leap aside and the maddened animal shaking the whole corral as it crashed into the door. another panel cracked, and hinges creaked, and the door sagged outward. blood covering its head, the black whirled and came at crawford sideways. it didn't give him enough room on either side, and the black's shoulder caught him as he tried to jump away from the rear fence. he went down, rolling up against the side with a force that stunned him. the horse had smashed into the rear fence, and it backed away, shaking its head. sensing crawford at its side, the animal turned, shifting its weight to kick. crawford saw the movement and knew what it meant, and not even hearing his own shout, he clawed up the fence and threw himself directly at the horse's rump. his weight struck the black hocks, and, without leverage, all the kick did was throw him bodily back against the cedar logs. with almost human cunning, africano jumped forward to clear the space between them so it could catch crawford with the full force of its kick. he rolled under the hoofs as they lashed out. one of them caught his shoulder and he screamed in agony. then he was up against the door again. he didn't know how many more times he drew the black into that door before the portal collapsed. it was all a wild haze of choking dirt and soggy sweat and salty blood and lashing hoofs. time and time again he waited there at the gate till the last moment, and then jumped free, allowing the horse to batter on into it. and finally, with the whole corral shuddering with the impact, the black crashed through the portal, tearing its lower half clear out and carrying the upper portion of the gate about its head and neck as it stumbled on into the chute. the opposite door to the chute had been left open, and the horse went on through into the larger corral. pawing blood and sweat off his face, drawing in a great gulp of air, crawford staggered out after the animal. it was logical that merida should have taken this long to hear the racket from the house, but the men from the bunkhouse should have reached the corrals long ago. jacinto was at the fence with merida, and quartel was coming up in his hard-heeled run, followed by aforismo and the others. "crawford," cried jacinto, "get out between the bars! you can do it now. while africano's still fighting the door. are you loco? he's a killer. he'll run you down. you can get away now." "no," gasped crawford, "no," and ran on toward the horse where it had dragged the chute door clear out into the middle of the corral. he wasn't finished yet. he knew he had to do it now or never, while the anger still blotted out his fear. he worked the _puro negro_ into a corner and got close enough to jerk the shattered door off its neck. the horse tried to break away, but crawford threw himself in front of it, getting the frenzied, lathered animal back against the fence. one of the hands was belatedly climbing the fence with a rope. crawford did not wait; he moved in toward the horse. screaming like a woman, africano charged straight at him. there hadn't been enough room between them for the beast to gain much momentum, however. crawford met it almost head-on, throwing himself partly aside only at the last moment, grabbing the roached mane with one hand and hooking his other arm around beneath the neck and letting the horse's shoulder slam into his hip, throwing him up and over. "crawford," he heard jacinto scream, "oh, you fool, crawford." he didn't hear any more, then, except the horse's wild, frenzied sounds and the horse's drumming hoofs. he didn't see any more except the black devil beneath him, doing everything within the scope of its vicious cunning to get him off. it bucked, and he took every jarring drop screaming triumphantly at the agony it caused him. it rolled, and instead of stepping clear off and waiting till the horse came up again, he rode its belly around, eyes open wide, dodging the death in its flailing legs. there was an insane frustration in the black's eyes as it came onto its feet again and found the man had never left it. the horse rolled again, directing its kicks this time. still crawford was on when it came up. he rolled it from one side of the corral to the other, until it had enough of that, and began going over backward. a man stepping off then would have ultimately lost his touch with the horse too. but crawford rode its neck when it twisted onto its hips and rode its head when it put its rump into the ground and rode its belly while it was upside down. the horse rose into a veritable orgasm of mad bucking, pin-wheeling, sunfishing, humping up and coming down with all four feet planted, and knocking most of the consciousness from crawford every time it landed. crawford was bleeding at the nose and ears, face covered with blood and sweat, clothes black with dirt. his whole world was one of shocking, jarring pain and a grim, terrible concentration on finishing this. the horse began rolling again, trying desperately to get the man under its black body, and crawford went with it, crying openly now, pawing blindly for holds, head rocking as a hoof caught him, lying over the animal's back with his nose streaming blood on its dirty hide. finally he felt the animal come to a stop beneath him, legs trembling, barrel heaving, lather dripping off it white as snow. crawford slumped over, hearing his own sobbing, not knowing whether the wet on his face was sweat or blood or both. he waited for the animal to gather itself again. it didn't. finally crawford slid off and his legs collapsed beneath him; he grabbed the horse's cannon bone and pulled himself to his knees, then the mane and pulled himself erect. he bent over and was sick. choking weakly, he saw them coming from the corral. "get away, stay away. i'm taking this horse back in. you wanted him for cow work? you got him." merida swam into his vision, and he spat out blood and teeth before he could speak again. "and maybe you don't know it, merida, but you did me a big favor. yeah. a _big_ favor." _chapter thirteen_ violence in the bunkhouse the morning sun had not yet warmed the mud walls of the bunkshack through, and the dank reek of adobe filled the dog-run as crawford passed down its narrow corridor toward the kitchen, still limping with the pain of his ride on africano the evening before. coming from the run, he almost knocked over jacinto, who had been sitting propped against the wall on a three-legged stool, his head bent forward on his fat chest. "what are you doing?" said crawford. the huge cook had barely caught himself from falling, and he blinked sleepy eyes up at crawford in surprise. "sitting on a stool." "you been sitting there all night," crawford accused him. jacinto looked sheepishly at the prodigious butcher knife across his lap. "no--i--i just--" he waved the blade suddenly at the room. "well, why not, you been sleeping up at the big house, and now you come down here, and after all that about whitehead, and everything else, _sacramento_, how is a man to know what might happen--" crawford gazed at him soberly. "_gracias, amigo_," he said. jacinto grinned in embarrassment, turning to shuffle toward the stove. he put the knife down with a clatter and got the big coffeepot to fill it with water at the butt. when he had it on to boil, he took three clay bowls off a shelf and put them on the table. seating himself at a bench before the bowls, he spoke again. "you feel all right this morning?" crawford was standing in the doorway, staring emptily toward the house. "no," he said. "beaten to a pulp." "i'll fix you some romero steak," said jacinto. from the dull red clay bowl he fumbled a grain of corn, carefully picking out the black base with his teeth and spitting it into a second, a blue bowl, dropping the remainder of the kernel into the third, a yellow container. he gave crawford a sidelong glance. "you told merida she did you a favor last night. how did you mean?" "never mind," said crawford. jacinto plucked another grain from the red bowl, picking out the base with his teeth. "you think she put africano in there?" "what else?" said crawford. "did you see any rangers around?" "no," said jacinto, frowning at him. "neither did anybody else," said crawford. "there weren't any." jacinto took out another grain of corn, waving it at crawford. "you mean you thought you was running from a ranger?" crawford turned away impatiently, pacing toward the door. "that's what she told me." "_por supuesto_," said jacinto. "why should merida do such a thing?" "good way to get rid of me as any," said crawford bitterly. jacinto studied him a moment, smiling in a hesitant, puzzled way. then he tipped the yellow bowl so crawford could see it was full of pale corn kernels. "now i have _tortillas_ white as the sand in arroyo blanco." grunting, he bent forward to pull the metate nearer his bench, a large oblong block of pumice stone, hollowed out in the upper surface from countless grindings with the pumice rolling pin they called a mano. he poured the hollowed portion full of the corn kernels. "why should she want to get rid of you?" he said, without looking up. "i guess she had a good reason," said crawford. jacinto took up the mano, began to grind the corn, the hulls working to the edge of the metate like scum along the edge of a water hole. "that day of the bull-tailing, when you and merida went out into the brush. you found what you wanted?" "let's not talk about it," said crawford. "and maybe you and her was the only ones who knew where it was, then, no?" said jacinto. with the edge of his fat hand, he shoved the collection of hulls off into the blue bowl, which contained the black bases he had spit out. "you think that's why she did it?" crawford's head jerked from side to side. when he spoke, the frustration was evident in his voice. "how do i know? how do i know anything? sure we found what we were looking for. you know what it was. everybody knows. why do you all keep beating around the thicket this way? mogotes serpientes. you know that. maybe she and i are the only ones who know how to get there. and if i was out of the way, she would be the only one to know. it's what she came up here in the first place for, isn't it? she didn't even try to deny she put that killer horse in there. it's the best reason i can think of." jacinto poured a little water into the corn left on the metate, began grinding it again with the mano. "is it?" crawford turned sharply from the door. "what do you mean?" the paste of corn meal and water jacinto now had was called masa. he began to pat it into thin _tortillas_. the _comal_, heating over an open fire, was a large plate upon which he cast the _tortillas_ to bake, without salt, leavening, or grease. "i am not too astute in affairs of the heart," said the cook, drawing a heavy breath and wiping sweat off his fat face, "but i have had a few, and have drawn some conclusions about women from them, which i think are as accurate as any conclusions about women can be. they will do strange things when they are in love, crawford, often cruel things, or brutal. love to them, when they are enmeshed within it, is all of life, is their whole existence. they will fight for it with their last breath. they will go to any extreme for it. merida is no ordinary woman. you have seen her fire. you know her depths." "you're riding a pretty muddy creek," said crawford. "i'll clear the water," said jacinto. "just give me time. merida came to you for help, didn't she?" "you might call it that." "all right. but she knew you could never be much help in the state you were in. you told me she tried to aid you in conquering it that day you left the bull-tailing." "so what. huerta acted like he wanted to help me once too. it was only part of the game he was playing." "_lástima de dios_," cried jacinto, clapping fat hands to his brow. "pity of god. now i know you must be as loco about merida as she is about you. only a man in love could be that blind. can't you see what she did? that day you and she rode into the _brasada_ must have made merida realize, finally, that the only way you could conquer your fear was to ride africano again. and she wanted to see you conquer your fear, crawford. more than anything else. more, even, than finding what she came up here for. more, even, than having you live. she didn't want a half-man. she didn't want a coward. she wanted _you_, the way you used to be, the way she knew you must have been whenever those little flashes of your old self would show themselves." crawford had turned around, staring at jacinto, now. it was beginning to grow in him. the first dim realization of it. an understanding he couldn't name, yet. it prickled the hair on the back of his neck. "yes." jacinto could see the strange wonder in his eyes. "you are beginning to see, no? it took you long enough. there are not many women with that kind of gravel in their craw. not many women could have done it that way." it was starting to blossom in crawford now, a strange, dim exaltation. "do you realize what it did to me? to come out on the porch that morning and see you standing there beside whitehead's body, knowing what it meant?" suddenly he knew how she must have felt. "it doesn't happen to a person often in her life." suddenly he knew what she had been talking about. "that sort of feeling." that sort of feeling. he looked around at jacinto, his eyes wide. "_sí_," said jacinto. "you understand now. it would take a lot of man to accept it, crawford, even when he understood. it would take _her_ kind of man. admittedly she took a big chance on killing you. maybe she'd rather have you dead than a coward. that's the kind she is. not many men could take her. not many men could realize she sent them out deliberately that way, and still take her." "hyacinth," crawford said almost inaudibly, "hyacinth--" "_sí, sí._" the gross cook began to chuckle excitedly, for he must have seen what was in crawford. "you better go to her now, crawford, before it's too late. she thinks you're through with her, after what you told her last night. she thinks you're not enough of a man to take it that way. but you just didn't understand. now you do. go on, crawford. you won't get a woman with that kind of guts twice in your life. it's almost as good as owning a vinegar roan. i owned a vinegar roan once--" but crawford had stopped hearing the cook. it held him completely now. it lifted him so high he didn't feel his feet hit the floor when he started to walk. he moved past jacinto with a dazed, twisted expression on his face, not even seeing the fat mexican. the only thing within his awareness was that sweeping, tingling sense of exaltation, so strong and poignant it approached a nausea. the kitchen door faced away from the house, and it was more direct to go through the dog-run and out the bunkhouse; he must have gone that way unconsciously, not remembering his passage through the covered run. "where you going?" it penetrated only dully. he kept on walking. then somebody was in front of him. "i said where you going?" innes! the singular odor of sweaty leather reached crawford from the red-bearded man's buckskin ducking jacket. "the house," he said, trying to get around the man. ford innes shifted again, and this time crawford was brought up against the man's body. it was like walking into an oak tree. "not right now," said innes. it was the other things, then, brought in with a clarity almost painful. bueno bailey. sitting at the table. filing the sear on the trigger of his gun. aforismo. sitting on the upper bunk to crawford's right. his legs dangling over the sideboard. "did you ever see the _dichos_ on my belduque?" he asked, seriously. "i like the one on this side best. _tripe is sweet but bowels are better._ don't you like that one best?" the contraction of crawford's muscles began with his calves. they twitched faintly, stiffening up, and the tightening ran up the inside of his legs and pervaded his belly and crossed his chest. his whole body was taut as he took the step back away from contact with innes. "that's it," said the red-bearded man. bueno's gun was an old percussion dragoon, converted to handle cartridges. rubbing his finger delicately across the sear, bailey nodded his head approvingly. "_bueno_," he said. "i'll bet the pull isn't more than half a pound on that now." "where is quartel?" asked crawford. "if you don't blow your foot off, you'll blow your head off," innes told bailey. "i never heard of anybody filing a hair trigger down below a pound." "where is quartel?" tongue between his teeth, bailey slipped the mainspring into the butt of his dragoon, tightening the strain screw against it carefully. "you don't think that's too much of a hair trigger, do you? i knew a mexican up in san antonio that used to carry an old remington filed down to a quarter-pound pull." "all right," said crawford, through his teeth. "i am going up to the house, innes. will you get out of my way?" "that mex would still be alive if he didn't have the cussed habit of jumping off his horse when it stopped," said bueno bailey, slipping the trigger down through the frame and screwing the trigger stud into its proper hole. "but i don't jump off my nag. i get off real easy all the time." "please, innes." it was jacinto's voice, from behind crawford. "let him through this time. it ain't the same as before. please. it's different. _he's_ different. don't you know? _en el nombre de mi madre._ can't you see--" "this _bravo's_ pretty good," said aforismo, swinging his legs. "_nothing compares with my kiss._ but i guess i like the other _dicho_ better. which do you like best, crawford?" "oh, _dios_." jacinto's voice was quavering now. "please, innes. i hate violence so. let him go. i was not born for such as this. wassail and song, innes. can't we all have wassail and song--" "_bueno_," said bailey, as he finished tightening the hammer stud and started putting on the metal side plates. "_compañeros_, can't you hear me? wassail and song. no violence. oh, _carajo_--" "i'll ask you once more." crawford's voice was flat. "get out of my way." "you're not going any place," said innes, pulling his buckskin jacket up off the handle of his own gun. "why don't you sit down?" "yeah." bailey had the walnut grips screwed on. he reached for the barrel, fitting it in place. "why don't you sit down?" crawford stooped over to grab the hilt of delcazar's bowie in his boot and lunged forward at the same time. he struck ford innes doubled over. the red-bearded man expelled his air in a gasp and went down. crawford let himself go with innes, rolling off the man as they struck. he came face up with the knife in his hand. it happened so fast that aforismo only had time to pull his belduque back for the throw. crawford's position prevented an over-the-shoulder throw such as aforismo's. "all right, del," he grunted, and heaved the bowie from his hip, point foremost, while he was still in the act of rolling off innes. "_chingado!_" he heard aforismo scream. bailey's body blocked the view in that same moment. crawford did not see the blow coming. he shouted hoarsely with the pain of bueno's dragoon barrel slashing across his head. stunned, the most he could do was let his knee fly up. it caught bailey in the crotch. the man's explosive grunt held a sick agony. crawford was still sprawled partly across innes, the redheaded man had been striving to free his gun without wasting time trying to get from beneath crawford. he had it out now and was twisting to bring it in line. blinded by bailey's blow, crawford squirmed around, launching a wild kick at innes. it caught the redhead's fist as he pulled the trigger, knocking the gun up. the remington's boom filled the room, and the slug knocked a rain of the whitewash they called _yeso_ off the ceiling. "_lástima de dios!_" aforismo's voice came from somewhere after the shot, "come and pull it out, you _chile_, come and get it out--" crawford struggled to his feet, striving to jerk free o£ bailey. but the man had him about the waist, head buried against crawford's belly, hair hanging in greasy yellow streamers, groaning with the pain of that knee crawford had given him in the groin. innes still had his remington. he gripped it with his left hand too, now, rolling back with the weapon in both fists to line it up on crawford. struggling with bailey, crawford could do only one thing. he threw the weight of his whole body toward innes. bailey tried to jerk him back, but not soon enough. before innes got that remington turned in the right direction, crawford was close enough to lift his leg above the man's face. he saw innes's eyes open wide with the realization. then he felt flesh and bone crunch beneath his stamping boot. lifting his leg robbed crawford of his balance, and he fell backward with bailey's next lunging jerk. they struck the wall so hard the whole building shook, and another rain of _yeso_ spattered down over them. "_cristo_, will somebody take it out? oh, please, somebody come and take it out--" bailey rose up, straddling crawford. before the man could strike, crawford doubled in beneath him and got his legs twisted around so he could heave. bailey went back with a cry, stumbling into the bench. the plank splintered beneath his body, and the bench collapsed with him. innes was getting to his feet, hoarse, desperate sobs rending him. he pawed blindly at his mutilated face with his free hand, blinking his eyes as he tried to find crawford. he must have caught crawford's movement against the wall. he whirled that way with the remington coming up. crawford jumped toward him, catching the gun in both hands. still unable to see, innes clung desperately to the six-shooter. when crawford yanked the gun around, it pulled innes too, swinging him against the wall. unable to tear the remington free, crawford let go with one hand and lurched in close to sink his right fist deep into innes's square belly. "that for your three-quarter-pound pull, you _pordiosero_," shouted somebody from behind crawford, "that for your bacon grease--" innes sagged against the wall with a pitiful sob, still trying to pull the gun against crawford. crawford brought that fist in again. "oh, _madre, madre_, please come and get it out--" "that for your hair trigger, you _lépero_, i hope it gives you _corajes_, i hope it gives you worse than fits of the spleen--" innes was slumped halfway down the wall now, still making those horrible sobbing sounds as he refused to give up. crawford shoved the gun clear back against the adobe, and hit him again. the redheaded man slid completely to the floor, dropping the remington. crawford whirled around, wondering why bueno had not come back in. then he saw who had been yelling. bueno bailey was huddled in a corner, and standing over him, beating at him with the broken end of the bench, was the fat cook. "that for your bacon grease, you _rumbero_," squealed jacinto, and the bench made a crunching sound striking bueno, "that for your--" crawford leaped across the room and grabbed the bench before jacinto could strike again. the huge mexican fought him crazily, trying to tear loose and get back at bueno. "just one more, crawford, please, just one more. he deserves it. did you see what they were trying to do with you? _barba del diablo_, just one more. look at the scabby _pordiosero_--" "who was it didn't like violence?" shouted crawford. jacinto stopped abruptly, looking at bailey, crouching dazedly against the wall. he stared around at the carnage of the room, the smashed table, innes sprawled out against the wall clutching his face. "_a fe mía_," he said in a hollow voice. "upon my word. it looks like they turned a _toro_ loose." then his popping eyes came back to bailey. "i did--that--" he waved an incredulous hand at the man. "no, crawford, tell me i didn't." jacinto turned around to clutch at him. "_violencia._ _caramba_, i couldn't, not me, not little hyacinth of the river. my father would be desecrated. please, tell me i didn't do it--" "_dios_, somebody, come and pull it out, damn you, crawford, somebody, you _chingados_, come and help me, come and get this _cuchillo_, damn you--" it was aforismo's voice, breaking in on jacinto's plea. jacinto turned toward the man, where he still sat up in the bunk. aforismo must still have had his right hand held back over one shoulder to throw his belduque when crawford's knife struck him, for the bowie was up to its hilt through his palm, pinning the hand to the adobe wall. with the inconsistency of a child, the tortured look left jacinto's sweating face, and he began to chuckle. "look at him. aphorisms? hah! what good are they now? _proverbios._ why don't you give us a saying now, aforismo?" he had begun to drag the table toward the bunk. "_dichos?_ what right have you got to _dichos_? tripe is sweet? hah! how does that belduque know?" with a great effort he had managed to climb on the table and bend over the bunk to grab the hilt of crawford's bowie. "_nothing compares with my kiss._ that makes me laugh. that belduque never kissed anything but the inside of your belt--" "_madre_," howled aforismo, "take it easy, will you?" jacinto tugged more violently in his effort to pull the knife from aforismo's hand. "_dios_, crawford, how did you throw it so hard? no wonder he couldn't get it out. i'll bet it goes clear through the wall into--crawford, where you going?" he was almost out the door, and he threw it over his shoulder. "to the house." crawford ran all the way across the compound and up the steps and through the close, suffocating heat of the entrance hall, glancing through the door of the living-room. "merida?" the echo of his voice held a frightening ring, farther down the hall. "merida?" he called again, and whirled to take the stairway up, knocking off a mahogany riser with his boot heel, leaping the whole elliptical landing where the stairway turned, halfway up. it was recognizable, now, a woman's sobbing, coming from merida's bedroom. this door was open, too, and he stumbled in. nexpa was crouched at the foot of the bed with her face in her hands. he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her upward. "_dónde esta merida?_" he shouted. the maid turned a face up to him so dark it looked negroid, her eyes wide and terrified. "_no sabe, no sabe_," she gasped. "what have they done to her?" he cried hoarsely, shaking nexpa. "you know. where is she? did they take her? what happened?" "_no sabe_," sobbed the maid again. "_huerta, huerta_--" "huerta took her," shouted crawford. "what are you talking about? where? _dónde, dónde?_" "_en su cuarto. merida eo puso alli, en su cuarto!_" "my room?" he said, and dropped her roughly against the footboard and wheeled to run down the hall to the chamber he had occupied, tearing open the door. the reeded mahogany posts supporting the bare tester frame formed a skeleton pattern in the gloom. "merida?" he called. he could not see enough in the semidarkness, and he ran to the windows, yanking the heavy overdrapes of dark blue velure away from the window. noon sunlight flooded the room, turned the damask covering on the wing chair to a gleaming china blue, caught brazenly on the brass fixtures of the franklin stove in the small fireplace. then, blinking his eyes, crawford saw it, and realized what the maid had meant. "in your room. merida put it there." on the chintz coverlet of the bed lay his rifle. _chapter fourteen_ challenging snake thickets no longer did it wait. no longer did it crouch in passive, latent malignance. now the evil coma unsheathed its thorns, like a knife-thrower drawing his dirks for the first time. now the adder-toothed retama struck from beneath the disguise of yellow flowers which had caused the mexicans to call it flower of gold. now the deadly spanish dagger of the devil's head thrust and parried and lunged like a savage fencer. ever since crawford had returned to the big o, the _brasada_ had filled him with a strange, inexplicable sense of biding its time, crouched out there, surrounding them with its sinister, purring, waiting destruction. and now, as if this was what it had anticipated, it seemed to leap forth in all its deadly, ruthless malevolence, like a beast unleashed. never before had it fought him so, blocking his way impenetrably, cutting and stabbing and striking every foot of the way. and crawford met its challenge, taking a wild, savage delight in pitting all his skill and strength and experience against the _brasada's_ violent, cunning, malicious virulence. and he had a horse! knowing it would take something more than an ordinary brush horse to catch huerta, he had chosen africano. it had not been broken to the spade bit yet, but would work with a hackamore, and the fact that they had first captured it in the _brasada_ indicated a life of running the thickets, which would make it a good brush horse even without training. just how good, crawford realized the first thicket they traversed. the _puro negro_ met the brush with a fearless, consummate skill, something uncanny about the way it could sense whether the _mogotes_ were actually impenetrable or whether they held a weak spot which could be run through. it found holes in thickets crawford would never have guessed were there, running headlong through the most dense ramaderos without a moment's hesitation. the kind of a horse a brush-popper dreamed about. it was a constant battle, and crawford fought it with the wild abandon peculiar to the _brasadero_ when he was riding the brush like this, shouting at the horse and himself and anything else that wanted to listen, and cursing in two languages at every stabbing, clawing thicket which tried to drag him off. and the names passed by, as they had before. silver persimmons. turtle sink. rio diablo. chapotes platas. he had tried to follow huerta's trail for a while, but when he had seen the undeviating direction it was taking he had quit tracking and had let the black out. finally he came crashing through the fringe of chaparral into the clearing above rio diablo and swung down off the lathered, heaving horse, and ran toward the jacal. a man was trying to crawl across the threshold of the doorway. "crawford," he groaned. "i knew it was you. i heard you coming ten miles off. there never was anybody could match you cussing the brush. i guess that's 'cause there never was anybody loved it the way you do." he tried to rise abruptly, his eyes opening in a glazed way as he stared past crawford. "_dios_, africano!" crawford had reached him by then. "what happened, del? they did this to you?" dried blood darkened the old man's face, and the soles of his bare feet had a red, blistered look. "you got a hackamore on it," said delcazar vacantly, still staring at the black. "you can't ride that killer with a hackamore. you're loco--" "who did it? tell me who did it!" almost shouted crawford. "merida--" "she did this!" "no, no," gasped delcazar weakly. "merida come first. she say she needed help. say you weren't with her any more for some reason. had an idea i knew about snake thickets. while she was still here, huerta came. followed her, i guess. he thought i knew about snake thickets too. those cigarettes of huerta's. i'm a _viejo_, an old man. i couldn't stand much. the woman try to stop him. she couldn't do it." "how do you get in, delcazar?" crawford's voice shook with its low intensity. delcazar's eyes widened. "crawford, you ain't going to try and follow them. it's suicide. even if you know how to get in. those _serpientes_. you been there. you heard them. please, you and i been _amigos_ too long. let those fools kill themselves after a chest of pesos. who wants pesos--" "how do you get in?" crawford's voice held a shrill, driven stridor that stiffened delcazar. the old man stared at him a moment, mouth open slightly. maybe it was the pale, set look to crawford's face. "rio diablo. you know how it goes underground about a mile above here. nobody's ever been able to find where it comes up again. it comes from the nueces past here and then drops out of sight and there ain't nothing left but the dry bed going on south to mogotes serpientes. i'll tell you where it does come up again. right inside snake thickets. that's why nobody ever found it. you know how water in a place like turtle sink dries up during the day. then, come night, it rises to the surface again. that's what happens inside mogotes serpientes. during the day, the part of rio diablo that surfaces inside the thickets is all dried up. then when evening sets in, it comes up again. that's how you get in. you got to run a short stretch of the thicket before you reach water. that's why you have to time it right. the snakes sleep during the day, and start to stir around at sundown. that's about the same time the water starts rising. if you start in just a few minutes before the sun sets, you can run that stretch of thicket between the outside and the water while the snakes are still asleep. naturally you'll wake them, but you got a bigger chance of reaching the water than if they were already wide-awake and waiting for you. once you're in the bog, you're safe. the snakes will come down to drink, but rattlers like dry land too much to go swimming in that muck. time it wrong by one minute either way and you're done. if you go in too early and the water ain't risen yet, you're setting right in the middle of a million rattlers. and if you go in too late and the snakes are stirring around, they'll probably get you before you reach water. i found it out from an old comanche a long time ago, crawford. i was afraid to tell. i was afraid to go in myself and i was afraid somebody would make me show them the way if i tell, and i couldn't do that, crawford, nobody could. it's suicide. maybe those mexicans do it once, with the chests. it couldn't be done again in a million years." "still got those cavalry boots?" "crawford, please, you ain't going to--" "i'll want your batwings too." delcazar began to cry without sound, and the words came between his lips with a resigned audibility. "in the jacal. under my bunk." crawford stepped past the man, the decision hard and crystallized in him now, permitting no other considerations. he hauled out the old pair of jack boots someone in delcazar's family had worn with diaz, and unhooked a tattered pair of batwing chaps from the bunk post, a rarity in this border section where most men preferred _chivarras_. he pulled the ancient chimayo from the bunk and began cutting it in strips with the bowie. then he wound the strips about his legs like puttees, up to his crotch, till they formed three or four layers; he had trouble pulling the jack boots on over this thickness. "_pechero?_" he said, swiftly buckling the bull-hide chaps on. delcazar was huddled against the doorframe, watching him hopelessly. "had one somewhere. maybe under the bunk too." the _pechero_ was a buckskin shield used by the _brasaderos_ for popping the heaviest brush; it fitted around the front of the horse's chest, tying over its withers and behind its front legs. the black was too weary for any objection as crawford lashed the _pechero_ on. "gloves," delcazar was motioning vaguely toward the fireplace, "gloves--" they were on one of the shelves above the estufa, thick buckskin gloves with flaps as long as the forearm. crawford pulled them on his hands and stepped past the old man. he stopped there a moment, staring down at delcazar. his mouth twisted open as if he would speak. no words came. a torn look crossed his face momentarily. then he turned and swung aboard the black and jerked the hackamore against its neck and the animal wheeled and broke into a gallop down toward the brush lining the river-- the sun was low and he forced the flagging _puro negro_ down rio diablo until the water ceased and they were running the dry bed. the mesquite became thicker in the bottom lands, interspersed by cottonwoods turning sear with the heat of oncoming summer. finally the _pechero_ was rattling and scraping constantly against the brush as crawford forced his way through. he was riding at a walk now, head cocked to listen, eyes roving the terrain restlessly, whole body tense with waiting for the first sign that he had reached mogotes serpientes. the sun was almost down now, and he was filled with a growing, trembling sense of urgency. maybe it was the incessant clash of brush against the buckskin shield which hid the other sound at first. suddenly he pulled the black to a halt. it came from ahead of him, a faint, barely perceptible hissing sound. he sat there a moment, letting the thought of merida in there harden the resolve within himself till it was so sharp and clear it hurt. the black had begun fretting at the sound, and crawford pulled in the _mecate_ on the hackamore, bending forward. "all right," he said, "we're going through!" perhaps it was the tone of his voice. the horse ceased all movement abruptly, stiffening beneath him. then the man flapped his legs out wide and brought his spurs in against the sweating black flanks with a hoarse shout. the _puro negro_ leaped forward like a startled buck, breaking into a headlong gallop straight into the brush thickening in the river bottom ahead of them. crawford rode as if he were bareback, gripping the animal from his thighs down, heels turned in hard against the horse. they crashed headlong through the first thicket of mesquite, crawford bent forward with his free arm thrown in front of his face, the branches ripping at his cheeks and tearing his levi ducking jacket half off his back. a post oak loomed before them as they tore free of the mesquite. he reined the black viciously to one side and the animal reacted with a violence that would have unseated crawford but for that grip of his legs, wheeling so sharply the man's torso was snapped to one side like the flirt of a rope. crawford jerked himself back in time to bend down off one side as they passed beneath the branches. then they were racing at a thicket of chaparral and huisache entwined together so thickly it formed a solid mat before them. crawford felt the confidence of the horse beneath him and gave the animal its head, and they crashed headlong through the hole africano had spotted with his uncanny instinct. filled with the wild excitement of it, crawford had begun shouting and swearing that way again, adding his own hoarse obscenities to the roar of popping brush. but even all this sound did not obliterate the noise. it came through his bellow and the crash of brush with an insidious, sinister insistence, that constant menacing hiss, like the threat of escaping steam. it filled him with an excitation which did not come from the mad ride. and as he burst through the chaparral into the open, the first snake struck. it happened so fast his own reaction did not come till the snake had gone again. he had a dim sense of a sudden writhing shape leaping from the last of the chaparral they were coming out of, and the sharp snapping thud somewhere in front of him, and the horse's leap sideways, screaming. again his terrible grip was the only thing that kept the man in the saddle, and they were tearing forward once more with a vague impression of that writhing shape slithering off into the brush. they were crashing into the next _mogote_ before crawford realized the snake must have struck that _pechero_ on the horse's chest. now more of them were in sight. fast as he was going, he could still see the sleepy torpidity of the awakening snakes. he spotted what he thought was a root lying in the thickness of a _mogote_, but as the black jumped it, the root came alive, jerking in a surprised, sluggish way, and then one end began to curl inward. but by the time the serpent had awakened fully and snapped into its coil, africano was by. another one ahead woke faster. crawford did not see it till a flashing motion filled the lower corner of his vision. again he heard the sharp thump of the snake striking that _pechero_, and saw the frustrated serpent drop away from the shield in a stunned way. the horse was in a veritable frenzy now, lather foaming its mouth, screaming and whinnying and fighting the hackamore madly without actually trying to change its direction. it was no longer only the hissing all about them. it was the movement. on every side the thickets seemed to have come alive. writhing, slithering shapes undulating in dim spasms through the pattern of brush. but the fact that they were still awakening and the speed at which crawford was going aborted the greater part of their efforts. time and again he saw a snake strike after he was already by. twice more one of them reached the horse, only to batter its head against that stiff shield of cowhide. then, beneath him, crawford heard a thick, slopping sound, and the black stumbled, and almost went down. with his spurs he forced the animal farther on into the muck. it was not very deep and there were patches of dry ground, but there was no more of that nightmarish movement about him now. only the incessant sinister sibilation to his rear. his body was drenched with perspiration, and for the first time he realized he was panting in a choked, rasping way. the horse was heaving beneath him, still fighting the hackamore and fiddling around wildly. he suddenly felt as if he were going to collapse. he bent forward, gripping the saddle horn, realizing it was only reaction. then, as strength returned in slow, undulating waves, the black stopped abruptly, head raised, ears stiffened. crawford automatically put his heels into the animal. the _puro negro_ stood adamant. then crawford heard it, and stopped trying to force africano ahead. suddenly the horse threw up its head and let out a shrill, wild whinny. "damn you," snarled crawford in a guttural voice. "i ought to--" he stopped at the answering whinny from farther in the brush. "crawford?" asked someone from there. crawford felt his body straighten involuntarily in the saddle. "yes, quartel," he said. _chapter fifteen_ treasure hunt climax perhaps it was the sound. the constant, incessant, unrelenting sound of those snakes. standing in this narrow strip of bog formed by the rising muck of the underground river, the hissing was audible on both sides now. there was something infinitely evil about it that clutched at a man's vitals. it filled crawford with a vague, primal panic, akin to the fear he had known of africano before, yet different, in a subtle, insidious way. "i knew it was you." quartel's voice startled him, coming from an entirely different direction than before. "i heard you coming. i wish i could cuss the way you can, crawford." it was getting on crawford's nerves. the black was becoming unmanageable beneath him. under other circumstances he would have been willing to play the game. but the thought of merida somewhere in there drove all the conditioned wariness from him. suddenly the black raised its head again; he pulled on the hackamore to stifle the whinny in its throat, but he saw which direction it was turned in. he flapped his legs out wide and brought the heels in hard, bolting the black into the mesquite. they crashed through the _mogote_. crawford had the henry in his right hand as they burst into the open, keeping it free of brush with the lever down. a vague, blurred impression of quartel sitting that _trigueño_ leaped into crawford's vision. with one motion he was jerking the hackamore against the left side of the black's neck to wheel it toward the man, and then releasing the hackamore completely to have both hands for his rifle, bringing the henry up into line with his right hand and slapping his left palm against the barrel at the same time. in that last instant, as fast as he had moved, he had time to see why quartel had been doing it this way. the man had no gun in his hand. even as crawford wheeled and brought his henry up, quartel was leaning forward with a grunt, his arm snapping out. crawford tried to duck the rope and fire at the same time. he heard his bullet clatter through brush, after the thunder of the shot, and knew he had missed. then the edge of the loop struck his hand and slid down his arm and closed over the gun. it was either let go the henry or be jerked from his horse. the rifle bounced along the ground, and for a moment it looked as if quartel were going to be able to pull it to him. then it slipped from the noose. the mexican wheeled his _trigueño_ toward the rifle, and his intent was patent. crawford turned the black and quartered in on a line that would bring him between quartel and the henry. seeing how he would be blocked off from reaching the gun, quartel reared his horse to a stop, flirting in his rope and catching it up in loops. crawford, realizing that if he turned to approach the henry his back would be to quartel and the man would have him with that rope, halted his black too. for a moment, the two men sat there facing each other across the open ground. it must have struck quartel how it had to be, now, about the same time the realization came to crawford. the mexican let out a hoarse, violent laugh. "all right," he said. "i am the best roper in the world, crawford." he sat there, grinning, allowing crawford to unlash the -foot rawhide lasso from the black's rig. a picture formed in crawford's mind that filled him with a growing tension. a picture of quartel blindfolded on that _trigueño_ in the corral with one end of a rawhide dally tied about his neck and ten snorting, stamping, vicious _ladinos_ tearing up the turf and the strange sighing sound rising from the crowd of sweating, stinking _vaqueros_ every time he threw the bull. it didn't help a man. it didn't help a man while he unhitched the rawhide lashing on the saddle skirt from about the dally and shook out the loops and watched the braided hondo slide down the slick rope. his motions were stiff, jerky. he hadn't roped in a long time. "hola!" bellowed quartel, and those great chihuahua spurs rolled down the flanks of his brown animal like cart wheels digging ruts in a road. crawford jabbed his own guthooks into the black, and africano jumped into a dead run. the brown horse seemed to come at crawford in a surge that left no space for conscious thought. he knew what a mistake it would be for him to make the first pass, and he bent forward in the saddle, watching quartel's hand. but the mexican was waiting too, and the _trigueño_ was completely past crawford, with crawford still holding his rope and twisting around so he could watch quartel, when the man made his throw. the mexican passed the rope over his shoulder, without looking at crawford. in that position, the movement of quartel's arms was blocked off by his body, and crawford did not know the mexican had made his toss till he saw the small, tight loop spinning directly over his head. the throw was calculated to compensate for crawford's forward speed. all he could do to escape it was rein to one side or the other. he bent forward so far on africano his chest struck the saddle horn, putting the reins against the black neck hard. the violence of the quarter turn almost snapped crawford from the saddle. he shouted with the pain stabbing through his middle. he heard the faint sound of the rope striking africano's rump. then he was tearing into a _mogote_ of mesquite. instead of going on through, he wheeled africano within the thicket. the horse reared up, screaming with the pain of turning in that cruel brush, and crawford was charging out the way he had come. evidently expecting crawford to go on through the mesquite, quartel was racing around the fringe to intercept him on the other side. this caused the mexican to be at crawford's rear as he burst out the same spot he had gone in. crawford put his reins against africano's neck, and again the horse responded with that incredible turn, and crawford found himself directly behind the churning brown rump of the _trigueño_. the mexican was already in the act of wheeling his horse around to meet crawford. then he must have seen how crawford had turned after him, and realized how his own maneuver would place him, for he tried to turn back. it was too late. quartel's first turn had placed him broadside to crawford's oncoming black. crawford had that one free pass at quartel's flank, with the mexican in no position to defend himself by a throw of his own. crawford saw his loop settle over the man's head. "all right," he shouted, and dallied his end of the rope around the saddle horn, wheeling africano away to pull quartel off. but there was no weight on the rope. it fell slackly from the horn, and crawford twisted back to see what had happened. he had seen indians do it. one instant quartel had been sitting the horse, the next he wasn't. the loop fell across the back of the riderless _trigueño_, caught on the cantle, slipped off. then the mexican appeared in the saddle again. he had jumped completely off, hanging onto the horn with but one hand, to strike the ground and bounce back up, the rope hitting while he was off on the far side that way. the first wild action had left no time for much thought, but now, as he recovered his rope and maneuvered to meet quartel's next move, the sheer deadliness of this struck crawford fully. like trying to figure out three or four plays ahead in a poker game, with your life in the pot instead of a few dollars. well, he had been figuring one play ahead, ever since he had seen the cards quartel put down back there at the bull-tailing. it was the trick quartel had used on indita. crawford had spotted the weakness of it, even then. a man could take advantage of that, if he had a horse which could turn quick enough. crawford remembered quartel and indita had been racing head-on at each other, and he placed himself in the position to meet quartel that way as the mexican trotted toward him from across the clearing now. the _trigueño_ was picking up its feet in a high, excited action, lather marbling its snout and chest. "_vamanos_," quartel roared, and raked the animal's bloody flanks with his chihuahua can openers, and they were racing at each other again. quartel leaned forward and threw his arm out with a grunt as they went by one another. crawford's own arm stiffened with the impulse to make his throw. then he realized quartel's clothesline was not coming. the rest of it moved automatically, without any conscious volition from crawford. holding his throw, he allowed the black to race on past quartel. then, when he knew quartel would be wheeling that _trigueño_ to make his true cast at crawford's retreating back, crawford yanked the _mecate_ against africano's neck. he felt the movement of the horse's shoulders beneath him, changing leads as it spun in full gallop on its hind foot. no quarter turn this time. a half turn, switching ends completely in that instant, so that he was facing quartel instead of going away and, with the horse still in motion, was racing back toward the mexican. it caused quartel's rope to overshoot completely. crawford saw the man's face twist in surprise. then crawford made his cast. it was an underhanded throw with a hooley-ann at the end. in wheeling, quartel had come to a full stop. he made one last abortive effort to turn his animal away, but the small loop caught him before the _trigueño_ reacted. then crawford was on past the mexican, with the rope dallied on his horn and snapping taut. he heard quartel make a strangled sound of pain. then there was the thump of him striking the ground. crawford tried to keep his black in full gallop and drag quartel, but something within him rebelled. he halted the animal and swung off, running back to catch the man before he could rise. quartel was on his knees, that rope still about his thick neck, shaking his head dully. the mesquite rattled behind quartel, and merida stepped out. she must have passed the henry where it had been dropped. she held it cocked in both hands, and her bosom was heaving, her face torn and bleeding from the brush she had run through. they stared at each other without speaking. her eyes were wide and shining, and her lips started twisting across her teeth without any sound coming out. then, without any consciousness of having moved, he found her body in his arms and her lips against his and the sound of her expelled breath hot and hoarse in his ears. he didn't know how long he was lost in it. finally the other things began to come. the cold, hard feel of the rifle barrel against his back where she held it in one hand with that arm around him. the guttural sounds of pain quartel was making trying to get that noose off his neck. the crash of another passage through the mesquite. "crawford, crawford, i knew you'd come, i knew they couldn't stop you, none of them--" it was merida, whispering it in a husky, passionate, barely coherent stream against his chest. "i was so afraid. thinking of you out there. all those snakes. i wanted you to come and i didn't want you to. i didn't know what i wanted. i do now, i mean. i guess i haven't known really what i wanted all my life, but i do now. i was so afraid--" "merida--where are you?" it was huerta's voice, accompanying the rattle of the thicket. crawford lifted his face from the woman's, staring at the doctor as he stumbled from the mesquite. the man's fustian was ripped and torn, and he was dabbing at a cut on his cheek with a silk monogrammed handkerchief. he brought himself to an abrupt halt, breathing heavily, when he saw them. crawford disengaged himself from merida, taking the rifle out of her hand, still looking at the doctor. there was something about the man that vaguely puzzled him. "did you find it?" crawford asked merida finally. a dim, bitter expression entered merida's face. "yes," she said, "we found it." "what do you mean?" crawford muttered. she inclined her head through the mesquite, that strange expression still on her features. crawford frowned at her. then he turned to jerk the henry at quartel. the man had finally got that rope off his neck and stood there rubbing the bruised flesh sullenly. he moved ahead of crawford through the brush. "you too, doctor," said crawford. they passed through the thicket and crossed a boggy section. with the violence of the action over now, the hissing of the snakes began to impinge on crawford's consciousness again. rising out of the bog to the thick mat of greenish-brown toboso grass covering an island of firm ground, they reached the first aparejo. it was one of the old x-shaped packsaddles used by the original mexican muleteers, with two brass-bound chests lashed into it so that one would fall on each side of the mule. "the mexicans carrying this stuff must have been following the dry river bed and hit the fringe of snake thickets about dusk," said merida. "that's the only way they could have got this far in. then, when the snakes started waking up, and they realized what they had wandered into, the men left the stuff here, knowing it would be as safe as anywhere they could have hidden it, and shot their way out through the snakes again." "did you just stumble onto it too?" crawford asked. "quartel had the other third of the _derrotero_," said merida. "quartel?" crawford's head lifted sharply to the man. he emitted a small, humorless laugh. "that explains a lot of things." "does it?" said quartel. "it showed quartel how to find the aparejos once he was inside mogotes serpientes," merida said. "but not how to find snake thickets." her eyes were on crawford, and that odd expression still filled her face. she moved her head toward the chest. "go ahead," she said. he kept quartel and huerta in sight when he knelt. the wood was rotten and someone had torn the lid of one chest away from its brass bindings. he lifted it, and stared at the black gunpowder filling the oak box. the woman's voice sounded far away. "the centralists must have done this. they would have done anything to break santa anna's power at that time. they knew his men were ready to desert because they hadn't been paid in three months. it was only by the promise of this pay that santa anna held them together long enough to fight the battle of san jacinto. you can imagine their reaction if the train had reached the army and they had found their pay to be nothing more than this." she stared emptily at the case. "twenty chests of gunpowder. that's ironic, isn't it? all this trouble over twenty chests of gunpowder." crawford rose slowly, drawing himself back to present necessities by a distinct effort. "we'd better start thinking about getting out of here." huerta's feet made a small, quick shift against the toboso grass. crawford realized what it was in the man now. that air of infinite ennui was beginning to dissipate before something else; an indefinable tension tightened the little muscles about huerta's mouth till the soft flesh was furrowed like an old man's. the bluish, veined lower lid of his right eye was twitching noticeably. "we can't go out now," he said, and the strain was palpable in his voice. "not through all those snakes again. they're awake now." "this place dries up come daylight," said crawford. "it won't be any safer than out there. we have to leave sometime before then, and it might as well be now." he began peeling off his gloves and handing them to merida; then his heavy denim ducking jacket and the bull-hide chaps. huerta's breathing became more audible as he watched it. "no," he said, "no--listen--" "what's wrong with your gun?" crawford asked quartel. "merida's horse got hit by a snake about halfway through," said the mexican. "she got pitched and huerta wouldn't stop to pick her up. i was following them pretty close and came across her before she'd been caught by the snakes. but they were all waked up in that section and i used my lead up shooting our way on into here. that's why i had to use the rope on you." "what caliber you got?" quartel looked surprised. "it's an old bisley . ." from the pocket of his levis, crawford pulled a handful of his . flat-noses. he stood there with the copper cartridges in his hand, meeting quartet's eyes. he held out his hand. quartel stared at the handful of shells, then he threw back his head and let out that gargantuan laugh. "crawford, you're the craziest _barrachon_ i ever saw." he took the cartridges and broke his bisley and began thumbing them into the cylinder. huerta lowered the handkerchief from his scratched face, and his effort at control was more obvious now. "i haven't got a gun," he said. "that's too bad," said crawford. "no, no, listen, you can't expect me to go out there without--" he turned around and indicated quartel should follow him through the mesquite to their horses. like the well-trained roper it was, the _trigueño_ had stopped the instant quartel left its back, and was standing in the same spot they had left it. africano must have run on across the bog and been stopped by his fear of the snakes in the first dry thickets over there, for he came trotting back through the mud, whinnying nervously. crawford blocked the animal off against a _mogote_ of chaparral and caught it. "get on first," he told the girl. "crawford," huerta began again, "you can't--" "get your horse if you're coming with us," he told the man. huerta opened his mouth to say something more; then, with a strangled, inarticulate sound, he turned and crashed back through the mesquite. in a moment he returned on the copperbottom. it was a risky thing to do with such a green horse, but there was no other way, and crawford swung onto the black behind the cantle. the animal kicked in a startled, angry way and started to buck. crawford swung his arms around in front of merida to grab the _mecate_ and yank back hard on it, spurring africano at the same time. the _puro negro_ quit bucking and broke forward, slopping into a muddy stretch. crawford turned the horse to get quartel in front of him. they rode toward the edge of the bog that way. "you go first, quartel," crawford said. "i'll follow you, huerta. if you can keep your head and stay in between us, we might be able to get you out. just keep your head. that's the whole thing. get panicky and you're through. you can even get bit a couple of times by snakes and still live to tell about it if you don't let it throw you. it isn't the venom that kills a man so quick; it's when he gets spooked and starts running and yelling and pumping all that poison through him a hundred times as fast as it would spread if he just stayed calm. savvy?" huerta's copperbottom fiddled beneath him. "crawford, i can't. not without a gun. you can't ask me to." "quartel?" said crawford. "_sí_," grinned the mexican, and flapped his feet out wide. the _trigueño_ bolted before quartel's feet came back in to kick his flanks, and then crashed into the thickets. crawford held the henry in one hand and he waved it at huerta. "get going, damn you, i'm not going to wait for you to puke, get going!" "no, i can't, not through there--" huerta saw crawford swing out his feet, and whirled the copperbottom with a last desperate shout, and crashed into the snake thickets after quartel. then crawford's heels struck the black, and they were going. at first it was only the wild, crashing, pounding, yelling run through the mesquite. with quartel leading the way all they had to do was follow the trail he made, running through holes he had burst in the thickets ahead of them. then the snakes began. first it was that sharp, dry thump against africano's _pechero_, and the woman's shrill, startled cry. quartel's gun crashed from ahead of them, but crawford was too taken up with reining the black to use his henry. he had that blurred impression of violent undulation around him. there was another snapping thud against africano's buckskin shield, and a big diamondback fell to the ground beneath them as they went by. then it was the shrill scream from huerta's copperbottom ahead. crawford saw the huge rattler dropping off the animal's rump, and the copperbottom started to buck. "there it is," screamed huerta, "there it is!" "don't lose your head," shouted crawford. "get him to running again. he'll last through, huerta, get him to running--" another rattler flashed from the thickets. the copperbottom reared up as the snake struck, pawing the air wildly. crawford came up from behind at a dead run and huerta's panicky reining brought the copperbottom down broadside to them. crawford jerked his whole body to the left with the desperation of his attempt to rein the black around, but africano smashed head-on into huerta's animal. crawford had the sense of falling through a bedlam of huerta's wild yells and merida's voice calling something and the animal's frenzied, agonized screaming. then he hit the ground with merida coming down on top of him. it knocked the breath from him and he struggled to get from beneath her, making a horrible retching sound in his fight for breath. he got to his knees, surprised that he still clutched the henry. the copperbottom was already crashing off through the brush, and africano was just scrambling to his feet. crawford lurched at the black horse, but africano whirled and galloped at a _ramadero_ of _cejas_, smashing through and disappearing. there was a whirring sound from behind and merida's shriek. he whirled, snapping the lever on his henry down at the same time, and fired from the hip at the serpent coiled just beyond her. she had been in the act of throwing herself away, and the slug driving into the snake aborted its strike. the head fell heavily to the ground with only half its length uncoiled. crawford leaped to merida, grabbing her roughly by the elbow and yanking her erect. "crawford, get me out, crawford! crawford!" it was huerta, rising from the patch of switch mesquite where he had been thrown. there was a sallow, putty color to his face and that eye was twitching uncontrollably now. he staggered toward them, his blasé, jaded sophistication swept away before the terrible animal fear. a deadly rattle rose from behind him and he tried to run, and stumbled, falling against crawford. the woman's gasp made crawford turn in the direction she was looking, and he brought up the henry, kicking free of huerta, firing at the snake which had writhed from the switch mesquite toward them, shouting at huerta. "get up, then. i'll get you out. get up!" panting, sobbing hoarsely, huerta pulled himself up, staring about him wildly, starting like a frightened deer at every new sound. crawford put the woman directly before him and started moving forward. huerta cringed at his side, clawing at him, and he had to keep shoving the man away. "hurry, crawford, hurry, please, what are you doing this for? we'll never--" "let go," crawford bawled at him. "it won't do to lose our heads and start running. how can i--" "no, crawford, no--" shouting it, huerta reeled back against him. crawford had to fight the man off and wheel that way and fire all at once. he couldn't have hit the snake anyway. it had already been in the middle of its lunge. "i'm hit," screamed huerta. "crawford, i'm hit. save me. i'll do anything. help me!" "keep your head, huerta. quit fighting like that!" "no, crawford, for god's sake!" huerta was floundering around blindly, shouting and clutching at crawford, who tried to kick him away so he could keep the gun going. another rattler slithered from the thickets, and he fired wildly at it. "huerta!" cried merida, tearing at the man, the panic gripping her voice and twisting her face, "don't be a fool. let him go, let him go--" "no. get me out! i'll do anything, crawford, admit anything. you were right. i'm no doctor. i had two years in france and they dismissed me. the opium. there. now. i've told you--" his babble broke off in a wild shriek. crawford had not seen the snake strike. it fell away from huerta's back, slithering off into the thicket. huerta crawled toward crawford on his hands and knees, a faint, yellow froth forming at his lips. he clutched at crawford's legs, shouting up at him. "i'll tell you anything, please, anything. i was the one who killed otis rockland. is that what you want? i knew tarant had given him that piece of the _derrotero_, and i knew otis was in that hotel room. i'd just reached him when you arrived, and i had to escape by the balcony without getting the map--" again his hoarse bawling broke off in a scream. his struggles had carried them both over to a thicket, and crawford could see the same snake huerta did, coiled almost at their feet. he tore free of the doctor's frantic hands, throwing himself back, and firing at the serpent. he tripped and fell heavily onto his back, seeing the snake jerk with the slug but reach huerta anyway. screaming, the doctor fought to gain his feet. "get me out, crawford, get me out," he howled, pawing the writhing, thumping thing off in horror, whirling to run blindly away from it across the small opening. "it wasn't quartel who had whitehead try to bushwhack you that time, either. it was me. i wanted the third of the _derrotero_ you had. and i was the one who tried to get merida's third in the house during the bull-tailing. please, crawford, what more can you want? get me out now!" he looked like some frenzied beast, greasy black hair down over his face, froth drooling off his chin. he stumbled blindly into a _mogote_ of chaparro _prieto_, and tried to turn and get out. but there must have been a nest of them in the black chaparral, and they caught him there. "no, crawford," he screamed, as the first one struck, with a fleshy spissitude, knocking him to his knees in the thicket, "they're all around me," and his voice broke as a second one caught him. "for christ's sake, crawford, get me out. i told you, didn't i?" he sobbed, trying to crawl on through. and then another one struck him. "oh, for god's sake, crawford, please, for god's sake." and another, and he was lying on his belly, still trying to crawl, and his voice had sunk to a pitiful wailing, like a little child weakening, sinking until it was barely audible. "please, get me out, oh, please, crawford, get me out," and then dying finally, beneath the crescendo hissing of the snakes, "get me out, i'll do anything, only please get me out--" after it had ceased, crawford felt himself twitch, and realized how long he had been crouching there in a dazed shocked immobility at such a bizarre, terrifying display. it was like awakening from a deep sleep. there was a thick, sweet taste in his mouth, and he was sweating, and movement came with a strange pain. he saw that merida was standing over him, staring at the brush with that same stunned horror in her face. his movement caused her to turn in something akin to surprise. she looked at him a moment before her eyes dropped to his hand; he was rising, but the sound she made stopped him. it must have struck him sometime during his struggles with huerta. he did not remember when. the twin red punctures on the back of his hand were oozing blood thickly. with a curse, he started to rise again and get the rifle, but merida caught him. "no, crawford. the knife. your bowie. you've got to get it now before it spreads." she was on her knees beside him, pulling the bowie from his boot where he had thrust it after winding those strips of blanket on. "the snakes," he said, "the snakes--" "if we sit still they won't come for a minute. now--i've got to." she met his eyes, then bent over his hand with the blade. he felt himself turn rigid, but it caused him less pain than he anticipated. she did it in three quick, skillful strokes. "i told you my mother was a _curandera_. i've seen her do this a dozen times. find some spanish dagger and you can get a poison from it that makes as good an antidote as any." she bent to suck the wound, and now it was beginning to come. _take it easy._ the hissing bore in on him with a physical weight. _take it easy, damn you. that's why huerta's through. he lost his head. all right. get up, then, damn you, get up._ he got up. the motion drew his hand from merida's fingers, and she rose too. he had scooped up the henry in rising, and he pulled the lever down. no fired shell popped out, and he realized the magazine must be empty. he reached in his right-hand pocket for fresh loads, and pulled out his hand, empty. the woman's eyes followed the movements in a fascinated way as he shifted the rifle so he could reach into his left-hand pocket. again his hand came out empty. merida's gaze raised to his, and they stared at each other blankly for a long moment. a small, hopeless sob escaped her. the first, faint, snapping crackle came from behind, turning him that way. it was a big diamondback, slithering from the switch mesquite. it stopped as it caught sight of them, and its long, shimmering body coiled with oily facility. the ugly hammerhead raised, and the glittering opacity of its cruel little eyes held crawford's gaze in a viscid mesmerization. then it began to rattle. "crawford--" the woman's agonized whisper brought his eyes around the other way. another serpent, as big around as his lower leg, had crawled from a _mogote_ of huisache. again it was the soft snap of decaying vegetation that lay thickly over the ground, and the cessation of this as the snake saw them and stopped, and that swift coiling movement, and that sibilant rattle. "crawford," said merida, in a hoarse, strained whisper. "we can't move. they'll strike as soon as we move. they're all around us and we can't move--" "no," he said gutturally. "remember they don't often strike above the hip. you've got those batwings. just keep your feet, that's all, just keep your feet." "there's another one," she said, and he saw the panic was gripping her the way it had huerta. "we can't move, crawford. not a step. they'll have us." "merida," he said. "you've got to. don't lose your head. just start walking." "i can't," she said, in a strangled, pathetic way, "crawford, i can't--" he could feel that animal fear rising up in him, to blot out all his terrible control. sweat formed gleaming streaks through the grime of his face. his right hand was clenched so hard around the useless gun it ached. gritting his teeth, he summoned the awful, supreme effort of will it would take for him to make that first step. his whole body was stiffened for it, when the first thunderous detonation came from out in the brush. there was a second, and a third, before crawford recognized them as gunshots. this was followed by a long crashing of brush, and quartel burst into view. this movement caused the snake on crawford's right to strike. it hit his leg with a solid thump, knocking him over against merida, and though he knew the fangs had not penetrated the triple thickness of chimayo blanket around his calf, he could not hold back his hoarse, fearful shout. quartel had fired twice at the second rattler, knocking it back before it could strike. the serpent tried to recoil and strike again, in a weak, abortive way, and quartel jumped at it with a curse, stamping on its head. then he whirled away to fire at a third one beyond merida. "hola!" bellowed quartel. "let's go. you only got a little stretch left and we'll be out." "you!" said crawford blankly, gaping at him. "who else?" grinned the man. he caught crawford by the shoulder, shoving him forward. "come on, i tell you. we ain't got time for coffee." the rest of it was quartel's bellowing gun and the crash of mesquite and merida's hoarse, uncontrollable sobbing and a nightmarish sense of movement within and without him as he staggered through the thickets. at last he found himself face down on gritty sand, his breathing settling down to the shallow exhalation of complete exhaustion. he looked up to see quartel squatting over him, that grin on his sweaty, greasy face. the woman was sitting up on the bank beyond quartel, the batwings lying at her feet. crawford realized he was barefooted and the blanketing had been stripped off his legs. "the chaps saved merida," said quartel. "and that chimayo on you was a good idea. the only thing you got is that hand. i don't think it will cause you too much trouble, the way she fixed it." "why did you come back?" said crawford. quartel shrugged. "for the same reason you gave me those shells back in the bog when you didn't know for sure whether i'd use them on you or the snakes, i guess." he sat there looking at crawford a while. "i'm sort of glad it was huerta that killed rockland," he said finally. he laughed, at the look crawford gave him. "_sí._ you could have heard that huerta yelling up in san antone. my horse went down just as i got out, and i was lying here in the sand when huerta cut loose. he really cracked up good, didn't he? it sort of finishes my job out here." merida came over and lowered herself to her knees beside crawford, and he sat up, staring at quartel. "your job?" that pawky grin was on the mexican's face. "_sí._ like i said i knew one who pinned it to his undershirt. me, i couldn't even do that. only a damn fool would come into the _brasada_ with a badge. but i got a commission back in san antonio from the federal government." crawford continued to stare at the man a long time, and it all went through his head, before he said it. "_marshal_ quartel?" "that's right," said the mexican. "maybe i look like i should be a _rurale_, but i'm a citizen of the states and my father was before me. they sent me out to get you a couple of weeks after rockland was killed. other lawmen had been given the job without meeting much success. i guess you know about that. i figured you'd turn up at your old corral sooner or later, so i had the nueces cattle association recommend me to tarant as qualified to rod the roundup he was managing for rockland's estate. by the time you'd showed up at the big o, i'd been there long enough to find out that, whether you murdered rockland or not, there was more to the whole business than just the personal trouble between you and him. that _derrotero_ for instance. i'd gotten a third of it from whitehead. he'd found it many years ago on the body of one of the mexican muleteers, who had been shot in the brush by houston's men but apparently had gotten away from them to die. it was the section of the map which showed snake thickets, and how to find the chests once you got inside the thickets, but not how to find the thickets themselves. when you finally arrived, i had to choose between nabbing you then, or staying on and trying to find out what was really behind the murder." "then, those other lawmen--" "the ones i told you about when i found you at delcazar's?" quartel giggled slyly. "i'm the only lawman i seen in the _brasada_ since i came. you were pretty jumpy, crawford. i thought if i cinched the girth up tight enough it might squeeze out some interesting things." there was no apology in his voice for how he had used crawford. the elemental brutality of the man was in his greasy, thick-featured face, and the courage, too. _and it would take that kind_, thought crawford, _to come into a place like this. i can cuss better and ride better and rope better than any hombre in the world._ "not rope better." "what?" said quartel. "nothing," said crawford, sitting up to pull on his boots. "how about tarant?" "he was involved all right," said quartel. "he knew rockland had that section of the map, and allowed huerta to stay at the big o, undoubtedly having made some deal with him to split the money when they got it. since it was huerta that murdered rockland, we might be able to nab tarant as an accessory." with a weary breath, crawford rose. "we can reach del's from here in a couple of hours. he needs tending to, and that old chihuahua cart of his will be better than walking back." quartel got up and turned to climb the bank toward the brush. merida started after him, but crawford caught her arm. "out there in the thickets," he said. "i didn't quite get it. you were all mixed up. something about not knowing what you'd wanted all your life, and knowing now." "maybe seeing those chests of gunpowder made me realize it fully," she said. "it could be symbolical, in a way, of money. you seek it all your life, and when you finally get it, you realize it isn't what you want, after all." "what _do_ you want?" "don't you know?" he gazed at her without speaking for a moment. her face had taken on that feminine softness. her eyes met his widely, shining a little. he was suddenly swept with the desire to shout or cry or laugh or take her in his arms, he didn't know which, the realization swelled so swiftly within him. it had all been so broken and aborted and bitterly frustrating between himself and merida before, and now it was so complete. yet, somehow, it was too poignant to express here. he reached out and took her hand. "let's go," he said. [illustration: see p. "i'm awfully sorry, too, dad"] flowing gold by rex beach to the one whose faith, enthusiasm, and devotion constitute a never-failing source of inspiration, my wife, sweetheart, and partner. flowing gold chapter i room service at the ajax is of a quality befitting the newest, the largest, and the most expensive hotel in dallas. while the standard of excellence is uniformly high, nevertheless some extra care usually attaches to a breakfast ordered from the governor's suite--most elegant and most expensive of all the suites--hence the waiter checked over his card and made a final, fluttering examination to be sure that the chilled fruit was chilled and that the hot plates were hot before he rapped on the door. a voice, loud and cheery, bade him enter. would the gentleman wish his breakfast served in the parlor or--no, the gentleman would have it right in his bedroom; but first, where were his cigarettes? he hoped above all things that the waiter had not forgotten his cigarettes. some people began their days with cold showers--nothing less than a cruel shock to a languid nervous system. an atrocious practice, the speaker called it--a relic of barbarism--a fetish of ignorance. much preferable was a hygienic, stimulating cigarette which served the same purpose and left no deleterious aftereffects. the pajama-clad guest struck a light, inhaled with abundant satisfaction, and then cast a hungry eye over the contents of the rubber-tired breakfast table. he, too, tested the temperature of the melon and felt the cover of the toast plate. "splendid!" he cried. "nice rooms, prompt service, a pleasant-faced waiter. why, i couldn't fare better in my best club. thanks to you, my first impression of dallas is wholly delightful." he seated himself in a padded boudoir chair, unfolded a snowy serviette and attacked his breakfast with the enthusiasm of a perfectly healthy animal. "is this your first visit here, sir?" "absolutely. dallas is as foreign to me as lhasa. it is the baghdad of my dreams and its streets are strange. perhaps they are full of adventure for me. i hope so. anything exciting can happen in a town where one has neither friends nor acquaintances, eh? you are a well-read man, i take it." "i? why--" "at any rate, you have heard it said that this is a small world." "yes, sir." "good! i merely wish to deny authorship of the saying, for it is false. this is a large world. what is more, it is a world full of cities like dallas where men like you and me, heaven be praised, have neither friends, acquaintances, nor relatives. in that respect, it is a fine world and we should devoutly give thanks for its dallases and its--dalsatians. jove! this ham is delicious!" the waiter was accustomed to "morning talkers," but this gentleman was different. he had an air of consequence, and his voice, so deep, so well modulated, so pleasant, invested him with unusual distinction. probably he was an actor! but no! not in the governor's suite. more likely he was one of the big men of the standard, or the gulf, or the texas. to make sure, the waiter inquired: "may i ask if you are in oil, sir?" "in oil? bless me, what a nauseating question--at this hour of the day!" "'most everybody here is in oil. we turn dozens away every day, we're that full. it's the boom. i'm in oil myself--in a small way, of course. it's like this: sometimes gentlemen like--well, like you, sir--give me tips. they drop a hint, like, about their stocks, and i've done well--in a small way, of course. it doesn't cost them anything and--some of them are very kind. you'd really be surprised." "oh, not at all." the occupant of the governor's suite leaned back in his chair and smiled widely. "as a matter of fact, i am flattered, for it is evident that you are endowed with the money-making instinct and that you unerringly recognize it in others. very well, i shall see what i can do for you. but while we are on the subject of tips, would you mind helping yourself to a dollar out of my trousers pocket?" the waiter proceeded to do as directed, but a moment later announced, apologetically: "here's all i find, sir. it's mostly pennies." he exposed a handful of small coins. "look in my coat, if you will." but the second search resulted as had the first. "strange!" murmured the guest, without rising. "i must have been robbed. i remember now, a fellow crowded me as i left my train. um--m! robbed--at the very gates of baghdad! dallas _is_ a city of adventure. please add your tip to the check, and--make it two dollars. i'd like to have you serve me every morning, for i cannot abide an acid face at breakfast. it sours my whole day." calvin gray finished his breakfast, smoked a second cigarette as he scanned the morning paper, then he dressed himself with meticulous care. he possessed a tall, erect, athletic form, his perfectly fitting clothes had that touch of individuality affected by a certain few of new york's exclusive tailors, and when he finally surveyed himself in the glass, there was no denying the fact that he presented an appearance of unusual distinction. as he turned away, his eyes fell upon the scanty handful of small coins which the waiter had removed from his pocket and for a moment he stared at them reflectively, then he scooped them into his palm and, with a smile, announced to his image: "it would seem that it is time for us to introduce ourselves to the management." he was humming a tune as he strode out of his richly furnished quarters. the governor's suite at the ajax is on the mezzanine floor, at the head of the grand staircase. as gray descended the spacious marble steps, he saw that the hotel was indeed doing a big business, for already the lobby was thickly peopled and at the desk a group of new arrivals were plaintively arguing with a bored and supercilious room clerk. some men possess an effortless knack of commanding attention and inspiring courtesy. calvin gray was one of these. before many moments, he was in the manager's office, explaining, suavely, "now that i have introduced myself, i wish to thank you for taking care of me upon such short notice." "it was the only space we had. if you wish, i'll have your rooms changed as soon as--" "have you something better?" haviland, the manager, laughed and shook his head. "scarcely! that suite is our pet and our pride. there's nothing to beat it in the whole southwest." "it is very nice. may i inquire the rate?" "twenty-five dollars a day." "quite reasonable." mr. gray beamed his satisfaction. "it is the only suite we have left. we've put beds in the parlors of the others, and frequently we have to double up our guests. this oil excitement is a blessing to us poor innkeepers. i presume it's oil that brings you here?" gray met the speaker's interrogatory gaze with a negative shake of the head and a smile peculiarly noncommittal. "no," he declared. "i'm not in the oil business and i have no money to invest in it. i don't even represent a syndicate of eastern capitalists. on the contrary, i am a penniless adventurer whom chance alone has cast upon your hospitable grand staircase." these words were spoken with a suggestion of mock modesty that had precisely the effect of a deliberate wink, and mr. haviland smiled and nodded his complete comprehension. "i get you," said he. "and you're right. the lease hounds would devil you to death if you gave them a chance. now then, if there's any way in which i can be of service--" "there is." gray's tone was at once businesslike. "please give me the names of your leading bankers. i mean the strongest and the most--well, discreet." during the next few minutes gray received and swiftly tabulated in his mind a deal of inside information usually denied to the average stranger; the impression his swift, searching questions made upon the hotel manager was evident when the latter told him as he rose to go: "don't feel that you have to identify yourself at the banks to-day. if we can accommodate you--cash a check or the like--" "thank you." the caller shook his head and smiled his appreciation of the offer. "your manner of conducting a hotel impresses me deeply, and i shall speak of it to some of my eastern friends. live executives are hard to find." it is impossible to analyze or to describe that quality of magnetic charm which we commonly term personality, nevertheless it is the most potent influence in our social and our business lives. it is a gift of the gods, and most conspicuous successes, in whatever line, are due to it. now and then comes an individual who is cold, even repellent, and yet who rises to full accomplishment by reason of pure intellectual force or strength of character; but nine times out of ten the man who gets ahead, be he merchant, banker, promoter, or crook, does so by reason of this abstract asset, this intangible birthright. gray possessed that happy quality. it had made itself felt by the waiter who brought his breakfast and by the manager of the hotel; its effect was equally noticeable upon the girl behind the cigar counter, where he next went. an intimate word or two and she was in a flutter. she sidetracked her chewing gum, completely ignored her other customers, and helped him select a handful of her choicest sixty-cent havanas. when he finally decided to have her send the rest of the box of fifty up to his room and signed for them, she considered the transaction a tribute to her beauty rather than to her ability as a saleswoman. her admiring eyes followed him clear across the lobby. even the blase bell-captain, by virtue of his calling a person of few enthusiasms and no illusions, edged up to the desk and inquired the name of the distinguished stranger "from the no'th." gray appeared to know exactly what he wanted to do, for he stopped at the telephone booths, inquired the number of the leading afternoon newspaper, and put in a call for it. when it came through he asked for the city editor. he closed the sound-proof door before voicing his message, then he began, rapidly: "city editor? well, i'm from the ajax hotel, and i have a tip for you. i'm one of the room clerks. listen! calvin gray is registered here--got in last night, on gum shoes.... gray! _calvin gray_! better shoot a reporter around and get a story.... you _don't_? well, other people know him. he's a character--globe trotter, soldier of fortune, financier. he's been everywhere and done everything, and you can get a great story if you've got a man clever enough to make him talk. but he won't loosen easily.... oil, i suppose, but--... sure! under cover. mystery stuff! another big syndicate probably.... oh, that's all right. i'm an old newspaper man myself. don't mention it." all american cities, these days, are much the same. character, atmosphere, distinctiveness, have been squeezed out in the general mold. for all calvin gray could see, as he made his first acquaintance with dallas, he might have been treading the streets of los angeles, of indianapolis, of portland, maine, or of portland, oregon. a california brightness and a florida warmth to the air, a new england alertness to the pedestrians, a manhattan majesty to some of the newer office buildings, these were the most outstanding of his first impressions. into the largest and the newest of these buildings gray went, a white tile and stone skyscraper, the entire lower floor of which was devoted to an impressive banking room. he sent his card in to the president, and spent perhaps ten minutes with that gentleman. he had called merely to get acquainted, so he explained; he wished to meet only the heads of the strongest financial institutions; he had no favors to ask--as yet, and he might have no business whatever with them. on the other hand--well, he was a slow and careful investigator, but when he moved, it was with promptitude and vigor, and in such an event he wished them to know who he was. meanwhile, he desired no publicity, and he hoped his presence in dallas would not become generally known--it might seriously interfere with his plans. before he left the bank gray had met the other officers, and from their manner he saw that he had created a decided impression upon them. the bank president himself walked with him to the marble railing, then said: "i'd like to have you wait and meet my son, lieutenant roswell. he's just back from overseas, and--the boy served with some distinction. a father's pride, you understand?" "was lieutenant roswell in france?" gray inquired, quickly. "oh yes. he'll be in at any minute." a shadow of regret crossed the caller's face. "i'm sorry, but i've arranged to call on the mayor, and i've no time to lose. what unit was your son with?" "the ninety-eighth field artillery." the shadow fled. mr. gray was vexed at the necessity for haste, but he would look forward to meeting the young hero later. "and meanwhile," roswell, senior, said, warmly, "if we can be of service to you, please feel free to call upon us. i dare say we'd be safe in honoring a small check." he laughed pleasantly and clapped his caller on the back. a fine man, gray decided as he paused outside the bank. and here was another offer to cash a check--the second this morning. good address and an expensive tailor certainly did count: with them as capital, a man could take a profit at any time. gray's fingers strayed to the small change in his trousers pocket and he turned longing eyes back toward the bank interior. without doubt it was a temptation, especially inasmuch as at that moment his well-manicured right hand held in its grasp every cent that he possessed. this was not the first time he had been broke. on the contrary, during his younger days he had more than once found himself in that condition and had looked upon it as an exciting experience, as a not unpleasant form of adventure. to be strapped in a mining camp, for instance, was no more than a mild embarrassment. but to find oneself thirty-eight years old, friendless and without funds in a city the size of dallas--well, that was more than an adventure, and it afforded a sort of excitement that he believed he could very well do without. dallas was no open-handed frontier town; it was a small new york, where life is settled, where men are suspicious, and where fortunes are slow in the making. he wondered now if hard, fast living had robbed him of the punch to make a new beginning; he wondered, too, if the vague plans at the back of his mind had anything to them or if they were entirely impracticable. here was opportunity, definite, concrete, and spelled with a capital o, here was a deliberate invitation to avail himself of a short cut out of his embarrassment. a mere scratch of a pen and he would have money enough to move on to some other dallas, and there gain the start he needed--enough, at least, so that he could tip his waiter and pay cash for his coronas. business men are too gullible, any how; it would be a good lesson to roswell and haviland. why not--? calvin gray started, he recoiled slightly, the abstracted stare was wiped from his face, for an officer in uniform had brushed past him and entered the bank. that damned khaki again! those service stripes! they were forever obtruding themselves, it seemed. was there no place where one could escape the hateful sight of them? his chain of thought had been snapped, and he realized that there could be no short cut for him. he had climbed through the ropes, taken his corner, and the gong had rung; it was now a fight to a finish, with no quarter given. he squared his shoulders and set out for the hotel, where he felt sure he would find a reporter awaiting him. chapter ii the representative of the dallas _post_ had anticipated some difficulty in interviewing the elusive calvin gray--whoever he might be--but luck appeared to be with him, for shortly after his arrival at the hotel the object of his quest appeared. mr. gray was annoyed at being discovered; he was, in fact, loath to acknowledge his identity. having just returned from an important conference with some of the leading financiers of the city, his mind was burdened with affairs of weight, and then, too, the mayor was expecting him--luncheon probably--hence he was in no mood to be interviewed. usually mr. gray's secretary saw interviewers. however, now that his identity was known, he had not the heart to be discourteous to a fellow journalist. yes! he had once owned a newspaper--in alaska. incidentally, it was the farthest-north publication in the world. alaska! the reporter pricked up his ears. he managed to elicit the fact that mr. gray had operated mines and built railroads there; that he had been forced into the newspaper game merely to protect his interests from the depredations of a gang of political grafters, and that it had been a sensational fight while it lasted. this item was duly jotted down in the reportorial memory. alaska was a hard country, quite so, but nothing like mexico during the revolution. mexican sugar and mahogany, it transpired, had occupied mr. gray's attention for a time, as had argentine cattle, yucatan hennequin, and an engineering enterprise in bolivia, not to mention other investments closer to home. once the speaker had become reconciled to the distasteful necessity of talking about himself, he suggested an adjournment to his rooms, where he would perhaps suffer less embarrassment by reason of his unavoidable use of the personal pronoun. gray noted the effect upon his visitor of the governor's suite and soon had the young man at ease, with a corona between his teeth. then followed a full three-quarters of an hour, during which the visitor discoursed in his very best style and his caller sat spellbound, making occasional hieroglyphic hen tracks upon his note paper and congratulating himself upon his good luck in striking a man like this in one of his rare, talkative moods. gray had set himself deliberately to the task of selling himself to this gentleman of the press, and, having succeeded, he was enough of a salesman to avoid the fatal error of overselling. alone at last, a sardonic grin crept over his features. so far, so good. now for the rest of those bankers and the mayor. gray was working rapidly, but he knew no other way of working, and speed was essential. it seemed to him not unlikely that delay of the slightest might force him to turn in desperation to a length of lead pipe and a mask, for--a man must live. as yet he had no very definite plans, he had merely undertaken to establish himself in a position to profit by the first opportunity, whatever it might be. and opportunity of some sort would surely come. it always did. what is more, it had an agreeable way of turning up just when he was most in need of it. gray called at several other banks that morning. he strode in swiftly, introduced himself with quick incisiveness, and tarried only long enough to fix himself indelibly in the minds of those he had come to see, then he left. there are right and wrong ways of closing a deal or of ending an interview, and gray flattered himself that he possessed "terminal facilities." he was very busy, always a bit pressed for time, always a moment late; his theory of constant forward motion never permitted an awkward pause in conversation. on the street, his long legs covered the ground at something less than a run, his eyes were keenly alert, his face set in purposeful lines. pedestrians turned to look after him. at the mayor's office he was denied admission to the chief executive, but insisted so peremptorily as to gain his end. once inside, he conveyed his compliments with such a graceful flourish that his intrusion assumed the importance of a ceremony and the people's choice was flattered. he inferred that this calvin gray made a practice of presenting his formal respects to the dignitaries of all the large cities he visited and deemed it a favor to them. no doubt it was, if he so considered it, for he appeared to be fully aware of his own importance. after all, it was an agreeable practice. since no man in public life can risk offending people of importance, his honor unbent. gray turned a current jest upon texas politics into a neat compliment to the city's executive; they laughed; formality vanished; personal magnetism made itself felt. the call ended by the two men lunching together at the city club, as gray had assumed it would, and he took pains that the bankers upon whom he had called earlier in the morning should see him in company with the mayor. he returned to his hotel that afternoon pretty well satisfied with his efforts and hopeful that some of the seed he had sown broadcast would be ripe for the reaping ere-long. but he received an electric shock as he approached the desk, for the bell captain addressed him, saying: "mr. haviland wishes to see you at once, in his office." "indeed? anything important?" "very important, sir. i've been waiting for you to come in." there was something ominous about this unexpected summons, or perhaps about the manner of its delivery. at any rate, suspicion leaped into gray's mind. so! haviland was wise! quick work that. evidently he had investigated, through those mysterious sources of information available to great hotels. or perhaps some one had seen and recognized him. well, that was the way his luck had run, lately--every break against him. now--gray's shoulders lifted in a shrug of resignation--there was nothing to do except wave aside the blindfold and face the firing squad like an officer and a gentleman. but it was a pity that the crash had come so soon; fortune might have given him at least a short interval of grace. haviland was probably in a cold rage at the discovery of the fraud, and gray could only hope that he wouldn't get noisy over it, for scenes were always annoying and sometimes they ran to unfortunate lengths. there was a curious brightness to the imposter's eyes, a reckless, mocking smile upon his lips, when he stepped into the manager's office and stood beside the desk. he declined haviland's invitation to be seated--it seemed more fitting that a man should take sentence on his feet. "have you seen the post?" the manager inquired. "no." haviland handed him a copy of the leading afternoon paper, and gray's eyes flashed to the headline of an article reading: calvin gray, hero of sensational exploits, in dallas adventures read like page of romance famous financier admits large oil interests behind him from the opening paragraph gray judged that he had impressed the reporter even more deeply than he had supposed, but he took no satisfaction there from, for haviland was saying: "i've read the whole story, but i want you to tell me something more about yourself." "what do you wish to know?" "were you in france?" over the visitor's face there came a subtle change. whereas, upon entering, he had worn an expression of careless defiance, now he appeared to harden in every fiber and to go on guard. "i have been many times in france." "i mean during the war. did you serve?" there was a pause. "i did." gray's eyes remained fixed upon his interrogator, but they had begun to smolder. "then you're colonel gray. colonel calvin gray." "quite so." the speaker's voice was harsh, and it came with an effort. "but you didn't read _that_ in the _post_. come! what's the idea? out with it." the interview had taken an unexpectedly disagreeable turn. gray had anticipated an unpleasant moment or two, but this--well, it was indeed the crash. calamity had overtaken him from the very quarter he had least expected and most dreaded, and his mind raced off at a tangent; a dozen unwelcome queries presented themselves. "strange what circles we move in," haviland was saying. "do you know who owns the controlling interest in this hotel? surely you must know or can guess. think a moment. it's somebody you met over there and have reason to remember." a sound escaped, from the throat of colonel gray--not a cry, but rather a gasp of amazement, or of rage. "aha!" haviland grinned in triumph. "i thought--" his guest leaned forward over the desk, with face twitching. passion had driven the blood from it, and his whole expression was one of such hatred, such fury, the metamorphosis was so startling, that the hotel man stiffened in his chair and stared upward in sudden amazement. "_nelson!_" gray ejaculated. "nelson! by god! so! he's _here_!" during the moment that haviland sat petrified, gray turned his head slowly, his blazing eyes searched the office as if expecting to discover a presence concealed somewhere; they returned to the hotel man's face, and he inquired: "well, where is he?" haviland stirred. "i don't know what you're talking about. who's nelson?" after a second he exclaimed: "good lord! i thought i had a pleasant surprise for you, and i was gracefully leading up to it, but--i must have jazzed it all up. i was going to tell you that the hotel and everything in it is yours." "eh?" "why, the ajax is one of the dietz chain! herman dietz of cincinnati owns it. he left for the north not an hour ago. at the last minute he heard you were here--read this story in the paper--and had bellboys scouring the place for you. you must know why he wanted to see you, and what he said when he found that he'd have to leave before you came in." colonel gray uttered another exclamation, this time an expletive of deep relief. he fought with himself a moment, then murmured an apology. "sorry. you gave me a start-decidedly. herman dietz, eh? well, well! you made me think for a moment that i was a guest in the house of some other--friend." "_friend?_" "exactly!" gray was himself again now. he ran a loosening finger between his collar and throat. "quite a start, i'll admit, but--some of my friends are great practical jokers. they have a way of jumping out at me and crying 'boo!' when i least expect it." "um-m! i see. mr. dietz told me that he was under lifelong obligation to a certain colonel calvin gray. something to do with passports--" "i once rendered him a slight favor." "he doesn't regard the favor as 'slight.' he was about to be imprisoned for the duration of the war and you managed to get him back home." "merely a matter of official routine. i felt sure he was a loyal american citizen." "exactly. but he makes more of the incident than you do, and he gave me my instructions. so--what can i do for you on his behalf? you have only to ask." gray pondered the unexpected offer. he was still a bit shaken, for a moment ago he had been more deeply stirred even than haviland suspected, and the emotional reaction had left him weak. after all the hollow pretense of this day a genuine proffer of aid was welcome, and the temptation to accept was strong. herman dietz was indeed indebted to him, and he believed the old german-american would do anything, lend him any amount of money, for instance, that he might ask for. gray wondered why he had not thought of dietz before he came to texas; it would have made things much easier. but the offer had come too late, it seemed to him; at this moment he could see no means of profiting by it without wrecking the flimsy house of cards he had that very day erected and exposing himself to ridicule, to obloquy as a rank four-flusher. the scarcely dry headlines of that afternoon paper ran before his eyes--"_famous financier admits large oil interests behind him_." probably there were other things in the body of the article that would not harmonize with an appeal to haviland for funds, nor sound well to mr. dietz, once he learned the truth. the more gray pondered the matter, the more regretfully he realized that he had overplayed his hand, as it were. here was a situation indeed! to be occupying the most expensive suite in the hotel of a man who wished to lend him money, to be unable to pay one day's rent therefore, and yet to be stopped from accepting aid. there was a grim irony about it, for a fact. then, too, the seed he had sown in banking circles, and his luncheon with the mayor! haviland had a sense of humor; it would make a story too good to keep--the new oil operator, the magnificent and mysterious new york financier, a "deadhead" at the ajax. oh, murder! "well, name your poison! isn't there something, anything we can do for you?" haviland repeated. "there is, decidedly." gray smiled his warm appreciation of the tender. "if it is not too great a drain upon the dietz millions, you may keep a supply of cut flowers in my room. i'm passionately fond of roses, and i should like to have my vases filled every morning." "you shall dwell in a perfumed bridal bower." gray paused at the door to light one of those sixty-cent cigars and between puffs observed: "please assure mr. dietz that--his obligation is squared and that i am--deeply touched. i shall revel in the scent of those flowers." that evening, when calvin gray, formally and faultlessly attired, strolled into the ajax dining room he was conscious of attracting no little attention. for one thing, few of the other guests were in evening dress, and also that article in the _post_, which he had read with a curiously detached amusement, had been of a nature to excite general notice. the interview had jarred upon him in only one respect--_viz_., in describing him as a "typical soldier of fortune." no doubt the reporter had intended that phrase in the kindest spirit; nevertheless, it implied a certain recklessness and instability of character that did not completely harmonize with gray's inchoate, undeveloped banking projects. bankers are wary of anything that sounds adventurous--or they pretend to be. as a matter of fact, gray had learned enough that very day about texas bankers to convince him that most of them were good, game gamblers, and that a large part of the dividends paid by most of the local institutions of finance were derived from oil profits. however, the newspaper story, as a whole, was such as to give him the publicity he desired, and he was well content with it. its first results were prompt in coming. even while the head waiter was seating him, another diner arose and approached him with a smile. gray recognized the fellow instantly--one of that vast army of casuals that march through every active man's life and disappear down the avenues of forgetfulness. after customary greetings had been exchanged, the newcomer, coverly by name, explained that he had read the _post_ article not five minutes before, and was delighted to learn how well the world had used gray. he was dining alone; with alacrity he accepted an invitation to join his old friend, and straightway he launched himself upon the current of reminiscence. in answer to gray's inquiry, he confessed modestly enough: "oh, i'm not in your class, old man. i'm no 'modern gil blas,' as the paper calls you. no wall street money barons are eating out of my hand, and i have no international interests 'reaching from the yukon to the plate,' but--i stand all right in little old dallas. i'm the v. p. of our biggest jewelry house, and business is great." after their order had been given, he recited in greater detail the nature of his success. gray was interested. "texas is booming," he said, at the conclusion of the story. "i'm told the new oil towns are something like our old mining camps." "except that they are more so. the same excitement, the same quick fortunes, only quicker and larger. believe me, it's fine for the jewelry business. look here." coverly drew from his pocket a letter written in a painfully cramped hand upon cheap note paper, and this he spread out for his companion to read. "there's an example in point." the letter, which bore the ranger postmark, ran as follows: dere sir--your store has bin rekomend to me for dimons and i want some for my wife and dauter. send me prises on rings of large sises. yours truley gus briskow. "um-m! who is mr. briskow?" coverly shrugged. "probably some nester who never saw a hundred dollars all in one place until recently. when they strike oil, they buy diamonds, nice large yellow ones, as a rule; then as the money continues to flow in, they pay off the mortgage and buy a bank--or an interest in one." "in heaven's name, introduce me to the opulent gus briskow." "i wish i might. but i don't expect to make his acquaintance. the head of our firm is away and i haven't a man i'd dare trust to send out into the field. usually i handle these inquiries myself when the victim can't tear himself away from contemplating the miraculous flow of liquid gold long enough to come here. i take an assortment of gems with me and beard the _nouveau riche_ right on his derrick floor. why, i've carried as much as a hundred thousand dollars' worth of merchandise on some of my trips." coverly sighed regretfully. "tough luck! too bad you're not a good jewelry salesman?" "i am," gray declared. "i can sell anything. as for diamonds--i've bought enough in my time to know their value." coverly laughed in ready agreement with this statement. "gad! i'm sore at missing this sale." "you needn't miss it. i'll go." "don't kid an unfortunate--" "i'm not joking. if it's worth while, pack up your saffron solitaires--all that you dare trust me with--and i'll be your gentlemanly representative." "worth while? good lord! i'd probably get a ten-thousand-dollar order!" "very well. it's settled." gray's decision had been quickly made. opportunity had knocked--he was not one to deny her admission, no matter how queer her garb. a hundred thousand dollars' worth of gems! the very figures intrigued him and--diamonds are readily negotiable. there would be a natural risk attached to the handling of so large an amount. a thousand things might happen to a treasure chest of that size. gray began to believe that his luck had changed. "where does mr. briskow live?" he inquired. "out beyond ranger, somewhere. but--" "i'm going to visit that field, anyhow. this will give me an excuse." "nonsense!" the jeweler did not like to have fun poked at him. for some time he refused to take the offer seriously, and even when his host insisted that he would enjoy the lark, he expostulated: "why, the idea is ridiculous! you--calvin gray, the financier, peddling jewelry? ha! outside of the fact that you wouldn't, couldn't do it, it's not the safest thing in the world to carry a small fortune in stones through the oil fields." "of course you insure it against theft?" "that's the point. we can't. have you ever heard of 'high-jackers'? that's the texas term for hold-up men, robbers. well, the country is full of them." "excellent! there no longer is any question about my going," gray announced, firmly. "i am bored; i am stale; a thrill, of whatever sort, would stir my blood. animated by purely selfish motives, i now insist upon a serious consideration of my offer. first, you say i 'wouldn't, couldn't'; i assure you that i would, could--and _shall_, provided i can qualify as a salesman." coverly admitted without much argument that anybody could probably effect a sale in this instance, if the diamonds were plainly marked with their prices; it would be a mere question of displaying the goods. that was not the point. gray was a rich, a busy man--the idea was fantastic. "why, you're offering to do this as an accommodation to an old friend, and your time is probably worth more than our whole profit on the sale would amount to." "my time is worth nothing. if you hesitate to intrust this king's ransom to me, i'll go personally responsible for its value. that's fair, isn't it?" "don't be silly. how could i pay you if you did go?" "um-m!" this idea, it seemed, had not occurred to mr. gray. it was plain that money meant nothing to him. "you see? we couldn't permit--" "i have it. we'll divorce friendship and sentiment entirely from the discussion and reduce it to a strictly business basis. you shall ease your conscience by paying my traveling expenses. the emotional suspense that i undergo shall be my reward. i'll take my commission in thrills." this offer evoked a light laugh from gray's guest. "you'd get enough of 'em," he asserted. "i'll advance a mild one, on account, at this moment. notice the couple dining at the third table to your left." gray lifted his eyes. "what do you see?" "a rather well-dressed, hard-faced man and a decidedly attractive woman--brunette. there's a suggestion of repressed widowhood about her. it's the gown, probably. i am not yet in my dotage, and i had seen her before i saw you." "she's living here. i don't know much about her, but the man goes by the name of mallow." "no thrill yet." "he's been hanging about our store for the past month, making a few purchases and getting acquainted with some of the clerks. wherever i go, lately, there he is. i'll wager if i took to-night's train for ranger, he'd be on it." "and still my pulses do not leap." "wait! i got a sort of report on him and it's bad. i believe, and so does the chief of police, that mr. mallow has something to do with the gang of crooks that infests this country. one thing is certain, they're not the native product, and our hold-ups aren't staged by rope-chokers out of work." calvin gray turned now and openly stared at the object of coverly's suspicions. there was an alert interest in his eyes. "you've cinched the matter with me," he declared, after a moment. "get out your diamonds to-morrow; i'm going to take the night train to ranger." later that evening, after his guest had gone, gray took occasion deliberately to put himself in mallow's way and to get into conversation with him. this was not a difficult maneuver, for it was nearly midnight and the lobby was well-nigh deserted; moreover, it almost appeared as if the restless mr. mallow was seeking an acquaintance. for the better part of an hour the two men smoked and talked, and had coverly overheard their conversation his blood would have chilled and he would have prematurely aged, for his distinguished host, calvin gray, the worldly-wise, suave man of affairs, actually permitted himself to be pumped like a farmer's son. it would have been a ghastly surprise to the jeweler to learn how careless and how confiding his friend could be in an off moment; he would have swooned when gray told about his coming trip to ranger and actually produced the misspelled briskow letter for the edification of his chance acquaintance. any lingering doubt as to his friend's honesty of purpose would have vanished utterly had he heard mallow announce that he, too, was going to ranger, the very next night--a curious coincidence, truly--and gray's expression of pleasure at the prospect of such a congenial traveling companion. the agitated coverly no doubt would have phoned a frantic call for the police, then and there. once gray was in his rooms, however, his manner changed, and into his eyes there came a triumphant glitter. hastily he rummaged through one of his bags, and from a collection of trinkets, souvenirs, and the like he selected an object which he examined carefully, then took into the bathroom for further experiment. his step was springy, his lips were puckered, he was whistling blithely when he emerged, for at last those vaguely outlined plans that had been at the back of his mind had assumed form and pattern. his luck had turned, he had made a new start. mallow was indeed a crook, and gray blessed the prompt good fortune that had thrown both him and coverly in his way. it had been a busy day; he was well content with its fruitage. chapter iii old tom parker was a "type." he was one of a small class of men at one time common to the west, but now rapidly disappearing. a turbulent lifetime spent in administering the law in a lawless region had stamped him with the characteristics of a frontier officer--_viz_., vigilance, caution, self-restraint, sang-froid. for more than thirty years he had worn a badge of some sort and, in the serving of warrants and other processes of law, he had covered, first in the saddle or on buckboard, later in pullman car or automobile, most of that vast region lying between the arkansas and the pecos, the cimarron, and the sabine--virtually all of what is now texas and oklahoma. he still spoke of the latter state, by the way, as "the territory," and there were few corners of it that he had not explored long before it ceased to be a haven of hunted men. that is what tom parker had been--a hunter of men--and time was when his name had been famous. but he had played his part. the times had caught up with and passed him, and no longer in the administration of justice was there need of abilities like his, hence the shield of his calling had been taken away. now tom did not reckon himself obsolete. he was badger-gray, to be sure, and stiff in one knee--a rheumatic legacy of office inherited by reason of wet nights in the open and a too-diligent devotion to duty--but in no other respect did he believe his age to be apparent. his smoke-blue eyes were as bright as ever, his hand was quick; realization that he had been shunted upon a side track filled him with surprise and bewilderment. it was characteristic of the man that he still considered himself a bulwark of law and order, a _de facto_ guardian of the peace, and that from force of habit he still sat facing the door and never passed between a lighted lamp and a window. among the late comers to wichita falls, where he lived, tom was known as a quiet-spoken, emotionless old fellow with an honorable past, but with a gift for tiresome reminiscence quite out of place in the new and impatient order of things, and none but old-timers and his particular cronies were aware of the fact that he had another side to his character. it was not generally known, for instance, that he was a kind and indulgent father and had a daughter whom he worshiped with blind adulation. this ignorance was not strange, for miss barbara parker had been away at college for four years now, and during that time she had not once returned home. there was a perfectly good reason for this protracted separation of father and daughter; since old tom was no longer on pay, it took all he could rake and scrape to meet her bills, and railroad fares are high. that hudson river institution was indeed a finishing school; not only had it polished off barbara, but also it had about administered the _coup de grace_ to her father. there had been a ranch over near electra with some "shallow production," from which tom had derived a small royalty--this was when barbara parker went east and before the burk-burnett wells hit deep sand--but income from that source had been used up faster than it had come in, and "bob," as tom insisted upon calling her, would have had to come home had it not been for an interesting discovery on her father's part--_viz._, the discovery of a quaint device of the law entitled a "mortgage." mortgages had to do with a department of the law unfamiliar to tom, his wit, his intelligence, and his dexterity of hand having been exercised solely in upholding the dignity of the criminal branch, but once he had realized that a mortgage, so called, was no more than a meaningless banking term used to cloak the impulsive generosity of moneyed men, he availed himself of this discovery and was duly grateful. tom carried on a nominal fire-insurance business, but as a matter of fact the tiny two-roomed frame structure that bore his painted sign was nothing more or less than a loafing place for him and his rheumatic friends, and a place in which the owner could spend the heat of the day in a position of comfort to his stiff leg--that is to say, asleep in a high-backed office chair, his feet propped upon his desk. it was here that tom could usually be found, and when one of those hateful statements arrived from the east he merely roused himself, put on his wide gray hat, limped around to the bank, and pledged more of his oil royalties or signed another mortgage. what insurance policies he wrote were brought to him by his old pals; the money derived there from he sent on to "bob" with love and an admonition to be a good girl and study hard and hurry home, because he was dying to see her. this office, by the way, no longer suited tom; it was becoming too noisy and he would have sold it and sought another farther out had it not been mortgaged for more than it was worth. so, too, was the house where he lived amid the dirt and disorder of all bachelor establishments. now old tom would have resented an accusation of indolence; the bare implication of such a charge would have aroused his instant indignation, and tom parker indignant was a man to shun. as a matter of fact, he believed himself sadly overworked, and was forever complaining about it. the time came, however, when he was forced to shed his habit of slothfulness as completely as a snake sheds its skin, and that was during the week before "bob's" arrival. then, indeed, he swept and he dusted, he mopped and he polished, he rubbed and he scrubbed, trying his best to put the house in order. never in all his life had he labored as he did then, for four years of "batching" will make a bear's nest out of the most orderly house, but he was jealous of his task and he refused to share it with other hands. pots and pans, rusty from disuse or bearing the accumulated evidence of many hastily prepared meals, he took out in the back yard and scrubbed with sand, leaving his bony knuckles skinned and bleeding from the process; he put down a new carpet in "bob's" room, no easy task for a man with an ossified knee joint--incidentally, the "damn thing" kept him awake for two nights thereafter; he nailed up fresh curtains, or they looked fresh to him, at her windows, and smashed a perfectly good thumb-nail in doing so. this and many other abominable duties he performed. but love means suffering, and every pang gave old tom a thrill of fierce delight for--"bob" was coming. the lonely, hungry, aching wait was over. constant familiarity with the house had mercifully dulled the occupant's appreciation of its natural deterioration and the effects of his neglect, so when he finally straightened his aching back and regarded the results of his heroic efforts, it seemed to him that everything shone like new and that the place was as neat and as clean as on the day "bob" went away. probably hercules thought the augean stables were spotless and fragrant when he had finished with them. and perhaps they were, but tom parker was no demigod. he was just a clumsy old man, unaccustomed to indoor "doings," and his eyes at times during the last few days had been unaccountably dim--as, for instance, while he was at work in barbara's chamber. he did not sleep much on the night before the girl's arrival. he sat until late with the framed photograph of barbara's mother on his knee, and tried to tell the dead and gone original that he had done his best for the girl so far, and if he had failed, it was because he knew nothing about raising girls and--nature hadn't cut him out to be a father, anyhow. he had been considerably older than barbara's mother when he married her, and he had never ceased to wonder what there had been in him to win the love of a woman like her, or to regret that fate had not taken him instead of her. heaven knows his calling had been risky enough. but--that was how things went sometimes--the wheat was taken and the chaff remained. and in the morning! tom was up before daylight and had his dishes washed and his things in order long ere the town was awake. then he went down to the office and waited--with the jumps. repeatedly he consulted his heavy gold watch, engraved: "with the admiration and gratitude of the citizens of burlingame. november fifth, ." it was still two hours of train time when he locked up and limped off toward the station, but--it was well to be there early. of course he met judge halloran on the street--he always did--and of course the judge asked when "bob" was coming home. the judge always did that, too. old tom had lied diligently to the judge every day for a month now, for he had no intention of sharing this day of days with a tiresome old pest, and now he again made an evasive answer. "mendacity is at once the lowest and the commonest form of deceit," the judge indignantly announced. "you know perfectly well when she's coming, damn you!" "honest, i don't--not exactly." but the judge was unconvinced. "you've been as mysterious as a bootlegger for the last week, but i could always read you like a book, tom parker. you know, all right. mrs. halloran wants to come over and fix things up for her. she said so this--" "oh, i got everything fixed," tom hastily declared. "ha! what did i tell you?" the judge glared; tom could have bitten his tongue for that slip. "your pitiful attempts to mislead barbara's admirers expose you to ridicule, and offend those of us who tolerate you out of regard for her." (the judge had a nice texas drawl, and he pronounced it "reegy'ad.") "you're on your way to the train at this moment and--i propose to accompany you." "what would i be going to the train for, now?" tom inquired, in a deceitfully mild tone. inwardly he was raging, and he cursed the judge for a meddlesome old fool. "hm-m! thought you'd sneak down there, unobserved, probably." there was a pause; then the speaker went on in an altered tone: "d'you suppose she has forgotten all her native accomplishments, tom? i wonder if she can still ride and rope and shoot, or if those thin-blooded eastern schoolma'ams have taught her that such things are unladylike and coarse." "pshaw! you never forget how to do those things." "she could handle a horse or a rope or a gun as well as you at your best." "_better!_" tom declared, with swelling pride. halloran wagged his white head in agreement, an unusual procedure, inasmuch as he never agreed with tom on any subject which offered possible ground for disagreement. "a wonderful girl! and i'll wager they haven't spoiled her. even _you_ couldn't spoil 'bob.'" he raised his red, belligerent eyes and fixed them upon his old friend, but there was now a kindly light in them. "you made a real son of her, didn't you, tom?" "almost. i was mighty disappointed because she was a girl, but--i don't know as a boy could of turned out much better. well, judge, i got to be moving." "you are neither grammatical nor precise," snapped judge halloran. "you mean _we_ must be moving." he linked arms with tom and fell into step with him; he clung to that rigid arm, moreover, despite tom's surly displeasure. not until a friend stopped them for a word or two was the distracted parent enabled to escape from that spidery embrace; then, indeed, he slipped it as a filibustering schooner slips its moorings, and made off as rapidly and as unobtrusively as possible. judge halloran stared after the retreating figure, then he showed his decayed teeth in a smile. "'bob' is coming home to-day and the old mountain lion is on edge," he explained. "i must warn the boys to stay away from the station and give him his hour. poor tom! he has held his breath for four years." tom parker had heard of children spoiled by schooling, of daughters educated away from their commonplace parents and rendered disdainful of them, but never for one instant did he fear that his girl was that sort. he just knew better. he could no more have doubted "bob's" love for him than his for her, or-god's love for both of them. such love is perfect, absolute. he took no thought, therefore, of the changes time and poverty had wrought in his appearance: "bob" wouldn't notice. he bet she wouldn't care if he was plumb ragged. they were one and indivisible; she was _his_, just like his right arm; she was his boy and his girl; his son-daughter. the old gunman choked and his tonsils ached abominably. he hoped he wasn't in for another attack of quinsy sore throat. but--why lie to himself? the truth was, he wanted to cry and he wanted to laugh at the same time, and the impulses were crossed in his windpipe. he shook his watch like a child's rattle, to be sure it was still running. barbara did not disappoint her father. on the contrary, she was perhaps more deeply moved than he at their meeting. at sight of him she uttered a strangled little cry, then she ran into his arms and clung there, tightly, her cheek pressed against his breast. it was only upon occasions like this that "bob" kissed her father, for she had been reared as a boy and taught to shun emotional display. boys kiss their mothers. she snuggled close, and tom could feel her whole body shaking; but she kept her head averted to conceal a distressingly unmasculine weakness. it was a useless precaution, however, for tom was blind, his eyes were as wet as hers, and tears were trickling down the seams in his wrinkled face. "oh, daddy, it has been a long time!" those were the first words either of them had spoken. tom opened his lips, then he closed them. he patted barbara clumsily, and finally cleared his aching throat with a loud "_harrumph!_" he dashed the tears from his eyes with the heel of one harsh palm, then leveled a defiant glare over her head, directed at anyone who might be looking on at his weakness. it was a blurry glare, however, and not nearly so ferocious as he intended it to be. after several efforts he managed to regain control of his vocal powers. "well, son!" he cried, huskily; then, "_harrumph_!" barbara's clutch tightened appreciatively. "such a long, long time!" still with her cheek pressed close against him, she ran a small gloved hand into the pocket of his coat and brought forth a bandana handkerchief which she thrust into his palm, saying: "it's a good thing i'm home, for you've caught another cold, haven't you? now blow your nose." barbara was anything but boyish to look at; quite the opposite, in fact. she was delightfully feminine from the crown of her smart little traveling hat to her dainty french heels, and although her suit was not expensive, it was worn with an air and was perhaps as fetching as any that had ever come to wichita falls. it gave the impression of perfectly setting off a figure and a personality that required no setting off. she had the parker eyes of quenchless blue. "well, son, there's a boom on and the town has grown some; but i guess things here are about the same as when you left 'em." tom spoke with pride and satisfaction as he paid the driver, took barbara's suitcase, and opened the gate for her. the girl turned from her first long, appraising gaze at the modest home. no change, indeed! the paint on the house was peeling, gutters had rusted out, some of the porch flooring had rotted through, the yard was an unkempt tangle of matted grass and weeds and neglected shrubbery. the sight of it was like a stab to her, for she remembered the place as it had been, and the shock was akin to that of seeing a loved one in the garb of a tramp. but she smiled up at the gray face above her--tom, too, was as seedy as the premises--and she nodded. "it hasn't changed a mite," she said, bravely. a moment later she paused upon the threshold, tense, thrilled, apparently speechless. tom was reminded of a trim little wren poised upon the edge of its nest. this time it was more difficult to counterfeit an exclamation of joy, but the catch in "bob's" voice, the moisture in her eyes, was attributed by her father to gladness at the sight of old familiar things. this was pay for the thought and the love and the labor expended, truly. "why, everything is right where it belongs! how _wonderfully_ you've kept house! you must have a perfect jewel of a girl, dad!" "i let aunt lizzie go 'bout three years back," tom explained. "she got--shiftless and i been sort of batching it since. clean, though, ain't it?" barbara turned; blindly she walked to the center table and buried her face in a bouquet of wild flowers garnered from the yard. she held it there for a moment before she spoke. "you--didn't even forget that i love bluebonnets, did you, dad?" "pshaw! i 'ain't had much to do but remember what you like, son." "what's the matter? business bad?" "bob's" face was still hidden. "oh no! i'm busy as usual. but, now you're home, i'll probably feel like doing more. i got a lot of work left in me yet, now i got somebody to work for." "so you fixed everything with your own hands." "sure! i knew how you like the place to look, and--well, a man gets used to doing without help. the kitchen's clean, too." side by side the two moved from room to room, and, once the girl had regained control of herself, she maintained an admirable self-restraint. she petted and she cooed over objects dear to her; she loved every inch of everything; she laughed and she exclaimed, and with her laughter sunshine suddenly broke into the musty, threadbare interior for the first time in four years. "bob's" room was saved for the last, and old tom stood back, glowing at her delight. he could not refrain from showing her his blackened thumb-nail--the price of his carpentry--for he hoped she'd kiss it. and she did. not until she had "shooed" him out and sent him downstairs, smiling and chuckling at her radiant happiness, did she give way to those emotions she had been fighting this long time; then her face grew white and tragic. "oh, daddy, daddy!" she whispered. "what _have_ i done to you?" tom parker had raised his girl like a son, and like a son she took hold of things, but with a daughter's tact. her intuition told her much, but she did not arrive at a full appreciation of the family affairs until she had the house running and went down to put his office in order. then, indeed, she learned at what cost had come those four expensive years in the east, and the truth left her limp. she went through tom's dusty, disordered papers, ostensibly rearranging and filing them, and they told her much; what they did not tell her she learned from judge halloran and other old cronies who came in to pay their garrulous compliments. tom was mortgaged to the hilt, his royalties were pledged; a crow could not pick a living out of his insurance business. such a condition was enough to dismay any girl who had never seriously considered money matters and who had returned home to take up a life of comparative ease and superlative enjoyment where she had left it off, but "bob" said nothing to her father. she knew every one of his shortcomings, and they endeared him to her, quite as a son's faults and failures deepen a mother's love, but she knew, too, that he was cantankerous and required careful handling. tom's toes were tender, and he forever exposed them where they were easily trodden upon, therefore the girl stepped cautiously and never even referred to his sacrifices, which would have cruelly embarrassed both of them. but something had to be done, and quickly; a new hand needed to mend the family fortunes. barbara determined to lend that hand. a great change had come over the town and the whole country round about, a change which the girl believed afforded her an opportunity to prove that she was not a mere daughter, not an ornament and a drag, but a real son-daughter such as tom considered her. wichita falls was overcrowded with oil men, drawn thither by the town-site strike at burkburnett, a few miles northwest, and excitement was mounting as new wells continued to come in. central north texas was nearing an epoch-making petroleum boom, for ranger, away to the south, had set the oil world by the ears, and now this new sand at "burk" lent color to the wild assertion that these north counties were completely underlaid with the precious fluid. at any rate, the price of thirsty ranch lands was somersaulting and prosperity was apparent in the homes of all barbara's girl friends. her admirers of the opposite sex could talk of little except leases and bonuses and "production"; they were almost too busy making money to call upon her. barbara knew something about oil, for she had watched the drilling of every one of those shallow wells that had kept her in college, and what is more, she knew most of the property owners in this part of the state. in that advantage she believed lay her chance of accomplishment. after a fortnight of careful consideration she decided to enter the oil business and deal in leases. "good idea," tom declared, when she had made known her plan. "the town's so full of scamps it looks like rodeo day, and most of 'em are doing well. if they can make good, it seems like an honest firm could do better." "we'll be partners, dad. you run the insurance and i'll be the lease hound." "say--" tom's eyes brightened. "i'll put a desk right alongside of mine--a little feller, just your size--and a nice lounge in the back room, where you can lay down when you're tired. you been away so long it seems like i can't have you close enough." another thought presented itself, and he manifested sudden excitement. "i tell you! i'll get a new sign painted, too! 'tom and bob parker. real estate and insurance. oil prop'ties and leases.' _gosh!_ it's a _great_ idea, son!" his smile lingered, but a moment later there came into his eyes a half-regretful light. barbara read his thought almost before he was aware of it, and, rising, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. wistfully she said, "i'm awfully sorry, too, dad--" "eh?" "--that i disappointed you so by not being a boy. but--it wasn't my fault, and maybe i'll show you that a daughter can help as much as a son." chapter iv a year before this story opens the town of ranger, texas, consisted of a weatherbeaten, run-down railroad station, a blacksmith shop, and a hitching rail, town enough, incidentally, for the limited number of people and the scanty amount of merchandise that passed through it. ranger lay in the dry belt--considered an almost entirely useless part of the state--where killing droughts were not uncommon, and where for months on end the low, flinty hills radiate heat like the rolls of a steel mill. in such times even the steep, tortuous canyons dried out and there was neither shade nor moisture in them. the few farms and ranches round about were scattered widely, and life thereon was a grim struggle against heartbreak, by reason of the gaunt, gray, ever-present specter of the drought. of late this particular region had proven itself to be one of violent extremes, of extreme dryness during which flowers failed to bloom, the grass shriveled and died, and even the trees refused to put forth leaves; or, more rarely, of extreme wetness, when the country was drowned beneath torrential rains. sometimes, during unusual winters, the heavens opened and spilled themselves, choking the narrow watercourses, washing out roads and destroying fields, changing the arid arroyos into raging river beds. at such times life for the country people was scarcely less burdensome than during the droughts, for the heavy bottom lands became quagmires, and the clay of the higher levels turned into putty or a devilish agglutinous substance that rendered travel for man or beast or vehicle almost impossible. there appeared to be no law of average here. in dry times it was a desert, lacking wholly, however, in the beauty, the mystery, and the spell of a desert; in wet times it was a gehenna of mud and slush and stickiness, and entirely minus that beauty and freshness that attends the rainy seasons in a tropic clime. it was a land peopled by a hard-bitten race of nesters--come from god knows where and for god knows why--starved in mind and body, slaves of a hideous environment from which they lacked means of escape. geologists had claimed for some time that there must be coal in these north texas counties, a contention perhaps based upon a comfortable belief in the law of compensation, upon a theory that a region so poor aboveground must of necessity contain values of some sort beneath the surface. but as for other natural resources, they scouted the belief in such. other parts of the state yielded oil, for instance, but here the formation was all wrong. who ever heard of oil in hard lime? nevertheless, petroleum was discovered, and among the fraternity that dealt in it ranger became a word of contradiction and of deep meaning. aladdin rubbed his lamp, and, lo! a magic transformation occurred; one of those thrilling dramas of a dramatic industry was played. a gypsy camp sprang up beside the blacksmith shop, and as the weeks fled by it changed into a village of wooden houses, then into a town, and soon into a city of brick and iron and concrete. the railroad became clogged with freight, a tidal wave of men broke over the town. wagons, giant motor trucks, caterpillar tractors towing long strings of trailers, lurched and groaned and creaked over the hills, following roads unfit for a horse and buggy. straddling derricks reared themselves everywhere; their feet were set in garden patches, in plowed fields, in lonely mesquite pastures, and even high up on the crests of stony ridges. one day their timbers were raw and clean, the next day they were black and greasy, advertising the fact that once again the heavy rock pressure far below had sent another fountain of fortune spraying over the top. then pipe lines were laid and unsightly tank farms were built. ranger became a mobilization point, a vast concentration camp for supplies, and amid its feverish activity there was no rest, no sundays or holidays; the work went on at top tension night and day amid a clangor of metal, a ceaseless roar of motors, a bedlam of hammers and saws and riveters. men lived in greasy clothes, breathing dust and the odors of burnt gas mainly, eating poor food and drinking warm, fetid water when they were lucky enough to get any at all. this was about the state of affairs that calvin gray found on the morning of his arrival. he and mallow had managed to secure a pullman section on the night train from dallas; the fact that they were forced to carry their own luggage from the station uptown to the restaurant where they hoped to get breakfast was characteristic of the place. en route thither they had to elbow their way through a crowd that filled the sidewalks as if on a fair day. mallow was well acquainted with the town, it appeared, and during breakfast he maintained a running fire of comment, some of which was worth listening to. "ever hear how the first discovery was made? well, the t. p. company had the whole country plastered with coal leases and finally decided to put down a fifteen-hundred-foot wildcat. the guy that ran the rig had a hunch there was oil here if he went deep enough, but he knew the company wouldn't stick, so he faked the log of the well as long as he could, then he kept on drilling, against orders--refused to open his mail, for fear he'd find he was fired and the job called off. he was a thousand feet deeper than he'd been ordered to go when--blooie! over the top she went with fourteen hundred barrels.... desdemona's the name of a camp below here, but they call it hog town. more elegant! down there the derricks actually straddle one another, and they have to board them over to keep from drowning one another out when they blow in. fellow in dallas brought in the first well, and it was so big that his stock went from a hundred dollars a share to twelve thousand. all in a few weeks. of course, he started a bank. funniest people i ever saw, that way. usually when a rube makes a winning he gambles or gets him a woman, but these hicks take their coin and buy banks.... ranger's a real town; everything wide open and the law in on the play. that makes good times. show me a camp where the gamblers play solitaire and the women take in washing and i'll show you a dead village. the joints here have big signs on the wall, '_gambling positively prohibited_,' and underneath the games are running high, wide, and fancy. refined humor, i call it.... there were nine killings one day, but that's above the average. the last time i was in town a couple of tool dressers got into a row with a laundryman--claimed they'd been overcharged six cents. it came to a shooting, and we buried all three of them. two cents apiece! that was their closing price. the cost of living is high enough, but it isn't expensive to die here." in this vein ran mallow's talk. from the first he had laid himself out to be entertaining and helpful, and gray obligingly permitted him to have his way. when they had finished breakfast, he even allowed his companion to hire an automobile and driver for him. they shook hands finally, the best of friends. mallow wished him good luck and gravely voiced the hope that he would have fewer diamonds when he returned. gray warmly thanked his companion for his many courtesies and declared they would soon meet again. thus far the trip had worked out much as gray had expected. now, as his service car left the town and joined the dusty procession of vehicles moving country-ward, he covertly studied its driver and was gratified to note that the fellow bore all the ear-marks of a thorough scoundrel. what conversation the man indulged in strengthened that impression. the briskow farm, it appeared, lay about twenty miles out, but twenty miles over oil-field roads proved to be quite a journey. during the muddy season the driver declared, it might well take a whole day to make that distance; now that the roads were dry, they could probably cover it in two or three hours, if the car held together. traffic near ranger was terrific, and how it managed to move, even at a snail's pace, was a mystery, for to sit a car was like riding a bucking horse. if there had been the slightest attempts at road building they were now invisible, and the vehicular streams followed meandering wagon trails laid down by the original inhabitants of pre-petroleum days, which had not been bettered by the ceaseless pounding of the past twelve months. up and down, over armored ridges and into sandy arroyos, along leaning hillsides and across 'dobe flats, baked brick hard by the sun, the current of travel roared and pounded with reckless disregard of tire and bolt and axle. in the main, it was a motor-driven procession. there were, to be sure, occasional teams of fine imported draft horses, but for every head of live stock there were a dozen huge trucks, and for every truck a score of passenger cars. these last were battered and gray with mud, and their dusty occupants were of a color to match, for they drove blindly through an asphyxiating cloud. even the thirsty vegetation beside the roads was coated gray, and was so tinder dry that it seemed as if a lighted match would explode it. the sun glared cruelly, and the pyramidal piles of iron pipe chained to the groaning trucks and plunging trailers were hot enough to fry eggs upon, but neither they nor the steaming radiators gave off more heat than the soil and the rocks. detours were common--testimony to man's inherent optimism--but each was worse than the other, the roadbeds everywhere were rutted, torn, broken up as if from long-continued heavy shell fire. from every ridge skeleton derricks were in sight as far as the eye could reach, the scattered ones, whose clean timbers gleamed in the sunlight, testifying to dry holes; the blackened ones, usually in clumps, indicating "production"--magic word. there were a few crossroads settlements--"hitch-rail towns"--unpainted and ramshackle, but nowhere was there an attempt at farming, for this part of texas had gone hog wild over oil. abandoned straw stacks had settled and molded, cornfields had grown up to weeds, what few head of cattle still remained lolled near the artificial surface tanks, all but dried into mud holes. it was a farm of this character that gray's driver finally pointed out as the briskow ranch. the house, an unsightly story-and-a-half affair, stood at the back of what had once been a cultivated field, and the place was distinctive only in the fact that it gave evidence of a good water well, or a capacious reservoir, in the form of a vivid green garden patch and a few flourishing peach trees immediately behind the residence--welcome relief to the eye. nobody answered gray's knock at the front door, so he walked around the house. over the garden fence, grown thick with brambles, he beheld two feminine figures, or rather two faded sunbonnets topping two pairs of shoulders, and as he drew nearer he saw that one woman was bent and slow moving, while the other was a huge creature, wide of hip and deep of bosom, whose bare arms, burnt to a rich golden brown, were like those of a blacksmith, and who wielded her heavy hoe as if it were a toy. she was singing in a thin, nasal, uncultivated voice. evidently they were the briskow "help," therefore gray made his presence known and inquired for the master or mistress of the place. the elder woman turned, exposing a shrewd, benevolent face, and after a moment of appraisal said, "i'm miz' briskow." "indeed!" the visitor smiled his best and announced the nature of his errand. "lawsy me!" mrs. briskow planted her hoe in the soil and turned her back upon gray. "allie! yore pa has gone an' done it again. here's another of his fool notions." the women regarded each other silently, their facial expressions hidden beneath their bonnets; then the mother exposed her countenance a second time, and said, "mister, this is allegheny, our girl." miss allegheny briskow lifted her head, nodded shortly, and stared over the hoe handle at gray. her gaze was one of frank curiosity, and he returned it in kind, for he had never beheld a creature like her. gray was a tall man, but this girl's eyes met his on a level, and her figure, if anything, was heavier than his. nor was its appearance improved by her shapeless garment of faded wash material. her feet were incased in a pair of men's cheap "brogans" that gray could have worn; drops of perspiration gleamed upon her face, and her hair, what little was visible beneath the sunbonnet, was wet and untidy. altogether she presented a picture such as some painter of peasant types might have sketched. garbed appropriately, in shawl and sabots, she would have passed for some european plowwoman of amazonian proportions. allegheny! it was a suitable name, indeed, for such a mountainous person. her size was truly heroic; she would have been grotesque, ridiculous, except for a certain youthful plasticity and a suggestion of tremendous vigor and strength that gave her dignity. her ample, ill-fitting dress failed to hide the fact that her robust body was well, even splendidly molded. gray's attention, however, was particularly challenged by the girl's face and eyes. it was a handsome countenance, cut in large, bold features, but of a stony immobility; the eyes were watchful, brooding, sullen. they regarded him with mingled defiance and shyness for an instant, then they avoided his; she averted her gaze; she appeared to be meditating ignominious flight. the mother abandoned her labor, wiped her hands upon her skirt, and said, with genuine hospitality: "come right into the house and rest yourself. pa and buddy'll be home at dinner time." by now a fuller significance of this stranger's presence had struck home and she laughed softly as she led the way toward the dwelling. "di'mon's for allie and me, eh? land sakes! pa's up to something new every day, lately. i wonder what next." as gray stepped aside for the younger woman to precede him, his curiosity must have been patent, for allegheny became even more self-conscious than before, and her face flamed a fiery red. as yet she had not spoken. there were three rooms to the briskow residence, bedrooms all, with a semi-detached, ramshackle, whitewashed kitchen at the rear and separated from the main house by a narrow "gallery." into the front chamber, which evidently did service also as a parlor, mrs. briskow led the way. by now she was in quite a flutter of excitement. for the guest she drew forth the one rocking chair, a patent contraption, the rockers of which were held upon a sort of track by stout spiral springs. its seat and back were of cheap carpet material stretched over a lacquered frame, and these she hastily dusted with her apron; then she seated herself upon the edge of the bed and beamed expectantly. allegheny had carelessly brushed back her sunbonnet, exposing a mane of damp, straight, brown hair of a quantity and length to match her tremendous vigor of limb; but she remained standing at the foot of the bed, too ill at ease to take a chair or perhaps too agitated to see one. she was staring straight ahead, her eyes fixed a foot or two over the caller's head. gray ignored her manifest embarrassment, made a gingerly acquaintance with the chair of honor, and then devoted his attention to the elder woman. at every move the coiled springs under him strained and snapped alarmingly. "we don't often see jewelry peddlers," the mother announced; "but, sakes alive! things is changin' so fast we get a new surprise most every day. i s'pose you got those rings in that valise?" she indicated gray's stout leather sample case. "precisely," said he. "if you have time i'd like to show them to you." mrs. briskow's bent figure stirred, she uttered a throaty chuckle, and her weary face, lined with the marks of toil and hardship, flushed faintly. her misshapen hands tightly clasped themselves and her faded eyes began to sparkle. gray felt a warm thrill of compassion at the agitation of this kindly, worn old soul, and he rose quickly. as he gained his feet that amazing chair behaved in a manner wholly unusual and startling; relieved of strain, the springs snapped and whined, there was a violent oscillation of the back, a shudder convulsed the thing, and it sprang after him, much as a tame rabbit thumps its feet upon the ground in an effort to bluff a kitten. the volunteer salesman spread out his dazzling wares upon the patchwork counterpane, then stepped back to observe the effect. ma briskow's hands fluttered toward the gems, then reclasped themselves in her lap; she bent closer and regarded them fixedly. the juno-like daughter also stared down at the display with fascination. after a moment allegheny spoke, and her speaking voice was in pleasing contrast to the nasal notes of that interrupted song. "are them _real_ di'mon's?" she queried, darkly. "oh yes! and most of them are of very fine quality." "pa never told us a word," breathed the mother. "he's _allus_ up to some trick." "please examine them. i want you to look them all over," gray urged. mrs. briskow acted upon this invitation only after she had dried her hands, and then with trepidation. gingerly, reverently she removed a ring from its resting place and held it up to the light. "my! ain't it sparkly?" she gasped, after an ecstatic pause. again the girl spoke, her eyes fixed defiantly upon gray. "you could fool us easy, 'cause we never saw _real_ di'mon's. we've allus been too pore." the man nodded. "i hope you're not disappointed in them and i hope you are going to see and to own a great many finer ones. "we've never seen noth--anything, nor been anywhere, yet." it was mrs. briskow speaking. "but we're goin'. we're goin' lots of places and we're goin' to see everything wuth seein', so pa says. anyhow, the children is. first off, pa's goin' to take us to the mountains." the mother faced the visitor at this announcement and for a moment she appeared to be gazing at a vision, for her wrinkled countenance was glorified. "you've seen 'em, haven't you, mister?" "mountains? a great many." allegheny broke in: "i dunno's these di'mon's is just what _i_ expected 'em to be. they are and--they ain't. i'm kind of disapp'inted." gray smiled. "that is true of most things that we anticipate or aspire to. it's the tragedy of accomplishment--to find that our rewards are never quite up to our expectations." "do they cost much?" "oh, decidedly! the prices are all plainly marked. please look them over." ma briskow did as urged, but the shock was paralyzing; delight, admiration, expectancy, gave place to horrified amazement at the figures upon the tags. she shook her head slowly and made repeated sounds of disapproval. "tse! tse! tse! why, your pa's crazy! plumb crazy!" although the mother's principal emotion for the moment was aroused by the price marks on the price tags, allegheny paid little attention to them and began vainly fitting ring after ring to her fingers. all were too small, however; most of them refused to pass even the first joint, and gray realized now what gus briskow had meant when he wrote for rings "of large sises." eventually the girl found one that slipped into place, and this she regarded with complacent admiration. "this one'll do for me," she declared. "and it's a whopper!" gray took her hand in his; as yet it had not been greatly distorted by manual labor, but the nails were dull and cracked and ragged and they were inlaid in deep mourning. "i don't believe you'll like that mounting," he said, gently. "it's what we call a man's ring. this is the kind women usually wear." he held up a thin platinum band of delicate workmanship which allegheny examined with frank disdain. [image: "this one'll do for me," she declared. "and it's a whopper!"] "pshaw! i'd bust that the first time i hoed a row of 'taters," she declared. "i got to have things stout, for me." "but," gray protested, in even a milder voice, "you probably wouldn't want to wear expensive jewelry in the garden." miss briskow held her hand high, admiring the play of light upon the facets of the splendid jewel, then she voiced a complacent thought that has been variously expressed by other women better circumstanced than she--"if we can afford to buy 'em, i reckon we can afford to wear 'em." not until gray had suggested that her days of work in the fields were probably about ended did the girl's expression change. then indeed her interest was arrested. she regarded him with a sudden quickening of imagination; she revolved the novel idea in her mind. "from what my driver has told me about the briskow farm," he ran on, "you won't have to work at anything, unless you care to." allie continued to weigh this new thought in her mind; that it intrigued her was plain, but she made no audible comment. chapter v for perhaps half an hour the women tried on one piece of jewelry after another, exclaiming, admiring, arguing, then the mother realized with a start that meal time was near and that the menfolks would soon be home. leaving allie to entertain their guest, she hurried out, and the sound of splitting kindling, the clatter of stove lids, the rattle of utensils came from the kitchen. gray retired to the patent rocker, miss briskow settled herself upon a straight-backed chair and folded her capable hands in her lap; an oppressive silence fell upon the room. evidently the duties of hostess lay with crushing weight upon the girl, for her face became stony, her cheeks paled, her eyes glazed; the power of speech completely failed her and she answered gray with nods or shakes of her head. the most that he could elicit from her were brief "yeps" and "nopes." it was not unlike a "spirit reading," or a ouija-board seance. he told himself, in terms of the oil fields, that here was a dry well--that the girl was a "duster." having exhausted the usual commonplace topics in the course of a monologue that induced no reaction whatever, he voiced a perfectly natural remark about the wonder of sudden riches. he was, in a way, thinking aloud of the changes wrought in drab lives like the briskows' by the discovery of oil. he was surprised when allegheny responded: "ma and me stand it all right, but it's an awful strain on pa," said she. "indeed?" the girl nodded. "he's got _more_ nutty notions." gray endeavored to learn the nature of pa's recently acquired eccentricities, but allie was flushing and paling as a result of her sudden excursion into the audible. eventually she trembled upon the verge of speech once more, then she took another desperate plunge. "he says folks are going to laugh _at_ us or _with_ us, and--and rich people have got to _act rich_. they got to be elegant." she laughed loudly, abruptly, and the explosive nature of the sound startled her as greatly as it did her hearer. "he's going to get somebody to teach buddy and me how to behave." "i think he's right," gray said, quietly. "why, he's sent to fort worth for a piano, already, and for a lady to come out for a coupla days and show me how to play it!" there was another black hiatus in the conversation. "we haven't got a spare room, but--i'm quick at learnin' tunes. she could bunk in with me for a night or two." gray eyed the speaker suspiciously, but it was evident that she was in sober earnest, and the tragedy of such profound ignorance smote the man sharply. here was a girl of at least average intelligence and of sensitive makeup; a girl with looks, too, in spite of her size, and no doubt a full share of common sense--perhaps even talents of some sort--yet with the knowledge of a child. for the first time he realized what playthings of fate are men and women, how completely circumstance can make or mar them, and what utter paralysis results from the strangling grip of poverty. history hints that during the middle ages there flourished an association known as comprachicos--"child-buyers"--which traded in children. the comprachicos bought little human beings and disfigured their features, distorted their bodies, fashioned them into ludicrous, grotesque, or hideous monstrosities for king and populace to laugh at, and then resold them. soft, immature faces were made into animal likenesses; tender, unformed bodies were put into wicker forms or porcelain vases and allowed to grow; then when they had become things of compressed flesh and twisted bone, the wicker was cut, the vase was broken, leaving a man in the shape of a bottle or a mug. that is precisely what environment does. in the case of allegheny briskow, poverty, the drought, the grinding hardships of these hard-scrabble texas counties, had dwarfed the intellect, the very soul of a splendid young animal. or so, at least, gray told himself. it was a thought that evoked profound consideration. now that the girl was beginning to lose her painful embarrassment, she showed to somewhat better advantage and no longer impressed him, as bovine, stolid, almost stupid; he could not but note again her full young figure, her well-shaped, well-poised head, and her regular features, and the pity of it seemed all the greater by reason thereof. he tried to visualize her perfectly groomed, clad in a smart gown molded over a well-fitting corset, with her feet properly shod and her hair dressed--but the task was beyond him. probably she had never worn a corset, never seen a pair of silk stockings. he thought, too, of what was in store for her and wondered how she would fit into the new world she was about to enter. not very well, he feared. might not this prove to be the happiest period of all her new life, he asked himself. as yet the wonder and the glory of the new estate left room in her imagination for little else; the mold was broken, but the child was not conscious of its bottle shape. nevertheless the shape was there. when that child learned the truth, when it heard the laughter and felt the ridicule, what then? he could not bring himself to envy allegheny briskow. "first off, ma and me are goin' over to dallas to do some tradin'," the girl was saying. "after that we're goin' to the mountains." "your mother mentioned mountains." "yep. her and pa have allus been crazy about mountains, but they never seen 'em. that's the first thing ma said when number one blowed in. when we saw that oil go over the crown block, and when they told us that black stuff was really oil, ma busted out cryin' and said she'd see the mountains, after all--then she wouldn't mind if she died. pa he cried, too, we'd allus been so pore--you see, ma's kind of marked about mountains--been that way since she was a girl. she cuts out stories and pictures of 'em. and that's how me and buddy came to be named allegheny and ozark. but we never expected to _see_ 'em. the drought burned us out too often." allegheny and ozark. quaint names. "times must have been hard." the remark was intended only as a spur. "_hard!_" there was a pause; slowly the girl's eyes began to smolder, and as she went on in her deliberate way, memory set a tragic shadow over her face. "i'll say they was hard! nobody but us nesters knows what hard times is. out west of here they went three years without rain, and all around here people was starvin'. grown folks was thin and tired, and children was sickly--they was too peaked to play. why, we took in a hull family--wagon-folks. their hosses died and they couldn't go on, so we kep' 'em--'til _we_ burned out. i don't know how we managed to get by except that pa and buddy are rustlers and i can do more 'n a hired man. we _never_ had enough to eat. stuff just wouldn't grow. the stock got bonier and bonier and finally died, 'count of no grass and the tanks dryin' out. and all the time the sun was a-blazin' and the dust was a-blowin and the clouds would roll up and then drift away and the sun would come out hotter 'n ever. day after day, month after month, we waited--eighteen, i think it was. people got so they wouldn't pray no more, and the preachers moved away. i guess we was as bad off as them pore folks in beljum. why, even the rattlesnakes pulled out of the country! somehow the papers got hold of it and bime-by some grub was shipped in and give around, but--us briskows didn't get none. pa'd die before he'd beg." the girl was herself now; she was talking naturally, feelingly, and her voice was both deep and pleasing. "the thinner ma got, the more she talked about the mountains, where there was water--cool, clear water in the criks. and timber on the hills--timber with green leaves on it. and grass that you could lay down in and smell. i guess ma was kind of feverish. we was drier 'n a lime-burner's boot when the rain did come. i'll never forget--we all stood out in it and soaked it up. it was wonderful, to get all wet and soaky, and not with sweat." "then on top of that the oil came, too. it _must_ have been wonderful." "yep. now we're rich. and buyin' di'mon's and pianos and goin' to dallas for pretty fixin's. seems kinda dreamy." allegheny briskow closed her eyes, her massive crown of damp, disordered hair drooped backward and for a moment gray was able, unobserved, to study her. she had revealed herself to him, suddenly, in the space of a few moments, and the revelation added such poignancy to his previous thoughts that he regarded her with a wholly new sympathy. there was nothing dull about this girl. on the contrary, she had intelligence and feeling. there had been a rich vibrance in her voice as she told of that frightful ordeal; a dimness had come into her eyes as she spoke of her mother gabbling feverishly of the green hills and babbling brooks; she had yearned maternally at mention of those wretched little children. no, there was a sincere emotional quality concealed in this young giantess, and a sensitiveness quite unexpected. gray remained silent until she opened her eyes; then he said: "when you and your mother come to dallas to do your shopping, won't you let me take you around to the right shops and see that you get the right things?" then, prompted by the girl's quick resentment, he added, hastily, "--at the right prices?" allie's face cleared. "why, that's right nice of you!" she declared. "i--i reckon we'd be glad to." gus briskow was a sandy, angular man; a ring of air holes cut in the crown of his faded felt hat showed a head of hair faded to match the color of his headgear; his greasy overalls were tucked into boots, and a ragged joseph's coat covered his flannel shirt. both the man and his makeup were thoroughly typical of this part of the country, except in one particular--pa briskow possessed the brightest, the shrewdest pair of blue eyes that calvin gray had ever seen, and they were surrounded by a network of prepossessing wrinkles. he came directly in to greet his visitor, then said: "i never expected you'd come 'way out here an' bring your plunder with you. ma says you got a hull gripful o' di'mon's." "i have, indeed." gray pointed to the glittering display still spread out upon the varicolored counterpane. briskow approached the bed and gazed curiously, silently down at the treasure, then his face broke into a sunshiny smile. he wiped his hands upon his trousers legs and picked up a ring. but instead of examining the jewel, he looked at the price mark, after which his smile broadened. ozark had entered behind his father, and his sister introduced him now. he was a year or two younger than allegheny, but cast in the same heroic mold. they formed a massive pair of children indeed, and, as in her case, a sullen distrust of strangers was inherent in him. he stared coldly, resentfully, at gray, mumbled an unintelligible greeting, then rudely turned his back upon the visitor and joined his father. the elder briskow spoke first, and it was evident that he feared to betray lack of conservatism, for he said, with admirable restraint: "likely-lookin' lot of trinkets, eh, bud?" bud grunted. after a moment he inquired of gray, "how much is that hull lot wuth, mister?" "close to a hundred thousand dollars." brother and sister exchanged glances; the father considered briefly, smilingly, then he said, "with oil at three an' a quarter, it wouldn't take long for a twelve-hundred bar'ler to get the hull caboodle, would it?" "is your well producing twelve hundred barrels a day?" "huh!" briskow, junior, grinned at his sister, exposing a mouth full of teeth as white and as sound as railroad crockery, but his next words were directed at gray: "we got _four_ wells and the p'orest one is makin' twelve hundred bar'l." the guests' mental calculations as to the briskow royalties were interrupted by an announcement that dinner was ready, whereupon the father announced: "mister, it looks like you'd have to stay overnight with us, 'cause i got important business after dinner an' i wouldn't trust ma to pick out no jewelry by herself--them prices would skeer her to death. we're ignorant people and we ain't used to spendin' money, so it'll take time for us to make up our minds. kin you wait?" "i'll stay as long as you'll keep me," gray declared, heartily. a moment later, having learned that a place at the table had been set for his driver as well as himself, gray stepped out to summon the man and to effect the necessary change in his arrangements. he was not surprised to find the chauffeur with nose flattened against a pane of the front-room window, his hands cupped over his eyes. ignoring the fellow's confusion at being discovered, gray told him of his change of plan and instructed him to drive back to ranger and to return late the following afternoon. then he led the way toward the kitchen. that stay at the briskows' turned out to be less irksome than the visitor had anticipated, for the afternoon was spent with buddy examining the briskow wells and others near by. it was an interesting experience, and gray obtained a deal of first-hand information that he believed would come in handy. buddy's first mistrust was not long in passing, and, once gray had penetrated his guard, the boy was won completely, the pendulum swung to the opposite extreme, and erelong suspicion changed to liking, then to approval, and at last to open, extravagant admiration. and gray liked the youthful giant, too, once the latter had dropped his hostility and had become his natural self, for ozark was a lad with temper and with temperament. they got along together swimmingly; in fact, they grew thicker than thieves in the course of time. the elder man soon became conscious of the fact that he was being studied, analyzed, even copied--the sincerest form of flattery--and it pleased his vanity. buddy's mind was thirsty, his curiosity was boundless, questions popped out of him at every step, and every answer, every bit of information or of philosophy that fell from the visitor's lips he pounced upon, avidly examined, then carefully put away for future use. he was like a magpie filling its nest. gray's personal habits, mannerisms, tricks--all were grist for buddy's mill. the stranger's suit, for instance, was a curiosity to the boy, who could not understand wherein it was so different from any other he had ever seen; young briskow attributed that difference to the fact that it had probably come from a bigger store than any he had known. it amazed him to learn, in answer to a pointed question, that it had been cut and fitted to the wearer by expert workmen. it disappointed him bitterly to be informed that there was not another one exactly like it which he could buy. and the visitor's silk shirt, with double cuffs and a monogram on the sleeve! fancy "fixin's" like this, buddy confessed, he had always associated with womenfolks, but if gray wore them there could be nothing disgraceful, nothing effeminate about the practice. there was a decided thrill in the prospect of possessing such finery, all initialed with huge, silken o. b's. life was presenting wholly novel and exciting possibilities to the youth. when gray offered him a cigarette, buddy rudely took the gold case out of his hand and examined it, then he laughed in raucous delight. "gosh! i never knew men had _purty_ things. i--i'm goin' to get me one like that." "do you like it?" "gee! it's _swell_!" "good! i'll make you a present of it." buddy stared at the speaker in speechless surprise. "what--what for?" he finally stammered. "because you admire it." "why--it's solid gold, ain't it?" "to be sure." "how much d'it cost?" "my dear fellow," gray protested, "you shouldn't ask questions like that. you embarrass me." buddy examined the object anew, then he inquired, "say, why'd you offer to gimme this?" "i've just told you." gray was becoming impatient. "it is a custom in some countries to present an object to one who is polite enough to admire it." "nobody never give _me_ a present," buddy said. "not one that i wanted. i never had _nothing_ that i didn't have to have and couldn't get along without. this cigareet case is worth more 'n all the stuff i ever owned, an' i'm sure obliged to you." he replaced the article in gray's hand. "eh? won't you accept it? why not?" "i--oh, i dunno." gray pondered this refusal for a moment before saying, "perhaps you think i'm--trying to make a good impression on you, so you'll buy some diamonds?" "mebbe." buddy averted his eyes. he was in real distress. "um-m! i ought to punch your head." gray slipped the case into young briskow's pocket. "i don't have to bribe people. some day you'll realize that i like you." "_honest?_" "cross my heart." the boy laughed in frank delight, his brown cheeks colored, his eyes sparkled. "gosh!" said he. "i--like _you!_" for some time thereafter he remained red and silent, but he kept one big hand in the pocket where lay the gold cigarette case. there was a wordless song in buddy briskow's heart, for--he had made a friend. and such a friend! the briskow children possessed each other's fullest confidence, hence ozark took the first occasion to show his gift to allegheny, and to tell her in breathless excitement all about that wonderful afternoon. "he said he'd a mind to lick me, an' i bet he could 'a' done it, too," the boy concluded. "lick you? hunh!" "oh, he's hard-boiled! that's why i like him. he's been 'round the world and speaks furrin language like a natif. that suit of clo's was _made_ for him, an' he's got thirty others, all better 'n this one. shoes, too! made special, in new york. forty dollars a pair!" "what's he doin' here if he's so rich?" it was the doubting female of the species speaking. "drummers is terrible liars." buddy flew to the defense of his hero. "he's doin' this to he'p a friend. told me all about it. i'm goin' to have thirty suits--" "shoes don't cost forty dollars. _clo's_ don't cost that much." allie regarded her brother keenly, understandingly, then she said, somberly, "it ain't no use, buddy." "what ain't?" "it ain't no use to wish. mebbe you can have thirty suits--if the wells hold out, but they won't look like his. and me, too. we're too big, buddy, an' the more money we got, the more clo's we put on, the more folks is goin' to laugh at us. it shames me to go places with anybody but you." "_he_ wouldn't laugh. he's been all over the world," the boy asserted. then, after some deliberation, "i bet he's seen bigger people than us." as a matter of fact, allegheny's sensitiveness about her size had been quickly apparent to gray, and during that day he did his utmost to overcome it, but with what success he could not know. buddy was his, body and soul, that much was certain; he made the conquest doubly secure by engaging the young behemoth in a scuffle and playfully putting him on his back. defeat, at other hands than gray's, would have enraged ozark to the point of frenzy, it would have been considered by him an indignity and a disgrace. now, however, he looked upon it as a natural and wholly satisfactory demonstration of his idol's supreme prowess, and he roared with delight at being bested. gray promptly taught him the wrestling trick by which he had accomplished the feat, and flattered the boy immensely by refusing to again try his skill. the older man, when he really played, could enter into sport with tremendous zest and he did so now; he taught buddy trick after trick; they matched each other in feats of strength and agility. they wound up finally on opposite sides of the briskow kitchen table, elbows planted, fingers interlocked, straining furiously in that muscle-racking, joint-cracking pastime of the lumber camps known as "twisting arms." here again gray was victorious, until he showed buddy how to gain greater leverage by changing the position of his wrist and by slightly altering his grip, whereupon the boy's superior strength told. they were red in the face, out of breath, and soaked with perspiration, when pa briskow drove up in his expensive new touring car. by this time buddy's admiration had turned to adulation; he had passed under the yoke and he gloried shamelessly in his captive state. at supper time he appeared with his hair wetly combed in imitation of gray's. he wore a necktie, too, and into it he had fastened a cheap brass stickpin, much as gray wore his. during the meal he watched how the guest used his knife and fork and made awkward attempts to do likewise, but a table fork was an instrument which, heretofore, buddy had looked upon as a weapon of pure offense, like a whaler's harpoon, and conveniently designed either for spearing edibles beyond his reach or for retrieving fragments of meat lurking between his back teeth. he even did some hasty manicuring under the edge of the table with his jack-knife. pa briskow was scarcely less observant than his son. he watched gray's every move; he sounded him out adroitly; he pondered his lightest word. after the supper things had been cleared away and the dishes washed, the entire family adjourned to the front room and again examined the jewelry. it was an absorbing task, they did not hurry it. not until the following afternoon, in fact, did they finally make their selections, and then they were guided almost wholly by the good taste of their guest. gray did not exploit them. on the contrary, his effort was to limit their extravagance; but in this he had little success, for pa briskow had decided to indulge his generous impulses to the full and insisted upon so doing. the check he finally wrote was one of five figures. by this time the visitor had become aware of arousing a queer reaction in allegheny briskow. he had overcome her diffidence early enough; he had unsealed her lips; he had obtained an insight into her character; but once that was done, the girl retired within herself again and he could get nothing more out of her. he would have believed that she actually disliked him, had it not been for the fact that whatever he said, she took as gospel, that wherever he chanced to be there she was, her ears open, her somber, meditative eyes fixed upon him. evidently she did not actually dislike him; he decided finally that she was studying him, striving to analyze and to weigh him to her own complete satisfaction before trusting him further than she had. when it drew near the time for him to leave, and he announced that the driver of his hired car had been instructed to return for him, there was protest, loud and earnest, from the briskows, father and son. buddy actually sulked at being denied the pleasure of driving his hero to town in the new car, and told about a smooth place on a certain detour where he could "get her up to sixty mile an hour." "if it was longer, she'd do a hundred," he declared. pa briskow was worried for the security of the diamonds, and assured gray that it was unsafe to trust those service-car drivers. but the latter, seeing a threat to his carefully matured plans, refused to listen. "there's one thing you can do for me," he told them. "you can give me a pint of cream." "cream? what for?" the family regarded him with amazement. "i'm fond of it. if you have no cream, milk will do." "pshaw! i'll put up a hull basket of lunch for you," mrs. briskow declared. "buddy, go kill a rooster, an' you, allie, get them eggs out of the nest in the garden, an' a jar of them peach preserves, while i make up a pan of biscuits." protest was unavailing. when the others had hurried away, pa briskow said: "i been studyin' you, mister gray, and i got you down as a first-class man. when ma and allie come over to dallas to get rigged out, i'd like you to help 'em. they 'ain't never been fu'ther from home than cisco--that's thirty mile. i'll pay you for your time." gray's hearty acceptance of the first and his prompt refusal of the second proposal pleased the speaker. "bein' rich is mighty fine, but--" gus briskow shook his head doubtfully. "it takes a lot of thinkin', and i ain't used to thinkin'. some day, mebbe, i'll get you to give _me_ a hand in figgerin' out some worries." "business worries?" "no. i got enough of them, an' more comin', but it ain't that. we're goin' to have a heap of money, and"--he looked up with straightforward eyes--"we ain't goin' to lose it, if i have my way. we've rubbed along, half starved, all our lives, an' done without things till we're--well, look at us! i reckon we've made you laugh. oh, i bet we have! ma an' me can stand it, but, mister, i don't want folks to laugh at my children, and there's other things i don't want to happen to 'em. buddy's a wild hoss and he's got a streak of the old nick in him. and allie ain't broke no better 'n him. i got a feelin' there may be trouble ahead, an'--sometimes i 'most wish we'd never had no oil in texas." chapter vi "well, did you land them hicks?" it was gray's driver speaking. through the gloom of early evening he was guiding his car back toward ranger. the road was the same they had come, but darkness had invested it with unfamiliar perils, or so it seemed, for the headlights threw every rock and ridge into bold relief and left the holes filled with mysterious shadows; the vehicle strained, its motor raced, its gears clashed noisily as it rocked along like a dory in a boisterous tide rip. only now and then did a few rods of smooth going permit the chauffeur to take his attention from the streak of illumination ahead long enough to light another cigarette, a swift maneuver, the dexterity of which bespoke long practice. "yes. and i made a good sale," the passenger declared. with pride he announced the size of the briskow check. "j'ever see a dame the size of that gal?" a short laugh issued from the driver. "she'd clean up in vaudeville, wouldn't she? why, she could lift a ton, in harness. and hoein' the garden, with their coin! it's like a woman i heard of: they got a big well on their farm and she came to town to do some shoppin'; somebody told her she'd ought to buy a present for her old man, so she got him a new handle for the ax. _gawd!_" a few miles farther on the fellow confessed: "i wasn't crazy about comin' for you to-night. not after i got a flash at what's in that valise." "no?" "you're takin' a chance, stranger." "nothing new about that." gray remained unperturbed. his left arm was behind the driver; with it he clung rigidly to the back of the seat as the car plunged and rolled. "frequently we are in danger when we least suspect it. now you, for instance." "me?" the man at the wheel shot a quick glance at his fare. "you probably take more chances than you dream of." "how so?" "um-m! these roads are a menace to life and limb; the country is infested with robbers--" "oh, sure! that's what i had in mind. joy-ridin' at night with a hatful of diamonds is my idea of a sucker's amusement. of course, we won't 'get it'--" "of course! one never does." "sure! but if we should, there's just one thing to do." "indeed?" gray was pleasantly inquisitive, but it was plain that he suffered no apprehensions. "and that is--?" "sit tight and take your medicine." "i never take medicine." the chauffeur shrugged his shoulders. "well, i do, when it's put down my throat. i _been_ stuck up." "really!" "twice. tame as a house cat, me--both times. i s'pose i'll get nicked again sometime." "and you won't offer any resistance?" "not a one, cull." "i'm relieved to be assured of that." for a second time the driver flashed a glance at his companion. it was a peculiar remark and voiced in a queer tone. "yes? why?" "because--" gray slightly shifted his position, there was a movement of his right hand--the one farthest away from the man at the wheel--and simultaneously his left arm slipped from the back of the seat and tightly encircled the latter's waist. he finished in a wholly unfamiliar voice, "because, my good man, you are now held up for the third time, and it would distress me to have to kill you." the driver uttered a loud grunt, for something sharp and hard had been thrust deeply into that soft, sensitive region overlying his liver, and now it was held there. it was unnecessary for gray to order the car stopped; its brakes squealed, it ceased its progress as abruptly as if its front wheels had fetched up against a stone wall. "hey! what the--?" "don't try to 'heel' me with your elbow," gray warned, sharply. "now, up with 'em--you know. that's nice." the faces of the men were close together. gray's was blazing, the driver's was stiff with amazement and stamped with an incredulous grimace. paralyzed for the moment with astonishment, he made no resistance, not even when he felt that long muscular left arm relax and the hand at the end of it go searching over his pockets. gray was grim, mocking; some vibrant, evil quality to his voice suggested extreme malignity at full cock, like that unseen weapon the muzzle of which was buried beneath the driver's short ribs. "ah! you go armed, i see. a shoulder holster, as i suspected. i knew you had nothing on this side." seizing his victim's upstretched right hand with his own left, he gave it a sudden fierce wrench that all but snapped the wrist, and at the same instant he reached across and snatched the concealed weapon from its resting place. he flung the chauffeur's body away from him; there was a sharp click as he swiftly jammed the barrel of the automatic back and let it fly into place. the entire maneuver had been deftly executed, even yet the object of the assault was speechless. "now then"--the passenger faced about in his seat and showed his teeth in a smile--"it is customary to permit the condemned to enjoy the last word. what have you to say for yourself?" "i--got this to say. it's a hell of a joke--" the man exploded. "do i act as if i were joking?" "if you think it's funny to jab a gun in a man's belly when he ain't lookin'--" "a gun? my simple friend, you have--or had--the only gun in this party, and you may thank whatever gods you worship that you didn't try to use it, for--i would have been rough with you. oh, very rough! i might even have made you eat it. now, inasmuch as you may be tempted to embellish this story with some highly imaginary details, i prefer that you know the truth. this is the 'gun' i used to stick you up." with a rigidly outthrust thumb gray prodded the driver in the side. "simple, isn't it? and no chance for accidents." the speaker's shoulders were shaking. "well, i'll be damned!" "not a doubt of it!" chuckled the other. "especially if you follow in the course you have chosen. and a similar fate will overtake your pal, mallow. by the way, is that his right name?... never mind, i know him as mallow. a shallow, trusting man, and, i hope, a better judge of diamonds than of character. as for me, i look deeper than the surface and am seldom deceived in people--witness your case, for example. i knew you at once for a crook. it might save you several miles of bad walking to tell me where mallow is waiting to high-jack me.... no?" "i dunno what you're ravin' about," growled the unhappy owner of the automobile. "but, believe me, i'll have you pinched for this." "how sharper than a serpent's tooth is ingratitude! and what bad taste to prattle of prosecution. i sha'n't steal your car, it needs too much overhauling. and i abominate cheap machines. it is true that i'm one pistol to the good, but in view of the law against carrying lethal weapons, surely you won't prefer charges against me for removing it from your person. oh, not that! it seems to me that i'm treating you handsomely, for i shall even pay you the agreed price for this trip, provided only you tell me where you expect to meet mr. mallow." "go to hell!" "very well. oblige me now by getting out.... and make it snappy!" the driver did as directed. gray pocketed the automatic, slipped in behind the steering wheel, and drove away into the night, followed by loud and earnest objurgations. he was still smiling cheerfully when, a mile farther on, he brought the car to a stop and clambered out. passing forward into the illumination of the headlights, he busied himself there for several moments before resuming his journey. for the first time in a long while calvin gray was thoroughly enjoying himself. here was an enterprise with all the possibilities of a first-class adventure, and of the sort, moreover, that he was peculiarly qualified to cope with. it possessed enough hazard to lend it the requisite zest, it was sufficiently unusual to awaken his keenest interest; he experienced an agreeable exaltation of spirit, but no misgivings whatever as to the outcome, for he held the commanding cards. little remained, it seemed to him, except to play them carefully and to take the tricks as they fell. he had not the slightest notion of permitting mallow to lay hands upon that case of jewels. there was no mistaking the road, but gray did not bother to stick to the main-traveled course when detours or short cuts promised better going, for he knew full well that mallow would be waiting, if at all, in some place he was bound to pass. it was an ideal country for a holdup; lonely and lawless. derrick lights twinkled over the mesquite tops, and occasionally the flaming red mouth of some boiler gaped at him, or the foliage was illuminated by the glare of gas flambeaux--vertical iron pipes at the ends of which the surplus from neighboring wells was consumed in what seemed a reckless wastage. occasionally, too, a belated truck thundered past, but the traffic was pretty thin. at last, however, he beheld some distance ahead the white glare of two stationary lights. the road was narrow and sandy here, and shut in by banks of underbrush; as he drew nearer a figure stepped out and stood in silhouette until his own lights picked it up. the figure waved its arms, and called attention to the car behind--evidently broken down. here, then, the drama was to be played. gray brought his machine on at such a pace and so close to the man in the road that the latter was forced to step aside, then he swung it far to the right, brought it back with a quick twist of the steering wheel, and killed his motor. he was now in the ditch and outside the blinding glare of the opposing headlights; the stalled machine was in the full illumination of his own lamps. contrary to gray's expectations, the car in the road was empty and the man who had hailed him was a stranger. as the latter approached, he inquired: "what's wrong?" "out of gas, i guess. anyhow--i--" the speaker noted that there was but one new arrival, where he had expected two, and the discovery appeared to nonplus him momentarily. he stammered, involuntarily he turned his head. gray looked in the same direction, but without changing his position, and out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a new figure emerging from the shadows behind him. very clever! but, at least, his unexpected maneuver with his own car had made it necessary for both men to approach him from the same side. while the first stranger continued to mumble, gray sat motionless, keenly conscious, meanwhile, of that other presence closing in upon him from the rear. he simulated a violent start when a second voice cried: "don't move. i've got you covered." "my god!" gray twisted about in his seat and exposed a startled countenance. a masked man was standing close to the left running board, and he held a revolver near gray's head; the apparition appeared to paralyze the unhappy traveler, for he still tightly clutched the steering wheel with both hands. "just sit still." the cloth of the mask blew outward as the words issued; through the slits two malevolent eyes gleamed. "act pretty, and you won't get hurt." "why! it's--it's mr. _mallow_!" gray hitched himself farther around in his seat and leaned forward in justifiable amazement. "as i live it's you, mallow!" both highwaymen were in front of him, now, and shoulder to shoulder; he made sure there were no others behind them. "shut up!" mallow snapped. "frisk him, tony, and--" the command was cut short by a startled, throaty cry--a hoarse sound of astonishment and rage--and simultaneously a strange, a phenomenal thing occurred. an unseen hand appeared to strike down both mallow and his accomplice where they stood, and it smote them, moreover, with appalling force and terrifying effect. one moment they were in complete mastery of the situation, the next they were groveling in the road, coughing, sneezing, barking, retching, blaspheming poisonously. baffled fury followed their first surprise. mallow tore the mask from his face and groped blindly for the weapon he had dropped, but before he could recover it, pain mastered him and he fell back, clawing at himself, rubbing at his eyes that had been stricken sightless. he yelled. tony yelled. then upon the startled night there burst a duet of squeals and curses, a hideous medley of mingled pain and fright, at once terrifying and unnatural. both bandits appeared to be in paroxysms of agony; from tony issued sounds that might have issued from the throat of a woman in deadly fear and excruciating torment; mallow's face had been partially protected, hence he was the lesser sufferer; nevertheless, his eyes were boiling in their sockets, his lungs were ablaze, ungovernable convulsions ran over him. the men understood vaguely what had afflicted them, for they had seen gray lift one hand from the wheel, and out of that hand they had seen a stream of liquid, or a jet of aqueous vapor, leap. it was too close to dodge. it had sprung directly into their faces, vaporizing as it came, and at its touch, at the first scent of its fumes, their legs had collapsed, their eyes had tightly closed, and every cell in their outraged bodies had rebelled. it was as if acid had been dashed upon them, destroying in one blinding instant all power for evil. with every breath, now, a new misery smote them. but worse than this torture was the monstrous nature of their afflictions. it was mysterious, horrible; they believed themselves to be dying and screamed in abysmal terror of the unknown. gray squeezed again the rubber bulb that he had carried in his hand these last several miles, ejecting from it the last few drops of its contents, then he opened the car door, stepped out of it and stood over his strangling victims. he kicked mallow's revolver off the road, and, holding his breath, relieved the other high-jacker of his weapon. this he flung after the first, then he withdrew himself a few paces and lighted a cigarette, for a raw, pungent odor offended his nostrils. both of the bawling bandits reeked of it, but their plight left him indifferent. they reminded him of a pair of horses he had seen disemboweled by a bursting shell, but he felt much less pity for them. his lack of concern made itself felt finally. mallow, who was the first to show signs of recovery, struggled to his feet and clawed blindly toward the automobile. he clung to it, sick and shaking; profanely he appealed for aid. "so! it _is_ mr. mallow," gray said. "fancy meeting you here!" a stream of incoherencies issued from the wretched object of this mockery. tony, the other man, stifled his groans, rose to his knees, and, with his hands clasped over his eyes, shuffled slowly away, as if to escape the sound of gray's voice. "better quiet down and let me do something at once, if you wish to save your sight," the latter suggested. "otherwise i won't answer for the result. and you needn't tell me how it hurts. i know." this proffer of aid appeared to throw the sufferers into new depths of dismay. they called to him in the name of god. they were harmless, now, and anyhow they had intended to do him no bodily harm. they implored him to lend succor or to put them out of their distress. gray fell to work promptly. the bottle of cream he had begged from ma briskow he now put to use. with this soothing liquid he first washed out their eyes, the membranes of which were raw and spongy, and excruciatingly sensitive to light, then he bandaged them as best he could with compresses, wet in it. "you'll breathe easier as time goes on," he announced. "you'll cough a good deal for a few days, but where you are going that won't disturb anybody. your eyes will get well, too, if you take care of them as i direct. but, meanwhile, let me warn you against lifting those bandages. advise me as they dry out and i'll wet them again." a blessed relief stole over the unfortunate pair; they were still sick and weak, but in a short time the acuteness of their suffering had diminished sufficiently for gray to help them into the back seat of his car and resume his journey. sarcastically he referred to the sample case on the tonneau floor. "if those diamonds are in your way, i'll take them in front with me. if not, i'll ask you to keep an eye on them--or, let us say, keep a foot on them. if you should be foolish enough to heave them overboard or try to renew your assault upon me, i would be tempted to break this milk bottle. in that event, my dear mallow, you'd go through life with a tin cup in your hand and a dog on a string." tony groaned in abject misery of body and soul. mallow cursed feebly. "what--is that devilish stuff?" the latter queried. it was plain from his voice that he meditated no treachery. "oh! i was going to tell you. it is a product of german ingenuity, designed, i believe, for the purpose of quelling riotous and insurrectionary prisoners. it was efficacious, also, in taking pill boxes and clearing out dug-outs and the like. with some care one is safe in using it in an ordinary ammonia gun--the sort policemen use on mad dogs. forgive me, if i say that you have demonstrated its utility in peace as well as in war. if there were more high-jackers in the world the device might be commercialized at some profit; but, alas, my good mallow, your profession is not a common one." "cut out the kidding," mallow growled, then he fell into a new convulsion of coughing. the car proceeded for some time to the tune of smothered complaints from the miserable figures bouncing upon the rear seat before gray said: "i fear you are a selfish pair of rascals. have you no concern regarding the fate of the third member of your treasure-hunting trio?" evidently they had none. "too bad! it's a good story." whatever their indifference to the welfare of the chauffeur, they still had some curiosity as to their own, for mallow asked: "what are you going to do with us?" "what would you do, if you were in my place?" "i'd--listen to reason." "meaning--?" "hell! you know what he means," tony cried, feebly. "so! you do me the honor to offer a bribe." gray laughed. "pardon my amusement. it sounds callous, i know, but, frankly, your unhappy condition fails to distress me. well, how much do you offer?" "all we got. a coupla thousand." "a temptation, truly." mallow addressed his companion irritably. "have a little sense. he don't need money." calvin gray had never been more pleased with himself than now, for matters had worked out almost exactly according to plan, a compliment indeed to his foresight and to his executive ability. he loved excitement, he lived upon it, and much of his life had been devoted to the stage-management of sensational exploits like this one. as a boy plays with a toy, so did gray amuse himself with adventure, and now he was determined to exact from this one the last particle of enjoyment and whatever profit it afforded. within a few minutes of his arrival at ranger, the town was noisy with the story, for he drove down the brightly lighted main street and stopped in front of the most populous cafe. there he called loudly for a policeman, and when the latter elbowed his way through the crowd, gray told him, in plain hearing of all, enough of his experience to electrify everybody. he told the story well; he even made known the value of his diamond stock; mercilessly he pilloried the two blindfolded bandits. when he drove to the jail the running boards of his car were jammed with inquisitive citizens, and those who could not find footing thereon followed at a run, laughing, shouting, acclaiming him and jeering at his prisoners. having surrendered custody of the latter, he dressed their eyes once more and explained the sort of care they required, then he made an appeal from the front steps of the jail, adjuring the mob to disperse quietly and permit the law to take its course. nothing like this had occurred during the brief, busy life of the town. it was a dramatic incident, but the manner in which this capable stranger had handled it and the discomfiture he had brought upon his assailants appealed more to the risibilities than to the anger of ranger. admiration for him displaced indignation at the high-jackers; cries for vengeance upon them were drowned in noisy appreciation of their captor. gray became a popular character; men clamored to shake his hand, and complimented him upon his nerve. the editor of the local newspaper dragged him, protesting, to the office and there interviewed him. gray was covered with confusion. reluctantly he made known his identity, and retold the whole story of his trip, this time beginning at his meeting with coverly in dallas. he displayed the bewildering contents of his sample case, now guarded by a uniformed arm of the law, and explained how he had volunteered his services out of pure love of adventure, then how he had played into mallow's hands while aware of his malign purpose at all times. this was more than a local story; it was big enough for the wire. gray sat at the editor's elbow while that enthusiastic gentleman called dallas and gave it to the papers there. he was escorted to the railroad station by an admiring crowd; he was cheered as he passed, smiling, into his pullman car. chapter vii coverly was at the station when gray's train arrived at dallas the next morning. he was suffering intense excitement, and he deluged his friend with a flood of questions, meanwhile flourishing the morning papers, all of which appeared to have devoted much space to the ranger episode. he hugged gray, and he pumped his hand; he laughed and he chattered; he insisted upon hearing the whole story without delay. on their way uptown, the returning hero gave it to him, together with gus briskow's check. at the size of the latter coverly gasped. "didn't i say you were a good salesman? and mallow! you got him, didn't you? i _told_ you he was a crook. just the same, old man, you ran a terrible risk and i feel mighty guilty. why, those fellows would have killed you." "probably." "why didn't you take along a policeman or somebody?" "and miss all the fun? miss my pay for the trip? i agreed to take my commission in thrills." the jeweler was frankly curious. "weren't you frightened?" "frightened? no." gray shook his head. "i've never been really afraid of anything or anybody, so far as i recall. i've never been able to understand the necessity of being frightened. i dare say the capacity for enjoying that particular emotion was omitted from my make-up--the result of some peculiar prenatal influence, probably. i'm sorry, too, for fear must have a fascination and i like unusual sensations." "speaking of your commissions, how am i going to pay you--not for the sale you made, although i wouldn't have done as well, but for the loss you saved the firm and for the risk you ran?" gray felt a momentary desire to have done with pretense, to confess his true condition and to beg not only a suitable reward for his services, but also as large a loan as coverly could spare. it is hard to maintain an attitude of opulence on less than nothing; it would be so much easier to have done with this counterfeit gesture and trust to a straightforward appeal. but he dared not yield to the impulse. "you may give me anything you see fit," he declared, "and i sha'n't embarrass you by refusing. on the contrary, go as strongly as you possibly can." coverly actually appeared to be relieved at this statement, but he inquired, curiously: "what have you got up your sleeve? you don't need money." "obviously not. but i know a needy object of charity; a worthy case, i assure you. i can scarcely call him a friend, but i used to admire him greatly, and he is still an agreeable companion--a man at once capable, extravagant, entertaining, dissipated. he is in a bad way, temporarily, and can scarcely afford even the bare necessities of life. it is only with my help, in fact, that he maintains its luxuries. your money shall go to him, and with every dollar of it that he squanders, there shall arise an earnest orison to you." the jeweler was delighted. "good!" he cried. "i detest the deserving poor as heartily as you do. and now i'd like to open a bottle of champagne with our breakfast." on the very day that the new sign, "tom and bob parker," went up over the door of the insurance office at wichita falls, the junior partner announced: "well, dad, the firm gets busy at once. i'm off for dallas to-night." "what for?" tom was dismayed by such a prompt manifestation of energy. "i'll have to tell you--" barbara perched herself upon her father's desk and began speaking with a note of excitement in her voice. "i heard henry nelson was in town, so i went to the bank this morning to see him. he's such a big man in the oil business i thought he might help me. he was there, but in conference with his father and another man. there were several people waiting, so i sat down. when the man they were talking to came out, it was pete, that driller who put down the first well for us. he was glad to see me, and we had quite a talk, but i noticed he was fidgety. he said he was running a rig over near 'burk,' and had a fishing job on his hands. with all the excitement and everybody running double 'towers' and trying to beat the other fellow down to the sand, it struck me as queer that a contract driller like pete would be here in wichita in conference with bell and henry nelson, when he ought to be out on the lease fishing for a lost bit. it didn't sound right. the more i got out of him, the queerer it sounded, for he had all the fishing tools he needed, so i accused him of being a fraud. i told him i'd bet he had a showing of oil and was trying to borrow money to buy the offset or to get the nelsons to buy it and carry him for an interest." "where'd you pick up this lingo?" tom inquired. "you talk like them wild men at the westland hotel." barbara laughed delightedly. "didn't i put down all our shallow wells? if i didn't, i thought i did. anyhow, i spent most of my time around the rigs and pete used to call me his boss. well, that wretched man turned all colors when i accused him, and tried to 'shush' me. he said i mustn't talk about things i knew nothing about--somebody might overhear me. he declared the outfit he was working for were no good and wouldn't pay a driller a bonus if he made a well for them. he was sick of making other people rich and getting nothing for himself.... it was time the drilling crews shared in the profits.... he'd see that nobody froze him out again if he had to spoil the hole. he wound up by denying everything, and i pretended to swallow it, but when he had gone i went over my maps and located the lease where he's drilling. three of the adjoining tracts are owned by the big companies, so that eliminated them, but the twenty to the west belongs to knute hoaglund. henry was glad to see me when my turn came to go in, and--" "i bet he was glad," tom declared. barbara's smooth cheeks flushed faintly. "he is too busy and too rich to--think about girls." "he wasn't too busy and too rich to inquire about you 'most every day since he got back from the war." "i didn't forget to call him 'colonel,' and that pleased both him and bell. then i told them that i proposed to become a rich and successful oil operator and wanted their advice how to begin. old bell was amused, but henry--i beg pardon, _colonel_--nelson was shocked. he couldn't bear to think of women, and of me especially, in business. he might have become disagreeably personal if his father hadn't been there." "dunno's i care much for henry," tom said, mildly. "oh, he's all right, but--i _hate_ bell! it makes anybody mad to be laughed at. henry was more diplomatic. he tried to convince me that the oil game is altogether a man's business and that no woman could succeed at it. 'it is a contest of wits,' he explained. 'you've got to outguess the other fellow. you've got to know everything he's doing and keep him from knowing anything you're doing. the minute he knows as much as you do, he's got it on you.' that seemed to prove to henry that no woman could win at it, for men are such superior creatures. they know so much more than a woman can possibly learn; their wits are so much keener! "i was duly impressed. i asked him to call this evening, for i did so wish to have him teach me what little i was capable of learning. but he couldn't come, because he had been called to dallas, unexpectedly. that was my cue. in my most sweetly girlish manner i said: 'oh, indeed! do you expect to see knute hoaglund while you're there?'" two hectic spots had come into "bob's" cheeks during this recital; she was teetering upon the desk now like a nodding japanese doll, and her blue eyes were dancing. "i heard old bell's chair creak and i saw him shoot a quick glance at henry. henry admitted, casually, that he might drop in on knute. why?" "'you'll be wasting time,' i told him, even more sweetly, 'for dad and i have that twenty west of burkburnett.' "_well!_ you'd have thought i had stuck a hatpin into bell. and henry's mouth actually dropped open. think of it: colonel henry nelson, the hero of whatever-it-is, with his imperial mouth open and nothing coming out of it--not even the imperial breath!" "bob" rocked backward and kicked up her neatly shod feet; she hugged herself and snickered with a malicious enjoyment not wholly christian-like. "but--we 'ain't even got an option! it takes _money_ to lease close-in stuff." tom was bewildered. "of course. and they realized that, or bell did, as soon as he'd had time to collect himself. but it was too late then; he had betrayed himself and he knew it. oh, he was sore! he'd have flung me out if i'd been a man. i got mad, too, and i told him it made no real difference whether i was bluffing or not; the jig was up, so far as he was concerned. i reminded him of what henry had just said--that the oil business is a game of wits, and that when you know what the other fellow is doing you have him licked. i admitted that he could probably keep me from getting the lease, but i could also keep him from getting it. bell nearly had a stroke at that threat. henry behaved very decently throughout. i think it must have pleased him to find that somebody in wichita, besides him, had the courage to defy his father; anyhow, he said, '"bob" has beaten us at our own game. she knows enough now to place that lease in half an hour, and i think we'd better take her in. otherwise she'll wire knute, and he'll probably protect her for an interest.' "that made me feel awfully fraudulent, but his smarty remarks about women in the oil business still rankled, so i just sat pretty and blinked like a little owl. bell swore. in his best and most horrible manner, he swore, but--he gave in." "bob" laughed again, a bit hysterically. "that's about all, dad. they agreed to put up the money and carry me--us, i mean--for a quarter interest if i can get the lease from knute hoaglund. so, i'm leaving on the night train." "son! i--i'm darned if i don't believe we'll make a go of this business," tom parker declared. with a little cry barbara flung herself into his arms. * * * * * the publicity calvin gray received from his exploit at ranger could be nothing except agreeable to one of his temperament. gratefully he basked in his notoriety, meanwhile continuing assiduously to cultivate the moneyed men of dallas. his sudden leap into prominence aroused curiosity among the wives and families of the latter, and he became the recipient of some social attentions. he accepted every invitation, and so well did he carry himself in company, so ornamental and engaging was he as a dinner guest, that he was soon in great demand. he possessed accomplishments, too, that increased the respect of his masculine acquaintances. for instance, he displayed a proficiency at golf quite unusual in men of athletic training, and they argued that any man who could do par whenever he felt like it must be either a professional or a person of limitless leisure. and limitless leisure means limitless funds. gray studiously maintained his air of financial mystery; he was in and out of offices, always purposeful, always in a hurry, but always with sufficient time to observe the strictest niceties of polite behavior. it was a part of his plan to create an atmosphere of his own, to emphasize his knack for quick, decisive, well-calculated action. the money he received from coverly enabled him to maintain the posture he had assumed; he spent it with his usual prodigality, receiving little direct benefit, but making each dollar look like four. extravagance with him was an art, money ran out of his pockets like water, but although he was already in a position to borrow, he did not do so. he merely marked time, deriving a grim amusement at the way his popularity grew as his currency dwindled. it was a game, enjoyable so long as it lasted. egotistical he knew himself to be, but it was a conscious fault; to tickle his own vanity filled him with the same satisfaction a cat feels at having its back rubbed, and he excused himself by reasoning that his deceit harmed nobody. meanwhile, with feline alertness he waited for a mouse to appear. he was relieved one day to receive a telegram from gus briskow asking him to meet ma and allie at the evening train and "get them a hotel." he managed to secure a good suite at the ajax, and it was with genuinely pleasurable anticipation that he drove to the station. dismay smote him, however, at first sight of the new arrivals. ma briskow resembled nothing so much as one of those hideous "crayon enlargements" he had seen in farmhouses--atrocities of an art long dead--for she was clad in an old-fashioned basque and skirt of some stiff, near-silk material, and her waist, which buttoned far down the front and terminated in deep points, served merely to roof over but not to conceal a peculiarity of figure which her farm dress had mercifully hidden. gray discovered that ma's body, alas! bore a quaint resemblance in outline to a gourd. a tiny black bonnet, with a wide surcingle of ribbon tied under her chin, was ornamented with a sort of centerpiece built of rigid artificial fruit and flowers. her hair, in brave defiance of current styles, was rolled into a high pompadour. beneath that pompadour, however, her face was aglow with interest and her eyes gleamed almost as brightly as did the brand-new lavalliere and the bar pin with its huge six-carat center diamond. if the mother's appearance was unusual, the daughter's was startling, what with her size and the barbaric latitude of color she had indulged herself in. allegheny's get-up screamed. in the general store at cisco, whence it had originated, it had doubtless been considered a sport costume, for there was a skirt of huge blue and white checks, a crepe waist of burnt orange, and over that a vegetable-silk sweater, with the broadest, greenest stripes gray had ever seen. a violent, offensive green, it was; and the sweater was too tight. her hat was large and floppy and adorned with preposterous purple blooms; one of her hands was gloved, but upon the other she wore her splendid solitaire. she "shone" it, as a watchman shines his flashlight. they were enough to daunt a stronger man than calvin gray, these two. he could well imagine the sensation he and they would create in the lobby of the modish ajax. but his first surprise was succeeded by a gentle pity, for ma briskow greeted him rapturously, and in allegheny's somber eyes he detected a look of mingled suffering and defiance. she knew, somehow or other, that she was conspicuous, grotesque, and her soul was in agony at the knowledge. before he had spoken a half dozen words to her, gray realized that this girl was in torture, and that it had required a magnificent courage on her part to meet him as bravely as she did. he was ashamed of himself; amusement at their expense did him no credit, and he determined to relieve her pain and to help her attain the likeness of other women if it was in his power to do so. it was a tribute to his inherent chivalry that he rose to the occasion and welcomed the women with a cordiality that warmed their hearts. enthusiastically he took charge of ma's lunch basket; against allie's muttered protest he despoiled her of her bilious, near-leather suitcase; he complimented them upon their appearance and showed such pleasure at seeing them again that they surrendered gratefully to him. by the time he had them in a taxicab they were as talkative as a pair of magpies. of course, they had to know all about the holdup, and his manner of telling the story made them feel that they had played an important part in it. arrived at the hotel, he swept them along with him so swiftly that they had no time in which to become dismayed or self-conscious, and finally he deposited them in their rooms quite out of breath and quite delighted. he left them palpitating with excitement at the wonders he proposed unfolding for them on the morrow. allie answered his phone call about eight o'clock the next morning. "ready for breakfast?" he inquired. "why, we et at daylight," she told him, in some astonishment. "i been ridin' since then." "indeed! putting roses in your cheeks, eh? with whom did you go?" "oh, one of the elevator men." "b--but--" gray sputtered, deeply shocked. "why, miss briskow, they're _negroes!_ riding with a nigger! my heavens! where did you go?" "nowhere. just up and down." it was a moment before the man could speak, then he said, in a queerly repressed voice: "that--is quite different. i'll run down and get a bite and join you in no time." "seems awful funny not to have any housework to do in the morning," ma briskow confessed, as they left the ajax. "a hotel would spoil me in no time." "i couldn't keep her from makin' up the beds," allie announced. gray took the elder woman's hand in his and scolded her gently. smilingly, he lectured her on the art of doing nothing, and voiced some elemental truths about living. "mr. briskow has but one idea, and that is to surround you two, and buddy, with the advantages and luxuries you have been denied," he reminded her. "you owe it to him to get the most out of your money, and you mustn't begin by making hotel beds and robbing some poor woman of her livelihood. not one person in ten really knows how to live, for it isn't an easy task, and the saddest thing about the newly rich is that they won't learn. they refuse to enjoy their wealth. i propose to help you good people get started, if you'll permit me. it is not with contrition, but with pride, that i recommend myself to you as one of the greatest living authorities upon extravagance, idleness, and the minor vices of the prosperous." the mother nodded, a bit vaguely. "that's kind of like pa talks. he sent you this, and says to tell you it's our first spendin' spree and act accordin'." from her pocket she drew a folded check, made out in blank to calvin gray and signed by gus briskow. "so! i assume that i'm to pay the bills. very well. the sky is the limit, eh?" "that's it. of course, i don't need anything for myself--this dress and bunnit are good enough--but allie's got to have new fixin's, from the inside out. i s'pose her things'll eat up the best part of a hundred dollars, won't they?" the speaker's look of worried inquiry bespoke a lifetime of habitual economy. "we're not going to buy what you _need_, but what you want. you're going to have just as many pretty things as allie." ma was panic-stricken at this suggestion. when gray insisted she demurred; when he told her that one nice dress would cost at least a hundred dollars, she confessed: "why, i don't s'pose all the clo's i've had since i was married cost much more 'n that." "i'll spend at least a thousand on you before noon," he laughed. mrs. briskow gasped, she rolled her eyes and fanned herself; she appealed to allegheny, but it was evident that the latter had kept her eyes open and had done some thinking, for she broke out, passionately: "you make me sick, ma! it'll take all pa can afford, and then some, to make us look like other people. i never knew how plumb ridic'lous we are till--" "not that," gray protested. "you _know_ we're ridic'lous," she cried, fiercely. "we're a couple of sow's ears and all pa's royalties can't make us into silk purses. but--mebbe we can manage to look like silk, if we spend enough." gray determined that the girl should not be disappointed if he could help it, so he went directly to the head saleswoman of the first store, and asked her to assume the role of counselor where circumstance compelled him to relinquish it, explaining that in addition to hats, gowns, shoes, and the like, both ma and allie needed a variety of confidential apparel with which he had only the vaguest acquaintance. although the woman agreed to his request, he found before long that his trust in her had been misplaced. not only did she threaten to take advantage of her customers' ignorance, but also, to gray's anger, she displayed a poorly veiled contempt for and amusement at his charges. allegheny was not long in feeling this. she had entered the establishment aquiver with hope and anticipation. this was her great adventure. she was like a timid child, enraptured at sight of its first tinseled christmas tree; to have that ecstacy spoiled, to see the girl's tenderest sensibilities wounded by a haughty clerk, enraged the man who played santa claus. abruptly he resumed charge of the briskow purchases, and it gave him a pang to note how allegheny ran to him with her hurt, as it were. but matters did not progress as well as he had expected. allie's disappointment at the death of her dream she hid under an assumption of indifference; she merely pawed over the pretty things shown her and pretended to ignore the ridicule she and her mother excited. but her face was stony, her eyes were hopeless, miserable. for once in his life calvin gray was at a loss, and knowledge of that fact caused him to chew savagely at his cigar. to his bewildered companions he remained enthusiastic, effervescent, but behind their backs he glowered at the well-groomed customers and cursed the snickering models who paraded their wares. engaged thus, he became aware of a stranger who looked on at the pitiful little comedy without amusement. she was a pretty thing. gray stared at her openly and his scowl vanished. when she moved away, he made a sudden decision, excused himself, and followed her. he was gratified at the manner in which she accepted his breathless apology for speaking to her, at the poise with which she listened while he made himself and his companions known to her and explained the plight in which he found himself. "you can save the reason of a distracted man and add to the happiness of two poor, bewildered women, if you will," he concluded, earnestly. "it isn't a funny situation; it's tragic." "what do you wish me to do?" the girl inquired. "it's a lot to ask, i know, but won't you help them buy the things they need and save them from further humiliation at the hands of these highbrow clerks and lowbrow customers? i--i want to punch somebody in the nose." "i was sure you did. that is what attracted my attention." "you are a person of taste, if you will pardon a perfectly obvious compliment from a total stranger, and they need such a woman's guidance. but they need, even more, a little bit of feminine tact and sympathy. look!" he showed gus briskow's blank check. "the whole store is theirs, if they wish it. think what that ought to mean to two poor starved creatures who have never owned enough clothing to wad a shotgun." "the girl is stunning. all she needs is the right sort of things--" impulsively gray seized the speaker's hand. "i _knew_ it!" he cried. "i can choose gowns for her, but how can i tell her the sort of--well, corsets she ought to wear? how can i select for her things a bachelor is presumed to know nothing about? haven't you an hour or two in which to play fairy godmother?" "i have all day," the young woman confessed. "i merely came in to yearn over the pretty things." "o messenger from heaven!" he cried, more hopefully. "would it appear presumptuous if i asked you, in return for this favor, to select the very prettiest gown in this shop for your very own?" the offer was refused pleasantly, but firmly. "i'd be paid ten times over by the fun of spending oodles of money even if it were not my own. but would they consent to have a stranger--?" "if you will permit a tiny deceit, i'm sure they will. i shall burden my conscience with a white lie and pretend that you are a friend to whose judgment i have appealed. my poor conscience is scandalously overburdened, but--that girl is suffering!" "i thought they must have struck oil. i've seen others like them." without further ado, gray hurried his new acquaintance back to the dress department, then, in his easiest manner, introduced her to the briskows. she flashed him a look of amusement as he glibly made her known as "miss good." he had invited miss good to join their picnic immediately upon hearing that ma and allie were coming to dallas, and she had been overjoyed. miss good, as they could see, possessed unerring good taste, but what was more, she had a real genius for finding bargains. as a bargain hunter miss good was positively unique. ma briskow pricked up her ears at this, soon she and the newcomer had their heads together, and within a few minutes gray realized that his experiment was a success. the stranger possessed enthusiasm, but it was coupled with common sense, and before her sunshiny smile even allegheny's sullen distrust slowly began to thaw. she drew gray aside finally, and said: "it's all right. they're perfect dears, and, now, the best thing you can do is to take yourself off." he agreed promptly, but cautioned her against economy. "that bargain-hunting remark was only a bait. remember, gus briskow wants them to have everything, and be everything they should be, regardless of expense. why, both he and i would like nothing better than to have allegheny look like you, if that were possible." miss good eyed the speaker curiously. "who are you?" she inquired. "what are these nesters to you?" "i am nobody. they were kind to me and i'm interested in their future." "are you a fortune hunter, mr. gray?" "i am." gray's face instantly lighted. "i am the most conscienceless fortune hunter you ever met, but--i am hunting my own fortune, not allie briskow's." "you needn't laugh. she's very--unusual and--but i dare say you wouldn't tell me, anyhow." "if i have excited your curiosity, i am delighted," gray declared. "please let me return at lunch time and gratify it. i promise to talk upon that subject which every man can discuss to best advantage--himself--and i pledge myself not to ask one single question about you, miss good. not one--" he bowed ceremoniously over her hand. "although, as you can imagine, i'm dying to ask a thousand." chapter viii the luncheon hour was long in arriving, and when it did come around calvin gray regretted that he had elected to play a game of make-believe with "miss good," for she rigidly held him to his promise, and however adroitly he undertook to ascertain who or what she was, she foiled him. it gave her a mischievous pleasure to evade his carefully laid conversational traps, and what little he learned came from ma briskow. briefly, it amounted to this: miss good was what the elder woman called "home folks," but she had been schooled in the east. moreover, she was in the oil business. this last bit of intelligence naturally intrigued the man, and he undertook to gain further illumination, but only to have the girl pretend that he knew all about it. he accepted this checkmate with the best possible grace, but revenged himself by assuming the airs and privileges of a friend more intimate even than miss good had implied, a pretense that confused and even annoyed her. for some reason this counterfeit pleased him; it was extremely agreeable even to pretend a close acquaintance with this girl. the luncheon went off gaily enough, then gray was again banished with instructions to return at closing time. "you took a mean, a malicious advantage of an offer intended only to spare your feelings. and you haven't any," he told miss good when they had a chance for a word alone. "i have no feelings?" "none. or you'd see that i'm perishing of curiosity." she shook her head, and her blue eyes laughed at him provokingly. "curiosity is fatal only to cats. it is good for people." "i shall find out all about you." "how?" "by cross-examining the briskows, perhaps." "but they're waiting to have you tell them what you know. i've seen to that." "if they ask any questions, i'll invent a story. i'll act confused, self-conscious. i'll make them think you are a much dearer friend than i have pretended, so far; dearer, even, than i can hope you ever will be." "that wouldn't be fair." "there are occasions when everything is fair. perhaps these store people know something--" "nothing whatever." "then, for heaven's sake, release me from my pledge!" gray spoke desperately. "when i return, permit me to ask those thousand questions, and what others occur to me. won't you?" the girl pondered this request briefly, then smiled. "very well. if you are still curious, when you see me, i'll tell you who i am." "a bargain! i'll be back early." more seriously, gray declared: "i must tell you right now how perfectly splendid i think you are. you have completely renewed my belief in human kindness, and i'm sure your name must be miss good." but a disappointment awaited calvin gray when, late that afternoon, he returned to the store. miss good had gone. at first he refused to believe ma briskow's statement, but it was true: she had disappeared as quietly and as unobtrusively as she had appeared, and, what was more annoying, she had left no word whatever for him. this was practical joking, for a certainty, and gray told himself that he abhorred practical jokes. it was a jolt to his pride to have his attentions thus ignored, but what irked him most was the fact that he was stopped, by reason of his deceit, from making any direct inquiries that might lead to a further acquaintance with the girl. mrs. briskow, however, was in no condition either to note his dismay or to volunteer information upon any except one subject; to wit, corns. human hearts were of less concern to her, for the time being, than human feet, and hers were killing her. she began a recital of her sufferings, as intimate, as agonizing, and as confidential as if gray were a practicing chiropodist. what she had to say about tight shoes was bitter in the extreme; she voiced a gloomy conviction that the alarming increase in suicides was due to bunions. the good woman confessed that she dearly loved finery and had bought right and left with reckless extravagance, but all the merchandise in this department store was not worth the anguish she had endured this day. with her stiff little bonnet tilted carelessly over her wrinkled forehead, she declared emphatically that she would gladly swap all her purchases at this moment for a tub of hot water. "where is allie?" gray inquired. "lord knows! she's som'eres around bein' worked over by a couple of women. gettin' her hair washed an' her finger nails cured an' i dunno what not. mercy me! the things miss good had 'em do to her! an' the money we've spent! allie's gone hog wild." the complaint ended in a stifled moan induced perhaps by some darting pain, then without further ado ma briskow unbuttoned one shoe and removed it. "whew!" she leaned back in her chair, wiggled her stockinged toes, and feebly fanned herself. "but wait till you see her. i can't scarcely reco'nize my own flesh an' blood. i never seen such a change in a human person." gray pretended to listen as the good woman babbled on, but he was thinking about the girl who had disappeared. he was surprised at the keenness of his chagrin. he had seen miss good but a short time, and she had made no effort whatever to excite his interest; nevertheless, she remained a tantalizingly vivid picture in his mind. it was extraordinary. so engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did not notice allegheny briskow until she stood close beside him. then, indeed, he experienced a shock, for it was difficult to recognize in this handsome, modish young woman the awkward, ill-dressed country girl he had seen at noon. allie was positively stunning. she was completely transformed from the soles of her well-shod feet to the tip of her french coiffure, and what was more astonishing, she had lost much of her self-consciousness and carried herself with a native grace that became her well. "why, _allie!_" gray exclaimed. "you're wonderful! let me see you." he stood off and gazed at her while she revolved before him. "sakes alive! who'd ever s'pose you'd look like _that!_" the mother exclaimed. "miss good told me i'd look nice, but i didn't believe her. do i?" "you're wonderful, allie." gray said it with conviction. "honest? you ain't laughin' at me?" the amazon's voice quavered. "can't you see? look at yourself. i'm proud of you." "i--she said--" allegheny twisted her hands, she cast an appealing glance at her mother, but the latter was staring at her in open amazement, slowly nodding her head and clucking. "tse! tse! tse!" it was an approving cluck, and it had a peculiar effect upon the girl. allegheny's tears started, she turned suddenly and hid her face in her hands. gray crossed quickly to her side, saying: "there! we've overdone it the first day, and you're tired." "i _ain't_ tired." his sympathy brought audible sobs; the girl's shoulders began to heave. "well, _i_ am," the mother complained. "i'm wore to the bone. allie! you dry up an' stop that snivelin' so we kin go home and i kin let my feet swell, an' scream." "you're not too tired, i hope, to have dinner with allie and me in the big dining room at the ajax?" gray said, gayly. "you'll be all right after an hour's rest, and--'i want to show her off, if her nose isn't too red." "i 'ain't seen that girl cry in ten years," ma declared, in mingled wonderment and irritation. "why, she didn't cry when number one blowed in." allie spoke between her sobs. "there wasn't nothin' to cry for, then. but--miss good said i--i'd look jest as purty as other folks when i got fixed up. an' _he_ says--i do." gray decided that all women are vain. nevertheless, it surprised him to discover the trait so early in allegheny briskow. it was on the second day thereafter that gus briskow appeared at the hotel. he came unexpectedly, and he still wore his rough ranch clothes. after an hour or more spent with his wife and daughter, he went down to gray's room and thanked him for the assistance he had rendered the two women. followed a few moments of desultory conversation, then he put an abrupt question: "mr. gray, you're a rich man, ain't you?" "i--am so considered." "um-m! dunno's i'm glad or sorry." "indeed! what difference can it make to you?" "a lot. it's like this: my boy buddy has took a turrible shine to you, an' he can't talk about nothin' else. i was sort of hopin'--" "yes?" "buddy's ignerunt. he can read an' write an' figger some, but he's got about the same company manners as a steer, an' he's skeered of crowds. when he sees strangers he's liable to charge 'em or else throw up his head an' his tail an' run plumb over a cliff. he'd ought to go to school, but he says he's too big, an' he'd have to set with a lot of little children. him an' allie's alike, that way--it r'ars 'em up on their hind feet to be laughed at." "get a tutor for them." "a what?" when gray had explained the meaning of the word, mr. briskow's face cleared. "that's what i figgered on, but i didn't know what you called 'em. that's why i'm sorry you're so well off. y' see i'd of paid you anything--i'd of doubled whatever you're gettin'--" the speaker raised a hopeful gaze; he paused as if to make sure that his hearer was beyond temptation. "i thought mebbe him and you'd like to travel some--go to furrin places--see the hull world. i kin afford it." "thank you for the compliment, but--" "i got some big deals on, an' buddy's got to learn enough so's to hang onto what's comin' to him an' allie. he needs a man like you to learn him, an' be an example. it would be a payin' job, mister gray." it was in a voice graver than usual that the younger man spoke: "briskow, you're sensible enough to understand plain talk. i'm not a fit man to teach buddy what he ought to know. in fact, i'm about the worst person you could select." "how so?" "because i'm a good deal of a--rotter. i couldn't permit buddy to make a mess of his life, such as i've made of mine." the father sighed. "i s'pose you know, but--well, i'm disapp'inted. but it wasn't hully on that account i come to dallas. ma told me over the telephone how nice you been an' what you done for her 'n' allie, so i says to myself i'll square things by givin' him a chance to make some money." gray stirred slightly in his chair and regarded the speaker more keenly. "when oil come in at ranger, nobody thought it would get out our way, but ma had a dream--a lot of dreams--about oil on our farm, so i got an outfit to come there an' drill. folks thought we was crazy, and we didn't expect they'd find much, ourselves--a few bar'l a day would of looked big--but i allus had ambitions to be good an' rich, so i got options on quite a bit of acreage. it didn't take no money at the time, 'cause land was what people had most of. along with the rest, there's a hundred an' sixty right next to ours--hill stuff that wouldn't feed a goat. it's wuth a lot of money now, but the option's 'most run out." "when does it expire?" "saturday." "that's to-morrow." gus briskow nodded. "it's cheap at a thousand dollars an acre, an' it costs two hundred." "of course you'll take it." "nope." "why not?" "per one thing, i got a lot of other land just as good an' mebbe better, an' i been takin' it up out of the royalties that come in. we got enough sure money in sight to do us, but i promised ma to play safe, an'--we can't take everything. you kin have that option, mister gray, for nothin'. you kin sell the lease inside of a week an' make fifty thousand dollars, or you kin hold it an' make mebbe a million. all it'll cost you is thirty-two thousand dollars. i don't make a cent out of it." "thirty-two thousand dollars! not much, is it?" "it ain't nothin' to a man like you." gray nodded and smiled queerly as he thanked the nester, then from his pockets he removed several crumpled wads of currency and a handful of silver. these he counted before saying: "what capital i have is entirely liquid--it's all in cash. there is eighty-seven dollars and forty-three cents. it is every dollar in the world that i possess." "huh?" gus briskow's bright eyes searched the smiling countenance before him. "you're--jokin'. i thought you said you was rich." "i am rich. i don't owe a nickel, and won't, until my hotel bill is due, day after to-morrow. i'm in full possession of all my faculties. i'm perfectly healthy and cheerful. i know men who would pay a million dollars for my health alone, and another million to enjoy my frame of mind. that's two million--" "well--doggone _me_!" there was a pause, then the speaker brightened. "mebbe you'll take buddy, after all? you kin set your own wages." gray shook his head. "there are two good reasons why i couldn't accept, even if i wished. i've told you one; i'm too fond of you briskows to risk ruining buddy." "what's the other one?" "a purely personal reason. i have a definite something to do here in texas. before i can accomplish it, i shall have to make a lot of money, but that i shall do easily. i make money rapidly when i start." "you gotta git goin' afore long." briskow allowed his eyes to rove about the spacious governor's suite. "'specially with only eighty-seven forty--" "that is nearly eighty-seven dollars more than i had when i arrived. three weeks ago i was an utter stranger here; to-day i know everybody worth knowing in a business way, and some of them are my friends." "if you could learn buddy to make friends like that--" but gray raised his hand. "i derive a certain amusement from my own peculiar characteristics and capabilities, but i should detest them in another." "well, you sure need money, and--i kin he'p you out." "thank you, but i sha'n't borrow. if the time were not so short, i could probably turn this lease you so kindly offered me. but something else will happen along." briskow sighed. "i could of sold it myself--thought i had it sold to a bunch from wichita, but they tricked me. i offered it the day you was at our house for eighty thousand and nelson more 'n half agreed to--" "_who?_" briskow looked up at the tone of this inquiry. "one of the fellers from wichita falls. i s'pose he knowed the option was about run out; anyhow, he's been holdin' me off from day to day till it's too late now fer me to--" "what is his name?" gray broke in, sharply. "name's nelson. bell nelson's son. bell's hard-boiled, but--" "henry nelson?" "that's him." gray rose from his chair and strode swiftly to the window. he stood there staring down into the street for a moment before saying, curtly, "go on!" "you know them nelsons?" "i know--henry." "he's hard-boilder 'n his old man. they got a lot o' money behind 'em--too much money to act like he done with me. i sure hate to see him git that evans lease for next to nothin', after the way he done. i'd call it cheat-in', but--well, i can't han'le it." the man at the window wheeled suddenly and his face was white, his brows were drawn down. "by god!" he cried, tensely. "he _won't_ get it. where's that option?" "i got it right here." briskow handed over a paper. "an' i got the hull title abstrack, too. had it all ready for nelson." when he had swiftly scanned the document, gray said: "this deal means little to you, briskow, but it means much to me, and i'll make it worth something to both of us. at first i thought the time was too short, but--i work best when i work fast. you've had your chance and failed. now then, step aside and let a man run who knows how." mr. roswell, president of the bank where gray had first made himself known, was a shrewd, forceful man who had attained a position in business and arrived at a time of life when he could well afford to indulge his likes and his dislikes. those likes and dislikes were strong, for his was a positive character. as is the case with most successful men who pride themselves upon their cold caution and business acumen--and mr. roswell did so pride himself--he really was a person of impulse, and intuition played a much larger part in his conduct of affairs than he would have acknowledged. such people make mistakes, but they also make friends; occasionally they read character wrong, but they inspire loyalty, and big institutions are founded upon friendship and loyalty as well as upon stability and fair dealing. roswell had liked gray upon their first meeting, and that liking had deepened. owing to that fact, he had neglected to secure a report upon him, assuring himself that there was always time for such formalities. he was cordial to-day when gray strode into his office bringing gus briskow with him. the banker listened with interest to what he was told, then he studied the map that briskow spread upon his desk showing the location of his own and other near-by wells. "that looks like a sure thing," roswell said, finally. "as sure as anything in oil can be. what is on your mind?" "i'd like to get the opinion of the bank's oil expert," gray told him. this was a matter easily disposed of; the expert was summoned and he rendered a prompt opinion. he knew the property; he considered it a cheap lease at a thousand dollars an acre. it was proven stuff and within thirty days it would probably treble in value. when he had gone, the banker smiled. "well, gray," said he, "i knew you'd land something good. you're a hustler. you'll make a fortune out of that land." gray handed him gus briskow's option, and the assignment thereof, the ink upon which was scarcely dry. "there's the joker. it expires to-morrow night and--it will go to the nelsons. they've double-crossed mr. briskow." "then don't let them get away with it. take it yourself." "it is now three o'clock and this is the golfing season in new york," gray told him. "i couldn't reach my--associates and get any action before monday." "no funds of your own available?" "not enough, at such short notice." "well?" "that lease is worth one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, isn't it?" the banker nodded. "i'm going to sell it before six o'clock for--eighty thousand. i know people here who will take it, but i've come first to you. get together a little syndicate right here in the bank, and buy it. i'll agree to take it off your hands within thirty days at one hundred and sixty thousand dollars. in other words, it is worth to me eighty thousand dollars to have you carry it for a month." "is your guaranty any good?" "that is for you to determine. assume that it is not, and i'll better my first offer. i'll undertake to sell off the land in twenties right here in dallas, double your money, and divide the profits thereafter with you. it is a safe speculation and a quick one. you know i can put it through." mr. roswell considered briefly before replying. "there's no use denying that we've made money on deals like this--everybody has. so it's nothing new. there's a big play on ranger stuff and we couldn't lose. but i know nothing about you except the little you've told me. when i go into a deal i put my trust more in the man than the proposition." "and i trust my own judgment of human character more than that of strangers," gray said, quickly. "so do you. thirty days is a long time with me, and the oil business is just my speed. permit me to remind you that time is flying and that i have given myself only three hours in which to turn this property. i intend to beat nelson, and apply that beating on account of an old score. this is more than a mere business deal." "i like your energy," the banker confessed, "and i'm inclined to bet some of my own money on you. now"--he pushed a button on his desk--"let's see if there are any others here who feel as i do." it was early evening when gus briskow returned to his wife's and his daughter's rooms at the ajax. he slipped in quietly and sank into a chair. "mercy me! i thought you was run over," ma briskow exclaimed. "i feel like i was," the nester declared, with a grin. "say! mister gray sold the evans lease an'--we got more money than ever." "then mebbe you can afford a new suit," allie told him. "you look like sin." her father nodded, but his mind was full of the incidents of that afternoon and he began at once to recount them. he told the story badly, but in a language that the women understood. he had not gone far, however, when the girl interrupted him to exclaim: "wait! why, pa! you mean to say mister gray 'ain't got no money?" "he had less 'n a hundred dollars. an' him livin' here like a king with everybody bowin' an' scrapin'!" ignoring the effect upon allie of this intelligence, he continued his recital. "all i done was set around while him an' them bank people talked it over," he said, finally. "then they got their lawyer in an' he examined the title papers. seemed like he'd never git through, but he did, an' they signed some things an' we come out, an' mister gray told me i'd made forty-eight thousand dollars." "goodness me!" ma briskow's eyes widened. "why, that evans place ain't wuth the taxes." "it's more 'n likely wuth a million. but think! him tellin' me _i'd_ made forty-eight thousand dollars! it give me a jolt, an' i says _i_ didn't make it. i told him i'd fell down an' turned the hull thing over to him. 'it's _you_ that's made forty-eight thousand,' i says." "_what?_" allie inquired, sharply. then when her father had repeated himself, she asked with even greater intensity: "wha'd he say to that? he didn't take it, did he?" "he laughed kinda queer an' says all i got to do to give him a good night's rest is to wire henry nelson the deal's closed. an' him with less 'n a hundred dollars!" allie spoke again in great relief. "lord! you give me a turn." her expression altered, her lips parted in a slow smile. "so! he's pore, eh? pore as we was. well, i declare!" she rose and turned her back upon her father. "no, he ain't pore," briskow said, irritably. "not now he ain't. i says it's his deal an' his money, an' we got plenty. an' i stuck to it." allie wheeled suddenly at this announcement. she uttered a cry of protest; then, "what are you talkin' about?" she roughly demanded. "we had some argyment an' i got kinda r'iled. finally he says if i feel that way we'll go pardners. he wouldn't listen to nothin' else, an'--that's how it stands. he made twenty-four thousand an' i--" "you--you _fool!_" gus briskow looked up with a start to find his daughter standing over him, her face ablaze, her deep bosom heaving. he stared at her in frank amazement, doubting his senses. never had allegheny used toward him a word, a tone like this, never had he seen her look as she did at this moment. he could not believe his eyes, for the girl had become a scowling fury, and she seemed upon the verge of destroying him with her strong hands, a task she was amply able to accomplish. "allie-_allie!_" the mother gasped. she, too, was aghast. "you--you're talkin' to your pa!" "you give him twenty-four thousan' dollars? _give_ it to him? wha'd you do it for? wha'd you--?" allie's voice failed her completely, she groped at her throat, uttering unintelligible, animal-like sounds. "why, allie, you're _mad!_ and after all he done for me an' you," mrs. briskow cried, accusingly. "you oughter be ashamed." "sure! didn't he make us twenty-four thousan' dollars, where we wouldn't of got nothin'? an' us rich as we are, an' him broke? i'm supprised at you." a harsh exclamation burst from the girl--to the astonished parents it sounded like an oath, but it could not have been--then she swung herself heavily about and rushed blindly into the next room, slamming the stout metal door behind her with a crash that threatened to unhinge it. "well, i be--darned!" gus briskow turned a slack, empty face upon the partner of his joys. "i--i never s'posed that girl would turn out--_greedy_." the mother's countenance slowly wrinkled into lines of grief and worry, she wrung her hands and rocked from side to side. "i dunno what's come over the child," she moaned, tearfully. "she behaves so queer over them silk stockin's an' corsets an' lingeries an' things that she skeers me. sometimes i'm afeerd she's goin' crazy--or something." chapter ix no industry can boast a history more dramatic, more exciting, than that of oil. from the discovery of petroleum, on through the development of its usefulness and the vast expansion of its production, the story is one of intense human interest, and not even the story of mining has chapters more stirring or more spectacular. the average man has never stopped to consider how close he is to the oil business or how dependent he is upon it; from babyhood, when his nose is greased with vaseline, to the occasion when a motor hearse carries him on his last journey, there is not often a day when he fails to make use of mineral oil or some of its by-products. ocean liners and farmers' plows are driven by it; it takes the rich man to his office and it cleans the shopgirl's gloves; it gives us dominion over the air and beneath the waters of the sea. we live in a mechanical age, and without oil our bearings would run hot and civilization, as we know it, would stop. it is the very blood of the earth. oil production is a highly specialized industry, and it has developed a type of man with a type of mind quite as characteristic as the type of machinery employed in the drilling of wells. the latter, for instance, appears at first glance to be crude and awkward, but as a matter of fact it is amazingly ingenious and extremely efficient, and your oil-field operator is pretty much the same. nor is there any business in which practical experience is more valuable. as a result, most of the big oil men, especially those engaged in production, are graduates of the school of hard knocks; they are big-fisted, harsh-handed fellows who are as thoroughly at home on the "thribble board" of a derrick as at a desk or a directors' table, and they are quite as colorful as the oil fields themselves. their lives are full and vigorous. of all the oil excitements, that which occurred in north texas was perhaps the most remarkable; at any rate, the world has never witnessed such scenes as were enacted there. the california gold rush, the great alaskan stampede, the diamond frenzies of south africa and of australia, all were epic in their way, but none bred a wilder insanity than did the discovery of oil in the red river district. for one thing, the time was ripe and conditions were propitious for the staging of an unprecedented drama. the enormous wastage of a world's war, resulting in a cry for more production, a new level of high prices for crude, rumors of an alarming shortage of supply, the success of independent producers, large and small--all these, and other reasons, too, caused many people hitherto uninterested to turn their serious attention to petroleum. the country was prosperous, banks were bulging with money, pockets were stuffed with profits; poor men had the means with which to gamble and rich men were looking for quicker gains. inasmuch as the world had lived for four years upon a steady diet of excitement, it was indeed the psychological moment for a spectacular boom. the strike at ranger lit the fuse, the explosion came with the first gush of inflammable liquid from the fowler farm at burkburnett. then, indeed, a conflagration occurred, the comprehensive story of which can never be written, owing to the fact that no human mind could follow the swift events of the next few tumultuous months, no brain could record it. chaos came. life in the oil fields became a phantasmagoria of ceaseless action and excitement--a fantastic stereopticon that changed hourly. "burk" was a sleepy little town, dozing amid parched wheat fields. the paint was off it; nothing much more exciting than a crop failure ever happened there. the main topic of conversation was the weather and, as mark twain said, everybody talked about it, but nothing was done. within sixty days this soporific village became a roaring bedlam; every town lot was leased, derricks rose out of chicken runs, boilers panted in front yards, mobs of strangers surged through the streets and the air grew shrill with their bickerings. from a distance, the sky line of the town looked like a thick nest of lattice battle masts, and at night it blazed like coney island. the black-lime territory farther south had proven too expensive for individual operators and small companies to handle, but here the oil was closer to the surface and the ground was easily drilled, hence it quickly became known as a poor man's pool. then, too, experienced oil men and the large companies who had seen town-site booms in other states, kept away, surrendering the place to tenderfeet and to promoters. of these, thousands came, and never was there a harvest so ripe for their gleaning. naturally a little country town like this could not hold the newcomers, therefore wichita falls became their headquarters. here there were at least a few hotels and some sort of office quarters--sheds beneath which the shearing could take place--and there the herd assembled. of course, the cougars followed, and, oh, the easy pickings for them! a fresh kill daily. warm meat with every meal. such hunting they had never known, hence they gorged themselves openly, seldom quarreling among themselves nor even bothering to conceal the carcasses of their prey. it was easier to pull down a new victim than to return to the one of the day before. rooming houses slept their guests in relays, canvas dormitories sprang up on vacant lots, the lobbies of the hotels were packed with shouldering maniacs until they resembled wheat pits, the streets were clogged with motor cars, and the sidewalks were jammed like subway platforms. store fronts were knocked out and the floor space was railed off into rows of tiny bull-pen brokers' offices, and in these companies by the hundred were promoted. stock in them was sold on the sidewalks by bally-hoo men with megaphone voices. it seldom required more than a few hours to dispose of an entire issue, for this was a credulous and an elated mob, and its daily fare was exaggeration. stock exchanges were opened up where, amid frenzied shoutings, went on a feverish commerce in wildcat securities; shopgirls, matrons, housemaids gambled in shares quite as wildly as did the unkempt disreputables from the oil fields or the newcomers spilled out of every train. people trafficked not in oil, but in stocks and in leases, the values of which were entirely chimerical. but this speculative frenzy was by no means local. burkburnett became a name to conjure with and there was no lack of conjurers. these latter spread to the four points of the compass, and the printing presses ran hot to meet their demands. a flood of money flowed into their pockets. while this boom was at its height a new pool, vaster and richer, was penetrated and the world heard of the northwest extension of the burkburnett field, a veritable lake--an ocean--of oil. then a wilder madness reigned. daily came reports of new wells in the extension with a flush production running up into the thousands of barrels. there appeared to be no limit to the size of this deposit, and now the old-line operators who had shunned the town-site boom bid feverishly against the promoters and the tenderfeet for acreage. farms and ranches previously all but worthless were cut up into small tracts and drilling sites, and these were sold for unheard-of prices. up leaped another forest of skeleton towers some ten miles long and half as wide. but this was the open range with nothing except the sky for shelter, so towns were knocked together--queer, greasy, ramshackle settlements of flimsy shacks--and so quickly were they built that they outran the law, which is ever deliberate. the camps of the black-lime district, which had been considered hell holes, were in reality models of order compared with these mushroom cities of raw boards, tar paper, and tin. gambling joints, dance halls, and dens more vicious flourished openly, and around them gathered the scum and the flotsam that crests a rising tide. winter brought the rains, and existence in the new fields became an ugly and a troublesome thing. roads there were none, and supplies became difficult to secure. the surface of the land melted and spinning wheels churned it; traffic halted, vehicles sank, horses drowned. between rains the sun dried the mud, the wind whirled it into suffocating clouds. sandstorms swept over the miserable inhabitants; tornadoes, thick with a burden of cutting particles, harried them until they cursed the fate that had brought them thither. but in wichita falls, where there was shelter overhead and pavements underfoot, the sheep shearing proceeded gayly. of the men engaged in this shearing business, none, perhaps, had gathered more wool in the same length of time than the two members of the firm of mcwade & stoner. mr. billy mcwade, junior partner, was a man of wide experience and some accomplishments, but until his arrival at wichita falls he had never made a conspicuous success of any business enterprise. the unforeseen invariably had intervened to prevent a killing. either a pal had squealed, or the postal authorities had investigated, or a horse had fallen--anyhow, whenever victory had perched upon his banner something always had happened to frighten the bird before its wings were fairly folded. mr. mcwade had finally determined to wipe off the slate and commence all over. accordingly, he had selected a new field, and, in order to make it a real standing start, he had likewise chosen a new name. he had arrived at wichita falls with one suit of clothes and nothing more, except an assortment of contusions ranging in color from angry red to black-and-blue, these same being the direct result of repeated altercations with roughshod members of a train crew. these collisions mcwade had not sought. on the contrary, when, for instance, outside the yards at fort worth his unobtrusive presence on the blind baggage had been discovered, he had done his best to avoid trouble. he had explained earnestly that he simply must leave the city by that particular train. the circumstances were such that no other train would do at all, so he declared. when he had been booted off he swung under and rode the trucks to the next stop. there a man with a lantern had searched him out, much as a nigger shines the eyes of a possum, and had dragged him forth. he was dragged forth at the second stop, and again at the third. finally, the train was halted far out on a lonely prairie and a large brakeman with gold teeth and corns on his palms held a knee upon mr. mcwade's chest until the train started. ignoring the hoarse warning breathed into his dusty countenance, along with the odor of young onions, the traveler argued volubly, but with no heat, that it was vitally necessary to his affairs that he continue this journey without interruption; then, when the brakeman rose and raced after the departing train, he sprang to his feet and outran him. mcwade was lithe and nervous and fleet; he managed to swing under the last pullman at the same instant his captor reached its rear platform. it is probable that a blithe determination even such as this would have eventually succumbed to repeated discouragements, but at the next stop, a watering tank, aid came from an unexpected quarter. from the roof of the car another knight of the road signaled, and thither mcwade clambered, kicking off the clutching hand of his former enemy. the second traveler was a robust man, deliberate but sure of movement, and his pockets were filled with nuts and bolts. this ammunition he divided with his companion, and such was their unerring aim that they maintained their sanctuary for the remainder of the journey. on the way in to wichita falls the stranger introduced himself as brick stoner. he was a practical oil man, a driller and a sort of promoter, too. it was his last promotion, he confided, that had made it necessary for him to travel in this fashion. he had many practical ideas, had mr. stoner, as, for instance, the use to be made of a stick with a crook in it or a lath with a nail in the end. armed thus, he declared, it was possible for a man on the roof of a sleeping car to pick up a completely new wardrobe in the course of a night's ride, provided the upper berths were occupied and the ventilators were open. mr. stoner deeply regretted the lack of such a simple aid, but agreed that it was better to leave well enough alone. mcwade warmed to his traveling companion, and they talked of many things, such as money and finance, sudden riches, and ways and means. this led them back naturally to a discussion of stoner's latest promotion; he called it the lost bull well, and the circumstances connected therewith he related with a subtlety of humor rare in a man of his sorts. the nature of the story appealed keenly to mcwade, and it ran like this: stoner had been working in the louisiana gas fields near the scene of a railroad accident--three bulls had strayed upon the right of way with results disastrous to a freight train and fatal to themselves. after the wreckage had been cleared away, the claim agent settled with the owner of the bulls and the carcasses were buried in an adjoining field. this had occurred some time prior to stoner's arrival; in fact, it was only by chance that he heard of it. one day in passing the spot stoner noticed a slight depression in the ground, filled with water through which occasional bubbles of gas rose. being of an inquisitive turn of mind, he had amused himself with some experiments and found that the gas was inflammable. moreover, it gave off an odor not unlike that of natural gas. it was a phenomenon of decomposition new to the driller, and it gave him a great idea. he went to town and very cautiously told of his discovery--a gas seepage, with traces of oil. his story caused a sensation, and he led several of the wealthiest citizens to the spot, then watched them in all gravity while they ignited the gas, smelled it, tasted the soil. they were convinced. they appointed stoner their agent to buy the farm, under cover, which he did at a nice profit--to himself. this profit he spent in riotous living while a rig was being moved upon the ground. not until the derrick was up and the crew, in the presence of the excited stockholders, came to "spud in," was the true source of that gas discovered--then the enterprise assumed such a bad odor that bystanders fled and mr. stoner was forced to leave the state without his baggage. this had been the nature of mcwade's and stoner's meeting; on the roof of that swaying pullman they laid the corner stone of their partnership. arrived at wichita falls, stoner went into the field and mcwade obtained employment in a restaurant. it was a position of trust, for upon him developed the entire responsibility of removing the traces of food from the used dishes, and drying them without a too great percentage of breakage. it kept mcwade upon his feet, but, anyhow, he could not sit with comfort, and it enabled him, in the course of a week, to purchase a change of linen and to have his suit sponged and pressed. this done, he resigned and went to the leading bank, where he opened an account by depositing a check drawn upon a chicago institution for fifty thousand dollars. mcwade made it a practice always to have a few blank checks on hand. airily, but in all earnestness, he invited the texas bank to verify the check at its convenience. so many were the strangers in wichita falls, so great the rush of new customers, that the banks had no means of investigating their accounts except by wiring at their own expense. this was saturday afternoon, which gave mcwade two days of grace, so he pocketed his new pass and check books, then mingled with the crowd at the westland hotel. he bought leases and drilling sites, issuing local checks in payment thereof--nobody could question the validity of those checks with the evidence of fifty thousand dollars deposited that very day--and on sunday he sold them. by the time the wichita falls bank opened its doors on monday morning he had turned his last lease and had made ten thousand dollars. a few days later he and stoner incorporated their first company. this was at the height of the town-site boom, and within a few hours mcwade had sold the stock. thereafter prosperity dogged the pair, and before long they had made reputations for themselves as the only sure-fire wildcat promoters in town. mcwade possessed the gift of sidewalk oratory; stoner posed as the practical field man whose word upon prospects was final. he it was who did the investigating, the "experting"; his partner was the bally-hoo. but competition grew steadily keener, other promoters followed their lead, and it became necessary to introduce new and original methods of gathering an audience. mere vocal persuasiveness did not serve to arrest the flow of pedestrians, and so mcwade's ingenuity was taxed. but he was equal to the task; seldom did he fail of ideas, and, once he had the attention of a crowd, the rest was easy. one morning he and his partner provided themselves with some dice and several hundred dollars in gold coin. with these they began shooting craps on the sidewalk in front of their office. now gambling was taboo, hence the spectacle of two expensively dressed, eminently prosperous men squatting upon their heels with a stack of double eagles before them caused a sensation, and people halted to witness their impending arrest. soon traffic was blocked. the gamblers remained engrossed in their pastime, as well they could, having thoughtfully arranged the matter with the policeman on duty; gravely they breathed upon the cubes; earnestly they called upon "little joe," "long liz," "ada," and the rest; silently they exchanged their stacks of gold pieces as they won or lost. calvin gray, but just arrived from dallas, looked on at the game with some curiosity, not divining its purpose, until mcwade pocketed the dice, then mounted a box at the curb and began, loudly: "now, gentlemen, that is one way of making money, but it is a foolish and a hazardous way. there is a much saner, safer method, and i'm going to tell you about it. don't pass on until you hear me, for i have a most incredible story to relate, and you'll be sorry you missed it." there was a ripple of appreciative laughter, but the crowd pressed closer as the orator continued: "you've all heard about these 'doodlebugs' who go around locating oil with a divining rod, haven't you? and you don't believe in them. of course you don't. neither do i. i can't put any trust in willow twigs, but--we'll all admit that there are forces of nature that we don't understand. who can explain the principle of magnetic attraction, for instance? what causes the glowing splendor of the aurora borealis? what force holds the compass needle to the north? what makes a carpet tack jump onto a magnet like"--the speaker paused and stared hard at a member of his audience who had passed a humorous remark at his expense--"just like i'll jump you, stranger, if you don't keep your trap closed. i say who can read those secrets, who can harness those forces? the man who can has got the world by the tail and a downhill pull. now then, for the plot of my story, and it will pay you to do a week of listening in the next five minutes. awhile ago an eminent scientist, unknown to me or to my partner, mr. stoner, came into our office, which is at your backs, one flight up, second door to the right, and showed us an electrical device he has been working on for the last eight years. he claimed he had it perfected and that it would indicate the presence of oil on the same principle that one mineral attracts another. 'oil is a mineral,' said he, 'and i think i've got its magnetic complement. i believe my invention will work.' "'i'll bet a thousand dollars it won't,' i told him. but what do you think that pilgrim did? he took me up. then he bet stoner another thousand that i'd made a bad bet." mcwade grinned in sympathy with the general amusement. "we arranged a thorough test. we took him, blindfolded, through the field, and, believe me or not, he called the turn on forty-three wells straight and never missed it once. call it a miracle if you choose, but it cost brick and me two thousand iron men, and i've got ten thousand more that says he can do the trick for you. i'll let a committee of responsible citizens take a dozen five-gallon cans and fill one with oil and the rest with water and set them in a row behind a brick wall. my ten, or any part of it, says his electric wiggle stick will point to the one with the oil. what do you say to that? here's a chance for a quick clean-up. who cares to take me on?" from the edge of the crowd gray watched the effect of this offer. divining rods, he well knew, were as old as the oil industry, but he was surprised to see that fully half of this audience appeared to put faith in the claim, and the other half were not entirely skeptical. a man at his side began reciting an experience of his own. mcwade now introduced the miracle worker himself, and gray rose on tiptoe to see him. a moment, then he smiled widely, for the eminent scientist was none other than mr. mallow--mallow, a bit pallid and pasty, as if from confinement, and with eyes hidden behind dark goggles. with a show of some embarrassment, the inventor displayed his tester, a sufficiently impressive device with rubber handles and a resistance coil attached to a dry battery, which he carried in his pocket. gray looked on as the comedy was played out. it transpired that professor mallow had tested, among other properties, the newest mcwade-stoner lease, a company to drill which had just been formed under the title of "the desert scorpion," and he really judged from the behavior of his machine that a remarkable pool underlaid the tract. he was willing to risk his reputation upon the guaranty that the first well would produce not less than three thousand barrels a day. he was interested in the out-come only from a scientific standpoint; he owned not one single share of stock. then mcwade resumed his sway over the crowd, and soon shares in "the desert scorpion" were selling rapidly. shortly after lunch, mallow and the two partners were seated in the office upstairs, their work done for the day. another successful promotion had gone to the credit of mcwade and stoner; all three were in a triumphal mood. mallow was recounting a story that had just come to his ears. "remember that old silver tip that took a stand in front of the owl drug store a few days back? he called his company 'the star of hope.'" stoner nodded. "he had a good piece of ground, right adjoining the moon petroleum tract--three wells down to the sand. i wondered how he ever got hold of it." "he didn't. that's the big laugh. he didn't own that land at all. he just had himself a map drawn, with the numbers changed. his ground was a mile away. he sold his stock in two days, thirty-five thousand shares, then he blew. some coal-oil john, who had plunged for about three shares, got to studying his own map, found there was something wrong and let up a squawk. but silver tip had faded like the mists of early morn--thirty-five stronger than he was. snappy work, eh?" mcwade frowned his disapproval. "something ought to be done to stop those crooks or they'll kill us legitimate promoters. you can't sting a crowd too often in the same spot." there came a knock at the door, and in answer to an invitation to enter it opened. the next instant both mcwade and stoner sat erect in their chairs, with eyes alert and questioning, for at sight of the stranger mallow had leaped to his feet with a smothered exclamation, and now stood with his back to the desk and with his head outthrust in a peculiar attitude of strained intensity. chapter x "well, well, mallow!" the caller's face broke into an engaging smile as he crossed the threshold. "still wearing dark glasses, eh? i'm afraid you didn't heed my instructions." mallow spoke huskily, "what the hell you doing here?" "following the excitement, merely. i shall open an office and spend a good deal of my time in wichita falls. i hoped i'd find you here, for this morning i heard you describe your invention and--admiration overcame me. i felt constrained to congratulate you upon your scientific attainments. marvelous, my dear doctor! or is it professor mallow?" the speaker laughed heartily. "won't you introduce me to these--let us say magnetic forces of nature that you have discovered?" he indicated the two partners. "what do you want?" mallow barked. "momentary agitation has robbed our professor of his habitual politeness--a not unusual phenomenon of the preoccupied scientific mind." these words were directed at mcwade and stoner. "my name is gray. perhaps doctor mallow has made mention of me." "so you're the lad that threw pepper in his eyes?" brick stoner stared at the newcomer with undisguised interest. he rose, as did mcwade. "i'll say we've heard of you. your name's getting as common as safety-razor blades. you've been cleaning up, haven't you?" "um-m, moderately." calvin gray shook hands with the promoters, then to the agitated mallow, who still peered at him apprehensively, he said: "come, come! let down your hammer! uncoil!" "listen, you!" the other burst forth. "i beat that thing out. i'm clean and i don't intend to go back. you're a strong guy and you got a bunch of kale, and you're a getter, but the taller they come the harder they fall. you can be had." the speaker was desperate; his face was flushed with anger, the tone of his voice was defiant and threatening. gray helped himself to a chair, crossed his legs, and lit a cigar. mcwade and stoner neither moved nor spoke. "my dear mallow, you wrong me." in the newcomer's voice there was no longer any mockery. "i gave you credit for more intelligence. we played our little farce and it is done--the episode is closed, so far as i am concerned. i supposed you understood that much. i helped you and i came here to enlist your help." "you helped _me_?" mallow showed his teeth in a snarl. "precisely. think a moment. was it not odd that i failed to appear against you? that the case was never pressed, the prosecution dropped?" "i s'pose you were afraid to go through. thought i'd get you." gray shook his head impatiently. "afraid? of you? oh, mallow! had i feared your majestic wrath, do you think i would have arranged for that doctor to see you every day? and paid his bill? who, pray, sent in those good things for you to eat?" there was a pause. "did you?" "i did." again there was silence. "why?" "for one thing, i was sorry for you. i really was. i had caused you and tony a great deal of suffering, and i cannot bring myself to inflict actual suffering upon anyone without doing my best to alleviate it. then again, i had nothing against you personally. we merely clashed in the course of--business." mallow allowed himself to sink back upon the desk; he turned his dark goggles upon his friends in a blind stare of bewilderment. "well, i'll be damned!" he said, finally. "mallow thought _we_ had helped to spring him." it was mcwade speaking. "that's why he beat it up here and that's how we happened to put him to work." "i don't get you yet," the man in glasses muttered. "i can't understand why--" "what's the odds why he done it?" stoner inquired, sharply. "any man that can squirt my eyes full of tobasco, and me with a six gun on him, is all right. and him with a bottle of milk duly made and provided!" the field member of the firm slapped his thigh and laughed loudly. "then to forget the whole fracas and shake hands on it! that's handsome! mr. gray, i'm here to say there's a lot of boys going to lay off you like you was a cactus." the object of this commendation was pleased. "gratitude is rare," he murmured. "i thank you. now then, i was thinking of making friend mallow a business proposition, but--perhaps i can interest you, also, in doing something for me. i'll pay well." "we're live ones," stoner asserted. "it is business of a confidential nature." "all the talking we do is on the street. we're promoting wildcats, but i guess we know as much about the good wells as the big companies themselves, and when it comes to actual drilling, i've forgotten more than all these boll weevils will ever learn. what can we do for you?" "for one thing, i wish to hire the brightest oil scout in the district, but i don't want him, nor anyone else, for the time being, to suspect that he's working for me. i will double his salary to watch one operator. perhaps he could appear to be in your employ? furthermore, i intend to do considerable secret buying and selling, and i will need several dummies--moral character unimportant. all i insist upon is absolute loyalty and obedience to my orders." during the silence that followed, gray felt the three men staring at him curiously. "you're after big game, i take it?" mcwade inquired, mildly. "the biggest in these woods." "one man, did you say?" "one man." "some--grudge, perhaps?" "perhaps." "a yacht is too expensive for most men, but they don't burn money as fast as a grudge." "this one will take his last dollar--or mine." "we're a legitimate firm, you know--" gray's eyes twinkled as he exclaimed: "exactly! if i have caused you to infer that i shall employ anything except legitimate means to effect my purpose, it is my error. at the same time, my proposition is not one that i could well afford to take to the ordinary, conservative type of broker. now then, how about you, mallow? would you care to work for me?" the latter's pale face broke into a grin. "i am working for you," he declared. "i've been on your pay roll now for five minutes. what's more, if it'll save money to croak this certain party and be done with it, why, maybe that can be arranged, too. my new wiggle stick may not find oil every crack, but i bet i can make it point to half a dozen men who--" gray lifted an admonitory hand. "patience! it may come to something like that, but i intend to break him first. can i arrive at terms with you gentlemen?" "write your own ticket," mcwade declared, and mr. stoner echoed this statement with enthusiasm. "very well! details later. now, i shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon my man and telling him exactly what i intend doing." the speaker rose and shook hands with the three precious scoundrels. when the door had closed behind him mcwade inquired: "now what do you make of that? going to serve notice on his bird!" "say! he's the hardest guy i ever saw," stoner declared, admiringly. mallow spoke last, but he spoke with conviction. "you said it, brick. i had his number from the start. he's a master crook, and--it'll pay us all to string with him." henry nelson's activities in the oil fields did not leave him much time in which to attend to his duties as vice-president of his father's bank, for what success he and old bell nelson had had since the boom started was the direct result of the younger man's personal attention to their joint operations. that attention was close; their success, already considerable, promised to be enormous. but of late things had not been going well. the turn had come with the loss of the evans lease, and that misfortune had been followed by others. contrary to custom, it was henry, and not bell, who had flown into a rage at receipt of gus briskow's telegram announcing a slip-up in the deal--a sale to calvin gray; that message, in fact, had affected the son in a most peculiar manner. for days thereafter he had been nervous, almost apprehensive, and his nervousness had increased when he secured the back files of the dallas papers and read those issues which he had missed while out of town. since that time he had made excuses to avoid trips into the ranger field and had conducted much of his work over the telephone. perhaps for that reason it was that trouble with drilling crews had arisen, and that one well had been "jimmed"; perhaps that explained why a deal as good as closed had gotten away, why a certain lease had cost fully double what it should have cost, and why the sale of another tract had not gone through. be that as it may, it was this generally unsatisfactory state of affairs that accounted for the junior nelson's presence in wichita falls at this time. he and bell had spent a stormy forenoon together; he was in an irritable mood when, early in the afternoon, a card was brought into his office. nelson could not restrain a start at sight of the name engraved thereon; his impulse was to leap to his feet. but the partition separating him from the bank lobby was of glass, and he knew his every action to be visible. he allowed himself a moment in which to collect his wits, then he opened slightly the desk drawer in which he kept his revolver and gave instructions to admit the caller. nelson revolved slowly in his chair; he stared curiously at the newcomer, and his voice was cold, unfriendly, as he said: "this is quite a surprise, gray." "not wholly unexpected, i hope." "entirely! i knew you were in texas, but i hardly expected you to present yourself here." gray seated himself. for a moment the two men eyed each other, the one stony, forbidding, suspicious, the other smiling, suave, apparently frank. "to what am i indebted for this--_honor?_" nelson inquired, with a lift of his lip. "my dear colonel, would you expect me to come to wichita falls without paying my respects to my ranking officer, my immediate superior?" "bosh! all that is over, forgotten." "forgotten?" the caller's brows arched incredulously. "you are a busy and a successful man; the late war lives in your mind only as a disagreeable memory to be banished as quickly as possible, but--" henry nelson stirred impatiently. "come! come! don't let's waste time." "--but i retain distinct recollections of our great adventure, and always shall." "that means, i infer, that you refuse to close the chapter?" as if he had not heard this last remark, gray continued easily: "it is a selfish motive that brings me here. i come to crow. it is my peculiar weakness that i demand an audience for what i do; i must share my triumphs with some one, else they taste flat, and since you are perhaps the one man in texas who knows me best, or has the slightest interest in my doings, it is natural that i come to you." this guileless confession evoked a positive scowl. "what have you done," the banker sneered, "except get your name in the papers?" "i have made a large amount of money, for one thing, and i am having a glorious time. now that evans lease, for instance--" "oh! you've come to crow about that." "not loudly, but a little. i turned the greater part of that land for as much as five thousand dollars an acre. odd that we should have come into competition with each other on my very first undertaking, isn't it? fascinating business, this oil. all one needs, to succeed, is experience and capital." "what do you know about the business?" "nothing. absolutely nothing. but i am learning. luck, i find, is a good substitute for experience, and i certainly am lucky. as for capital--of course i was blessed in having unlimited money with which to operate. you inferred as much, i take it. of course! yes, colonel, i have the money touch and everything i have put my hand to has turned out well." nelson burst forth in sudden irritation. "what are you getting at? you know i don't care a damn what you're doing, how much money you're making--" "strange! inasmuch as practically every dollar i have made has come out of you, indirectly." for a moment nelson said nothing; then, "just what do you mean by that?" "exactly what i said. i've cut under you wherever possible. when you wanted acreage, i bid against you and ran the price up until you paid more than it was worth. that which i secured i managed--" "_you!_ so--_you're_ the one back of that!" nelson's amazement destroyed the insecure hold he had thus far maintained upon himself. furiously he cried: "you're out to get me! that's it, eh?" "i am, indeed. and half my satisfaction in doing so will be in knowing that you know what i'm up to. one needs steady nerves and a sure touch in any speculative enterprise; he daren't wabble. i'm going to get your nerve, nelson. i'm going to make you wabble. you're going to think twice and doubt your own hunches, and make mistakes, and i--i shall take advantage of them. of course i shall do more than merely--" "well, by god! i knew you had the gall of the devil, but--see here, gray, don't you understand what i can do to you? i don't want any trouble with you, but one word from me and--" "of course you want no trouble with me; but, alas! my dear colonel, you are going to have it. oh, a great deal of trouble. more trouble than you ever had in all your life. either you are going broke, or i am. you see, i have all the advantage in this little game, for i will pay a dollar for every dollar i can cause you to lose, and that is too high a price for you to meet. if i should go bankrupt, which of course i sha'n't, it would mean nothing to me, while to you--" the speaker shrugged. "you haven't my temperament. no, the advantage is all mine." gray's tone changed abruptly. "for your own good remove your hand from the neighborhood of that drawer. i am too close to you for a gun-play. good! now about that one word from you. you won't speak it, for that would force me to utter nasty truths about you, and you would suffer more than i, this being your home town where you are respected. and the truth is nasty, isn't it?" colonel nelson had grown very white during this long speech. he rose to his feet and laid one shaking hand upon his desk as if to steady himself; his tongue was thick in his mouth as he said, hoarsely: "i'd like to think you are crazy, but--you're not." "almost a compliment, coming from you!" "you think you can beat me--want to make it a money fight, do you? well, i'll give you a bellyful. every dollar i've got will go to smash you--smash you!" "splendid!" gray was on his feet now and he was smiling icily. "one or the other of us will be ruined, and then perhaps we can resort to those methods which both of us would enjoy using. of the two, i believe i am the more primitive, for the mere act of killing does not satisfy me. i've come a long way to sink my teeth into you. now that they're in, they'll stay. so long as you're willing to fight clean, i'll--" "are you gentlemen going to talk forever?" the inquiry came in a woman's voice. both nelson and gray turned to behold a smiling, animated face framed in a crack of the door. "miss good!" calvin gray strode forward, took the girl's hands in his and drew her over the threshold. "my dear miss good, i have rummaged half the state, looking for you." "i hope i'm not interrupting.--i recognized you and--" the girl turned her eyes to henry nelson, but at sight of his face her smile vanished. "oh, i'm sorry!" she cried. "let me run out--" gray held her hands more firmly. "never. do you think i shall risk losing you again? colonel nelson and i had finished our chat and were merely exchanging pleasantries." "cross your heart?" "cross my heart and hope to die." gray laughed joyously and again shook the girl's hands. "yes. colonel gray was just leaving," nelson managed to say. "colonel? are you a colonel, too?" the girl inquired, and gray bowed. "i was." "and you knew each other abroad?" "we came to know each other very well. we were, in fact, commissioned at the same time and place, but colonel nelson received his a moment earlier than i received mine, therefore he outranked me. now then, permit me to retire while you and he--" "oh, there's nothing confidential about what i have to say. it's good news for my partner, and i'm sure he'd love to share it." to nelson she announced, "pete has a showing of oil!" the vice-president of the bank murmured something which was lost in gray's quick inquiry: "partner? are you a partner of colonel nelson's?" "after a fashion. we own a twenty-acre lease west of 'burk'--that is, i have a quarter interest and henry is putting down a well. i drove out there, and his driller told me it is looking good." gray turned a keenly inquisitive gaze upon his enemy, and what he saw, or fancied he saw, gave him the thrill of a new discovery. it may have been no more than intuition on his part, but something convinced him that his acquaintance with miss good deeply displeased the man. if he knew henry nelson as well as he believed he did, it was more than disapproval, more than mere personal dislike, that smoldered in the latter's eyes. this was luck! in his warmest tone he cried: "congratulations, my dear colonel. however badly you have fared in the ranger district, fortune favors you here. but why only a quarter interest? you put too low a price upon your blessings. i'll better that arrangement. why, i was ready to offer miss good a full half of all i have, when she played a heartless jest upon me. ran away! disappeared! i'll admit i was piqued. i was deeply resentful, but--" nelson interrupted this flow of extravagance. "'miss good'?" he said, curiously. "why does he call you that, 'bob'?" "a secret! a little game of pretense," gray declared, nastily. "for the sake of our friendship, colonel, don't tell me her real name and rob me of the pleasure of hearing it from her own lips. come, miss good! enough of money making and oil wells and stupid business affairs. i am going to bear you away upon my arm, even at the risk of displeasing my superior officer. ha! lucky the war is over. now then, your promise." gray's impetuosity, his buoyancy, robbed his speech of boldness, nevertheless barbara parker flushed faintly. she was ill at ease; she felt sure she had erred in interrupting these two men; she was glad of an excuse to leave. gray lingered a moment, long enougn for his eyes to meet those of the banker. in his there was a light of triumph, of mockery, as he said: "a pleasant interview, wasn't it, colonel? and now we understand each other perfectly. a fair fight and no quarter asked." henry nelson stood motionless as he watched his two callers leave the bank together, then slowly he clenched his muscular hands, and from his lips there issued an oath better left unwritten. chapter xi it was several moments after they had left the bank before "bob" parker could manage to slip a word in edgewise, so rapid, so eager was gray's flow of conversation, so genuine was his pleasure at again seeing her. finally, however, she inquired, curiously: "what was it you said to henry nelson as i came out? 'no quarter asked'?" her escort stared down at her, his brows lifted, his tone betrayed blank astonishment. "'no quarter asked'? bless me! what are you talking about?" then his face cleared. "now i remember--i said i had found quarters at last. the town is so crowded, you know; i didn't want him to feel bound to put me up. i abhor visiting. don't you?" "are you really good friends? i felt very queer, the instant after i had walked in. but--i was bursting with good news and i couldn't see henry's face until too late. then, it seemed to me--" "nelson and i are scarcely 'good' friends--we never were chummy--but we were thrown together in france and saw a lot of each other. at first, my respect for him was not great, for he is a--difficult person to understand; but as my understanding grew, so did my respect. he is a remarkably capable man and a determined fighter. admirable qualities in a soldier. my call to-day was in the nature of a ceremonial." "um-m! there's a ceremony before every duel--the salute. i thought i could hear the ring of steel." gray laughed off the suggestion. "merely the jingle of officers' spurs, i assure you. we amateurs cling to the regular army pomp and practice. frankly, i love it; i admire the military method--a rule for every occasion, a rigid adherence to form, no price too high for a necessary objective. and the army code! ironclad and exacting! honors difficult and disgrace easy. one learns to set great store by both. you've no idea, miss good, how precious is the one and how-hideous is the other." "you mustn't call me miss good any longer," the girl told him. "my name is barbara parker." "oh, i like that!" "i'm more generally known as 'bob.'" "even better! it sounds tomboyish." "it's not. it is tom parkerish. father insisted on calling me that and--it stuck. he's a man's man and my being a girl was a total surprise to him. it completely upset his plans. so i did my best to remedy the mistake and learn to do and to take an interest in the things he was interested in." "those were--?" miss parker looked up from beneath her trim velvet hat and her blue eyes were defiant. "all that people like you disapprove of; all that you probably consider undignified and unladylike, such as riding, roping, shooting--" "riding--unladylike? it's very smart. and why do you say people 'like me'? there are no people like me." "you know what i mean. you're not a westerner. you are what a cowpuncher would call a swell easterner." ignoring gray's grimace of dislike she went on, deliberately exaggerating her musical texas drawl. "you are a person of education and culture; you speak languages; you have the broad 'a,' and if you had to go unshaven it would be a living death. you are rich, too, and probably play the piano. people like that don't admire cow-girls." the man laughed heartily. "in spite of my broad 'a' and my safety razor, i'm as much of a man's man as your father. frankly, i don't admire cowgirls, but i do admire you and everything you say about yourself adds to that admiration. if your father is tom parker--well. i congratulate you upon an admirable taste in the selection of parents." "do you know him?" barbara eagerly inquired. "no. but i know of him and i know what he stands for. i think we have many things in common, and i venture to say that he is going to like me." barbara smiled. this vibrant stranger had an air about him and an irresistible magnetism. it was flattering to receive marked attentions from a person of his age and consequence--the girl felt an access of importance--and the tone of his voice, his every look, assured her that she had indeed challenged his deepest interest. she colored faintly as he ran on: "so you're a partner of henry nelson's! he doesn't deserve it and--our friendship ceases. i shall now hate him. yes, henceforth he and i shall be enemies." "i love to be flattered, but please don't become henry's enemy. the most dreadful things happen to them." "he pretends to be a friend, but in reality he is a suitor--a detestable suitor--and the ties of business bind you closer! i see it all. i--i consider it abominable." gray's tone was as gay as his demeanor had been thus far, nevertheless he was probing deliberately, and the result appeared to verify his earlier suspicions. calm as he had appeared to be during that interview in the bank, in reality he had been, and still was, in a state of intense nervous excitement; his mind was galloping; the effect of that clash had been to rouse in him a keen exaltation and a sense of resistless power. if henry nelson was seriously interested in this girl, he reasoned, here then was another weapon ready shaped--a rapier aimed at his enemy's breast--and all he had to do was grasp it. that promised to be a pleasant undertaking. nor had he any doubt of success, for barbara parker had aroused his liking so promptly that reason--and experience--told him they must be in close sentimental accord. even had she proven less responsive, he would still have been confident of himself, for few women remained long indifferent to his zeal, once he deliberately set about winning them. to build upon that subtle, involuntary attraction, therefore, and to profit by it, appeared advisable, nay, necessary, for henceforth all must be grist that came to his mill. in view of his declaration of war, he could afford to scorn no advantage, however direct or indirect its bearing. "tell me about the briskows," barbara demanded. "of course! i'm dying to do so, but"--gray looked at his watch--"even the good must lunch. no doubt you abhor the public eating places, but, alas--" "i do. so does everybody who tries them. but our cook has been speculating in shares, and yesterday she stalked majestically from the kitchen. she was a wretched cook, anyhow; but we couldn't afford a better one. we're very poor, dad and i." "were poor. not poor any longer, i hope." "oh, that well! it is exciting, isn't it? dad has gone out there to see it, so--yes, i'll lunch with you and be duly grateful." "where shall we go?" barbara's brows drew together in a frown of consideration, and gray told himself that she was even more charming when serious than when smiling. "wherever we go, we'll be sorry we didn't go somewhere else. we might try the professor's place. he's a greek scholar--left his university to get rich quick in the oil fields, but failed. he started a sandwich and pie counter--a good one--and it pays better than a pumper. but we'd have to sit on high stools and be scowled at if we didn't gobble our food and make room for others. then there is ptomaine tommy's. cafes are good and bad by comparison. after you've been here a few days you'll enjoy tommy's." "then i vote for his poison palace. the very name has a thrill to it." on their way to the restaurant, gray said: "pa and ma and allie briskow and the tutoress have gone to the mountains--ma's beloved mountains--and they appear to be living up to her expectations. the mountains, i mean. the old dear writes me every week, and her letters are wonderful, even outside of the spelling. she hasn't lost a single illusion. she has a soul for adventure, has ma; she's hunting for caves now--keeps her ears open to hear if the ground sounds hollow; wants to find a mysterious cavern and explore it, with her heart in her mouth. she revels in the clean, green foliage and the spring brooks. she says the trees are awful crowded in places and there's no dust on them." "and allie has a tutor!" "the best money could secure. and, by the way, you wouldn't have known the girl after you got through with her that day. that was only the beginning, too. she fills the eye now, and she's growing." "_growing?_" gray chuckled. "not physically, but mentally, psychologically, intellectually." "i said she had possibilities." "yes. more than i gave her credit for, but what they are, where they will lead her, i don't know. i'm a foolish person, miss parker, for i take an intense interest in the affairs of other people, especially my friends. my favorite dissipation is to share the troubles of those whom i like, and right now i'm quite as worried over allie as her father is. you see, she has outdistanced her parents already; the dream part is wearing off and her new life is a reality. she is confronted with the grim and appalling necessity of adapting herself to a completely new and bewildering set of conditions. i'm not sure that she will be equal to it." "i presume you mean that she is sensitive." "supersensitive! and ambitious! that's the trouble. if she were dull and conceited she could be both happy and contented. but she's bright, and she lacks egotism, so she'll never be either. adversity would temper a girl like her; prosperity may--spoil her." "there is a boy, too, isn't there?" "oh, buddy! he's away at school. he'll make a hand, or--well, if he doesn't, i'll beat the foolishness out of him. i've assumed complete responsibility for buddy, and he'll be a credit to me." there was a tone in gray's voice when he spoke of the briskows that gave barbara parker a wholly new insight into his character; it was with a feeling that she knew him and liked him better that she said: "you think a lot of those nesters, don't you?" "more than they believe, and more than i would have thought possible," he readily declared. "i'm a lonesome institution. there's nobody dependent upon me; i owe no bills, no gratitude, and i've canceled the obligations that others owe me. you've no idea how unnecessary i am. it gives me a pleasing sense of importance, therefore, to feel that i fill a place in somebody's affairs." wichita falls's facilities for public entertainment reflected perhaps as correctly as anything else the general chaos consequent upon its swift expansion into a city. such hotels as had been capable of caring for the transient trade of pre-petroleum days were full and carried waiting lists like exclusive clubs; rooming houses and private dwellings were crowded. a new and modern fireproof hotel was stretching skeleton fingers of steel skyward, but meanwhile the task of sheltering, and especially of feeding three times a day, the hungry hordes that bulged the sides of the little city was a difficult one. to wrest possession of a cafe table for two at the rush hour was an undertaking almost as hazardous as jumping a mining claim, but calvin gray succeeded and eventually he and "bob" found themselves facing each other over a discolored tablecloth, reading a soiled menu card to a perspiring waiter. it was in some ways an ideal retreat for a tete-a-tete, for the bellowed orders, the rattle of crockery, the voice of the hungry food battlers, and the clash of their steel made intimate conversation easy. gray noted with approval the ease with which his dainty companion adapted herself to the surroundings and remarked upon it. "after four years in the east it took me a little while to get used to it," she confessed. "the wichita i left was a quiet town; the one i came home to was a madhouse. at first the excitement frightened me, for i felt as if i were being run over, tossed aside. but now that i've fallen in with the chase, why--i think it is splendid." "just what are you doing and how do you do it?" gray wanted to know. barbara was glad to tell him about her brief but eventful experience since that morning at the nelson bank when she had executed her coup, and she recited the story with enthusiasm. "having no capital to go on," she explained, "i've merely bought and sold on commission so far, but i'm not always going to be a broker. i'm making good, and some day dad and i will be big operators. i've been able to buy a car, and most of my time i'm out in the field. they tell me i'm as good an oil scout as some of the' men working for the big companies; but, of course, i'm not. i merely have an advantage; drillers tell me more than they'd tell a man." "of course, with your father along you're safe in going anywhere, but to go through the fields alone--" "oh, dad doesn't go!" "what?" gray looked up incredulously, but "bob" nodded her head vigorously. "dad hates automobiles; they frighten him. so i go out alone while he runs the office." "extraordinary! but, my dear girl, it's dangerous." "naturally, i avoid 'burk' and the northwest extension after dark--even the scouts do that. but it wouldn't pay anybody to high-jack me. no. i go right in on the derrick floors and hobnob with the drillers, talk about their wives and their families, discuss croup and fishing jobs; sometimes they let me taste the sand and even show me the logs of their wells. it amused them at first to think of a girl playing the game single-handed--most men, however rough, have a sense of chivalry, you know, and are better sports than they realize. now--well, they're beginning to respect my business ability. they have learned that i keep my mouth closed and that i'll treat them squarely. some of them would fight for me. i tell you it is the greatest experience, the most thrilling adventure, a girl ever had." "you are a brave child, and i admire your courage," gray declared. "but i'm not. i'm afraid of everything that other girls are afraid of." leaning forward confidentially, the girl continued: "i'm a hollow sham, mr. gray, but dad doesn't know it. after i learned how badly he wanted me to be a boy, and how he had set his heart on teaching me the things he thought a son of his should know, i had a secret meeting with myself and i voted unanimously to fill the specifications if it killed me. so i began a fraudulent life. i'm in earnest. for instance, i abhor guns, but i learned to shoot with either hand until--well, i'm pretty expert. and roping! i can build a loop, jump through it, do straight and fancy catches like a cowboy. i worked at it for months, years it seemed to me. i knew very well it was a ridiculous waste of time, but i'll never forget how proud dad was when i learned the 'butterfly.' that was my reward. horses used to frighten me blue, but i learned to ride well enough. in fact, it has been a keen disappointment to him that i won't enter the frontier day contests. he'd like nothing better than to see me win the bucking-horse match. think of it! and i'm so timid i can't look an oat in the face!" barbara attempted a shy laugh, but there was a quaver to her voice, and when gray continued to stare at her gravely, sympathetically, her face quickly sobered. "now you understand why my father doesn't think it necessary to go along on my trips through the oil fields. it has never occurred to him that i'm anything but 'bob' parker, his boy. mind you, he is lost in admiration of me and i rule him like a slave. i think he is great, too, and he _is_. he is the dearest, gentlest, sweetest father in the world, and i wouldn't have him learn the hideous truth about me for anything." for a moment barbara's listener studied her thoughtfully, then he said: "i'm immensely flattered that you like me well enough to make me your confessor. now i'm going to confess to you that i also am an arrant coward." "please don't joke. you have become quite a famous character, and if the stories i hear are true--" "the stories one hears are never true. i have my share of physical courage, perhaps; that's a common, elementary virtue, like generosity, gratitude, sympathy. the most mediocre people are blessed that way." "oh! generosity and gratitude are divine qualities!" gray shook his head positively. "impulses! heart impulses, not brain impulses. they have nothing to do with character. now i'm deathly afraid of one thing." "what, pray?" "ridicule! you see, i'm egotistical and ostentatious. oh, very! disgustingly vain, in fact. if i were unconscious of it, i'd be unbearable, but--it amuses me as much as it amuses others, and that takes the curse off of it. i am delighted at some of my own antics. i love to swagger and i adore an audience, but to be laughed at by others would kill me. ridicule! scorn! i'm insensible to anything except those." "you're a queer man." gray's gaze became fixed; there was a peculiar light--almost a glitter--in his eyes; he talked on as if voicing some engrossing thought. "of course, i'm vindictive--that's a part of the swashbuckling character; it goes with the ruffles, the jack boots, and the swagger. it is a luxury of which i am extremely jealous." bringing his attention back to the girl, he smiled and his manner changed abruptly. "there! i've proved it all by talking about myself when i'm interested only in you. however, it is sometimes easier to sell a thing by frankly decrying it than by covering up its bad points, and i'm trying desperately to make a good impression upon you. now then, i'm tremendously interested in what you have told me about yourself, and i'm sure you are a better oil man--oil girl--than you have led me to suppose. but these are no times for social pleasantries. we are living in bedlam. there is nothing in the air but business--oil--profits. you are a business woman, and if we are to become as well acquainted as i hope we will, it must be the result of a common business interest. so, then, for a bargain. i am going to enter this field in a large way; if you will take me for a client, i will buy and sell through you whenever possible. perhaps we can even speculate together now and then. i'll guarantee you against loss. what do you say?" "why--it's a splendid opportunity for me. and i know of some good things; i'm overflowing with information, in fact. for instance--" barbara hurriedly produced her oil map and, shoving aside the dishes in front of her, she spread it upon the table. "there is a wildcat going down out here that looks awfully good." as she indicated a tiny circle marked into the corner of one square, gray noted that there was a dimple at the base of her finger. "the scouts don't think much of it, but i happen to know it is on a structure and has a good showing of oil. the driller is a friend of mine, and he has told me that his casing is set. he'll tip me off when he intends to drill through, and if you like we'll go out there and see what happens. if it comes in, it will mean a big play on surrounding property; prices will double, treble. my theory is this--" gray's head was close to the speaker's, but, although he pretended to listen to her words and to follow the tracings of her finger with studious consideration, in reality his attention was fixed upon the tantalizing curve of her smooth cheek and throat. in some perplexity of spirit he asked himself why it was that mere proximity to this wholly sensible and matter-of-fact young creature filled him with such a vague yet pleasurable excitement. he realized that he was not easily thrilled; feminine beauty, feminine charm were nothing new, nevertheless at this moment he experienced an intense elation, an eagerness of spirit, such as he had not felt since he was in the first resistless vigor of youth, and his voice, when he spoke, carried an unconscious quality strange to his ears. it was the more bewildering because nothing had happened to awaken such feelings. he had met this unworldly, inexperienced prairie girl but twice, and on her part she had betrayed no particular attraction for him. as a matter of fact, she probably considered him an old man--young girls were like that. of course, that was absurd. he was right in his prime, youth sang through his veins at this moment, and yet--she must like him, he must have somehow impressed her. that was fortunate, in view of her relations with henry nelson; luck was coming his way, and she would undoubtedly prove useful. the last thing calvin gray contemplated was a sentimental woman complication, but on account of this girl's peculiar knowledge it seemed to him the part of wisdom to cultivate her--to see as much of her as possible. "if you will come over to the office, i'll show you how i think that pool lies," barbara was saying, and gray came to with a start. it was midafternoon when he left the parker office--at least he thought it must be midafternoon until he consulted his watch and discovered that, to all intents and purposes, he had completely lost two hours. an amazing loss, truly. there was no lack of youthful vigor in calvin gray's movements at any time, but now there was an unusual lightness to his tread and his lips puckered into a joyous whistle. it had been a great day, a day of the widest extremes, a day of adventure and romance. and that is what every day should be. chapter xii if gray cherished any lingering doubts as to the loyalty of mallow, erstwhile victim of his ruthlessness, or of mcwade and stoner, the wildcat promoters, those doubts vanished during the next day or two. as a matter of fact, the readiness, nay, the enthusiasm with which they fell in with his schemes convinced him that he had acted wisely in yielding to an impulse to trust them. at first, when he divulged his enemy's identity, they were thunderstruck; mere mention of henry nelson's name rendered them speechless and caused them to regard their employer as a harmless madman, but as he unfolded his plans in greater detail they listened with growing respect. the idea seized them finally. in the first place, it was sufficiently fantastic to appeal to their imaginations, for they saw in gray a lone wolf with the courage and the ferocity to single out and pull down the leader of the herd, and, what was more, they scented profit to themselves in trailing with him. then, too, the enterprise promised to afford free scope for their ingenuity, their cunning, their devious business methods, and that could be nothing less than pleasing to men of their type. but early enough he made it plain that he intended and would tolerate no actual dishonesty; crooked methods were both dangerous and unsatisfactory, he told them, hence the fight must be fair even though merciless. to annoy, to harass, to injure, and if possible actually to ruin the banker, that was his intention; to accomplish those ends he was willing to employ any legitimate device, however shrewd, however smart. his entire fortune--and his associates, of course, greatly exaggerated its size--would be available for the purpose, and when he sketched out the measures he had in mind the trio of rogues realized that here indeed was a field wide enough for the exercise of their peculiar gifts. they acknowledged, too, a certain pleasure in the comfortable assurance that they would involve themselves in no illegal consequences. at their first council of war gray gave each of them a number of definite things to do or to have done, the while he sought certain facts; when they assembled for a second time, it was to compare, to tabulate, and to consider an amount of information concerning the activities of henry nelson that would have greatly surprised that gentleman had he been present to hear it. for one thing, there had been prepared a comprehensive list of the nelson holdings, together with maps showing their acreage and production, the location of drilling wells, the ownership of adjoining properties, and the like. there was also a considerable amount of data concerning the terms of the nelson leases, renewal dates, and such matters. gray was forced reluctantly to admit that his enemy was more strongly intrenched than he had supposed; careful study of the data showed that the nelson acreage had been well selected and that it was scientifically "checkerboarded" throughout the various fields. what was more significant was the amount of proven or semiproven stuff. "it took work and money to get together that group of leases," brick stoner declared, after he had checked them off. "that's one of the best layouts in texas, and they're shaped up to put over a big deal if they want to." "they lack production," said gray. "sure! but they'll have it before long. lookit the wells they're putting down and that's going down around 'em." the former speaker chewed his cigar thoughtfully for a while, then: "i don't believe they contemplate a big deal. they're not that sort. henry nelson is selfish and suspicious, and i'm told that bell wouldn't trust anybody. i'm informed also that every dollar they have made has gone back into new leases and wells and that they intend to hold everything for themselves. it is rumored, quietly, that they are overextended." "i wouldn't care how thin i was stretched if i had their gamble," mcwade asserted. "all they have to do is to sit tight. the law of average will pull them out. what do you intend to do?" "to begin with, i intend to stretch them even thinner--so thin they'll break, if that is possible." "you can't load them up with more property." "certainly not, but i can make them drill more wells." "offsets, eh?" stoner studied the map a bit doubtfully. "you can't make 'em offset dry holes, and if they strike oil in their wells the other fellers will have to do the offsetting." "true. i can, of course, prevent them from extending their renewals. i can cost them a pretty penny just by forcing them to a rigid adherence to the terms of their leases and agreements and--" "what do you mean, 'offsets'?" mallow inquired. "how you going to break a man by bringing in wells alongside of his property? that'll make him rich." "can you beat that?" stoner inquired. "mallow's been selling oil stock and experting wells for us with the marvelous magnetic finder and he don't know an offset from a headache post." "certainly, i know--" "why, professor! is it possible we have been deceived in you? an offset is the thing that sets off to one side of the crown block and it's a light blue, the same as a formation. it's the shape of a syncline, only bigger." "don't get funny. you drill an offset well to keep a man from sucking all the oil out from under your land." "right!" said gray. "wells, as you know, are drilled as close to the side lines as the law allows. when oil is found, the adjoining landowner can compel his lessee to put down a well to offset every one that threatens to draw oil from beneath his property." "that's what i've just been telling you." "many an operator has gone broke offsetting wells in order to protect his leases, especially if he has a number of neighbors who all start drilling promptly. that is one of the many production troubles--and there's a saying that trouble begins when the oil starts." "you said it. but to offset the nelsons so's to cripple 'em--" brick stoner shook his head. "it ain't hard to borrow money for good offsets. 'most any bank will lend." "it is hard for anybody who is overextended to borrow. possibly my plan won't work, but to annoy, to harass, to embarrass, to stretch them thin--it's all a part of the game. people are never as well off as we think they are. the nelsons are close to the sand in a number of places. i want to procure the adjoining acreage. for every well they make, i'll force them to drill six more. the day they strike oil i'll have a string of derricks every two hundred feet along their side lines." it was mallow who spoke next. "that will cost you dollar for dollar, boss. have you got chips enough to match their stack?" "i don't have to invest dollar for dollar. my money will go for leases, and i'll let drilling contracts, fifty-fifty, sixty-forty, seventy-thirty--anything to get quick action. other people's money will do the work for me. remember, i'm not after oil, i'm after a man." "i'll say you are!" stoner looked up from a frowning contemplation of the maps. "and if you'll take a chance i'll show you how you can drill one well and cost them three--that is, provided you hit." as the others leaned over his shoulder he explained: "here's a square block of four twenties--separate leases, all of 'em--and the nelsons own three. you can cop the fourth twenty, drill right at the inside corner, where all the lines cross. if you pull a duster, you'll be out and injured, maybe twenty-five thousand, but if it comes wet they'll have to protect those three leases with three offsets. it ain't a bad-looking piece of ground; you'll have about a one-to-three chance of making a well." "how many companies have you gentlemen promoted?" gray inquired. "twenty-two. and from a shoestring. every well went down, or is going down, and every dollar we got right here on the street." "and all of them are dry, are they not?" mcwade spoke up, defensively: "sure. they were all wildcats of the wildest kind. but we don't deal in oil, we sell stock. every issue we've put out has gone above par at some time or other, and that's playing the game square with our customers, ain't it? we see that they have a chance to get out with a profit; if they hang on it's their own fault. that's how we've built up a clienteel." "it wouldn't hurt your reputation to bring in a wet well for a change, would it?" both partners agreed that it would not. "i'll buy this twenty-acre lease, and you can promote a company to drill ten of it, stoner says it's a one-to-three shot." mcwade blazed with enthusiasm at the suggestion. "take a piece of the stock yourself, mr. gray, and we'll put it over in a day. with your name at the top of the list it will bally-hoo itself." "not a share. your amiable proposition brings me directly to another point which has a bearing upon our main campaign. law is a dry subject, but i must bore you with a brief dissertation upon a provision of one statute which has doubtless escaped your notice. it has escaped the notice of most people, even of henry nelson, i believe. you realize that all but a few texas oil companies are not organized as corporations, but as joint stock associations--in effect declarations of trust." "we oughta know it," stoner said. "it saves paying a big corporation tax and lets you sell all the full-paid, nonassessable stock you want to issue, regardless of what the property is worth. oh, we got wise to that, _muy pronto!_ why, these here texas laws are the bunk! them fellows at austin, if they had their way, would make it impossible to promote a legitimate enterprise--on a paying basis. they'd make you turn in cash or property the equivocal thereto every time you organized. wouldn't that be sweet? this joint-stock arrangement is the only way to beat the game. it's a shrewd device, and my hat's off to the guy that invented it." "very true. very well expressed. but in the statute governing the procedure there is wrapped up a bundle of bad news, for it is provided that any officer or stockholder may become personally liable for the entire debt of the association. there is going to be a lot of sleep lost over that fact when the truth becomes known." "you mean if i got stock in a company that's blowed up, and i'm living in oshkosh, all pretty, that i can be hooked for the debts some crook runs up here in texas?" "precisely." this intelligence brought no consternation to the partners; on the contrary, mcwade, the optimist, grinned widely. "goes to show you we have been playing the game along safe and legitimate lines," said he. "we don't own a share in any of our own enterprises, and if we have to pick up a few now and then to boost the market, we drop them again as if they were hot. it's a pretty thought, though. why, i can see years of activity ahead of brick and me, buying up the debts of defunct oil companies and collecting in full from prosperous strangers hither and yon. for heaven's sake, don't let it get out!" "i won't, at least until after i have accumulated a number of potential judgments against henry nelson. he has had his share of cats and dogs, of course, and some day i hope to lead them back to his doorstep. if they return at the right moment, they may prove an embarrassment. who knows?" "got anything else up your sleeve?" behind mallow's dark glasses his eyes could be dimly seen, and they were active with curiosity. "plenty. but we have enough here to start on. first, i want these various leases, then i want a company promoted and a well started on that twenty we talked about." for some time longer the conspirators busied themselves over the details of their plans, and gray was beginning to feel some satisfaction at his rate of progress when an interruption occurred that threatened to delay action and even to rob him of the services of the two partners. that interruption took the form of a call from a group of highly excited and indignant purchasers of stock in the desert scorpion company, that promotion in which professor mallow had assisted on the morning of gray's arrival. these stockholders swarmed into the office, bringing with them an air of angry menace; they were noisy; they all talked at once. from out of the confusion it soon became apparent that they had a real grievance, and one which called for immediate satisfaction; moreover, it was made plain that the callers cared little what form that satisfaction took, whether tar and feathers or a rope and a lamp-post. they had been sold, victimized, flimflammed, skinned; the scorpion had stung them and the poison was boiling in their veins. briefly, the swindle was this: investigation had shown that the land owned by the desert scorpion was not where it had been represented to be, but more than a mile distant therefrom. chance alone had brought forth the truth; the hour of vengeance had struck. calvin gray withdrew quietly from the hubbub and asked mallow, "can that be true?" the eminent scientist shrugged; out of the corner of his mouth he murmured: "why not? it all looks alike." mcwade and stoner were not in the least dismayed by this amazing intelligence; as a matter of fact, the former assumed an air of even greater geniality than usual and nodded a careless agreement to every accusation hurled against him. "right you are, men! absolutely right. we were victimized, but we're tickled to death to rectify the error. mighty fortunate mistake, as a matter of fact. brick, out with the old check book and give these birds back their money." with alacrity mr. stoner cleared off his desk and seated himself, pen in hand. "step up and get a dollar a share--just what you paid. fair enough, i calls it. the banks are open and the checks are good." immediately the repurchase of stock began, but anger and suspicion still smoldered; there were dissatisfied mutterings. one investor, a field man in greasy overalls, spoke out: "we'll get ours, all right. don't worry. but how about the other suckers? there's fifty thousand shares out. what you going to do about that?" "buy it back. know where you can get any more?" "maybe." "we'll pay a dollar and a half a share for all you can get, to-morrow." "what?" "you heard me. breast up, boys, and get your money back. our offer stands--a dollar a share to-day, a dollar and a half to-morrow." there was a stir among the indignant speculators; the man for whom stoner was writing a check inquired: "what's the idea? why not a dollar and a half now?" stoner and mcwade exchanged a meaning glance--it was not lost upon their attentive audience--but the latter shrugged and smiled provocatively. "that's our business," he declared, lightly. "you ghost dancers want your money back and we're giving it to you. you're letting up a holler that you were robbed, so come and get it. the faster you come the better it'll suit us. scorpion stock will close at a dollar and a half or better to-morrow night." "bluff!" somebody growled. stoner finished his signature with a nourish, blotted it, then he hesitated. he flung down his pen and turned defiantly upon his partner, crying: "this ain't fair to these men, mac. they're customers of ours and we owe 'em the chance to make a killing. it's up to us to tell 'em the truth." mcwade was angry. his indignation flamed. vigorously he denied the charge of unfairness. a spirited argument ensued, with stoner asserting that the firm was morally obligated to protect its clients to a greater extent than merely by returning their money, and with mcwade as stoutly maintaining that all obligations, moral and legal, were canceled with the repurchase of the stock. meanwhile it became evident that the alarming rumor about desert scorpion was rapidly spreading, for other investors were climbing the stairs now, and the office was becoming crowded. the later arrivals were in time to witness mcwade finally defer to his partner and to hear him announce that a rare stroke of fortune had favored purchasers of this particular issue of stock, for the land which really belonged to the company had turned out to be much better than that which it owned. certain information from the field had arrived that very day which was bound to send the stock to two dollars. if anybody wanted to sell, the promoters would be glad to buy, and they would advance their price on the morrow, as mcwade had promised, so here was a chance for those present to turn a pretty penny by getting busy at once. frankly, however, he advised his hearers to hang on and make a real clean-up. the information, which was not yet public, had nothing to do with the fact that doctor mallow had experted both properties with his scientific device and pronounced the new acreage much richer than the old--this latter was merely corroborative evidence, and in view of the fact that some people put no credence in so-called "doodle bugs," he merely offered the record of the tester for what it was worth. his original bet of ten to one still held, by the way, and once again he repeated that those who wished to sell out would be accommodated with the greatest alacrity. only they mustn't return later and squawk. mcwade confessed that he was neither angry nor offended at the recent attitude of suspicion--he was merely amused. it made him laugh. the idea of his firm turning a crooked trick, when it was an established institution as strong as gibraltar and as conservative as a national bank, was ridiculous. he and stoner could point with pride to an unbroken record of successes and to a list of satisfied investors as long as a santa fe time-table. desert scorpion stock would go to two dollars, and five would get you ten if you didn't think so. now then, step lively! the refunding of money halted; there was a deal of noisy argument. some of the disgruntled investors still insisted upon selling out; others decided to hold on; even a few asked to repurchase the stock they had turned in, and this they were reluctantly permitted to do at an advance of fifty per cent. when the last caller had disappeared, gray inquired, curiously: "how are you going to make good on your assertion that the stock will rise?" "easy!" said stoner. "i'll change into my old clothes, put four mud chains on my car, and drive up, to the exchange in a hurry, then give some gabby guy a tip to grab desert scorpion for me at a dollar and a half--all he can get. after that i'll shoot out of town on high, with the cut-out open. there will be a string of cars after me inside of half an hour, and the stock will be up before i can get back." "we'll make good, all right," mcwade asserted. "those customers are in luck dealing with a house like us. all they expect is a chance to get out with a profit and sting the next fellow. they don't want oil; they want a run for their money and a quick turn. we give it to them." "and do they always buy your issues?" "i ain't saying they do. sometimes they're cold until you put on the indian sign. but all you have to do when stock don't sell is to raise the price. oh, if you know how, it ain't hard to make an honest dollar in the oil business!" mr. mcwade smiled with conscious satisfaction. "i'm sure of it," gray said, heartily. "there is so little competition." chapter xiii ma briskow always had been known as a woman without guile, but of late she had developed rare powers of dissimulation. she was, in fact, leading a double life, and neither her husband nor her daughter suspected the extent of her deception. to the patrons of the burlington notch hotel she was merely a drab, indistinct, washed-out old woman, unmarked except by a choice of clashing colors in dress; to her family she remained what she always had been; nobody dreamed that she was in reality a bandit queen, the leader of a wild, unfettered band of mountaineers. but that is what she was. and worse at times. yes, ma had slipped the leash. she was a robber baroness; she dwelt in a rocky "fastness"--whatever that was--surrounded by a crew of outlaws as desperate as any that ever drew cutlass and dagger, and she ruled them not only by native strength of character, but also by the aid of other forces, for she was on friendly terms with the more prominent wood sprites, fairies, and the like, and they brought her wisdom. moreover, she had learned the language of dumb animals and could talk to squirrels, beetles, porcupines, frogs. all this, as may be surmised, had come about as the result of ma's early reading: a haphazard choice of story books, in which were tales of treasure trove, of pirates, of wronged maidens and gallant squires--romantic stories peculiarly designed to stir a cramped imagination like hers. it was from them that she had gained her ideas of the world, her notions of manners, even her love of the mountains, and that unquenchable desire to see them that she had confided to calvin gray. he it was, by the way, who had selected the notch for these texas nesters. it had proved a happy choice, for the hotel sat upon the top of the world, and beneath it lay outspread the whole green and purple vastness of the earth. the briskows were entranced, of course, and, once they had established themselves here, they never thought of moving, nor did it occur to them that there might--be other mountains than these, other hotels as good as this. to them burlington notch became merely a colloquial name for paradise, and life in the great hotel itself a beautiful dream. the place was famous the country over as a health resort, and, indeed, it must have possessed miraculous curative properties, otherwise gus briskow, strong and vigorous as he was, could never have survived the shock of receiving his first week's bill. it was with conflicting emotions that he had divided the sum at the foot of the statement into seven parts and realized the daily ransom in which he and his family were held; it had given him a feeling of tremendous importance and extreme insignificance. he spoke feelingly that night about the high cost of loafing, but ma showed such dismay at the mere suggestion of leaving that he had resigned himself, and thereafter the sight of his weekly bill evoked nothing more than a shudder and a prayer--a prayer that none of his wells would go dry overnight. but lifelong habits of prudence are not easily broken. the notch hotel was altogether too rich for gus briskow's blood, so he sought a more congenial environment. he found it in the village, in a livery stable; there, amid familiar odors and surroundings both agreeable and economical, he spent most of his time, leaving ma to amuse herself and allie to pursue the routine of studies laid down by her tutoress. now ma had not gone wild all at once; her atavism had been gradual--the result of her persistent explorations. she had never seen a real waterfall, for instance, and the first one proved so amazing that she was impelled to seek more, after which she became interested in caves, and before long her ramblings had taken her up every watercourse and into every ravine in the neighborhood. this sense of treading untrodden ground roused in ma a venturesome spirit of independence, an unsuspected capacity for adventure, and when the wealth of her discoveries failed to awaken interest in her family she ceased reporting them and became more solitary than ever in her habits. every morning she slipped out of the hotel, meandered through the grounds apparently without purpose, but in reality pursuing a circuitous route and taking sudden twistings and turnings to throw pursuers off the scent. ever deeper into the wilderness she penetrated, but with the sly caution of an old fox returning to its lair, for she was always being followed by wicked people, such, for instance, as minions of the law, members of the black hand, foreign spies, gen-darmys, and detectifs. having baffled them all, she laughed scornfully, flung deceit to the winds, then hurried straight to the "fastness," and there uttered the tribal call. at the sound her gypsy band came bounding forth to meet her, and she gave them her royal hand to kiss, raising them graciously when they knelt, giving a kind word here or a sharp reprimand there. they were the fiercest gypsies in the world, and quarrelsome, too. they were forever fighting among themselves and crying: "curse you, jack dalton! take that!" and plunging swords into one another, but they had good hearts and they loved ma and were devoted to her lost cause. she could handle them where others would have failed. having accepted their homage and heard the details of their latest raids against her enemy, the false duke of dallas--he whose treachery had made her what she was--she assumed her throne and held formal court. the throne was a low, flat rock beside a stream, and usually ma removed her shoes and stockings and paddled her feet in the water while she gave audience to visiting potentates. those enlarged joints never seemed to accommodate themselves wholly to the sort of shoes allie made her wear. court "let out" when ma's feet had become rested, after which there were less formal affairs of state to settle. these out of the way, it was time for the queen's recreations, which took the form of singing, dancing, conversations with animals, visits with the invisible fairy folk who lived in flowers and gave them their pretty smells. ma never had any trouble putting in the whole day in some such manner as this; evening came all too soon, as a matter of fact. then it was that she bade good-by to her faithful subjects and prepared once more to fare forth and mingle, in the cunning guise of an old woman, with the followers of the false and lying duke of dallas. but courage! patience! the day of reckoning was at hand when she would come into her own and the world would recognize her as the wronged but rightful princess pensacola. thus would ma briskow spend one morning. another perhaps she would be an altogether different character, but always she was young and beautiful and full of grace, and only when it came time to go did she assume the disguise of an aged, wrinkled, bent old woman. sometimes she ran miles and miles at a stretch, darting, springing like a fawn, rushing through the soft, green leaves, leaping rock and rill, her laughter echoing, her bare limbs flashing, her gold hair streaming, her scanty silken draperies whipped to shreds behind her by the very swiftness of her going. oh, the ecstasy of that! the excitement! of course ma did not actually run. neither did her bare limbs flash--being incased in flannels. and her hair was not gold. it was gray, what little there was of it. no, she ambled a bit, perhaps, where the grass was short and the ground smooth, then she stood still, closed her eyes, and ran and leaped and swayed and darted--with her arms. anybody can do it. at other times she defied gravitation, a secret accomplishment all her own, which she manifested in this wise. she would begin to jump, higher and higher, and the higher she jumped the lighter she became, until finally she weighed no more than a thistledown, and the effort of leaping became a pure joy and an exhilaration. having attained this perfect state of buoyancy, she would set out upon wonderful journeys, springing lightly as far as it pleased her to spring, soaring gracefully over obstacles, and deriving a delirious pleasure from the sensation. one cannot appreciate the enjoyment to be had from this method of locomotion without trying it. and always when ma came back to earth and opened her eyes there were the great smiling mountains, the clear, clean waters foaming over the rocks, and underfoot was the cool, green grass, not that hot, hard 'dobe clay she had always known. trees, too! beautiful whispering trees, with smooth leaves instead of burrs and spines and stickers. nor was there the faintest choking smell of dust; no sand blowing up her nose and smarting her eyes. ma briskow had never dreamed that the world was so clean. she blessed god for making oil to lie in the rocks of the earth, and she prayed that none of "them hotel people" would discover her retreat. but, of course, somebody did discover it. mr. delamater, the dancing instructor, for one, stumbled upon it while ma briskow was in the midst of one of her imaginary games, and he reported his discovery to the day clerk. "what ails that old dame, anyhow?" he inquired, after recounting ma's peculiar behavior. "not a thing in the world except money," the clerk declared. doubtfully mr. delamater shook his handsome auburn head. "people with good sense don't act like that. she was doing an isadora duncan when i saw her. dancing--if you care to call it that! anyhow, her hair was hanging, she was flapping her arms and jiggling up and down." delamater laughed at the memory. "there's a big, awkward bird--sort of a crane or buzzard of some kind--that dances. i never saw one, but she reminded me of it. and she _sang_! gee! it was fierce!" "did she see you?" "scarcely. i don't mind being alone with allie"--delamater's teeth shone in a smile, then, seeing his reflection in a convenient mirror, he studied it with complacent favor. he tried the smile again, and, getting it to his better satisfaction, concluded--"don't mind it a bit, but a bosky dell with a mad woman is my idea of no place to be." "allie?" the clerk lifted his brows. "so--'_allie_'! has it gone as far as that, del?" "oh, you know how it is! a lesson every day, soft music, arm around the waist, a kind word. the girl is human. i'm probably different to anything that ever came into her young life. look at my wardrobe! she's not so bad to take, either, and yet--" the immaculate speaker frowned. "father smells like a horse, and mother's a nut! gee! it would take some coin to square that." "that's one thing they've got," asserted the clerk. "nothing but!" mr. delamater debated further. "think of marrying the powerful katrinka! i'll admit it has its points. if anything went wrong with the bank roll allie could make a good living for both of us. suppose, for instance, the old statue of liberty slipped and fell. allie could jump over to bedloe's island and take a turn at holding the torch. ifi they've got the coin you say they have, i think i'll have to see more of her." "you won't see any more than you do. she's hitting on all four." "what is she up to all day?" "i don't know. working, studying, exercising. rehearsing for the movies, i guess. she has worn that companion of hers down to a frazzle. she has her own masseuse in the bath department, she rides a horse three days a week, and every morning she takes a long walk--" "i've got it!" mr. delamater slapped his thigh. "road work! she's getting ready to take on dempsey." he laughed musically. "if she marries me her days of labor will be over; it will mean for her the dawn of a new life--provided, of course, those oil wells are what you say they are. kidding aside, though, i don't dislike the girl and--i've a notion to give her a chance." what the clerk said was true. allie briskow was indeed in training, both physical and mental, and the application, the energy she displayed had surprised not only her parents, who could but dimly understand the necessity of self-culture, but also mrs. ring, the instructress. mrs. ring, a handsome, middle-aged woman whose specialty was the finishing of wealthy young "ladies," had been induced to accept this position partly by reason of the attractive salary mentioned in calvin gray's telegram, and partly by reason of the fact that she needed a rest. she had met the briskows in dallas only a short time before their departure for the north, and although that first interview had been a good deal of a shock to her--almost as much of a shock as if she had been asked to tutor the offspring of a pair of chimpanzees--nevertheless she had nerved herself to the necessary sacrifice of dignity. after all, allegheny was only an overgrown child in need of advanced kindergarten training, and in the meantime there was the prospect of a season at burlington notch. the latter was, in itself, a prospect alluring to one suffering from the wear and tear of a trying profession. after some hesitation, mrs. ring had accepted the position, feeling sure that it would rest her nerves. but never had the good woman suffered such a disillusionment. allie, she soon discovered, was anything but a child, or rather she was an amazing and contradictory combination of child and adult. what mrs. ring had taken to be mental apathy, inherent dullness, was in reality caution, diffidence, the shyness of some wild animal. nor was that the most bewildering of the teacher's surprises; allie possessed character and will power. for some time she had accepted mrs. ring's tutorship without comment or question--calvin gray had recommended it, therefore she obeyed blindly--but one day, after they had become settled in the mountains, she came out with a forceful declaration. she knew full well her own shortcomings, so she declared, and she was not content to learn a few things day by day. she demanded intensified training; education under forced draught. "they took green country boys durin' the war--" "during the war. don't drop your g's, my dear." "--during the war, and learned 'em--" "taught them!" "--taught them to be soldiers in six months. well, i'm strong as a horse, and i've got a brain, and i'm quick at pickin'--i mean i pick up things quick--" "you pick them up quickly. quickly is an adverb; quick is an--" allie's dark eyes grew darker. imperiously she cried: "all right! but let me say this my own way. it won't be right or elegant, but you'll understand. and that's what we got to have first off--a good understanding. after i've said it, you can rub it down and curry it. i been watching you like a hawk, miz' ring, and you're just what he said you was. you got everything i want, but--i can't go so slow; i got to get it quick--quickly. you been teaching me to read and talk, and how to laugh, and how to set--sit--but we been _playing_. we got to _work_! oh, i know i'm forgetting everything for a minute. miz' ring, i gotta learn how to act pretty and talk pretty and _look_ pretty. and i gotta learn how, _quick_." "you are a fine-looking girl as it is, allegheny." "oh, i guess i look _dressed up_, but i'm awkward. i'm stiff as a hired hand, and i fall over my feet. look at 'em. biggest live things in the world without lungs! i got to get slim and graceful--" "i'll teach you a setting-up routine, if you wish, although it is scarcely in my line. goodness knows you don't need physical culture." "but i do," cried the girl. "very well. riding is a smart accomplishment. can you ride a horse?" "pshaw! i can carry a horse." "you'd look well in a habit, and with baths, massage, dancing, and a little diet i dare say you can reduce." "i'll starve," allie asserted, fiercely. "but that ain't half enough. you gotta give me more studyin'. i got callouses on my hands and i'm used to work. we'll get up at daylight-" "good heavens!" mrs. ring exclaimed, faintly. "you learn me how to do the sitting-up things first off, then i'll do 'em alone. ride me hard, miz' ring. i'll remember. i'll work; you won't have to tell me twice. but i gotta make speed. i 'ain't got the time other girls have." "my dear child, all this cannot be done in a day, a week, a month." "how long you allow it will take?" the elder woman shrugged. "years, perhaps." "years?" "real culture, social accomplishments, are the results of generations of careful training. i'm not a miracle worker. but why this impatience?" "i got-" "i have." "i have a reason. i can't take a generation; i'd be too late." "too late for what?" but allie refused to answer. "we'll start in to-day and we'll work double tower till one of us plays out. what d'you say?" at first mrs. ring took this energetic declaration with some reserve, but before long she realized with consternation that allie briskow was in deep earnest and that this was not a soft berth. instead of obtaining a rest she was being worked as never before. allie was a thing of iron; she was indefatigable; and her thirst for knowledge was insatiate; it grew daily as she gained fuller understanding of her ignorance. there was a frantic eagerness to her efforts, almost pitiful. as time went on she began to hate herself for her stupidity and to blame her people for her condition. she was a harder taskmaster than her teacher. most things she apprehended readily enough, but when she failed to learn, when mental or physical awkwardness halted progress, then she flew into a fury. her temper appalled mrs. ring. at such times allie was more than disagreeable. hate flamed in her eyes, she beat herself with her fists, she kicked the furniture, and she broke things. once she even butted her head against the wall, uttering language meanwhile that all but caused her companion to swoon. mrs. ring resigned after this final exhibition, but, lacking the courage to face allie in a mood like that, she went to gus briskow. "it is simply impossible to remain," she told him. "already i'm a physical wreck, for i never get a moment's rest. the salary is attractive, but allegheny is too much for me. she saps every ounce of vitality i have; she keeps me going every hour. and her terrific tempers are actually--dangerous." "she don't ever get mad at you, does she?" "oh no! and she repents quickly enough. as a matter of fact, i am afraid she is overdoing her studies, but there's no holding her back." "you're kinda worked up, miz' ring. mebbe i can make it pleasanter for you." "in what way, may i ask?" "well, by payin' you more." "you are generous. the salary we agreed upon isn't low." "yes'm--no, ma'am!" "i wouldn't feel right to accept more." "try it, ma'am, for a little while. mebbe it won't bother you so much after you get used to it. allie likes you." "and i--i _am_ interested in her. she is progressing, too; in fact, i have never seen anyone learn more rapidly. but--she is so unusual. still, perhaps i _am_ the one--perhaps it is my duty, under the circumstances--" with this disposition to compromise the father had little difficulty in dealing, so the daily routine was continued. allie applied herself to the cultivation of the ordinary social niceties with the same zeal that she followed her studies and her physical exercises. fortunately these exercises afforded outlet for the impatience and the scorn that she felt for herself. otherwise there would have been no living with her. as it was she showed herself no mercy. daylight found her stirring, her swedish drill she took with a vigor that fairly shook the floor, and, having finished this, she donned sweater and boots and went for a swift walk over the hills. at this hour she had the roads to herself and was glad of it, for she felt ridiculous. at breakfast, although she had a ravenous appetite, she ate sparingly. the day was spent in reading aloud, in lessons in deportment, voice modulation, conversation, and the like; in learning how to enter and how to leave a room, how to behave at a tea or a reception, how to accept and how to make an introduction, how to walk, how to sit, how to rise. allie did sums in arithmetic, she studied grammar and geography and penmanship--in short, she took an intensified common-school course. here was where her tutoress had trouble, for when the girl's brain became weary or confused she relieved her baffled rage in her most natural way, the while mrs. ring stopped her ears and moaned. it was a regimen that no ordinary woman could have endured; it would have taxed the strength of an athlete. late in the afternoon allie went riding, and here was one accomplishment in which she required no coaching. frequently she vented her spite upon her horse, and more than once she brought it home with its mouth bleeding and its flanks white with lather. she rode with a magnificent recklessness that finally caused comment among the other guests. allie was sitting alone in her room one evening, fagged out from a hard day. some people were talking on the veranda outside her window, and she heard one say: "the girl can look really stunning." "exactly. i don't understand where she gets her looks, for her parents are--impossible. wouldn't you _know_ what they were?" allie needed no clearer indication of who was under discussion. instinctive resentment at the reference to her father and mother was followed by amazement, delight, at the compliment to herself--the first she had ever received. she leaned forward, straining to hear more. what mattered it how these contemptuous outsiders referred to her parents? they agreed that she was "stunning," which was their way of saying that she was pretty, nay, more--beautiful, perhaps. "she's a glorious rider," the first speaker was saying. "she passed me the other day, going like sin, with her face blazing and that big, lively chestnut running flat. the way she took that curve above the devil's slide brought my heart into my mouth." the breathless eavesdropper felt a hot wave of delight pour over her, her very flesh seemed to ripple like the fur of a cat when it is stroked. "oh, she's a picture, mounted! seems to have complete confidence in herself; and the strength of a giantess, too. but--my god! when she's on her feet! and have you heard her talk?" evidently the other speaker had, for there came the sound of low laughter, a sound that stabbed allie briskow like a bayonet and left her white and furious. she sat motionless for a long time, and something told her that as long as she lived she would never forget, never forgive, that laughter. she was unusually silent and somber for the next three or four days; she went through her exercises without vim; at her studies she was both stupid and sullen. when mrs. ring's patience was exhausted and her frayed nerves finally gave out, allie rounded upon her with a violence unparalleled. those previous exhibitions of temper were tame as compared with this one; the girl spat scorn and bitterness and hatred; she became a volcano in active eruption. in a panic mrs. ring sought out gus briskow and again resigned. by this time, however, the novelty of her resignation had largely worn off, for seldom did more than two weeks elapse without a hysterical threat to quit. but this one required more than the usual amount of persuasion, and it was not without long and patient pleading, coupled with the periodical raise, that the father induced her to change her mind. gus told himself somberly that the price of allegheny's education was mounting so rapidly that it might be the part of economy to take mrs. ring in as a full partner in the briskow oil wells. he decided, after some consideration, to wire calvin gray and offer to pay his traveling expenses if he would come to burlington notch for a few days. chapter xiv one accomplishment that allegheny mastered with gratifying ease was dancing. it came naturally to her, for both she and buddy were full of music. at first she had been extremely self-conscious; professor delamater had found her to be as heavy as stone and as awkward as a bear; but later, as her embarrassment became less painful, she relaxed. she regained her power of speech, also, and in time she voiced an eager desire to learn all there was to learn. having quickly schooled her in the simpler forms of ballroom dancing, delamater suggested a course in the deeper intricacies of fancy dancing. "you're getting on," he told her, one day. "that last was splendid--top hole, absolutely." delamater, who was quite thoroughly american, affected at times an english turn to his conversation, believing that it gave him an air. it went particularly well, he thought, with light trousers, spats, and an afternoon coat cut close at the waist. "don't fool me," panted the red-faced juno. "you must have iron feet." "my word! spoof you, indeed! not for worlds, if you know what i mean? i shall expect to see you in the ballroom every evening." but allie's confidence forsook her at this. "i'd--be scared stiff. folks would laugh. they haven't got--haven't anything to do but laugh at other folks, and i don't like to be laughed at." "laugh at you! fancy that! you're too modest." delamater adopted the cooing note of a dove. "'pon my word, you're too modest. if you could hear the things i hear--" he paused, not knowing exactly what to say he had heard, but his vagueness, the very eloquence of his hesitation, caused allie's face to light up. this was the second compliment paid her since her arrival at the notch, therefore when the phonograph resumed its melodious measures she yielded herself with abandon to the arms of her partner, and her red lips were parted, her somber eyes were shining. that day she began a course of exhibition dancing. it was on that afternoon that delamater had told the clerk of discovering ma briskow alone in the woods. there was an open golf tournament at the notch, prominent amateurs and professionals were competing, and the hotel was crowded to its capacity with players, fashionable followers of the game and a small army of society reporters and sport writers. this being the height of the season, social doings at the resort were featured in all the large eastern papers, for famous names were on the register and the hotel switch was jammed with private cars. allie briskow was in one of her trying moods to-day, for the out-of-doors called to her. sounds of laughter and gayety, strains of music, had distracted her from her studies, her monotonous routine had become hopelessly unbearable all at once. from her window she could see young people, hear young voices, and envy flamed in her soul. those girls were her age; those men, easy, immaculate, different from anything she had ever seen--except calvin gray--they, too, were young and they courted those girls. contemplation of the chattering throngs showed allie more clearly than ever the chasm separating her from these people, and reawakened in her that black resentment which at times made her so difficult to manage. she was thankful that her mother had disappeared and that her father was at the livery stable; she hoped they would stay away all day. at least, they were safe from ridicule. she wondered if she might not induce them to dine in their rooms that evening, and thus spare herself the embarrassment she always suffered when she accompanied them into the public dining room. it seemed to her that whenever they went to dinner--gus in his baggy pepper-and-salt sack suit, his loose, lay-down collar, and his wide-toed shoes, ma in one of her giddy, gaudy dinner dresses--it seemed as if the entire assemblage was stricken dumb and as if every eye was turned upon them in mockery and amusement. even the waiters, allie felt sure, noted the difference between the briskows and the other guests, and only with difficulty concealed their contempt. the occasional presence of mrs. ring, handsome, dignified, unruffled, intensified that contrast and fairly shouted the humiliating announcement that here were three nobodies who wanted to be somebodies, but never could. invariably when they went out in public together mrs. ring made allie feel as if she belonged to a lower, cruder order of animal life; as if she were an inhabitant of another sphere. and yet, mrs. ring was poor; she worked for wages! allie could not understand this phenomenon; thought of it now caused her resentment to kindle. of course it was the lot of the hapless tutoress to select such a moment as this in which to sweetly chide the girl for some lapse of form. allie exploded. she reduced the elder woman to tears, then, ashamed of herself, she flung blindly out of the room, crashing the door to behind her. she decided to dance her anger away. it was some consolation to know that she could dance as well, or better, than those slim and pampered beauties outside her window. some consolation, even though she never expected to have a chance of proving it. delamater was especially agreeable to-day, more than usually nattering. not for some time did his scholar become conscious of the subtle change in his demeanor, and even then its significance awoke only a shadowy contentment. allie hated herself too thoroughly to-day to believe that anybody could really approve of her. as for him, he entirely misconstrued the meaning of her silent acceptance of his flattery. they had become well acquainted by now and were on a basis of easy familiarity, nevertheless it came as a shock to allie to be called by her first name-such a shock that she missed a step and trod on delamater's foot. they came to a pause. the dancing master was tall and slim, his face was on a level with hers, and now he smiled into it, saying, "my mistake, my dear." "i--reckon it was." the girl's eyes were glowing queerly, and the man was amused at her evident agitation. his first word had thrown the poor thing into a flurry. they began to dance again, and, after a moment, with a gently rising inflection, delamater murmured, "you heard what i called you?" he approved of the sachet that allie used, and he became acutely conscious of the jewels resting in the palm of his left hand. the girl was rich and she was--different, unusual. ever since she had learned to yield herself to his embrace, he had been conscious of her strong physical attraction, and now it got the better of him. "you don't care?" he said, with his lips close to her ear. "humph! i'm not caring for anything or anybody to-day." "somebody has hurt my little girl." allie threw back her head and stared at him with quick suspicion. "your little girl?" she repeated. it is the lot of any man in the heat of his desire to make mistakes, and delamater erred gravely at this moment. he kissed allie. without warning he kissed her full and fair upon her red, half-open lips. for the briefest instant of amazement the two stood motionless in the middle of the polished floor while the phonograph brayed on; then allie shook herself free of her partner, and in the same movement she smote him a mighty slap that sent him reeling. delamater saw stars. the constellation of orion gleamed in dazzling splendor within his tightly shut lids; he collided with a chair and went sprawling. with a cry he scrambled to his feet. "what the hell--?" he growled, savagely. allie's face was chalky. breathlessly, curiously she inquired, "wha'd you do that for?" "what did i _do_ it for? say! you ought to be complimented--tickled to death." delamater rubbed his cheek and glared at her. "by god! i wish you were a man. oh, don't worry, i won't touch you again! who the hell would, after that?" allie opened her lips to speak, but he ran on more angrily as the pain bit into him. "thought i meant it, eh? why, you lumbering ox--" "then you ain't--in love with me or--or anything?" "_love_?" the speaker uttered an unpleasant sound indicative of scorn. "wake up, sister! what d'you take me for? why, your mother talks bird talk, and your dad lives in a box stall and eats oats with his knife! here i kid you along a little bit--slip you a little kiss, as i would any girl, and you--you--" delamater stuttered impotently. "_love_? i guess i'm the first regular fellow that ever gave you a chance." delamater was surprised when his pupil turned her back upon him, strode to the nearest window, and flung it open as if for air; his surprise deepened when she faced him again and moved in his direction. her expression caused him to utter a profane warning, but she continued to bear down upon him, and when she reached out to seize him he struck at her as he would have struck at a man. to those who are familiar with burlington notch, it will be remembered that the hotel is pitched upon a slope and that the rooms on the first floor of the east wing are raised a considerable distance above the lawn. the windows of these east rooms overlook the eighteenth green, and during tournaments they are favorite vantage points of golf widows and enthusiasts who are too old to follow the competitors around the course. to-day they were filled, for an international title was at issue and herring, prince of amateurs, was playing off the final round of his match with the dour scotch professional, mcleod. a highly enthusiastic "gallery" accompanied the pair, a crowd composed not only of spectators, but also of officials, defeated players, newspaper writers, camera men, caddies, and the like. they streamed up the final fairway behind the gladiators and for the moment they were enveloped in gloom, for herring had sliced off the seventeenth tee and a marvelous recovery, together with a good approach, had still left his ball on the edge of the green, while mcleod, man of iron, had laid his third shot within three feet of the flag. it meant a sure four for the latter, with not less than a five for herring. one of those golfing miracles, a forty-foot putt, would halve the match, to be sure, but in tournament golf miracles have a way of occurring on any except the deciding hole. sympathy usually follows the amateur, therefore it was a silent throng that ranged itself about the gently undulating expanse of velvet sod in the shadow of the east wing. herring had played a wonderful match; he stood for all that is clean and fine in golf. the end of the balcony was jammed; nearly every window framed eager faces; amid a breathless intensity of interest the youthful contender tested the turf with the head of his club and studied the run of the green. a moment, then he took his stance and swung his putter smoothly. the ball sped away, taking a curving course, and followed by five hundred pairs of eyes. it ran too swiftly! herring, in desperation, had overplayed! but no--it lost momentum as it topped a rise, then gathered speed, all but died at the edge of the cup and--toppled in amid a salvo of handclaps and roar of "bravo!" that was nerve, courage, skill! that was golf! the miracle had happened! another hole to decide the match. quickly the crowd became still again as mcleod, his teeth set upon the stem of his pipe, his stony face masking a murderous disappointment, stepped forward to run down his four. the silence was broken by a cry. out of the air overhead came the sound of a disturbance, and every face turned. a most amazing thing was in the way of happening, a phenomenon unique in the history of tournaments, for a man was being thrust forth from one of the hotel windows, perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground--a writhing, struggling, kicking man with fawn-colored spats. he was being ejected painlessly but firmly, and by a girl--a grim-faced young woman of splendid proportions. for a moment she allowed him to dangle; then she dropped him into a handsome dorothy perkins rosebush. he landed with a shriek. briefly the amazon remained framed in the casement, staring with dark defiance down into the upturned faces; her deep bosom was heaving, her smoky hair was slightly disarranged; she allowed her eyes to rest upon the figure entangled among the thorns beneath her, then she closed the window. nothing like this had ever occurred in scotland. the mighty mcleod missed his putt and took a five. as allie briskow passed through the lobby with her head erect and her fists clenched, she heard the sound of a great shouting outside and she believed it was directed at her. she fled into her room and flung herself upon her bed, sobbing hoarsely. mrs. ring was waiting on the veranda for gus briskow when he returned to the hotel about dark. he had learned to dread the sight of her on that veranda, for it was her favorite resigning place--what gus called her "quitting spot," and it was evident to-night that she was in a quitting mood, a mood more hysterical than ever before. it was some time before he could get at the facts, and even then he could not fully appreciate the enormity of the disgrace that had overwhelmed allie's instructress. "she chucked the dancin' teacher out of a winder?" he repeated, blankly. "what for?" "goodness knows, mr. briskow! something he said, or did--i couldn't make out precisely. i found her in a dreadful state, and i tried to comfort her, i did really, but--oh! if you could have _heard_ her! where she learned such language i don't know. my ears _burn_! but that isn't the worst; you should hear what--" "he must of said something pretty low down." briskow spoke quietly; his bright blue eyes were hard. "i reckon she'll tell me." "you don't understand," chattered the woman. "she flung the man bodily out of the window and into a bed of thorns. it nearly killed him; he was painfully lacerated and bruised and--right in the middle of a golf game! it did something dreadful--i don't know what--just as the world's champion caught the ball, or something." "if he's crippled i'll get him that much easier," said briskow, and at the purposeful expression upon his weather-beaten face mrs. ring uttered a faint bleat of terror. she pawed at him as he undertook to pass her. "oh, my heavens! what are you going to do?" "depends on what he said to allie." the woman wrung her hands. "what people! what--_savages_! you're--going to shoot him, i suppose, just because--" "yes'm!" the father nodded. "you got it right, motif an' all. 'just because'!" "you _can't_. i sha'n't permit it. i--i'll call the police." "don't do that, ma'am. i've stood a lot from you, in one way or another." "but it's _murder_! you--you can't mean it." moans issued from the speaker. "what _ever_ possessed me to accept this position? it's unendurable, and i'll be involved--" "i've saw your last raise, miz' ring." "do you think i'd stay, after this? it's bad enough to be made ridiculous--the whole hotel is in laughter; laughter at me, i dare say, as much as at her. imagine! hurling a full-grown man from a window--" "i don't hear nobody laughing." briskow swung his head slowly from side to side. "but to contemplate murder--" "what's more, i don't intend to hear nobody laugh. by god! now i come to think about it, there ain't a-goin' to be no laughing at all around here." gus continued slowly to swing his head, like a bear. "she's my kid!" he pushed past mrs. ring, still muttering, "my kid--there ain't a-goin' to be no laughing at all." going directly to the desk, he asked for the manager, then stood aside, hat in hand, until the latter made his appearance. the manager began a hasty and rather mixed apology on behalf of the hotel for what had occurred in the dancing room, but his tone of annoyance was an accusation in itself. it was plain that, to his mind, the catastrophe on the eighteenth green outweighed in importance whatever may have led up to it. that was something actually tragic, something frightful, appalling; it involved the good name of the hotel and affected the world's golf title. "very--unfortunate," he lamented. "we haven't heard the last of it, by any means. mcleod may file a protest. and there is something to be said on both sides; rather a nice question, in fact." "prob'ly so," the father agreed. "an' i got something to say about it, too. get that dancin' perfessor off the place quick or i'll kill him." the manager recoiled; his startled eyes searched briskow's face incredulously. "i--beg pardon?" "i 'ain't heard my kid's side of the story yet, but i'm goin' to see her now, so you better get word to that jumpin' jack in a hurry. that is, if you want to save him." "he is discharged, of course, for we tolerate no rudeness on the part of our employees--or our guests, for that matter; but i believe he is suffering some effects from the shock. i couldn't well ask him to go before--" "it'll take me prob'ly twenty minutes, talkin' to my girl. that'll give him time, if he moves fast. but i may get through in fifteen." at the door to his suite gus briskow paused to wipe his countenance clean of the expression it had worn for the last few minutes, and when he entered it was with his usual friendly smile. allie and her mother were waiting; they were white and silent. gus kissed his daughter before saying: "don't worry, honey; he won't bother you no more." allie averted her face. mrs. briskow inquired, "did you see the skunk?" "no. i give him a few minutes to clear out." "hadn't we better leave, too?" ventured allie. "oh-h!" in ma's eyes was such bleak dismay, such a piteous appeal, that gus shook his head. "what fer? we got nice quarters and your ma likes it here--" "they're laughing at me. i heard 'em hollering." "they won't laugh long. no, you're learnin' fast, and we're all havin' a nice time. only one thing--i'm kinda tired of that miz' ring. i let her go, but i'll get you another--" "she quit, eh?" "um-m, not exactly. i--" "i don't blame her. i've been mighty mean. but i couldn't help it, pa. when you put a wild horse in a pen, it don't do to prod him and throw things and--that's what they've done to me. i bite and kick like any bronc. when you're hurt, constant, you get spells when you've got to hurt back. i've been rotten to her, and now this coming on top of it--" "wha'd that dancin' dude do, anyhow?" allie related her experience with professor delamater; she told it all up to the burst of shouting that followed her through the lobby. "you should of heard 'em yelling, clapping their hands--! i"--she choked, her voice failed her, miserably she concluded--"i wish to god we'd never struck oil!" "you're just wore out, dearie," her mother said, comfortingly, and briskow agreed. he assured her that all would be well. all was not well, however. the next morning when gus briskow was about to leave the hotel as usual--professor delamater having departed hurriedly the evening before with fully four minutes of his twenty to spare--he was stopped by the manager, who requested him to give up his rooms. the texan was bewildered; he could not understand the reason for such a request. "'ain't i paid my bills?" he queried. the manager assured him that he had; he was profoundly regretful, as a matter of fact; but it so happened that the briskow suite had been reserved early in the season, and the party who had made the reservation had just wired that he was arriving that day. he was a gentleman of importance--it was indeed unfortunate--the management appreciated mr. briskow's patronage--they hoped he and his family would return to the notch sometime. "mebbe you got some other rooms that would do us," gus ventured. it was too bad, but the hotel was overcrowded. later, perhaps--now at that very moment the lobby was filled with tournament golfers who were leaving on the morning train, and briskow knew it. he studied the speaker with an expression that caused the latter extreme discomfort; it was much the same expression he had worn the night before when he had served warning upon delamater. "lemme get this right," he said. "you can talk straight to me. bein' ignerunt, i 'ain't got the same feelin's as these other folks got. i got a shell like a land turtle." "it is quite customary, i assure you. no offense, my dear sir." "that's how i figgered! just bouncin' a low-down var mint ain't offense enough to be throwed out about, when you pay your bills--" "you quite misapprehend--" "fired, eh? it 'll go hard with ma. she's gainin' here, and she likes it. that's why i never told her you was chargin' us about double what you charge these rich folks." the manager stiffened. "i regret exceedingly, sir, that you take it this way. but there is nothing more to be said, is there?" it was with a heavy heart and a heavy tread that briskow returned to his room. ma took the announcement like a death blow, for it meant the end of all her dreams, all her joyous games of "pretend." her mountains--those clean, green, friendly mountains that she loved with a passion so intense that she fairly ached--those and her caves, her waterfalls, her gypsy band, were to be taken from her. she was to be banished, exiled. she did not weep a great deal, but she seemed suddenly to grow older and more bent. listlessly, laboriously she began to pack, and her husband noticed with a pang that her hands shook wretchedly. as for allie, she told herself that this was the end. she had tried to make something of herself and had failed. she had crucified herself; she had bled her body and scourged her soul only to gain ridicule and disgrace. there was no use of trying further; gray had been mistaken in her, and her misery, her shame at the realization was intolerable. there was no facing him, after this. allie decided to do away with herself. chapter xv gus briskow was waiting at the cashier's desk for his bill when the bustle of incoming guests told him that the morning train had arrived. probably it had brought that "gentleman of importance" to whom the manager had referred. "to hell with people like that manager!" the texan muttered. he would take his family back home and chance no more humiliations like this. and to think that he had allowed that dancing monkey to escape when he could have shot him as well as not! briskow's chain of thought was broken by a slap on the back that nearly drove him through the cashier's window; then by a loud, cheery greeting. the next moment he found himself actually embraced by--gus could not believe his eyes--by calvin gray! the latter's affectionate greeting, his frank delight at seeing the texan, caused people in the lobby to center amused attention upon them, and induced those behind the desk to regard briskow with new respect. "gus! you precious pirate! my, but i'm glad to see you! ma and allie are well, i know; they couldn't be otherwise here. great place, isn't it? nothing in this country or europe that compares with it, and i've sent dozens of my friends here. i came north on business and couldn't bear to go back without seeing you. come! give me a welcome, for i've traveled across three states to get here." the two stood hand in hand. gray beamed approvingly. gus, too, was smiling, but earnestly he said, "i'm right glad to see you, mr. gray, for we're in trouble." "trouble? what sort? not illness?" "no. we're leavin'--been throwed out." the younger man's face sobered. "don't joke!" he cried, sharply. "i ain't joking. feller insulted allie and she throwed him out of a window--" "exactly! it's in the morning paper." "they don't seem to think it was reefined, so they--throwed _us_ out." "nonsense! why, it is a corking story, and allie was splendid--she gave the championship to herring, who deserved it, thereby delighting every golfer on this side of the atlantic. jove! that girl is developing and i'm going to hug her--if there's no window handy! throw you out? why, there's some mistake, surely!" briskow shook his head; in greater detail he made known the facts. when he had finished his halting recital calvin gray's face was flushed with anger, there was a dark frown between his eyes. "we'll see!" he muttered. "wait here--or go back and tell ma to commence unpacking." then he was gone. for perhaps ten minutes gus waited nervously; he was amazed finally to see gray approaching arm in arm with the manager; both were laughing, the hotel man's face was radiant with good humor. to the departing guest he said, genially: "you are not going to leave us, after all, mr. briskow. on the contrary, we are going to keep you at the notch as long as you'll stay. stupid misunderstanding on my part, and i apologize. i'm going to ask you to move, but into a better suite--the very best one we have. and the rate will be the same. come! what do you say?" when he was met by a stammered protest, he insisted forcefully: "i sha'n't take 'no' for an answer, my dear sir; we simply refuse to let you leave. the best we have is yours, and i guarantee that you will be made comfortable." "he offered to extend you the courtesies of the house--make you guests of the hotel," gray added, "but i knew you wouldn't accept." "dunno's i want to stay at all," gus murmured, angrily. "we ain't no better'n we was a half hour ago." "to be sure, but i've made you better known. you are too shy; you didn't afford my friend here the pleasure of making your acquaintance, and i had to tell him the sort of person you really are. serves you right, gus, for being so exclusive. gad! i think i'll give you a few lessons in democracy. now then, come along! i'm dying to see ma." as the father trotted down the hall beside his swiftly striding deliverer, he gasped, "how'd you do it?" "nothing simpler. i merely showed mr. what's-his-name that he was making an ass of himself. i've spent a fortune here; know the owners, too. nice chap, that manager, but he has no business running a hotel, and i so informed him. he'll probably annoy you to death with his attentions. he'll let you play 'shinny' in the halls if you want to. now--wait!" the speaker laid a finger upon his lips; his eyes were dancing. he knocked sharply at the briskow door and cried, "baggage ready, ma'am?" there was a stir from within, the door was slowly opened by a bent, pathetic figure of grief. "ma!" gray cried, and he held out his arms. perhaps it was his virile personality radiating confidence, security, or perhaps it was gus briskow's shining face that told the story; whatever the fact, ma briskow uttered a thin, broken wail, then walked into those open arms and laid her head upon gray's breast. she clung to him eagerly and the tears she had been blinking so hard to restrain flowed silently. "oh-n-h! we ain't goin'away!" she said. "we ain't--goin' away!" "of course not. gus misunderstood. the manager merely wanted you to move--into a larger, finer suite, and he is positively distressed at the thought of your leaving. the poor man is dashing about collecting an armful of roses for you and allie. he wants to come in person and apologize." there was another sound and gray looked up to see allie standing in the doorway to her bedroom; with one hand she clutched the jamb, the other was pressed to her bosom; she was staring at him as at an apparition. the girl was quite colorless, there was a look almost of fright in her eyes, and when he came toward her she swayed weakly. her hands, when he took them, were icy; it shocked him to see how worn, how weary she had grown. it was several hours later. in the parlor of the new suite, a spacious, sunny room, fragrant with flowers and cheerful with brilliant cretonnes, gray and briskow were talking. allie and her mother could be seen in their bedrooms putting away the last of their belongings. gray's eyes had been drawn, at frequent intervals, to the younger woman, for the change in her became the more amazing the more he observed her, and he was still striving to reconcile this creature to the picture he had held in his mind. in a few months allie had become almost a stranger to him. it was a marked and yet a subtle change that had come over her; she was anything but a polished young woman, of course; nevertheless she had been modified, toned down, vastly improved, and not until her first queer emotion at seeing him had disappeared was the full extent of that improvement manifest to the newcomer. he wondered why she had acted so oddly at first; surely she did not fear him. no, allie's face at this moment was alight with supreme joy and satisfaction; she appeared to be quite as happily at her ease as ma, who was singing steadily in a thin, rusty voice. gray sent the father away on some pretext, finally; then he called to allie: "come in here and talk to me. i am a guest and i demand entertainment." he observed with silent approval her carriage as she entered the room and accepted the chair he offered her. faint trace of the nester's daughter here. "i want a good chance to look at you." allie colored faintly. "i guess i'm not much to look at." "hm-m! you don't in the least resemble that girl i found hoeing in the garden. you are terribly thin." "spinach!" said allie. "dieting, eh?" "yes. spinach and water and a rubber suit. sometimes i have a party and eat a whole soda cracker." "it isn't too high a price to pay for beauty--beauty, 'the fading rainbow's pride.' we men should thank heaven for women's courage in pursuing it. it is all that makes this world an attractive dwelling place for nice people." "sometimes i think it's kind of wicked to spend so much time and money that way, but--i guess it's all right. i want to look as good as other people." "i'm in a mood for quotations. 'is beauty vain because it will fade? then are earth's green robe and heaven's light vain.' pride, even vanity, is less of a vice than slovenliness, my dear. now then, do you like mrs. ring?" allie nodded. "i like her, but--i hate her. she makes me feel awful mad because she can't understand that i ain't--i am not mad at her, but at myself. i don't hardly know how to explain it. if i was her i'd hate me, like i do." "would you like to have her remain?" "oh, i would! she knows everything, and she makes me learn. but she won't stay. i just found out that she's been quitting every few weeks, and pa's been raising her wages. no, the disgrace, and our being thrown out--" "my dear girl, let me assure you, once for all, there is no suggestion of disgrace about this affair. you behaved with spirit, and those who have heard about it admire you. i have talked with a number of them, and i know. i had a talk with mrs. ring also, and she will remain if you wish her to do so." "you're a--a good man, ain't--" "aren't!" "--aren't you, mr. gray? you fix everything." "not a good, but a convenient man. my specialty is making things easier for my friends." "are these other folks, these rich ones around the hotel, like you?" "oh, much nicer than i!" gray laughed. "you must meet some of them." allie's face whitened at this suggestion. "please, sir--i'm scared!" "very well. as you wish. tell me, what are you going to do with me this afternoon?" "i dunno!" allie looked blank. "i don't do anything but study. i s'pose i got to study." "nothing of the sort. you have circles under your eyes now from overwork, and this is your vacation. i am a visitor, a restless visitor; i abhor being asked to make myself at home, and i never do. i demand amusement. do you know what i'd like to do best of all?" allie did not know. "i'd like to sit here and smoke while you show me all your pretty dresses. ah! those dark eyes brighten. you're dying to show them to me, aren't you?" "_would_ you? honest?" "cross my heart. but remember, i have a color sense and i'm not easily pleased. i'll probably condemn some of them." allie breathed deeply. "oh, gee!" she said. "run along and try them on, then i'll borrow a pair of puttees and we'll go for a ride." for the next two hours allegheny briskow was in heaven. never had she dreamed of anything like this. to have calvin gray alone, all to herself--ma, as usual, had disappeared--and to discuss with him exciting questions of dress and good taste that she could not discuss with her own people; to meet his occasional hearty approval--well, it was enough to make a girl drunk with happiness. gowns that he liked became precious; she hated those that he condemned. her fingers grew clumsy with haste, her cheeks burned. he said she wore her clothes well, that she carried herself well. he approved of her--liked her! god above! and to think that she had contemplated suicide! of course she was pitifully ignorant as yet, and she had not even learned to talk as he talked, but there were books. she would study. oh, the fury with which she would apply herself after this! she would beat the contents of those books into her head with her fists, if necessary; she would show him how fast she could learn; she would astonish him. her heart sang at the thought that she was rich--richer than he. that would count, too, for men liked money. "where is ma?" gray inquired, when the last gown had been paraded and when allie appeared in her riding suit. "out with the fairies, i suppose. she won't tell pa or me where she goes or what she does--says it's all foolishness." "perhaps she will tell me, for i believe in fairies," gray said, seriously. allie smiled at him. "i reckon she will. folks tell you 'most anything you want them to, i reckon." this was the busiest hour of the afternoon. gray had purposely ordered the horses sent around at a time when he knew that the veranda, the walks, and the tennis courts would be filled, for ever since his interview with the hotel manager a plan had been shaping in his mind and already he had dropped a few words, a hint or two here and there, that were calculated to stimulate interest in allie briskow. it gratified his craving for the theatric now to lead the girl out before so many curious eyes. for himself, he knew that he commanded attention, and as he noted the lines of this young juno he could find nothing in her that needed betterment. allie's suit was the latest, smartest thing in riding habits, and it set off her magnificent figure as nothing else could. systematic exercise and hard work, like the final touch of a skilled sculptor, had given it beauty and refinement; harmony and proportion had destroyed the impression of unusual size. how deep was her bosom, how smooth and flowing were her curves, how superbly tall she was! as a thing of flesh and blood, she made these other women look like females of an insignificant race. it thrilled him pleasantly to observe the confidence with which she swung herself into the saddle and the instant mastery she exercised over her restless mount. no timidity there, no need of assistance; no absurd, hampering skirts and artificial posture, either, but a seat astride as befits anyone who chooses to honor the king of four-footed creatures. under cover, gray noted allie's effect upon her attentive audience, and he smiled. if only he could spend a few days here he would make her a woman to be sought after by some of the best people. she refused to meet them, eh? well, that would be as it was to be. "we've been having supper in our rooms lately," she told him, when they returned at dark. "you're going to eat with us, ain--aren't you?" "i am, to be sure. but not in your rooms," he declared. "i'd rather--" "you'd rather do exactly what would please me, now wouldn't you?" "yes, sir." "then run along and put on that dinner dress that i liked best. and tell ma to look her prettiest, too. we'll not spoil this day." it was seven-thirty when gray, in evening clothes, appeared at the briskow suite. allie told herself there had never been a man so handsome, so distinguished, so godlike as he. god, she now felt sure, must wear full dress. gus briskow beamed as the visitor smiled approvingly at his daughter. "she is purty, ain't she? don't look much like the girl i sent to dallas for fixin's." "allie is more then pretty, she's regal. 'such another peerless queen only could her mirror show.' but--her head is turned already, gus. don't spoil her." the speaker stood with arms folded and head lowered while he studied the girl impersonally. allie wore an expensive black lace dress, sleeveless and sufficiently low of neck to display her charms. "plain! a little too somber," gray declared. "she can afford colors, ornaments. jove! i'd like some time to see her in something oriental, something barbaric. the next time i'm in new york i'll select a gown--" ma briskow entered at the moment, greatly flustered and extremely self-conscious, and here, certainly, was no lack of ornamentation or of color. ma wore all her jewelry, and her dress was an elaborate creation of brilliant jade green, from one shoulder of which depended a filmy streamer of green chiffon. in her desire to gild the lily she had knotted a roman scarf about her waist--a scarf of many colors, of red, of yellow, of purple, of blue, of orange--a very spectrum of vivid stripes, and it utterly ruined her. it lent her an air of extreme superfluity; it was as if she had put on everything except the bedspread. "you said to look my nicest," she bubbled, "so i done the best i could." "you _are_ lovely, both of you, but--this is my party, isn't it? i can do anything i please?" gray looked from one to the other in eager inquiry. "then let me fix you my way. ma briskow, your face is too sweet, too gentle, to be spoiled. your charm is in your simplicity. here, i have it!" with swift impetuosity he untied the scarf and whipped it from ma's waist. "watch me now and you'll see i'm right." with his penknife he cut the threads that held the chiffon streamer in place and removed it. "_voila_! even so little, and we see an adorable motherly person, richly but unostentatiously gowned. don't you agree with me?" without pausing for an answer, he wheeled upon the daughter and drew her into the range of a pier glass. "now close your eyes and keep them closed." around allie's hips he flung the scarf, drew it snug and smooth, then knotted it. next he snatched the length of chiffon and bound it about her head. his touch was deft and certain; a moment and it had been fashioned to suit him. then he stood back and eyed the _tout ensemble._ "gorgeous!" he cried, genuinely enthusiastic. "that was the touch. i defy any costumer to better it. open your eyes, oh, gypsy princess! and what do you see?" "it--it sort of makes a difference, doesn't it?" allie said. "'a _difference'!_" gray flung aloft his hands in exaggerated despair. "heaven help me! i am inspired; i have a flash of genius, a divine impulse, and with a magic pass i work a miracle. i transform you from something somber, dark, morose, into a creature of life, of passion, of allurement." he groaned. "and you stand there like a stalagmite. why, girl, _look_ at yourself!" "darned if she don't look like a pitcher i seen som'er's--on an almanac," gus declared. "aha! a man with a soul! a human being who sees beauty where i see it. an artist with my fire!" gray burst into infectious laughter, and the others joined him. this proved to be an evening when people really did turn their heads as the briskows were shown to their table, but for once allie suffered no embarrassment, for she felt sure they were looking at calvin gray, and in the shining glory of his presence she knew that she and her parents were invisible. it was the sort of situation in which gray appeared to best advantage, so he talked incessantly during the meal, and in a key that kept his companions unconscious of their surroundings. on their way out they passed the entrance to the ballroom and paused to look in. the beat of the music swayed allie unconsciously; then, before she knew it, gray's arm was around her waist and he was guiding her out upon the floor. "oh, n-no!" she gasped. she stumbled, but he drew her closer, saying: "i'm proud of you, and i want you to show these people that you dance even better than you ride." allie rose to the challenge. about midnight calvin gray strolled outdoors for a breath of fresh air before retiring. he glowed with the consciousness of a worthy deed well done. he had come to the notch expecting to spend one night, but events of the last few hours had induced him to change his plans, and he now made up his mind to stay several days. he was burning to be back in the oil fields, to be sure; every hour away from them was an hour wasted, and although he told himself it was his feud that drew him, he knew better. as a matter of fact, when he thought of texas it was of wichita falls, and when he visualized the latter place it was to picture a cottage with the paint off or a small office with the sign, "tom and bob parker, real estate and insurance." he had been eagerly, selfishly, counting the hours until his return, but here, it seemed, was work to be done, a task that he alone could accomplish, and his decision to remain had been made final when allie briskow told him with tremulous earnestness that he had saved her life--when she confessed that she had intended to kill herself, and why. naturally gray had put no faith in that wild declaration, nevertheless it was plain that the girl--that all three briskows--needed a friend to guide them. he sighed with resignation, but reflected that, inasmuch as he had put his hand to the plow, he must turn the furrow. after all, he could well afford to spare a week to put that girl on the road to happiness. chapter xvi from the day of their first meeting, henry nelson and calvin gray had clashed. no two people could be more different in disposition and temper, hence it was only natural that every characteristic, every action of the one should have aroused the other's antagonism. nelson was a cool, selfish, calculating plodder with little imagination and less originality; he thought in grooves. his was a splendid type of mind for a banker. he had but one weak point--_viz_., a villainous temper, a capacity for blind, vindictive rage--a weakness, truly, for a man who dealt in money--but a weakness that lent him a certain humanity and without which he would have been altogether too mechanical, too colorless, too efficient. nature seldom errs by making supermen. a drab man, in many ways, nelson was extraordinary mainly in this, that his mind followed straight, obvious channels, and that never, except under the urge of extreme passion, did he depart from the strictly logical line of action. in this, of course, he was superior to the average person, who too frequently undertakes the unusual. calvin gray's ebullience, his dash, his magnificence of demeanor, could be nothing less than an affront to such a man; nelson could see in him only a pompous braggart, an empty, arrogant strutter. age and easy success had not improved the banker's apoplectic turn of mind, hence gray's defiant declaration of war, his impudent assurance that the recent misfortunes to the house of nelson were the direct results of his own deliberate efforts, had proven almost unendurable. in the first place, nelson could not imagine a man making such a declaration; it was new to his entire experience and contrary to his code. it was unconservative, therefore it staggered him. it was, in fact, a phenomenon so unique as to leave him numb. he told himself that it must have been the act of a madman or a fool. under no circumstances could he conceive of himself warning an enemy of his intentions; on the contrary, when he undertook to crush a rival he went about it slyly, secretly, in the only regular and proper way. as a matter of fact, it had come as a disagreeable surprise to learn that his former comrade at arms cherished any resentment whatever toward him, for he had thought his tracks were well covered. what left the banker actually gasping, however, that which he came back to with unfailing astonishment, was gray's effrontery in coming to wichita falls to boast of his accomplishments. that bespoke such contempt, such supreme self-confidence in his ability to wreak further damage, that nelson wanted to shout aloud his rage and his defiance. following the departure of his two callers on that day of the meeting in the bank, nelson closed his desk and went home. he could work no more. for several days thereafter he was an unpleasant person to do business with. on mature consideration, what amazed him as much as anything else was the fact that gray had made good in so short a time and in such a big way. evidently, however, it was only another story of a lucky break and an overnight fortune--a common occurrence these days. but it was doubly unfortunate under the circumstances, for already nelson was carrying a load equal to his strength, and he told himself that he could not afford to be distracted, even temporarily, by the irresponsible actions of a maniac. one never could tell what a madman would do. and gray had confessed himself a madman--a fanatic of the most dangerous type. there was but one course of action open--viz., to eliminate him, destroy him without delay. that was no easy task, even in these lawless times, but the stakes were too high to permit of half measures. there must be a way. one would have to be careful, of course, not to put oneself too much in the power of unscrupulous people, and, alas! the world was full of unscrupulous people. it was a pity that people could be so unscrupulous as to take advantage of a bargain made in good faith. that was blackmail. however, the prestige of the nelson name was great, the power of its money was potent, and henry believed that he could protect himself from eventualities. after cautious deliberation he sent word to one of his men in the ranger field that he wished to see him. the man came promptly, and when he left henry nelson's house after a conference he carried with him a perfectly clear idea why he had been sent for. this despite the fact that he had not been told in so many words. he knew, for instance, that a certain calvin gray had become a menace to his employers, so dangerous that it was worth to them a substantial fortune to be rid of him, and that while henry nelson could under no circumstances countenance anything illegal, anything savoring of violence, nevertheless if some accident should befall gray, if some act of god should put an end to him, there would be no disposition on henry's part to question the divine origin of that calamity. furthermore, the speaker had made it plain that if providence did take a hand in some such mysterious manner, he would then be in a position amply to reward his employee for many acts of loyalty that had apparently passed unrecognized. for instance, profitable deals were forever coming up, new acreage was constantly being acquired, and it would be easy to carry a third party for an interest which was bound to make that third party rich. all this was expressed with admirable vagueness, but the man understood. so much accomplished, nelson went to dallas and there undertook to learn something about the size of calvin gray's profits, who was behind him and the extent of their backing, and what his prospects were. he followed every avenue of information; he even went so far as to hire an investigator and send him north to look up gray's record and to follow his tracks as far back as possible. nelson was reconnoitering behind the enemy's lines and testing the strength of his position. when he returned home gray was gone, whither he could not learn. as the days passed without further developments, nelson began to believe that he had had a bad dream and that gray had merely been talking to hear his own voice. he devoutly hoped that such would prove to be the case. a time came, however, when his apprehensions were roused afresh, and it was barbara parker who rekindled them. she had come to the bank with an excellent proposition and was doing her best to sell it; in the course of her conversation she referred to gray in a manner that gave nelson cause for thought. "i've looked this lease over," "bob" was saying, "and i've seen the books. it has been producing a hundred and fifty barrels a day steadily. production like that is cheap at a thousand dollars a barrel. it is worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, henry." "why is it offered for seventy-five?" "bob" shrugged. "how did a 'boll weevil' like this jackson ever make even a hundred-and-fifty-barrel well, in the first place? where did he get the money to drill? he is sick of the game, i suppose, and would be satisfied to get his money back with a reasonable profit. it is a find, really." "looks so, for a fact. how did you get on to it, 'bob'?" "purely by chance. through a man named mallow, a 'scientist' of some sort with a magic tester." the girl laughed. "don't know him." "mallow is as queer as the rest of his kind, and i put no faith in his story until i investigated. but the well is there and doing a hundred and fifty barrels as regular as clockwork." "you'll have no trouble in selling it." "then you're not interested?" "interested? yes, indeed." nelson nodded. "i'm quite excited, as a matter of fact, but--i can't handle it at this particular time." "frankly, i'm glad you can't," barbara told him, "for now i can sell it to mr. gray." "gray?" henry looked up quickly. "if you wanted it for him, why did you bring it to me?" "because mr. mallow insisted. he felt sure you'd jump at it. besides, mr. gray is away and prompt action is necessary. i'll wire him at once and ask him to accept my judgment." "will he do so?" the girl colored faintly at the tone of this inquiry. "perhaps. i think he believes in me, and--that's more than you do. it's mighty flattering to a girl to have a man like mr. gray believe in her. why, i am practically his agent! he buys and sells through me whenever he can." "he's buying and selling, is he? he said something about entering this field in a big way--" "he's in." "bob's" eyes were sparkling. "oh, things are looking up for dad and me. mr. gray is a real miracle man, isn't he?" when this question evoked no response, the girl inquired, curiously, "tell me, are you and he such good friends as he says you are?" "does he say we are good friends?" "um-m--well, he speaks admiringly of you, and if people admire me i _love_ them. he thinks you are a remarkably capable person. 'a determined fighter,' i think he called you. that should be high praise, coming from a fellow officer. he probably outlined his plans to you." "he did." nelson spoke dryly. "i assumed that he was relying on your judgment and taking your tips." "why? how so?" "because he has bought so much land alongside of yours." "where?" barbara was surprised. "i--why, i supposed you knew!" after a moment of hesitation she said: "i think i'd better keep my mouth closed. just the same, he couldn't have done better than to follow your lead. that is the first compliment i ever paid you, henry." "i've paid you enough. and i do believe in you, 'bob,' but i'm not the flattering kind. he's a great ladies' man. i wonder if he is going to make me jealous." "you? jealous? coming from wichita's most emotionless banker, from the cold county croesus, that speech is almost a--a declaration." miss parker laughed frankly. "why, henry! my haughty little nose is turning up--i can feel it. but, alas! it proves your insincerity. if you had faith in my judgment you'd pick up this snap." with some hesitation the man said: "we're in deep, 'bob.' awfully deep! and things haven't gone as well as they should, lately. it's temporary, of course, but it would require an extraordinary effort at this time to take on anything new. that's the worst of this oil game, it takes so much money to protect your holdings. it doesn't pay to prospect land for the benefit of your neighbor; the risks are too great. gray has been pretty attentive to you, hasn't he?" "that's a part of the man; he is attentive to everybody. i have received more candy and flowers and delightful little surprises than in all my short, neglected life." "i didn't know you liked candy." "i don't. but i adore getting it. the thought counts. i don't care much for canaries, either--i have such bad luck with them--but he sent me the dearest thing from new york. a tiny mechanical bird with actual feathers. and it sings! it is a really, truly yellow canary in a beautiful gold cage, and when you press a spring it perks its head, opens its beak, flirts its tail, and utters the most angelic song. it must have cost a fortune. couldn't you _love_ a man who would think of a present like that?" "hm-m! could _you_?" "oh, i'm joking, of course," "bob" said, seriously. "we are merely business associates, mr. gray and i, but he has the faculty of taking his personality into his business, and that's why i know he is bound to make a great success." "some day," nelson said, with an effort at lightness, "when we have finished with this infernal oil excitement and the fever has subsided, perhaps i'll have a chance to--well, to play ladies' man. it won't last long--" "i'm sure it won't," laughed the girl. "you'd never make a go of it, henry." "i mean this boom won't last. these fools think it will, but it won't. while it does last, we busy men have no time for anything else, no chance to think of anything, no room in our minds--" the speaker stared gloomily into space. he shook his head. "when a fellow is worried about important matters, he neglects the little things." "to me that is the tragedy of this oil excitement. it devours everything fine in us. i wonder if the 'little things' of life aren't, after all, the most important. mind you, i'm not hinting--i don't want your attentions--i wouldn't have time for them, anyhow, for i'm just as feverish as anybody else. but in the midst of all these new concerns, these sudden millions, this overnight success, our ambitious schemes, we are forgetting the things that really count. gentleness, courtesy, love, home, children: they're pretty big, henry. candy and roses and yellow canaries, too. but "--the speaker rose, briskly--"i didn't come here to talk about them; i came here to sell you an oil well. sorry you can't take it." when she had gone nelson sat in a frowning study for some time. so, it was not all a bad dream. what could be gray's object in buying acreage adjoining his? was it faith in his, nelson's, judgment, a desire to ride to success on the tail of his enemy's kite, or did it mean a war of offsets, drilling operations the instant a well came in? more likely the latter, if the maniac really meant what he had said. that promised to be an expensive and a hazardous undertaking on gray's part; that was playing the game on a scale too big for the fellow's limited resources, and yet--it might be well to study the maps. yes, and it was like gray's effrontery to pay deliberate court to "bob" parker, knowing his rival's feelings toward the girl. another insult! the upstart certainly possessed an uncanny dexterity in pricking armor joints. but what if gray were in earnest? "bob" had become a wonderfully desirable creature, she was the most attractive girl in wichita falls-- it was a thought that had not previously presented itself to henry wilson, and it disturbed him now. he was glad, indeed, that he had sent to ranger for that field man. in and around the office of mcwade & stoner these were busy days, what with a couple of new wildcat promotions and a well going down on semiproven ground--that lease which cornered into the nelson holdings, and to which stoner had called attention. it had been easy to sell stock in the latter enterprise, and now the deeper went the hole, the higher rose the hopes of the promoters. stoner himself was directing operations, and he had named the well "avenger number one." to-day he and his partner had been listening to mallow, who concluded an earnest discourse with these words: "nelson and her are pardners in one deal and he's stuck on her. if anybody can put it over, she's the one." "if he buys that well it'll be the biggest laugh this town ever had," mcwade declared. "buy it? a hundred and fifty barrels in the heart of settled production for seventy-five thousand? i bet he'll buy it." "think the boss will stand for that kind of a deal?" "why not? they can't hang it on him, and heaven knows i'm honest." "he said 'nothing crooked'--" mallow snorted. "say, i bet you believe in santa claus! gray's a great man, and what makes him great is that he does his own crooked work." stoner was inclined to agree with mallow's measure of their associate. "that's how i got him figgered. his honesty talk didn't go far with me, and i don't believe he'll kick at anything. he's willing to pay any price to break this banker, but you can't bankrupt a feller unless you rip his coin loose; you can't _ask_ him to please loosen. if we make a well of the avenger we'll force him to shoot maybe a hundred thousand right away, and that may cramp him for a while; but suppose he makes the turn and hits it like we do? we've made him that much stronger, haven't we? gray plans to keep him spending faster than he can get it in, and that's all right--if it works, but if mallow can bilk him for seventy-five thousand at one fell swipe--well, i'll bet my best gold tooth that the boss will stand the shock like a man." "i think you've both got gray all wrong," said mcwade. "he's too smart to be crooked." this was a statement so absurd that mallow proceeded to riddle it. it was, upon its face, a contradiction, for none but smart men could be crooked, and the laws of logic proved the converse to be equally true. stoner sat in frowning silence while the argument raged, but he broke in finally: "i've always wanted to pull a real salting job, just to show how easy it is to gyp the cagy ones--not an oil-can job like this, but something big. this looks like the piscological moment." "lay off, i tell you!" mcwade cried. "we're a legitimate firm,' solid as gibraltar and safe as a church.' that's our motto, and we've got to live up to it. i came into wichita on the roof of a pullman; i'm going out in a drawing-room. me and sin are strangers." "nothing sinful about my idea, mac. one fall or two won't break nelson; we've got to spill him hard. if we can pick up a few pennies ourselves in the process, why, that's legitimate. the dealer is entitled to his percentage, ain't he? now listen. everybody's getting set for a big play over in arkansas, as you know--salting away cheap acreage and waiting for some of the wildcats to come in. well, last year i had a tool dresser from up there; nice boy, but he got pneumonia and it turned into the 'con,' so i took him home. he's back on his farm now, coughing his life away and doing a little bootleggin' to keep body and cough together. he's got a big place, but it's all run down and so poor you couldn't raise a dust on it with a bellows. it would be a christian act to help him sell that goat pasture for enough to go to some nice warm country where he'd get well and they couldn't extradite him." "of course, if you've got a scheme that is perfectly safe," mcwade ventured, charitably, "and our bit was worth it--" "i been thinking we might help the boy sell that farm to nelson." "how?" mallow, too, was curious. "nelson's lungs are healthy; he wouldn't cough a nickel unless the place had oil on it." "i meant to tell you it's got oil on it. best indications i ever saw. there's a drinking well, only the water ain't fit to drink till you skim off the 'rainbow.' then there's a wonderful seepage into the creek. you can see the oil oozing out from under the bank, in one place. certainly is pretty." stoner's hearers were intent; they exchanged puzzled glances. mallow was the first to speak. "come on. what's the joker? i ain't saying you'd murder the guy for that farm, but if it's as good as that he'd of died of the plague or something, and left it to you long before this." "in a way, i'm getting ahead of my story," stoner continued, imperturbably. "the oil ain't actually visible, but it will be if, when, and as, henry nelson gets ready to buy it." "easy enough to pour oil into a water well, i suppose, but that wouldn't fool a child. as for salting _running_ water, a creek--show me." "there's a lot for you to learn in this business, mallow. the point is, can we lay nelson against a bunch of acreage like that?" "you could lay _me_ against it if it looks like you say it does," mcwade declared. "this bootlegger, being half dead and non compost mentis, would help put it over with a man like nelson; he'd set him in a draught while he was signing the option. i'll guarantee the seepage to last for a month, even if he has the well bailed out every day, and the creek will carry oil for half a mile." "would your one-lunged friend know how to play in?" "_would_ he? it was his idea, and all that kept us off of it last year was the fact that the oil would have to be hauled about thirty miles, and we didn't have the price between us to hire a truck." for some time the trio discussed the various angles of stoner's proposition, endeavoring if possible to devise some natural way of intriguing the interest of henry nelson. on this score mcwade had fewer apprehensions than did his companions, his contention being that it mattered not how the matter was brought to the banker's attention so long as the property would stand investigation. nelson was bound to be suspicious, anyhow, and a sale depended entirely upon the character of the oil showing. mcwade's coolness toward the enterprise, it transpired, was occasioned not by a loftier sense of rectitude than his associates displayed, but by lingering doubts as to the profits involved. not until brick declared that his tubercular friend would accede to any arrangement he saw fit to make did the junior partner fall in with the proposal. "if it's a fair, square deal all around, i'm for it," the latter finally agreed. "but we can't afford to have any guy squawking that we did him up--especially if he's only got one lung to holler with. we're a legitimate firm, and we've got to treat our clients right. i think a fifty-fifty split would be reasonable." stoner, too, thought that would be about right, and so it was left. mallow was highly enthusiastic. "this will be a great surprise to gray," he said, with animation. "it's mighty lucky he's got a gang like us to help him." chapter xvii to learn that her mountain retreat had been invaded and that she had been spied upon filled ma briskow with dismay, but when allie found fault with her behavior the elder woman burned with resentment. "we're queer enough," the girl said, "without you cutting up crazy and making folks talk. if you want to dance, for goodness' sake hire somebody to lear--to teach you, same as i did." mrs. briskow had silently endured her daughter's criticism up to this point, but now her lips tightened and there was a defiant tilt to her head. "who says i want to dance?" she demanded. "i can dance good enough." "what was you up to the other day? that delamater man said you was acting plumb nutty." "i wasn't doin' anything." "where do you go every day, ma? you stay around nice and quiet till miz' ring or i look the other way, then--you're gone." "i kinda--visit around." "who d'you visit with? you don't know anybody. nobody ever speaks to us. you ain't in earnest about those fairies and things, are you?" "it ain't anybody's business where i go or what i do," ma declared, in sullen exasperation. "i ain't bothering anybody, am i?" "don't say 'ain't,' say 'isn't.'" for once in her patient life the mother flamed into open rebellion. "don't 'don't' me!" she cried. "you're gettin' the 'don't' habit off miz' ring an' nothin' i say or do is right any more. you mind your own 'isn'ts' an' i'll handle my 'ain'ts.' i got places where i go an' things i do an' i don't bother nobody. i guess we got enough money so i can do things i want to, as long as i don't bother nobody." "why don't you take pa along? he'd go, then people--" "mind your own business!" the old woman snapped. she flounced out of the room, leaving allie amazed and indignant at this burst of temper. that day ma briskow abandoned her mountain fastness. she took her faithful retainers with her and led them farther up the ravine to a retreat that was truly inaccessible. she moved them, bag and baggage. of course, there was a scene; the children cried, the women wailed, the men wept. but she told them that traitors had betrayed their hiding place to the dastardly duke of dallas, and any moment might bring his cutthroat crew upon them. some of the younger bloods were for remaining and selling their lives dearly, but ma would not hear to it. it was quite an undertaking to move a whole nomad tribe, for there were all the household belongings, the cattle, the sheep, the goats, the milk-white arabian steeds, the butter and eggs and homemade preserves, and all the paraphernalia of a warlike people. it is surprising how stuff accumulates in a mountain fastness. but she managed the retreat with conspicuous ability. ma led the long caravan into the bed of a running stream, so that there would remain not a single footprint to guide pursuers, then she sat in her saddle and gazed back at the silent camping place. trap her, eh? come upon her unprepared, would they? ha! ha! she laughed scornfully and tossed her head of midnight hair as she pictured the duke's rage at finding he had been foiled again, and by a mere slip of a girl! this was a good game and exciting, too. fetch pa briskow along, indeed! why, these wild mountain folk would kill him; in their present mood they would rend a stranger hip from thigh. if they dreamed, for instance, that she, their queen, was married-- here was a new thought, and ma's imagination leaped at it. if these passionate people suspected that she had contracted a secret marriage with the--the earl of briskow, their jealousy would know no bounds. they would probably slay pa. ma shuddered at the horrid vision of what would happen to pa. this was truly thrilling. later on in the morning mrs. briskow discovered that she possessed another amazing accomplishment--_viz_., the ability to walk on a ceiling, upside down, like a fly. it was extremely amusing, for it enabled a person to see right into everything. pa and allie looked very funny from above. the next day, when she stealthily slipped out of her french window, she found calvin gray idly rocking on the veranda. he welcomed her appearance and pretended not to see her embarrassment at the meeting; he was glad of this chance for a visit with her alone. perhaps she was going for a walk and would take him along? ma was annoyed and suspicious. she liked gray, but--she was as wary as a trout and she refused to be baited. she would allow him to walk with her--but lead him to the retreat? well, hardly. the man was piqued, for suspicion irked him. it was a tribute to his patience and to his knack of inspiring confidence that ma finally told him about allie's criticism and her resentment thereat. "i got my own way of enjoyin' myself, an' i don't care what people think," she declared, with some heat. "quite right. it's none of their darned business, ma." "she thinks i'm kind of crazy an'--i guess i am. but it comes from livin' so long in the heat an' the drought an' allus wantin' things i couldn't have--allus bein' sort of thirsty in the head. when you want things all your life an' never have 'em, you get so you _play_ you've got 'em." the man nodded. "you had a hard time. your life was starved. i'm so glad the money came in time." "you see, i never had time to play, or a good place to play in, even when i was a little girl. but this is like--like books i've read." "are these mountains what you thought they would be?" "oh, they're better!" ma breathed. "it's too bad allie's got to spoil ever'thing." "i shall speak to her. we won't let her spoil anything. now tell me how you play." but ma flushed faintly, and for some time longer she refused her confidence. it didn't matter; it was all an old woman's foolishness; nobody would understand. gray was not insistent; nevertheless, before long they were on their way toward the glen. it was a glorious morning, the forest was beautiful, and as the two strolled through it ma's companion told her many things about trees and flowers and birds and bees that she had never dreamed of. now gray's natural history was shockingly inaccurate, nevertheless it was interesting, and it was told in a manner both whimsical and sprightly. he made up outrageous stories, and he took no shame in seriously recounting experiences of his own that ma knew were wholly imaginary. she told him, finally: "sakes alive! you're as crazy as i am." this he denied with spirit. forests were enchanted places, and trolls dwelt in the mountains. there was no question about that; most people never took time to see them, that was all. now as for him, he had actually beheld naiads and dryads, nixies and pixies, at play--at least he had practically been upon the point of seeing them. ma, herself, must have come across places they had just left, but probably she had lacked the patience to await their return or the faith to woo them into being. there were little woods people, too, no bigger than your thumb, whose drinking goblets were acorn cups, and whose plates were shiny leaves. he showed her how to set a fairy tablecloth with her handkerchief and with toadstools for seats. in a reckless burst of confidence ma told him how it felt to walk upside down, like a fly, and to go bounding through the woods like a thistledown. gray had never tried it, but he was interested. then, finally, alas! the inconsistency of woman! she told him all about her hidden band of mountaineers. now this was something he _could_ understand. this was more his speed. he insisted upon making the personal acquaintance of those bold followers of hers and upon hearing the whole sad story of the princess pensacola. the history of her struggle against the wicked duke of dallas moved him; he wove new details of his own into it, and before ma knew it he was actually playing the part of the duke. the duke, it appeared, was a hard and haughty man, but at heart he was not all bad; when he had listened to the story of his victim's wrongs and more fully appreciated the courage, the devotion of her doughty followers, he was touched. for her sake, and theirs, he proposed a truce to this ruinous struggle. what kind of a truce? well, he refused entirely to renounce his claim to the throne, but--they might share it. he was a handsome man and no wickeder than the general run of dukes; he would make a becoming husband to the beauteous princess, and if she set her mind to it she could probably make a better person of him. thus would the warring factions be united, thus would the blessings of peace descend-- but the princess raised her slim, jeweled hand, and spoke thus: "too late, your honor! i been married to his royal highness the earl of briskow, and it serves you right the way you done both of us." the duke fell into a great rage at this. he refused to believe it, and threatened to annul the marriage. "oh, you can't do that," tittered the princess. "we was married by the royal justice of the peace and--we got two children." here _was_ a blow! the duke was crushed, until a happy thought came to him. if cruel fate prevented him from claiming the princess pensacola for a bride he would take her for a mother. he had always wanted a mother, anyhow; lack of maternal care it was that accounted for his wildness--it was enough to ruin any duke--and mothers were much nicer than wives. they were much harder to get, also. "lord! i wish you meant it!" ma exclaimed, in a matter-of-fact tone. "i wish allie was a real princess. mebbe--" gray broke in with a laugh. "there! you've spoiled the play. the duke has fled." mrs. briskow's wrinkled face beamed. "think of a gre't big man like you playin' 'pretend' with a foolish old woman like me! i thought you had more sense." "i live in my own land of 'pretend,' just as you do. why, i have a real princess of my own." "honest?" gray nodded. "the princess of wichita falls. would you like to hear about her? well, she's small and dainty, as princesses should be, and her eyes are like bluebells, ma. they are brave, honest eyes that can laugh or cry--the sort of eyes that make a man's head swim when he looks into them too long. she carries herself like a great lady, and she's very cool and business--i mean princess-like, to men. but in reality she's just an adorable feminine creature who wants to be loved. when she laughs two deep dimples come into her cheeks--marks of royal favor. some people may consider her too stern, too matter-of-fact, but she isn't; in her boudoir there is scent and sachet and frilly, ribbony things that nobody ever sees. and flowers from me. she loves roses best of all and she says she buries her face in them. i send her roses, mostly, so they can kiss her cheeks for me. a tiny yellow love bird in a tiny yellow cage sings her awake every morning. i taught it the song it warbles, but--she'll never understand what the little bird is trying to say." ma briskow had listened with rapt attention. now, she inquired, "does she love you?" "didn't i tell you this was my game of pretense?" gray said, gayly. "do you really think that an adorable creature whose head is full of girlish notions and youthful ideals could care for the worldly, wicked old duke of dallas? i am old, ma, and i've gone the gait." "pshaw! you ain't any such thing." "well, perhaps i'm a better lover than i believe. who knows? fortunately, however, it is all just an amusing game." the speaker rose and looked at his watch. "it is lunch time, mother briskow, and i'm famished." as the two entered the hotel grounds, gus and allie hurried to meet them, and the latter exclaimed, irritably: "it's about time you showed up. we've been looking everywhere for you." at sight of her husband's face ma inquired, in sudden anxiety, "what's wrong, gus?" "it's buddy," allie declared. "'tain't serious," briskow said. "and it is, too. he's left school--run away! here, mr. gray, see what you make out of it." gray read aloud the letter that was handed to him, a letter from the principal of the institution that he himself had recommended, stating that ozark had disappeared without doing the college authorities the courtesy of leaving an address. inasmuch as he had never expressed the slightest dissatisfaction with his surroundings, the writer was at a loss to explain the reason for this disappearance. as to ozark's safety, there was no immediate cause for apprehension, for he had taken with him three trunks of clothing, a high-powered touring car, and a belgian police dog; but certain of the young man's exploits that had come to light since his departure aroused grave doubts in the principal's mind of his moral well-being. "what's it mean?" the mother inquired. "it means that buddy has taken a vacation. how much money has he?" "he's got plenty," gus declared. "more 'n is good for him if--" "if what?" ma queried. gus halted; it was allie who answered: "if he's done what we think he's done--gone away after some woman." "some _woman_?" ma stared blankly from one face to another. "buddy in love? why, he never wrote me nothing about bein' in love." reading a further message in her husband's expression, she cried, fiercely: "he's a good boy. he wouldn't take up with--with nobody that wasn't nice. what makes you think it's a girl?" "i didn't say 'girl,' ma, i said '_woman_.' buddy's been writin' to me and--" "what's the difference? mebbe he's in love with some nice young woman an' they've run away to git married. buddy's han'some, and they got nice women everywhere--" "_love_? with all his money? and him only up to fractions?" allegheny laughed scornfully. gus briskow wiped his face with a nervous hand. "i'm 'most sick over it," he confessed. "the perfessor has written me a coupla times about him. buddy's gone kinda wild, i guess, drinkin' an'--" "drinking?" gray interrupted, sharply. "why didn't you tell me? so, you gave him unlimited money, in spite of my warning?" "he wanted his own bank account; his share of the royalties. made him feel more like a man, he said. i--i never learned how to say 'no' to him or allie. ma an' i allus said 'no' to each other, but it was allus 'yes' to them. we never had much to give 'em, noway." "drinking, eh?" gray was frowning. "the woman part i don't care so much about--he'll probably get over that if it isn't too serious. but whisky! that's different. i'm responsible for that boy; in a manner of speaking, i adopted him because--well, because he flattered me by pretending to admire me. it was a unique experience. i took buddy for my own. will you let me handle this matter?" the speaker looked from one parent to the other, and they saw that his face was grimly set. "give me my way and i'll bring that young rascal to time or--" he shrugged, he smiled faintly. "give me permission to treat him as if he really were my own, will you?" "you got my leave," said the father; but ma briskow bristled. "don't you dast to hurt him," she cried. again gray shrugged, this time with resignation. "as you will. i was wild, myself; i think i know what he needs." "you can't beat anything into buddy's head." it was allie speaking. "after all, he's grown up, and what right has anybody got to interfere with him? s'pose it _is_ a woman? s'pose she _is_ after his money? it's his. men can get what they want by payin' for it. an hour, a day, a week of happiness! ain't that worth all buddy 'll have to pay? i'd pay. i'd go through torture the rest of my life--" "_allegheny briskow!_" the mother exclaimed. "well, i would." the girl's voice broke, a sudden agitation seized her; in passionate defiance she went on: "what's the use of wanting something all your life and never getting it? what's money for if you can't buy the one thing you want worst of all? that's where men have got the best of it; they can buy love. i wish i was a man; i wish i was buddy! i'd have my day, my week--and as much more as i could pay for. i'd have happiness that long if it broke my heart. but i'm a _girl_!" it was with a sudden interest that gray studied the speaker. here was a side to the briskow character that he had not suspected, and it gave him a new light upon buddy, for brother and sister were much alike; it showed him more clearly the size of the task he had volunteered to undertake. he heard the father speaking, and reluctantly withdrew his eyes from allie's flaming face. "he likes you, mr. gray, an' mebbe you could keep him from spoilin' his hull life. that's what he's liable to do an'--i'm skeered. he wouldn't listen to me. boys don't listen to their fathers." "i'll find him, gus, and i'll make him listen to me. if it is drink, i'll break him of it. if it is a woman--i'll break him of that, too, for it can't be more than a passing fancy." noting the tragic concern that wrinkled ma briskow's face, he put an arm about her, saying more gently: "now, now! i won't deny you the luxury of worrying, ma dear. that is a mother's divine prerogative, but rest assured buddy sha'n't do himself any great harm. now then, let's get to a long-distance phone." it was perhaps two hours before gray reported to gus briskow: "they don't know much more at the school than was written in that letter. he has been going a rather lively pace lately, it seems." "did you find out anything about the--the woman?" "nothing definite. i have put detectives on the case, and they will report to me at wichita falls. as soon as they uncover his trail, i'll go to buddy at once." "you goin' to leave us?" "i must. i've just received a telegram from my--my agent. about the purchase of a well. it is a matter that can't wait." "i can't thank you for all you done for us. we was in bad shape till you come. now--" "now everything is straight again. that's my job, gus--to do little odd favors for those i love. you must stay here, for ma is happy, and this place is making a girl of her. allie is doing wonders with herself, too. by the way, she needn't be lonely any more; i've talked to some of the guests, and they want to make friends with her. she'll find them nice people, and you must make her meet them halfway. perhaps she'll become interested in some decent young fellow. i'd like that, wouldn't you?" "would ye?" the tone of this inquiry caused gray to glance more keenly at the speaker, but briskow's bright eyes told him nothing. "why, naturally. allie is becoming more attractive every day, and she is going to make something of herself. she is going to 'do us all proud.'" as soon as he was alone gray eagerly reread his telegram from wichita falls. it was from barbara parker--the first, by the way, that he had ever received--and he smiled at the girl's effort to be thoroughly businesslike, and at the same time to convey the full urgency of her message. why had she economized on words when every one was precious to him? buy that well? of course he would, if she so earnestly desired it. but what was better by far than the prospect of a profitable purchase was the fact of her personal interest in him. when it came to the last line of her message, "bob" had plunged into a ten-word riot of extravagance. "the bird is darling. i have named him after you." gray wondered if these words really meant what they seemed to imply, or if it was merely her bubbling, enthusiasm that spoke. well, he would soon find out. already he had wasted too much time on the briskows--a man's duty ever lies in the way of his desire--but once he had rounded up buddy perhaps the family would be able to take care of itself. he hoped so, for it was assuming the character of a liability. it was late that night. the southbound flyer had gone through. the briskows were sitting in the pleasant parlor of their handsome suite, but they were like three mourners. ma and pa were soberly discussing the news about buddy, allegheny was staring in somber meditation at nothing. the girl was bitter, rebellious, for never had she felt so utterly alone as at this moment. to that question which monotonously repeated itself, she could form no answer. did he care, or was it all pity--just his way? she heard his name and her own mentioned, and she became attentive. "what's that? he wants me to meet these people halfway?" she inquired. "what for? i don't like 'em." "he says you'll git to like 'em, an' they'll git to like you. he says you're goin' ahead tremendous, and we'll all be proud of you. mebbe you'll meet some nice young feller--" "he said that, did he?" allie's voice was sharp. "n-not exactly, but--" "he asked 'em to be nice to me--he fixed it all up. is that it? i got lots of money; some man 'll make love to me and i'll--i'll fall in love with him. is that what he said?" "he didn't put it that way. what he said was more--" allegheny rose with an exclamation of anger. "well, i won't meet 'em. he'd better mind his own business." "why, _allie_!" the mother exclaimed, in mild reproach. "i won't! i hate 'em. i hate everybody. him, with his high an' fancy ways--" the girl choked. "he looks down on us the same as other folks does, an' i don't blame him. he acts like we was cattle, an' we are." her own scorn appeared to whip the speaker into a higher frenzy. "now he's gone off to spoil buddy's doin's. buttin' in, that's what it is. if i knew where buddy is, i'd warn him. i'd tell him to look out. i'd tell him to grab his chance when it comes along, if it takes all the briskow money, all the briskow wells. he's lucky, buddy is. it don't make any difference _who_ he took up with, if he loves her." never but once before had the briskows seen their daughter in a mood like this, and that was on the occasion of their first visit to dallas. now they sat numb and speechless as she raved on: "playin' with us to amuse himself! it's a game with him. he 'ain't got anything better to do. why, he even shows us how to dress! 'with a touch,' he says, 'i work miracles. i transfer--transform you from something dark an'--an' common into a thing of passion.' _passion!_ what the hell does he know about passion? he's a doctor, he is, cuttin' up a live dog to see what ails it. a live dog that's tied down! cuttin' it up--oh, my god, i wish i was buddy!" it was several moments after the door of allie's room had slammed behind her before gus briskow spoke, and then it was with a deep sigh. "i been afraid of something like this, ma. i reckon we're goin' to pay dear for our money before we get through." "an' him with a princess in wichita falls!" the mother quavered. chapter xviii there are many arguments against industry; much is to be said against its wholesale practice. for one thing, habitual diligence, of whatever sort, begets other habits hard to break, habits that persist in plaguing a man during his periods of indolence and perhaps during his whole life. early rising is one of the most annoying of these habits. while it cannot be said that tom parker had ever labored arduously at anything, nevertheless he had followed his calling faithfully, and the peculiar exigencies of that calling had made of him a light and fitful sleeper. he had so often used the earth as a mattress and his saddle as a pillow, that sunup invariably roused him, and as a consequence he liked to tell people that he could do with less sleep than any man in texas. that was, in fact, one of his pet complaints. it was true that old tom never slept long, but it was also true that he slept oftener than any man in texas. he was up and dressed by daylight, and until breakfast time he engaged himself in purposeless and noisy pursuits. this futile energy, however, diminished steadily until about nine-thirty, after which his day was punctuated by a series of cat naps, as a broken sentence is punctuated by dots and dashes. that small room at the rear of his office barbara had cleared of its dusty accumulations--of its saddles and saddle-bags, its rusty winchesters, its old newspapers and disorderly files--and had transformed into a retreat for him. she had overcome his inherent prejudice against innovations of any sort by arguing gravely that the head of every firm should, nay must, have a private sanctum. tom approved of the change after he became accustomed to it, for he was subjected to fewer irritating distractions there than elsewhere. before long, in fact, he acquired the ability to doze placidly through almost any sort of business conference in the outer office. it was his practice to sleep from nine-thirty until eleven, when "bob" fetched him a glass of orange juice with a "spike" in it. this refreshing beverage filled him with new energy to tackle the issues of the day, and thereupon began a routine as fixed as some religious ritual. first, he smacked his lips, then he cleared his throat loudly several times, after which his chair creaked as he massaged his rheumatic leg. promptly upon the count of twenty he emerged from the inner office, slamming the door energetically behind him. whether "bob" was alone or engaged with clients, old tom's air was always the same; it was that of a busy man weighted with grave responsibilities. he frowned; he muttered, hurriedly: "got to see a man; back in an hour. anybody calls, tell 'em to wait." this took him to the front door, which he also slammed behind him--there being a certain force and determination to the sound of a slamming door. then he limped down the street to judge halloran's office. the judge usually had the checkerboard out and set when tom arrived. afternoons passed in much the same manner, and night found tom, if not actually exhausted from the unceasing grind, at least pleasurably fatigued thereby and ready for an after-dinner doze. he considered himself seriously overworked. this morning "bob" was alone at her desk when he came out, and something about her appearance caused the old warrior to look twice. he was exactly on time, but the judge could wait. he was a cranky old scoundrel anyhow, was judge halloran, and it would do him good to cool his heels for a few minutes. tom paused with his hand upon the door knob. "my goodness! son, you're all dressed up!" he said, as he noted "bob's" crisp white dress, the rose upon her bosom, the floppy hat that framed her face. "church sociable som'er's?" "no, dad." "what's going on?" "nothing in particular." "you certainly are sweet." tom's bleak, gray face softened, then some vague regret peered forth from his eyes. "certainly are sweet, but--" "but what?" the girl smiled up at him. "oh, i don't know--seems like you ain't quite the same boy you was. you're changing lately, somehow. getting more like your mother every week. i like that, of course," he said, quickly, "but--i'd like awful well to see you in your ranch clothes again. i bet you've clean forgot how to ride and rope and--" "you know very well i haven't. i'm a little bit rusty, perhaps, but remember i'm a pretty busy girl these days." "i know." tom sighed. "i'm wore out, too. what d'you say we close up the ol' factory and take a rest? let's get us a couple of broncs and go up to the territory for a spell. used to be a lot of wild turkeys in a place i know. it'd do us a lot of good." "why, dad, we can't do that! and, besides, those turkeys were killed out years ago." "um-m! i s'pose so. ain't much left to shoot at but tin cans, come to think of it." there was a pause. "i don't reckon you could han'le a six gun like you used to, 'bob.'" "you think not? try me sometime and see," said the girl. apparently tom believed there was no time like the present, for he slid his right hand under the left lapel of his coat, and when he brought it away there was a large single-action colt's revolver in it--a massive weapon upon the mother-of-pearl handle plates of which were carved two steers' heads. those steers' heads tom had removed from a gun belonging to a famous bad man, suddenly deceased, and there was a story that went with them. "now see here," "bob" protested, "one of these new policemen will pick you up some day." "pshaw! nobody wouldn't pick me up, just for totin' a gun," the old man declared. with practiced fingers he extracted the shells, one by one. "i feel right naked without a six-shooter. i feel like i'd cast a shoe, or something." "i wish you'd give up carrying it." "lessee you do a few tricks,'bob'. do the roll. remember she don't stand cocked." miss parker rose to her feet and took the weapon. she balanced it in her hand, then she spun it, rolled it, fanned it, went through a routine of lightninglike sleight-of-hand that tom had taught her long before. "lessee you do a few shots," her father urged, when she handed it back to him. "in _here_?" "sure! it's our shanty. drive a few nails or--i'll tell you; kill that bear and save that tenderfoot's life." tom pointed to a winchester calendar on the rear wall, which bore the lithographic likeness of an enraged grizzly upon the point of helping himself to a hunter. "why, we'd have the whole town running in." "go on, son. make it speak. bears is easy killed." "nonsense." reluctantly tom reloaded his weapon and thrust it back into its shoulder holster; regretfully he murmured: "doggone! we never have any more fun." he turned toward the door. "where are you going, dad?" "i got to see a man; back in an hour. anybody calls--" "you know you won't be back in an hour. where are you going?" "i got to see--what is it?" "bob" hesitated. "i wish you'd stay here. i think mr. gray arrived this morning, and i expect him in." tom decided that he had made judge halloran wait long enough. he should have been in the old rascal's king row by this time. so he said, briskly, "wish i could, son, but i got to see a man." "mr. gray was here several times before he went away, but you were always out." when her father showed no inclination to tarry, barbara spoke with more impatience than she had ever used toward him. "i want him to meet you, dad, for he has come back on purpose to take up that jackson well. if i devote all my time to business, it seems to me you could afford to sacrifice an hour to it, just this once. that checker game can wait." tom parker stiffened. sacrifice an hour to business, just once! that _was_ a blow. as if his nose was not at the grindstone day in and day out! as if he were not practically chained to this office! as if unremitting application to business had not wrecked him--worn him to the bone--made an insomniac of him! that was the worst about children, boys especially; they twitted their elders; they thought they were the whole works; they assumed undue importance. tom was offended, and, being a stubborn man, he bowed his back. "tell him to wait," he said, curtly. "i'll get around to it soon as i can." "why, _dad_! he isn't a man who can wait. this deal won't wait, either." "i been talking over that jackson well with--with a man, and i got him--" "i asked you not to mention it--not to a soul. it is a very important matter and--" now tom had not discussed the jackson well, except casually with judge halloran, but every word that "bob" spoke rankled, so he interrupted with a resentful query: "ain't i equal to han'le an important deal?" "bob" acknowledged quickly that he was. she had not meant to criticize his ability to conduct negotiations of the very highest importance, but she was surprised, in view of her earnest request, that he had even mentioned this particular matter to anybody. she reminded him that insurance was his forte, and that their understanding had been that she was to take exclusive charge of their oil business. while she was talking, tom realized with a disagreeable shock that of late there had been no insurance written, none whatever. he had given the matter no thought, but such was undoubtedly the case, and in his daughter's words he felt a rebuke. now he could not abide rebukes; he had never permitted anybody to criticize him. for once that unconscious irritation that had been slowly accumulating within him flamed up. it was an irritation too vague, too formless to put into words, especially inasmuch as words did not come easily to tom parker when he was mad. without further comment the old man pulled his gray wide-awake lower over his eyes and limped out of the room. but he did not go to judge halloran's office; he was too sore to risk further offense at the hands of one who took malicious delight in antagonizing him, so he walked the streets. the more he pondered "bob's" accusation--and accusation it surely was--the angrier he became; not at her, of course, for she was blood of his blood, his other and better self; but angry at himself for allowing the reins to slip out of his fingers. he was the head of the firm. it was due to his ripe judgment and keen common sense that the business ran on; his name and standing it was that gave it stability. perhaps he had permitted the girl to do more than her share of the work, and hence her inclination to take all the credit for their joint success was only natural, but it was time to change all that; time to turn a big deal without her assistance. that was the thing to do, handle the jackson lease in his own way and turn it over for a price far in excess of seventy-five thousand dollars. anybody could sell things for less than they were worth, but it took real ability to realize their full value. here was a snap, a chance to clean up big money--"bob" said so--why not, then, take over the lease for himself and her, pay something down, hold it for a few weeks, and then resell it at a staggering profit? such things were being done--tom did not know just how, but he could easily find out--and there were several thousand dollars in the bank to the firm's account. if that was not enough to meet the first payment he could probably get bell nelson to give him another mortgage on something. or was it he that would have to give the mortgage to bell? it didn't matter. the thing to do was to jump out to the extension, buy the well, and show "bob" that he was as good a business man as she--better, in fact. a bus was about to leave, so tom clambered in. barbara parker had to acknowledge that she was more than a little bit thrilled at the prospect of seeing calvin gray again. she had assured her father glibly enough that there was nothing "going on" that day, but--there was. it was something to realize that a mere telegram from her had brought a man of mr. gray's importance clear across the country, and that he was coming straight to her. what mysterious magic lay in the telegraph! ever since their first meeting he had awakened in her a sort of breathless excitement, the precise significance of which she could not fathom, and that excitement now was growing hourly. it could not mean love--"bob" flushed at the thought, for she had no intention of falling in love with anybody. she was too young; the world was too new and too exciting for that, and, besides, her life was too full, her obligations were too many to permit of distractions, agreeable or disagreeable. nor, for that matter, was gray the sort of man to become seriously interested in a simple person like her; he was complex, many-sided, cosmopolitan. his extravagant attentions were meaningless--and yet, one could never tell; men were queer creatures; perhaps-- little prickles ran over "bob"; she felt her whole body galvanize when she saw gray coming. he entered, as she knew he would enter, with the suggestion of having been blown thither upon the breast of a gale. he was electric; he throbbed with energy; he was bursting with enthusiasm, and his delight at seeing her was boyish. "bob" colored rosily at his instant and extravagant appreciation of her effort to look more pleasing than usual, but embarrassment followed her first thrill. she could not believe his compliments were entirely genuine, therefore she took refuge behind her coolest, her most businesslike demeanor. for a while they talked about nothing, although to each the other was eloquent, then "bob" came as quickly as might be to the matter she had wired him about. he listened with smiling lips and shining eyes, but he heard only the bare essentials of her story, for his thoughts were galloping, his mind was busy with new impressions of her, other voices than hers were in his ears. that was his rose at her breast. she had been pleased at his coming, otherwise she would not have paid him the girlish compliment of wearing her best. evidently she cared for him--or was she merely impressed, flattered? women had called him romantic, whereas he knew himself to be theatric; he wondered if she-- "i told jackson you'd be out to look at the well and the books to-day," "bob" was saying. "he won't wait an hour longer." "splendid! i came the instant you telegraphed--dropped everything, in fact. some of my men are waiting to see me, but i haven't even notified them of my arrival. important business, too; nevertheless, i hurried right here. they can wait." gray laughed gladly. "jove! how becoming that hat is. i hired the best-looking car i could find, and it will be here in a minute. i told myself i had earned a day with you, and i wouldn't spoil it by permitting you to drive. i've so much to talk to you about--business of all sorts--that i scarcely know where to begin." now "bob" had expected to drive to the northwest extension with gray; nothing else had been in her mind; her field clothing was even laid out ready for a quick change, but a sudden contrariness took hold of her; she experienced a shy perversity that she could not explain. "oh, i'm sorry! i--can't go. i simply can't," she declared. he was so obviously disappointed that her determination gained strength; she was surprised at her own mendacity when she explained the utter impossibility of leaving the office, and told a circumstantial fib about a title that had to be closed with people from out of town. the more she talked the more panicky she became at thought of being for hours alone with this forceful, this magnetic, this overwhelming person. strange, in view of the fact that she had been looking forward to it for days! in order finally to get him away before she could change her mind, she promised to hurry through her affairs and then drive out and bring him home. there was no time to lose; jackson was growing impatient; it was a wonderful deal; there were other days coming-- when gray had gone and "bob" was alone, she drew a deep breath. her pulse was rapid, she was tingling as if from some stimulating current. what a man! what an effect he had upon people! what a fool she had been not to go! the road to burkburnett is well surfaced for some distance outside of wichita falls, therefore gray leaned back with eyes closed as the car sped over it, picturing again his meeting with barbara, recalling her words of greeting, puzzling over the subtle change in her demeanor at the last. perhaps he had frightened her. he was given to overenthusiasm; this would be a lesson. queer how women interfere with business. here he was going at things backward, whirling out to the oil fields when he should be with mcwade and stoner. they would probably be distracted at his nonarrival, but--this was business, too. and she would drive out to get him. there would be the long ride back. far away across the undulating prairie fields the horizon was broken by a low, dark barricade, the massed derricks of the town-site pool. so thickly were they grouped that they resembled a dense forest of high, black pines, and not until gray drew closer could he note that this strange forest was leafless. by now the roads were quagmires, and the unceasing current of traffic had thickened and slowed down until gray's car rocked and plunged through a hub-deep channel of slime. there was but one route to the extension, and it led through the very heart of burkburnett; there were no detours around the town, no way of beating the traffic, therefore vehicles, no matter how urgent their business, were forced to fall in line and allow themselves to be carried along like chips in a stream of tar. "burk" was a one-story town, or at least most of its buildings projected only one story above the mud, and that mud was mixed with oil. leakage from wells, pipe lines, storagetanks, had made the mass underfoot doubly foul and sticky, and where it was liquid it shone with iridescent colors. mud was everywhere; on the sidewalks, inside the stores, on walls and signboards, on the skins and clothing of the people. through the main street the procession of cars plowed, then out across the railroad tracks and toward the open country beyond. when it came to a halt, as it frequently did, above the hum of idle motors could be heard the clank of pumps, the fitful coughing of gasengines, the hiss of steam. this, of course, was soon drowned in a terrific din of impatient horns, a blaring, brazen snarl at the delay. the whole line roared metallic curses at the cause of its stoppage. even the railroad right of way had been drilled. switch engines shunted rows of flats almost between the straddling derrick legs. gray's driver had been dumb thus far, now he broke out abruptly: "speaking about mud; i was crossing this street on a plank the other day when i saw a bran'-new derby lying in the mud and picked it up. underneath it was a guy's head. "'hullo!' i said. 'you're in pretty deep, ain't you?' "the feller looked up at me and said: 'this ain't bad. you'd ought to see my brother. i'm standing on his shoulders!'" the chauffeur laughed loudly at his own humor. "_some_ country, i call it! but the sun's out, so it will be blowing sand to-morrow." when burkburnett had been left behind, another and a vaster island of derricks came into view. it marked the burk-waggoner pool, part of the northwest extension, so called. the car was waiting its turn to cross a tiny toll bridge spanning a sluggish creek, the bed of which ran seepage oil from the wells beyond, when the driver grumbled aloud: "four bits to cross a forty-foot bridge. there's a graft for you! one old nester above here tore a hole in his fence opposite a wet place in the road and charged us half a dollar to drive through his pasture. but it was cheaper than getting stuck. he had to carry his coin home in an oat sack. after a few weeks somebody got to wondering why that spot never dried out, and, come to investigate, wha' d'you think?" "i seldom think when i am being entertained," his passenger declared. "well, that poor stupid had dammed the creek, and every night he shut the gate and flooded his road." if the clustered derricks of the town-site pool were impressive, there was something positively dramatic about the extension. burkburnett had been laid out in lots and blocks, and the drilling had followed some sort of orderly system; but here were no streets, no visible plan. this had been a wheat field, and as well after well had come in, derricks, drilling rigs, buildings, tanks, piles of timber, and casing had been laid down with complete disregard of all save the owner's convenience. overnight new pipe lines were being laid, for hours counted here and the crude had to find outlet--fuel had to be brought in. these pipe lines were never buried, and in consequence the ceaseless flow of traffic was forever forced to seek new channels. the place became a bewildering maze through which teams floundered and motor vehicles plunged at random. towns had sprung up, for this army of workers was isolated in a sea of mud, but whereas "burk" was more or less permanent, newtown, bradley's corners, bridgetown, were cities of canvas, boards, and corrugated iron. by day they were mean, filthy, grotesque; by night they became incandescent, for every derrick was strung with lights, and the surplus supply of gas was burned in torches to prevent it from accumulating in ravines or hollows in explosive quantities. they were mardi gras cities. day by day this field spread onward toward the red river; the whole region smelled of oil. fire, of course, was an ever-present menace. newtown, for instance, had been wiped out several times, for it lay on a slope down which a broken pipe line could belch a resistless wave of flame, and even yet the place was a litter of charred timber, twisted pipe, and crumpled sheets of galvanized iron. owing to this menace the residents had taken the only possible precaution. they had dug in. behind each place of business was a cyclone cellar--a bomb-proof shelter--into which human bodies and stocks of merchandise could be crowded. gray drove directly to the lease he had come to examine, and was disappointed to learn that the owner had just left. this was annoying; "bob" had assured him that he was expected. inquiry elicited from the surly individual in charge no more than the reluctant admission that jackson had been called to the nearest telephone, but would be back sometime. there was nothing to do but wait. gray let his car go, then made a cursory examination of the property. he could see little and learn less. the caretaker agreed that the well was pumping one hundred and fifty barrels a day. some evasiveness in this fellow's demeanor awoke gray's suspicion. a sudden telephone call. the owner's absence when he expected a purchaser. probably somebody else was after the property. it was decidedly worth while to wait. gray was unaccustomed to inattention, incivility, and had anybody except "bob" parker put him in this position he would have resented it. under the circumstances, however, he could do nothing except cool his heels. as time passed he began to feel foolish; by late lunch time he was irritable; and as the afternoon wore on he grew angry. why didn't "bob" come, as she had promised? he had lost a day, and days were precious. evening found him wandering about aimlessly, in a villainous mood, but stubbornly determined to see this thing through at whatever cost. he had no wish to spend a night amid these surroundings, for respectable people shunned these oil-field camps after dark, and he knew himself to be conspicuous. it would add a ridiculous climax to a trying day to be "high-jacked"--to be frisked of his jewelry. during the early dusk he returned to the lease, only to find even the greasy caretaker gone. by this time gray was decidedly uncomfortable, and, to add to his discomfort, he conceived the notion that he was being followed. on second thought he dismissed this idea, nevertheless he took a roundabout course back toward the main street. it seemed odd to be floundering through inky shadows, feeling a way through this miry chaos, when aloft, as far as the eye could see, the sky was lit. this phantom city of twinkling beacons gave one a sense of acute unreality, for it was an empty city, a city the work of which went on almost without the aid of human hands. the very soul of it was mechanical. only here and there, where a drill crew was at work, did an occasional human figure move back and forth in the glare of low-hung incandescents, nevertheless the whole place breathed and throbbed; it was instinct with a tremendous vigor. from all sides came the ceaseless rhythmic clank of pumps, the hiss of gas and steam, the gurgling flow of liquid--they were the pulse beats, the respirations, the blood flow of this live thing. and its body odor stung the nostrils. all night long it panted with its heavy labors--as if the jinns that lifted those giant pump beams were vying with one another in a desperate endeavor. they were, for a fact. haste, avarice, an arduous diligence, was in the very air. gray stared and marveled, for imagination was not lacking in him. those derricks with their fires were high altars upon which were heaped ten thousand hopes and prayers. altars of avarice! towers of greed! that is what they were. he marvelled, too, at the extremes these last few days had brought him; at the long cry from the luxurious burlington notch to this primitive land of fire worshipers. here, only a few hours by motor from paved streets and comfortable homes, was a section of the real frontier, as crude and as lawless as any he had ever seen. yonder, for instance, was the red lion, a regular klondike dance hall. he looked in for a moment, but the sight of hard-faced houris revolving cheek to cheek with men in overalls and boots was nothing new. it did remind him of the march of progress, however, to notice that the bartenders served coca-cola instead of "hootch." hygienic, but vain, he reflected. not at all like the brave old days. farther up the street was a flaming theater decorated with gaudy lithographs of women in tights. that awoke a familiar echo. the grimy figures headed thither might well be miners just in from eldorado or anvil creek. gambling was practically wide open, too, and before long gray found himself in a superheated, overcrowded back room with a stack of silver dollars which he scattered carelessly upon the numbers of a roulette table. roulette was much like the oil game. this was a good way in which to kill an hour. absorbed in his own thoughts, gray paid little heed to those about him, until a large hand picked up one of his bets. then he raised his eyes. the hand was attached to a muscular arm, which in turn was attached to a burly stranger of unpleasant mien. gray voiced a good-natured protest, but the fellow scowled and refused to acknowledge his mistake. noting that the man was flushed, gray shrugged and allowed the incident to pass. this bootleg whisky from across red river was of a quality to scatter a person's eyesight. for some time the game continued before gray won again, and the dealer deposited thirty-five silver dollars beside his bet. again that sun-browned hand reached forth, but this time gray seized it by the wrist. he and the stranger eyed each other for a silent moment, during which the other players looked on. gray was the first to speak. "if you're not as drunk as you seem," he said, easily, "you'll excuse yourself. if you are, you need sobering." with a wrench the man undertook to free his hand; he uttered a threatening oath. the next instant he was treated to a surprise, for gray jerked him forward and simultaneously his empty palm struck the fellow a blinding, a resounding smack. twice he smote that reddened cheek with the sound of an explosion, then, as the victim flung his body backward, gray kicked his feet from under him. again he cuffed the fellow's face, this time from the other side. when he finally desisted the stranger rocked in his tracks; he shook his head; he blinked and he cursed; it was a moment before he could focus his whirling sight upon his assailant. when he succeeded it was to behold the latter staring at him with a mocking, threatening smile. the drunken man hesitated, he cast a slow glance around the room, then muttering, hoarsely, he turned and made for the door. he was followed by a burst of derisive laughter that grew louder as he went. gray was in a better mood now than for several hours; he had vented his irritation; the air had cleared. after a while he discovered that he was hungry; no longer was he too resentful to heed the healthy warning of his stomach, so he left the place. chapter xix newton's eating places were not appetizing at best, but a meal could be endured with less discomfort by night than by day, for at such times most of the flies were on the ceilings. the restaurant gray entered was about what he had expected; along one side ran a quick-order counter at which were seated several customers; across from it was an oilcloth-covered table, perfectly bare except for a revolving centerpiece--one of those silver-plated whirligigs fitted with a glass salt-and-pepper shaker, a toothpick holder, an unpleasant oil bottle, and a cruet intended for vinegar, but now filled with some mysterious embalming fluid acting as a preservative of numerous lifelike insect remains. here, facing an elderly man in a wide gray-felt hat, gray seated himself. gray's neighbor was in no pleasant mood, for he whacked impatiently at such buzzing pests as were still on the wing, and when a perspiring greek set a plate of soup before him he took umbrage at the presence of the fellow's thumb in the liquid. the argument that followed angered the old man still further, for it arrived nowhere except to prove that the offending thumb was the property of the proprietor of the restaurant, and by inference, therefore, a privileged digit. when a departing customer left the door open, the elderly diner grumbled bitterly at the draught and draped his overcoat over his bent shoulders. "dam' eskimos!" he muttered. "----raised in a chicken coop--windy as a derrick!" gray liked old people, and he was tolerant of their crotchets. irascibility indicates force of character, at least so he believed, and old folks are apt to accept too meekly the approach of decay. here was a spirit that time had not dulled--it was like wine soured in an old cask. at any rate, wine it had been, not water, and that was something. most of the counter customers had drifted out when, without warning, the screen door banged loudly open and gray looked up from his plate to see his recent acquaintance of the gambling table approaching. this time purpose was stamped upon the man's face, but whether it was deliberate or merely the result of more drinking there was no telling. he lurched directly up to the table and stared across at gray. "slapped my face, didn't you?" he cried, after a menacing moment. "i did, indeed," the speaker nodded, pleasantly. "you ain't going to slap it again. you ain't going to slap anybody's--" "what makes you think i won't?" gray became aware as he spoke that his elderly neighbor had raised to the intruder a countenance stamped with a peculiar expression of incredulity, almost of anger, at the interruption, and that the two remaining counter customers had turned startled faces over their shoulders, while the proprietor, his arms full of dishes, had paused beside the swinging door to the kitchen. that which occurred next came unexpectedly. the stranger whipped out from under his coat a revolver, at the same time voicing a profane answer to the challenge. the proprietor uttered a bleat of terror; he dropped his dishes and dived out of the room; the men on the stools scrambled down and plunged after him. as calvin gray rose to his feet it was with a flash of mingled anger and impatience. this quarrel was so utterly senseless, it served so little purpose. "my friend," he cried, sharply, "if you don't put up that gun, one of us will go to a hospital." in spite of the intruder's haste in drawing his weapon, he appeared now to lack the will promptly to use it--his laggard spirit required a further scourge, so it seemed; something more to goad it into final fury. it was a phenomenon by no means uncommon, for it is not easy to shoot down an unarmed victim. by way of rousing his savagery, the fellow uttered a bellow, then, like a warrior smiting his shield with his spear before the charge, he swung his heavy weapon, smashing at one blow that silver-plated merry-go-round with its cluster of bottles. a shower of toothpicks, fragments of glass, a spatter of oil and vinegar covered the old man in the end chair, and he rose with a cry that drew a swift glance from the desperado. gray was upon the point of launching himself over the table when he witnessed a peculiar transformation in his assailant. the man's expression altered with almost comic suddenness, he lowered his weapon and took a backward step. gray, too, had cause for astonishment, for the elderly man was moving slowly toward the disturber, his overcoat, meanwhile, hanging loosely from his left shoulder, like a mantle. his gray face had grown white, malignant, threatening; he advanced with a queer, sidling gait, edging forward behind the shelter of his garment as if behind a barricade. but what challenged gray's instant attention was the certainty of purpose, the cold, confident menace behind the old fellow's demeanor. there was something appalling about him; he had suddenly become huge and dominant. that he had been recognized was plain, for the armed man cried, agitatedly: "look out, tom! i don't want any truck with _you_." the deliberate advance continued; in a harsh voice tom answered: "i don't allow anybody to interfere with me when i'm eating!" for every step he shuffled forward the man before him fell back a corresponding distance. again the newcomer rasped out his warning, and gray, too, added his voice, saying: "leave him to me, old man. this is my quarrel." as he spoke he moved around the end of the table, but the mantled figure halted him with an imperious jerk of the head. without in the slightest diverting his steady gaze, tom snapped: "hands off, stranger! i won't have you buttin' in, either. i don't allow anybody to interfere with me when i'm eating." gray was checked less by the exasperation, by the authority in the speaker's tone, than by the fact that the entire complexion of the affair had changed. the ruffian, who had entered so confidently, was no longer the aggressor; a mere look, a word, a gesture from this aged, unknown person had put him upon the defensive. more extraordinary still was the fact that his power of initiative was for the moment completely paralyzed, and that he was tortured by a deplorable indecision. he was furious, that was plain, nevertheless his anger had been halted in mid-flight, as it were; desperation battled with an inexplicable dread. he raised his hands now, but more in a gesture of surrender than of threat. "don't come any closer," he cried, hoarsely. "don't do it, i tell you! _don't--do it!_'" there was no longer any thickness to his tongue; he spoke as one quite sober. when for the third time that malevolent voice repeated, "i don't allow anybody to interfere with me when i'm eating," the solitary onlooker felt an absurd desire to laugh. during intensely dramatic moments nervous laughter is near the surface, and there was something rigidly dramatic about the methodical, sidling advance of that man half crouched behind his overcoat. tom, as he had been called, gave gray the impression of death itself marching slowly forward to drape that black shroud upon his cowering victim. brief as had been the whole episode, already passers-by had halted, staring faces were glued to the front windows of the cafe. well they might stare at those two tense figures, one advancing, the other retreating, as if to the measures of some slow dance. [illustration: "don't come any closer. don't do it, i tell you!"] but the tempo changed abruptly. the desperado's back brought up against the swinging kitchen door; it gave to his weight and decision was born of that instant. with a cry he flung himself backward, the spring door snapped to and swallowed him up with the speed of a camera shutter; then followed the sound of his heavy rushing footsteps. "hell!" exclaimed the old man. "i had his buttons counted!" with the words he let fall his overcoat, and there, beneath it, gray beheld what he had more than half suspected, what indeed was ample cause for the quarrelsome stranger's apprehension. held close to the owner's body was what in the inelegant jargon of the west is known as a "dog leg." the weapon, a frontier colt's of heavy caliber, was full cocked under the old man's thumb; the hand holding it was as steady as the blazing eyes above. with a smile gray said, "allow me to congratulate you, sir, upon a most impressive demonstration of the power of mind over matter." "a little killin' helps those scoun'rels," breathed the white-haired warrior. "surgin' around, wreakin' vengeance on vinegar bottles! and me with a bad indigestion!" "i don't often permit others to do my fighting. but you wouldn't let--" "i don't allow anybody--" doggedly began the former speaker, but the street door burst open, a noisy crowd poured into the room, a volley of excited questions was raised. amid the confusion gray heard his own name shouted, and found himself set upon by two agitated friends, mallow and stoner. they had been combing newtown for him, so they declared, and were near by when attracted by the excitement on the sidewalk. what was the trouble? was gray hurt? he assured them that he was not, and explained in a few words the origin of the encounter. but other concerns, it seemed, occupied the minds of the pair, and before he had finished mallow was dragging him towards the door, crying, breathlessly: "gee, governor! you gave us a run. we've been coming since noon." "it was only by the grace of god," stoner declared, "that we heard you were out here and why you'd come. we managed to get a phone call through to jackson, but it was--" "jackson? i've been looking for him all the afternoon." "sure! mallow swore he was all right, but mac and i don't know him, and we figured he might turn a trick. anyhow, mallow and i jumped the lizzie and looped it. boy! i tramped on her some, until we hit bottom the other side of burk. mallow went clean through the top. i guess i smashed the whole rear end, but we couldn't wait to see. they'll have her stripped naked, tires, cushions, and all, before we get back. motor, too, probably. we've been hitting it afoot, on wagons and pipe trucks--managed to get a service car finally, but it fell open like a book. just one of those dam' unlucky trips." "jackson didn't get to you, did he?" mallow inquired, anxiously. "get to me? no. nor i to him." gray spoke impatiently. "what is this all about?" "simply this, governor: jackson's well is a 'set-up'! for nelson! we nearly dropped dead when we found out that parker kid had laid _you_ against it. why didn't you _tell us_--?" "what are you saying? i don't--" "the well's phony. dry as a pretzel." "in what way? i saw the oil--" "never mind. lay off!" "i think i'm entitled to an explanation." "well, then, it's salted!" "impossible! i saw it pumping." "i'll say you did." mallow chuckled. "live oil, too; right out of old mamma earth. cheap lease at seventy-five thousand, eh? it's like this: the pipe line of the atlantic runs across jackson's lease, and one dark and stormy night he tapped it. it wasn't a hard thing to do; just took a little care and some digging. now he runs the oil in, pumps it out and sells it back to them. he's a regular subsidiary of the great and only atlantic petroleum company. it can't last long, of course, but--oh, what a well to hand nelson! what a laugh it would have been!" "outrageous!" gray exclaimed. "i can't believe you are in earnest." "it _is_ shocking, isn't it? such dishonesty is incredible. and what an unhappy surprise for the company when they finally locate the leak!" gray clamped a heavy hand upon the speaker's shoulder; harshly he inquired, "do you mean to say that miss parker deliberately--" "she don't know anything about it." "you said she 'laid me' against it." "no, no! i merely tipped her to it because she's one of nelson's brokers." "she's his sweetie," stoner added. "he's going to marry her, so mallow thought he'd surely fall for it, coming from her." "you--you're not fit to mention that girl's name, either of you." gray's tone was one of quivering anger. "if you involve her in your crooked dealings, even indirectly, i'll--god! what a dirty trick." he flung mallow aside in disgust. "you ought to be shot." "why, governor! we wouldn't hurt that kid. she's aces." "i told you my fight with nelson was to be fair and square." there followed a moment of silence. mallow and stoner exchanged glances. "what percentage of that goes?" the former finally inquired. "one hundred." "so? then it's lucky nelson didn't fall. but there's no harm done--nobody's hurt." "it is lucky, indeed-for me. i'd have felt bound to make good his loss, if you had hooked him. i presume i ought to expose this swindle." "expose jackson?" stoner inquired, quickly. when gray nodded, there was another brief silence before the speaker ventured to say: "i know this bird nelson, and, take it from me, you're giving him the best of it. if i hadn't known him as well as i do, i wouldn't of put in with you to break him. it's all right to trim a sucker once; it's like letting the blood of a sick man--he's better for it. but to ride a square guy to death, to keep his veins open--well, i ain't in that kind of business. now about this jackson; you can land him, i s'pose, if you try, but it would be lower than a frog's foot, after him playing square with you." "what do you mean by that?" "he could have stung you, easy, couldn't he? you surged out here on purpose to buy the lease, but he hid out all afternoon to avoid you." "he is a thief. he is stealing hundreds of dollars a day." "sure! from the atlantic, that has stolen hundreds of thousands from the likes of him--yes, millions. it was the atlantic that broke the market to sixty-five cents, filled their storage tanks and contracted a million barrels more than they had tankage for, then gypped the price to three dollars. i can't shed any tears over that outfit." "let's not argue the ethics of big business. the law of supply and demand--" "supply and demand, eh? ever strike you as queer that crude never breaks as long as the big companies have got their tanks full? the price always toboggans when they're empty, and comes back when they're filled up. that's supply and demand with the reverse english, ain't it? say, the atlantic and those others play with us outsiders like we was mice. when their bellies get empty they eat as many of us as they want, then they let the rest of us scurry around and hunt up new fields. we run all the risks; we spend our coin, and when we strike a new pool they burgle us over again." stoner was speaking with a good deal of heat. "big business, eh? well, here's some little business--dam' little. the atlantic leased a lot of scattered acreage i know about and drilled it. pulled off their crews at the top of the sand and drilled in with men they could trust. it turned out good, but they capped their wells, wrecked their rigs, and, of course, that condemned the whole territory. then they set about buying it all in, cheap--through dummies. double-crossed the farmers, see? friend of mine took a chance; put down a well on his own. the usual thing happened; they broke him. it took a lot of doing, but they broke him. one little trick they did was to cock a bit and drop it in the hole. that prank cost him sixteen thousand dollars before he could 'side track' the tool. he quit, finally, less 'n a hundred feet from big pay. then, having bought up solid for near nothing they came back and started business, laughing merrily. that's the atlantic." "a splendid lecture on commercial honesty. i am inspired by it, and i reverence your scruples, but--i grope for the moral of the story." "the moral is, mind your own business and--and give a guy a chance." "um-m! suppose we leave it at that for the present." mallow, who had remained silent during his friend's argument, greeted this suggestion with relief. he was glad to change the subject. "good!" he cried, heartily. "i'd about as soon face old tom parker, like that fellow in the restaurant did, as to face jackson. he'd sink a stillson in my head, sure, if--" "parker? was that old man miss parker's father?" "certainly! what d'you think ailed that gunman? d'you think he got the flu or something, all of a sudden? there ain't anybody left tough enough to hanker for tom's scalp. he's pinned a rose on all of those old-timers, and he's deadly poison to the new crop." for the first time calvin gray understood clearly the reason for the unexpected outcome of that encounter in the cafe. no wonder the stranger's trigger finger had been paralyzed. barbara's father, indeed! how stupid of him not to guess. on the heels of his first surprise came another thought; suppose that old paladin should consider that he, gray, had shown weakness in allowing another to assume the burden of his quarrel? and suppose he should tell his daughter about it! that would be a situation, indeed. "i must find him, quickly," gray declared. "perhaps he'll ride back to town with us." it was not a difficult task to locate the veteran officer, and tom was delighted at the chance to ride home with his new acquaintance. that journey back to civilization was doubly pleasant, for mr. parker cherished no such feelings as gray had feared, and, moreover, he responded quickly to the younger man's efforts to engage his liking. they got along famously from the start, and tom positively blossomed under the attentions he received. it had been a trying day for him, but his ill humor quickly disappeared in the warmth of a new-found friendship, and he talked more than was his custom. he was even led to speak of old days, old combats, of which the bloodless encounter that evening was but a tame reminder. the pictures he conjured up were colorful. a unique and an engaging person he proved to be; an odd compound of gentleness and acerbity, of kindliness and rancor; a quiet, guileless, stubborn, violent old man-at-arms, who would not be interrupted while he was eating. he was both scornful and contemptuous of evildoers. all needed killing. "hard luck, i call it, for a budding desperado to wreck a career of promise the way that wretched fellow did," gray told him with a laugh. "out of all the men in texas, to pick you--" "oh, he ain't a bud! he's quite a killer." "indeed?" "he kills mexicans and niggers and folks without guns, mostly. low-down stuff! he's got three or four, i believe. i never could see why the nelsons kep' him." there was a brief silence. "i beg pardon?" said gray. "he's been on the nelson pay roll for years--doing odd jobs that wasn't fit to be done. but i guess they got tired of him, anyhow he's been hanging around wichita for the last two or three weeks. he's been in an out of our office quite a bit." "your office? what for?" "i dunno, unless he took a shine to 'bob.'" "not--really?" mr. parker uttered an unpleasant sound. "she never said anything about it, but i suspicioned she had to order him out, finally. i'd of split his third shirt button if he'd stood his ground. he knew i had something on him, but he couldn't figure just what it was." old tom's teeth shone through the gloom. "a man will 'most always act like that when he don't know just where he's at. i knew where _i_ was at, all the time, only i wanted to see that button plain. i allus know where _i'm_ at." later, when the journey was over and tom parker had been dropped at his gate, gray spoke to his two companions. "did you hear what he said?" "we did." "do you believe i was framed?" both mallow and stoner nodded. "don't you?" the former inquired. when no answer was forthcoming, he said: "better give us the flag, governor. we're rar'ing to go." "you mean--?" "you know what i mean. nelson's so crooked his bedclothes fall off. we pulled a boner this time, but brick has got another window dressed for him." "i'll think it over," said gray. chapter xx ozark briskow, like his sister allegheny, was studying hard and learning rapidly, but he had adopted an educational plan, a curriculum, so to speak, far different from hers. whereas she lived between book covers and the thousand and one details of her daily existence were governed by a bewildering army of "don'ts," buddy had devised his own peculiar system of acquiring wisdom, and from it the word "don't" had been deliberately dropped. his excursion into the halls of learning, brief as it had been, had convinced him that books could teach him only words, whereas he craved experiences, ideas, adventures. adventure comes at night; pleasure walks by gaslight. young briskow told himself that he had missed a lot of late hours and would have to work diligently to catch up, but he undertook the effort with commendable courage. it is said that all wish to possess knowledge, but few are willing to pay the price. buddy was one of the minority. early he adopted the motto, "money no object," and it provoked him not at all to learn that there is a scale of night prices considerably higher than the scale of day prices; to find, for instance, that a nocturnal highball costs twice as much as one purchased during daylight hours. that phenomenon, by the way, had nothing to do with the provisions of the eighteenth amendment, it merely explained why farmers went to bed early--they couldn't afford to sit up, so buddy decided. he had learned a lot since leaving school, not only about prohibition, but also about speed laws, men's fashions, facial massage, the fox trot and the shimmy, caviar, silk pajamas, bromo-seltzer, the language of flowers, and many of the pleasures and displeasures of the higher intellectual life, such as love and insomnia. his education was progressing apace, for love is the greatest of educators, and buddy was in love--madly, extravagantly in love. love it was that accounted for his presence in dallas, and his occupancy of the governor's suite at the ajax. a fellow in love with the most wonderful woman in the world couldn't afford to look cheap in his home town, could he? of course dallas was not buddy's home town, but it had been his point of departure into the world, and it was the home of his bank account, hence some pride of proprietorship was pardonable. it gave him such a pleasing sense of importance to adopt the city as his own that he adopted everything and everybody in it. in spite of the fact that the train from wichita falls was behind time, one morning shortly after buddy's arrival, he was still abed when calvin gray arrived at the hotel. instead of disturbing the slumbers of youth, gray went directly to the detective who had telegraphed him, and for half an hour or more the two talked. later, during the course of a leisurely bath and shave, the new arrival pondered the information he had received. here was a problem. having dressed himself, he strolled around to coverly's place of business and interviewed the jeweler. "sure! he has bought quite a bit of stuff in the last few days," coverly told him. "he was in only yesterday and ordered a fine piece made up. he wanted a ruby heart pierced with a diamond arrow, but i got him off that and onto a blue brazilian solitaire. we're mounting it in a platinum lady's ring." "what is the price?" "forty-five hundred, and the value is there." "have you seen the woman?" coverly nodded. "the boy is a good picker. i don't blame her much, either, for i've seen a lot of worse-looking fellows than buddy." "hold the ring. he may change his mind." "i say!" coverly was in dismay. "are you going to spoil the best sale i've made in two weeks?" "oh, i'll take it off your hands if he doesn't. make some excuse not to deliver it until i say the word. you don't know the woman, eh?" "never saw her before." gray knocked several times at the governor's suite before a sleepy response, a succession of yawns and mutterings, told him that he had been heard. the door opened finally and the pride of the briskow family, his eyes all but swelled shut, his muscular figure splendidly arrayed in futuristic silken pajamas, mumbled: "what's eatin' you, any--?" the eyes opened wider, buddy's face broke into a slow smile. "why, mr. gray!" he extended a palm, a bit dry and feverish, and drew his caller inside. "dawg_-gone!_ i'm glad to see you." gray entered with a buoyant laugh and a hearty greeting; he clapped the young giant heavily upon the back. at the blow buddy voiced a sharp cry and seized his head. "easy over the bumps! i'm carryin' a cargo of nitroglycerine, and i'll let go if you jar me," he explained. "sorry! i know how it feels. but, man alive, it's afternoon! i began to think you were dead." buddy led the way into his bedroom, piled his pillows together and gingerly lowered himself upon them. he showed his strong white teeth in a wide grin and winked meaningly. "i'll be all right directly. it's this here sim--sympathetic booze they talk about. have a drink, mr. gray? there's a coupla bottles of real liquor in the closet--not this tiger's milk you get--" the caller declined the invitation. "where the devil have you been, buddy? we were getting worried." "who, me? oh, i been--lookin' around." "your mother is nearly frantic." buddy stirred uneasily. "pshaw! i'm fine. i can take keer of myself. nobody don't need to worry about me." "good! now then, you young scoundrel, i'm going to order you the sort of breakfast that goes with what ails you, and while it is coming up, you are going to jump under the shower." "where d'you get that 'jump' stuff?" the youth inquired, faintly. "besides, i'm clean." but gray had seized the phone, and as soon as he had given his order he strode into the bathroom and turned on the water. he was out again in a moment, then laughingly he dragged the aching texan from his couch. "under you go," he insisted, "or i'll wet down your whole japanese flower garden." "some pajamas, ain't they? i got a dozen pairs," buddy said, proudly. "quick! if you think i'll consent to hang around a lonesome hotel while you sleep, you're mistaken. i can't tell you how glad i am to run into you, buddy. i'm dying to have a riotous time." "eh?" briskow turned an inquiring face to the speaker. "i've been hibernating in the wilderness, sucking my paw and living off my fat, like a bear. i want you to shown me this town." a bath, a brisk rubdown, and breakfast put buddy in fairly good fettle once more; so marked was his improvement, in fact, that gray envied him his glorious gift of youth. "flying pretty high, aren't you?" the elder man inquired, with a wave of the hand that took in the expensive suite. "well, i ain't exactly broke." "true. but i know what these rooms cost. that's going strong for a lad like you." "you took 'em, didn't you, when you had less 'n i got?" "ahem! it is embarrassing to be held up as an example. i've done a good many things, buddy, that i wouldn't like to see you do." "if they wouldn't hurt me any more 'n they've hurt you i'd like to try'em." "another proof that you are still in short pants. i'm a bad person to copy. by the way, why did you quit school?" buddy considered his reply, then: "i reckon it was because of them short pants you speak about. i can't stand bein' laughed at, mr. gray. it comes hard to stand up in a class along with a bunch of children and make mistakes and have a little boy in a lace collar and spring heels snap his fingers and sing out in a sweet soprano, 'oh, tee-_cher!_' then have him show you up. they put me in with a lot of nursin' babes. what the hell? i weigh a hundred and ninety and i got a beard!" "didn't you learn anything?" buddy closed a meaning eye, and his pleasant features wrinkled into that infectious smile. "i'll tell the world i did! after the whistlin' squabs was asleep in their nests i went out among the whippoorwills an' the bats. ain't it funny how quick folks can learn to put up with bad grammar when you got a jingle in your jeans? i guess i've got enough education to do me; anyhow, i can write ozark briskow in the lower right-hand corner and that seems to get me by." "you wouldn't consent to go back or--have a tutor, like allie?" "who, _me?_" briskow laughed scornfully. "um-m! merely a suggestion. you are the architect of your own career." "i'm fed up on that kind of schoolin', mr. gray. i--" buddy's face reddened, he dropped his eyes. "i don't mind tellin' _you_--i--it's like this--i kinda got a girl!" "_no!_" the speaker was surprised, incredulous. "sure have. she's--wonderful. she's right here in this hotel!" "buddy, you're developing!" gray exclaimed, with apparent admiration. "i been showin' her the sights--that's what ails me this morning. she lets me take her around to places--trusts me, you understand? she thinks i'm aces." "splendid! i wish you'd ask her to dig up a friend." "how d'you mean?" "why, ask her to find another good-looking girl for me--i assume she _is_ good looking--then we can make it a foursome. i'm a great entertainer, and, while i don't drink, i haven't the slightest objection to ladies who do. dallas, i believe, is a pretty lively--" "she's a stranger here," buddy broke in, stiffly. his enthusiasm had cooled; he regarded gray with veiled displeasure. "an' besides, she ain't that kind of a girl." "oh! sorry! i thought from what you said--that headache--bottles in your closet, too! my mistake, buddy." "she'll take a drink, with me," the youth confessed. "anyhow, she's gettin' so she will. i don't see anything wrong in a woman takin' a drink now an' then with a man she--with a man that's honorable." the last words were voiced defiantly. hastily buddy's caller averred: "nor do i. we sha'n't come to blows over an abstract moral issue like that. this is an age of tolerance, an age of equality. i flatter myself that i'm quite as lawless and broad minded as the average bachelor of our very smartest set." "i'm--" the speaker gulped. "i'm goin' to marry her." "oh, fine!" gray's enthusiasm was positively electric. he seized buddy's hand and crushed it. "education, indeed! no use for that now, is there?" "i mean i'm goin' to, if i can; if she'll let me." "let you? with your money? why, she'll jump at the chance. no doubt you have already asked her--or she suspects--" the lad shook his head. "she don't have to marry nobody. she's got money--an _es_-tate. you think it's all right for me to do it?" "simpler men than you have asked that question, and wiser men than i have refused to answer. as for me, i've never had the courage to take the plunge. however, the worst you can get is a heartbreak and a lifetime of regrets. but, of course, the woman takes some chances, too. tell me about her." "well--" buddy beamed fatuously. "i dunno hardly where to begin." into his voice, as he spoke, there crept a breathless excitement, into his eyes a dumb adoration. "she's--wonderful! she's too good for me." "once and a while they are." "she's educated, too--more in your class, mr. gray. i dunno how she stands for me. she's the smartest, purtiest girl--" "she's young, eh?" "she's--older 'n i am. i reckon she's mebbe twenty-five. i never ast her." "naturally. how did you meet her? when? where? i'm a terribly romantic old fool." gray hitched his chair closer and leaned forward, his face keen with interest. "well, sir, it's a regular story, like in a book. i was in a restaurant with a coupla fellers an' a feller she was with struck her--" "struck her?" "yep. he was her brother, so she told me. anyhow, i bounced him. i sure spoiled him up a lot. she was cryin' an' she ast me to take her home. that's how i got to know her. i s'pose she cottoned to me for takin' her part that-a-way. she didn't know the sort of place it was her brother had took her. pore kid! she's had a hard time, an' every man she ever knew, but me, done her dirt. even her husband." buddy scowled. after a moment gray said, quietly, "so, she's married?" "she was. he's dead, or something. i was bashful about callin' around to see her, not havin' anything to talk about but school an' oil wells, but she took an interest right away, 'specially in the wells. you'd ought to hear the story of her life, mr. gray. it's as sad as any novel. you see, her folks had lots of money, but her ma died an' her pa was too busy to be bothered, so he sent her off to a convent. them nuns at the convent was so cruel to her that she run away--" "and went on the stage." "how'd you know?" "i didn't. but--the stage is the usual refuge for convent-bred girls who are abused. i've met several. did she--was the old home in virginia?" "sure! mebbe you know her!" buddy cried. "perhaps. i seem to remember the story. what is her name?" "arline montague." the elder man shook his head. "you said something about a marriage. i dare say she married some rich john whose family disapproved of the match--so many show girls have been deceived like that. you can't imagine the prejudice of those fifth avenue parents--" "that's what she done. an' he went off an' joined the french legion of honor an' was killed." "foreign legion, no doubt." "anyhow, he never made no pervision for her. but she wouldn't of touched a penny of his money if he'd left it to her, she's that honorable." now that the lover had fairly launched himself upon the engrossing life story of his sweetheart he was in deep earnest, and his listener's quick understanding, his sympathy, his grasp of the situation, was a spur to further confidences. it was a blessing to have a friend so old, so wise, and so worldly. "what is the estate you mentioned?" "oh, that's her own! it's all she had to fall back on. it's bein' settled up now an' she'll have her money before long." "the old virginia homestead and the slaves--?" "good thing she met me when she did, for them lawyers had it all tied up in court and wouldn't let go till she paid their fees." "a providential meeting, truly. you fixed that up, of course, and got rid of the wretched bloodsuckers. i've done much the same thing, more than once. now, one other question--how does she happen to be in dallas? i infer from your account that she is a model of virtue, and that she accepted your aid only upon the condition that your attentions to her should be characterized by the deepest respect. so? well then, 'how come'?" "that was just a lucky chance. she's got some interests here; stocks an' things, belongin' to the _es_-tate. she dunno, herself, how valuable they are, but me comin' right from texas an' bein' in oil an' all, she ast me to he'p her out. so i got her to come. all that had kep' her back was the expense. mind you"--buddy's tone became one of deeper admiration--"she ain't blue, or anything. no sir-ee! her life's been sad, but you'd never know it. she's full of pep; allus out for fun, an'--that's what i like about her. gee! you gotta meet her, mr. gray." "well, rather! but meanwhile, we must telegraph your parents not only that you have been found, but also the further good news." "i--we better not say anything about my gettin' married." "why not? they'd like to know." "i'd oughta wired 'em long ago, but--you understand! miss montague ain't exactly ma an' allie's kind." "you're not ashamed of her?" "hunh!" the tone of this exclamation was an eloquent denial. "then let's have them come on and get acquainted. they'll probably take right to her." but when this suggestion met with disapproval, gray inquired: "is it because you are ashamed of _them_--of your mother and sister?" buddy stirred uneasily. "pshaw, no!" a sudden thought came to him. "why, it's this way: i haven't ast her yet. mebbe she won't have me. if she says yes--i'll let 'em know." "good! we'll make it, for the time being, a mere message of reassurance. to-night you and miss montague shall dine with me and we'll go to a theater." this arrangement met with young briskow's enthusiastic approval, and so it was left. it was with something more than mere impatience that calvin gray awaited the dinner hour; he was angry, restless; his mind was back in wichita falls, whence the message from his detective had abruptly summoned him. matters of moment were at issue there, and with a love affair of his own upon his mind he could think of no undertaking less to his taste than this: of saving a young fool from his folly. he could expect no thanks, if he succeeded, and if he failed he would in all probability incur buddy's enmity, if not that of the whole briskow family. families are like that. it would all take time, and meanwhile his business was bound to suffer. however, he was not one to turn back, and he remembered with a pang the last look he had seen in ma briskow's eyes. gray was prepared to find his young friend's light o' love superficially attractive, and she was all of that. he was not prepared, however, to find her quite as good an actress as she appeared to be. in spite of the fact that she probably took less pleasure in the meeting than did he, she admirably covered her feelings. she was delighted, flattered--buddy had so often spoken of him that she almost felt acquainted--she was quite excited at knowing the famous colonel gray--she would have recognized him anywhere from buddy's glowing description. gray's heart sank as he studied miss montague. she was blond--to his suspicious eye a trifle too blond--and she wore her hair bobbed. she was petite and, both in appearance and in mannerism, she was girlish; nevertheless, she was self-reliant, and there was a certain maturity to her well-rounded figure, a suggestion of weariness about her eyes, that told a story. following his first critical appraisal, gray was vaguely conscious of something familiar about her; somewhere within him the chords of remembrance were lightly brushed; but try as he would he could not make himself believe that he had ever seen her. probably it was the type that was familiar. he undertook to make sure by talking "show business" at the first opportunity; she responded with enough spontaneity to give an impression of candor, but her theatrical experience was limited and that line of exploration led nowhere. whatever the pose she had adopted for buddy's benefit, it was evident now that she credited his friend with intelligence equal to her own, and recognized the futility of deceit, therefore she made no attempt to pass as anything except an experienced young woman of the world, and gray admired her for it. she smoked a good many cigarettes; her taste in amusements was broad; she had sparkle and enthusiasm. she was, in fact, a vibrant young person, and referred gayly to a road house whither buddy had taken her on the night before and where they had danced until all hours. she loved to dance. the elder man played host in his best and easiest style, both at dinner and at the theater; then he passed the burden of entertainment over to buddy, first cheerfully declaring that he would not be sidetracked and that he intended to impose his company upon the young couple whether they wanted him or not. this was precisely to young briskow's liking, and soon they were speeding out to that road house mentioned earlier in the evening. buddy drove, with miss montague by his side, the while gray sat alone in the back seat of the car quietly objurgating the follies of youth and mournfully estimating his chances of surviving the night. frankly, those chances appeared pretty slim, for buddy drove with a death-defying carelessness. by the time they had arrived at their destination, gray's respect for the girl had increased; she had nerves of steel. the resort was run on rather liberal principles; a number of flushed and noisy couples were dancing to the music of a colored orchestra. it was a "hip-pocket" crowd, and while there was no public drinking, the high-pitched volubility of the merrymakers was plainly of alcoholic origin. gray realized that he was in for an ordeal, for he had become too well known to escape notice. consternation filled him, therefore, at thought of the effect his presence here might have. but the music went straight to buddy's feet; syncopation intoxicated him much as the throbbing of midnight drums and the pounding of tom-toms mesmerizes a voodoo worshiper, and he whirled miss montague away in his arms without so much as an apology to his other guest. there was nothing conservative about buddy's dancing. he embellished his steps with capricious figures, and when he led his partner back to the table where he had left gray, like a sailor marooned upon a thirsty atoll, he was red faced and perspiring; his enthusiasm was boiling over. "dawg-_gone!_" he cried. "now, if we had something wet, eh? these pants is cut purpose for a brace of form-fittin' flasks, but i left 'em in the room on account of you not drinkin', mr. gray." "miss montague," the elder man exclaimed, "i am not a kill-joy and i hastily resent buddy's accusation. i have pursued folly as far as any man of my years." "i bet him that you were a good fellow," the girl said, with a smile. "exactly! abstinence comes as much from old age as from principle, and i am in my very prime. with all vigor i defend myself against the odious charge of virtuousness. dyspepsia alone accounts for it." "you don't object to drinking?" "a wiser man than i has said, 'there are many things which we can afford to forget which it is yet well to learn.' i have had my day. may i claim the next dance?" in spite of the fact that ozark briskow was compelled to sit out every alternate dance in a distressing condition of sobriety, he enjoyed himself, for he was playing host to the one woman and the one man for whom he cared most. he had dreaded meeting gray, fearing the effect of an open confession, expecting opposition, but gray was broad minded, he was a regular guy. in the relief of this hour, buddy could have worshiped him except for the fact that he was too darned nice to arline--nobody had the right to show her attentions as marked as his own--gray was a man no woman could help loving-- before long buddy experienced a new sensation--jealousy. it was mild, to be sure, but it hurt a little. once miss montague's suspicions had been allayed, she, too, devoted herself to having a good time. she rather enjoyed gray and her sense of victory over him. she retired to the ladies' room, finally, to powder her nose, and when she reappeared it was with added animation and with a new sparkle to her eyes. when next it came the elder man's turn to dance with her, he caught upon her breath a faint familiar odor, only half disguised by the peppermint lozenge that was dissolving upon her tongue, and he smiled. evidently this charmer maintained herself in a state of constant preparedness, and her vanity bag hid secrets even from buddy. where had he seen her? for the hundredth time he asked himself that question, for amid these hectic surroundings that first haunting suggestion of familiarity had become more pronounced. but patient delving into the dark corners of his memory was unavailing, and her conversation afforded him no clue. as time passed the young woman made other trips to the dressing room, returning always with an access of brightness and a stronger breath; she assumed with gray a coquetry which buddy did not like. buddy, indeed, strongly disapproved of it, but that only drove her to more daring lengths. she ventured, at last, to discuss the young millionaire with his friend. "he's a dear boy, isn't he? and so innocent." "he's learning." "i'll say he is. he has learned a lot from me." "'delightful task, to rear the tender thought.' but aren't you afraid he'll learn, for instance, why you are eating peppermints?" "oho!" gray's petite partner lifted her head and eyed him curiously. "do you know why?" "i have a suspicion," he said, with a smile, "that when a girl deliberately perfumes her breath it is in preparation for the struggle in the cab." miss montague laughed unaffectedly. "say! i could like you, mr. wisenblum, in spite of the fact that i ought to hate you." "hate me? but why?" "why shouldn't i?" "because--i'm rather nice; i dance well." "you are, and you do. you'd be a perfect dear if you'd only mind your own business. buddy is of age, and you and i will get along like ham and eggs if you'll remember that." chapter xxi "why the sos?" mallow voiced this question as he entered gray's hotel room early the following evening. "i'm in a predicament and i hope you can help me," the latter explained. "i'm trying to remember something and i can't. i have a cold spot in my head." mallow deposited his bag with a sigh of relief. "glad it's no worse. anybody can cure a cold in the head." "sit down and light up while i tell you about it." in a few sentences gray made known the story of ozark briskow's infatuation, and the reason for his own interest therein. "the woman is of the common 'get-rich-quick' variety," he concluded, "and she won't do." "she didn't pull the family estate and her father's slaves and the orange grove on you, did she?" "oh no. she used that on buddy and he believes it implicitly--so implicitly that she warned me to keep off the track. she showed her teeth, in a nice way. i've seen her somewhere; in some place where i should not have been. but where? it must have been in this country, too--not abroad--or i'd remember her." "maybe i haven't been as wild as you, governor. this is a big country and i've missed a lot of disreputable joints." the former speaker smiled. "you have trained yourself to remember faces, mallow. your researches--scientific researches, my dear professor--have led you into quarters which i have never explored. i must identify this venturesome little gold digger without delay, for buddy yearns to make her all his; matrimony is becoming the one object of his life." "why not let the poor carp have her? it's tough enough for a dame to get by since prohibition. i don't see how they make it, with everybody sober. chances are she'd get the worst of the swap, at that." "not unlikely, but that is neither here nor there. understand me, i'm no seraph; i pose as no model of rectitude, and, unfortunately for my peace of mind, miss montague is a really likable young person. but buddy has a mother and a sister, and they hold me responsible for him. we three are dining downstairs in an hour; perhaps you could look in on us?" "sure. i'll give her the once over," mallow agreed. "if she's anybody in our set, i'll know her." the dinner had scarcely started when gray heard his name paged and left the table. in the lobby mallow was waiting with a grin upon his face. "is that her?" he inquired. "that is the girl." "_girl?_ 'arline montague,' eh? her name is margie fulton and she had her hair up when they built the union pacific." "nonsense! you're mistaken. she can't be more than twenty-five--thirty at most." "a woman can be as young as she wants to be if she'll pay the price. margie had her face tucked up two years ago. cost her five thousand bucks." "i--can't believe it." "you see it every day. look at the accordion-pleated beauts in the movies. why, some of those dolls nursed in the civil war! those face surgeons have ironed the wrinkles out of many a withered peach, and you're dining with margie fulton, the suicide blonde. i know her kid." "her _what?_" mallow's hearer gasped. "sure. she was married to bennie fulton, the jockey, and they had a boy. bennie was ruled off in new orleans and started a gambling house." "new orleans! wait--i'm beginning to remember." into gray's mind came an indistinct memory; the blurred picture of a race track with its shouting thousands, a crowded betting ring; then, more clearly, a garish, over-furnished room in a southern mansion; clouds of tobacco smoke rising in the cones of bright light above roulette and poker tables; negro servants in white, with trays; mint juleps in tall, frosted glasses; a pretty girl with straw-colored hair--"you're right!" he agreed, finally. "she was a 'come-on.'" "that's her. she worked the betting ring daytimes and boosted in bennie's place at night. whenever she was caught she suicided. that's how she got her name." "just what do you mean by that?" "why, the usual stuff. a bottle of water with a poison label. if a mullet threatened to call the police, she'd cry, 'you have ruined my life!' then with shaking hand she'd pull the old skull bottle and drink herself to death. of course, the poor leaping tuna usually got the acid out of her hand in time to save her. she saw to that." gray was laughing silently. "my dear professor," he confessed, "wisdom, of a sort, is mine; sometimes i grow weary with the weight of my experiences and wonder why the world so seldom shows me something new. but beside you i am as a babe. tell me, what has become of the ex-jockey husband?" "she divorced him. mind you, margie was square, like most of those 'come-ons.' she'd 'how dare' a guy that so much as looked at her. you know the kind i mean." "and the child? where do you suppose she keeps it?" mallow reflected. "the last time i saw the little cherub he was singing bass in a bellboys' quartette at hot springs. he hops bells at the arlington summers and butchers peanuts at the track during the season--you know, hollers 'here they come!' before they start, then when the women jump up he pinches the betting tickets out of their laps and cashes them with the bookies." "could you get hold of this--this boy basso and bring him here without letting him or his mother know?" "i can if he's still at hot springs, and i saw him there the last time i was up. the little darling got me into a crap game and ran in some shaped dice. of course, it would cost something to get him." "how much?" mallow "shot" his cuff and upon it gravely figured up the probable expense. "well, there would be the fares and the eats and his bit--he wouldn't come for nothing. he'd gyp me for ten dollars, but he'd probably come for five. i'd offer him three--" "there is a thousand dollars in it if you can produce him within the next forty-eight hours. i doubt my ability to sit on the safety valve much longer than that, for buddy briskow is rapidly breaking out with matrimonial measles. if i throw cold water on him it will only aggravate the disease." "a thousand dollars!" mallow cried. "why, for a thousand berries i'll bring you his head on a platter. i'll car the little devil down and lock him in a suitcase." the speaker hesitated a moment before concluding. "it's a dirty trick on margie, though." "i know. but i'm thinking of buddy. now, in heaven's name, hurry! my constitution may survive a few more road houses, but my reputation will not." that night was a repetition of the one before, but with variations and with trimmings, for buddy wore his "two-pint trousers" again, and this time they were loaded, hence gray had a chance to observe him at his best--or worst. a little liquor went a long way with the boy; he derived much effect, many by-products, so to speak, from even a few drinks, and the elder man was forcibly reminded of gus briskow's statement that his son had a streak of the old nick in him. it was true; buddy was indeed like a wild horse. artificially stimulated, he became a creature of pure impulse, and those impulses ran the entire gamut of hilarity: he played the drum; he wrestled with a burly doorman; he yelled, whenever he found what he called a good "yelling place"; he demonstrated his ability to sing "silver threads among the gold" to the accompaniment of a four-piece orchestra energetically engaged in playing something quite modern and altogether different. these, and many other accomplishments equally unsuspected, he displayed. on the way from one lively resort to a livelier he conceived the unique idea that he could "swap ends" with his touring car in much the same manner that he could turn a nimble cow pony, and he tried it. happily, the asphalt was wet, and in consequence the maneuver was not a total failure, although it did result in a crumpled mud guard and a runaway. milk-wagon horses in dallas, it appeared, were not schooled to the sight of spinning motor cars, and the phenomenon filled at least one with abysmal horror. gray felt sure that he had visibly aged as a result of that ride, and he began to understand why a new crop of wrinkles was appearing about the corners of margie fulton's eyes. no wonder she was beginning to look a trifle weary. fearing that buddy was likely to turn sentimental without warning, the elder man monopolized as much of "miss montague's" time and attention as possible; he danced with her frequently, and he assiduously devoted himself to winning her favor. the result was a tribute to his acting and to his magnetism. in a moment of abandon she confided to him that she wished he had buddy's money or--that he was a marrying man. both of buddy's flasks had been emptied by this time, however, so gray was not unduly beguiled by this flattery. on the whole, it was a horrible night. as gray languidly crept into bed about daylight he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had at least excited his young friend's open jealousy. that might act as a stay. on the other hand, of course, it might have directly the opposite effect--one could never tell--and it might be the part of wisdom, therefore, to gain possession of that diamond ring. buddy sought him out in the lobby, early the next afternoon, and after a colorless greeting, said, queerly, "would you mind comin' up to my room for a minute?" "certainly not. i'd have looked in on you before this if i'd thought you were up." as the two mounted the wide marble stairs gray went on, cheerfully: "not looking your best this morn--afternoon, my lad. as for me, i am, in a manner of speaking, reborn. i have taken a new start. careful reflection upon the providential outcome of that amazing skid has convinced me that whatever joys or sorrows assail me hereafter, however much or little of life is spared me, it will be all 'velvet.' a touch of mascaro about my temples and i shall look as young as i did yesterday. what are we going to do to-night?" "i dunno." once inside his spacious suite, buddy flung himself into a chair and with trembling fingers lit a cigarette. it was evident that he had something to say, but either dreaded saying it or knew not where to begin. his companion, meanwhile, pretended to look out upon the street below. in reality, he was observing the young giant. poor buddy! he was suffering. the latter cleared his throat several times before he managed to say, "you don't want me to marry arline, do you, mr. gray?" "frankly, my boy, i do not." "why?" "there are many reasons." "what's one?" "i don't think you love her." briskow stirred. "is that why you--went an' got that di'mon' ring i had made?" when this query met with a nod the young texan's face flamed and his eyes glowed. "what in hell--" he swallowed his anger, rose to his feet and made a nervous circuit of the room before coming to a pause at gray's side. his lips were working; there was a tragic, a piteous appeal in his eyes; his voice shook as he stammered: "i didn't mean to break out at you, mr. gray. i like you. gee! i--you're kinda like god to me. i'd ruther be like you than--well, there ain't nobody i like like i like you--you could get her away from me if you wanted to, but--you wouldn't do a trick like that, would you? i was mighty happy till you came--you--got that ring with you?" "i have it in my pocket." "i want it." buddy extended a quivering hand. "why?" "i'm goin' to ask her to marry me, to-day. if she won't i'm goin' to--" "she will." buddy gasped. "you _sure?_" "i'm quite sure she would if you asked her. but i don't want you to ask her." when an expression of pained reproach leaped into the lad's face, the speaker explained, quickly: "don't think for a moment that i care for her, nor that she has the slightest interest in me. it is you that i care for. what you just said pleased me, touched me. i wish you could understand how much i really do care for you, buddy. won't you wait--a few days, before you--" "i _can't_ wait." "you must." the men eyed each other steadily for a moment, then buddy demanded, querulously, "what have you got against her, anyhow?" "you wouldn't believe me if i told you." "she told me everything there is to tell an' i told you. i don't care what she's done--if she ever done anything. she's had a hard time." "will you wait forty-eight hours?" "no." "twenty-four?" "gimme that ring!" when gray made no move the speaker ran on, excitedly: "i'm a man. i'm of age. it's none of your business what i do--nor pa's or ma's, either. it won't do no good for them to come." gray went to the door, locked it and pocketed the key. "buddy"--his voice was firm, his face was set--"you are a man, yes, although you were only a boy a few weeks ago. you are going to act like a man, now." "you goin' to try an' _hold_ me here?" the inquiry was one of mingled astonishment and anger, for young briskow could scarcely believe his eyes. "don't do that, mr. gray. i--nobody can't _make_ me do anything. please don't! that's plumb foolish." "what if i told you that miss montague is--" buddy interrupted with a harsh cry. "damn it! i said i wouldn't listen to anything against her. i'm tellin' you, again, keep your mouth shut about her." the youth's face was purple; he was trembling; his fists were clenched, and with difficulty he restrained even a wilder outburst. "you can have the ring, but--you lemme out of here, quick." when this command went unheeded he strode toward the bedroom, intending to use the other exit, but his caller intercepted him. "lemme out!" the young man shouted. "one of us is going to remain in this room, and i think it will be you." as gray spoke he jerked off his coat and flung it aside. "better strip, buddy, if you mean to try it." buddy recoiled a step. incredulously he exclaimed: "you--you wouldn't try _that_! this is my room. you must be crazy." "i think i am, indeed, to endure what i have endured these last two days; to make myself ridiculous; to be humiliated; to risk my business ruin just to save a young fool from his folly." impatience, resentment, anger were in the speaker's tone. "i never ast you. you butted in--tried to cut me out. that's dirty. you was lyin' when you said--" "have it that way. i've run out of patience." ozark briskow, too, had reached the limit of his endurance; he exploded. momentarily he lost his head and cursed gray vilely. for answer the latter moved close and slapped him across the mouth, saying: "fight, you idiot!" buddy's low, gasping cry had the effect of a roar; it left the room echoing, then savagely he lunged at his assailant. he was blind, in him was a sudden maniacal impulse to destroy; he had no thought of consequences. gray knocked him down. it was a blow that would have felled an ox. as the youth lay half dazed, he heard the other taunting him, mocking him. "get up, you lummox, and defend yourself. you'll be a man when i get through with you." codes of combat are peculiar to localities. in the north woods, for instance, lumberjacks fight with fist and heel; in the southwest, when a man is mad enough to fight at all, he is usually mad enough to kill. as buddy briskow rose to his knees he groped for the nearest weapon, the nearest missile, something--anything with which to slay. his hand fell upon a heavy metal vase, and with this he struck wickedly as gray closed with him. this time they went down together and rolled across the floor. the legs of a desk crashed and a litter of writing materials was spilled over them. gray was the first to regain his feet, but his shirt had been torn half off and he tasted blood upon his lips. he had met strong men in his time, but never had he felt such a rocklike mass of bone and muscle as now. buddy was like a kicking horse; his fists were as hard as hoofs, and that which they smote they crushed or bruised or lacerated. he possessed now the supreme strength of a madman, and he was quite insensible to pain. he was uttering strange animal sounds. "shut up!" gray panted. "have the guts to--keep still. you'll--rouse the--" he dodged an awkward swinging blow from the giant and sent him reeling. buddy fetched up against the solid wall with a crash, for gray had centered every pound of his weight behind his punch, but the countryman rebounded like a thing of rubber and again they clinched. a room cluttered with heavy furniture is not like a boxing ring. in spite of gray's skill and an agility uncommon in a man of his size, it was impossible to stop the other's rushes or to avoid them. straining with each other they ricocheted against tables and chairs, and only the fact that much of the furniture was padded, and the floor thickly carpeted, prevented the sound of their struggle from alarming the occupants of the halls and the lobby. they fought furiously, moving the while like two wrestlers trying for flying holds; time and again they fell with first one on top and then the other; their flesh suffered and they grew bloody. the room soon became a litter, for its fittings were upset, flung about, splintered, as if the room itself had been picked up and shaken like a doll's house. gray managed to floor his antagonist whenever he had time and space in which to set himself, but this was not often, for buddy closed with him at every opportunity. at such times it was the elder man who suffered most. in a way it was an unequal struggle, for youth, ablaze with a holy fire, was matched against age, stiffened only by stubborn determination. neither man longer had any compunctions; each fought with a ferocious singleness of purpose. buddy's face had been hammered to a pulp, but gray was groaning; he could breathe only from the top of his lungs, and the bones of his left hand had been telescoped. agonizing pains ran clear to his shoulder, and the hand itself was well-nigh useless. it was an extraordinary combat; certainly the walls of this luxurious suite had never looked down upon a scene so strange as this fight between friends. how long it continued, neither man knew--not a great while, surely, measured by the clock; but an interminable time as they gauged it. nor could calvin gray afterward recall just how it came to an end. he vaguely remembered buddy briskow weaving loosely, rocking forward upon uncertain legs, blindly groping for him--the memory was like that of a figure seen dimly through a mist of dreams--then he remembered calling up his last reserve of failing vigor. even as he launched the blow he knew it was a knockout. the colossus fell, lay motionless. it was a moment or two before gray could summon strength to lend succor, then he righted an armchair and dragged buddy into it. he reeled as he made for the bathroom, for he was desperately sick; as he wet a towel, meanwhile clinging dizzily to the faucet, his reflection leered forth from the mirror--a battered, repulsive countenance, shockingly unlike his own. he was gently mopping young briskow's face when the latter revived. buddy's eyes were wild, he did not recognize this unpleasant stranger until a familiar voice issued from the shapeless lips. "you'll be all right in a few minutes, my lad." briskow lifted his head; he tried to rise, but fell back limply, for as yet his body refused to obey his will. "you--licked me," he declared, faintly. "licked me good, didn't you?" "_buddy!_ oh, buddy--" it was a yearning cry; gray's streaked, swollen features were grotesquely contorted. "you won't be mad with me, will you?" "want to fight any more?" the victor groaned. "my god, _no!_ you nearly killed me." this time buddy managed to gain his feet. "then i reckon i'll--go to bed. i feel purty rotten." gray laughed aloud, in his deep relief. "righto! and after i've phoned for a doctor, if you don't mind, i'll crawl in with you." chapter xxii on the morning after the fight mallow knocked at gray's door, then in answer to an indistinct and irritable command to be gone, he made himself known. "it's me, governor. and i've got exhibit a." "really?" came the startled query. there was a stir from within, the lock snapped and the door opened. "i've got a little friend here that i want you to--" mallow paused inside the threshold, his mouth fell open, he stared in frank amazement. "sweet spirits of niter!" he gasped. "what happened to _you?_" "i was playing tag in the hall with some other old men, and one of them struck me." "my god, you're a sight!" mallow remained petrified. "i never saw a worse mess." "come in and close the door. i am vain, therefore i have a certain shyness about exposing my beauty to the curious gaze. pardon me if i seat myself first; i find it more comfortable to sit than to stand, to recline than to sit." stiffly the speaker let himself into an upholstered divan and fitted the cushions to his aches and his pains, his bruises and his abrasions. he sighed miserably. his features were discolored, shapeless; his lips were cut; strips of adhesive tape held the edges of a wound together; his left hand was tightly bandaged and the room reeked with the odor of liniment. "you've been hit with a safe, or something," mallow declared. "evidences of some blunt instrument, as the newspapers say; maybe a pair of chain tongs." "blunt and heavy, yes. buddy briskow and i had an argument--" "that big bum? did he lay it on you like that? say, he's got the makings of a champ!" "pride impels me to state that he got the worst of it. he is scarcely presentable, while i--" "your side won?" "it did. now, where is the boy?" "he's outside." without shifting his astonished gaze, mallow raised his voice and cried, "hey, bennie!" the door opened, a trim, diminutive figure entered. "bennie, mit my friend colonel gray." the youngster, a boy of indeterminate age, advanced and shook hands. there was no mistaking him; he was margie fulton's son in size, in coloring, in features. "i told bennie you could use a bright kid about his age. and he's bright." it required no clever analysis of the lad to convince gray that he was indeed bright, as bright--and as hard--as a silver dollar. he had a likable face, or it would have been likable had it been in repose. it was twitching now, and gray said, with a smile, "go ahead and laugh, son." the urchin's lips parted in a wide grin, and he spoke for the first time. "did the germans do that?" the effect of his voice was startling, for it was deep and husky; it was the older man's turn to be astonished. "he could pass for fifteen on the street," mallow said; "but when he talks i chalk him down for thirty-five. how old are you, ben?" "seventeen. what's the big idea, anyhow?" the question was directed impudently at the occupant of the divan. "did you send all the way to hot springs to get a guy you can lick?" "your mother is here in dallas, my boy." "yeah?" there was a pause. "how's it breaking for her?" "um-m, very well. i thought she'd like to see you." bennie cocked his head, he eyed the speaker curiously, suspiciously. "come clean," he rumbled. "mallow said you could use me." "i can. i will." the boy shrugged. "all right, sharkey. i s'pose it'll come out, in time. only remember, i've got twenty coming, win or lose." "of course" gray waved toward the dresser, upon which was a handful of bills. "help yourself. better make it twenty-five. then wait outside, please. we will join you in a few minutes." "and don't make it thirty," bennie's traveling companion sharply cautioned. when the door had closed, gray gave his friend certain instructions, after which he limped to the telephone and called arline montague. "may i ask you to step down to buddy's room?" he inquired, after making himself known. "oh, it will be quite all right--we three must have a little talk--but he _couldn't_ see you last night. he was quite ill, really; i sat up with him most of--" there was a longer hiatus then. "hadn't we better argue that in buddy's presence? thank you. in five minutes, then." as he and gray prepared to leave, mallow said, sourly: "margie is a good little dame, in her way, and i feel like a--like a damned'stool.'" "my dear fellow," the other told him, "i understand, and i'd gladly take another beating like this one to escape this wretched denouement." when ozark briskow answered gray's request for admittance, he was deeply embarrassed to find miss montague also waiting; his stammered protest was interrupted by her sharp inquiry: "what is the meaning of all this mystery? he said you were too sick to see me." "permit me to explain," gray began, as he closed the door behind them. "buddy and i came to blows over you; you were, in a manner of speaking, an apple of discord between us, and the melancholy results you behold. jealousy of your charms was not my motive; i merely asked buddy to defer a contemplated action. he refused; i insisted. argument failed to budge either of us and--" the young woman's sympathetic regard of gray's victim changed to a glare of hostility as she turned upon the speaker, crying: "you _brute!_ you ought to be arrested!" "he ast me to wait, arline--" "to delay asking you a question which i felt should be more seriously considered. in the absence of his family i took it upon myself to--" "to butt in!" miss montague exclaimed, with curling lip. "quite so. i merit your disapproval, but not your disdain." with some heat buddy declared: "pa an' ma know that i got a mind of my own. it won't do 'em any good to come." "see here," the woman demanded. "what have you been telling buddy about me? i told him all there was to tell." "quite all? i fear you have not been as frank as you would have me believe. that, in fact, explains my connection with the affair. believe me when i say that i am interested only in seeing justice done to both of you young people, and in making sure that you do not deceive each other. it is an impulse of artless youth to trick itself in glowing colors, but you should know the whole truth about buddy and he about you. if, after you are thoroughly acquainted with each other, you still maintain a mutual regard i shall have nothing further to say--except to beg that i be allowed to show my true friendship for both of you." "well, spring the bad news," said miss montague. briskow now displayed the first open resentment he had shown since his defeat of the day before. "you licked me, mr. gray, an' i took my medicine," he growled. "you changed my looks, but you didn't change my mind. i'm waitin' for the folks to come, but i ain't goin' to listen to 'em." "let him get this off his chest, buddy. go ahead with the scandal, saint anthony." gray bowed. "suppose we ignore the early convent training and the old kentucky home and agree that they are pleasant fictions, like the estate which you are in such imminent danger of inheriting. those, i'm sure you will admit, are entirely imaginary." buddy briskow's swollen eyelids opened wider, his tumid lips parted, and an expression of surprise spread over his dropsical countenance. "step on it," sneered miss montague. "dish the dirt!" "buddy's belief, however, that your stage career was blasted and your young life laid waste by the scion of a rich new york house should, in the interests of truth, be corrected." "he knows i was married." "true. but not to bennie fulton, the jockey." "that is a--lie!" "nor that the estimable mr. fulton, instead of perishing upon the field of glory, dodged the draft and is doing as well as could be expected of a jockey who has been ruled off every track in the country, and is now a common gambler against whom the finger of suspicion is leveled--" "it's a lie!" the woman stormed. of buddy she inquired: "you don't believe that, do you? you don't intend to listen to that sort of stuff?" the object of this appeal was torn by conflicting emotions. doubt is a weed that sprouts fastest in dull minds; suspicion is the ready armor of ignorance; to young briskow came the unwelcome vision of those oil wells. was gray telling the truth? could it be that arline had made a fool of him? but no, she was smaller, prettier, more adorable than ever, now that she was whipped by this gale of anger, and a girl like that could not be a deceiver. buddy longed desperately to believe her refutation of the charge. he closed his eyes and made himself believe. "even now," gray was saying, "if you would tell the boy all he ought to know, i would take myself off and have nothing more to say." "you-you make me _sick!_" miss montague cried, vibrantly. "what right have _you_ to preach? what kind of a man are you? if he believed your lies for a minute i'd never want to see him again. he has been a true friend to me"--her voice quavered, caught in her throat--"the only true friend i ever had. _i_ don't care whether he's rich or poor, but men like you are all alike. what chance has a girl got against you? you want to use his money, so you p-poison his mind--break a woman's heart--just b-because you--hate me." the last words were sobbed forth. miss montague broke down. "hell!" hoarsely exclaimed young briskow. "you're makin' her cry!" gray sighed; he stepped to the door, opened it and called, "come in, both of you." arline montague's shoulders ceased to shake, she lifted her blond head alertly. then she uttered a breathless exclamation. buddy, meanwhile, had been staring at the door, and he was surprised when, instead of his family, he saw entering a strange man and a boy small of stature but old of face, a boy insouciant, impudent, swaggering. it was this boy who spoke first. "hello, momma!" he cried. at sound of that voice buddy recoiled, for it was deeper than his own. his expression of dismay was no doubt ludicrous, at any rate the urchin's lively eyes leaped to his face and remained there, while a grin spread over his features. "hully gee!" rumbled the lad. "here's _another_ one that ought to be buried!" "mrs. fulton"--it was gray speaking--"i took the liberty of asking your son--" buddy briskow heard no more, for his ears were roaring. her son! that voice! being little more than a boy himself, nothing could have hurt him more cruelly than this; his impulse was to flee the room, for his world had come down in crashing ruin. she _had_ lied! she _had_ made a fool of him. gray had been right. the others were still talking when buddy broke in faintly. his battered visage was white, his lips were colorless. "i reckon this--ends my part of the entertainment," said he. slowly he seated himself and bowed his head in his hands, for he had become quite ill. arline montague--margie fulton--once the blow had fallen, behaved rather well; she took bennie in her arms and kissed him, then in answer to his quick look of dismay at her agitation, she patted him on the shoulder and said: "it's all right, son. you didn't know." "didn't know what?" demanded the lad. "say--" he stared angrily from one face to another. "is it a plant?" "hush! you wouldn't understand." bennie's suspicions now were in full play, and his gaze came to rest upon calvin gray; his eyes began to blaze. "you--you big bum!" he cried. "i might have known you were a double-crosser." "hush, bennie, please!" "i'll get you for this." the midget was quivering with rage. "you'll look worse 'n that, you--you big bum!" "take my key. here!" the mother thrust her room key into the boy's hand. "run along. i--i'll see you in a few minutes." to mallow she said: "take him out, please. you brought him." mallow, flushing uncomfortably, took bennie by the wrist and dragged him to the door. "dirty work!" said the woman, when the two had gone. her eyes were dark with anger as she stared at gray. "it must look so to you," he agreed. "frankly, i didn't enjoy it." "bah!" margie turned to briskow, but in his attitude, his averted gaze, she read the doom of her hopes. one final chance remained, however, and desperately she snatched at it. "buddy!" she cried. "_buddy!_" her voice was poignant as she pleaded. "i couldn't tell you the truth. i wanted to--i laid awake nights trying to get the courage, but i was afraid you wouldn't understand. i'd have told you the whole thing, if you'd ever given me the chance. you know i've been married; does it make so much difference that i have a son?" when the object of her appeal only stirred, she went on, reproachfully: "are you going to allow this--this man to--come between us?" "i wouldn't believe you now, if--" buddy choked. "i'm through!" "you mean that?" the young fellow nodded. "very well!" something in the tone of the last words, some accent of desperation, caused buddy to raise his head. he was in time to see margie fumble with her purse and extract something therefrom; to buddy's eyes it resembled a bottle. "there is no use fighting any more. you have ruined my life." "my god!" young briskow yelled, in dismay. "don't do that! stop her!" he leaped to his feet and lunged for the poison vial which was trembling upon arline's lips. gray, too, had been galvanized into action, but of an unexpected nature; he grappled with buddy and held him. "look out!" the latter gasped. "she's killin' herself." the texan was weak with horror; he could only paw impotently at his captor and cry: "arline! you wouldn't do _that?_ for _me?_ lemme go. arline--" "this is the end," moaned the woman, still holding the bottle to her lips. her despair was tragic; nevertheless, she did not instantly hurl herself into the hereafter. this hesitation at meeting death was only natural, perhaps, for none but the bravest can leap into the unknown without a moment of farewell. "drink hearty!" gray exclaimed, over his shoulder, meanwhile closing tighter his embrace of the terrified youth. buddy's struggles suddenly ceased, for at last the bottle had been drained; the girl was groping blindly toward the nearest chair. "god'lmighty! you let her do it!" he cried, hoarsely. "you--you _murderer_! we--we gotta get a doctor, quick." "nonsense! water won't hurt her; and that's all it is. she's known as 'the suicide blonde.'" "say! you're bursting with information, aren't you?" it was miss montague, tottering upon the brink of the grave, who voiced this explosive inquiry. her drooping shoulders straightened, she raised her head and flung the empty bottle violently from her. her face was deathly white, to be sure, but not with darting agonies. "you know _everything_, don't you? you make plain the past, the present, and the future. well, madame thebes, you're under the wire with the horseshoe on your neck." with head erect and with firm tread she moved to the door; she turned there and blazed forth in bitter scorn, her bobbed curls shaking as she spoke: "take that selling plater back to the car barn, where he belongs. i'm off boobs for life. i knew you had a jinx on me the minute i saw you, for i broke my mirror the day you breezed in. seven years bad luck? my god, you're all of that and more! why, you'd bring bad luck to a church! i'll beat it now while you give little rollo his bottle and rock him to sleep. if he cries, tell me and--and i'll furnish the rock." the door slammed to behind the diminutive fury, and gray sank feebly into a chair. he was laughing silently. "by jove! she's splendid!" he chuckled. "buddy, i--i like that woman." it was midforenoon of the next day. mrs. fulton, after a restless night, was packing her trunks; her room was in disarray, what with open suitcases and piles of dresses, lingerie, shoes and the like strewn carelessly about. she had halted her labors for a second time to scan a brief note that had arrived a few moments before and ran as follows: dear mrs. fulton,--i am not really such a bad sort as you consider me, and i'm genuinely interested in that boy of yours. let's cry quits and have a serious talk about him and--perhaps other things. sincerely yours, calvin gray. she was thus engaged when there came a knock, and in answer to her voice the writer entered. "thank you for letting me come up," he began. "i'm becoming accustomed to dodging chambermaids and scurrying up back stairs. but i'm looking better, don't you think?" "there's only one way you'd look better to me," the woman said, unsmilingly, "and that is laid out." "please put me at my ease. i am physically sore and mentally distressed." "_you_ sore, distressed! humph! i wouldn't have consented to see you except for what mallow told me. after what he said i'd like to give you a piece of my mind. what right have _you_ doing a thing like this? do you know what i think of you?" "i do. also what mallow thinks of me, for he told me. you see, he believes firmly that i am a--well, a person of much looser principles than i really am, and my protestations of honesty only excite his veiled derision." "he says he's sorry. sorry! after spilling the beans." "mrs. fulton, i have learned that life is a mixed affair, and that most of our actions are the results of conflicting motives. yes, and that we ourselves are products of conflicting forces, good and evil. few of us are as good as we would like to have people believe nor as bad as we appear. i wonder if you will believe me when i say that i--like you." "certainly not." "nevertheless, i do. for one thing, you are a good fighter and a good loser. i try to be, but i fear i lack your spirit. i would not have hurt you willingly." the woman tossed her head and turned away; when she spoke, it was wearily: "i might have known i couldn't make the jump. i never did win a big race. a good loser, eh? well, i've had enough practice at it. how is buddy? hurt, i suppose. his young life is blasted; he'll never trust another woman." "he is standing it pretty well, and is greatly cheered by the fact that he can see out of his left eye practically as well as ever. he is going back to the oil fields and learn the business. i am going to put him to work. what are you going to do with bennie?" "do with him? what can i do with him?" "he is a bright boy." "i'm bright, too, but i have all i can do to get by." "it is a shame to think he will grow up into what his father was." margie fulton wheeled and her blue eyes were dark. "i suppose you think i'm a bad mother. but what do you know about it? how do you know what i've gone through for him; the sacrifices i've made? i've made plenty and they came hard." "i'd like to help you make a man of him." "what? _you_? how?" "i'd like to put him in business and teach him that there is no profit in short-changing customers; that the real wise guy isn't the fellow who gets the best of every bag of peanuts, but the one who can go back to the same customer and sell him another bag. the abstract principle has been put much more succinctly, but i doubt if it would carry the same weight with him. i'd enjoy giving the boy a hand up, but--he is more than i'd care to tackle alone." "there's mallow to help you. he'd be a refining influence." the mother's lip curled. "how about you?" "me?" "isn't the--sort of life you are living becoming a bit tiresome? aren't you about fed up on uncertainties?" the object of these queries drew a deep breath; her eyelids flickered, but she continued to stare at the speaker. "worry brings deeper wrinkles than old age. wouldn't you like to tie to something solid and be able to show bennie that you are, at heart, the sort of woman i consider you? he'll soon be getting old enough to wonder if you are what he thinks you are or if--" "i suppose you learned this--bayonet practice in the army," mrs. fulton said, hoarsely. "anybody can make a good living in a country like this if he cares enough to try. i'll back you if you need money." "and--what's the price?" "my price? oh, i'd feel well repaid if some day bennie acknowledged that i was a 'regular guy,' and if you agreed." "is that all?" "quite all. is there something you do--well?" "i can cook. i'm a good cook. women like me usually have hobbies they never can follow--and i have two. i can make a fool of a stove, and i--i can design children's clothes, wonderful things, new things--" "will you come to wichita falls and start a restaurant and make good things to eat, if i supply the money and the customers?" "_will_ i?" the speaker's face had flushed, her eyes had begun to sparkle. "then it's a bargain," gray declared, gayly. "why, you'll get rich, for it is the chance of a lifetime. i'll guarantee patronage; i'll drum up trade if i have to turn sandwich man and ring a bell. leave the details to me." margie fulton sank slowly into the nearest chair, regardless of the fact that it was piled full of lacy, white, expensive things; her voice quavered, broke, as she said: "gee, mr. gray! i figured there must be some decent men in the world, but--i never thought i'd meet one." chapter xxiii in a long, relentless struggle between two men psychology may play a part as important as in a campaign between two opposing armies, or so at least calvin gray believed. that, in fact, was one of his pet theories and from the first he had planned to test it. it was characteristic of henry nelson, on the other hand, that he put no faith whatever in "imponderables," hence gray's reference to morale, on that day of their first meeting, had amused him. morale, indeed! as if a man of his tough fiber could be affected by the mere chanting of a hymn of hate! he considered himself the captain of his soul, and the antics of a malicious enemy, the wild waving of false danger signals, instead of distracting a resolute mariner, would merely cause him to steer a truer course. but nelson was a brooder. time came when doubts distressed him, when he began to put faith in "malicious animal magnetism" and, despite his better sense, to wonder if some evil spell really had not been put upon him. in his arrogance it had seemed at first a simple matter to do away with gray. that had been mistake number one. the miserable breakdown of that plan, the refusal of his hireling to go forward, and the impossibility of securing a trustworthy substitute convinced him finally that he had erred grievously in his method. some men are invulnerable to open attack, and gray, it seemed, had been wet in the waters of the styx. no, that had been a bad beginning and nelson regretted it, for he feared it had served as a warning. so, indeed, it appeared, for not long thereafter he actually felt, or thought he felt, the vengeful claws of his enemy. a new strike in one of the western counties had become public, and a brand-new oil excitement was born overnight. trains were crowded, roads were jammed with racing automobiles; in the neighborhood of the new well ensued scenes to duplicate those of other pools. for the first week or two there was a frenzy of buying and selling, a speculation in oil acreage and town lots. the nelsons, of course, were early on the ground, for in spite of the father's contention that they could ill afford, at the moment, to tie up more money in unproductive properties, the son had argued that they must have "protection," and his arguments had prevailed. henry went in person, and he was disagreeably surprised to discover gray on the ground ahead of him. the latter bore evidences of hard usage in the shape of a black eye and numerous bandages, reputed to be the result of an automobile collision. henry regretted that his enemy's injuries were so trivial. it was indeed a pity that so few accidents are fatal. he bought rapidly, right and left, as much to forestall gray as anything else, and he was back at the bank shortly with a number of leases. not until some time later did he learn that he had paid a price for them twice as high as that charged for properties closer in. it was bell who brought this unwelcome information home to him--brought it home in his characteristic manner. "what the hell ails you, anyhow?" the father inquired, in apoplectic wrath. "have you gone clean crazy?" after some inquiry henry realized what ailed him and who had caused him to throw away his money, but he did not apprise bell. more than once they had been parties to "wash sales," and had helped to establish artificial values, but to be victimized in the same manner was like the taste of poison. of course, it meant little in the big game. at most, the firm had been "gypped" only a comparatively few thousand dollars, and the loss could probably be recouped by a resale; nevertheless, the incident was significant, and, upon second thought, it appeared to shed light upon certain other expensive transactions in other fields. now, oddly enough, this new oil discovery did not develop as had been expected--in fact, the excitement died out quickly--and when henry nelson undertook to dispose of his holdings he was faced by a heavy loss, for gray was offering adjoining acreage at low prices. following this unhappy experience, the scandal about the jackson well became public--the atlantic company having at last located the leak in its pipe line--and the whole red river district enjoyed a great laugh. henry nelson did not laugh. he turned green when he realized how close he had come to buying that lease. of course, here was a swindle that gray could have had nothing to do with, and yet--nelson wondered why "bob" parker had failed to sell it to him. "bob" had tied it upon an option, awaiting his return, and he had hurried back on purpose to examine it. why hadn't he bought it? henry asked that question of the girl, and, when she told him as much as she knew, he began to believe that the whole thing was, indeed, an incredibly bold attempt to swindle him, and him alone. miss parker, of course, was deeply chagrined at her connection with the fraud; nevertheless, the banker felt his flesh turn cold at the narrowness of his escape. he assured himself, upon calmer thought, that his imagination was running away with him; this was too devilishly ingenious, too crooked! and besides, gray had promised to fight fair. all the same, the thing had a suspicious odor, and nelson slept badly for a few nights. he decided to use extra caution thereafter and see that he neither paid more for leases than they were worth nor permitted anybody to "salt" him. salting, after all, was rare; one read about it in books, but no experienced operator had ever been fooled in that way. about this time a big gasser blew in north of the louisiana fields, and wise oil men began to talk about arkansas and quietly to gather in acreage. less than a week later one of nelson's field men brought into the bank a youth who owned some property in the latter state. this yokel was a sick man; he was thin and white; he had a racking cough, and he knew nothing about oil except from hearsay. all he knew was that he would die if he didn't get to a warmer, drier climate; but the story he told caused henry nelson to stare queerly at his field man. that very night the latter left town. on the third night thereafter, in answer to a telegram, nelson and the arkansas farmer slipped unobtrusively out of wichita falls. it so happened that brick stoner, en route to hot springs for a little rest, was a passenger on the same train. stoner returned in due time, much rested, and he brought with him a large check to the firm's account. "we timed it to the minute," he told mcwade and mallow. "that gasser couldn't have come in better if we'd ordered it. nelson's dickering under cover for more acreage near what he's got, but i tipped off who he was." "he fell easy, eh?" stoner grinned. "he was so pleased with himself at swindling an invalid, and so scared somebody would discover those seepages that he couldn't hardly wait to sign up. if it hadn't of been for the general excitement, he might of insisted on time to do some exploring, but he's pulled a rig off another job and he's sending it right up." "we've got some good news, too," mcwade asserted. "avenger number one is trying hard to come in." "no?" "i tell you gray's got a rabbit foot. if we continue to trail along with him, i'll be losing you as a partner, brick." "how so?" "why, i'll be turning honest. it seems to pay." "um-m. probably i'd better keep all this nelson money and leave you--" "oh, not at all," the junior partner said, quickly. "that isn't an oil deal, strictly speaking, for you say there ain't oil enough on the land to grease a jackknife. i look on it as a real-estate speculation." with a laugh stoner accepted this explanation, and then announced that he was hungry for his breakfast. this time mallow spoke up. "i'm bally-hooing for a new joint; fulton's fancy waffle foundry. follow me and i'll try to wedge you in. but you'll have to eat fast and pick your teeth on the sidewalk, for we need the room." in answer to stoner's stare, the speaker explained his interest in the welfare of wichita falls's newest eating place, and en route thereto he told how margie fulton came to be running it. "gray did it. he got the parker girl to help us, and we had the place all fixed up by the time margie got here. she's tickled pink, and it'll coin money--if it isn't pinched." "pinched?" "sure! bennie's the cashier, and he palms everything from dimes to dishtowels. force of habit! better count your change till i break him of short-changing the customers." "_you_--" stoner stopped in his tracks. "oh, i'm giving him lessons in elemental honesty." "my god! are you turning honest, too?" the other man exclaimed. "seems like that's all i hear lately." it was a blue day for henry nelson when avenger number one came in, for it made necessary immediate drilling operations on his part. and the worst of it was the well was not big enough to establish a high value for his holdings. it was just enough of a producer to force him to begin three offsets and that, for the moment, was an undertaking decidedly inconvenient. bell nelson was even more dismayed at the prospect than was his son, for upon him fell the necessity of raising the money. "hell of a note," the old fellow grumbled, "when a wet well puts a crimp in us! a little more good luck like this and we'll go broke." "we can't afford to let go, or to sub-lease--" "of course not, after the stand we've taken. there's talk on the street about the bank, now, and--i'd give a good deal to know where it comes from." the junior nelson had heard similar echoes, but he held his tongue. "i never did like your way of doing business," the speaker resumed, fretfully. "we've overreached. you wanted it all and--this is the result." now henry nelson was warranted in resenting this accusation, for it had ever been bell's way to pursue a grasping policy, therefore he cried, angrily: "that's right; pass the buck. you know you wouldn't listen to anything else. if we're in deep, you're more to blame than i." "nothing of the sort." old bell began a profane denial, but the younger man broke in, irritably: "i've never won an argument with you, so have it your own way. but while you're raising money for the avenger offsets, you'd better raise plenty, for gray is going to punch holes down as fast as ever he can." "who is this gray? what's he got against you?" henry's eyes shifted. "has he got anything against me? he bought a good lease and was wise enough to get somebody to make a well for him--" "those crooks! those wildcatters!" "now, he proposes to develop his acreage as rapidly as possible. nothing strange about that, is there?" "is he sore at you?" "we didn't get along very well in france." "humph! i suppose that means you fought like hell. and now he's getting even. by the way, where am i going to get this money?" "that is up to you," said henry, with a disagreeable grin, whereupon his father stamped into his own office in a fine fury. not long after this father and son quarreled again, for of a sudden a perfect avalanche of lawsuits was released, the mysterious origin and purpose of which completely mystified old bell. the nelsons, like everybody else, had unsuccessfully dabbled in oil stocks and drilling companies for some time before the boom started, also during its early stages, and most of those failures had been forgotten. they were painfully brought to mind, however, when henry was served with a dozen or more citations, and when inquiry elicited the reluctant admission from the bank's attorney that a genuine liability existed--a liability which included the entire debts of those defunct joint-stock associations in which he and his father had invested. this was enough to enrage a saint. henry argued that he had invariably signed those articles of association with the words, in parentheses, "no personal liability," and he was genuinely amazed to learn that this precaution had been useless. he protested that scores--nay, hundreds--of other people were in the same fix as he, and that if this outrageous provision of the law were strictly enforced and judgments rendered widespread ruin would result. his lawyer agreed to this in all sympathy, but read aloud the provisions of the statute, and nelson derived no comfort from the reading. the lawyer was curious to know, by the way, who had taken the trouble to acquire all of these claims--a task of heroic size--but about all the encouragement he could offer was the probability of a long and expensive series of legal battles, the outcome of which was problematical. that meant annoyance, at best, and a possible impairment of credit, and the nelson credit right now was a precious thing, as henry well knew. eloquently he cursed the day he had met calvin gray. what next, he wondered. he discovered what next when the driller he had sent up to arkansas in charge of his rig one day came into the office in great agitation. the man's story caused his employer's face to whiten. "_salted!_ i--don't believe it." nelson seized his head in his hands. "oh, my god!" he gasped. misfortunes were coming with a swiftness incredible. salted! victimized, like the greenest tenderfoot! a small fortune sunk while the whole country was still chuckling over the jackson scandal! this _was_ a nightmare. henry was glad that his father was in tulsa in conference with some other bankers over that avenger offset money, otherwise there was no telling to what extreme the old man's rage would have carried him at this final calamity. and that whining, coughing crook, that bogus farmer, was in arizona--or elsewhere--out of reach of the law! the younger nelson turned desperately sick. if this was not more of gray's work, it was the direct result of the curse he had called down. "does anybody know?" henry inquired, after he had somewhat recovered his equilibrium. "nobody but us fellows." "you--you mustn't shut down. you've got to keep up the bluff until--until i get time to turn." "you going to bump off that land to somebody else?" "what do you think i'm going to do?" nelson was on his feet now and pacing his office with jerky strides. "take a loss like that?" he paused and glared at the bearer of bad tidings, then growled: "what are you grinning about? oh, you needn't say it. you want yours, eh? is that it?" "well--it's worth something to turn a trick like this." "how much?" "it's a big deal. it'll take something substantial--something substantial and paid in advance--to make our boys forget all the interesting sights they've seen. but i'd rather leave the amount to you, henry. you know me; i wouldn't be a party to a crooked deal, not for anything, except to help you out--" "how much?" the banker repeated, hoarsely. but the field man merely smiled and shrugged, so, with a grunt of understanding, henry seated himself and wrote out a check to bearer, the amount of which caused him to grind his teeth. now it was impossible to dispose of a large holding like that arkansas tract at a moment's notice. in order to evade suspicion, it was necessary to go about it slowly, tactfully, hence the financier moved with as much circumspection as possible. his careful plans exploded, however, when he met calvin gray a day or so later. gray had made it an invariable practice to speak affably to his enemy in passing, mainly because it so angered the latter; this time he insisted upon stopping. he was debonair and smiling, as always, but there was more than a trace of mockery in his tone as he said: "so your luck has changed, hasn't it? that avenger well of mine has put a good value on your property. i congratulate you, colonel." "humph! i don't believe in luck," nelson mumbled. "and the avenger isn't enough of a well to brag about." "so? you don't believe in luck? it seems to be our lot invariably to differ, doesn't it? now, my dear colonel, i'm not ashamed to confess that i am deeply superstitious, and that i believe implicitly in signs and prodigies. you see, i was born under a happy star; 'at my nativity the front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,' as it were. comfortable feeling, i assure you. take that incident at new-town, not long ago; doesn't that prove my contention?" "what incident?" gray's brows lifted whimsically. "of course. how should you know? there was a clumsy attempt to do me bodily harm, to--assassinate me. funny, isn't it? so ill considered and so impracticable.--but about this avenger matter, if you find it inconvenient to offset my wells as fast as i put them down, perhaps you'd consider selling--" "_inconvenient?_" nelson felt the blood rush to his face at this insufferable insult, but he calmed himself with the thought that his opponent was deliberately goading him. after all, it served him right for permitting the fellow to stop him. "inconvenient! ha!" he turned away carelessly. "no offense, my dear colonel. i thought, after your arkansas fiasco, you might wish--" "what arkansas fiasco?" nelson wheeled, and in spite of himself his voice cracked. "ah! another secret, eh?" gray winked elaborately--nothing could have been more deliberately offensive than that counterfeit of a friendly understanding. "very well, i sha'n't say a word." "you--" the banker was gasping. "you're doing your damnedest to--to start something, aren't you?" "every day. every hour. every minute." the speaker bowed. "in defense of my promise to fight fair, let me assure you, however, that i did not start this. as a matter of fact, i knew nothing about it until you had been hooked. apropos of that quixotic promise, please remember that your own actions have absolved me from it." the men stared at each other for a moment that seemed interminable. gray was watchful, expectant; nelson was plainly shaken by a desire so desperate that resistance left him weak. he was like an animal frozen in the very attitude of springing. "foxy, aren't you?" he managed to say, at last. "tempting me to--make the first move." with a mighty effort of will he forced his tense body to relax. "the act of a bully! bah! wouldn't i be a fool--" "a bully is usually a coward," gray said, slowly. "neither of us is a coward. i'm not ready to--join the issue that way, especially in a place like this. the game is too exciting to--" "you'll get all the excitement you're looking for," nelson cried, wrathfully. "you've cost me a lot of money, but you could have cost me a lot more if you hadn't been fool enough to brag about it and give me warning. now--i'll send you out of texas afoot." "on my back, perhaps, but never on my feet." without another word the banker passed on, but he went blindly, for his mind was in black chaos. no chance now for secrecy; he was in for a bit of hell. he managed to kill the story in the local papers, but it appeared in the dallas journals, which was even worse, and for the first time in his life he found himself an object of ridicule. the arkansas transaction was made to appear the most outrageous swindle of recent oil history, and, coming so quickly after the jackson exposure, it excited double interest and amusement. in truth, the facts about the salting of that arkansas tract did make a story, for the methods employed had been both new and ingenious. nelson had been fooled by a showing of oil in an ordinary farm well, and by a generous seepage into a running stream some distance away. not until a considerable sum had been spent in actual drilling operations, however, did those seepages diminish sufficiently to excite suspicion sufficiently, in fact, to induce the crew to pump the water well dry. this done, an amazing fraud had been discovered. it had been found that the vendor of the land had removed the rock curbing and behind it had packed a liberal quantity of petroleum-soaked cotton waste. naturally, when the well had been walled up again and permitted to resume its natural level, the result was all that the unscrupulous owner could have expected. the creek seepage had turned out to be equally counterfeit, but even more ingeniously contrived. it had manifested itself where a stratum of clean white sand, underlaid with clay, outcropped at the foot of a high bank. in the undergrowth, quite a way back from the stream, tardy investigation disclosed that a hole had been dug down to that layer of sand and into the hole had been poured several barrels of "crude." the earth from the digging had been removed and the hole had been cunningly covered up. naturally, the oil from this reservoir had followed the sand stratum and--the resultant phenomenon at the water's edge had been well calculated to excite even the coldest-blooded observer. it had excited henry nelson to such an extent that he had bought not only this farm, but a lot of other farms. and nelson was shrewd. oh, it was a great joke! the whole mid-continent field rocked with laughter at it. nelson, senior, returned from tulsa bull-mad, and he came without the money he had expected to get. what went on in his office that morning after he sent for his son none of the bank's employees ever knew, but they could guess, for the rumblings of the old man's rage penetrated even the mahogany-paneled walls. chapter xxiv gray had once told barbara parker that there was no one quite like him--a remark more egotistical in the sound than in the meaning. unusual in many ways he probably was, but, like most men, the discovery that his proudest virtues were linked with vices of which he was ashamed struck him as extraordinary. as if nature were not forever aiming at a balance. in spite of the fact that he was impulsive, headstrong, swift in most things, this girl possessed the unique faculty of rendering him acutely self-conscious, and it annoyed him the more, therefore, to find how timorous he could be in putting her feelings to the test. that was the one thing he could never quite summon courage to do. she was so young, so cool, so disconcertingly straightforward that, in contrast, his own age appeared the greater, and his many counterfeit qualities were thrown into uglier relief. then, too, her answer meant so much that fear of refusal became an actual torture, and the mere thought of it left his arrogant spirit strangely humble. to a man in his vengeful mood, to a man whipped by one savage purpose, love had come as a blessed relief; and, in consequence, anger at his indecision was the greater. sometimes he told himself that he deserved to lose her. one such occasion was after he had taken her out to the avenger lease. there was more than one well by this time; avenger number two and three and four were going down, and offsetting the first avenger were three of nelson's rigs. "bob" studied the situation briefly, then, with a dubious shake of her head, she announced: "you are taking a big risk, mr. gray." "you mean these new holes may come dry? of course, but i believe in crowding my luck. i don't know any other way to work." "you _have_ been lucky, haven't you?" she stared at him with a detached, impersonal interest. "everything is coming your way, even down in the ranger district." "oh, i have my share of troubles. i lost a crooked hole, recently--had to skid the derrick and start over. then a pair of chaintongs was dropped into another hole--" "that makes an expensive fishing job." "the worst ever." "somebody must have it in for you." when gray nodded, "bob's" face lit up with surprise. "really. do you suspect someone in particular?" "i know." "how interesting." after a moment had passed and he had explained no further, the girl went on: "everybody is talking about you and your success. they say you have the golden touch." "that is a good reputation to enjoy; but this country is full of fellows who came here knowing as little about oil as i knew and who have accomplished more sensational results. i've come up like a rocket, to be sure; it remains to be seen whether i shall fall like a stick." "you won't fall." "do you really believe that?" the inquiry was eagerly put. "i'd trust your intuition, miss--"bob." sometimes i have moments of uneasiness, for, you see, i'm drilling more wells than i should. it is double or quits, you understand? if my luck breaks, so do i." "you have always impressed me as a--a man of destiny. i think fate has selected you as an instrument with which to do big things. that's why i'm always a bit overawed by you." "overawed?" gray laughed. "why, i feel the same with you. if you knew how little i am, how little it all signifies, except as a means to an end. if you only knew what it is that i want so much more than oil, or money, or--" "i thought you were like all the others here--absorbed only in the game." "i was, at first. i had reason to be; a very great reason, i assure you. then i saw something far more desirable than fortune, far more absorbing than--than the motive that brought me here. some days, like today, i think i'm going to win it, then again i grow faint-hearted." "faint-hearted? _you?_" there was an elaborate skepticism in "bob's" tone, but as the meaning of gray's ardent gaze struck home to her, she turned her head with a lightly affected laugh. she was coloring, but she knew that her companion's agitation was so much greater than hers that he did not notice it. "fair lady," he said, a bit uncertainly, "you multiply my courage tenfold, and i shall retain the guerdon of your faith. but we swashbuckling fellows are proud; we must come as victors or not at all, and i am anything but victorious, yet. i've had many a fall, and my armor is dented in a dozen places. i have a record of failures that only a lasting success can wipe out. when, if ever, that record is wiped out, why--my tongue shall be my heart's ambassador." this was the boldest speech that gray had ever permitted himself. never had he felt "bob" to be so close to him as on this day, and in consequence he made of it a festival. he played the lover with a respectful ardor, doubly thrilling by reason of its restraint, and that night it was not henry nelson's face that lingered last in his memory. he wondered, before he fell asleep, if he had acted wisely in letting slip his hour. opportunity has a fickle way of jilting those who ignore her, and yet--how could he speak with honor to himself? it must not be inferred that henry nelson endured with patience the blows that were rained upon him. on the contrary, he fought back with every weapon he could lay hands upon, and there were many. in this he was aided by old bell, for father and son were much alike and their friction had been only such as results from the rubbing of two hard bodies of identical composition; now that they were put under heavy pressure, they adhered and functioned without heat. they were handicapped, however, in that they had the bank to think about, and, in times of frenzied finance such as this, a banking business is more of a liability than an asset. under normal conditions no single individual of gray's limited resources could have caused them more than temporary annoyance; but in the midst of a speculative frenzy, in a time of vast "paper profits" and overnight losses, at an hour when they themselves were overextended and the financial fabric of the whole oil industry was stretched to a point of inflation where a pin prick was apt to cause complete collapse, the feat of warding off a lance in the hands of a destructive enemy was one that kept them in a constant state of nervous panic. to make matters worse, the crest of the wave had passed, the boom was nearly over, and money was no longer easy. outside investors were cooling; mysterious and powerful influences were at work, and there were rumors of a break in the price of crude. meanwhile, so far as the nelsons were concerned, it was necessary to pour a steady stream of dollars into the earth in order to save that which had been accomplished at immense cost, and such oil as their producing wells gave forth was swallowed up in other holes. it became, with them, a problem of how to hold on, how to finance from day to day until production returns overtook exploitation expense--a problem that put gray hairs in their heads and lines about their eyes. they were forced to many expedients. how they managed it at all baffled gray, and worried him, too, for he knew that if ever they turned the corner they would be safe from him, and his vengeance would fall [illustration: never had he felt "bob" to be so close to him as on this day] to the ground. one big well would set them up, and there was always that danger, for scarcely a week went by without news of some gigantic gusher. knowing all there was to know about their field activities, he set himself to the task of learning more about the bank itself and about their method of operating it. this was a task, indeed, and he spent much time at it--time he could ill afford, by the way, for he, too, had about exhausted his last resource. he was surprised one day to receive from roswell, the banker who had first backed him, an almost peremptory summons to dallas. gray had made much money for roswell and his crowd; they were still heavily interested with him, and he was counting upon their further support. the tone of this letter, therefore, gave him a disagreeable shock. on the whole, however, he was glad of an excuse to go, for the briskows had returned and had bought a home in dallas, and he was eager for a sight of them. mr. roswell's greeting was quite as cool as his letter; but he betrayed a keen interest in the progress of their joint affairs and asked a good many searching questions. gray answered frankly. "you surprise me," the banker announced, finally, "for you confirm something i did not wish to believe. i have just learned that you are using us to further a private grudge and to ruin a reputable man. i couldn't credit such a statement without--" "it is quite true, except that i haven't 'used' you. not, at least, in the sense you imply." "you have used our money. it is the same thing." "oh, not at all i have handled a number of speculations--investments is a better word--for you and your group and i've made a lot of money for you. that's the most you expected; that's all i promised. so long as i continue to do that, my motives, my personal likes and dislikes, concern you in no wise. neither are you concerned in the use i make of my winnings." "legitimate competition is one thing; malice, double-dealing, dishonesty is--" "dishonesty?" gray interrupted, sharply. "i am a quick-tempered man, mr. roswell. i'll ask you to choose your words more carefully." "don't you call salting a well dishonest?" "i do. i didn't salt that arkansas property--and i assume you refer to that. in fact, i knew nothing about it, and i so informed nelson. evidently he didn't believe me, and i don't expect you to do so. nevertheless, it is true. i have never lied to you, and i never shall. now, malice--yes, i bear malice toward henry nelson and i shall continue to bear him malice long after i have put him in his grave." roswell's startled eyes leaped to the speaker's face. "exactly! i propose to put him in his grave, and he knows it." "nonsense! that's wild talk and you'll regret it. what has he done to you?" the object of this inquiry shrugged. "a private matter, purely. as to double-dealing--is it double-dealing to go to an enemy and tell him frankly that you intend to down him and how you propose to do it?" "did you do that?" "i did. what is more, i offered to fight fair and he agreed. but, of course, he broke that, as he feels free to break any agreement when it becomes onerous or unprofitable. he began by trying to assassinate me." "what are you saying?" roswell cried. "this is incredible." gray's cigar had gone out; he lighted it with steady and deliberate fingers before he said: "i am giving you facts. the fighting has not been all on my side. for instance, i haven't hired men to drop tools in his wells or run crooked holes, and that sort of thing, as he has. not that i wouldn't follow his lead if he forced me to, but i haven't had to resort to petty annoyances. i haven't had to make any 'small change,' for i have originality, imagination--even a small amount of daring, while he--well, he is obvious. he has nothing except physical courage. thank god, he's not a coward! he'll die hard." "amazing!" the banker was at a loss for words. after a moment, he inquired: "what about bell nelson?" "a harsh, headstrong, ruthless old man whose history will not bear careful reading. his sins shall be visited upon him through his offspring. he will have to go, too." roswell stirred as if to shake off the effect of some oppressive, mesmeric influence; reluctantly he admitted, "all i can say is you have a colossal nerve--" "precisely. and that is all i had when i came to texas." "i was coming to that. you deceived me, gray. you said you represented big capital; had friends and connections--" "a pardonable deceit, under the circumstances, was it not? as a matter of fact, i said nothing of the sort; i merely allowed you to infer--" "you're splitting hairs." the banker was impatient. "the fact remains that you led me to make a fool of myself. why, man alive, i have your whole history here, and it's a record of one sensational failure after another. you had no backing whatever, no--" "is that the result of your own investigation?" "partly." "for the rest, you took nelson's word, eh? very well, i've beaten him out from cover sooner than i expected. now as to my failures. failure proves only this: that one's determination to succeed is not strong enough. who fail, except those who try? you have not always succeeded; neither have i invariably failed. your report is a bit unfair." "you will fail now. and you deserve to fail." "indeed? why?" "because you're doing an outrageous thing; because--see here, gray, i know why you hate nelson." there ensued a moment of silence. "he told you that?" the younger man's face had slowly whitened; he spoke with difficulty. "he told me everything. he told me that you were dishonorably discharged from the army--cashiered, we used to call it--and that you blame him. i don't mind saying it was a shock--worst i've had in years. in time of war, too! the army doesn't do that unless--without ample--well, gray, it's damned nasty!" "quite the nastiest thing that can happen to a man," the other agreed in a thin, flat voice. "i couldn't, wouldn't believe it." "why not? you believed everything else he told you." "i wouldn't accept his word on a thing like _that_ without asking you." another pause followed. "there's probably some explanation. i told him so--" mr. roswell showed his genuine distress by the frown upon his brow and by his averted eyes. he stirred uncomfortably, then he broke out, irritably: "well, well? why in hell don't you say something?" "there is nothing to say." "what? my god, man! you don't mean--see here, you're not a coward, or a thief, or an incompetent. what's your side of the story? what's the explanation?" "explanations are hateful. the man who makes them deceives either himself or the other fellow--usually both. it is easy to be plausible. would a mere statement from me, unsupported by proof, convince you where it failed to convince a court martial? of course not. then why make you uncomfortable by doubting my word?" gray's smile was like the mirthless grin of a mummy. "i was found guilty, all in due military order, and--disgraced, branded! my uniform was taken from me, and i can't wear it again. i can never again serve my country. it was handled quietly, with admirable discretion, for those things are bad for the morale, you understand? very few know about it. i'm a proud man, a vain man; i assure you the death penalty would have been much easier to bear." "what did henry nelson have to do with it?" "he alone can answer that." "an extraordinary situation! this is your revenge, eh?" "as a man of spirit, i had a choice of but two things, revenge or--suicide." "hm-m! it is an embarrassing situation for me." "indeed?" "nelson has sold a large block of his bank stock to one of our directors." "tell him to get out from under, quick," gray said, sharply, "for i'll break henry nelson or--i'll kill him!" "tut, tut! you're excited. you mustn't talk like that. i give you credit for an honest hatred, but--i can't sympathize with it. neither can i believe so ill of henry nelson. remember, i've known him and bell for years." with a complete finality the banker concluded, "you'll have to give it up, gray." "i beg pardon?" "i say we sha'n't permit you to go on with this murderous feud. we can't be parties to it. what you've told me warrants us in withdrawing our support instantly, but i--i--damn it all, i can't help liking you and believing in you! frankly, there's something sublime about a grudge like yours. however, we can't go on like this. we can't put up more money now that we know what you have in mind. call this thing off and perhaps i can induce our crowd to leave their money in until it can be worked out. that's the most i can undertake." "i need your money and your support now more than ever," the other man gravely confessed. "i need it at once; to-day. nevertheless, i sha'n't quit." "you _must!_" roswell cried, impatiently. "you can't defy us." "the devil i can't!" it was gray's turn to blaze. "that's exactly what i'm doing. i defy you to get your money out. i defy you to interfere with me in the slightest or to wring a particle of mercy out of me. i knew this would come, sooner or later, and i planned accordingly. what d'you think i am, eh? i tell you i've got him! otherwise he'd never squeal about this--army matter. now then, tell your crowd to try and pull out! that's not a threat, sir, for they have played fair with me, and i sha'n't sacrifice a penny of their money--unless they force me to do so. but--i'm in control. i'm sitting pretty. they can't unseat me, and i warn them not to try." "you are making a great mistake. we will find a way to--to _pull_ you off." "ever try to pull a bulldog out of a fight when he had the other dog down and his teeth in its throat? i have. there's something rather horrible about it--rather beastly and shocking. and there's always the danger of losing a hand." the speaker rose. he hesitated, before leaving, to say: "your son served with honor, mr. roswell. i know how you must feel about this--other matter, therefore i shall spare you the embarrassment of declining my hand." the financier's face reddened; rather stiffly he said, "you know whether you have a right to offer it." instantly the departing visitor extended his palm, and roswell realized that he had seldom seen a man more deeply moved. "thanks! i--it is a blow to lose your support, but--nothing can swerve me. meanwhile, i'm glad that we do not part as enemies." when he had gone, when he had passed out with head up and shoulders square, the banker shivered slightly. audibly he murmured: "god, what a man! what a hatred!" the briskows had just moved into their new home, and the place was still in some confusion when gray mounted the steps. pa answered the bell in his shirt sleeves and with a claw hammer in his hand, for he had been hanging pictures. he favored his visitor with a wide smile of welcome and a hearty greeting-quite a feat, inasmuch as his mouth was full of nails--then, having rid it of its contents, he explained: "we got a slave that tends the door, but i 'ain't got gentled up to bells an' things yet. allie's away an' ma's layin' down, so--" "ma isn't ill, i hope?" "n--no. just ailin'. i thought mebbe one of the neighbors had run in to see her, but--i guess they're busy. we got lots of neighbors here, rich ones, an' we made up our minds to like 'em, if they'll give us a chance." "you were in luck to find a house in such a smart neighborhood, gus. now show me around, quickly, for i'm dying to see it." "lord, i'm dyin' to show it to _somebody!_ you're the first one that's dropped in an' we been here 'most two weeks. say, you'll stay an' eat supper, won't you?" "of course i will, and breakfast, too, if you can take care of me." "pshaw! didn't we take keer of you when you come to the ranch? we got three niggers now, just doin' the housework." as if in justification of this riotous mode of life, the oil man explained: "ma wanted to do it herself, but she's porely, an' allie vetoed it complete. she says we'll be stylish an' enjoy life if it kills all three of us. i'd of bought a bigger house if they'd of let me, but--" "it is large enough. anything more would merely add to your cares." "her and ma picked out the furniture. swell, ain't it?" "beautiful!" gray exclaimed. inwardly he groaned, for, although the contents of the home appeared to be expensive, almost ostentatious, they nevertheless betrayed a conspicuous lack of taste both in character and in arrangement. here and there were color combinations so atrocious that they positively hurt the caller. on the whole, however, the place looked better than he had expected, and such indications of harmony and restraint as he detected he attributed to allie. it was a nice enough home, and with a little change, a little rearrangement, it could be made attractive even to one of elegant tastes. those changes, of course, gray determined to make. gus, plainly, was not yet accustomed to the sense of ownership, and he hung with eagerness upon his guest's expressions of approval. after a tour of inspection the men wound up in the library--an absurd misnomer under the circumstances, inasmuch as the shelves were entirely bare except for allie's dog-eared school books--and there, before a blazing gas log, they discussed the miracle. "allie's gone out to the old farm to get some stuff for ma," the father explained in due time. "some pitchers of her an' buddy when they was little, an' a rockin'-chair, an' ma's favorite bedspread, an' some other things she likes." gray remembered the portraits, executed by a st. louis "enlargement" concern. they had wide gilt frames, and were protected from ravaging flies by mosquito netting. he hoped that ma would not hang them in the hall or the living-room. and that rocker, for which she yearned, was probably the one with the creaking coiled springs--the one that had leaped after him and clashed its jaws like an alligator. "by the way, how does buddy like the new home?" the latter inquired. "he 'ain't seen it yet. says he's too busy to leave the job. what you done to that boy, anyhow?" "i'm making a real man out of him--and an oil man, too. he knew how to dress tools when i got him, but he's a pretty good driller now. before long he'll be able to take charge of your property and run it on practical lines. i told you he had it in him, and that he'd make a 'hand.'" "you never wrote us nothin' about his--his trouble." "i left the explaining for him." gus smiled meditatively. "first we knew that you an' him had been fightin' was when he wrote us a letter sayin' he was doin' great an' could see out of one eye." then, more gravely: "it was worryin' over buddy's affair that got ma to ailin'. she 'ain't been right well since. say, wha'd you do with that--woman?" briskow pronounced the last word with an accent of scorn and hatred. "i gave her a chance to make an honest, decent living. i set her up in business." "_what?_" "and she is making good." when the elder man shook his head impatiently gray went on, "i'm pretty worldly and calloused, but if one virtue has been spared me, it is charity." for a moment the father studied his caller. "tell me," he began, "was it altogether on buddy's account that you an' him tied into one another?" gray threw back his head and laughed frankly. "altogether, i assure you. that's why i found it so hard." "he _oughta_ been licked! takin' up with a--a thing like her." gus was groping for words more eloquent of his displeasure at his son and his hatred for the object of buddy's misplaced affections, when gray forestalled him. "just a minute. you are a rich man and you are growing richer. careful, frugal, prosperous people like you are apt to become unduly hard and oversuspicious; but you mustn't permit it. think, for instance, what environment did to your children, then remember that under slightly different circumstances it might have made evildoers even of them. most people would like to run straight, and would do so if they had a chance. anyhow, it is an interesting experiment to put the chance in their way. tell me, gus, how much money have you got?" "i dunno. figgers over a thousand dollars don't mean much to me." gray searched the speaker's face with a speculative gaze. "it's mostly liquid, i presume." there was a pause. "i mean it's in cash or the equivalent?" "oh, sure! these bonds an' stocks an' things--" briskow shook his head disapprovingly. "land ain't any too safe, either. it's rainin' now, an' it 'll keep on rainin' till the farmers is all drowned out. next year it'll be droughty an' fry 'em to a crisp. no, i'm skeered of land. i'm skeered of everything!" this last was said plaintively. "why, lookit these liberty bonds! goin' down steady. i wouldn't put no money into the gov'ment unless i had something to say about runnin' it. an' s'pose i did? i wouldn't know how it oughta be run." "how about oil properties? wouldn't you like to invest in a good, safe proposition, with the prospect of big--" "gosh, _no!_ i'm skeerder of oil than anything, 'cause i know somethin' about it. feller been tryin' to sell me life insurance, lately, but you gotta die to get your money back. no; there's a catch in all them propositions. sometimes i wake up nights dreamin' we're all back at the old place an' pore again. that ends my sleepin'. you see, allie's a lady now, an' she's used to silk stockin's, an' buddy's been out in the world spendin' money on women, an' ma's gettin' old. i could go back to corn bread, but it would kill them. worst of it is, the black lime ain't holdin' up, an' our wells will give out some day." briskow sighed heavily and his brows drew together in an anxious pucker. "you'll have enough money in bank to do you." "banks bust. i tell you the hull world's full of skullduggery. suspicious? i should say i was! i use' to think if we had money our troubles would be over, but--lord, that's when they begin! you see, if i was bright an' knew what slick people is up to, i'd be all right; but--why, i'm like a settin' hen. i can feel the eggs under me, but how am i goin' to keep the skunks away when they smell the nest? i'm 'most tempted to turn everything i got over to some honest man an' let him han'le it. some feller that had the savvy." "unfortunately, such people are rare." "i don't know but one." "indeed? who is he?" "i reckon you know," said briskow. the listener looked up with quickened interest; there was a sharp ring to his voice when he said: "let me get this right." "you're the only man i ever knowed that i'd bank my life on. an' you're smart. you wouldn't take buddy, but mebbe you'd kinda--take me; take all of us. i tell you i'm skeered!" "just how much confidence do i inspire in you?" gray's expression was peculiar, for amazement, doubt, eagerness were equally blended. "this much: i'd turn the hull works over to you, if you'd look out for us." "you--scarcely know me." "oh, i know you well enough!" briskow smiled his slow, shrewd smile. "so does ma. so does allie an' bud." for quite a while the caller sat with head bowed, with his gaze fixed upon the flames; when he looked up his face was red, his eyes were brighter than usual. "to be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved. yes, and it's hell to be born with a conscience." he fell silent again, for this was a moment to be treasured and he could not let it pass too quickly. "you say you want nothing to do with oil?" "anything but that. i know it so well, an'--ma's gettin' feeble." again silence. "of course, if you'd do it, i wouldn't ask no questions. i'd rather shut my eyes an' trust you than keep 'em open an'--" "you don't know how much i'd like to say yes, but i fought buddy to prevent him from making a mistake, and i sha'n't allow you to make this one." "hm-m! will you keep me from makin' _other_ mistakes?" "i will, if i can." "mebbe that's enough. anyhow, i'll sleep better to-night for seein' you." "i think i hear ma stirring," said gray, as he rose. "i brought her a few little presents, and i'd like to take them up to her." as he left the room there was the same queer light in his eyes; nevertheless, he moved slowly, like a man tired. chapter xxv gray was shocked at the change in ma briskow. she had failed surprisingly. pleasure lit her face, and she fell into a brief flutter of delight at seeing him; but as soon as their first greeting was over he led her to her lounge and insisted upon making her comfortable. he had tricks with cushions and pillows, so he declared; they became his obedient servants, and there was a knack in arranging them--the same knack that a robin uses in building its nest. this he demonstrated quite conclusively. it was nice to have a great, masterful man like this take charge of one, and ma sighed gratefully as she lay back. "it does kinda feel like a bird's nest," she declared. "and you kinda look like a robin, too; you're allus dressed so neat." "exactly," he chuckled. "robins are the very neatest dressers of all the birds. but look! like a real robin, i've brought spring with me." he opened a huge box of long-stemmed roses and held their cool, dewy buds against ma briskow's withered face, then, laughing and chatting, he arranged them in vases where she could see them. next, he drew down the shades, shutting out the dreary afternoon, after which he lit the gas log, and soon the room, whether by reason of his glowing personality or his deft rearrangement of its contents, or both, became a warm and cheerful place. he had brought other gifts than flowers, too; thoughtful, expensive things that fairly took ma's breath. no one had ever given her presents; to be remembered, therefore, with useless, delightful little luxuries filled her gentle soul with a guilty rapture. but these were not gifts in the ordinary sense; they were offerings from the duke of dallas, and his manner of presenting them invested every article with ducal dignity. the princess pensacola had not played for a long time, and so to recline languidly in a beautiful japanese kimono, with her feet in a pair of wonderful soft boudoir slippers spun by the duke's private silkworms and knit by his own oriental knitting slaves, while he paid court to her, was doubly thrilling. the duke certainly was a reckless spender, but thank goodness he hadn't bought things for the house--things just to _look_ at and to share with other people! he knew enough to buy intimate things, things a woman could wear and feel rich in. ma hugged herself and tried to look beautiful. gray was seated on the side of her couch with her cold hand between his warm palms, and he was telling her about the princess of wichita falls when the summons to dinner interrupted them. ma was not hungry, and she had expected to have a bite in her own room; but her caller was so vigorous in his objections to this plan that she finally agreed to come downstairs. the briskow household was poorly organized as yet, and it was only natural that it should function imperfectly; nevertheless, gray was annoyed at the clumsy manner in which the dinner was served. being a meticulous man and accustomed to comfort, incompetent servants distressed him beyond measure, and he soon discovered that the briskow help was as completely incompetent as any he had ever seen. the butler, for instance, a pleasant-faced colored man, had evidently come straight from the docks, for he passed the food much as a stoker passes coal to a boiler, while the sound of a crashing platter in the butler's pantry gave evidence that the second girl was a house wrecker. "see here, ma!" gray threw down his napkin. "you have a beautiful home, and you want it to be perfect, don't you?" "why, of course. we bought everything we' could buy--" "everything except skillful servants, and they are hard to find. you are capable of training your cook and teaching your upstairs girl to sweep and make beds; but the test of a well-run house is a well-served meal. dish-breaking ought to be a felony, and when i become president i propose to make the spoiling of food a capital offense. now then, you're not eating a bite, anyhow, and gus won't mind waiting awhile for his dinner. with your permission, i'd like to take things in hand and add a hundred per cent to your future comfort?" in some bewilderment ma agreed that she would do anything her guest suggested, whereupon he rose energetically and called the three domestics into the dining room. "we are going to start this dinner all over again," he announced, "and we are going to begin by swapping places. i am going to serve it as a dinner should be served, and you are going to eat it as--well, i dare say nature will have to take its course. i shall explain, as i go along, and i want you to remember every word i say, every move i make. mr. and mrs. briskow are going to look on. after we have finished you are going to serve us exactly as i served you." naturally, this proposition amazed the "help"; in fact, its absurdity convulsed them. the man laughed loudly; the cook buried her ebony face in her apron; the second girl bent double with mirth. here was a quaint gentleman, indeed, and a great joker. but the gentleman was not joking. on the contrary, he brought this levity to an abrupt end, then, gravely, ceremoniously, he seated the trio. they sobered quickly enough at this; they became, in fact, as funereal as three crows; but their astonishment at what followed was no greater than that of the briskows. gray played butler with a correctness and a poise deeply impressive to his round-eyed audience, and as he served the courses he delivered a lecture upon the etiquette of domestic service, the art of cooking, and the various niceties of a servant's calling. nothing could have been more impressive than being waited upon by a person of his magnificence, and his lecture, moreover, was delivered in a way that drove understanding into their thick heads. it was an uncomfortable experience for all except gray himself--he actually enjoyed it--and when the last dish had been removed, and he had given instructions to serve the meal over again exactly as he had served it, the three negroes were glad to obey. of course they made mistakes, but these gray instantly corrected, and the results of his dress rehearsal were, on the whole, surprising. "there!" he said, when the ordeal had finally come to an end. "a little patience, a little practice, and you'll be proud of them. incidentally, i have saved you a fortune in dishes." "i wish allie'd been here. she'd remember everything you said," ma declared. "lord! think of mr. gray waitin' on them niggers!" gus was still deeply shocked. "you see what a meddlesome busybody i am," the guest laughed. "i don't know how to mind my own business, and the one luxury i enjoy most of all is regulating other people's affairs." he was still talking, still lecturing his hearers upon the obligations prosperity had put upon them, when he was summoned to the telephone by a long-distance call. he returned in some agitation to announce: "well, at last i have business of my own to attend." "was that buddy talkin'?" "it was, and he gave me some good news. he says that well on thirty-five is liable to come in at any minute, and it looks like a big one." the speaker's eyes were glowing, and he ran on, breathlessly, "he says they're betting it will do better than ten thousand barrels!" "_ten thousand bar'ls!_" briskow echoed. "that's what he said. of course, they can't tell a thing about it. buddy's only guessing, but--i haven't had a big well yet." gray took a nervous turn about the room. "ten thousand barrels! lord! that would help. that would do the trick. and to think that it should come now, this very day--" he laughed triumphantly and ran on as if talking to himself: "'the wicked are fatted for destruction. their happiness shall pass away like a torrent.' pull out and leave me, eh?" a second time he laughed, more loudly. "luck? it isn't luck, it's destiny. the mills of the gods are grinding. ma briskow, the fairy ladies danced upon the hearth when i was born. do you know what that means?" "ten thousand bar'ls a day, an' you buttlin' for three niggers!" gasped the head of the house. "i'm going out on to-night's train and see it come in--if it does come in. i told buddy to stop work; not to drop another tool until i arrived. 'fatted for destruction.' i like the sound of that. ten thousand barrels! ho! i'll write this day in brass. why, that lease will sell for a million. it--it may mean the end." gray brought himself to with an effort, hastily he kissed ma briskow's faded cheek and wrung her husband's hand. a moment later he was gone. "thirty-five," where buddy was working, was only a few miles from the briskow ranch, therefore the boy was able to meet his sister at ranger and drive her directly to the old home. the place was much the same as when they had left it, thanks to the watchful attention of the men in charge of the briskow wells, and there they spent the night. buddy and his sister had always been close confidants, and their long separation, their varied experiences, left many things to be discussed. the ranch house seemed very mean, very insignificant to allie, but she slipped into one of her old dresses and prepared the supper while buddy straddled a kitchen chair and chattered upon ten thousand topics of mutual interest. "doggone!" he exclaimed, finally. "i hardly knew you when you stepped off that train, but it seems like old times now, with you hustlin' around in that gingham." "i wish it was." "hunh?" "i wish, sometimes, that we'd never struck oil." "good lord! why?" "oh"--allie turned her back and bent over the stove--"for lots of reasons! ma never had a sick day till lately. now she's failin' fast." buddy frowned at this intelligence. "and pa's as restless as a squirrel. all the time scared of losing his money." "well, _you_ got no kick coming, sis. you've sure made good." "how?" "i dunno--you've got rich ways. an' rich _looks_, too!" allie lifted an interested face, and her brother undertook, somewhat awkwardly, to tell her wherein she had improved. she listened with greedy delight, but when he had finished she shook her head skeptically and declared: "it sounds nice, and god knows i've tried hard enough, but-there's a difference, bud. we're 'trash' and always will be." of course young briskow's mind was full of business, and he could not long stay off that absorbing topic. when, during their supper, he announced the fact that the well on thirty-five showed signs of coming in shortly, and that he intended to send for calvin gray, allie changed her mind about returning home and decided to wait over until the latter arrived. she and buddy talked until a late hour that night, but although she was dying to have him tell her about his romance, his dream of love, he never so much as referred to it, and she could not bring herself to disregard his reticence. nor could she bear to discuss with him the problem that lay nearest her own heart. she had brooded long over that problem, and her soul was hungry to share its bitter secret; nevertheless, she could not do so, for it is often easier to bare our wounds to strangers than to those we love. if her breedings, her bitterness of spirit manifested themselves, it was in a fixed undertone of pessimism and in an occasional outburst of recklessness that bewildered her brother. on the morning of gray's coming she rode with buddy over to thirty-five. it was a wretched, rainy day, and nothing is more bleak than a rainy day in a drilling camp. work had been halted and the men were loafing in their bunk house. brother and sister spent the impatient hours in the mess tent. as usual, they talked a good deal about calvin gray. "funny, him comin' here a stranger, an' gettin' to run our whole family, ain't it?" buddy said. allie nodded. "funnier thing than that is your working for him." buddy was surprised, so she asked him: "aren't you sore at him for--what he did? for breaking up that affair?" it was a question that had been upon her lips more than once; she could not credit her brother with entire sincerity when he answered, frankly enough: "sore? not the least bit." "didn't you--care for her?" "why, sure. i was all tore up, at first. but he did me the biggest kind of a favor." allie shook her head uncomprehendingly. "men are queer things. you _must_ have loved her, for a while." "i reckon i did, if you're a mind to call it that. but he says that sort of thing ain't real love." "'_he says_'!" the girl cried, scornfully. "my god, buddy! would you let _him_ tell you--? is he pickin' out women for you like he picks out a dress for me and a hotel for ma? how does _he_ know what's the real thing?" "she was a--grafter," the brother explained, with a flush of embarrassment. "she'd of probably took my money an' quit me cold." "bah!" the girl rose and, with somber defiance in her smoldering eyes, stared out at the desolate day. "you'd have had her for a while, wouldn't you? you'd have lived while it lasted. what's the difference if she was a grafter? d'you think you're going to fall in love and marry a duchess, or something? i wish i'd had your chance, that's all." "what d'you mean by that?" buddy queried, sharply. "i mean this," allie flamed at him. "we're nobodies and we've got nothing but our money. a counterfeit is as good as ever we'll get--and it's as good as we're entitled to. i'd rather know what it is to live for an hour than to go on forever just pretending to live. if i've got to be unhappy, then give me something to be unhappy over; something to look back on. i'd rather be--but, pshaw! you don't understand. you couldn't." "i dunno what's got into you lately," buddy declared, with a frown. "nothing's got into me. only, what's the use of starving when the world's full of good things and you've got the price to buy them? _i_ won't do it. if ever i get my chance, you watch me!" gray's trip from the railroad was more like a voyage than a motor journey, for the creek beds, usually dry, were angry torrents, and the 'dobe flats were quagmires through which his vehicle plowed hub deep; nevertheless, he was fresh and alert when he arrived. after a buoyant greeting to allie, he and buddy inspected the well, then he issued orders for work to be resumed. "we're gettin' close to something," young briskow declared. "she's making gas an' rumblin' like she'd let go any minute. we got reservoys built an' the boiler's moved back, so we can douse the fire when she starts. i figger she'll drownd us out." "what are the indications at nelson's well?" gray turned his eyes in the direction of a derrick on the adjoining property, the top of which showed over the mesquite. "nothin' extra. they won't tell us anything, but they're deeper 'n we are." "how do you know?" buddy winked wisely. "we counted the layers of cable on the bull-wheel drum. checked up their casing, too, an' watched their cuttin's. they got their eye on us, too, an' they'll be over when we blow in." that was an anxious afternoon, for as the drill bit deeper into the rock it provoked indications of a terrific force imprisoned far below. to the observers it seemed as if that sharp-edged tool was tap-tapping upon the thin shell of some vast reservoir already leaking and charged to the bursting point with a mighty pressure. an odor of gas escaped from the casing mouth, occasionally there came hoarse, throaty gurglings of the thick liquid at the bottom of the well. the bailer was run frequently. word had gone forth that there was something doing on thirty-five, and from the chaparral emerged muddy motor cars bringing scouts, neighboring lease owners, and even the members of a near-by casing crew. supper was a jumpy meal, and nobody had much to say, allie briskow least of all. she was silent, intense; she curtly refused buddy's offer to send her home, and when the meal was over she followed gray back to the derrick. he was on edge, of course. it seemed to him that every blow of that bit was struck upon his naked nerves, for he had a deep conviction that this was to prove the night of his life, and the strain of waiting was becoming onerous. this well meant so much. ten thousand barrels, fifteen, five--even one thousand; it mattered little how heavy the flow, for a good-paying well would see him through his immediate troubles. and this was a well of some sort, or else indications meant nothing and everybody was greatly mistaken. of course, a big well, something to create a furor--that was what he needed, for that not only would bridge his financial crisis, but also it would mean a frenzy of quick drilling, new wells crowded close together, hundreds of thousands of dollars poured into the earth, and the nelsons couldn't stand that. it would break them--break them, and he would taste the full sweetness of revenge. oh, he had waited long! nor was that all. once he had henry nelson down, and his foot on the fellow's throat, he'd have something to say to barbara parker. he could say it then and look her in the eyes. he wished she was here to-night while he stood on the top of the world. ten thousand barrels! twenty thousand! twenty-thousand-barrel gushers were not unknown. a well like that would mean a fortune every day. but why didn't it start? they were bailing again and curiosity drew the owner in upon the derrick floor. this time the flow might begin; at any moment now oil might come with the water. there is some danger in standing close to a well during this bailing process, but gray was like a bit of iron in the field of a magnet; spellbound, he watched the cable as it ran smoothly off the drum, flowed up over the crown block and down into the casing mouth. that heavy, torpedolike weight on the end of the line was dropping almost half a mile. up it came swiftly, as if greased; up, up, until it emerged into the glare of the incandescent overhead and hung there dripping. it was swung aside and lowered, and out gushed its muddy contents. water! black and thick as molasses, but water nevertheless. buddy briskow was running the rig, and the dexterity with which he handled brake and control rod gave him pride. he had seated his sister on a bench out of the way, where she was protected from the drizzle, and he felt her eyes upon him. it gave him a sense of importance to have allie watching him at such a crisis; he wished his parents were with her. if this well blew in big, as it seemed bound to do, it would be a personal triumph, for not many cub drillers could boast of bringing in a gusher the first time. it was, in fact, no mean accomplishment to make any sort of a well; to pierce the earth with an absolutely vertical shaft a half mile deep and line it with tons upon tons of heavy casing joined air-tight and fitted to a hair's breadth was an engineering feat in itself. it was something that only an oil man could appreciate. and he was an oil man; a darn good one, too, so buddy told himself. he eased the brake and the massive bailer slid into the casing as a heavy shell slips into the breech of a cannon. as he further released his pressure, the cable began to pour serpentlike from the drum. buddy turned his wet, grimy face and flashed a grin at allie. she smiled back at him faintly. some lightninglike change in her expression, or perhaps some occult sense of the untoward warned him that all was not as it should be, and he jerked his head back to attention. there are moments of catastrophe when for a brief interval nature slows, time stops, and we are carried in suspense. such an instant buddy briskow experienced now. he knew at first glance what had happened, and a frightened cry burst from his throat, but it was a cry too short, too hoarse, to serve as a warning. during that moment of inattention the bailer had stuck. perhaps five hundred feet below, friction had checked its plunge, and meanwhile the velvet-running drum, spinning at its maximum velocity by reason of the whirling bull wheel, was unreeling its cable down upon the derrick platform. down it poured in giant loops, and within those coils, either unconscious of his danger or paralyzed by its suddenness, stood calvin gray. men schooled in hazardous enterprises carry subconscious mental photographs of the perils with which their callings are invested and they react involuntarily to them. buddy had heard of drillers decapitated by flying cables, of human bodies caught within those wire loops and cut in twain as if made of lard, for when a wedged tool resumes its downward plunge it straightens those coils above ground in the twinkling of an eye. instinct, rather than reason, warned buddy not to check the blinding revolutions of the bull wheel. without thought he leaped forward into the midst of those swiftly forming loops, and as he landed upon the slippery floor he clenched his fist and struck with all the power he could put behind his massive arm. gray's back was to him, the blow was like that of a walking beam, and it sent the elder man flying as a tenpin is hurled ahead of a bowling ball. buddy fell, too. he went sprawling. as he slid across the muddy floor he felt the steel cable writhing under him like a thing alive, and the touch of it as it streamed into the well burned his flesh. he kicked and fought it as he would have fought the closing folds of a python, for the bailer was falling again and the wire loops were vanishing as the coils in a whiplash vanish during its flight. buddy's booted legs were thrown high, he was tossed aside like a thing of paper, but blind, half stunned, he scrambled back to his post. by this time the whole structure of the derrick was rocking to the mad gyrations of the bull wheel; the giant spool was spinning with a speed that threatened to send it flying, like the fragments of a bursting bomb, but the youth understood dimly the danger of stopping it too suddenly--to fetch up that plunging weight at the cable end might snap the line, collapse the derrick, "jim" the well. buddy weaved dizzily in his tracks; nevertheless, his hand was steady, and he applied a gradually increasing pressure to the brake. nor did he take his eyes from his task until the drum had ceased revolving and the runaway bailer hung motionless in the well. when he finally looked about it seemed to him that he had lived a long time and was very old. gray lay motionless where he had fallen, and his body was twisted into a shockingly unnatural posture. he was bleeding. allie briskow was bending over him. other dim, dreamlike figures were swarming out of the gloom and into the radiance of the derrick lights; there was a far-away clamor of shouting voices. buddy briskow felt himself growing deathly sick. they carried gray to the bunk house, and his limbs hung loosely, his head lolled in a manner terrifying to buddy and his sister. as they stumbled along beside the group, the girl cried: "oh, my god! oh, my god!" she repeated the cry over and over again in a voice strange to her brother's ears. "it--it wasn't my fault," he told her, hoarsely. "i aimed to save him." "you killed him!" "he ain't--" buddy choked and clung to her. "he's just stunned like. he ain't--that!" the youth was amazed when allie turned and cursed him with oaths that he himself seldom ventured to employ. but gray was not dead. buddy's blow had well-nigh broken his neck, and he had suffered a further injury to his head in falling; nevertheless, he responded to such medical aid as they could supply, and in time he opened his eyes. his gaze was dull, however, and for a long while he lay in a sort of coma, quite as alarming as his former condition. they brought him to at last long enough to acquaint him with what had happened, and although it was plain that he understood their words only dimly, he ordered the work resumed. when for a second time he lapsed into semiconsciousness, it was allie briskow who put his orders into execution. "you ain't doing any good standing around staring at him and whispering. bring in that well, as fast as ever you can, and bring it in _big_. now, get out and leave him to me." buddy was the last to go. he inquired, miserably: "honest, he ain't hurt bad, is he? you don't think--" "get out!" "he won't--die? ain't no chance of him doin' that, is there?" "if he does, i'll--" the speaker's face was ashen, but her eyes blazed. "i'll fix you, buddy briskow. i will, so help me god!" it was late that night when the well came in. it came with a rush and a roar, drenching the derrick with a geyser of muddy water and driving both crew and spectators out into the gloom. up, up the column rose, spraying itself into mist, and from its iron throat issued a sound unlike that of any other phenomenon. it was a hoarse, rumbling bellow, growing in volume and rising in pitch second by second until it finally attained a shrieking crescendo. ten thousand safety valves had let go, and they steadily gathered strength and shrillness as they functioned. a shocking sound it became, a sound that carried for miles, rocking the air and stunning the senses. it beat upon the eardrums, pierced them; men shouted at each other, but heard their own voices only faintly. calvin gray had recovered his senses sufficiently to understand the meaning of that uproar, and he tried to get up, but allie held him down upon his bed. she was still struggling with him when her brother burst into the house, shouting: "it's a gasser, mr. gray! biggest i ever seen." "gas?" the latter mumbled, indistinctly. "isn't there any--oil?" his words were almost like a whisper because of the noise. "not yet. may be later. say, she's a heller, ain't she? i'll bet she's makin' twenty million feet--" "gasser's no good." "can't tell yet. we gotta shut her down easy so she don't blow the casing out--run wild on us, understand?" buddy was still breathless, but he plunged out the door and back into that sea of sound. with a tragic intensity akin to wildness, gray stared up into allie briskow's face. "worthless, eh? and they told me ten thousand barrels." he carried a shaking hand to his bandaged head and tried vainly to collect his wits. "what's matter?" he queried, thickly. "everything whirling--sick--" "you had an accident, but it's all right; all right--no, no! please lie still." "running wild, eh? tha's what hurts my head so. blown the casing out--bad, isn't it? sometimes they run wild for weeks, years--ruin everything." he tried again to rise, then insisted, querulously: "goto get oil in this well! i've got to! last chance, allie. got to get ten thousand barrels!" "please! you mustn't--" allie had her strong hands upon his shoulders; she was arguing firmly but as gently as possible under the circumstances, when something occurred so extraordinary, so unexpected, as to paralyze her. of a sudden the interior of the dim-lit, canvas-roofed shack was illuminated as if by a searchlight, and she turned her head to see that the whole out-of-doors was visible and that the night itself had turned into day. with a cry that died weakly amid the chaos of sound beating over her, the girl ran to the window and looked out. what she beheld was a nightmare scene. the well was afire. it had exploded into flame. where, a moment before, it had been belching skyward an enormous stream of gaseous vapor, all but invisible except at the casing head, now it was a monstrous blow torch, the flaming crest of which was tossed a hundred feet high. nothing in the nature of a conflagration could have been more awe-inspiring, more confounding to the faculties than that roaring column of consuming fire. it was a thing incredibly huge, incredibly furious, incredibly wild. human figures, black against its glare, were flying to safety, near-by silhouettes were flinging their arms aloft and dashing backward and forward; faces upturned to it were white and terrified. the scattered mesquite stood against the night like a wall, spotted with inky shadows, and, above, the heavens resembled a boiling caldron. it was a hellish picture; it remained indelibly fixed upon allie briskow's mind. as she looked on in horrid fascination, she saw the derrick change into a latticelike tower of flame, saw its upper part begin slowly to crumble and disintegrate. the force with which the gas issued blew the blaze high and held it dancing, tumbling in mid-air, a phenomenon indescribably weird and impressive. the men who stood nearest bent their heads and shielded their faces from the heat. allie tore her eyes away from the spectacle finally. she turned back to the bed, then she halted, for it was empty. the door, still ajar from buddy's headlong exit, informed her whence her patient had gone, and she flew after him. she found him not half a dozen paces away. in fact, she stumbled over his prostrate body. with an amazon's strength, she gathered him into her arms, then staggered with him back to his couch, and as she strained him to herself she loudly called his name. amid that demoniac din, amid the shrieking of those million devils, freed from the black chasms of the rock, her voice was as feeble as the wail of a sick child. when she had laid her inert burden upon the bed, allie knelt and took gray's head upon her bosom. then, for the first time, those forces imprisoned deep within her being ran wild, and under the red glare of that flaming geyser she kissed his hair, his eyes, his lips. over and over again she kissed them with the hungry passion of a woman starved. chapter xxvi a subdued but continuous whispering irritated calvin gray. when it persisted, minute after minute, he opened his eyes, asking himself, dully, why it was that people couldn't let a fellow sleep. he lay, for some time, trying to recognize his unfamiliar surroundings; oddly enough, he could not discover the origin of that low-pitched murmur, since there was nobody in his bedroom. evidently he had slept too hard, for his eyes were heavy, his vision was distorted, and an unaccustomed lassitude bore down his body and stupefied his brain. a thousand indistinct memories were moving about in the penumbral borderland of consciousness, but they refused to take shape. they would emerge into the light presently, of course. meanwhile, it was restful to remain in this state of semi-stupefaction. he was pretty tired. that whispering, he realized after a while, was nothing more than the monotonous murmur of rain upon a shingle roof, and the gurgle from dripping eaves. oh yes! it had been pouring for several days; raining buckets, barrels--ten thousand barrels a day! yonder was something familiar; a patent, spring rocking-chair. gray knew it well. it creaked miserably when you sat in it, and when you got up to look at diamond rings it snapped its jaws at you like an alligator. odd that they'd let an alligator into the ajax hotel. nelson's doings, probably. always up to some deviltry, that nelson. but, thank god, the fire was out, and that ear-splitting racket that hurt his head had changed into the soothing patter of raindrops. there couldn't be any fire with ten thousand barrels of rain falling. gray closed his eyes and dozed briefly. but he had dreams; calamity haunted him; he awoke to the realization of some horror. slowly his brain began to function, then more swiftly, until, like a flood released, memory returned. he groaned aloud. allegheny briskow appeared out of nowhere and laid a soothing hand upon his brow. when she saw the light of sanity in his eyes, her face brightened and she cried, eagerly: "you're coming around all right, aren't you?" "ten thousand barrels!" he mumbled. "they said it would be a big well and i counted on it." "don't try to think--" "but it came in a gasser. i remember it all now--nearly all. i--i'm about ruined, i guess." "no, no!" "it caught fire." "you mustn't talk. everything is all right--all right, honestly. i'll tell you everything, but just you rest now until buddy comes." there was magnetism to the girl's touch and comfort in her voice. it was some time later that gray opened his eyes and spoke in a more natural voice, saying, "how do i happen to be here in your house, allie?" "we brought you over at daylight. buddy's gone for a doctor, but he'll be back." the girl averted her face quickly and moved toward the window. "i remember being hurt in some way--derrick fell on me, or something. then the well caught fire. what time is it?" "it's afternoon. about four o'clock. buddy 'll be back--" allie's voice caught queerly. "he'll get back somehow." "he ought to be at the well--putting it out. god! what a sight! i see it yet!" "the well is out!" allie returned and seated herself beside the bed. "you probably won't understand it or believe it--i can scarcely believe it myself, for it's a miracle. all the same, it is out, shut in, and not much damage done. you're not ruined, either, for buddy says they're short of fuel here, and a gasser this size is worth a good deal--'most as much as a fair oil well.'" "how can it be shut in? it was blazing, roaring--a tower of flame. the derrick itself was going--" "i know, but the strangest thing--" allie spoke breathlessly. "let me do the talking, please. you remember the drill stems were standing over in one corner? well, the fire drove everybody off, of course; there was no facing it, and they thought sure they'd have a job--have to send for boilers and smother it down with steam, maybe, or tunnel under, or something--work for days, maybe weeks, and spend a fortune. anyhow, they were in a panic, but when the derrick went down what do you think? that stack of drill stems fell in such a way as to close the gate valve at the top of the casing." gray frowned, he shook his head. "impossible. you're trying to ease my mind." "of course it's impossible. but it happened, just as i tell you. buddy had a bar fixed in the valve wheel, like a long handle, so that a half turn, or maybe a quarter, would shut it. anyhow, those drill stems caught that bar in falling and closed the valve. somebody said it happened once before, to an oil well over in louisiana--" "it--sounds incredible." the speaker made an effort to collect himself, he raised an uncertain hand to his bandaged head. "what ails me? i recall a lot of things, but they're pretty well confused." allie made known, the nature of the accident resulting in gray's injury, and he nodded his understanding. "so buddy saved my life!" he smiled. "great boy, buddy! i'll know better than to mix it with him again--he learns too quickly." "oh, it was terrible! i've been so--so frightened!" allie briskow suddenly lost control of herself and, bowing her head, she hid her face in the musty patchwork quilt. her shoulders shook, her whole strong body twitched and trembled. "you've b-been awful sick. i did the best i could, but--" "there, there!" gray placed his hand upon the girl's head; he took her palm in his and stroked it. "i'm not worth your tears, child. and, anyhow, i'm all right again; i am, indeed. i'm as well as ever, so far as i can tell. by the way, what set the well afire?" "buddy thinks somebody must have dropped a cigarette when the stampede came." the girl raised her face and wiped the tears from it. "it doesn't seem possible anybody would be so careless as to smoke near a well that was coming in, but--just think, mr. gray, those drill stems shut it off! why, it was the hand of god!" "it seems so. my luck hasn't run out, that's plain." the speaker pondered briefly, then he said: "shut in! safe! jove, it's wonderful! buddy can take me to the railroad to-night and--" "oh, you can't leave. you're not able." "i must. this gasser was a great disappointment to me. i allowed myself to count on a big well, and now i have a serious problem to meet. it must be met without delay. buddy will soon be back, i dare say?" allie undertook to evade the speaker's eye, but unsuccessfully, and he inquired, sharply: "what's wrong? what's happened to him?" "nothing. he's all right, but"--gray's evident alarm demanded the truth, therefore she explained--"but i don't know when he'll be back. that's why i've been so frightened. it has been raining cats and dogs; the creek has overflowed and everything is under water." "under water? here? why, that can't be." gray insisted upon rising, and allie finally consented to his doing so; then, despite his protest that he was quite able to take care of himself, she helped him to the window. from that position he beheld a surprising scene. the briskow farm lay in a flat, saucerlike valley, arid and dusty at most seasons of the year, but now a shallow lake, the surface of which was broken by occasional fences, misty clumps of bushes, or the tops of dead weeds. the nearest briskow derrick was dimly visible, its floor awash, its shape suggestive of the battle mast of a sunken man-of-war. "it's not more than a foot or two deep on the level," allie explained, "but that's enough. and it has come up six inches since buddy left. he'd have been back before this if he could have made it." "did you ever see it like this before?" "once, when i was a little girl. some years the creek never has a drop in it." "then we're marooned." "we were cut off for three days that time." gray frowned. what next? he asked himself. here was a calamity that could not be dodged. he shrugged, finally. "no use to fret. no use to crouch beneath a load. i'd give my right arm to be back in dallas, but--this is our chance to cultivate the christian virtue of submission. so be it! one must have a heart for every fate, but," he smiled at the girl, "it is hard to be philosophical when you're hungry. and i'm hungry." "oh, you _are_ better!" "i'm well, i tell you, except for the bruises bequeathed me by your brutal brother. three days--a week, maybe! my god! by the way, is there any food in the house?" "plenty." "then--we've nothing to do except get better acquainted, and that is something i've wanted to do for some time." allegheny briskow sang while she prepared supper, for the reaction from the strain of the last twelve hours was like an intoxication. mr. gray was in no further danger; he was well except for a bandaged head and some bruises. and he was here alone with her. they were as completely cut off from the outside world as if shipwrecked on some island, and, for the time being at least, he was hers to look out for, hers to wait upon and to guard. allie laughed at the drumming of the rain upon the kitchen roof, and she thrilled at memory of some of the things she had done. she could feel again gray's head upon her bosom, his lips against hers, his body strained to hers. she had listened to his heartbeats; with her own abundant strength she had shielded him, fought for him, drawn him, by very force of her will, back to life; the anguish she had suffered during those long hours became, in retrospect, a poignant pleasure. she wondered if by any chance he would remember--there had been times when he had seemed to be almost rational. she hoped not. and yet--why not? if he did remember, if indeed he had felt her kisses or heard her pleadings, that memory, even if subconscious, might serve to awaken him. it might evoke some response to the flaming passion that had finally escaped her control. gray was a strong man; his emotions, once roused, were probably as wild as hers, therefore who could tell what might happen? irresistible forces, fire and flood, had thrown them together. they were at the mercy of elemental powers, and they were alone with each other--a man and a woman. allie hoped against hope; she prayed recklessly, defiantly, that her hour had struck. gray came into the kitchen after a while to warm himself over the stove. he was still a little bit unsteady on his feet, and his head felt queer; but he assumed a certain gayety and insisted upon bearing an awkward hand with the cooking and the dishes. he had never seen allie as she was now, nor in a mood to compare with this, and for the first time he realized how fully she had developed. it was not surprising that her metamorphosis had escaped his attention, for he had never taken time to do more than briefly appraise her. with leisure for observation, however, he noted that she had made good her promise of rare physical charm, and that her comeliness had ripened into real beauty--beauty built on an overwhelming scale, to be sure, and hence doubly striking--moreover, he saw that all traces of her stolidity had vanished. she was an intelligent, wide-awake, vibrant person, and at this moment a genial fire, a breathless excitement, was ablaze within her. gray complimented her frankly, and she was extravagantly pleased. "buddy said almost the same thing," she told him. "i don't care whether it's true or not, if you believe it." "oh, it's true! i saw great things in you, but--" "even when you saw me hoeing in the garden that first day?" "even then; but i wasn't prepared for a miracle. you were an enchanted princess, and it required only a magic word to break the spell." "it is all your doings, mr. gray. whatever i am i owe it all to you. and it's the same with the rest of the family. i--" allie hesitated, looked up from her work, then shook her head smilingly. "what?" "i feel as if--well, as if you'd made me and i--belonged to you." it was dusk by this time; the girl's face was lit only by the indirect glow from the open door of the stove, therefore gray could make nothing of her expression. "how very flattering!" he laughed. "as a real matter of fact, i had almost nothing to do with it." "all the same that's how i feel--as if i owed you everything and had to give something back. women are queer, i guess. they love to give. and yet they're selfish--more selfish than men." "i wouldn't say so." "you don't know how bad hurt you were, mr. gray. i saved your life as much as buddy did. you'd have died only for--only i wouldn't let you." "i believe it. so, you see, you have more than evened the score. after all, i merely awakened the sleeping beauty, while you--" "the prince woke her up with a kiss, didn't he?" allie said, with a smile. "so the story goes. fairy stories, by the way, are the only kind one can afford to believe." "then i've got--something coming to me, haven't i?" this time the girl turned her face invitingly to the speaker and waited. here was a new allie briskow, indeed, and one that amazed, nay, disturbed, gray. romance, he told himself. the girl meant nothing by this; nevertheless, her fancy had run far enough. he ignored her invitation, and instead of kissing her he patted her shoulder affectionately, saying: "you're a dear child, and i can never repay you for mending my poor cracked head." he turned his back, went to the table and lit the lamp, uncomfortably aware of the fact, meanwhile, that allie remained motionless where he had left her. he ran on, casually, during the time he adjusted chimney and wick: "i was on the porch just now and found a rabbit crouching there. the poor thing was too wet and frightened to move." allie did not seem to hear him. "all sorts of things are floating about; dead chickens, rattlesnakes, and--oh yes, another thing i noticed; there's a good deal of oil on the water! i wonder where it comes from?" allie stirred herself; she jerked open the oven door, peered in, then slammed it shut. her voice was sullen as she said: "they've been expecting a gusher on sixteen. maybe the reservoirs have overflowed, or a pipe line has broken. maybe it came in wild, you can't tell. this flood will cost a good many people a lot." supper, when the two sat down to it, proved to be a pleasant meal, for the soft glow of the lamp, the warmth from the stove, made of the briskow kitchen a cozy place, while the drumming of the rain overhead enhanced their feeling of comfort and security. gray's appetite was not that of a sick man, and allie, who had regained her agreeable humor by this time, waited upon him with eager face and shining eyes. he paused, finally, to say: "see here! you're not eating a bite." "i'm not hungry. i couldn't eat, to-night. please--i'm perfectly happy. i feel like a slave at the great lord's table; all i care to do is look on." after a moment she continued: "it couldn't have been so bad to be a slave--a girl slave. somebody owned them, anyhow; they belonged to their masters, body and soul, and that's something. women are like that. they've got to belong to somebody to be happy." gray was a talkative man, therefore he argued this point until he began to suspect that his companion was not heeding his words so much as the sound of his voice. more plainly than before he realized that there was something about allie to-night utterly strange and quite contrary to his conception of her, but, because he believed her to be unlike other women, he did not try to understand it. during the night an explosive crash followed by a loud reverberation awoke calvin gray and brought him up sitting. his room was lit by white flickers, against which he saw that the rain still sheeted his windows; he fumbled for his watch and found that it was two o'clock. this was a storm, indeed, and he began to fear that this deluge might swell the waters to a danger point; therefore he rose, struck a light, and dressed himself. sleep was out of the question, anyhow, amid such an uproar. as he stepped out upon the front porch, his attention was instantly drawn to a yellow glow in the west, a distant torch, the flame of which illuminated the angry night. he stared at it for a moment before he realized its meaning. a well was afire! lightning had wrecked a derrick and ignited the stream of oil. no wonder, he told himself, for this field was dotted with towers well calculated to lead lightning out of the skies, and amid a play of destructive forces such as this nothing less than a miracle could have prevented something of the sort. but it was a pity, for yonder a small-sized fortune was going up in smoke. by the next flare he saw that the waters had crept higher. they were nearly up to the porch floor now, and, obviously, they were still rising. that rabbit was crouched where he had last seen it, a wet ball of fur with round, black eyes. the heavens echoed almost constantly, now to a thick, distant rumble, again to an appalling din directly overhead; for seconds at a time there was light enough to read by. the house, gray decided, was in no danger, except from a direct bolt, for the valley was nothing more than a shallow lake; nevertheless-- a blinding, blue-white streak came, and he counted the seconds before the sound reached him. sound traveled something like a thousand feet a second, he reflected; that bolt must have struck about a mile distant. nothing alarming about that, surely. a moment, then he blinked and rubbed his eyes, for out of the murk was born another bonfire like that to the westward. hearing an exclamation behind him, gray turned to behold allie briskow's dim figure in the door. "hello!" he cried, excitedly. "did you see that? yonder are two wells afire." "i know. i haven't closed my eyes. you can see another one from my window." allia snapped the light from a pocket flash upon gray, and, noting that he was only partly clad, she urged him to come into the house. when he ignored the request she joined him, and together they stared at the mounting flames. "jove! that's terrible!" he muttered. "look here." allie directed the beam of her light down over the edge of the porch, and moved it slowly from side to side. the surface of the water was not only burdened with debris, but also it was thick with oil. "it's just like that on the other side. that gusher on sixteen must be wild." "why didn't you call me?" the man inquired, sharply. "what was the use? there's no chance for us to get out." "how far is it back to high ground?" "quite a ways. too far to wade. it would be over our heads in places, too. i don't like the look of it, do you? not with those fires going, and--" "i dare say it won't get any worse." gray spoke with a carelessness that he was far from feeling, but his tone did not deceive the girl. "it doesn't have to get any worse," she declared, im patiently. "there's oil enough here to burn. we're in the middle of a lake of it. what 'll happen if it catches fire?" "frankly, i don't know. i've never been marooned in a lake of oil. probably this rain would quench it-" "you know better than that!" allie cried. "don't act as if i were a kid. we're in a bad fix, with fire on three sides of us." "at least we'll be as well off inside as out here," gray declared, and his companion agreed, so together they went into her room, where, side by side, they peered through her window. what allie had said was true, and the man pinched himself to see if he were dreaming. this conflagration was even closer than the others, and he could not doubt that there was every likelihood of its spreading to the surface of the lake itself. here was a situation, truly. for the life of him he could think of no way out of it. "i've read about this sort of thing," allie was saying. "tanks bursting and rivers afire. it spreads all over, the fire does, and there's no putting it out." "one thing sure, this lightning won't last long--" a blue glare and a ripping explosion gave the lie to gray's cheering words. allie briskow recoiled from the window. "we'll be burned alive!" she gasped. "roasted like rats in a trap. i--i'm frightened, mr. gray." she drew closer to him. "no need of that. we'll get out of this scrape somehow--people always do." a flicker lit the room, and he saw that the face upturned to his was wide eyed, strained. that brief glimpse of allie, like a picture seen through the shutter of a camera, remained long with the man, for her hair was unbound, her lips were parted, and her dark eyes were peculiarly brilliant; through the opening of her lacy negligee her round, white neck and swelling bosom were exposed. it was a head, a bust, to be remembered. "i--you got to--hold me," she said, huskily, and he felt her body shrink close to his. she clung tightly to him, trembling at first, then shaking in every limb. fright, it seemed, had suddenly mastered allie briskow. gray endeavored for a moment to soothe her, then gently to loosen her hold; he spoke to her as he would have spoken to a terrified child, but the wildness of her emotion matched the wildness of the night, and her strength was nearly equal to his. knowing her as he did, this abysmal terror was inexplicable; such abandon was entirely out of keeping with her. but she had acted queerly ever since--gray was ashamed of the thought that leaped into his mind; he hated himself for harboring it. he hated himself also for the thrill that coursed through him at contact with this disheveled creature. the touch of her flesh disturbed him unbearably. roughly he tore her arms from about his neck and put her away from him; by main strength he forced her into a chair, then snatched a covering of some sort from the bed and folded it around her shoulders. his voice was hoarse--to him it sounded almost brutal as he said: "get hold of yourself! we're in no great danger, really. now then, a light will help us both." with clumsy hands he struck a match and lit the lamp. "light's a great thing--drives away foolishness--nightmares and fancies of all sorts." without looking at her he seized the electric torch and muttered: "i'll take a look around, just to see that things are snug. back presently." gray despised himself thoroughly when the turmoil within him persisted; when he still felt the unruly urge to return whence he had come. wild horses! that was how gus briskow had described his children. well, allie had followed buddy's example and jumped the fence. here was something unique in the way of an experience, sure enough; here were forces at play as savage and as destructive as those that lit the heavens. the girl was magnificent, maddening--and he was running away from her! he, a man of the world, as ruthless as most men of his type! it was a phenomenon to awaken sardonic mirth. he wondered what had come over him. he had changed, indeed. could it be that he had read a wrong significance into allie's actions? thus his mind worked when he grew calmer. he tried to answer in the affirmative, but already he hated himself sufficiently. no, the night had done it. texas cattle stampede on stormy nights. they run blindly to destruction. the very air was surcharged, electric, and the girl was untamed, only a step removed from the soil. the possibility that she could be seriously interested in him, strangely enough, never presented itself. gray laid strong hold of himself, but it is not easy to subdue thought, and he could feel those strong, smooth, velvet arms encircling him. disorder without and chaos within this house! the heavens rumbled like a mighty drumhead, the lightning made useless the feeble ray in his hand. it was the place, the hour of impulse. gray swore savagely at himself, then he stumbled into his room and dressed himself more fully. "well, there doesn't seem to be much change," he said, cheerfully, as he opened allie's door awhile later. "the fires don't seem to be spreading." she was sitting where he had left her, she had not moved. "anything new on this side?" allie shrugged; slowly she turned, exposing a face tragic and stony. "i guess you don't think much of me," she said. "indeed!" he declared, heartily. "this is enough to frighten anybody. i don't mind saying it has upset me. but the worst is over." he laid a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. allie moved her body convulsively. "lemme be!" she cried, sharply. "i don't mind the lightning. i ain't scared of the fire, either--hell fire or any other kind. i ain't scared of anything, and yet--i'm a dam' coward!" she rose, gathered her loose robe more closely about her, and made blindly toward the bed. she flung herself upon it and buried her face in the pillows. "just a--dam' coward!" she repeated, in a muffled wail. "my god, i wish the blaze would come!" chapter xxvii buddy briskow had difficulty in getting out of the valley on his way for a doctor, for never had the roads been like this. he drove recklessly; where necessary he disregarded fences and pushed across pastures that were hub deep; he even burst through occasional thickets in defiance of axle and tire. it was a mad journey, like the ride in a death-defying movie serial; only by some miraculous power of cohesion did the machine hold together and thus enable him to keep it under way and bring it out to high ground. since he had not taken time before leaving to change into dry clothing, he was drenched to the skin; he was, in fact, sheeted with mud like the car itself. to find a doctor, however, was a problem. buddy tried first one camp, then another, but without success. meanwhile, the downpour continued and the creeks rose steadily, obliging him to make numerous detours and to follow the ridge roads wherever possible. he was aching in every bone and muscle from the pounding he had received, his arms were numb, his back was broken. he drowned his motor finally in fording a roily stream and abandoned the car. he came into ranger that afternoon on the back of a truck horse that he had borrowed--without the owner's consent. for a time it seemed that if he got a doctor at all he would have to follow a similar procedure, but the briskow name was powerful, and buddy talked in big figures, so eventually he set out on the return journey--this time in a springless freight wagon drawn by the stoutest team in town. a medical man was on the seat beside him. progress was maddeningly slow, incredibly tedious; creek beds, long dry, had become foaming torrents; in places even the level roads were belly deep and the horses floundered. when one of them fell, it required infinite labor and patience to get it upon its feet again. it was after midnight when buddy and his miserable companion gained the comparatively easy going of the last ridge, that flinty range beyond which lay the briskow farm. here they drove in the glare of lightning and under a sky that rumbled almost steadily, for a frightful electric storm had broken. here it was that they saw what havoc was being wrought--they counted several blazing wells ahead of them. buddy stopped at a drilling camp where lights showed the occupants to be astir, and there he received confirmation of his fears. the flats beyond were inundated to a depth rendering travel impossible, and although some of the men stationed out there had managed to work their way back, others were, for the time being, hopelessly cut off. what was more alarming by far, in view of these blazing beacons, was the news that a huge gusher on sixteen was wild and pouring its inflammable flood out upon the surface of the water. buddy stood in the midst of a spreading puddle from his streaming clothes, and through chattering teeth announced: "my sister and mr. gray are out there. i _gotta_ get through!" "how you going to get through, kid?" one of the drillers inquired. "our men had to swim in places." "i guess i can swim, if i try. feller can do 'most anything if he has to. how about you, doc?" buddy turned to his traveling companion. the latter shook his head positively. "you're crazy, briskow. we'd probably drown. if we didn't, we'd be burned alive when that loose oil catches fire." "looks like it's bound to catch if this lightning keeps up," some one declared. "listen to that!" buddy cursed furiously and lurched toward the door. it took force to restrain him from going. that was indeed a night of terror in the oil fields, for destruction was wholesale, and to those who were fortunate enough to be in no danger it was scarcely less trying than for the luckless ones out in the flooded area. buddy briskow was half demented. at one time it seemed certain that the surface oil was aflame near his father's farm, and the pictures he conjured up were unbearable. the rain ceased with the passing of the electrical storm, but the late hours of the night were thick and the fires continued to burn. it seemed as if morning would never come. with the first light buddy mounted one of his horses, and, regardless of admonitions, set out. in miles he had no great distance to go; nevertheless, it was midday before he came in sight of his father's unpainted farmhouse, and when he dismounted at the front porch he fell rather than walked through the door. he broke down and blubbered weakly when he saw calvin gray up and around and apparently well. he collapsed into a chair and huddled there in a wet heap, the while he sobbed and laughed hysterically. he was considerably ashamed of his show of feeling. even after he had been helped into the kitchen and his wet clothes had been stripped from him, he could tell little about his trip, but hot food and drink brought him around and then, indeed, his story was one that deeply touched the elder man. already the waters had ceased to rise, but buddy's difficulty in getting through proved the folly of attempting escape for the time being; his horse had been forced to swim with him in more than one place; in others he had waded waist deep, stumbling through thickets, hauling the animal after him by main strength. there was nothing to do, it seemed, but await a subsidence of the flood. then, too, the boy was half dead for sleep. under the circumstances it was not easy for the elder man to face this delay. his affairs were in a precarious condition and more in need of his immediate attention than ever before; to be cut off, therefore, to be lost for several days at this particular time was more than a misfortune--it was a catastrophe. such vague plans as he had considered he was now forced to abandon. he could see ruin ahead. one purpose this enforced idleness did serve, however; it enabled him--nay, it forced him--to evolve a new scheme of relief. some minds become paralyzed in moments of panic, others function with unexpected clearness and ingenuity, and his was such a mind. an idea came to him, finally, which seemed sound, the more he thought about it. indeed, its possibilities galvanized him, and he wondered why he had been so long in arriving at it. it was spectacular, daring, it might prove to be impossible of accomplishment; nevertheless, it was worth trying, and he could scarcely wait for buddy briskow to wake up so that he could put it to him. late that evening, after allie had gone to bed, he had a long talk with his young friend, during which he told him more about his affairs than he had made known even to roswell, the banker. buddy listened with the closest attention. he drew a deep breath at last and said: "i knew you was in deep, but i thought it was just your way. now i _know_ it was nelson's crew that fired our gasser. why, they might have cost us thousands--yes, hundreds of thousands--if it had been the kind of a gusher we figgered on! say"--the speaker's brows drew together in an angry scowl--"what ails this nelson, anyhow--tryin' to get you shot, an' firin' your wells, an' everything?" "he once did me a great injury." "what kind?" there was a pause. "i'd rather not go into that now, buddy. to repeat what i've been telling you, however, the situation is this: i've gone as far as i can go with the backing i have, and i must make a quick turn--strike one final blow or give up. nelson and i are like two wrestlers floundering on the mat. we're both tired, groggy, out of breath. whichever one gets the first hold will win, for the other lacks strength to break it. do you think your father would trust me? do you think he'd go it blind on my say-so?" "if he won't, i will. i got money. so's allie." gray declined this offer with a positive shake of the head. "it must appeal to him on its merits. i wouldn't permit you to go contrary to his judgment." "judgment? what's pa's judgment worth? he knows it's no good, an' so do we. everybody's tryin' to do him up but you; you're the only one he trusts. an' the same here. there's my bank roll--you can shoot the whole piece. i don't care if it never comes back. tryin' to get you killed! an' spoilin' a well on me!" "thank you, buddy! you--make me slow to trust my own judgment. i--i seem to be developing a conscience. but i'm sure this is the thing to do, for you and your father as well as for me. people can't stand still; they must go forward. the briskow fortune must grow or it will crumble." "i dunno if we've got as much in us as you seem to think," the boy said, doubtfully. "look at allie! and, you, too! you took hold of this field work and ran it like a man. i said you'd make a hand, and you have. the day is coming when people like you, who went from poverty to affluence overnight, will retrace that journey. that's the time when the truly dramatic story of the texas oil boom will be written. then will come the real tragedy, and you mustn't be caught in it. money isn't a servant, buddy; it is a master, and a mighty stern, relentless master, at that. when your first well blew in, it didn't mean ease and enjoyment, as you thought; it meant hard work for the rest of your life." "if you'd talked to me like this when i went off to school," the boy said, after a moment of consideration, "mebbe i'd of made myself swallow some more education, even if i had to take it out of a bottle along with the little kids." gray smiled. "you have common sense, at least, and that's something you can't get in school. men wear smooth from contact with one another, and it is time you got in touch with something bigger than mere drilling. if you're willing, i'll take you to wichita falls with me." "_willing?_" buddy's eyes sparkled. guiltily he confessed: "it's been pretty--lonesome out here with the scorpions. but i wanted to show you i could make good." "do you drink any more?" "haven't touched a drop. i don't reckon i ever will, either. i don't take to the idea of back-trackin' to this farm an' gettin' old in overalls, like you say. i'm sort of penurious an' i aim to keep what little sense i got. a feller as dull as i am can't afford to drink." "one thing more." gray nodded approvingly. "i want you to promise me that you won't fall in love with the first woman you meet. i'd never be able to lick you again." buddy showed his strong, white teeth in a broad grin. "i promise! that boy with the bass voice cured me. i'm goin' to be a hermit." news of the damage wrought by the recent storm was naturally of grave concern to henry nelson, but owing to the fact that lines were down, about his only source of information, during the days immediately following it, was the press reports. he was reading the dallas papers with interest one morning when his attention was arrested by the name of calvin gray. now gray's name in print affected the banker almost as disagreeably as did a sight of the man himself; therefore it was with intense resentment that he read the article in which it appeared. it was a vividly written account of the former's experience during the flood, and, due no doubt to gray's personal touch, it read a good deal like fiction. the man had a unique turn for publicity, a knack for self-advertising that infuriated nelson. to read this anybody would think that he was one of the dominant figures in the oil industry, and that his enterprises were immensely successful. with a sneer nelson flung the paper aside. so, that was how it had happened. the well had been fired--henry believed he could account for that--but a miracle had quenched the flame. falling drill stems! who ever heard of such a thing? such luck was uncanny--enough to give one the creeps. if gray were tied hand and foot and thrown into a river, somebody would drag him out--with his pockets full of fish! and to be marooned for days in the midst of a blazing lake--damnation! well, luck like that was bound to change. it had changed. the note of assurance in this self-edited story was patently counterfeit, or so henry told himself, for surely the fellow must know by this time that his race was run. probably this was a desperate effort to secure further backing. if so, it would fail. henry believed that he had weakened his enemy's support so completely that he would fall of his own weight; he considered it, in fact, about the cleverest move he had ever made to dispose of a block of bank stock in such a way as not only to tide him over his own difficulties, but also to make allies of gray's associates--the very men who had been fighting him. those men were through with the scoundrel now, and who else could he appeal to, once they abandoned him? nobody. no, the ice had been thin, at times--henry had felt it bending under him--but he was safe at last. the crossing had been made. so much accomplished; now that the fellow was down and could no longer fight back, it was time to see that barbara parker learned the truth about her gallant suitor. the next time tom parker came into the bank henry called him into his private office and had a talk with him. old tom listened silently; nevertheless, it was plain that he was deeply shocked. "i s'pose you ain't lyin'," he said, coldly, when the banker had finished. "it's a matter of record, tom. he can't deny it." "why did you--hold off so long?" "we're not exactly friends. he foolishly believes that i had something to do with his disgrace, and he has done his best to injure me. under the circumstances, i couldn't very well say anything. i wouldn't speak now, except for the fact that 'bob' is interested in him and--well, i'm interested in 'bob.'" "she's been interested in him from the first. i don't see that the circumstances are much different than they have been," tom said, sourly. "put it down to jealousy, if you wish." henry was impatient. "and i don't know as 'bob' ever encouraged you to think--" "perhaps not. but she is the only woman i ever saw that i'd make mrs. nelson." "what was it he did?" "'conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman' is the way the record stands. that covers a lot." "did he welch--quit under fire?" "no." "steal something?" "no." "woman scrape?" "there was--a woman concerned. pretty nasty mess, tom. he's the sort of man to intrigue any foolish woman. women can't see far." "i s'pose so." mr. parker rose stiffly. "but we don't have to worry about 'bob.' she ain't foolish and her eyesight is good. she's got more sense than all three of us men." with this noncommittal remark the father limped out. but tom was more deeply troubled than he had shown. nothing to be said against a man could have weighed more heavily with him than this particular charge. to a man of his type dereliction of duty was a crime; dishonorable discharge from the army of his country was an appalling indictment implying utter moral turpitude. tom had known more than one fellow who was guilty of conduct unbecoming a gentleman--as a matter of fact, he had reason to respect certain of them for some of their ungentlemanly conduct--but conduct unbecoming an officer was something altogether different. he had never met but one such, and he had shot that fellow just above the bridge of the nose. a traitor to his oath of office, a man who could dishonor his state, his country, was worse than a renegade; his name was a hissing upon the lips of decent people. scalawags like that were not to be tolerated. it seemed incredible that gray could be one. yes, and "bob" liked the fellow--but so did he, for that matter. in great perturbation of spirit tom consulted judge halloran. the judge listened to him in astonishment; angrily he cried: "the idea of his paying court to 'bob'! the insufferable insolence of it! why, i consider it a personal affront." "where do _you_ come in to get all het up?" tom growled. "_what?_" halloran's irascible face reddened. '"where do i--'? my god! haven't i--? don't i stand in _loco parentis_ to the girl?" "you ain't as _loco parentis_ to her as i am. she's my son. trouble is, i like mr. gray. you don't think henry could be lying?" "he wouldn't dare. it is too serious. no, tom, there's just one thing to do; you and i will go directly to the scoundrel, tell him we are aware of his infamy, and order him out of town. ha! that's the way to go about it; cut deep and quickly. tar and feathers are too good for--" "trouble is," tom repeated, with a reluctant sigh, "i like him and i ain't sure--" "the trouble is you're a weakling!" halloran snapped. "you are a--sentimentalist. you lack my stern, uncompromising moral fiber. _like_ him? pah! what has that to do with it? i have no weakness, no bowels of compassion. i am a spartan. i am--" "you're a damned old fool--if you think you can run _him_. he's liable to run you." judge halloran was furious at this; he was hurt, too. he sputtered for a moment before managing to say: "have it your own way. you are trying to be unpleasant--not that it requires conscious effort--but i won't argue with you." "don't! i hate arguments. that's why i don't like to talk this over with mr. gray. when i'm mad enough to argue i'm mad enough to fight, and i fight better than i argue." if, indeed, calvin gray's affairs were in a condition as precarious as nelson believed, he showed no signs of it when he returned to wichita falls. on the contrary, he was in an exultant mood, and even on the train young briskow, who accompanied him, was amazed at the change that had come over his friend. with every mile they traveled gray's buoyancy increased and upon his arrival he trod the street to his office like a conqueror. mcwade and stoner, who came in for a conference with minds preoccupied and faces grave, left with a smile and a jest. when they had gone, gray rose with relief and surprised buddy by saying: "that's enough for now, thank goodness! business is only one side of life, my boy. you are going to make this city your home, so you must begin by meeting the right people, the influential people. nicest people in the world right here, buddy; nicest place in the world, too!" now to a youth who, for months, had been immured in the oil fields, wichita falls did indeed resemble a city of marvelous portent. pavements, large buildings, bright lights, theaters--buddy was thrilled. he prepared himself for introduction to oil operators, to men of finance sitting in marble and mahogany offices; he made ready to step forth into the big world. great was his astonishment, therefore, when after a swift walk gray turned into a tiny frame insurance office on a side street. funny place to look for people of influence, buddy cogitated. a girl was seated at a desk; she rose at sight of gray, and her face broke into a smile. her greeting was warm; her hand lingered in his; for the moment neither of them seemed to remember buddy's presence. when she did hear his name, however, her face lightened and she gave her hand to him as to an old friend. when she smiled at him, as she had smiled at his companion, buddy dropped his hat. he had never seen anyone in the least like this creature and--she knew allie! she knew his mother! that was astonishing. he wondered why they had never said anything about it. before she had finished telling him about that meeting in the store at dallas, buddy realized that here indeed was an influential person, a citizen of supreme importance. he had missed her name, but probably she owned that dallas department store, or was the mayor of wichita falls. he had never before been so embarrassed. mr. gray certainly was a wonderful man. his poise, his air of respectful but easy familiarity with this--this angel raised him immensely in buddy's esteem. think of joking, chatting, making pretty speeches to an--an angel! that was going some. the gall of it! they were talking about that big gasser of gray's; the fire; the overflow; and the melodramatic occurrences of the past fortnight. gray was telling her how buddy had saved his life at the well, how he had risked his own, later, in braving the flood, and she was listening with eager smiles and nods and exclamations. when she turned admiring, grateful eyes upon the hero of gray's story--and the story had been told in a manner to make buddy no less--that youth felt himself suffocating, burning up. mr. gray sure knew how to talk; he could sling language. and _lie_--! gosh, how beautifully he could lie! it was splendid of him to exaggerate like this, so as to set him in solid with the most important person in town. that was noble! people were awful nice. and this certainly was a grand city. buddy knew he was going to get along fine; and he'd never forget mr. gray for this. after a while, when the two men were on the street again, buddy inquired: "who is that young lady? i mean--her name?" gray told him, then with a friendly twinkle: "well, speak out! what do you think of her?" "oh--_gee_!" buddy cried, breathlessly, whereupon his companion laughed in perfect satisfaction. chapter xxviii gray returned to his desk that morning after his call on "bob" parker determined to tackle energetically the numerous business details needing his attention, but he found that he could not do so. as usual, his brief sight of the girl, instead of satisfying him, had merely increased his hunger; made him the more restless, the more eager to see her again--alone. he gave up fighting his desires, presently, and invented the necessity of a hurried trip to the avenger lease. her ready acceptance of the invitation he construed to indicate an eagerness akin to his own, and during the several hours they were together he had hard work to keep from breaking his resolve and telling her all she had come to mean to him. "bob" seemed to expect something of the sort, as a matter of fact. her shyness, her fluttering agitation when his voice unconsciously became tender--and he realized that, in spite of himself, the tone of his voice conveyed a message quite at variance with his words--taxed his self-control to the utmost. well, it wouldn't be long now--another two weeks perhaps! but two weeks is an eternity when hearts are pounding, when ears are strained and lips are waiting. two callers were awaiting gray when, late that afternoon, he mounted the stairs to his office--tom parker and judge halloran--and something in their formal, awkward greeting sent a quick chill of alarm through him. mechanically he ushered them into his private room and offered them chairs. he heard himself chatting casually enough, but neither his own words nor theirs conveyed much meaning to him. nelson, it seemed, scorned no advantage, however dishonorable. gray's hatred of the man attained deeper, blacker depths than ever. to-day of all days! what a reckoning was due! the two old men were talking, one lamely supplementing the other's efforts to lead up to the object of their visit. gray turned a set face to tom parker finally, and interrupted by saying: "permit me to ease your embarrassment, sir. you object to my attentions to your daughter. is that it?" tom dropped his eyes and mumbled an uncomfortable affirmative. "not, i hope, because you question the nature of my intentions?" "oh no!" "i'd say yes and no to that," halloran declared, argu-mentatively. "tom and i are gentlemen of the old school; we live by the code and 'bob' is our joint property, in a way. any man who aspires to the honor of--well, of even paying attentions to that girl must stand the acid test. there must be no blot upon his 'scutcheon." "you imply, then, that there is a blot upon mine?" "that is what prompts our visit, sir. can you assure us that there is none?" after a moment of hesitation gray inquired, curiously: "judge, do you believe that a man can live down disgrace?" "disgrace, yes. dishonor, never! a man's honor is so sensitive that to stain it is to wound it. like the human eye it cannot suffer the slightest injury without serious damage." the younger man ignored the pompous tone of this speech; he nodded. "i see. someone said also that it is like an island, rugged and without landing place; and once outside of it we can never re-enter. that is your idea, i dare say." "precisely!" tom parker stirred; irritably he broke out, "i'm damned if i think you did it!" "did what?" tom remained silent, but when his companion drew a deep, preparatory breath, gray lifted a hand. he rose nervously and in a changed tone continued: "again let me speak for you and shorten our mutual distress. first, however, i must make my own position plain. i--love your daughter, mr. parker." the declaration came at great cost, the speaker turned away to hide his emotion. "i think--i hope she is not indifferent to me. i would give my life to marry her and, god willing, i shall. so much for that." he swung himself about and met the eyes of first one old man, then the other. harshly, defiantly, he added: "understand me, nothing you can do, nothing on earth--nothing in heaven or in hell, for that matter--will stop me from telling her about my love, when the time comes. now then, henry nelson has told you that i was--that i was sent back from overseas in disgrace. you want to know if he spoke the truth. he did!" after a moment of silence judge halloran said, with stiff finality: "under the circumstances there is nothing more to talk about. you amaze me when you say--" "i want to know more than if he was just telling the truth," tom interrupted, grimly. "i want to know if you were guilty." "that was the verdict of the court martial." "to hell with that! innocent men have been hung." a faint smile softened gray's face. "and guilty men have gone to the gallows protesting their innocence. which are you to believe? i made the best defense possible, but it was insufficient. i have no new evidence. i would rather endure the stigma of guilt than have you consider me a liar, and, of course, that is what you would think if i denied it." halloran was on his feet now, and evidently anxious to terminate the interview. "there are two sides to every case, of course, and justice is not always done. however, that really makes no difference in this instance. the findings of a military tribunal are as conclusive as those of any court of law, and it is not for us to question them. to repeat what i started to say just now, i fail to understand how you can expect us to tolerate your further attentions to miss barbara or how you can persist in your insane determination to ask her hand in marriage." "perhaps you'll understand when i say that i propose to clear myself." "how? when?" "soon, i hope." "and in the meantime?" gray considered this question briefly. "in the meantime--if you will agree to say nothing to 'bob,' i will promise not to declare my feelings, not to see her alone." "that's a go," said the father. "mind you, i may fail to right myself. in that event i shall feel at liberty to tell her the facts and ask her to believe in me against the world. i trust she will do so. if she loves me as i love her, she will marry me even though she knows i am a liar and a blackguard." "never!" halloran exploded. "'bob' isn't that sort of a girl." "i hope it never comes to the test." "i hope so, too," the father declared, earnestly. "i'm--right fond of 'bob,' and i wouldn't like to see her team up with a man she couldn't be proud of. _i_ wouldn't take it easy." mild as were these words, coming from tom parker they had the ominous effect of a threat. without further ado the two old men left. there was little sleep that night for calvin gray, and the days that followed were a torture. it was a torment to avoid "bob," for self-denial only whetted his appetite to see her, and those cunning plans he had laid at the time of their last meeting--plans devised solely to bring them together--he had to alter upon one excuse or another; he even forced buddy briskow to substitute for him. fortunately, there were certain negotiations requiring his presence in dallas, in tulsa, and elsewhere, and it some what relieved his irritation to put miles between him and the city he had come to regard as his home. the nelsons' bank was known as the security national, and it represented the life work of two generations of the family. bell's father had founded it, in the early cattle days, but to the genius and industry of bell himself had been due its growth into one of the influential institutions of the state. other banks had finer quarters, but none in this part of the country had a more solid standing nor more powerful names upon its directorate. bennett swope, for instance, was the richest of the big cattle barons; martin murphy was known as the arkansas hardwood king, and herman gage owned and operated a chain of department stores. the other two--there were but seven, including bell and his son--were northern capitalists who took no very active interest in the bank and almost never attended its meetings. for that matter, the three local men above named concerned themselves little with the actual running of the institution, for the nelsons, who owned nine-tenths of the stock, were supreme in that sphere. it was only at the annual meetings when directors were re-elected--and invariably they succeeded themselves--that they forgathered to conduct the dull routine business which is a part of all annual meetings. after they had adjourned as stockholders they reconvened as directors, and again mumbled hurried and perfunctory ayes to the motions put before them, so that bell could the more quickly get out his bottle of fine old bourbon, the one really ceremonious procedure of the day. the security national was as conservative, as rock ribbed, as respectable, and as uninteresting as any bank could well be, and its directors were always bored when election time came around. in spite of the fact that the program this year was as thoroughly cut and dried as usual, the day of the meeting found both father and son decidedly nervous, for there were certain questions of management and of policy which they did not wish to touch upon, and their nervousness manifested itself in an assumption of friendliness and good fellowship quite unusual. senator lowe, the bank's attorney and secretary, was arranging his minute books, his reports, and his miscellaneous papers, martin murphy was telling his latest story, when a knock came at the door to the directors' room. bell himself answered it, but his protest at the interruption died upon his lips when he beheld calvin gray, gus briskow, and the latter's son, ozark, facing him. gray spoke sharply, and his words fell with the effect of a bomb, at least upon bell and henry, for what he said was: "we are attending this meeting as stockholders, and we came early to enable the secretary to record the necessary transfer of our shares." disregarding the president's gasp of astonishment, the speaker pushed past him and entered, then introduced himself and his companions to the other men present. henry nelson experienced a sick moment of dizziness; the room grew black before his eyes. it was bell who broke out, harshly: "_stockholders?_ where did _you_ get any stock in this bank, i'd like to know?" "we bought it. picked it up here and there--" "i don't believe it!" bell glared at the speaker, then he turned his eyes upon swope, upon murphy, upon gage. "did any of you sell out?" "we don't own enough to make it worth while," swope said, dryly. murphy and gage agreed. bell's peculiar display of emotion surprised them; they exchanged glances. "i thought there wasn't any stock outside of what's owned by our group. what's the idea?" gray answered, easily. "there is now a considerable amount outside of that. a very considerable amount." henry nelson made himself audible for the first time, and sneered angrily. "quite theatric, gray, this eleventh-hour move. how much have you got? what's your--your object?" in spite of himself his voice shook. "my object is purely selfish." gray's tone was equally unpleasant. he had expected to create a sensation, and he was not disappointed. "mr. briskow and his son are looking for a secure investment, and i have convinced them of the soundness of your institution. my operations make it necessary for me to establish a close banking affiliation--one where i can ask for and receive consideration"--his mockery was now unmistakable--"so where should i turn, except to my friends? i assume you make no objection to the stock transfer? very well." he drew from his pocket a bundle of shares and tossed them across the table to senator lowe. henry made his way to his father's side; they withdrew to a corner and bent their heads together, murmuring inaudibly. gray watched them with unblinking intensity; he nodded to buddy briskow, and the latter, as if heeding some prearranged signal, removed his hands from his pockets and stepped farther into the room. he, too, watched the agitated pair. "why--look here!" the secretary gasped, after a moment or two. "this--this gives you control!" bell nelson raised a stricken face. "control?" he repeated, faintly. "_control_?" he strode to the end of the table, and with shaking hands he ran through the sheaf of neatly folded certificates. "sold out, by god!" he fell to cursing certain men, the names of whom caused swope and murphy and gage to prick up their ears. gray was still staring at the junior nelson; it was to him more than to the father that he spoke: "sold out is right! it came high, but i think it was worth the price. we intend to vote our stock." "by that i infer that you're going to take the bank over--take its management away from bell and henry?" bennett swope ventured. "naturally." the elder nelson voiced an unintelligible exclamation. "that's a pretty rough deal. bell has put his life into it. it is an--an institution, a credit to the community. it would be a misfortune if it fell into the hands of--into the control of somebody who--" the ranchman hesitated, then blurted forth, angrily: "well, i don't like the look of this thing. i want to know what it means." "i'll tell you," henry cried, unevenly. "i'll tell you what it means. persecution! revenge! hatred! i quarreled with this man, in france. he's vindictive; he followed me here--tried every way to ruin me--cost me thousands, hundreds of thousands of dollars. father and i were--we were pinched. we had to realize some quick money to protect our oil holdings--offsets and the like--and we sold a lot of our stock with the understanding that we could--that we would buy it back at a higher figure. we only borrowed on it, you might say--hypothecated it. we thought we were dealing with friends, but--_friends_! my god!" the speaker seized his head. "the stock was not hypothecated. you sold it," gray said, quietly, "and we bought it in." "it is all a personal matter, a grudge." "is that true, mr. gray?" swope inquired. "substantially. but i'm waiting for colonel nelson to tell you more; to tell you the whole story of our antagonism." martin murphy, who had been a silent onlooker up to this point, made himself heard. "mr. gray, i don't like the look of this any better than swope does. your quarrel with henry is wholly your and his affair, but the welfare of the security national is partly ours. banks are not toys, to be juggled and played with in mischief or in spite. you say you paid high for your stock; do you intend to wreck the institution, lose a fortune--?" "by no means." "that's precisely what you will succeed in doing." "i had ventured to hope that you three gentlemen would remain on the board." "am i dreaming?" bell nelson's collar appeared to be choking him, and with clumsy fingers he tugged at it. "going to kick henry and me off the board, eh? rob us? well, i'm damned if you do! you'll not kick us off--" "he doesn't want the bank," the son exclaimed, hoarsely. "that's all a bluff. he wants blackmail. that's the kind of man he is. he wants his price. i know him. how much, gray? what'll it cost us?" "i'll tell you what it will cost--" "ha! didn't i say so?" "oh, there is a price for everything! mine will surprise you, however, it is so low. can't you guess what it is?" the speaker's intent gaze had never left henry nelson's face; it was fixed there now, as cold, as relentless as the stare of a python. bell nelson leaned forward, his lips parted, a new eagerness came into his purple countenance. "well, well! what is it?" he demanded, querulously. "vindication!" there was a moment of silence. "what is he talking about, henry?" bell's eyes were strained toward his son. "i don't know," the latter said, in a thin voice. "he's crazy--always was." "i'm giving you a chance, colonel. you'd better take it. think carefully." when there came no response to this warning, gray shrugged. "very well! there is nothing further, except to complete the transfer and proceed with the business of the meeting. mr. briskow will be the next president, and i shall occupy the position of vice-president and treasurer now held by you--" the effect of this declaration was electric. with a cry the younger nelson lunged forward. confusion followed. it was of short duration, however, for henry found himself locked in the arms of the briskow giant. others lent buddy their assistance, and, in spite of his struggles, the vice-president was flung backward upon a deep leather divan. he rose unsteadily, but, meeting buddy's threatening gaze and realizing the impossibility of getting past him, he cried: "let me out of here! let me out, damn you! i--i'll get you for this, gray. let me out, i tell you!" "buddy!" gray jerked his head in the direction of the door to one of the adjoining offices. "he keeps a gun in his desk--top drawer. get it before me makes a fool of himself." young briskow stepped out of the room. gray continued, speaking to the others, "i have something to say to you gentlemen before we go on with the meeting, and i wish to say it in the presence of colonel nelson and his--" "you'll not keep me here. i refuse to stay," henry shouted, and he pushed past swope toward the door. "wait!" it was the elder nelson speaking, and in his voice was a new note--a note of triumph. "stock can't be transferred at an annual meeting. it has to be done in advance--ten days, i think it is. am i right, senator?" "that is the usual procedure," senator lowe agreed. "better look it up and make sure," gray directed. there followed a few moments of uncomfortable silence while the bank's attorney ran through the by-laws. it seemed to those waiting that it was a long time before he frowned and shook his head. "i--ah--i can find nothing against it. it seems i have nothing to do except transfer the shares." "then there won't be any meeting!" bell loudly declared. the three directors greeted this remark with exclamations of genuine relief. "sure! let's adjourn--put it over until--" one of them began, but the bank's president was bellowing in rising fury at the interlopers: "get out! get out of my office, d'you hear? get out--" "looks to me like it's _my_ office," gus briskow said, quietly, "or it will be, directly. you, bell, put on the muffler! i came a long ways to attend this meetin'. it's the first one i ever been to, an' it's goin' to happen. shut up your fuss! i want you to hear what mr. gray's got to say." "to hell with him, and you, too!" stormed the financier. "hold the meeting, eh? hold it if you dare! i defy you. steal my bank, double-cross me--we'll see about that. come along, henry." "you're in," gray said, menacingly; "you'd better stay and vote your stock or you may never get back again." but neither father nor son heeded him. when they had gone he frowned. "i'm sorry. really i am. i hoped i could force--" "i think we'd better go, too," some one said. "this is too extraordinary--we're in no frame of mind to go ahead--" "i must insist that you remain long enough to hear me out. you have no right to refuse. there is something you _must_ be told." "i'll admit i'm curious to know what the devil it all means," murphy, the lumberman, confessed; "but i don't know that i should accept an explanation from you. not after henry's accusations. i've known him and bell for years--" "i respect your friendship for them, and i sha'n't expect you to put trust in my words. it seems to me, however, that you owe it to that friendship to hear me. this incident has taken a turn wholly unexpected, and, i must confess, disappointing. i looked for a different outcome--hoped i'd be able to force an explanation--" the speaker shook his head and frowned again, perplexedly. when, after a moment of indecisive murmuring, the three directors seated themselves, gray thanked them with a bow. "i'll be as brief as possible, and if you don't mind i'll stand as i talk. i'm in no mood to sit. i'll have to go back a bit--" it was several seconds before he resumed. "when it became evident that the united states was going to war, i managed to get in at plattsburg and took the officers' training course. it was easy for me to complete that course, because i had served in the spanish war and had kept up my interest in military affairs. something convinced those who ought to know that i possessed qualifications of unusual value to the country--a wide business experience at home and abroad, a knowledge of languages perhaps--anyhow, i was called to washington. there i met henry nelson--a valuable man, too, in his way. we were commissioned at the same time and sent overseas on the same ship to engage in the same work--military intelligence. i didn't like the job, but it was considered important, and naturally i couldn't pick and choose. of course it was secret, confidential work. no need of going into that here. "nelson's and my duties were identical, our authority was equal; we were ordered to work hand in hand, and although we were commissioned together, technically, he outranked me owing to the fact that he was given his commission a moment before i got mine. "that's where the trouble started. we clashed, even on shipboard. he proved himself to be authoritative, overbearing; he immediately assumed the position of my superior officer. i'm not a mild-tempered man, but i put up with it, figuring that our paths would soon separate. but they didn't. when we arrived in france i tackled my job with all the energy in me; i tried for results. nelson, i discovered in time, was concerned only in taking entire credit for all that he and i and the whole organization under us accomplished and in advancing himself. i worked; he played politics. "you are not military men, so i sha'n't bore you with army terms or technical details, but--by one means or another he managed to intrench himself in a position of actual authority over me not at all in accord with our purpose or our instructions. i swallowed my resentment, for it seemed rather petty, rather selfish, in a time like that, to divert my attention from the important work in hand to quarrel with him. you understand? then, too, he was not making good and i was, and i thought time would surely cure the trouble. he must have appreciated my feelings--nevertheless, he persisted in abusing his powers; he began finally to really interfere with me, to call me off of important tasks and humiliate me with futile assignments, and i realized that i was threatened with failure through his meddling. this may sound trivial to you"--the speaker raised his eyes to his audience--"but, take my word for it, there were many instances of the kind over there. jealousy, intrigue, malevolence, petty spite, drove more than one earnest, patriotic officer to rebellion and--ruined many a career. "i rebelled. i had to, or be made ridiculous. i warned him, privately, as man to man. he ignored the warning. then i prepared a complete report showing by the copies of his orders, by the records of our respective accomplishments, by our correspondence, how he had systematically and maliciously endeavored to nullify my work and--and the like. it was not a pretty report to read. i turned it in to him for submission higher up. "then it was that he outgeneraled me. he was furious, of course, but he apologized--abjectly. he admitted that he had been wrong; that he had imposed upon me. he promised to play fair if i'd permit him to withhold the report, and--i was deceived. no man likes to be thought a cry-baby. those were eventful times; personal complaints were not welcomed in any quarter--not with the world rocking on its foundations. i was glad to accept his promises. "for a while we worked in harmony. i became engaged in an intricate case, having to do with a leak concerning transport sailings and routes--a matter involving the lives of thousands of our boys, millions of dollars in supplies, and i went to brest, under cover. it had to be handled with extreme care--some danger about it, too. a very interesting case, i assure you. i lived in a house with some of the people under surveillance. one of them was a woman, extremely attractive--thoroughly unscrupulous. my avenue of approach was through her. nelson, of course, knew what i was doing; he was about the only one who did. "i worked a long while and i was upon the verge of success--it would have been a real accomplishment, too--when, without apparent cause, the gang took warning, scattered, the whole thing blew up. months of work for nothing! i had made worse than a failure this time." "you mean to accuse henry of--of treachery of that sort?" swope inquired. "i do. and that's not all. out of a clear sky charges were preferred against me. outrageous charges in which that woman figured." up to this point gray had spoken smoothly, rapidly, but now his tone changed, his words became hesitant, jerky. "i was amazed! joke, i called it at first. sort of a blanket indictment, it was, charging me with inefficiency, negligence, exceeding my authority, dishonesty--and things even worse. those were some of the least serious, the least--nasty. it was all too absurd! being peculiarly vain and sensitive, my impulse was to shoot henry nelson. but i couldn't believe the charges would be taken seriously. "well, there was an investigation. i was court-martialed. i disproved a good deal; i think i'd have exonerated myself on every count only for the woman--that one i spoke about. she turned the trick. i was found guilty, disgraced, sent back. even though you are not military men, you can appreciate the extent of my dishonor. "there, gentlemen, you have in a few words an unconvincing summary of a long and complicated story--one that i detest telling. however, i could not permit you to sit with me at the directors' table of this bank without knowing who i am, what i am, and why i have run that rat into his hole. colonel nelson spoke the truth when he said this was purely a personal matter between us. it is so purely personal that i was willing to spare humiliation to his father--leave old bell in control of his bank and end our fight--if he'd right that old wrong. but you heard him refuse. so they must both fall. he said i've been persecuting him--" gray smiled grimly. "let me tell you how. that disgrace cost me my friends, and what money i had, for i tried long and earnestly to get back, to get a rehearing, to enter the navy--anything to re-establish myself. failing that, i came to texas. i came without a dollar, without an acquaintance, and--began my 'persecution' of henry nelson. i began it by coming here to the bank and telling him what i was up to. i put him on guard, and we engaged each other, as the french would say, 'to the death.' i--won. that's all there is to the story." "well, i'll be damned!" martin murphy exclaimed. "at least henry played fair in this; he didn't betray your secret," gage said, coldly. "oh, i meant to tell you that he didn't dare betray me, for he, too, came back in disgrace. the pot couldn't very well talk about the kettle." "_what_?" "henry nelson?" "impossible!" "i mean exactly what i say. no man of his type could have lasted over there. then, too, the story of our quarrel leaked out, that old report of mine turned up--yes, he got the same medicine he gave me. but he had influence in washington, and he managed to delay final action almost up to the day of the armistice. even then he succeeded in pretty well covering up the reason for his dismissal." "why, even bell doesn't know that!" "henry's been a terrible hero, hereabouts," said gus briskow. after a moment he addressed the other men. "mr. gray told me this, an' i wanted him to tell it to you. i dunno what you-all think of his story, but i know him an' i believe every word of it. what's more, i believe this bank is goin' to be run as well as ever it was even if i am president. a man can be president an' stay at home, if he's got folks under him that know more than he does. what d'you say if we start that meetin' we been talkin' about? i'm willing to see mr. gray settin' in yonder at henry's desk if you are." "i don't see that it makes much difference whether we're willing or not," swope confessed. "you have the votes, between you, to do about as you choose." "of course we have, but, with bell an' henry gone, it seems like some of their neighbors ought to stay an' look out for what potaters they've left in the ground. what d'you say?" swope eyed his companions briefly, then he nodded. "we'll stay." "then, mr. secretary, let her go!" chapter xxix one morning, several days after the annual meeting, gus briskow opened the door between his and gray's office and inquired, "busy?" the new vice-president of the security national raised a preoccupied face to the new president and said: "i'm never too busy to talk to you. what is it?" "nothing! i'm just kinda lonesome; kinda tired of lookin' bright about things i don't savvy." gus seated himself and crossed his thin legs. "folks give an owl credit for bein' wise just because he keeps his mouth shut. prob'ly he's got nothing of interest to say." "perhaps. but you can say 'no,' gus, and that's about all the average banker is called upon to say." "um-m!" the elder man nodded reflectively. "i heard about a captain of industry that allus smelled a pink when he did his heavy thinkin'. now me, i'm goin' in for bananas. i keep a bag of 'em in my desk. i 'most killed myself on bananas when our first well came in--never thought i'd be able to afford all i wanted. how's the bank?" "why, it's still here, as you see." "i know. that's the remarkable part. i keep thinkin' it's goin' to bust--i mean blow up an' disappear. i wake up nights dreamin' it's gone. it's all right, is it?" "positively! i put an accountant at work on the books and he should be ready to report any time now." "no chance of bell nelson throwin' us out, is there? he's in dallas tryin' to stir up money--" "not a chance, unless you want him to do so; unless you're afraid we'll make a failure of the business." "_we?_" gus smiled quizzically. "_you_ won't fail. folks around town are talkin' about how quick you're takin' hold, an' they're beginning to think you'll make a better banker than the nelsons. funny, ain't it, how easy reconciled folks is to losin' a coupla prominent citizens like that? looks like bell an' henry are about the only ones that take it hard." "the funny thing is"--gray frowned, perplexedly--"they _don't_ take it hard. at least, henry doesn't appear to do so. that's what puzzles me. no move of any sort--that's not like him." gus agreed to this. "i been expectin' him to cut some capers. that's why i been hangin' around so steady." "i know." "every time i peel a banana i peel an eye for henry. i worry whenever you go out alone." the younger man rose and nervously paced the floor. "i'm completely mystified," he admitted. "the whole affair has been a great disappointment to me. i thought i'd sprung a coup, but--i'm at a standstill. i'm stumped--checkmated." "about that trouble between you an' him, eh? why, we took your word for that." "unfortunately, that didn't help me very greatly. other people aren't so easily convinced as you and swope and gage and murphy. damnation! i thought my troubles were over." "well, your money troubles is over--" "they're the smallest part. i'd go back and start all over again if i could clean up that--that army record. it's a pretty flat triumph." "humph! most triumphs is. a feller has a dream--a longin', an' he bows his back an' works his life away tryin' to realize it. if he does, the chances is he's disappointed. he finds he's kep' his back bent so long he can't straighten it. look at me--pore as dirt an' scarcely enough to eat! i used to pray for a miracle; pray for money enough to do something for ma an' the children--for a thousan' dollars. here i am, president of a whole bank, but ma's sick, allie's miserable, an' i can't sleep nights for fear i'll lose what i got!" "poverty wouldn't have helped ma's health--" "oh, i ain't sayin' i'd trade!" gus wagged his sandy head. "i get my shoes shined every two hours because that bootblackin' stand is a nice place to look at the bank from. i set there an' tell myself i'm president of it! but that's the biggest dividend i've got, so far--five shines a day an' all the bananas i can eat. 'flat' is the word." gray smiled affectionately at the speaker. "at least buddy is happy. he's reaping his dividends, if i'm any judge." "i figger he's in love again." "good heavens!" gray paused in his restless pacing and turned an expression of almost comic dread upon the father. "with that woman, eh? well, i refuse to interfere again. i haven't fully recovered from his first infatuation for her." "i can tell the boy's symptoms. i felt the same way when i was courtin' ma. i acted just like him." "he has been trying to tell me something for a week, but i've been too busy and too worried to listen." briskow's kindly face had settled into graver lines when next he spoke. "you prob'ly wonder why i take it so easy. well, i remember what you told me once about judgin' people i don't know. mebbe allie was right, too, when she said a little genuine happiness is worth all it costs. anyhow, if buddy wants that woman, i won't say a word. she's turned out pretty good, an' people speak well of her. buddy's a man, an' some men just _have_ to get married--the sooner it's over, the better for 'em. he's like that. but what's more 'n all that, love between two young people is a pretty sacred thing, an' when old folks keep interferin' it seems to me they're settin' themselves up to be wiser than god. ma's folks didn't care much for me." "i feel a rebuke in your words," gray said; "and no doubt i've earned it, for it has always been my weakness to rearrange the lives of those i love. but--who am i, after all? if i were so divinely wise, why is my own life what it is? when i marry, perhaps i shall have to ask b--ask the girl to ignore in me things as--as disagreeable to think about as those which buddy will have to ignore in margie's past. that boy, in fact all you briskows, have put me so deeply in your debt that i'm afraid i shall have to conquer my meddlesome instincts." the speaker looked up suddenly. "you'll never know, by the way, how deep is my debt of gratitude. when a vainglorious, supersensitive man finds himself under a cloud, it is pretty nice to know that there is somebody whose faith is unshakable; somebody who needs no legal proof that he's--proof! here i am, back again right where i was when you came in; back to my own selfish concerns. i can't get away from them. what to do next? the nelsons are on their last legs. the loss of this bank will certainly destroy what credit remained, and even a good well now would scarcely tide them over. but--damn it, gus, i can't kick a man if he refuses to stand up! i can't beat a corpse!" there came a rap at the door, and the accountant whom gray had put to work upon the bank's books entered. "i'd like to talk to you about this report," the man began. "don't go," gray said, as briskow unfolded his legs and rose. but the president of the security national shook his head, saying: "bookkeepin' is all choctaw to me. i saw one statement an' i thought 'liquid assets' meant that bottle of whisky bell left in his desk." "mr. gray," the auditor announced, when they were alone, "i wish you'd ask somebody else to take this job off my hands." "why?" "well, somebody else could probably do it better." there was a pause. "i've known bell nelson all my life--" "that is why i engaged you. you've been over these books before." again there was an instant of silence, then into gray's face there flashed a curious alertness. "come!" he cried, sharply. "what is it?" "i'm sorry to be the one to--" the auditor shrugged. "if you insist on an explanation, i suppose i shall have to tell you. perhaps it's just as well, anyhow. they say figures don't lie, but you and i know better. i only wish they didn't." "have you caught them lying, here?" "i have. and--it has made me rather ill. you'd better prepare yourself for a shock." it was nearly an hour later that gray telephoned to senator lowe, the bank's attorney, and to bennett swope, the latter being the only member of the board available at short notice. this done, he wrote a note to henry nelson. in spite of his effort to control his hand, it shook when he signed his name, and on second thought he destroyed the missive. there is something ominous about the written word. if nelson grew suspicious, he'd never come. gray stepped into gus briskow's office and asked him to call the former vice-president, first, however, explaining exactly what he wished gus to say. the ruse succeeded; then gray returned to his own office. he drew a deep breath. within him he felt a ferocious eagerness take fire, for it seemed to him that the day of reckoning had come. henry's behavior was now easily understandable; the fellow was cringing, cowering in anticipation of a second blow. well, the whip was in gray's hands, and he proposed to use it ruthlessly--to sink the lash, to cut to the bone, to leave scars such as henry had left upon him. nor was that his only weapon. there was, for instance, old bell nelson's honor. if coercion failed, there were rewards, inducements. oh, henry would have to speak! the nelson fortune, or what remained for salvage from the wreck thereof, the bank itself, they were pawns which gray could, and would, sacrifice, if necessary. his hunger for a sight of "bob" had become unbearable. freedom to declare his overwhelming love--and that love he knew was no immature infatuation, but the deep-set passion of a full-grown man--was worth any price he might be called upon to pay. yes, henry would speak the truth to-day or--for one of them, at least, there would be an end to the feud. gray, too, kept a revolver in his desk. he removed it and placed it in his pocket. buddy briskow chose this, of all moments, to thrust his grinning visage into the door and to inquire, "got time for me now, mr. gray?" "not now, buddy." "when?" "why--almost any other time." "i wouldn't bother you, but it's important and i--i promised a certain party--" the youth's face reddened, his smile widened vacuously. "later, if you don't mind." it was plain that buddy did mind; nevertheless, he withdrew. when swope and lowe arrived, gray could with difficulty restrain himself from blurting out the reason for his urgent summons, but he contented himself by asking them to wait in the president's office. henry nelson entered the bank with his head up, with a contemptuous smile upon his lips and an easy confidence in his bearing. his hand was outstretched toward the knob of briskow's door, when the one adjoining opened and, from the office he himself had so long occupied, calvin gray spoke to him. "please step in here, colonel." nelson recoiled. "no, thank you!" he said, curtly. "briskow and i are amateur bankers; there is a matter upon which we need your advice." "indeed? finding it isn't as easy to run a bank as a drilling rig? he said you were out, otherwise--" "will you come in?" stiffly, reluctantly, as if impelled by some force outside of himself, nelson stepped within, but he ignored the chair that was proffered him. gray closed the door before saying: "the deception was mine, not briskow's. you prefer to stand? um-m--i appreciate your feeling of formality. i felt a bit ill at ease on the occasion of my first call here, when our positions were reversed--" "if you got me here just to be nasty--" "by no means. nevertheless, it gratifies my vanity to remind you that you considered me a braggart, a bluffer, whereas--" "i haven't changed my opinion." "so be it. one matter, only, remains between us. i am about to ring up on the last act of our little comedy." "theatrical, as always, aren't you?" nelson's lip curled. for a moment gray stared at the speaker curiously; his tone had altered when he said: "you're a better poker player than i thought. you're almost as good a bluffer as i am. that, by the way, is probably the last compliment i shall pay you." "come! i've no time to waste." "you will soon have ample time--if not to waste, at least to meditate--" "what do you mean by that?" the query came sharply. "i've had an examination of the bank's books. that, as you will readily understand, explains why i sent for you." "why--no. i don't--" "i wondered how you and your father got the money to keep going so long, for i discovered you were in a bad way even before i turned up. it is no longer a mystery. when you and he, as directors of the security national, lent yourselves money, as individuals, you must have realized that you were--well, arranging ample leisure for yourselves in which to meditate upon the stringency of the banking laws--" "nonsense! that's n-nothing--nothing serious." nelson's ruddy color had slowly vanished; with uncertain hand he reached for the nearest chair, and upon it he leaned as he continued, jerkily: "irregular, perhaps--i'll admit it was irregular, but--there's nothing _wrong_--oh, you'll make it look as bad as possible, i dare say! but you don't understand the circumstances. anyhow, father is getting it straightened out; all he needs is time. we'll be able to handle it, all right. we're good, you know, perfectly good--" "you're broke! everybody else knows it, if you don't. '_irregular_'! ha! there's a choice of words!" the speaker laughed silently. "it is an 'irregularity' that carries with it free board and lodging at the state's expense." an incoherent protest issued from nelson's throat. when next he managed to make himself audible, his words were such as really to amaze his hearer. "_i_ didn't do it," he cried, in a panic-stricken voice. "it was father's idea! you had us crowded--there was no other way. i warned him--" "wait a minute! you blame it on _him_?" gray's inquiry was harsh, incredulous. after a momentary pause his lips moved, but for once he stammered, his ready tongue refused its duty. he exploded, finally, with an oath; he jerked open a drawer in his desk. from his pocket he removed his revolver, flung it inside, then jammed the drawer back into place with a crash. "you--_rat_!" he exclaimed. he turned his back upon henry nelson and made a circuit of the little room. "it's a thing you and i can easily fix up," the latter feebly insisted. "now that personal matter of yours--perhaps i could help you reopen it somehow, clear it up." "ah! indeed!" "give and take, i say. i'm willing to do anything i can, if--" "there won't be any 'ifs'! no conditions whatever." "is that so?" nelson flamed forth, in a momentary explosion of resentment. "if you think i intend to stand the brunt of this, you're crazy. i can't afford to figure in a scandal--banking scandal--like this. i'm a young man. bell has had his day. he's old. you can hush this up. there are lots of ways to do that. keep me out of it and--and i'll do what's right by you; i'll do anything you say." "you'll do that, anyhow," gray replied, in a voice that grated. he flung himself into his desk chair and, seizing pen and paper, he began to write rapidly, shakily. "i want to see what i'm signing," nelson warned. a growl was his answer. for an interminable time the only sound in the office was the scratching of that pen. when at last it came to an end, gray rose, thrust the loose sheets into nelson's hand, then, indicating the vacant chair, said: "sign that!" the wretched recipient of this curt command read the lines carefully. he read them twice, thrice, for his mind no longer functioned clearly. he raised a sick face, finally, and shook his head. "wouldn't i be a fool?" he queried. "listen, you--" gray's body was shaking, his words were uneven. "i'm sorry for bell, but not for you. i'll never forget nor forgive what you did to me. nothing can undo that. disgrace clings to a man. you're going to get yours, now, and you can't squirm out of it, or lie out of it, no matter how you try, for i sha'n't let you. you're ruined, discredited, blown up, but--i don't think i want to send you to the penitentiary. i'd rather see you walking the streets with dandruff on your collar. i'd rather keep you to look at. anyhow, you'll have to sign that." "if you'll guarantee to keep this bank matter quiet--if you'll protect me, i'll sign. otherwise, you can go to hell. we'll beat it out, somehow. we can do it." inflexibly gray asserted: "i'm going to turn you over, whether or no. but i'll help bell get the money to repay those loans. he'll probably manage to save himself and--save you, too." "i won't do it!" nelson flung down the pen. "not on those conditions. you can't bulldoze me. it's your day to crow, but, i warn you, don't push me too far." gray voiced an epithet. it was low pitched, but its explosive force, the impelling fury back of it, fairly caused the room to vibrate. he was white of lip, his rage had reached the foaming point. "don't make me lay hands on you--choke you into it," he cried, hoarsely. "if you do, by god, i'll finish you!" like a man fighting some hypnotic influence stronger than his will, henry nelson took up the pen and signed his name waveringly. the next moment gray smote the door to briskow's office a heavy blow and, as it flew open, he barked: "come in here! all three of you!" he stood aside as gus, bennett swope, and senator lowe entered. "yonder is a statement which i want you to read and witness. when you've done that, i'm going to tell you why henry nelson signed it. the rest will be up to you." it was midafternoon. swope and lowe had left the bank. briskow drew a deep breath and said, with genuine relief: "i'm glad _that's_ over. we can handle the debt between us, an', after all, old bell's a pretty good citizen. as for henry, i s'pose he'll wiggle out of it, somehow. i dunno as i'd of been so easy on him if i'd been in your place." "i'll tell you why i was easy on him," gray confessed. "i'm tired of fighting; i'm worn out. i've won my point, and he'll carry the sort of load i've been carrying. but there is this difference: for him there will be no vindication at the end." taking from his pocket nelson's statement, he stared at it, then slowly his face lightened. "i was blind mad at first. i felt as if i couldn't keep my hands off him. it was such a dirty trick he did me and so reasonless! he had no excuse whatever for injuring me, gus. however, i suppose most quarrels sprout from tiny seeds. well, i'm square with the game! i--i'm afraid, even yet, that it's all a dream. i've wanted to yell--" the speaker chuckled; the chuckle grew to a laugh. "there's magic in this document, gus, old boy. i've grown young all at once." "you needn't of took it so hard. us fellers would have stood by you if you'd turned out to be a horse thief. texas men are like that." "you proved it. but that wasn't enough. a man's business associates will frequently overlook a lot more than their wives and daughters will overlook. there's a certain loyalty that doesn't apply outside of the office." gray rose and filled his lungs. "d'you know why i felt this thing so keenly? why i fought so long? of course you don't, for i've held out on you. fact! i've held out on my partner--had a secret from him. now then, steel yourself for a surprise. i'm suffering from buddy's complaint, only ten times aggravated!" "what?" briskow stared up at the animated countenance above him. "you thinkin' about gettin' _married_?" "i'm thinking about nothing else. that's what ails me. why, gus, you've no idea what a perfectly charming person i can be when--when i can be what i am. i thought i was too old and too blase ever to become seriously interested in a woman, above all in a girl, but--do you remember when ma and allie came to dallas that first time? something happened about then to upset all my ideas." briskow's sun-parched face slowly lightened, his bright, inquisitive eyes grew bluer, brighter. "i'm--mighty glad! i allus hoped--" he tried to finish his sentence, then shook his head and murmured, huskily, "mighty glad!" here was a marvel, a miracle, for which he had never dared even hope. he thought of allie and a lump came into his throat. she had reached the stars. his girl! he would be mighty glad, too-- gray was speaking, and in his voice was a new, vibrant quality, a new vigor. "now you'll know why this is the biggest day of my life; why i thought those men would never go. i'm shaking all over, gus. you'll have to run the bank for a while; i'm too young and irresponsible. i'm going out to buy a hoop and a jumping rope and a pair of roller skates." again he laughed, boyishly; then, with a slap that knocked the breath from briskow's lungs, he walked lightly into his own office and seized his hat. for a long time the father sat at his big, empty desk, staring, smiling into space. this would make ma well. money wasn't altogether a worry, after all; it bought things that nothing else could buy--stars and--and things. from the expressions upon the faces gray passed in leaving the bank, he realized that his own must wear a grin; but, in spite of his dignified effort to wipe it off, he felt it widening. well, this was his day to grin; his day to dance and caper. people were too grave, anyhow. they should feel free to vent their joy in living. why act as if the world were a place of gloom and shadow? why shouldn't they hop, skip, and jump to and from business, if so inclined? he visualized the streets of the city peopled with pedestrians, old and young, fat and thin, thus engaged, and he laughed aloud. nevertheless, it was a good idea, and when he became mayor, or perhaps the junior senator from texas, he'd advocate public playgrounds for grown-ups. "bob" would help him put it through. there was a girl who would never grow old. they would grow young together. he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window and slowed down his gait, telling himself that pending the time his new idea was definitely planted it might be well to walk in the old-fashioned manner. men of substance, bankers, for instance, shouldn't rush through the streets as if going to a fire; they shouldn't dash over crossings and take curbstones as if they were hurdles. it wasn't being done. no reason, however, why a banker shouldn't throw his shoulders back and walk springily upon his toes. when he beheld the familiar painted sign, "tom and bob parker. real estate and insurance," he paused. the mere sight of the little wooden building, the name, gave him an odd shortness of breath. it was weeks since he had been here. he realized of a sudden that he had brought nothing with him; no gift, not even flowers. but there was enough to talk about. she'd forget that. what a shower of gifts he would pour upon her--and upon old tom, too! good old tom! tom had wanted to believe. tom and he would be great pals. they couldn't help being pals with just one thing, between them, to love; one thing in all the world! it was a disappointment to find the office empty, except for the father himself, but gray began with a rush, "well, i told you i'd clear myself, and--here i am, walking on air." "you did it, eh? that's good news." "we had a show-down at the bank. henry nelson and i locked horns and--but here! read what he signed. that cleans the slate. he'll do anything further that may be necessary, officially. where's "bob"?" "they're fishin' for a bit in one of your avenger wells. she's out there." "so? i'd forgotten." "did you see--? did buddy have a talk with you? to-day, i mean?" "buddy? oh, buddy briskow! i saw him for a moment only. she'll be back soon, i dare say?" tom parker stirred; it was a moment before he spoke, then it was with apparent irrelevance that he said: "i'm sorry you and he didn't have a good talk. 'bob' asked him to see you--sent him there a-purpose." the sight of gray's smiling, eager, uncomprehending face caused the old man's steady gaze to waver. he cleared his throat. "buddy's a fine boy." "finest in the world! i claim responsibility for him, in a way. he's part mine." gray laughed; his eyes sparkled. "him and 'bob' are out there together. they've been together a lot, mr. gray. both of 'em young, that-away--" "of course. i knew you'd both like--" some quality in tom's voice, some reluctant evasiveness to his eyes, bore a belated message to the younger man--snapped his chain of thought--dried the words upon his lips. into his eyes leaped a sudden, strained incredulity. sharply, he cried, "what do you mean?" then, after an instant, "why did he want to see me?" the two men gazed squarely at each other for the first time. "my god! why--that's absurd! i--i brought him here. he's just a _boy_!" "and she's just a girl, mr. gray." the younger man shrank as if at a blow. he closed his eyes; he raised a shaking hand to his face, which was slowly assuming the color of ashes. "that's too--rottenly unfair!" he said, faintly. "i brought him here--made a man of him. of course he doesn't know--" his eyes opened; eagerly he ran on: "why, tom, it's just the boy and girl of it! puppy love! you know how that is." "i didn't notice how things was going till if was too late. we might as well talk frankly, mr. gray. prob'ly it's well you saw me first, eh? well, when i understood where they was heading, i worried a lot--after what you said that day, understand? but those two! pshaw! it was like they had known each other always. it was like 'bob's' mother and me when we first met; her beautiful and fine and educated, and me rough and awkward. only buddy's a better boy than i was. he's got more in him. i s'pose all womenfolks have that mother feeling that makes 'em yearn over the unlikeliest fellers." parker looked appealingly at his stricken hearer, then quickly dropped his eyes, for gray's countenance was like that of a dying man--or of a man suffering the stroke of a surgeon's knife. "after all, it's youth. you're a good deal older than 'bob,' and i s'pose you sort of dazzled her. she likes you. she thinks you're great. you kinda thrill her, but--i don't believe she ever dreamed you was actually--that you actually cared for her. you've got a grand way, you know, and she ain't a bit conceited about herself. why, i _know_ she never figgered it that way, because she made buddy promise to tell you the first thing; sent him to the bank a-purpose, thinking you'd be so glad on his account." "then they've--settled it between them?" tom nodded gravely. "she told me last night. and from the way she told me, i know it's not just boy and girl love. she's been singing like a bird all day. and buddy! he's breathless. i know how he feels. i couldn't draw a full breath for two weeks after 'bob's' mother--" gray uttered a wordless, gasping cry. he moved unsteadily toward the door, then paused with his hand upon the knob. tom parker was surprised when, after a moment, he saw the man's shoulders shake and heard him utter a thin, cackling laugh. "time is a grim old joker, isn't he? no way of beating him, none at all. now i thought i was young, but--lucky i found you here and spared my vanity." he turned, exposing a face strangely contorted. "you won't mention my foolish mistake, will you? no use hurting the ones we love. you know how we feel--fatherly. that's it, fatherly love. i was a silly old fool. they'll be happy. young people like that--" the speaker choked. "young people--well, _adios_, old man!" he opened the door and walked blindly forth. chapter xxx calvin gray did not return to the bank. he went straight to his hotel and, as soon as he could sufficiently control himself to do so, he telephoned gus briskow, telling him that he intended to leave town. then he began mechanically to pack his bag. he moved like a man in a trance, for the blow had fallen so suddenly as to numb him; his only impulse was to escape, to hide himself from these people who, of a sudden, had become hateful. his city of dreams had collapsed. the ruins, as they lay, meant nothing as yet, for his mind refused to envisage them and he could see them only as they had stood. he groped amid a hopeless confusion of thought--at one moment bewildered, piteously hurt, at the next suffering a sense of shameful betrayal. he had grown old and dull and feeble, too, and for the time being he was incapable of feeling the full force of a strong man's resentment. this surprised him vaguely. soon, however, like kindling fires among the ruins, his fury rose--fury at himself, at buddy, at barbara--and in the heat of those scorching flames he writhed. she _had_ loved him. he'd swear to that. he had swayed her, overpowered her; he had lacked only the courage to trust his instinct. coward's luck! it served him right. he had held her in his arms and had let her slip through; her lips had been raised to his, and he had refused to press them. imbecile! he groaned; he tore the collar and the tie from his neck, for they were choking him. old, eh? too old! that was the grimmest jest of all, for at the mere thought of barbara's lips unruly forces took possession of him; he experienced a fierce, resistless vigor such as he had never felt in his younger days. it was a dreadful, an unappeasable yearning of soul and body, and when the paroxysm had passed, it left him weak. he sank into a chair and lay there stupid, inert, until again those fires began to lick at him and again he twisted in dumb agony. buddy briskow! buddy, of all people! that lout; that awkward simpleton, who owed him everything! but buddy was _young_! gray heard himself laughing in hoarse derision. he rose and tramped heavily around his room, and, as he went, he crushed and ripped and mutilated whatever his hands encountered. his slow, deliberate, murderous rage demanded some such outlet. all the while he felt within himself two conflicting impulses, heard two voices: the one voice shouted at him to search out buddy and visit upon him the punishment warranted by a base betrayal; the other told him jeeringly to lay the scourge upon his own shoulders and endure the pain, since he had betrayed himself. his mind was like a battle ground, torn, up-heaved, obscured by a frightful murk--he remembered a night in france, a black night of rumbling, crashing terror, when, as now, the whole world rocked and tumbled. some remnant of self-control induced him to lock his door and pocket the key, for buddy might come. he probably would look him up, all grins and smirks and giggles, to tell him the glorious news, to acclaim the miracle. that would be too much. one thing was certain, there was no safety except in flight, ignominious, cowardly flight... after all, how could buddy have known? he was a good boy, and he had shown his love, his loyalty, in a thousand ways. gray hated him at this moment, but, more bitterly even, he hated himself. it was fate.... he fell to cursing aloud, but there was no relief in that, and again the appalling irony of the situation silenced him. he had deified himself, set himself upon a high place, bent men and affairs to his own ends, until he had acquired a godlike belief in his power to accomplish all things. his victory had been complete. he had won all--except the one thing he most desired, the very fruit of victory. some time later he heard buddy come whistling merrily down the hall and knock at his door. gray cowered in his chair, listening in breathless dread until the footsteps retreated. when he rose he moved about stealthily. when night came he took his bag and slunk out of the hotel, for it seemed that men must surely know what a fool he had made of himself. it would have been a relief to feel that he was leaving never to return; but even that was denied him, for, after his first panic, the truth had come home. he could not run away. he had forged chains for his own limbs. like a tethered mustang he could plunge only to the end of his rope. friendship, again! there was simple, trustful, faithful gus briskow. and the bank. god, what a mess things were in! gray knew he would have to return, have to see "bob" and buddy day after day, month after month, and the prospect was too distressing to dwell upon. again his mind grew weary, baffled; he experienced a wretched physical illness... where to go, where to hide until his sickness had passed? that was the question. for the first time he appreciated the full extent of his loneliness; his utter lack of resource in a crisis like this. most men, however solitary, lay by material things for themselves, build homes and surround themselves with personal possessions from which, or amid which, they can gain some sort of solace in times of trial. but he had not fashioned so much as a den into which he could creep and lick his wounds. once he had left his hotel room behind him he was in the open and without cover. not a single soul cared whether he came or went, not another door stood ajar for him. and he had planned so much upon having a home, a real home--but he could not trust himself to think much along that line; it induced an absurd desire to weep at his plight. it made him feel like a child lost in a wood. that was silly, just an emotional reaction; nevertheless, the impulse was real and caused him to yearn poignantly for human comfort. he thought of ma briskow, finally. she was human; she had a heart. and dallas was a sort of homey place; anyhow, the bellboys at the ajax knew and liked him. that was probably because he had tipped them handsomely, but what of that? if they'd be kind to him now he'd tip them more handsomely than ever. lonely men--old ones--must expect to pay for what they get. he bought a ticket to dallas. ma briskow's eyes were dim; nevertheless, she saw the change in calvin gray when, late the following afternoon, he came to see her. "land sakes!" she exclaimed, in a shocked voice. "pa never said you was ailin'. why, mr. gray!" "i'm not really ill," he told her, wearily, "just old. i've had a bad night." seating himself beside her couch, he took her hand in his and made her tell him all about herself. he had brought her an armful of flowers, as usual, and extravagant gifts for her adornment--giving, it seemed, was his unconscious habit. while she admired them with ecstatic "ohs!" and "ahs!" he busied himself with bowls and vases, but ma noted his fumbling uncertainty of touch and the evident effort with which he kept up his assumption of good cheer. she told him, finally: "something mighty bad has happened to you, mr. gray." he gazed at her mutely, then nodded. "is it something about the--the princess of wichita falls?" "yes, ma." "tse! tse! tse!" it was a sympathetic cluck. "was she a wicked princess?" the query was gently put, but it deeply affected the man. he tried to smile, failed, then like a forlorn little boy he came and bowed his head beneath her hand. "i knew you'd understand, mother briskow, so i--i ran to you with my hurt, just as i used to run to my mother gray." after a while he continued in a smothered voice: "she isn't a wicked princess. she didn't mean to hurt me and--that's what makes it hurt so deep. she tumbled the old duke's castle down upon his head; tumbled the old duke out of his dreams. he isn't a duke any longer." "he'll allus be a duke," mrs. briskow firmly declared. "he was born that way." "at any rate, he's a sad old duke now; all his conceit is gone. you see, he was a vain old gentleman, and his courtiers used to tell him he was splendid, handsome--they said he looked as handsome as a king, and by and by he began to think he must be a king. his enemies sneered at this and said he was neither duke nor king, but a--a mountebank. that made him furious, so he went to war with them, and, by jove, he fought pretty well for an old fellow! anyhow, he licked 'em. when they fell down and begged for mercy he knew he was indeed a great person--greater even than he had suspected and worthy of any princess in the land." "pshaw! ain't a duke higher than a princess?" "no, ma. not higher than this princess. her father made all the laws. she is very noble and very good. good princesses are scarce and--and so, of course, they're very high. but the duke of dallas didn't stop to think of that. he told himself that he was so strong and so rich and so desirable that she would be flattered at his notice. he got all dressed up and went to call on her, and, on the way, whenever he looked into a shop window, he didn't see the buns and the candies and the dolls inside; all he saw was his own reflection. it looked so magnificent that he strutted higher and thought how proud he was going to make her. "i guess that was the trouble with the old duke all along; he had never looked deeply enough to see what was inside. anyhow, what do you think, ma? while he'd been off at war conquering people and making them acknowledge that he was a king, the little princess had fallen in love with--with his nephew. nice boy, that nephew, and the duke thought a lot of him." ma briskow's hand, which had been slowly stroking gray's bent head, ceased its movement; she drew a sharp breath. "there happened to be an old mirror in the princess's boudoir, and while the duke was waiting for her he saw himself in it. he saw himself just as he was, not as he had looked in the shop windows, for it was a truthful mirror and it told everything. my! that was a bad moment for the duke of dallas, when he saw that he wasn't young and beautiful, but old and wrinkled and--funny. that was bad enough, but when he looked again and saw the princess whom he loved in the arms of his handsome nephew, why, he gave up. all his fine garments fell off and he realized with shame that, after all, he was only the withered mountebank. "when he got home his castle had collapsed. there wasn't a stone standing, so he ran away--ran to his mother." "oh, mr. gray!" ma briskow quavered. "i could cry. an' after all you done for buddy!" the man shook his head vigorously, still with his face hidden. "it isn't buddy. it's youth. youth needs no fine adornment, no crown, no victory." "what you goin' to do?" she asked him. "go on playing the duke, i suppose; rebuild the castle the best way i can. that's the hard part. if i could run away and forget, but--i can't. the old duke walled himself in. he must grin and strut and keep people from guessing that he's only a fraud until he can find a hole in the wall through which he can creep." there was a long silence, then ma inquired: "would you like to tell me something about the little princess? sometimes it helps, to talk." "n-not yet." "you're a duke, an' the best one that ever lived, mr. gray. you can't fool me; i've met too many of 'em. that lookin'-glass lied! real dukes an' kings an' such people don't get old. it's only common folks. there's lots of magic, the world's full of it, an' your castle is goin' up again." "after a fashion, perhaps"--gray raised his head and smiled crookedly--"but it will never be a home, and that's what i wanted most of all. do you think i'm very weak, very silly to come to you for a little mothering?" "that's the kind of children mothers love best," the old woman said, then she drew him down to her and laid her cheek against his. "there! i've made you cry," he exclaimed, reproachfully. "what a selfish beast i am! i'll go now." "won't you stay an' have supper with allie an' me? we're awful lonesome with pa gone. allie's out som'er's, but--it would do me good to know you was here an' it 'll do you good to stay. you can rest yourself while i take my nap." ma briskow did not wish to take a nap, but she knew that gray needed the solace of his own thoughts just now, so, when he agreed, she sent him downstairs. first balm, indeed, had come to the man; the smart was less intense. to put his trouble into words somehow lightened it; then, too, the grateful knowledge that some warmth of sympathy was his made it easier to bear. but it remained a cruel burden. that gentle, dreamy soul up yonder could not know how it hurt. how could she understand, for instance, what it meant to go back and face the deadly dull routine of a life from which all zest, all interest, had fled? a routine broken only by moments of downright torture. yes, and the effort it would take to smile! god! if there were only some way to break his fetters, slip his gyves! gray's brain, like his body, had grown tired and feverish. to be sure, little more than a day had gone by since he had sallied forth like a knight, but it seemed a year, an age, and every hour brought a new and keener distress. he found it possible now, for the first time, to relax a bit physically, so he closed his eyes and lay back in an easy chair while the twilight stole in upon him. sooner or later his mind, too, would cease its torment, for pain distils its own anodyne. then he would sleep. it would be a blessing to forget for even an hour, and thus gain strength with which to carry on the fight. but what a useless battle it was! he could never win; peace would never come. he heard allie enter the house, but he did not stir. he would have to put on the mask soon enough, for, of course, she must never suspect, on buddy's account. the room, which had grown agreeably dark, was suddenly illuminated, and he lurched to his feet to find the girl facing him from the door. she was neither startled nor surprised at his presence, and when he tried to smile and to greet her in his accustomed manner, she interrupted him by saying: "i knew you were here." "so? then ma is awake again?" allie shook her head vaguely. "i knew you were here the minute i came in. i can 'most always tell." there had been a shadow of a smile upon her lips, but it vanished; a look of growing concern crept over her face. "what's the matter? whatever has happened, mr. gray?" "why, nothing. i was feeling tired, worn out. indulging myself in a thoroughly enjoyable fit of the blues." his voice broke when he tried to laugh. allie uttered a quick, low cry, a wordless, sympathetic sound. her dark eyes widened, grew darker; she came forward a step or two, then she halted. "would you rather be alone?" she asked. he signified his dissent, and she went on: "i know what the blues are like. i sit alone in the dark a good deal." she busied herself about the room for a few moments, straightening things, adjusting the window shades. allie had the knack of silence, blessed attribute in man or woman, and to gray's surprise he found that her mere presence was comforting. she startled him by saying, suddenly: "you're hurt! hurt badly!" he looked up at her with an instinctive denial upon his lips, but, realizing the futility of deceit, he nodded. "yes, allie." the girl drew a deep breath, her strong hands closed, harshly she said: "i could kill anybody that hurt you. i wanted to kill buddy that time. is it those nelsons? have they got you down?" there was something fierce and masterful in allie's concern, and her inquiry carried with it even more than a proffer of help; she had, in fact, flung herself into a protective attitude. she suggested nothing so much as a lioness roused. "no, no! it is nothing like that. i merely fooled myself--had a dream. you wouldn't understand, my dear." allie studied him soberly for a moment. "oh yes, i would! i do! i understand perfectly. nobody _could_ understand as well as i do." "what do you mean by that?" "i've been hurt, too." she laid a hand upon her breast. "that's why i sit in the dark." "my dear child! i'm sorry. gus said you were unhappy, but i thought it was merely--the new life. you're young; you can forget. it's only us old ones who can't forget. sometime you must tell me all about it." the girl smiled faintly, but he nodded, positively: "oh, it's a relief to tell somebody! i feel better already for confiding in ma. yes, and your sympathy is mighty soothing, too. it seems almost as if i had come home." he closed his eyes and laid his head back. allie placed her hand upon his forehead and held it there for a moment before she moved away. it was a cool and tranquilizing palm and he wished she would hold it there for a long time, so that he could sleep, forget-- allie briskow went to her room, and there she studied her reflection in the mirror carefully, deliberately, before saying: "you can do it. you've _got_ to do it, for he's hurt. when a girl is hurt like that, it makes a woman of her, but when a man's hurt it makes him a little boy. i--i guess it pays to keep on praying." it was perhaps a half hour later that ma briskow heard a sound that caused her to rise upon her elbow and listen with astonishment. it was the sound of low, indistinct, but joyous singing; it came from allie's room. allie singing again! what could have happened? slowly ma's face became wistful, eager. "oh, mister fairy king!" she whispered. "please build up his castle again. you can do it. there's magic in the world. make him a duke again, an' her a queen, for yours is the power an' the glory for ever an' ever. amen!" the end trip to the west and texas. comprising a journey of eight thousand miles, through new-york, michigan, illinois, missouri, louisiana and texas, in the autumn and winter of - . interspersed with anecdotes, incidents and observations. with a brief sketch of the texian war. by a.a. parker, esq. second edition. concord, n.h.: published by william white. boston: benjamin b. mussey. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by white & fisher, in the clerk's office of the district court of new-hampshire. preface. the author of this work, unknown to fame, and unacquainted with the art of book-making, has endeavored, in the following pages, to give some account of the great western and southern country. in performing this task, he has not attempted the regions of fancy and fiction; but has told his own story--"a plain unvarnished tale," in his own way. and although it may not indicate much depth of research, or possess all the graces of polished diction and charms of novelty, yet he hopes it may be found to contain information sufficient to repay a perusal. he spent five months on his journey, and examined the country through which he passed, as much as time would permit:--its soil, climate and productions--the manners, customs and health of the inhabitants--the animals, reptiles and insects--in short, all things favorable and unfavorable in the new world. he has freely spoken of the country just as it appeared to him; and he believes the information this work purports to give, may be safely relied upon. but if it should be found to contain errors of fact, or of opinion, he is confident they will be deemed unintentional. it would have been quite easy to make a much larger book of the author's travels; and had he followed the example set him by some of the journalists of the day, he should have done so. but his object was not to make a large and expensive volume. he has given in a concise form, such descriptions, incidents and anecdotes only, as he believes may instruct and amuse, and enable the public to form a correct opinion of the country. how he has succeeded in his undertaking, others, of course, will judge for themselves; he hopes this little work may be found not entirely destitute of useful and entertaining matter, and prove an acceptable offering to his friends and fellow-citizens. in the appendix, will be found a particular description of michigan, and a brief sketch of the texian revolutionary war. in this sketch, the author has consulted all the accounts given of this sanguinary war, and he believes it will be found correct in all its essential particulars: but he does not wish to conceal the fact, that amidst the hurry and bustle of a revolution perfect accuracy is hardly attainable. contents. chapter i. objects of the trip--albany, situation and appearance--erie canal basin--western travellers--rail road--canal boats, packets, line boats and scows--accommodations--number of boats--mode of passing each other--tow-pathbridges--accident in crossing--erie canal--villages and grog-shops--trenton falls--ithaca falls--taghcanic falls--rochester--canal aqueduct--genesee falls--sam patch's last leap--flouring mills--lockport--double canal locks--deep cut--arrival at buffalo. page, chapter ii. the city of buffalo--steamboat on the niagara river--fort erie--black rock--visit to niagara falls--canada shore--manchester--state of new-york--emigration--return to buffalo--different routes to the west--passage in steamboat--cleaveland--maumee--monroe--number of emigrants--vessels on the lake--detroit--the canada shore--ferry boats. chapter iii. travelling by stage to the mouth of st. joseph river--miry roads--ann arbor--upsilanti--oak openings--prairies and woodland--michigan, level, clear water, but not pure---jackson--marshall--gull lake and prairie--kalamazoo river--bronson--pawpaw river--st. joseph village--lake michigan--misfortune of an emigrant--crossing the lake--michigan city--stage road on the beach. chapter iv. chicago, a general description thereof--pottawattomie tribe of indians, their appearance and actions--the land back of chicago--the lakes and their original outlet through the illinois river--character of the inhabitants of chicago--house rent and provisions. chapter v. trip to fox river--fellow travellers--river oplane--du page river and naper's settlement--big and little woods--pleasant settlement of emigrants--fox river--upper house--lost in a prairie at night--log house--travelling towards rock river--gravel hills--walker's grove. chapter vi. general description of the north part of illinois--various kinds of trees--prairies--excellent coal--government grant of land--unsurveyed land settled upon--pre-emption right--not subject to fever and ague--wild game--prairie wolves and mode of killing them--prairie rattle snakes, blackbirds and squirrels--manner of judging of a new country--anecdote of a vermont emigrant--new-hampshire emigrant--statements of settlers and landholders not always to be credited. chapter vii. holderman's grove--ottawa--junction of fox and illinois rivers--hennipen--princeton--present and past situation of an emigrant--massacre of elijah philips by the indians, and the fortunate escape of his companions. chapter viii. peoria--beauty of the surrounding country--fever and ague--scholars studying aloud in school--stages from peoria--anecdote of a tavern keeper--illinois river--passage down it in a steamboat--narrow lakes--high bluffs--pekin--beardstown--naples--arrival at upper alton. chapter ix. general description of the state of illinois--streams skirted with timber--more than half prairie--a level state--generally rich soil--american bottom--military bounty lands--beautiful region of sangamon river--the best tracts of land in the state--more good land than any other state--cause of the existence of prairies--country once inhabited by a civilized race anterior to the indians--its rivers, kankakee, oplane, du page, fox, illinois, rock, spoon, kaskaskia, wabash, &c.--lead mines--productions--milk-sickness--chief towns--schools, &c. chapter x. burning of the prairies--backwoodsmen--society--meeting-houses and school-houses--what kind of goods an emigrant ought to take with him--cheapness of provisions--manner of commencing a settlement--ploughing the prairies--guarding the improvements against the prairie fires--junction of the missouri with the mississippi--arrival at st. louis--a description of the town--steam ferry boat. chapter xi. general description of the state of missouri--south part generally barren, or wet and unhealthy--soil not muddy--prairie on the mississippi--banks of the missouri--large prairies destitute of wood and water--productions--prairie blossoms--wild animals, snakes, &c.--dryness and purity of the atmosphere--diseases--mildness of the winter--lead mines and minerals--chief towns. chapter xii. voyage down the mississippi in a steamboat--high bluffs--screw auger grist mills--shot towers--curiosities--dangers of the mississippi navigation--narrow escape--run aground on a sand bar--mouth of the ohio--cargo of the boat--amusements on board--history of one of the ladies--"queen of the nile"--description of the steamboat--price of passage--wooding the boat--ludicrous fracas on board--noise of the boats, &c.--peculiarities of expression of the western people--names of money. chapter xiii. independent frankness of the western people--eastern people--towns on the river--great earthquake at new madrid--bluffs on the river--woodcutters--serpentine course of the mississippi--negro slaves on board--one died of the cholera--benefit of steamboat navigation--flat boats still in use. chapter xiv. arrival at natchez--description of the city--starts for texas with another traveller--cotton plantations--description of the cotton plant--passage through the great mississippi swamp--cypress knees, water and mud--tensaw river--overtaken by night in the swamp--gloomy situation--lake lovelace--planter's house on indian mound--mildness of the weather--good accommodations--travelling in a right spirit--anecdote of a testy traveller. chapter xv. outlet of the lake--washita river--harrisonburg--pine woods--description of a planter--red river rightly named--changes at its mouth--arrival at alexandria and description of the place--race-course and horses--death of a gambler--fruit trees and vegetables--moschetoes. chapter xvi. bayou rapide--fine cotton plantations--stream running in opposite directions--accompanied by another traveller--pine woods--planter's house--price of meals, &c.--spanish moss--bottom land covered with dense forest--pine woods--the widow's house--manner of lodging travellers--inquisitiveness of the people--emigrants to texas--sabine river. chapter xvii. arrival in texas--oak openings and prairies--plantations of corn and cotton--st. augustine--arrival at nacogdoches--its grotesque appearance--indian trade in deer pelts--galveston bay and texas land company--four leagues of land for a dog--pine woods--indian mounds--mounds in ohio, missouri and illinois--monastery near a mound--their origin and use--neches river--new made bridge. chapter xviii. leave the pine woods--wet prairie--trinity river--planter's house--death of an emigrant's wife--perplexities of emigration--an emigrant lost his money--breach of trust in a hired man--beautiful prairies--muddy streams--red cedar--petrified wood--mode of grinding corn--living from hand to mouth--beautiful prospect--indians on horseback--massacre of twenty polanders--muddy swamp--brazos river--spanish trader--indians more friendly to americans than spaniards--prairie country--cole's settlement--live oak--colorado river. chapter xix. general view of texas--herds of buffalo and wild horses--mustangs, manner of catching--seacoast flat--galveston bay and texas land company--burning of the prairies--fine grazing country--wildgame--deer-hunting--shooting deer in the night--productions of the soil--list of forest trees--spanish moss--health of the country and climate. chapter xx. rivers of texas--seacoast--mill-seats--land grants--number of inhabitants--exports--inhabitants indolent--cheapness of land and manner of obtaining it--reptiles and animals--panther--flies--moschetoes--indian tribes--water too warm. chapter xxi. towns in texas--spanish villages--mexican garrisons--texas--mechanics--texas and cohahuila united--courts of law--professional men--unlawful punishments--salt lake--negroes indented--boundaries of texas--general appearance of the country--rainy season--roads and carriages--emigration. chapter xxii. emigrants unhappy--mexican republic unsettled--col. austin--imprisonment--texians slandered--healthy portions of the country--what an emigrant ought to take with him--price of stock--mail routes--currency--best spot in texas--emigrant puzzled--how property may be acquired. chapter xxiii. arrival at san felipe--billiard room--gambler shot--bloody affray about a lady--ten men to one woman in the country--arrival at columbia and bell's landing--started down river in a canoe--brazoria--went on board a vessel--hunting excursion of the mate--brazos river--velasco--sandy beach. chapter xxiv. passed over the bar and left texas--reasons for emigrating in the fall--means for going to texas--speculation--passengers on board--sea sickness--vessel run aground--mississippi steam tow-boats--sugar plantations and negroes--making sugar. chapter xxv. city of new-orleans--vessels in port--muddy streets and filthy gutters--houses of dissipation--character of the inhabitants--resort of knaves and vagabonds--ship yards--canal and railroad--no wharves. chapter xxvi. start down the river--nunnery--battle-ground--negro slavery--the situation of the negroes--general views on the subject. chapter xxvii. general description of the mississippi river--its source--its tributaries--wisconsin and illinois--missouri, its source and tributaries--gates of the rocky mountains--ohio river, its general character and appearance--white, arkansas and red rivers--outlets of the mississippi--falls of st. anthony--dacota indian woman--river banks--width of the stream and depth of water--mississippi swamp--serpentine course--color of the waters--the most interesting river in the world. chapter xxviii. sail for boston--sea voyage disagreeable to a landsman--change of scenery--chatham, boston--arrival at home. chapter xxix. retrospective glance at the great mississippi valley--character, appearance and natural productions--conclusion. appendix. michigan, --population, --face of the country, --wayne county, --monroe county, --washtenaw county, --macomb county, --oakland county, --st. clair county, --st. joseph county, --cass county, --berrien county, --lapeer and saginaw counties, --shiawassee county, --calhoun county, --kalamazoo county, --branch and hillsdale counties, --lenawee county, --barry, eaton and ingham counties on grand river, . texian revolution. first campaign. introductory remarks, --causes of the war, --parallel case, --col. austin released and sent to texas, --capture of the armed schooner correo, --first battle on land at gonzales, --capture of goliad, --col. milam, --army marched towards san antonio, --san antonio besieged, --commissioners to the united states appointed, --san antonio stormed and taken, --the brave col. milam killed, and sketch of his life, . gen. mexia's expedition, -- men shot at tampico, --volunteers from the united states--col. stanley's regiment, --general council convened, and citizens of goliad make a declaration of independence, --state of affairs in mexico, decree of santa anna, --embargo laid, --indians called to aid santa anna, --flag of texas, --post-offices and mail routes, --mexicans preparing for another campaign, --situation of texas, . second campaign. the mexican army arrive in texas, commanded by santa anna in person, --situation of san antonio, --capture and massacre of col. johnson's party, --second attack upon the fort, --the fort attacked at midnight, taken and the garrison all slain, --gen. cos, --declaration of independence, --officers of the government, --goliad abandoned, and col. fanning party attacked in the prairie, --col. fanning surrenders, and his party massacred, . gen. houston retreats to the brazos, --the inhabitants become alarmed and flee, --massacre at copano, --skirmish at sea, --gen. gaines marches to the frontier of texas, --indians on the western prairies, --capture of santa anna, --the independence of texas certain, --texian independence agitated in u.s. congress, --table of the chief towns in texas and distances from san felipe, . advertisement. the public approbation of this work, so fully manifested by a rapid and entire sale of the first edition, has induced the publishers to issue another, much enlarged and improved edition. the broad expanse of country, stretching from the alleghany mountains to the pacific ocean, much of which is unsurveyed, unsettled and unexplored, is an interesting portion of the united states. it is believed, there are two hundred million acres of public lands yet unsurveyed in wisconsin territory--fifty millions in michigan--and millions in missouri, mississippi, and arkansas. to all these, are to be added the illimitable tracts, hardly yet trodden by the foot of civilized man, which lie in the unpeopled immensity, on both sides of the rocky mountains. the value of this vast domain, at the minimum government price, defies all calculation. what a source of revenue for the present and the future! but when the boundless resources that now lie hidden in its hills and mountains shall have become developed--when the vast plains shall have been settled--and towns, villages and farm houses arise in the lonely wilderness, and the teeming soil be cultivated--who then will be able to estimate the value of this great territory of the west? in ten years, the west will have a majority in the united states congress; in a century, a large portion of it will contain a population as dense, perhaps, as that of the atlantic states. public attention, within a few years, has been directed to this section of our country--emigration has received a new impulse--government lands are sought for with avidity, and the whole country is rapidly settling. to the emigrant, speculator, and indeed, the whole people of the united states as joint owners of the public domain, any book giving information upon this subject, must be acceptable and of real value. the publishers, therefore, anticipate a rapid sale of the present edition. trip to the west and texas. chapter i. in september, , i left exeter, new-hampshire, for the purpose of visiting the western states and texas. although public attention had been for some time directed thither, by various published sketches and frequent emigration, yet so little was definitely known, that i was induced to travel through these sections of the country to learn their actual situation and condition. my object was not to visit the settled regions of the country, a full knowledge of which may be obtained from books, but to see some portion of the unknown and unsettled regions of the west and the south. my particular attention was, therefore, directed to michigan, illinois, missouri, louisiana and texas. but so rapidly are some portions of this new country settling; so constantly are new villages springing up in the wilderness; and so continually are improvements making, that history must continue to lag behind the reality. to keep any thing like an even pace with population, and the public constantly informed of the actual condition of the country, would require, like an almanac, an annual revision and publication of its history. i took passage on board the stage, through brattleborough and bennington, to albany. about twelve years ago, i travelled over this route, and was gratified to find so many improvements in the villages, farms, and especially in the stage road, since i had travelled it before. in passing through vermont, i found a new road had been made to avoid the high hills over which it formerly passed, so that now, i believe this is the easiest and safest route across the green mountains. two opposition turnpikes were almost completed from bennington to troy--one entering at the upper, the other at the lower part of the city. the public have been badly accommodated in this quarter. the old road is rough, hilly and circuitous. one of the turnpikes would have been abundantly sufficient; but if troy chooses to make two, the travelling public will not probably object. opposition seems to be the order of the day; and although it has caused much improvement in the ease and facility of travelling, yet it is often troublesome and annoying. as we drove up to the door of the stage house in albany, an agent of one of the steamboats, thrust in his head and gave us a handbill of a boat--enquired if we were going down the river, and without waiting for an answer, said it was a good boat, swift, low pressure engine, start at nine in the morning, fare to new-york city only _fifty cents_. in the bar-room, we had to pass through the same ceremony with the agent of another boat; and i had to take a third edition in the street next morning. the erie canal terminates in a large basin, immediately on the banks of the hudson river, so that the freight of the canal boats can be conveniently transferred to the river boats. western travellers can here take passage on board the canal boat, or go on the railroad to schenectady and take a boat there. but as the canal is twice the distance of the railroad, travellers generally choose the latter. travellers from the north, when accompanied by their families and baggage, usually stop at troy, and take a canal boat there, for the west. the ancient city of albany has the appearance of much business and wealth; and some portions of it are pleasant, especially in the region of the state house and other public buildings. from the river, the ground rapidly rises, so that the city stands upon the side of a hill, and makes a fine appearance, when viewed from the opposite shore. the railroad commences in state street, a short distance below the state house yard; and so steep is the ascent, that the cars are drawn for a mile by horses. here a steam engine was hitched on, and we started off at a rapid rate. the distance from albany to schenectady is sixteen miles, and we travelled it over in less than an hour. here we were assailed by the agents and captains of the canal boats, and those who could make the most noise and bustle, and obtain the most passengers, were the best fellows. there are three kinds of boats in general use on the canal. the packet boats, drawn by three horses, and go at the rate of about five miles an hour. they are fitted up in good style, intended exclusively for passengers and their baggage--having elegant cabins, drawing-rooms, berths, &c. fare, five cents a mile and found. the line boats--designed for freight and passengers also. these are drawn by two horses, and travel at the rate of two and a half or three miles an hour. the fare is one cent a mile for passage only; and one and a half cents addition per mile, for board. families travelling to the west, generally take the line boats. they can travel much cheaper than in any other mode. they furnish their own provisions, and have the privilege of cooking on board the boat. provisions are plenty and cheap, and can be bought at almost every stopping place, along the whole line of the canal. and the scows, used exclusively for grain, flour, lumber, &c., which are employed by the farmers to carry their own produce to market. these are drawn by two horses; and many of them have two sets of horses, and stalls made on board to keep one set, while the other draws the boat; and at regular intervals, relieve each other. by this means, they keep the boat continually going, night and day. the packet boats ply between the large towns on the canal, from schenectady to utica; from utica to rochester, &c., so that a traveller, in going through the whole route, must shift his baggage and himself from one boat to another, three or four times. but the line boats run the whole length of the canal, from albany or troy to buffalo.--these boats are furnished with horses by a company, who have them stationed at regular intervals of about twelve miles the whole distance. all the boats, at night, carry two brilliant lights in the bow, so as to enable the helmsman to steer, and avoid other boats when they meet. i took passage on board one of the troy and erie line. i found good accommodations, and good company. in the forward part of the boat, were the gentlemen's and ladies' cabins; in the stern, the dining and cook rooms; and in the centre the place for freight. it was about seventy feet long, and twelve or fourteen feet in width. three other passengers, besides myself, went the whole route; a lady and her daughter from pennsylvania, and a dr. warren of rhode island; and way-passengers were continually coming aboard, and leaving the boat, at our several stopping places. i found travelling on the canal pleasant, and in fine weather, delightful. we were continually passing villages, farms, locks, viaducts, or boats; and these, with the company aboard, afforded an agreeable variety. when i wished for exercise, i would jump ashore, and take a walk along the hard trod tow-path. i was really surprised to find so many boats on the canal. we met them almost every mile, and sometimes, three or four together. the line boats are owned by companies; and the captain told me that forty-five boats belonged to his line. when one happens to run aground, which is sometimes the case, when deeply laden and the water low, it is of course, in the centre of the canal; so that boats cannot pass on either side; in such an event, twenty or thirty boats will be congregated in a few hours. the boats pass each other on the left hand side, and without trouble or delay. the whole process of passing belongs to the outside boat; or the one the farthest from the tow-path. all the inside boat has to do, is to steer near the tow-path, and keep on as usual. the outside boat hauls one way, and their horses the other, and lets the tow-rope slack, so that the inside horses and boat can pass over it, between them. the tow-path sometimes changes from one side to the other of the canal; and the horses are transferred by means of a bridge. they pass underneath the bridge, and turn up on to it the further side; so as to keep the tow-rope clear of it. the riders display their horsemanship by whipping over these bridges at full speed. accidents, however, sometimes occur. one day, the packet boat passed us, a short distance from a tow-path bridge; and as the horses were going at full speed across it, the forward one slipped, fell over the railing, and drew the others after him. the rider saved himself by leaping from the horse to the bridge. the two forward horses fell into the water, and came out uninjured; but the rear one fell across the edge of the tow-path and was killed on the spot. the erie canal is a great and noble work; and has gained a niche in the temple of fame, for its great founder. it has been of incalculable benefit to new-york, and the rising states in the west; and must continue to be, in all time to come. now it is completed, and in successful operation, men may cease to wonder; but so improbable was it generally thought to be, to make such a long line of canal, on a route so difficult and expensive, that an intelligent gentleman informed me, when he was asked by one of the surveyors, if he should not admire to see boats passing before his door; emphatically replied, if life were guaranteed till that event, he would then willingly resign it. a few years only passed, before the event did happen, but he is not yet _quite_ willing to die. it was indeed a great undertaking. none but a man of a gigantic mind, of steady purpose and firm resolution, could have conceived, planned and executed it. it all along bears the marks of so much labor and expense, that a common mind would have been deterred from making the attempt. the canal passes over an extent of country much more rough, broken and hilly than i had supposed. long levels of canal are found to be sure; but they are made at great expense, by filling up deep gullies, winding round the side of hills, or deep cuts through them; and by walling up the side of streams, or aqueducts over them. every few miles, the canal passes through a village. many of these have sprung into existence, since the completion of the canal; and others have much increased in size, wealth and beauty. they are all _ornamented_ with grog-shops, containing, among other miscellaneous matter, an abundant supply of "boat-stores." new-york has a great variety of romantic scenery. it has more beautiful and stupendous water-falls than any other state in the union; and the lover of nature's choicest works might very pleasantly spend months in viewing them. trenton falls, on the west canada creek, a large stream that empties into the mohawk, are situated about twenty-four miles above its mouth. they consist of several _chutes_ for the distance of two miles, commencing near black river road, and terminating at conrad's mills. the upper fall is about twenty feet; and the descent above, for two miles, is not less than sixty feet. the water, here compressed into a narrow space, is received into a large basin, rolls down a precipitous ravine a hundred feet in depth, and presents to the eye the most romantic peculiarities.--some of the topmost crags overhanging the stream; and here and there, a hardy tree, having gained a foot-hold in the crevices of the rock, throws its branches athwart the abyss. there are six distinct falls. the next below, are two pitches, called the cascades; where the water falls eighteen feet--the mill dam fall, of thirteen feet. the high falls, consisting of three pitches--one of forty-eight, the second of eleven, and the third, of thirty-seven feet--sherman's falls, of thirty-five feet. the last fall is at conrad's mills, and is only six feet; but the descent of water, from the top of the upper fall to the lower one, is three hundred and eighty-seven feet--and the whole forms as wild and romantic a scene as the enthusiastic lover of nature's most eccentric works could desire. organic remains have been found in the ravine in abundance, and mr. sherman has a cabinet of them, which are exhibited to the curious. ithaca falls are situated at the head of cayuga lake. the high fall of fall river is the first that strikes the eye, in going from the steamboat landing to the village, and is one hundred and sixteen feet in height. two immense piles of rocks enclose the stream. on the right hand high up the bluff, a mill-race is seen winding around a point in the bank, suspended in mid air; and sometimes an adventurous visitor, may be seen cautiously wending his way along the dizzy path on the verge of the abyss. the mill-race was built, by letting a man down over the giddy steep by a rope fastened to a tree above, who dug holes in the bluff, in which to fasten its principal supports. a short distance from this, up the rocky bed of the creek, is another splendid fall--not so high as the first, but more wild and beautiful. above these, are three more falls, the upper one of which is the highest fall of water of any, and is the most grand and imposing. these four falls have a descent of four hundred and thirty-eight feet in the short distance of a mile, and present to the eye as great a variety of the romantic and beautiful in nature, as earth affords. there are cascadilla, six mile creek, buttermilk creek, &c. &c. many romantic scenes and splendid falls; but it would interfere with the design of this work to stop to describe them. i cannot, however, leave the high falls on taghcanic creek without a passing notice. they are eight miles from ithaca, near a landing place called goodwin's point; and are two hundred and thirty-eight feet perpendicular! who shall attempt to describe such a magnificent exhibition as this; or the effect it produces on the mind! this is said to be the favorite resort of parties of pleasure and lovers of the picturesque. and who, but the real invalid, would ignobly spend his time at saratoga, when scenes like these await him in the interior of new-york. after passing many fine villages, we at last arrived at the city of rochester. it is indeed, a large and flourishing city. it is situated on both sides of the genesee river, is well built, mostly of brick, and contains over thirteen thousand inhabitants. near the upper part of the city, the canal crosses the river, by a splendid aqueduct of red free-stone, eight hundred and four feet in length, having eleven arches, and elevated fourteen feet above the common level of the water. while the boat stopped, i went down the river to see the great falls. they are about eighty rods below where the canal crosses, and are ninety-seven feet perpendicular. here _sam patch_ made his last leap in the autumn of . in the centre of the river, and at the verge of the precipice over which the water falls, is a ledge of rocks, called table rock, about six or seven feet in height above the water. on this table rock, a scaffold was erected, about twenty-five feet high, so that from the top of the scaffold to the bottom of the falls, the perpendicular height was one hundred and twenty-five feet. from this giddy height, sam patch made his "last jump," in the presence of a vast multitude of people, who had assembled to witness this daring feat, and, as it proved, fatal leap. sam never rose from the boiling flood below; but his body was carried by the current to the mouth of the river at the lake, and was there found, the next spring. who will be the biographer of _sam patch_? what a pity it is some phrenologist had not examined his head. he must have had a tremendous _jumping bump_. for myself, i could not stand on the dizzy brink of the river, and look down into the awful chasm below, with any tolerable degree of composure. these things, however, much depend upon practice. a sailor would have thought nothing of standing on the most projecting rock; or of walking along the highest precipice. in , the site of rochester was a wilderness; now it is a large city. its great staple of trade is flour. it contains eleven flouring mills with fifty-three run of stones; and can grind twelve thousand bushels of wheat in twenty-four hours. after travelling from this place sixty-three miles, we found ourselves at lockport, on the _mountain ridge_. at this place, the canal has a double row of locks adjacent to each other; five for ascending, and five for descending; each twelve feet deep, making the ascent sixty feet. this is the most admirable work of the whole canal. between the two rows of locks, are stone steps, guarded on each side by iron railings. in , there were here but two houses; now, it contains four hundred, and is a pleasant village. passengers for niagara falls, leave the canal here, as they are as near them, at this place, as they would be at buffalo. after travelling nineteen miles, the first three of which, was through a deep cut of limestone, from twenty to thirty feet in depth, we came in full view of the majestic niagara river. on the margin of this stream, the canal passes by the village of black rock, to its termination at the city of buffalo. chapter ii. the city of buffalo is beautifully situated on lake erie, near its outlet; and possesses the advantages of a lake and canal navigation. it is built chiefly of brick, containing many elegant buildings, and has ten or twelve thousand inhabitants. in the harbor lay many vessels, steamboats and canal boats, and it exhibited all the show, stir and bustle of a maritime city. from this place, you have a fine view of the lake, canada shore, and the surrounding country. i was, at this time, only twenty-three miles from the celebrated falls of niagara, and i could not pass so near without going to view them. after spending a day in buffalo, i took a steamboat down niagara river, to visit the falls. on the canada side, you have a view of the small village of waterloo, near which, are the ruins of fort erie, the theatre of several severe battles during the late war. on the american side, three miles below buffalo, is black rock, a pleasant village, having much romantic scenery around it. niagara river, above the falls, is of various breadths, from a mile and a half, to three or four miles. after passing grand island, i beheld the spray arising like a cloud, from the falls; and could hear the roaring of the water. i landed from the boat, about two miles above them on the american side, and took a stage. immediately on alighting at the hotel, i walked down to the river, and beheld for the first time, the celebrated falls of niagara. such a vast body of water, falling into so deep a chasm, with a noise like thunder, and with such power that it shakes the ground on which you stand, strikes one with wonder and awe! one is inclined to stand still, and gaze in silence. other falls and deep chasms i had seen; but this presented itself on such a gigantic scale, and so much out of proportion to other objects of the kind, that it appeared to my unpractised eye incomprehensible. other and abler pens have given the world many minute descriptions of these falls; and were it otherwise, i have not the vanity to suppose any description i could give would enable any one to form a full and just conception of them. nature has here laid out her work upon a large scale, and with a master hand. a mighty river, the outpourings of the great lakes above, tumbling rapidly along for a mile over its rocky bed, here leaps quietly down one hundred and sixty feet into the awful chasm below. above the falls, the banks slope gently down to the water's edge; so that you can stand on the brink of the precipice, and put your foot into the water where it rolls over it--below, the bank immediately rises, and forms a chasm three hundred feet in depth. eight or ten rods below the falls, is the passage down to the ferry; composed, most of the way, of enclosed wooden steps; and the remainder, of steps made in the rocky cliff. i went down these steps, crossed over in the boat, tossed to and fro by the boiling, raging flood; and liberally sprinkled with the spray of the falls. on the canada side, the bank is not perpendicular, so that a zigzag road has been made for passengers to travel up and down it. on this side, is the table rock, near the falls; and here you have the best view of them. at this spot a flight of steps lead to the bottom; and from this point a person can go one hundred and fifty-three feet under the sheet of water. dresses and a guide are furnished to those who have the curiosity to enter. on my return to the american side, i walked over the bridge to bath island, and from that to goat island. this last island contains perhaps twelve acres, is covered with a fine growth of wood, has a walk near the water, all around it, and benches and summer house to rest the weary traveller. it divides the falls, and is probably twenty rods wide on the cliff, over which the water pitches. at the foot of this island, a circular enclosed stairway has been built by n. biddle, esq. president of the u.s. bank, by which a person can descend down the cliff, between the two sheets of water. and here it was that sam patch leaped one hundred and eighteen feet from a platform, made by ladders. the trees on the island are covered with names; and the register at the hotel not only contains names, but sentiments also. i spent an evening very pleasantly in conning them over. on the canada side there are one large hotel and some few dwelling houses; on the american side, are two large hotels, and a fine village, called manchester. after spending two days at the falls, i took a seat in the stage for buffalo. new-york, i believe, possesses more of the sublime and beautiful, than all the remainder of the united states. it has its mountains, lakes, springs, rivers, water-falls, canals, railroads and edifices.--other states can shew some of these, in a greater or less degree; but as a whole, new-york must bear the palm. its resources are vast--it is a nation of itself. but notwithstanding its attractive scenery and rich lands, the "western fever" rages here as violent as on the sterile hills of new-hampshire. i found more families from new-york at the west and moving thither, than from all the new-england states. they, too, seek a better country; and some would undoubtedly be discontented if they lived in paradise. at detroit, i saw a man who said he had just made a purchase of a tract of land near pontiac, about thirty miles distant in a northwest direction. he lived near rochester, had a fine farm, raised from five hundred to one thousand bushels of wheat a year; a ready market and the average price one dollar a bushel; clear of debt, and growing rich; but the lands were cheap at the west, so he sold his farm, and was moving into the wilderness! the man was about sixty years of age: so if he has good luck, by the time he gets a farm well cleared, a good house and improvements, he will be too old to enjoy earthly possessions. but just the same feeling is manifested in kentucky, ohio and indiana. and even in illinois itself, some i found, seeking a better country farther west! persons travelling to illinois, or farther west, can take passage in a vessel or steamboat from buffalo to chicago. the distance by water is one thousand miles; for they must go through lake erie, st. clair, huron and lake michigan. the distance by land is not so far by one half; but the water passage is the cheapest, attended with less hardship, and much the best way to convey goods. there are two other routes to chicago. take a steamboat at buffalo for monroe, in michigan territory; and from thence, there is a good stage route, through tecumseh, niles, michigan city, and along the south end of the lake michigan to chicago--or take a steamboat to detroit; from thence the stage to the mouth of st. joseph, and cross the lake in a schooner to chicago. my object was to see something of michigan; so i took passage in a steamboat for detroit. on board this boat, there were probably two hundred passengers; besides a number of horses and oxen, wagons, household furniture and baggage.--most of them were emigrants, chiefly destined to some part of michigan. the cabin passage is eight dollars--deck three dollars. of the whole number not more than ten took the cabin passage. we stopped at portland, erie, ashtabula, fairport, cleaveland and sandusky, and arrived at detroit in two days--distance three hundred and five miles. cleaveland is the most important place on the south shore of lake erie. the ohio canal here enters the lake, so that a person can go down this canal into the ohio river; and from thence take steamboat conveyance to the western states. it is quite a large town; containing five thousand inhabitants, and has three spacious houses for public worship, a seamen's chapel, and two banks. there are three newspapers published here, and it shows all the stir and bustle of business and trade. this place has rapidly increased within a few years: and if it continues to improve in the same ratio, it will soon take its station alongside of buffalo and cincinnati. its inhabitants are very spirited and enterprising. they have contributed, as i am informed, fifteen thousand dollars for the purpose of levelling down some of the high bluffs between the village and harbor, and grading the streets. the flood of emigration, constantly pouring onward, to the far west, is immense. in the year , about sixty thousand emigrants left buffalo, to go to the west by water; and in , not less than eighty thousand there embarked, besides those who took passage from other ports. no calculation can be made, of the number that have passed along the south shore of the lake by land; but, i was informed, a gentleman counted two hundred and fifty wagons in one day! the western world is all alive. the lakes, the streams, the prairies, and forests, are all teeming with life, and exhibit all the noise and bustle of human industry and enterprise. in there were but one steamboat and a few small schooners on lake erie; now there are thirty steamboats, and one hundred and fifty schooners and two large brigs! and the birds and beasts of the forest are continually alarmed at the sight of human habitations and villages, so suddenly arising, within their own exclusive haunts and pleasure grounds! monroe, in michigan, is pleasantly situated on the river raisin, opposite to frenchtown, and is six miles from its mouth. it is forty miles, by water, south of detroit, and is the county seat for monroe county, has a court house, jail, land office, three hotels, twenty-six stores, and probably two thousand inhabitants. it is situated in a fertile district, and has a number of mills and distilleries in its vicinity. a beautiful large steamboat, called the monroe, was built here, the past season, and made its first trip down the lake while i was at buffalo. as this town is nearer on a direct line from buffalo to the west than detroit, it will shortly become the great thoroughfare of travel to the western country. a new town has recently been laid out, on the north bank of the maumee river. it takes the name of the river; and is situated on a plat of table land elevated forty feet above the stream, at the foot of the falls, and ten miles from lake erie. the river is deep and navigable for all vessels sailing on the lake. the falls are about thirty feet, and afford an immense water power--equal to that of lowell. it has now fifty dwelling houses, three stores, one tavern, a saw and grist mill; and preparations are making to erect a large number of buildings the ensuing season, among which are four taverns. two doctors are already settled here; and a limb of the law was on the track to join them. a glance at the map will at once show its favorable location, for a large and flourishing town. the wabash and erie canal, and the cincinnati, dayton and erie canal, will both terminate at this place. it is situated in the disputed territory, claimed by both ohio and michigan; but if it should prove to be healthy, it will soon take rank with cleaveland and detroit. it is thirty miles south of monroe; and about the same distance west of lower sandusky. a large steamboat is now building here, to run on the lake. on the opposite side of the river, and about a mile above, is the village of perrysburg, of a hundred houses and twelve stores; but as its site is low, and on the shoal side of the river, its location is not therefore so favorable as that of maumee. there are large tracts of flat land, both to the east and west of this place, covered with a heavy growth of timber. detroit is on the river, twenty-five miles above lake erie, and seven below lake st. clair. the river is about a mile wide, and the current sets down at the rate of from two to three miles an hour. it contains about three thousand inhabitants; many of whom are french and some negroes and indians. much business is done here; and it will probably be one of the most important frontier towns; as it possesses a safe harbor and steamboat navigation to buffalo, michilimackinac, green bay, chicago, &c. it is well laid out, and has some fine streets and buildings. its public buildings are a court house, jail, academy, council house, two banks; a presbyterian, episcopalian, methodist, baptist and catholic churches; arsenal, magazine and commissary store house. the streets near the water are dirty, generally having mean buildings, rather too many grog shops among them, and a good deal too much noise and dissipation. the taverns are not generally under the best regulations, although they were crowded to overflowing. i stopped at the steamboat hotel, and i thought enough grog was sold at that bar to satisfy any reasonable demand for the whole village.--when the bell rang for dinner, i hardly knew what it meant. all in and about the house jumped and run as if the house had been on fire; and i thought that to have been the case. i followed the multitude, and found they were only going into the hall to dinner. it was a rough and tumble game at knife and fork--and whoever got seated first, and obtained the best portion of dinner, was the best fellow. those who came after, must take care of themselves the best way they could; and were not always able to obtain a very abundant supply. at night, i was obliged to sleep in a small room, having three beds in it, take a companion and a dirty bed. in travelling, i am always disposed to make the best of every thing, and complain of nothing if it can be avoided. and in starting on this journey, i was aware that i might suffer some hardships and inconveniences; and i had determined to bear with patience every thing that was bearable; but i had not expected to be put to the test in the old settled town of detroit. the house is large enough, and servants enough, but there was a plentiful lack of decent accommodations, in and about it. the upper streets make a fine appearance, and are pleasant and ornamented with some fine buildings. two steam ferry boats ply constantly between this, and a small village called sandwich, on the canada side of the river. on a pleasant afternoon, i crossed the river, and walked three or four miles on the pleasant canada shore. from this position, detroit shows to advantage. detroit has suffered much by disease. fevers, ague and cholera, swept off its hundreds. but it is difficult to discover any other cause for the great number of deaths, than the filthiness of the place, and the dissipation and exposure of many of its inhabitants. it needs reform; and i was informed that the subject had arrested the attention of its best citizens, and they had commenced the work in good earnest. chapter iii. after spending two days at detroit, i took the stage for the mouth of st. joseph river, on lake michigan--fare $ , . the old road leads down the river, five or six miles, and then inclines to the right into the interior. the first forty miles is a level, heavily timbered country; a deep, clayey soil, and a most execrable road. sometimes the coach became fast stuck in the deep sloughs; and we had to get out the best way we could, and help dig it out. at others, we found logs laid across the road for some distance, and the coach jolted so violently over them, that it was impossible to keep our seat. we started early in the morning from detroit, and at ten miles stopped at a decent hotel to breakfast. it was a framed house, and of sufficient size for a common country tavern. in this day's travel, we found some good dwellings, and one brick hotel. late at night, "wearied and worn," we arrived at ann arbor, a flourishing little village on huron river, which empties into the head of lake erie, and is a large clear mill stream. the tavern house is a large, three story building, finished and painted. a long block of buildings for stores, a number of mills on the stream, and a few other buildings, complete the village. in the morning we crossed the river, on a very good bridge, and half a mile further, entered the upper village of ann arbor, much larger than the lower one; having two taverns, a number of stores, dwelling houses, and a court house. it is the seat of justice for washtenaw county. ten miles below this, on the huron river, is situated upsilanti, a pleasant village. the turnpike road from detroit to chicago passes through it; on which a stage runs, carrying the u.s. mail. soon after leaving this village, we came to the "oak openings." there are three kinds of land in the western country--prairie land, entirely destitute of timber, and covered with grass; oak openings, land thinly covered with timber, like a northern apple orchard; and the timber land, having a dense forest of trees. all these diversities of appearance, we found from detroit to the mouth of the st. joseph; although the bur and white oak openings seemed to predominate. michigan is a level country; there are no mountains in it. it is gently undulating, for the most part; sometimes, too level and wet. it is abundantly watered and timbered, and a great deal of excellent timber. i wish i could say as much of the quality of the water. the rivers, little lakes, (and there are many of them,) streams, springs, and wells, contain clear, pellucid, transparent water. it is indeed, too clear to be agreeable to the eye; but it is all impregnated with lime, or iron, or copperas, or something disagreeable to the taste; and is in many places, very unhealthy. i do believe there is not a drop of pure, soft water, in all michigan. i saw none and could hear of none; and i made much inquiry, examined every river, lake, or spring, that i passed, and the result was, i found no pure water that would wash with soap, or was pleasant to the palate. it contains much good land, many pleasant villages, fine situations, and is settling fast; but i cannot say that it is, generally, healthy. it is probable, earth does not afford more rich and beautiful prairies than are found on the route from monroe to michigan city. and there are fine cultivated farms, mills and villages, and scattered settlements, all along the southern part of the territory. but i did not find the ruddy face and vigorous step of the east. the meagre and pale visage, and shaking frame, spoke a language not to be mistaken. we passed jackson, the seat of justice for jackson county, near grand river, and marshall, the seat of justice for calhoun county, on the bank of the kalamazoo river, both flourishing villages. in this section of the country, mill seats are plenty, and there is an abundant supply of timber. at the outlet of gull lake, i saw a well built mill, on as fine a privilege as any one could desire. at the lake, there was a dam, which raised the water four or five feet, and made an abundant supply in the driest season--and fifty rods below where the mill was erected, there was a good fall of water. soon after leaving this mill, we came to gull prairie. this was the first prairie of much extent that i had seen; and its elegant appearance afforded me not a little pleasure. on this prairie there is a small village, and a beautiful prospect around it. the roads had become so bad, that we left the stage coach, after two day's ride, and took a wagon, without any spring seats; and i found it so fatiguing to ride, that i often preferred walking. when we arrived at this little village, it was late in the evening, but we had still twelve miles to go that night. it was past midnight when we crossed the kalamazoo river, at the rope ferry, and entered the town of bronson. this is the seat of justice, or as the term is here, county seat, for kalamazoo county. the land office, for the southern part of the territory, is also kept here. we found a large tavern house and good accommodations, a pleasant village, and pleasant people. our route now lay through an undulating, open country for twenty miles, when we came to a house and mill on pawpaw river where we "ate our breakfast for our dinner." we now crossed the stream, and travelled a new road, generally through timbered land, passed seven or eight small lakes, for twenty-eight miles before we came to a house. here, we found two log houses adjoining each other. it had now become night, and at this place we were to stay till the next day. i went in, and asked the woman, if she could get us something to eat. she said, if we would accept of such fare as she had, she would try. when we went in to supper, i never was more agreeably surprised in my life. we found a table neatly set; and upon it, venison steaks, good warm wheat bread, good butter, wild honey in the white comb, and a good cup of tea--better fare than we had found in michigan, and as good as could be obtained anywhere. our accommodations at this log house in the woods, show what people may do if they choose. and i wish some tavern keepers of our large towns, might happen to call there, and learn a lesson which they seem too much disinclined to learn at home. our bill was so moderate, we added a dollar to it, and hardly thought we had fully paid our hostess then. twelve miles further, brought us to the river st. joseph, about a mile above where it empties into the lake. the river here is thirty rods wide. we crossed it in a ferry boat, and after ascending a high bluff, we came in full view of lake michigan and the st. joseph village. this village is pleasantly situated on a high bluff, on the south side of the river, and facing the lake; and contains sixty or seventy houses, two taverns, some half dozen stores, two large warehouses, and a light house. one tavern, the stores, and a few dwelling houses, are built underneath the bluff, on the bank of the river. a steamboat plies between this place and niles, fifty miles up the river, as it runs, but only twenty-five miles by land. just above the village, is a steam saw mill, which does a good deal of business. this place carries on considerable trade with the interior; the staple of which is wheat. st. joseph is very unhealthy. at the tavern, i found three persons sick, and one dangerously so. i called upon the doctor, and he was sick abed; i called upon the baker, and he was sick abed--and i passed by another house, where the whole family, consisting of a man, his wife, and five children, were all sick abed, and so completely helpless, that the neighbors had to take care of them! this is no fiction. the man's name is emerson; from the state of new-york. last spring he came on to this part of the country with his family and goods in a wagon. and when he came to pawpaw river, where we breakfasted, he found no road direct to st. joseph. he accordingly cut out the road that we had travelled to this place, and was the first who came through with a wagon, a distance of about fifty miles. soon after his arrival, his eldest son, a promising youth of fifteen, accidentally was drowned in the river. the family, one by one, were taken sick; and now, all were sick and helpless. the man possessed great vigor of mind and body; had bought him a farm at some distance from the village on the road he had made, and commenced some improvements, and made great efforts to persevere and clear it up. but who can withstand the iron grasp of disease, or the "bold demands of death!" he beheld his family wasting away and to all appearance, hastening to the grave; and himself, as sick and helpless as they. a sad catastrophe this, in his prospect of wealth and bliss in the new world! a schooner, called the philip, plies regularly between this, and chicago across the lake; but i had to wait here three days before its return. i spent the time in traversing the woods and the lake shore. this lake is a clear, beautiful sheet of water, having a soft sandy shore, and surrounded by high sandy hills. the river makes a good harbor, but there is a sand bar at its mouth, on which there is not more than five or six feet of water. the average width of the lake is sixty miles. the distance from detroit to st. joseph is two hundred miles, and we had been five days and a half in travelling it. the road was as good as could be expected in a country so new, and so thinly inhabited. the land generally is good, and will support a dense population. the southern part of the territory is thought to contain the best land, and there are indeed some beautiful prairies. prairie round is among the most beautiful. it contains a number of thousand acres of high, level, and smooth land; and in the centre there are a hundred acres of higher land, covered with a beautiful growth of trees. the best part of indiana is on the border of michigan, and extending south, on the wabash river. the southern part of the state contains a good deal of hilly, rocky and sandy land, unfit for cultivation. a territorial road has been laid out from detroit to st. joseph; and a survey of a railroad has been made, nearly on the line of the road, between the two places; but some time will elapse, before either are completed. wild game is plenty; deer, ducks, bears, wolves and squirrels are in sufficient quantity to keep the hunter awake. upon the whole, if good water and good health could be found, michigan would be a very desirable country in which to reside. as soon as the vessel was ready to depart, i took passage in her. we sailed round the south end of the lake, and stopped at michigan city, a village of twenty or thirty houses, and twelve stores, situated on the corner of indiana, among the sand hills of the lake. a small stream here empties into the lake but affords no harbor for vessels. some enterprising citizens have determined to make it a large town; but nature does not seem much to have seconded their efforts. it is forty miles from st. joseph, and just the same distance from chicago. the stage road, from michigan city to chicago, is, most of the way, on the sandy beach. chapter iv. chicago makes a fine appearance when viewed from the water. it has a light house, fort and barracks in which a garrison is kept, and many elegant buildings. it is regularly laid out, on the south side of chicago river; the streets running parallel with it, and others crossing them at right angles. the harbor being too much exposed, a breakwater is building, so as to render it secure and safe for the shipping. the town is already compactly built, for more than a mile in length, and about half that distance in width; and there are a dozen houses on the north side of the river, with which it is connected by an elegant bridge. it has thirty-six stores, some of which are large and elegant, and built of brick; and seven large taverns, filled with guests to overflowing. it is now, about the size of exeter, in new-hampshire, and is rapidly increasing. vessels and steamboats come here from buffalo, laden with goods and merchandize; and it is the great thoroughfare for travel to the western country. the trade of all the upper country centres here; and when the canal is completed, connecting the lake with the waters of the illinois river, it must become the largest town in the state. it is built on a level prairie, open in full view to the lake, and the soil is enough mixed with sand to prevent its being very muddy. the lake supplies the town with good, wholesome water, and as far as i could judge, it is quite healthy. while i was at chicago, the pottawattomie tribe of indians, came there to receive their annuity from the united states government. i could not accurately ascertain their number, but probably, there were between one and two thousand, men, women and children. i had before seen the small remnants of indian tribes at the north; but never had i seen such a large body of western indians assembled together. i had much curiosity to see them, and learn something of the indian character. in this i was fully gratified. those who have formed high notions of the stateliness and chivalry of the indian character, might gain some new ideas, by witnessing, day after day, the actions and movements of the pottawattomies. it is painful to state it, but truth compels me to say, their appearance was, with but few exceptions, that of a drunken set of miserable vagabonds. they were generally mounted on horseback, men, women and children; some had small bells for their horses--some had blankets on, and others had coats and pantaloons, similar to the whites; and many of them, had jewels in the nose and ears, and the face painted in various colors and forms, so as to give them either a ludicrous, or a terrific appearance. to all this, perhaps, no one has a right seriously to object. it is merely a matter of taste; and if they choose to exhibit themselves in the various hues of the rainbow, or in the terrific aspect of a warrior, i am willing they should be gratified. but their actions were beneath the dignity of man, or of beast. they encamped near the town, on the border of the lake; and above it, on the margin of the river. i walked all through their encampment, and saw them frequently in the streets. i found them, generally, bickering, quarrelling, or fighting; or running their horses through the town, and displaying all the antics of madmen. day after day, and night after night, they were carousing, shouting and fighting. on the lake shore, one of them killed his wife, by splitting her head open with a hatchet, and then fled! i did not learn what became of him. they are also much addicted to theft. too lazy to work, they had rather steal whatever they desire, that comes in their way; and this propensity and practice has been a fruitful source of the border wars, between the whites and indians. i have seen hundreds of negroes together on their holidays; when they had free access to intoxicating liquor if they chose; when they gave themselves up to pastime and pleasure; and i do say, they appeared much more civil and decent to themselves and to others, than the indians. they did not seem, like the indians, to lose _all_ self respect. the negroes generally appear to possess amiable dispositions; and are faithful friends; are much more pliant and teachable; and if i must dwell with either negroes or indians, give me the negroes. if the former mode of paying the government annuity to the chief of a tribe, were objectionable, the present mode of paying each individual, seems to me to be equally, if not more objectionable. i was informed that the gross sum of seventy thousand dollars was paid to them individually; each one an equal portion of that amount. but after spending a few days in carousing at chicago, they left the town as they will finally leave the world--carrying nothing with them! it appears to me, some different regulations, respecting the indians, ought to be adopted. the money now paid them, upon the whole, seems to do them more hurt than good. might not the government pay them in specific articles, instead of money, such as blankets, clothing, implements of husbandry, &c. there would not be then quite so much inducement for speculators to prey upon them. as to civilization, i am not so sanguine as some are, that it can be done. the indians seem to be naturally averse to the restraints and labor of civilized life. to beg or steal is much more agreeable to them, than to labor for subsistence. any thing that looks like work, they despise. in all cases, where they have come in contact with the whites, it has been death to the indian. at the approach of civilization, they wither away and die; and the remnants of tribes must flee away to the fastnesses of the wilderness, or perish in the withering grasp of civilized man. they are to be pitied; but their unprovoked murders and savage cruelties have steeled the heart against them. their cold-blooded murders, in the late war in illinois, of men, women and children, and their indecent mutilation and exposure of their bodies when dead, cannot soon be forgotten or forgiven. black hawk, the cold-blooded instigator and leader in this war, dared not return from his trip to the east through chicago, and the theatre of his cruelties. he probably will never again set his foot on the eastern shore of the mississippi. the country back of chicago, for the distance of twelve miles, is a smooth, level prairie; producing an abundance of grass, but too low and wet for cultivation. the chicago river is formed by two branches, which meet at the upper end of the village. the branches come from exactly opposite directions, and after running some distance, parallel with the lake, and about a mile from it, here meet each other, and turning at right angles, flow in a regular straight channel, like a canal, into the lake. on each side of the town, between these branches and the lake shore, there is, for some distance, a good growth of wood and timber. on the lake shore, there are naked sand hills; and these are found all around the lake. this world has undergone great changes since its original creation. in examining the western country, i came to the conclusion, that a large portion of it was once under water; and that the lakes formerly discharged their waters into the sea, through the illinois and mississippi rivers. the lakes michigan, huron, st. clair and erie, are now about twenty-five feet lower than lake superior. the falls of st. mary, at the outlet of the upper lake, are nothing more than rapids. the water descends twenty-two feet in the distance of three quarters of a mile; and although canoes can pass them either way, yet they are impassable to steamboats and vessels. some years ago, a large vessel did go down them in safety. it was built on lake superior, by the north-western fur company, but was found to be too large to be useful in their trade. it was taken to the falls of st. mary, and some indians were hired to take it down the rapids. they happened to go down in safety; and the vessel was afterwards sold at buffalo. now, the probability is, that these lower lakes were once nearly on a level with lake superior; and their outlet was at the south end of lake michigan, instead of the niagara river. eight or ten miles from the present limits of lake erie, there is a regular, well defined shore, once washed by the water; plainly indicating that the lake was once about twenty feet higher than it now is. if lake michigan were ten feet higher than its present level, its waters would flow into the illinois river. the oplane, a branch of the illinois, approaches within twelve miles of the lake; and the land between is low and level. when the water is high, boats now pass from the lake to the river. at a time of high water, a steamboat attempted to pass from the illinois to the lake. after running a day from ottawa up the river, the water began to subside, the captain became alarmed, lest his boat might run aground, and returned. the valley of the illinois river, plainly indicates that a much larger stream once run there. had its channel been formed by its present quantity of water, it would have been not more than forty rods wide; but now, it carries a breadth of from fifty rods to more than a mile; it is, therefore, full of shoals and sand bars. the high banks all along down the stream, are about two miles apart; and the space between them not occupied by the river, is either a low marsh or a narrow lake. when the lakes were high, aided probably by a strong west wind, the water broke through in the direction of niagara river; and in process of time, wore a deep channel, drained the lakes to their present level, and dried up their outlet, at the south end of lake michigan. this is my theory; and whoever will examine the country around the lakes, may not deem it so wild and extravagant a one, as has been advanced and believed by mankind. many of the inhabitants of chicago are from the eastern part of the country--civil, enterprising and active. i found good society here--much better than i had expected in a place so new, and of such rapid growth. house rent is high, and provisions are dear. last spring, potatoes were sold for a dollar and a half a bushel; and this fall the current price is a dollar. all this is owing to the rapid increase of the place, and the immense travel through it. when more houses are built, and the country back of it becomes settled, living will, undoubtedly, be cheap. to the man of enterprise and business, it affords as good a location as any in the western country. chapter v. at chicago i found three young men from new-england, who were travelling to see the western country. we hired two horses and a wagon, at seventy-five cents a day, and started together into the interior of illinois, west of chicago. it was past the middle of october; the air was mild and clear, and the earth dry. the prairie, which in the spring of the year is so wet and muddy as to be difficult to pass, we found dry, and a good smooth road over it; so we travelled merrily on. at the distance of twelve miles the ground became elevated a few feet, and we found a fine grove of timber, a few log houses, and the oplane river. at this place the roads fork--one goes south, to ottawa on the illinois river--the other goes in a westerly direction, to galena on the mississippi. stages run from chicago, over each of these roads to both places, carrying the u.s. mail. the roads in this country are in a state of nature. but the ground is so smooth, and so entirely free from stones, that when the earth is dry, you do not find better roads at the north. indeed, you can travel in a carriage over most part of the country, woods and all. we took the galena road, forded the river, a stream about four rods wide, and passed on, over a beautiful, open, prairie country, here and there a log house, a small grove of timber, or small stream of water; the land high, dry and rich, and arrived at night at naper's settlement, on the du page river, thirty-seven miles from chicago. naper was the first settler here. he keeps a public house, very decent accommodations; has a store and mills, and is forming a village around him. here is a large grove of good timber. we now left the galena road and took a course more northerly to the _big_ and _little woods_, on fox river. in travelling twelve miles we came to the settlement at the lower end of "little woods." in the space of three miles, we found about twenty families, all in comfortable log houses; fields fenced and cultivated; a school house erecting, and a master hired to keep two months. and among the whole number only one family had been there two years; the remainder had none of them been there quite a year. the houses were built near the timber, and a beautiful rich prairie opened before them. the man who had been here two years, had a hundred acres under fence; raised a large crop of corn and wheat, and had sold at chicago, only thirty miles distant in a straight line, two hundred and twenty bushels of potatoes for as many dollars. he had built a weir across the river to catch fish, which i walked down to see. he took his boat, went out to the pen, and dipped out with a small net half a boat load of fish. this is a land of plenty sure enough; and if a man cannot here find the luxuries of the city, he can obtain all the necessaries of life in abundance. fox river is a clear stream of water, about twenty rods wide, having a hard limestone bottom, from two to three feet deep, a brisk current, and generally fordable. on its banks, and on some other streams, we occasionally found ledges of limestone; but other than that, we found no rocks in the state. we here forded the river, and travelled all day on its western bank. we found less timber on this side of the river. on the east side, it is generally lined with timber to the depth of a mile or more; but the west side is scarcely skirted with it. it is somewhat singular and unaccountable, but we found it universally to be the fact, that the east side of all the streams had much the largest portion of timber. we passed a number of log houses, all of which had been built the present season, and came at last to the upper house on the river. the man told us, he had been here with his family only three days.--in attempting to get at the head of population, we more than once thought of the story of the ohio pumpkin vine; and concluded if we accomplished it, we should be obliged to run our horses. he said, in the morning, his was the upper house on the river; but a man had made a location above him, and perhaps had already built him a house. we went a few miles above this, forded the river, passed through the woods into the open prairie, and started down the east side. we travelled on, until it became dark. we were in an open prairie, without any road, a cloudy night, and had no means of directing our course. it was a great oversight, but we had no fire works with us, and the wolves began to howl around at a distance. we concluded, we should be obliged to stay out that night, and without any fire. a man accustomed to the new country, would probably have thought nothing of it; but to me, who had never lodged out doors in my life, to be obliged to camp out in a new country, and among the wolves, and such other wild animals as chose to come along, it was not quite so pleasant. i confess i began to have some misgivings in my own mind, whether this new world ought, in fact, to be called a paradise. we knew that if there were any houses in that region, they would be near the woods; we accordingly obliqued to the right, and after some time travelling saw a light, which led us to a house. these log houses generally have one large room, in which the family cook, eat and lodge; and if any strangers come, they lodge in the same room with the family, either in a bed or on the floor, as may be the most convenient. they are built of logs locked together at the corners; the interstices filled with timber split like rails, and plastered over with clay. the roofs are covered with shingles about four feet long; the chimneys are built on the outside, with wood, and lined with clay; and the floor is made of split timber. many of them are quite neat and warm. the next day, we passed a few miles down the river, crossed it, and travelled twenty or thirty miles west, towards rock river. our whole course lay through an open prairie. we could see timber on either hand. this day we found a number of gravel hills, the tops of which were coarse, naked gravel, and looked white at a distance. they were from ten to twenty feet high. we walked up to the top of the highest one, and had an extended view of the surrounding country. from this elevation, we could see the timber on the border of rock river. we obliqued more to the south, came to a grove of timber and a house. here we stayed that night. the next day we took a southeasterly direction, passed one house, and came to fox river, where the galena road crosses it. we forded the river, and travelling over an open rolling prairie twenty miles in a southeasterly direction, came to walker's grove, on the du page river, forty miles south of chicago. here we found a tavern, saw and grist mill, and something of a village, having two or three framed houses among the log huts. the u.s. mail stage passes from chicago through this place, ottawa, peoria and springfield to st. louis; and agreeably to our previous arrangement, i here left my companions, who returned to chicago; and i took the stage for the south. i had travelled with them just long enough to be fully sensible of the great loss i sustained at parting. thus it is with the traveller. he forms acquaintances and finds friends; but it is only to part with them, probably forever. before i go into the lower part of the state, i shall stop here, and say a few words of the appearance, present condition and future prospects of the northern part of illinois. i feel in some degree qualified to do this, not only from my own observation, but from information obtained from intelligent and respectable sources. chapter vi. the northern part of illinois is beautifully diversified with groves of timber and rolling prairies. the timber consists of the various kinds of oak, rock and white maple, beach, locust, walnut, mulberry, plum, elm, bass wood, buckeye, hackberry, sycamore, spice wood, sassafras, haws, crab apple, cherry, cucumber, pawpaw, &c. there is some cedar, but little pine. the shores of michigan have a large supply of pine timber, and from this source the lumber for buildings at chicago is obtained. the prairies are sometimes level, sometimes gently undulating, and sometimes hilly; but no where mountainous. the soil is three or four feet deep; then you come to a bed of clay two or three feet in depth, and then gravel. the soil is a rich, black loam; and when wet, it sticks to the feet like clay. manure has no beneficial effect upon it; but where it has been cultivated, it produces an abundant crop, the first year, not quite as good as succeeding years; and it seems to be quite inexhaustible. the prairies are covered with a luxuriant growth of native grass, which, when it gets its full growth is generally about as high as a man's shoulders.--they are destitute of trees, shrubs, or stones; and although the surface may be undulating, yet it is so smooth, that they can be mown as well as the smoothest old field in new-england. in the spring of the year, a great variety of beautiful flowers shoot up among the grass; so that the face of nature exhibits the appearance of an extended flower garden. the prairie grass is unlike any kind i have seen at the north; but it affords excellent fodder for horses, neat cattle and sheep. a finer grazing country i had never seen. the grass appears to have more nourishment in it, than at the north. i saw beef cattle, fatted on the prairie grass alone, and i challenge brighton to produce fatter beef, or finer flavored. towards the lake, the land is gently undulating; farther west, on fox and rock rivers, it is rolling; and as you approach galena on the mississippi, it becomes more hilly and broken. all this country seems to lack, is timber and water. there are rivers enough, but not many small streams and springs. but both of these defects can in a good measure be remedied. good water can be obtained almost any where by digging wells from twenty to thirty feet in depth; and fuel must be supplied by the coal, which is found generally in abundance throughout the state. bricks can be used for building; and hedge rows for fences. the coal is excellent for the grate. it burns free, and emits such a brilliant light, that any other in a room is hardly necessary. it is now used in many places, in preference to wood, although that is now plenty. blacksmiths use it for the forge; and at one shop, the man told me he could dig and haul enough in half a day to last him a month. the government of the united states granted to the state of illinois a tract of land ten miles in width and eighty miles in length, extending from chicago to ottawa, for the purpose of making a canal to connect the waters of the lake with the illinois river, and within these limits, it is supposed the canal will pass. this tract has been surveyed, put into market and much of it sold; but most of the land in the northern part of the state had not even been surveyed when i was there. not a survey had been made on fox river. the settlers took as much land as they pleased, and where they pleased; and as there was an abundance for all, none found fault. before this time, i presume, the land has been surveyed; and the peace and quietness of the fox river settlement, may have been a little disturbed by the _carelessness_ of the united states' surveyors, in running lines somewhat diverging from the stakes and fences which its early settlers had set up as the bounds of their farms. but a large portion of the northern half of the state, is not in the market, and perhaps may not be for two years to come. this very land, however, is settling every day. all a man has to do, is to select his land and settle down upon it. by this act he gains a _pre-emption right_ to one hundred and sixty acres; and before the auction sale, enters his land at the land office, pays a dollar and a quarter an acre, and receives his title. when land has once been through the auction and not sold, it can be taken at any time, by paying a dollar and a quarter an acre, and receive a title. upon the whole, i think the upper part of illinois offers the greatest inducements to the emigrant, especially from the northern states. it is a high, healthy, beautiful country; and there are now plenty of good locations to be made. a young man, with nothing but his hands to work, may in a few years obtain a competency. the whole country produces great crops of wheat, corn and potatoes, and all the fruits and vegetables of the north. apple and peach trees grow faster and more vigorous here than at the east; and there is a native plum tree, which bears excellent fruit. i took much pains to ascertain whether it was subject to the fever and ague; and from the inquiries i made, and the healthy appearance of the people, i am persuaded it is not. i found only one person sick with that disease, in all the upper country, and she was an old woman from indiana; and she told me she had it before she left that state.--there is plenty of game--the prairie hen, about the size of the northern hen, deer, ducks, wild turkies, and squirrels; also an abundance of wild honey. there is another reason why the northern part of the state is preferable. chicago of itself is, and will be, something of a market for produce; but it is the best spot in the whole state, to carry produce to be transported to a northern market. from this, it is carried all the way by water to new-york city; and the distance is no greater than from the middle and lower parts of the state to new-orleans, and the expense of transportation the same. but after all, there is no such place as a perfect elysium on earth; and to this bright picture of the new world, there must be added some slight shades. in the first place there are many prairie wolves all over the country, so that it is almost impossible to keep sheep. in travelling over the country, i have started half a dozen in a day; they did not appear to be very wild; but they seldom or never attack a man, unless retreat is cut off, or sorely pressed by hunger. they are of a brown color, and of the size of a large dog. the men have a good deal of sport in running them down, and killing them.--they take a stick, mount a fleet horse, soon come up with them, and knock them on the head. a man on fox river told me he made a wolf pen over a cow that got accidentally killed, and caught twelve wolves in one week! as the country becomes settled they will disappear. there are but few bears; the country is too open for them. i had one or two meals of bear meat, but it is not at all to my taste. then, there are the prairie rattlesnakes, about a foot long. their bite is not considered very dangerous. there is a weed, growing universally on the prairie, that is a certain cure for it. they are not, however, plenty. men told me, that they had passed a whole year without seeing one. then, to prey upon the fields of the husbandman, there are the blackbirds and squirrels. they are the same in kind with those of the north, and their rapacity seems to have lost nothing, by living at the west. the blackbird is not a bird of the forest; it only follows close upon the heels of population. the winters are as cold, perhaps, as at the north, but of shorter duration. they commence later and end earlier. the indians make their poneys get their living in the winter; and cattle will live if they can have a range in the woods; but the farmer can have as much hay as he chooses, only for the cutting; the good husbandman will, therefore, have enough to keep his cattle in good heart during the winter. men are apt to judge of a new country by the impulse of feeling. the enthusiastic admirer of nature, when he beholds the extended prairies, lofty groves and pellucid streams, represents it as a perfect paradise. but those who think more of good roads, good coaches, good houses and good eating, than they do of the beauties of nature, curse the whole country and quit it in disgust. but to prevent all mistakes, be it known to all whom it may concern, that in this new country, fields do not grow ready fenced and planted, and elegant houses beside them; pancakes are not found on trees, or roasted pigs, running about squealing to be eaten. the jaundiced eye sees nothing in its true light. ----"the diff'rence is as great between the optics seeing, as the object seen; or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, contracts, inverts, and gives a thousand dyes." many anecdotes were told me, of the different views the same individual would have of the same place, under different circumstances. an emigrant from vermont, with his wife, children and goods, started for the western world in a wagon. the country was new, and the roads so bad that their progress was slow and fatiguing. at length, after enduring many privations and hardships in a journey of twelve hundred miles, they safely arrived in illinois, and located themselves on a fine, rich spot of ground, in the interior. he hastily threw up a temporary hut for their present accommodation; but they were all too much wearied and worn, vigorously to exert themselves. he became sad himself; his wife, unable to restrain her feelings, began to sob aloud, and the children joined the concert. they could not divert their thoughts from the home, neighbors and friends they had left. the prairie and wild wood had no charms for them. after three or four days of despondency, they picked up their goods, loaded their wagon, and trudged all the way back again to vermont. vermont had, however, lost _some_ of its charms. it did not appear quite so fine as they had expected. after spending another cold winter there, they began to think illinois, upon the whole, was the better place; and that they had been very foolish in leaving it. so, they picked up their duds again, returned to the same spot they had left, and were satisfied, contented and happy. the man has now an excellent farm, good house, and an abundance of the necessaries and conveniences of life. in short, he is an independent farmer, and would not now, upon any consideration, return to vermont. an instance, in some respects similar to this, occurred some years ago, in an emigrant from the western part of the state of new-hampshire.--he sold his farm, and started for ohio. his wife and children, and a portion of his furniture, he put into a large wagon, drawn by three or four yoke of oxen; and three cows of a peculiar breed, he also took with him. they proceeded on about five hundred miles, probably as far as buffalo, when they all became weary, and so excessively fatigued with their journey, that they lost all relish for the western country, and wished themselves back again. at this time, they held a council, and agreed, without a dissenting voice, to return to new-hampshire. they accordingly wheeled about, cows and all, and trudged back to the town they had left; having performed a journey of a thousand miles with an ox-team, at great expense, and apparently to no beneficial purpose whatever. he did not, however, like the vermonter, again return. but the result of the trip was not so disastrous as had been anticipated. at the very time of their return, a much better farm than the one he had left was offered for sale for ready money. he bought it at a reduced price, and immediately settled upon it. he then made a calculation upon his present and former condition; and after taking into consideration the expenses of his journey, the sale of one farm and purchase of another, he found himself worth at least a thousand dollars more than he was previous to the transaction! and here, i would give a caution to the emigrant who intends to settle in the western country, not to place implicit confidence in what the inhabitants of one section may say of other portions of it. if they mean to be honest in giving an opinion, self-interest as in other places, strangely warps their judgment. land holders and actual settlers are anxious to build up their own village and neighborhood; and therefore, they praise their own section and decry the others. at detroit, we are told that monroe is a very sickly place; at monroe, detroit is unhealthy; and both will concur that chicago is too unhealthy for an emigrant to think of enjoying life in it. in michigan, that is the most healthy, pleasant and best portion of the west; in illinois, that becomes the promised land. indeed, so contradictory are their statements, that little reliance ought to be placed upon them; and the better way for the emigrant is, if he cannot obtain the necessary information from disinterested travellers, to go and examine for himself. eastern people, who travel no farther than michigan, generally form an unfavorable opinion of chicago and illinois; but were they to travel over that state, they would soon change their opinion. chapter vii. but i have dwelt long enough on the upper country. i took the stage and travelled twenty-five miles over an open prairie, passing only one house, and arrived at night at holderman's grove. this is a pleasant grove of excellent timber, having by its side a number of good houses and large cultivated fields. the next morning, we rode fifteen miles to ottawa, where we breakfasted. here the illinois and fox rivers join, and appear to be nearly of equal size, both about twenty rods wide. the village is on the east side of the illinois river, which we crossed in a ferry boat. a tavern, some houses and stores are built on a small flat under the hill, and a number of houses on a bluff, two hundred feet above the river. steamboats come up as high as this place, unless the water be quite low. if it be not a sickly place, i am much mistaken. the fever and ague seems to be the prevailing disease. i have observed that situations on the western rivers are generally unhealthy. the river diverges to the west, and the road down the country immediately leaves it. in travelling twenty-five miles, i found myself fourteen from the river. here, i left the stage, and went to hennipen, a small village on the illinois river. it is regularly laid out on a high, level prairie, which extends three miles back, and consists of two taverns, four stores, a dozen dwelling houses and a court house--it being the seat of justice for putnam county. i found a number of people sick in this place with the fever and ague. here i crossed the river, about fifty rods wide, in a ferry boat, and found on the other side about two miles of heavy timbered bottom land, subject to overflow. from this, i ascended a high bluff, passed three or four miles of oak openings, and then came into the open prairie. ten miles from the river, a new town, called princeton, is laid out in the prairie, on the stage road leading from peoria to galena. three buildings, one of which is a store where the post office is kept, had been erected when i was there; but as it is in a healthy situation, and surrounded by a beautiful rich country, it may in time become a large village. i travelled some distance in a northerly direction, between great and little bureau rivers. the larger stream has a number of mills upon it. the country around here, is too similar to the upper part of the state to need a particular description. high rolling prairies, skirted with timber, every where abound in this region, and present to the eye a most beautiful landscape. it is mostly settled by people from new-england; and they appeared healthy, contented and happy--and are in fact, becoming rich and independent farmers. one northern man i called upon, whose past and present condition may be similar to many others. i will state it for the edification of those who live on the rocky soil of new-england. while at the north, he lived on a hilly and rocky farm; had a large family, and was obliged to work hard and use the strictest economy, to support them, and meet the current expenses of the year. tired of severe labor and small gains, he sold his farm and moved to the state of illinois. he had been here two years; has now one hundred acres under fence; raised the present season fifteen hundred bushels of corn, three hundred of wheat; has seventy head of neat cattle and sixty hogs. he has a fine timber lot near his house, in which is an abundance of the sugar maple. he had killed, the present season, four beef cattle, the last one just before i called upon him; and fatter and better flavored beef i never saw. all the cattle grow exceedingly fat on the prairie grass; so much so that corn will add nothing to it. a saw and grist mill are within seven miles of him. he was getting out timber, and intended to put up a two story house in the spring. i enquired particularly as to the health of his family and neighborhood. he informed me it had been very healthy; his own family had not any of them been sick abed a day, since they came into the country. two of his daughters are well married, and settled on farms near him. let every farmer at the north, who has to tug and toil on the sterile and rocky soil of new-england, to support his family, judge for himself, whether it is better to go to the west, or stay where he is. whether, in fact, it is better to struggle for existence, and feel the cold grasp of poverty, or to roll in plenty and live at ease. this region was somewhat the theatre of indian cruelties in the last war with the whites. one northern man became their victim in this settlement. his name was elijah philips, of new-hampshire. when he was at the age of twenty-one, he took his pack on his back, travelled to the west, and located himself in what is called the yankee settlement, on the bureau river. he was a persevering, hardy son of the north. he built a house, fenced in a field, obtained some stock and a few hogs; and was in a fair way to gain a competency and become an independent farmer. just at this time, the indian war broke out, with the blood-thirsty black hawk as a leader. murders having been committed above them, the settlers deemed their situation insecure, and fled to the east side of the illinois river. after remaining there awhile, the war still raging, and its termination uncertain, seven of the settlers armed themselves with guns and bayonets, took a wagon, and went to the settlement to bring away such articles of household furniture and husbandry as they could; fearing the indians might destroy them. they spent the day in collecting their articles together. at night, they left them and the wagon where they were, and concluded to go themselves to a house half a mile below, which was deemed more secure. here they slept quietly all night, opened the door early in the morning, looked all around, but saw no signs of indians. philips and another young man said they would go up to the other house and commence loading the wagon. they started off together. in about twenty rods from the house, the path led along by a point of timber that made out into the prairie; and when they had gone about half way to this point, the other young man stopped, returned back, and philips passed on alone. he had just got into the house, when he heard a piercing cry of alarm from philips, and in a moment after, the report of two guns. on running to the door, he saw philips prostrate on the ground, and twenty or thirty indians leaping out of the thicket. he rallied his companions, as they had not all yet risen, caught two guns, handed one to a man near him, and by the time they reached the door, the indians were coming round the corner of the house. on seeing the guns with fixed bayonets, they dodged back. in a moment, they were all at the ends and rear of the house, rending the air with their astounding war cry, flourishing their tomahawks in menace and defiance; but took special care not to come in front of the door. the settlers were all young men--the onset had been so sudden and boisterous, that they were taken entirely by surprise, and hardly knew what they did. on a moment's reflection, they concluded, if they contended manfully, there might be some chance for life. although the number of indians might be ten to one of theirs, yet they had the advantage of being within a well built log house, impenetrable by balls. spirited and prompt action saved them. while the indians were hovering round, in doubt what course to take to dislodge them, they dug out a chink between the logs in the rear, and thrust out their guns. the moment this was done, the indians changed the tone of their yells, leaped for the woods, fell flat on their faces and crawled unperceived away. they now felt relieved from immediate danger. they knew there was a company of horse at hennipen, fifteen miles distant; and their only safe course seemed to be, to send for them if they could. they had a horse with them, and he was feeding on the prairie about thirty rods from the house, nearly on the opposite side from the spot where the indians entered the woods; but as they could not know where they might be, none deemed it prudent to go out to catch him. they called the horse, however, and although he was one generally hard to catch, he now started at once, came to the door, thrust in his head and stood still while the bridle was put on. one of their number mounted, and rode express to hennipen. in the afternoon, the troop arrived; reconnoitered the neighborhood; found the indian trail; followed it a number of miles; but they had gone beyond their reach. on a further examination of the woods, it was apparent, the indians had been hovering around them all the day before while at work; but were too cowardly to attack them, although they knew the smallness of their number. the situation of affairs at night they also knew full well. they truly supposed that _all_ would pass the spot where they lay in ambush, in the morning. but accidentally, _one_ passed alone, and discovered them, and was undoubtedly the cause of saving the lives of all the rest. but had the other young man passed on instead of returning, and why he did not, he never could tell, although the question was asked him immediately after the transaction, he also would have been killed; and in that event, probably all the others would have been sacrificed; for it was quite early in the morning, and they had not risen. on examining philips, they discovered that two musket balls had entered his body--one in the region of the heart, so that he must have died immediately. his remains were carried to hennipen for interment; and when i passed that way, i stopped at his grave to show, what i felt, respect to his memory. on a small eminence in the open prairie, half a mile east of the village, repose the remains of elijah philips. and although no monumental inscription tells the spot where he so suddenly started for eternity, or "storied urn" adorns his grave; although of humble birth, yet he was a young man of much vigor and enterprise, and bid fair to become a useful member of society. let his memory live "in story and in song," and be handed down to posterity with that of the other victims of savage cruelty. no apprehensions are now entertained by the settlers, of attacks by the indians. black hawk and his followers have gone beyond the mississippi, and only a few remnants of indian tribes remain in the whole state. years will not efface the memory of the many deeds of extreme cruelty, committed by the indians in this short, yet bloody war. acts of cruelty and outrage were perpetrated, too horrid and indecent to mention; and so perfectly useless as it respected the result of the war, that they could have been committed only to glut a most fiend-like and savage vengeance. i cannot admire the indian character. they are sullen, gloomy and obstinate, unless powerfully excited, and then, they exhibit all the antics of madmen. chapter viii. after spending a few days viewing the country in this vicinity, i again crossed the river at hennipen, and passed on to the stage road. the next day, i took the stage, and went to peoria, the county seat of peoria county, which stands on the site of fort clark. this is quite a village. it is regularly laid out on a beautiful prairie, on the western bank of the illinois river; has a brick court house, two taverns, a dozen stores, and about twenty dwelling houses, some of them quite elegant. it is eighty miles from ottawa, one hundred and sixty from chicago, one hundred and fifty from galena, one hundred and fifty by land and two hundred by water from st. louis. the river here swells out to more than a mile in width, and the opposite shore is low, marshy land. peoria seems to be subject to bilious fevers and the fever and ague; but i could perceive no cause for its being unhealthy, unless it was the river and marshy land on the other side. the water is brought to the village in an aqueduct, from a high bluff, half a mile back of it, and appeared to be excellent. a number of deaths had occurred, previous to my arrival; and i saw a number of pale-faced invalids. in coming to this place, i passed over a fine country, much more settled, with larger fields and more extensive improvements than i found in the upper part of the state; but still it was diversified with rolling prairies and groves of timber. while the mail was changing at one of the post offices, i passed on and came to a log school house, where all the scholars studied aloud. this was quite a novelty to me. more discordant sounds never grated on the ear; and if the master had a musical one, he must have been severely punished. i asked him, if his scholars commonly studied in that manner; and he said they did, although he thought they now hollowed a little louder than usual. this inconvenient practice of some of our ancient schools, i supposed had been entirely done away; but on enquiry, i was informed it still held its sway to some extent in many of the western states. stages run from peoria (through springfield), to st. louis, to galena, and to chicago. there is a rope ferry just below the village, where the river is narrow. it is a place of a good deal of business, quite a thoroughfare for travellers; and it is supposed by some that it will shortly become the seat of the state government. i spent three days here, then took passage on board a steamboat for st. louis. i have often remarked, that the amount taxed by taverners, is, generally, in an inverse proportion to their accommodations; that is, the less they furnish their guests, the more they charge. in my present trip, i have more than once been reminded of an anecdote related to me some time ago, of a tavern keeper at the south. a gentleman with his family, travelling in the westerly part of virginia, was obliged one night to put up at one of the small country taverns, more suited to the accommodation of the teamster who sleeps in his wagon, than to the entertainment of gentlemen and ladies. they were furnished with the best the house afforded, but it was mean in kind and badly prepared. some of them were obliged to sleep on the floor, and those that were accommodated with beds, were exceedingly annoyed by the insects they contained. the gentleman arose early, ordered his carriage and asked the landlord the amount of his bill. he told him, _thirty dollars_! the gentleman stared; but at length asked him, what he had had to the amount of thirty dollars, or even five dollars. the landlord very politely assured him that his was a reasonable charge, for says he, i hire this establishment at the annual rent of thirty dollars, and this i must charge to my customers; the year is almost out, and you are the only available guest i have had; therefore i have charged the whole amount to you. the gentleman laughed heartily; and considering it too good a joke to be spoiled by any fault on his part, very pleasantly handed him over the thirty dollars. he that travels much in the world, may have occasion to fear the _rent day_ is near at hand. this frank explanation of the virginia landlord has furnished an easy solution to _some_ tavern bills i have paid, that otherwise would have been entirely inexplicable; and perhaps it may be equally useful to other travellers. the illinois river is a wide, sluggish stream; clear water, but generally, hardly any perceivable current. it is a very shoal river, having many sand bars.--our boat did not draw more than two feet of water, yet was continually running aground. i should think the lead was thrown a quarter part of the time; and it used to amuse me, sometimes, to hear the leadsman sing out "_two feet and a half_"--"_two feet large_"--"_two feet_"--"_two feet scant_,"--and then aground; and perhaps it would be half a day before we could get afloat again. we were seven days going to st. louis--rather slow travelling, and somewhat vexatious; we thought, however, we might as well be merry as sad, so we made the best of it. the captain had as much reason as any of us to complain; for we took a cabin passage, and he had to board us, however long the passage might be. all along down, the country is rather low, except some bluffs on the river--and where we found a bluff on one side, there would be either a low marsh or a lake on the other. probably, there are twenty lakes below peoria, on one side or the other of the river. they were all long and narrow, and often had an outlet into the river. they appeared more like former beds of the stream, than any thing else. pekin is twenty miles below peoria, on a high bluff, the east side of the river, having two taverns, thirty houses, and a large steam flour mill. sixty miles below this, on the same side of the river, is a large village called beardstown. here are large flour mills, saw mill, &c. all carried by steam.--twenty miles below this, is a small village called naples. as we approached the mississippi, we saw a good many stately bluffs on the right hand bank, composed of limestone, and rising almost perpendicular, from two to three hundred feet high. some of them are really grand and beautiful. at length, with no small degree of pleasure, we came in full view of the majestic mississippi river. the moment our boat entered the stream, it felt its power, and started off with new life and vigor. it seemed something like travelling, after leaving the sand bars and sluggish current of the illinois, to be hurried down the mississippi at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour. we soon reached upper alton, a large flourishing village of recent origin. here, are large steam flour mills, and large warehouses; and in the centre of business is located the state prison! there is no accounting for taste; but it appeared to me rather singular, to see a prison of convicts brought forward into the centre of a village to be exhibited as its most prominent feature. the reason may have been, to keep it constantly in _view_ as a "terror to evil doers." this is the last town we stopped at in illinois--and on taking leave of the state, i may be allowed to add a few words respecting it. chapter ix. illinois is three hundred and fifty miles in length; one hundred and eighty in breadth; and lies between thirty-seven and a half, and forty-two and a half degrees north latitude. it contains fifty thousand square miles--equal to forty millions of acres. it is divided into fifty-five counties, and, probably, now contains more than two hundred thousand inhabitants. all the streams, lakes and marshes are lined with a fine growth of timber, sometimes a mile or two in width, and sometimes merely a narrow strip. and as the southern part of the state contains the most low, wet land, it has also the most timber. the high land is generally prairie; but there are some exceptions to this. i found quite a number of beautiful groves of timber on high land; sometimes there were only scattering trees, called oak openings. it is probably as level as any state in the union. at the northwest of shawneetown, there is a range of hills; and high bluffs are seen along the banks of the mississippi and illinois rivers. in the mineral regions at the northwest corner of the state, there are high hills, and the land is somewhat broken; but the largest portion of the state is composed of gently rolling prairies. these prairies are some of them level and wet, but generally, they are high, dry and gently undulating. they all have an exceedingly fertile soil, and are covered with tall coarse grass and a great variety of beautiful flowers. the soil is a rich, black loam, entirely inexhaustible, and produces abundant crops without the aid of manure. in some of the old settled towns at the lower part of the state, the same spot of ground has been cultivated with indian corn for a hundred years, and it now produces equally as well as it did at first. in the time of strawberries, thousands of acres are reddened with this delicious fruit. but this country, which so delightfully strikes the eye, and has millions of acres that invite the plough, wants timber for fuel, building and fences. it wants good water in many places, and in too many instances, the inhabitants want health. these evils will probably all be remedied by the expedients of cultivation. bricks will be used for building; coal and peat will be used for fuel; hedges and ditches will be made for fences; forests will be made to grow on the prairies; and deep wells will be sunk for pure water. there is a fine tract of rich level land extending along the eastern shore of the mississippi about eighty miles in length, and from three to six miles in width. it commences near new-alton, and terminates a little below kaskaskia. about half of its width bordering on the river, is covered with a heavy growth of timber; the remainder is a level prairie; and in the rear it is bordered by a stately bluff of limestone. it is undoubtedly the richest land in the world. settlements have been made upon it to some extent, but it is not very healthy. it is called the american bottom. a bottom very similar to this, either on one side or the other, marks the whole course of the illinois river. more than five millions of acres have been surveyed, between the mississippi and illinois rivers, and assigned by congress for military bounty lands. these lands embrace all the varieties of soil found in the state--rich bottoms, swamps, prairies, timbered lands, high bluffs and barrens. the northeast part of it is deemed the most pleasant and healthy. on rock river, the kaskaskia, wabash, fox, du page, macoupin and sangamon are large tracts of first rate land. and very similar to this, are grand prairie, mound prairie, the marine settlement prairie, and the one occupied by the new-england christians. in the region of sangamon river, nature has delighted to bring together her happiest combinations of landscape; being beautifully variegated with woodland and lawn, like sunshine and shade. it is generally a level country; the prairies are not too extensive, and timber abounds in sufficient quantity to support a dense population. in this beautiful section of the new world, more than two hundred families, from new-england, new-york and north carolina, fixed their habitations before it was surveyed. the land is exceedingly rich and easily cultivated. it now constitutes a number of counties and is probably as thickly settled as any part of the state. the sangamon itself is a fine boatable river, and has throughout its whole course, pure, transparent water and a sandy bottom. it enters the illinois river on the easterly side, about one hundred and forty miles above its mouth. the kaskaskia river has a long course in the central part of the state, and the lands upon its borders are happily diversified with hill, vale, prairie and forest. on its banks are kaskaskia, the former seat of government, and vandalia, the present metropolis. the region of rock and fox rivers is a beautiful and healthy portion of the state. the land is rich; the prairies are high, dry and gently undulating and surrounded by excellent timber. the only faults are, the prairies are too large for the quantity of timber, and there are not a sufficient number of springs and small streams of water. but it is a very pleasant and desirable portion of the country, and i believe more emigrants are now directing their course thither, than to any other portion of the state. it has one advantage over all the western section of country, it is more healthy. i believe it is as healthy as any portion of the united states. although there are some bodies of sterile and broken land in the state, yet as a whole, it contains a greater proportion of first rate land than any other state in the union; and probably as great according to its extent as any country on the face of the globe. one of the inconveniences attending this extensive rich country, is too great a proportion of prairies. they cover more than half of the whole state.--but the prevalence of coal and peat, and the ease with which forest trees may be raised, will render even these extensive prairies habitable. the original cause of these extensive prairies in all the western and southern country is altogether a matter of conjecture. there is no natural impediment in the soil to the growth of forest trees over the whole extent of the country. it is certain that the fire is the cause of continuing them in existence; for where the fire is kept out, trees spring up in them, in a few years, and their growth is vigorous and rapid. there are many reasons for the belief, that this western country was once inhabited by a more civilized race of beings, than the present hordes of wild indians. specimens of fine pottery and implements of husbandry have been found in various parts of the country; and brick foundations of a large city have lately been discovered in the territory of arkansas. these, together with the stately mounds and remains of extensive fortifications, indicate that the country was once inhabited by a race of men, who cultivated the soil for a subsistence, and were well acquainted with the mechanic arts. from whence this race of beings came, or whither they went, is alike unknown to us. since they left, the fire has made the cleared land much more extensive. the fire, in very dry weather, and accompanied by a high wind, after scouring over the prairies, takes to the woodland and destroys the timber. last fall, i saw hundreds of acres of woodland, so severely burnt over, that i had no doubt the trees were generally killed. but in some places, the forest gradually gains upon the prairie; and could the fire be kept within proper bounds, the western country would soon have an abundant supply of timber. but this cannot well be done. the indian sets the prairie afire, for the conveniency of hunting--the emigrant sets it afire, so that the fresh grass may spring up for his cattle; and so between them both, they all get burnt over. and when once kindled, the fire goes where the wind happens to drive. this state has great advantages for inland navigation by means of its rivers. on the east, it is washed by the michigan lake and wabash river; on the south, by the ohio, and on the west, by the mississippi. the most important river within the state is the illinois. it rises near the south end of lake michigan, runs in a southerly direction about three hundred miles, and falls into the mississippi, thirty miles above st. louis. its two chief head branches are the kankakee and oplane; this latter river runs within twelve miles of the lake, and the space between is a low, wet prairie, so that it might easily be connected with its waters. from the north, comes in the du page, a larger stream than the oplane. at ottawa, eighty miles south of chicago, comes in fox river. this is by far the largest tributary of the illinois, and at their junction is nearly equal to it in size. in all descriptions of the state, mention is hardly made of fox river; but it is the next in size to the illinois and rock rivers, and is one of the most beautiful streams in the whole state. it rises in the territory west of lake michigan, runs with a lively current, in a very straight channel, from its source to its mouth. it heads in a lake, and this accounts for the fact, that it is not, like other streams, subject to freshets. it is generally fordable--the water is not more than about three feet deep, and the bottom is sand and pebbles. it is a clear stream, abounding in fish, and withal, passes through the most healthy part of the state. on the west side, nearly opposite hennipen, comes in the bureau river. this is a good mill stream, and is composed of two branches, the one called great and the other little bureau; and these branches join about five miles west of the illinois. these branches, on the maps, bear the names of robertson's and james' river, but for what reason i know not. on this river is a large settlement of northern people, and many families from the state of new-hampshire. below this, the most material tributaries are the vermillion and sangamon from the east, and spoon river from the west. whatever others may say, i cannot call the illinois a pleasant stream. it has a marsh on one side or the other from its mouth to its source, and is full of shoals and sand bars. i passed down the river in a boat that drew less than two feet water, but it often run aground. the worst bar is just below beardstown. we had to lighten the boat of its freight, water in the boiler, and passengers, before we could pass this bar; and then, the hands had to jump into the water and push the boat over. for about two hundred miles from its mouth, it has many long and narrow lakes, of about the width of the river itself; and probably they were formerly its channel. these lakes generally have an outlet into the river, and these so much resemble it, that a person not well acquainted with the stream, would be puzzled to know what channel to take. the river occupies too much ground for its quantity of water, and for about half of the year, it is a difficult stream to navigate. rock river rises beyond the northern limits of the state in the high lands which separate the waters of the mississippi from those of lake michigan. it is a large, beautiful stream, has a lively current, and enters the mississippi fifty miles below galena. in the mississippi near its mouth, is a beautiful island, on which is situated fort armstrong. the other principal streams which enter the mississippi are fever river, parasaw, kaskaskia, and cahokia. no large streams enter the ohio or the wabash, from this state; but some of them are navigable by keel boats. in the region of galena are the richest lead mines in the world. copper ore has also been discovered. the state abounds in mineral coal, which is excellent for the grate. it burns freer than the pennsylvania coal, and emits much more light. salt is made in large quantities at the salt works, near shawneetown. in the southern part of the state, cotton will grow in a favorable year, and it is cultivated to some extent for family use. this conclusively shows a milder climate than in new-england. in the northern section, in the region of the vast prairies and lakes, the wind sometimes blows strong and keen in the winter. it is not subject to the strong chilly easterly winds so severely felt along the atlantic coast. during the year, the climate is undoubtedly more mild than that of new-england. apple, pear and peach trees grow vigorously and produce abundantly. in the spring of the year the air becomes fragrant with the blossoms of fruit trees and wild flowers. the soil and the climate are well suited to the production of wheat, indian corn, potatoes, and all garden vegetables. the crops are abundant and of an excellent quality. the prairies every where abound in wild grass, and afford an inexhaustible range for cattle, horses and sheep. the grass is very nutricious, and it may with truth be said, there is not a finer grazing country in the world. the most prevalent diseases are bilious fevers and the fever and ague. these are caused by stagnant water and swamps. removed from these, good health is generally enjoyed. the consumption, the scourge of new-england, is never known in all the western country. in some parts of the lower section of the state, the inhabitants have been afflicted with a disease called _milk sickness_. it, in the first place, affects the cattle, and never occurs until the frosts of autumn. these frosts kill the grass on the high prairies, and induce the cattle to go into the low bottoms and woods, where vegetation remains green. it has been discovered that the disease is caused by the cattle's eating a poisonous vine which grows luxuriantly in these bottoms. after eating this vine, the animal appears weary and faint, travels with difficulty, droops, and at length dies. if men or animals partake of the milk of the cows, when they are thus disordered, they are affected in the same manner. men, however, sometimes recover. this disease is not confined to illinois. near the rich bottom lands in indiana and missouri, animals and men have been affected with it. in the northern half of the state, i was informed, that not an instance of milk sickness had ever been known. there are no _large_ towns in illinois, but quite a number of flourishing villages. danville, near the eastern line of the state, is quite a flourishing town; and here the land office for the northern section is kept. it is one hundred and thirty miles south of chicago, and it is supposed, that the office will shortly be removed to that place. springfield, situated on a branch of the sangamon river, is near the centre of the state, and is a large, flourishing village. it is sixty miles south of peoria, about thirty east of the illinois river; and it is highly probable that it will become, shortly, the seat of the state government. the most important towns on the mississippi river, are galena, quincy, alton, edwardsville, and kaskaskia; on the ohio river, are trinity, america and shawneetown; on the wabash, are palmyra, lawrenceville, palestine, sterling, &c. and in the interior, besides those we have before mentioned, are vandalia, the present seat of the state government, jacksonville, maysville, hillsborough, salem, and many other small villages; besides quite a number of _paper towns_, that may in time have a "local habitation," in addition to their high sounding names. chicago is now the largest town in the state; and as it is favorably situated for trade, it will probably continue to take the lead in time to come.--vandalia, the present seat of government, is pleasantly situated on a high bank of the kaskaskia river. respectable buildings for the accommodation of the government and the courts have been erected. the village contains about a hundred houses; some of them, built of brick and elegant. kaskaskia is the oldest town in the state. it is pleasantly situated on an extensive plain upon the bank of the river of the same name, and eleven miles from its mouth. it was settled as early as philadelphia, by the french, and once contained seven thousand inhabitants; but now it numbers not more than one thousand. this was formerly the seat of government; it was removed to edwardsville, then to vandalia; but it will probably be destined to take one more remove, either to springfield or peoria. galena, on the mississippi, near the northwest corner of the state, began to be settled in . it is three hundred and fifty miles north of st. louis, and about one hundred and fifty west of chicago. it now contains between one and two thousand inhabitants, forty-two stores and warehouses, and two hundred houses. it is the seat of justice for the county, and has ten thousand inhabitants in its vicinity. the same provisions here for schools have been made as in the other western states. in addition to one thirty-sixth part of all the public lands, three per cent. on all the sales is added to the school fund. it is in contemplation to establish an university. for this purpose a sixth part of the school fund and two entire townships have been appropriated. rock spring theological school, under the superintendence of the baptists, is a respectable academy in the turkey hills' settlement, seventeen miles east of st. louis. it has fifty students.[ ] primary schools are found in the villages and populous neighborhoods; but in many places there is much need of them. the representatives and senators are chosen once in two years; the governor and lieutenant governor in four years. the judiciary consists of a supreme court and other county courts. all free white male citizens, who have resided in the state six months, are entitled to the right of suffrage; and they vote at elections _viva voce_. [footnote : this school has recently been removed to alton.] chapter x. the prairies in the western country are all burnt over once a year, either in spring or fall, but generally in the fall; and the fire is, undoubtedly, the true cause of the continuance of them. in passing through the state i saw many of them on fire; and in the night, it was the grandest exhibition i ever saw. a mountain of flame, thirty feet high, and of unknown length, moving onward, roaring like "many waters"--in a gentle, stately movement, and unbroken front--then impelled by a gust of wind, suddenly breaks itself to pieces, here and there shooting ahead, whirling itself high in air--all becomes noise, and strife, and uproar, and disorder. well might black hawk look with indifference on the puny exhibition of fireworks in new-york, when he had so often seen fireworks displayed, on such a gigantic scale, on his own native prairies. a prairie storm of fire is indeed terrific. animals and men flee before it, in vain. when impelled by a strong breeze, the wave of fire passes on, with the swiftness of the wind; and the utmost speed of the horse lingers behind. it then assumes a most appalling aspect; roars like a distant cataract, and destroys every thing in its course. man takes to a tree, if he fortunately can find one; sets a back fire; or, as a last resort, dashes through the flame to windward, and escapes with life; although often severely scorched; but the deer and the wolf continue to flee before it, and after a hot pursuit, are run down, overwhelmed and destroyed. much caution should be used, in travelling over an open prairie country, in the fall of the year, when the grass is dry. instances were told me, of the entire destruction of the emigrant and his family by fire, while on the road to their destined habitation. i had heard much of the _backwoodsmen_, and supposed, of course, i should find many of them in illinois; but after diligent search, i found none that merited the appellation. the race has become extinct. who are the inhabitants of illinois? a great portion of them, from the north, recently settled there, and of course, possessing the same hospitality, sobriety and education as the northern people. they went out from us; but they are still of us. a person will find as good society there, as here; only not so much of it. the upper house on fox river settlement, was occupied by an intelligent and refined family, recently from massachusetts. meeting houses and school houses are rare, owing to the sparseness of the inhabitants; but the country is settling rapidly, and these deficiencies will soon be supplied. indeed, so rapidly is the country settling, that in writing this account of it, i sometimes feel like the man who hurried home with his wife's bonnet, lest it should be out of date, before i could get it finished. emigrants, going to settle at the west, with their families, would do well to take their beds, bedding, a moderate supply of culinary utensils, the most essential of their farming tools, and a good supply of clothing. these articles are all high there, and somewhat difficult to be obtained. the more cumbersome of household furniture, such as chairs, tables, bedsteads, &c. are not so essential; because their place can be supplied by the ruder articles of domestic manufacture. in the new settlements, most of the families had chairs or benches, tables and bedsteads, made on the spot by the husbandmen. provisions are cheap, but vary in price according to the demand. corn, at beardstown, is worth twelve and a half cents a bushel; at hennipen, twenty-five cents; and on fox river, fifty cents; and other articles in proportion. when the settler arrives at his location, his first business is to build a log house, which is soon done; then fence in a field, and it is ready for the plough. the prairie breaks up hard at first, requiring four yoke of oxen; but after the first breaking, a single horse can plough it. a good crop is produced the first year; but better in succeeding years. he had better hoe his indian corn. it keeps the ground clear of weeds, and increases the crop; but half of the cornfields are not hoed at all. in the fall of the year, he must take especial care that his crops, stacks of hay, fences, &c. are not burnt, in the general conflagration of the prairies. to prevent this, as good a method as any is to plough two or three furrows around his improvements, and at a distance of about two rods plough as many more; and in a mild day, when the grass is dry, burn over the space between. if he neglects this, he must keep a good look out in a dry and windy day. if he sees a smoke to windward, it will not do to wait until he can see the fire; he must summon all hands, and set a back fire. with a strong breeze, fire will sometimes run over the dry prairies faster than a horse. the inhabitants are often too negligent in this particular. while i was there, a number of stacks of hay and grain, and two or three houses were burnt, from the mere negligence of their owners. but i must bid adieu to the beautiful state of illinois. to the practical husbandman, and to the enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of nature, it is alike attractive; and in which, they both will find ample scope for the exercise of the powers of body and of mind. after two or three hours stay at alton, we started down the stream; and in seven miles, came to the mouth of the turbid missouri. here, two mighty rivers join their forces, and rolling on with irresistible power, for thirteen hundred miles, mingle with the waters of the ocean. the great missouri, after traversing a vast extent of country, in various directions, here bears directly down upon the mississippi; but the latter, like a coy maiden, shrinks back, recoils at his approach, and seems to decline the rude embrace; and they travel on together for forty miles, before the missouri can unite its muddy waters with those of the clear and transparent mississippi. here, the missouri, having at length gained the complete mastery, holds throughout its undisputed sway; and gives its own peculiar complexion to the united stream. the appearance is, indeed, quite singular; to see the two rivers passing along, side by side, in the same channel, such a long distance, without mingling their waters; and the line, between the muddy and clear water, is so well defined and distinctly marked, that it can readily be seen from the shore. on the western bank of the river, seventeen miles below the mouth of the missouri, is the town of st. louis. the view was fine and imposing, as we approached it by water; and it is the most pleasantly situated of any town on the banks of the mississippi. it stands on an elevated plain, which gradually rises from the water, to its western extremity. back of it, there is a level and extensive prairie, and above the village, are a number of stately indian mounds. st. louis is the most important town in all the western country; and there is not a town in the world, such a distance from the sea, that in commercial advantages can at all compare with it. when we consider its situation, near the junction of two mighty rivers, the one navigable twenty-five hundred miles, the other one thousand, and the large navigable branches of each, and see that this place must be the centre of trade for the whole, it requires not the gift of prophecy to designate this spot, as the site of the greatest city of the west. it is now a large town, chiefly built of brick; has a brisk trade; and probably contains seven or eight thousand inhabitants. there was a time, when the only craft on the river was keel boats, and the transportation of goods, arduous and expensive. then, this place struggled slowly into existence, and sometimes remained stationary, or rather declined; but the introduction of steamboats started it into newness of life and vigor. its trade is now daily extending itself, and the town is continually increasing in population and buildings. a dozen steamboats were lying at the landing--some bound high up on the rivers; others, to pittsburgh and new-orleans. this seems to be a sort of "half way house," between the upper and lower country; being a place of general deposit for goods, destined either way. and st. louis will never have to contend with a rival; for there is no other suitable spot near the junction of the two rivers, to locate a city. she will, therefore, continue to increase in size, wealth and beauty, and remain in all time to come, the undisputed "queen of the west." there is a land office kept at st. louis; and plenty of government land to be obtained for a dollar and a quarter an acre. it is chiefly settled by americans; but french settlers are found, and in st. louis there are a large number. considerable trade in peltries is carried on with the indians, who come to the principal towns and exchange their skins for goods. they are continually seen in the streets of st. louis. st. louis has a theatre, and we attended it.--quite a decent edifice, a tolerable play, and a full and fashionable audience. i could perceive no essential difference between this assembly and those of boston or new-york. good society is found here. the streets at night were quiet; or only disturbed by the sound of the violin on board the flat boats, or the merry boatman's song. the sky was serene, the air mild, and we had many a pleasant walk through the town and its environs. indeed, there is a peculiar balmy softness in the air, grateful to the feelings, not to be found in our northern climate. st. louis is a pleasant place; and were it not for the stacks of bar lead on the shore, and some slight peculiarities in the customs of its inhabitants, it could hardly be distinguished from an eastern city. a steam ferry boat plies between this place and the opposite shore, and affords a large profit to its owner. chapter xi. missouri contains sixty thousand square miles, being two hundred and seventy miles in length and two hundred and twenty in breadth. it lies on the west side of the mississippi river, between thirty-six and forty degrees north latitude. it now contains, probably, one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, of whom thirty thousand are slaves. a large tract of this state, commencing at its south end, extending up the mississippi river above the mouth of the ohio, and running into the interior, possesses rich alluvial soil, but is low, swampy, full of lakes, and much of it, subject to overflow. beyond this to the west, the country is broken and hilly; sometimes covered with a small species of oak, and sometimes naked sandy hills and plains.--the whole southerly half of the state, offers but small inducements to the farmer. where the soil is rich, it is too low and unhealthy; where it is high, dry and healthy, it is too barren and sterile to be cultivated. the best portion of the state lies between the missouri and mississippi rivers. this section is the most settled of any part of the state. its surface is delightfully variegated and rolling, and possesses large tracts of rich alluvial and high prairies. the soil contains a greater proportion of sand, than that of the other western states; so that it is easily cultivated, and is never disagreeably muddy. there are spots where we find the stiff clayey soil of ohio and new-york; but they are not extensive. no part of the globe, in a state of nature, can so easily be travelled over in carriages as this. even in spring, the roads cannot be called muddy or difficult to pass. there are two extensive tracts of heavily timbered upland, similar to those of ohio and kentucky--the one is called the bellevue, the other the boone's lick settlement. the surface rolls gently and almost imperceptibly. in this region are many springs of good water, and it is said to be healthy. the mississippi is skirted with a prairie, commencing ten miles above the mouth of the missouri, for the distance of seventy miles. it is about five miles in width, and possesses an excellent soil. there are no prairies of any considerable size on the borders of the missouri, within the limits of the state; but its banks are generally covered with a beautiful growth of tall, straight forest trees. the bottom land on this river is about four miles in width, is sufficiently mixed with sand to prevent its being muddy, and is not subject to be overflowed. there are no bayous, ponds or marshes on the margin of the missouri. the bottoms are now considerably settled for four hundred miles above its mouth. charaton, over two hundred miles up the river, is the highest compact settlement. but the largest and most populous settlement in the state is boone's lick, in franklin county. this is one hundred and eighty miles above the mouth of the river. scattered settlements are, however, found along the river banks for six hundred miles, to the council bluffs. above the platte, which is the largest tributary of the missouri, the prairies come quite in to the banks of the river, and extend on either hand, farther than can be measured by the eye. this is the general complexion of the river banks until you reach the rocky mountains. as far as the limits of this state extend, the river is capable of supporting a dense population for a considerable distance from its banks. above these limits, it is generally too destitute of wood and water to become habitable by any people, except hunters and shepherds. all the tributaries of the missouri are generally copies of the parent stream, and one general remark will apply to the whole. they all have narrow margins of excellent bottom land; and as the country recedes from these, it becomes more and more sandy, barren and destitute of water, until it resembles the deserts of arabia. wheat and corn are generally the chief productions, and the soil is excellent for both. the whole western country is remarkable for withstanding the severest droughts. a crop has never been known to fail in the driest seasons. from twenty-five to thirty bushels to the acre is an average crop of wheat, and from fifty to seventy-five, of corn.--the good lands in missouri produce corn in as great perfection as in any part of the world. it is warm, loamy land, and so mellow that it is easily cultivated. even where the sand appears to predominate, great crops are produced. the soil, in the vicinity of the missouri, is more pliant, and less inclined to be muddy, than that on the banks of the mississippi. rye, barley, oats, flax, hemp, tobacco, melons, pumpkins, squashes and all garden vegetables flourish remarkably well. peaches, pears, plums, cherries, &c. grow to great perfection. the land seems well adapted to the use of plaster, and this is found of excellent quality, in inexhaustible quantities, on the banks of the missouri. beyond all countries, this is the land of blossoms. every prairie is an immense flower garden. in the spring, their prevailing tint is that of the peach blossom--in summer, of a deeper red--then a yellow--and in autumn, a brilliant golden hue. the natural productions of the soil are abundant. the red and yellow prairie plum, crab apples, pawpaws, persimons, peccans, hazelnuts and walnuts are generally found in perfection and abundance. wild hops cover whole prairies; and two or three species of grapes are found in various parts of the state. the heats of summer and dryness of the atmosphere render this suitable for the cultivation of the vine. silk might also be raised in great abundance, as the mulberry tree is every where found among the trees of the forest. near new-madrid, cotton is cultivated. bears, wolves and panthers are found here. the prairie wolf is the most numerous and mischievous. deer, as the indians retire, grow more plenty, and are frequently seen in flocks feeding near the herds of cattle. there is a species of mole found here, and indeed in all the western and southern country, called gopher. these animals live in communities, and build small eminences of a circular form and about a foot high. they are mischievous in potatoe fields and gardens. rattlesnakes, copper heads, and ground vipers are found in the unsettled regions; especially, near flint knobs and ledgy hills. they are not so common as in more timbered regions. it is probable that the burning of the prairie destroys great numbers of them. the waters are covered with ducks, geese, swans, brants, pelicans, cranes and many other smaller birds. the prairie hen and turtle dove are numerous. the domestic animals are the same as in other states. this state and illinois have decided natural advantages for the rearing of cattle, horses, hogs and sheep. a distinguishing feature in the climate, is in the dryness and purity of the atmosphere. the average number of cloudy days in a year is not more than fifty, and not more than half that number are rainy. the quantity of rain is not more than eighteen inches. the sky in summer and autumn is generally cloudless. there are no northeast continued rains as in the atlantic states. the longest storms are from the southwest. the usual diseases are intermittent and bilious fevers. sometimes pleurisy and lung fevers prevail in winter. pulmonic complaints, attended with cough, are seldom; and consumption, that scourge of the east, is unknown. the summers are quite warm, and sometimes oppressive; but generally, a refreshing breeze prevails. the winters are sometimes cold, and the wind blows sharp and keen. the missouri is frozen sufficiently strong to bear loaded teams. but days are found even in january, when it is agreeable to sit at an open window. a few inches of snow occasionally fall, but there is hardly any good sleighing. this state is known to be rich in minerals, although a large portion remains yet unexplored. lead has been found in abundance. the principal "diggings" are included in a district fifteen miles by thirty in extent; the centre of which is sixty miles southwest from st. louis, and about half that distance from herculaneum, on the mississippi. the earth is of a reddish yellow, and the ore is found embedded in rock and hard gravel. fifty diggings are now occupied, from which three millions of pounds of lead are annually sent to market. it is transported from the mines in wagons, either to herculaneum or st. genevieve, and from thence by water to new-orleans. stone coal abounds, especially in the region of st. louis and st. charles. plaster, pipe clay, manganese, zinc, antimony, red and white chalk, ochres, flint, common salt, nitre, plumbago, porphyry, jasper, porcelain clay, iron, marble and the blue limestone of an excellent quality for lime, have already been discovered in this state. iron, lead, plaster and coal are known to exist in inexhaustible quantities. st. louis is much the largest town in the state. it is not only the most pleasantly situated, but has the most favorable location for trade of any town on the mississippi above new-orleans. it has, however, been sufficiently described. st. genevieve is situated about a mile west of the mississippi on the upper extremity of a beautiful prairie. it is principally settled by the french and contains about fifteen hundred inhabitants. it is an old town, and has not increased for the last thirty years. jackson, the seat of justice for cape girardeau county, is twelve miles west of the mississippi, contains one hundred houses, some of them built of brick and handsome. the town of cape girardeau is situated on a high bluff of the mississippi, fifty miles above the mouth of the ohio. it has a fine harbor for boats, and commands an extensive view of the river above and below. it exhibits marks of decay. potosi is the county town of washington. it is situated in the centre of the mining district, in a pleasant valley sixty-five miles southwest from st. louis. st michael is an old french town among the mines. there are some other small villages in the vicinity of the mining district. herculaneum is situated among the high bluffs of the river, thirty miles below st. louis. there are a number of shot towers in its vicinity. new-madrid is fifty miles below the mouth of the ohio. carondolet is a small french village six miles below st. louis; and four miles below this, is the garrison, called jefferson barracks. the public buildings are extensive, and a large number of soldiers are generally stationed here. there are no large villages on the mississippi above the mouth of the missouri. palmyra is probably as large as any. the others are louisianaville, troy and petersburg. there are a number of fine villages on the banks of the missouri; the largest of which is st. charles, twenty miles from the mouth, and just the same distance from st. louis by land. it is situated on a high bank of solid limestone, has one street of good brick houses; and in its rear, an extensive elevated prairie. it contains a protestant and a catholic church, was once the seat of government, and numbers twelve hundred inhabitants; a third of whom are french. it has finely cultivated farms in its neighborhood, and has as interesting scenery as any village in the western country. jefferson city is the present seat of government, but being thought to be an unfavorable location has not improved as was expected. it is situated on the south bank of the missouri, nine miles above the mouth of the osage river, and one hundred and fifty-four by water from st. louis. fifty miles above this, is the town of franklin. it is situated on the north bank of the river, contains two hundred houses and one thousand inhabitants. it is surrounded by the largest body of rich land in the state; and is the centre of fine farms and rich farmers. boonville is on the opposite bank of the river and was originally settled by col. boone, the patriarch of kentucky. bluffton, two hundred and twenty-nine miles by water from st. louis, is the last village within the limits of this state. chapter xii. when we were ready to start, not finding a steamboat bound to new-orleans, which would go under a day or two, we took passage, as far as the mouth of the ohio, in one bound to pittsburgh. on the eastern side of the river, to the mouth of the ohio, it is a level country, (with only one exception) called the "american bottom," and is as fine, rich land as earth affords; but is somewhat subject to overflow, and is supposed not to be very healthy. settlements are, however, making upon it. on the west side we found a number of stately bluffs of limestone, rising from the water perpendicular two or three hundred feet. i was much amused to see the "screw auger grist mills" on the bank of the river. a place is selected where the current sets strong along the shore; and a log seventy feet long, three or four feet in diameter, having a board float a foot in width from stem to stern, in a spiral form, like a coarse threaded screw, is thrown into the river. to the upper end of the log, by an universal joint, is attached a cable, and the other end, extended in a diagonal direction to a shaft in the mill on the bank. the log wheel floats in the water parallel with the shore, about a third of it above the surface; is held in its position by sticks at each end extending to the bank, and the cable itself prevents its going down stream. the current of the river turns the wheel, and the mill clatters merrily on the bank. these high banks are not altogether without their use. they furnish elegant sites for shot towers; and probably half a dozen of them are thus occupied. the greatest natural curiosity on the river, is what is called the "towers." high pillars of limestone are seen on both sides of the stream, and one solid rock rises almost in the middle of the river, thirty feet high. some of the most striking curiosities have particular, if not appropriate names given them; such as "the grand tower," "the devil's candlestick," "the devil's bake-oven," &c. the navigation of the mississippi in steamboats has its dangers. snags and sawyers are scattered along down the river; and it requires great attention in the pilot, to avoid them. but there are other dangers beside this. as we came along down, we passed a steamboat that had burst her boiler; blown the upper part of it to pieces and killed a number of persons; and further down the mississippi, the "boonslick" run into the "missouri belle," sunk her in eighty feet of water, and drowned a number of passengers. as we came down opposite the mouth of the ohio, we had our courage put to the test. it was about twilight, and cloudy; but objects could well be discerned for some distance. we saw a steamboat coming up the river, and apparently intending to pass us on the left hand. when within a short distance of us, the boat "took a sheer," stood on the other tack, to pass us on the right. our captain sung out, "the boat is coming right into us; back the engine." then was a scene of confusion and dismay on board; "and the boldest held his breath for a time." if the boats came in contact, one or both would undoubtedly sink; and it appeared unavoidable. i ran up on the upper deck, and stood beside the flag staff, to wait the event. it was soon decided. by backing our boat and putting the steam on the other, we passed without striking at the distance of a few feet only. this was, indeed, a fortunate escape. i thought the pilot of the other boat must have been at fault; but the captain told me he was not at all. a cross current from the ohio struck the bow of his boat, and veered her round in spite of the helm; and then, the only chance was to go ahead with all the speed he could. it now became quite dark, and in attempting to go across into the ohio channel, the boat run aground on a sand bar. all the boat hands were employed till past midnight to get her off, but without success. they all turned in, to rest and wait till daylight. when the captain arose in the morning, he found the boat adrift. on examination, it appeared the force of the current alone had washed away the sand bar, and drove the boat across from the mississippi side into the ohio channel. he put the steam on, and we run to the landing place on the illinois side, and a short distance up the river. here we found half a dozen steamboats, exchanging with each other goods and passengers. the mouth of the ohio is a general stopping place for all boats running up and down either river; and would be a fine situation for a town, if the land were suitable to build upon. although the shore appeared to be thirty feet above the then low stage of water, yet in a freshet, the whole is laid eight or ten feet under water. we found here a large tavern house and grocery; both stuck up on stilts; the latter, standing nearest the bank, had a breakwater, to keep it from being carried away by the flood and floating timber. we stopped an hour or more; went to the tavern, and found dissipation in a flourishing condition. those acquainted with the place, told us it was as much as a man's life was worth, to stay there. rioting, robbing, gambling and fighting were the general order of things, day after day, and night after night. for the honor of the human race, i hope this account is exaggerated. but i must confess, appearances are against it. here, we left our boat, and took passage on board another, bound to new-orleans. these mississippi steamboats are of gigantic size, and look like a floating castle--i was about to say the ancient ark; and although it might fall some short of that ancient vessel, in quantity and quality of lading, yet when its size and great variety of cargo are taken into consideration, the comparison might not be deemed a bad one. in one particular, it would be exact. we had aboard a number of "_creeping things_." our boat was laden with barrels of pork, kegs of lard, hogsheads of hams, bags of corn, bars of lead, bales of cotton, coops of chickens, horses, men, women, children, and negro slaves; men of gentlemanly deportment and of good character; and gamblers, horse-jockeys, and negro dealers; and women, of good fame, ill fame, and no particular fame at all. this was, surely, variety enough for one boat. the untravelled man might obtain some new ideas of the world, by taking a trip in a mississippi steamboat. it seemed like a world in miniature. singing, fiddling, dancing, card playing, gambling, and story telling, were among the pastimes of the passage. mere pastimes, to relieve the tedium of the voyage, for those who have no other resources at command, may not be the subject of censure; but there were some practices on board this boat, which ought not to be thus lightly passed over. one woman, in the garb and mien of a lady, and whose person still wore the bloom of youth, but whose conduct was far from being unexceptionable, appeared, sometimes, pensive and sad. she appeared as though she had seen other and better days; and that her present course of life was not, even to herself, entirely satisfactory. i had some curiosity to learn something of her history, and one day in a talkative mood, she gave me the outlines of it. she said, she was the daughter of rich parents in the state of delaware. her father died while she was quite young; leaving her with an ample fortune, and in the care of an indulgent mother. she had always been kept at school; learned music, drawing and dancing; read novels; attended parties, and was caressed and flattered. in short, she was a giddy girl, and knew nothing of the world. at this critical time of life, she was flattered by a young man of prepossessing appearance, but of worthless character, who offered her marriage. she knew her mother would, at her tender years, object to the match; and therefore, at the early age of fifteen, she clandestinely jumped out of the window of her boarding house in the night, and was married! this was a sore affliction to her mother; and although she herself was not entirely discarded, her husband was never permitted to enter the parental mansion. her husband obtained her fortune, spent it "in riotous living," and after awhile, left her with two small children, and fled to cincinnati. she, in her distress, applied to her mother; she would receive her, but not her children. she then took her children, and went after her husband. she found him; but they lived but a short time together, before he abused her in such a manner, she was obliged to quit him; and not much caring whither she went, she took passage on board a boat for st. louis. at this place she supported herself and children as long as she could, by selling her trinkets and superfluous clothing, and then was left destitute. she had never been accustomed to labor; her hands were as delicate as those of a child--she "could not work, and to beg she was ashamed." as a last resort, (could a virtuous woman think so?) she became an inmate of a house not of the _strictest morals_. after staying there awhile, she became acquainted with some of the hands of the boat, who persuaded her to try her fortune at the city of new-orleans. she was now only about twenty! she was miserable, and expected to be so. vice carried with it its own punishment. i tried to induce her to return to her mother; but in vain. her conduct had been such, she was ashamed to return. a sad termination this, to the bright hopes, and fond anticipations of an indulgent mother. so true it is, that one improvident step in life, often leads to destruction. another female who figured somewhat conspicuously, was one who came on board at the mouth of the ohio from the steamboat nile; and from that circumstance, was called by the passengers the "queen of the nile." she was from the state of ohio, possessed a fine person, and in her days of innocence, must have been handsome and fascinating. she was the daughter of respectable parents, and commenced life with high hopes and brilliant expectations; but she had been "disappointed in love." abandoned by her "cruel spoiler," she gave herself up to dissipation and crime. the bloom of her cheeks began to fade, and the sad aspect, sometimes so conspicuously depicted in her countenance, plainly indicated a mind ill at ease and a heart painfully sad. she travelled without object, other than to revel in dissipation and kill time. but her course of life had made serious inroads upon her health, and it was apparent enough that her days must be "evil and few." i sometimes observed her sitting on the guard of the boat for hours all alone, gazing in sadness at the peaceful forest and cottages as they passed in rapid review before her, the tears fast flowing from her eyes, and her face exhibiting such anguish as may not be expressed by words. she kept on in the boat to new-orleans, and i afterwards was informed by a gentleman who was a fellow passenger, that she became mistress to a frenchman in that city. how mistaken mankind are! crime never did cure the heart ache, or dissipation ever dispel sorrow. the steamboats are constructed like a long two story house, having large windows and green blinds. the hold is to stow away their heavy freight; on the first deck, is the gentlemen's cabin, and the dining room, where all the cabin passengers take their meals; in the centre, is the engine, cook room, &c.--and forward, are the boilers and wood. on the next deck, is the ladies' cabin aft, and forward is the place for deck passengers, having berths but no bedding. over this, is what is called the "hurricane deck." a cabin passage from st. louis to new-orleans, is twenty-five dollars; and a deck passage seven dollars--the passenger finding his own bedding and meals. cooking stoves are provided, so that families often lay in their own provisions and cook their own meals. boats burn a good deal of wood--ours consumed a cord an hour; and it is no small job to bring the wood aboard from the slippery banks of the mississippi. as an inducement to the deck passengers to help wood the boat, two dollars are deducted to those who agree to wood; so in that case they only pay five dollars. thirty or forty of our passengers agreed to wood, but the mate and clerk had much difficulty to make them fulfil their engagements. it was sometimes really laughable, to see the expedients resorted to, to get rid of wooding; especially when the boat rounded to, by the side of a wood-pile in the night. the clerk would sing out, "wood-pile, wood-pile, where are the wooders?" but they, like some characters in high places, were more inclined to "dodge the question," than to walk up manfully and perform their duty. some feigned themselves sick; some hid under the baggage, or beneath the berths; others went on shore and skulked in the woods, until the wooding was over. so that with all their coaxing and driving, they would not be able to bring to the work more than half of the wood hands. one fracas was ludicrous, although i could not but regret the result. it is well known, that the inhabitants of the several western states are called by certain _nicknames_. those of michigan are called _wolverines_; of indiana, _hooshers_; of illinois, _suckers_; of ohio, _buckeyes_; of kentucky, _corn-crackers_; of missouri, _pukes_, &c. to call a person by his right nickname, is always taken in good part, and gives no offence; but nothing is more offensive than to mis-nickname--that is, were you to call a hoosher a wolverine, his blood would be up in a moment, and he would immediately show fight.--now it so happened that the mate, who was a regular built buckeye, had a dispute with a wood hand, who was about half drunk, and refused to wood. the mate stood on the lower deck, and he on the deck above; and in the course of the wrangle, he had called him some terrible hard names, which he bore with becoming fortitude and forbearance. at length, the wood hand called him a "d--d old puke!" this was too much--unendurable. he fired in a moment--rushed up and floored him in a twinkling--dragged him down by his collar, thrust him ashore, and left him in the woods. but the steamboat, the steamboat! for noise and confusion, give me the mississippi steamboat. they all have powerful high-pressure engines; the escape pipe is large, and at every breath they make a tremendous noise. they "talk big," and swiftly dash through the water. it is indeed a grand display, to see the steamboats pass. in "a voice of thunder" they come--the wheels lash the water--and the prows cut the stream--and the waves roll in violent commotion for hundreds of yards behind them. and then, the noise of the engine, and hurry and bustle of the passengers within:--an excellent place to cure one of the ennui. on board our boat, we had a number of very intelligent and agreeable gentlemen--kentuckians, tennesseans, mississippians, &c. i wish these western people would be a little more exact in speaking the english language. some inaccuracies i observed; and if this book ever reaches them, they will not be offended, but obliged to me for these suggestions. in the first place, they use the word _which_ instead of _what_. ask a question, and if they do not understand you, they reply "_which?_"--another phrase, "i have _saw_," instead of "i have _seen_," is often used. then there is "a right smart chance," applied to almost every thing; and "tote in the plunder," instead of "bring in the baggage." but the word _heap_ has too much by far _heaped_ upon its shoulders. "a _heap_ better," "a _heap_ easier," and "a _heap_ of ladies," are phrases often heard. i may be a little sensitive, but the word _heap_ is very disagreeable, and i wish it was expunged from the english vocabulary. all these expressions are not used by many literary men in this country, but they are indeed, quite too common. they have some peculiarities in the calling of money. a new-england _ninepence_ is called _a bit_; and the four-pence-half-penny bears the name of _pickaroon_. in travelling from new-hampshire to virginia some years ago, i was somewhat amused at the different names given to the same piece of money. my four-pence-half-penny became at new-york a _sixpence_, at philadelphia a _fip_, and at virginia it became a four-pence-half-penny again. but all these singularities and inconveniences will soon be done away, and money will universally bear its legal title, dollars and cents. chapter xiii. there is an independent frankness in these western people that i admire. it is a kind of individuality of character--every one appears to act out himself, without reference to others. at the north, people are too apt to follow the multitude, or a particular file leader; and by them, shape their opinions and actions. in order to tell whether they will do a particular act, they must look about them, and ascertain what others will say of it. the politician must conform to the usages of his party, whatever they may be. he must think as they think, and act as they act, whether it be agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience or not. the pious lady must be exactly in the fashion--conform to certain leaders--be charitable by rule--and kind, in the most approved mode. if any one has the boldness to take an independent course, in fashion, politics or religion, he is looked upon with suspicion, as a dangerous innovator, and must not be tolerated. the dogs of war are let loose upon him, and he is hunted down for entertaining an opinion of his own. in this manner, individual character becomes swallowed up and lost in that of the multitude. but in this region, nature is true to herself. the useless and cumbersome shackles of custom and party are thrown aside with disdain; and the individual walks forth in his own native freedom and independence. he does not shape his course by what his neighbors may say, do or think; but acts according to the dictates of his own heart, and from his own opinion of right and wrong. he is charitable, kind and hospitable--not in a grudging, supercilious manner; or in a way calculated to display himself; but with such an air of open-hearted welcome, as to make the recipient feel at ease, and doubles the value of the kindness bestowed. how can man be niggardly and mean, among the teeming prairies and stately forests of the west, where nature herself, by showering down her blessings with a bountiful hand, teaches him also to be liberal! and i have often to myself reversed the question and asked, how can northern people be other than inhospitable and niggardly, living in such a crabbed climate, and on such a barren soil. they cannot, in general, afford to be liberal; and were it otherwise, the severe labor and economy--the continual dealing in small things--the constant rack of brains, to find some method to turn a penny to advantage--that must be gone through with, to gain a large estate, seem to drive out of the head of the possessor all notions of liberality, and tend to steel the heart against noble acts of kindness. that which costs much, and is rarely obtained, is highly valued, and not lightly parted with. we are not well educated in the school of hospitality. we awkwardly perform its teachings--seldom with gracefulness and a hearty welcome. among our passengers, there were twenty-three negro slaves, men and women; bought in kentucky by negro speculators, to be transported to natchez, where the market is high, to be sold. one of them was taken with the cholera, and in twelve hours died. he was put into a rough box, and when we stopped to wood, buried on shore. this was the only case we had, and the only one i ever witnessed. it is a dreadful disease; but has been too often professionally described, for me to attempt it. these negroes are singular beings. although one of their number had died; and although they were slaves, and going to be sold to, they knew not whom, or what hardships they might be made to endure, yet they were always merry--talking, laughing, singing, dancing, in one continued round. at every place we stopped, they would run on shore, and while one sung, clapped his hands, and beat time with his foot, the others would foot it merrily on the smooth ground. knowing their destination, their thoughtless gayety sometimes produced disagreeable sensations. there are some situations, however, where ignorance and thoughtlessness are a blessing. they were not confined at all, but appeared to be kindly treated, and to enjoy every liberty they might, consistent with their situation. the banks of the mississippi look high enough at low water; probably thirty feet; presenting a raw edge next the stream, and generally covered with a dense forest of lofty trees; yet at high water, they are generally overflowed, except at the high bluffs. the most prominent of these, are what are called the iron banks, chickasaw bluffs, walnut hills, and the site of the city of natchez--all these are on the east side of the river. i do not remember of seeing a single high bluff on the west side, below the mouth of the ohio. there are occasionally small elevations over which the river does not flow; and villages erected on them. but every few miles without regard to overflows, log houses are erected in the wilderness, inhabited by woodcutters; and their only employment seems to be, to supply the steamboats with wood. although wood is cheap, being generally $ , a cord, above the mouth of the ohio, and from there to natchez $ , , yet the demand is so great, and the forest so near, they make quite a lucrative business of it. the river is very crooked, sometimes going five miles to gain one; has many islands, and some places, full of snags. there are two or three snag boats employed on the river, and when they get them chiefly out, the missouri, which seems to take upon itself the chief regulation of the stream, brings down at high water a reinforcement equal to the first supply; so that to keep the river clear of snags, is like the labor of sisyphus, who was doomed to roll a stone up a hill, and the moment he got it near the top, it would roll down again. the introduction of steamboats on the western waters, has revolutionized the country. they have opened the deep recesses of the west, to the free access of mankind, and let in the light of day upon them. the half-horse and half-alligator race are no longer to be found; but the inhabitants of this part of creation look, and talk, and act, and live--very much like human beings. the refinements, elegancies and luxuries of life are not so generally found here, as in the atlantic states; but all the necessaries are every where abundant. in michigan, illinois, missouri, and all along the river mississippi, i found the inhabitants civil and kind; and in no one instance did i ask for a meal of victuals in vain. it might, sometimes, be a homely one, and once i recollect, it consisted of meat and bread; but those who have such a mawkish sensibility that they cannot relish the simple fare of the forrester, ought never to set a foot on the western world. the flat boats are still in use on the river. we passed hundreds of them; some loaded with live stock, others with corn, cotton, &c. they have hardly any resemblance of a boat. they are sixty or seventy feet long, ten wide, having corner posts and a square form like a house, and a flat roof. the current floats them down the stream to the destined port, the cargoes and boats are both sold, and the hands take passage on board the steamboats, home. we stopped at all the villages and towns of any size on the river, to take and leave passengers and freight; but books give such an accurate description of them, as to render any particular notice here unnecessary. memphis is the most pleasant, vicksburg the most flourishing, and natchez the largest--all on the east side of the river. there are no large towns on the west side of the river below the mouth of the ohio. as prominent as any, perhaps, is new-madrid, situated just within the southern border of the state of missouri. it was once a much larger village than at present. it is memorable for the romantic history of its origin under general morgan, and for the great earthquakes in and . mr. flint says that these earthquakes were more severe than any known in our part of the continent. the shocks were felt more or less throughout the whole western country; but they were more severe and produced the most disastrous effects in the region of new-madrid.--the grave yard of the village, with all its sleeping tenants was precipitated into the river--the trees were violently thrown against each other, bent in various directions or prostrated--the earth burst in many places, and earth, sand and water were thrown high into the air--thousands of acres were sunk and many ponds formed--the river became dammed up and flowed backwards--islands sunk in the stream, and boats as they passed shared the same fate--the birds of the air became terrified, descended to the earth and flew into the arms of man to shelter themselves from the commotion of nature--the whole country for a time became inundated, but as it was thinly inhabited few lives only were lost. history does not record an earthquake attended with more terrific circumstances and threatening a more exterminating war with man and nature, than this. the thriving country about the village was made desolate, but now it is slowly regaining its former condition. in this region the country is rich and beautiful, but the many ponds made by the earthquake render it unhealthy. new-madrid is, however, quite a village, transacts much business and is the most noted landing place for steamboats on the west side of the river below st. louis. chapter xiv. at natchez, i left the boat, and stopped a day or two, to make the necessary preparations to go over land on horseback to texas. there is a steamboat that plies regularly between this place and alexandria on red river; and we should rather have travelled by water as far as that place, and avoided crossing the mississippi swamp by land; but the boat had gone, and would not return under a number of days. natchez is an incorporated city, containing about three thousand inhabitants. that part of it which lies under the bluff near the river, is muddy, looks old and disagreeable; but the main part of the city is situated on a high bank, two hundred feet above the river; chiefly built of brick, quite pleasant, and makes quite a show of business. the ground back of it, is full of gullies, and is unpleasant. it is an old town, but has much improved within a few years. many people going to texas continue on down the river to new-orleans, and there take a passage on board a vessel to some port in the province; but my desire was to see the country, and therefore, i chose to travel over land. a pleasant and companionable gentleman from the state of new-york, who came down in the boat with me, agreed to bear me company. some acquaintances of his, with their families, were on the road to texas, and he like myself wished to see the country. having provided ourselves with horses, portmanteaus, fireworks, &c. and obtained the necessary directions, we took an early start; crossed the mississippi in a ferry boat, for which we were taxed half a dollar each; and took the road to alexandria. we had some ill-forbodings about the great mississippi swamp; for just as we were about to cross the river a gentleman, of whom we made some enquires respecting the route, told us he thought it now impossible to travel through it in consequence of the rains which had recently fallen. but we were all equipped to go by land, and this, our only route; and therefore, we determined, at all events, to push forward. there is a road from the mouth of red river, along its bank to alexandria, and this, we were afterwards informed, is the best route; but it was seventy miles below us; and whoever takes it, must go down in a boat. our route lay, for the first six miles, up the river near its bank; and then we turned more to the west. we passed half a dozen cotton plantations, some quite large, and saw an army of negroes picking it. the cotton plant grows about as high as a man's head, has blossoms about as big as that of a small rose, and resembling in appearance the hollyhock, but more extensive branches. the pod is about the size and shape of the outer covering of a walnut; and when ripe, it opens in quarters, and presents the cotton in full view. a negro takes a basket or a bag, and swings it at his side, and with his thumb and finger picks out the cotton, almost as fast as a hen picks up corn. it grows from the seed, is planted every year in hills like corn, and cultivated in the same manner. a field of cotton in full blossom, makes a fine appearance. after it is picked, it is laid on a rack to dry; then ginned to take out the seed, and put up in bales for the market. the rope and bagging used, are the manufacture of kentucky; or at least it brings more into market than all the other states. i was told that one prime hand on good land would _make_ ten bales of cotton a year, and raise corn enough to support himself. the average worth of these bales is five hundred dollars. from enquiries i afterwards made, i believe the plantations generally make about seven bales to the hand. no wonder negroes are valuable in a cotton-growing country. our route now lay through a dense forest--and the ground generally so miry that we could only ride on a walk. sometimes we came to the thick canebrakes, about twenty feet high, and overhanging our narrow path. sometimes, we found the palmetto, which exactly resembles a large green, open fan, standing on a stem a foot high, and so thick that we could hardly ride through them, or see any path at all. sometimes we came to a sheet of water a hundred yards wide, in which a horse would plunge to the saddle skirts, and for a while, become stuck fast; and again, we would find a cypress swamp, full of cypress knees and mud. indeed it is the worst swamp i ever travelled over, before or since; and sometimes, i thought our horses were stuck too fast ever to move again. these cypress knees are quite a curiosity. they start from the roots of the tree, grow from two to four feet high, about the size of a man's arm, but rather larger at the bottom, and are smooth, without leaf or branch. they look like a parcel of small posts with the bark growing over the top end; and are so thick, that it is troublesome to ride among them. the cause or use of this anomaly in nature i cannot divine. eighteen miles from natchez, we came to two log houses and a small stream, called the tensaw. we crossed the ferry, about twice the length of the boat in width, and paid half a dollar each for ferriage. we had now twelve miles to go to find a stopping place for the night, and all the way, through a dense forest of lofty trees; and it was three o'clock in the afternoon. the first half of the distance was decent travelling, although we could not ride much of the way faster than a walk. then we came to a wet and miry road. it began to grow dark in the woods. the trees were quite thick, and hung full of spanish moss; and there was no moon in the sky. the wolf, the wildcat, and the owl, had pitched their tune for the night; and soon, thick darkness shrouded around our path. the heavens were clear; yet so dense were the foliage and moss, that it was seldom i could find a loop hole, through which a star might cast its rays upon us. i never had been in such a gloomy situation before. we were in a path, to us untravelled; and by its appearance, seldom travelled by man. we had shoals of muddy water to cross, and sloughs of mud to wallow through. and then the night was so dark, and the track so faint, we frequently lost it, and found it again with difficulty. it was ten o'clock at night when we arrived on the shore of the lake, and saw a light on the other side. we raised the ferryman after a while, and he came out and took us over. this lake is about a mile wide, and twelve long, and must have once been the channel of the mississippi. the ferriage here was half a dollar each. on the other side, we found a good house, and a genteel family within. they soon provided for us an excellent supper, which was very acceptable after a ride of thirty miles over such an execrable road. not being much used to travelling on horseback, i felt excessively fatigued and retired immediately to bed. my companion and myself had each of us a good bed, and we slept soundly until after sunrise. the morning was fine, so we walked awhile along the shore of the lake, before breakfast. it was about the twentieth of november, yet the air felt as mild as a morning in june. the winter was following hard after me, yet i had travelled to the southward and westward faster than the cold weather. the coldest weather i had found on my route, was in the state of new-york. there is a softness in the atmosphere of the western states that is very grateful to the feelings, and is not found in our northern climate. in going westward on the same parallel of latitude, the air becomes sensibly more mild and bland. the air is very clear, so here as in illinois, i could discern objects much further than at the north. i could see a house so far off, that it would not look larger than a bee-hive. there had been no frost here, and nature wore her livery of green. this gentleman has a fine cotton plantation of rich alluvial land. his house is built facing the lake, on an indian mound, levelled down to the height of about six feet. we took breakfast with the family in a large portico on the back side of the house. it was a good breakfast, on a neat spread table, and the lady at the head performed the honors of it, with an ease and grace seldom equalled. we performed our parts to a charm, both in eating the breakfast and complimenting the hostess. this family were from the state of virginia, and had been settled here in louisiana seven years.--the gentleman informed me they had generally enjoyed good health, although they had sometimes been afflicted with the fever and ague. it is refreshing to the weary traveller, when far away from his home, to find a spot in his path, where he can renew his strength, and repose in peace. at such a spot he lingers, leaves it with regret, and treasures it up in his memory. i have often thought, that many persons do not travel in a right spirit. they start on their journey with a full belief that all the customs and modes of life they find, differing from those they have been accustomed to, are all wrong, and proper subjects of censure and dislike. they see nothing in its true light, enjoy nothing, find fault with everything; and are continually running their heads against a post. they are always on the rack; and probably punish themselves as much as they do every one around them. but such a course betrays a gross ignorance. who can read the outpourings of madame trollope's brain, without being convinced that she had too gross conceptions, and too strong prejudices, to write the history of any people, whose manners were different from her own. she saw nothing, only through a jaundiced eye; and she had too narrow and contracted a mind, ever to make the important discovery, that the fault might be in herself, and not in the objects with which she was surrounded. some prefer to be mere scavengers; and when they find anything gross or impure, delight to exhibit it to the gaze of the world. i have often thought of the severe reply of dr. johnson to a lady, who told him she liked his dictionary, because he had no indelicate words in it. o, says the doctor, i did not trouble _my_ head about them, but i see _you_ have been looking for them. other travellers think, the more fault they find, the more they will be noticed; and they will be treated with the more deference and respect. i once happened to ride in the stage with the venerable chief justice marshall. he was affable and polite, at peace with himself, and displeased at nothing. in the same stage, as if nature intended to exhibit two beings, in bold relief, and make the contrast the more striking, was a testy young man, who found fault with every thing, and was pleased with nothing. he cursed the driver, the stage and the road; and the country through which we travelled was too execrable to live in. at the hotel, where we stopped to dine, he keeps the house in a continual uproar. the dinner bell rang, and we set down at the table. for some reason, he did not come in immediately; and when he made his appearance, the table was entirely full. this was too much for him to bear. he cursed the waiter for not saving a place for him. the waiter, as quick as possible, provided him a place at a side table. but he was determined not to be thrown into the shade in this manner. the judge ate his dinner in silence; but this _side table_ gentleman kept a continual cry for something. "i say, waiter"--bring me this, and bring me that.--his vociferations became quite annoying. at length, he cried out with rather increased vehemence, "i say, waiter, bring me a _fresh_ potatoe." the moment this was uttered, one of the gentleman at our table said, "waiter, give that gentleman a _fresh_ chair, i am sure he has set in that one long enough." this was a damper. it caused quite a laugh at the young man's expense. he became silent, and after dinner, we saw no more of him. chapter xv. "behold us mounted once again,"--and immediately after leaving this gentleman's plantation, we again passed into a dense forest and found a muddy path. in about six miles we found some sandy land and pine timber, and here we left what is called the mississippi swamp. we soon came to the outlet of the lake, which we had to ford. the water was deep, and the shore deep mud. it was a difficult job to make a horse wallow through. we were told that a horse got swamped and died in the mud, a few feet from the spot where we crossed. we came to the banks of washita river, followed it down three miles, and crossed over to harrisonburg. the town is built on a level plain on the west bank of the river; but it contains not more than twenty houses. this river empties into red river, and is navigable for steamboats a long distance above the village. it is forty-two miles west of natchez. on this river are the lands where the famous aaron burr _talked_ of establishing a colony; but unless the land above and below is better than in this region, it might not have been very flourishing. the soil is too sandy and poor. we rode twenty-five miles over a rolling sandy country, generally covered with pine woods; and stopped at night with a gentleman who had been one of burr's party. he did not seem inclined to say much of that ill-fated expedition. here we were kindly treated, and fared well. he had been there nineteen years; had cleared a large plantation; raised cotton, corn and cattle; had eight or ten negroes, and possessed the necessaries of life in abundance. but he still lived in a log house, without a glass window in it. i asked him, why he did not have windows. he said, the house was well enough; if the hole cut for a window did not make it light enough, he opened the door. it was not just such a house as i should be contented in, for nineteen years, and possessing the wealth he had.--it, however, was to his taste; and for aught i could see, he was as happy as those who live in much better houses. to-day we travelled thirty-three miles to alexandria, just one hundred miles from natchez. the first forty was mississippi swamp, excellent land, but a good deal of it too low for cultivation; the last sixty miles was, with few exceptions, hilly, sandy, pitch pine woods. we passed only a few good plantations. occasionally, we found a small prairie of poor soil, and a deserted log house. it was indeed the most dreary road i ever travelled. in the last day's travel, we passed two small rivers; one we crossed in a ferry boat; and to our special wonder, we found quite a decent bridge over the other. red river is rightly named; it is almost as red as blood, caused by the red soil through which it passes. it is quite a large stream; but the water is too brackish to drink, or for culinary purposes. the only resource of the inhabitants of alexandria is to catch rain water for which they have enormous large cisterns. we crossed the river opposite the town in a ferry boat, and found the current about as strong as that of the mississippi. it is navigable for steamboats, in a moderate stage of water, as high up as "the raft," and when the removal of that is completed, for a long distance into the country. about a mile above the town, there is a short rapid which boats cannot pass when the water is low. the mouth of red river has probably undergone some changes. it is almost certain, that in by-gone years, red river had its own separate channel to the gulf of mexico; but in process of time, the ever changing mississippi river took a long turn that way; struck into its channel, and after appropriating its waters and three miles of its bed to its own use, wheeled round to the left, and pursued its own course to the ocean. in this state of the case, the upper part of red river became a tributary of the mississippi, and the lower part a mere waste-way to pass off its superfluous waters. but the inconstant mississippi, a short time ago, cut out for itself a new, strait channel across the bend, and left red river to itself. this cut-off, however, proved of incalculable advantage to that section of country. it let off the mississippi waters so freely, that a large tract of most excellent land does not now overflow; and this is sought for with avidity, and settling fast. alexandria is pleasantly situated on a level plain, the south side of red river, one hundred and four miles from its mouth, and three hundred and twenty-nine from new-orleans. it is regularly laid out in squares; has a court house, three hotels, eight or ten stores, two or three groceries, and a number of good dwelling houses. its chief export is cotton, and that of the first quality. red river cotton commands the highest price in market. i saw a large number of bales piled on the river bank, and wagon loads coming in. gentlemen and ladies, in pleasure carriages and on horseback, were riding through the streets; and the hotels were full of guests. it appears to be a place of business and of pleasure; of much wealth, and in a rich neighborhood. this place and natchitoches, seventy-five miles above it, are the only towns of any size in this section of the country. at the upper end of the town, there is a regular laid out race-course, of a circular form, and a mile in extent. here, the speed of horses is frequently put to the test, and extensive bets made on the result. this seems to be the favorite sport of this country--of more absorbing interest than any other; and about which the people talk more than on any other one subject. good race-horses are of great value, and almost any price will be given for them. although the race-course may have its great attractions--it may exhilarate the feelings, to see that noble animal, the horse, with mettle high, and lofty bearing, spurn the dust beneath his feet, and skim along the plain with the swiftness of the wind; and although it may have a tendency to improve the breed of horses; yet upon the whole, may it not be said, that it is purchasing improvement and pleasure, at a great expense of time and money; and, independent of its moral effect upon society, productive of more evil than good. gambling is too much the order of the day. a large billiard room faces the main street in this village, and seems never to lack for customers. in this room one man killed another by striking him on the head with the _cue_, and his trial was just finished as i arrived. he was convicted of manslaughter, and sentenced to ten years confinement in the state prison. the result of the trial gave general dissatisfaction among the people. they thought he ought to have been convicted of murder and suffered its penalty. not much attention is paid to the cultivation of vegetables or fruit. the peach and fig-tree were the only fruit trees i saw, and but few of them.--the fig-tree much resembles our northern quince tree, but grows some larger in size. the only vegetables we had at table, were turnips and sweet potatoes. the northern potatoe will not produce a crop unless new seed is obtained every year. all the beds in this region are surrounded with thin curtains, or as they are termed here, moscheto-bars, to protect the inmate from that pestiferous, anti-sleeping insect, the moscheto. of all insects this world produces, the moscheto is the most troublesome and annoying. to lie down without a bar, as i sometimes did, and fight the moschetoes all night long is dreadful. too tired and sleepy to keep awake, i would fall into a drowse, only to be aroused in a moment by half a dozen dabbing into my face, and singing in my ears. they are indeed, too familiar by half; and the only chance to cut their acquaintance is to flee. i would not spend my days in the region of moschetoes for the sake of wealth, for i should only possess splendid misery. chapter xvi. about a mile above this place, we left red river, and travelled the road on the bank of bayou rapide for twenty-five miles, to the mansion house of a mr. henderson, where we stayed over night. in this day's ride, we passed over as rich land as i ever saw, covered with extensive cotton plantations. it is all river-bottom land of a red clayey soil; and all along the road, as we passed, we saw clouds of negroes with bags and baskets at their sides, picking cotton. the land produces an abundant and a profitable crop, and the planters appear to have grown rich. but it seems not exactly to be a paradise, if there be indeed, any such a place on earth. it is excessively annoyed by moschetoes, and is very unhealthy. during the warm, sickly summer months, the planters with their families flee to the pine woods, where the air is fine and salubrious; and leave their overseers and negroes to battle with disease and moschetoes, the best way they can. they are very companionable, hospitable and kind, and their style of living is much the same as that of the southern planters generally. about half way up, we crossed the stream over a bridge to the right hand side; and just before we arrived at mr. henderson's, we crossed it again. soon after we crossed it the first time, i happened to cast my eyes towards the stream, and found it running the other way! we had certainly been travelling all along up the stream; and now, without any apparent cause, either in the "lay of the land," or direction of the channel, it was just as certain its current was with us. i enquired of our host the meaning of all this. he pleasantly observed, that the streams in this part of the country, were very accommodating; they could go almost any way. he, however, explained the phenomenon. he said, the channel of the stream, by the side of which we had travelled, was, undoubtedly, once the bed of red river. ten miles above him, the river had taken a straight course to alexandria, and left its former circuitous route. the water, which we now saw running, is supplied by a stream from the lake, enters the old channel on the opposite side from where we were travelling, then divides itself, one half running down and entering the river near alexandria, and the other running up the old bed, and entering the river ten miles above. when the river is high, a portion of it flows round in its old bed, and drives the upper current along with it. so that by this house the stream runs about half of the year one way, and the other half in the opposite direction! a rather difficult stream i should think, to build a mill upon. this is indeed quite a curiosity; but to the explanation one objection may be urged. if this be in fact the old bed of red river, and from examination i am satisfied it is, one might naturally suppose it would be all along descending _one way_; and, therefore, the stream which enters it would not divide itself, but the _whole_ of it run in the _same direction_ that the river formerly did. the answer to this is, the stream coming in, carried sand with it, and for a considerable distance somewhat filled up the old channel, so as to make a descent each way; but not so much as to prevent red river when high, from sweeping round, in its former course. a curiosity, in some respects similar to this, is found in arkansas territory. white river and arkansas river enter the mississippi ten miles apart; and about twenty miles above, there is a direct water communication between them; which is a large navigable stream; the water of which runs, sometimes one way and sometimes the other, according to the comparative height of each river; so that a person living on its bank, could make no sort of calculation which way the stream might run, from day to day. mr. henderson has a large house pleasantly situated on a sandy hill near the pine woods, and commands an extensive view in front of the river flatland, and cotton plantations. we here fared well; and as mr. henderson has ample accommodations, his house may be safely recommended as a stopping place for the traveller. our route now lay through the pine woods. our object was to strike the road from natchitoches to mexico, at the nearest point practicable; and this spot, we were told, was at the garrison, fort jessup. this fort is situated half way between natchitoches and the sabine river, the line between the united states and texas; being twenty-five miles from each. natchitoches being twenty-five miles north of our route, we concluded not to pass through it; but when red river is high, travellers to texas often take a passage on board a steamboat from natchez to that place, and from thence, take the mexican road. from mr. henderson's an intelligent gentleman, well acquainted with the country, travelled with us three or four days on our route; and from whom we obtained much information. this day, we travelled forty miles through an unbroken forest of pitch pine. the land is sandy, gently undulating, but seldom rocky. the trees were of good size, but not so thick together as to prevent the grass from growing beneath them; or the traveller from seeing a great distance as he passes along. about half way, we found a small log house, in which a white man lived with a black wife. with some people, i suppose this would be commendable; but i confess it gave me unpleasant feelings to see half a dozen of _half-bloods_ running about the house. he professed to keep a sort of tavern, but all the refreshment we obtained was bread and meat. at night, we came to the house of a planter, near a small river. he had a hundred acres cleared of river bottom land, which had been planted with cotton and corn; a large stock of cattle and hogs, which ranged in the woods. he had lived here twelve years, was worth twenty thousand dollars; yet still lived in a log house with only two rooms, and without a window in it. our supper was fried beef, fried greens, sweet potatoes, corn bread and a cup of coffee, without milk or sugar; which we ate by the light of the fire, as he had neither a candle or a lamp. our fellow traveller told us that we had now got out of the region of what we should call comfortable fare; and we might expect to find it worse, rather than better, all the way through texas. our lodging was on a comfortable bed made of spanish moss; and our breakfast exactly like our supper, which we ate with the doors open to give us light. our bill was a dollar each, for supper, breakfast, lodging and horsekeeping; and this, i found to be the general price, in all country places throughout texas. after passing the river and about a mile of bottom land, we came to the pine woods again. i could always tell when we approached a stream, by the trees being covered with spanish moss. the first i saw, was on the mississippi, about a hundred miles above natchez; and in all the region south of that, it is found hanging to the limbs of the trees near streams of water. it is of a silver-grey color, hanging straight down from the limbs three or four feet, like a horse's mane. it looks, perhaps, more like dressed flax than any thing else; and some of the trees were so completely covered with it that we could scarcely discover any thing but the moss. it does not strongly attach itself to the limb i used to pull off handfulls of it, as we passed along, to examine. it is but the work of a few minutes to gather enough for a bed. the only preparation necessary is to scald it in hot water, or to let it remain awhile in cold water, to rot like hemp. it then looks like fine long hair, and a dark brown color. when dry, it is whipped, and put into the tick. it makes a very good, cheap bed, and lasts a long time. of this material most of the beds in this country are made, and sometimes a mattress of the kind is found at the north. all the river bottom lands at the south, are covered with a dense, heavy growth of trees, among which are many kinds not found at the north. the cotton-wood grows very large, somewhat resembling the whitewood of the western states. the magnolia, celebrated for its large, splendid blossom, is an evergreen, having a dark, green leaf an inch and a half wide, and two and a half long, and of the size of the maple--the peccan, a tree resembling the walnut, and bearing a round nut an inch long, equal to the hickory-nut--the hackberry, about the size and much resembling the beach--the holly, a small evergreen, having a small thick leaf--the chinquopin, a mere shrub, resembling the chestnut tree, and bearing a similar but smaller nut. we frequently found the grape vine of large size running high up the trees; and occasionally, a spot of cane-brake. this day's travel was through the pine woods, except at some few places where we found a small clearing and a log house, near some small stream. we did not go by fort jessup. our companion knew of a nearer route, and we took it. about the middle of the afternoon, we came out on the mexican road, three miles south of the garrison. it appeared to be a road a good deal travelled by wagons, as well as on horseback; some places running through swamps and muddy; occasionally, a bridge over the most miry streams; but generally in a state of nature. the land became some better, and we passed more settlements. at night we stopped at a log house kept by a widow. she had, living with her, two sons and one daughter. the house had no windows, and but one room in it. near it, was a small kitchen where a negro woman did the cooking. our fare was very similar to that of the night before, except the old lady had a candle on the table at supper. there were four beds in the room where we all slept--the old lady and her daughter in one bed--her two sons in another--and we three travellers in the other two. i hope the delicate nerves of my fair readers may not greatly be disturbed at this; if they are, they must close the book, and read no further; for if i must tell "the whole truth," i shall be obliged to state, that during the thirty following nights, i often slept in the same room with one or more ladies! the old lady had about twenty acres cleared and cultivated with corn; but the land is not the first rate. the fact is, all along missouri, arkansas and louisiana, after you get sixty or seventy miles west of the mississippi river, you come to light, sandy, hilly land; generally covered with pitch pine; excepting a narrow strip on the margin of the streams; so that half of missouri, three-fourths of arkansas, and half of louisiana, are poor land, hardly fit for cultivation. this is not what i had supposed; but from my own observations, and the information of travellers, i believe this to be the fact. we took an early start, and travelled on. the northern people have been accused of being very inquisitive; but i am sure i would turn out the people here against them on a wager. as a general rule, we were inquired of, "where from"--"where going," &c. &c. to-day, a man, twenty rods distant from the road, came running up, and asked us, where we were from. i thought this was carrying inquisitiveness too far; and so i took the yankee privilege of answering his question by asking another, viz:--if it was out of mere curiosity, or for the sake of obtaining information beneficial to himself, that induced him to enquire. he said he was from kentucky himself, and did not know but we might be from there also; and in that case, he wished to inquire the news. i told him we were none of us from kentucky. but this did not satisfy him; he insisted upon knowing where we were from; and appeared quite vexed that he could not obtain the information from any of us. we passed a number of covered waggons, generally with four horses, loaded with goods and families bound to texas. they invariably lodge out doors over night. they carry their own provisions with them, and select some spot where there is plenty of wood and water, build up a fire, cook their meals, turn their horses or oxen loose to feed on the prairie, or in the woods, and camp down on the grass by the side of the fire. i saw some who had been thirty and forty and sixty days on the road; from missouri, illinois, indiana, &c. and said they had not put up at a house for a single night. some of them looked quite "wearied and worn;" and if they do indeed find rest at last, it must be confessed, that "through great tribulation," they enter the promised land. about noon to-day, we came to the sabine river, the dividing line between the united states and texas. we had now travelled from natchez two hundred and twenty-five miles on horseback; and this, the seventh day since we started. i had now become used to the saddle; and saving the muddy roads and miry streams which we sometimes found, i enjoyed the trip very well. i was surprised to find the sabine so small a river. i should think it was not more than one third as large as red river. it is a deep muddy stream, and gentle current. we were paddled across the river by a woman, who was a "right smart" one, and landed at last on the shore of texas. chapter xvii. i had read and heard so many fine descriptions of texas--its pleasant streams, beautiful prairies, mild climate, and extensive herds of buffalo, wild horses and cattle, that it was with no small degree of enthusiasm, i set foot, for the first time, on its territory. i cast my eyes back for a moment on the united states; then turned to the "fairy land," with high hopes and bright anticipations. the sabine has two or three miles of good bottom land on each side, heavily timbered; but it is too much subject to inundation to be cultivated.--after we passed the river bottom, we came to gentle swells, of red clayey soil, covered with oak, hickory, &c. called oak openings. sometimes we passed a small prairie; and occasionally, a log house and a small field. thus we passed ten miles; and here, our fellow traveller, having arrived to the end of his journey, left us. he had travelled a hundred miles with us; was an intelligent man, well acquainted with the country, and we became too much interested in him, not to feel serious regret at parting. this is one of the disagreeable things in travelling; we form acquaintances only to leave them. we now found cotton fields, as well as corn; more extensive plantations, and better houses. we passed two race-courses by the road side, and stopped for the night, at a very decent looking double log house, having a wide portico in front, and a wide avenue through the centre. here, we found good accommodations. the house contained three or four rooms, and had about the same number of glass windows in it. we had for supper, venison, sweet potatoes, corn bread, coffee, butter and milk. back of the house, i observed a small orchard of apple trees, the only one i found in all texas. the trees looked thrifty, and had just begun to bear fruit. in front, near the road, was as fine a spring of good, clear, soft water, as i ever saw; but it was hardly cold enough for a northern man. here were extensive fields of cotton and corn. this planter had a cotton gin and press. the cotton was sent by land to natchitoches; to be transported from thence to new-orleans by water. six miles from this, we came to an entirely new village, called st. augustine, near a stream called the ayish bayou. about two years ago, it was laid out; and now it contains two large taverns, three stores, a court house, and ten or a dozen dwelling houses. there is a good school kept here, to which scholars are sent from some distance. it would be tedious, however, to relate the particulars of this, and the two succeeding days--it would only be the same story over again. our fare was rather poor--the meals, better than the lodging. one night, we slept in a new framed house, one side all open to the weather; and the other, we slept in a log house, the interstices between the logs not filled up, so that you might thrust your arm out almost any where. this night we had a smart shower, accompanied by a strong wind, and the rain beat in so liberally, i was obliged to haul my bed eight or ten feet to leeward. we passed quite a number of log houses, small plantations, through oak openings and pine plains, and, at length, came to the ancient town of nacogdoches. i could not but smile at the odd and grotesque appearance of nacogdoches, as i entered the principal street of the town. in by-gone days, the spaniards built a town of log houses; generally having the logs standing perpendicular at the sides and ends, and the space between them filled with mud; with chimneys made of the same materials. these look old and woe-begone. in modern times, the americans have erected a number of elegant, framed houses, well finished and painted white; and these are scattered along among these ancient hovels. the contrast is very striking, and somewhat ludicrous. before me, stood an ancient roman catholic church, built in true spanish style, with perpendicular logs and mud; now falling to decay, and presenting to the eye a hideous mass of ruins. the town stands on a beautiful plain; having a small stream of water on each side; is very healthy; and when american industry shall have removed these dark spots from its surface, will be a most desirable place in which to reside. it has two public houses; and the one we put up at, had very respectable accommodations. there are a number of stores, which carry on a brisk trade with the country people and indians. the chief article the indians have to sell is deer pelts; and in the course of the year, they bring in a large number. these are done up in bales, and sent by land to the united states.--these skins are bought of the indians by weight, and, i was told, the average amount was about fifty cents apiece. i observed a number of indians in town on horseback; and this is the general mode of travelling for all the western and southern indians. nacogdoches is the head quarters of the "galveston bay and texas land company." the lands of this company embrace three grants; that of xavala, burnet and vehlein, and are bounded on the northeast by the sabine river; on the northwest by a small river called the st. jacinta; on the south by the gulf of mexico--about one hundred and seventy miles in width, and running northwest nearly three hundred; equal to fifty-one thousand square miles. i shall now continue my journal, and give hereafter a description of this company's lands in my general view of texas. while at this place, i frequently saw maj. nixon, the agent of the company for giving titles to the grants. he is quite an agreeable and intelligent man, and very readily gave me all the information respecting the country that i requested. no more than a league of land is granted to foreigners; but to the spaniards, a number of leagues are frequently given. the spaniards, however, place but little value upon land. they sometimes have large flocks of cattle and horses; but are too indolent to cultivate the soil. quite a number of them reside at nacogdoches; some very respectable families; but a good many are poor and indolent. they are of a darker complexion than the americans, and are readily designated at first sight. an instance of the little value placed upon land was stated to me while here. an american had a fine looking dog that a spaniard took a fancy to; he asked the price and was told a _hundred dollars_. the spaniard replied, he had no money, but would give him a scrip for _four leagues of land_! the bargain was immediately closed; and the land could now be sold for $ , . truly, the old adage, "_dog cheap_," ought to be reversed. immediately after leaving the town, we came into pine woods again; to all appearance, the same we had already passed over--rolling, sandy soil; the trees straight and tall, but standing so far apart, that a carriage might go almost anywhere among them. the grass grew beneath them, and we could see a great distance as we passed along. and thus it continued, for about twenty miles, with hardly a house on the way. i thought, we never should have done with pine woods. we had travelled about three hundred miles from natchez; and two-thirds of the way had been pine woods; and here, they made their appearance again. to ride a short distance in them, is not unpleasant; but to continue on, day after day, is too monotonous--there is no change of scenery. in twenty miles, we came to an elegant house, painted white, a large portico in front; a neat paling round the yard, and large fields beside the road. a saw and grist mill were building on a small stream, about a mile from the house. we passed a small river over a bridge, having split rails for a covering, instead of plank, and through pine woods, oak woods and small prairies, and put up at a house near the bank of the river neches, forty miles from nacogdoches. by the side of the road near his house, i saw a race-course, and the gentleman told me there were frequent races on it. he had himself won twelve hundred dollars on a bet, a short time before. his house was made of hewn logs and clapboarded, having three rooms in it, but as usual in this country, no windows. we had our common fare, beef, corn bread and coffee. on a large prairie in front of his house, i saw two indian mounds, and as i had a little leisure before breakfast, i went out to examine them. i had seen many of the indian mounds in the western states and louisiana; and these were similar to them. the largest one was about twenty feet high and ten in diameter. i was puzzled to find where the dirt was taken from to make them, as the ground was a perfect level a long distance around; but my host showed me the spot about half a mile distant, and from the size of the excavation, i thought he was right. no reason can be given, however, why the dirt was carried to such a distance. throughout the western and southern country, are found mounds of earth of different sizes, shapes and heights--some, of a conical form; others, of an oblong shape; and occasionally, much resembling fortifications. they are first seen along the southern shore of lake erie; they increase in number and size in ohio, indiana and illinois; are scattered over the mississippi valley; and are often found on the plains of texas, and along the gulf of mexico. they are generally found on level prairies, or on rich and level woodland, and near lakes, ponds, or streams of navigable water. a very interesting essay might be written upon these indian mounds; but i shall notice only some of the most remarkable. the largest mound in the state of ohio, is on the level bottom land of grave creek, near its entrance into the ohio river, and fourteen miles below wheeling. it is feet in diameter at the base, sixty feet across at the top, and seventy-five feet in height. the area at the top is slightly concave, and from its centre, arises a stately oak, in a straight shaft, like a flag-staff. one of these mounds has been entirely demolished, and upon its site, is built the town of chillicothe. the town of circleville is principally laid out within the limits of two contiguous mounds--the one of a circular form; the other, of an oblong square. the circular mound is much the largest, and from which, the name of the town is derived. in the state of missouri, a little north of st. louis, are gigantic and interesting mounds. these enormous stacks of earth lift their tall heads high in the air, and show to advantage on approaching st. louis from the upper country. but the most numerous group of indian mounds, is found in the state of illinois. they are situated on the american bottom, and are said to exceed two hundred in number. the largest and most remarkable of these, stands near the bank of cahokia creek. it is in the shape of an oblong square, is eight hundred yards in circumference, and ninety feet in height. on its south side, is an extensive and beautiful terrace, which was formerly cultivated by the monks of la trappe as a garden. these monks had a monastery near the base of this mound; and probably the earth could not afford a spot more in keeping with the doctrines they professed. near them, a stately monument of by-gone ages, reared its tall head far above their rude dwelling--around them, a solitary prairie, bounded in the distance, either by stately trees of the forest, or perpendicular cliffs of solid limestone. no human habitations were within the bounds of vision; and it was indeed a spot, sufficiently lonely and retired for those who chose to abstract themselves from the busy scenes of active life, enjoy undisturbed the solitude of the wilderness, and hold communion only with the god of nature. it has often been asked, who built these mounds, and for what purpose were they erected? these are questions of difficult solution, and, perhaps, at this late stage of the world, of useless discussion. some have supposed them to be places of interment; others believe them to be sentry stations, upon which guards were placed to watch the movements of the enemy. although decayed bones have been found in some of them, yet it is not probable that they were all erected simply as monuments for the dead. who built them? their origin and use may never be certainly known; but i am fully persuaded, the ancestors of the present race of indians did _not_ erect them. the indians, now upon the stage, know nothing about them--make no use of them--and build none like them. now, if their ancestors built these stately mounds all over the country, it is utterly impossible to believe that all tradition would have been lost of such prominent monuments, that passed in review before the eyes of their nation, from day to day, and year to year. in addition to this, many of these mounds are of gigantic dimensions, and show much more labor in their erection, than the present race of indians have ever been known to perform. the earth, of which they are composed, is generally brought from a distance, and some of them must have taken a thousand men a number of months to complete them. we found the neches to be quite a river; clayey banks and muddy water. we saw a boat on the other side; and a house half a mile distant, through the woods. we could not tell whether it was fordable or not; but after calling a few times for the ferryman, my companion concluded to plunge in. i thought in that case, discretion was the better part of valor; so i waited to see what became of him, before starting myself. he had a good horse, and although the stream was deep, and quite a current, he came safely out on the other bank; sustaining no other damage than being decently wet. he was good enough, however, to loose the boat, come over and take me across; remarking that there was no great pleasure in fording streams like that. we now passed through ten miles of pine woods; then prairies of a mile or so in extent, and post-oak openings. this was the thirtieth day of november. the day was warm and mild, although somewhat cloudy. as we were passing through the woods, it became quite dark. on casting my eyes on the sun, i found it was under an eclipse. it was here almost total. i thought it hardly lacked a digit of being entirely covered. we stopped at night at a small log house on the side of an extensive prairie. we found only a young woman at home. she said, she was from the east part of texas, had been married only a week, and moved there a few days previous. her husband soon returned. he had been to spend the day, it appeared, at a neighbor's, seven miles distant, and left the new made bride at home alone. all we obtained here to eat, was meat and corn bread, and water to drink; and that not very good. he had sixty or seventy head of cattle, twenty cows; but no milk, butter, or cheese. he had quite a large field under cultivation, in which he raised corn only. he had a hired man to help him take care of the flocks and the field, and to accompany him in his hunting excursions. a number of skins were stretched out on the sides of his buildings, as the trophies of his prowess and success; among which, i noticed the skin of a large panther. in the morning, his wife went a quarter of a mile for water, picked up wood and built a fire; and the two men looked on and did nothing. what young lady would not marry, if she could pass such a honey-moon as this! chapter xviii. the next day, we passed three houses, a number of prairies and post-oak openings; but found no more pine woods. immediately on this side of the trinity, we passed over a low, wet prairie, four miles in extent; where a horse would sink in to the fetlock joint; and then, half a mile of heavy timber. the trinity is a large stream; but not quite as large as red river--deep, navigable, and muddy water. we stopped at the house of an intelligent farmer on the other bank of the river. here, our accommodations were very good. he had a house of hewn logs, three rooms, no windows, a portico in front and rear, and an avenue through the middle. the front yard was fenced in; and a kitchen and smoke house were in the back yard. he had a large field cultivated with corn, and perhaps, half a dozen negroes. i here found a young man who deserved commiseration. he was from missouri. with his young wife and two small children, the youngest not quite a year old, he started in a wagon for texas. he had been two months on the road; encamped out in the woods every night, although they had some wet and chilly weather. the fatigues of such a long journey, and the many attentions such small children required at the hands of the wife while on the route, were more than her constitution could endure. she became worn down almost to a skeleton; and grew daily more enfeebled; but as they were approaching the end of the journey, she kept up a good heart, and exerted herself to the utmost. but "tired nature" could do no more. she sickened and died--and left her husband in a distant land, with two infant children. those who have endured the agony of a parting scene like this, although surrounded by relatives and friends, may form some estimate of the measure of pity due to him! there are many hardships, perplexities and sufferings, necessarily attendant upon a removal to a new and distant country; and any accident or misfortune is more severely felt, because a person has no chance of remedying the evil. i do think, a single family ought not to go to a new country alone; but a number in company; and then they can assist each other in all their hardships and trials. at the mouth of red river, a gentleman, moving on to texas with his family, lost his pocket-book, containing about four hundred dollars. he carried it in the breast pocket of his coat; and in unlading some of his goods from the steamboat, he stepped forward to assist, pulled off his coat, threw it across the railing, and the pocket-book dropped out into the water and sunk. it would have swam on the water, had it not contained three or four dollars in specie. search was made for it; but the stream was so deep and muddy, they were foiled in all their attempts to find it. this was, at such a time and in his situation, a severe misfortune. on the road, two thousand miles from the place he started from, and five hundred more to travel; his family with him, and all his money gone. a family of his acquaintance happened to be in company with him, and through their assistance, he was enabled to proceed. another case was stated to me, more aggravating than this, because it was not the effect of accident but of knavery. a gentleman, moving from michigan to texas, brought down in the boat a valuable horse worth three hundred dollars. on board, he became acquainted with a young man, who wished employment, and he hired him. when they arrived at the mouth of red river, he concluded to send his horse by the young man across the country by land, and he and his family would go round by water. he, accordingly, equipped the horse with a new, elegant saddle, bridle, martingale and saddle bags; and supplied the young man with a good greatcoat, and twenty dollars in money, and started him off. and that was the last time he saw man, horse or equippage! he incidentally heard, that a man answering his description, gambled away a horse and equippage at alexandria. for ten miles after leaving trinity river, we passed over some most beautiful rolling prairies. although it was december, yet the air was mild and serene, and the grass as green as in june. these prairies much resemble those of illinois; and on some of them, we saw large herds of cattle feeding. we passed some miry swamps and deep muddy streams. the most disagreeable part of the whole trip, was the fording of streams. the banks were generally steep down into the water; and so slippery, we had sometimes to dismount, hold on to a tree, and let the horse slide down; then pull the horse beside us, mount him in the water, and ride across. i would sometimes take my saddle bags off, send my horse over by himself, and find a tree or a log on which to pass myself. the water was very muddy, so that we could not see the bottom, or form hardly any idea how deep it might be, until we forded. one stream was a very bad one. there were logs in the bottom, embedded in the mud about the middle of the river; and when our horses passed them, they struck into a channel where the water was about two feet deeper; their heads were suddenly plunged under water, and we came very near being thrown into the stream. among the trees in the swamps, i noticed the red cedar, to-day, for the first time. it grows to quite a large tree, and is very good timber for building, boards, posts, &c. to-day, we found by the side of the path a number of petrified limbs of trees; and in one place, there was a log about a foot in diameter, turned into stone. we broke off some pieces which plainly showed the grains of wood; and on one side the bark remained and was petrified also. it might probably be manufactured into good hones, although it was coarser grained, and of a lighter shade, than those usually found at our stores. we passed only two houses this day, and put up for the night at a miserable log house occupied by a widow woman. she had a large stock of fine looking cattle, but no milk. our fare was not of the best kind, although the old lady tried to accommodate us as well as she could. there are few mills of any kind in the whole country. the corn is ground in a steel mill, like a coffee mill, although much larger, and having a crank on each side. this is commonly nailed to a tree before the door. the corn is often left standing in the field, and gathered only as fast as they wish to use it. it used to amuse me, when we rode up to a house at night, and called for a meal, to hear the woman sing out to a boy, "run to the field and bring two or three ears of corn--i want to make some bread for the gentlemen's supper." so we had to wait until the corn was gathered, ground, kneaded and baked, before we could have bread to eat. i suppose this is the true method of "living from hand to mouth." we took an early start next morning, and after passing swamps, streams and woods, came out into a fine prairie country. our path led over the top of one, somewhat elevated above the general level of the country, and from which we could see many miles all around. it was a prospect too grand and imposing to be adequately described. as we passed along by the side of an extensive prairie, we saw two indians horseback, on an elevated spot, about half a mile distant, with guns in their hands, and looking at the country beyond them. on seeing us, they wheeled their horses and came at full speed down upon us. we were a little startled at first; but they halted within a few rods of us, stared a moment, and then civilly passed the time of day, and enquired in broken english, the distance to a house on the road we had come. i never was an enthusiastic admirer of the indian character. they may have done some noble deeds of daring, and performed some generous acts of disinterested friendship; but they possess and practice the art of deception so well, that no one can know, with any degree of certainty, when these acts may occur. when i see indians approaching, i hardly know whether it is for good or for evil; and therefore, never feel entirely at ease in their society. the romans, in the days of their prosperity, prided themselves in being called a _roman citizen_; and this was generally, a sufficient protection from depredation and insult, when travelling among the more barbarous nations around them. like the romans, i felt not a little pleasure in the thought, that i was an _american citizen_, and that this was a protection from outrage and insult in the presence of the savage indian. since my return, i have seen an account of twenty polanders, while on their way from new-orleans to mexico, who were attacked by the indians in texas, and all killed except one, who was fortunate enough to escape and tell the story. had not the indians readily discovered by our personal appearance, that we were _american_ citizens, we might have shared the same fate. we passed a muddy swamp, in many places the water standing in the road a foot or two in depth; densely covered with timber, and four miles in extent. as we emerged from this, we came upon the bank of the brazos river, at hall's ferry. this is a stream of the size and complexion of red river. in crossing in a boat, we found a strong current. on the other side there is a high bank on which a town has been laid out; but now contains only three dwelling houses and one store. here we stayed over night. late in the afternoon, a spanish trader arrived and put up for the night. he had two men, five mules and one horse and wagon with him. his goods were bought at natchitoches, and he was transporting them to st. antonio in the interior of texas. they were made up into convenient bundles, hung across the mules' backs and stowed in the wagon. they were all armed with guns; and the trader himself had a pistol at each side. he could not well talk english and we conversed but little with him. he had a strong dislike to the indians, and was afraid of being robbed by them. of this ill-will, the indians have their full share. in hunting parties composed of both americans and spaniards, when attacked by the indians in their excursions along the rocky mountains, they have been known to spare the americans, when they have killed all the spaniards. the next day's ride was through a most beautiful open prairie country. we crossed some small streams, skirted with timber and small groves on the highland; but generally, we found high, rolling prairie. the live-oak made its appearance to-day. this is an evergreen and a beautiful tree. we saw them growing in an open prairie, sometimes, one standing by itself, about the size, and at a distance, of the appearance of the northern apple tree. on a fine high prairie, we observed quite a number of elegant houses, a store, a tavern, &c. and some fine farms. this is called cole's settlement; and from the beautiful scenery around, and the respectable appearance of the inhabitants, i inferred that it is a desirable neighborhood. we stopped for the night at a house half way between the brazos and colorado rivers; being thirty-five miles from each. a few years ago, a town was lotted out in this place, but still it shows only one decent farm house. here is a gristmill turned by horses, and does a good deal of business; and profitable too, for the rule is to take one sixth part for toll. in the neighborhood, i saw a very good looking house, built of limestone. from this place to the colorado river, we passed only two houses; a distance of thirty-five miles; and the complexion of the country was similar in all respects to that of the day before. at a very decent farm house on an extensive prairie, by the side of the river, we put up for the night; and remained here and in the neighborhood, a number of the succeeding days. and now from this central position, i propose to take a more general view of the country. i stayed more than a month in texas, traversed the country in various directions, conversed with the inhabitants, and gained what information i could within that time. i feel therefore, somewhat qualified to speak of the country. and this i shall do fearlessly; yet i hope, in sincerity and in truth. i am aware that many articles have been written concerning this country, of various import and meaning; but i shall speak for myself only, without reference to others. i do not propose to write its geography or history. had i the means and ability accurately to do this, the limits of this work would not allow of it. i only propose to give the information i obtained from inspection, examination and enquiry, in a concise form and tangible shape. chapter xix. general view of texas. from whatever point you approach texas, its aspect is unfavorable. if it be by sea, you are met by a low, sandy beach and a marshy, flat country, as far as the eye can reach. if by land, through louisiana and red river, its first appearance is that of a poor country of hilly land, chiefly covered with wood, and presenting to the eye a weak soil, alternately of sand and of clay. but when you pass the border towards the interior, the scene becomes entirely changed. you behold a beautiful country of rich soil, rounded by the hand of nature into the most fanciful forms, covered with eternal verdure, and begirt with forests of stately trees. earth may not afford a more beautiful prospect than is obtained from the summit of an elevated prairie. on such a spot i have stood, and gazed with admiration. the scene extends all around as far as the eye can reach, and presents the varied aspect of wood land and lawn, like sunshine and shade. its appearance is so much that of a country nicely cultivated by the hand of man, that one can hardly believe himself to be in an uninhabited region; but he looks in vain, to catch a glimpse of the husbandman's cottage, and his herds of cattle feeding on the green fields. the din of human industry and civilized life strikes not his ear, and the unwelcome truth is forced upon him at last, that he is only in the solitude of the wilderness; and the scene before him, with all its beauties, is left "to waste its sweetness on the desert air!" the scenes of texas have so much of fascination about them, that one is disinclined to come down to the details of a common-place description of the country. but the whole truth must be told. the public have a right, and in fairness ought to know, the true state of the case. the emigrant cannot live on air, or by admiring the beauties of the country. it is of importance to him to know, what facilities the country offers, for obtaining the necessaries and conveniences of life; and what the prospect may be of enjoying them, when obtained. [illustration] in the first place, i shall strike off from the list of the resources of the country, "the immense herds of buffalo and wild horses." they are often paraded in the many published descriptions of texas, as a most prominent feature in the bright picture exhibited; and as one of the many inducements to the emigrants to remove thither. but they are no sort of benefit to the settler at all. they generally keep ahead of population, some small herds only are ever seen near the settlements; and there is not inducement enough for the husbandman to leave his farm, and go far into the interior, to catch the wild horse and kill the buffalo, among tribes of hostile indians; as the prospect of gain would not equal the hardship, risk and expense. the wild horse is an animal hard to catch; and when caught, it is difficult and troublesome to tame him, and render him gentle and kind in harness and under the saddle. it would be as well for the farmer if the fact of their existence were not known; as it is easier to raise the animal in this country of evergreen pasture, than to catch and tame the wild one. there is one point of view, in which a knowledge of the existence of these animals may be of some importance to the emigrant; it is proof positive of the natural luxuriance of the soil, and of the mildness of the climate. the wild horses are called by the spaniards, _mustangs_. i saw some small herds of them prancing at random over the plains. they are quite wild, you can seldom approach very near them. they are of various colors and of rather smaller size than the american horse. the spaniards are fond of good horses, and are good horsemen. some of them make a business of catching and breaking the mustangs. this is done by building a fence in the shape of a harrow, with a strong pen at the small end, and driving them into it; or mounting a fleet horse, get as near as they can unperceived, then start after them at full speed, throw a rope with a slip-noose at one end, and the other fastened to the saddle, around the neck, haul out at right angles with their course, and choke them down. when caught, they put the bridle on, take them into a large, soft prairie, mount them at once, flog them with the greenhide, and let them plunge and rear until they become fatigued and subdued. after undergoing a few more operations of this kind, they are deemed "fit for use." they are sold at various prices, from six to twelve dollars; but unless they are caught when young, they never become gentle as other horses. texas appears like the state of illinois. to the southward and westward of trinity river, it is generally an open prairie country. all the streams have more or less bottom land, covered with a dense forest of timber; and occasionally, a grove of post oak openings will be found on the moist high land. the soil in these bottoms is very rich, but some of them are too wet, or too subject to be overflowed to admit of cultivation. a strip of land, bordering on the bays and sea coast, and sixty or seventy miles in width, is flat, generally approaching to a dead level, in the spring and fall very wet, and sometimes impassable. beyond this, comes the high, dry, rolling country, having no swamps except immediately on the borders of the rivers. "the galveston bay and texas land company" have a good deal of good land, in pleasant and healthy situations; and much of it, not yet settled; but they have also a good deal of poor land. in their grant, are large tracts of pine woods and post-oak plains; among which, are found some spots of good land, but generally, it is of a weak and sandy soil. the pine woods are not without their use. their resinous qualities give a salubrity to the air about them, and thereby render a situation in their neighborhood healthy; and the trees themselves furnish an inexhaustible supply of the first rate of timber. on the sabine and galveston bays, there are large prairies of good land, but low and flat; in the region of nacogdoches, are small prairies, large tracts of wood, good soil of red clay, black marle, sandy land, and all the varieties of soil imaginable. higher up in the country, there are alternately prairies and woodland, and an excellent soil. this company's grant lies contiguous to the united states, and except on the bay, is as healthy as any part of the country; but it cannot be called the most pleasant and beautiful portion of texas. the prairies are all burnt over twice a year--in midsummer, and about the first of winter. immediately after the burning, the grass springs up again; so that there is an abundant supply all the year round. no country in the world can be compared to this, in the ease and facility of raising stock. all the herdsman has to do, is to look after them, so they may not stray away, and some portion of the year, yard them to prevent their growing wild. the prairie grass is of a peculiar species, unlike any thing we have at the north; but it is of so nutricious a quality, that it keeps the cattle fat, all the year round. they grow large and handsome. i never saw better looking herds in my life. the horse does equally as well on grass, but if worked hard, requires some grain. hogs keep in good flesh all the year; and in autumn, when the nuts fall from the trees, grow fat. horses, cattle and hogs can, therefore, be kept in this country without any more trouble than merely looking after them to prevent their straying away. and then, there is plenty of game. first in the list, is the deer. i hardly supposed there were as many deer on the continent, as i saw in texas.--they were continually crossing my path, or were seen in flocks feeding on the prairies. i recollect that from an elevated spot, i counted five flocks of deer in sight at the same time! in some parts of the country, a man may about as certainly kill a deer if he choose, as a northern farmer can kill a sheep from his flock. their meat is excellent, and their skins valuable. deer-hunting is not very systematically practiced here, as it is in some parts of the world. indeed, they are so plenty, that it does not require much method, or concert of action among a number of individuals to kill them. the deer is a gregarious animal. you never find one alone, unless it be accidentally strayed away from the flock. sometimes a number of hunters resort to a favorite haunt of the deer, and while a part arouse them with the dogs in their retreat, and cause them to flee, others will remain in ambush, near their usual crossing places at the streams and swamps, and shoot them as they pass. in the night they are decoyed by fire and killed. a hunter fixes a blazing torch in his hat, or has another person to carry one just before him; the deer will stand gazing at the light while he approaches, and by the brilliancy of their eyes and space between them, calculates his distance and takes his deadly aim. he must take especial care, however, that the shadow of a tree or of any thing else does not fall upon the deer; for in that event, he starts and is off in a moment. [illustration] then there are the bear, mexican hog, wild geese, rabbits, and a great variety of ducks. the prairie hen is not so plenty here as in illinois. an emigrant, may, therefore, easily supply himself with meat. all he has to do is "to kill and eat." let us now glance at the soil, and see what that will produce. this subject i attended to, somewhat critically. it will produce cotton, sugar cane, indian corn, rye, barley, oats, rice, buckwheat, peas, beans, sweet potatoes and all common garden vegetables. the cabbage does not form a compact head as it does at the north. wheat will _not_ grow in this country. the stalk will run up rank, but the ear will not fill with plump kernels. last december, while i was there, flour sold on the river brazos, for ten dollars a barrel; and in the interior, it sold for fourteen. corn grows well, and is quite a sure crop when planted early--about the first of february. i saw a very good crop which had been planted in june. i found one man, who, with the aid of a boy ten years old, raised and gathered fifteen hundred bushels of corn. perhaps i am severely taxing the credulity of my readers; but if there be any reliance on human testimony, the fact is as i have stated. and when it is considered that the ground is only ploughed, a small portion, if any, hoed at all, and then it gets ripe early, and he can gather it at his leisure--the statement may not appear at all incredible. tobacco will grow, but it has too thin a leaf to be valuable. but it is emphatically a cotton country. it produces a larger quantity to the acre, and of a better quality than any portion of the united states--not excepting the bottom lands on red river. this is my belief from an examination of the growing crop and gathered cotton. and i found this to be an admitted fact by the most experienced cotton growers. the following is as perfect a list of the forest trees, shrubs, vines, &c., as i can make--to wit:--red, black, white, willow, post and live oaks; pine, cedar, cotton-wood, mulberry, hickory, ash, elm, cypress, box-wood, elder, dog-wood, walnut, pecan, moscheto--a species of locust, holly, haws, hackberry, magnolia, chincopin, wild peach, suple jack, cane-brake, palmetto, various kinds of grape vines, creeper, rushes, spanish-moss, prairie grass, and a great variety of flowers. the live oak, magnolia, holly, pine and cedar are evergreens. the spanish-moss, so profusely hanging on all the trees near streams of water, gives them an antique and venerable appearance. it is of a silver grey color; and, if trees may be compared with men, they appear like the long grey bearded sages of the antedeluvian world. when the tree dies, the moss soon withers, and becomes dry. i used to amuse myself by setting fire to the dry moss in the night. it burnt like tinder, and would sometimes throw a grand column of flame a hundred and fifty feet into the air, and brilliantly illuminate the scene, a great distance around. of fruit trees, i saw only the peach, the fig and the orange trees; excepting one small cluster of apple trees. i think it is too warm throughout the year for the apple tree to produce much fruit; but the others will become abundant. as to the health of the country, the fact seems to be, that in all the low country, and on the streams of water, the inhabitants are more or less afflicted with the fever and ague. it much resembles illinois in this particular, as well as in many others. in other situations, i believe it is as healthy as any portion of the united states. the climate is fine; the air, generally clear and salubrious. it is neither so hot in the summer, or so cold in the winter, as it is in new-england. the country lies between the gulf of mexico and the snow-capped cordillera mountains, so that it is fanned by a refreshing breeze, which ever way the wind may blow. sometimes, in winter, the northwest wind sweeps over the plain, strong and keen; and the thin-clad southerner sensibly feels its effects upon his system; and i was informed, instances had been known of their being chilled to death, when obliged to encamp out in the open air without a fire. it is sometimes cold enough to make thin ice; but, generally, it is mild and pleasant all winter. the hottest days of summer, are not as warm and oppressive, as we find them at the north. individuals originally from maine and new-hampshire, said they had found no night so warm, that it was disagreeable to sleep under a woollen blanket. chapter xx. the rivers are navigable to some extent, whether great or small. the following are the names of the principal, to wit:--sabine, ayish bayou, atoyac, angelina, neches, trinity, st. jacinta, buffalo bayou, navasota, brazos, bernard, canebrake, colorado, navedad, la baca, guadalupe, san antonio, aransaso, neuces and rio grande or rio del norte. the streams are all muddy and unpleasant, until you reach the colorado; this, and those to the south are, generally, clear and beautiful. about ten miles from the mouth of the colorado, a raft two miles in extent, obstructs the navigation; when that is removed, boats may go some distance into the country. the brazos is navigable at high water, to the falls, about two hundred and fifty miles from its mouth. a steamboat is now running upon it, as high up as st. felipe, over a hundred miles. the sabine, neches and trinity are respectively three hundred and fifty, three hundred, and four hundred and ten miles in length, and are navigable some distance into the country for a considerable portion of the year. the san bernard is navigable sixty miles. it has about four feet of water on the bar at its mouth. the colorado rises in the high prairies near the mountains, pursues quite a direct course six hundred miles and falls into metagorda bay. above the raft, which is situated ten or twelve miles above its mouth, it is navigable three hundred miles. it has as strong a current as that of the mississippi. but the rio del norte is much the largest and longest river in this region. it rises high up among the mountains, and is estimated to be seventeen hundred miles in length. for two thirds of its course it runs nearly south; it then changes to the southeast, and empties into the gulf of mexico, near the southern boundary of texas. it has been ascended by a steamboat two hundred miles to loredo; and it is stated by those acquainted with the stream, that it is navigable five hundred miles further. texas has a seacoast of three hundred and fifty miles; and in a commercial point of view is favorably situated. its many navigable streams afford great facilities for transporting the rich products of its luxuriant soil to the united states and the rest of the world. it will shortly be settled, its rich lands will become valuable, and it will soon be a great and powerful state. mill seats are not plenty. although the streams run with a lively current, yet there are not many falls suitable for mills; especially in the lower part of the territory. on the sides of the streams, are occasionally found ledges of limestone; but none of any kind are seen scattered over the country.--the prairies are free from rocks, brambles, bushes, and every thing except grass. they look like a finely cultivated old field, well set in grass; sometimes flat, sometimes rolling, but invariably having a surface entirely smooth and unbroken. a carriage can run any where over them. clay is found all over the country, of an excellent quality for brick. in some places, coal and iron ore are said to have been discovered. such are the situation and resources of the country. let us now look, for a moment, at the inhabitants, and see how they are improved. the spaniards are not an agricultural people. they are more fond of raising stock, than cultivating the land. they are also a very social people, and fond of society. they are seldom found on farms alone, and at a distance from neighbors. they formed some small villages in texas, and left the remainder of the country entirely unsettled. some ten years ago, the system of grants commenced; allowing an individual, under certain regulations, to introduce and colonize foreigners. there are now thirteen of these grants, including a large portion of texas, to wit: zavala, burnet and vehlein--now formed into the galveston bay company--austin's, milam's, robertson's, cameron's, dewitt's, de leon's, felisola's, mcmullen's and mcgloin's, powers' and beal's. on all these grants, more or less settlements have been made, and therefore, the population is scattered over an extent of country out of all proportion to their numbers. the large tract granted to each individual, tends to the same result. in riding through regions called settled, a person may not find a house in thirty or forty miles; but generally from ten to twenty. i believe there are from forty to fifty thousand inhabitants in texas; and a large proportion of them are americans. a person may travel all day; and day after day, and find americans only. he can hardly make himself believe that he is not still in the united states. the exports of texas are cotton, live-stock and peltries. the cotton and peltries are sent either by natchitoches, or by shipping through the gulf of mexico, to new-orleans. the live-stock--cattle, horses and mules, are driven by land across the country to natchez or new-orleans. the cost of driving is trifling. plenty of grass is found all the way for the stock; and the drivers carry their provisions, shoot game, &c. and camp down near wood and water by the side of a fire, and cook their meals. in this manner, a fellow traveller and myself camped out two or three nights. it was quite a novelty to me to sleep in the open air; but the people here think nothing of it. the wolves made rather too much noise, for me to sleep quietly. one night, they awaked me out of a sound sleep, by their discordant yells; i jumped up, dashed a club or two at them, and off they went over the prairies. our provisions were what they sought, i presume, and not us. the inhabitants are, many of them, what our northern people would call rather indolent. occasionally, i found a good farm, large plantation and fine herds of cattle, and all the comforts of life within their dwellings; but more generally, the traveller only finds the log house, built in an open, rude manner, with only one room, where he and the family lodge together; and perhaps only corn-bread, meat and sweet potatoes to eat. i called at some places where they had twenty or thirty cows, and could get neither butter, cheese, or milk. they let the calves run with the cows, and seldom milk them at all. i did not find butter at half of the places where i called; and obtained cheese only once in texas. at only three places i found wheat bread. although the climate is suitable to the production of indian corn, yet it is not cultivated to any extent. the reason is, stock is raised with less trouble, and cotton is thought to be a more profitable crop. there is hardly enough corn raised for the consumption of the inhabitants; it, therefore, bears a high price. at st. felipe, it was a dollar a bushel; and at velasco on the mouth of the brazos river, i saw a bushel of shelled corn sold for two dollars! thus it is; man seems disinclined to "till the ground," and by "the sweat of his face," to obtain his bread. it often happens, where the earth produces in abundance with little labor, that little is indifferently performed, so that all the comforts and conveniences of life are less enjoyed, than in more sterile soils, and unpropitious climes. man will "'mid flowing vineyards die of thirst." where nature has done almost all, and scattered her favors without stint, man will not stretch forth his hand, and gather her rich bounties. it is not universally so. there are many exceptions to this in texas. in many instances, the comforts of life are enjoyed there to perfection. man may not be censured, for not performing severe bodily labor, if he can well provide for himself and those dependent upon him, without it; but life could not have been given, to be spent in listless idleness. a vast field of usefulness is open to the active man; and he may do much good in his day and generation, other than toil for gain. but another inducement is held out to the emigrant to settle in texas, besides the beauty of the country and productiveness of the soil. it is the cheapness of the land. this is no small consideration. a man with a family obtains a spanish league of land, amounting to four thousand four hundred and twenty-eight english acres, by paying the expense of surveying it, office fees, &c. these expenses amount to one hundred and eleven dollars, with the addition of thirty dollars to the government. so that a man with a family has four thousand four hundred and twenty-eight acres of land for the small sum of one hundred and forty-one dollars. he must make application to an officer, called an empressario, and obtain his consent; which is given in the form of a certificate, stating the name of the family and the quantity of land allowed. this certificate is presented to another officer, called a commissioner, who orders a survey; and when completed, makes a deed from the government to the emigrant. the only condition is, that the land shall be settled upon, within a limited time. the emigrant may make his own selection out of any lands, not previously granted. a single man obtains one quarter of that quantity, with the privilege of having three quarters more, when he is married. and provision is made, that a foreigner, marrying a mexican woman, may have a league and one third. these terms are, certainly, very liberal. a man here obtains good land, at a cheaper rate, than in any other part of the world. but the government have lately adopted another method of disposing of their land. a regular land law has been enacted, and various offices have been established for the sale of all the vacant land in the province. a person desirous of purchasing public land, goes to the land office in the district where the land is situated, files a petition for a sale, and obtains an order for a survey. this land is laid off into what is called _labors_ of one hundred and seventy-seven acres each, and an individual may purchase as many labors as he pleases, up to two hundred and seventy-five, which is about equal to fifty thousand english acres. the minimum price is fixed at ten dollars per labor, the purchaser paying the expense of surveying in addition. one third of the purchase money is payable at the time of sale; the remainder in two equal annual instalments; and the new settlers are exempt from the payment of taxes for the term of ten years. but texas has some evils, which will be deemed greater or less, according to the particular section of the country the emigrant may happen to come from. but still, they ought in fairness to be stated, that all may judge for themselves. and in the first place there are three kinds of venomous snakes--the great rattlesnake, the moccason snake, and the prairie rattlesnake. the large rattlesnake is not very plenty, and is seldom seen far out in the open prairie. a gentleman who had lived in the country ten years told me he had killed only two in the time. the moccason snake, deemed as poisonous as the rattlesnake, seems to be more plenty; but they are not found except in or near wet, marshy land. a gentleman told me, he had a small marsh near his house which seemed to be a haunt for them, as occasionally he found some near it, and in his door yard. he set half a dozen of his servants to cut down the weeds, and dig a ditch to drain off the water; and in one day they killed _forty-three_ moccason snakes; and he pleasantly added, it was not a very good snake day neither. perhaps this will be set down as another "snake story;" but my authority is mr. elisha roberts, living on the main road, five miles north of st. augustine; a very respectable man as i was informed. the prairie rattlesnake is a small one, about a foot in length, similar to that of illinois. i saw only one in all my wanderings through the country. there are other snakes, not venomous, such as the coach-whip snake, the large black snake, which is here called the "chicken snake," because it sometimes robs hen's nests; the glass snake, which if you strike it, will break in a number of places, and some others. then, there is the tarantula, a large spider; and the stinging lizard, a species of the scorpion, of a reddish color, and about two inches long. the bite of the tarantula and stinging lizard is, in pain and effect, similar to the sting of a bee. there is a weed here, growing all over the country, which is a certain cure for the bite of all these venomous reptiles. the alligator is found in the rivers of texas. i saw three, one large one; the other two, small ones. they sometimes catch hogs, as they go down to the water to drink. they will attack a man in the water. a man was seized by one on little river, while i was in the country, who was swimming across; but he was beaten off by a person near him, on a raft. of the animals, there are many--the panther, wolf, wildcat, tiger cat, bear, mexican hog, antelope, &c. the wolves are the most numerous, and are quite bold and mischievous. i frequently saw them in the day time, and often heard their discordant howl in the night. one day, as i was riding along alone in the open woods, a panther came out of a small thicket, into the path before me! i knew that retreat would be dangerous; and, therefore, i boldly sung out and pushed forward towards him. he was not disposed to give battle, but leaped off at once into the woods. i was a good deal startled at this sudden appearance of such a powerful, uncaged beast of the forest; but as he appeared to be the most frightened of the two, i ought to be content. the panther is an animal of the size and color of a full grown lioness, but too cowardly to attack his prey in the open field. like the indian, he lies in ambush, or sits perched on the branch of a tree, and seizes his victim unawares. even a small dog has been known to chase him into his favorite retreat on a tree. the bears, generally, take to the dense forest of trees and cane-brake. they catch the full grown hogs, and the wolves take the pigs. flies, of various kinds, are found here; and are more troublesome to animals in the warm summer months, than at the north. i saw large sores, caused by them, on cattle, dogs and hogs. an application of mercury is sometimes found necessary to cure them. there is also a wood tick, resembling that on sheep, which fastens itself on animals, but does not appear to do any essential injury. but last, although not least, in the list of evils, is the ever active moscheto. in the flat country, bordering on the sea and bays, they are indeed dreadful to a northern man. when i was at the mouth of the brazos, towards the last of december, whether on the beach, in the house, on board the vessel, day and night without cessation, the moschetoes were excessively annoying. give me a general assortment of alligators, snakes and lizards, rather than subject me to the eternal buzz, and stinging bite of the ever busy moscheto. other animals may be successfully combatted and subdued; but to fight the moscheto is like "beating the air;" give a blow in front and he is in the rear; brush the rear, and he is in front--and so on all day long. and when you have done, you have only excessively fatigued and perplexed yourself, and left him the uninjured master of the field. the only chance to get rid of such a keen tormentor as this, is to hang yourself, or run away. in the high rolling country, there are less flies and no moschetoes. there are few remnants of tribes of indians in the settled region of texas. they are generally said to be harmless and inoffensive; doing nothing worse than stealing a hog or so, in a neighborly way; so that they may not be entirely forgotten. a woman where i stopped one night, told me that about twenty indians encamped at the spring near her house; came to the house for meal, and she gave them all she could spare. in the morning, after they were gone, she found they had robbed the yard of all the melons, and taken the fattest shoat she had. while i was in the country a man was shot at and wounded by an indian, near jones' ferry on the colorado river. as he was riding along alone over the prairie, he saw a number of indians by the side of a wood, who beckoned for him to approach. when he had come quite near, happening to cast his eyes towards the wood, he saw an indian, partly concealed behind a tree, with a gun drawn up in the act of firing. he had only time to throw himself back on his horse, and the ball made a slight flesh wound on his breast. he wheeled, put spurs to his horse and escaped. whether these were indians belonging to the settled or unsettled regions of texas, could not be ascertained. between the settlements and the rocky mountains, are large tribes of indians; and detached parties from them, sometimes come down to the border plantations, and steal a few horses. they consider the spaniards lawful game; but do not care about fighting the americans. they say, the americans are a brave people and fight most desperately; and from them, they obtain their chief supplies. perhaps my readers may think this rather a formidable array of animals and reptiles. it may appear more so on paper, and at a distance, than in the region where they are found. people of mississippi, alabama and florida, would find themselves at home among them; but to a northern man they might be found somewhat disagreeable at first.--they would, however, soon become so much accustomed to them, that in a short time they would hardly regard them at all. the inhabitants here, from whatever quarter they may have come, do not think they form any serious objection to settling in the country. while i remained in texas, i found no serious trouble from the animals, reptiles or insects, except that general enemy to repose, the moscheto, and that only in the lowlands. on the open prairies, there are but few noxious animals, except the wolves. this is owing a good deal, undoubtedly, to the fire running over them twice a year. as the country becomes more settled, they will be less numerous; and some of them will become entirely extinct. the water, generally, is very good for a southern country. i found many fine springs of pure soft water in various parts of texas; and in the rolling prairies, good water is obtained by digging. the only objection to it is in its temperature. to me, it was universally too warm to be agreeable. "a cup of _cold_ water" is nowhere to be found in the territory; and to a northern man, in a warm day, it is so refreshing, reviving, invigorating--so readily slakes the thirst, and cools the body, it is almost indispensable to his comfort and enjoyment. warm water is the common drink of the inhabitants. in the towns, i found the various kinds of spirits and wine; but in the country, i found no spirits, (except very seldom, whiskey) wine, beer, or cider; but only water--_warm water_. it must be admitted, that the people are very temperate, _if not to drink the ardent_ be a sure indication of temperance. chapter xxi. there are no large towns in texas. bexar, or as it is commonly called, st. antonio, is the capital, and contains about thirty-five hundred inhabitants--the other villages are small, varying from one hundred to one thousand souls. st. antonio, like all the spanish towns, is composed of houses built of logs and mud, and makes a squalid appearance. it is situated about twenty miles east of san antonio river. the principal towns are, nacogdoches, st. augustine; and on galveston bay, harrisburg and lynchburg: on the brazos--velasco, brazoria, columbia, st. felipe, and a new town in robinson's colony at the falls: cole's settlement, fifteen miles west of the brazos: on the colorado--metagorda, montezuma, electra, bastrap, or mina: on the gaudalupe--gonsales: on the san antonio--goliad, (formerly bahia,) and bexar: in powell's grant--st. patrick: on the rio grande, or rio del norte--refugio, metamoras, reinosa, camargo, mier, revilla, laredo, presidio and the city of doloros. a new town is laid out at the falls on the brazos river in robinson's colony, about two hundred and fifty miles from its mouth. this is the place where the land office is kept for this colony, and will become quite a village. but the country is not now settled enough to make or support large towns. it must be the work of time. although men may lay out a town, and commence building it, yet it cannot prematurely be forced into existence. it must have a back settlement to support it. the merchant and mechanic cannot sell, unless there are some inhabitants to buy. the spaniards, more than one hundred and fifty years ago, built some small towns in texas, the principal of which are st. antonio, nacogdoches and la bahia. these became something of villages; but for twenty years their population has continually diminished; and the country at large does not contain half the spanish inhabitants that it did at that time. they, like the indians, dwindle away, or flee before the settlements of the americans. the mexican government had three garrisons of soldiers stationed in texas--one at nacogdoches, one on galveston bay, and one at velasco, at the mouth of the brazos. some of the commanders of these garrisons, attempted to exercise despotic powers, in seizing americans who had become obnoxious to them, and putting them in prison. about two years ago, their conduct became so oppressive, that the citizens rose _en masse_, killed some of the soldiers, and took the remainder prisoners. the mexican government then recalled all the officers and soldiers, and there has not been a mexican garrison in texas since. the inhabitants of the country pay no taxes at all. it is said that the lands are exempt from taxation for ten years to come. all articles imported for the private use of the emigrant, are free of duty; and in fact, a great portion of the merchandize pays none. when i left the brazos river, there was no custom house officer upon it; and a number of vessel loads of goods were landed, without being required to pay any duty. almost all kinds of goods afford a good profit and a ready sale in texas; especially domestic cottons, boots, shoes, hats and ready made clothing. coffee is used in large quantities, but i did not find hardly a cup of tea in the whole country. it is not a good place for mechanics. manufactured articles of all kinds are brought from the north, and sold cheaper than they can be made here; and the country is too thinly settled, and the raw material is too scarce, to give much employment to artisans of what is called custom work, such as shoemakers, tailors, &c. blacksmiths, however, are an exception to this. they are indispensable, although there are now but few of them. the price charged for shoeing a horse is from three to four dollars. texas is connected with cohahuila, and both form one province of the mexican confederacy. but lately, they have been made into separate judicial districts; each having its own courts and officers. in texas their proceedings in court and the records, are in the english language; but land titles are still written in the spanish. the laws are liberal; they guarantee the freedom of religious opinion and a trial by jury. courts are held in st. felipe, nacogdoches, st. augustine, bastrap, &c. the government is elective and republican. i attended an election of sheriff and other county officers. they vote _viva voce_, as the practice is in many of our southern states. to be an inhabitant of the country, is all the qualification necessary to become a voter. physicians are occasionally found in the country, and there are a small number of lawyers located in the principal towns. there are but few preachers of the gospel, and i believe no meeting houses, except some decayed roman catholic churches. the country needs more professional men. it opens a fine field for enterprising men in any profession. the wheels of government in texas move quietly along. the storms which agitate and distract the city of mexico and its vicinity, spend their force before they reach that province. i think, the government forms no serious objection to forming a settlement in the country. but in a new and thinly settled country, the laws, however wise and good, cannot always be enforced. magistrates and executive officers are few, and courts often at a distance. the new settlers, therefore, sometimes take the law into their own hands; and although they may not inflict the same punishment the law enjoins, i believe they generally do substantial justice. as an instance of the kind, i will state a case that happened on the bank of the colorado river. a man settled there, who proved to be a notorious thief. he stole cattle, horses, hogs, or any thing he could lay his hands on. his neighbors resolved to endure his depredations no longer, and gave him notice to depart from that section of the country, or abide the consequences. after waiting awhile, and learning that he intended to remain, some half dozen of his neighbors went to his house in the evening, took him to a tree, and gave him thirty-nine lashes, well laid on. they then told him that the punishment should be repeated every week, as long as he remained in the neighborhood. before a week came round, he left that section of the country, and has not been heard of since. in the interior of the country, there is a salt lake, from which a load of fine salt may be obtained in a short time; and appears to be inexhaustible. a small stream runs from this to the brazos river, and sometimes renders its waters too brackish for use. by the laws, slavery is not allowed in the province; but this law is evaded by binding the negroes by indenture for a term of years. you will, therefore, find negro servants, more or less, all over the country; but more, on the lowlands, towards the bays and seacoast. large cotton plantations, in this section of the country, are cultivated by negroes; and here also are found some good houses and rich farmers. texas lies between the twenty-seventh and thirty-fourth degrees of north latitude; and between sixteen degrees thirty minutes, and twenty-seven degrees west longitude from washington; and contains probably about one hundred and fifty thousand square miles--as large as all new-england and the state of new-york. it is bounded, east by the sabine river and a line drawn due north from its head waters to red river--south, by the gulf of mexico--west, by the river neuces, rio del norte, and the cordillera mountains--north, by the red river, until it hits its eastern boundary. more than half of the country is prairie. the margin of the streams and the moist highlands are covered with a fine growth of timber. all the seacoast and on the bays, there is a strip of low, level land, extending seventy miles into the country. the prairies are here very rich, but too level to be pleasant or healthy. the remainder of texas is high, dry and gently undulating; but not mountainous. between the rivers sabine and trinity, are extensive, gently undulating, sandy plains, generally covered with a good growth of pitch pine; but occasionally covered with post-oaks, hickory, &c. among these, are interspersed small prairies of good land; sometimes having a black soil, but generally of a reddish cast, and occasionally of a deep red. from the river trinity to the western line of the state, are high, rolling, beautiful prairies of all sizes and shapes imaginable. so beautiful are these prairies, that the imagination cannot paint a more delightful scene. cultivation, however nicely performed, will rather mar, than add to their beauty. they are surrounded with a dense forest of trees; sometimes two or three miles in depth, and sometimes only of a few yards. on the highlands, or elevated plains, are frequently found oak-openings, similar to those of michigan and illinois. texas, with the exception of the pine plains, may with truth be said to possess a deep, rich soil of black marl. that portion of the country lying between the colorado river and louisiana, is subject to powerful rains in the fall and spring; but as you go southward and westward towards the city of mexico, the rains become less frequent, and not so abundant. about two months in summer, it is generally quite dry; sometimes, so severe is the drought that vegetation withers, and the grass on the prairies becomes dry. to the southward of texas, the spaniards irrigate their lands to make them produce a more abundant crop. the planting season is so early, (from the first to the middle of february,) that all the crops, except cotton and sugar cane, come to maturity before the dry weather commences; and these get such a vigorous start in this luxuriant soil, that they are seldom materially injured by the drought. the roads are all in a state of nature; yet so smooth is the surface, and so gently undulating is the face of the country, that in dry weather, better roads are not found any where. a person, however, often meets with moist bottom land, and streams difficult to pass. in the wet season, travelling is more disagreeable and difficult; and sometimes impracticable, on account of the swollen, rapid streams of water. although carriages run without difficulty all over the country, yet the inhabitants have not yet introduced pleasure carriages. the mode of travelling is on horseback; but women and children often go in a baggage wagon drawn by oxen. baggage wagons are quite numerous, but i found only one pleasure carriage in the whole province, and that was a gig-wagon. emigrants are continually pouring into texas, both by sea and by land, and from every section of the united states. the southerners generally choose the lowlands bordering on the bays and gulf; but the northern people prefer the high lands in the interior. if emigration continues, it will soon contain a very respectable population. chapter xxii. i found some of the emigrants disappointed, discontented and unhappy; and i met one man on his return to the land from whence he came. he was from tennessee, had moved into texas with his family and a small portion of his goods in a wagon; but they all did not like the country so well as the one they had left, and unanimously agreed to return. it was a tedious and expensive journey, but not altogether useless. it will teach them more highly to prize their own country, neighborhood and privileges, and induce them to spend the remainder of their days with contented minds. before a man with a family makes up his mind to emigrate to a new, unsettled and distant country, he ought well to consider of the subject. emigration, like matrimony, ought to be fully considered; as a bad move in this particular, is attended by many evils, and cannot well be remedied. in the first place, it is the best way to "let well enough alone." if an individual be well settled in life, has profitable employment, well supports himself and family and gains a little every year, dwells in an agreeable neighborhood, has the privilege of sending his children to school, and of attending public worship, why should he wish to remove? why should he wish to go into the wilderness, endure the fatigues of a long journey, and the many hardships and deprivations, necessarily attendant upon a removal to the most favored spot in the new world? this life is too short and uncertain to be spent in making doubtful experiments. it is wise, to live where we can be the most useful and happy ourselves, and where we have the fairest prospect of rendering others so, with whom we are connected. but the young man who has no lucrative employment, and the married man who has to labor hard to gain a scanty subsistence for himself and family, would do well to go to the rich prairies of the south or west. he ought to be careful not to be too much elated with the prospect before him, for disappointment, fatigue and suffering most assuredly await him. it is not "a light thing" to travel with a family of goods two or three thousand miles.--he ought to accustom his mind to dwell upon hardship and suffering, before he commences his journey. young says-- "our only lesson is to learn to suffer; and he who knows not that, was born for nothing." but on his arrival at his location in the new world, however fine, rich and elegant the situation may be, he will feel disappointed and sad. this is perfectly natural; and although some may have too much pride to acknowledge it, yet they all have a strangeness of feeling pervading their breasts, that is sometimes painful in the extreme. perhaps the emigrant had never before travelled far from the smoke of his father's dwelling, and had spent his life hitherto in the neighborhood where he was born, and where his early and innocent attachments were formed. he now finds himself in a new country, far away from the ever-to-be-remembered scenes of his childhood, and he looks abroad upon the world around him, in sadness of heart; for it is a world, however beautiful it may be, that is a stranger to him, and with which he has no sympathy. not to feel, under such circumstances as these, indicates something more or less than man. and this strange, lonely feeling is hardly softened down and mitigated, by the well known fact, that his new location is far superior to the one he has left. the inhabitants of nantucket are proverbially attached to that island of sand, and are discontented and unhappy in the most fertile towns and beautiful villages on the continent. the emigrant ought to think of all these things, before he leaves his native village. but when he has become located in the new world, it will not do to shrink back and despond. he must brace himself to the task before him, and cheer up his family, who in fact need some cheering, for exchanging a well built house and pleasant associates, for the rude log hut and wild beasts of the forests. they will all soon become acquainted with the new world and form new associations. a well built house will shortly take the place of the rude cabin, and emigrants will settle near them, to whom they will become attached. the rich fields will produce an abundant harvest, and large herds of cattle will be seen feeding on the luxuriant grass. he will soon gain a competency, live at ease, and become contented and happy. the inhabitants have a strong belief that texas will at some future day become one of the united states; but i think this, extremely doubtful. it is more probable, that it will in time become an independent sovereignty. it is now one of the mexican states, and the seat of the general government is in the city of mexico. the confederacy is composed of quite a number of states, and texas sends its due proportion of representatives to the general congress, to make laws for the whole. these states have never been well agreed in their form of government, or in the men for rulers. revolutions, and counter-revolutions, have been the order of the day at the seat of the general government; but texas is too much settled by americans, and is too far removed from these intestine commotions to be much affected by them. col. stephen f. austin, to whom the first colony was granted, and who has been the indefatigable pioneer in the settlement of texas, has generally been its representative in the general government. in the spring of , he was at the seat of government, but so great were the divisions that little business could be done. he considered the country in a state of revolution, and wrote home to a friend of his, that he believed texas had better take care of itself and form a government of its own. this friend proved treacherous, enclosed his letter to the president, and sent it to the city of mexico. it was received just after col. austin had left the city on his return home. he was pursued, arrested, brought back and put in prison. he was for awhile kept in close confinement; and then, let out on his giving bonds to confine himself to the limits of the city. when i was in texas, it was believed, he would shortly be liberated, and was daily expected home; but i have since learned, that he was not liberated until some months after my return. it requires not the gift of prophecy to tell what the end of these things will be. texas will become tired of belonging to such a discordant confederacy; and when their population shall have sufficiently increased to insure success, will throw off the yoke, and form a government of their own. but at all events, it will soon be disjoined from cohahuila, establish its own state government, and elect its own officers. the seat of government will probably be san felipe, on the brazos river. in some publications the people of texas have been slandered. they have been called a set of robbers and murderers, screening themselves from justice, by fleeing from their own country and coming to this. it would be strange, indeed, if there were not such instances; but whoever travels over the country, will find them as pleasant, obliging and kind as any people in the united states. in the towns, you generally find a billiard room; and near it, a race-course. at these resorts, are found the favorite amusements of the inhabitants. i went all through the country, unarmed and unharmed; nor did i at any time feel in jeopardy of life or limb. their most prominent fault is, in being too fond of pastime and hunting, to the neglect of tilling the land, building decent houses, and procuring the conveniences of life. the most healthy and pleasant portions of texas are in the regions of nacogdoches; in the rolling country between the brazos and colorado; and southward and westward of the latter river--in beal's grant, near the rio del norte; and high up on the brazos and its branches, in robinson's colony. but neither galveston bay, nor the flat country all along the seacoast, is the place for a northern man. it is too much infested with alligators, moccason snakes and moschetoes. it is more suitable for southern planters, to be cultivated by the blacks. but whoever emigrates with his family to texas, let him, at all events, carry with him bread stuffs to last six months; for there is no wheat raised in the country, and only a small crop of corn for the supply of its own inhabitants. of course, bread stuffs are always dear, and sometimes unattainable at any price. cattle and hogs are plenty, and wild game abundant, so that he could supply himself with meat in this country. the emigrant had better buy his cattle and horses here; for those brought from a more northern climate do not thrive well, and often die. a good serviceable horse may be bought for, from twenty to thirty dollars; a cow with a calf by her side, for ten dollars; and a yoke of oxen for about thirty dollars. the land is ploughed by oxen, horses and mules; but journeys for the transportation of merchandize are performed by oxen. there is a mail running from the city of mexico, through st. felipe, as far as nacogdoches; but as the united states mail goes no farther than fort jessup, the two mails do not meet each other, by seventy-five miles. there is, therefore, no mail connection between the united states and texas. this is a serious inconvenience, and must shortly be remedied. the only chance to send a letter either way, is by a private conveyance. this is generally done by the captains of vessels. the currency is silver and gold coin, bills of the united states bank and those of new orleans.--copper coins are not found in circulation at the south and west. texas has no bank of its own. thus much for my general view of texas. i have endeavored to give a true account of the country as it appeared to me. perhaps it may not be altogether acceptable to landholders and speculators. be that as it may, i believe i have performed an acceptable service to the emigrant, by giving him a fair account of the country; and one that he will find to be a true one, in all its essential particulars, on his arrival. live stock, cotton and sugar are and will be the great staples of the country--grain will be of secondary consideration. what, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? is texas a desirable place for a northern man? my opinion is, that if a northern man would locate himself in the highlands of the country, he would enjoy health as well as at the north; procure all the necessaries and conveniences of life much easier; and might, in time, become independently rich. i do think he would find the climate more pleasant, and more congenial to his feelings, than a northern one; and his life probably attended by more enjoyments. i have been frequently asked, what particular spot in texas is the most desirable for an emigrant to settle in? my answer is, i cannot tell. and whoever travels over the country, will be as much puzzled to tell as i am. the fact is, there are hundreds of places offering about the same inducements--all pleasant, healthy and agreeable. among them, it is quite immaterial what particular one the emigrant may select. i saw an emigrant who had been in the country almost a year, and he had been riding over it the chief part of the time, and still was unable to make a selection. he said there were so many fine situations, so nearly alike, that he found it difficult to give a decided preference to any particular one. when he will be able to make up his mind, and decide the question, i know not. the last time i saw him, he was still on the wing; and for aught i know, he may keep in motion as long as the far-famed boston traveller, _peter rugg_, or the _flying dutchman_, and never be able to find a spot of ground for a permanent abode! but this emigrant is not to be "sneezed at." questions of far less importance have agitated the world; and who knows, but that the destiny of the country, as well as his own, eminently depends upon his particular location! again--i have been enquired of, what can a man do to make property in texas? i answer, he can go into trade in some of the villages, and make large profits upon his goods. he can go on to a plantation, and raise cotton, sugar, corn, or stock--any or all of these are easily raised, and find a ready market. this is what he _may_ do; but what he _will_ do, is altogether uncertain. he may become as indolent and inattentive to business, as many of the inhabitants of the country. he may spend his time in hunting, at the race-course, and at the billiard table. _here_, at the north, the great anxiety is, how we shall live--wherewithal we shall be clothed, and how we can turn a penny to "get gain;" _there_, the great concern is, how they shall employ themselves to kill time. _here_, we struggle hard to live; _there_, they strive hard not to live. _here_, we live in spite of nature; _there_, nature makes them live in spite of themselves. could an emigrant know what course he would take on settling in texas, he could then tell, whether it would be better to go or remain. i have spread the country open before him; let him judge for himself. and fortunate is he, who gives heed to the experience of others, and makes a wise choice. chapter xxiii. i concluded to return to the north by water. i procured a conveyance from the interior to st. felipe on horseback; and here i learnt that there was a schooner sixty miles down the river at columbia, bound to new-orleans, which would sail in a few days. i could find no conveyance to columbia, either by land or water. i found a wagon going down for merchandize, on which i put my baggage; and in company with another gentleman, whom i found in the same predicament with myself, started off on foot. st. felipe is the head quarters of austin's colony. it is a small village, on a high prairie, immediately on the south bank of the brazos river, nearly one hundred miles from the sea. it stands on the first high land you come to on the river; and at this spot the high rolling country commences. its situation is beautiful and commanding. it has two taverns, four or five stores, a court house, and perhaps twenty dwelling houses; but there are only two or three good looking buildings in the place. the opposite side of the river is low, and covered with a heavy growth of timber. st. felipe, like most of the southern villages, is not without its billiard room; and its usual, i might say invariable accompaniment, the grog shop.--billiards is a pleasant and manly game enough; and good exercise for a sedentary man; and if indulged in only for amusement, is as innocent as any recreation whatever. it is a game much played in the middle and southern portions of the united states; and men of the first respectability are found at the table. but in this section of the country, it cannot be recommended as a safe place for recreation. it is generally used as a mere gambling apparatus; and a person meets with a class of society not the most civil, sober and peaceable. not long since, a young man played with an old gambler, until he became tired, and started off. the gambler came out at the door, and called him back; but finding he could not induce him to return, out of mere wantonness and sport, commenced throwing brickbats at him. the young man was a cripple, and could neither run, nor successfully contend with his athletic opponent. he bore it as long as he could, then drew a pistol and shot him through the body. he fell dead upon the spot, without uttering a word. he had been an overbearing, troublesome fellow, and his death was the cause of joy rather than sorrow. one night, while i was at st. felipe, two young men returned from a bloody affray, thirty miles down the river. early the next morning, two other men, fully armed, entered the town in pursuit, and paraded the streets in hostile array. i enquired into the history of the case, and found the following particulars. sometime previous, one of the young men paid his addresses to a young lady, and was engaged to be married. he went to the north on some mercantile business; and during his absence, another young man by the name of thompson, commenced his particular attentions to the young lady; and the match was strongly advocated by his father. on his return from the north, he and another young man who had married a sister of the lady in question, payed a visit to her father's--stayed all night, and started in the forenoon, to return to st. felipe. one of them was in a light gig-wagon, the other on horseback. they had proceeded but a few miles when they heard the clattering of horses' feet, at full speed, behind them. on looking round, they saw young thompson's father, and a doctor of the neighborhood, in close pursuit, with pistols in hand. the young men were also armed; and immediately shots were exchanged by both parties. but such was the hurry and agitation of the moment, that none took effect. they all dismounted at once, and at it they went, in a desperate contest for life and death. the doctor, not liking this part of the game, or not feeling exactly brave on the occasion, was contented to stand aloof, and see the battle rage. old thompson was a powerful man, and about an equal match for both of his opponents. he laid about him like a giant; and sometimes had one grounded, and then the other; and apparently, would shortly gain the victory over them both. at length, he knocked one down, and seemed determined to despatch him at once. he seized him by the throat, and called upon the doctor for a knife. the other young man saw at a glance the critical state of the contest--he jumped to the wagon, took out a loaded gun, just in time to stop the doctor, by his threats, from handing the knife, then took deliberate aim at thompson, and shot him through the body. thompson fell back, said he was a dead man, and expired in a few minutes. the doctor ran to his horse, mounted and fled with all convenient speed. the young men, having been rather roughly handled, were considerably bruised, although not seriously injured. they picked up the deadly weapons of the battle-field, as trophies of victory, and made the best of their way to st. felipe. in a short time, the doctor, young thompson and some others, came to the battle-ground, and carried home the dead body; and without waiting to attend the funeral, young thompson and the doctor started after the young men, to avenge his death. it caused no small stir at st. felipe, when they arrived, and paraded the streets fully armed, and breathing out threatenings. the young men took to a store, and with arms in their hands, awaited the result. the civil authority, however, interfered. the young men gave themselves up to the custody of the law, and thompson and the doctor were persuaded to go home, and abide a trial by jury. it is no pleasure to me to give an account of such lawless battles; but as a faithful chronicler of events i could not pass them over in silence. texas, however, is not more the theatre of them, than many places in the united states. if the value of an article is enhanced in proportion to its scarcity, it is more excusable to fight for a lady here, than elsewhere; for, according to the best estimate i could make, there are ten men to one woman in the country. and could the surplus maiden population of new-england be induced to emigrate to texas, they would meet with a cordial reception; and it might prove, not only advantageous to themselves, but highly beneficial to the country. in two miles from the town, we came to the flat, low country. it was, generally, muddy and very disagreeable and fatiguing to travel over. it was all an open prairie country, except a small skirt of timber immediately on the banks of the little streams; and almost a dead level, except in one place, twelve miles from columbia. here, a hundred acres or more rise thirty or forty feet above the general level of the country, and by way of distinction, is called "the mound." near the streams, the ground was a little elevated; and at such places, we found houses, and some small improvements, probably, in eight or ten miles of each other. we saw a great many herds of deer, and flocks of wild geese and ducks. we were almost four days in performing the route; and were excessively fatigued, when we entered the small village of columbia. this is a new village, having two or three stores, a tavern, and half a dozen dwelling houses. it is situated on a level prairie, two miles from the river, and ten above brazoria. there is a small village immediately on the bank of the river, called bell's landing; and the space between the two, is low bottom land, heavily covered with timber. at this landing, vessels come up and unload their merchandize, destined for the upper country. it has a tavern, two stores, a large warehouse, and three or four dwelling houses. here i was informed, the schooner had dropped down the stream. i stopped over night, and rather than walk, i obtained a log canoe, and a man to paddle me down to brazoria. the tide sets up a little further than bell's landing, and our boat, having the advantage of its ebb and the current also, floated us down in two hours. brazoria is quite a large village. i found some very good buildings, public houses, stores, and as usual, a billiard room. a newspaper is published here, called the brazoria gazette; and i believe is the only one printed in all texas. the situation of the town is low and unpleasant; and subject to the fever and ague. i found a steamboat here, going up the river; but the vessel had gone further down; so we started in the canoe after her; and rowing fifteen miles we found her by the side of the river, taking in bales of cotton. i was glad to get on board the vessel, and be relieved at once from the tediousness and fatigue of pursuit, and from the uncertainty of obtaining a passage to the united states. the vessel remained here, until the next day, when we sailed with a light breeze down the stream. the river is very crooked, so that it is twice as far from brazoria to its mouth by water, as it is by land. we had to tie the vessel up to a tree at night, as it was too dark to proceed. the next day in the afternoon, we hauled up again, on account of a head wind. the mate stept ashore to spend the time in hunting. the river is lined with timber on both sides, about a mile in width; and then, the country is generally an open, level prairie. the mate became entirely bewildered and lost; could not find his way back to the vessel; and was obliged to camp out for the night. in the morning, the captain sent scouts in various directions after him; but they all returned without success. the captain concluded he must have gone towards the mouth of the river; so he hoisted sail and started on. nearly noon, the mate made his appearance on the river bank, nearly opposite the vessel; and the captain sent his boat for him. he was quite exhausted.--he had wandered about almost the whole time, and could neither find a house, road or river. he said he never had been used to hunting; but he could not conceive why people were so fond of it, as it was much more pain than pleasure to him. 'every one to his trade.' a hunter would have found as little pleasure on the ocean, as the sailor did on the land. this hunting expedition afforded no little merriment to the captain and crew, at his expense, during the voyage. the timber on the river banks became less, as we descended; and for five miles above the mouth, there is none at all. a small town called velasco is situated on the sandy beach, at the river's mouth--containing one public house, two stores, four or five dwelling houses, and the ruins of an old spanish fort. we stayed two days here, waiting for a fair wind to cross the bar. i frequently amused myself by walking for miles on the sandy beach, and picking up some of the pretty shells among the millions that lay scattered along. it is as fine a walk as a pensive maiden, in contemplative mood, could desire. on the one hand, is the ever-toiling ocean, whose waves break upon the sand bars, and in giddy globes of foam, lash the shore, and spend their force beneath your feet: on the other, a low, sandy bluff, and then an extended lawn, stretching far away into the interior, and its utmost verge skirted with stately forest trees; and the pathway itself, smooth, hard and level, and bedecked with countless beautiful shells of various sizes, shapes and hues. the brazos is an unpleasant stream. its waters are at all times muddy; its banks are generally low and present a raw edge to the eye as you pass along; and in many places the navigation is rendered difficult, by reason of the many snags. at its mouth, there is a bar, generally having not more than five or six feet of water; and the channel so narrow that a vessel can only pass through with a fair wind. three vessels had been wrecked on the coast the past season. the remains of two of them, lay in sight partly buried in the sand. in the spring, the waters of all the streams in texas are high, and bring down from the upper country, large quantities of timber. the mouth of the brazos, and a long distance on the seashore, is lined with large masses of trees; and from this source the inhabitants of velasco obtain their fuel. chapter xxiv. one morning, near the last of december, the captain announced a fair wind. he weighed anchor, hoisted sail, and with a stiff breeze pushed out to sea. the vessel only drew five feet water, yet she touched three or four times on the bar; but did no apparent damage. i stood upon the deck, until the land, trees and houses faded away in the distance. texas, like a beautiful damsel, has many charms and attractions, but is not entirely faultless. indeed, there is no such place as a perfect elysium on earth. and those who have formed their opinion of the country from some of the many late publications concerning it, will feel some disappointment on their arrival. but its many beauties will hide a multitude of faults; or render them light and easily borne. i must say of texas, as cowper said of england, "with all its faults, i like it still;" and although i had experienced some hardships and inconveniences while in the country, yet its mild climate, pleasant streams, and enchanting "fields of living green," i left at last with serious regret. the fall of the year is the best time to move into texas; or into any of the western states. there are four good reasons to give for this preference: st. it is then better travelling; both on account of the dryness of the roads, and the mild temperature of the weather--neither too hot or too cold. d. it is more healthy on the road--not so much danger of contracting disease on the way; and to be there at the opening of the spring, and become accustomed to the climate and warm weather by degrees, there will be a fairer prospect of continued health. d. it is the time of the year when provisions are the most plenty and cheapest; an emigrant can, therefore, the more readily supply himself on the road, and after his arrival. th. it is the shortest time a person can be in the country, and raise a crop the ensuing season. to arrive in october, or the first of november, he will have plenty of time to build a log house, split out rails and fence in a field by the coming spring, so as to raise a crop.--were he to go in the spring, he would be obliged to support himself and family a whole year before he could get a crop into the ground. to go from the north to texas, the better way is to take a passage on board a vessel bound to galveston bay, the river brazos, or the colorado. but if a vessel cannot readily be found, going direct to texas, a passage may be taken to new-orleans; and from thence, a person can go up the red river to natchitoches, and across the country; or by water through the gulf, to almost any port on the bays and rivers. the distance from boston by water, is three thousand miles; by land, it is not quite so far. from the city of new-york, vessels frequently may be found going direct to texas. the most convenient places for landing in texas are harrisburg, on galveston bay; velasco, at the mouth of the brazos, and metagorda at the mouth of the colorado. it would be advisable to get a protection, more especially, if a person goes by water. speculation--ever busy, active speculation, pervades the world. it rages with violence in maine, disturbs the quiet villages of new-england, keeps the western world alive, and visits the shores of texas. i was at a loss to know how speculation could get hold of texas lands; for they are only granted to the actual settler and only one grant given to each. human ingenuity has devised a plan. when an emigrant arrives in the country, he is met by a land speculator, who tells him he knows of a good location, and if he will go and settle on it, he shall have one half of the league for nothing. the land is entered at the land office in the emigrant's name, the speculator pays the fees, and takes a deed of one half, from the emigrant. this is not the worst kind of speculation in the world. it, probably, may prove beneficial to both parties. the emigrant at least, seems to have no cause for complaint. he gets twenty three hundred acres of land, as much as he can ever cultivate, and pays nothing at all for it. we had four passengers on board; two of whom were afflicted with that lingering disease called the fever and ague. they had resided a few months in the lowlands of texas, and became so severely afflicted, they were returning to the united states for health. the other was a physician, who had gone up the river as far as columbia; did not like the country and was on his return home to tennessee. i informed him, he had not seen the most desirable portion of the country. and such was the fact.--but he had read some of the descriptions of the "beautiful river brazos and the fine country adjacent," and was thereby completely deceived. a sea voyage is always unpleasant to me. the wind blew a strong breeze, the waves rolled high, and made our vessel dance over them like a feather. we all became dreadfully sea sick. it is a terrible feeling; and those afflicted with it, probably endure as much excruciating pain and distress, as the human system is capable of sustaining. in two days, the wind abated in a measure, and the sea became comparatively smooth. we crawled out upon deck, our sickness abated, and soon left us entirely. on the fifth day, just at night, we saw the light at the southwest pass of the mississippi. it soon became dark, and the captain in attempting to enter the mouth of the river, run the vessel aground near the shore. a scene here occurred, that somewhat startled us. we were in the cabin and felt the vessel strike and heard the waves dash against her.--we ran up on deck, and there saw the captain seated upon the windlass, writhing in agony, and groaning like one in despair! the idea struck us in a moment, that the captain saw our danger to be imminent, the vessel would dash in pieces, and we must all perish. but we were immediately relieved from our apprehensions. in the darkness of the night, and hurry of the moment, the captain had been thrown across the pump, and severely injured; and it was from actual pain of body, rather than anguish of mind that made him groan so bitterly. we did not, however, feel entirely at ease. we were exposed to the open sea; and if the wind should rise, and blow hard on shore, the vessel must be dashed to pieces, and we escape the best way we could. but we were highly favored. the wind died away and the sea became quite calm. we retired to our berths, and slept quietly. in the morning, we carried out an anchor; at flood tide, hauled the vessel off; a steamboat took us in tow, and at the dinner hour, we were gallantly gliding up the river. so change the scenes of life. the mississippi steam tow-boats have engines of immense power. our boat had six vessels in tow, and it carried us along at the rate of four miles an hour, against the strong current of the river. from the mouth of the mississippi to new-orleans is one hundred and fifteen miles, and we performed the trip in about twenty-eight hours. the price charged for towing up the river is a dollar a ton; and the amount the boat received from all the vessels was about five hundred dollars. the vessels are towed down stream for half price and sometimes less. fifteen miles from the sea, the mississippi divides itself into three channels, each having a lighthouse near the mouth; but the southwest pass is the only one in which ships can enter when loaded. the river continually pushes its banks further out to sea. they are formed of mud and logs, and soon become covered with a rank growth of rushes. the banks of the river are low, and too wet for cultivation, for fifty miles from the sea. soon after passing fort jackson, which is about forty miles up the river, we came to sugar plantations on both sides, and these continued to the city of new-orleans. on many of these large plantations we saw elegant houses, surrounded by orange trees, loaded with fruit. in the rear, sugar houses, and steam mills for grinding the cane, and long rows of neat looking negro houses; and large stacks of rice standing near them. the planters were all busily engaged in making sugar; and we saw armies of negroes in the fields, cutting and transporting the cane to the mills. january had already commenced, yet there had been no frost to destroy vegetation, and the cane looked as green as in midsummer. the crop of sugar was unusually large, and of an excellent quality. the sugar cane, in size, stalk and leaf very much resembles the southern corn. it has, however, no spindles at the top like a corn stalk, but terminates in a tuft of long leaves. it does not appear to produce any seed in this country but the crop is annually renewed, by planting short slips of the stalk. its juice is sweet, pleasant and nutritious.--the negroes are very fond of chewing the stalk; and i saw some bundles of it at the vegetable market in new-orleans for sale. when the cane comes to maturity, it is cut up and ground with smooth nuts, which in fact only compress the stalk, and force out the juice. this is caught in a large trough underneath, and undergoes the same process of boiling in large kettles, as the sap of a northern maple, when made into sugar. when the boiling is completed, the sugar is put into a large cistern full of holes in the bottom, where it remains a number of days, that all the molasses that will, may drain out. it is then put into hogsheads and sent to market. chapter xxv. on the eastern bank of the mississippi, stands the city of new-orleans. it is regularly laid out, chiefly built of brick, has many fine blocks of buildings, large houses and handsome streets; but its site is too low for it to appear to advantage, or to render it pleasant and agreeable. it stretches two miles along the river bank; and for that distance, the levee is lined with triple and quadruple rows of vessels, steamboats and flat-boats; all having their particular location by themselves. the trade of new-orleans is immense. by the weekly shipping register, it appeared there were two hundred and thirty-four vessels in port. the levee is loaded with bales of cotton, barrels of pork and flour, hogsheads of hams, kegs of lard and hogsheads of sugar and molasses. it is a place of great business, bustle and blandishment; and of dissipation, disease and death. as i passed along by its muddy pavements and putrid gutters, and saw the many gambling houses, grog shops, oyster shops, and houses of riot and debauchery, surely, thought i, there are many things here exceedingly offensive, both to the physical and moral man. and when i saw the motley throngs, hurrying on to these haunts of vice, corruption and crime, i almost instinctively exclaimed, in the words of the immortal bard-- "broad is the road that leads to death, and thousands walk together there!" but here, the career of the debauchee is short.--the poisonous atmosphere soon withers and wastes away his polluted life's blood. death follows close upon the heels of crime; and one need stand but a short time at the charnel house, to behold cartloads of his victims, hurried on, "unwept, unhonored and unsung," to their last home! life seems to be valued by its possessor, in proportion to the strength of the tenure by which it is held. when danger becomes imminent, and life's termination apparently near, instead of making the most of its short duration, man improvidently throws it away, as of no value; or suppresses all apprehension of the future, by rushing headlong into the wildest excesses of dissipation and crime. this is sometimes exemplified in the sailor. when perils thicken around and death stares him in the face, instead of summoning all his powers into action, and bravely contending to the last, he attempts to shut his eyes upon impending ruin, by stupifying the body, and ignobly surrenders life without a struggle. on no other principle, can i account for the excesses of new-orleans. in its best estate, it is emphatically a place of disease and death. its atmosphere is pestiferous. it is felt so to be, and so considered by its citizens. one might suppose, amid the ravages of disease and death, a man would think seriously and live soberly. that if his days were to be very few, he would make them all count, and tell to the greatest advantage. but the inhabitants of new-orleans, instead of attempting to deprive death of his power, are enlisted on his side--they put poisoned arrows in his quiver, and add new terrors to his name! the sanctions of law and religion are set at nought, the sabbath profaned, and they give themselves up to hilarity, dissipation and crime. is this denied? the fact is too apparent and notorious, successfully to be concealed or denied. could the many victims of debauchery and crime speak, they might "unfold a tale" that would cause "the hair of the flesh to stand up," and make the boldest turn pale. shall i be asked to particularize? take the criminal code, and there read its long list of enormities and crimes. censures are painful, and comparisons are deemed invidious; but i must say new-orleans does not show that order, neatness and sobriety, found in other large cities of the union. murders, robberies, thefts and riots, are too common hardly to elicit a passing notice. man here seems to have become reckless of life. it is taken and given for "trifles light as air," with an indifference truly astonishing. the police is inefficient or shamefully negligent.--the authorities of the city appear to stand aloof, and see the populace physically and morally wallowing in the mire. it does appear to me, that if all in authority, and all the virtuous portion of the citizens would brace themselves to the work, the city might be greatly improved in health and in morals. let the strong arm of the law be put forth fearlessly--let the streets be cleared of mud and filth, and the gutters of their putrid water--let the police be active and take into custody the disorderly knaves and vagabonds--let gambling houses be put down, and sunday theatres and circuses be suppressed, and new-orleans would wear a different aspect. then might its streets be walked without fear of life or limb; and the great wealth flowing in, by canal, railroad and river, be fully enjoyed. this may be thought by some to be an exaggerated account of the city. for the honor of our country and of human nature, i wish it might be. but it is, indeed, too true; and whoever happens to visit it, that places a decent value upon life, or the goods of this life, will be glad, like me, to escape without the injury or loss of either. although the vessel i came in was robbed of money and wearing apparel; one of its sailors knocked down and his money taken from him; and a companion of mine had his pocket book cut from his pocket; yet, i fortunately escaped. i could not, however, feel at ease among such a set of plunderers and robbers. i am fully aware, that a large portion of the populace is made up of all nations, tongues and languages; that their residence here is often transient; that many enormities are incidental to all large cities of such a mixed population; and that the many worthy citizens ought not to be held responsible for all the crimes that may be committed, unless they make themselves accessory to them, by indifferently looking on, and taking no energetic measure to prevent them. but it does appear to me they are culpably negligent in this particular. the city authorities need not sanction crime, by licensing gambling houses and houses of ill-fame. by so doing, they take from themselves the power of frowning upon crime, or of effectually punishing the criminal; but leave him to assume an unblushing boldness in society, not elsewhere witnessed, that is truly alarming. if crime may not be entirely prevented, it can be rendered disgraceful; and those who have a decent respect for the opinion of mankind, if they have none for themselves, will then be deterred from committing evil. but as long as new-orleans is believed to be a place, where crimes may be committed with impunity, and without incurring the censure or disapprobation of its citizens; so long will it be the general haunt for the knaves and vagabonds of the union, and of the world.--they will centre here; give countenance and support to each other; draw within their deadly grasp the unsuspecting, the vicious and the idle; and, like the rolling snow-ball, at every impulse enlarge their circle, and gain additional force and power. it is time, high time for all the sober minded and well disposed to awake, look about them, and see their true condition. theirs is the sleep of death. like jonah of old, they slumber amid the whirlwind and storm. new-orleans needs reform; and in a righteous cause, small means may effect much. ten men may chase a thousand. can the result be doubtful? ----"our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." but i have done with the health and moral condition of new-orleans. i am told it has improved, and is improving. and yet there is room--an ample field for the philanthropist to exercise the utmost stretch of his powers, to improve the physical and moral condition of its citizens. a particular description of the city is not necessary. its favorable location for foreign and domestic trade, and vast resources, are well known. one thing was new to me. it contains about half a dozen large cotton presses, entirely occupied in compressing bales of cotton. those intended for a foreign market, are made to occupy one half of their original space; so that a vessel can carry double the quantity it otherwise might. the large number of bales shipped from this port, makes this an extensive business. the charge for compressing is seventy-five cents a bale. bales designed for the northern ports, do not undergo this operation, but are shipped as they come from the hands of the planter. new-orleans has three extensive markets; two for flesh, and one for vegetables. i walked through them all, and thought the city was abundantly supplied with provisions, and of a good quality. although it was january, the vegetable market was supplied with melons, green peas, radishes, lettuce, &c. and boats frequently landed, with cart loads of oranges, fresh from the trees. fish are neither abundant nor of a fine flavor. on the opposite side of the river, are the shipyards; but they seem to be more occupied in repairs, than in building new vessels. here is a small village of a dozen houses, a grog shop and a tavern. a steam ferry boat constantly plies across the river, and appears to have a plenty of business. the city is connected with lake pontchartrain, by a canal for small vessels, and a railroad. the distance is five miles. steamboats regularly run from the end of the railroad, to mobile and other ports. new-orleans has no wharves. it would be more convenient in loading vessels to have them; but they cannot be built on a foundation sufficiently firm to withstand the strong current of the mississippi. a few years ago a wharf was built; but it was soon undermined, and sunk in the stream. chapter xxvi. after remaining in the city four days, i procured a passage on board a brig bound to boston, and sailed down the river. in about two miles, we passed the nunnery--a pleasant looking building, surrounded by an extensive grove of orange trees. five miles from the city, we came to the famous battle ground, where gen. jackson, and his brave associates "planted a british colony." but this is a matter of history. all the indications of a battle now remaining, are scars of balls on one or two trees. the large plantations, on both sides of the river, were all alive with negroes, cutting cane and transporting it to the steam mills to make sugar. it appears to me, that slavery sits lighter on the negro race, than it would on any other human beings.--they are, generally, cheerful, and appear to be inclined to make the best of their situation. much injustice, and many wrongs have been done to the african race. they were torn from their homes, their friends, and their country--carried to a distant land, and sold to hopeless, irremediable slavery. the original kidnappers have much to answer for. but the case is now somewhat changed. neither the masters nor the slaves, now upon the stage, are the parties to the original transaction. slavery has existed for a long series of years; and the present owners of slaves obtained possession of them either by descent, or by purchase. they came into their possession, slaves; they did not change their condition. the only fault, therefore, they are justly chargeable with, is the continuance of slavery.--how far culpable the slaveholder may be in this particular, i shall not undertake to decide, any more than i would the degree of guilt justly chargeable to a mussulman, for believing mahomet to be a true prophet. in all the publications and lectures which i have seen and heard upon slavery, it appears to me, that in regard to the present owners of slaves, the subject is not viewed in its true light. slavery is stated to be a great evil; and therefore, slaveholders are great criminals. however well this may sound in logic, it does not sound well in morals. but there is another inference drawn from the premises--that it is the duty of the inhabitants in the non-slaveholding states, to get up a crusade against the slaveholders. not with swords and guns to be sure; but to give them a bad name, render them odious in the estimation of mankind, and to continue a general warfare upon their characters. this is, indeed, the worst kind of warfare. better take property or life; for what of value has a man left when deprived of his "good name?" to this, i shall be answered, that it is proper to call things by their right names--a spade ought to be called a spade; and a criminal ought to be called a criminal. so far as it applies to slavery, i have two plain replies to make. in the first place, it is assuming too much to call a slaveholder a criminal, under the peculiar circumstances of the case; and secondly, if the fact were so, it is not always good policy to bring accusations against an individual, if the object be to reform him. it is a good maxim in law, and in religion too, that even the truth is only to be spoken from a good motive and a justifiable end. for the peace and well-being of society, facts are not to be stated, merely to outrage the feelings of another, and to gratify the spleen of the speaker. now, i would respectfully ask, what good can come of picking up all the tales concerning cruelty to slaves whether true or false, and proclaiming them in the most imposing form upon the house top, to a non-slaveholding audience? every new case of cruelty is seized upon with avidity, and exultingly paraded before the public. this looks a little too pharisaical. 'lord i thank thee that i am not as other men are; nor like unto these wicked slaveholders,' seems to beam from some men's countenances. is it not in accordance with the christian religion, if a brother offend, to go _privately to him_, and tell him his fault? now, if the object be to emancipate the slaves, _go to the slaveholder himself_, and endeavor to satisfy _him_ that slavery in itself is evil; and, on a view of the whole ground, it is safe, practicable, and beneficial to the slaves to be set free.--to the objection, that it would be unsafe to go among slaveholders for such a purpose, i reply, that missionaries are sent among the indians of the west, the heathen of the east, and in the islands of the sea; and can it be deemed more dangerous to go among the slaveholding citizens of the united states, than among them? it cannot be pretended. the fact is a man may travel through the slaveholding states with perfect safety, provided he carry the deportment of a gentleman, and discuss the subject of slavery, as all such subjects ought to be, in a decent and respectful manner. of this, i cannot doubt, from my own experience in the matter. during a residence of three years in a slaveholding state, and in my various excursions among the planters, i uniformly found hospitable and kind treatment; and a readiness to discuss the subject of slavery with the same freedom that they would any other. it would be a very good plan for our lecturers on slavery, to travel through the southern states, and see for themselves the true condition of the master and slave. their censures of their southern brethren might be softened down a little; and they would sometimes feel more inclined to pity than upbraid. they would find the emancipation of slaves not new, or unthought of, by the people of the south; that it is a subject, which has engaged their anxious thoughts, and caused much private and public discussion. the southerners are more willing to emancipate their slaves, than our northern people generally suppose; but the great question is, how can it with safety be done? some of our northern people would decide this off hand. only say "_be free_," and it is done. but the slaveholder believes, there are many things to be taken into consideration--self preservation, good order of society and the condition of the emancipated slave, are all to be regarded and weighed, before freedom is granted. but i believe the slaveholders do injustice to the character of the negroes in one particular. if they were all emancipated to-day, i believe there would be no attempts made to murder the whites, as has been supposed. they are naturally a friendly, confiding race--neither ungrateful, nor insensible to kind treatment. when they have a good master, and there are many such, they become very much attached to him; and would unhesitatingly, risk their lives in his defence. i have been in the fields, where hundreds of slaves were at work, and conversed with them.--they appeared to be well clothed and fed, and had an easy task. i thought them to be as lively, gay and happy as any set of beings on earth. they are very fond of music, and display a good deal of ingenuity, in adapting songs to their various kinds of work and recreations. many a night, i have raised my window, sat down and listened for hours, to the melody of their voices, in singing their harvest songs, around a pile of corn. but the danger lies, in turning loose upon the world, a race of beings, without houses, lands, or any kind of property; who are ignorant, gay and thoughtless, and entirely unused to provide for themselves. how preposterous the idea! what rational man would think of it? they must beg, steal, plunder, or starve. if the slaves be emancipated, it must be the work of time; and provision must be made, temporarily at least, for their support. but it is urged, that holding in bondage a human being, is wrong, and therefore, he ought to be set at liberty _immediately_. a person cannot do right, or repent of evil, too soon. as this applies to the slave, it may be false reasoning from just premises. although it might be wrong for the eagle to catch the mole, and bear him aloft into the air, yet would it be right, then to let him go, when he knew the fall would dash him to pieces? the setting at liberty in such a case, would only be inevitable destruction. it would therefore be right, and not _wrong_, to retain possession, until liberty could be granted in safety. that many individuals are justly chargeable with cruelty to their slaves, there can be no doubt.--their condition is better in the old, than in the new states. but it appeared to me, that many of the acts of cruelty were negligently suffered by the master to be done, rather than inflicted by him. they are too apt to entrust their servants in the hands of ignorant overseers, who punish without judgment or mercy. a planter informed me, he was riding along by his field one day, and observing the overseer was preparing to flog a negro, he rode up to enquire into the cause of the punishment. he was informed the negro would not work, alleging he was sick.--he asked the overseer if he had ascertained that the negro was _not_ sick. he replied no; for he presumed it was only a pretence to get rid of work. he went up to the negro, examined his pulse and tongue, and found he had a high fever. he told the negro to take a horse from the plough, and ride home, and he would come directly and see he was properly attended to. he then turned to the overseer, and told him he was not a suitable man to have the care of human beings--and discharged him on the spot. in texas, i saw a negro chained in a baggage wagon, for the purpose of carrying him home to his master. he told me he ran away from him, three months previous, and had all that time lived in the woods, and obtained his food by hunting. he said his master was a cruel man, flogged him unmercifully, made him work hard, and did not feed or clothe him well. at night, an axe _happened_ to be left in the wagon, and he liberated himself and escaped. on enquiry, i found the negro's story to be true.--the master was all he had represented him to be, and his conduct was generally reprobated by the people. as i was walking on the sea shore, i again came across the negro. he recognized me at once; came to me, and begged that i would take him with me; and said he would willingly labor for me all the days of his life; but he could not return to his master. this i could not do; but was obliged to leave the negro to his fate. there are many hardships and cruelties incidental to a state of slavery; but the cruel master is as much despised and reprobated in his own immediate neighborhood, as elsewhere. it is now unpopular every where, to ill-treat the slave. his condition has generally improved; and the yoke is often made to sit so light, that it is neither felt nor thought of. but still slavery in its mildest form is attended with many moral, as well as physical evils; is wrong in principle, and contrary to the spirit of our free institutions: and i earnestly hope, that this dark spot on freedom's bright banner may soon be blotted out forever. but to effect such a great object as this, will require the wisdom and aid of the north and the south combined. let "the north give up and the south keep not back;" let them amicably take counsel together; and devise some plan in which the rights, interests and feelings of all parties are nicely balanced and duly regarded. but i see no way in which slavery can be abolished without the aid of the slaveholders. this kind of property is guaranteed to them by the supreme law of the land, and to give it up, must be a voluntary act. it appears to me, the course things are now taking at the north, instead of winning the aid of the south, tends directly to brace them against emancipation. it appears to the south, as an officious interference in their affairs, in the most offensive form. what would we think, if the south should employ a scavenger, to pick up all the private and public acts of cruelty of the northern people; such as the whipping of the boy by arnold, the starving to death of another by fernald, &c. &c. &c.; and then, set up a press, expressly to blazon forth these cruelties; and hire itinerant lecturers to go about and proclaim to a southern audience, in the highest strains of impassioned eloquence, the wickedness, corruptions and enormities of the citizens of the north! and say, they "had waited forty years" for the northern people to reform themselves; which was time enough, and they would wait no longer. they, therefore, were justified in holding them up to the scorn and reproach of all human kind! when the north knew, and all the world knew, they were no better than they should be at home; that they had work of reform enough near at hand; and that they had no legal right to interfere, and could have no legal action upon the subject. and although the avowed object was the reform of the northern people, yet they kept aloof from them, and hurled their poisoned arrows at a distance, alleging that they might in their patriotic zeal, so much arouse their indignation, that it would be unsafe to go near them. what would northern people say to all this! should we say, go on, brethren! god speed! or should we say, this is mean, cowardly business--empty boasting--gasconade! these people may not, indeed, be guilty of this particular thing of which they accuse us; and that is the very reason why they choose this subject for accusation--why they walk so proudly erect--ring all the changes and make the most of it. it is to triumph over us, and build up themselves on our ruins. there is in truth, a worse kind than negro slavery--when a man becomes a slave to his own unhallowed, vindictive passions. much injustice has been done the southern people. those who have travelled and dwelt among them, bear testimony to their high-mindedness, kindness and hospitality. they scorn to do an act of meanness; or to enter upon the broad field of scandal. and although their strong sensibility may sometimes lead them into error, yet in all the virtues which ennoble man, they might not suffer in a comparison with the north. if we choose to bring railing accusations against them; they may not descend to recriminate but leave us the undisputed occupants of the ground we have chosen. and we may have the sore mortification at last to find, we have uttered anathemas in vain; and brought nothing to any desirable result--that we have toiled hard, and effected nothing, but our own humiliation and disgrace. but i must leave the subject of negro slavery.--perhaps i have dwelt too long upon it already to comport with the design of this book. it is a great and an important subject; and to do it justice would require a volume. it is my solemn conviction however, that for the northern people to effect any thing, towards the freedom of the african race, much prudence must be exercised, and conciliatory measures adopted; so as to enlist the undivided energies of the south in the great work of emancipation. chapter xxvii. the river mississippi, which imparts a name and character to the great valley of the west, deserves something more than a mere passing notice.--when the fertility and extent of the region through which it passes, are taken into consideration, together with the magnitude of itself and its numerous branches, it way well be pronounced the noblest river on the face of the globe. contrary to the general analogy of other large rivers, it directs its course from north to south. it rises in about the forty-eighth degree of north latitude, in a region having the aspect of a vast marshy valley. its commencement is in many streams, issuing principally from wild rice lakes, and proceeds but a short distance before it becomes a large river. sometimes, it moves silently and imperceptibly along, over a wide and muddy channel--at others, it glides briskly onward, over a sandy bottom, its waters almost as transparent as air--and again it becomes compressed to a narrow channel between high and hoary limestone cliffs, and it foams and roars, as it violently lashes the projecting rocks, and struggles through. the falls of st. anthony, following the meanders of the stream, are three hundred miles from its source. at this place, the river is about half a mile wide, and falls in a perpendicular and unbroken sheet, between seventeen and eighteen feet.--above the mouth of the missouri, it receives many large tributaries, the most considerable of which are the ouisconsin and illinois from the east, and the des moines, from the west. a little below thirty nine degrees, comes in the mighty missouri from the west, which is a longer stream, and carries more water than the mississippi itself. this is the largest tributary stream in the world; and from the facts, that it has a longer course, carries more water than the mississippi, and gives its own peculiar character to the stream below their junction, many have supposed it ought to have given its name to the united stream and to the valley. in opposition to this claim, it may be stated, that the valley of the missouri, in the grand scale of conformation, appears to be secondary to that of the mississippi--it has not the general direction of that river, but joins it nearly at right angles--the mississippi valley is wider than that of the missouri, and the river is broader, and the direction of the valley and river is the same above and below the junction. from these considerations, it appears to me, that the mississippi rightfully gives its name to the united stream, and to the great valley, from its source to the sea. the missouri rises in the rocky mountains, nearly in the same parallel with the mississippi. it is formed by three branches, which unite near the base of the principal ranges of mountains, which severally bear the names of jefferson, gallatin and madison. the head waters of some of these, are so near to those of the columbia on the other side of the mountains, that a person may drink of the waters of each, in travelling not more than a mile. after the junction of these three streams, the river continues on a foaming mountain torrent. it then spreads into a broader stream, and comparatively of a gentler current, and is full of islands. the river, then, passes through what are called "the gates of the rocky mountains." the river appears to have torn for itself a passage through the mountain. for the distance of six miles, perpendicular cliffs of dark colored rock, rise twelve hundred feet above the stream which washes their base! the chasm is not more than three hundred feet wide, and the deep, foaming waters rush through, with the speed of a race-horse. in no situation in life, does man so keenly feel his own imbecility and nothingness, as when viewing such terrible results of a war between the elements of nature. this is the most imposing and grand spectacle of the kind, to be found on the globe; and in the deep solitude of the wilderness, its aspect is peculiarly awful and terrific. the mountain scenery on the hudson near west point; and the passage of the potomac through the blue ridge, sink into utter insignificance, when compared to the rush of the missouri, through "the gates of the rocky mountains."--the mountains here, have an aspect of inexpressible loneliness and grandeur. their summits are covered with a stinted growth of pines and cedars, among which, are seen mountain sheep, bounding along at heights apparently inaccessible. for the distance of seventeen miles, the stream then becomes almost a continued cataract. the whole perpendicular descent in this distance, is three hundred and sixty-two feet. the first fall is ninety-eight feet--the second, nineteen--the third, forty-seven--and the fourth, twenty-six. the river continues rapid, a number of miles below; it then assumes its distinctive character--sweeps briskly along in regular curves, by limestone bluffs, boundless prairies and dense forests, to its junction with the mississippi. it has a current of four miles an hour; but is navigable for steamboats the distance of twenty-five hundred miles. the tributaries of missouri are many important and large rivers; but our space will not permit a particular description of them. the most considerable of them, are the yellow stone, la platte and the osage. the yellow stone rises in the same range of mountains with the main river, to which it has many points of resemblance. it enters the missouri from the south, eighteen hundred miles above its mouth, and is eight hundred and fifty yards wide. it is a broad deep river, sixteen hundred miles in length, boatable, one thousand; and at the junction, appears to be the larger stream. its shores are heavily timbered, its bottoms are wide, and of the richest soil. its entrance has been selected by the government, as a suitable spot for a military post, and an extensive settlement. the la platte also rises in the rocky mountains, enters from the south, and, measured by its meanders, has a course of two thousand miles. it is nearly a mile wide at its mouth; but, as its name imports, is a shallow stream, and not navigable, except at the high floods. the osage enters from the south and is a large and important stream of the missouri. it is boatable for six hundred miles, and its head waters interlock with those of the arkansas. the gasconade enters from the south also, is not a large river, but is boatable for sixty miles, and is important for having on its banks extensive pine forests, from which st. louis and st. charles are supplied with lumber. the missouri is a longer river than the mississippi, measured from its highest source to the gulf of mexico; and although it carries less than half the breadth of that stream, it brings down a larger quantity of water. it is at all times turbid; and its prodigious length of course, impetuous current, the singular and wild character of the country through which it runs, impart to it a natural grandeur, truly sublime. in latitude thirty-six and a half degrees, the mississippi receives from the east, the celebrated and beautiful ohio. this is, by far, the largest eastern tributary of the mississippi; and at the junction, and a hundred miles above, it is as wide as the parent stream. if the mississippi rolls along its sweeping and angry waters, in more majesty--the ohio far exceeds it in beauty, and in its calm, unbroken course. no river in the world moves along the same distance, in such an uniform, smooth and peaceful current. the river is formed by the junction of the alleghany and monongahela at pittsburgh. the ohio, at this place, is about six hundred yards wide, and it immediately assumes a broad and beautiful aspect which continues in its whole course, to the mississippi. beautiful and romantic streams come in, at nearly equal distances--its bottoms are of an extraordinary depth and fertility--and the configuration on its banks, has all that softness, grandeur and variety, still changing and recurring in such endless combinations, as to render a voyage down it, at all times pleasant and delightful. from pittsburgh to the mississippi, the distance is eleven hundred and fifty miles; and between these points, are more than a hundred islands; some of which, are of exquisite beauty, and afford most pleasant situations for cottages and farms. the valley of the ohio is deep, varying from two to ten miles; and is bounded in the whole distance by bluffs, sometimes towering sublimely from the river bank; at others, receding two or three miles from them. beyond these, are a singular line of hills, more or less precipitous, which are familiarly called the "ohio hills." the bottoms of the ohio are heavily timbered, and there are no where on its banks the slightest indications of prairie. it would be difficult to decide at what season of the year, the ohio has the most interesting and beautiful appearance--in the spring, when its high floods sweep along with irresistible power, and the red-bud and other early blossoms enliven its banks--or in autumn, when it passes quietly along, showing its broad and clean sand bars, and its pebbly bottom, through waters transparent as air--and when the withering leaves of the forest are painted in golden and scarlet colors along its shores. it is at all times, an interesting river, and probably, no other stream in the world can vie with it, both in utility and beauty. below the ohio, the most important tributaries of the mississippi, are white river, arkansas and red rivers--all entering the stream from the west. white river rises in the black mountains, which separate its waters from those of the arkansas; and after traversing a distance of twelve hundred miles, enters the mississippi by a mouth, nearly four hundred yards wide. the arkansas next to the missouri, the largest tributary from the west, is twenty-five hundred miles in length, and is five hundred yards wide at its mouth. its waters are at all times turbid, and when the river is full, are of a dark flame color. eighty miles below natchez, comes in red river; and although it is not generally so wide as the arkansas, yet it has as long a course, and probably, carries as much water. its waters are always turbid, and of a deeper red than those of the arkansas. after receiving red river, the mississippi carries its greatest volume of water. this, however, continues but for a short distance. three or four miles below the mouth of red river, and on the same side, is the first outlet of the mississippi. this is called atchafalaya; and probably it carries off as much water as the red river brings in.--but one small river enters the mississippi below its first outlet. this is on the east side, and is called the bayou sarah. the only eastern outlet is a short distance below baton rouge. this is called ibberville, and it passes off the waters of the mississippi into lake maurepas. on the west side are two more considerable outlets, called bayou plaquemine, and bayou la fourche. the mississippi, then, passes on by new-orleans, between unbroken banks, and discharges the remainder of its waters, through four mouths, into the gulf of mexico. the mississippi is navigable for steamboats to the falls of st. anthony--a distance of twenty-two hundred miles. these falls, although they have not the slightest claim to be compared with the celebrated niagara, in sublimity and grandeur; yet they are interesting and impressive in the solitude and loneliness of the wilderness. as the traveller gazes at the romantic scenery around him, and listens to the solemn roar of the falls, as it echoes along the shores of the river, and dies away in the distant forest; a thrilling story is told him of the love and tragical end of a young dacota indian woman, whose husband had deserted her, and taken another squaw for his wife. being a woman of keen sensibility and unconquerable attachment, in a moment of anguish and despair, she took her little children with her in a canoe, and chanted her song of love and broken vows, until they were swept over the falls, and engulfed in the waters below.--the indians are too fond of romance, not to make the most of such an affecting incident as this.--they believe her spirit still hovers round the spot, and that her fair form is seen on bright sunny mornings, pressing her babes to her bosom, and that her voice is heard, mourning the inconstancy of her husband, amid the roaring of the waters! below these falls, the river swells to half a mile in width and becomes a placid, gentle and clear stream, with clean sand bars, and wide and fertile bottoms. there is a rapid of nine miles, commencing just below the entrance of the river des moines. this impedes the progress of large steamboats, during low stages of the water. below this rapid, the mississippi obtains its full width, being a mile from bank to bank; and it carries this width to the mouth of the missouri. the mississippi, above the junction, is a more beautiful stream even than the ohio, somewhat more gentle in its current and a third wider. at every little distance, the traveller finds a beautiful island; and sometimes two or three, parallel to each other. altogether, in its alternate bluffs and prairies--the calmness and transparency of its waters--the vigor and grandeur of the vegetation on its banks--it has an aspect of amenity and magnificence, which does not belong in the same extent to any other stream. the missouri enters by a mouth not more than half a mile wide; and the medial width of the united stream to the entrance of the ohio, is about three quarters of a mile, from thence to the sea the medial width is a mile. this mighty tributary, rather diminishes than adds to its width; but it perceptibly increases its depth; and what is to be regretted, wholly changes its character. the mississippi is the gentle, clear and beautiful stream no more. it borders more on the terrible and sublime, than the serene and beautiful, from the junction to its mouth. the mississippi flows gently onward, at the rate of not more than two miles an hour--the turbid missouri pours down upon it its angry flood, at the rate of four miles an hour, and adds its own speed and peculiar character to the united stream. the mississippi then becomes a turbid and furious mass of sweeping waters; having a boiling current, sliding banks and jagged shores. a person, who merely takes a cursory view of the river, hardly forms an adequate idea of the amount of water it carries. were he to descend from the falls of st. anthony, and behold the mississippi swallowing up the mighty missouri, the broad ohio, the st. francis, white, arkansas, and red river, together with a hundred other large rivers of great length of course and depth of waters, without apparently increasing its size, he begins to estimate rightly the increased depth, and vast volume of water, that must roll on, in its deep channel to the sea. in the spring floods, the usual rise of the river above the mouth of the missouri, is fifteen feet; from that point to the mouth of the ohio, it is twenty-five feet; below the ohio, it is fifty feet; and, sometimes, even sixty. in the region of natchez, the flood begins to subside. at baton rouge, it seldom exceeds thirty feet; and at new-orleans it is only twelve. this declination of the flood, towards the mouth of the river, is caused by the many outlets which take off much of its surplus water, and conduct it in separate channels to the sea. were it not for this free egress of the mississippi floods, the whole country below baton rouge, would become too much inundated to be habitable. respecting the face of the country through which the river passes, it may be remarked, that, from its source to the falls of st. anthony, it moves on through wild rice lakes, limestone bluffs and craggy hills; and occasionally, through deep pine forests and beautiful prairies. for more than a hundred miles above the mouth of the missouri, it would be difficult to convey a just idea of the beauty of the prairies which skirt the stream. they strike the eye as a perfect level; covered, in summer, with a luxuriant growth of tall grass, interwoven with a great variety of beautiful flowers; without a tree or shrub in their whole extent. when this deep prairie comes in to the river, on one side, a heavy timbered bottom bounds it on the other.--from the smallest elevation, the sweep of the bluffs, generally corresponding to the curves of the river, are seen in the distance, mixing with the blue arch of the sky. the medial width of the river bottoms, above the mouth of the missouri, is six miles; thence, to the entrance of the ohio, it is about eight miles; and from this point to new-orleans, the mississippi swamp varies from thirty to fifty miles. the last stone bluffs, seen in descending the river, are thirty miles above the mouth of the ohio. below the ohio, the high banks are generally composed of a reddish clay. the river almost invariably, keeps the nearest to the eastern shore, leaving much the largest portion of its swamp on its west side; but, sometimes, on the east, the river is about twenty miles from the high bank on that side. it continually moves in a circle; alternately sweeping to the right, and then to the left. these sections of circles, measured from point to point, vary from six to twelve miles; but it sometimes makes almost a complete circle. in one instance, it sweeps round the distance of thirty miles, and comes within a mile of completing the circle, and meeting its own channel again. although the stream hurries on with the speed of a giant, yet it does not seem to be really in earnest to "go ahead." it appears to be more disposed to gambol about, and display its power in its own ample bottom, than to pass directly on, to its destined port. like an overgrown and froward child, its sportiveness is dangerous and destructive. it makes terrible havoc with every thing with which it comes in contact. it tears up large quantities of earth in one place, and deposites it in another. it undermines its own bank, and lets acres of stately forest trees slide into its deep channel--it wears away its deep bends, so as to make its course still more and more circuitous--and again, as if it were tired of its own sportiveness in harrassing the forest, it cuts through the small segment of a circle remaining, leaves a long bend of still water, and its jaded shores at rest. the river, in its serpentine course, hits the high bank at twelve different places, on the eastern shore. these are, at the iron banks, chalk banks, the three chickasaw bluffs, memphis, walnut hills, grand and petit gulf, natchez, loftus heights, and baton rouge. at only one place, it comes in contact with the high bluff on the western side; and this is at the st. francis hills. although the river is a mile in width, yet it is so serpentine in its course, that a person travelling upon it, can see but a few miles ahead. the strongest current is next the concave shore; and here also is the deepest water. a third part of the river measured in a direct line across it, would average eighty feet in depth, from thence it grows more and more shoal to the other shore. in the spring flood, the mississippi overflows the whole bottom, so that then, it becomes a stream fifty miles in width. it shows a breadth of a mile only, and the remainder is concealed from the eye, by the dense forest which broods over it. the mud and sand, brought down by the flood, deposites itself the most freely, near the river; so that the highest part of the bottom will be next the stream. in the time of the flood, the water barely covers the immediate shore of the river; from thence the water becomes deeper and deeper towards the bluff which bounds the bottom. the depth of the flood, then, may be thus stated--the channel, one hundred and thirty feet--its immediate bank barely covered with water, and next to the bluffs, which may be twenty miles from the channel, from twelve to twenty feet in depth. when the flood in a measure subsides, the sad havoc its waters have made begins to appear. huge piles of flood wood, wrecks of flat boats, and occasionally, of animals, are thrown together in one promiscuous mass. the stream is filled with snags and sawyers. and the destruction of its immediate banks is still going on. the deep and solemn sound of land slips are often heard. acres of the stately forest are precipitated into the river, new channels are made, many islands are formed; and the steamboat pilot, who had become a complete master of the intricate mazes of the channel, finds, that he must learn his lesson over again. all of the hundred rivers that form the mississippi, at the time of high water, are more or less turbid; but at low water some of them are clear.--the upper mississippi is quite transparent, but its waters are slightly of a blackish color. the missouri is at all times turbid. it is of a whitish color, resembling water mixed with fresh ashes; and it gives its own color to the stream below its mouth. the ohio is clear, but its waters have the appearance of being slightly tinged with green. the arkansas and red river are at all times as turbid as the missouri, but their waters are of a bright redish color. after the mississippi has received these two rivers, it loses something of its whiteness, and becomes slightly tinged with red. the mississippi, in show of surface, will hardly compare with the st. lawrence; but, undoubtedly, it carries the greatest mass of water, according to its width, of any river on the face of the globe.--from the large quantity of earth it holds in suspension, and continually deposites along its banks, it will always be confined within a narrow and deep channel. were it a clear stream, it would soon scoop out for itself a wide channel, from bluff to bluff. in common with most of its great tributaries, it widens as it ascends; being wider above the mouth of the missouri, with a tenth part of its water, than it is in the region of new-orleans. in the same manner, arkansas and red river are wider, a thousand miles up their streams, than they are at their mouths. no thinking mind can view with indifference, the mighty mississippi, as it sweeps round its bends from point to point, and rolls on its resistless wave, through dark forests, in lonely grandeur to the sea. the hundred shores laved by its waters--the long course of its tributaries; some of which are already the abodes of cultivation, and others pursuing an immense course without a solitary dwelling of civilized man--the numerous tribes of savages that now roam on their borders--the affecting and imperishable traces of generations that are gone, leaving no other memorials of their existence, but their stately mounds, which rise at frequent intervals along the valley--the dim, but glorious anticipations of the future--these are subjects of deep thought and contemplation, inseparably connected with a view of this wonderful river. chapter xxviii. we were three days sailing down the river. just at night the pilot came aboard, took us over the bar at the southwest pass, and we put out to sea, with a strong fair wind from the northwest. the muddy waters of the mississippi are seen far out to sea, even after you lose sight of the land. there was another passenger besides myself; and the violent rolling of the vessel soon made us dreadfully seasick. this, with me, lasted but three days; but the other passenger was sick during the whole voyage, and suffered incalculable pain and distress. there are many things disagreeable to a landsman in a voyage at sea. and in the first place, the rolling of the vessel. this is always disagreeable, but often it is so vehement that you cannot stand, walk or sit without much caution and trouble. while food is eaten, you must hold on to the plate with one hand, and wield the knife with the other, and this is often done at the imminent hazard of "marring the corners" of the mouth. sometimes, in spite of all exertion, a sudden lurch will throw you off the balance, and you get a bowl of hot coffee in your lap. and then, at night, you are tossed to and fro in the berth, so that you cannot soundly sleep, and arise in the morning more fatigued than when you laid down. and this motion of the vessel produces seasickness--an affliction exceedingly grievous to be borne. i had been seasick ten or a dozen times in my life, and this was the third time on my present tour; and i tried all the precautionary means i had ever heard of, but without any beneficial effect. could any effectual remedy be discovered, it would save a vast amount of human distress. the shoreless ocean, seen day after day, affords but a dull and barren prospect to a landsman. the only variety seems to be, when a storm arises; and then it puts on such a terrific form, that the sublimity of the scene cannot be fully enjoyed. we had a severe blow off the coast of florida; but the shivering of sails, and the mountains of foam dashing over our frail bark, caused fear to predominate over every other sensation. the complete and rapid change of the scene at sea, is sometimes very striking. we would be quietly sailing along with a gentle breeze, just enough to fill the sails, and keep the vessel in motion on her course; when all at once a violent squall arises, suddenly strikes the ship, whizzes through the rigging, fills the sails to bursting, and drives her rapidly on, through billows of foam. the captain stands upon the quarter-deck, gives his orders through the speaking trumpet--the sailors run aloft, cling to the yards and take in sail. the contrast is indeed great. one moment, all is calm and quiet; the next, all is uproar and confusion; and could one feel entirely at ease, it would be a great source of amusement, during a long voyage. but a sailor's life is one of care, hardship, watchfulness and anxiety. our captain would walk the deck for hours, anxiously watching the whole circle of the horizon--the appearance of the clouds and the direction of the wind. of a sudden, he would stop short, call all hands, order the light sails taken in, and close-reefed those that remained; when to my unpractised eye, there was no cause of alarm, or appearance of a change of weather. but the result would invariably show the correctness of his opinion. in no one instance, did he prematurely take in sail, nor did the squall ever come and "catch him napping." the third day out, from the mouth of the river, we saw the highlands of cuba. on the fifth, the sand key lighthouse, on the florida shore. we saw no other land on the voyage, except a small island on the little bahama banks, until we came in full view of the village of chatham, fifty miles south of boston. the wind became fair, the weather thick and rainy. the next day, twenty miles out, the pilot came aboard, and we run safely into boston harbor. we had been just twenty-five days from new-orleans--a distance of twenty-five hundred miles. we had experienced all the varieties of a sea voyage--light winds, calms, strong breezes and storms--and now, with no small degree of pleasure, i again set my foot on _terra firma_. the following day, i took the stage and arrived home at exeter; having been absent about five months, and having travelled by land and water the distance of eight thousand miles. i passed over the whole route without arms, and at no time did i feel the need of any. i was uniformly well treated; and often received kind attentions, and formed many acquaintances whom i left with regret, and shall remember with gratitude. the weather had generally been mild and pleasant. the greatest indication of cold weather i found on the whole trip, was a slight frost. on returning at once to the region of severe cold weather, i found it exceedingly oppressive. our northern winters are indeed long, severe and crabbed; and were the people as crabbed as the climate, life would become altogether intolerable. but the southern and western climate is far more bland and mild, and much more grateful to the feelings, than ours; and this, together with the facility of obtaining all the necessaries and conveniences of life, induces me to believe that a much greater amount of comfort and happiness may there be enjoyed. chapter xxix. and now, from this spot, i may be allowed to take a hasty, retrospective glance at the great western country. it stretches from the gulf of mexico to the northern limits of the united states; and from the alleghany, to the rocky mountains--a distance of three thousand miles; showing a broad surface of earth, equal in extent to the atlantic ocean itself. between these bold and primitive barriers, a country is exhibited, every where bearing the marks of a secondary formation. the valleys, bluffs and hills--the regular lamina of stone, strata of marine shells,--and, indeed, all the physical aspects of the country, wear the appearance of once having been the bed of a vast lake, or an inland sea. from this circumstance of its recent formation, and the large quantities of decomposed lime stone mixed with the soil, result another attribute of this valley--its character of uncommon fertility. it is not indeed every where alike fertile. there are here, as else where, infinite varieties of soil, from the richest alluvions, to the most sterile flint knobs--from the impervious cane brakes, to the sandy pine hills. there are, too, towards the rocky mountains, large tracts that have a surface of sterile sands, or covered only with a scanty vegetation of weeds and coarse grass. but of the country in general, the most cursory observer must have remarked, that, compared with lands in other regions apparently of the same character, these show marks of singular fertility. the most ordinary oak lands, will bring successive crops of indian corn and wheat, without manuring, and with but little care of cultivation. the pine lands, which appear so sterile to the eye, have in many places, produced good crops for years, without the aid of manure. there is another remarkable trait in the soil of this valley--its power to support vegetation under the severest drought. it is a fact so notorious that it has become proverbial, that if there be moisture enough to make the corn germinate and come up, there will be a good crop, if no rain fall until harvest. the eastern emigrant witnesses with astonishment, the steady advance of his crop to vigorous maturity, under a pressure of drought, and a cloudless ardor of sun, that must have parched up the fields, and destroyed vegetation at the east. the alleghany mountains, which form the eastern boundary of this great valley, are composed of many ridges, which run parallel to each other with remarkable regularity. the middle ridge is generally the most elevated, and separates the waters of the atlantic, from those that flow into the mississippi. soon after passing the summit of the principal mountains, the waters of the ohio begin to be heard, as they dash along over a precipitous and rocky channel, seeking a spot to escape from the craggy hills, to the plains below. after descending the last mountain ridge towards the valley, the country is still a succession of high hills, generally rounded smoothly down their sides, having more or less table land on their summits.--those portions of pennsylvania and virginia, which belong to the mississippi valley; the eastern parts of ohio, kentucky and tennessee, are generally hilly, and sometimes even mountainous. in alabama, the hills begin to subside. the features of the country too, begin, manifestly to change. the landscape wears a different aspect. instead of the oaks, whitewood and sycamore, we begin to hear the breeze among the tops of long leaved pines.--a long succession of pine hills and fertile valleys succeed each other; the timber becoming less and less, until we meet the extensive prairies, or savannas of florida. approaching the lakes, the country becomes quite level. at the northern sections of ohio, indiana and illinois, near the borders of the lakes, the surface, in some places, becomes so marshy and low, as to be covered, in winter and spring, with water from three or four inches to a foot in depth. the eastern part of ohio is hilly, but the western portion sensibly becomes more and more level. the ohio river originally rolled on in its whole course, through an unbroken forest; but as we approach the eastern boundary of indiana, we begin to discover the first indications of prairie. in the western part of the state of ohio, small and detached prairies are only found. in indiana, the proportion of prairie is far greater, and in illinois it far exceeds the timbered land. north of the state of illinois, pine hills, ponds, marshes, woodland and prairie, alternate to the head waters of the mississippi. the surface of the country west of the mississippi, is generally much more level than the valley east of it. there are bluffs to be sure, often high and precipitous, near the courses of the large rivers; and some portion of the country, near the mississippi, is covered with flint knobs--singular hills of a conical shape, which, with a base of not more than a third of a mile in diameter, sometimes rise to the height of four or five hundred feet; and are covered with coarse gravel and flint stones. there are also, as in the country between the st. francis and white rivers, high hills, which might well be called mountains. a spur of the alleghany mountains, seems to come in to the mississippi at the chickasaw bluffs, and to be continued to the west of the river, in the st. francis hills. but between the mississippi and the rocky mountains, a distance of twenty-five hundred miles, the general surface of the country is one vast plain, probably the largest on the face of the globe. except the bluffs of the rivers, and flint knobs, the whole surface is entirely free from stones. on the lower courses of the missouri, st. francis, white, arkansas and red rivers, we find extensive bottoms of inexhaustible fertility covered with a dense forest; and occasionally a rich prairie, teeming with vegetation. but as we ascend these rivers, the timber becomes less and less, until, at last, we find the prairies coming in to the river banks. as the traveller recedes from the narrow and fertile belt on the streams, he finds the prairies becoming more and more dry and sterile--destitute of wood and water, and, sometimes, of all vegetation. he finds himself on a boundless waste of prairies; stretching out before him, far beyond the reach of vision; and here, he may wander for days, without finding either wood or water, and whichever way he may turn his eyes, he beholds an ocean of grass bounding the horizon. in advancing westward, he, at length, catches a glimpse of the rocky mountains, pencilled like clouds on the blue arch of the sky. these mountains rise in lofty grandeur, twelve thousand feet above the grassy plains at their base; and some of the peaks, are supposed to be eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea. they appear at a distance, to present an unbroken front, and to form an insuperable barrier between the mississippi valley, and the shores of the pacific ocean. on a nearer inspection, they are found to be, like the alleghany mountains composed of a number of parallel ridges; and following up the streams, as they escape from the mountains, tolerable paths are found to cross them. a late traveller crossed these mountains, by following up the river platte to its source; and from thence, down the stream that falls into lake bueneventura, on the western side. he states that the ascent was no where any greater than on the national road, over the cumberland mountains. he even asserts, that the ascent was not more than three degrees; and that nature has provided a practical and good road, quite down to the plains of the columbia. these ranges of mountains cover a wide extent of country; and here, the principal rivers that fall into the mississippi, have their sources. some of these rivers wind three or four hundred miles among the mountains, before they find a passage to the plains below. the ranges at the sources of the arkansas, and extending southward towards the gulf of mexico, bear the name of the masserne mountains. a single peak of this ridge, seen at immense distances over the adjacent plains, rising into the blue atmosphere above the region of clouds, is called mount pike. near this mountain, the colorado of the pacific, the rio del norte of the gulf of mexico, the yellow stone of the missouri, and the arkansas and red rivers of the mississippi, have their sources. mount pike must therefore, be the highest point of land of this part of north america. the rocky mountains are at present too little known to be accurately and particularly described. they are hundreds of miles beyond the limits of cultivation, and the usual haunts of civilized man. they will for ages only attract the gaze and astonishment of wandering hunters, and adventurous travellers, who will thread the mazes of their deep gullies, as they pursue their journey to the western sea. many of the ranges, and peaks are black, ragged and precipitous; and around their bases are strewn huge fragments of rock, detached by earthquakes and the hand of time. from this iron bound and precipitous character, they probably received the appellation of "rocky mountains." the general surface of the mississippi valley may be classed under three distinct heads--the dense forest, the barrens, or oak openings, and the prairies. in the first division, every traveller must have remarked, as soon as he descends to this valley, a grandeur in the form and size of the trees, a depth of verdure in the foliage, and a magnificent prodigality of growth, that distinguishes this, from every other country. the trees are large and straight, and rise aloft in stately columns, free from branches, to a great height. in the rich bottoms, they are generally wreathed with a drapery of ivy and grape vines; and these vines have sometimes trunks as large as the human body. frequently, these forests are as free from any undergrowth as an orchard of apple trees. sometimes the only shrub seen among the tall trees, is the beautiful pawpaw, with its splendid foliage and graceful stems. in the rich alluvions of the southern section, impenetrable cane brakes, tangles of brambles, and a rank growth of weeds, are often found beneath the forest trees; and their lofty branches are hung with large festoons of spanish moss. these are the safe retreats of the bears, panthers, and other wild beasts of the forest. such forest trees only will be noted, as are not found in our northern climate. it may be proper to remark, that the white pine of new-england is only found in the upper section of the mississippi valley--the pitch pine is found in various places on the high lands, throughout its whole extent; although not on the banks of the streams of water. the cypress is seen on overflowed and swampy land from the mouth of the ohio to the gulf of mexico. it is strikingly singular in its appearance. under its deep shade, arise a multitude of cone shaped posts, called 'cypress knees.' they are of various sizes and heights. the largest generally seen are about a foot in diameter at the bottom, two or three inches at the top, and six feet in height. the bark is smooth, and grows over the top end the same as at the sides. the ground, in a cypress swamp, looks as though tapering posts of all imaginable sizes had been set there at random; and are sometimes so thick that it is difficult to ride among them. it has been supposed that these knees are but the commencement of large trees, and there is some reason for this belief; for the tree itself has a buttress that looks exactly like an enlarged cypress knee. a full sized cypress is ten feet in diameter at the ground, but it tapers so rapidly that in ascending eight feet, it is not more than about two feet in diameter; from thence, it rises in a straight smooth column, eighty feet, without any apparent diminution of its size; it then branches off at once in all directions, and forms a level surface of foliage at the top. a forest of cypress looks like a scaffolding of deep green verdure suspended in the air.--the timber is clear of knots, easily wrought, durable, and is the most valuable timber tree in all the southern country. the live oak is only found near the sea coast. it does not grow tall, but runs out into long lateral branches, looking like an immense spread umbrella. the leaf is small and evergreen. it bears an abundance of acorns, which are small, long and a good deal tapering at each end. its timber is hard to cut, and will immediately sink in water. the peccan is of beautiful form and appearance, and makes excellent timber for building and rails. it bears a round nut about an inch and a half long and half an inch in diameter. it excels all other nuts in the delicacy of its flavor. the black locust is an excellent timber tree, and is much used in the building of steamboats. its blossoms yield an exquisite perfume. the white locust is similar to that of the north. the black walnut is a splendid tree and grows to a great size. it is much used in finishing houses and in cabinet furniture. it produces a nut very similar to the northern butternut; but the meat is not very palatable. the white walnut is also plenty, as are the various kinds of hickory. the sycamore is the largest tree of the western forest. one of these trees near marietta measures fifteen feet in diameter. judge tucker of missouri fitted up a hollow section of a sycamore for an office. the yellow poplar is a splendid tree and next in size to the sycamore. its timber is very useful for building and rails. its blossoms are gaudy bell-shaped cups, and the leaves are of beautiful forms. the cotton-wood is universally found in all the southern country below the mouth of the ohio. it is a tree of the poplar class, and somewhat resembles the whitewood of the more northern regions. it is a large stately tree and sometimes measures twelve feet in diameter. one tree has been known to make more than a thousand rails. it derives its name from the circumstance, that when its blossoms fall, it scatters on the ground something much resembling, in feeling and appearance, short ginned cotton. the catalpa is found in the region of the cotton-wood. it is remarkable for the great size of its deep green leaves, and its rounded tuft of beautiful blossoms of unequalled fragrance. its seed is contained in a pod about two feet in length, much resembling a bean pod. as an ornamental tree it is unrivalled. in gracefulness of form, grandeur of its foliage, and rich, ambrosial fragrance of its blossom, it is incomparably superior to all the trees of the western world. the magnolia has been much overrated, both as to the size of the tree and blossom also. it grows up tall and slim; the largest, about two feet in diameter; smooth whitish bark; and slightly resembling the northern beech. its leaves are of a deep green, small and evergreen. its blossom is of a pure white, much resembling, although twice the size, of a northern pond lilly. the fragrance is indeed powerful, but rather disagreeable. there are half a dozen species of laurels; the most beautiful of which, is the laurel almond. it grows to the size of the pear tree; the leaves resemble those of the peach; its blossoms yield a most delicious perfume; and its foliage continues green all the year. it is found in the valley of the red river. there is a striking and beautiful tree found on the head waters of the washita and in the interior of arkansas, called bow-wood, from the circumstance that the indians use it for bows. it bears a large fruit of most inviting appearance, much resembling a very large orange. but although beautiful to the eye, it is bitter to the taste. it has large and beautiful leaves, in form and appearance much like those of the orange, but much larger. the wood is yellow like fustic, and it produces a similar dye. it is hard, heavy and durable, and is supposed to be more incorruptible than live oak, mulberry, cypress, or cedar. above the raft on red river, the hulk of a steamboat has been built entirely of its timber. the china tree is not a native of this country, but is much cultivated in the southern regions of the valley for ornament and shade. it has fine long spiked leaves, eight or ten inches in length, set in pairs on each side of a stem two feet long. in the flowering season, the tree is completely covered with blossoms. it bears a small reddish berry, which continues on the tree a long time after the leaves have fallen, and gives it, even then, an interesting appearance. it is a tree of more rapid growth than any known in this country. the pawpaw is not only the most graceful and pleasing in appearance of all the wild fruit-bearing shrubs, but throws into the shade those cultivated by the hand of man. the leaves are long, of a rich green color, and much resemble the leaves of the tobacco plant. the stem is straight, white, and of unrivalled beauty. the fruit resembles the cucumber, but smoother and more pointed at the ends.--there are from two to five in a cluster; and when ripe are of a rich beautiful yellow. the fruit contains from two to six seeds, double the size of the tamarind. the pulp resembles egg custard. it has precisely the same feeling in the mouth, and unites the taste of eggs, cream, sugar, and spice. it is a natural custard; but too rich and highly seasoned to be much relished by most people. so many whimsical and unexpected tastes are compounded in the fruit, that a person of the most sober face, when he first tastes of it, unconsciously relaxes into a smile. the persimon is found in missouri, and in the region to the south of it. its leaves resemble those of the wild cherry, and it grows about the size of the pear tree. the fruit is of the size of a common grape, in which are similar small seeds. it ripens about the middle of autumn. the fruit is of a yellowish purple color, and it is too sweet to be agreeable to many people. in the middle regions, on some of the prairies, large tracts are covered with the crab-apple tree.--their appearance is like the cultivated apple tree, although the fruit and the tree are much smaller.--it makes good cider and preserves, but is too tart to be eaten in its natural state. the white and black mulberry are both found in the mississippi valley, but the black is by far the most common. it has been satisfactorily proved, however, that the silk worm will thrive and produce well, upon the black mulberry. cane brake is seen on the banks of the mississippi soon after you leave the mouth of the ohio. it generally grows from fifteen to twenty feet in height; but in the rich bottoms near natchez it sometimes attains the height of thirty feet. it is five years coming to maturity, and then produces an abundant crop of seed, on heads much resembling broom corn. it is an evergreen. the leaves are three or four inches long, but narrow and sharp pointed. it is much used for reeds and fishing rods. they grow so very thick that it is difficult for a man to make head way among them. when they are cut down and become dry, they burn freely.--the negroes have fine sport in burning them. the heat rarifies the air in the hollow between the joints and causes them to burst with a noise like a gun; so that when a large quantity of them are set on fire, the noise is like a continued discharge of musketry. the "barrens" have a distinct and peculiar configuration. the surface is generally undulating with gentle hills--sometimes of a conical form, but generally, running in parallel ridges. the soil is of a clayey texture, of a reddish or greyish color, and is covered with tall coarse grass. the trees are neither large nor very small; and are scattered over the surface, at the distance of two or three rods from each other. they are chiefly of the different kinds of oaks, and from this circumstance, these barrens are, in many places, called "oak openings." the soil never exceeds second rate, and is often only third rate; but it will produce good crops of corn and wheat for many years, without the aid of manure. there are large tracts of this kind of land in kentucky, tennessee and alabama. they are common in indiana, michigan, illinois, missouri, arkansas and texas; and, indeed, they are seen with more or less frequency over a large portion of the mississippi valley. the 'pine barrens' are covered with a beautiful growth of long leaved pines. they run up tall, in a straight shaft, generally about two feet in diameter, and are excellent for timber. the surface is gently undulating; sometimes, approaching a dead level, and is covered with a scanty growth of weeds and grass. the soil is sandy, but sometimes slightly tinged with reddish clay. it is supposed to be weak and unproductive; but some of these 'barrens' have produced two or three good crops of grain, without being enriched by manure. large districts of this kind of land are found in alabama, mississippi and arkansas; and they are common in florida, and in some sections of louisiana and texas. the remaining, and by far the most extensive surface of the valley, is that of the prairies. although they have not much diversity of aspect, yet they may be classed under three general heads--the alluvial, or wet, the bushy, and the dry prairies. the bushy prairies seem to be of an intermediate character between the alluvial prairies and the barrens. they have springs of water, covered with hazel and furzy bushes, small sassafras shrubs and grape vines. acres of this shrubbery are sometimes found covered with the common hop vine. prairies of this description are very common in indiana, illinois and missouri; and they alternate among the other prairies, for some distance towards the rocky mountains. the wet prairies form the smallest division. they are generally found on the margin of streams; but sometimes, they occur, with all their distinctive features, far from the spot where waters now run. they are generally basins, as it regards the adjacent regions, and possess a deep, black soil of exhaustless fertility. they are the best soils for wheat and indian corn; but, ordinarily, too tender and loamy for the cultivated grasses. in a native state, they are covered with grass and weeds of astonishing height and luxuriance. they are often higher than a man's head, when mounted on horse back. an exact account of the size and rankness of the weeds, flowering plants, and wild grass on the rich alluvial prairies of illinois and missouri, would appear to those who have never seen them, like an idle tale. still more than the rolling prairies, they strike the eye as a dead level, but they generally have a slight inclination, sufficient to carry off the water. the dry prairies are generally destitute of springs and bushes, but are covered with weeds, flowering plants and wild grass. the roundings of their undulations are so gentle, that to the eye, taking in a large surface at a single view, they appear as a dead level; but in travelling over them their undulations fully appear. the ravines and gullies occasionally found, fully indicate, that they have a sufficient inclination to communicate a quick motion to the waters, which fall upon them. this is by far the largest class of prairies in the western country. prairies of this description are frequently found in illinois; the largest of which, called "grand prairie," is a hundred miles in length, by fifty in breadth. they are often found in indiana, missouri and texas; but they appear displayed on a magnificent scale, between the western border of the state of missouri, and the rocky mountains. here, are the appropriate ranges for the buffalo, wild cattle and horses. here are the plains, without wood or water, where the traveller may wander for days, and see the sun rise and set in an ocean of grass. here he may travel, day after day, under a cloudless ardor of the sun, and not find a stream of water to slake his thirst, or a solitary tree for shelter and shade. the general aspect of the mississippi valley, in regard to woodland and prairies, may in a summary manner, be thus stated:--the surface, in a state of nature, from the alleghany mountains to the western border of ohio, is covered with a dense forest. here, are the first indications of prairies. proceeding westward through indiana, illinois and missouri, the prairies become larger and more frequent, until at last, it becomes all prairie to the base of the rocky mountains. it is a fact, beyond all question, that more than half of the great mississippi valley is smooth prairie, entirely destitute of timber. large portions of the valley will support a dense population, and become inhabited; but the larger prairies will remain uncultivated for ages. they are fit haunts only for the adventurous hunter, or the wandering shepherd. during the season of vegetation, no adequate idea can be conveyed by description, of the number, forms, varieties, scents and hues of the flowering plants on the western prairies. the violet, and the more humble and modest kinds of flowers, which show their blossoms in early spring, not being able to compete with the rank grass and weeds around them, soon become choked and lost to the view; but the taller and more hardy kinds, successfully struggle for display, and rear their heads high enough to be seen. they have tall and arrowy stems, spiked or tassellated heads, and the blossoms are of great size, grandeur and splendor, but not much delicacy of fragrance. as the season advances, distinct successions of dominant hues prevail. in spring, the prevalent color of the prairie flowers, is bluish purple--in midsummer, red, slightly tinged with yellow--in autumn, yellow. at this season of the year, the flowers are very large, generally, of the sunflower form, and they are so profusely scattered over the prairies, as to present to the imagination an immense surface of gilding. and this country of dense forests and rich prairies, is intersected with large and navigable rivers. these, alive as they are with their steamboats, keel and flat boats, afford great facilities for travelling, and for the transportation of merchandize and produce. the prairies and woodland also, present great facilities for travelling, and the transportation of goods. they are often, in a state of nature, so smooth, so gently undulating, and of such an unbroken surface, that carriages may run over them without interruption or delay. such are the general outlines and features of the great mississippi valley; but a complete description would require volumes. nature has laid off her work here, upon a magnificent scale, and finished it with a liberal hand. its natural productions are rich and abundant. its waters abound with fish--its soil teems with an exuberance of trees, plants and blossoms--rich mines lie emboweled beneath the surface--and wild game are profusely scattered over its prairies, woodland and rivers. to the husbandman, it presents itself in a more attractive aspect, than the granite hills and rocky soil of new-england. it has increased in population and wealth, incomparably greater than any other section of the world; and ere long, it will contain a majority of the population of the united states. and now, it only remains, most respectfully to take leave of my readers. those who have traced the trip to the west and texas through the foregoing pages, i hope, may have enjoyed all its pleasures, without incurring its attendant hardships and fatigue. appendix. territory of michigan. this territory is bounded by the national boundary line on the east and north, by the mississippi river on the west, and by the states of illinois, indiana and ohio on the south. these boundaries include a vast extent of territory; but as that portion of it which lies to the north and west of lake michigan and the state of illinois is for the most part a wilderness, having only some small settlements on green bay, the milwake and mississippi, my remarks will be confined to that part of it commonly called the peninsula, lying between lakes erie and michigan. _population._--this territory is estimated by good judges to contain between thirty-five and forty thousand inhabitants. the rapid and increasing tide of emigration into it, induces the belief that it will soon be admitted as a state into the union. its present and increasing importance may be in a great measure attributed to the enterprising, active and energetic talents of its late governor, lewis cass, the present secretary of war. his personal exertions and enlightened policy, not only facilitated its settlement, but developed its vast and various resources. a large portion of its inhabitants are from new-york and the eastern states, and are as active and industrious as those are in the sections of country from which they came. they make rapid improvements; and in a few years, the country will not be behind the flourishing state of ohio, in farms and villages. _face of the country._--that part immediately bordering on lakes erie, st. clair and huron, and their connecting waters, is generally rather level and heavily timbered, but somewhat deficient in good water. in the interior, it becomes gently undulating, occasionally well timbered, and interspersed with oak openings, plains and prairies. the plains are frequently covered with such a regular, beautiful and thrifty growth of timber, so free from underbrush, as to wear the aspect of a cultivated forest. they are more easily improved than the heavy timbered land, and produce full as well. the openings are often rather deficient in timber, though they are not unfrequently skirted with plains, or contain patches of woodland, from which an ample supply may be obtained, not only for fuel, but for building, fencing and all other fanning purposes, if used with economy. they usually require but little, and sometimes no labor to prepare them for the plough; three or four yoke of cattle are found to be amply sufficient to break them up the first time, after which they are cultivated with nearly as much ease as old improved lands. they are found to be excellent for wheat, to improve by cultivation, and usually to produce a good crop of corn the first season. the prairies generally support a heavy growth of grass--are free from timber, and may be divided into two classes. one is called dry, and the other is denominated wet prairies. the former possess a rich soil, are easily cultivated, and generally yield in rich abundance almost every kind of produce which might be expected to flourish in forty-two degrees north latitude, especially those on st. joseph's river. and the latter often prove serviceable, not only in affording early pasture, but in supplying the emigrant with the means of wintering his cattle; and may with a little labor, frequently be made to yield an abundant supply of excellent hay. the interior of the territory is well watered with rivers, creeks and small lakes; many of which contain an unusual quantity of fish. there are several salt springs, which have not yet been tried nor improved, situated in different parts of the territory, all of which have been reserved by the united states; but it is not certain that any of them will prove very valuable. by boring a number of feet, the water would improve, and might, in some cases at least, not only justify the erection of extensive works for the manufacture of salt, but prove also a source of revenue to the united states, as well as afford to the manufacturer the means of accumulating wealth. the surveyed part of the territory is laid out by the united states into townships of six miles square, which are divided into thirty-six sections or square miles, containing each six hundred and forty acres. these are subdivided, by imaginary lines, into quarter and half quarter sections; the latter of which contain each eighty acres, is the smallest quantity sold by the united states, and may, as well as the larger tracts, be selected by the purchaser. though there is a small tract of land which proves rather unhealthy at the mouth of huron, saginaw and rouge rivers, as well as at the mouth of brownstown and swan creeks, owing to the sluggishness of the water at the outlet of these streams, yet the climate of the surveyed part of the territory is mild, lying between forty-one degrees thirty-nine minutes, and forty-two degrees thirty-four minutes north latitude. the air is salubrious, and the water generally clear. the soil, which produces in rich abundance wheat rye, barley, oats, peas, beans, indian corn, and potatoes, as well as all kinds of vegetables usually cultivated in the same latitude, consists of such a variety, that it cannot fail to suit the choice of almost every person in the pursuit of agriculture. fruit, of course, has not yet been tested in the interior, for the want of time, except peaches, which do exceedingly well; but if i may be permitted to draw an inference, from the quality of the various kinds which grow in great abundance on the french plantations, along the margin of detroit river, as well as on other parts of the great chain of navigable waters, then i presume i shall be allowed to say, that the soil of michigan is equal, for the production of fruit, to that of any state in the union. the pear trees along this river, which were planted in the early settlement by the french, are remarkably large, very tall, and extremely thrifty and beautiful, and bear a most delicious fruit, which generally sells from two to four shillings per bushel. apples, at detroit, vary from twelve to fifty cents, and may generally be procured by the bushel, for the latter price, even in winter. cider, in the fall, is from one and a half to two dollars per barrel, for the juice. currants, blackberries, black and red raspberries and cherries bring from three to four cents per quart; though the earliest of these, as well as whortle berries and strawberries, command sixpence. plumbs are scarce, because they have not been generally cultivated, though they are likewise found to do well. the price of unsold wild land is fixed and uniform, being one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre, the terms ready money, and the title indisputable, as it comes direct from the united states, under the seal of the president. the richest, most fertile, and perhaps more beautiful part of the territory, is generally thought to be adjacent to the st. joseph's river and its various branches; which, from present appearances, bids fair to become speedily settled; settlements began to form on it a year before it was offered for sale. it only came in market in may, , and such has been the influx of emigration to this part of the territory, that the legislature in october last, formed twelve new counties, mostly thereon, and organized two of that number. this part of the territory possesses several copious mill streams, particularly hog-creek, the dowagiake, christianna, pigeon, crooked and portage rivers, a few of which have already been improved, by the erection of saw and grist mills. the climate of this part of the territory, though mild, is apparently more subject to wind than the valley of the ohio river. the prevailing wind is the southwest; and as it crosses a large tract of prairie country in illinois and indiana, comes here with much force, and in winter is somewhat piercing. considerable snow falls; nevertheless it is very favorable to wheat, rye, potatoes and turnips, and though not very adverse, yet not so congenial as the valley of the ohio river, to southern corn and the more tender grains and esculents. fruits, of course, have not yet been cultivated here, except a few apples and peaches, by the french which appear to do well. the prairies in this quarter are of the richest soil, and may be ploughed in two days after the frost leaves the ground in the spring. they usually produce thirty or forty bushels of wheat to the acre; and from thirty to eighty of corn have been raised from the same quantity of ground, in all the prairies that have as yet been occupied: four hundred acres of corn were cultivated on beardsley's prairie last year, which having been improved the year before averaged fifty bushels to the acre. these prairies not unfrequently produce thirty or forty bushels of corn to the acre, the first season, without being ploughed or hoed after planting. the surveyed part of the territory is divided into three united states land districts, containing each one land office; one of which is at detroit, one at monroe and one at bronson, in the county of kalamazoo. the rivers grand, st. joseph, raisin, huron, clinton, rouge, kalamazoo and shiawassee, interlocking in different parts of the territory, not only irrigate the country in a beautiful manner, but offer unparalleled inducements for canaling, and with comparatively but little expense, as there would be no mountains, nor probably rock strata to cut through. it is already in contemplation, by means of the grand river and clinton, or the st. joseph's and raisin, to open a water communication across the peninsula, by means of a canal, which would terminate at detroit or monroe; and probably at no distant period, it will not only be undertaken, but will be accomplished in such a manner as to accommodate both these places in this respect. a company was incorporated, by an act of the legislature, last fall, under the title of the "summit portage canal and road company," with a capital of ten thousand dollars, to be divided into one thousand shares of ten dollars each, for the purpose of cutting a canal west of lake michigan, to connect the fox and ouisconsin rivers at what is usually termed the portage of the ouisconsin, and to construct a turnpike road on said portage, parallel to said canal; and also to construct another turnpike road from the lower extremity of the rapids of the kaukauin, on the east side of the fox river, on the most direct and eligible route to winnebago lake, and for the erection of piers, wharves, warehouses and other public buildings and improvements, in and about said canal and turnpike, for commercial purposes.--michigan extends at present west to the mississippi river; but it is expected the territory will shortly be divided, and a new territory set off west of lake michigan; and organized by the name of ouisconsin or huron. the territory was originally owned and occupied by emigrants from france; consequently the old inhabitants or first settlers are mostly french. wayne county--contains about seven thousand inhabitants, many of whom are french. its seat of justice is detroit. hamtranck, detroit and springwells. these towns, which lie in the northeast part of the country, border on detroit river, and are rather level, and but poorly supplied with water. the northern part of the two latter is somewhat broken by marsh and wet prairie; but near the centre of springwells is a tract, containing some excellent arable land not yet entered, lying within from six to ten miles of detroit, where a new settlement has recently been formed, and through which a road has lately been opened, leading from detroit to farmington. the towns of pekin, nankin and plymouth are well supplied with water by the river rouge and its various branches, which afford several eligible mill sites, and which have already been advantageously improved by the erection thereon of saw and grist mills. pekin is heavily timbered with white and black ash, white and black oak, beech, maple and sugar tree. the land is rolling, and the soil rich and fertile, consisting of sand, loam and some clay. the northern and southern part of the town of nankin has much the same appearance as pekin, though the soil is more sandy, and requires less labor to cultivate it; yet it yields quite as well; but the middle is plains and openings, of an inferior quality and soil. plymouth has likewise a similar appearance to pekin, though the northern part is more rolling, yet even here the timber is the same, with the addition of black walnut; but the soil is generally of a superior quality. _huron._--this town is watered by a delightsome river, of the same name, whose waters are very transparent and abound with fish. it runs through the town diagonally, exhibiting in many places rich bottom lands, often bounded on one or both sides, by high sloping banks, and not unfrequently skirted with beautiful plains. though a great proportion of this town is rather destitute of running streams, yet the soil in general is fertile, and for the most part easily cultivated. the eastern part is oak openings and plains of a good quality, interspersed with groves of heavy timber which often contain a small black ash swamp, and sometimes a wet or dry prairie; but the south part is heavily timbered with white and black ash, white oak, beech and maple, with occasionally a whitewood. the southwest corner is low land, and contains a large wet prairie. _brownstown_ is watered by the huron river, muddy and brownstown creeks. the north-western part of this town is but poorly watered, and exhibits alternately oak openings, plains and prairies, occasionally interspersed with groves of heavy timber. the southeastern part is rather level and heavily timbered, except small tracts at the mouths of huron river and brownstown creek, which consist of prairies that are more or less inundated with water. _montguagon_ embraces gross' isle, and is situate on detroit river. it is gently undulating, possesses a fine quarry of limestone, and a rich soil, supporting a thrifty and heavy growth of white oak, hickory, beech, maple, white and black ash. monroe county--contains a population of about four thousand, many of whom are french. there are three villages in this county, namely, monroe, frenchtown and port lawrence. the first of these, which is the seat of justice for the county, is a flourishing village, situate on the river raisin, about six miles from lake erie, and thirty-six from detroit. the united states' turnpike, from the latter place to the ohio state line, passes through it, and here was situated the bank of monroe. it possesses an ample supply of water power for propelling hydraulic machinery, a part of which has already been converted to the use of saw and grist mills, as well as to the use of machines for carding and dressing cloth. the united states have made a survey of plaisance bay harbor, at the mouth of the river, with a view of improving the same. monroe is now the second village in the peninsula, as it regards population; and should they succeed in forming a good harbor at the mouth of the river, as it possesses water power, it may yet equal, if not rival detroit. the county is generally well watered; the north-eastern part is rather level and heavily timbered; but the western and southern part is rolling land, alternately abounding in prairies, openings, or heavy groves of timber. the soil of this county is uniformly rich, and of a very superior quality. washtenaw county--contains about four thousand inhabitants, who are, with a few exceptions, americans. its seat of justice is ann arbor, a village of five years' growth, situate on the river huron, forty miles west of detroit, containing about ninety dwelling houses. ypsilanti, the second village in the county as to population, is likewise situate on the huron, about ten miles below ann arbor, at the place where the united states' turnpike, from detroit to chicago, crosses it. this county contains twelve mercantile establishments, three distilleries, one fanning mill factory, one oil factory, one gunsmith, one wagon maker, five flouring mills, thirteen saw mills, and two machines for carding and dressing cloth. it abounds in select and common schools, and contains many mechanics. its surface is gently undulating and beautiful; and its soil prolific, consisting of a deep black sand, loam and some clay. it exhibits in succession, beautiful prairies, oak openings, and heavy groves of timber, consisting of white, red and black oak, beech, walnut, whitewood, bass, elm, maple and butternut, with almost all other kinds that usually grow in forty-two degrees north latitude, evergreen excepted. the river huron, of lake erie, meanders through the centre of it north and south; is navigable for boats and rafts to the lake, and with its several branches water the middle; the head waters of the shiawassee the north, and the rivers raisin and saline and their branches, the south part of said county. it has numerous and extensive water privileges for facilitating manufactures. macomb county--contains about two thousand five hundred inhabitants, a considerable number of whom are french. the north-eastern and eastern part of this county is in general rather level, and for the most part heavily timbered; yet it is sufficiently uneven to drain off and leave no stagnant waters; but the western part is rolling land, somewhat broken, being very hilly and uneven, and consisting of oak openings, plains, and some prairie land. the plains are remarkably free from underbrush, and are, as well as the prairies and openings, very rich and fertile, producing not only wheat, but every other kind of grain in rich abundance. the clinton river, together with its numerous tributaries, irrigate this county in a beautiful manner. it possesses advantages over many of the peninsular counties, on account of its proximity to the great chain of navigable waters. it fronts on lake st. clair; and the river clinton, which runs through the entire county, nearly in the centre, may easily be rendered navigable for batteaux, as high up as rochester. and for the accomplishment of which a company has already been formed and were incorporated last fall by an act of the legislature. this river is now navigable to mt. clemens, for vessels of considerable burthen; and when the obstructions at the mouth of the river are removed, for which object an application has been made to congress for an appropriation, then any vessels or steamboats on the lake may come up to the village, a distance of six miles, by water. this county is very well supplied with water power, it has now in operation seven saw mills, and two grist mills, and embraces four stores, three distilleries, two asheries, and six blacksmith shops. its seat of justice is mt. clemens, a flourishing village situate on the clinton river, at the place where the united states' road from detroit to fort gratiot crosses it. it lies four and a half miles from the lake, by land, and twenty northeastwardly from detroit. _washington_ lies in the northwest corner of the county, and consists principally of oak openings and plains, though it has some prairie land. the openings and plains are extremely free from underbrush and prove to be excellent for the cultivation of wheat. the south part of the town is rolling land, exhibiting a rich, and for the most part a sandy soil, though it is sometimes composed of sand and loam intermixed; but the north part is what is commonly called broken land, being very hilly and uneven, and not unfrequently exhibits granitic boulders in great plenty. _shelby and ray_ consist principally of gentle undulating and heavy timbered land, interspersed occasionally with oak openings. they are well watered and possess a very productive soil. _harrison_ is in general rather level, and the north part though somewhat swampy is susceptible of being converted into excellent meadow. _clinton_ possesses generally a rich soil, is heavily timbered and embraces a marsh or wet prairie of considerable extent on its eastern border adjacent to the lake shore, the greater part of which, however, if properly ditched, would prove to be good natural meadow. the northern part of the town is gently undulating and well supplied with water, of which the southern part is too deficient, being rather level. oakland county--contains about six thousand inhabitants, all americans. it has three villages, each with a mill on its border, namely, pontiac, auburn and rochester; the first of which is the seat of justice for the county, and is situated twenty-eight miles northwest of detroit, on the clinton river, where the united states' road from detroit to saginaw crosses it. this county presents a great variety of soil, and upon examination will be found to suit the choice of almost every person in the pursuit of agriculture. the rivers clinton, rouge and huron, interlocking in different parts extend their many branches, and irrigate the county in a beautiful manner. _troy_ embraces townships one and two south in range eleven east, is situate in the southeast quarter of the county, and is principally timbered land; township two in this town is entirely of this description, is heavily wooded with black and white walnut, linden, white, red and black oak, and the westerly half is of that description usually denominated rolling timbered land, and in quality of soil, is not surpassed by any in the territory; but township one of that description called plains, interspersed with marshes, and is of an inferior quality. _bloomfield_ presents a variety of soil, which may be divided into three classes, oak openings, plains and timbered land. the country in the neighborhood of the lakes is oak openings, not so good for grass, but producing wheat in rich abundance--i would mention that two farmers in the vicinity of wing lake, harvested one hundred and thirty acres of excellent wheat the last season. the north of bloomfield is of this description, but the south part is timbered land. _pontiac_ is generally oak openings of a good quality, but inferior to the lands of bloomfield. _oakland._--the south part of this town is timbered land with a rich soil, and the north part plains and openings of a good quality. the town of troy is watered by a branch of the rouge, and the branches of red river which empty into the clinton. bloomfield is watered by three branches of the rouge, which, meandering through the county, enable every farmer to partake of their privileges. the towns of pontiac and oakland are watered by the clinton river, paint and stony creeks and the extreme branches of the huron. all these streams possess great privileges for hydraulic machinery. the towns of pontiac and oakland now contain twelve saw mills, four flouring mills, three fulling mills, three carding machines and one woollen factory. in bloomfield are four saw mills and one grist mill. in farmington two saw mills and one grist mill. perhaps no country of like extent so level possesses more water power. st. clair county--possesses great commercial advantages, as it lies on the great chain of navigable waters. it is bounded east by lake huron and the river st. clair, which separates it from canada; south by lake st. clair and the county of macomb, west by the counties of macomb and lapeer, and north by sanilac. black, pine and belle rivers, mill creek and their branches, as well as several smaller streams water this country. the first of these streams is navigable for vessels of considerable burthen, as far up as mill creek; but belle and pine rivers are ascended only a very short distance in batteaux. this country is generally rather level, the eastern and southern part is gently undulating, rich, fertile and most heavily timbered, though there is occasionally some prairie land on the border of lake st. clair, and along the southern margin of st. clair river. the northern and western part of this country is comparatively of a light, and for the most part sandy soil, though tolerably productive, and interspersed with swamps and lowland. a great proportion of the timber in this quarter is pine, though it is often intermixed with hard wood and not unfrequently interspersed with groves of tamerack, in some instances with spruce, and often on the shore of lake huron, with red and white cedar. there are now in operation in this county, several of the most extensive saw mills in the territory, which are constantly engaged in manufacturing pine boards, planks, &c. and which, together with shingles, constitute at present the principal article of trade in the country. and as lumber may be conveyed from this county by water to any port, not only on the great lakes, but on their connecting waters, therefore the pine timber must ultimately become very valuable. almost all the pine now used at detroit for building, comes from this county, as it is the only one in the surveyed part of the territory that is well supplied with this valuable building material. the united states' road from detroit to fort gratiot runs through the centre of this county, and about twelve miles west of the village of palmer, which is the seat of justice for the county; and which is situate at the junction of pine and st. clair rivers, about twelve miles south of fort gratiot, and sixty by water northeast of detroit. st. joseph's county--is perhaps the best in the territory, both as to water privileges and the fertility of its soil. it is watered by the st. joseph's river and its various branches, many of which afford numerous water privileges, particularly hog creek, pigeon, portage and crooked rivers, which may be considered copious and excellent mill streams. a saw mill has already been put in operation on crooked river, and several others have been commenced on the same creek and about pigeon prairie. the water in this county is uniformly pure and healthy, the climate mild, and the face of the country moderately undulating; consisting principally of oak openings and prairies. there is however a sufficiency of timber in it generally, and from the grand traverse on the northwest side of the river st. joseph's, as high up i believe as portage river, is a belt of excellent timbered land which is well supplied with water. the principal prairies in this county are sturges, nottawa sapee and white pigeon. the first of these, sturges prairie, has a beautiful appearance, and is exuberant in fertility, but is not convenient for water and but tolerably so to good timber--a few families are located on it. nottawa sapee, part of which is embraced within the indian reserve, is an excellent prairie, and settlements have commenced on it. but pigeon prairie is the most valuable one in the st. joseph's country, as well as the most densely peopled, and perhaps it will not be deemed invidious to say it is the best settlement in the st. joseph's country, whether we regard the number of its inhabitants or their intelligence and wealth. the soil of these prairies may be considered equal to that of any land in the united states. the usual mode of cultivating these, as well as all other prairies in the vicinity of the river st. joseph's, is to break up the soil immediately with the plough at the same time dropping the corn on the edge of the furrow in such a manner that it may be covered by the succeeding one; in this manner without any other cultivation, they often produce thirty to fifty bushels of corn to the acre the first season, though sometimes it becomes necessary to go through and cut down some of the rankest weeds. the counties of branch, barry and eaton, and all the country north of township four, north; west of the principal meridian, south of the county of michilimackinac, and east of the line between ranges twelve and thirteen west, and of lake michigan is attached to st. joseph's. cass county---contains a population of two thousand, and is likewise watered by the st. joseph's river and its branches, several of which afford good mill privileges, particularly the dowagiake and christianna, which are rapid and durable streams. a mill has already been erected and is now in operation on the christianna, near young's prairie. the face of this county is similar to that of st. joseph's county; though some parts are undulating, yet in general it is level, sufficiently uneven however to drain off and leave no stagnant waters. the timber is principally oak, ash, elm, sugar tree, cherry, black and white walnut and hickory, with a variety of other kinds intermixed. the country is generally open, and you can ride with a wheel carriage through the wood land with almost the same ease you can over the prairies, being not in the least interrupted with underbrush. in every part of the county the roads are good. though some parts of it are but thinly timbered, yet along the dowagiake from its source to its mouth there is a broad belt of excellent timbered and very rich land, from one to several miles wide, also along the upper portion of the christianna, extending north of its source, and thence across to the dowagiake is a fine belt of woodland. this county includes within its boundaries the following prairies, namely, four mile, beardsley, townsend's, mckenney's, la grange, pokagon and young's, besides several small ones, not however known by any particular name. the prairies here are of the richest quality of soil; may be ploughed in two days after the frost leaves the ground in spring, and frequently produce thirty or forty bushels of corn to the acre the first season, without being ploughed or hoed after planting. the three last mentioned prairies are conveniently situate to mill streams, and principally surrounded with heavy timbered land, but they are nearly all taken up by purchasers. four mile prairie is not so happily situate with regard to mills or timbered land; but nevertheless is fast filling up. from thirty to eighty bushels of corn and forty of wheat are usually raised from an acre in all the prairies where the soil has been subdued by previous cultivation. every other kind of grain as well as vegetables are produced in about the same proportion. the only town yet laid out in this county is edwardsburgh, which is the temporary county seat. it is situate on the border of pleasant lake, and on the northeast corner of beardsley's prairie. the united states' road from detroit to chicago passes through it, as well as the road from fort wayne to pokagon, to niles', to young's and to townsend's prairies, and to coquillard in indiana. all these places except fort wayne are situate within ten miles of it. from the town platte, or village, you have a view not only of the prairie, but also of pleasant lake.--the prairie is four miles in extent and the lake covers about one hundred acres. fish are abundant in all the streams and small lakes--forty three that would weigh from one to three pounds were caught with a hook and line in pleasant lake by two persons in thirty minutes. the water in this lake is very pure, you can see the bottom where the depth of water is fifteen feet. the country is healthy, several large families who settled here before the land was offered for sale, and who have resided here for three years, have not had a case of fever nor any other kind of sickness, except what has resulted from accident. the counties of berrien and van buren and all the country north of the same to lake michigan is attached at present to cass county. berrien county, not organized, has in it a large proportion of superior timbered land, but has no prairies of much importance. the settlements in this county, though few, are scattered along the river, and the population does not exceed thirty-five families. but from the nature of the country, i am inclined to believe it will be the most populous county on the st. joseph's. the rich timbered land, though now avoided for the prairies, will ultimately be in demand, and will afford many dense and excellent settlements.--through the timbered land in this county run several small creeks, which, with their numerous branches afford an additional convenience to the farmer which he cannot enjoy in the prairies nor in the barrens. besides the heavy timbered and prairie land, there are large tracts of what are here called barrens, being of a light soil comparatively speaking, though very productive, and which are thinly covered with white and black oak, sometimes of stinted growth, but mostly of a handsome and useful size. the soil is generally a fine sand, mixed with decayed vegetables and sometimes gravelly, with here and there a granitic boulder. the soil of the timbered land is of a loose sandy nature, black with fertility, and eminently adapted to culture. that of the prairies is nearly of the same nature after the sod has been reduced by repeated ploughing. in the timbered land we find white and black walnut, several kinds of ash, also oak, poplar, lynn, beech, elm, hickory, sugar tree, &c. the southeast part of this county is well supplied with water, and possesses several mill sites, some of which have already been improved. ford's saw and grist mill, on the dowagiake, have been for some time in operation. there is also a saw mill just ready to commence operation at the mouth of the dowagiake, and several others have been commenced on the same stream. there is but one village regularly laid out in this county, which is called niles. it is situate on the st. joseph's, a short distance above the confluence of the dowagiake with that river. the first framed house in it was erected in december, . next summer it is expected there will be considerable building there. last season, though there were no accommodations, yet by far the greatest portion of merchandize, &c. destined for the st. joseph's country, when conveyed by water was landed there.--next spring will be built two warehouses, there are now two stores and a post office. post offices have been established at the mouth of the st. joseph's called saranac, at pokagon, southwest corner of town six south in range sixteen west, at lagrange in the middle of town six south of range fifteen west, at pigeon prairie, at sturgis' prairie, and at the grand traverse. lapeer, shiawassee and saginaw.--these counties are not yet organized, but attached to oakland county. there are no inhabitants in lapeer, and but few settlers at present in saginaw and shiawassee. the face of these two counties is very similar to oakland. saginaw--is watered by the shiawassee, flint, cass, tittibawassee and hare rivers. the most of these streams are navigable for boats; their junction forms the saginaw river which is navigable for sloops twenty miles to the village which bears the same name, and which is to be the seat of justice for said county. the united states have established a cantonment here, and laid out a road from this place to detroit, which is not yet finished. when this is completed, it is more than probable that it will settle as speedily as any county in the territory, as the soil is very favorable to agriculture. shiawassee.--the soil of this county is rich, and the face of the country gently undulating, in some instances rolling, exhibiting oak openings and heavy groves of timber. the shiawassee river which is a beautiful, meandering stream, and navigable for boats and rafts to the lake, with its several branches, waters the middle and southeast part. the head branches of grand and looking glass rivers, the southwest part, and swartz's creek, the flint and mistegayock rivers, the northeast part of said county. calhoun.--this county has lately been organized and its seat of justice is the town of marshall, pleasantly situated on the north bank of the kalamazoo river. this river and its branches afford many fine mill privileges. the soil is rich and gently undulating, consisting principally of burr oak openings, which are frequently interspersed with prairies. in the southwest part of the county is a small tract of pine timber. jackson--has lately been organized and its seat of justice is the town of jackson, situated near grand river. the west half of it is undulating, and consists principally of burr and white oak openings, interspersed occasionally with prairies. it abounds in springs and possesses a fertile soil. the northeast part is heavily timbered and somewhat intersected with marshes and small lakes. the soil, however, of this part, is rich and well adapted for meadow. grand river is an excellent stream of pure water, quick, yet navigable for canoes from its junction with its south branch, quite through the county and to lake michigan. kalamazoo.--this is one of the newly organized counties. its seat of justice is the town of bronson, pleasantly situated on the south bank of the kalamazoo river. the land office has lately been removed to this place from st. joseph. the face of this county in general is moderately undulating, though sometimes rolling. it exhibits principally burr oak openings, interspersed with rich fertile and dry prairies, and not unfrequently intersected with groves of first rate timbered land. the character of the soil is in general either a black sand or a rich loam. in the southeast corner of this county is an excellent tract of woodland, covered with a heavy but beautiful grove of sugar maple. gull and round prairies are the two largest in this county, and are equal to any in the territory for beauty and fertility. the first of these, gull prairie, is situate in the vicinity of a beautiful lake, as well as adjacent to the margin of a romantic creek, both of which bear the same name. this lake is about four miles long, and its waters which are very transparent are said to contain white fish. the creek is very rapid and affords hydraulic privileges equal to any in the territory. prairie round, which lies in the southwest part of the county, is about four miles broad, and is principally surrounded with woodland; near its centre there is a beautiful grove of timber of about a mile in diameter, consisting of sugar maple, black walnut and hickory. this county is well supplied with water. the kalamazoo river which runs through it is a rapid meandering stream, yet navigable for boats. its surface is frequently chequered with islands and its banks occasionally broken. branch.--this county is attached to st. joseph's. a large portion of it, particularly the southern part, is heavily timbered land, consisting principally of black and white walnut, sugar maple, whitewood, lynn, and some other kinds in smaller quantities. the chicago road which runs through the northern part of this county, passes principally through oak openings, which are occasionally intersected with prairies. hillsdale.--this county is attached to lenawee. the north part of it is principally oak openings of a good quality, but the southern part is heavily wooded with sugar maple, whitewood, beech, black walnut, ash, &c. the face of this county is rather uneven and the soil in general consists of a rich black loam. the southern part is timbered land. this county is well supplied with water. the st. joseph's of lake michigan, as well as the st. joseph's of maumee, the grand river, tiffin's and the river raisin all head in this county, and with their numerous branches water it in a beautiful manner. leanewee county--contains at present about fifteen hundred inhabitants. the northern part of this county has much the same appearance as washtenaw, but the southern part is principally timbered land. it contains a tamerack swamp of considerable extent in the southeast corner, yet notwithstanding, the character of its soil and climate is, generally, very inviting. it is principally watered by the ottawa creek, tiffin's and raisin rivers and their branches. it contains two villages each with a mill on their borders, namely, tecumseh and adrian--the former of which is the seat of justice for the county. it is situate at the junction of landman's creek with the river raisin, and lies about fifty-five miles southwest of detroit. barry, eaton and ingham counties--lie on grand river and its tributaries. this is the largest river in the peninsula. it empties into lake michigan, two hundred and forty-five miles south of michilimackinac, and forty-five miles north of the mouth of st. joseph, is sixty rods wide at its mouth, and has sufficient depth of water to admit vessels drawing eight feet. on its south bank, near its entrance into the lake, is a pleasant situation for a town, the land being excellent, and gently inclining to the north and west, giving at the same time a fine view of the river and lake; but the opposite shore at the same place has a sandy, sterile appearance. for about sixty miles up this river, on the north side, the ottawas hold possession. there are between eight and nine hundred of these people living along grand river and its tributaries, but many of their most populous villages are on land now belonging to the united states. this river is the largest stream that waters the west part of the peninsula of michigan, being two hundred and seventy miles in length, its windings included, and navigable two hundred and forty miles for batteaux; receiving in its course a great number of tributary streams, among which are portage, red cedar, looking glass, soft maple, muscota, flat, rouge and thorn apple rivers. all of these, except the last named, put in on the right bank of the grand river. its south branch rises in the open country, near the source of the raisin, and after pursuing a winding course of thirty miles, meets with the portage river, which comes in from the east and intersects the above branch in town two south of range one west. portage river, which has its course through a chain of low marshy prairies, is a deep, muddy stream, about fifteen yards wide at its mouth. its branches interlock with those of the huron of lake erie, and the indians pass from the former into the latter, with their canoes, by crossing a portage of one mile and a half. it is probable that at no distant period, a canal will be constructed near the route of these two rivers, so as to afford a safe and easy inland communication between lakes erie and michigan. the distance from detroit to the mouth of grand river, by way of michilimackinac, is five hundred and sixty miles. this route in the spring and fall is attended with much uncertainty; and, in case of a war with the english, the navigation of the straits of detroit and st. clair would be rendered doubly dangerous. these difficulties would be obviated by a communication by water, through the interior. the land at the portage rises forty or fifty feet above the level of the streams on each side; but a level prairie two or three miles to the west of that place, is said to extend from one river to the other. from the junction of the portage and south branches, this river pursues a northwest course till it meets with soft maple river, in town seven north of range six west; receiving in that distance red cedar and looking glass rivers from the east, and grindstone, red and sebewa creeks from the south and southwest. grindstone creek, so named from a sandstone ledge through which it runs, empties into the river about twenty miles below the mouth of the portage branch. it is twenty miles long, affording several good sites for mills, and runs mostly through an open beautiful country; but is in some instances skirted with bottoms of heavy timbered land. from the mouth of this creek to that of looking glass river, a distance of forty-five miles in a direct line, the grand river runs through a tract of timbered land, which is several miles in extent on each side, abounding in creeks and springs of water, and bearing a growth of maple, basswood, cherry, oak, ash, whitewood, elm, black walnut, butternut, and some other kinds in lesser quantities. below looking glass river, for forty or fifty miles, tracts of open land are found along the banks, but extensive forests immediately in the rear. the river bottoms are from a quarter of a mile to one mile in width, and the timbered lands are covered with a rank growth of rushes, (equisetum hyemale) on which the indians keep their horses during the winter. it is found that cattle and horses do better on these rushes, than when kept on hay; and it would seem from their abundance, that nature here intended them as a substitute for that article. the surface of the land after leaving the river bottoms is rolling; and it rises sufficiently high to give rapidity to the numerous creeks that so abundantly irrigate this part of the country. red cedar river is thirty-five yards wide, and puts in about midway between grindstone creek and looking glass river. it rises in washtenaw and shiawassee counties, and can be ascended in small boats twenty-five or thirty miles. a few miles below the mouth of this stream, is a ledge of sandstone, which forms a perpendicular wall of twenty-five or thirty feet in height, on each side of the river. this ledge consists of square blocks of stone, of a suitable size to be used in building, and which are rendered more valuable, from the circumstance of their being on the banks of a large navigable river, which with its tributaries, will facilitate its transportation to various sections of the territory. a bed of iron ore has been discovered in the northeast bank of the river immediately below this ledge; and, indeed, many of the stones in the lower part of the ledge, have a great resemblance to blocks of cast iron--presenting a rusty surface, very dense, and when broken, have, in a striking degree, the color and appearance of iron itself. four miles above the mouth of the looking glass river, is the village of p'shimnacon, (apple land,) which is inhabited by eight or ten ottawa families, who have a number of enclosed fields in which they raise corn, potatoes, and other vegetables usually cultivated by the indians. the village receives its name from pyrus coronaria, (crab apple,) which grows in great abundance on the rich bottoms in its vicinity. sebewa creek puts into the river on the southwest side, one mile above this village. it is about twenty miles long, sufficiently large for mills, and for the last four miles is very rapid, with a hard, stony bottom. looking glass river which is about forty yards wide, rises in shiawassee county, and can be ascended in canoes almost to its source. the country near this river, for fifteen miles above its mouth, is what may be termed first rate timbered land; but above that point it is of an inferior quality, more open, and abounding in tamerack swamps and wet prairies. it is about eight miles by land from the mouth of looking glass to that of soft maple river, which is about sixty yards wide at its entrance into grand river. it heads in shiawassee and saginaw counties, and runs nearly a due west course until it unites with grand river, at the indian village of chigau-mish-kene. this village consists of twenty-five houses, and has a population of near two hundred souls under the noted chief cocoose. here is about one thousand acres of bottom land, of a deep, black soil, that has been cleared by the indians; a part of which they still occupy as planting ground; but the land at this village, as well as that at p'shimnacon, has been ceded to the united states, and will no doubt, in a short time, be occupied by an industrious white population. there is a large trail leading from this village, by way of shiawassee to detroit, a distance of one hundred and thirty miles. the grand river here changes its course; and with the exception of twelve miles in length, below rouge river, runs nearly a west course to lake michigan. two miles further down, is the entrance of muscota river, (river of the plains,) which comes in from the north, with a rapid current, and is about forty feet wide. the country through which it runs is but little known, as no lands have been surveyed north of grand river, below soft maple. it is eighteen miles by land from the mouth of muscota to that of co-cob-au-gwosh, or flat river, with several considerable creeks putting into grand river, on each side, in the intermediate distance. ke-wa-goosh-cum's indian village is situate immediately below the mouth of flat river, and consists of sixteen lodges. it is supposed that the line between the united states and the indian lands will intersect the grand river near this place. flat river is a shallow stream, about eight rods wide; and in ascending has a general course of north by northeast. of the country along this river, but little is at present known. it is reported, however, to be of a hilly, broken aspect; and many places near its source, to abound in lakes and swamps. there is a small lake that discharges its waters into this river, about sixty miles above its mouth, in which it is said by the indians, that white fish are found in great numbers--a circumstance that is rendered more extraordinary, from the fact that this fish has never been seen near the mouth of grand river, although it is often taken near the entrances of most of the other tributaries of lake michigan. it is ten miles from flat to thorn apple river, which comes in from the south, and, with its numerous tributaries, waters a large extent of country. its main branch rises in town two and three north of range three west, and after running a westerly course for more than forty miles, it takes a northward direction, in which it continues until it empties into grand river, in the south part of town seven north of range two west. there is a suitable proportion both of open and timber land along this stream, and a great part of each kind may be termed first rate. two indian villages are situated at the distance of twenty and twenty-six miles up this river, and another at its mouth, under the ottawa chief nong-gee. the last mentioned village is inhabited by twelve or fourteen families who are by far the most industrious and respectable band that reside in that part of the country. rouge river, is twenty miles, including the meanderings, northwest of thorn apple river. it is about forty miles long, rising near the sources of the maskegon, and has its banks shaded by lofty forests of white pine. from this place to muck-a-ta-sha's village, a distance of twelve miles, the grand river pursues a south direction; after which it runs nearly a due west course to lake michigan. six miles above the mouth of the last mentioned inlet, is a rapid of one mile in length, where the river, which is here fifty-two rods wide, is supposed to fall twenty-five feet. the banks at the head of the rapid, are not more than four feet above the level of the river, and they keep a horizontal level until you arrive at the foot of the rapid, where they are nearly thirty feet above the water; and consequently afford convenient opportunities for profitably appropriating a part of the river, by means of a canal or sluice, to the use of mills or machinery. there is a missionary establishment, (the thomas station) at this place, under the superintendence of the rev. i. m'coy. the mission family at present consists of a school teacher, a blacksmith, and two or three agriculturists. the school was open in the winter of , and now has about thirty indian children, who receive their board, clothing and tuition at the expense of the establishment. there is a trail leading southwest from the rapids to the kalamazoo river, and thence to the rivers raisin and huron. another leads directly to the mouth of thorn apple river, a distance of only ten miles on the trail, but twenty-five round the curve of the river. the country within this bend, excepting immediately along the river, is of a rough, hilly character, a great part consisting of oak openings, of a barren appearance, with a few scattering groves of white pine. most of the land, however, in the neighborhood of this tract, is of a good quality and timbered with all kinds that usually grow on rich alluvial soils. there is a salt spring four miles below the rapids, which rises out of the ground about half a mile from the river on the east side. the water is said to be, both as to quantity and quality, sufficient to warrant the establishment of works for the manufacturing of that useful article. near this place is also a bed of gypsum, of a fine quality, which will probably, in time, be of great importance to agriculturists in many of the western parts of michigan. muck-a-ta-sha, or blackskin's village, is six miles below the rapids, and is near the bend of the river, on an elevated prairie. there is also another village twenty miles lower down the river. from the rapids to the lake, a distance of thirty-six miles, the river is no where less than four feet deep. the current at the former place is too powerful to be ascended with loaded boats. the country along the river for the first fifteen or twenty miles above the lake is generally level, and in many instances swampy, with lofty forests, of various kinds of timber, and bearing an almost impenetrable thicket of undergrowth. the country watered by the grand river, consists of between six and seven thousand square miles; and considering its central position in the territory, the general fertility of the soil on the several branches of that stream, the convenience of a safe and good harbor at its mouth, together with its many other important natural advantages, we may be fully justified in the opinion, that it will, at no very distant period, become one of the most important sections of michigan. sketch of the texian revolution. first campaign. as the inhabitants of texas are chiefly emigrants from the united states, and have buckled on their armor in a contest for liberty and independence, it is natural that americans should feel a strong sympathy in their behalf. the sons of freedom can never be indifferent and unconcerned, in a struggle between liberty and despotic power, however remote the theatre of action; but when such a war is waged by their neighbors and friends, and freedom the prize to be lost or won, the deep feeling pervading american breasts, cannot be suppressed. when centralism was established, the state governments annihilated, and santa anna, by aid of the priests and the army, proclaimed himself monarch of mexico, united texas arose as one man, to oppose the usurpation. although an infant of but yesterday, and but slightly armed for battle, yet she has a vigorous arm, and a heart that will never quail before the minions of despotic power. relying upon the justice of her cause, and calling upon the friends of liberty for aid, she goes forth undismayed, to meet the giant strength of mexico combined.--her call for aid, has been heard throughout the mississippi valley, and along the whole atlantic coast, and has been fully answered. soldiers, arms, ammunition and treasure have poured into texas from all quarters; and in number and quantity, equal to the exigency of the case. texas has gloriously triumphed. the invading foe has been completely routed--her first campaign is ended, and not a hostile band is found upon her soil. in order to understand the situation of texas, and the causes of the present civil war, it is necessary briefly to advert to the history of the mexican republic. it is well known, that the province of mexico had a long and severe struggle to throw off the spanish yoke, and to become independent of old spain. at length, a constitution was formed, after the model of that of the united states, and a republican government established. in , iturbide overthrew this republican government, established an empire, and placed himself at its head.--his reign was of but short duration. the army, under the lead and direction of three military chieftains, named victoria, bravo and santa anna, the very person who is now playing the game of emperor, made a prisoner of iturbide, banished him with an annuity of twenty-five thousand dollars, and restored the constitution. after passing a year in europe, iturbide returned to mexico to recover his empire, but was taken prisoner and shot. the republic was continued with frequent commotions and revolutions. on one occasion pedrassa, a civilian, was fairly elected president, in a contest with gen. guerrero. guerrero denounced pedrassa, placed himself at the head of the army, succeeded in expelling pedrassa from the country, and was made president by the force of his bayonets. the people soon became discontented, insurrection spread over the country, guerrero was in turn compelled to yield, and was finally taken prisoner, condemned and shot as a traitor. the succeeding faction of bustamente was in turn put down, and after various commotions by contending factions, santa anna contrived, with the aid of the army and clergy to unite the interests of church and state, and to place himself at the head of the government. the old constitution was annulled, and santa anna was acknowledged as chief of a central government. the state governments were merged in centralism, and santa anna is to all intents and purposes monarch of mexico. at this conjuncture of affairs, all the states and territories submitted to the overwhelming power of the dictator, but texas. this province having been peopled by emigrants from the united states, by a people accustomed to free institutions,--revolted at the idea of despotism, and they nobly resolved not to come under the yoke, but to establish an independent government of their own. this is a simple statement of the case, and their cause is one that is calculated to enlist the sympathies of the people of this country. since the determination of the people of texas has been known, it is understood that several other mexican states have shown disaffection to the central government, and, judging from the vicissitudes of the past, it may be safely predicted, that in the course of another year or two, santa anna himself will be expelled, or shot, and the constitution restored. but lest the cause in which the texians are now engaged, may not be fully understood, let us state a parallel case. suppose that the president and congress should abrogate the constitution of the united states, abolish all the state governments, and establish romanism as the religion of the country: and if the governor of any state attempted to exercise any authority, send an armed force to arrest and imprison him. what would the people of the several states say to this? would they tamely submit, as though they had no cause of complaint; or would they not rather, rise _en masse_, assert their rights, and put down these high-handed usurpers, at the point of the bayonet? most assuredly they would. many of the states have been thrown into violent commotion, and even resorted to arms, for causes immeasurably less, than that of the texians. the state of maine were aroused to a man, because the british government attempted to exercise jurisdiction over a strip of the wilderness and a few log houses, on her eastern border. the state of new-hampshire called an army into the field, to support her doubtful title, to the unimportant settlement of indian stream. the state of georgia rose to arms, because the indians did not give up their lands, quite so soon as they expected. the states of ohio and michigan have long been in a feverish excitement, and have resorted to arms, on a simply legal question, which state shall exercise jurisdiction over a few thousand acres of land. and the people of the whole united states were thrown into a violent commotion, on the question, whether slavery should be tolerated in the state of missouri. and can it be thought strange by americans, so jealous of their own rights, that the texians are alarmed to see their constitution annulled, their state government subverted, and all the dearest rights which civilized man holds dear, put in jeopardy? is it a matter of wonder, that they have appealed to arms, cast an anxious look to american freemen, and sent forth their spirit-stirring appeals for aid? to such an appeal, americans cannot turn a deaf ear; nor will they stand with folded arms, and see the battle rage. under the constitution of , mexico was a confederated republic, after the model of the united states, having a president, vice president, senate and house of representatives, as a central government, and separate governments for each state, and provincial governments for certain territories, in all material respects similar to the institutions of this country. under this organization, texas and coahuila were formed into one state of the mexican confederacy; but as the one was settled by americans, and the other by spaniards, there never has been much harmony and good feeling between them. it has long been an object of strong desire among the people of texas, to be disjoined from coahuila, and formed into a separate state. to accomplish this desirable object, col. austin was appointed an agent to the congress at mexico, near the close of . after spending some months at the seat of government, and making various efforts to have texas formed into an integral state, separate from coahuila, despairing of being able to accomplish it, in the then distracted state of affairs, he started to return home. he had not proceeded far, before he was arrested on a charge of high treason, carried back to mexico, and imprisoned. for a time, he was kept in close confinement; and then, let out under bonds to keep within the limits of the city. he had been a prisoner more than a year, being unable to obtain either a trial or a release, when the government was subverted, and centralism established. santa anna, becoming alarmed at the public meetings, and show of opposition in texas, concluded to release col. austin, and send him as a special messenger, to allay the excitement. he requested him to state to the texians, that he felt deeply interested in their welfare; and that in the new organization of the government, he would use his influence to give to the people of texas, such laws and regulations as were suited to their habits and situation. col. austin faithfully delivered this message to the people of texas, at a public dinner given to welcome his return, on the eighth of october last. but it was now too late to listen to the fair promises of santa anna. the country was in a state of extraordinary excitement, and on the eve of a revolution. santa anna, it seems, could threaten and punish, as well as conciliate and persuade. he arrested the governor of coahuila and texas,--threatened an invasion--the confiscation and sale of a large tract of settled territory--and an imposition of heavy taxes upon the commerce of the country. the people of texas aroused to the defence of their constitutional rights, and to resist oppression. they held to the constitution of , and refused to adopt centralism. public meetings were held in all the principal towns and villages. at columbia, harrisburg, velasco, brazoria and san felipe, resolutions were adopted, expressive of indignation at the proceedings of santa anna and the general government, and of a determination to resist them. committees of safety were appointed, and a general convention called. by the aid of col. austin and gen. houston of st. augustine, forces were organized to repel the threatened invasion. col. austin by the assistance of others, raised a regiment of six or seven hundred riflemen; and gen. houston, by the aid of volunteers from the united states, was soon enabled to take the field, at the head of as many more. santa anna, in the mean time, was not idle.--he concentrated his forces at saltillo under the command of general cos. after the army had become organized and in sufficient force, gen. cos marched to san antonio, and took possession of the town. another force was stationed at goliad, sixty miles south of san antonio. to enforce the revenue laws, santa anna sent an armed schooner, called the correo, under the command of capt. thompson, to the mouth of the brazos river. this schooner, joined by a small armed sloop, attacked the schooner san felipe, a regular trader between the brazos and new-orleans commanded by capt. hurd. this was about the first of september. it appears from a statement signed by the passengers of the san felipe, that the correo had fired at a steamboat while engaged in lighting the american brig tremont, lying at anchor off the bar, previously to her attack on the san felipe. as soon as the steamboat had gone inside the bar, the correo was joined by a small armed sloop, and both stood for the san felipe, and opened fire upon her without ceremony, the moment they arrived within shot. but captain hurd, suspecting their intention to be of a hostile nature, from their first appearance, and having arms on board, gallantly gave battle and put them to flight, after a combat which lasted nearly an hour. the next morning, the correo was discovered about five miles distant, upon which she was chased by the san felipe, (towed by the steamboat,) and overtaken and obliged to surrender. the first battle fought on the land was on the second day of october , near the town of gonzales; and from this circumstance, it has obtained the enviable distinction, of being the lexington of texas. the circumstances attending the commencement of hostilities, ought to be stated with some minuteness. some years since, when gonzales, the capital of de witt's colony, was exposed to the depredations of the indians, the people there applied to the authorities of san antonio for a piece of artillery to protect that frontier. the application was granted; and they obtained a brass six pounder. this was kept for defence until the settlement became strong--and afterwards it lay about the streets upon the ground, (unmounted) and served to make a noise whenever the people got into a merry frolic. the military commandant of san antonio, (col. ugartechea,) two or three weeks previous, feeling sufficiently strong to make an attack upon the colonies, demanded the gun. the people took the matter into consideration. the gun was once the property of the king of spain; and he lost it with the sovereignty of the country. the federal republic of mexico became the owner. the people of gonzales returned for answer, in substance, that the gun was the property of the confederation which they acknowledged, and not of the central government, which they did not acknowledge; and they would not give it up to any officer of the central government. ugartechea ordered a detachment of his troops to march seventy-six miles, and take the gun by force. the colonies assembled to oppose him. expresses were despatched to all parts of the country. the news flew with the speed of the race horse. the people rose to arms--and marched for the battle field. gonzales is situated on the eastern bank of the river gaudaloupe, miles west of san felipe; and on the twentieth of september, the detachment of troops from san antonio, about two hundred in number, made their appearance on the western bank of the river, opposite the town. they attempted the passage of the river, but after a sharp skirmish, were repulsed by eighteen men, the whole force then at gonzales. the enemy retired a short distance, and encamped on the mound at de witt's. on the first of october, about o'clock, they took up their march and encamped about seven miles above this place, in a very strong position. suspecting that their object in this movement was either to wait for a reinforcement from san antonio, or to cross at the upper crossing, about fifteen miles above, it was determined to attack them before their plans could be carried into execution. accordingly, on the same night, the whole force on foot, amounting then to about one hundred and sixty men, from the gaudaloupe, colorado, and la baca, commanded by col. j.h. moore, crossed the river, attacked the enemy about day break, and put them to flight without the loss of a single man.--thirty or forty of the enemy were reported to have been killed and wounded. this was a brilliant commencement of the texian revolutionary war. the next, and more important battle, took place on the ninth of october, and resulted in the capture of the fort and town of goliad. the attacking party were a company of volunteers, from the fertile banks of the caney, and from the town of matagorda--a place destined to become an important city, situated at the mouth of the colorado river. before this party entered the field, most of the volunteers were at gonzales--and fearing that the harvest of honors would be reaped before they could arrive there--they struck off from la baca with the daring determination of taking goliad by surprise. goliad is situated on the southwest side of the san antonio river, thirty leagues below bexar, and it is fifteen leagues from copano, the landing place of aransas bay, and about the same distance from the la baca and of matagorda bay. the fort is built upon the point of a very steep hill, formed of rocks, with a deep ravine upon one side and a low prairie upon the opposite--while a broad elevated prairie extends towards the southwest. the walls of the fort are of stone and lime, and bear in many places the marks of the storms of an hundred winters, but are still proof against any thing less than the batterings of heavy artillery. a long forced march brought the van guard of the colonists to the san antonio river ford, below the town, at o'clock on the night of the ninth of october. here they halted for the main body, and to make arrangements for the attack. a very small party were sent into the town, and they brought out, with the utmost secrecy, a worthy citizen friendly to the constitution of . and by his assistance guides were produced perfectly acquainted with the place. the main body of the colonists missed their road in the night, and before they found out their mistake, were at the upper ford, immediately opposite the town. they then struck across, for a short cut, to the position occupied by the van guard. the route lay through a muskeet thicket. the muskeet is a tree of the locust family, full of thorns, and at a short distance resembles the common peach tree in size and appearance. while the parties were treading their way in this thicket, the horse of one of them started in affright at an object beneath a bush. the rider checked his horse and said, who's there? a voice answered in spanish. one of the party supposed that he recognized in the voice an old acquaintance of goliad, asked if it was not he, mentioning his name. "no," was the reply, "my name is milam." col. milam is a native of kentucky. at the commencement of the mexican war of independence, he engaged in the cause, and assisted in establishing the independence of the country. when iturbide assumed the purple, milam's republican principles placed him in fetters--dragged him to the city of mexico, and confined him in prison until the usurper was dethroned. when santa anna assumed the dictatorship, the republican milam was again thrust into the prison at monterry. but his past services and sufferings wrought upon the sympathies of his hard-hearted jailors. they allowed him the luxury of the bath. he profited by the indulgence and made arrangements with an old compatriot, to place a fleet horse suitably equipped upon the bank of the stream, at a time appointed. the colonel passed the sentinel as he was wont to go into the water--walked quietly on--mounted the horse and fled. four hundred miles would place him in safety. the noble horse did his duty, and bore the colonel clear of all pursuit to the place where the party surprised him. at first he supposed himself in the power of his enemy--but the english language soon convinced him, that he was in the midst of his countrymen. he had never heard that texas was making an effort to save herself. no whisper of the kind had been allowed to pass the grates of his prison.--when he learned the object of the party, his heart was full. he could not speak for joy. when the company arrived at the lower ford, they divided themselves into four parties of twelve men each. one party remained as a guard with the horses. the other three, each with a guide, marched by different routes to the assault. their axes hewed down the door where the colonel commanding the place slept--and he was taken a prisoner from his bed. a sentinel hailed, and fired. a rifle ball laid him dead upon the spot.--the discharge of fire arms and the noise of human voices now became blended. the mexican soldiers fired from their quarters, and the blaze of their guns served as targets for the colonist riflemen. the garrison were called to surrender, and the call was translated by a gentleman present, who spoke the language. they asked for terms. the interpreter now became the chief speaker. 'no,' answered he. 'they say they will massacre every one of you, unless you come out immediately and surrender. come out--come out quick--i cannot keep them back--come out, if you wish to save your lives--i can keep them back no longer.' 'o, do for god's sake keep them back,' answered the mexicans in their own language. 'we will come out and surrender immediately,'--and they rushed out with all possible speed and laid down their arms. and thus was the fort of goliad taken--a fort which, with a garrison of three hundred and fifty patriots in the war of - , withstood the siege of an army of more than two thousand spanish troops, and forced them to retire, discomfited. at the capture of the fort, three mexican soldiers were killed and seven wounded; and one colonel, one captain, one lieutenant, with twenty-one petty officers and privates were made prisoners--others of the garrison escaped in the dark and fled. in the fort were found two pieces of brass cannon, five hundred muskets and carbines, six hundred spears, with ammunition and provisions. one of the colonists, only, was wounded in the shoulder. col. milam assisted in the capture of the fort, and then he spoke:--"i assisted mexico to gain her independence; i have spent more than twenty years of my life in her service; i have endured heat and cold, hunger and thirst; i have borne losses and suffered persecutions; i have been a tenant of every prison between this and mexico--but the events of this night have compensated me for all my losses and all my sufferings." the colonists were commanded by gen. m. collingsworth--but it would be difficult to find in the company, a man not qualified for the command. goliad is of vastly more importance in a military point of view, than san antonio, as the latter is in a valley upon the banks of the river, and commanded by the hills on each side, and is therefore indefensible. the news of the capture of goliad was hailed with enthusiastic joy throughout texas. a general enthusiasm prevailed. col. austin, elected general of the volunteer forces, made his head quarters at gonzales, one hundred and fifty miles west of san felipe, and seventy-five miles east of san antonio. a declaration of rights under the constitution of was published, and circulated throughout the country. on the thirteenth of october, gen. austin, as commander-in-chief, left gonzales with the main army, for san antonio. on the twentieth, a division arrived at salada, within five miles of san antonio. on their march, they came in contact with the advanced guard of the enemy, who retired at their approach. on the twenty-seventh, a detachment of gen. cos' cavalry, out on a foraging expedition, were attacked by a party of texians, and by them defeated with the loss of thirty-five horses, and suffering in killed and wounded to the number of fifty men. the loss of the texians, three men slightly wounded. cos' detachment of cavalry consisted of about one hundred and fifty men, which, before the engagement was concluded, were re-inforced by one hundred and fifty infantry; the party of texians employed in the assault amounting to about the same number. on the twenty-eighth, a detachment of ninety men, under the command of col. jas. bowie and capt. fanning, advanced and took possession of a church, within a mile and a half of san antonio. the mexicans to the number of three hundred cavalry and one hundred infantry, under the command of col. utartacher, sallying out from the city, made an attack upon bowie's forces, and after an engagement of three hours duration, were repulsed with the loss of one piece of artillery and forty muskets, leaving eighteen men dead upon the field. the only loss on the side of the texians, was one man mortally wounded, and a few horses. the main body of the army came up soon after the enemy had retired. gen. austin, that there might be no mistake respecting the principles upon which he acted, sent a communication to gen. cos, by a mexican, stating that he was supporting the principles of the constitution of , and inquiring how his flag would be received? his reply was, "disband your forces, return home peaceably, and then perhaps i will listen to your petitions; at present i can only regard you as rebels and traitors." in the mean time, something like a regular army, composed of texians and volunteer companies from the united states, was organized, and gen. houston, formerly governor of tennessee, and for some years a resident in texas, was appointed the commander. on his arrival at gonzales, the force under his command amounted to about a thousand men. the texian army, at length, concentrated their forces, and besieged the town of san antonio.--this is a walled town, containing three thousand five hundred inhabitants. gen. cos found himself in a critical situation. his army amounted to about a thousand men, but the besieging army pressed him so close, he was obliged to keep within the walls of the town. he soon became in want of provisions, but he was too closely watched to obtain a supply. the besiegers believing he would be forced to surrender without a battle, concluded patiently to wait the event. in this state of the case, it was thought advisable to send commissioners to the united states, with plenary power to negotiate loans, &c., in preparation for another campaign. gen. austin and messrs. archer and wharton were accordingly appointed. edward burlisson was elected to fill the vacancy occasioned by the resignation of gen. austin, and w.h. jack was promoted to the second in command. the commissioners immediately left the army, and proceeded to the united states. they arrived at new-orleans on the third day of january, and succeeded in effecting a loan there of two hundred thousand dollars. they then started up the mississippi river, intending to visit the seat of government at washington. the texian army besieged san antonio more than a month; during which time, the mexican forces were confined strictly within the walls of the city. the moment a sentinel ventured without, he was shot by some of the riflemen. the garrison became almost destitute of provisions, and the surrender of the place was anticipated daily. at this juncture, news arrived, that a large reinforcement of mexican troops were near at hand, to relieve the garrison. this determined the besieging army to storm the city immediately. it was on the sixth day of december last, when the assault commenced. the brave col. milam, at the head of three hundred choice troops, led the attack.--the assault was so sudden and vehement, that neither walls nor men could successfully oppose it. after a sharp conflict, in which the assailants performed wonders, the city was gallantly taken, and the garrison made prisoners. this had hardly been accomplished, when the mexican reinforcement came up, just in time to lay down their arms to the victors. by this victory, twelve hundred men were made prisoners; and the texians obtained two thousand stands of arms, thirty pieces of cannon, and a large amount of military stores, camp-equipments and horses, estimated to be worth five hundred thousand dollars. the loss of the enemy in killed and wounded, we have never seen stated;--on the part of the texians, fifteen were wounded, and the brave col. milam and four others, killed. col. milam was mainly instrumental in the complete success of the assault, and fell a victim to his own zeal and intrepidity. the death of this estimable man, turned the joy of victory into sadness. like the lamented warren of bunker hill, he fell early in his country's struggle for independence;--and like him, his untimely exit was deeply deplored. a native of kentucky, he possessed in an eminent degree, the chivalry and noble bearing, so conspicuous in the land of his birth. in early life, he left his native state. he was the intrepid commander of the steamboat, that first threaded the mazes of red river, beyond the great raft. at the commencement of the severe contest in mexico, to throw off the spanish yoke, he was engaged in her cause. in the many sanguinary battles with the armies of spain and savage indians, during that long and bloody war, he was engaged, and shone conspicuous. a noble spirited and an unyielding patriot himself, he found at last, to his sorrow and regret, that the people, whom he aided to establish independence, were unworthy of the cause in which they were engaged. they did not understand the true principles of liberty, and knew not the value of its blessings. no sooner were they freed from foreign oppression, than anarchy and confusion reigned at home. revolutions and counter-revolutions rapidly succeeded each other; and the unyielding milam, alternately became a favorite and a prisoner. he had so many times been arrested and released, that he had been a tenant of every prison, from texas to the city of mexico. when restored to favor, by a fortunate turn of the revolutionary wheel, rewards were offered him. but his sufferings only were real; his rewards but mocked his vision. like the rainbow in the heavens, they fled at his approach. years ago, he obtained a grant for a colony, on the south bank of the beautiful colorado, a hundred miles from its mouth; but before he could make arrangements for its settlement, the grant was annulled, and he imprisoned. misfortune seems to have marked him for her game. for a series of years, as if the intention were to mock and tantalize him, his grant would be alternately cancelled and confirmed. near the close of the year , when the writer of this sketch saw him in texas, his grant had been renewed under favorable auspices, and the prospect before him appeared unusually flattering. but it was only the calm, bright sunshine, that precedes the tempest. he had hardly made arrangements to people his colony, and settle down in quiet repose, after so many years of disappointment, toil and suffering, when another revolution brought santa anna into power, and the patriot milam was again arrested and thrust into the prison of monterry! but in all the changes of fortune, whether favorable or adverse, he never abjured his principles.--the unconquerable love of liberty, that animated him throughout his whole career, never once forsook him. his spirit never quailed before the minions of power--his courage never abated--and his vigorous arm never tired. by stratagem, he escaped from his prison, just in time to render efficient aid in the capture of goliad; and then, he hastened on to san antonio, where he gloriously fell in the arms of victory--a martyr to the cause he had, with a steady aim, so nobly espoused and ably defended. but his memory will live in the hearts of a gallant people; and, in after times, his name will be duly honored in the celebration of their victories, and in their songs of triumph. the capture of san antonio completed the triumph of the texian arms. not an armed mexican soldier could then be found in her territory.--gen. cos was released on his parole of honor, not to serve during the war, unless regularly exchanged; the other officers and soldiers were retained prisoners of war. we have now given an account of all the battles fought within the limits of texas; but it may be proper to add some account of gen. mexia's expedition against tampico. on the sixth day of november last, one hundred and thirty men, chiefly americans, embarked at new-orleans on board the schooner mary jane for texas. it was understood, that this vessel had been chartered by a committee, to convey emigrants to that country; and on their arrival, it was to be optional with them, whether they joined the texian army, or not. gen. mexia and his staff were on board this vessel: but no intimation was given to the passengers, that the vessel had any other destination than texas, until they arrived off the port of tampico. they were then told, by capt. hawkins, one of gen. mexia's aids, that the object was to capture tampico--and the passengers were urged to join the general's standard. about fifty only, most of whom were french and creoles of new-orleans, were induced to join his standard. a steamboat took the vessel in tow, but, in attempting to run into the port in the night, they both struck the north breakers. in this critical situation, efforts were made to land the passengers, which at much risk was at length effected, during the latter part of the night and early in the morning. the fort, at the mouth of the harbor, surrendered without an attack. arms and ammunition were then tendered to the party. some took them from curiosity, some from necessity, and others on compulsion. most of the americans, on account of the deception practiced upon them, in landing at tampico instead of texas, were determined not to fight, but to surrender themselves prisoners the first opportunity. the next day, the party, to the number of one hundred and eighty, marched to attack the town; but meeting with a warmer reception than they expected, they retreated to the fort. here they found about thirty missing--all but two or three having deserted on the retreat. the general, deeming it advisable to leave the place, embarked with his men on board the schooner halcyon, bound to brazoria in texas. the deserters were taken prisoners the next day, by a company of horse, and imprisoned. after remaining in prison about a month, they were tried by a court martial; and although all these facts appeared at the trial, they were all condemned to be shot! some attempts were made to avert their fate. a petition, signed by the prisoners and a number of mexicans, was sent to the commandant of the place, but it availed nothing. the sentence of death was promulgated to these hapless victims of treachery, on the afternoon of saturday; and at sunrise the succeeding monday, which was the fourteenth day of december, they were all brought out of prison, and shot! twenty-eight men, many of them mere youths, in a distant land, far away from friends, at a few hours notice, butchered in cold blood! humanity recoils at the perpetration of such barbarous deeds as this. such summary proceedings, dictated by savage vengeance, cannot, on any ground, be either justified or excused. but such has been the character of the wars in south america, ever since the spanish colonies strove to shake off the yoke of dependence, for more than a quarter of a century. a war of extermination was carried on by the spaniards and the patriots--no quarter was granted in the field--the blood of prisoners was shed like water--and a recital of the wanton cruelties and barbarities committed by both parties, during this state of protracted hostility, would cause even the savage to shudder with horror. these circumstances, as well as the whole course of conduct of the spaniards, in relation to the inhabitants of the leeward islands, mexico and peru, are enough to establish their character as the most cruel and sanguinary people on earth. we have mentioned that a large number of volunteers from the united states had gone to texas, to aid the people in their struggle for independence. three companies, numbering more than five hundred men, went from new-orleans. cincinnati, natchez and mobile, each furnished a company.--and travellers state that they met small parties of volunteers, continually on the road, hurrying on to assist the texians. many of these arrived in time to be of much service in the last campaign; but one company, from the city of new-york, owing to the misconduct of a portion of them, were detained on the way; and, probably, have not arrived in texas. this party was col. stanly's regiment of volunteers, amounting to about two hundred men. they started from new-york in the brig madawaska, about the middle of november. after ten day's sail, they found themselves among the bahama banks and islands. the captain of the brig, never having sailed the route before, became bewildered among the islands. at length he made a harbor at the island of eleuthera, and sent a boat on shore containing seventeen men. on the island, they found the inhabitants to consist principally of blacks. having indulged themselves pretty freely in spirits, and finding the inhabitants rather weak and ignorant, they commenced hostilities upon their effects, such as fowls, pigs, indian meal, &c., and so terrified the people, that they would do whatever they required. they commanded them with loaded pistols at their heads, and threatened them with instant death if they disobeyed. this indiscreet conduct of course occasioned an excited feeling, on being made known at the english naval station at nassau, and two gun ships were immediately sent in pursuit, with strict orders to board and put all to death, if any resistance was made. after cruising about a week, one of the ships came up with the madawaska, and made them all prisoners, on a charge of piracy. they were carried into the port of nassau in new-providence, and there put in prison. in the course of a week, the matter was fully investigated, which resulted in the discharge of all but col. stanley and ten others, who were detained to await their trial for felony. the result of this trial is not now known; but if found guilty, the punishment by the english laws is known to be severe. the remaining incidents worthy of note, connected with the texian revolution, may be stated in a few words. the general consultation convened at san felipe on the fifteenth of october.--an address to the people of the united states was adopted, appealing to our citizens for aid. strong appeals were also made by the council to the patriotism of the people of texas. the council then adjourned to the first of november; but the people were so much engaged on the frontier, that no meeting was held at that time. on the twenty-second day of december, a document was published at goliad, signed by a great number of persons, chiefly americans, declaring texas "_a free, sovereign and independent state_." the declaration enters somewhat at length into the condition of texas, deplores the leniency of the texian government in permitting cos to capitulate, and affirms that many of the officers, civil and military, are more ambitious of emoluments, than the good of the country. it is furthermore stated, that there is more danger from the corrupting influence of santa anna's gold, than from his bayonets. the necessity of forming an independent sovereign state immediately, in order that all her energies may be concentrated, is pointed out with great force. on the twenty-sixth of december, a decree of the provincial government was published, calling a convention of delegates from each municipality, clothed with ample powers to adopt a permanent form of government. the delegates to be elected by the people; all free white males, and mexicans opposed to a central government, being entitled to vote; and the volunteers in the army being allowed to vote by proxy. the whole number of delegates to be fifty-six, and the convention to be held at the town of washington on the first of march. the texians have been very active in raising an army to commence another campaign; and it is believed, gen. houston was able to take the field on the first of march, at the head of five or six thousand men. the texians, it is said, are in regular correspondence with the large party in mexico opposed to centralism. the whole republic seems to be in a ferment. gen. mexia, who set out for matamoras some weeks ago, at the head of a considerable force, intending to invade the mexican territory, was believed to have made himself master of tampico, whence he would act in concert with the texians on the north, and the revolting mexicans on the south. it was currently reported at metamoras, that several of the most influential officers in the mexican army, had openly denounced centralism, and the state of things in the republic was such, that santa anna would either be obliged to return to the federal system, or abandon all hopes of power in mexico. the true state of affairs in mexico, however, it is difficult to ascertain. there are only twenty-seven newspapers in the country, all of which are in a state of subjection to santa anna. the only two opposition journals were suppressed: the editor of one was banished to california, to enjoy "the wolf's loud howl on onolaska's shore;" the other, santangele, in spite of his name, was sent to the united states. the supreme government, under date of the thirtieth of december, caused the following decree to be published and circulated in every district of the republic. "art. . all foreigners that may land in any port of the republic, or shall make their way into the interior, armed and with the intention of attacking her territory, shall be regarded and punished as pirates, considering that they do not belong to any nation at war with the republic, and that they do not act under any recognized flag. "art. . foreigners that land in any of our ports, or seek to introduce arms and ammunition by land through any channel in a state of insurrection against the government of the nation, and with the avowed object of placing such implements of war in the hands of her enemies, shall be treated and punished in the same manner." this decree will not be worth, to santa anna, the paper on which it is written. it will not deter a single individual from carrying arms and ammunition into texas, or of joining its army. the sanguinary character of the spaniards is too well known and established, to ask or expect any thing like clemency at their hands. the americans needed not a decree under hand and seal, to apprise them of the true character of the mexicans, when the history of the last twenty-five years is fresh in remembrance. an embargo has also been laid, by order of the mexican government, on the ports of tampico and metamoras, against mexican vessels; and on all the ports of mexico against american ships. no ingress nor egress from the ports is now permitted. the foolish expedition planned by mexia may have led to this resort, as well as the state of affairs in texas. santa anna, believing that the permanency of his own power depends upon the subjugation of texas, is actively engaged in raising troops for another campaign. it is reported that three or four thousand men, under the command of gen. urrea, are on their way to the frontier. it is also reported, that he has called to his aid the comanches and other tribes of indians; and persuaded them to declare war against texas; and has promised them the territory of texas as a reward. the indians have known the spaniards too long to place any reliance upon their promises. they may, indeed, excite them to a war; but it is as likely to prove as disastrous to themselves, as to the texians. the indians are unsafe allies. like the war-elephants of ancient times, they often injure friends more than foes. it is certain, that a deadly hatred has existed for a long series of years, between the spaniards and indians; and it is believed, no permanent friendship or alliance can be formed between them. they have much more friendship for the americans, than for the spaniards; and if they call them into action, it may prove disastrous only to themselves. the indians are as hard to direct and control, as a fire on their own boundless prairies. the fire, uncontrolled by him who kindles it, sweeps over the plain, where the wind happens to drive; so the wild indian, regardless of friend or foe, hurries on to kill and plunder, where his savage fury happens to impel him. but on another ground, santa anna had better take heed. exciting the indians to kill and plunder, is a game that two can play at. the texians have greater rewards to offer. they can promise them _all mexico_, with its many victims and much plunder. in conformity to the custom of nations, the texians have adopted a flag. it contains a number of stripes, and but a single star; and has inscribed upon it the significant word, 'independence.' on the twenty-second day of january, the new-orleans greys paraded at their encampment, near the mouth of the brazos river, to display and honor their flag. at the discharge of a signal gun, william walker, of portsmouth, n.h., who signalized himself at the capture of san antonio, had the honor of running it up, for the first time, on a stately flag-staff. the company presented arms, and fired a salute. just at this time, a volunteer company, on board the steamboat yellow stone, from new-orleans, came up the river, hailed the waving banner, fired a salute, and gave three cheers as they passed. the arrival of such efficient aid, at the moment the national flag was first unfurled, was deemed a happy omen; and that it may continue to wave over texas, _independent_ and _free_, is the fervent wish of every true son of freedom. post offices and mail routes have been established, and a post master general appointed. the length of all these mail routes, taken together, amount to about eight hundred miles. for a number of years, there has been no mail connection between the united states and texas; but as the communication is now so great, regular mails will be established between them. texas is in a critical situation; but it is believed, her cause is far from being desperate. were mexico united, and could she bring all her force to bear upon the contest, with the activity and zeal of american freemen, texas would be crushed at a blow. santa anna's journals do indeed say, that the whole country is united in the present form of government, and perfect tranquillity prevails; but private letters contradict this statement altogether. they inform us, that generals bravo and alvarez had united, taken the important town of acapulco, on the pacific, denounced santa anna, and declared for the constitution. in consequence of this movement, one hundred and fifty mules loaded with money and ammunition, and five hundred men left the city of mexico for that quarter, about the last of january. it was believed, this news would bring santa anna from saltillo to the seat of government. from all accounts, it appears certain, that the mexican army, three thousand strong, have left their encampment at saltillo, for the frontier of texas. it is formed into two divisions, the one commanded by sesma; the other, by cos, and the chief in command is gen. urrea. it is reported that a simultaneous attack upon goliad and san antonio, is meditated. it is highly probable, the texians are fully prepared for their reception, and will be able to give a good account of them. the thin settled state of texas, with a population of some fifty thousand, comparatively, without arms and resources, and having no organized government, engaging in a war with sixteen states, with a population of eight millions, reminds one of the stripling david, going out in the valley of elah, to give battle to the philistine of gath. it requires an unusual degree of boldness and daring, to form the resolution, and to commence a war, with such an immense disparity of force. but the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. the texians, and the gallant spirits that have hastened to their aid and rescue, compared in number with their enemy, are indeed but a handful of men; but, like the spartan band of former times, they have lion-hearts and vigorous arms. what men dare, they dare! they have staked their all upon the issue. they have drawn the sword, and thrown away the scabbard. exterminated they may be, but not subdued. before such a band, numbers are of no avail; before such opponents, well may tyrants tremble. the first campaign has ended in the complete overthrow of the mexican force, in texas. the whole course of the campaign has been signally marked by a series of battles, and almost bloodless victories, on the part of the texians; and by continued defeat, loss and discomfiture on the part of their enemy. the mexicans have lost much, in men, arms and treasure; and have won nothing but disgrace. of honor, they had none to lose. santa anna has thousands of men at his command, but they do not possess the chivalrous spirit of the sons of freedom. judging from the past, _his_ career may be short; but as his subjects know not the value of liberty, and are not sufficiently educated for its rational enjoyment, a long list of tyrants may rapidly succeed him. but light begins to break in upon that benighted corner of the earth. the goddess of liberty, who in former times tried her infant voice in the halls and on the hills of new-england, utters it now, with a power that seems to wake the dead, on the plains of mexico, and along the sides of the andes. on the part of the texians, the struggle may be long and severe. they may be compelled to fight battle after battle, and obtain victory after victory; and suffer also, many reverses and defeats, before the scene of this awful tragedy closes. but it is confidently believed, that they will finally succeed in their effort, to become an independent nation, and to establish a free, elective government, based upon the equal rights of the people. second campaign. the second campaign commenced much sooner than was generally expected. it was believed by the texians, that after the complete and signal overthrow of the mexican forces in the first campaign, santa anna would not be able to raise another invading army, and make his appearance in texas, before midsummer. in this, they were mistaken. santa anna, believing that the stability of his own government depended upon a vigorous prosecution of the war, by extraordinary exertions, raised an army of five thousand men, and by forced marches was enabled to make his appearance in texas about the twentieth of february. this early and unexpected appearance of an invading army, accounts for the fact, that the texians were so illy prepared for their reception. on the twenty third of february, santa anna, who, contrary to general expectation, commanded in person, appeared before the town of san antonio, at the head of the advanced division of his army, amounting to a thousand men. at this time, less than two thousand texians were in arms in the whole province. of these, only a hundred and fifty men, under the command of col. w.b. travis, were stationed at san antonio--five hundred men, under col. fanning, were at goliad, a hundred and twenty-five miles to the south; and one thousand men, under gen. houston, at gonzales, sixty miles to the east of this position. san antonio de bexar is situated on a branch of the san antonio river, which is here but a small stream, that can easily be crossed by slight wooden bridges. most of the dwelling houses are on the west side of the river, but the fort is on the east side. this fort, called the alamo, or elm tree fort, covers two acres of ground, and is surrounded by a thick stone wall, twenty feet high. its position was injudiciously selected. it is situated in a valley, having elevated positions in the rear, from which balls may be thrown directly into the fort. it may therefore, be deemed an indefensible fortress. on the arrival of this division, santa anna took possession of the town, and demanded an unconditional surrender of the fort, or the whole garrison would indiscriminately be put to the sword. the intrepid col. travis answered this demand by a cannon shot. immediately, a bombardment from a five inch howitzer, and a heavy cannonade commenced, which was continued for twenty-four hours. this was sustained by the texians without the loss of a single man, while they made a terrible slaughter in the ranks of their besiegers. from five to six hundred of the enemy are reported to have been killed and wounded. about this time, a party of seventy men, under the command of col. johnson, while reconnoitering to the westward of san patricio, were surrounded in the night, by a large body of mexican troops. in the morning, the commander sent in a summons to surrender at discretion, which was refused; but an offer was made to surrender as prisoners of war. this was acceded to by the mexican officer; but no sooner had the party marched out of their encampment, and stacked their arms, than the mean, cowardly, blood-thirsty mexicans commenced a general fire upon the defenceless prisoners! an attempt was made to escape by flight--three only effected it, among whom was col. johnson--the others were shot down and basely murdered. on the twenty-fifth of february, an assault was made upon the fort, an account of which, we give in the words of col. travis' despatch to gen. houston:-- "to-day at ten o'clock, a.m. some two or three hundred crossed the river below, and came up under cover of the houses, until they arrived within point blank shot, when we opened a heavy discharge of grape and canister on them, together with a well directed fire from small arms, which forced them to halt and take shelter in the houses about eighty or a hundred rods from our batteries. the action continued to rage for about two hours, when the enemy retreated in confusion, dragging off their dead and wounded. during the action, the enemy kept up a continual bombardment, and discharge of balls, grape and canister. we know from observation, that many of the enemy were killed and wounded--while we, on our part, have not lost a man. two or three of our men have been slightly scratched by pieces of rock, but not disabled. i take great pleasure in stating, that both officers and men, conducted themselves with firmness and bravery.--lieut. simmons of the cavalry, acting as infantry, and captains carey and dickerson and blair of the artillery, rendered essential services, and chas. despallier and robert brown, gallantly sallied out and set fire to the houses, which afforded the enemy shelter, in the face of the enemy's fire. indeed the whole of the men, who were brought into action, conducted themselves with such undaunted heroism, that it would be injustice to discriminate. the hon. david crockett was seen at all points, animating the men to do their duty. our numbers are few, and the enemy still continues to approximate his works to ours. i have every reason to apprehend an attack from his whole force very soon. but i shall hold out to the last extremity." on the first of march, thirty-two men from gonzales, forced their way through the enemy's lines, and entered the fort--increasing the number to one hundred and eighty-two. between the twenty-fifth of february and the fifth of march, the mexicans were employed in erecting breastworks around the fort, bombarding the place and battering the walls. on the second of march, col. travis wrote, that more than two hundred shells had been thrown into the fort without injuring a man. in the mean time, the mexicans continued to receive re-enforcements. the whole force amounted to about forty-five hundred men. it consisted of forty companies of infantry, numbering about seventy men each, under generals sesma and cos; and fifteen hundred cavalry, under gen. felisolas; and the whole commanded by santa anna in person. on the sixth of march, about midnight, a general assault was made upon the fort by the entire mexican force. the walls were weak, the balls from the batteries had passed through them, and, in some places, had become somewhat dilapidated. the cavalry surrounded the fort, and the infantry, well supplied with scaling ladders attempted to enter the fort on all sides at the same time. the texians fought desperately until daylight, when seven only of the garrison were found alive. we regret to say, that col. david crockett and his companion mr. benton, also the gallant col. benham of south-carolina, were of the number who cried for quarter, but they were told that there was no mercy for them. they then continued fighting until the whole were butchered. one woman (mrs. dickinson) and a wounded negro servant of col. travis, were the only persons in the alamo whose lives were spared. col. bowie was murdered in his bed, sick and helpless. gen. cos, on entering the fort ordered col. travis' servant to point out to him the body of his master; he did so, when cos drew his sword and mangled his face and limbs with the malignant feeling of a savage. the bodies of the slain were thrown into a heap in the centre of the alamo and burned. on col. bowie's body being brought out, gen. cos said that he was too brave a man to be burned like a dog; then added,--never mind, throw him in. the loss of the mexicans in storming the place was estimated at no less than one thousand men killed and mortally wounded, and as many more disabled--making, with their loss in the first assault, between two and three thousand killed and wounded. it is worthy of remark that the flag of santa anna's army at bexar was a _blood red one_, in place of the old constitutional tri-colored flag. immediately after the capture of the place, gen. santa anna sent mrs. dickinson and col. travis' servant to gen. houston's camp, accompanied by a mexican with a flag, who was bearer of a note from santa anna, offering the texians peace and a general amnesty, if they would lay down their arms and submit to his government. gen. houston's reply was, "true sir, you have succeeded in killing some of our brave men, but the texians are not yet conquered." thus fell the brave defenders of san antonio. among the heroes, who perished in the unequal conflict, were col. w.b. travis, col. jas. bowie and col. david crockett, formerly a member of congress from the state of tennessee--every one of whom was himself a host. by a comparison of dates, it appears that this little garrison of one hundred and eighty-two men, held out eleven days against the repeated attacks of an army amounting at last, by constant re-enforcements, to five thousand men. all that the most determined bravery could achieve, was accomplished by the besieged. although worn down by fatigue and want of sleep, which the continual alarms and discharges of artillery rendered nearly impossible, while the more numerous besiegers could relieve each other, the brave band in the fort did not die unavenged. in the various attacks from first to last, it is probable that they destroyed of the enemy, eight or ten times their own number. the history of their achievements and sufferings, in this memorable siege, may never be known in detail; but enough is revealed to immortalize the names of these martyrs in the cause of liberty, and to stamp with eternal infamy and disgrace their remorseless besiegers. something of the chivalrous spirit that animated and sustained this truly spartan band during this trying occasion, may be seen by the despatch of col. travis, addressed to his fellow citizens and compatriots, during the siege. he says, "i shall defend myself to the last extremity, and die as becomes a soldier. i never intend to retreat or surrender. victory or death." this was the first victory obtained by the mexicans; and the slaughter of the whole garrison confirmed, what was before suspected, that the contest on their part, was to be a war of extermination. no quarter is to be given, or only granted to be violated. the bloody butcheries of defenceless prisoners, as might have been expected, had the opposite effect intended. instead of striking terror and dismay into the ranks of the texians, and palsying their efforts, it only served to arouse and awaken them into more vigorous action. every man, capable of bearing arms, shouldered his rifle, and marched in double quick time to the theatre of war. the news caused a general excitement throughout the united states. new-orleans exhibited all the hurry and bustle of a camp; and the western and southern riflemen, by hundreds and fifties, hurried on to the scene of slaughter, to avenge the death of their murdered countrymen. the character of gen. cos stands out in bold relief, as the meanest of the mean. when he and his command were made prisoners of war by the texians on this very spot of his present savage triumphs, they were humanely treated, and suffered to return home on their parole of honor. this solemn pledge, universally acknowledged and observed by all civilized nations, and all honorable men, cos has seen fit to disregard. he again appears in arms, and has forfeited his parole of honor. he now stands before the world, in the character of an outlaw. but, as if this were not sufficient to brand his name with infamy, he seemed determined that his actions should be in perfect keeping with his degraded sense of honor; so as to exhibit to the world, the humiliating spectacle of a character entirely perfect in treachery and baseness. therefore, instead of waging war according to the rules of civilized nations, he basely murdered the sick in their beds, and mutilated the bodies of the slain; and instead of decently burying the dead, he threw their bodies into a heap and burnt them like dogs! a fit instrument, in the hands of santa anna, to teach the people of texas, the blessings of centralism! but it does not require much forecast to predict, that the mexicans have kindled a flame at st. antonio, that many waters will not be able to quench,--that the day of severe retribution and bloody vengeance is nigh. and when it shall have arrived, where will be the voice to plead for such remorseless murderers as these! on the second day of march, the people of texas, by their delegates, made a declaration of independence. it is called, "the unanimous declaration of independence, made by the delegates of the people of texas, in general convention, made at the town of washington, on the second day of march, ." it is an able state paper, written with much spirit and vigor; but, in gracefulness of style and force of expression, it does not equal its model--the celebrated declaration of independence of the united states, from the polished pen of a jefferson. it contains a statement of grievances, which is submitted to an impartial world, in justification of the hazardous but unavoidable step, of severing their connection with the mexican people, and of assuming an independent attitude among the nations of the earth. as it is too long to be inserted in this sketch, the following extract, which of itself contains a sufficient reason for the 'hazardous step' taken, must suffice. "the mexican government, by its colonization laws, invited and induced the anglo-american population of texas, to colonize the wilderness, under the pledged faith of a written constitution, that they should continue to enjoy that constitutional liberty and republican government to which they had been habituated in the land of their birth, the united states of america. in this expectation, they have been cruelly disappointed--as the mexican nation has acquiesced in the late changes made in the government by general antonio lopez de santa anna; who, having overturned the constitution of this country, now offers us the cruel alternative, either to abandon our own homes, acquired by so many privations, or submit to the most intolerable of all tyranny, the combined despotism of the sword and the priesthood." of this convention, richard ellis was president, and w.s. kimball, secretary. when the news of the fall of san antonio arrived at the convention, a powerful appeal to the people of the united states, was immediately adopted, and sent to new-orleans to be published in the newspapers. a constitution was formed, and the officers of government appointed as follows:-- david g. burnet, pres. of the republic of texas. lorenzo d. zavalla, vice president. samuel p. carson, secretary of state. thomas i. rush, secretary of war. bailey hardman, secretary of the treasury. robert potter, secretary of the navy. david thomas, attorney general. i.r. jones, postmaster general. president burnet is a native of newark in new-jersey, by profession a lawyer--a gentleman of education, accomplished manners and of the purest integrity. immediately after the capture of san antonio, goliad was besieged by the enemy under the command of gen. urrea. colonel fanning, contrary to his own judgment, but in obedience to positive instructions from gen. houston, blew up the fort and commenced a retreat to the main army. his force amounted to about three hundred and fifty men, and seven pieces of artillery. they had proceeded about eight miles to the eastward of the fort, when they were surrounded in a large prairie, by two thousand mexicans, consisting of infantry and cavalry. the advance guard of twenty-five men under col. wharton were, by this movement cut off from the main force; and believing it to be a mere waste of life to return, they continued on, and escaped. col. fanning evacuated the fort on the nineteenth of march; and it was about four o'clock, in the afternoon of the same day, that the attack commenced, and lasted until sometime into night. the cavalry made many charges upon them in rapid succession, but were repulsed with great slaughter. col. fanning continued fighting and retreating, until he gained a small grove of post-oaks in the midst of the prairie. this afforded him a sufficient protection from the charges of the cavalry, and the battle ceased. col. fanning's loss was inconsiderable, but one hundred and ninety of the enemy were ascertained to have been slain, and as many more wounded. this grove was immediately surrounded by the enemy, and a renewal of the battle was expected in the morning. col. fanning, well knowing escape to be impossible, entrenched himself during the night and was resolved not to die unavenged. in the morning, however, the enemy showed a white flag, and col. fanning went out to meet the mexican general. a capitulation was made with the usual forms of honorable warfare; col. fanning was to lay down his arms, and march back to goliad, where they were to remain six or eight days as prisoners of war, to be shipped to new-orleans from copano. they surrendered on these conditions; on the sixth day after their arrival at goliad, they were assured that a vessel was ready to receive them at copano, to embark for new-orleans, and col. fanning marched out in file, the mexicans each side of him. they were marched down about five miles, when the order was given to fire upon them. at the first fire, nearly every man fell--a mr. haddin of texas and three others succeeded in reaching some bushes about one hundred yards distant. they were pursued by the enemy into the high grass, where they lost sight of them. haddin remained in the grass all night; in the morning he succeeded in making his escape. it is difficult to speak of such cowardly and more than savage massacres, with any tolerable degree of composure. the deeds of santa anna are written in blood, and every triumph but deepens the stain. if the first campaign was all victory, the second has hitherto been all defeat. the affairs of texas appear to have been badly managed. san antonio, being an indefensible position, ought to have been abandoned at once; but goliad, the strongest fortress in texas, ought to have been maintained to the last. it would have kept the southern division in check, and given time to the texians to have received re-enforcements, so that they could have prosecuted the war with vigor and success. gen. houston, after the capture of san antonio, retreated from gonzales to the colorado, and then, to the brazos river. the southern half of texas, being thus left destitute of any armed force, the invading army had nothing to do but to march forward into the interior, and to make war upon unarmed citizens and travellers, and defenceless women and children. the mexican army proceeded in two divisions of about two thousand men each; the one, on the line of the sea coast; the other, about one hundred miles in the interior towards san felipe; and troops of horse scoured the country in various directions between them. a general alarm and dismay seized the inhabitants. on the north the indians, incited by santa anna, were reported to have embodied in force, and were proceeding into the country, to plunder and slaughter; from the south, approached the mexican army, more savage than the indians, waging a war of extermination! before such merciless foes, the inhabitants fled, like clouds of dust before the storm. the peril was so imminent, that they were obliged to abandon all their possessions and flee for life. some went to the sea coast and embarked on board vessels for new-orleans; others crossed the sabine river into louisiana. the settlements of texas, to the south of the brazos, were entirely broken up, and the whole country became the theatre of armies, battles, murders and massacres. among the inhuman massacres committed, we shall notice two only. the first is that of seventy-three emigrants, who left new-orleans in a schooner, for copano. they were landed unarmed at that port, trusting themselves to the power of the mexicans; but in less than two hours, they were all butchered by the soldiers in sight of the vessel! the schooner escaped to matagorda. the other case is that of dr. harrison, the son of gen. harrison of ohio. he was travelling with three other american gentlemen, when they were all taken, their bodies horridly mutilated, their bowels torn out, and then left in that situation a prey to the vultures! some small skirmishes took place at sea, in which the texians were successful. they captured one schooner loaded with ammunition and supplies for the mexican army; and sunk another, after a running fight with the invincible. but neither party have much of a naval force. at this critical juncture of alarm and distress, gen. gaines, the commander of the united states troops at fort jessup, marched to the line of texas to keep the indians in check, and to prevent their joining the mexican forces; and for the purpose of carrying his plans into complete effect, he called upon the governors of the adjacent states for a number of regiments of mounted men. this was a wise and humane movement. the indians in the upper regions of texas and on the frontiers of the united states, are numerous and warlike; and when engaged in war, they neither respect territorial lines, nor the rules of civilized nations. they inhabit the country from latitude thirty-four degrees north on red river, to the rio del norte, extending to the road that leads from st. louis (mo.) to santa fe; south to the head waters of trinity, guadaloupe, brazos and colorado rivers of texas--a country in length six hundred miles, and breadth from two hundred and fifty to four hundred miles, mostly prairie. the different tribes are camanches, kyawas, towash or southern pawnees, caddoes, wacoes and skiddies. they number about thirty-five thousand in all, and can muster from seven to eight thousand restless warriors in this great western prairie. the reported movements of the indians, however, proved to be greatly exaggerated. some small parties started for the theatre of the war, but were induced by the prompt action and warning of gen. gaines, to return home and be quiet. being assured that the indians would remain peaceable, gen. gaines countermanded his call upon the states for mounted volunteers, and marched his forces back to fort jessup and nachitoches. the affairs of texas, at this time wore a gloomy aspect. all the expeditions into mexico, beyond the limits of texas, proved disastrous and unsuccessful. the people of the mexican states proved to be more united in centralism than was expected. the aid, which many so sanguinely anticipated from that quarter, proved a mere illusion. it now became manifest, that the texians, with such aid as they could obtain from the united states, must fight her own battles single handed, against the combined forces of all the mexican provinces. gen. houston, after remaining sometime at his encampment on the brazos river, retreated about thirty miles further, and crossed the san jacinta. santa anna, with one division of his army, crossed the brazos fifteen miles below san felipe, and took the road to harrisburg. the object of gen. houston seems to have been, to retire before the invading army, until it arrived into the centre of the country, and then, give them battle. although by this course, he left half of the state to the ravages of the enemy, yet he deemed this step unavoidable. his force was too small to hazard _all_, upon the issue of a battle, far away from reinforcements and supplies. on the nineteenth of april, general houston's scouts took a courier, who gave information that the mexican army were near at hand, on the west side of the san jacinta river. immediately, general houston, at the head of about seven hundred effective men, took up the line of march and arrived in sight of the enemy on the morning of the twentieth. the day was spent in reconnoitering the enemy, and exchanging a few shots between the artillery without much effect on either side. but the particulars of this battle and glorious victory, which resulted in the capture of santa anna, and the entire division under his command, we shall give in the words of a number of individuals who were in the contest. "on the morning of the twenty-first, the enemy commenced manoeuvering, and we expected to be attacked in our camp, as they had received a reinforcement of five hundred men, which made them twelve hundred strong; but they settled down and continued throwing up a breast work, which they had commenced at the first news of our approach. we commenced the attack upon them at half past four o'clock, p.m. by a hot fire from our artillery, consisting of two ordinary four pounders. the enemy returned our fire with a long brass nine pounder. the contest was a regular battle. the texians, notwithstanding the great disparity of force, positively demanded of gen. houston to fight. consequently, he ordered an advanced guard against the mexican; yet enjoined them not to attack, but retreat, to bring the enemy into a defile. this being accomplished, houston immediately flanked and attacked him in front and on both sides--opening first with artillery, which, on the second fire, dispersed to atoms the powder boxes of the mexicans; and then with rifles. the texians then rushed in from their ambuscade, with pistols, knives and hatchets, and completed the work of destruction. the fight lasted about fifteen minutes, when santa anna ordered a retreat. the mexican soldiers then threw down their arms, most of them without firing! and begged for quarters. the officers broke and endeavored to escape. the mounted riflemen, however, soon overtook all but one, who distanced the rest; him they ran fifteen miles, when his horse bogged down in the prairie near the brazos timber; he then made for the timber on foot. his pursuers in the eagerness of the chase, dashed into the same bog, and continued the pursuit on foot, following the trail of the fugitive, which was very plain, owing to the recent rains, until they reached the timber, where it was lost. the pursuers then spread themselves and searched the woods for a long time in vain, when it occurred to an _old hunter_ that the chase might, like a hard pressed bear, have taken a tree. the tree tops were then examined, when lo, the game was discovered snugly ensconced in the forks of a large live oak. the captors did not know who the prisoner was, until they reached the camp, when the mexican soldiers exclaimed, "el general, el general santa anna!"" never was a victory more decisive and complete. six hundred of the enemy were left dead upon the field, and as many more taken prisoners. among the killed were, gen. cos, who was recognized by a soldier after the battle, and immediately shot; gen. castrillion, col. batnes, col. trivino, col. don jose maria remero, lieut. col. castillo. among the prisoners were gen. antonio lopez de santa anna, his five aids, six colonels, five captains, and twelve lieutenants. houston was wounded in the ancle by a musket ball in the early part of the engagement; but remained on his horse until it terminated. on the part of the texians, only six men were killed and twenty wounded! the history of war does not furnish a parallel to this splendid victory; but gen. houston did not tarnish the laurels so gallantly won, by following the example of the mexicans, in shooting his prisoners of war. they were removed to galveston island; and gen. santa anna and his officers were put on board of an armed schooner, and anchored off the shore. gen. santa anna made a proposition that all his army in texas should lay down their arms--the independence of texas acknowledged--the expense of the war to be paid by mexico, and himself to remain as a hostage. these were to be the terms of peace; but, unfortunately, he does not possess the power to fulfil them. mexico will not probably, either agree to pay the expense of the war, or to acknowledge the independence of texas. the texian war is national in mexico; and santa anna continued his power solely by directing the popular fury against texas. his death would give general satisfaction through the mexican republic; and the texian war will enable some other brave to rise into power in mexico. although this signal victory may not terminate the war in texas, as there are still nearly three thousand mexicans there, under generals ardrade, urrea and sesma; and about five thousand more at saltillo, ready to enter; yet we believe, it fully settles the question of texian independence. the capture of santa anna will cause a new revolution in mexico, and a new organization of government. the texians will gain time to prepare for the contest. aid, effective and sufficient, will be received from the united states; and it is not probable that another general will be found, to prosecute the war with the experience and vigor of santa anna. the question respecting the acknowledgement of the independence of texas by the united states, has been moved and discussed in congress. there seems to be a diversity of opinion among our citizens, whether it would be preferable to acknowledge its independence, or to have it annexed to the united states. our opinion is, that for all the useful purposes of a good government, the territorial limits of the united states are already sufficiently extensive. if more territory were added, the nation would become too unwieldly to be well managed, and in time would fall to pieces. texas, of itself, has larger territorial limits than many of the nations of europe; and when it shall have gained its independence, if wise heads and pure hearts take the lead in its government, it will soon be settled and become a powerful nation. san felipe is the head quarters of austin's colony. it is situated on the south bank of the brazos river, a hundred miles from the sea. it is three hundred miles southwest from natchitoches, and five hundred miles west of new-orleans. the following table shows the distance and bearing of the principal towns in texas from san felipe, the names of the rivers and bays upon which they are situated, and their distance from the sea coast. those accessable to sea vessels, have a star prefixed. +-------------+-------------+----------+---------------------+-----------+ |distance from| |river or bay on |distance from towns. |san felipe. |direction.|which it is situated.|the sea. +-------------+-------------+----------+---------------------+-----------+ san antonio, w. san antonio, st. augustine, n.e. ayish bayou, *anahuac, e. galveston bay, *brazoria, s.e. brazos, *bolivar, s.e. brazos, bastrap, n.w. colorado, *columbia, s.e. brazos, cole's settlement, n. prairie, *copano, s.w. aransaso, electra, n.w. colorado, goliad, s.w. san antonio, gonzales, w. guadalupe, *harrisburg, e. galveston bay, liberty, n.e. trinity, *linchburg, n.e. galveston bay, *matagorda, s. colorado, montezuma, w. colorado, *matamoras, s.w. rio del norte, monclova, s.w. on prairie, nacogdoches, n.e. on prairie, *orazimba, s.e. brazos, *refugio, s. rio del norte, san patrick, s.w. neuces, tinoxtitlan, n.w. brazos, *velasco, s.e. brazos, o victoria, s.w. guadalupe, zavallas, n.e. neches, transcribers note: apart from a few obvious printers errors original spelling has been retained. the texan a story of the cattle country by james b. hendryx author of "the gun brand," "the promise," etc. a. l. burt company publishers new york published by arrangement with g. p. putnam's sons made in the united states of america copyright, by james b. hendryx fourth printing this edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers g. p. putnam's sons, new york and london contents. chapter a prologue i. the train stops ii. wolf river iii. purdy iv. cinnabar joe v. on the flat vi. the rim of the bench vii. the arrest viii. one way out ix. the pilgrim x. the flight xi. a rescue xii. tex does some scouting xiii. a bottle of "hooch" xiv. on antelope butte xv. the texan hears some news xvi. back in camp xvii. in the bad lands xviii. "win" xix. the end of the trail the texan a prologue exactly twenty minutes after young benton dismounted from his big rangy black before the door of a low adobe saloon that fronted upon one of the narrow crooked streets of old las vegas, he glanced into the eyes of the thin-lipped croupier and laughed. "you've got 'em. seventy-four good old texas dollars." he held up a coin between his thumb and forefinger. "i've got another one left, an' your boss is goin' to get that, too--but he's goin' to get it in legitimate barter an' trade." as the cowpuncher stepped to the bar that occupied one side of the room, a group of mexicans who had lounged back at his entrance crowded once more about the wheel and began noisily to place their bets. he watched them for a moment before turning his attention to the heavy-lidded, flabby-jowled person who leaned ponderously against the sober side of the bar. "who owns this joint?" he asked truculently, as he eyed with disfavour the filthy shirt-sleeves rolled back from thick forearms, the sagging vest, and the collarless shirt-band that buried itself in a fold of the fat neck. "i do," was the surly rejoinder. "got any kick comin'?" "nary kick." the cowpuncher tossed his dollar onto the bar. "give me a little red licker," he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor as he filled his glass to the brim. "an outfit," he confided, with slow insolence, "that'll run an eagle-bird wheel ain't got no more conscience than a _hombre's_ got brains that'll buck one. in texas we'd shoot a man full of little holes that 'ud try it." "why'n you stay in texas, then?" growled the other. the cowman drank his liquor and refilled the glass. "most fat men," he imparted irrelevantly, "are plumb mindful that they're easy hit, an' consequent they're cheerful-hearted an' friendly. likewise, they mind their own business, which is also why they've be'n let grow to onhuman proportions. but, not to seem oncivil to a stranger, an' by way of gettin' acquainted, i'll leak it out that it ain't no fault of texas that i come away from there--but owin' only to a honin' of mine to see more of the world than what texas affords. "the way to see a world," i debates, "is like anythin' else--begin at the bottom an' work up. so i selects seventy-five dollars an' hits fer las vegas." the fat man pocketed the dollar and replaced it with a greasy fifty-cent piece, an operation which the texan watched with interest as he swallowed his liquor. "they ain't nothin' like eagle-bird wheels an' snake-liniment at two bits a throw to help a man start at the bottom," he opined, and reaching for the half-dollar, tossed it to a forlorn-looking individual who lounged near the door. "here, greaser, lend a hand in helpin' me downward! here's four bits. go lay it on the wheel--an' say: i got a hunch! i played every number on that wheel except the thirteen--judgin' it to be onlucky." the forlorn one grinned his understanding, and clutching the piece of silver, elbowed into the group that crowded the roulette wheel. the cowpuncher turned once more to the surly proprietor: "so now you see me, broke an' among evil companions, in this here god-forsaken, lizard-ridden, greaser-loving sheep-herdin' land of sorrow. but, give me another jolt of that there pizen-fermentus an' i'll raise to heights unknown. a few more shots of that an' they ain't no tellin' what form of amusement a man's soul might incline to." "y'got the price?" "i ain't got even the makin's--only an ingrowin' cravin' fer spiritual licker an' a hankerin' to see america first----" "that hoss," the proprietor jerked a thumb toward the open door beyond which the big rangy black pawed fretfully at the street. "mebbe we might make a trade. i got one good as him 'er better. it's that sor'l standin' t'other side of yourn." the texan rested an arm upon the bar and leaned forward confidentially. "fatty," he drawled, "you're a liar." the other noted the hand that rested lightly upon the cowman's hip near the ivory butt of the six-gun that protruded from its holster, and took no offence. his customer continued: "they ain't no such horse--an' if they was, _you_ couldn't own him. they ain't no man ever throw'd a kak on ace of spades but me, an' as fer sellin' him, or tradin' him--i'll shoot him first!" a sudden commotion at the back of the room caused both men to turn toward the wheel where a fierce altercation had arisen between the croupier and the vagabond to whom the texan had tossed his last coin. "you'll take that er nothin'! it's more money'n y'ever see before an'----" "_non_! _non_! de _treize_! de, w'at you call t'irten--she repe't! a'm git mor' as seex hondre dollaire--" the proprietor lumbered heavily from behind the bar and benton noted that the thick fingers closed tightly about the handle of a bung-starter. the crowd of mexicans thinned against the wall as the man with ponderous stealth approached to a point directly behind the excited vagabond who continued his protestations with increasing vigour. the next instant the texan's six-gun flashed from its holster and as he crossed the room his eye caught the swift nod of the croupier. when the proprietor drew back his arm to strike, the thick wrist was seized from behind and he was spun violently about to glare into the smiling eyes of the cowpuncher--eyes in which a steely glint flickered behind the smile, a glint more ominous even than the feel of the muzzle of the blue-black six-gun that pressed deeply into his flabby paunch just above the waistband of his trousers. "drop that mallet!" the words came softly, but with an ungentle softness that was accompanied by a boring, twisting motion of the gun muzzle as it pressed deeper into his midriff. the bung-starter thudded upon the floor. "now let's get the straight of this," continued the texan. "hey, you greaser, if you c'n quit talkin' long enough to say somethin', we'll find out what's what here. you ort to look both ways when you're in a dump like this or the coyotes'll find out what you taste like. come on, now--give me the facts in the case an' i'll a'joodicate it to suit all parties that's my way of thinkin'." "_oui_! a'm play de four bit on de _treize_, an' _voila_! she ween! da's wan gran' honch! a'm play heem wan tam' mor'. de w'eel she spin 'roun', de leetle ball she sing lak de bee an', _nom de dieu_! she repe't! de t'irten ween ag'in. a'm reech--but _non_!" the man pointed excitedly to the croupier who sneered across the painted board upon which a couple of gold pieces lay beside a little pile of silver. "a-ha, _canaille_! wat you call--son of a dog! t'ief! she say, 'feefty dollaire'! dat more as seex hondre dollaire----" "it's a lie!" cried the croupier fiercely, "the thirteen don't repeat. the sixteen win--you kin see fer yourself. an' what's more, they can't no damn injun come in here an' call me no----" "hold on!" the texan shifted his glance to the croupier without easing the pressure on the gun. "if the sixteen win, what's the fifty bucks for? his stake's on the thirteen, ain't it?" "what business you got, hornin' in on this? it hain't your funeral. you texas tin-horns comes over here an' lose----" "that'll be about all out of you. an' if i was in your boots i wouldn't go speakin' none frivolous about funerals, neither." the smile was gone from the steel-grey eyes and the croupier experienced a sudden chilling in the pit of his stomach. "let's get down to cases," the cowpuncher continued. "i kind of got the greaser into this here jack-pot an' it's up to me to get him out. he lays four bits on the thirteen--she pays thirty-five--that's seventeen-fifty. eighteen, as she lays. the blame fool leaves it lay an' she win again--that's thirty-five times eighteen. good lord! an' without no pencil an' paper! we'll cut her up in chunks an' tackle her: let's see, ten times eighteen is one-eighty, an' three times that is--three times the hundred is three hundred, and three times the eighty is two-forty. that's five-forty, an' a half of one-eighty is ninety, an' five-forty is six-thirty. we'd ort to double it fer interest an' goodwill, but we'll leave it go at the reglar price. so, just you skin off six hundred an' thirty bucks, an' eighteen more, an' pass 'em acrost. an' do it _pronto_ or somethin' might happen to fatty right where he's thickest." the cowpuncher emphasized his remarks by boring the muzzle even deeper into the unctuous periphery of the proprietor. the croupier shot a questioning glance toward his employer. "shell it out! you fool!" grunted that worthy. "fore this gun comes out my back. an', besides, it's cocked!" without a word the croupier counted out the money, arranging it in little piles of gold and silver. as the vagabond swept the coins into his battered stetson the texan gave a final twist to the six-gun. "if i was you, fatty, i'd rub that there thirteen number off that wheel an' paint me a tripple-ought or mebbe, another eagle-bird onto it." he turned to the man who stood grinning over his hatful of money: "come on, pedro, me an' you're goin' away from here. the licker this _hombre_ purveys will shore lead to bloodshed an' riotin', besides which it's onrespectable to gamble anyhow." pausing to throw the bridle reins over the horn of his saddle, the texan linked his arm through that of his companion and proceeded down the street with the big black horse following like a dog. after several minutes of silence he stopped and regarded the other thoughtfully. "pedro," he said, "me an' you, fallin' heir to an onexpected legacy this way, it's fit an' proper we should celebrate accordin' to our lights. the common an' onchristian way would be to spliflicate around from one saloon to another 'till we'd took in the whole town an' acquired a couple of jags an' more or less onfavourable notoriety. then, in a couple of days or two, we'd wake up with fur on our tongue an inch long an' our wealth divided amongst thieves. but, pedro, such carryin's-on is ondecent an' improvident. take them great captains of industry you read about! d'you reckon every pay-day old andy rockyfellow goes a rampin' down main street back there in noo york, proclaimin' he's a wolf an' it's his night to howl? not on your tintype, he don't! if he did he'd never of rose out of the rank an' file of the labourin' class, an' chances is, would of got fired out of that fer not showin' up at the corral monday mornin'! y'see i be'n a-readin' up on the lives of these here saints to kind of get a line on how they done it. take that whole bunch an' they wasn't hardly a railroad nor a oil mill nor a steel factory between 'em when they was born. i got all their numbers. i know jest how they done it, an' when i get time i'm a-goin' out an' make the guggenhimers cough up my share of mexico an' the rocky mountains an' alaska. "but to get down to cases, as the preachers says: old andy he don't cantankerate none noticeable. when he feels needful of a jamboree he goes down to the bank an' fills his pockets an' a couple of valises with change, an' gum-shoes down to john d. swab's, an' they hunt up charley carnage an' a couple of senators an' a rack of chips an' they finds 'em a back room, pulls off their collars an' coats an' goes to it. they ain't no kitty only to cover the needful expenses of drinks, eats, an' smokes--an' everything goes, from cold-decks to second-dealin'. then when they've derove recreation enough, on goes their collars an' coats, an' they eat a handful of cloves an' get to work on the public again. they's a lot of money changes hands in these here sessions but it never gets out of the gang, an' after you get their brands you c'n generally always tell who got gouged by noticin' what goes up. if coal oil hists a couple of cents on the gallon you know andy carried his valises home empty an' if railroad rates jumps--the senators got nicked a little, an' vicy versy. now you an' me ain't captains of industry, nor nothin' else but our own soul, as the piece goes, but 'tain't no harm we should try a law-abidin' recreation, same as these others, an' mebbe after some practice we'll get to where the guggenhimers will be figgerin' how to get the western hemisphere of north america back from us. "it's like this. me an' you'll stop in an' get us a couple of drinks. then we'll hunt us up a hash-house an' put a big bate of ham an' aigs out of circulation, an' go get us a couple more drinks, an' heel ourselves with a deck of cards an' a couple bottles of cactus juice, an' hunt us up a place where we'll be ondisturbed by the riotorious carryin's-on of the frivolous-minded, an' we'll have us a two-handed poker game which no matter who wins we can't lose, like i was tellin' you, 'cause they can't no outside parties horn in on the profits. but first-off we'll hunt up a feed barn so ace of spades can load up on oats an' hay while we're havin' our party." an hour later the texan deposited a quart bottle, a rack of chips, and a deck of cards on a little deal table in the dingy back room of a saloon. "i tell you, pedro, they's a whole lot of fancy trimmin's this room ain't got, but it's quiet an' peaceable an' it'll suit our purpose to a gnat's hind leg." he dropped into a chair and reached for the rack of chips. "it's a habit of mine to set facin' the door," he continued, as he proceeded to remove the disks and arrange them into stacks. "so if you got any choist just set down acrost the table there an' we'll start the festivities. i'll bank the game an' we'll take out a fifty-dollar stack an' play table stakes." he shoved three stacks of chips across the table. "just come acrost with fifty bucks so's we c'n keep the bank straight an' go ahead an' deal. an' while you're a-doin' it, bein' as you're a pretty good greaser, i'll just take a drink to you----" "greasaire, _non_! me, a'm hate de damn greasaire!" the cowpuncher paused with the bottle half way to his lips and scrutinized the other: "i thought you was a little off colour an' talked kind of funny. what be you?" "me, a'm blood breed. ma fader she french. ma moder she blood injun. a'm leeve een montan' som'tam'--som'tam' een canada. a'm no lak dees contrie! too mooch hot. too mooch greasaire! too mooch sheep. a'm lak i go back hom'. a'm ride for t. u. las' fall an' a'm talk to round-up cook, walt keeng, hees nam', an' he com' from areezoon'. she no like montan'. she say areezoon' she bettaire--no fence--beeg range--plent' cattle. you goin' down dere an' git job you see de good contrie. you no com' back nort' no more. so a'm goin' down w'en de col' wedder com' an' a'm git de job wit' ol' man fisher on, w'at you call yuma bench--_sacré_!" the half-breed paused and wiped his face. "didn't you like it down yuma way?" benton smiled. "lak it! _voila_! no wataire! no snow! too mooch, w'at you call, de leezard! een de wintaire, a'm so godamn hot a'm lak for die. _non_! a'm com' way from dere. a'm goin' nort' an' git me nodder job w'ere a'm git som' wataire som'tam'. mebbe so git too mooch col' in wintaire, but, _voila_! better a'm lak i freeze l'il bit as burn oop!" the texan laughed. "i don't blame you none. i never be'n down to yuma but they tell me it's hell on wheels. go ahead an' deal, pedro." "pedro, _non_! ma moder she nam' moon eye, an' ma fader she cross-cut lajune. derefor', a'm batiste xavier jean jacques de beaumont lajune." the bottle thumped upon the table top. "what the hell is that, a name or a song?" "me, das ma nam'--a'm call batiste xavier jean----" "hold on there! if your ma or pa, or whichever one done the namin' didn't have no expurgated dictionary handy mebbe they ain't to blame--but from now on, between you an' me, you're bat. that's name enough, an' the john jack judas iscariot an' general jackson part goes in the discards. an' bein' as this here is only a two-handed game, the discards is dead---- see?" at the end of an hour the half-breed watched with a grin as the texan raked in a huge pile of chips. "dat de las'," he said, "me, a'm broke." "broke!" exclaimed the cowpuncher, "you don't mean you've done lost all that there six hundred an' forty-eight bucks?" he counted the little piles of silver and gold, which the half-breed had shoved across the board in return for stack after stack of chips. "six-forty-two," he totalled. "let's see, supper was a dollar an' four bits, drinks two dollars, an' two dollars for this bottle of prune-juice that's about gone already, an'--hey, bat, you're four bits shy! frisk yourself an' i'll play you a showdown for them four bits." the other grinned and held a silver half dollar between his finger and thumb. "_non_! a'm ke'p dat four bit! dat lucky four bit. a'm ponch hole in heem an' car' heem roun' ma neck lak' de medicine bag. a'm gon' back nort'--me! a'm got no frien's. you de only friend a'm got. you give me de las' four bit. you, give me de honch to play de t'irteen. a'm git reech, an' den you mak' de bank, w'at you call, com' 'crost. now a'm goin' back to montan' an' git me de job. wat de hell!" "where's your outfit?" asked the texan as he carefully stowed the money in his pockets. "ha! ma outfeet--a'm sell dat outfeet to git de money to com' back hom'. a'm play wan leetle gam' coon can an' _voila_! a'm got no money. de damn greasaire she ween dat money an' a'm broke. a'm com' som'tam' on de freight train--som'tam' walk, an' a'm git dees far. tomor' a'm git de freight train goin' nort' an' som'tam' a'm git to montan'. eet ees ver' far, but mebbe-so a'm git dere for fall round-up. an' ba goss, a'm nevaire com' sout' no mor'. too mooch hot! too mooch no wataire! too mooch, w'at you call, de pizen boog--mebbe-so in de bed--in de pants--in de boot--you git bite an' den you got to die! voila! wat de hell!" the texan laughed and reaching into his pocket drew out two twenty dollar gold pieces and a ten which thudded upon the table before the astonished eyes of the half-breed. "here, bat, you're a damn good injun! you're plumb squanderous with your money, but you're a good sport. take that an' buy you a ticket to as far north as it'll get you. fifty bucks ort to buy a whole lot of car ridin'. an' don't you stop to do no gamblin', neither---- ain't i told you it's onrespectable an' divertin' to morals? if you don't _sabe_ coon can no better'n what you do poker, you stand about as much show amongst these here greasers as a rabbit in a coyote patch. it was a shame to take your money this way, but bein' as you're half-white it was up to me to save you the humiliatin' agony of losin' it to greasers." the half-breed pocketed the coins as the other buttoned his shirt and took another long pull at the bottle. "wer' you goin' now?" he asked as the cowpuncher started for the door. the man paused and regarded him critically. "first off, i'm goin' to get my horse. an' then me an' you is goin' down to the depot an' you're a-goin' to buy that there ticket. i'm a-goin' to see that you get it ironclad an' onredeemable, i ain't got no confidence in no gambler an' bein' as i've took a sort of likin' to you, i hate to think of you a-walkin' clean to montana in them high-heeled boots. after that i'm a-goin' to start out an' examine this here town of las vegas lengthways, crossways, down through the middle, an' both sides of the crick. an' when that's off my mind, i'm a-goin' to begin on the rest of the world." he moved his arm comprehensively and reached for the bottle. "you wait right here till i get old ace of spades," he continued solemnly when he had rasped the raw liquor from his throat. "if you ain't here when i come back i'll swallow-fork your ears with this here gat just to see if my shootin' eye is in practice. the last time i done any fancy shootin' i was kind of wild--kep' a-hittin' a little to one side an' the other--not much, only about an inch or so--but it wasn't right good shootin'." the half-breed grinned: "a'm stay here till you com' back. a'm fin' dat you ma frien'. a'm lak' you, _bien_!" when the texan returned, fifteen minutes later, the man of many names was gone. "it's just like i said, you can't trust no gambler," he muttered, with a doleful nod of the head. "he's pulled out on me, but he better not infest the usual marts of midnight. 'cause i'm a-goin' to start out an' take in everything that's open in this man's town, an' if i find him i'll just nachelly show him the onprincipledness of lyin' to a friend." stepping to the bar he bought a drink and a moment later swung onto the big rangy black and clattered down the street. at the edge of the town he turned and started slowly back, dismounting wherever the lights of a saloon illumined the dingy street, but never once catching a glimpse of the figure that followed in the thick blackness of the shadows. before the saloon of the surly proprietor the cowpuncher brought his big black to a stand and sat contemplating the sorrel that stood dejectedly with ears adroop and one hind foot resting lightly upon the toe. "so that's the cayuse fatty wanted to trade me for ace of spades!" he snorted. "that dog-legged, pot-gutted, lop-eared patch of red he offers to trade to _me_ fer _ace of spades_! it's a doggone insult! i didn't know it at the time, havin' only a couple of drinks, an' too sober to judge a insult when i seen one. but it's different now, i can see it in the dark. i'm a-goin' in there an'--an' twist his nose off an' feed it to him. but first i got to find old bat. he's an injun, but he's a good old scout, an' i hate to think of him walkin' all the way to montana while some damn greaser is spendin' my hard earned samolians that i give him for carfare. it's a long walk to montana. plumb through colorado an' wyomin' an'--an' new jersey, or somewheres. mebbe he's in there now. as they say in the bible, or somewheres, you got to hunt for a thing where you find it, or something. hold still, there you black devil you! what you want to stand there spinnin' 'round like a top for? you be'n drinkin', you doggone old ringtail! what was i goin' to do, now. oh, yes, twist patty's nose, an' find bat an' shoot at his ears a while, an' make him get his ticket to new jersey an'---- "this is a blame slow old town, she needs wakin' up, anyhow. if i ride in that door i'll get scraped off like mud off a boot." he spurred the black and brought him up with a jerk beside the sorrel which snorted and reared back, snapping the reins with which he had been tied, and stood with distended nostrils sniffing inquiringly at ace of spades as the cowpuncher swung to the ground. "woke up, didn't you, you old stager? y'ain't so bad lookin' when you're alive. patty'll have to get him a new pair of bridle reins. mebbe the whole town'll look better if it's woke up some. "y-e-e-e-e-o-w! cowboys a-comin'!" a citizen or two paused on the street corner, a few mexicans grinned as they drew back to allow the gringo free access to the saloon, and a swarthy figure slipped unobserved across the street and blended into the shadow of the adobe wall. "o-o-o-o-o-h, the yaller r-o-s-e of texas!" sang the cowpuncher, with joyous vehemence. as he stepped into the room, his eyes swept the faces of the gamblers and again he burst into vociferous song: "o-o-o-o-o-h, w-h-e-r-e is my wanderin' b-o-y tonight?" "hey, you! whad'ye think this is, a camp meetin'?" the texan faced the speaker. "well, if it ain't my old college chum! fatty, i stopped in a purpose to see you. an' besides which, by the unalien rights of the constitution an' by-laws of this here united states of texas, a man's got a right to sing whatever song suits him irregardless of sex or opportunity." the other glared malevolently as the cowpuncher approached the bar with a grin. "don't bite yourself an' die of hydrophobia before your eggication is complete, which it ain't till you've learnt never to insult no texas man by offerin' to trade no rat-tailed, ewe-necked old buzzard fodder fer a top texas horse. "drop that mallet! an' don't go reachin-' around in under that bar, 'cause if you find what you're huntin' fer you're a-goin' to see fer yourself if every cloud's got a silver linin'. 'tend to business now, an' set out a bottle of your famous ol' las vegas stummick shellac an' while i'm imbibin' of its umbilical ambrosier, i'll jest onscrew your nose an' feed it to the cat." sweat stood out upon the forehead of the heavy-paunched proprietor as with a flabby-faced grin he set out the bottle. but the texan caught the snake-like flash of the eyes with which the man signalled to the croupier across the room. gun in hand, he whirled: "no, you don't, toney!" an ugly blue-black automatic dropped to the floor and the croupier's hands flew ceilingward. "i never seen such an outfit to be always a-reachin'," grinned the cowpuncher. "well, if there ain't the ol' eagle-bird wheel! give her a spin, toney! they say you can't hit an eagle on the fly with a six-gun, but i'm willin' to try! spin her good, 'cause i don't want no onfair advantage of that there noble bird. stand back, greasers, so you don't get nicked!" as the croupier spun the wheel, three shots rang in an almost continuous explosion and the gamblers fell over each other in an effort to dodge the flying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air. "little black bull slid down the mountain, l-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago!" roared the texan as he threw open the cylinder of his gun. "h-e-e-e-e scraped his horn on a hickory saplin', l-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago----" there was a sudden commotion behind him, a swift rush of feet, a muffled thud, and a gasping, agonized grunt. the next instant the huge acetelyne lamp that lighted the room fell to the floor with a crash and the place was plunged in darkness. "queek, m's'u, dees way!" a hand grasped his wrist and the cowpuncher felt himself drawn swiftly toward the door. from all sides sounded the scuffling of straining men who breathed heavily as they fought in the blackness. a thin red flame cut the air and a shot rang sharp. someone screamed and a string of spanish curses blended into the hubbub of turmoil. "de hosses, queek, m's'u!" the cool air of the street fanned the texan's face as he leaped across the sidewalk, and vaulted into the saddle. the next moment the big black was pounding the roadway neck and neck with another, smaller horse upon which the half-breed swayed in the saddle with the ease and grace of the loose-rein rider born. it was broad daylight when the cowpuncher opened his eyes in an arroyo deep among the hills far, far from las vegas. he rubbed his forehead tenderly, and crawling to a spring a few feet distant, buried his face in the tiny pool and drank deeply of the refreshing liquid. very deliberately he dried his face on a blue handkerchief, and fumbled in his pockets for papers and tobacco. as he blew the grey smoke from his nostrils he watched the half-breed who sat nearby industriously splicing a pair of broken bridle reins. "did you get that ticket, bat?" he asked, with a hand pressed tightly against his aching forehead. the other grinned. "me, a'm no wan' no ticket. a'm lak a'm stay wit' you, an' mebbe-so we git de job togedder." the cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence. "what was the rookus last night?" he asked, indifferently. then, suddenly, his eye fell upon the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of a lariat rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to his feet. "where'd you get that horse?" he exclaimed sharply. "it's fatty's! there's the reins he busted when he snorted loose!" again the half-breed grinned. "a'm bor' dat hoss for com' 'long wit' you. dat fatty, she damn bad man. she try for keel you w'en you tak' de shot at de wheel. a'm com' 'long dat time an' a'm keek heem in de guts an' he roll 'roun' on de floor, an' a'm t'row de bottle of wheesky an' smash de beeg lamp an' we com' 'long out of dere." the cowpuncher tossed his cigarette away and spat upon the ground. "how'd you happen to come in there so handy just at the right time?" he asked with a sidewise glance at the half-breed. "oh, a'm fol' you long tam'. a'm t'ink mebbe-so you git l'il too mooch hooch an' som'one try for do you oop. a'm p'ek in de door an' seen fatty gon' shoot you. dat mak' me mad lak hell, an' a'm run oop an' keek heem so hard i kin on hees belly. you ma frien'. a'm no lak i seen you git keel." the texan nodded. "i see. you're a damn good injun, bat, an' i ain't got no kick comin' onto the way you took charge of proceedin's. but you sure raised hell when you stole that horse. they's prob'ly about thirty-seven men an' a sheriff a-combin' these here hills fer us at this partic'lar minute an' when they catch us----" the half-breed laughed. "dem no ketch. we com' feefty mile. dat leetle hoss she damn good hoss. we got de two bes' hoss. we ke'p goin' dey no ketch. 'spose dey do ketch. me, a'm tell 'em a'm steal dat hoss an' you not know nuthin' 'bout dat." there was a twinkle in the texan's eye as he yawned and stretched prodigiously. "an' i'll tell 'em you're the damnedest liar in the state of texas an' north america throw'd in. come on, now, you throw the shells on them horses an' we'll be scratchin' gravel. fifty miles ain't no hell of a ways--my throat's beginnin' to feel kind of draw'd already." "w'er' we goin'?" asked the half-breed as they swung into the saddles. "bat," said the other, solemnly, "me an' you is goin' fast, an' we're goin' a long time. you mentioned somethin' about montana bein' considerable of a cow country. well, me an' you is a-goin' north--as far north as cattle is--an' we're right now on our way!" chapter i the train stops "i don't see why they had to build their old railroad down in the bottom of this river bed." with deft fingers alice marcum caught back a wind-tossed whisp of hair. "it's like travelling through a trough." "line of the least resistance," answered her companion as he rested an arm upon the polished brass guard rail of the observation car. "this river bed, running east and west, saved them millions in bridges." the girl's eyes sought the sky-line of the bench that rose on both sides of the mile-wide valley through which the track of the great transcontinental railroad wound like a yellow serpent. "it's level up there. why couldn't they have built it along the edge?" the man smiled: "and bridged all those ravines!" he pointed to gaps and notches in the level sky-line where the mouths of creek beds and coulees flashed glimpses of far mountains. "each one of those ravines would have meant a trestle and trestles run into big money." "and so they built the railroad down here in this ditch where people have to sit and swelter and look at their old shiny rails and scraggly green bushes and dirt walls, while up there only a half a mile away the great rolling plains stretch away to the mountains that seem so near you could walk to them in an hour." "but, my dear girl, it would not be practical. railroads are built primarily with an eye to dividends and--" the girl interrupted him with a gesture of impatience. "i hate things that are practical--hate even the word. there is nothing in all the world so deadly as practicability. it is ruthless and ugly. it disregards art and beauty and all the higher things that make life worth living. it is a monster whose god is dollars--and who serves that god well. what does any tourist know of the real west--the west that lies beyond those level rims of dirt? how much do you or i know of it? the west to us is a thin row of scrub bushes along a narrow, shallow river, with a few little white-painted towns sprinkled along, that for all we can see might be in illinois or ohio. i've been away a whole winter and for all the west i've seen i might as well have stayed in brooklyn." "but certainly you enjoyed california!" "california! yes, as california. but california isn't the _west_! california is new york with a few orange groves thrown in. it is a tourist's paradise. a combination of new york and palm beach. the real west lies east of the rockies, the uncommercialized, unexploited--i suppose you would add, the unpractical west. a new yorker gets as good an idea of the west when he travels by train to california as a californian would get of new york were he to arrive by way of the tube and spend the winter in the fritz-waldmore." "i rather liked california, what little i saw of it. a business trip does not afford an ideal opportunity for sight seeing." "you like newport and palm beach, too." the man ignored the interruption. "but, at least, this trip has combined a good bit of business with a very big bit of pleasure. it is two years since i have seen you and----" "and so you're going to tell me for the twenty-sixth time in three days that you still love me, and that you want me to marry you, and i'll have to say 'no' again, and explain that i'm not ready to marry anybody." she regarded him with an air of mock solemnity. "but really mr. winthrop adams endicott i think you _have_ improved since you struck out for yourself into the wilds of--where was it, ohio, or some place." "cincinnati," answered the man a trifle stiffly. the girl shuddered. "i had to change cars there once." again she eyed him critically. "yes, two years have made a really noticeable improvement. do the cincinnati newspapers always remember to use your whole name or do they dare to refer to winthrop a. endicott. if i were a reporter i really believe i'd try it once. if you keep on improving, some day somebody is going to call you win." the man flushed: "are you never serious?" he asked. "never more so than this minute." "you say you are not ready to many. you expect to marry, then, sometime?" "i don't _expect_ to. i'm _going_ to." "will you marry me when you are ready?" the girl laughed. "yes, if i can't find the man i want, i think i shall. but he must be somewhere," she continued, after a pause during which her eyes centred upon the point where the two gleaming rails vanished into the distance. "he must be impractical, and human, and--and _elemental_. i'd rather be smashed to pieces in the grand canyon, than live for ever on the erie canal!" "aren't you rather unconventional in your tastes----?" "if i'm not, i'm a total failure! i hate conventionality! and lines of least resistance! and practical things! it is the _men_ who are the real sticklers for convention. the same kind of men that follow the lines of least resistance and build their railroads along them--because it is practical! "i don't see why you want to marry me!" she burst out resentfully. "i'm not conventional, nor practical. and i'm not a line of least resistance!" "but i love you. i have always loved you, and----" the girl interrupted him with a quick little laugh, which held no trace of resentment. "yes, yes, i know. i believe you do. and i'm glad because really, winthrop, you're a dear. there are lots of things about you i admire. your teeth, and eyes, and the way you wear your clothes. if you weren't so terribly conventional, so cut and dried, and matter of fact, and _safe_, i might fall really and truly in love with you. but--oh, i don't know! here i am, twenty-three. and i suppose i'm a little fool and have never grown up. i like to read stories about knights errant, and burglars, and fair ladies, and pirates, and mysterious dark oriental-looking men. and i like to go to places where everybody don't go--only dad won't let me and---- why just think!" she exclaimed in sudden wrath, "i've been in california for three months and i've ridden over the same trails everybody else has ridden over, and motored over the same roads and climbed the same mountains, and bathed at the same beach, and i've met everybody i ever knew in new york, just as i would have met them in newport or palm beach or in paris or venice or naples for that matter!" "but why go off the beaten track where everything is arranged for your convenience? these people are experienced travellers. they know that by keeping to the conventional routes-----" "winthrop adams endicott, if you say that word again i'll shriek! or i'll go in from this platform and not speak to you again--ever! you know very well that there isn't a traveller among them. they're just tourists--professional goers. they do the same things, and say the same things, and if they could think, they'd think the same things every place they go. and i don't want things arranged for my convenience--so there!" winthrop adams endicott lighted a cigarette, brushed some white dust from his sleeve, and smiled. "if i were a man and loved a girl so very, very much i wouldn't just sit around and grin. i'd do something!" "but, my dear alice, what would you have me do? i'm not a knight errant, nor a burglar, nor a pirate, nor a dark mysterious oriental--i'm just a plain ordinary business man and----" "well, i'd do something--even if it was something awful like getting drunk or shooting somebody. why, if you even had a past you wouldn't be so hopeless. i could love a man with a past. it would show at least, that he hadn't followed the line of the least resistance. the world is full of canals--but there are only a few canyons. look! i believe we're stopping! oh, i hope it's a hold-up! what will you do if it is?" the train slowed to a standstill and winthrop adams endicott leaned out and gazed along the line of the coaches. "there is a little town here. seems to be some commotion up ahead--quite a crowd. if i can get this blamed gate open we can go up and see what the trouble is." "and if you can't get it open you can climb over and lift me down. i'm just dying to know what's the matter. and if you dare to say it wouldn't be conventional i'll--i'll jump!" chapter ii wolf river a uniformed flagman, with his flag and a handful of torpedoes swung from the platform and started up the track. "what's the trouble up in front?" asked the girl as endicott assisted her to the ground. "cloud busted back in the mountains, an' washed out the trussle, an' second seventy-six piled up in the river." "oh, a wreck?" she exclaimed. "will we have time to go up and see it?" "i'd say it's a wreck," grinned the trainman. "an' you've got all the time you want. we're a-goin' to pull in on the sidin' an' let the wrecker an' bridge crew at it. but even with 'em a-workin' from both ends it'll be tomorrow sometime 'fore they c'n get them box cars drug out an' a temp'ry trussle throw'd acrost." "what town is this?" "town! call it a town if you want to. it's wolf river. it's a shippin' point fer cattle, but it hain't no more a town 'n what the crick's a river. the trussle that washed out crosses the crick just above where it empties into milk river. i've railroaded through here goin' on three years an' i never seen no water in it to speak of before, an' mostly it's plumb dry." the man sauntered slowly up the track as one who performs a merely nominal duty, and the girl turned to follow endicott. "it would have been easier to walk through the train," he ventured, as he picked his way over the rough track ballast. "still seeking the line of least resistance," mocked the girl. "we can walk through a train any time. but we can't breathe air like this, and, see,--through that gap--the blue of the distant mountains!" the man removed his hat and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. "it's awfully hot, and i have managed to secrete a considerable portion of the railroad company's gravel in my shoes." "don't mind a little thing like that," retorted the girl sweetly. "i've peeled the toes of both of mine. they look like they had scarlet fever." passengers were alighting all along the train and hurrying forward to join those who crowded the scene of the wreck. "it was a narrow escape for us," said endicott as the two looked down upon the mass of broken cars about which the rapidly falling waters of the stream gurgled and swirled. "had we not been running an hour late this train would in all probability, have plunged through the trestle." "was anybody hurt?" asked the girl. the train conductor nodded toward the heap of debris. "no'm, the crew jumped. the fireman an' head brakeman broke a leg apiece, an' the rest got bunged up a little; but they wasn't no one hurt. "i was just tellin' these folks," he continued, "that they'll be a train along on the other side in a couple of hours for to transfer the passengers an' mail." the girl turned to endicott. "there isn't much to see here," she said. "let's look around. it's such a funny little town. i want to buy something at the store. and, there's a livery stable! maybe we can hire horses and ride out where we can get a view of the mountains." as the two turned toward the little cluster of frame buildings, a tall, horse-faced man clambered onto the pilot of the passenger locomotive and, removing his hat, proceeded to harangue the crowd. as they paused to listen alice stared in fascination at the enormous adam's apple that worked, piston-like above the neckband of the collarless shirt of vivid checks. "ladies an' gents," he began, with a comprehensive wave of the soft-brimmed hat. "wolf river welcomes you in our town. an' while you're amongst us we aim to show you one an' all a good time. this here desastorious wreck may turn out to be a blessin' in disguise. as the good book says, it come at a most provincial time. wolf river, ladies an' gents, is celebratin', this afternoon an' evenin', a event that marks an' epykak in our historious career: the openin' of the wolf river citizen's bank, a reg'lar bonyfido bank with vaults, cashier, an' a board of directors consistin' of her leadinist citizens, with the honorable mayor maloney president, which i introdoose myself as. "in concludin' i repeet that this here is ondoubtfully the luckiest wreck in the lives of any one of you, which it gives you a unpressagented chanct to see with your own eyes a hustlin' western town that hain't ashamed to stand on her own legs an' lead the world along the trail to prosperity. "wolf river hain't a braggin' town, ladies an' gents, but i defy any one of you to name another town that's got more adjacent an' contigitus territory over which to grow onto. we freely admit they's a few onconsequential improvements which is possessed by some bigger an' more notorious cities such as sidewalks, sewers, street-gradin', an' lights that we hain't got yet. but wolf river is a day an' night town, ladies an' gents, combinin' business with pleasure in just the right perportion, which it's plain to anyone that takes the trouble to investigate our shippin' corrals, four general stores, one _ho_tel, an' seven saloons, all of which runs wide open twenty-four hours a day an' is accommodated with faro, roulette, an' poker outfits fer the benefit of them that's so inclined to back their judgment with a little money. "in concloodin' i'll say that owin' to the openin' of the bank about which i was tellin' you of, wolf river is holdin' the followin' programme which it's free to everyone to enter into or to look on at. "they'll be a ropin' contest, in which some of our most notorious ropers will rope, throw, an' hog-tie a steer, in the least shortness of time. the prizes fer this here contest is: first prize, ten dollars, doneated by the directors of the bank fer which's openin' this celebration is held in honour of. second prize, one pair of pants doneated by the montana mercantile company. third prize, one quart of bottle in bond whiskey doneated by our pop'lar townsman an' leadin' citizen, mr. jake grimshaw, proprietor of the long horn saloon. "the next contest is a buckin' contest, in which some of our most notorious riders will ride or get bucked offen some of our most fameous outlaw horses. the prizes fer this here contest is: first, a pair of angory chaps, doneated by the directors of the bank about which i have spoke of before. second prize, a pair of spurs doneated by the wolf river tradin' company. third prize, a coffin that was ordered by sam long's wife from the valley outfittin' company, when sam had the apendiceetis of the stummick, an' fer which sam refused to pay fer when he got well contrary to expectations. "both these here contests is open to ladies an' gents, both of which is invited to enter. they will also be hoss racin', fancy an' trick ridin', an' shootin', fer all of which sootable prizes has be'n pervided, as well as fer the best lookin' man an' the homliest lady an' vicy versy. any lady or gent attendin' these here contests will be gave out a ticket good fer one drink at any saloon in town. these drinks is on the directors of the bank of which i have before referred to. "an', ladies an' gents, in concloodin' i'll say that that hain't all! follerin' these here contests, after each an' every lady an' gent has had time to git their drink they'll be a supper dished out at the _ho_otel fer which the directors of the bank of which you have already heard mention of has put up fifty cents a plate. this here supper is as free as gratis to all who care to percipitate an' which will incloode a speech by the honorable mayor maloney, part of which i have already spoke, but will repeat fer the benefit of them that hain't here. "followin' the supper a dance will be pulled off in curly hardee's dance-hall, the music fer which will be furnished by some of our most notorious fiddlers incloodin' mrs. slim maloney, wife of the honorable mayor maloney, who will lead the grand march, an' who i consider one of the top pyanoists of choteau county, if not in the hull united states. it is a personal fact ladies an' gents, that i've heard her set down to a pyano an' play _old black joe_ so natural you'd swear it was _home sweet home_. an' when she gits het up to it, i'll promise she'll loosen up an' tear off some of the liveliest music any one of you's ever shook a leg to. "an' now, ladies an' gents, you can transfer an' go on when the train pulls in on t'other side, or yon can stay an' enjoy yourselves amongst us wolf river folks an' go on tomorrow when the trussle gits fixed----" "ye-e-e-e-o-o-w! w-h-e-e-e-e." bang, bang, bang! bang, bang, bang! a chorus of wild yells, a fusillade of shots, and the thud of horses' hoofs close at hand drew all eyes toward the group of riders that, spreading fan-like over the flat that lay between the town and the railway, approached at top speed. "the cowboys is comin'! them's the circle j," cried the mayor. "things'll lively up a bit when the t u an' the i x an' the bear paw pool boys gits in." the cowboys were close, now, and the laughing, cheering passengers surged back as the horses swerved at full speed with the stirrups of their riders almost brushing the outermost rank of the crowd. a long thin rope shot out, a loop settled gently about the shoulders of the mayor of wolf river, and a cowhorse stopped so abruptly that a cloud of alkali dust spurted up and settled in a grey powder over the clothing of the assembled passengers. "come on, slim, an' give these folks a chance to get their second wind while you let a little licker into that system of yours." the mayor grinned; "tex benton, hain't you had no bringin' up whatever? that was a pretty throw but it's onrespectable, no mor'n what it's respectable to call the mayor of a place by his first name to a public meetin'." "i plumb ferget myself, your honour," laughed the cowpuncher as he coiled his rope. "fact is, i learnt to rope mares back in texas, an' i ain't----" "yip-e-i-e!" "ropin' mares!" the cowboys broke into a coyote chorus that drowned the laughter of the crowd. "the drinks is on me!" sputtered the mayor, when he was able to make himself heard. "jest you boys high-tail over to the long horn an' i'll be along d'rectly." he turned once more to the crowd of passengers. "come on, gents, an' have a drink on me. an' the ladies is welcome, too. wolf river is broad in her idees. we hain't got no sexual restrictions, an' a lady's got as good a right to front a bar an' nominate her licker as what a man has." standing beside endicott upon the edge of the crowd alice marcum had enjoyed herself hugely. the little wooden town with its high fenced cattle corrals, and its row of one story buildings that faced the alkali flat had interested her from the first, and she had joined with hearty goodwill in the rounds of applause that at frequent intervals had interrupted the speech of the little town's mayor. a born horsewoman, she had watched with breathless admiration the onrush of the loose-rein riders--the graceful swaying of their bodies, and the flapping of soft hat brims, as their horses approached with a thunder of pounding hoofs. her eyes had sparkled at the reckless swerving of the horses when it seemed that the next moment the back-surging crowd would be trampled into the ground. she had wondered at the precision with which the texan's loop fell; and had joined heartily in the laughter that greeted the ludicrous and red-faced indignation with which a fat woman had crawled from beneath a coach whither she had sought refuge from the onrush of thundering hoofs. in the mind of the girl, cowboys had always been associated with motion picture theatres, where concourses of circus riders in impossible regalia performed impossible feats of horsemanship in the unravelling of impossible plots. she had never thought of them as real--or, if she had, it was as a vanished race, like the aztec and the buffalo. but here were real cowboys in the flesh: open-throated, bronzed man, free and unrestrained as the air they breathed--men whose very appearance called to mind boundless open spaces, purple sage, blue mountains, and herds of bellowing cattle. here were men bound by no petty and meaningless conventions--men the very sight of whom served to stimulate and intensify the longing to see for herself the land beyond the valley rims--to slip into a saddle and ride, and ride, and ride--to feel the beat of the rain against her face, and the whip of the wind, and the burning rays of the sun, and at night to lie under the winking stars and listen to the howl of the coyotes. "disgusting rowdies!" wheezed the fat woman as, dishevelled and perspiring, she waddled toward the steps of her coach; while the mayor, his adam's apple fairly pumping importance, led a sturdy band of thirsters recruited from among the train passengers across the flat toward a building over the door of which was fixed a pair of horns of prodigious spread. lest some pilgrim of erring judgment should mistake the horns for short ones, or misapprehend the nature of the business conducted within, the white false front of the building proclaimed in letters of black a foot high: long horn saloon. while beneath the legend was depicted a fat, vermilion clad cowboy mounted upon a tarantula-bodied, ass-eared horse of pink, in the act of hurling a cable-like rope which by some prodigy of dexterity was made to describe three double-bows and a latigo knot before its loop managed to poise in mid-air above the head of a rabbit-sized baby-blue steer whose horns exceeded in length the pair of texas monstrosities that graced the doorway. "we're goin' to back onto the sidin' now," announced the conductor, "where dinner will be served in the dinin' car as ushool." the cowboys had moved along to view the wreck and were grouped about the broken end of the trestle where they lolled in their saddles, some with a leg thrown carelessly about the horn and others lying back over the cantle, while the horses which a few moments before had dashed across the common at top speed now stood with lowered heads and drooping ears, dreaming cayuse dreams. the engine bell was ringing monotonously and the whistle sounded three short blasts, while the passengers clambered up the steps of the coaches or backed away from the track. "let's walk to the side track, it's only a little way." alice pointed to where the flagman stood beside the open switch. endicott nodded acquiescence and as he turned to follow, the girl's handkerchief dropped from her hand and, before it touched the ground, was caught by a gust of wind that swept beneath the coaches and whirled out onto the flat where it lay, a tiny square of white against the trampled buffalo grass. endicott started to retrieve it, but before he had taken a half-dozen steps there was a swift pounding of hoofs and two horses shot out from the group of cowboys and dashed at full speed, their riders low in the saddle and each with his gaze fixed on the tiny bit of white fabric. nose and nose the horses ran, their hoofs raising a cloud of white alkali dust in their wake. suddenly, just as they reached the handkerchief, the girl who watched with breathless interest gasped. the saddles were empty! from the madly racing horses her glance flew to the cloud of dust which concealed the spot where a moment before had lain that little patch of white. her fingers clenched as she steeled herself to the sight of the two limp, twisted forms that the lifting dust cloud must reveal. scarcely daring to wink she fixed her eyes upon the ground--but the dust cloud had drifted away and there were no limp, twisted forms. even the little square of white was gone. in bewilderment she heard cries of approval and loud shouts of applause from the passengers. once more her ears caught the sound of pounding hoofs, and circling toward her in a wide curve were the two riders, erect and firm in their saddles, as a gauntleted hand held high a fluttering scrap of white. the horses brought up directly before her, a stetson was swept from a thick shock of curly black hair, the gauntleted hand extended the recalcitrant handkerchief, and she found herself blushing furiously for no reason at all beneath the direct gaze of a pair of very black eyes that looked out from a face tanned to the colour of old mahogany. "oh, thank you! it was splendid--the horsemanship." she stammered. "i've seen it in the movies, but i didn't know it was actually done in real life." "yes, mom, it is. it's owin' to the horse yeh've got, an' yer cinch. yeh'll see a heap better'n that this afternoon right on this here flat. an' would yeh be layin' over fer the dance tonight, mom?" the abrupt question was even more disconcerting than the compelling directness of his gaze. for an instant, the girl hesitated as her eyes swept from the cowpuncher's face to the brilliant scarf loosely knotted about his throat, the blue flannel shirt, the bright yellow angora chaps against which the ivory butt of a revolver showed a splotch of white, and the boots jammed into the broad wooden stirrups, to their high heels from which protruded a pair of enormously rowelled spurs inlaid with silver. by her side endicott moved impatiently and cleared his throat. she answered without hesitation. "yes, i think i shall." "i'd admire fer a dance with yeh, then," persisted the cowpuncher. "why--certainly. that is, if i really decide to stay." "we'll try fer to show yeh a good time, mom. they'll be some right lively fiddlin', an' she don't bust up till daylight." with a smile the girl glanced toward the other rider who sat with an air of tolerant amusement. she recognized him as the man called tex--the one who had so deftly dropped his loop over the shoulders of the mayor, and noted that, in comparison with the other, he presented rather a sorry appearance. the heels of his boots were slightly run over. his spurs were of dingy steel and his leather chaps, laced up the sides with rawhide thongs looked as though they had seen much service. the scarf at his throat, however, was as vivid as his companion's and something in the flash of the grey eyes that looked into hers from beneath the broad brim of the stetson caused an inexplicable feeling of discomfort. their gaze held a suspicion of veiled mockery, and the clean cut lips twisted at their comers into the semblance of a cynical, smiling sneer. "i want to thank you, too," she smiled, "it wasn't your fault your friend----" "jack purdy's my name, mom," interrupted the other, importantly. "--that mr. purdy beat you, i am sure. and are you always as accurate as when you lassoed the honourable mayor of wolf river?" "i always get what i go after--sometimes," answered the man meeting her gaze with a flash of the baffling grey eyes. a subtle something, in look or words, seemed a challenge. instinctively she realized that despite his rough exterior here was a man infinitely less crude than the other. an ordinary cowpuncher, to all appearance, and yet--something in the flash of the eyes, the downward curve of the corners of the lips aroused the girl's interest. he was speaking again: "i'll dance with you, too--if you stay. but i won't mortgage none of your time in advance." the man's glance shifted deliberately from the girl to endicott and back to the girl again. then, without waiting for her to reply, he whirled his horse and swung off at top speed to join the other cowpunchers who were racing in the wake of the mayor. chapter iii purdy some moments later, jack purdy nosed his horse into the group of cayuses that stood with reins hanging, "tied to the ground," in front of the long horn saloon. beyond the open doors sounded a babel of voices and he could see the men lined two deep before the bar. swinging from the saddle he threw the stirrup over the seat and became immediately absorbed in the readjustment of his latigo strap. close beside him tex benton's horse dozed with drooping head. swiftly a hand whose palm concealed an open jack-knife slipped beneath the texan's right stirrup-leather and a moment later was withdrawn as the cayuse, suspicious of the fumbling on the wrong side of the saddle, snorted nervously and sheered sharply against another horse which with an angry squeal, a laying back of the ears, and a vicious snap of the teeth, resented the intrusion. purdy jerked sharply at the reins of his own horse which caused that animal to rear back and pull away. "whoa, there! yeh imp of hell!" he rasped, in tones loud enough to account for the commotion among the horses, and slipping the knife into his pocket, entered the saloon from which he emerged unobserved while the boisterous crowd was refilling its glasses at the solicitation of a white goods drummer who had been among the first to accept the invitation of the mayor. three doors up the street he entered a rival saloon where the bartender was idly arranging his glasses on the back-bar in anticipation of the inevitable rush of business which would descend upon him when the spirit should move the crowd in the long horn to start "going the rounds." "hello, cinnabar!" the cowpuncher leaned an elbow on the bar, elevated a foot to the rail, and producing tobacco and a book of brown papers, proceeded to roll a cigarette. the bartender returned the greeting and shot the other a keen glance from the corner of his eye as he set out a bottle and a couple of glasses. "be'n down to the wreck?" he asked, with professional disinterestedness. the cowpuncher nodded, lighted his cigarette, and picking the bottle up by the neck, poured a few drops into his glass. "pretty bad pile-up," persisted the bartender as he measured out his own drink. "two or three of the train crew got busted up pretty bad. they say---- "aw, choke off! what the hell do i care what they say? nor how bad the train crew got busted up, nor how bad they didn't?" purdy tapped the bar with his glass as his black eyes fixed the other with a level stare. "i came over fer a little talk with yeh, private. i'm a-goin' to win that buckin' contest--an' yer goin' to help me--_sabe_?" the bartender shook his head: "i don't know how i c'n help you none." "well yeh will know when i git through--same as doc godkins'll know when i have a little talk with him. yer both a-goin' to help, you an' doc. yeh see, they was a nester's gal died, a year back, over on beaver crick, an' doc tended her. 'tarford fever,' says doc. but ol' lazy y freeman paid the freight, an' he thinks about as much of the nesters as what he does of a rattlesnake. i was ridin' fer the lazy y outfit, an' fer quite a spell 'fore this tarford fever business the ol' man use to ride the barb wire along beaver, reg'lar. yeh know how loose ol' lazy y is with his change? a dollar don't loom no bigger to him than the side of sugar loaf butte, an' it slips through his fingers as easy as a porkypine could back out of a gunnysack. well, that there dose of tarford fever that the nester gal died of cost ol' lazy y jest a even thousan' bucks. an' doc godkins got it." the cowpuncher paused and the bartender picked up his glass. "drink up," he said, "an' have another. i do'no what yer talkin' about but it's jest as bad to not have enough red licker in under yer belt when y' go to make a ride as 'tis to have too much." "never yeh mind about the licker. i c'n reg'late my own drinks to suit me. mebbe i got more'n a ride a-comin' to me 'fore tonight's over." the bartender eyed him questioningly: "you usta win 'em all--buckin', an' ropin', an'----" "yes, i usta!" sneered the other. "an' i could now if it wasn't fer that texas son of a ----! fer three years hand runnin' he's drug down everything he's went into. he c'n out-rope me an' out-ride me, but he can't out-guess me! an' some day he's goin' to have to out-shoot me. i'm goin' to win the buckin' contest, an' the ropin', too. see?" the man's fist pounded the bar. the bartender nodded; "well, here's _to_ you." once more purdy fixed the man with his black-eyed stare. "yes. but they's a heap more a-comin' from you than a 'here's _to_ yeh.'" "meanin'?" asked the other, as he mechanically swabbed the bar. "meanin' that you an' doc's goin' to help me do it. an' that hain't all. tonight 'long 'bout dance time i want that saddle horse o' yourn an' yer sideways saddle, too. they's a gal o' mine come in on the train, which she'll be wantin', mebbe, to take a ride, an' hain't fetched no split-up clothes fer to straddle a real saddle. that sideways contraption you sent fer 'fore yer gal got to ridin' man-ways is the only one in wolf river, an' likewise hern's the only horse that'll stand fer bein' rigged up in it." "sure. you're welcome to the horse an' saddle, jack. the outfit's in the livery barn. jest tell ross to have him saddled agin' you want him. he's gentled down so's a woman c'n handle him all right." "uh, huh. an' how about the other? y'goin' to do as i say 'bout that, too?" the bartender opened a box behind him and selected a cigar which he lighted with extreme deliberation. "i told you onct i don't know what yer talkin' about. lazy y freeman an' doc godkins's dirty work ain't none of my business. if you win, you win, an' that's all there is to it." the cowpuncher laughed shortly, and his black eyes narrowed, as he leaned closer. "oh, that's all, is it? well, mr. cinnabar joe, let me tell yeh that hain't all--by a damn sight!" he paused, but the other never took his eyes from his face. "do yeh know what chloral is?" the man's voice lowered to a whisper and the words seemed to hiss from between his lips. the other shook his head. "well, it's somethin' yeh slip into a man's licker that puts him to sleep." "you mean drug? dope!" the bartender's eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth whitened where it gripped the cigar. purdy nodded: "yes. it don't hurt no one, only it puts 'em to sleep fer mebbe it's three er four hours. i'll get some from doc an' yer goin' to slip a little into tex benton's booze. then he jest nach'lly dozes off an' the boys thinks he's spliflicated an' takes him down to the hotel an' puts him to bed, an' before he wakes up i'll have the buckin' contest, an' the ropin' contest, an' most of the rest of it in my war-bag. i hain't afraid of none of the rest of the boys hornin' in on the money--an' 'tain't the money i want neither; i want to win them contests particular--an' i'm a-goin' to." without removing his elbows from the bar, cinnabar joe nodded toward the door: "you git to hell out o' here!" he said, quietly. "i don't set in no game with you, see? i don't want none o' your chips. of all the god-damned low-lived----" "if i was you," broke in the cowpuncher with a meaning look, "i'd choke off 'fore i'd got in too fer to back out." something in the glint of the black eyes caused the bartender to pause. purdy laughed, tossed the butt of his cigarette to the floor, and began irrelevantly: "it's hell--jest hell with the knots an' bark left on--that nevada wild horse range is." the cowpuncher noted that cinnabar joe ceased suddenly to puff his cigar. "it's about seven year, mebbe it's eight," he continued, "that an outfit got the idee that mebbe pete barnum had the wild horse business to hisself long enough. four of 'em was pretty rough hands, an' the kid was headed that way. "them that was there knows a heap more'n what i do about what they went through 'fore they got out o' the desert where water-holes was about as common as good injuns. anyways, this outfit didn't git no wild horses. they was good an' damn glad to git out with what horses they'd took in, an' a whole hide. they'd blow'd in all they had on their projec' an' they was broke when they headed fer idaho." the bartender's cigar had gone out and the cowpuncher saw that his face was a shade paler. "then a train stopped sudden one evenin' where they wasn't no station, an' after that the outfit busted up. but they wasn't broke no more, all but the kid. they left him shift fer hisself. couple o' years later two of the outfit drifted together in cinnabar an' there they found the kid drivin' a dude-wagon. drivin' a dude-wagon through the park is a damn sight easier than huntin' wild horses, an' a damn sight safer than railroadin' with a colt, so when the two hard hands stops the kid's dude-wagon in the park, thinkin' they'd have a cinch goin' through the kid's passengers, they got fooled good an' proper when the kid pumps 'em full of . pills. after that the kid come to be know'd as cinnabar joe, an' when the last of the dude-wagons was throw'd out fer automobiles the kid drifted up into the cow country. but they's a certain express company that's still huntin' fer the gang--not knowin' o' course that the cinnabar joe that got notorious fer defendin' his dudes was one of 'em.'" the cowpuncher ceased speaking and produced his "makings" while the other stood gazing straight before him, the dead cigar still gripped in the corner of his mouth. the scratch of the match roused him and quick as a flash he reached beneath the bar and the next instant had purdy covered with a six-shooter. with his finger on the trigger cinnabar joe hesitated, and in that instant he learned that the man that faced him across the bar was as brave as he was unscrupulous. the fingers that twisted the little cylinder of paper never faltered and the black eyes looked straight into the muzzle of the gun. now, in the cow country the drawing of a gun is one and the same movement with the firing of it, and why cinnabar joe hesitated he did not know. purdy laughed: "put her down, cinnabar. yeh won't shoot, now. yeh see, i kind of figgered yeh might be sort o' riled up, so i left my gun in my slicker. shootin' a unarmed man don't git yeh nothin' but a chanct to stretch a rope." the bartender returned the gun to its place. "where'd you git that dope, jack?" he asked, in a dull voice. "well, seein' as yeh hain't so blood-thirsty no more, i'll tell yeh. i swung down into the bad lands couple weeks ago huntin' a bunch of mares that strayed off the south slope. i was follerin' down a mud-crack that opens into big dry when all to onct my horse jumps sideways an' like to got me. the reason fer which was a feller layin' on the ground where his horse had busted him agin' a rock. his back was broke an' he was mumblin'; which he must of laid there a day, mebbe two, cause his tongue an' lips was dried up till i couldn't hardly make out what he was sayin'. i catched here an' there a word about holdin' up a train an' he was mumblin' your name now an' agin so i fetched some water from a hole a mile away an' camped. he et a little bacon later but he was half crazy with the pain in his back. he'd yell when i walked near him on the ground, said it jarred him, an' when i tried to move him a little he fainted plumb away. but he come to agin an' begged me fer to hand him his colt that had lit about ten feet away so he could finish the job. i seen they wasn't no use tryin' to git him nowheres. he was all in. but his mutterin' had interested me consid'ble. i figgers if he's a hold-up, chances is he's got a nice fat _cache_ hid away somewheres, an' seein' he hain't never goin' to need it i might's well have the handlin' of it as let it rot where it's at. i tells him so an' agrees that if he tips off his _cache_ to me i'll retaliate by givin' him the gun. he swears he ain't got no _cache_. he's blow'd everything he had, his nerve's gone, an' he's headin' fer wolf river fer to gouge yeh out of some _dinero_. he claims yeh collected reward on them two yeh got in the yellowstone an' what's more the dudes tuk up a collection of a thousan' bucks an' give it to yeh besides. _you_ was his _cache_. so he handed me the dope i just sprung on yeh, an' he says besides that you an' him's the only ones left. the other one got his'n down in mexico where he'd throw'd in with some greaser bandits." "an' what---- did you give him the gun?" asked the bartender. purdy nodded: "sure. he' done a good job, too. he was game, all right, never whimpered nor hung back on the halter. jest stuck the gun in his mouth an' pulled the trigger. i was goin' to bury him but i heard them mares whinner down to the water-hole so i left him fer the buzzards an' the coyotes. "about that there chloral. i'll slip over an' git it from doc. an' say, i'm doin' the right thing by yeh. i could horn yeh fer a chunk o' that reward money, but i won't do a friend that way. an' more'n that," he paused and leaned closer. "i'll let you in on somethin' worth while one of these days. that there thousan' that ol' lazy y paid doc hain't a patchin' to what he's goin' to fork over to me. see?" cinnabar joe nodded, slowly, as he mouthed his dead cigar, and when he spoke it was more to himself than to purdy. "i've played a square game ever since that time back on the edge of the desert. i don't want to have to do time fer that. it wouldn't be a square deal nohow, i was only a kid then an' never got a cent of the money. then, there's jennie over to the hotel. we'd about decided that bartendin' an' hash-slingin' wasn't gittin' us nowheres an' we was goin' to hitch up an' turn nesters on a little yak outfit i've bought over on eagle." he stopped abruptly and looked the cowpuncher squarely in the eye. "if it wasn't fer her, by god! i'd tell you jest as i did before, to git to hell out of here an' do your damnedest. but it would bust her all up if i had to do time fer a hold-up. you've got me where you want me, i guess. but i don't want in on no dirty money from old lazy y, nor no one else. you go it alone--it's your kind of a job. "this here chloride, or whatever you call it, you sure it won't kill a man?" purdy laughed: "course it won't. it'll only put him to sleep till i've had a chanct to win out. i'll git the stuff from doc an' find out how much is a dost, an' you kin' slip it in his booze." as the cowpuncher disappeared through the door, cinnabar joe's eyes narrowed. "you damn skunk!" he muttered, biting viciously upon the stump of his cigar. "if you was drinkin' anything i'd switch glasses on _you_, an' then shoot it out with you when you come to. from now on it's you or me. you've got your hooks into me an' this is only the beginnin'." the man stopped abruptly and stared for a long time at the stove-pipe hole in the opposite wall. then, turning, he studied his reflection in the mirror behind the bottles and glasses. he tossed away his cigar, straightened his necktie, and surveyed himself from a new angle. "this here tex, now," he mused. "he sure is a rantankerous cuss when he's lickered up. he'd jest as soon ride his horse through that door as he would to walk through, an' he's always puttin' somethin' over on someone. but he's a man. he'd go through hell an' high water fer a friend. he was the only one of the whole outfit had the guts to tend jimmy trimble when he got the spotted fever--nursed him back to good as ever, too, after the doc had him billed through fer yonder." cinnabar joe turned and brought his fist down on the bar. "i'll do it!" he gritted. "purdy'll think tex switched the drinks on me. only i hope he wasn't lyin' about that there stuff. anyways, even if he was, it's one of them things a man's got to do. an' i'll rest a whole lot easier in my six by two than what i would if i give tex the long good-bye first." unconsciously, the man began to croon the dismal wail of the plains: "o bury me not on the lone praire-e-e in a narrow grave six foot by three, where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free, then bury me not on the lone praire-e-e. yes, we buried him there on the lone praire-e-e where the owl all night hoots mournfulle-e-e and the blizzard beats and the wind blows free o'er his lonely grave on the lone praire-e-e. and the cowboys now as they roam the plain"---- "hey, choke off on that!" growled purdy as he advanced with rattling spurs. "puts me in mind of _him_--back there in big dry. 'spose i ort to buried him, but it don't make no difference, now." he passed a small phial across the bar. "fifteen or twenty drops," he said laconically, and laughed. "nothin' like keepin' yer eyes an' ears open. doc kicked like a steer first, but he seen i had his hide hung on the fence onless he loosened up. but he sure wouldn't weep none at my demise. if ever i git sick i'll have some other doc. i'd as soon send fer a rattlesnake." the man glanced at the clock. "it's workin' 'long to'ards noon, i'll jest slip down to the long horn an' stampede the bunch over here." chapter iv cinnabar joe in the dining car of the side-tracked train alice marcum's glance strayed from the face of her table companion to the window. another cavalcade of riders had swept into town and with a chorus of wild yells the crowd in the long horn surged out to greet them. a moment later the dismounted ones rushed to their horses, leaped into the saddles and, joined by the newcomers, dashed at top speed for perhaps thirty yards and dismounted to crowd into another saloon across whose front the word headquarters was emblazoned in letters of flaming red. "they're just like a lot of boys," exclaimed the girl with a smile, "the idea of anybody mounting a horse to ride _that_ distance!" "they're a rough lot, i guess." winthrop adams endicott studied his menu card. "rough! of course they're rough! why shouldn't they be rough? think of the work they do--rain or shine, riding out there on the plains. when they get to town they've earned the right to play as they want to play! i'd be rough, too, if i lived the life they live. and if i were a man i'd be right over there with them this minute." "why be a man?" smiled endicott. "you have the mayor's own word for the breadth of wolf river's ideas. as for myself, i don't drink and wouldn't enjoy that sort of thing. besides, if i were over there i would have to forgo----" "no pretty little speeches, _please_. at least you can spare me that." "but, alice, i mean it, really. and----" "save 'em for the cincinnati girls. they'll believe 'em. who do you think will win this afternoon. let's bet! i'll bet you a--an umbrella against a pair of gloves, that my cavalier of the yellow fur trousers will win the bucking contest, and----" "our train may pull out before the thing is over, and we would never know who won." "oh, yes we will, because we're going to stay for the finish. why, i wouldn't miss this afternoon's fun if forty trains pulled out!" "i ought to be in chicago day after tomorrow," objected the man. "i ought to be, too. but i'm not going to be. for heaven's sake, winthrop, for once in your life, do something you oughtn't to do!" "all right," laughed the man with a gesture of surrender. "and for the rope throwing contest i'll pick the other." "what other?" the girl's eyes strayed past the little wooden buildings of the town to the clean-cut rim of the bench. "why the other who rode after your handkerchief. the fellow who lassoed the honourable mayor and was guilty of springing the pun." the girl nodded with her eyes still on the skyline. "oh, yes. he seemed--somehow--different. as if people amused him. as if everything were a joke and he were the only one who knew it was a joke. i could _hate_ a man like that. the other, mr. purdy, hates him." the man regarded her with an amused smile: "you keep a sort of mental card index. i should like to have just a peep at my card." "cards sometimes have to be rewritten--and sometimes it really isn't worth while to fill them out again. come on, let's go. people are beginning to gather for the fun and i want a good seat. there's a lumber pile over there that'll be just the place, if we hurry." in the headquarters saloon tex benton leaned against the end of the bar and listened to a bear paw pool man relate how they took in a bunch of pilgrims with a badger game down in glasgow. little knots of cowpunchers stood about drinking at the bar or discussing the coming celebration. "they've got a bunch of bad ones down in the corral," someone said. "that ol' roman nose, an' the wall-eyed pinto, besides a lot of snorty lookin' young broncs. i tell yeh if tex draws either one of them ol' outlaws it hain't no cinch he'll grab off this ride. the _hombre_ that throws his kak on one of them is a-goin' to do a little sky-ballin' 'fore he hits the dirt, you bet. but jest the same i'm here to bet ten to eight on him before the drawin'." purdy who had joined the next group turned at the words. "i'll jest take that," he snapped. "because tex has drug down the last two buckin' contests hain't no sign he c'n go south with 'em all." at the end of the bar tex grinned as he saw purdy produce a roll of bills. "an', by gosh!" the bear paw pool man was saying, "when they'd all got their money down an' the bull dog was a-clawin' the floor to git at the badger, an' the pilgrims was crowded around with their eyes a-bungin' out of their heads, ol' two dot wilson, he shoves the barrel over an' they wasn't a doggone thing in under it but a----" "what yeh goin' to have, youse?" purdy had caught sight of tex who stood between the bear paw pool man and bat lajune. "i'm bettin' agin' yeh winnin' the buckin' contest, but i'll buy yeh a drink." tex grinned as his eyes travelled with slow insolence over the other's outfit. "you're sure got up some colourful, jack," he drawled. "if you sh'd happen to crawl up into the middle of one of them real outlaws they got down in the corral, an' quit him on the top end of a high one, you're a-goin' to look like a rainbow before you git back." the other scowled: "i guess if i tie onto one of them outlaws yeh'll see me climb off 'bout the time the money's ready. yeh texas fellers comes up here an' makes yer brag about showin' us montana boys how to ride our own horses. but it's real money talks! i don't notice you backin' up yer brag with no real _dinero_." tex was still smiling. "that's because i ain't found anyone damn fool enough to bet agin' me." "didn't i jest tell yeh i was bettin' agin' you?" "don't bet enough to hurt you none. how much you got, three dollars? an' how much odds you got to get before you'll risk 'em?" purdy reached for his hip pocket. "jest to show yeh what i think of yer ridin' i'll bet yeh even yeh don't win." "well," drawled the texan, "seein' as they won't be only about ten fellows ride, that makes the odds somewhere around ten to one, which is about right. how much you want to bet?" with his fingers clutching his roll of bills, purdy's eyes sought the face of cinnabar joe. for an instant he hesitated and then slammed the roll onto the bar. "she goes as she lays. count it!" the bartender picked up the money and ran it through. "eighty-five," he announced, laconically. "that's more'n i got on me," said tex ruefully, as he smoothed out three or four crumpled bills and capped the pile with a gold piece. purdy sneered: "it's money talks," he repeated truculently. "'tain't hardly worth while foolin' with no piker bets but if that's the best yeh c'n do i'll drag down to it." he reached for his roll. "hold on!" the texan was still smiling but there was a hard note in his voice. "she goes as she lays." he turned to the half-breed who stood close at his elbow. "bat. d'you recollect one night back in las vegas them four bits i loant you? well, just you shell out about forty dollars interest on them four bits an' we'll call it square for a while." the half-breed smiled broadly and handed over his roll. "forty-five, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty--" counted tex, and with a five-dollar bill between his thumb and forefinger, eyed purdy condescendingly: "i'm a-goin' to let you drag down that five if you want to," he said, "'cause you've sure kissed good-bye to the rest of it. they ain't any of your doggoned montana school-ma'm-cayuses but what i c'n ride slick-heeled, an' with my spurs on--" he paused; "better drag down the five. you might need a little loose change if that girl should happen to get thirsty between dances." "jest leave it lay," retorted purdy; "an' at that, i'll bet i buy her more drinks than what you do." tex laughed: "sure. but there ain't nothin' in buyin' 'em drinks. i've bought 'em drinks all night an' then some other _hombre_'d step in an'----" "i'd bet yeh on _that_, too. i didn't notice her fallin' no hell of a ways fer you." "mebbe not. i wasn't noticin' her much. i was kind of studyin' the pilgrim that was along with her." "what's he got to do with it?" "that's what i was tryin' to figger out. but, hey, cinnabar, how about that drink? i'm dry as a post-hole." "fill 'em up, cinnabar. i'm makin' this noise," seconded purdy. and as the texan turned to greet an acquaintance, he caught out of the tail of his eye the glance that flashed between purdy and the bartender. noticed, also out of the tail of his eye, that, contrary to custom, cinnabar filled the glasses himself and that a few drops of colourless liquid splashed from the man's palm into the liquor that was shoved toward him. the texan knew that purdy had watched the operation interestedly and that he straightened with an audible sigh of relief at its conclusion. "come on, drink up!" purdy raised his glass as tex faced the bar with narrowed eyes. "what's them fellows up to?" cried cinnabar joe, and as purdy turned, glass in hand, to follow his glance tex saw the bartender swiftly substitute his own glass for the one into which he had dropped the liquid. the next instant purdy was again facing him. "what fellers?" he asked sharply. cinnabar joe laughed: "oh, that bear paw pool bunch. fellow's got to keep his eye peeled whenever they git their heads together. here's luck." for only an instant did tex hesitate while his brain worked rapidly. "there's somethin' bein' pulled off here," he reasoned, "that i ain't next to. if that booze was doped why did cinnabar drink it? anyways, he pulled that stall on purdy fer some reason an' it's up to me to see him through with it. but if i do git doped it won't kill me an' when i come alive they's a couple of fellows goin' to have to ride like hell to keep ahead of me." he drank the liquor and as he returned the glass to the bar he noted the glance of satisfaction that flashed into purdy's eyes. "come on, boys, let's git things a-goin'!" mayor maloney stood in the doorway and beamed good humouredly: "'tain't every cowtown's got a bank an' us wolf riverites has got to do ourself proud. every rancher an' nester in forty mile around has drove in. the flat's rimmed with wagons an' them train folks is cocked up on the lumber piles a-chickerin' like a prairie-dog town. we'll pull off the racin' an' trick ridin' an' shootin' first an' save the ropin' an' buckin' contests to finish off on. come on, you've all had enough to drink. jump on your horses an' ride out on the flat like hell was tore loose fer recess. then when i denounce what's a-comin', them that's goin' to complete goes at it, an' the rest pulls off to one side an' looks on 'til their turn comes." a six-shooter roared and a bullet crashed into the ceiling. "git out of the way we're a-goin' by!" howled someone, and instantly the chorus drowned the rattle of spurs and the clatter of high-heeled boots as the men crowded to the door. "cowboys out on a yip ti yi! coyotes howl and night birds cry and we'll be cowboys 'til we die!" out in the street horses snorted and whirled against each other, spurs rattled, and leather creaked as the men leaped into their saddles. with a thunder of hoofs, a whirl of white dust, the slapping of quirts and ropes against horses' flanks, the wicked bark of forty-fives, and a series of comanche-like yells the cowboys dashed out onto the flat. once more tex benton found himself drawn up side by side with jack purdy before the girl, for whose handkerchief they had raced. both waved their hats, and alice smiled as she waved her handkerchief in return. "looks like i was settin' back with an ace in the hole, so far," muttered tex, audibly. purdy scowled: "ace in the hole's all right _sometimes_. but it's the lad that trails along with a pair of deuces back to back that comes up with the chips, cashin' in time." slim maloney announced a quarter-mile dash and when purdy lined up with the starters, tex quietly eased his horse between two wagons, and, slipping around behind the lumber-piles, rode back to the headquarters saloon. the place was deserted and in a chair beside a card table, with his head buried in his arms, sat cinnabar joe, asleep. the cowpuncher crossed the room and shook him roughly by the shoulder: "hey, joe--wake up!" the man rolled uneasily and his eyelids drew heavily apart. he mumbled incoherently. "wake up, joe!" the texan redoubled his efforts but the other relapsed into a stupor from which it was impossible to rouse him. a man hurrying past in the direction of the flats paused for a moment to peer into the open door. tex glanced up as he hurried on. "doc!" there was no response and the cowpuncher crossed to the door at a bound. the street was deserted, and without an instant's hesitation he dashed into the livery and feed barn next door whose wide aperture yawned deserted save for the switching of tails and the stamping of horses' feet in the stalls. the door of the harness room stood slightly ajar and tex jerked it open and entered. harness and saddles littered the floor and depended from long wooden pegs set into the wall while upon racks hung sweatpads and saddle blankets of every known kind and description. between the floor and the lower edge of the blankets that occupied a rack at the farther side of the room a pair of black leather shoes showed. "come on, doc, let's go get a drink." the shoes remained motionless. "gosh! there's a rat over in under them blankets!" a forty-five hammer was drawn back with a sharp click. the shoes left the floor simultaneously and the head and shoulders of a man appeared above the rack. "eh! was someone calling me?" "yeh, i was speakin' of rats----" "my hearing's getting bad. i was fishing around for my saddle blanket. those barn dogs never put anything where it belongs." "that's right. i said let's go get a drink. c'n you hear that?" tex noted that the man's face was white and that he was eyeing him intently, as he approached through the litter. "just had one, thanks. was on my way down to the flats to see the fun, and thought i'd see if my blanket had dried out all right." "yes? didn't you hear me when i hollered at you in the saloon a minute ago?" "no. didn't know any one was in there." "you're in a hell of a fix with your eyesight an' hearin' all shot to pieces, ain't you? but i reckon they're goin' to be the best part of you if you don't come along with me. cinnabar joe's be'n doped." "_cinnabar joe_!" the doctor's surprise was genuine. "yes. cinnabar joe. an' you better get on the job an' bring him to, or they'll be tossin' dry ones in on top of you about tomorrow. sold any drugs that w'd do a man that way, lately?" the doctor knitted his brow. "why let's see. i don't remember----" "your mem'ry ain't no better'n what your eyesight an' hearin' is, is it? i reckon mebbe a little jolt might get it to workin'." as tex talked even on, his fist shot out and landed squarely upon the other's nose and the doctor found himself stretched at full length among the saddles and odds and ends of harness. blood gushed from his nose and flowed in a broad wet stream across his cheek. he struggled weakly to his feet and interposed a shaking arm. "i didn't do anything to you," he whimpered. "no. i'm the one that's doin'. is your parts workin' better? 'cause if they ain't----" "what do you want to know? i'll tell you!" the man spoke hurriedly as he cringed from the doubling fist. "i know you sold the dope, 'cause when i told you about cinnabar you wasn't none surprised at the dope--but at who'd got it. you sold it to jack purdy an' you knew he aimed to give it to me. what's more, your eyesight an' hearin' is as good as mine. you seen me an' heard me in the saloon an' you was scairt an' run an' hid in the harness room. you're a coward, an' a crook, an' a damn liar! wolf river don't need you no more. you're a-comin' along with me an' fix cinnabar up an' then you're a-goin' to go down to the depot an' pick you out a train that don't make no local stops an' climb onto it an' ride 'til you get where the buffalo grass don't grow. that is, onless cinnabar should happen to cash in. if he does----" "he won't! he won't! it's only chloral. a little strychnine will fix him up." "better get busy then. 'cause if he ain't to in an hour or so you're a-goin' to flutter on the down end of a tight one. these here cross-arms on the railroad's telegraph poles is good an' stout an' has the added advantage of affordin' good observation for all, which if you use a cottonwood there's always some that can't see good on account of limbs an' branches bein' in the road----" "come over to the office 'til i get what i need and i'll bring him around all right!" broke in the doctor and hurried away, with the cowpuncher close at his heels. chapter v on the flat as mayor maloney had said, every rancher and nester within forty miles of wolf river had driven into town for the celebration. farm wagons, spring wagons, and automobiles were drawn wheel to wheel upon both sides of the flat. from the vehicles women and children in holiday attire applauded the feats of the cowboys with cheers and the waving of handkerchiefs, while the men stood about in groups and watched with apparent indifference as they talked of fences and flumes. from the top of the lumber piles, and the long low roof of the wool warehouse, the train passengers entered into the spirit of the fun gasping in horror at some seemingly miraculous escape from death beneath the pounding hoofs of the cow-horses, only to cheer themselves hoarse when they saw that the apparent misadventure had been purposely staged for their benefit. races were won by noses. hats, handkerchiefs, and even coins were snatched from the ground by riders who hung head and shoulder below their horses' bellies. mounts were exchanged at full gallop. playing cards were pierced by the bullets of riders who dashed past them at full speed. and men emptied their guns in the space of seconds without missing a shot. in each event the gaudily caparisoned jack purdy was at the fore, either winning or crowding the winner to his supremest effort. and it was purdy who furnished the real thrill of the shooting tournament when, with a six-shooter in each hand, he jumped an empty tomato can into the air at fifteen paces by sending a bullet into the ground beneath its base and pierced it with a bullet from each gun before it returned to earth. a half-dozen times he managed to slip over for a few words with alice marcum--a bit of explanation of a coming event, or a comment upon the fine points of a completed one, until unconsciously the girl's interest centred upon the dashing figure to an extent that she found herself following his every movement, straining forward when his supremacy hung in the balance, keenly disappointed when another wrested the honours from him, and jubilantly exultant at his victories. so engrossed was she in fallowing the fortunes of her knight that she failed to notice the growing disapproval of endicott, who sat frowning and silent by her side. failed, also, to notice that as purdy's attentions waxed more obvious she herself became the object of many a glance, and lip to ear observation from the occupants of the close-drawn vehicles. it was while mayor maloney was announcing the roping contest and explaining that the man who "roped, throw'd, an' hog-tied" his steer in the least number of seconds, would be the winner, that the girl's thoughts turned to the cowpuncher who earlier in the day had so skilfully demonstrated his ability with the lariat. in vain her eyes sought the faces of the cowboys. she turned to purdy who had edged his horse close beside the lumber pile. "where is your friend--the one who raced with you for my handkerchief?" she asked. "i haven't seen him since you both rode up in that first wild rush. he hasn't been in any of the contests." "no, mom," answered the cowpuncher, in tones of well-simulated regret; "he's--he's prob'ly over to some saloon. he's a good man some ways, tex is. but he can't keep off the booze." kicking his feet from the stirrups the man stood upright in his saddle and peered over the top of an intervening pile of lumber. "yes, i thought so. his horse is over in front of the headquarters. him an' cinnabar joe's prob'ly holdin' a booze histin' contest of their own." slipping easily into his seat, he unfastened the rope from his saddle, and began slowly to uncoil it. "all ready!" called the mayor. "_go git him_!" a huge black steer dashed out into the open with a cowboy in full pursuit, his loop swinging slowly above his head. down the middle of the flat they tore, the loop whirling faster as the horseman gained on his quarry. suddenly the rope shot out, a cloud of white dust rose into the air as the cow-horse stopped in his tracks, a moment of suspense, and the black steer dashed frantically about seeking an avenue of escape while in his wake trailed the rope like a long thin snake with its fangs fastened upon the frantic brute's neck. a roar of laughter went up from the crowd and purdy turned to the girl. "made a bad throw an' got him around the neck," he explained. "when you git 'em that way you got to turn 'em loose or they'll drag you all over the flat. a nine-hundred-pound horse hain't got no show ag'in a fifteen-hundred-pound steer with the rope on his neck. an' even if the horse would hold, the cinch wouldn't, so _he's_ out of it." the black steer was rounded up and chased from the arena, and once more mayor maloney, watch in hand, cried "_go git him_!" another steer dashed out and another cowboy with whirling loop thundered after him. the rope fell across the animal's shoulders and the loop swung under. the horse stopped, and the steer, his fore legs jerked from under him, fell heavily. to make his rope fast to the saddle-horn and slip to the ground leaving the horse to fight it out with the captive, was the work of a moment for the cowboy who approached the struggling animal, short rope in hand. purdy who was leaning over his saddle-horn, watching the man's every move, gave a cry of relief. "he's up behind! that'll fix your clock!" sure enough, the struggling animal had succeeded in regaining his hind legs and while the horse, with the cunning of long practice, kept his rope taut, the steer plunged about to such good purpose that precious seconds passed before the cowboy succeeded in making his tie-rope fast to a hind foot, jerking it from under the struggling animal, and securing it to the opposite fore foot. "three minutes an' forty-three seconds!" announced the mayor. "git ready for the next one. . . . _go git him_!" this time the feat was accomplished in a little over two minutes and the successful cowboy was greeted with a round of applause. several others missed their throws or got into difficulty, and purdy turned to the girl: "if i got any luck at all i'd ort to grab off this here contest. they hain't be'n no fancy ropin' done yet. if i c'n hind-leg mine they won't be nothin' to it." he rode swiftly away and a moment later, to the mayor's "_go git him_!" dashed out after a red and white steer that plunged down the field with head down and tail lashing the air. purdy crowded his quarry closer than had any of the others and with a swift sweep of his loop enmeshed the two hind legs of the steer. the next moment the animal was down and the cowpuncher had a hind foot fast in the tie rope, several seconds passed as the man fought for a fore foot--seconds which to the breathlessly watching girl seemed hours. suddenly he sprang erect. "one minute an' forty-nine seconds!" announced the mayor and the crowd cheered wildly. upon the lumber pile alice marcum ceased her handclapping as her eyes met those of a cowboy who had ridden up unobserved and sat his horse at almost the exact spot that had, a few moments before, been occupied by purdy. she was conscious of a start of surprise. the man sat easily in his saddle, and his eyes held an amused smile. once more the girl found herself resenting the smile that drew down the corner of the thin lips and managed to convey an amused tolerance or contempt on the part of its owner toward everything and everyone that came within its radius. "if they hain't no one else wants to try their hand," began the mayor, when the texan interrupted him: "reckon i'll take a shot at it if you've got a steer handy." "well, dog my cats! if i hadn't forgot you! where you be'n at? if you'd of got here on time you'd of stood a show gittin' one of them steers that's be'n draw'd. you hain't got no show now 'cause the onliest one left is a old long-geared roan renegade that's on the prod----" tex yawned: "jest you tell 'em to run him in, slim, an' i'll show you how we-all bust 'em wide open down in texas." three or four cowpunchers started for the corral with a whoop and a few minutes later the men who had been standing about in groups began to clamber into wagons or seek refuge behind the wheels as the lean roan steer shot out onto the flat bounding this way and that, the very embodiment of wild-eyed fury. but before he had gone twenty yards there was a thunder of hoofs in his wake and a cow-horse, his rider motionless as a stone image in his saddle, closed up the distance until he was running almost against the flank of the frenzied renegade. there was no preliminary whirling of rope. the man rode with his eyes fixed on the flying hind hoofs while a thin loop swung from his right hand, extended low and a little back. suddenly--so suddenly that the crowd was still wondering why the man didn't swing his rope, there was a blur of white dust, a brown streak as the cow-horse shot across the forefront of the big steer, the thud of a heavy body on the ground, the glimpse of a man-among the thrashing hoofs, and then a mighty heaving as the huge steer strained against the rope that bound his feet, while the cowboy shoved the stetson to the back of his head and felt for his tobacco and papers. "gosh sakes!" yelled mayor maloney excitedly as he stared at the watch in his hand. "fifty-seven seconds! they can't beat that down to cheyenne!" at the words, a mighty cheer went up from the crowd and everybody was talking at once. while over beside the big steer the cowboy mounted his pony and coiling his rope as he rode, joined the group of riders who lounged in their saddles and grinned their appreciation. "ladies an' gents," began the mayor, "you have jest witnessed a ropin' contest the winner of which is tex benton to beat who mclaughlin himself would have to do his da--doggondest! we will now conclood the afternoon's galaxity of spurious stars, as the circus bills says, with a buckin' contest which unneedless to say will conclood the afternoon's celebration of the openin' of a institoot that it's a credit to any town in reference to which i mean the wolf river citizen's bank in which we invite to whose vaults a fair share of your patrimony. while the boys is gittin' ready an' drawin' their horses a couple of gents will pass amongst you an' give out to one an' all, ladies an' gents alike, an' no favorytes played, a ticket good fer a free drink in any saloon in wolf river on the directors of the bank i have endeavoured to explain about which. after which they'll be a free feed at the _ho_tel also on the directors. owin' to the amount of folks on hand this here will be pulled off in relays, ladies furst, as they hain't room fer all to onct, but hank, here, claims he's got grub enough on hand so all will git a chanct to shove right out ag'in their belt. an' i might say right here in doo elegy of our feller townsman that hank c'n set out as fillin' an' tasty a meal of vittles as anyone ever cocked a lip over, barrin', of course, every married man's wife. "draw your horses, boys, an' git a-goin'!" alice marcum's surprise at tex benton's remarkable feat, after what purdy had told her, was nothing to the surprise and rage of purdy himself who had sat like an image throughout the performance. when the mayor began his oration purdy's eyes flashed rapidly over the crowd and seeing that neither cinnabar joe nor the doctor were present, slipped his horse around the end of the lumber pile and dashed for the doctor's office. "that damn doc'll wisht he hadn't never double-crossed me!" he growled, as he swung from the saddle before the horse had come to a stop. the office was empty and the man turned to the headquarters saloon. inside were the two men he sought, and he approached them with a snarl. "what the hell did yeh double-cross me for?" he shouted in a fury. the doctor pointed to cinnabar joe who, still dazed from the effect of the drug, leaned upon the table. "i didn't double-cross you. the wrong man got the dope, that's all." cinnabar joe regarded purdy dully. "he switched glasses," he muttered thickly. a swift look of fear flashed into purdy's eyes. "how'n hell did he know we fixed his licker?" he cried, for well he realized that if the texan had switched glasses he was cognizant of the attempt to dope him. moistening his lips with his tongue, the cowpuncher turned abruptly on his heel. "guess i'll be gittin' back where they's a lot of folks around," he muttered as he mounted his horse. "i got to try an' figger out if he knows it was me got cinnabar to dope his booze. an' if he does--" the man's face turned just a shade paler beneath the tan---- "i got to lay off this here buckin' contest. i hain't got the guts to tackle it." "have you drawn your horse?" he had reached the lumber pile and the girl was smiling down at him. he shook his head dolefully. "no, mom, i hain't a-goin' to ride. i spraint my shoulder ropin' that steer an' i just be'n over to see doc an' he says i should keep offen bad horses fer a spell. it's sure tough luck, too, 'cause i c'd of won if i c'd of rode. but i s'pose i'd ort to be satisfied, i drug down most of the other money--all but the ropin', an' i'd of had that if it hadn't of be'n fer tex benton's luck. an' he'll win ag'in, chances is--if his cinch holds. here he comes now; him an' that breed. they hain't never no more'n a rope's len'th apart. tex must have somethin' on him the way he dogs him around." the girl followed his glance to the texan who approached accompanied by bat lajune and a cowboy who led from the horn of his saddle a blaze-faced bay with a roman nose. as the three drew nearer the girl could see the mocking smile upon his lips as his eyes rested for a moment on purdy. "i don't like that man," she said, as though speaking to herself, "and yet----" "plenty others don't like him, too," growled purdy. "i'm glad he's draw'd that roman nose, 'cause he's the out-buckin'est outlaw that ever grow'd hair--him an' that pinto, yonder, that's hangin' back on the rope." the texan drew up directly in front of the lumber pile and ignoring purdy entirely, raised his stetson to the girl. the direct cutting of purdy had been obviously rude and alice marcum felt an increasing dislike for the man. she returned his greeting with a perfunctory nod and instantly felt her face grow hot with anger. the texan was laughing at her--was regarding her with an amused smile. a yell went up from the crowd and out on the flat beyond the texan, a horse, head down and back humped like an angry cat, was leaping into the air and striking the ground stiff-legged in a vain effort to shake the rider from his back. "'bout as lively as a mud turtle. he'll sulk in a minute," laughed the texan, and true to the prophecy, the horse ceased his efforts and stood with legs wide apart and nose to the ground. "whoopee!" "he's a ringtailed woozoo!" "thumb him!" "scratch him!" the crowd laughed and advised, and the cowboy thumbed and scratched, but the broncho's only sign of animation was a vicious switching of the tail. "next horse!" cried the mayor, and a horse shot out, leaving the ground before the rider was in the saddle. straight across the flat he bucked with the cowboy whipping higher and higher in the saddle as he tried in vain to catch his right stirrup. "he's a goner!" "he's clawin' leather!" to save himself a fall the rider had grabbed the horn of the saddle, and for him the contest was over. "come on, bat, we'll throw the shell on this old buzzard-head. i'm number seven an' there's three down!" called the texan. the two swung from the saddles and the roman-nosed outlaw pricked his ears and set against the rope with fore legs braced. the cowboy who had him in tow took an extra dally around the saddle horn as the texan, hackamore in hand, felt his way inch by inch along the taut lead-rope. as the man's hand touched his nose the outlaw shuddered and braced back until only the whites of his eyes showed. up came the hand and the rawhide hackamore slipped slowly into place. "he's a-goin' to ride with a hackamore!" cried someone as the texan busied himself with the knots. suddenly the lead-rope slackened and with a snort of fury the outlaw reared and lashed out with both forefeet. the texan stepped swiftly aside and as the horse's feet struck the ground the loaded end of a rawhide quirt smashed against his jaw. bat lajune removed the saddle from the texan's horse and stepped forward with the thick felt pad which tex, with a hand in the cheek-strap of the hackamore, brushed along the outlaw's sides a few times and then deftly threw over the animal's back. the horse, braced against the rope, stood trembling in every muscle while bat brought forward the saddle with the right stirrup-leather and cinch thrown back over the seat. as he was about to hand it to the texan he stopped suddenly and examined the cinch. then without a word carried it back, unsaddled his own horse, and taking the cinch from his saddle exchanged it for the other. "just as easy to switch cinches as it is drinks, ain't it, bat?" grinned tex. "ba goss! heem look lak' circle j boun' for be wan man short," replied the half-breed, and the girl, upon whom not a word nor a move had been lost, noticed that purdy's jaw tightened as the texan laughed at the apparently irrelevant remark. the outlaw shuddered as the heavy saddle was thrown upon his back and the cinch ring deftly caught with a loop of rope and made fast. out on the flat number four, on the pinto outlaw, had hit the dirt, number five had ridden through on a dead one, and number six had quit his in mid-air. "next horse--number seven!" called the mayor. the cowboy who had the broncho in tow headed out on the flat prepared to throw off his dallies and two others, including purdy, rode forward quirt in hand, to haze the hate-blinded outlaw from crashing into the wagons. with his hand gripping the cheek-strap, tex turned and looked straight into purdy's eyes. "go crawl under a wagon an' chaw a bone," he said in a low even voice, "i'll whistle when i want _you_." for an instant the men's glances locked, while the onlookers held their breath. purdy was not a physical coward. the insult was direct, uttered distinctly, and in the hearing of a crowd. at his hip was the six-gun with which he had just won a shooting contest--yet he did not draw. the silence was becoming painful when the man shrugged, and without a word, turned his horse away. someone laughed, and the tension broke with a hum of low-voiced conversation. "next horse, ready!" as the crowd drew back alice marcum leaned close to purdy's ear. "i think it was splendid!" she whispered; "it was the bravest thing i ever saw." the man could scarcely believe his ears. "is she kiddin' me?" he wondered, as he forced his glance to the girl's face. but no, she was in earnest, and in her eyes the man read undisguised admiration. she was speaking again. "any one of these," she indicated the crowd with a sweep of her gloved hand, "would have shot him, but it takes a real man to preserve perfect self-control under insult." the cowpuncher drew a long breath. "yes; mom," he answered; "it was pretty tough to swaller that. but somehow i kind of--of hated to shoot him." inwardly he was puzzled. what did the girl mean? he realized that she was in earnest and that he had suddenly become a hero in her eyes. fate was playing strangely into his hands. a glitter of triumph flashed into his eyes, a glitter that faded into a look of wistfulness as they raised once more to hers. "would you go to the dance with me tonight, mom? these others--they don't git me right. they'll think i didn't dast to shoot it out with him." the girl hesitated, and the cowpuncher continued. "the transfer train's pulled out an' the trussle won't be fixed 'til mornin', you might's well take in the dance." beside her endicott moved uneasily. "certainly not!" he exclaimed curtly as his eyes met purdy's. and then, to the girl, "if you are bound to attend that performance you can go with me." "oh, i can go with you, can i?" asked the girl sweetly. "well thank you so much, winthrop, but really you will have to excuse me. mr. purdy asked me first." there was a sudden flash of daring in her eyes as she turned to the cowpuncher. "i shall be very glad to go," she said; "will you call for me at the car?" "i sure will," he answered, and turned his eyes toward the flats. this was to be _his_ night, his last on the wolf river range, he realized savagely. in the morning he must ride very far away. for before the eyes of all wolf river he had swallowed an insult. and the man knew that wolf river knew why he did not shoot. chapter vi the rim of the bench out on the flat the texan was riding "straight up" amid a whirl of white dust. "fan him, tex!" "stay with him!" the cries of the cowboys cut high above the chorus of yelling applause as the furious outlaw tried every known trick to unseat the rider. high in the air he bucked, swapping ends like a flash, and landing with all four feet "on a dollar," his legs stiff as jack-pine posts. the texan rode with one hand gripping the hackamore rope and the other his quirt which stung and bit into the frenzied animal's shoulders each time he hit the ground. in a perfect storm of fury the horse plunged, twisted, sunfished, and bucked to free himself of the rider who swayed easily in the saddle and raked him flank and sides with his huge rowelled spurs. "stay a long time!" "scratch him, tex!" yelled the delighted cowpunchers. suddenly the yells of appreciation gave place to gasps even from the initiated, as the rage-crazed animal leaped high into the air and throwing himself backward, crashed to the ground squarely upon his back. as the dust cloud lifted the texan stood beside him, one foot still in the stirrup, slashing right and left across the struggling brute's ears with his braided quirt. the outlaw leaped to his feet with the cowboy in the saddle and the crowd went wild. then with the enthusiasm at its height, the man jerked at his hackamore knot, and the next moment the horse's head was free and the rider rode "on his balance" without the sustaining grip on the hackamore rope to hold him firm in his saddle. the sudden loosening of the rawhide thongs gave the outlaw new life. he sunk his head and redoubled his efforts, as with quirt in one hand and hackamore in the other the cowboy lashed his shoulders while his spurs raked the animal to a bloody foam. slower and slower the outlaw fought, pausing now and then to scream shrilly as with bared teeth and blazing eyes he turned this way and that, sucking the air in great blasts through his blood-dripping nostrils. at last he was done. conquered. for a moment he stood trembling in every muscle, and as he sank slowly to his knees, the texan stepped smiling from the saddle. "sometime, slim," he grinned as he reached for his tobacco and papers, "if you-all can get holt of a horse that ain't plumb gentle, i'll show you a real ride." all about was the confusion attendant to the breaking-up of the crowd. men yelled at horses as they hitched them to the wagons. pedestrians, hurrying with their tickets toward the saloons, dodged from under the feet of cowboys' horses, and the flat became a tangle of wagons with shouting drivers. alice marcum stood upon the edge of the lumber-pile with the wind whipping her skirts about her silk stockings as the texan, saddle over his arm, glanced up and waved, a gauntleted hand. the girl returned the greeting with a cold-eyed stare and once more found herself growing furiously angry. for the man's lips twisted into their cynical smile as his eyes rested for a moment upon her own, shifted, lingered with undisguised approval upon her silk stockings, and with devilish boldness, returned to her own again. suddenly his words flashed through her brain. "i always get what i go after--sometimes." she recalled the consummate skill with which he had conquered the renegade steer and the outlaw broncho--mastered them completely, and yet always in an off-hand manner as though the thing amused him. never for a moment had he seemed to exert himself--never to be conscious of effort. despite herself the girl shuddered nervously, and ignoring endicott's proffer of assistance, scrambled to the ground and hastened toward her coach. a young lady who possessed in a high degree a very wholesome love of adventure, alice marcum coupled with it a very unwholesome habit of acting on impulse. as unamenable to reason as she was impervious to argument, those who would remonstrate with her invariably found themselves worsted by the simple and easy process of turning their weapons of attack into barriers of defence. thus when, an hour later, winthrop adams endicott found her seated alone at a little table in the dining-car he was agreeably surprised when she greeted him with a smile and motioned him into the chair opposite. "for goodness' sake, winthrop, sit down and talk to me. there's nothing so stupid as dining alone--and especially when you want to talk to somebody." as endicott seated himself, she rattled on: "i wanted to go to that preposterous supper they are going to 'dish up' at the hotel, but when i found they were going to separate the 'ladies and gents' and feed them in relays, i somehow lost the urge. the men, most of them, are interesting--but the women are deadly. i know just what it would be--caught snatches of it from the wagons during the lulls--preserves, and babies, and what harry's ma died of. the men carry an atmosphere of unrestraint--of freshness----" endicott interrupted her with a nod: "yes," he observed, dryly, "i believe that is the term----" "don't be guilty of a pun, winthrop. at least, not a slangy one. it's quite unsuited to your style of beauty. but, really, wasn't it all delightful? did you ever see such riding, and shooting, and lassoing?" "no. but i have never lived in a country where it is done. i have always understood that cowboys were proficient along those lines, but why shouldn't they be? it's their business----" "there you go--reducing everything to terms of business! can't you see the romance of it--what it stands for? the wild free life of the plains, the daily battling with the elements, and the mastery of nerve and skill over blind brute force and fury! i love it! and tonight i'm going to a real cowboy dance." "alice!" the word carried a note of grave disapproval. "surely you were not serious about attending that orgy!" the girl stared at him in surprise. "serious! of course i'm serious! when will i ever get another chance to attend a cowboy dance--and with a real cowboy, too?" "the whole thing is preposterous! perfectly absurd! if you are bound to attend that affair i will take you there, and we can look on and----" "i don't want to look on. i want to dance--to be in it all. it will be an experience i'll never forget." the man nodded: "and one you may never cease to regret. what do you know of that man? of his character; of his antecedents? he may be the veriest desperado for all you know." the girl clapped her hands in mock delight: "oh, wouldn't that be grand! i hadn't thought of that. to attend a dance with just a plain cowboy doesn't fall to every girl's lot, but one who is a cowboy and a desperado, too!" she rolled her eyes to express the seventh heavendom of delight. endicott ignored the mockery. "i am sure neither your mother nor your father----" "no, neither of them would approve, of course. but really, winthrop, i'm way past the short petticoat stage--though the way they're making them now nobody would guess it. i know it's improper and unconventional and that it isn't done east of the mississippi nor west of the rocky mountains. but when in rome do as the roamers do, as someone has said. and as for mr. purdy," she paused and looked endicott squarely in the eyes. "do you know why he didn't shoot that disgusting tex when he insulted him?" endicott nodded. "yes," he answered. "because he was afraid to." colour suffused the girl's face and she arose abruptly from the table. "at least," she said haughtily, "you and wolf river are thoroughly in accord on _that_ point." as the man watched her disappear through the doorway he became aware that the fat woman who had sought refuge under the coach was staring at him through her lorgnette from her seat across the aisle. "young man, i believe you insulted that girl!" she wheezed indignantly. "you should be a detective, madam. not even a great one could be farther from the truth," he replied dryly, and rising, passed into the smoking compartment of his pullman where he consumed innumerable cigarettes as he stared out into the gathering night. seated in her own section of the same pullman, alice marcum sat and watched the twilight deepen and the lights of the little town twinkle one by one from the windows. alone in the darkening coach the girl was not nearly so sure she was going to enjoy her forthcoming adventure. loud shouts, accompanied by hilarious laughter and an occasional pistol shot, floated across the flat. she pressed her lips tighter and heartily wished that she had declined purdy's invitation. it was not too late, yet. she could plead a headache, or a slight indisposition. she knew perfectly well that endicott had been right and she wrong but, with the thought, the very feminine perversity of her strengthened her determination to see the adventure through. "men are such fools!" she muttered angrily. "i'll only stay a little while, of course, but i'm going to that dance if it is the last thing i ever do--just to show him that--that--" her words trailed into silence without expressing just what it was she intended to show him. as the minutes passed the girl's eyes glowed with a spark of hope. "maybe," she muttered, "maybe mr. purdy has forgotten, or--" the sentence broke off shortly. across the flat a rider was approaching and beside him trotted a lead-horse upon whose back was an empty saddle. for just an instant she hesitated, then rose from her seat and walked boldly to the door of the coach. "good evenin', mom," the cowboy smiled as he dismounted to assist her from the steps of the coach. "good evening," returned the girl. "but, you needn't to have gone to the trouble of bringing a horse just to ride that little way." "'twasn't no trouble, mom, an' he's woman broke. i figured yeh wouldn't have no ridin' outfit along so i loant a sideways saddle offen a friend of mine which his gal usta use before she learnt to ride straddle. the horse is hern, too, an' gentle as a dog. here i'll give yeh a h'ist." the lead-horse nickered softly, and reaching up, the girl stroked his velvet nose. "he's woman broke," repeated the cowboy, and as alice looked up her eyes strayed past him to the window of the coach where they met endicott's steady gaze. the next moment purdy was lifting her into the saddle, and without a backward glance the two rode out across the flat. the girl was a devoted horsewoman and with the feel of the horse under her, her spirits revived and she drew in a long breath of the fragrant night. there was a living tang to the air, soft with the balm of june, and as they rode side by side the cowboy pointed toward the east where the sharp edge of the bench cut the rim of the rising moon. alice gasped at the beauty of it. the horses stopped and the two watched in silence until the great red disc rose clear of the clean-cut sky-line. about the wreck torches flared and the night was torn by the clang and rattle of gears as the great crane swung a boxcar to the side. the single street was filled with people--women and men from the wagons, and cowboys who dashed past on their horses or clumped along the wooden sidewalk with a musical jangle of spurs. the dance-hall was a blaze of light toward which the people flocked like moths to a candle flame. as they pushed the horses past, the girl glanced in. framed in the doorway stood a man whose eyes met hers squarely--eyes that, in the lamplight seemed to smile cynically as they strayed past her and rested for a moment upon her companion, even as the thin lips were drawn downward at their corners in a sardonic grin. unconsciously she brought her quirt down sharply, and her horse, glad of the chance to stretch his legs after several days in the stall, bounded forward and taking the bit in his teeth shot past the little cluster of stores and saloons, past the straggling row of houses and headed out on the trail that wound in and out among the cottonwood clumps of the valley. at first, the girl tried vainly to check the pace, but as the animal settled to a steady run a spirit of wild exhilaration took possession of her--the feel of the horse bounding beneath her, the muffled thud of his hoofs in the soft sand of the trail, the alternating patches of moonlight and shadow, and the keen tang of the night air--all seemed calling her, urging her on. at the point where the trail rose abruptly in its ascent to the bench, the horse slackened his pace and she brought him to a stand, and for the first time since she left the town, realized she was not alone. the realization gave her a momentary start, as purdy reined in close beside her; but a glance into the man's face reassured her. "oh, isn't it just grand! i feel as if i could ride on, and on, and on." the man nodded and pointed upward where the surface of the bench cut the sky-line sharply. "yes, mom," he answered respectfully. "if yeh'd admire to, we c'n foller the trail to the top an' ride a ways along the rim of the bench. if you like scenes, that ort to be worth while lookin' at. the dance won't git a-goin' good fer an hour yet 'til the folks gits het up to it." for a moment alice hesitated. the romance of the night was upon her. every nerve tingled, with the feel of the wild. her glance wandered from the rim of the bench to the cowboy, a picturesque figure as he sat easily in his saddle, a figure toned by the soft touch of the moonlight to an intrinsic symbolism of vast open spaces. something warned her to go back, but--what harm could there be in just riding to the top? only for a moment--a moment in which she could feast her eyes upon the widespread panorama of moonlit wonder--and then, they would be in the little town again before the dance was in full swing. in her mind's eye she saw endicott's disapproving frown, and with a tightening of the lips she started her horse up the hill and the cowboy drew in beside her, the soft brim of his stetson concealing the glance of triumph that flashed from his eyes. the trail slanted upward through a narrow coulee that reached the bench level a half-mile back from the valley. as the two came out into the open the girl once more reined her horse to a standstill. before her, far away across the moonlit plain the bear paws loomed in mysterious grandeur. the clean-cut outline of miles butte, standing apart from the main range, might have been an egyptian pyramid rising abruptly from the desert. from the very centre of the sea of peaks the snow-capped summit of big baldy towered high above tiger ridge, and saw tooth projected its serried crown until it seemed to merge into the little rockies which rose indistinct out of the dim beyond. the cowboy turned abruptly from the trail and the two headed their horses for the valley rim, the animals picking their way through the patches of prickly pears and clumps of low sage whose fragrant aroma rose as a delicate incense to the nostrils of the girl. upon the very brink of the valley they halted, and in awed silence alice sat drinking in the exquisite beauty of the scene. before her as far as the eye could see spread the broad reach of the milk river valley, its obfusk depths relieved here and there by bright patches of moonlight, while down the centre, twisting in and out among the dark clumps of cottonwoods, the river wound like a ribbon of gleaming silver. at widely scattered intervals the tiny lights of ranch houses glowed dull yellow in the distance, and almost at her feet the clustering lights of the town shone from the open windows and doors of buildings which stood out distinctly in the moonlight, like a village in miniature. faint sounds, scarcely audible in the stillness of the night floated upward--the thin whine of fiddles, a shot now and then from the pistol of an exuberant cowboy sounding tiny and far away like the report of a boy's pop-gun. the torches of the wrecking crew flickered feebly and the drone of their hoisting gears scarce broke the spell of the silence. minutes passed as the girl's eyes feasted upon the details of the scene. "oh, isn't it wonderful!" she breathed, and then in swift alarm, glanced suddenly into the man's face. unnoticed he had edged his horse close so that his leg brushed hers in the saddle. the hat brim did not conceal the eyes now, that stared boldly into her face and in sudden terror the girl attempted to whirl her horse toward the trail. but the man's arm shot out and encircled her waist and his hot breath was upon her cheek. with all the strength of her arm she swung her quirt, but purdy held her close; the blow served only to frighten the horses which leaped apart, and the girl felt herself dragged from the saddle. in the smoking compartment of the pullman, endicott finished a cigarette as he watched the girl ride toward the town in company with purdy. "she's a--a headstrong _little fool_!" he growled under his breath. he straightened out his legs and stared gloomily at the brass cuspidor. "well, i'm through. i vowed once before i'd never have anything more to do with her--and yet--" he hurled the cigarette at the cuspidor and took a turn up and down the cramped quarters of the little room. then he stalked to his seat, met the fat lady's outraged stare with an ungentlemanly scowl, procured his hat, and stamped off across the flat in the direction of the dance-hall. as he entered the room a feeling of repugnance came over him. the floor was filled with noisy dancers, and upon a low platform at the opposite end of the room three shirt-sleeved, collarless fiddlers sawed away at their instruments, as they marked time with boots and bodies, pausing at intervals to mop their sweat-glistening faces, or to swig from a bottle proffered by a passing dancer. rows of onlookers of both sexes crowded the walls and endicott's glance travelled from face to face in a vain search for the girl. a little apart from the others the texan leaned against the wall. the smoke from a limp cigarette which dangled from the corner of his lips curled upward, and through the haze of it endicott saw that the man was smiling unpleasantly. their eyes met and endicott turned toward the door in hope of finding the girl among the crowd that thronged the street. hardly had he reached the sidewalk when he felt a hand upon his arm, and turned to stare in surprise into the dark features of a half-breed,--the same, he remembered, who had helped the texan to saddle the outlaw. with a swift motion of the head the man signalled him to follow, and turned abruptly into the deep shadow of an alley that led along the side of the livery bam. something in the half-breed's manner caused endicott to obey without hesitation and a moment later the man turned and faced him. "you hont you 'oman?" endicott nodded impatiently and the half-breed continued: "she gon' ridin' wit purdy." he pointed toward the winding trail. "mebbe-so you hur' oop, you ketch." without waiting for a reply the man slipped the revolver from his holster and pressed it into the astonished endicott's hand, and catching him by the sleeve, hurried him to the rear of the stable where, tied to the fence of the corral, two horses stood saddled. loosing one, the man passed him the bridle reins. "dat hoss, she damn good hoss. mebbe-so you ride lak' hell you com' long in tam'. dat purdy, she not t'ink you got de gun, mebbe-so you git chance to kill um good." as the full significance of the man's words dawned upon him endicott leaped into the saddle and, dashing from the alley, headed at full speed out upon the winding, sandy trail. on and on he sped, flashing in and out among the clumps of cottonwood. at the rise of the trail he halted suddenly to peer ahead and listen. a full minute he stood while in his ears sounded only the low hum of mosquitoes and the far-off grind of derrick wheels. he glanced upward and for a moment his heart stood still. far above, on the rim of the bench, silhouetted clearly against the moonlight sky were two figures on horseback. even as he looked the figures blended together--there was a swift commotion, a riderless horse dashed from view, and the next moment the sky-line showed only the rim of the bench. the moon turned blood-red. and with a curse that sounded in his ears like the snarl of a beast, winthrop adams endicott tightened his grip upon the revolver and headed the horse up the steep ascent. the feel of his horse labouring up the trail held nothing of exhilaration for endicott. he had galloped out of wolf river with the words of the half-breed ringing in his ears: "mebbe-so you ride lak' hell you com' long in tam'!" but, would he "com' long in tam'"? there had been something of sinister portent in that swift merging together of the two figures upon the sky-line, and in the flash-like glimpse of the riderless horse. frantically he dug his spurless heels into the labouring sides of his mount. "mebbe-so you kill um good," the man had said at parting, and as endicott rode he knew that he would kill, and for him the knowledge held nothing of repugnance--only a wild fierce joy. he looked at the revolver in his hand. never before had the hand held a lethal weapon, yet no slightest doubt as to his ability to use it entered his brain. above him, somewhere upon the plain beyond the bench rim, the woman he loved was at the mercy of a man whom endicott instinctively knew would stop at nothing to gain an end. the thought that the man he intended to kill was armed and that he was a dead shot never entered his head, nor did he remember that the woman had mocked and ignored him, and against his advice had wilfully placed herself in the man's power. she had harried and exasperated him beyond measure--and yet he loved her. the trail grew suddenly lighter. the walls of the coulee flattened into a wide expanse of open. mountains loomed in the distance and in the white moonlight a riderless horse ceased snipping grass, raised his head, and with ears cocked forward, stared at him. in a fever of suspense endicott gazed about him, straining his eyes to penetrate the half-light, but the plain stretched endlessly away, and upon its surface was no living, moving thing. suddenly his horse pricked his ears and sniffed. out of a near-by depression that did not show in the moonlight another horse appeared. it, too, was riderless, and the next instant, from the same direction sounded a low, muffled cry and, leaping from his saddle, he dashed toward the spot. the sage grew higher in the depression which was the head of a branch of the coulee by means of which the trail gained the bench, and as he plunged in, the head and shoulders of a man appeared above a bush. endicott was very close when the man pushed something fiercely from him, and the body of a woman crashed heavily into the sage. levelling the gun, he fired. the shot rang loud, and upon the edge of the depression a horse snorted nervously. the man pitched forward and lay sprawled grotesquely upon the ground and endicott saw that his extended hand grasped a revolver. dully he stared at the thing on the ground at his feet. there was a movement in the scrub and alice marcum stood beside him. he glanced into her face. and as her eyes strayed from the sprawling figure to meet his, endicott read in their depths that which caused his heart to race madly. she stepped toward him and suddenly both paused to listen. the girl's face turned chalk-white in the moonlight. from the direction of the coulee came the sound of horses' hoofs pounding the trail! chapter vii the arrest bat lajune grinned into the dark as the galloping cow-horse carried endicott out upon the trail of purdy and the girl. "a'm t'ink dat wan good job. mebbe-so de pilgrim keel purdy, _bien_! mebbe-so purdy keel de pilgrim, den de sheriff ketch purdy an' she got for git hang--dat pret' good, too. anyhow, tex, she don' got for bodder 'bout keel purdy no mor'. tex kin keel him all right, but dat purdy she damn good shot, too. mebbe-so she git de drop on tex. den afterwards, me--a'm got to fool 'roun' an' keel purdy, an' mebbe-so a'm hang for dat, too. wat de hell!" a man rode up to the corral and tied his horse to the fence. the half-breed drew into the shadow. "dat sam moore," he muttered. "she dipity sher'ff, an' she goin' try for git 'lect for de beeg sher'ff dis fall. mebbe-so she lak' for git chanct for 'rest som'one. a'm goin' see 'bout dat." he stepped to the side of the man, who started nervously and peered into his face. "hello, bat, what the devil you doin' prowlin' around here? why hain't you in dancin'?" the half-breed shrugged: "me, a'm no lak' for dance mooch. she don' do no good. anyhow, a'm hont 'roun' for fin' you. a'm t'ink mebbe-so you better com' 'long wit' me." "come along with you! what's on yer mind?" suddenly the man straightened: "say, look a here, if you're up to helpin' tex benton pull off any gag on me, you've picked the wrong hand, see!" the other shook his head vigorously: "_non_! tex, she goin' in de dance-hall. she don' know nuthin' 'bout w'at a'm know." "what you drivin' at? come on, spit 'er out! i hain't a-goin' to fool 'round here all night an' miss the dancin'." bat stepped closer: "two mans an' wan 'oman gon' up de trail. a'm t'ink som'one goin' for git keel. mebbe-so we better gon' up an' see 'bout dat." "you're crazy as hell! the trail's free, hain't it? what business i got hornin' in on 'em? i come to town for to take in the dance, an' i'm a-goin' to. besides it's a good chanct to do a little 'lectioneerin'." once more bat shrugged, and turning away, began to untie his horse. "four ace johnson, over 'crost de riv', she dipity sher'ff, too. a'm hear she goin' run for de beeg sher'ff, nex' fall. a'm gon' over an' see if she no lak' to go 'long an' mak' de arres' if som'ting happen. mebbe-so w'en de votin' tam' com' 'long de men lak' for hav' choteau county sher'ff w'at kin mak' de arres' better as de sher'ff w'at kin dance good. _voila_!" without so much as a glance toward the other, he slipped into his saddle and started slowly down the alley. before he reached the street moore's horse pushed up beside him. "where's this here outfit?" he growled, with a glance toward the dance-hall lights, "an' what makes you think they's a-goin' to be gun-fightin'?" "a'm t'ink dey ain' so far," replied the half-breed as he swung into the trail at a trot. and although the impatient deputy plied him with a volley of questions the other vouchsafed no further information. midway of the ascent to the bench the two drew rein abruptly. from above, and at no great distance, rang the sound of a shot--then silence. the deputy glanced at the half-breed: "hey, bat," he whispered, "this here's a dangerous business!" "mebbe-so choteau county lak' to git de sher'ff w'at ain' so mooch scairt." "scairt! who's scairt? it hain't that. but i got a wife an' nine kids back there in the mountains, an' i'm a-goin' to deputize you." the half-breed shot him a look of sudden alarm: "_non_! _non_! better i lak' i ponch de cattle. you ke'p de nine wife an' de kid!" "you hain't got no more sense than a reservation injun!" growled the deputy. "what i mean is, you got to help me make this here arrest!" the half-breed grinned broadly: "me,--a'm de, w'at you call, de posse, eh? _bien_! com' on 'long den. mebbe-so we no ketch, you no git 'lect for sher'ff." at the head of the trail the deputy checked his galloping mount with a jerk and scrutinized the three riderless horses that stood huddled together. his face paled perceptibly. "oh, lord!" he gasped between stiffening lips: "it's tex, an' jack purdy, an' they've fit over cinnabar joe's gal!" he turned wrathfully toward bat. "why'n you tell me who it was up here, so's i could a gathered a man's-size posse?" he demanded. "whichever one of them two has shot up the other, they hain't goin' to be took in none peaceable. an' if they've killed one of each other a'ready, he ain't goin' to be none scrupulous about pottin' you an' me. chances is, they've got us covered right now. 'tain't noways percautious to go ahead--an' we don't dast to go back! bat, this is a hell of a place to be--an' it's your fault. mebbe they won't shoot a unarmed man--here bat, you take my gun an' go ahead. i'll tell 'em back there how you was game to the last. o-o-o-o-o! i got a turrible cramp in my stummick! i got to lay down. do your duty, bat, an' if i surmise this here attact, which i think it's the appendeetus, i'll tell 'em how you died with yer boots on in the service of yer country." the man forced his six-shooter into the half-breed's hand and, slipping limply from his saddle to the ground, wriggled swiftly into the shadow of a sage bush. bat moved his horse slowly forward as he peered about him. "if purdy keel de pilgrim, den a'm better look out. he don' lak' me nohow, 'cause a'm fin' out 'bout dat cinch. better a'm lak' sam moore, a'm git de 'pendeceet in my belly for li'l w'ile." he swung off his horse and flattening himself against the ground, advanced cautiously from bush to bush. at the edge of the depression he paused and stared at the two figures that huddled close together a few feet ahead. both were gazing toward the trail and in the moonlight he recognized the face of the pilgrim. with a smile of satisfaction the half-breed stood erect and advanced boldly. "you com' in tam', eh?" he asked, as with a nod endicott stepped toward him and handed him the revolver. "yes, just in time. i am deeply grateful to you." "eh?" the other's brows drew together. "i say, i thank you--for the gun, and for telling me----" "ha, dat's a'right. w'er' purdy?" the girl shuddered, as endicott pointed to the ground at some little distance away. the man advanced and bent over the prostrate form. "ba goss!" he exclaimed with a glance of admiration. "you shoot heem after de draw! _nom de dieu_! you good man wit' de gun! wer' you hit heem?" endicott shook his head. "i don't know. i saw him, and shot, and he fell." the half-breed was bending over the man on the ground. "you shoot heem on he's head," he approved, "dat pret' good place." he bent lower and a sibilant sound reached the ears of endicott and the girl. after a moment the man stood up and came toward them smiling. "a'm fin' out if she dead," he explained, casually. "a'm speet de tobac' juice in he's eye. if she wink she ain' dead. purdy, she don' wink no mor'. dat damn good t'ing." again alice marcum shuddered as endicott spoke: "can you find our horses?" he asked. "i must go to town and give myself up." "_oui_, a'm git de hoss' a'right. better you tak' 'em an' skeep off. a'm git on dat posse an' you bet we no ketch. a'm lak' you fine." "no! no!" endicott exclaimed. "if i have killed a man i shall stand trial for it. i won't sneak away like a common murderer. i know my act was no crime, let the decision of the jury be what it may." the half-breed regarded him with a puzzled frown. "you mean you lak' fer git arres'?" he asked in surprise. "why, of course! i--" the other interrupted with a laugh. "a'right. dat de kin' sam moore she lak' fer arres'. sam, she layin' back here a ways. she dipity sher'ff, an' we'n we com' on dem hoss', sam she git to fink 'bout he's wife an' kids. he don' fink 'bout dem mooch only w'en he git dronk, or git scairt. den he lov' 'em lak' hell, an' he grab de beeg belly-ache, so dey don' got for feel sorry 'bout heem gittin' keel." slipping his own gun into its holster, the half-breed turned and walked toward the spot where he had left the deputy, and as he walked he threw open the cylinder of the officer's gun and removed the cartridges. "sam!" he called sharply. cautiously a head raised from behind a sage bush. "how long you t'ink dat tak' you git well? wan man he lak' for git arres' w'en you git time." "shut up! don't talk so loud! d'you want to git us killed? which one got it?" "purdy. de pilgrim shoot heem 'cause he run off wit' he's girl." "pilgrim! what pilgrim! an' what girl? ain't that tex benton's horse, an' cinnabar joe's----?" "uh-huh, a'm bor' heem tex boss for ketch purdy. an', ba goss, he shoot heem on he's head after purdy draw'd!" moore stared aghast. "what? a pilgrim done that? not on yer life! he may look an' act like a pilgrim but, take it from me, he's a desperate character if he got purdy after he draw'd. it's worser than if it was tex. _he_ might of took pity on us, knowin' about the fambly. but a stranger, an' one that kin git a man like jack purdy! o-o-o-o, my stummick! bat, i'm 'fraid i'm a-passin' away! these spells is a-killin' me--an' what'll become of the woman an' the kids?" the half-breed grinned: "mebbe-so you kin' pass back agin, sam. he ain' got no gun." sam moore ceased to writhe, and sat abruptly erect. "ain't got no gun!" he exclaimed. "what did he shoot purdy with?" "my gun. he giv' it back to me. a'm bor' heem dat gun li'l while ago." the deputy sprang to his feet. "quick, now, bat!" he roared loudly. "you slip these irons on him, an' i'll catch up the horses. don't take no chances!" he tossed the half-breed a pair of hand-cuffs, and started after his own horse. "kill him if he makes a crooked move. tell him you're actin' under my authority an' let him understand we're hard men to tamper with--us sheriffs. we don't stand fer no foolin'." in curly hardee's dance-hall tex benton leaned against the wall and idly watched the couples weave in and out upon the floor to the whining accompaniment of the fiddles and the clanging piano. apparently the cowboy's interest centred solely upon the dancers, but a close observer would have noticed the keen glance with which he scanned each new arrival--noticed too, that after a few short puffs on a cigarette the man tossed it to the floor and immediately rolled another, which is not in the manner of a man with a mind at ease. the texan saw endicott enter the room, watched as the man's eyes swept the faces of dancers and spectators, and smiled as he turned toward the door. "three of us," mused the cowboy, with the peculiar smile still twisting the corners of his lips, "purdy, an' me, an' the pilgrim. purdy's work's so coarse he'll gum his own game, an' that's where i come in. an' the pilgrim--i ain't quite figgered how he stacks up." the cowpuncher glanced at his watch. "it's time they showed up long ago. i wonder what's keepin' em." suddenly he straightened himself with a jerk: "good lord! i wonder if---- but no, not even purdy would try _that_. still, if he knows i know he tried to dope me he'll be figgerin' on pullin' his freight anyhow, an'--" the man's lips tightened and, elbowing his way to the door he stepped onto the street and hurried to the headquarters saloon. cinnabar joe was behind the bar, apparently none the worse for his dose of chloral, and in answer to a swift signal, followed the texan to the rear of the room. "does purdy know i'm wise to his dope game?" the bartender nodded: "yes, i told him you must of switched the glasses." "i saw him leadin' your horse rigged up with your side-saddle acrost the flats awhile back." again the bartender nodded: "he borrowed the outfit fer a gal of his'n he said come in on the train. wanted to take her fer a ride." "where'd they go?" the words whipped viciously. "search me! i've had my hands full to keep track of what's goin' on in here, let alone outside." without a word the texan stepped out the back door and hastened toward the horse corral behind the livery stable. circling its fence to the head of the alley, he stared in surprise at the spot where he and bat lajune had tied their horses. the animals were gone, and cursing the half-breed at every step, he rushed to the street, and catching up the reins of a big roan that stood in a group of horses, swung into the saddle and headed out onto the trail. "women are fools," he muttered savagely. "it beats hell what even the sensible ones will fall for!" at the up-bend of the trail he halted abruptly and listened. from the shadows of the coulee ahead came the sound of voices and the soft scraping of horses' feet. he drew the roan into a cottonwood thicket and waited. "somethin' funny here. nobody ever come to a dance ridin' at a walk," he muttered, and then as the little cavalcade broke into the bright moonlight at a bend of the trail, his eyes widened with surprise. in front rode bat lajune with purdy's horse snubbed to his saddle-horn, and immediately following him were the girl and endicott riding side by side. tex saw that the girl was crying, and that endicott's hands were manacled, and that he rode the missing horse. behind them rode sam moore, pompously erect, a six-shooter laid across the horn of his saddle, and a scowl of conceited importance upon his face that would have evoked the envy of the kaiser of krautland. the figure appealed to the texan's sense of humour and waiting until the deputy was exactly opposite his place of concealment, he filled his lungs and leaned forward in his saddle. "y-e-e-e-o-w!" the sound blared out like the shrill of doom. the officer's six-shooter thudded upon the ground, his hands grasped the horn of the saddle, his spurs dug into his horse's flanks and sent the animal crashing between the girl and endicott and caused purdy's horse to tear loose from the half-breed's saddle-horn. "stand 'em off, bat!" shrieked the deputy as he shot past, "i'm a-goin' fer help!" and away he tore, leaning far over his horse's neck, with purdy's horse, the stirrups lashing his sides, dashing madly in his wake. a moment later tex pushed his mount into the trail where the girl, drawn close to endicott, waited in fearful expectation. the half-breed met him with a grin. rapidly, with many ejaculations interspersing explosive volleys of half-intelligible words, bat acquainted the texan with the progress of events. the cowpuncher listened without comment until the other had finished. then he turned to endicott. "where'd you learn to shoot?" he asked abruptly. "i never learned. until tonight i never had a pistol in my hand." "you done damned well--to start out with," commented the texan dryly. "but, oh, it's horrible!" sobbed the girl, "and it's all my fault!" "i reckon that's right. it looks like a bad mix-up all around." "oh, why didn't you tell me what a _beast_ he was? you knew all the time. and when you insulted him i thought you were _horrid_! and i thought he was so noble when he refrained from shooting you." "no. he wasn't noble, none noticeable--purdy wasn't. an' as for me tellin' you about him--answer me square: would you have believed me?" the girl's eyes fell before his steady gaze. "no," she faltered, "i wouldn't. but isn't there something we can do? some way out of this awful mess?" the texan's eyes flashed a glint of daring. he was thinking rapidly. endicott moved his horse closer to the cowboy. "can't you manage to get _her_ away--onto a train some place so she can avoid the annoyance of having to testify at the trial, and submit to the insulting remarks of your sheriff?" the girl interrupted him: "winthrop adams endicott, if you dare to even think _such_ a thing--i'll never speak to you again! indeed he _won't_ take me away or put me on any train! i got you into this, and i won't budge one inch until you get out of it. what do i care for a little annoyance--and as for the sheriff, i'll say 'boo' at him in the dark and he'll die." there was a gleam of approval in the eyes of the texan as his lips twisted into their peculiar cynical smile. "spunky little devil," he thought to himself. "there's a chance to pull a play here somewhere that'll make me solid with her all right. i got to have time to think." aloud he said: "just you leave things to me. i'll get a line on what's what. but you both got to do as i say, an' no augerin' about it neither. it looks from here as if things could be straightened out if someone don't go to work an' ball the jack. an' as for sam passin' insultin' remarks no more--he won't. here he comes now with about half wolf river for a posse." the cowboy turned to endicott: "you go 'long with 'em an' lay low 'til you hear from bat, there, or me. then you do as we say, an' don't ask no questions." the rumble of horses' feet sounded from the direction of the little town and the texan whispered to bat: "find out where they lock him up. an' when the excitement dies down you find me. i ain't a-goin' to lose sight of _her_--see." the half-breed grinned his understanding and tex swung his horse in close beside the girl and awaited the coming of the posse. with a yell the onrushing cowboys whom the deputy had recruited from the dance-hall spied the little group and, thundering up at full gallop, formed a closely packed circle about them. recognizing the deputy who was vociferously urging his horse from the rear, tex forced his way through the circle and called him aside. "say, sam," he drawled, in a tone that caused the deputy's hair to prickle at its roots; "about some an' sundry insultin' remarks you passed agin' the lady, yonder----" "no, i never----" "that'll be about all the lyin' you need to do now. an' just let this sink in. you can lock up the pilgrim where you damn please. but the lady goes to the hotel. if you aim to hold her as a witness you can appoint a guard--an' i'm the guard. d'you get me? 'cause if there's any misunderstandin' lingerin' in them scrambled aigs you use fer brains, i'll just start out by tellin' the boys what a hell of a brave arrest you pulled off, an' about the nervy stand you made agin' odds to guard your prisoners when i yipped at you from the brush. then, after they get through havin' their fun out of you, i'll just waste a shell on you for luck--see?" "sure, tex, that sounds reasonable," the other rattled on in evident relief. "fact is, i be'n huntin' fer you ever sense i suspicioned they'd be'n a murder. 'if i c'd only find tex,' i says to myself, i says, 'he'd be worth a hull posse hisself.' jest you go ahead an' night-herd the lady. i'll tell her myself so's it'll be official. an' me an' the rest of the boys here, we'll take care of the pilgrim, which he ain't no pilgrim at all, but a desperate desperado, or he couldn't never have got jack purdy the way he done." the texan grinned and, forcing his horse through the crowd, reached the girl's side where he was joined a few moments later by the deputy. despite her embarrassing situation alice marcum could scarce restrain a smile at the officer's sudden obsequious deference. stetson in hand, he bowed awkwardly. "excuse me, mom, but, as i was goin' on to say in reference of any remarks i might of passed previous, i found out subsequent i didn't mean what i was sayin', which i misunderstood myself complete. but as i was goin' on to say, mom, the state of montany might need you fer a witness in this here felonious trial, so if you'll be so kind an' go to the _ho_tel along of tex here whom he's the party i've tolled off fer to guard you, an' don't stand no monkey business neither. what i mean is," he hastened to add, catching a glance from the texan's eye, "don't be afraid to ask fer soap or towels if there hain't none in yer room, an' if yer cold holler fer an extry blanket er two. the state's a-payin' fer it, an' yer board, too, an' if they don't fill you up every meal you set up a yell an' i'll see 't they do." the deputy turned abruptly away and addressed the cowboys: "come on, boys, let's git this character under lock an' key so i kin breathe easier." even endicott joined in the laugh that greeted the man's words and, detaining a cowpuncher to ride on either side of the prisoner, the officer solemnly led the way toward town. chapter viii one way out as the horses traversed the two miles of winding trail, alice marcum glanced from time to time at the texan who rode silently at her side. the man's face was grave and he seemed entirely oblivious to her presence. only once did she venture to speak to him. "i suppose i ought to thank you, mr.----" "tex'll do," supplied the man, without even the courtesy of a glance. "--for the very changed attitude of the sheriff, and for the fact that i am to be lodged in the hotel instead of the jail." the girl thought the texan's lips drew into their peculiar smile, but he gave no further evidence of having heard and rode on in silence, with his attention apparently fixed upon the tips of his horse's ears. at the edge of town the crowd, with endicott in its midst, swerved toward the railroad and the girl found herself alone with her jailer. she drew up her horse sharply and glanced back toward the prisoner. "this way," said a voice close beside her; "we'll go to the hotel, i guess there's enough of 'em to see that the pilgrim gets locked up safe." "but i--i want to speak to him. to tell him----" "never mind what you want to tell him. it'll keep, i reckon." at the door of the wooden hotel the cowpuncher swung from his horse. "you wait here a minute; i'll go fetch jennie. she's prob'ly over to the dance. she'll fix you up with a room an' see that you get what you want." "but my bag?" "yer what?" "my bag--with all my things in it. i left it in the car." "oh, yer war-bag! all right, i'll get that after i've got jennie cut out an' headed this way." he stepped into the dance-hall next door and motioned to a plump, round-faced girl who was dancing with a young cowboy. at the conclusion of the dance the girl laughingly refused to accompany her partner to the bar, and made her way toward the texan. "say, jennie," the man said, after drawing her aside; "there's a girl over to the hotel and i want you to go over an' fix her up with a room. give her number . it's handy to the side door." the girl's nose went up and the laughing eyes flashed scornfully. "no, you don't, tex benton! what do you think i am? an' what's more, you don't pull nothin' like that around there. that hotel's run decent, an' it's goin' to stay decent or hank can get someone else fer help. they's some several of the boys has tried it sence i be'n there but they never tried it but onct. _an' that goes_!" the girl turned away with a contemptuous sniff. "jennie!" the texan was smiling. "this is a little different case, i reckon." "they're all different cases," she retorted. "but everything's be'n tried from a sister come on a unexpected visit, to slippin' me five--cinnabar joe tended to that one's case hisself, an' he done a good job, too. so you might's well save yer wind 'cause there ain't nothin' you can think up to say that'll fool me a little bit. i ain't worked around hotels fer it's goin' on six years fer nothin', an' i wouldn't trust no man--cowboys an' drummers least of all." "listen, jennie, i ain't tryin' to tell you i wouldn't. only this time, i ain't. if i was, don't you suppose i've got sense enough not to go to you to help me with it?" the girl waited with all outward appearance of skepticism for him to proceed. "this girl went ridin' with jack purdy--he borrowed the side-saddle from cinnabar----" "did cinnabar loan him that saddle fer any such----?" "hold on, now, cinnabar don't know nothin' about it. purdy wants to borrow his side-saddle an' joe says sure." "he might of know'd if purdy wanted it, it wasn't fer no good. you're all bad enough, goodness knows, but he was the worst of the lot. i hate purdy an' you bet he cuts a big circle when he sees me comin'." "well, he won't no more," answered the texan dryly. "purdy's dead." "dead!" "yes. he took a pilgrim's girl out on the bench an' the pilgrim got wise to it an' dug out after 'em. got there just in time an' took a shot at purdy an' got him." "land sakes! i'm glad he did! if they was a few more pilgrims like him that would get about half the rest of you, maybe the others would turn decent, or take to the brush." the texan laughed. "anyway purdy's dead, an' they've got the pilgrim locked up, an' the girl's held fer a witness, an' i told sam moore i'd take a shot at him if he locked her up wherever he's goin' to lock up the pilgrim--in the wool-warehouse i reckon. anyhow, he told her to go to the hotel an' specified me fer a guard." "oh, he did, did he? well jest you wait 'til i get my hat. i guess maybe she'll be safer with _two_ guards." with a meaning look the girl hurried away and a moment later returned and followed the texan from the room. "why was you so anxious she was to have number , if what you've told me is on the level?" she asked, as they approached the hotel. "i don't know, yet, exactly. but i've got a hunch they'll be somethin' doin' a little later." "uh-huh, an' i'll be right there when it's doin', too. an' you can bet your last blue one on that!" alice marcum swung unassisted to the ground as the two approached. and as she glanced into the wide, friendly eyes of the girl she felt deeply grateful to the texan for bringing a woman. then the woman was speaking: "come right along in the house. i'm jennie dodds, an' i'll see't you get settled comfortable. tex, he told me all about it. land sakes! i bet you feel proud! who'd a thought any pilgrim could a got jack purdy! where's your grip?" "gosh! i plumb forgot!" exclaimed the cowboy, and started for his horse. "i'll be back with yer war-bag in a minute." a few moments later, he returned to the hotel carrying a leather bag. "i'm goin' to kind of slip around among the boys a bit. i've be'n doin' some thinkin' an maybe we can figger a way out. i don't quite like the way things is shapin' up. i'll be wantin' most likely to see you in a while----" "we'll both be here," interrupted jennie. "_both_ of us. we'll be in number ." outside the hotel the texan paused to roll and light a cigarette, and as he blew the smoke from his lungs, he smiled cynically. "purdy's work was so damn coarse he got just what was comin' to him. there's only me an' the pilgrim, now--an' it's me an' him for it. i ain't plumb got the girl sized up yet. if she's straight--all right. she'll stay straight. if she ain't---- they say everything's fair in love an' war, an' bein' as it's my deal the pilgrim's got to go up against a stacked deck. an' if things works out right, believe me, he's a-goin' to know he's be'n somewhere by the time he gets back--if he ever does get back." for the third time that evening he entered the dance-hall and avoiding the dancers made his way leisurely toward the bar that ran along one side of the room. "hello, tex, ain't dancin'? say, they're tellin' how a pilgrim killed jack purdy. yes, an' they got him locked up down in the wool-warehouse. what's yourn?" the cowboy ranged himself beside the texan. "a little red liquor, i reckon." the men poured their drinks and the texan glanced toward the other: "you ain't mournin' none over purdy, curly?" "who, me?" the man laughed. "not what you c'd notice, i ain't. an' they's plenty others ain't, too. i don't hear no lamentations wailin' a-bustin' in on the festchivities. it was over the pilgrim's girl. they say how purdy tried to----" "yes, he did. but the pilgrim got there first. i been thinkin', curly. it's plumb shameful for to hold the pilgrim for doin' what one of us would of had to do sooner or later. choteau county has stood for him about as long as it could, an' a damn sight longer than it ought to. his work was gettin' so rotten it stunk, i could tell you about a sage-brush corral an' some runnin'-iron work over on the south slope----" "yes," broke in the other, "an' there's a hell of a lot of i x an' bear paw pool cows that show'd up, brandin' time, 'thout no calves." the texan nodded: "exactly. now, what i was goin' on to say: the grand jury don't set for a couple or three months yet. an' when they do, they'll turn the pilgrim loose so quick it'll make yer head swim. then, there's the girl. they'll hold her for a witness--not that they'd have to, 'cause she'll stay on her own hook. now what's the use of them bein' took down to benton an' stuck in jail? drink up, an' have another." "not none," agreed curly, as he measured out his liquor to an imaginary line half-way up the glass. "but how'd you figger to fix it?" "well," answered the texan, as his lips twisted into their peculiar smile; "we might get the right bunch together an' go down to the wool-warehouse an' save the grand jury the trouble." the other stared at him in amazement: "you mean bust him out?" tex laughed: "sure. lord! won't it be fun seein' sam moore puttin' up a scrap to save his prisoner?" "but, how'd we git away with him? all sam w'd do is git a posse an' take out after him an' they'd round him up 'fore he got to three-mile. or if we went along we'd git further but they'd git us in the end an' then we'd be in a hell of a fix!" "your head don't hurt you none, workin' it that way, does it?" grinned tex. "i done thought it all out. we'll get the boys an' slip down to the warehouse an' take the pilgrim out an' slip a noose around his neck an' set him on a horse an' ride out of town a-cussin' him an' a-swearin' to lynch him. he won't know but what we aim to hang him to the first likely cottonwood, an' we'll have a lot of fun with him. an' no one else won't know it, neither. then you-all ride back an' pertend to keep mum, but leak it out that we done hung him. they won't be no posse hunt for him then an' i'll take him an' slip him acrost to the n. p. or the c. p. r. an' let him go. it's too good a chanct to miss. lordy! won't the pilgrim beg! an' sam moore--he'll be scairt out of a year's growth!" "but, the girl," objected curly. "oh, the girl--well, they'll turn her loose, of course. they ain't nothin' on her except for a witness. an' if they ain't no prisoner they won't need no witness, will they?" "that's right," assented the other. "by gosh, tex, what you can't think up, the devil wouldn't bother with. that's sure some stunt. let's get the boys an' go to it!" "you get the boys together. get about twenty of the live ones an' head 'em over to the headquarters. i'll go hunt up a horse for the pilgrim an' be over there in half an hour." curly passed from man to man, whom he singled out from among the dancers and onlookers, and the texan slipped unobserved through the door and proceeded directly to the hotel. on the street he met bat. "de pilgrim, she lock up in de woolhouse an' sam moore she stan' 'long de door wit two revolver an' wan big rifle." "all right, bat. you look alive now, an' catch up purdy's horse an' see that you get a good set of bridle reins on him, an' find the girl's horse an' get holt of a pack-horse somewheres an' get your war-bag an' mine an' our blankets onto him, an' go down to the store an' get a couple more pairs of blankets, an' grub enough fer a week for four, an' get that onto him, an' have all them horses around to the side door of the hotel in twenty minutes, or i'll bust you wide open an' fill your hide with prickly pears." the half-breed nodded his understanding and slipped onto his horse as the texan entered the hotel. passing through the office where a coal-oil lamp burned dimly in a wall-bracket, he stepped into the narrow hallway and paused with his eyes on the bar of yellow light that showed at the bottom of the door of number . "most any fool thing would do to tell the girl. but i've got to make it some plausible to put it acrost on jennie. i'm afraid i kind of over-played my hand a little when i let her in on this, but--damn it! i felt kind of sorry for the girl even if it was her own fool fault gettin' into this jack-pot. i thought maybe a woman could kind of knock off the rough edges a little. well, here goes!" he knocked sharply, and it was a very grave-faced cowboy who stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "i've be'n doin' quite some feelin' out of the public pulse, as the feller says, an' the way things looks from here, the pilgrim is sure in bad. you see, the jury is bound to be made up of cow-men an' ranchers with a sheep-man or two mixed in. an' they're all denizens that choteau county is infested with. now a stranger comin' in that way an' kind of pickin' one of us off, casual, like a tick off'n a dog's ear, it won't be looked on with favour----" jennie interrupted, with a belligerent forefinger wagging almost against the texan's nose: "but that jack purdy needed killin' if ever any one did. he was loose an'----" "yes," broke in tex, "he was. i ain't here to pronounce no benediction of blessedness on purdy's remains. but, you got to recollect that most of the jury, picked out at random, is in the same boat--loose, an' needin' killin', which they know as well as you an' me do, an' consequent ain't a-goin' to establish no oncomfortable precedent. suppose any pilgrim was allowed to step off'n a train any time he happened to be comin' through, an' pick off a loose one? what would choteau county's or any other county's he-population look like in a year's time, eh? it would look like the hair-brush out here in the wash-room, an' you could send in the votin' list on a cigarette paper. no, sir, the pilgrim ain't got a show if he's got to face a jury. there's only one way out, an' there's about fifteen or twenty of the boys that's willin' to give him a chance. we're a-goin' to bust him out of jail an' put him on a horse an' run him up some cottonwood coulee with a rope around his neck." alice marcum, who had followed every word, turned chalk-white in the lamplight as she stared wide-eyed at the texan, with fingers pressed tight against her lips, while jennie placed herself protectingly between them and launched into a perfect tirade. "hold on, now." both girls saw that the man was smiling and jennie relapsed into a warlike silence. "a rope necktie ain't a-goin' to hurt no one as long as he keeps his heft off'n it. as i was goin' on to say, we'll run him up this coulee an' a while later the boys'll ride back to town in the same semmey-serious mood that accompanies such similar enterprises. they won't do no talkin' an' they won't need to. folks will naturally know that justice has be'n properly dispensed with, an' that their taxes won't raise none owin' to county funds bein' misdirected in prosecutin' a public benefactor--an' they'll be satisfied. the preacher'll preach a long sermon condemnin' the takin' of human life without due process of law, an' the next sunday he'll preach another one about the onchristian shootin' of folks without givin' 'em a chanct to repent--after they'd drawed--an' he'll use the lynchin' as a specimen of the workin's of the hand of the lord in bringin' speedy justice onto the murderer. "but they ain't be'n no lynchin' done. 'cause the boys will turn the prisoner over to me an' i'll hustle him acrost to the n. p. an' let him get out of the country." alice marcum leaped to her feet: "oh, are you telling me the truth? how do i know you're not going to lynch him? i told him i'd stay with him and see him through!" the texan regarded her gravely: "you can," he said after a moment of silence. "i'll have bat take you to snake creek crossing an' you can wait there 'til i come along with the pilgrim. then we'll cut through the mountains an' hit down through the bad lands an'----" "no you don't, tex benton!" jennie was facing him again. "you're a smooth one all right. how long would it take you to lose the pilgrim there in the bad lands, even if you don't lynch him, which it ain't no cinch you ain't a-goin' to--then where would _she_ be? no, sir, you don't pull nothin' like that off on me!" "but i want to go!" cried alice. "i want to be near him, and i'm not afraid." the girl regarded her for a moment in silence. "i should think you'd had enough of cowpunchers for one night. but if you're bound to go i ain't got no right to hold you. i'd go along with you if i could, but i can't." "i'm not afraid," she answered as her eyes sought the texan's. "i've learned a lot in the past few hours." "i guess you ain't learnt enough to hurt you none," retorted jennie, with a trace of acid in her tone. "an' you'll learn a lot more 'fore you hit the n. p., or my name ain't jennie dodds. if you're bound to go you can take my outfit. i guess tex'll see that my horse comes back, anyhow." the cowpuncher grinned: "thanks, jennie, i'm right proud to know you think i wouldn't steal your horse." once more he turned to the girl. "when the half-breed comes for you, you go with him. i've got to go on with the boys, now." abruptly he left the room, and once more paused in the hall before passing through the office. "she's game, all right. an' the way she can look at a fellow out of those eyes of hers---- by god! purdy _ought_ to be'n killed!" chapter ix the pilgrim a group of saddle-horses stood before the headquarters saloon, and as the texan entered he was vociferously greeted by the twenty cowboys who crowded the bar. "come on, tex, drink up!" "hell'll be a-poppin' down to the wool-warehouse." "an', time we get there we won't be able to see sam moore fer dust." curly raised his glass and the cowpunchers joined in uproarious song: "we'll string him up to a cottonwood limb an' dig his grave in under him, we'll tromp down the clods, an' we won't give a damn 'cause he'll never kill another cow-man, ah wi yi yippie i oo-o-!" without a break the texan picked up the refrain, improvising words to fit the occasion: "the sheriff's name, it's old sam moore, he's standin' down by the jail-house door with seventeen knives an' a gatlin' gun, but you bet your boots we'll make him run ah wi yi yippie i o-o-o-!" with whoops of approbation and a deafening chorus of yowls and catcalls, the cowpunchers crowded through the door. a moment later the bar-room was deserted and out in the street the night air resounded with the sound of snorting, trampling horses, the metallic jangle of spurs and bit chains, the creak of saddle-leather, and the terse, quick-worded observations of men mounting in the midst of the confusion of refractory horses. "the sheriff's name, it's old sam moore!" roared a cowboy as he slammed into the saddle of a skew-ball black. "go git him!" howled another in exact imitation of slim maloney. there was a thunder of hoofs as the whole crowd, headed by tex and curly swept down the street and across the flat toward the impromptu jail. with a lighted lantern beside him, sam moore sat upon the strongly built unloading platform before the warehouse door, access to which was gained by means of a flight of six or eight plank steps at either end. up these steps rode a couple of cowpunchers while the rest drew up sharply at the very edge of the platform. hemmed in upon all sides the valiant deputy glanced fearfully into the faces of the horsemen. "wha--what's up, boys? what's ailin' ye?" he managed to blurt out. "drop them guns an' give over the key!" commanded someone. "sure--sure, boys! i hain't aimin' to hurt no one. yer all friends of mine an' what you say goes with me." "friends of yourn!" roared someone menacingly; "you're a liar, sam! you ain't never seen nary one of us before! git that!" "sure, sure thing, boys, i don't know who ye be. 'tain't none of my business. i couldn't name none of you. you don't need to be scairt of me." "you beat it, then, an' lose yerself an' don't yer go stirrin' up no rookus over to the dance, er we'll dangle you a little, too." "sure. i'm a-goin' now. i----" "fork over that key first!" "sure, tex! here it is----" "sure _who_!" rasped a voice close to the sheriff's ear. "i mean--i said---- here's the doggone key! i was thinkin' of a feller i know'd down to wyomin'. tex--tex--smith, er some such of a name it was. i mistrusted you was him, an' mebbe you be fer all i know. i don't savvy none of you whatever." "get a move on, sam!" "me! i'm gone! an' you boys remember when 'lection time comes, to vote fer a sheriff that's got disgression an' common sense." and with ludicrous alacrity, the deputy scrambled from the platform and disappeared into the deep blackness of the lumber-yard. the texan fitted the key into the huge padlock and a moment later the door swung open and a dozen cowpunchers swarmed in. "come on, pilgrim, an' try on yer necktie!" "we'll prob'ly have to haul down all them wool-sacks an' drag him out from behind 'em." "i think not. if i am the man you want i think you will find me perfectly able to walk." the pilgrim stood leaning against one of the wooden supporting posts, and as a cowboy thrust the lantern into his face he noted the eyes never faltered. "come along with us!" commanded the puncher, gruffly, as another stepped up and slipped the noose of a lariat-rope over his head. "so i am to be lynched, am i?" asked the pilgrim in a matter-of-fact tone, as with a cowboy on either side he was hurried across the platform and onto a horse. "this ain't no time to talk," growled another. "we'll give you a chanct to empty yer chest 'fore we string you up." in the moonlight the prisoner's face showed very pale, but the cow-men saw that his lips were firmly set, and the hands that caught up the bridle reins did not falter. as the cavalcade started out upon the trail the texan turned back, and riding swiftly to the hotel, found bat waiting. "you go in to number and tell the girl you're ready to start." "you'm mean de pilgrim's girl?" the texan frowned and swore under his breath: "she ain't the pilgrim's girl, yet--by a damn sight! you take her an' the pack horse an' hit down the river an' cut up through old man lee's horse ranch onto the bench. then hit for snake creek crossin' an' wait for me." the half-breed nodded, and the texan's frown deepened as he leaned closer. "an' you see that you get her through safe an' sound or i'll cut off them ears of yours an' stake you out in a rattlesnake den to think it over." the man grinned and the frown faded from the texan's face. "you got to do me a good turn, bat. remember them four bits in las vegas!" "a'm tak' de girl to snake creek crossin' a'right; you'm don' need for be 'fraid for dat." the cowpuncher whirled and spurred his horse to overtake the cowboys who, with the prisoner in charge, were already well out upon the trail. in front of the hotel the half-breed watched the flying horseman until he disappeared from sight. "a'm wonder if dat girl be safe wit' him, lak' she is wit' me--_bien_. a'm t'ink mebbe-so dat damn good t'ing ol' bat goin' long. if she damn fine girl mebbe-so tex, he goin' mar' her. dat be good t'ing. but, by gar! if he don' mar' her, he gon' leave her 'lone. me--a'm lak' dat tex fine, lak' me own brudder. he got de good heart. but w'en he drink de hooch, den a'm got for look after him. he don' care wan damn 'bout nuttin'. dat four bit in las vegas, dats a'right. a'm fink 'bout dat, too. but, by gar, it tak' more'n four bit in las vegas for mak' of bat let dat girl git harm." an atmosphere of depression pervaded the group of riders as they wound in and out of the cottonwood clumps and threaded the deep coulee that led to the bench. for the most part they preserved an owlish silence, but now and then someone would break into a low, weird refrain and the others would join in with the mournful strain of "the dying cowboy." "oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-e-e, where the coyote howls and the wind blows free." or the dirge-like wail of the "cowboy's lament": "then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly, and give a wild whoop as you carry me along: and in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me, for i'm only a cowboy that knows he's done wrong." "shall we take him to lone tree coulee?" asked one. another answered disdainfully. "don't you know the lone tree's dead? jest shrivelled up an' died after bill atwood was hung onto it. some augers he worn't guilty. but it's better to play safe, an' string up all the doubtful ones, then yer bound to git the right one onct in a while." "swing over into buffalo coulee," commanded tex. "there's a bunch of cottonwoods just above hansen's old sheep ranch." "we'll string him up to a cottonwood limb an' dig his grave in under him----" "shut up!" ordered curly, favouring the singer with a scowl. "any one would think you was joyous-minded, which this here hangin' a man is plumb serious business, even if it hain't only a pilgrim!" he edged his horse in beside the texan's. "he don't seem tore up with terror, none. d'you think he's onto the racket?" tex shook his head, and with his eyes on the face of the prisoner which showed very white in the moonlight, rode on in silence. "you mean you think he's jest nach'ly got guts--an' him a pilgrim?" "how the hell do i know what he's got?" snapped the other. "can't you wait till we get to buffalo?" curly allowed his horse to fall back a few paces. "first time i ever know'd tex to pack a grouch," he mused, as his lips drew into a grin. "he's sore 'cause the pilgrim hain't a-snifflin' an' a-carryin'-on an' tryin' to beg off. gosh! if he turns out to be a reg'lar hand, an' steps up an' takes his medicine like a man, the joke'll be on tex. the boys never will quit joshin' him--an' he knows it. no wonder he's sore." the cowboys rode straight across the bench. song and conversation had ceased and the only sounds were the low clink of bit chains and the soft rustle of horses' feet in the buffalo grass. at the end of an hour the leaders swung into an old grass-grown trail that led by devious windings into a deep, steep-sided coulee along the bottom of which ran the bed of a dried-up creek. water from recent rains stood in brackish pools. remnants of fence with rotted posts sagging from rusty wire paralleled their course. a dilapidated cross-fence barred their way, and without dismounting, a cowboy loosened the wire gate and threw it aside. a deserted log-house, windowless, with one corner rotted away, and the sod roof long since tumbled in, stood upon a treeless bend of the dry creek. abandoned implements littered the dooryard; a rusted hay rake with one wheel gone, a broken mower with cutter-bar drunkenly erect, and the front trucks of a dilapidated wagon. the texan's eyes rested sombrely upon the remnant of a rocking-horse, still hitched by bits of weather-hardened leather to a child's wheelbarrow whose broken wheel had once been the bottom of a wooden pail--and he swore, softly. up the creek he could see the cottonwood grove just bursting into leaf and as they rounded the corner of a long sheep-shed, whose soggy straw roof sagged to the ground, a coyote, disturbed in his prowling among the whitening bones of dead sheep, slunk out of sight in a weed-patch. entering the grove, the men halted at a point where the branches of three large trees interlaced. it was darker, here. the moonlight filtered through in tiny patches which brought out the faces of the men with grotesque distinctness and plunged them again into blackness. gravely the texan edged his horse to the side of the pilgrim. "get off!" he ordered tersely, and endicott dismounted. "tie his hands!" a cowboy caught the man's hands behind him and secured them with a lariat-rope. the texan unknotted the silk muffler from about his neck and folded it. "if it is just the same to you," the pilgrim asked, in a voice that held firm, "will you leave that off?" without a word the muffler was returned to its place. "throw the rope over that limb--the big one that sticks out this way," ordered the texan, and a cowpuncher complied. "the knot had ort to come in under his left ear," suggested one, and proceeded to twist the noose into place. "all ready!" a dozen hands grasped the end of the rope. the texan surveyed the details critically: "this here is a disagreeable job," he said. "have you got anything to say?" endicott took a step forward, and as he faced the texan, his eyes flashed. "have i got anything to say!" he sneered. "would you have anything to say if a bunch of half-drunken fools decided to take the law into their own hands and hang you for defending a woman against the brutal attack of a fiend?" he paused and wrenched to free his hands but the rope held firm. "it was a wise precaution you took when you ordered my hands tied--a precaution that fits in well with this whole damned cowardly proceeding. and now you ask me if i have anything to say!" he glanced into the faces of the cowboys who seemed to be enjoying the situation hugely. "i've got this to say--to you, and to your whole bunch of grinning hyenas: if you expect me to do any begging or whimpering, you are in for a big disappointment. there is one request i am going to make--and that you won't grant. just untie my hands for ten minutes and stand up to me bare-fisted. i want one chance before i go, to fight you, or any of you, or all of you! or, if you are afraid to fight that way, give me a pistol--i never fired one until tonight--and let me shoot it out with you. surely men who swagger around with pistols in their belts, and pride themselves on the use of them, ought not to be afraid to take a chance against a man who has never but once fired one!" there was an awkward pause and the pilgrim laughed harshly: "there isn't an ounce of sporting blood among you! you hunt in packs like the wolves you are--twenty to one--and that one with a rope around his neck and his hands tied!" "the odds is a little against you," drawled the texan. "where might you hail from?" "from a place where they breed men--not curs." "ain't you afraid to die?" "just order your hounds to jerk on that rope and i'll show you whether or not i am afraid to die. but let me tell you this, you damned murderer! if any harm comes to that girl--to miss marcum--may the curse of god follow every last one of you till you are damned in a fiery hell! you will kill me now, but you won't be rid of me. i'll haunt you every one to your graves. i will follow you night and day till your brains snap and you go howling to hell like maniacs." several of the cowboys shuddered and turned away. very deliberately the texan rolled a cigarette. "there is a box in my coat pocket, will you hand me one? or is it against the rules to smoke?" without a word the texan complied, and as he held a match to the cigarette he stared straight into the man's eyes: "you've started out good," he remarked gravely. "i'm just wonderin' if you can play your string out." with which enigmatical remark he turned to the cowboys: "the drinks are on me, boys. jerk off that rope, an' go back to town! an' remember, this lynchin' come off as per schedule." alone in the cottonwood grove, with little patches of moonlight filtering through onto the new-sprung grass, the two men faced each other. without a word the cowboy freed the prisoner's hands. "viewin' it through a lariat-loop, that way, the country looks better to a man than what it really is," he observed, as the other stretched his arms above his head. "what is the meaning of all this? the lynching would have been an atrocious injustice, but if you did not intend to hang me why should you have taken the trouble to bring me out here?" "'twasn't no trouble at all. the main thing was to get you out of wolf river. the lynchin' part was only a joke, an' that's on us. you bein' a pilgrim, that way, we kind of thought----" "a what?" "a pilgrim, or tenderfoot, or greener or chechako, or counter-jumper, owin' to what part of the country you misfit into. we thought you wouldn't have no guts, an' we'd----" "any what?" the texan regarded the other hopelessly. "oh hell!" he muttered disgustedly. "can't you talk no english? where was you raised?" the other laughed. "go on, i will try to follow you." "i can't chop 'em up no finer than one syllable. but i'll shorten up the dose sufficient for your understandin' to grasp. it's this way: d'you know what a frame-up is?" endicott nodded. "well, choteau county politics is in such a condition of onwee that a hangin' would be a reg'lar tonic for the party that's in; which it's kind of bogged down into an old maid's tea party. felonious takin's-off has be'n common enough, but there hasn't no hangin's resulted, for the reason that in every case the hangee has got friends or relations of votin' influence. now, along comes you without no votin' connections an' picks off purdy, which he's classed amongst human bein's, an' is therefore felonious to kill. there ain't nothin' to it. they'd be poundin' away on the scaffold an' testin' the rope while the trial was goin' on. besides which you'd have to linger in a crummy jail for a couple of months waitin' for the grand jury to set on you. a few of us boys seen how things was framed an' we took the liberty to turn you loose, not because we cared a damn about you, but we'd hate to see even a snake hung fer killin' purdy which his folks done a wrong to humanity by raisin' him. "the way the thing is now, if the boys plays the game accordin' to hoyle, there won't be no posses out huntin' you 'cause folks will all think you was lynched. but even if they is a posse or two, which the chances is there will be, owin' to the loosenin' effect of spiritorious licker on the tongue, which it will be indulged in liberal when that bunch hits town, we can slip down into the bad lands an' lay low for a while, an' then on to the n. p. an' you can get out of the country." endicott extended his hand: "i thank you," he said. "it is certainly white of you boys to go out of your way to help a perfect stranger. i have no desire to thrust my neck into a noose to further the ends of politics. one experience of the kind is quite sufficient." "never mind oratin' no card of thanks. just you climb up into the middle of that bronc an' we'll be hittin' the trail. we got quite some ridin' to do before we get to the bad lands--an' quite some after." endicott reached for the bridle reins of his horse which was cropping grass a few feet distant. "but alice--miss marcum!" with the reins in his hand he faced the texan. "i must let her know i am safe. she will think i have been lynched and----" "she's goin' along," interrupted the texan, gruffly. "going along!" "yes, she was bound to see you through because what you done was on her account. bat an' her'll be waitin' for us at snake creek crossin'." "who is bat?" "he's a breed." "a what?" "wait an' see!" growled tex. "come on; we can't set here 'til you get educated. you'd ought to went to school when you was young." endicott reached for a stirrup and the horse leaped sidewise with a snort of fear. again and again the man tried to insert a foot into the broad wooden stirrup, but always the horse jerked away. round and round in a circle they went, while the texan sat in his saddle and rolled a cigarette. "might try the other one," he drawled, as he struck a match. "don't you know no better than to try to climb onto a horse on the right-hand side? you must of be'n brought up on g-dots." "what's a g-dot?" "there you go again. do i look like a school-marm? a g-dot is an injun horse an' you can get on 'em from both sides or endways. come on; snake creek crossin' is a good fifteen miles from here, an' we better pull out of this coulee while the moon holds." endicott managed to mount, and gathering up the reins urged his horse forward. but the animal refused to go and despite the man's utmost efforts, backed farther and farther into the brush. "just shove on them bridle reins a little," observed the texan dryly. "i think he's swallerin' the bit. what you got him all yanked in for? d'you think the head-stall won't hold the bit in? or ain't his mouth cut back far enough to suit you? these horses is broke to be rode with a loose rein. give him his head an' he'll foller along." a half-mile farther up the coulee, the texan headed up a ravine that led to the level of the bench, and urging his horse into a long swinging trot, started for the mountains. mile after mile they rode, the cowboy's lips now and then drawing into their peculiar smile as, out of the corner of his eye he watched the vain efforts of his companion to maintain a firm seat in the saddle. "he's game, though," he muttered, grudgingly. "he rides like a busted wind-mill an' it must be just tearin' hell out of him but he never squawks. an' the way he took that hangin'---- if he'd be'n raised right he'd sure made some tough hand. an' pilgrim or no pilgrim, the guts is there." chapter x the flight when the texan had departed bat lajune eyed the side-saddle with disgust. "dat damn t'ing, she ain' no good. a'm git de reg'lar saddle." slowly he pushed open the side door of the hotel and paused in the darkened hallway to stare at the crack of yellow light that showed beneath the door of number . "a'm no lak' dis fool 'roun' wit' 'omen." he made a wry face and knocked gingerly. jennie dodds opened the door, and for a moment eyed the half-breed with frowning disfavour. "look a here, bat lajune, is this on the level? they say you're the squarest injun that ever swung a rope. but injun or white, you're a man, an' i wouldn't trust one as far as i could throw a mule by the tail." "mebbe-so you lak' you com' 'long an' see, eh?" "i got somethin' else to do besides galavantin' 'round the country nights with cowboys an' injuns." the half-breed laughed and turned to alice. "better you bor' some pants for ride de horse. me, a'm gon' git nudder saddle. 'fore you ride little ways you bre'k you back." "go over to the livery barn an' tell ross to put my reg'lar saddle on in place of the side-saddle, an' when you come back she'll be ready." jennie dodds slipped from the room as the outer door closed upon the half-breed's departure, and returned a few minutes later with her own riding outfit, which she tossed onto the bed. "jest you climb into them, dearie," she said. "bat's right. them side-saddles is sure the dickens an' all, if you got any ways to go." "but," objected alice, "i can't run off with all your things this way!" she reached for her purse. "i'll tell you, i'll buy them from you, horse and all!" "no you won't, no such thing!" jennie dodds assumed an injured tone. "pity a body can't loan a friend nuthin' without they're offered to git payed for it. you can send the clothes back when you're through with 'em. an' here's a sack. jest stick what you need in that. it'll tie on behind your saddle, an' you can leave the rest of your stuff here in your grip an i'll ship it on when you're ready for it. better leave them night-gowns an' corsets an' such like here. you ain't goin' to find no use for 'em out there amongst the prickly pears an' sage brush. law me! i don't envy you your trip none! i'd jest like to know what for devilment that tex benton's up to. anyways, you don't need to be afraid of him--like purdy. but men is men, an' you got to watch 'em." as the girl chattered on she helped alice to dress for the trail and when the "war-bag" was packed and tied with a stout cord, the girl crossed to the window and drew back the shade. "the injun's back. you better be goin'." the girl slipped a small revolver from her pocket and pressed it into alice's hand. "there's a pocket for it in the bloomers. cinnabar joe give it to me a long time ago. take care of yourself an' don't be afraid to use it if you have to. an' mind you let me hear jest the minute you git anywheres. i'll be a-dyin' to know what become of you." alice promised and as she passed through the door, leaned swiftly and kissed the girl squarely upon the lips. "good-bye," she whispered. "i won't forget you," and the next moment she stepped out to join the waiting half-breed, who with a glance of approval at her costume, took the bag from her hand and proceeded to secure it behind the cantle. the girl mounted without assistance, and snubbing the lead-rope of the pack-horse about the horn of his saddle, the half-breed led off into the night. hour after hour they rode in silence, following a trail that wound in easy curves about the bases of hillocks and small buttes, and dipped and slanted down the precipitous sides of deep coulees where the horses' feet splashed loudly in the shallow waters of fords. as the moon dipped lower and lower, they rode past the darkened buildings of ranches nestled beside the creeks, and once they passed a band of sheep camped near the trail. the moonlight showed a sea of grey, woolly backs, and on a near-by knoll stood a white-covered camp-wagon, with a tiny lantern burning at the end of the tongue. a pair of hobbled horses left off snipping grass beside the trail and gazed with mild interest as the two passed, and beneath the wagon a dog barked. at length, just as the moon sank from sight behind the long spur of tiger butte, the trail slanted into a wide coulee from the bottom of which sounded the tinkle of running water. "dis snake creek," remarked the indian; "better you git off now an' stretch you leg. me, a'm mak' de blanket on de groun' an' you ketch-um little sleep. mebbe-so dem com' queek--mebbe-so long tam'." even as he talked the man spread a pair of new blankets beside the trail and walking a short distance away seated himself upon a rock and lighted a cigarette. with muscles aching from the unaccustomed strain of hours in the saddle, alice threw herself upon the blankets and pillowed her head on the slicker that the half-breed had folded for the purpose. almost immediately she fell asleep only to awake a few moments later with every bone in her body registering an aching protest at the unbearable hardness of her bed. in vain she turned from one side to the other, in an effort to attain a comfortable position. with nerves shrieking at each new attitude, all thought of sleep vanished and the girl's brain raced madly over the events of the past few hours. yesterday she had sat upon the observation platform of the overland train and complained to endicott of the humdrum conventionality of her existence! only yesterday--and it seemed weeks ago. the dizzy whirl of events that had snatched her from the beaten path and deposited her somewhere out upon the rim of the world had come upon her so suddenly and with such stupendous import that it beggared any attempt to forecast its outcome. with a shudder she recalled the moment upon the verge of the bench when in a flash she had realized the true character of purdy and her own utter helplessness. with a great surge of gratitude--and--was it only gratitude--this admiration and pride in the achievement of the man who had rushed to her rescue? alone there in the darkness the girl flushed to the roots of her hair as she realized that it was for this man she had unhesitatingly and unquestioningly ridden far into the night in company with an unknown indian. realized, also, that above the pain of her tortured muscles, above the uncertainty of her own position, was the anxiety and worry as to the fate of endicott. where was he? had tex lied when he told her there would be no lynching? even if he desired could he prevent the cowboys from wreaking their vengeance upon the man who had killed one of their number? she recalled with a shudder the cold cynicism of the smile that habitually curled the lips of the texan. a man who could smile like that could lie--could do anything to gain an end. and yet--she realized with a puzzled frown that in her heart was no fear of him--no terror such as struck into her very soul at the sudden unmasking of purdy. "it's his eyes," she murmured; "beneath his cynical exterior lies a man of finer fibre." some distance away a match flared in the darkness and went out, and dimly by the little light of the stars alice made out the form of the half-breed seated upon his rock beside the trail. motionless as the rock itself the man sat humped over with his arms entwining his knees. a sombre figure, and one that fitted intrinsically into the scene--the dark shapes of the three horses that snipped grass beside the trail, the soft murmur of the waters of the creek as they purled over the stones, the black wall of the coulee, with the mountains rising beyond--all bespoke the wild that since childhood she had pictured, but never before had seen. under any other circumstances the setting would have appealed, would have thrilled her to the soul. but now--over and over through her brain repeated the question: where is he? a horse nickered softly and raising his head, sniffed the night air. the indian stepped from his rock and stood alert with his eyes on the reach of the back-trail. and then softly, almost inaudibly to the ears of the girl came the sound of horses' hoofs pounding the trail in monotonous rhythm. leaping to her feet she rushed forward in time to see bat catch up the reins of the three horses and slip noiselessly into the shelter of a bunch of scrub willows. in a moment she was at his side and the indian thrust the reins into her hand. "better you wait here," he whispered hurriedly. "mebbe-so, som'wan else com' 'long. me, a'm gon' for look." with the words the man blended into the shadows and, clutching the reins, the girl waited with every nerve drawn tense. nearer and nearer came the sound of the thudding hoofs. the riders had reached the dip of the trail now and the rhythmic pound of the horses' feet changed to a syncopated shuffle as the animals made the steep descent. at the edge of the creek they paused for a moment and then alice, could hear the splash of their feet in the water and the deep sucking sound of horses drinking. a low peculiar whistle cut the air and the next moment a voice which the girl recognized as the texan's sounded plainly through the dark. "you got here, did you? where's the girl?" alice could not catch the answer but at the next words of the texan she started forward tugging at the reins of the refractory cayuses. "come alive, now, an' get your outfit together. there's prob'ly a big posse out an' we got to scratch gravel some lively to keep ahead of 'em, which little item the future prosperity of all concerned, as the fellow says, depends on--not only the hangee here, but us accessories, the law bein' some specific in outlinin' the disposal of aiders an' abettors of felonious transmigrations." the half-breed relieved her of the horses and alice rushed to the side of endicott who had reined his horse out of the water and dismounted stiffly. "oh, winthrop!" she cried joyfully. "then they didn't hang you, and----" endicott laughed: "no, they didn't hang me but they put a lot of local colour into the preliminaries. i certainly thought my time had come, when friend tex here gave the word to throw off the rope." the girl flashed a grateful glance into the face of the texan who sat his horse with the peculiar smile curling his lips. "oh, how can i ever thank you?" she cried impulsively. "i think you are just _splendid_! and i'll never, _never_ distrust you again. i've been a perfect fool and----" "yes," answered the man gruffly, and alice noticed that the smile was gone from his lips. "but you ain't out of the woods yet. bat's got that horse packed an' as soon as winthrup, there, can crawl up the side of that bronc we better be hittin' the trail. if we can make the timber at the head of cow creek divide by daylight, we can slip down into the bad lands tomorrow night." endicott painfully raised a foot to the stirrup, and the texan turned abruptly to the girl. "can you make it?" he asked. she replied with an eager affirmative and the texan shot her a glance of approval as he watched her mount, for well he knew that she must have fared very little better than endicott in the matter of aching muscles. mile after mile the four rode in silence, tex in the lead with bat lajune close by his side. an occasional backward glance revealed the clumsy efforts of the pilgrim to ease himself in the saddle, and the set look of determination upon the tired face of the girl. "winthrup ain't wearin' well," thought the cowboy as his lips twisted into a smile, "but what could you expect with a name like that? i'm afraid winthrup is goin' to wish i hadn't interfered none with his demise, but he won't squawk, an' neither will she. there's the makin's of a couple of good folks wasted in them two pilgrims," and he frowned darkly at the recollection of the note of genuine relief and gladness with which the girl had greeted endicott; a frown that deepened at the girl's impulsive words to himself, "i think you are just splendid. i'll never distrust you again." "she's a fool!" he muttered under his breath. at his side the half-breed regarded him shrewdly from under the broad brim of his hat. "dat girl she dam' fine 'oman. she got, w'at you call, de nerve." "it's a good thing it ain't daytime," growled the texan surlily, "or that there tongue of yourn would get sun-burnt the way you keep it a-goin'." upon the crest of a high foothill that is a spur of tiger ridge, tex swerved abruptly from the trail and headed straight for the mountains that loomed out of the darkness. on and on he rode, keeping wherever possible to the higher levels to avoid the fences of the nesters whose fields and pastures followed the windings of the creek bottoms. higher and higher they climbed and rougher grew the way. the scrub willows gave place to patches of bull pine and the long stretches of buffalo grass to ugly bare patches of black rock. in and out of the scrub timber they wended, following deep coulees to their sources and crossing steep-pitched divides into other coulees. the fences of the nesters were left far behind and following old game trails, or no trails at all, the texan pushed unhesitatingly forward. at last, just as the dim outlines of the mountains were beginning to assume definite shape in the first faint hint of the morning grey, he pulled into a more extensive patch of timber than any they had passed and dismounting motioned the others to the ground. while the texan prepared breakfast, bat busied himself with the blankets and when the meal was finished alice found a tent awaiting her, which the half-breed had constructed by throwing the pack-tarp over a number of light poles whose ends rested upon a fallen tree-trunk. never in her life, thought the girl, as she sank into the foot-thick mattress of pine boughs that underlay the blankets, had a bed felt so comfortable, so absolutely satisfying. but her conscious enjoyment of its comfort was short-lived for the sounds of men and horses, and the low soughing of the wind in the pine-tops blended into one, and she slept. endicott, too, fell asleep almost as soon as he touched the blankets which the half-breed had spread for him a short distance back from the fire, notwithstanding the scant padding of pine needles that interposed between him and mother earth. beside the fire the half-breed helped tex wash the dishes, the while he regarded the cowpuncher shrewdly as if to fathom what was passing in his mind. "back in wolf rivaire, dey t'ink de pilgrim git hang. w'at for dey mak' de posse?" he asked at length. the texan finished washing the tin plates, dried his hands, and rolled a cigarette, which he lighted deliberately with a brand from the fire. "bat," he said with a glance toward the sleeping endicott, "me an' you has be'n right good friends for quite a spell. you recollect them four bits, back in las vegas--" the half-breed interrupted him with a grin and reaching into his shirt front withdrew a silver half-dollar which depended from his neck by a rawhide thong. "_oui_, a'm don' git mooch chance to ferget dat four bit." "well, then, you got to help me through with this here, like i helped you through when you stole fatty's horse." the half-breed nodded and tex continued: "when that outfit goes up against the wolf river hooch you can bet someone's going to leak it out that there wasn't no reg'lar bony-fido hangin' bee. that'll start a posse, an' that's why we got to stay _cached_ good an' tight till this kind of blows over an' gives us a chance to slip acrost the misszoo. even if it don't leak out, an' any one should happen to spot the pilgrim, that would start a posse, _pronto_, an' we'd get ours for helpin' him to elope." "'spose dey git de pilgrim," persisted the half-breed, "de, w'at you call, de jury, dey say 'turn 'um loose' 'cause he keel dat purdy for try to----" tex hurled his cigarette into the blaze. "you're a damn smart injun, ain't you? well, you just listen to me. i'm runnin' this here little outfit, an' there's reasons over an' above what i've orated, why the pilgrim is goin' to be treated to a good lib'ral dose of the rough stuff. if he comes through, he'll stack up pretty close to a top hand, an' if he don't--" the texan paused and scowled into the fire. "an' if he don't it's his own damn fault, anyhow--an' there you are." the half-breed nodded, and in the dark eyes the texan noted a half-humorous, half-ominous gleam; "dat, w'at you call, '_reason over an' 'bove_', she damn fine 'oman. a'm t'ink she lak' de pilgrim more'n you. but mebbe-so you show heem up for w'at you call, de yellow, you git her 'way, but--me, a'm no lak' i see her git harm." with which declaration the half-breed rose abruptly and busied himself with the horses, while the texan, without bothering to spread his blankets, pulled his hat over his face and stretched out beside the fire. chapter xi a rescue when alice marcum opened her eyes the timber was in darkness. the moon had not yet topped the divide and through an opening in the trees the girl could see the dim outlines of an endless sea of peaks and ridges that stretched away to the eastward. the voice of the texan sounded in her ears: "come alive, now! we got to eat an' pull out of here in an hour's time if we're goin' to fetch the bad lands by daylight." peering around the edge of her shelter tent she could see him, coffee-pot in hand, standing beside the tiny flame that licked at the dry pine shavings of a newly kindled fire. he turned and made his way to the creek that burbled over the rocks a short way down the ravine and alice drew on her riding-boots and joined endicott who had made his way painfully toward the fire where he stood gazing ruefully at the begrimed wreck of a white collar which he held in his hand. the texan returned and placed the coffee-pot close against the tiny blaze. "when you get through invoicin' yer trooso, winthrup, it wouldn't delay us none if you'd grasp that there hand-ax an' carve out a little fire-fodder." he glanced up at alice. "an' if cookin' of any kind has be'n inclooded in your repretwa of accomplishments, you might sizzle up a hunk of that sow-belly, an' keep yer eye on this here pot. an' if winthrup should happen to recover from his locomotive attacksyou an' hack off a limb or two, you can get a little bigger blaze a-goin' an', just before that water starts to burn, slop in a fistful of java. you'll find some dough-gods an' salve in one of them canvas bags, an' when you're all set, holler. i'll throw the kaks on these cayuses, an' bat, he can wrastle with the pack." alice looked into the texan's face with a peculiar little puckering of the brows, and laughed: "see here, mr. tex," she said, "of course, i know that java must be coffee, but if you will kindly render the rest of your remarks a little less caliginous by calling the grub by its christian name, maybe i'll get along better with the breakfast." the texan was laughing now, a wholesome, hearty laugh in which was no trace of cynicism, and the girl felt that for the first time she had caught a glimpse of the real man, the boyish, whole-hearted man that once or twice before she had suspected existed behind the mask of the sardonic smile. from that moment she liked him and at the breezy whimsicality of his next words she decided that it would be well worth the effort to penetrate the mask. "the dude, or dictionary, names for the above specified commodities is bacon, biscuits, an' butter. an' referrin' back to your own etymological spasm, the word 'grub' shows a decided improvement over anything you have uttered previous. i had expected 'food' an' wouldn't have hardly batted an' eye at 'viands,' an' the caliginous part of it is good, only, if you aim to obfuscate my convolutions you'll have to dig a little deeper. entirely irrelevant to syntax an' the allied trades, as the feller says, i'll add that them leggin's of yourn is on the wrong legs, an' here comes winthrup with a chip." turning abruptly, the man made his way toward the horses, and as endicott approached with an armful of firewood, the contrast between the men was brought sharply to the girl's notice. the texan, easy and lithe of movement as an animal born to the wild, the very tilt of his soft-brimmed hat and the set of his clothing bespeaking conscious mastery of his environment--a mastery that the girl knew was not confined to the subduing of wild cattle and horses and the following of obscure trails in the nighttime. never for a moment had the air of self-confidence deserted him. with the same easy assurance that he had flung his loop about the shoulders of the mayor of wolf river he had carried off the honours of the tournament, insulted purdy to his face, dictated to the deputy sheriff, and planned and carried out the release of endicott from the grip of the law. and what was most surprising of all, never had he shown a trace of the boorish embarrassment or self-consciousness which, up to the moment of his brutal attack upon her, had characterized the attitude of purdy. and the girl realized that beneath his picturesque slurring and slashing of english, was a familiarity with words that had never been picked up in the cow-country. endicott tossed down his wood, and alice could not help but notice the sorry appearance of the erstwhile faultlessly dressed gentleman who stood collarless and unshaven, the once delicately lined silk shirt filthy with trail dust, and the tailored suit wrinkled and misshapen as the clothing of a tramp. she noted, too, that his movements were awkward and slow with the pain of overtaxed muscles, and that the stiff derby hat he had been forced to jam down almost to the tops of his ears had left a grimy red band across his forehead. she smiled as her eyes swept the dishevelled and uncouth figure. "i am glad," said endicott with asperity, as he brushed the dirt and bits of bark from his coat, "that you find the situation so humorous. it must be highly gratifying to know that it is of your own making." the tone roused the girl's anger and she glanced up as she finished lacing her leggings. "yes," she answered, sweetly, "it is--very. and one of the most amusing features is to watch how a man's disposition crabs with the mussing of his clothing. no wonder the men who live out here wear things that won't muss, or there wouldn't be but one left and he'd be just a concentrated chunk of unadulterated venom. really, winthrop, you do look horrid, and your disposition is perfectly nasty. but, cheer up, the worst is yet to come, and if you will go down to the creek and wash your hands, you can come back and help me with the grub. you can get busy and dig the dough-gods and salve out of that sack while i sizzle up the sow-belly." endicott regarded her with a frown of disapproval: "why this preposterous and vulgar talk?" "adaptability to environment," piped the girl, glibly. "you can't get along by speaking new york in montana, any easier than you can with english in cincinnati." endicott turned away with a sniff of disgust, and the girl's lips drew into a smile which she meant to be an exact replica of the texan's as she proceeded to slice strips of bacon into the frying-pan. the meal was a silent affair, and during its progress the moon rose clear of the divide and hung, a great orange ball, above the high-flung peaks. almost simultaneously with the rising of the moon, the wind rose, and scuds of cloud-vapour passed, low down, blurring the higher peaks. "we got to get a move on," opined the texan, with an eye on the clouds. "throw them dishes into the pack the way they are, an' we'll clean 'em when we've got more time. there's a storm brewin' west of here an' we want to get as far as we can before she hits." by the time the others were in the saddle, bat was throwing the final hitch on his pack outfit, and with the texan in the lead, the little cavalcade headed southward. an hour's climb, during which they skirted patches of scrub pine, clattered over the loose rocks of ridges, and followed narrow, brush-choked coulees to their sources, found them on the crest of the cow creek divide. the wind, blowing half a gale from the south-east, whipped about their faces and roared and whistled among the rocks and scrub timber. alice's eyes followed the texan's glance toward the west and there, low down on the serried horizon she could see the black mass of a cloud bank. "you can't tell nothin' about those thunderheads. they might hold off 'til along towards mornin', they might pile up on us in an hour, and they might not break at all," vouchsafed the man, as alice reined in her horse close beside his. "but the wind is from the other direction!" "yes, it generally is when the thunder-storms get in their work. if we can get past the johnson fences we can take it easy an' camp most anywhere when the storm hits, but if we get caught on this side without no moonlight to travel by an' have to camp over tomorrow in some coulee, there's no tellin' who'll run onto us. this south slope's infested some plentiful by the riders of three or four outfits." he headed his horse down the steep descent, the others following in single file. as the coulee widened alice found herself riding by the texan's side. "oh, don't you just love the wild country!" she exclaimed, breaking a long interval of silence. "the plains and the mountains, the woods and the creeks, and the wonderful air----" "an' the rattlesnakes, an' the alkali, an' the soap-holes, an' the quicksand, an' the cactus, an' the blisterin' sun, an' the lightnin', an' the rain, an' the snow, an' the ice, an' the sleet----" the girl interrupted him with a laugh: "were you born a pessimist, or has your pessimism been acquired?" the texan did not lift his eyes from the trail: "earnt, i reckon, would be a better word. an' i don't know as it's pessimism, at that, to look in under the crust of your pie before you bite it. if you'd et flies for blueberries as long as i have, you'd----" "i'd ask for flies, and then if there were any blueberries the surprise would be a pleasant one." "chances are, there wouldn't be enough berries to surprise you none pleasant. anyhow, that would be kind of forcin' your luck. follerin' the same line of reasoning a man ort to hunt out a cactus to set on so's he could be surprised pleasant if it turned out to be a burbank one." "you're hopeless," laughed the girl. "but look--the moonlight on the peaks! isn't it wonderful! see how it distorts outlines, and throws a mysterious glamour over the dark patches of timber. corot would have loved it." the texan shook his head: "no. it wouldn't have got _to him_. he couldn't never have got into the feel of stuff like that. meakin did, and remington, but it takes old charlie russell to pick it right out of the air an' slop it onto canvas." alice regarded the man in wonder. "you do love it!" she said. "why should you be here if you didn't love it?" "bein' a cow-hand, it's easier to make a livin' here than in new york or boston. i've never be'n there, but i judge that's the case." "but you are a cow-hand from choice. you have an education and you could----" "no. all the education i've got you could pile onto a dime, an' it wouldn't kill more'n a dozen men. me an' the higher education flirted for a couple of years or so, way back yonder in austin, but owin' to certain an' sundry eccentricities of mine that was frowned on by civilization, i took to the brush an' learnt the cow business. then after a short but onmonotonous sojourn in las vegas, me an' bat came north for our health. . . . here's johnson's horse pasture. we've got to slip through here an' past the home ranch in a quiet an' onobstrusive manner if we aim to preserve the continuity of winthrup's spinal column." "can't we go around?" queried the girl. "no. the coulee is fenced clean acrost an' way up to where even a goat couldn't edge past. we've got to slip through. once we get past the big reservoir we're all right. i'll scout on ahead." the cowboy swung to the ground and threw open the barbed-wire gate. "keep straight on through, bat, unless you hear from me. i'll be waitin' by the bunk-house. chances are, them salamanders will all be poundin' their ear pretty heavy, bein' up all last night to the dance." he galloped away and the others followed at a walk. for an hour no one spoke. "i thought that fence enclosed a pasture, not a county," growled endicott, as he clumsily shifted his weight to bear on a spot less sore. "_oui_, dat hoss pasture she 'bout seven mile long. den we com' by de ranch, an' den de reservoir, an' de hay fences." the half-breed opened a gate and a short distance down the creek alice made out the dark buildings of the ranch. as they drew nearer the girl felt her heart race madly, and the soft thud of the horse's feet on the sod sounded like the thunder of a cavalry charge. grim and forbidding loomed the buildings. not a light showed, and she pictured them peopled with lurking forms that waited to leap out as they passed and throttle the man who had rescued her from the brutish purdy. she was sorry she had been nasty to endicott. she wanted to tell him so, but it was too late. she thought of the revolver that jennie had given her, and slipping her hand into her pocket she grasped it by the butt. at least, she could do for him what he had done for her. she could shoot the first man to lay hands on him. suddenly her heart stood still and her lips pressed tight. a rider emerged from the black shadow of the bunk-house. "hands up!" the girl's revolver was levelled at the man's head, and the next instant she heard the texan laugh softly. "just point it the other way, please, if it's loaded. a fellow shot me with one of those once an' i had a headache all the rest of the evenin'." his horse nosed in beside hers. "it's just as i thought," he explained. "everyone around the outfit's dead to the world. bein' up all night dancin', an' most of the next day trailin' home, you couldn't get 'em up for a poker game--let alone hangin' a pilgrim." alice's fear vanished the moment the texan appeared. his air of absolute self-confidence in his ability to handle a situation compelled the confidence of others. "aren't your nerves ever shaken? aren't you ever afraid?" she asked. tex smiled: "nerve ain't in not bein' afraid," he answered evasively, "but in not lettin' folks know when you're afraid." another gate was opened, and as they passed around the scrub-capped spur of a ridge that projected into the widening valley, the girl drew her horse up sharply and pointed ahead. "oh! a little lake!" she cried enthusiastically. "see how the moonlight shimmers on the tiny waves." heavy and low from the westward came an ominous growl of thunder. "yes. an' there'll be somethin' besides moonlight a-shimmerin' around here directly. that ain't exactly a lake. it's johnson's irrigation reservoir. if we could get about ten miles below here before the storm hits, we can hole up in a rock cave 'til she blows over. the creek valley narrows down to a canyon where it cuts through the last ridge of mountains. "hit 'er up a little, bat. we'll try an' make the canyon!" a flash of lightning illumined the valley, and glancing upward, alice saw that the mass of black clouds was almost overhead. the horses were forced into a run as the hills reverberated to the mighty roll of the thunder. they were following a well-defined bridle trail and scarcely slackened their pace as they splashed in and out of the water where the trail crossed and recrossed the creek. one lightning flash succeeded another with such rapidity that the little valley was illuminated almost to the brightness of day, and the thunder reverberated in one continuous roar. with the buildings of johnson's ranch left safely behind, alice's concern for endicott's well-being cooled perceptibly. "he needn't to have been so hateful, just because i laughed at him," she thought, and winced at a lightning flash. her lips pressed tighter. "i hate thunder-storms--to be out in them. i bet we'll all be soaked and--" there was a blinding flash of light, the whole valley seemed filled with a writhing, twisting rope of white fire, and the deafening roar of thunder that came simultaneously with the flash made the ground tremble. it was as though the world had exploded beneath their feet, and directly in the forefront the girl saw a tall dead cottonwood split in half and topple sidewise. and in the same instant she caught a glimpse of endicott's face. it was very white. "he's afraid," she gritted, and at the thought her own fear vanished, and in its place came a wild spirit of exhilaration. this was life. life in the raw of which she had read and dreamed but never before experienced. her horse stopped abruptly. the texan had dismounted and was pulling at the huge fragment of riven trunk that barred the trail. "we'll have to lead 'em around through the brush, there. we can't budge this boy." scattering rain-drops fell--huge drops that landed with a thud and splashed broadly. "get out the slickers, bat. quick now, or we're in for a wettin'." as he spoke the man stepped to alice's side, helped her to the ground, and loosened the pack-strings of her saddle. a moment later he held a huge oilskin of brilliant yellow, into the sleeves of which the girl thrust her arms. there was an odour as of burning sulphur and she sniffed the air as she buttoned the garment about her throat. the texan grinned: "plenty close enough i'll say, when you get a whiff of the hell-fire. better wait here 'til i find a way through the brush. an' keep out of reach of the horse's heels with that slicker on. you can't never trust a cayuse, 'specially when they can't more'n half see. they're liable to take a crack at you for luck." grasping his bridle reins the texan disappeared and by the lightning flashes she could see him forcing his way through the thicket of willows. the scattering drops changed to a heavy downpour. the moonlight had long since been obliterated and the short intervals between the lightning flashes were spaces of intense blackness. a yellow-clad figure scrambled over the tree trunk and the cowboy took the bridle reins from her hand. "you slip through here. i'll take your horse around." on the other side, the cowboy assisted her to mount, and pulling his horse in beside hers, led off down the trail. the rain steadily increased in volume until the flashes of lightning showed only a grey wall of water, and the roar of it blended into the incessant roar of the thunder. the horses splashed into the creek and wallowed to their bellies in the swirling water. the texan leaned close and shouted to make himself heard. "they don't make 'em any worse than this. i've be'n out in some considerable rainstorms, take it first an' last, but i never seen it come down solid before. a fish could swim anywheres through this." "the creek is rising," answered the girl. "yes, an' we ain't goin' to cross it many more times. in the canyon she'll be belly-deep to a giraffe, an' we got to figure a way out of the coulee 'fore we get to it." alice was straining her ears to catch his words, when suddenly, above the sound of his voice, above the roar of the rain and the crash and roll of thunder, came another sound--a low, sullen growl--indefinable, ominous, terrible. the texan, too, heard the sound and, jerking his horse to a standstill, sat listening. the sullen growl deepened into a loud rumble, indescribably horrible. alice saw that the texan's face was drawn into a tense, puzzled frown. a sudden fear gripped her heart. she leaned forward and the words fairly shrieked from her lips. "it's the reservoir!" the texan whirled to face the others whose horses had crowded close and stood with drooping heads. "the reservoir's let go!" he shouted, and pointed into the grey wall of water at right angles to their course. "ride! ride like hell an' save yourselves! i'll look after her!" the next instant he whirled his horse against the girl's. "ride straight ahead!" he roared. "give him his head an' hang on! i'll stay at his flank, an' if you go down we'll take a chance together!" slipping the quirt from the horn of his saddle the cowboy brought it down across her horse's flank and the animal shot away straight into the opaque grey wall. alice gave the horse a loose rein, set her lips, and gripped the horn of her saddle as the brute plunged on. the valley was not wide. they had reached a point where its sides narrowed to form the mouth of the canyon. the pound of the horse's feet was lost in the titanic bombilation of the elements--the incessant crash and rumble of thunder and the ever increasing roar of rushing waters. at every jump the girl expected her frantic horse to go down, yet she was conscious of no feeling of fear. she glanced over her shoulder, but the terrific downpour acted as a curtain through which her eyes could not penetrate with the aid even of the most vivid flashes of lightning. yet she knew that the texan rode at her flank and that the others followed--endicott and bat, with his pack-horse close-snubbed to his saddle-horn. suddenly the girl felt her horse labouring. his speed slackened perceptibly. as abruptly as it started the rain stopped; and she saw that water was swirling about his knees. saw also by the aid of a lightning flash that throughout its width the valley was a black sea of tossing water. before her the bank was very close and she jerked her horse toward a point where the perpendicular sides of a cutbank gave place to a narrow plane that slanted steeply upward. it seemed to the girl that the steep ascent would be impossible for the horses but it was the only chance. she glanced backward. the texan was close behind, and following him were the others, their horses wallowing to their bellies. she had reached the hill and so steep was its pitch that her horse seemed perpendicular to the earth's surface. she leaned over the horn and twisted her fingers into his mane as the animal, his feet clear of the water, clawed and scrambled like a cat to gain the top. another moment and he had pulled himself over the edge and the girl leaped to the ground. the texan had not followed to the top but had halted his horse at the edge of the water that was mounting steadily higher. bat swung in with his pack horse and with his quirt tex forced them up the embankment. endicott's horse was all but swimming. the water came above the man's knees as the animal fought for footing. the texan leaned far out and, grasping the bridle, drew him in to the bank and quirted him to the top. then, as the three watched, he headed his own horse upward. scarcely had the animal come clear of the water when the eager watchers saw that something was wrong. "de cinch--she bus'!" cried the half-breed excitedly. "dat dam' purdy cut de cinch an' a'm trade tex mine for ride de outlaw, an' we trade back. _voila_!" as the man talked, he jerked the coiled rope from his saddle and rushed to the edge. alice, too, crowded to the bank, her hands tight clenched as she saw the man, the saddle gone from under him, clinging desperately to the bridle reins, his body awash in the black waters. saw also that his weight on the horse's head was causing the animal to quit the straight climb and to plunge and turn erratically. it was evident that both horse and rider must be hurled into the flood. the fury of the storm had passed. the rumble of thunder was distant now. the flashes of lightning came at greater intervals, and with a pale glow instead of the dazzling brilliance of the nearer flashes. through a great rift in the cloud-bank the moon showed, calm and serene above the mad rush of black waters. for a single instant alice gazed into the up-turned face of the texan, and in that instant she saw his lips curve into the familiar cynical smile. then he calmly let go the reins and slipped silently beneath the black water, as the released horse scrambled to the top. beside her, endicott uttered an oath and, tearing at the buttons of his slicker, dashed the garment to the ground. his coat followed, and stooping he tore the shoes from his feet and poised on the very edge of the flood. with a cry she sprang to his side and gripped his arm, but without a word he shook her roughly away, and as a dark form appeared momentarily upon the surface of the flood he plunged in. alice and bat watched as the moonlight showed the man swimming with strong, sure strokes toward the spot where a moment before the dark form had appeared upon the surface. then he dived, and the swift-rushing water purled and gurgled as it closed over the spot where he had been. rope in hand, bat, closely followed by the girl, ran along the edge of the bank, both straining their eyes for the first sign of movement upon the surface of the flood. would he never come up? the slope up which the horses had scrambled steepened into a perpendicular cut-bank at no great distance below, and if the current bore the two men past that point the girl knew instinctively that rescue would be impossible and they would be swept into the vortex of the canyon. there was a cry from bat, and alice, struggling to keep up, caught a blur of motion upon the surface some distance below. a few steps brought them opposite to the point, where, scarcely thirty feet from the bank, two forms were struggling violently. suddenly an arm raised high, and a doubled fist crashed squarely against the jaw of a white, upturned face. the half-breed poised an instant and threw his rope. the wide loop fell true and a moment later endicott succeeded in passing it under the arms of the unconscious texan. then the rope drew taut and the halfbreed braced to the pull as the men were forced shoreward by the current. with a cry of relief, alice rushed to the aid of the half-breed, and grasping the rope, threw her weight into the pull. but her relief was short-lived, for when the forms in the water touched shore it was to brush against the side of the cut-bank with tea feet of perpendicular wall above them. and worse than, that, unhardened to the wear of water, the bank was caving off in great chunks as the current gnawed at its base. a section weighing tons let go with a roar only a few yards below, and bat and the girl worked as neither had ever worked before to tow their burden upstream to the sloping bank. but the force of the current and the conformation of the bank, which slanted outward at an angle that diminished the force of the pull by half, rendered their efforts in vain. "you stan' back!" ordered bat sharply, as a section of earth gave way almost beneath their feet, but the girl paid no attention, and the two redoubled their efforts. in the water, endicott took in the situation at a glance. he realized that the strain of the pull was more than the two could overcome. realized also that each moment added to the jeopardy of the half-breed and the girl. there was one chance--and only one. relieved of his weight, the unresisting form of the texan could be dragged to safety--and he would take that chance. "_non_! _non_!" the words were fairly hurled from the half-breed's lips, as he seemed to divine what was passing in endicott's mind. but endicott gave no heed. deliberately he let go the rope and the next moment was whirled from sight, straight toward the seething vortex of the canyon, where the moonlight revealed dimly in the distance only a wild rush of lashing waters and the thrashing limbs of uprooted trees. chapter xii tex does some scouting the moon hung low over the peaks to the westward when the texan opened his eyes. for some moments he stared about him in bewilderment, his gaze travelling slowly from the slicker-clad form of the girl, who sat close beside him with her face buried in her arms, to the little group of horses that stood huddled dejectedly together. with an effort he struggled to his elbow, and at the movement, the girl raised her head and turned a very white face toward him. shivering with cold, the texan raised himself to a sitting posture. "where's bat?" he asked. "an' why ain't he onsaddled those horses, an' built a fire? i'm froze stiff." "bat has gone to--to find winthrop," answered the girl, with a painful catch in her voice. "he wouldn't wait, and i had no matches, and yours were all wet, and i couldn't loosen the cinches." tex passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to remember, and his fingers prodded tenderly at his jaw. "i recollect bein' in the water, an' the pilgrim was there, an' we were scrappin' an' he punched me in the jaw. he carries a whallop up his sleeve like the kick of a mule. but what we was scrappin' about, an' where he is now, an' how i come here, is somethin' i don't savvy." step by step the girl detailed what had happened while the texan listened in silence. "and now," she concluded, "he's gone. just when--" her voice broke and once more she buried her face in her arms. tex saw that she was sobbing silently. he felt for his "makings" and drew from his pocket a little sack of soggy tobacco and some wet papers. he returned them to his pocket and rose to his feet. "you're cold," he said softly. "there's dry matches in the pack. i'll make a fire an' get those wet saddles off the horses." alice did not look up and the man busied himself with the pack. a few minutes later she felt his fingers upon her shoulder. he pointed toward a fire that crackled cheerfully from the depths of a bull pine thicket. "i fixed you up a shelter tent and spread your blankets. the tarp kep' 'em tolerable dry. go over there an' get off those clothes. you must be wet through--nothin' short of a divin' suit would have kep' that rain out!" "but----" he forestalled the objection. "there won't be any one to bother you. i'm goin' down the creek." the girl noticed that his horse, saddled with endicott's saddle stood close behind her. "i didn't mean that!" she exclaimed. "but you are cold--chilled to the bone. you need the fire more than i do." the man shook his head: "i'll be goin' now," he said. "you'd better make you some coffee." "you're going to--to----" tex nodded: "yes. to find the pilgrim. if he's alive i'll find him. an' if he ain't i'll find him. an' when i do, i'll bring him back to you." he turned abruptly, swung onto his horse, and alice watched him as he disappeared down the valley, keeping to the higher ground. not until she was alone did the girl realize how miserably cold and uncomfortable she was. she rose stiffly, and walking slowly to the edge of the bank, looked out over the little valley. the great reservoir had run out in that first wild rush of water and now the last rays of moonlight showed only wide, glistening pools, and the creek subsided to nearly its normal proportions. with a shudder she turned toward the fire. its warmth felt grateful. she removed the slicker and riding costume and, wrapping herself, squaw-like, in a blanket, sat down in the little shelter tent. she found that the texan had filled the coffee pot and, throwing in some coffee, she set it to boil. "he's so thoughtful, and self-reliant, and--and competent," she murmured. "and he's brave, and--and picturesque. winthrop is brave, too--just as brave as he is, but--he isn't a bit picturesque." she relapsed into silence as she rummaged in the bag for a cup, and the sugar, and a can of milk. the moon sank behind the ridge and the girl replenished her fire from the pile of wood the texan had left within reach of her hand. she drank her coffee and her eyes sought to penetrate the blackness beyond the firelight. somewhere out there in the dark--she shuddered as she attempted to visualize _what_ was somewhere out there in the dark. and then a flash of memory brought with it a ray of hope that cheered her immeasurably. "why, he was a champion swimmer in college," she said aloud. "he was always winning cups and things. and he's strong, and brave--and yet----" vividly to her mind came the picture of the wildly rushing flood with its burden of tossing trees, and the man being swept straight into the gurge of it. "i'll tell him he's brave--and he'll spoil it all by saying that it was the only _practical_ thing to do." "oh," she cried aloud, "i could love him if it were not for his deadly practicability--even if i should have to live in cincinnati." and straightway fell to comparing the two men. "tex is absurdly unconventional in speech and actions, and he has an adorable disregard for laws and things. he's just a big, irresponsible boy--and yet, he makes you feel as if he always knew exactly what to do and how to do it. and he is brave, too, with a reckless, devil-may-care sort of bravery that takes no thought of cost or consequences. he knew, when he let go his bridle reins, that he couldn't swim a stroke--and he smiled and didn't care. and he's gentle and considerate, too." she remembered the look in his eyes when he said: "you are cold," and blushed furiously. it seemed hours she sat there staring into the little fire and listening for sounds from the dark. but the only sounds that came to her were the sounds of the feeding horses, and in utter weariness she lay back with her head upon a folded blanket, and slept. when the texan swung onto his horse after having made the girl comfortable for her long vigil, a scant half-hour of moonlight was left to him. he gave the horse his head and the animal picked his way among the loose rocks and scrub timber that capped the ridge. when darkness overtook him he dismounted, unsaddled, and groped about for firewood. despite its recent soaking the resinous bull pine flared up at the touch of a match, and with his back to a rock-wall, the cowboy sat and watched the little flames shoot upward. once more he felt for his "makings" and with infinite pains dried out his papers and tobacco. "it's the chance i be'n aimin' to make for myself," he mused, as he drew the grey smoke of a cigarette deep into his lungs, "to get bat an' the pilgrim away--an' i ride off and leave it." the cigarette was consumed and he rolled another. "takin' a slant at himself from the inside, a man kind of gets a line on how damned ornery folks can get. purdy got shot, an' everyone said he got just what was comin' to him---- me, an' everyone else--an' he did. but when you get down to cases, he wasn't no hell of a lot worse'n me, at that. we was both after the same thing--only his work was coarser." for hours the man sat staring into his fire, the while he rolled and smoked many cigarettes. "oh, hell!" he exclaimed, aloud. "i can't turn nester, an' even if i did, she couldn't live out in no mud-roof shack in the bottom of some coulee! still, she---- there i go again, over the same old trail. this here little girl has sure gone to my head--like a couple of jolts of hundred-proof on an empty stummick. anyhow, she's a damn sight safer'n ever she was before, an'--i'll bet the old man _would_ let me take that eagle creek ranch off his hands, an' stake me to a little bunch of stock besides, if i went at him right. if it wasn't for that damn pilgrim! bat was right. he holds the edge on me--but he's a man." the cowboy glanced anxiously toward the east where the sky was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn. he rose, trampled out his fire, and threw the saddle onto his horse. "i've got to find him," he muttered, "if bat ain't found him already. i don't know much about this swimmin' business but if he could have got holt of a tree or somethin' he might have made her through." now riding, now dismounting to lead his horse over some particularly rough outcropping of rocks, or through an almost impenetrable tangle of scrub, the man made his way over the divide and came down into the valley amid a shower of loose rock and gravel, at a point some distance below the lower end of the canyon. the mountains were behind him. only an occasional butte reared its head above the sea of low foothills that stretched away into the bad lands to the southward. the sides of the valley flattened and became ill-defined. low ridges and sage-topped foothills broke up its continuity, so that the little creek that started so bravely from the mountains ended nowhere, its waters being sucked in by the parched and thirsting alkali soil long before it reached the bad lands. as his horse toiled ankle-deep in the soft whitish mud, tex's eyes roved over the broadened expanse of the valley. everywhere were evidences of the destructive force of the flood. uprooted trees scattered singly and in groups, high-flung masses of brush, hay, and inextricably tangled barbed-wire from which dangled fence-posts marked every bend of the creek bed. and on every hand the bodies of drowned cattle dotted the valley. "if i was johnson," he mused, as his eyes swept the valley, "i'd head a right smart of ranch hands down here heeled with a spade an' a sexton's commission. these here late lamented dogies'll cost him somethin' in damages." from force of habit the man read the brands of the dead cattle as he rode slowly down the valley. "d bar c, that's old dave cromley's steer. an' there's a t u, an' an i x cow, an' there's one of charlie green's, an' a yearlin' of jerry keerful's, an' a quarter-circle m,--that belongs over the other side, they don't need to bother with that one, an' there's a----" suddenly he drew himself erect, and rising to stand in the stirrups, gazed long and intently toward a spot a quarter of a mile below, where a thin column of smoke curled over the crest of a low ridge. abruptly he lost interest in the brands of dead cattle and headed his horse at a run toward a coulee, that gave between two sage covered foothills only a short distance from the faint column of smoke. "that might be bat, an' then again it mightn't," he muttered. "it can't be the pilgrim without bat's along, 'cause he wouldn't have no dry matches. an' if it's any one else--" he drew up sharply in the shelter of a thicket, dismounted, and made his way on foot to the summit of the ridge. removing his hat, he thrust his head through a narrow opening between two sage bushes, and peered into the hollow beyond. beside a little fire sat bat and the pilgrim, the latter arrayed in a suit of underwear much abbreviated as to arms and legs, while from the branches of a broken tree-top drawn close beside the blaze depended a pair of mud-caked trousers and a disreputably dirty silk shirt. the texan picked his way down the hill, slipping and sliding in the soft mud. "breakfast about ready?" he asked, with a grin. "breakfas'! _voila_! a'm lak' a'm got som' breakfas', you bet! me--a'm gon' for cut de chonk of meat out de dead steer but de pilgrim say: '_non_, dat bes' we don' eat de damn drownded cattle--dat better we sta've firs'!" tex laughed: "can't stand for the drownded ones, eh? well i don't know as i blame you none, they might be some soggy." reaching into his shirt-front he produced a salt bag which he tossed to endicott. "here's some sinkers i fetched along. divide 'em up. i've et. it ain't no great ways back to camp----" "how is she--miss marcum? did she suffer from the shock?" "nary suffer. i fixed her up a camp last night back in the timber where we all landed, an' then came away." "she spent the night alone in the timber!" cried endicott. the texan nodded. "yes. there ain't nothin' will bother her. i judged it to be the best way." endicott's hand shot out and the cowboy's met it in a firm grip. "i reckon we're fifty-fifty on that," he said gravely. "how's the swimmin'?" endicott laughed: "fine--only i didn't have to do a great deal of it. i staged a little riding contest all my own, part of the way on a dead cow, and the rest of it on this tree-trunk. i didn't mind that part of it--that was fun, but it didn't last over twenty minutes. after the tree grounded, i had to tramp up and down through this ankle-deep mud to keep from freezing. i didn't dare to go any place for fear of getting lost. i thought at first, when the water went down i would follow back up the valley, but i couldn't find the sides and after one or two false starts i gave it up. then bat showed up at daylight and we managed to build a fire." endicott divided the biscuits and proceeded to devour his share. tex rolled a cigarette. "say," he drawled, when he had lighted it with a twig from the fire, "what the hell did you whallop me in the jaw for? i seen it comin' but i couldn't dodge, an' when she hit--it seemed like i was all tucked away in my little crib, an' somewhere, sweet voices was singin'." "i had to do it," laughed endicott. "it was that, or both of us going to the bottom. you were grabbing for my arms and legs." "i ain't holdin' it against you," grinned tex. "the arms an' legs is yours, an' you're welcome to 'em. also i'm obliged to you for permittin' me to tarry a spell longer on this mundane spear, as the fellow says, even if i can't chew nothin' harder'n soup." "would you mind rolling me a cigarette," grinned endicott, as he finished the last of the biscuits. "i never tried it, and i am afraid i would bungle the job." without hesitation the texan complied, deftly interposing his body so that the pilgrim could not see that the tobacco he poured into the paper was the last in his sack. he extended the little cylinder. "when you get that lit, you better crawl into them clothes of yours an' we'll be hittin' the back-trail. out here in the open ain't no place for us to be." endicott surveyed his sorry outfit with disfavour. "i would rather stick to the b.v.d.'s, if it were practical." "b.v.d., b.v.d.," repeated the texan. "there ain't no such brand on this range. must be some outfit south of here--what did you say about it?" "i said my b.v.d.'s," he indicated his under-garments; "these would be preferable to those muddy trousers and that shirt." "oh, that's the brand of your longerie. don't wear none myself, except in winter, an' then thick ones. i've scrutinized them kind, though, more or less thorough--hangin' on lines around nesters' places an' home ranches, when i'd be ridin' through. never noticed none with b.v.d. on 'em, though. the brand most favoured around here has got xxxx flour printed acrost the broad of 'em, an' i've always judged 'em as belongin' to the opposin' sect." endicott chuckled as he gingerly arrayed himself in the damp garments and when he was dressed, tex regarded him quizzically: "them belongin's of yourn sure do show neglect, win." endicott started at the word. it was the first time any one had abbreviated his name, and instantly he remembered the words of alice marcum: "if you keep on improving some day somebody is going to call you win." he smiled grimly. "i must be improving," he muttered, under his breath, "i would pass anywhere for a tramp." from beyond the fire tex continued his scrutiny, the while he communed with himself: "everything's fair, et cetry, as the fellow says, an' it's a cinch there ain't no girl goin' to fall no hell of a ways for any one rigged out like a last year's sheepherder. but, damn it! he done me a good turn--an' one that took guts to do. 'tain't no use in chasin' the devil around the stump---- if i can get that girl i'm a-goin' to get her! if i do i'll wire in some creek an' turn nester or do any other damned thing that's likewise mean an' debasin' that she wants me to--except run sheep. but if the pilgrim's got the edge, accordin' to bat's surmise, he's got it fair an' square. the cards is on the table. it's him or me for it--but from now on the game's on the level." aloud he said: "hope you don't mind havin' your name took in vain like i done, but it's a habit of mine to get names down to a workin' basis when i've got to use 'em frequent. bat, there, his folks started him off with a name that sounded like the nicene creed, but we bobbed her down for handy reference, an' likewise i ain't be'n called horatio since the paternal roof-tree quit sproutin' the punitive switch. but, to get down to cases, you fellows have got to hike back to the camp an' hole up 'til dark. there's bound to be someone ridin' this here coulee an' you got to keep out of sight. i'm goin' to do a little scoutin', an' i'll join you later. it ain't only a couple of miles or so an' you better hit for the high ground an' cross the divide. don't risk goin' through the canyon." endicott glanced apprehensively at his mud encased silk socks, the feet of which were already worn through in a dozen places. "where's your slippers!" asked tex, catching the glance. "my shoes? i threw them away last night before i took to the water." "it's just as well. they wasn't any good anyhow. the ground's soft with the rain, all you got to watch out for is prickly pears an' rattlesnakes. you'll be close to camp before the rocks get bad an' then bat can go hunt up your slippers an' fetch 'em out to you." the texan started for his horse. at the top of the ridge he turned: "i'll stop an' tell her that you'll be along in a little bit," he called, and swinging into the saddle, struck off up the creek. the habitual cynical smile that curled his lips broadened as he rode. "this here johnson, now, he likes me like he likes a saddle-galded boil, ever since i maintained that a rider was hired to ride, an' not to moil, an' quit his post-hole-diggin', hay-pitchin', tea-drinkin' outfit, short-handed. i ain't had no chance to aggravate him real good, outside of askin' him how his post-holes was winterin' through, when i'd meet up with him on the trail, an' invitin' him to go over to the long horn to have a snort of tea, a time or two, down to wolf river." at the up-slanting bank where they had sought refuge from the valley he dismounted, wrenched his own saddle out of the mud, and examined the broken cinch. "if the pilgrim hadn't saved me the trouble, i'd of sure had to get purdy for that," he muttered, and looked up to encounter the eyes of the girl, who was watching him from the top of the bank. her face was very white, and the sight stirred a strange discomfort within him. "i bet she wouldn't turn no such colour for me, if i'd be'n drowned for a week," he thought, bitterly. "you--didn't find him?" the words came with an effort. the texan forced a smile: "i wouldn't have be'n here if i hadn't. or rather bat did, an' i found the two of 'em. he's all to the mustard an' none the worse for wear, except his clothes--they won't never look quite the same, an' his socks need mendin' in sixty or seventy spots. they'll be along directly. you run along and fix 'em up some breakfast an' keep out of sight. i'm goin' to do a little scoutin' an', maybe, won't be back 'til pretty near dark." "but you! surely, you must be nearly starved!" the relief that flashed into her face at the news of endicott's safety changed to sincere concern. "i ain't got time, now." "please come. the coffee is all ready and it won't take but a minute to fry some bacon." the texan smiled up at her. "if you insist," he said. the girl started in surprise at the words, and the man plunged immediately into the vernacular of the cow-country as he followed her into the timber. "yes. a cup of java wouldn't go bad, but i won't stop long. i want to kind of circulate along the back-trail a ways to see if we're bein' followed." he took the cup of coffee from her hand and watched as she sliced the bacon and threw it into the frying pan. "did you ever figure on turnin' nester?" he asked abruptly. the girl looked at him inquiringly: "nester?" she asked. "what's a nester?" tex smiled: "nesters is folks that takes up a claim an' fences off a creek somewheres, an' then stays with it 'til, by the grace of god, they either starve to death, or get rich." alice laughed: "no, i never thought of being a nester. but it would be loads of fun. that is, if----" the texan interrupted her almost rudely: "yes, an' if they didn't, it would just naturally be hell, wouldn't it?" he gulped down the last of his coffee, and, without waiting for the bacon, strode out of the timber, mounted his horse, and rode away. at the reservoir site he drew rein and inspected the ruined dirt-and-rock dam. fresh dirt, brush, and rock had already been dumped into the aperture, and over on the hillside a group of men was busy loading wagons. he let himself into the ranch enclosure, rode past the bunk-house and on toward the big house that sat well back from the other buildings in the centre of a grove of trees. a horse stood saddled beside the porch, and through the open door tex could hear a man's voice raised in anger: "why in hell ain't it ready? you might of knowed i'd want it early today, havin' to git out at daylight! you wouldn't give a damn if i never got nothin' to eat!" the door banged viciously cutting off a reply in a woman's voice, and a man strode across the porch, and snatched up the reins of the waiting horse. "what's the matter, johnson, your suspenders galdin' you this mornin'?" the man scowled into the face of the cow-puncher who sat regarding him with an irritating grin. "what do you want around here? if you want a job go turn your horse into the corral an' git out there an' git to work on that resevoy." "no, johnson, i don't want a job. i done had one experience with this outfit, an' i fired you for a boss for keeps." "get offen this ranch!" roared the man, shaking a fist, and advancing one threatening step, "or i'll have you throw'd off!" tex laughed: "i don't aim to stick around no great while. fact is, i'm in somethin' of a hurry myself. i just stopped in to give you a chanct to do me a good turn. i happened to be down this way an': 'there's johnson,' i says to myself, 'he's so free an' open-handed, a man's welcome to anything he's got,' so i stopped in." the ranchman regarded him with an intent scowl: "'sth' matter with you, you drunk?" "not yet. but i got a friend out here in the hills which he's lost his slippers, an' tore his pants, an' got his shirt all dirty, an' mislaid his hat; an' knowin' you'd be glad to stake him to an outfit i come over, him bein' about your size an' build." the ranchman's face flushed with anger: "what the hell do i care about you an' your friends. git offen this ranch, i tell you!" "oh, yes, an' while you're gettin' the outfit together just you slip in a cinch, an' a quart or two of _hooch_, case we might get snake-bit." beside himself with rage, the man raised his foot to the stirrup. as if suddenly remembering something he paused, lowered his foot, and regarded the cowboy with an evil leer: "ah-ha, i've got it now!" he moved a step nearer. "i was at the dance night before last to wolf river." he waited to note the effect of the words on his hearer. "did you have a good time? or did the dollar you had to shell out for the ticket spoil all the fun?" "never mind what kind of a _time_ i had. but they's plenty of us knows you was the head leader of the gang that took an' lynched that pilgrim." "that's right," smiled the man coolly. "beats the devil, how things gets spread around, don't it? an' speakin' of news spreading that way--i just came up the creek from down below the canyon. you must have had quite a bit of water in your reservoir when she let go, johnson, judgin' by results." "what do you mean?" "you ain't be'n down the creek, then?" "no, i ain't. i'm goin' now. i had to git the men to work fixin' the dam." "what i mean is this! there's about fifty head of cattle, more or less, that's layin' sprinkled around on top of the mud. amongst which i seen t u brands, and i x, an' d bar c, an' quite a few nester brands. when your reservoir let go she sure raised hell with other folks' property. of course, bein' away down there where there ain't any folks, if i hadn't happened along it might have been two or three weeks before any one would have rode through, an' you could have run a bunch of ranch hands down an' buried 'em an' no one would have be'n any wiser----" "you're lyin'!" there was a look of fear in the man's eyes, tex shrugged: "you'll only waste a half a day ridin' down to see for yourself," he replied indifferently. johnson appeared to consider, then stepped close to the texan's side: "they say one good turn deserves another. meanin' that you shet up about them cattle an' i'll shet up about seein' you." "that way, it wouldn't cost you nothin' would it, johnson? well, it's a trade, if you throw in the aforementioned articles of outfit i specified, to boot." "not by a damn sight! you got the best end of it the way it is. lynchin' is murder!" "so it is," agreed the texan. "an' likewise, maintainin' weak reservoirs that lets go an' drowns other folks' cattle is a public nuisance, an' a jury's liable to figger up them damages kind of high--'specially again' you, johnson, bein' ornery an' rotten-hearted, an' tight-fisted, that way, folks don't like you." "it means hangin' fer you!" "yes. but it means catchin' first. i can be a thousan' miles away from here, in a week, but you're different. all they got to do is grab the ranch, it's good for five or six thousan' in damages, all right. still if you don't want to trade, i'll be goin'." he gathered up his reins. "hold on! it's a damned hold-up, but what was it you wanted?" the texan checked off the items on his gloved fingers: "one pair of pants, one shirt, one hat, one pair of boots, same size as yourn, one pair of spurs, one silk muffler, that one you've got on'll do, one cinch, half a dozen packages of tobacco, an' one bottle of whiskey. all to be in good order an' delivered right here within ten minutes. an' you might fetch a war-bag to pack 'em in. hurry up now! 'cause if you ain't back in ten minutes, i'll be movin' along, an' when i pass the word to the owners of them cattle it's goin' to raise their asperity some obnoxious." with a growl the man disappeared into the house to return a few minutes later with a sack whose sides bulged. "dump 'em out an' we'll look 'em over!" ordered the texan and the man complied. "all right. throw 'em in again an' hand 'em up." when he had secured the load by means of his pack strings he turned to the rancher. "so long, johnson, an' if i was you i wouldn't lose no time in attendin' to the last solemn obsequies of them defunk dogies. i'll never squeal, but you can't tell how soon someone else might come a-ridin' along through the foot-hills." chapter xiii a bottle of "hooch" it was well past the middle of the afternoon when the texan rode up the steep incline and unsaddled his horse. the occupants of the camp were all asleep, the girl in her little shelter tent, and bat and endicott with their blankets spread at some little distance away. tex carried the outfit he had procured from johnson into the timber, then crawled cautiously to the pilgrim's side, and awoke him without arousing the others. "hey, win, wake up," he whispered as the man regarded him through a pair of sleepy eyes. "come on with me. i got somethin' to show you." tex led the way to the war-bag. "them clothes of yourn is plum despisable to look at," he imparted, "so i borrowed an outfit offen a friend of mine that's about your size. just crawl into 'em an' see how they fit." five minutes later the cowboy viewed with approval the figure that stood before him, booted and spurred, with his mud-caked garments replaced by corduroy trousers and a shirt of blue flannel against which the red silk muffler made a splotch of vivid colouring. "you look like a sure enough top hand, now," grinned the texan. "we'll just take a drink on that." he drew the cork from the bottle and tendered it to endicott, who shook his head. "no, thanks. i never use it." the texan stared at him in surprise. "do you mean you've got the regular habit of not drinkin', or is it only a temporary lapse of duty?" endicott laughed: "regular habit," he answered. the other drank deeply of the liquor and returned the cork. "you ought to break yourself of that habit, win, there's no tellin' where it'll lead to. a fellow insulted me once when i was sober an' i never noticed it. but laying aside your moral defects, them whiskers of yourn is sure onornamental to a scandalous degree. wait, i'll fetch my razor, an' you can mow 'em." he disappeared, to return a few moments later with a razor, a cake of hand-soap, and a shaving brush. "i never have shaved my self," admitted endicott, eyeing the articles dubiously. "who have you shaved?" "i mean, i have always been shaved by a barber." "oh!" the cowboy took another long pull at the bottle. "well, win, the fact is them whiskers looks like hell an' has got to come off." he rolled up his sleeves. "i ain't no barber, an' never shaved a man in my life, except myself, but i'm willin' to take a chance. after what you've done for me i'd be a damn coward not to risk it. wait now 'til i get another drink an' i'll tackle the job an' get it over with. a man can't never tell what he can do 'til he tries." endicott viewed the cowboy's enthusiasm with alarm. "that's just what i was thinking, tex," he hastened to say, as the other drew the cork from the bottle. "and it is high time i learned to shave myself, anyway. i have never been where it was necessary before. if you will just sit there and tell me how, i will begin right now." "alright, win, you can't never learn any younger. first off, you wet your face in the creek an' then soap it good. that soap ain't regular shavin' soap, but it'll do. then you take the brush an' work it into a lather, an' then you shave." "but," inquired the man dubiously, "don't you have towels soaked in hot water, and----" "towels an' hot water, hell! this ain't no barber shop, an' there ain't no gin, or whatever they rub on your face after you get through, either. you just shave an' knock the soap off your ears an' that's all there is to it." after much effort endicott succeeded in smearing his face with a thin, stringy lather, and gingerly picked up the razor. the texan looked on in owlish solemnity as the man sat holding the blade helplessly. "what you doin', win, sayin' the blessin'? just whet her on your boot an' sail in." "but where do i begin?" the texan snorted disgustedly. "your face ain't so damn big but what an hour or two reminiscence ought to take you back to where it starts. begin at your hat an' work down over your jaw 'til you come to your shirt, an' the same on the other side, takin' in your lip an' chin in transit, as the feller says. an' hold it like a razor, an' not like a pitchfork. now you got to lather all over again, 'cause it's dry." once more endicott laboriously coaxed a thin lather out of the brown hand-soap, and again he grasped the razor, this time with a do-or-die determination. "oughtn't i have a mirror?" he asked doubtfully. "a mirror! don't you know where your own face is at? you don't need no mirror to eat with, do you? well, it's the same way with shavin'. but if you got to have ocular evidence, just hang out over the creek there where it's still." the operation was slow and painful. it seemed to endicott as though each separate hair were being dragged out by its roots, and more than once the razor edge drew blood. at last the job was finished, he bathed his smarting face in the cold water, and turned to the texan for approval. "you look like the second best bet in a two-handed cat fight," he opined, and producing his book of cigarette papers, proceeded to stick patches of tissue over various cuts and gashes. "takin' it by an' large, though, it ain't so bad. there's about as many places where you didn't go close enough as there is where you went too close, so's it'll average somewhere around the skin level. anyway it shows you tried to look respectable--an' you do, from your neck down--an' your hat, too." "i am certainly obliged to you," laughed endicott, "for going to all that trouble to provide me with clothing. and by the way, did you learn anything--in regard to posses, i mean?" the texan nodded sombrely: "yep. i did. this here friend of mine was on his way back from wolf river when i met up with him. 'tex,' he says, 'where's the pilgrim?' i remains noncommital, an' he continues, 'i layed over yesterday to enjoy purdy's funeral, which it was the biggest one ever pulled off in wolf river--not that any one give a damn about purdy, but they've drug politics into it, an' furthermore, his'n was the only corpse to show for the whole celebration, it bein' plumb devoid of further casualties.'" the cowpuncher paused, referred to his bottle, and continued: "it's just like i told you before. there can't no one's election get predjudiced by hangin' you, an' they've made a kind of issue out of it. there's four candidates for sheriff this fall an' folks has kind of let it be known, sub rosy, that the one that brings you in, gathers the votes. in the absence of any corpse delecti, which in this case means yourn, folks refuses to assume you was hung, so each one of them four candidates is right now scouring the country with a posse. all this he imparts to me while he was throwin' that outfit of clothes together an' further he adds that i'm under suspicion for aidin' an' abettin', an' that means life with hard labour if i'm caught with the goods--an', win, you're the goods. therefore, you'll confer a favour on me by not getting caught, an' incidentally save yourself a hangin'. once we get into the bad lands we're all to the good, but even then you've got to keep shy of folks. duck out of sight when you first see any one. don't have nothin' to say to no one under no circumstances. if you do chance onto someone where you can't do nothin' else you'll have to lie to 'em. personal, i don't favour lyin' only as a last resort, an' then in moderation. of course, down in the bad lands, most of the folks will be on the run like we are, an' not no more anxious for to hold a caucus than us. you don't have to be so particular there, 'cause likely all they'll do when they run onto you will be to take a shot at you, an' beat it. we've got to lay low in the bad lands about a week or so, an' after that folks will have somethin' else on their mind an' we can slip acrost to the n. p." "see here, tex, this thing has gone far enough." there was a note of determination in endicott's voice as he continued: "i cannot permit you to further jeopardize yourself on my account. you have already neglected your business, incurred no end of hard work, and risked life, limb, and freedom to get me out of a scrape. i fully appreciate that i am already under heavier obligation to you than i can ever repay. but from here on, i am going it alone. just indicate the general direction of the n. p. and i will find it. i know that you and bat will see that miss marcum reaches the railway in safety, and----" "hold on, win! that oration of yourn ain't got us no hell of a ways, an' already it's wandered about four school-sections off the trail. in the first place, it's me an' not you that does the permittin' for this outfit. i've undertook to get you acrost to the n. p. i never started anythin' yet that i ain't finished. take this bottle of _hooch_ here--i've started her, an' i'll finish her. there's just as much chance i won't take you acrost to the n. p., as that i won't finish that bottle--an' that's damn little. "about neglectin' my business, as you mentioned, that ain't worryin' me none, because the wagon boss specified particular an' onmistakeable that if any of us misguided sons of guns didn't show up on the job the mornin' followin' the dance, we might's well keep on ridin' as far as that outfit was concerned, so it's undoubtable that the cow business is bein' carried on satisfactory durin' my temporary absence. "concernin' the general direction of the n. p., i'll enlighten you that if you was to line out straight for texas, it would be the first railroad you'd cross. but you wouldn't never cross it because interposed between it an' here is a right smart stretch of country which for want of a worse name is called the bad lands. they's some several thousan' square miles in which there's only seven water-holes that a man can drink out of, an' generally speakin' about five of them is dry. there's plenty of water-holes but they're poison. some is gyp an' some is arsnic. also these here bad lands ain't laid out on no general plan. the coulees run hell-west an' crossways at their littlest end an' wind up in a mud crack. there ain't no trails, an' the inhabitants is renegades an' horse-thieves which loves their solitude to a murderous extent. if a man ain't acquainted with the country an' the horse-thieves, an' the water-holes, his sojourn would be discouragin' an' short. "all of which circumlocutin' brings us to the main point which is that _she_ wouldn't stand for no such proceedin'. as far as i can see that settles the case. the pros an' cons that you an' me could set here an' chew about, bein' merely incidental, irreverent, an' by way of passin' the time." endicott laughed: "you are a philosopher, tex." "a cow-hand has got to be." "but seriously, i could slip away without her knowing it, then the only thing you could do would be to take her to the railway." "yes. well, you try that an' you'll find out who's runnin' this outfit. i'll trail out after you an' when i catch you, i'll just naturally knock hell out of you, an' that's all there'll be to it. you had the edge on me in the water but you ain't on land. an' now that's settled to the satisfaction of all parties concerned, suppose me an' you slip over to camp an' cook supper so we can pull out right after sundown." the two made their way through the timber to find alice blowing herself red in the face in a vain effort to coax a blaze out of a few smouldering coals she had scraped from beneath the ashes of the fire. "hold on!" cried the texan, striding toward her, "i've always maintained that buildin' fires is a he-chore, like swearin', an' puttin' the baby to sleep. so, if you'll just set to one side a minute while i get this fire a-goin' an' win fetches some water, you can take holt an' do the cookin' while we-all get the outfit ready for the trail." something in the man's voice caused the girl to regard him sharply, and her eyes shifted for a moment to his companion who stood in the background. there was no flash of recognition in the glance, and endicott, suppressing a laugh, turned his face away, picked up the water pail, and started toward the creek. "who is that man?" asked the girl, a trifle nervously, as he disappeared from view. "who, him?" the texan was shaving slivers from a bull pine stick. "he's a friend of mine. win's his name, an' barrin' a few little irregularities of habit, he ain't so bad." the cowboy burst into mournful song as he collected his shavings and laid them upon the coals: "it's little joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more, his days with the _remuda_ they are o'er; 'twas a year ago last april when he rode into our camp, just a little texas stray, and all alo-o-o-n-e." alice leaned toward the man in sudden anger: "you've been drinking!" she whispered. tex glanced at her in surprise: "that's so," he said, gravely. "it's the only way i can get it down." she was about to retort when endicott returned from the creek and placed the water pail beside her. "winthrop!" she cried, for the first time recognizing him. "where in the world did you get those clothes, and what is the matter with your face?" endicott grinned: "i shaved myself for the first time." "what did you do it with, some barbed wire?" "looks like somethin' that was left out in the rain an' had started to peel," ventured the irrepressible tex. alice ignored him completely. "but the clothes? where did you get them?" endicott nodded toward the texan. "he loaned them to me!" "but--surely they would never fit him." "didn't know it was necessary they should," drawled tex, and having succeeded in building the fire, moved off to help bat who was busying himself with the horses. "where has he been?" asked the girl as the voice of the texan came from beyond the trees: "it happened in jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three, a man by the name of crego come steppin' up to me, sayin', 'how do you do, young fellow, an' how would you like to go an' spend one summer pleasantly, on the range of the buffalo-o-o?'" "i'm sure i don't know. he came back an hour or so ago and woke me up and gave me this outfit and told me my whiskers looked like the infernal regions and that i had better shave--even offered to shave me, himself." "but he has been drinking. where did he get the liquor?" "the same place he got the clothes, i guess. he said he met a friend and borrowed them," smiled endicott. "well, it's nothing to laugh at. i should think you'd be ashamed to stand there and laugh about it." the man stared at her in surprise. "i guess he won't drink enough to hurt him any. and--why, it was only a day or two ago that you sat in the dining car and defended their drinking. you even said, i believe, that had you been a man you would have been over in the saloon with them." "yes, i did say that! but that was different. oh, i think men are _disgusting_! they're either _bad_, or just plain _dumb_!" "we left old crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo-- went home to our wives an' sweethearts, told others not to go, for god's forsaken the buffalo range, and the damned old buffalo-o-o!" "at least our friend tex does not seem to be stricken with dumbness," endicott smiled as the words of the buffalo skinner's song broke forth anew. "do you know i have taken a decided fancy to him. he's----" "i'd run along and play with him then if i were you," was the girl's sarcastic comment. "maybe if you learn how to swear and sing some of his beautiful songs he'll give you part of his whiskey." she turned away abruptly and became absorbed in the preparation of supper, and endicott, puzzled as he was piqued, at the girl's attitude, joined the two who were busy with the pack. "he's just perfectly stunning in that outfit," thought alice as she watched him disappear in the timbers. "oh, i don't know--sometimes i wish--" but the wish became confused somehow with the sizzling of bacon. and with tight-pressed lips, she got out the tin dishes. "what's the matter, win--steal a sheep?" asked the texan as he paused, blanket in hand, to regard endicott. "what?" "what did _you_ catch hell for? you didn't imbibe no embalmin' fluid." endicott grinned and the cowboy finished rolling his blanket. "seems like we're in bad, some way. she didn't say nothin' much, but i managed to gather from the way she looked right through the place where i was standin' that i could be got along without for a spell. her interruptin' me right in the middle of a song to impart that i'd be'n drinkin' kind of throw'd me under the impression that the pastime was frowned on, but the minute i seen you comin' through the brush like you was sneaking off at recess, i know'd you was included in the boycott an' that lets the booze out. seein's our conscience is clear, it must be somethin' _she_ done that she's took umbrage at, as the feller says, an' the best thing we can do is to overlook it. i don't know as i'd advise tellin' her so, but we might just kind of blend into the scenery onobtrusive 'til the thaw comes. in view of which i'll just take a little drink an' sing you a song i heard down on the rio grande." thrusting his arm into the end of his blanket roll, the texan drew forth his bottle and, taking a drink, carefully replaced it. "this here song is _the old chisholm trail_, an' it goes like this: "come along; boys, and listen to my tale, i'll tell you of my troubles on the old chisholm trail. coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya. i started up the trail october twenty-third, i started up the trail with the -u herd. oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle-- and i'm goin' to punchin' texas cattle. i woke up one morning on the old chisholm trail, rope in my hand and a cow by the tail. i'm up in the mornin' afore daylight and afore i sleep the moon shines bright. old ben bolt was a blamed good boss, but he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss. old ben bolt was a fine old man and you'd know there was whiskey wherever he'd land. my hoss throwed me off at the creek called mud, my hoss throwed me off round the -u herd. last time i saw him he was going cross the level a-kicking up his heels and a-runnin' like the devil. it's cloudy in the west, a-lookin' like rain, an' my damned old slicker's in the wagon again. crippled my hoss, i don't know how, ropin' at the horns of a -u cow. we hit caldwell and we hit her on the fly, we bedded down the cattle on the hill close by. no chaps, no slicker, and it's pourin' down rain, an' i swear, by god, i'll never night-herd again. feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle, i hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle. last night i was on guard and the leader broke the ranks, i hit my horse down the shoulders and i spurred him in the flanks. the wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall. hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to lose 'em all. i jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn, best blamed cow-puncher ever was born. i popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell, the tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell. i don't give a damn if they never do stop; i'll ride as long as an eight-day clock. foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn, best damned cowboy ever was born. i herded and i hollered and i done very well till the boss said, 'boys, just let 'em go to hell.' stray in the herd and the boss said kill it, so i shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet. we rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars, and that was the last of the old two bars. oh, it's bacon and beans most every day,-- i'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay. i'm on my best horse and i'm goin' at a run, i'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun. i went to the wagon to get my roll, to come back to texas, dad-burn my soul. i went to the boss to draw my roll, he had it figgered out i was nine dollars in the hole. i'll sell my outfit just as soon as i can, i won't punch cattle for no damned man. goin' back to town to draw my money, goin' back home to see my honey. with my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky, i'll quit punchin' cows in the sweet by and by. coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya." as the last words of the chorus died away both men started at the sound of the girl's voice. "whenever you can spare the time you will find your supper ready," she announced, coldly, and without waiting for a reply, turned toward the camp. endicott looked at tex, and tex looked at endicott. "seems like you done raised hell again, win. standin' around listenin' to ribald songs, like you done, ain't helped our case none. well, we better go eat it before she throws it away. come on, bat, you're included in the general gloom. your face looks like a last year's circus bill, win, with them patches of paper hangin' to it. maybe that's what riled her. if i thought it was i'd yank 'em off an' let them cuts bleed no matter how bad they stung, just to show her my heart's in the right place. but that might not suit, neither, so there you are." alice sat well back from the fire as the three men poured their coffee and helped themselves to the food. "ain't you goin' to join us in this here repast?" asked tex, with a smile. "i have eaten, thank you." "you're welcome--like eight dollars change for a five-spot." in vain endicott signalled the cowboy to keep silent. "shove over, win, you're proddin' me in the ribs with your elbow! ain't choteau county big enough to eat in without crowdin'? 'tain't as big as tom green county, at that, no more'n montana is as big as texas--nor as good, either; not but what the rest of the united states has got somethin' to be said in its favour, though. but comparisons are ordorous, as the dutchman said about the cheese. come on, win, me an' you'll just wash up these dishes so bat can pack 'em while we saddle up." a half-hour later, just as the moon topped the crest of a high ridge, the four mounted and made their way down into the valley. "we got to go kind of easy for a few miles 'cause i shouldn't wonder if old man johnson had got a gang out interrin' defunck bovines. i'll just scout out ahead an' see if i can locate their camp so we can slip past without incurrin' notoriety." "i should think," said alice, with more than a trace of acid in her tone, "that you had done quite enough scouting for one day." "in which case," smiled the unabashed texan, "i'll delegate the duty to my trustworthy retainer an' side-kicker, the ubiquitous an' iniquitous baterino st. cecelia julius caesar napoleon lajune. here, bat, fork over that pack-horse an' take a siyou out ahead, keepin' a lookout for posses, post holes, and grave-diggers. it's up to you to see that we pass down this vale of tears, unsight an' unsung, as the poet says, or off comes your hind legs. amen." the half-breed grinned his understanding and handed over the lead-rope with a bit of homely advice. "you no lak' you git find, dat better you don' talk mooch. you ain' got to sing no mor', neider, or ba goss! a'm tak' you down an' stick you mout' full of rags, lak' i done down to chinook dat tam'. dat _hooch_ she mak' noise 'nough for wan night, _sabe_?" "that's right, bat. tombstones and oysters is plumb raucous institutions to what i'll be from now on." he turned to the others with the utmost gravity. "you folks will pardon any seemin' reticence on my part, i hope. but there's times when bat takes holt an' runs the outfit--an' this is one of 'em." chapter xiv on antelope butte after the departure of bat it was a very silent little cavalcade that made its way down the valley. tex, with the lead-horse in tow, rode ahead, his attention fixed on the trail, and the others followed, single file. alice's eyes strayed from the backs of her two companions to the mountains that rolled upward from the little valley, their massive peaks and buttresses converted by the wizardry of moonlight into a fairyland of wondrous grandeur. the cool night air was fragrant with the breath of growing things, and the feel of her horse beneath her caused the red blood to surge through her veins. "oh, it's grand!" she whispered, "the mountains, and the moonlight, and the spring. i love it all--and yet--" she frowned at the jarring note that crept in, to mar the fulness of her joy. "it's the most wonderful adventure i ever had--and romantic. and it's _real_, and i ought to be enjoying it more than i ever enjoyed anything in all my life. but, i'm not, and it's all because--i don't see why he had to go and drink!" the soft sound of the horses' feet in the mud changed to a series of sharp clicks as their iron shoes encountered the bare rocks of the floor of the canyon whose precipitous rock walls towered far above, shutting off the flood of moonlight and plunging the trail into darkness. the figures of the two men were hardly discernible, and the girl started nervously as her horse splashed into the water of the creek that foamed noisily over the canyon floor. she shivered slightly in the wind that sucked chill through the winding passage, although back there in the moonlight the night had been still. gradually the canyon widened. its walls grew lower and slanted from the perpendicular. moonlight illumined the wider bends and flashed in silver scintillations from the broken waters of the creek. the click of the horses' feet again gave place to the softer trampling of mud, and the valley once more spread before them, broader now, and flanked by an endless succession of foothills. bat appeared mysteriously from nowhere, and after a whispered colloquy with tex, led off toward the west, leaving the valley behind and winding into the maze of foothills. a few miles farther on they came again into the valley and alice saw that the creek had dwindled into a succession of shallow pools between which flowed a tiny trickle of the water. on and on they rode, following the shallow valley. lush grass overran the pools and clogged the feeble trickle of the creek. farther on, even the green patches disappeared and white alkali soil showed between the gnarled sage bushes. gradually the aspect of the country changed. high, grass-covered foothills gave place to sharp pinnacles of black lava rock, the sides of the valley once more drew together, low, and broken into ugly cutbanks of dirty grey. sagebrush and prickly pears furnished the only vegetation, and the rough, broken surface of the country took on a starved, gaunt appearance. alice knew instinctively that they were at the gateway of the bad lands, and the forbidding aspect that greeted her on every side as her eyes swept the restricted horizon caused a feeling of depression. even the name "bad lands" seemed to hold a foreboding of evil. she had not noticed this when the texan had spoken it. if she had thought of it at all, it was impersonally--an undesirable strip of country, as one mentions the sahara desert. but, now, when she herself was entering it--was seeing with her own eyes the grey mud walls, the bare black rocks, and the stunted sage and cactus--the name held much of sinister portent. from a nearby hillock came a thin weird scream--long-drawn and broken into a series of horrible cackles. instantly, as though it were the signal that loosed the discordant chorus of hell, the sound was caught up, intensified and prolonged until the demonical screams seemed to belch from every hill and from the depths of the coulees between. unconsciously, the girl spurred her horse which leaped past endicott and bat and drew up beside the texan, who was riding alone in the forefront. the man glanced into the white frightened face: "coyotes," he said, gravely. "they won't bother any one." the girl shuddered. "there must be a million of them. what makes them howl that way?" "most any other way would be better, wouldn't it. but i reckon that's the way they've learnt to, so they just keep on that way." alice glanced at him sharply, but in the moonlight his clean-cut profile gave no hint of levity. "you are making fun of me!" he turned his head and regarded her thoughtfully. "no. i wouldn't do that, really. i was thinkin' of somethin' else." "you are a very disconcerting young man. you are unspeakably rude, and i ought to be furiously angry." the texan appeared to consider. "no. you oughtn't to do that because when something important comes up you ain't got anything back, an' folks won't regard you serious. but you wouldn't have been even peeved if you knew what i was thinkin' about." "what was it?" the instant the question left her lips the girl wished she could have recalled it. there was a long pause and alice began to hope that the man had not heard her question. then he turned a very grave face toward her and his eyes met hers squarely. "i was thinkin' that maybe, sometime, you'd get to care enough about me to marry me. sounds kind of abrupt an' off-hand, don't it? but it ain't. i've been thinkin' about it a lot. you're the first woman i've seen since--well, since way back yonder, that i'd ever marry. the only one that stacks up to the kind of people mine are, an' that i was back there. of course, there'd be a lot of readjustin' but that would work out--it always does when the right kind of folks takes holt to put anything through. i've got some recreations an' pastimes that ain't condoned by the pious. i gamble, an' swear, an' smoke, an' lie, an' drink. but i gamble square, swear decent an' hearty, lie for fun, but never in earnest, an' drink to a reasonable degree of hilarity. my word is good with every man, woman, an' child in the cow country. i never yet went back on a friend, nor let up on an enemy. i never took underhand advantage of man or woman, an' i know the cow business. for the rest of it, i'll go to the old man an' offer to take the eagle creek ranch off his hands an' turn nester. it's a good ranch, an' one that rightly handled would make a man rich--provided he was a married man an' had somethin' to get rich for. i don't want you to tell me now, you won't, or you will. we've got a week or so yet to get acquainted in. an', here's another thing. i know, an' you know, down deep in your heart, that you're goin' to marry either win, or me. maybe you know which. i don't. but if it is him, you'll get a damned good man. he's square an' clean. he's got nerve--an' there ain't no bluff about it, neither. wise men don't fool with a man with an eye like his. an' he wants you as bad as i do. as i said, we've got a week or more to get acquainted. it will be a week that may take us through some mighty tough sleddin', but that ain't goin' to help you none in choosin', because neither one of us will break--an' you can bet your last stack of blue ones on that." the girl's lips were pressed very tight, and for some moments she rode in silence. "do you suppose i would ever marry a man who deliberately gets so drunk he sings and talks incessantly----" "you'd be safer marryin' one that got drunk deliberately, than one who done it inadvertent when he aimed to stay sober. besides, there's various degrees of drunkenness, the term bein' relative. but for the sake of argument admittin' i was drunk, if you object to the singin' and talkin', what do you recommend a man to do when he's drunk?" "i utterly despise a man that gets drunk!" the words came with an angry vehemence, and for many minutes the texan rode in silence while the bit chains clinked and the horses' hoofs thudded the ground dully. he leaned forward and his gloved hand gently smoothed his horse's mane. "you don't mean just exactly that," he said, with his eyes on the dim outline of a butte that rose high in the distance. alice noticed that the bantering tone was gone from his voice, and that his words fell with a peculiar softness. "i reckon, though, i know what you do mean. an' i reckon that barrin' some little difference in viewpoint, we think about alike. . . . yonder's antelope butte. we'll be safe to camp there till we find out which way the wind blows before we strike across." deeper and deeper they pushed into the bad lands, the huge bulk of antelope butte looming always before them, its outline showing distinctly in the light of the sinking moon. as far as the eye could see on every side the moonlight revealed only black lava-rock, deep black shadows that marked the courses of dry coulees, and enormous mud-cracks--and antelope butte. as the girl rode beside the cowboy she noticed that the cynical smile was gone from the clean-cut profile. for miles he did not speak. antelope butte was near, now. "i am thirsty," she said. a gauntleted hand fumbled for a moment with the slicker behind the cantle, and extended a flask. "it's water. i figured someone would get thirsty." the girl drank from the flask and returned it: "if there are posses out won't they watch the water-holes? you said there are only a few in the bad lands." "yes, they'll watch the water-holes. that's why we're goin' to camp on antelope butte--right up on top of it." "but, how will we get water?" "it's there." "have you been up there?" the girl glanced upward. they were already ascending the first slope, and the huge mass of the detached mountain towered above them in a series of unscaleable precipices. "no. but the water's there. the top of the butte hollows out like a saucer, an' in the bowl there's a little sunk spring. no one much ever goes up there. there's a little scragglin' timber, an' the trail--it's an old game trail--is hard to find if you don't know where to look for it. a horse-thief told me about it." "a horse-thief! surely, you are not risking all our lives on the word of a horse-thief!" "yes. he was a pretty good fellow. they killed him, afterwards, over near the mission. he was runnin' off a bunch of flourey horses." "but a man who would steal would lie!" "he didn't lie to me. he judged i done him a good turn once. over on the marias, it was--an' he said: 'if you're ever on the run, hit for antelope butte.' then he told me about the trail, an' the spring that you've got to dig for among the rocks. he's got a grub _cache_ there, too. he won't be needin' it, now." the cowboy glanced toward the west. "the moon ought to just about hold 'til we get to the top. he said you could ride all the way up." without an instant's hesitation he headed his horse for a huge mass of rock fragments that lay at the base of an almost perpendicular wall. the others followed in single file. bat bringing up the rear driving the pack-horse before him. alice kept her horse close behind the texan's which wormed and twisted in and out among the rock fragments that skirted the wall. for a quarter of a mile they proceeded with scarcely a perceptible rise and then the cowboy turned his horse into a deep fissure that slanted upward at a most precarious angle seemingly straight into the heart of the mountain. just when it seemed that the trail must end in a blind pocket, the texan swung into a cross fissure so narrow that the stirrups brushed either side. so dark was it between the towering rock walls that alice could scarcely make out the cowboy's horse, although at no time was he more than ten or fifteen feet in advance. after innumerable windings the fissure led once more to the face of the mountain and tex headed his horse out upon a ledge that had not been discernible from below. alice gasped, and for a moment it seemed as though she could not go on. spread out before her like a huge relief map were the ridges and black coulees of the bad lands, and directly below--hundreds of feet below--the gigantic rock fragments lay strewn along the base of the cliff like the abandoned blocks of a child. she closed her eyes and shuddered. a loose piece of rock on the narrow trail, a stumble, and--she could feel herself whirling down, down, down. it was the voice of the texan--confident, firm, reassuring--that brought her once more to her senses. "it's all right. just follow right along. shut your eyes, or keep 'em to the wall. we're half-way up. it ain't so steep from here on, an' she widens toward the top. i'm dizzy-headed, too, in high places an' i shut mine. just give the horse a loose rein an' he'll keep the trail. there ain't nowhere else for him to go." with a deadly fear in her heart, the girl fastened her eyes upon the cowboy's back and gave her horse his head. and as she rode she wondered at this man who unhesitatingly risked his life upon the word of a horse-thief. almost before she realized it the ordeal was over and her horse was following its leader through a sparse grove of bull pine. the ascent was still rather sharp, and the way strewn with boulders, and fallen trees, but the awful precipice, with its sheer drop of many hundreds of feet to the black rocks below, no longer yawned at her stirrup's edge, and it was with a deep-drawn breath of relief that she allowed her eyes once again to travel out over the vast sweep of waste toward the west where the moon hung low and red above the distant rim of the bad lands. the summit of antelope butte was, as the horse-thief had said, an ideal camping place for any one who was "on the run." the edges of the little plateau, which was roughly circular in form, rose on every side to a height of thirty or forty feet, at some points in an easy slope, and at others in a sheer rise of rock wall. the surface of the little plane showed no trace of the black of the lava rock of the lower levels but was of the character of the open bench and covered with buffalo grass and bunch grass with here and there a sprinkling of prickly pears. the four dismounted and, in the last light of the moon, surveyed their surroundings. "you make camp, bat," ordered the texan, "while me an' win hunt up the spring. he said it was on the east side where there was a lot of loose rock along the edge of the bull pine. we'll make the camp there, too, where the wood an' water will be handy." skirting the plateau, tex led the way toward a point where a few straggling pines showed gaunt and lean in the rapidly waning moonlight. "it ought to be somewheres around here," he said, as he stopped to examine the ground more closely. "he said you had to pile off the rocks 'til you come to the water an' then mud up a catch-basin." as he talked, the cowboy groped among the loose rocks on his hands and knees, pausing frequently to lay his ear to the ground. "here she is!" he exclaimed at length. "i can hear her drip! come on, win, we'll build our well." alice stood close beside her horse watching every move with intense interest. "who would have thought to look for water there?" she exclaimed. "i knew we'd find it just as he said," answered the texan gravely. "he was a good man, in his way--never run off no horses except from outfits that could afford to lose 'em. why, they say, he could have got plumb away if he'd shot the posse man that run onto him over by the mission. but he knew the man was a nester with a wife an' two kids, so he took a chance--an' the nester got him." "how could he?" cried the girl, "after----" the texan regarded her gravely. "it was tough. an' he probably hated to do it. but he was a sworn-in posse man, an' the other was a horse-thief. it was just one of those things a man's got to do. like jim larkin, when he was sheriff, havin' to shoot his own brother, an' him hardly more'n a kid that jim had raised. but he'd gone plumb bad an' swore never to be taken alive, so jim killed him--an' then he resigned. there ain't a man that knows jim, that don't know he'd rather a thousan' times over had the killin' happen the other way 'round. but he was a man. he had it to do--an' he done it." alice shuddered: "and then--what became of him, then?" "why, then, he went back to ranchin'. he owns the bar x horse outfit over on the white mud. this here, owen--that was his brother's name--was just like a son to him. jim tried to steer him straight, but the kid was just naturally a bad egg. feelin' it the way he does, a lesser man might of squinted down the muzzle of his own gun, or gone the whiskey route. but not him. to all appearances he's the same as he always was. but some of us that know him best--we can see that he ain't _quite_ the same as before--an' he never will be." there were tears in the girl's eyes as the man finished. "oh, it's all wrong! it's cruel, and hard, and brutal, and wrong!" "no. it ain't wrong. it's hard, an' it's cruel, maybe, an' brutal. but it's right. it ain't a country for weaklings--the cow country ain't. it's a country where, every now an' then, a man comes square up against something that he's got to do. an' that something is apt as not to be just what he don't want to do. if he does it, he's a man, an' the cow country needs him. if he don't do it, he passes on to where there's room for his kind--an' the cow country don't miss him. a man earns his place here, it ain't made for him--often he earns the name by which he's called. i reckon it's the same all over--only this is rawer." "here's the water! and it is cold and sweet," called endicott who had been busily removing the loose rock fragments beneath which the spring lay concealed. the texan's interest centred on matters at hand: "you bat, you make a fire when you've finished with the horses." he turned again to the girl: "if you'll be the cook, win an' i'll mud up a catch-basin an' rustle some firewood while bat makes camp. we got to do all our cookin' at night up here. a fire won't show above the rim yonder, but in the daytime someone might see the smoke from ten mile off." "of course, i'll do the cooking!" assented the girl, and began to carry the camp utensils from the pack that the half-breed had thrown upon the ground. "the dough-gods are all gone!" she exclaimed in dismay, peering into a canvas bag. "mix up some bakin'-powder ones. there's flour an' stuff in that brown sack." "but--i don't know how!" "all right. wait 'til i get win strung out on this job, an' i'll make up a batch." he watched endicott arrange some stones: "hey, you got to fit those rocks in better'n that. mud ain't goin' to hold without a good backin'." the cowboy washed his hands in the overflow trickle and wiped them upon his handkerchief. "i don't know what folks does all their lives back east," he grinned; "win, there, ain't barbered none to speak of, an' the lord knows he ain't no stone-mason." alice did not return the smile, and the texan noticed that her face was grave in the pale starlight. for the first time in her life the girl felt ashamed of her own incompetence. "and i can't cook, and----" "well, that's so," drawled tex, "but it won't be so tomorrow. no one but a fool would blame any one for not doin' a thing they've never learnt to do. they might wonder a little how-come they never learnt, but they wouldn't hold it against 'em--not 'til they've had the chance." bat was still busy with the horses and the cowboy collected sticks and lighted a small fire, talking, as he worked with swift movements that accomplished much without the least show of haste. "it generally don't take long in the cow country for folks to get their chance. take win, there. day before yesterday he was about the greenest pilgrim that ever straddled a horse. not only he didn't know anything worth while knowin', but he was prejudiced. the first time i looked at him i sized him up--almost. 'there's a specimen,' i says to myself--while you an' purdy was gossipin' about the handkerchief, an' the dance, an' what a beautiful rider he was--'that's gone on gatherin' refinement 'til it's crusted onto him so thick it's probably struck through.' but just as i was losin' interest in him, he slanted a glance at purdy that made me look him over again. there he stood, just the same as before--only different." the texan poured some flour into a pan and threw in a couple of liberal pinches of baking-powder. alice's eyes followed his every movement, and she glanced toward the spring that endicott had churned into a mud hole. the cowboy noted her glance. "it would be riled too much even if we strained it," he smiled, "so we'll just use what's left in that flask. it don't take much water an' the spring will clear in time for the coffee." "and some people never do learn?" alice wanted to hear more from this man's lips concerning the pilgrim. but the texan mustn't know that she wanted to hear. "yes, some don't learn, some only half learn, an' some learn in a way that carries 'em along 'til it comes to a pinch--they're the worst. but, speakin' of win, after i caught that look, the only surprise i got when i heard he'd killed purdy was that he _could_ do it--not that he _would_. then later, under certain circumstances that come to pass in a coulee where there was cottonwoods, him an' i got better acquainted yet. an' then in the matter of the reservoir--but you know more about that than i do. you see what i'm gettin' at is this: win can saddle his own horse, now, an' he climbs onto him from the left side. the next time he tackles it he'll shave, an' the next time he muds up a catch-basin he'll mud it right. day before yesterday he was about as useless a lookin' piece of bric-a-brac as ever draw'd breath--an' look at him now! there ain't been any real change. the man was there all the time, only he was so well disguised that no one ever know'd it--himself least of all. yesterday i saw him take a chew off bat's plug--an' bat don't offer his plug promiscuous. he'll go back east, an' the refinement will cover him up again--an' that's a damned shame. but he won't be just the same. it won't crust over no more, because the prejudice is gone. he's chewed the meat of the cow country--an' he's found it good." later, long after the others had gone to sleep, alice lay between her blankets in the little shelter tent, thinking. chapter xv the texan hears some news bat had pitched the tent upon a little knoll, screened by a jutting shoulder of rock from the sleeping place of the others. when alice awoke it was broad daylight. she lay for a few moments enjoying the delicious luxury of her blankets which the half-breed had spread upon a foot-thick layer of boughs. the sun beat down upon the white canvas and she realized that it was hot in the tent. the others must have been up for hours and she resented their not having awakened her. she listened for sounds, but outside all was silence and she dressed hurriedly. stepping from the tent, she saw the dead ashes of the little fire and the contents of the packs apparently undisturbed, covered with the tarp. she glanced at her watch. it was half past nine. suddenly she remembered that dawn had already began to grey the east when they retired. she was the first one up! she would let the others sleep. they needed it. she remembered the texan had not slept the day before, but had ridden away to return later with the clothing for endicott--and the whiskey. "i don't see why he has to drink!" she muttered, and making her way to the spring, dipped some water from the catch-basin and splashed it over her face and arms. the cold water dispelled the last vestige of sleepiness and she stood erect and breathed deeply of the crystal air. at the farther side of the bowl-like plateau the horses grazed contentedly, and a tiny black and white woodpecker flew from tree to tree pecking busily at the bark. above the edge of the rim-rocks the high-flung peaks of the bear paws belied the half-night's ride that separated them from the isolated antelope butte. "what a view one should get from the edge!" she exclaimed, and turning from the spring, made her way through the scraggly timber to the rock wall beyond. it was not a long climb and five minutes later she stood panting with exertion and leaned against an upstanding pinnacle of jagged rock. for a long time she stood wonder-bound by the mighty grandeur of the panorama that swept before her to lose itself somewhere upon the dim horizon. her brain grasped for details. it was all too big--too unreal--too unlike the world she had known. in sheer desperation, for sight of some familiar thing, her eyes turned toward the camp. there was the little white tent, and the horses grazing beyond. her elevation carried her range of vision over the jutting shoulder of rock, and she saw the texan sitting beside his blankets drawing on his boots. the blankets were mounded over the forms of the others, and without disturbing them, the cowboy put on his hat and started toward the spring. at the sight of the little tent he paused and alice saw him stand staring at the little patch of white canvas. for a long time he stood unmoving, and then, impulsively, his two arms stretched toward it. the arms were as quickly withdrawn. the stetson was lifted from his head and once more it seemed a long time that he stood looking at the little tent with the soft brim of his stetson crushed tightly in his hand. evidently, for fear of waking her, the man did not go to the spring, but retraced his steps and alice saw him stoop and withdraw something from his war-bag. thrusting the object beneath his shirt, he rose slowly and made his way toward the rim-rock, choosing for his ascent a steep incline which, with the aid of some rock ledges, would bring him to the top at a point not ten yards from where she stood. it was with a sense of guilt that she realized she had spied upon this man, and her cheeks flushed as she cast about desperately for a means to escape unseen. but no such avenue presented itself, and she drew back into a deep crevice of her rock pinnacle lest he see her. a grubby, stunted pine somehow managed to gain sustenance from the stray earth among the rock cracks and screened her hiding-place. the man was very close, now. she could hear his heavy breathing and the click of his boot heels upon the bare rocks. then he crossed to the very verge of the precipice and seated himself with his feet hanging over the edge. for some moments he sat gazing out over the bad lands, and then his hand slipped into the front of his shirt and withdrew a bottle of whiskey. the girl's lips tightened as she watched him from behind her screen of naked roots and branches. he looked a long time at the bottle, shook it, and held it to the sun as he contemplated the little beads that sparkled at the edge of the liquor line. he read its label, and seemed deeply interested in the lines of fine print contained upon an oval sticker that adorned its back. still holding the bottle, he once more stared out over the bad lands. then he drew the cork and smelled of the liquor, breathing deeply of its fragrance, and turning, gazed intently toward the little white tent beside the stunted pines. alice saw that his eyes were serious as he set the bottle upon the rock beside him. and then, hardly discernible at first, but gradually assuming distinct form, a whimsical smile curved his lips as he looked at the bottle. "gosh!" he breathed, softly, "ain't you an' i had some nonsensical times? i ain't a damned bit sorry, neither. but our trails fork here. maybe for a while--maybe for ever. but if it is for ever, my average will be right honourable if i live to be a hundred." alice noticed how boyish the clean-cut features looked when he smiled that way. the other smile--the masking, cynical smile--made him ten years older. the face was once more grave, and he raised the bottle from the rock. "so long," he said, and there was just that touch of honest regret in his voice with which he would have parted from a friend. "so long. i've got a choice to make--an' i don't choose you." the hand that held the bottle was empty. there was a moment of silence and then from far below came the tinkle of smashing glass. the texan got up, adjusted the silk scarf at his neck, rolled a cigarette, and clambering down the sharp descent, made his way toward the grazing horses. alice watched for a moment as he walked up to his own horse, stroked his neck, and lightly cuffed at the ears which the horse laid back as he playfully snapped at his master's hand. then she scrambled from her hiding-place and hurried unobserved to her tent, where she threw herself upon the blankets with a sound that was somehow very like a sob. when the breakfast of cold coffee and biscuits was finished the texan watched endicott's clumsy efforts to roll a cigarette. "better get you a piece of twine to do it with, win," he grinned; "you sure are a long ways from home when it comes to braidin' a smoke. saw a cow-hand do it once with one hand. in a show, it was in cheyenne, an' he sure was some cowboy--in the show. come out onto the flats one day where the boys was breakin' a bunch of big o little o horses--'after local colour,' he said." the texan paused and grinned broadly. "got it too. he clum up into the middle of a wall-eyed buckskin an' the doc picked local colour out of his face for two hours where he'd slid along on it--but he could roll a cigarette with one hand. there, you got one at last, didn't you? kind of humped up in the middle like a snake that's swallowed a frog, but she draws all right, an' maybe it'll last longer than a regular one." he turned to alice who had watched the operation with interest. "if you-all don't mind a little rough climbin', i reckon, you'd count the view from the rim-rocks yonder worth seein'." "oh, i'd love it!" cried the girl, as she scrambled to her feet. "come on, win," called the texan, "i'll show you where god dumped the tailin's when he finished buildin' the world." together the three scaled the steep rock-wall. alice, scorning assistance, was the first to reach the top, and once more the splendour of the magnificent waste held her speechless. for some moments they gazed in silence. before them, bathed in a pale amethyst haze that thickened to purple at the far-off edge of the world, lay the bad lands resplendent under the hot glare of the sun in vivid red and black and pink colouring of the lava rock. everywhere the eye met the flash and shimmer of mica fragments that sparkled like the facets of a million diamonds, while to the northward the bear paws reared cool and green, with the grass of the higher levels reaching almost to the timber line. "isn't it wonderful?" breathed the girl. "why do people stay cooped up in the cities, when out here there is--this?" endicott's eyes met hers, and in their depths she perceived a newly awakened fire. she was conscious of a strange glow at her heart--a mighty gladness welled up within her, permeating her whole being. "he has awakened," her brain repeated over and over again, "he has----" the voice of the texan fell upon her ears softly as from a distance, and she turned her eyes to the boyish faced cow-puncher who viewed life lightly and who, she had learned, was the thorough master of his wilderness, and very much a man. "i love it too," he was saying. "this bad land best of all. what with the sheep, an' the nesters, the range country must go. but barbed-wire can never change this," his arm swept the vast plain before him. "i suppose god foreseen what the country was comin' to," he speculated, "an' just naturally stuck up his 'keep off' sign on places here an' there--the sahara desert, an' death valley, an' the bad lands. he wanted somethin' left like he made it. yonder's the little rockies, an' them big black buttes to the south are the judith, an' you can see--way beyond the judith--if you look close--the big snowy mountains. they're more than a hundred miles away." the cowboy ceased speaking suddenly. and alice, following his gaze, made out far to the north-eastward a moving speck. the texan crouched and motioned the others into the shelter of a rock. "wish i had a pair of glasses," he muttered, with his eyes on the moving dot. "what is it?" asked the girl. "rider of some kind. maybe the i x round-up is workin' the south slope. an' maybe it's just a horse-thief. but it mightn't be either. guess i'll just throw the hull on that cayuse of mine an' siyou down and see. he's five or six miles off yet, an' i've got plenty of time to slip down there. glad the trail's on the west side. you two stay up here, but you got to be awful careful not to show yourselves. folks down below look awful little from here, but if they've got glasses you'd loom up plenty big, an' posse men's apt to pack glasses." the two followed him to camp and a few moments later watched him ride off at a gallop and disappear in the scrub that concealed the mouth of the precipitous trail. hardly had he passed from sight than bat rose and, walking to his saddle, uncoiled his rope. "where are you going?" asked endicott as the half-breed started toward the horses. "me, oh, a'm trail long behine. mebbe-so two kin see better'n wan." a few minutes later he too was swallowed up in the timber at the head of the trail, and alice and endicott returned to the rim-rocks and from a place of concealment watched with breathless interest the course of the lone horseman. after satisfying himself he was unobserved, the texan pushed from the shelter of the rocks at the foot of the trail and, circling the butte, struck into a coulee that led south-eastward into the bad lands. a mile away he crossed a ridge and gained another coulee which he followed northward. "if he's headin' into the bad lands i'll meet up with him, an' if he's just skirtin' 'em, our trails'll cross up here a piece," he reasoned as his horse carried him up the dry ravine at a steady walk. presently he slanted into a steep side coulee that led upward to the crest of a long flat ridge. for a moment he paused as his eyes swept the landscape and then suddenly a quarter of a mile away a horseman appeared out of another coulee. he, too, paused and, catching sight of the texan, dug in his spurs and came toward him at a run. the cowboy's brows drew into a puzzled frown as he studied the rapidly approaching horseman. "well, i'll be damned!" he grinned, "ain't he the friendly young spirit! his ma had ought to look after him better'n that an' teach him some manners. the idea of any one chargin' up to a stranger that way in the bad lands! one of these days he's a-goin' to run up again' an abrupt foreshortin' of his reckless young career." the rider was close now and the texan recognized a self-important young jackass who had found work with one of the smaller outfits. "it's that mouthy young short-horn from the k ," he muttered, disgustedly. "well, he'll sure cut loose an' earful of small talk. he hates himself, like a peacock." the cowboy pulled up his horse with a vicious jerk that pinked the foam at the animal's mouth and caused a little cloud of dust to rise into the air. then, for a moment, he sat and stared. "if you was in such a hell of a hurry," drawled the texan, "you could of rode around me. there's room on either side." the cowboy found his voice. "well, by gosh, if it ain't tex! how they stackin', old hand?" "howdy," replied the texan, dryly. "you take my advice an' lay low here in the bad lands an' they won't ketch you. i said it right in the long horn yeste'day mornin'--they was a bunch of us lappin' 'em up. old pete was there--an' i says to pete, i says, 'take it from me they might ketch all the rest of 'em but they won't never ketch tex!' an' pete, he says, 'you're just right there, joe,' an' then he takes me off to one side, old pete does, an' he says, 'joe,' he says, 'i've got a ticklish job to be done, an' i ain't got another man i kin bank on puttin' it through.'" the texan happened to know that mr. peter g. kester, owner of the k , was a very dignified old gentleman who left the details of his ranch entirely in the hands of his foreman, and the idea of his drinking in the long horn with his cowboys was as unique as was hearing him referred to as "old pete." "what's ailin' him?" asked the texan. "did he lose a hen, or is he fixin' to steal someone's mewl?" "it's them bar a saddle horses," continued the cowboy, without noticing the interruption. "he buys a string of twenty three-year-olds offen the bar a an' they broke out of the pasture. they range over here on the south slope, an' if them horse-thieves down in the bad lands has got 'em they're a-goin' to think twict before they run off any more k horses, as long as i'm workin' fer the outfit." "are you aimin' to drive twenty head of horses off their own range single handed?" "sure. you can do it easy if you savvy horses." the texan refrained from comment. he wanted to know who was supposed to be interested in catching him, and why. had someone told the truth about the lynching, and was he really wanted for aiding and abetting the pilgrim's escape? "i reckon that's true," he opined. "they can't get me here in the bad lands." the other laughed: "you bet they can't! say, that was some ride you put up down to wolf river. none of us could have done better." "did you say they was headin' this way?" "who?" "who would i be thinkin' about now, i wonder?" "oh! naw! they ain't ready to make any arrests yet. the grand jury set special an' returned a lot of indictments an' you're one of 'em, but the districk attorney, he claims he can't go ahead until he digs up the cripus delinkty----" "the what?" "oh, that's a nickname the lawyers has got fer a pilgrim." "wasn't one stranglin' enough for spreadin' out purdy? what do they want of the pilgrim?" "spreadin' out purdy!" exclaimed the other, "don't you know that purdy didn't stay spread? wasn't hardly hurt even. the pilgrim's bullet just barely creased him, an' when sam moore went back with a spring wagon to fetch his remains, purdy riz up an' started cussin' him out an' scairt sam so his team run away an' he lost his voice an' ain't spoke out loud since--an' them's only one of the things he done. so, you see, you done your lynching too previous, an' folks is all stirred up about it, holdin' that lawless acts has got to be put a stop to in choteau county, an' a pilgrim has got as good a right to live as the next one. they're holdin' that even if he had got purdy it would of be'n a damn good thing, an' they wasn't no call to stretch a man for that. so the grand jury set, an' the districk attorney has got a gang of men diggin' up all the coulees for miles around, a-huntin' for the pilgrim's cripus delinkty so he kin go ahead with his arrests." the eyes of the texan were fixed on the mountains. he appeared not interested. twenty feet away in a deep crevice at the edge of the coulee, bat lajune, who had overheard every word, was convulsed with silent mirth. "you say they've dug up all the coulees? red rock an'--an' all, buffalo, six-mile, woodpile, miller's?" the texan shot out the names with all appearance of nervous haste, but his eye was sombre as before as he noted the gleam of quick intelligence that flashed into the cowboy's eyes. "you're sure they dug up buffalo?" he pressed shrewdly. "yes, i think they finished there." the texan gave a visible sigh of relief. "say," he asked, presently, "do you know if they're fordin' at cow island this year?" "yes, the two bar reps come by that way." "i'm right obliged to you. i reckon i'll head north, though. canada looks good to me 'til this here wave of virtue blows over. so long." "so long, tex. an', say, there's some of us friends of yourn that's goin' to see what we kin do about gettin' them indictments squashed. we don't want to see you boys doin' time fer stretchin' no pilgrim." "you won't," answered the texan. "toddle along now an' hunt up mr. kester's horses. i want room to think." he permitted himself a broad smile as the other rode at a gallop toward the mountains, then turned his horse into the coulee he had just left and allowed him his own pace. "so purdy ain't dead," he muttered, "or was that damned fool lyin'? i reckon he wasn't lyin' about that, an' the grand jury, an' the district attorney." again he smiled. "let's see how i stack up, now: in the first place, win ain't on the run, an' i am--or i'm supposed to be. but, as long as they don't dig win up out of the bottom of some coulee, i'm at large for want of a party of the first part to the alleged felonious snuffin'-out. gosh, i bet the boys are havin' fun watchin' that diggin'. if i was there i'd put in my nights makin' fresh-dug spots, an' my days watchin' 'em prospect 'em." then his thoughts turned to the girl, and for miles he rode unheeding. the sun had swung well to the westward before the cowboy took notice of his surroundings. antelope butte lay ten or twelve miles away and he headed for it with a laugh. "you must have thought i sure enough was headin' for cow island crossing didn't you, you old dogie chaser?" he touched his horse lightly with his spurs and the animal struck into a long swinging trot. "this here's a mixed-up play all around," he muttered. "win's worryin' about killin' purdy--says it's got under his hide 'til he thinks about it nights. it ain't so much bein' on the run that bothers him as it is the fact that he's killed a man." he smiled to himself: "a little worryin' won't hurt him none. any one that would worry over shootin' a pup like purdy ought to worry--whether he done it or not. then, there's me. i start out with designs as evil an' triflin' as purdy's--only i ain't a brute--an' i winds up by lovin' her. yes--that's the word. there ain't no mortal use beatin' around the bush to fool myself. spite of silk stockin's she's good clean through. i reckon, maybe, they're wore more promiscuous in the east. that eagle creek ranch, if them corrals was fixed up a little an' them old cattle sheds tore down, an' the ditches gone over, it would be a good outfit. if it was taken hold of right, there wouldn't be a better proposition on the south slope." gloom settled upon the cowboy's face: "but there's win. i started out to show him up." he smiled grimly. "well, i did. only not just exactly as i allowed to. lookin' over the back-trail, i reckon, when us four took to the brush there wasn't only one damned skunk in the crowd--an' that was me. it's funny a man can be that ornery an' never notice it. but, i bet bat knew. he's pure gold, bat is. he's about as prepossessin' to look at as an old gum boot, but his heart's all there--an' you bet, bat, he knows." it was within a quarter of a mile of antelope butte that the texan, riding along the bottom of a wide coulee met another horseman. this time there was no spurring toward him, and he noticed that the man's hand rested near his right hip. he shifted his own gun arm and continued on his course without apparently noticing the other who approached in the same manner. suddenly he laughed: "hello, curt!" "well, i'm damned if it ain't tex! thought maybe i was going to get the high-sign." "same here." both men relaxed from their attitude of alertness, and curt leaned closer. "they ain't dug him up yet," he said, "but they sure are slingin' gravel. i hope to god they don't." "they won't." "anything i can do?" the texan shook his head: "nothin', thanks." "hot as hell fer june, ain't it." "yes; who you ridin' for?" "k ." "k ! mister kester moved his outfit over to the south slope?" "naw. i'm huntin' a couple of old brood mares mister kester bought offen the bar a. they strayed away about a week ago." "alone?" "might better be," replied the cowboy in tones of disgust. "i've got that damned fool, joe ainslee, along--or ruther i had him. bob brumley's foreman of the k , now, an' he hired the wind bag in a moment of mental abortion, as the fellow says, an' he don't dast fire him for fear he'll starve to death. they wouldn't no other outfit have him around. an' i'm thinkin' he'll be damn lucky if he lives long enough to starve to death. bob sent him along with me--said he'd do less harm than with the round-up, an' would be safer--me bein' amiable enough not to kill him offhand." "ain't you found your mares?" curt snorted: "yes. found 'em couple hours ago. an' now i've lost the wind bag. them mares was grazin' right plumb in plain sight of where i'd sent him circlin', an' doggone if he not only couldn't find 'em, but he's lost hisself. an' if he don't show up pretty damn _pronto_ he kin stay lost--an' the k will win, at that." the texan grinned: "go get your mares, curt. the short-horn has stampeded. i shouldn't wonder if he's a-foggin' it through the mountains right now to get himself plumb famous for tippin' off the district attorney where to do his minin'." "you seen him!" "yes, we had quite a little pow-wow." "you sure didn't let him git holt of nothin'!" "yes. he's about to bust with the information he gathered. an' say, he might of seen them mares an' passed 'em up. he ain't huntin' no brood mares, he's after twenty head of young saddle stock--forgot to mention there was any one with him. said it was easy to run three-year-olds off their own range single handed if you savvied horses. called mister kester 'old pete' an' told of an orgy they had mutual in the long horn." curt burst out laughing: "can you beat it?" "i suppose they'll have red rock coulee all mussed up," reflected the texan, with a grin. "you wait 'til i tell the boys." "don't you. they'd hurt him. he's a-whirlin' a bigger loop than he can throw, the way it is." curt fumbled in his slicker and produced a flask which he tendered. tex shook his head: "no thanks, i ain't drinkin'." "you ain't _what_?" "no, i'm off of it"; he dismounted and tightened his cinch, and the other followed his example. "off of it! you ain't sick, or nothin'?" "no. can't a man----?" "oh, sure, he could, but he wouldn't, onless--you got your camp near here?" tex was aware the other was eyeing him closely. "tolerable." "let's go camp then. i left my pack horse hobbled way up on last water." the texan was thinking rapidly. curt was a friend of long standing and desired to share his camp, which is the way of the cow country. yet, manifestly this was impossible. there was only one way out and that was to give offence. "no. i'm campin' alone these days." a slow red mounted to the other's face and his voice sounded a trifle hard: "come on up to mine, then. it ain't so far." "i said i was campin' alone." the red was very apparent now, and the other took a step forward, and his words came slowly: "peck maguire told me, an' i shut his dirty mouth for him. but now i know it's true. you're ridin' with the pilgrim's girl." at the inference the texan whitened to the eyes. "_you're a damned liar_!" the words came evenly but with a peculiar venom. curt half drew his gun. then jammed it back in the holster. "not between friends," he said shortly, "but jest the same you're goin' to eat them words. it ain't a trick i'd think of you--to run off with a man's woman after killin' him. if he was alive it would be different. i'd ort to shoot it out with you, i suppose, but i can't quite forget that time in zortman when you----" "don't let that bother you," broke in the texan with the same evenness of tone. "_you're a damned liar_!" with a bound the man was upon him and tex saw a blinding flash of light, and the next moment he was scrambling from the ground. after that the fight waxed fast and furious, each man giving and receiving blows that landed with a force that jarred and rocked. then, the texan landed heavily upon the point of his opponent's chin and the latter sank limp to the floor of the coulee. for a full minute tex stood looking down at his victim. "curt can scrap like the devil. i'm sure glad he didn't force no gun play, i'd have hated to hurt him." he recovered the flask from the ground where the other had dropped it, and forced some whiskey between his lips. presently the man opened his eyes. "feelin' better?" asked the texan as curt blinked up at him. "um-hum. my head aches some." "mine, too." "you got a couple of black eyes, an' your lip is swol up." "one of yours is turnin' black." curt regained his feet and walked slowly toward his horse. "well, i'll be goin'. so long." "so long," answered the texan. he, too, swung into the saddle and each rode upon his way. chapter xvi back in camp from their place of concealment high upon the edge of antelope butte, alice marcum and endicott watched the movements of the three horsemen with absorbing interest. they saw the texan circle to the south-eastward and swing north to intercept the trail of the unknown rider. they watched bat, with indian cunning, creep to his place of concealment at the edge of the coulee. they saw the riders disperse, the unknown to head toward the mountains at a gallop, and the texan to turn his horse southward and ride slowly into the bad lands. and they watched bat recover his own horse from behind a rock pinnacle and follow the texan, always keeping out of sight in parallel coulees until both were swallowed up in the amethyst haze of the bad lands. for an hour they remained in their lookout, pointing out to each other some new wonder of the landscape--a wind-carved pinnacle, the heliographic flashing of the mica, or some new combination in the ever-changing splendour of colours. "whew! but it's hot, and i'm thirsty. and besides it's lunch time." alice rose, and with endicott following, made her way to the camp. "isn't it wonderful?" she breathed, as they ate their luncheon. "this life in the open--the pure clean air--the magnificent world all spread out before you, beckoning you on, and on, and on. it makes a person strong with just the feel of living--the joy of it. just think, winthrop, of being able to eat left-over biscuits and cold bacon and enjoy it!" endicott smiled: "haven't i improved enough, yet, for 'win'?--tex thinks so." the girl regarded him critically. "i have a great deal of respect for tex's judgment," she smiled. "then, dear, i am going to ask you again, the question i have asked you times out of number: will you marry me?" "don't spoil it all, now, please. i am enjoying it so. enjoying being here with just you and the big west. oh, this is the real west--the west of which i've dreamed!" endicott nodded: "yes, this is the west. you were right, alice. california is no more the west than new york is." "don't you love it?" the girl's eyes were shining with enthusiasm. "yes. i love it," he answered, and she noticed that his face was very grave. "there must be something--some slumbering ego in every man that awakens at the voice of the wild places. our complex system of civilization seems to me, as i sit here now, a little thing--a thing, somehow, remote--unnecessary, and very undesirable." "brooklyn seems very far away," murmured the girl. "and cincinnati--but not far enough away. we know they are real--that they actually exist." endicott rose and paced back and forth. suddenly he stopped before the girl. "marry me, alice, and i'll buy a ranch and we will live out here, and for us brooklyn and cincinnati need never exist. i do love it all, but i love you a thousand times more." to endicott's surprise the girl's eyes dropped before his gaze and rested for a long time upon the grazing horses--then abruptly she buried her face in her arms. the man had half expected a return to the light half-mocking raillery that had been her staunchest weapon, but there was nothing even remotely suggestive of raillery in the figure that huddled at his feet. suddenly, his face became very grave: "alice," he cried, bending over her, "is it because my hands are red? because i have taken a human life, and am flying from the hand of the law like a common murderer?" "no, no, no! not that? i----" swiftly he gathered her into his arms, but she freed herself and shook her head in protest. "don't please," she pleaded softly. "oh, i--i can't choose." "choose!" cried endicott. "then there is--someone else? you have found--" he stopped abruptly and drew a long breath. "i see," he said, gently, "i think i understand." the unexpected gentleness of the voice caused the girl to raise her head. endicott stood as he had stood a moment before, but his gaze was upon the far mountains. the girl's eyes were wet with tears: "yes, i--he loves me--and he asked me to marry him. he said i would marry either you or him, and he would wait for me to decide--until i was sure." her voice steadied, and endicott noticed that it held a trace of defensive. "he's a dear, and--i know--way down in his heart he's good--he's----" endicott smiled: "yes, little girl, he is good. he's a man--every inch of him. and he's a man among men. he's honest and open hearted and human. there is not a mean hair in his head. and he stands a great deal nearer the top of his profession than i do to the top of mine. i have been a fool, alice. i can see now what a complacent fool and a cad i must have been--when i could look at these men and see nothing but uncouthness. but, thank god, men can change----" impulsively the girl reached for his hand: "no," she murmured, remembering the words of the texan, "no, the man was there all the time. the real man that is _you_ was concealed by the unreal man that is superficiality." "thank you, alice," he said gravely. "and for your sake--and i say it an all sincerity--let the best man win!" the girl smiled up into his face: "and in all sincerity i will say that in all your life you have never seemed so--so marryable as you do right now." while endicott cut a supply of fire-wood and tinkered about the spring, the girl made a complete circuit of the little plateau, and as the shadows began to lengthen they once more climbed to their lookout station. for an hour the vast corrugated plane before them showed no sign of life. suddenly the girl's fingers clutched endicott's arm and she pointed to a lone horseman who rode from the north. "i wonder if he's the same one we saw before--the one who rode away so fast?" "not unless he has changed horses," answered endicott. "the other rode a grey." the man swung from his horse and seemed to be minutely studying the ground. then he mounted and headed down the coulee at a trot. "look! there is tex!" cried endicott, and he pointed farther down the same coulee. a sharp bend prevented either rider from noticing the approach of the other. "oh, i wonder who it is, and what will happen when they see each other?" cried the girl. "look! there is bat. near the top of that ridge. he's cutting across so he'll be right above them when they meet." she was leaning forward watching: breathlessly the movements of the three horsemen. "it is unreal. just like some great spectacular play. you see the actors moving through their parts and you wonder what is going to happen next and how it is all going to work out." "there! they see each other!" endicott exclaimed. each horseman pulled up, hesitated a moment, and rode on. distance veiled from the eager onlookers the significant detail of the shifted gun arms. but no such preclusion obstructed bat's vision as he lay flattened upon the rim of the coulee with the barrel of his six-gun resting upon the edge of a rock, and its sights lined low upon the stranger's armpit. "they've dismounted," observed alice, "i believe tex is going to unsaddle." "tightening his cinch," ventured endicott, and was interrupted by a cry from the lips of the girl. "look! the other! he's going to shoot---- why, they're fighting!" fighting they certainly were, and endicott stared in surprise as he saw the texan knocked down and then spring to his feet and attack his assailant with a vigour that rendered impossible any further attempt to follow the progress of the combat. "why doesn't bat shoot, or go down there and help him?" cried the girl, as with clenched fists she strained her eyes in a vain effort to see who was proving the victor. "this does not seem to be a shooting affair," endicott answered, "and it is my own private opinion that tex is abundantly able to take care of himself. ah--he got him that time! he's down for the count! good work, tex, old man! a good clean knockout!" the two watched as the men mounted and rode their several ways--the stranger swinging northward toward the mountains, and the texan following along the south face of the butte. "some nice little meetings they have out here," grinned endicott. "i wonder if the vanquished one was a horse-thief or just an ordinary friend." alice returned the smile: "you used to rather go in for boxing in college, didn't you?" "oh, yes. i can hold my own when it comes to fists---- "and--you can shoot." the man shook his head: "do you know that was the first time i ever fired a pistol in my life. i don't like to think about it. and yet--i am always thinking about it! i have killed a man--have taken a human life. i did it without malice--without forethought. all i knew was that you were in danger, then i saw him fling you from him--the pistol was in my hand, and i fired." "you need have no regrets," answered the girl, quickly. "it was his life or both of ours--worse than that--a thousand times worse." endicott was silent as the two turned toward the plateau. "why, there's bat's horse, trotting over to join the others, and unsaddled, too," cried alice. "he has beaten tex to camp. bat is a dear, and he just adores the ground tex walks on, or 'rides on' would be more appropriate, for i don't think he ever walked more than a hundred feet in his life." sure enough, when they reached camp there sat the half-breed placidly mending a blanket, with the bored air of one upon whom time hangs heavily. he looked up as endicott greeted him. "mebbe-so dat better you don' say nuttin' 'bout a'm gon' 'way from here," he grinned. "tex she com' 'long pret' queek, now. mebbe-so he t'ink dat better a'm stay roun' de camp. but _voila_! how a'm know he ain' gon for git hurt?" "but he did--" alice paused abruptly with the sentences unfinished, for the sound of galloping hoofs reached her ears and she looked up to see the texan swing from his horse, strip off the saddle and bridle and turn the animal loose. "oh," she cried, as the man joined them after spreading his saddle blanket to dry. "your eyes are swollen almost shut and your lip is bleeding!" "yes," answered the cowboy with a contortion of the stiff, swollen lip that passed for a smile. "i rounded the bend in a coulee down yonder an' run plumb against a hard projection." "they certainly are hard--i have run against those projections myself," grinned endicott. "you see, we had what you might call ringside seats, and i noticed that it didn't take you very long to come back with some mighty stiff projecting yourself." "yes. him pastin' me between the eyes that way, i took as an onfriendly act, an' one i resented." "that wallop you landed on his chin was a beautiful piece of work." "yes, quite comely." the cowboy wriggled his fingers painfully. "but these long-horns that's raised on salt-horse an' rawhide, maintains a jaw on 'em that makes iron an' granite seem right mushy. i didn't figure i'd recount the disturbance, aimin' to pass it off casual regardin' the disfigurin' of my profile. but if you-all witnessed the debate, i might as well go ahead an' oncork the details. in the first place, this warrior is a deputy that's out after win." the texan glanced sharply at bat who became suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, but the face of the half-breed was impassive--even sombre as he worked at the blanket. "it's all owin' to politics," continued the cowpuncher, rolling and lighting a cigarette. "politics, an' the fact that the cow country is in its dotage. choteau county is growin' effeminate, not to say right down effete when a lynchin', that by rights it would be stretching its importance even to refer to it in conversation, is raised to the dignity of a political issue. as everyone knows, a hangin' is always a popular play, riddin' the community of an ondesirable, an' at the same time bein' a warnin' to others to polish up their rectitude. but it seems, from what i was able to glean, that this particular hangin' didn't win universal acclaim, owin' to the massacre of purdy not bein' deplored none." once more the half-breed emitted a strangling cough, and tex eyed him narrowly. "somethin' seems to ail your throat." "_oui_, a'm swal' de piece tabac'." "well just hang onto it 'til it gets a little darker an' we'll have supper," said the texan, dryly, and resumed. "so there was some talk disparagin' to the lynchin', an' the party that's in, holdin' its tenure by the skin of its teeth, an' election comin' on, sided in with public opinion an' frowned on the lynchin', not as a hangin', you onderstand, but because the hangin' didn't redound none to their particular credit--it not being legal an' regular. all this is brewed while the dance is goin' on, an' by breakfast time next mornin', there bein' a full quorum of republican war chiefs on hand, they pulls a pow-wow an' instructs their deputies to round up the lynchers. this is done, barrin' a few that's flitted, the boys bein' caught unawares. well, things begun lookin' serious to 'em, an' as a last resort they decided to fall back on the truth. so they admits that there ain't no lynchin'. they tells how, after they'd got out on the bench a piece they got to thinkin' that the demise of purdy ain't a serious matter, nohow, so they turned him loose. 'where is he, then?' says a county commissioner. 'search us,' replies the culprits. 'we just turned him loose an' told him to _vamoose_. we didn't stick around an' herd him!'" again bat coughed, and the texan glared at him. "maybe a drink of water would help them lacerated pipes of yourn," he suggested, "an' besides it's dark enough so you can start supper a-goin'." "but," said endicott, "won't that get the boys all into serious trouble for aiding and abetting a prisoner to escape? accessories after the fact, is what the law calls them." "oh lord," groaned the texan inwardly. "if i can steer through all this without ridin' into my own loop, i'll be some liar. this on top of what i told 'em in wolf river, an' since, an' about purdy's funeral--i dastn't bog down, now!" "no," he answered, as he lighted another cigarette. "there comes in your politics again. you see, there was twenty-some-odd of us--an' none friendless. take twenty-odd votes an' multiply 'em by the number of friends each has got--an' i reckon ten head of friends apiece wouldn't overshoot the figure--an' you've got between two hundred an' three hundred votes--which is a winnin' majority for any candidate among 'em. knowin' this, they wink at the jail delivery an' cinch those votes. but, as i said before, hangin' is always a popular measure, an' as they want credit for yourn, they start all the deputies they got out on a still-hunt for you, judgin' it not to be hard to find a pilgrim wanderin' about at large. an' this party i met up with was one of 'em." "did he suspect that we were with you?" asked alice, her voice trembling with anxiety. "such was the case--his intimation bein' audible, and venomous. i denied it in kind, an' one word leadin' to another, he called me a liar. to which statement, although to a certain extent veracious, i took exception, an' in the airy persiflage that ensued, he took umbrage to an extent that it made him hostile. previous to this little altercation, he an' i had been good friends, and deemin', rightly, that it wasn't a shootin' matter, he ondertook to back up his play with his fists, and he hauled off an' smote me between the eyes before i'd devined his intentions. judgin' the move unfriendly, not to say right downright aggressive, i come back at him with results you-all noted. an' that's all there was to the incident of me showin' up with black eyes, an' a lip that would do for a pin cushion." all during supper and afterward while the half-breed was washing the dishes, the texan eyed him sharply, and several times caught the flash of a furtive smile upon the habitually sombre face. "he knows somethin' mirthful," thought the cowboy, "i noticed it particular, when i was flounderin' up to my neck in the mire of deception. the old reprobate ain't easy amused, either." alice retired early, and before long endicott, too, sought his blankets. the moon rose, and the texan strolled over to the grazing horses. returning, he encountered bat seated upon a rock at some distance from camp, watching him. the half-breed was grinning openly now, broadly, and with evident enjoyment. tex regarded him with a frown: "for a siwash you're plumb mirthful an' joyous minded. in fact i ain't noticed any one so wrapped up in glee for quite a spell. suppose you just loosen up an' let me in on the frivolity, an' at the same time kind of let it appear where you put in the day. i mistrusted my packin' a pair of purple ones wouldn't give you the whoopin' cough, so i just sauntered over an' took a look at the cayuses. yourn's be'n rode 'til he's sweat under the blanket--an' he ain't soft neither." "_oui_, a'm fol' 'long we'n you make de ride. a'm t'ink mebbe-so two better'n wan." "well, i was weaned right young, an' i don't need no governess. after this you----" the half-breed shrugged: "a'm tink dat tam way back in las vegas dat dam' good t'ing ol' bat fol' 'long, or else, ba goss, you gon' to hell for sure." "but that's no sign i've always got to be close-herded. did you sneak up near enough to hear what the short-horn said?" "_oui_, a'm hear dat. she mak' me laugh lak' hell." "laugh! i didn't see nothin' so damn hilarious in it. what do you think about purdy?" "a'm tink dat dam' bad luck she no git keel." the half-breed paused and grinned: "de pilgrim she mak' de run for nuttin', an' you got to ke'p on lyin' an' lyin', an bye-m-bye you got so dam' mooch lies you git los'. so far, dat work out pret' good. de pilgrim gon' ke'p on de run, 'cause he no lak' for git stretch for politick, an' you git mor' chance for make de play for de girl." "what do you mean?" the texan's eyes flashed. "i just knocked the livin' hell out of one fellow for makin' a crack about that girl." "_oui_, a'm know 'bout dat, too. dat was pret' good, but nex' tam dat better you start in fightin' fore you git knock clean across de coulee firs'. a'm lak dat girl. she dam' fine 'oman, you bet. a'm no lak' she git harm." "see here, bat," interrupted the texan, "no matter what my intentions were when i started out, they're all right now." "_oui_, a'm know dat, 'bout two day." "it's this way, i be'n thinkin' quite a bit the last couple of days there ain't a thing in hellin' around the country punchin' other folks' cattle for wages. it's time i was settlin' down. if that girl will take a long shot an' marry me, i'm goin' to rustle around an' start an outfit of my own. i'll be needin' a man about your heft an' complexion to help me run it, too--savvy?" the half-breed nodded slowly. "_oui_, all de tam a'm say: 'some tam tex she queet de dam' foolin', an' den she git to be de beeg man.' i ain' tink you git dis 'oman, but dat don' mak' no differ', som' tam you be de beeg man yet. som' nodder 'oman com' 'long----" "to hell with some other woman!" flared the texan. "i tell you i'll have that girl or i'll never look at another woman. there ain't another woman in the world can touch her. you think you're wise as hell, but i'll show you!" the half-breed regarded him gloomily: "a'm tink dat 'oman de pilgrim 'oman." "oh, you do, do you? well, just you listen to me. she ain't--not yet. it's me an' the pilgrim for her. if she ties to him instead of me, it's all right. she'll get a damn good man. take me, an' all of a sudden throw me into the middle of _his_ country, an' i doubt like hell if i'd show up as good as he did in mine. whatever play goes on between me an' the pilgrim, will be on the square--with one deck, an' the cards on the table. there's only one thing i'm holdin' out on him, an' that is about purdy. an' that ain't an onfair advantage, because it's his own fault he's worryin' about it. an' if it gives me a better chance with her, i'm goin' to grab it. an' i'll win, too. but, if i don't win, i don't reckon it'll kill me. sometimes when i get to thinkin' about it i almost wish it would--i'm that damned close to bein' yellow." bat laughed. the idea of the texan being yellow struck him as humorous. "i'm wonder how mooch more beeg lie you got for tell, eh?" tex was grinning now, "search me. i had to concoct some excuse for getting 'em started--two or three excuses. an' it looks like i got to keep on concoctin' 'em to keep 'em goin'. but it don't hurt no one--lyin' like that, don't. it don't hurt the girl, because she's bound to get one of us. it don't hurt the pilgrim, because we'll see him through to the railroad. it don't hurt you, because you don't believe none of it. an' it don't hurt me, because i'm used to it--an' there you are. but that don't give you no license to set around an' snort an' gargle while i'm tellin' 'em. i got trouble enough keepin' 'em plausible an' entangled, without you keepin' me settin' on a cactus for fear you'll give it away. what you got to do is to back up my play--remember them four bits i give you way back in los vegas? well, here's where i'm givin' you a chance to pay dividends on them four bits." bat grinned: "you go 'head an' mak' you play. you fin' out i ain't forgit dat four bit. she ain' mooch money--four bit ain'. but w'en she all you got, she wan hell of a lot . . . _bien_!" chapter xvii in the bad lands it was well toward noon on the following day when the four finally succeeded in locating the grub cache of the departed horse-thief. nearly two years had passed since the man had described the place to tex and a two-year-old description of a certain small, carefully concealed cavern in a rock-wall pitted with innumerable similar caverns is a mighty slender peg to hang hopes upon. "it's like searching for buried treasure!" exclaimed alice as she pried and prodded among the rocks with a stout stick. "there won't be much treasure, even if we find the _cache_," smiled tex. "horse thievin' had got onpopular to the extent there wasn't hardly a livin' in it long before this specimen took it up as a profession. we'll be lucky if we find any grub in it." a few moments later bat unearthed the _cache_ and, as the others crowded about, began to draw out its contents. "field mice," growled tex, as the half-breed held up an empty canvas bag with its corner gnawed to shreds. another gnawed bag followed, and another. "we don't draw no flour, nor rice, not jerky, anyhow," said the puncher, examining the bags. "nor bacon, either. the only chance we stand to make a haul is on the air-tights." "what are air-tights?" asked the girl. "canned stuff--tomatoes are the best for this kind of weather--keep you from gettin' thirsty. i've be'n in this country long enough to pretty much know its habits, but i never saw it this hot in june." "she feel lak' dat dam' yuma bench, but here is only de rattlesnake. we don' got to all de tam hont de pizen boog. dat ain' no good for git so dam' hot--she burn' oop de range. if it ain' so mooch danger for win to git hang--" he paused and looked at tex with owlish solemnity. "a'm no lak we cross dem bad lands. better a'm lak we gon' back t'rough de mountaine." "you dig out them air-tights, if there's any in there, an' quit your croakin'!" ordered the cowboy. and with a grin bat thrust in his arm to the shoulder. one by one he drew out the tins--eight in all, and laid them in a row. the labels had disappeared and the texan stood looking down at them. "anyway we have these," smiled the girl, but the cowboy shook his head. "those big ones are tomatoes, an' the others are corn, an' peas--but, it don't make any difference." he pointed to the cans in disgust: "see those ends bulged out that way? if we'd eat any of the stuff in those cans we'd curl up an' die, _pronto_. roll 'em back, bat, we got grub enough without 'em. two days will put us through the bad lands an' we've got plenty. we'll start when the moon comes up." all four spent the afternoon in the meagre shade of the bull pine, seeking some amelioration from the awful scorching heat. but it was scant protection they got, and no comfort. the merciless rays of the sun beat down upon the little plateau, heating the rocks to a degree that rendered them intolerable to the touch. no breath of air stirred. the horses ceased to graze and stood in the scrub with lowered heads and wide-spread legs, sweating. towards evening a breeze sprang up from the southeast, but it was a breeze that brought with it no atom of comfort. it blew hot and stifling like the scorching blast of some mighty furnace. for an hour after the sun went down in a glow of red the super-heated rocks continued to give off their heat and the wind swept, sirocco-like, over the little camp. before the after-glow had faded from the sky the wind died and a delicious coolness pervaded the plateau. "it hardly seems possible," said alice, as she breathed deeply of the vivifying air, "that in this very spot only a few hours ago we were gasping for breath. "you can always bank on the nights bein' cold," answered tex, as he proceeded to build the fire. "we'll rustle around and get supper out of the way an' the outfit packed an' we can pull our freight as soon as it's light enough. the moon ought to show up by half-past ten or eleven, an' we can make the split rock water-hole before it gets too hot for the horses to travel. it's the hottest spell for june i ever saw and if she don't let up tomorrow the range will be burnt to a frazzle." bat cast a weather-wise eye toward the sky which, cloudless, nevertheless seemed filmed with a peculiar haze that obscured the million lesser stars and distorted the greater ones, so that they showed sullen and angry and dull like the malignant pustules of a diseased skin. "a'm t'ink she gon' for bus' loose pret' queek." "another thunder storm and a deluge of rain?" asked alice. the half-breed shrugged: "i ain' know mooch 'bout dat. i ain' t'ink she feel lak de rain. she ain' feel good." "leave off croakin', bat, an' get to work an' pack," growled the texan. "there'll be plenty time to gloom about the weather when it gets here." an hour later the outfit was ready for the trail. "wish we had one of them african water-bags," said the cowboy, as he filled his flask at the spring. "but i guess this will do 'til we strike the water-hole." "where is that whiskey bottle?" asked endicott. "we could take a chance on snake-bite, dump out the booze, and use the bottle for water." the texan shook his head: "i had bad luck with that bottle; it knocked against a rock an' got busted. so we've got to lump the snake-bite with the thirst, an' take a chance on both of 'em." "how far is the water-hole?" alice asked, as she eyed the flask that the cowboy was making fast in his slicker. "about forty miles, i reckon. we've got this, and three cans of tomatoes, but we want to go easy on 'em, because there's a good ride ahead of us after we hit split rock, an' that's the only water, except poison springs, between here an' the old miszoo." bat, who had come up with the horses, pointed gloomily at the moon which had just topped the shoulder of a mountain. "she all squash down. dat ain' no good she look so red." the others followed his gaze, and for a moment all stared at the distorted crimson oblong that hung low above the mountains. a peculiar dull luminosity radiated from the misshapen orb and bathed the bad lands in a flood of weird murky light. "come on," cried tex, swinging into his saddle, "we'll hit the trail before this old python here finds something else to forebode about. for all i care the moon can turn green, an' grow a hump like a camel just so she gives us light enough to see by." he led the way across the little plateau and the others followed. with eyes tight-shut and hands gripping the saddle-horn, alice gave her horse full rein as he followed the texan's down the narrow sloping ledge that answered for a trail. nor did she open her eyes until the reassuring voice of the cowboy told her the danger was past. tex led the way around the base of the butte and down into the coulee he had followed the previous day. "we've got to take it easy this trip," he explained. "there ain't any too much light an' we can't take any chances on holes an' loose rocks. it'll be rough goin' all the way, but a good fast walk ought to put us half way, by daylight, an' then we can hit her up a little better." the moon swung higher and the light increased somewhat, but at best it was poor enough, serving only to bring out the general outlines of the trail and the bolder contour of the coulee's rim. no breath of the wind stirred the air that was cold, with a dank, clammy coldness--like the dead air of a cistern. as she rode, the girl noticed the absence of its buoyant tang. the horses' hoofs rang hollow and thin on the hard rock of the coulee bed, and even the frenzied yapping of a pack of coyotes, sounded uncanny and far away. between these sounds the stillness seemed oppressive--charged with a nameless feeling of unwholesome portent. "it is the evil spell of the bad lands," thought the girl, and shuddered. dawn broke with the moon still high above the western skyline. the sides of the coulee had flattened and they traversed a country of low-lying ridges and undulating rock-basins. as the yellow rim of the sun showed above the crest of a far-off ridge, their ears caught the muffled roar of wind. from the elevation of a low hill the four gazed toward the west where a low-hung dust-cloud, lowering, ominous, mounted higher and higher as the roar of the wind increased. the air about them remained motionless--dead. suddenly it trembled, swirled, and rushed forward to meet the oncoming dust-cloud as though drawn toward it by the suck of a mighty vortex. "dat better we gon' for hont de hole. dat dust sto'm she raise hell." "hole up, nothin'!" cried the texan; "how are we goin' to hole up--four of us an' five horses, on a pint of water an' three cans of tomatoes? when that storm hits it's goin' to be hot. we've just naturally got to make that water-hole! come on, ride like the devil before she hits, because we're goin' to slack up considerable, directly." the cowboy led the way and the others followed, urging their horses at top speed. the air was still cool, and as she rode, alice glanced over her shoulder toward the dust cloud, nearer now, by many miles. the roar of the wind increased in volume. "it's like the roar of the falls at niagara," she thought, and spurred her horse close beside the texan's. "only seventeen or eighteen miles," she heard him say, as her horse drew abreast. "the wind's almost at our back, an' that'll help some." he jerked the silk scarf from his neck and extended it toward her. "cover your mouth an' nose with that when she hits. an' keep your eyes shut. we'll make it all right, but it's goin' to be tough." a mile further on the storm burst with the fury of a hurricane. the wind roared down upon them like a blast from hell. daylight blotted out, and where a moment before the sun had hung like a burnished brazen shield, was only a dim lightening of the impenetrable fog of grey-black dust. the girl opened her eyes and instantly they seemed filled with a thousand needles that bit and seared and caused hot stinging tears to well between the tight-closed lids. she gasped for breath and her lips and tongue went dry. sand gritted against her teeth as she closed them, and she tried in vain to spit the dust from her mouth. she was aware that someone was tying the scarf about her head, and close against her ear she heard the voice of the texan: "breathe through your nose as long as you can an' then through your teeth. hang onto your saddle-horn, i've got your reins. an' whatever you do, keep your eyes shut, this sand will cut 'em out if you don't." she turned her face for an instant toward the west, and the sand particles drove against her exposed forehead and eyelids with a force that caused the stinging tears to flow afresh. then she felt her horse move slowly, jerkily at first, then more easily as the texan swung him in beside his own. "we're all right now," he shouted at the top of his lungs to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. and then it seemed to the girl they rode on and on for hours without a spoken word. she came to tell by the force of the wind whether they travelled along ridges, or wide low basins, or narrow coulees. her lips dried and cracked, and the fine dust and sand particles were driven beneath her clothing until her skin smarted and chafed under their gritty torture. suddenly the wind seemed to die down and the horses stopped. she heard the texan swing to the ground at her side, and she tried to open her eyes but they were glued fast. she endeavoured to speak and found the effort a torture because of the thick crusting of alkali dust and sand that tore at her broken lips. the scarf was loosened and allowed to fall about her neck. she could hear the others dismounting and the loud sounds with which the horses strove to rid their nostrils of the crusted grime. "just a minute, now, an' you can open your eyes," the texan's words fell with a dry rasp of his tongue upon his caked lips. she heard a slight splashing sound and the next moment the grateful feel of water was upon her burning eyelids, as the texan sponged at them with a saturated bit of cloth. "the water-hole!" she managed to gasp. "there's water here," answered the cowboy, evasively, "hold still, an' in a minute you can open your eyes." very gently he continued to sponge at her lids. her eyes opened and she started back with a sharp cry. the three men before her were unrecognizable in the thick masks of dirt that encased their faces--masks that showed only thin red slits for eyes, and thick, blood-caked excrescences where lips should have been. "water!" endicott cried, and alice was sure she heard the dry click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. the girl saw that they were in a cavern formed by a mud crack whose walls had toppled together. almost at her feet was a small pool, its surface covered with a film of dust. endicott stepped toward it, but the texan barred the way. "don't drink that! it might be a poison spring--most of 'em are down here. it's the meanest death there is, the bellyache an' cramps that comes from drinkin' poison water. watch the horses. if they will drink it, we can. he led his horse to the pool into which the animal thrust his nose half way to the eyes. only a moment he held it there, then with a thrash of disappointment that sent the water splashing over the dust-coated rocks, he raised his head and stood with the water dripping in streams from his muzzle. he pawed at the ground, shook his head wrathfully, and turned in disgust from the water-hole. "poison," announced the texan. "we can rinse out our mouths with it an' clean out our eyes an' wash our faces, an' do the same for the horses, but we can't swallow not even a drop of it, or us an' the angels will be swappin' experiences about this time tomorrow." he turned to alice: "ladies first. just take your handkerchief an' wet it an' swab out your mouth an' when you're through there's a good drink of real water waitin' for you in the flask." when she had done, the three men followed her example, and the texan tendered the bottle: "take all you need, there's plenty," he said. but she would take only a swallow which she held in her mouth and allowed to trickle down her throat. endicott did the same and bat, whereupon the cowboy replaced the cork to the bottle and was about to return it to his slicker when the girl caught his arm. "you didn't drink any!" she cried, but he overrode her protest. "i ain't thirsty," he said almost gruffly. "you better catch you a little rest, because as soon as we get these horses fixed up, we're goin' to pull out of here." the girl assayed a protest, but tex turned abruptly away and the three fell to work removing the caked dust from the eyes and nostrils of the horses, and rinsing out their mouths. when they finished, tex turned to bat. "how far d'you reckon it is to the water-hole?" he asked. the half-breed shrugged: "mebbe-so fi' mile, mebbe-so ten. i ain' know dis place. a'm t'ink we los'." "lost!" snorted the texan, contemptuously. "you're a hell of an injun, you are, to get lost in broad daylight in sight of the bear paws. i ain't lost, if you are, an' i tell you we camp at that water-hole tonight!" again the half-breed shrugged: "i ain' see no mountaine. i ain' see no mooch daylight, neider. too mooch de dam' dus'--too mooch san'--too mooch de win' blow. if we com' by de water-hole, a'm t'ink dat dam' lucky t'ing." tex regarded him with disapproval: "climb onto your horse, old calamity jane, an' we'll mosey along. a dry camp is better than this--at least nobody can crawl around in their sleep an' drink a snifter of poison." he helped alice from the ground where she sat propped against a rock and assisted her to mount, being careful to adjust the scarf over her nose and mouth. as the horses with lowered heads bored through the dust-storm the texan cursed himself unmercifully. "this is all your fault, you damned four-flusher! you would run a girl--that girl, into a hole like this, would you? you low-lived skunk, you! you think you're fit to marry her, do you? well, you ain't! you ain't fit to be mentioned in the same language she is! you'll get 'em all out of here or, by god, you'll never get out yourself--an' i'm right here to see that that goes! an' you'll find that water-hole, too! an' after you've found it, an' got 'em all out of this jack-pot, you'll h'ist up on your hind legs an' tell 'em the whole damn facts in the case, an' if win jumps in an' just naturally mops up hell with you, it'll be just what you've got comin' to you--if he does a good job, it will." mile after mile the horses drifted before the wind, heads hung low and ears drooping. in vain the texan tried to pierce the impenetrable pall of flying dust for a glimpse of a familiar landmark. "we ought to be hittin' that long black ridge, or the soda hill by now," he muttered. "if we miss 'em both--god!" the half-breed pushed his horse close beside him: "we mus' got to camp," he announced with his lips to the texan's ear. "de hosses beginnin' to shake." "how far can they go?" "camp now. beside de cut-bank here. dem hoss she got for res' queek or, ba goss, she die." tex felt his own horse tremble and he knew the half-breed's words were true. with an oath he swung into the sheltered angle of the cut-bank along which they were travelling. bat jerked the pack from the lead-horse and produced clothing and blankets, dripping wet from the saturation he had given them in the poison spring. while the others repeated the process of the previous camp, bat worked over the horses which stood in a dejected row with their noses to the base of the cut-bank. "we'll save the water an' make tomatoes do," announced the texan, as with his knife he cut a hole in the top of a can. "this storm is bound to let up pretty quick an' then we'll hit for the waterhole. it can't be far from here. we'll tap two cans an' save one an' the water--the flask's half full yet." never in her life, thought alice, as she and endicott shared their can of tomatoes, had she tasted anything half so good. the rich red pulp and the acid juice, if it did not exactly quench the burning thirst, at least made it bearable, and in a few minutes she fell asleep protected from the all pervading dust by one of the wet blankets. the storm roared on. at the end of a couple of hours bat rose and silently saddled his horse. "a'm gon' for fin' dat water-hole," he said, when the task was completed. "if de sto'm stop, a'right. if it don' stop, you gon' on in de mornin'." he placed one of the empty tomato cans in his slicker, and as he was about to mount both endicott and tex shook his hand. "good luck to you, bat," said endicott, with forced cheerfulness. the texan said never a word, but after a long look into the half-breed's eyes, turned his head swiftly away. both tex and endicott slept fitfully, throwing the blankets from their heads at frequent intervals to note the progress of the storm. once during the night the texan visited the horses. the three saddle animals stood hobbled with their heads close to the cut-bank, but the pack-horse was gone. "maybe you'll find it," he muttered, "but the best bet is, you won't. i gave my horse his head for an hour before we camped, an' he couldn't find it." tex sat up after that, with his back to the wall of the coulee. with the first hint of dawn endicott joined him. the wind roared with unabated fury as he crawled to the cowboy's side. he held up the half-filled water flask and the texan regarded him with red-rimmed eyes. "this water," asked the man, "it's for her, isn't it?" tex nodded. without a word endicott crawled to the side of the sleeping girl and gently drew the blanket from her face. he carefully removed the cork from the bottle and holding it close above the parched lips allowed a few drops of the warm fluid to trickle between them. the lips moved and the sleeping girl swallowed the water greedily. with infinite pains the man continued the operation doling the precious water out a little at a time so as not to waken her. at last the bottle was empty, and, replacing the blanket, he returned to the texan's side. "she wouldn't have taken it if she had known," he whispered. "she would have made us drink some." tex nodded, with his eyes on the other's face. "an' you're nothin' but a damned pilgrim!" he breathed, softly. minutes passed as the two men sat silently side by side. the texan spoke, as if to himself: "it's a hell of a way to die--for her." "we'll get through somehow," endicott said, hopefully. tex did not reply, but sat with his eyes fixed on the horses. presently he got up, walked over and examined each one carefully. "only two of 'em will travel, win. yours is all in." he saddled the girl's horse and his own, leaving them still hobbled. then he walked over and picked up the empty tomato can and the bottle. "you've got to drink," he said, "or you'll die--me, too. an' maybe that water ain't enough for her, either." he drew a knife from his pocket and walked to endicott's horse. "what are you going to do?" cried the other, his eyes wide with horror. "it's blood, or nothin'," answered the texan, as he passed his hand along the horse's throat searching for the artery. endicott nodded: "i suppose you're right, but it seems--cold blooded." "i'd shoot him first, but there's no use wakin' her. we can tell her the horse died." there was a swift twisting of the cowboy's wrist, the horse reared sharply back, and endicott turned away with a sickening feeling of weakness. the voice of the texan roused him: "hand me the bottle and the can quick!" as he sprang to obey, endicott saw that the hand the cowboy held tightly against the horse's throat was red. the weakness vanished and he cursed himself for a fool. what was a horse--a thousand horses to the lives of humans--her life? the bottle was filled almost instantly and he handed tex the can. "drink it--all you can hold of it. it won't taste good, but it's wet." he was gulping great swallows from the tin, as with the other hand he tried to hold back the flow. endicott placed the bottle to his lips and was surprised to find that he emptied it almost at a draught. again and again the texan filled the bottle and the can as both in a frenzy of desire gulped the thick liquid. when, at length they were satiated, the blood still flowed. the receptacles were filled, set aside, and covered with a strip of cloth. for a moment longer the horse stood with the blood spurting from his throat, then with a heavy sigh he toppled sidewise and crashed heavily to the ground. the texan fixed the cork in the bottle, plugged the can as best he could, and taking them, together with the remaining can of tomatoes, tied them into the slicker behind the cantle of his saddle. he swung the bag containing the few remaining biscuits to the horn. "give her the tomatoes when you have to. _you_ can use the other can--tell her that's tomatoes, too. she'll never tumble that it's blood." endicott stared at the other: "what do you mean?" "i mean that you had better wake her up, now, an' get goin'. i'll wait here for bat. he's probably found the spring by this time, an' he'll be moseyin' along directly with water an' the pack-horse." endicott took a step toward him: "it won't work, tex," he said, with a smile. "you don't expect me to believe that if you really thought bat would return with water, you would be sending us away from here into this dust-storm. no. i'm the one that waits for bat. you go ahead and take her through, and then you can come back for me." the texan shook his head: "i got you into this deal, an'----" "you did it to protect me!" flared endicott. "i'm the cause for all this, and i'll stand the gaff!" the texan smiled, and endicott noticed that it was the same cynical smile with which the man had regarded him in the dance hall, and again as they had faced each other under the cottonwoods of buffalo coulee. "since when you be'n runnin' this outfit?" "it don't make any difference since when! the fact is, i'm running it, now--that is, to the extent that i'll be damned if you're going to stay behind and rot in this god-forsaken inferno, while i ride to safety on your horse." the smile died from the cowboy's face: "it ain't that, win. i guess you don't savvy, but i do. she's yours, man. take her an' go! there was a while that i thought--but, hell!" "i'm not so sure of that," endicott replied. "only yesterday, or the day before, she told me she could not choose--yet." "she'll choose," answered tex, "an' she won't choose--me. she ain't makin' no mistake, neither. by god, i know a man when i see one!" endicott stepped forward and shook his fist in the cowboy's face: "it's the only chance. you can do it--i can't. for god's sake, man, be sensible! either of us would do it--for her. it is only a question of success, and all that it means; and failure--and all that that means. you know the country--i don't. you are experienced in fighting this damned desert--i'm not. any one of a dozen things might mean the difference between life and death. you would take advantage of them--i couldn't." "you're a lawyer, win--an' a damn good one. i wondered what your trade was. if i ever run foul of the law, i'll sure send for you, _pronto_. if i was a jury you'd have me plumb convinced--but, i ain't a jury. the way i look at it, the case stands about like this: we can't stay here, and there can't only two of us go. i can hold out here longer than you could, an' you can go just as far with the horses as i could. just give them their head an' let them drift--that's all i could do. if the storm lets up you'll see the split rock water-hole--you can't miss it if you're in sight of it, there's a long black ridge with a big busted rock on the end of it, an' just off the end is a round, high mound--the soda hill, they call it, and the water-hole is between. if you pass the water-hole, you'll strike the miszoo. you can tell that from a long ways off, too, by the fringe of green that lines the banks. and, as for the rest of it--i mean, if the storm don't let up, or the horses go down, i couldn't do any more than you could--it's cashin' in time then anyhow, an' the long, long sleep, no matter who's runnin' the outfit. an' if it comes to that, it's better for her to pass her last hours with one of her own kind than with--me." endicott thrust out his hand: "i think any one could be proud to spend their last hours with one of your kind," he said huskily. "i believe we will all win through--but, if worse comes to worst---- good bye." "so long, win," said the cowboy, grasping the hand. "wake her up an' pull out quick. i'll onhobble the horses." chapter xviii "win" alice opened her eyes to see endicott bending over her. "it is time to pull out," said the man tersely. the girl threw off the blanket and stared into the whirl of opaque dust. "the storm is still raging," she murmured. "oh, winthrop, do you know that i dreamed it was all over--that we were riding between high, cool mountains beside a flashing stream. and trout were leaping in the rapids, and i got off and drank and drank of the clear, cold water, and, why, do you know, i feel actually refreshed! the horrible burning thirst has gone. that proves the control mind has over matter--if we could just concentrate and think hard enough, i don't believe we would ever need to be thirsty, or hungry, or tired, or cold, do you?" the man smiled grimly, and shook his head: "no. if we could think hard _enough_ to accomplish a thing, why, manifestly that thing would be accomplished. great word--enough--the trouble is, when you use it, you never say anything." alice laughed: "you're making fun of me. i don't care, you know what i mean, anyway. why, what's the matter with that horse?" "he died--got weaker and weaker, and at last he just rolled over dead. and that is why we have to hurry and make a try for the water-hole, before the others play out." endicott noticed that the texan was nowhere in sight. he pressed his lips firmly: "it's better that way, i guess," he thought. "but, that's your horse! and where are the others--tex, and bat, and the pack-horse?" "they pulled out to hunt for the water-hole--each in a different direction. you and i are to keep together and drift with the wind as we have been doing." "and they gave us the best of it," she breathed. endicott winced, and the girl noticed. she laid her hand gently upon his arm. "no, winthrop, i didn't mean that. there was a time, perhaps, when i might have thought--but, that was before i knew you. i have learned a lot in the past few days, winthrop--enough to know that no matter what happens, you have played a man's part--with the rest of them. come, i'm ready." endicott tied the scarf about her face and assisted her to mount, then, throwing her bridle reins over the horn of his saddle as the texan had done, he headed down the coulee. for three hours the horses drifted with the storm, following along coulees, crossing low ridges, and long level stretches where the sweep of the wind seemed at times as though it would tear them from the saddles. endicott's horse stumbled frequently, and each time the recovery seemed more and more of an effort. then suddenly the wind died--ceased to blow as abruptly as it had started. the man could scarcely believe his senses as he listened in vain for the roar of it--the steady, sullen roar, that had rung in his ears, it seemed, since the beginning of time. thick dust filled the air but when he turned his face toward the west no sand particles stung his skin. through a rift he caught sight of a low butte--a butte that was not nearby. alice tore the scarf from her face. "it has stopped!" she cried, excitedly. "the storm is over!" "thank god!" breathed endicott, "the dust is beginning to settle." he dismounted and swung the girl to the ground. "we may as well wait here as anywhere until the air clears sufficiently for us to get our bearings. we certainly must have passed the water-hole, and we would only be going farther and farther away if we pushed on." the dust settled rapidly. splashes of sunshine showed here and there upon the basin and ridge, and it grew lighter. the atmosphere took on the appearance of a thin grey fog that momentarily grew thinner. endicott walked to the top of a low mound and gazed eagerly about him. distant objects were beginning to appear--bare rock-ridges, and low-lying hills, and deep coulees. in vain the man's eyes followed the ridges for one that terminated in a huge broken rock, with its nearby soda hill. no such ridge appeared, and no high, round hill. suddenly his gaze became rivetted upon the southern horizon. what was that stretching away, long, and dark, and winding? surely--surely it was--trees! again and again he tried to focus his gaze upon that long dark line, but always his lids drew over his stinging eyeballs, and with a half-sobbed curse, he dashed the water from his eyes. at last he saw it--the green of distant timber. "the missouri--five miles--maybe more. oh god, if the horses hold out!" running, stumbling, he made his way to the girl's side. "it's the river!" he cried. "the missouri!" "look at the horses!" she exclaimed. "they see it, too!" the animals stood with ears cocked forward, and dirt-caked nostrils distended, gazing into the south. endicott sprang to his slicker, and producing the flask, saturated his handkerchief with the thick red liquid. he tried to sponge out the mouths and noses of the horses but they drew back, trembling and snorting in terror. "why, it's blood!" cried the girl, her eyes dilated with horror. "from the horse that died," explained endicott, as he tossed the rag to the ground. "but, the water--surely there was water in the flask last night!" then, of a sudden, she understood. "you--you fed it to me in my sleep," she faltered. "you were afraid i would refuse, and that was my dream!" "mind over matter," reminded endicott, with a distortion of his bleeding lips that passed for a grin. again he fumbled in his slicker and withdrew the untouched can of tomatoes. he cut its cover as he had seen tex do and extended it to the girl. "drink some of this, and if the horses hold out we will reach the river in a couple of hours." "i believe it's growing a little cooler since that awful wind went down," she said, as she passed the can back to endicott. "let's push on, the horses seem to know there is water ahead. oh, i hope they can make it!" "we can go on a-foot if they can't," reassured the man. "it is not far." the horses pushed on with renewed life. they stumbled weakly, but the hopeless, lack-lustre look was gone from their eyes and at frequent intervals they stretched their quivering nostrils toward the long green line in the distance. so slow was their laboured pace that at the end of a half-hour endicott dismounted and walked, hobbling clumsily over the hot rocks and through ankle-deep drifts of dust in his high-heeled boots. a buzzard rose from the coulee ahead with silent flapping of wings, to be joined a moment later by two more of his evil ilk, and the three wheeled in wide circles above the spot from which they had been frightened. a bend in the coulee revealed a stagnant poison spring. a dead horse lay beside it with his head buried to the ears in the slimy water. alice glanced at the broken chain of the hobbles that still encircled the horse's feet. "it's the pack-horse!" she cried. "they have only one horse between them!" "yes, he got away in the night." endicott nodded. "bat is hunting water, and tex is waiting." he carried water in his hat and dashed it over the heads of the horses, and sponged out their mouths and noses as tex and bat had done. the drooping animals revived wonderfully under the treatment and, with the long green line of scrub timber now plainly in sight, evinced an eagerness for the trail that, since the departure from antelope butte, had been entirely wanting. as the man assisted the girl to mount, he saw that she was crying. "they'll come out, all right," he assured her. "as soon as we hit the river and i can get a fresh horse, i'm going back." "going back!" "going back, of course--with water. you do not expect me to leave them?" "no, i don't expect you to leave them! oh, winthrop, i--" her voice choked up and the sentence was never finished. "buck up, little girl, an hour will put us at the river," he swung into the saddle and headed southward, glad of a respite from the galling, scalding torture of walking in high-heeled boots. had endicott combed montana throughout its length and breadth he could have found no more evil, disreputable character than long bill kearney. despised by honest citizens and the renegades of the bad lands, alike, he nevertheless served these latter by furnishing them whiskey and supplies at exorbitant prices. also, he bootlegged systematically to the port belknap indians, which fact, while a matter of common knowledge, the government had never been able to prove. so long bill, making a living ostensibly by maintaining a flat-boat ferry and a few head of mangy cattle, continued to ply his despicable trade. even passing cowboys avoided him and long bill was left pretty much to his own evil devices. it was the cabin of this scum of the outland that endicott and alice approached after pushing up the river for a mile or more from the point where they had reached it by means of a deep coulee that wound tortuously through the breaks. long bill stood in his doorway and eyed the pair sullenly as they drew rein and climbed stiffly from the saddles. alice glanced with disgust into the sallow face with its unkempt, straggling beard, and involuntarily recoiled as her eyes met the leer with which he regarded her as endicott addressed him: "we've been fighting the dust storm for two days, and we've got to have grub and some real water, quick." the man regarded him with slow insolence: "the hell ye hev," he drawled; "timber city's only seven mile, ef ye was acrost the river. i hain't runnin' no hotel, an' grub-liners hain't welcome." "god, man! you don't mean----" "i mean, ef ye got five dollars on ye i'll ferry ye acrost to where ye c'n ride to timber city ef them old skates'll carry ye there, an' ef ye hain't got the five, ye c'n swim acrost, or shove on up the river, or go back where ye come from." endicott took one swift step forward, his right fist shot into the man's stomach, and as he doubled forward with a grunt of pain, endicott's left crashed against the point of his jaw with a force that sent him spinning like a top as he crumpled to the hard-trodden earth of the door-yard. "good!" cried alice. "it was beautifully done. he didn't even have a chance to shoot," she pointed to the two 's that hung, one at either hip. "i guess we'll just relieve him of those," said endicott, and, jerking the revolvers from their holsters, walked to his saddle and uncoiled the rope. alice lent eager assistance, and a few moments later the inhospitable one lay trussed hand and foot. "now, we'll go in and find something to eat," said endicott, as he made fast the final hitch. the cabin was well stocked with provisions and, to the surprise of the two, was reasonably clean. while alice busied herself in the cabin, endicott unsaddled the horses and turned them into a small field where the vegetation grew rank and high and green beside a series of irrigation ditches. passing the horse corral he saw that three or four saddle-horses dozed in the shade of its pole fence, and continued on to the river bank where he inspected minutely the ferry. "i guess we can manage to cross the river," he told alice, when he returned to the cabin; "i will breathe easier when i see you safe in timber city, wherever that is. i am coming back after tex. but first i must see you safe." the girl crossed to his side and as the man glanced into her face he saw that her eyes were shining with a new light--a light he had dreamed could shine from those eyes, but never dared hope to see. "no, win," she answered softly, and despite the mighty pounding of his heart the man realized it was the first time she had used that name. "you are not going back alone. i am going too." endicott made a gesture of protest but she gave no heed. "from now on my place is with you. oh, win, can't you see! i--i guess i have always loved you--only i didn't know it. i wanted romance--wanted a red-blood man--a man who could do things, and----" "oh, if i could come to you clean-handed!" he interrupted, passionately; "if i could offer you a hand unstained by the blood of a fellow creature!" she laid a hand gently upon his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes: "don't, win," she said; "don't always hark back to _that_. let us forget." "i wish to god i could forget!" he answered, bitterly. "i know the act was justified. i believe it was unavoidable. but--it is my new england conscience, i suppose." alice smiled: "don't let your conscience bother you, because it is a new england conscience. they call you 'the pilgrim' out here. it is the name they called your early massachusetts forebears--and if history is to be credited, they never allowed their consciences to stand in the way of taking human life." "but, they thought they were right." "and you _know_ you were right!" "i know--i know! it isn't the ethics--only the fact." "don't brood over it. don't think of it, dear. or, if you must, think of it only as a grim duty performed--a duty that proved, as nothing else could have proved, that you are every inch a man." endicott drew her close against his pounding heart. "it proved that the waters of the erie canal, if given the chance, can dash as madly unrestrained as can the waters of the grand canyon." she pressed her fingers to his lips: "don't make fun of me. i was a fool." "i'm not making fun--i didn't know it myself, until--" the sentence was drowned in a series of yells and curses and vile epithets that brought both to the door to stare down at the trussed-up one who writhed on the ground in a very paroxysm of rage. "conscience hurting you, or is it your jaw?" asked endicott, as he grinned into the rage-distorted features. "git them hosses outa that alfalfy! you ---- ---- ---- ---- ----! i'll hev th' law on ye! i'll shoot ye! i'll drag yer guts out!" so great was the man's fury that a thin white foam flecked his hate-distorted lips, and his voice rose to a high-pitched whine. endicott glanced toward the two horses that stood, belly-deep, in the lush vegetation. "they like it," he said, calmly. "it's the first feed they have had in two days." the man's little pig eyes glared red, and his voice choked in an inarticulate snarl. alice turned away in disgust. "let him alone," she said, "and we will have dinner. i'm simply famished. nothing ever looked so good to me in the world as that ham and potatoes and corn and peas." during the course of the meal, endicott tried to dissuade the girl from her purpose of accompanying him on his search for tex and the half-breed. but she would have it no other way, and finally, perforce, he consented. leaving her to pack up some food, endicott filled the water-bag that hung on the wall and, proceeding to the corral, saddled three of the horses. through the open window of the cabin he could see the girl busily engaged in transferring provisions to a sack. he watched her as she passed and repassed the window intent upon her task. never had she seemed so lovable, so unutterably desirable--and she loved him! with her own lips she had told him of her love, and with her own lips had placed the seal of love upon his own. happiness, like no happiness he had ever known should be his. and yet--hovering over him like a pall--black, ominous, depressing--was the thing that momentarily threatened to descend and engulf him, to destroy this new-found happiness, haunt him with its diabolical presence, and crush his life--and hers. with an effort he roused himself--squared himself there in the corral for the final battle with himself. "it is now or never," he gritted through clenched teeth. "now, and alone. she won't face the situation squarely. it is woman's way, calmy to ignore the issue, to push it aside as the ill of a future day." she had said that he was right, and ethically, he knew that he was right--but the fact of the deed remained. his hand had sped a soul to its god. why? to save the woman he loved. no jury on earth would hold him guilty. he would surrender himself and stand trial. then came the memory of what tex had told him of the machinations of local politics. he had no wish to contribute his life as campaign material for a county election. the other course was to run--to remain, as he now was, a fugitive, if not from justice, at least from the hand of the law. this course would mean that both must live always within the menace of the shadow--unless, to save her from this life of haunting fear, he renounced her. his eyes sought the forbidding sweep of the bad lands, strayed to the sluggish waters of the missouri, and beyond, where the black buttes of the judith range reared their massive shapes in the distance. suddenly a mighty urge welled up within him. he would not renounce her! she was his! this was life--the life that, to him, had been as a sealed book--the fighting life of the boundless open places. it was the coward's part to run. he had played a man's part, and he would continue to play a man's part to the end. he would fight. would identify himself with this west--become part of it. never would he return to the life of the city, which would be to a life of fear. the world should know that he was right. if local politics sought to crush him--to use him as a puppet for their puny machinations, he would smash their crude machine and rebuild the politics of this new land upon principles as clean and rugged as the land itself. it should be his work! with the light of a new determination in his eyes, he caught up the bridle-reins of the horses and pushed open the gate of the corral. as he led the animals out he was once more greeted with a volley of oaths and curses: "put them back! ye hoss-thief! i'll have ye hung! them's mine, i tell ye!" "you'll get them back," assured endicott. "i am only borrowing them to go and hunt for a couple of friends of mine back there in the bad lands." "back in the bad lands! what do ye know about the bad lands? ye'll git lost, an' then what'll happen to me? i'll die like a coyote in a trap! i'll starve here where no one comes along fer it's sometimes a week--mebbe two!" "it will be a long time between meals if anything should happen to us, but it will do you good to lie here and think it over. we'll be back sometime." endicott made the sack of provisions fast to the saddle of the lead-horse, and assisted alice to mount. "i'll kill ye fer this!" wailed the man; "i'll--i'll--" but the two rode away with the futile threats ringing in their ears. chapter xix the end of the trail "how are we going to find them?" asked the girl, as the two drew their mounts to a stand on the top of a low ridge and gazed out over the sea of similar ridges that rolled and spread before them as far as the eye could reach in three directions--bare coulees, and barer ridges, with here and there a low bare hill, all black and red and grey, with studdings of mica flashing in the rays of the afternoon sun. "we'll find them. we've got to. i have just been thinking: living on the edge of the bad lands the way this man does he must occasionally cross them. tex said that the split rock water-hole was the only one between the river and the mountains. we'll start the horses out and give them their heads, and the chances are they will take us to the water-hole. in all probability tex and bat will be there. if they are not we will have to find them." "of course!" assented the girl. "oh, win, i'm so proud of you! i couldn't be any prouder if you were a--a real cowboy!" endicott laughed heartily, and urged his horse forward. the animals crossed several low ridges and struck into a coulee which they followed unhesitatingly. when it petered out in a wide basin, they struck into another coulee, and continued their course, covering the miles at a long, swinging trot. at sundown endicott reined in sharply and pointed to the northward. "it's the ridge of the split rock!" he cried; "and look, there is the soda hill!" there it was only a mile or two away--the long black ridge with the huge rock fragment at its end, and almost touching it, the high round hill that the texan had described. the horses pressed eagerly forward, seeming to know that rest and water were soon to be theirs. "i wonder if they are there," breathed the girl, "and i wonder if they are--all right." a few minutes later the horses swung around the base of the hill and, with an exclamation of relief, endicott saw two figures seated beside the detached fragment of rock that lay near the end of the ridge. the texan arose slowly and advanced toward them, smiling: "good evenin'," he greeted, casually, as he eyed the pair with evident approval. "you sure come a-runnin'. we didn't expect you 'til along about noon tomorrow. and we didn't expect you at all," he said to the girl. "we figured you'd shove on to timber city, an' then win would get a guide an' come back in the mornin'." endicott laughed: "when i learned there was such a place as timber city, i intended to leave her there and return alone--only i was not going to wait 'til morning to do it. but she wouldn't hear of it, so we compromised--and she came with me." tex smiled: "it's a great thing to learn how to compromise." he stared for a few moments toward the west, where the setting sun left the sky ablaze with fiery light. then, still smiling, he advanced toward them with both hands extended: "i wish you luck," he said, softly. "i cared for you a mighty lot, miss alice, but i'm a good loser. i reckon, maybe it's better things worked out the way they did." endicott pressed the outstretched hand with a mighty grip and turned swiftly away to fumble at his latigo strap. and there were tears in the girl's eyes as her fingers lingered for a moment in the texan's grasp: "oh, i--i'm sorry. i----" "you don't need to be," the man whispered. "you chose the best of the two." he indicated endicott with a slight jerk of the head. "you've got a real man there--an' they're oncommon hard to find. an' now, if you've got some grub along suppose we tie into it. i'm hungry enough to gnaw horn!" as alice proceeded to set out the food, the texan's eyes for the first time strayed to the horses. "how much did long bill kearney soak you for the loan of his saddle-horses?" "nothing," answered endicott, "and he supplied us with the grub, too." "he, what?" "fact," smiled the other, "he demurred a little, but----" "long bill's the hardest character in choteau county." endicott glanced at his swollen knuckles: "he is hard, all right." tex eyed him in amazement, "win, you didn't--punch his head for him!" "i did--and his stomach, too. we were nearly starved, and he refused us food. told us to go back where we came from. so i reached for him and he dozed off." "but where was his guns?" "i took them away from him before i tied him up." "where is he now?" "tied up. he called me a lot of names because i turned the horses into his alfalfa. they were hungry and they enjoyed it, but bill nearly blew up. then we got dinner and took the horses and came away." "you're the luckiest man out of hell! you doggoned pilgrim, you!" tex roared with laughter: "why accordin' to dope, he'd ought to just et you up." "he whined like a puppy, when we left him, for fear we would get lost and he would starve to death. he is yellow." "his kind always is--way down in their guts. only no one ever made him show it before." "how far did we miss the water-hole last night?" asked endicott, as he and tex sat talking after the others had sought their blankets. "about two miles. the wind drifted us to the east. bat didn't get far 'til his horse went down, so he bled him like we did, and holed up 'til the storm quit. then, after things cleared up, we got here about the same time. the water ain't much--but it sure did taste good." for a long time the two lay close together looking up at the million winking stars. tex tossed the butt of a cigarette into the grey dust. "she's a great girl, win. game plumb to her boot heels." "she is, that. i've loved her for a long time--since way back in my college days--but she wouldn't have me." "you hadn't earnt her. life's like that--it's ups an' downs. but, in the long run, a man gets about what's comin' to him. it's like poker--in the long run the best player is bound to win. there's times when luck is against him, maybe for months at a stretch. he'll lose every time he plays, but if he stays with it, an' keeps on playin' the best he knows how, an' don't go tryin' to force his luck by drawin' four cards, an' fillin' three-card flushes, why, some day luck will change an' he wins back all he's lost an' a lot more with it, because there's always someone in the game that's throwin' their money away drawin' to a judson." "what is a judson?" "bill judson was a major, an' next to playin' poker, he liked other things. every time he'd get three cards of a suit in a row, he'd draw to 'em, hopin' for a straight flush. that hope cost him, i reckon, hundreds of dollars, an' at last he filled one--but, hell! everyone laid down, an' he gathered the ante." the texan rolled another cigarette. "an' that's the way it is with me--i tried to force my luck. i might as well own up to it right here an' get it over with. you've be'n square, straight through, an' i haven't. i was stringin' you with all that bunk about politics, an' you bein' sure to get hung for shootin' purdy. fact is, the grand jury would have turned you loose as soon as your case come up. but, from the first minute i laid eyes on that girl, i wanted her. i'm bad enough, but not like purdy. i figured if she'd go half-way, i'd go the other half. so i planned the raid on the wool-warehouse, an' the fake lynchin', purpose to get her out of town. i didn't care a damn about you--you was just an excuse to get her away. i figured on losing you after we hit the mountains. the first jolt i got was in the warehouse, when we didn't have to drag you out. then i got another hell of a one in the coulee under the cottonwoods. then they got to comin' so thick i lost track of 'em. an' the first thing i knew i would have killed any man that would look crossways at _her_. it come over me all of a sudden that i loved her. i tried to get out of it, but i was hooked. i watched close, an' i saw that she liked me--maybe not altogether for what she thought i'd done for you. but you was in the road. i knew she liked you, too, though she wouldn't show it. 'everything's fair in love or war,' i kept sayin' over an' over to myself when i'd lay thinkin' it over of nights. but, i knew it was a damned lie when i was sayin' it. if you'd be'n milk-gutted, an' louse-hearted, like pilgrims are supposed to be, there'd be'n a different story to tell, because you wouldn't have be'n fit for her. but i liked you most as hard as i loved her. 'from now on it's a square game,' i says, so i made old man johnson cough up that outfit of raiment, an' made you shave, so she wouldn't have to take you lookin' like a sheep-herdin' greaser, if she was a-goin' to take you instead of me. after that i come right out an' told her just where i stood, an' from then on i've played the game square. the women ain't divided up right in this world. there ought to have be'n two of her, but they ain't another in the whole world, i reckon, like her; so one of us had to lose. an', now, seein' how i've lied you into all this misery, you ought to just naturally up an' knock hell out of me. we'll still keep the game fair an' square. i'll throw away my gun an' you can sail in as quick as you get your sleeves rolled up. but, i doubt if you can get away with it, at that." endicott laughed happily, and in the darkness his hand stole across and gripped the hand of the texan in a mighty grip: "i wish to god there was some way i could thank you," he said. "had it not been for you, i never could have won her. why, man, i never got acquainted with myself until the past three days!" "there ain't any posses out," grinned tex. "the fellow i met in the coulee there by antelope butte told me. they think you were lynched. he told me somethin' else, too--but that'll keep." as they were saddling up, the following morning, the texan grinned: "i'll bet old long bill kearney's in a pleasin' frame of mind." "he's had time to meditate a little on his sins," answered alice. "no--not long bill ain't. if he started in meditatin' on them, he'd starve to death before he'd got meditated much past sixteen--an' he's fifty, if he's a day." "there are four of us and only three horses," exclaimed endicott, as he tightened his cinch. "that's all right. the horses are fresh. i'm light built, an' we'll change off makin' 'em carry double. it ain't so far." the morning sun was high when the horses turned into the coulee that led to long bill's ranch. bat, who had scouted ahead to make sure that he had not succeeded in slipping his bonds and had plotted mischief, sat grinning beside the corral fence as he listened, unobserved, to the whimpering and wailing of the man who lay bound beside the cabin door. "what's the matter, willie?" smiled tex, as he slipped from his seat behind endicott's saddle. "didn't your breakfast set right?" the man rolled to face them at the sound of the voice, and such a stream of obscene blasphemy poured from his lips as to cause even the texan to wince. without a word the cowboy reached for a bar of soap that lay awash in the filthy water of a basin upon a bench beside the door, and jammed it down the man's throat. the sounds changed to a sputtering, choking gurgle. "maybe that'll learn you not to talk vile when there's ladies around." "water!" the man managed to gasp. "will you quit your damn swearin'?" long bill nodded, and tex held a dipper to his lips. "go catch up the horses, bat, an' we'll be gettin' out of here. they's some reptiles so mean that even their breath is poison." as bat started for the alfalfa field the man fairly writhed with fury: "i'll hev the law on ye, ye--" he stopped abruptly as tex reached for the soap. "you won't have the law on no one, you lizard! you don't dare to get within hollerin' distance of the law." "i will pay you a reasonable amount for any damage to your field, and for the food, and the use of your horses," offered endicott, reaching for his pocket. "keep your money, win," grinned the texan. "let me pay for this. this coyote owes me twenty dollars he borrowed from me when i first hit the country an' didn't know him. he's always be'n anxious to pay it, ain't you, bill? well, it's paid now, an' you don't need to go worryin' your heart out about that debt no longer." again the man opened his lips, but closed them hurriedly as tex reached for the soap. "i'll have to borrow your horse an' saddle for my friend, here," said the texan, "an' bat, he'll have to borrow one, too. we'll leave 'em in timber city." "_non_!" cried the half-breed, who had paused in the process of changing alice's saddle to her own horse. "me--i ain' gon' for bor' no hoss. am tak' dis hoss an' giv' heem back to judge carson. him b'long over on sage creek." "whad'ye mean, ye red scum!" screamed the man, his face growing purple. "that circle brand is----" "ha! circle ! de mos' dat circle she hair-bran'." he stepped into the cabin and reappeared a moment later with some coal-oil in a cup. this he poured into his hand and rubbed over the brand on the horse's shoulder. and when he had pressed the hair flat, the circle resolved itself into a v . the texan laughed: "i suppose i ought to take you into timber city, but i won't. i imagine, though, when the judge hears about this, you'd better be hittin' the high spots. he's right ugly with horse thieves." "hey, hain't ye goin' to ontie me?" squealed the man, as the four started down the bank with the horses. "you don't suppose i'd go off an' leave a good rope where you could get your claws on it, do you? wait 'til we get these horses onto the flat-boat, and all the guns around here collected so you can't peck at us from the brush, an' i'll be back." "you gon' on to timbaire city," said bat, "an' i'm com' long bye-m-bye. a'm tak' dis hoss an' ride back an' git ma saddle an' bridle." he advanced and removed his hat; "_adieu, ma'mselle_, mebbe-so i ain' git dere 'til you gon'. ol' bat, he lak' you fine. you need de help, som'tam', you mak' de write to ol' bat an', ba goss, a'm com' lak' hell--you bet you dam' life!" tears blinded the girl's eyes as she held out her hand, and as a cavalier of old france, the half-breed bent and brushed it with his lips. he shook the hand of endicott: "som'tam' mebbe-so you com' back, we tak' de hont. me--a'm know where de elk an' de bear liv' plenty." endicott detected a twinkle in his eye as he turned to ascend the bank: "you mak' tex ke'p de strong lookout for de posse. a'm no lak' i seen you git hang." "beat it! you old reprobate!" called the texan as he followed him up the slope. "how'm i goin' to git my boat back?" whined long bill, as the texan coiled his rope. "swim acrost. or, maybe you'd better go 'round--it's some little further that way, but it's safer if you can't swim. i'll leave your guns in the boat. so long, an' be sure to remember not to furget sometime an' pay me back that twenty." the ride to timber city was made almost in silence. only once did the texan speak. it was when they passed a band of sheep grazing beside the road: "they're minin' the country," he said, thoughtfully. "the time ain't far off when we'll have to turn nester--or move on." "where?" asked alice. the cowboy shrugged, and the girl detected a note of unconscious sadness in his tone: "i don't know. i reckon there ain't any place for me. the whole country's about wired in." timber city, since abandoned to the bats and the coyotes, but then in her glory, consisted of two stores, five saloons, a half-dozen less reputable places of entertainment, a steepleless board church, a schoolhouse, also of boards, a hotel, a post office, a feed stable, fifty or more board shacks of miners, and a few flimsy buildings at the mouths of shafts. it was nearly noon when the three drew up before the hotel. "will you dine with us in an hour?" asked endicott. the texan nodded. "thanks," he said, formally, "i'll be here." and as the two disappeared through the door, he gathered up the reins, crossed to the feed barn where he turned the animals over to the proprietor, and passing on to the rear, proceeded to take a bath in the watering trough. punctually on the minute he entered the hotel. the meal was a solemn affair, almost as silent as the ride from the river. several attempts at conversation fell flat, and the effort was abandoned. at no time, however, did the texan appear embarrassed, and alice noted that he handled his knife and fork with the ease of early training. at the conclusion he arose, abruptly: "i thank you. will you excuse me, now?" alice nodded, and both watched as he crossed the room, his spurs trailing noisily upon the wooden floor. "poor devil," said endicott, "this has hit him pretty hard." the girl swallowed the rising lump in her throat: "oh, why can't he meet some nice girl, and----" "women--his kind--are mighty scarce out here, i imagine." the girl placed her elbows upon the table, rested her chin upon her knuckles, and glanced eagerly into endicott's face: "win, you've just got to buy a ranch," she announced, the words fairly tumbling over each other in her excitement. "then we can come out here part of the time and live, and we can invite a lot of girls out for the summer--i just know oodles of nice girls--and tex can manage the ranch, and----" "match-making already!" laughed endicott. "why buy a ranch? why not move into wolf river, or timber city, and start a regular matrimonial agency--satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back. it would be more prac----" "winthrop adams endicott!" "oh, i forgot! i'm not practical. i'm romantic, and red-blooded, and--" they had the little dining-room to themselves; he rose swiftly from his chair and, crossing to her side, stooped and kissed her, not once, but twice, and thrice,--"i'm glad of it! and that reminds me, i have a couple of errands to attend to, so you will have to manage to worry along without me for fifteen minutes or so." she laughed up into his face: "how can i ever stand it? i've worried along without you all my life. i guess i'll survive." "you won't have to much longer," he smiled, and hastened from the room. a half-hour later he returned to find her waiting in the hotel "parlour." she saw that his eyes were shining as he crossed eagerly, seated himself upon the haircloth sofa beside her, and whispered in her ear. "winthrop! indeed we won't do anything of the kind! why it's--it's----" "it's impractical, and it's romantic," he finished for her. "also, it's unconventional. now, refuse if you dare! the stage leaves for lewiston and the railroad at five. he seems to be a regular chap--the parson. both he and his wife insisted that the event take place in their house. said it would be much pleasanter than the hotel--and i heartily agreed with them. we figured that half-past four would give us just about time." "well, of all things!" blushed the girl. "you two arranged the whole affair, and of course, as i'm only the bride, it wasn't necessary to consult me at all!" "exactly," smiled endicott; "i'm red-blooded, you know, and romantic--and when i go in for little things like unconventionality, and romance, i go the limit. and you don't dare refuse!" she looked up into his eyes, shining with boyish enthusiasm: "i don't dare," she whispered. "i don't want to dare. oh, win, i--i'm just crazy about it!" a few moments later she drew away from him and smoothed her hair. "you must go right this minute and find tex. and, oh, i hope bat will be here in time! i just love old bat!" she ceased speaking and looked questioningly into his eyes which had suddenly become grave. "i have been looking for tex, and i couldn't find him anywhere. then i went to the stable across the street. his horse is gone." for some moments both were silent. "he never even said good-bye," faltered the girl, and in her voice was a note of real hurt. "no," answered endicott, softly, "he should have said good-bye." alice rose and put on her hat: "come on, let's get out of this hateful stuffy little room. let's walk and enjoy this wonderful air while we can. and besides, we must find some flowers--wild flowers they must be for our wedding, mustn't they, dear? wild flowers, right from god's own gardens--wild, and free, and uncultivated--untouched by human hands. i saw some lovely ones, blue and white, and some wild-cherry blossoms, too, down beside that little creek that crosses the trail almost at the edge of the town." together they walked to the creek that burbled over its rocky bed in the shadow of the bull-pine forest from which timber city derived its name. deeper and deeper into the pines they went, stopping here and there to gather the tiny white and blue blossoms, or to break the bloom-laden twigs from the low cherry bushes. as they rounded a huge upstanding rock, both paused and involuntarily drew back. there, in the centre of a tiny glade that gave a wide view of the vast sweep of the plains, with their background of distant mountains, stood the texan, one arm thrown across the neck of his horse, and his cheek resting close against the animal's glossy neck. for a moment they watched as he stood with his eyes fixed on the far horizon. "go back a little way," whispered endicott. "i want to speak with him." the girl obeyed, and he stepped boldly into the open. "tex!" the man whirled. "what you doin' here?" his face flushed red, then, with an effort, he smiled, as his eyes rested upon the blossoms. "pickin' posies?" "yes," answered endicott, striving to speak lightly, "for a very special occasion. we are to be married at half-past four, and we want you to be there--just you, and bat, and the parson. i hunted the town for you and when i found your horse gone i--we thought you had ridden away without even saying good-bye." "no," answered the cowboy slowly, "i didn't do that. i was goin' back--just for a minute--at stage time. but, it's better this way. in rooms--like at dinner, i ain't at home, any more. it's better out here in the open. i won't go to your weddin'. damn it, man, i _can't_! i'm more than half-savage, i reckon. by the savage half of me, i ought to kill you. i ought to hate you--but i can't. about a lot of things you're green as hell. you can't shoot, nor ride, nor rope, nor do hardly any other damn thing a man ought to do. but, at that, you whirl a bigger loop than i do. you've got the nerve, an' the head, an' the heart. you're a man. the girl loves you. an' i love her. my god, man! more than all the world, i love the woman who is to be your wife--an' i have no right to! i tell you i'm half-savage! take her, an' go! go fast, an' go a long time! i never want to hear of you again. but--i can still say--good luck!" he extended his hand and endicott seized it. "i shall be sorry to think that we are never to meet again," he said simply. the shadow of a smile flickered on the texan's lips: "after a while, maybe--but not soon. i've got to lick a savage, first--and they die hard." endicott turned to go, when the other called to him: "oh, win!" he turned. "is she here--anywhere around? i must tell her good-bye." "yes, she is down the creek a way. i'll send her to you." the texan advanced to meet her, stetson in hand: "good-bye," he said, "an' good luck. i can't give you no regular weddin' present--there's nothin' in the town that's fit. but, i'll give you this--i'll give you your man clean-handed. he ain't wanted. there's no one wants him--but you. he didn't kill purdy that night. it's too bad he didn't--but he didn't. we all thought he did, but he only creased him. he came to, after we'd pulled out. i heard it from the puncher i had the fight with in the coulee--an' it's straight goods." he paused abruptly, and the girl stared wide-eyed into his face. the wild flowers dropped from her hands, and she laid trembling fingers upon his arm. "what are you saying?" she cried, fiercely. "that purdy is not dead? that win didn't kill him? that----" "no. win didn't kill him," interrupted the texan, with a smile. "have you told win?" "no. weddin' presents are for the bride. i saved it for you." tears were streaming from the girl's eyes: "it's the most wonderful wedding present anybody ever had," she sobbed. "i know win did it for me, and if he had killed him it would have been justifiable--right. but, always, we would have had that thing to think of. it would have been like some hideous nightmare. we could have put it away, but it would have come again--always. i pretended i didn't care. i wouldn't let him see that it was worrying me, even more than it worried him." the cowboy stooped and recovered the flowers from the ground. as alice took them from him, her hand met his: "good-bye," she faltered, "and--may god bless you!" at the rock she turned and saw him still standing, hat in hand, as she had left him. then she passed around the rock, and down the creek, where her lover waited with his arms laden with blossoms. an epilogue at exactly half-past four the texan galloped to the door of the red front saloon, and swinging from his horse, entered. some men were playing cards at a table in the rear, but he paid them no heed. very deliberately he squared himself to the bar and placed his foot upon the brass rail: "give me some red liquor," he ordered. and when the bartender set out the bottle and the glass the cowboy poured it full and drank it at a gulp. he poured out another, and then a third, and a fourth. the bartender eyed him narrowly: "ain't you goin' it a little strong, pardner?" he asked. the texan stared at him as if he had not heard, and answered nothing. a smile bent the white aproned one's lips as he glanced into his customer's eyes still black from the blow curt had dealt him in the coulee. "them lamps of yourn was turned up too high, wasn't they?" he asked. the cowboy nodded, thoughtfully: "yes, that's it. they was turned up too high--a damn sight too high for me, i reckon." "git bucked off?" the blackened eyes narrowed ever so slightly: "no. a guard done that." "a guard?" "yes, a guard." the texan poured out his fifth drink. "in the pen, it was." "in the pen!" the bartender was itching with curiosity. "you don't look like a jail-bird. they musta got the wrong guy?" he suggested. "no. i killed him, all right. i shot his ears off first, an' then plugged him between the eyes before he could draw. it was fun. i can shoot straight as hell--an' quick! see that mouse over by the wall?" before the words were out of his mouth his colt roared. the bartender stared wide-eyed at the ragged bit of fur and blood that was plastered against the base-board where a moment before a small mouse had been nibbling a bit of cheese. the men at the card table paused, looked up, and resumed their game. "man, that's shootin'!" he exclaimed. "have one on me! this geezer that you bumped off--self defence, i s'pose?" "no. he was a bar-keep over on the marias. he made the mistake of takin' ondue notice of a pair of black eyes i'd got--somehow they looked mirthful to him, an'--" the texan paused and gazed reproachfully toward a flick of a white apron as the loquacious one disappeared through the back door. a loud shouting and a rattling of wheels sounded from without. the card game broke up, and the players slouched out the door. through the window the texan watched the stage pull up at the hotel, watched the express box swung off, and the barn-dogs change the horses; saw the exchange of pouches at the post office; saw the stage pull out slowly and stop before a little white cottage next door to the steepleless church. then he reached for the bottle, poured another drink, and drank it very slowly. through the open door came the far-away rattle of wheels. he tossed some money onto the bar, walked to the door, and stood gazing down the trail toward the cloud of grey dust that grew dimmer and dimmer in the distance. at last, it disappeared altogether, and only the trail remained, winding like a great grey serpent toward the distant black buttes of the judith range. he started to re-enter the saloon, paused with his foot on the threshold and stared down the empty trail, then facing abruptly about he swung into the saddle, turned his horse's head northward, and rode slowly out of town. at the little creek he paused and stared into the piney woods. a tiny white flower lay, where it had been dropped in the trail, at the feet of his horse, and he swung low and recovered it. for a long time he sat holding the little blossom in his hand. gently he drew it across his cheek. he remembered--and the memory hurt--that the last time he had reached from the saddle had been to snatch _her_ handkerchief from the ground, and he had been just the fraction of a second too late. "my luck's runnin' mighty low," he muttered softly, and threw back his shoulders, as his teeth gritted hard, "but i'm still in the game, an' maybe this will change it." very carefully, very tenderly, he placed the blossom beneath the band inside his hat. "i must go an' hunt for bat, the old renegade! if anything's happened to him--if that damned long bill has laid for him--i will kill a man, sure enough." he gathered up his reins and rode on up the trail, and as he rode the shadows lengthened. only once he paused and looked backward at the little ugly white town. before him the trail dipped into a wide valley and he rode on. and, as the feet of his horse thudded softly in the grey dust of the trail, the sound blended with the low, wailing chant of the mournful dirge of the plains: "o bury me not on the lone prairie where the wild coyotes will howl o'er me, where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free, o bury me not on the lone prairie." books by william macleod raine published by houghton mifflin company the sheriff's son. illustrated. the yukon trail. illustrated. steve yeager. illustrated. a man four-square. with colored frontispiece. oh, you tex! ----------------------------------------------------------------------- oh, you tex! ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [illustration: texas] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- oh, you tex! by william macleod raine author of "a man four-square," "the sheriff's son," "the yukon trail," etc. boston and new york houghton mifflin company the riverside press cambridge ----------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright, , by the story-press corporation copyright, , by william macleod raine all rights reserved ----------------------------------------------------------------------- to sam f. dunn of amarillo, texas inspector of cattle in the days of the longhorn drives to whose experience and generous criticism i am indebted for aid in the preparation of this book ----------------------------------------------------------------------- contents i. the line-rider ii. "i'll be seventeen, coming grass" iii. tex takes an interest iv. tex grandstands v. captain ellison hires a hand vi. clint wadley's messenger vii. the dance viii. rutherford makes a mistake ix. murder in the chaparral x. "a damned poor apology for a man" xi. one to four xii. tex rearranges the seating xiii. "only one mob, ain't there?" xiv. jack serves notice xv. a close shave xvi. wadley goes home in a buckboard xvii. old-timers xviii. a shot out of the night xix. trapped xx. kiowas on the warpath xxi. tex takes a long walk xxii. the test xxiii. a shy young man dines xxiv. tex borrows a blacksnake xxv. "they're runnin' me outa town" xxvi. for professional services xxvii. clint frees his mind xxviii. on a cold trail xxix. burnt brands xxx. rogues disagree xxxi. a pair of deuces xxxii. the hold-up xxxiii. the man with the yellow streak xxxiv. ramona goes duck-hunting xxxv. the desert xxxvi. homer dinsmore escorts ramona xxxvii. on a hot trail xxxviii. dinsmore to the rescue xxxix. a cry out of the night xl. gurley's get-away xli. homing hearts xlii. a difference of opinion xliii. tex resigns xliv. dinsmore gives information xlv. ramona deserts her father xlvi. loose threads ----------------------------------------------------------------------- oh, you tex! chapter i the line-rider day was breaking in the panhandle. the line-rider finished his breakfast of buffalo-hump, coffee, and biscuits. he had eaten heartily, for it would be long after sunset before he touched food again. cheerfully and tunelessly he warbled a cowboy ditty as he packed his supplies and prepared to go. "oh, it's bacon and beans most every day, i'd as lief be eatin' prairie hay." while he washed his dishes in the fine sand and rinsed them in the current of the creek he announced jocundly to a young world glad with spring: "i'll sell my outfit soon as i can, won't punch cattle for no damn' man." the tin cup beat time against the tin plate to accompany a kind of shuffling dance. jack roberts was fifty miles from nowhere, alone on the desert, but the warm blood of youth set his feet to moving. why should he not dance? he was one and twenty, stood five feet eleven in his socks, and weighed one hundred and seventy pounds of bone, sinew, and well-packed muscle. a son of blue skies and wide, wind-swept spaces, he had never been ill in his life. wherefore the sun-kissed world looked good to him. he mounted a horse picketed near the camp and rode out to a _remuda_ of seven cow-ponies grazing in a draw. of these he roped one and brought it back to camp, where he saddled it with deft swiftness. the line-rider swung to the saddle and put his pony at a jog-trot. he topped a hill and looked across the sunlit mesas which rolled in long swells far as the eye could see. the desert flowered gayly with the purple, pink, and scarlet blossoms of the cacti and with the white, lilylike buds of the spanish bayonet. the yucca and the prickly pear were abloom. he swept the panorama with trained eyes. in the distance a little bunch of antelope was moving down to water in single file. on a slope two miles away grazed a small herd of buffalo. no sign of human habitation was written on that vast solitude of space. the cowboy swung to the south and held a steady road gait. with an almost uncanny accuracy he recognized all signs that had to do with cattle. though cows, half hidden in the brush, melted into the color of the hillside, he picked them out unerringly. brands, at a distance so great that a tenderfoot could have made of them only a blur, were plain as a primer to him. cows that carried on their flanks the a t o, he turned and started northward. as he returned, he would gather up these strays and drive them back to their own range. for in those days, before the barbed wire had reached texas and crisscrossed it with boundary lines, the cowboy was a fence more mobile than the wandering stock. it was past noon when roberts dropped into a draw where an immense man was lying sprawled under a bush. the recumbent man was a mountain of flesh; how he ever climbed to a saddle was a miracle; how a little cow-pony carried him was another. yet there was no better line-rider in the panhandle than jumbo wilkins. "'lo, texas," the fat man greeted. the young line-rider had won the nickname of "texas" in new mexico a year or two before by his aggressive championship of his native state. somehow the sobriquet had clung to him even after his return to the panhandle. "'lo, jumbo," returned the other. "how?" "fat like a match. i'm sure losin' flesh. took up another notch in my belt yestiddy." roberts shifted in the saddle, resting his weight on the horn and the ball of one foot for ease. he was a slim, brown youth, hard as nails and tough as whipcord. his eyes were quick and wary. in spite of the imps of mischief that just now lighted them, one got an impression of strength. he might or might not be, in the phrase of the country, a "bad _hombre_," but it was safe to say he was an efficient one. "quick consumption, sure," pronounced the younger man promptly. "you don't look to me like you weigh an ounce over three hundred an' fifty pounds. appetite kind o' gone?" "you're damn whistlin'. i got an ailment, i tell you, tex. this mo'nin' i didn't eat but a few slices of bacon an' some lil' steaks an' a pan or two o' flapjacks an' mebbe nine or ten biscuits. afterward i felt kind o' bloated like. i need some sa'saparilla. now, if i could make out to get off for a few days--" "you could get that sarsaparilla across the bar at the bird cage, couldn't you, jumbo?" the boy grinned. the whale of a man looked at him reproachfully. "you never seen me shootin' up no towns or raisin' hell when i was lit up. i can take a drink or leave it alone." "that's right too. nobody lets it alone more than you do when it can't be got. i've noticed that." "you cayn't devil me, boy. i was punchin' longhorns when yore mammy was paddlin' you for stealin' the sugar. say, that reminds me. i'm plumb out o' sugar. can you loan me some till pedro gits around? i got to have sugar or i begin to fall off right away," the big man whined. the line-riders chatted casually of the topics that interest men in the land of wide, empty frontiers. of indians they had something to say, of their diminishing grub supply more. jumbo mentioned that he had found an a t o cow dead by a water-hole. they spoke incidentally of the dinsmore gang, a band of rustlers operating in no man's land. they had little news of people, since neither of them had for three weeks seen another human being except quint sullivan, the line-rider who fenced the a t o cattle to the east of roberts. presently roberts nodded a good-bye and passed again into the solitude of empty spaces. the land-waves swallowed him. once more he followed draws, crossed washes, climbed cow-backed hills, picking up drift-cattle as he rode. it was late afternoon when he saw a thin spiral of smoke from a rise of ground. smoke meant that some human being was abroad in the land, and every man on the range called for investigation. the rider moved forward to reconnoiter. he saw a man, a horse, a cow, a calf, and a fire. when these five things came together, it meant that somebody was branding. the present business of roberts was to find out what brand was on the cow and what one was being run on the flank of the calf. he rode forward at a slow canter. the man beside the fire straightened. he took off his hat and swept it in front of him in a semicircle from left to right. the line-rider understood the sign language of the plains. he was being "waved around." the man was serving notice upon him to pass in a wide circle. it meant that the dismounted man did not intend to let himself be recognized. the easy deduction was that he was a rustler. the cowboy rode steadily forward. the man beside the fire picked up a rifle lying at his feet and dropped a bullet a few yards in front of the advancing man. roberts drew to a halt. he was armed with a six-shooter, but a revolver was of no use at this distance. for a moment he hesitated. another bullet lifted a spurt of dust almost at his horse's feet. the line-rider waited for no more definite warning. he waved a hand toward the rustler and shouted down the wind: "some other day." quickly he swung his horse to the left and vanished into an arroyo. then, without an instant's loss of time, he put his pony swiftly up the draw toward a "rim-rock" edging a mesa. over to the right was box cañon, which led to the rough lands of a terrain unknown to roberts. it was a three-to-one chance that the rustler would disappear into the cañon. the young man rode fast, putting his bronco at the hills with a rush. he was in a treeless country, covered with polecat brush. through this he plunged recklessly, taking breaks in the ground without slackening speed in the least. near the summit of the rise roberts swung from the saddle and ran forward through the brush, crouching as he moved. with a minimum of noise and a maximum of speed he negotiated the thick shrubbery and reached the gorge. he crept forward cautiously and looked down. through the shin-oak which grew thick on the edge of the bluff he made out a man on horseback driving a calf. the mount was a sorrel with white stockings and a splash of white on the nose. the distance was too great for roberts to make out the features of the rider clearly, though he could see the fellow was dark and slender. the line-rider watched him out of sight, then slithered down the face of the bluff to the sandy wash. he knelt down and studied intently the hoofprints written in the soil. they told him that the left hind hoof of the animal was broken in an odd way. jack roberts clambered up the steep edge of the gulch and returned to the cow-pony waiting for him with drooping hip and sleepy eyes. "oh, you two bits, we'll amble along and see where our friend is headin' for." he picked a way down into the cañon and followed the rustler. at the head of the gulch the man on the sorrel had turned to the left. the cowboy turned also in that direction. a sign by the side of the trail confronted him. this is pete dinsmore's road-- take another "the plot sure thickens," grinned jack. "reckon i won't take pete's advice to-day. it don't listen good." he spoke aloud, to himself or to his horse or to the empty world at large, as lonely riders often do on the plains or in the hills, but from the heavens above an answer dropped down to him in a heavy, masterful voice: "git back along that trail _pronto_!" roberts looked up. a flat rock topped the bluff above. from the edge of it the barrel of a rifle projected. behind it was a face masked by a bandana handkerchief. the combination was a sinister one. if the line-rider was dismayed or even surprised, he gave no evidence of it. "just as you say, stranger. i reckon you're callin' this dance," he admitted. "you'll be lucky if you don't die of lead-poisonin' inside o' five minutes. no funny business! git!" the cowboy got. he whirled his pony in its tracks and sent it jogging down the back trail. a tenderfoot would have taken the gulch at breakneck speed. most old-timers would have found a canter none too fast. but jack roberts held to a steady road gait. not once did he look back--but every foot of the way till he had turned a bend in the cañon there was an ache in the small of his back. it was a purely sympathetic sensation, for at any moment a bullet might come crashing between the shoulders. once safely out of range the rider mopped a perspiring face. "wow! this is your lucky day, jack. ain't you got better sense than to trail rustlers with no weapon but a sunday-school text? well, here's hopin'! maybe we'll meet again in the sweet by an' by. you never can always tell." chapter ii "i'll be seventeen, coming grass" the camper looked up from the antelope steak he was frying, to watch a man cross the shallow creek. in the clear morning light of the southwest his eyes had picked the rider out of the surrounding landscape nearly an hour before. for at least one fourth of the time since this discovery he had been aware that his approaching visitor was pedro menendez, of the a t o ranch. "better 'light, son," suggested roberts. the mexican flashed a white-toothed smile at the sizzling steak, took one whiff of the coffee and slid from the saddle. eating was one of the things that pedro did best. "the ol' man--he sen' me," the boy explained. "he wan' you at the ranch." further explanation waited till the edge of pedro's appetite was blunted. the line-rider lighted a cigarette and casually asked a question. "whyfor does he want me?" it developed that the mexican had been sent to relieve roberts because the latter was needed to take charge of a trail herd. not by the flicker of an eyelash did the line-rider show that this news meant anything to him. it was promotion--better pay, a better chance for advancement, an easier life. but jack roberts had learned to take good and ill fortune with the impassive face of a gambler. "keep an eye out for rustlers, pedro," he advised before he left. "you want to watch box cañon. unless i'm 'way off, the dinsmore gang are operatin' through it. i 'most caught one red-handed the other day. lucky for me i didn't. you an' jumbo would 'a' had to bury me out on the lone prairee." nearly ten hours later jack roberts dismounted in front of the whitewashed adobe house that was the headquarters of the a t o ranch. on the porch an old cattleman sat slouched in a chair tilted back against the wall, a run-down heel of his boot hitched in the rung. the wrinkled coat he wore hung on him like a sack, and one leg of his trousers had caught at the top of the high boot. the owner of the a t o was a heavy-set, powerful man in the early fifties. just now he was smoking a corncob pipe. the keen eyes of the cattleman watched lazily the young line-rider come up the walk. most cowboys walked badly; on horseback they might be kings of the earth, but out of the saddle they rolled like sailors. clint wadley noticed that the legs of this young fellow were straight and that he trod the ground lightly as a buck in mating-season. "he'll make a hand," was wadley's verdict, one he had arrived at after nearly a year of shrewd observation. but no evidence of satisfaction in his employee showed itself in the greeting of the "old man." he grunted what might pass for "howdy!" if one were an optimist. roberts explained his presence by saying: "you sent for me, mr. wadley." "h'm! that durned fool york done bust his laig. think you can take a herd up the trail to tascosa?" "yes, sir." "that's the way all you brash young colts talk. but how many of 'em will you lose on the way? how sorry will they look when you deliver the herd? that's what i'd like to know." jack roberts was paying no attention to the grumbling of his boss--for a young girl had come out of the house. she was a slim little thing, with a slender throat that carried the small head like the stem of a rose. dark, long-lashed eyes, eager and bubbling with laughter, were fixed on wadley. she had slipped out on tiptoe to surprise him. her soft fingers covered his eyes. "guess who!" she ordered. "quit yore foolishness," growled the cattleman. "don't you-all see i'm talkin' business?" but the line-rider observed that his arm encircled the waist of the girl. with a flash of shy eyes the girl caught sight of roberts, who had been half hidden from her behind the honeysuckle foliage. "oh! i didn't know," she cried. the owner of the a t o introduced them. "this is jack roberts, one of my trail foremen. roberts--my daughter ramona. i reckon you can see for yoreself she's plumb spoiled." a soft laugh welled from the throat of the girl. she knew that for her at least her father was all bark and no bite. "it's you that is spoiled, dad," she said in the slow, sweet voice of the south. "i've been away too long, but now i'm back i mean to bring you up right. now i'll leave you to your business." the eyes of the girl rested for a moment on those of the line-rider as she nodded good-bye. jack had never before seen ramona wadley, nor for that matter had he seen her brother rutherford. since he had been in the neighborhood, both of them had been a good deal of the time in tennessee at school, and jack did not come to the ranch-house once in three months. it was hard to believe that this dainty child was the daughter of such a battered hulk as clint wadley. he was what the wind and the sun and the tough southwest had made him. and she--she was a daughter of the morning. but wadley did not release ramona. "since you're here you might as well go through with it," he said. "what do you want?" "what does a woman always want?" she asked sweetly, and then answered her own question. "clothes--and money to buy them--lots of it. i'm going to town to-morrow, you know." "h'm!" his grunt was half a chuckle, half a growl. "do you call yoreself a woman--a little bit of a trick like you? why, i could break you in two." she drew herself up very straight. "i'll be seventeen, coming grass. and it's much more likely, sir, that i'll break you--as you'll find out when the bills come in after i've been to town." with that she swung on her heel and vanished inside the house. the proud, fond eyes of the cattleman followed her. it was an easy guess that she was the apple of his eye. but when he turned to business again his manner was gruffer than usual. he was a trifle crisper to balance the effect of his new foreman having discovered that he was as putty in the hands of this slip of a girl. "well, you know where you're at, roberts. deliver that herd without any loss for strays, fat, an' in good condition, an' you won't need to go back to line-ridin'. fall down on the job, an' you'll never get another chance to drive a t o cows." "that's all i ask, mr. wadley," the cowboy answered. "an' much obliged for the chance." "don't thank me. thank york's busted laig," snapped his chief. "we'll make the gather for the drive to-morrow an' friday." chapter iii tex takes an interest jack roberts was in two minds whether to stop at the longhorn saloon. he needed a cook in his trail outfit, and the most likely employment agency in texas during that decade was the barroom of a gambling-house. every man out of a job naturally drifted to the only place of entertainment. the wandering eye of the foreman decided the matter for him. it fell upon a horse, and instantly ceased to rove. the cow-pony was tied to a hitching-rack worn shiny by thousands of reins. on the nose of the bronco was a splash of white. stockings of the same color marked its legs. the left hind hoof was gashed and broken. the rider communed with himself. "i reckon we'll 'light and take an interest, jack. them that looks for, finds." he slid from the saddle and rolled a cigarette, after which he made friends with the sorrel and examined carefully the damaged foot. "it's a li'l bit of a world after all," he commented. "you never can tell who you're liable to meet up with." the foreman drew from its scabbard a revolver and slid it back into place to make sure that it lay easy in its case. "you can't guess for sure what's likely to happen. i'd a heap rather be too cautious than have flowers sent me." he sauntered through the open door into the gambling-house. it was a large hall, in the front part of which was the saloon. in the back the side wall to the next building had been ripped out to give more room. there was a space for dancing, as well as roulette, faro, chuckaluck, and poker tables. in one corner a raised stand for the musicians had been built. the longhorn was practically deserted. not even a game of draw was in progress. the dance-girls were making up for lost sleep, and the patrons of the place were either at work or still in bed. three men were lined up in front of the bar. one was a tall, lank person, hatchet-faced and sallow. he had a cast in his eye that gave him a sinister expression. the second was slender and trim, black of hair and eye and mustache. his clothes were very good and up to date. the one farthest from the door was a heavy-set, unwieldy man in jeans, slouchy as to dress and bearing. perhaps it was the jade eyes of the man that made roberts decide instantly he was one tough citizen. the line-rider ordered a drink. "hardware, please," said the bartender curtly. "enforcin' that rule, are they?" asked roberts casually as his eyes swept over the other men. "that's whatever. y'betcha. we don't want no gay cowboys shootin' out our lights. no reflections, y'understand." the latest arrival handed over his revolver, and the man behind the bar hung the scabbard on a nail. half a dozen others were on a shelf beside it. for the custom on the frontier was that each rider from the range should deposit his weapons at the first saloon he entered. they were returned to him when he called for them just before leaving town. this tended to lessen the number of sudden deaths. "who you ridin' for, young fellow?" asked the sallow man of roberts. "for the a t o." the dark young man turned and looked at the cowboy. "so? how long have you been riding for wadley?" "nine months." "don't think i've seen you before." "i'm a line-rider--don't often get to the ranch-house." "what ground do you cover?" "from dry creek to the rim-rock, and south past box cañon." three pair of eyes were focused watchfully on roberts. the sallow man squirted tobacco at a knot in the floor and rubbed his bristly chin with the palm of a hand. "kinda lonesome out there, ain't it?" he ventured. "that's as how you take it. the country _is_ filled with absentees," admitted roberts. "reckoned it was. never been up that way myself. a sort of a bad-lands proposition, i've heard tell--country creased with arroyos, packed with rocks an' rattlesnakes mostly." the heavy-set man broke in harshly. "anybody else run cattle there except old man wadley?" "settlers are comin' in on the other side of the rim-rock. cattle drift across. i can count half a dozen brands 'most any day." "but you never see strangers." "don't i?" "i'm askin', do you?" the voice of the older man was heavy and dominant. it occurred to roberts that he had heard that voice before. "oh!" unholy imps of mirth lurked in the alert eyes of the line-rider. "once in a while i do--last thursday, for instance." the graceful, dark young man straightened as does a private called to attention. "a trapper, maybe?" he said. the cowboy brought his level gaze back from a barefoot negro washing the floor. "not this time. he was a rustler." "how do you know?" the high voice of the questioner betrayed excitement. "i caught him brandin' a calf. he waved me round. i beat him to the box cañon and saw him ridin' through." "you saw him ridin' through? where were you?" the startled eyes of the dark young man were fixed on him imperiously. "from the bluff above." "you don't say!" the voice of the heavy man cut in with jeering irony. the gleam of his jade eyes came through narrow-slitted lids. "well, did you take him back to the ranch for a necktie party, or did you bury him in the gulch?" the dark young man interrupted irritably. "i'm askin' these questions, dinsmore. now you, young fellow--what's your name?" "jack roberts," answered the cowboy meekly. "about this rustler--would you know him again?" the line-rider smiled inscrutably. he did not intend to tell all that he did not know. "he was ridin' a sorrel with a white splash on its nose, white stockin's, an' a bad hoof, the rear one--" "you're a damn' liar." the words, flung out from some inner compulsion, as it were, served both as a confession and a challenge. there was a moment of silence, tense and ominous. this was fighting talk. the lank man leaned forward and whispered some remonstrance in the ear of the young fellow, but his suggestion was waved aside. "i'm runnin' this, gurley." the rider for the a t o showed neither surprise nor anger. he made a business announcement without stress or accent. "i expect it's you or me one for a lickin'. hop to it, mr. rustler!" roberts did not wait for an acceptance of his invitation. he knew that the first two rules of battle are to strike first and to strike hard. his brown fist moved forward as though it had been shot from a gun. the other man crashed back against the wall and hung there dazed for a moment. the knuckles of that lean fist had caught him on the chin. "give him hell, ford. you can curry a li'l' shorthorn like this guy with no trouble a-tall," urged dinsmore. the young man needed no urging. he gathered himself together and plunged forward. always he had prided himself on being an athlete. he was the champion boxer of the small town where he had gone to school. since he had returned to the west, he had put on flesh and muscle. but he had dissipated a good deal too, and no man not in the pink of condition had any right to stand up to tough jack roberts. while the fight lasted, there was rapid action. roberts hit harder and cleaner, but the other was the better boxer. he lunged and sidestepped cleverly, showing good foot-work and a nice judgment of distance. for several minutes he peppered the line-rider with neat hits. jack bored in for more. he drove a straight left home and closed one of his opponent's eyes. he smashed through the defense of his foe with a power that would not be denied. "keep a-comin', ford. you shore have got him goin' south," encouraged gurley. but the man he called ford knew it was not true. his breath was coming raggedly. his arms were heavy as though weighted with lead. the science upon which he had prided himself was of no use against this man of steel. already his head was singing so that he saw hazily. the finish came quickly. the cowboy saw his chance, feinted with his left and sent a heavy body blow to the heart. the knees of the other sagged. he sank down and did not try to rise again. presently his companions helped him to his feet. "he--he took me by surprise," explained the beaten man with a faint attempt at bluster. "i'll bet i did," assented jack cheerfully. "an' i'm liable to surprise you again if you call me a liar a second time." "you've said about enough, my friend," snarled the man who had been spoken to as dinsmore. "you get away with this because the fight was on the square, but don't push yore luck too far." the three men passed out of the front door. roberts turned to the barkeeper. "i reckon the heavy-set one is pete dinsmore. the cock-eyed guy must be steve gurley. but who is the young fellow i had the mixup with?" the man behind the bar gave information promptly. "he's rutherford wadley--son of the man who signs yore pay-checks. say, i heard buck nelson needs a mule-skinner, in case you're lookin' for a job." jack felt a sudden sinking of the heart. he had as good as told the son of his boss that he was a rustler, and on top of that he had given him a first-class lacing. the air-castles he had been building came tumbling down with a crash. he had already dreamed himself from a trail foreman to the majordomo of the a t o ranch. instead of which he was a line-rider out of a job. "where can i find nelson?" he asked with a grin that found no echo in his heart. "lead me to him." chapter iv tex grandstands clint wadley, massive and powerful, slouched back in his chair with one leg thrown over an arm of it. he puffed at a corncob pipe, and through the smoke watched narrowly with keen eyes from under heavy grizzled brows a young man standing on the porch steps. "so now you know what i expect, young fellow," he said brusquely. "take it or leave it; but if you take it, go through." arthur ridley smiled. "thanks, i'll take it." the boy was not so much at ease as his manner suggested. he knew that the owner of the a t o was an exacting master. the old cattleman was game himself. even now he would fight at the drop of the hat if necessary. in the phrase which he had just used, he would "go through" anything he undertook. men who had bucked blizzards with him in the old days admitted that clint would do to take along. but ridley's awe of him was due less to his roughness and to the big place he filled in the life of the panhandle than to the fact that he was the father of his daughter. it was essential to arthur's plans that he stand well with the old-timer. though he did not happen to know it, young ridley was a favorite of the cattle king. he had been wished on him by an old friend, but there was something friendly and genial about the boy that won a place for him. his smile was modest and disarming, and his frank face was better than any letter of recommendation. but though wadley was prepared to like him, his mind held its reservations. the boy had come from the east, and the standards of that section are not those of the west. the east asks of a man good family, pleasant manners, a decent reputation, and energy enough to carry a man to success along conventional lines. in those days the frontier west demanded first that a man be game, and second that he be one to tie to. he might be good or bad, but whichever he was, he, must be efficient to make any mark in the turbulent country of the border. was there a hint of slackness in the jaw of this good-looking boy? wadley was not sure, but he intended to find out. "you'll start saturday. i'll meet you at tascosa two weeks from to-day. understand?" the cattleman knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose. the interview was at an end. young ridley nodded. "i'll be there, sir--with the six thousand dollars safe as if they were in a vault." "h'm! i see you carry a six-shooter. can you shoot?" wadley flung at him abruptly. arthur ridley had always fancied himself as a shot. he had belonged to a gun-club at home, and since coming to the southwest he had practiced a good deal with the revolver. "pretty well, sir." "would you--if it was up to you?" the youngster looked into the steel-gray eyes roofed by the heavy thatch of brow. "i think so. i never have had to yet. in the east--" wadley waved the east back to where it belonged. "yes, i know. but we're talkin' about texas. still, i reckon you ought not to have any trouble on this trip. don't let anybody know why you are at the fort. don't gamble or drink. get the money from major ponsford and melt away inconspicuous into the brush. hit the trail hard. a day and a night ought to bring you to tascosa." the cattleman was leading the way with long strides into an open space back of the house. a pile of empty cans, symbol of the arid lands, lay beside the path. he picked up one and put it on a post. then he stepped off fifteen paces. "ventilate it," he ordered. the boy drew his revolver, took a long, steady aim, and fired. the bullet whistled past across the prairie. his second shot scored a clean hit. with pardonable pride he turned to the cattleman. "set up another can," commanded wadley. from the pile of empties the young man picked another and put it on the post. wadley, known in texas as a two-gun man, flashed into sight a pair of revolvers almost quicker than the eye could follow. both shots came instantly and together. the cattleman had fired from the hips. before the can had reached the ground the weapons barked again. ridley ran forward and picked up the can. it was torn and twisted with jagged holes, but the evidence was written there that all four bullets had pierced the tin. the easterner could hardly believe his eyes. such shooting was almost beyond human skill. the owner of the a t o thrust into place his two forty-fives. "if you're goin' to wear six-shooters, learn to use 'em, son. if you don't, some bad-man is liable to bump you off for practice." as the two men stepped around the corner of the house a girl came down the steps of the porch. she was dressed in summer white, but she herself was spring. slim and lissome, the dew of childhood was still on her lips, and the mist of it in her eyes. but when she slanted her long lashes toward arthur ridley, it was not the child that peeped shyly and eagerly out from beneath them. her heart was answering the world-old call of youth to youth. "i'm going downtown, dad," she announced. ridley stepped forward and lifted his hat. "may i walk with you, miss ramona?" "stop at the post-office and see if the buckboard driver is in with the mail, 'mona," her father said. the boy and the girl made a couple to catch and hold the eye. they went down the street together chattering gayly. one of the things young ridley knew how to do well was to make himself agreeable to girls. he could talk nonsense charmingly and could hold his own in the jolly give-and-take of repartee. his good looks were a help. so too was the little touch of affectionate deference he used. he had the gift of being bold without being too bold. it was a beautiful morning and life sang in the blood of ramona. it seemed to her companion that the warm sun caressed the little curls at her temples as she moved down the street light as a deer. little jets of laughter bubbled from her round, birdlike throat. in her freshly starched white dress, with its broad waistband of red and purple ribbon, the girl was sweet and lovely and full of mystery to ridley. a little man with a goatee, hawk-nosed and hawk-eyed, came down the street with jingling spurs to meet them. at sight of ramona his eyes lighted. from his well-shaped gray head he swept in a bow a jaunty, broad-brimmed white hat. the young girl smiled, because there were still a million unspent smiles in her warm and friendly heart. "good-morning, captain ellison," she called. "don't know you a-tall, ma'am." he shook his head with decision. "never met up with you before." "good gracious, captain, and you've fed me candy ever since i was a sticky little kid." he burlesqued a business of recognizing her with much astonishment. "you ain't little 'mona wadley. no! why, you are a young lady all dressed up in go-to-meet-him clothes. i reckon my little side-partner has gone forever." "no, she hasn't, uncle jim," the girl cried. "and i want you to know i still like candy." he laughed with delight and slapped his thigh with his broad-brimmed ranger hat. "by dog, you get it, 'mona, sure as i'm a foot high." chuckling, he passed down the street. "captain jim ellison of the rangers," explained ramona to her companion. "he isn't really my uncle, but i've known him always. he's a good old thing and we're great friends." her soft, smiling eyes met those of arthur. he thought that it was no merit in ellison to be fond of her. how could he help it? "he's in luck," was all the boy said. a little flag of color fluttered in her cheek. she liked his compliments, but they embarrassed her a little. "did you fix it all up with dad?" she asked, by way of changing the subject. "yes. i'm to go to fort winston to get the money for the beeves, and if i fall down on the job i'll never get another from him." "i believe you're afraid of dad," she teased. "don't you believe it--know it. i sure enough am," he admitted promptly. "why? i can twist him round my little finger," she boasted. "yes, but i'm not his only daughter and the prettiest thing in west texas." she laughed shyly. "are you sure you're taking in enough territory?" "i'll say south of mason and dixon's line, if you like." "really, he likes you. i can tell when dad is for any one." a sound had for some minutes been disturbing the calm peace of the morning. it was the bawling of thirsty cattle. the young people turned a corner into the main street of the town. down it was moving toward them a cloud of yellow dust stirred up by a bunch of texas longhorns. the call of the cattle for drink was insistent. above it rose an occasional sharp "yip yip!" of a cowboy. ramona stopped, aghast. the cattle blocked the road, their moving backs like the waves of a sea. the dust would irreparably soil the clean frock fresh from the hands of her black mammy. she made as if to turn, and knew with a flash of horror that it was too late. perhaps it was the gleam of scarlet in her sash that caught the eye of the bull leading the van. it gave a bellow of rage, lowered its head, and dashed at her. ramona gave a horror-stricken little cry of fear and stood motionless. she could not run. the fascination of terror held her paralyzed. her heart died away in her while the great brute thundered toward her. out of the dust-cloud came a horse and rider in the wake of the bull. frozen in her tracks, ramona saw with dilated eyes all that followed. the galloping horse gained, was at the heels of the maddened animal, drew up side by side. it seemed to the girl that in another moment she must be trampled underfoot. nothing but a miracle from god's blue could save her. for what registered as time without end to the girl's fear-numbed brain, horse and bull raced knee to knee. then the miracle came. the rider leaned far out from the saddle, loosened his feet from the stirrups, and launched himself at the crazed half-ton of charging fury. his hands gripped the horns of the bull. he was dragged from the saddle into the dust, but his weight deflected the course of the animal. with every ounce of strength given by his rough life in the open the cowboy hung on, dragging the head of the bull down with him toward the ground. man and beast came to a slithering halt together in a great cloud of dust not ten feet from ramona. even now terror held her a prisoner. the brute would free itself and stamp the man to death. a haze gathered before her eyes. she swayed, then steadied herself. man and bull were fighting desperately, one with sheer strength, the other with strength plus brains and skill. the object of the animal was to free itself. the bull tossed wildly in frantic rage to shake off this incubus that had fastened itself to its horns. the man hung on for life. all his power and weight were centered in an effort to twist the head of the bull sideways and back. slowly, inch by inch, by the steady, insistent pressure of muscles as well packed as any in texas, the man began to gain. the bull no longer tossed and flung him at will. the big roan head went down, turned backward, yielded to the pressure on the neck-muscles that never relaxed. the man put at the decisive moment his last ounce of strength into one last twist. the bull collapsed, went down heavily to its side. a second cowboy rode up, roped the bull, and deftly hogtied it. the bulldogger rose and limped forward to the girl leaning whitely against a wall. "sorry, miss wadley. i hadn't ought to have brought the herd through town. we was drivin' to water." "are you hurt?" ramona heard her dry, faint voice ask. "me!" he said in surprise. "why, no, ma'am." he was a tall, lean youth, sunburned and tough, with a face that looked sardonic. ramona recognized him now as her father's new foreman, the man she had been introduced to a few days before. hard on that memory came another. it was this same jack roberts who had taken her brother by surprise and beaten him so cruelly only yesterday. "it threw you around so," she murmured. "sho! i reckon i can curry a li'l ol' longhorn when i have it to do, ma'am," he answered, a bit embarrassed. "are--are you hurt?" another voice quavered. with a pang of pain ramona remembered arthur ridley. where had he been when she so desperately needed help? "no. mr. roberts saved me." she did not look at ridley. a queer feeling of shame for him made her keep her eyes averted. "i--went to get help for you," the boy explained feebly. "thank you," she said. the girl was miserably unhappy. for the boy to whom she had given the largesse of her friendship had fled in panic; the one she hated for bullying and mistreating her brother had flung himself in the path of the furious bull to save her. captain ellison came running up. he bristled at the trail foreman like a bantam. "what do you mean by drivin' these wild critters through town? ain't you got a lick o' sense a-tall? if anything had happened to this little girl--" the ranger left his threat suspended in midair. his arms were round ramona, who was sobbing into his coat. the red-headed foreman shifted his weight from one foot to another. he was acutely uncomfortable at having made this young woman weep. "i ain't got a word to say, captain. it was plumb thoughtless of me," he apologized. "you come to my office this mo'nin' at twelve o'clock, young fellow. hear me? i've got a word to say to you." "yes," agreed the bulldogger humbly. "i didn't go for to scare the young lady. will you tell her i'm right sorry, captain?" "you eat yore own humble pie. you've got a tongue, i reckon," snorted ellison, dragging at his goatee fiercely. the complexion of roberts matched his hair. "i--i--i'm turrible sorry, miss. i'd ought to be rode on a rail." with which the range-rider turned, swung to the saddle of his pony without touching the stirrups, and fairly bolted down the street after his retreating herd. chapter v captain ellison hires a hand captain ellison was preparing for the adjutant-general a report of a little affair during which one of his men had been obliged to snuff out the lives of a couple of mexican horsethieves and seriously damage a third. writing was laborious work for the captain of rangers, though he told no varnished tale. his head and shoulders were hunched over the table and his fingertips were cramped close to the point of the pen. each letter as it was set down had its whispered echo from his pursed lips. "doggone these here reports," he commented in exasperation. "looks like a man hadn't ought to make out one every time he bumps off a rustler." he tugged at his goatee and read again what he had just written: then this josé barela and his gang of skoundrels struck out for the brazos with the stolen stock. ranger cullom trailed them to goose creek and recovered the cattle. while resisting arrest barela and another mexican were killed and a third wounded. cullom brought back the wounded man and the rustled stock. a short noontime shadow darkened the sunny doorway of the adobe office. ellison looked up quickly, his hand falling naturally to the handle of his forty-five. among the rangers the price of life was vigilance. a tall, lean, young man with a sardonic eye and a sunburned face jingled up the steps. "come in," snapped the captain. "sit down. with you in a minute." the cowboy lounged in, very much at his ease. roberts had been embarrassed before ramona wadley that morning, but he was not in the least self-conscious now. in the course of a short and turbid life he had looked too many tough characters in the eye to let any mere man disturb his poise. "do you spell _scoundrel_ with a _k_?" the ranger chief fired abruptly at him. "nary a _k_, captain. i spell it _b-a-d m-a-n_." "h'mp!" snorted the little man. "ain't you got no education? a man's got to use a syllogism oncet in a while, i reckon." "mebbeso. what kind of a gun is it?" drawled jack roberts. "a syllogism is a word meanin' the same as another word, like as if i was to say _caballo_ for _horse_ or _six-shooter_ for _revolver_." "i see--or _tough guy_ for _texas ranger_." "or _durn fool_ for _jack roberts_," countered ellison promptly. "now you're shoutin', cap. stomp on me proper. i certainly need to be curried." again the ranger snorted. "h'mp! been scarin' any more young ladies to death?" "no more this mo'nin', captain," answered jack equably. "nor grandstandin' with any more _ladino_ steers?" "i exhibit only once a day." "by dog, you give a sure-enough good show," exploded ellison. "you got yore nerve, boy. wait around till the prettiest girl in texas can see you pull off the big play--run the risk of havin' her trampled to death, just so's you can grin an' say, 'pleased to meet you, ma'am.' when i call you durn fool, i realize it's too weak a name." "hop to it, captain. use up some real language on me. spill out a lot of those syllogisms you got bottled up inside you. i got it comin'," admitted roberts genially as he rolled a cigarette. the captain had been a mule-skinner once, and for five glorious minutes he did himself proud while the graceless young cowpuncher beamed on him. "you sure go some, cap," applauded the young fellow. "i'd admire to have your flow of talk." ellison subsided into anticlimax. "well, don't you ever drive yore wild hill-critters through town again. hear me, young fellow?" "you'll have to speak to wadley about that. i'm not his trail boss any longer." "since when?" "since five o'clock yesterday evenin'. i was turnin' over the herd this mo'nin' when the little lady showed up an' i had to pull off the bulldoggin'." "wadley fire you?" "that's whatever." "why?" "didn't like the way i mussed up son rutherford, i kind o' gathered." "another of yore fool plays. first you beat up wadley's boy; then you 'most massacree his daughter. anything more?" "that's all up to date--except that the old man hinted i was a brand-burner." "the deuce he did!" "i judge that son rutherford had told him i was one of the dinsmore gang. seems i'm all right except for bein' a rowdy an' a bully an' a thief an' a bad egg generally." "h'mp! said you was a rustler, did he?" the ranger caressed his goatee and reflected on this before he pumped a question at the line-rider. "are you?" "no more than rutherford wadley." the captain shot a swift slant look at this imperturbable young man. was there a hidden meaning in that answer? "what's the matter with wadley? does he expect you to let ford run it over you? that ain't like clint." "he's likely listened to a pack o' lies." "and you haven't heard from him since?" "yes, i have. he sent me my check an' a hundred-dollar bill." ellison sat up. "what for?" "for my fancy bulldoggin'." the hard eyes of the young fellow smouldered with resentment. "by dog, did clint send you money for savin' 'mona?" "he didn't say what it was for--so i rolled up the bill an' lit a cigarette with it." "you take expensive smokes, young man," chuckled the officer. "it was on wadley. i burned only half the bill. he can cash in the other half, for i sent it back to him. when he got it, he sent for me." "and you went?" "you know damn well i didn't. when he wants me, he knows where to find me." "most young hill-billies step when clint tells 'em to." "do they?" asked the range-rider indifferently. "you bet you. they jump when he whistles. what are you figurin' to do?" "haven't made up my mind yet. mebbe i'll drift along the trail to the pecos country." "what was clint payin' you?" "sixty a month an' found." "how'd you like to have yore wages lowered?" "meanin'--" "that i'll give you a job." young roberts had a capacity for silence. he asked no questions now, but waited for ellison to develop the situation. "with the rangers. dollar a day an' furnish yore own bronc," explained the captain. "the state of texas is liberal," said the cowboy with dry sarcasm. "that's as you look at it. if you're a money-grubber, don't join us. but if you'd like to be one of the finest fightin' force in the world with somethin' doin' every minute, then you'd better sign up. i'll promise that you die young an' not in yore bed." "sounds right attractive," jeered the red-haired youngster with amiable irony. "it is, for men with red blood in 'em," retorted the gray-haired fire-eater hotly. "all right. i'll take your word for it, captain. you've hired a hand." chapter vi clint wadley's messenger outside the door of the commandant's office arthur ridley stood for a moment and glanced nervously up and down the dirt road. in a hog-leather belt around his waist was six thousand dollars just turned over to him by major ponsford as the last payment for beef steers delivered at the fort according to contract some weeks earlier. arthur had decided not to start on the return journey until next morning, but he was not sure his judgment had been good. it was still early afternoon. before nightfall he might be thirty miles on his way. the trouble with that was that he would then have to spend two nights out, and the long hours of darkness with their flickering shadows cast by the camp-fires would be full of torture for him. on the other hand, if he should stay till morning, word might leak out from the officers' quarters that he was carrying a large sum of money. a drunken man came weaving down the street. he stopped opposite ridley and balanced himself with the careful dignity of the inebriate. but the gray eyes, hard as those of a gunman, showed no trace of intoxication. nor did the steady voice. "friend, are you clint wadley's messenger?" the startled face of ridley flew a flag of confession. "why--what do you mean?" he stammered. nobody was to have known that he had come to get the money for the owner of the a t o. "none of my business, you mean," flung back the man curtly. "good enough! it ain't. what's more, i don't give a damn. but listen: i was at the buffalo hump when two fellows came in. me, i was most asleep, and they sat in the booth next to me. i didn't hear all they said, but i got this--that they're aimin' to hold up some messenger of clint wadley after he leaves town to-morrow. you're the man, i reckon. all right. look out for yourself. that's all." "but--what shall i do?" asked ridley. "do? i don't care. i'm tellin' you--see? do as you please." "what would _you_ do?" the danger and the responsibility that had fallen upon him out of a sky of sunshine paralyzed the young man's initiative. the deep-set, flinty eyes narrowed to slits. "what i'd do ain't necessarily what you'd better do. what are you, stranger--high-grade stuff, or the run o' the pen?" "i'm no gun-fighter, if that's what you mean." "then i'd make my get-away like a jackrabbit hell-poppin' for its hole. i got one slant at these fellows in the buffalo hump. they're bully-puss kind o' men, if you know what i mean." "i don't. i'm from the east." "they'll run it over you, bluff you off the map, take any advantage they can." "will they fight?" "they'll burn powder quick if they get the drop on you." "what are they like?" the texan considered. "one is a tall, red-headed guy; the other's a sawed-off, hammered-down little runt--but gunmen, both of 'em, or i'm a liar." "they would probably follow me," said the messenger, worried. "you better believe they will, soon as they hear you've gone." arthur kicked a little hole in the ground with the toe of his shoe. what had he better do? he could stay at the fort, of course, and appeal to major ponsford for help. but if he did, he would probably be late for his appointment with wadley. it happened that the cattleman and the army officer had had a sharp difference of opinion about the merits of the herd that had been delivered, and it was not at all likely that ponsford would give him a military guard to tascosa. moreover, he had a feeling that the owner of the a t o would resent any call to the soldiers for assistance. clint wadley usually played his own hand, and he expected the same of his men. but the habit of young ridley's life had not made for fitness to cope with a frontier emergency. nor was he of stiff enough clay to fight free of his difficulty without help. "what about you?" he asked the other man. "can i hire you to ride with me to tascosa?" "as a tenderfoot-wrangler?" sneered the texan. arthur flushed. "i've never been there. i don't know the way." "you follow a gun-barrel road from the fort. but i'll ride with you--if the pay is right." "what do you say to twenty dollars for the trip?" "you've hired me." "and if we're attacked?" "i pack a six-shooter." the troubled young man looked into the hard, reckless face of this stranger who had gone out of his way to warn him of the impending attack. no certificate was necessary to tell him that this man would fight. "i don't know your name," said ridley, still hesitating. "any more than i know yours," returned the other. "call me bill moore, an' i'll be on hand to eat my share of the chuck." "we'd better leave at once, don't you think?" "you're the doc. meet you here in an hour ready for the trail." the man who called himself bill moore went his uncertain way down the street. to the casual eye he was far gone in drink. young ridley went straight to the corral where he had put up his horse. he watered and fed the animal, and after an endless half-hour saddled the bronco. moore joined him in front of the officers' quarters, and together they rode out of the post. as the texan had said, the road to tascosa ran straight as a gun-barrel. at first they rode in silence, swiftly, leaving behind them mile after mile of dusty trail. it was a brown, level country thickly dotted with yucca. once moore shot a wild turkey running in the grass. prairie-chicken were abundant, and a flight of pigeons numbering thousands passed at one time over their heads and obscured the sky. "goin' down to the _encinal_ to roost," explained moore. "a man could come pretty near living off his rifle in this country," arthur remarked. "outside o' flour an' salt, i've done it many a time. i rode through the pecos valley to fort sumner an' on to denver oncet an' lived off the land. time an' again i've done it from the brazos to the canadian. if he gets tired of game, a man can jerk the hind quarters of a beef. gimme a young turkey fed on sweet mast an' cooked on a hackberry bush fire, an' i'll never ask for better chuck," the texan promised. in spite of ridley's manifest desire to push on far into the night, moore made an early camp. "no use gauntin' our broncs when we've got all the time there is before us. a horse is a man's friend. he don't want to waste it into a sorry-lookin' shadow. besides, we're better off here than at painted rock. it's nothin' but a whistlin'-post in the desert." "yes, but i'd like to get as far from the fort as we can. i--i'm in a hurry to reach tascosa," the younger man urged. moore opened a row of worn and stained teeth to smile. "don't worry, young fellow. i'm with you now." after they had made camp and eaten, the two men sat beside the flickering fire, and moore told stories of the wild and turbulent life he had known around dodge city and in the lincoln county war that was still waging in new mexico. he had freighted to the panhandle from el moro, colorado, from wichita falls, and even from dodge. the consummate confidence of the man soothed the unease of the young fellow with the hogskin belt. this plainsman knew all that the southwest had to offer of danger and was equal to any of it. presently arthur ridley grew drowsy. the last that he remembered before he fell asleep was seeing moore light his pipe again with a live coal from the fire. the texan was to keep the first watch. it was well along toward morning when the snapping of a bush awakened ridley. he sat upright and reached quickly for the revolver by his side. "don't you," called a voice sharply from the brush. two men, masked with slitted handkerchiefs, broke through the shin-oak just as arthur whipped up his gun. the hammer fell once--twice, but no explosion followed. with two forty-fives covering him, ridley, white to the lips, dropped his harmless weapon. moore came to life with sleepy eyes, but he was taken at a disadvantage, and with a smothered oath handed over his revolver. "wha-what do you want?" asked ridley, his teeth chattering. the shorter of the two outlaws, a stocky man with deep chest and extraordinarily broad shoulders, growled an answer. "we want that money of clint wadley's you're packin'." the camp-fire had died to ashes, and the early-morning air was chill. arthur felt himself trembling so that his hands shook. a prickling of the skin went goose-quilling down his back. in the dim light those masked figures behind the businesslike guns were sinister with the threat of mystery and menace. "i--haven't any money," he quavered. "you'd better have it, young fellow, me lad!" jeered the tall bandit. "we're here strictly for business. dig up." "i don't reckon he's carryin' any money for clint," moore argued mildly. "don't look reasonable that an old-timer like clint, who knocked the bark off'n this country when i was still a kid, would send a tenderfoot to pack gold 'cross country for him." the tall man swung his revolver on moore. "'nuff from you," he ordered grimly. the heavy-set outlaw did not say a word. he moved forward and pressed the cold rim of his forty-five against the forehead of the messenger. the fluttering heart of the young man beat hard against his ribs. his voice stuck in his throat, but he managed to gasp a surrender. "it's in my belt. for god's sake, don't shoot." "gimme yore belt." the boy unbuckled the ribbon of hogskin beneath his shirt and passed it to the man behind the gun. the outlaw noticed that his fingers were cold and clammy. "stand back to back," commanded the heavy man. deftly he swung a rope over the heads of his captives, jerked it tight, wound it about their bodies, knotted it here and there, and finished with a triple knot where their heels came together. "that'll hold 'em hitched a few minutes," the lank man approved after he had tested the rope. "i'd like to get a lick at you fellows. i will, too, some day," mentioned moore casually. "when you meet up with us we'll be there," retorted the heavy-weight. "let's go, steve." the long man nodded. "_adiós_, boys." "see you later, and when i meet up with you, it'll be me 'n' you to a finish," the texan called. the thud of the retreating, hoofs grew faint and died. already moore was busy with the rope that tied them together. "what's the matter, kid? you shakin' for the drinks? didn't you see from the first we weren't in any danger? if they'd wanted to harm us, they could have shot us from the brush. how much was in that belt?" "six thousand dollars," the boy groaned. "well, it doesn't cost you a cent. cheer up, son." by this time moore had both his arms free and was loosening one of the knots. "i was in charge of it. i'll never dare face mr. wadley." "sho! it was his own fault. how in mexico come he to send a boy to market for such a big stake?" "nobody was to have known what i came for. i don't see how it got out." "must 'a' been a leak somewhere. don't you care. play the hand that's dealt you and let the boss worry. take it from me, you're lucky not to be even powder-burnt when a shot from the chaparral might have done yore business." "if you only hadn't fallen asleep!" "reckon i dozed off. i was up 'most all last night." moore untied the last knot and stepped out from the loop. "i'm goin' to saddle the broncs. you ride in to tascosa and tell wadley. i'll take up the trail an' follow it while it's warm. we'll see if a pair of shorthorns can run a sandy like that on me." he fell suddenly into the violent, pungent speech of the mule-skinner. "i'll go with you," announced ridley. he had no desire to face clint wadley with such a lame tale. the cold eyes of the texan drilled into his. "no, you won't. you'll go to town an' tell the old man what's happened. tell him to send his posse across the _malpais_ toward the rim-rock. i'll meet him at two buck crossin' with any news i've got." a quarter of an hour later the hoofs of his horse flung back faint echoes from the distance. the boy collapsed. his head sank into his hands and his misery found vent in sobs. chapter vii the dance long since the sun had slid behind the horizon edge and given place to a desert night of shimmering moonlight and far stars. from the enchanted mesa rutherford wadley descended to a valley draw in which were huddled a score of mexican _jacals_, huts built of stakes stuck in a trench, roofed with sod and floored with mud. beyond these was a more pretentious house. originally it had been a log "hogan," but a large adobe addition had been constructed for a store. inside this the dance was being held. light filtered through the chinks in the mud. from door and windows came the sounds of scraping fiddles and stamping feet. the singsong voice of the caller and the occasional whoop of a cowboy punctuated the medley of noises. a man whose girth would have put falstaff to shame greeted rutherford wheezily. "fall off and 'light, ford. she's in full swing and the bridle's off." the man was jumbo wilkins, line-rider for the a t o. young wadley swung to the ground. he did not trouble to answer his father's employee. it was in little ways like this that he endeared himself to those at hand, and it was just this spirit that the democratic west would not tolerate. while the rider was tying his horse to the hitch-rack, jumbo wilkins, who was a friendly soul, made another try at conversation. "glad you got an invite. old man cobb hadn't room for everybody, so he didn't make his bid wide open." the young man jingled up the steps. "that so? well, i didn't get an invite, as you call it. but i'm here." he contrived to say it so offensively that jumbo flushed with anger. wadley sauntered into the room and stood for a moment by the door. his trim, graceful figure and dark good looks made him at once a focus of eyes. nonchalantly he sunned himself in the limelight, with that little touch of swagger that captures the imagination of girls. no man in the cow-country dressed like rutherford wadley. in the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed are kings, and to these frontier women this young fellow was a glass of fashion. there was about him, too, a certain dash, a spice of the devil more desirable in a breaker of hearts than any mere beauty. his bold, possessive eyes ranged over the room to claim what they might desire. he had come to the dance at tomichi creek to make love to tony alviro's betrothed sweetheart bonita. she was in the far corner with her little court about her. if bonita was a flirt, it must be admitted she was a charming one. no girl within a day's ride was so courted as she. compact of fire and passion, brimming with life and health, she drew men to her as the flame the moth. presently the music started. bonita, in the arms of tony, floated past rutherford, a miracle of supple lightness. a flash of soft eyes darted at the heir of the a t o ranch. in them was a smile adorable and provocative. as soon as the dance was over, wadley made his way indolently toward her. he claimed the next waltz. she had promised it to tony, the girl said--and the next. "tony can't close-herd you," laughed rutherford. "his title ain't clear yet--won't be till the priest has said so. you'll dance the second one with me, bonita." "we shall see, _señor_," she mocked. but the mexican blood in the girl beat fast. in her soft, liquid eyes lurked the hunger for sex adventure. and this man was a prince of the blood--the son of clint wadley, the biggest cattleman in west texas. there were challenging stars of deviltry in bonita's eyes when they met those of rutherford over the shoulder of alviro while she danced, but the color was beating warm through her dark skin. the lift of her round, brown throat to an indifferent tilt of the chin was mere pretense. the languorous passion of the south was her inheritance, and excitement mounted in her while she kept time to the melodious dance. alviro was master of ceremonies, and wadley found his chance while the young mexican was of necessity away from bonita. rutherford bowed to her with elaborate mockery. "come. let us walk in the moonlight, sweetheart," he said. bonita turned to him with slow grace. the eyes of the man and the woman met and fought. in hers there was a kind of savage fierceness, in his an insolent confidence. "no," she answered. "ah! you're afraid of me--afraid to trust yourself with me," he boasted. she was an untutored child of the desert, and his words were a spur to her quick pride. she rose at once, her bosom rising and falling fast. she would never confess that--never. the girl walked beside him with the fluent grace of youth, beautiful as a forest fawn. in ten years she would be fat and slovenly like her mexican mother, but now she carried her slender body as a queen is supposed to but does not. her heel sank into a little patch of mud where some one had watered a horse. under the cottonwoods she pulled up her skirt a trifle and made a _moue_ of disgust at the soiled slipper. "see what you've done!" small, even teeth, gleamed in a coquettish smile from the ripe lips of the little mouth. he understood that he was being invited to kneel and clean the mud-stained shoe. "if you're looking for a doormat to wipe your feet on, i'll send for tony," he jeered. the father of bonita was anglo-saxon. she flashed anger at his presumption. "don't you think it. tony will never be a doormat to anybody. be warned, _señor_, and do not try to take what is his." again their eyes battled. neither of them saw a man who had come out from the house and was watching them from the end of the porch. "i take what the gods give, my dear, and ask leave of no man," bragged wadley. "or woman?" "ah! that is different. when the woman is bonita, _muchacha_, i am her slave." he dropped to one knee and with his handkerchief wiped the mud from the heel of her slipper. for a moment his fingers touched lightly the trim little ankle; then he rose quickly and caught her in his arms. "sometime--soon--it's going to be me and you, sweetheart," he whispered. "don't," she begged, struggling against herself and him. "if tony sees--" his passion was too keen-edged to take warning. he kissed her lips and throat and eyes. the eyes of the watcher never wavered. they were narrowed to shining slits of jet. "why do you come and--and follow me?" the girl cried softly. "it is not that you do not know tony is jealous. this is not play with him. he loves me and will fight for me. you are mad." "for love of you!" he laughed triumphantly. she knew he lied. the instinct that served her for a conscience had long since told her as much. but her vanity, and perhaps something deeper, craved satisfaction. she wanted to believe he meant it. under his ardent gaze the long lashes of the girl drooped to her dusky cheeks. it was tony she loved, but tony offered her only happiness and not excitement. a moment later she gave a startled little cry and pushed herself free. her dilated eyes were fixed on something behind the cattleman. rutherford, warned by her expression, whirled on his heel. tony alviro, knife in hand, was close upon him. wadley lashed out hard with his left and caught the mexican on the point of the chin. the blow lifted tony from his feet and flung him at full length to the ground. he tried to rise, groaned--rolled over. bonita was beside him in an instant. from where she knelt, with tony's dark head in her arms pressed close to her bosom, she turned fiercely on wadley. "i hate you, dog of a _gringo_! you are all one big lie through and through--what they call bad egg--no good!" already half a dozen men were charging from the house. jumbo pinned wadley's arms by the elbows to prevent him from drawing a revolver. "what's the rumpus?" he demanded. "the fellow tried to knife me in the back," explained rutherford. "jealous, because i took his girl." "so?" grunted wilkins. "well, you'd better light a shuck out o' here. you came on yore own invite. you can go on mine." "why should i go? i'll see you at tombstone first." "why?" jumbo's voice was no longer amiable and ingratiating. "because you gave tony a raw deal, an' he's got friends here. have _you_?" wadley looked round and saw here and there mexican faces filled with sullen resentment. it came to him swiftly that this was no place for his father's son to linger. "i don't push my society on any one," he said haughtily. "if i ain't welcome, i'll go. but i serve notice right here that any one who tries to pull a knife on me will get cold lead next time." jumbo, with his arm tucked under that of wadley, led the way to the house. he untied the rein of rutherford's horse and handed it to the son of his boss. "_vamos!_" he said. the young man pulled himself to the saddle. "you're a hell of a friend," he snarled. "who said anything about bein' a friend? i'm particular about when i use that word," replied wilkins evenly, with hard eyes. wadley's quirt burned the flank of the cow-pony and it leaped for the road. when five minutes later some one inquired for tony he too had disappeared. chapter viii rutherford makes a mistake rutherford wadley struck across country toward the rim-rock. anger burned high in him, and like the bully he was he took it out of his good horse by roweling its sides savagely. he plunged into the curly mesquite, driving forward straight as an arrow. behind him in the darkness followed a shadow, sinister and silent, out of sight, but within sound of the horse's footfall. it stopped when wadley stopped; when he moved, it moved. midnight found young wadley still moving straight forward, the moon on his left. painted rock was ten miles to the west. except for the stage station there, and the settlement he had left, there was no other habitation for fifty miles. it was a wilderness of silence. yet in that waste of empty space rutherford "jumped up" a camper. the man was a trader, carrying honey and pecans to fort worth. he was awakened by the sound of a raucous curse, he testified later, and in the bright moonlight saw the young cattleman beating his horse. evidently the young animal had been startled at sight of his white-topped wagon. an angry sentence or two passed between the men before the cattleman moved over the hill-brow. as the trader rolled up again in his _sugun_, there came to him faintly the sound of another horse. he was not able to explain later why this struck him as ominous, beyond the strangeness of the fact that two men, not in each other's company, should be traveling so close together in the desert. at any rate, he rose, crept forward to a clump of spanish bayonet, and from behind it saw a young mexican pass along the swale. he was close enough almost to have touched him, and in the rich moonlight saw the boyish face clearly. by the time wadley reached the rough country of the cap-rock, the young day was beginning to awaken. a quail piped its morning greeting from the brush. a gleam of blue in the dun sky flashed warning of a sun soon to rise. he had struck the rim-rock a little too far to the right, and deflected from his course to find the pocket he was seeking. for half a mile he traveled parallel to the ridge, then turned into a break in the wall. at the summit of a little rise he gave a whistle. presently, from above a big boulder, a head appeared cautiously. "hello, out there! who is it?" "ford." the rider swung to the ground stiffly and led his horse forward down a sharply descending path to a little draw. a lank, sallow man with a rifle joined him. with his back to a flat rock, a heavy-set, broad-shouldered fellow was lounging. "'lo, ford. didn't expect you to-night," he grumbled. "drifted over from the dance at tomichi creek. beat up a young mexican and had to get out." "you're such a sullen brute! why can't you let folks alone?" pete dinsmore wanted to know. he was annoyed. rutherford wadley was not a partner in the business on hand to-night, and he would rather the man had been a hundred miles away. "he got jealous and tried to knife me," explained the heir of the a t o sulkily. "you durn fool! won't you ever learn sense? who was it this time?" "tony alviro. his girl's crazy about me." the keen, hard eyes of dinsmore took in the smug complacency of the handsome young cad. he knew that this particular brand of fool would go its own way, but he wasted a word of advice. "i don't guess you want any pearls o' wisdom from me, but i'll onload some gratis. you let bonita menendez alone or tony will camp on yore trail till he gits you." "sure will," agreed gurley, setting down his rifle. "them mexicans hang together, too. we need their friendship in our business. better lay off them." "i don't remember askin' your advice, gurley." "well, i'm givin' it. see?" another sharp whistle cut the air. gurley picked up the rifle again and climbed the lookout rock. presently he returned with a dismounted horseman. the man was the one who had introduced himself to arthur ripley a few hours earlier as bill moore. "howdy, boys. got the stuff all safe?" he asked cheerfully. from behind wadley pete dinsmore was making a series of facial contortions. unfortunately the new arrival did not happen to be looking at him, and so missed the warning. "never saw anything work prettier," moore said with a grin as he put down his saddle on a boulder. "ridley hadn't ought to be let out without a nurse. he swallowed my whole yarn--gobbled down bait, sinker an' line. where's the gold, pete?" "in a sack back of the big rock." pete was disgusted with his brother homer, _alias_ bill moore. they would probably have to divide with young wadley now, to keep his mouth shut. rutherford jumped at the truth. his father had told him that he was going to give art ridley a try-out by sending him to the fort for a payment of gold. probably he, rutherford, had mentioned this to one of the gang when he was drunk. they had held up the messenger, intending to freeze him out of any share of the profits. all right--he would show them whether he was a two-spot. "bring out the sack. let's have a look at it," he ordered. gurley handed the sack to pete dinsmore, and the men squatted in a circle tailor-fashion. "smooth work, i call it," said homer dinsmore. he explained to wadley why he was of this opinion. "steve heard tell of a wagon-train goin' to tascosa to-day. if ridley slept overnight at the fort he would hear of it an' stay with the freight outfit till he had delivered the gold to yore dad. we had to get him started right away. so i pulled on him a story about hearin' the boys intended to hold him up. he hired me as a guard to help him stand off the bad men. whilst i was keepin' watch i fixed up his six-shooter so's it wouldn't do any damage if it went off. best blamed piece of work i ever did pull off. i'd ought to get a half of what we took off'n him instead of a third." "a third! who says you get a third?" asked wadley. "three of us did this job, didn't we?" cut in gurley. "sure. you took what belongs to me--or at least to my dad," protested young wadley. "tried to slip one over on me. guess again, boys. i won't stand for it." the jade eyes of the older brother narrowed. "meanin' just what, ford?" "what do you take me for, pete? think i'm goin' to let you rob me of my own money an' never cheep? i'll see you all in blazes first," cried wadley wildly. "yes, but--just what would you do about it?" "do? i'll ride to town an' tell cap ellison. i'll bust you up in business, sure as hell's hot." there was a moment of chill silence. three of the four men present knew that rutherford wadley had just passed sentence of death upon himself. they had doubted him before, vaguely, and without any definite reason. but after this open threat the fear that he would betray them would never lift until he was where he could no longer tell tales. "how much of this money do you think is comin' to you, ford?" asked pete quietly. "it's all mine, anyhow. you boys know that." rutherford hesitated; then his greed dominated. he had them where they had to eat out of his hand. "give me two thirds, an' you fellows divide the other third for your trouble. that's fair." "goddlemighty, what's eatin' you?" gurley exploded. "think we're plumb idjits? you 'n' me will mix bullets first, you traitor!" the dinsmores exchanged one long, significant look. then pete spoke softly. "don't get on the prod, steve. ford sure has got us where the wool's short, but i reckon he aims to be reasonable. let's say half for you, ford, an' the other half divided among the rest of us." wadley had refreshed himself out of a bottle several times during the night. ordinarily he would have accepted the proposed compromise, but the sullen and obstinate side of him was uppermost. "you've heard my terms, pete. i stand pat." again a significant look passed, this time between pete dinsmore and gurley. "all right," said homer dinsmore shortly. "it's a raw deal you're givin' us, but i reckon you know yore own business, wadley." the money was emptied from the pigskin belt and divided. rutherford repacked his two thirds in the belt and put it on next his shirt. "i don't know what you fellows are goin' to do, but i'm goin' to strike for town," he said. "i aim to get back in time to join one of the posses in their hunt for the outlaws." his jest did not win any smiles. the men grimly watched him saddle and ride away. a quarter of an hour later they too were in the saddle. chapter ix murder in the chaparral to jack roberts, engaged at the delmonico restaurant in the serious business of demolishing a steak smothered in onions, came pedro menendez with a strange story of a man lying dead in the rim-rock, a bullet-hole in the back of his head. the mexican _vaquero_ came to his news haltingly. he enveloped it in mystery. there was a dead man lying at the foot of battle butte, out in the rim-rock country, and there was this wound in the back of his head. that was all. pedro became vague at once as to detail. he took refuge in shrugs and a poor memory when the ranger pressed him in regard to the source of his information. roberts knew the ways of the mexicans. they would tell what they wanted to tell and no more. he accepted the news given him and for the moment did not push his questions home. for twenty-four hours the ranger had been in the saddle, and he was expecting to turn in for a round-the-clock sleep. but pedro's tale changed his mind. captain ellison was at austin, lieutenant hawley at tascosa. regretfully roberts gave up his overdue rest and ordered another cup of strong coffee. soon he was in the saddle again with a fresh horse under him. the panhandle was at its best. winter snows and spring rains had set it blooming. the cacti were a glory of white, yellow, purple, pink, and scarlet blossoms. the white, lilylike flowers of the spanish bayonet flaunted themselves everywhere. meadowlarks chirruped gayly and prairie-hens fluttered across the path in front of the rider. battle butte had received its name from an old tradition of an indian fight. here a party of braves had made a last stand against an overwhelming force of an enemy tribe. it was a flat mesa rising sharply as a sort of bastion from the rim-rock. the erosions of centuries had given it an appearance very like a fort. jack skirted the base of the butte. at the edge of a clump of prickly pear he found the evidence of grim tragedy which the circling buzzards had already warned him to expect. he moved toward it very carefully, in order not to obliterate any footprints. the body lay face down in a huddled heap, one hand with outstretched finger reaching forth like a sign-post. a bullet-hole in the back of the head showed how the man had come to his death. he had been shot from behind. the ranger turned the body and recognized it as that of rutherford wadley. the face was crushed and one of the arms broken. it was an easy guess that the murder had been done on the butte above and the body flung down. jack, on all fours, began to quarter over the ground like a bloodhound seeking a trail. every sense in him seemed to quicken to the hunt. his alert eyes narrowed in concentration. his fingertips, as he crept forward, touched the sand soft as velvet. his body was tense as a coiled spring. no cougar stalking its prey could have been more lithely wary. for the ranger had found a faint boot-track, and with amazing pains he was following this delible record of guilt. some one had come here and looked at the dead body. why? to make sure that the victim was quite dead? to identify the victim? roberts did not know why, but he meant to find out. the footprint was alone. apparently none led to it or led from it. on that one impressionable spot alone had been written the signature of a man's presence. but "tex" roberts was not an old plainsman for nothing. he knew that if he were patient enough he would find other marks of betrayal. he found a second track--a third, and from them determined a course to follow. it brought him to a stretch of soft ground at the edge of a wash. the footprints here were sharp and distinct. they led up an arroyo to the bluff above. the ranger knelt dose to the most distinct print and studied it for a long time. all its details and peculiarities were recorded in his mind. the broken sole, the worn heel, the beveled edge of the toe-cap--all these fastened themselves in his memory. with a tape-line he measured minutely the length of the whole foot, of the sole and of the heel. these he jotted down in his notebook, together with cross-sections of width. he duplicated this process with the best print he could find of the left foot. his investigation led him next to the summit of the bluff. a little stain of blood on a rock showed him where wadley had probably been standing when he was shot. the murder might have been done by treachery on the part of one of his companions. if so, probably the bullet had been fired from a revolver. in that case the man who did it would have made sure by standing close behind his victim. this would have left powder-marks, and there had been none around the wound. the chances were that the shooting had been done from ambush, and if this was a true guess, it was a fair deduction that the assassin had hidden behind the point of rocks just back of the bluff. for he could reach that point by following the rim-rock without being seen by his victim. roberts next studied the ground just back of the point of rocks. the soil here was of disintegrated granite, so that there were no footprints to betray anybody who might have been hidden there. but jack picked up something that was in its way as decisive as what he had been seeking. it was a cartridge that had been ejected from a ' [ ] rifle. the harmless bit of metal in his hand was the receptacle from which death had flashed across the open toward ford wadley. at the foot of the rim-rock the ranger found signs where horses had been left. he could not at first make sure whether there were three or four. from that spot he back-tracked for miles along the edge of the rim-rock till he came to the night-camp where wadley had met the outlaws. this, too, he studied for a long time. he had learned a good deal, but he did not know why ford wadley had been shot. the young fellow had not been in texas more than six or eight months, and he could not have made many enemies. if he had nothing about him worth stealing--and in west texas men were not in the habit of carrying valuables--the object could not have been robbery. he rode back to battle butte and carried to town with him the body of the murdered man. there he heard two bits of news, either of which might serve as a cause for the murder: young wadley had quarreled with tony alviro at a dance and grossly insulted him; arthur ridley had been robbed of six thousand dollars by masked men while on his way to tascosa. ranger roberts decided that he would like to have a talk with tony. [footnote : the ' rifle was not a seventy-three-caliber weapon, but was named from the year it was got out. its cartridges could be used for a forty-four revolver.] chapter x "a damned poor apology for a man" the big cattleman from new mexico who was talking with the owner of the a t o threw his leg across the arm of the chair. "the grass is good on the pecos this year. up in mexico[ ] the cattle look fine." "same here," agreed wadley. "i'm puttin' ten thousand yearlin's on the canadian." a barefoot negro boy appeared at his elbow with a note. the owner of the a t o ripped open the envelope and read: dear mr. wadley: i was held up last night by masked men and robbed. they took the gold. i'm too sick to go farther. arthur ridley. the jaw of the texas cattleman clamped. he rose abruptly. "i got business on hand. a messenger of mine has been robbed of six thousand dollars." he turned to the colored boy. "where's the man who gave you this?" "at the buffalo corral, sah." wadley strode from the hotel, flung himself on a horse, and galloped down the street toward the corral. young ridley was lying on a pile of hay when his employer entered. his heart was sick with fear and worry. for he knew now that his lack of boldness had led him into a serious mistake. he had by his indecision put himself in the power of moore, and the chances were that the man was in collusion with the gang that had held him up. he had made another mistake in not going directly to wadley with the news. the truth was that he had not the nerve to face his employer. it was quite on the cards that the old-timer might use a blacksnake whip on him. so he had taken refuge in a plea of illness. the cattleman took one look at him and understood. he reached down and jerked the young fellow from the hay as if he had been a child. the stomach muscles of the boy contracted with fear and the heart died within him. clint wadley in anger was dangerous. in his youth he had been a gun-fighter and the habit had never entirely been broken. "i--i'm ill," the young fellow pleaded. "you'll be sure enough ill if you don't watch out. i'll gamble on that. onload yore tale like shot off'n a shovel. quit yore whinin'. i got no time for it." arthur told his story. the cattleman fired at him crisp, keen questions. he dragged from the trembling youth the when, where, and how of the robbery. what kind of pilgrim was this fellow moore? was he tall? short? dark? bearded? young? old? what were the masked men like? did they use any names? did he see their horses? which way did they go? the messenger made lame answers. mostly he could only say, "i don't know." "you're a damned poor apology for a man--not worth the powder to blow you up. you hadn't the sand to fight for the money entrusted to you, nor the nerve to face me after you had lost it. get out of here. _vamos!_ don't ever let me hear yore smooth, glib tongue again." the words of wadley stung like hail. arthur was thin-skinned; he wanted the good opinion of all those with whom he came in contact, and especially that of this man. like a whipped cur he crept away and hid himself in the barn loft, alone with his soul-wounds. from its window he watched the swift bustle of preparation for the pursuit. wadley himself, big and vigorous to the last masculine inch of him, was the dominant figure. he gave curt orders to the members of the posse, arranged for supplies to be forwarded to a given point, and outlined plans of action. in the late afternoon the boy in the loft saw them ride away, a dozen lean, long-bodied men armed to the limit. with all his heart the watcher wished he could be like one of them, ready for any emergency that the rough-and-tumble life of the frontier might develop. in every fiber of his jarred being he was sore. he despised himself for his failure to measure up to the standard of manhood demanded of him by his environment. twice now he had failed. the memory of his first failure still scorched his soul. during ghastly hours of many nights he had lived over that moment when he had shown the white feather before ramona wadley. he had run for his life and left her alone to face a charging bull. it was no excuse to plead with himself that he could have done nothing for her if he had stayed. at least he could have pushed her to one side and put himself in the path of the enraged animal. the loss of the money was different. it had been due not wholly to lack of nerve, but in part at least to bad judgment. surely there was something to be said for his inexperience. wadley ought not to have sent him alone on such an errand, though of course he had sent him because he was the last man anybody was likely to suspect of carrying treasure.... late that night ridley crept out, bought supplies, saddled his horse, and slipped into the wilderness. he was still writhing with self- contempt. there was a futile longing in his soul for oblivion to blot out his misery. [footnote : in western texas when one speaks of mexico he means new mexico. if he refers to the country mexico, he says old mexico.] chapter xi one to four through the great gray desert with its freakish effects of erosion a rider had moved steadily in the hours of star-strewn darkness. he had crossed the boundary of that no man's land which ran as a neutral strip between texas and its neighbor and was claimed by each. since the courts had as yet recognized the rights of neither litigant there was properly no state jurisdiction here. therefore those at outs with the law fled to this strip and claimed immunity. in the panhandle itself law was a variable quantity. its counties had been laid out and named, but not organized. for judicial purposes they were attached to wheeler county. even the rangers did not pretend to police this district. when they wanted a man they went in and got him. the rider swung at last from his saddle and dropped the bridle reins to the ground. he crept forward to some long, flat sheep-sheds that bulked dimly in the night shadows. farther back, he could just make out the ghost of a dwelling-hut. beyond that, he knew, was a mexican village of three or four houses. a windmill reared its gaunt frame in the corral. a long trough was supplied by it with water for the sheep. the night-rider dipped a bucket of water from the tank that fed the trough. he carried it to the gate of the corral and poured it slowly into the fine dust made by the sharp feet of the sheep, mixing the water and dust to a thick paste with the end of an old branding-iron. he brought bucket after bucket of water until he had prepared a bed of smooth mud of the proper consistency. before he had quite finished his preparation a dog inside the adobe hut began to bark violently. the interloper slipped over the fence and retreated to the darkness of the _barranca_. from the direction of the hut men poured. the one crouching in the chaparral heard voices. he made out a snatch or two of talk in spanish. the men were explaining to themselves that the dog must have been barking at a wolf or a coyote. presently they trooped back into the house. silence fell again over the night. the man in the chaparral once more crept forward and climbed the fence. he made straight for the entrance of the corral. carefully he examined the footprints written in the bed of mud he had prepared. one after another he studied them. some had been crossed out or blotted by subsequent prints, but a few were perfect. one of these he scrutinized for a long time, measuring its dimensions with a tape-line from toe to heel, across the ball of the foot, the instep, and the heel. when at last he straightened up his eyes were shining with satisfaction. he had found what he wanted. once more the dog was uneasy with growlings. the man retreated from the corral, returned to his horse, and rode away across the mesa. a quarter of an hour later he unsaddled, hobbled his horse, and rolled up in a blanket. immediately he fell into sound sleep. it was broad day when he wakened. the young morning sun bathed him in warmth. he lighted a fire of mesquite and boiled coffee. in his frying- pan he cooked flapjacks, after he had heated the jerked beef which he carried in his saddlebags. when he had eaten, he washed his pan with clean, fine sand, repacked his supplies, and rode forward past the sheep-corral to the village. in front of a mud-and-log _tendejón_ two mexicans lounged. they watched him with silent hostility as he dismounted, tied his horse to a snubbing-post worn shiny as a razor-strap, and sauntered into the _tendejón_. this stranger wore the broad-rimmed felt hat and the buckskin suit of a ranger, and none of that force was welcome here. back of a flimsy counter was a shelf upon which were half a dozen bottles and some glasses. one could buy here mescal, american whiskey, and even wine of a sort. the owner of the place, a white man, was talking to a young mexican at the time the ranger entered. the proprietor looked hard at the ranger with dislike he did not try to veil. the mexican in front of the bar was a slim young man with quick eyes and an intelligent face. the ranger recognized him at once as tony alviro. "_buenos!_" the ranger said with the most casual of nods. "i've come to take you back with me, tony." the other two mexicans had followed the ranger into the room. the texan stood sideways at the end of the bar, quite at his ease, the right forearm resting on the counter lightly. not far from his fingers the butt of a revolver projected from a holster. in his attitude was no threat whatever, but decidedly a warning. the four men watched him steadily. "no, _señor_ roberts," answered alviro. "you can touch me not. i'm out of texas." "mebbeso, tony. but till i get further orders, this is texas for me. you're goin' back with me." rangers and outlaws held different views about this strip of land. to the latter it was a refuge; law ended at its border; they could not be touched here by state constabulary. but the ranger did not split hairs. he was law in the panhandle, and if the man he wanted fled to disputed territory the ranger went after him. "not so," argued alviro. "if you arrest me in texas, i say 'bad luck,' but i go wiz you. there you are an offizer, an' i am oblige' surrender. but in thees no man's land, we are man to man. i refuse." the lift of excitement was in the voice of the young mexican. he knew the record of the texas rangers. they took their men in dead or alive. this particular member of the force was an unusually tough nut to crack. in the heart of tony was the drench of a chill wave. he was no coward, but he knew he had no such unflawed nerve as this man. through his mind there ran a common laconic report handed in by rangers returning from an assignment--"killed while resisting arrest." alviro did not want ranger roberts to write that about him. "better not, alviro. i have a warrant for your arrest." the texan did not raise his voice. he made no movement to draw a gun. but to tony, fascinated by his hard, steel-gray eyes, came the certainty that he must go or fight. they were four to one against the ranger, but that would not make the least difference. in the curt alternative of this clean-jawed young officer was cold finality. the worried eyes of the fugitive referred to his companions. they had agreed to stand by him, and he knew that if it came to a fight they would. but he wanted more than that. his glance was an appeal for one of them to make his decision for him. the voice of the _tendejón_-keeper interjected itself smoothly. "you've played yore hand out, friend. we're four to one. you go back an' report nothin' doin'." roberts looked at the man, and a little shiver ran down the barkeeper's spine. "there won't be four of you when we get through arguin' this, _amigo_, if we ever start," the ranger suggested gently. the proprietor of the place dropped his hand to the butt of his gun. but he did not draw. some deep, wise instinct warned him to go slow. he knew the others would take their cue from him. if he threw down the gage of battle the room would instantly become a shambles. how many of them would again pass alive through the door nobody knew. he was a man who had fought often, but he could not quite bring himself to such a decision while those chilled-steel eyes bored into his. anyhow, the game was not worth the candle. "what is it you want tony for?" he temporized, playing for time and any chance that might arise. "for killin' rutherford wadley last month." "a mistake. tony has been here since the full of the moon." "oh, no. he was at the dance on tomichi creek. he tried to knife young wadley. he left the house right after him." "i left--_sí, señor_--but to come here," cried the accused man. "to follow wadley, tony. you jumped a camper that night an' didn't know it. he saw you." "wadley was a dog, but i did not kill him," alviro said gloomily. "that so? you were on the spot. you left tracks. i measured 'em. they were the same tracks you left out in the corral five hours ago." tony's eyes flashed with a sudden discovery. "the mud--you meex it to get my footprints." "you're a good guesser." alviro threw up his hands. "i was there. it iss true. but i did not kill the _gringo_ dog. i was too late." "you can tell me all about that on the way back." "if i go back they will hang me." "you'll get a fair trial." "by a _gringo_ jury before a _gringo_ judge." the tone of alviro was more than skeptical. it was bitter with the sense of racial injustice. "i can't argue that with you, tony. my business is to take you to tascosa. that's what i'm here for." the american behind the bar spoke again. "listens fine! he's a mexican, ain't he? they claim he killed a white man. well, then, the mob would take him from you an' lynch him sure." "the rangers don't give up their prisoners, my friend. they take 'em an' they keep 'em. you'd ought to know that." the _tendejón_-keeper flushed. he had been dragged to justice once by one of the force. the eyes of the four consulted again. they were still hesitant. the shame of letting this youth take from them their companion without a fight was like a burr under a saddle-blanket to a bronco. but after all, the ranger stood for law. if they killed him, other rangers would come to avenge his death. when men are in doubt the one who is sure dominates the situation. the eye of roberts carried the compulsion of a deadly weapon. his voice was crisp. "come here, tony," he ordered, and his fingers slipped into the pocket of his coat. alviro looked at him for a long second--swore to himself that he would not come--and came. "hold out yore hands." the mexican set his will to refuse. there was still time to elect to fight. he told himself that was what he was going to do. but he could not hold his own in that steady battle of the eyes. his hands moved forward--empty. a moment, and the ranger had slipped and fastened the handcuffs on his wrists. roberts had won. psychologically it was now too late for the others to resort to arms. the _tendejón_-keeper recognized this with a shrug that refused responsibility for the outcome. after all, tony had made his own decision. he had chosen to take his chances in tascosa rather than on the spot with the ranger. "saddle tony's horse," ordered roberts, looking at one of the mexicans. the man growled something in his native tongue, but none the less he moved toward the corral. within a quarter of an hour the ranger and his prisoner were on their way. two days later roberts delivered his man to the deputy sheriff who had charge of the sod-house jail in the little town. "there's a message here for you from cap ellison," the deputy said. "he wants you to go to clarendon. says you were to jog on down soon as you show up here." "all right, snark." he rode down next day, changed horses at the halfway station, and reached clarendon early in the morning. ellison had been called to mobeetie, but left instructions for him to await his return. the semi-weekly stage brought two days later a letter, to captain ellison from snark. jack roberts, obeying office instructions, opened the mail. the letter said: dere cap, they are aiming to lynch that mexican roberts brought in. the dinsmore outfit is stirring up the town. send a company of your rangers, for god's sake, quick. respectably yours jim snark jack roberts was the only ranger in town. he glanced at the clock. there was just time to catch the stage to tascosa. he reached for his guns and his hat. chapter xii tex rearranges the seating the tascosa stage was full. its passengers were "packed like yanks at libby prison," according to one of them, an ex-confederate who had drifted west after the war. they were of the varied types common to the old southwest--a drover, a cattle-buyer, a cowpuncher looking for a job, a smart salesman from st. louis, and one young woman. beside the driver on the box sat a long-bodied man in buckskin with a clean brown jaw and an alert, sardonic eye. the salesman, a smooth, good-looking fellow whose eye instinctively rested on attractive women, made inquiries of joe johnson's old trooper. "who's the damsel?" "which?" "the girl. she's a pippin." his possessive eye gloated on the young woman in front. "she didn't learn how to dress in this neck of the woods, either. betcha she's from new orleans or st. louis." the old warrior helped himself to a chew of tobacco. "you lose. she's clint wadley's daughter, an' he's an old-timer. knocked the bark off'n this country, clint did. i used to know him when he was takin' the hides off the buffaloes. got his start that way, i reckon. clint's outfit got six thousand tongues in six months oncet. pickled the tongues an' sold 'em for three cents apiece, by gum. delivered the hides at clarendon for one-fifty straight on contract." "i've heard of wadley," the salesman said. "what's the kid going to tascosa for?" "goin' to stay awhile with her aunt, i 'low. her brother was killed recent." "i've heard about that, too. they caught the fellow, didn't they--the one that did it?" "they got a mexican jailed for it. i dunno whether he done it or not. that young ranger on the box run him down." "that kid in buckskin?" sneered the city man. the ex-confederate bristled at the tone rather than the words. he happened to be a friend of the youth mentioned. "i'll follow jack's dust any day of the week. he's one hell-poppin' rooster. no better man rides leather. when i druv a wagon oncet gatherin' bones--" "gathering bones?" "sure--buffalo-bones, for fertilizer. well, that same jack roberts yanked me out o' the canadian when i was drowndin'. took a big chance, too." "what about this mexican? are they going to hang him?" "i reckon. he's in a soddy up at tascosa. i done heard they're aimin' to tear it down and hang him to a wagon-tongue."[ ] the black-haired traveling man caressed his little mustache and watched the girl boldly. her face was a little wan, and in the deep eyes was shadowed a heartache. but it had been impossible even for grief to submerge the sweet youth in her. there were lights in her soft, wavy hair, and the line of her exquisite throat would have delighted a sculptor. the slim figure was exquisitely poised, though just now it suggested weariness. when the stage stopped at noon for dinner the salesman made it a point to sit beside her at the long table. his persistent attentions to the girl made the delicate color of her cheek deepen. she was too shy, too unused to the world, to know how to suppress his audacities effectively. but it was plain to one young man sitting at the opposite end of the table that the familiarities of the man were unwelcome. while they were waiting outside for the change-horses to be hitched, the ranger made a request of the old soldier. "wish you'd swap places with me, sam." "sure. i'd a heap ruther sit outside. say, that drummer hadn't ought to worry miss ramona. she's not feelin' very peart, anyhow. i reckon she set the world an' all by that scalawag brother of hers." "he's not goin' to trouble her any more, sam." the ex-confederate looked at the narrow-flanked young man with an alert question in his eye. if "tex" roberts was going to take a hand, the salesman was certainly riding for a fall. the salesman had made up his mind to sit beside miss wadley for the rest of the journey. he emerged from the dining-room at her heels and was beside her to offer a hand into the stage. ramona gave him a look of reproach and entreaty. she was near tears. the man from st. louis smiled confidently. "i know a good thing when i see it," he whispered. "i'll ride beside you and keep off the rough-necks, miss wadley." a heavy heel smashed down on the toes of his neat shoe and crunched round. a hard elbow bumped up forcefully against his chin as if by accident. a muscular hand caught the loose fat of his plump stomach and tightened like a vise. the dapper salesman opened his mouth in a shriek of pain. "indigestion?" asked the ranger sympathetically, and his sinewy fingers twisted in the cushion of flesh they gripped. "i'll get you somethin' good for it in a minute." roberts flung the man back and rearranged the seating inside so that the drover sat beside ramona as before dinner. then he tucked an arm under that of the st. louis man and led him back into the stage station. the salesman jerked along beside him unhappily. his wrist, wrenched by roberts in a steady pressure of well-trained muscles, hurt exquisitely. when at last he was flung helplessly into a chair, tears of pain and rage filled his eyes. never in the course of a cushioned and pampered life had he been so manhandled. "my god, you brute, you've killed me!" he sobbed. "sho! i haven't begun yet. if you take the stage to-day to tascosa i'm goin' to sit beside you real friendly, an' we'll play like we been doin' all the way in to town. it's just my way of bein' neighborly." "i'll have the law of you for this," the city man howled, uncertain which of his injuries to nurse first. "i would," agreed the texan. "well, so long, if you ain't comin'." roberts moved back with long, easy stride to the stage. he nodded to the driver. "all ready, hank. the drummer ain't feelin' well. he'll stay here overnight. i reckon i'll keep my own seat outside, sam." and roberts swung himself up. the old soldier climbed in, chuckling to himself. it had been the neatest piece of work he had ever seen. the big body of the cowboy had been between ramona and her tormentor, so that she did not know what had taken place. she did know, however, that the woman-killer had been obliterated swiftly from her path. "did you ever see anything like the way he got shet o' that drummer?" sam asked his neighbor in a whisper. "i'll bet that doggoned masher will be hard to find when jack's on the map. he's some go-getter boy, jack roberts is." meanwhile jack was flagellating himself. it was his bad luck always to be associated in the mind of miss wadley with violence. he had beaten up the brother whom she was now mourning. he had almost been the cause of her own death. now a third time she saw him in the role of a trouble-maker. to her, of course, he could be nothing but a bully and a bad lot. the least he could do was to make himself as inconspicuous as possible for the rest of the journey. man may shuffle the pack, but when all is done woman is likely to cut the cards. the driver stopped at tin cup creek to water the horses. to jack, sitting on the box, came the cattle-drover with orders. "the young lady has somethin' to say to you, tex. you're to swap seats with me." the lean, bronzed young man swung down. he had, when he wished, a wooden face that told no tales. it said nothing now of a tide of blood flushing his veins. by a little gesture the girl indicated the seat beside her. not till the creaking of the moving stage drowned her words did she speak. her eyes were dilated with excitement. "i overheard them talking in the back seat," she said. "they think there's going to be a lynching at tascosa--that the mob is going to hang the mexican who killed my brother. are you going to let them do it?" "not in this year of our lord, miss wadley," he answered evenly. "can you stop them?" "that's what i draw a dollar a day for." "you mustn't let them do it!" she cried, a little wildly. "let the law punish him!" "suits me. i'll try to persuade the boys to look at it that way." "but what can you do? you're only a boy." with a grim little smile he paraphrased roy bean's famous phrase: "i'm law east of the pecos right now, miss wadley. don't you worry. the dinsmores won't get him if i can help it." "i might speak to my father," she went on, thinking aloud. "but he's so bitter i'm afraid he won't do anything." "he will after i've talked with him." her anxious young eyes rested in his clear, steady gaze. there was something about this youth that compelled confidence. his broad-shouldered vigor, the virile strength so confidently reposeful, were expressions of personality rather than accidentals of physique. the road dipped suddenly into a deep wash that was almost a little gulch. there was a grinding of brakes, then a sudden lurch that threw ramona against the shoulder of the ranger. "the brake's done bust," she heard the ex-confederate say. another violent swing flung ramona outward. the horses were off the road, and the coach swayed ominously on two wheels. the girl caught at the ranger's hand and clung to it. gently he covered her hand with his other one, released his fingers, and put a strong arm round her shoulders. hank's whip snaked out across the backs of the wheelers. he flung at his horses a torrent of abuse. the stage reached the bottom of the wash in a succession of lurches. then, as suddenly as the danger had come upon them, it had passed; the stage was safely climbing the opposite side of the ravine. the ranger's arm slipped from the shoulders of the girl. her hand crept from under his. he did not look at her, but he knew that a shell-pink wave had washed into the wan face. the slim bosom of the girl rose and fell fast. already she was beginning to puzzle over the difficulties of a clear-cut right and wrong, to discover that no unshaded line of cleavage differentiates them sometimes. surely this young fellow could not be all bad. of course she did not like him. she was quite sure of that. he was known as a tough citizen. he had attacked and beaten brutally her brother rutherford--the wild brother whose dissipations she had wept and prayed over, and whose death she was now mourning. yet fate kept throwing him in her way to do her services. he had saved her life. he had adroitly--somehow, she did not quite know in what way--rid her of an offensive fellow traveler. she had just asked a favor of him, and there was yet another she must ask. ramona put off her request to the last moment. at tascosa she left her purse in the stage seat and discovered it after the coach had started to the barn. "my purse. i left it in the seat," she cried. the announcement was made to the world at large, but it was intended for a particular pair of ears set close to a small head of wavy, sun-reddened hair. the owner of them ran to the stage and recovered the purse. by the time he reached ramona, the rest of the party were inside the post-office. she thanked him, then looked at him quickly with an effect of shy daring. "you travel a good deal, don't you--about the country?" "considerable." "i--i wonder if--" she took courage from his friendly smile. "i'm worried about mr. ridley--for fear something has happened to him." "you mean an accident?" he asked gently. "i don't know." her cheeks flew color-signals of embarrassment. "my father was harsh to him. he's very sensitive. i feel--sort of responsible. he might do something foolish." "i don't reckon he will. but i'll sure keep an eye out for him." she gave him her little hand gratefully, then remembered what he had done to her brother and withdrew it hastily from his grip. in another moment she had passed into the post-office and left him alone. [footnote : there was no timber in the panhandle. the first man ever hanged in the short-grass country was suspended from a propped-up wagon-tongue.] chapter xiii "only one mob, ain't there?" after miss wadley had disappeared in the post-office a man touched roberts on the shoulder. "where are the rangers i sent for?" he asked. "here i am, snark." "you didn't come alone?" "captain ellison was out of town. the rest of the force was away on assignment. i couldn't reach any of 'em." the deputy sheriff broke out in excited annoyance. "all right! i wash my hands of it. they can lynch the mexican soon as they've a mind to. let 'em go to it. here i send for a company of rangers, an' one kid shows up. what in mexico can you do alone?" "i wouldn't say alone. you're here, snark." "i'm not goin' to lift a hand--not a hand." "sure it's necessary? what makes you think they're goin' to lynch alviro?" "they don't make any bones of it. everybody knows it. the dinsmore gang is in town stirrin' up feelin'. you might as well have stayed away. there's not a thing you can do." "i reckon mebbe we can figure a way to save tony," answered the ranger easily. the deputy voiced his impatience. "yore talk sounds plumb foolish to me. don't you get it? we're not dealin' with one or two men. half the town is in this thing." "i promised tony there would be nothin' of that sort." "you can't handle a mob all by yoreself, can you?" asked snark sarcastically. "there's only one of you, i reckon." the little flicker in the ranger's eye was not wholly amusement. "there's goin' to be only one mob, too, ain't there?" he drawled. "you can't slip him out unnoticed, if that's yore idee. they've got watchers round the jail," the deputy went on. "i shan't try." "then you'll let 'em hang him?" "oh, no!" "what in hell do you mean to do, then?" roberts told him, in part. the deputy shook his head vehemently. "can't be done. first place, you can't get wadley to do it. he won't lift a hand to stop this hangin'. second place, he couldn't stop it if he wanted to. folks in tascosa ain't a bit gun-shy, an' right now they've got their necks bowed. an' this dinsmore gang--they'll eat you alive if you get in their way." "mebbeso. you can't always be sure. i've got one card up my sleeve i haven't mentioned to you." "if you want my opinion--" the ranger cut him off short. "i don't, snark. not right now. i'm too busy to listen to it. i want to know just one thing of you. will you have the horses right where i want 'em when i want 'em?" "you're the doc," acknowledged the deputy grudgingly. "they'll be there, but just the same i think it's a fool play. you can't get away with it." jack asked a question. "where am i most likely to find wadley?" "at mcguffey's store. it's a block this-a-way and a block that-a-way." he indicated directions with his hand. wadley was not among those who sat on the porch of the general store known as mcguffey's emporium. he had just gone to his sister's house to meet his daughter ramona, of whose arrival he had received notice by a boy. roberts followed him. in answer to the ranger's "hello, the house!" the cattleman came out in his shirt-sleeves. jack cut straight to business. "i've come to see you about that mexican alviro, mr. wadley. is it true they're goin' to lynch him?" the hard eyes of the grizzled texan looked full at roberts. this young fellow was the one who had beaten his son and later had had the impudence to burn as a spill for a cigarette the hundred-dollar bill he had sent him. "whyfor do you ask me about it?" he demanded harshly. "because you've got to help me stop this thing." the cattleman laughed mirthlessly. "they can go as far as they like for me. suits me fine. hangin' is too good for him. that's all i've got to say." already he had refused the pleadings of his daughter, and he had no intention of letting this young scalawag change his mind. "are you sure this mexican is guilty--sure he's the man who killed yore son, mr. wadley?" "he's as guilty as hell." "i don't think it. hasn't it ever struck you as strange that yore son was killed an' yore messenger ridley held up the same night, an' that the two things happened not many miles from each other?" "of course it has. i'm no fool. what of it?" "i've always thought the same men did both." "young fellow, have you ever thought that ridley never was held up, that it was a fake robbery pulled off to deceive me? where is ridley? he lit out mighty sudden when he saw how i took it. he couldn't even tell me where the hold-up happened. i never did hit the trail of the robbers." "it wasn't a fake. i can prove that." "i'm here to be shown," said the cattleman skeptically. "but first about tony. it looks bad for him on the surface. i'll admit that. but--" "don't talk to me about my boy's murderer, roberts!" cried wadley, flushing angrily. "i'll not do a thing for him. i'll help those that aim to do justice on him." "he didn't kill yore son." "what! didn't you arrest him yoreself for it?" "when i arrested him, i didn't believe he had done it. i know it now. he's my star witness, an' i knew he would skip across the border if i let him out." "you can't convince me, but let's hear yore fairy tale. i got to listen, i reckon." jack told his story in few words. he explained what he had found at the scene of the murder and how he had picked up the trail of the three horsemen who had followed rutherford to the place of his death. he had back-tracked to the camp of the rendezvous at the rim-rock, and he had found there corroborative evidence of the statement tony alviro had made to him. "what was it he told you, and what did you find?" the big cattleman looked at him with a suspicion that was akin to hostility. his son had been a ne'er-do-well. in his heart wadley was not sure he had not been worse. but he was ready to fight at the drop of the hat any man who dared suggest it. he did not want to listen to any evidence that would lead him to believe ill of the son who had gone wrong. "tony admits all the evidence against him. he did follow rutherford intendin' to kill him. but when he saw yore son strike straight across country to the cap-rock, he trailed him to see where he was goin'. alviro had heard stories." "you can't tell me anything against my boy. i won't stand for it," broke out the tortured father. the ranger looked straight at him. "i'm goin' to tell you no harm of him except that he kept bad company," he said gently. "i reckon you know that already." "go on," commanded the father hoarsely. "tony followed him to the rim-rock, an' on the way they jumped up the camper, though alviro did not know it. at the rim-rock rutherford met two men. presently another man joined them." "who were they?" "alviro isn't dead sure. he climbed up to a rock bluff back of them, but it was still dark an' he couldn't make them out. pretty soon rutherford found out they had a sack of gold. he must have found out where they got it, too." underneath the deep tan of his cheeks the old-timer whitened. "so you're tryin' to tell me that my boy was one of the gang that robbed my messenger! an' you're askin' me to believe it on the word of a greaser with a rope around his neck. is that it?" "no. they had a quarrel, but yore son bluffed 'em out. they gave the gold to him. he saddled an' rode away with it. on his way back to town he was murdered. so he never got a chance to turn it back to you." the father of the man who had been killed drew a long, sobbing breath of relief. his clenched fists slowly opened. "tony saw all this, did he?" "not all of it. day was comin' on, an' he couldn't follow rutherford right away. before he got goin' the three men saddled. they trailed along after yore son, an' tony a mile or so behind 'em. after awhile he heard a shot. he took his time investigatin', because he didn't want to stop any bullets himself. at the foot of battle butte he found rutherford. he had been shot from behind an' flung over the bluff." the face of the cattleman twitched. "if i can lay my hands on the man or men that did it--" "mebbe you can, if you'll give me time. i checked up tony's story, an' everywhere there was evidence to back it. he had no rifle with him, but i picked up a shell back of some rocks a hundred yards from where yore son must have been standin' when he was shot. the shell came from a ' . i back-tracked to the night-camp, an' it was just like tony had said. four men had been there. one left before the others. you could see the signs where they had trailed him. once or twice they missed his tracks an' found 'em again. same way with the single man followin' them. he had taken short-cuts too. sometimes he blotted out the hoofprints of the three in front, so i know he was not ahead of 'em." "you think the dinsmores did this, jack?" "i want more evidence before i say so publicly. but tony didn't. here's another point in his favor. if tony shot him on the bluff an' flung the body over, why did he have to go down below an' look at it? no need a-tall of that. no; tony went down to make sure who it was that had been killed. soon as he knew that he guessed he would be accused of it, an' he lit out for no man's land. i found him there three weeks later." the cattleman apologized after a fashion for some hard things he had said and thought about his former employee. "i don't spend any of my time likin' yore style, roberts. you're too high-heeled for me. but i'll say this for you: ellison picked a good man when he got you. you're a straight-up rider, an' you'll do to take along. what's yore programme?" he told it. the cattleman looked at him with increased respect. he gave a short, barking laugh. "if it was anybody else i'd say it was crazy, but you're such a doggoned hellion of a go-getter mebbe you can put it over." "looks to me like a good bet," said roberts mildly. "well, i an' my friends will be right there if we're needed. i'll see you through. can't afford to have my best witness strung up to a wagon-tongue yet awhile." they talked over the details; then the ranger started for the jail, and the cattleman breezed around to give a little tip to some reliable friends. wadley was quite of a mind with roberts. there was going to be no lynching at tascosa if he could help it. chapter xiv jack serves notice jack roberts liked to get his information first hand. on his way to the jail he deflected, passed up the wide, dusty main street, and stopped at a log "hogan" made of _bois d'arc_ timber and cedar from the brakes. across the front of it was printed roughly a sign: the silver dollar the ranger took a little hitch at his guns to make sure they would slide easily from the holsters in case of need, then strolled into the saloon, a picture of negligent indifference. a tall man, lank as a shad, was master of ceremonies. steve gurley was in high feather. he was treating the crowd and was availing himself of his privilege as host to do the bulk of the talking. his theme was the righteousness of mob law, with particular application to the case of tony alviro. he talked loudly, as befits one who is a leader of public opinion. some wandering of attention in his audience brought him to a pause. he turned, to see the ranger leaning indolently against the door-jamb. jack was smiling in the manner of one quietly amused. "who invited you here?" demanded gurley, taken aback, but unwilling to show it. "me, i just dropped in to hear yore big talk. reminds me of old geronimo. like you, he gets all filled up with words about every so often and has to steam off. go ahead, gurley. don't let me interrupt you. make heap oration." but gurley's fluency was gone. his cross-eyed glance slid round the room to take stock of his backers. was this fellow roberts alone, or had he a dozen rangers in town with him? he decided to bluff, though with no very great confidence. for into the picture had walked a man, a personality, dynamic and forceful. the outlaw had seen him in action once, and he had been on that occasion as easy to handle as a cageful of panthers. "come to see the hangin', have you, mr. ranger?" "is there goin' to be a hangin'?" "you betcha--to-night! git around early, an' you can have a front seat." gurley added a word of explanation. "no greaser can git biggity an' shoot up our friends without hangin' from the end of a wagon-tongue _pronto_." "we'll see what a judge an' jury say about it," suggested the ranger mildly. "that so? no brindle-thatched guy in buckskin can interfere without sleepin' in smoke. understand?" the long, sallow man nervously stroked his hair, which was flattened down on his forehead in a semicircle in the absurd fashion of the day. "don't pull on yore picket-pin, gurley," observed roberts. "what i say goes. there's goin' to be no hangin' till the courts say so." a man had come into the saloon by the back door. he was a heavy-set, slouchy man in jeans, broad-shouldered and bowlegged. he laughed grimly. "i don't reckon you can put that over on folks of the short-grass country, young fellow, me lad. we grow man-size, an' i don't expect we'll ask yore say-so when we're ready for business." pete dinsmore had the advantage of his colleague. he knew that roberts was the only ranger in town. also he was of tougher stuff. the leader of the dinsmore gang would go through. into the gray-blue eye of the young man came a look that chilled. "dinsmore, i'm not here to get into a rookus with you. but i'll serve notice on you right now to keep yore mind off alviro. he's in the hands of the texas rangers. you know what that means." dinsmore met the warning with a sneer. "i was hittin' my heels on this range when you was knee-high to a duck, kid. don't make a mistake. folks don't make 'em with me twice." he thrust the head on his bull neck forward and dropped a hand to the gun by his side. the ranger shook his head. "not just now, pete. you're a bad _hombre_; i know that. some day we're liable to tangle. but it will be in the way of business. while i'm workin' for the state i've got no private feuds." jack turned and walked out of the place as casually as he had entered. he knew now that snark was right. tascosa meant to hang the mexican within a few hours. evidently tony had heard the news. he looked up with quick apprehension when snark opened the door of his cell to admit the ranger. "you promise' me fair trial, _señor_. yet to-day they mean to hang me. not so?" he cried. the young mexican was sweating drops of fear. "that's why i'm here, tony," answered jack cheerfully. "the hangin' programme won't go through if you do exactly as i say. i'll stand by you. they'll not get you unless they get me. is that fair?" confidence is born of confidence. alviro felt himself buttressed by the quiet strength of this vigorous youth. broader shoulders than his had assumed the responsibility. "what is it that i am to do?" he asked, his liquid eyes filled with the dumb worship of a dog. "you're to walk right beside me. no matter how the crowd presses--no matter what it does--stick right there. if you try to run, you're gone. i can't save you. understand?" "_sí, señor._" roberts looked at his watch. "'most time for the fireworks to begin. you'll wait here till i come back, tony. i'm goin' to give a little exhibition first. be with you _pronto_." little beads of sweat gathered again on the forehead of the prisoner. the palms of his hands were hot and moist. he glanced nervously out of the window. ten minutes before there had been a few lookouts in sight; now there were a hundred men or more. the mob was beginning to gather for the storming of the sod-house. soon the affairs of tony alviro would reach a crisis. "i--i'll nev' get out alive," said the mexican in a dry whisper. the ranger grinned at him. "don't worry. if the luck breaks right we'll camp to-night under the stars. if it doesn't they'll bury us both, tony." in that smile was life for alviro. it expressed a soul unperturbed, ready for anything that might come up. with this man beside him tony felt courage flowing back into his heart. chapter xv a close shave the ranger opened the door of the "soddy," stepped through, and closed it behind him. jeers, threats, bits of advice greeted him from those in front of the jail. "better p'int for the hills, mr. ranger." ... "a whole passel of sheriffs can't save the greaser." ... "don't you-all try an' stop us if you know what's good for you." ... "skedaddle while yore skin's whole." ... "it's the mexican, anyhow; it's him an' you too, if you show fight." the lean-flanked young ranger looked them over coolly. men were coming in driblets from the main street. already perhaps there were a hundred and fifty men and boys in sight. they were the advance guard of the gathering mob. never in his gusty lifetime had jack roberts been more master of himself. he had that rare temperament which warms to danger. he stood there bareheaded, his crisp, curly bronze hair reflecting the glow of the setting sun, one hand thrust carelessly into his trousers pocket. "give up yore prisoner, an' we won't hurt you. we got nothin' against you," a voice cried. jack did not answer. his left hand came out of the pocket bringing with it half a dozen silver dollars. simultaneously the nose of his revolver flashed into sight. a dollar went up into the air. the revolver cracked. the coin, struck by the bullet in its descent, was flung aside at an angle. dollar after dollar went up and was hurled from its course as the weapon barked. out of six shots the ranger missed only one. it was marvelous marksmanship, but it did not in the least cow those who saw the exhibition. they were frontiersmen themselves, many of them crack shots, and they knew that one man could do nothing against several hundred. their taunts followed roberts as he stepped back into the sod-house. jack reloaded his revolver and joined the mexican. "all ready, tony. we're off soon as i've put the cuffs on you," he said briskly. "don' handcuff me, _señor_. give me a gun an' a chance for my life," begged alviro. he was trembling like an aspen leaf in a summer breeze. the ranger shook his head. "no, tony. if you weren't wearin' cuffs they'd think i meant to turn you loose. you wouldn't have a chance. i'm the law, an' you're my prisoner. that's goin' to help pull us through. brace up, boy. i've got an ace up my sleeve you don't know about." a minute later a great yell of triumph rose in the air. the door of the sod-house had opened, and the ranger and his prisoner stood in front of it. the mob pushed closer, uncertain as to what its next move would be. had roberts brought out the mexican with the intention of making a merely formal resistance? pete dinsmore, just arrived on the scene at the head of a group from the saloons, shouldered his way to the front. "we'll take care of yore prisoner now, mr. ranger. much obliged for savin' us the trouble of tearin' down the soddy," he called jubilantly. "you got more sense an' less grit than i figured you had," jeered gurley. "now light a shuck back to mobeetie an' write a report on it." roberts waited, silent and motionless, for the tumult to die. only his eyes and his brain were active. homer dinsmore was in the crowd, well to the front. so were jumbo wilkins, clint wadley, and half a dozen other line-riders and cowmen, all grouped together to the left. fifty yards back of them a group of saddled horses waited. the shouting spent itself. the motionless figure beside the pallid mexican excited curiosity. did he mean to give up his prisoner without a fight? that was not the usual habit of the texas ranger. with his left hand jack drew from a coat-pocket some dark sticks a few inches long. a second time his six-shooter leaped from its scabbard. "look out for his cutter!"[ ] yelled gurley. the voice of wadley boomed out harsh and strong, so that every man present heard what he said. "gad, he's got dynamite!" the revolvers of the two dinsmores were already out. they had moved forward a step or two, crouching warily, eyes narrowed and steady. if this brash young ranger wanted a fight he could have it on the jump. but at wadley's shout they stopped abruptly. the owner of the a t o was right. the fool officer had several sticks of dynamite in his hand tied together loosely by a string. the crowd had been edging forward. there was no break in it now, but one could see a kind of uneasy ripple, almost as though it held its mob breath tensely and waited to see what was to come. "he's got no fuse!" screamed gurley. "here's my fuse," retorted the ranger. he held up his revolver so that all could see. "i'm goin' to fling this dynamite at the first man who tries to stop me an' hit it while it's in the air close to his head. come on, tony. we're on our way." he moved slowly forward. the dinsmores stood fast, but the crowd sagged. as the ranger got closer there was a sudden break. men began to scramble for safety. "look out, dinsmore," an excited voice cried. it belonged to jumbo wilkins. "he'll blow you to hell an' back." both of the dinsmores had a reputation for gameness in a country where the ordinary citizen was of proved courage. with revolvers or rifles they would have fought against odds, had done it more than once. but dynamite was a weapon to which they were not used. it carried with it the terror of an instant death which would leave them no chance to strike back. very slowly at first, a step at a time, they gave ground. roberts, as he moved with his prisoner, edged toward wadley and his group. he knew he had won, that the big cattleman and his friends would close behind him in apparent slow pursuit, so adroitly as to form a shield between him and the mob and thus prevent a rifle-shot from cutting him down. the horses were in sight scarce half a hundred yards away. and in the moment of victory he shaved disaster. from the right there came the pad of light, running feet and the rustle of skirts. "goddlemighty, it's 'mona!" cried wadley, aghast. it was. ramona had known that something was in the air when the ranger and her father held their conference in front of the house. her aunt had commented on the fact that clint had taken from the wall a sawed-off shotgun he sometimes carried by his saddle. the girl had waited, desperately anxious, until she could stand suspense no longer. bareheaded, she had slipped out of the house and hurried toward the jail in time to see the ranger facing alone an angry mob. without thought of danger to herself she had run forward to join him. homer dinsmore gave a whoop of triumph and rushed forward. the ranger could not play with dynamite when the life of wadley's daughter was at stake. his brother, gurley, a dozen others, came close at his heels, just behind ramona. the ranger dropped the black sticks into his pocket and backed away, screening his prisoner as he did so. the ex-confederate who had come up on the stage was standing beside wadley. he let out the old yell of his war days and plunged forward. the dinsmores bumped into the surprise of their lives. somehow the man upon whom they had almost laid clutches was out of reach. between him and them was a line of tough old-timers with drawn guns. the owner of the a t o handed his sawed-off shotgun to jumbo wilkins, caught ramona round the shoulders with one arm, and ran her hurriedly out of the danger-zone. joe johnston's old trooper pushed the end of his rifle urgently against homer dinsmore's ribs. "doggone it, don't be so rampageous! keep back ther! this gun's liable to go off." "what's ailin' you?" snarled gurley. "ain't you goin' to help us string up the mexican?" "no, steve. our intentions is otherwise," replied jumbo with a grin. "an' don't any of you-all come closeter. this sawed-off shotgun of clint's is loaded with buckshot, an' she spatters all over the state of texas." the little posse round the prisoner backed steadily to the left. not till they were almost at the horses did dinsmore's mob guess the intentions of the ranger. pete gave a howl of rage and let fly a bullet at alviro. before the sound of the shot had died away, the outlaw dropped his revolver with an oath. the accurate answering fire of roberts had broken his wrist. "no use, pete," growled his brother. "they've got the deadwood on us to-day. but i reckon there are other days comin'." homer dinsmore was right. the mob had melted away like a small snowbank in a hot sun. it was one thing to help lynch a defenseless mexican; it was quite another to face nine or ten determined men backing the law. scarce a score of the vigilantes remained, and most of them were looking for a chance to save their faces "without starting anything," as jumbo put it later. the lynching-party stood sullenly at a distance and watched the ranger, his prisoner, and three other men mount the horses. the rest of the posse covered the retreat of the horsemen. just before the riders left, jumbo asked a question that had been disturbing him. "say, tex, honest injun, would you 'a' fired off that dynamite if it had come to a showdown?" roberts laughed. he drew from his pocket the sticks, tossed them into the air, and took a quick shot with his revolver. for a moment not a soul in the posse nor one of dinsmore's watching vigilantes drew a breath. not one had time to move in self-defense. the bullet hit its mark. all present saw the little spasmodic jerk of the bundle in the air. but there was no explosion. the dynamite fell harmlessly to the ground. the old confederate stepped forward and picked up the bundle. he examined it curiously, then let out a whoop of joyous mirth. "nothin' but painted sticks! son, you're sure a jim-dandy! take off yore hats, boys, to the man that ran a bluff on the dinsmore outfit an' made a pair of deuces stick against a royal flush." he tossed the bits of wood across to pete dinsmore, who caught the bundle and looked down at it with a sinister face of evil. this boy had out-maneuvered, outgamed, and outshot him. dinsmore was a terror in the land, a bad-man known and feared widely. mothers, when they wanted to frighten their children, warned them to behave, or the dinsmore gang would get them. law officers let these outlaws alone on one pretext or another. but lately a company of the texas rangers had moved up into the panhandle. this young cub had not only thrown down the gauntlet to him; he had wounded him, thwarted him, laughed at him, and made a fool of him. the prestige he had built up so carefully was shaken. the black eyes of the outlaw blazed in their deep sockets. "by god, young fellow, it's you or me next time we meet. i'll learn you that no scrub ranger can cross pete dinsmore an' get away with it. this ain't the first time you've run on the rope with me. i've had more 'n plenty of you." the riders were moving away, but jack roberts turned in the saddle, one hand on the rump of the bronco. "it won't be the last time either, dinsmore. you look like any other cheap cow-thief to me. the rangers are going to bring law to this country. tell yore friends they'll live longer if they turn honest men." the ranger put spurs to his horse and galloped after his posse. [footnote : in the early days in texas a revolver was sometimes called a "cutter."] chapter xvi wadley goes home in a buckboard clint wadley took his daughter to the end of the street where his sister lived, blowing her up like a dutch uncle every foot of the way. the thing she had done had violated his sense of the proprieties and he did not hesitate to tell her so. he was the more unrestrained in his scolding because for a few moments his heart had stood still at the danger in which she had placed herself. "if you was just a little younger i'd sure enough paddle you. haven't you been brought up a-tall? did you grow up like topsy, without any folks? don't you know better than to mix up in men's affairs an' git yoreself talked about?" he spluttered. ramona hung her head and accepted his reproaches humbly. it was easy for her to believe that she had been immodest and forward in her solicitude. probably mr. roberts--and everybody else, for that matter--thought she could not be a nice girl, since she had been so silly. "you go home an' stay there," continued clint severely. "don't you poke yore head outside the door till i come back. i'll not have you traipsing around this-a-way. hear me, honey?" "yes, dad," she murmured through the tears that were beginning to come. "i reckon, when it comes to standin' off a crowd o' hoodlums, i don't need any help from a half-grown little squab like you. i been too easy on you. that's what ails you." ramona had not a word to say for herself. she crept into the house and up to her room, flung herself on the bed and burst into a passion of weeping. why had she made such an exhibition of herself? she was ashamed in every fiber of her being. not only had she disgraced herself, but also her father and her aunt. meanwhile her father was on his way back downtown. in spite of his years the cattleman was hot-headed. he had something to say to pete dinsmore. if it led to trouble wadley would be more than content, for he believed now that the dinsmore gang--or some one of them acting in behalf of all--had murdered his son, and he would not rest easy until he had avenged the boy. the dinsmores were not at the silver dollar nor at the bird cage. a lounger at the bar of the latter told the owner of the a t o that they had gone to the corral for their horses. he had heard them say they were going to leave town. the cattleman followed them to the corral they frequented. pete dinsmore was saddling his horse in front of the stable. the others were not in sight, but a stable boy in ragged jeans was working over some harness near the door. dinsmore sulkily watched wadley approach. he was in a sour and sullen rage. one of the privileges of a "bad-man" is to see others step softly and speak humbly in his presence. but to-day a young fellow scarcely out of his teens had made him look like a fool. until he had killed roberts, the chief of the outlaws would never be satisfied, nor would his prestige be what it had been. it had been the interference of wadley and his crowd that had saved the ranger from him, and he was ready to vent his anger on the cattleman if he found a good chance. the outlaw knew well enough that he could not afford to quarrel with the owner of the a t o. there was nothing to gain by it and everything to lose, for even if the cattleman should be killed in a fair fight, the rangers would eventually either shoot the dinsmores or run them out of the country. but pete was beyond reason just now. he was like a man with a toothache who grinds on his sore molar in the intensity of his pain. "i've come to tell you somethin', dinsmore," said wadley harshly. "come to apologize for throwin' me down, i reckon. you needn't. i'm through with you." "i'm not through with you. what i want to say is that you're a dog. no, you're worse than any hound i ever knew; you're a yellow wolf." "what's that?" cried the bad-man, astounded. his uninjured hand crept to a revolver-butt. "i believe in my soul that you murdered my boy." "you're crazy, man--locoed sure enough. the mexican--" "is a witness against you. when you heard that he had followed ford that night, you got to worryin'. you didn't know how much he had seen. so you decided to play safe an' lynch him, you hellhound." "where did you dream that stuff, wadley?" demanded dinsmore, eyes narrowed wrathfully. "i didn't dream it, any more than i dreamed that you followed ford from the cap-rock where you hole up, an' shot him from behind at battle butte." "that's war talk, wadley. i've just got one word to say to it. you're a liar. come a-shootin', soon as you're ready." "that's now." the cattleman reached for his forty-five, but before he could draw, a shot rang out from the corral. wadley staggered forward a step or two and collapsed. pete did not relax his wariness. he knew that one of the gang had shot wadley, but he did not yet know how badly the man was hurt. from his place behind the horse he took a couple of left-handed shots across the saddle at the helpless man. the cattleman raised himself on an elbow, but fell back with a grunt. the position of dinsmore was an awkward one to fire from. without lifting his gaze from the victim, he edged slowly round the bronco. there was a shout of terror, a sudden rush of hurried feet. the stableboy had flung himself down on wadley in such a way as to protect the prostrate body with his own. "git away from there!" ordered the outlaw, his face distorted with the lust for blood that comes to the man-killer. "no. you've done enough harm. let him alone!" cried the boy wildly. the young fellow was gaunt and ragged. a thin beard straggled over the boyish face. the lips were bloodless, and the eyes filled with fear. but he made no move to scramble for safety. it was plain that in spite of his paralyzing horror he meant to stick where he was. dinsmore's lip curled cruelly. he hesitated. this boy was the only witness against him. why not make a clean job of it and wipe him out too? he fired--and missed; pete was not an expert left-hand shot. "look out, pete. men comin' down the road," called the other dinsmore from the gate of the corral. pete looked and saw two riders approaching. it was too late now to make sure of wadley or to silence the wrangler. he shoved his revolver back into its place and swung to the saddle. "was it you shot wadley?" he asked his brother. "yep, an none too soon. he was reachin' for his six-shooter." "the fool would have it. come, let's burn the wind out of here before a crowd gathers." gurley and a fourth man joined them. the four galloped down the road and disappeared in a cloud of white dust. a moment later jumbo wilkins descended heavily from his horse. quint sullivan, another rider for the a t o, was with him. the big line-rider knelt beside his employer and examined the wound. "hit once--in the side," he pronounced. "will--will he live?" asked the white-faced stableboy. "don't know. but he's a tough nut, clint is. he's liable to be cussin' out the boys again in a month or two." wadley opened his eyes. "you're damn' whistlin', jumbo. get me to my sister's." quint, a black-haired youth of twenty, gave a repressed whoop. "one li'l' bit of a lead pill can't faze the boss. they took four or five cracks at him an' didn't hit but once. that's plumb lucky." "it would 'a' been luckier if they hadn't hit him at all, quint," answered jumbo dryly. "you fork yore hawss, son, an' go git doc bridgman. an' you--whatever they call you, mr. hawss--rustler--harness a team to that buckboard." jumbo, with the expertness of an old-timer who had faced emergencies of this kind before, bound up the wound temporarily. the stable-rustler hitched a team, covered the bottom of the buckboard with hay, and helped wilkins lift the wounded man to it. clint grinned faintly at the white-faced boy beside him. a flicker of recognition lighted his eyes. "you look like you'd seen a ghost, ridley. close call for both of us, eh? lucky that ranger plugged dinsmore in the shootin' arm. pete's no two-gun man. can't shoot for sour apples with his left hand. kicked up dust all around us, an' didn't score once." "quit yore talkin', clint," ordered jumbo. "all right, doc." the cattleman turned to ridley. "run ahead, boy, an' prepare' mona so's she won't be scared plumb to death. tell her it's only a triflin' flesh-wound. keep her busy fixin' up a bed for me--an' bandages. don't let her worry. see?" ridley had come to town only two days before. ever since the robbery he had kept a lone camp on turkey creek. there was plenty of game for the shooting, and in that vast emptiness of space he could nurse his wounded self-respect. but he had run out of flour and salt. because tascosa was farther from the a t o ranch than clarendon he had chosen it as a point to buy supplies. the owner of the corral had offered him a job, and he had taken it. he had not supposed that ramona was within a hundred miles of the spot. the last thing in the world he wanted was to meet her, but there was no help for it now. her aunt carried to ramona the word that a man was waiting outside with a message from her father. when she came down the porch steps, there were still traces of tear-stains on her cheeks. in the gathering dusk she did not at first recognize the man at the gate. she moved forward doubtfully, a slip of a slender-limbed girl, full of the unstudied charm and grace of youth. halfway down the path she stopped, her heart beating a little faster. could this wan and ragged man with the unkempt beard be art ridley, always so careful of his clothes and his personal appearance? she was a child of impulse. her sympathy went out to him with a rush, and she streamed down the path to meet him. a strong, warm little hand pressed his. a flash of soft eyes irradiated him. on her lips was the tender smile that told him she was still his friend. "where in the world have you been?" she cried. "and what have you been doing to yourself?" his blood glowed at the sweetness of her generosity. "i've been--camping." with the shyness and the boldness of a child she pushed home her friendliness. "why don't you ever come to see a fellow any more?" he did not answer that, but plunged at his mission. "miss ramona, i've got bad news for you. your father has been hurt--not very badly, i think. he told me to tell you that the wound was only a slight one." 'mona went white to the lips. "how?" she whispered. "the dinsmores shot him. the men are bringing him here." he caught her in his arms as she reeled. for a moment her little head lay against his shoulder and her heart beat against his. "a trifling flesh-wound, your father called it," went on ridley. "he said you were to get a bed ready for him, and fix bandages." she steadied herself and beat back the wave of weakness that had swept over her. "yes," she said. "i'll tell aunt. have they sent for the doctor?" "quint sullivan went." a wagon creaked. 'mona flew into the house to tell her aunt, and out again to meet her father. her little ankles flashed down the road. agile as a boy, she climbed into the back of the buckboard. "oh, dad!" she cried in a broken little voice, and her arms went round him in a passion of love. he was hurt worse than he was willing to admit to her. "it's all right, honeybug. doc bridgman will fix me up fine. yore old dad is a mighty live sinner yet." ridley helped jumbo carry the cattleman into the house. as he came out, the doctor passed him going in. ridley slipped away in the gathering darkness and disappeared. chapter xvii old-timers as soon as captain ellison heard of what had happened at tascosa, he went over on the stage from mobeetie to look at the situation himself. he dropped in at once to see his old friends the wadleys. ramona opened the door to him. "uncle jim!" she cried, and promptly disappeared in his arms for a hug and a kiss. the ranger captain held her off and examined the lovely flushed face. "dog it, you get prettier every day you live. i wisht i was thirty years younger. i'd make some of these lads get a move on 'em." "i wish you were," she laughed. "they need some competition to make them look at me. none of them would have a chance then--even if they wanted it." "i believe that. i got to believe it to keep my self-respect. it's all the consolation we old-timers have got. how's clint?" "better. you should hear him swear under his breath because the doctor won't let him smoke more than two pipes a day, and because we won't let him eat whatever he wants to. he's worse than a sore bear," said ramona proudly. "lead me to him." a moment later the ranger and the cattleman were shaking hands. they had been partners in their youth, had fought side by side in the civil war, and had shot plains indians together at adobe walls a few years since. they were so close to each other that they could quarrel whenever they chose, which they frequently did. "how, old-timer!" exclaimed the ranger captain. "starved to death. they feed me nothin' but slops--soup an' gruel an' custard an' milk-toast. fine for a full-grown man, ain't it? jim, you go out an' get me a big steak an' cook it in boilin' grease on a camp-fire, an' i'll give you a deed to the a t o." "to-morrow, clint. the doc says--" "_mañana!_ that's what they all say. is this mexico or god's country? what i want, i want now." "you always did--an' you 'most always got it too," said ellison, his eyes twinkling reminiscently. 'mona shook a warning finger at her father. "well, he won't get it now. he'll behave, too, or he'll not get his pipe to-night." the sick man grinned. "see how she bullies a poor old man, jim. i'm worse than that lear fellow in the play--most henpecked father you ever did see." "will she let you talk?" "he may talk to you, uncle jim." "what did i tell you?" demanded the big cattleman from the bed with the mock bitterness that was a part of the fun they both enjoyed. "you see, i got to get her permission. i'm a slave." "that's what a nurse is for, clint. you want to be glad you got the sweetest one in texas." the captain patted ramona affectionately on the shoulder before he passed to the business of the day. "i want to know about all these ructions in tascosa. tell me the whole story." they told him. he listened in silence till they had finished, asked a question or two, and made one comment. "that boy roberts of mine is sure some go-getter." "he'll do," conceded the cattleman. "that lucky shot of his--the one that busted dinsmore's arm--certainly saved my life later." "lucky shot!" exploded ellison. "and you just through tellin' me how he plugged the dollars in the air! doggone it, i want you to know there was no darned luck about it! my boys are the best shots in texas." "i'll take any one of 'em on soon as i'm out--any time, any place, any mark," retorted wadley promptly. "i'll go you. roberts is a new man an' hasn't had much experience. i'll match him with you." "new man! h'mp! he's the best you've got, an' you know it." "i don't know whether he is, but he's good enough to make any old-timer like you look like a plugged nickel." the cattleman snorted again, disdaining an answer. "dad is the best shot in texas," pronounced ramona calmly, rallying to her father's support. for years she had been the umpire between the two. the captain threw up his hands. "i give up." "and mr. roberts is just about as good." "that's settled, then," said ellison. "but what i came to say is that i'm goin' to round up the dinsmore bunch. we can't convict 'em of murder on the evidence we have, but i'll arrest 'em for shootin' you an' try to get a confession out of one of 'em. does that look reasonable, clint?" wadley considered this. "it's worth a try-out. the dinsmores are game. they won't squeal. but i've a sneakin' notion gurley is yellow. he might come through--or that other fellow overstreet might. i don't know him. you want to be careful how you try to take that outfit, though, jim. they're dangerous as rattlesnakes." "that's the kind of outfit my boys eat up," answered the chipper little officer as he rose to leave. "well, so long, clint. behave proper, an' mebbe this young tyrant will give you a nice stick o' candy for a good boy." he went out chuckling. the cattleman snorted. "beats all how crazy jim is about those ranger boys of his. he thinks the sun rises an' sets by them. i want to tell you they've got to sleep on the trail a long time an' get up early in the mo'nin' to catch the dinsmores in bed. that bird pete always has one eye open. what's more, he an' his gang wear their guns low." "i don't think uncle jim ought to send boys like jack roberts out against such desperadoes. it's not fair," ramona said decisively. "oh, ain't it?" her father promptly switched to the other side. "you give me a bunch of boys like young roberts, an' i'd undertake to clean up this whole country, an' lincoln county too. he's a dead shot. he's an a- trailer. he can whip his weight in wildcats. he's got savvy. he uses his brains. an' he's game from the toes up. what more does a man need?" "i didn't know you liked him," his daughter said innocently. "like him? jumpin' snakes, no! he's too darned fresh to suit me. what's likin' him got to do with it? i'm just tellin' you that no better officer ever stood in shoe-leather." "oh, i see." ramona said no more. she asked herself no questions as to the reason, but she knew that her father's words of praise were sweet to hear. they sent a warm glow of pride through her heart. she wanted to think well of this red-haired ranger who trod the earth as though he were the heir of all the ages. in some strange way fate had linked his life with hers from that moment when he had literally flung himself in her path to fight a mad bull for her life. chapter xviii a shot out of the night ramona sat on the porch in the gathering darkness. she had been reading aloud to her father, but he had fallen asleep beside her in his big armchair. during these convalescent days he usually took a nap after dinner and after supper. he called it forty winks, but to an unprejudiced listener the voice of his slumber sounded like a sawmill in action. the gate clicked, and a man walked up the path. he did not know that the soft eyes of the girl, sitting in the porch shadows, lit with pleasure at sight of him. nothing in her voice or in her greeting told him so. he took off his hat and stood awkwardly with one booted foot on the lowest step. "i came to see mr. wadley," he presently explained, unaccountably short of small talk. she looked at her father and laughed. the saw was ripping through a series of knots in alternate crescendo and diminuendo. "shall i wake him? he likes to sleep after eating. i think it does him good." "don't you! i'll come some other time." "couldn't you wait a little? he doesn't usually sleep long." the girl suggested it hospitably. his embarrassment relieved any she might otherwise have felt. "i reckon not." at the end of that simple sentence he stuck, and because of it jack roberts blushed. it was absurd. there was no sense in it, he told himself. it never troubled him to meet men. he hadn't felt any shyness when there had been a chance to function in action for her. but now he was all feet and hands before this slip of a girl. was it because of that day when she had come flying between him and the guns of dinsmore's lynching-party? he wanted to thank her, to tell her how deeply grateful he had been for the thought that had inspired her impulse. instead of which he was, he did not forget to remind himself later, as expressive as a bump on a log. "have you seen anything of mr. ridley?" she asked. "no, miss. he saved yore father's life from pete dinsmore. i reckon you know that." "yes. i saw him for a moment. poor boy! i think he is worrying himself sick. if you meet him will you tell him that everything's all right. dad would like to see him." their voices had dropped a note in order not to waken her father. for the same reason she had come down the steps and was moving with him toward the gate. if jack had known how to say good-bye they would probably have parted at the fence, but he was not socially adequate for the business of turning his back gracefully on a young woman and walking away. as he backed from her he blurted out what was in his mind. "i gotta thank you for--for buttin' in the other day, miss ramona." she laughed, quite at her ease now. why is it that the most tender-hearted young women like to see big two-fisted men afraid of them? "oh, you thought i was buttin' in," she mocked, tilting a gay challenge of the eyes at him. "i roped the wrong word, miss. i--i thought--" what he thought was never a matter of record. she had followed him along the fence to complete his discomfiture and to enjoy her power to turn him from an efficient man into a bashful hobbledehoy. "father gave me an awful scolding. he said i didn't act like a lady." "he's 'way off," differed jack hotly. she shook her head. "no. you see i couldn't explain to everybody there that i did it for--for rutherford--because i didn't want anything so dreadful as that poor mexican's death on his account. dad said some of the men might think i did it--oh, just to be showing off," she finished untruthfully. "nobody would think that--nobody but a plumb idjit. i think you did fine." having explained satisfactorily that she had not interfered for his sake, there was really no occasion for ramona to linger. but jack had found his tongue at last and the minutes slipped away. a sound in the brush on the far side of the road brought the ranger to attention. it was the breaking of a twig. the foot that crushed it might belong to a cow or a horse. but roberts took no chances. if some one was lying in wait, it was probably to get him. "turn round an' walk to the house," he ordered the girl crisply. "sing 'swanee river' as you go. quick!" there was a note in his voice that called for obedience. ramona turned, a flurry of fear in her heart. she did not know what there was to be afraid of, but she was quite sure her companion had his reason. the words of the old plantation song trembled from her lips into the night. a dozen yards behind her jack followed, backing toward the house. his six-shooter was in his hand, close to his side. he flashed one look backward. the parlor was lit up and clint wadley was lying on a lounge reading a paper. he was a tempting mark for anybody with a grudge against him. jack took the last twenty yards on the run. he plunged into the parlor on the heels of ramona. simultaneously came the sound of a shot and of breaking glass. wadley jumped up, in time to see the ranger blow out the lamp. jack caught ramona by the shoulders and thrust her down to her knees in a corner of the room. "what in blue blazes--?" clint began to demand angrily. "keep still," interrupted jack. "some one's bushwhackin' either you or me." he crept to the window and drew down the blind. a small hole showed where the bullet had gone through the window and left behind it a star of shattered glass. ramona began to whimper. her father's arm found and encircled her. "it's all right, honey. he can't git us now." "i'm goin' out by the back door. mebbe i can put salt on this bird's tail," said jack. "you stay right where you are, mr. wadley. they can't hit either of you in that corner." "oh, don't! please don't go!" wailed the girl. her words were a fillip to the ranger. they sent a glow through his blood. he knew that at that moment she was not thinking of the danger to herself. "don't you worry. i'll swing round on him wide. ten to one he's already hittin' the dust fast to make his get-away." he slipped out of the room and out of the house. so slowly did he move that it was more than an hour before he returned to them. "i guessed right," he told the cattleman. "the fellow hit it up at a gallop through the brush. he's ten miles from here now." "was he after me or you?" "probably me. the rangers ain't popular with some citizens. looks to me like steve gurley's work." "i wouldn't be a ranger if i was you. i'd resign," said ramona impulsively. "would you?" jack glanced humorously at wadley. "i don't expect yore father would indorse them sentiments, miss ramona. he'd tell me to go through." clint nodded. "'mona said you wanted to see me about somethin'." the young man showed a little embarrassment. the cattleman guessed the reason. he turned to his daughter. "private business, honey." ramona kissed her father good-night and shook hands with jack. when they were alone the ranger mentioned the reason for his call. "it's goin' around that pete dinsmore claims to have somethin' on rutherford. the story is that he says you'd better lay off him or he'll tell what he knows." the eyes of the cattleman winced. otherwise he gave no sign of distress. "i've got to stand the gaff, jack. he can't blackmail me, even if the hound cooks up some infernal story about ford. i hate it most on 'mona's account. it'll hurt the little girl like sixty." jack was of that opinion too, but he knew that wadley's decision not to throw his influence to shield the dinsmores was the right one. "she thought a heap o' ford, 'mona did," the cattleman went on. "he was all she had except me. the boy was wild. most young colts are. my fault. i made things too easy for him--gave him too much money to spend. but outside of bein' wild he was all right. i'd hate to have her hear anything against him." he sighed. "well, i reckon what must be must." "stories the dinsmores tell won't count with honest folks. pete is one bad _hombre_. everybody will know why he talks--if he does. that's a big _if_ too. he knows we've got evidence to tie his gang up with the killin' of ford. he doesn't know how much. consequence is he'll not want to raise any question about the boy. we might come back at him too strong." "mebbeso." wadley looked at the ranger and his gaze appraised roberts a man among men. he wished that he had been given a son like this. "boy, you kept yore wits fine to-night. that idea of makin' 'mona walk alone to the house an' keepin' her singin' so's a bushwhacker couldn't make any mistake an' think she was a man was a jim-dandy." the ranger rose. he had not the same difficulty in parting from wadley or any other man that he found in making his adieux to a woman. he simply reached for his hat, nodded almost imperceptibly, and walked out of the house. chapter xix trapped the territory which captain ellison had to cover to find the dinsmore gang was as large as maine. over this country the buffalo-hunter had come and gone; the cattleman was coming and intended to stay. large stretches of it were entirely uninhabited; here and there sod or adobe houses marked where hardy ranchers had located on the creeks; and in a few places small settlements dotted the vast prairies. there were in those days three towns in the panhandle. if you draw a line due east from tascosa, it will pass very close to mobeetie, a hundred miles away. clarendon is farther to the south. in the seventies amarillo was only what jumbo wilkins would have called "a whistlin'-post in the desert," a place where team outfits camped because water was handy. the official capital of the panhandle was mobeetie, the seat of government of wheeler county, to which were attached for judicial purposes more than a score of other counties not yet organized or even peopled. to the towns of the panhandle were drifting in cowboys, freighters, merchants, gamblers, cattle outfits, and a few rustlers from colorado, new mexico, and the more settled parts of texas. they were the hardier sons of an adventurous race, for each man had to make good his footing by his own strength. at first there had been no law except that which lay in the good-will of men, and the holster by their side. the sheriff of wheeler county had neither the deputies nor the financial backing to carry justice into the mesquite. game gunmen served as marshals in the towns, but these had no authority on the plains. until captain ellison and his little company of rangers moved into the district there had been no way of taking law into the chaparral. the coming of these quiet men in buckskin was notice to the bad-man that murder and robbery were not merely pleasant pastimes. yet it would be easy to overstate the lawlessness of the panhandle. there were bad men. every frontier of civilization has them. but of all the great cattle country which stretched from mexico to the canadian line none had a finer or more orderly citizenry than this. the country was notably free of the bloodshed which drenched such places as dodge city to the east or lincoln county, new mexico, to the west of the panhandle. ellison wanted the dinsmores, not because he believed he could yet hang any serious crime on them but for the moral effect upon them and the community. clint wadley had gone looking for trouble and had been wounded in consequence. no texas jury would convict on that count. but it was not a conviction the fire-eating little captain wanted just now. he intended to show that his boys could go out and arrest the dinsmores or any other lawbreakers, whenever the occasion called for it. it might take them a week or a month or six months, but they would bag their game in the end. the rule of the texas rangers was to sleep on a man's trail until they found him. the captain stationed a man at each of the three towns. he sent two on a scouting-trip through no man's land, and two more to search palo duro cañon. he watched the stages as they went and came, questioned mule-skinners with freight outfits, kept an eye on _tendejóns_ and feed-corrals. and at the end of three weeks he had no results whatever to show, except a sarcastic note from pete dinsmore complimenting him on his force of rangers. the captain was furious, but not a whit discouraged. "dog it, we'll fight it out on this line if it takes all summer," he told lieutenant hawley, his second in command. to them came jack roberts with a proposition. "i've found out that homer dinsmore has a girl in tascosa. she's a mexican. i know about her through tony alviro. it seems she's a cousin of bonita, the girl tony is going to marry. about once a week dinsmore rides into town at night, ties his horse in the brush back of her house, and goes in to see her. if you say so, chief, i'll make it my business to be there when he comes." "need any help, do you reckon?" "no. i'll have to hide out in the mesquite. one man will be better on that job than two." "all right, son. you know yore job. get him." that was all the warrant jack wanted or needed. he returned to tascosa and made his preparations. every night after dark he slipped out of town by the north road till he was on the open prairie, then swung round in a semicircle skirting the lights of the settlement. he had arranged a blind in the brush from which he could see the back of the menendez "soddy." occasionally he comforted himself with a cautiously smoked cigarette, but mostly he lay patiently watching the trap that was to lure his prey. at one o'clock each morning he rose, returned on his beat, went to bed, and fell instantly asleep. on the fifth night there was a variation of the programme. it was between nine and ten o'clock that jack heard the hoot of an owl. he sat up instantly, eyes and ears keyed for action. the back door of the sod-house opened, and through the night stillness floated the faint strumming of a guitar. jack did not doubt that it was the answering signal to show that all was safe. a man crept forward from the mesquite and disappeared inside the house. through the brush the ranger snaked his way to the point from which the hooting of the owl had come. a bronco was tethered to a bush. an examination showed that the horse had been ridden far, but not too fast. jack was satisfied the man had come alone. a faint trail wound in and out among the mesquite and the cactus to the house. beside this trail, behind a clump of prickly pear, the ranger sat down and waited. the hour-hand of his watch crept to ten, to eleven, to twelve. roberts rose occasionally, stretched himself to avoid any chance of cramped muscles, and counted stars by way of entertainment. he had spent more diverting evenings, but there was a good chance that the fag end of this one would be lively enough to compensate. shortly after midnight a shaft of light reached out from the house into the desert. the back door had opened. a woman came out, took a few steps forward, peered about her, and called that all was clear. a man followed. the two stood talking for a minute in low tones; then the man kissed her and turned briskly toward the brush. according to the ranger's programme the girl should have returned to the house, but instead she waited in the moonlight to see the last of her lover. when he waved an arm to her and cried "_buenos noches, chachita_," she threw him a kiss across the starlit prairie. intent on his good-night, the man missed the ill-defined trail that led to his horse and zigzagged through the brush at another angle. the ranger, light-footed as a cat, moved forward noiselessly to intercept him, crouching low and taking advantage of all the cover he could find. luck was with him. dinsmore strode within a yard of the kneeling man without a suspicion of danger. a powerful forearm slid out from the brush. sinewy fingers caught the far ankle of the moving man. one strong pull sent dinsmore off his balance. the outlaw clutched wildly at the air and came crashing down. he fell into a bush of catclaw cactus. the ranger was on him like a wildcat. before his victim could make a move to defend himself, jack had the man handcuffed with his arms behind him. dinsmore, his face in the catclaw, gave a smothered cry for help. from where he was, the ranger could not see the house, but he heard the excited voice of the woman, the sound of a commotion, and the beat of rapid footsteps. an excited voice called: "_quién es?_" the trapped man wanted to explain, but his captor rubbed the face of the outlaw deeper into the torturing spines of the cactus. "don't ask any questions," advised roberts. "get back into the house _pronto_. the rangers have taken dinsmore. unless you're lookin' for trouble, you'd better _vamos_." evidently two or three mexicans had run out to the rescue. jack could hear them discussing the situation in whispers. he had them at a double disadvantage. they did not know how many rangers lay in the mesquite; nor did they want to fall foul of them in any case. the men drew back slowly, still in excited talk among themselves, and disappeared inside the house. the woman protested volubly and bitterly till the closing of the door stifled her voice. jack pulled his prisoner to a more comfortable position. "sorry you fell into the catclaw, dinsmore," he said. "if you'll stand hitched, i'll draw the spine from your face." the man cursed him savagely. "all right," said the ranger amiably. "if you want 'em as souvenirs, i'll not object. suits me if it does you. we'll go now." he tied to the handcuffs the end of the lariat which was attached to the saddle. the other end he fastened to the pommel. "i'll not go a step with you," growled dinsmore. "oh, yes, you'd better step along. i'd hate to have to drag you through this brush. it's some rough." the ranger swung to the saddle. the bronco answered the pressure of the rider's knee and began to move. the lariat jerked tight. sullenly dinsmore yielded. but his spirit was unbroken. as he stumbled along in front of the horse, he filled the night with raucous oaths. "take these cuffs off'n me and come down from that horse," he stormed. "do that, and i'll beat off yore head." the man on horseback smiled. "you're the laziest fellow i ever did see, dinsmore," he drawled. "the last fellow that licked me pulled me from the saddle." "just let me get a lick at you," pleaded the outlaw. "i'll give you that bronc you're ridin' if you'll stand up to me man to man." "can't do it. i'm here for business an' not for pleasure. sorry." "you've got no right to arrest me. what's the charge?" "i've forgot whether it's brand-burning, highway robbery, murder, or mayhem--any old crime would fit you." "you've got no evidence." "mebbeso, mebbe not," answered the ranger lightly. "cap ellison said he'd like to have a squint at you, anyhow, so i said i'd fetch you along. no trouble a-tall to show goods." the outlaw bared his tobacco-stained teeth in a sudden fury of rage. "some day i'll gun you right for this." the narrow-loined youth with the well-packed shoulders looked down at him, and the eyes of the officer were hard and steady as steel. "dinsmore," he said, "we're goin' to put you an' yore outfit out o' business in the panhandle. your day is done. you've run on the rope long enough. i'll live to see you hanged--an' soon." chapter xx kiowas on the warpath jack roberts did not leave town inconspicuously with his prisoner in the middle of the night. he made instead a public exit, for captain ellison wanted to show the panhandle that the law could reach out and get the dinsmores just as it could any other criminals. with his handcuffed captive on a horse beside him, the ranger rode down to the post-office just before the stage left. already the word had spread that one of the dinsmores had been taken by an officer. now the town gathered to see the notorious "bad-man" and his tamer. dinsmore faced the curious crowd with a defiant sneer, but he was burning with rage and humiliation. he and his crowd had carried things with a high hand. they were not only outlaws; they were "bad-men" in the frontier sense of the word. they had shot down turbulent citizens who disputed their sway. pete and homer especially had won reputations as killers, and game men sidestepped them rather than deny their claims. yet twice within a month this smooth-faced boy had crossed their path and bested them. the pride of homer dinsmore was galled to the quick. he would have given all he had to "get a lick at" the ranger now before all these people. tascosa watched the young officer and his captive from a distance. the townsfolk offered no audible comment on the situation, either by way of approval or disapproval. the fear of the outlaws had been too long over them. this was not the end of the matter. it was still a good betting proposition that some one of the gang would "get" this jaunty youth before he was much older. but it is certain that the arrest he had made single-handed had its effect. it is inevitable that a frontier camp shall some day discard its wild youth and put on the sobriety of a settled community. was this time at hand for the panhandle? a rider galloped out of town after the horsemen. the ranger turned to face him and made sure that the rifle beneath his leg would slip easily from its scabbard. an attempt at a rescue was always a possibility on the cards. the man drew his cow-pony up beside them. "'evenin', mr. man-in-a-hurry. lookin' for anybody in particular?" asked the red-haired ranger, his chill eyes fixed on the stranger. "for you. i want to help guard your prisoner to mobeetie." "much obliged," answered roberts dryly. "am i needin' help?" "you may. you've got to sleep. let me ride with you." the brain of jack roberts began to register a memory. this young fellow was in ragged jeans and a butternut shirt. his hair was long and unkempt. he looked haggard and ill-fed. but he was the same youth the ranger had glimpsed for a moment in the bravery of fine clothes and gay address on the day of the bulldogging. jack remembered his promise to ramona wadley. "fine! come along. we'll take watch and watch through the night," he told the boy. homer dinsmore's teeth drew back in a derisive snarl. "want company again on the trip so's you won't be robbed, mr. ridley?" the easterner did not answer, but color flushed his face at the taunt. roberts offered a comment on his behalf: "ridley was young then. he's gettin' older every day. i notice he didn't ask for company when he flung himself down over clint wadley's body to protect it from the bullets of a killer." all afternoon they followed the canadian river as it wound to the east. they made camp beside it at night, cooking the coffee on a fire of buffalo chips. jerked beef and hardtack, washed down with coffee, was their fare. dinsmore had fallen into a sullen silence, but the other two carried on desultory talk. the two young fellows were not very comfortable in each other's society; they did not understand the mental habits of each other. but jack maintained a cheerful friendliness to which arthur responded gratefully. behind the curtain of their talk was a girl. the spell of her was on them both. each of them could see her in the coals of the fire, light-footed and slim, with shy eyes tender and shining. but neither of them drew the curtain to their deeper thoughts. after they had eaten, the ranger handcuffed his prisoner and pegged him down loosely. he put out the fire, for he did not want the location of the camp to be betrayed by smoke. he gave ridley the first watch--because it was the easier of the two. with a saddle for a pillow and a slicker for a blanket, he lay down beneath the stars and fell asleep. once, in his dreams, he thought he heard the sound of beating drums. when he wakened at the time set, the night was still. the prisoner was sound asleep, and ridley, propped against his saddle, was keeping vigilant watch. robert mentioned his fancy about the drums. arthur smiled. "before dinsmore turned over he was snoring like a far-away thunder-storm. i expect that's what you heard." jack roused the others as soon as the promise of day was in the sky. by sunup they were ready to travel. there was a bluff back of the camp that gave an outlook over the country. the ranger left his prisoner in the care of arthur while he climbed to its summit for a glance up and down the river. he knew that the mexican girl would get word to the friends of her sweetheart that he had been arrested. there was a chance that they might already be close. anyhow, it would do no harm to see. if he had not taken that precaution undoubtedly all three of the party would have been dead inside of half an hour. for the first sweeping glance of the ranger showed him a tragedy. the valley was filled with indians. apparently as yet they did not know that any white men were in the neighborhood, for the smoke was beginning to rise from morning fires. in a little pocket, just off from the camp, their ponies were herded. at the opposite side were a dozen ox-wagons grouped together in a circle to form a corral. the tongue of the nearest wagon was propped up by a yoke, and across it was the naked body of a man who had been crucified and tortured. the other drivers of the freight outfit were nowhere in sight. either they were lying dead behind the wagons, or they had escaped on horseback. the ranger drew back at once from the bluff. he knew that probably he had been seen by the indian lookouts; if he and his party were going to get away, it must be done quickly. he ran down the hill to his companions. "indians--kiowas--hundreds of them," he explained. "they've captured a freight outfit and killed the drivers. we'll cross the river below their camp if we can." as he spoke, he was busy unlocking the handcuffs of the prisoner. to dinsmore he gave a revolver. it seemed to ridley that his heart was pumping water. death with torture was the punishment given captives by the plains indians. he knew he must be ghastly white, but he said nothing. the three men rode out of the ravine to the river. already they could hear the yelling of the kiowas a few hundred yards above. a moment later they caught sight of the savages pouring down the bank. those in front were on foot. others farther back, on the round-bellied indian ponies, were galloping to catch up. half a mile farther down, there was a break in the river-bank which offered a better chance for crossing. the stream there broadened, cut in two by a little island. the three riders gained on their pursuers. bullets whistled past them, but they did not stop to exchange shots. when they reached the place jack had chosen to cross, they were four or five hundred yards ahead of the leading indians. they splashed into the water. here it was shallow, but along the edge of the island the current was running swift. the kiowas, following the fugitives down the bank, kept up a scattering fire. the bullets struck the water on all sides of the three moving targets. arthur was on the right, closest to the indians. a little ahead of him was dinsmore. farther over, the ranger's horse was already breasting the deep water. roberts heard young ridley cry: "he's hit!" the ranger turned his head. his prisoner was sagging in the saddle. arthur was riding beside the wounded man and trying to support him. jack drew up his horse, holding it strongly against the current, until the others were abreast of him. "we've got to swim for it," he called across to ridley. "i'll get him if he slips out of the saddle before we reach shore." the horses swam side by side. roberts encouraged dinsmore, riding knee to knee with him. "just a little way now. stick it out.... we're right close to the bank.... grab the horn tight." as dinsmore slid into the water jack caught him by the hair of the head. the swift water, racing fast round the shoulder of the island, tugged mightily at him. but the body of the ranger's horse was a barrier to keep the unconscious man from being swept downstream, and the fingers of the rider clung to the thick black hair like steel clamps. they reached shallow water. the ranger swung from the saddle and carried dinsmore up through the thicket that edged the bank. the horses clambered up without guidance, and ridley drove them into the big rocks, where they would be better protected from the shots of the indians. the ranger chose the best cover available near the head of the island and put the wounded man down gently on the ground. already the kiowas were halfway across the river. jack counted twenty of them on horseback in the water. "can you shoot?" he asked his companion. ridley was behind a rock around which bushes grew thick. "b-better than i could." he was shaking with excitement. "you can't miss 'em. we've got 'em right this time." jack fired. an indian plunged headfirst into the water like a stone from a sling. a moment later his body could be seen swirling in the swift current. a second shot shook the death scream from the throat of another brave. twice arthur missed. "you've got buck-fever. try for the horses," suggested the texan. a moment later he gave a little whoop of encouragement. the naked shining body of a kiowa had collapsed on the bare back of a pony. ridley at last had scored. instantly the nervousness of the easterner disappeared. his shooting had not the deadly accuracy of roberts, but he was a good marksman, and at this close-range work his forty-five-seventy did clean work. the texan did not miss a shot. he picked the leaders and took his time. a third, a fourth, and a fifth brave went sliding from the backs of the swimming ponies. the kiowas broke under the deadly fire. those not yet in the deep water turned and made for the shore from which they had come. the others gave with the current and drifted past the island, their bodies hanging from the far side of the ponies. the whites on the island shot at the horses. more than one redskin, unable to get out of the current after his pony had been shot, floated down the river for miles before the body was found by his tribe. "we got either nine or ten," said the ranger. "they'll never try another attack from that bank. probably they'll surround the island to starve us." he put down his rifle and opened the shirt of the wounded man. dinsmore had been shot in the back, above the heart. jack washed out the wound and bound it up as best he could. the outlaw might live, or he might not--assuming that the party would escape from the savages. jack knew that this was an assumption not likely to be fulfilled. his guess was that there were four or five hundred of the kiowas. they would immediately post a line of guards on both sides of the river. there was a chance that a man on a fast horse might make a get-away if he left at once. he proposed to ridley that he try this. "will you go too?" asked arthur. the ranger shook his head. "got to stay with my prisoner." "i'll stay too." "if you were to make it, you could send me help." "think i could get away?" the westerner pointed to two indians who were swimming the river below out of rifle-shot. "i doubt it. you might fight yore way through, but they'd likely get you." "i'll stick it out here, then." in his heart arthur knew that he was not staying to face the danger with the texan. when once he had got over his panic, he had fought coolly enough under the eye of his companion, but he lacked the stark courage to face the chances of that long ride alone for help. "i reckon it's too late, anyhow," agreed roberts. he shrugged his shoulders. "it's a toss-up, either way. but we'll sure send a few to their happy hunting-grounds before we take our long journey." "you think--" arthur let his fear-filled eyes finish the question. the ranger smiled wryly. "yore guess is as good as mine. i'll say this: i've been in tight holes before an' came through o. k. i'll back my luck to stand up this time too." arthur looked into the brown face of this spare, clear-eyed youth and felt that he would give his hopes of heaven for such gameness. they had not one chance in ten thousand to escape, but the sheer nerve of the boy held him as cool and easy as though he were sauntering down the main street at clarendon. chapter xxi tex takes a long walk except for desultory firing the kiowas left the islanders alone for the rest of the day. the fever of the wounded man mounted. most of the time he was out of his head, and in tossing to and fro was continually disturbing the cold-water bandages applied by the texan. as soon as night had fallen, roberts put a proposition to his companion. "one of us has got to go for help. take yore choice, ridley. will you go or stay?" the easterner felt as though his heart had been drenched in ice-water. "can't we wait until some one comes?" he asked timidly. "who's likely to come? you got any friends on the way? i haven't. there's another thing: the stage will be along to-morrow. we've got to get warnin' to it that the kiowas are on the warpath. if we don't--well, you know what happened to the freight outfit." "if one of us goes, how can he get away?" "i've thought of that. it will be dark for an hour before the moon gets up. the one that goes will have to drop off the bank an' swim down with the current for a quarter of a mile or so, then get to the shore, crawl across the prairie till he's clear of the sentries, an' make a bee-line for tascosa." "i couldn't find my way in the dark," faltered arthur. jack nodded. "i doubt if you could. i'm elected, then." "why--why can't we both go?" "we couldn't take dinsmore fifty yards. he's too sick a man." "he's going to die anyhow. if i stay, we'll both die--horribly. it's every man for himself now." jack shook his head. "if you feel that way, you go an' i'll stay." "i--i can't go alone." he pushed his plea one step farther. "he's a criminal--a murderer. he'd kill you if he could, and he's already betrayed me. there's no call for us to wait for certain death on his account." the ranger spoke gently. "none for you, but he's in my hands. i'll see it out. mebbe you can get through the lines. crawl through the grass. keep yore nerve an' lie low if you hear 'em comin'. once you're through, you'll be all right." "i tell you i can't go alone. if it has to be that one goes and one stays, then i'll stay." "that's how it has to be. it's about an even break, i reckon. they're liable to get me if i go. they're liable to get you if you stay. then again, they're liable to get neither of us if i can get through." "what if they rush me?" "don't lose yore head. you can stand 'em off. they'll never make as strong an attack as they did this mo'nin'. if they make any real rush, it will likely be just before daybreak. indians don't do business at night." jack made his preparations swiftly. he took off his boots and tied them to his belt. his hat he left behind. "how will i know whether you get through the sentries?" asked ridley. "if you hear any shootin', you'll know i probably didn't. but i'm sure figurin' on gettin' through. don't you forget for a minute that every hour brings help nearer. so long, old man. best of luck!" the ranger grinned cheerfully at the other boy as he crept into the brush at the edge of the water. presently arthur heard a faint _plop_ and knew that the texan had begun his journey. the swift current carried the swimmer downstream rapidly. he used his arms just enough to keep himself up, and let the power of the water do the rest. as a small boy he had lived on the brazos. he knew the tricks of the expert, so that he was able now to swim with only his nose showing. for it was certain that the indians had set watchers on the river to guard against an escape. the island vanished behind him. now and then he caught from one bank or the other the glow of camp-fires. once he was sure he heard the beating of a tom-tom. and once he gave himself up for lost. the rapid current had swept him close to the right bank. across his vision flashed a picture of a brave armed with bow and arrow standing above him on the shore. he dived instantly. when he came up for air, only a bit of his red topknot showed. the swimmer heard the twang of an arrow and dived a second time. he was in the deep shadows of overhanging brush when he shook the water out of his eyes next time. for a dozen seconds he drew his breath in fear. but there came no shout of warning to other watchers, no shot or outcry to shatter the stillness. he guessed that the kiowa had taken him for a log drifting downstream and had aimed wantonly to test his accuracy. several hundred yards below the island jack caught at a bush projecting into the water. he swung close to the bank and very cautiously drew himself out of the river. he listened. except for the sound of the rushing water the night was still. very carefully he wormed his way forward into the prairie. his progress was slow, for he had to make sure of each foot of his advance. under cover of a mesquite-bush he put on his water-soaked boots. he crept fifty yards--one hundred. to his right a camp-fire was burning. it seemed to him once or twice that he heard voices. an old trail worn nearly a foot deep by buffaloes served his need. in this trench he was partly hidden and could make better progress. he traveled on all fours, still alert in every sense for danger. suddenly he sank full length into the trench. on the other side of a cactus-bush two indians were squatting. they sat and talked. the heart of the ranger sank. at any moment they might discover his presence, or they might sit there the whole night and hold him prisoner in his ditch. for an hour he lay there, wondering each moment whether the ticking of his watch might not betray him. then, in a leisurely way, the sentries got up and sauntered toward the river. the moon was up now, and he could see their naked bodies shining in the light. the two kiowas stopped a moment on the bank and talked before they separated. one moved up the river; the other turned and came back directly toward roberts. the ranger lay in the buffalo-trail hoping that in the darkness he might escape observation. he was helpless. even if he had brought a gun with him he dared not shoot, for if the alarm were given he would be driven out of cover in a few minutes. the brave came forward to the very edge of the wallow. his moccasin touched the body of the prostrate man. some slight shift of his attitude precipitated the crisis. he turned to listen to some sound, and his foot pressed upon the leg of the ranger. there was an instant volcanic upheaval. the indian, startled, leaped back. jack was upon him like a wildcat. they struggled, their bodies so close that the kiowa could not use his rifle. the texan had a double advantage, that of surprise and of a more muscular body. moreover, the redskin made the mistake of trying to cling to his gun. he was flung down to the ground hard, the white man on top of him. jack became aware that the indian was going to shout, and knew that if he did all was lost. his strong, brown fingers closed on the throat of the brave. there was a wild thrashing of limbs in a struggle to escape. the grip tightened, cut off a gurgle of escaping air. the naked arms and legs jerked more feebly.... when roberts crept away into the darkness he carried with him the knife of the kiowa. the rifle would only have hampered him, since he had to travel fast and light. with every yard gained now he was nearer safety. he knew he was leaving the camp behind. presently he rose to his feet and traveled faster. for the safety of the two on the island depended upon the speed with which he covered the distance between him and tascosa. the plainsman seldom walks. his high-heeled boots would be torture on a long tramp. when he wants to reach a place, he rides on horseback. jack had not walked five miles at a time within a dozen years. now his long legs reached for the ground in a steady stride that ate up the leagues. he guided his course by the stars until he struck the river far above the camp. once he stopped for a drink, but the thought of ridley on the island drove his tired limbs on. heel and toe, heel and toe, the steady march continued, till the ranger, lithe and strong though the wind and sun and outdoor life had made him, was ready to drop with fatigue. his feet, pushed forward in the boots by the height of the heels, burned as with fire from the pain of outraged flesh rubbing against stiff leather. but it was not in him to quit. he set his teeth in his exhaustion and ploughed on up the trail. at last he saw the far, faint lights of tascosa. the last mile or two were interminable, but he walked into the bird cage just as the clock on the wall was striking three. the music had started for a dance. a girl in a spangled dress ran up to him. "come on. let's dance," she cried; then stopped and looked at him in surprise: "what's the matter with you?" the ranger climbed up on the bar and beat upon it with the heel of his boot. the dancers stopped in their tracks as the music died. "the kiowas are on the warpath. they've got two white men trapped on the big island below the bend. gather all the horses, guns, and men you can. we start in twenty minutes." cowboys left their partners standing in the middle of the floor. the musicians dropped their bows and fiddles. bar-tenders left unfilled the orders they had just taken. for indians in their war-paint were a fact always very near to the frontiersman, and whatever faults the southwest may have had in those days, its warm heart answered instantly the call for help. the dancers scattered in all directions to get ready. a gong, beaten by the owner of the bird cage, rang out stridently into the quiet night to rally sleeping citizens. children, wakened by the clamor, began to wail. dogs barked. excited men flung out questions and hurried away without waiting for answers. but out of the confusion came swift action. each man looked to his own ammunition, weapons, horse. women hurriedly put up lunches and packed saddlebags with supplies. in an incredibly short time a company of fifty riders had gathered in front of the bird cage. with the ranger at their head, they went out of town at a fast trot. if there had been anybody there to notice it, he would have seen that the clock on the wall at the bird cage registered the time as twenty-seven minutes past three. chapter xxii the test when ridley heard the faint _plop_ of the ranger's body as it dropped into the water, his heart died under the fifth rib. he was alone--alone with a wounded man in his care, and five hundred fiends ravenous for his blood. for a moment the temptation was strong in him to follow roberts into the water. why should he stay to let these devils torture him? dinsmore had betrayed him, to the ruination of his life. he owed the fellow nothing but ill-will. and the man was a triple-notch murderer. it would be a good riddance to the country if he should be killed. but the arguments of the young fellow did not convince him. he had showed the white feather once on impulse, without a chance to reason out the thing. but if he deserted this wounded man now he would be a yellow coyote--and he knew it. there was something in him stronger than fear that took him back to the helpless outlaw babbling disjointed ravings. he bathed the man's fevered body with cold water from the river and changed the bandages on the wound. he listened, in an agony of apprehension, for the sound of a shot. none came, but this did not bring certainty that the ranger had escaped. he had left behind all his arms, and it was quite possible that they had captured him without first wounding him. arthur reasoned with himself about his terror. of what use was it? why fear, since he had to face the danger anyhow? but when he thought of the morning and what it would bring forth he was sick with the dread he could not crush. the hours lagged endlessly. he had his watch out a thousand times trying to read its face. occasionally he crept around the island to make sure the kiowas were not trying to surprise him. hope began to grow in him as the night grew old, and this alternated with terror; for he knew that with the coming of dawn, the redskins would begin an attack. his mind followed the ranger on his journey. by this time he must surely be halfway to tascosa if he had escaped the kiowas.... now he might have reached the cottonwood clump beyond big ford.... perhaps he might jump up a camp outfit with horses. if so, that would cut down the time needed to reach town. five o'clock by ridley's watch! he made another circuit of his little island, and at the head of it stopped to peer into the lessening darkness. a log, traveling down the river from some point near its headwaters in new mexico, was drifting toward the island. his attention was arrested by the way it traveled. a log in a stream follows the line of least resistance. it floats in such a way as to offer the smallest surface to the force of the current. but this log was going down at a right angle to the bank instead of parallel to it. was it being propelled by the current alone, or by some living power behind it? ridley posted himself behind a cottonwood, his repeater ready for action. in another moment he would know, because if the log was adrift in the river, it would miss the point of the island and keep on its way. straight to the point of land the log came. there it stuck against the nose of the island. a head followed by a naked body drew itself from behind the log and climbed across it to the bank above. a second head and body appeared, a third and a fourth. ridley's fear was gone. he had a job to do, and he went at it in a workmanlike manner. his first shot dropped the brave on the bank. his second missed, his third went hissing up the river. but the fourth caught full in the throat one of the kiowas on the log. the painted warrior shot headfirst into the water and dropped as though he had been a stone. before arthur could fire again, the passengers astride the dead tree dived into the stream. slowly the log swung around and was sucked into the current. here and there a feathered head bobbed up. the boy fired at them from a sense of duty, but he did not flatter himself that he had scored another hit. but the immediate danger of being rushed was past. ridley circled the island again to make sure that the attack at the head had not been a feint to cover one in the rear. during the night arthur had not been idle. behind a large rock he had scooped out a small cave in which he and the wounded man might lie protected. now the indians, in the full light of day, were spraying the spot with bullets. fortunately they were notoriously poor shots, and their guns were the worst ever made. for hours the fusillade continued. occasionally the defender answered with a shot or two to discourage any further attempt at storming his position. the most welcome sound in ridley's life was a scattering volley of shots that came from back of the kiowa camp. there was a sudden rush for horses by the braves and the scurry of pounding hoofs as they fled across the prairie. a moment later came the whoop of the cowboys in the rescue party. arthur, in an ecstasy of relief, ran to the edge of the water and waved his hat. across the river came in answer the "yip-yip, yippy-yip-yip" of the line-riders in the company. several of them plunged into the stream and swam their horses across to the island. among these were jumbo wilkins and tex roberts. "i see you done held the fort, son," said the fat man. "fine and dandy! how's dinsmore?" "quieter. he slept a good deal in the night. how are we going to get him across the river?" the ranger joined them. he nodded a friendly greeting at ridley. "our luck held up all right. i see you been doin' some fancy shootin'." arthur looked at him. the eyes of the easterner were full of timid doubt. what did this game texan think of him who had proposed to leave a wounded man to his fate? the ranger beamed a kindly comradeship, but the other young fellow wondered what was passing in the back of his mind. they held a committee on ways and means about dinsmore. "we can't stay here--got to get him to town where he can be fixed up," jumbo said. "we'll take him over to the other bank and send for a buckboard," decided jack. the wounded man was carried to the head of the island, and strapped to the back of a horse. jumbo, roberts, and ridley guided the horse into the current and helped it fight through to the shallow water beyond. twenty-four hours later dinsmore was in bed in tascosa. dr. bridgman said, with the usual qualification about complications, that the man probably would get well. the bullet had not punctured his lungs. chapter xxiii a shy young man dines ramona met arthur ridley face to face just outside of the post-office. "you dandy boy!" she cried, and held out both hands to him. her eyes were shining. the gifts of friendship and admiration were in them. he could not find a word to say. a lump rose in his throat and choked him. "it was just fine of you--fine!" she told him. "i was so glad to hear that a friend of mine did it. you _are_ still my friend, aren't you?" "if you'll let me be," he said humbly. "but--i haven't done anything to deserve it." "everybody's praising you because you stayed with that dinsmore man and saved his life at the risk of your own--after he had treated you so mean too. i'm so proud of you." "you needn't be," he answered bluntly. "i wanted to slip away and leave him. i--i proposed it to jack roberts. but he wouldn't have it. he laid the law down. one of us had to go, one stay. i hadn't the nerve to go, so i stayed." "i don't believe it--not for a minute," came her quick, indignant response. "and if you did--what of it? it isn't what we want to do that counts. it's what we really do!" he shook his head wistfully. he would have liked to believe her, but he felt there was no credit due him. "i fought because i had to if i was going to save my own skin. i haven't told any one else this, but i can't have you thinking me game when i know i'm not." "was it to save yourself you flung yourself down in front of father and let that awful man dinsmore shoot at you?" she demanded, eyes flashing. "a fellow can't stand by and see some one murdered without lifting a hand. i didn't have time to get frightened that time." "well, all i've got to say is that you're the biggest goose i ever saw, art ridley. here you've done two fine things and you go around trying to show what a big coward you are." he smiled gravely. "i'm not advertising it. i told you because--" "--because you're afraid i'll think too well of you." "because i want you to know me as i am." "then if i'm to know you as you are i'll have to get a chance to see what you really are. dad and auntie and i will expect you to supper to-morrow night." "thank you. i'll be there." casually she enlarged her invitation. "i don't suppose you'll see that very shy young man, mr. roberts." "i might." "then, will you ask him to come too? i'm going to find out whether you acted as scared as you say you did." "jack knows how scared i was, but he won't tell. sure i'll get word to him." he did. at precisely six o'clock the two young men appeared at the home of clint wadley's sister. the ranger was a very self-conscious guest. it was the first time he had dined with ladies at their home since he had lost his own mother ten years earlier. he did not know what to do with his hands and feet. the same would have been true of his hat if ramona had not solved that problem by taking it from him. his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. he felt a good deal warmer than the actual temperature of the room demanded. but ramona noticed from the background that as soon as she and her aunt retired from the scene his embarrassment vanished. this slim, brown young man was quite at his ease with clint wadley, much more so than young ridley. he was essentially a man's man, and his young hostess liked him none the less for that. she made a chance to talk with him alone after supper. they were standing in the parlor near the window. ramona pressed the end of her little finger against a hole in the pane. "i wonder if you'd like me to sing 'swanee river' for you, mr. roberts?" she asked. he did not mind being teased. by this time he had regained his confidence. he had discovered that she would not bite even though she might laugh at him in a friendly way. "you sing it fine," he said. "i wasn't singing it for you the other time, but for mr.--what's-his-name, gurley?" "i couldn't very well have you keep shoutin' out, 'i'm a girl,' so i figured--?" "i know what you figured, sir. you wanted to take all the chances that were taken. father says it was the quickest-witted thing he ever knew." she shot another dart at him, to his confusion. "do you like my voice?" "well, ma'am, i--" "you don't have to tell any stories. i see you don't." jack took heart. "if you're fishin' for a compliment--" "what a tactful thing to tell a girl," she said, smiling. "--i'll tell you that i never heard you sing better." "or worse, for that matter," she added; and with one of her swift changes of mood switched the topic of conversation. "how do you like art ridley?" "he'll do to take along." "that's not the way he talks. he says he--he wanted to run away from the island and leave that man dinsmore, but you wouldn't let him." her eyes met his very directly. "he's a great lad for imaginin' things. i never want to see any one hold up his end better." "you mean that he _didn't_ say he wanted to leave dinsmore?" with her gaze searching him so steadily, it had to be an out-and-out lie to serve. jack lied competently. "not a word." her little finger tapped the hole in the pane gently while she reflected. "he told me--" "that boy's still worryin' about losin' that money for mr. wadley, don't you reckon? he's got it tucked in his mind that a game man never would have been robbed. so he's decided he must be yellow. nothin' to it a-tall. no quitter ever would have stood off those kiowas like he did." "that's what i think." she turned to the ranger again, nodding agreement. "you've relieved my mind. i shouldn't like to think that--" she let her sentence trail out to nothing. jack roberts guessed its conclusion. she wouldn't like to think that the man she loved was not game. chapter xxiv tex borrows a blacksnake dinsmore recovered from his wound and was held prisoner by captain ellison for a month after he was well. then the ranger captain dismissed the man with a warning. "skedaddle, you damn jayhawker," was his cavalier farewell. "but listen. if ever i get the deadwood on you an' yore outfit, i'll sure put you through. you know me, dinsmore. i went through the war. for two years i took the hides off'n 'em.[ ] i'm one of the lads that knocked the bark off this country. an' i've got the best bunch of man-hunters you ever did see. i'm not braggin'. i'm tellin' you that my boys will make you look like a plugged nickel if you don't get shet of yore meanness. they're a hell-poppin' bunch of jim-dandies, an' don't you ever forget it." homer dinsmore spat tobacco-juice on the floor by way of expressing his contempt. "hell!" he sneered. "we were doin' business in this neck of the woods before ever you come, an' we'll be here after you've gone." the ranger captain gave a little shrug to his shoulders. "some folks ain't got any more sense than that hog rootin' under the pecan tree, dinsmore. i've seen this country when you could swap a buffalo-bull hide for a box of cartridges or a plug o' tobacco. you cayn't do it now, can you? i had thirty wagons full of bales of hides at old fort griffin two years ago. now i couldn't fill one with the best of luck. in five years the buffaloes will be gone absolutely--mebbe in less time. the indians are goin' with the buffaloes-an' the bad-men are a-goin' to travel the same trail. inside of three years they'll sure be hard to find outside of jails. but you got to go yore own way. you're hard to curry, an' you wear 'em low. suits me if it does you. we'll plant you with yore boots on, one of these days." dinsmore swaggered from the jail and presently rode out of town to join his companions. three days later an acquaintance stopped jack roberts on the street. "seen cap ellison this mo'nin'? he was down at the shippin'-pen an' wanted to see you. the old man's hot as a ginger-mill about somethin'." the ranger strolled down toward the cattle-yards. on the way he met arthur ridley. they had come to be pretty good friends in the past month. the standards of the texan were undergoing revision. he had been brought up in an outdoor school which taught that the rock-bottom factor of a man's character is gameness. without it nothing else counted. this was as vital for a man as virtue for a woman. but it had begun to reach him that pluck is largely a matter of training. arthur had lived soft, and his nerve, like his muscles, needed toughening. were his gayety, his loyalty, his fundamental decency, the affectionate sweetness of his disposition, to count for nothing? he had a dozen advantages that jack had not, and the cowboy admired him even though he was not hard as a rock. "have you spoken to captain ellison yet?" asked ridley eagerly. "says he's thinkin' about it, art. there's goin' to be a vacancy on the force soon. my notion is that you'll get the appointment." it was a part of ridley's charm for the texan that he would not give up to his timidity. the young fellow meant to fight it out to a finish. that was one of the reasons why he wanted to join the rangers, to be put in places that would force him to go through to a fighting finish. he had one other reason. arthur wanted to settle a score with the dinsmores. captain ellison was listening to the complaint of a drover. "i aim to drive a clean herd, cap, but you know how it is yore own self. i start to drive in the spring when the hair's long an' the brand's hard to read. by the time i get here, the old hair is fallin' out an' the brand is plain. but what's a fellow to do? i cayn't drop those off-brands by the way, can i? the inspector--" "that's all right, steel. the inspector knows you're on the level. hello, jack! i been lookin' for you." the captain drew his man to one side. "steve gurley's in town. he came as a spokesman for the dinsmores an' went to see clint wadley. the damn scoundrel served notice on clint that the gang had written evidence which tied ford up with their deviltry. he said if clint didn't call me off so's i'd let 'em alone, they would disgrace his son's memory. of course wadley is all broke up about it. but he's no quitter. he knows i'm goin' through, an' he wouldn't expect me not to do the work i'm paid for." "do you want me to arrest gurley?" "wouldn't do any good. no; just keep tabs on the coyote till he leaves town. he ought to be black-snaked, but that's not our business, i reckon." ridley walked back with the ranger toward the main street of the town. from round a corner there came to them a strident voice. "you stay right here, missy, till i'm through. i'm tellin' you about yore high-heeled brother. see? he was a rustler. that's what he was--a low-down thief and brand-blotter." "let me pass. i won't listen to you." the clear young voice was expressive of both indignation and fear. "not a step till i'm through tellin' you. me, i'm steve gurley, the curly-haired terror of the panhandle. when i talk, you listen. un'erstand?" the speech of the man was thick with drink. he had spent the night at the bird cage and was now on his way to the corral for his horse. "you take miss ramona home. i'll tend to gurley," said roberts curtly to his friend. into his eyes had come a cold rage arthur had never before seen there. at sight of them the bully's brutal insolence vanished. he tried to pass on his way, but the ranger stopped him. "just a moment, gurley. you're goin' with me," said jack, ominously quiet. white and shaken, 'mona bit her lip to keep from weeping. she flashed one look of gratitude at her father's former line-rider, and with a little sob of relief took ridley's offered arm. "you got a warrant for me?" bluffed the outlaw. at short range there is no weapon more deadly than the human eye. jack roberts looked at the bully and said: "give me yore gun." steve gurley shot his slant look at the ranger, considered possibilities--and did as he was told. "now right about face and back-track uptown," ordered the officer. at mcguffey's store jack stopped his prisoner. a dozen punchers and cattlemen were hanging about. among them was jumbo wilkins. he had a blacksnake whip in his hand and was teasing a pup with it. the ranger handed over to jumbo his guns and borrowed the whip. gurley backed off in a sudden alarm. "don't you touch me! don't you dass touch me! i'll cut yore heart out if you do." the lash whistled through the air and wound itself cruelly round the legs of the bully. the man gave a yell of rage and pain. he lunged forward to close with roberts, and met a driving left that caught him between the eyes and flung him back. before he could recover the ranger had him by the collar at arm's length and the torture of the whip was maddening him. he cursed, struggled, raved, threatened, begged for mercy. he tried to fling himself to the ground. he wept tears of agony. but there was no escape from the deadly blacksnake that was cutting his flesh to ribbons. roberts, sick at the thing he had been doing, flung the shrieking man aside and leaned up against the wall of the store. jumbo came across to him and offered his friend a drink. "you'll feel better if you take a swallow of old forty-rod," he promised. the younger man shook his head. "much obliged, old-timer. i'm all right now. it was a kind of sickenin' job, but i had to do it or kill him." "what was it all about?" asked jumbo eagerly. the fat line-rider was a good deal of a gossip and loved to know the inside of every story. jack cast about for a reason. "he--he said i had red hair." "well, you old son of a mule-skinner, what's the matter with that? you have, ain't you?" demanded the amazed wilkins. "mebbe i have, but he can't tell me so." that was all the satisfaction the public ever got. it did a good deal of guessing, however, and none of it came near the truth. [footnote : to "take the hides off'n 'em" was the expressive phraseology in which the buffalo-hunter described his business.] chapter xxv "they're runnin' me outa town" jumbo wilkins came wheezing into the sunset trail corral, where jack roberts was mending a broken bridle. "'lo, tex. looks like you're gittin' popular, son. folks a-comin' in fifty miles for to have a little talk with you." the eyes of the ranger grew intelligent. he knew jumbo's habit of mind. the big line-rider always made the most of any news he might have. "friends of mine?" asked jack casually. "well, mebbe friends ain't just the word. say acquaintances. you know 'em well enough to shoot at and to blacksnake 'em, but not well enough to drink with." "did they _say_ they wanted to see me?" "a nod is as good as a wink to a blind bronc. they said they'd come to make you hard to find." the ranger hammered down a rivet carefully. "many of 'em?" "two this trip. one of 'em used to think yore topknot was red. i dunno what he thinks now." "and the other?" "carries the brand of overstreet." "where are these anxious citizens, jumbo?" "last i saw of 'em they were at the bird cage lappin' up another of the same. they've got business with clint wadley, too, they said." jack guessed that business was blackmail. it occurred to him that since these visitors had come to town to see him, he had better gratify their desire promptly. perhaps after they had talked with him they might not have time to do their business with wadley. as jumbo waddled uptown beside him, roberts arranged the details of his little plan. they separated at the corner of the street a block from the bird cage. wilkins had offered to lend a hand, but his friend defined the limit of the help he might give. "you come in, shake hands with me, an' ask that question. then you're through. understand, jumbo?" "sure. but i want to tell you again overstreet is no false-alarm bad-man. he'll fight at the drop of the hat. that's his reputation, anyhow--wears 'em low an' comes a-shootin'." "i'll watch out for him. an' i'll look for you in about three minutes." "me, i'll be there, son, and i wish you the best of luck." gurley was at the bar facing the door when the ranger walked into the bird cage. he had been just ready to gulp down another drink, but as his eyes fell on this youth who came forward with an elastic step the heart died within him. it had been easy while the liquor was in his brain to brag of what he meant to do. it was quite another thing to face in battle this brown, competent youth who could hit silver dollars in the air with a revolver. his companion read in gurley's sallow face the dismay that had attacked him. overstreet turned and faced the newcomer. the outlaw was a short, heavy-set man with remarkably long arms. he had come from trinidad, colorado, and brought with him the reputation of a killer. his eyes looked hard at the red-haired youngster, but he made no comment. jack spoke to the bartender. he looked at neither of the bad-men, but he was very coolly and alertly on guard. "joe, i left my blacksnake at home," he said. "have you got one handy?" "some guys are lucky, steve," jeered overstreet, taking his cue from the ranger. "because you fell over a box and this fellow beat you up while you was down, he thinks he's a regular go-getter. he looks to me like a counterfeit four-bit piece, if anybody asks you." jumbo wilkins puffed into the place and accepted the ranger's invitation to take a drink. "what makes you so gaunted, jack? you look right peaked," he commented as they waited for their drinks. "scared stiff, jumbo. i hear two wild an' woolly bad-men are after me. one is a tall, lopsided, cock-eyed rooster, an' the other is a hammered-down sawed-off runt. they sure have got me good an' scared. i've been runnin' ever since i heard they were in town." gurley gulped down his drink and turned toward the door hastily. "come, let's go, overstreet. i got to see a man." the texan and the coloradoan looked at each other with steel-cold eyes. they measured each other in deadly silence, and while one might have counted twenty the shadow of death hovered over the room. then overstreet made his choice. the bragging had all been done by gurley. he could save his face without putting up a fight. "funny how some folks are all blown up by a little luck," he sneered, and he followed his friend to the street. "you got 'em buffaloed sure, jack. tell me how you do it," demanded jumbo with a fat grin. "i'm the law, jumbo." "go tell that to the mexicans, son. what do you reckon a killer like overstreet cares for the law? he figured you might down him before he could gun you--didn't want to risk an even break with you." the ranger poured his untasted liquor into the spittoon and settled the bill. "think i'll drop around to the silver dollar an' see if my birds have lit again." at the silver dollar jack found his friend the ex-confederate doing business with another cattleman. "i'd call that a sorry-lookin' lot, winters," he was saying. "i know a jackpot bunch of cows when i see 'em. they look to me like they been fed on short grass an' shin-oak." his face lighted at sight of the ranger. "hello, brindle-haid! didn't know you was in town." the quick eye of the officer had swept over the place and found the two men he wanted sitting inconspicuously at a small table. "i'm not here for long, sam. two genuwine blown-in-the-bottle bad-men are after my scalp. they're runnin' me outa town. seen anything of 'em? they belong to the dinsmore outfit." the old soldier looked at him with a sudden startled expression. he knew well what men were sitting against the wall a few steps from him. this was talk that might have to be backed by a six-shooter. bullets were likely to be flying soon. "you don't look to me like you're hittin' yore heels very fast to make a get-away, jack," he said dryly. "i'm sure on the jump. they're no bully-puss kind of men, but sure enough terrors from the chaparral. if i never get out o' town, ship my saddle in a gunny-sack to my brother at dallas." "makin' yore will, are you?" inquired joe johnston's former trooper. the red-haired man grinned. "i got to make arrangements. they came here to get me. two of 'em--bad-men with blood in their eyes." he hummed, with jaunty insolence: "he's a killer and a hater! he's the great annihilator! he's a terror of the boundless prai-ree. "that goes double. i'm certainly one anxious citizen. don't you let 'em hurt me, sam." there was a movement at the table where the two men were sitting. one of them had slid from his chair and was moving toward the back door. the ranger pretended to catch sight of him for the first time. "hello, gurley! what's yore hurry? got to see another man, have you?" the rustler did not wait to answer. he vanished through the door and fled down the alley in the direction of the corral. overstreet could do as he pleased, but he intended to slap a saddle on his horse and make tracks for the cap-rock country. overstreet himself was not precisely comfortable in his mind, but he did not intend to let a smooth-faced boy run him out of the gambling-house before a dozen witnesses. if he had to fight, he would fight. but in his heart he cursed gurley for a yellow-backed braggart. the fellow had got him into this and then turned tail. the man from colorado wished devoutly that pete dinsmore were beside him. "you're talkin' at me, young fellow. listen: i ain't lookin' for any trouble with you--none a-tall. but i'm not steve gurley. where i come from, folks grow man-size. don't lean on me too hard. i'm liable to decrease the census of red-haired guys." overstreet rose and glared at him, but at the same time one hand was reaching for his hat. "you leavin' town too, mr. overstreet?" inquired the ranger. "what's it to you? i'll go when i'm ready." "'we shall meet, but we shall miss you--there will be one vacant chair,'" murmured the young officer, misquoting a song of the day. "seems like there's nothin' to this life but meetin' an' partin'. here you are one minute, an' in a quarter of an hour you're hittin' the high spots tryin' to catch up with friend steve." "who said so? i'll go when i'm good an' ready," reiterated the bad-man. "well, yore bronc needs a gallop to take the kinks out of his legs. give my regards to the dinsmores an' tell 'em that tascosa is no sort of place for shorthorns or tinhorns." "better come an' give them regards yore own self." "mebbe i will, one of these glad mo'nin's. so long, mr. overstreet. much obliged to you an' steve for not massacreein' me." the ironic thanks of the ranger were lost, for the killer from colorado was already swaggering out of the front door. the old confederate gave a whoop of delight. "i never did see yore match, you doggoned old scalawag. you'd better go up into mexico and make billy the kid[ ] eat out of yore hand. this tame country is no place for you, jack." roberts made his usual patient explanation. "it's the law. they can't buck the whole lone star state. if he shot me, a whole passel of rangers would be on his back pretty soon. so he hits the trail instead." he turned to ridley, who had just come into the silver dollar. "art, will you keep cases on overstreet an' see whether he leaves town right away?" a quarter of an hour later ridley was back with information. "overstreet's left town--lit out after gurley." the old rebel grinned. "he won't catch him this side of the cap-rock." [footnote : billy the kid was the most notorious outlaw of the day. he is said to have killed twenty-one men before sheriff pat garrett killed him at the age of twenty-one years.] chapter xxvi for professional services mr. peter dinsmore was of both an impulsive and obstinate disposition. he wanted what he wanted when he wanted it. somewhere he had heard that if a man desired his business well done, he must do it himself. gurley had proved a poor messenger. peter would call upon clint wadley in person and arrange an armistice. he had another and a more urgent reason for getting to town promptly. a jumping toothache had kept him awake all night. after he reached tascosa, dinsmore was annoyed to find that dr. bridgman had ridden down the river to look after the fractured leg of a mule-skinner. "isn't there any one else in this condemned burg can pull teeth?" he demanded irritably of the bartender at the bird cage. "there certainly is. buttermilk brown is a sure-enough dentist. he had to take to bull-whackin' for to make a livin', but i reckon he's not forgot how. you'll probably find him sleepin' off a hang-over at the four-bit corral." this prophecy proved true, but dinsmore was not one to let trifles turn him aside. he led the reluctant ex-dentist to a water-trough and soused his head under the pump. "is that a-plenty?" he asked presently, desisting from his exercise with the pump-handle. buttermilk sputtered a half-drowned assent. his nerves were still jumpy, and his head was not clear, but he had had enough cold water. heroic treatment of this sort was not necessary to fit him for pulling a tooth. they adjourned to the room where buttermilk had stored his professional tools. dinsmore indicated the back tooth that had to come out. the dentist peered at it, inserted his forceps and set to work. the tooth came out hard, but at last he exhibited its long prongs to the tortured victim. "we get results," said buttermilk proudly. "how much?" asked pete. it happened that the dentist did not know his patient. he put a price of five dollars on the job. dinsmore paid it and walked with buttermilk to the nearest saloon for a drink. pete needed a little bracer. the jumping pain still pounded like a piledriver at his jaw. while the bartender was handing him a glass and a bottle, dinsmore caressed tenderly the aching emptiness and made a horrible discovery. buttermilk brown had pulled the wrong tooth. considering his temperament, pete showed remarkable self-restraint. he did not slay buttermilk violently and instantly. instead he led him back to the room of torture. "you pulled the wrong tooth, you drunken wreck," he said in effect, but in much more emphatic words. "now yank out the right one, and if you make another mistake--" he did not finish the threat, but it is possible that buttermilk understood. the dentist removed with difficulty the diseased molar. "well, we're through now," he said cheerfully. "i don't know as i ought to charge you for that last one. i'll leave that to you to say." "we're not quite through," corrected the patient. "i'm goin' to teach you to play monkey-shines with pete dinsmore's teeth." he laid a large revolver on the table and picked up the forceps. "take that chair, you bowlegged, knock-kneed, run-down runt." buttermilk protested in vain. he begged the bad-man for mercy with tears in his eyes. "i'm goin' to do scripture to you, and then some," explained dinsmore. "it says in the bible a tooth for a tooth, but i aim to pay good measure." the amateur dentist pulled four teeth and played no favorites. a molar, a bicuspid, a canine, and an incisor were laid in succession on the table. buttermilk brown wept with rage and pain. "four times five is twenty. dig up twenty dollars for professional services," said pete. his tearful patient paid the fee. this was the most painful, violent, and high-handed episode of buttermilk's young life. never in shelbyville, indiana, from which town he had migrated hopefully westward with his diploma, had such outrages been heard of. the instruments of providence are sometimes strange ones. nobody would have picked pete dinsmore for a reformer, but he changed the course of one young dentist's life. buttermilk fled from the southwest in horror, took the pledge eagerly, returned to shelbyville and married the belle of the town. he became a specialist in bridge-work, of which he carried a golden example in his own mouth. his wife has always understood that dr. brown--nobody ever called him buttermilk in his portly, prosperous indiana days--lost his teeth trying to save a child from a runaway. be that as it may, there is no record that he ever again pulled the wrong tooth for a patient. having completed his deed of justice, dinsmore in high good humor with himself set out to call on clint wadley. he had made an inoffensive human being suffer, and that is always something to a man's credit. if he could not do any better, pete would bully a horse, but he naturally preferred humans. they were more sensitive to pain. chapter xxvii clint frees his mind wadley was sitting on the porch with ramona. he was still a semi-invalid, and when he exercised too much his daughter scolded him like the little mother she was. "keep me here much longer, an' i'll turn into a regular old gossip in breeches," he complained. "i'll be jumbo wilkins number two, like as not." "is jumbo a specialist in gossip?" asked ramona. she liked to get her father at reminiscences. it helped to pass time that hung heavy on his hands. "is he? girl, he could talk a hind leg off'n a buckskin mule, jumbo could." he stopped to chuckle. "oncet, when we were drivin' a bunch of yearlin's on the brazos, one of the boys picked up an old skull. prob'ly some poor fellow killed by the indians. anyhow, that night when jumbo was wound up good, one of the lads pretended to discover that skull an' brought it into the camp-fire light. some one had wrote on it: 'talked to death by jumbo wilkins.'" 'mona rather missed the point. she was watching a man slouching down the road toward them. he was heavy-set and unwieldy, and he wore a wrinkled suit of butternut jeans. the eyes of the cattleman chilled. "you go into the house, 'mona. that fellow's pete dinsmore. i don't want you to meet him." "don't you, dad?" the heart of the girl fluttered at sight of this man who had nearly killed her father, but it was not fear but anger that burned in her eyes. "i'm going to sit right here. what does he want? he's not coming--to make trouble, is he?" "no. we've got business to settle. you run along in." "i know what your business is. it's--about ford." he looked at her in surprised dismay. "who told you that, honey?" "i'll tell you about that after he's gone. i want to stay, dad, to show him that i know all about it, and that we're not going to let him carry out any blackmailing scheme against us." dinsmore nodded grouchily as he came up the walk to the house. wadley did not ask him to sit down, and since there were no unoccupied chairs the rustler remained standing. "i got to have a talk with you, clint," the outlaw said. "send yore girl into the house." "she'll listen to anything you have to say, dinsmore. get through with it soon as you can, an' hit the trail," said the cattleman curtly. the other man flushed darkly. "you talk mighty biggity these days. i remember when you wasn't nothin' but a busted line-rider." "mebbeso. and before that i was a soldier in the army while you was doin' guerrilla jayhawkin'." "go ahead. say anything you've a mind to, clint. i'll make you pay before i'm through with you," answered the bad-man venomously. "you will if you can; i know that. you're a bad lot, dinsmore, you an' yore whole outfit. i'm glad ellison an' his rangers are goin' to clear you out of the country. a sure-enough good riddance, if any one asks me." the cattleman looked hard at him. he too had been a fighting man, but it was not his reputation for gameness that restrained the ruffian. wadley was a notch too high for him. he could kill another bad-man or some drunken loafer and get away with it. but he had seen the sentiment of the country when his brother had wounded the cattleman. it would not do to go too far. times were changing in the panhandle. henceforth lawlessness would have to travel by night and work under cover. with the coming of the rangers, men who favored law were more outspoken. dinsmore noticed that they deferred less to him, partly, no doubt, because of what that fool boy roberts had done without having yet had to pay for it. "that's what i've come to see you about, wadley. i'm not lookin' for trouble, but i never ran away from it in my life. no livin' man can lay on me without hell poppin'. you know it." "is that what you came to tell me, dinsmore?" asked the owner of the a t o, his mouth set grim and hard. there was an ugly look on the face of the outlaw, a cold glitter of anger in his deep-set eyes. "i hear you set the world an' all by that girl of yours there. better send her in, wadley. i'm loaded with straight talk." the girl leaned forward in the chair. she looked at him with a flash of disdainful eyes in which was a touch of feminine ferocity. but she let her father answer the man. "go on," said the old texan. "onload what you've got to say, an' then pull yore freight." "suits me, clint. i'm here to make a bargain with you. call ellison off. make him let me an' my friends alone. if you don't, we're goin' to talk--about yore boy ford." the man's upper lip lifted in a grin. he looked first at the father, then at the daughter. there was a tightening of the soft, round throat, but she met his look without wincing. the pallor of her face lent accent to the contemptuous loathing of the slender girl. "what are you goin' to say--that you murdered him, shot him down from behind?" demanded wadley. "that's a lie, clint. you know who killed him--an' why he did it. ford couldn't let the girls alone. i warned him as a friend, but he was hell-bent on havin' his own way." the voice of the cattleman trembled. "some day--i'm goin' to hunt you down like a wolf for what you did to my boy." a lump jumped to ramona's throat. she slipped her little hand into the big one of her father, and with it went all her sympathy and all her love. "you're 'way off, wadley. the boy was our friend. why should we shoot him?" asked the man from the chaparral. "because he interfered with you when you robbed my messenger." the startled eyes of the outlaw jumped to meet those of the cattleman. for a fraction of a second he was caught off his guard. then the film of wary craftiness covered them again. "that's plumb foolishness, clint. the mexican--what's his name?--killed ford because he was jealous, an' if it hadn't been for you, he'd 'a' paid for it long ago. but that ain't what i came to talk about. i'm here to tell you that i've got evidence to prove that ford was a rustler an' a hold-up. if it comes to a showdown, we're goin' to tell what we know. mebbe you want folks to know what kind of a brother yore girl had. that's up to you." wadley exploded in a sudden fury of passion. "i'll make no bargain with the murderer of my boy. get out of here, you damned yellow wolf. i don't want any truck with you at all till i get a chance to stomp you down like i would a rattler." the bad-man bared his fangs. for one moment of horror ramona thought he was going to strike like the reptile to which her father had compared him. he glared at the cattleman, the impulse strong in him to kill and be done with it. but the other side of him--the caution that had made it possible for him to survive so long in a world of violent men--held his hand until the blood-lust passed from his brain. "you've said a-plenty," he snarled thickly. "me, i've made my last offer to you. it's war between me 'n' you from now on." he turned away and went slouching down the path to the road. the two on the porch watched him out of sight. the girl had slipped inside her father's arm and was sobbing softly on his shoulder. "there, honeybug, now don't you--don't you," clint comforted. "he cayn't do us any harm. ellison's hot on his trail. i'll give him six months, an' then he's through. don't you fret, sweetheart. daddy will look out for you all right." "i--i wasn't thinking about me," she whispered. both of them were thinking of the dead boy and the threat to blacken his memory, but neither of them confessed it to the other. wadley cast about for something to divert her mind and found it in an unanswered question of his own. "you was goin' to tell me how come you to know what he wanted to talk with me about," the father reminded her. "you remember that day when arthur ridley brought me home?" he nodded assent. "one of the dinsmore gang--the one they call steve gurley--met me on the street. he was drunk, an' he stopped me to tell me about--ford. i tried to pass, an' he wouldn't let me. he frightened me. then arthur an' mr. roberts came round the corner. arthur came home with me, an'--you know what happened in front of mcguffey's store." the face of the girl had flushed a sudden scarlet. her father stared at her in an amazement that gave way to understanding. through his veins there crashed a wave of emotion. if he had held any secret grudge against tex roberts, it vanished forever that moment. this was the kind of son he would have liked to have himself. "by ginger, that was what he beat gurley up for! nobody knows why, an' roberts kept the real reason under his hat. he's a prince, jack roberts is. i did that boy a wrong, 'mona, an' guessed it all the time, just because he had a mixup with ford. he wasn't to blame for that, anyhow, i've been told." ramona felt herself unaccountably trembling. there was a queer little lump in her throat, but she knew it was born of gladness. "he's been good to me," she said, and told of the experience with the traveling salesman on the stage. clint wadley laughed. "i never saw that boy's beat. he's got everything a fellow needs to win. i can tell you one thing; he's goin' to get a chance to run the a t o for me before he's forty-eight hours older. he'll be a good buy, no matter what salary he sticks me for." 'mona became aware that she was going to break down--and "make a little fool of herself," as she would have put it. "i forgot to water my canary," she announced abruptly. the girl jumped up, ran into the house and to her room. but if the canary was suffering from thirst, it remained neglected. ramona's telltale face was buried in a pillow. she was not quite ready yet to look into her own eyes and read the message they told. chapter xxviii on a cold trail "dog it, jack, we got to go after the dinsmores," said ellison, pounding the table with his fist. "i've just had a letter from the old man wantin' to know why we don't get results. it's not the ranger policy to wait for outlaws to come to us. we go after 'em." tex smiled cheerfully. "suits me fine. what are your instructions, captain? want me to arrest homer dinsmore again?" "what would i do with him if you got him?" snapped the old-timer. "you could turn him loose again," suggested roberts, not entirely without sarcasm. "if you boys were worth the powder to blow you-all up--!" exploded the veteran. "instead of bein' a jackpot bunch of triflin' no-account scalawags," murmured jack. "--you'd hustle out an' get evidence against 'em." "sounds reasonable." the ranger lifted his heels to the seat of a second chair and rolled him a cigarette. "you'd find out where they're hidin' the cattle they rustle." "are you givin' me an assignment, captain?" "you done said it, son. there's a bunch of rustled stock up in the rocks somewheres. you know it. question is, can you find the cache?" "i can try." "wasn't it you told me once about bumpin' into a rustler doin' business whilst you was ridin' the line?" "at the mouth of box cañon--yes." "well, wha's the matter with you scoutin' up box cañon an' seein' what you find?" "they're roostin' up there somewheres. i'll bet a hat on that." "how many boys you want with you?" jack considered. "one. i'll take ridley if you don't mind." "he's a tenderfoot," suggested ellison doubtfully. "won't be of any help to you a-tall in cutting sign. if you leave him he's liable to get lost. better take moser, hadn't you?" "rather have ridley. he doesn't claim to know it all. besides, we've got to break him in sometime." "suits me if he does you. it's yore party." "we'll start in the mo'nin'." "the sooner the quicker," agreed the captain. "i want the old man to know we're not spendin' our time settin' around a office. he's got no call to crawl my hump when you boys are doin' the best you can. well, go to it, son. see if you-all can get evidence that will stand up so's we can collect that bunch of hawss-thieves." before daybreak the two rangers were on their way. they drove a pack-horse, their supplies loaded on a sawbuck saddle with kyacks. jack had been brought up in the panhandle. he knew this country as a seventh-grade teacher does her geography. therefore he cut across the desert to the cap-rock, thence to dry creek, and so by sunset to box cañon. at the mouth of the gulch they slept under the stars. as soon as they had cooked their coffee and bacon roberts stamped out the fire. "we don't want to advertise we're here. i'm some particular about my health. i'd hate to get dry-gulched[ ] on this job," said jack. "would the dinsmores shoot us if they found us?" asked ridley, searching with his head for the softest spot in his saddle for a pillow. "would a calf milk its mother? they're sore as a toad at me, an' i expect that goes for any other ranger too. homer might give us an even break because we stayed with him on the island, but i'd hate to bet my head on that." "if we get any evidence against them they can't afford to let us go," agreed arthur. "an' if they jump us up, how're they goin' to know how much we've seen? there's one safe way, an' they would ce'tainly take it." "dead men tell no tales, it's said." "some of 'em do an' some don't. i never met up with a proverb yet that wasn't 'way off about half the time. for instance, that one you quoted. rutherford wadley's body told me considerable. it said that he'd been killed on the bluff above an' flung down; that he'd been shot by a rifle in the hands of a man standin' about a hundred an' fifty yards away; that he'd been taken by surprise an' probably robbed." "it wouldn't have told me all that." "not till you learn to read sign closer than you do. an outdoor education is like a school-book one. you can't learn it in a day or a week or a year." "you're no methuselah. there's still hope for me." "lots o' hope. it's mostly keepin' yore eyes open an' yore brain workin'. i'm still only in the a b c class, but a fellow learns somethin' every day if he's that kind." "if it's a matter of brains, why do indians make the best trailers? you wouldn't say their brains are as good as a white man's, would you?" "no; an' i'd say there's nothin' on earth an indian can do as well as a white man, given the same chance to learn it. indians know the outdoors because they have to know it to live. the desert's no prodigal mother. her sons have to rustle right smart to keep their tummies satisfied. if the 'paches and the kiowas didn't know how to cut sign an' read it, how to hunt an' fish an' follow a trail, they'd all be in their happy huntin' grounds long ago. they're what old nature has made 'em. but i'll tell you this. when a white man gives his mind to it he understands the life of the plains better than any indian does. his brains are better, an' he goes back an' looks for causes. the best trailers in the world are whites, not redskins." "i didn't know that," arthur said. "ask any old-timer if it ain't so." they were eating breakfast when the light on the horizon announced a new day on the way. already this light was saturating the atmosphere and dissolving shadows. the vegetation of the plains, the wave rolls of the land, the distant horizon line, became more distinct. by the time the sun pushed into sight the rangers were in the saddle. roberts led through the polecat brush to the summit of a little mesa which overlooked the gulch. along the edge of the ravine he rode, preferring the bluff to the sandy wash below because the ground was less likely to tell the dinsmores a story of two travelers riding up box cañon. at the head of the gorge a faint trail dipped to the left. painted on a rock was a sign that jack had seen before. this is pete dinsmore's road-- take another. he grinned reminiscently. "i did last time. i took the back trail under orders." "whose orders?" asked ridley. "pete's, i reckon." "if there's a story goes with that grin--" suggested arthur. "no story a-tall. i caught a fellow brandin' a calf below the cañon. he waved me around. some curious to see who the guy was that didn't want to say 'how?' to me, i followed him into box." that seemed to be the end of the yarn. at any rate, jack stopped. "well, did you find out who he was?" "no, but i found this sign, an' above it a rifle slantin' down at me, an' back of the rifle a masked face. the fellow that owned the face advised me about my health." "what about it?" "why, that this rough country wasn't suited to my disposition, temperament, an' general proclivities. so i p'inted back to where i had come from." "and you never satisfied your curiosity about who the rustler was?" "didn't i?" drawled jack. "did you?" "mebbe i did. i'm not tellin' that yarn--not to-day." the country was rougher and hillier. the trail they had been following died away in the hills, but they crossed and recrossed others, made by buffaloes, antelopes, and coyotes driven by the spur of their needs in the years that had passed. countless generations of desert life had come and gone before even the indians drifted in to live on the buffalo. "why is it that there's more warfare on the desert than there is back east? the cactus has spines. the rattlesnake, the centipede, the gila monster, the tarantula, all carry poison. even the toad has a horn. everywhere it is a fight to survive. the vegetation, as well as the animal life, fights all the time against drought. it's a regular hell on earth," arthur concluded. jack eased himself in the saddle. "looks kinda like nature made the desert an' grinned at life, much as to say, 'i defy you to live there,' don't it? sure there's warfare, but i reckon there's always war between different forms of life. if there wasn't, the world would be rank with all sorts of things crowdin' each other. the war would have to come then after all. me, i like it. i like the way life came back with an answer to the challenge. it equipped itself with spines an' stings an' horns an' tough hides because it had to have 'em. it developed pores an' stomachs that could get along without much water. who wants to live in a land where you don't have to rustle for a livin'?" "you belong to the west. you're of it," ridley said. "if you'd seen the fine grasslands of the east, the beautiful, well-kept farms and the fat stock, you'd understand what i mean. a fellow gets homesick for them." roberts nodded. "i've seen 'em an' i understand. oncet i went back east an' spent three months there. i couldn't stand it. i got sick for the whinin' of a rope, wanted to hump over the hills after cows' tails. the nice little farms an' the nice little people with their nice little ways kinda cramped me. i reckon in this ol' world it's every one to his own taste." his eye swept the landscape. "looks like there's water down there. if so, we'll fall off for a spell an' rest the hawsses." [footnote : a man is said to be "dry-gulched" when he mysteriously disappears,--killed by his enemies and buried under a pile of rocks.] chapter xxix burnt brands at the end of the third day of scouting jack came back to camp late, but jubilant. "i've found what we're lookin' for, art. i drifted across a ridge an' looked down into a draw this evenin'. a fellow was ridin' herd on a bunch of cows. they looked to me like a jackpot lot, but i couldn't be sure at that distance. i'm gonna find out what brands they carry." "how?" "the only way i know is to get close enough to see." "can you do that without being noticed?" "mebbe i can. the fellow watchin' the herd ain't expectin' visitors. probably he loafs on the job some of the time. i'm gamblin' he does." roberts unloaded from the saddle the hindquarters of a black-tail deer he had shot just before sunset. he cut off a couple of steaks for supper and ridley raked together the coals of the fire. "throw these into a fry-pan, art, while i picket old ten-penny," said jack. "i'm sure hungry enough to eat a mail sack. i lay up there in the brush 'most two hours an' that fellow's cookin' drifted to me till i was about ready to march down an' hold him up for it." "what's the programme?" asked arthur later, as they lay on their tarpaulins smoking postprandial cigarettes. "i'll watch for a chance, then slip down an' see what's what. i want to know who the man is an' what brand the stock are carryin'. that's all. if it works out right mebbe we'll gather in the man an' drive the herd back to town." "then i go along, do i?" "yes, but probably you stay back in the brush till i signal for you to come down. we'll see how the thing works out." ridley lay awake for hours beneath a million stars, unable to get his alert nerves quiet enough for sleep. the crisis of his adventure was near and his active imagination was already dramatizing it vividly. he envied his friend, who had dropped into restful slumber the moment his head touched the saddle. he knew that roberts was not insensitive. he, too, had a lively fancy, but it was relegated to the place of servant rather than master. in the small hours arthur fell into troubled sleep and before his eyes were fully shut--as it seemed to the drowsy man--he was roused by his companion pulling the blankets from under him. ridley sat up. the soft sounds of the desert night had died away, the less subdued ones of day showed that another life was astir. "time to get up, sleepy haid. breakfast is ready. come an' get it," called jack. they packed their supplies on the extra horse and saddled their mounts. the day was still young when they struck across the plains to the north. the way they took was a circuitous one, for roberts was following the draws and valleys as far as possible in order to escape observation. the sun was high in the heavens when he drew up in the rim-rock. "we'll 'light here an' picket the broncs," he said. this done, both men examined their rifles and revolvers carefully to guard against any hitch in the mechanism. then, still following the low country, they worked forward cautiously for another half-mile. jack fell back to give the other ranger final instructions. "there's a clump of cactus on the summit. we'll lie back o' there. you stay right there when i go forward. if i get the breaks i'll wave you on later. if i don't get 'em you may have to come a-shootin' to help me." they crept up an incline, wriggling forward on their stomachs the last few yards to the shelter of the cactus on the crest. before them lay a little valley. on the cactus-covered slope opposite a herd of cattle was grazing. no guard was in sight. for two hours they lay there silently, watching intently. "i'll slip down right now an' take a look at the brands," said jack. "hadn't i better come too?" "you stick right where you're at, art. i might need a friend under cover to do some fancy shootin' for me if the dinsmores arrived unexpected." there was no cover on the near slope. jack made no attempt to conceal himself, but strode swiftly down into the valley. goosequills ran up and down his spine, for he did not know at what moment a bullet might come singing down at him. he reached the outgrazers of the herd and identified the a t o brand on half a dozen cows. the brand had been changed by an adroit touch or two of a running-iron. probably the cattle were being held here until the hair had grown again enough to conceal the fact of a recent burn. the ranger circled the herd, moving toward the brow of the land swell. he made the most of the cactus, but there was an emptiness about the pit of his stomach. if some one happened to be watching him, a single shot would make an end of tex roberts. his scalp prickled and drew tight, as though some unseen hand were dragging at it. from one clump to another he slipped, every sense keyed to alertness. the rifle in his hand, resting easily against the right hip, could be lifted instantly. at the top of the rise the ranger waited behind a prickly pear to search the landscape. it rolled away in long low waves to the horizon. a mile or more away, to the left, a faint, thin film of smoke hung lazily in the air. this meant a camp. the rustlers, to play safe, had located it not too near the grazing herd. it was a place, no doubt, where water was handy and from which the outlaws, if caught by surprise, could make a safe and swift retreat to the rim-rock. again, in a wide circuit in order not to meet anybody who might be riding from the camp to the herd, the ranger moved forward warily. the smoke trickle was his guide and his destination. he took his time. he was in no hurry. speed was the least part of his programme. far more important was secrecy. with that patience which the frontiersman has learned from the indian he followed a tortuous course through the brush. his trained eye told him the best direction for approach, the side from which he could get nearest to the camp with the least risk of being seen. through the curly mesquite he crawled, hiding behind the short bushlike clumps until he had chosen the next line of advance. at last, screened by a spanish bayonet, he commanded a view of the camp. so far as he could tell it was deserted. camp equipment lay scattered about. a frying-pan, a coffee-pot, tin cups and plates, had been dropped here and there. the coals of the fire still smouldered and gave forth a wisp of smoke. fifty yards away a horse was picketed. it was an easy guess that the campers had not gone permanently, but were away from home for a few hours. where were they? recalling the horses he and his companion had left picketed not far away, jack felt a momentary qualm. if the dinsmores should happen to stumble on them the situation would be an awkward one. the hunters would become the hunted. deprived of their horses and supplies, the rangers would be at a decided disadvantage. the only option left them would be to come to close quarters with the rustlers or to limp back home discouraged and discredited. roberts preferred not to have his hand forced. he wanted to wait on opportunity and see what it brought him. he moved forward to the camp and made a swift examination of it. several men had slept here last night and four had eaten breakfast a few hours since. he could find no extra supplies, which confirmed his opinion that this was only a temporary camp of a night or two. a heavy buzzing of flies in a buffalo wallow not far away drew his steps. the swarm covered a saddle of deer from which enough for a meal had been slashed before it was thrown away. the ranger moved nothing. he left no signs other than his tracks to show that a stranger had been at the camp. as soon as he had inspected it he withdrew. he had decided that the first thing to do was to join ridley, make sure of their horses, and leave his companion in charge of them. afterward he could return alone and watch the rustlers. since he knew that the rustlers were away from their camp, the ranger did not feel the need of taking such elaborate precautions against discovery during the return journey. he made a wide circuit, but his long, easy stride carried him swiftly over the ground. swinging round the valley in which the herd was grazing, he came up from the rear to the brush-covered summit where he had left ridley. arthur had gone. he was nowhere in sight. nor was there any sign to show where he had gone. it was possible that some alarm might have sent him back to look after the horses. jack ran down the incline to the little draw where the animals had been picketed. the broncos were safe, but ridley was not with them. chapter xxx rogues disagree with a heart that pounded queerly arthur watched his friend cross the valley and work his way to the ridge beyond. even after jack had disappeared, he waited, nerves jumpy, for the crack of a rifle to carry news of death in the mesquite. no tidings of tragedy came. the minutes fulfilled the hour. the many small sounds of the desert were shattered by no report. at last, drowsing in the warmth of the sunlit land, the ranger's eyes closed, opened, and shut again. he nodded, fell asleep. when he awakened it was with a shock of dread. his heart died. four men were watching him. two of them had him covered with revolvers. a third was just removing noiselessly his rifle and six-shooter from reach of his hand. he jumped to his feet. the consternation in his eyes showed how completely he had been caught napping. one of the men--a long, lank, cross-eyed fellow--laughed mockingly, and the sound of his mirth was evil. "whatta you doin' here?" demanded one whom he recognized as pete dinsmore. for a moment the ranger's mind was a blank. he could not make it serve his needs. words were out of reach of his tongue. then, "i'm lost," he stammered. "are you alone?" "yes." out of his confusion one idea stood up imperatively. he must not betray jack. "where's yore hawss?" "it--it got away from me." "when?" "last night." it seemed to him that he could keep just one jump ahead of this dominant man's menacing questions. "howcome that?" "i shot a prairie-hen, and when i got down to get it--i don't know--my horse got frightened and jerked away. i tried to catch it. the brute wouldn't let me. then night came." "what were you doin' so far from town?" cut in one of the two who were covering him. he was a short, heavy-set man. "that's right, dave. looks funny to me." gurley seemed fairly to ooze malice. "just happened to drift here to this herd, i reckon. it sure was yore unlucky day." arthur looked from one to another despairingly. he found no hope anywhere, not even in the expressionless face of homer dinsmore, who as yet had not spoken a word. there came over the boy what he afterward described as a "gone" feeling. it was the sensation, intensified many times, felt when an elevator drops from under one in swift descent. "i--don't know what you mean," he faltered. "you will," said gurley brutally. "been across the valley to the herd yet?" asked overstreet, elaborately careless. here was one question ridley could answer with the truth. he spoke swiftly, eagerly. "no." his questioner exchanged looks with homer dinsmore and laughed. the ranger had betrayed himself. he had been so quick to deny that he had been near the herd that his anxiety gave him away. they knew he suspected them of having rustled the stock grazing on the slope. very likely he had already verified his doubts as to burnt brands. homer dinsmore spoke for the first time. his voice was harsh. "why don't you tell the truth? you came to get evidence against us." "evidence?" repeated arthur dully. "to prove we're rustlin' stock. you know damn well." "why, i--i--" "and you didn't come alone. ellison never sent a tenderfoot like you out except with others. where are the rest of yore party? come through." "i'm alone." arthur stuck to that doggedly. "if he's got a bunch of rangers back of him we better burn the wind outa here," suggested gurley, looking around uneasily. overstreet looked at him with scorn and chewed tobacco imperturbably. "keep yore shirt on, steve. time enough to holler when you're hurt." "i haven't got a bunch of rangers with me," cried ridley desperately, beads of sweat on his brow. it had come to him that if he persuaded these men he had no companions with him he would be sealing his doom. they could murder him with impunity. but he could not betray jack. he must set his teeth to meet the worst before he did that. "i tell you i'm alone. i don't know what you mean about the cattle. i haven't been across the valley. i came here, and i hadn't slept all night. so i was all worn out. and somehow i fell asleep." "all alone, eh?" pete dinsmore murmured it suavely. his crafty mind was weighing the difference this made in the problem before the outlaws--the question as to what to do with this man. they could not let him go back with his evidence. it would not be safe to kill him if he had merely strayed from a band of rangers. but assuming he told the truth, that he had no companions, then there was a very easy and simple way out for the rustlers. the ranger could not tell what he knew--however much or little that might be--_if he never returned to town_. "i keep telling you that i'm alone, that i got lost," arthur insisted. "what would i be doing here without a horse if i had friends?" "tha's right," agreed gurley. "i reckon he got lost like he said." he, too, by the same process of reasoning as pete dinsmore, had come to a similar conclusion. he reflected craftily that ridley was probably telling the truth. why should he persist in the claim that he was alone if he had friends in the neighborhood, since to persuade his captors of this was to put himself wholly in their power? "you're easily fooled, steve," sneered homer. "i've camped with this bird, an' i tell you he's got a passel of rangers with him somewheres. we're standin' here jawin' waitin' for them to round us up, i reckon." overstreet looked at homer. his eyebrows lifted in a slight surprise. he and the younger dinsmore had been side partners for years. homer was a cool customer. it wasn't like him to scare. there was something in this he did not understand. anyhow, he would back his pal's play till he found out. "i expect you're right. we can easy enough prove it. let's light out for the cap-rock an' hole up for a coupla days. then one of us will slip out an' see if the herd's still here an' no rangers in sight. we'll keep this gent a prisoner till we know where we're at? how's that?" "you talk like we was the united states army, dave," growled pete dinsmore. "we got no way to take care o' prisoners. i'm for settlin' this thing right here." the outlaws drew closer together and farther from ridley. he was unarmed and wholly in their power. if he tried to run he could not get twenty yards. the voices of the men fell. arthur began to tremble. his face grew gray, his lips bloodless. on the issue of that conference his life hung. the easiest thing to do would be to make an end of him now. would they choose that way out of the difficulty? he could see that gurley had, for the moment at least, joined forces with homer and dave overstreet against pete, but he could hear none of the arguments. "you're wrong, pete. we're playin' safe. that's all. my notion is this guy's tellin' the truth. there's only one thing to do. i don't reckon any of us want him to go back to town. but if we do anything with him here, the rangers are liable to find his body. oncet up in the cap-rock we can dry-gulch him." the older dinsmore gave way with an oath. "all right. have yore own way, boys. majority rules. we'll postpone this discussion till later." gurley brought the horses. arthur was mounted behind him, his feet tied beneath the belly of the horse. the rustlers rode in pairs, homer dinsmore and overstreet in the rear. "what makes you think this fellow has friends near, homer?" asked his companion. "he doesn't know enough to ride alone. but i don't care whether he's alone or not. i'm not goin' to have the boy killed. he stood by me on the island to a finish. of course that wouldn't go with steve an' pete, so i put it on the other ground." "want to turn him loose, do you?" "i'd swear him first to padlock his mouth. he'd do it, too, if he said so." "some risk that, old-timer." "i got to do it, dave. can't throw him down, can i?" "don't see as you can. well, make yore play when you get ready. i'll shove my chips in beside yours. i never yet killed a man except in a fight an' i've got no fancy for beginnin' now." "much obliged, dave." "how far do you 'low to go? if pete gets ugly like he sometimes does, he'll be onreasonable." "i'll manage him. if he does get set there'll be a pair of us. mebbe i'm just about as stubborn as he is." "i believe you. well, i'll be with you at every jump of the road," overstreet promised. the discussion renewed itself as soon as the outlaws had hidden themselves in a pocket of the cap-rock. again they drew apart from their prisoner and talked in excited but reduced voices. "the rangers have got no evidence we collected this fellow," argued gurley. "say he disappears off'n the earth. mebbe he died of thirst lost on the plains. mebbe a buffalo bull killed him. mebbe--" "mebbe he went to heaven in a chariot of fire," drawled overstreet, to help out the other's imagination. "the point is, why should we be held responsible? nobody knows we were within fifty miles of him, doggone it." "that's where you're wrong. the rangers know it. they're right on our heels, i tell you," differed homer dinsmore. "we'll get the blame. no manner o' doubt about that," said overstreet. "say we do. they can't prove a thing--not a thing." "you talk plumb foolish, steve. why don't you use yore brains?" answered homer impatiently. "we can go just so far. if we overstep the limit this country will get too hot for us. there'll be a grand round-up, an' we'd get ours without any judge or jury. the folks of this country are law-abidin', but there's a line we can't cross." "that's all right," agreed pete. "but there's somethin' in what steve says. if this tenderfoot wandered off an' got lost, nobody's goin' to hold us responsible for him." "he didn't no such thing get lost. listen. tex roberts was with him the day steve--fell over the box. tex was with him when we had the rumpus with the kiowas on the canadian. those lads hunt together. is it likely this ridley, who don't know sic' 'em, got so far away from the beaten trails alone? not in a thousand years. there's a bunch of rangers somewheres near. we got to play our hands close, pete." "we're millin' around in circles, homer. why does this fellow ridley claim he's alone? he must know it's up to him to persuade us his friends are about two jumps behind us." "one guess is as good as another. here's mine," said overstreet. "he wants to throw us off our guard. he's hopin' we'll pull some fool break an' the rangers will make a gather of our whole bunch." "good enough," said homer, nodding agreement. "another thing. this lad ridley's not game. but he's a long way from bein' yellow. he's not gonna queer the campaign of the rangers by tellin' what he knows." "betcha i can make him talk," boasted gurley. "put a coupla sticks between the roots of his fingers an' press--" "think we're a bunch of 'paches, steve?" demanded homer roughly. "come to that, i'll say plain that i'm no murderer, let alone torture. i've killed when i had to, but the other fellow had a run for his money. if i beat him to the draw that was his lookout. he had no holler comin'. but this kid--not for me." "different here," said pete evenly. "he knew what he was up against when he started. if it was us or him that had to go, i wouldn't hesitate a minute. question is, what's safest for us?" "the most dangerous thing for us is to harm him. do that, an' we won't last a month in this country." "what's yore idea, then, homer? we can't hold him till christmas. soon as we let him go, he'll trot back an' tell all he knows," protested his brother irritably. "what does he know? nothin' except that we found him when he claimed to be lost an' that we looked after him an' showed him how to get home. even if he's seen those cattle he can't prove we burned the brands, can he?" "no-o." "in a day or two we'll take the trail. i'll put it to ridley that we haven't time to take him back to town an' that he'd sure get lost if we turned him loose here. we'll drop him somewheres on the trail after we've crossed the line." "fine an' dandy," jeered gurley. "we'll introduce him to the herd an' take him along so's he'll be sure we're the rustlers." they wrangled back and forth, covering the same ground time and again. at last they agreed to postpone a decision till next day. homer reported the issue of their debate, colored to suit his purpose, to the white-faced ranger. "i reckon we'll have to look out for you, ridley. it wouldn't do to turn you loose. you'd get lost sure. mebbe in a day or two some of us will be driftin' in to town an' can take you along." "if you'd start me in the right direction i think i could find my way back," arthur said timidly. "no chance, young fellow. you'll stay right here till we get good an' ready for you to go. see?" the ranger did not push the point. he knew very well it would not be of the least use. his fears were temporarily allayed. he felt sure that homer dinsmore would put up a stiff argument before he would let him be sacrificed. chapter xxxi a pair of deuces from the lookout point among the rocks where he was stationed overstreet shouted a warning to his companions below. "fellow with a white flag ridin' in. looks like he might be a ranger." pete dinsmore dropped a coffee-pot and took three strides to his rifle. his brother homer and steve gurley garnished themselves promptly with weapons. they joined the lookout, and from the big rocks could see without being seen. the man coming to their hang-out had a handkerchief or a flour sack tied to the barrel of his rifle and was holding it in the air. he jogged along steadily without any haste and without any apparent hesitation. he was leading a saddled riderless horse. a rifle cracked. pete dinsmore whirled on gurley angrily. "what you do that for?" malice, like some evil creature, writhed in gurley's face. "it's that fellow roberts. we got him right at last. leggo my arm." "i'll beat yore head off if you shoot again. lucky for you you missed. don't you see he comes here as a messenger. ellison musta sent him." "i don' care how he comes. he'll never go away except feet first." the man who had been horsewhipped by the ranger was livid with rage. dinsmore swung him round by the shoulder savagely. "who elected you boss of this outfit, steve? don't ride on the rope or you'll sure git a fall." the eyes of pete were blazing. gurley gave way sullenly. "tha's all right. i ain't aimin' noways to cross you. i can wait to git this fellow if you say so." the ranger had pulled up his horse and was waving the improvised flag. pete gave directions. "homer, you an' dave go down an' find out what he wants. don't bring him in unless you blindfold him first. we don't wanta introduce him to the place so as he can walk right in again any time." the two men named walked out to meet the ranger. they greeted him with grim little nods, which was exactly the salutation he gave them. the hard level eyes of the men met without yielding an eyebeat. "don't you know a flag of truce when you see it, dinsmore?" demanded roberts. "excuse that shot, mr. ranger," said homer evenly. "it was a mistake." "gurley does make 'em," returned jack, guessing shrewdly. "some day he'll make one too many." "i take it you came on business." "why, yes. captain ellison sent me with his compliments to get ranger ridley." "lost him, have you?" "you can't exactly call him lost when we know where he is." "meanin' that he's here?" "you ring the bell first shot." overstreet broke in, to mark time. "you think we've got him?" "we do. don't you?" "and ellison wants him, does he?" "wants him worse 'n a heifer cow does her calf." roberts laughed softly, as though from some fund of inner mirth. "he's kinda hopin' you'll prove stubborn so as to give him a chance to come an' get him." "where is ellison?" the ranger smiled. "he didn't give me any instructions about tellin' you where he is." "h'mp! you can come in an' talk with pete. we'll have to blindfold you," said dinsmore. the envoy made no objections. he dismounted. a bandana was tied across his eyes, and the men led him into the pocket of rock. the handkerchief was removed. jack told again what he had come for. "how did you know we were here?" demanded pete. "it's our business to know such things." jack did not think it wise to mention that he had been here once before, the same day he found rutherford wadley's body a few miles away at the foot of a bluff. "ridley told us he was alone--no rangers a-tall with him, he said." "did he?" jack showed amusement. "what did you expect him to tell you? he draws pay as a ranger." "what's ellison's proposition?" "captain ellison hasn't any proposition to make, if by that you mean compromise. you're to turn ridley over to me. that's all." "an' where do we get off?" snorted pete. "what does that buy us?" "it buys you six hours' time for a get-away. i've got no business to do it, but i'll promise to loaf around an' not report to captain ellison till after noon. i'll go that far." "i don' know's we want to make any get-away. we could hold the fort right here against quite a few rangers, i reckon." "suit yourself," said jack indifferently. pete chewed tobacco slowly and looked down sullenly at a flat rock without seeing it. anger burned in him like a smouldering fire in peat. he hated this man roberts, and ellison he regarded as a natural enemy. nothing would have pleased him more than to settle his feud with the ranger on the spot with a six-shooter. but that meant a hurried exit from the panhandle at a sacrifice of his accumulated profits. this did not suit dinsmore's plans. his purpose was to leave texas with enough money to set him up in business in colorado or wyoming. it would not do to gratify his revenge just now. nor did he dare to carry out his threat and let the rangers attack him. his policy was to avoid any conflict if possible. "have to talk it over with the other boys," he said abruptly. "you wait here." jack sat down on a rock while the rustlers retired and discussed the situation. there was not room for much difference of opinion. the rangers had forced their hand. all they could do was to slip out of the rim-rock and make for another zone of safety. this would involve losing the stock they had rustled, but their option was a choice of two evils and this was decidedly the lesser. pete announced their decision truculently, his chin thrust out. "one of these days we'll tangle, you 'n' me, young fellow. but not to-day. take ridley an' git out _pronto_ before i change my mind. for a plug of tobacco i'd go to foggin' the air right now." the prisoner was brought forward. his weapons were restored to him. with the long strain of fear lifted at last from his mind, it was hard for him to keep down a touch of hysterical joy. but he managed to return jack's casual greeting with one as careless to all appearance. he had caught the drift of the talk and he played up to his friend promptly. "i was rather lookin' for you or one of the other boys about now, jack," he said. "mighty careless of me to get nabbed asleep." ten minutes later the two rangers were outside the pocket riding across the plain. "hope pete won't change his mind an' plump a few bullets at us. he's a right explosive proposition," said roberts. it was all arthur could do to keep from quickening the pace. his mind wouldn't be easy until several miles lay between him and his late captors. "where's captain ellison waiting?" asked ridley. "he's probably at tascosa or mobeetie. i haven't seen him since you have." "didn't he send you to the dinsmores after me?" "why, no." arthur drew a deep breath of relief. if he had weakened in his story that he was alone and had told the truth, he would have brought ruin upon both himself and his friend. "you mean you went in there on a pure bluff, knowing how they hated you and what a big chance there was that they would murder you?" "i took a chance, i reckon. but it looked good to me." "if i had told them you and i were alone--" "i figured you wouldn't do that. i had a notion my bluff would stick. they wouldn't think i'd come to them unless i had strong backin'. the bigger the bluff the better the chance of its workin'." "unless i had told that there were only two of us." "that was one of the risks i had to gamble on, but i felt easy in my mind about that. you'll notice one thing if you stay with the rangers, art. they can get away with a lot of things they couldn't pull off as private citizens. the law is back of us, and back of the law is the state of texas. when it comes to a showdown, mighty few citizens want to get us after them good and hard. we always win in the end. the bad-men all know that." "just the same, for cold nerve i never saw the beat of what you did now." "sho! nothin' to that. a pair of deuces is good as a full house when your hand ain't called. we'll swing over to the left here an' gather up that bunch of rustled stock, art." late that afternoon, as they were following the dust of the drive, ridley voiced a doubt in his heart. "isn't there a chance that the dinsmores will follow us and find out we're alone?" "quite a chance," agreed jack cheerfully. "if so, we're liable to swap bullets yet. but i don't reckon they'll do that hardly. more likely they're hittin' the trail for palo duro to hole up." the outlaws did not molest them during the drive. four days later they reached town with their thirsty, travel-worn herd. captain ellison was at the hotel and jack reported to him at once. the eyes of the little ranger chief gleamed. "good boys, both of you. by dog, the old man won't write me any more sassy letters when he reads what you done. i always did say that my boys--" "--were a bunch of triflin' scalawags," jack reminded him. the captain fired up, peppery as ever. "you light outa here and see if a square meal won't help some, you blamed impudent young rascal." chapter xxxii the hold-up when wadley made to jack roberts the offer he had spoken of to his daughter, the face of that young man lighted up at once. but without hesitation he refused the chance to manage the a t o ranch. "sorry, but i can't work for you, mr. wadley." the big texan stiffened. "all right," he said huffily. "just as you please. i'm not goin' to beg you on my knees to take the best job in the panhandle. plenty of good men want it." the frank smile of the ranger was disarming. "they don't want it any worse than i do, mr. wadley. i'm not a fool. just because we had a difference oncet, i'm not standin' on my dignity. nothin' like that. you're offerin' me a big chance--the biggest i'm ever likely to get. when you pick me to boss the a t o under yore orders, you pay me a sure-enough compliment, an' i'd be plumb glad to say yes." "well, why don't you?" "because the rangers have got an unfinished job before them here, an' i'm not goin' to leave captain ellison in the lurch. i'll stick to my dollar a day till we've made a round-up." the cattleman clapped him on the shoulder. "that's right, boy. that's the way to talk. make yore clean-up, then come see me. i won't promise to hold this job open, but i want you to talk with me before you sign up with any one else." but the weeks passed, and the dinsmores still operated in the land. they worked under cover, less openly than in the old days, but still a storm-center of trouble. it was well known that they set the law at defiance, but no man who could prove it would produce evidence. meanwhile spring had made way for summer, and summer was beginning to burn into autumn. the little force of rangers rode the land and watched for that false move which some day the dinsmores would make to bring them within reach of the law. on one of its trips in the early fall, the clarendon stage left town almost half an hour late. it carried with it a secret, but everybody on board had heard a whisper of it. there was a gold shipment in the box consigned to tascosa. a smooth-faced ranger sat beside the driver with a rifle across his knees. he had lately been appointed to the force, and this was one of his first assignments. perhaps that was why arthur ridley was a little conscious of his new buckskin suit and the importance of his job. the passengers were three. one was a jolly irish mule-skinner with a picturesque vocabulary and an inimitable brogue. the second wore the black suit and low-crowned hat of a clergyman, and yellow goggles to protect his eyes from the sun. he carried a roll of scriptural charts such as are used in sunday-schools. the third was an angular and spectacled schoolmarm, for tascosa was going to celebrate by starting a school. most of those on board were a trifle nervous. the driver was not quite at his ease; nor was the shotgun messenger. for somehow word had got out a day or two in advance of the gold shipment that it was to be sent on that date. the passengers, too, had faint doubts about the wisdom of going to tascosa on that particular trip. the first twenty miles of the journey were safely covered. the stage drew near to the place where now is located the famous goodnight cattalo ranch. from the farther side of a cut in the road came a sharp order to the driver. two men had ridden out from the brush and were moving beside the stage. each of them carried a rifle. the driver leaned backward on the reins with a loud "whoa!" it was an article of faith with him never to argue with a road-agent. ridley swung round to fire. from the opposite side of the road a shot rang out. two more horsemen had appeared. the reins slid from the hands of the driver, and he himself from the seat. his body struck the wheel on the way to the ground. the bullet intended for the armed guard had passed through his head. in the packed moments that followed, a dozen shots were fired, most of them by the outlaws, two by the man on the box. a bullet struck arthur in the elbow, and the shock of it for a time paralyzed his arm. the rifle clattered against the singletree in its fall. but the shortest of the outlaws was sagging in his saddle and clutching at the pommel to support himself. from an unexpected quarter there came a diversion. with one rapid gesture the man in the clergyman's garb had brushed aside his yellow goggles; with another he had stripped the outer cover of charts from his roll and revealed a sawed-off shotgun. as he stepped down to the road, he fired from his hip. the whole force of the load of buckshot took the nearest outlaw in the vitals and lifted him from his horse. before he struck the ground he was dead. in the flash of an eye the tide of battle had turned. the surprise of seeing the clergyman galvanized into action tipped the scale. one moment the treasure lay unguarded within reach of the outlaws; the next saw their leader struck down as by a bolt from heaven. the lank bandit ripped out a sudden oath of alarm from behind the handkerchief he wore as a mask and turned his horse in its tracks. he dug home his spurs and galloped for the brow of the hill. the other unwounded robber backed away more deliberately, covering the retreat of his injured companion. presently they, too, had passed over the top of the hill and disappeared. the ex-clergyman turned to the treasure-guard. "how bad is it with you, art?" he asked gently. that young man grinned down a little wanly at jack roberts. he felt suddenly nauseated and ill. this business of shooting men and being shot at filled him with horror. "not so bad. i got it in the arm, jack. poor old hank will never drive again." the ranger who had been camouflaged as a clergyman stooped to examine the driver. that old-timer's heart had stopped beating. "he's gone on his last long trip, art." "this schoolmarm lady has fainted," announced the mule-skinner. "she's got every right in the world to faint. in iowa, where she comes from, folks live in peace. better sprinkle water on her face, mike." jack moved over to the dead outlaw and lifted the bandana mask from the face. "pete dinsmore, just like i thought," he told ridley. "well, he had to have it--couldn't learn his lesson any other way." roberts drove the stage with its load of dead and wounded back to clarendon. as quickly as possible he gathered a small posse to follow the bandits. hampered as the outlaws were with a badly wounded man, there was a good chance of running them to earth at last. before night he and his deputies were far out on the plains following a trail that led toward palo duro cañon. chapter xxxiii the man with the yellow streak night fell on both a dry and fireless camp for the outlaws who had tried to rob the clarendon-tascosa stage. they had covered a scant twenty miles instead of the eighty they should have put behind them. for dave overstreet had been literally dying in the saddle every step of the way. he had clenched his teeth and clung to the pommel desperately. once he had fainted and slid from his seat. but the bandits could not stop and camp, though dinsmore kept the pace to a walk. "once we reach palo duro, we'll hole up among the rocks an' fix you up fine, dave," his companion kept promising. "sure, homer. i'm doin' dandy," the wounded man would answer from white, bloodless lips. the yellow streak in gurley was to the fore all day. it evidenced itself in his precipitate retreat from the field of battle--a flight which carried him miles across the desert before he dared wait for his comrades. it showed again in the proposal which he made early in the afternoon to dinsmore. the trio of outlaws had been moving very slowly on account of the suffering of the wounded man. gurley kept looking back nervously every few minutes to see if pursuers were visible. after a time he sidled up to dinsmore and spoke low. "they'll get us sure if we don't move livelier, homer." "how in mexico can we move faster when dave can't stand it?" asked dinsmore impatiently. "he's a mighty sick man. he hadn't ought to be on horseback at all. he needs a doctor." "will you go an' get him one?" demanded homer with sour sarcasm. "what i say is, let's fix him up comfortable, an' after a while mebbe a posse will come along an' pick him up. they can look after him better than we got a chance to do," argued gurley. "and mebbe a posse won't find him--what then?" rasped dinsmore. "they will. if they don't, he'll die easy. this is sure enough hell for him now." "all right. shall we stop right here with him?" "that wouldn't do any good, homer. the rangers would get us too." "i see. yore idea is to let dave die easy while we're savin' our hides. steve, you've got a streak in you a foot wide." "nothin' like that," protested the man with the eyes that didn't track. "i'd stay by him if it was any use. but it ain't. whyfor should you an' me stretch a rope when we can't help dave a mite? it ain't reasonable." overstreet could not hear what was said, but he guessed the tenor of their talk. "go ahead, boys, an' leave me. i'm about done anyhow," he said. "if gurley has a mind to go, he can. i'll stick," answered dinsmore gruffly. but gurley did not want to go alone. there were possible dangers to be faced that two men could meet a good deal more safely than one. it might be that they would have to stand off a posse. they might meet indians. the sallow outlaw felt that he could not afford just now to break with his companion. it was not likely that the rangers would reach them that night, and he guessed craftily that overstreet would not live till morning. the wound was a very serious one. the man had traveled miles before dinsmore could stop to give him such slight first aid as was possible, and the jolting of the long horseback ride had made it difficult to stop the bleeding which broke out again and again. after dinsmore had eased the wounded man from his horse at dusk and laid him on a blanket with a saddle for a pillow, overstreet smiled faintly up at him. "it won't be for long, homer. you'll be shet of me right soon now," he murmured. "don't you talk that-a-way, dave. i don't want to be shet of you. after a good night's rest you'll feel a new man." "no, i've got more than i can pack. it won't be long now. i'm right comfortable here. steve's in a hurry. you go on an' hit the trail with him." "where did you get the notion i was yellow, old-timer? i've hunted in couples with you for years. do you reckon i'm goin' to run like a cur now you've struck a streak o' bad luck?" asked dinsmore huskily. the dying man smiled his thanks. "you always was a stubborn son-of-a-gun, homer. but steve, he wants--" "steve can go to--hell creek, if he's so set on travelin' in a hurry. here, drink some of this water." the blanket of darkness fell over the land. stars came out, at first one or two, then by thousands, till the night was full of them. the wounded man dozed and stirred and dozed again. it was plain that the sands of his life were running low. dinsmore, watching beside him, knew that it was the ebb tide. a little after midnight overstreet roused himself, recognized the watcher, and nodded good-bye. "so long, homer. i'm hittin' the home trail now." his hand groped feebly till it found that of his friend. a few minutes later he died, still holding the strong warm hand of the man who was nursing him. dinsmore crossed the hands of the dead outlaw and covered him with a blanket. "saddle up, steve," he told gurley. while he waited for the horses, he looked down with a blur over his eyes. he had ridden hard and crooked trails all his life, but he had lost that day his brother and his best friend. the three of them had been miscreants. they had broken the laws of society and had fought against it because of the evil in them that had made them a destructive force. but they had always played fair with each other. they had at least been loyal to their own bad code. now he was alone, for gurley did not count. presently the other man stood at his elbow with the saddled horses. dinsmore swung to the saddle and rode away. not once did he look back, but he had no answer for gurley's cheerful prediction that now they would reach palo duro cañon all right and would hole up there till the pursuit had spent itself, after which they could amble down across the line to old mexico or could strike the pecos and join billy the kid. only one idea was fixed definitely in his mind, that as soon as he could, he would part company with the man riding beside him. when day came, it found them riding westward in the direction of deaf smith county. the cañon was not far south of them, but there was no need of plunging into it yet. the pursuit must be hours behind them, even if their trail had not been lost altogether. they rode easily, prepared to camp at the first stream or water-hole they reached. "we'll throw off here," dinsmore decided at the first brook they reached. they unsaddled and hobbled their horses. while gurley lighted a fire for the coffee, the other man strolled up the creek to get a shot at any small game he might find. presently a brace of prairie-chickens rose with a whir of wings. the rifle cracked, and one of them fell fluttering to the ground. dinsmore moved forward to pick up the bird. abruptly he stopped in his stride. he fancied he heard a faint cry. it came again, carried on the light morning breeze. he could have sworn that it was the call of a woman for help. dinsmore grew wary. he knew the tricks of the indians, the wily ways with which they lured men into ambush. there had been rumors for days that the indians were out again. yet it was not like indians to announce their presence before they pounced upon their prey. he moved very slowly forward under cover of the brush along the bed of the stream. the voice came to him again, closer this time, and in spite of the distance clear as a bell. it was surely that of a white woman in trouble. still he did not answer as he crept forward up the stream. then he caught sight of her--a girl, slim and young, stumbling forward through the grass, exhaustion showing in every line of the body. she stretched out her hands to him across the space between, with a little despairing cry. chapter xxxiv ramona goes duck-hunting "i'm going duck-hunting, daddy," announced ramona one evening at supper. "quint sullivan is going with me. we're to get up early in the morning and leave before daybreak." they had been back at the ranch several weeks, and 'mona was tired of practicing on the piano and reading scott's novels after her work about the house was done. she was restless. her father had noticed it and wondered why. he would have been amazed to learn that the longing to see or hear about a certain brindle-haired former line-rider of his had anything to do with her unrest. indeed, ramona did not confess this even to herself. she tried to think that she had been cooped up in the house too long. hence the duck-hunting as an escape. "all right, honey. i'll give quint notice who his boss is to-morrow." "i've already given him his orders, dad," his daughter said, with a saucy little _moue_ at her father. clint chuckled. "'nough said. when you give orders i take a back seat. every rider on the place knows that. i'm the most henpecked dad in texas." by daybreak ramona and her escort were several miles from the ranch on their way to the nearest lake. quint was a black-haired, good-looking youth who rode the range for the a t o outfit. like most of the unmarried men about her between the ages of fifteen and fifty, he imagined himself in love with the daughter of the boss. he had no expectation whatever of marrying her. he would as soon have thought of asking wadley to give him a deed to the ranch as he would of mentioning to ramona the state of his feelings. but that young woman, in spite of her manner of frank innocence, knew quite accurately how matters stood, just as she knew that in due time quint would transfer his misplaced affections to some more reciprocal object of them. her particular reason for selecting quint as her companion of the day was that he happened to be a devoted admirer of jack roberts. all one needed to do was to mention the ranger to set him off on a string of illustrative anecdotes, and ramona was hungry for the very sound of his name. one advantage in talking to young sullivan about his friend was that the ingenuous youth would never guess that the subject of their conversation had been chosen by her rather than by him. "did i ever tell you, miss ramona, about the time texas an' me went to denver? gentlemen, hush! we ce'tainly had one large time." "you boys ought not to spend your time in the saloons whenever you go to town. it isn't good for you," reproved the sage young woman who was "going-on seventeen." she was speaking for a purpose, and quint very innocently answered the question in her mind. "no, ma'am. i reckon you're right. but we didn't infest the saloons none that time. texas, he's one of these here good bad-men. he's one sure-enough tough nut, an' i'd hate to try to crack him, but the queer thing is he don't drink or chew or go hellin' around with the boys. but, say, he's some live lad, lemme tell you. what do you reckon he pulled off on me whilst we was in denver?" "some foolishness, i suppose," said ramona severely, but she was not missing a word. "he meets up with a newspaper guy an' gets to fillin' him plumb full o' misinformation about me. to hear him tell it i was the white-haired guy from the panhandle an' had come to denver for to hunt a girl to marry. well, that reporter he goes back an' writes a piece in his paper about how it was the chance of a lifetime for any onmarried fe-male, of even disposition an' pleasin' appearance, between the ages of twenty an' thirty-five, to marry a guaranteed texas cowpuncher, warranted kind an' sound an' to run easy in double harness. an' would the ladies please come early to the st. peter hotel an' inquire for mr. quint sullivan." "did any of them come?" asked ramona, her eyes dancing. "did they? wow! they swarmed up the stairs an' crowded the elevators, while that doggoned tex sicked 'em on me. honest, i didn't know there was so many onmarried ladies in the world." "how did you escape?" asked the girl, well aware that he was drawing the long bow. "ma'am, the fire department rescued me. but i ce'tainly did lie awake the balance of the trip tryin' to get even with jack roberts. but it's no manner of use. he lands right-side up every time." after they had reached crane lake the cowpuncher tied the horses while ramona started around to the far side, following the shore line and keeping her eyes open for ducks. the girl made a half-circuit of the lake without getting a shot. there were ducks enough to be seen, but as yet none of them were within range. it might have been half an hour after ramona left sullivan that there came a shot from the other side of the lake. it was followed almost immediately by a second, a third, and a fourth. 'mona caught sight of quint running fast toward the horses. her heart felt a sudden constriction as of an iron band tightening upon it, for half a dozen mounted indians were in hot pursuit. she saw the boy reach the nearest bronco, jerk loose the bridle rein, vault to the saddle, and gallop away, lying low on the back of the horse. the indians fired from their horses as they rode, but the man flying for his life did not take time to shoot. for a moment 'mona stood in plain view by the lake shore. then she dropped among the rushes, her heart fluttering wildly like that of a forest bird held captive in the hand. she was alone, at the mercy of twoscore of hostile indians. they would know that the cowboy had a companion because of the second bronco, and as soon as they returned from the pursuit they would begin a search for her. perhaps they might not even wait till then. 'mona lay there in despair while one might have counted a hundred. during that time she gave herself up for lost. she could neither move nor think. but presently there flowed back into her heart a faint hope. perhaps she had not yet been seen. there was a little arroyo farther to the left. if she could reach it, still unnoticed, at least she could then run for her life. she crept through the rushes on hands and knees, sinking sometimes wrist-deep in water. there was one stretch of perhaps thirty yards at the end of the rushes that had to be taken without cover. she flew across the open, a miracle of supple lightness, reached the safety of the little gulch, and ran as she had never run before. every moment she expected to hear the crash of the pursuers breaking through the brush. on the ranch she had lived largely an outdoor life, and in spite of her slenderness was lithe and agile. beneath her soft flesh hard muscles flowed, for she had known the sting of sleet and the splash of sun. but the rapid climb had set her heart pumping fast. her speed began to slacken. near the summit was a long, uptilted stratum of rock which led to the left and dipped over the ridge. she followed this because no tracks would here betray where she had escaped. for almost a quarter of a mile she descended on the outcropping quartz, flying in an ecstasy of terror from the deadly danger that might at any instant appear on the crest of the divide behind her. ramona came to a cleft in the huge boulder, a deep, narrow gash that looked as if it might have been made by a sword stroke of the gods. she peered into the shadowy gulf, but could not see the bottom of the fissure. a pebble dropped by her took so long to strike that she knew the chasm must be deep. if she could get down into it, perhaps she might hide from the savages. it was her one possible chance of escape. the girl moved along the edge of the precipice trying to find a way down that was not sheer. an arrowweed thicket had struggled up from a jutting spar of rock. below this was a ridge where her foot might find a support. beyond was a rock wall that disappeared into empty space. but 'mona could not choose. she must take this or nothing. by means of the arrowweed she lowered herself over the edge while her foot groped for the spar of quartz. her last look up the hill showed indians pouring across the ridge in pursuit. without hesitation she chose the chances of death in the cavern to the certainty of the torture waiting for her outside. foot by foot she lowered herself, making the most of every irregularity in the rock wall that offered a grip for hand or foot. the distance down seemed interminable. she worked herself into a position where she could move neither up nor down. while her foot was searching for a brace one of her hands slipped and she went the rest of the way with a rush. for a time she lay there in the darkness, shaken and bruised by the fall, a sharp pain shooting through one of her legs just above the ankle. during those minutes of daze voices came to her from the slit of light above. the painted face of an apache leaned over the edge of the wall and looked into the gulf. the girl made not the least movement. she did not stir to relieve the pain of her leg. scarcely did she dare breathe lest the sound of it might reach those above. the apaches began to fire into the fissure. ramona noiselessly dragged herself close to the overhanging wall. shot after shot was flung into the cavern at random. fortunately for ramona the strain of the situation relaxed abruptly. a wave of light-headedness seemed to carry her floating into space. she fainted. when she came to herself no sound reached the girl from above. the indians had no doubt concluded that their victim was not in the cavern and taken up the pursuit again. but she knew the cunning of the apache. probably one or two braves had been left to watch the cleft. she lay quite still and listened. all she could hear was the fearful beating of her heart. for hours she lay there without making a sound. the patience of the apache is proverbial. it was possible they knew where she was and were waiting for her to deliver herself to them. 'mona had one ghastly comfort. the little revolver she had brought along with which to shoot rattlesnakes was still in its scabbard by her side. if they would give her only a moment or two of warning, she would never fall alive into the hands of the redskins. time was unmarked for her in the darkness of the cavern. she could not tell whether it was still morning or whether the afternoon was nearing an end. such a day, so full of dreadful horrors, so long from morning till night, she had never before passed. it seemed to her that a week of hours had come and gone before the light above began to fade. chapter xxxv the desert it was only recently that clint wadley had become a man of wealth, and life in the panhandle was even yet very primitive according to present-day standards. there was no railroad within one hundred and fifty miles of the a t o ranch. once in two weeks one of the cowboys rode to clarendon to get the mail and to buy small supplies. otherwise contact with the world was limited to occasional visits to town. as a little girl ramona had lived in a one-room house built of round logs, with a stick-and-mud chimney, a door of clapboards daubed with mud at the chinks, and a dirt floor covered with puncheons. she had slept in a one-legged bedstead fitted into the wall, through the sides and ends of which bed, at intervals of eight inches, holes had been bored to admit of green rawhide strips for slats. she had sat on a home-made three-legged stool at a home-made table in homespun clothes and eaten a dish of cush[ ] for her supper. she had watched her aunt make soap out of lye dripping from an ash-hopper. the only cooking utensils in the house had been a dutch oven, a three-legged skillet, a dinner-pot, a tea-kettle, a big iron shovel, and a pair of pot-hooks suspended from an iron that hung above the open fire. but those were memories of her childhood in southern texas. with the coming of prosperity clint had sent his children to tennessee to school, and ramona had been patiently trained to the feebleness of purpose civilization in those days demanded of women of her class and section. she had been taught to do fancy needlework and to play the piano as a parlor accomplishment. it had been made plain to her that her business in life was to marry and keep the home fires burning, and her schooling had been designed, not to prepare her as a mate for her future husband, but to fit her with the little graces that might entice him into choosing her for a wife. upon her return to the ranch ramona had compromised between her training and her inheritance. she took again to horseback riding and to shooting, even though she read a good deal and paid due attention to her pink-and-white complexion. so that when she looked up from the cavern in which she was buried and caught a gleam of a star in the slit of blue sky above, she was not so helpless as her schooling had been designed to make her. the girl was compact of supple strength. endurance and a certain toughness of fiber had come to her from old clint wadley. she began the climb, taking advantage of every bit of roughness, of every projection in the almost sheer wall. a knob of feldspar, a stunted shrub growing from a crevice, a fault in the rock structure, offered here and there toe-or hand-holds. she struggled upward, stopped more than once by the smooth surface against which her soft warm body was pressing. on such occasions she would lower herself again, turn to the right or the left, and work toward another objective. ramona knew that the least slip, the slightest failure of any one of her muscles, would send her plunging down to the bottom of the crevasse. the worst of it was that she could not put any dependence upon her injured leg. it might see her through or it might not. it was within a few feet of the top, just below the arrowweed bush, that she came to an _impasse_. the cold wall offered no hand-hold by which she could gain the few inches that would bring her within reach of the bunched roots. she undid her belt, threw one end of it over the body of the bush, and worked it carefully down until she could buckle it. by means of this she went up hand over hand till she could reach the arrowweed. her knee found support in the loop of the belt, and in another moment she had zigzagged herself inch by inch over the edge to the flat surface above. no sign of the apaches was to be seen. 'mona recovered her belt and began to move up the rock spur toward the summit of the hill. a sound stopped her in her tracks. it was the beating of a tom-tom. she knew the indians must be camped by the lake. they were probably having a feast and dances. in any case she could not strike direct for home. she must keep on this side of the hill, make a wide circuit, and come in from the west. already her leg was paining her a good deal. since five o'clock in the morning she had eaten nothing. her throat was parched with thirst. but these were details that must be forgotten. she had to tramp more than twenty miles through the desert regardless of her physical condition. the girl went at it doggedly. she limped along, getting wearier every mile of the way. but it was not until she discovered that she was lost to all sense of direction that she broke down and wept. the land here was creased by swales, one so like another that in the darkness she had gone astray and did not know north from south. after tears came renewed resolution. she tried to guide herself by the stars, but though she could hold a straight course there was no assurance in her mind that she was going toward the a t o. each step might be taking her farther from home. a lime kiln burned in her throat. she was so worn out from lack of food and the tremendous strain under which she had been carrying on that her knees buckled under her weight as she stumbled through the sand. the bad ankle complained continuously. in this vast solitude there was something weird and eerie that shook her courage. nor was the danger all fantastic imaginings. the indians might yet discover her. she might wander far from beaten trails of travel and die of thirst as so many newcomers had done. possibilities of disaster trooped through her mind. she was still a child, on the sunny side of seventeen. so it was natural that when she sat down to rest her ankle she presently began to sob again, and that in her exhaustion she cried herself to sleep. when her eyes opened, the sun was peeping over the desert horizon. she could tell directions now. the a t o ranch must be far to the northeast of where she was. but scarcely a mile from her ran a line of straggling brush. it must be watered by a stream. she hobbled forward painfully to relieve the thirst that was already a torment to her. she breasted the rise of a little hill and looked down a gentle slope toward the thicket. for a moment her heart lost a beat. a trickle of smoke was rising from a camp-fire and a man was bending over it. he was in the clothes of a white man. simultaneously there came to her the sound of a shot. from her parched throat there came a bleating little cry. she hurried forward, and as she went she called again and still again. she was pitifully anxious lest the campers ride away before they should discover her. a man with a gun in his hand moved toward her from the creek. she gave a little sobbing cry and stumbled toward him. [footnote : cush is made of old corn bread and biscuits in milk, beaten to a batter and fried in bacon grease with salt.] chapter xxxvi homer dinsmore escorts ramona "i'm lost!" cried ramona. "where from?" asked dinsmore. "from the a t o." "you're clint wadley's daughter, then?" she nodded. "we met indians. i ... got away." the girl knelt beside the brook, put her hands on two stones that jutted up from the water, and drank till her thirst was assuaged. "i'm hungry," she said simply, after she had risen. he led her back to the camp-fire and on the way picked up the bird he had shot. 'mona saw that he noticed her limp, though he said nothing about it. "i had an accident," she explained. "fell down a rock wall while i was getting away from the 'paches." "they're out again, are they--the devils?" he asked another question. "you said 'we.' who was with you when the indians took after you?" "quint sullivan. i was on the other side of crane lake from him and heard shots. i saw quint running for the horses with the 'paches after him." "did he get away?" she shuddered. "he reached the horses. they rode after him. i don't know whether...." her voice thinned away. the man at the camp-fire turned, and at sight of them dropped a sudden, startled oath. ramona looked at him, then at dinsmore. a faint tremor passed through her slight body. she knew now who these men were. "what's _she_ doin' here?" demanded gurley. "she's lost. the 'paches are out, steve." "where are they?" "up at crane lake last night." "are they headed this way?" "don't know. she"--with a jerk of his thumb toward ramona--"bumped into 'em an' got away." "we'd better light a shuck out o' here," said gurley, visibly disturbed. "why? they ain't liable to come this way more than any other. we'll have breakfast an' talk things over. fix up this bird, steve. cook it in the skillet. she's hungry." ramona observed that both the men referred to her as _she_ whenever any reference was made to her. while they ate breakfast the girl told the story of her experience. dinsmore watched her with a reluctant admiration. the lines of her figure drooped with weariness, but fatigue could not blot out the grace of her young vitality. "when can we start for home?" ramona asked after she had eaten. "for the a t o?" asked the lank, sallow outlaw brutally. "what's ailin' you? think we're goin' to take you home with the 'paches between us an' there? we ain't plumb crazy." "but i must get home right away. my father--he'll be frightened about me." "will he?" jeered gurley. "if he knew you was in such good company he'd be real easy in his mind." the man flashed a look at her that made the girl burn with shame. "we could go round an' miss the 'paches," suggested ramona timidly. "forget that notion," answered gurley, and there was a flash of cruelty in his eyes. "mebbe you misremember that i'm obligated to you, miss, for what that condemned ranger roberts did to me when i fell over the box in front of the store. we'll settle accounts whilst you're here, i reckon." the girl appealed to dinsmore. "you're not going to let him ... mistreat me, are you?" the pathos of her situation, the slim, helpless, wonderful youth of the girl, touched the not very accessible heart of dinsmore. "you bet i'm not. he'll cut out that kind o' talk right now," he said. the eyes of ramona met his, and she knew she was safe. this man had the respect for a good woman that was characteristic of the turbulent west in its most lawless days. he might be a miscreant and a murderer, but he would fight at the drop of a hat in response to the appeal of any woman who was "straight." "playin' up to clint, are you, homer?" sneered the other man. "you better take her straight home like she wants, since you're so friendly to the family." "that's exactly what i'm goin' to do," retorted dinsmore. "any objections?" gurley dropped his sneer instantly. his alarm voiced itself in a wheedling apology. "i didn't go for to rile you, homer. o' course you cayn't do that. we got to stick together. the indians is one reason. an' there's another. no need for me to tell you what it is." "you'll have to wait for me in the cañon till i get back. it's not far from here to you-know-where. i'm goin' to take the horses an' see this girl back to her home." "you're good," ramona said simply. "you're not figurin' on takin' my horse, are you?" gurley burst out with an oath. "you've done guessed it, steve. you'll have to hoof it into the cañon." "like hell i will. take another think, my friend." the eyes of the men clashed, one pair filled with impotent rage, the other cold and hard as polished steel on a frosty morning. gurley yielded sullenly. "it's no square deal, homer. we didn't bring her here. why cayn't she go along with us an' hole up till the 'paches are gone an' till ... things kinda settle down?" "because she's got no business with folks like us. her place is back at the a t o, an' that's where i aim to take her. she's had one hell of a time, if you ask me. what that kid needs is for her home folks to tuck her up in bed an' send her to sleep. she's had about all the trouble a li'l' trick like her can stand, i shouldn't wonder." "you ain't her nurse," growled gurley. "that's why i'm goin' to take her home to those that are. 'nuff said, steve. what i say goes." "you act mighty high-heeled," grumbled the other man. "mebbeso," replied dinsmore curtly. "saddle the horses, steve." "i dunno as i'm yore horse-rustler," mumbled gurley, smothering his sullen rage. none the less he rose slowly and shuffled away toward the hobbled horses. 'mona touched dinsmore on the sleeve. her soft eyes poured gratitude on him. "i'll remember this as long as i live. no matter what anybody says i'll always know that you're good." the blood crept up beneath the tan of the outlaw's face. it had been many years since an innocent child had made so naïve a confession of faith in him. he was a bad-man, and he knew it. but at the core of him was a dynamic spark of self-respect that had always remained alight. he had ridden crooked trails through all his gusty lifetime. his hand had been against every man's, but at least he had fought fair and been loyal to his pals. and there had never been a time when a good woman need be afraid to look him in the face. "sho! nothin' to that. i gotta take you home so as you won't be in the way," he told her with a touch of embarrassed annoyance. no man alive knew this country better than homer dinsmore. every draw was like its neighbor, every rolling rise a replica of the next. but the outlaw rode as straight a course as if his road had been marked out for him by stakes across the plains. he knew that he might be riding directly toward a posse of rangers headed for palo duro to round up the stage robbers. he could not help that. he would have to take his chance of an escape in case they met such a posse. the sun climbed high in the heavens. "how far do you think we are now from the ranch?" asked ramona. "most twenty miles. we've been swingin' well to the left. i reckon we can cut in now." they climbed at a walk a little hill and looked across a wide sweep of country before them. ramona gave a startled cry and pointed an outstretched finger at some riders emerging from a dry wash. "'paches!" cried dinsmore. "back over the hill, girl." they turned, but too late. on the breeze there came to them a yell that sent the blood from 'mona's heart. chapter xxxvii on a hot trail roberts picked up from the fort a mescalero apache famous as a trailer. he reckoned to be rather expert in that line himself, but few white men could boast of such skill as old guadaloupe had. jumbo wilkins was one of the posse jack had hastily gathered. "i'm good an' glad i was in town an' not out herdin' _vacas_, tex. a fellow kinda needs a little excitement oncet in a while. i got a hunch we're goin' to git these birds this time." "you're the greatest little optimist i ever did see, jumbo," answered the ranger with a smile. "we're goin' to strike a cold trail of men who know every inch of this country an' are ridin' hell-for-leather to make a get-away. we're liable to ride our broncs to shadows an' never see hair or hide of the fellows we want. i'd like to know what license you've got for yore hunch." "you're such a lucky guy, tex. if you was lookin' for a needle in a haystack you'd find it in yore mouth when you picked up a straw to chew on." "lucky, nothin'. a man makes his own luck, i always did tell you, an' i haven't bumped into any yet. you don't see any big bunch of fat cows with my brand on 'em, do you? i'm pluggin' along for a dollar a day with a promise from cap ellison that i'll probably cash in soon with my boots on. old man luck always hides behind the door when i pass, if there's any such santa claus in the business." "all the way you look at it. didn't clint wadley offer you the job of bossin' the best cow-ranch in the panhandle?" "an' didn't i have to turn down his offer an' hang on to a dollar-a-day job?" "then you saved miss 'mona from that bull an' made a friend of her." "yes, an' then i butted in an' kept the kiowas from mussin' up art ridley, who is liable to ask me to stand up with him when he marries miss ramona," added the ranger. "shucks! she'll never marry ridley so long as you're runnin' around unbranded, son." "a lot you know about girls, jumbo," said roberts with a rueful grin. "i don't know sic' 'em about the things they like. i'm one chaparral-raised roughneck. that little lady never wasted two thoughts on me. but art--he knows a lot about books an' style an' new york's four hundred. he's good to look at, clean, knows how to talk, an' makes a sure-enough hit with the girls." "he's a sissy boy beside you. no texas girl would look twice--" "nothin' a-tall to that. didn't he save clint wadley's life? didn't he stay by dinsmore when the kiowas had 'em holed? he fought good enough to get shot up this mo'nin', didn't he? no, sir. you'll find he's got me backed off the map so far as miss ramona goes. i know it, old-timer." "where do you get that notion you're a roughneck, tex?" asked jumbo. "you've read more books than any man on the range. you don't hell around like most of the boys. you don't drink. mebbe you ain't exactly pretty, but yore face doesn't scare critters when they see it onexpected. an' when the band begins to play--gentlemen, watch tex." "if the girls would only let you do the pickin' for 'em, jumbo," suggested roberts with his sardonic smile. through rabbit weed and curly mesquite, among the catclaw and the prickly pear, they followed the faint ribbon trail left by the outlaws in their retreat from the scene of the hold-up. when it was too late to cut sign any longer, the ranger gave orders to throw in to a small draw where the grass was good. at daybreak they were on the trail again and came within the hour to the body of overstreet. they dug a grave in a buffalo run with their knives and buried the body as well as they could before they picked up again the tracks of two horses now traveling much faster. "they're headin' for palo duro, looks like,'" commented roberts. "looks like," agreed his friend. early in the afternoon the posse reached the little creek where the outlaws had breakfasted. old guadaloupe crisscrossed the ground like a bloodhound as he read what was written there. but before he made any report roberts himself knew that a third person had joined the fugitives and that this recruit was a woman. the ranger followed the apache upstream, guessed by some feathers and some drops of blood that one of the outlaws had shot a prairie-hen, and read some hint of the story of the meeting between the woman and the bandit. was this woman some one who had been living in palo duro cañon with the outlaws? or was this meeting an accidental one? the odd thing about it was that there was no sign of her horse. she had come on foot, in a country where nobody ever travels that way. roberts told guadaloupe to find out where the party had gone from the camp. he himself followed into the desert the footsteps of the woman who had come across it toward the creek. he was puzzled and a little disturbed in mind. she had not come from the cañon. what was a woman doing alone and on foot in this desert empty of human life for fifty miles or more? he found no answer to his questions and reluctantly returned to the camp-fire. guadaloupe was ready with his report. one man had started out on foot along the edge of the cañon. the other man and the woman had struck on horseback across the plain. "we'll follow those on horseback," decided the ranger at once. he could not have told why the urgent impulse was on him to do this, nor why he did not split his party and send part of his men in pursuit of the foot traveler. later he laid it to what jumbo would have called a hunch. he was puzzled by the direction the two riders were taking. it led neither to the a t o nor to tascosa, and was making no account of the streams where the travelers would have to find water. they seemed to be plunging ignorantly into the desert, but since gurley or dinsmore was one of the two this could not be. either of these men could have traveled the panhandle blindfolded. they followed the tracks for hours. the line of travel was so direct that it told of purpose. dinsmore--if the man were dinsmore--evidently knew just what he was doing. then, abruptly, the tracks pointed to the right, straight for the a t o. but not for long. at the summit of a little rise the riders had plainly stopped for a few moments, then had turned and galloped fast for the southwest. the lengthening tracks, the sharpness of them, the carelessness with which the riders took the rougher ground to follow a straight line, all suggested an urgent and imperative reason. that reason became plain to roberts in another minute. a great number of tracks swept in from the left and blotted out those of the two flying riders. "chiricahua apaches," grunted guadaloupe. the scout had a feud with that branch of the tribe and was at war with them. "how many?" questioned jack. the indian held up the fingers of both hands, closed them, opened them, and a third time shut and lifted the fingers. "thirty?" asked the ranger. the apache nodded. "dinsmore 's makin' for palo duro," remarked wilkins as they followed at a canter the plain trail marked for them. "i'll bet he don't throw down on himself none on that race either. he's sure hell-bent on gettin' there." one of the riders called to the rangers. "look over to the left, tex. we got company." a little group of riders--three, four, five of them--emerged from behind a clump of spanish bayonet and signaled with a bandana handkerchief. as they rode closer the heart of the ranger died under his ribs. his stomach muscles tightened, and he felt a prickling of the skin run down his back. for clint wadley rode at the head of these men, and like a flash of lightning the truth had seared across the brain of jack roberts. his daughter was the woman riding to escape from the savages. the face of wadley confirmed the guess of the ranger. on the unshaven face of the cattleman dust was caked. his eyes were red and inflamed from the alkali and the tears he had fought back fifty times. the expression of the man was that of one passing through the torments of hell. in five broken sentences he told his story. quint sullivan, escaping from his pursuers after a thirty-mile run, had reached the ranch in the middle of the night. clint had gathered together such men as were at hand and started at once. at crane lake he had found no trace of her. he could not escape the conviction that the apaches had captured ramona and taken her with them. on this last point the ranger offered him comfort, though it was sorry comfort at that. five hours ago she was still safe, but in terrible danger. "dinsmore's a man--none gamer in texas, mr. wadley. he won't desert her," said jumbo. "you couldn't 'a' picked a better man to look out for her." "how do you know it's dinsmore? perhaps it's that yellow wolf gurley," answered the father out of his tortured heart. jack was riding on the other side of wadley. he, too, carried with him a private hell of fear in his heart, but he knew that the big cattleman was nearly insane with anxiety. "because the man with miss ramona was takin' her back to the ranch when they bumped into the 'paches. you know steve gurley would never have taken her home in the world," replied the ranger. "what can one man do against thirty? he'll do what quint here did--run to save his own hide." young sullivan winced. it was the truth. he had run and left the girl to the mercy of these devils. but his one chance of helping her had been to run. he tried to say as much. "i know that, quint. i'm not blamin' you," broke out the father in his agony. "but my little lamb--in the hands of 'paches--god!" wadley covered his eyes with his hand and tried to press back from his brain the horrible visions he kept seeing. jumbo stuck to his one valid point. "bite yore teeth into this, clint. she's got ridin' beside her as game a man as ever threw his leg over leather. he knows this country like you do yore ranch. he'll hole up in palo duro where the 'paches won't find 'em, an' if the devils do he'll sure stand 'em off till we blow in." his friend on the other side of the cattleman backed him up strongly, but the heart of the ranger was heavy with dread. chapter xxxviii dinsmore to the rescue if 'mona lives to be eighty the high-lights of that wild ride will never fade from her memory. the mesas rolled in long swells as far as the eye could see. through the chaparral the galloping horses plunged while the prickly pear and the cholla clutched at their flanks and at the legs of the riders. into water-gutted arroyos they descended, slid down breakneck shale ridges, climbed like heather cats the banks of dry washes, pounded over white porous _malpais_ on which no vegetation grew. now dinsmore was in front of her picking out the best way, now he was beside her with cool, easy words of confidence, now he rode between her and the naked apaches, firing with deliberate and deadly accuracy. "don't look back," he warned her more than once. "my job is to look out for them. yours is to see yore horse don't throw you or break a leg in a prairie-dog hole. they cayn't outrun us. don't worry about that." the man was so easy in manner, apparently so equal to the occasion, that as the miles slid behind them her panic vanished. she felt for the small revolver in her belt to make sure it was safe. if she should be thrown, or if her horse should be shot, one thing must be done instantly. she must send a bullet crashing into her brain. to the right and to the left of her jets of dirt spat up where the shots of the indians struck the ground. once or twice she looked back, but the sight of the bareback riders at their heels so unnerved her that she obeyed the orders of her companion and resisted the dreadful fascination of turning in her saddle. it had seemed to 'mona at first with each backward glance that the indians were gaining fast on them, but after a time she knew this was not true. the sound of their shots became fainter. she no longer saw the spitting of the dust from their bullets and guessed they must be falling short. her eyes flashed a question at the man riding beside her. "we're gaining?" "that's whatever. we'll make the cañon all right an' keep goin'. don't you be scared," he told her cheerfully. even as he spoke, ramona went plunging over the head of her horse into a bunch of shin-oak. up in an instant, she ran to remount. the bronco tried to rise from where it lay, but fell back helplessly to its side. one of its fore legs had been broken in a prairie-dog hole. dinsmore swung round his horse and galloped back, disengaging one foot from the stirrup. the girl caught the hand he held down to her and leaped up beside the saddle, the arch of her foot resting lightly on the toe of his boot. almost with the same motion she swung astride the cow-pony. it jumped to a gallop and ramona clung to the waist of the man in front of her. she could hear plainly now the yells of the exultant savages. the outlaw knew that it would be nip and tuck to reach palo duro, close though it was. he abandoned at once his hopes of racing up the cañon until the apaches dropped the pursuit. it was now solely a question of speed. he must get into the gulch, even though he had to kill his bronco to do it. after that he must trust to luck and hold the redskins off as long as he could. there was always a chance that ellison's rangers might be close. homer dinsmore knew how slender a thread it was upon which to hang a hope, but it was the only one they had. his quirt rose and fell once, though he recognized that his horse was doing its best. but the lash fell in the air and did not burn the flank of the animal. he patted its neck. he murmured encouragement in its ear. "good old black jack, i knew you wouldn't throw down on me. keep a-humpin', old-timer.... you're doin' fine.... here we are at palo duro.... another half-mile, pal." dinsmore turned to the left after they had dropped down a shale slide into the cañon. the trail wound through a thick growth of young foliage close to the bed of the stream. the man slipped down from the back of the laboring horse and followed it up the trail. once he caught a glimpse of the savages coming down the shale slide and took a shot through the brush. "got one of their horses," he told 'mona. "that'll keep 'em for a while and give us a few minutes. they'll figure i'll try to hold 'em here." 'mona let the horse pick its way up the rapidly ascending trail. presently the cañon opened a little. its walls fell back from a small, grassy valley containing two or three acres. the trail led up a ledge of rock jutting out from one of the sheer faces of cliff. presently it dipped down behind some great boulders that had fallen from above some time in the ages that this great cleft had been in the making. a voice hailed them. "that you, homer?" "yep. the 'paches are right on our heels, steve." gurley let out a wailing oath. "goddlemighty, man, why did you come here?" "driven in. they chased us ten miles. better 'light, ma'am. we're liable to stay here quite a spell." dinsmore unsaddled the horse and tied it to a shrub. "you're sure all in, black jack. mebbe you'll never be the same bronc again. i've got this to say, old pal. i never straddled a better hawss than you. that goes without copperin'." he patted its sweat-stained neck, fondled its nose for a moment, then turned briskly to the business in hand. "get behind that p'int o' rocks, steve. i'll cover the trail up. girl, you'll find a kind of cave under that flat boulder. you get in there an' hunt cover." 'mona did as she was told. inside the cave were blankets, a saddle, the remains of an old camp-fire, and a piece of jerked venison hanging from a peg driven between two rocks. there were, too, a rifle leaning against the big boulder and a canvas bag containing ammunition. the rifle was a ' . she busied herself loading it. just as she finished there came to her the crack of dinsmore's repeater. the outlaw gave a little whoop of exultation. "tally one." chapter xxxix a cry out of the night night fell before the rescue party reached palo duro. the cañon was at that time a _terra incognita_ to these cattlemen of the panhandle. to attempt to explore it in the darkness would be to court disaster. the apaches might trap the whole party. but neither the ranger nor wadley could endure the thought of waiting till morning to push forward. the anxiety that weighed on them both could find relief only in action. jack made a proposal to ramona's father. "we've got to throw off and camp here. no two ways about that. but i'm goin' to ride forward to palo duro an' see what i can find out. want to go along?" "boy, i had in mind that very thing. we'll leave jumbo in charge of the camp with orders to get started soon as he can see in the mo'nin'." the two men rode into the darkness. they knew the general direction of palo duro and were both plainsmen enough to follow a straight course even in the blackest night. they traveled at a fast road gait, letting the horses pick their own way through the mesquite. presently a star came out--and another. banked clouds scudded across the sky in squadrons. at last, below their feet, lay the great earth rift that made palo duro. it stretched before them an impenetrable black gulf of silence. "no use trying to go down at random," said jack, peering into its bottomless deeps. "even if we didn't break our necks we'd get lost down there. my notion is for me to follow the bank in one direction an' for you to take the other. we might hear something." "sounds reasonable," agreed wadley. the cattleman turned to the left, the ranger to the right. roberts rode at a slow trot, stopping every few minutes to listen for any noise that might rise from the gulch. his mind was full of pictures of the girl, one following another inconsequently. they stabbed him poignantly. he had a white dream of her moving down the street at tascosa with step elastic, the sun sparkling in her soft, wavy hair. another memory jumped to the fore of her on the stage, avoiding with shy distress the advances of the salesman he had jolted into his place. he saw her grave and gay, sweet and candid and sincere, but always just emerging with innocent radiance from the chrysalis of childhood. her presence was so near, she was so intimately close, that more than once he pulled up under an impression that she was calling him. it was while he was waiting so, his weight resting easily in the saddle, that out of the night there came to him a faint, far-away cry of dreadful agony. the sound of it shook jack to the soul. cold beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. gooseflesh ran down his spine. his hand trembled. the heart inside his ribs was a heavy weight of ice. though he had never heard it before, the ranger knew that awful cry for the scream of a man in torment. the apaches were torturing a captured prisoner. if dinsmore had been captured by them the chances were that 'mona had been taken, too, unless he had given her the horse and remained to hold the savages back. roberts galloped wildly along the edge of the rift. once again he heard that long-drawn wail of anguish and pulled up his horse to listen, the while he shook like a man with a heavy chill. before the sound of it had died away a shot echoed up the cañon to him. his heart seemed to give an answering lift of relief. some one was still holding the apaches at bay. he fired at once as a message that help was on the way. his trained ear told him that the rifle had been fired scarcely a hundred yards below him, apparently from some ledge of the cliff well up from the bottom of the gulch. it might have come from the defenders or it might have been a shot fired by an apache. jack determined to find out. he unfastened the _tientos_ of his saddle which held the lariat. a scrub oak jutted up from the edge of the cliff and to this he tied securely one end of the rope. rifle in hand, he worked over the edge and lowered himself foot by foot. the rope spun round like a thing alive, bumped him against the rock wall, twisted in the other direction, and rubbed his face against the harsh stone. he had no assurance that the lariat would reach to the foot of the cliff, and as he went jerkily down, hand under hand, he knew that at any moment he might come to the end of it and be dashed against the boulders below. his foot touched loose rubble, and he could see that the face of the precipice was rooted here in a slope that led down steeply to another wall. the ledge was like a roof pitched at an extremely acute angle. he had to get down on hands and knees to keep from sliding to the edge of the second precipice. at every movement he started small avalanches of stone and dirt. he crept forward with the utmost caution, dragging the rifle by his side. a shot rang out scarcely fifty yards from him, fired from the same ledge upon which he was crawling. had that shot been fired by an apache or by those whom he had come to aid? chapter xl gurley's get-away the boulder cave to which the apaches had driven dinsmore and ramona had long since been picked out by the outlaws as a defensible position in case of need. the ledge that ran up to it on the right offered no cover for attackers. it was scarcely three feet wide, and above and below it the wall was for practical purposes perpendicular. in anticipation of a day when his gang might be rounded up by a posse, pete dinsmore had gone over the path and flung down into the gulch every bit of quartz big enough to shelter a man. the contour of the rock face back of the big boulders was concave, so that the defenders were protected from sharpshooters at the edge of the precipice above. another way led up from the bed of the creek by means of a very rough and broken climb terminating in the loose rubble about the point where the ledge ran out. this dinsmore had set gurley to watch, but it was not likely that the indians would reach here for several hours a point dangerous to the attacked. of what happened that day ramona saw little. she loaded rifles and pushed them out to dinsmore from the safety of the cave. once he had shouted out to her or to gurley news of a second successful shot. "one more good indian. hi-yi-yi!" the last was a taunt to the apaches hidden below. there came a time late in the afternoon when the serious attack of the redskins developed. it came from the left, and it was soon plain that a number of apaches had found cover in the rough boulder bed halfway up from the creek. ramona took dinsmore's place as guard over the pathway while he moved across to help gurley rout the sharpshooters slowly edging forward. one hour of sharp work did it. man for man there never was any comparison between the indians and the early settlers as fighting men. dinsmore and gurley, both good shots, better armed and better trained than the apaches, drove the bucks back from the boulder bed where they were deployed. one certainly was killed, another probably. as quickly as they could with safety disengage themselves the braves drew down into the shelter of the brush below. but dinsmore knew that the temporary victory achieved could not affect the end of this one-sided battle. the apaches would wipe all three of them out--unless by some miracle help reached them from outside. ramona, too, knew it. so did gurley. as the darkness fell the fingers of 'mona crept often to the little revolver by her side. sometime soon--perhaps in three hours, perhaps in twelve, perhaps in twenty-four--she must send a bullet into her brain. she decided quite calmly that she would do it at the last possible moment that would admit of certainty. she must not make any mistake, must not wait till it was too late. it would be a horrible thing to do, but--she must not fall alive into the hands of the apaches. crouched behind his boulder in the darkness, gurley too knew that the party was facing extinction. he could not save the others by staying. was it possible to save himself by going? he knew that rough climb down through the boulder beds to the cañon below. the night was black as egypt. surely it would be possible, if he kept well to the left, to dodge any sentries the indians might have set. he moistened his dry lips with his tongue. furtively he glanced back toward the cave where the girl was hidden. she could not see him. nor could dinsmore. they would know nothing about it till long after he had gone. their stupidity had brought the apaches upon them. if they had taken his advice the savages would have missed them by ten miles. why should he let their folly destroy him too? if he escaped he might meet some freight outfit and send help to them. the man edged out from his rock, crept noiselessly into the night. he crawled along the steep rubble slide, wary and soft-footed as a panther. it took him a long half-hour to reach the boulder bed. rifle in hand, he lowered himself from rock to rock, taking advantage of every shadow.... an hour later dinsmore called to 'mona. "asleep, girl?" "no," she answered in a small voice. "slip out with these cartridges to steve and find out if anythin's doin'. then you'd better try to sleep. 'paches don't attack at night." ramona crept along the ledge back of the big boulders. gurley had gone--vanished completely. her heart stood still. there was some vague thought in her mind that the indians had somehow disposed of him. she called to dinsmore in a little stifled shout that brought him on the run. "he's gone!" she gasped. the eyes of dinsmore blazed. he knew exactly how to account for the absence of the man. "i might 'a' known it. the yellow coyote! left us in the lurch to save his own hide!" "perhaps he's gone for help," the girl suggested faintly. "no chance. he's playin' a lone hand--tryin' for a get-away himself," her companion said bitterly. "you'll have to take his place here. if you see anything move, no matter what it is, shoot at it." "if i call you will you come?" she begged. "on the jump," he promised. "don't go to sleep. if they should come it will be up through the boulder bed. i'm leavin' you here because you can watch from cover where you can't possibly be seen. it's different on the other side." she knew that, but as soon as he had left her the heart of the girl sank. she was alone, lost in a night of howling savages. the horrible things they did to their captives--she recalled a story whispered to her by a girl friend that it had been impossible to shake out of her mind. in the middle of the night she had more than once found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, wakened from terrible dreams of herself as a prisoner of the apaches. 'mona prayed, and found some comfort in her prayers. they were the frank, selfish petitions of a little child. "god, don't let me die. i'm so young, and so frightened. send daddy to save me ... or jack roberts." she recited the twenty-third psalm aloud in a low voice. the fourth verse she went back to, repeating it several times. "'yea, though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'" and the last verse: "'surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and i will dwell in the house of the lord for ever.'" somehow she felt less lonely afterward. god was on her side. he would send her father or jack roberts. then, into her newborn calm, there came a far cry of agony that shattered it instantly. her taut nerves gave way like a broken bow-string. her light body began to shake. she leaned against the cold rock wall in hysterical collapse. the voice of dinsmore boomed along the passageway. "it's a cougar, girl. they've got a yell like the scream of lost souls. i've often heard it here." ramona knew he was lying, but the sound of his cheerful voice was something. she was not utterly alone. again that shriek lifted into the night and echoed up the cañon. the girl covered her ears with her hands and trembled violently. a shot rang out from the other end of the passage. "saw one of 'em movin' down below," the outlaw called to her. but ramona did not hear him. she had fainted. chapter xli homing hearts jack crept closer, very carefully. he was morally certain that the defenders held the ledge, but it would not do to make a mistake. lives were at stake--one life much more precious than his own. he drew his revolver and snaked forward. there was nothing else to do but take a chance. but he meant at least to minimize it, and certainly not to let himself be captured alive. it was strange that nobody yet had challenged him. he was close enough now to peer into the darkness of the tunnel between the boulders and the wall. there seemed to be no one on guard. he crept forward to the last boulder, and his boot pressed against something soft lying on the ground. it moved. a white, startled face was lifted to his--a face that held only the darkness of despair. he knelt, put down his revolver, and slipped an arm around the warm young body. "thank god!" he cried softly. he was trembling in every limb. tears filled his voice. and over and over again he murmured, "thank god!... thank god!" the despair in the white face slowly dissolved. he read there doubt, a growing certainty, and then a swift, soft radiance of joy and tears. "i prayed for you, and you've come. god sent you to me. oh, jack, at last!" her arms crept round his neck. he held her close and kissed the sweet lips salt with tears of happiness. he was ashamed of himself. not since he had been a little boy had he cried till now. his life had made for stoicism. but tears furrowed down his lean, brown cheeks. the streak in him that was still tender-hearted child had suddenly come to the surface. for he had expected to find her dead at best; instead, her warm, soft body was in his arms, her eyes were telling him an unbelievable story that her tongue as yet could find no words to utter. there flamed in him, like fire in dead tumbleweeds, a surge of glad triumph that inexplicably blended with humble thankfulness. to her his emotion was joy without complex. the ranger was tough as a hickory withe. she knew him hard as tempered steel to those whom he opposed, and her heart throbbed with excitement at his tears. she alone among all women could have touched him so. it came to her like a revelation that she need never have feared. he was her destined mate. across that wide desert space empty of life he had come straight to her as to a magnet. and from that moment, all through the night, she never once thought of being afraid. her man was beside her. he would let no harm come to her. womanlike, she exulted in him. he was so lithe and brown and slender, so strong and clean, and in all the world there was nothing that he feared. with her hand in his she walked through the passage to where dinsmore held watch. the outlaw turned and looked at the ranger. if anybody had told him that a time would come when he would be glad to see tex roberts for any purpose except to fight him, the bandit would have had a swift, curt answer ready. but at sight of him his heart leaped. no hint of this showed in his leathery face. "earnin' that dollar a day, are you?" he jeered. "a dollar a day an' grub," corrected jack, smiling. "much of a posse with you?" "dropped in alone. my men are camped a few miles back. mr. wadley is with us." "they got gurley, i reckon. he tried to sneak away." dinsmore flashed a quick look toward ramona and back at jack. "leastways i'm not bettin' on his chances. likely one of the 'paches shot him." "mebbeso." the girl said nothing. she knew that neither of the men believed gurley had been shot. those horrible cries that had come out of the night had been wrung from him by past-masters in the business of torture. "you'd better get back an' hold the other end of the passage," suggested dinsmore. he jerked his head toward 'mona. "she'll show you where." ramona sat beside her lover while he kept watch, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her waist. beneath the stars that were beginning to prick through the sky they made their confessions of love to each other. she told him how she had tried to hate him because of her brother and could not, and he in turn told her how he had thought arthur ridley was her choice. "i did think so once--before i knew you," she admitted, soft eyes veiled beneath long lashes. "then that day you fought with the bull to save me: i began to love you then." they talked most of the night away, but in the hours toward morning he made her lie down and rest. she protested that she couldn't sleep; she would far rather sit beside him. but almost as soon as her head touched the saddle she was asleep. a little before dawn he went to waken her. for a moment the soft loveliness of curved cheek and flowing lines touched him profoundly. the spell of her innocence moved him to reverence. she was still a child, and she was giving her life into his keeping. the flush of sleep was still on her wrinkled cheek when she sat up at his touch. "the apaches are climbing up the boulder field," he explained. "i didn't want to waken you with a shot." she stood before him in shy, sweet surrender, waiting for him to kiss her before he took his post. he did. "it's goin' to be all right," he promised her. "we'll drive 'em back an' soon yore father will be here with the men." "i'm not afraid," she said--"not the least littlest bit. but you're not to expose yourself." "they can't hit a barn door--never can. but i'll take no chances," he promised. during the night the apaches had stolen far up the boulder bed and found cover behind quartz slabs which yielded them protection as good as that of the white man above. they took no chances, since there was plenty of time to get the imprisoned party without rushing the fort. nobody knew they were here. therefore nobody would come to their rescue. it was possible that they had food with them, but they could not have much water. in good time--it might be one sleep, perhaps two, possibly three--those on the ledge must surrender or die. so the indians reasoned, and so the ranger guessed that they would reason. jack lay behind his rocks as patiently as the savages did. every ten or fifteen minutes he fired a shot, not so much with the expectation of hitting one of the enemy as to notify his friends where he was. above the cañon wall opposite the sun crept up and poured a golden light into the misty shadows of the gulch. its shaft stole farther down the hillside till it touched the yellowing foliage of the cottonwoods. up the cañon came the sudden pop--pop--pop of exploding rifles. drifted up yells and whoops. the indians hidden in the rock slide began to appear, dodging swiftly down toward the trees. jack let out the "hi-yi-yi" of the line-rider and stepped out from the boulders to get a better shot. the naked apaches, leaping like jack-rabbits, scurried for cover. their retreat was cut off from the right, and they raced up the gorge to escape the galloping cowboys who swung round the bend. one of the red men, struck just as he was sliding from a flat rock, whirled, plunged down headfirst like a diver, and disappeared in the brush. jack waited to see no more. he turned and walked back into the cave where his incomparable sweetheart was standing with her little fingers clasped tightly together. "it's all over. the 'paches are on the run," he told her. she drew a deep, long breath and trembled into his arms. there clint wadley found her five minutes later. the cattleman brushed the young fellow aside and surrounded his little girl with rough tenderness. jack waited to see no more, but joined dinsmore outside. after a long time wadley, his arm still around ramona, joined them on the ledge. "boys, i'm no hand at talkin'," he said huskily. "i owe both of you a damned sight more than i can ever pay. i'll talk with you later, jack. what about you, dinsmore? you're in one hell of a fix. i'll get you out of it or go broke." "what fix am i in?" demanded the outlaw boldly. "they ain't got a thing on me--not a thing. suspicions aren't proof." the ranger said nothing. he knew that the evidence he could give would hang dinsmore before any panhandle jury, and now his heart was wholly on the side of the ruffian who had saved the life of his sweetheart. none the less, it was his duty to take the man in charge and he meant to do it. "hope you can make yore side of the case stick, dinsmore. i sure hope so. anyway, from now on i'm with you at every turn of the road," the cattleman promised. "much obliged," answered the outlaw with a lift of his lip that might have been either a smile or a sneer. "you've been trailin' with a bad outfit. you're a sure-enough wolf, i've heard tell. but you're a man all the way, by gad." "did you figure i was yellow like steve, clint? mebbe i'm a bad _hombre_ all right. but you've known me twenty years. what license have you ever had to think i'd leave a kid like her for the 'paches to play with?" the hard eyes of the outlaw challenged a refutation of his claim. "none in the world, homer. you're game. nobody ever denied you guts. an' you're a better man than i thought you were." dinsmore splattered the face of a rock with tobacco juice and his stained teeth showed in a sardonic grin. "i've got a white black heart," he jeered. chapter xlii a difference of opinion rescued and rescuers rode out of the cañon as soon as the apaches had been driven away. nobody suggested that the indians who had been killed in the surprise attack be buried. the bodies were left lying where they had fallen. for in those days no frontiersman ever buried a dead redskin. if the body happened to be inconveniently near a house, a mounted cowboy roped one foot and dragged it to a distance. those were the years when all settlers agreed that the only good indian was a dead indian. the indian wars are over now, and a new generation can safely hold a more humane view; but old-timers in the panhandle will tell you to-day that the saying was literally true. the little group of riders drew out of the gorge and climbed the shale slide to the plain above. roberts rode knee to knee with dinsmore. on the other side of the outlaw was jumbo. the man between them still carried his rifle and his revolver, but he understood without being told that he was a prisoner. wadley dropped back from his place beside ramona and ranged up beside the officer. "what are you aimin' to do with him, jack?" he asked in a low voice. "i'm goin' to turn him over to cap ellison." the cattleman pondered that awhile before he continued. "'mona has been tellin' me about you an' her, jack. i ain't got a word to say--not a word. if you're the man she wants, you're sure the man she'll get. but i want to tell you that you're a lucky young scamp. you don't deserve her. i've got to see the man yet that does." "we're not goin' to quarrel about that, mr. wadley," agreed jack. "i'm nothin' but a rough cowboy, an' she's the salt of the earth. i don't see what she sees in me." "h'm!" grunted the owner of the a t o, and looked at the lithe, brown, young fellow, supple as a whip and strong as tested steel. it was not hard to understand what a girl saw in him. "glad you got sense enough to know that." "i'm not a plumb fool, you know." clint changed the subject apparently. "boy, i've been in hell ever since sullivan rode in with the bad news. my god! how i suffered till i saw my little trick standing there alive and well." the ranger nodded. he thought he knew what wadley was driving toward. but he was resolved to give him no help. he must make his own plea. "you helped save her, jack. that's all right. i reckon you care for her too. any man would 'a' done what you did. but dinsmore, he did a whole lot more 'n you. when he was hotfooting it to escape from you, he turned round an' started to bring her back to the ranch. steve gurley, he said to take 'mona along with 'em to the cañon. you know what that hellhound meant. but dinsmore wouldn't stand for that. he said she was entitled to be took home. well, you know how the 'paches cut 'em off." "yes. that's how we figured it out," said roberts. "her hawss stepped into a prairie-dog hole an' broke its leg. dinsmore stopped an' swung her up behind him, the 'paches gainin' every jump of the road. oncet they reached palo duro he stood off the devils till she reached the ledge. jack, we're lucky that a man like homer dinsmore was beside her yesterday, don't you reckon?" "i reckon." tiny beads of sweat stood on the forehead of the boy. he knew now what was coming. "good enough. well, jack, i reckon we cayn't take dinsmore in to be hanged. that wouldn't be human, would it?" the roof of the ranger's mouth was dry. he looked away across the rolling waves of prairie while the cattleman waited for his answer. every impulse of desire in him leaned toward the argument wadley was making. his love for ramona, his gratitude to dinsmore, his keen desire to meet halfway the man who was to be his father-in-law and had accepted the prospect so generously, his boyish admiration for the thing that the outlaw had done, all tugged mightily at him. "an' look a-here," went on the cattleman, "you got to keep in mind that you never would 'a' got dinsmore this trip in kingdom come if he hadn't stopped to save 'mona. he'd 'a' kep' right up the cañon till he was sure enough lost. it would be a damned mean trick for you to take a man in to be hanged because he had risked his life to save the girl you claim to love." "you make me feel like a yellow hound, mr. wadley," admitted roberts. "but what am i to do? when i joined the rangers i swore to enforce the law. you know how it is in the force. we've got no friends when we're sent out to get a man. i'd bring in my own brother if he was wanted. that's why the texas rangers stack up so high. they play no favorites an' they let no prisoners escape. you're askin' me to throw down cap ellison who trusts me, the state that pays me, the boys on the force that pal with me, an' my loyalty to the people. you want me to do it because i've got a personal reason to wish dinsmore to get away. if i don't take him in to town i'm a traitor. that's the long an' the short of it." "hell's blazes!" broke in the cattleman. "i thought you was a man an' not a machine. you want to marry my li'l' girl, but you're not willin' to do a favor to the man who has just saved her from a hundred horrible deaths. haven't you any guts in you a-tall?" the muscles stood out on the lean, set face of the ranger like rawhide ropes. "i can't lie down on my job. ramona wouldn't ask it of me. i've got to go through. that's what i'm paid for." "she's askin' it right now. through me." "then she doesn't understand what she's askin'. let me talk with her. let me explain--" "we don't want any of yore damned explanations," interrupted wadley roughly. "talk turkey. will you or won't you? me, i ain't plumb crazy about law. it's justice i want done. i'll be doggoned if i'm goin' to stand by an' let any harm come to dinsmore--not this here year of our lord." "i'll do all i can for him--" "except that you're bound an' determined to see him hanged. you sure beat my time. i'd think you would be right anxious to tell him to cut his stick--kinda slide out inconspicuous when we ain't watchin'. be reasonable, roberts. that's all i ask. i want to be yore friend if you'll let me. my bank's behind you to back any business proposition you want to start. or that job i offered you before is open to you. after a little we can fix up some kind of a partnership." the dark color burned under the tan of the ranger's face. his lips were like a steel trap, and in his eyes there was a cold glitter. "it doesn't get you anywhere to talk that-a-way to me, mr. wadley. i'd want to marry miss ramona just the same if she was the poorest girl in the panhandle. offer me a deed to the a t o an' it wouldn't make any difference to me. i'm not goin' to turn dinsmore loose because it's to my advantage." "don't get on the prod, young fellow. i wasn't tryin' to bribe you. i was showin' you how i felt. but you're so damned high-headed a plain man can't talk sense to you." the impulsive anger of the old texan suddenly ripped out. "hell, i'm not goin' to beg you to do what yore own decency ought to tell you right away. but i'll say this right off the reel: neither 'mona nor i want to have a thing to do with a man who's so selfish he can't yield the first favor she ever asked of him. we're through with you." the two men had fallen back of the others and were riding alone. now the young texan looked hard at the old-timer. the eyes of neither of them gave way even for a beat of the lashes. "i'll have to hear miss ramona say that before it goes with me," answered roberts steadily. "all right. you can hear it right this minute." the cattleman touched his horse with the spur and cantered forward. the ranger was with him when they drew up beside ramona. the smile in the eyes of the girl died away as she looked first at one and then at the other of them. she was sensitive to atmospheres, and if she had not been the harsh surface of both of them would have been evidence enough of a clash. "ramona," began her father, "this fellow here is a ranger first an' a human bein' afterward. he's hell-bent on takin' dinsmore to prison so as to make a big name for himself. i've told him how we feel, an' he says that doesn't make any difference a-tall, that dinsmore's got to hang." "that isn't what i meant a-tall," explained jack. "i've been tryin' to tell yore father that i'd give an arm to turn him loose. but i can't. it wouldn't be right." the soft eyes of the girl pleaded with her lover. "i think we ought to free him, jack. he saved my life. he fought for me. nobody could have done more for me. he ... he was so good to me." her voice broke on the last sentence. the young man swallowed a lump in his throat. "i wish i could. but don't you see i can't? i'm not jack roberts, the man who ... who cares for you. i'm an officer of the state sent out to bring in this man wanted for a crime. i've _got_ to take him in." "but he saved my life," she said gently, puzzled at his queer point of view. "he stayed with me when he could easily have escaped. you wouldn't ... take advantage of that, jack?" "i'll give every dollar i've got in the world to clear him, 'mona. i'll fight for him to a finish. but i've got to take him to town an' put him in jail. if i don't i can't ever hold up my head again," he told her desperately. "i thought you loved me, jack," she murmured, through gathering tears. "what kind of a man would i be for you to marry if i threw down on what was right just because you asked me to an' i wanted to do it?" he demanded. "he's got his neck bowed, 'mona. i told him how we felt, but he wouldn't believe me. i reckon he knows now," her father said. "you're not goin' to throw me over because i've got to do what i think right, 'mona?" asked jack miserably. "i ... i'm not throwing you over. it's you. you're throwing _me_ over. don't you see that we've _got_ to help mr. dinsmore because he did so much for me?" "certainly i see that. i'll resign from the rangers, and then we'll all pull together for him, 'mona." "after you've pulled on the rope that hangs him," added clint angrily. "nothin' to that, 'mona. he's for us or he's against us. let him say which right now." the girl nodded, white to the lips. "do you mean that you'll give me up unless i let dinsmore escape before we reach town?" asked the young man. "i ... i've got to save him as he did me. if you won't help, it's because you don't love me enough," she faltered. "i can't," the boy cried. "'nough said," cut in wadley. "you've got yore answer, 'mona, an' he's got his." jack stiffened in the saddle. his hard eyes bored straight into those of his sweetheart. "have i?" he asked of her. the girl nodded and turned her head away with a weak, little gesture of despair. her heart was bleeding woe. the ranger wheeled on his horse and galloped back to his place beside dinsmore. chapter xliii tex resigns jack roberts, spurs jingling, walked into the office of his chief. ellison looked up, leaned back in his chair, and tugged at his goatee. "well, tex, you sure were thorough. four men in the dinsmore outfit, an' inside o' two days three of 'em dead an' the fourth a prisoner. you hit quite a gait, son." "i've come to resign," announced the younger man. "well, i kinda thought you'd be resignin' about now," said the captain with a smile. "weddin' bells liable to ring right soon, i reckon." "not mine," replied roberts. somehow, in the way he said it, the older man knew that the subject had been closed. "goin' to take that job clint offered you?" "no." jack snapped out the negative curtly, explosively. another topic closed. "just quittin'. no reasons to offer, son?" "reasons a-plenty. i've had man-huntin' enough to last me a lifetime. i'm goin' to try law-breakin' awhile for a change." "meanin'?" "you can guess what i mean, captain, an' if you're lucky you'll guess right. point is, i'm leavin' the force to-day." "kinda sudden, ain't it, tex?" "at six o'clock to-night. make a note of the time, captain. after that i'm playin' my own hand. understand?" "i understand you're sore as a thumb with a bone felon. take yore time, son. don't go off half-cocked." the little captain rose and put his hand on the shoulder of the boy. "i reckon things have got in a sort of kink for you. give 'em time to unravel, tex." the eyes of the ranger softened. "i've got nothin' against you, captain. you're all there. we won't go into any whyfors, but just let it go as it stands. i want to quit my job--right away. this round-up of the dinsmores about cleans the panhandle anyhow." "you're the doctor, tex. but why not take yore time? it costs nothin' tex to wait a day or two an' look around you first." "i've got business--to-night. i'd rather quit when i said." "what business?" asked ellison bluntly. "you mentioned law-breakin'. aimin' to shoot up the town, are you?" "at six to-night, captain, my resignation takes effect." the little man shrugged. "i hear you, jack. you go off the pay-roll at six. i can feel it in my bones that you're goin' to pull off some fool business. don't run on the rope too far, jack. everybody that breaks the law looks alike to my boys, son." "i'll remember." "good luck to you." ellison offered his hand. roberts wrung it. "same to you, cap. so long." the young man walked downtown, ate his dinner at the hotel, and from there strolled down to the largest general store in town. here he bought supplies enough to last for a week--flour, bacon, salt, sugar, tobacco, and shells for rifle and revolvers. these he carried to his room, where he lay down on the bed and read a month-old trinidad paper. presently the paper sagged. he began to nod, fell asleep. when he opened his eyes again it was late in the afternoon. his watch told him that it was just six o'clock. he got up, took off the buckskin suit that had served him for a uniform, and donned once more the jeans and chaps he had worn as a line-rider. "good-bye, mr. ranger," he told himself. "i reckon you can't have much worse luck as a citizen than as an officer." he buckled round his waist the belt that held his revolvers, and from the corner of the room where it stood took his rifle. carrying the supplies he had that afternoon bought, he directed his steps to the elephant corral and saddled his horse. with motions of deft economy he packed the provisions for travel, then swung to the saddle and cantered down the street. at the post-office corner he swung to the left for a block and dismounted in front of a rather large dugout. a wrinkled little man with a puzzled, lost-puppy look on his face sat on a bench in front mending a set of broken harness. "'lo, tex. how they comin'?" he asked. "'lo, yorky. hope i see you well," drawled the horseman, a whimsical twitch of humor at the corner of his mouth. he was swinging his lariat carelessly as cowboys do. "jes' tol'able. i got a misery in my left shoulder i'm a-goin' to try some yerbs i done had recommended." yorky was the kind of simple soul who always told you just how he was when you asked him. roberts passed him and led the way into the house. "come inside, yorky, i want to talk with you," he said. the room into which the cowboy had passed was a harness shop. it was littered with saddles and bridles and broken bits of traces. a workman's bench and tools were in one corner of the shop. a door, bolted and padlocked, led to a rear room. jack put down his rifle and his belt on a shelf and sat down on the bench. "yore prisoner's in there all right," said the saddler with a jerk of his thumb over his left shoulder. since no one else in town would take the place, yorky had been unanimously chosen jailer. he did not like the job, but it gave him an official importance that flattered his vanity. "he's not my prisoner any more, yorky. he's yours. i quit being a ranger just twenty-five minutes ago." "you don't say! well, i reckon you done wise. a likely young fellow--" "where's yore six-shooter?" demanded jack. yorky was a trifle surprised. "you're sittin' on it," he said, indicating the work bench. roberts got up and stood aside. "get it." the lank jaw of the jailer hung dolefully. he rubbed its bristles with a hand very unsure of itself. "now, you look a-hyer, tex. i'm jailer, i am. i don't allow to go with you to bring in no bad-man. nothin' of that sort. it ain't in the contract." "i'm not askin' it. get yore gat." the little saddler got it, though with evident misgivings. the brown, lean young man reseated himself on the bench. "i've come here to get yore prisoner," he explained. "sure," brightened the jailer. "wait till i get my keys." he put the revolver down on the table and moved toward the nail on which hung two large keys. "i'm just through tellin' you that i'm no longer a ranger, but only a private citizen." yorky was perplexed. he felt he was not getting the drift of this conversation. "well, an' i done said, fine, a young up 'n' comin' fellow like you--" "you've got no business to turn yore prisoner over to me, yorky. i'm not an officer." "oh, tha's all right. anything you say, tex." "i'm goin' to give him my horse an' my guns an' tell him to hit the trail." the puzzled lost-dog look was uppermost on the wrinkled little face just now. yorky was clearly out of his depth. but of course jack roberts, the best ranger in the panhandle, must know what he was about. "suits me if it does you, tex," the saddler chirped. "no, sir. you've got to make a fight to hold dinsmore. he's wanted for murder an' attempted robbery. you're here to see he doesn't get away." "make a fight! you mean ... fight you?" "that's just what i mean. i'm out of reach of my gats. unhook yore gun if i make a move toward you." yorky scratched his bewildered head. this certainly did beat the dutch. he looked helplessly at this brown, lithe youth with the well-packed muscles. "i'll be doggoned if i know what's eatin' you, tex. i ain't a-goin' to fight you none a-tall." "you bet you are! i've warned you because i don't want to take advantage of you, since i've always had the run of the place. but you're jailer here. you've _got_ to fight--or have everybody in town say you're yellow." a dull red burned into the cheeks of the little man. "i don't aim for to let no man say that, tex." "that's the way to talk, yorky. i've got no more right to take dinsmore away than any other man." jack was playing with his lariat. he had made a small loop at one end and with it was swinging graceful ellipses in the air. "don't you let me do it." yorky was nervous, but decided. "i ain't a-goin' to," he said, and the revolver came to a businesslike position, its nose pointed straight for roberts. the gyrations of the rope became more active and the figures it formed more complex. "quit yore foolin', tex, an' get down to cases. dad-gum yore hide, a fellow never can tell what you honest-to-god mean." the rope snaked forward over the revolver and settled on the wrist of the jailer. it tightened, quicker than the eye could follow. jack jerked the lariat sideways and plunged forward. a bullet crashed into the wall of the dugout. the cowboy's shoulder pinned the little man against the bolted door. one hand gave a quick wrench to the wrist of the right arm and the revolver clattered to the puncheon floor. the two hands of the jailer, under pressure, came together. round them the rope wound swiftly. "i've got you, yorky. no use strugglin'. i don't want to start that misery in yore shoulder," warned jack. the little saddler, tears of mortification in his eyes, relaxed from his useless efforts. jack had no intention of humiliating him and he proceeded casually to restore his self-respect. "you made a good fight, yorky,--a blamed good fight. i won out by a trick, or i never could 'a' done it. listen, old-timer. i plumb had to play this low-down trick on you. homer dinsmore saved miss wadley from the 'paches. he treated her like a white man an' risked his life for her. she's my friend. do you reckon i'd ought to let him hang?" "whyn't you tell me all that?" complained the manhandled jailer. "because you're such a tender-hearted old geezer, yorky. like as not you would 'a' thrown open the door an' told me to take him. you had to make a fight to keep him so they couldn't say you were in cahoots with me. i'm goin' to jail for this an' i don't want comp'ny." jack trussed up his friend comfortably with the slack of the rope so that he could move neither hands nor feet. from the nail upon which the two keys hung the jail-breaker selected one. he shot back the bolts of the inner door and turned the key. chapter xliv dinsmore gives information the inner room was dark, and for a moment jack stood blinking while his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom. a voice growled a question at him. "what do you want now, mr. grandstander?" "i want you." "what for?" "you'll find out presently. come along." for a moment dinsmore did not move. then he slouched forward. he noticed that the ranger was not armed. another surprise met him when he stepped into the outer room. the jailer lay on the floor bound. the outlaw looked quickly at roberts, a question in his eyes. jack unlocked his handcuffs. they had been left on him because the jail was so flimsy. "my rifle an' six-shooters are on the shelf there, dinsmore. a horse packed with grub is waitin' outside for you. make for the short-grass country an' cross the line about deaf smith county to the staked plains. i reckon you'll find friends on the pecos." "yes?" asked dinsmore, halfway between insolence and incredulity. "that's my advice. you don't need to take it if you don't want to." "oh, it listens good to me. i'll take it all right, mr. ranger. there are parties in mexico that can use me right now at a big figure. the lincoln county war is still goin' good." the bad-man challenged roberts with bold eyes. "but what i'm wonderin' is how much clint wadley paid you to throw down cap ellison." the anger burned in jack's face. "damn you, dinsmore, i might 'a' known you'd think somethin' like that. i'll tell you this. i quit bein' a ranger at six o'clock this evenin', an' i haven't seen or heard from wadley since i quarreled with him about you." "so you're turnin' me loose because you're so fond of me. is that it?" sneered the outlaw. "i'll tell you just why i'm turnin' you loose, dinsmore. it's because for twenty-four hours in yore rotten life you were a white man. when i was sleepin' on yore trail you turned to take miss wadley back to the a t o. when the 'paches were burnin' the wind after you an' her, you turned to pick her up after she had fallen. when you might have lit out up the cañon an' left her alone, you stayed to almost certain death. you were there all the time to a fare-you-well. from that one good day that may take you to heaven yet, i dragged you in here with a rope around yore neck. i had to do it, because i was a ranger. but wadley was right when he said it wasn't _human_. i'm a private citizen now, an' i'm makin' that wrong right." "you'd ought to go to congress. you got the gift," said dinsmore with dry irony. five minutes earlier he had been, as roberts said, a man with a rope around his neck. now he was free, the wide plains before him over which to roam. he was touched, felt even a sneaking gratitude to this young fellow who was laying up trouble for himself on his account; and he was ashamed of his own emotion. "i'll go to jail; that's where i'll go," answered jack grimly. "but that's not the point." "i'll say one thing, roberts. i didn't kill hank. one of the other boys did. it can't do him any harm to say so now," muttered dinsmore awkwardly. "i know. overstreet shot him." "that was just luck. it might have been me." jack looked straight and hard at him. "will you answer me one question? who killed rutherford wadley?" "why should i?" demanded the bad-man, his eyes as hard and steady as those of the other man. "because an innocent man is under a cloud. you know tony didn't kill him. he's just been married. come clean, dinsmore." "as a favor to you, because of what you're doin' for me?" "i'm not doin' this for you, but to satisfy myself. but if you want to put it that way--" "steve gurley shot ford because he couldn't be trusted. the kid talked about betrayin' us to ellison. if steve hadn't shot him i would have done it." "but not in the back," said jack. "no need o' that. i could 'a' gunned him any time in a fair fight. we followed him, an' before i could stop him gurley fired." the line-rider turned to the jailer. "you heard what he said, yorky." "i ain't deef," replied the little saddler with sulky dignity. his shoulder was aching and he felt very much outraged. "ford wadley was a bad egg if you want to know. he deserved just what he got," dinsmore added. "i don't care to hear about that. yore horse is waitin', dinsmore. some one might come along an' ask inconvenient whyfors. better be movin' along." dinsmore buckled the belt round his waist and picked up the rifle. "happy days," he said, nodding toward jack, then turned and slouched out of the door. a moment, and there came the swift clatter of hoofs. chapter xlv ramona deserts her father arthur ridley, seated on the porch between clint wadley and ramona, was annoying one and making himself popular with the other. for he was maintaining, very quietly but very steadily, that jack roberts had been wholly right in refusing to release dinsmore. "just as soon as you lads get to be rangers you go crazy with the heat," said the cattleman irritably. "me, i don't go down on my ham bones for the letter of the law. justice! that's what i aim for to do. i don't say you boys haven't got a right to sleep on dinsmore's trail till you get him. that's yore duty. but out here in texas we'd ought to do things high, wide, an' handsome. roberts, by my way of it, should have shook homer's hand. 'fine! you saved 'mona's life. light a shuck into a chaparral _pronto_. in twelve hours i'm goin' to hit the trail after you again.' that's what he had ought to have said." "you're asking him to be generous at the expense of the state, mr. wadley. jack couldn't do that. dinsmore's liberty wasn't a gift of his to give. he was hired by the state--sent out to bring in that particular man. he hadn't any choice but to do it," insisted arthur. ramona sat in the shadow of the honeysuckle vines. she did not say anything and ridley could not see her face well. he did not know how grateful she was for his championship of his friend. she knew he was right and her heart throbbed gladly because of it. she wanted to feel that she and her father were wrong and had done an injustice to the man she loved. captain ellison came down the walk, his spurs jingling. in spite of his years the little officer carried himself jauntily, his wide hat tilted at a rakish angle. just now he was worried. as soon as he knew the subject of conversation, he plunged in, a hot partisan, eager for battle. inside of two minutes he and wadley were engaged in one of their periodical semi-quarrels. "you're wrong, clint," the captain announced dogmatically. "you're wrong, like you 'most always are. you're that bullheaded you cayn't see it. but i'm surprised at you, 'mona. if jack had been a private citizen, you wouldn't needed to ask him to turn loose dinsmore. but he wasn't. that's the stuff my rangers are made of. they play the hand out. the boy did just right." "that's what you say, jim. you drill these boys of yours till they ain't hardly human. i'm for law an' order. you know that. but i don't go out of my head about them the way you do. 'mona an' i have got some sense. we're reasonable human bein's." to demonstrate his possession of this last quality clint brought his fist down on the arm of the chair so hard that it cracked. from out of the darkness ramona made her contribution in a voice not quite steady. "we're wrong, dad. we've been wrong all the time. i didn't see it just at first, and then i didn't want to admit it even to myself. but i'm glad now we are." she turned to captain ellison a little tremulously. "will you tell him, uncle jim, that i want to see him?" "you're a little gentleman, 'mona. i always said you were." the captain reached out and pressed her hand. "i'll tell him when i see him. no tellin' when that'll be. jack resigned to-day. he's got some fool notion in his head. i'm kinda worried about him." the girl's heart fluttered. "worried? what ... what do you think he's going to do?" the captain shook his head. "cayn't tell you, because i don't know. but he's up to somethin'. he acted kinda hard an' bitter." a barefooted negro boy called in from the gate. "cap'n ellison there, sah?" he brought a note in and handed it to the officer of rangers. the captain ripped open the envelope and handed the sheet inside to ramona. "run along in an' read it for me, honey. it's too dark to see here." the girl ran into the house and lit a lamp. the color washed out of her face as she read the note. come up to the hotel and arrest me, captain. i held up yorky, took his keys, and freed dinsmore. jack roberts then, in jubilant waves, the blood beat back into her arteries. that was why he had resigned, to pay the debt he owed homer dinsmore on her account. he had put himself within reach of the law for her sake. her heart went out to him in a rush. she must see him. she must see him at once. from the parlor she called to captain ellison. "you'd better come in and read the note yourself, uncle jim. it's important." it was so important to her that before the captain of rangers was inside the house, she was out the back door running toward the hotel as fast as her lithe limbs could carry her. she wanted to see jack before his chief did, to ask his forgiveness for having failed him at the first call that came upon her faith. she caught up with the colored boy as he went whistling up the road. the little fellow took a message for her into the hotel while she waited in the darkness beside the post-office. to her there presently came roberts. he hesitated a moment in front of the store and peered into the shadows. she had not sent her name, and it was possible that enemies had decoyed him there. "jack," she called in a voice that was almost a whisper. in half a dozen long strides he was beside her. she wasted no time in preliminaries. "we were wrong, dad and i. i told uncle jim to tell you to come to me ... and then your note to him came. jack, do you ... still like me?" he answered her as lovers have from the beginning of time--with kisses, with little joyous exclamations, with eyes that told more than words. he took her into his arms hungrily in an embrace of fire and passion. she wept happily, and he wiped away her tears. they forgot time in eternity, till ellison brought them back to earth. he was returning from the hotel with wadley, and as he passed they heard him sputtering. "why did he send for me, then, if he meant to light out? what in sam hill--?" jack discovered himself to the captain, and incidentally his sweetheart. "well, i'll be doggoned!" exclaimed ellison. "you youngsters sure beat my time. how did you get here, 'mona?" clint made prompt apologies. "i was wrong, boy. i'd ought to know it by this time, for they've all been dinnin' it at me. shake, an' let's make a new start." in words it was not much, but jack knew by the way he said it that the cattleman meant a good deal more than he said. he shook hands gladly. "looks to me like jack would make that new start in jail," snapped the captain. "i don't expect he can go around jail-breaking with my prisoners an' get away with it." "i'll go to jail with him, then," cried 'mona quickly. "h'mp!" the ranger captain softened. "it wouldn't be a prison if you were there, honey." jack slipped his hand over hers in the semi-darkness. "you're whistlin', captain." "i reckon you 'n' me will take a trip down to austin to see the governor, jim," wadley said. "don't you worry any about that prison, 'mona." the girl looked up into the eyes of her lover. "we're not worrying any, dad," she answered, smiling. chapter xlvi loose threads the governor had been himself a cattleman. before that he had known ellison and wadley during the war. therefore he lent a friendly ear to the tale told him by his old-time friends. clint did most of the talking, one leg thrown across the arm of a leather-bound chair in the library of the governor's house. the three men were smoking. a mint julep was in front of each. the story of jack roberts lost nothing in the telling. both of the panhandle men were now partisans of his, and when the owner of the a t o missed a point the hawk-eyed little captain was there to stress it. "that's all right, boys," the governor at last broke in. "i don't doubt he's all you say he is, but i don't see that i can do anything for him. if he's in trouble because he deliberately helped a murderer to escape--" "you don't need to do a thing, bob," interrupted wadley. "that's just the point. he's in no trouble unless you make it for him. all you've got to do is shut yore eyes. i spent three hours with a pick makin' a hole in the jail wall so as it would look like the prisoner escaped. i did a real thorough job. yorky, the jailer, won't talk. we got that all fixed. there'll be no trouble a-tall unless you want the case against jack pushed." "what was the use of comin' to me at all, then? why didn't you boys keep this under your hats?" the governor asked. wadley grinned. "because of jim's conscience. you see, bob, he fills his boys up with talk about how the texas rangers are the best police force in the world. that morale stuff! go through an' do yore duty. play no favorites an' have no friends when you're on the trail of a criminal. well, he cayn't ignore what young roberts has done. so he passes the buck to you." the governor nodded appreciation of ellison's difficulty. "all right, jim. you've done your duty in reporting it. now i'll forget all about it. you boys go home and marry those young people soon as they're ready." the panhandle cattleman gave a whoop. "that'll be soon as i can draw up partnership papers for me 'n' jack as a weddin' present for him an' mona." * * * * * they were married at clarendon. all the important people of the panhandle attended the wedding, and it was generally agreed that no better-looking couple ever faced the firing line of a marriage ceremony. there was a difference of opinion as to whether the ex-line-rider deserved his good luck. jumbo wilkins was one of those who argued mightily that there was no luck about it. "that doggoned tex wore his bronc to a shadow waitin' on miss 'mona an' rescuin' her from trouble. she plumb had to marry him to git rid of him," he explained. "i never saw the beat of that boy's gall. six months ago he was ridin' the line with me. now he's the _segundo_ of the whole outfit an' has married the daughter of the boss to boot." jumbo was on hand with a sack of rice and an old shoe when the bride and groom climbed into the buckboard to drive to the ranch. his admiration found vent in one last shout as the horses broke into a run: "oh, you tex! let 'em go, son!" the end produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) edward stratemeyer's books old glory series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . under dewey at manila. under otis in the philippines. a young volunteer in cuba. the campaign of the jungle. fighting in cuban waters. under macarthur in luzon. soldiers of fortune series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . on to pekin. at the fall of port arthur. under the mikado's flag. with togo for japan. colonial series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . with washington in the west. on the trail of pontiac. marching on niagara. the fort in the wilderness. at the fall of montreal. trail and trading post. mexican war series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . for the liberty of texas. under scott in mexico. with taylor on the rio grande. pan-american series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . lost on the orinoco. young explorers of the amazon. the young volcano explorers. treasure seekers of the andes. young explorers of the isthmus. chased across the pampas. dave porter series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . dave porter at oak hall. dave porter in the far north. dave porter in the south seas. dave porter and his classmates. dave porter's return to school. dave porter at star ranch. dave porter and his rivals. lakeport series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . the gun club boys of lakeport. the foot ball boys of lakeport. the baseball boys of lakeport. the automobile boys of lakeport. the boat club boys of lakeport. american boys' biographical series _cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . american boys' life of william mckinley. american boys' life of theodore roosevelt. stratemeyer popular series _fifteen volumes. cloth. illustrated. price per volume_ $ . . * * * * * defending his flag. _price_ $ . . [illustration: "'remember the alamo! down with santa anna!'"] mexican war series for the liberty of texas by edward stratemeyer author of "with taylor on the rio grande," "under scott in mexico," "dave porter series," "old glory series," "pan-american series," "lakeport series," etc. _illustrated by louis meynelle_ boston lothrop, lee & shepard co. copyright, , by dana estes & company copyright, , by lothrop, lee & shepard co. _all rights reserved_ for the liberty of texas set up and electrotyped by colonial press, boston printed by berwick & smith co., norwood preface. "for the liberty of texas" is a tale complete in itself, but it forms the first of a line of three volumes to be known under the general title of the "mexican war series." primarily the struggle of the texans for freedom did not form a part of our war with mexico, yet this struggle led up directly to the greater war to follow, and it is probably a fact that, had the people of texas not at first accomplished their freedom, there would have been no war between the two larger republics. the history of texas and her struggle for liberty is unlike that of any other state in our union, and it will be found to read more like a romance than a detail of facts. here was a territory, immense in size, that was little better than a wilderness, a territory gradually becoming settled by americans, mexicans, spaniards, french, and pioneers of other nations, a territory which was the home of the bloodthirsty comanche and other indians, and which was overrun with deer, buffalo, and the wild mustang, and which was, at times, the gathering ground for the most noted desperadoes of the southwest. this territory formed, with coahuila, one of the states of mexico, but the government was a government in name only, and the people of texas felt that it was absolutely necessary that they withdraw from the mexican confederation, in order to protect themselves, their property, and their individual rights, for, with the scheming mexicans on one side of them, and the murderous indians on the other, nothing was safe from molestation. the contest was fought largely by men who knew little or nothing of the art of war, but men whose courage was superb. at first only defeat stared the intrepid band in the face, and hundreds were lost at the alamo, at the massacre of goliad, and elsewhere, but then there came upon the scene the figure of the dashing and daring general sam houston, and under his magnetic leadership the army of the mexican general, santa anna, was routed utterly, and the liberty of texas was secured beyond further dispute. edward stratemeyer. contents. chapter page i. the home on the frontier ii. the disappearance of the deer iii. a quarrel and its result iv. something about the indians in texas v. the attack on the ranch vi. poke stover to the front vii. in and out of the burning cabin viii. an unsuccessful pursuit ix. big foot and the missing papers x. the situation in mexico xi. the opening of the war xii. the march on san antonio xiii. a fight with a puma xiv. the battle of concepcion xv. dan turns the tables xvi. after a missing mustang xvii. the grass fight, and what followed xviii. dan comes to grief xix. the cave in the ravine xx. flight and pursuit xxi. what happened to ralph xxii. the attack on san antonio xxiii. the surrender of the city xxiv. a midnight discovery xxv. march of santa anna into texas xxvi. wild turkeys and another trail xxvii. the mexican army at san antonio xxviii. within the walls of the mission xxix. the fall of the alamo xxx. escaping to the river xxxi. something about general sam houston xxxii. in which the texan army falls back xxxiii. the victory of san jacinto xxxiv. back to the ranch--conclusion list of illustrations. page "'remember the alamo! down with santa anna!'" _frontispiece_ "'you sha'n't leave this spot until you give up that deer, and that's all there is to it!'" "following the trail of the comanches" "'hold on,' he cried to henry parker. 'something is in that bush!'" "'hold back!' yelled dan" "'you rascal! get back, or i'll shoot!'" "'that's what i call a pretty good haul,' cried dan, enthusiastically" "he began to lower himself into the hole" for the liberty of texas. chapter i. the home on the frontier. "dan! dan! come quick and see what i brought down with the gun!" "why, ralph, was that you i heard shooting? i thought it was father." "no; i was out, down by the river bank, and i brought down the finest deer you ever set eyes on. he was under the bunch of pecan-trees, and i let him have it straight in the neck and brought him down the first crack. now what do you think of that?" ralph radbury's rather delicate face was all aglow with excitement and pardonable pride, as he spoke, leaning on his father's gun, a long, old-fashioned affair that had been in the family's possession for many years. ralph was but a boy of eight, although years of life in the open air had given him the appearance of being older. "what do i think?" cried dan, who was ralph's senior by six years. "i think you'll become a second davy crockett or dan'l boone if you keep on. it's a wonder the deer let you come so close. the wind is blowing toward the stream." "i trailed around to the rocks where we had the tumble last winter, and then i came up as silently as a comanche after a scalp. i was just about ready to fire when the deer took alarm, but i caught him when he raised his head, and all he gave was one leap and it was all over. where is father? i must tell him." and ralph looked around impatiently. "i don't know where father is, if he isn't down by the river. i thought he went off to look up those hogs that got away last saturday. in these times, so he says, we can't afford to lose six fat porkers." "perhaps those rushers who were on their way to bexar rounded them up on the sly." "no; father put the crowd down for honest men, and he rarely makes a mistake in judging a man, ralph. either the hogs got away by themselves or else some of those sneaking comanches have been around again." "oh, dan, that puts me in mind,--when i was up at the rocks i was almost certain i saw one of the indians farther up the river. as soon as i looked that way he dodged out of sight, so i only caught one glimpse of him--if he really was an indian." at his younger brother's words, dan radbury's face took on a look of deep concern. "you are not real sure it was an indian?" he questioned, after a pause. "no, but i'm pretty sure, too. but even if it was an indian it might have been choctaw tom, you know." "you're wrong there, ralph. all the caddo indians are friendly to the whites, and if it was tom he wouldn't hide away after you had spotted him. more than likely it was a dirty comanche, and if it was--well, we had better tell father about it, that's all." "why, you don't think----" ralph paused, abruptly. "i know a comanche isn't to be trusted. come, let us look at the deer, and let us try to find father at the same time. is the gun loaded?" "no." ralph looked sheepish. "i--i was so pleased to bring down the deer i forgot all about loading again." _ "then you're not such a famous hunter, after all, ralph. the wise man, especially in these parts, loads up before his gun-barrel has a chance to cool. put in your load at once, and i'll bring along that mexican _escopeta_ father traded in for a mustang last week. i don't believe the old gun is of much account, but it will be better than nothing." "father wouldn't take it from the greaser if it wasn't all right. but why must we both be armed? do you think the indians are close by?" "as i said before, i don't believe in trusting these bloodthirsty comanches. poke stover knows them like a book, and he says they are just aching to go on the war-path, now the government is having so much trouble of its own." "if the indians are around it won't be safe to leave the cabin alone," was the younger boy's comment. "i reckon we can leave it for awhile, ralph. we won't be gone more than an hour, at the most," concluded dan radbury, as he disappeared into the cabin for the firearm he had mentioned. the scene was that of a typical frontier home, in the heart of texas, close to the guadalupe river, and about ten miles from what was then the village of gonzales. it was the year , and the whole of northern and western texas could truthfully be put down as a "howling wilderness," overrun with deer, bison, bears, and other wild animals, wild horses, and inhabited only by the savage and lawless comanche, apache, cherokee, and numerous other tribes of indians. as regards the rest of the state, it may briefly be stated that this immense territory of thousands of square miles contained not over twenty-two thousand white and black people combined. how many indians there were is not definitely known, but they have been estimated at fifteen to eighteen thousand. the main cities were san antonio de bexar, san felipe de austin, nacogdoches, san augustine, columbia, and the seaport town of velasco, but not one of these boasted of more than thirty-five hundred inhabitants. to this territory had come, three years before, amos radbury, the father of the two lads introduced at the beginning of this chapter. the family were from georgia, where mr. radbury had once owned a large interest in a tobacco plantation. but a disastrous flood had robbed him not only of the larger portion of his property, but also of his much beloved wife, and, almost broken-hearted, the planter had sold off his remaining interest in the plantation for five thousand dollars, and emigrated, first to new orleans, and then to his present home. the trip from new orleans had been made in a prairie wagon, drawn by a double yoke of oxen, and had consumed many weeks, and that trip over the prairies, through the almost trackless forests, and across numerous dangerous fords, was one which the boys were likely never to forget. on the way they had fallen in with a small band of treacherous indians, but they had been saved by the timely arrival of some friendly caddos, under the leadership of canoma, a chief well known throughout the length and breadth of texas. on reaching the guadalupe river, a stop of two weeks had been made at gonzales, and then mr. radbury had obtained possession of a grant of land embracing over five hundred acres, the tract lying on both sides of the stream. the price paid for the land was ten cents per acre. this is not to be wondered at, since land in other portions of the state was sold as low as two cents per acre! the three years spent in the wilderness had done wonders for all of the members of the family. the hard work of clearing off the timber, planting, and of building a cabin and a cattle shelter, had done much to make mr. radbury forget his grief over the loss of his wife and property, and the rough outdoor life had made daniel radbury "as tough as a pine-knot," as he was wont to say himself. it had likewise done much for little ralph, who had been a thin and delicate lad of five when leaving the old home in the magnolia grove in far-off georgia. even yet ralph was not as strong as dan, but he was fast becoming so, much to his parent's satisfaction. amos radbury's venture had prospered from the start. the land was rich and his crops were consequently heavy, and no disease reached his cattle, which speedily grew to the number of several hundred heads. in addition to his beeves he had nearly a hundred hogs, and during the last year had taken to raising horses and mustangs, for the market at bexar, as san antonio was commonly called. the raising of mustangs had been a source of much satisfaction to the boys, who speedily learned to ride so well that even the liveliest of the animals failed to shake one or the other off, although, of course, neither could do a thing when the beast got down and began to roll over. "it's immense, to ride like the wind!" dan would cry. "there is no better sport in the world! i don't wonder the indians enjoy it so much." "yes, the indians enjoy it, and they'll enjoy getting our mustangs, too, if we give them the chance," had been mr. radbury's reply. but so far only one mustang had been taken, and that by a comanche half-breed named hank stiger. stiger had been accused of the crime by mr. radbury, but had pleaded his innocence, and the pioneer had dropped the matter rather than have more trouble, since it was known that the half-breed and the comanches in the neighbourhood were closely related in all their underhanded work. in those days it was no uncommon thing to hang a horse thief, but had this happened to hank stiger, it is likely that the comanches under bison head, who had their hunting-grounds in the cross timbers, so-called, of the upper colorado river, would have gone on the war-path immediately following. chapter ii. the disappearance of the deer. the cabin was a strongly built affair of rough logs, fifteen feet deep by thirty feet long. it was divided into two apartments on the ground floor, the first used as a general living-room and the second as a bedchamber. from the bedchamber a rude ladder ran to a loft, used as extra sleeping-quarters when the radburys had company, and also as a storeroom. there were two windows in the sleeping-room below, and a window and a door in the general living-room. each of the windows were shuttered with slabs of oak, secured, inside, by square bars of ash. all of the furniture excepting one bed, a table, and two chairs was home-made, and consequently rather primitive in style, and built more for use than for ornamentation. at one side of the living-room was a wide, open fireplace, and here, above the mantel-shelf, hung the old mexican _escopeta_, or cavalry musket, which dan intended to take along on his expedition to the spot where ralph had brought down the deer. taking the gun down, the youth saw to it that the weapon was loaded and ready for use, and rejoined his brother. in those days every texan trusted his neighbour implicitly, and nobody thought of locking up his home even though he expected to be gone several days, unless it was thought that unfriendly indians were about. the radburys had gone away frequently, leaving everything open, and had never suffered, excepting as previously mentioned. once, on returning, they had found that some other settlers from fifty miles away had stopped there over night, but this was explained in a note stuck to the eating-table, the "neighbour" offering to "square up" on demand. when the two parties met, mr. radbury told the other that the only way he could settle up was by calling again,--which was the usual texan method of rounding out such hospitality. "i've a good mind to lock up," remarked dan, as he reached the dooryard. "i don't like this idea of indians spying about." "oh, come on," interrupted ralph. "we won't be gone long, and no indian could do much in such a short time." the elder brother shook his head doubtfully. "i don't know," he mused, but when ralph took hold of his arm, he suffered himself to be led away; and soon they were hurrying for the river. there was quite a clearing to cross, and as they gained the timber dan paused to look back and to gaze around them. but neither man nor beast was in sight. on hurried the two boys, through a tangle of brush and tall pines, the latter of the long straw variety and smelling strongly of turpentine whereever the last storm had broken off a top or a heavy branch. closer to the stream was a stately row of cottonwoods, with here and there a fragrant magnolia, which reminded the lads of the former homestead left so many miles behind. it was the spring of the year and the magnolias were just putting forth their buds, and dan paused for a second to gaze at them. "i'll tell you what, ralph, it will be a long while before texas is as civilised as georgia," he observed. "will it ever be as civilised, dan? i heard father say last week, when he was talking to brossom, that he never thought it would be,--so long as texas was joined to coahuila and belonged to the mexican confederation. he said texas ought to be free." "he is right, too,--we ought either to be free, or else belong to the united states. it's all well enough for the mexicans living in coahuila to belong to the confederation if they want to, but they don't care for us americans, and they are going to grind us under if they can." "but they were glad enough to have us come in, weren't they?--i mean at first." "yes, when stephen austin came in with his first batch of emigrants they welcomed the newcomers with open arms, and gave each man a large tract of land for himself, one for his wife, and more land for each child or servant, and they were mighty glad to have other _empresarios_ bring in emigrants, too, so i've read in the papers. but now they are getting afraid that the americans will overrule them, and there is bound to be a lot of trouble sooner or later." ralph was anxious to show his brother his prize, and as they neared the spot where the big deer had been brought down he ran on ahead, and so the talk on state affairs came to an end. but dan was right, there was much trouble ahead, as we shall see as our story progresses. the cottonwoods passed, the boys faced another small clearing, where a forest fire years before had lain many a towering pine low. beyond this burnt and barren spot were the pecan-trees overhanging the river, where the deer had come to slake his thirst when ralph had trailed him and brought him low. "oh, dan! the deer's gone!" the cry came straight from ralph's heart, as with staring eyes he ran in under the pecan-trees and gazed at the spot where the game had rested less than an hour before. "gone?" repeated the brother. "then you didn't kill him?" "yes, i did,--i am sure of it, for i turned him over after he was shot. could some wild animal have carried him off?" "more than likely, although it would take a pretty fair sized animal to tote a deer, especially if he was as big as you say. let us see if we can find any tracks." they began to search around the bank of the stream, and soon discovered a number of footprints. "indian moccasins!" exclaimed dan. "ralph, you were right about that indian. he was watching you, and after you left the deer he came in and took possession." "but he hadn't any right to do that," burst out the smaller boy, angrily. it cut him to the heart to have his first big game taken from him. "it's downright robbery." "it certainly wasn't fair, but about its being robbery, that's questionable. you shouldn't have left your game without leaving something on top of it, a knife or anything, just to show that you were coming back for it." "but this is father's land." "it isn't fenced yet, and the indians don't recognise such ownership, anyway." "but they must have known i was coming back. no one would throw away such choice venison as that was." ralph heaved a sigh. "i wish i was a man,--i'd go after that redskin in short order, and make him either give up the game or bring him down with my gun." "if you shot him you'd bring on a regular war, more than likely. but if you wish, we can follow this track for a stretch, and look for father at the same time." ralph was more than willing to do this--anything to learn what had really become of his game, and so they continued up the river bank for the best part of half a mile. here they came to a creek, leading directly west, and saw that the footprints followed this new water-course. along the creek the way was rocky and uneven, and it was plain to see where the deer had been dragged along. ralph was going on, with his eyes bent to the trail, when suddenly his brother caught him by the arm, bringing him to a halt. in silence dan pointed to the opposite side of the creek, at a distance a hundred feet farther up the water-course. "it's hank stiger, the half-breed!" burst in a low tone from ralph's lips. "and see, he is tying my deer fast to his pony." "you are right, ralph." "i'm not going to let him get away in this fashion!" went on the younger lad, excitedly. "he's got to give up that meat, or i'm going to know the reason why." "don't be rash. hank stiger is a bad man to deal with." "are you going to let him go without doing anything?" demanded ralph. "i'm sure you wouldn't if it was your deer!" he added, bitterly. "no, we'll talk to him and put our claim as strongly as we can. but be careful, that's all." with this caution dan ran along the bank of the creek until he reached the ford where the half-breed had crossed. he went over, with ralph at his heels and both boys were within easy speaking distance of hank stiger before the latter discovered them. "hi there, stiger! what are you doing with that deer?" demanded dan, as he came closer, with his gun in both hands across his breast. at the sound of the boy's voice the half-breed turned quickly and his repulsive reddish-brown face fell sullenly. he was a short, stocky fellow, with a tangled head of hair and wolfish eyes which betrayed the comanche blood that flowed in his veins from his mother's side. "who are you?" demanded the man, hardly knowing what to say, so completely had he been taken by surprise. "i am dan radbury, as you know very well. this is my brother ralph, and he shot the deer you are carrying off." "not much!" ejaculated the half-breed. "i brung that deer down myself--shot him through the neck." "it's not so!" burst out ralph. "the deer is mine, i brought him down over in the pecan grove on the river." "why, youngster, you're dead wrong, i tell you. i shot this deer right down thar on this creek, two hours ago. he limped off after i hit him, but i followed the trail easily and found him in the pecan grove, dead from whar i had struck him in the neck." this cool answer almost took ralph's breath away from him. "it was i struck him in the neck, hank stiger, and the deer belongs to me, and you sha'n't bluff me out of my meat, either." "hush, ralph, don't be so headstrong," remonstrated dan, in low tones. "you'll gain a good bit more by keeping cool." at ralph's words the half-breed let out a rough, unnatural laugh. "boy, you must be daft, to tell me i don't know when i bring down a deer. the deer is mine, and if you shot at him you wasted your powder, that's all." so speaking, hank stiger swung himself on the back of his mustang, which little beast looked all out of proportion to the deer and man mounted on him. his gun was slung over his shoulder, and there he allowed it to remain while he gathered up the reins and urged his pony forward. ralph was white. as told before, he was but a boy of eight, yet his life on the frontier had given him the appearance of being ten or more. rushing in front of the mustang, he raised his gun and pointed the muzzle at stiger's head. [illustration: "'you sha'n't leave this spot until you give up that deer, and that's all there is to it!'"] "stop where you are!" he cried, commandingly. "you sha'n't leave this spot until you give up that deer, and that's all there is to it!" chapter iii. a quarrel and its result. it must be confessed that hank stiger was badly frightened when ralph confronted him with the loaded gun. he was naturally not an overly brave fellow, and while the boy before him was young, yet he realised that ralph could shoot as well as many a man. besides this, dan was there, and he was also armed, and now had his finger on the trigger of the ancient cavalry musket. "don't shoot!" the words came from dan. he could not help but admire his brother's pluck, yet he was sorry that the affair had taken such an acute turn. his caution was unnecessary, for ralph had no intention of firing, excepting stiger should attempt to rush by him or use the gun slung on his shoulder. the mustang took several steps, and then the half-breed brought him to an abrupt halt. "you're carrying matters with a putty high hand, to my notion," he remarked, sarcastically. an awkward pause followed, ralph knowing not what to say, and glancing at dan, half afraid that his brother would be tremendously angry with him over the hasty threat he had made. yet he felt that he was in the right, and he kept his gun-barrel on a line with the half-breed's head. "stiger, you might as well give up the deer," said dan, as quietly as he could. "it's ralph's first big game, and of course he feels mighty proud of it. a good shot like you ought to be able to bring down lots of game of your own." dan imagined that this tempered speech and side praise would put the half-breed in good humour, but he was mistaken. stiger glanced from one lad to the other, his face growing more sullen each instant. "this deer is mine, and you can't force me to give it up," he muttered. "put down that gun, or we'll have trouble." "you put down the deer, first," said ralph, sturdily. "it's my deer, not yours, and i won't put it down. i'm not afraid of two youngsters like you." again ralph's temper got the better of him. "you shall put it down, hank stiger. you are nothing but a horse-thief, and i----" "ha! call me a hoss-thief!" ejaculated the half-breed, in a rage. "i won't stand that, boy. you shall suffer for it." "you are a horse-thief, and stole one of my father's animals last year. now you want to steal my deer, but you shall not do it. dan, he's got to give it up, hasn't he?" "yes, he has got to give it up," answered the older brother, seeing that matters had gone too far for either of them to back down. dan was slow to make up his mind, but, once it was made up, he was uncompromising to the last degree. "supposing i refuse to give up the deer?" came from the half-breed. he spoke in a brusque manner, but there was a shade of anxiety in his tone. "you had better not refuse." "you wouldn't dare to shoot at me." "don't you be too sure of that," put in ralph. "you must remember that father could have had you shot down for a horse-thief, had he wanted to do so. i don't want any trouble with you, but i am bound to have my game." "all right, then, you keep the game!" ejaculated hank stiger, in deep rage, and, turning on his mustang, he picked up the deer and flung it to the earth. "but remember, i say i shot that deer and that he is mine. some day you'll rue your work here, mark my words!" and with an angry shake of his dirty fist at them he kicked his mustang in the sides and was soon lost to view in the forest to the north of the creek. the two boys watched him carefully, and they did not lower their guns until they were certain that he had gone too far to turn and fire at them. then ralph knelt over the deer and examined the torn open neck. "there, i was sure of it!" he cried, triumphantly. "there is my bullet, and that's the only shot he received." "let me see." dan took the bullet. "you are right, ralph. but, even so, we have made an enemy of stiger for life. he will never forgive you for calling him a horse-thief." "i don't care,--i got the deer. do you believe he'll come back to make more trouble?" "there is no telling. i think we had better be getting back to the house,--father doesn't seem to be anywhere about. there is a tree branch. you can tie the game to that, and we can both pull it down the creek to the river and then over to the burn. it won't be worth while bringing a pony out to do it." both set to work, and in a few minutes the deer was fastened to the branch and slid into the creek. the bottom was sandy, and the water made the load slip along readily. the lads had just crossed the burn with their drag when a gunshot rang out, coming from the direction of the ranch home. "listen!" ejaculated dan. "a shot from the house! what can that mean?" he dropped his hold on the branch and leaped forward, unslinging the _escopeta_ as he did so. for a moment ralph hesitated, not wishing to leave his game again, but then, as his brother disappeared into the belt of timber hiding the cabin from their view, he also dropped his hold, feeling that, even though a boy, his presence might be needed elsewhere. when dan reached the clearing about the ranch home he found his father in the doorway, rifle in hand, gazing anxiously in one direction and another. mr. radbury was tall and thin, and constant exposure to the sun had browned him considerably. a glance sufficed to show what he really was, a southern gentleman of the old school, despite the rough life he was at present leading. "dan!" cried the parent, gladly. "i am happy to see you are safe. where is ralph?" "he is just behind me, father. but what's the trouble? has anything happened here while we have been away?" "i hardly think so, but the indians are around,--i saw two of them directly across the river, and half a dozen at the big tree ford, all comanches, and several of them in their war-paint. i was afraid you had had trouble with them." "no, we've had trouble with somebody else," answered dan, but before he could go any further ralph appeared. the tale about the deer and hank stiger was soon told, mr. radbury listening with close attention. "and do you think i did wrong, father?" questioned the youngest radbury, as he concluded his narrative. "no, i can't say that, ralph," was the grave answer. "but i am afraid it will make us more trouble all around. stiger and bison head are intimate friends, and if the indians are going on the war-path again, the half-breed may direct an attack upon us. it was a great mistake to speak about that stolen horse. we can't prove that stiger took it, although i am morally sure he was the guilty party." after a short talk, it was decided that mr. radbury should go into the timber for the deer alone, leaving ralph and dan to watch around the cabin and the cattle shelter. at the shelter were several cows, used for milking, and a number of pigs. the other stock was off on the range between the ranch and gonzales, grazing. "i'd like to know if the cattle are safe," remarked dan, after his father had left. "if those indians should take it into their heads to round them up and drive them off it would be a big loss." "perhaps hank stiger will put them up to it," returned his brother. "i suppose he is mad enough to do most anything." leaving ralph to see to the defences of the ranch home, dan hurried down to the cattle shelter. this was in plain view of the cabin and could readily be covered from two firing-holes left in the shutter which covered one of the windows of the sleeping apartment. everything was as the youth had left it that morning, and there were no indications that any marauders had been around during the absence of ralph and himself. the gate to the cattle enclosure was open, and some of the cows were outside. these he drove in and then barred up the gate. back of the cattle shed, at a distance of several hundred feet, was a slight hollow, where there was a pool of water surrounded by mesquite-trees and bushes. this pool could be seen only from the back of the shed, and as dan walked in that direction, something caught his eye which instantly arrested his attention. it was a plume of feathers waving above the bushes close to the pool. there was a similar plume a short distance away. "turkey feathers," he muttered to himself. "but there are no wild turkeys down there, and i know it. father was right, the comanches are watching our home and surrounding it." as soon as he had made his discovery, dan felt inclined to run back to the cabin with all speed. but this would let the indians know that they were discovered and probably make them hasten their plans. so instead of running he took his time, walked completely around the shed, stopped to pat a favourite cow on the nose, and then sauntered slowly to the cabin. once inside, however, his manner changed. "ralph, father was right, the comanches are on the war-path!" he exclaimed. "bar up the windows, and i'll look to it that every gun and pistol in the house is ready for use." "then you saw more of them?" "yes, two down by the hollow." "do they know that you saw them?" "i hardly think so." dan began to look over the stock of pistols, several in number, including a "hoss" nearly two feet long. "i wish father was back," he added, anxiously. "shall i fire a signal?" "not yet, for it may only make the comanches hurry up. but you can watch for father from the doorway, and if you see him, beckon him to run for it," concluded the elder brother. chapter iv. something about the indians in texas. while the two boys are waiting for their father's return, and wondering what will be the next movement of the comanches surrounding the ranch home, let us turn aside for a moment to consider the state of affairs in texas in this momentous year of . as said before, texas and the territory known as coahuila, lying on the southern bank of the rio grande river, formed one of the states of the mexican confederation. at the time texas became bound to coahuila there was a clause in the constitution which allowed her to become a separate state whenever she acquired the requisite size, although what the requisite size must be was not specified. the texans were satisfied, at that time, to belong to the mexican confederation, but they soon discovered that to be tied fast to coahuila was going to become very burdensome. the latter-named territory was inhabited almost entirely by mexicans who had nothing in common with the americans, and these mexicans kept the capital city of the state at monclova or saltillo, so that the settlers in texas had to journey five hundred miles or more by wagon roads for every legal purpose. besides this, the judiciary was entirely in the hands of the inhabitants of coahuila, and they passed laws very largely to suit themselves. the first troubles came over the land grants. a number of men, headed by stephen austin, had come into texas, bringing with them hundreds of settlers to occupy grants given to these leaders, who were known as _empresarios_, or contractors. each settler's grant had to be recorded, and the settlers grumbled at journeying so far to get clear deeds to their possessions. at the same time, mexico herself was in a state of revolution, and often one so-called government would not recognise the grant made by the government just overthrown. the next trouble was with the indians. the comanches, apaches, shawnees, wacos, lipans, and separated tribes of cherokees, delawares, and choctaws, some driven from the united states by the pioneers there, overran the northern and central portions of texas, and those on the frontier, like mr. amos radbury, were never safe from molestation. the mexican government had promised the settlers protection, but the protection amounted to but little, and at one time only ninety soldiers were out to guard a frontier extending hundreds of miles, and where the different tribes of the enemy numbered ten to twenty thousand. the only thing which saved the settlers from total annihilation at this time was the friendliness of some of the indians and the fact that the red men carried on a continual warfare among themselves. some of the indian fights had been notable. one of the worst of them was an encounter between a band of over a hundred and about a dozen whites under the leadership of james bowie, better known as jim bowie, of bowie-knife fame,--this knife having become famous in border warfare. in this struggle the whites were surrounded, and kept the indians at bay for eight days, killing twenty odd of the enemy, including a notable chief. the loss to the whites was one killed and two wounded. this fight had occurred some years before the opening of this tale, but, only a month previous to the events now being related, another encounter had come off, on sandy creek, but a few miles from the radbury home. a party of french and mexican traders, thirteen in number, had gone up to the house of one john castleman, and during the night the indians came up, murdered nearly all of the number, and made off with the traders' packs. castleman hastened to gonzales with the news, and a posse was organised to follow the red men. this resulted in another battle, in the cedar brakes along the san marcos, and some of the indians were killed. but the majority got away, taking most of the stolen goods with them. the mentioning of these two encounters will show with what the early settlers of texas had to contend while trying to raise their crops and attend to their cattle. often a bold settler would go forth into the wilderness, erect his rude hut, and then never be heard from again, his habitation being found, later on, either deserted or burnt to the ground. and men were not the only sufferers, for women and children were often either killed or carried off into captivity. once two well-known ladies were spirited away in the most mysterious fashion, and they were not returned to their homes until both had spent several years among the red people. dan and ralph thought over many of these affairs as they set about preparing the ranch home against any attack which might be made upon it. ralph especially was much agitated, for, some six months before, several indians had stopped at the ranch for the purpose of trading ponies, and one of them had eyed the soft-haired boy's scalp in a manner which had given the youth a shiver from head to foot. "they sha'n't have my scalp," he murmured to himself. "i'll die first!" and, young as he was, it may be believed that he meant what he said. "do you see anything of father?" called out dan, as he finished inspecting the last of the pistols. "no." "he ought to be coming up by this time." "i really think we ought to fire a shot for a signal." "we'll wait a few minutes longer." they waited--every minute seeming like ten. it was a clear, sunshiny day, and outside only a faint breeze stirred the trees, otherwise all was silent. at the end of five minutes dan stepped to the doorway. "father!" he called, at the top of his voice. no answer came back, and then ralph joined in the cry, which was repeated several times. "he ought to hear that," said ralph, as the silence continued. then his face grew pale. "perhaps they have killed him, dan!" "i heard no shot; did you?" "no, but some of the indians may have bows with them. i heard one of those indians who was here last say he didn't like the white man's fire-bow because it made so much noise it scared all the game. if they've got bows and arrows they could easily crawl up behind father, and----" ralph did not finish in words, but his brother understood what he meant only too well. reaching for one of the pistols, dan ran outside of the door, and fired it off. mr. radbury had gone for the deer with his gun slung over his back, so he could easily fire a return signal if he wished. eagerly the brothers listened, but the exasperating silence continued. then, as dan reloaded, ralph fired a second shot. "something is wrong," said the older brother, after several more minutes had gone by. "if father was coming with the deer he would be in sight sure. either the indians have surrounded him or killed him, or else they have got between him and the house so that he can't get in. i'm going up to the loft with the spy-glass and take a squint around." glass in hand, dan ran up the rude ladder to the loft, which was some six feet high at the ridge-pole and two feet high at the edge of the sloping sides. there were windows on all four sides, but those at the slopes were small and only intended for observation holes. ralph had closed all of the shutters, so the loft was almost dark. with caution dan opened one shutter after another and swept the woods and country around with the glass. he could not see the hollow, but at the crest of the hill by the cattle shed he made out the heads of several indians gathered back of some bushes and talking earnestly. presently the indians, separated, and two of the number walked off in the direction of the river, on the opposite side of the ranch home. "they are up to something," reasoned the boy, and took up a position on the other side of the loft. from this point he could see a small portion of the river as it wound in and out among the trees and brush. he waited impatiently for the indians to reappear, and at last saw them cross a glade close to where he and his brother had met the half-breed. as the indians came out into the open, hank stiger met them. "he will join them now if he wasn't with them before," thought dan, and in this he was right. the indians and stiger held a short talk, and then all three disappeared in the belt of timber surrounding the burn. "can you see anything?" called up ralph. "yes, several indians, and stiger has joined them." "stiger! and what of father?" "i see nothing of him. ralph, i am afraid we are in for it this time, and no mistake." "you think the indians really intend to attack us?" "i do." "right away?" "no, they will probably wait until it grows dark, especially now, after they have seen us barring the windows." "then i had better be ready to bar up the door, too." "yes, but keep a lookout for father. he may come in on the run, you know." dan continued to use the glass, stepping from one window to another. but the indians had disappeared from view, and not another glimpse of a feather or a painted face was to be seen. presently he found himself looking toward the burn. back, in the timber bordering the river, was a tall tree which reared its head a score of feet above its fellow trees. as he turned his glass in that direction, something unusual in the top of the tree attracted his attention. he gazed long and earnestly at the object, and at last made out the form of a man, who was waving some dark thing, probably his coat, to and fro. "it must be father!" he thought. "i'll signal in return and make sure," and catching up a bed sheet he stuck it out of the window for a minute and swung it vigorously. as he did this, the party in the tree flung up the coat and caught it, then disappeared from view. at once dan drew in the sheet, closed all the shutters of the loft, and went below. chapter v. the attack on the ranch. "well, i've just seen father and signalled to him." "where was he, dan?" "in the top of the king pine by the river. he was waving his coat to attract my attention. i waved a bed sheet at him and then he threw his coat up in the air and caught it, and got out of sight as soon as he could." "then he was going off." "yes," answered dan. for among these pioneers to throw an object from one and then catch it meant to go away and return. "probably he is going away for assistance." "i shouldn't think he would leave us alone," mused ralph, his face falling perceptibly. "that makes me feel certain that the indians don't intend to attack us until dark. perhaps father heard some of their powwowing, or some talk between them and stiger. anyway, i am sure he is going away." "then we may as well close up tight." "all but the door. but bring in all the buckets full of water first. we may be in for a regular siege of it." dan's suggestion was carried out, and the older boy also made a raid on the cattle yard and brought in one of the cows, tying her close to the door. "now we'll have milk and meat too, if the worst comes to the worst," he observed. no matter what else happened he did not intend to be starved out. their regular chores done, the two boys locked up below, but left the door unbarred, and then went to the loft, taking with them their guns and the spy-glass. "i suppose we can count this something of a fort," remarked ralph. "but i don't care to play soldier--i'd rather have the indians leave us alone." "so would i. but i guess i can play soldier if i have to," added dan, with quiet emphasis. secretly he loved soldiering much better than life on the ranch, but in those days he never dreamed of the adventures on the battle-field which were still in store for him. the afternoon wore away slowly until the sun began to set behind the timber west of the ranch. in the meantime, the boys, having had no dinner, grew hungry, and ralph spent some time below in boiling a pot of coffee and stirring and baking some ash-cakes, serving both with a bit of broiled steak. "it's too bad we can't have some venison," he sighed to his brother. "but i reckon my first big game is going to get us into a whole lot of trouble." "i reckon the indians were getting ready to come down on us, anyhow," answered dan. "it seems they can stay quiet just so long, and then their animal nature breaks loose for a shindy." dan had just returned to the loft after his repast, when he uttered a shout. "an indian is coming toward the cabin, ralph!" "do you know him?" "no, but he is a comanche." "in war-paint?" "i don't know if it's war-paint or not, but he is daubed full of all the colours of the rainbow." "it must be war-paint. is he alone?" "yes, and riding a white pony. his gun is on his back, and he doesn't look as if he was up to mischief." "oh, i wouldn't trust him!" cried the younger lad. "he may be up to some of their treachery." "but i can't stop him from coming to the cabin. i'll be on my guard, and you must be, too," concluded dan, and went below. with quickness he hid away all the weapons but two pistols, one of which he stuck in his shirt bosom and gave the other to ralph. "we must keep apart," said ralph. "then if he attacks one or the other the free one can fire on him." "that's good generalship," returned dan, with a grim smile. by this time the indian rider was close to the dooryard, and dan walked outside to meet him. as soon as the youth appeared, the savage halted his steed. "how! how!" he said, in guttural tones, meaning "how do you do?" "how are you?" returned dan. "wolf ear is sick--got pain here," and the red man pointed to his stomach. "sick, eh? what have you been doing,--eating and drinking too much?" "no, wolf ear big sick two moons past,--sick come back,--can't ride and must lay down," groaned the savage, grating his teeth as if in intense pain. "white boy help wolf ear, me lof him." under ordinary circumstances dan would have been touched by this appeal, for he knew that the indians suffered just as many aches and pains as did the white folks. "i am no good at doctoring sick men," he answered. "wolf ear had better go back to his own medicine man." at this the indian stared at the boy stolidly for fully half a minute. he understood that he was not wanted, and that he would not be allowed into the cabin. "white boy have no medicine for wolf ear?" he said, slowly. "i don't know what would be good for you." "where white boy's fadder?" "he has gone away." a sudden idea came to dan's mind. "i think he has gone to gonzales to bring along some of the lumbermen to look over the plans for a sawmill. there are about a dozen men thinking of setting up a sawmill around here." the indian pursed up his mouth, trying to conceal his chagrin. "he come back soon?" "i expect him every minute. but you had better not wait for him. perhaps you'll feel better if you wash off that war-paint on your face." at this wolf ear scowled viciously. "white boy big fool!" he cried, and reached around for his gun. but before he could raise the weapon both dan and ralph had him covered with the pistols. not having seen the weapons while speaking, the indian was taken aback. "put that gun down," said dan, sternly. "i am not such a fool as you think." "wolf ear only make fun," grinned the savage, feebly. "no mean to shoot." "i don't like your fun, and i want you to leave this place." at once the red man straightened up like an arrow on his pony. "wolf ear will go," he said, loftily. "but wolf ear shall not forget you!" and he turned his steed to ride away. evidently he had forgotten all about his alleged pain. "dan, make him give up his gun," cried ralph, in a low voice. "if you don't he'll try to shoot us as soon as he reaches cover." "halt!" exclaimed the older brother. "wolf ear, you must leave your gun with us. you can come back for it when my father is here." at first the indian pretended not to hear, then he turned back to look at them, but without stopping his pony. "my firearm is mine," he said. "the white boy shall not rob the poor indian," and digging his heels into his pony's sides he set off at a breakneck pace for the nearest patch of timber. ralph was about to fire on him, but dan stopped the proceedings. "no, let him go," he said. "whatever happens, don't give them the chance to say that we opened the fight. if we start the affair we'll get into all sorts of trouble with the agency." before they could argue the matter wolf ear had gained the timber. both of the boys were now in the doorway of the cabin. bang! went the redskin's gun, and the bullet embedded itself in the door-post close to their heads. like lightning the boys leaped into the living-room and barred the oaken barrier behind them. "he has opened the attack!" gasped ralph, the shot, coming so close, temporarily unnerving him. "i told you he'd do it." dan did not answer, but, running to the closet, brought out the best of the guns belonging to his father. leaping up to the loft, he opened the firing-hole fronting the direction wolf ear had taken, and squinted through. but the indian horseman was long since out of sight. "can you catch him?" asked ralph, from the foot of the ladder. "no, he's gone." "do you think he'll bring the others down on us now?" "no. they know we are armed, and they couldn't rush across the clearing and break in without one or more of them being shot, and they are too afraid of their hides to undertake the job. but they'll close in as soon as it's dark, beyond a doubt." "i hope father comes back by that time." "so do i. do you suppose they are driving off the cattle on the range?" "there is no telling. for all we know they may be up back of the cattle shed, too." it was now so dark that but little could be seen beyond the clearing immediately surrounding the cabin. each of the boys stationed himself in the loft, dan watching to the north and the east, and ralph to the south and west. with the coming of night the silence seemed more oppressive than ever, and only the occasional mooing of the cow tied near the door broke the stillness around the cabin. from the woods came now and then the cry of a night bird, but that was all. the breeze had died out utterly. but presently came a cry that caused the hearts of both lads to thump vigorously within their breasts. it was the note of a night-owl, repeated six times. "that's a comanche signal," said dan, in almost a whisper. "ralph, they must be coming now, and if they are, god help us to do our best in repelling their attack!" "amen!" came almost solemnly from the younger radbury. "can you make out anything yet?" "no--yes! somebody is sneaking through the timber toward the river. it's an indian with a gun! he's turning toward the house, and two other indians are behind him!" several minutes more passed--minutes that seemed like hours to the boys, whose hearts thumped as never before. both felt that a crisis in their lives had arrived. "they are coming, five strong," whispered dan, at last. "perhaps i had better fire a pistol to warn them off." "do it," answered his brother, and soon the report broke the stillness. at the sound the comanches came to a halt in the clearing, midway between the cabin and the timber. the halt, however, was only temporary, for an instant later a wild war-whoop rang out, and they charged swiftly on the ranch home! chapter vi. poke stover to the front. "here they come, dan!" "yes, ralph. watch your chance, and fire at the fellow on the left. i'll take the one on the right." there was no time to say more, for now the comanches were close to the cabin. both youths were tremendously excited, but they felt that it was a case of life or death, and did their best to nerve themselves accordingly. each picked his man, and both guns rang out at the same time. the reports had not yet died away when the redskin aimed at by dan flung up one arm and sank back, badly wounded in the side. ralph had missed his mark by a few inches. the sudden attack brought the remaining indians to a halt, and for a second they appeared not to know what to do next. then the wounded man staggered back toward the timber, and with another war-whoop the others continued toward the cabin. the boys had no time left to reload, and caught up the pistols and let drive again. this time it was ralph who hit his man, a slight wound in the leg. hardly had the pistols belched forth than the indians opened fire, and four bullets buried themselves close to the firing-holes in the loft openings. "they mean to overpower us if they can," cried dan. "we must load up as fast as we can!" the indians, or at least the three that were not wounded, had now gained the door, and were trying to force it open. but their hatchets and the axe they had brought along failed to make much of an impression on it, and all they could do was to shout in their rage and demand that the boys open the door at once. "open! open!" came in wolf ear's voice. "open, or we will scalp you!" "go away, or we'll shoot you all down!" answered dan, who had now reloaded his gun. "we will not go away. what is in the house belongs to the red man, and he must have it." "it belongs to our father, and you shall not have one thing," retorted dan. he had unbarred the shutter of one of the upper windows, and now, leaning out swiftly, he took aim at the forms grouped below, and fired. a howl went up, for the bullet had nipped one red man in the ear and glanced along the shoulder of a second. then came a quick fire in return, and dan gave a scream that caused ralph's heart to almost stop beating. "you are struck?" queried the younger brother. "it's not much," came from dan, and, breathing heavily, he flung to the window-shutter and bolted it again. then he came down the ladder, the blood flowing from a wound in his neck. had the bullet come two inches closer, dan would have been killed on the spot. the indians were now trying to batter the door down with a log of wood picked up close at hand. the cow bothered them in their efforts, and one of the red men had to take time to cut her loose, at which the cow ran off to the cattle shed once more. thus far three of the attackers had been wounded, one quite seriously. the other two continued to hammer away at the door, which presently showed signs of giving way. "let us try to fire through the door," whispered ralph, when he saw that his brother was still able to continue the struggle. "we may hit them, and, anyway, we'll give them a scare." dan nodded, and both drew closer to the barrier with their guns. but before they could level their firearms, there came a report from the edge of the timber next to the burn, and one of the indians was heard to yell in mortal agony and fall on the doorstep. "somebody is coming!" cried dan, joyfully. "it must be father!" then a second report rang out, and another red man was struck, in the arm. this was the savage who had previously been nipped in the ear, and, without waiting for another shot, he sped away in the darkness, and his two companions after him, leaving the dead indian where he had fallen. there was now no use of trying to fire through the door, and dan motioned ralph to run up to the loft. "see if you can make out who it was that fired," he said, "and if it is father, and he wants to come in, call for me to open the door." the boys had lit a single lantern, but now this was put out, since they were afraid some treacherous red man might still be lurking at hand, to fire at them through a crack in the cabin walls. while ralph made his survey from above, dan stood at the door, his hand on the bar, ready to throw it back on an instant's notice. "a man is coming on the run!" announced ralph, presently. "he is waving for us to open the door. i can't make out who it is." "is it father?" "no, i can't make out---- it's poke stover! let him in, quick!" back shot the bolt and up went the heavy bar, and as the door was opened to the width of a foot, the figure of a tall, heavily bearded frontiersman slipped into the cabin. he helped hold the door while dan secured it again. "poke stover!" cried the youth. "i'm mighty glad you've come!" "are you and ralph safe?" was the question, as soon as the man could catch his breath, for he had been running with all the swiftness at his command. "yes, although i've got a scratch on the throat. but father--do you know anything of him?" "yes, he has gone to gonzales to bring help. he says he signalled to you from the tall pine." "so he did. did he have a fight with any of the indians?" "yes, he was attacked by bison head and hank stiger, the half-breed. he put a bullet through stiger's left calf, and knocked the injun down with the butt of his gun. that's the reason the two were not with the party that attacked the cabin." "how many are there, all told?" asked ralph, who had come down the ladder again. "not more than ten, and one of 'em's dead outside." "and two or three of them are wounded," added dan. "the wust on it is, they'll be gittin' thicker and thicker," resumed the old frontiersman, who had drifted into texas from missouri several years ago, and who had spent all of his life on the plains. "i've half a notion as how bison head is tryin' to git the whole comanche nation on the war-path." "if that's the case, they may organise around here," said ralph. "how long do you suppose it will be before father gets back?" "he said he would try to make it by daybreak," answered poke stover. "it's accordin' as how he finds his men." the talking now dropped off, as the frontiersman said it would be best to remain silent and keep on guard at the various port-holes in the shutters. slowly the night wore away, until it was three o'clock in the morning. only one alarm had come, but this had amounted to nothing. "i see a light," announced dan. "can it be a camp-fire?" "not likely, lad," answered stover. "comanches on the war-path don't light 'em. it's a signal." "another signal to attack?" queried ralph. "more'n likely. we must keep our eyes peeled for 'em." another half-hour dragged by, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the morning breeze, as it began to stir through the timber surrounding the clearing. outside not a soul was to be seen. "perhaps that was a signal to withdraw," suggested dan. "i hope it was." but poke stover shook his head, for he had seen much of the comanches and understood them thoroughly. "they won't go until they've had another round at ye," he said. "i'm expectin' 'em every minit now." scarcely had he finished, when something attracted dan's attention back of the cattle shed. an object was moving around. presently it started straight for the cabin. "it looks like one of the cows--and it is," he announced. "i wonder what started her up?" "let me take a squint," said the frontiersman, and covered the port-hole searchingly for half a minute. then he raised his rifle, took careful aim, and blazed away. there was a grunt of dismay, and an indian, who had been driving the cow and dodging directly behind, ran back, while the cow kicked up her heels and flew in the opposite direction. "thar, i reckon he'll know enough to keep back after this," growled poke stover, with much self-satisfaction. "he thought he was goin' to sneak up unbeknown to us, but i crossed his trail fer him that trip." "what do you suppose he was going to do, if he had gotten close to the cabin?" asked ralph. "he had a bunch of brush in his hand, lad, and probably a bit o' fire about him, too, although i allow as how i didn't see no light." "then he wanted to burn us out!" ejaculated the youngest radbury. "that was his game." ralph shivered at the thought. it was bad enough to be shot at, but to be burned out! he wished daylight would come and his father would return with the much-needed aid. with the coming of daylight those in the cabin could see with greater clearness under the tall timber, and soon poke stover announced that several indians were in sight. "they are making something," he announced. "looks like a stone-boat," meaning thereby a sort of flat drag-sled often used for removing stones from a field. "i know what it is!" exclaimed dan. "it's a shield! one or two of them will come up behind it. see if i am not right." the three waited anxiously, ralph fairly holding his breath in expectancy. at last the shield, for such it was, was done, and slowly two comanches came forward, holding it in front of them, and taking care that neither should expose so much as a hand or foot. "hang 'em!" muttered the tall frontiersman, and, taking deliberate aim at a slight crack in the wooden shield, he fired. but the barrier was thick and tough, and the bullet failed to penetrate to the opposite side. one of the indians behind the shield carried a bunch of dry grass and some brush, and as they came closer this was lighted. then the burning stuff was hurled forward. it was tied into a bundle with some strong vines, and had a stone attached to give it weight. it landed on the roof of the cabin, blazing brightly, then rolled off to a spot directly below one of the windows. chapter vii. in and out of the burning cabin. "the roof is on fire!" "the wall is on fire under one of the sleeping-room windows!" the first cry came from ralph, who was in the loft, the second from his brother, who saw the flames and smoke coming through the cracks where the wall and the flooring of the cabin joined. the breeze was increasing, and soon both fires were burning merrily, as if such flames were not tending toward a tragedy. "some water--we must put it out!" came from poke stover, and, catching up one of the buckets the boys had thoughtfully provided, he ran to the window beneath which the conflagration was spreading. "unbar it, dan, and i'll souse it out. look out that you don't expose yourself." the shutter was unbarred and opened for the space of several inches. at once the smoke began to pour into the cabin, setting them all to coughing. then the breeze carried the smoke in the opposite direction. suddenly poke stover set down the bucket of water and grabbed dan's gun. a quick aim and a flash, and one of the comanches let go of the shield and danced around with a broken elbow. then both of the enemy retreated far more rapidly than they had come. "got him that trip," was the frontiersman's satisfactory comment. "but be careful, dan, there are others watching us from the timber." the shutter was pushed open a little more, and with much skill poke stover dashed the water on the blaze and put the most of it out. then he wet an old coat and beat out what remained. "it's a pity we didn't have no dirt handy to shovel on," he said, pausing to catch his breath, while dan locked the shutter again. "we may need this water afore we git through. how is it up thar, ralph?" he called. "it's burning pretty lively," was the reply. "but perhaps we can beat it out with the coat." "the indians can spot you on the roof," said dan. "go down and unbar the door and swing it partly open," said poke stover. "that will attract the attention of the injuns, and they won't be a-lookin' at the roof. but wait a minit, till i'm ready fer ye!" he added, as he laboured up the ladder with a second bucket of the precious water. the old coat was soused thoroughly, and stover opened the shutter nearest to the fire. "now go ahead!" he called out, and dan opened the door, and swung it back and forth several times. he also showed his hat on a stick, and in a trice came several shots, one going through the head-covering and entering the closet in the corner. then he swung the hat out again, and another shot followed. during this time the old frontiersman had reached out of the upper window and beat out part of the fire and hurled the remainder to the ground, far enough away from the cabin to keep it from doing further harm. one shot was aimed at him, as the breeze exposed him through the smoke to the comanches, but this luckily flew wide of its mark. "by gosh, but that was a close shave!" ejaculated stover, as he dropped back into the loft, while ralph closed the shutter. his beard was singed in two places and his face was red and hot. "it's a good thing that fire wasn't allow to gain no more headway." he bathed his face and took a drink of water, and then all three began to speculate upon the next probable movement of the comanches. by the clock on the living-room mantel it was now half-past four. "father ought to be coming now," said ralph. "but perhaps he has been unable to get anybody to come back with him." "don't worry about that," returned poke stover. "they'll all come if only they git the word. the buck ague don't go around here." by buck ague the frontiersman meant the fright which occasionally takes possession of a pioneer or soldier when facing indians who are on the war-path. it was not long after this that the indians began to show their activity once more. others of the tribe had arrived, until they numbered eighteen or twenty, the majority of whom were armed with guns, only one or two of the older warriors sticking to their bows and arrows. "i reckon they suspect we are waiting for help, and they mean to do something before it gits too late," observed poke stover. "perhaps they'll give us another rush before they withdraw fer good. we had better inspect all of our shootin'-irons, fer we may want 'em badly." the frontiersman was right, the comanches were organising an attack, to be divided into three parts,--one party to come from the timber skirting the burn, the second to come up behind the cabin, and the third to make a dash from behind the cattle shed. the first division carried a heavy log, with which they hoped to batter down the door in short order. "they are coming!" the cry came from dan, who was watching the timber in front of the burn. "there are six of them!" "here comes another crowd from the shed!" ejaculated ralph. "they have divided up," said the frontiersman. "boys, i'm afraid we now have a stiff piece of work cut out for ourselves. a third party is coming from the rear, and there is no telling but what there may be still more. we must do our best and fight to a finish, for they are on the war-path for fair, and they'll show us no mercy if once they git at us. load up and fire jest as quick as ye can! give it to 'em hot!" as poke stover finished, he leaped to the window nearest to him, shoved the muzzle of his weapon through the port-hole, and pulled the trigger. a yell went up as one of the redskins threw up his arms and fell. but then the others came on faster than ever, yelling and shouting in a manner to cause the stoutest heart to falter. surely, as stover had said, it would be a fight to the finish, and they were but three to seventeen. dan was at one port-hole and ralph at another, and now both fired simultaneously. whether the shots were effective they could not tell. certainly none of the indians dropped. in two minutes more the comanches were running around the house in every direction, trying to batter down the door with the log, and likewise trying to pry open several of the shutters with their hatchets. at such close quarters it was next to impossible to fire on them, although several gun and pistol shots were exchanged. once an indian fired through a port-hole into the bedchamber, and the burning gun-wad landed on one of the straw bedticks. "put it out!" roared poke stover, and while dan trampled on the fire to extinguish it, the frontiersman let the indian have a shot in return. crash! crash! the heavy bombardment on the door was beginning to tell, and already there was a long crack in the oaken slab, and the splinters were flying in all directions. "we'll take our stand here!" cried poke stover, motioning to a spot facing the door. "give it to 'em the minit daylight shines through!" and they did, with such serious results that the party with the ram dropped that instrument and ran to the opposite side of the house. but their places were quickly taken by others, and now it looked as if the door must give way at any instant. suddenly, just when it looked as if the next shock to the door must smash it into a hundred pieces, there came a scattering volley of rifle-shots from the timber near the river, answered almost instantly by a second volley from the forest opposite. then came a yell from the comanches, and a cheer in english. "hold the cabin! we are coming!" came in mr. radbury's well-known voice, and never had it sounded more comforting to the two boys than at that moment. then followed more shots, some striking the cabin and others hitting the indians, who were so demoralised that for the moment they knew not what to do. "down with the redskins!" came in the tones of a settler named whippler, who had lost his wife in a raid about a year previous. "kill every one of 'em! don't let them escape!" in his eagerness to annihilate those he so hated, he rode to the front of the others, discharging his gun and his pistol as he came, and then leaping upon the nearest redskin with his long hunting-knife. he brought the red man down with a stroke in the breast, and was then laid low himself by red pony, an under chief, who was in charge during the absence of wolf ear and bison head. red pony then ran off for his very life, followed by fourteen others, the remainder being either killed or wounded. "boys! are either of you wounded?" asked mr. radbury, as he leaped from the mustang he was riding, and rushed into the cabin. "we are all right, father," answered both lads. "thank god for that!" murmured the parent, reverently. "but, see, your neck is bleeding," he added, to dan. "it's only a scratch." "good. poke, i see you managed to get to them. you are a brave fellow, if ever there was one." "we've had a hot time of it, father," put in ralph. "if it hadn't been for mr. stover, i don't know what we would have done." "ralph is right," assented dan. "if he hadn't put out the fire we would have been burnt out, and the cabin would have gone up in smoke in the bargain." "i shall not forget your kindness, poke," said mr. radbury, taking the frontiersman's horny hand. "but, as you are all right, i fancy i had better join the others, and follow the miscreants." "and i'll go with ye," said poke stover, who disliked too much praise, although not averse to some laudatory speech. "we ought to round up every mother's son of 'em while we are about it." "shall we go too?" asked dan. "i'd rather do that than remain behind," he continued. "you may come, if you'll promise to keep to the rear," answered the father. "remember, the indians are wily, and may set a trap for us." all went outside, crawling through the battered doorway, and were soon mounted on several extra mustangs mr. radbury had brought along. the planter informed them that he had brought with him twenty-four men, including jim bowie, who had happened to be in gonzales at the time. soon the party of four were riding hard to catch up with the other whites, who were following the trail of the comanches along the bank of the upper guadalupe river. [illustration: "following the trail of the comanches."] chapter viii. an unsuccessful pursuit. after leaving the vicinity of the cabin, the comanches struck a trail leading through a cedar brake over the hill back of the cattle shed. here they came together, and without halting swept straight along the guadalupe river, as previously mentioned. they felt that the whites would follow them, and their one hope of safety lay in gaining the wilderness about san saba hill, sixty to seventy miles north of san antonio. the leadership of the whites naturally fell to colonel jim bowie, for he had been in numerous indian quarrels, and was a good man on the trail. it may be here mentioned that bowie, who was afterward to become so well known in texas, was one of two brothers who came to that territory from louisiana, after having been engaged for years in the slave-trade. the man was as bold as he was daring, and it was said that he knew not the meaning of the word fear. the indians were all on horseback, and as their steeds had had a long rest they were fresh, and made rapid progress. on the other hand, the mustangs of the whites were tired from the hard night's ride from gonzales and vicinity, and they could not keep up the pace, although urged to do their best by their riders. all of the whites bewailed the fate of whippler, and swore to be revenged if given "the ghost of a chance." when amos radbury, stover, and the two boys gained the other whites, they found bowie's party fording one of the creeks running into the guadalupe. the indians had passed there about ten minutes before, and it was to be seen that they had not even stopped to water their horses. all of the settlers' horses were thirsty, and some refused to budge from the stream until they had slaked their thirst. "do you think they will be caught?" asked dan, as he swept along beside his father. "they will not be caught if they can help it," replied mr. radbury, with a faint smile. "they know it will go hard with them if we do come up with them." "what of the wounded?" asked ralph. but his father merely shrugged his shoulders. "they'll crawl off in the bushes, and either git away, or die," answered poke stover, philosophically. to him the life of an indian was of no account. he had never considered that an indian might be educated into becoming a useful member of the great human family. on and on swept the little body of determined whites, each with his gun in his hands, and his eyes on the alert for the first sign of danger. the trail was still along the river, but presently it branched off, and entered an _arrayo_, or gully, thick with thorny plants and entangling vines. at the end of the _arrayo_ was a rocky plateau, and here for the time being the trail was lost. "the indian that's leading them knows his business," remarked colonel bowie, as he brought his command to a halt. "that's right, but we'll soon be on his tail ag'in," returned poke stover, who had come to his side. "let's spread out in a fan, colonel;" and this was done, each man examining his part of the great semicircle with extreme care. a short while after, the trail was again struck, and they swept on. but at both this place and at the ford valuable time had been lost. noon found the comanches still out of sight and hearing. but the trail was fresh and easily seen, and it seemed only a question of endurance upon one side or the other. "if it wasn't for the jaded hosses," sighed poke stover. his own steed was fairly fresh, but it would have been foolhardy for him to have gone on ahead of the main body, with perhaps only one or two others being able to do likewise. the comanches would have liked nothing better than to have gotten at the whites one at a time. as the afternoon came and went, the party in pursuit began to grow hungry. a few of the horsemen had brought rations with them, and these were divided, each man and boy eating as he rode on. some of the men likewise carried liquor, and this was also divided, although ralph and dan procured drinks of water at a spring instead. in those days it was share and share alike with all of the settlers, and one man was considered as good as another so long as he was honest and willing to work. for dandies, from philadelphia, new york, or other large cities, the texans had no use, nor did they love those who tried to show off their learning. they were whole-souled, as it is called, to the core, and they wanted everybody else to be so, too. it was growing dark when bowie called a halt on the edge of a small clearing leading up to a hill thickly overgrown with scrub pines. "we must be careful here, men," he said. "they may be scattered along yonder timber belt, watching for us to uncover ourselves. we had better move to the right and the left, and give the old signal if any of the redskins appear in sight." the split was made, but the radburys and poke stover kept together. one indian was discovered, and the settler who saw him at once shouted, as prearranged. then the indians, seeing that the attempt to draw the whites into the open had failed, dashed along up the hillside, as rapidly as the tangle of growth permitted. a number of shots were exchanged, but nobody was hit. during the afternoon one of the men had brought down a wild turkey, and another several hares, for game of all kinds was still thick. "that will do for supper," said mr. radbury. "but we will have to be careful how we build a fire." at seven o'clock the chase came to an end for the day, the jaded ponies refusing to climb the hill that loomed up before them. one of the ponies was a bucker, and threw his rider over his head into a mesquite-bush. "thet settles bill darson," drawled the texan, as he extricated himself from his difficulty. "when the pony kicks, i kick, too. we don't go no further jest now, hyer me!" but bowie, mr. radbury, and several others insisted upon gaining the brow of the hill, as a point of vantage, and all plodded to the top, where they went into camp in the midst of the trees, half a dozen men being sent out to do picket duty, so that bison head's band might not crawl up during the night and surprise them. "i'd like to know what became of wolf ear and hank stiger," remarked dan, as he flung himself on the ground, glad enough to get out of his high and uncomfortable mexican saddle. "they know enough to git out o' sight when thar's a fight on," answered poke stover, with a broad laugh. "them kind o' varmin always does." usually the frontiersman spoke fair english, but at times he dropped into the vernacular of the plains. "i hope he doesn't go back to the cabin, now it's deserted," put in ralph. "he may do that!" burst out dan. "i never thought of it before." and he mentioned the matter to his father. "he will hardly dare to go back, for other settlers will be coming up from time to time," said mr. radbury. "he knows only too well that he is already in bad favour with all straight-forward men." "he's a sneak," said ralph. "but by the way, father, you haven't told us your story yet, although we have told ours." "there is not much to tell, ralph. i went for the deer, as you know. i was dragging it back to the cabin, when i caught sight of several indians, and, by their movements, i saw that they wanted to cut me off and, more than likely, slay me. i at once abandoned the deer and ran deeper than ever into the woods." "of course they followed you?" came from dan. "yes, they followed me, but only one or two shots were exchanged, and i was not hit. i think i wounded one indian, but i am not certain. then i gave them the slip and climbed into the king pine, as you boys named the tree. you remember the signal i gave you?" "to be sure." "i meant i would try to get help near by, if possible. i had seen several lumbermen around, and i fancied they might be down the river a mile or so. i ran along the river with all my might, and there met poke stover and told him what was happening. he at once agreed to go to your aid, and urged me to arouse the settlers around gonzales. he promised to hold the cabin and stand by you as long as he could draw his breath." "and he did it!" cried ralph. "he's a noble man." "at first i could find nobody at home," went on mr. radbury. "joel nalitt was away, and at the runyons' only the women folks were in. but over to the powers's ranch i met powers, anderson, striker, and a german, who was a stranger, and they said they would all come along. anderson rode over to whippler's, and those two brought along the other men. it's too bad that whippler was killed." all in the party agreed with mr. radbury in this, although some said that it was better whippler should be killed than some man with a wife and children. whippler and his late wife had never had any offspring. the night was raw and cold, and toward morning a fine rain set in, adding greatly to the discomforts of the whites. the game brought down proved but a scanty meal all around, and for breakfast there remained absolutely nothing. "this is too bad," said dan, referring to the rain. he was soaked to the skin, and so was everybody else in the party. the trail was taken up as soon as it was light enough to see, and the indians were followed fully fifteen miles, over a winding way leading over hills and rocks, and through immense belts of timber land. they had to ford several streams, and at one of these points they stopped for an hour to catch and cook some black bass, which were plentiful. toward nightfall the chase came to an end. "it's no use," said one of the oldest of the settlers. "they've got too good a start of us, and it will be foolishness for a mere handful of whites to ride right into the indian country. they'll lay a trap and massacre every one of us." all of the others agreed with the spokesman, and it was not long before the party was riding back toward gonzales. at first they followed the winding trail, but, coming to one of the numerous creeks of the vicinity, they branched off and took almost a direct route to the town. "will you go back with us?" asked mr. radbury of poke stover, when it came time for the radburys to separate from the others. the ranch home could be seen from the top of a neighbouring hill, and all seemed to be as they had left it two days before. "yes, i reckon i will," answered the frontiersman. "i ain't got nothin' else to do, and ye may want an extra man about fer a day or two, jest for to keep his eye open." the storm had cleared away, and the sun was shining brightly as the party of four rode up to the battered door of the deserted cabin. down around the cattle shed the cows were browsing away as usual, and several of the pigs gave ralph a grunt of recognition as he passed them. "home again!" cried dan, and hopping to the ground he crawled through the doorway into the living-room of the cabin. as he went in he noticed that the body of the dead red man had been removed from the doorstep. "is it all right?" asked ralph, when a cry from his brother aroused him. "an indian!" came from dan. he had discovered a wounded red man lying on the floor in the corner. then he gazed around the room and glanced into the sleeping apartment. "father, come in, quick!" he went on. "somebody has been here, and has carried off a dozen or more things. and your desk is broken open, too, and all your papers are scattered about. did you have any money in the desk?" chapter ix. big foot and the missing papers. dan's cry brought mr. radbury into the cabin without further delay, followed by ralph and poke stover. "what has been stolen?" queried amos radbury. "i see that old revolutionary sword of your grandfather is gone." "so are two of the pistols, and that half dozen solid silver spoons mother got from aunt elizabeth," answered dan. "but what of money in the desk?" "i had but little--not over twenty dollars all told, dan." mr. radbury walked over to the little desk, which was a rude affair made by himself during his leisure hours. "yes, it's been ransacked pretty thoroughly." "is anything missing?" asked ralph. "i can't say." amos radbury looked over a number of the papers. "i guess they are all right. no, there is my discharge from the army, after the war of . the rascal who broke open the desk took the pleasure of tearing that in half." he rummaged about a bit more. "hullo, it's gone!" he cried. "what's gone?" came from both boys. "the papers relating to this grant of land." "are you sure?" asked dan. "yes, it isn't anywhere about." mr. radbury was more worried about the papers pertaining to the land grant than over anything else, and at once a search was instituted, outside of the ranch home as well as indoors. it proved of no avail,--the papers were gone. "will it do much harm?" asked ralph, who knew very little as yet about real estate matters. "it may and it may not," answered the father. "of course the grant is recorded, but with matters in such a revolutionary state the records may at some time be destroyed, and then somebody else might come forward and claim this grant." "well, i reckon you won't give it up, partner," put in poke stover, suggestively. "not without a fight, stover," was mr. radbury's firm answer. "the land is mine, paid for, and i'll hold it, papers or no papers, and no matter how the affairs of the government turn." "i wonder who was the thief," mused dan. "i don't believe it was an indian. he might take the other things, but he wouldn't know anything about the papers, nor care for them." "he might be cute enough to take the papers just to throw us off the scent," suggested ralph. "you're wrong, ralph, for he wouldn't know one paper from another." "but he'd know the land papers were important, because of the seals on them," persisted the youngest radbury. the indian in the corner now demanded their attention. he was plainly in a bad way, and poke stover said it was very doubtful if he would live. "if he does pull through it will only be because he's a redskin and as tough as all creation," added the old frontiersman. in his guttural tongue the redskin appealed to dan for a drink of water. "certainly, i'll give you a drink," answered the boy, kindly, and went out to get some water that was cool. after the indian had had his fill, dan used the remainder of the water in washing his wounds and then bound them up. after this he got out an old blanket, and he and ralph placed the wounded fellow on this. before, the red man's face had had a scowl on it, but now it became more friendly. "white boys heap good," he grunted. "big foot no forget dem," and he nodded his head suggestively. he had been shot in the leg, and was suffering from loss of blood. "tell me who robbed the cabin," said dan, for he felt that big foot had had nothing to do with it. the indian knit his brow in speculation. "white boy ask big foot hard question," he said, presently. "but you must know." "big foot t'ink know, not sure. big foot crawl in here out of hot sun. he half dead. udder man come, rob place while big foot half dead." "well, who do you imagine the other man was? it couldn't have been one of your tribe." "i t'ink him half my tribe. i t'ink him 'merican-indian, um hank stiger." "hank stiger!" cried dan. "father, did you hear that?" "what is it, dan?" "this indian was half in a faint when the cabin was robbed, but he thinks the thief was hank stiger." "that is not improbable, for stiger was around this vicinity and did not fight with the comanches. he could easily have come in after we went off on the trail. when was the robbery committed?" "him come in at the last sundown," answered big foot, meaning the evening before. "alone?" "yes." "and which way did he go?" the wounded red man could not answer this query, and he now became so exhausted that the others questioned him no further. the fire was started up, and a generous meal for all hands was prepared, of which the indian was given all that was good for him. then the red man went to sleep, while the radburys began to mend the battered door and put things into shape generally. poke stover went off to the timber, to find out what had become of ralph's deer, and to see if any of the enemy were still lurking in the vicinity. it was learned by nightfall that no indians were around for miles, and this made the radburys breathe much more easily. strange to say, stover had found the deer just where mr. radbury had left it, and now brought it in. "a good shot, lad," said the old frontiersman to ralph. "no one could have made a better." "yes, it was a good shot," answered the boy. "i'm afraid i'll not be able to do as well every time." "you mustn't expect it. if you could do as well every time you'd be as fine a shot as davy crockett himself." "they tell me crockett thinks of coming down to texas," put in mr. radbury. "they say he is tired of things up in tennessee." "yes, i heard he was coming down," replied poke stover. "well, he's a wonderful old fighter, and if we have any trouble with the mexicans ye can reckon on it as how he'll be to the front from the very start." how true was the old frontiersman's prediction the future chapters of our tale will show. they hardly knew what to do with the indian. stover wished to turn him out to shift for himself, but the boys pleaded for the wounded red man, and in the end he was allowed to remain where he was. the radburys retired to their sleeping-apartment, while stover made himself comfortable in front of the big open fireplace. all, however, slept, as the saying goes, "with one eye open." the next week was a busy one. it was found that not only had the indians attacked the cabin, but they had also tried to wreck the cattle shed, and both structures had to be mended and put into order. during the absence of the settlers some of the cattle and the mustangs had strayed away to other ranges, and these had to be rounded up, for in those days men of limited means, like mr. radbury, did not allow their live stock to wander far away, to be rounded up once or twice a year. if they had allowed this, cattle and ponies might have gotten into the indian country and never been heard of again. at the end of the week poke stover left, stating that he was going to make a trip to san antonio de bexar, to learn how matters were going politically. "there may be a scrap on already," he remarked, "and, if so, i don't want to be sitting here, sucking my thumbs." "i admire your sentiment," replied mr. radbury. "if there is trouble, can i rely upon you to give me warning?" "certainly," answered poke stover. he left on saturday morning, and on sunday big foot sat up for the first time. the radburys had done their best for him, and for this he was extremely grateful. "big foot pay back some day," he said. "pay back sure." the boys hardly gave attention to these words, but had good cause to remember them later. during the next few months matters ran smoothly, until one day when some of the settlers from gonzales came in. they reported another indian uprising farther eastward, and declared that the local government was doing nothing to check the red men. "we must take the law into our own hands, neighbour radbury," said one, who lived a matter of thirty miles away, yet considered himself a fairly close neighbour. "the mexicans don't care a rap for us, and i reckon they'd just as lief see the injuns ride over us as not." "i trust santa anna does the right thing by us," answered mr. radbury. "i wouldn't trust any of 'em." "well, if they don't do right, they had better look out for sam houston, or he'll be on their heels." "yes, i've great faith in houston," was the other settler's answer. "he's a lawyer and a fighter, and i reckon he can whip 'em both in the court-room or on the battle-field." chapter x. the situation in mexico. in his conversation with his neighbour, mr. radbury had mentioned santa anna, and it may be as well to look for a moment at this remarkable personage, who at that time, and for several years to follow, was the most important man in mexico. antonio lopez de santa anna was born in jalapa, in , and entered the army at an early age. with iturbide he joined in the revolution and came out a brigadier-general, and was made commandant of vera cruz. a few years later he organised a revolt and overthrew the man he had aided, and in he deposed pedraza and put guerrero in his place. so much of war would have satisfied any ordinary man, but it did not satisfy general santa anna, who was cruel and cunning to the last degree, and prided himself on being "the napoleon of the west," as he styled himself. he wanted mexico for his own, and in he defeated a large division of the spanish army, that had landed at tampico for the purpose of reconquering the country. having saved the confederation, as he put it, santa anna considered that he had more of a right to mexico than ever, and in he got into a wrangle with bustamente, who was then occupying the mexican presidential chair, with the result that bustamente was banished by santa anna's followers, who forthwith made the general president. at this santa anna went still further by dissolving the mexican congress, which action made him virtually a dictator. how it was that the mexicans at large stood such treatment is one of the political mysteries of the age that has never been explained. yet santa anna's dictatorship, if such it may be called, was a position full of peril. there was constant wrangling in nearly every state of the confederation, and in a number of places there were actual outbreaks, which might have resulted seriously had santa anna not nipped them promptly in the bud. stephen austin had gone to mexico to further the interests of the texans, and been there imprisoned for political reasons. this helped along the war between texas and mexico, which was bound to burst sooner or later. the first dark cloud came in the passage of a decree reducing the number of the militia to one man for every five hundred inhabitants, and requiring all the remaining armed persons to give up their weapons. the texans refused to submit, stating that they needed all the protection they could get, on account of the indians and because of the desperadoes who flocked into the territory. in the meantime mexico had sent many of her jailbirds to settle in texas. while this was going on, during the summer of , austin returned from his imprisonment in mexico, and was given a grand public banquet at brazoria. in his speech there he counselled moderation, but declared that the civil government was going to pieces, and that the texans must take care of themselves. he still believed in santa anna and his golden promises, hoping against hope for a peaceful change for the better. at san antonio were stationed five hundred mexican soldiers, under colonel ugartchea, and, according to orders, this command commenced to disarm such of the texans as had failed to comply with the decree regarding firearms. at gonzales, fifty miles to the eastward, the settlers had a four-pounder, a brass cannon given to them by the government for protection against the indians. "the people of gonzales must give up the cannon," said colonel ugartchea. "tell them to send it to bexar without delay." "we need the cannon," said the people of gonzales. "it's the only cannon we have along the whole river front." "santa anna's orders must be obeyed," was the mexican colonel's comment, and he despatched a force of one hundred and fifty dragoons, under captain castinado, to take the cannon by force. the mexican soldiers arrived at the river on september th. on the opposite side of the stream was gonzales, but the ferry-boat was on that side, too. the mexican commander waved for the boat, but no attention was paid to his movement. then a horn was blown, but still the texans paid no attention. "we will march to the ford," cried the mexican captain, and the dragoons started. but on reaching the ford, half a mile below the town, they found themselves confronted by captain albert martin, a merchant of the place, backed up by several dozens of determined-looking texans. the alarm had now gone forth, and express riders rode their steeds almost to death to summon the people of bastrop, victoria, and other places. soon the settlers began to flock in, all on horseback and armed, ready to do or die for texas, as the case might be. with the number were mr. radbury and dan. dan had been to gonzales to buy some household stores, and his father, hearing of the uprising, had hastened down the river to find his son and see that no harm befell him. this had left ralph home alone, saving for the company of pompey shuck, a negro, who had, during the summer, followed mr. radbury from the old home in georgia and insisted that he be taken in and set to work, "jess as on de ole plantation, mars' radbury." big foot, the indian, had departed some time before pompey's arrival. "this looks like a fight, father," observed dan, as his parent joined him on the bank of the stream, where dan had gone, following captain martin. "it certainly looks like trouble," answered mr. radbury, as he gazed at the mexican dragoons with anxiety. "that cannon may be responsible for a whole lot of bloodshed." "well, they haven't any right to disarm us," returned the youth, determinedly. "you'll fight first, won't you?" "perhaps i will; it will depend upon circumstances," was the non-committal reply. amos radbury was no "fire-eater," and, like austin, preferred a settlement without a passage at arms. at the ford the mexican commander had ridden into the water to consult with the leader of the texans. "i am sent here to obtain the cannon you are holding," he said. "there is my order," and he held it out. "we don't dispute the order, captain," was the reply. "but we consider it unjust to ask us to give up a piece that we may need against the indians." "if you will give up the cannon you will be protected." "we haven't been protected for a long while. we have had to protect ourselves." "you are thinking of using that cannon against the government," was the angry remark of the mexican commander. "we are not thinking of doing so,--but it may be we will be forced to do so," was the significant reply. "i am coming over, and i demand the cannon," went on the mexican leader, pompously. "if you dare to come over, it will be at the peril of your life," was the calm return. the mexican commander continued to bluster and threaten, but all to no purpose, and at length he withdrew his force from the ford, and went into temporary camp in a valley opposite to gonzales. it was now night, and the town was at a white heat. meetings were held in half a dozen places, and while some counselled delay others were for forcing the fighting. in the end, however, it was decided to wait, and in the meantime pickets were sent out to watch the mexicans so that they might not enter gonzales by stealth. "i wonder if they will come over to-night," said dan, as he and his father picked their way along the river to where forty or fifty horsemen who owned ranches in the vicinity had pitched their headquarters, the taverns in the town being already overcrowded. "i doubt it, dan. we have fully as many men, if not more, and a mexican soldier never loves to fight in the dark." "perhaps the mexican captain has sent back for reinforcements." "that may be. well, all we can do is to watch and be on guard." by this it will be seen that mr. radbury was as anxious as any one to keep the cannon. he had refused to give up any of his firearms, and had buried two of his pistols under the floor of the cabin home. the night wore away without any alarm sounding, and the next day the mexican commander sent another demand for the cannon, and on the day following he asked that a time be set for a general conference regarding the now precious bit of property. the conference was refused, and instead he was asked to vacate his position so close to gonzales. this he would not do, and all of the settlers now agreed that he was awaiting reinforcements from bexar. "he will wait for colonel ugartchea to come up with the balance of the command, and then wipe us out altogether," said one. "or perhaps he is waiting for cos to come up," said another. it was known that the mexican general, cos, was on the march for san antonio de bexar with six hundred additional troops for the garrison of that city. the morning of the first of october came foggy and disagreeable. but little could be seen beyond the river bank, and it was not known if the mexican command was advancing, retreating, or standing still. again the leaders of the texans met, and it was unanimously decided not to delay action longer, but if the mexicans were still on the opposite side of the stream to compel them to move away before their force could be increased. volunteers were called for to cross the river with the brass cannon and begin an attack, and a hundred and sixty texans rode to the front for that purpose. mr. radbury was too loyal-hearted a man to hang back, and as dan begged very hard to go too, he was permitted to join half a dozen young men who brought up the rear. chapter xi. the opening of the war. to get so many men across the river by boat would have taxed the resources of gonzales to the utmost, so the majority of the texans went around by way of the ford, only a few going over in the ferry with the four-pounder. the trip was made during the night of october first, and every man was cautioned to be as silent as possible. "we'll give them a surprise," said dan to one of the young men, a _ranchero_ named henry parker. he had known henry parker for over a year, and the two were warm friends. "or get a surprise," was the answer. "they may be watching us just as hard as we are watching them." "pooh! i am not afraid of a greaser!" "neither am i. but it will pay to be careful." they had passed the ford, and now in the utter darkness the little band made its way through the brush toward the spot where the mexican command had been in camp before the fog settled down. coming closer, the texans were spread out in a sort of skirmish line, with the four-pounder in the centre. dan and his friend were on the extreme right, down by the water's edge. here there was more than one little inlet to cross, and while dan's horse was picking his steps the youth fancied he detected a sudden movement among the bushes overhanging the water's edge. [illustration: "'hold on!' he cried to henry parker. 'something is in that bush!'"] "hold on," he cried to henry parker. "something is in that bush." "man or beast?" whispered henry, and placed his hand to the trigger of his gun. "i can't say. wait till i investigate." leaving his mustang in his friend's care, dan leaped to the ground and ran close to the bushes. as he did this, he stumbled into a hole and fell. he picked himself up, and while doing so heard a splash and saw some dark object disappear beneath the river's surface. "come here! something is up!" he called to henry, and at once his friend complied, and both ran down to the water's edge and strained their eyes to pierce the gloom and the fog. "what did you see?" "something slipped into the water, and i am half of the opinion it was a man." "then it must have been a mexican!" "to be sure. stay here and watch, and i'll go down the stream a bit. he ought to come up soon." dan had hardly spoken when he espied a head coming up but thirty or forty feet away. it was the head of a mexican soldier, evidently a spy. "halt there!" cried dan. "come back here, or i'll fire!" it is doubtful if he would have fired on the swimmer, having no desire to open the war in person, but his threat had considerable effect. "no shoota me!" cried the mexican. "no shoota!" and then he continued to talk in spanish, which dan and his friend understood, but imperfectly. "i want you to come back here," went on the youth, and he pointed his gun. at this the mexican dove out of sight, not to come up for a distance of a rod or more. "shoot him--you have the right," urged henry. "or else i'll do it." "don't, henry, it might be murder. besides, we were ordered not to discharge any firearms until we received orders. a shot down here would alarm the whole mexican camp." "but we don't want that rascal to escape, dan." "i have it." dan looked around and soon found several fair-sized stones. "come back at once!" he ordered, and, taking aim, he let drive with one of the stones. dan had always been good at that sort of thing, and the stone landed, as intended, on the mexican's back. he let out a howl of pain, so loud that several texans at once rode up to the vicinity to learn what was the matter. "yes, he's got to come ashore," declared one of the men. "he may be a spy who has been over to gonzales, and carries some kind of a message." he raised his voice in spanish. "come ashore, or we'll shoot you; do you hear?" _"si, capitan_" ("yes, captain"), was the answer, and without further ado the mexican turned and came back to the river bank. as he crawled out, wet and muddy, he looked the picture of despair. "it's pietro the gambler, from bastrop," said one of the texans, after a close scrutiny. "i'll wager he was going to give us away to the greasers in camp." "no, no, me watch fight, dat's all, señor," said the mexican, who was noted not only for his skill at cards but also for his skill at cheating. "pietro fight for texans when fight 't all." "that don't go down, you card-sharp!" cried another of the men. "i know him well, and he would cheat his own grandmother if he could. let us make him a prisoner, at least until this business we are on is over." so it was agreed, and despite the gamblers' protests he was bound hands and feet and tied up to a near-by tree. had he not been captured, the fight so close at hand would probably not have come off. on went the texans, until a point was gained overlooking the camping spot of the mexicans. the advance guard reported that captain castinado was still at the place with his dragoons. "then we'll wait until daybreak and open up on them," said the texans, and went into temporary camp. it is doubtful if any of the number closed his eyes for the balance of that never-to-be-forgotten night. to them this contest was to be like that of concord and lexington to the patriots of ,--it was to mark the dawn of texan liberty. the mexicans had located at a spot called dewitt's mound; while the texans occupied a position farther down the valley and close to the river. as soon as it began to grow light, the four-pounder was placed in position, and the rough but rugged little army was drawn up in battle array. only here and there was there a man in uniform, and the weapons were of all sorts and sizes. leaders and privates had come over, some on horseback, some on ponies, and others on foot. "give it to them!" came the sharp order, when it was light enough to locate the mexicans with certainty, and the brass four-pounder belched forth its contents, and the battle was opened at last. "forward!" was the cry down the line, and away swept the texans, in two long lines, mr. radbury well to the front, and dan not very far behind. the mexicans had been taken completely by surprise and for the moment knew not what to do. but they quickly organised and returned the fire, and then the texans swept closer, and the constant crack, crack, of the musketry could be heard upon every side. "gracious, this is war, sure!" cried dan, as he discharged his gun and proceeded to reload with all speed, while still riding forward. "it looks as if we were going to have a hand-to-hand encounter." "forward, for the liberty of texas!" shouted one of the leaders, and a score of voices took up the cry. "for the liberty of texas! for the liberty of texas!" it was a battle-cry fit to inspire any body of men. the mexicans could not withstand such an onslaught, and, having fired several rounds, they broke and began to retreat before the texans could get within two hundred yards of them. away they went for the road leading to san antonio, the texans following them for some distance and then giving up the chase. the first fight for texan independence had been fought and won, and a mighty cheer went up, which was several times repeated. it was found that four of the mexicans had been killed and several wounded, while the texans had suffered little or nothing. "father, we have gained the day!" exclaimed dan, as he rode up to his parent. somehow, he had never felt so proud before in his life. "yes, we have gained the day," answered mr. radbury. "the question is, what next? you may be sure the government will not let this go by unnoticed." "the government! what government?" put in one old settler. "i acknowledge no government but that of the independent state of texas!" and a cheer went up. "let us hope it will be so, neighbour johnson," went on mr. radbury. "but what if santa anna send out a large army to crush us?" "he can't do it!" came from a dozen voices. "let him come, and we'll show him what real american blood and backbone can do." "we must organise, and without further delay," said one of the leaders. "we must have a regularly formed texan army inside of thirty days, or else we'll have to pay the piper, and that means with santa anna that we'll either get a dose of lead or else dance on nothing," meaning they would all be shot or hung. this may seem an extravagant statement, but in view of what followed it was far from being so. chapter xii. the march on san antonio. the mexicans had been routed, and for over a week matters went along quietly in the vicinity of gonzales; that is, there was no further fighting. meetings there were without number, and young and old began to drill and to talk of nothing but military matters. "will you join the army, father?" asked dan, when, two days after the fight, he and his parent returned to the ranch home. "i do not see how i can avoid it," answered mr. radbury. "many of the neighbours are going, and it might appear cowardly to hang back. besides, i must say that, after long thought, i have come to the conclusion that there is nothing for us to do but to fight for our rights." "hurrah! i knew you would say that," cried dan. "we must be free by all means, and then perhaps some day we'll become joined to the united states." "that is for after consideration," smiled mr. radbury, but the thought had often crossed his own mind. ralph and the negro were anxious to hear the particulars of what had occurred, and the boy listened to his brother's tale in open-mouthed amazement. "a real battle! oh, dan, how i wish i had been there!" "well, to tell the truth, it was rather one-sided. the mexicans did not stand up in front of us long." "and what are they going to do next?" "nobody knows. but there will be war, beyond a doubt." "oh, yes, i suppose general santa anna will be as mad as a hornet when he hears of the affair. and all over an old brass cannon, too!" and ralph gave a laugh. matters were going along smoothly at the ranch, for pompey was a faithful worker and had dropped into the routine without an effort. mr. radbury was glad that he had come, for he felt that he wanted a man around, in case the coming war carried him a distance from home. as intimated, the fight at gonzales became the talk of all texas, and, the day after the contest, the committee organised at san felipe issued a statement and called upon each man in texas to decide for himself whether or not he would submit to the destruction of his rights and liberties by the central government of mexico, and stating that the war had begun. while meetings were going on in a dozen places or more, and frontiersmen and settlers were hurrying to the scene of action, a force of about forty men, under the leadership of captain collingsworth, gathered for the purpose of capturing goliad, a small town on the lower san antonio river. the river was gained on the night of october th, and while scouts were out reconnoitring, the brave little band was joined by colonel ben milam, an old texan _empresario_, who had been confined for political reasons in the jail at monterey. of this gallant man we will hear more later. finding the coast clear, the band entered the town, and silently made their way to the quarters of lieutenant-colonel sandoval, the commandant. they were less than a hundred feet from the garrison when a sentry discovered them and gave the alarm. the sentry was shot down on the spot, and then the door was splintered to kindling-wood with axes, and the texans poured into the building, and the commandant was made a prisoner. there was great surprise for several minutes, but the mexican soldiers had been taken off their guard, and could offer little resistance. twenty-five were captured, and the rest escaped in the darkness. by this quick movement the texans gained a quantity of valuable army stores, horses, three pieces of artillery, and five hundred guns and pistols. as gonzales had been the starting-point of the war, it now became the general centre for the gathering texan army, and by the middle of october there were gathered there between three and four hundred men who were willing and anxious to serve their country. by common consent austin was appointed chief in command, with the title of general. the volunteers, as they were called, were formed into a regiment, with john h. moore as colonel. old colonel milam, who had just arrived from goliad, was made chief of a band of scouts,--men who did valiant service from the beginning to the end of the war. it was to this regiment that mr. radbury became attached, and dan and ralph rode down to gonzales to see their parent join. as mr. radbury was a veteran of the war of , he was given the position of a lieutenant. drilling went on constantly, and the little regiment was gotten into the best condition that the means at hand afforded. in the meantime other volunteers poured in daily. at first the texans had thought to act only on the defensive, but, as the days slipped by, the war spirit grew on the settlers, and they said they wanted the thing "over and done with," that they might return to their homes and prepare for the winter. it was then decided to march toward san antonio, to see if the mexicans would come out of the stronghold to do them battle. "good-bye, boys," said mr. radbury, when the order was passed around to prepare for the march. "it may be some time before i see you again." "i wish i could go," answered dan, pleadingly. "your time may come, dan. but for the present i think we have enough men for this expedition. i think you and ralph will have enough to do around the ranch, with me absent." "but if i hear you are in trouble, father, i shall come on at once," went on dan, and from this decision his parent could not dissuade him. the troops were soon on the way, dan and ralph riding several miles with their parent. then, at the top of the hill, they separated. but the boys remained on the hill until the soldiers were lost to sight in the distance on the dusty plain below. "good-bye, and may success go with them!" cried ralph, half sadly. "i do hope father comes back safe and sound." "if he doesn't, i shall take his place in the ranks," replied dan, quickly. "but come, we must be getting home now, or pompey will be anxious about us." "here comes a horseman, riding like the wind," came from the younger radbury, a moment later. "i declare, it's poke stover!" "hullo, boys!" cried the old frontiersman, as he came up. "what are ye a-doin' here?" "we just saw the troops off for san antonio," answered dan. "gone this way?" "yes." "when?" "an hour ago. see that black line over yonder? that's our army." "whoopee! i was afraid i'd be too late. good-bye. we are bound to bring them greasers to terms this trip!" and, with a wave of his sombrero, poke stover rode off as rapidly as he had come. "he'll be a whole company in himself," was ralph's comment. "he doesn't think any more of a mexican soldier than he does of a fly, to bother him." they were soon on the way to gonzales, where they loaded their ponies with stores for the ranch. this accomplished, they set on up the river, hoping to reach the ranch home by night. in those days the banks of the guadalupe river were altogether different from to-day. where numerous settlements now exist were then immense belts of timber, with here and there a burn, or a stretch of thorns and entangling vines. in some spots the banks were steep and rocky as to-day, and these rocks were the homes of numerous wild animals, including the fierce texan wolf, the puma, the jaguar, the wildcat, and the black bear. the stream was full of fish, the best of which was the black bass, which, i believe, still holds its own in many texan waters. as the boys passed along the narrow wagon trail, which their father and other pioneers had blazed for themselves, they kept their eyes on the alert for any wild beasts that might appear, having no desire to let a fierce and hungry wolf pounce down suddenly upon themselves or their steeds, or a black bear stalk out to embrace them. their packs lay behind them, and they held their guns on the saddle in front. they were thus passing through the largest of the timber belts when the howl of a wolf reached their ears. it was immediately answered by a similar howl from another wolf. both came from directly in front. "hullo! a wolf--two wolves!" cried ralph, as he brought his pony to a halt. "i don't like that much." "is your gun all right?" came quickly from his brother. "yes." the two lads remained motionless in the saddle for several minutes, listening. no other howl reached their ears, and the only sounds were that of the rushing stream as it tumbled over some rocks, and the cries of the night birds and the humming of the insects. "let us set up a yell," suggested dan. "that may scare them off." they called out at the top of their lungs several times. one distant howl answered them, then all became as silent as before. "we may as well go on," said the older brother. "we'll be as safe moving as standing still. but keep your eyes peeled, ralph." they moved on slowly, with eyes turned to the right and the left, and keeping as far as possible from the brushwood and the low-hanging boughs of the trees. the mustangs seemed to realise that all was not right, and pricked up their ears and smelled the air. chapter xiii. a fight with a puma. "by george! something is wrong now!" it was dan who uttered the words, as he again drew rein, followed by ralph. they had passed along a distance of less than quarter of a mile, and the end of the forest was still a goodly distance ahead. a fierce howling had arisen, followed by a snarling and a snapping which caused the hearts of both boys to beat violently. the mustangs trembled, and acted as if they wished to turn and run. "it's a wildcat or a painter, or something, and he's got into a fight with the wolves," continued dan, as he strained his ears to catch the sounds of the encounter. "they are having a lively tussle, aren't they?" "let them fight it out," answered ralph, with something of a shudder. "i hope they all kill each other, too," he added. the howling and snapping and snarling continued for several minutes, then gradually died away in the distance. still listening, they heard some large beast trailing through the brush to one side of them. they turned in the direction, and levelled their guns, but the animal did not show itself. darkness was now coming on, and the boys wished themselves safe at the ranch. it was one thing to ride through the timber in the daylight; it was quite another to do so at night, and especially when the wild animals were on the move. "the worst of it is, one wild beast sets the other to fighting," said dan. "and it's so dark a fellow can't see fifty feet ahead of him." what to do was indeed a question, but neither of the lads wished to remain in the timber all night, and, after another consultation, they decided to rush their ponies along until the next burn was gained. "if we go fast enough, no wild animal will have time to organise an attack," said ralph. the wind was coming up, setting the dying leaves to scattering in all directions. as the wind increased, the boughs of the trees swayed violently over their heads. suddenly dan, who was ahead, set up a shrill cry of alarm. he had seen two eyes glaring down at him from the branches of a tree he was just passing. he tried to pull back his mustang, and on the same instant a huge puma, or, as he is commonly called in the southwest, a painter, landed almost directly on his pony's neck. the attack was a fierce one, and had it not been for a lucky accident either dan or his steed must have been killed within a few seconds, for the puma is a heavy-built and powerful beast, and its bite, or a stroke of its huge paw, is generally meant to be deadly. but, as mentioned before, dan held his gun over his saddle, and as the painter came down the weapon went off, and the beast received the full charge in the upper part of his left shoulder. the wound did not kill him, or even seriously wound him, but it shocked and surprised the beast so much that he fell back, and tumbled to the ground. "oh, dan, look out!" shrieked ralph, and pulled in his own steed. then, as his brother's mustang reared to one side, and the puma prepared to make a second leap, he endeavoured to get a bead on the beast. the puma had struck on his back. now he had turned over and was crouching down, like a cat getting ready to pounce upon a bird, his bushy tail sweeping the grass with quick, nervous motion. bang! ralph's gun spoke up just as the painter was in the act of springing for dan, and the shot took the beast in the stomach, making a jagged and ugly wound. again the beast dropped back, uttering a mingled snarl of rage and pain. the snarl was exactly like that the boys had previously heard, and they felt that this must be the beast that had gotten into the fight with the wolves. probably the wolves had gotten away from him, and this and the taste of their blood had angered him into making the present attack. both mustangs were now kicking and plunging, and the boys had all they could do to keep their seats. the steeds backed away from the wounded painter, and then dan's mustang started to bolt. his course was under a tree with low branches, and in a second the youth was brushed from his back, and sent spinning to the ground. half stunned by his fall, dan had yet sense enough left to know that he must get away at once or the painter would be on him to rend him to pieces. he leaped up, and as the fierce beast came on, grabbed the nearest tree limb, to which he clung with might and main. "he's coming!" roared ralph. "pull yourself up!" and he started to reload with all possible speed, no light task while on the back of a mustang that was so nervous and inclined to bolt. dan was doing as advised, when the puma limped up, his eyes blazing with a fury which is indescribable. he did his best to make the leap, and his teeth struck one of dan's boot heels. but the boy kicked him away and drew himself still higher, and for the moment was safe. the wounds of the painter were now beginning to tell upon him, and he could scarcely suppress a whine of pain. but his savage nature was not yet conquered, and, unable to leap directly into the tree, he sprang for the trunk and came up, slowly but steadily. when he was opposite to where dan lay, he paused, as if uncertain what should be his next move. if the puma was undecided, so was the youth. if he leaped to the ground again he was certain the beast would follow him, and he had no desire to face the painter at such close quarters, especially as he had no weapon of any kind with him, unless the jack-knife in his pocket might be brought into play. ralph settled the question, both for his brother and the puma. as the mustang refused to come closer, the youngest radbury slipped to the earth and ran up directly under the bough upon which dan rested. at this point he could get a fair view of the painter, and once more he blazed away, aiming for the beast's neck and head. ralph's shot was all that could be wished for, and it was lucky that, having fired, he leaped back, for, the instant after, the painter came tumbling down, with a thud that fairly shook the earth. the shock also brought down dan, who landed just in front of the beast and lost no time in retreating to his brother's side. "good for you, ralph!" "look out, he's not dead yet!" answered ralph. "see, he is going to make another leap!" but in this the youngest radbury was mistaken. fatally wounded, the painter was merely endeavouring to get up on his legs, that he might crawl into the bushes. he stood for a moment, then stumbled and fell flat. twice did he try thus to rise, then with a final whining growl he lay out, stretched himself, and gave a quiver or two--and all was over. "he's dead," said ralph, when he could collect himself sufficiently to speak. he was trembling like a leaf in a gale of wind. "don't be too sure,--they are as tough as a pine-knot," answered dan. "load up again," and he picked up his own gun, which had fallen when he was thrown from his saddle. but the puma was dead, beyond a doubt, and they gradually drew closer to inspect the beast they had brought down. he was at least four feet long, and correspondingly tall and heavy, with a powerful tail and a rather small head. his colour was of a tawny tint, fading out to a dirty white between the limbs. the tip of the tail was black. "he's a big fellow," remarked ralph. "i wish we could get that skin home. it would make a splendid rug." "that's true, ralph, but do you want to stay here long enough to skin him?" "no. but maybe we can tie him up in the tree and come back for him to-morrow or next day." this was decided upon, and then dan set about catching his mustang. the pony had run to a considerable distance, but he knew dan's whistle well, and after this was repeated several times he came back timidly, although he would not go within a hundred feet of the dead puma. ralph carried a lariat, and this was tied to the dead beast and the carcass was swung to the breeze, so that the other beasts of prey might not get at it. "of course the vultures and hawks may attack him, but that can't be helped," said dan. the work finished, they lost no time in continuing on their way, riding rapidly, and keeping their eyes and ears on the alert as before. but nothing else happened to alarm them, and shortly before midnight they came within sight of the cabin. "home, sweet home!" cried ralph. "i'll tell you i am glad to be back." "and so am i," added dan. "no more fights with a painter for me." pompey shuck had heard them coming, and now ran out with a lantern to take care of the horses, just as he had been in the habit of doing for his master in georgia, years before. "i'se dun glad to see yo' back," he said, with a broad smile on his ebony face. "did de sodgers git away?" "yes, they are off for san antonio," replied dan. and then he told of the adventure in the timber. "a painter!" gasped pompey. "i declar' to gracious, mars' dan, yo' an' mars' ralph dun gittin' to be reg'lar hunters, he! he! i'se glad dat beast didn't cotch dis chile!" "i'm not anxious to hunt any more, at least for the present," said ralph, soberly. "i'll go back for that skin, and then i'm going to work around the ranch, and wait for news from father and the army." chapter xiv. the battle of concepcion. at the time of the war between texas and the government of mexico, san antonio de bexar could truthfully be said to be a city of importance gone to decay. many of the churches, convents, and missions were deserted and fast going to ruin. the friars had returned to mexico, and with them had gone many of the best of the old spanish families, although here and there some castilians remained, to keep up the style of the times as best they could. all told, the city numbered about twenty-five hundred inhabitants, the majority of whom were mexicans, with a fair sprinkling of american trappers and traders. it was situated mostly on the west bank of the river, at a point where both banks of the stream were lined with pecan and other trees. there were two large public squares, once the scene of much gaiety, but now overrun with grass and weeds, and between the two squares stood the grand old buildings of the san fernando church. on the east side of the river, about half a mile from the city proper, stood the mission, with its church, convent, and walled courtyard, commonly called the alamo. general cos had now arrived at san antonio with six hundred mexican militia, and as soon as he learned that the texans were gathering for another contest, he sent down to the rio grande for additional troops and extra pieces of artillery. in the meantime, the troops under austin moved up to salado creek, four miles from san antonio. the time was a momentous one, and, arriving at the creek, the texans sent forth a flag with a message to general cos, demanding the surrender of the place. "i refuse to surrender," was the mexican commander's answer. "and if you send another such flag it will be fired upon." this, of course, brought negotiations to a complete standstill. austin waited for reinforcements, and the mexicans spent the time in barricading the highways leading out of the city and in strengthening their several fortifications. "we are not getting along very fast," remarked mr. radbury, to one of his brother officers, while in the camp at salado creek. "i believe sam houston is coming on to take charge," was the answer. "he's an old war-horse and will be certain to lead us to victory." everybody felt that under houston the texan cause could not fail. but, although houston came up, he did not take command, declaring that the expedition was in the hands of austin, and that he was needed elsewhere. several days passed, with much anxiety on both sides, and then colonel bowie and colonel james w. fannin were ordered to take a band of scouts with them and reconnoitre the enemy's position, with a view to moving the texan army still closer to san antonio. "we'll do it," said both officers, without hesitation, and hurried off, taking about ninety men with them. in this body was a detachment under mr. radbury, and poke stover was also along. the party moved along slowly and cautiously through the clumps of trees and mesquite-bushes, until some time during the afternoon, when they came to a bend in the river known as the horseshoe, where was located the mission concepcion. "this is a strong position," said colonel bowie. "the river and timber will shelter us from behind, and in front is the bluff. it's an ideal place." "you are right," said colonel fannin. "general austin cannot do better than bring the army here." the orders had been to return, if possible, before nightfall, but at this time in the year it grew dark rapidly, and it was decided to go into camp for the night; and outposts were accordingly stationed in all directions, that they might not be surprised. although the texans were not aware of it, the mexican scouts had been watching them closely, and no sooner did the party go into camp than the enemy resolved to surround them in the darkness, and either shoot them all down, or take them prisoners. for this purpose general cos sent out four hundred of his best troops, determined to teach the texans a lesson that they should never forget. lieutenant radbury, as we must now call him, had charge of the outposts along the river, and, anxious to see that his men did their duty, he remained out with them, travelling slowly from one sentinel to another. on duty at one point was stover, as alert as though after some big game. "any alarm, poke?" asked the lieutenant, in a whisper, for it was not known but that the mexicans might be close at hand. "yes, and no," answered the old frontiersman, slowly. "perhaps my hearsight is deceivin' me, but i 'most reckoned as how i heard the creakin' o' wheels about--thar they go ag'in!" he broke off short, and held up his hand for silence. both men listened intently, and from the river bank they heard the steady, lumbering creak as of heavy wagon wheels. "am i right, leftenant?" demanded the frontiersman, when the sounds had come to an end. "you are, poke; do you know what it was?" "can't say exactly." "it was the creaking of artillery wheels." "whoopee! then they must be comin' over fer fair!" "yes. i will report at once." lieutenant radbury lost no time in making his way to the tent in which colonel fannin was poring over an old map of san antonio. "i have to report the coming of some artillery," he said, as he saluted. "artillery?" repeated the commander. "mexican artillery?" "i think so, colonel." and lieutenant radbury related as much as he knew. he had scarcely finished, when colonel bowie came in on the run. "they are starting to surround us!" he cried. "they are bringing over men and cannon!" the whole camp was soon in alarm, and, after a short talk among the officers, it was decided to bring up the men in a semicircle, close to the bluff's edge. while this was going on, a shot rang out, and then another, showing that one of the outposts had been fired upon. as the night wore away, a heavy mist swept up the river, and even when dawn came but little could be seen. yet, anxious to avenge the loss at gonzales, the mexicans opened fire at once, which, however, did no harm. as the mists cleared away, the mexican cavalry surrounded the whole front of the texans' position. "give it to 'em!" shouted the texan officers. "give it to 'em hot!" the cry was drowned out by a solid fire from the mexicans, who continued to pour in volley after volley just as fast as they could reload. the texans did not fire by volleys. the orders were: "fire at will, and make every shot bring down a greaser!" and there was a constant crack! crack! and the mexicans were seen to fall in all directions. lieutenant radbury now found himself under actual fire, and instantly his mind took him back to his service in the war of . he carried a rifle as well as a pistol, and did as good work as any man on the field. "they are preparing for a charge! they are bringing up a cannon!" was the cry that soon rang along the line, and then the mexican bugler sounded out the command, and the cavalry came on with a rush calculated to sweep everything before it. but the texans stood firm. "drop 'em!" roared colonel bowie. "the first line, boys!" and a score of shots rang out, and the first row of saddles was emptied almost completely. some of the horses were killed or wounded, and these, falling, caused some confusion. in the meantime, other mexicans continued to drop, and soon the cavalry retreated to reform. "now they are going to use the cannon!" was the cry which went up directly afterward, and then a four-pounder, stationed on a bluff, was discharged. the cannon was aimed much too high, and it is said that every shot from the piece went over the texans' heads. the cavalry now came on again, and it was seen that the mexicans intended to shift the position of the cannon so that they might enfilade the line,--that is, shoot from one end to the other. "not much ye don't!" sang out poke stover, and, leaping to a slight knoll, he took careful aim at one of the mules attached to the piece and fired. then he discharged his pistol at a second mule. both beasts were badly wounded, and, breaking away, they tore first through the cavalry and then through the infantry, throwing the latter into much confusion. "we have 'em on the run!" like magic the cry arose from nearly every texan's throat. the cavalry had charged again, and again the leading line had gone down. now they were retreating, with the infantry beside them. seeing it was of no use to remain longer, the cannoneer attempted to spike the four-pounder, but a texan sharpshooter cut him down in the act. "come on, boys, let us follow 'em into san antonio!" cried several, but this the leaders would not allow, for they were only ninety strong, and all were exhausted from the battle, which had been sharp if not of long duration. so the mexicans were allowed to form in the plain half a mile away, and from there they marched rapidly back to the city. their loss was sixty-seven killed and forty wounded, which showed how deadly had been the texans' aim. the texans lost but one killed and several slightly wounded. chapter xv. dan turns the tables. to the boys at the ranch the days passed impatiently enough. but few settlers came that way, so that they were cut off almost entirely from communication with the outside world. the puma skin had been brought in and cared for, and now they turned their attention to getting ready for the winter, which was close at hand. one day, unable to stand it longer, dan rode down to gonzales for the news. he found the town bubbling over with joy because of the victory at concepcion. "they can't stand up against our men," said the storekeeper who was talking to dan. "the texans are brave and nearly all good shots, and they are fighting for their homes. the greasers, on the other hand, are lazy and unreliable, paid to do what they are doing, and consequently think of nothing but saving their own skin." "oh, i reckon some of them are patriotic enough," answered dan. "but they are in the minority." "how can they be patriotic, and follow such a man as santa anna, who is continually leading all mexico by the nose? no, they are doing it for the pay, and nothing else." at the post-office dan found a brief letter from his father, stating that he was well, and that if no more fighting came off in the near future he would come home on a short visit. so far there had been no regular enlistments in the texan army, and volunteers came and went pretty much as they pleased. from the storekeeper dan learned that several bands of indians had been seen in the vicinity, moving to the west and north. some were comanches, and others friendly caddos. "well, i don't mind the caddos," thought the boy, "but i don't want to fall in with any more comanches." he had thought to go home that afternoon, or evening, as it is called in texas, but, after learning about the indians, resolved to remain in gonzales all night and make the journey the first thing in the morning. on the outskirts of gonzales was the farm belonging to henry parker's father, and thither he went, satisfied that he would be sure of a warm welcome. he found henry at home, and also mrs. parker, mr. parker being away on business. "why, of course you must stay," said mrs. parker. "i am glad to have company." the balance of the day passed pleasantly, and after supper the young man and dan took a stroll up into the town to learn if any later news had come in. they had just gained the main street of the town when dan saw before him a figure that looked familiar. he quickened his pace, and soon ranged up alongside of the man, who proved to be the half-breed, hank stiger. stiger was partly under the influence of liquor, or otherwise he would not have shown himself in gonzales at that time, when the indian raid was still fresh in the settlers' minds. he glared angrily at dan when he saw the boy. "stiger, i want to have a talk with you," said dan, with more firmness than is usual in one of his age. "what you want now?" demanded the half-breed. "i want to know what you have done with my father's papers." "what papers do you mean?" "the papers you stole from my father's cabin while we were out after the indians." "i was not near your house--i took no papers!" cried the half-breed, fiercely. "who says so tells a lie." "i know you did take them, and unless you give them up i will have you placed under arrest." "ha! don't you talk to hank stiger that way, or you will be sorry for it." the half-breed's hand stole under his coat, and he showed the handle of his hunting-knife. "do you see dat?" dan sprang back, for he knew how treacherous the man before him could be. but now henry parker stepped up. "none of that, stiger," he said, sharply, and placed his hand on the handle of the pistol he carried in his belt. "he wants to make trouble for me. he says i stole some papers," growled hank stiger, sullenly. "and i guess he is right, too," returned henry. "if i understand the matter, he has proof against you." "ha! did big foot tell----" stiger broke off short, realising that he was exposing himself. "yes, big foot told me everything," said dan. "and you must give up those papers, or take the consequence." hank stiger's face grew as dark as a thunder-cloud. "i'll pay off that injun for it!" he cried. "i knew he wasn't to be trusted, the skunk! but i ain't got no papers, never had 'em! this is a put-up job to get squar' on account o' that deer," he continued, trying to change the subject. "you got the deer, what more do you want?" "i am not talking deer now,--i am asking for those papers,--and the other things which were stolen," resumed dan, doggedly. "what have you done with them?" "find out fer yourself!" growled hank stiger, and turning swiftly, he started on a run for the nearest corner. "stop! or i'll fire!" cried henry parker, as he drew his pistol, but before he could make up his mind whether or not he had a right to fire on the half-breed, stiger was out of sight. dan ran after him, and his friend joined in the chase. stiger's course was toward the river, and having reached this, he leaped into a canoe which was handy and began to paddle with all speed for the opposite shore. a large lumber-raft was lying in midstream, and this he kept as much as possible between himself and his pursuers. "he's bound to get away if he can," observed henry, as the pair gained the bank of the guadalupe almost out of breath. "here is another canoe--let us follow him in that," replied dan. henry was willing, and they were soon on the river. dan could paddle well, and they made rapid progress around the raft and in the direction hank stiger was taking. reaching the opposite shore at a point some distance below gonzales, the half-breed leaped into the bushes and made his way to a pine grove farther away from the bank. the pursuers followed him to the point of embarkation with ease, but here came to a halt. "if it wasn't so dark we might follow his trail," observed henry. "but i can't see a thing under the trees." "here it is," came from dan, who was on his hands and knees. "he went into the pines. i'm going a bit farther," and he stalked off. henry remained behind to fasten the canoe, that the current might not carry the craft off. dan had scarcely come up to the first row of pines when he saw something moving over to his left. satisfied that it was stiger, he sped in the direction. the half-breed saw him, and ran on. "i've spotted him!" cried dan to his friend. "come on!" "all right, i'm coming!" answered henry. on through the tall pines ran pursued and pursuers, until nearly quarter of a mile had been covered. dan was in front, with henry close behind. "you are fools to follow me here!" roared hank stiger, as he came to a halt. "take that for your foolishness." "hide! he is going to fire!" exclaimed dan, but before either he or his friend could gain any shelter hank stiger discharged a pistol which he carried. the bullet missed dan, but struck henry parker across the temple, and the young man went down, stunned and unconscious. the unexpected turn of affairs made dan's heart leap into his throat, and he felt how imprudent both had been to thus expose themselves in such an out of the way spot to a man in stiger's condition. he drew his own pistol, but the half-breed knew enough to dart out of sight behind a thick clump of bushes. "henry, are you badly hurt?" questioned the boy, anxiously, but no reply came back, and running to parker, he found the young man flat on his back and as still as death. never had dan felt so badly as at this moment, for if his friend was dead he felt that he would be more or less responsible for the murder. he bent down and made a closer examination, and as he did this henry gave a deep shudder and opened his eyes for an instant. "thank god, he is alive!" burst from dan's lips. then, noticing the blood trickling from henry's temple, he bound up the young man's forehead with his handkerchief. in the meantime, hank stiger was making a détour, expecting to come up behind dan and surprise him. he had drank just enough to be utterly reckless, and carried his pistol in his hand ready for another shot. providence saved dan from the anticipated attack. while stiger was still two rods off, the boy happened to turn and catch sight of him. his pistol was still in his hand, and, without stopping to think twice, he fired on the half-breed. the effect of the shot was curious, and the feat performed would be hard to duplicate. the bullet from dan's pistol struck the hammer of stiger's weapon, and while the pistol exploded and the ball sank into the ground, the hammer was knocked off and hit the half-breed in the cheek, inflicting an ugly wound. the bullet itself, having hit the hammer, glanced downward and lodged in stiger's leg, close to his half-bent knee. the man gave a howl of pain and then fell flat. in a moment dan was ready for a second shot, but it was not needed. stiger's pistol was now useless, and as he could not stand up, because of the intense pain in his knee, handling his knife was out of the question. as he sat up, the boy faced him sternly. "up with your hands, stiger," he said, sternly; and the hands went up, and dan was master of the situation. chapter xvi. after a missing mustang. "what are you going to do with me?" asked hank stiger, after a moment of painful silence, during which dan glanced toward henry, to find his friend reviving rapidly. "you'll find out later, stiger. i can tell you one thing, you've gotten yourself in a pretty tight box." "it wasn't my fault,--you forced the shooting," was the sullen response. "why didn't you leave me alone from the start?" "because i am bound to have those papers and the other articles you stole, that's why." "i took nothing, i swear it." "do you expect me to believe you,--after what has happened here, and after that affair of the deer?" at this stiger was silent. he wanted to get up and rush at dan, despite the levelled pistol, but the wounded knee held him back. had he been a full-blooded indian he would have suffered in silence, but, being only a half-breed, and of poor indian and white blood at that, he groaned dismally. "dan!" the cry came faintly from henry, who had slowly raised himself. "where--what--oh, i remember, now!" and he sank back again. "it's all right, henry; i've made stiger a prisoner." "a prisoner!" whined the half-breed. "ain't i suffered enough already? my leg is somethin' fearful!" and he groaned again. "you brought it all on yourself, stiger, so you need not complain to me." "i didn't, you----" "i won't listen to any more explanations. throw your knife over here, and be careful you don't hit anybody with it." the half-breed fumed and raved, but all to no purpose, and at last the knife came over, and was followed by the broken pistol. "now don't you dare to move," went on dan, and then turned his attention to henry. not far away was a little brook flowing into the guadalupe, and here dan procured some water with which he bathed his friend's wound. the departure from the town shore had been noted by several lumbermen, and, having heard the pistol-shots, several came over to learn if a fight was going on. by calling out, the lumbermen managed to locate our friends and soon came up to them. they listened to dan's tale with close attention. "we ought to go fer to string the half-breed up," was the comment of one of the woodsmen. "we've got enough trouble on hand without allowin' sech chaps to make more." "thet's jest the size on it," added another. "string him up on the spot." but dan would not countenance this, nor would henry, who had now fully recovered, although the bullet had left an ugly scratch which he was bound to wear to the day of his death. finally a compromise was made with stiger, who offered to hobble down to the river, although scarcely able to walk. the threat to hang him had rendered the half-breed thoroughly sober. the return to the town was made without incident, and at the local lockup dan told his story, and it was decided to keep stiger a prisoner for the time being. he was searched, and in one of his pockets was found some small silver trinkets, which dan at once identified as belonging to his father. but no trace was there of the papers relating to the land grant. "but these trinkets prove that stiger was the thief," said dan. "i would like you to keep him a prisoner until my father can come here and make a regular charge against him." and so the matter was allowed to rest. stiger was in a rage, and vowed that he would surely get even with dan some day. when henry parker arrived home his mother was much alarmed to find that he had been shot. yet beyond the shock the young man had suffered little, and after having the wound properly dressed he felt as well as ever. "i might rather have gone off to the war," he grumbled. "dan and i are getting all the fighting by staying at home." it was hardly daybreak when dan started to return to the ranch. he would not have gone back at all just then, only he knew ralph would grow anxious if he did not return. as soon as he could arrange it, the youth had determined to ride over to where the army was encamped, to tell his parent of the encounter with stiger, and learn if mr. radbury wished to take up the case. dan had not to take the trip alone, as two of the lumbermen were going up the guadalupe on business. as yet only a small portion of the texans had joined the army, many of the others having no idea that a regular revolution was at hand. "it won't amount to shucks," said one of the lumbermen, as the three rode along the river trail. "we'll have a lot of meetings and a scrimmage or two, and then santa anna will come over with a big army, and our leaders won't dare to call their souls their own." "i cannot agree with you," answered dan. "our folks have suffered too much to turn back now." "but we ain't got no army,--only a lot o' farmers and rancheros, and blacklegs who have run away from the united states to escape justice. mexico has a finely trained lot o' soldiers." "well, the united states didn't have any trained army at the opening of the revolution," retorted dan, warmly. "but we showed king george's men a thing or two before we got through with them." "well, if we do fight 'em and obtain our liberty, what then?" put in the second lumberman. "the politicians will run everything to suit themselves. we won't have any more rights than we have now." "never mind, i think matters will be a good deal better," answered dan. "anyway," he added, with a peculiar smile, "do you believe in giving up your arms?" "not much!" answered both lumbermen, promptly. "that's a fool law." "then what are you going to do, if the greasers demand your guns and pistols, as they demanded that cannon?" this proved a clincher, and the lumbermen changed the subject. they were for peace, but it may be as well to state here that, in the end, they joined the army, and fought as nobly for liberty as did the average texan soldier. before the journey was half over, it had begun to rain, and by the time the ranch home was reached, dan and his companions were wet to the skin. as it still poured down steadily, the lumbermen were glad to avail themselves of the radburys' offer to stay at the cabin for the balance of the day. "hurrah for our side!" cried ralph, when told of the battle at the mission concepcion. "if they have a few more such fights, perhaps the mexicans will wake up to the idea that we have some rights they are bound to respect." he was glad to hear that stiger had been jailed, and sorry that henry parker had been wounded. "henry can make a charge even if father doesn't," he said. ralph and pompey had had troubles of their own during dan's brief absence. two prize mustangs, not yet broken in, had gotten out of the corral near the cattle shed, and although the boy and the negro had managed to round up one of the steeds, the other had persisted in keeping just out of their reach. "i tried to lasso him," said ralph, "but i wasn't equal to it, and, of course, pompey knows nothing of a lasso." "well, we can go after him when the storm clears away," answered dan. pompey had prepared a substantial dinner, and the balance of the day passed off pleasantly enough. by morning the storm had cleared away, and the lumbermen took their departure. then dan procured a lasso, and he and ralph mounted their steeds and set off on a search for the missing mustang, which was a beauty, and which mr. radbury prized very highly. "he went off to the southwest," said ralph, as the brothers rode away. "of course, there is no telling how far he ran. i suppose it will be a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack to locate him." "well, we can do our best, ralph. i know father set a great store by that white pony. he was thinking of breaking him in for his own use." "i know it, and that is why i tried so hard to capture him. but i can't get the hang of the lasso," and ralph shook his head, for he had tried to land the loop over the mustang's head at least a score of times. "you'll learn in time. it's more the knack of it than anything else. come, let us hurry!" and dan set off at a gallop. he was thinking altogether of the mustang, and never dreamed of the other odd adventure in store for him,--an adventure which was to make a soldier of him almost before he was aware. chapter xvii. the grass fight, and what followed. the victory at concepcion, as was natural, greatly strengthened the cause of the texans, and immediately afterward the number of volunteers in the army increased. seeing this, austin moved his command still closer, and settled into a regular siege of san antonio. the scouts, under colonel bowie, surrounded the town, to give warning of the approach of any reinforcements for general cos, who remained within, still barricading the streets and wondering how soon the revolutionists would attack him. in the meantime, a general meeting of citizens and political leaders was held at san felipe, and at this convention, as it was termed, austin was elected as a commissioner to seek aid in the united states. this left austin's place in the army vacant, and general edward burleson, an old indian fighter, was selected to fill the position. general cos was boxed up in san antonio with a force estimated at from twelve hundred to sixteen hundred men. many of his soldiers belonged to mounted companies, and it became a problem, not only how to feed the men, but also how to feed so many animals. there were rations to hold out for some time, but little forage. to make the matter still more difficult for the mexican commander, bowie and others ordered all the grass in the immediate vicinity of san antonio burnt. this caused one or two small fires among the huts on the outskirts of the town, and came near to starting a panic. at last general cos felt that he must either have forage for his soldiers' horses, or else slaughter them, and he hired bodies of the mexican farmers to go out, during the night, to gather such grass as could be gotten within a reasonable distance of the town. these bodies of men invariably went out under the protection of one or more companies of cavalry. the expeditions after forage brought on what was called the grass fight. among bowie's scouts was an old frontiersman called deaf smith, and one day when smith was out he discovered a body of farmers and cavalry, about a hundred strong. the panniers of the horses and mules were stuffed with grass, but as the body was a long way off, smith mistook them for some troops come to reinforce general cos, and supposed the stuffed panniers to be filled with silver to pay off the bexar garrison. without waiting to make certain about his discovery, deaf smith rode pell-mell into the camp of the texans. "the reinforcements are coming!" he shouted. "ugartchea is here!" "ugartchea! ugartchea!" was the cry taken up on all sides, and it was not long before colonel bowie set off with a hundred of the best texan horsemen to intercept the supposed newcomers. the mexicans saw them approach, but it was too late to get back into san antonio, and while a few of the farmers managed to escape, the mexican cavalry took up a position in the bed of a dry creek. the plight of those outside of the city was seen by those within, and general cos instantly despatched more cavalry to the relief, and also two pieces of artillery. the creek, which was in reality a deep gully, was overgrown on either side with tall brush, and bowie had some difficulty in bringing up his command to a firing position. but some of the scouts could not be held back, and rushing up they speedily laid several of the mexicans low. "now then, fire on them!" shouted bowie, when the proper range was obtained; but the texans had scarcely opened up, when the relief guard of the mexicans swung into position behind the texans, and they found themselves caught between two fires. they wheeled about, and charged those behind them, who speedily scattered in every direction, leaving their dead and dying behind them. in the meantime, the main body of the texan army was coming up, and, arriving at the gully, they drove out the cavalry, killing a dozen or more of them, and capturing many mules and horses, and a large quantity of grass, the so-called "silver" which was supposed to fill the panniers, and which caused many a laugh for long afterward. the loss to the texans was small. in the midst of the conflict one of the officers dashed up to amos radbury. "lieutenant, several mexicans are escaping in yonder direction," he said, pointing with his sword. "you will take a detachment of twelve men, and go after them." "i will, major," answered the lieutenant, and saluted. he was soon on the way, with poke stover, and eleven others, for poke happened to be near him when the order was given. the mexicans they had been sent to capture were four in number, and one of them looked like an officer of considerable rank. "i think we can ride them down, poke," observed lieutenant radbury, as he dashed over the prairies at the full speed of his mustang. "well, we kin give 'em a putty tough ride fer it, anyhow," drawled the frontiersman. "we must catch them, if possible, before they gain yonder timber land." "thet's so. if we don't, it won't be no easy work to locate 'em in the brush." the party of thirteen were all fair riders, but for once the number seemed fated to be really unlucky. less than quarter of a mile had been covered when one of the mustangs, going at full speed, stepped into the hole of some wild animal, and pitched headlong with a broken leg. the rider behind the one to go down, pitched in on top of him, and in a thrice there lay on the prairie a mustang so badly injured that he had to be shot, and two men so bruised that further pursuit for them of the mexicans was out of the question. "halt!" cried lieutenant radbury, and brought the balance of his command to a standstill. "are you much hurt, readwell?" "i--i reckon not," was the answer, but when readwell attempted to stand up he found his foot and back badly strained. "and you, alton?" "my left arm is bruised,--i don't know but what it is broken." "the mustang is done fer," put in poke stover, after examining readwell's steed. "might as well shoot him, and put him out of his misery." this was ordered by the lieutenant, and the command carried out on the spot. the second mustang was slightly injured, but could still be ridden. "both of you had better go back, on the one mustang," said amos radbury. "and, glenwood, you can go back with them, for fear they may have trouble with other mexicans who may be wandering about." so it was arranged, and this brought the lieutenant's force down to ten men. the two parties separated without delay, and those in pursuit of the flying mexicans went on as fast as before. but the delay had given the enemy an advantage, and before the texans could come within good firing distance the four mexicans reached the timber. at the edge they came to a halt. "they are going to fire on us, leftenant!" cried stover. "down!" cried amos radbury, and the texans had scarcely time to drop to the sheltered sides of the steeds, a favourite trick with old frontiersmen, when a volley sounded out, and the bullets whistled over their heads. another volley followed; then, as the texans swept closer, and fired in return, the mexicans disappeared into the timber. ordinary soldiers would have hesitated about following the mexicans into the forest, but all of the texans were expert in woodcraft, and thought they could keep out of an ambuscade as well in the woods as out of it. "stover, supposing you and dilberry go ahead and reconnoitre," suggested the lieutenant. "i know i can trust you to keep out of trouble." "certainly, i'll go ahead, if ye want me to," answered poke stover, in his free and easy manner, and rode on with the other soldier mentioned. as soon as they got into the thickets of the timber, they dismounted, tied their steeds to a tree, and advanced on foot. in the meantime, amos radbury spread out the balance of his party into a line fifty yards long, extending from a deep ravine on the right to a steep hill on the left. he felt that the mexicans could not climb the hill very well, for it was covered with large and loose stones, and to take their ponies down into the ravine would be equally difficult. the advance of stover and his companion was necessarily slow, for they had no desire to be picked off by some mexican concealed behind a tree. yet they kept on for a dozen rods before finding any trace of the enemy. "the trail goes toward the ravine," said stover, presently. "they are following an old comanche path." "right ye air," answered the other frontiersman. "years ago, them air comanches had a village in this ravine, erbout four miles from hyer." "i've heard tell on it, dilberry, though i never sot eyes on it myself. it war the home o' thet bison head, the wust of 'em as ain't dead yet." having made certain that the mexicans had gone straight on for a goodly distance, the two scouts so reported, and the entire party set off along the ravine, which at some points was broad and shallow and at others narrow and deep. suddenly the report of a gun rang out, coming from a point where the ravine made an abrupt turn to the north. several other reports followed. "they must be shooting at something," said lieutenant radbury. "but they are not aiming at us, for no bullets have come this way, so far as i can ascertain." "perhaps they are having a brush with some indians," suggested another of the party. "they may--hello, what's this coming along the trail? a white mustang, i declare, with a black blaze on his forehead. none o' those greasers rode that animal, i'm certain on it." "a white mustang!" cried amos radbury, and then, as the animal came closer, he gave a start. "it's the same, i declare!" "the same?" queried poke stover. "what do ye mean, leftenant?" "that mustang belongs to me. i was trying to break him in when the call to arms came. he must have gotten away from my boys. but what is he doing away out here?" that question could not be answered just then, and in another moment the white mustang was out of sight. then, as the firing ahead had ceased, the movement forward was continued. chapter xviii. dan comes to grief. "well, this looks as if it was going to be a long-winded search." "so it does, ralph; but you must remember that a wild mustang who had been shut up in a corral for a couple of weeks will feel very much like stretching his legs when he gets out." "we must have come at least eight miles." "it's nearer ten." "and we haven't seen the least sign of him." "oh, yes, we have; we discovered that trail." "but we are not sure it was the mustang's." "i take for granted that it was, for i do not believe any other pony passed this way since it rained." the boys had not gone on straight ahead, but in a grand semicircle, until the footprints mentioned had been discovered. now they were riding over a broad patch of prairie land, with a belt of timber to the north and another to the south. "i wonder if there are any indians in the vicinity," resumed ralph, a while later. "i won't care to fall in with some of those comanches who made it so hot for us at the cabin." "oh, they were chased a good many miles off, ralph. besides, they won't dare to show up here while they know that all of our best fighters are massing between gonzales and san antonio." "i wonder how matters are going on at the front. i should think our army would march on bexar without delay." "they don't want to make an attack until they are strong enough to overcome general cos's force. he may have considerable reinforcements by this time." so the boys talked and rode until noon was passed. both were now hungry, and coming to a pool in the prairie surrounded by mesquite-trees and bushes, they drew rein and tethered their ponies, and sat down to enjoy the midday meal they had brought along. pompey had packed for them a tempting hamper, and the boys remained over the repast rather longer than anticipated. the sun shone bright, and as there was no wind, the day was pleasant, even though late in the season. "i suppose some day all this territory will be built up with towns and villages," remarked dan, as he dug his knife-blade into the earth in a meditative way. "and when it is, i wonder if the boys of that generation will ever remember what a howling wilderness it was in our generation." "a few will, but not many," laughed ralph. "we are too much of a go-ahead people to do much looking back." the youngest radbury leaped suddenly to his feet. "what's that, dan?" the brother sprang up also, and gave a searching glance in the direction ralph pointed out. "unless i am greatly mistaken, it's the mustang." "just what i thought. he seems to be grazing just at the edge of the timber. how had we best get at him?" the matter was talked over for several minutes, and they came to the conclusion to ride to the timber at some point below where the pony was grazing and then work up behind him. "then, if he bolts, it will be for the prairie," said dan. "that will give me a chance to lasso him." the timber was soon gained, and they skirted this with the silence of indians until within a hundred yards of the white mustang. then the older brother called another halt. "now you take the north side, and i'll keep to the south," said dan. "have you got your lasso ready?" ralph had, and it was decided that he should make the first throw, but not until dan was prepared to make the second. with great caution the two boys advanced to the point agreed upon. then they rode out to where the lassoes could be used freely. in the meantime the mustang was grazing peacefully, utterly unconscious of their presence in the vicinity. but now, as they drew still closer, he stopped cropping the grass and raised his head as if to listen. "throw!" cried dan, and the lasso left ralph's hand with a whizzing sound. a few seconds later dan made his own cast. as luck would have it, both landed over the mustang's head, but while dan's was drawn tight with great quickness, ralph's remained loose, so that in a twinkle the mustang shook it off, and then of course the line tightened around dan's lariat instead. [illustration: "'hold back!' yelled dan."] "hold back!" yelled dan, as he saw ralph sit bewildered in the saddle. "run off to the other side!" the younger radbury attempted to obey, but as quick as a flash the mustang turned and rushed forward, bringing the lasso around ralph's own steed. then came a snap of the lariat, and ralph went down, with the mustang on top of him. all this took scarcely more time than to describe it, and now dan found himself holding the white mustang alone, with ralph's lariat end entangled in his own. then off went the wild animal, kicking and plunging in a desperate fashion, which even the tightened leather about his neck did not appear to hinder. his course was straight for the timber, and he went on dragging dan's pony after him. it is true the pony might have held back, but he was not well broken for such a purpose, having participated in but few round-ups. "look out! you'll be killed!" yelled ralph, as he struggled to get out from under his pony. the wind had been knocked out of him, but otherwise he was uninjured. dan scarcely heard him, so busy was he trying to bring the white mustang to a halt. soon he disappeared into the timber, and then ralph arose, mounted the pony once more, and came after him. the white mustang did not enter the forest far before the lariat around his neck began to hurt him. he tried to circle around several trees, and thereby cut himself short to such an extent that he was in great danger of choking to death. "hold my pony!" shouted dan to ralph, and slipped to the ground. the free end of the lariat was passed around a tree and tied, and dan sprang forward toward the white mustang, who was now acting as if ready to give up the battle. "easy now, easy," said dan, soothingly, and watching his chance, he hopped up on the mustang's back. immediately the animal bucked and plunged, trying his best to throw his rider. the lariat was depriving him of his wind, and of a sudden he stopped short and trembled, as if about to fall. not wishing to strangle the animal now he had caught him, dan cried to ralph to come up and help hobble the steed, that he might walk but not run. at the same time he continued to talk soothingly to the mustang and patted him on the neck. then, fearing he would breathe his last if the lariat remained as it was, he drew his knife and cut the leather. in a twinkle the whole manner of the mustang changed, and, before ralph could reach his big brother's side, the steed was off like a streak of lightning, with dan clinging fast to his neck. over some low brush the pair went, and then under some tall pines and out of sight. "hi! hi!" cried ralph, but dan had too much to do to call back to him. on and on went the mustang, and the youth could neither stop him, nor did he dare try to leap to the ground, for fear of a kick from one of those flying hoofs. it was such a wild ride as dan never forgot. by instinct the white mustang seemed to know the best course to pursue, and went on where the trees were high branched and tolerably far apart. this was lucky for dan, for had the limbs been low he must certainly have been knocked off and killed. he bent as low as he could. "go it, if you must," he thought, grimly. "you'll get tired some time. but i hope you don't go all the way to bexar." fully two miles were covered, when the white mustang came out of the woods at the edge of a ravine. he ran like the wind until the very edge was reached, then stopped short all in an instant. dan was holding on with might and main, but no boy's grip could withstand such a shock, and up flew his body, and over the pony's head he sailed. then he felt himself going downward, toward the bottom of the ravine. some brushwood scratched his hands and face, there followed a great thump,--and then he knew no more. chapter xix. the cave in the ravine. when dan came to his senses all was dark around him. the sun had set over the timber in the west, and scarcely a sound broke the stillness of the night. for several minutes the youth could not imagine where he was or what had happened. then slowly the realisation of the events just passed dawned upon his muddled brain. he tried to pull himself together and sit up, but the effort was so painful he was glad enough to give it up and rest just as he lay. the brushwood had saved him from death, but it had not saved him from a nasty fall on the flat rocks which rested at the bottom of the ravine at this particular point. "it must be at least two or three hours since i went over," he thought, dismally. "i wonder what became of the mustang, and where ralph and the ponies are?" he tried to see the face of the silver watch he carried,--an heirloom from his mother,--but it was too dark, and he had to give it up. then he attempted to call out, but his voice was so feeble no one standing fifty yards off would have heard it. and ralph was miles and miles away, hopelessly lost in his hunt after his missing brother. not a bone had been broken nor a muscle strained to any extent, yet it was almost daybreak before dan felt like getting on his feet, and in the meantime he had fallen into a doze and dreamed all manner of horrible dreams. when he awoke, his mouth was parched for water, and his first move was in the direction of the wet portion of the ravine, beyond the rocks. as it was the fall of the year, the night had been cold, and after procuring a drink he was glad enough to sit down again beside a fire made of leaves and such small brush as was handy. he was now hungry, but nothing was at hand to satisfy the cravings of the inner man. his gun had been left behind, but in his belt still rested his hunting-knife,--something he had taken to carrying constantly since the brush with the comanches. dan could not help but wonder what had become of ralph, and wished that he had some firearm by which he might discharge a shot as a signal. slowly the morning wore away, and by noon the lad felt that he must make a move. "i'll get out of the ravine first," he thought, but this was no easy matter, for the sides were steep and he was still too weak to exert himself in climbing. presently he imagined that he heard, at a great distance, the firing of a volley of shots. to make sure he was right, he laid on the ground and listened. soon the volley was repeated, and a number of single reports followed. "there is a fight on of some sort," he thought, but could not locate the direction of the shots with any degree of accuracy. "i trust ralph is out of danger." he walked along the ravine, looking for some convenient spot where he might ascend to the level of the timber beyond, until he came to where there was a split in the hollow. here, in the centre of the ravine, was a huge pile of rocks, overgrown with a tangle of vines and thorns, which hid a cave of fair dimensions. in those days this cave was known to the indians as the haunted rock. it is said that many a mexican trader was lured there, only to be killed and robbed. as dan was passing the cave he saw, with much surprise, a mexican soldier leading two mustangs into the opening. each saw the other at the same time, and instantly the mexican set up a shout in spanish, and, letting go of the horses, levelled a pistol at the boy's head. dan did not understand the spanish, but he understood the motion of the soldier. "don't shoot!" he cried. "i am unarmed!" and he held up his hands to verify his statement. "you surrender?" asked the mexican, in broken english. "i suppose i'll have to," answered dan. "but what are you doing here, and why do you wish to make me a prisoner? i am not a soldier." at this the mexican shrugged his bony shoulders and called out again in spanish, whereupon three other mexicans showed themselves at the mouth of the cave. "come in here, boy," said one of the three, who was evidently a captain, by his uniform. "are you alone?" "i am," answered dan, as he entered the mouth of the cave. "where are the soldiers?" "what soldiers?" "the rascally texans who were after us." "i know nothing of any soldiers, captain." "you are telling me the truth?" and the mexican captain turned a pair of piercing black eyes on the youth. "i am, sir; i have seen no soldiers for a week or more, and they were nowhere about here." dan's frank manner apparently impressed the mexican officer favourably, for he breathed more freely. he paused for a moment, as if in deep thought. "what brought you here, boy?" in a few simple words dan told his tale. when he mentioned the white mustang, two of the mexicans smiled. "i saw him," said one. "he was running like the wind, directly for those soldiers, too." "and who are the soldiers you speak about?" asked dan. "it is not for you to ask questions," answered the captain, abruptly. "sit down on yonder rock and keep quiet. a noise might betray us, and then it might become necessary to put a bullet in you." as there was no help for it, dan walked still farther into the cave, and sank down on the rock pointed out. he noted that there were but four of the mexicans, and that each had a mustang that seemed to be much exhausted. "i reckon i am worse off than i was before," was his mental comment, after reviewing the situation. "these chaps are evidently in hiding, and they won't let me go for fear of exposing them. well, i sha'n't stay any longer than i have to." in the matter of eating, the mexicans were as badly off as the youth. "you have had nothing, eh?" said one. "well, we are just as hungry, and perhaps more so. it cannot be helped, and we must make the best of it." "but we can't remain here and starve to death," insisted dan. at this the mexican drew up his face into a scowl and turned away. to comfort themselves, the men smoked cigarettes incessantly, being used to the tobacco habit from childhood. dan had as yet found no comfort in the use of the weed. while two of the mexicans remained in the cave to care for the mustangs, the others went out on guard, one stationing himself just above the opening and the other below. the numerous rocks afforded both excellent hiding-places. from those in care of the mustangs dan learned but little, yet, during the mexicans' talk, the youth managed to gain a bit of information which led him to believe that there had been a battle, and the four had become separated from their companions and had been pursued. the mexicans thought to remain in the cave until night, and then escape under cover of the darkness. as the hours went by dan became more hungry, and with this empty feeling came one of desperation. he must escape, be the cost what it might. "if only i could collar one of their mustangs, and get away on it," he thought. "perhaps i might find those soldiers and have the mexicans made prisoners." the more he thought of this plan the more did it appeal to him, and then he cast about for some means of putting it into operation. the chance came shortly before sundown. a distant shot was heard, and the two mexicans in the cave hurried to join their companions, to learn what it might mean. dan had cast himself down as if asleep, and one of the soldiers did not, therefore, pick up his gun as he hurried past the entrance of the cave. no sooner were the men out of sight, than dan leaped upon the back of the nearest mustang, and turned him straight for the entrance. he made the animal do his best from the start, yet, as he passed the entrance to the cave, he hung out from the saddle and managed to pick up the gun that rested against the wall. "he is escaping!" cried one of the mexicans, in spanish, and leaped in front of the mustang. the next instant the horse knocked him flat and galloped over his body. the mexicans were bewildered, for, on the brink of the ravine, one of them had caught sight of several texan soldiers in the distance. if they fired on dan, they would betray themselves, and, if they did not, the youth would surely escape. "after him!" cried the captain, and two of the soldiers made a dash for the boy. but they might have as well tried to catch the wind, for the mustang was fresh from his rest, and dan made him do his level best. then along the ravine sped animal and boy, dan riding as never before, and expecting a shot at any moment. he knew not where he was going, and hardly cared, so long as he made his escape from the mexicans. chapter xx. flight and pursuit. lieutenant radbury's party had come up to the ravine at a point opposite to the cave, about half an hour before dan attempted to make his escape. "i see nothing of the mexicans here," he remarked to poke stover, as he swept the ravine from one end to the other with his well-trained eye. "no more do i see anything," answered the old frontiersman. "but they may be behind yonder rocks, leftenant. if ye say the word, i'll climb down and scout around a bit." "there is a cave among yonder rocks," put in another of the texans. "it is called haunted rock by the indians. the comanches used to use it as a meeting-place when they were out for plunder. i've often heard old si bilkens tell about it." "i have heard of such a cave," answered amos radbury. "if the mexicans knew of it, they might think it just the right sort of a hiding-place. yes, poke, you can scout around. but be careful. they may be watching for a shot." the frontiersman nodded, to show that he understood, and went off immediately on foot, it being impossible to go down the ravine's side on mustang-back, no matter how sure-footed the animal might be. the descent into the ravine took time, and poke stover was still some distance from the cave's entrance when he heard a commotion among the bushes and rocks. "a mustang a-comin' this way," he muttered to himself. "and somebody ridin', too. it must be one of them dirty greasers trying to git away. i'll cut him short." he raised his rifle, and stepped out into the open to get a better aim. then of a sudden his weapon dropped to his side. "dan! dan radbury! what in thunder are you doing out here?" at first dan did not hear the call, for the hoof-strokes of the mustang made considerable noise on the rocks over which he was clattering. but then the youth caught sight of the old frontiersman and his face beamed with joy. "poke stover! and is it really you?" he exclaimed. "yes. what are you doing here?" "i just escaped from four mexican soldiers, who are hiding in a cave up the ravine." "the greasers we are after!" "are you after them? they said something about being followed." "yes, i am after them, and so is your father, who is in command of our party." "father! where is he?" "at the top of the ravine--in that direction," and poke stover pointed it out. "he jest sent me out to do a bit o' scoutin'." "to locate the greasers?" "yes." "i can tell you all about them. they are at the cave on guard. i took this mustang from them, and also this musket." "then thar won't be no need fer me to scout any more, dan, and we might as well join the rest," answered poke stover. "we must capture them greasers." "how did you come to go after them?" stover told the particulars as they were climbing out of the ravine, dan leading the mustang by the head. in a short while, the youth was with his father. of course the parent was astonished to find his son in this wilderness, so many miles from the ranch home, and dan had to tell his story in detail. "i am glad you are safe," said amos radbury. "but what of ralph?" "i can tell you nothing of him, father." "we saw the white mustang twice, but nothing of him," added amos radbury, thoughtfully. and then he decided to go on a hunt for his boy as soon as the affair of the four mexicans was settled. to the others dan pointed out the exact location of the cave, and the entire party drew within a hundred yards of the opening, without exposing themselves. the mexicans, also, kept out of sight. "we are now eleven to four," said amos radbury. "i believe if they understood the matter, they would surrender, rather than risk being shot." "if they won't surrender i know what you can easily do," returned dan. "and what is that?" "starve them out. they are all as hungry as bears,--and so am i, for the matter of that." "an excellent idea. but if you are hungry, here are rations in the saddle-bags," and dan was speedily supplied with sufficient food to stay his hunger for the time being. one of the party, who could talk spanish fluently, was now ordered to show a white handkerchief tied to a stick, and this he did, moving to the very edge of the ravine for that purpose. at first, owing, probably, to the darkness, the mexicans did not see the flag of truce, but at last the captain came forward, and demanded to know what was wanted. "we want you to surrender," said the texan. "we will not do so, and you will attack us at your peril," was the mexican's sharp reply. "you are but four, while we number twelve." "we will fight, even so, señor. a mexican never surrenders." "what if we starve you out?" "you cannot do that. still, you may try it, if you wish," continued the _capitan_ hurriedly. if the americans tried starving them out, it would give them time in which to perfect some plan for escape. the talk continued for several minutes, and then the texan came back with the information that the enemy would agree to nothing. "he's willing to be starved out," went on the ranger. "but i think he wants the chance to get away in the darkness." "we will draw closer to the cave as the darkness settles down," answered amos radbury. this was the first time, as an officer, that he had been sent out on a commission, and he was resolved not to fail. the night came on swiftly. evidently a storm was brewing, for not a star lit up the heavens. "we'll catch it, in more ways than one, soon," said stover to dan, suggestively. the texans had had a small fire, but now this was deserted, and the party moved down into the ravine on foot. just as the first rain of the coming storm began to fall, one of the men of the party set up a shout. "there they go!" he was right. the mexicans were making a mad dash for liberty up the ravine, the four men on three mustangs. "fire at them!" ordered lieutenant radbury, and instantly half a dozen shots rang out. none of the enemy was hit, but two of the mustangs pitched headlong, carrying three of the riders down with them. the fourth mexican, the captain, continued on his way, forcing his steed along at a greater pace than ever. before those on the ground could rise, they found themselves surrounded. "surrender!" cried lieutenant radbury. "surrender, or we must shoot you down!" "i surrender!" cried one of the mexicans. "no shoot me!" and he held up his hands. but the others were game, so to speak, and, rising, they discharged their muskets, and continued their flight on foot. they had scarcely gone a dozen steps, when the texans opened fire again, and one dropped, shot through the heart. the second man was wounded, but kept on and disappeared up the side of the ravine, in a thick pine brake, where all was now pitch dark. "make that man a close prisoner!" shouted lieutenant radbury to two of his followers. "come on!" and he dashed away after the mexican captain. several, including poke stover and dan, followed him, while others went after the fellow in the pine brake. it was largely a go-as-you-please hunt, for, as mentioned before, the army was not yet sworn in, and every man felt that he could do about as he wished. before leaving the mexican who had surrendered, lieutenant radbury had appropriated his horse, consequently he readily outdistanced those who followed. but he could not catch his man, although he got close enough to note that the fellow left the ravine where there was a cut upward, and took to the timber on the north. "we can't follow him in this darkness," said amos radbury. "we will have to wait until morning. it is raining now, and probably there will be an easy trail to follow." they returned to the others, and then the entire party went into camp in the cave the mexicans had just vacated, the horses being also brought in, to keep them out of the storm, for it was now raining in torrents. a fire was kindled and a warm supper prepared. "two out o' four," declared poke stover. "that wasn't so bad, after all." the captured mexican was questioned, and said the missing officer was captain arguez, from santa cruz. "he belongs to a most noble family," said the prisoner. "he will never give up." "he will if i lay my hands on him," said amos radbury, quietly. both father and son were much worried over ralph, and wondered what had become of him. it was agreed that while looking for captain arguez they should hunt for the boy also. chapter xxi. what happened to ralph. "i'm lost, and that is all there is to it!" ralph sat on the back of his mustang the picture of dismay. he had tried to follow his big brother and had failed, and had spent the night on the bank of the ravine, but at a point several miles from the cave. ralph was not nearly as well versed in woodcraft as his big brother, and he hardly knew how to turn or what to do. all about him was one vast wilderness, and the silence and loneliness made him shiver in spite of himself. "if i only knew what had become of him," he said, over and over. "but perhaps he is dead!" and the tears started to his eyes. he had eaten nothing since the evening before, but he was too worried now to satisfy the cravings of his stomach. he had his own mustang and that of dan with him, and they were feasting on the rich grass close at hand. procuring a drink at a stream near by, he watered the animals and set forth once again on the hunt. the day drifted by swiftly, and ralph found neither dan nor the way out of the belt of timber. he was now weak from so much travelling, and was compelled to rest and partake of the scant lunch still left in the hamper pompey had provided. as night came on so did the storm, and with the first fall of rain he sought shelter under some overhanging rocks near the top of one side of the ravine. it was anything but a pleasant position, and no wonder ralph wished himself safe at home again. the storm increased until the rain came down in a deluge, forming a good-sized stream in the basin of the ravine. ralph was thankful that there was but little thunder and lightning. having found a dry place in a corner of the rocks, he was on the point of falling into a doze when a clatter not far off aroused him. "it must be dan," he thought. "dan! dan!" he cried, starting up. "is that you?" at the sound of his voice the clatter ceased, and only the violence of the storm broke the stillness. then ralph called again, that his brother might not go astray. "who calls?" the voice was a strange one, and the words were spoken with a spanish accent. ralph fell back in dismay, but it was too late, and soon the newcomer showed himself, riding a jaded steed, and carrying a long horse-pistol in his hand. "ha, boy, are you alone?" demanded the man, who was none other than captain arguez. "i am," answered ralph. "and what brought you here?" "i was out looking for a lost mustang, and missed my way." "ha, that is what the other boy told me!" muttered captain arguez, half savagely. "the other boy? then you have seen my brother?" "yes." "where is he now?" "i cannot tell you. he ran away, taking one of my soldier's mustangs." "but i don't understand," stammered ralph. "are you a mexican army officer?" "i am." "and dan was with you?" "i think he fell in with us by accident, and he got away just as we were having a brush with some of your accursed americans." the mexican captain looked around suspiciously. "you are quite sure you are alone?" "yes, señor." "you have two ponies." "one belongs to my brother. he got on the white mustang,--the one that ran away,--and that is the last i saw of him. you have no idea where he is now?" "probably with the texans who attacked my party." "and where are they?" captain arguez's brow grew dark. "you are asking too many questions for a mere boy," he growled. "i do not know where they are, nor do i care, so long as they do not bother me any more," and in this he spoke the exact truth. he cared nothing for his men, and wished only to get back to san antonio in safety. the mexican had had nothing to eat throughout the day, and was glad enough to avail himself of what little was left in the hamper. then he put his mustang beside the others, and made himself as comfortable as possible near ralph. "do you know the way to bexar?" he demanded. ralph shook his head. "i don't know the way anywhere; i am totally lost." "from whence do you come?" "from the guadalupe river, at least thirty or forty miles from here." "then i must be almost as far from bexar?" "yes; perhaps farther." "it is too bad! i was foolish. but let that pass, what is done cannot be undone." captain arguez had relapsed into spanish, so ralph did not understand his last words. he remained silent, wondering what the officer would say next. but instead of talking, the mexican rolled a cigarette, and began smoking vigorously. ralph was sleepy, and in spite of his repeated attempts to keep awake, he soon dozed off, and then fell into a sound slumber, from which he did not rouse up until daylight. the captain was asleep, snoring loudly, and with a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. at first ralph thought to leave without disturbing him, but no sooner had the boy risen to his feet than the mexican opened his eyes and stared about him. "so it is morning?" he muttered. "very good. let us be on our way." "i do not know which way to go," returned ralph. "that is easily answered, boy. you will go with me." "with you?" "yes. i am lonely and want company." "but you are going to san antonio de bexar." "you are right. it is an ancient mexican town, and there you will be quite safe." "but i don't want to go there,--i want to go home." "you will be better off with me; anyway, you must come on. if i let you out of my sight, and you fall in with those americans, you will betray me to them. come, we must lose no time." ralph attempted to argue, but the mexican officer would not listen, and soon they were in the saddle, riding side by side, and with the extra mustang behind. captain arguez had noted how the water was flowing in the ravine, and now he crossed the hollow, and struck out down the water-course, but on the opposite side to where the texans had encamped. it must be confessed that ralph felt more downhearted than ever. it was true he had wished for company, but this mexican was not desirable, and the thought of being taken to the fortified town filled him with dismay. yet there was no help for it, and he rode along as directed, and thus they journeyed for many miles, until they struck a road leading directly into san antonio. here captain arguez met the mexican who had escaped into the brush, and the two compared notes, the result of which was that both, along with ralph, made a long détour to the north and the west. once on the way the party passed several indians, but no words were exchanged. in this party was big foot, the comanche, who had been nursed at the radbury ranch, but ralph did not recognise the red man, for he was too far away. the storm had let up a little during the day, but now as night came on it broke forth once more, as furiously as ever. "this just suits me," said captain arguez. "it will wet us to the skin, to be sure, but it will put the texans off their guard." once during the afternoon ralph had thought to escape, but the captain had threatened to shoot him on the spot, and the attempt had amounted to nothing. the boy's weapons had been taken from him, and the mustang belonging to dan had been appropriated by the mexican private. the private knew the vicinity of san antonio well, and said they had better halt at a certain gully until two or three in the morning. this was done, and by four o'clock they were safely inside of san antonio without the texan pickets being the wiser, the rain and darkness proving the mexicans' best ally. as soon as he was safe, captain arguez went to headquarters to report, taking the private and ralph with him. ralph was put in a side room of the quarters, and left under guard for several hours. "we have resolved to keep you here for the present," said the soldier, who came to him at last. "keep me here!" gasped ralph. "what for? surely you don't count me a prisoner of war?" "captain arguez is convinced that your brother was a spy, and that you will help him if you can. it will, therefore, be safer for us to keep you here." this was all the satisfaction ralph could get, and soon after he was marched away to the san antonio jail, there to remain for some time to come. chapter xxii. the attack on san antonio. "this looks like a hopeless task, father." "so it does, dan, but while i am willing to give up looking for that mexican captain, i am not willing to give up looking for ralph." "nor i. but the question is, which way shall we turn next?" amos radbury shook his head slowly. the party had been out in the timber two days, and, though they had followed several trails, it had availed them nothing. "perhaps ralph went back to the ranch," suggested poke stover. "we found no trail leading in that direction," said lieutenant radbury. "that is true, but he might have gone back, even so, leftenant." amos radbury shook his head slowly. "you only wish to give me a little encouragement, poke," he said, with a sad smile. "i am afraid he has fallen into the hands of the indians." "talk about indians, here come several indians now," put in dan, who was riding beside his father. "they look like comanches, too." the red men, who were three in number, had appeared at the brow of a small hill. now, on discovering the whites, they seemed on the point of turning to run away. one, however, gave the texans a searching look, and then his face lit up with satisfaction. he came running toward dan, holding up both hands in token of peace. "big foot!" exclaimed the youth, as he recognised the indian. "good dan," answered the indian. "i glad i see you. how! how!" and he looked at amos radbury and the others. "i reckon this is the critter ye nursed at the ranch," remarked stover. "it is," answered dan. he turned to the indian. "so you are glad to see me, eh?" "yes, much glad." the indian looked at one and another of the party. "where little brudder raf?" "ralph is missing," put in lieutenant radbury; and then added, quickly, "do you know anything of him, big foot?" the indian nodded slowly. "you do!" "yes, see little raf wid mexican soldiers." "with the mexican soldiers!" cried father and son, simultaneously. "you are certain?" the indian nodded again. "when was this?" as well as he could, with his limited knowledge of english, big foot told of the meeting with captain arguez, the mexican private, and ralph. "they all go into bexar," he concluded. "then ralph is a prisoner of the enemy," said amos radbury. "but will they hold a mere boy like that?" snorted poke stover. "it seems to me thet ain't human nater, nohow." "the mexicans will do anything to harass the texans," answered the lieutenant, quietly. "i don't know but what i would rather have ralph a prisoner in bexar than lost in the timber or in the hands of some treacherous indians." "if only we could get into bexar after him," sighed dan. "we'll get in pretty soon," returned another member of the party. "i heard old ben milam say that if our troops didn't start pretty soon he'd form an attack on his own account." big foot was anxious to learn what all the trouble was about, and dan explained to the indian. at the conclusion of the talk big foot stared stolidly at dan for fully ten seconds. "you say so, big foot go into bexar an' hunt out little raf," he said at last. "oh, will you?" cried dan. "it will be very kind." "big foot not so kind as good dan," returned the indian. "yes, will go right now. where big foot find good dan if have news for him?" "at the camp of the texan army," answered dan, before his father could speak. then he turned to his parent. "father, you must let me go with you. i am sure i am old enough to fight." "why, dan, you are but a boy!" "i think i can fight as well as some of the men," said the youth, boldly. "i am a pretty good shot, and i wouldn't be a coward and run," he added, earnestly. "i don't want to go back to the ranch alone." "but life in the army is no easy thing, my son. we may have untold hardships before this struggle comes to an end." "i am willing to take what comes. please say i can go." amos radbury could not resist his son's appeal, especially as he was glad to have the boy where he might have an eye on him. so it was settled that dan should accompany his parent; and thus did the youth become a soldier to fight for the liberty of texas. a while later big foot left, stating that he would endeavour to get into san antonio that night, and the party under the lieutenant rode off to the camp of the texan army. here amos radbury reported what he had done, and there, for the time being, matters rested. in the meantime, the texan army had moved slightly closer to san antonio de bexar, but, as yet, nothing had been done toward storming the town. volunteers came and went, and the army lacked so much of complete organisation that the leaders hesitated upon opening an attack upon such a force as general cos had under him. "if we lose, the texan cause is lost for ever," said one of the leaders. "we cannot afford to put up the stake at this time." bowie, crockett, and other scouts were off doing duty of another kind, otherwise the attack might have opened without delay. but now the old veterans, especially those of the war of , became impatient, and among these was old ben milam, previously mentioned. one day milam could contain himself no longer, and, rushing out in front of the general headquarters, he swung his hat into the air, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "who will follow old ben milam into bexar?" "i will!" "i will!" came from a score of throats, and soon over a hundred men were gathered around the old fighter. in the number were amos radbury, poke stover, and a party of scouts who had served under crockett. dan, of course, followed his father. as soon as it was learned how enthusiastic the soldiers were, it was decided that milam's party should meet on the following day at an old mill near the camp. at this mill the company of volunteers numbered exactly three hundred and one, and this force was divided into two divisions, the first under milam and the second under colonel frank w. johnson. "we will move on the town about three o'clock in the morning," said colonel milam, and this was done, the first division going down acequia street and the second taking to soledad street. both streets led directly to the main plaza of san antonio, and each was heavily barricaded and swept by general cos's artillery. the two divisions moved with caution, but as they crept along between the low-lying stone houses a mexican sentinel saw the body under johnson, and gave the alarm. "we are discovered!" came the cry, and the next instant the rifle of deaf smith spoke up, and the sentinel fell dead where he had stood. further attempts at concealment were now useless, and both divisions rushed into the town as far as possible. johnson's command went as far as the house of the vice-governor, veramendi, and here sought shelter from the mexicans, who swarmed down upon them in great numbers. "dan, take care of yourself," cried lieutenant radbury, who with his son had joined colonel milam's division. "don't run any risks if you can help it." "i'll stick close to you, father," answered dan. they were going down acequia street on a dead run, every texan firing as rapidly as he could reload. "the plaza! the plaza!" was the cry; but that square was still a hundred yards off, when the mexican garrison appeared, with their artillery, as if ready to sweep the texans from the face of the earth. then came the cry, "to shelter!" and milam's men, about a hundred and forty strong, broke into the nearest mansion, which was that of de la garcia. "drop!" the cry came from poke stover, and he called to amos radbury, as he saw a mexican in the act of picking off the lieutenant from the garden of a residence opposite to that of de la garcia. he raised his gun to fire on the man, but the weapon was empty. dan heard the cry and noted where stover was looking. he, too, saw the mexican about to fire on his father, and his heart leaped into his throat. then, by instinct more than reason, he raised his own gun and blazed away. both guns spoke up at once, and dan saw the mexican throw up his arms and fall backward. then his father dropped like a lump of lead. "father!" cried the boy, hoarsely, and knelt beside his parent. "are you hit?" "i--i guess not," stammered lieutenant radbury. then he passed his hand over his ear and withdrew it covered with blood. "but i reckon he nipped me." "that's wot he did," put in stover. "but dan plugged him for it," he went on, with much satisfaction. the texans got into the house as soon as possible, much to the surprise and consternation of the family, who protested in vain at the intrusion. once within, doors and windows were barricaded, and the residence turned into a veritable fort. it was now growing daylight, and without delay the mexicans began a furious onslaught. the crack of musketry and the roaring of cannon was incessant, but the texans were wise enough to keep out of sight, and but little damage to human life was done. the texans stationed themselves at convenient loopholes and calmly picked off every mexican soldier who showed himself within range. "i wonder how the second division is making out," said lieutenant radbury, as the day wore away and the cracking of firearms continued. "they seem to be doing about as much firing as we are." "they are at the vice-governor's house," announced one of the other officers. "we could join them were it not that the greasers are sweeping soledad street with their twelve-pounder." rations were scarce and water was more so, yet the men under milam did not complain. they had come to take the city, and they meant to do it. "i hope ralph won't suffer through this," remarked dan, while on guard at one of the loopholes, with his father not far away. "we must trust for the best," answered amos radbury, and breathed a silent prayer that all might go well with his younger offspring. as night came on it was resolved to dig a trench across soledad street, so that the two divisions might communicate with each other. this was dangerous work, for the mexicans kept a strict guard and fired every time a head was exposed to view. the trench was started at each end and was completed long before daybreak. while this was going on the mexicans also dug a trench, hoping thereby to catch the texans in a cross-fire, but the scheme failed. chapter xxiii. the surrender of the city. "if only i was at liberty once again!" ralph had said this to himself over and over, as he sat on the hard wooden bench which served him both for a seat and a couch in the little stone cell which he occupied in the san antonio lockup. several days had gone by, and no one had come to see the youth but his jailer, who delivered food twice a day, morning and afternoon. the jailer spoke nothing but spanish, so communications between the two were limited. ralph often wondered what had become of dan and the white mustang. was his brother lost in the timber, or had he fallen in with the indians? there was a tiny window in the cell, high up over the couch. from this ralph could get a slight view of the river and of a patch of sky, and that was all. but one afternoon, when all was quiet, ralph noticed a shadow at the window, and, gazing up, made out part of an indian face stationed there. quickly he stood on the bench. "big foot,----" he began, when the indian let out a low hiss of warning. "soldier hear raf," said the indian, in a whisper. "me come to find you,--tell fadder and good dan would do dat." "father and dan!" returned the boy. "then they are together?" "yes, both in big army outside of dis place. big foot say he find raf. must go now. maybe save raf soon. you watch!" and then the indian disappeared as quickly as he had come. by some means known only to himself, he had found out where ralph was located, and had watched for thirty hours on a stretch for a chance to communicate with the lad. he had caught a sentinel off guard, and had mounted to the window by means of a lariat thrown around one of the bars of the opening. as he leaped down, the sentinel turned in time to catch him winding up his lariat. "what are you doing there?" demanded the mexican. "indian squaw in dare?" asked big foot, meekly. "no, we do not keep squaws here," answered the mexican. "begone, or i'll shoot you;" and then, as the comanche loped off, he resumed his cigarette smoking. the coming of big foot comforted ralph greatly, for he now knew that dan was with their father, and that both were in the army, outside of san antonio. that night he slept soundly. he awoke to hear loud firing, showing that a battle of some kind had started. the firing continued, and, before long, the lockup was struck by a cannon-ball, although little damage was done. the attack created a great confusion, and ralph was left largely to himself. at night, while the sounds of firing still kept up, big foot appeared, with both his lariat and a short iron bar. mounting to the window, in the gloom, he called ralph, and passed him the bar. "break window and drop out," he whispered. "big foot wait for you close to river." he fell back, and with the bar ralph set to work to liberate himself. the masonry of the window was old and loosened, and he soon had two of the bars out, leaving a space just large enough to admit of the passage of his body. as he leaped into the window-opening, he heard voices in the corridor, outside of the cell. then his jailer and a mexican officer appeared at the cell door. "ha! he is escaping!" roared the jailer, in spanish. "stop!" and he ran to ralph, to detain him, but the boy dropped to the court outside, and scampered off as fast as his feet would carry him. an alarm at once sounded, and the cry arose that the prisoners throughout the jail were rising. this, of course, was not so, yet the excitement was great within the walls, and, for the minute, ralph was allowed to depart unmolested. in the darkness big foot joined him, and thrust into his hands a stout club. "club much good, sometime," said the comanche. "knock down mexican, maybe, if in way." he led the way down one street and another, until the vicinity of the plaza was gained. suddenly, as they turned an alleyway, a volley from the mexican garrison was fired. "run! run! or get shot!" shouted the comanche, and then, as ralph turned in one direction, the indian turned in another, and, in a trice, they became separated in the darkness. ralph kept on running, he knew not where, only that he might escape the bullets, which appeared to be flying in all directions. he could not go around by the plaza nor by the church, and so cut into a gloomy courtyard. still running, he reached the stone wall of a house. a window was close at hand, and he leaped through this, to pitch headlong on the floor beyond, too exhausted to go another step. as related before, the firing kept up all this night, and was renewed with vigour in the morning. in the meantime, the trench across the street had been completed, so that the two divisions were in communication with one another. it was fighting at close quarters, and san antonio looked as if in the throes of a big riot. the texans had been trying to bring a twelve-pounder into position, but, so far, they had failed. now, however, it was mounted at a commanding point, and fired several times, with fair effect. in the meantime, deaf smith and a party began to do some sharpshooting from the top of the vice-governor's residence, but the mexicans drove them off, and smith was severely wounded. when ralph came to himself, he found that he was in a room that was pitch-dark. from a distance came a hum of voices, and the steady blows of some blunt instruments, probably axes or picks. the firing continued steadily. he felt his way along from the room in which he found himself to the one adjoining. from this a stairs led upward, and he went to the upper floor. here, from a window, he saw part of the fighting, and as the morning came, he saw still more. the noise below kept on steadily, and as daylight advanced, the firing on all sides became almost incessant. in the midst of this, there came a loud hurrah, and a detachment of texans, under lieutenant w. mcdonald, ran out into the street, and battered down the door of the very house where ralph was in hiding. "hullo, a boy!" shouted one of the texans, as he caught sight of ralph. and then he continued, quickly, "by george! ain't you amos radbury's youngster?" "i am," answered ralph. "and you are mr. martin, from the pecan grove ranch." "right, my lad. how in the world did you come here?" "i just escaped from the lockup, and was trying to reach the texan lines. do you know anything of my father?" "do i? why, he's in the house just below here, along with your brother. we came---- back, or you'll be shot!" ralph retreated, and none too soon, for a second later several bullets entered the window and buried themselves in the wall opposite. the mexicans were firing from several roofs in the neighbourhood. this fire was returned with such good interest that soon the mexicans were as glad to get out of sight as those who opposed them. ralph wished to join his father and dan without delay, but mr. martin held him back. "wait until dark," said the settler. "you are fairly safe here, and it would be foolhardy to expose yourself." "do you think we will win out?" asked the lad, anxiously. "i do,--but it is going to be a tougher struggle than any of us expected." on the morning of the third day of the attack matters were at first quiet, but then came a fierce fire by the mexicans on the texans' trench. the sharpshooters were called again to the front, and in an hour the enemy had stopped almost entirely. "here goes for another dash!" came the cry at noon, and sure enough another dash was led to a house still closer to the plaza, and the building was soon in the possession of the texans. they were gaining their victory slowly but surely. at evening colonel milam attempted to leave his own position to consult with colonel johnson, still at the veramendi house. "you must be careful, colonel," came the warning, as the gallant fighter stood in the courtyard. the words had scarcely been spoken when a bullet took milam in the head, killing him instantly. the loss at this critical moment was a severe one, and the officers were called into hasty consultation, the result of which was that colonel johnson was placed at the head of the expedition. the battle was now growing fiercer and fiercer, and, angered over the loss of colonel milam, the texans forced their way to another house, which fronted the military plaza and was but a block from the main plaza. "down with the mexicans! hurrah for the liberty of texas!" were the cries, and the texans grew more enthusiastic than ever. in the midst of this uproar ralph discovered his father and dan at the doorway to one of the houses, and ran to join them. "ralph, my son!" cried amos radbury, and caught the lad to his breast, and dan hugged his brother with a bear-like grip. "you are quite well?" "yes, father. but what a fight this is!" "yes, and it will be worse before it is over." "did you see big foot?" questioned dan. "yes, he helped me to get out of prison." there was no time just then to say more, for the texans were fighting hotly, holding several houses and endeavouring to keep the mexicans out of such buildings where they might have an advantage. on the fourth day of the attack the texans fought their way to what was called the zambrano row, which line of stone buildings reached to one end of the main plaza. "let us get to the main plaza, and cos will be done for!" was the cry. from one house the texans cut their way through the thick stone walls to the next, until at last the whole row was theirs, and the mexicans were driven in every direction. the main plaza could now be covered in part, but during the coming night the texans captured still another building, called the priest's house, which fronted directly on the great square. as soon as this was captured, the texans barricaded doors and windows, and made of the house a regular fort. "we've got 'em on the run," said more than one texan, after the priest's house had been barricaded, and this proved to be true. with both the military plaza and the main plaza swept by the fire of the enemy, the mexicans knew not what to do. the citizens of the town were in a panic, and men, women, and children ran the streets as if insane. then the cry went up in spanish: "to the alamo! to the alamo!" and away went the civilians, some with their household effects on their backs. seeing this, the mexicans also withdrew, meaning at first to protect the inhabitants (which was unnecessary, for the texans did not wish to molest them), and then to reorganise at the alamo for an attack on general burleson's camp. but at the alamo things were in the utmost confusion, and before general cos could call his troops together, some of them fled, making straight for the rio grande river. this wound up the fighting, and it was not long before the mexican general sent out a flag of truce, asking upon what terms the texans would receive his surrender. the texans were very lenient, and the matter was quickly settled. the loss to the texans had been about thirty killed and wounded; the loss to the mexicans was six or eight times greater. chapter xxiv. a midnight discovery. in view of what was to follow at goliad, it will be well for us to look for a moment at the terms which the texans made with general cos at the time of the latter's surrender. the texans, having things all their own way, might have been very dictatorial in their demands, yet they agreed to allow general cos and his officers to retain their arms and all of their private property. the mexican soldiers were to return home or remain in texas as they preferred, the convicts which had been pressed into the service were to be conducted across the rio grande river under guard, and the sick and wounded were to be left to the care of the texans. on his retreat general cos took with him over eleven hundred men, many of whom were armed against a possible attack by the indians. "i think he is getting off easy," observed dan, when it became known under what conditions the mexican commander was leaving. "i don't believe he would be so considerate with us." "not by a long shot," put in poke stover. "he'd be for treating us wuss nor prairie-dogs." "well, it is always best to be considerate," said amos radbury. "it may be the means of bringing this contest to a happier conclusion." "well, we're going to keep the regular muskets and army stores, aren't we?" asked ralph. "yes, all public property comes to texas," said his father. general cos left san antonio on the th of december, and on the following day general burleson resigned from the texan army, and a good many of the volunteers went home, to learn how matters were progressing for the winter. on all sides it was felt that no other movement of importance would occur for some time to come, for, in those days in texas, there were no railroads to carry an army wherever wanted, and the distance from san antonio to the lower rio grande river was a distance of several hundred miles. "we may as well go home, too, boys," said lieutenant radbury, two days after his commander had resigned. "i am anxious to know how pompey is getting along." "what of the white mustang?" questioned dan. "i reckon we will have to let the white mustang take care of himself,--at least for the present," smiled amos radbury. it was decided that poke stover, who had become very much attached to the radburys, should accompany them, and, a few days later, they set out for the ranch on the guadalupe by way of gonzales. the stop at gonzales was made to see what had been done with hank stiger. "he must not be given his liberty until he confesses what he has done with my claim papers," said amos radbury. the ride to gonzales was made without special incident, but along the whole of the road it was seen that the people were aroused to the highest pitch. everybody wondered what mexico would do next. it was a bitter cold day when gonzales was reached, and it looked as if the first norther of the season was at hand. "you're too late," said one of the citizens, to amos radbury, as they rode up to the lockup. "too late?" "yes." "what do you mean?" asked dan. "you're after that hank stiger, i take it?" "we are." "he skipped out, day before yesterday." "broke jail?" "well, not exactly that, radbury. louis reemer was a-watching of him, and louis got drunk and left the jail door unlocked, and----" "and stiger walked out, i suppose," finished lieutenant radbury, bitterly. "we allow as how he run out--an' putty quick-like, too." "did anybody make a hunt for him?" "to be sure. but he had two or three hours the start of us, and so we couldn't find his trail." "reemer ought to be locked up himself." "we ducked him in the horse-trough. but he wasn't so much to blame, after all. we had a jollification because of the capture of bexar, and a good many of the men weren't jest as straight as they might be." with a heavy heart, amos radbury rode down to the jail. but reemer was away, and a new man had taken his place,--a man who knew absolutely nothing concerning the half-breed who had gotten away thus easily. "we may as well go home," said the lieutenant. "i would like to see henry parker first," said dan, and received permission to take a run to henry's house, while his father did some necessary trading. dan found henry parker as well as ever, and hard at work preparing for the winter, for his father could do but little. henry was deeply interested in the particulars of the attack on san antonio. "i wish i had been there," he cried. "but i am going when the army reorganises; mother and father have promised it." "there wasn't much fun in it," said dan, soberly. "it was real hard fighting from start to finish. the fellows who went in for a mere dust-up got left." "oh, i know war is no play, dan. but i mean to do my duty by texas, and that is all there is to it," concluded henry parker. early the next morning the party of four began the journey up the river to the ranch home. it was still cloudy, and ralph declared that he saw a number of snowflakes come down, but the others were not so sure of this. yet the weather was dismal enough. "we are going to have a pretty heavy winter for this section," said amos radbury,--and the prediction proved a true one. as they journeyed along, the wind swept mournfully through the pines and pecans, but not once did they catch sight of any wild animal, outside of a few squirrels and hares. some of these poke stover brought down, "jest to keep his hand in," as he declared. while yet they were a long distance off, pompey saw them coming and ran forward to meet them. "bless de lawd yo' is all safe!" he cried. "i dun fink one or de udder of yo' been shot suah!" and he shook hands with his master and fairly embraced the boys. "and how have you been, pompey?" asked amos radbury. "i'se been all right, mars' radbury. had quite a job 'tendin' to fings alone, but i'se dun gwine an' done it, neberdeless, sah. but las' night i'se dun got scared, mars'," and pompey rolled his eyes mysteriously. "got scared? at what?" "a man, sah, wot was a-creepin' around de ranch, sah, peepin' in de doah an' de winders, sah." "a man?" "hank stiger, i'll wager a dollar!" cried dan. "it must have been that fellow," added ralph. "what became of the man, pompey?" went on mr. radbury. "i can't say as to dat, sah. as soon as i dun spot him, sah, i got de gun, an' he run away like de old boy was after him, sah." asked to describe the stranger, pompey gave a fairly good description of him, and this fitted hank stiger exactly. "he is around for no good purpose," said amos radbury. "are all of the mustangs safe?" "yes, sah. i'se dun watch dem de whole night, sah." "we must keep a watch to-night, too, and to-morrow we can go on a hunt and see if he is hiding anywhere near." in honour of the home-coming, pompey, as tired as he was, spread a generous table, and all sat around this for several hours, eating, drinking, and discussing the situation. the radburys were glad poke stover had accompanied them, for now the frontiersman could help keep guard against the half-breed, should the latter mean mischief. the next day proved so stormy and cold that the boys were glad to remain indoors. it did not snow, but the rain was a half hail and the wind was of the kind that reaches one's marrow. only amos radbury and poke stover went out, to the cattle shed and the nearest range, and they were glad enough to come in long before evening. "hank stiger won't stir around much in this weather," observed mr. radbury, as he shook the water from his greatcoat. "he's too much afraid of himself." "yes, but he'll want shelter somewhere," said ralph. "perhaps he has gone after the comanches," said dan. "he may have been just on a journey when pompey saw him." so the talk ran on, but nothing came of it. that night, completely tired out, all retired early. just before he went to bed dan looked out of the window and saw that it was clearing off, and that the stars were trying to break through the clouds. down in a corner of the cattle shed rested a small keg of powder which amos radbury had brought home from gonzales, for his stock of this article had run low. as dan lay in bed he could not get this keg of powder out of his head. "i hope it didn't get wet," he thought. "but surely father must have covered it up with great care." for thinking of the keg, dan could not get to sleep, and at last he arose and walked out into the living-apartment of the cabin. here, in the middle of the floor, he came to a sudden standstill, as a noise outside reached his ears. what the noise came from he could not determine. first there was a slight bump, and then a rolling sound, and then he heard a scratching, as of steel upon flint. "i'm going to investigate this," he said to himself, and, catching up his gun, he ran to the door and threw it open. what he saw surprised him beyond measure. there, in the darkness, stood hank stiger. the half-breed had a bit of lighted tinder in his hand, and at his feet lay the keg of powder with a long fuse attached to the open bung-hole! chapter xxv. march of santa anna into texas. "you rascal! get back, or i'll shoot!" [illustration: "'you rascal! get back, or i'll shoot!'"] such were the words which burst from dan's lips as soon as he recovered sufficiently from his surprise to speak. but hank stiger was already retreating, carrying the lighted tinder in his hand. he could not make out who was there, but saw it was somebody with a gun, and the sight of the weapon was enough for him. "what's up?" came from poke stover, who had been snoring in the corner, and the old frontiersman scrambled to his feet and joined dan at the doorway. "there goes hank stiger! he was going to blow up the cabin with our keg of gunpowder." "can it be possible! i'll stop him." stover ran outside. "stop, hank stiger, or you're a dead man!" he called out, loudly. but the half-breed was now running like a deer and paid no attention to the words. taking hasty but careful aim at stiger's legs, poke stover pulled the trigger of his gun. the report, which awakened all of the others, was followed by a scream of pain from the half-breed, who went a step or two more and then sank in a heap. "what does this mean?" demanded amos radbury, as he, too, seized his gun. "are we attacked by indians?" "no, we were attacked by hank stiger," answered dan, and pointed to the keg of powder. "my powder! what was he going to do with that?" "blow us all sky-high." "and you saw him?" "yes, i caught him in the act of lighting the fuse lying there." "but how came you to be up?" "i was restless,--thinking about the keg and other things." "it must have been an act of providence," murmured amos radbury. "who fired the shot?" "poke stover. he has gone after stiger," concluded dan. all ran out of the cabin, and found the frontiersman and the half-breed at the edge of the clearing. hank stiger had been struck in the knee and was evidently suffering great pain, for after screaming for awhile he fell back in a dead faint. stover and pompey were for leaving him where he had fallen, but neither amos radbury nor his sons had the heart to do this, and in the end the half-breed was carried to the cattle shed and put in the corner from whence he had removed the powder. all were anxious to question him about his actions, but the wounded man was in no condition to talk. "after this i'll put this powder in a safer place," said mr. radbury, and stored it in a corner of the dugout, under the living-room. hank stiger's wound was dressed, and then pompey was set to watch him for the remainder of the night. the negro was given a pistol and was instructed to discharge it at the first intimation of danger of any kind. but the balance of the night passed quietly, and toward morning dan got into a sound sleep, from which he did not awaken until long after the others were up. after breakfast amos radbury started to question hank stiger. he found the half-breed resting easily, but in a sullen mood. at first he utterly refused to talk. "very well," said mr. radbury. "if you won't talk, neither shall you eat nor drink." "then take me back to the gonzales lockup," muttered stiger. "we will,--when we have the time. at present we have other matters to attend to." left once more in charge of pompey, the half-breed flew into a rage and muttered all sorts of imprecations against those who had outwitted him. then, as the day wore on, he calmed down, and tried to bribe the coloured man into giving him something to eat and to drink. pompey was obdurate. "can't do it, nohow," he said. "it's ag'in mars' radbury's ordahs, sah." a wounded man always craves water, and by one o'clock in the afternoon the half-breed's tongue was fairly lolling out of his mouth. he stood it awhile longer, then summoned pompey. "give me a drink,--i am dyin'." "i dun tole you dat it was ag'in the massah's ordahs, sah." "he said i could have water if i would talk," growled stiger. "is yo' ready to talk?" "yes." at once the negro called his master, who was busy, with the boys and poke stover, in putting down some hog-meat for the winter. knowing how greatly stiger must suffer, amos radbury went to him without delay. "so you are willing to talk now, stiger?" "how can i help myself?" "then tell me why you tried to blow up my cabin?" "i wanted to git squar' fer havin' me locked up." "but you deserved to be locked up, after that attack on dan and henry parker." at this the half-breed shrugged his shoulders. "and you must remember perfectly well what you did before that," continued amos radbury. "i didn't get bison head to attack you,--he did that on his own account." "but you came in afterward and robbed the place. it is useless for you to deny any longer that you took those papers relating to this grant of land." for several minutes stiger was silent. at last he lifted his eyes. "are you goin' to give me dat drink?" he asked, falling back into his indian accent. "yes,--if you'll promise to tell me about the papers." "i--i will." pompey was at once sent for a pitcher of fresh water, and when it arrived hank stiger grabbed it with both hands and drained it dry. nectar could not have tasted sweeter to him. "now what did you do with the papers?" amos radbury asked, after stiger had given a long sigh of satisfaction. "i--i lost 'em." instantly amos radbury's face flushed, and he sprang to his feet. "stiger, you are falsifying! i do not believe you!" he exclaimed. "it's de truf." "it is not. you have either hidden the papers or else given them to somebody." at this the half-breed shrugged his shoulders again. "you cannot deceive me longer," went on the settler. "by and by you will want food and more water. you shall have neither." "goin' ter starve me to death?" "it will be your own fault. i am now treating you with more kindness than you deserve. many a man would have strung you up to the nearest tree for your misdeeds." at this hank stiger winced, for he knew only too well that mr. radbury spoke the truth. he felt that he could not go too far or he might get into deeper trouble. "i'll tell yer all," he said at last. "but give me somethin' to eat first." "not a mouthful until you have told your story. then you can have all the food and water you wish, and we'll try to make you as comfortable as we can." this was the straw which broke the camel's back, so far as hank stiger was concerned, and with much hesitation he told his story, which in substance was as follows: about six months before, he had fallen in with a man of mixed american and spanish blood named carlos martine, who was anxious to obtain possession of a large grant of land on the guadalupe from the radbury claim northward. carlos martine was in league with a number of mexican officials, and had obtained ownership of a large portion of the land without much difficulty. but the best of the land, that fronting the river, belonged to amos radbury, and this martine could not obtain, although he tried to do so through a certain john morgan. morgan had asked mr. radbury to sell several times, but had been refused. carlos martine had had a hold on hank stiger, and during the indian raid had asked the half-breed to obtain possession of the papers relating to the land, if they could be found in the radbury cabin. what martine was going to do with the papers stiger did not know. having obtained the papers, hank stiger had gone off to gonzales with them. from there he had journeyed to goliad, and there met carlos martine. the latter had promised him twenty dollars, mexican money, for the documents, but at the time of the meeting the half-breed had been so intoxicated that he could not remember whether he received the cash or not. certainly, when he had sobered up, two days later, every cent of the money was missing. "and have you seen carlos martine since?" questioned amos radbury. "no." "then you do not know where he is?" once more hank stiger shrugged his shoulders. "i think he got afraid and went to mexico. a good many people around gonzales do not like him, and i think he was afraid i would expose him," he ventured. amos radbury questioned the half-breed, and at last concluded that the story must be largely true. this being so, he ordered pompey to fetch some more water and prepare such a meal as might be good for the sick man. the planter had had considerable experience at doctoring, and he attended to the wounded knee with almost as much skill as a surgeon. as carlos martine was out of reach, nothing could at present be done toward getting back the missing documents. "but i shall fortify myself as much as possible," said amos radbury; and on the following day he wrote down hank stiger's confession in full, made the half-breed sign it with his mark, and had poke stover witness the paper. "thet might not hold with the mexican government," drawled the old frontiersman, "but i calkerlate 'twill hold with the government o' this free an' enlightened state o' texas, hear me!" and at this the others had to laugh. the holidays came and went, and nothing of more than ordinary interest happened at the ranch. it was at times bitter cold, the sweeping "northers," as they are called, hurling themselves over texas with great fury. during those times everybody remained indoors hugging the fire. hank stiger still kept to his couch at the cattle shed, and was provided regularly with all that he needed to eat and drink. if the truth must be told, the half-breed was thankful that he had such a comfortable home for the time being, knowing it was much better than any the indians could offer him, or better than he would get at the gonzales lockup. in the meantime, matters politically were in a very mixed-up state throughout texas. the majority of the settlers were for liberty, but some, while wishing state rights, still thought it best to remain in the mexican confederation, while others wanted annexation to the united states without delay. many meetings were held, but this only increased the confusion, and though a portion of the texans set up a provisional government, others continued to act largely on their own responsibility. there were many wrangles and, to look back, it is a great wonder that anarchy did not reign supreme. but it is a satisfaction to know that, in the end, law and order conquered. with the political troubles our tale has nothing to do. while the texans were speculating upon what to do next, santa anna, in mexico, was not idle. at the head of a party peculiarly his own, he had cut off many of the rights of the mexican citizens, and made himself virtually a dictator, although still called simply the president. this accomplished, he set out to subdue texas, the only spot where his authority was resisted. santa anna had sent out a small command to relieve general cos at san antonio. the two forces met at the rio grande river, and there waited for further orders. early in february, general santa anna came up to monova with about four thousand troops. these soldiers were joined by those on the rio grande, thus increasing the mexican army to about seven thousand. the order now came for a direct advance upon san antonio, and the army set off on its wearisome journey of about six hundred miles over a plain which was hardly protected by any timber from the cutting winter winds. slow progress was made, and, food falling short, the whole army had to be put on short rations. some of the soldiers tried to desert, but these were promptly shot by santa anna's orders. whenever a settlement was passed, the inhabitants were made to give the hungry mexicans all the provisions they could possibly spare. once the whole army came close to open rebellion, but santa anna's orders were supreme, and on the d day of february, , the first of his troops appeared within sight of san antonio; and the war, which had hung fire since the december before, was again begun. chapter xxvi. wild turkeys and another trail. one day, early in february, amos radbury came riding back from a trip to gonzales with news that he had heard from carlos martine. "the man has been at san felipe," he declared, "and i have it on good authority that he intends to claim my land." "well, what are ye going to do?" queried poke stover, who was still at the ranch. "i hardly know. but i wish i could have a talk with martine. it might be the means of saving a good deal of trouble." "is martine still at san felipe?" "no, gusher told me that he had gone to san antonio." "then why not take a trip to san antonio and find him?" suggested the old frontiersman. "i reckon that is what i would do." "i think you are right, poke, and i'll start tomorrow," answered the planter. he went in to talk the matter over with his sons, and the land claim was the chief topic of conversation for the balance of the evening. "i now wish i had kept hank stiger here," said mr. radbury. the half-breed had left the ranch but three days before, apparently very grateful for the manner in which he had been treated. "well, one thing is certain," declared dan, "i don't stand for giving up the claim. i'll fight first. those mexican officials can do as they please, but they can't budge me." "good fer dan!" shouted stover. "he's the kind the state o' texas will want in days to come." on the next day mr. radbury was too busy to think of leaving the ranch. there was much work at the cattle shed, part of which had been blown down by a norther which had proved little less than a hurricane. in working upon the shed the planter had a mishap. the rung of a short ladder broke beneath his weight, and he came down flat on his back. no bones were broken, but he was hurt otherwise, and decided that it would be best for him to keep off his horse for a week or ten days. he was apparently much worried to think he could not see carlos martine, and, noticing this, dan went to him, and asked if he could not do the errand. "you, dan!" "yes, father. i know you think i am but a boy, yet----" "no, my son," interposed mr. radbury. "i used to think you were but a boy, but, since you showed your fighting qualities at bexar, i have changed my mind. you are but a boy in years." "then let me go and see if i can hunt up this carlos martine. i can at least have a talk with him, and learn how matters stand." amos radbury shook his head, but in the end he consented to let dan go, providing poke stover would accompany him on the trip. the old frontiersman was willing, and early on the following morning the pair set off on their mustangs, each carrying his gun, which was now a custom with all of the settlers. in those days there were two main trails, or wagon roads, crossing the guadalupe river. the lower trail was the one running through san felipe, gonzales, and san antonio, and this could very properly be termed the main highway of texas. from fifty to a hundred miles north of this was the trail running through nacogdoches, and across a hilly and uncultivated territory to san antonio and the rio grande. at san antonio the two trails came together in the form of the letter v, and in the notch thus formed stood the franciscan mission, commonly called the alamo, which means the cottonwood-tree. of this mission, which was to be so bravely defended, we will soon learn many interesting details. the radburys usually rode to san antonio by way of gonzales, but dan and poke stover decided to ride through the timber lands to the northwest until the upper trail was gained. this way might be a trifle rougher, but it was no longer, and the trees along the upper trail would serve to break the force of the northers which were continually sweeping the face of the country. the two set off in high spirits, each with his saddle-bags well stocked with provisions, and each well armed. "who knows but what we may meet some indians on the way?" said dan. "i doubt if the indians are active now," replied the old frontiersman. "they have had some pretty good lessons lately, and, besides, they know that all of the settlers are arming against the mexicans, and are, consequently, ready for them." "do you know why i came this way?" went on dan, after a pause. "i didn't calkerlate you had any perticklar reason, dan." "i have an idea we can run across that white mustang father lost." "humph! that nag may be miles an' miles away from this deestrict." "that is true. but yesterday, when i rode up to the edge of this timber, i caught sight of something that looked very much like the white mustang." "you did! then why didn't you say so afore?" "i didn't want to worry father. i thought i would tell you,--when we got out,--and i've done it," added dan. "where did ye spot the critter?" "right over to the left, near that fallen pine. but i'm not sure it was the white mustang. but it was some creature in white." "if it wasn't the mustang, it couldn't be anything else. there are no other white critters here,--'ceptin' it might be a silver deer, and they are as scarce as snowstorms in july." they were now in the timber, and moving along at a steady gait. on all sides the ground was as hard as a rock, and the keen air was bracing to the last degree. a stiff breeze was blowing, swaying the branches overhead, and occasionally bringing down a belated nut on their heads. by noon they calculated that they had covered eighteen miles, which was not bad, considering the nature of the ground they had traversed. with the rising of the sun it grew warmer, and, seeking a sheltered spot, they dismounted and partook of their midday meal. they had still twenty-six miles to go, but hoped to cover that distance before nightfall. "i wonder how the garrison at san antonio is making out," said dan, as they sat eating. "like as not a good many of the soldiers went home for christmas," returned stover. "to my mind, it's a great pity that sam houston ain't succeeded in organising the army as he intended. he seems to be the only leader who thinks that santa anna will come over here with a big force to knock the spots out of us. all the others are quarrelling over politics and places." "i don't think it's quite as bad as that," laughed dan. "but it seems to me they ought to get an army together." "the leaders ought to act in concert, dan. if they don't, their soldiers are licked afore they go into battle," remarked the old frontiersman, sagely. "what texas needs most of all is one first-class leader, whom all obey." and in this speech stover came very near to telling the exact truth. the meal finished, they were soon in the saddle again, and less than an hour later they came upon the trail leading directly into san antonio. there was a hill of rocks on one side and a belt of timber on the other, with here and there a water-course to be crossed. so far, nothing had been seen of any game but a deer that was too far away to be brought down, and a few hares, which neither took the trouble to shoot. but now poke stover called attention to a flock of wild turkeys resting along the rocks not a hundred yards distant. "a fine shot, dan!" he whispered. "we can make a good trade with 'em, down in bexar." "that's so," answered the boy. "i'm ready to shoot when you are." "let us go into the timber, and come up in front of 'em," suggested the old frontiersman. "the rocks kind o' hide 'em from this p'int." they dismounted and tied their mustangs to a tree. then, with guns ready for use, they crept off in a semicircle, coming up to within sixty yards of the turkeys before they were discovered. "fire!" cried stover, and bang! bang! went the two guns, one directly after the other. they had loaded with large shot, and five turkeys fell, two killed outright and the others badly wounded. rushing in, stover quickly caught the wounded ones and wrung their necks. [illustration: "'that's what i call a pretty good haul!' cried dan, enthusiastically."] "that's what i call a pretty good haul," cried dan, enthusiastically. "it's not bad, lad, although i've seen better. i wish i could have gotten a second shot at 'em. we might have----" the old frontiersman broke off short. "what's that?" "it's a horse's hoofs on the trail," answered dan. "somebody is coming this way." he ran out of the bushes into which the wild turkeys had fallen, and gazed along the road. just above was a curve, and around this came sweeping something which caused his heart to bound with delight. it was the white mustang. "by hookey!" came from poke stover. "it's him, eh, dan?" "yes. oh, if only i had my lasso!" for that article was attached to the saddle of the mustang in the timber. dan was on the point of crossing the trail when stover caught him by the arm. "don't scare the pony----" began the frontiersman, but he was too late. the white mustang had caught sight of dan and he came to a halt instantly. then he reared and plunged and swept by, and the last they saw of him, he was running toward san antonio at the top of his speed. "we've seen him,--and that's all the good it will do us," remarked poke stover, as dan gazed blankly up the road, and then at his companion. "can't we catch him, poke? oh, we must!" "might as well try to catch a streak o' greased lightning, lad." "i don't know about that. he looked tired, as if he had been running a long while." "you are sure on that? i didn't git no fair view of the critter." "yes, he was covered with sweat. perhaps somebody else has been following him." "well, it won't do no harm to go after him,--seein' as how he is steerin' in our direction," said the old frontiersman, and, picking up the dead turkeys, they ran for their mustangs and leaped into the saddles. several miles were covered, and they were on the point of giving up the chase when they encountered a settler with his prairie schooner, or big covered wagon, on his way to guadalupe. "ye-as, i seen thet air white critter jest below yere," the settler drawled. "he war goin' 'bout fifteen miles an hour, i reckoned. looked tired. i wanted to go arfter him, but susy, she wouldn't allow it." "no, sam dickson, ye sha'n't go arfter no game or sech," came from the interior of the schooner. "ye'll settle down an' go ter farmin', an' the sooner the better 'twill be fer yer hide, mind me!" and the dark, forbidding face of a woman, some years older than the man, appeared from behind the dirty flaps of the wagon-covering. at once the settler cracked his whip and drove on. poke stover chuckled to himself. "thar's married life fer ye, dan," he remarked. "do ye wonder i'm a single man?" "my mother wasn't of that kind," answered the youth, and then stover abruptly changed the subject, and away they galloped again after the white mustang, little dreaming of the trouble into which that chase was to lead them. chapter xxvii. the mexican army at san antonio. the day was almost spent when, from a slight hill, they came in sight of san antonio, the setting sun gilding the tops of the church steeples, and making the sluggish river appear like a stream of gold. "no white mustang yet," said dan. "i reckon we might as well give up the chase and go right into the city." "not yet!" cried poke stover, pointing with his hand to the northwestward. "thar ye are, dan!" dan looked in the direction, and in a patch of cottonwoods made out a white object, moving slowly along. it was the mustang they were after, so tired out that he could scarcely move from one spot to the next. "we've got him now!" ejaculated the youth, enthusiastically. "and just as i was ready to give up, too! come on!" away he swept, with all the quickness of which his own wearied steed was capable, and poke stover followed him. the white mustang saw them coming, and set off into the timber on a feeble run. the course of the pursued creature was around the northern approach to san antonio and then toward the medina river. many times they thought to give up the chase, but then the white mustang seemed so near and so ready to drop that they kept on until the river bank was gained. here the mustang disappeared into a pine brake; and it may be as well to add, right here, that neither the radburys nor poke stover ever saw him again. "where is he?" asked dan, a few minutes after the animal had disappeared. "do you think he leaped into the water?" "i heard a splash," answered the old frontiersman. "there it goes again." he tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. "there is something over yonder, that---- whoopee, dan, look!" there was no need for poke stover to call the boy's attention to what was on the other side of the medina, for dan was already looking, "with all eyes," as the saying is. he had made out a number of mexican cavalrymen, moving up and down along the west bank, and now he noted two pieces of artillery, which the cannoneers were trying to run out on two rafts moored close at hand. "the mexican army, as sure as you are born!" cried stover, in an excited whisper. "lad, we have made an important discovery. they must be bound for bexar!" "yes, and there are thousands of them," answered dan. his heart was beating so rapidly that he could scarcely speak. "poke, what had we best do?" "find out what their game is, first, and then ride back to bexar as fast as our mustangs can make it. if the garrison isn't warned, there will surely be a great slaughter." there was a stiff norther blowing, making the swollen stream rough and dangerous to cross, and the mexicans were consulting among themselves as to how they should proceed. with bated breath, the boy and the old frontiersman watched every movement, and, at the same time, tried to figure up mentally how many mexicans there were. "at least a thousand," said poke stover, but, as we know, he was mistaken; the force of the enemy numbered nearly seven times that many, although, to be sure, they were not all in that immediate vicinity. "we will cross the river and investigate," said one of the officers, presently, and a large flat-bottomed boat was brought around and a dozen soldiers leaped into it. "we had better get out now," whispered poke stover, and turned his pony to ride away from the river bank. "halt! who goes?" came the cry, in spanish, from one of the mexican guards. "we are discovered," whispered dan. "come on!" he turned away from the river bank and dove straight into the pine brake. then came a shot of warning, but the mexican fired high, not daring to take aim for fear of hitting a friend. the shot caused a commotion, and soon dan and stover felt that they were being followed. they tried to make their mustangs move on a run, but the animals could not be urged farther. "they will catch us, sure," gasped the boy, as the steps of the enemy sounded nearer and nearer. "what shall we do?" "move to the right, and we'll see if we can't throw them off the trail," answered poke stover. to the right there was a slight hollow, filled with mesquite-trees and bushes, and beyond this was a sandy plain covered with cacti. but of the latter both were ignorant. down into the hollow they dove, their horses glad enough of the chance to get a drink at the pool among the bushes. under the mesquite-trees they halted, and stover went back to reconnoitre. the scout was gone for fully quarter of an hour, and came back chuckling softly to himself. "we threw 'em nicely," he said. "we are safe now, providin' we don't make too much noise." "then let us go on, poke. we must carry the news to bexar." "it's funny there are no scouts around," was the old frontiersman's comment. "they ought to be on the watch." but none of the texan soldiers were on guard, the greater portion of them being in attendance at a mexican fandango in the town, never suspecting the attack so close at hand. santa anna heard of this fandango, and would have pushed forward to capture san antonio at once, but could not get his army across the medina river. leaving the pool, dan and the frontiersman ascended to the plain, and presently found themselves among the cacti. this was anything but pleasant, and they had to pick their way with great care in the darkness, and even then their steeds often refused to budge, so prickly were the plants. it was almost morning when they arrived in sight of the _jacals_, or huts, which dotted the outskirts of the city. the pair at once sought out the commander of the garrison, lieutenant-colonel william b. travis, who was still sleeping. travis was a dashing young soldier of twenty-eight, a lawyer by profession, and a native of north carolina. the commander was "red-hot" for independence, and one who never gave up, as we shall soon see. "so you wish to see me," he said to stover, whom he had met before. "it's rather an early visit." "i have to report that a large body of mexicans are approaching the town," answered the old frontiersman, saluting in true military style. "young radbury here and myself were down along the medina, when we spotted them trying to bring a couple of cannon over on a raft." "mexican soldiers?" exclaimed the lieutenant-colonel. "you are certain of this?" "we are." "how many of them do you think?" "at least a thousand." the commander knit his brows in perplexity. "it is odd none of my scouts have brought me word. but a fandango----" he broke off short, as another officer came in. "what is it, chester?" "it is reported that some mexican dragoons are in the vicinity, colonel." "these people here tell me a whole army is coming. where did your report come from?" "the church steeple. the dragoons are in the vicinity of prospect hill," went on the officer, mentioning a hill to the west of san antonio. "i must have the particulars of this without delay," said the commander, hurriedly; and while he questioned stover and dan he sent for several scouts, who were hurried off to verify the reports. when the scouts came back, they reported that santa anna's army was coming straight for san antonio, several thousand strong. the whole city was at once thrown into a commotion, and it was felt that the garrison could do little or nothing toward defending the place. "we are but a hundred and forty odd strong," said lieutenant a. m. dickenson, one of the attachees of the garrison. "we cannot hold the plaza, no matter how hard we try. let us retreat to the alamo, until we can summon reinforcements." the matter was hastily discussed, and it was decided to retreat to the alamo without delay. later on, express riders were sent off for help,--but help never came for those who fought so nobly and bitterly to the very last. the retreat from the town to the mission was necessarily a rapid one, for santa anna was advancing with all possible speed. few stores could be taken along, but as the garrison swept across the plain lying between the city and the mission, they came upon a herd of cattle, numbering thirty-six heads, and drove these before them into the mission's courtyard. "let us go with the soldiers!" cried dan, who was as excited as anybody. "if there is a battle ahead it will be all foolishness to attempt to look for carlos martine." "well, lad, i'm willing," replied stover. "but i don't want to get you into trouble." "i'll risk the trouble, poke; come on," and on they went after the garrison. it was not long before they reached the soldiers, who were just rounding up the cattle mentioned, and in this operation the two assisted. it was felt that the soldiers might be besieged in the alamo for quite some time, so as soon as the cattle were rounded up some of the men visited the near-by houses, and collected all the stores at hand, including a number of bushels of wheat and some dried fruits. in the meantime santa anna's army had marched into san antonio, and taken possession. this done, the general held a consultation with his leading officers, and sent out a flag of truce toward the mission. "flag of truce," announced one of the guards. "very well, we'll see what they demand," said lieutenant-colonel travis, and despatched major morris and captain marten to hold the interview. "general santa anna demands the immediate surrender of the mission," said the official sent out by the mexican president. "we will convey your message to our commander," replied the major of the texans, and withdrew. travis received the message with all the quiet dignity for which he was noted. "i will send him his answer at once," he replied, and ordered a cannon-shot to be fired over the heads of the mexican army. this threw the mexicans into a rage, and they quickly hung a blood-red flag from the tower of the san fernando church in san antonio. this flag meant "no quarter," and, as it went up, several cannon-shots were aimed at the alamo; and thus was the battle begun. chapter xxviii. within the walls of the mission. the alamo church, the principal building of the mission, was built in the form of a cross, of rough stone, with walls several feet thick. at the time of the battle which was to witness its downfall the centre of the structure was roofless, but the ends were well covered. the sides of the church were over twenty feet high, and the windows were exceedingly narrow, for the building had been built to resist attacks by the indians. it faced both the river and san antonio proper. attached to the left wing of the church was a large square called the convent yard, with walls of heavy stone sixteen feet high. spread out in front of this yard, and beyond it, was the convent, two stories high, and nearly two hundred feet long. in front of the convent was a long and broad plaza, covering over two acres, and surrounded by walls at either end and by the convent in the rear, and a house and wall in the front. on the right of the plaza was a small prison and a gateway, and from the corner of the prison there was a stockade of cedar logs extending to the nearest corner of the church. for this extensive fortress, if such we may call it, lieutenant travis had less than twenty cannon, and the construction of the place was such that but few of the pieces could be placed to advantage, and even then hardly any of the soldiers knew how to do any effective firing. next in command to travis was colonel james bowie, already mentioned in these pages, and among the best of the fighters was davy crockett, celebrated as a hunter and trapper, who had come down to texas, with twelve other tennesseans, about three weeks before the arrival of santa anna. crockett carried with him his favourite rifle, "betsy," and as a fighter on this memorable occasion proved a whole host in himself. "we'll whip 'em," said crockett, confidently. "they can't stand up against real americans." "you're right, davy," answered bowie. "an american who isn't equal to a dozen greasers isn't fit to live." and so the talk ran on from one to another of the garrison. once crockett came to dan, and eyed him curiously. "you're rather a young soldier boy," he observed. "yes, sir, but i can shoot." "can you bring down a bird on the wing?" "yes, he can, and he has done it lots of times," put in poke stover. "if that's so, he's all right," said crockett. santa anna did not make an immediate attack on the alamo, for the reason that all of his troops had not yet arrived, and because he wished to give his soldiers a little rest after the long journey northward. he ordered general castrillon to knock down some of the old houses near the river, and construct a bridge with the timbers. "they are going to build a bridge!" was the cry that went through the alamo. "a bridge? where?" asked crockett, and, when told, he smiled, and patted his rifle. "let 'em try it!" the mexicans did try, and soon a detachment of at least a hundred were at work. about forty of the garrison, led by bowie and crockett, opened fire upon the workers, and at least a dozen were killed. "down they go!" was the cry. "give 'em another round!" and again the rifles cracked at a lively rate. with thirty killed outright, and a number badly wounded, the mexicans left the river in a great hurry, and hid in the neighbouring houses. on february th, travis sent out a strong appeal for assistance. "i am besieged by a thousand or more of mexicans, under santa anna," he wrote. "i have sustained a continual bombardment for twenty-four hours, and have not lost a man. the enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion; otherwise the garrison is to be put to the sword if the place is taken. i have answered the summons with a cannon-shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. _i shall never surrender, or retreat!_" could anything be more unflinchingly patriotic than that? this appeal was followed by another, and a despatch was sent to colonel fannin, at goliad, asking him to bring reinforcements without delay. "they are drawing in closer to us," said poke to dan, on the morning of the th, as the two mounted one of the walls for a survey of the situation. far off, a portion of the mexican army could be distinctly seen. "a division of the soldiers is approaching with some cannon," answered the youth. he was right, and presently santa anna attempted to plant a battery three hundred yards south of the gateway to the plaza of the mission. "shall we allow that?" asked the texan commander, while the mexican soldiers were coming up. "no! no!" came back the cry. "down with the mexicans!" and in less than five minutes the garrison was pouring through the gateway and out on the plain beyond. the sharpshooters were in front, and so deadly were their aims that the enemy was speedily forced to retreat, dragging their cannon with them. "hurrah! they are running!" shouted the texans, joyfully. this second repulse made them more determined to resist than ever. but when the following morning came, it was seen that santa anna had taken advantage of the darkness and planted the battery, anyway, and so well was it protected that none of the guns from the alamo could reach it. but the sharpshooters under crockett watched the gunners, and one mexican was shot dead while in the very act of discharging a shot at the plaza gate. "it looks as if we might hold this place for an indefinite period," said dan, on the day following. "that is, if we don't fall short of provisions." "the meat we drove in will last us for some time, lad," answered stover. "and they have found a lot of grain in one of the friar's houses. but about holding the place, that's a question. we are only about a hundred and fifty strong. what if santa anna storms the place some night, with several thousand men? we'll all be put to the bay'net afore sunrise." "do you really think he'll do such a barbarous thing, poke?" "think it? i know it. he's one of the most bloodthirsty mexicans a man ever met. to surrender to him would be foolish. we've got to do as travis says, fight or die." "then i'll fight,--and to the bitter end," answered the boy, earnestly. the enthusiasm of those around him had entered his soul, and he had forgotten the meaning of the word fear. as one day and another passed, santa anna's army increased in size, and he succeeded in planting many other batteries around the alamo. the bombarding was continual, yet but few of the texans suffered from this, being well protected by the heavy stone walls of the mission. on the first of march, when the garrison was much worn by constant guard duty, there was a commotion during the night. at first it was thought that the mexicans had begun an attack, but soon it was discovered that the newcomers were texans. they numbered thirty-two men from gonzales, who had stolen through the mexican lines with scarcely any difficulty. "henry parker!" cried dan, as he recognized his friend in the crowd. "i never dreamed of seeing you here." "i couldn't stay behind, after i read travis's appeal for help," answered henry parker. "i guess a lot more of our men are coming, too." but in this parker was mistaken; none others arrived at the ill-fated place. colonel fannin started from goliad with three hundred men and a few pieces of artillery, but his ammunition wagon broke down, he had no rations but a little rice and dried beef, and at the river his cannon got stuck and could not be gotten across. so the party returned whence it had come. henry parker and the others had come in on monday night, and by tuesday the last of santa anna's troops arrived at san antonio. following this came three days in which but little was done upon either side. "this looks as if the mexicans were going to give up trying to take the place," remarked dan to stover, as both rested in one of the side rooms of the convent on a litter of straw. "don't worry, lad; it may be the calm afore the storm," was the answer. "sumthin' is bound for to happen soon, hear me!" "if it doesn't, i'll be for going home," went on dan. "i believe i can get through the mexican lines just as well as henry parker and those others." "it would be risky, dan, mighty risky." poke stover puffed away thoughtfully at the corncob pipe he was smoking. "we missed it altogether on the white mustang and on carlos martine, didn't we?" "yes. i would like to know if martine is still in san antonio." "like as not--and hobnobbing with some of them mexican officers, too. well, he sha'n't have your pap's land, and that's all there is about it." so the talk ran on, man and boy hardly knowing how to put in their time when not on guard duty. at first the mission had proved of much interest, with its quaint carvings and curious decorations, but now even this was beginning to pall. on saturday santa anna called a counsel of war, and at this it was decided that a general assault should be made upon the alamo at daybreak on sunday. the assaulting troops numbered twenty-five hundred against a pitiful one hundred and eighty-two texans!--and were divided into four columns, the first of which was under the command of general cos, the same mexican who had surrendered to the texans but a short time before. each column of the attacking party was furnished with ropes, scaling-ladders, crowbars, and axes, as well as with their ordinary military weapons. as the soldiers advanced, the cavalry were drawn up in a grand circle around the alamo, so that no texans might escape. in the meantime the blood-red flag of "no quarter" was still flying high from the mexican camp, and now the band struck up the spanish quickstep, "deguelo," or "cut-throat," as an inspiration to the soldiers to have no mercy on the rebels! chapter xxix. the fall of the alamo. "the enemy are upon us!" this cry, ringing clearly throughout the alamo, aroused everybody to action, and hither and thither ran the soldiers to their various points of duty,--some in uniform, and others just as they had leaped up from their couches. "are they really coming?" demanded henry parker, who had been sleeping beside dan, in one of the rooms of the convent. "i reckon they are, henry," was the quick response, and up leaped the youth, and ran, gun in hand, to where poke stover was doing guard duty. "are they coming, poke?" "yes, dan, and plenty of 'em, too. they are divided into several divisions." there was no time to say more, for already one of the divisions, commanded by colonel duque, was attacking the northern wall. here lieutenant-colonel travis commanded in person. the commander was bareheaded, and carried a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. "now, boys, give it to them hot!" he shouted. "don't let them get over the wall. fire to kill! fire to save your own lives!" and then the cannon belched forth, followed by a crack-cracking of the smaller firearms. the aim of the texans was so deadly that the column was repulsed for the moment, and colonel duque was seriously wounded. by this time the divisions to attack the other sides of the mission had come up. as one column tried to raise their scaling-ladders, davy crockett threw his coonskin cap at them in defiance, and laid one of the officers low with a shot from his trusty "betsy." fifty other shots rang out, and the morning air became heavy with the smoke of rifles and cannon. "we must beat 'em back!" cried stover, who was close to crockett, and as the old hunter blazed away so did the frontiersman and dan, and the youth had the satisfaction of seeing the mexican he had aimed at go down, rope and gun in hand, shot through the ankle. the fighting was now incessant on all sides, but gradually the mexicans concentrated on the northern wall. they were yelling like so many demons, and their officers urged them forward by threats and sword blows, until the first rank was fairly wedged against the stone wall of the mission. a cannon belched forth, doing fearful havoc, but those in front could not retreat because of those pushing behind them, and in a twinkle one mexican soldier was piled above another, until the top of the wall was gained, and, as one authority states, they came "tumbling over it like sheep," falling, in some cases, directly on the bodies of the texans below. "the convent yard is taken!" was the cry. "to the convent! to the hospital!" and as quickly as it could be done the texans left the yard. in the crowd were dan, stover, and henry parker. as the latter turned, a mexican under-officer aimed his pistol at the young man. "down, henry!" yelled dan, but, before parker could drop, the pistol was discharged and henry parker fell like a lump of lead, shot through the brain. the sudden death of his friend made dan spellbound, and he gazed at the corpse in horror. then he felt his arm seized by poke stover, and in a minute more found himself being hurried toward the church. "we can't do anything more," exclaimed the old frontiersman. "they number ten to one, and more. we are doomed, unless we can manage to escape!" "poor henry!" murmured dan, when he could speak. "what will his mother----" "yes, yes, lad, i know; but we can't talk about it now. come on." "to where?" "anywhere, away from that howling, raging mob of greasers. they'll show us no quarter." "travis is dead!" said somebody who was passing them. "they fairly hacked him to pieces!" as stover and dan ran into the church building, there was a loud report in the courtyard. the mexicans had captured one of the cannon, and turned it upon the long ward of the hospital building, and the grape-shot laid fifteen texans low. the texans were now fighting from room to room of the convent, and the whole place looked like a slaughter-pen. "to the church!" came the cry. "to the church! let the last stand be in the church!" the cry was taken up on all sides, and every texan who could do so ran for the church with all possible speed. in the meantime, the stockade had been carried, and fresh mexican soldiers were pouring over this in droves. at the entrance to the church stood davy crockett, clubbed rifle in hand, and with the blood pouring from a wound in the head. "rally around me, boys!" he shouted. "don't give up! we are bound to whip 'em yet!" and as the first of the mexicans came on, he laid two of them low with one mighty blow of his favourite "betsy," that cracked the rifle in half. and, as the rifle fell, so did lion-hearted davy crockett, to rise no more. with the fall of crockett, the other texans, especially those who had emigrated from tennessee, fought like demons, and soon the whole church was so thick with smoke that scarcely one man could be told from another. in a side apartment lay bowie, suffering from a fall from a platform, where he had been directing operations. as the mexicans swarmed into the room, bowie raised himself up and fired his pistols. seeing this, the mexicans retreated, and fired on him from behind the door, killing him almost instantly. it had been decided that, should the worst come to the worst, the texans must fire the powder-magazine located in one part of the church. it was now seen that further resistance would be useless. "the magazine!" came from half a dozen. "blow the mexicans up!" "i will!" shouted back major t. c. evans, commander of the artillery, and started forward with a firebrand for the purpose. the mexicans, however, saw the movement, and before evans could go a dozen paces, a score of guns were aimed at him, and he went down fairly riddled with bullets. "i'm shot!" cried poke stover, in the midst of the din and confusion, and clapped his hand to his left shoulder. he had been leading dan to a rear apartment of the church, between overturned benches and sacks of wheat and rice. "shot?" gasped the boy. "where? oh, i hope it isn't serious!" "it's in the shoulder," and the old frontiersman gave a suppressed groan. "can i do anything for you?" "no! no! not now, dan. come, before it is too late." "where to?" "let us see if we can't hide from these bloodthirsty greasers. it is worse than useless to stand up ag'in 'em longer!" again stover caught hold of dan, and the two pushed on through the smoke and dust. rifleshots still cracked out, and yells, screams, and curses filled the air. the alamo had fallen and now the mexicans were bent upon butchering every texan who still remained alive. out of the whole gallant garrison not one man was spared! presently dan and his companion entered a small room but a short distance away from the powder-magazine. here all was pitch-dark, as the room contained no window. there were boxes and barrels stored here, but for what purpose neither knew. behind several of the boxes was a niche about three feet square, and almost as deep. "it's not much of a hidin'-place," said stover, "but i reckon as how it's better nor nothin'. anyway, we can't do no more than try it. if they root us out, we'll die game." they squeezed themselves into the opening, stover with many a supressed groan over his wounded shoulder, which pained him not a little. dan had been struck in the side with a flying bit of masonry, and had an ugly scratch under his arm in consequence, but just now he counted this as little or nothing. the one thing was to escape with their lives. to fight further would indeed have been sheer foolishness. the din was gradually subsiding, and only the occasional yell of a texan being massacred in cold blood reached their ears. dan could not keep himself from shuddering. what a terrible sunday morning! he thought of the ranch home, and of his father and ralph. would he ever see those loved ones again? "hush!" the warning came from stover, and he placed his hand over ralph's mouth. footsteps were approaching the little room. "hunt the rats out!" came in a rough spanish voice. "hunt them out! don't let one of them escape your bayonets!" and then several mexican soldiers entered the room and began to rummage among the boxes and barrels. chapter xxx. escaping to the river. when the soldiers entered the little room, dan felt inclined to give himself and his companion up as lost. he felt that the enemy would surely look into the niche, for the officer meant that not a hole or corner should be missed. when first coming in he had loaded a pistol he carried,--his gun had been lost in the fight in the courtyard,--and he had done the same for the old frontiersman. boy and man held the pistols ready for use. they did not mean to give up without a final struggle at close quarters. but just as one of the soldiers took hold of a big packing-case that hid the pair from view, there was a commotion in the church proper, followed by the discharge of several rifles. three texans had made a last stand, and were fighting back to back. "come, let us see what that means," cried the mexican officer, and ran from the little room, followed by his companions. dan felt relieved for the moment, yet he knew only too well that those mexicans, or others, would soon be coming to give the place a thorough overhauling. "they will kill us----" he began, when, on turning, his foot struck an iron ring in the flooring of the niche. he felt of the ring and soon became convinced that it was attached to a trap-door of some kind. "if it's a trap-door it must lead to a cellar!" said stover, hurriedly. "i hope to heaven it does. try it, lad, an' be quick!" both crawled from the narrow opening, and dan pulled upon the ring with all of his strength. up came a trap-door about two feet square. beneath this was a space of inky darkness. "don't mind the dark," went on the old frontiersman. "let me go fust, and be sure an' shet the trap after ye!" [illustration: "he began to lower himself into the hole."] he began to lower himself into the hole, and his feet struck a flight of stone steps. down this he sped and soon reached a narrow passageway lined with rough stone, from which the moisture oozed into pools at his feet. "i'll try to put them off the scent," said dan, and drew up one of the boxes in such a fashion that, when the trap fell into place, the box came down on top of it. then he hastened to join stover. "i don't believe any of our soldiers knew of this secret passage," said stover. "i wonder where it runs to?" "perhaps it doesn't run to anywhere," replied dan. "go slow, or you may dash your brains out on the rough wall." they moved along cautiously. the passageway was not over six feet in height and from three to four feet wide. it was uneven, but soon they found themselves going downward and away from the church and convent, as they learned by the muffled noises overhead. "this is some secret passage put in by the friars, years ago," was stover's comment, after several hundred feet had been passed. "like as not they built it to escape in case the injuns attacked 'em." "well, if they did, it must lead to some place of safety," answered dan. "i sincerely hope it does." stover was still suffering great pain, and he had lost so much blood that he could scarcely walk. "i must rest and try to bind up that wound," he panted, and sank in a dead faint at dan's feet. dan could do nothing in the darkness, and now he resolved to risk a light, and lit the stump of a candle which he usually carried with him when on a hunting expedition. by these feeble rays he bound up the wound as well as he was able and also attended to his own hurt. then, as stover gave a long sigh and opened his eyes, he blew out the light. "don't make a light ag'in," were the frontiersman's first words. "it may cost us our lives. we will keep still and lay low," and then he became partly unconscious again. the hours which followed were like some horrible nightmare to dan, whose nerves had been wrought up to the top notch of excitement by the scenes in the courtyard and the church. from a distance he heard calls and groans and an occasional shot. the alamo had fallen and now santa anna was himself upon the scene, to make certain that not one of the texans should escape. "i told them what to expect," he is reported to have said, and then, when five men were brought before him, and his own officer, general castrillon, interceded for the texans, he gave castrillon a lecture for his soft-heartedness, and the prisoners were speedily put to the bayonet. such was santa anna, now high in power, but who was destined in time to be shorn of all rank and to die in bitter obscurity. his last act of atrocity at the alamo was to have the bodies of his victims piled up with layers of brushwood and burned. the hours passed, how slowly or swiftly neither dan nor poke stover knew. no one came to disturb them, and at length the boy sank into a doze due to his exhausted condition. when he awoke he found the frontiersman also aroused. "i hope the sleep did ye good, dan," he said. "was i asleep? i did not know it. how long have we been here?" "i can't say." "have you heard anything more of the mexicans?" "only a faint sound or two, comin' from behind. i reckon we had best push on and see whar this passage leads to." they arose, to find their legs stiff from the dampness of the passageway. at least three hundred yards were passed, and still there seemed to be no end. "one satisfaction, we are gittin' farther away from the church," observed stover. "i can't hear nuthin' now." "nor i, poke. but did you notice how wet the passageway is getting?" "i did, lad. we must be nigh to a spring or else the river." they went on again, but not for long. a hundred feet further and they walked into water up to their ankles. "we are blocked," groaned dan. "what if we can't get out this way?" "i reckon ye had best strike another light." this was no easy matter with their clothing and everything else so damp. but finally the light was struck, and they pushed on into the passageway until the water was up to their waists. "we can't go much farther," said dan soberly. "do you think this leads to the river?" "i do; but i can't say how far off the stream is. let us go a little farther." a couple of rods were covered, and they sank down until the water was up to dan's neck. "if i go any further i'll have to swim," he observed, and just then the candle slipped from his hand and fell into the water, leaving them in total darkness. as there seemed nothing else to do, they moved back to the nearest dry spot and sank down to rest and to consider the matter. "we can stay here for several days, if we wish," said stover. "we have got enough to drink." "yes, but i've had nothing to eat since last night." "neither have i. but i'd rather go hungry nor fall into them greasers' hands." "if the river is ahead we ought to see some light, poke." "that's true,--if it's daylight outside. but it may be night." "well, we can watch." and they did, first one going down into the water, and then the other. it was indeed night, and it yet lacked several hours to daylight. at last dan came back with a smile on his face. "i swam a short distance down the passageway," he exclaimed, "and i saw a faint light. i am sure it leads to the river." "then let us try our luck." "can you swim with that wounded shoulder?" "i can swim with one hand, lad, although i allow it will be slower work than with two hands." "then come on. if we can get away, the sooner the better," returned the boy, and led the way into the water once more. they walked as far as they could and then began to swim. stover insisted on taking the lead. "i'm used to scoutin'," he said. "we don't want to run in no hornet's nest." the water now reached almost to the top of the passageway, and they had to move with caution for fear of striking their heads. the light grew clearer and clearer as they advanced, until stover announced that he could see the river bank ahead, with some roots of trees and bushes hanging down in the passageway. "keep back, and i'll take a look out," he whispered, and drew slowly to the end of the opening. he was gone several minutes, during which time dan supported himself by clinging to a jagged rock sticking out from overhead. "come on back; we can't escape jest yet," whispered poke stover, on his return. "come," and he led the way up the passageway again. "but why can't we escape?" asked dan, impatiently. "because there is a whole company of mexican soldiers encamped at the very spot where this passageway leads into the stream," was the answer that filled the youth with dismay. chapter xxxi. something about general sam houston. the alamo had fallen, and now it was necessary to figure up results. as said before, all of the texans, about one hundred and eighty in number, had been slaughtered, while the loss to the mexicans was variously estimated at from three to five hundred. the sights about the mission were truly horrible, and never forgotten by those who witnessed them. it must be said, in all frankness, that the defence of the alamo was a mistake, for those gallant men must have known that they could not hold out against the overwhelming forces of santa anna. and they did not remain there because all escape was cut off, for they could have gotten away just as easily as the reinforcements from gonzales got in. it was not until the final days of the siege that the mexicans drew around them closely. why, then, did they remain? the answer is one that every american boy and man ought to remember with pride. they remained because of the _principle_ involved. they had staked their lives for liberty or death, and they waged the contest to the bitter end. the slaughter of the alamo garrison thrilled the hearts of the texans as they had never been thrilled before. those who had been doubtful before were now doubtful no longer. "we must be independent," they said, "absolutely independent. we must raise a regular army. we must not be divided into factions, but must fight as one man, and under one leader." and then they prepared to strike one grand blow from which santa anna should never be able to recover. but of none of these things did dan or poke stover think as they rested in the dark passageway just beyond the reach of the water from the river. both were cold and hungry and almost exhausted, yet there was nothing at hand to eat, and rest seemed out of the question. "we must try to escape, as soon as it grows dark," said the old frontiersman, and all through that long, weary day they waited and watched for the light to disappear up the passageway. at last it was gone, and they swam again to the river, making as little noise as possible. at the opening were a number of bushes, and, as they emerged among these, they heard the footsteps of a mexican sentinel not a dozen feet off. at a distance was the camp, with several fires burning brightly. suddenly stover caught dan by the arm, and pointed to a tree overhanging the stream. under the tree was a long canoe with the paddle lying at the bottom. "we'll set the canoe adrift, and float down the stream with it," whispered stover, so softly that dan could scarcely hear him. "it's our one chance." they waited until the sentinel had turned to walk to the other end of his station, then slipped down and swam over to the canoe. it was drawn partly up over some marsh-grass, and they easily dislodged it. then they turned it down the stream and kept along with it as it floated, their heads up, on the side opposite to the mexican camp. they expected that the mexican sentinel would discover the floating canoe, but such was not the fact until they were twenty yards from the mouth of the passageway. then the mexican turned and stared stupidly. "the canoe has drifted off," he murmured to himself, in spanish. "well, it is not mine, so why should i care? let the owner take care of his property." and he resumed his walk. as soon as they were out of the range of the light from the camp-fires, poke stover crawled into the canoe and took up the paddle. "stay where you are, dan," he said. "they needn't have but one of us to shoot at," and while dan clung fast to the rear of the craft, stover paddled with all the vigour at his command, which was considerable, considering his condition. in ten minutes they were out of rifle-range, and safe, and then the frontiersman sent the craft ashore, and he and dan climbed to the river bank. "thank god, we are out of that!" exclaimed stover, fervidly, and dan uttered a hearty amen. "i think the fust thing we want to do is to git sumthin' to eat," remarked stover, after they had rested for a bit. "i'm that hungry i could eat most anything." "i don't know this location at all, poke. where are we?" "not many miles from the gonzales road, lad. about a mile back is nat woodver's cabin. i reckon as how we'll git a warm welcome there, if nat is able to give it to us." they set out in the darkness, and reached the cabin half an hour later. they found that the settler was away, to join the army; but his wife and daughters were home, and they speedily did all they could for our friends, giving them a hot supper, and dressing the wounds as skilfully as trained nurses. they had heard of the fall of the alamo, but had not imagined that all of the garrison were slaughtered. his awful experience had driven carlos martine entirely out of dan's head, and all the youth thought of now was to rejoin his father and his brother. "they will worry about us, poke," he said. "more than likely they will think us dead, for they must know that all of the texans in and about san antonio went to the alamo when santa anna appeared." "you are right, lad; we'll steer for the ranch the first thing in the morning," answered stover, and this they did, riding two ponies that mrs. woodver loaned them. when the pair reached gonzales they found the town wild with excitement. the news of the disaster of the alamo had just come in, and by the deaths of the thirty-two men from gonzales who had entered the mission shortly before it fell, twenty women were left widows and twice as many children fatherless. one woman went crazy, and rushed about the streets crying for the mexicans to come and kill her, too. it is needless to add that the parkers were deeply affected over the loss of henry. as dan and stover were about to start for the trail leading up the guadalupe, they met amos radbury riding post-haste into gonzales. "my son!" cried the father, joyfully. "and poke, too! i was afraid you were dead!" "we came close enough to it, father," answered dan. and then he and the frontiersman told their stories in detail. "i would have gone with the men from gonzales," said lieutenant radbury, "but i hated to leave ralph home with nobody but pompey. these are certainly terrible times. i wonder what santa anna will do next?" "perhaps he'll march on gonzales," said the youth. "it looks as if he meant to wipe out everybody in texas." "the whole state is aroused now. it must and will be a fight to the finish. if the texans are whipped, every ranch will go up in flames, and every man will be butchered." the party returned to gonzales, for amos radbury did not want to return to the ranch, now he knew that dan was safe. while the siege of the alamo was in progress, the general convention of texas, which had been called, met at washington, and a declaration of independence was adopted, and general sam houston was unanimously reëlected commander-in-chief, with absolute authority over all army forces, regular and volunteer. heretofore, houston had been little more than commander in name; now it was felt upon all sides that he must be given the absolute authority that the situation demanded. all other appointments which had been made in a haphazard, irregular way were abolished. for the work that was ahead no better selection of a leader than that of general sam houston could have been made. houston was born in virginia, in , and at the age of nineteen he enlisted for the war of , becoming an ensign, and fought with such courage that he and general jackson became warm friends. at thirty years of age he became a member of congress, and five years later he was made governor of tennessee, and was one of the most popular men in the west. he was up for reëlection, when some unfortunate domestic difficulties overtook him, and he resigned his position and plunged into the wilderness, taking up his abode, later on, with some friendly indians with whom he had hunted years before. these indians elected him one of their great chiefs, and in return for this, houston went to washington for them and exposed a number of indian agents who had been defrauding the red men out of the allowances made to them by the government. for this these indians swore undying friendship, and they called houston their best-beloved brother to the day of his death. because of his life among the red men houston frequently attired himself in an indian blanket and stuck in his hair the feathers of a chief, a custom that was often followed by other mighty hunters of this portion of our country. besides being governor of tennessee, houston had been a lawyer of well-known reputation, and as such had closely studied legal affairs relating to the united states, texas, and mexico. he saw, long before war was declared, that texas must one day strike for freedom, and he resolved, after leaving the indians, to throw in his fortunes with the texans, or texians, as some have called them. as soon as he arrived he took hold, in his own peculiar way, of certain public affairs, and at a meeting at nacogdoches he was elected commander of the forces of eastern texas. this was directly after the opening of hostilities at gonzales. had houston been allowed to act as he wished from the start, it is possible that the slaughter at the alamo might have been avoided, but, as mentioned before, matters, politically, were very much mixed, and there were frequent clashes of authority. some secondary leaders took the liberty to do about as they saw fit, and at one time it looked as if houston's command would fall to pieces. in the midst of this came trouble with the indians, but this was patched up by the man who had lived so long among them and who understood them thoroughly. as the convention which had reëlected houston commander-in-chief of the army was in session, the president was handed a letter from lieutenant-colonel travis, making a last appeal for help. as the letter was read there was wild excitement, and then it was moved that the meeting adjourn and the members march in a body to the relief of the alamo. but houston would not have this. "your place is here, gentlemen," he said. "here, to pass laws and make our state an assured fact. i will take the field and organise a relief force, and i give you my word that no enemy shall come near you." the convention settled down, and inside of an hour houston, accompanied by several of his staff, was riding like the wind for gonzales. chapter xxxii. in which the texan army falls back. as the excitement in gonzales continued, and there was no telling what would happen next, amos radbury resolved to remain in the town for at least several days. "if i am needed i shall reënter the army," he said. "then i shall go with you," said dan. "but your side, my son----" "my side is all right again. it was a mere scratch." "i wish i could call my wound a scratch," put in poke stover. "but instead of getting better my shoulder seems to get wuss, hang the luck." "i think it would be a good plan for you to go up to the ranch, and take it easy," said amos radbury. "pompey can wait on you, and at the same time you can keep an eye on ralph and the place. i do not like to leave my boy and the negro all alone." "then i'll go up to once," answered the frontiersman. "i'm no good at fighting in the saddle, but perhaps i can mind things about the ranch, as you say." and he departed up the guadalupe before night. his going was a great relief to the planter, for he was afraid ralph might get into trouble if left to his own devices. and in this he was not far wrong, for when stover reached the ranch he found that the youngest radbury had just heard of the fall of the alamo, and was going to ride off in the direction of san antonio, thinking to find his father and brother there. in the meantime, general houston, having heard of the fall of the alamo, at once sent word to colonel fannin to blow up the powder-magazine at goliad, and abandon the place. "you must hurry all you can," added the commander-in-chief, "for the enemy is reported to be advancing upon you." fannin was to intrench at victoria, on the guadalupe, and await further orders. colonel fannin was in command of between four hundred and five hundred men, the majority of whom were volunteers from the united states, including the new orleans grays, the georgias, the alabama red rovers, and the kentucky mustangs. on receiving houston's order he sent out one of his captains to bring in the settlers and their families at refugio. before the settlers could be assisted, the texans were attacked by an advance guard of mexican cavalry, and then fannin sent out another body of men to help the first. there were several fierce skirmishes, and the texans tried to get away, but in the end they were either shot down or taken prisoners. having tried in vain to give succour to those sent to refugio, colonel fannin started, several days later, for victoria, after dismantling his fort and burying his cannon. not a mexican was in sight as the troop, numbering about three hundred, crossed the san antonio river and marched across the prairie, and coming to a fine bit of grazing ground the colonel halted to give his horses a chance to feed and to rest. "we ought not to halt here,--we ought to push on to the timber," said one under-officer, and several others agreed with him, but the halt was made, and time lost that proved fatal to the entire expedition. the soldiers had just resumed their march when some mexican cavalry were seen at a distance, in front. hardly had they spread out before the texans when a large force of mexican infantry appeared to the rear. this was at two o'clock in the afternoon, and a little later the texans were entirely surrounded, and the mexicans began a furious attack. the texans formed into something of a square, with the wagons in the centre, and the artillery at the corners, and so withering was their fire that the mexicans were repulsed again and again, and retreated, leaving the prairie crimson with the blood of the dead and wounded. with the mexicans were a number of indians, but they quickly retreated when their leaders were shot down by the texan sharpshooters. as night came on, colonel fannin called his men together, and asked them if they wished to remain and fight it out, or try to escape to the timber. "you can escape if you wish," he said, "for the mexicans are demoralised by the large numbers that they have lost." "we can't leave the wounded to be butchered," was the reply. "we will stand by them to the end," and so they remained. in the morning it was seen that the enemy had been reinforced, and once again the battle was renewed, the mexicans opening with their howitzers loaded with grape and canister, and doing fearful damage. at last the texans could stand it no longer, and sent out a flag of truce, although against colonel fannin's desire. the flag was received, and it was arranged that the texans should surrender as prisoners of war, to be treated according to the usages of civilised nations. their arms were then taken from them, and they were marched back to goliad, and placed in an old church in that town. the wounded were also brought in, but only a few received medical aid. it had been stipulated that the prisoners' lives be spared, yet when the capture of the goliad garrison was reported to general santa anna he instantly sent word that all of the prisoners should be taken out and shot! the command was an infamous one, yet it was obeyed almost to the letter, only a handful of the texans escaping out of about three hundred. small wonder was it that santa anna was often termed the mexican butcher. houston's arrival at gonzales did something toward allaying the excitement, and in a short time he gathered together some three hundred men. but as report after report came in of the advance of santa anna with a large force, he felt that it would be useless to give battle, and began to fall back toward the colorado river, hoping there to be joined by fannin and others. he took with him most of the inhabitants of gonzales, and the town was left behind in flames. with the army went amos radbury and dan, both well mounted and well armed. the first stop was at peach creek, fifteen miles distant; and here, on the day following, over a hundred additional volunteers joined houston's command. from peach creek the little army moved to nevada creek, and here houston delayed his march in order that some of his men might bring in a blind widow, who had been left at her home some distance back with her six children. when the colorado was gained, the army went into camp at burnham's crossing, and then across the river at beason's crossing. here the general received news of the surrender of fannin's force, brought by a settler from goliad. this was a great blow to houston, and he felt that he must fall back still farther, and wait for reinforcements from other sources before risking a battle with the powerful mexican general who was bent upon crushing him. he began to fall back to the brazos river. the retreat toward the brazos caused much murmuring. "houston is a coward,--he won't fight the greasers," said some, but others who understood their commander more thoroughly said nothing and did as ordered. once an under-officer tried to start an open rebellion, but houston threatened to "lick him out of his boots," if he didn't mind his own business. then he made a little speech, and told the men that he would soon give them all the fighting they wanted, and "on the top side," as he expressed it. many of the volunteers were of lawless character, and it needed just such a man as the dashing and daring, yet cautious, houston to keep them in check and make them do their best when the proper moment arrived. "what do you make of this, father?" asked dan of his parent, when the retreat toward the brazos was ordered. "i don't know what to make of it," answered amos radbury. "i suppose general houston knows what he is doing." "but see how the settlers are leaving their homes. there is a regular panic among them." "that is true, dan. i wish i knew how ralph and stover are faring at home." "can we get back to them?" "hardly now, for we would most likely have to pass right through santa anna's lines. i do not believe it will be long before we have a big fight." "do you believe it is true that colonel fannin has been defeated?" "it may be so, for, judging by what took place at the alamo, santa anna must have a large army concentrating here." it was raining at the time; indeed, it rained now nearly every day, and the march was anything but a pleasant one. often the wagons and cannon got stuck, and the men had to put their shoulders to the wheels to help things along. volunteers came and went, and so did the settlers, and sometimes the commander could not calculate how many men he had to rely upon in case of emergency. yet on struggled the body until, on march th, the army reached san felipe. from here they went up the brazos and encamped near groce's ferry. in the meantime, santa anna's army was pressing forward, but in several different ways. the mexican general had thought that the slaughter at the alamo and the massacre at goliad would make the texans submit without further difficulty. he had yet to learn that it was indeed liberty or death with these stern people, who were so soon to risk their all in one final contest. one portion of the mexican army, having gained the colorado, crossed in rafts, while another portion moved upon san felipe; and then a portion of the concentrated forces went to fort bend. from here santa anna pushed on, through the rain and mud, to harrisburg, hoping to surprise the town; but, when he arrived, the place was practically abandoned. he wished most of all to capture the heads of the government the texans had set up, and, learning they were off for galveston island, he set out on the march for new washington, which is located just north of galveston bay. houston, hearing that santa anna had at last crossed the brazos, began to march south to meet him. the texans encamped at buffalo bayou, opposite to what was left of the smoking ruins of harrisburg. every soldier was now more than eager to fight. "very well; fight you shall," said general houston. "we will! we will!" shouted the soldiers. then houston continued: "some of us may be killed, and some must be killed. but, boys, remember the alamo!" "yes, we will remember the alamo!" came back in a deep chorus. "down with every mexican in the state of texas!" buffalo bayou was crossed with great difficulty, on rafts and by swimming, and the soaked and weary army took its way to lynch's ferry, where the buffalo bayou and the san jacinto river join. here were found some rafts belonging to the mexicans, piled high with army stores, and these were confiscated. falling back to a shelter of live-oaks, general houston planted his cannon, and then prepared to fight the enemy on sight. chapter xxxiii. the victory of san jacinto. "i reckon we are in for it now, father." "yes, dan, we shall soon see some heavy fighting, i am afraid. i trust you come out of it unharmed." "and i hope you come out unharmed, too, father," added dan, earnestly. the two sat under a live-oak, overlooking a wide expanse of prairie, dotted here and there with patches of timber. behind them flowed the broad and muddy stream, with a stretch of treacherous marsh-land separating them from the water. the soldiers had been formed into something resembling companies, and mr. radbury had been assigned to his old position of lieutenant, with dan as one of the privates under him. the texans had gathered around in little knots to discuss the situation in low tones. under one of the trees stood general houston, clad in nothing more striking than an old slouch hat, a shiny black coat, and a light-coloured pair of trousers which had long since seen their best days. his sword, also an old affair, was tied to his belt with bits of a lariat. altogether he looked anything but a general bent upon leading a raw and undisciplined army to victory. "we will win!" he was saying. "we cannot afford to lose. the whole fate of texas hangs upon our courage!" amos radbury looked at dan, and something of a smile crossed his face. "did you hear that, lad?" he asked. "i believe our general speaks the truth. he is not a man to fail." the day wore along until two in the afternoon, when several cannon-shots were heard in the distance, and incoming scouts announced that santa anna was coming, but not with his entire army. the mexican general had divided his forces again, much to his disadvantage, as we shall see. a light skirmish occurred late in the afternoon, but houston could not draw on a general engagement, and while santa anna pitched his camp and fortified it, the texans remained on strict guard all night, fearing a surprise. in the morning general cos arrived with five hundred men, to reinforce santa anna, but the soldiers were so tired out by a forced march they could scarcely stand, and so for the time being the mexican general did nothing. in the meantime, the texans called a council of war. some were for attacking the mexicans, and others wanted to wait to be attacked. houston said but little, yet by his face he showed that some plan of action was forming in his brain. the council over, the commander called two trusty scouts to him, and sent them off with axes on a secret mission, which was to cut away the bridge by which both armies had reached their present encampments. this done, neither could retreat, so the fight would have to be "to a finish." "to arms!" came the call in the middle of the afternoon, and the solitary drum the texans possessed began to roll. then, as the men formed to march, the single fifer struck up the popular tune of the day, "will you come to the bower?" "dan, be careful of yourself!" cried amos radbury, as he pressed his son's hand. "be careful for my sake!" and then he rushed off to lead his men forward. dan's face was pale, but his clear eyes shone with a determination that could not be mistaken. he would do his duty, come what might. "vance's bridge has been cut down!" came the cry. "you must fight now to a finish! remember the alamo!" "remember the alamo!" came back wildly. "_remember the alamo!_ down with santa anna!" and then the long lines rushed on, straight for the barricades which the mexicans had erected. the mexicans were taken completely by surprise, for it had grown so late that they had come to the conclusion that hostilities would be put off until the next day. santa anna was taking a nap in his tent, while his officers lay around smoking and playing cards. the soldiers were partaking of such food as their scanty means afforded. "forward!" came from the texan officers. "forward! don't give them time to form!" and on swept the line, and crack! crack! went the rifles and pistols. some of the mexicans tried to return the fire, while others fell flat to avoid the bullets. "the cannon!" shouted the mexican general, castrillon, when a bullet killed him instantly. some of the cannoneers were already at the field-pieces, but they could do little, for the texans were already upon them. the smoke was thick, and the yelling upon both sides incessant. in the midst of all was general houston, firing his pistol and using his sword to every possible advantage, and calling to his men to remember the alamo and not let one mexican get away. side by side amos radbury and dan gained the barricade. a mexican loomed up before them and the lieutenant despatched him with a pistol-shot. then over the barricade went father and son, dan using his empty gun as a club, and the lieutenant drawing his bowie-knife, a weapon with which nearly every texan was provided. the texans came over at leaps and bounds, and charged straight into the heart of the enemy's camp, striking down every mexican that opposed them. coming out of his tent, santa anna yelled to his men to arm themselves and form into battle-line. but the confusion was so great that none of his followers paid attention to him. the texans were aroused as never before, and struck at the mexicans with such lightning-like rapidity that the enemy was dazed, and scores of them fell upon their knees begging for mercy. the shooting still continued, and now dan was horrified to see his father go down, stabbed in the leg by a mexican bayonet. "father!" he yelled, hoarsely, and then turned to the mexican who had done the deed. the fellow tried to pierce dan with his steel, but more by instinct than reason the youth leaped to one side. then dan's gun came crashing down, and the mexican with it, his skull cracked by the force of the blow. a crowd was now rushing that way, a score of mexicans pursued by fully as many texans, and dan had his hands full to keep his parent from being trampled upon. there was a strange humming in the boy's ears, and he seemed to be lifted up as though walking on air, while he panted for breath. "keep off,--he is my father!" he screamed, and hurled one of the mexicans to one side. then another came to take his place, and man and boy rolled over on the prairie--grass close to the wounded lieutenant. the mexican had dan by the throat when a texan, rushing forward, kicked the enemy in the head, rendering him partly unconscious. leaping up, dan tried to collect his confused senses. texans and mexicans were running in every direction, but at a glance he saw that his own side had the best of the battle, and a prayer of thankfulness burst from his lips. then he saw general houston go down, struck in the ankle by a bullet. yet the staunch commander kept to his post. his horse was also shot several times. at last the mexicans were in full retreat. paralysed with fear, some of them sought the open prairie, where they were shot down by the texan sharpshooters, while others ran frantically for where the vance bridge had been located. here the banks of the river were high and rocky, and but few escaped to the opposite side. the battle had been fought and won, but the end was not yet. on the prairie, one of the mexican commanders tried to make a stand, but the texans shot down the line almost as quickly as it was formed. then the mexicans began to throw down their firearms, and the officers held up their swords, handles to the front, as a token of surrender. "it's too late to surrender!" cried a number of texans. "remember the alamo!" meaning, "remember how you butchered our soldiers!" "me no alamo! me no alamo!" shrieked many of the mexicans. "good americano! me no alamo!" they wished the texans to understand that they were not responsible for the cold-blooded slaughter at the mission. at last colonel almonte gathered together nearly four hundred of the defeated and made a formal surrender, and to the everlasting honour of texas be it said that these prisoners were not maltreated. the night that followed was one never to be forgotten. santa anna had escaped, and while some ran around crying, "santa anna! hunt down santa anna!" others procured from the mexicans' store a number of candles, which they lit, and then formed a grand procession through the live-oak grove and across the prairie, dancing and yelling like a lot of indians. the victory had been so long delayed that now, when it was really theirs, they were intoxicated with joy. the contest had been a remarkable one in many ways. the texan army numbered exactly , of whom eight were killed and thirty wounded. santa anna's force numbered over sixteen hundred, and of these, were killed, two hundred wounded, and made prisoners. the enemy had lost, in killed and wounded, more men than the texan army contained, and at the end of the battle the texans had more prisoners than they had men in the ranks! besides prisoners, the texans took over a thousand firearms, two hundred sabres, four hundred horses and mules, and about $ , in silver. part of the money was divided among the soldiers, each man receiving $ . , and that was his entire pay for the campaign. the texans were bound to find santa anna, and scouts went out in all directions in search of him. on the following day he was discovered in the long grass near the edge of a ravine, on the other side of the river. he tried to hide in the grass, but was compelled to crawl out and surrender. at first he claimed to be a private, but his jewels betrayed him, and then he said he was one of santa anna's aides-de-camp. but no one believed him, and he was taken into the texan camp without delay. here there was a most dramatic scene between general houston and his noted prisoner. houston, exhausted and covered with the dirt of battle, lay at the foot of a tree, where he had just taken a nap after having his ankle dressed. "i am general antonio lopez de santa anna, president of the mexican republic," said that individual, as he bowed low and flashed his jewels and military decorations before houston. "i claim to be a prisoner of war at your disposal." general houston regarded him in utter silence for several seconds, a silence in which each man measured the other thoroughly. plainly santa anna was disconcerted, and he looked around nervously, as if expecting that at any moment he might be shot in the back. then houston waved him to a seat on a near-by box of ammunition. an interpreter was called up, and santa anna asked for a piece of opium, saying he was suffering much pain. the opium was given him and this quieted his nerves. "that man may consider himself born to no common destiny who has conquered the napoleon of the west," went on the mexican general, bombastically. "it now remains for him to be generous to the vanquished." again houston looked at him, a look that made santa anna quail. "you should have remembered that at the alamo," said the texan commander. "i am not to blame--i acted under the orders of the government of mexico," cried santa anna, hastily, and tried to explain that there was a law which held that prisoners taken with arms must be treated as pirates. but houston cut the interpreter short when translating the words. "who is the government of mexico?" he exclaimed. "you, and you alone, and you are responsible for the law that made the slaughter at the alamo possible. and you are likewise responsible for the massacre at goliad!" went on houston, with great intensity of feeling. "no, no, you are mistaken," answered santa anna, and then tried to excuse the massacre of fannin and his men in various ways. he wanted to treat for peace and for his release, but houston told him that only the government of texas had jurisdiction in the matter. then santa anna was placed in a tent, given his private baggage, and a strong guard was set, that some of the more headstrong of the texans might not kill him. chapter xxxiv. back to the ranch--conclusion. immediately after the battle, dan sought out medical aid and had his father attended to. mr. radbury was still unconscious, and for several days it was not known whether he would live or die. during all that time, his son remained at his side, hoping and praying for the best. at last the planter was pronounced out of danger, but the wound had been a deep one and it was doubtful if mr. radbury would ever be as strong again as he had been. while father and son were at the temporary hospital which the texans had opened, dan made a discovery which filled him with interest. among the mexican prisoners that had been taken, the youth found a man from san antonio whom he knew well,--a person who had joined santa anna's army after the fall of the alamo. during a talk with this individual, he learned that carlos martine was also in the army, having joined at the same time. "i must find that man and have a talk with him," said dan to himself, and as soon as his father was a little better he set out on his hunt. he had not made many inquiries, when he learned that carlos martine was dead, having been shot down while trying to escape across the open prairie, and the body had already been put away. "but what of the dead--were the things in their pockets buried with them?" asked dan of one of the texan guards. "no, their pockets were emptied, and everything found was turned over to the quartermaster," was the reply, and then the youth went to the officer named and told him of martine and of the missing papers. "here is a lot of stuff, radbury. you can look it over and see if there is anything there belonging to your father." dan examined the pile with care, and presently came upon the papers, safe and sound, just as they had been stolen by hank stiger. "they are here!" he cried, and passed them over for examination. "won't father be glad of this!" and off he ran a little later to tell his parent. amos radbury could scarcely speak, but his satisfaction shone in his eyes. "it is a great relief," he murmured. "they cannot disturb my home now." and then he added with a sigh, "i wish i were there now!" "all in good time, father," said dan, affectionately. "we have truly nothing more to fear. santa anna is whipped and has already sent word that his other troops must withdraw. the independence of texas is assured beyond a doubt." dan was right in what he said. not long after santa anna's defeat the remainder of his army was in full retreat. as they fell back they were closely watched by the texans, but no further fighting took place. the government of texas had retired to galveston, but as soon as the victory of san jacinto became known, president burnett and his cabinet hurried to the texan camp and opened negotiations with santa anna. the mexican general was ready to promise almost anything in return for his liberty, and houston suggested that he be made to recognise the independence of texas, that the rio grande river should become the boundary between the independent state and mexico, that all texan prisoners should be released, that all private property should be restored, and numerous other things, all of which were afterward embodied in a treaty signed at velasco. yet even then santa anna was not given his liberty. the people were aroused to the depths of their very souls and they feared that the "mexican butcher" could not be trusted. against the advice of many he was put into prison, and it was not until nearly a year later that he was allowed to return to mexico. here he found himself "out in the cold" in more ways than one, and highly disgusted he retired to his estate at mango del clavo, not to be heard of again for some time to come. with the closing of the war matters waxed hot in texas politically, but with politics amos radbury had little to do. as soon as he was able, he returned to his ranch on the guadalupe, where both he and dan were received in a warm manner by ralph and the ever faithful poke stover and pompey. "you are both heroes," cried the youngest radbury. and then he added, with all the ardor of youth: "how i wish i had been along!" "never mind, lad, your time may come some day," said poke stover. "if it dun cum dat boy will prove as brave as any of dem," said pompey. "yo' see, it's in de radbury blood, wot fit in de rebolution, de wah ob and de injun wahs. da can't help it no moah dan da kin help eatin', he! he!" and he slapped his thigh enthusiastically. that evening pompey served the "spread of his life," as dan designated it, and never were a party happier than the radburys and poke stover as they sat and ate and drank, and talked over the many things which had happened since the first trouble with the indians. "but i am glad it is over," said amos radbury. "glad it is over, and equally glad that we are all home once more." * * * * * here let us bring to a close this tale of the war, "for the liberty of texas." summer was now at hand, and as soon as dan felt rested he and ralph, assisted by pompey, set to work to put the ranch in order and attend to the stock, which had suffered more or less from neglect. later on, both mr. radbury and poke stover joined in the labour, and before fall everything was running as smoothly as it had the spring previous. the liberty of texas had been assured, but the people were not satisfied, and clamoured to be admitted to the united states. in a few years this was accomplished, and texas became as she is to-day, the largest state in our glorious union. then followed trouble about the boundary line between the united states and mexico, and soon war was declared between the two principal republics of north america. the further adventures of the radburys before this war and through a portion of it will be told in the next volume of this series, to be entitled, "with taylor on the rio grande," in which we shall meet all of our old friends once more, and learn what they did to defeat both their personal enemies and also the enemies of their country. yet for the time being all went well, and here we will say good-bye, echoing the shout ralph gives as he dashes over the range on his pet mustang: "hurrah for the liberty of texas! hurrah for the heroes of san jacinto!" the end. * * * * * mexican war series by edward stratemeyer volume one for the liberty of texas mo cloth illustrated price, $ . much is told here of sam houston, davy crockett, colonel bowie, and other texan heroes in connection with the entertaining story of the fortunes of two brothers, dan and ralph radbury. the fall of the alamo is introduced, and other famous incidents. volume two with taylor on the rio grande mo cloth illustrated price, $ . as with each of the series, this is a complete story, but continues the adventures of the patriotic young radbury brothers. they serve under general taylor at palo alto, monterey, and buena vista and share in the glory of "old rough and ready." volume three under scott in mexico mo cloth illustrated price, $ . in the concluding volume of this valuable historical series dan and ralph come under the command of gen. winfield scott and finally bear their part in the triumphant entry of the proud city of mexico. * * * * * these books were first issued under a pen name and by another publisher. we have now placed them in the regular list of this unequaled writer for boys, with an entirely new cover design in keeping with the uniformly rich appearance of our stratemeyer books. * * * * * "there are few live boys in the country who have not read the intensely interesting books of mr. stratemeyer, and who do not have a warm place in their hearts for him. no living american writer of boys' books is so widely read, and none so sure of a cordial welcome for everything that comes from his pen."--_chicago news._ dave porter series by edward stratemeyer mo cloth illustrated $ . per volume mr. stratemeyer has seldom introduced a more popular hero than dave porter. he is a typical boy, manly, brave, always ready for a good time if it can be obtained in an honorable way,--_wisconsin, milwaukee, wis._ "edward stratemeyer's 'dave porter' has become exceedingly popular."--_boston globe._ "dave and his friends are nice, manly chaps."--_times-democrat, new orleans._ dave porter at oak hall or the schooldays of an american boy dave porter in the south seas or the strange cruise of the stormy petrel dave porter's return to school or winning the medal of honor dave porter in the far north or the pluck of an american schoolboy dave porter and his classmates or for the honor of oak hall dave porter at star ranch or the cowboy's secret dave porter and his rivals or the chums and foes of oak hall * * * * * lothrop, lee & shepard co., publishers, boston the lakeport series by edward stratemeyer mo cloth illustrated $ . per volume "the author of the lakeport series, mr. edward stratemeyer, is well known for his delightful boys' stories."--_philadelphia ledger._ "the lakeport series, by edward stratemeyer, is the lineal descendant of the better class of boys' books of a generation ago."--_christian advocate, new york._ "the lakeport series will be fully as popular as the author's dave porter series,"--_san francisco call._ the gun club boys of lakeport or the island camp the baseball boys of lakeport or the winning run the boat club boys of lakeport or the water champions the football boys of lakeport or more goals than one the automobile boys of lakeport or a run for fun and fame * * * * * lothrop, lee & shepard co., publishers, boston colonial series by edward stratemeyer first volume _with washington in the west_ _or a soldier boy's battles in the wilderness_ illustrated by a. b. shute pages $ . mr. stratemeyer has woven into an excellent story something of washington's youthful experience as a surveyor, leading on to the always thrilling braddock's defeat. the hero, david morris, is several years younger than washington, with whom he becomes intimately associated. pictures of pioneer life are given; scenes with friendly indians; and old-time games. second volume _marching on niagara_ _or the soldier boys of the old frontier_ illustrated by a. b. shute price $ . the story relates the doings of two young soldiers who join the colonial forces in a march on fort niagara, during the time of the war with france, when the whole territory between the blue ridge and the great lakes was in a state of unrest. many side lights are thrown into the colonial homes, and much useful information is given of the pioneers who helped to make our country what it is to-day. david morris is a fine fellow, and about him is woven a fine "injun" story that is sure to delight the boys.--_universalist leader, boston._ third volume _at the fall of montreal_ _or a soldier boy's final victory_ illustrated by a. b. shute price $ . this volume relates the adventures of dave morris and his cousin henry during the two last campaigns against the french for the possession of canada and the territory below the great lakes. the scaling of the heights of quebec under general wolfe, and the memorable battle on the plains of abraham, are given in detail. there are many stirring scenes of battle, and there are also adventures while fishing and hunting, and with the indians. the chief charm of mr. stratemeyer's stories lies in the fact that an enormous quantity of valuable information, collected from the most reliable sources, is deftly woven into the narrative without taking away from the interest.--_philadelphia inquirer._ colonial series by edward stratemeyer fourth volume on the trail of pontiac or _pioneer boys of the ohio_ illustrated by a. b. shute price $ . this volume tells of times in our country immediately after the war with france for the possession of canada. a fight with the indians and the french in a snowstorm is especially realistic, and the entire book carries with it the atmosphere of colonial times. boys are attracted to stories by edward stratemeyer, and they will enjoy "on the trail of pontiac."--_plain dealer, cleveland, o._ volume five the fort in the wilderness or _the soldier boys of the indian trails_ pages illustrated by a. b. shute price $ . this story is one of the best tales of colonial days penned by this favorite author for young people. a central figure is the noted indian warrior, pontiac, and the particulars are given of the rise and fall of that awful conspiracy against the whites, which will never be forgotten, and vivid pen pictures are given of fights in and around the forts and at a trading-post on the ohio. volume six trail and trading post or _the young hunters of the ohio_ pages illustrated price $ . a fine closing volume to this deservingly popular series. here we again meet the morris boys, and many other friends. the plot centres about the possession of a certain trading-post on the ohio river at a time just previous to the revolution, and there are some encounters with the unfriendly indians and with some frenchmen who wished to claim the post as their own. there are few authors whose books have so wide and so thoroughly satisfactory a reading as those by mr. stratemeyer--_courier, boston_ american boys' biographical series by edward stratemeyer volume one american boys' life of william mckinley pages illustrated by a. b. shute and from photographs $ . here is told the whole story of mckinley's boyhood days, his life at school and at college, his work as a school teacher, his glorious career in the army, his struggles to obtain a footing as a lawyer, his efforts as a congressman and a governor, and lastly his prosperous career as our president, all told in a style particularly adapted to boys and young men. the book is full of interesting anecdotes, all taken from life, showing fully the sincere, honest, painstaking efforts of a life cut all too short. the volume will prove an inspiration to all boys and young men, and should be in every library. for nearly a year mr. stratemeyer has been gathering material and giving careful study to the life of the young william, his childhood, his boyhood, and all his inspiring and romantic history. the story was nearing its end when the awful finale came and tragedy ended the drama of president mckinley's life.--_new york journal._ volume two american boys' life of theodore roosevelt pages mo illustrated from photographs $ . this excellent work for young people covers the whole life of our strenuous executive, as schoolboy, college student, traveler, author, hunter and ranchman, as assemblyman, as civil service commissioner, as assistant secretary of the navy, as a daring rough rider, as governor of new york, and lastly as president. full of stories taken from real life and told in a manner to interest both young and old. we unreservedly recommend mr. stratemeyer's books for boys. they are wholesome, accurate as to historical details, and always interesting.--_boston times._ imperium in imperio a study of the negro race problem a novel sutton e. griggs contents. chapter. page. berl trout's declaration i a small beginning ii the school iii the parson's advice iv the turning of a worm v belton finds a friend vi a young rebel vii a sermon, a sock, and a fight viii many mysteries cleared up ix love and politics x cupid again at work xi no befitting name xii on the dissecting board xiii married and yet not married xiv " " " " " (continued) xv weighty matters xvi unwritten history xvii crossing the rubicon xviii the storm's master xix the parting of ways xx personal (berl trout) to the public. the papers which are herewith submitted to you for your perusal and consideration, were delivered into my hands by mr. berl trout. the papers will speak for themselves, but mr. trout now being dead i feel called upon to say a word concerning him. mr. berl trout was secretary of state in the imperium in imperio, from the day of its organization until the hour of his sad death. he was, therefore, thoroughly conversant with all of the details of that great organization. he was a warm personal friend of both bernard and belton, and learned from their own lips the stories of their eventful lives. mr. trout was a man noted for his strict veracity and for the absolute control that his conscience exercised over him. though unacquainted with the imperium in imperio i was well acquainted with berl, as we fondly called him. i will vouch for his truthfulness anywhere. having perfect faith in the truthfulness of his narrative i have not hesitated to fulfil his dying request by editing his ms., and giving it to the public. there are other documents in my possession tending to confirm the assertions made in his narrative. these documents were given me by mr. trout, so that, in case an attempt is made to pronounce him a liar, i might defend his name by coming forward with indisputable proofs of every important statement. very respectfully, sutton e. griggs, march , . berkley, va. imperium in imperio. berl trout's dying declaration. i am a traitor. i have violated an oath that was as solemn and binding as any ever taken by man on earth. i have trampled under my feet the sacred trust of a loving people, and have betrayed secrets which were dearer to them than life itself. for this offence, regarded the world over as the most detestable of horrors, i shall be slain. those who shall be detailed to escort my foul body to its grave are required to walk backwards with heads averted. on to-morrow night, the time of my burial, the clouds should gather thick about the queenly moon to hide my funeral procession from her view, for fear that she might refuse to longer reign over a land capable of producing such a wretch as i. in the bottom of some old forsaken well, so reads _our_ law, i shall be buried, face downward, without a coffin; and my body, lying thus, will be transfixed with a wooden stave. fifty feet from the well into which my body is lowered, a red flag is to be hoisted and kept floating there for time unending, to warn all generations of men to come not near the air polluted by the rotting carcass of a vile traitor. such is my fate. i seek not to shun it. i have walked into odium with every sense alert, fully conscious of every step taken. while i acknowledge that i am a traitor, i also pronounce myself a patriot. it is true that i have betrayed the immediate plans of the race to which i belong; but i have done this in the interest of the whole human family--of which my race is but a part. my race may, for the time being, shower curses upon me; but eventually all races, including my own, shall call me blessed. the earth, in anger, may belch forth my putrid flesh with volcanic fury, but the out-stretched arms of god will receive my spirit as a token of approval of what i have done. with my soul feasting on this happy thought, i send this revelation to mankind and yield my body to the executioner to be shot until i am dead. though death stands just before me, holding before my eyes my intended shroud woven of the cloth of infamy itself, i shrink not back. yours, doomed to die, berl trout. imperium in imperio chapter i a small beginning. "cum er long hunny an' let yer mammy fix yer 'spectabul, so yer ken go to skule. yer mammy is 'tarmined ter gib yer all de book larning dar is ter be had eben ef she has ter lib on bred an' herrin's, an' die en de a'ms house." these words came from the lips of a poor, ignorant negro woman, and yet the determined course of action which they reveal vitally affected the destiny of a nation and saved the sun of the nineteenth century, proud and glorious, from passing through, near its setting, the blackest and thickest and ugliest clouds of all its journey; saved it from ending the most brilliant of brilliant careers by setting, with a shudder of horror, in a sea of human blood. those who doubt that such power could emanate from such weakness; or, to change the figure, that such a tiny star could have dimensions greater than those of earth, may have every vestige of doubt removed by a perusal of this simple narrative. let us now acquaint ourselves with the circumstances under which the opening words of our story were spoken. to do this, we must need lead our readers into humble and commonplace surroundings, a fact that will not come in the nature of a surprise to those who have traced the proud, rushing, swelling river to the mountain whence it comes trickling forth, meekly and humbly enough. the place was winchester, an antiquated town, located near the northwestern corner of the state of virginia. in october of the year , the year in which our story begins, a white man by the name of tiberius gracchus leonard had arrived in winchester, and was employed as teacher of the school for colored children. mrs. hannah piedmont, the colored woman whom we have presented to our readers as addressing her little boy, was the mother of five children,--three girls and two boys. in the order of their ages, the names of her children were: james henry, aged fifteen, amanda ann, aged thirteen, eliza jane, aged eleven, belton, aged eight, and celestine, aged five. several years previous to the opening of our history, mr. piedmont had abandoned his wife and left her to rear the children alone. school opened in october, and as fast as she could get books and clothing mrs. piedmont sent her children to school. james henry, amanda ann, and eliza jane were sent at about a week's interval. belton and celestine were then left--celestine being regarded as too young to go. this morning we find belton's mother preparing him for school, and we shall stand by and watch the preparations. the house was low and squatty and was built of rock. it consisted of one room only, and over this there was a loft, the hole to climb into which was in plain view of any one in the room. there was only one window to the house and that one was only four feet square. two panes of this were broken out and the holes were stuffed with rags. in one corner of the room there stood a bed in which mrs. piedmont and amanda ann slept. under this was a trundle bed in which eliza jane and celestine slept at the head, while belton slept at the foot. james henry climbed into the loft and slept there on a pallet of straw. the cooking was done in a fireplace which was on the side of the house opposite the window. three chairs, two of which had no backs to them, completed the articles in the room. in one of these chairs mrs. piedmont was sitting, while belton stood before her all dressed and ready to go to school, excepting that his face was not washed. it might be interesting to note his costume. the white lady for whom mrs. piedmont washed each week had given her two much-torn pairs of trousers, discarded by her young son. one pair was of linen and the other of navy blue. a leg from each pair was missing; so mrs. piedmont simply transferred the good leg of the linen pair to the suit of the navy blue, and dressed the happy belton in that suit thus amended. his coat was literally a conglomeration of patches of varying sizes and colors. if you attempted to describe the coat by calling it by the name of the color that you thought predominated, at least a half dozen aspirants could present equal claims to the honor. one of belton's feet was encased in a wornout slipper from the dainty foot of some young woman, while the other wore a turned over boot left in town by some farmer lad who had gotten himself a new pair. his hat was in good condition, being the summer straw last worn by a little white playfellow (when fall came on, this little fellow kindly willed his hat to belton, who, in return for this favor, was to black the boy's shoes each morning during the winter). belton's mother now held in her hand a wet cloth with which she wished to cleanse his face, the bacon skin which he gnawed at the conclusion of his meal having left a circle of grease around his lips. belton did not relish the face washing part of the programme (of course hair combing was not even considered). belton had one characteristic similar to that of oil. he did not like to mix with water, especially cold water, such as was on that wet cloth in his mother's hand. however, a hint in reference to a certain well-known leather strap, combined with the offer of a lump of sugar, brought him to terms. his face being washed, he and his mother marched forth to school, where he laid the foundation of the education that served him so well in after life. a man of tact, intelligence, and superior education moving in the midst of a mass of ignorant people, ofttimes has a sway more absolute than that of monarchs. belton now entered the school-room, which in his case proves to be the royal court, whence he emerges an uncrowned king. chapter ii. the school. the house in which the colored school was held was, in former times, a house of worship for the white baptists of winchester. it was a long, plain, frame structure, painted white. many years prior to the opening of the colored school it had been condemned as unsafe by the town authorities, whereupon the white baptists had abandoned it for a more beautiful modern structure. the church tendered the use of the building to the town for a public school for the colored children. the roof was patched and iron rods were used to hold together the twisting walls. these improvements being made, school was in due time opened. the building was located on the outskirts of the town, and a large open field surrounded it on all sides. as mrs. piedmont and her son drew near to this building the teacher was standing on the door-steps ringing his little hand bell, calling the children in from their recess. they came running at full speed, helter skelter. by the time they were all in mrs. piedmont and belton had arrived at the step. when mr. leonard saw them about to enter the building an angry scowl passed over his face, and he muttered half aloud: "another black nigger brat for me to teach." the steps were about four feet high and he was standing on the top step. to emphasize his disgust, he drew back so that mrs. piedmont would pass him with no danger of brushing him. he drew back rather too far and began falling off the end of the steps. he clutched at the door and made such a scrambling noise that the children turned in their seats just in time to see his body rapidly disappearing in a manner to leave his feet where his head ought to be. such a yell of laughter as went up from the throats of the children! it had in it a universal, spontaneous ring of savage delight which plainly told that the teacher was not beloved by his pupils. the back of the teacher's head struck the edge of a stone, and when he clambered up from his rather undignified position his back was covered with blood. deep silence reigned in the school-room as he walked down the aisle, glaring fiercely right and left. getting his hat he left the school-room and went to a near-by drug store to have his wounds dressed. while he was gone, the children took charge of the school-room and played pranks of every description. abe lincoln took the teacher's chair and played "'fessor." "sallie ann ain't yer got wax in yer mouf?" "yes sar." "den take dis stick and prop yer mouf opun fur half hour. dat'll teach yer a lesson." "billy smith, yer didn't know yer lessun," says teacher abe. "yer may stan' on one leg de ballunce ob de ebenning." "henry jones, yer sassed a white boy ter day. pull off yer jacket. i'll gib yer a lessun dat yer'll not furgit soon. neber buck up to yer s'periors." "john jones, yer black, nappy head rascal, i'll crack yer skull if yer doan keep quiut." "cum year, yer black, cross-eyed little wench, yer. i'll teach yer to go to sleep in here." annie moore was the little girl thus addressed. after each sally from abe there was a hearty roar of laughter, he imitated the absent teacher so perfectly in look, voice, manner, sentiment, and method of punishment. taking down the cowhide used for flogging purposes abe left his seat and was passing to and fro, pretending to flog those who most frequently fell heir to the teacher's wrath. while he was doing this billy smith stealthily crept to the teacher's chair and placed a crooked pin in it in order to catch abe when he returned to sit down. before abe had gone much further the teacher's face appeared at the door, and all scrambled to get into their right places and to assume studious attitudes. billy smith thought of his crooked pin and had the "cold sweats." those who had seen billy put the pin in the chair were torn between two conflicting emotions. they wanted the pin to do its work, and therefore hoped. they feared billy's detection and therefore despaired. however, the teacher did not proceed at once to take his seat. he approached mrs. piedmont and belton, who had taken seats midway the room and were interested spectators of all that had been going on. speaking to mrs. piedmont, he said: "what is your name?" she replied: "hannah lizabeth piedmont." "well, hannah, what is your brat's name?" "his name am belton piedmont, arter his grandaddy." "well, hannah, i am very pleased to receive your brat. he shall not want for attention," he added, in a tone accompanied by a lurking look of hate that made mrs. piedmont shudder and long to have her boy at home again. her desire for his training was so great that she surmounted her misgivings and carried out her purposes to have him enrolled. as the teacher was turning to go to his desk, hearing a rustling noise toward the door, he turned to look. he was, so to speak, petrified with astonishment. there stood on the threshold of the door a woman whose beauty was such as he had never seen surpassed. she held a boy by the hand. she was a mulatto woman, tall and graceful. her hair was raven black and was combed away from as beautiful a forehead as nature could chisel. her eyes were a brown hazel, large and intelligent, tinged with a slight look of melancholy. her complexion was a rich olive, and seemed especially adapted to her face, that revealed not a flaw. the teacher quickly pulled off his hat, which he had not up to that time removed since his return from the drug store. as the lady moved up the aisle toward him, he was taken with stage fright. he recovered self-possession enough to escort her and the boy to the front and give them seats. the whole school divided its attention between the beautiful woman and the discomfitted teacher. they had not known that he was so full of smiles and smirks. "what is your name?" he enquired in his most suave manner. "fairfax belgrave," replied the visitor. "may i be of any service to you, madam?" at the mention of the word madam, she colored slightly. "i desire to have my son enter your school and i trust that you may see your way clear to admit him." "most assuredly madam, most assuredly." saying this, he hastened to his desk, opened it and took out his register. he then sat down, but the next instant leapt several feet into the air, knocking over his desk. he danced around the floor, reaching toward the rear of his pants, yelling: "pull it out! pull it out! pull it out!" the children hid their faces behind their books and chuckled most gleefully. billy smith was struck dumb with terror. abe was rolling on the floor, bellowing with uncontrollable laughter. the teacher finally succeeded in extricating the offending steel and stood scratching his head in chagrin at the spectacle he had made of himself before his charming visitor. he took an internal oath to get his revenge out of mrs. piedmont and her son, who had been the innocent means of his double downfall that day. his desk was arranged in a proper manner and the teacher took his pen and wrote two names, now famous the world over. "bernard belgrave, age years." "belton piedmont, age years." under such circumstances belton began his school career. chapter iii. the parson's advice. with heavy heart and with eyes cast upon the ground, mrs. piedmont walked back home after leaving belton with his teacher. she had intended to make a special plea for her boy, who had all along displayed such precociousness as to fill her bosom with the liveliest hopes. but the teacher was so repulsive in manner that she did not have the heart to speak to him as she had intended. she saw that the happenings of the morning had had the effect of deepening a contemptuous prejudice into hatred, and she felt that her child's school life was to be embittered by the harshest of maltreatment. no restraint was put upon the flogging of colored children by their white teachers, and in belton's case his mother expected the worst. during the whole week she revolved the matter in her mind. there was a conflict in her bosom between her love and her ambition. love prompted her to return and take her son away from school. ambition bade her to let him stay. she finally decided to submit the whole matter to her parson, whom she would invite to dinner on the coming sunday. the sabbath came and mrs. piedmont aroused her family bright and early, for the coming of the parson to take dinner was a great event in any negro household. the house was swept as clean as a broom of weeds tied together could make it. along with the family breakfast, a skillet of biscuits was cooked and a young chicken nicely baked. belton was very active in helping his mother that morning, and she promised to give him a biscuit and a piece of chicken as a reward after the preacher was through eating his dinner. the thought of this coming happiness buoyed belton up, and often he fancied himself munching that biscuit and biting that piece of chicken. these were items of food rarely found in that household. breakfast over, the whole family made preparations for going to sunday school. preparations always went on peacefully until it came to combing hair. the older members of the family endured the ordeal very well; but little "lessie" always screamed as if she was being tortured, and james henry received many kicks and scratches from belton before he was through combing belton's hair. the sunday school and church were always held in the day-school building. the sunday school scholars were all in one class and recited out of the "blue back spelling book." when that was over, members of the school were allowed to ask general questions on the bible, which were answered by anyone volunteering to do so. everyone who had in any way caught a new light on a passage of scripture endeavored, by questioning, to find out as to whether others were as wise as he, and if such was not the case, he gladly enlightened the rest. the sunday school being over, the people stood in groups on the ground surrounding the church waiting for the arrival of the parson from his home, berryville, a town twelve miles distant. he was pastor of three other churches besides the one at winchester, and he preached at each one sunday in the month. after awhile he put in his appearance. he was rather small in stature, and held his head somewhat to one side and looked at you with that knowing look of the parrot. he wore a pair of trousers that had been black, but were now sleet from much wear. they lacked two inches of reaching down to the feet of his high-heeled boots. he had on a long linen cluster that reached below his knees. beneath this was a faded prince albert coat and a vest much too small. on his head there sat, slightly tipped, a high-topped beaver that seemed to have been hidden between two mattresses all the week and taken out and straightened for sunday wear. in his hand he held a walking cane. thus clad he came toward the church, his body thrown slightly back, walking leisurely with the air of quiet dignity possessed by the man sure of his standing, and not under the necessity of asserting it overmuch in his carriage. the brothers pulled off their hats and the sisters put on their best smiles as the parson approached. after a cordial handshake all around, the preacher entered the church to begin the services. after singing a hymn and praying, he took for his text the following "passige of scripter:" "it air harder fur a camel to git through de eye of a cambric needle den fur a rich man to enter de kingdom of heben." this was one of the parson's favorite texts, and the members all settled themselves back to have a good "speritual" time. the preacher began his sermon in a somewhat quiet way, but the members knew that he would "warm up bye and bye." he pictured all rich men as trying to get into heaven, but, he asserted, they invariably found themselves with dives. he exhorted his hearers to stick to jesus. here he pulled off his collar, and the sisters stirred and looked about them. a little later on, the preacher getting "warmer," pulled off his cuffs. the brethren laughed with a sort of joyous jumping up and down all the while--one crying "gib me jesus," another "oh i am gwine home," and so on. one sister who had a white lady's baby in her arms got happy and flung it entirely across the room, it falling into mrs. piedmont's lap, while the frenzied woman who threw the child climbed over benches, rushed into the pulpit, and swung to the preacher's neck, crying--"glory! glory! glory!" in the meanwhile belton had dropped down under one of the benches and was watching the proceedings with an eye of terror. the sermon over and quiet restored, a collection was taken and given to the pastor. mrs. piedmont went forward to put some money on the table and took occasion to step to the pulpit and invite the pastor to dinner. knowing that this meant chicken, the pastor unhesitatingly accepted the invitation, and when church was over accompanied mrs. piedmont and her family home. the preacher caught hold of belton's hand as they walked along. this mark of attention, esteemed by belton as a signal honor, filled his little soul with joy. as he thought of the manner in which the preacher stirred up the people, the amount of the collection that had been given him, and the biscuits and chicken that now awaited him, belton decided that he, too, would like to become a preacher. just before reaching home, according to a preconcerted plan, belton and james henry broke from the group and ran into the house. when the others appeared a little later on, these two were not to be seen. however, no question was asked and no search made. all things were ready and the parson sat down to eat, while the three girls stood about, glancing now and then at the table. the preacher was very voracious and began his meal as though he "meant business." we can now reveal the whereabouts of belton and james henry. they had clambered into the loft for the purpose of watching the progress of the preacher's meal, calculating at each step how much he would probably leave. james henry found a little hole in the loft directly over the table, and through this hole he did his spying. belton took his position at the larger entrance hole, lying flat on his stomach. he poked his head down far enough to see the preacher, but held it in readiness to be snatched back, if the preacher's eyes seemed to be about to wander his way. he was kept in a state of feverish excitement, on the one hand, by fear of detection, and on the other, by a desire to watch the meal. when about half of the biscuits were gone, and the preacher seemed as fresh as ever, belton began to be afraid for his promised biscuit and piece of chicken. he crawled to james henry and said hastily--"james, dees haf gone," and hurriedly resumed his watch. a moment later he called out in a whisper, "he's tuck anudder." down goes belton's head to resume his watch. every time the preacher took another biscuit belton called out the fact to james. all of the chicken was at last destroyed and only one biscuit remained; and belton's whole soul was now centered on that biscuit. in his eagerness to watch he leaned a good distance out, and when the preacher reached forth his hand to take the last one belton was so overcome that he lost his balance and tumbled out of his hole on the floor, kicking, and crying over and over again: "i knowed i wuzunt goin' to git naren dem biscuits." the startled preacher hastily arose from the table and gazed on the little fellow in bewilderment. as soon as it dawned upon him what the trouble was, he hastily got the remaining biscuit and gave it to belton. he also discovered that his voracity had made enemies of the rest of the children, and he very adroitly passed a five cent piece around to each. james henry, forgetting his altitude and anxious not to lose his recompense, cried out loudly from the loft: "amanda ann you git mine fur me." the preacher looked up but saw no one. seeing that his request did not have the desired effect, james henry soon tumbled down full of dust, straw and cobwebs, and came into possession of his appeasing money. the preacher laughed heartily and seemed to enjoy his experience highly. the table was cleared, and the preacher and mrs. piedmont dismissed the children in order to discuss unmolested the subject which had prompted her to extend an invitation to the parson. in view of the intense dislike the teacher had conceived for belton, she desired to know if it were not best to withdraw him from school altogether, rather than to subject him to the harsh treatment sure to come. "let me gib yer my advis, sistah hannah. de greatest t'ing in de wul is edification. ef our race ken git dat we ken git ebery t'ing else. dat is de key. git de key an' yer ken go in de house to go whare you please. as fur his beatin' de brat, yer musn't kick agin dat. he'll beat de brat to make him larn, and won't dat be a blessed t'ing? see dis scar on side my head? old marse sampson knocked me down wid a single-tree tryin' to make me stop larning, and god is so fixed it dat white folks is knocking es down ef we don't larn. ef yer take belton out of school yer'll be fighting 'genst de providence of god." being thus advised by her shepherd, mrs. piedmont decided to keep belton in school. so on monday belton went back to his brutal teacher, and thither we follow him. chapter iv. the turning of a worm. as to who mr. tiberius gracchus leonard was, or as to where he came from, nobody in winchester, save himself, knew. immediately following the close of the civil war, rev. samuel christian, a poor but honorable retired minister of the m.e. church, south, was the first teacher employed to instruct the colored children of the town. he was one of those southerners who had never believed in the morality of slavery, but regarded it as a deep rooted evil beyond human power to uproot. when the manacles fell from the hands of the negroes he gladly accepted the task of removing the scales of ignorance from the blinded eyes of the race. tenderly he labored, valiantly he toiled in the midst of the mass of ignorance that came surging around him. but only one brief year was given to this saintly soul to endeavor to blast the mountains of stupidity which centuries of oppression had reared. he fell asleep. the white men who were trustees of the colored school, were sorely puzzled as to what to do for a successor. a negro, capable of teaching a school, was nowhere near. white young men of the south, generally, looked upon the work of teaching "niggers" with the utmost contempt; and any man who suggested the name of a white young lady of southern birth as a teacher for the colored children was actually in danger of being shot by any member of the insulted family who could handle a pistol. an advertisement was inserted in the washington post to the effect that a teacher was wanted. in answer to this advertisement mr. leonard came. he was a man above the medium height, and possessed a frame not large but compactly built. his forehead was low and narrow; while the back of his head looked exceedingly intellectual. looking at him from the front you would involuntarily exclaim: "what an infamous scoundrel." looking at him from the rear you would say: "there certainly is brain power in that head." the glance of mr. leonard's eye was furtive, and his face was sour looking indeed. at times when he felt that no one was watching him, his whole countenance and attitude betokened the rage of despair. most people who looked at him felt that he carried in his bosom a dark secret. as to scholarship, he was unquestionably proficient. no white man in all the neighboring section, ranked with him intellectually. despite the lack of all knowledge of his moral character and previous life, he was pronounced as much too good a man to fritter away his time on "niggers." such was the character of the man into whose hands was committed the destiny of the colored children of winchester. as his mother foresaw would be the case, belton was singled out by the teacher as a special object on which he might expend his spleen. for a man to be as spiteful as he was, there must have been something gnawing at his heart. but toward bernard none of this evil spirit was manifested. he seemed to have chosen bernard for his pet, and belton for his "pet aversion." to the one he was all kindness; while to the other he was cruel in the extreme. often he would purchase flowers from the florist and give to bernard to bear home to his mother. on these days he would seemingly take pains to give belton fresh bruises to take home to _his_ mother. when he had a particularly good dinner he would invite bernard to dine with him, and would be sure to find some pretext for forbidding belton to partake of his own common meal. belton was by no means insensible to all these acts of discrimination. nor did bernard fail to perceive that he, himself, was the teacher's pet. he clambered on to the teacher's knees, played with his mustache, and often took his watch and wore it. the teacher seemed to be truly fond of him. the children all ascribed this partiality to the color of bernard's skin, and they all, except belton, began to envy and despise bernard. of course they told their parents of the teacher's partiality and their parents thus became embittered against the teacher. but however much they might object to him and desire his removal, their united protests would not have had the weight of a feather. so the teacher remained at winchester for twelve years. during all these years he instructed our young friends belton and bernard. strangely enough, his ardent love for bernard and his bitter hatred of belton accomplished the very same result in respect to their acquirements. the teacher soon discovered that both boys were talented far beyond the ordinary, and that both were ambitious. he saw that the way to wound and humiliate belton was to make bernard excel him. thus he bent all of his energies to improve bernard's mind. whenever he heard belton recite he brought all of his talents to bear to point out his failures, hoping thus to exalt bernard, out of whose work he strove to keep all blemishes. thus belton became accustomed to the closest scrutiny, and prepared himself accordingly. the result was that bernard did not gain an inch on him. the teacher introduced the two boys into every needed field of knowledge, as they grew older, hoping always to find some branch in which bernard might display unquestioned superiority. there were two studies in which the two rivals dug deep to see which could bring forth the richest treasures; and these gave coloring to the whole of their afterlives. one, was the history of the united states, and the other, rhetoric. in history, that portion that charmed them most was the story of the rebellion against the yoke of england. far and wide they went in search of everything that would throw light on this epoch. they became immersed in the spirit of that heroic age. as a part of their rhetorical training they were taught to declaim. thanks to their absorption in the history of the revolution, their minds ran to the sublime in literature; and they strove to secure pieces to declaim that recited the most heroic deeds of man, of whatever nationality. leonidas, marco bozarris, arnold winklereid, louis kossuth, robert emmett, martin luther, patrick henry and such characters furnished the pieces almost invariably declaimed. they threw their whole souls into these, and the only natural thing resulted. no human soul can breathe the atmosphere of heroes and read with bated breath their deeds of daring without craving for the opportunity to do the like. thus the education of these two young men went on. at the expiration of twelve years they had acquired an academic education that could not be surpassed anywhere in the land. their reputation as brilliant students and eloquent speakers had spread over the whole surrounding country. the teacher decided to graduate the young men; and he thought to utilize the occasion as a lasting humiliation of belton and exaltation of his favorite, bernard belgrave. belton felt this. in the first part of this last school year of the boys, he had told them to prepare for a grand commencement exercise, and they acted accordingly. each one chose his subject and began the preparation of his oration early in the session, each keeping his subject and treatment secret from the other. the teacher had announced that numerous white citizens would be present; among them the congressman from the district and the mayor of the town. belton determined upon two things, away down in his soul. he determined to win in the oratorical contest, and to get his revenge on his teacher on the day that the teacher had planned for his--(belton's) humiliation. bernard did not have the incentive that belton did; but defeat was ever galling to him, and he, too, had determined to win. the teacher often reviewed the progress made by bernard on his oration, but did not notice belton's at all. he strove to make bernard's oration as nearly perfect as labor and skill could make it. but belton was not asleep as to either of the resolutions he had formed. some nights he could be seen stealing away from the congressman's residence. on others he could be seen leaving the neighborhood of the school, with a spade in one hand and a few carpenter's tools in the other. he went to the congressman, who was a polished orator with a national reputation, in order that he might purge his oration from its impurities of speech. as the congressman read the oration and perceived the depth of thought, the logical arrangement, the beauty and rhythm of language, and the wide research displayed, he opened his eyes wide with astonishment. he was amazed that a young man of such uncommon talents could have grown up in his town and he not know it. belton's marvelous talents won his respect and admiration, and he gave him access to his library and criticized his oration whenever needed. secretly and silently preparations went on for the grand conflict. at last the day came. the colored men and women of the place laid aside all work to attend the exercises. the forward section of seats was reserved for the white people. the congressman, the mayor, the school trustees and various other men of standing came, accompanied by their wives and daughters. scholars of various grades had parts to perform on the programme, but the eyes of all sought the bottom of the page where were printed the names of the two oratorical gladiators: "belton piedmont. bernard belgrave." the teacher had given bernard the last place, deeming that the more advantageous. he appointed the congressman, the mayor, and one of the school trustees to act as judges, to decide to whom he should award a beautiful gold medal for the more excellent oration. the congressman politely declined and named another trustee in his stead. then the contest began. as belton walked up on the platform the children greeted him with applause. he announced as his subject: "the contribution of the anglo-saxon to the cause of human liberty." in his strong, earnest voice, he began to roll off his well turned periods. the whole audience seemed as if in a trance. his words made their hearts burn, and time and again he made them burst forth in applause. the white people who sat and listened to his speech looked upon it as a very revelation to them, they themselves not having had as clear a conception of the glory of their race as this negro now revealed. when he had finished, white men and women crowded to the front to congratulate him upon his effort, and it was many minutes before quiet was restored sufficiently to allow the programme to proceed. bernard took his position on the platform, announcing as his subject: "robert emmett." his voice was sweet and well modulated and never failed to charm. admiration was plainly depicted on every face as he proceeded. he brought to bear all the graces of a polished orator, and more than once tears came into the eyes of his listeners. particularly affecting was his description of emmett's death. at the conclusion it was evident that his audience felt that it would have been difficult to have handled that subject better. the judges now retired to deliberate as to whom to give the prize. while they are out, let us examine belton's plans for carrying out the second thing, upon the accomplishment of which he was determined; viz., revenge. in the rear of the schoolhouse, there stood an old wood-shed. for some slight offence the teacher had, two or three years back, made belton the fire-maker for the balance of his school life instead of passing the task around according to custom. thus the care of the wood-house had fallen permanently to belton's lot. during the last year belton had dug a large hole running from the floor of the wood-shed to a point under the platform of the school room. the dirt from this underground channel he cast into a deep old unused well, not far distant. once under the platform, he kept on digging, making the hole larger by far. numerous rocks abounded in the neighborhood, and these he used to wall up his underground room, so that it would hold water. just in the middle of the school-room platform he cut, from beneath, a square hole, taking in the spot where the teacher invariably stood when addressing the school. he cut the boards until they lacked but a very little, indeed, of being cut through. all looked well above, but a baby would not be safe standing thereon. belton contrived a kind of prop with a weight attached. this prop would serve to keep the cut section from breaking through. the attached weight was at rest in a hole left in the wall of the cavity near its top. if you dislocated the weight, the momentum that it would gather in the fall would pull down the prop to which it was attached. finally, belton fastened a strong rope to the weight, and ran the rope under the schoolhouse floor until it was immediately beneath his seat. with an auger he made a hole in the floor and brought the end through. he managed to keep this bit of rope concealed, while at the same time he had perfect command of his trap door. for two or three nights previous to commencement day belton had worked until nearly morning filling this cistern with water. now when through delivering his oration, he had returned to his seat to await the proper moment for the payment of his teacher. the judges were out debating the question as to who had won. they seemed to be unable to decide who was victorious and beckoned for the teacher to step outside. they said: "that black nigger has beat the yellow one all to pieces this time, but we don't like to see nigger blood triumph over any anglo-saxon blood. ain't there any loop-hole where we can give it to bernard, anyhow?" "well, yes," said the teacher eagerly, "on the ground of good behavior." "there you hit it," said the mayor. "so we all decide." the judges filed in, and the mayor arose to announce their decision. "we award," said he to the breathless audience, "the prize to bernard belgrave." "no! no! no!" burst forth from persons all over the house. the congressman arose and went up to belton and congratulated him upon his triumph over oratory, and lamented his defeat by prejudice. this action caused a perceptible stir in the entire audience. the teacher went to his desk and produced a large gold medal. he took his accustomed place on the platform and began thus: "ladies and gentlemen, this is the proudest moment of my life." he got no further. belton had pulled the rope, the rope had caused the weight to fall, and the weight had pulled the prop and down had gone the teacher into a well of water. "murder! murder! murder!" he cried "help! help! help! i am drowning. take me out, it is cold." the audience rushed forward expecting to find the teacher in a dangerous situation; but they found him standing, apparently unharmed, in a cistern, the water being a little more than waist deep. their fright gave way to humor and a merry shout went up from the throats of the scholars. the colored men and women laughed to one side, while the white people smiled as though they had admired the feat as a fine specimen of falling from the sublime to the ridiculous. bending down over the well, the larger students caught hold of the teacher's arms and lifted him out. he stood before the audience wet and shivering, his clothes sticking to him, and water dripping from his hair. the medal was gone. the teacher dismissed the audience, drew his last month's pay and left that night for parts unknown. sometimes, even a worm will turn when trodden upon. chapter v. belton finds a friend. long before the rifle ball, the cannon shot, and the exploding shell were through their fiendish task of covering the earth with mortals slain; while the startled air was yet busy in hurrying to heaven the groans of the dying soldier, accompanied as they were by the despairing shrieks of his loved ones behind; while horrid war, in frenzied joy, yet waved his bloody sword over the nation's head, and sought with eager eagle eyes every drop of clotted gore over which he might exult; in the midst of such direful days as these, there were those at the north whom the love of god and the eye of faith taught to leap over the scene of strife to prepare the trembling negro for the day of freedom, which, refusing to have a dawn, had burst in meridian splendor upon his dazzled gaze. into the southland there came rushing consecrated christians, men and women, eager to provide for the negro a christian education. those who stayed behind gathered up hoarded treasures and gladly poured them into the lap of the south for the same laudable purpose. as a result of the coming of this army of workers, bearing in their arms millions of money, ere many years had sped, well nigh every southern state could proudly boast of one or more colleges where the aspiring negro might quench has thirst for knowledge. so when bernard and belton had finished their careers at the winchester public school, colleges abounded in the south beckoning them to enter. bernard preferred to go to a northern institution, and his mother sent him to enter harvard university. belton was poor and had no means of his own with which to pursue his education; but by the hand of providence a most unexpected door was opened to him. the winchester correspondent of the _richmond daily temps_ reported the commencement exercises of the winchester public school of the day that belton graduated. the congressman present at the exercises spoke so highly of belton's speech that the correspondent secured a copy from belton and sent it to the editor of _the temps_. this was printed in _the temps_ and created a great sensation in political and literary circles in every section of the country. every newspaper of any consequence reproduced the oration in full. it was published and commented upon by the leading journals of england. the president of the united states wrote a letter of congratulation to belton. everywhere the piece was hailed as a classic. after reading the oration, mr. v.m. king, editor of _the temps_, decided to take it home with him and read it to his wife. she met him at the door and as he kissed her she noticed that there was a sober look in his eye. tenderly he brushed back a few stray locks of his wife's hair, saying as he did so, in a somewhat troubled tone: "wife, it has come at last. may the good lord cease not to watch over our beloved but erring land." she inquired as to what he meant. he led her to his study and read to her belton's oration. in order to understand the words which we have just quoted as being spoken by him to his wife, let us, while he reads, become a little better acquainted with mr. king and his paper, _the temps_. mr. king was born and reared in virginia, was educated at a northern university, and had sojourned for several years in england. he was a man of the broadest culture. for several years he had given the negro problem most profound study. his views on the subject were regarded by the white people of the south as ultra-liberal. these views he exploited through his paper, _the temps_, with a boldness and vigor, gaining thereby great notoriety. though a democrat in politics, he was most bitterly opposed to the practice, almost universal in the south, of cheating the negro out of his right to vote. he preached that it was unjust to the negro and fatal to the morals of the whites. on every possible occasion he viciously assaulted the practice of lynching, denouncing it in most scathing terms. in short, he was an outspoken advocate of giving the negro every right accorded him by the constitution of the united states. he saw the south leading the young negro boy and girl to school, where, at the expense of the state, they were taught to read history and learn what real liberty was, and the glorious struggles through which the human race had come in order to possess it. he foresaw that the rising, educated negro would allow his eye to linger long on this bloody but glorious page until that most contagious of diseases, devotion to liberty, infected his soul. he reasoned that the negro who had endured the hardships of slavery might spend his time looking back and thanking god for that from which he had made his escape; but the young negro, knowing nothing of physical slavery, would be peering into the future, measuring the distance that he had yet to go before he was truly free, and would be asking god and his own right arm for the power to secure whatever rights were still withheld. he argued that, living as the negro did beneath the american flag, known as the flag of freedom, studying american history, and listening on the outer edge of great fourth of july crowds to eloquent orators discourse on freedom, it was only a matter of a few years before the negro would deify liberty as the anglo-saxon race had done, and count it a joy to perish on her altar. in order that the republic might ever stand, he knew that the principles of liberty would have to be continually taught with all the eloquence and astuteness at command; and if this teaching had the desired effect upon the white man it would also be powerful enough to awaken the negro standing by his side. so, his ear was to the ground, expecting every moment to hear the far off sounds of awakened negroes coming to ask for liberty, and if refused, to slay or be slain. when he read belton's oration he saw that the flame of liberty was in his heart, her sword in his hand, and the disdain of death stamped on his brow. he felt that belton was the morning star which told by its presence that dawn was near at hand. thus it was that he said to his wife: "wife, it has come at last. may the good lord cease not to watch over our beloved land." this expression was not the offspring of fear as to the outcome of a possible conflict, for, anglo-saxon like, that was with him a foregone conclusion in favor of his own race. but he shuddered at the awful carnage that would of necessity ensue if two races, living house to house, street to street, should be equally determined upon a question at issue, equally disdainful of life, fighting with the rancor always attendant upon a struggle between two races that mutually despise and detest each other. he knew that it was more humane, more in accordance with right, more acceptable with god, to admit to the negro that anglo-saxon doctrine of the equality of man was true, rather than to murder the negro for accepting him at his word, though spoken to others. feeling thus, he pleaded with his people to grant to the negro his rights, though he never hinted at a possible rebellion, for fear that the mention of it might hasten the birth of the idea in the brain of the negro. that evening, after he had read the oration to his wife and told her of his forebodings, he sat with his face buried in his hands, brooding over the situation. late in the night he retired to rest, and the next morning, when he awoke, his wife was standing by his bed, calling him. she saw that his sleep was restless and thought that he was having troubled dreams. and so he was. he dreamed that a large drove of fatted swine were munching acorns in a very dense forest of oaks, both tall and large. the oaks were sending the acorns down in showers, and the hogs were greedily consuming them. the hogs ate so many that they burst open, and from their rotting carcasses fresh oaks sprang and grew with surprising rapidity. a dark cloud arose and a terrible hurricane swept over the forest; and the old and new oaks fought furiously in the storm, until a loud voice, like unto that of a god, cried out above all the din of the hurricane, saying in tones of thunder: "know ye not that ye are parents and children? parents, recognize your children. children, be proud of the parents from whom you spring." the hurricane ceased, the clouds sped away as if in terror, and the oaks grew up together under a clear sky of the purest blue, and beautiful birds of all kinds built their nests in the trees, and carolled forth the sweetest songs. he placed upon the dream the following interpretation: the swine were the negroes. the oak trees were the white people. the acorns were the doctrine of human liberty, everywhere preached by anglo-saxons. the negroes, feasting off of the same thought, had become the same kind of being as the white man, and grew up to a point of equality. the hurricane was the contest between the two races over the question of equality. the voice was intended to inform the whites that they had brought about these aspirations in the bosom of the negro, and that the liberty-loving negro was their legitimate offspring, and not a bastard. the whites should recognize their own doings. on the other hand, the negro should not be over boastful, and should recognize that the lofty conception of the dignity of man and value and true character of liberty were taught him by the anglo-saxon. the birds betokened a happy adjustment of all differences; and the dream that began in the gloom of night ended in the dawn of day. mr. king was very cheerful, therefore, and decided to send to winchester for belton, thinking that it might be a wise thing to keep an eye and a friendly hand on a young negro of such promise. in the course of a couple of days, belton, in response to his request, arrived in richmond. he called at the office of _the temps_ and was ushered into mr. king's office. mr. king had him take a seat. he enquired of belton his history, training, etc. he also asked as to his plans for the future. finding that belton was desirous of securing a college education, but was destitute of funds, mr. king gladly embraced the opportunity of displaying his kind interest. he offered to pay belton's way through college, and the offer was gladly accepted. he told belton to call at his home that evening at seven o'clock to receive a check for his entire college course. at the appointed hour belton appeared at mr. king's residence. mr. king was sitting on his front porch, between his wife and aged mother, while his two children, a girl and boy, were playing on the lawn. belton was invited to take a seat, much to his surprise. seeing a stranger, the children left their play and came to their father, one on each side. they looked with questioning eyes from father to belton, as if seeking to know the purpose of the visit. mr. king took the check from his pocket and extended it toward belton, and said: "mr. piedmont, this will carry you through college. i have only one favor to ask of you. in all your dealings with my people recognize the fact that there are two widely separated classes of us, and that there is a good side to the character of the worst class. always seek for and appeal to that side of their nature." belton very feelingly thanked mr. king, and assured him that he would treasure his words. he was true to his promise, and decided from that moment to never class all white men together, whatever might be the provocation, and to never regard any class as totally depraved. this is one of the keys to his future life. remember it. chapter vi. a young rebel. in the city of nashville, tennessee, there is a far famed institution of learning called stowe university, in honor of mrs. harriet beecher stowe, author of "uncle tom's cabin." this institution was one of the many scores of its kind, established in the south by northern philanthropy, for the higher education of the negro. though called a university, it was scarcely more than a normal school with a college department attached. it was situated just on the outskirts of the city, on a beautiful ten-acre plot of ground. the buildings were five in number, consisting of a dormitory for young men, two for young ladies, a building for recitations, and another, called the teachers' mansion; for the teachers resided there. these buildings were very handsome, and were so arranged upon the level campus as to present a very attractive sight. with the money which had been so generously given him by mr. king, belton entered this school. that was a proud day in his life when he stepped out of the carriage and opened the university gate, feeling that he, a negro, was privileged to enter college. julius cæsar, on entering rome in triumph, with the world securely chained to his chariot wheels; napoleon, bowing to receive the diadem of the cæsars' won by the most notable victories ever known to earth; general grant, on his triumphal tour around the globe, when kings and queens were eager rivals to secure from this man of humble birth the sweeter smile; none of these were more full of pleasurable emotion than this poor negro lad, who now with elastic step and beating heart marched with head erect beneath the arch of the doorway leading into stowe university. belton arrived on the saturday preceding the monday on which school would open for that session. he found about three hundred and sixty students there from all parts of the south, the young women outnumbering the young men in about the proportion of two to one. on the sunday night following his arrival the students all assembled in the general assembly room of the recitation building, which room, in the absence of a chapel, was used as the place for religious worship. the president of the school, a venerable white minister from the north, had charge of the service that evening. he did not on this occasion preach a sermon, but devoted the hour to discoursing upon the philanthropic work done by the white people of the north for the freedmen of the south. a map of the united states was hanging on the wall, facing the assembled school. on this map there were black dots indicating all places where a school of learning had been planted for the colored people by their white friends of the north. belton sat closely scrutinizing the map. his eyes swept from one end to the other. persons were allowed to ask any questions desired, and belton was very inquisitive. when the hour of the lecture was over he was deeply impressed with three thoughts: first, his heart went out in love to those who had given so freely of their means and to those who had dedicated their lives to the work of uplifting his people. secondly, he saw an immense army of young men and women being trained in the very best manner in every section of the south, to go forth to grapple with the great problems before them. he felt proud of being a member of so promising an army, and felt that they were to determine the future of the race. in fact, this thought was reiterated time and again by the president. thirdly, belton was impressed that it was the duty of those receiving such great blessings to accomplish achievements worthy of the care bestowed. he felt that the eyes of the north and of the civilized world were upon them to see the fruits of the great labor and money spent upon them. before he retired to rest that night, he besought god to enable him and his people, as a mark of appreciation of what had been done for the race, to rise to the full measure of just expectation and prove worthy of all the care bestowed. he went through school, therefore, as though the eyes of the world were looking at the race enquiringly; the eyes of the north expectantly; and the eyes of god lovingly,--three grand incentives to his soul. when these schools were first projected, the white south that then was, fought them with every weapon at its command. ridicule, villification, ostracism, violence, arson, murder were all employed to hinder the progress of the work. outsiders looked on and thought it strange that they should do this. but, just as a snake, though a venomous animal, by instinct knows its enemy and fights for its life with desperation, just so the old south instinctively foresaw danger to its social fabric as then constituted, and therefore despised and fought the agencies that were training and inspiring the future leaders of the negro race in such a manner as to render a conflict inevitable and of doubtful termination. the errors in the south, anxious for eternal life, rightfully feared these schools more than they would have feared factories making powder, moulding balls and fashioning cannons. but the new south, the south that, in the providence of god, is yet to be, could not have been formed in the womb of time had it not been for these schools. and so the receding murmurs of the scowling south that was, are lost in the gladsome shouts of the south which, please god, is yet to be. but lest we linger too long, let us enter school here with belton. on the monday following the sunday night previously indicated, belton walked into the general assembly room to take his seat with the other three hundred and sixty pupils. it was the custom for the school to thus assemble for devotional exercises. the teachers sat in a row across the platform, facing the pupils. the president sat immediately in front of the desk, in the center of the platform, and the teachers sat on either side of him. to belton's surprise, he saw a colored man sitting on the right side of and next to the president. he was sitting there calmly, self-possessed, exactly like the rest. he crossed his legs and stroked his beard in a most matter of fact way. belton stared at this colored man, with his lips apart and his body bent forward. he let his eyes scan the faces of all the white teachers, male and female, but would end up with a stare at the colored man sitting there. finally, he hunched his seat-mate with his elbow and asked what man that was. he was told that it was the colored teacher of the faculty. belton knew that there was a colored teacher in the school but he had no idea that he would be thus honored with a seat with the rest of the teachers. a broad, happy smile spread over his face, and his eyes danced with delight. he had, in his boyish heart, dreamed of the equality of the races and sighed and hoped for it; but here, he beheld it in reality. though he, as a rule, shut his eyes when prayer was being offered, he kept them open that morning, and peeped through his fingers at that thrilling sight,--a colored man on equal terms with the white college professors. just before the classes were dismissed to their respective class rooms, the teachers came together in a group to discuss some matter, in an informal way. the colored teacher was in the center of the group and discussed the matter as freely as any; and he was listened to with every mark of respect. belton kept a keen watch on the conference and began rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself with delight at seeing the colored teacher participating on equal terms with the other teachers. the colored teacher's views seemed about to prevail, and as one after another the teachers seemed to fall in line with him belton could not contain himself longer, but clapped his hands and gave a loud, joyful, "ha! ha!" the eyes of the whole school were on him in an instant, and the faculty turned around to discover the source and cause of the disorder. but belton had come to himself as soon as he made the noise, and in a twinkling was as quiet and solemn looking as a mouse. the faculty resumed its conference and the students passed the query around as to what was the matter with the "newcomer." a number tapped their heads significantly, saying: "wrong here." how far wrong were they! they should have put their hands over their hearts and said: "the fire of patriotism here;" for belton had here on a small scale, the gratification of the deepest passion of his soul, viz., equality of the races. and what pleased him as much as anything else was the dignified, matter of fact way in which the teacher bore his honors. belton afterwards discovered that this colored man was vice-president of the faculty. on a morning, later in the session, the president announced that the faculty would hold its regular weekly meeting that evening, but that he would have to be in the city to attend to other masters. belton's heart bounded at the announcement. knowing that the colored teacher was vice-president of the faculty, he saw that he would preside. belton determined to see that meeting of the faculty if it cost him no end of trouble. he could not afford, under any circumstances, to fail to see that colored man preside over those white men and women. that night, about : o'clock, when the faculty meeting had progressed about half way, belton made a rope of his bed clothes and let himself down to the ground from the window of his room on the second floor of the building. about twenty yards distant was the "mansion," in one room of which the teachers held their faculty meetings. the room in which the meeting was held was on the side of the "mansion" furthest from the dormitory from which belton had just come. the "mansion" dog was belton's friend, and a soft whistle quieted his bark. belton stole around to the side of the house, where the meeting was being held. the weather was mild and the window was hoisted. belton fell on his knees and crawled to the window, and pulling it up cautiously peeped in. he saw the colored teacher in the chair in the center of the room and others sitting about here and there. he gazed with rapture on the sight. he watched, unmolested, for a long while. one of the lady teachers was tearing up a piece of paper and arose to come to the window to throw it out. belton was listening, just at that time, to what the colored teacher was saying, and did not see the lady coming in his direction. nor did the lady see the form of a man until she was near at hand. at the sight she threw up her hands and screamed loudly from fright. belton turned and fled precipitately. the chicken-coop door had been accidentally left open and belton, unthinkingly, jumped into the chicken house. the chickens set up a lively cackle, much to his chagrin. he grasped an old rooster to stop him, but missing the rooster's throat, the rooster gave the alarm all the more vociferously. teachers had now crowded to the window and were peering out. some of the men started to the door to come out. belton saw this movement and decided that the best way for him to do was to play chicken thief and run. grasping a hen with his other hand, he darted out of the chicken house and fled from the college ground, the chickens squalling all the while. he leapt the college fence at a bound and wrung off the heads of the chickens to stop the noise. the teachers decided that they had been visited by a negro, hunting for chickens; laughed heartily at their fright and resumed deliberations. thus again a patriot was mistaken for a chicken thief; and in the south to-day a race that dreams of freedom, equality, and empire, far more than is imagined, is put down as a race of chicken thieves. as in belton's case, this conception diverts attention from places where startling things would otherwise be discovered. in due time belton crept back to the dormitory, and by a signal agreed upon, roused his room-mate, who let down the rope, by means of which he ascended; and when seated gave his room-mate an account of his adventure. sometime later on, belton in company with another student was sent over to a sister university in nashville to carry a note for the president. this university also had a colored teacher who was one point in advance of belton's. this teacher ate at the same table with the white teachers, while belton's teacher ate with the students. belton passed by the dining room of the teachers of this sister university and saw the colored teacher enjoying a meal with the white teachers. he could not enjoy the sight as much as he would have liked, from thinking about the treatment his teacher was receiving. he had not, prior to this, thought of that discrimination, but now it burned him. he returned to his school and before many days had passed he had called together all the male students. he informed them that they ought to perfect a secret organization and have a password. they all agreed to secrecy and belton gave this as the pass word: "equality or death." he then told them that it was his ambition and purpose to coerce the white teachers into allowing the colored teacher to eat with them. they all very readily agreed; for the matter of his eating had been thoroughly canvassed for a number of sessions, but it seemed as though no one dared to suggest a combination. during slavery all combinations of slaves were sedulously guarded against, and a fear of combinations seems to have been injected into the negro's very blood. the very boldness of belton's idea swept the students away from the lethargic harbor in which they had been anchored, and they were eager for action. belton was instructed to prepare the complaint, which they all agreed to sign. they decided that it was to be presented to the president just before devotional exercises and an answer was to be demanded forthwith. one of the young men had a sister among the young lady students, and, through her belton's rebellion was organized among the girls and their signatures secured. the eventful morning came. the teachers glanced over the assembled students, and were surprised to see them dressed in their best clothes as though it was the sabbath. there was a quiet satisfied look on their faces that the teachers did not understand. the president arrived a little late and found an official envelope on his desk. he hurriedly broke the seal and began to read. his color came and went. the teachers looked at him wonderingly. the president laid the document aside and began the devotional exercises. he was nervous throughout, and made several blunders. he held his hymn book upside down while they were singing, much to the amusement of the school. it took him some time to find the passage of scripture which he desired to read, and after reading forgot for some seconds to call on some one to pray. when the exercises were through he arose and took the document nervously in hand. he said; "i have in my hands a paper from the students of this institution concerning a matter with which they have nothing to do. this is my answer. the classes will please retire." here he gave three strokes to the gong, the signal for dispersion. but not a student moved. the president was amazed. he could not believe his own eyes. he rang the gong a second time and yet no one moved. he then in nervous tones repeated his former assertions and then pulled the gong nervously many times in succession. all remained still. at a signal from belton, all the students lifted their right hands, each bearing a small white board on which was printed in clear type: "equality or death." the president fell back, aghast, and the white teachers were all struck dumb with fear. they had not dreamed that a combination of their pupils was possible, and they knew not what it foreboded. a number grasped the paper that was giving so much trouble and read it. they all then held a hurried consultation and assured the students that the matter should receive due attention. the president then rang the gong again but the students yet remained. belton then arose and stated that it was the determination of the students to not move an inch unless the matter was adjusted then and there. and that faculty of white teachers beat a hasty retreat and held up the white flag! they agreed that the colored teacher should eat with them. the students broke forth into cheering, and flaunted a black flag on which was painted in white letters; "victory." they rose and marched out of doors two by two, singing "john brown's body lies mouldering in the grave, and we go marching on." the confused and bewildered teachers remained behind, busy with their thoughts. they felt like hens who had lost their broods. the cringing, fawning, sniffling, cowardly negro which slavery left, had disappeared, and a new negro, self-respecting, fearless, and determined in the assertion of his rights was at hand. ye who chronicle history and mark epochs in the career of races and nations must put here a towering, gigantic, century stone, as marking the passing of one and the ushering in of another great era in the history of the colored people of the united states. rebellions, for one cause or another, broke out in almost every one of these schools presided over by white faculties, and as a rule, the negro students triumphed. these men who engineered and participated in these rebellions were the future leaders of their race. in these rebellions, they learned the power of combinations, and that white men could be made to capitulate to colored men under certain circumstances. in these schools, probably one hundred thousand students had these thoughts instilled in them. these one hundred thousand went to their respective homes and told of their prowess to their playmates who could not follow them to the college walls. in the light of these facts the great events yet to be recorded are fully accounted for. remember that this was belton's first taste of rebellion against the whites for the securing of rights denied simply because of color. in after life he is the moving, controlling, guiding spirit in one on a far larger scale; it need not come as a surprise. his teachers and school-mates predicted this of him. chapter vii. a sermon, a sock and a fight. belton remained at stowe university, acquiring fame as an orator and scholar. his intellect was pronounced by all to be marvelously bright. we now pass over all his school career until we come to the closing days of the session in which he graduated. school was to close on thursday, and the sunday night previous had been designated as the time for the baccalaureate sermon. on this occasion the entire school assembled in the general assembly room,--the graduating class occupying the row of front seats stretching across the room. the class, this year, numbered twenty-five; and they presented an appearance that caused the hearts of the people to swell with pride. dr. lovejoy, president of the university, was to preach the sermon. he chose for his text, "the kingdom of god is within us." we shall choose from his discourse just such thoughts as may throw light upon some events yet to be recorded, which might not otherwise be accounted for: "young men, we shall soon push you forth into the midst of a turbulent world, to play such a part as the voice of god may assign you. you go forth, amid the shouts and huzzahs of cheering friends, and the anxious prayers of the faithful of god. the part that you play, the character of your return journey, triumphant or inglorious, will depend largely upon how well you have learned the lesson of this text. remember that the kingdom of god is within you. do not go forth into the world to demand favors of the world, but go forth to give unto the world. be strong in your own hearts. "the world is like unto a wounded animal that has run a long way and now lies stretched upon the ground, the blood oozing forth from gaping wounds and pains darting through its entire frame. the huntsman, who comes along to secure and drink the feverish milk of this animal that is all but a rotting carcass, seriously endangers his own well being. so, young men, do not look upon this dying, decaying world to feed and support you. you must feed and support it. carry fresh, warm, invigorating blood in your veins to inject into the veins of the world. this is far safer and nobler than sticking the lance into the swollen veins of the world, to draw forth its putrid blood for your own use. i not only exhort you but i warn you. you may go to this dying animal as a surgeon, and proceed to cut off the sound portions for your own use. you may deceive the world for awhile, but it will, ere long, discover whether you are a vandal or a surgeon; and if it finds you to be the former, when you are closest to its bosom, it will squeeze you tightly and tear your face to shreds. "i wish now to apply these thoughts to your immediate circumstances. "you shall be called upon to play a part in the adjusting of positions between the negro and anglo-saxon races of the south. the present status of affairs cannot possibly remain. the anglo-saxon race must surrender some of its outposts, and the negro will occupy these. to bring about this evacuation on the part of the anglo-saxon, and the forward march of the negro, will be your task. this is a grave and delicate task, fraught with much good or evil, weal or woe. let us urge you to undertake it in the spirit to benefit the world, and not merely to advance your own glory. "the passions of men will soon be running high, and by feeding these passions with the food for which they clamor you may attain the designation of a hero. but, with all the energy of my soul, i exhort you to not play with fire, merely for the sake of the glare that it may cast upon you. use no crisis for self-aggrandizement. be so full of your own soul's wealth that these temptations may not appeal to you. when your vessel is ploughing the roughest seas and encountering the fiercest gales, consult as your chart the welfare of the ship and crew, though you may temporarily lose fame as a captain. "young men, you are highly favored of god. a glorious destiny awaits your people. the gates of the beautiful land of the future are flung wide. your people stand before these gates peering eagerly within. they are ready to march. they are waiting for their commanders and the command to move forward. you are the commanders who must give the command. i urge, i exhort, i beseech you, my dear boys, to think not of yourselves. let your kingdom be within. lead them as they ought to be led, taking no thought to your own glory. "if you heed my voice you shall become true patriots. if you disregard it, you will become time-serving demagogues, playing upon the passions of the people for the sake of short-lived notoriety. such men would corral all the tigers in the forest and organize them into marauding regiments simply for the honor of being in the lead. be ye none of these, my boys. may your alma mater never feel called upon to cry to god in anguish to paralyze the hand that she herself has trained. "be not a burrowing parasite, feasting off of the world's raw blood. let the world draw life from you. use not the misfortunes of your people as stones of a monument erected to your name. if you do, the iron fist of time will knock it over on your grave to crumble your decaying bones to further dust. "always serve the world as the voice of good conscience, instructed by a righteous god, may direct. do this and thou shalt live; live in the sweetened memory of your countrymen; live in the heart of your alma mater; live when the earth is floating dust, when the stars are dead, when the sun is a charred and blackened ruin; live on the bosom of your savior, by the throne of his god, in the eternal heavens." the teacher's soul was truly in his discourse and his thoughts sank deep into the hearts of his hearers. none listened more attentively than belton. none were more deeply impressed than he. none more readily incorporated the principles enumerated as a part of their living lives. when the preacher sat down he bowed his head in his hands. his frame shook. his white locks fluttered in the gentle spring breeze. in silence he prayed. he earnestly implored god to not allow his work and words to be in vain. the same fervent prayer was on belton's lips, rising from the center of his soul. somewhere, these prayers met, locked arms and went before god together. in due time the answer came. this sermon had much to do with belton's subsequent career. but an incident apparently trivial in itself was the occasion of a private discourse that had even greater influence over him. it occurred on thursday following the night of the delivery of the sermon just reported. it was on this wise: belton had, in everything, excelled his entire class, and was, according to the custom, made valedictorian. his room-mate was insanely jealous of him, and sought every way possible to humiliate him. he had racked his brain for a scheme to play on belton on commencement day, and he at last found one that gave him satisfaction. there was a student in stowe university who was noted for his immense height and for the size and scent of his feet. his feet perspired freely, summer and winter, and the smell was exceedingly offensive. on this account he roomed to himself. whenever other students called to see him he had a very effective way of getting rid of them, when he judged that they had stayed long enough. he would complain of a corn and forthwith pull off a shoe. if his room was crowded, this act invariably caused it to be empty. the fame of these feet spread to the teachers and young ladies, and, in fact, to the city. and the huge mississippian seemed to relish the distinction. whenever belton was to deliver an oration he always arranged his clothes the night beforehand. so, on the wednesday night of the week in question, he carefully brushed and arranged his clothes for the next day. in the valedictory there were many really touching things, and in rehearsing it before his room-mate belton had often shed tears. fearing that he might he so touched that tears would come to his eyes in the final delivery, he had bought a most beautiful and costly silk handkerchief. he carefully stowed this away in the tail pocket of his handsome prince albert suit of lovely black. he hung his coat in the wardrobe, very carefully, so that he would merely have to take it down and put it on the next day. his room-mate watched his movements closely, but slyly. he arose when he saw belton hang his coat up. he went down the corridor until he arrived at the room occupied by the mississippian. he knocked, and after some little delay, was allowed to enter. the mississippian was busy rehearsing his oration and did not care to be bothered. but he sat down to entertain belton's room-mate for a while. he did not care to rehearse his oration before him and he felt able to rout him at any time. they conversed on various things for a while, when belton's room-mate took up a book and soon appeared absorbed in reading. he was sitting on one side of a study table in the center of the room while the mississippian was on the other. thinking that his visitor had now stayed about long enough, the mississippian stooped down quietly and removed one shoe. he slyly watched belton's room-mate, chuckling inwardly. but his fun died away into a feeling of surprise when he saw that his shoeless foot was not even attracting attention. he stooped down and pulled off the other shoe, and his surprise developed into amazement when he saw that the combined attack produced no result. belton's room-mate seemed absorbed in reading. the mississippian next pulled off his coat and pretending to yawn and stretch, lifted his arms just so that the junction of his arm with his shoulder was on a direct line with his visitor's nose. belton's room-mate made a slight grimace, but kept on reading. the mississippian was dumbfounded. he then signified his intention of retiring to bed and undressed, eyeing his visitor all the while, hoping that the scent of his whole body would succeed. he got into bed and was soon snoring loudly enough to be heard two or three rooms away; but belton's room-mate seemed to pay no attention to the snoring. the mississippian gave up the battle in disgust, saying to himself: "that fellow regards scents and noises just as though he was a buzzard, hatched in a cleft of the roaring niagara falls." so saying, he fell asleep in reality and the snoring increased in volume and speed. belton's room-mate now took a pair of large new socks out of his pocket and put them into the mississippian's shoes, from which he took the dirty socks already there. having these dirty socks, he quietly tips out of the room and returns to his and belton's room. belton desired to make the speech of his life the next day, and had retired to rest early so as to be in prime nervous condition for the effort. his room-mate stole to the wardrobe and stealthily extracted the silk handkerchief and put these dirty socks in its stead. belton was then asleep, perhaps dreaming of the glories of the morrow. thursday dawned and belton arose, fresh and vigorous. he was cheerful and buoyant that day; he was to graduate bedecked with all the honors of his class. mr. king, his benefactor, was to be present. his mother had saved up her scant earnings and had come to see her son wind up the career on which she had sent him forth, years ago. the assembly room was decorated with choice flowers and presented the appearance of the garden of eden. on one side of the room sat the young lady pupils, while on the other the young men sat. visitors from the city came in droves and men of distinction sat on the platform. the programme was a good one, but all eyes dropped to the bottom in quest of belton's name; for his fame as an orator was great, indeed. the programme passed off as arranged, giving satisfaction and whetting the appetite for belton's oration. the president announced belton's name amid a thundering of applause. he stepped forth and cast a tender look in the direction of the fair maiden who had contrived to send him that tiny white bud that showed up so well on his black coat. he moved to the center of the platform and was lustily cheered, he walked with such superb grace and dignity. he began his oration, capturing his audience with his first sentence and bearing them along on the powerful pinions of his masterly oratory; and when his peroration was over the audience drew its breath and cheered wildly for many, many minutes. he then proceeded to deliver the valedictory to the class. after he had been speaking for some time, his voice began to break with emotion. as he drew near to the most affecting portion he reached to his coat tail pocket to secure his silk handkerchief to brush away the gathering tears. as his hand left his pocket a smile was on well-nigh every face in the audience, but belton did not see this, but with bowed head, proceeded with his pathetic utterances. the audience of course was struggling between the pathos of his remarks and the humor of those dirty socks. belton's sweetheart began to cry from chagrin and his mother grew restless, anxious to tell him or let him know in some way. belton's head continued bowed in sadness, as he spoke parting words to his beloved classmates, and lifted his supposed handkerchief to his eyes to wipe away the tears that were now coming freely. the socks had thus come close to belton's nose and he stopped of a sudden and held them at arm's length to gaze at that terrible, terrible scent producer. when he saw what he held in his hand he flung them in front of him, they falling on some students, who hastily brushed them off. the house, by this time, was in an uproar of laughter; and the astonished belton gazed blankly at the socks lying before him. his mind was a mass of confusion. he hardly knew where he was or what he was doing. self-possession, in a measure, returned to him, and he said: "ladies and gentlemen, these socks are from mississippi. i am from virginia." this reference to the mississippian was greeted by an even louder outburst of laughter. belton bowed and left the platform, murmuring that he would find and kill the rascal who had played that trick on him. the people saw the terrible frown on his face, and the president heard the revengeful words, and all feared that the incident was not closed. belton hurried out of the speakers' room and hastily ran to the city to purchase a pistol. having secured it, he came walking back at a furious pace. by this time the exercises were over and friends were returning to town. they desired to approach belton and compliment him, and urge him to look lightly on his humorous finale; but he looked so desperate that none dared to approach him. the president was on the lookout for belton and met him at the door of the boys' dormitory. he accosted belton tenderly and placed his hand on his shoulder. belton roughly pushed him aside and strode into the building and roamed through it, in search of his room-mate, whom he now felt assured did him the trick. but his room-mate, foreseeing the consequences of detection, had made beforehand every preparation for leaving and was now gone. no one could quiet belton during that whole day, and he spent the night meditating plans for wreaking vengeance. the next morning the president came over early, and entering belton's room, was more kindly received. he took belton's hand in his and sat down near his side. he talked to belton long and earnestly, showing him what an unholy passion revenge was. he showed that such a passion would mar any life that yielded to it. belton, he urged, was about to allow a pair of dirty socks to wreck his whole life. he drew a picture of the suffering savior, crying out between darting pains the words of the sentence, the most sublime ever uttered: "lord forgive them for they know not what they do." belton was melted to tears of repentance for his unholy passion. before the president left belton's side he felt sure that henceforth a cardinal principle of his life would be to allow god to avenge all his wrongs. it was a narrow escape for belton; but he thanked god for the lesson, severe as it was, to the day of his death. the world will also see how much it owes to god for planting that lesson in belton's heart. let us relate just one more incident that happened at the winding up of belton's school life. as we have intimated, one young lady, a student of the school, was very near to belton. though he did not love her, his regard for her was very deep and his respect very great. school closed on thursday, and the students were allowed to remain in the buildings until the following monday, when, ordinarily, they left. the young men were allowed to provide conveyances for the young ladies to get to the various depots. they esteemed that a very great privilege. belton, as you know, was a very poor lad and had but little money. after paying his expenses incident to his graduation, and purchasing a ticket home, he now had just one dollar and a quarter left. out of this one dollar and a quarter he was to pay for a carriage ride of this young lady friend to the railway station. this, ordinarily, cost one dollar, and belton calculated on having a margin of twenty-five cents. but you would have judged him the happy possessor of a large fortune, merely to look at him. the carriage rolled up to the girls' dormitory and belton's friend stood on the steps, with her trunks, three in number. when belton saw that his friend had three trunks, his heart sank. in order to be sure against exorbitant charges the drivers were always made to announce their prices before the journey was commenced. a crowd of girls was standing around to bid the young lady adieu. in an off-hand way belton said: "driver what is your fee?" he replied: "for you and the young lady and the trunks, two dollars, sir." belton almost froze in his tracks, but, by the most heroic struggling, showed no signs of discomfiture on his face. endeavoring to affect an air of indifference, he said: "what is the price for the young lady and the trunks?" "one dollar and fifty cents." belton's eyes were apparently fixed on some spot in the immensity of space. the driver, thinking that he was meditating getting another hackman to do the work, added: "you can call any hackman you choose and you won't find one who will do it for a cent less." belton's last prop went with this statement. he turned to his friend smilingly and told her to enter, with apparently as much indifference as a millionaire. he got in and sat by her side; but knew not how on earth he was to get out of his predicament. the young lady chatted gayly and wondered at belton's dullness. belton, poor fellow, was having a tough wrestle with poverty and was trying to coin something out of nothing. now and then, at some humorous remark, he would smile a faint, sickly smile. thus it went on until they arrived at the station. belton by this time decided upon a plan of campaign. they alighted from the carriage and belton escorted his friend into the coach. he then came back to speak to the driver. he got around the corner of the station house, out of sight of the train and beckoned for the driver to come to him. the driver came and belton said: "friend, here is one dollar and a quarter. it is all i have. trust me for the balance until tomorrow." "oh! no," replied the driver. "i must have my money to-day. i have to report to-night and my money must go in. just fork over the balance, please." "well," said belton rather independently--for he felt that he now had the upper hand,--"i have given you all the money that i have. and you have got to trust me for the balance. you can't take us back," and belton started to walk away. the driver said: "may be that girl has some money. i'll see her." terror immediately seized belton, and he clutched at the man eagerly, saying: "ah, no, now, don't resort to any such foolishness. can't you trust a fellow?" belton was now talking very persuasively. the driver replied: "i don't do business that way. if i had known that you did not have the money i would not have brought you. i am going to the young lady." belton was now thoroughly frightened and very angry; and he planted himself squarely in front of the driver and said: "you shall do no such thing!" the driver heard the train blow and endeavored to pass. belton grasped him by the collar and putting a leg quickly behind him, tripped him to the ground, falling on top of him. the driver struggled, but belton succeeded in getting astride of him and holding him down. the train shortly pulled out, and belton jumped up and ran to wave a good-bye to his girl friend. later in the day, the driver had him arrested and the police justice fined him ten dollars. a crowd of white men who heard belton's story, admired his respect for the girl, and paid the fine for him and made up a purse. at stowe university, belton had learned to respect women. it was in these schools that the work of slavery in robbing the colored women of respect, was undone. woman now occupied the same position in belton's eye as she did in the eye of the anglo-saxon. there is hope for that race or nation that respects its women. it was for the smile of a woman that the armored knight of old rode forth to deeds of daring. it is for the smile of women that the soldier of to-day endures the hardships of the camp and braves the dangers of the field of battle. the heart of man will joyfully consent to be torn to pieces if the lovely hand of woman will only agree to bind the parts together again and heal the painful wounds. the negro race had left the last relic of barbarism behind, and this young negro, fighting to keep that cab driver from approaching the girl for a fee, was but a forerunner of the negro, who, at the voice of a woman, will fight for freedom until he dies, fully satisfied if the hand that he worships will only drop a flower on his grave. belton's education was now complete, as far as the school-room goes. what will he do with it? chapter viii. many mysteries cleared up. on the day prior to the one on which bernard first entered the public school of winchester, fairfax belgrave had just arrived in the town. a costly residence, beautifully located and furnished in the most luxurious manner, was on the eve of being sold. mrs. belgrave purchased this house and installed herself as mistress thereof. here she lived in isolation with her boy, receiving no callers and paying no visits. being a devoted catholic, she attended all the services of her church and reared bernard in that faith. for a time white and colored people speculated much as to who mrs. belgrave was, and as to what was the source of her revenue; for she was evidently a woman of wealth. she employed many servants and these were plied with thousands of questions by people of both races. but the life of mrs. belgrave was so circumspect, so far removed from anything suspicious, and her bearing was so evidently that of a woman of pure character and high ideals that speculation died out after a year or two, and the people gave up the finding out of her history as a thing impossible of achievement. with seemingly unlimited money at her command, all of bernard's needs were supplied and his lightest wishes gratified. mrs. belgrave was a woman with very superior education. the range of her reading was truly remarkable. she possessed the finest library ever seen in the northern section of virginia, and all the best of the latest books were constantly arriving at her home. magazines and newspapers arrived by every mail. thus she was thoroughly abreast with the times. as bernard grew up, he learned to value associating with his mother above every other pleasure. she superintended his literary training and cultivated in him a yearning for literature of the highest and purest type. politics, science, art, religion, sociology, and, in fact, the whole realm of human knowledge was invaded and explored. such home training was an invaluable supplement to what bernard received in school. when, therefore, he entered harvard, he at once moved to the front rank in every particular. many white young men of wealth and high social standing, attracted by his brilliancy, drew near him and became his fast friends. in his graduating year, he was so popular as to be elected president of his class, and so scholarly as to be made valedictorian. these achievements on his part were so remarkable that the associated press telegraphed the news over the country, and many were the laudatory notices that he received. the night of his graduation, when he had finished delivering his oration that swept all before it as does the whirlwind and the hurricane, as he stepped out of the door to take his carriage for home, a tall man with a broad face and long flowing beard stepped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. bernard turned and the man handed him a note. tearing the envelope open he saw in his mother's well known handwriting the following: "dear bernie: "follow this man and trust him as you would your loving mother. "fairfax belgrave." bernard dismissed his carriage, ordered to take him to his lodging, and spoke to the man who had accosted him, saying that he was at his service. they walked a distance and soon were at the railroad station. they boarded the train and in due time arrived in washington, d.c., bernard asking no questions, knowing that a woman as habitually careful as his mother did not send that message without due care and grave purpose. in washington they took a carriage and were driven to one of the most fashionable portions of the city, and stopped before a mansion of splendid appearance. bernard's escort led the way into the house, having a key to which all of the doors responded. bernard was left in the parlor and told to remain until some one called for him. the tall man with long flowing beard went to his room and removed his disguise. in a few minutes a negro servant, sent by this man, appeared and led bernard to a room in the rear of the house on the second floor. it was a large room having two windows, one facing the east and the other the north. as he stepped into the room he saw sitting directly facing him a white man, tall and of a commanding appearance. his hair, and for that matter his whole noble looking head and handsome face bore a striking resemblance to bernard's own. the latter perceived the likeness and halted in astonishment. the man arose and handed bernard a note. bernard opened it and found it exactly resembling the one handed him just prior to his journey to washington. the man eyed bernard from head to foot with a look that betrayed the keenest interest. opening one of the drawers of his desk he drew forth a paper. it was a marriage certificate, certifying to a marriage between fairfax belgrave and ------. "i am your mother's lawful husband, and you are my legitimate child." bernard knew not what to say, think, or feel. his mother had so carefully avoided any mention of her family affairs that he regarded them as among things sacred, and he never allowed even his thoughts to wander in that direction. "i am senator ------ from the state of ------, chairman of ------ committee." the information contained in that sentence made bernard rise from his seat with a bound. the man's name was a household word throughout the nation, and his reputation was international. "be seated, bernard, i have much to say to you. i have a long story to tell. i have been married twice. my first wife's brother was governor of ------ and lived and died a bachelor. he was, however, the father of a child, whose mother was a servant connected with his father's household. the child was given to my wife to rear, and she accepted the charge. the child bloomed into a perfect beauty, possessed a charming voice, could perform with extraordinary skill on the piano, and seemed to have inherited the mind of her father, whose praises have been sung in all the land. "when this child was seventeen years of age my wife died. this girl remained in our house. i was yet a young man. now that my wife was gone, attending to this girl fell entirely into my hands. i undertook her education. as her mind unfolded, so many beauteous qualities appeared that she excited my warm admiration. "by chance, i discovered that the girl loved me; not as a father, but as she would a lover. she does not know to this day that i made the discovery when i did. as for myself, i had for some time been madly in love with her. when i discovered, that my affections were returned, i made proposals, at that time regarded as honorable enough by the majority of white men of the south. "it seemed as though my proposition did not take her by surprise. she gently, but most firmly rejected my proposal. she told me that the proposal was of a nature to occasion deep and lasting repugnance, but that in my case she blamed circumstances and conditions more than she did me. the quiet, loving manner in which she resented insult and left no tinge of doubt as to her virtue, if possible, intensified my love. a few days later she came to me and said: 'let us go to canada and get married secretly. i will return south with you. no one shall ever know what we have done, and for the sake of your political and social future i will let the people apply whatever name they wish to our relationship.' "i gladly embraced the proposal, knowing that she would keep faith even unto death; although i realized how keenly her pure soul felt at being regarded as living with me dishonorably. yet, love and interest bade her bow her head and receive the public mark of shame. "heroic soul! that is the marriage certificate which i showed you. you were born. when you were four years old your mother told me that she must leave, as she could not bear to see her child grow up esteeming her an adulteress. "the war broke out, and i entered the army, and your mother took you to europe, where she lived until the war was over, when she returned to winchester, virginia. her father was a man of wealth, and you own two millions of dollars through your mother. at my death you shall have eight millions more. "so much for the past. let me tell you of my plans and hopes for your future. this infernal race prejudice has been the curse of my life. think of my pure-hearted, noble-minded wife, branded as a harlot, and you, my own son, stigmatized as a bastard, because it would be suicide for me to let the world know that you both are mine, though you both are the direct descendants of a governor, and a long line of heroes whose names are ornaments to our nation's history. "i want you to break down this prejudice. it is the wish of your mother and your father. you must move in the front, but all that money and quiet influence can do shall be done by me for your advancement. i paid mr. tiberius gracchus leonard two thousand dollars a year to teach you at winchester. his is a master mind. one rash deed robbed the world of seeing a colossal intellect in high station. i shall tell you his history presently. "i desire you to go to norfolk county, virginia, and hang up your sign as an attorney at law. i wish you to run for congress from that district. leonard is down there. as you will find out, he will be of inestimable service to you. "now let me give you his history. leonard was the most brilliant student that ever entered ------ university in the state of ------. just prior to the time when he would have finished his education at school, the war broke out and he enlisted in the confederate army, and was made a colonel of a regiment. i was also a colonel, and when our ranks became depleted the two regiments were thrown into one. though he was the ranking officer, our commander, as gallant and intrepid an officer as ever trod a battle field, was put in command. this deeply humilitated leonard and he swore to be avenged. "one evening, when night had just lowered her black wings over the earth, we were engaging the enemy. our commander was in advance of his men. suddenly the commander fell, wounded. at first it was thought that the enemy bad shot him, but investigation showed that the ball had entered his back. it was presumed, then, that some of his own men had mistook him for an enemy and had shot him through mistake. leonard had performed the nefarious deed knowingly. by some skillful detective work, i secured incontestible evidence of his guilt. i went to him with my proof and informed him of my intentions to lay it before a superior officer. his answer was: 'if you do, i will let the whole world know about your nigger wife.' i fell back as if stunned. terror seized me. if he knew of my marriage might not others know it? might not it be already generally known? these were the thoughts that coursed through my brain. however, with an effort i suppressed my alarm. seeing that each possessed a secret that meant death and disgrace to the other (for i shall certainly kill myself if i am ever exposed) i entered into an agreement with him. "on the condition that he would prepare a statement confessing his guilt and detailing the circumstances of the crime and put this paper in my hand, i would show him my marriage certificate; and after that, each was to regard the other's secret as inviolate. "we thus held each other securely tied. his conscience, however, disturbed him beyond measure; and every evening, just after dusk, he fancied that he saw the form of his departed commander. it made him cowardly in battle and he at last deserted. "he informed me as to how my secret came into his possession. soon after he committed his crime he felt sure that i was in possession of his secret, and he thought to steal into my tent and murder me. he stole in there one night to perpetrate the crime. i was talking in my sleep. in my slumber i told the story of my secret marriage in such circumstantial detail that it impressed him as being true. feeling that he could hold me with that, he spared my life, determined to wound me deeper than death if i struck at him. "you see that he is a cowardly villain; but we sometimes have to use such. "now, my son, go forth; labor hard and climb high. scale the high wall of prejudice. make it possible, dear boy, for me to own you ere i pass out of life. let your mother have the veil of slander torn from her pure form ere she closes her eyes on earth forever." bernard, handsome, brilliant, eloquent, the grandson of a governor, the son of a senator, a man of wealth, to whom defeat was a word unknown, steps out to battle for the freedom of his race; urged to put his whole soul into the fight because of his own burning desire for glory, and because out of the gloom of night he heard his grief stricken parents bidding him to climb where the cruel world would be compelled to give its sanction to the union that produced such a man as he. bernard's training was over. he now had a tremendous incentive. into life he plunges. chapter ix. love and politics. acting on his father's advice bernard arrived in norfolk in the course of a few days. he realized that he was now a politician and decided to make a diligent study of the art of pleasing the populace and to sacrifice everything to the goddess of fame. knowing that whom the people loved they honored, he decided to win their love at all hazards. he decided to become the obedient servant of the people that he might thus make all the people his servants. he took up hie abode at hotel douglass, a colored hotel at which the colored leaders would often congregate. bernard mingled with these men freely and soon had the name among them of being a jovial good fellow. while at harvard, bernard had studied law simultaneously with his other studies and graduated from both the law and classical departments the same year. near the city court house, in a row of somewhat dilapidated old buildings, he rented a law office. the rowdy and criminal element infested this neighborhood. whenever any of these got into difficulties, bernard was always ready to defend them. if they were destitute of funds he would serve them free of charge and would often pay their fines for them. he was ever ready to go on bonds of any who got into trouble. he gave money freely to those who begged of him. in this manner he became the very ideal of the vicious element, though not accounted by them as one of their number. bernard was also equally successful in winning favor with the better element of citizens. though a good catholic at heart, he divided his time among all denominations, thus solving the most difficult problem for a negro leader to solve; for the religious feeling was so intense that it was carried into almost every branch of human activity. having won the criminal and religious circles, he thought to go forth and conquer the social world and secure its support. he decided to enter society and pay marked attention to that young lady that would most increase his popularity. we shall soon see how this would-be conqueror stood the very first fire. his life had been one of such isolation that he had not at all moved in social circles before this, and no young woman had ever made more than a passing impression on him. there was in norfolk a reading circle composed of the brightest, most talented young men and women of the city. upon taking a short vacation, this circle always gave a reception which was attended by persons of the highest culture in the city. bernard received an invitation to this reception, and, in company with a fellow lawyer attended. the reception was held at the residence of a miss evangeline leslie, a member of the circle. the house was full of guests when bernard and his friend arrived. they rang the door bell and a young lady came to the door to receive them. she was a small, beautifully formed girl with a luxuriant growth of coal black hair that was arranged in such a way as to impart a queenly look to her shapely head. her skin was dark brown, tender and smooth in appearance. a pair of laughing hazel eyes, a nose of the prettiest possible size and shape, and a chin that tapered with the most exquisite beauty made her face the mecca of all eyes. bernard was so struck with the girl's beauty that he did not greet her when she opened the door. he stared at her with a blank look. they were invited in. bernard pulled off his hat and walked in, not saying a word but eyeing that pretty girl all the while. even when his back was turned toward her, as he walked, his head was turned over his shoulders and his eye surveyed all the graceful curves of her perfect form and scanned those features that could but charm those who admire nature's work. when he had taken a seat in the corner of a room by the side of his friend he said: "pray, who is that girl that met you at the door? i really did not know that a dark woman could look so beautiful." "you are not the only one that thinks that she is surpassingly beautiful," said his friend. "her picture is the only negro's picture that is allowed to hang in the show glasses of the white photographers down town. white and colored pay homage to her beauty." "well," said bernard, "that man who denies that girl's beauty should be sent to the asylum for the cure of a perverted and abnormal taste." "i see you are rather enthusiastic. is it wise to admire mortgaged property?" remarked his friend. "what's that?" asked bernard, quickly. "is any body in my way?" "in your way?" laughed his friend. "pray what do you mean? i don't understand you." "come," said bernard, "i am on pins. is she married or about to be?" "well, not exactly that, but she has told me that she cares a good bit for me." bernard saw that his friend was in a mood to tease him and he arose and left his side. his friend chuckled gleefully to himself and said: "the would-be catcher is caught. i thought viola martin would duck him if anybody could. tell me about these smile-proof bachelors. when once they are struck, they fall all to pieces at once." bernard sought his landlady, who was present as a guest, and through her secured an introduction to miss viola martin. he found her even more beautiful, if possible, in mind than in form and he sat conversing with her all the evening as if enchanted. the people present were not at all surprised; for as soon as bernard's brilliancy and worth were known in the town and people began to love him, it was generally hoped and believed that miss martin would take him captive at first sight. miss viola martin was a universal favorite. she was highly educated and an elocutionist of no mean ability. she sang sweetly and was the most accomplished pianist in town. she was bubbling over with good humor and her wit and funny stories were the very life of any circle where she happened to be. she was most remarkably well-informed on all leading questions of the day, and men of brain always enjoyed a chat with her. and the children and older people fairly worshipped her; for she paid especial attention to these. in all religious movements among the women she was the leading spirit. with all these points in her favor she was unassuming and bowed her head so low that the darts of jealousy, so universally hurled at the brilliant and popular, never came her way. no one in norfolk was considered worthy of her heart and hand and the community was tenderly solicitous as to who should wed her. bernard had made such rapid strides in their affections and esteem that they had already assigned him to their pet, viola, or vie as she was popularly called. when the time for the departure of the guests arrived, bernard with great regret bade miss martin adieu. she ran upstairs to get her cloak, and a half dozen girls went tripping up stairs behind her; when once in the room set apart for the ladies' cloaks they began to gleefully pound viola with pillows and smother her with kisses. "you have made a catch, vie. hold him," said one. "he'll hold himself," said another. to all of which viola answered with a sigh. a mulatto girl stepped up to viola and with a merry twinkle in her eye said: "theory is theory and practice is practice, eh, vie? well, we would hardly blame you in this case." viola earnestly replied: "i shall ask for no mercy. theory and practice are one with me in this case." "bah, bah, girl, two weeks will change that tune. and i, for one, won't blame you," replied the mulatto still in a whisper. the girls seeing that viola did not care to be teased about bernard soon ceased, and she came down stairs to be escorted home by the young man who had accompanied her there. this young man was, thus early, jealous of bernard and angry at viola for receiving his attentions, and as a consequence he was silent all the way home. this gave viola time to think of that handsome, talented lawyer whom she had just met. she had to confess to herself that he had aroused considerable interest in her bosom and she looked forward to a promised visit with pleasure. but every now and then a sigh would escape her, such as she made when the girls were teasing her. her escort bade her good-night at her father's gate in a most sullen manner, but viola was so lost in thought that she did not notice it. she entered the house feeling lively and cheerful, but when she entered her room she burst into crying. she would laugh a while and cry a while as though she had a foretaste of coming bliss mixed with bitterness. bernard at once took the place left vacant by the dropping away of the jealous young man and became viola's faithful attendant, accompanying her wherever he could. the more he met viola, the more beautiful she appeared to him and the more admirable he found her mind. bernard almost forgot his political aspirations, and began to ponder that passage of scripture that said man should not be alone. but he did not make such progress with viola as was satisfactory to him. sometimes she would appear delighted to see him and was all life and gayety. again she was scarcely more than polite and seemed perfectly indifferent to him. after a long while bernard decided that viola, who seemed to be very ambitious, treated him thus because he had not done anything worthy of special note. he somewhat slacked up in his attentions and began to devote himself to acquiring wide spread popularity with a view to entering congress and reaching viola in this way. the more he drew off from viola the more friendly she would seem to him, and he began to feel that seeming indifference was perhaps the way to win her. thus the matter moved along for a couple of years. in the mean time, mr. tiberius gracchus leonard, bernard's old teacher, was busy in norfolk looking after bernard's political interests, acting under instructions from bernard's father, senator ------. about this stage of bernard's courtship mr. leonard called on him and told him that the time was ripe for bernard to announce himself for congress. bernard threw his whole soul into the project. he had another great incentive to cause him to wish to succeed, viola martin's hand and heart. in order to understand what followed we must now give a bit of virginia political history. in the year ---- there was a split in the democratic party of virginia on the question of paying virginia's debt to england. the bolting section of the party joined hands with the republicans and whipped the regular democrats at the polls. this coalition thus formed was eventually made the republican party of virginia. the democrats, however, rallied and swept this coalition from power and determined to forever hold the state government if they had to resort to fraud. they resorted to ballot box stuffing and various other means to maintain control. at last, they passed a law creating a state electoral commission. this commission was composed of three democrats. these three democrats were given the power to appoint three persons in each county as an electoral board. these county electoral boards would appoint judges for each precinct or voting place in the county. they would also appoint a special constable at each voting booth to assist the illiterate voters. with rare exceptions, the officials were democrats, and with the entire state's election machinery in their hands the democrats could manage elections according to their "own sweet will." it goes without saying that the democrats always carried any and every precinct that they decided, and elections were mere farces. such was the condition of affairs when bernard came forward as a candidate from the second congressional district. the district was overwhelmingly republican, but the democrats always secured the office. it was regarded as downright foolhardy to attempt to get elected to congress from the district as a republican; so the nomination was merely passed around as an honor, empty enough. it was such a feeling that inspired the republicans to nominate bernard; but bernard entered the canvass in dead earnest and conducted a brilliant campaign. the masses of colored people rallied around his flag. ministers of colored churches came to his support. seeing that the colored people were so determined to elect bernard, the white republicans, leaders and followers, fell into line. viola martin organized patriotic clubs among the women and aroused whatever voters seemed lethargic. the day of election came and bernard was elected by a majority of , votes; but the electoral boards gave the certificate of election to his opponent, alleging his opponent's majority to be , . bernard decided to contest the election in congress, and here is where leonard's fine work was shown. he had, for sometime, made it appear in norfolk that he was a democrat of the most radical school. the leading democrats made his acquaintance and leonard very often composed speeches for them. he thus became a favorite with certain prominent democrats and they let him into the secret workings of the electoral machinery. thus informed, leonard went to headquarters of the democratic party at richmond with a view to bribing the clerks to give him inside facts. he found the following to be the character of the work done at headquarters. a poll of all the voters in the state was made. the number of white and the number of colored voters in each voting precinct was secured. the number of illiterate voters of both races was ascertained. with these facts in their possession, they had conducted all the campaign necessary for them to carry on an election. of course speakers were sent out as a sham, but they were not needed for anything more than appearances. having the figures indicated above before them, they proceeded to assign to each district, each county, each city, each precinct just such majorities as they desired, taking pains to make the figures appear reasonable and differ somewhat from figures of previous years. whenever it would do no harm, a precinct was granted to the republicans for the sake of appearances. ballot boxes of varied patterns were secured and filled with ballots marked just as they desired. some ballots were for republicans, some for democrats, and some marked wrong so as to indicate the votes of illiterates. the majorities, of course, were invariably such as suited the democrats. the ballots were all carefully counted and arranged; and tabulated statements of the votes cast put in. a sheet for the returns was put in, only awaiting the signatures of the officials at the various precincts in order to be complete. these boxes were carried by trusted messengers to their destinations. on election day, not these boxes, but boxes similar to them were used to receive the ballots. on the night of the election, the ballot boxes that actually received the votes were burned with all their contents and the boxes and ballots from richmond were substituted. the judges of election took out the return sheet, already prepared, signed it and returned it to richmond forthwith. thus it could always be known thirty days ahead just what the exact vote in detail was to be throughout the entire state. in fact a tabulated statement was prepared and printed long before election day. leonard paid a clerk at headquarters five thousand dollars for one of these tabulated statements. with this he hurried on to washington and secretly placed it before the republican congressional campaign committee, with the understanding that it was to be used after election day as a basis for possible contest. fifteen of the most distinguished clergymen in the nation were summoned to washington and made affidavits, stating that they had seen this tabulated statement twenty days before the election took place. when virginia's returns came in they were found to correspond in every detail to this tabulated report. as nothing but a prophet, direct from god, could have foreseen the results exactly as they did occur, this tabulated statement was proof positive of fraud on a gigantic scale. with this and a mass of other indisputable evidence at his back, secured by the shrewd leonard, bernard entered the contest for his seat. the house of representatives was democratic by a small majority. the contest was a long and bitter one. the republicans were solidly for bernard. the struggle was eagerly watched from day to day. it was commonly believed that the democrats would vote against bernard, despite the clear case in his favor. the day to vote on the contest at last arrived and the news was flashed over the country that bernard had triumphed. a handful of democrats had deserted their party and voted with the republicans. bernard's father had redeemed his promise of secret support. bernard's triumph in a democratic house caused the nation to rub its eyes and look again in wonder. the colored people hailed bernard as the coming moses. "belgrave, belgrave, belgrave," was on every negro tongue. poems were addressed to him. babies were named after him. honorary titles were showered upon him. he was in much demand at fairs and gatherings of notable people. he accepted every invitation of consequence, whenever possible, and traveled far and wide winning friends by his bewitching eloquence and his pleasing personality. the democrats, after that defeat, always passed the second district by and bernard held his seat in congress from year to year unmolested. he made application and was admitted to plead law before the supreme court of the united states. and when we shall see him again it will be there, pleading in one of the most remarkable cases known to jurisprudence. chapter x. cupid again at work. belton, after graduating from stowe university, returned with his mother to their humble home at winchester. he had been away at school for four years and now desired to see his home again before going forth into the world. he remained at winchester several days visiting all the spots where he had toiled or played, mourned or sung, wept or laughed as a child. he entered the old school house and gazed with eyes of love on its twisting walls, decaying floor and benches sadly in need of repair. a somewhat mournful smile played upon his lips as he thought of the revengeful act that he had perpetrated upon his first teacher, mr. leonard, and this smile died away into a more sober expression as he remembered how his act of revenge had, like chickens, come home to roost, when those dirty socks had made him an object of laughter at stowe university on commencement day. revenge was dead in his bosom. and it was well for the world that this young negro had been trained in a school where there was a friendly lance to open his veins and let out this most virulent of poisons. belton lingered about home, thinking of the great problem of human life. he would walk out of town near sunset and, taking his seat on some grassy knoll would gaze on the blue ridge mountains. the light would fade out of the sky and the gloom of evening gather, but the mountains would maintain their same bold appearance. whenever he cast his eyes in their direction, there they stood firm and immovable. his pure and lofty soul had an affinity for all things grand and he was always happy, even from childhood, when he could sit undisturbed and gaze at the mountains, huge and lofty, rising in such unconquerable grandeur, upward toward the sky. belton chose the mountain as the emblem of his life and he besought god to make him such in the moral world. at length he tore himself loose from the scenes of his childhood, and embracing his fond mother, left winchester to begin life in the city of richmond, the capital of the old confederacy. through the influence of mr. king, his benefactor, he secured a position as a teacher in one of the colored schools of that city. the principal of the school to which belton was assigned was white, but all the rest of the teachers were young colored women. on the morning of his arrival at the school building belton was taken in charge by the principal, and by him was carried around to be introduced to the various teachers. before he reaches a certain room, let us give you a slight introduction to the occupant thereof. antoinette nermal was famed throughout the city for her beauty, intelligence and virtue. her color was what is termed a light brown skin. we assure you that it was charming enough. she was of medium height, and for grace and symmetry her form was fit for a sculptor's model. her pretty face bore the stamp of intellectuality, but the intellectuality of a beautiful woman, who was still every inch a woman despite her intellectuality. her thin well-formed lips seemed arranged by nature in such a manner as to be incomplete without a kiss, and that lovely face seemed to reinforce the invitation. her eyes were black, and when you gazed in them the tenderness therein seemed to be about to draw you out of yourself. they concealed and yet revealed a heart capable of passionate love. those who could read her and wished her well were much concerned that she should love wisely; for it could be seen that she was to love with her whole heart, and to wreck her love was to wreck her life. she had passed through all her life thus far without seriously noticing any young man, thus giving some the impression that she was incapable of love, being so intellectual. others who read her better knew that she despised the butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, and was preserving her heart to give it whole into the keeping of some worthy man. she neither sang nor played, but her soul was intensely musical and she had the most refined and cultivated taste in the musical circles in which she moved. she was amiable in disposition, but her amiability was not of the kind to lead her in quest of you; but if you came across her, she would treat you so pleasantly that you would desire to pass that way again. belton and the principal are now on the way to her room. as they entered the door her back was to them, as she was gazing out of the window. belton's eyes surveyed her graceful form and he was so impressed with its loveliness that he was sorry when she began to turn around. but when she was turned full around belton forgot all about her form, and his eyes did not know which to contemplate longest, that rich complexion, those charming eyes, or those seductive lips. on the other hand, miss nermal was struck with belton's personal appearance and as she contemplated the noble, dignified yet genial appearance which he presented, her lips came slightly apart, rendering her all the more beautiful. the principal said: "miss nermal, allow me to present to you our newly arrived associate in the work, mr. belton piedmont." miss nermal smiled to belton and said: "mr. piedmont, we are glad to have a man of your acknowledged talents in our midst and we anticipate much of you." belton felt much flattered, surprised, overjoyed. he wished that he could find the person who had been so very kind as to give that marvelously beautiful girl such a good opinion of himself. but when he opened his mouth to reply he was afraid of saying something that would shatter this good opinion; so he bowed politely and merely said, "thank you." "i trust that you will find our association agreeable," said miss nermal, smiling and walking toward him. this remark turned belton's mind to thoughts that stimulated him to a brisk reply. "oh assuredly, miss nermal. i am already more than satisfied that i shall expect much joy and pleasure from my association with you--i--i--i mean the teachers." belton felt that he had made a bad break and looked around a little uneasily at the principal, violently condemning in his heart that rule which led principals to escort young men around; especially when there was a likelihood of meeting with such a lovely girl. if you had consulted belton's wishes at that moment, school would have been adjourned immediately, the principal excused, and himself allowed to look at and talk to miss nermal as much as he desired. however, this was not to be. the principal moved to the door to continue his tour. belton reluctantly followed. he didn't see the need of getting acquainted with all the teachers in one day. he thought that there were too many teachers in that building, anyhow. these were belton's rebellious thoughts as he left miss nermal's room. nevertheless, he finished his journey around to the various rooms and afterwards assumed charge of his own room. some might ascribe his awkwardness in his room that day to the fact that the work was new to him. but we prefer to think that certain new and pleasing sensations in his bosom were responsible. when the young lady teachers got together at noon that day, the question was passed around as to what was thought of mr. piedmont. those teachers whom belton met before he entered miss nermal's room thought him "very nice." those whom he met after he left her room thought him rather dull. miss nermal herself pronounced him "just grand." all of the girls looked at miss nermal rather inquiringly when she said this, for she was understood to usually pass young men by unnoticed. each of the other girls, previous to seeing belton, had secretly determined to capture the rising young orator in case his personal appearance kept pace with his acknowledged talents. in debating the matter they had calculated their chances of success and had thought of all possible rivals. miss nermal was habitually so indifferent to young men that they had not considered her as a possibility. they were quite surprised, to say the least, to hear her speak more enthusiastically of belton than any of the rest had done. if miss nermal was to be their rival they were ready to abandon the field at once, for the charms of her face, form, and mind were irresistible when in repose; and what would they be if she became interested in winning the heart of a young man? when school was dismissed that afternoon belton saw a group of teachers walking homeward and miss nermal was in the group. belton joined them and somehow contrived to get by miss nermal's side. how much she aided him by unobserved shifting of positions is not known. all of the rest of the group lived nearer the school than did miss nermal and so, when they had all dropped off at respective gates, miss nermal yet had some distance to go. when belton saw this, he was a happy fellow. he felt that the parents of the teachers had shown such excellent judgment in choosing places to reside. he would not have them change for the world. he figured that he would have five evenings of undisturbed bliss in each week walking home with miss nermal after the other teachers had left. belton contrived to walk home with the same group each evening. the teachers soon noticed that miss nermal and belton invariably walked together, and they managed by means of various excuses to break up the group; and belton had the unalloyed pleasure of escorting miss nermal from the school-house door to her own front yard. belton secured the privilege of calling to see miss nermal at her residence and he confined his social visits to her house solely. they did not talk of love to one another, but any one who saw the couple together could tell at a glance what was in each heart. belton, however, did not have the courage to approach the subject. his passion was so intense and absorbing and filled him with so much delight that he feared to talk on the subject so dear to his heart, for fear of a repulse and the shattering of all the beautiful castles which his glowing imagination, with love as the supervising architect, had constructed. thus matters moved along for some time; miss nermal thoroughly in love with belton, but belton prizing that love too highly to deem it possible for him to be the happy possessor thereof. belton was anxious for some indirect test. he would often contrive little devices to test miss nermal's feelings towards him and in each case the result was all that he could wish, yet he doubted. miss nermal thoroughly understood belton and was anxious for him to find some way out of his dilemma. of course it was out of the question for her to volunteer to tell him that she loved him--loved him madly, passionately; loved him in every fibre of her soul. at last the opportunity that belton was hoping for came. miss nermal and belton were invited out to a social gathering of young people one night. he was miss nermal's escort. at this gathering the young men and women played games such as pinning on the donkey's tail, going to jerusalem, menagerie, and various other parlor games. in former days, these social gatherings played some games that called for kissing by the young ladies and gentlemen, but miss nermal had opposed such games so vigorously that they had long since been dismissed from the best circles. belton had posted two or three young men to suggest a play involving kissing, that play being called, "in the well." the suggestion was made and just for the fun of having an old time game played, they accepted the suggestion. the game was played as follows. young men and young women would move their chairs as close back to the walls as possible. this would leave the center of the room clear. a young man would take his place in the middle of the floor and say, "i am in the well." a questioner would then ask, "how many feet?" the party in the well would then say, for instance, "three feet." the questioner would then ask, "whom will you have to take you out?" whosoever was named by the party in the well was required by the rules of the game to go to him and kiss him the number of times equivalent to the number of feet he was in the well. the party thus called would then be in the well. the young men would kiss the ladies out and vice versa. miss nermal's views on kissing games were well known and the young men all passed her by. finally, a young lady called belton to the well to kiss her out. belton now felt that his chance had came. he was so excited that when he went to the well he forgot to kiss her. belton was not conscious of the omission but it pleased antoinette immensely. belton said, "i am in the well." the questioner asked, "how many feet?" belton replied, "only one." "whom will you have to take you out?" queried the questioner. belton was in a dazed condition. he was astounded at his own temerity in having deliberately planned to call miss nermal to kiss him before that crowd or for that matter to kiss him at all. however he decided to make a bold dash. he averted his head and said, "miss antoinette nermal." all eyes were directed to miss nermal to see her refuse. but she cast a look of defiance around the room and calmly walked to where belton stood. their eyes met. they understood each other. belton pressed those sweet lips that had been taunting him all those many days and sat down, the happiest of mortals. miss nermal was now left in the well to call for some one to take her out. for the first time, it dawned upon belton that in working to secure a kiss for himself, he was about to secure one for some one else also. he glared around the room furiously and wondered who would be base enough to dare to go and kiss that angel. miss nermal was proceeding with her part of the game and belton began to feel that she did not mind it even if she did have to kiss some one else. after all, he thought, his test would not hold good as she was, he felt sure, about to kiss another. while belton was in agony over such thoughts miss nermal came to the point where she had to name her deliverer. she said, "the person who put me in here will have to take me out." belton bounded from his seat and, if the fervor of a kiss could keep the young lady in the well from drowning, miss nermal was certainly henceforth in no more danger. miss nermal's act broke up that game. on the way home that night, neither antoinette nor belton spoke a word. their hearts were too full for utterance. when they reached miss nermal's gate, she opened it and entering stood on the other side, facing belton. belton looked down into her beautiful face and she looked up at belton. he felt her eyes pulling at the cords of his heart. he stooped down and in silence pressed a lingering kiss on miss nermal's lips. she did not move. belton said, "i am in the well." miss nermal whispered, "i am too." belton said, "i shall always be in the well." miss nermal said, "so shall i." belton hastily plucked open the gate and clasped antoinette to his bosom. he led her to a double seat in the middle of the lawn, and there with the pure-eyed stars gazing down upon them they poured out their love to each other. two hours later belton left her and at that late hour roused every intimate friend that he had in the city to tell them of his good fortune. miss nermal was no less reserved in her joy. she told the good news everywhere to all her associates. love had transformed this modest, reserved young woman into a being that would not have hesitated to declare her love upon a house-top. chapter xi. no befitting name. happy belton now began to give serious thought to the question of getting married. he desired to lead antoinette to the altar as soon as possible and then he would be sure of possessing the richest treasure known to earth. and when he would speak of an early marriage she would look happy and say nothing in discouragement of the idea. she was belton's, and she did not care how soon he claimed her as his own. his poverty was his only barrier. his salary was small, being only fifty dollars a month. he had not held his position long enough to save up very much money. he decided to start up an enterprise that would enable him to make money a great deal faster. the colored people of richmond at that time had no newspaper or printing office. belton organized a joint stock company and started a weekly journal and conducted a job printing establishment. this paper took well and was fast forging to the front as a decided success. it began to lift up its voice against frauds at the polls and to champion the cause of honest elections. it contended that practicing frauds was debauching the young men, the flower of the anglo-saxon race. one particularly meritorious article was copied in _the temps_ and commented upon editorially. this article created a great stir in political circles. a search was instituted as to the authorship. it was traced to belton, and the politicians gave the school board orders to dump belton forthwith, on the ground that they could not afford to feed and clothe a man who would so vigorously "attack southern institutions," meaning by this phrase the universal practice of thievery and fraud at the ballot box. belton was summarily dismissed. his marriage was of necessity indefinitely postponed. the other teachers were warned to give no further support to belton's paper on pain of losing their positions. they withdrew their influence from belton and he was, by this means, forced to give up the enterprise. he was now completely without an occupation, and began to look around for employment. he decided to make a trial of politics. a campaign came on and he vigorously espoused the cause of the republicans. a congressional and presidential campaign was being conducted at the same time, and belton did yeoman service. owing to frauds in the elections the democrats carried the district in which belton labored, but the vote was closer than was ever known before. the republicans, however, carried the nation and the president appointed a white republican as post-master of richmond. in recognition of his great service to his party, belton was appointed stamping clerk in the post office at a salary of sixty dollars per month. as a rule, the most prominent and lucrative places went to those who were most influential with the voters. measured by this standard and by the standard of real ability, belton was entitled to the best place in the district in the gift of the government; but the color of his skin was against him, and he had to content himself with a clerkship. at the expiration of one year, belton proudly led the charming antoinette nermal to the marriage altar, where they became man and wife. their marriage was the most notable social event that had ever been known among the colored people of richmond. all of the colored people and many of the white people of prominence were at the wedding reception, and costly presents poured in upon them. this brilliant couple were predicted to have a glorious future before them. so all hearts hoped and felt. about two years from belton's appointment as stamping clerk and one year from the date of his marriage, a congressional convention was held for the purpose of nominating a candidate for congress. belton's chief, the postmaster, desired a personal friend to have the honor. this personal friend was known to be prejudiced against colored people and belton could not, therefore, see his way clear to support him for the nomination. he supported another candidate and won for him the nomination; but the postmaster dismissed him from his position as clerk. crushed in spirit, belton came home to tell his wife of their misfortune. although he was entitled to the postmastership, according to the ethics of the existing political condition, he had been given a commonplace clerkship. and now, because he would not play the puppet, he was summarily dismissed from that humble position. his wife cheered him up and bade him to not be despondent, telling him that a man of his talents would beyond all question be sure to succeed in life. belton began to cast around for another occupation, but, in whatever direction he looked, he saw no hope. he possessed a first class college education, but that was all. he knew no trade nor was he equipped to enter any of the professions. it is true that there were positions around by the thousands which he could fill, but his color debarred him. he would have made an excellent drummer, salesman, clerk, cashier, government official (county, city, state, or national) telegraph operator, conductor, or any thing of such a nature. but the color of his skin shut the doors so tight that he could not even peep in. the white people would not employ him in these positions, and the colored people did not have any enterprises in which they could employ him. it is true that such positions as street laborer, hod-carrier, cart driver, factory hand, railroad hand, were open to him; but such menial tasks were uncongenial to a man of his education and polish. and, again, society positively forbade him doing such labor. if a man of education among the colored people did such manual labor, he was looked upon as an eternal disgrace to the race. he was looked upon as throwing his education away and lowering its value in the eyes of the children who were to come after him. so, here was proud, brilliant belton, the husband of a woman whom he fairly worshipped, surrounded in a manner that precluded his earning a livelihood for her. this set belton to studying the labor situation and the race question from this point of view. he found scores of young men just in his predicament. the schools were all supplied with teachers. all other doors were effectually barred. society's stern edict forbade these young men resorting to lower forms of labor. and instead of the matter growing better, it was growing worse, year by year. colleges were rushing class after class forth with just his kind of education, and there was no employment for them. these young men, having no employment, would get together in groups and discuss their respective conditions. some were in love and desired to marry. others were married and desired to support their wives in a creditable way. others desired to acquire a competence. some had aged parents who had toiled hard to educate them and were looking to them for support. they were willing to work but the opportunity was denied them. and the sole charge against them was the color of their skins. they grew to hate a flag that would float in an undisturbed manner over such a condition of affairs. they began to abuse and execrate a national government that would not protect them against color prejudice, but on the contrary actually practiced it itself. beginning with passively hating the flag, they began to think of rebelling against it and would wish for some foreign power to come in and bury it in the dirt. they signified their willingness to participate in such a proceeding. it is true that it was only a class that had thought and spoke of this, but it was an educated class, turned loose with an idle brain and plenty of time to devise mischief. the toiling, unthinking masses went quietly to their labors, day by day, but the educated malcontents moved in and out among them, convincing them that they could not afford to see their men of brains ignored because of color. belton viewed this state of affairs with alarm and asked himself, whither was the nation drifting. he might have joined this army of malcontents and insurrection breeders, but that a very remarkable and novel idea occurred to him. he decided to endeavor to find out just what view the white people were taking of the negro and of the existing conditions. he saw that the nation was drifting toward a terrible cataract and he wished to find out what precautionary steps the white people were going to take. so he left richmond, giving the people to understand that he was gone to get a place to labor to support his wife. the people thought it strange that he did not tell where he was going and what he was to do. speculation was rife. many thought that it was an attempt at deserting his wife, whom he seemed unable to support. he arranged to visit his wife twice a month. he went to new york and completely disguised himself. he bought a wig representing the hair on the head of a colored woman. he had this wig made especially to his order. he bought an outfit of well fitting dresses and other garments worn by women. he clad himself and reappeared in richmond. his wife and most intimate friends failed to recognize him. he of course revealed his identity to his wife but to no one else. he now had the appearance of a healthy, handsome, robust colored girl, with features rather large for a woman but attractive just the same. in this guise belton applied for a position as nurse and was successful in securing a place in the family of a leading white man. he loitered near the family circle as much as he could. his ear was constantly at the key holes, listening. sometimes he would engage in conversation for the purpose of drawing them out on the question of the negro. he found out that the white man was utterly ignorant of the nature of the negro of to-day with whom he has to deal. and more than that, he was not bothering his brain thinking about the negro. he felt that the negro was easily ruled and was not an object for serious thought. the barbers, the nurses, cooks and washerwomen, the police column of the newspapers, comic stories and minstrels were the sources through which the white people gained their conception of the negro. but the real controling power of the race that was shaping its life and thought and preparing the race for action, was unnoticed and in fact unseen by them. the element most bitterly antagonistic to the whites avoided them, through intense hatred; and the whites never dreamed of this powerful inner circle that was gradually but persistently working its way in every direction, solidifying the race for the momentous conflict of securing all the rights due them according to the will of their heavenly father. belton also stumbled upon another misconception, which caused him eventually to lose his job as nurse. the young men in the families in which belton worked seemed to have a poor opinion of the virtue of colored women. time and again they tried to kiss belton, and he would sometimes have to exert his full strength to keep them at a distance. he thought that while he was a nurse, he would do what he could to exalt the character of the colored women. so, at every chance he got, he talked to the men who approached him, of virtue and integrity. he soon got the name of being a "virtuous prude" and the white men decided to corrupt him at all hazards. midnight carriage rides were offered and refused. trips to distant cities were proposed but declined. money was offered freely and lavishly but to no avail. belton did not yield to them. he became the cynosure of all eyes. he seemed so hard to reach, that they began to doubt his sex. a number of them decided to satisfy themselves at all hazards. they resorted to the bold and daring plan of kidnapping and overpowering belton. after that eventful night belton did no more nursing. but fortunately they did not recognize who he was. he secretly left, had it announced that belton piedmont would in a short time return to richmond, and throwing off his disguise, he appeared in richmond as belton piedmont of old. the town was agog with excitement over the male nurse, but none suspected him. he was now again without employment, and another most grievous burden was about to be put on his shoulders. may god enable him to bear it. during all the period of their poverty stricken condition, antoinette bore her deprivations like a heroine. though accustomed from her childhood to plenty, she bore her poverty smilingly and cheerfully. not one sigh of regret, not one word of complaint escaped her lips. she taught belton to hope and have faith in himself. but everything seemed to grow darker and darker for him. in the whole of his school life, he had never encountered a student who could surpass him in intellectual ability; and yet, here he was with all his conceded worth, unable to find a fit place to earn his daily bread, all because of the color of his skin. and now the lord was about to bless him with an offspring. he hardly knew whether to be thankful or sorrowful over this prospective gift from heaven. on the one hand, an infant in the home would be a source of unbounded joy; but over against this pleasing picture there stood cruel want pointing its wicked, mocking finger at him, anxious for another victim. as the time for the expected gift drew near, belton grew more moody and despondent. day by day he grew more and more nervous. one evening the nurse called him into his wife's room, bidding him come and look at his son. the nurse stood in the door and looked hard at belton as he drew near to the side of his wife's bed. he lifted the lamp from the dresser and approached. antoinette turned toward the wall and hid her head under the cover. eagerly, tremblingly, belton pulled the cover from the little child's face, the nurse all the while watching him as though her eyes would pop out of her head. belton bent forward to look at his infant son. a terrible shriek broke from his lips. he dropped the lamp upon the floor and fled out of the house and rushed madly through the city. the color of antoinette was brown. the color of belton was dark. but the child was white! what pen can describe the tumult that raged in belton's bosom for months and months! sadly, disconsolately, broken in spirit, thoroughly dejected, belton dragged himself to his mother's cottage at winchester. like a ship that had started on a voyage, on a bright day, with fair winds, but had been overtaken and overwhelmed in an ocean storm, and had been put back to shore, so belton now brought his battered bark into harbor again. his brothers and sisters had all married and had left the maternal roof. belton would sleep in the loft from which in his childhood he tumbled down, when disturbed about the disappearing biscuits. how he longed and sighed for childhood's happy days to come again. he felt that life was too awful for him to bear. his feelings toward his wife were more of pity than reproach. like the multitude, he supposed that his failure to properly support her had tempted her to ruin. he loved her still if anything, more passionately than ever. but ah! what were his feelings in those days toward the flag which he had loved so dearly, which had floated proudly and undisturbed, while color prejudice, upheld by it, sent, as he thought, cruel want with drawn sword to stab his family honor to death. belton had now lost all hope of personal happiness in this life, and as he grew more and more composed he found himself better prepared than ever to give his life wholly to the righting of the wrongs of his people. tenderly he laid the image of antoinette to rest in a grave in the very center of his heart. he covered her grave with fragrant flowers; and though he acknowledged the presence of a corpse in his heart, 'twas the corpse of one he loved. we must leave our beautiful heroine under a cloud just here, but god is with her and will bring her forth conqueror in the sight of men and angels. chapter xii. on the dissecting board. about this time the legislature of louisiana passed a law designed to prevent white people from teaching in schools conducted in the interest of negroes. a college for negroes had been located at cadeville for many years, presided over by a white minister from the north. under the operations of the law mentioned, he was forced to resign his position. the colored people were, therefore, under the necessity of casting about for a successor. they wrote to the president of stowe university requesting him to recommend a man competent to take charge of the college. the president decided that belton was an ideal man for the place and recommended him to the proper authorities. belton was duly elected. he again bade home adieu and boarded the train for cadeville, louisiana. belton's journey was devoid of special interest until he arrived within the borders of the state. at that time the law providing separate coaches for colored and white people had not been enacted by any of the southern states. but in some of them the whites had an unwritten but inexorable law, to the effect that no negro should be allowed to ride in a first-class coach. louisiana was one of these states, but belton did not know this. so, being in a first-class coach when he entered louisiana, he did not get up and go into a second-class coach. the train was speeding along and belton was quietly reading a newspaper. now and then he would look out of a window at the pine tree forest near the track. the bed of the railway had been elevated some two or three feet above the ground, and to get the dirt necessary to elevate it a sort of trench had been dug, and ran along beside the track. the rain had been falling very copiously for the two or three days previous, and the ditch was full of muddy water. belton's eyes would now and then fall on this water as they sped along. in the meanwhile the train began to get full, passengers getting on at each station. at length the coach was nearly filled. a white lady entered, and not at once seeing a vacant seat, paused a few seconds to look about for one. she soon espied an unoccupied seat. she proceeded to it, but her slight difficulty had been noted by the white passengers. belton happened to glance around and saw a group of white men in an eager, animated conversation, and looking in his direction now and then as they talked. he paid no especial attention to this, however, and kept on reading. before he was aware of what was going on, he was surrounded by a group of angry men. he stood up in surprise to discover its meaning. "get out of this coach. we don't allow niggers in first-class coaches. get out at once," said their spokesman. "show me your authority to order me out, sir," said belton firmly. "we are our own authority, as you will soon find out if you don't get out of here." "i propose," said belton, "to stay right in this coach as long----" he did not finish the sentence, for rough fingers were clutching his throat. the whole group was upon him in an instant and he was soon overpowered. they dragged him into the aisle, and, some at his head and others at his feet, lifted him and bore him to the door. the train was speeding along at a rapid rate. belton grew somewhat quiet in his struggling, thinking to renew it in the second-class coach, whither he supposed they were carrying him. but when they got to the platform, instead of carrying him across they tossed him off the train into that muddy ditch at which belton had been looking. his body and feet fell into the water while his head buried itself in the soft clay bed. the train was speeding on and belton eventually succeeded in extricating himself from his bed of mud and water. covered from head to foot with red clay, the president-elect of cadeville college walked down to the next station, two miles away. there he found his satchel, left by the conductor of the train. he remained at this station until the afternoon, when another train passed. this time he entered the second-class coach and rode unmolested to monroe, louisiana. there he was to have changed cars for cadeville. the morning train, the one from which he was thrown, made connection with the cadeville train, but the afternoon train did not. so he was under the necessity of remaining over night in the city of monroe, a place of some twenty thousand inhabitants. being hungry, he went forth in quest of a meal. he entered a restaurant and asked the white man whom he saw behind the counter for a meal. the white man stepped into a small adjoining room to fill the order, and belton eat down on a high stool at the eating counter. the white man soon returned with some articles of food in a paper bag. seeing belton sitting down, he cried out: "get up from there, you nigger. it would cost me a hundred dollars for you to be seen sitting there." belton looked up in astonishment, "do you mean to say that i must stand up here and eat?" he asked. "no, i don't mean any such thing. you must go out of here to eat." "then," replied belton, "i shall politely leave your food on your hands if i cannot be allowed to eat in here." "i guess you won't," the man replied. "i have cut this ham off for you and you have got to take it." belton, remembering his experience earlier in the day, began to move toward the door to leave. the man seized a whistle and in an instant two or three policemen came running, followed by a crowd. belton stood still to await developments. the clerk said to the policeman: "this high-toned nigger bought a meal of me and because i would not let him sit down and eat like white people he refused to pay me." the officers turned to belton and said: "pay that man what you owe him." belton replied: "i owe him nothing. he refuses to accommodate me, and i therefore owe him nothing." "come along with me, sir. consider yourself under arrest." wondering what kind of a country he had entered, belton followed the officer and incredible as it may seem, was locked up in jail for the night. the next morning he was arraigned before the mayor, whom the officer had evidently posted before the opening of court. belton was fined five dollars for vagrancy and was ordered to leave town within five hours. he paid his fine and boarded the train for cadeville. as the train pulled in for cadeville, a group of white men were seen standing on the platform. one of them was a thin, scrawny looking man with a long beard, very, very white. his body was slightly stooping forward, and whenever he looked at you he had the appearance of bending as if to see you better. when belton stepped on to the platform this man, who was the village doctor, looked at him keenly. belton was a fine specimen of physical manhood. his limbs were well formed, well proportioned and seemed as strong as oak. his manly appearance always excited interest wherever he was seen. the doctor's eyes followed him cadaverously. he went up to the postmaster, a short man with a large head. the postmaster was president of the band of "nigger rulers" of that section. the doctor said to the postmaster: "i'll be durned if that ain't the finest lookin' darkey i ever put my eye on. if i could get his body to dissect, i'd give one of the finest kegs of whiskey in my cellar." the postmaster looked at belton and said: "zakeland," for such was the doctor's name, "you are right. he is a fine looking chap, and he looks a little tony. if we 'nigger rulers' are ever called in to attend to him we will not burn him nor shoot him to pieces. we will kill him kinder decent and let you have him to dissect. i shall not fail to call for that whiskey to treat the boys." so saying they parted. belton did not hear this murderous conversation respecting himself. he was joyfully received by the colored people of cadeville, to whom he related his experiences. they looked at him as though he was a superior being bearing a charmed life, having escaped being killed. it did not come to their minds to be surprised at the treatment accorded him for what he had done. their wonder was as to how he got off so easily. belton took charge of the school and began the faithful performance of his duties. he decided to add an industrial department to his school and traveled over the state and secured the funds for the work. he sent to new orleans for a colored architect and contractor who drew the plans and accepted the contract for erecting the building. they decided to have colored men erect the building and gathered a force for that purpose. the white brick-masons of monroe heard of this. they organized a mob, came to cadeville and ordered the men to quit work. they took charge of the work themselves, letting the colored brick-masons act as hod carriers for them. they employed a white man to supervise the work. the colored people knew that it meant death to resist and they paid the men as though nothing unusual had happened. belton had learned to observe and wait. these outrages sank like molten lead into his heart, but he bore them all. the time for the presidential election was drawing near and he arose in the chapel one morning to lecture to the young men on their duty to vote. one of the village girls told her father of belton's speech. the old man was shaving his face and had just shaved off one side of his beard when his daughter told him. he did not stop to pull the towel from around his neck nor to put down his razor. he rushed over to the house where belton boarded and burst into his room. belton threw up his hands in alarm at seeing this man come, razor in hand, towel around his neck and beard half off and half on. the man sat down to catch his breath. he began: "mr. piedmont, i learn that you are advising our young men to vote. i am sure you don't know in what danger you stand. i have come to give you the political history of this section of louisiana. the colored people of this region far outnumber the white people, and years ago had absolute control of everything. the whites of course did not tamely submit, but armed themselves to overthrow us. we armed ourselves, and every night patrolled this road all night long looking for the whites to come and attack us. my oldest brother is a very cowardly and sycophantic man. the white people made a spy and traitor out of him. when the people found out that there was treachery in our ranks it demoralized them, and our organization went to pieces. "we had not the authority nor disposition to kill a traitor, and consequently we had no effective remedy against a betrayal. when the news of our demoralized condition reached the whites it gave them fresh courage, and they have dominated us ever since. they carry on the elections. we stay in our fields all day long on election day and scarcely know what is going on. not long since a white man came through here and distributed republican ballots. the white people captured him and cut his body into four pieces and threw it in the ouachita river. since then you can't get any man to venture here to distribute ballots. "just before the last presidential campaign, two brothers, samuel and john bowser, colored, happened to go down to new orleans. things are not so bad down there as they are up here in northern louisiana. these two brothers each secured a republican party ballot, and on election day somewhat boastfully cast them into the ballot box. there is, as you have perhaps heard, a society here known as 'nigger rulers.' the postmaster of this place is president of the society, and the teacher of the white public school is the captain of the army thereof. "they sent word to the bowser brothers that they would soon be there to whip them. the brothers prepared to meet them. they cut a hole in the front side of the house, through which they could poke a gun. night came on, and true to their word the 'nigger rulers' came. samuel bowser fired when they were near the house and one man fell dead. all of the rest fled to the cover of the neighboring woods. soon they cautiously returned and bore away their dead comrade. they made no further attack that night. "the brothers hid out in the woods. hearing of this and fearing that the men would make their escape the whites gathered in force and hemmed in the entire settlement on all sides. for three days the men hid in the woods, unable to escape because of the guard kept by the whites. the third night a great rain came up and the whites sought the shelter of their homes. "the brothers thus had a chance to escape. john escaped into arkansas, but samuel, poor fool, went only forty miles, remaining in louisiana. the mob forced one of our number, who escorted him on horseback, to inform them of the road that samuel took. in this way they traced and found him. they tied him on a horse and brought him back here with them. they kept him in the woods three days, torturing him. on the third day we heard the loud report of a gun which we supposed ended his life. none of us know where he lies buried. you can judge from this why we neglect voting." this speech wound up belton's political career in cadeville. he thanked the man for the information, assuring him that it would be of great value to him in knowing how to shape his course. after belton had been at cadeville a few years, he had a number of young men and women to graduate from the various departments of his school. he invited the pastor of a leading white church of monroe to deliver an oration on the day of commencement exercises. the preacher came and was most favorably impressed with belton's work, as exhibited in the students then graduating. he esteemed belton as a man of great intellectual power and invited him to call at his church and house if he ever came to monroe. belton was naturally greatly elated over this invitation from a southerner and felt highly complimented. one sabbath morning, shortly thereafter, belton happened to be in monroe, and thinking of the preacher's kind invitation, went to his church to attend the morning service. he entered and took a seat near the middle of the church. during the opening exercises a young white lady who sat by his side experienced some trouble in finding the hymn. belton had remembered the number given out and kindly took the book to find it. in an instant the whole church was in an uproar. a crowd of men gathered around belton and led him out of doors. a few leaders went off to one side and held a short consultation. they decided that as it was sunday, they would not lynch him. they returned to the body of men yet holding belton and ordered him released. this evidently did not please the majority, but he was allowed to go. that afternoon belton called at the residence of the minister in order to offer an explanation. the minister opened the door, and seeing who it was, slammed it in his face. belton turned away with many misgivings as to what was yet to come. dr. zackland always spent his sundays at monroe and was a witness of the entire scene in which belton had figured so prominently. he hastened out of church, and as soon as he saw belton turned loose, hurried to the station and boarded the train for cadeville, leaving his hymn book and bible on his seat in the church. his face seemed lighted up with joy. "i've got him at last. careful as he has been i've got him," he kept repeating over and over to himself. he left the train at cadeville and ran to the postmaster's house, president of the "nigger rulers," and he was out of breath when he arrived there. he sat down, fanned himself with his hat, and when sufficiently recovered, said: "well, we will have to fix that nigger, piedmont. he is getting too high." "what's that he has been doing now? i have looked upon him as being an uncommonly good nigger. i have kept a good eye on him but haven't even had to hint at him," said the postmaster." "well, he has shown his true nature at last. he had the gall to enter a white church in monroe this morning and actually took a seat down stairs with the white folks; he did not even look at the gallery where he belonged." "is that so?" burst out the postmaster incredulously. "i should say he did, and that's not all. a white girl who sat by him and could not read very well, failed to find the hymn at once. that nigger actually had the impudence to take her book and find the place for her." "the infernal scoundrel. by golly, he shall hang," broke in the postmaster. dr. zackland continued: "naturally the congregation was infuriated and soon hustled the impudent scoundrel out. if services had not been going on, and if it had not been sunday, there is no telling what would have happened. as it was they turned him loose. i came here to tell you, as he is our 'nigger' living here at cadeville, and the 'nigger rulers' of cadeville will be disrespected if they let such presumptuous niggers go about to disturb religious services." "you are right about that, and we must soon put him out of the way. to-night will be his last night on earth," replied the postmaster. "do you remember our bargain that we made about that nigger when he came about here?" asked dr. zackland. "no," answered the postmaster. "well, i do. i have been all along itching for a chance to carry it out. you were to give me the nigger's body for dissecting purposes, in return for which i was to give you a keg of my best whiskey," said dr. zackland. "ha, ha, ha," laughed the postmaster, "i do remember it now." "well, i'll certainly stick up to my part of the program if you will stick to yours." "you can bet on me," returned dr. zackland. "i have a suggestion to make about the taking off of the nigger. don't have any burning or riddling with bullets. just hang him and fire one shot in the back of his head. i want him whole in the interest of society. that whiskey will be the finest that you will ever have and i want a good bargain for it." "i'll follow your instructions to the letter," answered the postmaster. "i'll just tell the boys that he, being a kind of decent nigger, we will give him a decent hanging. meantime, doctor, i must get out. to-day is sunday and we must do our work to-morrow night. i must get a meeting of the boys to-night." so saying, the two arose, left the house and parted, one going to gather up his gang and the other to search up and examine his dissecting appliances. monday night about o'clock a mob came and took belton out into the neighboring woods. he was given five minutes to pray, at the expiration of which time he was to be hanged. belton seemed to have foreseen the coming of the mob, but felt somehow that god was at work to deliver him. therefore he made no resistance, having unshaken faith in god. the rope was adjusted around his neck and thrown over the limb of a tree and belton was swinging up. the postmaster then slipped forward and fired his pistol at the base of his skull and the blood came oozing forth. he then ordered the men to retire, as he did not care for them to remain to shoot holes in the body, as was their custom. as soon as they retired, three men sent by dr. zackland stole out of hiding and cut belton's body down. belton was not then dead, for he had only been hanging for seven minutes, and the bullet had not entered the skull but had simply ploughed its way under the skin. he was, however, unconscious, and to all appearances dead. the three men bore him to dr. zackland's residence, and entered a rear door. they laid him on a dissecting table in the rear room, the room in which the doctor performed all surgical operations. dr. zackland came to the table and looked down on belton with a happy smile. to have such a robust, well-formed, handsome nigger to dissect and examine he regarded as one of the greatest boons of his medical career. the three men started to retire. "wait," said dr. zackland, "let us see if he is dead." belton had now returned to consciousness but kept his eyes closed, thinking it best to feign death. dr. zackland cut off the hair in the neighborhood of the wound in the rear of belton's head and began cutting the skin, trying to trace the bullet. belton did not wince. "the nigger is dead or else he would show some sign of life. but i will try pricking his palm." this was done, but while the pain was exceedingly excruciating, belton showed no sign of feeling. "you may go now," said the doctor to his three attendants, "he is certainly dead." the men left. dr. zackland pulled out his watch and said: "it is now o'clock. those doctors from monroe will be here by twelve. i can have everything exactly ready by that time." a bright ray of hope passed into belton's bosom. he had two hours more of life, two hours more in which to plan an escape. dr. zackland was busy stirring about over the room. he took a long, sharp knife and gazed at its keen edge. he placed this on the dissecting table near belton's feet. he then passed out of doors to get a pail of water, and left the door ajar. he went to his cabinet to get out more surgical instruments, and his back was now turned to belton and he was absorbed in what he was doing. belton's eyes had followed every movement, but in order to escape attention his eyelids were only slightly open. he now raised himself up, seized the knife that was near his feet and at a bound was at the doctor's side. the doctor turned around and was in dread alarm at the sight of the dead man returned to life. at that instant he was too terrified to act or scream, and before he could recover his self-possession belton plunged the knife through his throat. seizing the dying man he laid him on the dissecting board and covered him over with a sheet. he went to the writing desk and quickly scrawled the following note. "doctors: "i have stepped out for a short while. don't touch the nigger until i come. "zackland." he pinned this note on that portion of the sheet where it would attract attention at once if one should begin to uncover the corpse. he did this to delay discovery and thus get a good start on those who might pursue him. having done this he crept cautiously out of the room, leapt the back fence and made his way to his boarding place. he here changed his clothes and disappeared in the woods. he made his way to baton rouge and sought a conference with the governor. the governor ordered him under arrest and told him that the best and only thing he could do was to send him back to cadeville under military escort to be tried for murder. this was accordingly done. the community was aroused over the death of dr. zackland at the hands of a negro. the sending of the military further incensed them. at the trial which followed, all evidence respecting the mob was excluded as irrelevant. robbery was the motive assigned for the deed. the whole family with which belton lived were arraigned as accomplices, because his bloody clothes were found in his room in their house. during the trial, the jury were allowed to walk about and mingle freely with the people and be thus influenced by the bitter public sentiment against belton. men who were in the mob that attempted belton's murder were on the jury. in fact, the postmaster was the foreman. without leaving their seats the jury returned a verdict of guilty in each case and all were sentenced to be hanged. the prisoners were taken to the new orleans jail for safe keeping. while incarcerated here awaiting the day of execution, a newspaper reporter of a liberal new orleans paper called on the prisoners. he was impressed with belton's personality and promised to publish any statement that belton would write. belton then gave a thorough detailed account of every happening. the story was telegraphed broadcast and aroused sympathetic interest everywhere. bernard read an account of it and hastened to his friend's side in new orleans. in response to a telegram from bernard a certain influential democratic senator came to new orleans. influence was brought to bear, and though all precedent was violated, the case was manoeuvred to the supreme court of the united states. before this tribunal bernard made the speech of his life and added to his fame as an orator. competent judges said that the like of it had not been heard since the days of daniel webster. as he pleaded for his friend and the others accused the judges of the supreme court wept scalding tears. bernard told of belton's noble life, his unassuming ways, his pure christianity. the decision of the lower court was reversed, a change of venue granted, a new trial held and an acquittal secured. thus ended the tragic experience that burned all the remaining dross out of belton's nature and prepared him for the even more terrible ordeal to follow in after years. chapter xiii. married and yet not married. bernard was now at the very acme of fame. he had succeeded in becoming the most noted negro of his day. he felt that the time was not ripe for him to gather up his wealth and honors and lay them, with his heart, at viola's feet. one afternoon he invited viola to go out buggy riding with him, and decided to lay bare his heart to her before their return home. they drove out of norfolk over campostella bridge and went far into the country, chatting pleasantly, oblivious of the farm hands preparing the soil for seed sowing; for it was in balmy spring. about eight o'clock they were returning to the city and bernard felt his veins throbbing; for he had determined to know his fate before he reached viola's home. when midway the bridge he pulled his reins and the horse stood still. the dark waters of the small river swept on beneath them. night had just begun to spread out her sombre wings, bedecked with silent stars. just in front of them, as they looked out upon the center of the river, the river took a bend which brought a shore directly facing them. a green lawn began from the shore and ran back to be lost in the shadows of the evening. amid a group of trees, there stood a little hut that looked to be the hut of an old widower, for it appeared neglected, forsaken, sad. bernard gazed at this lonesome cottage and said: "viola, i feel to-night that all my honors are empty. they feel to me like a load crushing me down rather than a pedestal raising me up. i am not happy. i long for the solitude of those trees. that decaying old house calls eloquently unto something within me. how i would like to enter there and lay me down to sleep, free from the cares and divested of the gewgaws of the world." viola was startled by these sombre reflections coming from bernard. she decided that something must be wrong. she was, by nature, exceedingly tender of heart, and she turned her pretty eyes in astonished grief at bernard, handsome, melancholy, musing. "ah, mr. belgrave, something terrible is gnawing at your heart for one so young, so brilliant, so prosperous as you are to talk thus. make a confidante of me and let me help to remove the load, if i can." bernard was silent and eat gazing out on the quiet flowing waters. viola's eyes eagerly scanned his face as if to divine his secret. bernard resumed speaking: "i have gone forth into life to win certain honors and snatch from fame a wreath, and now that i have succeeded, i behold this evening, as never before, that it is not worthy of the purpose for which i designed it. my work is all in vain." "mr. belgrave, you must not talk so sadly," said viola, almost ready to cry. bernard turned and suddenly grasped viola's hands and said in passionate tones: "viola, i love you. i have nothing to offer you worthy of you. i can find nothing worthy, attain nothing worthy. i love you to desperation. will you give yourself to a wretch like me? say no! don't throw away your beauty, your love on so common a piece of clay." viola uttered a loud, piercing scream that dispersed all bernard's thoughts and frightened the horse. he went dashing across the bridge, bernard endeavoring to grasp the reins. when he at last succeeded, viola had fainted. bernard drove hurriedly towards viola's home, puzzled beyond measure. he had never heard of a marriage proposal frightening a girl into a faint and he thought that there was surely something in the matter of which he knew nothing. then, too, he was racking his brain for an excuse to give viola's parents. but happily the cool air revived viola and she awoke trembling violently and begged bernard to take her home at once. this he did and drove away, much puzzled in mind. he revived the whole matter in his mind, and thoughts and opinions came and went. perhaps she deemed him utterly unworthy of her. there was one good reason for this last opinion and one good one against it. he felt himself to be unworthy of such a girl, but on the other hand viola had frequently sung his praises in his own ears and in the ears of others. he decided to go early in the morning and know definitely his doom. that night he did not sleep. he paced up and down the room glancing at the clock every five minutes or so. he would now and then hoist the window and strain his eyes to see if there were any sign of approaching dawn. after what seemed to him at least a century, the sun at last arose and ushered in the day. as soon as he thought miss martin was astir and unengaged, he was standing at the door. they each looked sad and forlorn. viola knew and bernard felt that some dark shadow was to come between them. viola caught hold of bernard's hand and led him silently into the parlor. bernard sat down on the divan and viola took a seat thereon close by his side. she turned her charming face, sweet in its sadness, up to bernard's and whispered "kiss me, bernard." bernard seized her and kissed her rapturously. she then arose and sat in a chair facing him, at a distance. she then said calmly, determinedly, almost icily, looking bernard squarely in the face: "bernard, you know that i love you. it was i that asked you to kiss me. always remember that. but as much as i love you i shall never be your wife. never, never." bernard arose and started toward viola. he paused and gazed down upon that beautiful image that sat before him and said in anguish: "oh god! is all my labor in vain, my honors common dirt, my future one dreary waste? shall i lose that which has been an ever shining, never setting sun to me? viola! if you love me you shall be my wife." viola bowed her head and shook it sadly, saying: "a power higher than either you or i has decreed it otherwise." "who is he? tell me who he is that dare separate us and i swear i will kill him," cried bernard in a frenzy of rage. viola looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, and said: "would you kill god?" this question brought bernard to his senses and he returned to his seat and sat down suddenly. he then said: "viola martin, you are making a fool of me. tell me plainly why we cannot be man and wife, if you love me as you say you do?" "bernard, call here to-morrow at o'clock and i will tell you all. if you can then remove my objections all will be well." bernard leaped up eager to get away, feeling that that would somewhat hasten the time for him to return. viola did not seem to share his feelings of elation. but he did not mind that. he felt himself fully able to demolish any and all objections that viola could bring. he went home and spent the day perusing his text-book on logic. he would conjure up imaginary objections and would proceed to demolish them in short order. he slept somewhat that night, anticipating a decisive victory on the morrow. when bernard left viola that morning, she threw herself prostrate on the floor, moaning and sobbing. after a while she arose and went to the dining room door. she looked in upon her mother, quietly sewing, and tried to say in a cheerful manner: "mamma, i shall be busy writing all day in my room. let no one disturb me." her mother looked at her gently and lovingly and assured her that no one should disturb her. her mother surmised that all had not gone well with her and bernard, and that viola was wrestling with her grief. knowing that spats were common to young people in love she supposed it would soon be over. viola went upstairs and entered her room. this room, thanks to viola's industry and exquisite taste, was the beauty spot of the whole house. pictures of her own painting adorned the walls, and scattered here and there in proper places were articles of fancy work put together in most lovely manner by her delicate fingers. viola was fond of flowers and her room was alive with the scent of pretty flowers and beautiful roses. this room was a fitting scene for what was to follow. she opened her tiny writing desk. she wrote a letter to her father, one to her mother and one to bernard. her letter to bernard had to be torn up and re-written time and again, for fast falling tears spoiled it almost as fast as she wrote. at last she succeeded in finishing his letter to her satisfaction. at eventide she came down stairs and with her mother, sat on the rear porch and saw the sun glide gently out of sight, without a struggle, without a murmur. her eye lingered long on the spot where the sun had set and watched the hidden sun gradually steal all of his rays from the skies to use them in another world. drawing a heavy sigh, she lovingly caught her mother around the waist and led her into the parlor. viola now became all gayety, but her mother could see that it was forced. she took a seat at the piano and played and sang. her rich soprano voice rang out clear and sweet and passers by paused to listen to the glorious strains. those who paused to hear her sing passed on feeling sad at heart. beginning in somewhat low tones, her voice gradually swelled and the full, round tones full of melody and pathos seemed to lift up and bear one irresistibly away. viola's mother sat by and looked with tender solicitude on her daughter singing and playing as she had never before in her life. "what did it mean?" she asked herself. when viola's father came from the postoffice, where he was a clerk, viola ran to him joyously. she pulled him into the parlor and sat on his knee stroking his chin and nestling her head on his bosom. she made him tell her tales as he did when she was a child and she would laugh, but her laugh did not have its accustomed clear, golden ring. kissing them good night, she started up to her bed room. when at the head of the stairway she returned and without saying a word kissed her parents again. when she was gone, the parents looked at each other and shook their heads. they knew that viola was feeling keenly on account of something but felt that her cheerful nature would soon throw it off. but the blade was in her heart deeper than they knew. viola entered her room, fastening the door behind her. she went to her desk, secured the three letters that she had written and placed them on the floor a few inches apart in a position where they would attract immediate attention upon entering the room. she then lay down upon her bed and put one arm across her bosom. with her other hand she turned on the gas jet by the head of her bed. she then placed this other hand across her bosom and ere long fell asleep to wake no more. the moon arose and shed its sad, quiet light through the half turned shutters, through the window pane. it seemed to force its way in in order to linger and weep over such queenly beauty, such worth, meeting with such an accursed end. thus in this forbidden path viola martin had gone to him who said: "come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest." chapter xiv married and yet not married. (continued.) at ten o'clock on the next day, bernard called at viola's residence. viola's mother invited him in and informed him that viola had not arisen. thinking that her daughter had spent much of the night in meditating on whatever was troubling her, she had thought not to awaken her so early. bernard informed her that viola had made an engagement with him for that morning at ten o'clock. mrs. martin looked alarmed. she knew that viola was invariably punctual to an appointment and something unusual must be the matter. she left the room hurriedly and her knees smote together as she fancied she discovered the scent of escaping gas. she clung to the banisters for support and dragged her way to viola's door. as she drew near, the smell of gas became unmistakable, and she fell forward, uttering a loud scream. bernard had noticed the anxious look on viola's mother's face and was listening eagerly. he beard her scream and dashed out of the parlor and up the stairs. he rushed past mrs. martin and burst open the door to viola's door. he drew back aghast at the sight that met his gaze. the next instant he had seized her lifeless form, beautiful in death, and smothered those silent lips with kisses. mrs. martin regained sufficient strength to rush into the room, and when she saw her child was dead uttered a succession of piercing shrieks and fell to the floor in a swoon. this somewhat called bernard's mind from his own grief. he lay viola down upon her own bed most tenderly and set about to restore mrs. martin to consciousness. by this time the room was full of anxious neighbors. while they are making inquiry let us peruse the letters which the poor girl left behind. "my dear, dear, heart-broken mama:-- "i am in the hands of god. whatever he does is just, is right, is the only thing to be done. knowing this, do not grieve after me. take poor bernard for your son and love him as you did me. i make that as my sole dying request of you. one long sweet clinging kiss ere i drop into the ocean of death to be lost in its tossing waves. "viola." "beloved papa:-- "your little daughter is gone. her heart, though torn, bleeding, dead, gave, as it were, an after throb of pain as it thought of you. in life you never denied me a request. i have one to make from my grave, knowing that you will not deny me. love bernard as your son; draw him to you, so that, when in your old age you go tottering to your tomb in quest of me, you may have a son to bear you up. take my lifeless body on your knee and kiss me as you did of old. it will help me to rest sweetly in my grave. "your little vie." "dear bernard:-- "viola has loved and left you. unto you, above all others, i owe a full explanation of the deed which i have committed; and i shall therefore lay bare my heart to you. my father was a colonel in the civil war and when i was very young he would make my little heart thrill with patriotic fervor as he told me of the deeds of daring of the gallant negro soldiers. as a result, when nothing but a tiny girl, i determined to be a heroine and find some outlet for my patriotic feeling. this became a consuming passion. in -- just two years prior to my meeting you, a book entitled, 'white supremacy and negro subordination,' by the merest accident came into my possession. that book made a revelation to me of a most startling nature. "while i lived i could not tell you what i am about to tell you. death has brought me the privilege. that book proved to me that the intermingling of the races in sexual relationship was sapping the vitality of the negro race and, in fact, was slowly but surely exterminating the race. it demonstrated that the fourth generation of the children born of intermarrying mulattoes were invariably sterile or woefully lacking in vital force. it asserted that only in the most rare instances were children born of this fourth generation and in no case did such children reach maturity. this is a startling revelation. while this intermingling was impairing the vital force of our race and exterminating it, it was having no such effect on the white race for the following reason. every half-breed, or for that, every person having a tinge of negro blood, the white people cast off. we receive the cast off with open arms and he comes to us with his devitalizing power. thus, the white man was slowly exterminating us and our total extinction was but a short period of time distant. i looked out upon our strong, tender hearted, manly race being swept from the face of the earth by immorality, and the very marrow in my bones seemed chilled at the thought thereof. i determined to spend my life fighting the evil. my first step was to solemnly pledge god to never marry a mulatto man. my next resolve was to part in every honorable way all courting couples of mulatto people that i could. my other and greatest task was to persuade the evil women of my race to cease their criminal conduct with white men and i went about pleading with them upon my knees to desist. i pointed out that such a course was wrong before god and was rapidly destroying the negro race. i told them of my resolve to never marry a mulatto man. many had faith in me and i was the means of redeeming numbers of these erring ones. when you came, i loved you. i struggled hard against that love. god, alone, knows how i battled against it. i prayed him to take it from me, as it was eating my heart away. sometimes i would appear indifferent to you with the hope of driving you away, but then my love would come surging with all the more violence and sweep me from my feet. at last, you seemed to draw away from me and i was happy. i felt free to you. but you at last proposed to me when i thought all such notions were dead. at once i foresaw my tragic end. my heart shed bloody tears, weeping over my own sad end, weeping for my beloved parents, weeping for my noble bernard who was so true, so noble, so great in all things. "bernard, how happy would i have been, how deliriously happy, could i but have stood beside you at the altar and sworn fidelity to you. ours would have been an ideal home. but it was not to be. i had to choose between you and my race. your noble heart, in its sober moments will sanction my choice, i would not have died if i could have lived without proving false to my race. had i lived, my love and your agony, which i cannot bear, would have made me prove false to every vow. "dear bernard, i have a favor to ask of you. secure the book of which i spoke to you. study the question of the intermingling of the races. if miscegenation is in reality destroying us, dedicate your soul to the work of separating the white and colored races. do not let them intermingle. erect moral barriers to separate them. if you fail in this, make the separation physical; lead our people forth from this accursed land. do this and i shall not have died in vain. visit my grave now and then to drop thereon a flower and a flag, but no tears. if in the shadowy beyond, whose mists i feel gathering about me, there is a place where kindred spirits meet, you and i shall surely meet again. though i could not in life, i will in death sign myself, "your loving wife, "viola belgrave." let us not enter this saddened home when the seals of those letters were broken. let us not break the solemn silence of those who bowed their heads and bore the grief, too poignant for words. dropping a tear of regret on the little darling who failed to remember that we have one atonement for all mankind and that further sacrifice was therefore needless, we pass out and leave the loving ones alone with their dead. but, we may gaze on bernard belgrave as he emerges from the room where his sun has set to rise no more. his eyes flash, his nostrils dilate, his bosom heaves, he lifts his proud head and turns his face so that the light of the sky may fall full upon it. and lifting up his hands, trembling with emotion as though supplicating for the strength of a god, he cries out; "by the eternal heavens these abominable horrors shall cease. the races, whose union has been fraught with every curse known to earth and hell, must separate. viola demands it and bernard obeys." it was this that sent him forth to where kings were eager to court his favor. chapter xv. weighty matters. with his hands thrust into his pockets, and his hat pulled over his grief stricken eyes, bernard slowly wended his way to his boarding place. he locked himself in his room and denied himself to all callers. he paced to and fro, his heart a cataract of violent, tossing, whirling emotions. he sat down and leaned his head upon the bed, pressing his hand to his forehead as if to restore order there. while thus employed his landlady knocked at the door and called through the key hole, informing him that there was a telegram for him. bernard arose, came out, signed for and received the telegram, tore it open and read as follows: waco, texas, ----l ---- "hon. bernard belgrave, m.c., "come to waco at once. if you fail to come you will make the mistake of your life. come. "belton piedmont." "yes, i'll go," shouted bernard, "anywhere, for anything." he seemed to feel grateful for something to divert his thoughts and call him away from the scene where his hopes had died. he sent viola's family a note truthfully stating that he was unequal to the task of attending viola's funeral, and that for his part she was not dead and never should be. the parents had read bernard's letter left by viola and knew the whole story. they, too, felt that it was best for bernard to go. bernard took the train that afternoon and after a journey of four days arrived at waco. belton being apprised by telegram of the hour of his arrival, was at the station to meet him. belton was actually shocked at the haggard appearance of his old play-fellow. it was such a contrast from the brilliant, glowing, handsome bernard of former days. after the exchange of greetings, they entered a carriage and drove through the city. they passed out, leaving the city behind. after going about five miles, they came in sight of a high stone wall enclosure. in the middle of the enclosed place, upon a slight elevation, stood a building four stories high and about two hundred feet long and one hundred and eighty feet wide. in the center of the front side arose a round tower, half of it bulging out. this extended from the ground to a point about twenty feet above the roof of the building. the entrance to the building was through a wide door in this tower. off a few paces was a small white cottage. here and there trees abounded in patches in the enclosure, which seemed to comprise about twenty acres. the carriage drove over a wide, gravel driveway which curved so as to pass the tower door, and on out to another gate. belton and bernard alighted and proceeded to enter. carved in large letters on the top of the stone steps were these words: "thomas jefferson college." they entered the tower and found themselves on the floor of an elevator, and on this they ascended to the fourth story. the whole of this story was one huge room, devoid of all kinds of furniture save a table and two chairs in a corner. in the center was an elevated platform about ten feet square, and on this stood what might have passed for either a gallows or an acting pole. belton led bernard to the spot where the two chairs and table stood and they sat down. belton informed bernard that he had brought him there so that there would be no possibility of anyone hearing what, he had to say. bernard instantly became all attention. belton began his recital: "i have been so fortunate as to unearth a foul conspiracy that is being hatched by our people. i have decided to expose them and see every one of them hung," "pray tell me, belton, what is the motive that prompts you to be so zealous in the work of ferreting out conspirators among your people to be hanged by the whites?" "it is this," said belton: "you know as it is, the negro has a hard time in this country. if we begin to develop traitors and conspirators we shall fare even worse. it is necessary, therefore, that we kill these vipers that come, lest we all be slain as vipers." "that may be true, but i don't like to see you in that kind of business," said bernard. "don't talk that way," said belton, "for i counted upon your aid. i desire to secure you as prosecuting attorney in the case. when we thus expose the traitors, we shall earn the gratitude of the government and our race will be treated with more consideration in the future. we will add another page to the glorious record of our people's devotion by thus spurning these traitors." "belton, i tell you frankly that my share in that kind of business will be infinitessimally small. but go on. let me know the whole story, that i may know better what to think and do," replied bernard. "well, it is this," began belton; "you know that there is one serious flaw in the constitution of the united states, which has already caused a world of trouble, and there is evidently a great deal more to come. you know that a ship's boilers, engines, rigging, and so forth may be in perfect condition, but a serious leak in her bottom will sink the proudest vessel afloat. this flaw or defect in the constitution of the united states is the relation of the general government to the individual state. the vague, unsettled state of the relationship furnished the pretext for the civil war. the general government says to the citizen: 'i am your sovereign. you are my citizen and not the citizen of only one state. if i call on you to defend my sovereignty, you must do so even if you have to fight against your own state. but while i am your supreme earthly sovereign i am powerless to protect you against crimes, injustices, outrages against you. your state may disfranchise you with or without law, may mob you; but my hands are so tied that i can't help you at all, although i shall force you to defend my sovereignty with your lives. if you are beset by klu klux, white cappers, bulldozers, lynchers, do not turn your dying eyes on me for i am unable to help you.' such is what the federal government has to say to the negro. the negro must therefore fight to keep afloat a flag that can afford him no more protection than could a helpless baby. the weakness of the general government in this particular was revealed with startling clearness in connection with the murder of those italians in new orleans, a few years ago. this government had promised italy to afford protection to the property and lives of her citizens sojourning in our midst. but when these men were murdered the general government could not even bring the murderers to trial for their crime. its treaty had been broken by a handfull of its own citizens and it was powerless to punish them. it had to confess its impotence to the world, and paid italy a specified sum of money. the negro finds himself an unprotected foreigner in his own home. whatever outrages may be perpetrated upon him by the people of the state in which he lives, he cannot expect any character of redress from the general government. so in order to supply this needed protection, this conspiracy of which i have spoken has been formed to attempt to unite all negroes in a body to do that which the whimpering government childishly but truthfully says it cannot do. "these men are determined to secure protection for their lives and the full enjoyment of all rights and privileges due american citizens. they take a solemn oath, offering their very blood for the cause. i see that this will lead, eventually, to a clash of arms, and i wish to expose the conspiracy before it is too late. cooperate with me and glory and honor shall attend us all of our days. now, bernard, tell me candidly what you think of the whole matter. may i not rely on you?" "well, let me tell you just exactly what i think and just what i shall do," thundered bernard, rising as he spoke. pointing his finger at belton, he said: "i think, sir, that you are the most infernal scoundrel that i ever saw, and those whom you call conspirators are a set of sublime patriots; and further," hissed bernard in rage through his teeth, "if you betray those men, i will kill you." to bernard's surprise belton did not seem enraged as bernard thought he would be. knowing belton's spirit he had expected an encounter after such words as he had just spoken. belton looked indifferent and unconcerned, and arose, as if to yawn, when suddenly he threw himself on bernard with the agility of a tiger and knocked him to the floor. from secret closets in the room sprang six able bodied men. they soon had bernard securely bound. belton then told bernard that he must retract what he had said and agree to keep his revealed purpose a secret or he would never leave that room alive. "then i shall die, and my only regret will be that i shall die at the hands of such an abominable wretch as you are," was bernard's answer. bernard was stood against the wall. the six men retired to their closets and returned with rifles. bernard gazed at the men unflinchingly. they formed a line, ten paces in front of him. belton gave bernard one last chance, as he said, to save his life, by silence as to his plans. bernard said: "if i live i shall surely proclaim your infamy to our people and slay you besides. the curse of our doomed race is just such white folks' niggers as you are. shoot, shoot, shoot, you whelps." they took aim and, at a command from belton, fired. when the smoke had lifted, belton said: "bernard, those were blank cartridges. i desired to give you another chance. if you consent to leave me unmolested to ferret out those conspirators i will take your word as your bond and spare your life. will you accept your life at such a low price?" "come here and let me give you my answer," said bernard. "let me whisper something in your ear." belton drew near and bernard spat in his face and said, "take that, you knave." belton ordered bernard seized and carried to the center of the room where stood what appeared to be an acting pole, but what was in reality a complete gallows. a black cap was adjusted over bernard's head and a rope tied to his hands. he was told that a horrible death awaited him. he was informed that the platform on which he stood was a trap door that concealed an opening in the center of the building, that extended to the first floor. he was told that he would be dropped far enough to have his arms torn from his body and would be left to die. bernard perceptibly shuddered at the fate before him but he had determined long since to be true to every higher aspiration of his people, and he would die a death however horrible rather than stand by and see aspiring souls slaughtered for organizing to secure their rights at all hazards. he muttered a prayer to god, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and nerved himself for the ordeal, refusing to answer belton's last appeal. belton gave command to spring the trap door after he had counted three. in order to give bernard a chance to weaken he put one minute between each count. "one----two----three----" he called out. bernard felt the floor give way beneath his feet and he shot down with terrific speed. he nerved himself for the shock that was to tear his limbs from his body, but, strange to say, he felt the speed lessening as he fell and his feet eventually struck a floor with not sufficient force to even jar him severely. "was this death? was he dead or alive?" he was thinking within himself, when suddenly the mask was snatched from his face and he found himself in a large room containing desks arranged in a semi-circular form. there were one hundred and forty-five desks, and at each a person was seated. "where was he? what did that assemblage mean? what did his strange experiences mean?" he asked himself. he stood there, his hands tied, his eye wandering from face to face. within a few minutes belton entered and the assemblage broke forth into cheers. bernard had alighted on a platform directly facing the assemblage. belton walked to his side and spread out his hands and said: "behold the chiefs of the conspirators whom you would not betray. behold me, whom they have called the arch conspirator. you have nobly stood the test. come, your reward awaits you. you are worthy of it and i assure you it is worthy of you." bernard had not been killed in his fall because of a parachute which had been so arranged, unknown to him, to save him in the descent. chapter xvi. unwritten history. belton, smiling, locked his arm in bernard's and said: "come with me. i will explain it all to you." they walked down the aisle together. at the sight of these two most conspicuous representatives of all that was good and great in the race, moving down the aisle side by side, the audience began to cheer wildly and a band of musicians began playing "hail to the chief." all of this was inexplicable to bernard; but he was soon to learn what and how much it meant. belton escorted him across the campus to the small but remarkably pretty white cottage with green vines clinging to trellis work all around it. here they entered. the rooms were furnished with rare and antique furniture and were so tastefully arranged as to astonish and please even bernard, who had been accustomed from childhood to choice, luxuriant magnificence. they entered a side room, overlooking a beautiful lawn which could boast of lovely flowers and rose bushes scattered here and there. they sat down, facing each other. bernard was a bundle of expectancy. he had passed through enough to make him so. belton said: "bernard, i am now about to put the keeping of the property, the liberty, and the very lives of over seven million five hundred thousand people into your hands." bernard opened his eyes wide in astonishment and waited for belton to further explain himself. "realize," said belton, "that i am carefully weighing each remark i make and am fully conscious of how much my statement involves." bernard bowed his head in solemn thought. viola's recent death, the blood-curdling experiences of the day, and now belton's impressive words all united to make that a sober moment with him; as sober as any that he had ever had in his life. he looked belton in the face and said: "may revengeful lightning transfix me with her fiercest bolts; may hell's most fiery pillars roll in fury around me; may i be despised of man and forgotten of my god, if i ever knowingly, in the slightest way, do aught to betray this solemn, this most sacred trust." belton gazed fondly on the handsome features of his noble friend and sighed to think that only the coloring of his skin prevented him from being enrolled upon the scroll containing the names of the very noblest sons of earth. arousing himself as from a reverie he drew near to bernard and said: "i must begin. another government, complete in every detail, exercising the sovereign right of life and death over its subjects, has been organized and maintained within the united states for many years. this government has a population of seven million two hundred and fifty thousand." "do you mean all that you say, belton?" asked bernard eagerly. "i shall in a short time submit to you positive proofs of my assertion. you shall find that i have not overstated anything." "but, belton, how in the world can such a thing be when i, who am thoroughly conversant with every movement of any consequence, have not even dreamed of such a thing." "all of that shall be made perfectly clear to you in the course of the narrative which i shall now relate." bernard leaned forward, anxious to hear what purported to be one of the most remarkable and at the same time one of the most important things connected with modern civilization. belton began: "you will remember, bernard, that there lived, in the early days of the american republic, a negro scientist who won an international reputation by his skill and erudition. in our school days, we spoke of him often. because of his learning and consequent usefulness, this negro enjoyed the association of the moving spirits of the revolutionary period. by the publication of a book of science which outranked any other book of the day that treated of the same subject, this negro became a very wealthy man. of course the book is now obsolete, science having made such great strides since his day. this wealthy negro secretly gathered other free negroes together and organized a society that had a two-fold object. the first object was to endeavor to secure for the free negroes all the rights and privileges of men, according to the teachings of thomas jefferson. its other object was to secure the freedom of the enslaved negroes the world over. all work was done by this organization with the sole stipulation that it should be used for the furtherance of the two above named objects of the society, and for those objects alone. "during slavery this organization confined its membership principally to free negroes, as those who were yet in physical bondage were supposed to have aspirations for nothing higher than being released from chains, and were, therefore, not prepared to eagerly aspire to the enjoyment of the highest privileges of freedom. when the war of secession was over and all negroes were free, the society began to cautiously spread its membership among the emancipated. they conducted a campaign of education, which in every case preceded an attempt at securing members. this campaign of education had for its object the instruction of the negro as to what real freedom was. he was taught that being released from chains was but the lowest form of liberty, and that he was no more than a common cur if he was satisfied with simply that. that much was all, they taught, that a dog howled for. they made use of jefferson's writings, educating the negro to feel that he was not in the full enjoyment of his rights until he was on terms of equality with any other human being that was alive or had ever lived. this society used its influence secretly to have appointed over southern schools of all kinds for negroes such teachers as would take especial pains to teach the negro to aspire for equality with all other races of men. "they were instructed to pay especial attention to the history of the united states during the revolutionary period. thus, the campaign of education moved forward. the negroes gained political ascendancy in many southern states, but were soon hurled from power, by force in some quarters, and by fraud in others. the negroes turned their eyes to the federal government for redress and a guarantee of their rights. the federal government said: 'take care of yourselves, we are powerless to help you.' the 'civil rights bill,' was declared null and void, by the supreme court. an 'honest election bill' was defeated in congress by james g. blaine and others. separate coach laws were declared by the supreme court to be constitutional. state constitutions were revised and so amended as to nullify the amendment of the federal constitution, giving the negro the right to vote. more than sixty thousand defenseless negroes were unlawfully slain. governors would announce publicly that they favored lynching. the federal government would get elected to power by condemning these outrages, and when there, would confess its utter helplessness. one president plainly declared, what was already well known, 'that the only thing that they could do, would be to create a healthy sentiment.' this secret organization of which we have been speaking decided that some means must be found to do what the general government could not do, because of a defect in the constitution. they decided to organize a general government that would protect the negro in his rights. this course of action decided upon, the question was as to how this could be done the most quickly and successfully. you well know that the negro has been a marvelous success since the war, as a builder of secret societies. "one member of this patriotic secret society, of which we have been speaking, conceived the idea of making use of all of these secret orders already formed by negroes. the idea met with instant approval. a house was found already to hand. these secret orders were all approached and asked to add one more degree and let this added degree be the same in every negro society. this proposition was accepted, and the government formed at once. each order remained, save in this last degree where all were one. this last degree was nothing more nor less than a compact government exercising all the functions of a nation. the grand purpose of the government was so apparent, and so needful of attention, that men rushed into this last degree pledging their lives to the new government. "all differences between the race were to be settled by this government, as it had a well organized judiciary. negroes, members of this government, were to be no longer seen fighting negroes before prejudiced white courts. an army was organized and every able-bodied citizen enlisted. after the adjournment of the lodge sessions, army drills were always executed. a congress was duly elected, one member for every fifty thousand citizens. branch legislatures were formed in each state. except in a few, but important particulars, the constitution was modeled after that of the united states. "there is only one branch to our congress, the members of which are elected by a majority vote, for an indefinite length of time, and may be recalled at any time by a majority vote. "this congress passes laws relating to the general welfare of our people, and whenever a bill is introduced in the congress of the united states affecting our race it is also introduced and debated here. "every race question submitted to the united states judiciary, is also submitted to our own. a record of our decisions is kept side by side with the decisions of the united states. "the money which the scientist left was wisely invested, and at the conclusion of the civil war amounted to many millions. good land at the south was offered after the war for twenty-five cents an acre. these millions were expended in the purchase of such lands, and our treasury is now good for $ , , . our citizens own about $ , , . and all of this is pledged to our government in case it is needed. "we have at our disposal, therefore, $ , , . this money can he used by the government in any way that it sees fit, so long as it is used to secure the recognition of the rights of our people. they are determined to be free and will give their lives, as freely as they have given their property. "this place is known as jefferson college, but it is in reality the capitol of our government, and those whom you have just left are the congressmen." "but, belton," broke in bernard, "how does it happen that i have been excluded from all this?" "that is explained in this way. the relation of your mother to the anglo-saxon race has not been clearly understood, and you and she have been under surveillance for many years. "it was not until recently deemed advisable to let you in, your loyalty to the race never having fully been tested. i have been a member for years. while i was at stowe university, though a young man, i was chairman of the bureau of education and had charge of the work of educating the race upon the doctrine of human liberty. "while i was at cadeville, la., that was my work. though not attracting public attention, i was sowing seed broadcast. after my famous case i was elected to congress here and soon thereafter chosen speaker, which position i now hold. "i shall now come to matters that concern you. our constitution expressly stipulates that the first president of our government should be a man whom the people unanimously desired. each congressman had to be instructed to vote for the same man, else there would be no election. this was done because it was felt that the responsibility of the first president would be so great, and have such a formative influence that he should be the selection of the best judgment of the entire nation. "in the second place, this would ensure his having a united nation at his back. again, this forcing the people to be unanimous would have a tendency to heal dissensions within their ranks. in other words, we needed a george washington. "various men have been put forward for this honor and vigorous campaigns have been waged in their behalf. but these all failed of the necessary unanimous vote. at last, one young man arose, who was brilliant and sound, genial and true, great and good. on every tongue was his name and in every heart his image. unsolicited by him, unknown to him, the nation by its unanimous voice has chosen him the president of our beloved government. this day he has unflinchingly met the test that our congress decreed and has come out of the furnace, purer than gold. he feared death no more than the caress of his mother, when he felt that that death was to be suffered in behalf of his oppressed people. i have the great honor, on this the proudest occasion of my life, to announce that i am commissioned to inform you that the name of our president is bernard belgrave. you, sir, are president of the imperium in imperio, the name of our government, and to you we devote our property, our lives, our all, promising to follow your banner into every post of danger until it is planted on freedom's hill. you are given three months in which to verify all of my claims, and give us answer as to whether you will serve us." * * * * * bernard took three months to examine into the reality and stability of the imperium. he found it well nigh perfect in every part and presented a form of government unexcelled by that of any other nation. chapter xvii. crossing the rubicon. bernard assumed the presidency of the imperium and was duly inaugurated in a manner in keeping with the importance of his high office. he began the direction of its affairs with such energy and tactful discretion as betokened great achievements. he familiarized himself with every detail of his great work and was thoroughly posted as to all the resources at his command. he devoted much time to assuaging jealousies and healing breaches wherever such existed in the ranks of the imperium. he was so gentle, so loving, yet so firm and impartial, that all factional differences disappeared at his approach. added to his great popularity because of his talents, there sprang up for him personal attachments, marvelous in depth. he rose to the full measure of the responsibilities of his commanding position, and more than justified the fondest anticipations of his friends and admirers. in the meanwhile he kept an observant eye upon the trend of events in the united states, and his fingers were ever on the pulse of the imperium. all of the evils complained of by the imperium continued unabated; in fact, they seemed to multiply and grow instead of diminishing. bernard started a secret newspaper whose business it was to chronicle every fresh discrimination, every new act of oppression, every additional unlawful assault upon the property, the liberty or the lives of any of the members of the imperium. this was an illustrated journal, and pictures of horrors, commented upon in burning words, spread fire-brands everywhere in the ranks of the imperium. only members of the imperium had access to this fiery journal. at length an insurrection broke out in cuba, and the whole imperium watched this struggle with keenest interest, as the cubans were in a large measure negroes. in proportion as the cubans drew near to their freedom, the fever of hope correspondingly rose in the veins of the imperium. the united states of america sent a war ship to cuba. one night while the sailors slept in fancied security, some powerful engine of destruction demolished the vessel and ended the lives of some american seamen. a board of inquiry was sent by the united states government to the scene of the disaster, and, after a careful investigation of a most thorough character, decided that the explosion was not internal and accidental but external and by design. this finding made war between the united states and spain practically inevitable. while the whole nation was in the throes of war excitement, a terrible tragedy occurred. president mckinley had appointed mr. felix a. cook, a colored man of ability, culture and refinement as postmaster of lake city, south carolina. the white citizens of this place made no protest against the appointment and all was deemed satisfactory. one morning the country awoke to be horrified with the news that mr. cook's home had been assaulted at night by a mob of white demons in human form. the mob set fire to the house while the occupants slept, and when mr. cook with his family endeavored to escape from the flames he was riddled with bullets and killed, and his wife and children were wounded. and the sole offense for which this dastardly crime was perpetrated, was that he decided to accept the honor which the government conferred upon him in appointing him postmaster of a village of inhabitants. it was the color of his skin that made this acceptance odious in the eyes of his anglo-saxon neighbors! this incident naturally aroused as much indignation among the members of the imperium as did the destruction of the war ship in the bosoms of the anglo-saxons of the united states. all things considered, bernard regarded this as the most opportune moment for the imperium to meet and act upon the whole question of the relationship of the negro race to the anglo-saxons. the congress of the imperium was called and assembled in special session at the capitol building just outside of waco. the session began on the morning of april--the same day on which the congress of the united states had under consideration the resolutions, the adoption of which meant war with spain. these two congresses on this same day had under consideration questions of vital import to civilization. the proceedings of the anglo-saxons have been told to the world in minute detail, but the secret deliberations of the imperium are herein disclosed for the first time. the exterior of the capitol at waco was decorated with american flags, and red, white and blue bunting. passers-by commented on the patriotism of jefferson college. but, enveloped in this decoration there was cloth of the color of mourning. the huge weeping willows stood, one on each side of the speaker's desk. to the right of the desk, there was a group of women in widow's weeds, sitting on an elevated platform. there were fifty of these, their husbands having been made the victims of mobs since the first day of january just gone. to the left of the speaker's desk, there were huddled one hundred children whose garments were in tatters and whose looks bespoke lives of hardship. these were the offsprings robbed of their parents by the brutish cruelty of unthinking mobs. postmaster cook, while alive, was a member of the imperium and his seat was now empty and draped in mourning. in the seat was a golden casket containing his heart, which had been raked from the burning embers on the morning following the night of the murderous assault. it was amid such surrounding as these that the already aroused and determined members of the congress assembled. promptly at o'clock, speaker belton piedmont took the chair. he rapped for order, and the chaplain offered a prayer, in which he invoked the blessings of god upon the negro race at the most important crisis in its history. word was sent, by proper committee, across the campus informing the president that congress was in session awaiting his further pleasure. according to custom, the president came in person to orally deliver his message. he entered in the rear of the building and marched forward. the congress arose and stood with bowed heads as he passed through. the speaker's desk was moved back as a sign of the president's superior position, and directly in the center of the platform the president stood to speak. he was dressed in a prince albert suit of finest black. he wore a standing collar and a necktie snowy white. the hair was combed away from that noble brow of his, and his handsome face showed that he was nerved for what he regarded as the effort of his life. in his fierce, determined glance you could discover that latent fires, hitherto unsuspected even in his warm bosom, had been aroused. the whole man was to speak that day. and he spoke. we can give you his words but not his speech. man can photograph the body, but in the photograph you can only glimpse the soul. words can portray the form of a speech, but the spirit, the life, are missing and we turn away disappointed. that sweet, well modulated voice, full of tender pathos, of biting sarcasm, of withering irony, of swelling rage, of glowing fervor, according as the occasion demanded, was a most faithful vehicle to bernard; conveying fully every delicate shade of thought. the following gives you but a faint idea of his masterly effort. in proportion as you can throw yourself into his surroundings, and feel, as he had felt, the iron in his soul, to that extent will you be able to realize how much power there was in what is now to follow: the president's message. "two terrible and discordant sounds have burst forth upon the erstwhile quiet air and now fill your bosom with turbulent emotions. one is the blast of the bugle, fierce and loud, calling us to arms against a foreign nation to avenge the death of american seamen and to carry the cup of liberty to a people perishing for its healing draught. the other is the crackling of a burning house in the night's dead hours, the piteous cries of pain and terror from the lips of wounded babes; the despairing, heart-rending, maddening shrieks of the wife and mother; the harrowing groans of the dying husband and father, and the gladsome shout of the fiendish mob of white american citizens, who have wrought the havoc just described, a deed sufficiently horrible to make satan blush and hell hastily hide her face in shame. "i deem this, my fellow countrymen, as an appropriate time for us to consider what shall be our attitude, immediate and future, to this anglo-saxon race, which calls upon us to defend the fatherland and at the same moment treats us in a manner to make us execrate it. let us, then, this day decide what shall be the relations that shall henceforth exist between us and the anglo-saxon race of the united states of america. "seven million eyes are riveted upon you, hoping that you will be brave and wise enough to take such action as will fully atone for all the horrors of the past and secure for us every right due to all honorable, loyal, law-abiding citizens of the united states. pleadingly they look to you to extract the arrow of shame which hangs quivering in every bosom, shame at continued humiliation, unavenged. "in order to arrive at a proper conclusion as to what the duty of the hour is, it would be well to review our treatment received at the hands of the anglo-saxon race and note the position that we are now sternly commanded by them to accept. "when this is done, to my mind, the path of duty will be as plain before our eyes as the path of the sun across the heavens. i shall, therefore, proceed to review our treatment and analyze our present condition, in so far as it is traceable to the treatment which we now receive from the anglo-saxon. "when in our forefathers landed on the american shore, the music of welcome with which they were greeted, was the clanking of iron chains ready to fetter them; the crack of the whip to be used to plow furrows in their backs; and the yelp of the blood-hound who was to bury his fangs deep into their flesh, in case they sought for liberty. such was the music with which the anglo-saxon came down to the shore to extend a hearty welcome to the forlorn children of night, brought from a benighted heathen land to a community of _christians!_ "the negro was seized and forced to labor hard that the anglo-saxon might enjoy rest and ease. while he sat in his cushioned chair, in his luxurious home, and dreamed of the blessedness of freedom, the enforced labor of slaves felled the forest trees, cleared away the rubbish, planted the seed and garnered the ripened grain, receiving therefor no manner of pay, no token of gratitude, no word of coldest thanks. "that same hammer and anvil that forged the steel sword of the anglo-saxon, with which he fought for freedom from england's yoke, also forged the chain that the anglo-saxon used to bind the negro more securely in the thralldom of slavery. for two hundred and forty-four years the anglo-saxon imposed upon the hapless, helpless negro, the bondage of abject slavery, robbed him of the just recompense of his unceasing toil, treated him with the utmost cruelty, kept his mind shrouded in the dense fog of ignorance, denied his poor sinful soul access to the healing word of god, and, while the world rolled on to joy and light, the negro was driven cowering and trembling, back, back into the darkest corners of night's deepest gloom. and when, at last, the negro was allowed to come forth and gaze with the eyes of a freeman on the glories of the sky, even this holy act, the freeing of the negro, was a matter of compulsion and has but little, if anything, in it demanding gratitude, except such gratitude as is due to be given unto god. for the emancipation proclamation, as we all know, came not so much as a message of love for the slave as a message of love for the union; its primary object was to save the union, its incident, to liberate the slave. such was the act which brought to a close two hundred and forty-four years of barbarous maltreatment and inhuman oppression! after all these years of unremitting toil, the negro was pushed out into the world without one morsel of food, one cent of money, one foot of land. naked and unarmed he was pushed forward into a dark cavern and told to beard the lion in his den. in childlike simplicity he undertook the task. soon the air was filled with his agonizing cries; for the claws and teeth of the lion were ripping open every vein and crushing every bone. in this hour of dire distress the negro lifted up his voice in loud, long piteous wails calling upon those for help at whose instance and partially for whose sake he had dared to encounter the deadly foe. these whilom friends rushed with a loud shout to the cavern's mouth. but when they saw the fierce eyes of the lion gleaming in the dark and heard his fearful growl, this loud shout suddenly died away into a feeble, cowardly whimper, and these boastful creatures at the crackling of a dry twig turned and scampered away like so many jack-rabbits. "having thus briefly reviewed our past treatment at the hand of the anglo-saxon, we now proceed to consider the treatment which we receive at his hands to-day. the industrial situation. "during the long period of slavery the negro race was not allowed to use the mind as a weapon in the great 'battle for bread.' "the anglo-saxon said to the negro, in most haughty tones: 'in this great "battle for bread," you must supply the brute force while i will supply the brain. if you attempt to use your brain i will kill you; and before i will stoop so low as to use my own physical power to earn my daily bread i will kill myself.' "this edict of the anglo-saxon race, issued in the days of slavery, is yet in force in a slightly modified form. "he yet flees from physical exertion as though it were the leprosy itself, and yet, violently pushes the negro into that from which he has so precipitately fled, crying in a loud voice, 'unclean, unclean.' "if forced by circumstances to resort to manual labor, he chooses the higher forms of this, where skill is the main factor. but he will not labor even here with the negro, but drives him out and bars the door. "he will contribute the public funds to educate the negro and then exert every possible influence to keep the negro from earning a livelihood by means of that education. "it is true, that in the goodness of his heart he will allow the negro community to have a negro preacher, teacher, doctor, pharmacist and jackleg lawyer, but further than this he will not go. practically all of the other higher forms of labor are hermetically sealed so far as the negro is concerned. "thus, like tantalus of old, we are placed in streams of water up to our necks, but when we stoop down to drink thereof the waters recede; luscious fruit, tempting to the eye and pleasing to the taste, is placed above our heads, only to be wafted away by the winds of prejudice, when, like tantalus we reach up to grasp and eat. our civil rights. "an italian, a frenchman, a german, a russian, a chinaman and a swede come, let us suppose, on a visit to our country. "as they draw near our public parks they look up and see placards forbidding somebody to enter these places. they pause to read the signs to see who it is that is forbidden to enter. "unable to understand our language, they see a negro child returning from school and they call the child to read and interpret the placard. it reads thus: 'negroes and dogs not allowed in here.' "the little negro child, whose father's sweaty, unrequited toil cleared the spot whereon the park now stands, loiters outside of the wicker gate in company with the dogs of the foreigners and gazes wistfully through the cracks at the children of these strangers sporting on the lawn. "this is but a fair sample of the treatment which our race receives everywhere in the south. "if we enter a place where a sign tells us that the public is served, we do not know whether we are to be waited upon or driven out like dogs. "and the most shameful and hopeless feature connected with the question of our civil rights is that the supreme court has lent its official sanction to all such acts of discrimination. the highest court in the land is the chief bulwark of caste prejudice in democratic america. education. "the race that thinks of us and treats us as we have just indicated has absolute charge of the education of our children. "they pay our teachers poorer salaries than they do their own; they give us fewer and inferior school buildings and they make us crawl in the dust before the very eyes of our children in order to secure the slightest concessions. "they attempt to muzzle the mouths of negro teachers, and he who proclaims too loudly the doctrine of equality as taught by thomas jefferson, will soon be in search of other employment. "thus, they attempt to cripple our guides so that we may go forward at a feeble pace. "our children, early in life, learn of our maltreatment, and having confidence in the unused strength of their parents, urge us to right our wrongs. "we listen to their fiery words and gaze in fondness on their little clinched fists. we then bow our heads in shame and lay bare to them the chains that yet hold our ankles, though the world has pronounced us free. "in school, they are taught to bow down and worship at the shrine of the men who died for the sake of liberty, and day by day they grow to disrespect us, their parents who have made no blow for freedom. but it will not always be thus! courts of justice. "colored men are excluded from the jury box; colored lawyers are discriminated against at the bar; and negroes, with the highest legal attainments, are not allowed to even dream of mounting the seat of a judge. "before a court that has been lifted into power by the very hands of prejudice, justice need not be expected. the creature will, presumably, serve its creator; this much the creator demands. "we shall mention just one fact that plainly illustrates the character of the justice to be found in our courts. "if a negro murders an anglo-saxon, however justifiably, let him tremble for his life if he is to be tried in our courts. on the other hand, if an anglo-saxon murders a negro in cold blood, without the slightest provocation, he will, if left to the pleasure of our courts, die of old age and go down to his grave in perfect peace. "a court that will thus carelessly dabble and play in puddles of human blood needs no further comment at my hands. mob law. "the courts of the land are the facile instruments of the anglo-saxon race. they register its will as faithfully as the thermometer does the slightest caprice of the weather. and yet, the poor boon of a trial in even such courts as these is denied the negro, even when his character is being painted with hell's black ink and charges that threaten his life are being laid at his door. he is allowed no chance to clear his name; no opportunity to bid a friend good bye; no time to formulate a prayer to god. "about this way of dealing with criminals there are three horrible features: first, innocent men are often slain and forced to sleep eternally in dishonored graves. secondly, when men who are innocent are thus slain the real culprits are left behind to repeat their deeds and thus continue to bring reproach upon the race to which they belong. thirdly, illegal execution always begets sympathy in the hearts of our people for a criminal, however dastardly may be his crime. thus the execution loses all of its moral force as a deterrent. that wrath, that eloquence, which would all be used in abuse of the criminal is divided between him and his lynchers. thus the crime for which the man suffers, is not dwelt upon with that unanimity to make it sufficiently odious, and, as a consequence, lynching increases crime. and, too, under the operation of the lynch-law the criminal knows that any old tramp is just as liable as himself to be seized and hanged. "this accursed practice, instead of decreasing, grows in extent year by year. since the close of the civil war no less than sixty thousand of our comrades, innocent of all crime, have been hurried to their graves by angry mobs, and to-day their widows and orphans and their own departed spirits cry out to you to avenge their wrongs. "woe unto that race, whom the tears of the widows, the cries of starving orphans, the groans of the innocent dying, and the gaping wounds of those unjustly slain, accuse before a righteous god! politics. "'governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed!' "these words were penned by the man whom the south has taught us to revere as the greatest and noblest american statesman, whether those who are now alive or those who are dead. we speak of thomas jefferson. they have taught us that he was too wise to err and that his sayings are truth incarnate. they are ready to anathematize any man in their own ranks who will decry the self-evident truths which he uttered. "the bible which the white people gave us, teaches us that we are men. the declaration of independence, which we behold them wearing over their hearts, tells us that all men are created equal. if, as the bible says, we are men; if, as jefferson says, all men are equal; if, as he further states, governments derive all just powers from the consent of the governed, then it follows that the american government is in duty bound to seek to know our will as respects the laws and the men who are to govern us. "but instead of seeking to know our will, they employ every device that human ingenuity can contrive to prevent us from expressing our opinion. the monarchial trait seems not to have left their blood. they have apparently chosen our race as an empire, and each anglo-saxon regards himself as a petty king, and some gang or community of negroes as his subjects. "thus our voice is not heard in the general government. our kings, the anglo-saxons, speak for us, their slaves. in some states we are deprived of our right to vote by frauds, in others by violence, and in yet others by statutory enactment. but in all cases it is most effectually done. "burdens may be put upon our shoulders that are weighing us down, but we have no means of protesting. men who administer the laws may discriminate against us to an outrageous degree, but we have no power to remove or to punish them. "like lean, hungry dogs, we must crouch beneath our master's table and snap eagerly at the crumbs that fall. if in our scramble for these crumbs we make too much noise, we are violently kicked and driven out of doors, where, in the sleet and snow, we must whimper and whine until late the next morning when the cook opens the door and we can then crouch down in the corner of the kitchen. "oh! my comrades, we cannot longer endure our shame and misery! "we can no longer lay supinely down upon our backs and let oppression dig his iron heel in our upturned pleading face until, perchance, the pity of a bystander may meekly request him to desist. "fellow countrymen, we must be free. the sun that bathes our land in light yet rises and sets upon a race of slaves. "the question remaining before us, then, is, how we are to obtain this freedom? in olden times, revolutions were effected by the sword and spear. in modern times the ballot has been used for that purpose. but the ballot has been snatched from our hands. the modern implement of revolutions has been denied us. i need not say more. your minds will lead you to the only gate left open. "but this much i will say: let not so light, so common, so universal a thing as that which we call death be allowed to frighten you from the path that leads to true liberty and absolute equality. let that which under any circumstances must come to one and all be no terror to you. "to the martyr, who perishes in freedom's cause, death comes with a beauteous smile and with most tender touch. but to the man whose blood is nothing but sour swill; who prefers to stay like fattening swine until pronounced fit for the butcher's knife; to such, death comes with a most horrifying visage, and seizing the victim with cold and clammy hands hurries with his disgusting load to some far away dumping ground. "how glad am i that i can glance over this audience and see written upon your faces utter disdain of death. "in concluding let me say, i congratulate you that after years of suffering and disunion our faces are now _all_ turned toward the golden shores of liberty's lovely land. "some tell us that a sea is in our way, so deep that we cannot cross. let us answer back in joyful tones as our vessels push out from the shore, that our clotted blood, shed in the middle of the sea, will float to the other side, even if we do not reach there ourselves. "others tell us that towering, snow-capped mountains enclose the land. to this we answer, if we die on the mountain-side, we shall be shrouded in sheets of whitest snow, and all generations of men yet to come upon the earth will have to gaze upward in order to see our whitened forms. "let us then, at all hazards, strike a blow for freedom. if it calls for a thermopylæ, be free. if it calls for a valley forge, be free. if contending for our rights, given unto us by god, causes us to be slain, let us perish on the field of battle, singing as we pass out of the world, 'sweet freedom's song,' though every word of this soul-inspiring hymn must come forth wrapped in our hearts' warm blood. "gentlemen of the imperium in imperio, i await your pleasure." chapter xviii. the storm's master. when bernard ceased speaking and took his seat the house was as silent as a graveyard. all felt that the time for words had passed and the next and only thing in order was a deed. each man seemed determined to keep his seat and remain silent until he had some definite plan to suggest. at length one man, somewhat aged, arose and spoke as follows: "fellow citizens, our condition is indeed past enduring and we must find a remedy. i have spent the major portion of my life in close study of this subject, searching for a solution. my impression is that the negro will never leave this country. the day for the wholesale exodus of nations is past. we must, then, remain here. as long as we remain here as a separate and distinct race we shall continue to be oppressed. we must lose our identity. i, therefore, urge that we abandon the idea of becoming anything noteworthy as a separate and distinct race and send the word forth that we amalgamate." when the word "amalgamate" escaped his lips a storm of hisses and jeers drowned further speech and he quickly crouched down in his seat. another arose and advocated emigration to the african congo free state. he pointed out that this state, great in area and rich in resources, was in the hands of the weak kingdom of belgium and could be wrested from belgium with the greatest ease. in fact, it might be possible to purchase it, as it was the personal property of king leopold. he further stated that one of his chief reasons for suggesting emigration was that it would be a terrible blow to the south. the proud southerner would then have his own forests to fell and fields to tend. he pictured the haughty southern lady at last the queen of her own kitchen. he then called attention to the loss of influence and prestige which the south would sustain in the nation. by losing nearly one half of its population the south's representation in congress would be reduced to such a point that the south would have no appreciable influence on legislation for one half a century to come. he called attention to the business depression that would ensue when the southern supply merchant lost such an extensive consumer as the negro. he wound up by urging the imperium to go where they would enjoy all the rights of free men, and by picturing the demoralization and ruin of the south when they thus went forth. his suggestion met with much favor but he did not make clear the practicability of his scheme. at length a bold speaker arose who was courageous enough to stick a match to the powder magazine which bernard had left uncovered in all their bosoms. his first declaration was: "i am for war!" and it was cheered to the echo. it was many minutes before the applause died away. he then began an impassioned invective against the south and recited in detail horror after horror, for which the south was answerable. he described hangings, revolting in their brutality; he drew vivid word pictures of various burnings, mentioning one where a white woman struck the match and ignited the pile of wood that was to consume the trembling negro. he told of the texas horror, when a colored man named smith was tortured with a red hot poker, and his eyes gouged out; after which he was slowly roasted to death. he then had mrs. cook arise and gather her children about her, and tell her sorrowful story. as she proceeded the entire assembly broke down in tears, and men fell on each other's necks and wept like babes. and oh! their hearts swelled, their bosoms heaved, their breath came quick with choking passion, and there burst from all their throats the one hoarse cry: "war! war! war!" bernard turned his head away from this affecting sight and in his soul swore a terrible oath to avenge the wrongs of his people. when quiet was sufficiently restored, the man with the match arose and offered the following resolutions: "whereas, the history of our treatment by the anglo-saxon race is but the history of oppression, and whereas, our patient endurance of evil has not served to decrease this cruelty, but seems rather to increase it; and whereas, the ballot box, the means of peaceful revolution is denied us, therefore; "_be it resolved_: that the hour for wreaking vengeance for our multiplied wrongs has come. "_resolved_ secondly: that we at once proceed to war for the purpose of accomplishing the end just named, and for the further purpose of obtaining all our rights due us as men. "_resolved_ thirdly: that no soldier of the imperium leave the field of battle until the ends for which this war was inaugurated are fully achieved." a dozen men were on their feet at once to move the adoption of these resolutions. the motion was duly seconded and put before the house. the chairman asked: "are you ready to vote?" "ready!" was the unanimous, vociferous response. the chairman, belton piedmont, quietly said: "not ready." all eyes were then pointed eagerly and inquiringly to him. he called the senior member of the house to the chair and came down upon the floor to speak. we are now about to record one of the most remarkable feats of oratory known to history. belton stood with his massive, intellectual head thrown back and a look of determined defiance shot forth from his eyes. his power in debate was well known and the members settled themselves back for a powerful onslaught of some kind; but exactly what to expect they did not know. fortunately for belton's purpose, surprise, wonder, expectancy, had, for the time being, pushed into the background the more violent emotions surging a moment before. belton turned his head slowly, letting his eye sweep the entire circle of faces before him, and there seemed to be a force and an influence emanating from the look. he began: "i call upon you all to bear me witness that i have ever in word and deed been zealous in the work of building up this imperium, whose holy mission it is to grapple with our enemy and wrest from him our stolen rights, given to us by nature and nature's god. if there be one of you that knowest aught against my patriotism, i challenge him to declare it now; and if there be anything to even cast a suspicion upon me, i shall gladly court a traitor's ignoble doom." he paused here. no one accepted the challenge, for belton was the acknowledged guiding star that had led the imperium to the high point of efficiency where bernard found it. "by your silence," belton continued, "i judge that my patriotism is above suspicion; and this question being settled, i shall feel free to speak all that is within me on the subject now before me. i have a word to say in defence of the south--" "no! no! no! no!" burst from a score of throats. friends crowded around belton and begged him to desist. they told him that the current was so strong that it was death to all future usefulness to try to breast it. belton waved them away and cried out in impassioned tones: "on her soil i was born; on her bosom i was reared; into her arms i hope to fall in death; and i shall not from fear of losing popular favor desist from pointing out the natural sources from which her sins arise, so that when judgment is pronounced justice will not hesitate to stamp it with her righteous seal." "remember your scars!" shouted one. "yes, i am scarred," returned belton. "i have been in the hands of an angry mob; i have dangled from a tree at the end of a rope; i have felt the murderous pistol drive cold lead into my flesh; i have been accounted dead and placed upon the dissecting table; i have felt the sharp surgical knife ripping my flesh apart when i was supposed to be dead; all of these hardships and more besides i have received at the hands of the south; but she has not and cannot drive truth from my bosom, and the truth shall i declare this day." seeing that it was useless to attempt to deter him, belton continued his speech without interruption: "there are many things in the message of our most worthy president that demand attention. it was indeed an awful sin for the anglo-saxon to enslave the negro. but in judging a people we must judge them according to the age in which they lived, and the influence that surrounded them. "if david were on earth alive to-day and the ruler of an enlightened kingdom, he would be impeached forthwith, fined for adultery, imprisoned for bigamy, and hanged for murder. yet while not measuring up to the standard of morality of to-day, he was the man after god's own heart in his day and generation. "if abraham were here to-day he would be expelled from any church that had any regard for decency; and yet, he was the father of the faithful, for he walked according to the little light that struggled through the clouds and reached him. "when slavery was introduced into america, it was the universal practice of mankind to enslave. knowing how quick we all are to heed the universal voice of mankind, we should be lenient toward others who are thus tempted and fall. "it has appeared strange to some that the americans could fight for their own freedom from england and yet not think of those whom they then held in slavery. it should be remembered that the two kinds of slavery were by no means identical. the americans fought for a theory and abstract principle. the negro did not even discern the points at issue; and the anglo-saxon naturally did not concern himself at that time with any one so gross as not to know anything of a principle for which he, (the anglo-saxon) was ready to offer up his life. "our president alluded to the fact that the negro was unpaid for all his years of toil. it is true that he was not paid in coin, but he received that from the anglo-saxons which far outweighs in value all the gold coin on earth. he received instruction in the arts of civilization, a knowledge of the english language, and a conception of the one true god and his christ. "while all of the other races of men were behind the ball of progress rolling it up the steep hill of time, the negro was asleep in the jungles of africa. newton dug for the law of gravitation; herschel swept the starry sky in search of other worlds; columbus stood upon the prow of the ship and braved the waves of the ocean and the fiercer ridicule of men; martin luther, single handed and alone, fought the pope, the religious guide of the world; and all of this was done while the negro slept. after others had toiled so hard to give the bright light of civilization to the world, it was hardly to be expected that a race that slept while others worked could step up and at once enjoy all the fruits of others' toil. "allow me to note this great fact; that by enslavement in america the negro has come into possession of the great english language. he is thus made heir to all the richest thoughts of earth. had he retained his mother tongue, it would perhaps have been centuries untold before the masterpieces of earth were given him. as it is we can now enjoy the companionship of shakespeare, bacon, milton, bunyan, together with the favorite sons of other nations adopted into the english language, such as dante, hugo, goethe, dumas and hosts of others. nor must we ever forget that it was the anglo-saxon who snatched from our idolatrous grasp the deaf images to which we prayed, and the anglo-saxon who pointed us to the lamb of god that takes away the sins of the world. "so, beloved fellow citizens, when we calmly survey the evil and the good that came to us through american slavery, it is my opinion that we find more good for which to thank god than we find evil for which to curse man. "our president truly says that abraham lincoln was in such a position that he was forced to set the negro free. but let us remember that it was abraham lincoln and those who labored with him that created this position, from which he could turn neither to the right nor to the left. "if, in his patriotic soul, we see love for the flag of his country overshadowing every other love, let us not ignorantly deny that other loves were there, deep, strong, and incapable of eradication; and let us be grateful for that. the labor question. "prejudice, pride, self-interest, prompt the whites to oppose our leaving in too large numbers the lower forms of labor for the higher; and they resort to any extreme to carry out their purpose. but this opposition is not an unmixed evil. the prejudice and pride that prompt them to exclude the negro from the higher forms of labor, also exclude themselves from the lower forms, thus leaving the negro in undisputed possession of a whole kingdom of labor. "furthermore, by denying us clerical positions, and other higher types of labor we shall be forced into enterprises of our own to furnish labor for our own talent. let us accept the lesson so plainly taught and provide enterprises to supply our own needs and employ our own talents. "if there is any one thing, more than another, that will push the negro forth to build enterprises of his own, it will be this refusal of the whites to employ the higher order of labor that the race from time to time produces. this refusal will prove a blessing if we accept the lesson that it teaches. and, too, in considering this subject let us not feel that we are the only people who have a labor problem on hand to be solved. the anglo-saxon race is divided into two hostile camps--labor and capital. these two forces are gradually drawing together for a tremendous conflict, a momentous battle. the riots at homestead, at chicago, at lattimer are but skirmishes between the picket lines, informing us that a general conflict is imminent. let us thank god that we are not in the struggle. let us thank him that our labor problem is no worse than it is. our civil rights. "for our civil rights we are struggling and we must secure them. but if they had all come to us when they first belonged to us, we must frankly admit that we would have been unprepared for them. "our grotesque dress, our broken language, our ignorant curiosity, and, on the part of many our boorish manners, would have been nauseating in the extreme to men and women accustomed to refined association. of course these failings are passing away: but the polished among you have often been made ashamed at the uncouth antics of some ignorant negroes, courting the attention of the whites in their presence. let us see to it, then, that we as a people, not a small minority of us, are prepared to use and not abuse the privileges that must come to us. "let us reduce the question of our rejection to a question pure and simple of the color of our skins, and by the help of that god who gave us that color we shall win. "on the question of education much might be said in blame of the south, but far more may be said in her praise. "the evils of which our president spoke are grave and must be righted, but let us not fail to see the bright side. "the anglo-saxon child virtually pays for the education of the negro child. you might hold that he might do more. it is equally true that he might do less. when we contrast the anglo-saxon, opening his purse and pouring out his money for the education of the negro, with the anglo-saxon plaiting a scourge to flog the negro aspiring to learn, the progress is marvelous indeed. "and, let us not complain too bitterly of the school maintained by the southerner, for it was there that we learned what true freedom was. it was in school that our hearts grew warm as we read of washington, of jefferson, of henry, apostles of human liberty. it was the school of the southerner that has builded the imperium which now lifts its hand in power and might to strike a last grand blow for liberty. courts of justice. "as for the courts of justice, i have not one word to say in palliation of the way in which they pander to the prejudices of the people. if the courts be corrupt; if the arbitrator between man and man be unjust; if the wretched victim of persecution is to be stabbed to death in the house of refuge; then, indeed, has mortal man sunk to the lowest level. though every other branch of organized society may reek with filth and slime, let the ermine on the shoulders of the goddess of justice ever be clean and spotless. "but remember this, that the court of last resort has set the example which the lower courts have followed. the supreme court of the united states, it seems, may be relied upon to sustain any law born of prejudice against the negro, and to demolish any law constructed in his interest. witness the dred scott decision, and, in keeping with this, the decision on the civil rights bill and separate coach law. "if this court, commonly accepted as being constituted with our friends, sets such a terrible example of injustice, it is not surprising that its filthy waters corrupt the various streams of justice in all their ramifications. mob law. "of all the curses that have befallen the south, this is the greatest. it cannot be too vehemently declaimed against. but let us look well and see if we, as a people, do not bear some share of the responsibility for the prevalence of this curse. "our race has furnished some brutes lower than the beasts of the field, who have stirred the passions of the anglo-saxon as nothing in all of human history has before stirred them. the shibboleth of the anglo-saxon race is the courage of man and the virtue of woman: and when, by violence, a member of a despised race assails a defenseless woman; robs her of her virtue, her crown of glory; and sends her back to society broken and crushed in spirit, longing, sighing, praying for the oblivion of the grave, it is not to be wondered at that hell is scoured by the southern white man in search of plans to vent his rage. the lesson for him to learn is that passion is ever a blind guide and the more violent the more blind. let him not cease to resent with all the intensity of his proud soul the accursed crime; but let this resentment pursue such a channel as will ensure the execution of the guilty and the escape of the innocent. as for us, let us cease to furnish the inhuman brutes whose deeds suggest inhuman punishments. "but, i am aware that in a large majority of cases where lynchings occur, outrages upon women are not even mentioned. this fact but serves as an argument against all lynchings; for when lawlessness breaks forth, no man can set a limit where it will stop. it also warns us as a race to furnish no crime that provokes lynching; for when lynching once gets started, guilty and innocent alike will suffer, and crimes both great and small will be punished alike. "in regard to the lynching of our comrade cook, i have this to say. every feature connected with that crime but emphasizes its heinousness. cook was a quiet, unassuming, gentlemanly being, enjoying the respect of all in a remarkable degree. having wronged no one he was unconscious of having enemies. his wife and loving little ones had retired to rest and were enjoying the deep sleep of the innocent. a band of whites crept to his house under the cover of darkness, and thought to roast all alive. in endeavoring to make their escape the family was pursued by a shower of bullets and cook fell to the ground, a corpse, leaving his loved ones behind, pursued by a fiendish mob. and the color of cook's skin was the only crime laid at his door. "if ye who speculate and doubt as to the existence of a hell but peer into the hearts of those vile creatures who slew poor cook, you will draw back in terror; for hell, black hell is there. to give birth to a deed of such infamy, their hearts must be hells in miniature. but there is one redeeming feature about this crime. unlike others, it found no defense anywhere. the condemnation of the crime was universal. and the entire south cried out in bitter tones against the demons who had at last succeeded in putting the crown of infamy of all the ages upon her brow. politics. "the south has defrauded us out of the ballot and she must restore it. but in judging her crime let us take an impartial view of its occasion. the ballot is supposed to be an expression of opinion. it is a means employed to record men's ideas. it is not designed as a vehicle of prejudice or gratitude, but of thought, opinion. when the negro was first given the ballot he used it to convey expression of love and gratitude to the north, while it bore to the south a message of hate and revenge. no negro, on pain of being ostracised or probably murdered, was allowed to exercise the ballot in any other way than that just mentioned. they voted in a mass, according to the dictates of love and hate. "the ballot was never designed for such a purpose. the white man snatched the ballot from the negro. his only crime was, in not snatching it from him also, for he was voting on the same principle. neither race was thinking. they were both simply feeling, and ballots are not meant to convey feelings. "but happily that day has passed and both races are thinking and are better prepared to vote. but the white man is still holding on to the stolen ballot box and he must surrender it. if we can secure possession of that right again, we shall use it to correct the many grievous wrongs under which we suffer. that is the one point on which all of our efforts are focused. here is the storm center. let us carry this point and our flag will soon have all of our rights inscribed thereon. the struggle is on, and my beloved congress, let me urge one thing upon you. leave out revenge as one of the things at which to aim. "in his holy word our most high god has said: 'vengeance is mine.' great as is this imperium, let it not mount god's throne and attempt by violence to rob him of his prerogatives. in this battle, we want him on our side and let us war as becometh men who fear and reverence him. hitherto, we have seen vengeance terrible in his hands. "while we, the oppressed, stayed upon the plantation in peace, our oppressors were upon the field of battle engaged in mortal combat; and it was the blood of our oppressor, not our own, that was paid as the price of our freedom. and that same god is alive to-day; and let us trust him for vengeance, and if we pray let our prayer be for mercy on those who have wronged us, for direful shall be their woes. "and now, i have a substitute proposition. fellow comrades, i am not for internecine war. o! eternal god, lend unto these, my comrades, the departed spirit of dante, faithful artist of the horrors of hell, for we feel that he alone can paint the shudder-making, soul-sickening scenes that follow in the wake of fast moving internecine war. "now, hear my solution of the race problem. the anglo-saxon does not yet know that we have caught the fire of liberty. he does not yet know that we have learned what a glorious thing it is to die for a principle, and especially when that principle is liberty. he does not yet know how the genius of his institutions has taken hold of our very souls. in the days of our enslavement we did not seem to him to be much disturbed about physical freedom. during the whole period of our enslavement we made only two slight insurrections. "when at last the war came to set us free we stayed in the field and fed the men who were reddening the soil with their blood in a deadly struggle to keep us in bondage forever. we remained at home and defended the helpless wives and children of men, who if they had been at home would have counted it no crime to have ignored all our family ties and scattered husbands and wives, mothers and children as ruthlessly as the autumn winds do the falling leaves. "the anglo-saxon has seen the eyes of the negro following the american eagle in its glorious flight. the eagle has alighted on some mountain top and the poor negro has been seen climbing up the rugged mountain side, eager to caress the eagle. when he has attempted to do this, the eagle has clawed at his eyes and dug his beak into his heart and has flown away in disdain; and yet, so majestic was its flight that the negro, with tears in his eyes, and blood dripping from his heart has smiled and shouted: 'god save the eagle.' "these things have caused us to be misunderstood. we know that our patient submission in slavery was due to our consciousness of weakness; we know that our silence and inaction during the civil war was due to a belief that god was speaking for us and fighting our battle; we know that our devotion to the flag will not survive one moment after our hope is dead; but we must not be content with knowing these things ourselves. we must change the conception which the anglo-saxon has formed of our character. we should let him know that patience has a limit; that strength brings confidence; that faith in god will demand the exercise of our own right arm; that hope and despair are each equipped with swords, the latter more dreadful than the former. before we make a forward move, let us pull the veil from before the eyes of the anglo-saxon that he may see the new negro standing before him humbly, but firmly demanding every right granted him by his maker and wrested from him by man. "if, however, the revelation of our character and the full knowledge of our determined attitude does not procure our rights, my proposition, which i am about to submit, will still offer a solution. resolutions. " . be it _resolved_: that we no longer conceal from the anglo-saxon the fact that the imperium exists, so that he may see that the love of liberty in our bosoms is strong enough to draw us together into this compact government. he will also see that each individual negro does not stand by himself, but is a link in a great chain that must not be broken with impunity. " . _resolved_: that we earnestly strive to convince the anglo-saxon that we are now thoroughly wedded to the doctrine of patrick henry: 'give me liberty or give me death,' let us teach the anglo-saxon that we have arrived at the stage of development as a people, where we prefer to die in honor rather than live in disgrace. " . _resolved_: that we spend four years in endeavors to impress the anglo-saxon that he has a new negro on his hands and must surrender what belongs to him. in case we fail by these means to secure our rights and privileges we shall all, at once, abandon our several homes in the various other states and emigrate in a body to the state of texas, broad in domain, rich in soil and salubrious in climate. having an unquestioned majority of votes we shall secure possession of the state government. " . _resolved_: that when once lawfully in control of that great state we shall, every man, die in his shoes before we shall allow vicious frauds or unlawful force to pursue us there and rob us of our acknowledged right. " . _resolved_: that we sojourn in the state of texas, working out our destiny as a separate and distinct race in the united states of america. "such is the proposition which i present. it is primarily pacific: yet it is firm and unyielding. it courts a peaceable adjustment, yet it does not shirk war, if war is forced. "but in concluding, let me emphasize that my aim, my hope, my labors, my fervent prayer to god is for a peaceable adjustment of all our differences upon the high plane of the equality of man. our beloved president, in his message to this congress, made a serious mistake when he stated that there were only two weapons to be used in accomplishing revolutions. he named the sword (and spear) and ballot. there is a weapon mightier than either of these. i speak of the pen. if denied the use of the ballot let us devote our attention to that mightier weapon, the pen. "other races which have obtained their freedom erect monuments over bloody spots where they slew their fellow men. may god favor us to obtain our freedom without having to dot our land with these relics of barbaric ages. "the negro is the latest comer upon the scene of modern civilization. it would be the crowning glory of even this marvelous age; it would be the grandest contribution ever made to the cause of human civilization; it would be a worthy theme for the songs of the holy angels, if every negro, away from the land of his nativity, can by means of the pen, force an acknowledgment of equality from the proud lips of the fierce, all conquering anglo-saxon, thus eclipsing the record of all other races of men, who without exception have had to wade through blood to achieve their freedom. "amid all the dense gloom that surrounds us, this transcendent thought now and then finds its way to my heart and warms it like a glorious sun. center your minds, beloved congress, on this sublime hope, and god may grant it to you. but be prepared, if he deems us unfit for so great a boon, to buckle on our swords and go forth to win our freedom with the sword just as has been done by all other nations of men. "my speech is made, my proposition is before you. i have done my duty. your destiny is in your own hands." belton's speech had, like dynamite, blasted away all opposition. he was in thorough mastery of the situation. the waves of the sea were now calm, the fierce winds had abated, there was a great rift in the dark clouds. the ship of state was sailing placidly on the bosom of the erstwhile troubled sea, and belton was at the helm. his propositions were adopted in their entirety without one dissenting voice. when the members left the congress hall that evening they breathed freely, feeling that the great race problem was, at last, about to be definitely settled. but, alas! how far wrong they were! as belton was leaving the chamber bernard approached him and put his hands fondly on his shoulders. bernard's curly hair was disordered and a strange fire gleamed in his eye. he said: "come over to the mansion to-night. i wish much to see you. come about nine p.m." belton agreed to go. chapter xix. the parting of ways. at the hour appointed belton was at the door of the president's mansion and bernard was there to meet him. they walked in and entered the same room where years before belton had, in the name of the congress, offered bernard the presidency of the imperium. the evening was mild, and the window, which ran down to the floor, was hoisted. the moon was shedding her full light and bernard had not lighted his lamp. each of them took seats near the window, one on one side and the other on the other, their faces toward the lawn. "belton," said bernard, "that was a masterly speech you made to-day. if orations are measured according to difficulties surmounted and results achieved, yours ought to rank as a masterpiece. aside from that, it was a daring deed. few men would have attempted to rush in and quell that storm as you did. they would have been afraid of being torn to shreds, so to speak, and all to no purpose. let me congratulate you." so saying he extended his hand and grasped belton's feelingly. belton replied in a somewhat melancholy strain: "bernard, that speech and its result ended my life's work. i have known long since that a crisis between the two races would come some day and i lived with the hope of being used by god to turn the current the right way. this i have done, and my work is over." "ah, no, belton; greater achievements, by far, you shall accomplish. the fact is, i have called you over here to-night to acquaint you with a scheme that means eternal glory and honor to us both." belton smiled and shook his head. "when i fully reveal my plan to you, you will change your mind." "well, bernard, let us hear it." "when you closed your speech to-day, a bright light shot athwart my brain and revealed to me something glorious. i came home determined to work it out in detail. this i have done, and now i hand this plan to you to ascertain your views and secure your cooperation." so saying he handed belton a foolscap sheet of paper on which the following was written: a plan of action for the imperium in imperio. . reconsider our determination to make known the existence of our imperium, and avoid all mention of an emigration to texas. . quietly purchase all texas land contiguous to states and territories of the union. build small commonplace huts on these lands and place rapid fire disappearing guns in fortifications dug beneath them. all of this is to be done secretly, the money to be raised by the issuance of bonds by the imperium. . encourage all negroes who can possibly do so to enter the united states navy. . enter into secret negotiations with all of the foreign enemies of the united states, acquainting them of our military strength and men aboard the united states war ships. . secure an appropriation from congress to hold a fair at galveston, inviting the governor of texas to be present. it will afford an excuse for all negro families to pour into texas. it will also be an excuse for having the war ships of nations friendly to us, in the harbor for a rendezvous. . while the governor is away, let the troops proceed quietly to austin, seize the capitol and hoist the flag of the imperium. . we can then, if need be, wreck the entire navy of the united states in a night; the united states will then be prostrate before us and our allies. . we will demand the surrender of texas and louisiana to the imperium. texas, we will retain. louisiana, we will cede to our foreign allies in return for their aid. thus will the negro have an empire of his own, fertile in soil, capable of sustaining a population of fifty million people. belton ceased reading the paper and returned it to bernard. "what is your opinion of the matter, belton?" "it is treason," was belton's terse reply. "are you in favor of it?" asked bernard. "no. i am not and never shall be. i am no traitor and never shall be one. our imperium was organized to secure our rights within the united states and we will make any sacrifice that can be named to attain that end. our efforts have been to wash the flag free of all blots, not to rend it; to burnish every star in the cluster, but to pluck none out. "candidly, bernard, i love the union and i love the south. soaked as old glory is with my people's tears and stained as it is with their warm blood, i could die as my forefathers did, fighting for its honor and asking no greater boon than old glory for my shroud and native soil for my grave. this may appear strange, but love of country is one of the deepest passions in the human bosom, and men in all ages have been known to give their lives for the land in which they had known nothing save cruelty and oppression. i shall never give up my fight for freedom, but i shall never prove false to the flag. i may fight to keep her from floating over cesspools of corruption by removing the cesspool; but i shall never fight to restrict the territory in which she is to float. these are my unalterable opinions." bernard said: "well, belton, we have at last arrived at a point of separation in our lives. i know the anglo-saxon race. he will never admit you to equality with him. i am fully determined on my course of action and will persevere." each knew that further argument was unnecessary, and they arose to part. they stood up, looking each other squarely in the face, and shook hands in silence. tears were in the eyes of both men. but each felt that he was heeding the call of duty, and neither had ever been known to falter. belton returned to his room and retired to rest. bernard called his messenger and sent him for every man of prominence in the congress of the imperium. they all slept in the building. the leaders got out of bed and hurried to the president. he laid before them the plan he had shown belton. they all accepted it and pronounced it good. he then told them that he had submitted it to belton but that belton was opposed. this took them somewhat by surprise, and finding that belton was opposed to it they were sorry that they had spoken so hastily. bernard knew that such would be their feelings. he produced a written agreement and asked all who favored that plan to sign that paper, as that would be of service in bringing over other members. ashamed to appear vacillating, they signed. they then left. the congress assembled next day, and president belgrave submitted his plan. belton swept the assembly with his eyes and told at a glance that there was a secret, formidable combination, and he decided that it would be useless to oppose the plan. the president's plan was adopted. belton alone voted no. belton then arose and said: "being no longer able to follow where the imperium leads, i hereby tender my resignation as a member." the members stood aghast at these words, for death alone removed a member from the ranks of the imperium, and asking to resign, according to their law was asking to be shot. bernard and every member of the congress crowded around belton and begged him to reconsider, and not be so cruel to his comrades as to make them fire bullets into his noble heart. belton was obdurate. according to the law of the imperium, he was allowed thirty days in which to reconsider his request. ordinarily those under sentence of death were kept in close confinement, but not so with belton. he was allowed all liberty. in fact, it was the secret wish of every one that he might take advantage of his freedom and escape. but belton was resolved to die. as he now felt that his days on earth were few, his mind began to turn toward antoinette. he longed to see her once more and just let her know that he loved her still. he at length decided to steal away to richmond and have a last interview with her. all the pent up passion of years now burst forth in his soul, and as the train sped toward virginia, he felt that love would run him mad ere he saw antoinette once more. while his train goes speeding on, let us learn a little of the woman whom he left years ago. antoinette nermal piedmont had been tried and excluded from her church on the charge of adultery. she did not appear at the trial nor speak a word in her own defense. society dropped her as you would a poisonous viper, and she was completely ostracised. but, conscious of her innocence and having an abiding faith in the justice of god, she moved along undisturbed by the ostracism. the only person about whom she was concerned was belton. she yearned, oh! so much, to be able to present to him proofs of her chastity; but there was that white child. but god had the matter in hand. as the child grew, its mother noticed that its hair began to change. she also thought she discovered his skin growing darker by degrees. as his features developed he was seen to be the very image of belton. antoinette frequently went out with him and the people began to shake their heads in doubt. at length the child became antoinette's color, retaining belton's features. public sentiment was fast veering around. her former friends began to speak to her more kindly, and the people began to feel that she was a martyr instead of a criminal. but the child continued to steadily grow darker and darker until he was a shade darker than his father. the church met and rescinded its action of years ago. every social organization of standing elected antoinette nermal piedmont an honorary member. society came rushing to her. she gently smiled, but did not seek their company. she was only concerned about belton. she prayed hourly for god to bring him back to her. and now, unknown to her, he was coming. one morning as she was sitting on her front porch enjoying the morning breeze, she looked toward the gate and saw her husband entering. she screamed loudly, and rushed into her son's room and dragged him out of bed. she did not allow him time to dress, but was dragging him to the door. belton rushed into the house. antoinette did not greet him, but cried in anxious, frenzied tones: "belton! there is your white child! look at him! look at him!" the boy looked up at belton, and if ever one person favored another, this child favored him. belton was dazed. he looked from child to mother and from mother to child. by and by it began to dawn on him that that child was somehow his child. his wife eyed him eagerly. she rushed to her album and showed him pictures of the child taken at various stages of its growth. belton discerned the same features in each photograph, but a different shade of color of the skin. his knees began to tremble. he had come, as the most wronged of men, to grant pardon. he now found himself the vilest of men, unfit for pardon. a picture of all that his innocent wife had suffered came before him, and he gasped: "o, god, what crime is this with which my soul is stained?" he put his hands before his face. antoinette divined his thoughts and sprang toward him. she tore his hands from his face and kissed him passionately, and begged him to kiss and embrace her once more. belton shook his head sadly and cried: "unworthy, unworthy." antoinette now burst forth into weeping. the boy said: "papa, why don't you kiss mama?" hearing the boy's voice, belton raised his eyes, and seeing his image, which antoinette had brought into the world, he grasped her in his arms and covered her face with kisses; and there was joy enough in those two souls to almost excite envy in the bosom of angels. belton was now recalled to life. he again loved the world. the cup of his joy was full. he was proud of his beautiful, noble wife, proud of his promising son. for days he was lost in contemplation of his new found happiness. but at last, a frightful picture arose before him. he remembered that he was doomed to die, and the day of his death came galloping on at a rapid pace. thus a deep river of sadness went flowing on through his happy elysian fields. but he remained unshaken in his resolve. he had now learned to put duty to country above everything else. then, too, he looked upon his boy and he felt that his son would fill his place in the world. but antoinette was so happy that he could not have the heart to tell her of his fate. she was a girl again. she chatted and laughed and played as though her heart was full of love. in her happiness she freely forgave the world for all the wrongs that it had perpetrated upon her. at length the day drew near for belton to go to waco. he took a tender leave of his loved ones. it was so tender that antoinette was troubled, and pressed him hard for an answer as to when he was to return or send for them. he begged her to be assured of his love and know that he would not stay away one second longer than was necessary. thus assured, she let him go, after kissing him more than a hundred times. belton turned his back on this home of happiness and love, to walk into the embrace of death. he arrived in waco in due time, and the morning of his execution came. in one part of the campus there was a high knoll surrounded on all sides by trees. this knoll had been selected as the spot for the execution. in the early morn while the grass yet glittered with pearls of water, and as the birds began to chirp, belton was led forth to die. little did those birds know that they were chirping the funeral march of the world's noblest hero. little did they dream that they were chanting his requiem. the sun had not yet risen but had reddened the east with his signal of approach. belton was stationed upon the knoll, his face toward the coming dawn. with his hands folded calmly across his bosom, he stood gazing over the heads of the executioners, at the rosy east. his executioners, five in number, stood facing him, twenty paces away. they were commanded by bernard, the president of the imperium. bernard gazed on belton with eyes of love and admiration. he loved his friend but he loved his people more. he could not sacrifice his race for his dearest friend. viola had taught him that lesson. bernard's eyes swam with tears as he said to belton in a hoarse whisper: "belton piedmont, your last hour has come. have you anything to say?" "tell posterity," said belton, in firm ringing tones that startled the birds into silence, "that i loved the race to which i belonged and the flag that floated over me; and, being unable to see these objects of my love engage in mortal combat, i went to my god, and now look down upon both from my home in the skies to bless them with my spirit." bernard gave the word of command to fire, and belton fell forward, a corpse. on the knoll where he fell he was buried, shrouded in an american flag. chapter xx. personal.--(berl trout) i was a member of the imperium that ordered belton to be slain. it fell to my lot to be one of the five who fired the fatal shots and i saw him fall. oh! that i could have died in his stead! when he fell, the spirit of conservatism in the negro race, fell with him. he was the last of that peculiar type of negro heroes that could so fondly kiss the smiting hand. his influence, which alone had just snatched us from the edge of the precipice of internecine war, from whose steep heights we had, in our rage, decided to leap into the dark gulf beneath, was now gone; his restraining hand was to be felt no more. henceforth bernard belgrave's influence would be supreme. born of distinguished parents, reared in luxury, gratified as to every whim, successful in every undertaking, idolized by the people, proud, brilliant, aspiring, deeming nothing impossible of achievement, with viola's tiny hand protruding from the grave pointing him to move forward, bernard belgrave, president of the imperium in imperio, was a man to be feared. as bernard stood by the side of belton's grave and saw the stiffened form of his dearest friend lowered to its last resting place, his grief was of a kind too galling for tears. he laughed a fearful, wicked laugh like unto that of a maniac, and said: "float on proud flag, while yet you may. rejoice, oh! ye anglo-saxons, yet a little while. make my father ashamed to own me, his lawful son; call me a bastard child; look upon my pure mother as a harlot; laugh at viola in the grave of a self-murderer; exhume belton's body if you like and tear your flag from around him to keep him from polluting it! yes, stuff your vile stomachs full of all these horrors. you shall be richer food for the buzzards to whom i have solemnly vowed to give your flesh." these words struck terror to my soul. with belton gone and this man at our head, our well-organized, thoroughly equipped imperium was a serious menace to the peace of the world. a chance spark might at any time cause a conflagration, which, unchecked, would spread destruction, devastation and death all around. i felt that beneath the south a mine had been dug and filled with dynamite, and that lighted fuses were lying around in careless profusion, where any irresponsible hand might reach them and ignite the dynamite. i fancied that i saw a man do this very thing in a sudden fit of uncontrollable rage. there was a dull roar as of distant rumbling thunder. suddenly there was a terrific explosion and houses, fences, trees, pavement stones, and all things on earth were hurled high into the air to come back a mass of ruins such as man never before had seen. the only sound to be heard was a universal groan; those who had not been killed were too badly wounded to cry out. such were the thoughts that passed through my mind. i was determined to remove the possibility of such a catastrophe. i decided to prove traitor and reveal the existence of the imperium that it might be broken up or watched. my deed may appear to be the act of a vile wretch, but it is done in the name of humanity. long ere you shall have come to this line, i shall have met the fate of a traitor. i die for mankind, for humanity, for civilization. if the voice of a poor negro, who thus gives his life, will be heard, i only ask as a return that all mankind will join hands and help my poor down-trodden people to secure those rights for which they organized the imperium, which my betrayal has now destroyed. i urge this because love of liberty is such an inventive genius, that if you destroy one device it at once constructs another more powerful. when will all races and classes of men learn that men made in the image of god will not be the slaves of another image? the end. generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note: | | | | i. inconsistent punctuation has been silently corrected | | throughout the book. | | | | ii. clear spelling mistakes have been corrected however, | | inconsistent language usage (such as 'day' and 'dey') | | has been maintained. a list of corrections is included | | at the end of the book. | | | | iii. the numbers at the start of each interview were stamped | | into the original work and refer to the number of the | | published interview in the context of the entire slave | | narratives project. | | | | iv. two handwritten notes have been retained and are | | annotated as such. | | | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume xvi texas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of texas informants adams, will adams, william adams, william m. allen, sarah anderson, andy anderson, george washington (wash) anderson, willis armstrong, mary arnwine, stearlin ashley, sarah babino, agatha barclay, mrs. john barker, john barnes, joe barrett, armstead barrett, harriet bates, john beckett, harrison bell, frank bell, virginia bendy, edgar bendy, minerva benjamin, sarah bess, jack betts, ellen beverly, charlotte black, francis blanchard, olivier blanks, julia boles, elvira bormer (bonner), betty boyd, harrison boyd, issabella boyd, james boykins, jerry brackins, monroe bradshaw, gus brady, wes branch, jacob branch, william brim, clara brooks, sylvester broussard, donaville brown, fannie brown, fred brown, james brown, josie brown, zek bruin, madison bunton, martha spence butler, ellen buttler, henry h. byrd, william cain, louis calhoun, jeff campbell, simp cape, james carruthers, richard carter, cato cauthern, jack chambers, sally banks choice, jeptha clark, amos clark, anne cole, thomas coleman, eli coleman, preely collins, harriet columbus, andrew (smoky) connally, steve cormier, valmar cornish, laura crawford, john cumby, green cummins, tempie cunningham, adeline daily, will daniels, julia francis darling, katie davenport, carey davis, campbell davis, william davison, eli davison, elige day, john denson, nelsen duhon, victor illustrations facing page will adams william adams mary armstrong sterlin arnwine sarah ashley edgar and minerva bendy jack bess's house jack bess charlotte beverly francis black betty bormer (bonner) issabella boyd james boyd monroe brackins wes brady william branch clara brim sylvester brooks donaville broussard fannie brown fred brown james brown josie brown zek brown martha spence bunton ellen butler simp campbell james cape cato carter amos clark's sorghum mill amos clark anne clark preely coleman steve connally steve connally's house valmar cormier john crawford green cumby tempie cummins adeline cunningham will daily's house will daily julia francis daniels katie darling carey davenport campbell davis nelsen denson ex-slave stories (texas) [illustration: will adams] will adams was born in , a slave of dave cavin, in harrison co., texas. he remained with the cavins until , then farmed for himself. will lives alone in marshall, texas, supported by a $ . monthly pension. "my folks allus belongs to the cavins and wore their name till after 'mancipation. pa and ma was named freeman and amelia cavin and massa dave fotches them to texas from alabama, along with ma's mother, what we called maria. "the cavins allus thunk lots of their niggers and grandma maria say, 'why shouldn't they--it was their money.' she say there was plenty indians here when they settled this country and they bought and traded with them without killin' them, if they could. the indians was poor folks, jus' pilfer and loaf 'round all the time. the niggers was a heap sight better off than they was, 'cause we had plenty to eat and a place to stay. "young massa tom was my special massa and he still lives here. old man dave seemed to think more of his niggers than anybody and we thunk lots of our white folks. my pa was leader on the farm, and there wasn't no overseer or driver. when pa whip a nigger he needn't go to massa dave, but pa say, 'go you way, you nigger. freeman didn't whip you for nothin'.' massa dave allus believe pa, 'cause he tells the truth. "one time a peddler come to our house and after supper he goes to see 'bout his pony. pa done feed that pony fifteen ears of corn. the peddler tell massa his pony ain't been fed nothin', and massa git mad and say, 'be on you way iffen you gwine 'cuse my niggers of lyin'.' "we had good quarters and plenty to eat. i 'members when i's jus' walkin' round good pa come in from the field at night and taken me out of bed and dress me and feed me and then play with me for hours. him bein' leader, he's gone from 'fore day till after night. the old heads got out early but us young scraps slep' till eight or nine o'clock, and don't you think massa dave ain't comin' round to see we is fed. i 'members him like it was yest'day, comin' to the quarters with his stick and askin' us, 'had your breakfas'?' we'd say, 'yes, suh.' then he'd ask if we had 'nough or wanted any more. it look like he taken a pleasure in seein' us eat. at dinner, when the field hands come in, it am the same way. he was sho' that potlicker was fill as long as the niggers want to eat. "the hands worked from sun to sun. massa give them li'l crops and let them work them on saturday. then he bought the stuff and the niggers go to jefferson and buy clothes and sech like. lots saved money and bought freedom 'fore the war was over. "we went to church and first the white preacher preached and then he larns our cullud preachers. i seed him ordain a cullud preacher and he told him to allus be honest. when the white preacher laid his hand on him, all the niggers git to hollerin' and shoutin' and prayin' and that nigger git scart mos' to death. "on christmas we had all we could eat and drink and after that a big party, and you ought to see them gals swingin' they partners round. then massa have two niggers wrestle, and our sports and dances was big sport for the white folks. they'd sit on the gallery and watch the niggers put it on brown. "massa didn't like his niggers to marry off the place, but sometimes they'd do it, and massa tell his neighbor, 'my nigger am comin' to you place. make him behave.' all the niggers 'haved then and they wasn't no huntsville and gallows and burnin's then. "old massa went to war with his boy, billie. they's lots of cryin' and weepin' when they sot us free. lots of them didn't want to be free, 'cause they knowed nothin' and had nowhere to go. them what had good massas stayed right on. "i 'members when that ku klux business starts up. smart niggers causes that. the carpet-baggers ruint the niggers and the white men couldn't do a thing with them, so they got up the ku klux and stirs up the world. them carpet-baggers come round larnin' niggers to sass the white folks what done fed them. they come to pa with that talk and he told them, 'listen, white folks, you is gwine start a graveyard if you come round here teachin' niggers to sass white folks." them carpet-baggers starts all the trouble at 'lections in reconstruction. niggers didn't know anythin' 'bout politics. "mos' the young niggers ain't usin' the education they got now. i's been here eighty years and still has to be showed and told by white folks. these young niggers won't git told by whites or blacks either. they thinks they done knowed it all and that gits them in trouble. "i stays with the cavins mos' twenty years after the war. after i leaves, i allus farms and does odd jobs round town here. i's father of ten chillen by one woman. i lives by myself now and they gives me $ . a month. i'd be proud to git it if it wasn't more'n a dollar, 'cause they ain't nothin' a old man can do no more. [illustration: william adams] william adams, , was born in slavery, with no opportunity for an education, except three months in a public school. he has taught himself to read and to write. his lifelong ambition has been to become master of the supernatural powers which he believes to exist. he is now well-known among southwestern negroes for his faith in the occult. "yous want to know and talk about de power de people tells you i has. well, sit down here, right there in dat chair, befo' we'uns starts. i gits some ice water and den we'uns can discuss de subject. i wants to 'splain it clearly, so yous can understand. "i's born a slave, years ago, so of course i 'members de war period. like all de other slaves i has no chance for edumacation. three months am de total time i's spent going to school. i teached myself to read and write. i's anxious to larn to read so i could study and find out about many things. dat, i has done. "there am lots of folks, and edumacated ones, too, what says we'uns believes in superstition. well, its 'cause dey don't understand. 'member de lawd, in some of his ways, can be mysterious. de bible says so. there am some things de lawd wants all folks to know, some things jus' de chosen few to know, and some things no one should know. now, jus' 'cause yous don't know 'bout some of de lawd's laws, 'taint superstition if some other person understands and believes in sich. "there is some born to sing, some born to preach, and some born to know de signs. there is some born under de power of de devil and have de power to put injury and misery on people, and some born under de power of de lawd for to do good and overcome de evil power. now, dat produces two forces, like fire and water. de evil forces starts de fire and i has de water force to put de fire out. "how i larnt sich? well, i's done larn it. it come to me. when de lawd gives sich power to a person, it jus' comes to 'em. it am years ago now when i's fust fully realize' dat i has de power. however, i's allus int'rested in de workin's of de signs. when i's a little piccaninny, my mammy and other folks used to talk about de signs. i hears dem talk about what happens to folks 'cause a spell was put on 'em. de old folks in dem days knows more about de signs dat de lawd uses to reveal his laws den de folks of today. it am also true of de cullud folks in africa, dey native land. some of de folks laughs at their beliefs and says it am superstition, but it am knowin' how de lawd reveals his laws. "now, let me tell yous of something i's seen. what am seen, can't be doubted. it happens when i's a young man and befo' i's realize' dat i's one dat am chosen for to show de power. a mule had cut his leg so bad dat him am bleedin' to death and dey couldn't stop it. an old cullud man live near there dat dey turns to. he comes over and passes his hand over de cut. befo' long de bleedin' stop and dat's de power of de lawd workin' through dat nigger, dat's all it am. "i knows about a woman dat had lost her mind. de doctor say it was caused from a tumor in de head. dey took an ex-ray picture, but dere's no tumor. dey gives up and says its a peculiar case. dat woman was took to one with de power of de good spirit and he say its a peculiar case for dem dat don't understand. dis am a case of de evil spell. two days after, de woman have her mind back. "dey's lots of dose kind of cases de ord'nary person never hear about. yous hear of de case de doctors can't understand, nor will dey 'spond to treatment. dat am 'cause of de evil spell dat am on de persons. "'bout special persons bein' chosen for to show de power, read yous bible. it says in de book of mark, third chapter, 'and he ordained twelve, dat dey should be with him, dat he might send them forth to preach and to have de power to heal de sick and to cast out devils.' if it wasn't no evil in people, why does de lawd say, 'cast out sich?' and in de fifth chapter of james, it further say, 'if any am sick, let him call de elders. let dem pray over him. de prayers of faith shall save him.' there 'tis again, faith, dat am what counts. "when i tells dat i seen many persons given up to die, and den a man with de power comes and saves sich person, den its not for people to say it am superstition to believe in de power. "don't forgit--de agents of de devil have de power of evil. dey can put misery of every kind on people. dey can make trouble with de work and with de business, with de fam'ly and with de health. so folks mus' be on de watch all de time. folks has business trouble 'cause de evil power have control of 'em. dey has de evil power cast out and save de business. there am a man in waco dat come to see me 'bout dat. he say to me everything he try to do in de las' six months turned out wrong. it starts with him losin' his pocketbook with $ . in it. he buys a carload of hay and it catch fire and he los' all of it. he spends $ . advertisin' de three-day sale and it begin to rain, so he los' money. it sho' am de evil power. "'well,' he say, 'dat am de way it go, so i comes to you.' "i says to him, 'its de evil power dat have you control and we'uns shall cause it to be cast out.' its done and he has no more trouble. "you wants to know if persons with de power for good can be successful in castin' out devils in all cases? well, i answers dat, yes and no. dey can in every case if de affected person have de faith. if de party not have enough faith, den it am a failure. "wearin' de coin for protection 'gainst de evil power? dat am simple. lots of folks wears sich and dey uses mixtures dat am sprinkled in de house, and sich. dat am a question of faith. if dey has de true faith in sich, it works. otherwise, it won't. "some folks won't think for a minute of goin' without lodestone or de salt and pepper mixture in de little sack, tied round dey neck. some wears de silver coin tied round dey neck. all sich am for to keep away de effect of de evil power. when one have de faith in sich and dey acc'dently lose de charm, dey sho' am miserable. "an old darky dat has faith in lodestone for de charm told me de 'sperience he has in atlanta once. he carryin' de hod and de fust thing he does am drop some brick on he foot. de next thing, he foot slip as him starts up de ladder and him and de bricks drap to de ground. it am lucky for him it wasn't far. jus' a sprain ankle and de boss sends him home for de day. he am 'cited and gits on de street car and when de conductor call for de fare, rufus reaches for he money but he los' it or fergits it at home. de conductor say he let him pay nex' time and asks where he live. rufus tells him and he say, 'why, nigger, you is on de wrong car.' dat cause rufus to walk further with de lame foot dan if he started walkin' in de fust place. he thinks there mus' be something wrong with he charm, and he look for it and it gone! sho' 'nough, it am los'. he think, 'here i sits all day, and i won't make another move till i gits de lodestone. when de chillen comes from school i sends dem to de drugstore for some of de stone and gits fixed.' "now, now, i's been waitin' for dat one 'bout de black cat crossin' de road, and, sho' 'nough, it come. let me ask you one. how many people can yous find dat likes to have de black cat cross in front of 'em? dat's right, no one likes dat. let dis old cullud person inform yous dat it am sho' de bad luck sign. it is sign of bad luck ahead, so turn back. stop what yous doin'. "i's tellin' yous of two of many cases of failure to took warnin' from de black cat. i knows a man call' miller. his wife and him am takin' an auto ride and de black cat cross de road and he cussed a little and goes on. den it's not long till he turns de corner and his wife falls out of de car durin' de turn. when he goes back and picks her up, she am dead. "another fellow, call' brown, was a-ridin' hossback and a black cat cross de path, but he drives on. well, its not long till him hoss stumble and throw him off. de fall breaks his leg, so take a warnin'--don't overlook de black cat. dat am a warnin'. william m. adams, spiritualist preacher and healer, who lives at illinois ave., ft. worth, texas, was born a slave on the james davis plantation, in san jacinto co., texas. after the war he worked in a grocery, punched cattle, farmed and preached. he moved to ft. worth in . "i was bo'n years ago, dat is whut my mother says. we didn' keep no record like folks does today. all i know is i been yere a long time. my mother, she was julia adams and my father he was james adams. she's bo'n in hollis springs, mississippi and my father, now den, he was bo'n in florida. he was a black creek indian. dere was of us chillen. when i was 'bout seven de missus, she come and gits me for her servant. i lived in de big house till she die. her and marster davis was powerful good to me. "marster davis he was a big lawyer and de owner of a plantation. but all i do was wait on ole missus. i'd light her pipe for her and i helped her wid her knittin'. she give me money all de time. she had a little trunk she keeped money in and lots of times i'd have to pack it down wid my feets. "i dis'member jus' how many slaves dere was, but dere was more'n . i saw as much as sold at a time. when dey tuk a bunch of slaves to trade, dey put chains on 'em. "de other slaves lived in log cabins back of de big house. dey had dirt floors and beds dat was made out of co'n shucks or straw. at nite dey burned de lamps for 'bout an hour, den de overseers, dey come knock on de door and tell 'em put de light out. lots of overseers was mean. sometimes dey'd whip a nigger wid a leather strap 'bout a foot wide and long as your arm and wid a wooden handle at de end. "on sat'day and sunday nites dey'd dance and sing all nite long. dey didn' dance like today, dey danced de roun' dance and jig and do de pigeon wing, and some of dem would jump up and see how many time he could kick his feets 'fore dey hit de groun'. dey had an ole fiddle and some of 'em would take two bones in each hand and rattle 'em. dey sang songs like, 'diana had a wooden leg,' and 'a hand full of sugar,' and 'cotton-eyed joe.' i dis'member how dey went. "de slaves didn' have no church den, but dey'd take a big sugar kettle and turn it top down on de groun' and put logs roun' it to kill de soun'. dey'd pray to be free and sing and dance. "when war come dey come and got de slaves from all de plantations and tuk 'em to build de breastworks. i saw lots of soldiers. dey'd sing a song dat go something like dis: "'jeff davis rode a big white hoss, lincoln rode a mule; jess davis is our president, lincoln is a fool.' "i 'member when de slaves would run away. ole john billinger, he had a bunch of dogs and he'd take after runaway niggers. sometimes de dogs didn' ketch de nigger. den ole billinger, he'd cuss and kick de dogs. "we didn' have to have a pass but on other plantations dey did, or de paddlerollers would git you and whip you. dey was de poor white folks dat didn' have no slaves. we didn' call 'em white folks dem days. no, suh, we called dem' buskrys.' "jus' fore de war, a white preacher he come to us slaves and says: 'do you wan' to keep you homes whar you git all to eat, and raise your chillen, or do you wan' to be free to roam roun' without a home, like de wil' animals? if you wan' to keep you homes you better pray for de south to win. all day wan's to pray for de south to win, raise the hand.' we all raised our hands 'cause we was skeered not to, but we sho' didn' wan' de south to win. "dat night all de slaves had a meetin' down in de hollow. ole uncle mack, he gits up and says: 'one time over in virginny dere was two ole niggers, uncle bob and uncle tom. dey was mad at one 'nuther and one day dey decided to have a dinner and bury de hatchet. so day sat down, and when uncle bob wasn't lookin' uncle tom put some poison in uncle bob's food, but he saw it and when uncle tom wasn't lookin', uncle bob he turned de tray roun' on uncle tom, and he gits de poison food.' uncle mack, he says: 'dat's what we slaves is gwine do, jus' turn de tray roun' and pray for de north to win.' "after de war dere was a lot of excitement 'mong de niggers. dey was rejoicin' and singin'. some of 'em looked puzzled, sorter skeered like. but dey danced and had a big jamboree. "lots of 'em stayed and worked on de halves. others hired out. i went to work in a grocery store and he paid me $ . a week. i give my mother de dollar and keeped de half. den i got married and farmed for awhile. den i come to fort worth and i been yere since. sarah allen was born a slave of john and sally goodren, in the blue ridge mountains of virginia. before the civil war, her owners came to texas, locating near a small town then called freedom. she lives at frutas st., el paso, texas. "i was birthed in time of bondage. you know, some people are ashamed to tell it, but i thank god i was 'llowed to see them times as well as now. it's a pretty hard story, how cruel some of the marsters was, but i had the luck to be with good white people. but some i knew were put on the block and sold. i 'member when they'd come to john goodren's place to buy, but he not sell any. they'd have certain days when they'd sell off the block and they took chillen 'way from mothers, screamin' for dere chillen. "i was birthed in ole virginia in de blue ridge mountains. when de white people come to texas, de cullud people come with them. dat's been a long time. "my maw was named charlotte, my paw parks adams. he's a white man. i guess i'm about eighty some years ole. "you know, in slavery times when dey had bad marsters dey'd run away, but we didn' want to. my missus would see her people had something good to eat every sunday mornin'. you had to mind your missus and marster and you be treated well. i think i was about twelve when dey freed us and we stayed with marster 'bout a year, then went to john ecols' place and rented some lan'. we made two bales of cotton and it was the first money we ever saw. "back when we lived with marster goodren we had big candy pullin's. invite everybody and play. we had good times. de worst thing, we didn' never have no schoolin' till after i married. den i went to school two weeks. my husban' was teacher. he never was a slave. his father bought freedom through a blacksmith shop, some way. "i had a nice weddin'. my dress was white and trimmed with blue ribbon. my second day dress was white with red dots. i had a beautiful veil and a wreath and 'bout two, three waiters for table dat day. "my mother was nearly white. brighter than me. we lef' my father in virginia. i was jus' as white as de chillen i played with. i used to be plum bright, but here lately i'm gettin' awful dark. "my husban' was of a mixture, like you call bright ginger-cake color. i don' know where he got his learnin'. i feel so bad since he's gone to glory. "now i'm ole, de lord has taken care of me. he put that spirit in people to look after ole folks and now my chillen look after me. i've two sons, one name james allen, one r.m. both live in el paso. "after we go to sleep, de people will know these things, 'cause if freedom hadn' come, it would have been so miserable. andy anderson, , was born a slave of jack haley, who owned a plantation in williamson co., texas. during the civil war, andy was sold to w.t. house, of blanco county, who in less than a year sold andy to his brother, john house. andy now lives with his third wife and eight of his children at armour st., fort worth, texas. "my name am andy j. anderson, and i's born on massa jack haley's plantation in williamson county, texas, and massa haley owned my folks and 'bout twelve other families of niggers. i's born in and that makes me year old and year when de war starts. i's had 'speriences durin' dat time. "massa haley am kind to his cullud folks, and him am kind to everybody, and all de folks likes him. de other white folks called we'uns de petted niggers. there am 'bout old and young niggers and 'bout piccaninnies too little to work, and de nuss cares for dem while dey mammies works. "i's gwine 'splain how it am managed on massa haley's plantation. it am sort of like de small town, 'cause everything we uses am made right there. there am de shoemaker and he is de tanner and make de leather from de hides. den massa has 'bout a thousand sheep and he gits de wool, and de niggers cards and spins and weaves it, and dat makes all de clothes. den massa have cattle and sich purvide de milk and de butter and beef meat for eatin'. den massa have de turkeys and chickens and de hawgs and de bees. with all that, us never was hongry. "de plantation am planted in cotton, mostly, with de corn and de wheat a little, 'cause massa don't need much of dem. he never sell nothin' but de cotton. "de livin' for de cullud folks am good. de quarters am built from logs like deys all in dem days. de floor am de dirt but we has de benches and what is made on de place. and we has de big fireplace for to cook and we has plenty to cook in dat fireplace, 'cause massa allus 'lows plenty good rations, but he watch close for de wastin' of de food. "de war breaks and dat make de big change on de massas place. he jines de army and hires a man call' delbridge for overseer. after dat, de hell start to pop, 'cause de first thing delbridge do is cut de rations. he weighs out de meat, three pound for de week, and he measure a peck of meal. and 'twarn't enough. he half starve us niggers and he want mo' work and he start de whippin's. i guesses he starts to edumacate 'em. i guess dat delbridge go to hell when he died, but i don't see how de debbil could stand him. "we'uns am not use' to sich and some runs off. when dey am cotched there am a whippin' at de stake. but dat delbridge, he sold me to massa house, in blanco county. i's sho' glad when i's sold, but it am short gladness, 'cause here am another man what hell am too good for. he gives me de whippin' and de scars am still on my arms and my back, too. i'll carry dem to my grave. he sends me for firewood and when i gits it loaded, de wheel hits a stump and de team jerks and dat breaks de whippletree. so he ties me to de stake and every half hour for four hours, dey lays ta lashes on my back. for de first couple hours de pain am awful. i's never forgot it. den i's stood so much pain i not feel so much and when dey takes me loose, i's jus' 'bout half dead. i lays in de bunk two days, gittin' over dat whippin', gittin' over it in de body but not de heart. no, suh, i has dat in de heart till dis day. "after dat whippin' i doesn't have de heart to work for de massa. if i seed de cattle in de cornfield, i turns de back, 'stead of chasin' 'em out. i guess dat de reason de massa sold me to his brother, massa john. and he am good like my first massa, he never whipped me. "den surrender am 'nounced and massa tells us we's free. when dat takes place, it am 'bout one hour by sun. i says to myself, 'i won't be here long.' but i's not realise what i's in for till after i's started, but i couldn't turn back. for dat means de whippin' or danger from de patter rollers. dere i was and i kep' on gwine. no nigger am sposed to be off de massa's place without de pass, so i travels at night and hides durin' de daylight. i stays in de bresh and gits water from de creeks, but not much to eat. twice i's sho' dem patter rollers am passin' while i's hidin'. "i's year old den, but it am de first time i's gone any place, 'cept to de neighbors, so i's worried 'bout de right way to massa haley's place. but de mornin' of de third day i comes to he place and i's so hongry and tired and scairt for fear massa haley not home from de army yit. so i finds my pappy and he hides me in he cabin till a week and den luck comes to me when massa haley come home. he come at night and de next mornin' dat delbridge am shunt off de place, 'cause massa haley seed he niggers was all gaunt and lots am ran off and de fields am not plowed right, and only half de sheep and everything left. so massa say to dat delbridge, 'dere am no words can 'splain what yous done. git off my place 'fore i smashes you.' "den i kin come out from my pappy's cabin and de old massa was glad to see me, and he let me stay till freedom am ordered. dat's de happies' time in my life, when i gits back to massa haley. dibble, fred, p.w., beehler, rheba, p.w., beaumont, jefferson, dist. # . a frail sick man, neatly clad in white pajamas lying patiently in a clean bed awaiting the end which does not seem far away. although we protested against his talking, because of his weakness, he told a brief story of his life in a whisper, his breath very short and every word was spoken with great effort. his light skin and his features denote no characteristic of his race, has a bald head with a bit of gray hair around the crown and a slight growth of gray whiskers about his face, is medium in height and build. wash anderson, although born in charleston, s.c., has spent practically all of his life in texas [handwritten note: (beaumont, texas--] "mos' folks call me wash anderson, but dey uster call me george. my whole name' george washington anderson. i was bo'n in charleston, sou'f ca'lina in . bill anderson was my ol' marster. dey was two boy' and two gal' in his family. we all lef' charleston and come to orange, texas, befo' freedom come. i was fo' year' ol' when dey mek dat trip." "i don' 'member nuttin' 'bout charleston. you see where i was bo'n was 'bout two mile' from de city. i went back one time in , but i didn' stay dere long." "my pa was irvin' anderson and my mommer was name' eliza. ol' marster was pretty rough on his niggers. dey tell me he had my gran'daddy beat to death. dey never did beat me." "dey made de trip from charleston 'cross de country and settle' in duncan's wood' down here in orange county. dey had a big plantation dere. i dunno if ol' marster had money back in charleston, but i t'ink he must have. he had 'bout or slaves on de place." "ol' man anderson he had a big two-story house. it was buil' out of logs but it was a big fine house. de slaves jis' had little log huts. dere warn't no flo's to 'em, nuthin' but de groun'. dem little huts jis' had one room in 'em. dey was one family to de house, 'cep'n' sometime dey put two or t'ree family' to a house. dey jis' herd de slaves in dere like a bunch of pigs." "dey uster raise cotton, and co'n, and sugar cane, and sich like, but dey didn' uster raise no rice. dey uster sen' stuff to terry on a railroad to sen' it to market. sometime dey hitch up dey teams and sen' it to orange and beaumont in wagons. de ol' marster he had a boat, too, and sometime he sen' a boatload of his stuff to beaumont." "my work was to drive de surrey for de family and look atter de hosses and de harness and sich. i jis' have de bes' hosses on de place to see atter." "i saw lots of sojers durin' de war. i see 'em marchin' by, goin' to sabine pass 'bout de time of dat battle." "back in slavery time dey uster have a white preacher to come 'roun' and preach to de cullud folks. but i don't 'member much 'bout de songs what dey uster sing." "i play 'roun' right smart when i was little. dey uster have lots of fun playin' 'hide and seek,' and 'hide de switch.' we uster ride stick hosses and play 'roun' at all dem t'ings what chillun play at." "dey had plenty of hosses and mules and cows on de ol' plantation. i had to look atter some of de hosses, but dem what i hatter look atter was s'pose to be de bes' hosses in de bunch. like i say, i drive de surrey and dey allus have de bes' hosses to pull dat surrey. dey had a log stable. dey kep' de harness in dere, too. eb'ryt'ing what de stock eat dey raise on de plantation, all de co'n and fodder and sich like." "atter freedom come i went 'roun' doin' dif'rent kind of work. i uster work on steamboats, and on de railroad and at sawmillin'. i was a sawyer for a long, long time. i work 'roun' in lou'sana and arkansas, and oklahoma, as well as in texas. when i wasn't doin' dem kinds of work, i uster work 'roun' at anyt'ing what come to han'. i 'member one time i was workin' for de burr lumber company at fort townsend up dere in arkansas." "when i was 'bout year' ol' i git marry. i been married twice. my fus' wife was name' hannah and reverend george childress was de preacher dat marry us. he was a cullud preacher. atter hannah been dead some time i marry my secon' wife. her name was tempie perkins. later on, us sep'rate. us sep'rate on 'count of money matters." "i b'longs to de baptis' chu'ch. sometime' de preacher come 'roun' and see me. he was here a few days ago dis week." _"uncle willis anderson"_ _references_ a. coronado's children--j. frank dobie, pub. , austin, tex. b. leon county news--centerville, texas--thursday may , . c. consultant--uncle willis anderson, resident of centerville, tex, born april , . an interesting character at centerville, texas, is "uncle willis" anderson, an ex-slave, born april , , miles west of centerville on the old mcdaniels plantation near what is now known as hopewell settlement. it is generally said that "uncle willis" is one of the oldest living citizens in the county, black or white. he is referred to generally for information concerning days gone by and for the history of that county, especially in the immediate vicinity of centerville. "uncle willis" is an interesting figure. he may be found sitting on the porches of the stores facing federal highway no. , nodding or conversing with small groups of white or colored people that gather around him telling of the days gone by. he also likes to watch the busses and automobiles that pass through the small town musing and commenting on the swiftness of things today. uncle willis still cultivates a small patch five miles out from the town. "uncle willis" is a tall dark, brown-skinned man having a large head covered with mixed gray wooly hair. he has lost very few teeth considering his age. when sitting on the porches of the stores the soles of his farm-shoes may be seen tied together with pieces of wire. he supports himself with a cane made from the elm tree. at present he wears a tall white texas centennial hat which makes him appear more unique than ever. "uncle willis'" memory is vivid. he is familiar with the older figures in the history of the county. he tells tales of having travelled by oxen to west texas for flour and being gone for six months at a time. he remembers the keechi and the kickapoo indians and also claims that he can point out a tree where the americans hung an indian chief. he says that he has plowed up arrows, pots and flints on the reubens bains place and on the mcdaniel farms. he can tell of the early lawlessness in the county. his face lights up when he recalls how the yankee soldiers came through centerville telling the slave owners to free their slaves. he also talks very low when he mentions the name of jeff davis because he says, "wha' man eavesdrops the niggers houses in slavery time and if yer' sed' that jeff davis was a good man, they barbecued a hog for you, but if yer' sed' that abe lincoln was a good man, yer' had to fight or go to the woods." among the most interesting tales told by "uncle willis" is the tale of the "lead mine." "uncle willis" says that some where along boggy creek near a large hickory tree and a red oak tree, near patrick's lake, he and his master, auss mcdaniels, would dig lead out of the ground which they used to make pistol and rifle balls for the old mississippi rifles during slavery time. uncle willis claims that they would dig slags of lead out of the ground some and inches long, and others as large as a man's fist. they would carry this ore back to the big house and melt it down to get the trash out of it, then they would pour it into molds and make rifle balls and pistol balls from it. in this way they kept plenty of amunition on hand. in recent years the land has changed ownership, and the present owners live in dallas. learning of the tale of the "lead mine" on their property they went to centerville in an attempt to locate it and were referred to "uncle willis." uncle willis says they offered him two hundred dollars if he could locate the mine. being so sure that he knew its exact location, said that the $ was his meat. however, uncle willis was unable to locate the spot where they dug the lead and the mine remains a mystery.[c] recently a group of citizens of leon county including w.d. lacey, joe mcdaniel, debbs brown, w.h. hill and judge lacey cross questioned uncle willis about the lead mine. judge lacey did the questioning while them others formed an audience. the conversation went as follows: "which way would you go when you went to the mine?" judge lacey asked. "out tow'hd normangee." "how long would it take you to get there?" "two or three hours." "was it on a creek?" "yessuh." "but you cant go to it now?" "nosuh, i just can't recollect exactly where 'tis.[b] j. frank dobie mentions many tales of lost lead mines throughout texas in coronado's children, a publication of the texas folk-lore society. lead in the early days of the republic and the state was very valuable, as it was the source of protection from the indians and also the means of supplying food.[a] [illustration: mary armstrong] mary armstrong, , lives at pierce ave., houston, texas. she was born on a farm near st. louis, missouri, a slave of william cleveland. her father, sam adams, belonged to a "nigger trader," who had a farm adjoining the cleveland place. "i's aunt mary, all right, but you all has to 'scuse me if i don't talk so good, 'cause i's been feelin' poorly for a spell and i ain't so young no more. law me, when i think back what i used to do, and now it's all i can do to hobble 'round a little. why, miss olivia, my mistress, used to put a glass plumb full of water on my head and then have me waltz 'round the room, and i'd dance so smoothlike, i don't spill nary drap. "that was in st. louis, where i's born. you see, my mamma belong to old william cleveland and old polly cleveland, and they was the meanest two white folks what ever lived, 'cause they was allus beatin' on their slaves. i know, 'cause mamma told me, and i hears about it other places, and besides, old polly, she was a polly devil if there ever was one, and she whipped my little sister what was only nine months old and jes' a baby to death. she come and took the diaper offen my little sister and whipped till the blood jes' ran--jes' 'cause she cry like all babies do, and it kilt my sister. i never forgot that, but i sot some even with that old polly devil and it's this-a-way. "you see, i's 'bout year old and i belongs to miss olivia, what was that old polly's daughter, and one day old polly devil comes to where miss olivia lives after she marries, and trys to give me a lick out in the yard, and i picks up a rock 'bout as big as half your fist and hits her right in the eye and busted the eyeball, and tells her that's for whippin' my baby sister to death. you could hear her holler for five miles, but miss olivia, when i tells her, says, 'well, i guess mamma has larnt her lesson at last.' but that old polly was mean like her husban', old cleveland, till she die, and i hopes they is burnin' in torment now. "i don't 'member 'bout the start of things so much, 'cept what miss olivia and my mamma, her name was siby, tells me. course, it's powerful cold in winter times and the farms was lots different from down here. they calls 'em plantations down here but up at st. louis they was jes' called farms, and that's what they was, 'cause we raises wheat and barley and rye and oats and corn and fruit. "the houses was builded with brick and heavy wood, too, 'cause it's cold up there, and we has to wear the warm clothes and they's wove on the place, and we works at it in the evenin's. "old cleveland takes a lot of his slaves what was in 'custom' and brings 'em to texas to sell. you know, he wasn't sposed to do that, 'cause when you's in 'custom', that's 'cause he borrowed money on you, and you's not sposed to leave the place till he paid up. course, old cleveland jes' tells the one he owed the money to, you had run off, or squirmed out some way, he was that mean. "mamma say she was in one bunch and me in 'nother. mamma had been put 'fore this with my papa, sam adams, but that makes no diff'rence to old cleveland. he's so mean he never would sell the man and woman and chillen to the same one. he'd sell the man here and the woman there and if they's chillen, he'd sell them some place else. oh, old satan in torment couldn't be no meaner than what he and old polly was to they slaves. he'd chain a nigger up to whip 'em and rub salt and pepper on him, like he said, 'to season him up.' and when he'd sell a slave, he'd grease their mouth all up to make it look like they'd been fed good and was strong and healthy. "well mamma say they hadn't no more'n got to shreveport 'fore some law man cotch old cleveland and takes 'em all back to st. louis. then my little sister's born, the one old polly devil kilt, and i's 'bout four year old then. "miss olivia takes a likin' to me and, though her papa and mama so mean, she's kind to everyone, and they jes' love her. she marries to mr. will adams what was a fine man, and has 'bout five farms and slaves, and he buys me for her from old cleveland and pays him $ , . , and gives him george henry, a nigger, to boot. lawsy, i's sho' happy to be with miss olivia and away from old cleveland and old polly, 'cause they kilt my little sister. "we lives in st. louis, on chinquapin hill, and i's housegirl, and when the babies starts to come i nusses 'em and spins thread for clothes on the loom. i spins six cuts of thread a week, but i has plenty of time for myself and that's where i larns to dance so good. law, i sho' jes' crazy 'bout dancin'. if i's settin' eatin' my victuals and hears a fiddle play, i gets up and dances. "mr. will and miss olivia sho' is good to me, and i never calls mr. will 'massa' neither, but when they's company i calls him mr. will and 'round the house by ourselves i calls them 'pappy' and 'mammy', 'cause they raises me up from the little girl. i hears old cleveland done took my mamma to texas 'gain but i couldn't do nothin', 'cause miss olivia wouldn't have much truck with her folks. once in a while old polly comes over, but miss olivia tells her not to touch me or the others. old polly trys to buy me back from miss olivia, and if they had they'd kilt me sho'. but miss olivia say, 'i'd wade in blood as deep as hell 'fore i'd let you have mary.' that's jes' the very words she told 'em. "then i hears my papa is sold some place i don't know where. 'course, i didn't know him so well, jes' what mamma done told me, so that didn't worry me like mamma being took so far away. "one day mr. will say, 'mary, you want to go to the river and see the boat race?' law me, i never won't forget that. where we live it ain't far to the miss'sippi river and pretty soon here they comes, the natchez and the eclipse, with smoke and fire jes' pourin' out of they smokestacks. that old captain on the 'clipse starts puttin' in bacon meat in the boiler and the grease jes' comes out a-blazin' and it beat the natchez to pieces. "i stays with miss olivia till ' when mr. will set us all free. i was 'bout year old then or more. i say i goin' find my mamma. mr. will fixes me up two papers, one 'bout a yard long and the other some smaller, but both has big, gold seals what he says is the seal of the state of missouri. he gives me money and buys my fare ticket to texas and tells me they is still slave times down here and to put the papers in my bosom but to do whatever the white folks tells me, even if they wants to sell me. but he say, 'fore you gets off the block, jes' pull out the papers, but jes' hold 'em up to let folks see and don't let 'em out of your hands, and when they sees them they has to let you alone.' "miss olivia cry and carry on and say be careful of myself 'cause it sho' rough in texas. she give me a big basket what had so much to eat in it i couldn't hardly heft it and 'nother with clothes in it. they puts me in the back end a the boat where the big, old wheel what run the boat was and i goes to new orleans, and the captain puts me on 'nother boat and i comes to galveston, and that captain puts me on 'nother boat and i comes up this here buffalo bayou to houston. "i looks 'round houston, but not long. it sho' was a dumpy little place then and i gets the stagecoach to austin. it takes us two days to get there and i thinks my back busted sho' 'nough, it was sich rough ridin'. then i has trouble sho'. a man asks me where i goin' and says to come 'long and he takes me to a mr. charley crosby. they takes me to the block what they sells slaves on. i gets right up like they tells me, 'cause i 'lects what mr. will done told me to do, and they starts biddin' on me. and when they cried off and this mr. crosby comes up to get me, i jes' pulled out my papers and helt 'em up high and when he sees 'em, he say, 'let me see them.' but i says, 'you jes' look at it up here,' and he squints up and say, 'this gal am free and has papers,' and tells me he a legislature man and takes me and lets me stay with his slaves. he is a good man. "he tells me there's a slave refugee camp in wharton county but i didn't have no money left, but he pays me some for workin' and when the war's over i starts to hunt mamma 'gain, and finds her in wharton county near where wharton is. law me, talk 'bout cryin' and singin' and cryin' some more, we sure done it. i stays with mamma till i gets married in to john armstrong, and then we all comes to houston. "i gets me a job nussin' for dr. rellaford and was all through the yellow fever epidemic. i 'lects in ' people die jes' like sheep with the rots. i's seen folks with the fever jump from their bed with death on 'em and grab other folks. the doctor saved lots of folks, white and black, 'cause he sweat it out of 'em. he mixed up hot water and vinegar and mustard and some else in it. "but, law me, so much is gone out of my mind, 'cause i's year old now and my mind jes' like my legs, jes' kinda hobble 'round a bit. [illustration: sterlin arnwine] stearlin arnwine, , was born a slave to albertus arnwine, near jacksonville, texas, who died when stearlin was seven or eight. he was bought by john moseley, of rusk, texas, who made stearlin a houseboy, and was very kind to him. he now lives about six miles west of jacksonville. "i was bo'n 'fore de war, in , right near this here town, on gum creek. my mammy belonged to massa albertus arnwine, and he wasn' ever married. he owned four women, my mammy, ann, my grandmother, gracie, and my aunt winnie and aunt mary. he didn' own any nigger men, 'cept the chillen of these women. grandma lived in de house with massa arnwine and the rest of us lived in cabins in de ya'd. my mammy come from memphis but i don' know whar my pappy come from. he was ike lane. i has three half brothers, and their names is joe and will and john schot, and two sisters called polly and rosie. "massa arnwine died 'fore de war and he made a will and it gave all he owned to the women he owned, and jedge jowell promised massa on his deathbed he would take us to de free country, but he didn'. he took us to his place to work for him for 'bout two years and the women never did get that acres of land massa arnwine willed to'em. i don' know who got it, but they didn'. i knows i still has a share in that land, but it takes money to git it in cou't. "when war broke i fell into the han's of massa john moseley at rusk. they brought the dogs to roun' us up from the fiel's whar we was workin'. i was the only one of my fam'ly to go to massa john. "i never did wo'k in the fiel's at massa john's place. he said i mus' be his houseboy and houseboy i was. massa was sho' good to me and i did love to be with him and follow him 'roun'. "the kitchen was out in de ya'd and i had to carry the victuals to the big dinin'-room. when dinner was over, massa john tuk a nap and i had to fan him, and lawsy me, i'd git so sleepy. i kin hear him now, for he'd wake up and say, 'go get me a drink outta the northeast corner of de well.' "we had straw and grass beds, we put it in sacks on de groun' and slep' on de sacks. i don' 'member how much land massa john had but it was a big place and he had lots of slaves. we chillun had supper early in de evenin' and mostly cornbread and hawg meat and milk. we all ate from a big pot. i larned to spin and weave and knit and made lots of socks. "massa john had two step-daughters, miss mollie and miss laura, and they wen' to school at rusk. it was my job to take 'em thar ev'ry monday mornin' on horses and go back after 'em friday afternoon. "i never earnt no money 'fore freedom come, but once my brother-in-law give me five dollars. i was so proud of it i showed it to de ladies and one of 'em said, 'you don' need dat,' and she give me two sticks of candy and tuk de money. but i didn' know any better then. "i seed slaves for sale on de auction block. they sol' 'em 'cordin' to strengt' and muscles. they was stripped to de wais'. i seed the women and little chillun cryin' and beggin' not to be separated, but it didn' do no good. they had to go. "the only chu'ch i knowed 'bout was when we'd git together in de night and have prayer meetin' and singin.' we use' to go way out in de woods so de white folks wouldn' hear nothin'. sometimes we'd stay nearly all night on saturday, 'cause we didn' have to work sunday. "'bout the only thing we could play was stick hosses. i made miles and miles on the stick hosses. after the war massa john have his chillun a big roll of confederate money and they give us some of it to trade and buy stick hosses with. "when massa john tol' us we was free, he didn' seem to min', but miss em, she bawled and squalled, say her prop'ty taken 'way from her. after dat, my mammy gathers us togedder and tuk us to the dr. middleton place, out from jacksonville. from thar to de ragsdale place whar i's been ever since. "i wore my first pants when i was fourteen years ole, and they stung 'till i was mis'ble. the cloth was store bought but mammy made the pants at home. it was what we called dog-hair cloth. mammy made my first shoes, we called 'em 'red rippers'. [illustration: sarah ashley] sarah ashley, , was born in mississippi. she recalls her experiences when sold on the block in new orleans, and on a cotton plantation in texas. she now lives at goodrich, texas. "i ain't able to do nothin' no more. i's jus' plumb give out and i stays here by myself. my daughter, georgia grime, she used to live with me but she's been dead four year. "i was born in miss'ippi and massa henry thomas buy us and bring us here. he a spec'lator and buys up lots of niggers and sells 'em. us family was sep'rated. my two sisters and my papa was sold to a man in georgia. den dey put me on a block and bid me off. dat in new orleans and i scairt and cry, but dey put me up dere anyway. first dey takes me to georgia and dey didn't sell me for a long spell. massa thomas he travel round and buy and sell niggers. us stay in de spec'lators drove de long time. "after 'while massa mose davis come from cold spring, in texas, and buys us. he was buyin' up little chillen for he chillen. dat 'bout four year befo' da first war. i was year old when de burst of freedom come in june and i git turn loose. "i was workin' in de field den. jus' befo' dat de old massa he go off and buy more niggers. he go east. he on a boat what git stove up and he die and never come back no more. us never see him no more. "i used to have to pick cotton and sometime i pick pound and tote it a mile to de cotton house. some pick to pound cotton and have to tote de bag de whole mile to de gin. iffen dey didn't do dey work dey git whip till dey have blister on 'em. den iffen dey didn't do it, de man on a hoss goes down de rows and whip with a paddle make with holes in it and bus' de blisters. i never git whip, 'cause i allus git my pound. us have to go early to do dat, when de horn goes early, befo' daylight. us have to take de victuals in de bucket to de field. "massa have de log house and us live in little houses, strowed in long rows. dere wasn't no meetin's 'lowed in de quarters and iffen dey have prayer meetin' de boss man whip dem. sometime us run off at night and go to camp meetin'. i takes de white chillen to church sometime, but dey couldn't larn me to sing no songs 'cause i didn' have no spirit. "us never got 'nough to eat, so us keeps stealin' stuff. us has to. dey give us de peck of meal to last de week and two, three pound bacon in chunk. us never have flour or sugar, jus' cornmeal and de meat and 'taters. de niggers has de big box under de fireplace, where dey kep' all de pig and chickens what dey steal, down in salt. "i seed a man run away and de white men got de dogs and dey kotch him and put him in de front room and he jump through de big window and break de glass all up. dey sho' whips him when dey kotches him. "de way dey whip de niggers was to strip 'em off naked and whip 'em till dey make blisters and bus' de blisters. den dey take de salt and red pepper and put in de wounds. after dey wash and grease dem and put somethin' on dem, to keep dem from bleed to death. "when de boss man told us freedom was come he didn't like it, but he give all us de bale of cotton and some corn. he ask us to stay and he'p with de crop but we'uns so glad to git 'way dat nobody stays. i got 'bout fifty dollars for de cotton and den i lends it to a nigger what never pays me back yit. den i got no place to go, so i cooks for a white man name' dick cole. he sposen give me $ . de month but he never paid me no money. he'd give me eats and clothes, 'cause he has de little store. "now, i's all alone and thinks of dem old times what was so bad, and i's ready for de lawd to call me." agatha babino, born a slave of ogis guidry, near carenco, louisiana, now lives in a cottage on the property of the blessed sacrament church, in beaumont, texas. she says she is at least eighty-seven and probably much older. "old marse was ogis guidry. old miss was laurentine. dey had four chillen, placid, alphonse and mary and alexandrine, and live in a big, one-story house with a gallery and brick pillars. dey had a big place. i 'spect a mile 'cross it, and fifty slaves. "my mama name was clarice richard. she come from south carolina. papa was dick richard. he come from north carolina. he was slave of old placid guilbeau. he live near old marse. my brothers was joe and nicholas and oui and albert and maurice, and sisters was maud and celestine and pauline. "us slaves lived in shabby houses. dey builded of logs and have dirt floor. we have a four foot bench. we pull it to a table and set on it. de bed a platform with planks and moss. "we had sunday off. christmas was off, too. dey give us chicken and flour den. but most holidays de white folks has company. dat mean more work for us. "old marse bad. he beat us till we bleed. he rub salt and pepper in. one time i sweep de yard. young miss come home from college. she slap my face. she want to beat me. mama say to beat her, so dey did. she took de beatin' for me. "my aunt run off 'cause dey beat her so much. dey brung her back and beat her some more. "we have dance outdoors sometime. somebody play fiddle and banjo. we dance de reel and quadrille and buck dance. de men dance dat. if we go to dance on 'nother plantation we have to have pass. de patterrollers come and make us show de slip. if dey ain't no slip, we git beat. "i see plenty sojers. dey fight at pines and we hear ball go 'zing--zing.' young marse have blue coat. he put it on and climb a tree to see. de sojers come and think he a yankee. dey take his gun. dey turn him loose when dey find out he ain't no yankee. "when de real yankees come dey take corn and gooses and hosses. dey don't ask for nothin'. dey take what dey wants. "some masters have chillen by slaves. some sold dere own chillen. some sot dem free. "when freedom come we have to sign up to work for money for a year. we couldn't go work for nobody else. after de year some stays, but not long. "de ku klux kill niggers. dey come to take my uncle. he open de door. dey don't take him but tell him to vote democrat next day or dey will. dey kilt some niggers what wouldn't vote democrat. "dey kill my old uncle davis. he won't vote democrat. dey shoot him. den dey stand him up and let him fall down. dey tie him by de feet. dey drag him through de bresh. dey dare his wife to cry. "when i thirty i marry tesisfor babino. pere abadie marry us at grand coteau. we have dinner with wine. den come big dance. we have twelve chillen. we works in de field in opelousas. we come here twenty-five year ago. he die in . dey let's me live here. it nice to be near de church. i can go to prayers when i wants to. mrs. john barclay (nee sarah sanders) brownwood, texas was born in komo, mississippi, september , . she was born a slave at the north slades' place. mr. and mrs. north slade were the only owners she ever had. she served as nurse-maid for her marster's children and did general housework. she, with her mother and father and family stayed with the slades until the end of the year after the civil war. they then moved to themselves, hiring out to "white folks." "my marster and mistress was good to all de slaves dat worked for dem. but our over-seer, jimmy shearer, was sho' mean. one day he done git mad at me for some little somethin' and when i take de ashes to de garden he catches me and churns me up and down on de groun'. one day he got mad at my brother and kicked him end over end, jes' like a stick of wood. he would whip us 'til we was raw and then put pepper and salt in de sores. if he thought we was too slow in doin' anything he would kick us off de groun' and churn us up and down. our punishment depended on de mood of de over-seer. i never did see no slaves sold. when we was sick dey give us medicine out of drug stores. de over-seer would git some coarse cotton cloth to make our work clothes out of and den he would make dem so narrow we couldn' hardly' walk. "there was acres in marster slade's plantation, we got up at : o'clock in de mornin' and de field workers would quit after sun-down. we didn' have no jails for slaves. we went to church with de white folks and there was a place in de back of de church for us to sit. "i was jes' a child den and us chilluns would gather in de back yard and sing songs and play games and dance jigs. song i 'member most is 'the day is past and gone.' "one time marster found out the over-seer was so mean to me, so he discharged him and released me from duty for awhile. "we never did wear shoes through de week but on sunday we would dress up in our white cotton dresses and put on shoes. "we wasn't taught to read or write. our owner didn't think anything about it. we had to work if there was work to be done. when we got caught up den we could have time off. if any of us got sick our mistress would 'tend to us herself. if she thought we was sick enough she would call de white doctor. "when de marster done told us we was free we jumped up and down and slapped our hands and shouted 'glory to god!' lord, child dat was one happy bunch of niggers. awhile after dat some of de slaves told marster dey wanted to stay on with him like dey had been but he told 'em no dey couldn't, 'cause dey was free. he said he could use some of 'em but dey would have to buy what dey got and he would have to pay 'em like men. "when i was 'bout years old i married john barclay. i's had ten chillun and four gran'-chillun and now i lives by myself." john barker, age , houston. photographs marked _green cumby_ have been assigned to this manuscript--the 'green cumby' photos are attached to the proper manuscript and the five referred to above are probably pictures of _john barker_. john barker, age , was born near cincinnati, ohio, the property of the barker family, who moved to missouri and later to texas. he and his wife live in a neat cottage in houston, texas. "i was born a slave. i'm a malagasser (madagascar) nigger. i 'member all 'bout dem times, even up in ohio, though de barkers brought me to texas later on. my mother and father was call goodman, but dey died when i was little and missy barker raised me on de plantation down near houston. dey was plenty of work and plenty of room. "i 'member my grandma and grandpa. in dem days de horned toads runs over de world and my grandpa would gather 'em and lay 'em in de fireplace till dey dried and roll 'em with bottles till dey like ashes and den rub it on de shoe bottoms. you see, when dey wants to run away, dat stuff don't stick all on de shoes, it stick to de track. den dey carries some of dat powder and throws it as far as dey could jump and den jump over it, and do dat again till dey use all de powder. dat throwed de common hounds off de trail altogether. but dey have de bloodhounds, hell hounds, we calls 'em, and dey could pick up dat trail. dey run my grandpa over mile and three or four days and nights and found him under a bridge. what dey put on him was enough! i seen 'em whip runaway niggers till de blood run down dere backs and den put salt in de places. "i 'spect dere was 'bout or acres in de plantation. dey worked and worked and didn't have no dances or church. dances nothin! "my massa and missus house was nice, but it was a log house. they had big fireplaces what took great big chunks of wood and kep' fire all night. we lives in de back in a little bitty house like a chicken house. we makes beds out of posts and slats across 'em and fills tow sacks with shucks in 'em for mattress and pillows. "i seed slaves sold and they was yoked like steers and sold by pairs sometimes. dey wasn't 'lowed to marry, 'cause they could be sold and it wasn't no use, but you could live with 'em. "we used to eat possums and dese old-fashioned coons and ducks. sometimes we'd eat goats, too. we has plenty cornmeal and 'lasses and we gets milk sometimes, but we has no fine food, 'cept on christmas, we gits some cake, maybe. "my grandma says one day dat we all is free, but we stayed with massa barker quite a while. dey pays us for workin' but it ain't much pay, 'cause de war done took dere money and all. but they was good to us, so we stayed. "i was 'bout when i marries de fust time. it was a big blow-out and i was scared de whole time. first time i ever tackled marryin'. dey had a big paper sack of rice and throwed it all over her and i, enough rice to last three or four days, throwed away jus' for nothin'. i had on a black, alpaca suit with frock tail coat and, if i ain't mistaken, a right white shirt. my wife have a great train on her dress and one dem things you call a wreath. i wore de loudest shoes we could find, what you call patent leather. "dis here my third wife. we marries in eagle pass and comes up to de seminole reservation and works for de army till we goes to work for de pattersons, and we been here years now. "ghosties? i was takin' care of a white man when he died and i seed something 'bout three feet high and black. i reckon i must have fainted 'cause they has de doctor for me. and on dark nights i seed ghosties what has no head. dey looks like dey wild and dey is all in different performance. when i goin' down de road and feel a hot steam and look over my shoulder i can see 'em plain as you standin' dere. i seed 'em when my wife was with me, but she can't see 'em, 'cause some people ain't gifted to see 'em. joe barnes, , was born in tyler co., texas, on jim sapp's plantation. he is very feeble, but keeps his great grandchildren in line while their mother works. they live in beaumont. joe is tall, slight, and has gray hair and a stubby gray mustache. in his kind, gentle voice he relates his experiences in slavery days. "dey calls me paul barnes, but my name ain't paul, it am joe. my massa was jim sapp, up here in tyler county, and missus' name was ann. de sapp place was big and dey raise' a sight of cotton and corn. old massa jim he have 'bout or slaves. "my mammy's name was artimisi, but dey call her emily, and pa's name jerry wooten, 'cause he live on de wooten place. my steppa named barnes and i taken dat name. my parents, dey have de broomstick weddin'. "when i's a chile us play marbles and run rabbits and ride de stick hoss and de like. when i gits more bigger, us play ball, sort of like baseball. one time my brudder go git de hosses and dey lots of rain and de creek swoll up high. de water so fast it wash him off he hoss and i ain't seed him since. dey never find de body. he's 'bout ten year old den. "massa live in de big box house and de quarters am in a row in de back. some of dem box and some of dem log. dey have two rooms. every day de big, old cowhorn blow for dinner and us have de little tin cup what us git potlicker in and meat and cornbread and salt bacon. us gits greens, too. de chimneys 'bout four feet wide and dey cooks everything in de fireplace. dey have pots and ovens and put fire below and 'bove 'em. "i used to wear what i calls a one-button cutaway. it was jis' a shirt make out of homespun with pleats down front. dey make dey own cloth dem time. "massa marry de folks in de broomstick style. us don' have de party but sometime us sing and play games, like de round dance. "dey give de little ones bacon to suck and tie de string to de bacon and de other round dey wrists, so dey won't swallow or lose de bacon. for de little bits of ones dey rings de bell for dey mommers to come from de field and nuss 'em. "after freedom come us stay a year and den move to beaumont and us work in de sawmill for mr. jim long. de fust money i git i give to my mammy. me and mammy and stepdaddy stays in beaumont two years den moves to tyler and plants de crop. but de next year us move back to beaumont on de langham place and mammy work for de longs till she die. "when i git marry i marry dicey allen and she die and i never marry no more. i worked in sawmillin' and on de log pond and allus gits by pretty good. i ain't done no work much de last ten year, i's too old. "i sort a looks after my grandchillen and i sho' loves dem. i sits 'round and hurts all de time. it am rheumatism in de feets, i reckon. i got six grandchillen and three great-grandchillen and dat one you hears cryin', dat de baby i's raisin' in dere. "i's feared i didn't tell you so much 'bout things way back, but da truth am, i can't 'member like i used to. armstead barrett, born in , was a slave of stafford barrett, who lived in huntsville, texas. he is the husband of harriett barrett. armstead has a very poor memory and can tell little about early days. he and harriet receive old age pensions. "i's really owned by massa stafford barrett, but my mammy 'longed to massa ben walker and was 'lowed to keep me with her. so after we'uns got free, i lives with my daddy and mammy and goes by de name of barrett. daddy's name was henry barrett and he's brung to texas from richmond, in virginny, and mammy come from kentucky. us all lived in huntsville. i waited on miss ann and mammy was cook. "old massa have doctor for us when us sick. we's too val'ble. jus' like to de fat beef, massa am good to us. massa go to other states and git men and women and chile slaves and bring dem back to sell, 'cause he spec'lator. he make dem wash up good and den sell dem. "mos' time we'uns went naked. jus' have on one shirt or no shirt a-tall. "i know when peace 'clared dey all shoutin'. one woman hollerin' and a white man with de high-steppin' hoss ride clost to her and i see him git out and open he knife and cut her wide 'cross de stomach. den he put he hat inside he shirt and rid off like lightnin'. de woman put in wagon and i never heered no more 'bout her. "i didn't git nothin' when us freed. only some cast-off clothes. long time after i rents de place on halves and farms most my life. now i's too old to work and gits a pension to live on. "i seems to think us have more freedom when us slaves, 'cause we have no 'sponsibility for sickness den. we have to take care all dat now and de white man, he beats de nigger out what he makes. back in de old days, de white men am hones'. all the nigger knowed was hard work. i think de cullud folks ought to be 'lowed more privileges in votin' now, 'cause dey have de same 'sponsibility as white men and day more and more educated and brighter and brighter. "i think our young folks pretty sorry. they wont do right, but i 'lieve iffen dey could git fair wages dey'd do better. dey git beat out of what dey does, anyway. "i 'member a owner had some slaves and de overseer had it in for two of dem. he'd whip dem near every day and dey does all could be did to please him. so one day he come to de field and calls one dem slaves and dat slave draps he hoe and goes over and grabs dat overseer. den de other slave cut dat overseer's head right slap off and throwed it down one of de rows. de owner he fools 'round and sells dem two slaves for $ . each and dat all de punishment dem two slaves ever got. harriet barrett, , was born in walker co., texas, in , a slave of steve glass. she now lives in palestine, texas. "massa steve glass, he own my pappy and mammy and me, until the war freed us. pappy's borned in africy and mammy in virginy, and brung to texas 'fore de war, and i's borned in texas in . i's heered my grandpa was wild and dey didn't know 'bout marryin' in africy. my brother name steve glass and i dunno iffen i had sisters or not. "dey put me to cookin' when i's a li'l kid and people says now dat aunt harriet am de bes' cook in madisonville. massa have great big garden and plenty to eat. i's cook big skillet plumb full corn at de time and us all have plenty meat. massa, he step out and kill big deer and put in de great big pot and cook it. then us have cornbread and syrup. "us have log quarters with stick posts for bed and deerskin stretch over it. den us pull moss and throw over dat. i have de good massa, bless he soul. missy, she plumb good. she sick all de time and dey never have white chillen. dey live in big, log house, four rooms in it and de great hall both ways through it. "massa, he have big bunch slaves and work dem long as dey could see and den lock 'em up in de quarters at night to keep 'em from runnin' off. de patterrollers come and go through de quarters to see if all de niggers dere. dey walk right over us when us sleeps. "some slave run off, gwine to de north, and massa he cotch him and give him thirty-nine licks with rawhide and lock dem up at night, too, and keep chain on him in daytime. "i have de good massa, bless he soul, and missy she plumb good. i'll never forgit dem. massa 'low us have holiday saturday night and go to nigger dance if it on 'nother plantation. boy, oh boy, de tin pan beatin' and de banjo pickin' and de dance all night long. "when de war start, white missy die, and massa have de preacher. she was white angel. den massa marry missy alice long and she de bad woman with us niggers. she hard on us, not like old missy. "i larned lots of remedies for sick people. charcoal and onions and honey for de li'l baby am good, and camphor for de chills and fever and teeth cuttin'. i's boil red oak bark and make tea for fever and make cactus weed root tea for fever and chills and colic. de best remedy for chills and fever am to git rabbit foot tie on string 'round de neck. "massa, he carry me to war with him, 'cause i's de good cook. in dat new orleans battle he wounded and guns roarin' everywhere. dey brung massa in and i's jus' as white as he am den. dem yankees done shoot de roof off de house. i nuss de sick and wounded clean through de war and seed dem dyin' on every side of me. "i's most scared to death when de war end. us still in new orleans and all de shoutin' dat took place 'cause us free! dey crowds on de streets and was in a stir jus' as thick as flies on de dog. massa say i's free as him, but iffen i wants to cook for him and missy i gits $ . de month, so i cooks for him till i marries armstead barrett, and then us farm for de livin'. us have big church weddin' and i has white loyal dress and black brogan shoes. us been married years now. john bates, , was born in little rock, arkansas, a slave of mock bateman. when still very young, john moved with his mother, a slave of harry hogan, to limestone co., texas. john now lives in corsicana, supported by his children and an old age pension. "my pappy was ike bateman, 'cause his massa's name am mock bateman, and mammy's name was francis. they come from tennessee and i had four brothers and six sisters. we jes' left de last part of de name off and call it bates and dat's how i got my name. mammy 'longed to massa harry hogan and while i's small us move to texas, to limestone county, and i don't 'member much 'bout pappy, 'cause i ain't never seed him since. "massa hogan was a purty good sort of fellow, but us went hongry de fust winter in texas. he lived in de big log house with de hallway clean through and a gallery clean 'cross de front. de chimney was big 'nough to burn logs in and it sho' throwed out de heat. it was a good, big place and young massa come out early and holler for us to git up and be in de field. "missy hogan was de good woman and try her dead level best to teach me to read and write, but my head jes' too thick, i jes' couldn't larn. my uncle ben he could read de bible and he allus tell us some day us be free and massa harry laugh, haw, haw, haw, and he say, 'hell, no, yous never be free, yous ain't got sense 'nough to make de livin' if yous was free.' den he takes de bible 'way from uncle ben and say it put de bad ideas in he head, but uncle gits 'nother bible and hides it and massa never finds it out. "we'uns goes to de big baptisin' one time and it's at de big sawmill tank and is baptise' and i's in dat bunch myself. but dey didn't have no funerals for de slaves, but jes' bury dem like a cow or a hoss, jes' dig de hole and roll 'em in it and cover 'em up. "war come and durin' dem times jes' like today nearly everybody knows what gwine on, news travels purty fast, and iffen de slaves couldn't git it with de pass dey slips out after dark and go in another plantation by de back way. course, iffen dem patterrollers cotch dem it jus' too bad and dey gits whip. "when de news comes in dat us free, massa harry never call us up like everybody else did the slaves, us has to go up and ask him 'bout it. he come out on de front gallery and says we is free and turns 'round and goes in de house without 'nother word. we all sho' feels sorry for him the way he acts and hates to leave him, but we wants to go. we knowed he wasn't able to give us nothin' so begins to scatter and 'bout ten or fifteen days massa harry dies. i think he jes' grieve himself to death, all he trouble comin' on him to once. "us worked on diff'rent farms till i marries and my fust wife am emma williams and a cullud preacher marries us at her house. us picked cotton after dat and den i rents a place on de halvers for five year and after sev'ral years i buys eighty acres of land. fin'ly us done paid dat out and done some repairs and den us sep'rate after livin' twenty-three year together. so i gives dat place to her and de six chillen and i walks out ready to start all over 'gain. "then i meets sarah jones and us marries, but she gives me de divorcement. all dis time i works on a farm for de day wages, den i rents 'nother farm on de halvers on de black land and stays dere sev'ral year. fin'ly i gits de job workin' at de cotton oil mill in corsicana and stays at dat job till dey says i's too old. i done buy dis li'l home here and now has a place to live. sarah done come back to me and us has seven chillen. one of de boys works at de cotton oil mill and two works at de compress right here in corsicana and one works at de beer place in dallas. "us raises a li'l on dese two lots and de chillen brings some from de farm, i mean my fust wife's chillen, and with de pension check us manage to live a li'l longer. us boys pays de taxes and de insurance for us. harrison beckett, born a slave of i.d. thomas of san augustine, texas, now lives in beaumont. a great-grandson climbed into harrison's lap during the interview, and his genial face lit up with a smile. he chuckled as he told of his own boyhood days, and appeared to enjoy reminiscing. at times he uses big words, some of his own coining. "i's 'mong de culls now, like a hoss what am too old. i's purty small yit when 'mancipation comes and didn't have no hard work. old massa have me and de other li'l niggers keep de stock out de fields. us li'l boogers have to run and keep de cows out de corn and de cotton patch. dat ought to been 'nough to keep us out of debbilment. "it come to pass my mammy work in de field. her name cynthia thomas and daddy's name isaac thomas. but after freedom he goes back to florida and find out he people and git he real name, and dat am beckett. dat 'bout ten years after 'mancipation he go back to he old home in florida. mammy's people was de polkses, in georgia. mammy come in from de field at nine or ten o'clock at night and she be all wore out and too tired to cook lots of times. but she have to git some food for us. we all had a tin pan and git round de table and dat like a feast. but lots of times she's so tired she go to bed without eatin' nothin' herself. "my sisters was ellen and sani and georgy-ann and cindy and sidi-ann. dey's all big 'nough to work in de field. my brudders name matthew and ed and henry and harry, what am me, and de oldes' one am general thomas. "dey more'n a hundred head of black folks on massa thomas' two farms, and 'bout a hundred fifty acres in each farm. one de farms in iron ore, what am red land, and de other in gray land, half sand and half black dirt. "us slaves live in pole houses and some in split log houses, with two rooms, one for to sleep in and one for to cook in. day ain't no glass windows, jus' holes in de walls. dere was jack beds to sleep on, made out of poles. dey has four legs and ain't nail to de walls. "old massa he care for he hands purty well, considerin' everything. in ginnin' time he 'low de women to pick up cotton from de ground and make mattresses and quilts. he make some cloth and buy some. a woman weave all de time and when de shickle jump out on de floor i picks it up. i used to could knit socks and i was jes' a li'l boy then, but i keep everything in 'membrance. "dey have some school and de chillen larnt readin' and writin', and manners and behaviour, too. sometime dey git de broke-down white man to be teacher. but us didn't know much and it taken ten years or more after freedom to git de black men de qualification way he could handle things. "one time us boys git some watermillions out in de bresh and hit 'em or drap 'em to break 'em open. dere come massa and cotch us not workin', but eatin' he watermillions. he tell my daddy to whip me. but lots of times when us sposed to mind de calves, us am out eatin' watermillions in de bresh. den de calves git out and massa see dem run and cotch us. "old massa was kind and good, though. he have partiality 'bout him, and wouldn't whip nobody without de cause. he whip with de long, keen switch and it didn't bruise de back, but sho' did sting. when he git real mad, he pull up you shirt and whip on de bare hide. one time he whippin' me and i busts de button off my shirt what he holdin' on to, and runs away. i tries to outrun him, and dat tickle him. i sho' give de ground fits with my feets. but dem whippin's done me good. dey break me up from thievin' and make de man of me. "de way dey dress us li'l nigger boys den, dey give us a shirt what come way down 'tween de knees and ankles. when de weather am too cold, dey sometimes give us pants. "de white preachers come round and preach. dey have de tabernacle like a arbor and cullud folks come from all round to hear de gospel 'spounded. most every farm have de cullud man larnin' to preach. i used to 'long to de methodists but now i 'longs to de church of christ. "massa thomas, he de wholesale merchant and git kilt in new orleans. a big box of freight goods fall on him, a box 'bout a yard square on de end and six yards long. he's carryin' back some good for to make exchangement and dey pullin' up de box with pulley and rope and it fall on him. de new orleans folks say it am de accidentment, but de rest say de rope am cut. one of massa's old friends was lawyer brooks. he used to firmanize de word. "massa have two boys, mr. jimmie and li'l ide and dey both goes to de war. li'l ide, he go up in arkansas and dey say when dat first cannon busts at li'l rock, he starts runnin' and never stops till he gits back home. i don't see how he could do dat, 'cause li'l rock am way far off, but dat what dey say. den de men comes to git 'serters and dey gits li'l ide and takes him back. mr. jimmie, he didn't break de ranks. he stood he ground. "mammy and dem tell me when war am over de boss and he wife, dey calls de slaves up in de bunch and tells 'em, 'you's free as i is. keep on or quit, if you wants. you don't have to stay no further, you's free today.' dat near june th, and all of 'em stays. massa say, 'go 'head and finish de crop and i feed you and pay you.' dey all knowed when he kilt de hawgs us git plenty of meat. dat young massa say all dat, 'cause old massa done git kilt. "it's at panola county where i first hears of de klux. dey call dem white caps den. dey move over in panola county and ranges at de place call big creek merval by mcfaddin creek. dey's purty rough. de landowners tell dey niggers not to kill de white caps but to scare dem 'way. at night dey come knock and if you don't open it dey pry it open and run you out in de field. dey run de niggers from merryville round longview. dey some good men in de klux and some bad men. but us work hard and go home and dey ain't bother us none. "dey used to be a nigger round dere, call bandy joe. he git kilt at nacogdoches fin'ly. he could turn into anything. de jedge of he parish was massa lee and he say dey ought let bandy joe live, so dey could larn he art. dey done try cotch him de long time, and maybe be holdin' him and first thing they know he gone and dey left holdin' he coat. dey shoot at him and not hurt him. he tell he wife dey ain't no kind bullet can hurt him but de silver bullet. "dat bandy joe, he say he a spirit and a human both. iffen he didn't want you to see him you jus' couldn't see him. lots of folks liked him. de jedge say he wish he could'a been brung to town, so he could 'zamine him 'bout he gifts. de jedge knowed bandy joe could dis'pear jus' like nothin', and he like to hear he quotation how he git out he skin. i'd like to know dat myself. "i 'magines i seed ghosties two, three times. i used to range round at nighttime. i rides through a old slavery field and de folks tell me, 'harry, you better be careful gwine 'cross dat old field. they's things dere what makes mules run 'way. one night it am late and my mule run 'way. i make my mind i go back and see what he run from and somethin' am by de fence like de bear stand up straight. it stand dere 'bout fifteen minutes while i draws my best 'pinion of it. i didn't get any nearer dan to see it. a man down de road tell me de place am hanted and he dunno how many wagons and mules git pull by dat thing at dat place. "one time i's livin' 'nother place and it am 'twixt sundown and dusk. i had a li'l boy 'hind me and i seed a big sow with no head comin' over de fence. my ma, she allus say what i see might be 'magination and to turn my head and look 'gain and i does dat. but it still dere. den i seed a hoss goin' down de road and he drag a chain, and cross de bridge and turn down de side road. but when i git to de side road i ain't seed no hoss or nothin'. i didn't say nothin' to de li'l boy 'hind me on de mule till i gits most home, den asks him did he see anythin'. he say no. i wouldn't tell him 'fore dat, 'cause i 'fraid he light out and outrun me and i didn't want to be by myself with dem things. when i gits home and tell everybody, dey say dat a man name mccoy, what was kilt dere and i seed he spirit. "i's 'bout twenty-one when i marries mandy green. us has twelve chillen, and a world of grandchillen. i travels all over louisiana and texas in my time, and come here three year ago. my son he work in de box fact'ry here, and he git a bodily injurement while he workin' and die, and i come here to de burial and i been here ever since. frank bell, , was a slave of johnson bell, who ran a saloon in new orleans. frank lives in madisonville, texas. "i was owned by johnson bell and born in new orleans, in louisiana. 'cordin' to the bill of sale, i'm eighty-six years old, and my master was a frenchman and was real mean to me. he run saloon and kept bad women. i don't know nothing 'bout my folks, if i even had any, 'cept mama. they done tell me she was a bad woman and a french creole. "i worked 'round master's saloon, kep' everything cleaned up after they'd have all night drinkin' parties, men and women. i earned nickels to tip off where to go, so's they could sow wild oats. i buried the nickels under rocks. if master done cotch me with money, he'd take it and beat me nearly to death. all i had to eat was old stuff those people left, all scraps what was left. "one time some bad men come to master's and gits in a shootin' scrape and they was two men kilt. i sho' did run. but master cotch me and make me take them men to the river and tie a weight on them, so they'd sink and the law wouldn't git him. "the clothes i wore was some master's old ones. they allus had holes in them. master he stay drunk nearly all time and was mean to his slave. i'm the only one he had, and didn't cost him nothing. he have bill of sale made, 'cause the law say he done stole me when i'm small child. master kept me in chains sometimes. he shot several men. "i didn't have no quarters but stays 'round the place and throw old sack down and lay there and sleep. i'm 'fraid to run, 'cause master say he'd hunt me and kill nigger. "when i's 'bout seventeen i marries a gal while master on drunk spell. master he run her off, and i slips off at night to see her, but he finds it out. he takes a big, long knife and cuts her head plumb off, and ties a great, heavy weight to her and makes me throw her in the river. then he puts me in chains and every night he come give me a whippin', for long time. "when war come, master swear he not gwine fight, but the yankees they captures new orleans and throws master in a pen and guards him. he gets a chance and 'scapes. "when war am over he won't free me, says i'm valuable to him in his trade. he say, 'nigger, you's suppose to be free but i'll pay you a dollar a week and iffen you runs off i'll kill you.' so he makes me do like befo' the war, but give me 'bout a dollar a month, 'stead week. "he say i cost more'n i'm worth, but he won't let me go. times i don't know why i didn't die befo' i'm growed, sleepin' on the ground, winter and summer, rain and snow. but not much snow there. "master helt me long years after the war. if anybody git after him, he told them i stay 'cause i wants to stay, but told me if i left he'd kill him 'nother nigger. i stayed till he gits in a drunk brawl one night with men and women and they gits to shootin' and some kilt. master got kilt. then i'm left to live or die, so i wanders from place to place. i nearly starved to death befo' i'd leave new orleans, 'cause i couldn't think master am dead and i'm 'fraid. finally i gits up nerve to leave town, and stays the first night in white man's barn. i never slep'. every time i hears something, i jumps up and master be standin' there, lookin' at me, but soon's i git up he'd leave. next night i slep' out in a hay field, and master he git right top of a tree and start hollerin at me. i never stays in that place. i gits gone from that place. i gits back to town fast as my legs carry me. "then i gits locked up in jail. i don't know what for, never did know. one the men says to me to come with him and takes me to the woods and gives me an ax. i cuts rails till i nearly falls, all with chain locked 'round feet, so i couldn't run off. he turns me loose and i wanders 'gain. never had a home. works for men long 'nough to git fifty, sixty cents, then starts roamin' 'gain, like a stray dog like. "after long time i marries feline graham. then i has a home and we has a white preacher marry us. we has one boy and he farms and i lives with him. i worked at sawmill and farms all my life, but never could make much money. "you know, the nigger was wild till the white man made what he has out of the nigger. he done ed'cate them real smart. aunt virginia bell, ruthven st., houston, was born a slave near opelousas, louisiana, on the plantation of thomas lewis. although she remembers being told she was born on christmas day, she does not know the year, but says she guesses she is about years old. "well, suh, the fus' question you ask me, 'bout how old i is, i don' know 'zactly. you see it ain't like things is today. the young folks can tell you their 'zact age and everything, but in those days we didn' pay much 'tention to such things. but i knows i was bo'n in slavery times and my pappy tol' me i was bo'n on a christmas day, but didn' 'member jus' what year. "we was owned by massa lewis. thomas lewis was his name, and he was a united states lawyer. i ain't gwineter talk 'gainst my white folks like some cullud folks do, 'cause massa lewis was a mighty fine man and so was miss mary, and they treated us mighty good. "massa had a big plantation near opelousas and i was bo'n there. i 'member the neighbor folks used to bring their cotton to the gin on his farm for ginnin' and balin'. my mother's name was della. that was all, jus' della. my pappy's name was jim blair. both of them was from virginny, but from diff'rent places, and was brought to louisiana by nigger traders and sold to massa lewis. i know my pappy was lots older than my mother and he had a wife and five chillen back in virginny and had been sold away from them out here. then he and my mother started a family out here. i don' know what become of his family back in virginny, 'cause when we was freed he stayed with us. "when i got old enough i was housegirl and used to carry notes for miss mary to the neighbors and bring back answers. miss mary would say, 'now, virginny, you take this note to sech and sech place and be sure and be back in sech and sech time,' and i allus was. "massa lewis had four or five families of us slaves, but we used to have some fun after work and us young folks would skip rope and play ring games. durin' week days the field hands would work till the sun was jus' goin' down and then the overseer would holler 'all right' and that was the signal to quit. all hands knocked off sat'day noon. "we didn' have no schoolin' or preachin'. only the white folks had them, but sometimes on sundays we'd go up to the house and listen to the white folks singin'. "iffen any of the slave hands wanted to git married, massa lewis would git them up to the house after supper time, have the man and woman jine hands and then read to them outen a book. i guess it was the scriptures. then he'd tell 'em they was married but to be ready for work in the mornin'. massa lewis married us 'cordin' to gospel. "massa used to feed us good, too, and we had plenty clothes. iffen we got took sick, we had doctor treatment, too. iffen a hand took sick in the field with a misery, they was carried to their quarters and massa or miss mary would give them a dose of epecac and make them vomit and would sen' for the doctor. they wouldn' fool none iffen one of us took sick, but would clean us out and take care of us till we was well. "there was mighty little whippin' goin' on at our place, 'cause massa lewis and miss mary treated us good. they wasn't no overseer goin' to whip, 'cause massa wouldn' 'low him to. le's see, i don' rec'lec' more than two whippin's i see anyone git from massa, and that has been so long ago i don' rec'lec' what they was for. "when the war done come 'long it sho' changed things, and we heerd this and that, but we didn' know much what it was about. then one day massa lewis had all the wagons loaded with food and chairs and beds and other things from the house and our quarters, and i heerd him say we was movin' to polk county, way over in texas. i know it took us a long time to git there, and when we did i never see so much woods. it sho' was diff'rent from the plantation. "i had to work in the fields, same as the res', and we stayed there three years and made three crops of cotton, but not so much as on our old place, 'cause there wasn't so much clearin'. then one day massa lewis tol' us we was free, jus' as free as he was--jus' like you take the bridle offen a hoss and turn him loose. we jus' looked 'roun as iffen we hadn' good sense. we didn' have nothin' nor nowhere to go, and massa lewis say iffen we finish makin' de crop, he would take us back to opelousas and give us a place to stay and feed us. so after pickin' we goes back and when we git there we sees where those rascal yankees 'stroyed everything--houses burned, sugar kettles broke up. it looked mighty bad. "massa lewis hadn' no money, but he fixed us up a place to stay and give us what he could to eat, but things was mighty hard for a while. i know pappy used to catch rabbits and take them to town and sell them or trade them for somethin' to eat, and you know that wasn't much, 'cause you can't git much for a little ol' rabbit. "then the provo' marshal, that was his name, give us a order for things to put in a crop with and to live till we made the crop. 'course, i guess we wasn' as bad off as some, 'cause white folks knew we was massa lewis' folks and didn' bother us none. then i got married to john bell, and it was a scripture weddin', too. he died years ago, but i has stayed married to him ever since. we had thirteen chillen, but they is all dead now 'cept four, but they was raised up right and they is mighty good to they ol' mammy. [illustration: edgar and minerva bendy] edgar bendy, odd years, was the slave of henry bendy, of woodville, texas, has to make an effort to remember and is forced to seek aid from his wife, minerva, at certain points in his story. edgar has lived in woodville all his life. "i's a good size' boy when de war gwine on and i seed de soldiers come right here in woodville. a big bunch of dem come through and dey have cannons with dem. my marster he didn't go to war, 'cause he too old, i guess. "i's born right here and done live hereabouts every since. old man henry bendy, he my marster and he run de store here in woodville and have de farm, too. i didn't do nothin' 'cept nuss babies. i jes' jump dem up and down and de old marster hire me out to nuss other white folks chillen, big and little. "my daddy name' jack crews and my mammy was winnie. both of dem worked on de farm and i never seed dem much. i didn't have no house of my own, 'cause de marster, he give me de room in he house. he have lots of slaves and 'bout acres in cult'vation. he gave dem plenty to eat and good homespun clothes to wear. he was mighty good. "marster have de plank house and all de things in it was home-made. de cook was a old cullud woman and i eat at de kitchen table and have de same what de white folks eats. us has lots of meat, deer meat and possum and coon and sich, and us sets traps for birds. "dey ain't nothin' better dat go in de wood dan de big, fat possum. dey git fat on black haws and acorns and chinquapin and sich. chinquapin is good for people to eat and to roast. i used to be plumb give up to be de best hunter in tyler and in de whole country. i kilt more deer dan any other man in de county and i been guide for all de big men what comes here to hunt. my wife, minerva, she used to go huntin' with me. "i kep' on huntin' and huntin' till de jack-a-my-lanterns git after me. dat a light you sees all 'round you. dey follow all 'long and dey stop you still. den one time it git all over me. come like de wind, blow, blow, and come jes' like fire all on my arm and my clothes and things. when dat git after me i quit huntin' at nighttime and ain't been huntin' since. "one time i fishin' on de creek and i ain't got no gun, and i look up and dere a big, wild cat. he never pay me no mind, no more dan nothin', but dat ain't made no diff'rence to me. i jes' flew in dat creek! "i used to belong to de lodge but when i git so old i couldn't pay my jews, i git unfinancial and i ain't a member no more. minerva bendy, , was born a slave to lazarus goolsby, henry co. alabama, who brought her to texas when she was five. they settled near woodville, where minerva still lives. "my earlies' 'membrance was de big, white sandy road what lead 'way from de house. it was clean and white and us chillen love to walk in de soft, hot sand. dat in henry county, alabama, where i's born and my old marster was lazarus goolsby and he have de big plantation with lots of nigger folks. i 'member jus' as good as yesterday wigglin' my toes in dat sandy road and runnin' 'way to de grits mill where dey grind de meal. dat have de big water wheel dat sing and squeak as it go 'round. "aunt mary, she make all us little chillen sleep in de heat of de day under de big, spreadin' oak tree in de yard. my mama have chillen. her name dollie and my daddy name herd. "i's jus' a little chile in dem days and i stay in de house with de white folks. dey raise me a pet in de family. missus goolsby, she have two gals and dey give me to de oldest. when she die dey put me in de bed with her but iffen i knowed she dyin' dey wouldn't been able to cotch me. she rub my head and tell her papa and mama, 'i's gwine 'way but i wants you promise you ain't never whip my little nigger.' dey never did. "i's jus' 'bout five year old when us make de trip to texas. us come right near woodville and make de plantation. it a big place and dey raise corn and cotton and cane. we makes our own sugar and has many as six kettle on de furnace at one time. dey raise dey tobacco, too. i's sick and a old man he say he make me tobacco medicine and dey dry de leafs and make dem sweet like sugar and feed me like candy. "i 'member old marster say war broke out and capt. collier's men was a-drillin' right dere south of woodville. all de wives and chillen watch dem drill. dey was lots of dem, but i couldn't count. de whole shebang from de town go watch dem. "four of the goolsby boys goes to dat war and dey call john and ziby and zabud and addison. zabud, he git wounded, no he git kilt, and addison he git wounded. i worry den, 'cause i ain't see no reason for dem to have to die. "after us free dey turn us loose in de woods and dat de bad time, 'cause most us didn't know where to turn. i wasn't raise to do nothin' and i didn't know how. dey didn't even give us a hoecake or a slice of bacon. "i's a june bride year ago when i git married. de old white baptist preacher name blacksheer put me and dat nigger over dere, edgar bendy, togedder and us been togedder ever since. us never have chick or chile. i's such a good nuss i guess de lawd didn't want me to have none of my own, so's i could nuss all de others and i 'spect i's nussed most de white chillen and cullud, too, here in woodville. sarah benjamin, , was born a slave of the gilbert family, in clavin parish, louisiana. in she married cal benjamin and they settled in corsicana, texas, where sarah now lives. "i is sarah benjamin and is year old, 'cause my mammy told me i's born in in clavin parish in louisiana. her name was fannie and my pappy's name jack callahan. there was jus' three of us chillen and i's de oldest. "marse gilbert was tol'able good to we'uns, and give us plenty to eat. he had a smokehouse big as a church and it was full, and in de big kitchen we all et, chillen and all. de grown folks et first and den de chillen. did we have plenty of possums and fish by de barrels full! all dis was cooked in de racks over de fireplace and it were good. "our clothes was all homespun and de shoes made by de shoemaker. old marse wanted all us to go to church and if dey didn't have shoes dey have something like de moccasin. "i don't know how many slaves there was, but it was a lot, maybe or . dey worked hard every day 'cept sunday. iffen they was bad they might git whuppin's, but not too hard, not to de blood. iffen dey was still bad, dey puts chains on dem and puts dem in de stocks, 'cause there wasn't no jail there. "once when i's little, marse stripped me stark modern naked and puts me on de block, but he wouldn't sell me, 'cause he was bid only $ . and he say no, 'cause i was good and fat. "dey didn't larn us nothin' and iffen you did larn to write, you better keep it to yourse'f, 'cause some slaves got de thumb or finger cut off for larnin' to write. when de slaves come in from de fields dey didn't larn nothin', they jus' go to bed, 'lessen de moonshine nights come and dey could work in de tobacco patch. de marster give each one de little tobacco patch and iffen he raised more'n he could use he could sell it. "on christmas we all has de week vacation and maybe de dance. we allus have de gran' dinner on dat day, and no whuppin's. but dey couldn't leave de plantation without de pass, even on christmas. "de women had to run de gin in de daytime and de man at night. dey fed de old gin from baskets and my mammy fed from dose baskets all day with de high fever and died dat night. she wouldn't tell de marster she sick, fer fear she have to take de quinine. "de day we was freed, de slaves jus' scattered, 'cepting me. missy gilbert says i wasn't no slave no more but i had to stay and he'p her for my board 'till i's grown. i stayed 'till i was 'bout , den i runs away and marries cal benjamin, and we comes to texas. cal and me has six chillen, but he died 'fore dey was grown. jack bess was born near goliad, texas in , a slave of steve bess who was a rancher. he worked with stock as a very young boy and this was his duty during and after the civil war, as he remained with his boss for three years after emancipation. he then came to old ben ficklin four miles south of the present san angelo, texas, when it was the county seat of tom green county and before there was a san angelo. he continued his work on ranches here and has never done any other kind of work. for the past several years he has been very feeble and has made his home with a daughter in san angelo, texas. jack who was assisted out of bed and dressed by his grandson, hobbled in on his cane and said, "i was jes' a small boy workin' on de ranch when i hear talk 'bout conscription' de men for de war what was agoin' to set de slaves free. we didn' know hardly what dey was a talkin' 'bout 'cause we knowed dat would be too good to be true. i jes' keeps on workin' wid my hosses and my cattle (dere wasn't no sheep den) jes' like dere wasn't no war, 'cause dat was all i ever knowed how to do. "our ole marster, he wasn't so very mean to us, course he whips us once and awhile but dat wasn't like de slave holders what had dem colored drivers. dey sho' was rough on de slaves. i's been told lots 'bout de chains and de diffe'nt punishments but our treatment wasn't so bad. our beds was pretty good when we uses dem. lots of de time we jes' sleeps on de groun', 'specially in summer. "our log huts was comfortable and we had some kind of floors in all of dem. some was plank and some was poles but dat was better den de dirt floors some cabins have. "de eats we have was jes' good eats, lots of meats and vegetables and de like; 'possum and coon and beef and pork all cooked good. our clothes was jes' home spun like all de others. "we didn' have such a big ranch and not many slaves but we all gits along. we learns a little 'bout readin' and writin'. "i don't 'member any camp meetin's 'til after de war. we had a few den and on christmas times we jes' tears up de country. lawdy! lawd! dat fiddlin' went on all night, and we dance awhile den lay down and sleeps, den gits up and dances some mo'e. we would have big cakes and everything good to eat. "when we gits sick dey jes' gives us some kind of tea, mostly made from weeds. mos' of de time we gits well. "when de news comes dat we was free our boss, he say, 'you free now.' course we was glad but we didn' know nothin' to do but jes' stay on dere, and we did 'bout three years and de boss pays us a little by de month for our work. "i's lef' dere den and comes to old ben ficklin to work on a ranch. dat was before dere was any san angelo, texas. i's been here ever since, jes' a workin' from one ranch to another long as i was able. now i's jes' stayin' 'round wid my chillun and dey takes good care of me." ellen betts, n. live oak st., houston, texas, is . all of her people and their masters came from virginia and settled in louisiana about . her grandparents belonged to the green family and her parents, charity and william green, belonged to tolas parsons. ellen lives with friends who support her. her sole belonging is an old trunk and she carries the key on a string around her neck. "i got borned on de bayou teche, clost to opelousas. dat in st. mary's parish, in louisiana, and i belonged to tolas parsons, what had 'bout slaves, countin' de big ones and de little ones, and he had god know what else. when my eyes jes' barely fresh open, marse tolas die and will de hull lot of us to he brother, william tolas. and i tells you dat marse william am de greates' man what ever walk dis earth. dat's de truth. i can't lie on him when de pore man's in he grave. "when a whuppin' got to be done, old marse do it heself. he don't 'low no overseer to throw he gals down and pull up dere dress and whup on dere bottoms like i hear tell some of 'em do. was he still livin' i 'spect one part of he hands be with him today. i knows i would. "when us niggers go down de road folks say, 'dem's parson's niggers. don't hit one dem niggers for god's sake, or parsons sho' eat your jacket up.' "aunt rachel what cook in de big house for miss cornelia had four young'uns and dem chillen fat and slick as i ever seen. all de niggers have to stoop to aunt rachel jes' like dey curtsy to missy. i mind de time her husband, uncle jim, git mad and hit her over de head with de poker. a big knot raise up on aunt rachel's head and when marse 'quire 'bout it, she say she done bump de head. she dassn't tell on uncle jim or marse sho' beat him. marse sho' proud dem black, slick chillen of rachels. you couldn't find a yaller chile on he place. he sho' got no use for mixin' black and white. "marse william have de pretties' place up and down dat bayou, with de fine house and fine trees and sech. from where we live it's five mile to centerville one way and five mile to patterson t'other. dey hauls de lumber from one place or t'other to make wood houses for de slaves. sometime marse buy de furniture and sometime de carpenter make it. "miss sidney was marse's first wife and he had six boys by her. den he marry de widow cornelius and she give him four boys. with ten chillen springin' up quick like dat and all de cullud chillen comin' 'long fast as pig litters, i don't do nothin' all my days, but nuss, nuss, nuss. i nuss so many chillen it done went and stunted my growth and dat's why i ain't nothin' but bones to dis day. "when de cullud women has to cut cane all day till midnight come and after, i has to nuss de babies for dem and tend de white chillen, too. some dem babies so fat and big i had to tote de feet while 'nother gal tote de head. i was sech a li'l one, 'bout seven or eight year old. de big folks leave some toddy for colic and cryin' and sech and i done drink de toddy and let de chillen have de milk. i don't know no better. lawsy me, it a wonder i ain't de bigges' drunker in dis here country, countin' all de toddy i done put in my young belly! "when late of night come, iffen dem babies wake up and bawl, i set up a screech and out-screech dem till dey shut dere mouth. de louder day bawl de louder i bawl. sometime when marse hear de babies cry, he come down and say, 'why de chillen cry like dat, ellen?' i say, 'marse, i git so hongry and tired i done drink de milk up.' when i talk sassy like dat, marse jes' shake he finger at me, 'cause he knowed i's a good one and don't let no little mite starve. "nobody ever hit me a lick. marse allus say bein' mean to de young'uns make dem mean when dey grows up and nobody gwineter buy a mean nigger. marse don't even let de chillen go to de big cane patch. he plant little bitty patches close to de house and each li'l nigger have a patch and he work it till it got growed. marse have de house girls make popcorn for 'em and candy. "i nuss de sick folks too. sometime i dose with blue mass pills and sometime dr. fawcett leave rhubarb and ipicac and calomel and castor oil and sech. two year after de war, i git marry and git chillen of my own and den i turn into de wet nuss. i wet nuss de white chillen and black chillen, like dey all de same color. sometime i have a white'un pullin' de one side and a black one de other. "i wanted to git de papers for midwifin' but, law, i don't never have no time for larnin' in slave time. if marse cotch a paper in you hand he sho' whop you. he don't 'low no bright niggers 'round, he sell 'em quick. he allus say, 'book larnin' don't raise no good sugar cane.' de only larnin' he 'low was when dey larn de cullud chillen de methodist catechism. de only writin' a nigger ever git, am when he git born or marry or die, den marse put de name in de big book. law, i 'lect de time marse marry miss cornelia. he went on de mail boat and brung her from new orleans. she de pretties' woman in de world almost, 'ceptin' she have de bigges' mouth i nearly ever seed. he brung her up to de house and all de niggers and boys and girls and cats and dogs and sech come and salute her. dere she stand on de gallery, with a purty white dress on with red stripes runnin' up and down. marse say to her, 'honey, see all de black folks, dey 'longs to you now.' she wave to us and smile on us and nex' day she give her weddin' dress to my ma. dat de fines' dress i ever seen. it was purple and green silk and all de nigger gals wear dat dress when dey git marry. my sister sidney wore it and sary and mary. "miss cornelia was de fines' woman in de world. come sunday mornin' she done put a bucket of dimes on de front gallery and stand dere and throw dimes to de nigger chillen jes' like feedin' chickens. i sho' right here to test'fy, 'cause i's right dere helpin' grab. sometime she done put da washtub of buttermilk on de back gallery and us chillen bring us gourds and dip up dat good, old buttermilk till it all git drunk up. sometime she fotch bread and butter to de back gallery and pass it out when it don't even come mealtime. "miss cornelia set my ma to cuttin' patterns and sewin' right away. she give all de women a bolt or linsey to make clothes and ma cut de pattern. us all have de fine drawers down to de ankle, buttoned with pretty white buttons on de bottom. lawsy, ma sho' cut a mite of drawers, with sewin' for her eleven gals and four boys, too. in de summertime we all git a bolt of blue cloth and white tape for trimmin', to make sunday dresses. for de field, all de niggers git homespun what you make jumpers out of. i 'lect how marse say, 'don't go into de field dirty monday mornin'. scrub youself and put on de clean jumper.' "marse sho' good to dem gals and bucks what cuttin' de cane. when dey git done makin' sugar, he give a drink call 'peach 'n honey' to de women folk and whiskey and brandy to de men. and of all de dancin' and caperin' you ever seen! my pa was fiddler and we'd cut de pigeon wing and cut de buck and every other kind of dance. sometime pa git tired and say he ain't gwineter play no more and us gals git busy and pop him corn and make candy, so to 'tice him to play more. "marse sho' turn over in he grave did he know 'bout some dat 'lasses. dem black boys don't care. i seen 'em pull rats out de sugar barrel and dey taste de sugar and say, 'ain't nothin' wrong with dat sugar. it still sweet.' one day a pert one pull a dead scorpion out de syrup kettle and he jes' laugh and say, 'marse don't want waste none dis syrup,' and he lick de syrup right off dat scorpion's body and legs. "lawsy me, i seen thousands and thousands sugar barrels and kettles of syrup in my day. lawd knows how much cane old marse have. to dem cuttin' de cane it don't seem so much, but to dem what work hour in, hour out, dem sugar cane fields sho' stretch from one end de earth to de other. marse ship hogs and hogs of sugar down de bayou. i seen de river boats go down with big signs what say, 'buy dis here 'lasses' on de side. and he raise a world of rice and 'taters and corn and peanuts, too. "when de work slight, us black folks sho have de balls and dinners and sech. we git all day to barbecue meat down on de bayou and de white folks come down and eat long side de cullud. "when a black gal marry, marse marry her hisself in de big house. he marry 'em saturday, so dey git sunday off, too. one time de river boat come bearin' de license for niggers to git marry with. marse chase 'em off and say, 'don't you come truckin' no no-count papers roun' my niggers. when i marry 'em, dey marry as good as if de lawd god hisself marry 'em and it don't take no paper to bind de tie.' marse don't stand no messin' 'round, neither. a gal have to be of age and ask her pa and ma and marse and missy, and if dey 'gree, dey go ahead and git marry. marse have de marry book to put de name down. "one time marse take me 'long to help tote some chillen. he done write up to virginny for to buy fresh hands. dey a old man dat hobble 'long de road and de chillen start to throw rocks and de old man turn 'round to one prissy one and say, 'go on, young'un, you'll be where dogs can't bark at you tomorrow. nex' mornin' us cookin' in de kitchen and all a sudden dat li'l boy jes' crumple up dead on de floor. law, we's scairt. nobody ever bother dat old man no more, for he sho' lay de evil finger on you. "marse's brother, conrad, what was a widdyman, come to live on de plantation and he had a li'l gal 'bout eight year old. one day she in de plum orchard playin' with a rattlesnake and marse conrad have de fit. de li'l gal won't let nobody hurt dat snake and she play with him. he won't bite her. she keeps him 'bout three year, and she'd rub and grease him. one day he got sick and dey give him some brandy, but he die and old doc pickle him in de bottle of brandy. dat gal git so full of grief dey take her to de infirm'ry in new orleans and den one day she up and die. "dat snake ain't all what doc fawcett pickle. a slave woman give birth to a baby gal what have two faces with a strip of hair runnin' 'tween. old doc fawcett pickle it in de jar of brandy. old doc start to court miss cornelia when marse die, but she don't have none of him and he done went straight 'way and kill hisself. "one day a li'l man come ridin' by on a li'l dun hoss so fast you couldn't see dat hoss tail a-switchin'. he whoopin' and hollerin'. us niggers 'gun whoop and holler, too. den first thing you know de yanks and de democrats 'gun to fight right dere. dey a high old mountain front marse's house and de yanks 'gun pepper cannon ball down from de top dat hill. de war met right dere and dem yanks and democrats fit for twenty-four hours straight runnin'. "when de bullets starts rainin' down, marse call us and slip us way back into de woods, where it so black and deep. next day, when de fight over, marse come out with great big wagons piles full of mess-poke for us to eat. dat what us call hog meat. us sho' glad to 'scape from de yankees. "when us driv back to de plantation, sech a sight i never seen. law, de things i can tell. dem yanks have kilt men and women. i seed babies pick up from de road with dere brains bust right out. one old man am drawin' water and a cannon ball shoots him right in de well. dey draws him up with de fishin' line. dey's a old sugar boat out on de bayou with blood and sugar runnin' long side de busted barrels. 'lasses run in de bayou and blood run in de ditches. marse have de great big orchard on de road and it wipe clean as de whistle. bullets wipe up everythin' and bust dat sugar cane all to pieces. de house sot far back and 'scape de bullets, but, law, de time dey have! "dey's awful, awful times after dat. a old cotton dress cost five dollars and a pound of coffee cost five dollars and a pint cup flour cost six bits. de yanks 'round all de time and one day they comes right in de house where miss cornelia eatin' her dinner. dey march 'round de table, jes' scoopin' up meat and 'taters and grabbin' cornpone right and left. miss cornelia don't say a word, jes' smile sweet as honey-cake. i reckon dem sojers might a took de silver and sech only she charm 'em by bein' so quiet and ladylike. first thing you know dem sojers curtsy to missy and take dereself right out de door and don't come back. "den it seem like marse have all de trouble in de world. he boy, ned, die in de war and william, what name for he pa, drink bad all de time. and after de war dem ku kluxers what wear de false faces try to tinker with marse's niggers. one day uncle dave start to town and a kluxer ask him where am he pass. dat kluxer clout him but uncle dave outrun him in de cane. marse grab de hoss and go 'rest dat man and marse a jedge and he make dat man pay de fine for hittin' uncle dave. after dey hears of dat, dem old poky faces sho' scairt of old marse and dey git out from opelousas and stays out. when me and my husband, john, come to texas de folks say dat louisiana masters de meanes' in de world and i say right back at 'em dat dey is good and mean in every spot of de earth. what more, de louisiana masters free dere niggers a year befo' any texas nigger git free. "when 'mancipation come, marse git on de big block and say, 'you all is as free as i is, standin' right here. does you want to stay with me, you can, and i'll pay you for de work.' all de niggers cheer and say dey want to stay, but marse die not long after and all us niggers scatter. "i sho' 'lect dat day old marse die. he won't die till ma gits there. he keep sayin', "where's charity, tell charity to come." dey fotch ma from de cane patch and she hold marse's hand till he die. us niggers went to de graveyard and us sho' cry over old marse. "marse's brother, goldham, carries all he hands back to de free country to turn 'em loose. he say de free country am de ones what's yellin' 'bout slave times, so dey could jes' take care of de niggers. marse goldham so big dat when he stand in de door you couldn't git by him, 'thout he stand sideways. "law, times ain't like dey was in slave days. all my ten chillen is dead and my old man gone, and now i reckon my time 'bout 'rive. all i got to do now am pray de lawd to keep me straight, den when de great day come, i can march de road to glory. [illustration: charlotte beverley] charlotte beverly was born a slave to captain pankey's wife, in montgomery county, texas. she has lived most of her life within a radius of miles from houston, and now lives with one of her children in a little house on the highway between cleveland and shepherd, texas. she does not know her age, but appears to be about ninety. "i's born in montgomery county and i's the mudder of eleven chillen, four gals and seven boys. my grandma come from alabama and my daddy was strawder green and he belong to col. hughes. my maw named phyllis and she belong to capt. pankey. "there was 'bout forty niggers, big and little, on the plantation. lawd, they was good to us. us didn' know nothin' 'bout bad times and cutting and whipping and slashing. i had to work in the house and i 'member one thing i has to do was scrub mistus' gol' snuffbox twict a week. she kep' sweet, scotch snuff and sometimes i takes a pinch out. "we used to go to the white folks church and if us couldn' git in we'd stand round by the door and sing. mistus wouldn' 'low us dance on the place but they give us pass to go to dance on nex' plantation, where my daddy live. "every year they have big christmas dinner and ham and turkey and allus feed us good. us have christmas party and sing songs. that was sweet music. "marster have a lovely house, all ceiled and plastered. it was a log house but it was make all beautiful inside with mirrors and on the board was lots of silver and china and silver spoons with the gol' linin's and part of my job was to keep 'em sparklin'. "folks in them times cooks in the fireplace and my auntie, she cook. she make 'simmon bread and 'tater pone and the like. she mash up 'simmons with butter and pour sweet milk and flour in it. that make good 'simmon bread. we has skillets what was flat and deep and set on three legs. "the slaves lived in little log houses and sleep on wood beds. the beds was make three-legged. they make augur hole in side of the house and put in pieces of wood to make the bed frame, and they put straw and cotton mattress on them bed. "old marster used to let he slaves have a extry cotton patch to theyselves and they work it by the moonlight. they could sell that cotton and have the money for theyselves. "my white mistus was a christian and she'd own her god anywhere. she used to shout, jus' sit and clap her hands and say, 'hallalujah.' once i seed her shout in church and i thinks something ail her and i run down the aisle and goes to fannin' her. "one of the slaves was a sort-a preacher and sometimes marster 'lowed him to preach to the niggers, but he have to preach with a tub over his head, 'cause he git so happy he talk too loud. somebody from the big house liable to come down and make him quit 'cause he makin' 'sturbance. "i brings water from the well and they have what they call piggins, and they was little tubs with two handles. mistus wouldn' 'low me to do any heavy work. "i see sojers and knits socks for 'em by moonshine. me and my husban' was married by a yankee sojer. i was dress in white tarleyton weddin' dress and i didn' wear no hoop skirt. i had a pretty wreath of little white flowers, little bitty, little dainty ones, the pretties' little things. when i marry, my sister marry too and our husban's was brudders. my husban' dress in suit of white linen. he sho' look handsome. he give me a gol' ring and a cup and saucer for weddin' gif'. we git married in huntsville and us didn' go no weddin' journey trip. we was so poor we couldn' go round the house! i's 'bout twenty some year when i marries, but i don' know jus' how old. we has a big dance that night and the white folks come, 'cause they likes to see the niggers dance. "the white folks had interes' in they cullud people where i live. sometimes they's as many as fifty cradle with little nigger babies in 'em and the mistus, she look after them and take care of them, too. she turn them and dry them herself. she had a little gal git water and help. she never had no chillen of her own. i'd blow the horn for the mudders of the little babies to come in from the fields and nurse 'em, in mornin' and afternoon. mistus feed them what was old enough to eat victuals. sometimes, they mammies take them to the field and fix pallet on ground for them to lay on. "the las' word my old mistus pankey say when she die was, 'you take care of charlette.' [illustration: francis black] francis black was born at grand bluff, mississippi, about , on the jim carlton plantation. when five years old, she was stolen and taken to the slave market in new orleans. failing to sell her there, the slave traders took her to jefferson, texas, and sold her to bill tumlin. francis stayed with him five years after she was freed, then married and moved to cass county, texas. she became blind a year ago, and now lives at the bagland old folks home, elm st., texarkana, texas. "my name am francis black, and i don't know jes' how old i is, but 'members lots 'bout them slave days. i was a big gal, washin' and ironin', when they sot the darkies free. from that, i cal'late i'm in my eighties. "i was born in grand bluff, in mississippi, on old man carlton's plantation, and i was stole from my folks when i was a li'l gal and never seed them no more. us kids played in the big road there in mississippi, and one day me and 'nother gal is playin' up and down the road and three white men come 'long in a wagon. they grabs us up and puts us in the wagon and covers us with quilts. i hollers and yells and one the men say, 'shet up, you nigger, or i'll kill you.' i told him, 'kill me if you wants to--you stole me from my folks.' "them men took us to new orleans to the big slave market. i had long hair and they cut it off like a boy and tried to sell me, but i told them men what looks at me, the men cut my hair off and stole me. the man what cut my hair off cursed me and said if i didn't hush he'd kill me, but he couldn't sell us at new orleans and took us to jefferson. "i never knowed what they done with the other gal, but they sold me to marse bill tumlin, what run a big livery stable in jefferson, and i 'longed to him till surrender. i lived in the house with them, 'cause they had a boy and gal and i did for them. they bought me clothes and took good care of me but i never seed no money till surrender. i et what they et, after they got through. missy say she didn't 'lieve in feedin' the darkies scraps, like some folks. "i played with them two chillen all day, then sot the table. i was so small i'd git in a chair to reach the dishes out of the safe. i had to pull a long flybrush over the table whilst the white folks et. "marse tumlin had a farm 'bout four mile from town, and a overseer, and i seed him buckle the niggers crost a log and whip them. marse lived in jefferson, heself, and when he'd go to the farm he allus took his boy with him. we'd be playin' in the barn and marse call from the house, 'come on, jimmie, we're gwine to the farm.' jimmie allus say to me, 'come on, nigger, let's ride round the farm.' i'd say, 'i ain't no nigger.' he'd say, 'yes, you is, my pa paid $ for you. he bought you for to play with me.' "jefferson was a good town till it burned up. i 'members the big fire what looked like the whole town gwineter burn up. marse bill lost his livery stable in the fire. "the yankee soldiers, all dressed in blue, come to run the town after the war. marse tumlin done told me i'm free, but i stays on till i'm most growed. then i works round town and marries dave black, and we moved to cass county. i raises six chillun but my old man done git so triflin' and mean i quit him and worked for myself. i come to texarkana to work, and allus could earn my own livin' till 'bout a year ago i lost my seein', and albert ragland done took me in his home for the old folks. they gives me a $ a month pension now. they is good to me here and feeds us good. olivier blanchard, years old, was a slave of clairville la san, who owned a large plantation in martinville parish, louisiana. his father was a frenchman and olivier speaks rather haltingly, as though it is difficult for him to express his thoughts in english, for he has talked a species of french all his life. he lives in beaumont, texas. "i was plowing and hoeing before the freedom and i talk more of the french 'cause i comes from st. martinville parish. i was born there in louisiana and my mama was angeline jean pierre and she was slave born. my papa was olivier blanchard and he white man carpenter on old plantation. we belong to clairville la san and all live on that place. my papa just plain carpenter but could draw patterns for houses. i don't know where he larn that work. "i was count freeborn and still have one white half sister alive. when freedom come my mama and papa split up and mama get marry. "i pick cotton and mama cook. she make koosh-koosh and cyayah--that last plain clabber. mama cook lots of gaspergou and carp and the poisson ami fish, with the long snout--what they call gar now. i think it eel fish they strip the skin off and wrap round the hair and make it curly. "the bayou teche, it run close by and the women do all the clothes with a big paddle with holes in it to clean them in the bayou. they paddle them clean on the rocks and then wash them in the water. "one time one big bayou 'gator come up and bite a woman's arm off. she my sister in law. but they keep on washing the clothes in the bayou just the same. "we have plenty to eat and peaches and muscadines and pecans, 'cause there right smart woods and swamp there. we play in the woods and most time in the bayou on boats with planks what would float. we had the good time and had a little pet coon. you know, the coon like sweet things and he steal our syrup and when we chase him with the switch he hide under the bed. "my old missus was good catholic and she have us christened and make the first communion. that not registered, 'cause it before the freedom, but it were in old st. martin's church, same old church what stand now. there was a statue of pere jean, the old priest, in front the church and one of st. martin, too. "plenty men from st. martinville go to the war and archie deblieu, he go to virginia and fight. the first one to pass our place was john well banks and he was a yankee going up the red river. "the yellow fever came durin' that war and kill lots. all the big plantation have the graveyard for the cullud people. that fever so bad they get the coffin ready before they dead and they so scared that some weren't dead but they think they are and bury them. there was a white girl call colene sonnier what was to marry sunday and she take sick friday before. she say not to bury her in the ground but they put her there while they got the tomb ready. when they open the ground grave to put her in the tomb they find she buried alive and she eat all her own shoulder and hand away. her sweetheart, gart berrild, he see that corpse, and he go home and get took with yellow fever and die. "they was the old lady what die. she was a terrible soul. one time after she die i go to get water out of her rain barrel and i had a lamp in one hand. that old lady's ghost blowed out the lamp and slapped the pitcher out my hand. after she first die her husband put black dress on her and tie up the jaw with a rag and my girl look in the room and there that old lady, liza lee, sittin' by the fire. my girl tell her mama and after three day she go back, and liza lee buried but my wife see her sittin' by the fire. then she sorry she whip the chile for sayin' she saw liza lee. that old lady, liza lee, was a tart and she stay a tart for a long time. "i marry year ago in the catholic church in st. martinville. my wife call adeline chretien and she dead year. we have seven children but four live now. frank my only boy live now, in iowa, in louisiana, and my two girls live, enziede de querive and rose baptiste. julia blanks was born of a slave mother and a three-quarter indian father, in san antonio, in the second year of the civil war. her mother, part french and part negro, was owned by mrs. john g. wilcox, formerly a miss donaldson, who had lived at the white house, and who gave julia to her daughter. after the slaves were freed, julia continued to live with her mother in san antonio until, at fifteen, she married henry hall. five years later her second marriage took place, at leon springs, texas, where she lived until moving to the adams ranch, on the frio river. here she raised her family. after leaving the adams ranch, julia and henry bought two sections of state land, but after four years they let it go back because of henry's ill health, and moved to uvalde. "i was born in san antonio, in . my mother's name was rachael miller. i don't know if she was born in tennessee or mississippi. i heard her talk of both places. i don't know nothing about my father, because he run off when i was about three months old. he was three-quarter cherokee indian. they were lots of indians then, and my husband's people come from savannah, georgia, and he said they was lots of indians there. i had two sisters and one brother and the sisters are dead but my brother lives somewhere in arizona. my mother's master's name was john c. wilcox. "when we was small chillen, they hired my sisters out, but not me. my grandfather bought my grandmother's time and they run a laundry house. they hired my mother out, too. "you see, my grandmother was free born, but they stole her and sold her to miss donaldson. she was half french. she looked jes' like a french woman. she wasn't a slave, but she and her brother were stolen and sold. she said the stage coach used to pass her aunt's house, and one day she and her brother went down to town to buy some buns, and when they were comin' back, the stage stopped and asked 'em to ride. she wanted to ride, but her brother didn't. but they kep' coaxin' 'em till they got 'em in. they set her down between the two women that was in there and set her brother between two men, and when they got close to the house, they threw cloaks over their heads and told the driver to drive as fast as he could, and he sure drove. they taken 'em to washin'ton, to the white house, and made her a present to mary wilcox (miss donaldson) and her brother to somebody else. then this woman married john c. wilcox and they come to texas. "she saw a cousin of hers when they got to washin'ton, and she knew, after that, he had somethin' to do with her and her brother bein' stolen. one day she found a piece of yellow money and took it to her cousin and he told her it wasn't no good and gave her a dime to go get her some candy. after that, she saw gold money and knew what it was. "she said she had a good time, though, when she was growing up. they were pretty good to her, but after they came to san antonio, mrs. wilcox began bein' mean. she kep' my mother hired out all the time and gave me to her daughter and my sister to her son. my mother was kep' hired out all the time, cooking; and after freedom, she just took to washin' and ironin'. my grandfather bought his time and my grandmother's time out. they didn't stay with her. "i've heard my mother talk about coffee. they roasted beans and made coffee. she says, out on the plantation, they would take bran and put it in a tub and have 'em stir it up with water in it and let all the white go to the bottom and dip it off and strain it and make starch. i have made starch out of flour over and often, myself. i had four or five little girls; and i had to keep 'em like pins. in them days they wore little calico dresses, wide and full and standin' out, and a bonnet to match every dress. "i used to hear my grandmother tell about the good times they used to have. they would go from one plantation to another and have quiltin's and corn huskin's. and they would dance. they didn't have dances then like they do now. the white people would give them things to eat. they would have to hoof it five or six miles and didn't mind it. "they had what they called _patros_, and if you didn't have a pass they would whip you and put you in jail. old man burns was hired at the courthouse, and if the marsters had slaves that they didn't want to whip, they would send them to the courthouse to be whipped. some of the marsters was good and some wasn't. there was a woman, oh, she was the meanest thing! i don't know if she had a husband--i never did hear anything about him. when she would get mad at one of her slave women, she would make the men tie her down, and she had what they called cat-o'-nine-tails, and after she got the blood to come, she would dip it in salt and pepper and whip her again. oh, she was mean! my mother's marster was good; he wouldn't whip any of his slaves. but his wife wasn't good. if she got mad at the women, when he would come home she would say: 'john, i want you to whip liza.' or martha. and he would say, 'them are your slaves. you whip them.' he was good and she was mean. "when my aunt would go to clean house, she (mrs. wilcox) would turn all the pictures in the house but one, the meanest looking one--you know how it always looks like a picture is watching you everywhere you go--and she would tell her if she touched a thing or left a bit of dirt or if she didn't do it good, this picture would tell. and she believed it. "my grandmother told a tale one time. you know in slave time they had an old woman to cook for the chillen. one day they were going to have company. this woman that was the boss of the place where the chillen was kept told the old cullud woman to take a piece of bacon and grease the mouths of all the chillen. then she told a boy to bring them up to these people, and the woman said: 'oh, you must feed these chillen good, just look at their mouths!' and the woman said, 'oh, that's the way they eat.' they didn't get meat often. that was just to make them believe they had lots to eat. "no. they were cut off from education. the way my stepfather got his learning was a cullud blacksmith would teach school at night, and us chillen taught our mother. she didn't know how to spell or read or nothin'. she didn't know b from bull's foot. some of them were allowed to have church and some didn't. mighty few read the bible 'cause they couldn't read. as my mother used to say, they were raised up as green as cucumbers. that old blacksmith was the onlyist man that knew how to read and write in slavery time that i knew of. my grandmother or none of them knew how to read; they could count, but that was all. that's what makes me mad. i tell my grandchillen they ought to learn all they can 'cause the old people never had a chance. my husband never did have any schooling, but he sure could figger. now, if you want me to get tangled up, just give me a pencil and paper and i don't know nothing." she tapped her skull. "i figger in my head! the chillen, today, ought to appreciate an education. "oh, yes, they were good to the slaves when they were sick. they would have the doctor come out and wait on them. most plantations had what they called an old granny cullud woman that treated the chillen with herbs and such things. "games? i don't know. we used to play rap jacket. we would get switches and whip one another. you know, after you was hit several times it didn't hurt much. i've played a many time. in slave time the men used to go huntin' at night, and hunt 'possums and 'coons. they would have a dog or two along. they used to go six or seven miles afoot to corn huskin's and quiltin's. and those off the other plantations would come over and join in the work. and they would nearly always have a good dinner. sometimes some of the owners would give 'em a hog or somethin' nice to eat, but some of 'em didn't. "no'm, i don't know if they run off to the north, but some of them runned off and stayed in the swamps, and they was mean. they called them runaways. if they saw you, they would tell you to bring them something to eat. and if you didn't do it, if they ever got you they sure would fix you. "i don't know when my mother was set free. my husband's marster's name was king. he was from savannah, georgia, but at the time was living close to boerne. my husband's father was killed in the war. when my husband was about ten years old, his marster hadn't told them they was free. you know some of them didn't tell the slaves they was free until they had to. after freedom was declared, lots of people didn't tell the slaves they were free. one morning, my husband said, he happended to look out and he saw a big bunch of men coming down the road, and he thought he never saw such pretty men in his life on them horses. they had so many brass buttons on their clothes it looked like gold. so he run and told his mama, and she looked and saw it was soldiers, and some of 'em told the boss, and he looked and saw them soldiers comin' in the big gate and he called 'em in quick, and told them they were free. so when the soldiers come, they asked him if he had told his slaves they were free, and he said yes. they asked the negroes if they lived there, and they said yes. one said, 'he just told us we was free.' the soldiers asked him why he had just told them, and he said they wasn't all there and he was waiting for them all to be there. "my husband said he thought them was the prettiest bunch of men he ever saw, and the prettiest horses. of course, he hadn't never saw any soldiers before. i know it looked pretty to me when i used to see the soldiers at the barracks and hear the band playin' and see them drillin' and ever'thing. you see, we lived on a little cross-street right back of st. mary's church in san antonio, i don't know how that place is now. where the post office is now, there used to be a blacksmith shop and my father worked there. i went back to san antonio about fifteen years ago and jes' took it afoot and looked at the changes. "i was fifteen years old the first time i married. it was almost a run-a-way marriage. i was married in san antonio. my first husband's name was henry hall. my first wedding dress was as wide as a wagon sheet. it was white lawn, full of tucks, and had a big ruffle at the bottom. i had a wreath and a veil, too. the veil had lace all around it. we danced and had a supper. we danced all the dances they danced then; the waltz, square, quadrille, polka, and the gallopade--and that's what it was, all right; you shore galloped. you'd start from one end of the hall and run clear to the other end. in those days, the women with all them long trains--the man would hold it over his arm. no, lord! honeymoons wasn't thought of then. no'm, i never worked out a day in my life." jokingly, "i guess they thought i was too good looking. i was about twenty years old when i married the second time. i was married in leon springs the second time. "before we come out to this country from leon springs, they was wild grapes, dewberries, plums and agaritas, black haws, red haws. m-m-m! them dewberries, i dearly love 'em! i never did see wild cherries out here. i didn't like the cherries much, but they make fine wine. we used to gather mustang grapes and make a barrel of wine. "after i married the second time, we lived on the adams ranch on the frio and stayed on that ranch fifteen years. we raised all our chillen right on that ranch. i am taken for a mexkin very often. i jes' talk mexkin back to 'em. i learned to talk it on the ranch. as long as i have lived at this place, i have never had a cross word about the chillen. all my neighbors here is mexkins. they used to laugh at me when i tried to talk to the hands on the ranch, but i learned to talk like 'em. "we used to have big round-ups out on the adams ranch. they had fences then. the neighbors would all come over and get out and gather the cattle and bring 'em in. up at leon springs at that time they didn't have any fences, and they would have big round-ups there. but after we come out here, it was different. he would notify his neighbors they were goin' to gather cattle on a certain day. the chuck wagon was right there at the ranch, that is, _i_ was the chuck wagon. but if they were goin' to take the cattle off, they would have a chuck wagon. they would round up a pasture at a time and come in to the ranch for their meals. now on the wallace ranch, they would always take a chuck wagon. when they were gettin' ready to start brandin' at the ranch, my husband always kep' his brandin' irons all in the house, hangin' up right where he could get his hands on 'em. whenever they would go off to other ranches to gather cattle, you would see ever' man with his beddin' tied up behind him on his horse. he'd have jes' a small roll. they would always have a slicker if nothin' else. that slicker answered for ever'thing sometimes. my husband slep' many a night with his saddle under his head. "he used to carry mail from san antonio to dog town, horseback. that was the town they used to call lodi (lodo), but i don't know how to spell it, and don't know what it means. it was a pretty tough town. the jail house was made out of 'dobe and pickets. they had a big picket fence all around it. they had a ferry that went right across the san antonio river from floresville to dog town. i know he told me he come to a place and they had a big sign that said, 'nigga, don't let the sun go down on you here.' they was awful bad down in there. he would leave dog town in the evenin' and he would get to a certain place up toward san antonio to camp, and once he stopped before he got to the place he always camped at. he said he didn't know what made 'im stop there that time, but he stopped and took the saddle off his horse and let 'im graze while he lay down. after a while, he saw two cigarette fires in the dark right up the road a little piece, and he heard a mexkin say, 'i don't see why he's so late tonight. he always gets here before night and camps right there.' he knew they was waylayin' 'im, so he picked his saddle up right easy and carried it fu'ther back down the road in the brush and then come got his horse and took him out there and saddled 'im up and went away 'round them mexkins. he went on in to san antonio and didn't go back any more. a white man took the mail to carry then and the first trip he made, he never come back. he went down with the mail and they found the mail scattered somewhere on the road, but they never found the man, or the horse, either. "on the adams ranch, in the early days, we used to have to pack water up the bank. you might not believe it, but one of these sixty-pound lard cans full of water, i've a-carried it on my head many a time. we had steps cut into the bank, and it was a good ways down to the water, and i'd pack that can up to the first level and go back and get a couple a buckets of water, and carry a bucket in each hand and the can on my head up the next little slantin' hill before i got to level ground. i carried water that way till my chillen got big enough to carry water, then they took it up. when i was carryin' water in them big cans my head would sound like new leather--you know how it squeaks, and that was the way it sounded in my head. but, it never did hurt me. you see, the mexkins carry loads on their heads, but they fix a rag around their heads some way to help balance it. but i never did. i jes' set it up on my head and carried it that way. oh, we used to carry water! my goodness! my mother said it was the indian in me--the way i could carry water. "when we were first married and moved to the adams ranch, we used to come here to uvalde to dances. they had square dances then. they hadn't commenced all these frolicky dances they have now. they would have a supper, but they had it to sell. every fellow would have to treat his girl he danced with. "i can remember when my grandfather lived in a house with a dirt floor, and they had a fireplace. and i can remember just as well how he used to bake hoecakes for us kids. he would rake back the coals and ashes real smooth and put a wet paper down on that and then lay his hoecake down on the paper and put another paper on top of that and the ashes on top. i used to think that was the best bread i ever ate. i tried it a few times, but i made such a mess i didn't try it any more. one thing i have seen 'em make, especially on the ranch. you take and clean a stick and you put on a piece of meat and piece of fat till you take and use up the heart and liver and sweetbread and other meat and put it on the stick and wrap it around with leaf fat and then put the milk gut, or marrow gut, around the whole thing. they call that _macho_ (mule), and i tell you, it's good. they make it out of a goat and sheep, mostly. "another thing, we used to have big round-ups, and i have cooked great pans of steak and mountain orshters. generally, at the brandin' and markin', i cooked up many a big pan of mountain orshters. i wish i had a nickel for ever' one i've cooked, and ate too! people from up north have come down there, and, when they were brandin' and cuttin' calves there, they sure did eat and enjoy that dinner. "the men used to go up to the lake, fishin', and catch big trout, or bass, they call 'em now; and we'd take big buckets of butter--we didn't take a saucer of butter or a pound; we taken butter up there in buckets, for we sure had plenty of it--and we'd take lard too, and cook our fish up there, and had corn bread or hoe cakes and plenty of butter for ever'thing, and it sure was good. i tell you--like my husband used to say--we was livin' ten days in the week, then. "when we killed hogs, the meat from last winter was hung outside and then new meat, salted down and then smoked, put in there, and we would cook the old bacon for the dogs. we always kep' some good dogs there, and anybody'll tell you they was always fat. we had lots of wild turkeys and i raised turkeys, too, till i got sick of cookin' turkeys. don't talk about deer! you know, it wasn't then like it is now. you could go kill venison any time you wanted to. but i don't blame 'em for passin' that law, for people used to go kill 'em and jes' take out the hams and tenderloin and leave the other layin' there. i have saved many a sack of dried meat to keep it from spoilin'. "we would raise watermelons, too. we had a big field three mile from the house and a ninety-acre field right in the house. we used to go get loads of melons for the hogs and they got to where they didn't eat anything but the heart. "i used to leave my babies at the house with the older girl and go out horseback with my husband. my oldest girl used to take the place of a cowboy, and put her hair up in her hat. and ride! my goodness, she loved to ride! they thought she was a boy. she wore pants and leggin's. and maybe you think she couldn't ride! "after we left that ranch, we took up some state land. i couldn't tell you how big that place was. we had in one place and in another place; it was a good big place. after my husband got sick, we had to let it go back. we couldn't pay it out. we only lived on it about four years. "my husband has been dead about nineteen years. i had a pen full and a half of chillen. i have four livin' chillen, two girls and two boys. i have a girl, carrie, in california, workin' in the fruit all the time; one boy, george, in arizona, workin' in the mines; and a girl in arizona, lavinia, washes and irons and cooks and ever'thing else she can get at. and i have one boy here. i have ten grandchillen and i've got five great grandchillen. "i belong to the methodist church. i joined about twenty-five years ago. my husband joined with me. but here, of late years, when i go to church, it makes me mad to see how the people do the preacher up there trying to do all the good he can do and them settin' back there laughin' and talkin'. i was baptized. there was about five or six of us baptized in the leona down here. "people tell that i've got plenty and don't need help. even the mexkins here and ever'body say i've got money. jes' because we had that farm down there they think i come out with money. but what in the world would i want with money if i didn't use it? i can't take it with me when i die and i could be gettin' the use of it now while i need it. i could have what i want to eat, anyway. i'm gettin' a little pension, but it ain't near enough to keep us. i've got these two grandchillen here, and things is so high, too, so i don't have enough of anything without skimpin' all the time. elvira boles, , has outlived nine of her ten children. she lives at manzana st., el paso, texas, with her daughter, minnie. she was born a slave of the levi ray family near lexington, mississippi, and was sold as a child to elihn boles, a neighboring plantation owner. during the last year of the civil war she was brought to texas, with other refugee slaves. "i jus' 'member my first marster and missus, 'cause she don' want me there. i'se a child of the marster. dey didn' tell me how old i was when dey sold me to boles. my missus sold me to boles. dey tuk us to where dere was a heap of white folks down by the court house and we'd be there in lots and den de whites 'ud bid for us. i don' know how old i was, but i washed dishes and den dey put me to work in de fields. we don' git a nickel in slavery. "marster boles didn' have many slaves on de farm, but lots in brickyard. i toted brick back and put 'em down where dey had to be. six bricks each load all day. that's de reason i ain't no 'count, i'se worked to death. i fired de furnace for three years. stan'in' front wid hot fire on my face. hard work, but god was wid me. we'd work 'till dark, quit awhile after sundown. marster was good to slaves, didn' believe in jus' lashin' 'em. he'd not be brutal but he'd kill 'em dead right on the spot. overseers 'ud git after 'em and whop 'em down. "i'se seventeen, maybe, when i married to slave of boles. married on saturday night. dey give me a dress and dey had things to eat, let me have something like what you call a party. we just had common clothes on. and then i had to work every day. i'd leave my baby cryin' in de yard and he'd be cryin', but i couldn' stay. done everything but split rails. i've cut timber and ploughed. done everything a man could do. i couldn' notice de time, but i'd be glad to git back to my baby. "log cabins had dirt floor, sometimes plankin' down. i worked late and made pretty quilts. sometimes dey'd let us have a party. saturday nights, de white people give us meat and stuff. give us syrup and we'd make candy, out in de yard. we'd ask our frien's and dance all night. den go to work next day. we'd clean off de yard and dance out dere. christmas come, dey give us a big eggnog and give us cake. our white folks did. white folks chillen had bought candy. we didn' git any, but dey let us play wid de white chillen. we'd play smut. whoever beat wid de cards, he'd git to smut you. take de smut from fireplace and rub on your face. "doctor take care of us iffen we sick, so's git us well to git us to work. "iffen dey had a pretty girl dey would take 'em, and i'se one of 'em, and my oldest child, he boy by boles, almost white. "we had to steal away at night to have church on de ditch bank, and crawl home on de belly. once overseers heered us prayin', give us one day each lashes. "den when de yankees come through, dey 'ud be good to de slaves, to keep 'em from tellin' on 'em. freedom was give jan. , , but de slaves didn' know it 'till june . we'se refugees. boles, our marster, sent us out and we come from holmes county to cherokee county in a wagon. we was a dodgin' in and out, runnin' from de yankees. marster said dey was runnin' us from de yankees to keep us, but we was free and didn' know it. i lost my baby, its buried somewhere on dat road. died at red river and we left it. de white folks go out and buy food 'long de road and hide us. dey say we'd never be free iffen dey could git to texas wid us, but de people in texas tol' us we's free. den marster turn us loose in de world, without a penny. oh, dey was awful times. we jus' worked from place to place after freedom. "when we started from mississippi, dey tol' us de yankees 'ud kill us iffen dey foun' us, and dey say, 'you ain't got no time to take nothin' to whar you goin'. take your little bundle and leave all you has in your house.' so when we got to texas i jus' had one dress, what i had on. dat's de way all de cullud people was after freedom, never had nothin' but what had on de back. some of dem had right smart in dere cabins, but they was skeered and dey lef' everything. bed clothes and all you had was lef'. we didn' know any better den." [illustration: betty bormer (bonner)] betty bormer, , was born a slave to col. m.t. johnson, who farmed at johnson station in tarrant county. he owned betty's parents, five sisters and four brothers, in addition to about other slaves. after the family was freed, they moved with the other slaves to a piece of land col. johnson allowed them the use of until his death. betty lives in a negro settlement at stop six, a suburb of fort worth. "i'se bo'n april th, in , at johnson station. it was named after my marster. he had a big farm, i'se don' know how many acres. he had seven chillen; three boys, ben, tom and mart, and four girls, elizabeth, sally, roddy and veanna. "marster johnson was good to us cullud folks and he feeds us good. he kep' lots of hawgs, dat makes de meat. in de smokehouse am hung up meat enough for to feed de army, it looks like. we'uns have all de clothes we need and dey was made on de place. my mammy am de sewing woman and my pappy am de shoemaker. my work, for to nuss de small chillen of de marster. "on sat'day we's let off work and lots de time some of us come to fort worth wid de marster and he gives us a nickel or a dime for to buy candy. "dey whips de niggers sometimes, but 'twarn't hard. you know, de nigger gits de devilment in de head, like folks do, sometimes, and de marster have to larn 'em better. he done dat hisself and he have no overseer. no nigger tried run away, 'cause each family have a cabin wid bunks for to sleep on and we'uns all live in de quarters. sich nigger as wants to larn read and write, de marster's girls and boys larns 'em. de girls larned my auntie how to play de piano. "dere am lots of music on dat place; fiddle, banjo and de piano. singin', we had lots of dat, songs like ole black joe and 'ligious songs and sich. often de marster have we'uns come in his house and clears de dinin' room for de dance. dat am big time, on special occasion. dey not calls it 'dance' dem days, dey calls it de 'ball.' "sho', we'uns goes to church and de preacher's name, it was jack ditto. "durin' de war, i notices de vittles am 'bout de same. de soldiers come dere and dey driv' off over de hill some of de cattle for to kill for to eat. once dey took some hosses and i hears marster say dem was de quantrell mens. dey comes several times and de marster don' like it, but he cain't help it. "when freedom come marster tells all us to come to front of de house. he am standin' on de porch. him 'splains 'bout freedom and says, 'you is now free and can go whar you pleases.' den he tells us he have larned us not to steal and to be good and we'uns should 'member dat and if we'uns gets in trouble to come to him and he will help us. he sho' do dat, too, 'cause de niggers goes to him lots of times and he always helps. "marster says dat he needs help on de place and sich dat stays, he'd pay 'em for de work. lots of dem stayed, but some left. to dem dat leaves, marster gives a mule, or cow and sich for de start. to my folks, marster gives some land. he doesn't give us de deed, but de right to stay till he dies. "sho', i seen de klux after de war but i has no 'sperience wid 'em. my uncle, he gits whipped by 'em, what for i don' know 'zactly, but i think it was 'bout a hoss. marster sho' rave 'bout dat, 'cause my uncle weren't to blame. "when de klux come de no 'count nigger sho make de scatterment. some climb up de chimney or jump out de winder and hide in de dugout and sich. "de marster dies 'bout seven years after freedom and everybody sorry den. i never seen such a fun'ral and lots of big men from austin comes. he was de blessed man! "i married de second year after de t.p. railroad come to fort worth, to sam jones and he work on de burk burnett stock ranch. i'se divorseted from him after five years and den after more years i marries rubbin felps. my las' husban's named joe borner, but i'se never married to the father of my only chile. his name am george pace. "i allus gits long fair, 'cause after freedom i keeps on workin' doin' de nussin'. now i'se gittin' 'leven dollars from de state for pension, and gits it every month so now i'se sho' of somethin' to eat and dat makes me happy. harrison boyd, , was born in rusk county, texas, a slave of wash trammel. boyd remained with his master for four years after emancipation, then moved to harrison county, where he now lives. his memory is poor, but he managed to recall a few incidents. "i was fifteen years when they says we're free. that's the age my old missy done give me when the war stopped. she had all us niggers' ages in a book, and told me i was born near henderson. my old marse was wash trammel and he brunged me and my mama and papa from alabama. mama was named juliet and papa, amos. marse trammel owned my grandpa and grandma, too, and they was named jeanette and josh. "the plantation was two made into one, and plenty big, and more'n a hundred slaves to work it. marse lived in a hewed log house, weather-boarded out and in, and the quarters was good, log houses with bed railin's hewed out of logs. we raised everything we et, 'cept sugar, and marse bought that in big hogsheads. we got our week's rations every sunday, and when we went to eat, everybody's part was put out to them on a tin plate. "marse trammel give a big cornshucking every fall. he had two bottom fields in corn. first we'd gather peas and cushaws and pumpkins out the corn field, then get the corn and pile it front the cribs. they was two big cribs for the corn we kep' to use and five big cribs for sale corn. my uncle stayed round the sale corn cribs all spring, till ginnin' time, 'cause folks come for miles after corn. marse had five wheat cribs and one rye crib. we went ten mile to tatum to git our meal and flour ground. "the patterrollers darsn't come 'bout our place or bother us niggers. marse wash allus say, 'i'll patterroller my own place.' marse was good to us and only once a overseer beat a woman up a trifle, and marse trammel fired him that same day. "the sojers 'fiscated lots of corn from marse and some more owners in rusk county piled corn up in a big heap and made me go mind it till the rest the sojers got there. i was settin' top that corn pile, me and my big bulldog, and the general rode up. my dog growled and i made him hush. the general man say to me, 'boy, you is 'scused now, go on home.' i got to a fence and looked back, and that general was hewin' him a hoss trough out a log. the sojers come in droves and set up they camp. i sot on a stump and watched them pass. they stayed three, four days till the corn was all fed up. "while they's camped there they'd cotch chickens. they had a fishin' pole and line and hook. they'd put a grain of corn on the hook and ride on they hoss and pitch the hook out 'mong the chickens. when a chicken swallowed the corn they'd jerk up the line with that chicken and ride off. "marse had six hundred bales cotton in the shreveport warehouse when war was over. he got word them yankees done take it on a boat. he got his brother to take him to shreveport and say, 'i'll follow that cotton to hell and back.' he followed his cotton to alabama and got it back, but he died and was buried there in alabama 'fore old missy knowed it. "i stayed with her four years after surrender and then went to farmin' with my folks, for $ . a month. after a year or two i went to railroadin', helping cut the right-of-way for the t.& p. railroad, from marshall to longview. they paid us $ . the day and three drinks of whiskey a day. "i marries four times but had only one child, but i never done nothin' 'citin'. i lives by myself now, and gits $ . pension to eat on. [illustration: issabella boyd] issabella boyd was born a slave of gus wood, in richmond, va., who moved to texas by boat before the civil war. isabella still lives in beaumont. "lemme see, i come from richmond, virginy, to texas. massa gus wood was my owner and i kin recollect my white folks. i's born in dat country and dey brought me over to richmond and my papa and mama, too. i was jus' 'bout big 'nough to begin to 'member. "i come from richmond yere on de boat, sometime de steamboat, sometime de big boat. when we left new orleans dat evenin' we struck a big storm. us git on dat boat in richmond and went floatin' down to de big boat dat mornin'. looks like it jus' fun for us, but every time we look back and think 'bout home it make us sad. "i had a dear, good mistus and my boss man, he furnish a house for he servants, a purty good house. and dey had a place for de sunday school. dem was good times. de mistus cook dinner and send it down for de old folks and chillen to have plenty. "my mistus kep' me right in de house, right by her, sewing. i could sew so fast i git my task over 'fore de others git started good. "lots of times when de gals wants to go to de dance i he'p make de dresses. i 'member de pretties' one like yesterday. it have tucks from de waist to de hem and had diamonds cut all in de skirt. "our boss man was 'ticular 'bout us being tended to and we was well took care of. he brung us to beaumont when it was de plumb mud hole, and he settle down and try to build up and make it a go. "massa wood he allus takes de paper and one night they set up da long time and do dey readin'. next mornin' de old cook woman, she say, 'well, dey have de big war, and lots of dem wounded.' befo' long us has to take care of some dem wounded soldiers, and dey has de camp place near us. dey all camp 'round dere and i don't know which was de yankees and de 'federates. "when we all gits free, dey's de long time lettin' us know. dey wants to git through with de corn and de cotton befo' dey let's de hands loose. dey was people from other plantations say. 'niggers, you's free and yere you workin'.' us say, 'no, de gov'ment tell us when we's free.' we workin' one day when somebody from massa grissom place come by and tell us we's free, and us stop workin'. dey tell us to go on workin' and de boss man he come up and he say he gwine knock us off de fence if we don't go to work. mistus come out and say, 'ain't you gwine make dem niggers go to work?' he send her back in de house and he call for de carriage and say he goin' to town for to see what de gov'ment goin' do. nex' day he come back and say, 'well, you's jus' as free as i is.' "he say to me i could stay and cook for dem, and he give me five dollar a month and a house to stay in and all i kin eat. i stays de month to do dere work. "after dat i wishes sometimes dat old times is back 'gain. i likes to be free, but i wasn't used to it and it was hard to know how to do. i 'members de dances we has in de old times, when we makes de music with banjo and other things. some de good massas 'lowed de niggers dance in de back yard and if we goes over dere without de pass de patterroles gits us maybe. one time my papa he runnin' from dem patterroles and he run slap into de young massa and he say, 'oh, you ain't no nigger, i kin tell by de smell.' "dat mind me of de ghost story dey used to tell 'bout de ghosties what live in de big bridge down in de hollow. de niggers day say dat ghostie make too much noise, with all he hollerin' and he rattlin' dem chain. so dat night one us niggers what dey call charlie, he say he ain't 'fraid and he gwineter git him a ghostie, sho' 'nough. us didn't believe him but purty soon us hears right smart wrastlin' with de chains and hollerin' down by de bridge and after 'while he come and say he git de best of dat ghostie, 'cause he ain't got strength like de man. "me and my old man us have twelve chillens altogedder. my husban' he come from south car'lina whar dey eats cottonseed. i used to joke him 'bout it. i allus say virginny de best, 'cause i come from dere. [illustration: james boyd] james boyd was born in phantom valley, indian territory, in an indian hut. a man named sanford wooldrige stole him and brought him to texas, somewhere near waco. james does not know his age, but thinks he is a hundred years or more old. he now lives in itasca, texas. "i's born in dat phantom valley, in de indian territory, what am now call oklahoma. us live in a indian hut. my pappy blue bull bird and mammy nancy will. she come to de indian territory with santa anna, from mississippi, and pappy raise in de territory. i don' 'member much 'bout my folks, 'cause i stole from dem when i a real li'l feller. i's a-fishin' in de cherokee river and a man name sanford wooldrige come by. you see, de white folks and de indians have de fight 'bout dat day. i's on de river and i heared yellin' and shootin' and folkses runnin' and i slips into some bresh right near. den come de white man and he say, 'everybody kilt, nigger, and dem indians gwine kill you iffen day cotch you. come with me and i ain't 'low dem hurt you.' so i goes with him. "he brung me to texas, but i don't know jus' where, 'cause i didn't know nothin' 'bout dat place. massa sanford good to us, but look out for he missus, she sho' tough on niggers. dere 'bout , acres in de plantation and de big house am nice. when de niggers wouldn't work dey whup 'em. us work all week and sometime sunday, iffen de crops in a rush. massa not much on presents or money but us have warm clothes and plenty to eat and de dry place to live, and dat more'n lots of niggers has now. "sometime us have de corn huskin' and dere a dollar for de one what shuck de mos' corn. us have de big dance 'bout twict a year, on christmas and sometime in de summer. when de white folks have dere big balls us niggers cook and watch dem dance. us have fun den. "i likes to think of dem times when us fish all de hot day or hunts or jus' lazed 'round when de crops am laid by. i likes to shet de eyes and be back in old times and hear 'em sing, "swing, low, sweet chariot." i can't sing, now you knows can't no old man sing what ain't got no teef or hair. i used to like to swing dat 'ginia reel and i's spry and young den. "dere's lots i can't 'member, 'cause my mem'ry done gone weak like de res' of me, but i 'member when us free us throw de hats in de air and holler. old massa say, 'how you gwine eat and git clothes and sech?' den us sho' scairt and stays with us white folks long as us can. but 'bout a year after dat i gits de job punchin' cattle on a ranch in south texas. i druv cattle into kansas, over what de white folks calls de chissum trail. i worked lots of cattle and is what dey call a top hand. i's workin' for massa boyd den, and he gits me to drive some cattle to mexico. he say he ain't well no more and for me to sell de cattle and send him de money and git de job down dere. i goes on down to mexico and do what he say. i marries a gal name martina in , down in matamoras. us have four chillen and she die. dat break me up and i drifts back to huntsville. "i done change my name from scott bird, what it am up in de territory, and make it james boyd, 'cause i done work for massa boyd. i's gwine be 'bout year old in next january, iffen de lawd spare me dat long. "after i been in huntsville awhile, i marries emma smith but us only stay together 'bout a year and a half. wasn't no chillen. den i drifts to fort bend county and dere i marries mary mcdowd and us have two chillen. she die with de yellow fever and off i goes for burleson county. dere i marries sally mcdave and she quits me after us have three chillen. down in old washington county i marries frances williams and us lived together till . dere am no chillen dere. den i goes to austin after she die and marries eliza bunton in . us have eight chillen and she die in . den i comes to hill county and marries mittie cahee in . she quit me. in i marries hegar price clost to milford. us live together now, in itasca. us didn't have no chillen, but dat don't matter, 'cause i's de daddy of 'bout twenty already. "i mos' allus wore de black suit when i marries. jes' seemed more dressed up like. some my wives wear white and some colors, didn't make much diff'rence, so dey a likely lookin' gal for me. sometime it am a preacher and sometime it am jestice of peace, but de fust time it am catholic and priest and all. "talkin' 'bout all dis marryin', i mos' forgit to show you my scar. i fit in dat freedom war 'long side massa sanford and got shot. dat bullet go through de breast and out de back and keep me six months in de bed. de fust battle i's in am at halifax, in north car'lina. us git de news of freedom when us at vicksburg, in mississippi. mos' us niggers 'fraid say much. de new niggers 'spect de gov'ment give dem de span of mules and dey be rich and not work. but dey done larn a lot dese past years. us am sho' slaves now to hard work, and lucky iffen us git work. lots dem niggers figgers dey'd git dere massa's land, but dey didn't. dey oughta of knowed dey wouldn't. warn't no plantation ever divided i knowed of, but some de massas give de oldest slaves a li'l piece land. "after de cattle days done gone, i farms in hill county. i works twelve year for massa claude wakefield, right near milford, too. de old man ain't due to live nowhere long and i's gittin' 'bout ready to cross de river. i's seed a heap of dis here earth and de people in it, but i tells you it am sho' hard time now. us is old and cripple' and iffen de white folks don't holp us i don't know what us gwine do. "some dese young niggers gone plumb wild with dere cigars and cars and truckin' and jazzin' and sech. some go to school and larn like white folks and teach and be real helpful. but talk 'bout workin' in slave time--'twarn't so hard as now. den you fuss 'cause dere's work, now you fuss 'cause dere ain't no work. but den us have somethin' to eat and wear and a place to sleep, and now us don't know one day what gwine fill us tomorrow, or nothin'. "i'd sho' like to shake massa boyd's hand again and hear him come singin' down de lane. us hear him sing or whistle long 'fore he git dere and it mighty good to see him. de slaves allus say, 'i's gwine 'way tomorrow,' and i guess i's gwine 'way pretty soon tomorrow. jerry boykins, spry and jolly at the age of , lived with his aged wife in their own cabin at plum st., abilene, texas. he was born a slave to john thomas boykin, troupe co., georgia, miles from lagrange, ga. his master was a very wealthy plantation owner, working , slaves. "i been well taken care of durin' my life. when i was young i lived right in de big house with my marster. i was houseboy. my mother's name was betsy ann boykin and she was cook for old missus. my grandpa was blacksmith. i slept on a pallet in de kitchen and in winter time on cold nights i 'members how cold i would get. i'd wake up and slip in by marsters bed and den i'd say, 'marster john, i's about to freeze.' he'd say, 'you ought to freeze, you little black devil. what you standin' dere for?' i'd say, 'please, marster john, jes' let me crawl in by your feet.' he'd say, 'well, i will dis one time,' and dat's de way i'd do every cold night. "i was full of mischief and i'd tu'n de mules out of de lot, jus' to see de stableboy git a lickin'. one time i wanted a fiddle a white man named cocoanut harper kep' tryin' to sell me for $ . . i didn' never have any money, 'cept a little the missie give me, so i kep' teasin' her to buy de fiddle for me. she was allus on my side, so she tol' me to take some co'n from de crib and trade in for de fiddle. in de night i slips out and hitch up de mules and fetched de co'n to old harper's house and traded for dat fiddle. den i hides out and play it, so's marster wouldn' fin' out, but he did and he whip all de daylight outta me. when de missie try to whip me, i jes' wrop up in her big skirts and she never could hurt me much. "i allus ate my meals in de house at de white folks table, after dey done et. iffen i couldn' sit in de marster's chair, i'd swell up like a toad. "de marster done all de whippin', 'cause dey had been two overseers killed on de plantation for whippin' slaves till de blood run out dey body. "was i bovered with haints and spooks? i been meetin' up with 'em all my life. when i was younger i was such an old scratch i'd meet 'em right in de road, some without heads. i'd take to my heels and then i'd stop and look 'round and they'd be gone. "i wore home-weaved shirts till i was grown, then i had some pants and dey was homemade, too. the women gathered womack leaves to dye de goods black. "i well rec'lects when my marster went to war. he called all us in de kitchen and telled us he had to go over dere and whip those sons-of-bitches and would be back 'fore breakfast. he didn' return for two years. i says, 'marster, we sho' would have waited breakfast on you a long time.' he said, 'yes; deys de hardes' sons-of-bitches to whip i ever had dealins' with.' "when war was over, he called us together and tol' us we were free. he said, 'now, i'm goin' to give you a big day and after that you can stay and work for pay or you can go.' so he rolled out two barrels of whiskey and killed hogs and spread a big day. "i wants to tell you 'bout how we killed hogs in my day. we digged a deep pit in de groun' and heated big rocks red hot and filled up de pit with water and dropped dem hot rocks in and got de water hot; den we stuck de hogs and rolled 'em in dat pit. "soon after i's free a man come for me from louisville to hire me as foreman in his cotton mule barn. so i went there and i worked in kentucky for year. fifty-one years ago i married my ol' woman, rachel taylor, at corsicana, texas, and i think she's jes' as fine as the day i married her. we has six chillen and all works hard for a livin' and we got one lil' grandbaby years ol'. she lives here at our house and we're educatin' her. "i knows i's goin' to live to be over years ol', 'cause my marster done tol' me so." [illustration: monroe brackins] monroe brackins, born in monroe co., mississippi, in , was the property of george reedes. he was brought to medina county, texas, when two years old. monroe learned to snare and break mustangs and became a cowpuncher. he lives in hondo, texas. he has an air of pride and self-respect, and explained that he used little dialect because he learned to talk from the "white folks" as he was growing up. "i was bo'n in mississippi, monroe county. i'm years old. my master, george reedes, brought me, my father and mother and my two sisters to texas when i was two years old. my father was nelson brackins and my mother was rosanna. "my master settled here at a place called malone, on the hondo river. he went into the stock business. our house there was a little, old picket house with a grass roof over it out of the sage grass. the bed was made with a tick of shucks and the children slept on the floor. the boss had just a little lumber house. later on he taken us about miles fu'ther down on the hondo, the old adams ranch, and he had a rock house. "i was about six years old then. i had some shoes, to keep the thorns outa my feet, and i had rawhide leggin's. we just had such clothes as we could get, old patched-up clothes. they just had that jeans cloth, homemade clothes. "i was with george reedes or years. it was my first trainin' learnin' the stock business and horse breakin.' he was tol'able good to us, to be slaves as we was. his brother had a hired man that whipped me once, with a quirt. i've heard my father and mother tell how they whipped 'em. they'd tie 'em down on a log or up to a post and whip 'em till the blisters rose, then take a paddle and open 'em up and pour salt in 'em. yes'm, they whipped the women. the most i remember about that, my father and sister was in the barn shuckin' co'n and the master come in there and whipped my sister with a cowhide whip. my father caught a lick in the face and he told the master to keep his whip offen him. so the master started on my father and he run away. when he finally come in he was so wild his master had to call him to get orders for work, and finally the boss shot at him, but they didn't whip him any more. of course, some of 'em whipped with more mercy. they had a whippin' post and when they strapped 'em down on a log they called it a 'stroppin' log.' "i remember they tasked the cotton pickers in mississippi. they had to bring in so many pounds in the evenin' and if they didn't they got a whippin' for it. my sister there, she had to bring in pounds a day. well, cotton was heavier there. most any of 'em could pick pounds. it was heavier and fluffier. we left the cotton country in mississippi, but nobody knew anything about cotton out here that i knew of. "i've heard my parents say too, them men that had plantations and a great lot of slaves, they would speculate with 'em and would have a chain that run from the front ones to the back ones. sometimes they would have or miles to make to get them to the sale place, but they couldn't make a break. where they expected to make a sale, they kept 'em in corrals and they had a block there to put 'em up on and bid 'em off. the average price was about $ , but some that had good practice, like a blacksmith, brought a good price, as high as $ , . "i heard my mother and father say they would go or miles to a dance, walkin', and get back before daylight, before the 'padderollers' got 'em. the slaves would go off when they had no permission and them that would ketch 'em and whip 'em was the 'padderollers.' sometimes they would have an awful race. "if they happened to be a slave on the plantation that could jes' read a little print, they would get rid of him right now. he would ruin the niggers, they would get too smart. the' was no such thing as school here for culluds in early days. the white folks we was raised up with had pretty good education. that's why i don't talk like most cullud folks. i was about grown and the' was an english family settled close, about half a mile, i guess. they had a little boy, his name was arthur ederle, and he come over and learned me how to spell 'cat' and 'dog' and 'hen' and such like. i was right around about years old. i couldn't sign my name when i was years old. "i can remember one time when i was young, i saw something i couldn't 'magine what it was, like a billygoat reared up on a tree. but i knew the' wasn't a billygoat round there near, nor no other kinds of goats. it was in the daytime and i was out in a horse pasture, i was jes' walkin' along, huntin', when i saw that sight. i guess i got within steps of it, then i turned around and got away. i never did think much about a ghost, but i think it could be possible. "i don't remember scarcely anything about the war because i was so little and times was so different; the country wasn't settled up and everything was wild, no people, hardly. of course, my life was in the woods, you might say, didn't hardly know when sunday come. "the northern soldiers never did get down in here that i know of. i know once, when they was enlisting men to go to battle a whole lot of 'em didn't want to fight and would run away and dodge out, and they would follow 'em and try to make 'em fight. they had a battle up here on the nueces once and killed some of 'em. i know my boss was in the bunch that followed 'em and he got scared for fear this old case would be brought up after the war. the company that followed these men was called old duff company. i think somewhere around was in the bunch that they followed, but i don't know how many was killed. they was a big bluff and a big water hole and they said they was throwed in that big water hole. "we had possums and 'coons to eat sometimes. my father, he gen'rally cooked the 'coons, he would dress 'em and stew 'em and then bake 'em. my mother wouldn't eat them. there was plenty of rabbits, too. sometimes when they had potatoes they cooked 'em with 'em. i remember one time they had just a little patch of blackhead sugar cane. after the freedom, my mother had a kind of garden and she planted snap beans and watermelons pretty much every year. "the master fed us tol'bly well. everything was wild, beef was free, just had to bring one in and kill it. once in awhile, of a sunday mornin', we'd get biscuit flour bread to eat. it was a treat to us. they measured the flour out and it had to pan out just like they measured. he give us a little somethin' ever' christmas and somethin' good to eat. i heard my people say coffee was high, at times, and i know we didn't get no flour, only sunday mornin'. we lived on co'nbread, mostly, and beef and game outta the woods. that was durin' the war and after the war, too. "i was around about or years old when we was freed. we worked for george reedes awhile, then drifted on down to the frio river and stayed there about a year, then we come to medina county and settled here close to where i was raised. we didn't think it hard times at all right after the war. the country was wild and unsettled, with ranches or miles apart. you never did see anybody and we didn't know really what was goin' on in the rest of the country. sometimes something could happen in miles of us and we didn't know it for a month. "i was on the adams ranch on the hondo when my master come out and told us we were as free as he was. he said we could stay on and work or could go if we wanted to. he gave my mother and father cents apiece and cents for the children. we stayed awhile and then went west to the frio. "i used to be along with old man big-foot wallace in my early days. he was a mighty fine man. i worked for the people that was gathering stock together there. big foot raised nice horses, old reg'lar texas horses, and they was better than the reg'lar old spanish bronco. i used to go to his camp down on the san miguel. he lived in one part and his chickens in the rest of his house. his friends liked to hear him talk about his travels. he used to run stock horses and had a figger on the left shoulder for his brand and the tip of each ear split was his earmark. "the last man i broke horses for was wilson bailey. i was there about years. he raised just cavi-yard--we called it a cavi-yard of horses, just the same thing as a _remuda_. we called 'em that later, but we got that from the spanish. we would get up in a tree with our loop till the horse come under and drop it down on him. when they were so spoilt, we got 'em in a sort of cavi-yard and drove 'em under trees and caught 'em in a snare. we had lots of wild horses, just this side of pearsall. 'bout the only way i'd get throwed was to get careless. we'd ketch 'im up, hackamore 'im up, saddle 'im up and get on 'im and let 'im go. sometimes he'd be too wild to pitch, he'd break and run and you had to let 'im run himself down. i used to rather ketch up a wild horse and break 'im than to eat breakfast. "when i first started farmin' i taken up some state land, about acres, down on black creek, in medina county. i stayed there ten or twelve years. cotton hadn't got in this country and i raised some corn, sugar cane and watermelons. i commenced with horses, but 'long 'way down the line i used oxen some, too. i used one of those old walking plows. "i sold that place and moved to a place on the tywaukney creek (tonkawa). i come up to church and met my wife then. her name was ida bradley and i was years old. we lived down on the tywaukney right about years and raised our children there. we jes' had a little home weddin'. i wore a suit, dark suit. we got married about o'clock in the evenin' and we had barbecue, cake and ice cream. you see, in them times i wasn't taught anything about years and dates, but i judge it was about years after the war before i settled on the tywaukney." gus bradshaw was born about , at keecheye, alabama, a slave of david cavin. he recalls being brought to texas in the 's, when the cavin family settled near old port caddo. gus remained with his master for ten years after emancipation. he now lives alone on a fifty acre farm seven miles northeast of marshall, which he bought in . gus receives an $ . per month pension. "i was born at keecheye, alabama, and belonged to old man david cavin. the only statement i can make 'bout my age is i knows i was 'bout twenty years old when us slaves was freed. i never knowed my daddy, but my mammy was amelia cavin. i's heard her say she's born in alabama more times than i got fingers and toes. our old master brung us to texas when i's a good sized kid. i 'members like it am yesterday, how we camped more'n a week in new orleans. i seed 'em sell niggers off the block there jus' like they was cattle. then we came to old port caddo on caddo lake and master settles a big farm close to where the boats run. port caddo was a big shipping place then, and dud and john perry run the first store there. the folks hauled cotton there from miles away. "mammy's folks was named maria and joe gloster and they come to texas with the cavins. my grandma say to me, 'gus, don't run you mouth too much and allus have manners to whites and blacks.' chillen was raise right then, but now they come up any way. i seed young niggers turn the dipper up and drink 'fore old folks. i wouldn't dare do that when i's comin' up. "maria say to me one day, 'son, i's here when the stars fell.' she tell me they fell like a sheet and spread over the ground. ike hood, the old blacksmith on our place, he told me, too. i says, 'ike, how old was you when the stars fell?' he say, 'i's thirty-two.' "massa david had big quarters for us niggers, with chimneys and fireplaces. they use to go round and pick up old hawg or cow bones to bile with greens and cabbage. they was plenty of wild game, and deer and wolves howlin' right through this country, but you can't even find the track of one now. "the first work i done was pickin' cotton. every fellow was out at daylight pickin' cotton or hoein' or plowin'. they was one overseer and two nigger drivers. but at night you could hear us laughin' and talkin' and singin' and prayin', and hear them fiddles and things playin'. it look like darkies git 'long more better then than now. some folks says niggers oughtn't to be slaves, but i says they ought, 'cause they jus' won't do right onless they is made to do it. "massa david allus give us eggnog and plenty good whiskey at christmas. we had all day to eat and drink and sing and dance. we didn't git no presents, but we had a good time. "i don't know much 'bout the war, only massa bob perry come over one day and say to grandma maria, 'they is surrender, maria, you is free.' she say to him, 'i don't care, i gwine stay with my white folks.' "the klu klux done lots of cuttin' up round there. two of 'em come to dr. taylor's house. he had two niggers what run off from the klux and they want to whip 'em, but dr. taylor wouldn't 'low 'em. i knowed old col. alford, one of the klux leaders, and he was a sight. he told me once, 'gus, they done send me to the pen for kluxing.' i say, 'massa alford, didn't they make a gentleman of you?' he say, 'hell, no!' "i knowed old col. haggerdy, too. he marries a widow of a rich old indian chief, name mcintosh. he broke a treaty with his people and had to hide out in a cave a long time, and his wife brung food to him. one time when she went to the cave he was gone. she knowed then the indians done git him and kilt him for vi'latin' the treaty. so she marries old col. haggerdy. "the only time i votes was against whiskey. i voted for it. some white folks done say they'd whip me if i voted for it, but mr. joe strickland done told me they jus' tryin' scare me, so i voted for it. i don't think niggers ought to vote. if some niggers had things in hand 'stead of white folks, i couldn't stay here. these eddicated niggers am causin' the devilment. the young niggers ain't got no 'spect for old age. "i bought and paid for fifty acres land here in harrison county and i has lived on it sixty years. i lived with my wife fifty years 'fore she died and done raise two chillen. these young niggers don't stay married fifty days, sometimes. i don't mess with 'em, but if i needs help i goes to the white folks. if you 'have youself, they allus help you if you needs it. [illustration: wes brady] wes brady, , was born a slave of john jeems, who had a farm five miles north of marshall. wes has farmed in harrison county all his life. he now lives with friends on the long's camp road, and draws a $ . monthly pension. "i was born and raised in harrison county, and i was eighty-eight years old this july past and has wore myself out here in this county. i was born on massa john jeem's place, on the old jefferson road, and my father was peter calloway, and he was born in alabama and his whole fam'ly brought to texas by nigger traders. my mother was harriet ellis and i had two brothers named george and andrew, and four sisters, lula and judy and mary and sallie. my old grandpa phil told me how he helped run the indians off the land. "grandpa phil told me 'bout meetin' his massa. massa jeems had three or four places and grandpa hadn't seed him and he went to one of the other farms and meets a man goin' down the road. the man say, 'who you belong to?' grandpa phil say, 'massa jeems.' the man say, 'is he a mean man?' grandpa say, 'i don't know him, but they say he's purty tight.' it was massa jeems talkin' and he laughs and gives grandpa phil five dollars. "we niggers lived in log houses and slep' on hay mattress with lowell covers, and et fat pork and cornbread and 'lasses and all kinds garden stuff. if we et flour bread, our women folks had to slip the flour siftin's from missy's kitchen and darsn't let the white folks know it. we wore one riggin' lowell clothes a year and i never had shoes on till after surrender come. i run all over the place till i was a big chap in jes' a long shirt with a string tied round the bottom for a belt. i went with my young massa that way when he hunted in the woods, and toted squirrels for him. "some white folks might want to put me back in slavery if i tells how we was used in slavery time, but you asks me for the truth. the overseer was 'straddle his big horse at three o'clock in the mornin', roustin' the hands off to the field. he got them all lined up and then come back to the house for breakfas'. the rows was a mile long and no matter how much grass was in them, if you leaves one sprig on your row they beats you nearly to death. lots of times they weighed cotton by candlelight. all the hands took dinner to the field in buckets and the overseer give them fifteen minutes to git dinner. he'd start cuffin' some of them over the head when it was time to stop eatin' and go back to work. he'd go to the house and eat his dinner and then he'd come back and look in all the buckets and if a piece of anything that was there when he left was et, he'd say you was losin' time and had to be whipped. he'd drive four stakes in the ground and tie a nigger down and beat him till he's raw. then he'd take a brick and grind it up in a powder and mix it with lard and put it all over him and roll him in a sheet. it'd be two days or more 'fore that nigger could work 'gain. i seed one nigger done that way for stealin' a meat bone from the meathouse. that nigger got fifteen hundred lashes. the li'l chaps would pick up egg shells and play with them and if the overseer seed them he'd say you was stealin' eggs and give you a beatin'. i seed long lines of slaves chained together driv by a white man on a hoss, down the jefferson road. "the first work i done was drappin' corn, and then cow-pen boy and sheep herder. all us house chaps had to shell a half bushel corn every night for to feed the sheep. many times i has walked through the quarters when i was a little chap, cryin' for my mother. we mos'ly only saw her on sunday. us chillen was in bed when the folks went to the field and come back. i 'members wakin' up at night lots of times and seein' her make a little mush on the coals in the fireplace, but she allus made sho' that overseer was asleep 'fore she done that. "one time the stock got in the field and the overseer 'cuses a old man and jumps on him and breaks his neck. when he seed the old man dead, he run off to the woods, but massa sent some nigger after him and say for him to come back, the old man jus' got overhet and died. "we went to church on the place and you ought to heared that preachin'. obey your massa and missy, don't steal chickens and eggs and meat, but nary a word 'bout havin' a soul to save. "we had parties saturday nights and massa come out and showed us new steps. he allus had a extra job for us on sunday, but he gave us christmas day and all the meat we wanted. but if you had money you'd better hide it, 'cause he'd git it. "the fightin' was did off from us. my father went to war to wait on josh calloway. my father never come back. massa jeems cussed and 'bused us niggers more'n ever, but he took sick and died and stepped off to hell 'bout six months 'fore we got free. when we was free, they beat drums in marshall. i stayed on 'bout seven months and then my mother and me went to farmin' for ourselves. "i wore myself out right in this county and now i'm too old to work. these folks i lives with takes good care of me and the gov'ment gives me $ . a month what i is proud to git. jacob branch, about , was a slave of the van loos family, in louisiana, who sold him when a baby to elisha stevenson, of double bayou, texas. jacob helps his son, enrichs, farm, and is unusually agile for his age. they live in the double bayou settlement, near beaumont, texas. "i's bought and fotched here to double bayou when i's jes' three year old. i and my half-brother, eleck, he de baby, was both born in louisiana on de van loos place, but i go by de name of branch, 'cause my daddy name branch. my mama name renee. dey split up us family and elisha stevenson buy my mama and de two chillen. i ain't never see my daddy no more and don't 'member him at all. "old 'lisha stevenson he a great one for to raise pigs. he sell sometime hawgs at one time. he take he dogs and drive dem hawgs 'cross de neches river all by hisself, to sell dem. dat how he git money to buy de niggers, sellin' hawgs and cowhides. "old massa he sho' a good old man, but de old missy, she a tornado! her name miss 'liza. she could be terrible mean. but sometime she take her old morrel--dat a sack make for to carry things in--and go out and come back with plenty joints of sugar cane. she take a knife and sit on de gallary and peel dat cane and give a joint to every one de li'l chillen. "mama, she work up in de big house, doin' cookin' and washin'. old massa go buy a cullud man name uncle charley fenner. he a good old cullud man. massa brung him to de quarters and say, 'renee, here you husband,' and den he turn to uncle and say, 'charley, dis you woman.' den dey consider marry. dat de way dey marry den, by de massa's word. uncle charley, he good step-pa to us. "de white folks have de good house with a brick chimney. us quarters de good, snug li'l house with flue and oven. dey didn't bother to have much furn'chure, 'cause us in dere only to sleep. us have homemake bench and 'georgia hoss' bed with hay mattress. all us cookin' and eatin' done in de kitchen de big house. us have plenty to eat, too. de smokehouse allus full white 'taters and cracklin's hangin' on de wall. us git dem mos' any time us want, jes' so long us didn't waste nothin'. dey have big jar with buttermilk and 'low us drink all us want. "old lady 'liza, she have three women to spin when she git ready make de clothes for everybody. dey spin and weave and make all us clothes. us all wear shirt tail till us 'bout twelve or fourteen, boys and gals, too. you couldn't tell us apart. "us chillen start to work soon's us could toddle. first us gather firewood. iffen it freezin' or hot us have to go to toughen us up. when us git li'l bigger us tend de cattle and feed hosses and hawgs. by time us good sprouts us pickin' cotton and pullin' cane. us ain't never idle. sometime us git far out in de field and lay down in de corn row and nap. but, lawdy, iffen dey cotch you, dey sho' wore you out! sunday de onliest rest day and den de white folks 'low us play. "massa never whup uncle charley, 'cause he good nigger and work hard. it make missy mad and one time when massa gone she go down in de field. uncle charley hoein' corn jes' like massa done told him, jes' singin' and happy. old missy she say, 'nigger, i's sho gwineter whup you.' he say, 'what for you whup me. i doin' every bit what old massa done tell me.' but missy think he gittin' it too good, 'cause he ain't never been whupped. she clumb over de fence and start down de row with de cowhide. uncle charley, he ain't even raise he voice, but he cut de las' weed outen dat corn and commence to wave he hoe in de air, and he say, 'missy, i ain't 'vise you come any step closeter.' dat sho' make her mad, but she 'fraid to do nothin'. "one time she have 'nother nigger name charlie. massa go on de trip and she tell dis charley iffen he ain't finish grindin' all de cornmeal by monday she gwineter give him a t'ousand lashes. he try, but he ain't able make dat much meal, so come monday he runned off in de bayou. dat night come de big freeze and he down dere with water up to he knees and when massa come home and go git him, he so froze he couldn't walk. dey brung him in de kitchen and old missy cuss him out. soon's he thaw out, he done die right dere on de spot. "my pore mama! every washday old missy give her de beatin'. she couldn't keep de flies from speckin' de clothes overnight. old missy git up soon in de mornin', 'fore mama have time git dem specks off. she snort and say, 'renee, i's gwineter teach you how to wash.' den she beat mama with de cowhide. look like she cut my mama in two. many's de time i edges up and tries take some dem licks off my mama. "slavery, one to 'nother, was purty rough. every plantation have to answer for itself. "i used to know lots of songs, but i don't know many now. spiritual songs, dey comes through visions. dat's why cullud folks can make dem better dan white folks. i knowed one song what start out-- "'de jews done kill pore jesus, and bury him in de sepulchur; de grave wouldn't hold him, dey place guards all 'round him, but de angels move de stone, de jews done kill pore jesus, but de grave it wouldn't hold him.' "dey 'nother song what say-- "'run, sinner, run, gawd is a-callin' you. run, sinner, run, de fire'll overtake you.' "when i 'bout ten dey sets me ginnin' cotton. old massa he done make de cotton with de hand crank. it built on a bench like. i gin de cotton by turnin' dat crank. when i gits a lapful i puts it in de tow sack and dey take it to miss susan to make de twine with it. i warm and damp de cotton 'fore de fireplace 'fore i start ginnin' it. "dere school for de white chillen in double bayou and i used to go meet de chillen comin' home and dey stop longside de way and teach me my abc. dey done carry me as far as baker in de book when old missy find it out and make dem stop. de war comin' on den and us daren't even pick up a piece of paper. de white folks didn't want us to larn to read for fear us find out things. "us livin' down by de welborn's den and i seed dem haul de logs out of pine island to make dat welborn house. old man hamshire and old man remington builded dat welborn house. it 'cross de bayou, left hand side smith's ferry. dat house still standin' in parts. "one mornin' eleck and me git up at crack of dawn to milk. all at once come a shock what shake de earth. de big fish jump clean out de bay and turtles and alligators run out dere ponds. dey plumb ruint galveston! us runned in de house and all de dishes and things done jump out de shelf. dat de first bombardment of galveston. de sojers put powder under people's houses and blowin' up galveston. "young massa shake stevenson he vol'teer and git kilt somewheres in virginny. young massa tucker stevenson, he ain't 'lieve in war and he say he never gwine fight. he hide in de woods so de conscrip' men can't find him. old man lacour come 'round and say he have orders for find tucker and bring him in dead or 'live. but 'cause he old massa's friend, he say, 'why don't you buy de boy's services off?' so old massa take de boat, 'catrig,' us calls it, and loads it with corn and sich and us pole it down to galveston. de people need dat food so much, dat load supplies done buy off massa tucker from fightin'. "after war starts lots of slaves runned off to git to de yankees. all dem in dis part heads for de rio grande river. de mexicans rig up flat-boats out in de middle de river, tied to stakes with rope. when de cullud people gits to de rope dey can pull deyself 'cross de rest de way on dem boats. de white folks rid de 'merican side dat river all de time, but plenty slaves git through, anyway. "i wait on lots of sojers. i have to get smartweed and bile it in salt water to bath dem in. dat help de rheumatism. dem sojers have rheumatism so bad for standin' day and night in de water. "us sho' in good health dem days. iffen a cullud man weak dey move de muscles in he arms, bleed him and give him plenty bacon and cornbread, and he git so strong he could lift a log. dey didn't go in for cuttin', like dey do now. dey git herbs out de woods, blue mass and quinine and calomel. i think people jes' die under pills, now. old lady field she make medicine with snakeroot and larkspur and marshroot and redroot. "after war am over massa tucker brung de freedom papers and read dem. he say us all am free as hell. old man charley so happy he jes' roll on de floor like a hoss and kick he heels. de nex' mornin' mama start do somethin' and missy cuss her out. i runned to missy and say, 'us free as de bird.' she sho' whup me for dat, but no more, 'cause she so mean us all leave. "dat funny. old man lafour, what de head de patterrollers and so mean, he de first to help us niggers after freedom. he loan us he ox team and pay uncle charley a dollar de day for work and a dollar every time my mama wash for he wife. "old massa and missy split up. she so bad she ain't give him no better show dan she done us. old massa gittin' some peaches one day and she come after him with de buggy whip. he git on he hoss and say, 'liz, you's gittin' broad as de beef. you too big for me.' she so mad she spit fire. lightenin' done kill her, she upstairs and de big streak hits her. it knock her under de bed. "de first freedom work i done am pullin' up potato hills at two bits a hunnerd. 'bout two bits de most us could make in one day. i work two days to buy mama de turkey hen for christmas. anything mama want i think she got to have. i's growed 'fore i gits much as four bits a day. i's done earn as much as $ . in my time, though. "when i's year old i marries betty baker but she dead now. de rev. patterson he marry us. us has four chillen livin'. turah and renee, dat my gals, and enrichs and milton, dat my boys. milton work in houston and enrich help me farm. i's a mason year. de lodge split up now, but it answer. [illustration: william branch] william branch, born , utah st., san antonio, texas. eyesight is so poor someone must lead him to the store or to church. william kneels at his bedside each evening at five and says his prayers. in this ceremony he spends a half hour or more chanting one negro spiritual after another. "yahsur, i was a slave. i was bo'n may , , on the place of lawyer woodson in lunenburg county, virginia. it was 'bout miles southwest of richmond. they was two big plantations, one on one side the road, yother the yother. my marster owned slaves. he raised tobacco and cotton. i wukked tobacco sometime, sometime cotton. dere wasn't no whippin' or switchin'. we had to wuk hard. marster woodson was a rich man. he live in a great big house, a lumber house painted white. and it had a great big garden. "de slaves lives in a long string of log houses. dey had dirt floors and shingle roofs. marster woodson's house was shingle roof too. we had home cured bacon and veg'tables, dried co'n, string beans and dey give us hoe cakes baked in hot ashes. dere always was lots of fresh milk. "how'd us slaves git de clothes? we carded de cotton, den de women spin it on a spinnin' wheel. after dat day sew de gahment togeddah on a sewin' machine. yahsur, we's got sewin' machine, wid a big wheel and a handle. one woman tu'n de handle and de yuther woman do de sewin'. "dat's how we git de clothes for de slaves. marster's clothes? we makes dem for de whole fam'ly. de missis send de pattren and de slaves makes de clothes. over nigh richmond a fren' of marster woodson has slaves. dey makes all de clothes for dem. "i was with marster twel de yankees come down to virginia in . de sergeant of de yankees takes me up on his hoss and i goes to washington wid de yankees. i got to stay dere 'cause i'd run away from my marster. "i stay at de house of marse frank cayler. he's an ole time hack driver. i was his houseboy. i stay dere twel de year , den i goes to baltimore and jines de united states army. we's sent to texas 'count of de indians bein' so bad. dey put us on a boat at baltimore and we landed at galveston. "den we marches from galveston to fort duncan. it was up, up, de whole time. we ties our bedclothes and rolls dem in a bundle wid a strap. we walks wid our guns and bedclothes on our backs, and de wagons wid de rations follows us. dey is pulled by mules. we goes miles ev'ry day. we got no tents, night come, we unrolls de blankets and sleeps under de trees, sometime under de brush. "for rations we got canned beans, milk and hardtack. de hard tacks is or in a box, we wets 'em in water and cooks 'em in a skillet. we gits meat purty often. when we camps for de night de captain say, 'you'all kin go huntin'.' before we git to de mountains dere's deer and rabbits and dey ain't no fences. often in de dark we sees a big animal and we shoots. when we bring 'im to camp, de captain say, 'iffen de cow got iron burns de rancher gwineter shoot hisself a nigger scout.' but de cow ain't got no iron, it's--what de name of de cow what ain't feel de iron? mavrick, yahsur. we eats lots of dem mavricks. we's goin' 'long de river bottom, and before we comes to fort duncan we sees de cactus and muskeet. dere ain't much cattle, but one colored scout shoots hisself a bear. den we eats high. fort duncan were made of slab lumber and de roof was gravel and grass. "den we's ordered to fort davis and we's in de mountains now. climb, climb all day, and de indians give us a fit ev'ry day. we kills some indians, dey kills a few soldiers. we was at fort clark a while. at fort davis i jines de colored indian scouts, i was in capt. george l. andrew's co. k. "we's told de northern cheyennes is on a rampus and we's goin' to fort sill in indian territory. before we gits to fort concho (san angelo) de comanches and de apaches give us a fit. we fitten' 'em all de time and when we gits away from de comanches and apaches we fitten de cheyennes. dey's seven feet tall. dey couldn't come through that door. "when we gits to fort sill, gen. davidson say de cheyennes is off de reservation, and he say, 'you boys is got to git dem back. iffen you kill 'em, dey can't git back to de reservation.' den we goes scoutin' for de cheyennes and dey is scoutin' for us. dey gits us first, on de wichita river was of 'em, and we got colored indian scouts. den red foot, de chief of de cheyennes, he come to see capt. lawson and say he want rations for his indians. de captain say he cain't give no rations to indians off de reservation. red foot say he don't care 'bout no reservation and he say he take what we got. capt. lawson 'low we gotter git reinforcements. we got a guide in de scout troop, he call hisself jack kilmartin. de captain say, 'jack, i'se in trouble, how kin i git a dispatch to gen. davidson?' jack say, 'i kin git it through.' and jack, he crawl on his belly and through de brush and he lead a pony, and when he gits clear he rides de pony bareback twel he git to fort sill. den gen. davidson, he soun' de gin'ral alarm and he send two companies of cavalry to reinforce us. but de cheyennes give 'em a fit all de way, dey's gotter cut dere way through de cheyennes. "and col. shafter comes up, and goes out in de hills in his shirt sleeves jus' like you's sittin' dere. dey's snow on de groun' and de wind's cole, but de colonel don't care, and he say, 'whut's dis order gen. davidson give? don' kill de cheyennes? you kill 'em all from de cradle to de cross.' "and den we starts de attack. de cheyennes got winchesters and rifles and repeaters from de government. yahsur, de government give 'em de guns dey used to shoot us. we got de ole fashion muzzle loaders. you puts one ball in de muzzle and shove de powder down wid de ramrod. den we went in and fit 'em, and 'twas like fightin' a wasp's nest. dey kills a lot of our boys and we nearly wipes 'em out. den we disarms de cheyennes we captures, and turns dere guns in to de regiment. "i come to san antonio after i'se mustered out and goes to work for de bell jewelry company and stays dere twel i cain't work no more. did i like de army? yahsur, i'd ruthuh be in de army dan a plantation slave." [illustration: clara brim] clara brim, slave of william lyons of branch, louisiana, now lives in beaumont, texas. the town of branch was known in slave days as plaquemine bouley. clara estimates her age to be or , and from various facts known to her and her family, this would seem to be correct. "old massa's name was william lyons. i didn't have no old missus, 'cause he was a bachelor. he had a big plantation. i don't know how big but dey somethin' like twenty fam'lies of slaves and some dem fam'lies had plenty in dem. my ma was becky brim and pa, he name louis brim. she come from old virginny. dey work in de field. i had two sister name cass and donnie and a brudder name washington. he went off to de war. when it break out dey come and take him off to work in de army. he lost in dat war. he didn't come back. nobody ever know what happen to him. "some de houses log house and some plank, but dey all good. dey well built and had brick chimneys. dey houses what de wind didn't blow in. us had beds, too, not dem built in de wall. us sho' treat good in slavery times, yes, suh. old massa give us plenty clothes to keep us good and warm. he sho' did. "old massa, he wasn't marry and eat de same things de slaves eat. he didn't work dem in de heat of de day. 'bout eleven o'clock, when dat sun git hot, he call dem out de field. he give dem till it git kind of cool befo' he make dem go back in de field. he didn't have no overseer. he seed 'bout de plantation hisself. he raise cotton and corn and sweet 'taters and peas and cane, didn't fool with rice. he didn't go in for oats, neither. "when sunday come old massa ask who want to go to church. dem what wants could ride hoss-back or walk. us go to de white folks church. dey sot in front and us sot in back. us had prayer meetin', too, reg'lar every week. one old cullud man a sort of preacher. he de leader in 'ligion. "when de slaves go to work he give dem de task. dat so much work, so many rows cotton to chop or corn to hoe. when dey git through dey can do what dey want. he task dem on monday. some dem git through thursday night. den dey can hire out to somebody and git pay for it. "old massa even git de preacher for marryin' de slaves. and when a slave die, he git de preacher and have bible readin' and prayin'. mostest de massas didn't do dat-a-way. "i as big in war time as i is now. i used to do anything in de field what de men done. i plow and pull fodder and pick cotton. but de hardes' work i ever done am since i free. old massa, he didn't work us hard, noway. "he allus give us de pass, so dem patterrollers not cotch us. dey 'bout six men on hoss-back, ridin' de roads to cotch niggers what out without de pass. iffen dey cotch him it am de whippin'. but de niggers on us place was good and civ'lized folks. dey didn't have no fuss. old massa allus let dem have de garden and dey can raise things to eat and sell. sometime dey have some pig and chickens. "i been marry his' one time and he been dead 'bout forty-one years now. i stay with old massa long time after freedom. in i come live with my youngest girl here in beaumont. you see, i can't 'member so much. i has lived so long my 'memberance ain't so good now. [illustration: sylvester brooks] sylvester brooks, , was born in green county, alabama, a slave of josiah collier. the old negro's memory is poor, but he managed to recall a few incidents of slave days. he lives in mart, texas. "i's born 'bout de year , near de tom bigbee river in alabama, on a plantation own by marse josiah collier. my folks was henderson and martha brooks and i's de only child den. "marse collier owned seventy fam'lies of slaves and dey all lived in dey quarters 'bout a mile from de big house. when freedom come marse collier sent for all de slaves and lines us up in a row, two deep, and helt up he hands and say, 'boys, you is free as i is. all of you what wants to can go, and all of you what wants to can work for me on wages dis year. next year i'll give you a crop or work for wages.' dey all stays but two, and one of dem two my daddy, and he lef' mammy and six chillen and never come back. "us stays on till marse collier and missus both dies, and den stays with he oldes' gal, and didn't go 'way till we's growed and has fam'lies of our own. "i 'members best de fourth of july. de white folks have lots to eat for dem and us and we plays games and goes swimmin'. "next thing i 'members is de patterrollers, 'cause dey whip me every time dey cotches me without my pass. dat de way dey make us stay home at night, and it made good niggers out of us, 'cause we couldn't chase round and git in no meanness. "old marse often told me 'bout de stars fallin'. it was 'long 'bout sundown and growed dark all a sudden and de chickens goes to roost. den some stars with long tails 'gins to shoot, den it look like all de stars had come out of heaven, and did dey fall! de stars not all what fell. de white folks and de niggers fell on dere knees, prayin' to gawd to save dem iffen de world comin' to a end, and de women folks all run down in de cellar and stayed till mornin'. old marse say it was in , and he say dem stars fall awhile and quit awhile, like de showers when it rains. "'bout a year after freedom old marse give us a piece of land for a church and dis was de school, too. de preacher's name was christmas crawford, and dat de reason i 'members it, it so funny to us. de nigger teacher named nimron. de niggers has de blueback spellers and larns 'rithmetic, too. "on thanksgivin' day de niggers goes round to de white folks houses and gives a ser'nade, like dis: "'de old bee make de honeycomb, de young bee make de honey-- de nigger make de cotton and corn, and de white folks git de money. "'de raccoon he a curious man, he never works till dark; nothin' ever 'sturbs he mind, till he hear old towser bark.' "den de white folks asks us in and help ourselves to de cake or wine or whatever dey has, and we does dis on christmas, too. "we had a song we'd sing when we's thinkin' of comin' to texas: "'we'll put for de south, for seven-up and loo, chime in, niggers, won't you come 'long, too? no use talkin' when de nigger wants to go, where de corn top blossoms and canebrakes grow. come 'long, cuba, and dance de polka juba, way down south, where de corn tops grow.' "i'd like to be in old alabama to die, but old marse and missus gone, and it ain't no use goin' dere no more. [illustration: donaville broussard] donaville broussard, a polished gentleman of his race, was the son of a mulatto slave of emilier caramouche. he was born in , but appears vigorous. light skinned, with blue eyes and a genial expression, he gave the story of his life in the french patois spoken by louisiana french negroes, which has been translated into english. "my mama was daughter of one of the carmouche boys. one of m'sieur francois' sons. she call herself armance carmouche. she was house servant for the family and i worked around the house. i remember my madame brought me the little basket and it had a strap on it. i put the strap over the shoulder and went round with the sharp stick and picked up the leaves on the ground with the stick. "it was a great house with trees and flowers. madame liked all clean and pretty. i never worked hard. the ladies and my mama, too, petted me as if i was the white child. "m'sieur had a widow sister. she made us learn the prayers. we were glad to go where she was for she always had something good in her bag for us. i never saw the baptizing. in those days all the slaves had the religion of the master and the catholics didn't have no baptizing. they didn't have to half-drown when they got their religion. the church was or miles off. the priest came and held mass for the white folks sometimes. "i remember one wedding. my aunt got married. m'sieur caramouche killed a big pig. the white folks ate in the house. the slaves sat under the trees and ate in the yard. at four o'clock the justice of the peace came. he was the friend of m'sieur caramouche. he made my aunt and the man hold hands and jump over the broom handle. when the priest came he made m'sieur sign some papers. "a slave always had to ask m'sieur to marry. he always let the women slaves marry who they wanted. he didn't loose by that. he was so good the men would come to his plantation. "we all wore the long chemise. made out of heavy cloth. they made the cloth on the place and the women sewed it up. we didn't wear the shoes. we didn't like them when we had them. "each slave could have the little garden. they raised vegetables and had a couple of beehives for the honey. "when the yankees came they told us we could be free, but i don't know of any slaves that left. old m'sieur died of the fever in the second year of the war. his wife died before he did. no children. they sold us, the house and everything. m'sieur cyprien arceneaux of lafayette bought me and madame arvillien bernard of st. pierre bought the mama. they used to call it st. pierre. they call it carenero now. when war was finished i left m'sieur arceneaux and lived with mama. "a year and a half after that the mama married a black man and us three farmed the little farm. my steppapa didn't like me. i was light. he and me couldn't get along. so when i had years i left there and hired myself out. i saved till i bought a little piece of land for myself. then i married and raised the family. me and my wife and the children farmed that place up to ten years ago and then she died. my son farms the place now and i came to beaumont. i live with my girl. "i remember me in time of war we danced. round dances. we sang and danced la boulangere in time of war. de song go: "'la boulangere ait ta victoire et nous, qui sont en guerre, voici le jour que je dois partir. "'mon cher ami, tu pars, tu me laisses un enfant dans les bras et prend tes armes. et moi, je vais dans le moment verser des larmes. "'quand je serai en le guerre, [handwritten note: à la guerre?] tu serais de garnison, et tu m'oublirais moi, qui serai en les haillons. "'j'entends le tombour qui m'appelle a les points de jour. mon cher armande, si tu m'aimes tu penserais à moi, quand tu serais, dans tes plaisir. moi--que serai au bout du fusil!' "i got one real scare. i was with m'sieur arceneaux in lafayette. there was the battle. lots of fighting. lots of killing. the yankees came right inside the house. i stayed hid. "i don't know whether it's been better since the war. at all times one has his miseries. we managed to get along on the farm. but now i have nothing. oh, i don't mean slavery was better than to be free. i mean times were better. "the reason i'm so light is, my mama was half-white. my papa was neville broussard and he was all white. [illustration: fannie brown] fannie brown, aged negro of waco, texas, does not know her age. she was born near richmond, virginia, a slave of the koonce family. they sold her to mrs. margaret taylor, of belton, texas, when fannie was only five years old, and she never saw her mother again. "i was borned near richmond, over in virginy, but massa koonce sold me. when i was five year old he brung me to belton and sold me to missy margaret taylor, and she kep' me till she died. i was growed den and sold to massa jim fletcher and dere i stayed till i was freed. "dere no spring near massa fletcher's place and us have to git water out de well, what dey call de sweep well. dey cut down a young saplin' and weight it on one end with rocks and tie de bucket on a rope on de other end and brace de pole over de well. "while de big house bein' built dey slep' in a big wagon and cook over a fireplace make out of rock what us niggers pick up in de woods. us cook lots of good eatin' out on dat fireplace, dem wild turkeys and wild meat sho' tasted good. "massa trades ten yards of red calico and two hatchets to de indians for some skins and take de skins to austin and traded dem fer de spinnin' wheel and loom, and hauls dem to belton in de ox carts. "my missy larnt me to spin and weave and did dis child git many a whuppin' 'fore i could do it good. den she larnt me to cook and start me cookin' two or three days 'fore company come. dat when us have de good old pound cake. de li'l chillen stand round when i bake, so as to git to lick de spoons and pans, and how dey pop dere lips when dey lickin' dat good dough! "massa have garden seed he brung to texas, but he didn't think it would grow, so he kep' it several months, but den he plants it and up it come, jus' like in de old states. us used dem tomatoes for flowers, 'cause us thunk dem pretty red things would kill us or put de spell on us. but de white folks et dem and us larn to. "i was growed and have chillen 'fore de freedom war. i never did have no special husban' 'fore de war. i marries after de war. "my, how dem niggers could play de fiddle back in de good old days. on de moonlight nights, us dance by de light of de moon under a big oak tree, till most time to go to work next mornin'. "de fus' barb wire us ever seen, us scairt of it. us thunk lightnin' be sho' to strike it. it sho' keep de stock in, though. "i seed men ridin' hosses with dead men tied 'cross dey hoss, endurin' de freedom war. but i can't tell much 'bout dat war, 'cause i couldn't read and i never git any place 'cept home at my work. i love dem days better dan i do dese times now, but i'm too old to 'member much. [illustration: fred brown] fred brown, , jones st., fort worth, texas, was born a slave to mr. john brown, who owned a plantation along the mississippi river, in baton rouge parish, louisiana. fred was eight years old when the civil war started. during the war, he and a number of other slaves were taken to kaufman co., texas, as refugees, by henry bidder, an overseer. he worked five years as a laborer after he was freed, then worked as a cook until . "sho', i has time to talk to you 'bout my life, 'cause i can't work any more and i has nothin' but time. it am de rhumatis' in de leg, it ketch me dat way, from de hip to de knee,--zip--dat pain goes! "i's bo'n in ole louisiana, in baton rouge parish, on de th of november, in . i knows, 'cause massa give dis nigger a statement. you see, dey don' larn de niggers to read in dem days, nor figger, but i can read figgers. see dem on dat car? dat am . dat am bad figgers, i never has any truck with sich numbers as de or de . "massa have quite pert a plantation in louisiana, dis side de mississippi river. de slaves him own am from to sometimes. in our family am pappy, mammy and three brudders and one sister, julia, and six cousins. dat am and dat's why massa had so much trouble with niggers runnin' 'way! "everyone have dere certain wo'k and duties for to do. mammy am de family cook and she he'p at de loom, makin' de cloth. my daddy am de blacksmith and shoemaker and de tanner. i 'spains how he do tannin.' he puts de hides in de water with black-oak bark and purty soon de hair come off and den he rolls and poun's de hides for to make dem soft. "when i's 'bout years old, or sich, dey starts me to he'pin' in de yard and as i grows older i he'ps in de fields. massa, him raises cane and co'n mostly, no cotton. "de buildings on de place am de resident of de massa and de quarters for de niggers. dey am built from logs and de quarters has no floors and no windows, jus' square holes whar de windows ought to be. dey have bunks for sleepin' and a table and benches, and cooks in de fireplace. "we allus have plenty for to eat, plenty co'nmeal, 'lasses and heavy, brown sugar. we gits flour bread once de week, but lots of butter and milk. for de coffee, we roasts meal bran and for de tea, de sassafras. den we has veg'tables and fruit dat am raised on de place. de meat mostly am de wil' game, deer and de turkey, but sometimes hawg meat. "massa have overseer and overlooker. de overseer am in charge of wo'k and de overlooker am in charge of de cullud women. de overseer give all de whippin's. sometimes when de nigger gits late, 'stead of comin' home and takin' de whippin' him goes to de caves of de river and stays and jus' comes in night time for food. when dey do dat, de dawgs is put after dem and den it am de fight 'tween de nigger and de dawg. jus' once a nigger kills de dawg with de knife, dat was close to freedom and it come 'fore dey ketches him. when dey whips for runnin' off, de nigger am tied down over a barrel and whipped ha'd, till dey draws blood, sometimes. "dem fool niggers what sneak off without de pass, have two things for to watch, one is not to be ketched by de overseer and de other am de patter-rollers. de nigger sho' am skeert of de patters. one time my pappy and my mammy goes out without de pass and de patters takes after dem. i'se home, 'cause i's too young to be pesterin' roun'. i sees dem comin,' and you couldn' catched dem with a jackrabbit. one time anoudder nigger am runnin' from de patters and hides under de house. dey fin' him and make him come out. you's seen de dawg quaver when him's col'? well, dat nigger have de quaverment jus' like dat. de patters hits him five or six licks and lets him go. dat nigger have lots of power--him gits to de quarters ahead of his shadow. "now, i tell 'bout some good times. we is 'lowed to have parties and de dance and we has for music, sich as de banjo and de jew's harp and a 'cordian. dey dance de promenade and de jeg. sometimes day have de jiggin' contest and two niggers puts a glass of water on dere heads and den see who can dance de longes' without spillin' any water. den we has log-rollin'. dere was two teams, 'bout three to de team, and dey see which can roll de log de fastes'. den sometimes a couple am 'lowed to git married and dere am extry fixed for supper. de couple steps over de broom laid en de floor, dey's married den. "sometimes de overlooker don' let dem git married. i 'splains it dis way. he am used for to father de chillun. him picks de portly, and de healthy women dat am to rear de portly chillen. de overlooker, he am portly man. dem dat him picks he overlooks, and not 'low dem to marry or to go round with other nigger men. if dey do, its whippin' sho.' de massa raises some fine, portly chillen, and dey sel' some, after dey's half-grown, for $ and sometimes more. "de war didn' make no diff'runce, dat i notices, 'cept massa and one overseer jines de army. massa come back, but de overseer am captured by de yankees, so massa says, and we never hears 'bout him after dat. de soldiers passes by lots of times, both de 'federates and de 'blue bellies', but we's never bothered with dem. de fightin' was not close enough to make trouble. jus' 'fore freedom come, de new overseer am 'structed to take us to texas and takes us to kaufman county and we is refugees dere. de yankee mans tells us we am free and can do sich as we pleases. dat lef' us in charge of no one and we'uns, jus' like cattle, wen' wanderin'. "pappy, him goes back to lousiana to massa's place. dat am de las' we hears from him. mammy and i goes to henderson and i works at dis and dat and cares for my mammy ten years, till she dies. den i gits jobs as cook in dallas and houston and lots of other places. "i gits married in to ellen tilles and i cooks till 'bout four years ago, till i gits de rhumatis'. dat's all i can tell you 'bout de ole days. [illustration: james brown] james brown, , blind for the last years and now living alone in a shack at w. belknap, fort worth, texas, was born a slave of mr. berney in bell co., texas, in . while still an infant, he and his mother were sold to mr. john blair, who farmed four miles south of waco, texas. james has no known living relatives and a pension of $ . a month is his sole support. "my fust marster was named marster berney. i'se don' 'member hims fust name nor nothin' 'bout him. i'se don' know nothin' 'bout my pappy, but marster blair told me hims name was john brown. "marster blair have hims farm four miles south of waco. we'uns lived in de cabins and have de fiddle and de banjoes. we'uns sing and have music on sundays. marster never whups we'uns and him was allus good to us. him gives us plenty to eat, and meat, too. hims keeps 'bout hawgs dere all de time. de women makes de clothes and we'uns have all we need. "de fust work i does is drivin' de marster to town. marster have fine hosses. marster have hims office in waco and we drive dere every day. i'se stays all day ready to drive him home. mos' every day hims give me five cents or maybe de dime. hims was a big law man and went to de legislature down in austin. his picture am in austin, 'cause i'se down dere years ago and seen his picture in a case wid gov'ner ross' picture. "anudder thing dat marster does powe'ful good am trade de niggers. he buys and sells 'em all de time. you see, dere was traders dat traveled from place to place dem days and dey takes sometimes as much as niggers for to trade. dere was sheds outside of town, whar dey keeps de niggers when dey comes to town. "de marster and de trader talks dis away: 'how you trade?' 'i'se gives you even trade.' 'no, i'se wants $ . for de diff'runce.' 'i'se gives you $ . .' dat's de way dey talks on and on. maybe dey makes de trade and maybe dey don'. "dey have auction sometime and marster allus tend 'em. at de auction i'se seen dem sell a family. maybe one man buy de mammy, anudder buy de pappy and anudder buy all de chillens or maybe jus' one, like dat. i'se see dem cry like dey at de funeral when dey am parted. dey has to drag 'em away. "when de auction begin, he says: 'dis nigger is so and so ole, he never 'bused, he soun' as a dollar. jus' look at de muscle and de big shoulders. he's worth a thousan' of any man's money. how much am i offered?' den de biddin' starts. it goes like dis: '$ i'se hear, does i'se hear $ , does i hear $ .' den de nigger takes hims clothes--dey have one extry suit--and goes wid de man dat buys him. "de day befo' marster gives we'uns freedom, he says to we'uns, 'i'se wants all you niggers to come to de front of de house sunday mornin!' we'uns was dere and he was standin' on de gallery, holdin' a paper in hims han' and readin'. dere was tears in hims eyes and some drap on de paper. i'se have tears in my eyes, too; mos' of 'em have. when hims done readin', hims says: 'you darkies is as free as i'se is. you can go or you can stay. those dat stay till de crops laid by, i'se will give $ . a month.' "den he takes de little niggers and says, 'de little fellows who i'se have sold dere mammies will stay wid me till dey am years ole. you little fellows, i'se know you's age and i'se give yous de statement.' "mos' of de niggers stays wid him, but dey lef' fust one and den tudder. i'se stays on wid him for many years and works as coachman. when i lef' de marster, 'twas to work for a farmer for one year, den i'se comes to fort worth. i'se works in lumberya'd for long time. "for de las' years i'se been blin'. i'se had hard time after dat till de las' year but i'se gits de pension each month, dat am a heap of help. dis nigger am thankful for what de lawd have blessed me wid. [illustration: josie brown] josie brown was born about , in victoria, texas. she belonged to george heard. her mother was born free, a member of the choctaw nation, but she was stolen and sold as a slave. josie now lives in woodville, texas. "i's bo'n on christmas day, in victoria. got here jus' in time for de eggnog! dat 'bout , 'cause i's six year ole de christmas 'fore freedom. my mudder was a free bo'n injun woman. jus' like any ole, demmed choctaw down in de woods. she was stole and sol' by a spec'lator's gang. us move to tyler when i one mont' ole. "we lib on a big farm and my mudder suckle her thirteen chillun and ole mistus seven. bob, my brudder, he go to mansfiel' and we never hear of him no more. he wen' with young marster, wesley heard. i 'member de mornin' dey lef', dey had to wait for him, 'cause he'd been out seein' his gal. "de marstar hab a big log house close to de road. de quarters was 'cordin' to de family what live dere. de stage line through woodville pass close by. i 'member sittin' on de rail fence to see de stage go by. dat was a fine sight! de stage was big, rough carriage and dey was four or five hosses on de line. de bugle blow when dey go by, with de dus' behin' dem. dey was comin' from jasper, in louisian', and everywhere. "when us little dey hab to keep us in de house 'cause de bald eagle pick up chillen jus' like de hawk pick up chicken. dey was lots of catamoun' and bears and deer in de woods. us never 'llowed play 'lone in de woods. "i didn' do nothin' 'cep' eat and sleep and foller ole mistus 'round. she giv me good clothes 'cause my mudder was de weaver. de clothes jus' cut out straight down and dyed with all kinds of bark. i hab to keep de head comb and grease with lard. de lil' white chillun play with me but not de udder nigger chilluns much. us pull de long, leaf grass and plait it and us make rag doll and playhouse and grapevine swing. dere's plenty grapes, scudlong, sour blue grape and sweet, white grape. dey make jelly and wine outta dem. dey squeeze de grapes and put de juice in a jimmijohn(demijohn) to fo'men'. "my mudder name was keyia. dat injun. daddy's name was reuben. i 'member when i's lil' us goes visit my uncle, major scott. he lib in polk county and he wore earring in he ears and beads and everyt'ing. he's a injun. he dead now, many year. "my daddy work in de fiel'. he sow de rice and raise t'baccy. dey have fiel's of it. dey put it in de crack of de fence to press, den dey dry it on de barn roof. dat was smokin' t'baccy! for de chewin' t'baccy, dey soak it in sugar and honey. us never see snuff den. "on sunday us didn' work. we has chu'ch meetin'. but dey has to have it in de ya'd, so de white folks could see de kin' of religion 'spounded. "i seed some bad sight in slavery, but ain' never been 'bused myself. i seed chillun too lil' to walk from dey mammies sol' right off de block in woodville. dey was sol' jus' like calfs. i seed niggers in han' locks. "after freedom dey wuk a whole year and den major sangers, he finally come and make de white folks tu'n us loose. i stay on for years, 'till ole mistus die. she larn me to knit and spin and sich like. "in de early day, us hab to be keerful. dey say witches ride dey hosses on de da'k nights. us allus put hossshoes over de door to keep de witch out. iffen us go out at night, us go roun' de house three time so de witch not come in while us gone. "i's fifteen year ole when i marry. giles paul was from de wes'. he was de fus' husban'. us hab a real weddin' with a bride veil. my weddin' dress hang 'way back on de flo', and shine like silver. dey hab big dance and eat supper. "my second husban' name' robert brown and i's mudder of ten chillun. 'sides dat, i raises six or seven day i pick up on de street 'cause dey orfums and hab nobody to care for dem. some dem chillun drif' 'bout now and i wouldn' know 'em if i seed 'em! [illustration: zek brown] zek brown, , was born a slave of green brown, owner of six slave families, in warren county, tennessee. zek came to texas in , with sam bragg. zek now lives at w. bluff st., in fort worth, texas. "my name am zek brown and massa green brown owned me. he have a plantation in tennessee and own all my folks, what was my pappy and mammy and two sisters. i never seed any of dem since i ran 'way from there, when i's ten years old. "i sometimes wishes i's back on de plantation. i's took good care of dere and massa am awful good. each fam'ly have dere own cabin and it warn't so much for niceness but we lives comfor'ble and has plenty to eat and wear. my mammy work de loom, makin' cloth, and us chillen wears linsey cloth shirts till dey gives us pants. massa buy he fam'ly nice clothes but dey wears linsey clothes everyday. same with shoes, dey am made on de plantation and de first store shoes i has am after surrender. my mammy buys me a pair with brass tips on de toe, and am i dress up den! "de food am bester dan what i's had since dem days. dey raises it all but de salt and sich. you wouldn't 'lieve how us et den. it am ham and bacon, 'cause dey raises all de hawgs. it am cornmeal and some white flour and fruit and honey and 'lasses and brown sugar. de 'lasses am black as i is and dat am some black. i wishes i was dere and mammy call me, and i can smell dat ham fryin' right now. "not once does i know of de massa whippin' and him don't talk rough even. jus' so de work am done we does as we pleases, long as us reas'ble. us have parties and dancin' and singin'. de music am de banjo and de fiddle. "i don't 'member when de war start but i 'member when it stop and massa call all us together and tell us we's no more slaves. him talk lots 'bout what it mean and how it am diff'rent and we'uns have to make our own way and can't 'pend on him like. he say if us stay dere'll be wages or we can share crop and everybody stay. my folks stays one year and den moves to 'nother he farms. pappy keep de farm and mammy teach school. her missie done larnt her to read and sich from time she a young'un, so she have eddication so good dey puts her to teachin'. "de way i leaves home am dis. one day mammy teachin' school and me and my sister am home, and i 'cides she need de haircut. she want it, too. so i gits de shears and goes to work and after i works a while de job don't look so good, so i cuts some more and den it look worse and i tries to fix it and first thing i knows dere ain't no hair left to cut. when mammy come home she pays me for de work with de rawhide whip and dat hurts my feelin's so bad i 'cides to git even by runnin' 'way a few days. it am 'bout sundown and i starts to go and comes to massa sam bragg's place. i's tired den and not so strong 'bout de idea and 'cides to rest. i walks into he yard and dere am a covered wagon standin' and loaded with lots of stuff and de front end open. i finds de soft place in de back and goes to sleep, and when i wakes up it am jus' gittin' daylight and dat wagon am a-movin'.' "i don't say nothin'. i's skeert and waits for dat wagon to stop, so's i can crawl out. i jus' sits and sits and when it stop i crawls out and massa bragg say, 'good gosh, look what am crawlin' out de wagon! he look at me a while and den he say, 'you's too far from home for me to take you back and you'll git lost if you tries to walk home. i guesses i'll have to take you with me.' i thinks him am goin' some place and comin' back, but it am to texas him come and stop at birdville. dat am how dis nigger come to texas. "i's often wish my mammy done whip me so hard i couldn't walk off de place, 'cause from den on i has mighty hard times. i stays with massa bragg four years and then i hunts for a job where i can git some wages. i gits it with massa joe henderson, workin' on he farm and i's been round these parts ever since and farmed most my life. "i gits into a picklement once years ago. i's 'rested on de street. i's not done a thing, jus' walkin' 'long de street with 'nother fellow and dey claim he stole somethin'. i didn't know nothin' 'bout since. did dey turn me a-loose? dey turn me loose after six months on de chain gang. i works on de road three months with a ball and chain on de legs. after dat trouble, i sho' picks my comp'ny. "i marries onct, 'bout forty years ago, and after four years she drops dead with de heart mis'ry. us have no chillen so i's alone in de world. it am all right long as i could work, but five years ago dis right arm gits to shakin' so bad i can' work no more. for a year now dey pays me $ . pension. it am hard to live on dat for a whole month, but i's glad to git it. madison bruin, , spent his early days as a slave on the curtis farm in the blue grass region of kentucky, where he had some experience with some of the fine horses for which the state is famous. here, too, he had certain contacts with soldiers of john morgan, of confederate fame. his eyes are keen and his voice mellow and low. his years have not taken a heavy toll of his vitality. "i's a old kentucky man. i's born in fayette county, 'bout five miles from lexington, right where dere lots of fine hosses. my old massa was name jack curtis and de old missus was miss addie. my mother name mary and she die in and never did see freedom. i don't 'member my daddy a-tall. "de place was jis' a farm, 'cause dey didn't know nothin' 'bout plantations up dere in kentucky. dey raise corn and wheat and garlic and fast hosses. dey used to have big hoss races and dey had big tracks and i's stood in de middle of dat big track in lexington and watch dem ex'cise de hosses. sometimes i got to help dem groom some dem grand hosses and dat was de big day for me. i don't 'member dem hosses names, no, suh, but i knowed one big bay hoss what won de race nearly every time. "i had two sisters name jeanette and fanny and a brother, henry, and after my daddy die, my mother marries a man name paris and i had one half-brother call alfred paris. "old massa was good to us and give us plenty food. he never beat us hard. he had a son what jis' one month older'n me and we run 'round and play lots. old massa, he whip me and he own son jis' de same when we bad. he didn't whip us no more'n he ought to, though. dey was good massas and some mean ones, and some worthless cullud folks, too. "durin' de war de cholera broke out 'mongst de people and everybody scairt dey gwine cotch it. dey say it start with de hurtin' in de stomach and every time us hurt in de stomach, missus make us come quick to de big house. dat suit us jis' right and when dey sends will and me to hoe or do somethin' us didn't want to do, pretty soon i say, 'willie, i think my stomach 'ginnin to hurt. i think dis mis'ry a sign i gittin' de cholera.' den him say, 'us better go to de big house like ma say,' and with dat, us quit workin'. us git out lots of work dat way, but us ain't ever took de cholera yit. "durin' de war john morgan's men come and took all de hosses. dey left two and willie and me took dem to hide in de plum thicket, but us jis' git out de gate when de sojers come 'gain and dey head us off and take de last two hosses. "my mother she wore de yankee flag under her dress like a petticoat when de 'federates come raidin'. other times she wore it top de dress. when dey hears de 'federates comin' de white folks makes us bury all de gold and de silver spoons out in de garden. old massa, he in de yankee army, 'cause dey 'script him, but he sons, john and joe, dey volunteers. "old massa he never sold none of he slaves. i used to hear him and missus fussin' 'bout de niggers, 'cause some 'long to her and some to him and dey have de time keepin' dem straighten' out. us boys have good time playin'. us draw de line and some git on one side and some de other. den one sing out "'chickama, chickama, craney crow, went to de well to wash my toe; when i git back my chicken was gone, what time, old witch?' "den somebody holler out, 'one o'clock' or 'two o'clock' or any time, and dem on one side try to cotch dem on de other side. "when i's young i didn't mind plowin', but i didn't like to ride at fust, but dey make me larn anyhow. course, dat white boy and me, us like most anything what not too much work. us go down to de watermelon patch and plug dem melons, den us run hide in de woods and eat watermelon. course, dey lots of time dey 'low us to play jis' by ourselves. us play one game where us choose sides and den sing: "'can, can, candio, old man dandio, how many men you got? more'n you're able to cotch.' "endurin' de war us git whip many a time for playin' with shells what us find in de woods. us heered de cannons shootin' in lexington and lots of dem shells drap in de woods. "what did i think when i seed all dem sojers? i wants to be one, too. i didn't care what side, i jis' wants a gun and a hoss and be a sojer. john morgan, he used to own de hemp factory in lexington. when young massa jine woolford's th kentucky cavalry, dey come to de place and halt befo' de big house in de turnpike. dey have shotguns and blind bridles on dere hosses, not open bridle like on de race hosses. dey jis' in reg'lar clothes but next time dey come through dey in blue uniforms. all my white folks come back from de war and didn't git kilt. nobody ever telt me i's free. i's happy dere and never left dem till . all de others gone befo' dat, but i gits all i wants and i didn't need no money. i didn't know what paper money was and one time massa's son give me a paper dime to git some squab and i didn't know what money was and i burned it up. "dey's jis' one thing i like to do most and dat's eat. dey allus had plenty of everything and dey had a big, wooden tray, or trough and dey put potlicker and cornbread in dat trough and set it under de big locust tree and all us li'l niggers jis' set 'round and eat and eat. jis' eat all us wants. den when us git full us fall over and go to sleep. us jis' git fat and lazy. when us see dat bowl comin', dat bowl call us jis' like hawgs runnin' to de trough. "dey was great on gingerbread and us go for dat. dey couldn't leave it in de kitchen or de pantry so old missus git a big tin box and hide de gingerbread under her bed and kept de switch on us to keep us 'way from it. but sometime us sneak up in de bedroom and git some, even den. "when i 'bout i left kentucky and goes to indiana and white folks sends me to school to larn readin' and writin', but i got tired of dat and run off and jine de army. dat in and dey sends me to arizona. after dat i's at fort sill in what used to be indian territory and den at fort clark and fort davis, dat in garfield's 'ministration, den in fort quitman on de rio grande. i's in skirmishes with de indians on devil's river and in de brazos canyon, and in de rattlesnake range and in de guadalupe mountains. de troops was de eighth cavalry and de tenth infantry. de white and de cullud folks was altogether and i have three hosses in de cavalry. de fust one plays out, de next one shot down on campaign and one was condemn. on dat campaign us have de white mountain 'paches with us for scouts. "when i git discharge' from de army i come to texas and work on de s.p. railroad and i been in texas ever since, and when i's in dallas i got 'flicted and got de pension 'cause i been in de army. i ain't done much work in ten year. "i gits married in san antonio on december , and i marries dolly gross and dat her right dere. us have de nice weddin', plenty to eat and drink. us have only one chile, a gal, and she dead, but us 'dopt sev'ral chillen. "us come to beaumont in and i works 'round spindletop and i works for de gas people and de waterworks people. i's been a carpenter and done lots of common work wherever i could find it. "it's been long time since slavery and i's old, but me and my old lady's in good health and us manage to git 'long fairly well. dat's 'bout all i can 'member 'bout de old times. [illustration: martha spence bunton] martha spence bunton, , was born a slave, jan. , , on the john bell plantation, in murphfreesboro, tennessee. mr. bell sold martha, her mother and four sisters to joseph spence, who brought them to texas. martha married andy bunton in , and they had nine children. martha now lives with her sister, susan, on twelve acres of land which their father bought for $ . an acre. the farm is picturesquely located on a thickly wooded hill about six miles east of austin, texas. "i was born on new year's day. yes, suh, in , on massa bell's plantation over in tennessee. de name of de town was murphreesboro, and my mammy and my four sisters and me all 'longed to massa john bell, but he done sold us to massa joseph spence, and dat how i come by my name. "i 'members how massa spence brung us to texas in wagons, and the way we knowed when we hit texas am 'cause massa 'gin to talk 'bout a norther. when dat norther done strike, all de weeds and leaves jus' starts rollin'. us poor, ig'rant niggers thunk at first dey was rabbits, 'cause we'd never seed a rabbit den. massa spence rid his hoss and missie spence come 'long in de richer way, in a coach. de chillen walked mornin's and de older folks walked afternoons. "massa spence come to montopolis, right nigh to austin, and settled down. i helped carry dinner pails to de field workers, and dey was full of meat and cabbage and biscuit. pappy wasn't dere then, 'cause he was own by massa burrows, over in tennessee. but when his massa died, my massa bought pappy and he come out to texas. befo' i's a sizeable child, mammy took sick with diphtheria and died and pappy had to be mammy and pappy to us. pappy was a big-bodied man and on sunday mornin' he'd git out of bed and make a big fire and say, 'jiminy cripes! you chillen stay in you beds and i'll make de biscuits.' he would, too. i laughs when i thinks 'bout dem big, rye biscuits, what was so big we called dem 'nigger heels.' dey sho' was big biscuits, but dey was good. we never did git no butter, though, and sometimes we'd ask the white chillen to give us a piece of biscuit with butter on it. we got plenty other eats--sliced meat and roastin' ears and sweet milk. "after freedom pappy sent us to school to de white teacher, and dat's why i can read and write. i went to de sixth grade and quit. pappy was drinkin' a lot then. he'd take alcohol and mix it with 'lasses and water. but he was good to us. sometimes a texas norther come up and we'd be on the way home and we'd see something comin' what look like a elephant and it was pappy, with a bundle of coats. "i was twenty-four years old when i married andy bunton and he jes' rented farms here and yonder. we had a big weddin' and pork and turkey and cake. aunt lucy hubbard, what weighed three hundred pounds, done de cookin' dat day. we had such a good time nobody knowed when one de guests stole a whole turkey. "i was mother of nine chillen and three of dem is livin' now. andy made a purty good livin till he had a paral'sis stroke. poor old feller! in de end, i took care of him and had to work like i was young again. i cut wood and carried water and washed and cooked. i had to feed him. "i owns my place here. it am twelve acres and pappy bought it long ago for $ . de acre. my sister lives here too, and my son, howard, comes home sometimes, but he's got eight houn' dogs he can't feed. i sho' can't feed dem on dat $ . pension what i gits. [illustration: ellen butler] ellen butler was born a slave to richmond butler, near whiska chitto, in the northern part of calcasieu parish (now a part of beauregard parish), in louisiana. ellen is about years old. she now lives in beaumont, texas. "my old massa was name richmond butler and he used to have a big plantation over on whiska chitto, in louisiana, and that's where i was born. they used to call the place bagdad. i was his slave till i six year old and then freedom come. "i don't 'member my daddy, but my mammy was name dicey ann butler. i have seven sister and three brudder, and they was anderson and charlie and willie, and the girls was laura and rosa and rachel and fannie and adeline and sottie and nora. "us used to live in a li'l log house with one room. the floor was dirt and the house was make jus' like they used to make 'tater house. they was a little window in the back. when i was a baby they wrop me up in cotton and put me in a coffee pot--that how li'l i was. but i grows to be more sizable. "the plantation were a good, big place and they have 'bout head of niggers. when i gets big enough they start me to totin' water to the field. i gits the water out the spring and totes it in gourds. they cut the gourds so that a strip was left round and cross the top and that the handle. they was about a foot 'cross and a foot deep. us used to have one good gourd us kep' lard in and li'l gourds to drink out of. "massa never 'lowed us slaves go to church but they have big holes in the fields they gits down in and prays. they done that way 'cause the white folks didn't want them to pray. they used to pray for freedom. "when the white folks go off they writes on the meal and flour with they fingers. that the way they know if us steal meal. sometime they take a stick and write in front of the door so if anybody go out they step on that writin' and the massa know. that the way us larn how to write. "old massa didn't give 'em much to eat. when they comes in out of the field they goes work for other folks for something to eat. "they jus' have a old frame with planks to sleep on and no mattress or nothin'. in winter they have to keep the fire goin' all night to keep from freezin'. they put a old quilt down on the floor for the li'l folks. they have a li'l trough us used to eat out of with a li'l wooden paddle. us didn't know nothin' 'bout knives and forks. "i never did git nothin' much to eat. my sister she de cook and sometime when the white folks gone us go up to the big house and she give us somethin'. but she make us wash the mouth after us finish eatin', so they won't be no crumbs in our mouth. "massa used to beat 'em all the time. my brudder tell old massa sometime he git hongry and gwine have to come ask de niggers for somethin' to eat. he say he never do that, but he did, 'cause after freedom he go to west texas and some niggers with him and he los' everything and, sho' 'nough, old massa have to go to my brudder and ask him for food and a shelter to sleep under. then he say if he had it to do over, he wouldn't treat the hands so bad. "one time my brudder slip off de plantation and they almost beat him to death. he told 'em he had to do somethin' to git somethin' to eat. they used to put 'em 'cross a log or barrel to beat 'em. my mammy had a strop 'bout eight inch wide they used to beat 'em with. "most clothes what we git is from the iles, what was rich folks and lives close by. they folks lives in deridder, in louisiana, i hears. they treated the slaves like white folks. "on christmas time they give us a meal. i 'member that. i don't 'member no other holidays. "when us git sick us go to the woods and git herbs and roots and make tea and medicine. we used to git blackhaw root and cherry bark and dogwood and chinquapin bark, what make good tonic. black snakeroot and swamproot make good medicine, too. "my mammy told us we was free and we starts right off and walks to sugartown, 'bout mile away. i 'member my brudder wades 'cross a pool totin' me. "i used to nuss dr. frasier. he used to be the high sheriff in deridder. henry h. buttler, , venerable graduate of washburn college, topeka, kansas, and ex-school teacher, was born a slave to mr. george sullivan on his acre plantation in farquier co., virginia. henry and a number of other slaves were transported to arkansas in , and henry escaped and joined the union army. he now lives at e. bessie st., fort worth, texas. "my name is henry h. buttler and i am past years of age. that figure may not be accurate, but you must realize that there were no authentic records made of slave births. i estimate my age on the work i was doing at the commencement of the civil war and the fact that i was large enough to be accepted as a soldier in the union army, in the year of . "i was born on the plantation of george sullivan, in farquier co., virginia. the plantation was situated in the valley at the base of bull mountain, and presented a beautiful picture. the plantation consisted of about acres, with about slaves, though this number varied and sometimes reached . mr. sullivan owned my mother and her children, but my father was owned by mr. john rector, whose place was adjacent to ours. "the slave quarters consisted of a group of one-room log cabins, with no flooring, and very crude furnishings. there were bunks and benches and a table and the fireplace provided the means for cooking and heating. "the food was wholesome and of sufficient quantity. in that period about all the food was produced and processed on the plantation, which eliminated any reason for failure to provide ample food. the meat was home cured and the ham and bacon had a superior flavor. "on the sullivan place there existed consideration for human feelings but on the rector place neither the master nor the overseer seemed to understand that slaves were human beings. one old slave called jim, on the rector place, disobeyed some rule and early one morning they ordered him to strip. they tied him to the whipping post and from morning until noon, at intervals, the lash was applied to his back. i, myself, saw and heard many of the lashes and his cries for mercy. "one morning a number of slaves were ordered to lay a fence row on the rector place. the overseer said, 'this row must be laid to the branch and left in time to roll those logs out in the back woods.' it was sundown when we laid the last rail but the overseer put us to rolling logs without any supper and it was eleven when we completed the task. old pete, the ox driver, became so exhausted that he fell asleep without unyoking the oxen. for that, he was given lashes. "the slaves were allowed to marry but were compelled to first obtain permission from the master. the main factor involved in securing the master's consent was his desire to rear negroes with perfect physiques. on neither plantation was there any thought or compassion when a sale or trade was in question. i have seen the separation of husband and wife, child and mother, and the extreme grief of those involved, and the lash administered to a grieving slave for neglecting their work. all this made the marriages a farce. "in mr. sullivan transported about of us slaves to arkansas, locating us on a farm near pine bluff, so we would not be taken by the federal soldiers. the general faithfulness of the slave was noticeable then, as they had a chance to desert and go to free states. but i think i was the only one who deserted mr. sullivan. i went to federal headquarters at fort smith, arkansas, and was received into the army. we campaigned in arkansas and nearby territory. the major battle i fought in was that of pine bluff, which lasted one day and part of one night. "after i was mustered out of the army, i set out to get an education and entered a grade school at pine bluff. i worked after school at any job i could secure and managed to enter washburn college, in topeka, kansas. after i graduated i followed steam engineering for four years, but later i went to fort worth and spent years in educational work among my people. i exerted my best efforts to advance my race. "i married lucia brown in and we had three children, all of whom are dead. there is just my wife and me left of the family, and we have a $ . per month union soldier's pension. william byrd, , was born a slave of sam byrd, near madisonville, texas. william was with his master during the civil war. the old negro is very feeble, but enjoyed talking about old times. he lives in madisonville. "i has a bill of sale what say i's born in , so i knows i's ninety-seven years old, and i's owned by marse sam byrd. my mother's name was fannie and i dunno pappy's name, 'cause my mother allus say she found me a stray in the woods. i allus 'lieves my master was my pappy, but i never did know for sho'. "our quarters was log and the bed built with poles stuck in the cracks and cowhide stretched over, and we'd gather moss 'bout once a month and make it soft. when it was real cold we'd git close together and i don't care how cold it got, we'd sleep jes' as warm as these here feather beds. "i split rails and chopped cotton and plowed with a wooden plow and druv marse byrd lots, 'cause he was a trader, slave trade most the time. he was good to us and give us lots to eat. he had a big garden and plenty sugar cane, and brown sugar. we'd press the juice out the cane 'tween two logs and cook it in the big washpot. "we had sheepskin clothes in cold weather, with the fur part inside, no shoes less'n we wropped our feet in fur hides. but them clothes was warmer than these here cotton overalls. they're plumb cold! marse sam was full of life and missus josie was real good. they had a nice home of that day, made out split logs and four rooms and a hall two ways through it. "that great iron piece hung jes' outside the door and marse sam hit it at : every mornin'. if we didn't muster out he come round with that cat-o-nine-tails and let us have it, and we knowed what that bell was for nex' mornin'. sometimes when marse sam was gone, we'd have a overseer. he'd let us go swimmin' in the creek when the work was done. "if a nigger was mean marse sam give him fifty licks over a log the first time and seventy-five licks the second time and 'bout that time he most gen'rally had a good nigger. if they was real mean and he couldn't do nothin' with 'em, he put them in the jail with a chain on the feets for three days, and fed 'em through a crack in the wall. "on christmas marse sam had a great big eggnog and kilt a big beef and had fireworks, and the nigger, he know christmas was come. we had plenty to eat and eggnog and did 'bout what we pleased that day and new year's. the white folks allus said what we'd do on them days we'd do all year. that's all foolishment, but some still believes in it. "they give a big dance and all night supper when war started. then marse sam, he carries me for waterboy and cook and to tend his hosses. he had two, and rid one this day and the other nex' day. he was 'fraid one git kilt and then he wouldn't be slam a-foot. "when them big guns went to poppin', i jes' couldn't stand it without gittin' in a brush top. then marse goes and gits shot and i has to be his nuss. but, lawd-a-me, one them yankee gals, she falls in love with marse whilst he lays nearly dead, and she say, 'william, he's mine, so you got to take good care of him.' and him with a plumb good wife back home! "when marse sam git well, he say he's goin' to 'nother place to fight. he was with general lee when that old war was over and that there yankee general grant takes general lee prisoner, and marse sam won't leave his general, and he say to me, 'william, you got to go home alone.' "i lights out a-foot to texas and it's most a year befo' i gits home. i travels day and night at first. i buys some things to eat but every time i goes by a farmhouse i steals a chicken. sometimes i sho' gits hongry. when i git to the house, missus josie faints, 'cause she thunk marse sam ain't with me and he mus' be dead. i tells her he's in prison and she say she'll give me $ . a month to stay till he gits back. i's plumb crazy 'bout a little gal called 'cricket,' 'cause she so pert and full of live, so i stays. we gits us a cabin and that's all to our weddin'. we stays a year befo' marse sam comes back. "he was the plumb awfulest sight you ever done seed! his clothes is tore offen his body and he ain't shaved in three months and he's mos' starved to death. missus josie she don't even rec'nize him and wouldn't 'low him in till i tells her dat am marse sam, all right. he stays sick a whole year. "i thinks if them yankees didn't 'tend to fix some way for us pore niggers, dey oughtn't turn us a-loose. iffen de white folks in de south hadn't been jes' what they is, us niggers been lots worser off than we was. in slavery time when the nigger am sick, his master pay de bills, but when nigger sick now, that's his own lookout. "i never done nothin' but farm and odd jobs. i been married five times, but only my las' wife am livin' now. my four boys and two gals is all farmin' right here in the county and they helps us out. we gits by somehow. louis cain, , was born in north carolina, a slave of samuel cain. after louis was freed, he came to texas, and has farmed near madisonville over sixty years. "i knows i's birthed in , 'cause i had a bill of sale. it say that. my master traded me to massa joe cutt for a hundred acres of land. that's in , and i 'members it well. my daddy was sam cain, name after old massa cain, and mammy was josie jones, 'cause she owned by 'nother master. mammy was birthed in north carolina, but daddy allus say he come from africy. he say they didn't work hard over there, 'cause all they et come out the jungle, and they had all the wives they wanted. that was the 'ligion over there. "our quarters was made of logs, in a long shed six rooms long, like cowsheds or chicken houses, and one door to each room. the bed was a hole dug in a corner and poles around and shucks and straw. we'd sleep warm all night long, but it wouldn't do in this country in summertime. "massa give us plenty to eat. our cornbread was what you calls water pone bread and cooked in the ashes. we didn't have no stove. massa was a great hunter and allus had venison and game. they was plenty fish, too. "massa cain was purty good to his slaves and mean to them if they didn't behave. missy was a good woman. they lived in a two-story rock house with plenty trees all 'round. "we worked long as we could see, from four o'clock in the mornin', and them milked twenty cows and fed the work stock. they was fifty acres and not 'nough niggers to work it easy. "if some niggers was mean they'd git it. massa tied they hands to they feet and tied them to a tree and hit 'bout twenty-five or fifty licks with a rawhide belt. hide and blood flew then. next mornin' he'd turn them loose and they'd have to work all day without nothin' to eat. he had a cabin called jail for the nigger women, and chain them in with cornbread and one glass of water. "one nigger run to the woods to be a jungle nigger, but massa cotched him with the dogs and took a hot iron and brands him. then he put a bell on him, in a wooden frame what slip over the shoulders and under the arms. he made that nigger wear the bell a year and took it off on christmas for a present to him. it sho' did make a good nigger out of him. "in the summer time they had camp meetin' and baptized in the creek, white folks first while the old nigger mammies shouts, and then the niggers. "on saturday mornin' us men grated corn for bread the next week and the women washed massa's clothes and our'n. on saturday night we'd have a dance all night long, and sunday the men went to see they wives or sweethearts and us young'uns went swimmin' in the creek. every night but saturday we had to go to bed at nine o'clock. massa hit the big steel piece and we knowed it was time to put out the torches and pile in. "on christmas i'd stand by the gate, to open it for the company, and they'd throw nuts and candy to me. that night all the slaves what could brung they banjoes and fiddles and played for the white folks to dance all night. them great old days are done gone. most the men be full that good, old eggnog. "after war come they ain't no more dances and fun, and not much to eat or nothin'. massa git kilt in a big battle and missy took four slaves and brung him home and buried him under a big shade tree in the yard. that the saddes' time i ever seen, nobody there to do anythin' but missy and neighbor women and some real young niggers like me. she was cryin' and all us slaves takin' on. it's a wonder we ever did git massa buried. we carried him on our backs to the grave. "after that we had to carry missy to the mountains and hide her, 'cause everything, house and sheds and all, was burnt, and all her stock kilt by sojers and outlaws. when she come out of hidin' she didn't have a thing, not even a bed. "but she was a brave woman, and said, 'louis, we'll fix some kind of quarters for you.' she went to work to rebuild the place. she said, 'you niggers is free, but i need you and i'll pay you $ . a month.' she did, too. she cut some logs and builded her one room and then we all build us a room and that was the best we could do. i 'lieve the lawd blessed that woman. after freedom, that's how i lived the first year, and she paid me every cent she promised. i stayed with her three years. "then i heared of a railroad job in texas, and married josie sewel in a big weddin' and we had a great time. i gits a job on that railroad for fifty cents a day and it never lasted more'n a year, so i goes to farmin'. "we had fourteen chillun, four dead now, and the rest farmin' all over texas. i has more'n a hundred grandchillun. josie, she done die twenty years ago. "i don't know as i 'spected massa's land to be 'vided and give us, but they was plenty of land for everybody, and missy allus treated us right. wages was terrible small for a long time after i married and sometimes they wouldn't pay us, and we had to beg or steal. i's went a whole two days without nothin' to eat. if it hadn't been for them there klu klux, sometimes the niggers would have went on the warpath for starvin'. but the klu kluxers wouldn't let 'em roam none, if they tried they stretch them out over a log and hit them with rawhide, but never say a word. that was got the niggers--they was so silent, not a sound out of them, and the nigger he can't stand that. "i gits a pension and works when i can and gits by. some the young niggers is purty sorry, they's had so much and don't 'preciate none of it. i's glad for what i can git, 'cause i 'members them old times after the war when it was worse'n now. jeff calhoun, about , was born a slave of the calhoun family, in alton, alabama. after his master died, a son-in-law, jim robinson, brought jeff and other slaves to austin, texas. jeff was when the civil war began. he stayed with his old master, who had moved to stewart mills texas, after he was freed, and raised children. he says, "i 'spect i has near a thous- children, grandchildren and great grandchildren." he makes his home among them, drifting over five states when and as he wishes. "my name am jeff calhoun and i was born in alton, in alabama, about , 'cause i's told by my massa. dat makes me 'bout year old now. my father was henry robinson and my mammy, she mary robinson. she was born in maryland, in virginia, but didn't know much 'bout her folks, 'cause she was sold off young. dere was four of us brothers and ten sisters, but dey all dead now but me. "we makes our beds out of forked saplings drove in the ground, 'cause de floors was dirt. we sets de pole in dat ground and it run to de top of de cabin and we makes one bed down low and one bed above. de big folks sleeps in de low beds and de chillun above, 'cause dey can climb. "my massa had chillun and my mamma suckled every one of dem, 'cause his wife was no good to give milk. "we allus had lots to eat, but for meat we has to go to de woods and git deer and turkey and buffalo and some bear. i have eat hoss and skunk and crow and hawk. "we has a big fire to cook on, and to make de corn cakes we put one leaf down and put batter on dat and put another leaf over it and cover with hot ashes and by noon it was done. same thing for supper. we never have biscuits 'cept on sunday or christmas. "my mama was de spinner so i has plenty shirts and some britches, and we raises indigo on de place and makes dye of it. we never wore no shoes in de summer and some winters neither. we has a good pair of pants and shirt we wears sundays and holidays and was married in. "de way dey done at weddings dem days, you picks out a girl and tell your boss. if she was from another plantation you had to git her bosses 'mission and den dey tells you to come up dat night and git hitched up. they says to de girl, 'you's love dis man?' dey says to de man, 'you loves dis girl?' if you say you don't know, it's all off, but if you say yes, dey brings in de broom and holds it 'bout a foot off de floor and say to you to jump over. den he says you's married. if either of you stumps you toe on de broom, dat mean you got trouble comin' 'tween you, so you sho' jumps high. "my massa was good to us. he lived in a log house with a floor and was all fixed up with pretty furniture and mirrors and silver on de table. de missus was little and frail, but she was good to us and so was de massa. he wasn't no hand to whip like some of he neighbors. dey would tied de slaves' hands to a pole and whip de blood out of them. dey was whipped for runnin' away. "i knowed a slave call ben bradley and he was sold on de auction block and his massa chained him hand and foot and started for texas. dey got to de red river and was crossin' and de chains helt him down and he never came up. and i have a uncle what run off and dey took a pack of hounds--a pack were twelve--and dey got on his trail and i heared dem runnin' him. dey run him three days and nights and took a gun loaded with buck shot but was sposed not to shoot above de legs. dey come back and said he got away, but some boys was out huntin' and finds him and he been shot four times with buck shot. "de only time we got to rest was sunday and de fourth of july and christmas, and one day thanksgiving. we got de big dinners on holidays. after supper was have corn shuckings, or on rainy days, and sometimes we shucks bushels. we allus picked de cotton in big baskets, and when we gits it all picked we spreads on big and has a celebration. "i was in texas when de war broke out and i hauls corn lots of times to de gin where was de soldier camp, and i helped cook awhile and would have been in de battle of vicksburg only dey takes another man 'stead of me and he gits kilt. i's glad i's a sorry cook, or i'd got kilt 'stead of him. [illustration: simp campbell] simp campbell was born january , in harrison county, texas, he belonged to w.l. sloan and stayed with him until , when simp married and moved to marshall. he and his wife live in gregg addition, marshall, texas, and simp works as porter for a loan company. "my name is simpson campbell, but everybody, white and black, calls me simp. i's born right here in harrison county, on bill sloan's place, nine miles northwest of marshall. i got in on the last five years of slavery. "pappy was lewis campbell, and he was sold by the florida campbells to marse sloan and fotched to texas, but he allus kep' the campbell name. mammy was mariah and the sloans brung her out of south carolina. she raised a passel of chillen. besides me there was flint, albert and clinton of the boys, and--let me count--dinah, clandy, mary, lula, liza, hannah, matilda and millie of the girls. "the sloans lived in a big house, but it wasn't no shanty. they was fixed 'bout as good as anybody in the county and driv as good hosses and rigs as anybody. they wasn't a mean streak in the whole sloan family. "the slave quarters sot in rows right down in the field from the big house. they had beds made to the wall, and all the cookin' was on the fireplace. we raised all our meat and corn and garden truck right there on the place and marse sloan brung wheat and other rations from shreveport. the nigger women spinned all the cloth and pappy made shoes by hand, when they kilt a beef. the beef was dried and jetted and hung in the smokehouse. "marse's place civered a thousand acres and he had over a hunderd slaves, with a overseer, johnson, and a nigger driver. us niggers was treated well but the overseer had order to whip us for fightin'. if the nigger driver hit too many licks, the overseer sold him off the place. "we worked from four till six and done a task after that, and sot round and talked till nine and then had to go to bed. on saturday night you'd hear them fiddles and banjoes playin' and the niggers singin'. all them music gadgets was homemade. the banjoes was made of round pieces of wood, civered with sheepskin and strung with catgut strings. "they wasn't no school but marse bill larnt some his niggers readin' and writin' so we could use them bookin' cotton in the field and sich like. they was a church on the sloan place and white preachers done most the 'xhorting. mammy allus say the cullud preachers had to preach what they's told--obey you master and missus. "i seed yankee sojers and wagons comin' home from mansfield. marse tom sot us free right after surrender, but my folks stayed on with him till he died, in . i lef when i's twenty-three and marries and made a livin' from public work in marshall all my life. i worked as day laborer and raised two boys and two girls and the boys is farmin' right here in the county and doin' well. "when i's eighteen they got up a 'mendment to the constitution and got out a "people's party ticket." it was a democratic ticket and control by southerners. they told us niggers if we'd vote that ticket we'd be rec'nized as white folks, but i didn't 'lieve a word of it. old man sloan told all his niggers that and they all voted that ticket but two--that was charley tang and simp campbell. "i 'lieve the young race of our people is progressin' fine. if they had priv'lege to use they educations, they'd make more progress, but the color line holds them back. [illustration: james cape] james cape, centenarian, now living in a dilapidated little shack in the rear of the stockyards in fort worth, texas, was born a slave to mr. bob houston, who owned a large ranch in southeast texas. james' parents came direct from africa into slavery. james spent his youth as a cowboy, fought in the confederate army, was wounded and has an ugly shoulder scar. after the war, james unknowingly took a job with the outlaw, jesse james, for whom he worked three years, in missouri. he then came back to texas, and worked in the stockyards until . documentary proof of james' age is lacking, but various facts told him by his parents and others lead him to think he must be over years old. "i's bo'n in yonder southeast texas and i don' know what month or de year for sho', but 'twas more dan years ago. my mammy and pappy was bo'n in africa, dats what dey's tol' me. dey was owned by marster bob houston and him had de ranch down dere, whar dey have cattle and hosses. "when i's old 'nough to set on de hoss, dey larned me to ride, tendin' hosses. 'cause i's good hoss rider, dey uses me all de time gwine after hosses. i goes with dem to mexico. we crosses de river lots of times. i 'members once when we was a drivin' 'bout hosses north'ards. dey was a bad hail storm comes into de face of de herd and dat herd turns and starts de other way. dere was five of us riders and we had to keep dem hosses from scatterment. i was de leader and do you know what happens to dis nigger if my hoss stumbles? right dere's whar i'd still be! marster give me a new saddle for savin' de hosses. "one day marster bob comes to me and says, 'jim, how you like to jine de army?' you see, de war had started. i says to him, 'what does i have to do?' and he says, 'tend hosses and ride 'em.' i was young den and thought it would be lots of fun, so i says i'd go. so de first thing i knows, i's in de army away off east from here, somewhar dis side of st. louis and in tennessee and arkansas and other places. i goes in de army 'stead of dr. carroll. "after i gits in de army, it wasn' so much fun, 'cause tendin' hosses and ridin' wasn' all i does. no, sar, i has to do shootin' and git shooted at! one time we stops de train, takes yankee money and lots of other things off dat train. dat was way up de other side of tennessee. "you's heard of de battle of independence? dat's whar we fights for three days and nights. i's not tendin' hosses dat time. dey gives me a rifle and sends me up front fightin', when we wasn' running'. we does a heap of runnin' and dat suits dis nigger. i could do dat better'n advance. when de order comes to 'treat, i's all ready. "i gits shot in de shoulder in dat fight and lots of our soldiers gits killed and we loses our supply, jus' leaves it and runs. 'nother time we fights two days and nights and de yankees was bad dat time, too, and we had to run through de river. i sho' thought i's gwine git drowned den. dat's de time we tries to git in st. louis, but de yankee mans stop us. "i's free after de war and goes back to texas, to gonzales county, and gits a job doin' cowboy work for marster ross herdin' cattle. and right dere's whar i's lucky for not gittin' in jail or hanged. it was dis way: i's in town and dat man, ross, says to me, 'i unnerstan' you's a good cowhand,' and he hires me and takes me way out. no house for miles 'fore we comes to de ranch with cattle and i goes to work. after i's workin' a while, i wonders how come dey brings in sich fine steers so often and i says to myself, 'marster ross mus' have heaps of money for to buy all dem steers.' dey pays no 'tention to de raisin' of cattle, jus' brings 'em in and drives dem 'way. "one time marster ross and six mens was gone a week and when dey comes back, one of 'em was missin'. dey had no steers dat time and dey talks 'bout gittin' frusterated and how one man gits shot. i says to myself, 'what for was dey chased and shot at?' den i 'members marster bob houston done tol' me 'bout rustlers and how dey's hanged when dey's caught, and i knows den dat's how come all dem fine steers is driv in and out all de time. but how to git 'way, dere's de puzzlement. i not know which way to go and dere's no houses anywhere near. i keeps gittin' scarter, and ever' time somebody comes, i thinks its de law. but marster ross drives de cattle north and i says to him, 'i's good hand at de drive. kin i go with you nex' time you goes north?' and not long after dat we starts and we gits to kansas city. after marster ross gets shut of de critters, he says. 'we'll res' for couple days, den starts back.' i says to me, 'not dis nigger.' "i sneaks 'way and was settin' on a bench when 'long comes a white man and he's tall, had dark hair and was fine lookin'. he says to me, 'is you a cowhand?' so i tells him i is, and he says he wants a hand on his farm in missouri and he says, 'come with me.' he tells me his name was james and takes me to his farm whar i tends cattle and hosses for three years and he pays me well. he gives me more'n i earns. after three years i leaves, but not 'cause i larned he was outlaw, 'cause i larned dat long time afterwa'ds. i's lonesome for texas and dat's how i comes to fort worth and here's whar i's stayed ever' since. "i's married 'bout years ago to a woman dat had eight chillens. we sep'rated 'cause dem chillens cause arg'ments. i can fight one, but not de army. richard carruthers, year old ex-slave, was born in memphis, tennessee. mr. billy coats bought him and his mother and brought them to bastrop co., texas. he came to houston years ago and lives in a negro settlement known as acres home, about miles northeast of houston. it is a wooded section, with a clearing here and there for a negro shack and plots of ground for growing "victuals and co'n." "i wants to tell the gospel truf. my mammy's name was melia carruthers and my papa's name was max. my papa's papa's name was carruthers, too. my brothers names was charlie and frank and willie and john and tom and adam. "when i was still little mr. billy coats bought my mama and us and with about of his slaves we set out to come to texas. we goes to bastrop county and starts to work. my old missy--her name was missy myra--was year old and her head was bald as a egg and had wens on it as big as eggs, too. "in them days the boss men had good houses but the niggers had log cabins and they burned down oftentimes. the chimney would cotch fire, 'cause it was made out of sticks and clay and moss. many the time we have to git up at midnight and push the chimney 'way from the house to keep the house from burnin' up. "the chairs was mostly chunks of cordwood put on end, or slabs, just rough, and the beds was built like scaffoldin'. we made a sort of mattress out of corn shucks or moss. "my missy, she was good, but the overseer, he rough. his temper born of the debbil, himse'f. his name was tom hill, but us called him 'debbil hill.' old debbil hill, he used to whup me and the other niggers if we don't jump quick enough when he holler and he stake us out like you stake out a hide and whup till we bleed. many the time i set down and made a eight-plait whup, so he could whup from the heels to the back of the head 'til he figger he get the proper ret'ibution. sometime he take salt and rub on the nigger so he smart and burn proper and suffer mis'ry. they was a caliboose right on the plantation, what look like a ice-house, and it was sho' bad to git locked up in it. "us got provisions 'lowanced to us every saturday night. if you had two in the family, they 'lowanced you one-half gallon 'lasses and to pounds bacon and a peck of meal. we have to take the meal and parch it and make coffee out of it. we had our flours. one of them we called biscuit flour and we called it 'shorts.' we had rye and wheat and buck grain. "if they didn't provision you 'nough, you jus' had to slip 'round and git a chicken. that easy 'nough, but grabbin' a pig a sho' 'nough problem. you have to cotch him by the snoot so he won't squeal, and clomp him tight while you knife him. that ain't stealin', is it? you has to keep right on workin' in the field, if you ain't 'lowanced 'nough, and no nigger like to work with his belly groanin'. "when the white preacher come he preach and pick up his bible and claim he gittin the text right out from the good book and he preach: 'the lord say, don't you niggers steal chickens from your missus. don't you steal your marster's hawgs.' that would be all he preach. "us niggers used to have a prayin' ground down in the hollow and sometime we come out of the field, between and at night, scorchin' and burnin' up with nothin' to eat, and we wants to ask the good lawd to have mercy. we puts grease in a snuff pan or bottle and make a lamp. we takes a pine torch, too, and goes down in the hollow to pray. some gits so joyous they starts to holler loud and we has to stop up they mouth. i see niggers git so full of the lawd and so happy they draps unconscious. "i kep' a eye on the niggers down in the cotton patch. sometime they lazy 'round and if i see the overseer comin' from the big house i sings a song to warn 'em, so they not git whupped, and it go like this: "'hold up, hold up, american spirit! hold up, hold up, h-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!' "we used to go huntin' and they was lots of game, bears and panthers and coons. we have bear dawgs, fox dawg and rabbit dawg that mostly jus' go by the name of houn' dawg. then they have a dawg to run niggers. "i never tried the conjure, but they would take hair and brass nails and thimbles and needles and mix them up in a conjure bag. but i knows one thing. they was a old gin between wilbarger and colorado and it was hanted with spirits of kilt niggers. us used to hear that old mill hummin' when dark come and we slip up easy, but it stop, then when you slip away it start up. "i 'member when the stars fell. we runs and prays, 'cause we thinks it jedgment day. it sure dumb old debbil hill, them stars was over his power. "on sundays we put shoes on our feet and they was brass toed. they was so hard and stiff they go 'tump, tump, tump,' when we walk. that's the only day we got 'cept christmas and we jus' got somethin' extry to eat. all them women sho' knowed how to cook! i often tell my wife how glad i was one mornin' when my missy give me a hot, butter biscuit. i goes down and shows it to all the other boys. we didn't git them hot, butter biscuits in them days. "i used to dance the pigeon wing and swing my partners 'round. was them womenfolks knock-kneed? you sho' couldn't tell, even when you swung 'em 'round, 'cause they dresses was so long. "i's been all 'round the mountain and up on top of it in my day. durin' slave time i been so cold i mos' turn white and they sot me 'fore the fire and poultice me with sliced turnips. come a norther and it blow with snow and sleet and i didn't have 'nough clothes to keep me warm. "when a nigger marry, he slick up his lowers and put on his brass-toed shoes, then the preacher marry him out of the bible. my pappy have a pass to visit my mammy and if he don't have one, the paddle roller conk him on the head. my grandma and grandpa come here in a steamboat. the man come to africa and say, 'man and woman, does you want a job?' so they gits on the boat and then he has the 'vantage. "when i was and some more, i don't know jus' how old, i was a free man. that the day i shouted. we niggers scattered like partridges. i had a fiddle and i'd play for the white folks wherever i went, when they has the balls. i marries after 'while, but i don't know what year, 'cause we never done paid no 'tention to years. my first wife died after a long time, i think 'bout year and i married another and she died this very year. jus' three months later i marries my housekeeper, named luvena dixon, cause i allus lived a upright life and i knowed the lawd wouldn't like it if i went on livin' in the same house with luvena without we was married. she is year old, and we is happy. [illustration: cato carter] cato carter was born in or , near pineapple, wilcox county, alabama, a slave of the carter family. he and his wife live at booth st., dallas, texas. "i'm home today 'cause my li'l, old dog is lost and i has to stay 'round to hunt for him. i been goin' every day on the truck to the cotton patches. i don't pick no more, 'count my hands git too tired and begin to cramp on me. but i go and set in the field and watch the lunches for the other hands. "i am a hunerd one years old, 'cause i's twenty-eight, goin' on twenty-nine, a man growned, when the breakin' up come. i'm purty old, but my folks live that way. my old, black mammy, zenie carter, lived to be a hunerd twenty-five, and oll carter, my white massa--which was the brother of my daddy--lived to be a hunerd four. he ain't been so long died. al carter, my own daddy, lived to be very ageable, but i don't know when he died. "back in alabama, missie adeline carter took me when i was past my creepin' days to live in the big house with the white folks. i had a room built on the big house, where i stayed, and they was allus good to me, 'cause i's one of their blood. they never hit me a lick or slapped me once, and told me they'd never sell me away from them. they was the bes' quality white folks and lived in a big, two-story house with a big hall what run all the way through the house. they wasn't rough as some white folks on their niggers. "my mammy lived in a hewn-oak log cabin in the quarters. there was a long row of cabins, some bigger than t'others, 'count of fam'ly size. my massa had over eighty head of slaves. them li'l, old cabins was cozy, 'cause we chinked 'em with mud and they had stick chimneys daubed with mud, mixed with hawg-hair. "the fixin's was jus' plain things. the beds was draw-beds--wooden bedsteads helt together with ropes drawed tight, to hold them. we scalded moss and buried it awhile and stuffed it into tickin' to make mattresses. them beds slep' good, better'n the ones nowadays. "there was a good fireplace for cookin' and sundays the missie give us niggers a pint of flour and a chicken, for to cook a mess of victuals. then there was plenty game to find. many a time i've kilt seventy-five or eighty squirrels out of one big beech. there was lots of deer and bears and quails and every other kind of game, but when they ran the indians out of the country, the game jus' followed the indians. i've seed the bigges' herds of deer followin' the way the indians drifted. whenever the indians lef', the game all lef' with them, for some reason i dunno. "talkin' 'bout victuals, our eatin' was good. can't say the same for all places. some of the plantations half starved their niggers and 'lowanced out their eatin' till they wasn't fittin' for work. they had to slip about to niggers on other places to piece out their meals. they had field calls and other kinds of whoops and hollers, what had a meanin' to 'em. "our place was fifteen hunerd acres in one block, and 'sides the crops of cotton and corn and rice and ribbon cane we raised in the bottoms, we had veg'tables and sheep and beef. we dried the beef on scaffolds we built and i used to tend it. but bes' of anythin' to eat, i liked a big, fat coon, and i allus liked honey. some the niggers had li'l garden patches they tended for themselves. "everythin' i tell you am the truth, but they's plenty i can't tell you. i heard plenty things from my mammy and grandpappy. he was a fine diver and used to dive in the alabama river for things what was wrecked out of boats, and the white folks would git him to go down for things they wanted. they'd let him down by a rope to find things on the bottom of the riverbed. he used to git a piece of money for doin' it. "my grandmammy was a juksie, 'cause her mammy was a nigger and her daddy a choctaw indian. that's what makes me so mixed up with indian and african and white blood. sometimes it mattered to me, sometimes it didn't. it don't no more, 'cause i'm not too far from the end of my days. "i had one brother and one sister i helped raise. they was mostly nigger. the carters told me never to worry 'bout them, though, 'cause my mammy was of their blood and all of us in our fam'ly would never be sold, and sometime they'd make free man and women of us. my brother and sister lived with the niggers, though. "i was trained for a houseboy and to tend the cows. the bears was so bad then, a 'sponsible pusson who could carry a gun had to look after them. "my massa used to give me a li'l money 'long, to buy what i wanted. i allus bought fine clothes. in the summer when i was a li'l one, i wore lowerin's, like the rest of the niggers. that was things made from cotton sackin'. most the boys wore shirttails till they was big yearlin's. when they bought me red russets from the town, i cried and cried. i didn't want to wear no rawhide shoes. so they took 'em back. they had a weakness for my cryin'. i did have plenty fine clothes, good woolen suits they spinned on the place, and doeskins and fine linens. i druv in the car'age with the white folks and was 'bout the mos' dudish nigger in them parts. "i used to tend the nurslin' thread. the reason they called it that was when the mammies was confined with babies havin' to suck, they had to spin. i'd take them the thread and bring it back to the house when it was spinned. if they didn't spin seven or eight cuts a day, they'd git a whuppin'. it was consid'ble hard on a woman when she had a frettin' baby. but every mornin' them babies had to be took to the big house, so the white folks could see if they's dressed right. they was money tied up in li'l nigger young'uns. "they whupped the women and they whupped the mens. i used to work some in the tan'ry and we made the whips. they'd tie them down to a stob, and give 'em the whuppin'. some niggers, it taken four men to whup 'em, but they got it. the nigger driver was meaner than the white folks. they'd better not leave a blade of grass in the rows. i seed 'em beat a nigger half a day to make him 'fess up to stealin' a sheep or a shoat. or they'd whup 'em for runnin' away, but not so hard if they come back of their own 'cordance when they got hungry and sick in the swamps. but when they had to run 'em down with the nigger dogs, they'd git in bad trouble. "the carters never did have any real 'corrigible niggers, but i heard of 'em plenty on other places. when they was real 'corrigible, the white folks said they was like mad dogs and didn't mind to kill them so much as killin' a sheep. they'd take 'em to the graveyard and shoot 'em down and bury 'em face downward, with their shoes on. i never seed it done, but they made some the niggers go for a lesson to them that they could git the same. "but i didn't even have to carry a pass to leave my own place, like the other niggers. i had a cap with a sign on it: 'don't bother this nigger, or there will be hell to pay.' i went after the mail, in the town. it come in coaches and they put on fresh hosses at pineapple. the coachman run the hosses into pineapple with a big to-do and blowin' the bugle to git the fresh hosses ready. i got the mail. i was a trusty all my days and never been 'rested by the law to this day. "i never had no complaints for my treatment, but some the niggers hated syrup makin' time, 'cause when they had to work till midnight makin' syrup, its four o'clock up, jus' the same. sun-up to sundown was for fiel' niggers. "corn shuckin' was fun. them days no corn was put in the cribs with shucks on it. they shucked it in the fiel' and shocked the fodder. they did it by sides and all hands out. a beef was kilt and they'd have a reg'lar picnic feastin'. they was plenty whiskey for the niggers, jus' like christmas. "christmas was the big day at the carter's. presents for every body, and the bakin' and preparin' went on for days. the li'l ones and the big ones were glad, 'specially the nigger mens, 'count of plenty good whiskey. mr. oll carter got the bes' whiskey for his niggers. "we used to have frolics, too. some niggers had fiddles and played the reels, and niggers love to dance and sing and eat. "course niggers had their ser'ous side, too. they loved to go to church and had a li'l log chapel for worship. but i went to the white folks church. in the chapel some nigger mens preached from the bible, but couldn't read a line no more than a sheep could. the carters didn't mind their niggers prayin' and singin' hymns, but some places wouldn't 'low them to worship a-tall, and they had to put their heads in pots to sing or pray. "mos' the niggers i know, who had their mar'age put in the book, did it after the breakin' up, plenty after they had growned chillen. when they got married on the places, mostly they jus' jumped over a broom and that made 'em married. sometimes one the white folks read a li'l out of the scriptures to 'em and they felt more married. "take me, i was never one for sickness. but the slaves used to git sick. there was jaundice in them bottoms. first off they'd give some castor oil, and if that didn't cure they'd give blue mass. then if he was still sick they'd git a doctor. "they used to cry the niggers off jus' like so much cattle, and we didn't think no diff'rent of it. i seed them put them on the block and brag on them somethin' big. everybody liked to hear them cry off niggers. the cryer was a clown and made funny talk and kep' everybody laughin'. "when massa and the other mens on the place went off to war, he called me and said, 'cato, you's allus been a 'sponsible man, and i leave you to look after the women and the place. if i don't come back, i want you to allus stay by missie adeline! i said, 'fore gawd, i will, massa oll.' he said, 'then i can go away peaceable.' "we thought for a long time the sojers had the fed'rals whupped to pieces, but there was plenty bad times to go through. i carried a gun and guarded the place at nighttime. the paddyrollers was bad. i cotched one and took him to the house more'n once. they wore black caps and put black rags over their faces and was allus skullduggerying 'round at night. we didn't use torches any more when we went 'round at night, 'cause we was afeared. we put out all the fires 'round the house at nighttime. "the young mens in grey uniforms used to pass so gay and singin', in the big road. their clothes was good and we used to feed them the best we had on the place. missie adeline would say, 'cato, they is our boys and give them the best this place 'fords.' we taken out the hams and the wine and kilt chickens for them. that was at first. "then the boys and mens in blue got to comin' that way, and they was fine lookin' men, too. missie adeline would cry and say, 'cato, they is just mens and boys and we got to feed them, too.' we had a pavilion built in the yard, like they had at picnics, and we fed the fed'rals in that. missie adeline set in to cryin' and says to the yankees, 'don't take cato. he is the only nigger man i got by me now. if you take cato, i just don't know what i'll do.' i tells them sojers i got to stay by missie adeline so long as i live. the yankee mens say to her, 'don't 'sturb youself, we ain't gwine to take cato or harm nothin' of yours.' the reason they's all right by us, was 'cause we prepared for them, but with some folks they was rough somethin' ter'ble. they taken off their hosses and corn. "i seed the trees bend low and shake all over and heard the roar and poppin' of cannon balls. there was springs not too far from our place and the sojers used to camp there and build a fire and cook a mule, 'cause they'd got down to starvation. when some of the guerillas seed the fire they'd aim to it, and many a time they spoiled that dinner for them sojers. the yankees did it and our boys did it, too. there was killin' goin' on so ter'ble, like people was dogs. "massa oll come back and he was all wore out and ragged. he soon called all the niggers to the front yard and says, 'mens and womens, you are today as free as i am. you are free to do as you like, 'cause the damned yankees done 'creed you are. they ain't a nigger on my place what was born here or ever lived here who can't stay here and work and eat to the end of his days, as long as this old place will raise peas and goobers. go if you wants, and stay if you wants.' some of the niggers stayed and some went, and some what had run away to the north come back. they allus called, real humble like, at the back gate to missie adeline, and she allus fixed it up with massa oll they could have a place. "near the close of the war i seed some folks leavin' for texas. they said if the fed'rals won the war they'd have to live in texas to keep slaves. so plenty started driftin' their slaves to the west. they'd pass with the womens ridin' in the wagons and the mens on foot. some took slaves to texas after the fed'rals done 'creed the breakin' up. "long as i lived i minded what my white folks told me, 'cept one time. they was a nigger workin' in the fiel' and he kept jerkin' the mules and massa oll got mad, and he give me a gun and said, 'go out there and kill that man.' i said, 'massa oll, please don't tell me that. i ain't never kilt nobody and i don't want to.' he said, 'cato, you do what i tell you.' he meant it. i went out to the nigger and said, 'you has got to leave this minute, and i is, too, 'cause i is 'spose to kill you, only i ain't and massa oll will kill me.' he drops the hanes and we run and crawled through the fence and ran away. "i hated to go, 'cause things was so bad, and flour sold for $ . a barrel, and pickled pork for $ . a barrel. you couldn't buy nothin' lessen with gold. i had plenty of 'federate money, only it wouldn't buy nothin'. "but today i is a old man and my hands ain't stained with no blood. i is allus been glad i didn't kill that man. "mules run to a ter'ble price then. a right puny pair of mules sold for $ . . but the yankees give me a mule and i farmed a year for a white man and watched a herd of mules, too. i stayed with them mules till four o'clock even sundays. so many scoundrels was goin' 'bout, stealin' mules. "that year i was boun' out by 'greement with the white man, and i made $ . . the bureau come by that year lookin' at nigger's contracts, to see they didn't git skunt out their rightful wages. missie adeline and massa oll didn't stay mad at me and every sunday they come by to see me, and brung me li'l del'cate things to eat. "the carters said a hunerd times they regretted they never larned me to read or write, and they said my daddy done put up $ . for me to go to the new allison school for cullud folks. miss benson, a yankee, was the teacher. i was twenty-nine years old and jus' startin' in the blueback speller. i went to school a while, but one mornin' at ten o'clock my poor old mammy come by and called me out. she told me she got put out, 'cause she too old to work in the fiel'. i told her not to worry, that i'm the family man now, and she didn't never need to git any more three-quarter hand wages no more. "so i left school and turnt my hand to anything i could find for years. i never had no trouble findin' work, 'cause all the white folks knowed cato was a good nigger. i lef' my mammy with some fine white folks and she raised a whole family of chillen for them. their name was bryan and they lived on a li'l bayou. them young'uns was crazy 'bout mammy and they'd send me word not to worry about her, 'cause she'd have the bes' of care and when she died they'd tend to her buryin'. "finally i come to texas, 'cause i thought there was money for the takin' out here. i got a job splittin' rails for two years and from then on i farmed, mostly. i married a woman and lived with her forty-seven years, rain or shine. we had thirteen chillen and eight of them is livin' today. "endurin' the big war i got worried 'bout my li'l black mammy and i wanted to go back home and see her and the old places. i went, and she was shriveled up to not much of anything. that's the last time i saw her. but for forty-four years i didn't forget to send her things i thought she'd want. i saw massa oll and he done married after i left and raised a family of chillen. i saw missie adeline and she was a old woman. we went out and looked at the tombstones and the rock markers in the graveyard on the old place, and some of them done near melted away. i looked good at lots of things, 'cause i knowed i wouldn't be that way 'gain. so many had gone on since i'd been there befo'. "after my first wife died i married 'gain and my wife is a good woman but she's old and done lost her voice, and has to be in terrell most the time. but i git 'long all right, 'cept my hands cramps some. "you goin' take my picture? i lived through plenty and i lived a long time, but this is the first time i ever had my picture took. if i'd knowed you wanted to do that, i'd have tidied up and put on my best. jack cauthern, , was born near austin, texas. dick townes owned jack and his parents. after they were freed, the family stayed on the plantation, but jack went to san angelo, because "times was too dull in travis county." "my master was dick townes and my folks come with him from alabama. he owned a big plantation fifteen miles from austin and worked lots of slaves. we had the best master in the whole county, and everybody called us "townes' free niggers," he was so good to us, and we worked hard for him, raisin' cotton and corn and wheat and oats. "most the slaves lived in two-room log cabins with dirt floors, over in the quarters, but i lived in master's yard. that's where i was born. there was a tall fence 'tween the yard and the quarters and the other nigger boys was so jealous of me they wouldn't let me cross that fence into the quarters. they told me i thinked i was white, jes' for livin' in master's yard. "me and young master had the good times. he was nigh my age and we'd steal chickens from old miss and go down in the orchard and barbecue 'em. one time she cotched us and sho' wore us out! she'd send us to pick peas, but few peas we picked! "old miss was good to her cullud folks. when she'd hear a baby cryin' in the night she'd put on boots and take her lantern and go see about it. if we needed a doctor she'd send for old dr. rector and when i had the measles he give me some pills big as the end of my finger. "we went to church all the time. young miss come over sunday mornin' and fotched all us chillen to the house and read the bible to us. she was kind of a old maid and that was her pleasure. we had baptisin's, too. one old cullud man was a preacher. lawd, lawd, we had shoutin' at them camp meetin's! "i guess we was glad to be free. old master done die and old miss was managin' the plantation. she had the whole bunch in the yard and read the freedom paper. the old slaves knowed what it meant, but us young ones didn't. she told everybody they could stay and work on shares and most of 'em did, but some went back to they old homes in alabama. "i stayed a while and married, and came to san angelo. the reason i come, times was dull in travis county and i done hear so much talk 'bout this town i said i was comin' and see for myself. that was in and it was jes' a forest here then. i worked eighteen years in mccloskey's saloon, and he gave me ten dollars every christmas 'sides my pay and a suit every year. i wish he was livin' now. my wife and i was together fifty-two years and then she died. after a long time i married again, and my wife is out pickin' cotton now. "it seem mighty hard to me now by side of old times, but i don't know if it was any better in slavery days. it seems mighty hard though, since i'm old and can't work. sally banks chambers, wife of ben chambers of liberty, does not know her age. she was born a slave of jim moore, in oakland, louisiana. sally has been married three times and has had seven children, about grandchildren and great-grandchildren. heavy gold earrings hang from her ears and she dresses, even in midsummer, in a long-sleeved calico shirt, heavy socks and shoes, and a sweeping skirt many yards wide. "befo' i marry de first time my name am sally banks, and i's borned in de old states, over in louisiana, round oakland. i ain't 'member nothin' 'bout dat place, 'cause i's so small when dey brung me to texas. "old massa name jim moore. he a fair old gen'man, with a big bald place on he head, and he am good to de slaves. not even as stric' as old missus, what was de big, stout woman. she am terrible stric', but she whip de li'l white chillen too, so dey be good. "my daddy name john moore and mama name car'line, and dey borned in louisiana. my grandpa was lewis moore and grandma name polly, but dey wasn't reg'lar africy people. my grandma, she have right smart good blood in her. "when old massa come to texas he brung us over first by wagon, a mule wagon with a cover over de top, and he rent de house clost to liberty. but de nex' year he find a place on de river bottom near grand cane and it jes' suit him for de slaves he have, so he brung all de rest over from louisiana. "my mama have four chillen when us come to texas, but she have eleven more after freedom. when war broke out she have six, but she multiply after dat. she de milker and washwoman and spinner, and make de good, strong clothes. "dey have li'l separate houses make outten logs for us slaves. de white folks house was one dese big, old double-pen house, with de hall down de middle. dey have right nice things in it. "de white folks 'lowance out de food every saturday night and dat spose last de week. all de cullud folks cook for deyself 'cept'n de single mens, and dey eats up in de big kitchen. us have syrup and cornbread and lots of sweet 'taters and homecure' meat what dey salt down and hang in de smokehouse. "de old missus, she ain't 'low no dancin' or huzzawin' round dat place, 'cause she christian. dey 'low us saturday and sunday off, and de women do dey own washin den'. de menfolks tend to de gardens round dey own house. dey raise some cotton and sell it to massa and git li'l money dat way. us don't never have no presents, but dey give eatments mostly. "de young massas both go to war. dey john calhoun moore and william. de oldes' goes crazy, kind of shellshock like. as far as i knowed, he ain't never git no more better. young william and de old man comes back without no scratch, but dey ain't serve long. all dey three 'lists by deyselfs, 'cause dey didn't have no truck with dem conscrip'ers. one my uncles, levy moore, he go to war to wait on de massas, and he struck with de fever at sabine pass and die right dere. "after freedom riz up, old massa come home. den he call all de growed folks and tell dem dey's free. a heap left, dey jes' broke ranks and left. my daddy and mama both stay. dey de fav'rites. old missus make present to my mama of a heap of things she need. but de white folks was jus' rentin' and when dey have no slaves no more dey give it up and move to tarkington prairie. us lost track of dem and ain't never seed dem no more. "my daddy come back to liberty den and work in de woodyard. mama, she larn me to work and cook and sich and hire me out to nuss a white baby. i ain't knowed how much dey pay, 'cause mama she collec' de money. "i's year old when i marry de first time. you know i got two dead men, dat dick owens and nero williams, both of liberty. i has two gals, alice and airy, for dick, and five chillen for nero. dey all dead but adlowyer and mamie, and dey lives right here. i been marry some thirty odd year to ben chambers but us ain't never have no chillen. "goodness, i dunno how many grandchillen i has. i jedge 'bout in all and great ones. "i loves to work and i ain't gwineter beg, though i's got too old to do much. i can't take it but a li'l at a time, but i gits by somehow. jeptha choice, brashear st., houston, texas, was born in slavery, on the plantation of jezro choice, about miles south of henderson, texas. jeptha was sent to school with the white children, and after he was freed, he was sent to school for several years, and became a teacher. he moved to houston in and opened a barber shop. jeptha claims to have been born on oct. , , which would make him years old. he has the appearance of extreme age, but has a retentive memory, and his manner of speaking varies from fairly good english to typical negro dialect and idiom. "i'll be years old, come fall, 'cause my mother told me i was born on oct. , , and besides, i was about years old at the end of the civil war. we belonged to the choices and i was born on their plantation. my mother's name was martha and she had been brought here from serbia. my father's name was john and he was from the east indies. they was brought to this country in a slave boat owned by captain adair and sold to someone at new orleans before master jezro choice bought them. i had five sisters and one brother but they are all dead, 'cepting one brother who lives near henderson. "master jezro was right kind. he had or slaves and a grist mill and tannery besides the plantation. my white folks sort of picked me out and i went to school with the white children. i went to the fields when i was about , but i didn't do much field works, 'cause they was keepin' me good and they didn't want to strain me. "on sunday we just put an old prince albert coat on some good nigger and made a preacher out of him. we niggers had our band, too, and i was one of the players. "the master was mighty careful about raisin' healthy nigger families and used us strong, healthy young bucks to stand the healthy nigger gals. when i was young they took care not to strain me and i was as handsome as a speckled pup and was in demand for breedin'. later on we niggers was 'lowed to marry and the master and missus would fix the nigger and gal up and have the doin's in the big house. the white folks would gather round in a circle with the nigger and gal in the center and then master laid a broom on the floor and they held hands and jumped over it. that married 'em for good. "when babies was born old nigger grannies handled them cases, but until they was about three years old they wasn't 'lowed round the quarters, but was wet nursed by women who didn't work in the field and kept in separate quarters and in the evenin' their mammies were let to see 'em. "we was fed good and had lots of beef and hawg meat and wild game. possum and sweet yams is mighty good. you parboil the possum about half done and put him in a skewer pan and put him in a hot oven and just 'fore he is done you puts the yams in the pan and sugar on 'em. that's a feast. "sometimes when they's short of bread the old missus would say, 'how 'bout some ash cakes?' then they'd mix cornmeal and water and sweep ashes out of the open hearth and bake the ash cakes. "the master and his boys was all kilt in the war and after freedom i stayed all summer. it was pretty tough on us niggers for a while, 'cause the womenfolks what was left after the war didn't have money. but colonel jones, the master's son-in-law, took me to live in henderson and paid twenty-five cents a week for more schoolin' for me and i learned through fractions. then i got me a job teachin' school about six months a year and in off times i'd farm. i did lots of different kinds of work, on the narrow gauge railroad out of longview and i learned to be a barber, too. but i had to give it up a few years back 'cause i can't stand up so long any more and now i'm tryin' to help my people by divine healing. [illustration: amos clark's sorghun mill] [illustration: amos clark] amos clark, , was born a slave of robert clark, in washington county, texas. after amos was freed, he farmed near belton, texas. amos now lives in waco. "i was borned on the second of april, in . mammy say dat de year, 'cause marse bob's brother, tom, done go tradin' and has a lot of trouble with de indians, and come back with scars all over he arms. it warn't all dey fault, 'cause marse tom allus gittin' in trouble with somebody. "when i was still half-growed, marse bob traded me to marse ed roseborough, and we come to belton to live. us piled ox wagons high with beddin' and clothes and sich, and old marse had he books in a special horsehair trunk, what de hide still had hair on. it had brass tacks all trimmin' it up, and it was sho' a fine trunk, and he say, 'amos, you black rascal, keep you eye on dat trunk, and don't git it wet crossin' de water and don't let no indian git it.' us had a sizeable drove of cattle and some sheep and pigs and chickens and ducks. "marse and missis finds where dey wants de house and us gits dem axes out and in a few days dere am a nice log house with two big rooms and a hall 'tween dem, mos' as big as de rooms. us been on de road 'bout six weeks and missis sho' proud of her new house. den us makes logs into houses for us and a big kitchen close to de big house. den us builds a office for old marse and makes chairs and beds and tables for everybody. old miss brung her bed and a spindly, li'l table, and us make all de rest. "for eatin' de good shooters and scouters gits birds and rabbits and wild turkeys and sometimes a lot of wild eggs or honey, when dey chops a bee tree down. a old indian come to holp us hunt. he'd work a week if marse ed give him some red calico or a hatchet. old miss done bring a dozen hens and a bag of seeds, and folks come ridin' twenty miles to swap things. "dere warn't no mill to grind corn, so de boss carpenter, he hollows out a log and gits some smooth, hard rocks and us grind de corn like it was a morter. old man stubblefield builded a watermill on de creek 'bout eight miles from us, and den us tooken de corn dere. "dere was three hundred acres and more'n fifty slaves, and lots of work, clearin' and buildin' and plantin'. some de cabins didn't git no floor for two years. jes' quick as dey could, de men gits out clapboards for de walls and split puncheon slabs for floors and palin's for fences. "missis, she takes two de likelies' young slaves and makes a garden, come spring. somehow she git herself roses and posies and vegetables. "dere warn't no overseer. marse ed, he jes' ride round on he big hoss and see to things. us didn't know nothin 'bout de war much, 'cause none us could read or write. "dere was two fiddlers 'mongst us, jim roseborough and tom. dey'd have de big barbecue for folks come from miles round, and coffee and chicken and turkey and dancin' and fiddlin' all night. come daybreak, dey jes' goin' good. us niggers dance back de quarters, and call "'all eight balance and all eight swing, all left allemond and right hand grand, meet your partner and prom'nade, eight, den march till you come straight. "'first lady out to couple on de right, swing mr. adam and swing miss eve, swing old adam befo' you leave, don't forgit your own--now you're home.' "two, three years after dat i marries liza smith. us has four chillen and all dead 'cept john, and he lives out west. "after freedom old marse say kill a yearlin' and have de big dinner and dance. de young ones he told to scatter out and hunt work, not to steal and work hard. some de oldes' ones he give a cabin and a patch of land. he say de niggers what want to stay on and work for him can, iffen he make enough to feed dem. i stays with marse ed, but he give me a patch of twenty acres and a sorghum mill to make a livin' on. dat how i gits on my way after freedom. "i gits dat sorghum mill to workin' good and works de roseborough land and my patch, and raises corn and cotton and wheat. i was plumb good at farmin'. i allus had a piece or two of money in my pocket since i can 'member, but now de old man's too old. de gov'ment gives me seven or eight dollars a month and i has a few chickens and gits by, and de good white folks nigh by sees dat dis old boy don't git cold. [illustration: anne clark] mother anne clark, years old, lives at alameda ave., el paso, texas. she is too crippled to walk, but a smile lights up the tired old eyes that still see to sew without glasses. one tooth of a third set is in her upper gum. she is deaf, but can hear if you speak close to her ear. she says, "lemma git my ears open, bofe of 'em," wets her finger, then pulls so hard on the ear lobes it seems they would be injured. "i'll be years old, come first day of june ( ). bo'n in mississippi. i had two marsters, but i've been free nearly years. i was freed in memphis. "my marster was a yankee. he took me to louisiana and made a slave outta me. but he had to go to war. he got in a quarrel one day and grabbed two six-shooters, but a old white man got him down and nearly kilt him. our men got him and gave him to the yankees. "capt. clark, my second marster, took a shot at him and he couldn' come south no more. you don' know what a time i seen! i don' wanna see no more war. why, we made the united states rich but the yankees come and tuk it. they buried money and when you bury money it goes fu'ther down, down, down, and then you cain't fin' it. "you know, the white folks hated to give us up worse thing in the world. i ploughed, hoed, split rails. i done the hardest work ever a man ever did. i was so strong, iffen he needed me i'd pull the men down so the marster could handcuff 'em. they'd whop us with a bullwhip. we got up at o'clock, at we done et and hitched up the mules and went to the fiel's. we worked all day pullin' fodder and choppin' cotton. marster'd say, 'i wan' you to lead dat fiel' today, and if you don' do it i'll put you in de stocks.' then he'd whop me iffen i didn' know he was talkin' to me. "my poppa was strong. he never had a lick in his life. he helped the marster, but one day the marster says, 'si, you got to have a whoppin', and my poppa says, 'i never had a whoppin' and you cain't whop me.' an' the marster says, 'but i kin kill you,' an' he shot my poppa down. my mama tuk him in the cabin and put him on a pallet. he died. "my mama did the washin' for the big house. she tuk a big tub on her head and a bucket of water in her hand. my mama had two white chillen by marster and they were sold as slaves. i had two chillen, too. i never married. they allus said we'd steal, but i didn' take a thing. why, they'd put me on a hoss with money to take into town and i'd take it to the store in town, and when i'd git back, marster'd say, 'anne, you didn' take a thing.' "when women was with child they'd dig a hole in the groun' and put their stomach in the hole, and then beat 'em. they'd allus whop us." "don' gring me anything fine to wear for my birthday. i jus' wan' some candy. i'm lookin' for him to take me away from here." thomas cole was born in jackson co., alabama, on the th of august, , a slave of robert cole. he ran away in to join the union army. he fought at chickamauga, under gen. rosecran and at chattanooga, look out mt. and orchard knob, under gen. thomas. after the war he worked as switchman in chattanooga until his health failed due to old age. he then came to texas and lives with his daughter, in corsicana. thomas is blind. "i might as well begin far back as i remember and tell you all about myself. i was born over in jackson county, in alabama, on august , . my mother was elizabeth cole, her bein' a slave of robert cole, and my father was alex gerrand, 'cause he was john gerrand's slave. i was sposed to take my father's name, but he was sech a bad, ornery, no-count sech a human, i jes' taken my old massa's name. my mother was brung from virginny by massa dr. cole, and she nussed all his six chillen. my sister's name was sarah and my brother's name was ben and we lived in one room of the big house, and allus had a good bed to sleep in and good things to eat at the same table, after de white folks gits through. "i played with massa cole's chillen all de time, and when i got older he started me workin' by totin' wood and sech odd jobs, and feedin' de hawgs. us chillen had to pick cotton every fall. de big baskets weigh about seventy-five to a hundred pounds, but us chillen put our pickin's in some growed slave's basket. de growed slaves was jes' like a mule. he work for grub and clothes, and some of dem didn't have as easier a time as a mule, for mules was fed good and slaves was sometimes half starved. but massa cole was a smart man and a good man with it. he had 'spect for the slaves' feelin's and didn't treat dem like dumb brutes, and 'lowed dem more privileges dan any other slaveholder round dere. he was one of de best men i ever knows in my whole life and his wife was jes' like him. dey had a big, four-room log house with a big hall down the center up and down. de logs was all peeled and de chinkin' a diff'rent color from de logs and covered with beads. de kitchen am a one-room house behin' de big house with de big chimney to cook on. dat where all de meals cooked and carry to de house. "in winter massa allus kill from three to four hundred hawgs, de two killin's he done in november and january. some kill and stick, some scald and scrape, and some dress dem and cut dem up and render de lard. dey haul plenty hick'ry wood to de smokehouse and de men works in shifts to keep de smoke fire goin' sev'ral days, den hangs de meat in de meathouse. first us eat all de chitlin's, den massa begin issuin' cut-back bones to each fam'ly, and den 'long come de spareribs, den de middlin' or a shoulder, and by dat time he kill de second time and dis was to go all over 'gain. each fam'ly git de same kind of meat each week. iffen one git a ham, dey all git a ham. all de ears and feet was pickle and we eats dem, too. if de meat run out 'fore killin' time, us git wild turkeys or kill a beef or a goat, or git a deer. "massa let us plant pumpkins and have a acre or two for watermelons, iffen us work dem on saturday evenin's. dere a orchard of 'bout five or six acres peaches and apples and he 'low us to have biscuits once a week. yes, we had good eatin' and plenty of it den. "massa had one big, stout, healthy lookin' slave 'bout six foot, four inches tall, what he pay $ , for. he bought six slaves i knows of and give from $ up for dem. he never sold a slave 'less he git onruly. "massa allus give us cotton clothes for summer and wool for winter, 'cause he raised cotton and sheep. den each fam'ly have some chickens and sell dem and de eggs and maybe go huntin' and sell de hides and git some money. den us buy what am sunday clothes with dat money, sech as hats and pants and shoes and dresses. "we'd git up early every day in de year, rain or shine, hot or cold. a slave blowed de horn and dere no danger of you not wakin' up when dat blowed long and loud. he climb up on a platform 'bout ten feet tall to blow dat bugle. we'd work till noon and eat in de shade and rest 'bout a hour or a little more iffen it hot, but only a hour if it cold. you is allus tired when you makes de day like dat on de plantation and you can't play all night like de young folks does now. but us lucky, 'cause massa cole don't whip us. de man what have a place next ours, he sho' whip he slaves. he have de cat-o-nine tails of rawhide leather platted round a piece of wood for a handle. de wood 'bout ten inches long and de leather braided on past de stock quite a piece, and 'bout a foot from dat all de strips tied in a knot and sprangle out, and makes de tassle. dis am call de cracker and it am what split de hide. some folks call dem bullwhips, 'stead of cat-o-nine tails. de first thing dat man do when he buy a slave, am give him de whippin'. he call it puttin' de fear of gawd in him. "massa cola 'low us read de bible. he awful good 'bout dat. most de slaveowners wouldn't 'low no sech. uncle dan he read to us and on sunday we could go to church. de preacher baptize de slaves in de river. dat de good, old-time 'ligion, and us all go to shoutin' and has a good time. dis gen'ration too dig'fied to have de old-time 'ligion. "when baptizin' comes off, it almost like goin' to de circus. people come from all over and dey all singin' songs and everybody take dere lunch and have de good time. massa cole went one time and den he git sick, and next summer he die. missy cole, she moves to huntsville, in alabama. but she leave me on de plantation, 'cause i'm big and stout den. she takes my mother to cook and dat de last time i ever seed my mother. missy cole buys de fine house in huntsville my mother tells me to be good and do all de overseer tells me. i told her goodbye and she never did git to come back to see me, and i never seed her and my brother and sister 'gain. i don't know whether dey am sold or not. "i thinks to myself, dat mr. anderson, de overseer, he'll give me dat cat-o-nine tails de first chance he gits, but makes up my mind he won't git de chance, 'cause i's gwine run off de first chance i gits. i didn't know how to git out of dere, but i's gwine north where dere ain't no slaveowners. in a year or so dere am 'nother overseer, mr. sandson, and he give me de log house and de gal to do my cookin' and sich. dere am war talk and we 'gins gwine to de field earlier and stayin' later. corn am haul off, cotton am haul off, hawgs and cattle am rounded up and haul off and things 'gins lookin' bad. de war am on, but us don't see none of it. but 'stead of eatin' cornbread, us eats bread out of kaffir corn and maize. "we raises lots of okra and dey say it gwine be parch and grind to make coffee for white folks. dat didn't look good either. dat winter, 'stead of killin' three or four hundred hawgs like we allus done befo', we only done one killin' of a hundred seventy-five, and dey not all big ones, neither. when de meat supply runs low, mr. sandson sends some slaves to kill a deer or wild hawgs or jes' any kind of game. he never sends me in any dem bunches but i hoped he would and one day he calls me to go and says not to go off de plantation too far, but be sho' bring home some meat. dis de chance i been wantin', so when we gits to de huntin' ground de leader says to scatter out, and i tells him me and 'nother man goes north and make de circle round de river and meet 'bout sundown. i crosses de river and goes north. i's gwine to de free country, where dey ain't no slaves. i travels all dat day and night up de river and follows de north star. sev'ral times i thunk de blood houn's am trailin' me and i gits in de big hurry. i's so tired i couldn't hardly move, but i gits in a trot. "i's hopin' and prayin' all de time i meets up with dat harriet tubman woman. she de cullud women what takes slaves to canada. she allus travels de underground railroad, dey calls it, travels at night and hides out in de day. she sho' sneaks dem out de south and i thinks she's de brave woman. "i eats all de nuts and kills a few swamp rabbits and cotches a few fish. i builds de fire and goes off 'bout half a mile and hides in de thicket till it burns down to de coals, den bakes me some fish and rabbit. i's shakin' all de time, 'fraid i'd git cotched, but i's nearly starve to death. i puts de rest de fish in my cap and travels on dat night by de north star and hides in a big thicket de nex' day and along evenin' i hears guns shootin'. i sho' am scart dis time, sho' 'nough. i's scart to come in and scart to go out, and while i's standin' dere, i hears two men say, 'stick you hands up, boy. what you doin?' i says, 'uh-uh-uh, i dunno. you ain't gwine take me back to de plantation, is you?' dey says, 'no. does you want to fight for de north?' i says i will, 'cause dey talks like northern men. us walk night and day and gits in gen. rosecran's camp and dey thunk i's de spy from de south. dey asks me all sorts of questions and says dey'll whip me if i didn't tell dem what i's spyin' 'bout. fin'ly dey 'lieves me and puts me to work helpin' with de cannons. i feels 'portant den, but i didn't know what was in front of me, or i 'spects i'd run off 'gain. "i helps sot dem cannons on dis chickamauga mountain, in hidin' places. i has to go with a man and wait on him and dat cannon. first thing i knows, bang, bang, boom, things has started, and guns am shootin' faster dan you can think, and i looks round for de way to run. but dem guns am shootin' down de hill in front of me and shootin' at me, and over me and on both sides of me. i tries to dig me a hole and git in it. all dis happen right now, and first thing i knows, de man am kickin' me and wantin' me to holp him keep dat cannon loaded. man, i didn't want no cannon, but i has to help anyway. we fit till dark and de rebels got more men dan us, so gen. rosecran sends de message to gen. woods to come help us out. when de messenger slips off, i sho' wish it am me slippin' off, but i didn't want to see no gen. woods. i jes' wants to git back to dat old plantation and pick more cotton. i'd been willin' to do mos' anything to git out that mess, but i done told gen. rosecran i wants to fight de rebels and he sho' was lettin' me do it. he wasn't jes' lettin' me do it, he was makin' me do it. i done got in dere and he wouldn't let me out. "white folks, dere was men layin' wantin' help, wantin' water, with blood runnin' out dem and de top or sides dere heads gone, great big holes in dem. i jes' promises de good lawd if he jes' let me git out dat mess, i wouldn't run off no more, but i didn't know den he wasn't gwine let me out with jes' dat battle. he gwine give me plenty more, but dat battle ain't over yet, for nex' mornin' de rebels 'gins shootin' and killin' lots of our men, and gen. woods ain't come, so gen. rosecran orders us to 'treat, and didn't have to tell me what he said, neither. de rebels comes after us, shootin', and we runs off and leaves dat cannon what i was with settin' on de hill, and i didn't want dat thing nohow. "we kep' hotfootin' till we gits to chattanooga and dere is where we stops. here comes one dem rebel generals with de big bunch of men and gits right on top of look out mountain, right clost to chattanooga, and wouldn't let us out. i don't know jes' how long, but a long time. lots our hosses and mules starves to death and we eats some de hosses. we all like to starve to death ourselves. chattanooga is in de bend de tennessee river and on look out mountain, on de east, am dem rebels and could keep up with everything we done. after a long time a gen. thomas gits in some way. he finds de rough trail or wagon road round de mountain 'long de river and supplies and men comes by boat up de river to dis place and comes on into chattanooga. more union men kep' comin' and i guess maybe six or eight generals and dey gits ready to fight. it am long late in fall or early winter. "dey starts climbin' dis steep mountain and when us gits three-fourths de way up it am foggy and you couldn't see no place. everything wet and de rocks am slick and dey 'gins fightin'. i 'spect some shoots dere own men, 'cause you couldn't see nothin', jes' men runnin' and de guns roarin'. fin'ly dem rebels fled and we gits on look out mountain and takes it. "dere a long range of hills leadin' 'way from look out mountain, nearly to missionary ridge. dis ridge 'longside de chickamauga river, what am de indian name, meanin' river of death. dey fights de rebels on orchard knob hill and i wasn't in dat, but i's in de missionary ridge battle. we has to come out de timber and run 'cross a strip or openin' up de hill. dey sho' kilt lots our men when we runs 'cross dat openin'. we runs for all we's worth and uses guns or anything we could. de rebels turns and runs off and our soldiers turns de cannons round what we's capture, and kilt some de rebels with dere own guns. "i never did git to where i wasn't scart when we goes into de battle. dis de last one i's in and i's sho' glad, for i never seed de like of dead and wounded men. we picks dem up, de rebels like de unions, and doctors dem de bes' we could. when i seed all dat sufferin', i hopes i never lives to see 'nother war. dey say de world war am worse but i's too old to go. "i sho' wishes lots of times i never run off from de plantation. i begs de general not to send me on any more battles, and he says i's de coward and sympathizes with de south. but i tells him i jes' couldn't stand to see all dem men layin' dere dyin' and hollerin' and beggin' for help and a drink of water, and blood everywhere you looks. killin' hawgs back on de plantation didn't bother me none, but dis am diff'rent. "fin'ly de general tells me i can go back to chattanooga and guard de supplies in camp dere and take care de wounded soldiers and prisoners. a bunch of men is with me and we has all we can do. we gits de orders to send supplies to some general and it my job to help load de wagons or box cars or boats. a train of wagons leaves sometimes. we gits all dem supplies by boat, and chattanooga am de 'stributing center. when winter comes, everybody rests awhile and waits for spring to open. de union general sends in some more cullud soldiers. dere ain't been many cullud men but de las' year de war dere am lots. de north and de south am takin' anything dey can git to win de war. "when spring breaks and all de snow am gone, and de trees 'gins puttin' out and everything 'gins to look purty and peaceable-like, makin' you think you ought to be plowin' and plantin' a crop, dat when de fightin' starts all over 'gain, killin' men and burnin' homes and stealin' stock and food. den dey sends me out to help clear roads and build temp'rary bridges. we walks miles on muddy ground, 'cross rivers, wadin' water up to our chins. we builds rafts and pole bridges to git de mules and hosses and cannons 'cross, and up and down hills, and cuts roads through timber. "but when dey wants to battle gen. thomas allus leaves me in camp to tend de supplies. he calls me a coward, and i sho' glad he thunk i was. i wasn't no coward, i jes' couldn't stand to see all dem people tore to pieces. i hears 'bout de battle in a thick forest and de trees big as my body jes' shot down. i seed dat in de missionary ridge battle, too. "i shifts from one camp to 'nother and fin'ly gits back to chattanooga. i bet durin' my time i handles 'nough ammunition to kill everybody in de whole united states. i seed mos' de mainest generals in de union army and some in de rebel army. "after de war am over we's turned loose, nowhere to go and nobody to help us. i couldn't go south, for dey calls me de traitor and sho' kill me iffen dey knows i fit for de north. i does any little job i can git for 'bout a year and fin'ly gits work on de railroad, in stevenson, in alabama. i gits transfer to chattanooga and works layin' new tracks and turn tables and sich. "in 'bout two weeks i had saw a gal next door, but i's bashful. but after payday i dresses up and takes her to a dance. we sparks 'bout two months and den we's married at her uncles. her name am nancy. we buys a piece of land and i has a two-room house built on it. we has two chillen and i's livin' with de baby gal now. "i 'lieve de slaves i knowed as a whole was happier and better off after 'mancipation dan befo'. of course, de first few years it was awful hard to git 'justed to de new life. all de slaves knowed how to do hard work, and dat de old slaves life, but dey didn't know nothin' 'bout how to 'pend on demselves for de livin'. my first year was hard, but dere was plenty wild game in dem days. de south was broke and i didn't hear of no slaves gittin' anything but to crop on de halves. dey too glad to be free and didn't want nothin'. "things 'gin to git bad for me in chattanooga as de white men finds out i run off from de south and jined de north. some de brakemen try to git my job. i fin'ly quits when one of dem opens a switch i jus' closed. i seed him and goes back and fixes de switch, but i quits de job. i goes up north but dey ain't int'rested, so i comes back and sells my home and buys me a team and wagon. i loads it with my wife and chillen and a few things and starts for texas. we's on de road 'bout six weeks or two months. we fishes and hunts every day and de trip didn't cost much. i buys ninety acres in timber in cass county and cuts logs for a house and builds a two-room house and log crib. my wife built a stomp lot for de team and cow and a rail fence. "we got 'nough land cleared for de small crop, 'bout thirty acres, and builds de barn and sheds outselves. we lived there till de chillen am growed. my wife died of chills and fever and den my boy and i built a four-room house of planks from our timber. den i gits lonesome, 'cause de chillen gone, and sells de place. i bought it for fifty cents de acre and sold it for $ . de acre. "i buys sixty acres in henderson county for $ . a acre and marries de second time. i didn't care for her like nancy. all she think 'bout am raisin' de devil and never wants to work or save anything. she like to have broke me down befo' i gits rid of her. i stayed and farmed sev'ral years. "my son-in-law rents land in chambers creek bottom, and he usually gits he crop 'fore de flood gits it. we has some hawgs to kill ev'ry winter and we has our cornmeal and milk and eggs and chickens, so de 'pression ain't starved us yit. we all got might' nigh naked durin' de 'pression. i feeds de hawgs and chickens night and mornin'. i can't see dem, but i likes to listen to dem eatin' and cackle. people don't know how dey's blessed with good eyes, till dey loses dem. everybody ought to be more thankful dan they is. "i ain't never voted in my life. i leans to de 'publicans. i don't know much 'bout politics, though. "today i is broke, 'cause i spent all my money for med'cine and doctors, but i gits a small pension and i spends it mos' careful. eli coleman, , was born a slave of george brady, in kentucky. eli's memory is poor and his story is somewhat sketchy. he now lives in madisonville, texas. "i has a old bill of sale, and it shows i's born in and my massa am george brady. i know my pappy's name was same as mine, and mammy was ella, and i had one brother named sam, and my sisters was sadie and rosa and viola. they's all dead now. "pappy was owned by massa coleman, what was brother to massa brady. pappy could only see mammy once a week when he's courtin' for her. i heard pappy tell 'bout his pappy, over in africy, and he had near a hundred wives and over three hundred chillen. "pappy never did work. all he ever did was trade. he'd make one thing and 'nother and trade it for something to eat. he could get lots of fruit and game out of the woods them days, and there was lots of fish. "our log house was built of logs, trimmed, and had six rooms. it was long, like a cowbarn or chicken house, and my room was third. we had one door to each room, covered over with hides. we dug out one corner for the bed and fenced it up and gathered straw and moss and tore-up corn shucks, and put in the corner to sleep on. what i mean, it was a warm bed. "we did all kinds of work, choppin' cotton and split rails and cut rock, and work in the tobacco field. we'd cut that tobacco and hang it in the shed to dry. it had to be hanged by the stubble end. "we had plenty to eat, sech as corn pones. the corn was grated by hand and cooked in ashes, and no salt or soda or fancy things like they put in bread now. "there was possum and rabbit and we cooked them different to now. a great big, old pot hung over the old rock fireplace. food cooked that way still eats good. massa brady allus give us lots out of the garden. he fed us reg'lar on good, 'stantial food, jus' like you'd tend to you hoss, if you had a real good one. "massa brady, he was one these jolly fellows and a real good man, allus good to his black folks. missy, she was plumb angel. they lived in a old stone house with four big rooms. it was the best house in the whole county and lots of shade trees by it. "we had 'bout a hundred acres in our plantation and started to the field 'fore daylight and worked long as we could see, and fed ane stock and got to bed 'bout nine o'clock. massa whopped a slave if he got stubborn or lazy. he whopped one so hard that slave said he'd kill him. so massa done put a chain round his legs, so he jus' hardly walk, and he has to work in the field that way. at night he put 'nother chain round his neck and fastened it to a tree. after three weeks massa turnt him loose and that the proudes' nigger in the world, and the hardes' workin' nigger massa had after that. "on saturday night we could git a pass or have a party on our own place. through the week we'd fall into our quarters and them patterrollers come walk all over us, and we'd be plumb still, but after they done gone some niggers gits up and out. "on christmas day massa make a great big eggnog and let us have all we wants with a big dinner. he kilt a yearlin' and made plenty barbecue for us. "massa was a colonel in the war and took me along to care for his hoss and gun. them guns, you couldn't hear nothin' for them poppin'. us niggers had to go all over and pick up them what got kilt. them what was hurt we carried back. them what was too bad hurt we had to carry to the burying place and the white man'd finish killin' them, so we could roll them in the hole. "when massa say we're free, we all 'gun to take on. we didn't have no place to go and asked massa could we stay, but he say no. but he did let some stay and furnished teams and something to eat and work on the halves. i stayed and was sharecropper, and that was when slavery start, for when we got our cop made it done take every bit of it to pay our debts and we had nothing left to buy winter clothes or pay doctor bills. "'bout a year after the war i marries nora brady, jus' a home weddin'. i asks her to come live with me as my wife and she 'greed and she jus' moved her clothes to my room and we lived together a long time. one mornin' nora jus' died, and there warn't no chillen, so i sets out for texas. i done hear the railroad is buildin' in texas and they hires lots of niggers. i gits a hoss from massa and rolls up a few clothes and gits my gun. "i never got very far 'fore the indians takes my hoss away from me. it was 'bout fifty mile to a train and i didn't have no money, but i found a white man what wants wood cut and i works near a month for him and gits $ . . i gits on a train and comes a hundred mile from where that railroad was goin' 'cross the country, and i has to walk near all that hundred miles. once and now a white man comin' or goin' lets me ride. but i got there and the job pays me sixty cents a day. that was lots of money them days. near as i 'member, it was or when i comes to texas. "then i marries agnes frazer, and we has a big weddin' and a preacher and a big supper for two or three weeks. her pappy kilt game and we et barbecue all the time. we had eleven chillen, one a year for a long time, five boys and six gals. one made a school teacher and i ain't seen her nearly forty-five years, 'cause she done took a notion to go north and they won't let her back in texas 'cause she married a white man in new york. i don't like that. she don't have no sense or she wouldn't done that, no, sir. "since the nigger been free it been hell on the poor old nigger. he has advance some ways, but he's still a servant and will be, long as gawd's curse still stay on the negro race. we was turnt loose without nothin' and done been under the white man rule so long we couldn't hold no job but labor. i worked most two years on that railroad and the rest my life i farms. now i gits a little pension from the gov'ment and them white folks am sho' good to give it to me, 'cause i ain't good for work no more. [illustration: preely coleman] preely coleman was born in on the souba farm, near new berry, south carolina, but he and his mother were sold and brought to texas when preely was a month old. they settled near alto, texas. preely now lives in tyler. "i'm preely coleman and i never gits tired of talking. yes, ma'am, it am juneteenth, but i'm home, 'cause i'm too old now to go on them celerabrations. where was i born? i knows that 'zactly, 'cause my mammy tells me that a thousand times. i was born down on the old souba place, in south carolina, 'bout ten mile from new berry. my mammy belonged to the souba family, but its a fact one of the souba boys was my pappy and so the soubas sells my mammy to bob and dan lewis and they brung us to texas 'long with a big bunch of other slaves. mammy tells me it was a full month 'fore they gits to alto, their new home. "when i was a chile i has a purty good time, 'cause there was plenty chillen on the plantation. we had the big races. durin' the war the sojers stops by on the way to mansfield, in louisiana, to git somethin' to eat and stay all night, and then's when we had the races. there was a mulberry tree we'd run to and we'd line up and the sojers would say, 'now the first one to slap that tree gits a quarter,' and i nearly allus gits there first. i made plenty quarters slappin' that old mulberry tree! "so the chillen gits into their heads to fix me, 'cause i wins all the quarters. they throws a rope over my head and started draggin down the road, and down the hill, and i was nigh 'bout choked to death. my only friend was billy and he was a-fightin', tryin' to git me loose. they was goin' to throw me in the big spring at the foot of that hill, but we meets capt. berryman, a white man, and he took his knife and cut the rope from my neck and took me by the heels and soused me up and down in the spring till i come to. they never tries to kill me any more. "my mammy done married john selman on the way to texas, no cere'mony, you knows, but with her massa's consent. now our masters, the lewises, they loses their place and then the selman's buy me and mammy. they pays $ , for my mammy and i was throwed in. "massa selman has five cabins in he backyard and they's built like half circle. i grows big 'nough to hoe and den to plow. we has to be ready for the field by daylight and the conk was blowed, and massa call out, 'all hands ready for the field.' at : he blows the conk, what am the mussel shell, you knows, 'gain and we eats dinner, and at : we has to be back at work. but massa wouldn't 'low no kind of work on sunday. "massa tom made us wear the shoes, 'cause they's so many snags and stumps our feets gits sore, and they was red russet shoes. i'll never forgit 'em, they was so stiff at first we could hardly stand 'em. but massa tom was a good man, though he did love he dram. he kep' the bottle in the center of the dining table all the time and every meal he'd have the toddy. us slaves et out under the trees in summer and in the kitchen in winter and most gen'rally we has bread in pot liquor or milk, but sometimes honey. "i well 'members when freedom come. we was in the field and massa comes up and say, 'you all is free as i is.' there was shoutin' and singin' and 'fore night us was all 'way to freedom. harriet collins was born in houston, texas, in . her family had been slaves of richard coke, and remained with him many years after they were freed. harriet recalls some incidents of reconstruction days, and believes in the superstitions handed down to her from slave days. "my birthday done come in january, on de tenth. i's birthed in houston, in , and gov. richard coke allus had owned my daddy and mammy, and dey stayed with him after freedom. mammy, what was julia collins, didn't die till , and she was most a hundred year old. "she done told me many a time 'bout how folkses git all worked up over marse coke's 'lection. mammy took lunch to de capitol house to marse richard, and dere he am on de top floor with all he congressmen and dat davis man and he men on de bottom floor, tryin' to say marse richard ain't got no right to be governor dis here state. old miss and de folkses didn't sleep a wink dat night, 'cause dey thunk it sho' be a fight. dat in , mammy allus say. "de old place at houston was like most all old places. dere was little, small dormer windows, dey call 'em, in upstairs, and big porches everywhere. dere was 'hogany furniture and rosewood bedsteads, and big, black walnut dressers with big mirrors and little ones down de side. old miss allus have us keep de drapes white as drifted snow, and polish de furniture till it shine. dere was sofies with dem claw foots, and lots of purty chiny and silver. "on de farm out from town dere was de log house, with quarters and de smokehouse and washhouse and big barns and carriage house. de quarters was little, whitewashed, log houses, one for de family, and a fence of de split palin's round most of dem. "de white and cullud chillen played together, all over de place. dey went fishin' and rode de plough hosses and run de calves and colts and sech devilment. de little white gals all had to wear sunbonnets, and old miss, she sew dem bonnets on every day, so dey not git sunburnt. us niggers weared de long, duckin' shirts till us git 'bout growed, and den us weared long, dark blue dresses. dey had spinnin' and weavin' rooms, where de cullud women makes de clothes. "old miss, she sho' a powerful manager. she knowed jes' how much meal and meat and sorghum it gwine take to run de plantation a year. she know jes' how much thread it take for spinnin', and she bossed de settin' hens and turkeys and fixin' of 'serves and soap. she was sho' good to you iffen you work and do like she tell you. many a night she go round to see dat all was right. she a powerful good nuss, too, and so was mammy. "de white folks had good times. dey'd go hossback ridin' and on picnics, and fishin' and have big dinners and balls. come christmas, dey have us slaves cut a big lot of wood and keep fires all night for a week or two. de house be lit with candles from top to toe, and lots of company come. for dinner us have turkey and beef roast and a big 'ginny ham and big bowls of eggnog and a pitcher of apple cider and apple toddy. all us git somethin' on christmas and plenty eggnog, but no gittin' drunk. "i can jes' see marse dick, tall and kinder stooped like, with de big flop hat and longtail coat and allus carryin' a big, old walkin' stick. he was sho' a brave man and de big men say dey likes dat flop hat, 'cause dey done follow it on de battlefield. he had a big voice and dey do tell how, in de war, he'd holler, 'come on, boys,' and de bullets be like hail and men fallin' all round, but dat don't stop marse dick. he'd take off dat flop hat and plunge right on and dey'd foller he bald head where de fight was hottes'. he was sho' a man! "when i gits married it was eight folkses dere, i jus' walks off and goes to housekeepin'. i had a calico dress and a baptist preacher marries us. "dere been some queer things white folks can't understand. dere am folkses can see de spirits, but i can't. my mammy larned me a lots of doctorin', what she larnt from old folkses from africy, and some de indians larnt her. if you has rheumatism, jes' take white sassafras root and bile it and drink de tea. you makes lin'ment by bilin' mullein flowers and poke roots and alum and salt. put red pepper in you shoes and keep de chills off, or string briars round de neck. make red or black snakeroot tea to cure fever and malaria, but git de roots in de spring when de sap am high. "when chillen teethin' put rattlesnake rattles round de neck, and alligator teeth am good, too. show de new moon money and you'll have money all month. throw her five kisses and show her money and make five wishes and you'll git dem. eat black-eyed peas on new year and have luck all dat year: "'dose black-eyed peas is lucky, when et on new year's day; you'll allus have sweet 'taters and possum come you way.' "when anybody git cut i allus burns woolen rags and smokes de wound or burns a piece fat pine and drops tar from it on scorched wool and bind it on de wound. for headache put a horseradish poultice on de head, or wear a nutmeg on a string round you neck. if you kills de first snake you sees in spring, you enemies ain't gwine git de best of you dat year. for a sprain, git a dirt dauber's nest and put de clay with vinegar and bind round de sprain. de dime on de string round my ankle keeps cramps out my leg, and tea from red coon-root good, too. all dese doctorin' things come clear from africy, and dey allus worked for mammy and for me, too. andrew (smoky) columbus was born in on the john j. ellington plantation, one mile south of linden, texas. he continued in the service of the ellingtons until about , when he moved to jefferson, texas. he carried meals to abe rothchild, who was in jail, charged with the murder of diamond bessie moore. andrew was years a servant of hon. tom armistead, and was a porter in the capital at austin when armistead was a senator. andrew now lives in marshall, texas. "i was bo'n a slave of master john ellington, who lived in davis county (now cass co.), texas. master john had a big house and close by was a long, double row of slave quarters. it looked like a town. there was four boys and two girls in master's fam'ly and one daughter, miss lula, married lon morris, that run the lon morris school. "master john was one white man that sho' took care of his niggers. he give us plenty warm clothes and good shoes, and come see us and had dr. hume doctor us when we was sick. the niggers et ham and middlin' and good eats as anybody. master john's place joined the haggard place, where they was lots of wild turkey and the slaves could go huntin' and fishin' when they wanted. "we had a church and a school for the slaves and the white folks helped us git book learnin'. mos' of the niggers allus went to preachin' on sunday. "the hands didn't work saturday afternoons. that's when we'd wash our clothes and clean up for sunday. there was parties and dances on saturday night for them as wanted them. but there wasn't no whiskey drinkin' and fightin' at the parties. mammy didn't go to them. she was religious and didn't believe in dancin' and sech like. on christmas master john allus give the slaves a big dinner and it didn't seem like slavery time. the niggers had a sight better time than they do now. "master john did all the bossin' hisself. none of his niggers ever run off 'cause he was too good for them to do that. i only got one whippin' from him and it was for stealin' eggs from a hen's nest. my pappy was carriage driver for master. i didn't do much of the work when i was a boy, jes' stayed round the house. "master john raised lots of cotton and after it was baled he hauled it to jefferson on ox wagons. i'd allus go with him, ridin' on top of the bales. i'll never forgit how scared i was when we'd cross black cypress on roger's ferryboat and it'd begin to rock. "i don't remember much about the war. when it was over master john calls all his slaves together and says, 'you'se free now and you can go or stay.' he told the men who wanted to leave they could have a wagon and team, but most of them stayed. pappy took a wagon and team and left but mammy and us children stayed and lived with master ellington 'bout years after the war was over. "when i left master john i moved to jefferson and married cora benton and we had three boys and two girls. while i was in jefferson sheriff vine goes to cincinnati after abe rothchild, for killin' 'diamond bessie.' abe shot hisself in the forehead when he heared sheriff vine was after him, but it didn't kill him. there was sho' some stirrin' about when the sheriff fotch abe back to jefferson. "mr. sam brown was the jailer. abe wouldn't eat the jail food and hired me to bring his meals to him from the hotel. his cell was fixed up like a hotel room, with a fine brussels rug and nice tables and chairs. he kep' plenty of whiskey and beer to drink. he'd allus give me a drink when i took his meals. "i worked years for mr. tom armistead, who helped w.t. crawford and his brother defend rothchild. mr. eppenstadt, he was mayor of jefferson then and acted as a go-between man in the case. "master tom armistead never married and i kep' house and cooked for him. he give me lots of fine clothes. i bet i owned more fine shirts than any nigger in texas. he got me a job as porter in the capitol at austin while he was senator. i was workin' there when they moved in the new capitol in . they was gonna put on a big party and say all the porters had to wear cutaway suits. i didn't have one, so the day 'fore the party i goes over to mr. tom's room at the bristol hotel and git one of his. i didn't know then it was a right new one he had made for the party. when i goes back to the capitol all dressed up in that cutaway suit, i meets mr. templeton houston and he recognises the suit and says. 'you sho' look fine in mr. tom's new suit,' 'bout that time mr. tom walks up and, you know, he give me that suit and had him another one made for the party! i wouldn't live where there wasn't no good white folks. [illustration: steve conally] [illustration: steve conally's house] steve connally, , was born a slave of tom connally, grandfather of united states senator tom connally, from texas. the family then lived in georgia, and steve's master was a member of the georgia legislature. "i was born in murray county, georgia, and was a slave of massa tom connally, but they called him massa "cushi" connally. he was a member of de georgia legislature. i stayed with missy mary connally till i was sixty-seven and massa cushi died when i was sixty-nine. "my mother, mandy, weighed two hundred pounds and she was de connally cook. when i was born, she took de fever and couldn't raise me, so missy mary took and kep' me in a li'l cot by her bed. after dat, i'm with her nearly all de time and follows her. when she go to de garden i catches her dresstail and when she go to de doctor, 'bout eighty miles away, i goes with her. "i mus' tell you why everybody call massa connally cushi. dere am allus so many tom connallys in de fam'ly, dey have to have de nickname to tell one from de other. "back dere in georgia, us have lots and lots of fruit. come time, de women folks preserves and cans till it ain't no use. my mammy take de prize any day with her jelly and sech, and her cakes jes' nachelly walk off and leave de whole county. missy mary sho' de master hand hersef at de fine bakin' and i'd slip round and be handy to lick out de pans. "dey didn't have no 'frigerators den, but dey built log houses without a floor over de good, cold spring, and put flat rocks dere to keep de milk and cream and butter cold. or dey dig out de place so de crock be down in de wet dirt. dey sho' have to make de latch up high, so de bad chillen couldn't open dat door! "de plantation in georgia was de whopper. i don't know 'zactly how many acres, but it a big one. us make everything and tan hides and make shoes, jes' like all de big places did. de big house and de weavin' house and de tannin' yard and de sugar mill and slave quarters made a li'l town. dere used to be some mighty big doin's dere. de connally men and women am allus good lookers and mighty pop'lar, and folkses come from far and near to visit dem. all de 'portant men come and all de sassiety belles jes' drift to our place. dere sho' lots of big balls and dinners and de house fix mighty fine dem times. de women wore de hoop skirts and de ribbons and laces. my missy was de bes' lookin' from far and near, and all de gem'mans want to dance with her. she sho' look like de queen you see in de picture books and she have mighty high ways with folks, but she's mighty good to dis here li'l black boy. "i goes in de buggy with massa cushi, up to tennessee, to git his sons what been kilt or wounded. massa ned, he dead, and massa charles, he shot in de hip, and die after he git brung home. massa dick hurt, too, but he didn't die. "right after de civil war, when i'm 'bout nineteen, i comes to texas with de connallys, all what didn't git kilt in de war. i stays with missy mary till she die in georgia. her son, jones connally, come to brazos county, near bryan, and after dat removes to eddy. i works for him two years and has lived round eddy ever since. de connallys give me a house and lot in eddy. some de fool niggers 'spected a lot, but i wasn't worryin' none. all i wanted was to stay near de connallys. mos' gen'ly all de slaves what i knowed was found places for and holp git a start at jobs and places to live. all de connally slaves loved dem. some de timber land give to mrs. rose staten and when she go up dere a old nigger woman name lucy sees her. she so happy to see one dem connally chillen she laugh and cry. "massa jones connally have de twin gals, name ola and ella. olla born with de lef' arm off at de elbow and she allus follow me round. when i go to milk i puts her in de trough. i saved her life lots of times. one time she's on de conb of de two-story house, when she's 'bout two years old. i eases up and knocks de window out and coaxes her to come to me. 'nother time, i's diggin' de well and some clods falls down and i looks up and dere am dat missy ola leanin' over, mos' tumblin' in de well on her head. i gives de loud yell and her brother-in-law come runnin' and grabs her legs. "senator tom connally, what am a son of jones connally, often says he'd like to visit his grandpa's old home in georgia. i'd like mighty well to go with him and take him all over de old home place and out to de old cemetary." [illustration: valmar cormier] valmar cormier was born a slave to duplissent dugat, a small slave-holder of lafayette, louisiana. he tells his story in a mixture of english and french. as far as he knows, he is nearly years old. he now lives with his sister, mary moses, in the pear orchard settlement, in beaumont, texas. "i 'member de day my old marster go to de war. i kin 'member dat jes' like yesterday. he used to like to play de fiddle and make me dance when i was li'l, but he went to de war and got kilt. he name duplissent dugat. mary, my sister, she don't 'member de old marster. "de slaves did de work on dat farm. dey was two growed-ups, my mama, colaste, and my uncle, and dere was us two chillen. my father was a white man, a white creole man. i never carry he name till after freedom. "marster was jes' a poor man and he have jes' a ordinary house. de slave house was jes' a old plank house 'bout twelve feet by twenty feet and have dirt floor. us cook in de big fireplace and take a log 'bout four foot long and have a big iron pot with a iron lid. dey put red hot coals under de pot and on top de lid and dey have a big iron poker with a hook on it what dey took de lid off with. "befo' dey have coal oil lamp dey used to use homemake candles. dey'd kill de brutes and keep and save all de tallow and one day was set off to make de candles. all de neighbors come and dey have kind of party and eat and things. sometime dey make three, four hunnerd candles in one day and lay dem in a big box, so dey won't git break. "us make soap on de plantation, too. dey melt de tallow and cracklin's and git lye out de fireplace ash. we have cotton and corn and potatoes growin', so we has plenty to eat. us have coosh-coosh, dat cornbread and meat, and some fish to eat. snails us jes' go through de woods and pick dem up and eat dem jes' like dat. us eat plenty crawfish. de chillen git string and old piece fat meat and tie on de end, and us go to de bog and drap de string down dat crawfish hole. when de old man grab de meat with he pincher, den us jerk us up a crawfish, and bile him in hot water, or make de gumbo. "us drink french coffee befo' de war, but endurin' de war us couldn't git de good kind. den us make coffee out of coffee weed. dey parch dat weed in de iron oven, grind it and put it in de iron pot. "i seed de sojers and i run under de house, i was so scared. mary, she hide under de bed in de house. de yankees come take de cattle and went 'way with dem. i kin sho' rec'lect when dose sojers come and de road was full goin' day and night. de yankees find a lot of confed'rate sojers close to duson, de other side of rayne and dey captures lots and brung dem back by dere. "after while it all over and dey told us we free, but my mama kep' working for old missus after freedom, 'cause old marster, he kilt in dat war. den old missus die and left three li'l chillen, but i don't know what happen to them, 'cause us go to another place and i plow and mary she he'p pick cotton. "i git marry at and my first wife de french gal. we marry by de priest in de church. us have so many chillen us have to keep a map to account for all dem, dere was in all. we stays in louisiana long time, den come to texas. laura cornish was born on the plantation of isaiah day, near dayton, texas. she "reckons i's 'bout twelve or maybe thirteen years old when all de cullud folks was made free." laura's memory is poor, but she made an effort to recall slave days. she lives at nance st., houston, texas. "lawd have mercy 'pon me, when you calls me aunt laura it seems jes' like you must be some of my white folks, 'cause dat what dey calls me. i mean papa day's chillen and dere younguns, when dey comes to see me. but it been de long time since any of dem come to see old aunt laura, and i reckon dey most all gone now. "you know where dayton is at? well, dat's where papa day's plantation was at and where i's borned. i don't know when dat am, 'zactly, but when all de cullud folks was made free, i reckons i's 'bout twelve or thirteen years old. "mama's name was maria dunlap and daddy's name was saul. mamma was de seamstress and don't do nothin' but weave cloth on de spinnin' wheel and make clothes. daddy from lake providence, i heared him say, but i don't know where at dat is. he do all de carpenter work. i has five sisters and two brothers, but dey heaps older dan me and i don't know much 'bout dem. "we 'longs to papa day, his name isaiah, but us all call him papa day, 'cause he won't 'low none he cullud folks to call him master. he say us is born free as he is, only de other white folks won't tell us so, and our souls is jes' as white, and de reason us am darker on de outside is 'cause us is sunburnt. i don't reckon dere am anybody as good to dere cullud folks as he was. "miss martha, he wife, was mighty good, too. does any us chillen git hurt or scratched, she fix us up and give us a hug. i knows dey has two boys and a gal, and dey comes to see me long time after i's free and brings dere own chillen. but my mem'ry am sort of foggy-like and i can't 'member dere names now. "de only work papa day 'lows us chillen do am pick de boles close to de ground, and dat mostly fun, and us ride to de house on de wagon what takes de pickin' at night. papa day don't make he cullud folks work saturdays and sundays and dey can visit round on other plantations, and he say nobody better bother us none, either. "one time us chillen playin' out in de woods and seed two old men what look like wild men, sho' 'nough. dey has long hair all over de face and dere shirts all bloody. us run and tell papa day and he makes us take him dere and he goes in de briar patch where dem men hidin'. dey takes him round de knees and begs him do he not tell dere massa where dey at, 'cause dey maybe git kilt. dey say dey am old lodge and baldo and dey run 'way 'cause dere massa whips dem, 'cause dey so old dey can't work good no more. papa day has tears comin' in he eyes. dey can't hardly walk, so he sends dem to de house and has aunt mandy, de cook, fix up somethin' to eat quick. i never seed sech eatin', dey so hongry. he puts dem in a house and tells us not to say nothin'. den he rides off on he hoss and goes to dere massa and tells him 'bout it, and jes' dares him to come git dem. he pays de man some money and lodge and baldo stays with papa day and i guess day thunk dey in heaven. "one mornin' papa day calls all us to de house and reads de freedom papers and say, 'de gov'ment don't need to tell you you is free, 'cause you been free all you days. if you wants to stay you can and if you wants to go, you can. but if you go, lots of white folks ain't gwine treat you like i does.' "for de longest time, maybe two years, dey wasn't none of papa day's cullud folks what left, but den first one fam'ly den 'nother gits some land to make a crop on, and den daddy gits some land and us leaves, too. maybe he gits de land from papa day, 'cause it an't far from his plantation. us sho' work hard on dat place, but i heared mama say lots of times she wishes we stay on papa day's place. "i 'member one year us don't make no crop hardly and daddy say he gwine git out 'fore us starves to death, and he moves to houston. he gits a job doin' carpenter work and hires me out for de housegirl. but mama dies and daddy takes sick and dies, too. lawd have mercy, dat sho' de hard time for me when i loses my mama and daddy, and i has to go to dayton and stay with my sister, rachel. both my husbands what i marries done been dead a long time now, and de only child i ever had died when he jes' a baby. now i's jes' alone, sittin' and waitin' for de lawd to call me." [illustration: john crawford] john crawford, , was born a slave on judge thompson rector's plantation at manor, texas. after emancipation, john was a share-cropper. he has always lived in travis county and is now cared for by a daughter at austin. "john crawford am me. it am eighty-one years since i's borned and dat's on de old rector plantation where manor am now. it wasn't dere den. i knowed the man it was named after. "ma's name was viney rector and the old judge brung her from alabama. she milked all the cows two times a day and i had to turn out all de calves. sometimes dey'd git purty rough and go right to dere mammies. "pap's name was tom townes, 'cause he 'longed on de townes place. he was my step-pap and when i's growed i tooken my own pap's name, what was crawford. i never seed him, though, and didn't know nothin' much 'bout him. he's sold away 'fore i's borned. "pap townes could make most everythin'. he made turnin' plows and hossshoe nails and a good lot of furniture. he was purty good to me, 'siderin' he wasn't my own pap. i didn't have no hard time, noway. i had plenty bacon and side-meat and 'lasses. every sunday mornin' the jedge give us our rations for de week. he wasn't short with dem, neither. "many was de time injuns come to jedge rector's place. dem injuns beg for somethin' and the jedge allus give dem somethin'. they wasn't mean injuns, jes' allus beggin'. "i can't read and write to this day. nobody ever larnt me my a b c's and i didn't git no chance at school. "on christmas mornin' massa rector come out and give each man and woman a big, red pocket handkerchief and a bottle of liquor. he buyed dat liquor by de barrel and liked it hisself. dat why he allus had it on de place. "one mornin' the jedge done send word down by de cook for nobody to go to de fields dat day. we all want up to de big house and de jedge git up to make de speech, but am too choke up to talk. he hated to lose he slaves, i reckon. so his son-in-law has to say, 'you folks am now free and can go where you wants to go. you can stay here and pick cotton and git fifty cents de hunerd.' but only two families stayed. de rest pulled out. "after freedom we rented land on de halves. some niggers soon got ahead and rented on de third or fourth. when you rent that-a-way you git three bales and de boss git one. but you has to buy you own teams and seed and all on dat plan. "its a fac' we was told we'd git forty acres and a mule. dat de talk den, but we never did git it. "de ku klux made a lot of devilment round-about dat county. dey allus chasin' some nigger and beatin' him up. but some dem niggers sho' 'serve it. when dey gits free, dey gits wild. dey won't work or do nothin' and thinks dey don't have to. we didn't have no trouble, 'cause we stays on de farm and works and don't have no truck with dem wild niggers. "in i marries fannie black at de town of sprinkle. it wasn't sech a town, jes' a li'l place. me and her stayed married fifty-two years and four months. she died and left me eight year ago. we had seven chillen and they is all livin'. four is here in austin and two in california and one in ohio. "i gits a li'l pension, $ . de month, and my gal, susie, takes care of me. i ain't got long to go now 'fore de lawd gwine call me. [illustration: green cumby] green cumby, , was born a slave of the robert h. cumby family, in henderson, texas. he was about at the close of the civil war. he stayed with his old master four years after he was freed, then married and settled in tyler, texas, where he worked for the compress years. he lives with his daughter at mesquite st., abilene, texas. "durin' slavery i had purty rough times. my grandfather, tater cumby, was cullud overseer for forty slaves and he called us at four in de mornin' and we worked from sun to sun. most of de time we worked on sunday, too. "de white overseers whupped us with straps when we didn't do right. i seed niggers in chains lots of times, 'cause there wasn't no jails and they jus' chained 'em to trees. "spec'lators on hosses drove big bunches of slaves past our place from one place to another, to auction 'em at de market places. de women would be carryin' l'il ones in dere arms and at night dey bed 'em down jus' like cattle right on de ground 'side of de road. lots of l'il chillun was sold 'way from de mammy when dey seven or eight, or even smaller. dat's why us cullud folks don't know our kinfolks to dis day. "de best times was when de corn shuckin' was at hand. den you didn't have to bother with no pass to leave de plantation, and de patter rolls didn't bother you. if de patter rolls cotch you without de pass any other time, you better wish you dead, 'cause you would have yourself some trouble. "but de corn shuckin', dat was de gran' times. all de marsters and dere black boys from plantations from miles 'round would be dere. den when we got de corn pile high as dis house, de table was spread out under de shade. all de boys dat 'long to old marster would take him on de packsaddle 'round de house, den dey bring him to de table and sit by he side; den all de boys dat 'long to marster bevan from another plantation take him on de packsaddle 'round and 'round de house, allus singin' and dancin', den dey puts him at de other side de table, and dey all do de same till everybody at de table, den dey have de feast. "to see de runaway slaves in de woods scared me to death. they'd try to snatch you and hold you, so you couldn't go tell. sometimes dey cotched dem runaway niggers and dey be like wild animals and have to be tamed over 'gain. dere was a white man call henderson had bloodhounds and rents 'em out to run slaves. i well rec'lect de hounds run through our place one night, chasin' de slave what kilt his wife by runnin' de harness needle through her heart. dey cotch him and de patter rolls took him to henderson and hangs him. "de patter rolls dey chases me plenty times, but i's lucky, 'cause dey never cotched me. i slips off to see de gal on de nex' plantation and i has no pass and they chases me and was i scairt! you should have seed me run through dat bresh, 'cause i didn't dare go out on de road or de path. it near tore de clothes off me, but i goes on and gits home and slides under de house. but i'd go to see dat gal every time, patter rolls or no patter rolls, and i gits trained so's i could run 'most as fast as a rabbit. "de white chillun larned us to read and write at night, but i never paid much 'tention, but i kin read de testament now. other times at night de slaves gathers round de cabins in little bunches and talks till bedtime. sometimes we'd dance and someone would knock out time for us by snappin' de fingers and slappin' de knee. we didn't have nothin' to make de music on. "we mos'ly lived on corn pone and salt bacon de marster give us. we didn't have no gardens ourselves, 'cause we wouldn't have time to work in dem. we worked all day in de fields and den was so tired we couldn't do nothin' more. "my mammy doctored us when we was feelin' bad and she'd take dog-fenley, a yaller lookin' weed, and brew tea, and it driv de chills and de fever out of us. sometimes she put horse mint on de pallet with us to make us sweat and driv de fever 'way. for breakfast she'd make us sass' fras tea, to clear our blood. "my marstar and his two step-sons goes to de war. de marster was a big gen'ral on de southern side. i didn't know what dey fightin' 'bout for a long time, den i heered it 'bout freedom and i felt like it be heaven here on earth to git freedom, 'spite de fac' i allus had de good marster. he sho' was good to us, but you knows dat ain't de same as bein' free. [illustration: tempie cummins] tempie cummins was born at brookeland, texas, sometime before the civil war, but does not know her exact age. william neyland owned tempie and her parents. she now lives alone in a small, weather-beaten shack in the south quarters, a section of jasper, tex. "they call me tempie cummins and i was born at brookeland but i don' know jus' the 'xact date. my father's name was jim starkins and my mother's name was charlotte brooks and both of 'em come from alabama. i had jus' one brudder, bill, and four sisters named margaret and hannah and mary and 'liza. life was good when i was with them and us play round. miss fannie neyland, she mis' phil scarborough now, she raise me, 'cause i was give to them when i was eight year old. "i slep' on a pallet on the floor. they give me a homespun dress onct a year at christmas time. when company come i had to run and slip on that dress. at other time i wore white chillens' cast-off clothes so wore they was ready to throw away. i had to pin them up with red horse thorns to hide my nakedness. my dress was usually split from hem to neck and i had to wear them till they was strings. went barefoot summer and winter till the feets crack open. "i never seed my grandparents 'cause my mother she sold in alabama when she's and they brung her to texas and treat her rough. at mealtime they hand me a piece of cornbread and tell me 'run 'long.' sometime i git little piece of meat and biscuit, 'bout onct a month. i gathered up scraps the white chillens lef'. "marster was rough. he take two beech switches and twist them together and whip 'em to a stub. many's the time i's bled from them whippin's. our old mistus, she try to be good to us, i reckon, but she was turrible lazy. she had two of us to wait on her and then she didn' treat us good. "marster had or acres and he raise cotton, and corn and 'tatoes. he used to raise bales cotton a year and then drink it all up. we work from daylight till dark, and after. marster punish them what didn' work hard enough. "the white chillen tries teach me to read and write but i didn' larn much, 'cause i allus workin'. mother was workin' in the house, and she cooked too. she say she used to hide in the chimney corner and listen to what the white folks say. when freedom was 'clared, marster wouldn' tell 'em, but mother she hear him tellin' mistus that the slaves was free but they didn' know it and he's not gwineter tell 'em till he makes another crop or two. when mother hear that she say she slip out the chimney corner and crack her heels together four times and shouts, 'i's free, i's free.' then she runs to the field, 'gainst marster's will and tol' all the other slaves and they quit work. then she run away and in the night she slip into a big ravine near the house and have them bring me to her. marster, he come out with his gun and shot at mother but she run down the ravine and gits away with me. "i seed lots of ghosties when i's young. i couldn' sleep for them. i's kind of outgrowed them now. but one time me and my younges' chile was comin' over to church and right near the dippin' vat is two big gates and when we git to them, out come a big old white ox, with long legs and horns and when he git 'bout halfway, he turns into a man with a panama hat on. he follers us to sandy creek bridge. sometimes at night i sees that same spirit sittin' on that bridge now. "my old man say, in slavery time, when he's , he had to pass a place where patterroles whipped slaves and had kilt some. he was sittin' on a load of fodder and there come a big light wavin' down the road and scarin' the team and the hosses drag him and near kilt him. [illustration: adeline cunningham] adeline cunningham, florida st., born , was a slave in lavaca county, - / miles n.e. of hallettsville. she was a slave of washington greenlee foley and his grandson, john woods. the foley plantation consisted of several square leagues, each league containing , . acres. adeline is tall, spare and primly erect, with fiery brown eyes, which snap when she recalls the slave days. the house is somewhat pretentious and well furnished. the day was hot and the granddaughter prepared ice water for her grandmother and the interviewer. house and porch were very clean. "i was bo'n on ole man foley's plantation in lavaca county. he's got more'n slaves. he always buy slaves and he never sell. how many acres of lan' he got? lawd, dat man ain't got acres, he got leagues. dey raises cotton and co'n, and cattle and hawgs. ole man foley's plantation run over lavaca and colorado county, he got acres in one block and some of it on de navidad river. ole man foley live in a big log house wid two double rooms and a hall, and he build a weavin' house agin his own house and dey's anudder house wid de spinnin' wheels. and ole man foley run his own cotton gin and his own grindin' mill where dey grinds de co'n and dey got a big potato patch. "dey was rough people and dey treat ev'ry body rough. we lives in de quarter; de houses all jine close togedder but you kin walk 'tween 'em. all de cabins has one room and mostly two fam'lies bunks togedder in de one room wid dirt floors. de slaves builds de cabins, de slaves got no money, dey got no land. "no suh, we never goes to church. times we sneaks in de woods and prays de lawd to make us free and times one of de slaves got happy and made a noise dat dey heered at de big house and den de overseer come and whip us 'cause we prayed de lawd to set us free. "you know what a stockman is? he is a man dat buys and sells cattle. ev'ry year de stockman comes to ole man foley's and he lines us up in de yard and de stockman got a lotta slaves tied togedder and ole man foley he buys some slaves but he won't sell none. yassuh, de stockman buys and sells de slaves jes' de same as cattle. "dey feeds us well sometimes, if dey warn't mad at us. dey has a big trough jes' like de trough for de pigs and dey has a big gourd and dey totes de gourd full of milk and dey breaks de bread in de milk. den my mammy takes a gourd and fills it and gives it to us chillun. how's we eat it? we had oyster shells for spoons and de slaves comes in from de fields and dey hands is all dirty, and dey is hungry. dey dips de dirty hands right in de trough and we can't eat none of it. de women wuks in de fields until dey has chillun and when de chillun's ole enough to wuk in de fields den de mother goes to ole man foley's house. dere she's a house servant and wuks at spinnin' and weavin' de cotton. dey makes all de clothes for ole man foley and his fam'ly and for de slaves. "no suh, we ain't got no holidays. sundays we grinds co'n and de men split rails and hoes wid de grubbin' hoe. ole man foley has a blacksmif shop and a slave does de blacksmiffin. de slaves builds cabins wid split logs and dey makes de roof tight wid co'n shucks and grass. one time a month, times one time in two months, dey takes us to de white folks church. "dey's four or five preachers and de slaves. iffen deys a marriage de preacher has a book. he's gotter keep it hid, 'cause dey's afraid iffen de slaves learns to read dey learns how to run away. one of de slaves runs away and dey ketches him and puts his eyes out. dey catches anudder slave dat run away and dey hanged him up by de arm. yassuh, i see dat wid my own eyes; dey holds de slave up by one arm, dey puts a iron on his knee and a iron on his feet and drag 'im down but his feet cain't reach de groun'. "ole man foley ain't bad, but de overseers is mean. no suh, we never gits no money and we never gits no lan'. ole man foley, he wants to give us sumpin for gardens but mr. john woods, his gran'son, is agin it. "was i glad when dat was over? wouldn' you be? it's long after we's free dat i gits married. yassuh, and i live in san antonio 'bout years." [illustration: will daily's house] [illustration: will daily] will daily, was born in in missouri, near the city of st. louis. he was a slave of the john daily family and served as chore boy around the house, carried the breakfast to the field and always drove up the horses on the plantation. the latter duty developed a fondness for horses which led to a career as a race horse rider and trainer. he remained with his white folks several years after freedom and in missouri many years longer in this work. he came to san angelo, texas in and took up hotel work which he followed until his health broke, only a few years ago. he now lives in his small home, in the colored district of the city and depends on his old age pension for a livelihood. "huh! what you say, did you say somethin' 'bout de ole age pension?", questioned will when approached on the slavery question, but he answered readily, "sho! sho' i was a slave an' i aint ashamed to admit dat i was. some of dese here fellers thinks dey sounds ole when dey says dey was slaves and dey denies it but i's proud enough of de good treatment i's got, to allus tell about it. my marster had a driver but he say his niggers was human, wid human feelin's, so he makes dat driver reports to him fer what little thrashin's we gits. course we had to do de right thing but jes' some how did, mos' of de time 'cause he was good to us. soon as i was big enough, about four or five years ole, ole miss, she starts trainin' me fer a house boy. i's a doin' all sorts of chores by de time i was six years old. den ole marster he starts sendin' me out on de plantation to drive up de hosses. i sho' likes dat job 'cause aint nothin' i loves any better den hosses. den when i was bigger he starts me to carryin' de breakfast to de field whar de grown niggers had been out workin' since way 'fore day. dey all done dat. dey say de days wasn't long enough to put in enough time so dey works part of de night. "we had good grub 'cause we raised all de co'n and de hogs and de cows and chickens and plenty of everything. mos' times we have biscuits and bacon and syrup for breakfast and butter too if we wants it but mos' niggers dey likes dat fat bacon de bes'. "our log cabins was good and comfortable. dey was all along in a row and built out of de same kind of logs what our marsters house was. "we had good beds and dey was clean. "i nev'r had no money when i was a slave 'cause i was jes' a small boy when de slaves was set free. "we had lots of fish and rabbits, more den we had 'possum but we sho' likes dat 'possum when we could git it. "my marster had about three hundred slaves and a big plantation. "i seen some slaves sold off dat big auction block and de little chillun sho' would be a cryin' when dey takes dere mothers away from dem. "we didn' have no jail 'cause my marster didn' believe dat way, but i's seen other slaves in dem chains and things. "we didn' know nothin' 'bout no learnin' nor no church neither and when de slaves die dey was jes' buried without no singin' or nothin'. "when de war started, my father, he goes and once i remember he comes home on a furlough and we was all so glad, den when he goes back he gits killed and we nev'r see him no mo'. "we had de doctor and good care when we was sick. i's don't remember much 'bout what kinds of medicine we took but i's know it was mostly home-made. "we all wears dat asafoetida on a string 'round our necks and sometimes we carry a rabbit's foot in our pockets fer good luck. "when de war was ended and de slaves was free old uncle pete, our oldest slave, comes a-walkin' up from de woods whar he always go to keeps from bein' bothered, to read his bible, and he had dat bible under his arm an' he say, 'i's know somethin', me an' de lawd knows somethin'', and den he tells us. he say, 'you all is free people now, you can go when you please and come when you pleases and you can stay here or go some other place'. well i had to stay 'cause my mother stayed and i's jes' keeps on ridin' dem race hosses 'til long after my marster was dead, den i's gits me some hosses of my own and train other men's hosses too. "i's worked at dat racin' business 'til i's come to texas and when i went to work in hotels dat killed me up. i's done ev'r thing from makin' soap fer de scrubbin', to cookin' de bes' meals fer de bes' hotels. i aint been no good since, though, and i had to quit several years ago. "de first time i was married was to phillis reed in missouri and we jes' jumps over de broom, and after phillis die and i comes to texas i's gits married again to susie, here in san angelo; we jes' jumps ov'r de broom too. i's nev'r had no chillun of my own so i's jes' a settin' here a-livin' off de ole age pension." [illustration: julie francis daniels] julia francis daniels, born in , in georgia, a slave of the denman family, who moved to texas before the civil war. julia's memory fails her when she tries to recall names and dates. she still tries to take part in church activities and has recently started to learn reading and writing. she lives with a daughter at spring st. dallas, texas. "they's lots i disremembers and they's lots i remembers, like the year the war's over and the fightin' all done with, 'cause that the year i larned to plow and that the time i got married. that's the very year they larned me to plow. i larnt all right, 'cause i wasn't one slow to larn anything. afore to that time, they ain't never had no hoe in the field for me a-tall. i jes' toted water for the ones in the field. "i had plenty brothers and sisters, 'bout ten of 'em, but i disremembers some they names. there was tom and george and marthy and mandy, and they's all name' denman, 'cause my mammy and daddy was lottie and boyd denman and they come from georgia to cherokee county and then to houston county, near by to crockett, with old man denman. he was the one owned all us till he 'vided some with miss lizzie when she marries mr. cramer. "my daddy worked in the fields with uncle lot and my brothers, and my uncle joe, he's driver. but briscoe am overseer and he a white man. he can't never whup the growed mens like he wants, 'cause they don't let him unless he ask old man denman. i seed him whup 'em, though. he make 'em take off the shirt and whup with the strap. "now, my mammy was cook in the denman house and for our family and uncle joe's family. she didn't have much time for anythin' but cookin' all the time. but she's the bestes' cook. us had fine greens and hawgs and beef. us et collard greens and pork till us got skittish of it and then they quit the pork and kilt a beef. when they done that, they's jus' pourin' water on our wheels, 'cause us liked best of anythin' the beef, and i do to this day, only i can't never git it. "old man denman had a boy what kilt squirrels and throwed 'em in the kitchen. the white folks et them. you ain't never seen no white folks then would eat rabbit. i had a brother who hunted. mostly on sundays. he'd leave for the swamps 'fore daybreak and we'd know when we'd hear him callin', 'o-o-o-o-o-da-da-ske-e-e-e-t,' he had somethin'. that jus' a make-up of he own, but we knowed they's rabbits for the pot. "all the mens don't hunt on sunday, 'cause uncle joe helt meetin' in front he house. us look out the door and seed uncle joe settin' the benches straight and settin' he table out under the trees and sweepin' clean the leaves and us know they's gwine be meetin'. they's the loveliest days that ever they was. night times, too, they'd make it 'tween 'em whether it'd be at our house or uncle joe's. we'd ask niggers from other farms and i used to say, 'i likes meetin' jus' as good as i likes a party.' "when crops is laid by us have the most parties and dence and sing and have play games. the reels is what i used to like but i done quit that foolishness many a year ago. i used to cut a step or two. i remembers one reel call the 'devil's dream.' it's a fast song "'oh, de devil drempt a dream, he drempt it on a friday-- he drempt he cotch a sinner.' "old man denman am the great one for 'viding he property and when miss lizzie marries with mr. creame cramer, which am her dead sister's husband, old man denman give me and two my sisters to miss lizzie and he gives two more my sisters to he son. us goes with miss lizzie to the cramer place and lives in the back yard in a little room by the back door. "everything fine and nice there till one day miss lizzie say to me, 'julia, go down to the well and fetch me some water,' and i goes and i seed in the road a heap of men all in gray and ridin' hosses, comin' our way. i runs back to the house and calls miss lizzie. she say, 'what you scairt for?' i tells her 'bout them men and she say they ain't gwine hurt me none, they jus' wants some water. i goes back to the well and heared 'em talk 'bout a fight. i goes back to the house and some of the mens comes to the gate and says to mr. cramer, 'how're you, creame?' he say, 'i's all right in my health but i ain't so good in my mind.' they says, 'what the matter, creame?' he say, 'i want to be in the fight so bad.' "when they goes i asks miss lizzie what they fightin' 'bout and she say it am 'bout money. that all i knows. right after that mr. cramer goes and we don't never see him no more. word come back from the fightin' he makes some the big, high mens mad and they puts chains 'round he ankles and make him dig a stump in the hot sun. he ain't used to that and it give him fever to the brain and he dies. "when mr. cramer goes 'way, miss lizzie takes us all and goes back to old man denman's. the sojers used to pass and all the whoopin' and hollerin' and carryin' on, you ain't never heered the likes! they hollers, 'who-o-o-o, old man denman, how's your chickens?' and they chunks and throws at 'em till they cripples 'em up and puts 'em in they bags, for cookin'. old man denman cusses at 'em somethin' powerful. "my sister mandy and me am down in the woods a good, fur piece from the house and us keeps heerin' a noise. my brother comes down and finds me and say, 'come git your dinner.' when i gits there dinner am top the gate post and he say they's sojers in the woods and they has been persecutin' a old woman on a mule. she was a nigger woman. i gits so scairt i can't eat my dinner. i ain't got no heart for victuals. my brother say, 'wait for pa, he comin' with the mule and he'll hide you out.' i gits on the mule front of pa and us pass through the sojers and they grabs at us and says, 'gimme the gal, gimme the gal.' pa say i faints plumb 'way. "us heered guns shootin' round and 'bout all the time. seems like they fit every time they git a chance. old man denman's boy gits kilt and two my sisters he property and they don't know what to do, 'cause they has to be somebody's property and they ain't no one to 'heritance 'em. they has to go to the auction but old man denman say not to fret. at the auction the man say, 'goin' high, goin' low, goin' mighty slow, a little while to go. bid 'em in, bid 'em in. the sun am high, the sun am hot, us got to git home tonight.' an old friend of old man denman's hollers out he buys for william blackstone. us all come home and my sisters too and old man denman laugh big and say, 'my name allus been william blackstone denman.' "i's a woman growed when the war was to a end. i had my first baby when i's fourteen. one day my sister call me and say, 'they's fit out, and they's been surrenderin' and ain't gwine fight no more.' that dusk old man denman call all us niggers together and stand on he steps and make he speech, 'mens and womans, you is free as i am. you is free to go where you wants but i is beggin' yous to stay by me till us git the crops laid by.' then he say, 'study it over 'fore you gives me you answer. i is always try as my duty to be fair to you.' "the mens talks it over a-twixt theyselves and includes to stay. they says us might as well stay there as go somewhere else, and us got no money and no place to go. "then miss lizzie marries with mr. joe mcmahon and i goes with her to he house near by and he say he larn me to plow. miss lizzie say, 'now, julia, you knows how to plow and don't make no fool of yourself and act like you ain't never seed no plow afore.' us make a corn crop and goes on 'bout same as afore. "i gits married that very year and has a little fixin' for the weddin', bakes some cakes and i have a dress with buttons and a preacher marries me. i ain't used to wearin' nothin' but loring (a simple one piece garment made from sacking). unnerwear? i ain't never wore no unnerwear then. "my husband rents a little piece of land and us raise a corn crop and that's the way us do. us raises our own victuals. i has chillen through the year and they done scatter to the four winds. some of them is dead. i ain't what i used to be for workin'. i jus' set 'round. i done plenty work in my primer days. [illustration: katie darling] katie darling, about , was born a slave on the plantation of william mccarty, on the elysian fields road, nine miles south of marshall, texas. katie was a nurse and housegirl in the mccarty household until five years after the end of the civil war. she then moved to marshall and married. her husband and her three children are dead and she is supported by griffin williams, a boy she found homeless and reared. they live in a neat three-room shack in sunny south addition of marshall, texas. "you is talkin' now to a nigger what nussed seven white chillen in them bullwhip days. miss stella, my young missy, got all our ages down in she bible, and it say i's born in . massa bill mccarty my massa and he live east and south of marshall, clost to the louisiana line. me and my three brudders, peter and adam and willie, all lives to be growed and married, but mammy die in slavery and pappy run 'way while he and massa bill on they way to the battle of mansfield. massa say when he come back from the war, 'that triflin' nigger run 'way and jines up with them damn yankees.' "massa have six chillen when war come on and i nussed all of 'em. i stays in the house with 'em and slep' on a pallet on the floor, and soon i's big 'nough to tote the milk pail they puts me to milkin', too. massa have more'n cows and most the time me and violet do all the milkin'. we better be in that cowpen by five o'clock. one mornin' massa cotched me lettin' one the calves do some milkin' and he let me off without whippin' that time, but that don't mean he allus good, 'cause them cows have more feelin' for than massa and missy. "we et peas and greens and collards and middlin's. niggers had better let that ham alone! we have meal coffee. they parch meal in the oven and bile it and drink the liquor. sometime we gits some of the lincoln coffee what was lef' from the nex' plantation. "when the niggers done anything massa bullwhip them, but didn't skin them up very often. he'd whip the man for half doin' the plowin' or hoein' but if they done it right he'd find something else to whip them for. at night the men had to shuck corn and the women card and spin. us got two pieces of clothes for winter and two for summer, but us have no shoes. we had to work saturday all day and if that grass was in the field we didn't git no sunday, either. "they have dances and parties for the white folks' chillen, but missy say, 'niggers was made to work for white folks,' and on christmas miss irene bakes two cakes for the nigger families but she darsn't let missy know 'bout it. "when a slave die, massa make the coffin hisself and send a couple niggers to bury the body and say, 'don't be long,' and no singin' or prayin' 'lowed, jus' put them in the ground and cover 'em up and hurry on back to that field. "niggers didn't cou't then like they do now, massa pick out a po'tly man and a po'tly gal and jist put 'em together. what he want am the stock. "i 'member that fight at mansfield like it yes'day. massas's field am all tore up with cannon holes and ever' time a cannon fire, missy go off in a rage. one time when a cannon fire, she say to me, 'you li'l black wench, you niggers ain't gwine be free. you's made to work for white folks.' 'bout that time she look up and see a yankee sojer standin' in the door with a pistol. she say, 'katie, i didn't say anythin', did i?' i say, 'i ain't tellin' no lie, you say niggers ain't gwine git free.' "that day you couldn't git 'round the place for the yankees and they stays for weeks at a time. "when massa come home from the war he wants let us loose, but missy wouldn't do it. i stays on and works for them six years after the war and missy whip me after the war jist like she did 'fore. she has a hun'erd lashes laid up for me now, and this how it am. my brudders done lef' massa after the war and move nex' door to the ware place, and one saturday some niggers come and tell me my brudder peter am comin' to git me 'way from old missy sunday night. that night the cows and calves got together and missy say it my fault. she say, 'i'm gwine give you one hun'erd lashes in the mornin', now go pen them calves.' "i don't know whether them calves was ever penned or not, 'cause peter was waitin' for me at the lot and takes me to live with him on the ware place. i's so happy to git away from that old devil missy, i don't know what to do, and i stays there sev'ral years and works out here and there for money. then i marries and moves here and me and my man farms and nothin' 'citin' done happened." [illustration: carey davenport] carey davenport, retired methodist minister of anahuac, texas, appears sturdy despite his years. he was reared a slave of capt. john mann, in walker co., texas. his wife, who has been his devoted companion for years, was born in slavery just before emancipation. carey is very fond of fishing and spends much time with hook and line. he is fairly well educated and is influential among his fellow negroes. "if i live till the th of august i'll be years old. i was born in up in walker county but since then they split the county and the place i was born is just across the line in san jacinto county now. jim and janey davenport was my father and mother and they come from richmond, virginia. i had two sisters, betty and harriet, and a half brother, william. "our old master's name was john mann but they called him capt. mann. old missus' name was sarah. i'd say old master treated us slaves bad and there was one thing i couldn't understand, 'cause he was 'ligious and every sunday mornin' everybody had to git ready and go for prayer. i never could understand his 'ligion, 'cause sometimes he git up off his knees and befo' we git out the house he cuss us out. "all my life i been a methodist and i been a regular preacher years. since i quit i been livin' here at anahuac and seems like i do 'bout as much preachin' now as i ever done. "i don't member no cullud preachers in slavery times. the white methodist circuit riders come round on horseback and preach. there was a big box house for a church house and the cullud folks sit off in one corner of the church. "sometimes the cullud folks go down in dugouts and hollows and hold they own service and they used to sing songs what come a-gushin' up from the heart. "they was 'bout slaves on the place, but i never seed no slaves bought or sold and i never was sold, but i seen 'em beat--o, lawd, yes. i seen 'em make a man put his head through the crack of the rail fence and then they beat him till he was bloody. they give some of 'em or licks. "old man jim, he run away lots and sometimes they git the dogs after him. he run away one time and it was so cold his legs git frozen and they have to cut his legs off. sometimes they put chains on runaway slaves and chained 'em to the house. i never knowed of 'em puttin' bells on the slaves on our place, but over next to us they did. they had a piece what go round they shoulders and round they necks with pieces up over they heads and hung up the bell on the piece over they head. "i was a sheep minder them days. the wolves was bad but they never tackled me, 'cause they'd ruther git the sheep. they like sheep meat better'n man meat. old captain wanted me to train he boy to herd sheep and one day young master see a sow with nine pigs and want me to catch them and i wouldn't do it. he tried to beat me up and when we git to the lot we have to go round to the big gate and he had a pine knot, and he catch me in the gate and hit me with that knot. old captain sittin' on the gallery and he seed it all. when he heered the story he whipped young master and the old lady, she ain't like it. "one time after that she sittin' in the yard knittin' and she throwed her knittin' needle off and call me to come git it. i done forgot she wanter whip me and when i bring the needle she grab me and i pull away but she hold on my shirt. i run round and round and she call her mother and they catch and whip me. my shirt just had one button on it and i was pullin' and gnawin' on that button and directly it come off and the whole shirt pull off and i didn't have nothin' on but my skin. i run and climb up on the pole at the gate and sot there till master come. he say, 'carey, why you sittin' up there?' then i tell him the whole transaction. i say, 'missus, she whip me 'cause young marse john git whip that time and not me.' he make me git down and git up on his horse behin' him and ride up to the big house. old missus, she done went to the house and go to bed with her leg, 'cause when she whippin' me she stick my head 'tween her knees and when she do that i bit her. "old master's house was two-story with galleries. my mother, she work in the big house and she have a purty good house to live in. it was a plank house, too, but all the other houses was make out of hewed logs. then my father was a carpenter and old master let him have lumber and he make he own furniture out of dressed lumber and make a box to put clothes in. we never did have more'n two changes of clothes. "my father used to make them old carey plows and was good at makin' the mould board out of hardwood. he make the best carey plows in that part of the country and he make horseshoes and nails and everything out of iron. and he used to make spinning wheels and parts of looms. he was a very valuable man and he make wheels and the hub and put the spokes in. "old master had a big farm and he raised cotton and corn and 'taters and peanuts and sorghum cane and some ribbon cane. the bigges' crops was cotton and corn. "my father told us when freedom come. he'd been a free man, 'cause he was bodyguard to the old, old master and when he died he give my father he freedom. that was over in richmond, virginia. but young master steal him into slavery again. so he was glad when freedom come and he was free again. old master made arrangement for us to stay with him till after the harvest and then we go to the old rawls house what 'long to mr. chiv rawls. he and my father and mother run the place and it was a big farm. "i git marry when i was 'bout years old and that's her right there now. we's been married more'n years and she was years old then. she was raised in grant's colony and her father was a blacksmith. "we had it all 'ranged and we stop the preacher one sunday mornin' when he was on the way to preachin' and he come there to her pa's house and marry us. we's had children and all has deceased but three. "i was educated since freedom, 'cause they wasn't no schools in slavery days, but after i was freed i went to public schools. most my learnin' i got from a german man what was principal of a college and he teach me the biggest part of my education. "when i was a desperado killed my father and then i had my mother and her eight children to take care of. i worked two months and went to school one month and that way i made money to take care of 'em. [illustration: campbell davis] campbell davis, , was born in harrison co., texas, a slave of henry hood. he remained on the hood place about three years after he was freed, then farmed in louisiana. in he married and moved back to harrison co., where he farmed until old age forced him to stop. he now lives with his nephew, billie jenkins, near karnack. campbell receives a $ . per month old age pension. "i's big 'nough in slavery time to hear dem tell de darkies to get up and go in the mornin', and to hear the whistlin' of dem whips and howlin' of de dogs. i's birthed up in the northeast part of this county right on the line of louisiana and texas, and 'longed to old man henry hood. my mammy and daddy was campbell and judy davis and dey both come from alabama, and was brung here by de traders and sold to massa hood. they was nine of us chillen, name ellis and hildaman and henderson and henrietta and georgia and harriet and patsy. "massa henry didn't have de fine house but it a big one. us quarters sot off 'cross de field in de edge of a skit of woods. dey have dirt floors and a fireplace and old pole and plank bunks nail to de walls. "dey fed us beef and veg'tables--any kind, jus' name it--and 'low us sop bread in potlicker till de world look level. dat good eatin' and all my life i ain't have no better. "massa didn't 'low no overseer on he place. one my uncles de driver, and massa blow de old conk shell long 'fore day, and if de darkies didn't git goin' you'd hear dem whips crackin'. "i seed one my sisters whip 'cause she didn't spin 'nough. dey pull de clothes down to her waist and laid her down on de stomach and lash her with de rawhide quirt. i's in de field when dey whips my uncle lewis for not pickin' 'nough cotton. de driver pull he clothes down and make him lay on de groun'. he wasn't tied down, but he say he scart to move. "de women am off friday afternoon to wash clothes and all de hands git saturday afternoon and mos' de man go huntin' or fishin'. sometimes dey have parties saturday night and couples git on de floor and have music of de fiddle and banjo. i only 'members one ring play: "hop light, li'l lady, the cakes all dough, don't mind de weather, jus' so de wind don't blow. "de bigges' day to blacks and whites was fourth of july. de hands was off all day and massa give de big dinner out under de trees. he allus barbecue de sheep or beef and have cakes and pies and fancy cookin'. he's one de bes' bosses round dat country. he 'lieve in makin' dem work and when dey need whippin' he done it, but when it come to feedin' he done dat right, too. and on christmas he give us clothes and shoes and nuts and things and 'nother big dinner, and on christmas night de darkies sing songs for de white folks. "us git some book larnin' 'mongst ourselves, round de quarters, and have our own preacher. mos' de time us chillen play, makin' frog holes in de sand and mud people and things. "i done hear lots of talk 'bout ghosts and hants and think i seed one onct. i's comin' home from de neighbors at night, in de moonlight, and 'rectly i seed something white by side de road. de closer i gits de bigger it gits. i's scart but i walks up to it and it nothin' but de big spiderweb on de bush. den i says to myself, 'dere ain't nothin' to dis ghost business.' "massa have one son go to war and he taken a old cullud man with him. i seed soldiers on hosses comin' and goin' de big road, and lots of dem come to port caddo in boats. de pretties' sight i ever seed am a soldier band all dress in de uniforms with brass buttons. when de soldiers come back from de war dey throwed cannon balls 'long de road and us chillen play with dem. "when de war am over, massa call us all and say we's free, but can stay on and work for de victuals and clothes. a bunch leaves and go to de progoe marshal at shreveport and ask him what to do. he tell dem to go back and wait till dey find work some place. my mammy and me stays at de hood place 'bout three years. when i's twenty-one i marries and come back to harrison county. mammy and me done farm in louisiana up to dat. my wife and me marries under de big oak tree front of de leigh church. us jus' common folks and doesn't have no infair or big to-do when us marry. "i's voted but our people won't pull together. i votes de 'publican ticket de long time, but last time i pulls over and votes de democrat ticket. i 'cides i jus' as well go with de braves as stay with de scart. "if de young gen'ration would study dey could make something out deyselves, but dey wont do it. dey am too wild. jus' last week, i hears de young cullud preacher at karnack say, 'brudders and sisters, style and brightness am what we needs today.' i looks at him and says to myself, 'thank de lawd i knows better'n dat.' when i's comin' up it am dark, but i knows better things am ahead for us people and us trusts in de lawd and was hones' with our white folks and profits by what dey tells us. dey wasn't no niggers sent to jail when i's comin' up. it dis 'style and brightness' what gits de young niggers in trouble. dey got de dark way 'head of dem, less dey stops and studies and make somethin' out deyselves." william davis was born near kingston, tennessee, on the first of april, . his family were the only slaves owned by jonathan draper, baptist minister. in william joined the army and was stationed at fort stockton, texas. he has lived in houston since . william is active and takes a long, daily walk. "well, suh, jes' sit down in de chair yonder and i'll tell you what i can 'bout times back yonder. let's see, now. i was born on de first day of april in . de reason i knows was 'cause miss lizzie, our missy, told me so when we was sot free. mammy done told me i was born den, on de tennessee river, near kingston. i heared her say de turnpike what run past massa john's house dere goes over de mountain to bristol, over in virginny. mammy and pappy and all us chillen 'long to de drapers, massa jonathan what us call massa john, and he wife, miss lizzie, and we is de only cullud folks what dey owns. "massa john am de baptist preacher, and while i'm sho' glad to see my folks sot free, i'll tell de truth and say massa john and miss lizzie was mighty good to us. dey have four chillen; massa milton, what am oldes' and kill in de first battle; massa bob and massa george and massa canero. oh, yes, dey have one gal, missy ann. "course us didn't have no last names like now. mammy named sophie and pappy named billy. sometimes de owners give de slaves last names 'cordin' to what dey do, like pappy was meat cook and mammy cook pies and cakes and bread, so dey might have cook for de last name. "we has a bigger family dan massa john, 'cause dey eight of us chillen. i ain't seen none of dem since i lef' virginny in , but i 'member all de names. dere was jane and lucy and ellen and bob and solomon and albert and john, and i'm de younges' de whole lot. "i heared miss lizzie tell some white folks dat my mammy and pappy give to her by her pappy in alabama when she get married. dat de custom with rich folks den, and mammy 'long to de ames, what was miss lizzie's name 'fore she marry. i heared her say when de stars falls, i think she say in , she was 'bout eighteen, and dey think de world am endin'. "pappy was a indian. i knows dat. he came from congo, over in africa, and i heared him say a big storm druv de ship somewhere on de ca'lina coast. i 'member he mighty 'spectful to massa and missy, but he proud, too, and walk straighter'n anybody i ever seen. he had scars on de right side he head and cheek what he say am tribe marks, but what dey means i don't know. "'bout de first i 'members real good am where we am in virginny and massa john runs de washington college, in washington county. i 'member all de pupils eats at massa's house and dat de first job i ever had. 'scuse me for laughin', but i don't reckon i thunk of dat since de lawd know when. dat my first job. dey has a string fasten to de wall on one side de room, with pea fowl tail feathers strung 'long it, and it runs most de length de room, above de dinin' table, and round a pulley-like piece in de ceilin' with one end de string hangin' down. when mealtime come, i am put where de string hang down and i pulls it easy like, and de feathers swishes back and forth sideways, and keeps de flies from lightin' while folks am eatin'. 'ceptin' dat, all i does is play round with massa george and missy ann. "dey ain't no whuppin' on our place and on sunday us all go to church, and massa john do de preachin'. dey rides in de buggy and us follow in de wagon. de white folks sets in front de church and us in back. "i can't tell you how long us stay at de college, 'zactly, but us moves to warm springs to take de baths and drink de water, in scott county. dat two, three years befo' de war, and massa john run de hotel and preach on sunday. i think dere am three springs, one sulphur water and one lime water and one a warm spring. i does a little bit of everything round de hotel, helps folks off de stage when it druv up, wait on table and sich. when i hears de horn blow--you know, de stage driver blow it when dey top de hill 'bout two miles 'way, to let you know dey comin'--i sho' hustle round and git ready to meet it, 'cause most times folks what i totes de grips for gives me something. dat de first money i ever seed. some de folks gives me de picayune--dat what us call a nickel, now, and some gives me two shillin's, what same as two-bits now. a penny was big den, jes' like a two-bit piece, now. "but when war begin 'tween de yankees and de south, it sho' change everything up, 'cause folks quit comin' to de springs and de soldiers takes over de place. massa milton go to jine de south army and gits kill. morgan and he men make de springs headquarters most de war, till de yankees come marchin' through toward de last part. i know pappy say dem yankees gwine win, 'cause dey allus marchin' to de south, but none de south soldiers marches to de north. he didn't say dat to de white folks, but he sho' say it to us. when de yankees come marchin' through, de morgan soldiers jes' hide out till dey gone. dey never done no fightin' round warm springs. lots of times dey goes way for couple weeks and den comes back and rests awhile. "den one mornin'--i 'members it jes' like it yestiddy, it de fourth of july in --miss lizzie say to me, 'willie, i wants you to git you papa and de rest de family and have dem come to de porch right away.' i scurries round quick like and tells dem and she comes out of de house and says, 'now, de yankees done sot you free and you can do what you wants, but you gwineter see more carpet baggers and liars dan you ever has seed, and you'll be worse off den you ever has been, if you has anythin' to do with dem. den she opens de book and tells us all when us born and how old us am, so us have some record 'bout ourselves. she tells me i'm jes' nineteen and one fourth years old when i'm sot free. "she tell pappy massa john want to see him in de house and when he comes out he tells us massa john done told him to take a couple wagons and de family and go to de farm 'bout ten miles 'way on possum creek and work it and stay long as he wants. massa has us load up one wagon with 'visions. pappy made de first crop with jes' hoes, 'cause us didn't have no hosses or mules to plow with. us raise jes' corn and some wheat, but dey am fruit trees, peaches and apples and pears and cherries. massa john pay pappy $ de year, 'sides us 'visions, and us stays dere till pappy dies in . "den i heared 'bout de railroad what dey buildin' at knoxville and i leaves de folks and gits me de job totin' water. dey asks my name and i says william davis, 'cause i knows mr. jefferson davis am president of de south durin' de war, and i figgers it a good name. in i goes to nashville and 'lists in de army. i'm in de th infantry, company g, and us sent to fort stockton to guard de line of texas, but all us do am build 'dobe houses. col. wade was de commander de fort and cap'n johnson was captain of g. co. out dere i votes for de first time, for gen. grant, when greeley and him run for president. but i gits sick at de fort and am muster out in and comes to houston. "i gits me de deckhand job on de dinah, de steamboat what haul freight and passengers 'tween galveston and houston. den i works on de lizzie, what am a bigger boat. course, houston jes' a little bit of place to what it am now--dey wasn't no git buildin's like dey is now, and mud, i tell you de streets was jes' like de swamp when it rain. "long 'bout i gits marry to mary jones, but she died in and i gits marry 'gain in to arabelle wilson and has four girls and one boy from her. she died 'bout ten years back. course, us cullud folks marry jes' like white folks do now, but i seen cullud folks marry 'fore de war and massa marry dem dis way: dey goes in de parlor and each carry de broom. dey lays de brooms on de floor and de woman put her broom front de man and he put he broom front de woman. dey face one 'nother and step 'cross de brooms at de same time to each other and takes hold of hands and dat marry dem. dat's de way dey done, sho', 'cause i seed my own sister marry dat way. "i has wished lots of times to go back and see my folks, but i never has been back and never seed dem since i left, and i guess dey am all gone 'long 'fore now. i has jobbed at first one thing and 'nother and like pappy tells me, i has trials and tribulations and i has good chillen what ain't never got in no trouble and what all helps take care dere old pappy so i guess i ain't got no complainin' 'bout things. "i dreams sometimes 'bout de peach trees and de pear trees and de cherry trees and i'd give lots to see de mountains 'gain, 'cause when de frost come, 'bout now, de leaves on de trees put on pretty colors and de persimmons and nuts is ready for pickin' and a little later on us kill de hawgs and put by de meat for de winter. "de lawd forgive me for dis foolishness, 'cause i got a good home, and has all i need, but i gits to thinkin' 'bout virginny sometimes and my folks what i ain't seed since i left, and it sho' make me want to see it once more 'fore i die. eli davison was born in dunbar, west virginia, a slave of will davison. eli has a bill of sale that states he was born in . his master moved to texas in , and settled in madison county. eli lives in madisonville, with one of his sons. "my first old marse was will davison. my father's name was everett lee and mama was susan, and he come to see her twict a month, 'cause he was owned by 'nother master. "marse davison had a good home in west virginia, where i's born, in dunbar, but most of it 'longed to he wife and she was the boss of him. he had a great many slaves, and one mornin' he got up and 'vided all he had and told his wife she could have half the slaves. then we loaded two wagons and he turned to his oldest son and the next son and said, 'you's gwine with me. crawl on.' then he said to he wife, 'elsie, you can have everything here, but i'm takin' eli and alex and these here two chillen.' the other two gals and two boys he left, and pulled out for texas. it taken us mos' two years to git here, and marse will never sot eyes on the rest of his family no more, long as he lived. "marse never married any more. he'd say, 'they ain't 'nother woman under the sun i'd let wear my name.' he never said his wife's name no more, but was allus talkin' of them chillun he done left behind. "we gits here and starts to build a one room log house for marse will and his two boys. my quarters was one them covered wagons, till he trades me off. he cried like a baby, but he said, 'i hate to do this, but its the only way i'll have anything to leave for my two boys.' looks like everything done go 'gainst him when he come to texas, and he took sick and died. the boys put him away nice and loaded up and went back to virginia, but the home was nailed up and farm lying out, and it took them mos' a year to find they folks. the mother and one gal was dead, so they come back and lived and died here in texas. "marse will was one more good man back in virginia. he never got mad or whipped a slave. he allus had plenty to eat, with , acres, but after we come here all we had to eat was what we kilt in the woods and cornbread. he planted seven acres in corn, but all he did was hunt deer and squirrels. they was never a nigger what tried to run off in texas, 'cause this was a good country, plenty to eat by huntin' and not so cold like in virginia. "after i was traded off, my new master wasn't so good to me. he thunk all the time the south would win that war and he treated us mean. his name was thomas greer. he kept tellin' us a black nigger never would be free. when it come, he said to us, 'well, you black ----, you are just as free as i am.' he turnt us loose with nothin' to eat and mos' no clothes. he said if he got up nex' mornin' and found a nigger on his place, he'd horsewhip him. "i don't know what i'd done, but one my old marse will's chillun done settle close by and they let me work for them, and built me a log house and i farmed on halves. they stood good for all the groceries i buyed that year. it took all i made that year to pay my debts and that's the way its been ever since. "i married sarah keys. we had a home weddin' and 'greed to live together as man and wife. i jus' goes by her home one day and captures her like. i puts her on my saddle behind me and tells her she's my wife then. that's all they was to my weddin'. we had six chillun and they's all farmin' round here. sarah, she dies seventeen years ago and i jus' lives round with my chillen, 'cause i's too old to do any work. "all i ever done was to farm. that's all this here nigger knew what to do. o, i's seed the time when i never had nothin' to eat and my big bunch of chillun cryin' for bread. i could go to the woods then, but you can't git wild game no more. in them days it was five or ten mile to your nearest neighbor, but now they's so close you can stand in your yard and talk to them. "i never done no votin', 'cause them klu kluxers was allus at the votin' places for a long time after the niggers was freed. the niggers has got on since them old days. they has gone from nothin' to a fair educated folks. we has been kind of slow, 'cause we was turnt loose without nothin', and couldn't read and write. "i's worked for fifteen and thirty cents a day, but lawd, blessed to our president, we gits a li'l pension now and that's kep' me from plumb starvin' to death. times is hard and folks had to do away with everything when they had that hoover for president, but they will be straightened out by and by if they'll listen to the president now. 'course, some wants to kill him, 'cause he helps the poor, but it do look like we ought to have a li'l bread and salt bacon without upsettin' 'em, when they has so much. elige davison was born in richmond, virginia, a slave of george davison. elige worked in the field for some time before he was freed, but does not know his age. he lives with one of his grandsons, in madisonville, texas. "my birth was in richmond. that's over in old virginny, and george davison owned me and my pappy and mammy. i 'member one sister, named felina tucker. "massa and missus were very good white folks and was good to the black folks. they had a great big rock house with pretty trees all round it, but the plantation was small, not more'n a hunerd acres. massa growed tobaccy on 'bout of them acres, and he had a big bunch of hawgs. he waked us up 'bout four in the mornin' to milk the cows and feed them hawgs. "our quarters was good, builded out of pine logs with a bed in one corner, no floors and windows. us wore old loyal clothes and our shirt, it open all down the front. in winter massa gave us woolen clothes to wear. us didn't know what shoes was, though. "massa, he look after us slaves when us sick, 'cause us worth too much money to let die jus' like you do a mule. he git doctor or nigger mammy. she make tea out of weeds, better'n quinine. she put string round our neck for chills and fever, with camphor on it. that sho' keep off diseases. "us work all day till jus' 'fore dark. sometimes us got whippin's. we didn't mind so much. boss, you know how stubborn a mule am, he have to be whipped. that the way slaves is. "when you gather a bunch of cattle to sell they calves, how the calves and cows will bawl, that the way the slaves was then. they didn't know nothin' 'bout they kinfolks. mos' chillen didn't know who they pappy was and some they mammy 'cause they taken 'way from the mammy when she wean them, and sell or trade the chillen to someone else, so they wouldn't git 'tached to they mammy or pappy. "massa larn us to read and us read the bible. he larn us to write, too. they a big church on he plantation and us go to church and larn to tell the truth. "i seed some few run away to the north and massa sometime cotch 'em and put 'em in jail. us couldn't go to nowhere without a pass. the patterrollers would git us and they do plenty for nigger slave. i's went to my quarters and be so tired i jus' fall in the door, on the ground, and a patterroller come by and hit me several licks with a cat-o-nine-tails, to see if i's tired 'nough to not run 'way. sometimes them patterrollers hit us jus' to hear us holler. "when a slave die, he jus' 'nother dead nigger. massa, he builded a wooden box and put the nigger in and carry him to the hole in the ground. us march round the grave three times and that all. "i been marry once 'fore freedom, with home weddin'. massa, he bring some more women to see me. he wouldn't let me have jus' one woman. i have 'bout fifteen and i don't know how many chillen. some over a hunerd, i's sho'. "i 'member plenty 'bout the war, 'cause the yankees they march on to richmond. they kill everything what in the way. i heared them big guns and i's scart. everybody scart. i didn't see no fightin', 'cause i gits out the way and keeps out till it all over. but when they marches right on the town i's tendin' hosses for massa. he have two hosses kilt right under him. then the yankees, they capture that town. massa, he send me to git the buggy and hoss and carry missus to the mountain, but them yankees they capture me and say they gwine hang that nigger. but, glory be, massa he saves me 'fore they hangs me. he send he wife and my wife to 'nother place then, 'cause they burn massa's house and tear down all he fences. "when the war over massa call me and tells me i's free as he was, 'cause them yankees win the war. he give me $ . and say he'll give me that much a month iffen i stays with him, but i starts to texas. i heared i wouldn't have to work in texas, 'cause everything growed on trees and the texans wore animal hides for clothes. i didn't git no land or mule or cow. they warn't no plantations divided what i knowed 'bout. mos' niggers jus' got turn loose with a cuss, and not 'nough clothes to cover they bodies. "it 'bout a year 'fore i gits to texas. i walks nearly all the way. sometimes i git a li'l ride with farmer. sometimes i work for folks 'long the way and git fifty cents and start 'gain. "i got to texas and try to work for white folks and try to farm. i couldn't make anything at any work. i made $ . a month for i don't know how many year after the war. iffen the woods wasn't full of wild game us niggers all starve to death them days. "i been marry three time. first wife eve shelton. she run off with 'nother man. then i marries fay elly. us sep'rate in a year. then i marry parlee breyle. no, i done forgot. 'fore that i marries sue wilford, and us have seven gals and six boys. they all in new york but one. he stays here. then i marries parlee and us have two gals. parlee die three year ago. "the gov'ment give me a pension and i gits li'l odd jobs round, to get by. but times been hard and i ain't had much to eat the las' few years. not near so good as what old massa done give me. but i gits by somehow. "i done the bes' i could, 'sidering i's turned out with nothin' when i's growed and didn't know much, neither. the young folks, they knows more, 'cause they got the chance for schoolin'. john day, , was born near dayton, tennessee, a slave of major john day. john lives in mclennan co., texas. "i was born near three mile from dayton. that's over in tennessee, and it was the sixteenth of february, in . master's name was major john day and my father's name was alfred day, and he was a first-class blacksmith. blacksmithin' was a real trade them days, and my father made axes and hoes and plow shares and knives and even jew's harps. "master was good to my father and when he done done de day's work he could work and keep the money he made. he'd work till midnight, sometimes, and at de end that war he had fifteen hundred dollars in confederate money. i never seen such a worker. "master john thunk lots of father but he took de notion to sell him one time, 'cause why, he could git a lot of money for him. he sold him, but my mama and even old missy, cried and took on so dat master john went after de men what bought him, to git him back. dey already done crossed de river, but master calls and dey brung my father back and he give dem de money back. dat de only time master sold one of us. "he was a preacher and good to us, never beat none of us. he didn't have no overseer, but saw to all de work heself. he had twenty-five slaves and raised wheat and corn and oats and vegetables and fruit. he had four hundred acres and a house with twelve rooms. "a man what owned a farm jinin' ourn, de houses half a mile apart. he had two slaves, taylor and jennie, and he whip dem every day, even if dey hadn't done nothin'. he allus beatin' on dem, seemed like. one awful cold day in february, taylor done go to denton for somethin', and when he come back his master starts beatin' on him, and cursed him somethin' awful. he kep' it up till my mama, her name was mariah, gits a butcher knife and runs out dere and say, 'iffen you hits him 'nother lick, i'll use this on you.' old missy was watchin' and backed her up. so he quit beatin' on taylor dat time. but one day dat white man's own son say to him, 'iffen you don't quit beatin' on dem niggers, i'll knock you in de head.' den he quit. "master was in de confederate army. he gits to be a major and after he done come out dat war he sho' hated anythin' what was blue color. i got hold a old yankee cap and coat and is wearin' dem and master yanks dem off and burns dem. "we heared dem guns in de lookout mountain battle. dey sounded like thunder, rumblin' low. one day de feds done take dayton and de soldiers goes by our place to drive dem feds out. dere a valley 'bout two miles wide 'twixt our place and dayton and we could see de confederate soldiers till dey go up de hill on de other side. long in evenin' de confederates come back through dat valley and they was travelin' with dem yankees right after dem. dey come by our house and we was gittin' out de way, all right. old missy took all us chillen, black and white, and puts us under half a big hogshead, down in de stormhouse. "de yankees got to de place and 'gin ransack it. old missy done lock dat stormhouse door and sot down on it and she wouldn't git up when dey done tell her to. so dey takes her by de arms and lifts her off it. dey didn't hurt her any. den dey brekks de lock and comes down in dere. i didn't see whay dey hadn't found us kids, 'cause my heart beatin' like de hammer. dey turned dat hogshead over and all us kids skinned out dere like de devil after us. one de yanks hollers, 'look what we done hatch out!' "i tore out past de barn, thinkin' i'd go to mama, in de field, but it look like all de yanks in de world jumpin' dere hosses over dat fence, so i whirls round and run in dat barn and dives in a stack of hay and buries myself so deep de folks like to never found me. dey hunted all over de place befo' dey done found me. us kids scart 'cause we done see dem yanks' bayonets and thunk dey was dere horns. "dem yanks done take all de flour and meal and wheat and corn and smoked meat. after dat master fixes up a place in de ceilin' to store stuff, and a trap door so when it closed you couldn't tell its dere. "i lives in and round de old place till , den comes to texas. i jist works round and farms and gits by, but i ain't never done nothin' worth tellin'. [illustration: nelsen denson] nelsen denson, , was born near hambirg, arkansas, a slave of jim nelson, who sold nelsen and his family to felix grundy. nelsen's memory is poor, but he managed to recall a few incidents. he now lives in waco, texas. "i'll be ninety years old this december, ( ). i was born in arkansas, up in ashley county, and it was the twenty-second day of december in . my mammy was from virginny and pappy was from old kentucky, and i was one of they eight chillen. our owner, marse jim densen, brung us to texas and settled near marlin, but got in debt and sold as all to marse felix grundy, and he kep' us till freedom, and most of us worked for him after that. "marse jim densen had a easy livin' in arkansas, but folks everywhere was comin' to texas and he 'cides to throw in his fortunes. it wasn't so long after that war with mexico and folks come in a crowd to 'tect theyselves 'gainst indians and wild animals. the wolves was the worst to smell cookin' and sneak into camp, but indians come up and makes the peace sign and has a pow wow with the white folks. marse git beads or cloth and trade for leather breeches and things. "i want to tell how we crosses the red river on de red river raft. back in them days the red river was near closed up by dis timber raft and de big boats couldn't git up de river at all. we gits a li'l boat, and a caddo indian to guide us. dis red river raft dey say was centuries old. de driftwood floatin' down de river stops in de still waters and makes a bunch of trees and de dirt 'cumulates, and broomstraws and willows and brush grows out dis rich dirt what cover de driftwood. dis raft growed 'bout a mile a year and de oldes' timber rots and breaks away, but dis not fast 'nough to keep de river clear. we found bee trees on de raft and had honey. "it was long time after us come to texas when de gov'ment opens up de channel. dat am in . 'fore dat, a survey done been made and dey found de raft am a hundred and twenty-eight miles long. when we was on dat raft it am like a big swamp, with trees and thick brush and de driftwood and logs all wedge up tight 'tween everything. "'fore texas secedes, marse jensen done sell us all to marse felix grundy, and he goes to war in general hardeman's brigade and is with him for bodyguard. when de battle of mansfield come i'm sixteen years old. we was camped on the sabine river, on the texas side, and the yanks on the other side a li'l ways. i 'member the night 'fore the battle, how the campfires looked, and a quiet night and the whippoorwills callin' in the weeds. we was 'spectin' a 'tack and sings to keep cheerful. the yanks sings the 'battle cry of freedom' when they charges us. they come on and on and, lawd, how they fit! i stays clost to marse grundy and the rebels wins and takes 'bout a thousand yanks. "most the slaves was happy, the ones i knowed. they figgers the white men fightin' for some principal, but lots of them didn't care nothin' 'bout bein' free. i s'pose some was with bad white folks, but not round us. we had more to eat and now i'm so old i wouldn't feel bad if i had old marse to look after me 'gain. victor duhon was born years ago in lafayette parish, la., a slave of the duhon family. his blue eyes and almost white skin are evidence of the white strain in his blood. even after many years of association with english speaking persons, he speaks a french patois, and his story was interpreted by a beaumont french teacher. "my papa was lucien duhon and my mama euripe dupuis. i was born over in louisiana in lafayette parish, between broussard and warville. i'm years old now. "i didn't have brothers or sisters, except half ones. it is like this, my mama was a house servant in the duhon family. she was the hairdresser. one day she barbered master's son, who was lucien. he says that he'll shave her head if she won't do what he likes. after that she his woman till he marries a white lady. "my grandmama was stolen from africa and she lived to be years old. she died last year in april. i think i'll live long as she did. there were fifteen slaves on the land what duhon's had but i never ran around with them. i had room at the back of the big house. you know, madame duhon was my grandmama. she was good to me. the only thing i did was look to my master's horse and be coachman for madame. master had four sons. they were ragant and jaques and lucien and desire. desire was shot at the dance. "master had about acres in cotton and the corn. he had a slave for to hunt all the time. he didn't do other things. the partridge and the rice birds he killed were cooked for the white folks. the owls and the rabbits and the coons and the possums were cooked for us. they had a big room for us to eat in. where they cook they had a long oven with a piece down the middle. they cooked the white folks things on one side. they cooked their own things on the other. they had each ones pots and skillets. "i didn't play much with the black children. my time went waiting on my white folks. "sometimes the priest came to say mass. the slaves went to mass. the priest married and baptized the slaves. they gave a feast of baptizing. we all had real beef meat that day. "when my mama had years she married a polite landry slave. then she went to the landry plantation. there was often marrying between the two plantations. when they married the wife went to her man's plantation. that made no difference. it wouldn't be long before a girl from the other place marry into the man's plantation. that kept things in balance. "my mama married fairjuste williams. they had two sons and a daughter. i didn't know them so much. they were half brothers and sister. "i had years when war came. you know what war i mean. the war when the slaves were set free. i wasn't bothered about freedom. didn't leave master till he died. then i went to work for mr. polite landry. "i was always in good hands. some slaves ware treated bad. mr. natale vallean beat up a slave for stealing. he beat him so hard he lay in front of the gate a whole day and the night. "i worked on farms all my life. then i came to beaumont. about years ago, it was. i worked at anything. now i'm too old. i live with my daughter. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's corrections: | | | | | | page : then (and weepin' when they sot us free. lots of | | them didn't want to be free, 'cause they knowed nothin' and | | had nowhere to go. #them# what had good massas stayed right | | on.) # page : too (niggers. there am 'bout old and | | young niggers and 'bout piccaninnies too little #to# | | work, and de nuss cares for dem while dey mammies works.) | | | | page : way ("i stays with miss olivia till ' when mr. | | will set us all free. i was 'bout year old then or more. | | i #say# i goin' find my mamma. mr. will fixes me up two | | papers, one 'bout a yard long and the other some smaller, | | but both) | | | | page : mockbateman ("my pappy was ike bateman, 'cause his | | massa's name am #mock bateman#, and mammy's name was | | francis. they come from tennessee and i had four brothers | | and six sisters. we jes' left de last part) | | | | page : home-make ("marster have de plank house and all de | | things in it was #home-made#. de cook was a old cullud woman | | and i eat at de kitchen table and) | | | | page : bit ("every year they have #big# christmas dinner | | and ham and turkey and allus feed us good. us have christmas | | party and sing songs. that) | | | | page : lasan (slave born. my papa was olivier blanchard | | and he white man carpenter on old plantation. we belong to | | clairville #la san# and all live on that place. my papa just | | plain carpenter but could draw patterns for) | | | | page : chilen (school. dem was good times. de mistus cook | | dinner and send it down for de old folks and #chillen# to | | have plenty.) | | | | page : bit ("old massa's name was william lyons. i didn't | | have no old missus, 'cause he was a bachelor. he had a #big# | | plantation. i don't know how big but dey somethin' like | | twenty fam'lies of slaves and some dem fam'lies) | | | | page : nyself ("i seed some bad sight in slavery, but | | ain' never been 'bused #myself#. i seed chillun too lil' to | | walk from dey mammies sol' right off de block) | | | | page : tim (ross drives de cattle north and i says to | | him, 'i's good hand at de drive. kin i go with you nex' | | #time# you goes north?' and not long after dat we starts and | | we gits to kansas city. after marster ross gets shut of) | | | | page : women (i saw massa oll and he done married after i | | left and raised a family of chillen. i saw missie adeline | | and she was a old #woman#. we went out and looked at the | | tombstones and the rock markers in the graveyard on the old | | place, and some of) | | | | page : woned ("my master was dick townes and my folks | | come with him from alabama. he #owned# a big plantation | | fifteen miles from austin and worked lots of slaves. we had | | the best master in the whole county, and everybody called) | | | | page : gen'zen ("old massa name jim moore. he a fair old | | #gen'man#, with a big bald place on he head, and he am good | | to de slaves. not even as stric' as old) | | | | page : bit (best men i ever knows in my whole life and | | his wife was jes' like him. dey had a #big#, four-room log | | house with a big hall down the center up and down. de logs | | was all peeled and de chinkin' a diff'rent color from de | | logs and) | | | | page : "e (de war am on, but us don't see none of it. but | | 'stead of eatin' cornbread, us eats bread out of kaffir corn | | and maize. #"we# raises lots of okra and dey say it gwine be | | parch and grind to make coffee for white folks. dat didn't) | | | | page : conb (i go to milk i puts her in de trough. i | | saved her life lots of times. one time she's on de #cone# of | | de two-story house, when she's 'bout two years old. i eases | | up and knocks de window out and coaxes her to come to me. | | 'nother) | | | | page : day (woman a big, red pocket handkerchief and a | | bottle of liquor. he buyed dat liquor by de barrel and liked | | it hisself. #dat# why he allus had it on de place.) | | | | page : outselves ("we mos'ly lived on corn pone and salt | | bacon de marster give us. we didn't have no gardens | | #ourselves#, 'cause we wouldn't have time to work in dem. we | | worked all day in de fields and den was so tired we | | couldn't) | | | | page : weht (usually split from hem to neck and i had to | | wear them till they was strings. #went# barefoot summer and | | winter till the feets crack open.) | | | | page : bit ("dey feeds us well sometimes, if dey warn't | | mad at us. dey has a big trough jes' like de trough for de | | pigs and dey has a #big# gourd and dey totes de gourd full | | of milk and dey breaks de bread in de milk. den my mammy) | | | | page : whay (us call massa john, and he wife, miss | | lizzie, and we is de only cullud folks #what# dey owns.) | | | | page : everhas (more carpet baggers and liars dan you | | ever has seed, and you'll be worse off den you #ever has# | | been, if you has anythin' to do with dem. den she opens de | | book and tells us all when us born and how old us am, so us | | have some record 'bout) | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ none